... at first sight
*****
Three years ago, home was a cellar apartment in Novi Grad that was always damp and loud and rat-infested. Technically two bedrooms, but one of them didn’t have a window and was really just a closet. Their “beds” were mattresses on the floor, which was a good thing since it meant Wanda didn’t have to listen to the rhythmic squeak of springs whenever Pietro brought home his latest hookup. It made the apartment they grew up in (still a pile of rubble all those years later because Sokovia wasn’t exactly motivated to redevelop the land) look like goddamn Versailles. But it was theirs. First place they’d actually had to themselves, after all that time in the orphanage then squatting then a few months on the streets then friends’ sofas and so on ad fucking infinitum. Of course, they were also on the verge of eviction, since her job at the laundromat barely paid enough for food, much less rent, and her idiot twin lost yet another job and hadn’t bothered to find another. Even so, it was home.
Three months ago, home was the HYDRA fortress. Acquiring powers that turned them into Strucker’s golden children meant an upgrade from the dormitories to their own rooms. Bars on the windows since, hey, fortress, but the bedrooms were clean and well-lit and had actual beds. Sure, that still meant squeaky bedsprings thanks to Pietro’s active lovelife, but at least she got back at him with her own squeaks when she was in the mood to take one of the other volunteers to bed. Agniezka, the boss’s assistant, even let Wanda choose her own duvet cover from the IKEA catalogue (deep blood red, natch.) The whole setup wasn’t “home”, but it wasn’t terrible. After all she’d been through, Wanda would take it.
Three days ago, home was room 2314 at the Marriott Marquis in Times Square. Technically still is, at least for another week. She is an Avenger now, but Tony fucking Stark and his gang don’t have a clue what to do with her, so they’ve stuck her in a suite until construction was done on the new compound upstate. It’s pretty nice, though. A suite with a bedroom and living room and two huge TVs. Ms. Potts even hooked her up with Netflix. She’s allowed to come and go as she pleases – and she’s been summoned to Stark Tower a few times – but it feels kind of like a prison.
Two and a half months in New York City, but she still hasn’t been to the top of the Empire State Building. Pietro would be so disappointed.
She’s not going to cry over him again. Sure, she probably will tonight, but right now she just wants to get out of here. Maybe even out of the city. And Wanda has an idea of where to go.
So. Two short blocks down 7th Avenue then two long blocks down 43rd Street. Past tourists and office workers who don’t give her a second glance, which is the good thing about New York. When she walks into the lobby of Stark Tower or Avengers Tower or whatever the hell they’re calling it now, the security guards wave her through to the elevators, like they do every time she shows up here. She rides a crowded elevator up up up, and the other people packed in there shy away from her like she’s radioactive but don’t look her in the eye. Typical Americans. When she steps off on the 79th floor, it’s both loud and eerie in that controlled-chaos way she’s become familiar with. She stands there, not sure who she needs to ask… then Vision walks in. Whew.
“How can I help you, Ms. Maximoff?”
She wonders if he’ll ever just call her Wanda. “I want to see the new building.”
He actually blinks. “I beg your pardon?”
“The one they’re building for us to live in.” For a guy - robot - whatever, he is really dense. “I want to go up there and see it.”
He clasps his hands at his waist, like he’s a waiter at some fancy restaurant on TV. “I don’t believe we’re allowed to go there.”
“Why the hell not? They’ve gotta be finished with it by now, since we’re moving in next week. I don’t want to settle in early or anything. I just want to get out of the city. See what it’s like, since I’m going to be cooped up there soon enough.”
Vision tilts his head to the side. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the receptionist staring at them, and when Wanda glares at him, the guy looks away. Back to Vision, whose irises spin like he’s doing a cost-benefit analysis in that mechanical brain of his. Finally, he says, “I suppose that could be arranged. We would likely have to take the helicopter, though, as the quinjet is already reserved for Mr. Stark’s departure to his island tonight.”
“Wait, you’re going with me?”
“I would like to, yes, if you are amenable.”
There’s a look in his eye that is… intriguing as hell. Like he might actually be capable of mischief and secrets. She wants to know more, but she files that away for later, in case it makes him change his mind. Instead, she blurts out, “You can fly, though. So can I.”
He gives her a very different look; this one is almost sarcastic. “Indeed I can, but my prospectus of your abilities indicates that a flight of sixty-two miles is beyond your considerable talents.”
Fair enough. “Okay, fine. Ready to go?”
“Right now?”
“Why not?”
He actually smiles. Just a little bit. “After you, then.”
Before she knows it, they’re strapped into a helicopter that rises up above the city. The pilot introduces herself as Captain Oliveira, without giving a first name. At first, Wanda declines the noise-canceling headsets but relents when she realizes just how loud it is. Which is a good thing because she has no idea how to make small talk on a flight. Instead, she stares out the small window at the city. It’s pretty cool. She wonders if she has enough pull yet to request a helicopter tour of Manhattan someday.
Suddenly, there’s Vision’s voice in her ears. “Perhaps we could arrange for you to take a tour one night before the move. Sunset might be nice. I hear the view is magnificent.”
If she weren’t strapped in, Wanda would’ve fallen out of her seat. “What the fuck? Are you reading my thoughts?”
His eyes open wide. “Heavens, no. I wouldn’t dream of such a thing. I merely thought you might be interested.”
Oh. Headset. Intercom. Right. Still weird, though.
Neither of them says anything else as the city gives way to the suburbs and then rolling hills. It’s pretty. Everything below is dark green in the late summer. Soon they’re descending toward a cluster of buildings by the side of a river. It’s massive. It looks like… well, she’s not sure what it looks like, but definitely not a home for human beings. The copter lands on a helipad, and they wait for Captain Oliveira to give them the okay to get out. After all the vibration of the flight, Wanda’s legs feel like noodles when she steps onto the pavement, but she manages to stay steady. Vision reaches over to shake the pilot’s hand and says, “We’ll let you know when we’re ready to depart.”
She gives him a weird look. “Sorry, I’m not used to your voice having a body attached to it.”
Vision just smiles, the way he always does. “Quite understandable. I’m still becoming accustomed to it, myself.”
Something about the way he says it gets under Wanda’s skin, though she doesn’t know why. She’ll have to ask him about it later. Right now, though, she wants to see this place for herself.
When they step into the foyer, she immediately feels chilly – partly because of the blast of air conditioning that Americans are addicted to, but also because it’s just so, well, stark. Figures, given the guy who’s bankrolling it. Everything is either white or chrome, all polished and completely impersonal. Like an office building instead of a home. Shouldn’t be a surprise that Tony Stark would export the city vibe to this lush green meadow, when he could’ve built a cottage or cabin or whatever. But that simply Would Not Do for the Avengers, right? The vibe isn’t helped by Vision chattering beside her about how research & development is down that corridor and tactical operations are up those stairs. Her disappointment must be all over her face, because he stops short and turns to her. “I suppose you’d rather see the living quarters, yes?”
She just nods. As Vision guides her to the aforementioned stairs, various people look up from their cleaning-and-unpacking duties to stare at them. She feels a rush of indignation on Vision’s behalf, because of course they’re not staring at her. She’s just a stupid girl from Sokovia. He, on the other hand, is a ridiculously tall red synthezoid. Shouldn’t be so shocking to these idiots: they must have seen him on TV or in one of his previous visits over the past three months. But still. Ugh. Wanda glares back at them and moves a little bit closer to Vision as he leads her to the second floor.
As they climb, she ignores tact and blurts out, “Don’t you hate the way they – what’s the word? Stare at you with their mouths open, like you’re an elephant instead of a person?”
He doesn’t quite chuckle, but he doesn’t seem upset. “I believe the word you want is ‘gawk’.” Weird word. Sounds as icky as its meaning. “And no, I am not perturbed by their attention. Humans tend to react that way when confronted with things they don’t understand.”
“But you’re not a thing. You’re a person.”
Vision glances over at him with a sincere smile on his face. “Thank you.”
She intended it as a statement of fact instead of a compliment, but she can see why he took it that way. Muttering, “Nie je začo,” she mulls over all these other things she wants to say to him about how he really is a person and that people like the pilot shouldn’t act like he’s still J.A.R.V.I.S., and all that. But those thoughts flutter out of her mind when they reach the end of a corridor and emerge into an open space.
“This is the living room.”
It’s, well, gorgeous. Super-modern and fancy like everything else here, but it’s also different. A tiny bit more homey. A table and chairs. Kitchen. Sofas and a coffee table and a big TV. Wanda can’t quite see herself living here, but she could maybe get used to it. Vision stands there, hands clasped at his waist again, like he’s proud to show it off, which makes her ask, “Did you design it?”
“Me? No. Mr. Stark hired a team of decorators. But I was aware of the plans – if not fully participatory in them – back in my days before… well, before I inhabited this body.”
“You mean before you were born.”
That makes him frown, just a bit. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it, yes.”
What’s the other way of looking at it? she thinks but does not say.
He stands there for a few minutes while she wanders around, checking out the food already stocked in the pantry, testing the plushness of the throw pillows, and critiquing the selection of DVDs. All three rate as not-perfect-but-promising. At least it seems like one of the decorators remembered that people are actually going to live here.
“Would you like to see your bedroom?”
The question startles her; in her curiosity about the living area, she’d almost forgotten he was even there. And then she feels a little bit of guilt about it: considering his background, he probably gets that a lot. So she tries to sound kind as she says, “Sure, that sounds good.”
He leads her down yet another corridor to a doorway and stops. “Your hand, Ms. Maximoff.”
“Wanda,” she mutters. Okay, that’s weird. Does he want to hold her hand? He’s a nice guy, and pretty damn hot, she must admit, but she’d never gotten those vibes from him. Sure, maybe someday, after they get to know each other a hell of a lot better, but —
He coughs slightly. “The door locks are activated by your palm print.”
“Oh.” Now she just feels stupid. Nothing new about that. She’s probably blushing bright red as she presses her hand to the glass panel, which beeps. The door opens, and….
This is her bedroom?
Wanda isn’t sure whether to be impressed or disappointed. It’s not bad. Really, it isn’t. Tons of natural light through the windows, which is a big change from those basement flats and dungeons she’d lived in back home. There’s a TV and a bed with a gray duvet and more throw pillows. Shelves with trinkets she’s never seen before. It’s fancy. Like something in a movie or magazine.
Behind her, Vision says in a bone-dry voice, “Although the designers Mr. Stark hired are considered the best in their field, they clearly did not design with you in mind.”
“Huh?”
He steps forward and points toward the three crosses hanging high on the wall. “Your family is Jewish, yes?”
Oh. “Um, Papa was. My mother was Orthodox. Pietro and I weren’t really either one, except on high holy days.” Images float into her mind of Mama singing Christmas carols and Papa fastening a yarmulke to his head. But she squeezes her eyes shut to force them away, because otherwise she’ll cry and she really doesn’t want to do that right now.
“Well, if you are not bothered, then I suppose I should not be either.” Even though she doesn’t know him that well, it’s such a typically Visionish thing to say that it sloughs away the sad thoughts in her brain.
Wanda takes a step toward the crosses. “I mean, it’s stupid, yeah, but I can take them down. They’re kind of pretty, though. I don’t know.” There’s this weird part of her that feels guilty for criticizing the design choices, like she doesn’t have a right. “The decorators did a good job overall, I guess.”
There’s a hint of a smile on Vision’s face. “As I’ve heard Mr. Wilson say, ‘bless their hearts.’”
She blinks. Vision being sarcastic? Huh. Very interesting. That finally makes her smile a little.
She starts to sit on the edge of the bed then steps back. “Am I even allowed to sit down?”
“I am under the impression that since this is meant to be your bedroom, you are welcome to do whatever you please.”
Something about the way he says it makes her smile turn into a laugh. “You mean I could trash this place?” For effect, she smirks and tosses a throw pillow straight at him. In a faint flash of golden light, it phases right through him and lands on the floor. She makes a show of rolling her eyes. “You’re weird.”
He matches her smirk. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Wanda finally does sit down. Comfy bed. Really soft duvet. And it hits her that even though the design choices are impersonal – like they googled “What should a 26-year-old woman’s bedroom look like?” – all this is for her. Wow. Her family’s tiny apartment and the orphanage and the friends’ couches and the HYDRA fortress… they’ve all led to this. A gorgeous bedroom in a luxurious compound surrounded by rolling green hills. All for Wanda Maximoff.
She lets that sink in for a moment.
Vision still stands there, hands clasped behind him, like he’s a butler or something. The moment feels heavy again, and she doesn’t want that. So she finally stands up and announces, “Let’s go find your room.”
He blinks. “I do not have one.”
“Huh?”
“I do not require sleep, nor do I have any personal effects. Plus, the building was designed before my existence, so accommodations were not included in the overall plan.”
The quick rush of indignation in her gut is welcome after that maudlin thoughts she’d been having, so she stands up. “Okay, that’s ridiculous. You deserve your own room.”
He tilts his chin in a way that she thinks might someday become really endearing. “Really, Wanda, it is quite alright.”
“No, it’s not.” Reaching for her phone, she adds, “And you finally called me ‘Wanda’.”
“Was that overstepping? My apologies.”
“Shut up.” But she flashes him a grin then opens her texting app. Scrolling through the contacts, she finds the one name she hasn’t dared to text until now, and she taps out to Tony Stark, “Vision needs a bedroom.”
Within five seconds, there’s a reply. “who the fuck is this”
Wanda just laughs and laughs. It fills every part of her body, making her feel light and almost even happy. She flops back on her bed and looks over at the sunlight streaming through the windows.
It’s not home yet. Maybe it will be someday. Whatever the case, it’s safe and beautiful, and after all the other places she’s lived, most of which didn’t deserve to be called “home”, she’ll take it.
*****