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ginnsbaker · 10 months

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In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (9/22)

Chapter summary: Several weeks later, an unfortunate situation drives Wanda to seek you out, only to be met with someone she least expects.

Chapter word count: 9k

Pairing: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader (heavy in this chapter)

Author's note: And we start the second phase :)

Next chapter: Ten

AO3 | Masterlist

Nine

Five Weeks Later

“By the power invested in me, by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The minister reads from his pamphlet without as much as a glance to the enamored audience.

Wanda hadn’t known that she was going to attend a wedding near the start of autumn; if she had, she’d have been more than ready with an ensemble that’s appropriate for both the event and the cold season. To be fair, Pietro hadn’t known either. Just a week ago, Shannon surprised him with a date, a venue, and a business card of some designer that she commissioned to provide Pietro’s suit for the ceremony. Wanda might have considered it a trap if it hadn't been for the fact that Pietro was the one on his knees with a ring a year ago. Shannon had simply grown tired of his excuses and took matters into her own hands. Wanda still thinks it’s a colossal mistake but his history with women and commitments tracks. She just wants to know how many more of these she’ll have to attend for the rest of her life.

“You may kiss the–”

The minister is cut off by Pietro diving in for a sloppy kiss, and the small crowd of thirty people cheer the newly weds. Wanda claps for the sake of being a good attendant. She almost feels sorry for Shannon, but if she wanted this, she probably wanted it for the wrong reasons.

And, well, karma is a bitch.

Having been sober for exactly thirty-two days, Wanda’s been nursing the same mocktail she’s had before the start of the program, and she finds it difficult to enjoy anything that’s watered-down. A longing to light a cigarette tugs at her, but the establishment's strict no-smoking policy extends even to the outdoor gardens. Pietro asked that she stays until the party’s over, and knowing how much her presence means to him, she reluctantly agreed.

“Stop brooding at my wedding, for god’s sake.”

It’s Shannon, dressed in her second gown, a simpler one that makes it hard to tell her apart from her bridesmaids.

"Hi, Shannon," Wanda drawls, swirling the tiny ice left in her rocks glass.

"It's Mrs. Maximoff now," Shannon mutters proudly, displaying both her wedding and engagement rings.

Wanda hides her grimace behind her drink. “Try not to get used to it though. I’m pretty sure you’re aware that there had been two other Mrs. Maximoffs in his past.”

“Don’t sass me on my wedding day, it’s just disrespectful.”

“Point taken. I’d offer to get you a drink, but I think that’s just gonna push the stick further up your ass.”

Shannon sourly responds with one of her signature fake smiles, but Wanda can see through the facade. She takes pride in having hit a nerve.

Taking the seat next to her, much to Wanda's dismay, Shannon changes the subject. "Anyway, your ex-wife is doing exceptionally well at our company. She's managed to turn around all the bad practices that have been going on for ages."

Wanda’s brows stitch together in confusion. “Your company?”

“Stark Industries.” Shannon says, taking a sip of Wanda’s untouched water.

The revelations throw her off. You didn't appear too thrilled when Wanda saw you right after your interview, so she had assumed you either didn’t get the position or you passed up on the opportunity. But what surprised her even more was discovering that someone like Shannon held a high-ranking position at a popular tech company–which now explains where the extreme confidence comes from.

Shannon smirks. “Don’t look so surprised that I work for the number one company in the world.”

“Number one?” Wanda scoffs, rubbing her nose with her middle finger. “Hardly. And why are you keeping tabs on her?”

“She works in my department and I interviewed her. She was a disaster, by the way,” Shannon says. “But her references were solid. I mean, Scott Lang? I hired her solely by his recommendation.”

Wanda can't help but smile at the mention of Scott, reminiscent of the old days when she used to host dinners for your boss and your co-workers. She doesn’t, however, dwell this time about the people you’ve brought with you when you walked out of her life. The reality is, people take sides, and rightfully, they have chosen yours.

"I'm happy for her. She's brilliant and hardworking. You won't regret having her on your team," Wanda says softly, her voice a little bittersweet; she remembers a time when she used to be the first one to know every little thing about you, and it's a feeling she misses.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re hearing this just now?” Shannon smacks her lips together and then fixes her lipstick that has stained the rim of her drink. “I thought I saw you at our lobby right after her interview.” Shannon gives her a knowing look, her eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and malice. It's as if she's perfectly aware of the unspeakable things you did to Wanda that day.

"Y-You did?" Wanda stammers, her blood rushing to her face.

“I assumed you were seeing each other again. You looked like a lost little housewife in your little jeans and little shirt.”

“I stopped by to bring her food. I didn’t know I had to dress up for that.”

“How sweet,” Shannon says, though her tone is barely mocking. “Well, if you’re not back together, then I have a piece of information you might find useful.”

Wanda leans back on her chair and crosses her arms in front of her. “And what makes you think I’m interested?”

“Because despite my wrong assumptions earlier, it’s clear that you’re still head over heels in love with her,” Shannon says. “Or am I wrong?”

Wanda looks away and takes a sip of her watered-down mocktail and tries to hide the displeasure on her face.

Shannon takes this as her cue to continue. “She recently changed her address in our database. I know because those things usually undergo my approval.”

You moved out? Wanda hadn't attempted to contact you, but while running errands for her cafe, she had found herself in your area a couple of times. Each time, she observed that your curtains were drawn and the lights in the living room were always turned off.

Wanda looks on quietly as Shannon reaches into her purse, retrieves an eye pencil, and grabs a napkin from the table. With deliberate movements, she begins to scribble on the napkin.

“Here,” Shannon hands Wanda the napkin with your address scrawled neatly on it. “You’re welcome.”

Wanda hesitantly accepts it, and then asks, “Why are you doing this?”

"Maybe I'm a hopeless romantic," Shannon shrugs, though the glint in her eye betrays her nonchalant demeanor. It almost penetrates Wanda’s defenses, but then she says, “Or I’m supporting your unhealthy obsession knowing it won’t lead anywhere.”

Wanda finds herself laughing. Unlike Pietro, Shannon had never treated Wanda delicately, even after her hospitalization. She finds it oddly refreshing and, in a peculiar way, endearing.

Shannon adopts a small, awkward smile herself.

“Fair enough.” Wanda says, folding the napkin carefully before putting it inside her bag.

Shannon gets up and runs her palms over the creases on her gown. “Good luck, Wanda. I’m sure you’ll be needing a lot of it.”

Pietro finds her in the gardens, rubbing her arms to keep herself warm. The nighttime breeze isn’t particularly chilly, but Wanda’s always been susceptible to the cold regardless of the season. He looks particularly dashing in the dark blue suit that Shannon picked for him; and with his hair back to its natural brunette color, the similarities between them have become uncanny once again.

“Sorry about that.” Pietro mutters as he approaches.

Wanda tilts her head at him, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Sorry about what?" she quips, her voice laced with humor. "You mean this wedding?"

Pietro laughs and then shakes his head. “I saw you talking to Shannon and I could tell you weren’t having the best time.”

Wanda doesn't hold back as she speaks her mind. "She's still a bitch," she says bluntly, not mincing her words. "No offense."

“Do I hear fondness in the way you said ‘bitch’?”

“Not a chance.”

“Between me and her, you forget I’m actually the asshole, right? I know she told you I cheated on her countless times.” Pietro says, somewhat seriously.

“You are,” Wanda says. “But I stand by what I said.”

Pietro sighs. “Anyway, I’m not here to negotiate how you feel towards my wife. I’m here to say goodbye.”

Wanda sobers at that. She’s been so used to having her brother in the same city, a call and a cab away.

“You’re returning to LA?”

“The day after tomorrow.” Pietro confirms with a nod.

“Doesn’t she work at Stark Industries?”

“Oh, did I tell you that?”

“She told me a while ago.” Wanda says.

“She can work remotely,” Pietro explains. “And she prefers doing that from our home in LA.”

The wind begins to pick up, its gentle breeze evolving into a stronger gust. The air becomes alive, stirring the surroundings and causing leaves to dance and swirl in a mesmerizing display.

Wanda sweeps her hair back from her face, and asks, “Tell me, honestly, why did you stay here for so long? Even before the–” Wanda finds herself having difficulty naming the accident she had more than a month ago.

But if there’s something she’s learned from therapy so far, it’s that confronting her inner demons requires acknowledging their existence.

“Before my overdose.” Wanda finishes, managing to keep her tone even.

Pietro regards her with a tender look that conveys his immense pride in her recent growth and progress.

“At first, I just wanted to check in on you,” he says, fiddling with the cuffs of his suit. “And when I saw you and the cafe, I thought ‘see, she doesn’t need you’. But at the same time I also realized it was me–I needed you.”

Pietro pauses and rubs the back of his neck–something he does a lot when he’s trying not to be emotional.

"I missed you, Wands. These past few months, I've felt more like myself than I have in years. I know I'm free to visit you anytime, even when you and Y/N were still together, but it's just not the same when–"

“–when it’s just us.” Wanda finishes for him, her voice thick with emotions that her brother is trying so hard to hold at bay.

“Yeah. I had a really great time with you here, it was good to be home after so many years.”

“LA is your home.” Wanda reminds him.

"You're my family, Wands," Pietro says, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a warm side hug. "You're my home too."

“I love you, Piet.”

“I love you too, sis,” Pietro says. “I’m rooting for you–your happiness. Whether it’s with Y/N or someone else or no one. You deserve to be happy. You have a big heart–I know this because you love me just as I am.”

“Then why don’t you just stay here so we can be close to each other all the time?” Wanda sniffs. So many losses. So many changes. Wanda craves normalcy and consistency–things you used to provide in her life with your steady presence.

“Shannon’s family lives in LA, and we’ve already talked about settling there once we’re married.”

Wanda shakes her head, smiling in contempt.

Pietro notices the change in her demeanor and starts rubbing her arm in comfort. “Don’t blame Shannon for this. I suggested it because she’s more comfortable living there if we’re going to start a family.”

“You’re already talking about babies? Piet, that’s a huge step.” she says.

Pietro falls into a thoughtful silence, weighing the decision of whether to share the news with Wanda now or wait a little longer. However, the anticipation and joy of becoming a father soon overpowers his doubts.

With a burst of excitement, he finally speaks up. "Actually, she's pregnant."

"Wow," Wanda exclaims, embracing him tightly, more than thrilled at the news. But as suspicion creeps in, she pulls away abruptly. "Hold on, is that why you rushed into marriage? Because she's pregnant?"

“No. She actually just told me last night, as a wedding gift.” Pietro says.

“I’m going to be an aunt?” Wanda giggles. “I mean, congratulations! You’re going to be a dad!”

"Thank you, Wands," Pietro says, returning the hug.

Wanda pauses for a moment, a realization dawning on her. "I should stop being mean to her," she admits.

Pietro chuckles. "My advice is to take everything she says or does with a grain of salt."

Wanda's expression softens. "I'm going to miss you, you know? Your future kid, and, fuck it–even Shannon. I'll try to visit this Christmas, okay?"

"You better. I already got you plane tickets."

“Oh, and Piet?”

“Yep?”

“I’ll cut your balls off if you cheat on your wife again this time. Not because she’s having your child, but because it’s… not normal. It’s fucked up. We’re fucked up. The stakes are higher for you now, but even if it wasn’t, it just ruins everything in its wake. it's the biggest regret of my life," Wanda states firmly. Although she feels like a hypocrite as the words escape her lips, she feels compelled to express her feelings in the hope that it carries some weight.

“I know,” Pietro says, looking down at his feet. “I’ve been seeing a professional for two months now.”

“You are?”

Pietro smiles and takes Wanda’s hand, leading her back inside the reception. “Where do you think I got your therapist from?”

***

"You've really nailed it with this restaurant choice," Natasha exclaims at you, her fork stabbing into the juicy medium-rare steak. Her mouth waters as the meat releases its flavorful juices. She’s sitting to your left and Yelena’s right, and when you haven’t developed a psychic link with your partner yet, navigating a delicate situation feels like a sailor and a pilot has come together to figure out how a tractor works.

Natasha had phoned you earlier today, informing you that her flight from Washington D.C. was scheduled to depart in a mere two hours. This left you with approximately three hours to prepare for her arrival, as well as to have a conversation with Yelena on how you’re both going to break the news to her unsuspecting sister. However, due to Yelena's demanding work schedule, it was difficult to abruptly pull her away from her assignment and so you took it upon yourself to organize this impromptu dinner.

Your girlfriend, in a state of panic, had only just read your texts an hour ago and arrived late. Since then, there has been absolutely zero opportunity to discuss what your relationship entails for Natasha.

Delaying the inevitable, you focus on other topics.

“So, how was your flight?” you ask Natasha.

“Quick.”

“When did you find out you’re coming home?” you inquire, eyebrows wiggling at Yelena, attempting to seek her support in engaging in the conversation

“The other day.” Natasha says.

“How do you like your steak?”

Natasha gives you a funny look.

Shifting in your seat uncomfortably, you try to think of more questions to ask, but Yelena beats you to it.

“We’ve been seeing each other.” she announces over her plate of untouched meatballs.

Your eyes widen in alarm as you look at Yelena, but she nonchalantly shrugs at you, then whispers, "I thought that's what you were trying to tell me with your eyes."

Natasha serenely savors her steak, taking a graceful sip of wine before responding, "Yes, I'm aware."

Surprised, you murmur, "How did you...?"

With a hint of amusement, Natasha replies, "If I were to reveal my skills, I would be violating at least ten pages of a non-disclosure agreement."

"Right," Yelena huffs, a feeling of ease finally settling over her. She indulges in her own plate, eagerly digging in and savoring each bite.

“You know,” You start, shoulders dropping and feeling some of the tension leave your body. “I thought I’m used to what you do, but it’s still weird that you disappear for several weeks and then you come back like,” you snap your fingers. “And we can’t ask you questions.”

“It’s why I love my job so much. People are literally not allowed to ask questions,” Natasha says with a satisfied smirk, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “But I can. So, how did this happen?” she says, motioning between you and Yelena with her finger.

“Didn’t you already know?” you say with a teasing smile.

Natasha fixes you with a piercing gaze, the kind she typically reserves for her job, making you retreat but not before a nervous gulp catches in your throat.

"Yelena?" she prompts, noticing the uncharacteristic silence.

“I, uh–”

"Hotdog sandwich," you blurt out abruptly, interrupting Yelena's non-existent train of thought, while your mind drifts back to the night when you and Yelena officially started dating. Two pairs of eyes fixate on you, their faces a mix of surprise and bewilderment, as if questioning your sanity. Realizing the awkwardness of your outburst, you quickly clear your throat and gather yourself to continue, "I asked her out one night, shortly after I started my new job, and we kind of just decided to give it a shot while eating a hotdog."

When you look up, Yelena’s eyes carry a fondness, effectively deepening the blush on your cheeks.

“That’s a nice story, Y/N, but I didn’t mean literally. More like… how did you arrive at the decision to be together?” Natasha says, her gaze on you unwavering. You avoid her eyes, suddenly determined to finish the remaining vegetables in your dish.

“It came to us organically, Nat. I don’t know how to explain it without sounding a bit cheesy.” Yelena says.

“I don’t mind cheesy. Cheesy is good. Love is often cheesy, right?” Natasha says, her gaze directed at you. The mention of the word 'love' catches you off guard, and you almost choke on your peas. Although you feel it deep in your heart that you love Yelena, neither of you have actually said those words to each other.

Yelena nods, her expression serious. "Okay, then. It happened because we still have deep feelings for each other, and we felt it was necessary to give it a chance."

You smile, fully understanding and appreciating Yelena's sentiment. "I agree."

“Can I speak to Y/N in private?” She tells Yelena, who just shrugs, and then turning to you, Natasha says, “Is that okay?”

“Sure.” you reply, rising from your seat.

You and Natasha emerge from the cozy Italian restaurant, deciding to take a leisurely walk through the neighborhood. The rain has just subsided, leaving behind glistening streets and puddles that dot the pavement, making each step a bit precarious. The dampness in the air seems to mirror the tension in your chest, and you can't shake off the feeling that this walk holds more weight than just enjoying the post-rain atmosphere. The droplets on the ground reflect the streetlights, creating a mesmerizing shimmer that momentarily distracts you from your unease.

Yet, as you walk alongside Natasha, the silence between you only heightens your anticipation for the impending "sister talk."

You value your friendship with Natasha deeply, and the prospect of jeopardizing that bond fills you with uncertainty.

Just as your pulse falls into a steadier rhythm, Natasha breaks the silence, her voice filled with a sense of pride. "I'm proud of you," she declares. "Honestly, I half-expected to return and find you still unemployed, living in my apartment. But look at you now: a new job, a new place... and a new girlfriend," she adds, without a trace of animosity in her words.

“I was the crutch you had to get rid of after all.” Natasha says.

You laugh nervously at the ‘girlfriend’ remark, appreciating the genuine support from your best friend. "I suppose I relied on you heavily after my divorce," you admit. "It was easy to succumb to self-pity and a meaningless routine because you were there to take care of me. Eventually, I knew I was rotting away no matter how indulgent these Netflix shows are,” you laugh a little. “And well, things simply worked out, you know?”

“Yeah, I can see that it worked out pretty well with my sister.” Natasha quips.

"I care about her, Nat. I always have." you say, coming to a stop to face Natasha and properly look her in the eye.

Natasha nods and takes hold of your elbow, urging you to continue walking. "I know," she acknowledges, a knowing smile touching the corners of her lips. "She may not have shown it earlier, but she’s giddy as fuck. Kind of grosses me out seeing her eyeing you like a piece of candy.”

“But kidding aside, you have my blessing.” Natasha says, and you give her a soft smile in return.

A slight pang of guilt tugs at your heart as you decide not to mention your encounters with Wanda. You understand why Natasha requested this private conversation, and you don't wish to complicate matters by bringing up the brief rupture caused by your connection with Wanda. You and Yelena had reached a mutual understanding regarding Wanda, recognizing that your current relationship should not be overshadowed by your past with your ex-wife.

Besides, you haven’t talked to Wanda since you and Yelena entered into a relationship. Things have been going well; consequently, you see no justifiable reason to stir up any unnecessary complications or rock the boat.

But nobody reads you the way Natasha does, as she brings up the person you’ve been trying to forget all this time.

“And Wanda? Is that over?”

Lying to Natasha is akin to attempting to deceive a lie detector machine; there’s just no way out of it but the truth–or at least some of it.

“We were briefly in touch,” you admit, carefully filtering the story in your mind as you speak. "Coincidentally, she happened to be at the same club where Clint organized your going-away party."

Natasha raises an eyebrow; you read her well enough too, and it tells you that she hadn’t had an inkling that Wanda had reentered your life at one point.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Natasha asks, the level of her tone masking how she feels about that new information.

“Because you hate her?” You say, daring her to deny it but Natasha only rolls her eyes. “And, uh, I don’t know… Maybe because I knew you’d be disappointed?”

Natasha takes a deep breath, the crisp evening air filling her lungs as she gathers her thoughts. "Did I," she begins, "did I push you into making choices in the past that you weren't entirely comfortable with?"

"Why would you say that?" you inquire, puzzled by Natasha's question.

Natasha's gaze softens, and she replies with earnest sincerity, "Because I never wanted you to feel like you couldn't be completely open with me about anything. I never wanted you to fear my judgment regarding your decisions."

You wonder if Natasha would say the same thing if she knew you had fallen into Wanda’s bed post-divorce. You think about how Natasha urged you to file for it in the first place, how she helped in preparing everything from finding a suitable lawyer to ironing out the details of the agreement. Despite your emotional state during that period, you acknowledge that you made those decisions and chose to take responsibility for them.

“You’re like family to me, Nat. Of course your opinion of me will always matter.” you say.

“I’m happy you stood by your decision without me,” Natasha says. “I was worried you’d go back to her as soon as I was gone.”

A nervous smile tugs at the corner of your lips as your eyes flit to anywhere but your best friend; the weight of deliberately concealing a significant portion of the story makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Now more than ever, you regret being with Wanda that way. It had every potential to jeopardize your friendship with Natasha.

“How about you and Bruce?” you say, taking the spotlight away from yourself.

Natasha’s smile is sad as she shakes her head. “That ship has sailed. For good.”

“I’m sorry.” you say.

“Don’t be. He can finally allow himself to be happy. He’s a good man. He deserves more than I can give him.”

“What about you?”

“I’d like to believe I deserve more than he’s willing to give,” Natasha says, her voice not harboring any resentment; but it’s clear that she has accepted the fact that their desires and needs diverged, leading them down separate paths.

“Are you happy?” you ask suddenly, widely curious.

Natasha takes a moment to reflect, her eyes scanning the surroundings. "As happy as I can be," she contemplates. "I've learned that life shouldn't solely revolve around falling in love, you know? I have my work, my sister, my friends, and well, you're not that bad either," she adds with a light-hearted chuckle.

Turning the last corner back to the restaurant, you both bump into Yelena who’s wearing a frown after being left for so long.

“You were both gone for a while already so I thought I’d settle the bill and join you guys for a walk.” Yelena says. “You guys are okay, right?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t we be?” you say, taking her hand and interlacing your fingers together.

Natasha ignores Yelena’s question and says, “How much do I owe you for the food?”

Yelena pushes the receipt in her sister’s hand and says, “Everything.”

Settling beside Yelena on the bed, you reach for the lamp on your nightstand and switch it off. The room is cast in a soft, bluish glow, as the moon's radiance filters through the blinds. It hasn’t been too long since you and Yelena started sharing this room, and despite initially intending to take things slow, the pace of your relationship accelerated naturally. With busy careers, it felt right to embrace the opportunity to spend more time together without the added complexities of planning and scheduling dates.

“It was weird introducing you to Nat as my girlfriend,” Yelena says, turning on her side to face you as soon as your head hits the pillow.

"I think you handled that quite smoothly," you say with a quiet chortle, the sarcasm failing to come across as strongly as intended.

"You were absolutely perfect though," Yelena whispers, her hand gently cupping your cheek as she pulls you in for a kiss. It begins with a slow, tentative pace, reminiscent of the other kisses you have shared since becoming a couple.

Tonight, however, there's an undeniable intensity in Yelena's kisses that sends a fiery sensation rippling through your body. Her touch, tracing the skin below your belly button, ignites a rush of heat that intertwines with the passion of the moment. With your hands threaded in her hair, you boldly deepen the kiss, your tongue exploring the depths of her mouth, eliciting a surprised moan that you eagerly swallow.

As Yelena's fingers venture past the waistband of your underwear, a sudden jolt of surprise shoots through your body, causing you to abruptly sit upright. In the process, Yelena loses her balance and falls back onto the bed.

“Y/N?”

"Sorry," you stammer, attempting to calm your nerves and the racing of your heart. "I just remembered I have an important work email I haven't sent yet and..."

Yelena nods understandingly. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead. I've got some editing to do anyway."

You offer a grateful smile and lean in to press a tender kiss on her forehead. Then, you trail another moist kiss just below her ear, eliciting a soft sigh from Yelena's lips.

“I’ll wait up, okay? Hurry,” Yelena purrs against your neck.

“I’ll be back.” you say.

At half past midnight, you return to a snoring Yelena, her arm sprawled over the empty spot where you’re supposed to be. It was one email and you got carried away. And even if Yelena’s awake, you’re too exhausted to continue earlier’s steamy exchange.

Carefully, you remove her arm from your side of the bed and mold yourself to Yelena’s sleeping form.

You haven’t had sex with her yet. The desire is there–a hot burning coal of it–and you have entertained the thought numerous times, but each time the moment draws near, you find yourself hesitant and not quite ready to take that step. It's a decision you have consciously made, respecting your own boundaries and wanting to ensure that the timing feels right for both of you.

Kissing the back of Yelena's head, you savor the softness of her hair against your lips. With a contented sigh, you nuzzle your nose into her locks, finding comfort in her presence as sleep gradually envelops you.

***

“Ms. Maximoff? Over here.”

Wanda looks up to find Sparky’s doctor motioning for her to come inside the check-up room. She gets up and hurries to where Sparky has disappeared into for almost twenty minutes now, and sees him hooked up to an IV, dozing off on his side.

“Is he going to be okay?” Wanda asks immediately.

“The results of Sparky’s blood test don't look good. His liver is significantly higher than the normal range, and that could be the cause of his recent vomiting. For now, we’ll keep him confined here for one or two more days, depending on his condition, and if he’s responding to medication, you can continue giving them at home.”

“And what if he doesn’t respond to his medication?”

“We will conduct further tests to see what’s going on there. Surgery could be an option, depending on the outcome. While liver diseases in dogs can be treated and managed, there is always the possibility of expiration, I’m afraid.”

Expiration. Dogs have significantly shorter lives; Wanda knows this. But hearing it spoken so soon directly shatters Wanda’s heart. “W-What could have caused this?” she asks.

This is her fault, Wanda makes the conclusion, even before the doctor is done explaining the common causes in detail. She successfully fucked up another important thing in her life.

In the absence of a little furry baby wagging its tail to greet her, Wanda returns home to a dark and empty apartment. Seeking solace, Wanda clings to the hopeful possibility that Sparky may return home in the next few days.

Without bothering to turn on the lights, she kicks off her shoes and curls up into a ball on the couch. Her eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, eventually focusing on the small desk where the potted chrysanthemums you gifted her rest. The faint light casts a peculiar shadow on the wall, capturing her attention. Yet, it is the piece of napkin discreetly slipped beneath the pot that her mind is apprehensively fixated to; a thin, fragile thing that would ultimately lead her to you.

It has remained tucked away in Wanda's study, for a month now, as she couldn't bear to disrupt your life once again. She imagines that you are likely doing well, leading a quieter and less tumultuous existence without her. As for Wanda, she has been diligently working on herself, taking each day as it comes. However, the passage of time hasn't diminished her feelings for you, not even in the slightest. The void in her heart, shaped by your absence, remains steadfast, but she has learned to adapt and coexist with it, allowing herself to grow while carrying its weight.

And she wouldn't—not even for a moment—consider disturbing your peace if it weren't for the dog. If your roles were reversed, and you were the one keeping him, Wanda would undoubtedly want to be informed if his brief existence was endangered by an illness.

But then again, you've made your choice. You didn’t want anything to do with her. It was evident in your absence, when you stopped your visits to her apartment, her café; when Wanda's phone could no longer detect any recent online activity from you. You had simply vanished without a trace.

It would be unjust to intrude on your decision when you clearly didn't want to be found.

…And she’s still, quite literally, debating it when she finds herself at your doorstep an hour later.

Your new building looks lavish, Wanda can only imagine how much you’ve spent on the deposit alone. It was a little intimidating when she was asked to leave an ID and the receptionist had to ring your unit to inform you that you had a visitor–dropping her name to you in the process. More interesting than that, however, is that she gave Wanda the go signal to proceed to the elevators, meaning that you gave your consent for her to see you.

There's a sense of relief in realizing that you wouldn't go to the extent of turning her away just to avoid her altogether. She sets aside the questions that her heart desperately wants to ask, knowing they would only thwart the initial intention she has of seeing you.

She is fully aware of how guarded and cautious you were the last time; memories of her well-crafted plans to lure you and get close to you for the obvious reason of winning you back are still fresh in her mind. Wanda understands that she needs to approach this meeting with sensitivity and genuine concern, keeping her intentions clear and focused on Sparky's well-being.

But as she’s about to knock, the door swings open.

“Hi, I–” Wanda’s words die on her tongue and the nervous smile on her face fades into uncertainty.

Standing there, clad in nothing but a t-shirt (which she recognizes having bought it for you) that goes past her thighs, is the woman from the club. The woman who drew the curtains for you in your living room. Her blonde hair cascades in messy beach waves, framing her face and reaching her shoulders.

She is breathtakingly beautiful.

But what strikes Wanda the most is how effortlessly the woman seems to blend into the space, appearing more like a tenant than a mere guest who just happened to visit you at this particular time.

Does she live with you?

“Is Y/N home? I’m Wan–”

"Wanda. I know. I’m Yelena," Yelena interrupts, her tone firm yet not unkind, like she’s struggling as much as the brunette. "She's still at work. Is there something you need from her?"

“You’re Yelena? Natasha’s sister?” Wanda asks.

Yelena nods tentatively, her eyes studying Wanda's reaction; she was surprised to get a call from the reception that a certain Wanda Maximoff wanted to come up to her unit. Despite the nagging question of whether you've been seeing Wanda all this time behind her back, she makes a conscious effort to maintain her composure in front of your ex-wife.

Meanwhile, something in Wanda's mind clicks. It's Yelena, not you, who allowed herself to go up to your floor. It's her, not you, who wanted to meet her. Wanda's mind races with questions. Does Yelena know about her? Did Yelena feel the need to introduce herself to your ex-wife?

"Uh..." Wanda's voice trembles with the onset of a panic attack. It turns out, coming here was a mistake, and she’s just grateful you’re not around to witness it. "I'm sorry. Please forget that I came here. Don't let her know I was here, please? I'm really sorry. I'll just go."

Yelena sucks in her cheeks as she reads into Wanda’s sudden panic. "Sure," she replies before softly closing the door on Wanda.

The nights are longer at Stark Industries. You knew what you signed up for when you accepted the job, but now you're starting to feel the repercussions. The stress is taking its toll not only on your work-life balance but also on your relationship with Yelena. You haven’t had dinner together recently, much less a conversation that lasted longer than a few exchanges of “how are you” and “I’m fine”. There’s a lot to make up for, but no date in sight to actually start doing so.

The office is empty except for you and the maintenance worker assigned to the night shift, so when your ringtone cuts through the stillness, the sound of it reverberates off the walls of the empty room, making it too loud for you to ignore.

With your eyes concentrated on a formula on your spreadsheet, you answer your phone without looking at the caller.

“Hey, I’ll be home soon.” you say, assuming it’s Yelena on the line.

“Y/N.” A vaguely familiar voice that’s definitely not Yelena greets you. That’s when you remove your phone from your ear and notice the unknown number on the screen.

“Who’s this?”

The caller doesn’t answer right away. Instead, you can hear rain pouring heavily in the background, something you haven’t been aware of due to the thick windows of the office blocking out outside noises.

“It’s Vision,” The voice cracks over the speaker before you can decide to drop the call. “Wanda needs your help.”

The rain had been relentless throughout the day according to the weather app on your phone. You’ve just been too busy to notice, and so you find yourself without an umbrella. Thankfully, by the time you arrive at the location Vision instructed, the downpour has subsided into a gentle drizzle.

“Jesus, it’s freezing.” you mumble to yourself, wrapping your jacket tighter around your body.

You recognize this part of the city, having gone here numerous times in the past to visit your favorite dive bar where you, Natasha, Clint, and Wanda would hang out for hours just talking and having a good time. Although Natasha and Wanda don’t really talk, they engage in group shots, and Wanda would always challenge you to a game of pool, and you would win one or two matches in a best of seven, because your wife–ex-wife–is just so gifted in just about all kinds of sports.

However, it's not the same bar where you find Wanda. Instead, it’s near a dead-end street and you stumble upon her slumped against a light post in a sorry state. It's obvious that she has consumed a significant amount of alcohol, leaving her almost blacked out. It makes you suspicious if this happens often–Wanda getting shitfaced in random places with Vision in tow.

The sight of Vision doesn’t bother you as much as before, but it still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth to see them together in the same place. Vision, to his credit, keeps a respectful distance, yet the yearning in his face is unmistakable. It's a familiar look, one you've witnessed on Wanda's previous boyfriends when they believed you weren't paying attention.

As you draw closer, Wanda's head tilts back, and her intoxicated eyes, heavy-lidded and unfocused, widen ever so slightly in recognition as they lock with yours.

“Y/N? Is that really you?” Wanda drunkenly slurs, her struggling eyes attempting to focus on your face. “If you’re not, please tell Y/N that I’m not with him,” Wanda says, pointing her thumb in his direction, refusing to even look at Vision. “He just showed up out of nowhere and I told him to stay away. I swear, I’m telling the truth. Vision, tell her, please. Tell her to tell Y/N.”

The street lights become too much for Wanda to bear, and she buries her head into her arms, her knees drawn to her chest. She looks so small and insignificant against the backdrop of a vibrant metropolis.

Steeling yourself against her sorrowful pleas, you turn to Vision instead. “How did you find her?” you demand.

“I was out with my friends, and happened to pass by this area on our way back,” Vision recounts. “I saw two men trying to take her home, and we intervened. I tried asking Wanda where she lives so I can take her home myself, but she refuses to tell me. I tried calling you using her phone, but I think you blocked her number, so I tried calling you myself.”

You’re inclined to believe him, but there will always be bouts of suspicion lingering on the surface when it concerns Wanda. Though as your eyes return to Wanda’s shivering form, you can’t help but wonder if she would truly rather die in the ditches than accept help from him. For the first time, you find yourself contemplating the possibility of believing her, although a part of you wonders if it's simply your enduring soft spot for her attempting to sway your judgment.

“Thank you,” you say to Vision, surprised to find a little sincerity in your voice.

“If I find out you’re the reason why she’s this miserable, I’m putting everything on the line to make sure you stay away from her.” he declares, igniting a cigarette as you support Wanda, draping one of her arms over your shoulder and lifting her up. In that moment, she feels noticeably lighter than before, and your hand can discern the protrusion of her ribs as you secure her against your side.

“Is that a threat?” you say, clenching your jaw, your own clothes getting soaked fast, not realizing early on just how drenched Wanda is from the rain.

“It’s a warning,” Vision answers coolly. “As far as I know, you haven’t atoned for anything. And it’s not because you don’t deserve it. It’s because of her.”

He’s right–you walked out of that bloodied room unscathed from the law. All along you thought the consequences of what you’ve done to Vision just miraculously resolved on its own with the help of Natasha, but if Wanda had anything to do with how you’re not being served with at least damages for physical assault, what price did she have to pay in return?

It’s a conversation for later–you don’t need Wanda to protect you, especially if it means being coerced into complying with Vision's demands.

“I’m ready for anything,” you tell him, goading him with a smirk as you feel Wanda nestle closer to you, seeking your warmth. “Now, get your jacket off her and I’ll take it from here.”

As Vision gently takes off the garment from Wanda's shoulders, your eyes catch sight of a distinct mark on her finger, a faded indentation left by a ring that she no longer adorns.

Upon arriving at Wanda's place, there is no sign of Sparky. You feel a twinge of disappointment, as you had been somewhat anticipating him despite the circumstances. However, your attention swiftly turns to Wanda, who appears even worse now that you have brought her home: her lips are dry and pale, the flush all over her face down to her neck is still there, and she feels excessively warm to touch, almost as if she is–

“Shit, you’re burning up,” you mutter as you place your hand on her damp forehead.

Then all of a sudden, Wanda forcefully pushes you away, her hand covering her mouth, as she rushes towards the bathroom. In her haste, the straps of her sandals snap, breaking under the pressure. Swiftly, you trail behind her, conscientiously removing your shoes along the way to prevent leaving any dirt tracks on her pristine floor.

When you enter the bathroom, you find Wanda hunched over the toilet, emptying her stomach. Grimacing at the sight, you kneel beside her and carefully gather her dark hair, holding it up while you wait for her to finish. Once she's done, you flush it down for her. Wanda, seemingly drained, rolls away from the toilet and crawls towards the shower where she simply sits in one corner, closing her eyes with the clear intention of settling down for the night right there.

Faced with a decision, you find yourself contemplating your next course of action. You weigh the responsibilities you had undertaken which was to get Wanda to her apartment safely. What happens to her thereafter should no longer be your concern. After all, Yelena is most likely still waiting for you back at home.

Home. A year ago, the extent to which your definition of it has changed would have been unimaginable.

“Y/N,” Wanda’s weak voice draws your attention away from your thoughts. “You should g-go.” she says hoarsely.

Your fingers close around the doorknob, silent and unmoving, as anger wells up within you; Anger at Wanda for getting herself into this mess. Anger towards Vision for asking you to come to her rescue. Anger at yourself for feeling unable to leave Wanda behind, despite everything.

"Did she tell you about me? I told her not to, Y/N. I'm so sorry..." Wanda's whisper reaches your ears, her eyes remaining shut and her head tilted back, revealing the graceful column of her neck. You instinctively avert your gaze.

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

“I-I went to see you. But she said you were still working. I didn’t mean to intrude, I just wanted you to know about Sparky…”

She? Yelena? You didn’t think Yelena would allow Wanda to go up to your apartment just like that.

"He's not well," Wanda continues, her gaze focused on your face as she takes in every detail of it, as if trying to capture the memory of you in case this is the only opportunity she gets.

Your grip on the doorknob tightens. So that explains why Sparky is nowhere to be found.

“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened? Is he okay?”

Wanda hiccups, thoughts too jumbled to put together anything coherent. "Liver–not normal," she manages to say, her voice trailing off. She had convinced herself that she wanted to see you for a legitimate reason, but as she gazes at you now, it becomes painfully clear that it was her deep longing for you that has ultimately prevailed.

"Is there anything I could-" you start to offer your help, your concern for Sparky overriding whatever tension lingers between you and Wanda.

"You should leave, Y/N," Wanda interrupts, mustering the strength to open her eyes and meet yours. The shame and despair swirling in those green orbs are hard to ignore, but you try to remain steadfast. "She's probably worried about you."

You chew on your lower lip for a moment, and then, instead of doing as she says, you close the door behind you. Silently, you begin removing your own clothes, stripping down to your underwear.

"I have to dry them anyway," you mumble after feeling the weight of Wanda's stare. "Come on, let's fix you up and get you ready for bed."

Wanda reaches for the hem of her shirt, her hesitation evident as she refrains from removing it. Sensing her struggle, you take the initiative, hoping to expedite the process so you can attend to her needs and leave soon. With gentle care, you lift her shirt up and over her head, exposing her trembling form.

That's when you notice it–her wedding ring that Wanda used to wear on her finger, even after your divorce. But now it has taken on a new form, transformed into a pendant hanging delicately from a chain around her neck. It rests there, nestled between her breasts, a symbol of a past chapter in her life–and yours–that she carries with her, in a different way.

Wanda notices where your eyes are lingering and removes the necklace herself when you remain passive and unmoving.

The next task is unclipping her bra, and as your fingers reach for the hooks, Wanda's hand covers yours, halting your actions.

“Is this–I mean, do you think should…?” she stammers out, and you’re unsure if the blush on her face is still from the alcohol.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before," you say, feeling your own face heat up. "I think you have a fever. I need to get you out of these wet clothes, is that okay?"

Wanda nods meekly, giving her consent.

A few seconds later, Wanda is naked except for the pink she wears on her cheeks. You help her get up and move under the shower. You twist and turn the knob of the shower until you find the desirable temperature, and then start shampooing Wanda’s hair.

As the water cascades over her and rinses away her self-loathing, Wanda finds herself surrendering to your care, allowing her to cherish this rare, tender moment she never knew she’d get to experience again. She is grateful for the water, realizing how weary you must be of seeing her cry; it’s just not possible to restrain herself from it when you’re this gentle with her.

“Can you handle the rest?” you ask Wanda, putting your hands under the shower to get rid of the soap.

“Yes,” she answers.

“Okay. I’ll go get some towels.”

Collecting both yours and Wanda's clothes from the floor, you quickly step out of the bathroom before you can start processing what you’ve just done.

Don’t think, just do, you say to yourself as you put the clothes in the dryer.

Don’t think, just do, you repeat as you get fresh towels from the cabinet.

Don’t think.

When you’re both dry and you’re back in your work clothes and Wanda in her pajamas, you accompany her to her bedroom. You tuck her in and touch her forehead once again to check her temperature. The heat still radiates from her body, and it becomes clear that her fever isn't letting up soon. It won’t go down unless she takes something, but with alcohol still in her system, you don’t think that’s a good idea.

Here, drink this," you offer, extending a sports drink to Wanda.

"Thank you," Wanda murmurs, taking a generous sip before returning the bottle to you.

"Try to finish it. You're likely dehydrated," you suggest. Wanda, acknowledging your advice, obediently continues to drink.

“Better?”

Wanda nods with a small smile. “Thank you, Y/N. I’m sorry you had to go through all that trouble. I didn’t think Vision would–”

“You’re welcome,” you interject as soon as she mentions his name. “We’ll talk soon.”

Wanda's gaze remains fixed on her folded hands in her lap. "You don't have to," she whispers. "You don't have to talk to me or see me if you don't want to. I'm sorry. This doesn't happen a lot anymore—not as often as you might think. Just something happened, and... I didn't mean to involve you, Y/N. I'm really sorry."

Something? What exactly happened? Regardless, you don't think it's healthy for Wanda to subject herself to such a high level of intoxication, no matter what the circumstances may be.

"We'll talk soon," you repeat, keeping your tone firm but gentle. "Take care, Wanda. Good night."

Yelena is wide awake in the living room, her attention focused on a book resting on her lap as you arrive home. The soft glow of a lamp illuminates her features, casting a gentle light on her face. There's a stillness in the room, interrupted only by the turning of pages and the sound of your footsteps.

You hesitate for a moment, taking in the sight of her.

"Hey," you greet her wearily. "You're still awake?"

“I couldn’t sleep without you,” she says, somewhat bashfully. "There's salad in the fridge if you haven't eaten." she offers.

You pause for a moment, and then meeting her gaze, you ask, "Do you have something to tell me?"

Yelena levels you with a look, putting her book down, she says, “No. Do you?”

Taking a deep breath, you tell her you do. “I took Wanda home,” you declare, bracing yourself for Yelena’s reaction but her face remains stoic. There's a flicker of something in her eyes, almost as if she had been anticipating your words.

“Can you clarify?” Yelena finally speaks up when you make no further effort to elaborate.

"In the office, I received a call from Vision," you explain. “He said Wanda needed my help. She was in no condition to go home on her own so I took her.”

“Why didn’t he take her home himself?”

You shrug slightly. "Wanda refused to go with him.”

There's a quiet intensity in her eyes, a depth of emotions that she holds back, yet you can sense them lingering beneath the surface. And then, she asks, “And nothing happened?”

“I helped her get change and manage her fever,” you say. “Nothing else happened.”

Yelena's gaze softens, and any trace of her being bothered by your confession finally reveals itself in the form of a soft sigh that escapes her lips.

"Thank you for telling me," Yelena says, wrapping her arms around your neck. "In that case, I should have mentioned that Wanda came by, and I let her come up here."

"Why didn't you say anything?" you ask curiously.

"She told me not to let you know," Yelena reveals quite casually. "And I didn't think it was important anyway."

You hum in response, grateful for her honesty and openness at least. Although, you sense that there might be more to the story than meets the eye.

"Aren't you going to ask me if I've been in touch with her?" you inquire, unable to ignore the nagging curiosity in your mind. Yelena's seemingly mild reactions in response to her encounter with Wanda is slightly unsettling.

“I wasn’t going to,” Yelena confesses, lowering her gaze before they come back up with a vulnerability that wasn’t there before. “But have you?”

You shake your head in response, indicating the truth. Yelena’s shoulder slackens and she steps closer to you. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore. I missed you,” Yelena mumbles the words like a secret, before capturing your lips in a short, sweet kiss, effectively stealing you away from your thoughts.

"Me too," you whisper back, feeling the day's events weighing on you, you take her hand and guide her towards the bedroom. "Let's go to bed."

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