Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was nearing one am, and Vision should really have been getting to bed soon if he wanted to keep his sleep schedule from deteriorating even more, but it was just one of those nights where the tea was close at hand and the book was far too engrossing, so here he sat, on the dark green couch with a blanket tucked under his chin. He had drawn his knees up and was resting his head on them, blonde hair tied back messily. He reached out again for his tea- green tea, of course, trying to cut down on caffeine- but as his fingers brushed the sides a knock came on the door.

Now this clearly wouldn’t be such an unusual event, if, of course, it was earlier in the day, Vision was expecting company, and it had been a usual sort of knock. Which it very much wasn’t; it sounded like whoever was on the other side of the door was leaning their whole body against it, not stopping at two or three knocks but pounding on it constantly.

Vision stood, dropping the blanket and bookmarking his page rather warily. He didn’t know who this could be; his sister Darcy was on holiday, and anyone else in his life would have the common decency to call ahead and come at a more normal time. He moved to the door, one hand on the handle, the other grabbing a lamp from a side table as a makeshift weapon. Just in case. The dreadful pounding continued, so he found he had no choice but to take a deep breath and swing open the door.

On the other side was a red-headed woman, about his age- that is to say, in her early twenties-, who stumbled directly into his chest. “Holy shit, Nat-” she caught a proper glimpse of him, and her cheeks flushed. “FUCK. I’m so sorry- you’re not-”

He shook his head. “No. I’m not, uh, Nat. Are you… alright?”

“No, no, I’m perfectly sober, I just.” She was very clearly not perfectly sober, her cheeks still flushed, grey eyes bright. She had to be at least a head shorter than him, wearing some kind of black translucent shirt and bright red pants. Vision stood very still. She was half-leaning on him still, her hand on his chest.

“I’m looking for, um, the building,” she said, over-enunciating her words and gesturing quite wildly, “with the bricks and the- you know, the thingy on the roof, with the wings?”

“The gargoyles?” Vision knew the exact building she was talking about. It was maybe a twenty minute drive away; she was in exactly the wrong area of the city. “Yes, this building also has gargoyles on the roof, but perhaps you were looking for the one on Firmin Avenue? This is Junction Street.”

“Aw, shit.” She let go of him and sunk to the ground, leaning against the doorframe. “I was going so well.”

“Do, uh, do you want to come inside? I’ll call you an uber?” He offered, heart racing slightly. He placed down the lamp. Was this the correct procedure for when a slightly drunk woman shows up at your door in the middle of the night? Was there a procedure?

She stood up again, one arm holding her weight up against the doorframe. “You are so nice. No one is ever this nice. I don’t think you’re human.”

“Oh, uh,” Vision sputtered. He really had no clue what he was doing in this situation, but it seemed that he was the only one coherent. “It seems that you haven’t met many good people, then. Would you like to come in and sit down? Or stay out here, wherever you’re most comfortable. Do you have any friends you can call?”

The woman pushed him aside and entered his apartment, not bothering to look around before collapsing face first on the couch.

“Inside it is, then.” Vision said to himself, closing the front door and moving to grab the woman a glass of water. He tapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Here, have some water. You’ll feel better.”

“I feel fine,” she protested, sitting up, but then proceeded to gulp down the whole glass in one go. He wordlessly filled up a water bottle and placed it next to her.

“I’m so sorry.” She said. “I know this probably isn’t ideal for you. I, um, I don’t do this often.”

“Turn up at random stranger’s houses in the middle of the night?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No-o, get, you know, drunk. It was all that guy’s fault.”

“You came here looking for someone called Nat, right?” He asked, sitting on the little table so they were facing each other. Their knees were almost touching. She nodded.

“Nat is my friend. Well, my sister, really, but also not really really, and I was going to go crash at her place cause I did not want to go home alone just about now, but I came to the wrong building and now I’m in the wrong place. I did it all wrong. She’s gonna laugh at me so hard when I’m sober.”

She looked almost… sad, or disappointed in herself. Vision considered patting her knee or at least doing something to comfort her, but he then remembered that he was a strange man and she was drunk and it was the middle of the night, and she would perhaps feel more comfortable not being touched right now. He opted instead to pass her the blanket he had abandoned only a minute ago; she wrapped it around herself immediately.

“I think perhaps calling this Nat would be the safest idea. She can come and pick you up.”

The woman nodded slowly. She drew her phone out of the small bag she was carrying, resting it on her knees. “Do you think, um,” her voice was smaller now, “do you think she’ll be mad?”

Vision sighed. “She definitely won’t be mad. I’m sure she’d just rather you’re safe than anything.”

She nodded again. “Okay,” she said, opening her phone and pressing a few buttons until it began to ring. She held out the phone to Vision. “Do you want to talk to her?”

“Oh, um,” he took the phone, still ringing, from her hand. “Of course.”

It rung a few more times before someone picked up, a woman’s voice half-bleary with sleep. “What the fuck, Wanda?” She didn’t sound angry at all, but more like this was a regular greeting. “Are you alright?”

Vision froze for a second before responding. “This is Victor Shade. She- Wanda is fine, but she’s a bit drunk, and she’s shown up to the wrong apartment building.”

Phone calls had always been a source of anxiety for Vision, and this, with a strange woman he’d never met about the other strange woman on his couch, and at one in the morning no less, when he was really on the verge of sleep- it was safe to say he wasn’t having a good time.

“Oh, shit,” Nat sounded wide awake now, “where are you? I’ll come get her. Is she safe?”

“I’m at-” Vision gave his address, gaze fixed on Wanda who was now snoring lightly, asleep with her head back on the head of the couch. “She’s asleep now, but she’s safe with me, I promise. If you’d rather stay on the phone while you drive, I can wake her up?”

“No, that’s alright,” he could hear the grimace in her voice, the vague sounds of a door closing in the background. “I have a motorbike, can’t stay on the phone. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Five?” He questioned, but the line was already dead. He frowned- Nat’s building was at least fifteen minutes away, if you were pushing it.

Wanda stirred, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. Her brow furrowed; she seemed to still be asleep, or else she was pretending to to avoid conversation. Vision didn’t blame her. His heart was still racing uncomfortably fast. He really hoped he was doing the right thing. This was not a situation he had time to mentally prepare himself for, or explore the different possibilities of what might happen, and he was torn between the adrenaline rush of something interesting is happening in my life and the anxiety of what the fuck am i doing?

But it was fine. He was alright. He knew there were definitely more unsavoury characters she could have knocked on the door of. He knelt in front of Wanda’s sleeping form, placing her phone on the coffee table. “Wanda? Your friend Nat should be here soon.”

She snored on. A deep sleeper, then. He noticed that she had a few freckles sprinkled across her cheeks, and her makeup was smudged.

“Wanda?” Vision raised his voice, but still no response. He poked her shoulder lightly. “Wanda, you should really wake up just about now.”

“That’s not going to work,” came a now-familiar voice from the door, and Vision started to his feet. A woman, a bit older than him, with long brown hair tied at the back of her head stood in the doorway. She wore a black t-shirt and grey flannel pants, clearly having rolled straight out of bed to be here.

“I’m assuming you’re Nat? How did you get here so quickly?” He asked, taking a step back. “Come in-”

She was already striding inside, nodding at his question. “Don’t question it. And drunk Wanda is impossible to wake up.”

“Right.”

Nat unscrewed the cap of the water bottle he had given to Wanda, and before he could stop her, she threw the contents over Wanda’s face. She immediately leapt to her feet, wobbling slightly in her heeled boots, gone from dead asleep to awake in less than a second. “Holy shit, Nat-” she collapsed into the older woman’s hug, holding her tight.

“You alright?” Nat asked, glancing slightly suspiciously at Vision.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just want to go home.” She turned to Vision, eyes wide, hair still sopping wet. “I am so sorry. Like, this must be really awkward for you and I don’t- um- I don’t even know your name.”

“Victor Shade. My friends call me Vision. And that’s quite alright.”

“Thank you, Victorvisionshade, for like, not murdering me and- and everything.”

She was still slurring her words. He doubted she would remember much of this in the morning.

“Let’s get you home.” Nat steered Wanda out the door, one arm around her shoulders. “God, how much did you drink?”

Wanda glanced over her shoulder at Vision one more time as she stumbled out the door. “Have a nice life! I like your hair!”

Once they were gone, Vision closed the door, sat on the couch (avoiding the wet spot) and sighed, his face in his hands. Wanda was very pretty, and very exciting, and very much never going to be in his life again.

“Well that was the weirdest experience I’ve ever had.” He said aloud, reaching for his tea, before he realised it was now cold.

Damn it.

Chapter Text

Wanda woke up with the biggest hangover of her life. Of fucking course.

She groaned, lifting a hand to her face and rubbing her eyes. Fuck. Her head was pounding and spinning and she felt nauseous beyond belief; the light of the sun streaming through the window was like it was poking through her eyes and into her skull. Repeatedly.

“Nat?” She called out hesitantly, throat scratchy. The room she was in was almost as familiar as her own; purple walls and arrow-patterned bedsheets. While her and Natasha were technically, biologically speaking, not related, that was something they tended to overlook; Nat was five years older and had effectively adopted Wanda when they first met, four years ago, both taking the same self-defence class at their local gym.

The older woman entered, hair twisted up in a towel. “Morning, sunshine.”

Wanda grimaced. “Wish it wasn’t.” She pushed herself into a sitting position, the world still half-spinning, and reached for the water bottle on the side table, downing half of it.

“Wish it wasn’t what?” Nat grinned, winding up the blind and filling the room (and Wanda’s head) with bright light. “Morning? Or shining?”

“You’re not even funny, and I hate you,” Wanda said, smiling. “Please don’t tell me I stole your bed last night.”

“I took the couch,” Nat said.

Wanda winced, feeling the seed of guilt grow in her stomach. There was enough space for both of them in Nat’s bed, she knew, but she also knew that she tossed and turned in her sleep, and Nat felt uncomfortable enough being vulnerable around others as it was.

“Sorry-” she tried, but Nat was already glaring at her.

“Don’t you dare apologise, idiot, I’d much rather sleep on the couch and have you safe in bed than let you stay in some random guy’s place.”

Wanda’s eyes widened. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and winced as her head throbbed more, red hair falling in her face. “So… that wasn’t just a dream?”

God. Last night was fuzzy, to say the least, but she distinctly remembered showing up to a random guy’s house and making an utter fool of herself. He had been quite kind to her, not that she had deserved it. Great.

Nat shook her head, holding out her hand and to help her stand. “Come on, you’ll feel better after a shower.”

“Oh god.” Despite the embarrassment creeping through her, Wanda knew her sister was right; she took the proffered hand and rose, making her way to the small en suite bathroom.

“Your towel’s already in there, you can steal my clothes.”

Wanda didn’t know what she would do without Nat.

As usual, Natasha was right; after her shower, Wanda felt ridiculously better. Not necessarily good; her head still ached and her throat was dry and she was flushed with embarrassment, but she could think clearly and the sunlight streaming through the frosted window was for the most part nice, rather than painful.

The main thing was, though, that she felt clean, and her hair was untangled and drying around her shoulders. She tried to put the events of last night out of her mind, and decided to never go to parties or get drunk again. Ever.

Nat was somewhere else in the apartment, probably (hopefully) making breakfast or bugging her flatmate, Clint. Wanda was rifling through the closet, already dressed in some of Nat’s old clothes, when something red caught her eye, and she drew it out with a gasp.

“Oh my god, she is so dead,” she exclaimed, laughing.

Wanda strode into the kitchen; she had been right, Natasha was both making breakfast and bugging Clint, who in turn was sitting, eating cereal and snickering at something. Nat had let her auburn hair down from the towel wrap, braided loosely over her shoulder.

“Nat, this is my jacket,” she said, holding up the soft red leather. Clint raised his eyebrows. “I swear I leant it to you one time.”

Nat rested her head on her hands confidently, leaning over the benchtop. “Are you sure?”

Wanda paused. “Well, now I’m not.” She walked to the kitchen bench, past Clint at the small dining table, and shrugged the jacket on her shoulders.

Natasha pulled out her phone from her back pocket. Wanda frowned, confused, but waited; after a second or two, she was displayed a screenshot of two texts. It read:

wanda: can i borrow ur red jacket for tomorrow plsss

nat: yea sure, but if u lose it ur done

Wanda opened her mouth, then shut it again.

“That was from, like, five months ago,” Nat was holding back a grin, “and then you didn’t give it back for ages until I borrowed it for Clint’s birthday, remember?”

“And you just… screenshotted that and waited until we had this exact conversation?”

Nat nodded. “I needed the insurance.”

“Aw, dammit.” Wanda said cheerily, pulling up a chair across the table from Clint. “I so thought it was mine. It’s such a nice jacket too.”

“It is,” Nat held out a plate to her, “and you can’t have it.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, accepting the plate loaded with fried eggs and bread and syrnikis, Russian sweet cheese fritters. Nat was Russian, and had spent most of her life there before emigrating to the US a few years before they had first met.

“Eat up,” she said, “breakfast is meant to be good for hangovers.”

“I’m not hungover,” Wanda grumbled uselessly, digging her fork into the mound on her plate.

“And that seems very likely, after the state you were in last night,” Clint grinned, sitting across from her.

“Right.” Wanda pursed her lips.

“You were crying while Nat tried to get you to go to bed because someone called Vis’s hair was too cute?”

Wanda flicked a bit of egg at him. “This is slander. Nat, kick him out.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “Less talking, more eating. Drink this water too.”

Wanda complied.

After she had eaten breakfast and thanked her sister profusely (the thanks fell on deaf ears; Nat just insisted that Wanda would do the same for her and, well, she was right, although Wanda was a far worse cook), Wanda headed home. She had only just arrived when she realised she was still wearing the jacket; her lip twitched in a half-smile. She would return it with the rest of Nat’s clothes that she had borrowed.

She lived in a small flat above a cafe; the cafe had originally been owned by her grandparents, when she and her brother had moved in with them from Serbia when the two were ten. When their grandparents had died, they had decided to sell the cafe; neither of them had been interested in owning it. Wanda had kept the flat above, and as of a year or two ago, the cafe had been owned by a young couple, Steve and Bucky.

They were both very buff and vaguely intimidating in looks, and yet were two of the sweetest people Wanda knew. (And made excellent coffees). It was like some kind of weird paradox, but Wanda didn’t mind; she had grown close to the two men and after the loss of her brother, a month or two after she had first met them, their friendship had become invaluable to her.

She swung in, past the long line of customers. Since the two new owners had given the shop a bit of a makeover, it had become wildly popular within the surrounding area; Wanda occasionally had to step in and help out with a shift or two when it became too busy.

She nodded at Steve, who was too busy to hold a proper conversation, as she passed the counter and went through to the back room, where a set of stairs led to her flat. At first she had felt weird walking through the whole coffee shop every time she wanted to enter or exit her place; she had gotten used to it, of course, and now the cafe felt as much a part of her home as her own bedroom did.

Arriving upstairs, Wanda made a beeline for the small blue couch and collapsed, closing her eyes and tilting her head back. The apartment was cool, and dark, and it was a nice relief against her tired mind and aching head.

Of course, as soon as she left her mind alone, it wandered to what she had been pushing down since she had become conscious that morning.

That guy.

Vision. He said his friends called him that, and she had kind of forgotten his real name, but she hadn’t forgotten his face; he had shaggy blond hair and bright blue eyes and had looked so concerned the whole time. She barely remembered what had happened once she showed up at his apartment, but she did distinctly remember him taking care of her; he gave her water, maybe, and a blanket and called her sister and didn’t simply kick her out.

It only took a second or two of sitting like this, hand over her face, before she felt a small weight jump onto her lap.

“Oh, hello,” she grinned, lifting a hand to stroke the soft ginger fur of the cat now looking up to her with a disdainful expression, “did you miss me?”

She doubted it. Her cat’s name was Theodore Dylan Worchester III, but she just called him Theo. He had turned up one night at her window and had come and gone ever since, never leaving her for more than a few days before he showed up again, scratching at her window pane and begging for food and love.

She gave both, in abundance.

Wanda leaned forward, pushing the cat off her lap and walking over to where she kept the cat food; doling out the correct amount into the container she used as a makeshift bowl, she leaned forward and frowned at her cat.

“Maybe you can help me, Theo.” He darted forward and began eating ferociously, as if scared someone might take it away. She sat next to him, cross-legged.

“The thing is, if I had met him in class or at a cafe or anywhere normal, he seems like the kind of guy I would be into,” she paused, drawing in a breath. “But I didn’t, and he probably wants nothing more to do with me now.”

The cat didn’t respond.

“It’s stupid, anyway. I barely even talked to him. I think I’m just lonely and feeling guilty, aren’t I, Theo? Aren’t I? I mean, I’m sitting here talking to a cat. You don’t get much more pathetic than that.”

Theo looked up, his food demolished. He was definitely judging her.

Wanda sighed. It was stupid, she knew, but-

A thought struck her. She scrambled to her feet, pushing the cat’s bowl to the side with one foot and picking up her satchel. She ignored the dizzy feeling in her head and the nausea in her stomach; this was more important than any hangover.

She had an apology to make.