Marvel: reality bender and the scarlet witch
Chapter 125: Politician (1)
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
"So," Peter said. He set his fork down, looking at me with curiosity. "What's your plan, Dr. Spencer? Are you guys also going back to the US after this?"
"No," I replied. "After Prague, we will be going to Germany, and then from there we will head over to the UK. After that, we'll eventually make our way back to the States."
"Wow. That sounds amazing. I don't know if I'll ever have an opportunity to travel like that." Peter cast a look at MJ. "Usually, my trips end with something blowing up."
"Of course you can travel like this, Peter," I assured him. "But I don't think New York City will be giving Spider Man a vacation anytime soon."
Peter let out a sigh, nodding slowly. "Yeah. There are many crimes I have to deal with there. It never really stops."
"You know, Peter," I kept my voice conversational, devoid of any harsh judgment. "You really shouldn't interfere in normal human life too much."
Peter blinked. "Why is that? I'm helping people."
"I know you are," I said, holding up a hand. "But humanity learns from our mistakes. We are an evolving species. We improve ourselves so we do not repeat the same mistakes. For example, if you save people from a burning building every time there is a fire, the city will begin to rely on you. We pay taxes so the state can fund the fire department. It is their responsibility to manage the fire, to have the correct equipment and to maintain the safety protocols."
I paused, letting the words sink in.
"If you keep intervening," I continued, "I don't think the fire department will get the funding upgrades they need anytime soon. The city council will say, 'Why spend millions on new ladder trucks when Spider Man does it for free?' And if one day, you are not there… if you are sick, or off fighting aliens… people will blame you for not saving them, because you have literally taken over their job."
Peter looked troubled. "But... with great power comes…"
"Great responsibility," I cut him off. "Yes, I know the quote. It's a good quote. But what responsibility are we talking about here? If you're talking about saving people from muggers and street level criminals, that should be the responsibility of the police department. They receive monthly salaries from our taxes to do exactly that."
Peter shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "But sometimes the police aren't fast enough. People will die if I don't help."
"Yes, they might," I conceded. "That is the harsh reality of the world. But instead of engaging in individual heroism, swinging from building to building catching purse snatchers, you should focus on societal work."
"Society work?" Peter asked.
"Yes. For example, running for Mayor of New York," I suggested, taking another sip of wine.
Peter almost choked on his risotto. "Mayor? I'm sixteen!"
"Eventually, Peter," I laughed, waving my hand. "My point is, as a politician, you have the legal authority to improve people's livelihoods on a massive scale. You can allocate funds to better manage criminal gangs, improve disaster management protocols, and fix the systemic issues that cause crime in the first place. By enacting policy, you can help millions of people simultaneously. Right now, as a single hero, you are just treating the symptoms, not the disease."
Peter looked down at his plate. "But I'm still in high school. I can't fix the whole system."
"Everything starts with small steps," I encouraged him. "You can start by running for student council president. You will soon see dirty politics in the school system. You will realize that individual heroism will not solve society's overall problems, because the people in the higher departments often support or ignore these illegal activities for their own gain. Being Spider Man, you can't force systemic change unless you have legal power."
Peter looked up at me. "Are you... are you in support of the Sokovia Accords?"
Wanda shifted slightly beside me, her hand coming to rest on my thigh under the table.
"I don't play support," I answered honestly, covering her hand with mine. "I think politicians are going to use enhanced individuals for their own political gain rather than society's overall development. But, I have to agree with one point of the Accords. Because of uncoordinated individual heroism, we have a massive loss of civilian infrastructure during fights between villains and heroes."
"I always try to minimize civilian infrastructure damage," Peter defended himself quickly. "I guide the fights away from populated areas."
"Yes, you try," I acknowledged. "But at the same time, there is always some damage left behind. And who takes the blame? The government still has to take responsibility and repair the damage."
Peter flushed red, looking incredibly embarrassed. He rubbed the back of his neck. "How should we minimize the damage, then?"
"Let me ask you something," I said, leaning in. "Most of the time, as an individual, you are fighting a human, right? A human in a suit, or a human with a gadget?"
"Yes?" Peter answered cautiously.
"So why not use a tranquilizer gun?" I asked simply. "Why not use a paralyzing agent? You could fix a non lethal aerosol into the web fluid you use. You could just make them unconscious or outsmart them from a distance."
I paused.
"Did you develop the web fluid yourself?" I asked.
Peter's eyes lit up with pride. "Yes, I did! It's a shear thinning non Newtonian fluid. When it's under stress, it acts like a solid, but when it's at rest, it acts like a liquid. I synthesized it in my chemistry class."
"That is brilliant," I commended him genuinely. "But from the engineering requirements to develop that kind of chemical compound, you must be incredibly smart. And despite being a literal genius, I don't know why you are engaging in hand to hand combat with heavily armed villains."
Peter opened his mouth to reply, but I held up a finger.
"For example," I continued. "If you have a villain who is wearing heavy body armor, punching them is highly inefficient. You could just drop a localized gas bomb to make them inhale a sedative and become unconscious. The fighting stops immediately and civilian infrastructure remains intact. I can think of a dozen different ways to end a fight quickly without throwing a single punch. But despite being that smart, why are you choosing to engage in brawls?"
Peter looked flustered, his hands gesturing vaguely. "Well, usually they attack first, and I have to react! And some of them are enhanced, Dr. Spencer. They don't just go down to normal sedatives. Like the... I mean, Beck... he had drones. You can't gas a drone."
"I know," I nodded. "But that doesn't mean you only have to rely on the things you've developed in your bedroom. There are many weapons you can utilize. Electromagnetic pulse grenades for drones. Taser webs. And Sonic disruptors."
Peter looked down at his lap. "I... I didn't think of it that way. I usually just rely on my webs and my agility."
"This is why you are still in school, Peter," I said gently. "So that you can learn. But most of the time, you spend your energy doing heroic activities. Instead, you could be learning more advanced engineering, improving your cognitive perception, and of course, earning a lot of money."
Chapter 126: Politician (2)
"Why money?" Peter asked, looking thoroughly confused.
I grinned, pointing my fork directly at MJ, who was currently watching Peter squirm with a look of amusement.
"Now you have a girlfriend," I pointed out. "Are you planning to take her on dates funded entirely by the spare change you find in the sofa cushions?"
Peter panicked, his eyes darting to MJ. "No! I mean, I can get a job!"
Wanda, who had been silently eating her shrimp, finally intervened. She reached out and lightly slapped my shoulder.
"Stop lecturing him, Aryan," Wanda scolded softly, her eyes filled with fond exasperation. "He is just a teenager. I think he still has a lot to learn. When he grows up, he will probably be smarter than you."
I placed a hand over my heart, looking utterly offended. "Do not underestimate me, Woman. I am a fountain of practical wisdom."
"Then can you also make something like a web fluid launcher?" she challenged, raising an eyebrow.
"Well," I hesitated, rubbing my chin. "I can treat a patient with a complex myocardial infarction. Can his web fluid do that?"
Wanda rolled her eyes, spearing a garlic soaked shrimp from the platter.
"Eat this," she commanded, holding the fork up to my mouth.
I obediently opened my mouth, accepting the shrimp.
Peter watched our exchange.
"So," Peter asked. "Do you think what I am doing... is wrong? As Spider Man?"
I finished chewing, shaking my head. "No, Peter. Not at all. I am not saying whatever you are doing as Spider Man is wrong. What I am saying is, by being Spider Man, you can only help a few people at a time. But by being a politician, you can help millions."
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table.
"If you become Mayor, and you replace all the fire department equipment that hasn't been updated in ten years due to corruption, you can do it with a single signature. In that way, if there's a fire in five different places simultaneously, the fire department can handle it because they have the modern technology they need. If you replace the police equipment and make them high tech, one squad will be enough to handle an entire heavily armed gang. Because at the end of the day, all the gangs are just human."
"So what about my role as Spider Man?" Peter asked softly.
"Remember what you said earlier? With great power comes great responsibility," I reminded him. "I think your responsibility isn't doing civilian police work. Your responsibility is doing the great work. Defending the planet from aliens. Stepping in when humanity is simply not capable of winning the fight. But when you constantly interfere in manageable human conflicts, you are actually slowing down our societal progress."
Peter looked down at his hands. The weight of his choices was clearly crashing down on him.
"Hey," I said, my voice softening considerably. I didn't want to break the kid's spirit. "Don't take my words as gospel. I'm just saying these are my opinions. It doesn't mean you have to follow my path. But remember, you also have a personal life. You must manage your personal life and your heroic life differently. Otherwise, you are just going to mess up everything. You can't be Spider Man 24/7 and expect to be a good partner to MJ."
Wanda nodded in agreement, and offered Peter a comforting smile.
"He is right, Peter," Wanda said gently. "There are already many departments from the government designed to handle these things. Nick Fury must have formed another agency somewhere in hiding. They will be the ones to take responsibility for enhanced individuals. You do not have to take the weight of the entire world on your own shoulders."
"I think you don't fully understand the consequences of your heroic actions yet, Peter," I added quietly. "For example, if you arrest an enhanced individual, and they are sent to a high security prison. After they eventually break out… because they always break out… the first person they will target is you. And if they know your identity... they will target your loved ones. From their perspective, you ruined their entire life. They will want revenge. Have you ever thought that because of your actions, the people around you could face fatal consequences?"
Peter swallowed hard, his eyes flicking toward MJ.
"I... I have," Peter admitted, his voice trembling slightly. "It's why I try so hard to keep the mask on. I don't want anyone to get hurt because of me."
I sighed, leaning back in my chair.
We finished the rest of the meal in a more thoughtful silence.
I reached out and pressed a small silver button embedded into the edge of the dining table.
Less than a minute later, the doors opened and the waiter entered.
"What can I do for you, sir?" the waiter asked politely.
I looked around the table. "Does anyone want anything else?"
Wanda, Peter, and MJ all shook their heads.
"The bill, please," I told the waiter. "And bring us one scoop of gelato for each of us. What flavor does everyone want?"
"Strawberry," MJ said instantly.
"Vanilla," Peter said.
"Dark chocolate," Wanda smiled.
"Make it two dark chocolates," I told the waiter.
"Yes, sir," the waiter bowed and exited the room.
A few minutes later, the waiter returned carrying a silver tray with four small porcelain bowls of gelato and a black leather billfold.
He set the desserts down and placed the folder next to my elbow.
We ate the gelato in a much lighter atmosphere, the cold sweetness lifting the heavy mood.
Peter and MJ bickered good naturedly about the architectural merits of Venice versus New York.
I opened the leather folder, glancing at the bill. It was exorbitant, as expected.
I pulled my wallet from my blazer, extracting a stack of euro notes that completely covered the total and added a very generous tip, sliding it back into the folder.
"Alright," I announced, standing up from my chair and extending my hand to Wanda. "Let's go."
Peter and MJ stood up as well.
"Thank you for the lunch, Dr. Spencer," Peter said. "We will be going back before Mr. Harrington starts to search the canals for us."
"You're welcome, Peter," I said, shaking his hand. "Take care of yourself out there."
"Take care, Peter. MJ," Wanda smiled warmly.
"Bye. Take care too," Peter and MJ echoed, turning and walking out of the private dining room.
I wrapped my arm around Wanda's waist as we walked out into the bright Italian afternoon.
"So," Wanda asked, looking at me. "What is our next itinerary?"
"Let's go," I grinned, leading her toward the parking lot where I had left the car. "I will show you a famous place nearby."
[Perspective: Nick Fury, S.A.B.E.R. Space Station]
Nick Fury sat in the dimly lit command center of the S.A.B.E.R. station, staring out at the massive viewport at the curve of the Earth.
The doors hissed open.
Talos, currently wearing his natural green Skrull form, walked into the room, looking incredibly uncomfortable.
"Report," Fury ordered without turning around.
Talos cleared his throat.
"I have the summary of the Prague incident, Nick," Talos began.
Chapter 127: Politician (3)
"So, in summary," Fury interrupted, finally turning around to pin the Skrull with a single eye. "One disgruntled Stark ex-employee with a fishbowl on his head fooled you, my entire ground team, and half of Europe with some damn projector technology."
Talos looked embarrassed. "It is not entirely like that, Nick. The technology was highly advanced. The drone integration with the localized atmospheric manipulators created thermal signatures that mimicked…"
"What do you mean it's not like that?!" Fury barked, slamming his hand onto the metal console. "You are an intelligence operative! You can double check all damage! Property damage caused by a machine and damage caused by a genuine enhanced individual leave totally different physical footprints! Are you sure you didn't leave your brain back at home?"
"And even after capturing that guy," Fury continued, his voice rising in anger. "One of your people killed him by mistake?! Do you think I will eat this excuse?"
"No, it's not like that," Talos pleaded. "I interrogated the agent under truth serum. The weapon malfunctioned. Beck likely rigged his own suit to self-destruct to avoid capture."
Fury rubbed his temples. "What's the investigation report from the tech guy we pulled off the roof?"
"After our interrogation, the result was the same as what Mysterio had described under Maximoff's compulsion," Talos reported. "William Ginter Riva confirmed the entire plan. It was a manufactured crisis to usurp Tony Stark's legacy."
"Thank god Wanda was there," Fury muttered. "Otherwise, you would have been fooled entirely, and there would have been a much more massive disaster when he deployed the fire elemental in the city center."
Fury looked back at Talos. "What about technology?"
"All the equipment has been rendered completely non-functional," Talos explained, pulling up a schematic on his pad. "It will take a very long time to recover the technology. However, with the help of Mysterio's remaining team… who are currently in custody and extremely willing to work for us to reduce their sentences… we might be able to salvage the blueprints."
"That is the only good news you have said all day," Fury grunted. "Did you find out who destroyed those motherboards?"
"We don't know," Talos admitted, shaking his head. "Our sensors show absolutely zero point of origin."
"Did you ask Wanda if she did it?" Fury pressed.
"Yes. I asked Wanda before she left," Talos confirmed. "She stated it was not her doing. She claimed she didn't even know there was a threat until I called her at the hotel."
Fury turned back to the viewport.
"So," Fury murmured. "Someone utilized an EMP in such a highly localized way that it only damaged targeted equipment without knocking out the city grid. I think it's done by some highly advanced tech. Find out where that tech is, Talos. I want that tech in my pocket."
"Yes, sir. I will try," Talos nodded.
"Don't try. Find me that tech," Fury ordered, turning his gaze back to the Skrull. "If someone uses a weapon like that for a malicious reason, they might do far more damage than this Beck criminal ever could. This technology is very dangerous. It should be in our hands."
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
I drove through the winding streets of Prague, navigating the afternoon traffic with a relaxed ease.
Wanda was sitting in the passenger seat. The window rolled down, letting the cool breeze rustle her auburn hair.
"Where are we going?" she asked, turning to look at me, a contented smile on her face.
"I am taking you to see the royals," I announced, tapping the steering wheel. "Or, at least, where they used to live."
We parked near the base of the massive complex, walking the rest of the way up the steep cobblestone incline.
We reached the main ticket pavilion of Prague Castle..
"Dvě vstupenky, prosím," (Two tickets, please,) I said to the attendant behind the glass. "Přijímáte eura?" (Do you accept euros?)
"Yes, we accept euros," the attendant replied in English, noting my accent. "That will be 900 CZK, or roughly 38 Euros."
I handed over a crisp fifty euro note, waving away the change.
We took our printed tickets and walked through the massive wrought iron gates into the first courtyard.
"Welcome to Prague Castle," I said, gesturing broadly to the sprawling complex of gothic and romanesque architecture. "It was built in the 9th century. According to the Guinness Book of Records, it is the largest ancient castle in the world."
"It is massive," Wanda looked up at the towering spires of St. Vitus Cathedral dominating the skyline of the third courtyard.
We spent the next two hours wandering through the ancient halls.
We walked through the Old Royal Palace, marveling at the vaulted stone ceilings of Vladislav Hall.
"You know," I whispered, leaning in close to Wanda as we stood beneath an ornate chandelier. "I read that in the 16th century, knights used to hold indoor jousting tournaments right here in this hall."
"Indoors?" Wanda asked, looking skeptically at the wooden floors. "That seems very dangerous for the horses."
"They had special ramps built," I explained, wrapping an arm around her waist. "But honestly, if I were a knight, I wouldn't waste my time jousting. I would spend all my time wooing the beautiful sorceresses in the high towers."
Wanda laughed. She turned in my arms, resting her hands flat against the lapels of my blazer.
"Is that so, Sir Spencer?" she teased, her green eyes sparkling. "And what would your strategy be to woo this sorceress?"
"Well," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I would start by bringing her chocolate ice cream. Then, I would dazzle her with my extensive knowledge of 9th century architecture. And finally, I would lock our destiny to a bridge with a brass padlock."
Wanda smiled, her gaze softening with affection. She reached up, adjusting the collar of my shirt.
"That is a very effective strategy," she murmured. "I think the sorceress would surrender immediately."
"I certainly hope so." I smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips.
We pulled apart slowly, the ancient stone walls of the castle providing a surprisingly romantic backdrop for our modern love story.
We continued our tour, walking through the golden lane.
It was a picturesque street lined with colorful houses that looked like they belonged in a fairy tale.
"These houses are so small," Wanda noted, ducking her head slightly as we peered into the window of a blue painted house. "Who lived here?"
"Originally, the castle guards," I recited, playing the perfect tour guide. "But later, goldsmiths and artisans moved in. Hence the name, Golden Lane. Even the writer Franz Kafka lived in house number 22 for a while."
"It looks like a dollhouse," she smiled.
I leaned against the wall of the blue house, pulling her flush against my chest.
"We could buy one," I joked. "We could retire from our grueling schedule of vacationing and become Czech artisans. I will forge gold rings, and you can use your magic to make the tourists buy them."
"That sounds like a very good idea," she giggled, leaning back against me.
"I know, right. That's why we must diversify our portfolio," I reminded her, kissing the side of her neck.
We spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the castle gardens, holding hands and getting lost in the castle's history.
Chapter 128: Charlottenburg Palace (1)
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
"Aryan..."
Her voice echoed slightly in the opulent restaurant.
We were sitting opposite each other, our half empty wine glasses catching the amber glow.
Wanda tilted her head, her eyes looking at me.
"If I were a doll... would you still love me?" she asked.
I reached across the table, covering her hand with mine. Her skin felt cold like porcelain, but I ignored it.
"Of course," I said, my voice sincere. "You are everything to me, Wanda. Doll, human, or anything in between. It doesn't matter."
She smiled. But the smile stretched too far, pulling at the corners of her mouth in a way that defied natural anatomy.
The amber light from the chandelier suddenly flickered, plunging the restaurant into a sickly yellow, and then into a suffocating grey.
"And what..." Wanda's voice dropped an entire octave. It layered over itself, echoing with a demonic distortion. "...if I am the dead Wanda you left behind?"
Thick black smoke began to seep from her pores. It poured out of her skin like ink bleeding into water, curling into the air and swallowing the light.
Her eyes turned completely pitch black. The black aura expanded violently, cracking the plaster on the restaurant walls.
The table between us snapped in half.
She lunged forward through the black smoke…
I gasped, my entire body violently jerking as I tore myself out of the dream.
My eyes flew open, staring blindly at the ornate ceiling of the hotel suite in Prague.
My chest was heaving, drawing in jagged breaths of air. The sheets were twisted around my legs, damp with a sudden layer of cold sweat.
The violent jolt of my waking up shook the mattress.
Beside me, Wanda popped up instantly, her hair a messy halo in the dim morning light filtering through the heavy drapes.
"Aryan?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. She shifted closer, placing a warm hand flat against the center of my chest, feeling my racing heart. "Are you OK? Did you have a nightmare?"
I blinked, letting my eyes adjust to the shadows of the room. I glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. 7:00 AM.
I looked down at the beautiful non-demonic woman, her brow furrowed in genuine worry.
The absurdity of my subconscious mind suddenly hit me. I let out a long exhale, letting my head fall back onto the soft pillows.
"Of course, I'm fine," I said, my voice still a little raspy from sleep. I reached up to rub my eyes. "I just had a small nightmare. I dreamt someone was eating a chapati with a spoon."
Wanda stared at me for a few seconds. The tension in her shoulders melted into an expression of fond exasperation.
"Oh, come on," she groaned, lightly swatting my chest with her palm. "Stop joking in the morning. I do not think that is even physically possible to do with a flatbread."
"It was a culinary tragedy, Wanda," I maintained, placing a hand over my heart. "A massacre of cultural norms. The spoon just tore right through the dough."
She rolled her eyes, a soft smile breaking through. She shifted her weight, sitting up slightly and opening her arms wide. "Come here, you ridiculous man."
I grinned, entirely willing to comply. I rolled onto my side, scooting across the mattress to press myself into her embrace.
"Okay, mommy," I mumbled, burying my face happily into her neck.
Wanda's entire body went completely rigid. Her arms, which had been about to wrap around my shoulders, froze in mid air.
"What did you say?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.
I lifted my head slightly, resting my chin on her collarbone to look up at her face.
I widened my eyes, pulling my lips into the most innocent, and puppy dog expression I could physically muster.
"Okay, mummy?" I repeated, inflecting my voice to sound genuinely confused by her reaction.
Wanda looked down at my face. She studied my eyes, the deliberate pout of my lower lip, and the absolute lack of shame in my expression.
She opened her mouth to scold me, to tell me how incredibly inappropriate that was.
She said nothing.
Instead, a spark ignited in her eyes. She dropped her arms, her hands diving into the hair at the nape of my neck.
She yanked my head up and crashed her lips down onto mine.
It was a deep kiss that entirely obliterated my joke. She parted my lips, tasting me with an overwhelming intensity that made the blood rush straight to my ears.
I groaned, wrapping my arms tight around her waist, kissing her back with equal fervor.
When she finally pulled back, we were both breathless, the air in the bedroom suddenly feeling ten degrees hotter.
"Wow," I breathed, staring at her swollen lips. "You are so proactive today."
"Not because of your words," she stated firmly, her cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of crimson as she tried to maintain her dignity. "Do not think that worked."
"Of course not," I grinned, shifting my weight and sitting up on the edge of the bed. I turned and scooped her up into my arms in one swift motion, lifting her entirely off the mattress. "Let's get up, mommy. We have a long drive ahead of us today."
"Aryan!" she squealed, slapping my shoulder as I marched us toward the en suite bathroom. "Stop calling me that!"
"I am just respecting the hierarchy," I laughed, kicking the bathroom door open.
I set her down gently on the cold marble floor.
I reached for the toothpaste, squeezing a neat line onto her pink brush and handing it to her, before preparing my own blue one.
Wanda spit into the sink, rinsing her mouth with a handful of water. "Are we actually driving all the way to Germany?"
"We are," I said, grabbing a towel to wipe my face. "It's a road trip. Road trips build character."
We turned on the massive rainfall shower, stepping under the scalding hot water together.
I took the bottle of jasmine body wash, squeezing a generous amount onto a sponge.
Wanda turned, her wet auburn hair plastered down her back.
I took my time, gently washing her shoulders, her back, letting the sponge glide over her skin. She leaned back into my chest, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
"You are very thorough for a man in a hurry," she murmured, tipping her head back to rest on my shoulder.
"I am a doctor," I reminded her, kissing her temple. "I believe in hygiene and proper circulation."
When we finally stepped out, the bathroom mirror was completely fogged over.
We dried off, wrapping ourselves in the thick hotel robes, and walked back into the bedroom to change.
"Comfortable clothes today," I advised, pulling a pair of dark jeans and a grey cashmere sweater from my suitcase. "We are going to be sitting in a car for a few hours."
Wanda nodded, rummaging through her open luggage.
She pulled out a pair of black leggings and an oversized knit sweater in a soft beige color. She slipped it on, the hem falling halfway down her thighs.
"Is this acceptable?" she asked, smoothing the fabric down.
"You look adorable and ready to conquer the highway," I confirmed, slipping into my own sweater.
I picked up the room phone from the bedside table and hit the button for room service.
"Yes, good morning," I said when the operator answered. "Room 702. We would like to order breakfast. Two black coffees, a pot of English Breakfast tea, a basket of assorted croissants and pastries, and two orders of Eggs Benedict, please."
"Right away," the voice replied.
"Food is on the way," I announced, hanging up the phone. "Now, we pack."
Chapter 129: Charlottenburg Palace (2)
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
Packing was a thirty minute endeavor.
I rolled my clothes neatly, tossing them into my suitcase, while watching Wanda meticulously fold her dresses with a precision that bordered on mathematical.
"Did you check the bathroom?" I asked, zipping my suitcase shut and hauling it off the bed.
"I have everything," Wanda assured me, zipping her own massive suitcase. "The bathroom is empty."
I walked over to the nightstands, opening the drawers to ensure we hadn't left a phone charger or a stray sock. "Safe. Closet?"
"Empty," she confirmed.
A knock echoed through the room. I walked over and opened the doors.
The waiter wheeled in our breakfast trolley, leaving it by the window.
We sat down, attacking the Eggs Benedict and drinking strong coffee in a companionable silence, watching the morning light slowly illuminate the spires of Prague outside our window.
When the last croissant was gone, I picked up the phone again.
"Front desk," I said. "We are ready for checkout. Could you please send a bellhop to Room 702 to collect our luggage? And have the valet bring the black Audi to the front entrance."
"Certainly, Dr. Spencer. A bellhop is on the way."
We waited by the door until a young man in an uniform arrived with a brass luggage cart.
"Good morning," I said, stepping aside so he could load the heavy bags onto the cart. "Just these two, please."
We followed the bellhop down the long hallways, riding the gilded elevator down to the main lobby.
I walked up to the reception desk.
"Checking out," I said, sliding my keycards across the counter to the receptionist. "Room 702."
"Ah, yes," the receptionist said, typing rapidly on her keyboard. She printed out a final folio, placing it into a small leather folder. "Thank you for staying with us at the Grand Mark. I trust your stay in Prague was exceptional?"
"It was unforgettable," I said, signing the receipt with a quick flourish.
"We hope to welcome you back again in the future," she said with a smile. "Have a safe journey."
Wanda and I walked through the revolving glass doors, stepping out into the morning air.
Our black Audi was idling by the curb.
The bellhop was currently lifting Wanda's massive suitcase, grunting slightly as he hauled it into the trunk, followed by my smaller bag.
"All set, sir," the bellhop said, closing the trunk with a solid thud. He wiped his brow, turning to me. "Happy journey."
I reached into my pocket, pulling out a twenty euro note and handing it to him. "Thank you. Have a good day."
"You too, sir," he smiled, pocketing the tip and stepping away from the vehicle.
I walked around to the passenger side of the car, pulling the door open. I offered my hand to Wanda.
She smiled, placing her fingers in mine, and slid gracefully into the leather seat.
I closed her door with a click, walking around the front of the hood to slide into the driver's seat.
I put on my seatbelt, adjusted the rearview mirror, and shifted the car into drive. We glided away from the curb.
Wanda reached out, her fingers dancing over the digital interface on the dashboard.
She connected her phone to Bluetooth, scrolling through her music library.
"So," she asked, finding a soft pop playlist and hitting play. The upbeat music filled the quiet cabin. "How long is the drive this time?"
"Prague to Berlin," I said, navigating through the narrow city streets until we hit the on ramp for the major highway. "It is around a four hour drive, assuming we don't hit any major construction. So it won't take too long. You can nap if you want to."
"I am not tired," she said, leaning her seat back.
We merged onto the highway. The speed limit signs shifted, and I pressed my foot down on the accelerator, the powerful engine of the Audi roaring smoothly as we hit 130 kilometers per hour.
The Czech countryside began to blur past us in sweeps of green fields and dense forests.
"You drive very fast," Wanda noted, eyeing the speedometer.
"I am driving the limit," I defended, keeping my hands relaxed on the steering wheel. "When we cross the border into Germany and hit the Autobahn, then you will see what fast looks like. There are sections with no speed limit at all."
"No speed limit?" she asked, her eyebrows shooting up. "Is that safe?"
"For me? Absolutely," I grinned, shooting her a glance. "For the guy in the minivan next to me? Questionable. But don't worry, my reflexes are super human."
"Because you are a doctor," she teased dryly.
"Exactly. Anatomy allows me to calculate crash trajectories," I joked.
Wanda let out a laugh, shaking her head. She reached over to the center console, picking up my smartphone which was resting in the cup holder.
"Unlock this," she commanded, holding the phone up to my face so the biometric scanner could read my features.
The screen clicked open.
"What are you doing?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the road. "Are you going through my texts? Looking for the other girls I practice foot massages on?"
"I am opening Twitter," she said, her fingers flying across the glass screen. "I want to find a good joke to tell you. Your jokes are terrible. I need to source better material."
"My jokes are legendary," I scoffed. "But go ahead.."
She opened the X app (formerly Twitter). She tapped on my profile icon in the bottom corner to go to my main page.
"Aryan," she said, her voice dropping into a tone of bewilderment.
"Yeah?"
"Aryan... when did you get so many followers?"
I glanced over at her. She was staring at the screen.
"Followers?" I asked casually. "How many are there?"
"It says..." she squinted at the numbers. "Three point two million. Aryan, you have three million followers!"
"Oh, yeah," I said, putting my turn signal on to bypass a slow moving transport truck. "When the news of the rescue in the park went viral, and the whole 'National Husband' thing started trending, people started trying to find my social media. I made the account, verified it to get the blue badge so people knew it was really me, and from there... I don't know. The internet is a strange place."
"You have more followers than some countries have people," she murmured, scrolling down my profile.
"Oh my god," she shrieked, sitting up straight in her seat.
"What?" I asked, chuckling at her reaction.
"You posted this picture!" she accused, holding the phone up so I could see the screen.
It was the photo from the Charles Bridge. The one the little boy had taken.
I was down on one knee, holding out the massive bouquet of red roses, looking up at her.
Wanda was standing above me, her hands covering her mouth, tears shining in her eyes, looking overwhelmingly happy.
Beneath the photo, my caption read: "And she said yes."
"Yes," I said, a grin spreading across my face. "Of course I posted it. I have to make it official, right? The world needs to know that the National Husband is permanently off the market."
"Aryan!" she groaned, burying her face in her hands, though I could see the tips of her ears turning red. "If you had told me you were going to post it for three million people to see, I would have dressed nicely! Not like this, so casually!"
"What are you talking about?" I argued, gesturing to the phone. "Look at that picture. Look at that red dress. You look like a movie star. Whatever the dress is, you always look absolutely beautiful, Wanda. Besides, it was a surprise. How could I tell you to dress up for a surprise proposal without ruining the surprise?"
Chapter 130: Charlottenburg Palace (3)
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
She lowered her hands, glaring at me with zero heat. "You are a glib tongue, Dr. Spencer."
"Only for you, mommy," I purred, flashing her a wicked grin.
Wanda slapped my shoulder hard. "Stop saying that!"
"Okay, mommy," I agreed instantly, laughing as she buried her face in her hands again in sheer embarrassment.
"I cannot believe you," she mumbled from behind her fingers. She picked the phone back up, staring at the post. "There are over a hundred thousand comments on this."
"Read some to me," I requested, adjusting my grip on the steering wheel as a sign welcomed us to the German border. "Let's hear what the public has to say about our romance."
Wanda tapped the little bubble icon, opening the comment section. She cleared her throat, adjusting her reading voice.
"Okay," she started, her eyes scanning the text. "User at WandaStan99 says: 'He literally rented out a bridge in Europe to ask her to be his girlfriend. My boyfriend didn't even buy me fries at McDonald's yesterday. Throwing the whole man away.'"
I burst out laughing. "Tell WandaStan99 she deserves the fries. Don't settle for less."
Wanda scrolled down, a smile breaking across her face. "User at DrSpencerFanClub says: 'I am officially in mourning. The National Husband has been locked down. I am wearing black to work today. Respect my privacy during this difficult time.'"
"My condolences to the Fan Club," I chuckled. "They will recover. Eventually."
"This one has a lot of likes," Wanda noted. "User at AvengerGossip writes: 'Wait, did she just say yes to a civilian? The Scarlet Witch is dating a human doctor? He must have a magical personality to keep up with her.'"
"Magical personality," I mused.
"It is accurate," she agreed, reading the next one. "User at MedStudentTears says: 'Let me get this straight. He's a top tier physician, looks like a GQ model, and he proposes in Prague with a bouquet the size of a toddler? God definitely has favorites, and it's not me.'"
I couldn't stop laughing.
The sheer melodrama of the internet was incredibly entertaining when you were on the winning side of it.
"Oh, look," Wanda said, holding the phone closer to her face. "Someone replied to that comment with a picture. It is a meme."
"Describe the meme," I ordered, checking my mirrors as I merged onto the Autobahn, the speed limit signs officially vanishing into the white circle with black slashes.
"It is the picture of the man looking back at another woman while his girlfriend looks angry," she explained, describing the classic 'Distracted Boyfriend' format. "The man is labeled 'The Internet'. The angry girlfriend is labeled 'Hollywood Actors'. And the girl he is looking at is labeled 'Dr. Aryan Spencer holding a stethoscope'."
I howled with laughter, slapping the steering wheel. "That is a masterpiece. Save that image to my camera roll."
"There is another one," Wanda giggled, her initial embarrassment entirely forgotten as she scrolled deeper into the comments. "User at TacoBellLover says: 'I would let him perform open heart surgery on me with a rusty spoon if he looked at me the way he looks at her in this photo.'"
"Whoa, okay, no," I said, shaking my head vehemently. "Tell TacoBellLover that is a severe medical malpractice suit waiting to happen. Do not encourage rusty spoons in the OR."
"I think she is speaking metaphorically," Wanda teased, her eyes crinkling. She swiped down again. "User at DailyBugleOfficial wrote an article. The headline is: 'Threat or Menace? Or just deeply romantic? We report, you decide.'"
"The Daily Bugle?" I scoffed. "Those guys have zero journalistic integrity. They probably think you are using mind control to make me date you."
Wanda went quiet for a second, a mischievous smirk pulling at her lips. "User at SarahFromOhio says: 'I don't care, I am going to find them and steal him. He is too perfect.'"
Wanda scoffed aloud, tapping the screen aggressively. "Let her try."
"I pity Sarah from Ohio," I laughed, reaching over to squeeze her knee. "She has no idea what she's up against. The wrath of the Lemon Queen is formidable."
We spent the next two hours driving down the perfectly paved lanes of the Autobahn, listening to music and reading out the increasingly unhinged comments from my sudden internet fame.
By the time the skyline of Berlin appeared on the horizon, my jaw physically ached from smiling so much.
"We are entering the city limits," I announced, slowing the car down as we exited the highway and merged into the traffic of the German capital.
I followed the GPS navigation on the dashboard, winding through the wide boulevards until we pulled up to the grand entrance of a five star hotel near Potsdamer Platz.
The building looked like a modern fortress of glass and steel.
I pulled into the covered driveway, putting the car in park and killing the engine.
Before I could even unbuckle my seatbelt, a valet in a grey uniform stepped up to my door, pulling it open.
"Guten Tag," (Good afternoon,) the valet said, offering a polite nod.
"Guten Tag," (Good afternoon,) I replied, stepping out and handing him the keys. "Wir haben Gepäck im Kofferraum." (We have luggage in the trunk.)
Another bellhop had already jogged around to the back of the car. He hauled the two suitcases out onto a brass cart.
I walked around to the passenger side, opening the door for Wanda. She stepped out, stretching her legs after the long drive.
"Welcome to Berlin," I said, offering my arm.
We walked through the revolving doors and into a lobby that was a masterpiece of minimalist luxury.
Black marble floors, geometric leather seating, and a massive abstract chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
I walked up to the reception desk.
"Einchecken," (Checking in,) I told the attendant. "Spencer, Die Präsidentensuite." (Spencer, The Presidential Suite.)
"Ah, ja," (Ah, yes,) the attendant smiled warmly, tapping his keyboard. " Ihre Suite ist fertig. Der Hotelpage bringt Ihr Gepäck sofort hoch. Hier sind Ihre Zimmerkarten." (Your suite is ready. The bellhop will bring your luggage up immediately. Here are your keycards.)
"Danke," (Thank you,) I said, taking the sleek black cards.
We rode the glass elevator up to the top floor.
I slid the keycard into the lock, pushing the heavy oak doors open.
The suite featured floor to ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the Berlin skyline.
Modern art hung on the walls, and a massive king sized bed sat in the center of the room, facing the windows.
The bellhop wheeled our luggage inside, placing the bags neatly on the wooden racks at the foot of the bed.
"Vielen Dank für Ihren Einsatz," (Thank you for your service,) I said, handing the man a twenty euro note from my pocket.
He bowed slightly. "Genießen Sie Ihren Aufenthalt, mein Herr." (Enjoy your stay, sir.)
The door clicked shut, leaving us alone in the massive space.
Wanda let out a dramatic sigh. She dropped her purse onto a glass table and walked slowly toward the bed.
"I am so tired," she announced, letting her body fall forward onto the pristine white duvet with a soft thud.
I stared at her, placing my hands on my hips.
"You are tired?" I asked, my voice dripping with indignation. "I should be the one to be more tired! I am the one who was driving for four hours straight on the Autobahn while you were reading Twitter comments and critiquing my driving skills!"
Wanda turned her head, resting her cheek on the mattress. She looked up at me with those wide eyes.
"Oh, baby," she cooed, her voice thick with fake sympathy. She rolled over onto her back, opening her arms wide. "Let me give you a hug."
My indignation vanished instantly.
"Yes," I said, walking eagerly toward the bed. "I needed one."
I climbed onto the mattress, crawling over the sheets until I could collapse directly on top of her.
Chapter 131: Charlottenburg Palace (4)
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
I buried my face in her neck, letting my full weight rest on her (though I supported myself slightly on my elbows so I didn't crush her).
She wrapped her arms tightly around my shoulders, running her fingers through my hair.
We lay there for a good ten minutes, letting the exhaustion of the travel seep out of our bones in the quiet luxury of the suite.
"Okay," I mumbled. "We need to change clothes. We look like we've been sitting in a car."
"I thought I looked adorable and ready to conquer the highway," she quoted my earlier words back at me.
"You did," I agreed, pushing myself up. "But now we need to look ready to conquer a German lunch. Come on."
We spent fifteen minutes digging through the massive suitcases, swapping our comfortable travel clothes for something a bit more refined.
I pulled on a dark crewneck sweater and dark jeans, while Wanda slipped into a sleek black skirt and a maroon blouse.
We rode the elevator down to the ground floor, to find the high end restaurant located right inside the hotel lobby.
The maître d' seated us in a quiet leather booth.
"Bring us your best Schnitzel," I told the waiter when he approached with his notepad. "The big ones. And Bratwurst. And some pretzels, if you have them. And two large beers."
Wanda raised an eyebrow at me as the waiter hurried away. "Beer? In the middle of the afternoon?"
"When in Rome," I shrugged. "Or Berlin, as it were."
The food arrived quickly. It was heavy, greasy, and absolutely incredible.
We attacked the fried pork schnitzels with enthusiasm, washing them down with the cold beer.
"I think I need another nap," I groaned, pushing my empty plate away an hour later.
I paid the bill, leaving another generous tip, and we walked out of the restaurant, heading toward the hotel's underground parking garage.
I found the black Audi exactly where the valet had parked it.
I unlocked the doors with the fob, walking around to open the passenger door for Wanda.
She slid in smoothly, and I shut the door behind her, walking around to the driver's side.
I got in, pressing the push to start button. The engine hummed to life.
"Where are we going?" Wanda asked, watching me type a location into the car's GPS navigation system.
"We," I announced, shifting the car into gear, "are going to Charlottenburg Palace."
Wanda tilted her head, a smile breaking across her face. "Oh. Another Royal place?"
"Yes," I nodded, pulling the car out of the dark garage and into the bright Berlin afternoon traffic. "As a Queen, it is imperative that you inspect all the summer homes of your European counterparts. We must gauge the competition."
"I see," she laughed. "And will this palace meet my standards?"
"It is quite impressive," I assured her. "Though I think they are severely lacking in the 'magical' department. The decor is a bit stiff."
We drove through the bustling streets of Berlin, the modern architecture slowly giving way to grander structures.
After about twenty minutes, the magnificent facade of Charlottenburg Palace appeared before us.
Its pale yellow walls and massive green oxidized copper dome gleamed in the sunlight.
I parked the car in a designated lot nearby, paying the meter, and offered my arm to Wanda as we walked toward the grand entrance gates.
We approached the ticket booth.
"Zwei Tickets, bitte," (Two tickets, please,) I said to the attendant behind the glass, handing over my credit card.
The attendant swiped the card, printing out two passes. "Vielen Dank, Genießen Sie Ihre." (Thank you, Enjoy your tour.)
We walked through the heavy wooden doors and stepped into the main foyer of the Old Palace.
The ceilings were painted with intricate frescoes of gods and angels, the walls lined with heavy tapestries and gold leaf molding.
"Okay," I whispered, leaning close to Wanda's ear as we began to walk down the long corridor. "Tour guide Aryan is officially back on the clock."
"I am listening," she said, looping her arm through mine.
"This massive building," I began, gesturing broadly to the painted walls, "was originally built at the end of the 17th century by Elector Friedrich III. He built it as a summer residence for his wife, Sophie Charlotte of Hanover. It was originally called Lietzenburg."
"He built her an entire palace just for the summer?" Wanda asked, looking up at a massive chandelier.
"He did," I confirmed. "And when she died young, he was so heartbroken that he renamed the entire palace and the surrounding estate 'Charlottenburg' in her honor."
I stopped walking, turning to face her with a dramatic sigh.
"Honestly, Wanda," I said, shaking my head. "Friedrich built this massive summer residence just to keep his wife happy. I feel like the bar for husbands has been set unreasonably high. I buy you ice cream, and this guy built a literal castle."
Wanda laughed, reaching up to cup my cheek. "You do not need to build me a palace, Aryan. You already have a very nice house with a one eyed cat. I am satisfied."
"I appreciate your low standards," I grinned, kissing her palm.
We continued our walk, moving through the opulent staterooms.
We stepped through an arched doorway.
We were in the Porcelain Cabinet.
The entire room, every inch of the walls, from floor to ceiling was covered in thousands of pieces of ornate Chinese and Japanese blue and white porcelain plates, vases, and bowls, held in place by gilded brackets.
"Wow," Wanda breathed, spinning slowly in a circle to take it all in. "This is... overwhelming."
"It's a bit much, isn't it?" I agreed, staring at the sheer volume of fragile pottery. "Imagine trying to dust this room. One wrong move with a feather duster and you destroy half the GDP of Prussia."
Wanda giggled, covering her mouth.
We left the palace interior, stepping out through the heavy glass doors into the sprawling palace gardens.
The gardens were designed in a French baroque style.
Gravel paths carved geometric patterns through perfectly manicured green lawns, lined with marble statues and tall hedges.
"If we lived in the 17th century," I mused, pulling her closer as we strolled past a massive stone fountain, "I would definitely challenge anyone who looked at you to a duel with muskets right here on this lawn."
"Muskets are very inaccurate," she pointed out logically, leaning her head against my shoulder. "You would probably miss and shoot a statue."
"I am an excellent shot," I defended, offended by her lack of faith in my hypothetical marksmanship. "And besides, I would demand satisfaction for my Queen's honor. It's the principle of the thing."
"You are very dramatic when surrounded by history," she noted affectionately.
We wandered down a long path lined with tall oak trees, heading toward the Orangery at the far end of the estate.
The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows across her face.
I stopped walking. I turned to her, grabbing both of her hands in mine.
"What?" she asked, looking up at me, the smile still lingering on her lips.
"Nothing," I said softly, looking at the way the wind caught the edges of her auburn hair. "I just... I like looking at you here. You fit in perfectly with all the royalty."
Wanda's cheeks flushed pink. She stepped into my space, resting her hands flat against my chest.
"You are also my favorite view," she whispered, rising up on her tiptoes.
She pressed a kiss to my lips.
I wrapped my arms around her waist, lifting her slightly off the gravel path, spinning her around in a joyful circle in the middle of the empty palace gardens.
She laughed, and in that moment, I knew I already had everything I needed right here in my arms.
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