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She feels an odd presence near her. Powerful. Magical. Masculine. He’s still far away but it isn’t hard to recognize him amongst the rancor and the din that the world has become for her. The beautiful apple trees in her orchard are nothing but a façade, but it’s a really nice and calming façade. She can live with the lie.
That odd presence nags again at the peripherals of her magic. It’s him, she thinks. Our wizard savior. Coming to harass me about Westview, finally.
Her heart starts to beat faster as he approaches, for she can both imagine and feel the eldritch magic emanating from him in waves. It’s foreign to her. It smells different. It feels orderly and methodical. There’s no room for error with his magic, unlike hers. How it must feel to live a life with such discipline, she muses.
His order to my chaos. The man as the rational being and the woman who is prone to hysteria.
Is that how the world sees us?
But before she can answer her own question, he says, “Apples, right?”
“Eventually,” she says as she turns around and hands Stephen Strange a small branch with pink blossoms.
“It’s really impressive, what you’ve done here.” He smiles at her as if she’s done nothing wrong. As if she’s just a woman and he’s just a man and they’re making small talk in a beautiful orchard with apple trees and cute little sheep. As if she isn’t on some kind of watchlist as a big, bad witch capable of manipulating thousands of innocents. She’s probably on the Sorcerer Supreme’s list of Top Ten Most Wanted Wizards and Witches, but she doesn’t care anymore.
Nothing really matters.
Not anymore.
Lock me up and ship me off to Azkaban, she thinks with a small smile on her lips.
“If you’re here to talk about Westview—” she begins, but he cuts her off quickly.
“That’s not what I’m here for,” he says as he breaks off a tiny piece of the branch, a twig with two petite blossoms. He holds it between his thumb and forefinger, examines it, then holds it out to her. “I’m here to make you a proposal.”
“Oh?”
Now she’s intrigued, her eyebrow quirking up in question. She sees a twinkle in his blue eyes as he smiles down at her, his hand still outstretched with his little gift. She hesitates. Is this a trap?
“May I?” he asks quietly. “This will look beautiful in your hair.”
She only tilts her head to one side in question. Is he flirting with me? She has never seen him dress so casually. No robes and cloak. No Eye of Agamotto or whatever that magical trinket was called. “Business or pleasure?” she wants to ask him, just to be cheeky.
But instead, she eyes him up and down and looks him in the eyes and smiles.
I can lose myself in those blue eyes.
He takes it as consent. He walks a step closer. Her heart beats faster, faster. When he reaches over to tuck the tiny twig in her hair, behind her ear, she breathes in through her nose and breathes out through her mouth in an attempt to calm herself. The tips of his fingers touching her hair makes her shiver. It’s been too long since she’s been touched. That’s why I’m reacting like this, she lies to herself. She wants more, more, more. So much more.
She wants him to stay like this for a few more seconds. Run his fingers through her hair. Cup her face gently. Wipe his thumb across her cheek, her lips, everywhere. Tell her that everything will be okay. She’ll be okay. The grief won’t last forever and ever and she’ll live and feel alive once more. Someday.
He’s not Viz, but he’s gentle enough. He’ll do for now.
And he’s the only man who dares to touch the Scarlet Witch. He’s either brave or foolish.
They’re so close that she can see the individual streaks of white in his goatee, strands that he might’ve missed when dyeing it. She wants to tell him that he doesn’t need to dye his facial hair, or his hair, or anything else. The touches of gray and white gives him a dignified appearance. She likes it.
But he steps back. The tension breaks. She breathes out slowly, raggedly, for a second or two as she regains her composure. She can do this. She can’t lose herself because a powerful, handsome man put a twig with flowers behind her ear. Ridiculous.
He continues speaking as if nothing has happened between them. “Come to the Sanctum with me. If you ever need a place to go to. We can… I can…” His speech stumbles as he looks down at her.
“What can you provide me with that no one else can?” she asks in a soft voice. “There’s nothing left for me in this world.”
“Friendship? Camaraderie? Collaboration? Anything you want. I’ll admit, it’s hard for me to say this, but I should’ve cared for you. As a colleague and a friend. You shouldn’t have had to face your grief by yourself. I know how it feels—”
“You know nothing,” she cuts him off swiftly. “You know nothing of a mother’s love for her children,” she states harshly as she turns her back towards him, ready to walk away from this conversation. It’ll be easy enough to pretend that she felt nothing earlier. It was loneliness that blinded her.
He continues, “I’ve lost people too! We’ve all lost people, Wanda. And we’ve all done stupid, regrettable things because of it. I understand how you feel.”
“Please leave, Stephen,” she says firmly, her back still turned toward him.
“At least come to the Sanctum. I’ll make tea and we can talk magic. Or not. Whatever you want. I know you’re curious about eldritch magic. I can teach you the basics.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You can always drop by. My door will always be open for you.”
She doesn’t watch as he conjures a portal. She hears the crackling noise as the portal opens, feels the eldritch magic in the air. It’s so different from hers. He was right about her being curious about it and how it’s both different and similar to chaos magic. But is she curious enough to take him up on his offer?
Just when she thinks that he’s already stepped through his portal, she hears him say, “I’m really sorry, Wanda. I really am. I should’ve been there for you. No one was there for you when you needed someone.”
There’s a pause. She wants to turn around and tell him that it wasn’t his fault and that he doesn’t need to apologize. But she’s too stubborn and too irritated to say any of this.
Before the portal closes, she hears him say in a whisper, “That’s one of my biggest regrets as Sorcerer Supreme. Not being there for you.”
There’s an uncomfortable lump in her throat and it’s impossible to swallow away. She wants to say something—anything, even a snarky retort will do—but when her mouth opens, nothing comes out because that lump in her throat is getting bigger and bigger. Her vision’s getting really blurry because tears are starting to form and she doesn’t know where any of this is coming from. The emotions she’s held inside of her for so long are spilling out uncontrollably and she can’t stop it. She wishes that chaos magic can fix grief and depression but there’s only so much that she can do.
When she turns around, the portal has disappeared and he’s gone.