Chapter Text
It’s another beautiful sunset at some random beach town on the West Coast. None of them know the name of the place, but at least it’s pretty.
Valentina’s been running them ragged with press releases, photo ops, PR galas, all on top of the actual high-stakes missions. At least during missions, nobody tries to make them smile for the camera. Or wear heels.
After her fair share of forced mingling, Yelena signals to Bucky that she’s going for a break. He gives her the subtle nod back, the universal sign of “Yeah, I’m at my limit, too. Go ahead.”
She grabs a champagne flute off a passing tray and heads out, heels already coming off before she’s even reached the double doors. The cool sand feels good under her feet. The sky is painted in pinks and oranges, the ocean breeze sweet with salt.
Out by the shoreline, a lone figure stands, watching the sunset like it might vanish if he looks away, casting a long shadow over the sand.
“Hey,” Yelena calls out. “How you doing?”
“Oh. Good. You know, the usual,” Bob says. He tries not to sound sour and fails by about fifty percent.
They’re both dressed in outfits they never would’ve picked for themselves. No surprise there. The New Avengers stylist had absolute say this time. She was sweet and usually took their tastes into some consideration, but she’d rather hang them out to dry than to cut any corners she might deem would make them look “off.”
Ava’s in a soft teal dress with a sea-mist tulle overlay. It sways when she walks, nearly phasing in and out of view. A literal ghost in motion. The New Avengers pin gleams on her collarbone.
John’s tux is red, blue, and black, half formalwear, half tactical vest in disguise. His New Avengers pin is right beside a tiny US flag on. Subtle as a punch to the face.
Yelena’s in a beige bodysuit, sleek and sharp, clearly modeled after something Natasha once wore to a Stark Foundation gala. Hers had been black. The stylist called this an “homage.” Hair slicked back, New Avengers pin sharp on her lapel. She actually doesn’t hate it. At least it’s not the floor-length ballgown Valentina forced on her last year. That thing had sequins and a cape.
Bob’s suit is different. Plain deep blue. Perfectly tailored. Quiet. It suits him. But there’s something else. He’s the only one not wearing the pin. No New Avengers logo. No team branding.
Yelena doesn’t bring it up. She notices, of course she notices, but she doesn’t say anything.
They stand in silence for a beat, Yelena sipping champagne. “You want some of this crap?”
He blinks. “What is it?”
“Terrible is what it is.”
Bob reaches for the flute. “Sure, why not.”
He takes a cautious sip and immediately winces. He holds it out at arm’s length like it might explode.
“What the hell is that?” he coughs.
Yelena grins as she takes it back. “I’m pretty sure it’s just expensive vinegar.”
He shakes his head, lips still puckered. “Oh God, it’s terrible!”
“Speak for yourself.” She sips again, exaggerated and smug. “I happen to enjoy the taste of complete dog-shit champagne.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” He gives her a look. “That’s why we’re friends.”
She snorts. “Friends? I thought I was your emotional support assassin.”
“You’re that, too.”
They fall into silence again.
Bob kicks at the sand a little, watching the waves in the distance. Yelena eyes him sideways.
“You alright, really?”
He hesitates. Then shrugs. “I just needed some space. You know how it gets.”
Yelena nods. “Too many people pretending they’re not terrified of us.”
“And a few who aren’t pretending.”
“That’s the worst kind,” she agrees.
Bob exhales, eyes scanning the horizon. “I like this part of the day. Right before it gets dark. Like the sky’s still deciding.”
She smirks. “You’re such a little poet.”
“Can’t help it. All this suppressed emotion’s gotta go somewhere.”
Yelena bumps his arm with hers. “Tortured poet in a nice suit. Look at you.”
“I clean up under duress,” he says.
“You look good.”
“You look good, too. Terrifying, also.”
“Thanks.”
The two of them stare out at the sea as Yelena finished her terrible champagne in silence. But then, cheers erupt from the party hall. Loud. Too loud.
Yelena tenses. Bob straightens.
“You hear that?” she asks.
Bob nods. “Yeah. Either we missed the dessert cart exploding again, or something big just walked in.”
They exchange a look and run back to the party.
As Yelena and Bob step through the grand doors, they don’t even have to look to know what’s caused the sudden roar of cheers.
They see her immediately.
Wanda Maximoff.
She moves through the crowd like a force of nature. Breathtaking, but approachable.
Her strapless scarlet gown clings to her frame, sporting a dramatic thigh-high slit. White opera gloves stretch to her elbows, a striking contrast against her glowing skin. Around her neck hang layered black necklaces that catch the light with every step.
And crowning it all: her signature halo. Jagged, dark, and alive with a faint pulsing of rubies and obsidian, like some heartbeat just beneath the surface.
The room hushes, then swells with admiration, awe, and a whisper of something unspoken.
Wanda laughs when a reporter asks her a question. It’s a soft, sweet, motherly laugh. An unsettling warmth that hangs in the air like perfume.
Yelena’s eyes dart across the room, reading every face.
Bob stands frozen, mouth agape. Ava and Alexei share a stunned glance, equally caught off guard. Bucky looks pale, his jaw tight, the kind of look people get when the past refuses to stay buried. John’s face is a mixture of confusion and disbelief, like he’s trying to decrypt some impossible riddle. Why, exactly, is Wanda Maximoff, a legendary former Avenger who vanished years ago, striding into their gala?
He shoots Yelena a questioning look.
She meets it, steady and sharp.
The gala moves on, but the air has shifted irreversibly. Wanda has stolen the spotlight without even trying. She drifts through the room, smiling softly but with an intensity that turns heads wherever she goes. The crowd leans in, hungry for a glimpse, a word, a trace of the legend they thought was lost.
“I'm here to support the New Avengers,” Wanda says, eyes sweeping the room like a queen surveying her court. “We’re stronger when we stand together, and they have proved how strong they are already.”
Valentina is on her in an instant, all practiced charm and hidden knives. She whispers something into Wanda’s ear, smoothing over questions, gently steering the chaos. Her smile is diplomatic, but her eyes betray her. She’s running calculations in her mind.
At the far end of the room, John finds Yelena and Bob. The three move toward the bar, where Bucky and Mel are already nursing drinks. Mel looks just as floored as the rest of them.
“Okay,” John mutters, “someone want to explain what the hell Wanda Maximoff is doing here?”
“I don’t know,” Mel says, exasperated, glancing at her phone. “Val didn’t invite her.”
“Then why is she here?”
Nobody has an answer. So they drink instead.
Ava and Alexei wander over soon after, the team coalescing into an impromptu debrief-session.
A photographer pops out of nowhere, flashes a few shots. Everyone poses on instinct, like well-trained animals. Then Bob, blinking against the residual light, asks the question floating behind all their eyes:
“So… what’s Wanda’s deal?”
Bucky exhales through his nose. “After the Compound was destroyed and Thanos was taken down, the Avengers disbanded. Wanda disappeared. There were rumors she was holed up in some town. Westview, I think. But nobody could confirm anything after that.”
“Not even…?” Yelena muses.
“No, not even Barton.”
“And now she’s back. Repping us?” John says. “Why?”
Bucky shrugs. “Wish I knew.”
“She’s got taste, I’ll give her that,” Ava murmurs, eyes on the red gown. The group nods in quiet agreement.
“She seems nice,” Bob offers.
“She was nice,” Bucky says. “Didn’t know her well. None of us did, really. Too much going on at the time, as you can guess.”
They linger at the bar, talking casually, too casually. Everyone’s pretending they’re not watching Wanda every time she moves.
Then Mel’s phone buzzes. A text from Val.
“Bring the team. She wants to meet them.”
A hush falls over the group. They all straighten a little, brushing at their suits and dresses like it’ll help. Meeting Wanda Maximoff feels like meeting a celebrity. But then again, so are they.
Within minutes, Mel has the entire team gathered outside on the beach. The sun has fully set, and stars scatter across the deep black sky. The waves whisper against the shore, quieter now, like they’re listening in.
Val and Wanda are already out there, standing by the water, deep in conversation. When the team approach, any nerves they might’ve had dissolve the second Wanda turns to greet them.
She’s beaming.
“James!” she says, warm and bright, like a fond memory. “Oh, it’s been so long! How have you been?”
Bucky stiffens just slightly. “Good, uh, I guess,” he says. “How, uh… how’ve you been?”
“Just wonderful,” Wanda says without missing a beat. “I’ve missed you. All of you look incredible, by the way.”
There’s a chorus of polite chuckles, awkward at first, but they soften when Wanda grabs Ava’s hands and twirls her around, admiring her dress with unfiltered glee.
“Oh my god, that color on you! It’s gorgeous!”
Ava laughs, flattered, and twirls again with a grin.
Wanda claps, delighted. “So many new faces!”
She scans the group with a gleam in her eye until her gaze settles on Yelena and Alexei.
Her smile falters. Just for a second. Something flickers behind her eyes. Grief, recognition, regret. Whatever it is, it’s heavy.
“Oh…” Wanda breathes out, stepping closer. She takes Yelena’s hands gently. “I’m so sorry. We never got to meet before, and I know I’m awfully late, but I wanted to say how sorry I am about Natasha. She was… she was a truly wonderful person. I wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for her.”
Yelena swallows hard. The words hit like a punch wrapped in silk.
“She didn’t talk about you much,” Wanda continues, “but when she did, it was always with so much love. ‘My little sister,’ she called you.”
Wanda turns to Alexei, letting go of one of Yelena’s hands to take his in turn.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, softer this time. “I know what it’s like to lose a ch…”
She catches herself.
“…someone you love. That deeply.”
For a moment, no one says anything. The waves fill the silence.
Then Alexei nods. Just once. It’s all he can manage.
Wanda pivots gracefully, rescuing the mood without skipping a beat. Her eyes land on Bob, and her expression softens into something warm. Knowing.
“And you, Robert,” she says, voice lilting with amusement. “The mystery man of the New Avengers.”
Bob stiffens like a deer caught in high beams. “H-hello,” he manages, eyes wide, voice cracking like he's afraid she might bite him. Wanda smiles gently, stepping closer. Not intimidating, not threatening. Maternal. Familiar.
“I know what it’s like,” she says softly, “to be on a team full of spectacularly powerful people. To feel like you don’t belong in the room.”
Her hand comes to rest lightly on Bob’s arm. He flinches at first, then looks at her, really looks.
“I also know what it’s like to be afraid of your own power,” Wanda adds, her voice lowering just enough to make it personal. Private. That lands. Bob’s posture shifts. His eyes search hers, curious. A little hopeful. A little afraid.
“You’re doing great, Bob,” Wanda says sincerely.
Bob blinks. Then smiles, small, but real. “Th-thanks, Wanda.”
After a good while down at the beach, the group begins to drift back toward the gala just as the breeze starts to get sharp and chilly, laughter and chatter resuming as they cross the darkened sand. The warm light from the party spills out onto the beach.
Wanda walks side by side with Valentina, with Mel right beside the two, their silhouettes framed against the glowing ballroom, already the center of gravity again. The rest of the team follows in loose formation, but a few straggle.
Yelena lingers, heels in hand again. John walks beside her, hands shoved in his pockets. Bucky brings up the rear, silent for a long beat before speaking.
“She’s... friendly,” Bucky mutters.
“Too friendly,” John replies, narrowing his eyes at the back of Wanda’s head.
“She’s an Avenger,” Yelena says, flat. “A famous one. That’s what this is about. The photos. The headlines.”
“Maybe,” Bucky says. “But I’ve seen people smile like that before. Like everything’s fine. Right before it isn’t.”
John grunts. “I don’t know what I’m suspicious of,” he admits. “But I am.”
“Gut feeling?” Yelena asks.
“Survival instinct,” he replies. “No one that powerful shows up out of nowhere unless they want something.”
Yelena glances down at the sand, thoughtful. “We’ll keep an eye on her.”
They all nod, quietly falling into step with the rest of the team. The party calls them back, loud and golden and blind to the shadows gathering just out of frame.