Chapter 7
Wanda slips her hands through dark hair, curls her fingers around the slope of Agatha’s neck as the other woman tilts her head back to look up at her with a smile that lights up her face. “Hi,” she whispers, leaning in to press a kiss to pale pink lips. Agatha returns the kiss, humming into the embrace.
“How did your talk with Vision go?” Agatha asks as she pulls away and sinks down into the chair at her partner’s side.
She groans, and slumps deeper into the plastic seat. Her head lolls back on her shoulders, and she folds her hands together over her stomach as she stares up at the ceiling. “He . . . ugh.” She huffs, blowing out a breath. “He’s aware that there is no longer an ‘us’, and that you and Irena and the boys are my priority in life right now. He’s still not happy with the fact that I chose you to be my partner, but he’s a lot more understanding than he was before, and he seems to have moved on from whatever petty desire he had to question my motives and decisions.”
“And the boys?”
She swallows, licks her lips. There’s a scrape of something being pushed across the table towards her, and she lifts her head to see that a glass of water has appeared before her. She flashes Agatha a relieved smile, and lifts the glass to her lips, draining it of its contents in one go before wiping the back of her hand across her mouth and setting the glass aside.
“He wants to have a relationship with them, as is his right as their father, but he has said that he is willing to defer to us on the exact nature of that relationship.”
Agatha looks at her with uncertain and insecure eyes that glisten with fear. “You said ‘us’, that he was willing to defer to ‘us’. I - Wanda, what do you mean by that?”
Wanda reaches out, takes Agatha’s hand - the one not holding a sleeping Irena in place against her chest - in her own, squeezing stocky fingers and rubbing her thumb across rough knuckles. “You’re my partner, Ags,” she says softly. “That means you’re their mother as much as I am.”
“A-are you sure?” Agatha asks, voice trembling with anxiety.
Wanda nods. “’Course I’m sure. Why would I not be?”
“I, um -” Agatha flushes, turns her gaze away, to where the boys sit on either side of Darcy at a table to their right, a mess of technology - screens, hard drives, wires, speakers, VR sets, a hologram unit, and so many more things that Agatha couldn’t even begin to identify - set up before them. Tommy’s leaning on the desk, arms folded before him, while Billy sits with his elbows on his knees, a long black cable twisting through his fingers. “It feels like you want us to be a family, a real one, and . . . I - I’m not sure I know how to do that.”