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ginnsbaker · 1 year

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the follow up

Summary: Sequel to 'prophylaxis'. Wanda's follow up appointment with you, her dentist. Includes ice cream, Vision playing matchmaker and Wanda's questionable taste in music

Word count: 3k | Warnings: None. Tooth-rotting fluff. Pun intended.

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader | Platonic Wanda Maximoff X Vision

Author's note: Let's pretend that the Sokovian accords resolved itself without Tony and Steve divorcing | P.S couldn't resist inserting a T.S. lyric (sorry not sorry)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Wanda Maximoff is strapped to a chair.

Again.

Fortunately, it's not because she'd been caught behind enemy lines or had to be restrained because of those stupid accords that nobody really cares about except Tony and Steve.

No, Wanda Maximoff is at the dentist's office.

Again.

Okay, so, she’s not strapped per se, but the patient bib she wears over her clothes certainly feels like one, especially when that chair starts to tilt back as soon as you nudge the adjustor with your foot. It's like being bound in place, just without the actual restraints.

Her lips are dry, and her heart is beating just a little too fast, but not from fear this time. It's a different sort of edginess that Wanda feels, especially when you lean in too close to her face to check her molars. Your face is just inches from hers, eyebrows strewn in concentration and eyes focused. Wanda tries to look away, but there's nowhere to look except the ceiling or into those scrutinizing eyes.

It also doesn’t help that you smell absolutely incredible. Last week, you smelled like raindrops on petals. Today, you smell like cinnamon and vanilla, and she finds both scents comforting and addicting.

“So, Wanda,” you say, your voice calm and gentle, “How have you been taking care of your teeth since the last visit?”

“Uh, fine,” Wanda tries to articulate the words properly but all that comes out is a garbled “ahhh fuh”. You don't mock her in any way; instead, you display an expert understanding of your patients' speech patterns.

“You've been brushing and flossing?”

Wanda nods.

“Good girl,” you say, and even though your smile is hidden behind the mask, she can still see it in your eyes. They crinkle at the corners, and it just sends something warm and happy in Wanda’s chest whenever she sees it.

But there’s nervousness, too.

In fact, a lot of things about you make her nervous. After all, your kind used to be the bane of her existence.

You turn away to prepare the necessary tools, and Wanda's mind starts to wander. How many patients do you see in a day? Are you always this nice and charming to them?

Are they also nervous around you? Or is it just her?

“Alright, Wanda,” you say, turning back to her, your eyes kind and understanding. “Let's get started. Just a small pinch, and you'll feel a little numb.”

She nods again, and the procedure begins.

As you work, you talk about mundane things and the new plant you acquired over the weekend. You also talk a little about the Avengers compound and the unique experiences that come with being their on-call dentist, especially with a synthezoid who insists on getting their teeth checked.

Wanda answers more freely now, her initial hesitation gone. She finds herself enjoying your company–enjoying this dental appointment, of all things–and even laughing at some of your anecdotes.

Finally, the fillings are in place, and you help her rinse her mouth.

“See?” you say, patting her shoulder. “That wasn't so bad.”

Wanda beams at you, feeling quite proud of herself. “No, it wasn't. Thank you.”

“There are still three more that might need fillings, but we can schedule that for some other time. Don’t want you to get overwhelmed,” you add with a cheeky wink that has Wanda unwittingly clutching the armchair tightly.

You carefully set your tools down on the tray, giving Wanda some room to breathe. Right then, the numbing effect of the anesthesia begins to fade and Wanda winces, her hand instinctively coming up to her jaw, fingers massaging the area where the discomfort is blooming.

Seeing her reaction, you recall the ice cream you'd thoughtfully stashed away after she’d confirmed her appointment.

“Feeling a bit tender there?” you ask, moving towards the small refrigerator you keep in the room. “I have just the thing.”

Wanda looks at you curiously as you retrieve a container of Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia ice cream. Her eyes widen, and she exclaims, “How did you know this is my favorite?”

You blush as if you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. You hadn't expected Wanda to notice the specific flavor of the ice cream, let alone comment on how suspiciously perfect it was that you picked her favorite.

“Well, I may have called the Avengers compound and asked around,” you say, sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck. “It was Vision–was it?–who knew. Said you always choose this one.”

You extend the tub of Cherry Garcia to Wanda, and as she takes it, your fingers briefly brush against hers. Both of you pause at the unexpected touch, a small gasp escaping her lips. You quickly shift your attention to the utensil drawer, pulling out a spoon and handing it to her. But instead of digging in immediately, she hesitates, glancing up at you.

The white mask you're wearing has kept your full face hidden throughout the appointment, and now, she'd be utterly disappointed if she never gets a peek at your face, which is partly the reason she agreed to come here in the first place.

Wanda Maximoff can’t have that. After sitting through an hour in that torture chair, she needs to be rewarded. And not just with ice cream.

“Would you... would you like to share it with me?” she asks hesitantly, trying to be subtle–

“I'd really like to see your face, just once.”

–and then failing at subtlety half a second later.

You blink, surprised at her straightforwardness, and feel a deeper blush spread across your cheeks. Her request is unconventional, yes, but it's also earnest and endearing. Slowly, you reach up and remove the mask, unveiling the smile that Wanda's been so desperate to see.

“Well, I do have quite the sweet tooth, so I couldn't possibly refuse.” you say.

You sit side-by-side on the coach, your knees touching ever so often. You occasionally find yourself pointing to Wanda's lips, indicating where she needs to wipe away the stray cream. Wanda blushes at your attentiveness, but she can't help but appreciate the caring gesture.

Wanda truly wants to prolong this moment, this unexpected opportunity to have you all to herself. But as delightful as the company is, ice cream has its own rules, and it's not much enjoyable when it's melted. So, despite her desire to make the moment stretch on, the ice cream is finished in under ten minutes.

Staring at the empty tub, the idea that she might not be the only one to experience this side of you fills her with both reassurance and a hint of envy. Wanda can't help but wonder if there's something special about the connection you share during these brief appointments, or if your comforting demeanor is simply part of being a skilled and compassionate dentist.

Either way, she wants to do something with you that would set her apart from all your other patients.

“Um, so,” she begins, fumbling with her words, her eyes darting around the room before landing on yours. “I was thinking, you know, if you're not too busy or anything, maybe we could... do this again? Not the dental part!” she quickly adds, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I mean, maybe dinner, or a movie, or whatever you like? If you want to, of course.”

You look at her with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape, as if you're trying to catch the words that just slipped out of her mouth. Is it a date? Is it just a friendly outing? Regardless, it's not typically professional to see a patient outside of the clinic, especially one as renowned as Wanda Maximoff.

“Wanda,” you start. “You’re interesting, funny, and truly amazing.”

You watch as Wanda’s face becomes hopeful, which makes you want to strangle yourself for what you have to say next.

“But I’m sorry, I can’t. I have to consider the professional boundaries that I need to maintain.”

Wanda's eyes widen momentarily, and then she quickly masks her disappointment with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Oh, of course, I understand,” she says, her voice light, but not quite reaching her eyes. “I shouldn't have asked. It was silly of me.”

But you can see the hurt in her eyes, the way her shoulders slump just a little, the way her smile doesn't scrunch her nose the way it normally does. She's trying to brush it off, to act like it doesn't matter, but you can tell that it does.

With that, your time together draws to a close. You ask Wanda if she wants to schedule another filling for her remaining molars, but she merely shakes her head, telling you she'll have to think about it. Her eyes avoid yours, and her voice is distant, a clear indication of how your rejection has affected her.

You watch her walk away, a part of you wishing you could call her back, and another part knowing that you made the right choice.

It's the first time you experience a profound sense of loathing towards your profession as a dentist.

You wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t invite you back next year for another routine check-up.

Which makes your predicament the following day all the more baffling.

One second, you're tending to a tall, blonde, seemingly ordinary man in your dental chair, going through the routine motions of preparing for a check-up. You turn your back for a moment to prepare your tools, lost in thought and still reeling from yesterday's encounter with Wanda.

When you turn to face your patient again, your heart skips a beat, your hands freezing in place.

The man is no longer blonde and ordinary but bald and a striking shade of red.

In a snap, it’s another Avenger in your hands.

You clear your throat, forcing a smile as you approach the chair. “Mr. Vision,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I wasn't expecting to see you here.”

Vision is ready to correct you with your use of ‘Mr.’ but then he tilts his head, deciding he likes the title next to his name.

“It's my pleasure to see you, Doctor,” he smiles at you, sitting perfectly still.

You blink at him, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that a synthezoid–one who technically doesn't even have biological teeth–is sitting in your dental chair. You can't help but wonder if this is some kind of joke or if Wanda sent him to kill you.

When you continue to stand unmoving in your position, Vision says, “I’m here for a check-up.”

Huh.

Okay?

You reach for the mouth mirror and probe, tools typically used for human patients, and hesitate for just a moment.

How exactly does one perform a check-up on a synthezoid?

Vision seems to read your uncertainty, his crystal-blue eyes meeting yours. “I assure you, I have all the components you would find in a human mouth,” he says.

You nod, beginning to understand. Gathering your focus, you proceed to perform the unusual check-up he's requesting. As you explore his mouth, you find yourself fascinated by the impeccable craftsmanship that went into creating Vision. Every tooth, every gum, is a perfect imitation of its human counterpart.

You find yourself feeling a little jealous of his orthodontic assets.

As you continue the check-up, he starts to share some stories, his voice even and clear despite your probing.

“You know, Wanda once fed an alley full of stray cats during a mission in Bucharest,” he says, a soft chuckle in his voice. “We were on a surveillance assignment, and she noticed them, all huddled together, looking hungry. Before I knew it, she had conjured up bowls of food for them all. It was quite a sight.”

You pause, caught by the image of Wanda surrounded by furry, adorable kittens. “That sounds adorable.” you reply, moving on to examine his upper molars. 'Cute' was the word on the tip of your tongue, exactly what you meant to say. But you know as well as anyone that finding a patient cute is off-limits.

He continues, “Yes, Wanda has a way with things. Once, back at the Avengers HQ, she'd make her dinner portion smaller so the guys with big appetites could eat their fill. Even Natasha, who's quite the cook, found it a stretch sometimes to satisfy the team's hunger.”

And then as he drones on about Wanda, you slowly begin to piece together what's really happening here. Vision isn't just in your clinic for a check-up.

He's talking up Wanda.

To you.

As if Wanda even needed talking up.

All you could think about was the brunette with her soulful green eyes and a smile that makes you go weak in the knees. Your heart skips a beat at the very thought of her.

But it's not just because Wanda is your patient that you rejected her. There's the awe and reverence you feel towards her as an Avenger, a symbol of justice and freedom, a hero who seems to belong to the world more than to any one person. And then there's the raw, personal part of you, still healing from a toxic relationship that ended only six months ago.

And as Vision concludes his tales of Wanda by sharing how she's the only one patient enough to show him the ropes of what being human is, you see through his carefully crafted façade.

He's here to bridge the gap, to make Wanda more accessible, more human in your eyes. He wants you to see her not just as a public figure but as a person with feelings, quirks, and simple kindnesses.

And more than that, he wants you to realize that you're an idiot for saying no to someone as wonderful as Wanda Maximoff.

“You’re not really here for a check-up, are you?” you smile at him knowingly.

Vision looks at you, his synthetic eyes almost mischievous and for a while you forget that he isn’t human.

He pauses for a moment, as if considering his next words, and then he smiles back.

“No,” he finally says, his voice carrying a hint of both humor and sincerity. “I'm not.”

He then continues, his tone turning thoughtful. “Wanda has been... sulking. For hours, locked up in her room listening to ‘Lips of an Angel’ on repeat. She told me before that I am her 'best friend,'” he says, the term slightly foreign in his mouth. “I looked up what that means, and it included helping her be happy.”

Apart from the reveal of what kind of music Wanda listens to, you feel Vision’s words tugging at your heart strings. Well, at least until he says–

“Natasha explained to me that Wanda is being, as she put it, 'emo' because she got rejected by a possible... sexual mate.”

You'd choke on your water if you were drinking one.

That's not what you expected him to say, not in the least. The sentence hits you like a left-field curveball, utterly disrupting the flow of the conversation. It's so... so... un-Vision-like, and yet, here he is, stating it as matter-of-factly as he might describe the weather.

“Given that, I would like to ask you to reconsider going out with my ‘best friend’.”

You're still coming to grips with everything that's just happened. Vision, Wanda's “best friend” here in your clinic, attempting to play matchmaker. What he's asking isn't small, but the way he's asking, the care he's shown in understanding human relationships, his concern for Wanda's feelings–it all makes you pause.

You think about what you were doing on your computer last night, googling Wanda’s name and trying to find out all you could about the young Avenger.

Finally making a decision, you look up at Vision squarely in the eye.

“Would you happen to know Wanda’s email address?” you ask, fiddling with the lapels of your white coat. “And also her phone number?”

“Oh, thank god,” Natasha sighs as she hears Wanda hit pause on the 46th replay of Lips of an Angel.

Yes, 46. Natasha had made Vision count, and that doesn't include the ones he missed when she urgently dispatched him to you to remediate the Wanda situation immediately.

She hears someone whistling a tune coming from the hallway and is surprised to see Vision, apparently adopting Steve's habit in his eagerness to act more human.

“Mission accomplished?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.

Vision stops whistling, a look of satisfaction in his synthetic eyes. “I believe I made some progress. Our friend has promised to think about reconsidering the decision.”

“Just think about it? You were gone quite a while for a 'maybe.'”

Vision pauses, his head tilting slightly. “I believe I was able to present Wanda in a way that may help our friend realize her feelings for her.”

“You think she has feelings for our Wanda?” Natasha's voice betrays her surprise, and she can't quite catch herself using the word ‘our’. She continues, slightly flustered, “I was thinking maybe she'd just indulge Wanda's crush for a while, then befriend her, so as not to completely shut her down.”

“I observed her vitals while telling her about Wanda, and all the signs point to yes, she has feelings for our Wanda,” Vision answers, thoughtfully echoing Natasha's use of ‘our’.

She smirks, leaning against the wall. “Well, let's hope your efforts pay off. I can't take another 46 replays of that song.”

Vision stoically considers Natasha's last statement. “Actually, Agent Romanoff, I must disagree. I could listen to another replay. Technically, it's a well-composed song.”

Natasha's face twists into a look of mock disgust. “I swear, if you start advocating for boy bands next, I'm holding Wanda personally responsible.”

“I'll consider that when expanding my musical repertoire.”

She waves a dismissive hand, still grinning. “Just don't start singing in the shower. We've got enough noise in the mornings as it is.”

Around the time that Wanda has just hit pause on the Hinder hit that has been playing on loop, a notification sounds off her laptop.

She quickly turns her attention to it and clicks on the email that has arrived from your clinic. Inside, there's a referral letter personally written by you, referring Wanda to another colleague of yours.

You no longer want to be her dentist, the email makes that clear. Somehow, this hurts more than your rejection of her yesterday.

Before she can fully process the referral, her phone buzzes with a call from an unknown number. She hesitates, before deciding to answer. “Hello?”

“Hi, Wanda. It’s Y/N. F-From the clinic?” you breathe out in a rush, the words tangled with your nerves. Wanda takes note of how your voice sounds over the phone–deeper and more intimate against her ear.

She takes a moment to reply, still a little thrown by the referral. “Oh, hi. I just read your email,” she says.

“Yes, about that…” You trail off, pausing as you try to find the right words. “I was thinking, instead of discussing that over the phone, maybe we could talk about it over dinner on Friday? If you're free–”

“I’d love to,” Wanda quickly accepts, her heart threatening to jump out of her chest.

You try to suppress a chuckle, grateful that Wanda can’t see your cheeks turning a rosy pink.

“Great! I'll pick you up at seven?"

“Seven it is.” Her reply is soft, almost shy. You say your goodbyes, both of you grinning to yourselves as you both hang up.

Back in her room, Wanda stares at her phone, a broad smile on her face, touching it as if it's your face.

She presses play on the song once more, not as a lament but as a triumph.

Much to Natasha’s dismay.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #vision #steve rogers

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sustraiii · 6 months

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TEAM ZRCN EPILOGUE (WISTERIA)

Turns out you can't keep this woman down.

Wisteria

The last thing Wisteria could clearly remember was falling.

She could remember charging Miho, forcing herself and the larger woman over the balcony in the Rossi's base, falling in one final grapple before the ground rushed up to meet them. Her memory grew hazy after that, spotty and weakened by the immense pain. Her vision was blurry, the world span, and her body felt as though it were on fire.

Wisteria had never thought much about death before that moment. However, as she lay there, it seemed like an inevitable fate for her. The allies she had came here with were unlikely to come and fuss over her and ensure she wasn’t dying, or if they even considered it, then it would surely be at the bottom of their list of priorities.

Her memories become patchier then, sight and sound distorting, the pain reaching a point where her body starts to feel numb to it. At some point she swears she feels her body being pulled, she swears she sees a hand gripping hers, a voice assuring her that they would get out of this. Wisteria thinks she tries to respond but her tongue is heavy in her mouth and the words don’t seem to form. Slowly but surely the world grows darker and darker until she is engulfed by darkness.

Wisteria does not expect to wake up again. And somehow she does.

When her eyes slowly blink awake, she is startled by the brightness of the room, and it takes a moment for her eyes to full adjust to the light again. When her vision becomes clearer, she looks around, taking note of the room and trying to determine where she was. She finds herself unable to look too far, the movement of her head partly constricted by the neck brace she is wearing, but as far as she can tell she is in a hospital room of sorts.

It’s a very stark, austere room, coloured in mostly neutral tones save for the teal curtains and some sunflowers sitting at the bottom of her bed.

Odd, she thinks, but her mind is too hazy to make much sense of it beyond that.

Hers is the only bed in the room, a medical bed with all the fixings but surprisingly comfy. She is not actually lying down but has been propped up in bed, an adjustor sits off to the side which would allow her to recline the bed if she so wished, but is unable to reach it due to the cumbersome sling on her left arm.

The longer she is awake, unable to determine where she truly is, the more she starts to grow annoyed. Even the machines she’s hooked up to begin to annoy her, their beeps and whirs being of little comfort despite the fact they’ve likely been keeping her alive for goodness knows how long.

Wisteria is determined to get out of bed even though a small part of her begs her not to. Untucking the sheet, she finds one of her legs in a hefty cast but is not dissuaded from getting up. She decides she can just hobble around if needed until she finds the answers she is looking for.

The one thing that does give her pause is the growing aches and pains in her body. Now that she’s awake - or at least more alert - she is all the more aware of how much everything hurts.

She wishes she had something for the pain. Wishing that a doctor or nurse would walk through the doors, answer all her burning questions, and then give her medication for the pain. But nobody does, and she finds her annoyance growing at that.

What sort of place is this that they don’t have somebody watching me constantly? I’m a criminal - shouldn’t I be cuffed to the bed in case I tried to run away as I am now?

Wisteria’s body seems to cry out in pain when she sits up properly, easing her legs to the edge of the bed. She squashes it down for now still determined to get up and get some answers. Her feet touch the floor first and she shivers at the cold sensation against her bare skin. Wisteria is surprised she’s able to stand upright with no trouble but takes it in stride. In hindsight, she should have grabbed something to support herself before she began to walk in earnest, but emboldened by her ability to stand up straight, she took a step forward only to find her legs bucking beneath her.

She hits the floor hard, unable to catch herself with only one free arm, and lies there splayed on her belly. Something has ripped out of her free hand, making it bleed and also making one of the machines wail in alarm.

“Too…loud,” Wisteria says groggily. She isn’t sure if the sudden grogginess is from the earlier aches and pains or if she had hit her head as she fell.

The door to her room opens and a man steps inside. Somebody else follows though she cannot discern if they are man or woman.

“...pulled out her IV line. I will have to reinsert it. Are you able to get her back onto the bed?”

“Am I…dead?” Wisteria asks, rolling on her side to try and look at the man who had entered. He looks familiar, but she cannot quite put her finger on it.

“I don’t think I can. The last time was a struggle back in -”

Wait. Wisteria blinked. She knew that voice. She moved her head, trying to look for the other figure in the room.

“...Sparrow? Did they…get you too?”

Sparrow looked down at her with an unreadable expression. The man moved past her and called out beyond the door, asking for assistance from another person within this place. Wisteria heard another pair of footsteps approach and turned to try and get in a comfortable position to look.

Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw who was stood in the doorway.

“How?” She echoes quietly, looking up at the figure.

He doesn’t answer but she does hear the other man present speak, informing the others that he needed to temporarily sedate her. Wisteria felt a prick in her side and her vision and thoughts started to grow hazy again. The last thing she sees before she blacks out is the face of Ulysses Crest staring down at her sympathetically.

“You’re dead…” Wisteria whispers, before her eyes snap shut.

***

Wisteria wakes up a few hours later and when she does, the man from earlier is standing nearby monitoring one of the machines. She hadn't recognised him fully before but now that she's slightly more alert she can absorb the features of his face. He's a tall, dark-skinned man, with neat dark brown hair, and deep azure blue eyes. His hair and stubble was flecked with grey

"Oh good, you're awake," He says, turning to look at her. "How are you feeling?

He's older than the last time she'd seen him but the name comes easily now - Giles Crest—the father of the three Crest siblings.

In truth, Wisteria only knew him sparingly, having resided at the O.R.C.A.S with his wife for a few overlapping months when Wisteria had first arrived with Nieve many years ago. Eventually, he and his wife left to return to Atlas, able to escape during a time when Alden was more lucid. Leaving when they did they were able to avoid a potential intervention from Belleza at least, who hated anyone trying to leave the family unless she gave permission which she never did. Wisteria recalled that Giles and his wife had tried to take their children with them, but Ulysses and his sisters had been so ingrained in the group that leaving was not such an easy option for them. Ulysses was close with Wisteria and Nieve, Theodora had taken up a role as the defacto nurse and carer in place of her father, and Euphemia stayed to keep an eye on her younger siblings.

"I've felt better," Wisteria finally responded. "I still feel sore but it's not as bad as before."

"Well, that is to be expected, I did give you some additional pain relief," Giles explained. "Your injuries were quite severe so you should expect the pain to linger for a while. Do you know where you are?”

Wisteria frowned, looking around the room. “A hospital in Atlas I assume?”

“Well, it's a clinic actually, but close enough,” Gile responded in good humour. “You're in my clinic in Argus. Sparrow brought you here.”

“They did?” Wisteria blinked in surprise. Despite her shock, it did line up with some of her hazy memories of an escape. “How?”

“Sparrow told me it had to do with their semblance. In all the commotion that was going on nobody noticed the two of you slipping away on an airship,” Giles answered.

Wisteria had to admit she was impressed and perhaps a little unsettled too. She had known Sparrow’s semblance deflected any attention away from themself, but she would never have suspected it to have been that powerful they eluded a whole base full of people. It made her curious just how long it had been that powerful and why Belleza had never kept Sparrow in her group of allies. But then again, subtlety was never really Belleza's style.

She continued to mull over this new information before asking another question.

"What's the damage, doc?" Wisteria asked. When he stared at her blankly, not quite understanding her question, she knew she needed to clarify. "My injuries. What are they? I assume they must have been bad due to, you know, the multiple casts on my body."

"Very severe indeed," Giles confirmed with a nod. "The most severe was your leg. You shattered your tibia - hence the cast on your leg - and needed surgery to correct it. You also fractured four ribs and your orbital bone. Your collarbone is broken too, which is why you are wearing a sling. Now that you're more alert though I'll swap it for a figure-of-eight brace. What else…oh yes, you sprained your right wrist but that should be fine now. There were also extensive cuts from the glass you fell through, one was very close to catching an artery in your neck."

Wisteria couldn't help but wince slightly as he listed off all her injuries. “Bit of a miracle I survived then.”

“If not for a bit of remaining aura when you fell, you most likely would be dead right now,” Giles confirmed.

Wisteria frowned. She knew the fact she had survived and escaped had been a marvel but hearing it out loud was slightly more jarring than she expected. Giles did seem to pick up on it, his features softening in sympathy.

“I understand it's a lot to take in right now,” Giles said.

“That's an understatement,” Wisteria mumbled.

“When the time comes, Capella is happy to sit and talk things through with you.”

Capella Crest - mother of the Crest siblings, and a noted psychiatric doctor in her own right. Wisteria couldn't help but roll her eyes. “Therapy, really?”

“Yes,” Giles responded flatly, a faint hint of annoyance in his tone, following Wisteria's dismissal of his suggestion of therapy. “You will need physical therapy for your leg alone. But speaking with my wife would do you no harm either. She seems to believe your mental health would benefit from it greatly.”

“I’m sure she would,” Wisteria grumbled. “Maybe she can talk me through how to deal with false grief.”

“Pardon?”

“You know, grief for someone who, as it turns out, had never really died in the first place.”

Giles looked away briefly, realising she was referring to Ulysses with that comment. “Ulysses has been wanting to speak with you but I advised him against it,” Giles explained, meeting her gaze again. “I told him you were not ready to process it.”

“Wise choice,” Wisteria said. “I’d advise you to tell him to continue to stay away. I have no desire to speak with him.”

***

Despite her wishes to have nothing to do with Ulysses, Wisteria found herself forced into spending a considerable amount of time with him, much to her great displeasure.

Confined to her bed due to her leg, Wisteria had nowhere to escape to when he came to keep her company. Ulysses tried to engage her in conversations but Wisteria held firm, refusing to budge on her wish to not speak with him. At most, they only made small talk, with Ulysses doing most of the talking, and Wisteria grunting or moving her head in response.

Even when not in her bed she finds she cannot escape him. As her physical therapy begins and the arduous task of learning to walk again also begins, Ulysses offers himself to walk with her on occasion. The first few times she outwardly refused, deciding she’d rather wait for her actual therapy session to try walking, rather than walk with him. However, she began to feel slightly stir-crazy either confined to her bed or the room she had her therapy in, so eventually swallowed her pride and allowed him to walk with her. At the very least, he was a sturdy presence, keeping her upright if she stumbled or lost her footing.

In the days she could not abide his company, she had Sparrow to also walk with. Wisteria finds it hard to talk with them initially. They had never been close but Wisteria had always respected and tolerated their presence within the Rossi's group, which was something few else seemed to do. As they took more walks together, they found more to talk about. Sparrow was actually quite talkative when they wanted to be and was happy to answer any and all questions Wisteria had about the daring escape from the Rossi base. It's quite a fascinating story and one which Wisteria listens to with interest.

Alas, the budding friendship between her and Sparrow is cut short, when Sparrow lets slip about their involvement in Nieve's death. It comes out rather unexpectedly, so when Sparrow revealed that they had been responsible for sharing where Nieve had been hiding out, Wisteria was unsure how to process the news at first. When it does sink in, she is greeted by anger. An argument breaks out in the corridor and Giles has to intervene and tell them to step away lest they disturb any more of his patients.

Wisteria refuses to speak with Sparrow for days after that, even actively seeking out Ulysses to walk with rather than speak with Sparrow. Eventually, she calms down slightly, if only to tell Sparrow she needs to think things over in regard to where their friendship stood.

She manages to accept Sparrow's sincere apologies at least. Recognising that Sparrow had never intended for such an outcome to happen, nor had been aware of such a possibility. It spoke of a certain degree of naivety on Sparrow's behalf, but Wisteria could acknowledge that Sparrow’s lack of personal involvement with Belleza played into her belief that Belleza would not have killed Nieve.

It is on one of the days following the argument that Wisteria is unintentionally drawn into conversation with Ulysses. She is resting in the living room of the Crest's house which sat next door to their clinic. It's the only room of the house she is happy to go in, providing a welcome change of scenery from the clinic but also ensuring she didn't overstep into the lives of the Crests.

“Still giving Sparrow the silent treatment?” Ulysses asked, startling her out of the book she was reading.

Wisteria gave him a tired expression before shrugging.

Ulysses hovered nearby and though she was not looking at him, Wisteria could tell he was building up to speak with her again.

“Can we talk?” He asked.

“You're talking now,” Wisteria pointed out, idly turning a page.

“I meant together,” Ulysses said, taking a seat on the adjoining sofa next to her. “We can't keep avoiding each other, Wisteria.”

“Well, that's a you problem. As for myself, I’m perfectly happy to keep ignoring you.”

Ulysses groaned out loud. From the corner of her eye, she could see him pinch the bridge of his nose quickly before releasing it. “Look, I’m not saying we have to be friends again, I just want to explain what happened on Shizukana and how I got here.”

Wisteria closed her book with a satisfying snap. "Quite frankly, Ulysses, I don't want to hear it. I cannot understate how little of a shit I give about how you faked your death all these months.”

“Please just-”

“No!” Wisteria cut him off with a glare. “We mourned for you!”

Ulysses looked down at his knees solemnly. “I know…”

“You don't know anything, Ulysses,” Wisteria sneered. “You've been hiding away like a little coward all this time. You have no idea what we went through.”

“Do you recall those messages from Theodora to Nieve?” He suddenly asked.

Wisteria's anger falters ever so slightly, thrown by the mention of the conversations Nieve had secretly been having. “I - what!?”

“It was never Theodora she was speaking to,” Ulysses explained. He lifted his head and looked her in the eye. “It was me.”

Wisteria sucked in a breath and shook her head. “N-No!” She snapped. “I saw those messages! It clearly said Theodora!”

Ulysses gave her a bitter smile. “Do you have any idea how easy it is to clone someone's scroll if you have the right technology?” As he continued to speak, Wisteria remained quiet, the realisation of what he was saying slowly starting to sink in. “I cloned Theodora’s scroll. She knew, of course, as did Euphemia. It was necessary given the sensitive subject matter we needed to discuss.”

“What like your death?” Wisteria said sarcastically.

“That and other things,” Ulysses responded. Slowly, he got to his feet. “Stay here. It will be easier to explain if I show you.” He leaves the room quickly, shutting the door behind him before heading upstairs, the creak of the floorboards above her alerting her to roughly where he was.

Wisteria does as he requests but the entire time she waits she is of half a mind to run out of the house. If not for her still recovering leg she thinks she might have been able to get pretty far. She can hear footsteps coming down the stairs again and realises he is coming back. When he enters the living room again, she sits straight up, eager to see what he would be bringing with him.

No amount of preparation would have prepared for what happened next.

Ulysses sat back down where he had before and in his arms was a child. They weren't very old, maybe a year or just under if she had to make an educated guess. Wisteria almost asked whose child it was, but seeing how Ulysses fussed over them, she already knew he must have had a connection to them.

“I’d like you to meet River Crest,” He said, turning the baby so that she was facing Wisteria. “She is mine and Nieve’s daughter.”

Wisteria's eyes merely widen and she looks hard at the child. A small part of her wants to laugh at how ludicrous this all sounds, but the longer she looks, the easier it is to see parts of Nieve looking back at her. Although her hair was a darker grey and her skin a touch darker than Nieve's was, Wisteria could see most of Nieve's colouring in the child. River's eyes were more of a pale periwinkle colour, a mix between Nieve's and Ulysses's eye colours. More interestingly, River's fingertips were slightly grey, much like how Nieve's were indicating to Wisteria that the girl was a spider faunus like her mother.

“How? How is this possible?” Wisteria asked, gesturing to River. She knew there were at least five months where she wasn’t present in Nieve’s life due to working closely with the Rossi’s and wanting to protect Nieve who had fled at that point, but surely if Nieve had been pregnant during that time she would have known about it or seen some sort of sign.

“River was born two months after the events on Shizukana,” Ulysses explained.

“Two months after Shizukana!?” Wisteria echoed, unable to believe what she was hearing. If she were able to, she might have jumped to her feet and started pacing around the room. Unfortunately, such a task was not as easy with her leg still in a cast. “No, you can’t be serious. Nieve would have been showing by then, I would have known!”

Ulysses gave her a sympathetic smile. “It’s not unheard of for some women to not know they are pregnant for some time. Nieve was one of those women.”

Wisteria still couldn’t believe any of what he was saying. Of course, some of it did make sense, but it still seemed unbelievable.

“We would have told you.”

Wisteria looked up, narrowing her eyes. “Oh yes, I’m sure you would have eventually,” She said. “Tell me Ulysses when exactly when this was going to happen? When you came out of hiding? On the unlikely chance that I somehow managed to escape the Rossi’s on my own?”

“We were thinking of the baby too!” Ulysses protested. “Belleza could not know about her. We needed to keep her safe.”

“I could have helped!” Wisteria retorted, surprised to find just how upset she suddenly found herself. “I would have protected all three of you.”

“What, like you protected Nieve?” Ulysses fired back a little too quickly. He seemed to realise the error of his words quickly at least, blinking rapidly before shooting her an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Wisteria ignored him and went for her crutches, quickly pulling herself to her feet. She tucked the crutches under her arms to help support herself and began to hobble towards the door.

“Wisteria please don’t go,” Ulysses begged, turning in his seat to follow her as she walked.

“Shut up!” She snapped quickly, speaking with a soft voice so as not to disturb River too much. “I’m done talking, Ulysses. I don't want to talk to you again whilst I’m here. As soon as I've recovered, I’m leaving and you will never see me again.”

Wisteria manages to get outside of the house without any further intervention from Ulysses. As soon as she's outside, she manages a few steps forward before she stops. She tries to keep it together but she can't. Tears stream down her cheeks and she sniffs. She won't stop the tears but that does not mean she wants anyone to see her, so as she begins to walk again, Wisteria makes an effort to keep her face hidden, not wanting anyone to stop her and ask if anything was wrong.

It takes eight months for Wisteria to finally feel something like herself again. Eight months of grueling physical and mental therapy.

In that time, River had her first birthday, which turned out to be a quiet and simple affair. And in that time Wisteria did actually start to talk with both Sparrow and Ulysses. It took a few weeks, but Wisteria had finally swallowed her pride, realising her recovery time would pass quicker if she did not alienate them entirely and actually try to understand what they had both been through. The conversations weren't exactly long - especially those with Ulysses - but it was something at least.

Once she had been given the all clear, Giles and Capella were content to let her go on her way. They were kinda enough to help her out with some supplies for when she eventually set out, but luckily Wisteria had plenty of lien saved up that she wouldn't be struggling for a while. The only thing she was less certain about was where to go. Wisteria had had enough of Atlas for a lifetime, but it had been many years since she had experienced Mistral proper, especially the settlements beyond the main city. Wisteria would love to see Mistral again as an adult. She did not remember much of her childhood, with many memories trapped under years of abuse, but she did recall that she had been raised outside of the city. When she had been sent to live with her caretakers she moved to the lower city and then after her escape had roamed the streets. She often wondered where she truly came from.

On her soon-to-be journey through Mistral, she was not going to be alone. Sparrow had offered themselves to accompany her - for a little while at least - once Wisteria was more amenable to the idea. It had taken some time, and plenty of lengthy conversations, for them to even be on decent terms again. Strangely, Wisteria had found Sparrow's apologies to be easier to accept as they weren't constantly trying to rationalise it.

On the day Wisteria planned to leave, she enjoyed an early breakfast with the Crests and Sparrow, before gathering together her supplies. It wasn't much, as she had only come to this place with her scroll more or less, and what items she did have to take with her had accumulated during her time here. One of the more precious items were two polaroids - one from over a year ago with herself, Nieve, and Ulysses in it, and another of baby River. Wisteria hadn't wanted to accept the latter gift at first, still wary of getting close to the child, but she had secretly kept it.

After gathering most of her things together, Wisteria left a small bag at the bottom of the stairs. Midway through her recovery she had taken one of the remaining spare bedrooms in the Crest's house to complete her recuperation.

She was about to head back upstairs and go in search of Sparrow when she heard a little cough behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see Ulysses standing there.

“Today's the day, hmm?”

“Today's the day,” Wisteria repeated in confirmation.

Ulysses briefly looked at her bag and then back up at her. “Are you leaving now?”

“I need to see if Sparrow is ready, but yes, we will be leaving soon,” Wisteria responded.

“I see,” Ulysses nodded. “Well, if you can spare the time, there was something I wished to speak to you about before you left.”

Wisteria raised a brow, curious about what he meant before shrugging. “I think I could spare a moment or two once I’ve found Sparrow. Did you need me to meet you somewhere in the house?”

“Oh no, we don't need to meet anywhere specific,” Ulysses assured her. “Just here is fine. I’ll wait for you.”

Wisteria nodded and then made her way up the stairs. She peeked inside the room Sparrow had been staying in but couldn't see them. Feeling a little emboldened, Wisteria opened the doors of some of the other rooms, peeking inside but still finding no luck.

“Sparrow…?” Wisteria called, genuinely curious where they might have been.

“I’m out here, Wisteria.” A voice called from within Sparrow's room. Wisteria pushed inside again, recalling there was a small balcony in that room as well as one in River’s room. Whilst the balcony in River's room looked down onto a small park beyond the house, the one in Sparrow's room looked out upon the south of the city and the expansive Thalassa Bay. The sea view might have been genuinely pleasant if not for the Atlesian military outpost sticking out like a sore thumb. At least there were nicer beaches tucked away to the immediate west of the town, which were probably much more appealing to spend time at.

“Are you re-Woah!” Wisteria was about to ask if Sparrow was ready to go, but was caught by surprise when Sparrow straightened up from leaning over the balustrade and she saw their hair. As long as she had known Sparrow, she had always known them to wear their hair in a long, elaborate plait down their back. Now, they had gone for a much shorter look, having quite literally chopped off their plait in favour of going for a messy pixie cut. And it was a recent choice too, as Sparrow had worn their hair in a plait at breakfast.

“Did you, uh, do that yourself?” Wisteria asked, gesturing to their hair.

Sparrow chuckled, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “Yeah. Do you think it suits me?”

Wisteria inclined her head to get a better look. Despite the messiness, it did suit them. It exposed the old burn scars that crept up their neck and accentuated the sharp features of their face. It also drew the eye to the new single earring they wore - a small clear gem, dangling on a gold chain.

“It actually does,” Wisteria told them.

“Maybe I can cut yours for you too?” Sparrow suggested jokingly.

Wisteria smirked. “Actually, Sparrow, I think I might grow mine out.” Wisteria had always kept her hair fairly short, but it had grown a little during her recovery. Whilst she would consider neatening it up at some point, she actually did not mind the length.

“There's one other thing I'd like to change,” Sparrow said.

“Hmm?”

“I think I’d like to go back to being Ximenia again.”

Wisteria turned to look at Sparrow and raised a brow. Ximenia?

“That’s my name,” Sparrow responded. “Or it was before, you know, everything happened.”

“‘Ximenia’, huh?” Wisteria considered the name for a moment. “I always just assumed Sparrow was your actual name.”

“Just a nickname,” Ximenia confirmed. “It was Marcel’s fault. He used to say I was small and flighty like a little sparrow. After a while it just stuck, I guess, and we never saw the point to correct Belleza when we ended up working for the Rossis.”

“Well, I like it,” Wisteria smiled, giving Ximenia a nudge. “It suits you. Like the hair.”

Ximenia smiled, appearing truly grateful for the comment. “I’ve got to meet Ulysses downstairs,” Wisteria explained. “If you’re ready just meet me down there and we’ll go once he’s finished talking.”

“Okay,” Ximenia nodded. “That’ll give me a minute to get my things together.”

Leaving Ximenia on their own, Wisteria headed downstairs where Ulysses was still waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. She tried to look at his body language and gauge how he was feeling to try and determine what he wanted to speak about but had no such luck.

“You wanted to talk?” Wisteria prompted him once she reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes,” Ulysses said. Wisteria was waiting for him to continue talking when suddenly he handed her a manila folder he had been holding behind his back.

“Oh,” Wisteria said, taking the folder gingerly. “Thank you?”

“Do you remember one of our first missions together, Wisteria?” Ulysses suddenly asked.

Wisteria looked at the folder and then at him again. “The job in Essen?” Wisteria could definitely remember that. Especially the part about nearly freezing in one of the barns, and drinking a bottle of Six Swans vodka between herself, Nieve, and Ulysses.

“Do you remember what you said in the barn?”

Wisteria shook her head. “Not really,” She admitted. “We did get pretty drunk.”

“If I remember rightly, you got pretty drunk,” Ulysses said, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. He cleared his throat quickly before continuing. “Well, I remember what you said at least, because it has stuck with me over the years. You mentioned wanting to know where you really came from - your parents, your extended family, if you had any real home so to speak.”

“But I looked!” Wisteria said. “I looked for Bloomes. There were none in Mistral that had a daughter my age.”

“Bloome is a fairly common surname as it turned out, so I am not surprised you had difficulty in finding any matches. However, the reason you likely struggled, was because your birth certificate wasn’t registered under any Mistrali settlements. You might have been raised in Mistral but you were born in Vacuo, Wisteria,” Ulysses explained. “With that in mind, I was able to do some backtracking and trace your parents to gather some more information on them.”

Ulysses stepped forward and opened the folder, showing a small page with two short biographies of a man and a woman. There were two photographs attached too. Even though the photographs were of academy aged students, Wisteria could see that they had details that matched up with the written biographies. More importantly, she could see they had features that matched up with her. She had the same green eyes as the man, and the same purple hair as the woman. Honestly, she could have gotten lost studying those faces, and might easily have done so if not for Ulysses bringing her back to reality.

“Lincoln Bloome and Daphne Holt,” He said.

“What?”

“That’s their names. Your parents,” He said, pointing at their names on the page. Wisteria followed is finger and nodded. Ulysses proceeded to shift uncomfortably on the spot. “Unfortunately, neither of them are no longer with us. Your father went missing in action and was suspected to have died, and your mother died only a few weeks later looking for him.”

Although Wisteria had always suspected that was the case, she felt a pang in her heart to know it was the truth. That they had not abandoned her as her former caretakers had often said but rather had died doing their jobs as huntsmen.

“There isn’t much on their times at their respective academies, especially your mother. You can blame Shade records for being notoriously spotty. However, it seems they lived good, honourable lives as huntsmen. I managed to find a few articles of interest though that you can find in the folder,” Ulysses explained. Wisteria was about to move the pages around to see when Ulysses stopped her. “Oh, there’s actually one more thing I found. It turns out you do have surviving family.”

Wisteria blinked in surprise. “I do? Why did they never come looking for me?”

“Well, to answer the second question, it seems like there was some effort on her behalf, but your former guardians made it difficult to find any leads. They claimed that you ran away and that they already had an investigation open to find you,” Ulysses responded. By the face he pulled afterwards, Wisteria wondered if he was thinking of the stories she had told him about them and the abuse she had suffered at their hands. Wisteria knew all too well there likely had never been an investigation on their end.

“Who is she?” Wisteria asked, wanting to know more about this mysterious relative Ulysses has mentioned.

“Arden Bloome - Lincoln’s mother. Your grandmother.”

A grandmother. Wisteria had a grandmother. Well, of course, she had grandparents, but she had never expected any to still be alive.

“How did you find all this?” She asked.

“I might have done a little bit of hacking,” Ulysses confessed, with a nervous chuckle. “I promised I wouldn't after River was born but it was for a good cause so I made an exception.”

Suddenly, Wisteria threw herself at Ulysses, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into a tight embrace. “Thank you,” She said softly, burying her head into his shoulder slightly so as to stifle her tears.

Ulysses's arms were held out awkwardly by his side for a few moments, caught off guard by the sudden embrace. Wisteria recalled neither him nor her had been much for physical affection and they certainly hadn't shared a hug for a very long time.

Slowly, his arms wrap around her waist and he squeezes her tight. “You’re very welcome, Wisteria,” He said, pulling away from her with a small smile. “I hope this helps you get to where you need to be.”

Wisteria smiled and held the folder close to her chest. Behind her she could hear Ximenia about to come down the stairs and quickly took a breath in an effort to hide her tears. “I think it will,” Wisteria responded, genuinely meaning what she said.

With Ximenia coming downstairs, their own supplies in tow, it was finally time for the two of them to depart. Giles and Capella had already left to return to their respective jobs, so it only left Ulysses and Ximenia to share a goodbye. There was no hug as there had been with him and Wisteria, but they at least enjoyed a friendly handshake before they departed.

As the two of them stepped out onto the streets of Argus, Wisteria took in a breath of fresh air and smiled to herself. Wisteria could not and would forget her criminal past entirely but she was taking this as the chance to have a fresh start. After all these years, she could finally live the life she wanted to lead. And Wisteria was very much looking forward to that.

#team zrcn fic #wisteria bloome #sparrow #ulysses crest #giles crest #river crest

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