She knows she should've learned her lesson. Magic isn't a toy. It's not something she should use to fill in the holes in her own heart. It's something that needs to be used properly, accurately, and with proper intent that's stripped of its emotion.
But when she sees him step inside of the suburban home she's built, replenished with furniture they only ever dreamed of from her sitcoms and movies, and sat it beside a house that's filled with a kind family who love nothing but to let him be a bad influence on their young children… It's worth making the same mistake and correcting it to be something fruitful, in her control, and here.
He's always been worth it.
This time, when Wanda creates a hex, it's not out of an emotional outburst. She'd been particular, specific in the way she'd built it. It isn't broken. It's as flawless as she can make it, a safe haven for the two of them to exist as they were always meant to be. She can't and won't hurt anyone this time. She has the person she wants—and she knows, in time, her family will come back to her. He's stayed beside her since she reached for him and felt him reach back; he hasn't disappeared as she had been so fearful he would.
Allowing Pietro to be fallible is a flaw in the universe's design that she's corrected. Tying him to her is the only way to fix what she hadn't been able to correct so long ago.
It had been traumatic, to say the least, to more or less come back from the dead. For one thing, it hadn't been something Pietro had signed up for. For another, there was actually a momentary flash of guilt in his heart for not 'walking it off' as the Captain had insisted. For a third, he had failed his sister and that was entirely his own fault and he still hated himself for that fact.
The first few days had been a testy thing, in the long run, of Pietro trying to find his footing in the new truths of his life and not always succeeding. But time, and freedom like he hadn't known in the very small fragment of days between 'escaped Hydra' and 'died from Ultron'. Adjustments were made in small steps, and he had finally adjusted to his new way of being.
The running, of course, helped. Running that he came in from and flopped down on the couch rather than taking a shower.
"Very much. I saw some deer. The baby was very cute and had spots on it."
At least he's come back. Every time Pietro leaves, Wanda frets it'll be the last time. And yet—she still tells him to go. She'll be fine; she much prefers her floors to remain intact and not bear holes in them from his restlessness.
"And you did not bring back the deer?"
Tsking, Wanda shakes her head. Despite wanting to feign disappointment, she doesn't wipe her smile from her face. Can't. Pietro is back and she permanently smiles now. She doesn't know how to frown, be sad, or even exist without the pinch to her cheeks.
Approaching the couch, she tapped the toe of his shoes. "For that, feet off the couch."
If he'd brought back the deer, he'd have a hell of a lot more waiting for him. Maybe a drink with an umbrella. A little snack. Instead, all he has is Wanda tapping his shoe and magically playing with his shoelace, turning that into a bit of a knot in itself.
Feet off the couch? Pietro doesn't answer at first. Just leaves his feet on the couch and smiles. Yep, this worked for him. Very comfortable. You like him to be comfortable, don't you sister?
"It is not polite to tie someone's shoes more. How will I get them off?"
Even while Stephen is wrangling the mindflayer (one of the many unsavoury duties Wong had pawned off on him), he's half-distracted wondering what might be awaiting him back at the Sanctum Sanctorum. And so his attention lapses enough that he sustains a cut along his temple, but the monster doesn't latch onto him and drain his sanity dry, so at least there's that— he eventually manages to magically wrestle it into a pocket dimension, seal the edges, and pinch off the wards. He tests the containment until he can't feel the tremors of it trying to escape any longer, its greedy tentacles grasping.
Job done, he dusts off his cloak and decides to portal back to the grand foyer with a twirl of his hand.
Back home on the metaphorical ranch, a golden window appears like it's carved out of thin air. It hisses and spits glowing light before opening, and then Doctor Strange, former Sorcerer Supreme, Master of the Mystic Arts, steps through.
Unfortunately, the Sanctum truly is flooded.
He takes one step out and, before he can catch himself, plummets downward. With a strangled yelp of surprise and flailing arms, he falls into the water. When he eventually manages to float himself back out, he's sodden and drenched: black hair plastered to his skull, red Cloak of Levitation hanging heavy from his shoulders and miserable, the cloak somehow managing to look like it's sulking.
He peers around. It's like when the blizzard blew through and the place was filled with snow, but now it's just water, an impossible ocean lapping at the grand curved staircase. The guest chairs are bobbing gently next to a floating credenza.
To her credit, Wanda's done her best to lower the water levels. Before, it'd been up to the very wet and still dripping ceiling.
She stands on the first floor and wrings her hands, appearing very, very sheepish. While she knows what she's done is the very opposite to the task Wong had set, she does feel a little proud of herself. How many witches can summon water with a mere flick of her wrist? How many of them could summon water from the Pacific and have it feel as real as the ocean beneath a blazing sun?
The water below has a very dull red glow. The water level doesn't decrease any further. Wanda's a little afraid that if she tries to make it all vanish, it'll flood the streets of New York.
Wong had made reallocating what he conjured up look easy.
"I warmed the water," she says proudly and grins widely. Wanda Maximoff still looks very, very sheepish. (It beats feeling despondent.) Strange looks like a drowned rat and his cape—his poor cape—doesn't seem to be fairing any better. "There's even sand on the floor... for the crabs."
Floating above this miniature ocean, Stephen stares down past his dripping boots, and— yes, the water's clear enough that he can see the new sandy bottom over the mismatched parquet floor, and even the occasional blurry shape of a scuttling crustacean.
For a fleeting moment, he considers just tossing up his hands and giving up and leaving it be. Maybe this is just how the Sanctum looks now. They can use the side alleyway entrance to get in and out. They can tell visitors to come around the back. Maybe they can set up parasols and beach chairs and serve tropical cocktails on the landing. Wong won't mind, would he?
The cloak tugs at his shoulders and starts curling itself up, twisting and wringing out the water, and Stephen sighs. He floats over to the staircase and lands nimbly next to Wanda, and then absentmindedly kicks his feet a little, shaking off the water like a dog.
"I did appreciate it not feeling like taking a plunge into the North Sea. So you brought it all here, but haven't been able to send it back?"
"Yes," she beams. Wanda does her best to hide her sheepishness. "Kind of."
While Wanda theoretically knows she can send all of this back to where it came from, a part of her is afraid. And it's a big, huge part of her—Hex-size, really—that is a little terrified at the idea of sending it all back and accidentally doing it wrong. What if she turns the ocean inside out? What if the Sanctum collapses because of her efforts to send the ocean and its sandy bed back?
She can hear Agatha's voice rattle inside of her head. Her Hex had been as broken as she was. She worries about breaking the vast ocean that's remained dormant and somewhat left in peace for years.
"I thought I would see if I could make pieces of it disappear... like a puzzle."
as much as she wishes to smile (and join in the teasing of her boy being a royal consort, a prince in his own right no matter what he says), wanda figures she'll one-up all of his friends. ]
Does that mean I get to be the Mother of His Royal Highness the Royal Consort? [ she gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. ] I can't wait to tell all the other moms this is how I want to be addressed!
[ he startles into a laugh, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. ]
Aren't you kind of already a princess? I mean, look at Grandfather.. [ let's be honest, here, he and xavier are basically the kings of krakoa, no matter how they try to say otherwise. ]
[ she laughs lightly. ah, erik, the king of, well... scowling and pissing everyone off. once upon a time, wanda would've thought pietro took after him more than her. ]
Do you think I should get a tiara?
[ she tilts her head up as if she's posing for a portrait. ]
Or do you think that would be too intimidating for all of your friends? I want to be a cool mom.
[ it falls into line with what wanda wants. she wishes for her family to find their way back to her... or for her to find her way back to them. perhaps he understands it better than most humans do.
When Natasha had asked her where she wanted to be dropped off for her secret little rendezvous with you-know-who, Wanda had difficulty containing her excitement. Vision had suggested Italy at their last meeting, and Wanda had happily agreed to it. It was one of the few countries she had told Vision she wished to visit someday. Even when it felt like a pipe dream after being trapped inside of the four walls of the Avengers Compound, she still dreamed, and Vision only enabled those dreams into a reality.
Natasha could spare her a handful of days before she needed to pick her up and take her to the opposite side of the world. But Wanda knew the handful of days that awaited her were going to feel like weeks and months.
After reassuring Natasha that she and Vision agreed to meet each other in the city rather than where the Quintet would drop her off, she walks along the side of the road, keeping her mind peeled for a little inkling of him. She tries to keep her mind clear and the tension away from her shoulders, but Wanda can never help but take Natasha's lessons keeping her eyes peeled and her senses alert to heart, especially when she was sneaking within the shadows and the bright light of day.
When she reaches the end of the street, she turns the corner and stops. She can't help but smile. Wanda could recognise him in the dark. Standing tall with his back to her, she eyes him curiously to confirm that the lines of his shoulder are, in fact, Vision's before she lets herself feel the excitement that she always feels when she sees him now.
On the softest of feet, she quickly approaches him before tapping him on the shoulder.
"Vis," she says quietly as though the city itself will alert Stark and S.H.I.E.L.D. of their whereabouts. Wanda wishes she could stop smiling, but she peers up at him eagerly, dressed much like the people bustling around them.
The only thing that currently separates Vision from the slew of people around them is the simple fact that he's considerably taller. Aside from that he looked perfectly average, admittedly. Fair skin, blonde hair. Average features with light eyes that if you looked too closely at you may see odd variations. For whatever reason he hadn't found a way he could hide his eyes entirely, but the good thing about being tall was that he met gazes of others a lot less frequently.
He'd been playing with ability of direct projection somewhat as of late. Previously to being out in the world there hadn't been much need for it. Who was he trying to hide when he was at the compound? Not a single person didn't know more about his own life than he did. And there hadn't been much desire to leave prior to Wanda being there. But now? Things were different. They were so very different. And now out in the open, in another country, the last thing he was very interested in was sticking out like a big, red, sore thumb.
It was already likely odd enough that this tall man was hovering on the edges of a small gathering park in the heart of this small little town, nestled just outside the major city, just watching the way people interacted with one another. Their gentle movements and mundane conversations with a language he understood so vividly as though they were speaking English despite never actually hearing the tones and verbalization of the individual voices that carried these simple conversations to one another.
He was so wrapped in it that the tapping of his shoulder is missed, but thankfully the voice is not and he spins to met its speaker. The corners of his lips curling to make way for a broad smile the second his gaze met hers. There were a lot of things, emotionally, that still needed figuring out. He understood them in their basics, there was no way he couldn't, but he had never felt them. True joy had been one of the first, and that gift had been giving to him by Wanda.
Perhaps some day he'd tell her. Perhaps, she already knew.
"Wanda." His voice is soft, subconsciously matching her own. "I am delighted to see you..."
"Well, that's good. I would be devastated if you were horrified," she chuckles, scrunching up her nose.
She wrings her hands together nervously, and once she realises what she's doing, she tears them apart. It's easy being around Vision. She laughs and smiles more and frowns even less. She's stopped being quiet and wishing to disappear and take up less space. With him around, she wishes to be loud.
Not literally, of course. While she may have dyed her hair a lighter shade, Wanda knows that any attention can be bad attention. Perhaps Natasha's paranoia is starting to rub off on her.
But there's a new element to being with Vision. She notices more. The way he's started to smile and joke more. He seems less out of place and more comfortable than he'd been in the Compound. Perhaps the others had noticed this, but Wanda likes to think that she's the only one who knows that Vision can crinkle his brow in a cute, human way and that his face lights up when he smiles.
Wanda furrows her brows in concern. "Were you waiting long?"
[ When Wanda wakes up, she makes sure to tiptoe around the small apartment as she prepares a little surprise for Pietro. While she suspects that he'll grow justifiably annoying today, incessantly reminding her of how he's twelve minutes older and therefore wiser (amongst many other positive descriptors), all Wanda wants to do is surprise him.
For the last couple of years, he's always been quicker and beaten her to the gift-giving and first-to-say-it punch. She supposes it has something to do with him being so unnaturally impatient and quick. HYDRA separating them during this time hadn't helped, either; Wanda's become insufferably clingy and Pietro has, too, in his own way.
She tiptoes around the kitchen and gently opens and closes cupboard doors. She's bought Pietro a little cupcake from the bakery that remains standing. Maria had been more than happy to bake a special cupcake for Pietro free of charge for his birthday. Sometimes Pietro's outrageous flirting and unnecessary charisma pay off.
She slots a candle in its very centre and smiles at her handiwork. She doesn't light it yet. It's not much, but she suspects that Pietro would be happy even if she gifted him a rock from outside for his birthday. But he deserves more than a rock. She would've gotten him a whole three-tiered expensive cake like she's seen in her television shows if she could've decided on the flavours and had the money.
Wanda tiptoes back to the bed and slowly climbs on top of him. Brushing her fingers in his hair and along the shell of his ear, she whispers, ] Pietro, wake up.
[ When they had still been teenagers, Wanda had enjoyed jumping on Pietro and screaming 'Happy Birthday!' on the birthdays when she managed to get up first. She likes that she's matured to a more Wanda-like approach—it's soft and slow, the two things she knows Pietro finds the most frustrating. ]
[It's rare that Pietro sleeps deeply enough to not notice when Wanda moves at all, let alone ventures out to the kitchen and back, trying to be quiet on creaky wooden floorboards. This morning is one of those times, the need to recharge from too much energy output over the last days catching up, and he doesn't so much as twitch the entire time she's gone about sneaking around. Even when she crawls over him, he doesn't move or squirm away. The soft and slow stroke of her fingertips along his ear, in his hair making his scalp tingle - that's what draws him out of it, a low noise of annoyance, snaking one arm out from under the blanket, gently batting away her hand.]
Don't do that.
[Gravelly and low, but a weak protest, because now he's awake and won't be able to sleep again. With an exaggerated sigh, Pietro shifts around in irritated little movements until he's propping himself up on one elbow, looking up at her with a put-upon glare that has more softness than edge.]
Happy Birthday.
[He is absolutely taking the opportunity to say it first, even if it sounds too quick and perfunctory while he wipes a line of drool from his beard with his thumb. He frowns and reaches with that same hand to finger a lock of her hair.]
[ Staying on top of him is a difficult feat, but Wanda embodies the impossible. She wants her weight to weigh him down so he can never move again. That would be nice, even if he'd grow irritated and annoying.
Perhaps she doesn't want that on her birthday. She does want it on his, though. Decisions, decisions.
She smacks at his hand lightly and scrunches her nose in annoyance at him. She was supposed to say it first! And she doesn't have grey hairs! Or that many, at least! ]
You have many grey hairs. [ She can mistake silver for grey, can't she? She ruffles her fingers through his hair roughly. ] So many.
[ But she drops her hand to press against the bed and makes no move to get off of him. Not yet, at least. There's one thing she wishes to do before he thinks about either stealing it from her or running away.
Wanda kisses his cheek. ]
And if I am old, you are older. I have a surprise for you.
After scouring the Multiverse for a way to fill the hole inside of her, she decides enough is enough.
She calls for him.
Her boys call for her, but she calls for him. She can't do this alone anymore. Tucked away in a secluded part of what's left of Sokovia, Wanda's orchard thrives and her sheep bleat, but the world around her feels so stagnant. There's no movement. There's nothing to cause the hairs on her arms to rise. It's like time doesn't move here, even when she lets the day shift into the night and the night shift into the day.
She sits on the porch of her house—a two-storey, like they always thought they'd move into when the war was over (although, that was her and her dreams of living the life her sitcoms promised)—and waits for something in the air to shift.
This time, she won't get it wrong. She'll be conscious of what she does here. The world she's created is perfect—the temperature's warm but not too warm, and the nights are cool but not too cool. No one disturbs her here. It's quiet without the onslaught of bombs. There's no one here to slip her nightmares into.
She plays absently with her blackened fingers while watching her sheep trot in the distance. The twigs of her apples barely move in the wind. She hopes that after all this time, he'll heed her. He has to; Pietro has always come when she's called, even when her voice hasn't slipped past her lips.
Necromancy is the darkest of magic, but Wanda's been in the dark for the last ten years. She thinks it's about time the light shone on them again. She thinks it's about time that she took back what was hers. If Stark can snap the world back five years later to keep his legacy intact, why can't she resurrect her world?
When there's a shift in the air and the invisible barrier around her orchard is infiltrated by something sharp, she holds her breath and waits for him.
And when he appears, she can't see him through her blurry vision. The tip of her nose is already pink, even though she refuses to shed tears. She doesn't rise; Wanda's forgotten how to use her limbs.
"You missed breakfast," she says, her Slavic accent back into place. It feels right, like she's finally home.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
( THE ONLY THING I EVER WANTED. )
She knows she should've learned her lesson. Magic isn't a toy. It's not something she should use to fill in the holes in her own heart. It's something that needs to be used properly, accurately, and with proper intent that's stripped of its emotion.
But when she sees him step inside of the suburban home she's built, replenished with furniture they only ever dreamed of from her sitcoms and movies, and sat it beside a house that's filled with a kind family who love nothing but to let him be a bad influence on their young children… It's worth making the same mistake and correcting it to be something fruitful, in her control, and here.
He's always been worth it.
This time, when Wanda creates a hex, it's not out of an emotional outburst. She'd been particular, specific in the way she'd built it. It isn't broken. It's as flawless as she can make it, a safe haven for the two of them to exist as they were always meant to be. She can't and won't hurt anyone this time. She has the person she wants—and she knows, in time, her family will come back to her. He's stayed beside her since she reached for him and felt him reach back; he hasn't disappeared as she had been so fearful he would.
Allowing Pietro to be fallible is a flaw in the universe's design that she's corrected. Tying him to her is the only way to fix what she hadn't been able to correct so long ago.
Wanda smiles. "Did you enjoy your run?"
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The first few days had been a testy thing, in the long run, of Pietro trying to find his footing in the new truths of his life and not always succeeding. But time, and freedom like he hadn't known in the very small fragment of days between 'escaped Hydra' and 'died from Ultron'. Adjustments were made in small steps, and he had finally adjusted to his new way of being.
The running, of course, helped. Running that he came in from and flopped down on the couch rather than taking a shower.
"Very much. I saw some deer. The baby was very cute and had spots on it."
Don't worry, he didn't pet the deer.
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"And you did not bring back the deer?"
Tsking, Wanda shakes her head. Despite wanting to feign disappointment, she doesn't wipe her smile from her face. Can't. Pietro is back and she permanently smiles now. She doesn't know how to frown, be sad, or even exist without the pinch to her cheeks.
Approaching the couch, she tapped the toe of his shoes. "For that, feet off the couch."
If he'd brought back the deer, he'd have a hell of a lot more waiting for him. Maybe a drink with an umbrella. A little snack. Instead, all he has is Wanda tapping his shoe and magically playing with his shoelace, turning that into a bit of a knot in itself.
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"It is not polite to tie someone's shoes more. How will I get them off?"
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must be the season of the witch.
Job done, he dusts off his cloak and decides to portal back to the grand foyer with a twirl of his hand.
Back home on the metaphorical ranch, a golden window appears like it's carved out of thin air. It hisses and spits glowing light before opening, and then Doctor Strange, former Sorcerer Supreme, Master of the Mystic Arts, steps through.
Unfortunately, the Sanctum truly is flooded.
He takes one step out and, before he can catch himself, plummets downward. With a strangled yelp of surprise and flailing arms, he falls into the water. When he eventually manages to float himself back out, he's sodden and drenched: black hair plastered to his skull, red Cloak of Levitation hanging heavy from his shoulders and miserable, the cloak somehow managing to look like it's sulking.
He peers around. It's like when the blizzard blew through and the place was filled with snow, but now it's just water, an impossible ocean lapping at the grand curved staircase. The guest chairs are bobbing gently next to a floating credenza.
"Well, this is worse than I thought," he says.
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She stands on the first floor and wrings her hands, appearing very, very sheepish. While she knows what she's done is the very opposite to the task Wong had set, she does feel a little proud of herself. How many witches can summon water with a mere flick of her wrist? How many of them could summon water from the Pacific and have it feel as real as the ocean beneath a blazing sun?
The water below has a very dull red glow. The water level doesn't decrease any further. Wanda's a little afraid that if she tries to make it all vanish, it'll flood the streets of New York.
Wong had made reallocating what he conjured up look easy.
"I warmed the water," she says proudly and grins widely. Wanda Maximoff still looks very, very sheepish. (It beats feeling despondent.) Strange looks like a drowned rat and his cape—his poor cape—doesn't seem to be fairing any better. "There's even sand on the floor... for the crabs."
Watch your feet, Strange.
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For a fleeting moment, he considers just tossing up his hands and giving up and leaving it be. Maybe this is just how the Sanctum looks now. They can use the side alleyway entrance to get in and out. They can tell visitors to come around the back. Maybe they can set up parasols and beach chairs and serve tropical cocktails on the landing. Wong won't mind, would he?
The cloak tugs at his shoulders and starts curling itself up, twisting and wringing out the water, and Stephen sighs. He floats over to the staircase and lands nimbly next to Wanda, and then absentmindedly kicks his feet a little, shaking off the water like a dog.
"I did appreciate it not feeling like taking a plunge into the North Sea. So you brought it all here, but haven't been able to send it back?"
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While Wanda theoretically knows she can send all of this back to where it came from, a part of her is afraid. And it's a big, huge part of her—Hex-size, really—that is a little terrified at the idea of sending it all back and accidentally doing it wrong. What if she turns the ocean inside out? What if the Sanctum collapses because of her efforts to send the ocean and its sandy bed back?
She can hear Agatha's voice rattle inside of her head. Her Hex had been as broken as she was. She worries about breaking the vast ocean that's remained dormant and somewhat left in peace for years.
"I thought I would see if I could make pieces of it disappear... like a puzzle."
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yrs to wrap? ♥
end!! ♥
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[ his cheek kiss means everything to her.
as much as she wishes to smile (and join in the teasing of her boy being a royal consort, a prince in his own right no matter what he says), wanda figures she'll one-up all of his friends. ]
Does that mean I get to be the Mother of His Royal Highness the Royal Consort? [ she gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. ] I can't wait to tell all the other moms this is how I want to be addressed!
[ what other moms? we don't talk about that. ]
IM SLOW...
Aren't you kind of already a princess? I mean, look at Grandfather.. [ let's be honest, here, he and xavier are basically the kings of krakoa, no matter how they try to say otherwise. ]
the best maximoffs are the slow ones!!
Do you think I should get a tiara?
[ she tilts her head up as if she's posing for a portrait. ]
Or do you think that would be too intimidating for all of your friends? I want to be a cool mom.
it's true, it's true
You kidding? You're already the coolest mom. [ well, his bio mom is pretty darn cool, too, but she's also definitely not as well-known as wanda is. ]
just don't tell tommy, he'll have serious fomo
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[ it falls into line with what wanda wants. she wishes for her family to find their way back to her... or for her to find her way back to them. perhaps he understands it better than most humans do.
she smiles softly. ]
Hopeful.
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Maybe one day they'll both get what they want.]
Light.
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You.
[ one may think she's sucking up, but she's just telling the truth. finding people and beings who are light is difficult these days. ]
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He presses a hand to his chest, tapping one metal finger against the plating.]
Sun.
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( I'D GIVE YOU MY WORLD. )
When Natasha had asked her where she wanted to be dropped off for her secret little rendezvous with you-know-who, Wanda had difficulty containing her excitement. Vision had suggested Italy at their last meeting, and Wanda had happily agreed to it. It was one of the few countries she had told Vision she wished to visit someday. Even when it felt like a pipe dream after being trapped inside of the four walls of the Avengers Compound, she still dreamed, and Vision only enabled those dreams into a reality.
Natasha could spare her a handful of days before she needed to pick her up and take her to the opposite side of the world. But Wanda knew the handful of days that awaited her were going to feel like weeks and months.
After reassuring Natasha that she and Vision agreed to meet each other in the city rather than where the Quintet would drop her off, she walks along the side of the road, keeping her mind peeled for a little inkling of him. She tries to keep her mind clear and the tension away from her shoulders, but Wanda can never help but take Natasha's lessons keeping her eyes peeled and her senses alert to heart, especially when she was sneaking within the shadows and the bright light of day.
When she reaches the end of the street, she turns the corner and stops. She can't help but smile. Wanda could recognise him in the dark. Standing tall with his back to her, she eyes him curiously to confirm that the lines of his shoulder are, in fact, Vision's before she lets herself feel the excitement that she always feels when she sees him now.
On the softest of feet, she quickly approaches him before tapping him on the shoulder.
"Vis," she says quietly as though the city itself will alert Stark and S.H.I.E.L.D. of their whereabouts. Wanda wishes she could stop smiling, but she peers up at him eagerly, dressed much like the people bustling around them.
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He'd been playing with ability of direct projection somewhat as of late. Previously to being out in the world there hadn't been much need for it. Who was he trying to hide when he was at the compound? Not a single person didn't know more about his own life than he did. And there hadn't been much desire to leave prior to Wanda being there. But now? Things were different. They were so very different. And now out in the open, in another country, the last thing he was very interested in was sticking out like a big, red, sore thumb.
It was already likely odd enough that this tall man was hovering on the edges of a small gathering park in the heart of this small little town, nestled just outside the major city, just watching the way people interacted with one another. Their gentle movements and mundane conversations with a language he understood so vividly as though they were speaking English despite never actually hearing the tones and verbalization of the individual voices that carried these simple conversations to one another.
He was so wrapped in it that the tapping of his shoulder is missed, but thankfully the voice is not and he spins to met its speaker. The corners of his lips curling to make way for a broad smile the second his gaze met hers. There were a lot of things, emotionally, that still needed figuring out. He understood them in their basics, there was no way he couldn't, but he had never felt them. True joy had been one of the first, and that gift had been giving to him by Wanda.
Perhaps some day he'd tell her. Perhaps, she already knew.
"Wanda." His voice is soft, subconsciously matching her own. "I am delighted to see you..."
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She wrings her hands together nervously, and once she realises what she's doing, she tears them apart. It's easy being around Vision. She laughs and smiles more and frowns even less. She's stopped being quiet and wishing to disappear and take up less space. With him around, she wishes to be loud.
Not literally, of course. While she may have dyed her hair a lighter shade, Wanda knows that any attention can be bad attention. Perhaps Natasha's paranoia is starting to rub off on her.
But there's a new element to being with Vision. She notices more. The way he's started to smile and joke more. He seems less out of place and more comfortable than he'd been in the Compound. Perhaps the others had noticed this, but Wanda likes to think that she's the only one who knows that Vision can crinkle his brow in a cute, human way and that his face lights up when he smiles.
Wanda furrows her brows in concern. "Were you waiting long?"
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( I WANT TO BE NEXT TO YOU. 🧁 )
For the last couple of years, he's always been quicker and beaten her to the gift-giving and first-to-say-it punch. She supposes it has something to do with him being so unnaturally impatient and quick. HYDRA separating them during this time hadn't helped, either; Wanda's become insufferably clingy and Pietro has, too, in his own way.
She tiptoes around the kitchen and gently opens and closes cupboard doors. She's bought Pietro a little cupcake from the bakery that remains standing. Maria had been more than happy to bake a special cupcake for Pietro free of charge for his birthday. Sometimes Pietro's outrageous flirting and unnecessary charisma pay off.
She slots a candle in its very centre and smiles at her handiwork. She doesn't light it yet. It's not much, but she suspects that Pietro would be happy even if she gifted him a rock from outside for his birthday. But he deserves more than a rock. She would've gotten him a whole three-tiered expensive cake like she's seen in her television shows if she could've decided on the flavours and had the money.
Wanda tiptoes back to the bed and slowly climbs on top of him. Brushing her fingers in his hair and along the shell of his ear, she whispers, ] Pietro, wake up.
[ When they had still been teenagers, Wanda had enjoyed jumping on Pietro and screaming 'Happy Birthday!' on the birthdays when she managed to get up first. She likes that she's matured to a more Wanda-like approach—it's soft and slow, the two things she knows Pietro finds the most frustrating. ]
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Don't do that.
[Gravelly and low, but a weak protest, because now he's awake and won't be able to sleep again. With an exaggerated sigh, Pietro shifts around in irritated little movements until he's propping himself up on one elbow, looking up at her with a put-upon glare that has more softness than edge.]
Happy Birthday.
[He is absolutely taking the opportunity to say it first, even if it sounds too quick and perfunctory while he wipes a line of drool from his beard with his thumb. He frowns and reaches with that same hand to finger a lock of her hair.]
Is that a grey hair? You're getting old, Wanda.
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Perhaps she doesn't want that on her birthday. She does want it on his, though. Decisions, decisions.
She smacks at his hand lightly and scrunches her nose in annoyance at him. She was supposed to say it first! And she doesn't have grey hairs! Or that many, at least! ]
You have many grey hairs. [ She can mistake silver for grey, can't she? She ruffles her fingers through his hair roughly. ] So many.
[ But she drops her hand to press against the bed and makes no move to get off of him. Not yet, at least. There's one thing she wishes to do before he thinks about either stealing it from her or running away.
Wanda kisses his cheek. ]
And if I am old, you are older. I have a surprise for you.
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i'm here-ish. (give ya gal a wishlist, as i realize i cannot decide upon a starting point.)
wishlist item #1 out of 999903890284023: we're fixing pre-mom
She calls for him.
Her boys call for her, but she calls for him. She can't do this alone anymore. Tucked away in a secluded part of what's left of Sokovia, Wanda's orchard thrives and her sheep bleat, but the world around her feels so stagnant. There's no movement. There's nothing to cause the hairs on her arms to rise. It's like time doesn't move here, even when she lets the day shift into the night and the night shift into the day.
She sits on the porch of her house—a two-storey, like they always thought they'd move into when the war was over (although, that was her and her dreams of living the life her sitcoms promised)—and waits for something in the air to shift.
This time, she won't get it wrong. She'll be conscious of what she does here. The world she's created is perfect—the temperature's warm but not too warm, and the nights are cool but not too cool. No one disturbs her here. It's quiet without the onslaught of bombs. There's no one here to slip her nightmares into.
She plays absently with her blackened fingers while watching her sheep trot in the distance. The twigs of her apples barely move in the wind. She hopes that after all this time, he'll heed her. He has to; Pietro has always come when she's called, even when her voice hasn't slipped past her lips.
Necromancy is the darkest of magic, but Wanda's been in the dark for the last ten years. She thinks it's about time the light shone on them again. She thinks it's about time that she took back what was hers. If Stark can snap the world back five years later to keep his legacy intact, why can't she resurrect her world?
When there's a shift in the air and the invisible barrier around her orchard is infiltrated by something sharp, she holds her breath and waits for him.
And when he appears, she can't see him through her blurry vision. The tip of her nose is already pink, even though she refuses to shed tears. She doesn't rise; Wanda's forgotten how to use her limbs.
"You missed breakfast," she says, her Slavic accent back into place. It feels right, like she's finally home.
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So you confirm you are becoming Rusty Man a year earlier than intended?
Interesting.
[ If only she were a scientist, she'd do something scientific with this. ]
Did you want to hear another one?
Or are you precious about losing another life?