Flufftober 2023

*****

It’s not that Wanda doesn’t like being a mother. She loves it. Absolutely, totally, completely. In the aftermath of Westview, she didn’t think she could bear it again, not even after the reunion with Vision and buying a house and his hints that children might be nice. She got pregnant before they’d even made a decision either way, and the twins’ birth turned out to be the greatest moment of her life. Okay, sure, the postpartum depression sucked, to put it mildly, but she and Vision pushed through it and came out the other side, with two tiny boys that were utterly delightful. They were so good, so perfect in every way. Even the frustrating, fists clenched to keep from shooting red everywhere moments weren’t all that bad. Then came Vivian, and it was as if her life was complete. Not in an I-can-die-now way, but a feeling that all that pain and loss in her past had led her to this new life that was exactly what she wanted and needed for the rest of her days.

Yeah, she loves being a mother… but she also really, really needs a break sometimes.

She hadn’t exactly lied to Vision about this trip’s itinerary. She did plan to join Sam and Bucky on the quinjet to Oslo, where they were all scheduled to speak at a conference. But, well, she changed her mind about the quinjet at the last minute. Instead, she put on her sling ring (a gift from Dr. Strange that she only uses when necessary) and portaled straight to the hotel in Norway. Five hours ahead of schedule. More than enough time to take advantage of the spa she’d seen on the hotel’s website. And okay, she’d lied and said she was still on the jet when he texted her the pics of the kids at the park, but Vis would understand. He never held that against her. Hell, he was all about her taking Me Time.

After the mud bath (weird, but in a good way) and massage, she remembers to check her phone. There are a couple of texts with more pics of the kids, along with Sam making sure that she made it to the hotel alright. Wrapped in the fluffiest robe she’s ever worn – and will splurge on purchasing when she’s done – Wanda sets the phone to do-not-disturb and paddles over for a manicure and pedicure. Red polish seems a bit too on-the-nose, so she chooses a shade of blue that matches Vision’s eyes and solar gem. She’ll have to send him a pic later.

The nice thing about being in a foreign hotel is that Wanda doesn’t have to make small talk with the aesthetician. Sure, she could do a quick translation spell, and the woman seems nice enough, but silence is much more her speed right now. As she sits there, eyes closed, she feels like she’s floating. Muscles kneaded into oblivion, skin all soft from the mud, and cuticles nearly tamed. Perfect.

Then her phone rings.

Initial instinct is to ignore it. Through the spa-day haze in her mind, though, she remembers that it’s on do-not-disturb, and it would only ring if someone marked as an emergency contact calls twice in a row. Damn. With a sigh, she apologizes to the nail technician and reaches for the phone, glad that at least they hadn’t gotten to the polish yet so she won’t mess up the application.

Incoming FaceTime call from Vision. Tapping the accept button, she’s met with her eldest’s image. First thought: when did Tommy learn how to use an iPhone? Second thought: why the hell is he calling her!?

Shifting into unflappable Mommy mode, she says, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“There’s something wrong with Daddy.”

Oh, shit. Okay, it’s probably nothing. Vis is a synthezoid, after all. Nothing is ever wrong with him. “What do you mean?”

Tommy, bless him, looks equal parts worried and amused. “He’s acting weird.”

That doesn’t help much. To be fair, he is five years old and doesn’t exactly have a wide range of references for weird. “Can you put Daddy on the phone?”

The image blurs into what appears to be the wood floor of their house as Tommy goes in search of his father. Then there’s her husband, holding the phone at an angle instead of vertically, and still in his human suit. “Hello, my darling chipmunk. How is Nicaragua?”

“Norway,” she blurts out, utterly confused.

The screen jumps around, like he’s juggling the phone. “Oh, yes! Of course. Oslo is in Norway!”

His voice is plummy and slurred and very, very strange. Keeping her own voice as calm as humanly possible takes all her rather negligible mental fortitude. “What’s going on, Vis?”

He grins. “Nothing at all. The children and I went for a lovely picnic in the park, and the baby took her first steps and there were ghosts in Billy’s chocolate so I ate a bite of it and the ghosts disappeared and we came home and everything is right as rain!” The grin is replaced by a frown. “Why do Anglophone humans say that something is right as rain? I am under the impression that they dislike rain, so wouldn’t that imply that things are actually wrong?”

A bite of chocolate.

Chocolate in the belly of her synthezoid husband.

Oh, no.

Wanda might still be in a spa-day haze, but she knows exactly what’s wrong, and it sure as hell isn’t rain. (She also caught his comment about the baby walking, but she files that away for later.) “Stay there, Vision. I’ll be home in five minutes.”

He opens his mouth as if to give her one of his speeches about how he has everything under control and that she should continue with her vacation. Instead of speechifying, though, he belches.

Fuck.

Wanda disconnects the line and rushes back to the dressing room, where she can snap her fingers back into her street clothes without attracting attention. She raises her hand to activate the sling ring (this definitely counts as an emergency) and notices her unpainted nails. Damn. She’d really been looking forward to that blue polish.

*****

She portals straight into the living room, which is… quiet. Too quiet. Everything is cleaned up, and the only hint that anything is wrong is one of the Real Housewives shows on the TV. That’s more than a hint. It’s a goddamn blaring siren. (Okay, reality shows aren’t odd in themselves, but Wanda prefers to binge Below Deck, much to her husband’s chagrin.) When she turns around, Billy and Tommy are standing at the foot of the stairs, completely still, like in The Shining. At least they’re not identical twins, or she’d be utterly terrified by the sight of them.

It takes all her self-control not to shriek. But she’s a mom and a fucking Avenger. She can do this. Pasting on her best Mommy Face, she croons, “Sweeties, where’s your father?”

“He’s upstairs with Vivvy,” Billy says, still completely motionless – er, except for his mouth forming words.

“He’s acting weird, Mom.” Through the haze of her anxiety, she notes that now Tommy is calling her mom instead of mommy, and she is totally not ready for that. But no, that’ll have to wait, along with Vivian taking her first steps. Jebat.

Keep calm. Do a sitrep, like Sam always insists when a mission starts to go south. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, Mommy.” Billy’s lip trembles, and she wants to pull him into her arms and hug it all better, but it’s not better though at least it doesn’t seem to be life-or-death, and if she hugs him, she might not let go. So she nods at him to keep going, and he starts babbling like he’s got to get it all out in one breath. “We went to the park and I climbed all the way to the top of the jungle gym! We ate our sandwiches but there was a ghost in my chocolate,” (Tommy snickers, and that’s another thing she’ll have to deal with later) “so I told Daddy to eat it to make the ghosts go away and he did and it was all better except on the way home he started skipping and I thought he was going to drop Vivvy but he didn’t and he just kept laughing and told us we were munchkins and he was Oz.”

As she processes that, his brother chirps, “What’s Oz?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Wanda barks then scrunches her eyes shut. “Sorry. It’ll all be okay, I promise. Your father just ate something that he wasn’t supposed to, but I’ll fix it.” She allows herself a quick hug, and yeah, she doesn’t want to let go. But she does and stands up straight. Shoulders squared. Superhero mode. “You two have been very brave boys. I’m so proud of you. Now, go play in the backyard, okay?”

One long, worried look from Billy, and a shrug from Tommy. She’d be a bit nervous that he doesn’t seem bothered, but she also knows her son well enough that he’s trying not to show how freaked out he is. Poor kid.

Once they’re outside, she switches off the calm facade and races up the stairs. In the nursery, Wanda quickly checks for the baby in her crib – which she is, thank god – and finds Vision… who is upside down like he’s doing a handstand, but with only the tips of his fingers on the floor. And he is orange. Like, pumpkin orange.

“Honeybun!” he shouts, literally flipping over midair to stand upright.

Oh, shit.

Most of Westview is a blur in her mind, on purpose. Not exactly a part of her life that she wants to remember in excruciating detail, even though there had been some good parts. Like the magic show. When Vision had… oh, yeah… swallowed some chewing gum and started acting the same way he is now. Still a blur, but she remembers scanning him and watching the gum pop out of his mouth. Gotta admit that it's kind of amusing, though she’s not going to encourage him by showing it. At least the good news is that she can fix this, assuming she can get him to stop acting so weird and settle down.

So. Back to the sitrep. Her husband is orange (and the top of his head is green, seriously like a freakin’ pumpkin). A glance out the window finds the boys on the playset they’d gotten for their birthday last year, and apparently yelling at each other, but whatever. The baby has pulled herself up to stand in the crib, which would be a cause for celebration and photos if not for the fact that, again, her husband is orange and tripping on chocolate.

“Yes, my little axolotl?”

Axa-what? Oh, right. The twins’ obsession last month. Those things are cute, so she’ll take it as a compliment. Wait, not the point. Focus.

Wanda takes a step forward. Carefully. Like she’s about to defuse a bomb, which she kinda is. Granted, she’s never seen Vision like this – not counting Westview – but who the hell knows what he’ll get up to when he’s under the nefarious influence of the Candy Industrial Complex? A synthezoid out of his mind is dangerous, indeed. “Vision? Do you know if the chocolate stayed in one piece after you ate it, or did it melt in your body?”

“Milk chocolate melts in your mouth, not in your hands.” He beams, like he’s proud of himself, which he definitely should not be. “That’s from a vintage television commercial for M&Ms,” he adds, so very helpfully.

“Thanks.” She hopes he doesn’t take her eyeroll the wrong way. But he’s already walking toward her, a swing in his hips and a leer on his face. Oh, yeah. She knows that look. “Vis, sweetheart, not the time and place.”

His face falls. “Ah, quite right. Not with Vivvy watching. Shall we take this into the bedroom?”

This time she doesn’t bother hiding the eyeroll. “As much as I’d like to see what s-e-x,” she coughs because Vivian hopefully can’t spell yet, but she is her parents’ child, “is like when you’re in this mood, it’ll have to wait.” Now they’re just a few inches apart. “Don’t move,” she instructs.

Of course he wiggles his hips and waggles his eyebrows, but he follows with a muttered “Apologies” and obeys. Wanda begins to sweep her hand up and down his magnificently chiseled torso, and damn, he’s still sexy when he’s phased himself orange. No, back on topic. Looks like the fun-sized Snickers bar is wedged just above the processors and, um, mechanical stuff that he has instead of a stomach. Then, waving some red magic over his belly, she guides it up his throat and out of his mouth.

Her beloved pulls it out, revealing a disgusting wad of chocolate, nougat, caramel and peanuts that pretty much ensures that she won’t be eating candy anytime soon. At least not for the rest of the day because, c’mon, candy.

Swallowing her mild disgust, she walks over to the changing table and grabs the baby wipes, ruffling the hair of a completely nonplussed Vivian. Poor kid. Better deposit a few more bucks into the Future Therapy Fund. And when she returns to her husband, he’s got an utterly sheepish, utterly adorable look on his face. With a wink, she wipes off his hands the same way she does the boys’. “There. All better.”

“Thank you. And my deepest, most sincere apologies.”

“You’re the Shakespeare guy. What’s the phrase? All’s well that ends well?”

His chagrin remains. “Speaking of his namesake, I have no idea what possessed me to eat Billy’s candy.”

Wanda tosses the wadded-up wipes across the room and into the wastebasket. Perfect shot, though maybe there was a bit of magic involved. “Why did you do that? Ghosts? Really?”

“At the time, it seemed like a logical course of action, though I am at sixes and sevens as to why I would lose all sense of logic like that.”

There’s a note in his voice that makes her smile fade. “Do you think something’s wrong with you? Physically, I mean?” she adds, because the idea that Vision could have a mental flaw is inconceivable, even after all they’ve been through.

He shrugs. “I don’t believe so, but I’ll run a complete diagnostic after the children go to bed.”

Vision being worried simply will not do, so she pulls him into a quick hug. “I know you, okay? Things may have been crazy for a little while, but the kids were never in danger. Everything will be just fine.” She pulls back and raises her eyebrows for emphasis. “The Maximoffs – all five of us – are fine, Vis.”

He doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but he does finally crack a smile. “At least none of it was caught on video.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t forget you doing that handstand and wiggling your ass anytime soon.”

She walks over to the crib. “Lucky for you, Vivvy’s too young to remember.” Picking her daughter up and holding her tight, she returns to her partner. Vivian reaches over and taps his neck. “Sweetheart? What’s up with the orange?”

“Ah, yes.” He quickly phases back to his default – and beautiful – white. “I don’t even remember doing that, nor was I aware that I could change my skin color on command.”

“It was kind of cute. Might come in handy sometime.” The three of them stand there in the nursery, a ridiculously odd, ridiculously happy family. Plus the boys, of course, but they can stay in the backyard for a little longer. Vivian squirms but doesn’t cry. Such a sweet, easy baby, which is a huge relief after the chaos of her brothers’ early years. Which reminds Wanda….

“Hey, what’s this about Vivian walking?”

There’s that sheepish look again. “Again, I apologize. I couldn’t decide whether to tell you – er, once I was back to normal – or hope that she waited until you returned home from Oslo to do it again.”

Wanda should probably chide him for even thinking he could keep something like that a secret, but whatever. “Let’s see if she can do it again.”

The grownups sit down on the rug, and Wanda raises her daughter to her feet. Supporting the baby under her arms, she murmurs, “Want to try and walk, munchkin?”

When she lets go, Vivian takes one step. Then another. She giggles. Wiggles her butt just like her daddy. Reaches over to swat his nose. And then flops onto her bottom. Instead of crying, she manages to push herself back up and try again. Two more steps, two more falls. But it’s a start. A milestone. And Wanda Maximoff is deliriously happy that she’s here to see it.

Gotta portal back to Oslo. Get some rest then prepare her presentation for tomorrow’s conference. Maybe fit in the rest of that mani-pedi and blue nail polish. Right now, though, she’s perfectly content to watch her daughter take her first steps, and share this moment with the love of her life.

*****