NOTE: THIS CONTAINS AVENGERS: ENDGAME SPOILERS. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.

It was muggy and overcast the day the Maximoffs moved into their new home. The weather had entered that transitional period between spring and summer, humid and damp and inconsistent—weather that even the beautiful Arlington, Virginia wasn't immune to.

Their new home, Laurel Park, was a tiny suburb 10 miles from Washington, D.C. The people who populated it were mostly commuters who worked in the capital, but they preferred to maintain a cozy life away from the hustle and bustle of politics. Some of them had children; most of them were empty-nesters.

Wanda Maximoff and Vision were neither.

The pair carried boxes into their new house as a slight drizzle came down and the sun shied away from them. Vision phased effortlessly, the raindrops falling right through him, and Wanda cast a glistening red shield above her head, a makeshift umbrella that the rain drummed against.

The couple across the street peered out their windows, watching Wanda and Vision as they finished with their task and locked their moving van. Vision noticed their staring and waved. They let the curtains fall closed.

On their second day there, the neighbors started stopping by.

"Joanna Simpkins—you remember her, Jodi's mother? Well, she says they're Avengers. The weird witchy girl and the robot one," Linda Guberman whispered conspiratorially to her husband. Her heels clacked loudly on the pavement as they made their way toward 1610 Astilbe Lane.

Linda fancied herself the Best Baker in Laurel Park and a part of the Community Welcoming Committee, though neither were official titles. She'd never studied baking or even thought about owning a bakery nor had she taken any courses in neighborly etiquette. But spending many of her years as a stay-at-home mother had given her ample time to try new recipes and make her presence known, and though she now had plenty on her plate with her career in banking, she still took those lesser responsibilities very seriously.

"I believe they call him an android, dear," Joseph Guberman corrected, scratching as his mustache. It was a nervous habit. "I'm not sure 'robot' is politically correct."

Joseph Guberman was what they called a "pitbull." He was a lobbyist for the National Rifle Association, and he could convince even the most steadfast beatnik to devote their life to the Second Amendment. His work acquaintances would be surprised to learn that he was much more docile in his home life—always tagging along on his wife's Community Welcoming Committee duties. He was an honorary member.

The Gubermans paused as they reached the front porch.

The house itself looked perfectly normal. Two-levels, caramel-colored siding, a two-door garage, plenty of windows to let in the sunlight. They even had a white picket fence and a small white mailbox with "The Maximoffs" written in red cursive along the side. It was a near copy of every other house on the block, the kind of uniformity and normalcy one comes to expect from small city suburbs.

A bit deceptive, Linda thought, given the home's new residents.

She turned to her husband with a look of panic. "Do robots eat human food? Will they even want these?" She motioned to the large platter in her hands, covered in meticulously-sized sugar cookies. A few of them had "WELCOME" piped onto them in royal icing while others were simply sprinkled with sugar crystals.

"Android, sweetie. I'm sure the girl needs to eat. Either way, they'll appreciate the gesture." With a deep breath, Joseph reached a clammy fist forward and rapped on the door with his knuckles—five staccato knocks.

They waited. And waited a bit longer. There was no sound of footsteps.

"Maybe they aren't home," Linda offered. "We can always leave the cookies, and they can return the—"

The door cracked open with a soft creak, and one half of their new neighbors stood in the door frame. The Gubermans' friendly expressions faltered just a bit as they took in Vision—light blue button-up, cashmere black sweater, well-tailored khaki pants, burgundy and teal skin, a yellow stone perched between his eyes. The news coverage hadn't done him justice; he was equal parts majestic and intimidating.

Linda couldn't decide if she should look in his eyes or in the stone. She read once that it was his "life force." (Us Weekly's wording, not hers.)

"Good afternoon," Vision greeted. "How may I help you?"

The Gubermans stared for a few silent seconds. Joseph scratched at his mustache. Then Linda remembered her manners.

"We just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood," Linda said, laughing nervously. She shoved the platter toward Vision. "We brought cookies."

"Thank you. Your hospitality is much appreciated."

"Viz? Who is it?" Wanda appeared behind him, peering around his tall frame. She was smaller than she looked on the news. Her orange-hued hair fell to her waist in tangled waves, and her clothing was much more casual than her partner's—a baggy gray v-neck; faded jeans that looked secondhand; an oversized cardigan, rolled up her forearms; combat boots with the soles peeling off.

Linda hoped her expression didn't convey her distaste. The Avengers paid well enough to live in a gated community but apparently not well enough to buy clothing with the tags still on.

The girl looked much younger than the android seemed to be, Joseph noted.

"My apologies. I haven't introduced myself. I am Vision, and this," Vision motioned to Wanda, "is my wife, Wanda Maximoff. And you are?"

"Joseph Guberman," Joseph said, voice gruff, a macho defense mechanism he'd developed in college, "and my wife is Linda. It's, uh, it's very nice to meet the both of you." He didn't attempt to shake hands, keeping both arms at his sides. He wasn't sure if androids were keen on human contact.

"It's nice meeting you, too," Wanda responded. "Do you live on our block?"

"Oh, yes," Linda answered. "We're five houses down. If you ever need to borrow some sugar or—or a wrench or anything, feel free to stop on by."

"I'm sure we'll take you up on that at some point." Wanda smiled.

"Would you like to see the house? Wanda has done a wonderful job decorating it in such a short amount of time." Vision stepped aside, giving them a view of the foyer.

"Maybe another time. We have places to be and things to get done," Linda told them with another laugh. "But it was so nice meeting you both." She scurried off the porch, her husband trailing her.

"Joanna wasn't wrong when she said they were odd," she whispered to her husband when they were far enough away for her to feel comfortable gossiping. "Wasn't he dead not too long ago?"

"Maybe they brought him back when they brought back the rest of us," Joseph offered.

"But didn't the Decimation kill half of all living creatures? Is a robot really—"

"Android."

"Is an android really considered a living creature?"

Joseph shrugged. "He's living enough to have a nice home and a beautiful wife."

Vision closed the door. "They brought us cookies," he told Wanda. "That was very cordial of them."

Wanda snorted, taking the platter from him. "No, it was awkward."

"How so?"

"You couldn't tell how uncomfortable we were making them? They couldn't wait to get away from us." Wanda picked at the cling wrap that was smoothed over the cookies. "I don't think they're used to neighbors who aren't typical humans."

"Ah."

Wanda made her way back into the kitchen, setting the platter of cookies on their kitchen island, and went back to stirring the pasulj on the stove. She couldn't exactly remember the last time she'd had it; it was back when she and Pietro had shared an apartment in Sokovia, back when he'd refused to ever cook because he knew he'd make a mess of it and that she was the sibling who'd inherited all their parents' culinary gifts. She'd buy the fatty, smoked bacon and plump bread fresh that morning, and they'd sit at the kitchen table, dunking slices of bread into the soup, letting it soak up the broth before they bit into it.

It smelled just as good as she remembered it.

"What is this again?" Vision asked, peering into the pot as she stirred.

"Pasulj. White bean soup. It was one of Pietro's favorites growing up. I figured it'd be a good celebratory meal."

Vision leaned down and fanned the steam toward his nose, inhaling deeply. "I can understand why. It smells delicious."

"It is." Wanda scooped some liquid into her plastic spoon and slurped. She smacked her lips, savoring the flavor, before reaching over and tossing in a pinch more black pepper.

Vision wrapped his arms around her waist, body pressed to her back, and rested his head against her shoulder. She loved when he did that—held her, watched her work, let them relax into the silence that surrounded them. He never felt the pressures of small talk that humans usually succumbed to; he saw the beauty in letting their actions speak for themselves.

He pressed his cool lips to her cheek, and she tilted her head just enough for hers to meet them. He tasted like honey and copper. She tasted like nothing.

Vision pulled away and cocked his head. "Your resting heart rate is uncharacteristically high. Is something wrong?"

Wanda shook her head. "It's nothing. Just nerves about being so far away from everyone and if our new neighbors will like us. I'll be fine."

A cool hand came to rest on her cheek, thumb grazing the corner of her lip. He gently urged her to turn until she faced him, her back to the stove. He took in her tense expression. "There is no reason to worry. The Avengers are more than capable of handling their own. And our neighbors have shown signs of surprise and mild discomfort so far, but, like you pointed out, that's to be expected given who we are. I don't believe they'll cause us any trouble."

"Why can't I be as logical as you are? It'd make life a lot less stressful."

"I like that you're so emotionally motivated." He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers again, picking up where they'd left off.

It took all of Wanda's willpower to pull herself away from him. "Are you trying to make me burn dinner?"

"Of course not. I know you've put a lot of time into tonight's meal. I apologize for distracting you."

"Viz. I was only teasing. I love your distractions." She initiated the kiss this time, leaning into him just long enough for their lips to fold together. "Now sit down and relax. I'll be over in a minute." She went back to stirring, nervously patting the pocket of her long cardigan with her free hand.

Vision sat down at their small, cozy kitchen table, crossing his legs and unfolding the bundled newspaper he'd picked up on his way inside. While his primary position in government was to pass communication between the president and the Avengers and make sure their relationship remained positive and supportive, he thought it essential he remain up-to-date on current events that could potentially impact his employment or employer.

He flipped aimlessly through the pages, taking in each of the headlines and picking and choosing which seemed most important or most interesting.

Wanda poured a few ladles full of soup into a bowl, grabbed a thick slice of bread, and sat down opposite Vision. She watched him as she ate, noting the complete composure on his face as his bright eyes scanned each headline. It was refreshing. The news and social media were rife with people blowing up at every bit of media coverage, yet Vision never let those emotions cloud his judgement. Only when it came to Wanda did his logic falter.

It was quite the compliment, she had to admit, to be loved so much that the most rational person on the planet threw rationality out the window when she was involved.

"How was your first day?" She asked, blowing on a spoonful of hot soup.

"It was mostly formalities to acquaint me with the White House and my new position—more or less what I expected." His eyes stayed trained on the newspaper. He flipped to a new page.

Vision had left the house at 6:50 a.m. on the dot that morning. Wanda had watched from their porch as he grabbed his briefcase and gracefully lifted into the sky, flying over their neighbors' homes on his new morning commute.

"How was your day at home?"

Wanda wrinkled her nose. "Uneventful."

"No progress yet?"

Given their move, Wanda had decided—with Vision's encouragement—to take a brief hiatus from the Avengers and focus on honing her abilities. She had a lot of raw energy and strength, and she knew it'd do her well to focus that energy more, to figure out new ways of using it.

Vision was particularly interested in her tapping into her reality-bending, a facet of her powers she'd been avoiding since her regrettable days as an Ultron lackey. It felt invasive and cruel to use them.

But she knew he was right. So she spent her first morning alone sitting in their empty spare bedroom, legs crossed, arms poised in front of her. It took her an hour or two before she fully got the hang of it, and then she was creating little pockets of entirely new realities, whole new worlds that floated in front of her in fragile little bubbles.

She tried to focus only on the positives when it came to creating new realities—Pietro with his arm around the waist of a pretty young woman, a diamond ring on her left hand; her parents sitting in the front row of her and Vision's wedding, wiping away tears as they watched her say, "I do;" an Earth that was stable and peaceful and didn't need the Avengers' saving.

But every so often, horrific images slipped in—intrusive thoughts she hadn't realized she'd been harboring. A daunting purple figure, headed straight for her; Vision begging her to kill him, promising her it won't hurt; her own body flaking away into dust.

Wanda decided to call it quits when the little bubble transformed from her and Pietro dancing at her wedding to her holding his bloodied corpse.

"No," she lied. "No progress yet."

"I'm sure there will be amazing progress to report soon."

Wanda stared down into her soup, stirring and stirring, eyes trained on the swirl of the white beans. She put down her spoon and fidgeted in her chair. "Viz."

Her husband didn't look up, so transfixed in whatever he was reading that her voice didn't seem to register. She cleared her throat loudly, and he lowered the paper, eyes meeting hers.

"Hm? My apologies. I—There's an article in today's paper that doesn't make much sense." His eyes moved back down the page he'd been stuck on.

"What's it about?" Wanda asked, tapping her foot nervously on the floor. She'd let him explain, talk a bit about the day's news, and then she'd tell him. God, she could barely hold it in.

"It's about the public's perception of Sam Wilson and his taking on the mantle of Captain America. But I… I can't seem to remember Steve ever mentioning retirement."

Wanda's brow furrowed, and she motioned for the paper, tendrils of red picking it up off the table and floating it in front of her. A picture of Sam Wilson took up half the page; his usual goggles obscured part of his face, but his uniform had changed, red and white stripes covering his torso, a large white star emblazoned on his chest. Fastened to his right arm was Captain America's shield, a glare cutting through the crest of American heroism.

"CAP 2.0: RECONCILING AMERICA'S ANTI-BLACK HISTORY WITH ITS NEW SYMBOL OF PATRIOTISM," read the headline beneath it.

Wanda skimmed over paragraphs about Steve Rogers disappearing and Falcon taking on a new moniker and America's perception of the Avengers in the wake of Tony Stark's death. Tony Stark's death.

A stabbing pain in her head cut through Wanda's concentration, blurring her vision, and she let out a cry. She saw flashes of rubble, fire, smoke, and armies charging toward them. Metal weapons clanged against one another. Her powers took down massive creatures that crept through the foggy, dark skies. Bodies and debris littered the ground.

Vision phased through the table, coming to rest by her side. "Wanda?" Vision kneeled, hands resting on her thigh. "Wanda, are you all right?"

The newspaper in front of her was overwhelmed by her powers, folding in on itself until it was gone, nothing but wisps of red in its wake. And just like that, it was over. She was in her kitchen again, everything was clear, and there was only a dull pounding left in her head. The newspaper was gone. She wasn't sure how that had happened; she hadn't tried to destroy it.

"I…" Wanda wasn't sure how to explain what had happened when she wasn't even sure what it was. "I'm just exhausted from practicing earlier," she settled on. It was easier than worrying him. She knew, if she'd told him the truth, he'd be up all night, scouring the internet for some kind of solution.

"Are you certain that's all it was?" There it was, that rare glimpse of emotion that seeped through his typically composed demeanor. Wanda appreciated that she was able to give him a more complicated life, to give an android—someone people thought was so far removed from the human experience—emotions as strong as the ones she felt. But she hated that with those emotions came worries. She burdened him with her troubles. It wasn't fair.

She reached out and pressed a hand to his cheek, smiling widely. "Yes, that's all it was. Now, I have something important to tell you, but it can wait until later if you'd rather spend all dinner worrying about me."

"What is it? Is it something to do with the Avengers?"

Wanda shook her head. She reached into the pocket of her sweater and wrapped her fingers around the pregnancy test. "Close your eyes."

"Why would I need to do that?"

Wanda laughed. "Because that's part of the fun of surprises. So close your eyes, hold out your hands, and trust me." He followed her instructions in spite of his skepticism. She placed the pregnancy test in his awaiting hands, fingertips grazing his palm. "Now, open your eyes."

Vision stared at the pregnancy test, holding it up in front of his eyes. "Two lines indicate pregnancy," he said, voice wavering.

"They do." Wanda couldn't contain her excitement, her face breaking into a wide smile.

"We—I—We're going to be parents," he stumbled, laughing excitedly. "We're having a child."

He didn't let Wanda respond before lunging forward and wrapping his arms around her. Wanda laughed as the chair teetered, and she tucked her head into his neck, closing her eyes and enjoying this moment while it lasted.

She'd seen this in her pocket realities, too, but it couldn't compare to the look on his face, the tremor in his voice, the way he held her.

Vision pulled back and kissed her deeply. "Wanda," he whispered against her mouth.

"We're going to be parents," she repeated, unable to think of anything else to say, mind too dizzy.

Vision stared into her eyes, smile wide, white teeth a stark contrast against his skin. "You're going to be the most incredible mother." And then he kissed her again and swept her up, levitating her far above their kitchen table, their heads nearly touching the ceiling. And they stayed like that for awhile, until their laughter and lightheaded giddiness finally subsided (but only just a bit).

Wanda washed her face and brushed her teeth and pulled back her hair, all the usual parts of her nightly routine, but she couldn't focus on it. Her eyes kept flickering back to Vision as he lounged in their bed—covers pulled over his legs, back against the headboard, book in his lap. If he wanted to, he could absorb a novel the length of War and Peace in no more than ten seconds, downloading every word of it online at an unimaginable speed. But he enjoyed the tranquility of curling up in bed with a good book.

It was the little things like that made Wanda love him wholeheartedly. It would be so easy for him to reject all aspects of humanity, but he embraced them, even when he didn't need to. He was so unlike anyone she'd ever met. He was so unlike anyone she'd ever meet again.

As a young girl, Wanda had never even entertained the thought that this life was possible. Watching their parents fall through a gaping hole in their kitchen floor had changed Wanda, and her childish dreams and ambitions had died with them. There was no time for wishing some knight in shining armor would come save her from her miserable life; she had to work long hours, pay monthly bills, find other odd ways to put food on the table for herself and Pietro.

She figured it would always just be the two of them. Sure, Pietro was fond of chasing after a new girl every week, but none of them had come close to being a serious relationship. Wanda was the only constant in his life, and he was the only constant in hers.

(Which reminded her that she needed to call Pietro and tell him the good news, but that could wait until tomorrow.)

And then Vision was born and they joined the Avengers, and her life was changed beyond anything she could've imagined. The Avengers had been her knight in shining armor, but it was Vision who helped her life in America truly feel like a home.

All those years ago, she'd thought no one would ever be as important to her as Pietro was. She was grateful to have proven herself wrong.

"I can feel you staring," Vision said, eyes still focused on the pages of his book.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Wanda flicked off the bathroom light and crawled into her side of the bed, snuggling up beneath the thick blankets. Vision shoved a bookmark into his tattered used copy of The Great Gatsby, turned off their bedside lamp, and moved to hover over Wanda.

His arms flanked either side of her head, and he leaned down, gently pressing his lips against hers. It was a slow kiss, the kind that built up tension from the faintest of touches and most deliberate movements. He parted her lips with his tongue, his breath warm against her skin, and Wanda wound her arms around his back, tracing the creases in his skin that differed from the smooth backs of humans. She loved those differences, loved that he felt so unlike any other man she'd kissed or touched.

She pulled away with a chuckle as his mouth moved to her cheek and her neck, peppering kisses along the way. "You don't have to try so hard. I'm already pregnant."

Vision laughed and pulled away but stayed close enough that his face was all she could make out. "I love you," he whispered, so quietly that she could barely hear the words, her eyes instead following the shape of his mouth—lips parted, tongue flicking against his palate, lips slightly pursing on the final vowel sound.

She could see him in a forest, on his knees, a red beam flowing from her palm to the stone in his head. He was utterly composed, eyes focused on her. "I love you," he whispered, inaudible over the chaos erupting around them. And then the stone in his head splintered and sent cracks like ripple effects across his face. His eyes closed. His face relaxed. And a burst of light blinded her.

Wanda gasped, her head hammering like something was trying to burst its way out, and Vision's smile faltered.

"I'm fine," she told him before he could ask any questions. "It's just headaches from the hormonal changes. It's really nothing."

Vision stared at her for a minute before trusting her assessment and rolling back onto the mattress.

Wanda watched as he relaxed, covers up to his waist and hands folded against his stomach. He closed his eyes, and within seconds, he was out, deep into a night of dreamless sleep.

Wanda stayed like that, staring at him, as her hands shook and lips quivered. She'd seen him dying, and it felt like deja vu. Like she'd already seen it, already felt the sharp sting that came with his destruction.

Soft moonlight filtered into their bedroom as Wanda laid back, closed her eyes, and willed herself to relax. That night, she dreamed of nothing but that look of total acceptance as Vision's skull erupted into light.

END NOTE: Well then! Things have officially kicked off! Who would've thought that Endgame would get me back into fanfic writing after a 6 (or more) year hiatus?

I plan for this to go in even stranger and more magical directions from here, taking some inspiration from the comics and movies while making things my own. I hope you stick around, that you like it, and that it scratches and itch you have for more Wanda Maximoff in your life.

Let me know what you think so far in the comments! Feedback is so very useful to us writers.