#his loafer slides for a wedding rehearsal he’s perfect

[fannyyann]

the night before (the verhaeghe wedding) via allisonkayeglam 7.27.24

[anonthenullifier]

The Honeymoon Phase, Part 1

Celestial Bodies Chapter 18 

Summary: An undercover mission gives Wanda and Vision a taste of wedded bliss.

Word Count: 8.7k 

AO3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8535118/chapters/25979448

Note: Written for a prompt request by @atendrilofscarlet. 

Hope you all enjoy!

The walkway is lined with glistening white sand, pearlescent shells twisted into perfect spirals gleam under the hot sun, placed at even intervals to denote the path to the resort. Not that it is possible for them to get lost, their personal concierge for the trip, Kenneth, forging a clear path as he pushes the luggage trolley filled with suitcases and duffel bags, the top bars weighted down with hanging luggage for suits and dresses. Only two of the bags actually contain clothes, the rest stuffed with surveillance equipment, wiretaps, communicators, and smoke bombs, just in case.

Wanda squeezes his hand tighter, leaning her body into his shoulder as she smiles up at him. “Feet on the ground,” her teeth touch her lip in preparation of the V, but she catches herself just in time, “darling.”

Immediately his freshly polished loafers connect with the stone pathway, the thud of his steps a bit too pronounced for a normal density human, but she doesn’t think anyone else will pick up on the slight difference in sound. “My apologies.”

“So,” Kenneth slows down, walking backwards so he can see them, a beaming smile on his face and an overenthusiastic, golden retriever puppy level of warmth and charm to the casualness of his existence, “how’d you propose?”

His fingers tense, gripping her hand as he begins the explanation, one they rehearsed over and over on the private jet. “It was our second anniversary and we were in Paris, we went to dinner,” the usual polished politeness of his voice seems to have fled, replaced by a nervous edge filled with faltering pauses.

Wanda determines it might be best to take over, cutting in with a dreamy, well-placed sigh and a toss of her wavy blonde hair, “It was so romantic! He rented out the entire Eiffel Tower and there was a string quartet and roses everywhere.” Wanda puffs out her chest and tilts her chin up, attempting to embody the essence of affluence, treating this extravagance as just a touch more exceptional than a usual Thursday. She throws in one more sigh for good measure.

It seems to work, a proud thumbs up from Kenneth and a “Well done, good sir!” They keep going, transitioning to a wooden-planked walkway surrounded by individual huts with thatched roofs hovering above crystalline blue waters flecked with the undulating bodies of fish darting under the surface.

“I, thank you,” which is said to both the concierge for the compliment and to Wanda for taking the lead.

The pathway branches to the left, leading them to one of the huts. Kenneth stops, stepping back and motioning with a gallant bow towards the door, “Mr. and Mrs. Williams, welcome to paradise.”

Each and every move for this first interaction has been expertly planned and rehearsed, scrutinized by not only Natasha but Sam as well (having labeled himself the king of romance). She's not surprised when Vision scoops her up into his arms with a disarmingly handsome smile - even with the pale skin, dull blue eyes, and blonde hair - yet Wanda still finds her heart fluttering and a genuine smile tugging at her cheeks as he carries her bridal style through the doorway. Since this is where their script ends, she decides to improvise, filling the time it takes for their luggage to be placed in the room by wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to hers, savoring the impossible to disguise nip of vibranium and the perfect texture of his synthetic lips.

The click of the door latching ends the embrace, Vision pulling back with a relieved smile, his nervousness ebbing slightly at the reprieve from prying eyes. “That went well.”

“It did, though we need to work on the proposal story a bit more.”

He lowers her feet to the ground, hand remaining at the small of her back, “The unnecessary extravagance of the action still confounds me, is that a normal proposal?” The way his voice dips from confusion into worry throws her off, but she assumes it’s simply the remnants of his nervousness given it is his first undercover mission now that Steve and Natasha have approved his disguise.

A scarlet wisp caresses his cheek, encouraging his eyes down towards her hand where she waves the glistening 3 carat diamond ring (on loan from a local jeweler), catching the sunlight just right to send prismatic rays around the room. “This ring dictates extravagance.”

“I-” even through the disguise she can tell the gears in his eyes are working overtime, sorting through whatever confusion he is experiencing, multiple thoughts seemingly at war in his unusually muddled mind, “did not believe that would be the type of ring you desired.” The words come out slower than usual, laced with an odd existential worry, and there is an almost cornered look in his eye as he says it.

Wanda studies the ring, agreeing with his assessment, it is far too showy for her tastes. “Yeah, I’d never want this,” a look of relief washes over his face, “but socialite Ana Williams most certainly wants this ring. Let’s see yours.” Slowly he removes his hand from her back, bringing it up to show her the smooth finish of the ring, flexing his fingers to test out the feel of the metal. “See I never would have pegged you as a yellow gold fan.”

“No?” His eyes bore into hers, a singular focus in his gaze that kickstarts the pooling of heat in her cheeks. The topic of marriage was easy to discuss for the mission but sometimes she feels it slip past the detachment of work and into more personal territory. That she finds is terrifying, especially when he looks at her so intently, as if every word is building the foundation of reality, one wrong syllable and the world crumbles.

“No, you seem more like, um, a white gold or probably vibranium type of person, if I had to guess.” The blush breaks on her face and she has to turn away from his intense and questioning stare, deciding that now is a good time to explore their room. The lofted ceilings create a sense of grandness, wood-paneled walls dotted with one-of-a-kind paintings of local floral, a luxurious couch positioned in the center of the room creating a path that she follows to the floor to ceiling sliding glass doors. There’s not even a sound as the door opens, a resort like this would never let the mundane scratch of a door disrupt the soothing melody of the ocean. “Steve really outdid himself with this room.”

Wanda peeks back inside, curious why he’s not responding, and finds him examining the room, fingers lighting over the surface of each board and painting, a contemplative slant to his mouth as he catalogues the textures of the environment. Her eyes remain on him, since the day he was created she has found herself always drawn to the elegance of his body and the tightly controlled ease he puts into each step, but today there is a hesitation to his gait, legs stiff and, she hates to use the word, robotic as he moves towards the suitcases, beginning to unpack their supplies into piles based on type of equipment. “Vizh, you doing okay? You’re walking funny.”

He glances over his shoulder at her, an embarrassed tightness on his lips as he turns to face her. “I am,” his hands wave to indicate his tan linen suit, “unused to actual clothes. The tailoring seems a bit constricting.”

A twirling of her finger through the air is met with his semi-reluctant compliance, Vision turning his body to give her a complete view of the extremely well tailored suit. “I think I found the problem.” One finger to his chest halts his fashion show, his slightly duller eyes following along as Wanda walks her fingers up the row of iridescent seashell buttons of his crisp white shirt until she reaches the top one. “We’re at the beach, not the synagogue.” Carefully she undoes the top button, thrilled at the way the shirt flutters open but even more enthralled at the fact she can actually unbutton his shirt. Wanda grins at the tiny, almost inaudible gasp from above when she traces the exposed skin of his chest, relishing how he tenses when she continues down his shirt. After the third button she leans in, brushing her lips to his chest, the pale skin dissolving away to exquisite vibranium-laced red. A victorious and mischievous smile curls up her lips as she steps back, waving a finger with a tsk tsk “You need to hold your disguise better than that, Vizh.”

Vision releases a shaky breath as he composes himself, the gears in his eyes fading with the red of his skin as he realigns his molecules. “You are very distracting.”

“Steve doesn’t accept excuses,” she pats his chest before sinking into the insanely fluffy cushions of the couch. “You know I’m going to be touching you a lot more than that on this mission,” she finishes with an exaggeratedly posh “darling.”

A tiny smirk flirts with his lips as he sits next to her. “I am aware but I believe my fortitude will increase when it becomes perilous to lose the disguise.”

Wanda tries hard not to roll her eyes, instead allowing her amused and skeptical, “Let’s hope so” do the work for her.

“How is your hair?”

Since they're mission involves a resort, Natasha deemed the traditional baseball cap not good enough, requiring Wanda to undergo hours of extensive braiding, netting, and weaving, worried a bobby pin wig would be too cumbersome. “Still kind of itchy and I'm not sold on being blonde.”

“You are gorgeous.” Vision kisses her cheek, fingers scrunching gently against her head, offering slight relief. “Would you like to review the mission files before our first activity?”

The mission-approved answer is yes, but the allure of the king-size bed visible through the doorway is much stronger, a shift of her body allowing her to swing her leg over his, positioning herself on his lap with her hands tracing the hidden island of vibranium on his sternum. “We could, or we could practice being newlyweds.”

Indecision sends his forehead into a frenzy of wrinkles, a steady exhale of air greeting her words as his hands curve along her sides. “I believe that would be a detrimental, though quite enjoyable, way to commence the mission.”

“Which means?” Her hands undo two more of the buttons, confirming that she might see if he’s willing to wear real clothes one day a month so she can experience this bliss more often.

He catches her wrists in his hands, pulling her flush against him, his mouth just out of reach. “We should review the files,” the disappointment of his decision deflates her shoulders, head dipping to rest in the crook of his neck.

“Fine.”

“So,” Wanda loops her arms through Vision’s, keeping her voice low while plastering a breezy smile on her face to match what is expected of newlyweds who probably spent the past two hours entangled in sweaty, breathless euphoria instead of pouring over hundreds of pages of cryptic files and grainy pictures. “Do we really think the mastermind is an adults only entertainer?”

Their mission is fairly straightforward, an alarming number of couples are not returning from their honeymoons at the French Polynesian Luxury Resort and Spa, their families, friends, and bosses frantically reporting them missing yet so far not a single person has been found and the resort has been oddly silent on the disappearances. This by itself does not dictate the Avengers’ involvement. What pushes it into the realm of requiring a mind reader and a synthezoid masquerading as a married couple is that two of S.H.I.E.L.D’s best operatives were sent to investigate the issue a month ago and never returned.

A few whispered apologies fall from Vision’s lips as he guides her along a row of people until they settle into their pre-assigned seats. He glances around, ensuring no one is eavesdropping before answering her. “The intel suggests she is high on the list. The first reported disappearance occurred two weeks after she began her residency here.”

“Why didn’t they just fire her?”

Everything about him is off when he’s in the disguise, the shrug of his shoulders seeming less genuine, less endearing when she can’t see the movement of vibranium or the twirl of his irises. “There is little to no proof and the guests rate her quite highly,” yet even with the discomfort of this new face, the essence of him still exists, including his tendency to pause, lips quirking just a touch up when he’s about to make what he considers a humorous remark, “Well other than the ones who are missing.”

Wanda rolls her eyes at him, “I’m sure they find it amusing as well.”

“So,” the twisting of his wrist catches her attention, eyes fixated on the way his thumb brushes the diamond of her ring, “is it normative to have proportionality between the extravagance of the proposal and the size of the ring?”

Disbelief bubbles up, escaping as an exasperated laugh, the topic of appropriate proposals for their characters a long-running theme since the mission was announced. Even Nat joined the debate, sidling up to Wanda in random locations in the compound to run a few ideas past her until they settled on what was best. “I guess that’s fair,” until all the attention of the mission she’d never really put much thought into proposals, well that’s not completely true, she has occasionally allowed her mind to wander to such things, usually on cold afternoons when she’s wrapped up in Vision’s arms, basking in the warmth of his comfort, but nothing concrete. Proportionality is definitely not a concept she's cogitated. Somehow he always offers a perspective just slightly askew of her own that forces her to view things differently. It’s one of the many things she loves about him. “It also depends a lot on the person as well. Like, that would be way too much for me regardless of the ring.”

His analytic “I see,” is so densely layered her fingers itch to just dive into his head to see what’s going on but the dimming overhead lights and rumble of drums announcing the act distract her from further inquiry.

A disembodied voice floats down from the speakers embedded in the ceiling, “Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my honor to present the ever enthralling,” the drums crescendo as the announcer deepens his voice for a purposely elongated and overly enunciated, “Enchantress.”

Applause fill the room as the curtains open, the stage filled with exotic plants, emerald green leaves contrasting against the brilliant reds and yellows of the flowers, but none compare to the dramatic stance of the black-haired woman standing proudly on a gem encrusted flower, the green of her dress a touch darker than the backdrop. “A bit gaudy, don’t you think.”

Vision watches the woman unfurl her arms and spin, lifting several feet into the air and hovering to the ground without any readily apparent apparatus. “Is that not a requirement of showmanship?”

“Still tacky.”

The show is fairly standard, a mix of dancing, singing, and comedic interludes, the Enchantress strutting along the stage and losing clothes as the night continues until she ends up in a green corset, matching sequined thong, and black fishnets threaded with golden circles up the middle of her legs. “I think it’s time for our newlywed portion,” the woman on stage announces, howling cheers from the people around them suggests this is what everyone’s been waiting for. “Please, check below your seats to find out who gets the,” her voice drops an octave, a sultry edge lacing the word, “pleasure of joining me up here.”

Wanda glances around the room, watching a couple stand up with a “Whoop!” and another reluctantly rising from their seats, hands waving in a clear sign of a small argument over whether they should admit to being selected. “There is still one more out there.”

“W--Ana?” A gentle hand to her shoulder conveys a rare fear, one she’s only experienced from him twice before, but it’s wholly understandable, his other hand holding up a leaf-shaped paper exclaiming Congratulations! Head up to the stage now! “I do not recall seeing this in the dossier.”

“Maybe it was a last minute addition?” A reminder that there is still one more invitation out there is broadcast to everyone, the people nearest to them staring expectantly at the leaf in Vision’s hand, a few encouraging Get up theres whispered from behind them. “Let’s go.” Wanda stands, grabbing his hand to pull him up with her and takes the leaf, waving it in pseudo-triumph as they join the other two couples on stage.

A stagehand carries out three chairs and the Enchantress twirls around, instructing them on what comes next, “Our dashing men, please sit down,” all three of them take a seat. “Now ladies, pick a lap, any lap will do.” Vision immediately sends her a desperate, pleading gaze and Wanda sits on his lap, unsurprised when the other couples remain together, but a prickle of unease from the directions forms a portent of what is to come in the show. Their host turns back to the audience with a “Let’s meet our lucky guests, shall we?”

The cheers from the audience fill the room as she sashays to the first couple. Wanda finds herself unable to fully pay attention to anything. Part of her mind is focused on what is being asked of the first couple (Rees and Layla from Wales, married three days ago, what he loves most about her is her tits), another on the erratic pulsing of discomfort from Vision whose arms are tighter than needed around her waist yet impressively his face is neutral with a decently faked smirk of amusement, and finally, perhaps most prominently, Wanda studies the way the Enchantress moves. Each question is technically asked of the pair, but her hand caresses the man’s shoulder, outside of the view of his partner, fingers climbing up through his hair and brushing his forehead. There is something else, a flash of green around her fingers but Wanda can’t parse out exactly what it is before she sees the simpering saunter of their host approaching them. The woman places herself at an angle, one hip behind Vision, her hand falling to his shoulder (which leads to an immediate build up of tension in his muscles). “Last but not least we have?”

The microphone hovers in front of Vision’s mouth, “Simon and Ana Williams, we have been married for a day.”

“Oh, the freshest meat of the bunch.” Catcalls intermix with clapping from the audience, but all Wanda can focus on is the trailing of the woman’s hand along Vision’s shoulders. “You, handsome,” her hand ruffles the hair on the back of his head and Wanda finds a strange, roiling rage fanning into existence in her stomach, “look like you have a brilliant mind, what do you do?”

“I am a roboticist.”

The Enchantress finally removes her hand from his head, turning towards the audience with a playful smile as she fans herself, releasing a suggestive sigh before she comments on his answer, “I can only imagine what he’s wired up for the bedroom, you lucky lady.” Annoyingly her hand descends again onto his shoulder, trailing lazily back and forth, “So Mr. Roboto, what do you love most about your wife?”

“I,” Vision stares into her eyes and suddenly Wanda no longer feels like they're on a stage, but his smile draws her to the compound, to their bed, wrapped up in each other, alone and safe and warm, his hand releasing its grip on her waist to brush a strand of hair from her face, “admire and adore her resilience.”

The moment is broken when someone from the crowd, clearly a regular, or at least semi-regular attendee, impatiently yells, “We don't care! Show them the dance!”

The solitary demand quickly builds into a chant, crescendoing within seconds before the green-clad woman raises her hands in defeat, “Oh if you insist. Ladies?” Wanda eyes the woman suspiciously, not particularly excited by the husk developing in her voice. “It is my solemn duty to add a bit of spice into your life,” a wink is thrown at the audience, the music sliding from the sultry background jazz to the easily recognizable dun-dun-nah-nah-nah of burlesque. The implication makes the hairs along her arm stand on end as Wanda wraps herself protectively around Vision’s neck. The Enchantress pulls a feather boa seemingly from thin air, shimmying it down her arms as she walks back and forth in front of the three couples. “So,who’s willing to step away from your husband for a demonstration that I’m sure you’ll all,” the end of the boa points suggestively at each one of them as she talks, “want to use tonight.”

Vision’s mind screams at her to please stay where she is despite the cacophony of encouraging yells from the crowd and the expectant stares of both the host and the stagehands hiding in the curtains. This might technically be part of the mission, but Wanda finds herself unwilling to budge, briefly wondering if maybe it would have been best to bring Sam since he’d probably be perfectly okay offering himself as a sacrificial lamb right now. But then, like a guardian angel descending from the stifling, bright stage lights of heaven, Rees, from couple number 1, proudly declares “I volunteer as tribute!”

The glass is refreshingly cold in her hand, a little rainbow umbrella sticking up from the bright red daiquiri to denote, if there was any such confusion, that this is a fun drink. Wanda plucks the umbrella, twirling it between her fingers while she studies Vision, his body leaned back into the chair, legs crossed, and elbow resting comfortably on the armrest. It’s odd spending so much time with him looking like this, at having to remind herself it’s not a stranger whenever she catches him in her periphery. The disguise is impressive and since he’s already extraordinarily sexy, it comes as no surprise that his alter ego is as well. Still, she can’t help but imagine how beautifully his crimson skin would compliment the tropical prints all around them and then she chuckles at the image of him in a floral printed button up. Vision doesn’t even flinch at her laugh, eyes not so subtly glued to the bartender as he expertly pours out a martini for a woman at the bar. Wanda twirls the umbrella again, deciding she should probably get his attention before he gives away their stake out.

She leans closer to him, eying the side of his head, never realizing until now just how strange ears are and how wrong they look on him, but she's determined the only way to be okay with the disguise is to find little things she doesn't usually get to experience. Delicately she reaches out and places the umbrella behind his ear, allowing her fingers the luxury to brush through the silken threads of his synthetic hair.

The attempt fails, in fact the rainbow umbrella only serves to highlight the dense seriousness in the air between them, his mind trapped in the vortices of analytic reconnaissance as his eyes track their mark. Attempt two needs to be less subtle, apparently, so she lifts her glass. “A toast!” She waits until her words have reached him, Vision turning towards her, blinking in confusion at the brush of the umbrella against his face. Wanda smirks at his confusion and then repeats herself, tilting her head towards his glass, “A toast.” Finally the words seem to resonate with him, his daiquiri rising to the same level as her glass, a silent inquiry in his apprehensive squint, “to our honeymoon not starting with an uncomfortably long lap dance from a stranger.”

Finally his I’m-on-a-mission face breaks, replaced by a bashful, commiserable smirk at the fresh mortification of what almost happened to him during the show. “Yes, cheers indeed.” Their glasses clink and she can’t help smiling when he actually joins her in enjoying their free beverages, a compensation for their willingness to be part of the show. Vision tilts his head, eyes narrowing while his lips smack approvingly. “That is quite delicious.”

“Not sure why you sound so surprised.”

He shrugs and she’s mesmerized at the way his very real shirt parts slightly wider at the end of the motion. “Based on observations of our teammates and my one experience, the imbibing of alcoholic beverages is typically met with unpleasant shudders.”

It’s adorable to watch him experience new things, a childlike vim overtaking his body. “That’s just because Natasha believes drinks should be 95 percent alcohol and 5 percent mixer.”

The bartender glances over at them, a blender of bright red deliciousness held up with a questioning point. Neither of their drinks are close to being empty but given they’re supposed to be gathering information on the bartender Wanda sends him a thumbs up. “Just to let you know,” she reaches out to squeeze Vision’s knee, Natasha’s undercover bootcamp stressing that they need to always be touching to sell their can’t-keep-our-hands-off-each-other newlywed status, “our mark is heading over.”

His hand falls on hers, a conspiratorial smirk tipping his lips up. “Understood.”

“You are drinking too slowly! Is it not to your standards?”

The question is asked in jest, but the frown on VIsion’s face is utterly serious when he insists, “Not at all, the drinks are quite delicious, we are simply savoring them.”

The bartender brings his hand to Vision’s shoulder and shakes it with a laugh, “Good, let me top you off.” Before they can turn him down, the blender is already over their drinks, expertly filling every groove of emptiness without a single drip on the table.

“Thank you,” Wanda grabs the cup and lifts it to the man.

A nonchalant wave and a shrug is her you’re welcome. “Oh, I was asked to drop this off for you.” He reaches into his back pocket and draws out an emerald envelop with gold filigree around the edges.

Vision takes, turning it over in his hand. “Who is this from?”

“I never know,” which is true, based on Wanda's surface level reading of his mind, “they hand me things and say ‘Fetu, deliver this and deliver that’ as if I'm some unimportant errand boy.” The man frowns, eyes sad, “sorry, work in paradise is still work.” His jubilation returns, an expertly applied mask he puts on for the customers. “Most important piece of information for you,” a suggestive nod is sent towards her hand on Vision’s knee, “you are more than welcome to remove your drinks from this area, we understand the,” a finger taps his nose as if he is in on some secret with them, “needs of our honeymooners.”

This is where they have to sell their cover, which Wanda does gleefully, sliding her hand up along the inside of Vision’s thigh, relishing his slight jump but impressed when he recovers quickly with a knowing wink towards the bartender, “We appreciate the information, now,” Vision stops her hand, lacing his fingers through hers and gently pulling her up to stand with him, “we have other important matters to attend to, my dear.”

“Enjoy paradise, my friends!”

Once they’re out of the bar, they duck into a small, dark alcove in the hallway, Wanda sipping her drink while her eyes follow his fingers as he opens the envelope. “What is it?” Vision doesn’t immediately respond, lips pursed as he reads it again.

“We have been cordially invited to use the VIP pool tomorrow.” He passes the invitation to her and a waft of floral perfume strangles her senses when she flips the card open. There is no name at the bottom, nothing to indicate who invited them or exactly what this means but Wanda’s fairly certain it’s a good thing for their mission. “Shall we proceed to more reconnaissance?”

Wanda shuts the invitation, stepping up close enough for their bodies to touch as she reaches down to slide the paper into his pocket, her hand lingering several seconds longer than necessary to accomplish the task. “I thought we were going to be newlyweds?” It’s not quite disappointment in his eyes, closer to disbelief but with a slight annoyance. “I’m joking, Vizh.” Someone walks past them and Wanda presses her body closer, hoping it discourages anyone from approaching them. “So,” thoughtfully her fingers play with the lapels of his jacket, “I assume we’re following what we practiced? You lead the way but follow my lead?”

“Correct.”

She matches the mischievous grin on his face. “Where to, darling?”

They wind through the resort, doing their best to avoid prying eyes, a purposefully disoriented loping to their steps as they make their way with several whispered warnings of “Drunk does not mean you phase through the floor, darling.” Anytime someone attempts to talk to them, mostly to inquire if they are lost, Wanda pulls a Romanov, capturing Vision’s lips and savoring the remnants of daiquiri on his tongue until the person gets the hint and leaves. Eventually they reach a door with a professionally done sign that informs them it is a restricted area and legal action is guaranteed for trespassers.

Wanda turns the handle, unsurprisingly finding it to be locked. “How do we-” his mouth stifles her question, an arm wrapping around her waist as he shoves her against the door pulling a low, throaty moan from her mouth. He changes the angle of the kiss, lifting her slightly as he slides his leg between her thighs, an action that is mission-wise unnecessary, but in her opinion completely needed, and then the door clicks open. Much to her dismay he pecks her cheek and pulls back, his hand solidifying once it is out of the door.

“This way,” the cocky grin on his face is almost wide enough to show teeth as he mulls over his word choice, hand running lazily along her thigh “my beloved.”

Her eyes narrow, not used to be one-upped, “Tease,” and she steps past him, elbowing him in the ribs for good measure, into a dimly lit room filled with filing cabinets and shelves covered in boxes. A quick assessment of the space identifies two security cameras and a flick of a finger sends scarlet into the wires, short circuiting the security system hopefully for long enough to gather information. “So, what do we want to find?”

Before the question ends, he is already elbow deep in a box, eyes scanning the contents, frowning when he clearly doesn’t find anything of value, and then he moves on. “I have a hypothesis.” Vision continues moving through the boxes, never finishing the thought.

“That would be?”

“Oh,” he stops, embarrassment at his actions manifesting in a shuffle of his feet and a widening of his eyes, “I wish to determine if all of the missing couples were included in the Enchantress’ show.”

This works for her, the bartender, other than passing along an invitation, didn’t seem at all suspicious, something Wanda cannot say is true for the entertainer. “Sounds good.” She moves to the opposite side of the room, flicking through tabbed folders labeled with meaningless names. In the tenth box, however, there is a thick folder labeled Amora Vahiné, she removes it, leaning against the shelf as she flips it open, immediately met with a picture of the Enchantress and her application to work at the resort. “Vizh.”

The absence of any cameras or the risk of being found out means his head pops out of the wall of filing cabinets separating them. “Yes, Wanda?”

“Really? You can’t just walk around it?”

“I could if I wished to be inefficient.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, showing him the picture, “I’m pretty certain we have the right person. Have you found anything?”

“Um,” his head disappears and there is a shuffle of papers and then the thud of feet, his body rounding the corner, five folders in his hands. “Perhaps, these are the five couples that went missing, but I have not been able to examine the contents yet.”

A knock on the door startles them, Vision losing control, phasing several inches through the floor, his disguise flickering briefly. “Who’s in there?” The voice is not happy, a threat evident in the question.

Wanda hugs him close, hands desperately tugging at the back of his shirt until it is free of his pants. “Give me the files.”

“I-”

“Give them to me.” Reluctantly he hands them over and Wanda shoves them in the back of his pants, dropping his shirt and jacket to cover them. “Now let’s be newlyweds.”

Right now is when she is supremely happy Vision convinced Steve and Natasha to send him instead of Sam, a process that included a 45 minute powerpoint presentation given to the team concerning all the reasons Vision, even with his slightly unstable disguise, would be a more beneficial choice. She’s not certain how it worked, Sam was pumped at the idea of a resort mission, but she’s thankful nonetheless, because the way Vision lifts her, hands under her thighs, encouraging her legs to wrap around his waist, and the hunger in his lips against her neck are far more convincing than anything she’d ever be willing to think about doing with Sam. Wanda allows herself to get lost in him, mission be damned, squeezing her legs in time with his kisses, gripping the poles holding the shelves up as he pushes her dress up, fingers toying with the edge of her underwear. Somewhere, far in the back of her head, she knows the door opens, that three more minds enter the room, but the novel sensation of a wedding ring skimming her thighs, a band of metal on his body that she hasn’t grown accustomed to is far too distracting, and the surprising thrill at the idea of this being a lifelong sensation intensifies the passion building within her when he sucks at the hollow of her neck. A confused and uncertain, “Hey!” ruins the moment, Vision turning his head, the rise and fall of his heaving chest against hers deeply satisfying, and she joins him seconds later, staring at three armed guards.

Wanda tries to think of a reply but is saved the mental trouble by a surprisingly convincing slur in Vision’s typically smooth accent. “Oh this is embarrassing.” Briefly he turns to smile at her and it is alarmingly disorienting, “Is this not our room?”

A disgusted and fed up, “Honeymooners” is shared between the guards before they encourage Vision to place her back on the ground and then they are led on a procession of shame through the resort, flanked by the guards, until they are dropped off at their room, the lead guard pointing at the door, voice akin to one used on misbehaving children. “This is your room.”

Wanda waves drunkenly at the guards, closing the door and allowing an impish smile to overtake her lips as she approaches Vision, his back facing her as he lays the stolen folders on the table. “So,” leisurely she slides her hands under his shirt, using the tips of her nails to draw diamonds on his skin, “want to pick up where we left off, hubby?”

The folder in his hand drops to the table, the muscles in his back tensing in what she hopes is desire. “Were you aware,”

“That you’re wearing too many clothes?”

Vision turns around slowly, eyes closing as her hand dips to trace the edge of his pocket, “A subjective question, but not my intended one, no, that if we solve the mission early we are permitted to enjoy the remainder of the reservation in peace?”

This is new information, something this important surely would have been included in the mission briefing. “I think you’re bluffing.”

“Page 197, line 35, footnote 207 in the fine print, I swear.”

Wanda eyes him, glancing curiously over to the fat binder of information for the mission and then back at him. One of the many joys of dating Vision is knowing he is a horrible liar and thus rarely attempts trickery. Currently his eyes, the dull blue brightening a hue the longer she stares at him, brim with honesty and a barely contained lust. All she’d have to do is lean into him and she knows he’d cave. “So if we delay our gratification…”

It’s a gamble on his part, touching her, but the innocent, calm brush of his finger down her neck emphasizes his next point, “Without a mission we would be unhindered in partaking of each other’s company, wherever and whenever we like.”

A bit begrudgingly she concedes to the logic, already planning their obligation free days as she lifts onto the tips of her toes to kiss him. “Let’s dive into these folders, then.”

“What am I looking at, exactly?” Vision had been gone on extra reconnaissance for almost the entire night, creeping into the room with the sunrise, allowing her a whole twenty minutes of whispered good mornings, and achingly tame kisses before informing her they needed to make a stop on the way to their luxury VIP pool party. The hope, foolishly, was that he had planned some romantic breakfast, the brochure on their nightstand lauding the ambience and intimacy of a beachside cabana for two, instead she is standing in another restricted room, though this one is a bit brighter than the last one. There’s a pool in the middle of the room, more of a moat, if she had to be specific, that surrounds a raised platform holding a wide-mouthed pot that is itself housing a plant with long, arcing saw-toothed leaves and a tightly clenched pod in the center.

Vision steps forward, leaning over the water for a closer look. “I am not wholly certain but several of the workers in this section spoke of the upcoming unveiling.”

The moat is impressive, five vibrant and pied tropical fish darting after each other, but the plant itself is, well, a plant. “And you think this is important for the mission?”

A wishy-washy shrug goes along with his, “Perhaps? The files I was able to peruse suggested the flower was transplanted here three days before Amora interviewed for the position. It could be important or a coincidence.” Another shrug and a carefully practiced boyish, nonchalant smile is the perfect weapon to draw her closer, and she assumes, perhaps wrongly, he is aware of how well the smile pairs with his khaki shorts and short sleeved button-up. “I also thought it was peaceful and wished to share it.”

“Minus all the signs warning about trespassing, it is kind of peaceful.”

A surprisingly loud, “There you are!” catches them off guard, Wanda dropping into a defensive stance, hands a faint scarlet and Vision’s shoulders pulled back and ready to use the Mindstone if needed. When the voice is placed with the constantly smiling face of their concierge, they both resume normal, albeit slightly embarrassed stances. Kenneth’s forehead erupts into wrinkles once he glances around at the room, “How’d you get in here?”

Phasing and a bit of sorcery is probably not the best answer. “The door was unlocked,” is offered as a plausible explanation from Vision.

“Huh,” his brief frown is quickly replaced by a beaming smile, finger raised to point at the plant. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? We keep thinking she’s going to die any day now, it’s the first time anyone’s successfully transplanted one of them off the mountain.” The statement is filled with pride, a touch of awe, and a hint of deep, pulsing love.

Wanda tries to channel Natasha, reading not only the surface level of his words, but identifying the subtextual layers of meaning and potentially pertinent information. So far, however, she’s got nothing. “What type of plant is it?”

The glimmer in his eyes is one she does recognize, the same excitement sends Vision’s irises twirling anytime she asks him to explain what he and Helen are currently working on or to expand on a gibberish scientific comment he’s made. Which seems odd for their concierge concerning a flower. “It is a Tiare Apetahi, a flower that only grows on a plateau on this island. Every attempt to transplant it lower on the mountain or grow it in a lab has failed, well,” he shrugs as if it is not a huge accomplishment, “until now. I’m actually a botanist. But they won’t let me stay at the resort to look after her unless I work for them.”

Vision finally looks away from the plant, “What does it look like?”

“Oh,” the man fumbles in his pocket for his phone, swiping across the screen and then tapping until the smile returns to his face, “like this.” The phone is passed over to them the screen filled with a picture of an asymmetrical white flower, five petals all on one side. “It’s a really famous flower here, has a legend and everything, well,” he waves his head as he reconsiders his statement, “one legend but like 5 versions of it.”

A polite and curious smile forms on Vision’s face. “May we hear your preferred version?”

The man doesn't skip a beat before launching excitedly into the story. “It is a tale of love and loss,” Kenneth clutches his chest dramatically, eyes staring into far-offs lands, “a fisherman married a fair maiden, named Apetahi, and they were happy, blissful, much like you two.” A rare hesitation freezes his smile, but is whisked away quickly as he continues, “But then he strayed from her, lured in by the beauty of a younger woman. When his wife found out she was grief stricken, they argued, yelling so loud it attracted the attention of the entire village. In her sorrow she fled to the plateau, dug a hole in the ground, then cut off her hand and buried it. She died of blood loss and when they finally found her missing body, this flower had bloomed where her hand had been buried. That is why it's five petals form the shape of a hand.”

Vision frowns at the plant, and Wanda agrees with the pulse of painful confusion in his mind, wondering why such legends are always so laden with deceit and loss. “Are there other legends of the island?”

“Of course,” Kenneth steps back from the plant rotating his wrist to check the time, “I can have a book delivered to your hut, but you ought to get going, it’s almost time for your day at the pool.”

Confusion blossoms in Vision’s mind, but Kenneth shoos them along too quickly for Wanda to stop and ask what is bothering him.

They are dropped off at the VIP pool, though only after Kenneth triple checks they have their swimsuits and sunscreen, warning that sunburns are never conducive to newlywed activities. Wanda grips Vision’s hand, a small, tight ball of panic sitting on her chest, not exactly sure what is behind the door. “You’re wearing the right swimsuit?”

A defeated sigh is enough of an answer, but his quiet, “I do not understand why it is necessary, but yes.”

“I just have a feeling it is.”

The door opens and they are greeted by a bare-chested, impressively chiseled man dressed only in thin white pants and sunglasses. “Invitation?” Vision removes the paper from his pocket and hands it over, the man lifting his glasses, turning the paper in order to examine it from every angle, the pool apparently so exclusive they are worried about counterfeit invites. “Welcome.” A deep bow and the broad sweep of his arm ushers them in and Wanda has to keep her jaw from dropping at the shimmering water of the infinity pool, the edge seamlessly meeting the expanse of the ocean beyond, the strategically planted palm trees offering shade over the cushioned lounge chairs around the perimeter. There’s a thatch-roofed gazebo to the left, a chaise lounge with an emerald cushion and golden base housing the unmistakable body of their grinning host, Amora, waving happily at them.

Wanda leads them to a pair of chairs, the protocol for what to do at an exclusive pool unclear, especially since she assumed the other two couples from the show would be attending as well. “What do you think we do?”

He shrugs, adding an uncertain, “Perhaps we wait until she instigates contact?”

“Sounds good.” Swimming was not a common excursion in Sokovia, the winter dragging on longer than it was ever welcome and the brief summer unrelenting enough that even the promise of tepid water was not an overly strong temptation to risk the heat of the three mile walk. Despite this, Wanda is perfectly aware how to act, untying her wrap dress and letting it fall to the ground. “You going to stay like that?” Vision turns towards her and his agape, stuttering mouth is exactly the reaction she hoped for when she snuck the swimsuit into the suitcase. Her approach is slow and deliberate, toying with the buttons on his shirt once she’s close enough, undoing each one as she waits for him to respond in some way. Even after she’s reached the last button and cheerfully stripped it off his arms, he remains standing in awe, or confusion, but she hopes awe. “You liked it so much last time, figured it was a safe choice for our pseudo-honeymoon.” Still speechless, he nods, hands coming to trace the black straps crisscrossing over her chest, following the lines up her shoulders and to her upper back, smiling before dipping his face to catch her lips, stealing the breath from her lungs and making her dizzy.

A polite cough interrupts them and a different shirtless man is standing with two margaritas and sandwiches on a tray. “Compliments of Amora.”

“Oh, yes, thank you.” Vision grips the tray, turning back and forth until he finds a suitable place for it. Cautiously he glances around, assessing the location of the two poolboys. “Do you believe it is safe to discuss updates?”

She joins him in studying their surroundings. It seems there are only three other people here, the one man at the door, their bartender tucked back in a shaded cabana bar, and their host across the pool. “It’ll be safer if you take off your shorts.” It could be the effects of the sun or the red cloth umbrellas overhead or his disguise fading briefly, but she thinks he might blush as he undoes his belt, eyes darting nervously around before he drops the khaki shorts and a ravenous smile spreads across her face at the reappearance of his tiny swim shorts. “Much better.”

A deep, unamused inhale reaffirms his misgivings about the swimsuit, but he doesn’t say anything else, lowering himself onto one of the chairs, shimmying his body from side to side until he is comfortable. “Would you,” the blush is back, joined this time by a sheepish pat to his thigh, “like join me?”

“Of course,” she curls easily along his body, head resting on his chest with her arm draped over his waist. “So, what’d you learn last night?”

One more check of their solitude and he fills her in, hand moving along her arm in long, even strokes. “As we discovered in the files,all five couples were part of her show.” This, to Wanda at least, is enough for her to feel confident in arresting their host, but Vision seems more reluctant, not wishing to mar her career in case they are wrong. “Additionally, it seems all five were invited to her pool the next day.”

“Oh, so we’re her next target then?”

He hesitates, “It is a logical hypothesis.”

“Okay, what else?”

The bartender passes by with an inquisitive and slightly offended look at their untouched margaritas. Once he resumes his position far away, Vision shifts slightly underneath her, cradling her closer so that he is talking quietly into her ear, just in case. “The bartender has solid alibis, as does the director of activities, and all of the custodial staff. The only other new addition just prior to the disappearances,” his breath is hot against her ear and it is almost impossible to pay attention, “was the successful transplant of the Tiare Apetahi.”

“The flower from today, right?”

He nods, the movement nudging her head slightly, “Correct. I am still unsure,” the explanation stops as the guard near the door walks in front of them, long strides taking him to the edge of the pool where he turns and walks back to the door, throwing out a friendly hello on his way back. “If the flower is important but it seems oddly coincidental.”

Wanda takes it all in, agreeing with his uncertainty about what, if any connection exists between the facts. “Just before we left the flower, Kenneth said something and you were confused.”

“Oh yes. There was never any indication-” another intrusion of footsteps echo behind her and Vision's eyes closely follow whoever it is,the edges of his lips drooping slightly. “May we help you?”

It’s the front gate guard, “She wants to see you.” A twitch of his head indicates the thatched gazebo where Amora is now sitting up, a posture of anticipation and what Wanda would label a predatory smile on her face, even though technically she’s too far away to fairly define exact emotions.

Wanda smiles up at the man, “Okay, we’ll head over.”

“Not you, ma’am, just him.” His tone business like, authoritative, but almost edging on apologetic. “You have to swim across.”

Without being able to phase out of the chair, Vision struggles to remove himself from her grip, something that she could help him with but she finds his slightly frustrated escape attempts too entertaining, only relenting and letting him move her arm once he offers a pleasant, “Please?” and a kiss.

He stands at the foot of the chair, the muscles in his back constricting as his fists clench. “Darling?” Vision turns towards her, nerves fading at what she hopes is an easygoing smile on her face, despite her own misgivings. “Remember to play along, it’s for the,” she mouths mission just in case. He nods and she has to ignore the chill crawling up her spine, has to repeat the advice to herself in an attempt to believe it.

The ease of his dive into the pool is beautiful, Rhodes nicknamed him the Swan Prince after the first Avenger pool party, a nickname Vision has graciously allowed them to continue using despite the fact Wanda knows it bothers him.  He is incredibly graceful in the water, lanky arms propelling him effortlessly to the other side.  Even if she is not wholly comfortable with whatever is about to happen, she does have to appreciate the view of Vision getting out of the pool, his tiny, teal swimsuit accentuating her favorite asset quite nicely.

Slowly he approaches the chaise lounge, gesticulating a bit wilder than usual, but it seems, based on the woman’s smile, that she doesn’t notice, or care, about his nervousness. She says something and there is a millisecond pause in Vision’s movements that causes the hair on Wanda’s arms stand to attention, his body language subtly shifting into a defensive stance. A beckoning finger brings him closer to the chaise with a  hesitant step.  He bends lower, the tilt of his head implies he's doing it to hear whatever she is saying, which is when a finely manicured hand falls on his back and Wanda feels her powers churning just below the surface. She has to start a mantra of it’s for the mission, it’s for the mission, it’s for the mission to keep herself from diving into the pool and joining them. Then the woman’s hand travels down his back, a finger teasingly flicking the waistband of his suit and Wanda finds herself talking out loud, “Don’t you dare go lower.”

Unfortunately she dares and Wanda sees red.

To be continued...