Pietro Maximoff pressed his face against the viewport of the Republic transport, his enhanced metabolism making him practically vibrate with excitement despite his attempts to appear casual. Space travel had always been a distant dream for a kid from Sokovia—something that happened to other people, to the wealthy and privileged, to superheroes like Thor and Tony Stark who seemed to treat interplanetary travel like catching a subway.
But here he was, hurtling through hyperspace toward Coruscant, the beating heart of a galactic civilization that spanned thousands of worlds. The blue-white tunnel of hyperspace stretched endlessly in all directions, a cosmic highway that connected distant stars and made the impossible seem routine.
"I can't believe this is actually happening," Pietro murmured, his breath fogging the viewport as he spoke.
As their transport began its descent through Coruscant's atmosphere, Pietro's excitement reached new heights. The planet-city spread out below them like a living circuit board, towers reaching into the clouds while streams of traffic flowed between them in carefully coordinated patterns. The sheer scale of it was overwhelming—millions of buildings, billions of lights, all pulsing with the energy of galactic civilization.
"Man," Pietro breathed, his voice filled with wonder, "I always thought New York was huge. This makes Manhattan look like a small town."
Hope van Dyne floated over to join him at the viewport, her own expression reflecting similar amazement. "Pietro, I know exactly how you feel. The engineering alone is mind-boggling. How do they manage the traffic flow? The power distribution? The waste management for a billion inhabitants?"
Sam Wilson approached from the other side of the passenger compartment, shaking his head in disbelief. "First time for all of us, man. Even the Jedi seem impressed by this place, and they've been coming here their whole lives."
As their transport settled onto one of Coruscant's countless landing platforms, Pietro turned to Rhodey with curiosity dancing in his silver eyes. "So where are we headed now? That Jedi Temple you mentioned? I'd love to see what a thousand-year-old mystical order looks like from the inside."
Steve Rogers shook his head with what looked suspiciously like resignation. "Actually, no. We have a different kind of appointment first."
Pietro's brow furrowed as he caught the subtle tension in Steve's voice. "Okay, I'll bite. Where are we going that's making you look like you're heading to your own execution?"
Rhodey cleared his throat uncomfortably, his War Machine armor's servos whirring softly as he shifted his weight. "Well, apparently several members of the Republic Senate are throwing us a celebration party for our 'heroic actions' on Ryloth."
Pietro's entire demeanor changed instantly, his eyes lighting up like a child on Christmas morning. "Really? A party? For us? That's fantastic! I mean, when's the last time anyone threw a party in our honor?"
Sam's expression remained skeptical, his military experience making him wary of political gatherings. "Yeah, well, don't get too excited. The thing about political parties is that you have to actually deal with politicians. And trust me, politicians are the same everywhere—all smiles and handshakes while they're calculating how to use you for their own advantage."
Rhodey nodded in agreement, his faceplate retracting to reveal his concerned expression. "Sam's right, Pietro. These kinds of events aren't nearly as fun as they sound. It's all carefully choreographed political theater designed to make everyone look good for the cameras."
Scott Lang looked genuinely puzzled by his teammates' pessimism. "Come on, guys, it can't be that bad, can it? I mean, we're talking about celebrating heroes, not negotiating arms deals."
Steve's response was delivered with the weary tone of someone who had endured far too many political functions. "Scott, trust me on this—by the end of the evening, you'll be wishing someone would put you out of your misery. The combination of fake smiles, empty compliments, and veiled political maneuvering is enough to drive anyone insane."
Scott's expression shifted to one of confusion mixed with hope. "But wait, this can't be too terrible. Our friend Senator Amidala is hosting the party, and she even arranged for some formal attire for us. That's got to count for something, right?"
The other five Avengers turned to stare at Scott with expressions ranging from surprise to outright shock.
Sam was the first to recover his voice. "Hold up—how exactly do you know all these details? We literally just landed five minutes ago."
Scott shrugged with characteristic nonchalance. "Anakin told me when I asked him about it earlier. He seemed to think we should know what we were walking into."
Within an hour, the Avengers found themselves standing in an unfamiliar district of Coruscant's upper levels, surrounded by the kind of architectural elegance that spoke of serious political power and influence. Senators Bail Organa and Padmé Amidala approached them with the practiced grace of experienced diplomats, their formal attire perfectly suited to the sophisticated setting.
"Captain Rogers," Padmé said warmly, extending her hand in greeting. "Welcome back to Coruscant. I cannot express how honored we are to have you and your team here."
Steve accepted her handshake with his characteristic dignity, though his expression remained somewhat guarded. "Senator Amidala, the honor is ours. Though I have to admit, we're not entirely sure what we've done to deserve such treatment."
Padmé's smile was genuine, reflecting the kind of sincerity that had made her one of the Republic's most respected voices. "Captain, you and your team have accomplished something remarkable. You've shown the galaxy that heroism isn't bound by species, nationality, or even planetary origin. You've inspired hope in places where hope had been forgotten."
Padmé's private residence was a testament to both her political status and her personal taste. Located in one of Coruscant's most prestigious towers, the apartment commanded breathtaking views of the city-planet's endless skyline. The décor was elegant without being ostentatious, reflecting the kind of sophisticated simplicity that required both wealth and restraint to achieve.
The gathering was already in full swing when the Avengers arrived, with senators, diplomats, and other political figures mingling in carefully orchestrated social clusters. Pietro immediately spotted several familiar faces—Senator Orn Free Taa looking considerably more comfortable in his political element, and Cham Syndulla appearing distinctly uncomfortable in his formal attire as he navigated conversations with people who had never held a blaster in their lives.
The Jedi contingent provided a welcome sight of familiar faces. Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Ahsoka Tano stood somewhat apart from the political crowd, their presence lending an air of gravitas to the proceedings.
"Hey!" Sam called out to the Jedi trio, genuine pleasure evident in his voice. "What are you three doing here? I thought Jedi avoided political gatherings."
Anakin approached with a grin that suggested he was enjoying the Avengers' discomfort. "We figured you might appreciate having some friendly faces in the crowd. These political events can be... overwhelming for newcomers."
The ice was broken when Senator Free Taa approached with a crystal glass of what appeared to be expensive wine, his multiple chins quivering with enthusiasm. "Ah, the heroes of Ryloth have finally arrived! Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Avengers!"
The response was immediate and overwhelming. Senators, diplomats, and other dignitaries converged on the six Avengers like metal filings drawn to a magnet, each politician eager to be seen associating with the galaxy's newest celebrities.
Within minutes, each Avenger found themselves at the center of their own small crowd, fielding questions, accepting compliments, and navigating the treacherous waters of political small talk. Pietro watched in amazement as Steve handled the attention with practiced ease, his natural charisma and diplomatic training allowing him to navigate even the most leading questions with grace.
The rest of the team was struggling more visibly. Scott looked like a deer caught in headlights as a group of economic policy specialists peppered him with questions about Earth's industrial capacity. Rhodey had retreated into military formality, responding to political inquiries with clipped, professional answers that revealed nothing. Hope was using her scientific background to deflect personal questions by discussing the technical aspects of her suit's capabilities.
Sam had simply embraced the chaos, using his natural charm and humor to keep his conversation partners entertained while avoiding any topics of real substance.
From their position near the refreshment table, Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka watched the proceedings with obvious amusement.
"Master Kenobi," Ahsoka observed with a grin, "I think Captain Rogers is the only one who's actually enjoying himself."
"Indeed," Obi-Wan replied thoughtfully. "Though I suspect even his patience has limits. Political gatherings tend to test even the most diplomatic individuals."
Their conversation was interrupted when Padmé approached, her senatorial composure replaced by the warmth she reserved for close friends. If they had been alone, Anakin would have immediately swept her into his arms, but the crowded room demanded more restraint.
"Anakin," she said with carefully modulated casualness, though her eyes conveyed a much deeper message.
"Padmé," he replied, his own voice betraying nothing of the emotional turbulence her presence always created. "Wonderful party. Though I think your guests of honor are feeling a bit overwhelmed."
Their conversation continued in the careful dance of two people desperately in love but forced to hide their feelings from the galaxy at large. Every glance, every casual touch, every seemingly innocent word carried layers of meaning that only they could fully understand.
Meanwhile, Pietro was discovering that his initial enthusiasm for the party had been severely misplaced. The constant stream of politicians, each with their own agenda and their own version of the same practiced questions, was beginning to wear on his patience. His enhanced metabolism meant that even minor irritations felt amplified, and the combination of forced smiles and empty compliments was starting to make his skin crawl.
Using his super-speed, Pietro extracted himself from a particularly tedious conversation about trade policy and made his way to the apartment's balcony. The cool evening air was a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of political networking, and for a moment he allowed himself to simply breathe and appreciate the spectacular view of Coruscant's skyline.
"Oh my goodness, when Cham Syndulla described your speed, I thought he might have been exaggerating a bit."
Pietro's heart sank as he heard the voice behind him. Another politician, no doubt, ready to launch into the same routine of empty flattery and veiled curiosity about his abilities. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing himself for another round of diplomatic torture.
"Uh... I'm sorry, Mr. Maximoff. Am I disturbing you?"
There was something different about this voice—younger, more genuinely uncertain than the practiced confidence of the career politicians inside. Pietro sighed and turned around, ready to deliver a polite but firm dismissal.
The words died in his throat.
Standing before him was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her skin was a vibrant aquamarine blue that seemed to shimmer in the light from the city below, while her dark hair was arranged in an elegant style that perfectly complemented her delicate features. Her clothing was formal but understated, suggesting someone who cared more about substance than appearance.
But it was her eyes that truly captured his attention—large, intelligent, and filled with a genuine warmth that was utterly unlike the calculating gazes he had been enduring all evening.
"Sir?" she asked, tilting her head slightly as she regarded Pietro's extended silence with growing concern.
Pietro realized he had been staring and quickly cleared his throat, his usual confidence temporarily derailed by her unexpected presence. "Oh, uh, sorry. I'm really sorry. I was just... thinking about something. You're..."
"Riyo Chuchi," she said with a smile that seemed to light up the entire balcony. She extended her hand in what was clearly intended as a professional handshake.
Pietro felt his brain short-circuit as her smile hit him like a physical force. Without thinking, he took her offered hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles with all the old-world courtesy he could muster.
"Pietro Maximoff," he said, his voice carrying a sincerity that surprised even him.
Riyo's eyebrows rose slightly at the unexpected gallantry, but her smile only grew warmer. "Well, that's certainly a more interesting greeting than I usually receive at these functions."
Pietro felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him as he realized what he had done. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be presumptuous. It's just... you caught me off guard."
"In a good way, I hope," Riyo said with gentle amusement. "And honestly, it's refreshing to meet someone who seems to dislike these political gatherings as much as I do."
Pietro felt his tension begin to dissolve for the first time all evening. "You hate these things too? Thank God. I was starting to think I was the only one."
"Oh, I wouldn't say I hate them," Riyo replied thoughtfully. "They serve an important function in maintaining diplomatic relationships. But sometimes the conversations can feel a bit... predictable."
Pietro leaned against the balcony railing, his posture relaxing as he found himself genuinely interested in what she had to say. "Predictable is putting it kindly. I've had the same conversation about my speed abilities at least six times tonight, and each person acts like they're the first one to ask about it."
Riyo laughed, the sound musical and genuinely delighted. "I imagine being a superhero comes with its own unique set of social challenges. Everyone wants to know about the powers, but very few people seem interested in the person behind them."
Pietro felt something shift in his chest, a warmth that had nothing to do with his enhanced metabolism. Here was someone who actually seemed to understand the isolation that came with being different, with being set apart by abilities that others found fascinating but couldn't truly comprehend.
"You mentioned that you hate these gatherings too," Pietro said, curious about this unexpected kindred spirit. "Are you a senator?"
"I am," Riyo confirmed with a slight grimace. "Though I sometimes wonder if I'm cut out for it. I represent Pantora in the Senate, and I try to focus on humanitarian issues, refugee assistance, that sort of thing. But sometimes the political process moves so slowly that I wonder if we're actually helping anyone."
Pietro studied her face, noting the genuine concern in her expression. "That's... not what I expected to hear from a politician. Most of the ones I've met tonight seem more interested in being seen doing the right thing than actually doing it."
"Well, I'm probably not like most politicians you've met," Riyo said with a self-deprecating smile. "I have a tendency to speak my mind, even when it's not politically advantageous. My advisors despair of me sometimes."
"Your advisors sound like idiots," Pietro said bluntly, then immediately looked apologetic. "Sorry, that was probably too direct."
"No, don't apologize," Riyo said, her smile growing even brighter. "That's exactly the kind of honesty I was talking about. It's refreshing to meet someone who says what they actually think."
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, both looking out over the sprawling cityscape of Coruscant. The lights of billions of windows created a tapestry of light that stretched to the horizon, while the constant flow of air traffic added movement and life to the static beauty of the architecture.
"Can I ask you something?" Riyo said eventually, her voice carrying a note of curiosity.
"Sure, shoot."
"Were you one of the original Avengers? I've heard different stories about how the team was formed."
Pietro shook his head, his expression growing more serious. "No, I joined later. The original team was Captain America, Iron Man, Black Widow, Hawkeye, the Hulk, and Thor. They were the ones who first came together to save the world from an alien invasion."
"And when did you join?"
Pietro's gaze drifted to the stars visible beyond the city's atmospheric glow. "About six months after what we call the Sokovia Incident. That was... that was when everything changed."
Riyo immediately noticed the shift in his mood, the way his easy confidence seemed to falter at the mention of his homeland. "The Sokovia Incident?"
For a moment, Pietro's mind filled with memories he had tried hard to forget—the terror of watching his entire city lifted into the sky, the desperate battle against an army of homicidal robots, the moment when he had thought he was going to die saving the lives of strangers. The memory of Wanda's grief, of his own near-death experience, of a world that had come so close to ending.
"It was... an extraordinary experience that almost led to the destruction of our entire planet," he said quietly, his usual bravado completely absent.
Riyo's expression immediately softened as she recognized the pain in his voice. "If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to. Sometimes the most important things are the hardest to share."
Pietro looked at her with surprise, unused to having someone offer him an escape from difficult conversations rather than pushing for more details. "My sister Wanda always says it's good to talk about traumatic experiences, that it helps process the pain."
"Your sister sounds very wise," Riyo said gently. "But I believe everyone heals differently. If talking helps you, then talk. If silence serves you better, then there's no shame in that either. The important thing is that you do what feels right for you, not what others expect."
Pietro felt something settle in his chest, a sense of peace he hadn't experienced in months. Here was someone who understood that healing wasn't a one-size-fits-all process, someone who was willing to accept him exactly as he was rather than pushing him to be something different.
"You know," he said slowly, "maybe we could talk about it sometime when we have more privacy. If you're interested, I mean. No pressure."
Riyo's smile was warm and genuine. "I'd like that very much, Pietro. And who knows? Maybe I could share some of my own stories in return. Politics may not be as exciting as superheroics, but it certainly has its share of dramatic moments."
Pietro found himself smiling for the first time all evening—not the practiced, diplomatic smile he had been wearing inside, but a real expression of genuine happiness.
"You know what?" he said, his natural charm beginning to reassert itself. "Maybe this party isn't going to be so terrible after all."
Riyo laughed, the sound carrying across the balcony like music. "I was just thinking the exact same thing."
As they stood together on the balcony, looking out over the lights of the galaxy's capital, both of them felt the unmistakable spark of something new beginning. For Pietro, it was the first time since arriving in this strange galaxy that he had felt truly understood by someone outside his team. For Riyo, it was the discovery that heroes could be vulnerable, honest, and surprisingly human.
Inside the apartment, the political party continued its carefully orchestrated dance of diplomacy and networking. But on the balcony, two people had found something much more valuable than political connections—they had found the beginning of a genuine friendship, and perhaps something even more meaningful than that.
Sometimes, Pietro reflected, the best things in life happened when you least expected them. And sometimes, the most powerful force in the galaxy wasn't super-speed or political influence—it was simply two people choosing to be honest with each other under a canopy of stars.
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