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Wanda’s fingers graze against her mug- a late night coffee to help her power through the evening. Tonight, it’s just her and the stars and the vague shadowy forms of packing boxes and suitcases staring back, a reminder to herself that she really handed in that resignation note to Stephen, kissed Jericho goodbye, and moved back to her flat in Yorkville, for nostalgia’s sake. She’s happy. It wasn’t Jericho’s fault, really. Not hers either- that he found love with another school teacher of the non-avenging kind five blocks away. Amanda. Long legged, kind hearted, and when Wanda first watched her hold Jericho’s hand she felt absolutely nothing .
She feels bad about not crying. She gets dumped, he shakes her hand, he moves in with Amanda whilst Wanda fidgets with her sleeves and she flashes him a smile. A thank you, for these amicable years, a small statement saying she’s grateful she warmed his bed. She’s wept harder but she reasons it’s the years of trauma exacting a toll on her emotions.
An engagement would’ve been difficult anyway. Not when she clings on to her old marriage certificate like a lifeline, not when Jericho asks her about it exasperatedly. He dares her to define them and Wanda stutters as she realises that romantic relationships usually come with a string of expectations and boundaries and she breaks down in his arms, sorry falling out of her mouth uncontrollably. She chooses the marriage certificate in the end and he smiles, patient and understanding. He leaves a week later.
She finishes the email she’d been working on- a polite list of damages for the next tenant, and a final goodbye to her landlady. She sighs against the sheets, cold and fresh, and her mind strays to the reason why her hands tremble when she realises that she’s been lying to herself. She’s happy. She loves being the Scarlet Witch. She loves teaching and avenging and cycling through the invitation roster of the same five old friends and relatives to brunch. She bites her lip. She’s still in love with him: Vision. She’s tired of denying and reducing the avalanche of emotions she feels when his body even slightly drifts towards her. He’s the father of her children- it only made logical sense- she loves him, her friendship ever constant for him should he seek it. To her distress, it does not explain why jealousy claws at her throat when he mentions Virginia. It does not explain why she wants to kiss him so deeply every time she watches him on the battlefield, all sharp geometric lines and stern face and high cheekbones.
She’s come to terms with it. The android carries a piece of her heart wherever he goes, and she allows it.
She’s meeting him tomorrow. Her phone rings. Wanda leaps towards it, nightgown flailing, teeth nibbling on her lower lip as she hears the faint crackle of Vision’s voice.
“Wanda?”
“Vizh,” she breathes before her face flushes. She’s not desperate. Usually. Victor Shade is a pioneer in this regard.
“This couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” he queries, and Wanda swears she could almost hear the teasing edge in his voice. She invites him to brunch more often than most, save for Pietro, maybe- but that’s because her twin brother is a repository of opinions and a vacuum for eggs.
Wanda twirls her hair. “It could.”
Vision hums. “Give me a moment. Viv’s invited the other Champions over- I just need to make sure-”
“Vision,” Wanda states, her voice coming off sterner than she hoped, “I love you.”
Vision pauses for a few moments and Wanda draws in a deep breath, chest feeling heavy as the reality of what she’s just said sets in, angry and uncontrolled. She hears Vision smile against the telephone.
“And I love you too, Wanda Maximoff. Get some rest. I’ll love you tomorrow also.”