Chapter Text
The first thing Wanda saw when she opened her eyes was pink.
Not the gentle pink she remembered from dresses or old magazines, but something thick and heavy, glowing like fog trapped inside the room. It drifted slowly through the air, curling and shifting as if it were breathing. Red threaded through it, darker and hotter, pulsing in uneven waves.
The red was coming from her.
From her hands. From her arms. From her chest. From places inside her she didn’t know how to name.
She sucked in a sharp breath and tried to move. Her body felt pinned down, heavy against the cold metal table beneath her. Straps dug into her wrists and ankles. When she lifted her hand slightly, the red light followed, wrapping around her fingers like it had always belonged there.
Her throat tightened.
“No,” she whispered hoarsely. “No, no…”
She hadn’t learned this. No one had taught her. She hadn’t chosen it.
The lights above her flickered as the pink and red swirled together, circling the room. There was a hum in the air, not quite a sound, more like pressure behind her eyes and deep in her chest. It made her teeth ache. It made her skin feel too small.
Then she saw her.
Floating near the ceiling, just past the harsh white lab lights, was a figure made entirely of pink light and mist. Not solid, but clear enough. Long hair flowed like glowing smoke around her shoulders. Her eyes were large and bright, fixed on Wanda with something that looked dangerously close to shock.
She wasn’t attacking.
She wasn’t moving.
She was just watching.
Wanda’s heart lurched painfully.
She knew that face.
She had seen it in dreams that never faded properly when she woke up. In memories that felt wrong, like they belonged to another life. In nights when hunger burned and fear pressed so hard on her chest that breathing hurt.
The lady with the bread.
The woman who appeared in the alley when everything was falling apart. The one who spoke gently, who didn’t look at Wanda and Pietro like they were trash or thieves. The one who healed Pietro with pink light and smiled like it was nothing special.
“She’s real,” Wanda whispered.
Her head turned slightly against the table, her neck stiff. Scientists crowded the room, their voices sharp and overlapping.
“She’s awake.”
“Monitor the vitals.”
“Energy levels are spiking again.”
“Hold her steady.”
Gloved hands moved into her vision. Machines beeped faster, louder. Red warning lights blinked overhead.
But Wanda couldn’t look away from the floating woman.
“She’s here,” Wanda said, panic creeping into her voice. “She’s right there.”
The lead scientist frowned, not even looking where Wanda was staring. “Focus, Maximoff. Hallucinations are expected at this stage.”
“I’m not hallucinating,” Wanda snapped, her voice shaking. “I know her.”
The pink figure hovered silently, her glow steady even as the red energy around Wanda flared brighter. When their eyes met, something twisted tight in Wanda’s chest, sharp and aching, like a puzzle piece snapping into place.
You’re real.
You weren’t a dream.
Wanda opened her mouth to say more, but pain slammed into her head without warning.
Her thoughts scattered violently, spinning too fast to hold onto. The room tilted sideways. The lights stretched into long white streaks. Her stomach lurched.
She cried out as the red energy surged, reacting to her panic, to the pressure building inside her.
“Sedate her,” someone shouted.
“No,” another voice barked. “Not yet. We need readings.”
“The stone is reacting,” the lead scientist said, eyes wide. “Look at the output.”
The stone.
That was when Wanda felt it.
Something cold and burning at the same time, buried deep in her chest. Not metal. Not flesh. A presence. Ancient. A force that felt aware, like it was staring back at her from the inside.
It pushed.
It pulled.
Doors inside her mind cracked open, flooding her with sensations she didn’t have words for.
“It hurts,” Wanda gasped. “Make it stop.”
Hands pressed down on her shoulders. The straps tightened.
“Stay still,” the scientist ordered. “You’re safe.”
Safe.
The word felt like a lie.
The air around her crackled. Glass trembled. Papers lifted off tables and fluttered wildly.
Through the chaos, Wanda forced her eyes back to the pink figure.
She looked afraid.
Not afraid of Wanda.
Afraid for her.
That frightened Wanda more than the power, more than the pain.
“Please,” Wanda whispered, not sure who she was talking to. “Help me.”
The world spun faster. Pink and red crashed together until she couldn’t tell where she ended and the energy began. Her vision burned. Her head throbbed violently.
And then everything went dark.
Love did not move.
She remained as she always had, steady and eternal, hovering above the chaos. This was new. A mortal seeing her clearly, without dreams or veils to soften the truth.
It had not worked before. Not with the mortal Death loved. Sight had slipped away then, fragile and fleeting.
But with Wanda, it lingered.
Was it the stone that taught her how to look beyond the surface of things? A fragment of the universe forcing open doors meant to stay closed? Love would ask the Watcher, when time allowed.
While Wanda lay unconscious, Love stayed.
Watching was all she was permitted to do.
She could not interfere.
She must not.
“She’s stabilizing,” a scientist muttered. “For now.”
Love floated lower, her glow dimmed with worry as she studied the girl’s still face. Humans grew fond of the characters they watched on screens, Love reminded herself.
Perhaps this was something like that.
Then Wanda stirred.
Her lashes fluttered. Her breath caught.
Slowly, uncertainly, her eyes opened.
And they turned straight to Love.
Love stilled.
Oh.
So she could still see her.
“How odd,” Love murmured softly, her voice barely brushing the air.
Wanda blinked, confused, her gaze following the pink light.
“You’re still here,” she said quietly. “So I wasn’t imagining you.”
Love drifted closer, circling above her.
“You are quite the mortal,” she said. “To look where sight is not meant to reach.”
Wanda swallowed. “You’re… watching me.”
“As I have always done,” Love replied. “As one watches a flame learn its own shape.”
Wanda frowned, struggling to sit up. “Who are you?”
Love tilted her head.
“Names are cages,” she said gently. “Mortals build them so the endless may fit inside their mouths. But if you must call me something, you call me Love.”
“Love,” Wanda repeated, disbelief creeping into her voice. “That’s not funny.”
Love smiled faintly.
“I am the space between heartbeats,” she said. “The ache that remains after loss. The reason hope refuses to die.”
Before Wanda could answer, the doors burst open again.
Soldiers flooded the room, boots pounding against the floor. The lead scientist strode in, irritation sharp on his face.
“What’s going on now?” he demanded.
Wanda’s breath hitched. She looked back at Love, panic flaring.
“They’ll see you,” she whispered. “They’ll take you too.”
“They will not,” Love replied calmly. “Their eyes are not meant for me. Nor their ears.”
Wanda didn’t relax.
She was too human for that.
Love watched the fear bloom across Wanda’s face and felt something unfamiliar twist softly inside her.
How worrisome.
How precious…
It had only been moments for Love.
For Wanda, it felt much longer.
The interrogation ended the way it always did. Sharp voices. Cold eyes. Questions that circled but never listened. Then the door slammed shut, metal echoing through the narrow hallway. Wanda was left alone again.
The cell was small and gray, the air stale. A thin bed bolted to the wall. A light that never fully dimmed. Wanda slid down until she was sitting on the floor, her back against the bedframe, knees drawn close, arms wrapped around herself.
She wasn’t shaking anymore.
She was exhausted.
Then she noticed the glow.
Soft pink light filled the corner of the room, gentle but unmistakable. Wanda lifted her head slowly.
Love stood there.
Not floating this time. Standing still, watching her the way she always did. Not like the scientists. Not like the guards. There was no hunger in her gaze, no fear, no calculation. Just quiet attention.
Wanda frowned faintly.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
Love smiled.
“To learn,” she replied calmly. “Is it not knowledge that proves improvement?”
She stepped forward, movements careful, almost cautious, as if she was practicing how to exist this way. Then she lowered herself to the floor across from Wanda, sitting with her legs crossed, glowing hands resting loosely in her lap.
“Would you like to ask me more questions?” Love asked.
Wanda hesitated.
Then she nodded.
“Yeah,” she said softly.
Silence stretched between them as Wanda tried to decide where to start. Her mind was crowded. Too many thoughts pressed against her skull, each one demanding answers.
She finally spoke.
“Why was it me?” Wanda asked. “Out of everyone.”
Love tilted her head slightly, as if listening to something Wanda could not hear.
“You were loud,” she said.
Wanda blinked. “I didn’t scream.”
“No,” Love replied. “Not with sound.”
Wanda frowned, confused, but Love did not explain further.
Wanda shifted on the floor and asked another question, quicker now, like she was afraid the moment would pass.
“How is your form like that?” she asked. “You look human, but you’re not. Are you choosing it?”
Love glanced down at herself. The glow that shaped her body shimmered faintly, like light refracted through water.
“This shape is easier for you,” she said. “Your mind knows how to hold it.”
“So you can change?” Wanda asked.
“Yes.”
Wanda swallowed. “Into something worse?”
Love smiled, amused. “Much worse.”
Wanda let out a short breath. “Good. I prefer this one.”
Love’s glow brightened just a little.
Wanda stared at the wall for a moment, then spoke again.
“Are gods real?” she asked. “Are you one?”
Love did not answer immediately.
“I am not worship,” she said at last. “I am not prayer. I am not belief.”
“Then what are you?” Wanda asked.
“I am Love,” she replied. “Not the word. Not the promise. The thing itself.”
Wanda shook her head slightly. “That sounds insane.”
“Yes,” Love agreed easily.
Wanda hugged her arms tighter. “Then why don’t you stop this?” She glanced around the cell. “Why don’t you stop them?”
Love’s expression shifted. Not sad. Not angry. Serious.
“I am not control,” she said. “I exist where choice is allowed. I cannot force kindness into hands that refuse to hold it.”
“That’s unfair,” Wanda muttered.
“Yes,” Love said quietly.
Another question escaped Wanda before she could stop it.
“Have you been watching me this whole time?”
Love nodded.
Wanda’s jaw tightened. “Since Sokovia?”
“Yes.”
“Since my parents?”
“Yes.”
Wanda looked down, blinking hard. “Then why didn’t you help?”
Love leaned forward slightly.
“You endured,” she said. “You stayed. You carried another life beside your own. You did not stop feeling.”
“That’s not help,” Wanda said sharply. “That’s pain.”
Love met her gaze without flinching.
“Pain does not erase love,” she said. “It often proves it existed.”
Wanda turned her face away, breathing slowly until the tightness in her chest eased.
“Do you feel things?” she asked after a moment. “Or do you just say things that sound comforting?”
Love considered the question.
“I feel movement,” she said. “Change. Pull. Overflow.”
“Do you get lonely?” Wanda asked.
There was a pause.
“Yes,” Love answered.
That surprised Wanda.
She looked back at her. “Do you know what’s going to happen to me?”
Love’s glow dimmed slightly.
“I know possibilities,” she said. “Not outcomes.”
Wanda swallowed. “Are you going to leave?”
“I will be taken from your sight,” Love replied. “That is not the same thing.”
The room fell quiet again.
One last question slipped from Wanda’s lips, barely above a whisper.
“Why do you stay?”
Love smiled.
She did not answer.
But she stayed.