Chapter 72: Single Spoon Strategy (1)
20 hours ago
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
The drive back from the photographer's studio was quiet, it was the silence of a library, or a bedroom at dawn… filled with things that didn't need to be said because they were already felt.
I drove slowly. My hands were at the ten and two positions, mostly because I was trying to be a responsible citizen, but also because I didn't want the drive to end.
The streetlights of Westview flickered past us rhythmically, casting intermittent bars of amber light across Wanda's profile. She was looking out the window, watching the suburban world roll by, a soft smile playing on her lips.
I tapped the steering wheel, humming along to the low volume of the radio.
Then, I saw on the right side of the road, a neon sign buzzed with an electric hum that sounded like a temptation.
Scoops & Sweets.
It was a retro style ice cream parlor with a giant plastic cone on the roof that looked like it had survived the 80s by sheer force of will.
I checked the rearview mirror.
No tailgaters.
I flicked the turn signal.
The car slowed, turning off the main road and gliding into the small parking lot of the shop.
Wanda turned her head, blinking as the neon light washed over the dashboard.
"Aryan?" she asked, her voice soft. "What happened? Is the car okay?"
"The car is fine," I said, putting it into park but keeping the engine running. "The car is a marvel of engineering. The driver, however, has identified a critical deficiency in our evening."
She raised an eyebrow. "A deficiency?"
"We celebrated," I said, unbuckling my seatbelt. "We took photos. We looked magnificent. But we forgot the most important part of any celebration."
I pointed at the neon sign.
"Dessert," I declared.
Wanda looked at the sign, then back at me. "Ice cream?"
"Give me a moment," I said, winking at her. "Stay here. Guard the vehicle. If anyone asks, you're a secret agent and I'm your handler buying intel."
She laughed, shaking her head. "Go, Handler. Get the intel."
I stepped out of the car. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the climate controlled interior of the vehicle. I walked toward the shop, conscious of her eyes on my back.
I glanced at the side mirror of the shop window as I approached the door. I could see her reflection in the car's windshield. She was watching me, her chin resting on her hand, a smile softening her features.
She's watching me like I'm the best show on television, I thought, pushing the glass door open. And frankly, I'm going to give her a season finale worth watching.
The shop smelled of waffle cones and artificial vanilla. The teenager behind the counter looked up from his phone, clearly not expecting a man in a charcoal suit to walk in at 9 PM.
"Help you?" he asked, cracking his gum.
"Chocolate," I said immediately. "The richest chocolate you have. One scoop. No, make it two. In a cup."
"Just one?" the kid asked, reaching for a cup.
"Just one," I confirmed.
I paid with twenty again, reality warped cash, because why carry cash? And told him to keep the change. I grabbed a single plastic spoon.
I walked back to the car, holding the cup like a trophy.
I opened the driver's door and slid back in. The warmth of the car enveloped me instantly.
"Mission accomplished," I announced, handing her the small paper cup.
Wanda took it. She looked at the dark mound of chocolate fudge ice cream. Then she looked at my empty hands.
"Only one?" she asked, peeling the lid off.
"Yeah," I sighed, putting my seatbelt back on. "I realized halfway to the counter... I'm full. That lunch? I think I reached my limit. I just bought it for you."
I looked at the invisible camera mounted on the dashboard. "I am lying. I could eat three pizzas right now. But you see, if I buy two ice creams, we eat separately. We sit in our own seats, isolated by the center console, eating our own sugar. But one ice cream? One ice cream forces collaboration. It forces proximity."
Wanda looked at me. She knew. She absolutely knew I was full of it.
But she smiled.
"You are full," she repeated, dipping the pink plastic spoon into the chocolate.
"Bursting," I lied, shifting the car into drive. "I couldn't eat another bite."
She took a small bite. She closed her eyes for a second, savoring the cold sweetness.
"It is... very tasty," she said, opening her eyes and looking at me sideways.
"Is it?" I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on the road as I pulled out of the lot. "Rich?"
"Very rich," she said. "You are missing out, Aryan."
"I'll survive," I said bravely. "I live to serve."
I focused on the road. Or, I pretended to. In my peripheral vision, I was watching her every move.
She took another bite. Then she swirled the spoon in the cup, gathering a generous amount of chocolate.
She turned in her seat, angling her body toward me.
"Aryan," she said softly.
"Yeah?" I glanced over.
She was holding the spoon out. It was hovering inches from my face.
"You should try it," she said. "Just a taste. Because... I cannot finish this alone. It is too much for one person."
I fought back a grin that threatened to split my face in two.
"Well," I said, my voice grave. "I suppose I can help. I hate food waste. It's a global issue."
She laughed, moving the spoon closer. "Open."
I opened my mouth.
She fed me. The ice cream was sweet and tasted like victory.
I swallowed.
"Okay," I admitted. "That is good. Suddenly, my stomach has found some room. It's a miracle."
"A medical marvel," she teased.
She pulled the spoon back.
She dipped it back into the cup, took a bite for herself and swallowed.
Then she gathered another spoonful and held it out to me again.
"Another?" she offered.
"Please," I said.
I took the bite.
We drove through the quiet streets of Westview, passing the spoon back and forth.
One for her.
One for me.
One for her.
One for me.
It was the kind of casual sharing that screams 'we are a couple'.
"Are you guys seeing this?" I looked at the readers as I turned onto our street. "This is romance. It's sharing saliva via a plastic spoon while listening to soft rock. Not that you'd understand the intimate brilliance of a shared spoon, anyway… you're clearly single and far too busy following my life to actually bother starting one of your own."
I pulled into the driveway. The ice cream was half gone.
I killed the engine.
I got out and walked around to her side. I opened the door.
She stepped out, still holding the cup in one hand and the spoon in the other.
"Allow me," I said, reaching for her free hand.
I laced my fingers through hers. We walked up the driveway, past the sleeping hydrangeas (Sir Drinks a Lot looked content), to the front porch.
Chapter 73: Single Spoon Strategy (2)
New
20 hours ago
I fumbled with the keys one handed, refusing to let go of her.
I unlocked the door and pushed it open.
"After you," I said.
She walked in. I followed, closing the door and locking out the world.
We moved to the living room. It was dark, save for the streetlamp casting shadows through the sheer curtains.
Wanda sat down on the sofa. She slid back, kicking off her heels.
I took off my suit jacket and tossed it onto the armchair. I loosened my tie.
I walked over to the sofa.
"Here," I said, reaching for the cup. "Let me hold that. Your hands are cold."
She handed me the cup.
I sat down. I sat in the corner of the L shape, angling my body.
"Come here," I said, patting my lap.
Wanda moved, shifting her weight until she was sitting across my lap, her legs draped over my thighs, her back resting against my arm.
I held the cup in my left hand. I picked up the spoon with my right.
"My turn to serve," I whispered.
I gathered a spoonful of the half melted chocolate.
I held it to her lips.
She opened. I fed her.
She hummed, closing her eyes. "It is better when you do it."
"Everything is better when we do it," I corrected.
We finished the ice cream in the dark living room, illuminated only by the moonlight. I scraped the bottom of the cup.
"All gone," I announced, setting the empty cup on the coffee table.
Wanda sighed, resting her head on my shoulder. "That was... perfect."
"It was," I agreed. I ran my hand up and down her arm, feeling the silk of her dress.
"Aryan?"
"Yeah?"
"I am thirsty," she whispered. "The chocolate... it makes you thirsty."
I smiled into her hair. "As you wish, my Queen. Your Royal King is at your service. Water? Sparkling or still?"
"Still," she said. "With ice."
"Coming right up."
I gently shifted her so she could slide off my lap onto the cushion. I missed the weight of her immediately.
"Don't move," I warned, pointing a finger at her. "I'll be right back."
"I am not going anywhere," she promised, leaning back against the sofa cushions and reaching for the remote.
I walked into the kitchen, the smile on my face so wide it actually hurt.
[Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]
She watched him walk into the kitchen. The kitchen light flickered on, casting a long rectangle of illumination across the hallway floor.
She could hear him moving around. The clink of glass. The sound of the refrigerator ice dispenser.
Whirrr clunk.
She smiled, snuggling deeper into the couch. The phantom warmth of his body still clung to her, a comforting weight that made her feel grounded.
She picked up the remote and pressed the power button.
The TV screen flared to life.
It was tuned to a news channel. WHIH World News.
Wanda reached to change the channel, she usually avoided the news, preferring the safety of sitcoms… but the headline at the bottom of the screen caught her eye.
BREAKING NEWS: WESTVIEW MIRACLE.
She froze. Her thumb hovered over the channel button.
The screen showed a map of New Jersey with a star over Westview.
"We interrupt this broadcast for a heartwarming story coming out of the quiet town of Westview, New Jersey," the anchor, a woman with perfectly coiffed hair, announced. Her voice was excited. "In a world still reeling from the chaos of the Blip, it seems heroes can be found in the most unexpected places."
Wanda's breath hitched. Heroes. Usually, when the news used that word, it was followed by 'caused collateral damage' or 'vigilantes'.
The screen changed. It was footage.
Shaky cell phone footage.
It showed Aryan. He was on his knees, pumping the chest of a small child. His face was set in a mask of pure focus. His white t-shirt was mud stained.
And next to him... her.
She saw herself kneeling in the mud in her expensive coat. She saw her hand raised. She saw the crimson mist of her magic pulling the object from the baby's throat.
The camera zoomed in on the crowd. They were clapping.
"Earlier today," the anchor continued, "local residents Aryan Spencer and Wanda Maximoff, yes, that Wanda Maximoff, saved the life of a choking infant in the town park."
The screen split. On one side was the video. On the other was a photo.
It was a photo from the party. Someone must have snapped it when they were unaware.
It showed them standing together. Aryan in his maroon turtleneck, holding a plate of spinach puffs. Wanda in her cream dress, leaning into him, laughing at something he said. They looked... radiant. They looked like they belonged on a magazine cover.
THE DOCTOR AND THE WITCH: WESTVIEW'S POWER COUPLE.
The banner flashed in bold red letters.
Wanda stared at the words.
Power Couple.
"Sources in Westview describe the pair as inseparable," the anchor gushed. "Dr. Spencer, a brilliant general physician who reportedly graduated top of his class from Johns Hopkins… "
A photo of Aryan appeared on screen. It was a graduation photo. He looked younger, serious in his cap and gown.
"… has been praised by former colleagues as a medical prodigy. He recently returned after the Blip and settled in Westview."
The anchor smiled.
"And it seems he's found quite the partner. While details on their relationship are private, neighbors say the two are the heart of the community. 'They're just lovely,' one neighbor told reporters earlier today. 'Always holding hands. It gives you hope, doesn't it?'"
Wanda felt a tear prick her eye.
The screen showed another clip… this one from the party. It showed Aryan leaning down to whisper something in her ear and Wanda smiling, squeezing his hand.
"Look at them," the anchor sighed. "Honestly, in a world that has seen so much heartache lately, seeing a love this pure feels like the miracle we all needed. It's like something out of a classic movie. The internet is already calling him the 'National Husband' for the way he looks at her."
National Husband.
A fierce wave of possessiveness rushed through Wanda.
Yes, she thought, staring at Aryan's pixelated face on the screen. He is the National Husband. But he is my husband.
She loved it. She loved that the world saw him the way she did… as a hero. As a man worthy of praise.
She made a mental note. Tomorrow. I will buy every newspaper. I will record this broadcast. And I will frame the headline.
Chapter 74: Single Spoon Strategy (3)
New
20 hours ago
Just then, Aryan walked back into the room.
"Water for the..." he started, then stopped.
He looked at the TV. He saw his own face plastered next to hers under the headline HERO DOCTOR.
"Wow," he said, blinking. He stood there, holding the glass of water, watching the footage of himself doing CPR. "I... I wasn't expecting the close up."
He looked at Wanda.
"They found my graduation photo?" he asked, sounding genuinely baffled. "I thought that was buried in a yearbook somewhere."
Wanda beamed at him. She reached out her hands.
"Come here," she said.
He walked over and handed her the glass. She took a sip, never taking her eyes off him.
"You are famous, Dr. Spencer," she teased gently. "The National Husband."
Aryan groaned, scrubbing his face with his hand, but he was smiling. "Oh god. The internet is going to meme me, isn't it? I'm going to be a meme."
"A very handsome meme," Wanda corrected.
She patted the spot next to her. He sat down. She leaned her head on his shoulder, watching the news cycle repeat the clip of them holding hands.
"They like us," she whispered. "They really like us."
"Who wouldn't?" Aryan said, kissing the top of her head. "We're adorable. And we have great hair."
…
The segment ended.
The anchor's face changed. It went from smiling to serious.
"In other news," she said, shuffling her papers. "We have breaking reports of a massive explosion in the Mojave Desert."
BREAKING NEWS: EXPLOSION AT CLASSIFIED FACILITY.
It showed a satellite image of a desert. A massive crater scarred the landscape. It was huge. It looked like a meteor impact.
"Government officials are confirming that a facility, believed to be a decommissioned energy storage site, suffered a catastrophic failure at approximately 3:00 PM Eastern time."
Wanda's heart stopped.
She knew that location.
It was the SWORD Headquarters.
"While details are scarce," the anchor continued, "spokespeople from the Department of Defense have issued a statement claiming the blast was caused by the accidental ignition of a subterranean natural gas pocket."
"Preliminary scans show no radiation," the reporter added. "Experts are baffled by the sheer magnitude of the blast, comparing it to a tactical nuclear weapon, yet the site is reportedly clean."
The screen showed aerial footage taken from a news helicopter hovering miles away. There was nothing left.
Wanda stared at the screen. Her hand tightened around the water glass until her knuckles turned white.
She knew what was in that facility.
Vision.
They were taking him apart. They were drilling into him. They were treating him like scrap metal.
She remembered the cold white lab. She remembered Tyler Hayward's smug face. 'He's three billion dollars of vibranium.'
And now...
She looked at the crater.
There was nothing left.
An overwhelming wave of emotion hit her.
They can't hurt him anymore, she realized.
It was a funeral she hadn't been able to give him.
Tears welled up in her eyes, the tears of a final goodbye.
Goodbye, Viz, she thought, looking at the smoking hole on the TV screen.
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
I watched the news report. I watched the crater I had made.
I glanced toward the lens, "Okay, I need to look shocked. I need to look confused. I definitely do not need to look like the guy who pressed the detonator."
"Gas?" I whispered, putting a believable amount of skepticism in my voice. "That doesn't look like gas. That looks like... a bomb."
I felt Wanda tremble against me.
I looked at her.
She was staring at the screen, her eyes wet. A single tear tracked down her cheek.
Her shoulders dropped. The tension that had been living in her spine since she arrived in Westview seemed to snap.
She took a shaky breath. She blinked and more tears fell.
I stood up. I walked around the coffee table and knelt in front of her.
I reached out and took the water glass from her shaking hand, setting it on the table.
"Wanda?" I said softly.
She looked down at me. Her eyes were swimming.
I reached up and wiped the tear from her cheek with my thumb.
"I don't know what that place was," I lied, looking deep into her eyes. "And I don't know why it makes you sad."
I paused. I let my hand rest against her face, cupping her jaw.
"And I'm not going to ask," I promised. "Because I don't want to make you sadder."
She let out a small sob.
"But you have to remember one thing, Wanda," I said, my voice steady. "I am here. Right here."
I moved my other hand to hold her face, framing it.
"Whatever was lost... you are not alone."
I looked at her lips. Then back to her eyes.
"I love you," I said.
The words hung in the air.
Wanda looked at me. She really looked at me. She saw the truth in my eyes.
A watery smile broke through her tears.
"I love you too," she whispered.
I leaned up.
I kissed her.
It tasted of salt tears and chocolate ice cream. It was a kiss of comfort, of promise, of a new beginning built on the ashes of the old.
She kissed me back, pouring all her relief, all her gratitude into the contact.
I broke the kiss, but I didn't pull away. I stood up, pulling her with me.
I sat back down on the sofa. I pulled her into my lap.
She wrapped her legs around my waist. She buried her face in my neck, her arms locking around my shoulders.
I held her tight. One hand on her waist, the other rubbing slow circles on her back.
I kissed her hair.
"I've got you," I murmured.
She nodded against my neck.
We sat there in the flickering light of the TV screen. The news anchor was still talking about gas leaks and geological surveys.
I reached out blindly with one hand and found the remote. I clicked the power button.
The screen went black.
The room was silent again.
I glanced toward the lens again, "The past is dust. The future is sitting in my lap. And if anyone tries to mess with this? Well... I can always make another crater."
I tightened my hold on her.
We sat in the dark, holding onto the only thing that mattered. Each other.
Chapter 75: Cat's Baptism (1)
New
20 hours ago
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
The morning sun announced itself, spilling gold across the duvet of the S&M Suite.
I drifted up from the depths of sleep to find myself encased in a human embrace.
Wanda was wrapped around me, her head resting heavily on my chest, her leg thrown over my thigh, her arm locking me in place.
I kept my eyes closed for a moment, just breathing. She smelled of sleep and that expensive botanical shampoo we'd used yesterday. It was a scent that was quickly becoming my favorite thing in the world.
I shifted slightly, testing the waters.
She made a small sound and tightened her grip, snuggling her face closer to my neck.
I opened my eyes.
She was right there. Her eyes were closed, her lashes fanning against her cheeks. But the corner of her mouth was twitching.
She's awake, I thought, a grin spreading across my face. She's playing possum.
I decided to play along.
I moved my hand, which was resting on her back and began to trace slow circles on her spine. I felt her shiver slightly against me.
"Mmm," I murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
I moved down. I kissed her forehead. Then her temple.
I kissed her left eyelid. Then her right.
I moved to her nose. I kissed the tip of it, lingering for a second.
Wanda's breathing hitched, but she didn't open her eyes. She was committed to the bit.
"You're very quiet this morning, Lemon Queen," I whispered against her cheek.
She didn't answer, but her smile grew, giving her away completely.
"Maybe she's still asleep," I mused aloud to the empty room. "Maybe I should check for reflexes."
I slid my hand down from her back to her side. I found the spot right under her ribs.
I wiggled my fingers.
Tickle.
Wanda gasped, her eyes flying open. They were mischievous and full of light.
"Aryan!" she squeaked, trying to clamp her arms down to protect her sides.
"Good morning," I grinned, not stopping.
"You..." she laughed, squirming against me. "You are... attacking... a sleeping person!"
"I am checking vital signs!" I defended, moving my attack to her other side. "It's a medical procedure!"
"It is... war!" she declared.
She moved fast. She used her leverage, hooking her leg around mine and twisting.
The world spun. The duvet tangled around us.
Suddenly, my back was pressed into the mattress and Wanda was straddling my waist, pinning my wrists to the pillow above my head.
Her hair fell around us like a curtain, shielding us from the rest of the room. She was breathless, flushed and looking down at me with a triumphant grin.
"You dare to tickle me?" she teased, her voice low and husky.
I looked up at her.
"I dare," I whispered. "I live on the edge."
"Then you must pay the price," she said.
She leaned down. Her fingers found my ribs.
"No!" I shouted, thrashing as she launched her counter offensive. "Mercy! I yield!"
"No mercy," she laughed, her fingers dancing over my stomach. "You started this rebellion."
We wrestled on the bed, a tangle of limbs and laughter.
I managed to free one hand and caught her waist, pulling her down until she collapsed on top of me.
We lay there for a moment, panting, our hearts beating against each other.
She lifted her head, resting her chin on my chest. She looked at me. The laughter faded from her eyes, replaced by something softer.
"Good morning, Baker," she whispered.
"Good morning," I said, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "You win."
"I know," she smiled.
She leaned down and kissed me. It was slow and lazy, tasting of morning and happiness.
She pulled back, but she didn't get off. She rested her cheek against mine.
"We should get up," she murmured. "The sun is high. And I have... an urgent task."
"Urgent?" I asked, stroking her back. "Is the world ending? Because if it is, I'm hitting the snooze button."
"No," she said, pulling away and sitting up. "But I have errands. Important errands."
She had that secretive 'I am planning something' look in her eyes.
"Bathroom," she announced, sliding off the bed. "Come."
"As you command," I said, following her.
I handed her the pink toothbrush.
"Paste," she requested.
I squeezed the tube. "Say when."
"When."
We brushed.
She spit and rinsed. She looked at me, wiping her mouth.
"Shower?" she asked.
"Together?" I asked, hopeful.
"It saves water," she reminded me, a playful glint in her eye.
"I love the environment," I said solemnly.
I reached into the shower and turned the handle. The water hissed to life, steam rising instantly.
We stepped in.
The water was hot. I stood with my back to the spray, letting it soak my skin. Wanda stepped into my space, wrapping her arms around my waist, resting her forehead against my wet chest.
I reached for the sponge.
She turned. I washed her back. I moved the sponge in slow circles, soaping her shoulders, her spine.
"That feels good," she sighed, leaning back against me.
"I have magic hands," I joked. "And good soap."
I handed her the sponge. She turned around.
"Your turn," she said.
She washed my chest. She was meticulous. She traced the muscles, her touch lingering.
The steam curled around us, shutting out the rest of the world.
We stepped out. I grabbed the towels.
I wrapped one around her and one around myself.
"Sit," I said, pointing to the closed toilet lid.
She sat. I towel dried her hair. I was gentle, blotting the water rather than rubbing.
"You treat me like a doll," she murmured, eyes closed.
"You're precious," I said simply. "Fragile things break. You don't break."
She opened her eyes, looking up at me. "I did break, Aryan. You put me back together."
I stopped. I looked at her.
"No," I said softly. "You put yourself back together. I just held the glue."
She smiled. She took the towel from me.
"Sit," she commanded.
I sat.
She dried my hair. She was rougher, messing it up on purpose.
"There," she said, fluffing it up.
We went back to the bedroom.
I pulled on jeans and a white t-shirt. She put on a floral sundress and a cardigan.
"You look like spring," I told her.
"You look like... a doctor on his day off," she countered.
"Accurate."
We went downstairs.
"What are we making?" Wanda asked, tying on the daisy apron.
"French Toast," I decided.
"Yes," she agreed.
I whisked the eggs and milk.
Wanda sliced the strawberries.
"Dip," I instructed, handing her a slice of thick bread.
She dipped it in the egg mixture.
She dropped it into the hot pan.
Sizzle.
The smell of butter and cinnamon filled the kitchen.
Flip.
Plate.
Powdered sugar.
We sat at the island.
She took a bite. "Mmm. Sweet."
"We need sweet," I said. "To balance out the... whatever your urgent task is."
She froze mid chew. She looked at me guiltily.
"It is just... shopping," she said vaguely.
"Shopping?" I raised an eyebrow. "We bought the whole mall a few days ago."
"Specific shopping," she said.Chapter 75: Cat's Baptism (1)
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
The morning sun announced itself, spilling gold across the duvet of the S&M Suite.
I drifted up from the depths of sleep to find myself encased in a human embrace.
Wanda was wrapped around me, her head resting heavily on my chest, her leg thrown over my thigh, her arm locking me in place.
I kept my eyes closed for a moment, just breathing. She smelled of sleep and that expensive botanical shampoo we'd used yesterday. It was a scent that was quickly becoming my favorite thing in the world.
I shifted slightly, testing the waters.
She made a small sound and tightened her grip, snuggling her face closer to my neck.
I opened my eyes.
She was right there. Her eyes were closed, her lashes fanning against her cheeks. But the corner of her mouth was twitching.
She's awake, I thought, a grin spreading across my face. She's playing possum.
I decided to play along.
I moved my hand, which was resting on her back and began to trace slow circles on her spine. I felt her shiver slightly against me.
"Mmm," I murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
I moved down. I kissed her forehead. Then her temple.
I kissed her left eyelid. Then her right.
I moved to her nose. I kissed the tip of it, lingering for a second.
Wanda's breathing hitched, but she didn't open her eyes. She was committed to the bit.
"You're very quiet this morning, Lemon Queen," I whispered against her cheek.
She didn't answer, but her smile grew, giving her away completely.
"Maybe she's still asleep," I mused aloud to the empty room. "Maybe I should check for reflexes."
I slid my hand down from her back to her side. I found the spot right under her ribs.
I wiggled my fingers.
Tickle.
Wanda gasped, her eyes flying open. They were mischievous and full of light.
"Aryan!" she squeaked, trying to clamp her arms down to protect her sides.
"Good morning," I grinned, not stopping.
"You..." she laughed, squirming against me. "You are... attacking... a sleeping person!"
"I am checking vital signs!" I defended, moving my attack to her other side. "It's a medical procedure!"
"It is... war!" she declared.
She moved fast. She used her leverage, hooking her leg around mine and twisting.
The world spun. The duvet tangled around us.
Suddenly, my back was pressed into the mattress and Wanda was straddling my waist, pinning my wrists to the pillow above my head.
Her hair fell around us like a curtain, shielding us from the rest of the room. She was breathless, flushed and looking down at me with a triumphant grin.
"You dare to tickle me?" she teased, her voice low and husky.
I looked up at her.
"I dare," I whispered. "I live on the edge."
"Then you must pay the price," she said.
She leaned down. Her fingers found my ribs.
"No!" I shouted, thrashing as she launched her counter offensive. "Mercy! I yield!"
"No mercy," she laughed, her fingers dancing over my stomach. "You started this rebellion."
We wrestled on the bed, a tangle of limbs and laughter.
I managed to free one hand and caught her waist, pulling her down until she collapsed on top of me.
We lay there for a moment, panting, our hearts beating against each other.
She lifted her head, resting her chin on my chest. She looked at me. The laughter faded from her eyes, replaced by something softer.
"Good morning, Baker," she whispered.
"Good morning," I said, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "You win."
"I know," she smiled.
She leaned down and kissed me. It was slow and lazy, tasting of morning and happiness.
She pulled back, but she didn't get off. She rested her cheek against mine.
"We should get up," she murmured. "The sun is high. And I have... an urgent task."
"Urgent?" I asked, stroking her back. "Is the world ending? Because if it is, I'm hitting the snooze button."
"No," she said, pulling away and sitting up. "But I have errands. Important errands."
She had that secretive 'I am planning something' look in her eyes.
"Bathroom," she announced, sliding off the bed. "Come."
"As you command," I said, following her.
I handed her the pink toothbrush.
"Paste," she requested.
I squeezed the tube. "Say when."
"When."
We brushed.
She spit and rinsed. She looked at me, wiping her mouth.
"Shower?" she asked.
"Together?" I asked, hopeful.
"It saves water," she reminded me, a playful glint in her eye.
"I love the environment," I said solemnly.
I reached into the shower and turned the handle. The water hissed to life, steam rising instantly.
We stepped in.
The water was hot. I stood with my back to the spray, letting it soak my skin. Wanda stepped into my space, wrapping her arms around my waist, resting her forehead against my wet chest.
I reached for the sponge.
She turned. I washed her back. I moved the sponge in slow circles, soaping her shoulders, her spine.
"That feels good," she sighed, leaning back against me.
"I have magic hands," I joked. "And good soap."
I handed her the sponge. She turned around.
"Your turn," she said.
She washed my chest. She was meticulous. She traced the muscles, her touch lingering.
The steam curled around us, shutting out the rest of the world.
We stepped out. I grabbed the towels.
I wrapped one around her and one around myself.
"Sit," I said, pointing to the closed toilet lid.
She sat. I towel dried her hair. I was gentle, blotting the water rather than rubbing.
"You treat me like a doll," she murmured, eyes closed.
"You're precious," I said simply. "Fragile things break. You don't break."
She opened her eyes, looking up at me. "I did break, Aryan. You put me back together."
I stopped. I looked at her.
"No," I said softly. "You put yourself back together. I just held the glue."
She smiled. She took the towel from me.
"Sit," she commanded.
I sat.
She dried my hair. She was rougher, messing it up on purpose.
"There," she said, fluffing it up.
We went back to the bedroom.
I pulled on jeans and a white t-shirt. She put on a floral sundress and a cardigan.
"You look like spring," I told her.
"You look like... a doctor on his day off," she countered.
"Accurate."
We went downstairs.
"What are we making?" Wanda asked, tying on the daisy apron.
"French Toast," I decided.
"Yes," she agreed.
I whisked the eggs and milk.
Wanda sliced the strawberries.
"Dip," I instructed, handing her a slice of thick bread.
She dipped it in the egg mixture.
She dropped it into the hot pan.
Sizzle.
The smell of butter and cinnamon filled the kitchen.
Flip.
Plate.
Powdered sugar.
We sat at the island.
She took a bite. "Mmm. Sweet."
"We need sweet," I said. "To balance out the... whatever your urgent task is."
She froze mid chew. She looked at me guiltily.
"It is just... shopping," she said vaguely.
"Shopping?" I raised an eyebrow. "We bought the whole mall a few days ago."
"Specific shopping," she said.
Chapter 76: Cat's Baptism (2)
New
20 hours ago
She finished her breakfast quickly. She stood up.
"I need the car keys," she said.
I fished them out of my pocket. "I'll drive you."
"No!" she said, a little too quickly. "I mean... no. You have a task here."
"I do?"
"Yes." She pointed to the sliding glass door.
I looked out. The one eyed pirate cat was sleeping on the patio furniture.
"What about him?"
"He needs a bath," Wanda said. "He smells like a dumpster. And he has fleas. You promised."
"I promised he could stay in the garage," I argued. "I didn't promise a spa day."
"He cannot come inside until he is clean," she insisted. "Please? For me?"
She gave me the look. The pout.
I sighed. "Fine. I will wash the beast. But if I bleed, I'm claiming workers comp."
She kissed my cheek. "Thank you. You are the best."
She grabbed the keys and practically ran out the door.
I watched her go.
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
I gathered the supplies. Bucket. Cat shampoo (which I manifested in the cupboard because who buys cat shampoo?). Towels. And heavy duty gloves.
I walked out to the patio.
The cat was asleep. He looked peaceful. Ignorant of his fate.
"Hey," I said, nudging the chair.
One yellow eye opened.
"Party's over, pal," I said. "It's bath time."
The cat hissed.
"Don't take that tone with me," I warned. "I'm the guy with the food."
I looked at the audience.
"Look at him," I said, gesturing to the cat. "Leisurely sleeping. Eating free chicken. He's basically you guys. Just sitting there, consuming content, expecting me to do all the work."
I filled the bucket with warm water.
"Okay," I said to the cat. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. The easy way involves you cooperating. The hard way involves me turning gravity off so you can't run."
The cat stood up. He arched his back.
I reached out. I grabbed him by the scruff.
"Gotcha."
I lowered him into the water.
MEOOOOW.
It was the sound of a demon being exorcised.
"It's just water!" I shouted over the wailing. "Stop being dramatic!"
I poured the water over him. He looked pathetic. A wet rat with claws.
I scrubbed. He growled, a rumbling sound like a tiny engine.
"You know," I told him, rinsing the suds off. "You're lucky. You landed in the only house in Westview protected by a Reality Bender and a Witch. You won the lottery."
I lifted him out. I wrapped him in a towel.
I pulled a hair dryer from the pile (extension cord running from the kitchen).
I turned it on low.
The cat tolerated it. Mostly because he was swaddled so tight he couldn't move.
When he was dry, he looked... fluffy. Less pirate, more cloud.
"Look at you," I said, holding him up. "You're handsome. Almost."
I set him down. He shook himself, puffing up to twice his size.
"Okay," I said, sitting on the patio step. "Listen closely."
The cat sat down and licked his chest.
"Rule number one," I listed. "No scratching the furniture. That sofa is Italian leather. If you scratch it, you become a rug."
The cat blinked.
"Rule number two," I continued. "No eating the plants. Especially Sir Drinks a Lot. He's sensitive."
"Rule number three. The bathroom."
I pointed to a plastic litter box I had set up in the corner of the patio.
"That," I said. "Is the Executive Washroom. You use it. If I find a surprise in my shoe, we are going to have a very serious conversation about the laws of physics."
The cat looked at the box. Then looked at me.
[Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]
Wanda drove Aryan's car. It smelled like him. Sandalwood and mint. She took a deep breath, letting the scent fill her lungs.
She drove past her old plot of land… the empty foundation where Vision's house was supposed to be.
She turned toward the town center.
She found a newsstand on the corner.
She parked the car and got out. She walked up to the metal rack.
There it was.
WESTVIEW HERALD: LOCAL HEROES SAVE LIFE.
A big picture of Aryan and her in the park.
She picked it up.
Then she looked at the New Jersey Times. MYSTERY DOCTOR AND AVENGER: A LOVE STORY?
She picked that one up too.
She looked at the rack. There were five different papers. All of them had Aryan's face.
She gathered them all. Every single copy.
She walked to the counter. The old man behind the register looked at her armful of paper.
"That is... a lot of news, miss," he noted.
"I am catching up," she said, placing the stack on the counter. "I will take them all."
"All of them?"
"Yes. Every copy you have."
"Okay..."
She paid.
She carried the heavy stack back to the car. She put them in the trunk, covering them with a blanket so they wouldn't be seen immediately.
She got back in the driver's seat.
She started the car.
She drove back toward the house.
On the way, she passed the ice cream shop.
Scoops & Sweets.
She slowed down.
She pulled in.
She went inside.
"One scoop," she ordered. "Chocolate. The darkest you have."
"Cup or cone?"
"Cup. With a spoon."
She got the ice cream. She walked back to the car.
She placed the cup in the cup holder.
She looked at it. It was melting.
She raised her hand. A faint red mist surrounded the cup.
The melting stopped. The ice cream held its frozen shape.
She drove home.
She pulled into the driveway.
She got out. She grabbed the stack of papers from the trunk, hiding the ice cream cup on top.
She walked to the backyard gate. She peeked over the fence.
Aryan was sitting on the patio step. The cat (now fluffy and clean) was sitting in front of him.
Aryan was wagging a finger.
"...and finally, if you bring me a dead mouse, I will not be impressed. I will be disgusted. Bring me cash. Or diamonds."
Wanda smiled.
She slipped into the house through the side door. She ran quietly to the library. She hid the stack of newspapers in the bottom drawer of the desk.
I will frame them later, she promised herself.
She grabbed the ice cream. She walked out to the patio.
"Aryan," she called out.
He looked up. He stopped mid sentence.
"You're back," he said, smiling. "And the beast is clean."
"He looks... fluffy," Wanda observed, looking at the cat.
"He's soft," Aryan admitted. "Don't tell him I said that."
Wanda walked down the steps. She held up the cup.
"I brought something."
Aryan's eyes lit up. "Is that...?"
"Chocolate," she confirmed.
He stood up. He walked over to the outdoor sink and washed his hands thoroughly. He dried them on his jeans.
"I am ready," he announced, walking over to her.
"Ready for what?" she teased.
He opened his mouth. "Ready to be fed."
She laughed. It was a happy sound.
She peeled the lid off. She dipped the spoon.
She held it out.
He took a bite. He hummed in appreciation.
He looked at her. His eyes were warm.
She took a bite of the remaining ice cream on the spoon. It was sweet and him.
Chapter 77: Lemon in the Tomb (1)
New
20 hours ago
[Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]
The ice cream was finished, but the sweetness lingered. It coated her tongue, a sugary ghost of the moment they had just shared.
Aryan was sitting next to her on the patio step, the empty cup resting on the stone between them.
The cat (who still needed a name, though "Pirate" was growing on her) was curled in a sunbeam, ignoring them with the practiced indifference of royalty.
She looked at Aryan. He was watching a butterfly land on the hydrangea bush, a small smile playing on his lips. He looked happy.
She leaned in. She pressed her lips to his.
He tasted of chocolate and summer air. He responded instantly, his hand coming up to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheekbone.
She pulled back slowly, her forehead resting against his.
"I have work to do," she whispered.
"Work?" He blinked, his eyes opening slowly. "I thought we declared a moratorium on labor. I thought today was 'Lazy Sunday' on a Wednesday."
"It is... a project," she said, standing up and smoothing her dress. "In the library."
"The library?" He stood up too, dusting off his jeans. "Do you need help? I'm excellent at lifting heavy books and looking intellectual while doing it."
"No," she said, placing a hand on his chest to stop him. "This is a solo mission. Highly classified."
She narrowed her eyes playfully.
"Do not enter," she warned. "Under any circumstances. If I see the door handle turn, there will be consequences."
"Consequences?" He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Like what? You'll tickle me again?"
"Worse," she said solemnly. "You will be sleeping in the Wanda Wing tonight. Alone. With the cold sheets."
Aryan's eyes went wide. He held up his hands in immediate surrender.
"Message received," he said. "Loud and clear. I value my heat source too much."
"Good," she smiled.
She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his neck for a deep kiss. She poured everything she felt into it…
"Behave," she whispered against his lips.
"I'm an angel," he lied.
She turned and walked back into the house, leaving him in the garden with the cat and the flowers.
She walked into the library and closed the door behind her. She locked it. Just in case.
The room smelled of lemon polish and old paper. The books were aligned perfectly on the shelves.
She walked to the desk. She opened the bottom drawer.
There they were. The stack of newspapers.
She pulled them out, laying them on the heavy oak surface.
WESTVIEW HERALD.
NEW JERSEY TIMES.
THE DAILY POST.
She ran her hand over the front page of the Herald. The photo was black and white, but it was unmistakable. Aryan, on his knees in the mud, focused. Her, beside him, her hand raised.
HEROES.
She felt a swell of pride so strong it made her throat tight.
She opened the bag of supplies she had bought along with the papers, frames, a crafting knife and a mat board.
She picked up the crafting knife.
She started with the Herald. She cut carefully, slicing along the edge of the photograph.
Shhhhk.
The sound of the blade cutting through the paper was satisfying.
She cut out the headline.
LOCAL HEROES SAVE LIFE.
She cut out the sub headline.
POWER COUPLE OF WESTVIEW.
She arranged them on the mat board.
She picked up the New Jersey Times. This one had the photo from the party. The one where they were laughing.
She cut around Aryan's profile. She cut around her own smile.
She picked up a frame. It was a simple black wood frame.
She held her hand over the paper clippings arranged on the board.
She summoned a tiny amount of chaos magic. Red mist curled around her fingers.
The magic seeped into the fibers of the paper, fusing them to the board.
She placed the glass over the collage. She sealed the frame.
She held it up.
It was beautiful.
She moved to the next one.
She cut out the article that called him a "medical prodigy." She framed it alone.
He deserves this, she thought, slicing through the newsprint. He deserves to be recognized.
She worked for an hour. The rhythmic snip, snip, snip of the work was meditative. She created five frames.
The Rescue.
The Party.
The Article about his graduation (she saved the photo of him in his cap and gown).
A collage of the headlines calling them a "Power Couple."
And one small clipping, from the society page, that simply said: "The Spencers were seen enjoying the festivities."
The Spencers.
She ran her thumb over the name.
"Mrs. Spencer," she practiced the whisper. It tasted sweet. Like honey cake.
She stood up. She looked at the empty wall space between the bookshelves.
She walked to the wall behind the desk.
"Here," she decided. "Where he sits to read."
She lifted the first frame with her mind. The red energy cradled it, floating it up to the wall.
The frame settled against the wood paneling, held in place by friction and will.
She floated the others up. She arranged them in a gallery wall. A timeline of their victory.
She stepped back to admire the work.
The afternoon sun hit the glass, making the images shine.
There he was. Her hero. Her doctor. Her husband (according to the neighbors).
She felt a tear slide down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly.
She touched the glass of the center frame… the one of them holding hands.
She turned away from the wall, feeling lighter than she had in years. She unlocked the door.
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
I stood in the garden for a long time after she went inside. The sun was warm on my face, but the phantom pressure of her lips lingered on mine, a ghost of sweetness that refused to fade.
"You lucky bastard," I told the cat, who was currently trying to murder a bumblebee.
The cat ignored me.
I turned and walked back into the house. The living room was quiet.
I looked toward the library door. It was closed. I could almost hear the hum of her focus from here.
No entry, she had said.
I respected the boundary. Mostly because I didn't want to sleep in the Wanda Wing alone.
Chapter 78: Lemon in the Tomb (2)
New
20 hours ago
I wandered aimlessly for a moment. I straightened a pillow. I drank a glass of water.
Then, my gaze drifted upward.
To the second floor. To the end of the hallway.
To the room I hadn't entered since the day I met this Wanda.
I hadn't thought about it in... days. Weeks? Time was blurring. Since Wanda (this Wanda) had moved in, the past had felt less like a weight and more like a story I had read a long time ago.
But now, in the quiet of the empty house, I felt a pull. A tug in my chest.
Go up, a voice in my head whispered.
I walked to the stairs. My footsteps were slow.
I climbed. The wood creaked under my weight.
I reached the landing. I walked past our bedroom (the S&M Suite) where the bed was still unmade, a testament to our morning.
I walked to the end of the hall.
The black door. It was closed.
I reached for the handle. It was cold.
I turned it. It was unlocked.
I pushed the door open.
I stepped in.
And froze.
"Oh," I breathed.
The room had been... disturbed.
The photos on the shelves were slightly askew. Someone had picked them up. Someone had looked at them.
I walked to the center table.
The vase was there. But the blue cornflower (the preserved memory of a love from a dead universe) was gone.
In its place, resting on the dusty wood, lay a pile of crushed blue powder.
And next to it...
A lemon.
A bright yellow lemon.
I stared at it.
"IF YOU CAN HANDLE THE SOUR, YOU EARN THE SUGAR." (Chapter: 14)
She was here, I realized.
I turned to the corner.
The mirror.
The dust sheet was on the floor.
And the glass...
It was shattered.
A spiderweb of cracks radiated from the center, as if someone had punched it. Or hit it with a blast of telekinetic force.
I walked over to the broken glass. I saw my own reflection, fragmented into a dozen jagged pieces.
I looked at the 'lens' "You guys... did you see this? When did she do this?"
I ran my hand over the frame.
She had seen everything. The photos of me and the other Wanda.
And she hadn't said a word.
She had just... replaced the flower. And broken the mirror.
"Why?" I whispered to the shattered glass.
I turned back to the shelves.
I picked up a photo. It was me and Other Wanda, sitting on the hood of my car in Sokovia, eating ice cream. We were laughing.
I ran my thumb over her face.
I put the photo back.
I looked down at the floor. I looked through the floorboards, using my vision to see into the room below.
I saw Wanda. She was standing back, admiring a wall of framed newspapers. She was smiling. She looked proud.
She was building our future downstairs, while I was standing in the dust of my past upstairs.
I walked over to the other shelf. I found a photo of her. She was standing in a field of cornflowers, looking at the camera with that beautiful smile.
I picked it up.
"Hey," I said softly to the photo.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry I couldn't stop the sky from falling. I had all this power... and I was useless."
My voice cracked.
"But... I have to go now."
I looked at her face one last time.
"I loved you," I said. "God, I loved you. You were my first everything."
I paused. I felt the warmth of the house around me. I felt the connection to the woman downstairs.
"But I'm in love with her now," I confessed. "This Wanda. The one who eats my cooking and steals my hoodies."
"I can't live in this room anymore," I told the photo.
I placed the photo back on the shelf.
"I'm going to protect her," I promised. "I won't let it happen twice. I will burn the universe down before I let anyone hurt her."
I stepped back.
I looked around the room.
I raised my hand.
Snap.
A ripple of energy moved through the room.
The dust vanished. The broken glass on the floor dissolved into nothingness. The crushed flower petals disappeared.
The room was clean.
But I didn't fix the mirror.
"Goodbye," I whispered.
I turned and walked out. I closed the black door. I locked it.
I walked down the hallway.
I went down the stairs.
I walked into the living room.
The air here was alive.
I walked to the kitchen. I poured a glass of water. I drank it in one long gulp, washing the taste of dust from my throat.
I went back to the living room. I turned on the TV. I sat on the couch.
I turned on a sitcom.
Full House.
I watched the Tanner family solve a problem in twenty minutes.
Five minutes later, I heard the library door unlock.
Footsteps in the hallway.
I stared at the TV.
I felt her presence behind the sofa.
Then, hands covered my eyes.
The world went dark. Her palms were cool.
"Guess who?" she whispered near my ear.
I smiled. A real smile.
"Hmm," I mused. "Is it... Mrs. Higgins? Seeking revenge for the avocado?"
She laughed, her breath tickling my ear. "Try again."
"Is it... Agatha Harkness?"
"Colder."
I leaned back into her hands.
"Is it... Mrs. Spencer?" I asked softly.
I felt her pause. I felt her intake of breath.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
She removed her hands.
She climbed over the back of the sofa (graceful as a cat) and slid down next to me.
She was blushing. A lovely red.
"Mrs. Spencer?" she teased, nudging my shoulder. "That is presumptive."
"The neighborhood has spoken," I shrugged, putting my arm around her and pulling her into my lap. "I just follow the polls."
She snuggled into me, resting her head on my chest.
"Did you finish your project?" I asked, kissing her hair.
"Yes," she said. "It is... done."
"Can I see it?"
"Later," she said. "Right now... I just want to watch the show."
"Okay," I said.
We sat there.
Uncle Jesse was making a joke. The laugh track played.
I looked down at the woman in my arms.
Wanda looked up at me.
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
I looked at her green eyes.
"I was thinking," I said, "that I really like lemons."
She smiled.
"Good," she said. "Because I bought a bag full."
She settled back down.
I held her tighter.