A/N: Hello! I hope everyone is doing well and has a lovely weekend! Just a quick note to let y'all know that there are some references in this chapter to Age of Ultron, as well as WandaVision episode 8. I don't know if it counts as spoilers or not, because it's primarily Wanda's backstory, but you've been warned. Also, thank you all for your support and kind words. It's been such a nice experience writing this fic and getting to talk with everyone, and I appreciate it. As always, I am forever grateful to crotchety_old_emu (on Ao3). This story wouldn't exist without them.
Chapter 14: Preparations
On Thursday, Natasha, Sam, and Steve leave Zürich before dawn, arranging to rendezvous with them the following month. The Vision hadn't foreseen the easy, if not peculiar, approval they'd received from the rest of the team.
Upon disclosing their intentions to travel separately from them, he didn't expect Sam's toothy grin aimed at him while Wanda spoke. He certainly hadn't anticipated, or understood, really, Steve's "I knew you had it in ya" comment as he walked out the door.
In hindsight, he hasn't foreseen most of the events that have transpired since that day back in Leipzig. He reckons it can't be of too much harm if it's led him to this moment.
The early morning rays shining off the Limmat, the warm scent of baked goods wafting on the breeze from a stall in the marketplace. And Wanda, standing beside him, lively and rapturous, charming an elderly merchant into giving them a discount.
To the man before them and the people on the street, they must look like any other couple out shopping. Blissfully unexceptional, extraordinarily commonplace. It's insight at point-blank range. This is the kind of life Wanda yearns for.
It's painfully obvious, inherently natural. It's a brief sampling of what could be; of the normal life she deserves. It leaves him craving the opportunity to make it a reality.
"Vizh?" She rouses him from the daze of revelation, tucks her arm into his. "Ready to go? Or, is there something else you wanted?"
"I'm ready."
Dusk finds Wanda in the chalet kitchen, baking with the Vision. It feels surreal that she's having a good day. Enjoying herself, not fixated on some variation of hardship.
After sending the others off, they traveled to the heart of the city. No one appeared to recognize them on the streets. She's positive she would have noticed if they had, having looked over her shoulder religiously the entire time.
Once they returned, they spent some time working on the channel. Of late, they've been trying to develop mental defenses at Vision's behest. He reasons that if they can communicate telepathically, then someone else may have the same ability. Better off safe than sorry, she figures.
By and large, though, it's been a nice day. A refreshing change of pace. She has to keep reminding herself not to get used to it. To stay closer to the bitter truth of how short-lived it is, as opposed to the hypnotic sweetness of it all.
It's an undertaking easier said than done. Due in no small part to the man currently mixing a bowl of chocolate frosting that he can't even eat. Vision, who's generous with his entire being, gentle when she least deserves it, infinitely compassionate. And, apparently, "Finished."
He covers the frosting, pushing it off to the side of the counter. When he turns around to face her, he's wearing a broad grin. "That's all, correct?"
It's infectious. Wanda feels herself smile back, nodding. "The oven is programmed to turn off on its own. It'll be another hour after that before it's cool and we can frost it."
"Is there something you wanted to do in the meantime?"
"Uhh..." She thinks back on everything they've done in the past few days. Vision assured her that money for their travels wouldn't be an issue. Explained that he's been day trading under an alias, Victor Shade. They scheduled a route to Sokovia and were set to depart in the morning. The house is clean, the keys on the counter. "Do you need to pack?"
"No, I've not accrued much. I obtained a backpack from the quinjet that's at the ready. Do you require assistance in your preparations?"
"Thanks, but no. I'm set to go, too. I never took anything out to begin with." She's only got a backpack's worth herself. Her clothes, the false visas Nat gave them, and a single photo.
He walks over to the breakfast bar, taking a seat on one of the stools. "In that case, there is something I'd like to ask you about, should you want to talk about it."
"I guess that depends on what it is you're asking." Wanda hops up onto the counter, using the stool beside him as a footrest.
"Right. I wanted to know if, by chance, you've given any thought to what Shuri said, about your powers being the result of a mutation."
She's not sure what she expected him to say, but it's definitely not that. "No, can't say that I have. It isn't exactly the worst thing I've ever been called." Mutant was scarcely the worst thing she was called the week of her rescue, not that he would know. "Why?"
He grimaces at her comment but perseveres, "I found a dissertation related to her hypothesis, discussing mutation and evolutionary theory. The author's name is Charles Xavier. He's largely disappeared from the academic field in recent years. However, I did find one institution that he still appears to be associated with, The Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters."
"Okay? I'm not sure what you're getting at here."
"That school has no known ties to any organizations that I could find. That is, until today. An archivist uploaded a copy of an old deed transfer, with the school listed as an owning enterprise. The land was in Novi Grad, transferred to one E. M. Lehnsherr for an orphanage."
For a long moment, Vision waits for Wanda to reply, fairly confident that he's fouled up an otherwise lovely day. Maybe he said the wrong thing, and she's going to run, he thinks; if she does, he'll have no way of finding her.
"Erik." Her hands drop from her lap to the countertop, tracing the lines in the wood grain with her fingertips. "His name is Erik. He took us in after we lost our parents."
He's read the reports, seen the snippets of her memories. He knows the story of her parents' deaths well, but Wanda's never spoken about it, at least with him. It turns the air around them fragile. Concern mixes with curiosity, an ardent need to hear it in her words, overriding his previous doubts. The question tumbles past his lips, breaking the sombre spell that's fallen over them.
"What happened?"
Wanda's movements stall, her palm flattening against the counter before flipping upwards. He accepts it as an invitation, moulding his hand to hers.
"Pietro and I were ten when the bombs hit. We were watching tv with our parents, having dinner. The first shell hit two floors below our apartment. It-" Gripping Vision's hand, she puffs out a short breath.
"It blew out the side of the building and made this giant hole in the floor... I remember staring at it, while everything was falling apart. I couldn't understand it, how it could be there. They were just there, sitting on the couch, only a minute earlier... less than."
He knows there isn't anything he can do to fix it. That death and loss are inescapable, integral, the building blocks from which new life burgeons. As sublime as it can be sinister. Still, it sounds like a plea for mercy when he gasps, "Oh, Wanda."
"Pietro grabbed me, pulled me under the bed. After that, the second one landed in front of us- I mean." She lifts her hands into the air, keeping his in her grasp, gesticulating a space of roughly three feet.
"Right in front of us, Vizh. And it just never went off. It was… It was defective. We didn't know that. We were trapped. We waited for two days... They were going to separate us. No space at the refugee camps, or something- We ran before they could say. It was a few years later that Erik showed up. He got us off the streets, kept us together, fed us. We left when we were seventeen, to join the protests."
The wealth of tragedy she's shouldered is immeasurable, excruciating. Enough to make any person weak, to surrender hope. Yet, here she is, surviving, healing. It's miraculous. "You've had to be so strong..."
Wanda smiles softly, a single tear cascading down her cheek, a cut to the quick of him. He's engulfed- a surge of appreciation, admiration, affection. Keen to express his sympathy while he composes his emotions, he tugs her hand closer, clasps it in both of his.
Wanda isn't overcome with imagery from Vision's mind. It's a credit to their progress. She can feel them, waiting, at the edge of her consciousness. His emotions, though, are another matter.
The woe, ruth, and reverence coalesce to form a soothing balm. Easing the grief and pain, settling over her mind.
It occurs to her that this is the first time she's spoken of her parents' deaths since encountering Ultron. Then, Pietro did most of the talking for them. It's more cathartic than she expected.
Vision clears his throat, voice dropping slightly despite them having the house to themselves. "I want to thank you for sharing that with me. I understand it must be... difficult to speak on. I- I can't fathom how devastating it must have been. And at such a young age… You truly are magnificent."
He says it like it's fact. Everything in her says it isn't, that he's wrong. Magnificent is about the last thing she feels. But, damn, if she doesn't want to believe him. The best she can do is nod, offer a grateful smile.
"Anyway," Wanda sniffles, eager to direct the conversation off of herself, "You think Erik might have known that Charles guy who wrote the paper?"
The look he gives her says he knows what she's doing. Mercifully, though, he doesn't call her on it. "It's a distinct possibility. I couldn't find many names in relation to the school, as the staff is unlisted, and there's even less information to be found on Charles Xavier himself. But with Lehnsherr's full name…"
His irises spin rapidly- the way they do when he's deep in thought. "Ah, and Bob's your uncle... Right, well, that makes sense. Then-"
"Uh, Vizh?" Focusing on her once more, his eyes still. An embarrassed smile adorning his features. It's disarming, how charmed she is by it. "Hi. What makes sense?"
"Oh, pardon. I've discovered that Erik Lehnsherr also goes by Erik Magnus. He changed his name after he left the middle east. It explains why there's so little information about him, as well as his link to Xavier. They worked together in a volunteer program before the transference of the deed."
"Then, he would have known about mutants before he ever met me and Pietro."
"It appears so."