Sweet tooth
*****
Vision loves this world; indeed, he has sacrificed himself more than once (though not always successfully) to keep it and its inhabitants safe and whole. He loves its awe-inspiring grandeur, such as the Himalayas over which he has flown several times, and the vast oceans as blue as the solar gem at the crown of his forehead. He loves the cities he has visited with Wanda, and the others he dreams of seeing someday. And he loves the bits of delight in unexpected places, like the grateful smiles of people he has saved, or the wonder of discovering a hidden Eden in the midst of an otherwise mundane location.
More than anything, Vision loves the quiet beauty of his life, full of moments like this morning, as he lies in bed next to Wanda and watches her slowly awaken. Six years ago, he would’ve insisted this was the best part of every day, full of the grace they had fought so hard to earn after all they had done both good and – in her case, alas – not good at all. However, that was before the surprise pregnancy and arrival of their twins, followed last year by the miracle of their daughter. Now, early mornings are one of many best parts (technically not the correct usage of the superlative, as if he cares) of each day. Moments of joy and pride dot the stretch of time from waking to bedtime, but this is particularly welcome because it is the last bit of peace they will enjoy until the house erupts into its typical chaos.
She rolls over in bed and squints at him, just like every morning. “Welcome to the day, my love,” Vision murmurs, and she sleepily rolls her eyes, muttering something about wanting – no, requiring – a few more minutes of sleep. He shakes his head. “Best get up now if you want any time with the children before you have to leave for your mission.”
“Don’t wanna go,” she slurs. “One of the newbies can take over for me. Maybe Kate. She’s better at kicking ass than I am these days.”
“I seriously doubt that is the case.” To punctuate his point, he slides his arm around to grope her truly impressive ass, and she rolls her eyes again, though with a smirk.
“Fiiiiiine.” Wanda stumbles out of bed, and Vision follows. Once upon a time, they would’ve both performed their morning ablutions and dressed themselves manually, in a bit of self-delusion that they were a perfectly normal couple. That was before three children, though, and now they are both washed and dressed in an instant, thanks to phasing and a red-tinged snap of her fingers. And thus the day begins.
While she goes to the baby’s room to nurse their 11-month-old daughter, he enters the boys’ room, where they are still asleep. Billy senses his presence immediately – already with a nascent tinge of his inherited powers – while Tommy burrows under the covers. “Good morning, my sons,” Vision proclaims. Billy grins and gets himself dressed with an impressive eye for choosing clothes that actually match. Tommy, on the other hand, sleepily insists that he wants to put his Halloween costume back on. “The holiday is over, Thomas,” he attempts to explain, but his logic is met with, “I don’t care.” Vision weighs whether to insist then decides to indulge the boy, just this once. (Well, not just this once, as he can almost hear Wanda’s bemused chiding that he spoils them.)
They proceed to the kitchen, where he reheats the mini-quiches that he’d baked for the kindergarten Halloween party yesterday morning. As the boys eat breakfast, Vision notices both his sons eyeing the bounty of candy in plastic pumpkins atop the refrigerator. In an attempt to stave off the requests he knows are incipient, he says, “If you finish your chores and are very good boys, you may have some candy after lunch.”
“Thanks, daddy,” Billy chirps. His twin grumbles, “I want some now,” but does not press the issue. Indeed, by the time they’ve consumed their quiches and orange juice, the candy appears to have been forgotten. Unfortunately, five years of parenthood have taught him that the whining request will likely resurface at inopportune times throughout the day.
Squeals of “Mommy!” announce Wanda’s arrival in the kitchen. In a well-practiced motion, she hands over Vivian to him just in time for the onslaught of the boys’ tacklehugs. As he rummages through the pantry for a jar of baby food, he listens to the three of them chatter about the plans for the day, which involve the park, cartoons, and, of course, leftover Halloween candy. Vision feeds the baby solids while his wife scurries around the small house, gathering her overnight bag and assorted other items for the New Avengers’ mission she is about to undertake. All the while, she maintains her cheerful, maternal demeanor, albeit with an air of sadness at her incipient separation from the family.
(Though melancholy is never welcome, Vision remembers the months of postpartum depression after the twins’ birth, repeated after Vivian’s arrival. The pervasive fear that they would be taken or harmed, by either accident or a resurgence of the darkness in her past… along with the more human concerns that she would not be enough for their children. As much as he tried to convince her otherwise, those months had been so very difficult, to put it mildly. But they had muddled and forced their way through to the other side, discovering how full of joy and comfort it was. And yes, successful. She has become an amazing mother, and he likes to think he’s doing fairly well too. After enduring all that, a bit of sadness this morning is quite fine with him, because the reunion will be all the sweeter.)
An hour and twenty-three hugs later, Wanda departs, with a heartfelt “see you on Thursday!” and an admonition that there had better still be some candy left when she comes home.
Now it is just Vision and his three children.
Holding Vivian, he walks over to the television and initiates the streaming service with the cartoons that the boys like. Yes, he is fully aware – and has read enough parenting blogs to reassure him of such – that screen time for five-year-olds is not necessarily harmful provided that it is well-regulated, but he still feels a scintilla of guilt at letting them sprawl on the sofa cushions out of which they have constructed a pillow flotilla. Vivvy needs a bath, and the house could certainly do with some tidying-up.
Three episodes in, it begins.
“Daddy, can I have some candy?”
Without looking over at Tommy, Vision fastens the baby’s diaper and says, “Remember what I told you earlier? Not until after lunch.”
“But I want some.”
You can’t always get what you want remains unvoiced in his head. Instead, he replies, “It will be all the sweeter if it is a reward for good behavior.”
“That’s no fun.” Billy this time, which is a surprise since he is usually the more compliant twin.
Even Vivian gets in on the act, looking up at him with her wide green eyes and a pout on her cherub’s-bow lips. Lovely. He has already begun to suspect she will be, as they say, a handful when she gets older. He cannot wait to experience it.
Checking his internal clock, he determines that since it is nearly noon, he can maintain his disciplinary plans while allowing them to believe that he is acquiescing. “Let’s take our lunch to the park for a picnic. I shall allow each of you to select three pieces of candy for your dessert.”
A cheer erupts from the twins, who run to the refrigerator and hop up and down as if they could reach up to the top. Billy frowns in deepest concentration, small fists opening and closing in mimicry of his mother’s preparation for flight. Oh, dear. He and Wanda have decided that, despite the hints of their sons’ inherited abilities, they will delay any manifestation as long as humanly (or synthezoidally) possible, or at least until they are preteens. “Patience, boys,” he instructs, placing Vivian in her high chair then hovering over to retrieve the plastic pumpkins from their perch atop the appliance.
Soon, Billy has selected three mini Snickers bars, while Tommy chooses sour candies, the appeal of which is entirely lost on Vision, even without his inability to consume them. Billy insists that his sister should have candy as well, despite Vision’s reminders over the past few days that sweets are not appropriate for babies. After a few more pouts, he lets Billy grab one more chocolate that will most likely end up in his belly instead of his sister’s.
The trek to the park two blocks away goes quite well, with a minimum of pleas to skip lunch and go straight to dessert. Along the way, he hands each child a plastic bag to collect the leftover detritus from the neighborhood’s Halloween celebrations last night – one of the aforementioned chores that his sons must complete before candy.
The sight of the playground makes the boys temporarily forget about sugar. While they sprint toward the monkey bars, Vision commandeers the last empty picnic table and angles the stroller toward the equipment, so that Vivian can watch her brothers. Fortunately, she doesn’t seem interested in joining, unlike her recent attempts to play with them despite her inability to stand upright without assistance. He pulls out his phone and takes two snapshots that he texts to Wanda, who replies with an abundance of heart emojis and a promise to do a FaceTime call once the quinjet has landed in Oslo.
Vision settles himself as comfortably as one can on a wooden bench and smiles with a bit of pride at how well he has handled the morning thus far. Not that he is one of those fathers who demands praise at doing the tasks a father should do, of course. Since the completion of Wanda’s maternity leave after the twins’ birth, they have shared both parenting and Avengers duties equally, though if he were to quantify their respective hours on the former, the total would skew slightly in his favor. He does enjoy being a hero, which is certainly worthwhile; however, he will admit to anyone who asks that he prefers this job to the other. For a synthezoid who was never technically meant to have children, this feels like it was his unexpected destiny all along.
Still, it’s a bit disheartening from a sociological perspective that, as often happens when he accompanies his family to the park, the mothers here give him looks as if they’re amazed that a father would be the caregiver. At least most of the faces here today are familiar; they are well aware that he and Wanda are Avengers, and – as far as he can tell – they accept and welcome the Maximoffs as neighbors. Even so, he’d changed into his human guise upon leaving the house a half-hour ago. Good call, as there are a few unfamiliar faces here in the park. He’d rather not deal with the rigamarole of explaining himself.
The boys look over and wave at him from the swingset, and Vision waves back. They seem content, but Vision knows he has approximately seven more minutes before they return and demand (politely, since he’s raising them that way) lunch and candy. Of course Vivian chooses that moment to begin fussing. He holds out a bottle, from which she shies away. It is not time for a diaper change, so she must want out. He eases her out of the stroller, but she kicks her legs in the sign of let me stand up. “Alright, dear,” he replies in all seriousness, and holds her under her arms as her feet hit the ground. She looks up at him with a toothy grin, all of her prior angst forgotten.
Yes, these are the moments he treasures most.
Except… when he eases his grip to allow her to stand with support, she takes a step. Then another. Away from him. On her own.
Baby’s first steps.
Of course his first emotions are utter elation and pride, but those are quickly joined by the realization that Wanda is not here to witness it. Uh-oh. Another parenting dilemma presents itself: allow her this milestone, or stop her and hope that she does not attempt to walk again until her mother returns home. Ah, but Vivvy looks so utterly delighted, and who is he to deny her that? With a quick glance over at the swings to make sure the boys have not witnessed it (they would tattle the news to their mommy at first opportunity), Vision indulges his daughter by clapping at her accomplishment, then soothes her when she promptly falls on her behind. He scoops her up and cuddles her oh-so-tightly and murmurs, “Don’t tell your mama, alright?”
They share a conspiratorial smile, which Vivian will likely forget within the minute, if she understands at all. (She does not. He adores her.)
The next half-hour proceeds as originally planned, with the boys scarfing down their ham-and-cheese sandwiches and veggie straws, while Vivian plays on the blanket without attempting another toddle. Of course Tommy demands his sour candies, and of course his first bite results in an adorably puckered face. Billy, on the other hand, flinches away from the chocolate treats that Vision has proffered. “They’re haunted.”
Well, that’s a new one. “Why would you say that? It’s simply chocolate.”
“Tommy says there’s ghosts inside the wrapper.”
Vision gives his other son a pointed look and is met with feigned innocence. “I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did!”
“Thomas, did you tell a lie so that you could have your brother’s candy?”
“No.” Yes.
Vision is an Avenger. He has a preternatural ability to solve any problem. This should be no different. As his mind searches the internet for parenting tips to resolve this issue, his youngest (by four minutes) son presents a solution.
“Daddy, if you eat one, the ghosts will go away.”
Vision sighs. It makes perfect sense according to five-year-old logic and would be entirely reasonable were Daddy not a synthezoid. Sotto voce, he reminds his son, “I cannot eat food.”
“I know, but just this once?”
The trouble with parenting very clever children is that they are aware that his resolve is no match for their wide eyes and plaintive requests. And, to be fair, his inability to consume food is technically just a theory that has never been tested (not even that plate of chocolate-covered strawberries during his and Wanda’s honeymoon.) What would be the harm? If the chocolate, caramel, and nougat present any physiological complications, then he can simply phase them out of his body. No harm, no foul, and at least it would reassure his worried child.
So, to the rather concerning delight on his children’s – yes, including Vivian’s – faces, he unwraps the Snickers and pops it into his mouth.
There. Parenting problem solved. He sits back, letting the chocolate settle on his tongue. Not bad. The children are happy, and Billy reaches for the other piece of candy. All is well with four-fifths of the Maximoff family, thanks to a small piece of chocolate. What’s the worst that could happen?
*****
To be continued on day 24.