I’ll help you reach your full potential.

As he heard the knock at the door, Cipher blinked in surprise. He was not expecting visitors this late at night.

Sighing, he headed for the door and opened it. For the first time, he was actually expressive. The look of confusion was clear on his face as he stared at James Norrington of all people.

“What the fuck are you doing here at this hour? You really think I’m in the mood to let you rummage around in my head in the middle of the night? Kindly fuck off. I’m not going to invite you in, Lapdog.”

“So…you came here to find out any secrets, only to find me instead. And I can’t even tell you if Cipher was planning anything. Sorry about that. I wish I could remember. But a lot is just…gone. Maybe with time things will start to come back to me. I mean, we share the same mind. You’d think I’d have access to that information. Seems unfair.” He rambled with a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair.

His gaze then focused on James, looking him over. “So, you’re some kind of Supe too? That explains a lot. And you work for Vought, I take it?” Doug wasn’t surprised to hear that James was able to calm people and create a comfortable atmosphere. Because he was doing just that right now. Frankly, he got lucky that it was the Brit who found him, treating him with care and offering to help.

“James, I’m gonna be honest here: I know nothing about anything. Vought, Homelander, Cipher, my life currently. It’s like I’ve just been born again. It’s a blank slate up here.” He said, tapping his temple. “So, if you’re offering to help me, there’s no way I’d turn that down. I need it. I wouldn’t even know where to start. But you seem to have ideas and smart suggestions. I’m more than willing to follow your lead on this. To…fix my brain. Hopefully. I mean, I’ve got nothing to lose, right?”

Doug gave a smile, the atmosphere within his mind space as cozy, warm and settled as ever. He was more than happy to be guided and shown the way considering James seemed to be capable of miracles. And even if he was being taken for a fool, Doug didn’t have anything worthwhile. No friends, no family. No one would miss him. He was willing to take the risk of living again, whatever that meant and wherever it led him.

“You’re correct,” smooth as polished marble. “We are Vought — though I daresay my role is a touch more subtle than capes and cameras.”

He paced a slow half-circle around Doug, eyes faintly aglow in the ambient light of the mindspace.

“Dean Cipher’s position here, at this school, is one of quiet significance. In theory, he’s meant to identify potential recruits — young talents, promising minds, latent gifts that Vought might mold or sponsor before anyone else notices. On the surface, it’s all scholarships and leadership programs.”

James gave a low hum — part thoughtful, part disapproving.

“In practice… There is something too clean and polished about him.” He stopped then, his tone softening. “But thats for another time. For now, take it slow, understood? You’ve had enough ripped open for one day.”

Then, that small, almost reassuring smile returned as he extended a hand.

Yet he knew. Deep down, Doug knew that wasn’t the case here. James was being genuine, being helpful. He felt he could trust the man. Whether it was all some kind of trick, at this point Doug really had nothing to lose anyway. And if he was given the chance to regain control over his own body after so long, he was going to take it. Whatever the risk.

“Oh, wow. That’s uh…quite the promotion from Blockbuster. I don’t know anything about teaching or kids…or university. I don’t know anything about Supes or powers or any of that either. How the hell did I end up as a dean?!” He asked in surprise. It seemed like the last thing he’d ever work ask. And yet he knew James wasn’t lying about that either.

As that hand was extended to him, Doug looked at it and then met James’ gaze. He let out a deep breath and glanced around his mindscape, over at the pictures. At Buster. It was strange. This was his moment. The moment he’d been waiting so long for, and he felt himself hesitating. “I’m not him. I-…I can’t work at a school. Everyone who knows me…knows Cipher, would tell in an instant something is up.” He paused for a moment as if thinking things over. A silence fell between them.

The cabin was quiet — too quiet for someone who’d once warped an entire town with grief. Wanda Maximoff stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the treeline sway in the mountain wind. The world had finally stopped whispering monster under its breath, but silence had its own kind of cruelty.

When the knock came, it wasn’t unexpected. She’d felt the ripple before it reached her door — that strange, electric tug in the air that didn’t belong to this plane.

“Dean Cipher,” she said, not turning around. Her voice was calm, practiced. “You made quite the entrance last time.”

The door opened with a low creak, the scent of sulfur and rain curling into the room.

Her eyes glowed faintly red as she turned to face him — not in threat, but in curiosity. “I didn’t call for help,” she said. “I called for understanding.”

And for the first time since Westview, she didn’t sound lost. She sounded dangerous — and ready.

No tension. No threat. Just a man finally allowing himself to stop performing for a moment.

She exhaled, long and slow.

After a while, she moved softly through the hall, barefoot and silent. Not to spy. Not to invade. Just… to check. Old habits die hard, especially when the rare thing called trust is still new enough to feel delicate.

She paused outside the guest room door. There was no unrest behind it—no hum of internal noise suggesting turmoil, no spike of thought or panic. Just quiet, exhaustion, and a kind of calm he probably hadn’t had in a long while.

Good.

She started to walk away—

—but then, with a faint flick of her fingers, the air stirred, and the faint light in his room shifted just enough to dim to something gentler, warmer. Subtle—like the room had simply decided to be kinder on its own.

A courtesy. Nothing more. Nothing less.

She didn’t knock. Didn’t say anything. But as she turned away, the whisper of her voice carried low enough that it wasn’t certain if she meant for it to be heard or not:

“Sleep well, Cipher.”

He didn’t dream. Didn’t stir for at least a few hours later. It wasn’t much sleep, but it was enough. He slowly sat up and stretched, took a look at his surroundings. The light in the room was low, comforting. It was still raining inside, tapping against the window. The sun hadn’t even risen yet. He got up from the bed for a full stretch and ran a hand through his hair, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

He decided to leave the room, opening the door quietly and heading toward the little kitchen area. He was careful not to disturb Wanda while he made himself some tea, figuring she wouldn’t mind since she’d offered. He was tempted by the whiskey, staring the bottle down for a good while before changing his mind.

He made his way back to the living room area and sat back down on the chair he’d been sitting in for most of the night. It was dark in this room, but quiet. So…so quiet. It brought peace and calm despite the darkness. He welcomed it as he sat there and sipped at his tea, contemplating. He rarely took the time to just…sit and be in the moment. It was nice.

Not wildly. Not out of grief or desperation this time.

Just… wandering.

A quiet dream-walk.

Her bare feet made no sound against the wooden floor as her projection drifted down the dim hallway, still wrapped in the soft red aura of half-formed consciousness. She wasn’t fully here, but she wasn’t entirely somewhere else either. The glow around her was faint, pulsing gently like a lantern in fog.

She stopped midway down the hall—not calling for him, not searching, just standing there as though caught in the quiet gravity of Cipher’s presence nearby. Her head was tilted slightly toward the living room, eyes half-closed, as though listening to a sound only she could hear.

But she didn’t intrude. The dream-state Wanda only existed as a presence—unthreatening, unguarded, quietly drawn toward the stability and calm she could feel from his direction like warmth in winter.

If Cipher looked toward the hallway, he’d see her silhouette there—soft, almost spectral, her form just barely translucent as if she were made from red-lit mist. Peaceful. Serene. Not fully awake, not entirely dreaming. Drifting, like her power was simply… following comfort rather than chaos for once.

She wasn’t speaking. Not yet.

But a single whisper seemed to ride the faint hum of magic in the air—not words so much as an emotion translated into sound.

Safe.

His breathing was soft and steady as he stared with a soft gaze at the window. He didn’t know what it was about this place that seemed to draw him in. The cabin itself was typical, yet cozy. And the company was…welcome. It seemed both he and Wanda were similar when it came to others, not having much patience outside of those that captured their interests. That were different. Unique and broken.

Eventually, he picked up on the sense that he was being watched. At first he thought his mind was playing tricks, but that sensation remained. Yet it wasn’t concerning. As he turned his head back toward the hallway he expected to see Wanda there, though was surprised to see her silhouette instead, covered in her red energy.

He didn’t say anything as there wasn’t anything to say. Instead, he just observed her exactly how he’d been observing the window. That soft gaze, steady breath. It was just like earlier, those quiet silences that had fallen between them. None of which were uncomfortable, but rather just two people growing more familiar with one another. Enough to let their guards down.

In the half-shadow of the hallway, her dream-walking form simply stood there, as though content to exist in the hush of the early morning with him. Barely-there red wisps drifted from her fingertips, lazily curling like smoke rising from embers. They weren’t reaching—just breathing.

For a long beat, there was no tension, no crisis… just a silent acknowledgement between presence and observer.

Then, she moved—not toward him, not away, but with the slow grace of someone suspended in the delicate line between sleep and thought. Bare feet glided across the floor as she drifted a few steps forward, stopping at the edge where hallway met living room. Close enough to be noticed, far enough not to invade.

Her head turned slightly toward him, as though listening to a sound that wasn’t audible, but emotional. In her trance, she didn’t speak as Wanda the person—but rather as a mind steeped in raw instinct.

One word, barely shaped through her lips, carried on a soft exhale:

“…stay…”

It didn’t sound like a command. Or fear. Or desperation.

It sounded like agreement. Like her subconscious was simply echoing a truth already decided while she slept—that the quiet was easier with him here.

He then wondered if this was for any particular reason. Was this common for her or triggered by him here? If she recalled any of this when she woke up, he’d ask. Otherwise he wouldn’t mention any of this. He was just in this moment with her, sharing the distance. The space. The silence.

When he saw her move, he remained still. He didn’t want to intrude either, especially given he didn’t fully understand how this all worked. He wouldn’t disturb her, whatever her projection did. He was an observer, nothing more.

Cipher merely shrugged as he exited the bathroom with just a towel around his waist, hair slicked back and still damp.

“Would you rather I smell bad? I don’t want that, and I know you don’t want that. Unless you’re complaining about having a half naked man in your house? And here I thought that was every woman’s dream.”

Wanda obeyed… at her pace. Purposeful. Wickedly patient. She set a rhythm meant to test how long a man could hold onto stoicism while heat built beneath the surface.

A quiet grunt escaped him—a deep sound born from pleasure rather than surprise. His jaw clenched. His breathing deepened further.

His voice, roughened, slipped out again. “Wicked little witch.”

Wanda only smiled, lips brushing his lower abdomen as she spoke in a hushed, sultry tone.

“He hasn’t seen wicked yet.”

She continued, deliberate and confident, maintaining full control of the pace. But even as she held him there—even as he let her—there was a tension building.

A shift waiting to happen.

Wanda could feel it. He was going to take control at some point.

She was pushing him to his limit with words and actions, and she knew it too. Wanda knew exactly what she was doing, and the moment he broke would have been part of her plan all along no doubt. But in the end, she could think what she wanted of him. When overcome with pleasure, mentality and focus changed. And he knew she would be the exact same under his touch. His lips. His tongue.

More grunts left him, jaw clenching along with his stomach. He couldn’t let her tease, not now. Not like this. Either she wanted this or not, and judging by the way she was greedily swallowing him, he felt it was safe to say she wanted the former. He allowed himself a few long moments at this pace, savouring the sensation. The pleasure. And it was good, but addictive. He wanted more.

And so the grip on her head became more firm, more controlling as his hips moved with purpose. Steady thrusts that sparked even more pleasure through his veins. His breathing became heavier, grunts and groans became more frequent. He was no longer trying to brush it off as nothing, but giving in. Embracing it. Embracing her and the pleasure she was giving. The pleasure he was taking.

She let him take the reins.

Not because he forced them from her—but because this was what she’d been coaxing from him all along. To her, his shift wasn’t a loss of control on her part—it was the perfect response to everything she’d been building.

His pleasure, raw and unguarded, became her triumph.

His grip in her hair was commanding. Possessive. Certain. His voice cracked against the silence, strained with desire as he muttered broken approval through clenched teeth. Each sound he made sent a thrill through her, not of submission, but of victory.

He was using her now—yes—but only because she had maneuvered him to the point where he needed to.

And Wanda loved that he finally did.

Her hands braced against him, steady, accepting the new pace he set. She didn’t resist or falter; she adapted, following the rhythm he demanded with sinful precision. Every ragged breath he released was fuel. Every grunt, every slip of profanity—confirmation that he was no longer analyzing or calculating.

He was feeling.

As he heard the knock at the door, Cipher blinked in surprise. He was not expecting visitors this late at night.

Sighing, he headed for the door and opened it. For the first time, he was actually expressive. The look of confusion was clear on his face as he stared at James Norrington of all people.

“What the fuck are you doing here at this hour? You really think I’m in the mood to let you rummage around in my head in the middle of the night? Kindly fuck off. I’m not going to invite you in, Lapdog.”

Though, he did get distracted as he looked James over. “Sorry but…how is it that you’re here exactly? I mean, you seem very nice and all but I don’t…how do you and Cipher know one another? It’s strange, I feel…like I can trust you and open up to you even though we’ve just met. That…that’s not normal, is it?” He was starting to question things, felt himself start to spiral again as he took a deep breath.

“Anyway uh…we would sit on the couch, all three of us and watch tv. Movies, shows, whatever was on. We’d watch the most random shit sometimes. Some stuff was really good and other times we were laughing the whole time. The holidays were mostly quiet. Emily’s parents didn’t like me all that much cause I had. added end job that didn’t really bring in a lot of cash. They thought she deserved better. I never disagreed with them on that.” He mused, slowly wandering around the headspace as he allowed more memories to come to him.

“We weren’t the type that went out all the time. We preferred nights in. But now and then we’d go out. For dinner or a movie, or a party. We were just…just normal. Just your average couple. I mean, in a Supe filled world, we weren’t anything special y’know?” Doug explained as he moved back to the couch to sit down. He fell silent, thinking. Contemplating.

“What…happens now? I don’t know anything that’s been going on. Not for a long while. I don’t know what Cipher’s been doing or where he lives. I don’t…I don’t know what to do if I get out of here and gain control of my body again. What should I do, James?” He asked. He was truly at a loss, like he was suffering from amnesia. He didn’t know a thing that had happened or was currently going on in the “outside” world.

James watched Doug quietly while he spoke—this man rediscovering pieces of himself like he was dusting off old photographs he hadn’t seen in a decade. But the more Doug remembered… the more James realized the enormity of what he’d done.

He hadn’t just broken Cipher’s defenses.

He had broken Cipher’s persona.

Doug was free—but nowhere near able to stand on his own.

James tilted his head slightly, that refined composure softening just enough to be sincere without losing its mystery.

“My presence here is… complex,” he began, voice low and steady—meant to ground rather than unnerve. “ I might have crossed paths in matters that blur the line between business and… personal vendetta. I was trying to assure myself that the secrets he kept wouldn't interfere with Vought or Homelander.” James shook his head.

“But this trust you feel… that is one of my particular talents.” His lips curved, wry and almost apologetic. “I can calm the noise in a person’s mind, peel back what overwhelms them—like clearing fog from a window. Sometimes, that means hearts open before names are properly exchanged.”

Then, with a faintly teasing lift of a brow: “very little about me is normal, I’m afraid. But your instincts aren’t wrong. You can trust me...,” he continued, low and steady, “I cannot, in good conscience, leave you to face him alone after what I’ve done.”

What Doug had said made sense, he was out of touch.

“You’re right. It won’t be what you remember.”

His expression softened even more paternal, Doug reminded him of the way he’d seen Hughie tremble under fear and still choose courage anyway.

“So…you came here to find out any secrets, only to find me instead. And I can’t even tell you if Cipher was planning anything. Sorry about that. I wish I could remember. But a lot is just…gone. Maybe with time things will start to come back to me. I mean, we share the same mind. You’d think I’d have access to that information. Seems unfair.” He rambled with a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair.

His gaze then focused on James, looking him over. “So, you’re some kind of Supe too? That explains a lot. And you work for Vought, I take it?” Doug wasn’t surprised to hear that James was able to calm people and create a comfortable atmosphere. Because he was doing just that right now. Frankly, he got lucky that it was the Brit who found him, treating him with care and offering to help.

“James, I’m gonna be honest here: I know nothing about anything. Vought, Homelander, Cipher, my life currently. It’s like I’ve just been born again. It’s a blank slate up here.” He said, tapping his temple. “So, if you’re offering to help me, there’s no way I’d turn that down. I need it. I wouldn’t even know where to start. But you seem to have ideas and smart suggestions. I’m more than willing to follow your lead on this. To…fix my brain. Hopefully. I mean, I’ve got nothing to lose, right?”

Doug gave a smile, the atmosphere within his mind space as cozy, warm and settled as ever. He was more than happy to be guided and shown the way considering James seemed to be capable of miracles. And even if he was being taken for a fool, Doug didn’t have anything worthwhile. No friends, no family. No one would miss him. He was willing to take the risk of living again, whatever that meant and wherever it led him.

The cabin was quiet — too quiet for someone who’d once warped an entire town with grief. Wanda Maximoff stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the treeline sway in the mountain wind. The world had finally stopped whispering monster under its breath, but silence had its own kind of cruelty.

When the knock came, it wasn’t unexpected. She’d felt the ripple before it reached her door — that strange, electric tug in the air that didn’t belong to this plane.

“Dean Cipher,” she said, not turning around. Her voice was calm, practiced. “You made quite the entrance last time.”

The door opened with a low creak, the scent of sulfur and rain curling into the room.

Her eyes glowed faintly red as she turned to face him — not in threat, but in curiosity. “I didn’t call for help,” she said. “I called for understanding.”

And for the first time since Westview, she didn’t sound lost. She sounded dangerous — and ready.

No tension. No threat. Just a man finally allowing himself to stop performing for a moment.

She exhaled, long and slow.

After a while, she moved softly through the hall, barefoot and silent. Not to spy. Not to invade. Just… to check. Old habits die hard, especially when the rare thing called trust is still new enough to feel delicate.

She paused outside the guest room door. There was no unrest behind it—no hum of internal noise suggesting turmoil, no spike of thought or panic. Just quiet, exhaustion, and a kind of calm he probably hadn’t had in a long while.

Good.

She started to walk away—

—but then, with a faint flick of her fingers, the air stirred, and the faint light in his room shifted just enough to dim to something gentler, warmer. Subtle—like the room had simply decided to be kinder on its own.

A courtesy. Nothing more. Nothing less.

She didn’t knock. Didn’t say anything. But as she turned away, the whisper of her voice carried low enough that it wasn’t certain if she meant for it to be heard or not:

“Sleep well, Cipher.”

He didn’t dream. Didn’t stir for at least a few hours later. It wasn’t much sleep, but it was enough. He slowly sat up and stretched, took a look at his surroundings. The light in the room was low, comforting. It was still raining inside, tapping against the window. The sun hadn’t even risen yet. He got up from the bed for a full stretch and ran a hand through his hair, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

He decided to leave the room, opening the door quietly and heading toward the little kitchen area. He was careful not to disturb Wanda while he made himself some tea, figuring she wouldn’t mind since she’d offered. He was tempted by the whiskey, staring the bottle down for a good while before changing his mind.

He made his way back to the living room area and sat back down on the chair he’d been sitting in for most of the night. It was dark in this room, but quiet. So…so quiet. It brought peace and calm despite the darkness. He welcomed it as he sat there and sipped at his tea, contemplating. He rarely took the time to just…sit and be in the moment. It was nice.

Not wildly. Not out of grief or desperation this time.

Just… wandering.

A quiet dream-walk.

Her bare feet made no sound against the wooden floor as her projection drifted down the dim hallway, still wrapped in the soft red aura of half-formed consciousness. She wasn’t fully here, but she wasn’t entirely somewhere else either. The glow around her was faint, pulsing gently like a lantern in fog.

She stopped midway down the hall—not calling for him, not searching, just standing there as though caught in the quiet gravity of Cipher’s presence nearby. Her head was tilted slightly toward the living room, eyes half-closed, as though listening to a sound only she could hear.

But she didn’t intrude. The dream-state Wanda only existed as a presence—unthreatening, unguarded, quietly drawn toward the stability and calm she could feel from his direction like warmth in winter.

If Cipher looked toward the hallway, he’d see her silhouette there—soft, almost spectral, her form just barely translucent as if she were made from red-lit mist. Peaceful. Serene. Not fully awake, not entirely dreaming. Drifting, like her power was simply… following comfort rather than chaos for once.

She wasn’t speaking. Not yet.

But a single whisper seemed to ride the faint hum of magic in the air—not words so much as an emotion translated into sound.

Safe.

His breathing was soft and steady as he stared with a soft gaze at the window. He didn’t know what it was about this place that seemed to draw him in. The cabin itself was typical, yet cozy. And the company was…welcome. It seemed both he and Wanda were similar when it came to others, not having much patience outside of those that captured their interests. That were different. Unique and broken.

Eventually, he picked up on the sense that he was being watched. At first he thought his mind was playing tricks, but that sensation remained. Yet it wasn’t concerning. As he turned his head back toward the hallway he expected to see Wanda there, though was surprised to see her silhouette instead, covered in her red energy.

He didn’t say anything as there wasn’t anything to say. Instead, he just observed her exactly how he’d been observing the window. That soft gaze, steady breath. It was just like earlier, those quiet silences that had fallen between them. None of which were uncomfortable, but rather just two people growing more familiar with one another. Enough to let their guards down.

Cipher merely shrugged as he exited the bathroom with just a towel around his waist, hair slicked back and still damp.

“Would you rather I smell bad? I don’t want that, and I know you don’t want that. Unless you’re complaining about having a half naked man in your house? And here I thought that was every woman’s dream.”

Wanda obeyed… at her pace. Purposeful. Wickedly patient. She set a rhythm meant to test how long a man could hold onto stoicism while heat built beneath the surface.

A quiet grunt escaped him—a deep sound born from pleasure rather than surprise. His jaw clenched. His breathing deepened further.

His voice, roughened, slipped out again. “Wicked little witch.”

Wanda only smiled, lips brushing his lower abdomen as she spoke in a hushed, sultry tone.

“He hasn’t seen wicked yet.”

She continued, deliberate and confident, maintaining full control of the pace. But even as she held him there—even as he let her—there was a tension building.

A shift waiting to happen.

Wanda could feel it. He was going to take control at some point.

She was pushing him to his limit with words and actions, and she knew it too. Wanda knew exactly what she was doing, and the moment he broke would have been part of her plan all along no doubt. But in the end, she could think what she wanted of him. When overcome with pleasure, mentality and focus changed. And he knew she would be the exact same under his touch. His lips. His tongue.

More grunts left him, jaw clenching along with his stomach. He couldn’t let her tease, not now. Not like this. Either she wanted this or not, and judging by the way she was greedily swallowing him, he felt it was safe to say she wanted the former. He allowed himself a few long moments at this pace, savouring the sensation. The pleasure. And it was good, but addictive. He wanted more.

And so the grip on her head became more firm, more controlling as his hips moved with purpose. Steady thrusts that sparked even more pleasure through his veins. His breathing became heavier, grunts and groans became more frequent. He was no longer trying to brush it off as nothing, but giving in. Embracing it. Embracing her and the pleasure she was giving. The pleasure he was taking.

She let him take the reins.

Not because he forced them from her—but because this was what she’d been coaxing from him all along. To her, his shift wasn’t a loss of control on her part—it was the perfect response to everything she’d been building.

His pleasure, raw and unguarded, became her triumph.

His grip in her hair was commanding. Possessive. Certain. His voice cracked against the silence, strained with desire as he muttered broken approval through clenched teeth. Each sound he made sent a thrill through her, not of submission, but of victory.

He was using her now—yes—but only because she had maneuvered him to the point where he needed to.

And Wanda loved that he finally did.

Her hands braced against him, steady, accepting the new pace he set. She didn’t resist or falter; she adapted, following the rhythm he demanded with sinful precision. Every ragged breath he released was fuel. Every grunt, every slip of profanity—confirmation that he was no longer analyzing or calculating.

He was feeling.

As he heard the knock at the door, Cipher blinked in surprise. He was not expecting visitors this late at night.

Sighing, he headed for the door and opened it. For the first time, he was actually expressive. The look of confusion was clear on his face as he stared at James Norrington of all people.

“What the fuck are you doing here at this hour? You really think I’m in the mood to let you rummage around in my head in the middle of the night? Kindly fuck off. I’m not going to invite you in, Lapdog.”

His focus shifted back to James as he explained, noting that he was being heard and listened to for once. That alone meant everything. “Oh, call me Doug. I…have faint traces of you in my mind. We spoke before? Or…you and Cipher did. You and him in his office. …An argument of some kind.” His brows furrowed as he tried to focus. “It’s broken, y’know? It’s not clear. Like pieces of a puzzle. But I’m getting flashes of things he did.” Doug admitted. It seemed the longer he was in control, the more his mind was starting to remember, like someone recovering from amnesia.

Doug returned that smile with one of his own. “I never expected to ever be found. I just kept shouting as loud as I could hoping I’d be heard or…just hoping something would happen. But you…you saved me. I can’t imagine Cipher made it easy either. So…I truly am grateful. Forever grateful for that, Mr Norrington.” He was completely genuine, completely open and honest. The total opposite of his counterpart. This guy wouldn’t hurt a damn fly.

Doug listened closely as James explained what he thought had happened, which sounded like what exactly had happened. He frowned, tilting his head. “You seem to know a lot about this. Which, I’m glad for cause it means I can hopefully get answers and help. Anything to not be locked away again.” There was deep rooted concern and fear of that. Which of course was understandable. And then led to Doug freaking out and panicking.

Though as James spoke to him, that grounding touch on his shoulder, he slowly began to calm. He didn’t know why but there was something trusting in James. In the way he spoke, in the way he was so calm and in control all while Doug was spiralling. He knew James was someone he could trust. He felt it. “I-…I’ll try my best. I want control of my life. I want to know where I am, what I’m doing without blackouts happening.” He explained before he paused and looked at James. “For what it’s worth, whatever he’s said or done to you, I’m sorry. You both argued but I don’t know why. Regardless, I’m sorry.”

Doug took a deep breath as he glanced around the room, nodding at the instructions given to him. “This was my livingroom. It was a house that Emily and I bought together. It wasn’t much since I was working at Blockbuster at the time so wasn’t making that much, but she had a great job. She was training to be a lawyer. I always questioned what she saw in me cause I thought she deserved better y’know? I didn’t even question why she came in multiple times a week to rent movies. I was so oblivious.” Doug laughed softly, a mixture of sadness and fondness in that memory.

He paused for a moment before continuing. “We dated for a while and then got a place together. We got Buster a month after moving in. Emily loved cats. She’d have adopted the entire shelter! But we found Buster and it was just…we knew, y’know? A few years later I finally saved up enough to get her a decent ring. One that she deserved. And…and that was us. The three of us. And we…we just lived. Just a normal, quiet life. Till…that night when everything changed.”

James didn’t interrupt. Not once. Letting Doug reclaim the pieces of himself one memory at a time.

That warm living room filled itself with life as Doug spoke: Emily’s laugh echoing faintly in the walls, the quiet jingle of Buster’s collar, the soft glow of candles that smelled like home. James breathed it out of respect. This man had been starved of meaning for so long… now, every detail mattered.

When Doug apologized—twice—James gently shook his head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, that wasn't you, that was him. The squabble is unimportant now” he reassured. “You’re remembering. That is precisely what you must do.” The vampire stepped closer, hands sliding into his coat pockets as he took in the room and really took it in.

“Emily, Buster, the couch, the candles—” he gestured faintly around them “this is your strength, Doug. Cipher comes from pain. You come from love. ”

His eyes flicked back to Doug “You built a life. You earned happiness. And nothing he has done erases that.. You see yourself as ordinary, but you survived grief that would break most men. You endured years locked in darkness and still—still—you’re capable of kindness.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying Doug with that sharp, strategic mind. A faint smile curved his mouth. “Keep speaking. Keep remembering. Every detail you reclaim is another chain off your wrists.” James simply remained there with him—calm, patient—letting Doug continue to be Doug. " Well, if you insist on a first name basis, then by all means call me... James."

Though, he did get distracted as he looked James over. “Sorry but…how is it that you’re here exactly? I mean, you seem very nice and all but I don’t…how do you and Cipher know one another? It’s strange, I feel…like I can trust you and open up to you even though we’ve just met. That…that’s not normal, is it?” He was starting to question things, felt himself start to spiral again as he took a deep breath.

“Anyway uh…we would sit on the couch, all three of us and watch tv. Movies, shows, whatever was on. We’d watch the most random shit sometimes. Some stuff was really good and other times we were laughing the whole time. The holidays were mostly quiet. Emily’s parents didn’t like me all that much cause I had. added end job that didn’t really bring in a lot of cash. They thought she deserved better. I never disagreed with them on that.” He mused, slowly wandering around the headspace as he allowed more memories to come to him.

“We weren’t the type that went out all the time. We preferred nights in. But now and then we’d go out. For dinner or a movie, or a party. We were just…just normal. Just your average couple. I mean, in a Supe filled world, we weren’t anything special y’know?” Doug explained as he moved back to the couch to sit down. He fell silent, thinking. Contemplating.

“What…happens now? I don’t know anything that’s been going on. Not for a long while. I don’t know what Cipher’s been doing or where he lives. I don’t…I don’t know what to do if I get out of here and gain control of my body again. What should I do, James?” He asked. He was truly at a loss, like he was suffering from amnesia. He didn’t know a thing that had happened or was currently going on in the “outside” world.

Cipher merely shrugged as he exited the bathroom with just a towel around his waist, hair slicked back and still damp.

“Would you rather I smell bad? I don’t want that, and I know you don’t want that. Unless you’re complaining about having a half naked man in your house? And here I thought that was every woman’s dream.”

Wanda obeyed… at her pace. Purposeful. Wickedly patient. She set a rhythm meant to test how long a man could hold onto stoicism while heat built beneath the surface.

A quiet grunt escaped him—a deep sound born from pleasure rather than surprise. His jaw clenched. His breathing deepened further.

His voice, roughened, slipped out again. “Wicked little witch.”

Wanda only smiled, lips brushing his lower abdomen as she spoke in a hushed, sultry tone.

“He hasn’t seen wicked yet.”

She continued, deliberate and confident, maintaining full control of the pace. But even as she held him there—even as he let her—there was a tension building.

A shift waiting to happen.

Wanda could feel it. He was going to take control at some point.

She was pushing him to his limit with words and actions, and she knew it too. Wanda knew exactly what she was doing, and the moment he broke would have been part of her plan all along no doubt. But in the end, she could think what she wanted of him. When overcome with pleasure, mentality and focus changed. And he knew she would be the exact same under his touch. His lips. His tongue.

More grunts left him, jaw clenching along with his stomach. He couldn’t let her tease, not now. Not like this. Either she wanted this or not, and judging by the way she was greedily swallowing him, he felt it was safe to say she wanted the former. He allowed himself a few long moments at this pace, savouring the sensation. The pleasure. And it was good, but addictive. He wanted more.

And so the grip on her head became more firm, more controlling as his hips moved with purpose. Steady thrusts that sparked even more pleasure through his veins. His breathing became heavier, grunts and groans became more frequent. He was no longer trying to brush it off as nothing, but giving in. Embracing it. Embracing her and the pleasure she was giving. The pleasure he was taking.

She let him take the reins.

Not because he forced them from her—but because this was what she’d been coaxing from him all along. To her, his shift wasn’t a loss of control on her part—it was the perfect response to everything she’d been building.

His pleasure, raw and unguarded, became her triumph.

His grip in her hair was commanding. Possessive. Certain. His voice cracked against the silence, strained with desire as he muttered broken approval through clenched teeth. Each sound he made sent a thrill through her, not of submission, but of victory.

He was using her now—yes—but only because she had maneuvered him to the point where he needed to.

And Wanda loved that he finally did.

Her hands braced against him, steady, accepting the new pace he set. She didn’t resist or falter; she adapted, following the rhythm he demanded with sinful precision. Every ragged breath he released was fuel. Every grunt, every slip of profanity—confirmation that he was no longer analyzing or calculating.

He was feeling.

The cabin was quiet — too quiet for someone who’d once warped an entire town with grief. Wanda Maximoff stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the treeline sway in the mountain wind. The world had finally stopped whispering monster under its breath, but silence had its own kind of cruelty.

When the knock came, it wasn’t unexpected. She’d felt the ripple before it reached her door — that strange, electric tug in the air that didn’t belong to this plane.

“Dean Cipher,” she said, not turning around. Her voice was calm, practiced. “You made quite the entrance last time.”

The door opened with a low creak, the scent of sulfur and rain curling into the room.

Her eyes glowed faintly red as she turned to face him — not in threat, but in curiosity. “I didn’t call for help,” she said. “I called for understanding.”

And for the first time since Westview, she didn’t sound lost. She sounded dangerous — and ready.

No tension. No threat. Just a man finally allowing himself to stop performing for a moment.

She exhaled, long and slow.

After a while, she moved softly through the hall, barefoot and silent. Not to spy. Not to invade. Just… to check. Old habits die hard, especially when the rare thing called trust is still new enough to feel delicate.

She paused outside the guest room door. There was no unrest behind it—no hum of internal noise suggesting turmoil, no spike of thought or panic. Just quiet, exhaustion, and a kind of calm he probably hadn’t had in a long while.

Good.

She started to walk away—

—but then, with a faint flick of her fingers, the air stirred, and the faint light in his room shifted just enough to dim to something gentler, warmer. Subtle—like the room had simply decided to be kinder on its own.

A courtesy. Nothing more. Nothing less.

She didn’t knock. Didn’t say anything. But as she turned away, the whisper of her voice carried low enough that it wasn’t certain if she meant for it to be heard or not:

“Sleep well, Cipher.”

He didn’t dream. Didn’t stir for at least a few hours later. It wasn’t much sleep, but it was enough. He slowly sat up and stretched, took a look at his surroundings. The light in the room was low, comforting. It was still raining inside, tapping against the window. The sun hadn’t even risen yet. He got up from the bed for a full stretch and ran a hand through his hair, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

He decided to leave the room, opening the door quietly and heading toward the little kitchen area. He was careful not to disturb Wanda while he made himself some tea, figuring she wouldn’t mind since she’d offered. He was tempted by the whiskey, staring the bottle down for a good while before changing his mind.

He made his way back to the living room area and sat back down on the chair he’d been sitting in for most of the night. It was dark in this room, but quiet. So…so quiet. It brought peace and calm despite the darkness. He welcomed it as he sat there and sipped at his tea, contemplating. He rarely took the time to just…sit and be in the moment. It was nice.

Cipher merely shrugged as he exited the bathroom with just a towel around his waist, hair slicked back and still damp.

“Would you rather I smell bad? I don’t want that, and I know you don’t want that. Unless you’re complaining about having a half naked man in your house? And here I thought that was every woman’s dream.”

Wanda obeyed… at her pace. Purposeful. Wickedly patient. She set a rhythm meant to test how long a man could hold onto stoicism while heat built beneath the surface.

A quiet grunt escaped him—a deep sound born from pleasure rather than surprise. His jaw clenched. His breathing deepened further.

His voice, roughened, slipped out again. “Wicked little witch.”

Wanda only smiled, lips brushing his lower abdomen as she spoke in a hushed, sultry tone.

“He hasn’t seen wicked yet.”

She continued, deliberate and confident, maintaining full control of the pace. But even as she held him there—even as he let her—there was a tension building.

A shift waiting to happen.

Wanda could feel it. He was going to take control at some point.

She was pushing him to his limit with words and actions, and she knew it too. Wanda knew exactly what she was doing, and the moment he broke would have been part of her plan all along no doubt. But in the end, she could think what she wanted of him. When overcome with pleasure, mentality and focus changed. And he knew she would be the exact same under his touch. His lips. His tongue.

More grunts left him, jaw clenching along with his stomach. He couldn’t let her tease, not now. Not like this. Either she wanted this or not, and judging by the way she was greedily swallowing him, he felt it was safe to say she wanted the former. He allowed himself a few long moments at this pace, savouring the sensation. The pleasure. And it was good, but addictive. He wanted more.

And so the grip on her head became more firm, more controlling as his hips moved with purpose. Steady thrusts that sparked even more pleasure through his veins. His breathing became heavier, grunts and groans became more frequent. He was no longer trying to brush it off as nothing, but giving in. Embracing it. Embracing her and the pleasure she was giving. The pleasure he was taking.

The cabin was quiet — too quiet for someone who’d once warped an entire town with grief. Wanda Maximoff stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the treeline sway in the mountain wind. The world had finally stopped whispering monster under its breath, but silence had its own kind of cruelty.

When the knock came, it wasn’t unexpected. She’d felt the ripple before it reached her door — that strange, electric tug in the air that didn’t belong to this plane.

“Dean Cipher,” she said, not turning around. Her voice was calm, practiced. “You made quite the entrance last time.”

The door opened with a low creak, the scent of sulfur and rain curling into the room.

Her eyes glowed faintly red as she turned to face him — not in threat, but in curiosity. “I didn’t call for help,” she said. “I called for understanding.”

And for the first time since Westview, she didn’t sound lost. She sounded dangerous — and ready.

“Hmm… ‘Good’ company is a stretch. But tolerable? Occasionally useful? Not entirely unbearable to talk to by a fire?” She shrugged, casual, teasing. “I guess you pass.”

She started toward the hallway, not looking back immediately—but the way her voice carried over her shoulder made it clear she fully expected him to follow when he was ready.

“And don’t worry,” she added dryly. “I didn’t offer for your sake—I just don’t feel like scraping your car out of a ditch at three in the morning because you decided you were too superior to hydroplane like the rest of us.”

But then, softer—enough to acknowledge, without dramatizing anything: “...And maybe because the silence after you leave would feel a little too loud tonight.”

She stopped at the hallway entrance, finally turning back to face him fully. The glow behind her crimson eyes had settled into something steady, confident.

“There’s clean sheets already in the spare room,” she said. “And if you’re going to stay, don’t wake me before sunrise unless something’s on fire or you’re dying. Preferably both.”

When she turned and headed for the hallway, Cipher followed. He left his jacket hanging over the chair to collect in the morning. “Oh, of course that’s your reasoning. Absolutely. Colour me surprised you actually give a damn about my safety. I mean, you could always leave me in said ditch. But good to know if it ever happened, your first thought is to come to my rescue.” Every jab from her was returned with one of his own, though he kept it rather light with no malice.

Though her mention of the silence feeling too loud earned a subtle smirk at the corner of his lips. He didn’t say anything though, no retort. He allowed that statement to hang in the air, but it was heard. And noted. He stopped when she did, gaze meeting hers as he tilted his head. “You’ll be glad to know I won’t resort to those kinds of extreme measures even if I wanted your attention.” He stated, then sighed softly. “If I’m awake before sunrise I’d take myself out. Though, sleeping in would be a nice change. Here’s hoping you’ve exhausted me enough.”

.

Wanda paused at his last line, the corner of her mouth curving up again—small, but unmistakably satisfied. “Exhausted you? That almost sounds like a compliment,” she said, voice low, teasing threading through the quiet between them. “Don’t worry, Cipher. I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”

She leaned against the doorframe for a moment, arms loosely crossed, eyes gleaming faintly in the firelight that stretched down the hallway. “And for the record…” she added, tone turning wry, “I don’t ‘rescue’ people. I just prevent bad decisions before they become expensive ones. There’s a difference.”

For a moment she just watched him—his composed stillness, the faint tension at the corners of his jaw that always betrayed when he was fighting off fatigue. Then, softer: “Get some rest, Dean. You’ve earned it tonight.”

He tilted his head curiously at her comment about bad decisions. “Expensive ones? Then I can’t help but wonder how costly me getting hurt would be for you. Interesting.” There was a tease in his tone as he let the matter hang in the air. He could easily have a battle of wits with Wanda all night, but he was drained both mentally and physically.

He let out a deep sigh as he nodded. “I certainly plan to. Though I’ll keep that in mind about the whiskey. Can’t say it’s not tempting.” His expression softened as he gazed at Wanda for a moment before giving a small nod. “Goodnight, Wanda. Great work tonight. The first breakthrough of many, no doubt.”

Cipher merely shrugged as he exited the bathroom with just a towel around his waist, hair slicked back and still damp.

“Would you rather I smell bad? I don’t want that, and I know you don’t want that. Unless you’re complaining about having a half naked man in your house? And here I thought that was every woman’s dream.”

The cabin was quiet — too quiet for someone who’d once warped an entire town with grief. Wanda Maximoff stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the treeline sway in the mountain wind. The world had finally stopped whispering monster under its breath, but silence had its own kind of cruelty.

When the knock came, it wasn’t unexpected. She’d felt the ripple before it reached her door — that strange, electric tug in the air that didn’t belong to this plane.

“Dean Cipher,” she said, not turning around. Her voice was calm, practiced. “You made quite the entrance last time.”

The door opened with a low creak, the scent of sulfur and rain curling into the room.

Her eyes glowed faintly red as she turned to face him — not in threat, but in curiosity. “I didn’t call for help,” she said. “I called for understanding.”

And for the first time since Westview, she didn’t sound lost. She sounded dangerous — and ready.

“Hmm… ‘Good’ company is a stretch. But tolerable? Occasionally useful? Not entirely unbearable to talk to by a fire?” She shrugged, casual, teasing. “I guess you pass.”

She started toward the hallway, not looking back immediately—but the way her voice carried over her shoulder made it clear she fully expected him to follow when he was ready.

“And don’t worry,” she added dryly. “I didn’t offer for your sake—I just don’t feel like scraping your car out of a ditch at three in the morning because you decided you were too superior to hydroplane like the rest of us.”

But then, softer—enough to acknowledge, without dramatizing anything: “...And maybe because the silence after you leave would feel a little too loud tonight.”

She stopped at the hallway entrance, finally turning back to face him fully. The glow behind her crimson eyes had settled into something steady, confident.

“There’s clean sheets already in the spare room,” she said. “And if you’re going to stay, don’t wake me before sunrise unless something’s on fire or you’re dying. Preferably both.”

When she turned and headed for the hallway, Cipher followed. He left his jacket hanging over the chair to collect in the morning. “Oh, of course that’s your reasoning. Absolutely. Colour me surprised you actually give a damn about my safety. I mean, you could always leave me in said ditch. But good to know if it ever happened, your first thought is to come to my rescue.” Every jab from her was returned with one of his own, though he kept it rather light with no malice.

Though her mention of the silence feeling too loud earned a subtle smirk at the corner of his lips. He didn’t say anything though, no retort. He allowed that statement to hang in the air, but it was heard. And noted. He stopped when she did, gaze meeting hers as he tilted his head. “You’ll be glad to know I won’t resort to those kinds of extreme measures even if I wanted your attention.” He stated, then sighed softly. “If I’m awake before sunrise I’d take myself out. Though, sleeping in would be a nice change. Here’s hoping you’ve exhausted me enough.”

As he heard the knock at the door, Cipher blinked in surprise. He was not expecting visitors this late at night.

Sighing, he headed for the door and opened it. For the first time, he was actually expressive. The look of confusion was clear on his face as he stared at James Norrington of all people.

“What the fuck are you doing here at this hour? You really think I’m in the mood to let you rummage around in my head in the middle of the night? Kindly fuck off. I’m not going to invite you in, Lapdog.”

He took that hand for a shake, his hold was gentle like he was greeting an old friend. “Nice to meet you, Mr Norrington. I haven’t seen anyone in years. Not this me anyways. Never thought I’d meet or speak to anyone again. It’s been so long.” He gave a small smile as he let go and then began to explore his own mental scape.

Doug was far more expressive and full of emotion than Cipher was. The two clearly opposite sides of the same coin. Doug looked at the pictures on the walls with fondness, picked up one of the random books to look it over. And when he caught sight of the cat, he headed over. “Buster! Hey. You’re here too!” He said as he crouched down to give the cat pets. “I missed you buddy.”

As James spoke of the counterpart and burying him alive, Doug turned his attention to the Brit. “I can answer that. He…kind of appeared a good few years ago when I was going through a difficult time. I don’t know how or why, but he was just…there. He offered to help ease the pain. I don’t have family. When I lost my wife I didn’t have anyone but Buster. So I agreed. And…it worked at first. I was able to cope y’know? But then things…changed. He wanted more control for longer durations and I wasn’t…” Doug glanced away with a heavy sigh. “I wasn’t strong enough to stop him.”

He gave Buster a scratch behind his ear before standing up to face James. “So he took over and pushed me aside. Locked me up so I couldn’t interfere. And I was there ever since. Till just now. Thank you for freeing me, Mr Norrington. I don’t know how you did it or…how you’re in my mind, but you seem nice so. Thank you.” Doug gave James a warm, genuine smile. He didn’t care how, when or where this was. He was just glad to be free.

“This was my home.” Doug said as he gestured to the space around him. “Me, Buster and…Emily. It wasn’t much but it was home. And after being locked away in the dark for so long, it’s definitely nice to come back to.” He smiled somewhat sadly at the fond memories. “I don’t know how long I’ve been locked away exactly. At the start, he…Cipher, would let me see what he saw. Let me experience it. It felt surreal having my body move and say things…do things that I-I would never…”

He paused, brows furrowed as he shook his head. “But then I remembered less and less. It was like I was having blackouts. I was losing time. I actually thought I was going crazy and was going to go to the hospital, but Cipher told me it would be okay. And like a fool, I believed him.” Doug shrugged. “Now…I don’t know how much time I’ve lost. I don’t know…what I’ve done, where I am. What I’m doing. Where I live. I don’t…don’t know anything about myself.”

He fell silent then, thinking. Trying to remember the last moments of clarity. But his mind was a blur, still catching up with itself and the shift. His thoughts were jambled, a tangle of his own and Cipher’s where it was becoming impossible to tell whose were whose.

James stood quietly at first, letting the echoes of Doug’s words fill the space between them. It was strange—after the heat and fury of what had just transpired—to find himself here, in a place so still and warm it almost felt alive. The vampire’s eyes softened, the burn of their glow dimming to a gentler hue as he watched Doug move. So this is the man buried beneath Cipher, he thought. The ghost inside the machine.

When Doug took his hand, James’s grip was steady, warm despite his own cool touch. “It’s good to meet you, Doug, perhaps in time I will explain but for now...” He followed Doug’s gaze as the man wandered the room, eyes tracing over the photos and shelves with something akin to respect. When Buster meowed and brushed past James’ leg again, he crouched briefly, letting his fingers skim the cat’s fur before watching the reunion with an expression that could almost be called fond. “He’s waited a long time for you.”

As Doug explained Cipher’s origins, James listened with arms loosely crossed, like a soldier at ease. His face betrayed little, but his eyes did all the talking. There was understanding there, and a deep, old kind of empathy that rarely surfaced. “I know that temptation,” he murmured when Doug finished. “Pain is a cruel thing, Mr. Brightbill. It makes bargains sound like mercy.” He exhaled softly through his nose, glancing to the floor before meeting Doug’s gaze again. “But for what it’s worth, you weren’t weak. You were human. And he exploited that.” The words were spoken with the quiet authority of someone who had seen such fractures before.

James smiled at the gratitude because it felt genuine. “You’re most welcome. Though truth be told, I didn’t expect to find you in here.” His tone carried a wry edge, but it softened quickly. “Still, I’m glad I did. You seem to be a vast improvement.”

James fell quiet as Doug described the slow decline, the stolen time, the loss of self. It stirred something in him—recognition, maybe. A ghost of his own split self flickered behind his eyes, though he buried it under composure. “You’re describing what I've taken to calling a split. Two consciousnesses sharing one body—one dominant, one recessive. It often begins as a coping mechanism, but if the balance tips…” He tilted his head slightly. “Well. You’ve seen what happens when one side seizes control. You vanish into the dark.” His gaze grew gentler, less clinical. “But that doesn’t mean you’re gone. Just buried.”

James instinctively reached out when Doug started to panic over being taken over again, resting a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. “Easy, now,” he said softly, his tone a calm anchor. “You’re not going back. Not tonight anyway. Cipher may have power, but he’s not invincible. And as you've stated…You’ve still roots here—memories, will, purpose. That’s what I can help you strengthen. That will anchor your resistance.” His voice took on a low, reassuring cadence. “I can’t promise to banish him entirely, but I can teach you to fight. To stay awake when he tries to drag you under.”

His focus shifted back to James as he explained, noting that he was being heard and listened to for once. That alone meant everything. “Oh, call me Doug. I…have faint traces of you in my mind. We spoke before? Or…you and Cipher did. You and him in his office. …An argument of some kind.” His brows furrowed as he tried to focus. “It’s broken, y’know? It’s not clear. Like pieces of a puzzle. But I’m getting flashes of things he did.” Doug admitted. It seemed the longer he was in control, the more his mind was starting to remember, like someone recovering from amnesia.

Doug returned that smile with one of his own. “I never expected to ever be found. I just kept shouting as loud as I could hoping I’d be heard or…just hoping something would happen. But you…you saved me. I can’t imagine Cipher made it easy either. So…I truly am grateful. Forever grateful for that, Mr Norrington.” He was completely genuine, completely open and honest. The total opposite of his counterpart. This guy wouldn’t hurt a damn fly.

Doug listened closely as James explained what he thought had happened, which sounded like what exactly had happened. He frowned, tilting his head. “You seem to know a lot about this. Which, I’m glad for cause it means I can hopefully get answers and help. Anything to not be locked away again.” There was deep rooted concern and fear of that. Which of course was understandable. And then led to Doug freaking out and panicking.

Though as James spoke to him, that grounding touch on his shoulder, he slowly began to calm. He didn’t know why but there was something trusting in James. In the way he spoke, in the way he was so calm and in control all while Doug was spiralling. He knew James was someone he could trust. He felt it. “I-…I’ll try my best. I want control of my life. I want to know where I am, what I’m doing without blackouts happening.” He explained before he paused and looked at James. “For what it’s worth, whatever he’s said or done to you, I’m sorry. You both argued but I don’t know why. Regardless, I’m sorry.”

Doug took a deep breath as he glanced around the room, nodding at the instructions given to him. “This was my livingroom. It was a house that Emily and I bought together. It wasn’t much since I was working at Blockbuster at the time so wasn’t making that much, but she had a great job. She was training to be a lawyer. I always questioned what she saw in me cause I thought she deserved better y’know? I didn’t even question why she came in multiple times a week to rent movies. I was so oblivious.” Doug laughed softly, a mixture of sadness and fondness in that memory.

He paused for a moment before continuing. “We dated for a while and then got a place together. We got Buster a month after moving in. Emily loved cats. She’d have adopted the entire shelter! But we found Buster and it was just…we knew, y’know? A few years later I finally saved up enough to get her a decent ring. One that she deserved. And…and that was us. The three of us. And we…we just lived. Just a normal, quiet life. Till…that night when everything changed.”

The cabin was quiet — too quiet for someone who’d once warped an entire town with grief. Wanda Maximoff stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the treeline sway in the mountain wind. The world had finally stopped whispering monster under its breath, but silence had its own kind of cruelty.

When the knock came, it wasn’t unexpected. She’d felt the ripple before it reached her door — that strange, electric tug in the air that didn’t belong to this plane.

“Dean Cipher,” she said, not turning around. Her voice was calm, practiced. “You made quite the entrance last time.”

The door opened with a low creak, the scent of sulfur and rain curling into the room.

Her eyes glowed faintly red as she turned to face him — not in threat, but in curiosity. “I didn’t call for help,” she said. “I called for understanding.”

And for the first time since Westview, she didn’t sound lost. She sounded dangerous — and ready.

Wanda let his words settle—not as empty praise, but as something she allowed herself to accept. Not cling to. Not deflect. Just… accept.

Her shoulders eased just a little, the kind of subtle release that happens when the body realizes it doesn’t have to brace anymore. She didn’t smile widely, didn’t beam—but there was a quiet flicker of pride in her eyes, a settled warmth like embers in a hearth.

“Headaches on command were starting to get old,” she murmured dryly, a touch of humor breaking through. But her gaze stayed steady, attentive. She was listening just as closely now as she had when she closed her eyes.

Breathe. Balance. Own it.

She nodded once. “I can do that.” It wasn’t an empty promise or a hopeful guess. It sounded like a decision.

She leaned back lightly in her chair—not slumped, not guarded. Just at ease. “Guess your students should be jealous,” she added, almost casually. “You roll your sleeves up for me, meditate by firelight, give meaningful speeches…” She tilted her head, a hint of a smirk ghosting at the corner of her lips. “Must be nice having someone who actually listens to you, huh?”

There was no malice in her teasing—just a gentle prod, acknowledging the trust that had begun to form between them. Hard-won, but present.

He eased back into the chair, rolling his shoulders as he got comfortable and allowed himself to relax for once. His gaze flickered to Wanda and he tilted his head. “The students are too busy getting drunk at parties and fucking, to pay attention to me and what I have to teach them. I had hope for a small select few, one in particular. She’s stubborn and doesn’t trust me. Which is making things rather difficult.” Cipher admitted with a shrug.

He simply raised a brow at the thanks, not having expected it. “If anything, this was a welcome distraction and as good exercise as any to get off campus for a while. Honestly, half the time I feel wasted in there. These students are supposed to be the best and strongest, and yet half of them have utterly useless abilities they might as well be human.” He was aware he was venting a little, though he found it hard to shut up at times once he started talking.

“As far as catastrophes go, you’re far from it. One walk around campus and you’d see just how fucked we are. It’s not pretty.” Cipher allowed himself a rare chuckle at the irony of it all as he sighed deeply and leaned his head back. “This was refreshing. I think I needed this just as much as you did.” He muttered, pausing for a moment as he simply stared up at the ceiling as if contemplating something.

“‘Hours,’ huh?” she teased, lifting an eyebrow with a small, knowing smirk. “You make it sound like I ran you through a marathon.”

But she didn’t argue the progress they’d made. Couldn’t. She felt it—in the way her mind wasn’t a live wire, in how her pulse no longer tried to sprint faster than her breath, in how the energy now rested rather than clawed.

She listened as he spoke about the campus and his students, her expression softening—empathetic, if subtly. “Sounds like you’re teaching children who think they’re gods,” she mused. Then, after a beat: “Maybe they just don’t know what to do with power when they’ve never had to bleed for it.”A quiet observation. No pity—just truth.

She didn’t interrupt when he vented. Didn’t feel the need to. There was something quietly satisfying about watching him humanize himself further without realizing it. When he finally admitted he needed this too, she simply nodded once.“Yeah,” she said softly. “I know the feeling.”The cabin felt almost peaceful now. The fire had burned low, casting warm amber over the room. Outside, the rain had settled into a quiet rhythm against the glass. Everything felt slower. Realer.When he sat up and made the call, she glanced toward the window, the darkness beyond. “You’re right,” she agreed. “If you keep going past this point, I’ll start charging you per emotional breakthrough.”

“Oh, sure. Some think they’re all that and will be the next leader of The Seven or some bullshit, but kids these days just don’t listen. Too busy on their damn phones, or getting shitfaced at parties. So this…” Cipher gestured to the space around them, to the cabin itself. “…has been refreshing.” He didn’t exactly like complaining, though there wasn’t really anyone back on campus he could rant to. The humans, perhaps. But he didn’t so much care for them. Or their opinions.

“The kids know nothing about bleeding for things. They don’t know what it’s like to fight and struggle for what you want. What you are. None of them would last in the real world.” Cipher had little faith in the students except for a select few. But even then it had been difficult to teach them since they just weren’t interested. Or trusted him.

“So, you’re my top student. For now, at least. Though don’t let that little nugget of info get to your head or I’ll reach in there and pull it out.” He said with a faint smirk. He liked that he could joke and tease with Wanda. He liked that she listened, whether he was teaching her or ranting. If only more could be like her.

His gaze shifted to the window, watching the raindrops lazily trail down the glass. It was getting late and he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. He was prepared to leave until Wanda left that offer hanging in the air. Cipher raised a brow. “I must be overworked because it sounded like you give a shit about my well-being enough to offer me to stay.” He snickered, contemplating it for a moment. “It is quite the drive back…”

Cipher merely shrugged as he exited the bathroom with just a towel around his waist, hair slicked back and still damp.

“Would you rather I smell bad? I don’t want that, and I know you don’t want that. Unless you’re complaining about having a half naked man in your house? And here I thought that was every woman’s dream.”