The moon hangs low over Westview, spilling its silver rays through the window of their bedroom. The ceiling fan turns lazily overhead, its soft whirring the only sound besides Vision’s deep breaths. Inhale... Exhale… Wanda feels his chest rise and fall against her back, soothing and warm in the quiet, night-filled room. It’s exactly the sort of thing that should lull her to sleep, slowly carrying her away to join him in his slumber. And it would, normally.
Wanda’s hand drifts to her stomach. She trails her thumb over the definitive curve pressing against her nightgown, tracing the unfamiliar shape for the fourth time that night. Or maybe it’s the fifth? No matter the number, each time she’s still surprised to find it there, just as shocked as when she stood from the couch and straightened her shirt only to realize it was much snugger than the moment before.
Moving a little further down the curve, her hand brushes against her husband’s where it rests over her bump, his fingers cupped almost as if he’s cradling the children inside.
Vision wasn’t surprised, not at all. She remembers the soft wonder in his eyes, the gentle sure way he replied “Yes, my love.” And the way he’d laughed later, when they were getting ready for bed and she became locked in a struggle with a pajama top that suddenly didn’t quite meet the matching bottoms. It wasn’t a loud laugh, or a teasing one, just a bubbling over of pure joy as he knelt and kissed the exposed skin of her belly.
Vision is excited, happy, carefree, thoughts and hopes turned eagerly toward the bright future. This doesn’t feel sudden or unexpected to him. He doesn’t have trouble understanding or accepting it. He doesn’t have any questions at all.
So why does she feel like they’re living in a haze, driving along a road where they can’t quite see what’s right in front of them? Why does this feel like one of those dreams where she’s the only one who doesn’t know what’s happening?
She bites her lip, fingers clenching the material of her nightgown. Her heart begins to pound in her ears, echoing louder and louder behind the questions.
A whispering noise behind her crashes through Wanda’s thoughts and she almost jumps, tense muscles seizing. But it’s only Vision muttering and shifting on the mattress, pulling her even closer and burying his face in her neck. Wanda crinkles her nose as his warm breath tickles her skin, fighting to hold back a laugh so she doesn’t wake him. As carefully as possible, she scoots a couple inches toward the foot of the bed, just enough so she can lay her head back against his chest. The second she settles into the more comfortable position Vision curls around her, legs tangling with hers, arm still cradling her bump.
“Wanda…” he mumbles, still asleep. And she can’t believe it only takes one word from this man to make her heart melt.
“Vision,” she whispers back. Closing her eyes, she listens again to the steady rhythm of his breathing, lets the rise and fall of her own chest slow.
Maybe the questions don’t matter. Maybe all that matters is they’re here, and together, and happy. Both of them.
She rests her hand upon his and smiles.
All of them.