#ilgoss

Ten Months Later

Montauk, especially in winter, looks as if it's straight out of a postcard. 

For as long as you can remember, Montauk is the only place that's felt like home. And you've shared it with the woman who's known you even before you took your first breath in this world. But now, there are days when she doesn't recognize you, days when she cries out in fear thinking you're an intruder, when she tearfully calls for her own mother or searches anxiously for her late husband.

The merciless grip of Alzheimer's is steadily robbing her from you, and time seems to draw out the process in a cruel, agonizing manner.

Wanda is there for you though, through every difficult moment. She is your rock when you feel like crumbling, your light in the darkest moments. You are both staying in Montauk for some time now, taking care of your mother. Your mother sometimes recognizes her, and she’s remarkably warmer to your ex-wife more than you can remember. You think, perhaps, it has something to do with her memories that are slowly wilting away, and all that is left is the love she’s always held back for the other woman in your life.

One evening, as snowflakes start to gently fall from the sky, Wanda gets the sudden urge to take a walk. After some persuasion, you find yourself pulled out from the inviting warmth of the bed you've been sharing, grumbling while putting your layers of clothing back on to indulge Wanda in her whimsical idea.

Hand-in-hand, you set off just as the sun begins its descent, painting the horizon with streaks of indigo and pink. Snowflakes settle on Wanda's hair, turning her fiery locks into a winter wonderland. She smiles, her green eyes sparkling with the reflection of the dimming twilight. 

You soak in the sight of her, the love of your life, aglow in the beauty of the snowy evening, committing it to memory. 

An old park lies ahead, its swings and benches blanketed by the fresh snowfall. Wanda leads you to the swing set, her laughter carrying through the chilly air as she plops down on one of them. You take the swing beside her, the frosty metal biting through your clothing, but you don’t mind. The sight of Wanda, her face flushed with cold yet bright with joy, is worth braving the winter chill.

As the swing set gently comes to a halt, Wanda nudges you, pointing towards a row of trees in the distance. “Look over there,” she says, “Do you see that?”

You squint at the snow-laden branches, trying to decipher what she's referring to. While you're absorbed in your futile search, Wanda quietly slips off the swing, her heart pounding in her chest. She swallows hard, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. As you turn back to her with a puzzled look, ready to ask what you were supposed to see, you find her on her knees in the fresh snow, looking up at you with an earnest gaze.

She reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small, velvet box. With a quick flick of her wrist, she pops it open to reveal a simple yet stunning ring nestled within. 

“Will you marry me?”

Your heart stutters at the sight of Wanda's hopeful gaze. For a moment, everything seems to stand still. Snowflakes suspend their descent, the air holds its breath. With a lump in your throat, you utter a word you never thought you'd say in this moment. 

“No.”

Shock registers on Wanda's face, her eyes wide and vulnerable. The world seems to crash around her, the word echoing ominously in her ears. But then, before she has a chance to fully comprehend what's happening, you're sinking to your knees in the snow beside her.

“Because,” you begin, laughter choking your words even as tears track down your cheeks. You fumble in your pocket, pulling out your own small box. You pry it open, revealing a gleaming ring nestled within. “Because I want you to marry me.”

The world, previously paused, starts up again in a rush of sound and color.

Laughter bubbles up from within you, filling the silence, mingling with the tears streaming down your face. Wanda stares at you, stunned into silence, her tears mirroring your own.

“Yes,” she breathes out finally, her voice choked with emotion. “Yes, yes, yes.”

In the stillness that follows, you gently take her hand, slipping the ring onto her trembling finger. 

You look up at her, your heart in your eyes. “Yes, Wanda, I'll marry you,” you whisper.

Wanda's fingers are ice-cold, trembling with adrenaline, when she reaches for your hand, your ring. Her focus is so intense as she slips it onto your finger that it feels as if everything else has fallen away.

Without wasting a moment, Wanda lurches forward, lips finding yours in a kiss, full of passion and relief. The chill of the snow around you seems to dissipate as your mouths move in a rhythm perfected by time and familiarity. Every small shift, every pressure, the way she tugs at your lower lip, the way you reciprocate by pulling her closer by the waist, it all stokes a warmth that radiates from your core, spreading outwards, rendering the winter air irrelevant.

The soft moan that escapes Wanda against your lips fills you with a satisfaction, an overwhelming sense of rightness that even the best of days prior to this moment had not quite achieved.

Like all beautiful things, the kiss comes to an end. She pulls away, her breath ghosting over your lips as she whispers, “Yes,” echoing your sentiment. “Yes, you will.”

Year 2

A year later, the smell of antiseptic and the sterile white walls of a hospital room are your surroundings. You lay exhausted on the hospital bed, swaddled in a light hospital gown, holding the newest addition to your family. 

A baby girl. 

Yours and Wanda’s. 

She is swathed in soft pink blankets, her tiny face peering curiously at the world she's just entered.

Overwhelmed, overjoyed, and slightly terrified, Wanda is darting around the room, fretting over everything and anything. Her brows are furrowed as she questions the nurses on the baby’s feeding, changing, swaddling. She's always been meticulous, but her anxiety seems to be on a whole new level today.

Meanwhile, she's constantly checking up on you too. A wet cloth to dab your sweaty forehead, a soft kiss to reassure you, a gentle squeeze of your hand. Each time she asks if you're okay, if you need anything, if you're feeling too tired or too overwhelmed.

Her voice is a touch higher than usual, her movements slightly rushed. It's all too adorable, you think. The endearing sight of Wanda fussing over you and the baby brings a soft smile to your tired face.

Wanda’s gaze alternates between you and the tiny bundle in your arms, as if she’s afraid that this is all some dream that she would wake from.

“You're doing great, love,” you reassure her in a voice hoarse with exhaustion, but filled with so much love and admiration for this woman. Your woman. You wouldn’t trade her frantic behavior for anything else.

“Do you want to hold her?” you ask Wanda, lifting the baby slightly from your chest.

Wanda freezes at your question, her eyes flickering from the tiny face peeking out from the swaddles and back to you. She seems to be calculating the risk of her holding something so precious and delicate. She bites her lip nervously, her hand absently wringing together.

“I'm... I'm afraid I might hurt her. She's so small,” Wanda murmurs, almost too softly to hear.

A soft laugh bubbles up from you, finding her concern endearing. With your free hand, you tenderly take hers, squeezing reassuringly.

“Wands, love, she's our daughter. She already knows you and she wants her mom. Come on,” you encourage her, your voice soft but confident.

With a deep breath, Wanda nods. She gingerly slips onto the bed beside you, her arm tentatively reaching out. Her hand hovers over the baby's tiny form, her fingers trembling slightly.

Seeing her hesitate, you gently place the baby into Wanda's waiting arms. The moment your daughter is cradled in her arms, Wanda's eyes fill with unshed tears. Her gaze is locked on the little face looking up at her.

She's silent for a moment, just looking down at the tiny, squirming bundle in her arms. You watch as she traces her finger lightly over your daughter's chubby cheek, her touch feather-light as though she's handling a priceless piece of art.

“She's... She's beautiful,” Wanda finally whispers, her voice choked with emotion. You watch as a single tear escapes, trailing down her cheek.

“She has your eyes,” you say softly, leaning against Wanda's shoulder.

Her response is a watery laugh, and she turns to press a kiss on your forehead. “And your nose,” she retorts, a teasing lilt to her voice. “I didn’t know it was possible to be even more in love with you,” she adds, looking into your heavy-lidded eyes.

As you look at Wanda holding your daughter, overwhelmed with love and emotion, you think that there can't be anything equally perfect as this moment. 

Year 4

Something equally as perfect comes two years later.

You and Wanda return to your new apartment in Manhattan, this time with a little more noise, a lot more love, and two new family members in tow. 

The eighteen arduous hours of Wanda's labor are still fresh in your mind. The anxiety and fear you felt, the helplessness, as you watched her endure the pain, fighting for every breath, are experiences you would never forget. For a moment, you feared for her life, but Wanda, as always, proved to be a force of nature. She battled through, delivering the twins normally. Your two-year-old daughter has just been promoted to big sister status, with the arrival of her twin brothers, William and Thomas.

Wanda, holding Billy, looks at you over the top of his little head. Her eyes are bright, tired but excited. You carry Tommy, his tiny hand gripping your finger, and his weight in your arms feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Despite being outnumbered by your kids, you and Wanda are no novices now. With one child already, you've learned the ropes of parenthood, even if juggling the needs of three young children is still quite the adventure. 

Looking back, you can't help but wonder. If things had been smoother, easier, would you still end up here? 

Sure, life has thrown you a few curveballs. But those curveballs brought you to this moment, to this feeling of complete and utter happiness. 

You wouldn't change a thing.

Because this is it. This is your perfect. This is the beautiful chaos of a big family you and Wanda have created together. And you wouldn't trade it for the world. 

This moment is everything you ever wanted.

Year 35

You both retire to a charming little town on the east coast, away from the relentless hum of city life. The house is a modest one, its size perfect for two people entering the golden years of their life.

It's a quiet evening when you find yourself sitting in the bathtub, the warm water soothing against your aging muscles. The bathroom door creaks open and in walks Wanda, unadorned and as beautiful as the day you met her. You watch as she undresses, each wrinkle and mark a testament to the years you've spent together. The sight of her, the raw display of strength, beauty, and age, leaves you breathless.

She eases herself into the tub, the water rising as she settles across from you. Your legs brush against each other, a touch that still sends warmth spreading through your veins. Her eyes, the same captivating pair you lost yourself in more than four decades ago, meet yours and your heart does a familiar dance.

Wanda raises an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a teasing smile. “You have that look again.”

“What look?” you feign innocence, though a mischievous glint gives you away.

“That look as if you're seeing a young woman, and not the one who's been trying to get a senior discount for the past few years,” she quips.

You chuckle, leaning closer, the water ripples between you two as you do. “Honestly, after all this time,” you whisper, fingers tracing the back of her hand submerged in the water, “I can't help myself.”

She playfully rolls her eyes, her cheeks tinted with a hint of a blush that reminds you of her younger self. “Ever the charmer,” she murmurs, her voice betraying the flutter of excitement she still feels from your compliments, even after all these years.

“You may have a few more lines here and there,” you whisper, your eyes taking in every beautiful detail of her face, “But to me, you're as breathtaking as the day we met. Time can't change the way I see you, Wanda.”

With deliberate slowness, you lean in, pressing a delicate kiss to her lips. As you pull back, you see the warmth in her eyes, the soft smile playing on her lips, and you feel an old, familiar urge.

Your next kiss is deeper, more insistent, and your hand finds its way to her waist, pressing her closer. Her laughter bubbles up, breaking the kiss momentarily as she playfully swats your wandering hand away.

“You really still find this,” she gestures to herself, “Desirable?”

You lean back slightly, taking in her form with a deliberate, exaggerated slowness, your gaze wandering from her face to her feet and back up again. “Every inch.”

She gives you a mock exasperated look, but the smile that's trying to break through belies her true feelings. “You and your words,” she mutters, pulling you closer by the nape of your neck, her fingers tangling in your damp hair. “Do they ever run out?”

“Not when it comes to you,” you reply earnestly, your lips hovering just above hers. “Never when it comes to you.”

Making love isn't as easy as it once was, with bodies grown old and not as supple. 

But your love for Wanda—if anything, is stuck in time.

One year later

It’s the most important flight of her life.

Wanda Maximoff is finally going home after a year in Barcelona. 

And it's only a matter of days before the date circled on her calendar arrives, the day she's set to see you again.

Before she boarded the plane, Pietro gave her a call, extending his well wishes and backing for her reunion. Shannon is expecting their second child, a baby girl. Pietro would have loved to be there for Wanda, to welcome her back after such an extended absence. However, Shannon's pregnancy has been more delicate this time around, requiring his undivided attention and care.

In the remaining moments before take-off, and after having secured Sparky on her lap, Wanda finds herself gazing at a picture of you on her phone. It’s an image that Valkyrie captured during the Cup-off, a picture of you and her side by side, your awkward yet endearing smile juxtaposed with her exuberant, wide grin.

As the plane ascends, distancing itself from the ground, her mind becomes filled with thoughts of you. She pushes the tray table up and leans her head against the window, watching the shrinking world below.

Have you changed? Have you grown out your hair or cut it shorter? Did your laugh still come out in those adorable bursts, or had life worn it down to a chuckle?

But beyond these surface changes, she wonders about your feelings. A year can transform emotions as much as it can alter appearances. But her heart aches for you, hoping that this part, this important part of you, remains constant.

The questions dance around in her mind as the miles fly by beneath her. 

Soon, she thinks, soon she'll see you again. Soon, she'll have her answers.

The moment her feet touch the ground at JFK airport, Wanda heads straight to the cafe. 

Although she's still got three days until she sees you, she has missed everyone else. When the opportunity arose to further her studies in culinary arts overseas, she felt compelled to take it. It was a prestigious scholarship in hospitality, coupled with advanced pastry and chocolate crafting, offered to her by one of the judges from last year's Cup-off competition.

Before leaving, Wanda had finalized a business partnership with Agatha, entrusting her with the cafe's operations during her absence. It was a decision made out of trust and necessity, knowing the cafe would be in capable hands.

At first, Wanda was ambivalent, reluctant to leave the comfort of all she knew. But when you told her about your decision, about needing a year to yourself, she took it as a sign. She took the opportunity to explore, grow, and learn more, just like you were doing. But now she's back, eager to catch up with everyone and curious about how the cafe has thrived under Agatha's care.

What immediately strikes Wanda about her cafe is the additional space it now occupies. When the shop next door had shut down eight months earlier, Agatha had promptly rung her up to grab the opportunity to expand their business. The cafe had been drawing an increasing number of customers since their victory in the Cup-off, and Wanda had immediately agreed to the expansion, recognizing that they were quickly outgrowing the existing space.

“Don’t pour anywhere but the coffee bed, Daisy, okay?” 

Peter's voice is the first thing that reaches her ears as she steps inside. He's guiding a young woman, likely a new employee, through the ins and outs of the pour-over brewing method, just like how Wanda taught him before. Their heads turn as the door chimes and an almost instant smile lights up Peter's face.

Wanda's own lips twitch upwards into a grin, returning the warm greetings silently before gently unhooking Sparky's leash. He doesn’t waste any time sniffing every inch of the room in a frenzy of enthusiasm.

“Wanda!” Peter exclaims, leaving the confines of the open kitchen to wrap her in a warm embrace. Just as he lets her go, Agatha appears from the backroom.

“Maximoff!” Agatha shrieks, drawing the attention of several heads in the room. She strides over quickly and practically shoves Peter out of the way so she can enfold Wanda in an even more suffocating hug.

“Welcome back!” Agatha exclaims, stepping back to look at her; her business partner is positively glowing. “How was Spain?”

Wanda smiles, “It was an incredible experience. I learned so much and met so many great people. And Barcelona... It’s a beautiful city.”

“And the food?” Peter interjects, looking curious.

“Out of this world,” Wanda replies with a laugh. Then she turns to Agatha and says, “So, tell me about your new hot date?”

As they chat and catch up, Wanda finds herself glancing at the clock every now and then, her heart beating a little faster with each passing minute. Three days. Just three more days until she sees you again.

Wanda wonders if these three days would feel longer than the year she spent without you.

***

Three days later, the large clock on the wall reads half-past eight. The cafe is usually buzzing with activity around this time, but today it’s quieter, as if everyone else is holding their breath too. 

Thirty minutes till closing, and you’re still a no-show.

Wanda is seated at the bar stool near the entrance, her elbows resting on the counter as she gazes blankly out of the window. Every now and then, her eyes flit towards the door, hoping to see your familiar figure. But each time, she’s met with disappointment.

She can't help but wonder if you've forgotten about the arrangement, or perhaps decided not to show up intentionally. Maybe you've decided to move on, to continue living your life without her. But the thought that terrifies her most is the possibility that something might have happened to you.

She shakes her head, trying to rid herself of these pessimistic thoughts. “They're late, not absent,” she mutters under her breath, clinging to the hope that you'll show up before the clock strikes nine.

Just as the last of her hope seems to be dwindling, the sudden presence of a new arrival snaps her back to the present.

She pivots slowly, heart thundering, and her eyes lock onto a face she had least expected to encounter today.

It's Natasha striding into the cafe with an inscrutable expression.

Seeing her, Wanda feels a strange mix of relief and anxiety. She hasn't seen Natasha since she confronted Wanda about her feelings for you, hasn’t heard from her since she helped locate you in Montauk. If Natasha is here, does that mean you're not coming? Or is she here to deliver a message from you?

Natasha catches sight of Wanda a second later and offers a small smile, a knowing look in her eyes. Wanda's breath catches, her vision momentarily blurring, while her pulse quickens, thundering in her ears.

“Good, you’re still here,” Natasha mutters, claiming the bar stool next to her. A snide remark about how she actually owns the place flits across Wanda's mind, but she brushes it aside, curious to see what Natasha is doing here.

“Nat–”

“I’m not going to beat around the bush because I’m terribly late and she’ll kill me if she finds out,” Natasha explains in a rush. “But Y/N won’t be able to make it.”

Her grip tightens around the edge of the table, knuckles white, as the room seems to tilt slightly. She had prepared herself for the worst, but hearing that you weren't coming still felt like a blow. She had spent the past year missing you, hoping for your return, and the fact that you weren't showing up as promised was a hard pill to swallow.

“Is it... is it because she doesn't want to?” Wanda asks quietly. Her whole disposition seems to wilt, as though an unseen force is pressing down on her.

Natasha lets out a heavy sigh, avoiding Wanda's questioning gaze. “It's...complicated.”

Wanda feels her heart dropping at the evasive response. A part of her doesn't want to hear what comes next, but she knows she has to.

“Y/N's mom has recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer's,” Natasha begins carefully. “And it's been tough on her, especially since she's also trying to mend their strained relationship.”

Wanda feels her heart twist at the news. She knew of your tumultuous relationship with your mother, and the added burden of dealing with such an illness must be incredibly hard on you. It only increases her longing to be at your side, to provide you the comfort you need at this critical time.

“Moreover,” Natasha continues, “She feels like she's not yet ready to see you... that she needs more time.” 

The words sting, and Wanda can't help but feel a rush of disappointment. 

“Thank you for letting me know, Natasha,” she says, attempting a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. “I had...well, you know, built up a lot in my head about this reunion.”

“I get that,” Natasha admits with a sigh. “And honestly? I wish she'd had the guts to tell you herself.”

Wanda looks away, blinking rapidly. “Yeah. So do I.”

Natasha's gaze lingers on Wanda's downturned face. There was a time when she despised the very sight of the woman before her, every fiber of her being resisting any empathy. But now, watching Wanda crumble, it twists something inside of her.

“Do you... do you have any idea why Y/N still doesn't feel ready to see me?” Wanda asks all of a sudden. There is a slight tremor in her voice, but she fights hard to keep her emotions in check, swallowing the lump in her throat. She needs to know, needs to understand, so she can find a way to support you, even if it's from a distance.

Natasha merely shakes her head. “I'm sorry, Wanda, but I don't have the answer,” she says, her voice carrying an undertone of regret.

Wanda gives a nod, a sad smile curving her lips. “Alright, thank you, Natasha,” she says quietly, a soft resignation in her voice. She wraps her arms around herself, as if trying to find comfort in her own embrace. Despite the gloom, she tries to put on a brave front. “Tell Y/N that... tell Y/N that I'm here, whenever she’s ready.”

“There's something else, Wanda,” Natasha says evenly, but there's a solemn look on her face that sends a shiver down Wanda's spine. “Y/N wanted me to tell you that it's okay to move on. She feels guilty that she couldn’t fulfill her promise and she doesn’t want you waiting forever.”

Wanda takes a deep breath, her eyes glistening as she fights back the tears, especially in front of your best friend.

“She... doesn't want me to wait?” Wanda's voice breaks a little as she forces the words out. 

The idea is utterly unfathomable to her. The very thought of not waiting, of possibly moving forward without you, feels foreign, almost laughable. All this time, she felt tethered to you, even with the miles and silence between. 

“No, Wanda, that’s not it,” Natasha gently corrects, her demeanor softening. “She thinks it’s not fair to you. To keep you waiting for something that might not even happen.”

Wanda blinks, a frown marring her face. “But I want to wait for her.”

Natasha sighs, rubbing her temples. “She worries that she might be holding you back from finding someone who can, well, be there for you. Someone who can offer you more certainty.”

“Does she need more time?” Wanda asks, and though she can hear the tinge of desperation in her own voice, she couldn’t bring herself to care. “I can wait, you know. I can give her all the time she needs.”

“That's the thing, Wanda,” Natasha says, meeting her eyes with a grimness that makes Wanda's heart sink. “She no longer knows when she'll be ready, if she'll ever be. She didn't want to give you an indefinite timeline.”

The gears in Wanda's mind are visibly turning as she digests the information, her face contorting with various emotions before settling on a desperate resolve. “Can I contact her? Just to see if she's okay?”

Natasha is quick to shake her head, an empathetic look on her face. “Wanda, I don't think that's a good idea.”

“But–”

“Listen,” Natasha interrupts, holding her gaze. “I understand where you're coming from. I do–”

Fury surges through Wanda. She pounds her hand on the table, her voice trembling as she snaps back, “Oh, so you know all about it, do you? Given your own track record with relationships, Natasha, can you honestly tell me you get where I'm coming from?”

“Yes,” Natasha says firmly, a statue of patience, undeterred by Wanda’s outburst. And she's able to remain steady, because she truly does get it. 

“Look, Wanda,” Natasha begins, leaning back in her chair with a sigh. “I made Bruce wait for me for years,” Her gaze falls, as if lost in the painful memories. “But all that waiting, all that uncertainty, it only bred more resentment, more pain. I hurt him more by making him wait than if I had just let him go. Perhaps I even took away many opportunities for him to be happy.”

She finally lifts her gaze to meet Wanda's. “Sometimes, we have to let go of the people we love, not because we want to, but because it's the right thing to do. It's not easy, and it hurts like hell. But sometimes, it's the kindest thing we can do.”

Wanda lapses into silence, feeling a sting of regret for having belittled Natasha's own experiences. She realizes, perhaps too late, that heartache is not a competition and that she has no right to assume that her own pain holds precedence over the other woman.

“In the end, I think Y/N is trying to spare you both from going through the same thing,” Natasha finishes, her voice thick with emotion as she allows a glimpse into her own painful past.

An extended period of silence blankets the pair as they both wrestle with their respective thoughts, looking out the window. As Wanda observes the thick snow blanketing the Manhattan pavements, she can't help but draw comparisons to the winters she experienced in Spain. The biting cold is a far cry from the Spanish winters where temperatures never dipped below zero. She likens herself to a plant frozen in an enduring winter, suddenly thawed out, expecting the warmth of spring, only to be thrown again in an even longer winter–an uncertain one.

The silence stretches on until it is broken by an awkward cough from Natasha. “So...uh,” she starts, glancing at her watch. “Is it too late to order a cup of coffee? I know you guys close in like, ten minutes?”

Wanda can't help the small chuckle that escapes her lips. Nodding, she pushes off from the table, making her way towards the counter. “It's never too late for a cup of coffee.”

Natasha follows her to the open kitchen, leaning casually against the countertop as Wanda gets to work. Wanda moves around the space with practiced ease, retrieving two mugs and starting the espresso machine.

“When did you two patch things up?” Wanda tosses out casually, glancing at Natasha while the coffee brews.

“About six months ago,” Natasha shares. Wanda acknowledges with a nod, meticulously pouring the espresso and then frothing milk, completely absorbed in her task.

“Because she took your advice?” Wanda asks over her shoulder, the undercurrent of raw emotion detectable in her otherwise composed demeanor.

Appearing a bit disconcerted, Natasha shakes her head slowly. “Truth be told, I didn't even know she took my advice... went her own separate way,” Natasha reveals, her eyes darting away. “I found out when her mother called me by accident. The anger had subsided by then. I wasn't furious anymore. I just... I missed her.”

As Wanda brings Natasha her coffee, they fall into a comfortable silence, standing side by side at the counter. 

“Even if she hadn't taken my advice, I think we would have found our way back to each other, eventually,” Natasha says, her voice soft, almost wistful. "She's my best friend, after all.”

Natasha stirs her coffee, her gaze lingering on the whirls of foam swirling in her cup. She doesn’t look at Wanda as she speaks again. “I’m sorry, Wanda,” she says, her tone solemn. “For having a hand in this. I never meant for things to turn out this way.”

Wanda gives her a long, hard look before letting out a sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I know, Nat. It’s not your fault,” she says, her voice subdued. “I’m the one who set things in motion.”

Natasha, with a stern look, responds, “You can’t keep blaming yourself, Wanda.”

“I'm not blaming myself,” Wanda quickly counters, her voice carrying a faint echo of a smile. “But it's the truth. I've accepted that what happens in our future is like ripples spreading out from our decisions and actions.”

Natasha gazes at Wanda thoughtfully until Wanda starts to fidget under the intense scrutiny.

“What?” Wanda finally asks, her tone almost defensive.

“Nothing,” Natasha replies, her lips curling into a small, amused smile. “You just called me 'Nat'.”

Taken aback, Wanda gives a small, sheepish laugh. “Is that... bad?” she asks, her cheeks flushing a little in embarrassment.

“No, not at all,” Natasha's smile is warm and friendly. And for the first time, Wanda feels the start of a real, meaningful friendship between them.

Wanda’s quiet for a moment, mulling over something. Then, she breaks the silence with a soft sigh, “I'll wait for her. No matter how long it takes.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows, a clear question on her face. “Are you sure, Wanda?” She asks, her voice equally soft. “You're setting yourself up for a long, uncertain wait.”

“Yeah, I know,” Wanda murmurs, eyes instinctively darting to where the band used to be on her finger, now just a faint mark left behind. “But I want to. And... I'd appreciate it if you don't tell her. I don’t want to weigh her down with the burden of knowing that someone is here waiting for her.”

“You have my word,” she promises. Natasha takes a sip from her coffee, then poses her next question, “Hey, do you mind if I swing by here sometimes?”

Wanda gives her a mock exasperated look, rolling her eyes, “Of course, Nat. As long as you're not planning to rob me blind or something.”

Natasha chuckles at this, taking another sip and then humming in satisfaction. “Good,” she smiles appreciatively, “Because this might just be the best coffee I've ever tasted.”

***

A year and two weeks later

As you amble down the familiar streets leading to Second Chances Cafe, each footfall feels heavier than the last. You're more than a year late, and you have no idea if there's anything or anyone still waiting for you after all this time.

“Sure, Yelena, I can look into it for you,” you speak into your phone, rounding the corner onto the alley where the cafe is located. A twinge of nostalgia hits you as the signboard comes into view.

“Really?” Yelena sounds surprised and relieved all at once. “I mean, that's fantastic! You have no idea how much this could help. And don't worry about your identity being revealed. I'll make sure it stays hidden. This exposé is about uncovering the truth about Stark Industries’ tax evasion case, not dragging you into unwanted attention.”

You appreciate her consideration, knowing how much of a sticky situation it could become if your name gets thrown around with the exposé, especially considering you used to work for them.

As your conversation wraps up, you remember to send your best wishes to her partner, “Give my regards to Kate, will you?”

Yelena's laughter echoes from the other end, “She's right here. Kate, Y/N says 'hi'.”

There's a muted shout from the background, presumably Kate's greeting, and you can't help but chuckle. “Tell her I’ll beat her half-marathon record next time. I'll see you both soon.”

With that, you end the call. As you slide your phone back into your pocket, your fingers trace and then retrieve another item there–the contours of an old photo you have carried with you all this time. It’s the photo Valkyrie took of you and Wanda at the Cup-off, and you kept it with you wherever you went for more than two years. It’s tattered around the edges, but you both looked so happy, so in love, and so hopeful. 

It was a different time–a different you. 

Taking one final glance at the picture, you tuck it back safely into your pocket and push open the door to the cafe, the bell overhead jingling in recognition. The familiar sounds, the smells, the sight of the cozy interiors bring back a flood of memories. Your heart flutters with both anxiety and anticipation as you step inside, not knowing what awaits you, a year and two weeks too late.

Two unfamiliar faces are tending to the cafe at the moment. As you slowly approach the counter, you catch sight of a name tag on one of the employees–‘Daisy’, it reads. She greets you warmly, welcoming you before promptly asking for your order.

Rather than choosing a drink, your mind is focused elsewhere. You hesitate for a moment before speaking. “Actually, I was wondering…” you start, pausing to gather your thoughts. “Is the owner here today–”

Before you can even utter Wanda's name, Daisy interrupts, offering an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry, but the owner's not here right now. She's on an extended honeymoon in Asia,” she explains.

As soon as the words leave Daisy's mouth, it's as if everything around you ceases to exist. The casual banter, that constant buzz of the espresso machine, even the sound of mugs and spoons clattering, it all just blends into some distant background noise. 

“Honeymoon?” The word tumbles out of your mouth, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears, the impact of the statement making your heart lurch uncomfortably in your chest. “She's... married?”

Daisy nods sympathetically, her eyes showing a hint of surprise at your visible shock. “Yes, they left three months ago. I think they're in Bali now... or was it Thailand?”

Her words ricochet inside your mind, leaving you grappling with the sudden change in reality. Looking back, you guess it isn't the worst thing that could have happened. Honestly, you had no idea what you were walking into when you decided to come here. After all, you had asked Natasha to tell Wanda not to wait.

And that’s it, Wanda found love again, real enough for her to want to say 'yes' to a new beginning with someone else, and you’re–

You’re happy for her. At the end of the long dwindling tunnel, you just wanted to see Wanda once again. If not, you want to make sure she’s happy and living her life to the fullest. 

And knowing that makes you feel okay, maybe even hopeful, about moving forward. 

The smile that makes its way to your lips isn’t forced. It’s not as big as you hope it would be but it’s genuine. As you take in your surroundings, seeing the expanded area of the cafe, you can’t help but be proud of her. 

It's so overwhelming that you don't even notice the tears tracing a warm path down your cheeks until you hear Daisy's voice.

“Ma'am, are you alright?” she asks, concern etched in her young face.

Surprised, you hastily swipe at your eyes with chilled fingers.

“May I leave something for her?” you ask Daisy, pulling out the polaroid from earlier. You take a moment, looking at it one last time, before flipping it over and pulling out a pen.

With careful, slow strokes, you inscribe the words, ‘I'm happy for you, wherever you are.’ 

As you pass the photograph over to Daisy, the reality of the situation seeps in, casting a definitive end to the chapter that was. The young woman before you studies the photograph, her brows knitting together in confusion, a detail you fail to notice as you begin to take your leave.

Wanda is your greatest love–enough to last you this lifetime. You’ll find a way to spend the rest of your life without her, knowing what you two had will sustain you until your last breath. 

Daisy watches as you walk away, wondering who you were and why it felt like she had said the wrong thing.

Just moments after you step out of the cafe, its door swings open again to let in a breathless Wanda, her arms laden with grocery bags. 

She narrowly missed your visit by a heartbeat.

“God, this city is unbearably cold,” she grumbles, setting down the bags onto the counter with a huff. Daisy wastes no time handing her the keepsake you had left behind only moments ago.

“Hey Wanda, this was left for you,” Daisy says, extending your memento towards her.

Wanda, still catching her breath from her rush over, eyes the object in Daisy's hand with curiosity. From where she stands she can already tell what it is and who it’s from. The world seems to pause, almost taking a breath, as she hesitantly extends a trembling hand to take it.

Her voice breaks a bit as she asks, “Who... who dropped this off? When was this?”

Daisy, reading the urgency in Wanda's eyes, scrambles to recall. “A woman came in not long ago…” she starts, but Wanda's already dashing for the exit before she can finish.

Holding the photograph close to her chest, Wanda barely gives Daisy a chance to finish her sentence before she's out of the cafe, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft chime. Daisy, left in a daze by the abrupt departure, hardly has time to process what just happened.

Then, just as quickly, Wanda bursts back in, her face flushed from the adrenaline. “Which way did she go?” she asks urgently. Daisy, taken aback, simply points north. 

With a nod of thanks, Wanda takes off in that direction. Based on Daisy's indication, she surmises you’re probably headed towards the subway station. Her heart pounds in her chest as she makes her way through the familiar streets, the city's buzz fading to a dull roar in her ears. All she can focus on is the hope that she's not too late, that she might still catch you.

Racing towards the station with swift, almost reckless strides, the life she shared with you hit Wanda like a tidal wave. As each scene of their past plays out in her mind, she sends a silent prayer to anyone listening above, begging for a chance to find you.

Wanda's footsteps echo in the nearly deserted subway station. It's a lull between the usual crowds, making the vast space feel even more desolate. The sparsely populated platform should have made it easier to spot you, but instead, it made the hollow in her chest grow.

As she steps onto the almost empty platform, the glaring absence of familiar faces or shapes drowns her in dread. Every corner she checks, every shadow she hopes will move to reveal you, and with each passing second, the sinking feeling in her gut grows. 

Drawing a deep, shaky breath, she fights off the building tears, hoping against all odds for a glimpse, a hint, any sign that she hasn't missed her chance.

And then she sees you.

You're at the far end of the platform, bundled up in a thick black coat, hands rubbing together in a bid to fight off the cold. You blow into them, your breath fogging up in the chill.

For a beat, Wanda just watches. She doesn't rush, doesn't shout. She simply approaches with measured steps, drinking in the sight of you, allowing this moment to stretch out. 

As she gets closer, she takes in the subtle changes. The way your hair falls around your face, the look of concentration as you keep yourself warm, the way your shoulders hunch slightly against the cold. 

It's you, but also a different you, one shaped by time and distance.

She stops just beyond your immediate circle, her heart pounding furiously within her chest. Yet, before her lips part to speak your name, something–shift, an intuition–makes you pivot sharply towards her.

Your eyes blink slowly in surprise and then they quickly flick to her left ring finger.

It's bare. 

Your mouth drops open, then shuts again, clearly struggling to comprehend the sight of Wanda standing only a few feet away. 

“The woman from the coffee shop... she said you were married?” 

“That's Agatha,” Wanda responds, tears welling in her eyes.

“But she mentioned the owner–”

“I sold the cafe to her a year ago. I'm in the process of setting up a restaurant. I... I've been assisting at the cafe while she's on her honeymoon,” Wanda explains with a faint laugh.

“I thought–” Your voice breaks off, and the overwhelming urge to pull her into an embrace nearly overpowers you. Yet, there's a question, one that burns with urgency, that you need to clarify. 

Any more confusion could devastate what's left of your heart.

“Are you with someone else?”

Wanda releases a noise, somewhere between a chuckle and a choked cry, and then she's rushing into your arms, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that's tear-streaked, snotty, a little gross, yet absolutely perfect. 

Because kissing Wanda Maximoff could never be anything other than perfect. ​​You hesitantly deepen the kiss, and suddenly, it's like a dam breaking. The cold metal and concrete around you are replaced by the warmth of her body pressed against yours. A faint scent of her shampoo wafts over, one that you recognize from days long past.

Your fingers, almost of their own accord, find their way to her face, tracing the contours you once knew so well, feeling the dampness of her tears. The intensity of the kiss shifts with each moment–at times tender, at times desperate, like a language only the two of you understand.

Breaking the kiss, she pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, her own filled with a level of intensity that nearly takes your breath away.

“I'm not with anyone,” she says, her words tumbling out between gasping breaths. “There hasn't been anyone else for the last two years. It's only ever been you–”

“Me too,” you whisper against her lips before diving back into another kiss. This kiss is different, less desperate, but it’s as if this single kiss is mending the broken threads of the past, sealing the promise that you two will never let go again.

But eventually, you have to let go and let her breathe. Pulling back just a hair, you rest your forehead against Wanda's. “God, I've missed you,” you murmur, eyes still closed, half-afraid that this might just vanish if you dare to look.

Wanda gives a watery chuckle, “You have no idea.”

“I'm sorry I'm a year late,” you utter, tears suddenly spilling over before you can rein them in. The thought that Wanda might have really been the one that got married, that you could have truly lost her, crashes over you.

Wanda gently strokes your cheek with her thumb, her eyes soft and understanding. “Even if you're always late,” she murmurs, her lips tantalizingly close to yours, “I'll always wait for you.”

Holding Wanda close, you feel an overwhelming desire to ask her to marry you again. But this time, you won't rush it. After all, there’s two years of new things to learn about each other. And you want to cherish everything–the way her eyes light up when she laughs, the warmth of her hand in yours, and the quiet moments shared over morning coffee. 

You want to learn from your past, not rush into the future. You're ready to enjoy each day, to let your relationship grow and strengthen naturally. You're willing to be patient, because you know that the journey is just as important as the destination.

Wanda raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye as she waves the photograph slightly. “You really just dropped off this photo and planned to leave? Wishing me happiness like that?”

You nod, sniffling, “It meant everything to me. I thought... I thought if I couldn't be with you, at least I could hope you found happiness.”

Wanda's expression softens, her fingers tracing the lines of your palm before squeezing your hand reassuringly. “So, you were just gonna let me go, thinking I had moved on?” She laughs softly, though there's a tremble in her voice.

You swallow, the tightness in your throat making it hard to speak. “A lot can happen in two years, Wanda,” you say, meeting her gaze squarely. “More than anything, I wanted you to be happy... whether that was with me or someone else.”

She tilts her head, her eyes searching yours for a moment. “Two years,” she muses, as if contemplating the weight of every day, every hour that had passed between you two. Wanda takes your hand, squeezing it gently. "Let's not lose any more time," she whispers, intertwining her fingers with yours. 

You eventually miss the train that you’re supposed to take. 

But it doesn’t matter.

You’re already home.

She leaves Calliope's calls unanswered, letting them go straight to voicemail (and cowardly deleting the messages without listening to them), and as a result, her therapist stops trying to contact her by the end of the week. 

Facing Calliope or putting up with her sensible talks is too much for Wanda right now. She doesn’t want other voices in her head right now. She wants to listen to her heart this time. And it’s saying that you need her right now despite how it might affect her progress.

Wanda hadn't intended to stop going to her sessions altogether. She had, in fact, confirmed for Tuesday, but you showed up at her apartment once again the night before, and, well, one thing led to another. You both ended up so wiped out that she didn't stir until nearly noon. By that time, two hours have slipped by, and her session with Calliope might as well be considered canceled.

Since she's handed over the weekday cafe opening duties to Peter, Wanda doesn't need to be there at the break of dawn anymore. But this also has its downside; there isn't enough inventory prepped for the full day's rush. This leaves her drowning in work from midday right up until closing time.

The way this arrangement saps her energy and leaves her feeling more fatigued than usual is hardly beneficial, yet—

Yet, it's hard for her to harbor any regrets when she feels your comforting warmth cocooned against her back, your body spooning hers, your gentle snores vibrating softly against her skin. In these snatched moments, she can delude herself into believing that the ring she now wears around her neck should rightfully still be on her finger. 

She can pretend that you're still unequivocally hers, and all the traumatic events of the past year are merely fragments of an extended, horrendous nightmare.

It's turning into a routine. You'd show up unannounced, stay until dawn. Once the post-coital haze clears, Wanda tries to nudge you both into discussing what all this means. But as soon as she utters the words, "can", "we", and "talk"—in that exact order—you're heading for the door with a speed that's hard to believe.

But after enduring another week of this unsettling routine, Wanda finally convinces herself that today, she's going to get some answers.

And with that plan in place, she repositions herself on the bed, turning to face you. Looking at your innocent sleeping face, she second-guesses her resolve, opting to postpone the looming confrontation just a bit longer.

Gently, almost reverently, she lets her finger trace the contours of your face. She starts at the bridge of your nose, moves down to your slightly parted lips, then to your neck, and finally your collarbone. It seems to protrude more than she remembers, hinting that you've lost weight. This realization stirs guilt in her, as she acknowledges she's partly to blame.

Her cautious touch eventually rouses you, and she observes as your eyelashes flutter before your eyes slowly open. For a moment, you look disoriented even as your eyes meet her clear green ones. You blink up at her as if you don’t recognize the woman you’re in bed with, but then, as recognition sets in, you nestle closer to her and tuck your head beneath her chin, seeking shelter from the daylight filtering through the slatted blinds.

“I can hear you thinking,” you murmur, your breath whispering across her neck, a spot particularly ticklish for Wanda.

She stifles her giggles, and the resulting tremors resonate against your forehead. The sound is sweet, familiar, and it conjures up memories of moments you've longed for. But it also accentuates the odd situation you're in right now, sharing a bed with your ex-wife, skirting around the glaring issue between you.

“Can you?” Wanda retorts with a teasing tone in her voice, her fingers idly tracing patterns on your arm. “I think we–”

“Need to talk?” you finish her sentence offhandedly.

A nervous laugh slips from Wanda. “So you can read my thoughts. Can you guess what I want to talk about?”

You grow quiet, giving the impression that you're attempting to actually read her mind. But then you pull away from Wanda's warmth and she immediately senses the shift in the air. Instinctively, she yanks the sheets up to cover her bare chest, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

“I have an idea,” you finally say, your humorless smile straining at the corners. The amusement in your eyes has disappeared, replaced by a heavy, unreadable look. Wanda waits for you to go on, but it becomes increasingly clear that coaxing your thoughts into words will require a lot more effort.

Wanda hesitates, her words sticking in her throat like stubborn boulders. She swallows hard, mustering her courage. “We need to talk about this, Y/N. We can't keep... This can't go on like this.”

“Like what, Wanda?” you ask, your tone edging towards sarcasm. “Like how we've started sleeping together again? Or about how we've conveniently skipped over the reason we divorced? Or the fact that you cheated on me–with a fucking video to prove it?” Your words hang heavy in the air, the accusation clear in your voice. “Or maybe how I cheated on Yelena with you?”

Wanda recoils. This confrontation is as painful as she'd imagined, but she knows it's necessary.

“If we need to tackle all that, then sure. I’m ready to talk through them with you.” Wanda says.

“You always make things sound so easy, Wanda,” you say, sitting up on the bed, the sheets pooling at your waist as you turn to face her. “'Let's just talk,' you say, as if talking can magically make everything better.”

Wanda winces at your words, the hurt visible in her eyes. “I'm not saying that talking will solve everything, but it's a start.”

“A start? We're way past the start, Wanda," you snap, your voice rising with your growing frustration. “We're neck-deep in this mess and I… I don't even know how we ended up here,” you trail off, talking more to yourself than to her by the end.

Wanda absorbs your frustration, taking a deep breath before she responds. “You're right,” she admits, her voice a soft plea against the harsh edges of your argument. “We're deep into this mess, and we both contributed to it.”

The admission hangs in the air between you, a bitter truth acknowledged. But she doesn’t let it linger for too long. Instead, she pushes forward, trying to bridge the widening chasm between you.

“But we don't have to stay stuck here,” she insists, her gaze holding yours. “We can work on it–together. Regaining trust isn't going to be a walk in the park. I know it's hard, it's... it's daunting. But it's not impossible.”

You're silent, the word ‘trust’ bearing down on you. Wanda’s gaze feels heavy, too full of hope. But you don't respond, your features etched in stubborn resolve. She’s trying to make you see something that maybe you no longer have faith in. You can’t give her what she’s asking.

Her expression falls, as she reads your lack of response correctly. There's a small, choked noise from her throat before she manages to whisper, “Is it because you think you'll never be able to trust me anymore?” 

There's a beat of silence as you process her question, the pain of her words seeping deep into your bones, but you can't bring yourself to deny it. “I don't know, Wanda,” you admit quietly, honesty lacing every word. “I don't know if I can.”

The words hit harder than Wanda was expecting, and she flinches as if struck. She knew it was the truth, but hearing it from your mouth was another thing altogether.

“I’m just gonna go.” you say after some time.

“Sure,” she says tightly, her eyes becoming stony. Wet. “That's the only thing you're good at, isn't it?” 

You say nothing as you retrieve your clothes from the floor. 

Wanda’s hand hovers mid-air, aching to reach out to you, to hold you back. But she refrains, lets it fall to her side. “If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back unless you're ready to work through this,” she declares firmly .

You pause at her words, your back still turned to her. The silence that follows is heavy, pregnant with tension that seems to seep into the walls, the furniture, the very air around you. Then, a bitter laugh escapes you.

“You enjoy this, don't you?” you ask, finally turning to face her. Your expression is ruthless, your eyes devoid of any warmth that used to be there when you looked at her. “You like that I keep coming back to you, don't you?”

Wanda's jaw tightens at your accusation. It strings, but she doesn't say anything else that she might regret later. She merely meets your gaze, her green eyes resolute and unyielding. It's her silent acceptance of your statement, her silent promise that she won't back down this time.

Without another word, you turn and walk out, the door closing behind you with a soft click. 

The conversation is done, at least for now.

***

The journey back to your apartment is a blur, consumed by a hollow emptiness that echoes the space once filled by Wanda. 

As soon as you push through the door, you make a beeline for the bottle of bourbon left opened in the kitchen from the night before. You're running purely on anger and adrenaline, the aftermath of your argument with Wanda coursing through your veins.

Why couldn't she just leave things as they were? Why did she have to spoil the one thing that was bringing you a modicum of happiness from your suffocating reality? Why did she have to care about you when you’re giving her what she wants? 

You take a hefty gulp from the bottle before frantically grabbing your phone. You scroll through your contacts and hit call when you reach Yelena’s name. The call doesn't even go through, instead, a busy signal immediately begins, an all-too-familiar sound. Next, you try Natasha, and while the call connects, it only results in endless ringing, until finally, her automated voicemail message starts.

In a fit of rage, you scream expletives at the top of your lungs. Your anger peaks and in a reckless moment, you hurl your phone against the wall. It shatters with a loud crunch, breaking into countless small parts, clearly beyond repair.

The kiss was a lapse in judgment during a weak moment. 

You never slept with Wanda while you were still with Yelena. 

Why does it feel like you're being unfairly penalized? Did they never love you like you thought they did? Do you really disgust them so much that they’ll just forget that you exist altogether? 

These thoughts gnaw at you, stoking the flames of abandonment, leaving you with a haunting feeling of being easily discarded.

Your heart beats erratically in your chest as you look at the wreckage of your phone. It's a fitting metaphor for your life at this moment—shattered, fragmented, irreparable. You slump down onto the kitchen floor, the chill of the tiles seeping through your pants' fabric, but you barely notice.

This time, drinking remains a problem but caution has been thrown out the window. With the bottle in your hand, you take one long swig after another. The room starts to spin, your vision blurs, and you don't fight it. Instead, you let the waves of oblivion wash over you, your grip on the bottle slackening as you slump against the kitchen cabinets. 

Just as you drift into unconsciousness, a beep from your laptop fills the quiet room. It's a new email from your company's HR, asking about your unexpected absences. But with you passed out on the kitchen floor, the urgent email goes unnoticed. 

***

The moment Natasha strides into Wanda's café, the world seems to freeze on its axis. Agatha, having heard about your best friend through Wanda, knows this can’t be good for your ex-wife. 

Her aura is menacing, enhanced by her leather jacket, and her stern gaze holds a lethal quality that could vaporize everyone in the room if it were possible.

(It’s also incredibly hot, but Agatha has no room to explore that thought when she immediately fetches Wanda, who's been buried in the backroom task of refilling the condiment bottles for each table.)

“Got a visitor out front,” Agatha blurts out, slightly breathless. “I'm pretty sure it's Natasha.”

Startled, Wanda looks up from her crouched position on the floor, a fine dusting of cinnamon, sugar, and other seasonings speckling her figure. “Are you sure?”

“Fiery red hair, a bit intimidating, and strangely attractive,” Agatha elaborates. “I'm absolutely sure it's her.”

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Wanda gradually pushes up from the floor. “Okay, um…” She pauses, gathering her scattered thoughts. “Alright.”

Agatha practically pushes her forward, making her stumble into the bustling open kitchen where Natasha is nonchalantly leaning against the counter.

With a soft clearing of her throat, Wanda tries to shake off the sudden onslaught of nerves. She pulls herself upright, trying to project a calm she's far from feeling. “Natasha,” she begins, “What can I do for you?”

Natasha fixes her with a piercing gaze. “We need to talk,” she states, her tone leaving no room for argument. 

Wanda nods. “Sure, if you could just–”

The words are barely out of her mouth when Natasha spins around, heading for the cafe's exit. Wanda, utterly perplexed, follows her, casting a backward glance at Agatha who responds with an encouraging nod.

As soon as they step onto the sidewalk, Natasha progresses wordlessly, Wanda falling in step behind her. The silent walk stretches for a few minutes until, abruptly, Natasha halts. Wanda finds herself in front of a different coffee shop, one noticeably larger than her own. Without a moment's pause, Natasha steps inside. 

Wanda suspects this might be a passive-aggressive move on Natasha's part, choosing to hold their discussion in a competitor's establishment of all places. They navigate to a table tucked away in the corner, and Wanda takes the seat opposite Natasha. Without skipping a beat, Natasha flags down a waiter and places her order, all without so much as a glance in Wanda's direction. 

“I hope you don't mind, but their coffee is something of a guilty pleasure,” Natasha remarks, a hint of mischief glinting in her eyes.

“No, not at all,” Wanda replies, forcing a polite smile onto her face. “It's always nice to see what the competition is up to.”

A heavy pause falls between them, and Natasha's gaze sharpens with seriousness. “I didn't invite you here to talk about coffee, Wanda,” she begins, her tone eerily neutral and hard to read. “I'm here to understand why you couldn't let Y/N go.”

Wanda casually picks up the menu on the table. Her eyes scan the menu with small interest, avoiding Natasha’s pointed stare.

“I'm not sure what you're asking, Natasha.”

“I want to know why you couldn't move on from Y/N. Why you have to cling onto her, even after everything that happened. I'm not saying it's entirely your fault that Y/N cheated on Yelena... But why couldn't you just leave them alone?” Natasha's tone is more accusatory now, and her eyes are steely, demanding answers.

The full brunt of Natasha's presence sinks in only now for Wanda, hitting her hard. If Natasha is seeking her out, it suggests she has severed ties with you. A pang of guilt ricochets through her, understanding all too well how much you depended on that friendship, and how deeply it mattered to you.

The far-reaching consequences of one kiss–a kiss that had made Wanda feel incredibly alive–are glaringly clear now. It initiated a domino effect that razed not just your relationship with Yelena, but countless other connections in its path.

“It's... complicated,” Wanda finally confesses, her eyes dropping to the table.

“Is it really that complicated, Wanda?” Natasha counters, her tone harder than she'd meant for it to be. “You and Y/N were married. You messed up, you cheated, and it ended. Why couldn't you just let it be?”

Wanda draws a shaky breath, the bitter truth spoken out loud wounds more than any physical blow.

“I never stopped loving her,” she concedes despite knowing it will fall on deaf ears. As if on cue, the waiter reappears with Natasha's coffee order. Wanda uses the momentary distraction to request a glass of water.

The skepticism in Natasha's eyes intensifies as she leans forward, her arms resting on the table between them. “So you never stopped loving her,” she repeats Wanda's admission with evident disbelief. “Yet, you cheated on her. You agreed to sign the divorce papers. Can you explain how that works?”

Wanda’s green eyes dart away nervously. Until now, she doesn’t have satisfying answers for those questions. And Wanda doesn’t expect anyone to understand when she doesn’t understand them herself–most of all, Natasha. 

She and Natasha were never close. But Wanda loved her just the same, knowing how she took care of you and acted like a sister when you have no siblings of your own. Wanda cherished her for that, even though Natasha never quite reciprocated the affection. Their relationship had always been cordial but it had never ventured into the realm of true friendship.

“Look, I didn't understand what was happening to me,” Wanda murmurs softly, her nail absently scratching the table's surface as she tries to explain herself to someone who never genuinely bothered to care about her. “Something was… missing. A void that I couldn't understand or explain. And it kept growing, despite Y/N’s consistent efforts to keep me happy.”

Natasha’s face remains stoic. “So you thought cheating would fill this void?” Her words sound more like a statement than a question.

Wanda winces, but she doesn't deny it. “I thought, maybe, if I could feel something... anything else, it might help. By the time I realized what I had done, what I had thrown away, it was too late.”

Upon hearing this, Natasha shakes her head and lets out a cynical laugh. She folds her arms across her chest in an undeniably condescending manner.

“Do you know why I hate you, Wanda? It’s not just because I’m concerned for Y/N or you ruined, yet again, another relationship. You took away the Y/N I knew. She’s not the same person I grew up with.”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that? She’s been coming to me. She’s a wreck, Natasha. I know how empty she feels if she’s turning to me for reprieve.”

“Why then?” Natasha asks.

“What do you mean by ‘why’?”

“Why do you still want her? You couldn't love her the right way when she was easy to love. What's changed that makes you believe you can now, when she’s just a shell of who she used to be?”

Wanda grits her teeth, her hands balling into fists on her lap, out of Natasha's sight. 

“Don’t you think it’s rather hypocritical of you to ask me this? Y-You’ve abandoned Y/N… haven’t you? It’s why you came to me right? Because you left her!” Wanda counters, her voice rising enough to catch the attention of a few customers nearby. 

Unfazed by Wanda's impassioned outburst, Natasha simply sits still, her expression remaining unchanged. “You don't know what you're talking about, Wanda,” she says, her tone icier than ever.

“Well, it appears I've hit a nerve,” Wanda retorts, the edges of her lips twitching into a bitter smirk. “Let me make this clear, Natasha. I may have made mistakes in the past, I may have hurt Y/N, but I'm not the one who walked away when she needed someone the most.”

“You think you're what's best for her now?” Natasha shoots back, her eyes flashing with anger. “After all the pain you've caused?”

Seeing Natasha rise from the table, Wanda braces herself for what's coming next. “I need you to understand, Wanda,” Natasha says, her tone laced with a quiet intensity. “I can't pretend that what happened didn't affect me. Y/N lied to me, hurt my sister. And while I want to be there for her, it's difficult–”

“You mean you won't be there for her,” Wanda cuts her off, her voice edged with resentment.

“No,” Natasha implores, her voice shaky around the edges. “I mean it's hard. It's hard to watch someone you care about suffer and know that they played a role in their own pain. And at the same time, of course I'm angry at Y/N for how she treated Yelena and disrespected our friendship as a result. But that doesn't mean I've abandoned her, Wanda. Why the fuck would I see you if I have?”

Wanda flinches at her crudeness. She never intended to question Natasha's care for you or cast judgment on it.

She’s just tired. Tired from the constant need to justify her love for you to those who question it. Tired of having to constantly prove herself. If people choose not to believe her, even as she recognizes and admits to her past errors and shortcomings, then she has to come to terms with the fact that not everyone will forgive her.

But she is determined to earn your forgiveness. 

She wants to show you, more than anyone else, that she's changed. That she's learned from her mistakes and that she's capable of loving you the right way this time. You matter to her more than anyone's opinion. Your forgiveness, your acceptance, your love–these are the things she yearns for the most.

“I was wrong,” Wanda admits. “I messed up. I hurt Y/N, and I have to live with that guilt every day. But just because I messed up once doesn't mean I can't try to make things right now. You can be angry all you want about what I did wrong in the past, but at least I’m here for he–”

“And what if you're just making things worse, Wanda? What if you being around is just causing her more pain?” Natasha questions, her hard gaze unwavering.

“I... I don't know,” Wanda admits, looking lost and vulnerable. “But I can't just walk away from her, Natasha. If it turns out that I'm doing more harm than good, I promise I'll step back.”

Natasha's silence stretches on for a moment longer, her cold gaze fixed on Wanda. And then, unexpectedly, a smirk twists her lips. It's not a happy expression, far from it.

“Maybe…” Natasha says, drawing out the word, her tone derisive. “Maybe you two do deserve each other. You with your guilt and her with her... self-destruction.”

Her words linger, a harsh condemnation that has Wanda recoiling. Natasha stands then, leaving her untouched coffee on the table. She throws a handful of bills down, enough to cover the drink and then some.

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Natasha adds, shrugging on her leather jacket, her voice laced with a regret that Wanda can't quite put her finger on, “I hope you can help her. Because god knows, none of us have been able to.”

And with those parting words, Natasha turns, leaving Wanda alone to restructure what being with you truly means now.

***

You don’t come back like she asked you to, and somewhere deep down, Wanda is ashamed to admit she's disappointed.

You were right; she does want you coming back to her every time. But you’re wrong about one thing: she doesn’t enjoy it. She’s worried sick about you. You look like you need help the way she needed help when Pietro discovered her passed out next to an empty bottle of sleeping pills.

She fears that you’re going down the same path she did. And what's worse is that she doesn't know how to stop it. You clearly don't want her help, and she understands why. Trust isn't something one asks from a person they don't believe in. And you don't believe in her.

Wanda picks up her phone and dials Pietro's number, her fingers trembling slightly. They're due for their regular Skype session, but she doesn't feel up to showing her face today.

It only takes two rings before Pietro answers. “Why a call, Wands?” he asks immediately, concern clear in his voice.

“I...I'm not really up for a video call, Piet,” she responds, quickly coming up with a half-hearted excuse about her unstable internet connection. In truth, she knows he’ll be able to tell right away that something is off if she turns on the camera.

“Is that everything?”

“Yes,” Wanda insists.

“And your sessions with Dr. Williams?” Pietro's voice sharpens, clearly not buying her claim. “How are they going?”

Wanda hesitates for a moment before answering. “They're...going,” she admits, though she doesn't elaborate. She doesn't dare to tell Pietro that she's missed a couple of sessions. Her therapy is one of the few things that reassure him from thousands of miles away. He'd only worry more.

Pietro bites back the urge to tell Wanda that Calliope has already informed him of Wanda’s recent non-attendance.

She hears Pietro give a noncommittal hum over the line. It's a simple sound, but it tells her everything. He doesn't believe her. She takes a deep breath, gearing up for her next revelation.

“I...I've been seeing Y/N again,” she reveals, words rushing out in a hasty jumble. There's silence on the other end of the line, and she quickly fills it, not wanting to let Pietro's thoughts linger. 

“But it's...it's different this time. There's–there's something there, Pietro. I can feel it. I think we might have a...a breakthrough or something," she stammers, her words racing against one another in their urgency to be voiced.

“And–” she swallows dryly. “And I don't want to ruin my chances this time.”

“Wanda,” Pietro interjects gently, his voice suffused with the kind of worry only a brother could bear. “I think you need to step back and really look at the situation.”

“But I am, Piet,” Wanda retorts, the pitch of her voice wavering with each syllable. “I am looking at this, really looking. When I see Y/N... it's like... it's like…”

“Like you're being sucked back in?” Pietro finishes for her despondently. “Isn't that exactly what happened last time? She’s clouding your judgment–again. You're not seeing clearly. You're just...You're just getting lost in what you used to have.”

There's a pause, and Wanda can hear Pietro let out a deep sigh. “Wanda, you deserve better. You deserve to be with someone who won't tear you apart. I know you still care about Y/N, I get it. But you need to think about what's best for you.”

“Piet…” Wanda attempts, her heart a hefty load in her chest. “I–”

“I can't stand by and watch you do this to yourself again. Not after everything that happened. Not after seeing you... after seeing you in that hospital bed,” he articulates, his voice choked.

There's another pause, this one longer and more poignant. Wanda can hear Pietro struggling to hold back his emotions on the other side of the line. “I'm sorry, Wands,” he finally manages, and even though she can't see him, she knows he's barely keeping the tears at bay. “I just can't.” 

And then there's a soft click as Pietro disconnects the call and the line goes silent. 

Still reeling, Wanda is left reassuring herself that she can handle it this time. She’ll have to–for you.

As for Pietro, he’s prepared to do something that Wanda might hate him for in the future. 

If he can’t convince his sister, then he’ll have to convince you.

***

Wanda's last words to you have stuck in your mind, popping up more often than you'd like to admit. You haven't been back to see her since, knowing all too well she'd bring up that same topic again without beating around the bush.

You're worried about what you might say to her. You'd rather avoid her than hurt her like you have so many times since you two split.  You've been striking out at her, and you can't figure out why you keep doing it. You’ve been using sex as a means to be with Wanda without really being with her–at least not in every sense of the word. Not in the way you want to but can’t bring yourself to. Not in the way you’re capable of.

Without Wanda and your loved ones around, all you have is an empty apartment and a job that feels more like an obligation now. Joy seems elusive, life seems bland–eating just to fill your belly, working just to pass the day. 

You're starting to realize that the best parts of life come from sharing it with others; when you have a friend to call after a long day; when you retire into the arms of someone you love; when your demons aren’t as loud as they are now in your head.

To your astonishment, your Stark Industries badge still functions when you arrive at work the day after collapsing on your kitchen floor. However, it's not long before HR summons you to meet an in-house specialist. After a short evaluation, you're prescribed pills to be taken twice a day and given a mild warning.

Later, when some of your colleagues invite you out to unwind after work, you accept, much to their surprise because you never once went out drinking with them, always preferring to keep your professional and personal lives separate.

You all head to a local bar, a place humming with people seeking an escape from their hectic lives. But the background music, the low murmuring of conversations, and the occasional laughter are just noises to you. The muted light from the suspended bulbs adds to the promise of a good time, but it barely registers. 

You're not really there for the party vibe or the camaraderie with your colleagues; rather, it's the dulling effect of alcohol that you crave. You don’t even join their table, you prefer sitting by the bar where you can ask for a refill with just a snap of your fingers anytime.

A while later, one of your coworkers suddenly totters over to you with a loud, obnoxious laugh.

“Hey, how 'bout you stop moping over here and join us on the dance floor?” he slurs out suggestively, his eyes wandering all over your body.

You’ve heard the whispers around the office, the snide remarks about a woman leading their team. Their resentment rears its ugly head now, fueled by liquid courage.

“I'm good here, thanks,” you try to deflect, hiding your discomfort behind a casual sip of whisky.

But he isn't taking 'no' for an answer. He dismissively scoffs at your refusal and grabs your arm, attempting to pull you from your seat.

A surge of anger bubbles up within you.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you shout, yanking your arm back. Your voice is swallowed by the pounding techno music echoing around the bar. It's so loud, you doubt anyone heard your outcry, until a figure materializes from the edge of your sight.

“The lady said no,” she intervenes briskly, positioning herself between you and your colleague.

Taken aback, he stutters, pointing at her in a feeble attempt to salvage his bruised ego. “How about you, babe? Care to dance with me?”

Her eyes narrow ever so slightly, and the corners of her mouth curve up into a sardonic smile. “I think I'll pass,” she replies. “You see, I have a strict policy against dancing with pathetic boys.”

A few eavesdroppers start clapping, appreciating her firm stand. You can't help but feel satisfied as his face turns a bright shade of red. Muttering under his breath, he staggers off, swallowed up by the crowd.

The woman turns her attention back to you, signaling the bartender to pour you another drink.

“Sorry about that,” she starts, her voice just loud enough to cut through the ambient noise. “Some men just can’t take no for an answer. It bruises their fragile ego.”

“Thanks,” you say. “You didn't have to step in, but I appreciate it.”

She shrugs, taking a sip of her own drink. “Sometimes, a little intervention goes a long way,” she says, her eyes meeting yours. “And from what I saw, you're not one to be pushed around. I respect that. Cheers to standing up for ourselves!”

You can't help but chuckle as you clink your glass with hers. Her spirit is infectious, and, for the first time that night, you find yourself genuinely smiling.

An hour later, you find yourself doing more than just smiling, in a position you couldn't have predicted at the start of the night. 

You're pinned against the wall of a college student's dorm, her eager mouth marking your neck in an almost painful way. You’re both drunk and you agreed for the woman from the bar to take you home because you wanted to find out something.

You wanted to understand why Wanda cheated on you. You wanted to be caught up in an attractive stranger. You want to know what it’s like to be wanted by someone young and alluring. This is not about revenge or trying to level the playing field; it's about grasping what led Wanda down that path. 

And in the warm, dimly lit room of a young college student, you are willing to go to great lengths for that understanding.

“You’re so hot,” she moans into your heaving chest when you slip your leg between her thighs and draw her closer, encouraging her to grind against it. But as her head lulls back, caught in the pleasure of your advances, Wanda's vivid green eyes hauntingly flash before yours.

The taste of cheap alcohol is still strong on your tongue and a stranger's hand persistently roams over your overheated skin when a jarring realization strikes you.

This isn't what you want. It never was.

You find yourself unable to follow through, to do to Wanda what she did to you. It's not a matter of a moral high ground, it's simply because you just can't.

Feeling the touch of someone else, when you were in Wanda's bed just last week makes your stomach churn. Technically, you’re not doing anything wrong; you and Wanda haven't committed to any kind of relationship. And yet–

And yet, it feels like the worst betrayal. Like you're tarnishing something far deeper than any label can define.

It feels as though you're cheating on Wanda–and it makes you want to throw up.

“Y/N?” 

An immediate, desperate need to flee consumes you. It's not something you can articulate, but something primal, a pressing demand from your body to get away. 

“I'm sorry, I can't do this,” you utter hastily, not giving her a chance to respond as you scramble to grab your coat. Panic claws at you, and in your haste to escape, you find yourself practically running out of her apartment, her protests echoing faintly behind you, growing softer as you sprint down the hallway and out into the cool night. 

It's a double-edged sword of hurt and confusion. On one side, your heart breaks at the very thought of being with someone else, of betraying Wanda, even when you have every reason to. On the other side, the very fact that Wanda managed to do it, to betray you so effortlessly, twists the knife even deeper into wounds that never quite healed properly.

Trying to understand why Wanda did what she did only makes her actions feel worse. It's as if you're learning about her deception all over again, like a new wound overlapping an old one.

Even as your eyes start to sting with unshed tears, the sudden blinking light from your pocket catches your attention. You instinctively reach down and pull out your phone, squinting against the bright screen, as an incoming anonymous message shows up on the notification bar.  With a trembling finger, you curiously tap on it.

Your phone screen displays a photo that instantly drains the color from your face. 

A sterile hospital room, bleak and unwelcoming. And on the bed is Wanda, looking pale, fragile, and disturbingly still, with tubes running from her mouth and nose. She seems lifeless in a way that makes your heart drop.

A surge of fear and concern washes over you, sobering you up instantly. Your stomach knots, your heart thunders in your chest. Your mind spins with unanswered questions, but one screams louder than all others: “What happened?”

Sensing there’s more to the message, you scroll down.

There’s a date attached showing when this picture was taken, along with five words that make your blood run cold: ‘What you've put her through’.

The message, even in its brevity, hits you like a punch to the gut. 

And then, like some dark cosmic joke, rain begins to fall, splattering against the pavement that threatens to crumble beneath your feet.

Wanda hasn’t heard from you in exactly a week. 

After you dropped off Sparky at her apartment, she attempted to invite you in for a chance to explain herself, but you firmly declined and hastily departed without uttering a single word or even casting a glance in her direction. Somehow, the situation has deteriorated further than where it’s been months ago.

As before, Wanda made numerous attempts to call you and sent lengthy messages, earnestly explaining that she never intended to offend you and expressing profuse apologies. Over time, her messages grew increasingly desperate, pleading with you to at least inform her if you no longer wished to see her again. However, you remained silent, leaving her messages unanswered. Eventually, her calls ceased to connect, and a warning symbol appeared next to her texts, indicating delivery failure.

The implications were clear.

You’ve finally blocked her.

She couldn’t understand why the topic of children affected you to the point that you’re hell-bent on writing her off this time. Your discussions about having them never went beyond who’s carrying (Wanda) and how many (two); it was more of wishful thinking that didn’t make the priority list in the five years you’ve been married. 

It’s why she didn’t think twice to open up about her regrets of not having them, contemplating whether things would have turned out differently–if she would have turned out differently. Maybe, she would have been someone who didn't prioritize her own needs above all else. 

In a roundabout manner, it was her attempt to convey that she felt flawed and tainted.

There’s no excuse for her cheating. But she wanted you to understand anyway, that if she could have prevented it somehow, she’d give everything she has to seize that opportunity.

But as it turned out, it was foolish of her to think like you were still partners in the old days; where she didn’t need to filter out her thoughts because they were safest with you. You were her best friend, after all.  It became challenging for her to strike a balance between being true to herself and expressing her thoughts with unwavering honesty. Ironically, her sincerity and openness only served to push you further away. Clearly, her efforts to do the right thing have only resulted in diminishing her chances of reconciliation.

Over the last few days, Wanda’s thought a lot about showing up at your door, but seeing how unpredictable you’ve become to her, the prospect of being turned away like a beggar frightens her more than anything. And worse, it might just prompt you to move out of Natasha’s apartment and consequently, out of her life for good. 

Wanda couldn’t take that risk. She’s lost you for the third time now; and each of them has hurt more than the previous one. How many more times does she have to lose you in order for her to learn how to keep you? 

-

“This isn’t what I ordered.” 

Wanda blinks at the customer with a vacant expression. He took one sip and arbitrarily dismissed the drink before turning his attention back to the tablet in front of him.

“You ordered an Iced Americano with oat milk, two pumps of sugar free vanilla and one pump of hazelnut syrup.” Wanda recites his order from memory. 

“No water.” he replies in a monotone, rigidly unbothered in his pristine suit.

Wanda swallows dryly; that detail she forgot about.

“My apologies. I’ll be back with your drink in a few.”

Wanda hurries to the coffee bar to make another. In autopilot, she redoes it from scratch, putting together the ingredients with preciseness that could only be perfected by hours of preparing complex orders alike. She mixes them all together, before filling the cup with ice to the brim. However, right before she can serve it, another customer comes up to the counter, with a mild complaint about their paninis. 

It takes less than a minute for Wanda to deal with the problem, and then she returns to the businessman with the replacement drink. Wanda quietly places the cup in front of him. His dull eyes flicker to her as he tentatively takes a small sip. Grimacing, he sets his cup down and then flashes Wanda an impatient look as he says, “How many times do I have to spell it out for you? I said no water.”

Wanda’s nostrils flared. “The hot espresso would melt the ice somehow,” she snaps with a tight smile, and then she openly leers at a specific area below his waist. “Or is your brain too small to understand that’s just basic science?” 

Her voice is loud and sharp enough for two other customers to hear, and for Agatha to come rushing to her side to help with the situation.

The man rises abruptly in a fury, and stretches his spine to look taller than his height.

“You’ll be hearing from me in your Yelp reviews later.” With that, he leaves, making sure to slam the door on his way out. Everyone cringes in chorus at the clashing sound of metal chimes. 

Wanda tacitly apologizes to the customers bothered by the commotion, before cleaning up the table of the one who just left.

When she returns to the kitchen, Agatha studies her in concern.

“You alright, dear?” she whispers to Wanda, depositing a tray of dirty plates and utensils on the sink. Wanda works her jaw as she starts putting those in the dishwasher. 

“Wanda, dear?” Agatha tries again. “Wanda.” she repeats in a hushed tone. That’s when she notices Wanda’s hands gripping the edge of the sink hard, her knuckles turn white. The brunette is shaking, breaths becoming shallower and shallower until she’s gasping uncontrollably. Agatha grabs Wanda by the shoulders and starts to lead her outside from some fresh air.

“N-No,” Wanda protests in between pants. “J-Just wait it out.” Then she falls to the floor and hugs her knees, willing for her panic attack to pass. In the background, she hears the remaining customers leave, murmuring to themselves about the “unpleasant vibe” the cafe is giving off. 

Agatha is on the phone, calling Pietro.

Make it stop. Wanda thinks to herself, trying to gain control of her breathing. Please, make it stop.

An image of you appears in her head. With her eyes closed, she can see every crease, every pore, every detail of your beautiful face. 

“Y/N…” she utters your name like a prayer. 

Gradually, the tremors subside. Her heart rate returns to normal. Wanda feels herself reconnect to her body. The episode is over just in time for Agatha to return with tears in her eyes.

“Oh, thank God, you’re alright!” she cries, before dropping to her knees and enveloping Wanda into a stiff hug. “You scared me! I thought you were having a seizure.”

“Panic attack.” Wanda corrects her evenly. “I get them sometimes. Sorry, I should’ve told you.”

“It’s okay,” Agatha rubs her shoulder soothingly. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

The warm feeling of comfort is what finally breaks Wanda. She covers her face with both of her hands and sobs into them. 

“Oh, Wanda…” Agatha takes her back into her arms and rocks her back and forth. “What’s happening to you?”

When her crying subsides, Wanda tells Agatha everything; from the night she found you again at the club, to the short-lived friendship that ended in a misunderstanding about imaginary kids.

“Honey, don’t you think it’s unhealthy to be in-touch with your ex-wife in the first place?” Agatha says in the best way she wouldn’t sound too critical of Wanda’s predicament. 

Wanda hastily brushes away the lingering tears that continue to trickle down her cheeks.

“I never wanted to be divorced from her. I never wanted us to end.” Wanda swallows back a whimper, feeling another dam within her threatening to burst at any second.

Agatha tries to sympathetically put some sense into her. “But you agreed. You signed those papers–”

“It’s what she wanted. And after what I did, I was in no position to deny her anything.”

“And what were you expecting to happen after you gave her what she wanted?

“I…” Wanda trails off, feeling like the biggest idiot now that she’s realizing how naive she’d really been for the past several weeks. So deluded into thinking that she’ll eventually worm her way back into your heart. “I don’t know.”

Divorcing didn’t feel so permanent when she agreed to it. To her, marriage was a legal binding that came with spousal benefits. Even without it, she already knew she was spending the rest of her life with you. When you divorced her, it didn’t change the fact that she was yours for good. 

Agatha sighs and puts her hand on top of Wanda’s, squeezing it lightly. “You know, we’ve never really talked about our personal lives. Most probably because I was your boss.” she says with a light chuckle. “But have I told you that I never married?”

Wanda shakes her head. “Someone from the gallery mentioned it in passing. I forgot who.” 

“I bet it’s Dottie. That bitch,” Agatha mumbles, glaring at the empty space in front of her. “Anyway… What was I saying?”

“You never married.”

“Ah, yes,” Agatha’s face twists into something wistful and sullen. “But it’s not because it wasn’t for me. To be honest, I love the idea of it. I guess you could say I missed the opportunity to be married.”

Dottie never delved into the reasons why Agatha stayed single all this time; likely because no one had gotten close enough to uncover the complete story.

“What do you mean?” Wanda asks, recognizing that Agatha is sharing this narrative as a diversion, and she feels a sense of gratitude for it. 

“The love of my life wanted to marry me before I was ready. I was, oh god, eighteen? A country girl, fresh out of highschool and ready to show the world what she’s made of.”

Wanda smiles softly as she imagines a young, vivacious Agatha Harkness. 

“He’s a junior police officer in our town and three years my senior,” Agatha tilts her head, the back of her head pressing against the kitchen cabinet. Wanda observes how engrossed she is in her own trip down memory lane. 

“I remember it like it was yesterday. I hadn’t known he’d been planning a proposal at the festival that was going to be held the night of my graduation day,” Agatha recalls. “So, when he got down on one knee with a ring in front of everyone we knew–our friends, our family, and practically the whole town–I had wanted to be struck by lightning and just…fall dead on the spot. That would’ve been the best thing to happen that night.”

Wanda’s brows are knitted together as she asks, “What did you do?”

Agatha starts laughing–a cackling humorless sound–nothing short of unhinged if Wanda hadn’t heard it before. “I ran. I literally ran for my life.” she tells Wanda.

“He was so humiliated by my reaction, he wouldn’t see me at all. I didn’t reach out either. I don’t think we ever broke up. We just stopped talking to each other. And then my career took off and I landed in New York.”

“Did you ever find out what happened to him after?”

Agatha smiles sadly at that, and says, “Oh, yes. I kept tabs on him for years. He got married to someone else the following year, just before I could muster up the courage to fix things.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. And I’ve moved past it.” Agatha’s eyes are wet when they meet Wanda’s.

"So... you never got married because you've been in love with him all this time?" Wanda asks, curiosity and surprise lingering in her words.

The question sends Agatha into a fit of giggles. “Don’t be silly, Wanda. I’m not a martyr. I fell in love so many times after him.”

Wanda laughs along though self-deprecatingly. “Yeah, I guess that was a stupid take.”

As the silence settles between them, Agatha proceeds, her voice softening. "There was a time when I truly believed I would never move on. I was fixated on him for years. It may sound petty, but I even started curating my social media profiles to project an image of living my best life—well, in a way—just in case he ever stumbled upon them."

She takes a breath before continuing. "But then, one day, I woke up and he didn't consume my thoughts anymore. As my heart let go of him, it also released the notion of marriage."

“Oh,” Wanda looks down at her lap, not really knowing what to make sense of it all. “Those men that came after your ex, you never saw yourself marrying any of them?”

“I already had my one, great love, Wanda. He’s the only boy I was sure I could love forever. Yes, I can fall in love with other people again and again, but I’ve come to realize that it will never measure up to what I felt for him. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

"I do, actually," Wanda responds with unwavering determination. She isn't entirely certain of Agatha's intentions in sharing her story, but it only solidifies Wanda's resolve to win you back. "If I have to go to great lengths to prove myself to Y/N, then I'm prepared to do so. I won't give up without a fight."

"No, no," Agatha shakes her head, a little dismayed that her true message didn't come across as intended. "You're supposed to do the opposite. Let. Him. Go. One day, you're going to wake up, and it will all be nothing but a precious chapter in your life."

“I’m sorry, but I think you’re lying when you say it’s “nothing” to you. The fact that this memory has stayed with you all these years means something.”

“Excuse me?”

“I think you regret that you acted a little too late. Don’t worry, I’m not going to make the same mistake.” Wanda says, getting to her feet. 

"I have no regrets," Agatha asserts, looking up at Wanda with staunch confidence. "And you have no right to judge me for choosing to prioritize myself over catering to his wounded ego."

"I wasn't judging you," Wanda soothes softly. "And I apologize if I'm not hearing what you want me to hear, but Y/N was open to maintaining a connection with me. And as far as I can tell, she isn't involved with anyone else yet, which means I-"

"How certain are you?" Agatha interrupts, a hint of challenge in her voice. "How certain are you that she isn't currently planning her future with someone new?"

"I just am," Wanda responds with full conviction.

“That’s not good enough, Wanda.”

“Well, unless I see her say ‘I fucking do’ to someone else at the altar, then the only option for me is her.”

Agatha drops her chin in defeat. She takes a long, deep breath before pulling herself off the ground so that she can address Wanda on eye-level. 

“I can’t tell you what to do because clearly, your mind’s made up. It seems made up long before you and Y/N got yourselves into this mess.”

Wanda is quiet as she stares at the floor, not denying nor confirming anything.

Agatha's expression softens as she reaches out to lift Wanda's chin gently, making her meet her eyes. "I'm here to support you, my dear. And I genuinely wish you the best."

Wanda struggles to swallow the lump in her throat. "Agatha, I... I apologize for what I said earlier about-"

“I’m not hurt,” Agatha says, but it doesn’t make Wanda feel any less guilty. “Believe me, I’ve said and done worse things when I was in your position.”

Wanda nods solemnly. “Can I ask you a favor though?”

“Sure, honey. What is it?”

“Please don’t tell Pietro. He’s doing well, I think. I don’t want him to worry about me. He’s been here long enough already.”

“You have my word.”

-

Later, after Wanda closes up shop for the day, she goes straight to your place. She loafs around a corner across your building, deliberating if she should come up to your unit and hash it out. The lights are open where your living room would be on the third floor, indicating that you’re home. But just as she makes the decision to see you, a figure of a woman approaches your window to draw the curtains. 

Wanda narrows her eyes, and as she looks closely, instantly recognizing that she’s the same woman from the club. The woman you danced with, seemingly without a care in the world.

Wanda’s step falters, almost losing her balance. She lingers for a bit, gazing up helplessly at your window. As people pass by her motionless figure on the streets, their expressions turn to suspicion, their eyes drawn to the direction that has captured her attention so completely.

She pays them no attention, but when it becomes apparent that this woman wasn’t going to leave anytime soon, she decides to go home.

As Wanda catches the last train to her borough, she tries not to think about what it means. 

Wanda’s never been one to reel in her jealousy; no matter the fact that she no longer has any business of feeling that way in the first place.

-

“Y/N?”

“Maybe it would have stopped me.”

Your mind keeps rewinding the same scene from a week ago. Over and over again, you see green eyes, large and imploring. 

“Y/N.”

Maybe it would have stopped me.

You see Wanda standing by the doorway, terrified and confused. It’s haunting in a way that you kind of wished you didn’t agree to this friendship thing in the first place. 

“Y/N!”

Yelena's voice calling your name startles you, snapping you back to the present moment. You blink and refocus your attention on her. "Sorry, what's up?"

Yelena had arrived unexpectedly an hour ago, holding a bag of Shake Shack takeout and mentioning something about being in the area for an event. It hadn't occurred to you that you hadn't been in contact since the night you shared a kiss at her doorstep. In fairness, she hadn't reached out to you either.

She had set up the food spread of burgers and fries on the table in front of the TV while you searched for a horror movie that neither of you had seen. However, in the midst of dinner, she had to take an important work call, and your thoughts immediately drifted back to the events of the previous week, those green eyes that were dark pools of fear and rejection. 

Yelena bites her lip, finally noticing the disconnect and distance you've been exhibiting.

“Are we ever going to talk about it?” she asks. 

You tilt your head at her curiously. “Talk about what?”

Yelena rubs her temples as her mouth twists in a wry smile. “Oh my god, you can be such an asshole sometimes.” 

As you grab Yelena's hand, a surge of determination courses through you, preventing her from fully retreating. "Lena," you say, using her childhood nickname, a name that holds a special significance between the two of you. 

It's a subtle way of easing the tension that has filled the room. With a mix of relief and vulnerability, Yelena allows herself to be pulled back towards the couch, and she plops back down beside you.

“Look, I know I didn’t call you either after we… after that night. But I’m here now, and I’m ready to figure things out with you.” she says.

You sigh, letting go of her hand. “Frankly, I don’t know where to begin.”

“How about this,” Yelena proposes. “I’ll start with a question and we’ll see where it goes from there.”

“You’ve thought this through.” you say.

“I have.”

“Alright.”

Yelena nods. “Here it goes,” she blows out her cheeks. “Why did you kiss me?”

“I–”

“I don’t need a quick answer,” Yelena interrupts. “I need an honest one.”

The truth is, from the moment it happened until Wanda showed up the following day, it consumed your thoughts entirely. You recall lying awake in bed, unable to shake the desire to experience it again—the softness of Yelena's lips, the subtle differences in her kisses compared to those you had shared before.

You kissed her simply because it was unthinkable to do anything otherwise in that moment.

You give her this answer, and Yelena’s expression remains eerily neutral. Not that you were expecting some kind of reaction, but still–

“So if it had gone beyond a kiss, you’re saying you just wanted to hook up?”

You shake your head at her incredulously. “Not at all!”

“Oh, so you didn’t want to have sex with me at all…”

“I do! I mean–of course I’m attracted to you. But I didn’t kiss you just because I wanted to sleep with someone,” you say, feeling a pressure at the back of your neck. “I kissed you because I just… wanted to kiss you.” you wince at hearing yourself repeat the same thing like a broken record.

Yelena studies you for a moment, before she says, “Does that mean anything?”

“It means being close to you like that brought a decade-old feeling to the surface.” you reply, the volume of your voice considerably fading towards the end of your sentence. 

Yelena plays with the necklace around her neck. “Yeah? What sort of feelings?”

You prop your chin on one hand. All things considered, what you once had with Yelena had every potential to be one of your greatest loves. But you don’t want to mistake love with feelings of nostalgia. 

“You don’t have to answer that one,” Yelena says after a long, heavy moment. “Actually, I’d prefer it if you don’t. I’ve been thinking a lot this past week. About the possibility of us. About you, as a person… about me, as a person. And we’ve… changed. I just didn’t realize it before because you feel like home to me. I think no matter how long or far we’re apart, I’ll always feel that way about you.”

“Me too,” you say with a soft smile. “Your presence in my life has been nothing but comforting. Safe. Like I can always be me, even at my worst.”

“But it’s not enough for me, Y/N. I never thought the window would open again when Nat told me you got married. So, I’ll be damned if I miss my chance again.”

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that we give this a real chance," she says.

"I... I don't think I'm ready," you hesitate.

Yelena can't help but let a smirk creep onto her lips. "Says the girl who kissed me."

You blush at that, wishing you carried the same courage you had that night at this very moment.

When you fail to respond, Yelena prods you with a question. 

“You’re not ready or you’re scared you’d hurt me?” she asks.

With love, you have always been ready. It has always been a natural and instinctive part of your being. You embraced love in all its complexities; with its joys and sorrows, without fear or reservation. But now, you cower in the shadow of betrayal–as if it was love itself that betrayed you, rather than Wanda.

“I’m scared I’d hurt you,” you choke out, barely able to contain the tremor in your voice. “... And I’m scared to be hurt again.”

Yelena’s heart breaks at your words. “Come here.” she whispers.  

She doesn’t really wait for you to act. Before you know it, Yelena has closed the distance to encircle her arms around your waist and pull you into a tight embrace. You hug her back and bury your face into her neck. It’s only when you feel Yelena’s soaked shirt against your cheek, that you realize you’ve been crying.

You remain intertwined in each other's arms for a while, finding solace in the connection you share, until Yelena’s phone rings and it’s Kate urgently asking her to work with her on a story that’s about to erupt. Understanding the importance of her work, you reluctantly send her off, promising to continue the conversation at a later time.

Just as Yelena is about to leave, she suddenly pauses and grabs the back of your neck, pulling you into a brief yet intense kiss. The passion and longing in that moment leave you breathless. Before parting, she whispers, "Something more for you to think about. Now, we're even."

With those words lingering in the air, she releases your bottom lip with a wet sound and leaves you with a swirl of emotions and thoughts to ponder.

-

That same night, on the rooftop of her apartment building, Wanda sits alone, surrounded by the night sky and the faint smell of tobacco after doubling her dosage of tranquilizers again.

The half-empty pack of cigarettes lies beside her, a testament to her struggle to cope with the turmoil in her heart. She takes a long drag from her cigarette, feeling the burn in her lungs, and exhales a cloud of smoke into the air. Beside the pack of cigarettes, a bottle of tequila rosé stands, its contents diminishing with every sip Wanda takes. 

Wanda's mind drifts back to her college days, remembering how smoking was once a non-negotiable deal-breaker for you. She had forced herself to quit back then, eager to align herself with your preferences and expectations. But now, in this moment of heartache and confusion, she finds herself returning to this old habit, seeking comfort and familiarity in the act of lighting a cigarette.

She recalls the day you moved out of your home in Westview, the day her world began to unravel. It was then that she picked up smoking again, a way to cope with the pain of your absence. And even when she found you again, she attempted to quit for the second time, hoping to present a version of herself again that you would approve of. 

But tonight, with her heart heavy and her emotions overwhelming, Wanda allows herself to surrender to the temptation of smoking. Each inhale brings a momentary respite from her thoughts, even if it comes at the cost of her health and well-being. She remembers how you used to despise the smell of tobacco on her breath, how you would express your concern about the impact it had on her life expectancy.

“As much as eleven minutes per stick.” You had told her so many times, back when you were just friends.

Yet in this moment, Wanda finds solace in the cigarettes, even if it's just for those fleeting minutes that they shorten her life. It's a small act of rebellion, a way to reclaim a fragment of control in the uncertainty of it all. 

“Ever wonder who will die first in our old age?” Wanda asks you one night after a particularly intense make-up sex. Lying in bed, you’re exhausted and seconds away from sleep, while Wanda’s energy hasn’t dissipated at all–rather, it increased even more after two orgasms.

You’ve been married for two years, and fought over a random encounter with Carol; a fellow NYU who was crazy about you for the entirety of your sophomore year. The aforementioned encounter was an annual work meeting with your company’s outside partners, and it led to Carol asking you to catch up over coffee after work.

“I hope it’s me.” you say, snuggling close to Wanda’s side. Tenderly, you place an arm over her exposed abdomen and affectionately squeeze a small fold on her belly.

“Can’t be you. I used to smoke three to four cigarettes a day for years before you made me quit.” Wanda says, laughing a little when you accidentally pinch a ticklish spot. 

“For the record, I didn’t make you quit.” 

“Fine,” Wanda rolls her eyes. “But going back to the topic: I think it’s going to be me.”

You’re quiet for a long period with Wanda thinking you’ve already fallen asleep, when you say, “I just did the math. As far as I know, you were a smoker for seven years, so that would amount to… about 10,200 cigarettes. Or 2.5 months lost.” 

Wanda looks down at you in confusion. “What are you on about?”

Your smile is mysterious as you close your eyes using Wanda’s breast as your pillow. 

“Don’t you dare start smoking now.” Wanda threatens softly, but you hear the fear in her voice anyway.

She feels your smile widen against her damp skin as you repeat, “I hope it’s me.” 

Wanda takes a satisfying puff from her last stick and wonders what’s one more thing for you to hate about her. 

Love is watching someone die. She heard that from a song that seems like a lifetime ago. Yet, she never truly understood its implications, given the typically grim connotations associated with death.

It was not until she revisited that casual conversation with you that she grasped the profound reality: by choosing to spend the rest of her life with you, she had essentially volunteered to bear witness to your eventual passing. Death, an inescapable and inevitable anguish, is a burden one willingly embraces solely out of genuine love for another.

Wanda shuts her eyes, recognizing the pressing need to halt her mind's meandering towards these thoughts, or she’ll never stop grieving. 

The cigarette's smoldering remnants fall from her lips as Wanda crushes it beneath her heel. She turns her attention to the bottle of rosé, swiftly uncapping it and taking a lengthy swig. No, she is not harboring suicidal thoughts. However, she remains unfazed by the potential perils arising from the harmful combination of her vices.

-

It’s almost midnight and you have only just been half-unconscious in your bed, when your phone rings for what feels like forever.

An unknown, overseas number appears on your vibrating screen and you stare at it for while before answering.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” Natasha’s raspy voice comes through. The line is murky, and you can hear a foreign language being spoken in the background. “Sorry for calling you so late.”

You sit up on your bed, waking up quickly from your shallow sleep. “Where are you calling from?”

“Somewhere in Asia.” 

“Oh, I thought you’re in–”

“No. The mission took me here a day ago. Listen, I only have about five minutes.” Natasha says, not bothering to hide the impatience in her tone. 

You sit up straight on the bed, the last vestiges of sleep leaving your senses. “I’m listening.”

“Yelena and I talked some five minutes ago,” Natasha starts and your heart starts pounding in your ears. You hear a deep sigh coming from the other end–can feel Natasha’s apparent hesitation. But then–

“She didn’t exactly say that she’s still in love with you, but… But that’s how it sounded to me. And then she basically told me to fuck off and not act like an ‘overprotective asshole’–her words not mine.”

“We kissed.” The confession frees itself before you can stop it. 

“She did not disclose that detail.” Natasha says through gritted teeth from what you can hear.

“I should’ve told you but I don’t really know how to reach you, so–”

“I get it. I’m not mad,” Natasha says. “Not saying I’m okay with it either. Actually, I’m being ridiculous because you’re both adults.”

Growing up as an only child, you think it’s endearing how zealous she can be when it comes to looking out for Yelena. It’s something you’ll never dismiss as absurd in any way, especially since both were adopted and shortly abandoned by their parents before Natasha turned thirteen. Apart from you, Yelena is Natasha’s only family. And you hate being the cause of conflict between the two.  

“I just need to know one thing. Do you still love her?” Natasha asks. 

It’s instantly obvious that there’s a right and wrong answer to this. At the same time, you hear someone frantically knock on your door.

“Wait, Nat,” you mutter distractedly, putting on a pair of shorts. “There’s someone at the door.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Natasha mumbles. “Are you avoiding the question?”

“Wait a sec,” you say. The knocking remains persistent and demanding. You yell out, “Who is it?” as you pad towards the door. 

You don’t concern yourself with waiting for an answer. You hurriedly work the locks of the apartment and a certain brunette comes tumbling forwards the moment the door swings open. 

“Wanda?”

She’s wearing a mustard cardigan with liquid stains on the chest. And beneath the cardigan, a pair of pajamas that doesn’t match. From the looks of her, this visit was planned on a whim. 

For a while, you forget that your best friend is still on the call, until you hear Natasha say, “Yes, Wanda. Who else?”

“I… I’ll have to call you back.” you say to Natasha and simultaneously end the call before she can even protest. 

“Is she still here?” Wanda slurs and then lets out a small hiccup that you’d normally find adorable, except that you’re not supposed to feel that way towards her in light of being no longer married. 

And also the fact that there’s nothing adorable about seeing her so plastered to the point of being unable to focus her eyes on anything for longer than a second. 

“Who?” you feign ignorance, clueless as to how Wanda knew Yelena was at your apartment. 

As Wanda tries to approach you, her intoxicated state causes her to stumble, requiring you to swiftly grasp her by the waist to prevent her from falling. She lets out a laugh, but it rings hollow.

“You smell like baby powder.” Wanda comments quietly, her nose bumping the side of your neck. The contact sends a shiver cascading down your spine, awakening sensations you'd prefer to suppress, especially when it concerns Wanda. Feeling how dangerous having Wanda this close is, you gently push at her shoulders. Wanda relents with little resistance and when she looks at you through heavy-lidded eyes, asks the same question, “Is she still here?”

You decide to answer her truthfully this time. “She went home.” 

Wanda nods in understanding and you watch her eyes fall shut, a solitary tear escaping her closed lids.

“Okay,” she whispers solemnly, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “Thank you, that’s… All I… yeah.”

You rub your hands over your face in a feeble attempt to wake yourself up in case you’re dreaming, but before you can reckon what to do next, Wanda’s already turning on her wobbly legs towards the elevator. 

“Wanda, wait–” You reach out to tug at her wrist, and the slight force from it whirls her back around. She faces you with her eyes still closed, but her quivering lashes are brimming with more tears that are so close to spill.

When Wanda does open her eyes, they do spill. And it takes everything in you not to pull her into a hug and just make it all go away.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Wanda sniffs, brushing at her face but it’s no use–it’s like a dam has burst and it’s apparent that the steady stream flowing through her cheeks isn't letting up soon. “I don’t know why–I just wanted to see you. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. For everything.”

Drunk Wanda never cried, particularly not on account of you. She was, at best, silly and clumsy–tripping over things and waking up to minor injuries she doesn’t remember getting.

Instead of replying, you lead her inside and Wanda dutifully allows herself to be led. She curls into herself on the couch, feet tucked under her. 

“I’ll go get you some water.” you say, padding towards the kitchen. It’s only when you’re sure Wanda can’t hear you that you release the breath you’ve been holding since her arrival.

A clean slate is what you yearn for, what seems rational in your current circumstances. The logical part of your mind insists on starting anew, devoid of bitterness, guilt, and the weight of unanswered questions. Free from the presence of Wanda Maximoff, who acts as the catalyst for all those emotions.

But wanting to want something and actually wanting something are two entirely different things. 

The question lingers.

Do you still love her? At first it’s Natasha’s face you imagine while the question is being asked. And then she morphs into Yelena, looking absolutely beautiful in the moonlight just right before you had kissed her. 

And then, it’s you. Do I still love her?

Would you have kept her at arm’s length if you knew the answer to this?

Just as you find yourself confronting the inevitability of needing an answer, you feel lithe arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you tightly against a body that would never not be familiar to you.

You tense automatically, but can’t find the will to step out of her embrace. It’s an understatement to say that Wanda Maximoff is your weakness. Without the raw and immediate feelings of anger and betrayal, without the sickening rush of having blood on your hands, and without the concrete reminders of how she threw away a decade worth of love and trust for a fling she claimed wasn’t even that important to her, is just–

It’s the kind of weakness that could annihilate all sense and reason; that could forgive the unforgivable, forget the unforgettable, even learn what has been unlearned. 

It’s a weakness that scares you if Wanda wields it to her favor. You’ve appreciated how she was very conscious of giving you as much space as you need for the past few weeks. You noticed how much she held back every time you were together. But right now, at her current state, you don’t know what Wanda would do. And she probably doesn’t know as well how much power she has in her hands despite her susceptibility to seeing you with another woman. 

“Remember when we talked about who’s probably going to die first when we’re old and don't have many years left in us?” you feel more than hear Wanda murmur against your shoulder, hating the way you slacken in her hold. 

In that moment, memories flood your mind, and although you recall vividly, you opt to remain still and silent.

“I hope it’s me,” Wanda whispers, echoing the exact words you had said to her that night. “I don’t ever want to go through the pain of watching you slip away again.”

Your heart crashes to the floor, breaking into a million tiny pieces that would never be a hundred percent whole again. 

“Wands,” you say breathlessly, then as you turn to face her, a cold hand softly cups your cheek and before you know it, she’s kissing you.

A fresh wave of tears sting at Wanda’s eyes because she can’t remember the last time she felt this happy. She’s hot all over and feeling the onset of a migraine from the alcohol and the pills, but they don’t diminish the pleasure of being surrounded by your smell and the feel of your unmoving lips.

As for you, all you could taste was the combination of bad choices she made just a while ago.

Regrettably, the fleeting moment ends sooner than Wanda desired, as you firmly grasp her shoulders with both hands and apply enough force to cause her to stagger momentarily before regaining her balance.

You barely managed to hang on to what’s left of your control. 

“Please, stop,” you don’t mean for it to come out as vulnerable as it sounds, but it’s hard to keep the firmness in your voice when Wanda’s looking at you like that.

“I love you,” Wanda insists so brokenly, she almost delivers it with a whine. 

“I love you, Y/N.” she repeats, as if there’s a threshold for the number of times she has to say it until you believe her–which, still, you don’t.

“It’s just the alcohol and maybe nostalgia talking.” you say. 

“You’re wrong. I love you. I want you.”

It’s pointless and childish to argue with a drunk person, but you can’t help but seethe in Wanda’s unwavering belief in her own lies. 

You take a couple of calculated steps towards her until you’ve effectively backed her against the fridge. 

“You know what I think?” you say menacingly, and it appeases you to see how she slightly trembles beneath your gaze. “I think you just want to fuck me. And it’s driving you crazy because you don’t own me anymore.”

You say it because it’s something you’ve been wondering about for a while now. It’s difficult for you to tell what she’s after–what she gets out of coming after you and wrecking herself like this in the process. You’re aware of Wanda’s tunnel vision when it comes to getting what she wants–specifically ones that don’t come easy–and you’ve seen it firsthand numerous times over the years. She never backs down from a challenge. 

You can’t help but think–is that what this is? A challenge to win back what she had so carelessly tossed aside?

Wanda, on the other hand, is far incapable of digesting your words properly. And yet, it just becomes clear to her how deep your resentment really goes. 

“That’s perhaps the ugliest thing you’ve ever said to me.” she whispers. 

You shake your head, backing away. It’s not quite as biting as you intend it to be when you say, “Oh? Well, it doesn’t compare to the ugliest thing you’ve ever done to me.”

Tense silence stretches out between the two of you, with only the sound of your breaths and your pounding hearts filling the void. By this time, Wanda’s eyes are dry. All that’s left are tear tracks that run through the edges of her jaw. She looks diminished and soulless, and somehow, it’s a worse sight. 

Wanda promptly hisses at the sharp pain that pulses on one side of her head, her fingers coming up to her temples to massage them.

Your shoulders slump, feeling exhausted–physically and mentally–all of a sudden. 

“Wanda–” you start, her well-being taking priority over your pique. “Please just lie down on the couch. I’ll get you some blankets.”

“I think I’m gonna go.” she says, even as she struggles to walk in a straight line.

“You’re drunk and you’re staying here. This is not a negotiation.”

A beat of silence, and then managing a scoff, she says, “Fine.”

Proceeding into Natasha's bedroom, you retrieve a pillow and a thin comforter, uncertain of where she keeps the actual spare bedding for guests. Returning to the living room, you find Wanda lying on her stomach, already in a deep slumber on the couch. Her face is turned away, mouth slightly open, accompanied by gentle snores. Glancing at the kitchen, you notice the untouched glass of water you had prepared for her. There’s no doubt the headache that awaits her when she wakes up. With utmost care, you drape the comforter over her body, ensuring her bare feet are covered, and place the pillow beneath her outstretched arm.

Creating an ambiance of dimness, you switch off all the lights, allowing only the moon's gentle glow and the radiant lights of the ever-awake city to seep through the window. Your gaze lingers on the shadowed outline of your ex-wife's peaceful form for a few fleeting moments before you withdraw to your own bedroom.

With the reassurance of Wanda being safe and sound in such close proximity, you swiftly succumb to a deep, dreamless slumber.

It’s still dark outside when you stir awake, with the sun peeking just outside the horizon. Last night’s sequence of events return to you in deliberate fragments, and you immediately get up and walk over the living room.

No sign of Wanda. 

The blanket you gave her is neatly folded on the armrest together with Natasha’s pillow. Circling the couch, you spot her cardigan discarded on the floor. She must have ridden herself of it, somewhere during the night. 

Bending down to pick up the article of clothing, and you’re unprepared for the smell of Wanda that wafts to your nose.

You’ve said some things. Appaling things. Reflecting on what was said, you're overcome with remorse, realizing the depth of the vilification you subjected her to.

You wouldn’t have loved her for so long if she was horrible enough to harbor such ill intentions.

Maybe the least you could do is put her cardigan in the laundry. Returning it to her in a fresh and clean state would be a small gesture of consideration and apology.

-

A throbbing pain is what woke Wanda about an hour before sunrise. Dread overcame her right when she opened her eyes to the familiar gray of your flat. She can’t recall much of what happened last night; only an inkling that she fucked up every step of the way following the moment she showed up at your door. Deeply ashamed of barging in and probably forcing you to shelter her for a night, Wanda left your building in a hurry. On top of the humiliation, she’s also already late for her cafe’s pre-opening ceremonies. 

It’s an unusually busy Tuesday, and she failed to get Pietro to come over and lend a helping hand. People are growing agitated by the slow service, ignoring the obvious reason that their server is wearing all the hats today–cashier, barista, waitress and maintenance. She’s tending to the cafe alone, except for Sparky–and she can’t really ask a dog to serve food and drinks… or can she?

Though if there’s one thing Wanda Maximoff is, it’s that she’s a professional multitasker.

“Can I follow up on that upside down mocha latte, miss?” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I’ll be right with you.”

“This needs more sugar.”

“We have packets of sugar, sugar-replacement, creamer, cinnamon and so much more over that corner.”

“Excuse me, how much for two dozens of matcha peanut butter cookies? And do you take advance orders?”

“That’s, uh, you know what let me check. And yes we do take advance orders and provide catering services.”

“Your dog is licking the spilled coffee on the floor, in case you didn’t know.”

“Oh, shit–Sparky, get away from that!” Wanda temporarily sets her tray down on the table of one of her customers to get a mop.

“Miss, I think you swapped my order with–”

She’s not going to freak out. There’s no way she’s going to freak out. 

Wanda’s on her way to cleaning up the spill when someone jerks the mop out of her grip. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Vision mumbles without looking directly at Wanda. “You should attend to that asshole by the window. I think he’s about to lose it.”

Wanda’s at a loss for words, conflicted between carrying on with her duties and thinking whether or not she should confront her former student about why he’s here. In the end, she really has no choice but to charge through the pending orders and appease the snappy customers or else she risks losing this business. 

Little by little, the demands die down. And then finally, Wanda’s left to deal with Vision who’s seated near the back room, hunched over Sparky while her dog laps at his bony fingers.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” Wanda says as she approaches his table.

Vision jolts upright and she uses the opportunity to take a proper look at him. He looks a great deal better than the last time they saw each other. Wanda’s sincerely happy for him. Still, he cannot be here.

“Thank you for helping earlier, but I believe it’s best if you leave now.” Wanda asserts, her irritation palpable.

“I wasn’t stalking you or anything,” Vision says, unfazed by Wanda’s animosity. “I didn’t know you work here.”

Wanda snorts in amusement. “I don’t simply work here. I own this place.”

Vision looks embarrassed for making the wrong assumption. “Sorry, I… Congratulations, Wanda. This is truly remarkable..”

“Thanks,” she says, and then gestures at the door. “Now could you please…?”

“Can’t I at least order a coffee to-go?” Vision interjects.

“Fair enough,” Wanda concedes. 

“What would you recommend?” he asks, studying the menu with rapt concentration.

“Our bestseller is the Spanish latte.”

“Got anything Keto?”

Wanda casts him a dumbfounded look. But Vision seems serious with his request. The pieces of their affair now seem like a perplexing puzzle; and now she’s exploring the possibility that their affair could have been her having a mental break. Not for the first time she wonders, what the fuck was I thinking?

“Fine. Would you like it hot or cold? Medium or large?” Wanda asks.

“Uh, iced. Large.” he says.

Wanda works the register. “Large iced americano with two shots of heavy cream and a Splenda, coming right up.” 

Vision pays for his drink and thanks her. He waits by the counter as Wanda prepares his coffee.

The bells-like sound of the door chime rings, and Wanda mechanically welcomes the newcomer without looking up.

“Hi,” you say, not noticing Vision at all. It’s Sparky who greets you, excitedly wagging his tail as he sniffs you all over. 

Wanda flinches at the sound of your voice. Her eyes widen in panic, and they dart erratically from you to Vision, and then you again. It’s only when you absorb the horrified look on Wanda’s face that you catch sight of a taller figure from the corner of your eyes.

"You..." The word escapes your lips, unintentionally carrying a tinge of disdain. It's the first time you witness Wanda and Vision in the same room, and a rush of emotions floods over you, resurfacing all the pain you have been attempting to overcome during the past several months.

A flurry of questions swirls within your mind, leaving you feeling overwhelmed. Didn’t Natasha say he doesn’t remember? Or has he been aware of everything all along? And what about Wanda? Was she seeing Vision behind your back throughout this entire time? The uncertainty and confusion gnaw at your thoughts, leaving you grappling for answers.

Your first realization is this: no–you have not forgiven them. And if they’re fucking or trying a relationship with each other, you won’t find it in yourself to be genuinely happy for them.

The second thing is that you’ve been fooled once again; she had you believing that she regretted ever throwing away what you two had to fuck this kid. 

All this time, they were continuing where they left off. You don’t care why it bothers you so much–it just does and it makes you livid.

Vision cowers at the sight of you. It confirms your suspicions–he does remember. You watch him carefully as he mumbles a shaky goodbye to Wanda before rushing towards the exit, not caring at all about the drink he had ordered and already paid for. You don’t try to step out of his way, holding your ground as an act of intimidation. 

Neither you nor Wanda move an inch as Vision takes his leave.

"Y/N," she breathes, desperately attempting to convey that things are not as they may appear. “It’s not what you think.”

You scrunch up Wanda’s cardigan tightly in your hand before tossing it to the floor. “Doesn’t seem that way to me.” you say in a low whisper. 

A few nosy customers observe you with intrigue, murmuring to themselves and pretending to be busy with their phones. It makes your mouth twist in a nearly lunatic grin.

Just before you leave the cafe, you make sure that Wanda’s looking you right in the eye as you say, “I never want to see your lying face ever again.”

The finality of your words, coupled with the piercing intensity of your gaze, knocks the wind out of her.

“Y/N!” Wanda screams out your name desperately, throwing caution to the wind. She quickly unties her apron and dashes outside to run after you. 

Frantically scouring the nearby alleyways, her search proves fruitless as you have already disappeared, leaving her to confront the empty streets alone.

-

Wanda tries several ways to reach you. First, she tries calling you from her number, but she discovers you still have her blocked. Next, she asks Agatha to call you, but you refuse to pick up, until your phone becomes unreachable altogether. Whether it’s the reception or your phone being turned off, it’s clear that any effort to get a hold of you through a call is moot.

Pietro eventually accedes to Wanda’s begging and covers the final two hours of her shift. She has to lie to him with a fake emergency, which was very upsetting for her to do considering how passionately you called her a liar just earlier. She goes straight to your place when she’s free of her responsibilities. Her frustration fuels her actions as she pounds on your door with an intensity, demanding that you give her the opportunity to explain herself.

She keeps at it for some time, until the security comes up to your floor to inform her that you haven’t returned all day.

Out of options, Wanda goes home, defeated. More than her yearning to give you an explanation, she worries about where you could have gone to. She’s not a religious person, but when it comes to your safety, she prays to every god there is for you to be okay. 

It’s half past midnight when Wanda’s awoken by a loud, angry knock at her door. 

Her sleep riddled brain fails to notice how unusual it is for Sparky not to emerge from his dog house and start barking at the unexpected visitor. Her gut tells her it’s you, but just to be safe, she takes Sparky to the guest room, knowing how wary he is of strangers. 

“Who’s there?” Wanda’s voice echoes through the empty hall, voice hoarse from sleep and from yelling your name all over Queens.

There’s no response, and yet, each thud against the door reverberates through the room, filling it with a sense of urgency and unease.

Startled and growing increasingly concerned, Wanda opens the door and–

It’s the smell of beer that welcomes her first. 

Less than twenty-four hours ago, you were both entangled in a similar situation, albeit in reversed roles. The irony of the circumstances isn't lost on Wanda as she observes the unwavering and intense gaze you fix upon her. It's unclear to her how much you've had to drink to be able to find your way to her, but the determination in your eyes speaks volumes.

“Y/N, thank god you’re here. I was so worried–” Wanda tries to say, but the rest of her sentence dies on your lips. With one hand on the slope where her neck meets her shoulder, you push her roughly back inside her apartment, slamming and locking the door behind you with the other. 

You harshly nip at her lower lip before releasing it and growling, “This is what you want right? This is what you’ve been chasing me for all along?” 

Pinning her with a disdainful look, Wanda feels powerless to refute your allegations. Is that how you perceived this to be all along? How lowly your opinion of her has become? When she finds the courage to put the tiniest bit of space between you and her, you pull her flushed against your body to capture her swollen lips into another bruising kiss. The moan that escapes you both this time is irrefutable. Something tells Wanda that whatever she says between now and what’s going to happen next, will just be sucked into the abyss of retribution. And so, she gives in to the storm that is your feverish kisses and your hatred punctuating your every touch.

If she were being honest, she just wants to feel you. Logic and reason be damned. 

“Y/N!” Wanda mewls when you clumsily rub her through the fabric of her nightwear, pinching her clit as soon as you find it.

There’s no trace of tenderness in the way you maneuver Wanda and deposit her to the carpeted floor of her living room. 

There’s nothing gentle in the way you pull down her shorts to her ankles, and lift her shirt just enough to expose her tits. 

There’s only lust, and instinct, and vengeance in the painful entrapment of her hard nipple between your bared teeth. 

And Wanda loves it. 

It’s the punishment she didn’t know she had been craving for since the moment she invited Vision to her bed. If you needed to ruin her, Wanda would let you. She’d gladly take the beating if it means she gets to have even just a tiny fraction of you back–no matter how cruel this fraction of you might be. 

The throbbing in her clit matches the rhythm of her heartbeat, as you continue to tongue her nipple in broad laps. It’s visually lewd enough for her to avert her eyes in embarrassment, but suddenly, you grip her jaw and force her to look at what you’re doing to her, pausing just long enough to say, “Don’t you fucking look away.” before turning your attention to her other nipple and giving it the same treatment. Wanda feels her wetness soak the rug below her ass, and all the blood rushes to her core, already begging for release. 

Wanda gasps when you slide back up abruptly, the rough friction of your shirt rubbing against her tender peaks. She smells the alcohol on your breath before she tastes it, as you pull her in for a dizzying kiss. You’re uncommonly disoriented in your movements, as if you keep deciding and then changing your mind on how you want her. 

Wanda's fingers tentatively approach the button of your jeans, but you swiftly swat them aside. Instead, you seize her hands, lifting them above her head and securing her wrists together.

You rarely make love to her when you’re drunk. You never liked the idea of being unfocused and uncoordinated when you touch her, and you were always afraid you’d accidentally do something that might make her uncomfortable or even hurt her. And now, as your fingers skim through her wetness, not caring if your nails scrape against her sensitive skin, Wanda understands. She understands what you’re capable of when you give up control and let pure instinct take over.

She understands how perfectly capable you are of hurting her–in all aspects. 

Wanda feels she’s wet enough, but it’s still painful when you enter her unceremoniously with two fingers. 

“Y/N, wait–” Wanda gasps as you start to quicken your thrusts before she’s fully adjusted. “S-Slow down.”

But it’s like you can't hear her, seemingly entranced by your own fingers going in and out of your ex-wife’s cunt. The pleasure eventually overtakes the pain, and Wanda doesn’t have anything to hold onto as the heel of your palm grinds against her nub in a slow, circling motion. 

Wanda’s mouth falls open, warm puffs of air brushing so intimately against your chin. “Fuck, yes, right there–”

You pant against Wanda’s sternum, bitterly thinking that she will always be beautiful whether you’re seeing her through the lens of affection or loathing. 

Feeling how close she is, you add another finger into her. The fullness does nothing to abate the tightening in Wanda’s stomach. She writhes uncontrollably beneath you, overwhelmed by the intensity of pleasure, attempting to halt the motion of your fingers by pressing her knees against your lower body. But you keep her where she is, with her legs wide apart. You angle your hand a certain way, so you’re pummeling the spongy area inside of her every time you push inside.

“Kiss me, please,” Wanda whispers shakily against your sweaty forehead. Ignoring her plea, you lick into her ear instead, and then curl your fingers the only way you know how, propelling her over the edge.

“Fuck, fuck! I’m coming!” Wanda cries, her hips bucking uncontrollably. Her trembling arms wrap around your neck as you continue to fuck her through her orgasm. You silently observe Wanda as she regains her breath, her eyes closed and her chest rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern. Her brown hair cascades over the floor, resembling a fallen angel consumed by the depths of the earth.

Wanda's face is stained with tears. However, it is only when she becomes conscious of a droplet landing on her nose that she realizes she is not the one shedding them. Cautiously, as if she’s afraid of what she might see, she opens her eyes and looks up at you.

It’s the only picture of vulnerability in you that she’ll see for the rest of the night, and her own eyes well up, struck by the realization that you can never hurt her the way she’s hurt you. You interpret the look on her face as pity and angrily wipe your eyes with the back of your hand.

“This doesn’t mean anything to me.” you mutter scathingly, even as your lips quiver from the struggle of detaching yourself from your emotions. 

Wanda’s hands reach out to cradle your face. “I know.” she whispers.

“Then why are you agreeing to this?”

“I never stopped being yours,” Wanda whispers with a voice filled with fractures, and it's only your warm and solid presence that keeps her from falling apart. “It’s just how it is.”

You taste the bitterness in your tears, mixed with the metallic tang of blood from your lip from how harshly you’ve been biting down on it. How could she utter those words to you, knowing that someone else had gotten to know her so intimately in this manner? 

Whatever Wanda thought she did, no matter how many times she claimed it didn’t mean anything, however briefly it was–she gave bits of herself to Vision; her body, her mind, her words, her time. Those are the things that you can’t get back. Things you can’t replace. Things you can’t account for. 

Lies after lies, you think bitterly. 

And yet, it only intensifies your desire to claim her one more time. To remind her what she had traded away for illicit pleasure. To ruin her for everyone else.

“Again.” you demand, the mask of indifference returning to replace the face that Wanda loves the most. 

And that seals it–whatever this is. Wanda knows that this can’t end well.

But she couldn’t find it in her heart to care.

"Okay," she mumbles, her voice carrying weariness and resignation.

You wrap her shaking legs around your waist while your arms provide a secure embrace around her back. And then, with her clinging to you like a mindless puppet, you push yourself off the ground and onto your feet, Wanda along with a strength that astonishes both of you.

"Will you let me know once you figure out what you'll do?" Wanda asks, her voice wavering as remnants of dried tears cling to her cheeks, leaving faint trails in their wake.

You respond with a subdued sound of agreement, but deep down, you harbor doubts about your ability to follow through on your promise. The thumb drive still burns in your palm, and your clenched fist refuses to release it.

Alone in your apartment, hours after Yelena has departed for work, you find yourself replaying this memory time and again. Having taken the week off, your days are largely spent fixated on a particular file on your computer screen. That’s the last time you’ve heard from Wanda. Neither of you has made any effort to reach out since then.

“He recorded us having… having the affair.”

Your face involuntarily twists into a grimace of raw pain. Each breath feels heavier than the last, like you're dragging them from a place deep within you that you've been desperately trying to avoid. Your gaze remains fixated on the screen, eyes glassy, as if staring longer could somehow give you the answers you so crave.

A small, dark corner of your heart wishes you had gone further than just cracking Vision's skull with that vase, now knowing that he did more than violate a marriage.

You hover your mouse over the file.

"I’d take it all back if I could.”

Blinking rapidly, the strain in your smile grows more palpable, etching lines of tension across your face, until you’re gritting your teeth in an effort to maintain some form of control over your emotions.

But in the end, the tears well up and they spill over. 

In the end, you can’t bring yourself to watch how Wanda chose to break your heart. 

You delete the file from your computer, erasing any trace of the painful reminder. As you empty the trash bin, it feels like a symbolic act of letting go, even though the ache in your heart remains.

***

“Wanda? Did you hear what I just said?”

Wanda blinks, appearing slightly disoriented, as if she had been drifting away, coming back and forth to the present like a restless ghost. Calliope regards Wanda with a gentle caution, noticing that she appears different from her usual self this morning. There is a noticeable absence of her usual active engagement in conversation, with Wanda providing only succinct and dismissive replies to her questions.

“Hm?” Wanda's gaze focuses on Calliope, a flicker of apology crossing her features as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sorry, could you repeat that? I... got distracted.”

“Wanda, I was asking about how you spent Y/N's birthday last week,” Calliope repeats with a soft smile.

Your birthday. It had been one of the best days in recent memory, a rarity considering the limited number of such occasions. And unfortunately, the joyous feeling it brought her was short-lived, lasting only two days before Yelena shattered the blissful bubble she was in.

"I, uh, baked her a cake, but it was more for my own enjoyment and for my customers," 

Wanda shares, and though her expression becomes slightly dreamy, it’s still tinged with despondency. “And then in the evening, we ran into each other by chance, and she treated me to dinner. All in all, it was better than I imagined."

“That sounds wonderful, Wanda,” Calliope says. "But how come you don't seem as happy about it now?"

“A lot has happened between then and now,” Wanda explains. “Her birthday isn’t the last time we saw each other. It’s actually just three days ago, and we, uh, didn’t exactly end that meeting on a good note.”

The only indication that Calliope looks slightly concerned is the eleven that appears in between her brows. Otherwise, her face remains soft and void of tension. “Can you tell me more, Wanda? But of course, only if you’re comfortable to share them.”

Wanda takes a moment to weigh her options. On one hand, there is legal information that she would need to disclose, but on the other hand, she can sense the possibility of her spiraling down if she keeps these things to herself. Ultimately, she decides to place her trust in her therapist and rely on the foundation they have built together, telling Calliope everything. She begins by recounting Yelena's visit and the subsequent confrontation with Vision. Then, with regret she describes the following morning when she visited you to give you an option to fight Vision back another way.

Calliope listens attentively, and though she usually maintains a professional demeanor throughout these sessions with her clients, she couldn’t help but inwardly sigh in relief that Wanda chose to talk to her about the crucial week she’s had. 

There are at least a dozen emotional and mental implications for someone who had gone through what Wanda did in the recent days. As someone who lives and breathes science, Calliope doesn’t believe in good or bad luck, but this is one of those rare occurrences that she’s handling someone who’s gone and continues to go through a multitude of life-changing storms in just a year. Wanda's resilience is a force to be reckoned with, refusing to bow to the hardships she constantly faces.

“It must be beyond overwhelming to be confronted with such things at the same time,” Calliope says. She retrieves a pad and a pen from her desk and looks up at Wanda. “Do you mind if I write some of these things down? So we can go over them one step at a time?”

Wanda gives her a short nod, placing her complete trust on her therapist. Calliope proceeds to write on the pad and then suddenly, she stops and looks up at Wanda who’s chewing on her lip.

“When you learned that Vision filmed your trysts without your consent, how did that make you feel?”

Wanda feels the familiar coil of anger tighten in her stomach at the mere mention of his name.

Her response slips out slowly. “Violated. I–I know I’m half of that affair, and I have no right to feel like a victim–”

“Wanda,” Calliope quickly cuts her line of thought, dispelling right away the notion that just because she agreed to something, she agreed to everything. Even though the sex was consensual, the act of recording it without consent was a violation of trust and not to mention, a breach of the law. 

“Your role in the affair does not negate the fact that you can still feel violated by this type of invasion to your privacy. You have the right to acknowledge your own feelings and experiences, separate from the affair itself." Calliope tells her.

Wanda presses her fingertips against her temple for a few seconds. “I feel like a victim to my own stupid decisions. I’m angry at Vision, but mostly I–I’m angry with myself.”

“Blaming yourself may be a natural response, but the responsibility for the violation lies with Vision. It's not a reflection of your worth or intelligence. You trusted him that time, and he betrayed that trust.” Calliope says.

Wanda is silent. It’s been a long time since she felt like none of Calliope’s words make sense. None could make her feel better at the moment. 

Sensing that she’s not getting through to her, Calliope continues, “You don’t have to believe me right now. All of it is new, and you can take as much time as you need to face your feelings.”

"You know what else troubles me the most? I find it very difficult to reconcile myself with the married woman who slept with a kid all those times. Who is she, Calliope? And by asking this,  I'm not trying to absolve myself of responsibility because she was me, but I simply can't comprehend how I allowed it to happen. If you were to ask me now why I entered into that affair, I honestly wouldn't have an answer for you.”

Calliope nods in understanding. It's not unusual for individuals to struggle with recognizing the person they used to be, even if it was just a year ago or even a week ago. Personal growth and experiences can drastically change people’s perspectives and actions, often leading them to question their past choices.

“We are always changing. You're a different person today than you were yesterday, even if the change isn’t that significant. There’s always something in us that’s changing, progressing, growing.”

“Why couldn’t I have grown back then,” Wanda mumbles in regret. I should’ve been able to prevent it. Things would have gone differently.  

Calliope smiles, understanding Wanda's inclination to obsess over what could have been. “We only realize what's wrong within us when the signs become apparent, like having a fever. A doctor wouldn't say you're sick with a fever alone; it's just a symptom. There's an underlying cause. But the fever serves as an important indicator that your body needs treatment.”

Wanda sighs; she can’t think of any argument to that. “Maybe you’re right.”

And as she replays the memories of that day in her mind, a sudden realization strikes Wanda. There was a vivid detail from her conversation with Yelena that she had almost forgotten.

“Yelena said something,” Wanda begins, her fingers idly toying with the wedding band now adorning her necklace. “Something about Y/N not being completely hers.”

“Go on,” Calliope encourages.

“Do you think she was indirectly telling me that Y/N still has feelings for me?” Wanda's voice is tinged with uncertainty, yet her eyes shimmer with hope.

“Interpreting someone else's words can be subjective," Calliope says. “I want to be honest with you, Wanda–it’s always best not to read too much into it. Yelena's perception of the situation differs from your own, and her words might not necessarily reflect the true feelings or intentions of Y/N.”

Wanda's hopeful expression wavers slightly, a hint of disappointment flickering across her face. She nods, understanding the need to approach the situation with caution.

“I know it's easier said than done. Believe me, I struggle with it too, sometimes…” Calliope trails off as if reminiscing her own experiences, before continuing, “But whether or not Y/N still has feelings for you, your well-being should remain a priority. Overthinking and making assumptions can be detrimental to our happiness.”

Happiness. It’s elusive, and she wants nothing more than to hold onto it longer than a fleeting moment.

***

“Are you certain about this? Once we send this letter to his attorney, it cannot be retracted,” your lawyer states as she neatly organizes the pages of the counter demand letter into a folder.

“And if they agree to the terms, will it finally be over?” you inquire, seeking reassurance.

“Yes. I have drafted every clause to safeguard you from any future legal actions regarding the same matter,” she assures.

You take a moment to process the information before a new concern arises. “You mean, he won't be able to sue me in the future if he decides that $800,000 isn't enough?”

“No,” she says with a confident smirk. “If he does that you can sue him for double the amount.”

“That’s quite impressive.”

“It's what you hired me for,” she replies with a hint of pride.

After your lawyer leaves, you pick up your phone and dial Natasha's number. The ringing persists until a recorded voice message greets you.

“Hey, Nat? It’s me. Uh, when you get this call can you please call me back? I–” Your voice breaks, and you close your eyes, envisioning Natasha's stoic expression as she listens to your message. This silence between you is uncharacteristic, as you have never gone this long without talking to each other except when she's working. It pains you to realize the strain in one of the most important relationships in your life right now.

“I’m sorry, okay? I hope we can talk soon and I’ll explain everything. Please, Nat,” you say. “I don’t think I can handle losing you.”

***

“It’s a send off party for those who are racing the New York City Marathon this year.” you explain to Yelena as you stuff your socks into a duffel bag. 

Since joining Valkyrie's running club, you have mainly trained alone, only joining the group for runs on two occasions. However, you've come to realize the benefits of running with others who are faster than you. It pushes you to increase your pace during tempo runs and has led to a faster rate of improvement in your performance. Wanda has chosen not to join the weekday runs with the club, and you secretly appreciate the opportunity to focus solely on running and enjoying the company of other people. Wanda never fails to catch at least some of your attention. It’s one of your more serious flaws.

“Yeah, I get that it's a party,” Yelena mutters, gathering toiletries from the bathroom to pack in her own bag. “What I don't understand is why the party is being held at a park.”

“You know athletes–we need some form of activity first before we drink the booze and eat the cake.” you say.

Yelena wrinkles her nose. That doesn’t sound like the parties she’s familiar with and knows how to enjoy.

“When’s the NYC Marathon anyway?” Yelena asks.

“It’s this Sunday,” you reply, organizing the items on your packing list. You realize that among all the things you need to bring, a pair of shoes and sunblock are the only essentials. The rest are optional.

“Are you running in it?”

“Nope. I wasn’t picked in the lottery.” you say.

Yelena's expression shifts to one of surprise. "There’s a lottery?" she exclaims, clearly unaware of the selection process. The idea of so many people willingly participating–and paying–to tire themselves out is baffling to her. Yelena tried jogging one time and only thought of it as a grueling experience. So this interesting trivia about marathons just leads her to the conclusion that people must truly have a fondness for pain and suffering.

That causes a laugh to bubble up your throat. "If you don't feel like coming, it's completely fine." 

Initially, you hadn't planned for Yelena to join you, but since she expressed a desire to spend the day with you on her day off, you casually suggested she could come as your plus one. And since you knew how she felt about the sport that you do, you assumed she’d turn you down.

“How about we just stay in?” Yelena mumbles, wriggling her eyebrows in suggestion, making you laugh harder. “You know… Netflix, and the other thing.” 

“As tempting as that sounds,” you reply, still chuckling, “I can't. I'm responsible for bringing a damn good apple pie for the potluck. People are expecting it.”

Yelena pouts playfully, feigning disappointment. “Well, I guess I'll have to settle for cheering you on then. Just make sure that apple pie is worth it.”

“I'll do my best. And hey, there's always Netflix and 'the other thing' waiting for us when we get back.” you say.

Yelena grins, satisfied with the compromise. “Deal.”

***

As you and Yelena arrive at The Great Lawn in Central Park, the sight of tables and chairs being set up in preparation for the event greets you. Shaun, the closest friend you made from the running group, approaches you, dressed in a similar fashion of running shorts over a base layer, dri-fit shirt and the latest Alphafly. Introductions are made, and Shaun takes the dessert from your hands, ushering you and Yelena to a table near the spread of food and drinks.

Yelena makes a quick remark about feeling a bit overdressed for the occasion, but you dismiss her concerns with a smile, complimenting her appearance, which prompts her to lean in and give you a long, tender kiss.

A kiss that your ex-wife witnessed as you catch her looking at you and Yelena from afar when you open your eyes at the end of it. 

You’re unable to hide the look of surprise from your face because you weren’t expecting Wanda at this party. While everyone else confirmed their attendance, Wanda remained quiet, never participating in the conversations. Had you known Wanda would be here, you wouldn't have invited Yelena. 

Yelena follows your line of sight, and then seeing Wanda, mirrors your surprised expression.

“Why is she here?” she asks, her voice holding a hint of accusation though she tried to hide it.

“I... don't know,” you mumble absentmindedly as your attention is drawn to the person Wanda arrived with.

Valkyrie.

“And why didn’t you tell me that Wanda also belongs in the same running group?”

You shift your focus back to Yelena as Wanda and Valkyrie engage with the other runners, their presence quickly absorbed into the conversations and exchanges happening around them.

“I honestly didn't think it was important to mention,” you admit. “Wanda hasn't been actively involved in the group–she never joins our runs.”

Yelena raises an eyebrow, and says, “Well, I think it's worth mentioning.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was coming today. We all confirmed in the group chat and she never said anything.” you say.

“I get it, just remember, be open with me, especially about her,” Yelena says, her face softening. “I don't want to be 'that' girlfriend, but trust takes time. You not telling me the whole story about her doesn't help.”

“I'm sorry. It won't happen again,” you promise.

Yelena nods, pulling you in for another kiss. This one feels more intense, more insistent. Just as Yelena's tongue finds its way into your mouth, Wanda happens to glance your way. The sight causes her to promptly look away.

As Yelena's lips leave yours and she steps back, Valkyrie saunters over, her hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of her vest, a cheeky grin playing on her lips.

“Glad to see you again, Y/N,” Valkyrie greets, her gaze shifting to Yelena. “Who's this?”

You offer Valkyrie a tight smile and proceed to introduce Yelena as your girlfriend. Valkyrie extends her hand to Yelena, their handshake lingering a moment longer than necessary, with Valkyrie's thumb softly brushing the back of Yelena's hand before letting go. And then she excuses herself, winking at you both as she returns to Wanda’s side.

It might just be your intense dislike of this woman, but you can't help but worry about Wanda trusting someone who evidently likes to flirt.

As you slide an arm around Yelena, you both find a quieter spot, away from the buzz.

“You don't seem too thrilled about her,” Yelena notes.

With a small scoff, you try to dismiss it. “Valkyrie?”

"Yeah. Right there, when you say her name... It's like you'd rather jump off a cliff," Yelena remarks, noticing your disdain.

“She's just... too full of herself for my liking.”

Yelena gives you a knowing look. “You sure it's not because she showed up with–”

“Of course not,” you retort, a bit too quickly. Feeling the conversation veer into uncomfortable territory, you quickly reroute. “There's beer in the cooler, want one?”

Yelena is momentarily taken aback by the sudden shift, but she nods and replies, “Sure.”

They decide on a casual game of Ultimate Frisbee, as suggested by Valkyrie. 

You find yourself on one team, while Valkyrie stands on the opposing side. In the sidelines, are your ex-wife and your girlfriend, both seemingly enthralled by the competition that’s about to unfold. You've never played this game before, but Shaun takes the time to show you the ropes of throwing a frisbee with a backhand and a forehand. He explains the rules, which turn out to be fairly easy to understand, given their similarity to soccer. The objective is to get the disc to the other side of the field and avoid turnovers.

The frisbee soars through the air, hurled by none other than Valkyrie to signal the start of the game. Adrenaline courses through your veins, as a fierce determination fueled by the seemingly permanent smirk on Valkyrie’s face propels you forward.

With every throw and catch, you channel your frustrations into the game. It's no longer just about Valkyrie, but also about Vision and the money he managed to extort from you. It's about Wanda and how closely she's watching your every move with something akin to regret and longing in her wide, green eyes. It's about the video you chose not to watch, yet its very existence continues to haunt you.

Valkyrie, agile and naturally athletic, matches your intensity on the field. Each time she catches the frisbee, you feel a surge of anger ignite within you. It's as if every point she scores is a personal affront to your pride. You relentlessly pursue her with a goal in mind to outmatch her every move. 

The crowd cheers and gasps with each spectacular play. Wanda's eyes lock with yours, her expression caught between concern and admiration, and you return her gaze with a look of spite as you try to block the movements of the person you’re guarding.

In a pivotal moment, Valkyrie sprints toward the end zone as the disc flies in the similar direction. Taking this window of opportunity, you charge after her, consumed by a desire to tackle her to the ground. 

With a surge of strength, you lunge forward with an aim to bring her down. 

But fate has a different plan.

In the chaotic collision that ensues, you crash into Valkyrie with all your might. But the strong and sturdy body she’s paraded around for weeks proves to be impenetrable. As the dust settles, you find yourself sprawled on the ground, nursing a deep gash on your elbow. Valkyrie, remarkably unscathed, stands tall, a defiant smirk on her face.

Both Yelena and Wanda rush to your aid, much to your chagrin.

“What the hell was that?” Yelena yells as she leans over you with worry.

Wanda, keeping a cautious distance, chimes in, “Y/N, are you okay?”

Valkyrie, offering you a hand to help you up, dismisses the incident casually. “Oh, she's fine. It happens often in these games.”

Reluctantly, you reach out and steady yourself on Valkyrie's arm, disliking the fact you need her help in that moment. You take a couple of steps back from Valkyrie as soon as you find your footing and grab Yelena’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m okay,” you tell Yelena.

"You're bleeding," Wanda points out, eyes fixed on the wound on your elbow.

“It’s just a small scratch,” you argue, even as the blood drips from your skin and onto the grass.

“Sorry, but it's a general rule to sub out a wounded soldier,” Valkyrie cuts in.

You sneer inwardly at Valkyrie’s flowery choice of words.

“Come on, babe. I'll help you clean that up,” Yelena says, placing a hand on your lower back as she leads you back to the sidelines. 

“I’ll get the first aid kit.” Wanda says. Yelena looks at Wanda over her shoulder and you hold your breath, anticipating their exchange. But your girlfriend simply offers your ex-wife a small smile and thanks her.

The night approaches rather quickly after the game. 

Everybody helps pack up the picnic spread before the sun sets, as the group collectively agrees to move the party to a pub that Valkyrie claims she managed to reserve at the last minute. The bar she picked is also unbelievably convenient, only being a few minutes away from the park by foot. So, now, everyone looks at Valkyrie with a sense of awe, seeing how effortlessly she can organize a good time. You remain skeptical, however, suspicious that she’s planned everything in advance.

“This Valkyrie–is she some kind of socialite?” Yelena wonders aloud as the two of you enter the bar. Taking in its classy interior, you can tell almost immediately that reserving the entire area must have come at a hefty price.

You shrug in reply, walking straight to the bar to order a double right away.

Valkyrie hasn’t left Wanda’s side all day after the game. Your only interaction with Wanda so far was when she returned to where you and Yelena sat as your girlfriend tended to your wound. Although she didn't utter a word, a small smile graced her face as she handed the first aid kit to Yelena.

“Are you okay?” Yelena asks, rubbing your shoulder, trying to ease the tension she finds there.

“Just tired,” you answer, knocking down your drink.

“May I have everyone's attention, please?” Valkyrie's voice cuts through the blaring music, drawing everyone’s attention towards her.

“I'd like to take a moment to express my gratitude to each and every one of you for joining us at this event. Your presence is invaluable, and it greatly contributes to the success of this gathering,” she states, and you stifle the urge to roll your eyes. Valkyrie lifts her beer can, prompting everyone else to raise their drinks in unison. “Here's to our courageous participants of this Sunday's NYC Marathon. May you conquer the finish line with strength and surpass your own expectations. Cheers!”

With the toast complete, the assembled crowd joins in, raising their glasses and cheerfully clinking them together. Just like that, the party that Yelena is more amenable to officially begins. 

Yelena mingles with the group of people who have come to support their partners' interests, all sharing a similar confusion about the appeal of waking up early to cover long distances that, typically, should not be covered by foot. You relax at seeing her chat with them animatedly, looking like she’s enjoying herself so far. 

With Yelena occupied, you allow yourself a moment to sulk in a corner of the bar. As you look around the room, you can't help but think about how your lawyer hasn't given you any updates about the counter demand letter. You think about Natasha, who still hasn’t called you back. It makes you feel uneasy, not knowing where things stand.

You try not to think about Wanda, who currently has her head thrown back, laughing at something Valkyrie said. It strikes you that you haven't seen her so carefree in quite some time.

“Hey,” Yelena taps you on the shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Me and some of the girls want to go check out this band playing a couple of blocks away. It won't take long, just a few songs. Is that alright with you?"

“Sure,” you respond. “I'll be ready to leave when you get back.”

“Great,” Yelena replies, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you later.”

You observe Yelena as she happily leaves the venue with her new friends, while you catch the bartender's attention and order another drink.

An hour passes by swiftly, and there is still no sign of Yelena or any message from her. You take a break from alcohol and sip on water, trying to sober up in case Yelena gets back. Shaun tries to engage you in a conversation about World Marathon Majors and his aspirations to qualify for Boston, but your lack of interest is evident, and he eventually excuses himself to join Valkyrie's group. You notice that they are now playing a drinking game, and Wanda receives a shot glass from Valkyrie.

“Truth or drink, Wanda?” Valkyrie teases, hovering a bit too near Wanda for your comfort.

“Truth,” Wanda responds.

“Got anyone you're into at the moment?”

A laugh escapes Wanda, followed by a nervous gulp. “Actually, I think I'll take that drink,” she deflects.

Valkyrie's expression drops, clearly let down by the missed chance to pry into Wanda's love life.  

“Since you dodged the truth, you're up for two shots,” she announces, her lips curled into a roguish smile. Wanda obediently follows, and you observe her wince as she slams back the tequila shots. A delicate flush on her cheeks hints that this isn't their first round.

You remain an onlooker as a series of questions are effortlessly answered by various individuals until Wanda is in the hot seat once again.

“Can I pass? I think I've had enough.” Wanda says.

“Oh, don't quit on me now. We're just warming up.”

Wanda offers a weak smile, then capitulates, “Alright. Just one more round, okay? Uhm, truth.”

Someone from the group throws the question. “Have you ever cheated on someone?”

Wanda's smile evaporates almost immediately. She forces a feeble laugh as she once again backtracks from her initial selection. Her gaze flickers towards you before darting back to Valkyrie, finding you already watching her closely.

“I think I want to drink for this one,” Wanda declares, going ahead to down two more shots in line with the game rules. The group cheers her on while Valkyrie, laughing, refills the emptied shot glasses.

Valkyrie finds herself intrigued. Wanda could've simply said 'no' if she hasn’t. She only becomes more fascinating in Valkyrie’s eyes knowing that she’s not as saintly as she looks.

The game continues, everyone takes their turn and it lands on Wanda once more. This time, she dismisses the drink pushed towards her. “I really should pass this time.” Wanda says.

Yet Valkyrie keeps pushing the drink towards Wanda, seemingly blind to her discomfort. Seeing this, you feel the urge to step in.

“She said no. Didn't you catch that?” you squeeze yourself in between Shaun and another girl who looks stunned at your sudden interjection. “Because I could hear her just fine from way over there,” you add, thumbing back at your former spot, some distance away.

“Chill out, we're just having a good time.” Valkyrie shrugs.

“Fucking respect her boundaries, okay? She’s had enough. And she has good reasons to avoid it, trust me.” you assert, your eyes narrowing slightly as you emphasize your point.

Almost immediately, Wanda stands, her lips clenched and her face flushed with annoyance.

“I’m gonna go get some air,” Wanda says to no one in particular. 

“Need me to come along?”

“Just stay here, Val, okay?” Wanda interjects, her voice softer as she deftly maneuvers past you.

Your heartbeat quickens as you trail after her.

“Wanda, wait!” you shout, pushing through the crowd.

She pays no heed, her steps resounding heavily as she marches on. Her shoulders are stiff, her movements terse. You can almost sense the anger radiating off her like a dark halo. Chasing after her, you weave through the throng of nosy people who are all looking at you openly, as they watch the commotion continue to unfold before their eyes. 

A second later, the door shuts behind you, effectively muffling the music from inside.

Wanda has made it a good distance from the pub, her silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. 

“Wanda!” you call out again, your voice softer this time, carrying a note of desperate concern.

At your call, she finally stops.

She stands frozen for a moment before turning to face you. Her face, usually so tender and kind, is etched with an unusual hardness now. 

“Why did you do that?” she asks, her tone unexpectedly steady.

“What are you talking about? It was clear she was pushing you into drinking more than you wanted. I simply backed you up there–for which, by the way, some gratitude wouldn't hurt,” you snap back, irritation seeping into your tone.

Wanda's empty laughter rings out in the quiet night. “You practically just implied to everyone that I have a drinking problem!”

“Don't you?” you hiss through a sneer. “I remember getting a call from the person you cheated on me with because you were almost passed out on the street after a night of excessive drinking.”

Wanda visibly flinches, her body recoiling as though she’s just been slapped. The instant your words escape your lips, remorse floods over you, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. Watching the shock on Wanda’s face slowly shift into a profound sadness only deepens your regret. 

“Wanda–”

"Thank you... for standing up for me earlier. Good night, Y/N." she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. With those words, she turns her back on you and starts to walk away.

You think about stopping her, but you’re too ashamed of yourself to do anything.

For the next few minutes you just stare at the spot where Wanda stood, haunted by the look of hurt on her face. In the distance, Yelena’s unmistakable voice reaches your ears, signaling her return. 

‘Hey, baby!” she slurs, elongating the final syllable, leaving no doubt in your mind that she's drunk.

You approach Yelena, keeping your steps hushed, while she bids farewell to her companions.

“Ready to head home?” you ask in a calm voice.

Yelena's face lights up with enthusiasm as she eagerly nods. Taking her hand into yours, you signal a passing cab.

Later, a little before midnight, your pretense of sleep is broken by the piercing ring of your phone. The truth is, you haven't slept a wink, instead lying still with eyes closed, the happenings of the day replaying ceaselessly in your mind. You pick up the call immediately, taking care not to disturb Yelena's peaceful slumber beside you.

“Y/N?” Wanda's voice comes through the phone, quaking with fear. “I came home and there's… there’s sick all over. Sparky... he's…” Her words fragment into inconsolable sobbing.

“Hey, hey. Just stay calm, okay? I'm on my way," you reassure her before ending the call. You turn to Yelena, sprawled unconscious on the bed. With delicate motions, you snugly wrap the comforter around her and carefully place a pillow under her arm that was previously draped over you. You plant a kiss on her temple before dressing up quickly to meet Wanda.

Around 1:30 in the morning, the veterinarian steps out of the examination room to announce that Sparky is now stable. Wanda's eyes are puffy and bloodshot from crying, but she pays careful attention to the doctor’s report on Sparky’s condition. The situation was critical, but thankfully, Sparky has rallied, his vital signs settling back into normal ranges. Despite this, the vet recommends keeping him under observation for an additional 48 hours to ensure his continued recovery.

You settle the bill out of your own credit card and escort a grief-stricken Wanda back to her apartment. You instruct her to get comfortable on the couch as you move around the kitchen and prepare yourselves a cup of tea. As you re-enter the living room, you notice Wanda remains in the same position, her gaze fixed on Sparky's dog bowl, a few kibbles still left untouched.

“Do you remember when Sparky first became a part of our lives?” Wanda asks suddenly.

You nod solemnly, settling down beside Wanda as you hand her her tea. She accepts it gratefully, cradling it in her hands to soak in its comforting warmth. 

“It was on your 25th birthday, and he was my surprise gift for you,” you recall with a hint of nostalgia.

“Your sneaky way of adopting him without telling me,” Wanda retorts, finally managing a small smile.

The fond memory brings a soft chuckle to your lips. Wanda had never been keen on having a pet, especially in your small Manhattan apartment. But Sparky quickly won her over within just a couple of days. She would serenade him with renditions of "You Are My Sunshine" every day for a week, until she eventually grew tired of the song and moved on to another tune to sing to him.

“I always knew that we would outlive him. But it's just too soon,” Wanda sniffles, new tears welling up in her eyes. “He deserves more years. I want him to stay with us for as long as a dog possibly can.”

“Me too,” you sigh. 

Before you know it, you’re gathering Wanda into your arms. She instinctively nestles her face into the crook of your neck, tears dampening your skin. Your hand gently rubs soothing circles on her back, while your other hand softly strokes her hair. In a hushed voice, you whisper reassurances, telling her that everything will eventually be alright.

When Wanda’s trembling subsides, you feel her shift in your arms. And as you begin to lean your head back from where it’s resting on her shoulder, a magnetic force seems to hold you in place, and you find yourself unable to completely let go. Your forehead ends up resting against hers, watching her calm face in silence. Her eyes stay closed a bit longer, and when they eventually flutter open, you're captivated by the most perfect shade of green, and in that moment it becomes perfectly clear to you that you love her and you never stopped.

Not even then.

A hint of worry appears in Wanda’s deep, emerald eyes as she meets yours. “Y/N–” she starts.

But her words get lost as your nose delicately grazes against hers, and your lips find hers in a clandestine kiss.

She responds to your kiss instinctively, and you merge in a manner that's both wonderfully familiar and refreshingly new. Your fingers trace a soft path across her neck before firmly cradling it, eliciting shivers that ripple through Wanda, right to her core.

The need for breath brings an end to the kiss, and you part from Wanda's lip with a slight wet sound. You take in as much air as you can, ready to lean in once more. But before your lips can meet hers again, she gently places a hand on your chest, giving you a gentle push.

“This... this isn't right,” Wanda stammers, pulling herself back from you. The spot on her neck where your hand rested is warm, the embers of your touch still smoldering as she tries to extinguish the fire you had sparked within her. “We can’t do this to Yelena.”

“Wanda, I–”

“You’re better than me,” she reminds you. “I’m sorry.”

It feels as if you're being jolted awake from a surreal dream, and you instinctively distance yourself from Wanda. Her eyes, filled with worry, attempt to meet yours, but you evade her gaze, the gravity of your actions slowly sinking in.

In a heartbeat, you find yourself bolting from her apartment, your feet pounding the pavement beneath as if trying to outrun the harsh reality of what you’ve done. You just betrayed Yelena. You'd just kissed Wanda. And you don’t know what was more frightening: your actions, or the fact that part of you didn't regret it.

In the waning hours before dawn, sleep proves stubbornly out of reach. The lingering taste of Wanda's kiss and the guilt eating at your conscience keeps slumber at bay. You had done to Yelena the very thing that ruined your life. You spent these hours looking at Yelena’s sleeping face, knowing that this may very well be the last few hours you get to be this close to her.  

And just as your eyelids begin to droop, Yelena stirs, slowly waking up.

Yelena hums as she stretches like a cat, and then blinks up at you, a smile already working its way to her lips. Your heart is ringing loudly in your ears by now, making it impossible for you to mirror the delight on your girlfriend's face.

“Hey, is something wrong?” Yelena asks, concern creasing her forehead as her hand lifts to cup your cheek.

“Yelena, I–” Your gaze drops, focusing on the unforgiving reality of the mattress beneath you, avoiding her piercing eyes as you muster the courage to confess. “I… I relapsed–”

“Don’t,” Yelena's voice cuts through your racing thoughts, her intuition already piecing together your next words. "Don't say it."

The silence that looms over your heads is oppressive and suffocating.

“This has gone on for long enough,” Yelena finally declares, her tone resolute. “I have to go.”

“Wait, Yelena–” you stutter, your mind scrambling to string together a sequence of words that might lessen the blow of your betrayal. “Where will you go?”

“Somewhere far away from you,” she replies, her words carrying a frosty undertone.

It stings. And you deserve it.

With that, she gets up and leaves the room, leaving you to the wreckage.