Chapter 2
Vision is pretty sure he’s aged ten years by the time he finally wrestles Tony into a seat on the Metro North heading up to Connecticut. Tony’s righteous anger and mild inebriation have faded into exhaustion by the time Vision plunks him in a seat next to the window, and Tony falls right to sleep, his head leaning against the window, his chest rising and falling gently.
Vision just rolls his eyes and heaves their luggage onto the rack above the chairs before he roots around in Tony’s briefcase for his disposable water bottle, placing it next to him on the seat where Tony will be able to see it when he inevitably wakes with cotton-mouth.
The train is largely empty, the after-work crowds have cleared out hours before and the drunk crowd leaving the bars hasn’t begun to fill the seats yet.
Vision settles in his seat across from Tony, facing backwards as the doors close and the train begins to rumble out of Grand Central.
They stay underground for a few minutes, the darkness of the tunnels swishing by the windows, and Vision focuses on his phone, making sure Tony’s itinerary is complete and organized.
A conductor in a black vest and blue hat walks by and snaps his hole punch next to Vision and Tony’s row and Vision fumbles for the tickets wedged in the pocket of his coat, miraculously still there after wrestling Tony onto the train.
“Here,” he hands the tickets to the conductor who grunts and punches them, shoving them into a small metal plate on top of the seats and continues along the row, snapping his hole punch.
There is a rushing noise as the train emerges above ground at 125th Street and Vision eagerly leans his head against the wall next to the window, prepared to study the world outside as it shoots past the train.
Harlem’s holiday decorations wink in the crisp air, the lights dancing against the glass of the window and blur together as the train picks up speed. Vision sees a large Christmas tree in a window shooting by, and a few of the streets have lights looping above the pavement, snowflakes and sprigs of holly fashioned dancing in the crisp night air.
As the train moves out of the city, bumping along the track north, Vision feels his phone buzz in his pocket.
Confused by who is trying to get in touch with him, he pulls it out and sees a text from a number his phone has labeled: maybe Wanda.
hi, it’s wanda. sorry, i know this is completely random but i wanted to make sure u and tony got home safe.
Vision feels a tiny smile erupt on his face. For all of her manic energy that night, he couldn’t deny the fact that he enjoyed being in Wanda Maximoff’s presence.
He hadn’t expected her to be so young. Or so pretty. He’d met a few of Pepper’s past assistants and they were usually women in their mid to late 40’s with pinched faces and perpetual bags under their eyes. The woman who’d practically given him a heart attack outside of Café Intermezzo by grabbing his forearm had long red hair tucked under a white knitted beret and the greenest eyes he’d ever encountered. Her face had been incredibly expressive, her brows and eyes working in tandem to create a flurry of emotions, showing panic, amusement, and concern almost all at the same time.
Hello. We’re good, though I think Tony’s going to have a horrible headache in a few hours.
He swallows and hits send and places his phone face down on the seat next to him, turning to the window again.
His phone dings and he dives for it, thankful that Tony is still asleep and can’t make fun of him.
oh god pepper too. i don’t think either of them ate any food at that meeting tonight.
Vision chews on the inside of his cheek. Did the pantsuit survive the evening?
lol. barely. as someone with experience, i can tell u that red wine vomit does not come out of anything.
Vision’s fingers fly. Do I want to ask?
no.
The train slows to a halt at the Fordham stop as Vision struggles to come up with a reply and a few passengers climb onto the train, one woman struggling under a massive stack of shopping bags as she collapses in a seat near Vision and Tony, toing off her heels with a quiet groan.
Vision glances down at his phone and types out: fair.
It’s all he can think to say and he sends it off, wishing he was wittier or more entertaining.
Tony mutters something under his breath and shifts in his seat, interrupting the direction of Vision’s thoughts. For the best, Vision sighs. He can’t be drawn towards Pepper Potts’s assistant. For one, Tony would never forgive him. For another, Vision barely has time to tie his shoes, let alone go on a date.
No. Wanda Maximoff will have to remain a pipe dream and nothing more.
Besides, he doubts he will ever see her again.
***
If there’s one thing Wanda can say about Pepper Potts, it’s that the woman can recover from a hangover in record time.
Pepper arrives at Wanda’s apartment at eight the next morning in a shiny four door rental, the windows rolled down and the radio blasting Christmas music. When Wanda blearily opens the passenger door, she’s met with Pepper’s perfectly made-up face, her gold hair smoothed underneath a scarf like she’s about to hop on a vespa with Gregory Peck.
In contrast, Wanda is sporting an oversized sweatshirt with a large bleach stain on the shoulder, massive dark circles under her eyes, and her unwashed hair thrown in a messy bun on the top of her head.
Pepper tisks her teeth as Wanda settles in the front seat. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
“Barely,” Wanda yawns. “I didn’t start packing until the last minute.”
Pepper rolls her eyes and pulls into traffic, the wind whipping by the windows and pulling strands of Wanda’s hair out of her bun to dance around her temples. “I gave you three days’ notice this time.”
“Apparently, I do best with an immediate timeline,” Wanda shivers, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Can I roll up the windows?”
“What?” Pepper seems startled. “Oh, of course,” she hits the button and the windows move up, the city noises immediately dulled. “Sorry, the car smelled a bit too much like bleach for my nose this morning.”
“Yeesh,” Wanda shudders.
“Indeed,” Pepper smoothly merges into traffic heading out of town. “Can you pull up the address of the Bed and Breakfast? I don’t want to get us lost.”
“Sure,” Wanda opens her map on her phone and types in the address for West Lockfee, Connecticut, a four-square mile town located between Bridgeport and New Haven, that boasts two pubs, a grocery store, a famous diner that sells pies by the pound, and apparently a space large enough to host a group of over six hundred people.
Just that week, Pepper had been asked to be a guest speaker at a massive audition for college students around New England. There had been a last-minute cancellation and that the New England Theater Conference needed a speaker to address to a group of aspiring performers about what it takes to make it.
Pepper had screeched in delight after she’d gotten the news, immediately launching into making plans, including renting a car and finding a quiet hotel off the beaten path where she could be a little more anonymous.
Or as anonymous as one can be in a town that’s four-square miles.
Wanda’s phone dings and she feels her heart jolt, allowing herself to believe that it might be him, but when she flips it over, disappointment drops into her stomach.
25% Off all Towels and Bedding!
She swallows and deletes the email, ignoring her silly dismay. You don’t even know him, she scolds herself. Plus, you practically accosted him in the street.
“Anything interesting?”
Wanda snaps her head up. “What?”
“I asked if there was anything interesting, you’ve been glaring at your phone for almost a minute.”
“Oh,” Wanda hopes Pepper can’t hear the false ring in her laughter. “Nothing. You just need to take the next exit towards Yonkers.” She places the phone on her knee and focuses her attention out of the car, at the landscape whizzing by the windows.
Pepper guides the car onto the highway, zooming past a tiny red car and settles in the left lane of traffic, honking her horn when a semi gets too close to her right side.
Wanda absently watches the trees fly by, their leaves stripped away to reveal grey branches clawing towards the pale blue sky, rimmed with wispy white clouds.
Jet trails make unidentifiable patterns as they cross the expanse of sky, the white lines jagged and sharp as they race behind hidden planes, too small to be seen from the ground below.
Pepper has lowered the volume of the radio, Christmas carols still crooning out of the speakers, but the noise is soft against Wanda’s ears. The music combines with the rich heat spilling from the vents and Wanda feels herself nodding off, drowsing with the cool window pressed against her cheek.
It feels like only a couple of minutes later when Wanda is jolted awake by a disembodied female voice that yelps: “TAKE THE NEXT EXIT AND TURN RIGHT.”
“Wha-,” Wanda feels fuzzy, blinking against the harsh morning light.
“Hello, Sleeping Beauty,” Pepper grins at her. “I was just about to wake you, we’re almost here.”
“What?” Wanda sits up and rubs her eyes. “Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”
“You clearly needed the sleep,” Pepper twists the wheel and shoots off the highway.
“TURN RIGHT!”
“Plus,” she follows the phone’s directions and turns right onto a smaller road that follows a line of trees wrapped in tiny twinkle lights. “It’s a rental so I could care less if you droll on the window.”
Wanda swings her head to the window, but it’s completely clear of drool, just a little condensation from her breath.
Pepper bursts into light giggles and Wanda feels her jaw drop. “You-.”
“It was too easy,” Pepper continues to giggle, the sounds bubbling forward like champagne.
“TURN LEFT!”
Pepper jerks the wheel to the left and the car bounces down a long unpaved driveway, Wanda holding onto the sides of her seat. The drive is lined with evergreen trees, blending into a thicker forest surrounding the path cutting through the rocky ground.
Pepper takes a hard right as the road swings to avoid an enormous oak tree and they trundle up a ridiculous hill that tips them almost ninety degrees backwards right before they appear at the crest of the ridge. In front of them is a large brick house with pale grey trim around the windows and a bright red door, a wreath hung slightly crooked above a polished brass doorknocker.
Pepper sweeps the car into park between a large black jeep and a small two door blue sports car and the two of them tumble out onto the dusty parking lot, Pepper popping the trunk and Wanda unloading both of their suitcases. Pepper grabs the handle of her dark blue shell case and tugs it through the rocks towards the front door.
Wanda slams the trunk closed and grabs her old bag, one wheel gone and the interior lining taped together and follows Pepper up to the front door.
There is a tiny sign tapped into a planter box to the right of the front steps that reads: Darcy’s B&B, welcome to West Lockfee!
A tiny bell dings as Pepper pushes open the front door, a blast of heat wrapping around them as Wanda follows her inside.
The floor is an open layout with a cluster of sofas to their right, gathered around a large fire place. To the left is an enormous dining room table, the wood a dark mahogany, polished to a reflective surface, two tall candles placed in the center of the table.
Directly in front of them is a wooden desk with a ring of evergreen garland wrapped around the top, festive holly berries dotting the surface of the green with red fire. Behind the desk is a staircase that vanishes up to the second floor, two doors closed behind it. There’s a bell on the desk top with a tiny sign in looping script that reads: Please ring bell for assistance.
Pepper dings the bell and a voice from the back of the house calls: “Give me a second!”
A dark-haired woman comes dashing around a corner, an apron wrapped around her torso and a bit of flour dashed across her cheek. She shoves a pair of thick rimmed glasses up her nose and beams at them. “Hello! How can I help you?”
“I have a reservation for Pepper,” Pepper smiles at her. “Pepper Potts.”
“Of course,” the dark-haired woman pulls a laptop out from a drawer and types in a passcode, her fingers flying across the keyboard. “Right, here we are, I’ve got a reservation for two rooms under the name Potts.”
“That’s me,” Pepper agrees.
“Great,” the woman prints a receipt. “I’ll just have you sign here and here…”
Wanda lets the exchange drop to the background of her focus as she twists on her toes to examine the room more fully, appreciating the crisp white baseboards and the dark hardwood floors. She sees a Christmas tree in the corner near the fire place, its feathery branches reaching towards the eggshell-colored ceiling.
The whole floor smells like cinnamon and pine and Wanda takes a deep breath in through her nose, letting the scent wash across her face delicately.
It’s a beautiful spot, warm and cheerful, and as Wanda completes her rotation, she sees a pair of legs clad in blue jeans coming down the stairs. She watches curiously as another pair of legs, this one in khaki slacks appears next to the blue jeans and they begin to descend the staircase together.
Wanda sees a flash of a cream sweater, a flourish of a blue coat, and then she recognizes, with horror, the familiar blond hair and broad shoulders of Vision Shade.
And right behind him, in a cream sweater and pale blue jeans, walks Tony Stark.