Rainy day
*****
As with so many things regarding Wanda, it began with a kiss.
The weekend of October 8, 2017, they celebrated their first anniversary in Nova Scotia. It was her first time back on the North American continent since the Avengers’ schism, and although Halifax was 918 kilometers from the compound, Vision almost felt like he was welcoming her home. He flew up under the cover of night, arriving at their Airbnb in the suburbs eleven hours before she was due. The morning was spent in preparation, shifting into his human guise for a trip to the supermarket to procure the foods and toiletries she liked. Then he drove the rented car (loath to risk detection by flying himself, of course) to the clearing in the woods where the quinjet dropped her off. He greeted her with a kiss as a bemused Ms. Romanoff rolled her eyes.
Of course the remainder of that Friday was spent in bed… and the shower… and the kitchen counter, with Wanda quipping that upon departure she could just magic away the mess to avoid the cleaning fees. Saturday began with a breakfast she claimed was the best she’d ever had, despite what he knew were his still-negligible cooking skills. They ventured out to a farm where they could pick their own apples, surrounded by fall foliage. An afternoon stroll along the waterfront followed, along with a visit to the Maritime Museum, which he found fascinating and she pretended to enjoy. Once they returned to their rented cabin, their clothes and disguises came off and, well, they partook in activities that were not in any Nova Scotia guidebooks.
Sunday dawned overcast and chilly. Their Airbnb was a short walk into town, where they rambled aimlessly and ignored the weight of knowing it was their last full day together until they could steal another visit. Over lunch at a charming cafe, he suggested a trip to the Citadel, while she winked in a way that indicated she’d rather cozy up with him in bed. Well, who was Vision to deny her that? Still, they took their time strolling the five kilometers back to their temporary home, past shops and car dealerships and secondary schools. All the while, he noticed the sly glances Wanda gave him. When they entered a neighborhood, she suddenly stopped and pulled him down into a heated kiss that chased away the chilly wind.
Then, as the tip of his tongue traced the shell of her ear, the heavens opened up. Although the wind should have been a warning – along with the weather forecast he’d checked in his mind – he was taken aback by the utter deluge. They pulled apart, staring at each other with wide eyes, and she began to laugh. Drops of water coursed down her nose, and she had never been more adorable. “How far is the cabin?” she asked, the rain nearly smothering the sound of her words.
He opened his mouth to say that they had two more kilometers to go, and of course they could not risk flying there. Before he could do so, though, she glanced past him and shouted, “C’mon.”
Less than a minute later, they stood on the porch of a house with a “For Sale” sign out front. The front door opened, revealing a young man with a clipboard. A realtor, most likely. Open-mouthed, he stared at them then blurted out, “Are you here for the open house?”
Without missing a beat, Wanda grinned and said, “Yes, my husband and I are planning to move to this neighborhood.”
“Oh! Excellent. Um…,” the young man disappeared for a moment then returned with two fluffy towels. “The owners have already moved out, so it’s no big deal.”
The towels didn’t help much, but they got rid of the worst of the rain. As they followed the man – who introduced himself as Clive – into the living room, Wanda whispered, “Your hair is wet.”
Grimacing, Vision brought the towel to his head and wondered if he could phase away the water without Clive noticing. But his beloved took the towel from him and said, “Don’t. It’s cute.”
He loved her madly.
For the next half-hour, they toured the house, as Wanda spun a tale of how she was a yoga instructor and her husband was captain of a lobster boat (“I’ll bet you look cute in a sailor suit,” she whispered in his ear). Vision found himself swept along in the story, offering likely-incorrect details of their careers and their home back in Toronto. When Clive opened the door of what appeared to be a nursery, he asked, “Do you two plan on having kids?”
It was a natural question for a realtor to ask, but Vision forced back a flinch. He and Wanda had not yet discussed that, much less marriage, and he suddenly feared that either answer might disrupt the still-nebulous equilibrium of their relationship. However, without hesitating, Wanda said, “Oh, definitely. We want at least two girls and two boys. Right, sweetheart?”
“Of course, darling.”
As the showing drew to a close, he turned the idea over and over in his head. It remained there when they walked back to the Airbnb in rain that had lightened to a drizzle. And when they made love that afternoon and night and the next morning, each touch and gasp felt portentous, as if they were on the cusp of something amazing. Despite all the reasons why it was impossible, he let himself get carried away by the fantasy and the woman whom he was now more certain than ever was the love of his life.
*****
Thus, the plan began.
Vision had begun drawing a salary in July 2015, two months after his creation. He was only vaguely aware of the impetus for this; to be honest, he suspected the full truth would discolor his opinions of several of the people involved. From what he could gather, Mr. Stark had every intention of continuing to treat him as the intellectual and physical property of the Stark Corporation; indeed, that remained his legal status even now. However, heated words were exchanged between Ms. Potts and Mr. Stark, followed by similar arguments and less-heated appeals from the other Avengers who’d begun to perceive Vision as a person rather than an entity. His owner (such a distasteful term, albeit correct) finally acceded to providing Vision with an annual salary commensurate with what his colleagues earned, minus the humans’ deductions for taxes. Vision did not have a human resources file or a Social Security number, but he earned an income nonetheless.
For the most part, the salary accrued in a bank account under Ms. Potts’ name for legal purposes. Vision seldom had any need to withdraw from it, given that he had no bills to pay or food and clothes to buy. Over the past year, the balance grew to a rather impressive amount, though with various debits related to the expenses of treating Wanda like a queen during their international dalliances. He was far from wealthy by any measure, but he had enough to put his plan into motion.
Upon returning from Nova Scotia, Vision purchased a laptop computer that would not be subject to Stark Industries or United Nations surveillance. Yes, he could simply perform all the research and calculations in his head, but something about the physical task appealed to him.
Other thoughts were in his head: a deed with his and Wanda’s names, a ring on her finger, a backyard with space for a swingset. Things that were never meant for a being such as him, but they were as enticing as Wanda herself. As he opened the laptop in the deserted compound, Vision let those thoughts fill the empty spaces around him. And he began to research. Zillow, realtor.com, mortgage calculators. The ideal number of bedrooms. Open-plan or traditional. Townhouse vs. condominium vs. single-family dwelling. A brand-new home was most convenient, but fixer-uppers held a certain appeal. He remembered all the afternoons spent binge-watching HGTV with Wanda, and he attempted to organize those memories into a data set that would provide the answer to the most important question: What would Wanda want?
That was the most difficult aspect of the entire enterprise: despite all their conversations both here in the compound pre-schism and later in European bed-and-breakfasts and Asian safehouses, he had no firm idea of her preferences.
Or, to be frank, if she even truly wanted a home with him.
There was the rub.
When they reunited in Bermuda in early November, a late-season storm keeping them from the beach, Vision watched her sleep (naked and sated and beautiful) and debated whether to inform her of his plan. Her feedback would certainly be beneficial; however, the romantic streak she elicited in him made him want to keep it a surprise. He trailed a finger down the curve of her hip and pictured the two of them in Sweden for her birthday next February. Him dropping to one knee on the steps of a snowy chalet, presenting her with a diamond ring and a property deed. He allowed himself to get a bit carried away by the mental images; then she awoke and reached for him, and more carnal desires chased away every thought but her.
Vision was in love. His existence was eternal in an ephemeral world. He wanted permanence with her.
*****
The plan came to fruition on what was better known as April Fool’s Day. Rather appropriate, given the vicissitudes of their relationship. Vision smiled to himself as he opened the door of Ms. Potts’ office.
He’d spent the winter making T-charts and Venn diagrams and all manner of graphic organizers on his laptop, as if he couldn’t have simply created an algorithm to solve the equation of their future home. Pros and cons. Flow charts of the processes of buying the property and Wanda’s potential reactions. After much deliberation – the length of which he would deem absurd were this not such a monumental decision – he chose… well, not to choose.
Vision inspected dozens of places with Kacie Montez, a realtor who was fully aware of the truth of his existence and legal limitations, though he maintained his human disguise in public for obvious reasons. Every cabin, condo, and cottage they toured looked both right and not at all. While he had an affinity for an urban environment, he suspected Wanda would prefer the opposite. He and Ms. Montez ventured out into the suburbs then beyond.
Westview, New Jersey, had not been on his proverbial radar. It was too far from the city and, if the Accords were ever repealed and Wanda could return to a so-called normal life, it would be an unreasonable commute to the Avengers’ compound, even with their ability to fly. The town was not particularly quaint nor memorable. The environs were pleasant but not picturesque. Still, as he stood in the town square, waiting while Ms. Montez took a call, he looked around and realized something about it simply felt right.
Instead of choosing a house from the handful that were available for purchase, something ineffable told him not to choose at all. Leave it open to Wanda in that rose-tinted future where they could literally build it together, designing a floor plan and decor and landscaping to their own (well, mostly Wanda’s because this was all for her) tastes. So he asked his realtor to initiate the process of buying the plot of land at 2800 Sherwood Drive. The street name felt like kismet, thanks to memories of reading aloud from a compilation of the tales of Robin Hood while Wanda drifted off to sleep.
Yes, it would do nicely.
Therefore, on April 1st, he walked into Ms. Potts’ office, where she and Ms. Montez were waiting for him. In his hand was a cashier’s check for the purchase price, which was merely a fraction of his rainy day savings. Indeed, rain began to fall outside of the windows on the 73rd floor of Stark Tower. Again, kismet.
An hour later, he descended the elevator and back out into the city, the deed folded neatly in his suit jacket pocket. He had no other plans for the day – no missions to undertake or conferences with his dwindling number of Avengers colleagues. So, he simply began to walk down 5th Avenue, toward Central Park.
Vision pictured the look on Wanda’s face when he would tell her during their upcoming reunion in Scotland. He imagined her shock and joy and kisses. Then his flights of fancy skipped ahead to the future that felt so possible despite the earthbound reasons why it should not. A future with paying a mortgage and choosing a floor plan and shopping for furniture. Weekend afternoons with barbecues for their fellow Avengers and the friends they might make in Westview. Pulling the car out of the garage for their commute to work, or maybe even flying if there came a day when it wouldn’t attract stares. And yes, perhaps a swingset in the backyard.
He walked and dreamt and planned, with the future folded in his pocket.
*****