[Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]
The TV screen was black, the image of the smoking crater finally gone, but the afterimage burned behind Wanda's eyelids.
She was sitting in Aryan's lap, her legs draped over his, her cheek resting against the soft fabric of his flannel shirt. His hand was rubbing her back… slow circles that felt like a heartbeat against her spine.
She shifted slightly, listening to Aryan's breathing.
Her mind drifted from the desert and back to the man holding her. She thought about the news report. Dr. Aryan Spencer. Johns Hopkins. Medical Prodigy.
And then, a piece of the puzzle she had been ignoring clicked into place.
The vision… the vision she had seen in the grocery store, triggered by her chaos magic when she first brushed past him. She had seen him in his universe.
2015.
She saw him holding the other Wanda. She saw the world end. She saw him pulled into the rift.
And she had met him here, in Westview, in 2023.
Eight years.
He had arrived in this universe eight years ago. Alone. And traumatized. Having just watched the love of his life die in his arms.
She lifted her head slowly, looking at his profile in the dim light. He was staring at the blank TV, lost in thought.
He has been here for eight years, she realized, her heart squeezing with a sharp pain. He came here with nothing but the memory of a dead woman.
And what did he do?
He went to medical school.
He spent years studying, learning to save lives, building a career and building this house... all while carrying a grief that mirrored her own.
He was alone, she thought, tears pricking her eyes again. All that time. While I was with the Avengers. While I was with Vision. He was here. Walking these streets. Alone.
Why hadn't he found her sooner?
She looked at his jawline, the shadow of stubble.
Because he thought I wasn't his, she answered herself. He suffered in silence so he wouldn't disturb my life.
The magnitude of his endurance hit her like a physical blow.
She reached up. Her hands were trembling slightly. She cupped his face, turning him toward her.
Aryan blinked, snapping out of his daze. He looked at her, his dark eyes instantly softening.
"What happened?" he asked gently. "You okay?"
Wanda ran her thumbs over his cheekbones, memorizing the feel of him.
You waited, she thought. You waited eight years just to be a neighbor.
She smiled. It was a sad smile, but it was full of love.
"I was thinking," she whispered.
"Dangerous pastime," he teased softly, leaning into her touch. "What about?"
"Dates," she said.
She looked deep into his eyes.
"Aryan," she asked. "Do you remember... the exact moment we met? The first time?"
"October 3rd, 2023," he said. "Afternoon. Around 4:15 PM. You were in the dairy aisle. You were wearing a grey hoodie and I was looking at the yogurt like it had personally offended me."
He remembered. Down to the minute.
To him, that moment was the end of an eight year winter.
"You remember?" she whispered. "You were glaring at that yogurt as if it were your mortal enemy."
"Hey, it was a high pressure situation," he defended. "I was trying to decide if I wanted Greek or regular while simultaneously trying not to trip over my own feet because the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen was standing next to me."
She laughed.
The gratitude and the love swelled inside her until she couldn't contain it.
She lunged forward.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him so tightly she felt his ribs compress.
Aryan hugged her back instantly. His arms were bands of iron around her waist.
She pulled back just an inch. Her face was inches from his.
She kissed him.
It was a kiss of apology for the years he spent alone. It was a kiss of promise for the years to come.
He kissed her back accepting her comfort without asking why she was giving it.
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
I looked at the invisible audience. "Okay, I don't know what just happened. One minute we're mourning a robot corpse, the next she's looking at me like I just returned from a war. Did I miss a page in the script?"
But hey, I'm not complaining. The hugging is top tier.
She was clinging to me in a... cherishing way. Like she had just realized I was rare.
"Wanda," I murmured against her lips. "You're squeezing the air out of me."
"Good," she whispered, not letting go. "Then you cannot leave."
"I told you," I smiled. "I'm furniture now. I'm bolted to the floor."
I held her, enjoying the silence.
But my peace was short lived.
My senses pricked up.
Vibrations.
Rubber on asphalt.
Engines.
Lots of them.
I frowned, keeping my face buried in her hair so she wouldn't see my eyes narrow.
I extended my awareness. Past the front door. Past the lawn. Down the road leading into Westview.
A convoy.
News vans.
Satellite trucks.
A few sleek black sedans that smelled of aggressive journalism.
Oh, come on, I thought. Can't a guy have one evening of tragic romance without CNN parking on his lawn?
I looked at the invisible audience again. "You see this? Even in a universe with aliens and magic, the paparazzi are the real villains. They're like vultures with telephoto lenses."
I couldn't let them get here.
I tightened my hold on Wanda with one arm. With my mind, I reached up. And I pulled the lever.
Outside, the wind picked up instantly. The clouds that had been lingering opened up.
Rain.
Heavy rain.
I looked at the invisible audience once more. "I call this the 'Go Home' weather pattern."
Then, I reached out a little further. I touched the minds of the drivers in the convoy. Just a whisper.
Suggestion: Did you leave the stove on? Is this story really worth getting wet? Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe you're hungry.
The lead van slowed down. Then it did a U turn. The others followed, confused, tired and suddenly very interested in finding a diner instead of harassment.
I smirked internally.
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