[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
Ding dong.
Ding dong.
I groaned, burying my face into the pillow that smelled suspiciously like Wanda's shampoo.
"Who approaches the gates of heaven at this hour?" I mumbled to the mattress.
I rolled over, throwing my hand out to pull Wanda back into my chest so we could ignore the apocalypse together.
My hand hit empty sheets. The bed was cold on her side.
I sat up, blinking the sleep from my eyes.
A chaotic roaring sound was filtering through the double paned glass of the bedroom window. It sounded like a small riot was taking place on my petunias.
"What in the world..." I muttered, kicking off the duvet and standing up. I was wearing a pair of dark grey sweatpants and nothing else.
I looked at the wall, reached into the local probability field and adjusted the molecular density of the drywall and wood.
Transparent.
The wall facing the street instantly became as clear as glass to my eyes, while remaining solid brick to anyone looking from the outside.
I stared down at the front lawn.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," I groaned, dragging a hand down my face.
It was a circus. News vans. Boom mics. And a terrifyingly large contingent of teenage girls holding signs.
I squinted, reading one of the neon pink posters. MARRY ME ARYAN.
I watched as the front door opened below me. Wanda stepped out onto the porch.
Even from the second floor, I could feel the temperature drop. She stood there, a tiny figure against the mob, but she radiated absolute menace.
I watched the red energy flare around her hands. I watched the crowd go instantly stiff. And I watched the entire mob turn around and march away like mindless drones.
"Okay," I said to the audience, leaning against the window frame. "The mind whammy is highly effective for localized threats. A bit Yandere, sure, but I respect the territorial defense. However..."
I tapped my chin, watching the vans drive away.
"She doesn't know about cloud storage," I noted. "Or cellular data uplinks. Those cameras were rolling before she brainwashed them."
I reached out into the ether.
Locate: All video files, audio files and metadata recorded within a one mile radius of this address in the last thirty minutes.
Locate: All live stream packets currently buffering on external servers containing the keywords 'Dr. Spencer', 'National Husband,' 'Wanda Maximoff', and 'Westview'.
I felt the massive web of data. It was like feeling the threads of a spiderweb stretching across the continent.
Command: Delete all.
Command: Delete backup drives.
I felt the silent snap of millions of data packets being simultaneously erased from existence.
I reached into the minds of the reporters and the girls currently driving away under Wanda's compulsion.
I performed a surgical strike on their short term memory centers.
Command: Erase the memory of this incident.
"There," I said to the audience, dusting my hands off. "Clean slate. No footage and no memories. These guys are lucky I'm in a good mood, or I would have turned those news vans into oversized pumpkins."
I dropped the transparency on the wall, returning it to solid drywall.
I walked into the en suite bathroom. I grabbed my blue toothbrush, squeezed an excessive amount of paste onto it and scrubbed my teeth with military efficiency. I rinsed, splashed cold water on my face and stepped into the shower.
I kept it quick. Ten minutes of scalding water to wash off the sleep. I dried off, wrapped a towel around my waist and walked back into the bedroom.
I pulled on a fresh pair of dark jeans and a fitted black v neck t-shirt. I ran a hand through my damp hair, deciding the 'messy but deliberate' look was acceptable for a Sunday.
I opened the bedroom door and padded silently down the stairs.
The smell of bacon and toasted bread wafted up from the kitchen.
I crept down the hallway, peeking around the corner of the doorframe.
Wanda was standing at the stove, flipping bacon with a pair of tongs. Her posture was rigid. Her shoulders were tense. The red energy was gone, but the residual irritation was practically vibrating off her.
I stepped into the kitchen, making my footsteps heavy enough for her to hear.
I walked right up behind her. I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her back against my chest and buried my face in the crook of her neck.
"What a surprise," I murmured, pressing a soft kiss against her skin, feeling her pulse jump at the contact. "Look who's cooking."
Wanda gasped slightly, her body tensing for a fraction of a second before she melted into my hold. She leaned her head back against my shoulder.
"You are awake," she said, her voice attempting to sound light, though a slight edge remained.
"The smell of bacon possesses resurrective properties," I said, kissing the side of her neck again. I peered over her shoulder at the pan. "Though the chef feels a little... stiff. What happened? Did the toaster insult you?"
Wanda flipped the last piece of bacon, staring intensely at the grease popping in the pan.
"Nothing happened," she lied smoothly, her voice perfectly level. "I just... I cannot find the paprika. It is annoying."
"The paprika is on the second shelf, right behind the cumin," I said, pointing over her shoulder. "But you don't need it. The bacon is perfect."
I unwrapped my arms from her waist, stepping back and pulling out one of the barstools at the island. I sat down, resting my elbows on the marble counter.
Wanda turned off the stove. She plated the bacon and eggs, sliding a large plate in front of me, along with a piece of buttered toast.
She plated a smaller portion for herself and sat down on the stool next to me, turning her body toward mine.
I picked up a piece of bacon with my fingers and took a bite. "Mmm. Perfectly crispy."
Wanda didn't eat her own food. She picked up her fork, cut a generous piece of her fried egg, blew on it softly to cool it down and held it out toward my mouth.
I grinned, leaning forward and accepting the bite from her fork. I chewed slowly, swallowing.
"Tasty," I hummed, looking deep into her green eyes. I reached out, tracing the back of her hand with my index finger. "But not as tasty as you."
Wanda's face flooded with an immediate crimson blush.
"Aryan!" she laughed, looking around the empty kitchen as if someone might have heard me. "You cannot say things like that while we are eating breakfast!"
"Why not?" I challenged, leaning closer.
She slapped my arm lightly, giggling. "You are a menace. Eat your eggs."
"Feed me more," I demanded, opening my mouth again.
She rolled her eyes, but her smile was blinding. She cut another piece of egg, speared a piece of bacon onto the same fork and fed it to me.
As I chewed the last piece of toast, I leaned back in my chair, looking at her thoughtfully.
"You know," I said, wiping my mouth with a napkin. "I was thinking."
"What were you thinking about?" She asked, sipping her coffee.
"Us," I said. "And the walls of this house."
She frowned, setting her mug down. "Is there a problem with the walls?"
"No, the walls are great," I clarified. "But we've been staring at them a lot. The farthest we've traveled together is that cornflower field down the dirt road."
I shifted in my chair, turning fully toward her.
"I have a plan," I announced.
"I am listening," she said, resting her chin on her hand.
"I worked as a physician for a few years before the Blip," I said, sliding effortlessly into the fabricated history I had woven into reality. "I took a lot of on-call shifts. Night shifts. Holiday shifts. And because I have zero social life and zero expensive hobbies... I accumulated quite a bit of savings."
"Savings," Wanda repeated, nodding slowly.
"A lot of savings," I emphasized. "And I think it's time to spend it. Let's go to Europe."
Wanda repeated. "Europe? You want to go to Europe?"
"Why not?" I asked, reaching out to take both of her hands in mine. "We have no jobs to report to. Let's go to Venice, Italy. We can ride in a gondola and I can complain about the smell of the canals. Then Prague, in the Czech Republic. The architecture is incredible."
"Prague," she whispered, her eyes shining with imagination.
"Then Berlin, Germany," I continued, listing them off. "Then we take a train to the Netherlands, look at some tulips and finally, we end up in London. We can drink bad tea and complain about the rain."
She laughed, squeezing my hands tightly. "You have thought about this."
"I've always wanted to do it," I said honestly. "But I never had the time. And more importantly... I never had anyone I wanted to go with in this world."
I looked at her, my expression turning entirely serious. "Until now."
Wanda stared at me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears of happiness.
"Yes," she breathed, a massive smile breaking across her face. "Yes, Aryan. I would love to go to Europe with you."
"Excellent," I grinned, leaning forward to kiss her quickly on the lips.