Author's note: Based on the prompt for AUgust Day 30: The Day the World Died.
The shattered water made a misty din.
Great waves looked over others coming in,
And thought of doing something to the shore
That water never did to land before.
The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,
Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.
You could not tell, and yet it looked as if
The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,
The cliff in being backed by continent;
It looked as if a night of dark intent
Was coming, and not only a night, an age.
Someone had better be prepared for rage.
There would be more than ocean-water broken
Before God's last Put out the Light was spoken.
~Robert Frost, "Once by the Pacific
When the comet was first sighted, some said it was on a course that could hit Earth. But people always said something like that when anything new was discovered in the heavens. There were always doom-sayers, and always would be.
Or so Victor Shade thought.
He continued teaching his classes. He rolled his eyes at the jokes his students made that there would be no point studying for finals, since the world would end by then. Even when astrophysicists ran more equations and came up with increasingly worrisome projections, he didn't let it bother him. He was a literature professor, not a scientists or a government leader. There was nothing he could do to help, so he might as well continue his life as he always had, focusing on his own responsibilities regardless of what was going on in the world
When the President announced that the comet was almost certainly on a collision course with Earth, he'd immediately added that the military would launch a missile to deflect it from that course. It would be a challenge unlike anything humanity had ever faced, but they would face it together, overcome it, and continue on stronger than ever. It was an inspiring speech, without a hint of the despair to come.
Humanity didn't unite to overcome their challenge. There was fierce competition between military and civilian contractors to build the rocket. One company hired to make a necessary component demanded astronomical sums for the job, far higher than initially negotiated. It was a clear-cut case of a hostage situation, but it was too late to hire any other company to build the part. The ransom was paid, but it delayed the rocket's launch by several days. If not for that, perhaps the rocket wouldn't have missed the comet.
That had been humanities last chance.
The President gave another speech, this one far less hopeful. There were already underground bunkers being built and stocked around the world. Different countries would decide who to house in them using the metrics of their choice. Those chosen to shelter in these bunkers might, possibly, with luck, survive the comet.
Everyone else had five weeks.
Professor Victor Shade saw fewer and fewer students in his classes as the days went by. Students were going home to spend what time they had left with their families, or spending what time they had left too drunk to care. But he kept going to his classrooms, kept preparing his lessons. He was a professor. Teaching was what he lived for. He didn't have family left, had never married, had always figured there would be time for that later, when he was more settled, when he had tenure. Now there was no more time.
It was Monday, the second week after the failure of the rocket. There had been no students in any of his lectures so far. The last class of the day was Literature 335: Poetry of the World. He wrote the titles, authors, and page numbers of the poems he'd want to discuss on the blackboard, writing slowly in the neatest cursive he could manage, aware that beneath the thin veneer of business as usual he was liable at any moment to break down, like a machine severed from its power source. And so he focused on the shape of the letters and numbers. He focused on the texture of the chalk lines on the blackboard. Anything other than that he only had weeks to live, that the great works of literature he'd devoted his life to studying and sharing would be lost. No one would ever read them again, because there would be no one left to read them.
He was on the verge of tears when he turned back to the classroom, and was startled to see a student sitting a few rows back.
"Miss Maximoff," he said.
"Hello, Professor Shade."
Her voice was small. He'd known her for three years, and had never heard her voice like that. Wanda Maximoff always spoke with firmness and force, whether addressing him when answering or asking questions in class, or joining in vigorous discussions with other students. Her writing had always been equally as strong, her essays always insightful, often finding possible interpretations that Victor hadn't considered before. They also tended to be funny, making light of poems usually taken to be serious.
"I'm surprised to see you here," he commented.
She was quiet for several seconds before saying, "I have nowhere else to be."
"Your family?" he inquired as gently as he could.
"My parents died years ago, in the war in Sokovia. My only brother died a few years ago, right before I came here."
He'd vaguely known Wanda was European from her accent, but had no idea she had anything so tragic in her past.
"I'm so sorry. Do you have friends you could be spending this time with?"
"They're all home with their families."
"No one invited you to stay with them?"
"None of them know I don't have anywhere to go. I've never told anyone here about what happened to my parents. If they asked, I lied. I was sick of pity well before I came here. And now...I didn't want to impose on anyone." She blinked quickly. "What about you? You're the only professor I've seen all day. Why are you here?"
"Much the same reason you are, I imagine," he said. "My father died when I was a teenager. My mother died a few years ago of cancer. I've never had anyone else. I don't have anywhere else to be either."
"Could we still do the lesson, just the two of us?" Wanda asked, a tear rolling down her cheek that she made no effort to wipe away. "I would really like to discuss Wisława Szymborska or Agha Shahid Ali right now."
"Of course. You may come sit closer, Miss Maximoff." He brought his lecture notes and pulled up his chair to a desk on the front row.
She joined him. From this close, he noticed how pale she was.
"Please turn to page 244 in your textbook," he requested.
She complied, flashing him the tiniest smile, a heartbreakingly tiny smile, as if for just a fraction of a second, she could almost forget.
Victor delivered his lecture, pausing to add additional information, and reading each poem aloud in full when he usually would only have read an illustrative line or two. Wanda frequently asked for clarifications, and spoke up with alternate interpretations. Their discussion lasted well past the usual end of class.
When he had finished every last point from his lecture notes, Victor closed his folder, the sick feeling returning to his heart and throat as he closed the book on his life's purpose for perhaps the last time.
A gleam faded from Wanda's eyes just exactly like the ember of a fire going out. "Do you have any homework to assign, professor?" she asked with a note of desperation.
He stared at her, contemplating their circumstances. They were both so entirely alone, during the worst time in recorded history. Distracting her from her fear, sadness, and loneliness had eased his own.
"Where are you staying, Miss Maximoff?"
"A house I've been renting off-campus."
"Alone?" He could barely make it sound like a question. He knew.
"Yes."
He glanced down nervously. "I think, perhaps… Please feel no obligation to agree, or even to decide right now, but… Would you consider coming home with me?" He suddenly realized what that might sound like. "I swear I have nothing improper in mind. I just...would rather not be alone at this time, and there are many more works I would like to read and discuss with you."
She looked stunned, blinking at him for a few moments. "Yeah, that sounds nice, actually. I'll do it."
...
After we died—That was it!—God left us in the dark.
And as we forgot the dark, we forgot even the rain.
...
What was I to prophesy if not the end of the world?
A salt pillar for the lonely lot, even the rain.
...
~Agha Shahid Ali, from "Even the Rain"
Professor Shade's apartment was nice. It was tidy and tastefully decorated, as Wanda knew it would be. She intended to ask him about every single painting and knickknack.
Wanda looked over the books on his shelves as Professor Shade brought out sheets, pillows, and blankets and made a bed for her on a futon in the living room.
"Please make yourself at home. I'm going to prepare supper. I was planning to make pasta salad. Is that alright?"
"It's fine," she answered. She'd had so little appetite lately, anything she could eat would be fine.
"Do you have any food allergies or dietary restrictions I should be aware of?"
"No."
He nodded, and retreated to the kitchen.
There was a television in the living room. Wanda was tempted to turn it on, to check the news on one of the few channels still playing. But she didn't. She decided it would be healthier to ignore it right now, to try to enjoy a little time with her favorite professor without thinking about the state of the world.
It was absurd. There was absolutely nothing Wanda could do about the situation. Whether she spent the rest of her days in misery, with the constant stress eating away at her, or ignored it and chose to be happy, she was just as doomed either way. But she couldn't just flip a switch in her head and be in a good mood.
The bunkers were only taking families, so there was no chance she would be selected, and it was honestly pretty unlikely the people in the bunkers would survive anyway. The comet was estimated to be bigger than the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs, and moving faster. It was predicted to hit with such force it would cause a shockwave that would ripple across the world, turn the atmosphere to plasma, and liquify a portion of the Earth's surface. Anyone who survived the initial fiery death would likely freeze or starve during the years of darkness before the dust settled out of the atmosphere and let the sun shine again.
Robert Frost had set up a false dichotomy: the world would end in both fire and ice.
"Supper is ready," Professor Shade said quietly, shaking her from her melancholy reverie.
"Thank you."
My heart rouses
thinking to bring you news
of something
that concerns you
and concerns many men. Look at
what passes for new.
You will not find it there but in
despised poems.
It is difficult
to get the news from poems
yet men die miserably every day
for lack
of what is found there.
~William Carlos Williams
Victor's pantry was well stocked, and Wanda had brought over all the food she'd had left. It was fortunate, as every time they checked the few grocery stores in the area still open, the shelves were more and more empty.
It was strange how quickly they'd transitioned to doing everything together. They hadn't talked about it, but neither of them wanted to be alone for even the shortest stretch of time. The nights were the worst times for Victor, when he turned the lights out and couldn't escape the thoughts in his head.
They spent most of their days reading to each other. It seemed appropriate, and it eased the horror.
They sat on the couch after supper one night, Victor reading Emily Dickinson.
"'Tis not that Dying hurts us so—
'Tis Living—hurts us more—
But Dying—is a different way—
A Kind behind the Door—"
He paused.
"What is it?" Wanda asked.
"After my mother's diagnosis, it took her a while to come to terms with the fact that she was dying. She just didn't know how to handle it. But she did. She started talking a lot about her past, saying she had lived a good life, how proud she was of me. By the end, she kept books of poems by her bed, and she would read from them every night. It just occurred to me that it's as if the entire world has been diagnosed with terminal cancer. Everyone knows we will die someday, but it becomes so much more real when you're given an exact date."
"It does. Back before I left Sokovia, there was a time when I thought I wouldn't care if the world ended. Humans had ruined it. I saw for my whole life how terrible people can be, how cruel the world is. But it can also be wonderful, and now all I can think about is what we're losing."
He reached to his bookshelf and ran his fingers fondly along the spines of a dozen books before pulling down the collected works of Christina Rossetti. He turned through the pages until he found the one he wanted to read to her.
"Buds and Babies,
"A million buds are born that never blow,
That sweet with promise lift a pretty head
To blush and wither on a barren bed
And leave no fruit to show.
"Sweet, unfulfilled. Yet have I understood
One joy, by their fragility made plain:
Nothing was ever beautiful in vain,
Or all in vain was good."
Wanda blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. He wrapped an arm around her. Neither of them spoke.
Seek not—'tis wrong to know, Leuconöe,
What end the gods have set for you and me.
Try not the numbers used in Babylon.
Far better, maid, to set your heart upon
Whate'er may happen, whether Zeus has massed
More years for us, or makes this one our last,
Its winter wearing down now steadily
Opposing rocks of the Etruscan Sea.
Come drink your wine; cut short long hope; be wise!
Our life span's brief. Nay, while we talk, time flies.
Now seize the passing day;
Let tomorrow come what may.
~Horace, "Carpe Diem!"
It was the emd of another slow and yet agonizingly fleeting day. They shared another of Professor Shade's home-cooked meals, and spent more hours reading to each other.
They checked the news again, only to discover there was no news.
"I wanted to thank you," Wanda said, even though she had thanked him about a hundred times since he'd invited her to stay with. "I don't know how I would handle all this without you."
"I'm glad you're here," he assured her.
There was more she wanted to say, but she wasn't sure where to even start. Rather, something she wanted to ask from him, but she was terrified of what she would lose if the answer were no. "Professor…"
"I think under the circumstances we can stop being so formal. You may call me Victor."
"I don't know if I can." After years of thinking of him as 'Professor Shade', she wasn't sure she could switch.
"I'm not your professor any more. And no matter how informal we are I can promise you I won't try anything improper."
"I can't," she stated.
He frowned at her in confusion. "Can't what?"
"I can't promise I won't try anything improper." She took a deep breath. It was now or never. "I have a confession to make. I've had a crush on you for years. It's why I tried to take a class from you every semester. Everything about you just...enraptured me. You handsome face, your beautiful voice, the way you talk, your passion. Your basic decency. After growing up in a place where a lot of men think women are only good for having babies, being a Sintesa in a country where a lot of people treat the Sinti like we're all criminals, then being a refugee in a country where a lot of people think foreigners are lower than citizens, I was so sick and frustrated from a lifetime of being looked down on, of not being able to reason with people because anything I say in my own defense would be dismissed because it was coming from me. But then I met you, and the way you think, the way you treat people. You judge everyone by what they say, by what they write. It doesn't matter to you where they're from or what class or race or religion they're a part of. I didn't know people like you really existed. You were a vision of how good men could be. I couldn't help feeling the way I felt about you. And I knew nothing would ever come of it, that even if I told you how I felt, and even if you were interested, there was no way you'd ever date a student. But sometimes I would fantasize that maybe if we kept in touch after I graduated, maybe someday… But there's not going to be a 'someday'." She took another deep breath. It was a relief to finally get that off her chest, whatever the consequences.
He was looking at her with a shocked expression.
"I can leave if you want," she said.
"No. Please don't leave. I'm just not sure… Can I have some time to think about this?"
"You can have all the time in the world," she replied with a wry, bittersweet smile. "All twenty-three days of it."
The Line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift,
The road is forlorn all day,
Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift,
And the hoof-prints vanish away.
The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee,
Expend their bloom in vain.
Come over the hills and far with me,
And be my love in the rain.
~Robert Frost, from "A Line-Storm Song"
Fortunately it didn't take Victor 23 days to decide, just the time it took to brush and floss his teeth and soak in a long shower.
He'd never thought of Wanda that way. She had been his student, so his mind sorted her as outside romantic consideration. But as he'd pointed out to her, she wasn't his student anymore. There was no more college, there would be no graduation, no tests to give, no essays to grade, no ethical barriers between them. When he considered her without that filter, it felt as if he were seeing her for the first time. She was intelligent, insightful, and entirely enchanting. Not to mention strikingly beautiful. He couldn't believe it had taken the revelation of her interest in him for him to see it.
And she was, literally, his last chance for that kind of connection with anyone.
Wearing only his bathrobe—which he'd never worn in front of Wanda before, out of worries of what idea it might give her about his intentions—he shuffled into the living room, where she was reading by lamplight. She put the book down and looked at him as he sat on the edge of the futon.
He didn't know why he was so nervous, but his heart was pounding. "Are you sure?" he asked.
She answered by kissing him.
Her kiss was firm and passionate. He returned it automatically, letting her maneuver him until he was lying down with her twisted half on top of him. His arms circled around her.
He'd wanted this more than he'd realized—a loving touch, human contact. He felt like he'd needed it, like he'd been starving for it without realizing it.
Her hand slid under his robe.
He broke off kissing her. "I'm sorry," he apologized, embarrassed. "I'm just very nervous."
"It's okay," she assured him. "We don't have to go all the way tonight. How about you just relax, and I'll just touch you for a while. Please?"
He nodded
She untied his robe and pushed it open, taking in his nude form like he was a work of art. She trailed her fingertips lightly over his skin. Her hands roamed over him, exploring him.
He'd never thought of himself as particularly desirable before, never thought his body could be an object of lust, but the way Wanda was devouring him with her eyes and worshipping him with her hands proved otherwise.
She leaned down and kissed his chest and abs. Her lips and her fingertips traced lightly over his hip, down one thigh, up the other thigh.
Under her touches, his nervousness was receding, and another part of him was correspondingly extending.
She noticed, and let her touches drift closer and closer to his hardening erection until he felt her fingertips fluttering up and down it. He stiffled a moan.
After a minute or two of gentle, feathery touches, she slowly wrapped her hand around his shaft and massaged it. His eyes drifted closed. He reveled in her touch for a few minutes, then reached into the pocket of his robe for the condom he'd tucked there. As he rolled it on, she took off her pajamas, giving him his first view of her magniificent form on full display.
"How do you want me?" she breathed.
"Exactly like this." He put his hands on her hips and shifted her over him. "I want to see you."
Giving him a sultry smile, she lowered herself onto him. She was so wet, he slid into her easily, and caught his breath at the delicious sensation of her muscles squeezing around him. She moved her body in a slow, circular undulation experimentally, feeling the way he fit in her, then did it again, slightly faster and harder, taking him a little deeper.
As her body moved, he ran his hands up from her hips to her waist, her ribcage, and her breasts. He cupped them, feeling them bounce with her movements, her nipples hard in his palms.
Leaving one hand on her breast, he slid the other back down her body, between her legs. He found her clit, and stroked it between his index and middle fingers in time with her movements.
Wanda's eyes locked on his, and the look of adoration in them almost made him come undone. He bit his lip. Gazing at each other, their movements synchronized as Victor thrust his hips upward to meet her. She closed her eyes briefly, an expression of pure bliss on her face. But she forced her eyes back open. Her hands reached down and cupped his cheeks, and ran her thumb over his lips
"My vision," she whispered, her voiced rough.
It was too much to take. Grasping her hips as he thrust up into her, he came with a long, trembling gasp.
He collapsed onto the futon, panting. When he opened his eyes again, he found Wanda still looking at him, the heat in her gaze replaced with a soft fondness.
"Thank you," she said. "I needed that."
He realized that for the past few minutes, he'd completely forgotten the world was ending.
"So did I," he said.
Is it too late to touch you, Dear?
We this moment knew—
Love Marine and Love terrene—
Love celestial too—
~Emily Dickinson
Wanda and Victor scarcely left each other's side. It was as if being away from each other were physically painful. They made love at least once a day, and always fell asleep touching, as it was the only way they could stave off the insomnia born from the mere knowledge of the state of the world.
Every night, the comet was bigger and brighter in the sky. They only saw it from the windows, as it had become too dangerous to venture outside. Some people were responding to the approaching end by indulging in all the wanton violence they'd ever dreamed of. The sounds of gunshots and fights rose from the streets every few hours as certain kinds of people killed each other for no reason other than they thought it might be fun, or maybe in search of a mode of death that didn't involve the waiting.
The last day came too soon.
"Hawaii," Wanda stated when their conversation drifted to what she regretted never being able to do. "I've always wanted to go to Hawaii, ever since seeing an old post card from the Big Island in a shop when I was a child. I always told myself I would save up some money and take a vacation there someday. What about you? What do you wish you could have done?"
Victor frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose my life was pretty fulfilled. I loved teaching, I was able to travel, I even published a textbook. I have always wanted to experience a complete solar eclipse. There will be one visible here in two years that I had been looking forward to seeing. I know that might seem trivial."
"It's not trivial," Wanda assured him. "That would have been cool."
"Besides that... there is one thing I think I might have wanted, but...I don't know."
She smiled at his reticence. "You know anything you say will never leave this room, right? Who am I going to tell?"
"It's just...I was never sure whether I wanted to have children or not. I was an only child, and I have never interacted with young children significantly, so I have no idea if I would have been suited for it. But now that it will never happen, I think that is something I would have wanted."
Wanda also wasn't sure if she'd wanted children. With her life, it had always seemed like something untenable under her current circumstances, to be considered only if her circumstances changed. But there was one thing she knew for sure, and she said it.
"You would have been a great father."
He stroked her arm and quirked his lips in what was technically a smile. He glanced away.
She followed his eyes to the clock.
"We've got an hour left," she said.
"Give or take a few minutes. Even the best measurements haven't been able to get it down to the minute. And there's no telling if we'll be within the range of the initial shockwave, or the tsunami, or if we'll be among the lucky ones who will live to see the darkness and cold."
He wasn't usually this grim. But under these conditions, who wouldn't be?
She put her hand on his cheek. "I know. I'm scared too."
He covered her hand with his. He didn't smile, but his expression softened. He gazed at her like she was a lifeline.
At least they would die together, so she would never have to live without him, Wanda thought.
At least she was able to know what it felt like to fall in love before she died
"What do you want to do with the time we have left?" he asked.
"I don't want to the think about it. I just want to be with you."
He nodded, and kissed her.
Their kisses were slow and tender. They undressed each other slowly, savoring every touch. They lay side by side on the bed, for a few minutes doing nothing more than exchanging kisses and languid caresses.
Victor began to rise. "I'll go grab a condom."
"You're seriously going to bother now?" Wanda asked in amusement.
He conceded her point with a soft chuckle, and fell back into bed. He pulled her to him. He held her and kissed her with a silent desperation.
Wanda wrapped her legs around him, pulling him into her.
Their lips and arms anchored to each other. They moved together slowly, not caring about release, only connection. They wanted this moment to last until the end of time.
After Victor finally did come, he pulled out slowly, then slid his fingers into her to continue their lovemaking.
"I love you," Wanda whispered between kisses.
"I love you too, Wanda."
When they were both too exhausted to continue, they lay with their arms around each other, eyes closed, waiting for the end.
They fell asleep like that.
Wanda woke up first with the light of a brilliant sunrise in the window. She sat up slowly, confused.
It was the dawn of the day after what was supposed to be the last day.
"Vis," she used the nickname she'd come up with a couple of weeks ago when she'd accidentally mispronounced 'Vic' and they both realized it suited him better. "Vis, wake up."
He blinked at her, then sat up, frowning. "We're alive?"
"I think everyone is. I think something happened."
Will there really be a "Morning"?
Is there such a thing as "Day"?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?
Has it feet like Water lilies?
Has it feathers like a Bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?
Oh some Scholar! Oh some Sailor!
Oh some Wise Man from the skies!
Please to tell a little Pilgrim
Where the place called "Morning" lies!
~Emily Dickinson
Victor found a working television station. Reporters, scientists, and government officials, with a mix of deep confusion and some emotion beyond relief, were trying to explain that the comet had apparently blown up just at the edge of the atmosphere. The few recordings people had made of it caught the comet speeding toward the Earth, a sudden flash of red light, and then stillness, the night sky returned to a normal quiet darkness.
He turned off the television, and he and Wanda sat next to each other without a word for several minutes, processing.
"We're alive," Wanda stated, breaking the silence.
"Yes."
He looked at her. He didn't think he could ever go back to seeing her as he had before. But it was hard to predict what would happen now. Would she move out? Was there even a place for her to move back to?
It wasn't until later that day, after they'd ventured out to find the rest of the world seemed to be waking up from a nightmare, that he dared ask, "What do you think you would like to do? About...us."
"You want my honest answer?"
"Of course."
"What I think I want to do is marry you. I never want to be without you. But I realize...that things are very, very different now. And you probably aren't even interested now that you have options again."
He didn't know how she could believe that. He took her hands. "That is far from accurate. I have faced death with you, and now I can't imagine facing life without you. But what we're feeling currently might not be how we feel once...things gets back to some semblance of normality, if that's even possible after this. We shouldn't rush anything. However, I would like to make a proposal of sorts."
"Yes?"
"The total solar eclipse in two years, if we are still together then, and we still feel the same, I propose we wed during the eclipse. In ancient times, people often viewed eclipses as apocalyptic events. The sun unexpectedly disappearing from the sky in the middle of the day with no discernable cause seemed like the end of the world. But the sun always came back, returning the world to what it was before. It seems to me as if it would be appropriate for us."
She smiled at his reasoning, laughing lightly in relief. "It's a plan."
In the days and weeks that followed, shops began to open again, buildings that had been damaged by the random outbreaks of violence were repaired, and generally the gears of society began turning, but nothing felt like it was normal anymore. What happened to the comet was a persistent mystery. No one had been able to offer an explanation that made sense.
Wanda didn't move out of Victor's apartment. Neither of them even broached it as a matter for discussion. They planned a vacation to Hawaii for as soon as things got more settled.
They later decided to step up that vacation plan.
"Well," Victor said, staring at the positive pregnancy test in Wanda's hand as he sat beside her on the bathroom floor.
"We were so careful. It was just that one time," she said.
"I'm willing to bet there will be quite a baby boom nine months from that day," he said. He reached over and placed his hand on her stomach. "This may sound strange, and naturally what to do is your choice to make, but this feels like hope. Like the world didn't end."
She smiled, and covered his hand with hers. "The world didn't end."
So it happens that I am and look.
Above me a white butterfly is fluttering through the air
on wings that are its alone,
and a shadow skims through my hands
that is none other than itself, no one else's but its own.
When I see such things, I'm no longer sure
that what's important
is more important than what's not.
~Wisława Szymborska, trans. Stanisław Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh, from "No Title Required"
End note: This story is a tie-in to my multi-chapter post-WandaVision fic "Flaneur."