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“You’re such a baby.”
“Excuse you, hon, I lived through events you can’t even imagine—”
“—and you’re still a baby.” Wanda looks over just long enough to catch Agatha’s expression – a moment of feigned hurt that pulls at her heart (unfortunately) before Agatha sticks her tongue out at her.
That was what she waiting for.
With a swipe of one hand, Wanda crafts a small metal pole out of thin air just where Agatha’s tongue ends. Agatha tries to pull her tongue back in, but now, in the cold air, the pole sticks to her tongue and thwacks hard against her lips.
It’s a small thing – conjuring a metal pole – but it’s more complicated to craft it within the scope of their present world, to have it at the right properties related to the cold air around them to get it stuck to Agatha’s tongue in the first place instead of it being created in a more neutral state of being. It’s tricky to do what Wanda’s just done, and Agatha’s eyes light with approval. She clicks her tongue, making a sound much more like the snapping of her fingertips, and the pole vanishes. “Good girl,” she purrs.
Wanda preens, smug.
“You can flirt when you’re done with the decorations,” Sarah calls from her perch near the front of the crowd, hands cupped around her mouth. Her husband nudges her with one elbow, and she continues. “No one wants to see that!” When Agatha shoots her a look, Sarah gives her a lopsided grin.
It’s more progress than Wanda thought was possible when she chose to stay in Westview, not that she’d been quite thinking about that when she decided to stay, and it’s more care than she’d thought anyone who’d undergone her unintentional abuse of the little town might ever even consider giving her, let alone actually give. To be forgiven and seen—
It’s a small miracle.
Agatha would call it magic.
Nearly a year has passed since Wanda returned to Westview for Agatha, since Agatha tested her little witch until she was convinced she was safe, since magic revealed to her the threads it used in tying them both together, threads Wanda hadn’t noticed (or, if she did, didn’t acknowledge) and Agatha hadn’t so much as attempted to untangle. Lover of magic she may be and still is, but even she can’t undo what magic wants, when it’s adamant about it. (It isn’t subtle, remember, and it is far more powerful than either witch alone, than even their powers combined, because all of that rests on the gift of magic in the first place. It would laugh.)
In that year, Wanda allowed Agatha to put constraints on her powers – constraints she could, of course, easily undo without even the wave of her hand. But Agatha said they were necessary. Then, when Wanda raised an eyebrow at her words, admitted that, strictly speaking, they weren’t technically necessary but elaborated that the constraint on her power would force her to learn true witchcraft, just as other witches throughout the centuries had. And while Wanda certainly didn’t need runes or incantations or anything as trivial as that, understanding the theory behind everything, the way magic felt within the hands of even the smallest user, would make her own, much more unwieldy crafting that much stronger.
And, more than strength, it would make it reliable.
Give her greater control.
For a witch who had struggled to understand and control her magic since she’d first gained it, even before she’d known it was magic in the truest sense of the word, Wanda yearned for that sense of control. So she agreed to the constraints, trusting Agatha in a way she would never have trusted her before.
(Not never would have trusted anyone because she would have trusted Vision, if she truly believed he knew what he was doing. Would have trusted her brother, if he’d thought she was more of a danger than she was a help. Had trusted Vision, for a while, when he’d kept her in the complex, away from everything and everyone else. But his form of constraint hadn’t taught her anything, had been purely reactive.
Agatha’s constraints were there to teach.)
For the past year, Agatha trained Wanda, teaching her the theory of magic, the subtle ways magic liked better than her blatant dinosaur clomping around, how to best protect herself when casting so that magic doesn’t become a drain on her, so that she ties it into something else as a source. And as Wanda grew, Agatha modified the restraints, shifting them so that Wanda could expand, stretch her wings—
Not fly. Not yet. But maybe something close to it.
Of course, this wasn’t the only thing that happened in the past year.
Agatha took Wanda out. In part to show the town that she wasn’t as dangerous as she once was and in part because she wanted to take her out. For dates, for movies (which they only paid attention to half of the time), for walks around the town for her their mental health. It was gentle. Soft. Nice.
They’d spent time with the new citizens who’d moved into Westview when those who wanted nothing to do with the city where they were so traumatized left, and while some of them were apprehensive of Wanda, most were pleased to meet a former Avenger. (Former because Wanda refused to use the term; former because while her magic was restrained, she didn’t feel comfortable trying to take on more powerful foes. Fortunately for them, no one came to call. Not in that year.) A few of the townspeople who’d originally decided to stay left once they realized Wanda, too, was staying; not all of them, which led to some dirty looks in the marketplace, even now, even a year out, but they know who they are, they know to stay away.
And, of course, they’d spent time with the handful who knew, who lived through it all, and who still cared about Wanda. Eventually, even Sarah’s daughter, Emily, met Wanda. They were friends now, or at least as close as they could be, considering.
Wanda hadn’t picked up a job, since she’d been focused entirely on her own studies, but Agatha continued to teach her kids and, on occasion, brought Wanda in to tell them stories. At first, she’d been apprehensive and quiet and uneasy. The first day she’d come in, all she did was sit and listen, and she’d been set to do so the second day, until one of the kids came up and asked for her help. It’d taken the kids warming up to her to get her to talk at all.
That was the thing people found they loved about the witches most: not their power, but their stories.
Stories made them human, made others human: Agatha’s of the ancient past and people to whom history gave only a sanitized view and Wanda’s of the recent past and people to whom media gave only a superheroic view. They took people down from their pedestal and made them real.
Westview thrived on that.
Now, though, today, with Wanda’s restraints half gone, the two witches are putting on a sort of public display for the whole town to enjoy. Even though a select few of the townspeople groaned about it, and even though an even more select few refused to attend outright simply due to Wanda’s involvement, most of them are there, front and center, as the two craft holiday decorations.
They started with the tree – Wanda breaking apart the ground in the center of town so that Agatha could cause a tree to sprout from soil beneath. (Symbolism. They practiced this.) Then Agatha covered the tree with small candles ignited with smaller, flickering flames, leaving them for a few moments before Wanda captured the flames in little glass bulbs and left them strung around the tree as its new lights. As soon as she finishes, the streetlamps around the town flash and flicker before changing into the same fire encased in clear bulbs as the tinier lights on the tree, each with a bright ribbon tying itself out of the air in different colors – red, green, blue, white, yellow – one after another, spreading out from the town center where they wait.
It’s at this point that Wanda sticks Agatha with the metal pole, when Sarah shouts out at both of them, when Wanda glances down and sees Emily standing next to her, eyes lit with wonder.
And hears Agatha’s voice gentle in her mind, This is why we do this. She lets that rest for a few moments before continuing with the barest hint of spite, But if you pull that shit again, hon, I will end this thing so fast—
Wanda ignores her. More to the point, Wanda does not believe her because Agatha loves the children around them just as much as Wanda does. Wanda would never take this from them, and so she knows that Agatha never would either.
It helps that she can already feel the strain. She has to focus. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
Don’t focus on how the cold has turned Agatha’s nose an adorable red. Don’t focus on how the slight breeze pushes her curly, frizzy hair out behind her and exposes her very kissable neck. Don’t focus on the soft purple glow magic cradles her in, or the way it lights up her eyes just as surely as Wanda’s own must be lighting with scarlet, or the purple covering the tips of her fingers turning the same red as her nose from the cold.
Don’t focus on all of these things and call her a baby again because she’s her baby.
Save that for later.
Later.
Wanda tears her eyes away from Agatha, licks her lips, tugs the bottom one between her teeth, and pretends that she doesn’t feel Agatha’s control of magic tangling with her own or the threads of magic her fingers are dipped into rippling against those Agatha’s are or the briefest of moments when their fingers brush against each other as they manipulate the same thread. It’s an entirely different feel in magical space instead of in physical, and the thrill of it that shoots through her is different and indescribable and it is absolutely unfair how Agatha doesn’t react to it at all.
Stop. Looking. At. Agatha.
At least Sarah isn’t yelling about what she doesn’t notice.
Wanda takes a deep breath in. She focuses. Sets her menorah where she wants it, where it can – and will – be seen. Smiles when she hears one of the children in the crowd gasp and comment and turns just enough to see them pointing at it with excitement. Reaches out to entangle her mind with Agatha’s again, murmurs, This is why we do this, and lets her smug joy mix with Agatha’s.
Notes the bright and thriving neon blue coloring everything in Agatha’s mind and chuckles.
They don’t need to make any excuse to leave after their holiday extravaganza; Wanda is completely honest when she says that she is exhausted, although Agatha is less than honest when she says she needs to take care of her student. Sarah shoots them a look for that, one brow raising, but Agatha just meets her gaze and raises both brows twice with a snide smirk lifting one corner of her lips. Wanda pretends to ignore all of this, but she sees it. Holds it with the smallest of warmths in the center of her chest. And expects Agatha to wait only just long enough for Wanda to close the door before—
Well.
Wanda decides to take things into her own hands. She pretends that her exhaustion is significantly more than it is, so that Agatha opens the door with the smallest of magic and shuts it with the same, only for Wanda to press her against the door and smother her with a kiss. She feels Agatha sigh against her and takes that as encouragement to rest her hands on Agatha’s hips, on the small curves of her waist, and to pull her tighter to her. It’s when she moves her lips and begins to kiss along Agatha’s jaw that she hears it—
Not a sigh of approval or requited longing, but of frustration and gentle disapproval.
Wanda ignores this and keeps kissing her anyway, brushing her nose against that sensitive spot on the curve of Agatha’s chin. “Is something wrong?”
“Hon,” Agatha says with a third, more annoyed sigh, “you know I love when you do this, but—” She cuts off with a sharp gasp as Wanda bites, hard, on that sensitive spot. “Dear,” she lets out in a breathy hum, “you aren’t listening.”
“Mmm…no,” Wanda agrees and disagrees. “You’re talking too much.” She resumes her nibbling along Agatha’s neck.
Agatha snakes a hand through Wanda’s hair, wraps her fingers through far too many locks, and then grips tightly before tugging Wanda’s head up with a sharp shock of pain. “We’ve talked about this, love. Using so much magic all at once can give you a high, especially in tandem with a partner, especially with someone that you already—”
“Too much talking.” Wanda presses her lips to Agatha’s again, takes her lower lip between her teeth and tugs in the way that she knows Agatha likes.
Wanda. Agatha’s voice thrums loud in her mind in the same instant that she lets out an audible groan of pleasure. You’re still not—
If you really wanted me to stop, you’d tell me to stop. Wanda presses her against the door again, causing Agatha’s shirt to lift just enough for her to brush her fingers against her skin. She rubs her thumbs in circles just above Agatha’s hip bones, lets the tip of her right thumbnail just sink into Agatha’s skin, grins at another audible groan as it releases into her mouth. Clearly, you don’t want that.
It takes a moment for Agatha to get herself together enough to respond, and in that moment, she turns the tide, places her hand on Wanda’s throat, and pushes her back until she bumps against the nearest wall. Wanda wants to melt into her, and half does. But now Agatha has enough of an upper hand to pull her lips from Wanda’s and meet her eyes with a firm stare, broken only slightly in efficiency due to how wide her pupils have grown. “I’m suffering from the same after-effects you are, hon,” she says, breath ragged between words. “I—” She cuts herself off, eyes falling to Wanda’s lips, and then forces herself to take a deep breath, drawing her eyes back up to meet Wanda’s instead of letting them fall farther. “We need to rest before—”
“This is rest—”
“No, it’s physical exertion that leaves you even more exhausted than you already are.” Agatha’s gaze drops again, lower, and traces its way up Wanda’s body in a way that makes Wanda shiver, especially when Agatha tugs her own swollen, split lower lip between her teeth. Then she lets out another sigh. “It’s a nice form of exhaustion, sure, love, but.” She cups Wanda’s face and brushes her thumb along her cheek. “We’re already exhausted. You’re already exhausted. And magic will take advantage of that.” She leans across and gives Wanda a chaste kiss. “Not right now.”
Wanda pouts. “You’re just too old for this shit.”
Agatha chuckles. “You want to learn from your mistakes, that’s all well and good, but don’t drag me down with you, hon.” She wraps a lock of Wanda’s hair around her finger. “Been there, done that.”
“So what,” Wanda says, pouting, “would you have me do instead?”
“I believe, in the business you want, it would be called aftercare.”
Which is how, not fifteen minutes later, the two witches end up in bed together, draped in their matching wicked witch oversized shirts, with a television turned on right across from them. Wanda rests her head on Agatha’s shoulder, close enough to brush her nose against her partner’s neck. “I get to pick the show,” she murmurs. “If I don’t pick the show, I might—”
Agatha flattens Wanda’s hand where it has already started to move up her thigh. “Whatever show you want, super star.” She flicks through channels until Wanda places her other hand on hers. Her brows raise. “This one?”
“Mmmm.” Wanda nuzzles against her neck, curls closer, and rests her head on Agatha’s chest. “This one’s good.” She settles against her partner with a hum of contentment. It’s an episode she’s seen a million and one times before, which means technically she doesn’t have to pay any attention at all, if she doesn’t want that. She leans up and kisses Agatha’s jaw.
“Be good, hon.” Agatha strokes one finger along Wanda’s spine. Up and down, up and down, like a spell she casts solely to soothe.
“I’m being good.”
“Of course, you are.”
Wanda leans up and meets Agatha’s eyes. “I’m always being good.”
Agatha raises an eyebrow again. “Is that so?” She leans forward as though to give Wanda a kiss but instead reaches up and presses that kiss to her forehead instead. “Maybe,” she whispers, running a finger along Wanda’s jaw, “if you are good enough, I’ll see fit to give you a reward.”
“A reward?” Wanda echoes, her eyes lighting up. Her lips spread in a smug grin. “What kind of reward?”
Agatha’s gaze flits away. “Maybe tomorrow, if you aren’t too tired, we can play with magical after-effects.” She meets Wanda’s eyes again. “Nothing as strong as today, but enough testing that—”
“—that next time, I get what I want,” Wanda completes for her.
“What we both want,” Agatha corrects. She runs her finger gently along Wanda’s jaw again and lets out another sigh – this one the sigh of yearning that Wanda most associates with her. “It will be exhausting, hon. But I’m sure you’ll be up for the challenge.”
Wanda leans forward, brushing her nose against Agatha’s. “I’m sure I will.”
When Agatha kisses her this time, there’s just enough fire to it that Wanda thinks maybe – maybe – she’ll give in. But then Agatha settles back against her pillow, turned to the television, and runs her fingers along Wanda’s back again.
Tomorrow, Wanda hears, clear, in her mind. Tomorrow.
Even as that electric blue throbs all around them.