"Did you plan for this to happen?"
Wanda drags herself down the hallway, grumbling under her breath about authority or whatever. She’s glad she’s an Avenger. Really. But sometimes, it feels more like a workplace than a group of friends and, to an extent, she guesses that’s probably better. Teams where people have soft spots for each other make them all more vulnerable. Wanda herself has gone into risky situations countless times because of Pietro, either to follow him or to protect him, and that might lead to trouble fighting evil aliens and the like.
And that’s not to say she doesn’t have soft spots, but it makes sense not to encourage them. Besides, her main soft spot wouldn’t lead her astray or put her in danger, so it’s a moot point and—
Nope, she reminds herself. Not the time. It’s not daydreaming hour quite yet. (Wanda lets herself run away with her imagination a bit before bed, though sometimes she worries it’ll make the inevitable disappointment all the more difficult, but… it’s nice to dream.)
Steve asked her to get some confidential documents from Vision’s desk, since Vision is away on a mission and apparently Cap thought it’d be most appropriate to send Wanda to rummage through his desk since she’s the only person who can get in. The fancy security measures require a 5-digit code to get into the Compound bedrooms, which Tony and Steve said was supposed to help everyone feel like they had actual privacy. Right. She’d rather not go through Vision’s things, but… a directive is a directive, and she’s not trying to argue with the team too much.
She lets herself into his room and she has every intention of being in and out.
There’s a note on his desk, which is otherwise clear of papers and clutter. Great. Easy retrieval.
Except, when she goes to pick it up, it has her name written on it in bold, neat script. She figures he meant for her to read it, since he did know they’d need this report, so… she sits down at his desk chair.
***
Wanda,
I must admit, it feels remarkably silly to write you a letter. You are quite literally a mere three minute leisurely walk from my desk right now, and I could easily go and say all of this to you in person. Well, “easily” in the logistical sense. Emotionally, that is the most overwhelming idea I’ve entertained in my entire life, so I’ll refrain. For now. Perhaps for always.
It’s odd. The swell of anxiety I experience around you isn’t entirely unpleasant. In fact, it’s quite enjoyable. Maybe it isn’t even anxiety—maybe this is what they describe as “butterflies” in the television shows we’ve watched. It’s an inexplicable fluttering. My organs don’t typically react to stimuli the way that human organs do, but there’s something about you that gives my body and mind new meaning. I might even go so far as to say that you give my spirit new meaning, should I believe in such a thing as a spirit or a soul. I am starting to. That, too, is a gift you have given me.
I’m not explaining this well, but I don’t think there are words to accurately describe what you inspire in me. And (though I cannot believe I am saying this—or, more accurately, writing this) perhaps I’d like it to remain inarticulable. The experience of something so utterly ineffable yet mundane is so human. I want to know more about what it feels like to want something in a way that changes the very functionality of your heart itself. It quickens. It yearns. And I believe I may be in love with you.
You’re my best friend, Wanda, so I hesitate to disrupt the beauty of our existing relationship. It feels fragile, but it also feels durable. That is a contradiction. I am experiencing contradictions and it is exhilarating. My feelings don’t make sense and I adore every second of it, no matter how improbable it is that those feelings are reciprocated.
What does it mean to be in love, rather than to love someone? I ask myself this often. I want to touch you, to be close to you. I want to reach for you in ways that are unique to lovers—-for a kiss, for steadiness, for comfort, for the sheer joy of perhaps one day sleeping beside you and holding you reflexively, as proof that I love you so thoroughly that I yearn for you even whilst unconscious. More than that, however, I want to know you. I want to be close to every detail of you, Wanda. Even the parts that frighten you, or that cause you to believe you’re unlovable. Grief and despair and nervousness aren’t tangible things, but I’d like to hold yours nonetheless. I’d like to participate in your joy and experience your laughter. We already do many of these things, so I am unsure what precisely it means to be in love. It is more than physical attraction (though there is… a lot of that), but I can’t explain what it is. Maybe it’s that I’d like to build a life intertwined with yours. I can’t say for certain what it is that love is composed of, but I am certain that it flourishes within me.
Hm. This is quite melodramatic. It’s all true, as well. Emotions are incredibly odd and vulnerability is mortifying, but I’d like to spend a thousand lifetimes mortifying myself in order to become known to you. I wonder what it’d be like to bare my whole self and be loved in return. (That is not to say that you don’t do that as a friend. I don’t mean any offense. I simply… well, I simply feel that romantic love seems different, somehow.)
I don’t think this feeling is mutual, and that’s alright. The joy of getting to be in love with you is itself enough to sustain me for an eternity. I am foolishly hoping that we will be together, but I would like to be your best friend regardless. I desperately hope I don’t ruin that.
I love you, Wanda.
Love and love and love and love and love,
V
P.S. — oh, what a remarkable feeling it is to write that word. I’ll whisper it to myself forever. I love you. Love. Love. I feel like I’m becoming myself.
***
The bottom half of the letter is scattered with tears, which Wanda quickly blots with her sleeve. She’d rather ruin the shirt than lose any letter of this note.
This is the sweetest way Wanda can imagine becoming loved, though she does wish he were nearby enough that she could kiss him immediately. God, he’s perfect. And Wanda never thought she’d be good enough for him. Well, she still doesn’t believe she’s good enough for him, but she is pleasantly shocked that he feels this way about her.
Wanda’s musing is cut short by a knock at the door.
“Wanda?” Steve asks from the other side, startling her a little. “Are you having trouble finding the report?”
“Sorry! Um, yeah.” Wanda folds Vision’s note and shoves it in her pocket before scrambling to open the door. “Yeah, I don’t know where it could be.”
“Hm,” Steve says. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Uh, sure,” she shrugs.
Steve steps past her and opens the top drawer. Wanda didn’t look in any drawers. Wanda didn’t look anywhere. Wanda just became herself.
Steve pulls the report from the top of the very first drawer and hums to himself, eyebrow quirked up somewhat amusedly.
“Huh,” Wanda lies. “Guess I miscalculated how well he’d try to hide a confidential report.”
“Sure,” Steve smiles slightly. “Let’s get back to the group.”
Wanda sighs to herself and follows him out of Vision’s room, but she feels like she’s glowing.
***
The rest of the day moves painfully slowly. Vision and Sam are supposed to be back a little after midnight, and Wanda is having a hard time waiting. At ten, she showers. She frets over an outfit, which she never does, but she wants something cute and something a little sexy and something comfortable but something that seems very quintessentially Wanda, too. She finds a maroon t-shirt and a black skirt that’s, uh, easy to take off but not so short that it seems like she’s trying to seduce him—she’s just open to the possibility of seduction, is all. Honestly, she wanted to be with him before she even realized that was a possibility, but Vision wrote that he’s attracted to her and that’s a thrilling prospect.
At eleven, she goes up to his bedroom and perches on his bed. Just in case he’s early, of course. But Vision and Sam notoriously run missions that end precisely when they say they will, so it’s unlikely. Then again, it was also unlikely that her best-friend-turned-huge-crush would write her a love letter, so… anything’s possible.
But Vision is consistent and he phases into his room at precisely midnight. He looks surprised. Wanda had gone over her plan for his arrival in her head about a thousand times—-welcome him home, say she got his letter, and confess that she loves him, too. All of the plans melt away the second she sees him. His eyes flit to the desk and he looks like he’s about to say something, but Wanda practically runs to him. She pulls him down into a kiss before he can even put his backpack down.
Vision flails a little because he’s adorable and perfect. Wanda smiles against his mouth and he feels perfect. She feels like she’s floating. He takes a few beats, but he eventually wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close. She swears she could melt into him.
When she pulls back, she looks into his eyes, wide and blue and beautiful. He looks surprised and a little dazed, which is an expression she’s never seen in him before. It’s cute. It’s hot. It’s perfect. He’s perfect. Fuck.
At the exact same time, they both start talking.
“Why did you do that?” Vision stammers.
“I love you, too,” Wanda says.
“What?” They say in unison.
“I got your letter,” Wanda says, furrowing her brow. “I thought I’d be here when you return so that you wouldn’t spend any time worrying about how I’d react.”
“Oh my god,” Vision replies.
“What? You’re the one that left me that note. I thought you knew I’d have to come in for the report and I’d assumed… wait, did you plan for this to happen?”
“You… you read the note? The one on my desk?”
Wanda bites her lip and nods, suddenly very unsure if that was the right decision.
“And… you… and you’re reacting like this?”
“Yes,” she says. “But I thought you meant for me to read it. I thought you’d left it here for me. I didn’t realize… I’d never read through your personal things, Vis. I’m so sorry.”
“I—I appreciate the apology on principle, but, well, admittedly, I, er… I’m glad you did, because I was nervous about giving it to you and…”
Vision trails off and presses his palms against the small of her back, kissing her again. Wanda stands on her toes to kiss him more hungrily, absolutely overwhelmed with his smell and his taste and his touch and every single thing about him. She feels like she’s floating again.
Vision chuckles and adjusts his grip and… oh, Wanda is literally floating. That’s never happened before. She rests her arms on his shoulders and her forehead on his.
“Didn’t mean to do that,” she giggles. “You just make me feel… wow.”
“Wow indeed,” he smiles.
“So, when were you planning on finally giving me that note?”
“I… wasn’t,” Vision replies cautiously. “I’ve been journaling, but I found it a little strange to write about everything in the third person so… I wrote the letter.”
“As a therapeutic exercise?” Wanda raises an eyebrow.
“Mhm,” he nods. “Precisely. I didn’t think you’d, um…”
“Fling myself at you?”
“Yes,” he laughs. “That.”
“I’m still sorry I read it,” Wanda sighs. “I mean, I’m glad I did, but also… I overestimated how meticulously you’d plan to give me something like that. I thought, you know, you thought I’d come in here for the report and whatnot, so you left me this as a surprise and… yeah.”
“For future reference, I’ll label documents I intend for you to read with ‘Wanda: please read this.’”
“I quite like the idea of future documents from you,” she smiles.