(AN: Just to clarify. My updates are during weekdays when I do have time to write. But during the weekends. No updates. Anyway, Enjoy!)
MCU 2023
Tony Stark and Dr. Strange stood in silence.
They watched as Wanda's figure disappeared from their view—her coat blending into the dull gray of the scenery until she was gone completely.
Tony crossed his arms.
"…Do you think she'll be alright?" he asked.
Strange didn't look away from where she vanished.
"I am not sure," he replied calmly.
"But I trust that she can push through it all. She's an Avenger too."
A pause.
"True."
Tony exhaled through his nose. "Do you think that guy will come back for her?"
"Probably." Dr. Strange's answer, while already walking through a portal.
.
.
.
Wanda didn't immediately return to the apartment. She had something to do today. It was to visit SWORD and retrieve Vision's body to bury him properly.
The facility was heavily guarded, but not for her.
Personnel stepped aside. No one dared stop her.
Director Hayward himself came to meet her.
"Wanda," he greeted, tone measured. "I understand why you're here."
"Follow me," he said.
They walked in silence through sterile halls and reinforced doors.
They stopped in a specific room. Through its glass wall, Wanda saw Vision's body parts taken apart. Researchers were clearly studying him. This angered Wanda, asking what they were doing with him.
"We're dismantling the most sophisticated sentient weapon ever made," Hayward answered confidently.
"Vision is not a weapon. You can't do this." Wanda corrected.
"In fact, it is our legal and ethical obligation."
"I just want to bury him. That's all I want."
"Are you sure?" His words baffled Wanda.
"Excuse me?"
"Not everyone has the kind of power that could bring their soulmate back online." Hayward tries to gauge Wanda's reaction.
"Forgive me. Back to life." He clarifies.
"No, I can't do that," Wanda answers. Her expression was clearly confused.
"That's not why I'm here." She answers truthfully.
"Okay." Hayward believes her, however.
"But I cannot allow you to take 3 billion dollars' worth of Vibranium just to put it in the ground. So the best I can do is to let you say goodbye to him, here."
Wanda turned to the glass wall and said mournfully. "He's all I have."
"Well, that's just it, Wanda. He isn't yours." Hayward replied like the heartless man that he is.
Wanda's tears fell down her cheeks. She touched the glass walls and shattered them with Chaos magic. She floated down to Vision's body parts as the researchers ran to the side.
The guards immediately aimed their rifles at her, but didn't immediately shoot. She was, after all, an Avenger who saved their world from Thanos.
"Fall back. It's fine. better see for herself." Hayward, from above, shouted the order. The guards brought their weapons down and let Wanda near Vision's body parts.
She approached the table where Vision's destroyed head lay. Her hand trembled as she reached out to touch his face.
"I can't feel you…" she whispered. Grief that Elias has washed away threatens to resurface within her. Before it fully takes over, she hears a familiar voice.
"What's your dream?" Elias' face flashed in her vision. (AN: No pun intended) The scenery changes to when they toured Thor's home, New Asgard.
"Honestly? . . . A home." Elias answered her question. She glanced at him and said. "Just that?"
"Yeah. A small house. Bakery in front. The smell of bread every morning. Maybe a family. Nothing complicated." When she heard that, she was surprised that she involuntarily laughed at him.
How could she not? It was also her dream. Maybe not exactly as he phrased it, but the dream for a family and a home was the same.
That simple flashback cleared Wanda's mind. The feeling of loss for Vision was still there. But it didn't consume her. Not anymore. Her hand rested gently against Vision one last time.
"I will never forget you, Vision."
She decisively left the building, understanding that she could not take Vision's remains. He returned to the apartment, but not to her own room. She lay down on his bed.
Her time with Elias played again in her mind. His smile. That ridiculous, carefree attitude. The way he spoke like everything would somehow work out. The enormous number of stolen and forced pictures.
Wanda didn't even notice her smile while thinking of their time together. She remembers him carrying her. The hug. The kiss. And her final words to him. I'll be waiting.
Wanda inhaled sharply. The bed still held the faint trace of his presence. She stares at the ceiling.
"…Hurry back, idiot."
It was at this moment that Elias' Task was completed.
.
.
.
Outside the apartment building, just across the street where the glow of streetlights barely touched the pavement, a lone woman stood still—watching.
Her gaze was not that of an ordinary passerby. It did not rest on the walls or windows but seemed to slip through them, as if the concrete itself offered no resistance to her sight.
"The energy is just inside…" she murmured, her voice low, almost pleased.
She stepped forward, and the dim light revealed her more clearly. Black, curly hair framed her face in soft but deliberate waves, giving her an air that was both untamed and controlled. Her expression carried quiet confidence, the faint curl of her lips suggesting she had already begun to piece together what others could not even perceive.
She wore the remnants of something far older than the city around her—a dark purple, ragged witch's robe that clung and flowed in layers, textured like aged fabric that had endured centuries. The bodice was structured and intricate, etched with subtle patterns that seemed to shift if stared at for too long.
At her collar rested a distinct brooch, antique in design yet pulsing faintly with restrained magic. Draped over her shoulders was a high-collared cape, framing her silhouette and lending her an unmistakable presence—one that spoke of power not loudly displayed, but quietly held.
This was Agatha Harkness.
Her eyes glimmered with interest, not madness but curiosity sharpened by experience. She had felt it before—during the chaos of Endgame. A surge of something raw and ancient. Something wild.
Chaos magic.
And now, after tracing that fleeting pulse across space and time, she had finally found it.
Here. In this building.
Her gaze narrowed slightly as she focused, sensing deeper. The chaotic signature she sought was unmistakable—powerful, emotional, unstable in a way that fascinated her. However, earlier she found that the unstable energy suddenly stabilized. It was like the host of the chaos energy found an anchor to keep itself from crashing, as she felt it from the start.
Agatha's lips curled further.
"Well now… that's new."
Whatever awaited her inside was no longer just an opportunity—it was a mystery. And Agatha Harkness had never been one to ignore either.
With a subtle flick of her fingers, violet energy shimmered into existence—soft, almost elegant in its manifestation. It wrapped around her like silk, weaving through every thread of her attire. The ancient robe dissolved into motes of purple light, reforming seamlessly into modern clothing—casual, unassuming, perfectly mundane. Where once stood a centuries-old witch, now stood nothing more than an ordinary woman.
Blending in was never difficult for her.
"Let's see what you're hiding, dear…" she whispered as she crossed the street.
The building's entrance offered no resistance under her magic. No one noticed her, no one questioned her presence—her magic gently nudged perception aside, making her passage feel natural, forgettable.
Inside, the hallway stretched ahead in quiet stillness, lined with identical doors. Agatha paused, closing her eyes for a brief moment as she extended her senses outward.
There it was. One burned bright and chaotic—familiar, intoxicating in its rawness.
Wanda.
Agatha's eyes opened slowly, interest deepening.
With another subtle gesture, reality itself bent to accommodate her presence. Paperwork shifted in unseen offices, digital records rewrote themselves, and locks clicked quietly into compliance. In the span of a heartbeat, a new identity settled into place—complete, unquestioned.
A new tenant.
Right next door.
Agatha reached for the handle and opened the door to her newly assigned apartment, stepping inside with the ease of someone returning home after a long day. As the door closed behind her, she turned slightly, her gaze drifting toward the wall that separated her from Wanda.
Her smile lingered—patient, knowing.
"This," she said softly to herself, "is going to be fun."
Agatha stepped into her newly acquired apartment as though she had lived there for years, the door closing softly behind her with a quiet finality that seemed to seal her intent as much as the room itself. The space was ordinary—almost disappointingly so—but that hardly mattered. What drew her attention wasn't the furniture, nor the layout, nor the faint hum of the city outside. It was the presence just beyond the wall.
Wanda Maximoff.
Agatha moved further inside, her fingers grazing the edge of a table as she let her senses expand outward once more. The energy was unmistakable now that she was this close—wild, unrefined, brimming with potential that even she, with centuries of experience, found… intoxicating. It wasn't just power. It was possibility. The kind that reshaped reality itself.
A slow, knowing smile formed on her lips.
"Oh, you have no idea what you are, do you?" she murmured softly, more to herself than anyone else.
There was no need to rush. No need to reveal herself prematurely. Agatha had not survived this long by being reckless. Power like Wanda's wasn't something you confronted head-on—it was something you cultivated, something you guided gently toward its breaking point.
She would learn everything about her.
Every loss, attachment, and crack forming beneath that fragile composure.
And when the time came—when grief finally tipped into collapse, when that chaos magic surged forth in its purest, most uncontrollable form—that would be her moment.
Her smile deepened as her gaze drifted toward the shared wall.
"Let's take this slow… neighbor."
.
.
.
Inside Elias' room, Wanda lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as exhaustion slowly pulled at her. It wasn't the kind that sleep easily fixed—it lingered deeper than that, settling somewhere in her chest where grief and memory tangled together. Her body relaxed despite it, her eyes growing heavy as the quiet of the room wrapped around her.
For a brief moment, she let herself drift.
Then the world broke.
A sudden flash of light erupted within the room, sharp and blinding, tearing through the stillness like a blade. Wanda's eyes snapped open instantly, her body moving before thought could catch up. She rolled off the bed in one fluid motion, landing on her feet as crimson energy ignited in both hands, swirling violently as she raised them in defense.
Space and Reality were warping. Something went through it.
The light pulsed once more—then collapsed inward.
And something landed.
Wanda didn't lower her guard. Her breathing steadied, her stance firm as the glow of her chaos magic illuminated the room. As the brightness faded, a figure became clear.
A woman. Blonde.
Dressed in what looked like modern, professional attire—clean, precise, almost out of place given the way she had arrived.
And she was kneeling.
Wanda's brows furrowed, confusion threading through her caution.
The woman lowered her head slightly before speaking, her voice calm and unwavering.
"Mistress. My name is Kristen. My Lord was worried about you, so he sent me to protect you."
The word mistress lingered in the air, strange and misplaced.
Wanda blinked, her grip tightening slightly as her magic flickered.
"…Mistress?" she repeated, incredulous. "Are you talking about me?"
"Yes," Kristen answered without hesitation.
That only made things more confusing. Wanda's thoughts raced, questions stacking over one another, but they all collapsed into a single point.
"…Who sent you?" she asked, her tone sharpening.
Kristen didn't even pause.
"Lord Elias."
For a moment, Wanda simply stared.
"…What?"
The energy in her hands wavered—not disappearing, but losing its immediate aggression as surprise overtook her. That name carried weight now, tied to something far warmer than the chaos she had just faced at S.W.O.R.D.
"He sent you?" she asked again, quieter this time, as if confirming it would somehow make more sense.
"Yes," Kristen replied. "My Lord instructed me to ensure your safety."
Wanda let out a small breath, her shoulders easing just slightly.
"…He can do that?" she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.
A faint smile tugged at her lips despite everything.
"Idiot…"
It was soft. Familiar.
Comforting in a way she hadn't expected.
She lowered her hands, the crimson glow dimming though not fully fading as she gestured toward Kristen.
"Stand up."
Kristen rose immediately, her movements smooth and precise.
"I'm Wanda," she added after a moment, almost out of habit.
"I am aware," Kristen replied. "I serve as my Lord's left hand."
Wanda tilted her head slightly. "…Left hand?"
"I was originally an artificial intelligence created by Stark Industries," Kristen continued, her tone steady and matter-of-fact. "My core was derived from the FRIDAY system. My Lord granted me this body—a Terminatrix unit designed for advanced combat, infiltration, and adaptive functionality."
Wanda just stared at her.
"…He sent me a robot bodyguard," she said slowly, trying to process the sheer absurdity of it.
An AI given a body by Elias.
Her thoughts shifted before she could stop them.
Stark, Ultron, and Vision. How they are connected.
Her expression tightened slightly, the warmth from moments ago dimming under the weight of memory.
"It's like Stark keeps finding ways to ruin my life," she muttered under her breath. "First my parents… then Pietro…"
Her voice trailed off, cutting itself short before it could go further.
Silence lingered between them, heavy but not hostile.
Then Kristen spoke again, her tone unchanged.
"What are your instructions regarding the individual in the adjacent unit?"
Wanda blinked, pulled from her thoughts.
"…What?"
Kristen's gaze shifted subtly toward the wall separating the apartments.
"The occupant next door has been observing this room since before my arrival," she said calmly.
"Their attention remains directed toward you."
The shift in Wanda was immediate.
The softness vanished.
Replaced by something colder. Sharper.
"…Someone's spying on me?" she asked quietly.
The crimson energy flared back to life in her hands, stronger this time, more focused. The room seemed to dim around the glow, shadows bending slightly under the pressure of her power.
Her mood dropped in an instant.
End of Chapter