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The yacht overnight was to benefit Crohn’s disease research, not that any of the donors actually cared. Crohn’s, cancer or cerebral palsy research, clean water, care for elderly, catastrophe relief— all the same to them. They didn’t fork over the checks with enough zeros to make jaws drop because they explored their personal values and matched them to the highest-ranked orgs on CharityNav. They did it for the glamor. They did it to rub elbows with the only group they considered higher than the business class elite and celebrities in Hollywood.
These 100 people donated enough money to buy a continent to get 24 hours with The Avengers all to themselves.
It was part of the job, Wanda knew, and the first 30 minutes were usually painless. All of the team shook hands with every person as they and up to one guest boarded the ship. Or, they gave the opportunity to shake their hand. Not everyone accepted it. Most didn’t with Wanda, opting instead for a smile and a wave. It wasn’t a bother. She imagined if Tony was in his armor, they would do the same for him. And besides, it saved her from sweaty palms and the deep desire to wash her hands for two whole hours.
When she did shake hands, it was always a woman that extended their arm. She had mentioned it to Hope once while working a charity ball in San Francisco.
Hope had pushed out a forceful breath and shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, Scott has the same problem.”
It had made her feel better. At least a little. There was a bell curve of popularity amongst the team due to a number of factors. Sometimes, it was because of which Avengers were there. Sometimes it was the demographic of the donors. Sometimes it was just the day picked. No one wanted to talk with her and Vision, Clint, or Tony at the Valentine’s Day benefit last year.
Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. They didn’t want to talk with any of them individually. They did want to talk to them when she and Vision were together, or Tony and Pepper, or Clint and whichever woman he was talking to that also had a ring and who knows? Maybe that was his wife?
Tony had shut down that benefit event after just an hour and a half. She would have liked to think it was because he had overheard the wildly inappropriate questions to Vision about ‘how he planned to celebrate his first Valentine’s Day as a husband, wink wink’. But it was more likely that people asked what extravagant plans he had for Pepper while she was standing right there, and the only answer was, “Is throwing a charity benefit not romantic enough?”
Tonight’s event, an evening on a yacht with the Avengers, plus an overnight stay on the boat and breakfast in the morning for select VIP, was a very talkative and Wanda positive group. People were engaging with her readily, not just because she was the last Avenger unoccupied. They wanted to know if there was a witches code she had to adhere to, or if she had a utility belt with potions for close combat. Several congratulated her on her wedding, though it had happened nearly a year ago. Only one person had gotten out of line with her. The lady was an old-money academic. The academic introduced themselves as a physicist and wanted to ‘run past her’ her theory on how Pietro could have redirected the bullets without injury to himself.
It was a testament to how much she had grown into herself that she was able to take in a deep breath and in a level tone thank the woman for her donation and walk away. The lady had still complained about her to another guest, shocked by how rude Wanda been. How dare she cut her off mid-sentence? Hadn’t there been enough mourning time to be rational about it all?
Though by and large, it was a great night, the academic’s comment had knocked the wind out of her sails. She felt the full weight of three hours of small talk hit her all at once. The remainder of her energy was used pushing through the sea of people to get to the last open barstool across the deck.
Wanda didn’t drink, but she made a point of ordering her soda from the bar and insisted it be in a tumbler glass with one ice cube and a twist of lime. She tossed it back, then requested another.
The drink itself didn’t calm her frustration but moving through the cliché ritual did. Characters on shows always felt better after downing their second round even though it wasn’t physically possible for the alcohol to have begun affecting them. Why shouldn’t it work the same for her and her cola?
About six months into their friendship, at the second charity event they attended together, Vision had taken note of her drinking behavior and connected it to his observations of sitcoms viewed by her side. So, at the very next charity event when she repeated her ritual again, he had decided to play along.
“Long day?” He rested his elbow on the lip of the bar counter next to Wanda.
She looked at him with bewilderment. “What?”
Vision tapped the counter twice, grabbing the bartender’s attention. “Can I get a double on the rocks, please? And another lady for the round, good chap.”
“Ignore him.” Wanda waved at the bartender. “He’s already had too much.”
The bartender’s eyes flickered between the pair, likely weighing out who to listen to, and must have ended up on Wanda’s request. He disappeared to the other side of the bar.
Vision dropped his character, a broad smile playing across his face. “I meant to switch the words around, by the way. I would never make such a mix around otherwise.”
She put her head down and studied her drink to conceal her growing grin. “Why are you here? You don’t drink.”
He cocked his head slightly and closed one eye as he ran through how to articulate his rationale. “I just thought you might enjoy some company.”
“I’m fine.” She spoke into her glass as she tipped it back on her lips, the cool fizz flooding her mouth. “Are you enjoying the evening?”
“Presently, sure.” He paused, then made his confession. “However, I had hoped for a more engaging discussion of the Heifer program and the benefits trade-off of a cow versus sheep or goat. But, well, at least donors have not asked me to phase through them like the group last time.”
Wanda swirled her glass, watching the ice cube spiral along the edges. “That was a creepy group. Very glad I wasn’t with you during that one.”
A long silence held over them as the band played on. Wanda finished her drink and was playing with the lime peel on the lip. Vision held his gaze somewhere just above the horizon.
In the safety of their little bar bubble, Wanda forgot all about the chaos of high society. For a moment, she was just any girl in any movie. Waiting for the tall, handsome man to ask her if she wants to get out of there. It wouldn’t have mattered where. She would have readily gone anywhere with him, flee into the night at his side, no further words needed.
“I should get back.” His voice was soft and held a hint of an apology. Or perhaps, she had thought in great retrospect after their relationship truly began, in regret of words unspoken.
She waved the bartender back and started on her third drink of the night as her comfort disappeared into the crowd.
This time, it was a more intimate affair. The boat was small, and the bar smaller. With 200 guests, eight Avengers, and twenty staff, there was no privacy. People reached over Wanda to grab napkins off the counter. A young woman commented that she never would have expected a girl like Wanda to choose a rum and coke.
“Is it at least a cherry coke?” She pressed further.
“Um. I don’t.” Wanda looked for the bartender to help, but they were gone. “I don’t know.” She hadn’t been paying attention. It didn’t feel worth the energy to research now.
The woman chuckled. “Should have known the strongest Avenger likes a strong drink.”
Wanda smiled out of reflex if nothing else. Her brain was on autopilot. The main party ended in thirty minutes, but no one had started heading out. It wasn’t unusual. People often were reluctant to leave their special evening, and even more reluctant to be the first to leave. Luckily once one exited, the rest usually followed swiftly. It was only a matter of time.
“Miss, have you happened to see my wife?”
Wanda smiled for real as she felt a sturdy hand rest on her lower back and saw a tuxedoed synthezoid staring down at her. “Awfully handsy for a man with a ring.”
Vision held up his left hand, waggling his fingers right next to her drink, the rest of the bar top covered with elbows and glasses. “This old thing?” He brought the hand up to her face, cupping her chin. “A beauty like you is worth the risk.”
As soon as he had touched her face, Wanda could feel the whole bar keeping one eye fixed on them. A public wedding hadn’t been enough, nor several paparazzi photos of them hugging each other tightly after particularly difficult and public operations. People still wanted proof that their relationship was real. It was like the curse of Sleeping Beauty, except when Vision’s lips would meet Wanda’s it would be the audience that wakes up.
It was weird.
They had learned the hard way that giving in to what the people wanted, namely a kiss, only served to ramp them up more. It was as if they were circus animals performing tricks, and the crowd always wanted an encore. And another. And another.
Tony had suggested they just release the compound’s security footage to the public, as it contained plenty of moments of affection between them.
“Even pre-marital make-outs.” The inventor said. “On the couch, chairs, floor. Kitchen counter, elevator, bench outside. There’s a particular one that quite frankly as one of your dads, Vision, it made my heart swell. Did Steve tell you to bring her flowers? Or did you find it on the internet?”
Wanda’s hand had glowed red in her pocket, and the evidence outlined was gone forever.
“We should go get ready for the VIP after-party.” Wanda dropped her persona, much to Vision's disappointment.
She slid off the booth seat and followed Vision below deck. The crowds parted as he glided forward, not needing to elbow and excuse his way to a path. It felt like how she imagined prom in America would have been if she had gotten the opportunity. Just her trailing behind a handsome accented man in a tuxedo, trying to get a room to get away in. And if events unfolded with moves unsuitable for the dance floor, that was okay. It’s prom night. Lots of girls had some extra fun away from prying eyes. It was a right of passage in America.
Vision hesitated at the door to their room, then shook it off and touched the key Tony gave him and pushed the door open.
The first thing they noticed was the pile of duffle bags. The second thing they noticed was the 8 bunks stacked two high and two deep.
“We’re all staying in the same room.” Wanda glanced through the other door in the room to find the world’s smallest bathroom. She made no effort to conceal her disappointment. “And sleeping in Navy racks?”
Vision picked up Wanda’s duffle from the pile and carried it over to a bunk.
Wanda groaned, pulling off her boots and tossing them onto the luggage pile. “I’m exhausted.” She collapsed into the closest and lowest bunk. “Come snuggle me before your wife turns up.”
He closed his eyes and his tux, glamoured on, gave way to a soft blue long sleeve t-shirt and sweatpants. The only time Vision wore real clothes was back at the compound lounging with Wanda. She originally had described how choosing clothes and wearing them until it was time to mend or throw them away was a quintessential part of the human experience. The care one could form for woven cotton, to the point where she had once cried when her favorite jeans finally gave out, was unique and important.
The real motivation, as he later discovered, was two-fold. One, she enjoyed watching him change clothes, rather than phase on a new outfit. Two, she wanted to steal his shirts, sweaters, jackets, and socks. When the second motivation was uncovered, he had asked if she would like to simply shop in the men’s department some and purchase her own wares. She responded by asking if he would like to go out and buy the same sheets as she had in her room, so he wouldn’t have to sleep in her bed while she was away on missions to experience the cloth.
It proved a tight fit for the two of them in the bunk, but there was just enough clearance to hold each other. Their legs tangled together, arms tight around each other, Wanda’s head tucked under Vision’s. It was a post-battle hug of the horizontal category.
“I calculate we have approximately 10 minutes before another one of the team exits the party.”
Wanda peppered kisses all over Vision’s face, and his thumbs worked tight soft circles on her back. “Could be worse.” She eyed the door looming beyond the duffle bags.
“Could be better,” Vision whispered, his thumb now circling her hipbone at the top and letting it wander until it was brushing the hem of her pants with each rotation.
Wanda pulled herself to lie flat atop her husband and cupped his face with both hands as she kissed him until her lips began to cramp.
Pulling back from the kiss, she bumped her head on the bunk above her. Vision winced in sympathy. She raised her head again, much more slowly, until the bunk gently pressed against her skull. Her hair spilled down in messy waves. “I don’t want to go back out there.”
Vision reached up to run his fingers through the errant strands of hair. “This batch is quite taken with you, you know?”
“I noticed. First time I’ve felt a strain on my voice at one of these.” She ran a finger along his face where vibranium met skin.
He mirrored her actions, moving to trace the contours of Wanda’s face. His fingers were always just a tad warmer than her own body temperature. As the digit glided on her skin, his eyes were singularly focused, never flicking away. She was a living painting in his gaze. They both lazily smiled at each other, completely contented by their subject before them and how natural it felt to touch each other. It was inevitable that Wanda’s hips would begin to grind atop her husband’s stirring butterflies in them both. Vision’s tracing mapped down his wife’s neck to the swell of her breasts.
“I’m quite taken with you as well, my love.” Vision broke the silence as he swept his finger down the dip of her cleavage, then back up the other breast. Wanda primally responded by grinding her hip in broader and intent-laden strokes.
She brought her head down to capture Vision’s lips once more, and he pinned her further to him with a hand pressing firmly on her ass.
The doorknob turned, swiftly followed by the door flinging open.
Vision relocated his hand to the small of Wanda’s back, and she slid off to the side of him. Now on her side, wedged between the wall and her husband, she felt her cheeks run hot.
“Oh hooo,” Sam clapped and rubbed his hands together. “Easiest money I ever did make.” He pulled out his phone and tapped away.
“Double or nothing.” Scott could be heard all the way down the hall. “Triple or nothing!”
Sam dropped his volume so that only the pair could hear. “Y’all gonna work with me here? 10% if you’re in.”
Wanda nodded at the same time Vision shook his head.
“You’re on Lang! Triple or nothing they don’t do anything that would make my grandma drop dead. Better transfer that money from your bank account to Venmo now.”
Scott crossed the threshold into the room, his bow tie already pulled askew and shirt untucked. “Ha! That was exactly what I wanted you to say.” He approached the low bunk.
Vision pulled the blanket up even higher to just below his chin as if it would offer him more dignity in proportion to how much of himself he covered. Only the top of Wanda’s head was visible anymore.
“Dude and Dudettes,” He addressed the pair, “I am very broke and so ‘you two’ are going to become an ‘us three’ starting now.”
Vision started to protest, but Scott cut him off. “Make room for Jesus, Vis. Or for me, I’ll lie in the middle of you two if that is what it takes. Jesus or me. Make a choice.”
The synthezoid cast a glance to the top of Wanda’s head. So much for sneaking away.