Work Text:
“The defining characteristic of a hipster - the thing everyone agreed on, and most hated about them - wasn’t so much their taste, but their contempt and condescension toward those less cool than themselves.” - Mara Wilson
Wanda gets the 7:30 train every morning without fail. Well, except if she sleeps through her alarm or wakes up at Natasha’s after too much wine.
Vision really does get the 7:30 train every morning, which is easy because he hasn’t been able to sleep properly since his wife left him.
He’s lost count of the number of times that he’s stood beside her on the crowded platform, watching out of the corner of his eye as she nods her head in time with whatever she’s listening to through her headphones, tried to see what she’s reading to determine whether or not he should pop to Waterstones on his lunch break (she beaks the spine on books and bends the covers all the way back; a cardinal sin, but he’s willing to let it slide), or even held the doors open for her as she runs down the platform.
One particular morning, the train had been delayed and it was absolutely pouring with rain. At 7:29 precisely she came running down the platform, battling with an inside out umbrella and already soaked to the skin. He caught her eye and lifted his own umbrella up slightly, gesturing for her to join him underneath it.
“Thank you so much,” she said breathlessly. “You’re an absolute lifesaver.”
It’s the first time he’d ever heard her speak.
“You’re welcome,” he replied.
And then nothing. Nothing at all for several painfully awkward minutes.
“Awful weather, isn’t it?”
-xxx-
“You asked her about the weather?!”
“What else was I supposed to say?” Vision asks, squeezing out a teabag and throwing it into the bin with a practised aim. “At least it was something.”
Darcy rolls her eyes. “The umbrella thing was an absolute ten-of-ten,” she says. “Real romantic Richard Curtis shit. But the weather? I know you Brits are absolutely obsessed with it but, come on dude, you’re better than that.”
Darcy Lewis has been invested in the unrequited love story of Vision and The Girl on the Train for six months now and she’s absolutely obsessed with it. The pair have worked together for several years after she had joined the department as a research assistant whilst completing her PhD part-time. From the breakdown of his marriage to the complicated divorce and its bloody aftermath, she had witnessed it all and they had come to consider each other as friends.
And what are friends for if not to give you a not so gentle nudge back into the dating pool?
Even if said pool is shark-infested and way out of your depth.
They’d started slowly at first: Darcy set him up with the friend of a friend and they’d had something of a casual fling (that was fine for a while, but neither were ready to commit), online dating (he didn’t like that) and then a series of apps she’d put on his phone one lunchtime (he’d hated that and deleted them without her knowing after less than forty-eight hours), but it was all for nothing.
Not that he was putting much effort in in the first place, but still.
And then she happened.
The Girl on the Train.
As a man of science, Vision did not believe in love at first sight, but there was just something about her that absolutely enchanted him. He didn’t even know her name, how old she was, what she did for a living or all of the other things that made a person interesting to him. The problem was that, whilst he could effortlessly command a lecture hall full of eager students, social situations were an altogether different affair and he had a tendency to avoid them as best he could.
Darcy says nothing and simply hums with disapproval, flicking through the soggy copy of The Metro she’d stolen from his desk.
And then it hits her.
“You said she always picks up a copy of this, right?” she asks, gesturing to the newspaper.
He nods, taking a sip of tea as he sits back down in his chair. “Most days, yes.”
“Then I have an idea.”
His eyes go wide when she holds up a particular page to him. “No! No way… absolutely not.”
Darcy sighs. “What’s the worst that could happen? She doesn’t see it or doesn’t think it’s about her. If you don’t send the email, then I will.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
-xxx-
She would and she does.
Two days later, there’s a particularly interesting posting in the Rush Hour Crush column:
To the girl who’s always late,
I’m the guy who holds the door.
Drink some time?
“DARCY!”
She’s conveniently late for a meeting.
-xxx-
Two days after that comes a reply.
To the guy who holds the door,
I’d love to.
The girl who won’t be late.
Darcy practically screams the office down with excitement.
-xxx-
On Friday evening, he waits nervously at the agreed time and place, wondering if it’s too late to back out.
“For once in your life, just try to relax,” Darcy had told him when she’d taken it upon herself to give him a pep-talk. “You’ll be fine. You’re a good looking guy, you’ve got a great job, and you own property inside the M25 which is just a pipe dream for us mere mortals… you’re an absolute catch!”
He doesn’t even bother trying to argue with her, but she senses his uncertainty and sighs.
“Wear that grey tweed blazer with the dark jeans and boots you wore to Dave’s leaving drinks last month, that looked nice. I’ve also put a condom in your wallet because it’s 2021 and we have sex on the first date if we’re feeling it; no shame, no judgment. Oh and, V?
“Mmm?”
“Do not, under any circumstances whatsoever, talk about the weather!”
His heart races as she rounds the corner, looking stunning in a smart suit and trench coat that billows behind her as she walks, giving her the look of an all powerful superhero. They’ve exchanged a few emails since she responded to his (well, Darcy’s) message in the newspaper; he knows now that her name is Wanda, she’s thirty-two and a museum curator specialising in central and eastern European folk art.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
Well this is awkward.
And when things get awkward, he finds himself reverting back to his factory settings.
“Lovely day, isn’t it?”
-xxx-
He’d been assured that this would be the perfect spot for a first date; lively enough that the intimacy didn’t feel awkward and new enough that she’d probably never been there before.
“It looks great,” Darcy said after she’d suggested it. “Everyone’s talking about it and I’m dying to go so you have to promise to tell me what it’s like.”
It is, in a word, awful.
The bar is in an old converted butcher’s shop and, in many ways, this is glaringly obvious though not in ways that are entirely pleasant or aesthetically pleasing. The white tiled walls and hard furniture make the space feel cold and empty despite being packed with people, all of whom strut around in dungarees and Doc Martens whilst instagramming pictures of the pizzas and cocktails served in everything from a lightbulb to a plant pot (but seemingly never a glass).
They order drinks from a barman sporting the kind of facial hair that looks like it requires a Masters degree in structural engineering to maintain, and who looks at Wanda with a condescending sneer when she simply asks for gin.
“So, astrology lecturer, that’s pretty cool,” she says as they find a seat at a table in a corner.
He hates to be that person, but…
“Astronomy,” he corrects, hoping that he hasn’t offended her. “Well, astrophysics but, I assure you, it’s not as cool as it sounds. Most people find it quite the opposite… lots of maths, you see.”
Wanda laughs and tucks her hair back behind her ear. “Sorry,” she apologises. “English isn’t my first language. I still get a few things mixed up every now and then.”
“Yep,” Vision thinks to himself. “That was definitely offensive. Strike two.”
Vision looks at her curiously. “Where are you from originally?”
“Sokovia, but I came here for university and never left,” she tells him. “I’m actually looking forward to going back though. I finally got the sign-off on a huge acquisitions trip I’ve been planning, hence this get up. I’m not normally this formal on dates, but go hard or go home for big meetings, right?”
“Quite,” he agrees. “And congratulations.”
Her smile is radiant. Infectious even.
“Thanks,” she replies. “So… how long have you been single?”
“Two years,” he tells her, toying with his glass. “After a ten-year relationship. My wife… ex-wife… and I… well, too much time spent on separate continents and not enough with each other.”
Wanda frowns at him almost pitifully and he feels himself edging ever closer to being struck out of the game completely.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he reassures her. “What about you?”
“Six months, give or take,” she replies. “Dumped my arsehole, freeloading boyfriend to move here and pursue my dream job.”
Vision laughs. “Good for you.”
“You think so?” she asks. “Most people would say I’m a heartless bitch. I mean, I felt terrible about it, but it was too good an opportunity to turn down.”
“I think it’s normal for doing the right thing to hurt.”
“Very profound for a man of science, but I agree.”
Okay, so he’s managed to claw it back. Good… this is good.
Wanda chews on her bottom lip and turns her attention elsewhere, frowning as a large and obnoxious group of students laugh loudly at the table next to them. Her body language suggests that she’s tense or uncomfortable and he can’t help but think that she’s ready to bail.
So when she reaches for her bag and gets to her feet, he’s hardly surprised.
“I’m just popping to the loo,” she says quietly. “Back in a minute.”
Alone with his thoughts, Vision pulls his phone from his inside pocket and sends a quick text to Darcy.
It’s a shit hipster Wetherspoons. I hate it. She hates it, and this whole thing has been a disaster.
She leaves him on read.
Mercifully, Wanda does actually come back wearing a fresh coat of lipstick and a slightly sour look on her face as she sits back down opposite him.
“You know… this isn’t the kind of place I imagined you’d like.”
Oh hell. She’s onto him.
“If I’m being completely honest,” he says, deciding to come clean. “It isn’t. It was recommended by a friend and I… went along with it. I much prefer somewhere quieter, somewhere…”
“Less pretentious?” she laughs. “I can’t be doing with places that take themselves too seriously; same goes for people. You should have seen the look some snobby girl gave me in the toilets just now. Shall we just… leave?”
Vision sighs with relief.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
-xxx-
They find a cafe that’s open late and get two lattes to go; nothing fancy, just coffee and milk which suits them both perfectly, and walk the long way back to the station. Conversation flows easier this time, with both of them feeling much more relaxed and able to be themselves. He learns that she has a brother, a twin named Pietro who represented Sokovia in two consecutive Olympics (“He was the most famous person in Novi Grad for a while,” she tells him. “They called him Quicksilver because he bleached his hair before the Games, and every kid in the country sported the same look for the entire summer. But then his achilles gave out so he became a PE teacher. You’d like him, you have the same sense of humour.”) and that she has an exhibition opening next week that she’s feeling apprehensive about (“It’s the most ambitious thing I’ve ever put together,” she says. “Ticket sales have been great, but you never know if these things are ever going to live up to expectations.”)
She talks a lot. He likes it.
On the station concourse, he’s acutely aware of her staring at him as he checks the departure board. He turns to look at her, noticing for the first time that her eyes are green, not hazel as he’d originally thought and that they keep flickering from his own and down to his lips.
Maybe this has gone better than he thought.
“Train leaves in ten minutes,” he says, his throat dry and voice hoarse. “It’s probably warmer here than on the platform.”
She steps closer, and a manicured hand comes to rest on the sleeve of his jacket.
So he takes a risk and leans in…
Only for her to jump back like she’s been burnt.
“You know, I umm… I just remembered that I’m actually staying at my friend Nat’s tonight. Big girls’ day tomorrow and all that,” Wanda says, tucking her hair back behind her ear again. “I’m sorry, I just got carried away and swept up in conversation. I’ll just grab a cab from the rank outside.”
Vision is momentarily stunned before finally nodding in understanding (even if he doesn’t; not in the slightest). “I… umm… okay… alright,” he stutters. “Just let me know that you’re back safe.”
“I will, sure,” Wanda replies with a somewhat forced smile. “This was nice.”
She’s gone before he even has the chance to get her number.
And there it is.
Strike three.
As Darcy would say, he’s absolutely fucked it.
-xxx-
He oversleeps on Monday morning (a rarity, but it has been known to happen on occasion) and arrives at the station twelve minutes late at precisely twenty-three minutes past seven.
And Wanda is already there.
“Never thought I’d see the day I got here before you,” she says with a nervous laugh. “I worried for a while that you were avoiding me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I don’t think I made the best first impression on Friday,” she replies, tucking her hair back behind her ear (her nervous tick, he’s decided). “I’m sorry if I came across as a bit aloof, and that I left so suddenly. I really thought I’d blown it. It’s just… I haven’t done the whole first date thing in a while and… why are you laughing?”
“Because I felt exactly the same way.”
Wanda sighs with relief. “Well that’s… good,” she says. “Because I really like you. I’ve been getting this train every day for six months now, and I’d say that I’ve fancied you for about five and three quarters of those months. I turn my music up loud and read my book to stop myself staring at you, because I didn’t trust myself to approach you without it sounding weird. Then, on Friday, I found out that you’re funny and charming and… so kind… everything a girl could ever want in a guy. But I panicked, because that’s just what I do when good things happen to me. It’s a long story and I won’t bore you with it now, but I just wanted to say… I’m sorry.”
“There’s really no need to apologise.”
“But there is!” she says, clinging on to the arm of his jacket. “So, I have a solution. A way to make it up to you. I did a little Googling yesterday and the museum isn’t too far away from your building, so how would you like to have lunch with me today?”
That surprises him.
“I have a seminar with some second-years until one,” Vision tells her. “If that suits.”
Wanda’s smile is positively radiant. “Perfect,” she says. “It’s a date.”
Her hand finds his then and the warmth of his palm is comforting and familiar as they wait for the train to arrive.
There’s a sigh from behind them as a fellow commuter observes the exchange.
“About bloody time.”