His Name Is Anthony

30

Away from America, away from the fighting.

It was a peaceful life. Just last week, she had gone on a long midnight stroll with her newfound husband, who she had happily eloped with the second they left the big city. It was by far a beautiful night. The sand and speckles of snow washed and mixed ashore, and boats in the distance sailing to who knows where.

The warmth of the fire kept her at peace during the night. The moon was full, and the snow came down gently like feathers in the wind. A hot cocoa in hand and a soft blanket rested over her shoulders and around her arms. She was happy.

"Wanda, darling, I made dinner."

She looked up from her spot by the fire with a heartfelt smile and watched lovingly as her partner approached her with a full tray of food.

"Thank you," she placed a gentle hand over his as he placed down the tray at her feet, "what about you?"

"I have no need of food, dear," he reminded her, "it'd be a waste on my part to make food for myself. You, however, must eat." Furthering his statement, he slid the tray of food closer to her feet, encouraging her with gentle eyes.

She almost pitied him. Whenever they would go out in public, it hurt to watch him have a go at food in order to fit in with the masses. She knew he could, sure, but there was no enjoyment from his part. Taste was beyond him, and she knew that had hurt him. He wanted to feel what humans felt, to experience the other wave of emotions he could not. It was by a God's power and a genius' sheer will to even gift him with love and understanding. Just sometimes, she hoped that he had more.

"Ah."

Eyes perked and gaze aligned, she took note of her husband's sudden look of bothered shock and concern.

"Vis? What's wrong?"

Vision, seeming as human as they come, scratched behind his ear, his eyes locking elsewhere. He seemed deep in thought, deciding whether or not to answer Wanda's uncomplicated question.

"It seems we are needed back in America. The Tower and its occupants are in danger."

"Should we?"

Wanda, as hurt and as broken as she was, thought back of her times there in America. None of it was exactly glitter and rainbows, more-so heavy doors and bolted windows. However, she indeed remembered the people. The smiles, the laughter, the kindness. Albeit rare, that was what made those times bearable.

One look at his dearest wife, he knew her answer.

Sighing heavily, he leaned over for the familiar red jacket that hid snuggly beneath the bed in a tattered grey suitcase.

"Please, don't forget your toothbrush."

How are you guys doing? Did the notification give you a heart attack? I hope so.