You think Wanda and Vision occasionally have to come in to see the Principal because Tommy gets in trouble?
I bet they get called in more than occasionally, not just because Tommy seems the type to really push the rules as far as they can go, but also because of him having powers. Since this created a really strong visual for me, here’s a little drabble of how it could go down.
The right, left, left, right journey through the hallways has become quite automatic, her eyes no longer searching for helpful signs with arrows and room numbers, instead her feet just take them there. Part of this routine includes stopping just out of sight of the office, the large, impressively well-cleaned floor to ceiling windows offer no room for hiding, so they always devise a plan prior to Jody’s eagle eyes spotting them. “What’s the plan of attack, Maximoff?”
Vision shakes his head, not a dramatic gesture, but one he began using when the boys were two and refused to wear pants. It is a sign of his utter defeat in the face of obstinate and illogical foes. “Learn of the issue and if there is reason for punishment then we acquiesce with their recommendations?”
“And if there’s not reason for punishment?” An option that is far more likely given the last few times they’ve been called in included how Tommy shouldn’t have thrown his gum in the recycling bin, how he shouldn’t take his jacket off at school, and how he is breaking the dress code with his unnaturally colored hair. Even the one time there might have been a legitimate reason for them to be in this position, the day Tommy punched another student hard enough to break his nose, the reason for the attack (a name volleyed at Billy that neither boy has ever willinging repeated to Vision or Wanda) made any punishment not just worthless, but counterintuitive.
“Then we begin with logic and if that fails, you may once again prove to me that humans are irrational and use some convoluted emotional appeal to get him out of trouble.” The words might be construed as harsh if not for the wistful, minuscule smirk grazing his lips as he winks at her, her own lips responding in kind as she squeezes his arm in agreement. “Shall we?”
Fifteen steps brings them into view of the Principal’s office, the windows clear enough, not even one fingerprint smudge to obscure any ounce of the inside of the office, to show Tommy nervously bouncing in a chair while Jody, the administrative assistant, glares at him. Wanda opens the door, holding it so Vision can walk through, not only because she enjoys the way he smiles at small actions like this, but because she knows how much Jody despises when Vision is not being chivalrous enough. “Jody,” Wanda nods towards the woman before pivoting on her heels to look at her son, “Tommy.”
Tommy bolts upright, eyes wide and a sheepish smile (one he definitely gets from his father) greeting her. “Hi.”
Vision’s signature move in these instances is to sit down, get on Tommy’s level as he purses his lips, attempting to exude a sense of seriousness yet keep the paternal comfort, “Thomas, what happened this time?”
“Excuse me,” the polite yet harsh syllables enrage Wanda, powers buzzing in her palms as the woman behind the desk speaks up, “the offense can only be talked about with the Principal. You,” the of all people is silent, but it exists, settling in the air with a judgmental superiority, “know the procedures.”
“Can I tell them what I didn’t do?” Wanda bites the inside of her lip to keep from grinning at the impishness of Tommy’s loophole, this one always a troublemaker, but the way he works around Vision’s logic, or really anyone elses, is so impressive, Wanda would even say endearing, though she does not have to face it near as much as Vision, so their opinions might differ.
What is even more entertaining is the way Jody fumbles, mouth opening and closing like a fish, her hand torn between smoothing the tight knot of her hair or taking off her tortoise shell glasses. “I,” Wanda can feel the woman’s thoughts as they run through the manual for appropriate behaviors, “suppose that is allowed.”
“Alright,” Tommy rubs his hands together, foot tapping along with the whipping of his thoughts as he strategizes his explanation, “let’s see I didn’t punch someone,” this is the biggest relief, “or kick someone, or bite someone,” that was an interesting meeting. “I didn’t steal food, I didn’t make food, I didn’t start a food fight.” He pauses for half a second to think of the next list, “I didn’t talk back in class, I didn’t blow up the chemistry lab,” this one Vision questioned the teacher for allowing teenagers access to such combustible materials, but then grounded Tommy when they arrived home because he should fully understand the consequences of messing with volatile substances. “I didn’t pants anyone, though really thought about it. Um I didn’t vaporize the entire soccer field.”
“Oh,” Vision nods, quick to pick up on the implication of the list, “well at least it was not the entire field.”
Tommy nods, a hopeful grin parting his lips, “Exactly.”
The door to their left opens with a calm, but authoritative, “Mr. and Mrs. Maximoff.”
Vision stands, following Wanda as she walks into the Principal’s office, both of them taking their respective seats and staring at the sympathetic eyes of the woman across from them. Dr. Bennett, unlike the woman outside, is typically slow to blame the children, her carefully selected words and soothing voice a persuasive combination in guiding parents to agree with punishing problem behavior. This unassuming likeability, Wanda long ago decided, makes her an even more formidable foe. “So,” given the increased frequency of their meetings, there no longer seems a need for niceties or minced words, “what happened this time?”
The principal delicately opens a file on the desk, eyes skimming the unseen paper as her fingers follow along, nodding as the words force her lips to descend into a frown. “It appears,” Vision leans forward, waiting to hear the words, “Thomas vaporized one of the soccer goals during gym class.”
This is certainly a new offense. Wanda runs through all possible explanations for this happening, but comes up empty, which means she places the conversation back in the Principal’s hands. “How did he do that?”
There are very few people who can steeple their fingers in such a way as to be both casual and intimidating, typically it is reserved for the most dramatic and nefarious evil geniuses, but this woman has it down, elbows firmly planted on the desk while her fingertips partake of an innocent, gentle kiss. “From the eyewitness accounts, it seems as if he ran very very fast around it and it just,” her fingers part, hands traveling three inches from each other to mime a small explosion. “Now,” the folder is moved to the side as a much larger file is extracted from the abyss of her desk drawer, “we adore your sons and truly embrace the diversity they bring to the school.” This is the type of sentence that always proceeds a however and Wanda can feel Vision tensing beside her, these words, or some variant, having been used to describe both Wanda and Vision separately, but mostly together, a placation before condemnation. “But if they continue to be so foolhardy with their powers, we may have to discuss alternative options.”
Wanda immediately feels her body sliding into defensiveness, powers balling up deep within her chest as she tries to find the best words to suggest that perhaps the school is not nearly as inviting or understanding as they claim to be, just as the other three weren’t either. But then a quiet, deadly even question comes from her husband. “What was the impetus for his actions?”
“They were running the mile today, part of the yearly evaluation.”
The words are allowed to float down and settle into their minds before Vision continues, “Were there any peculiar instructions for the task?”
Dr. Bennett frowns, hands shuffling papers as she searches for an answer. “It seems some students said they were informed if they ran faster than their previous mile time they would win a prize.”
“Ah, that explains it, thank you.” Vision offers nothing more than that, shifting his weight so that he is leaned back in the chair, right leg coming up to cross over his left knee.
The principal sends an imploring glance to Wanda, but she can only manage a shrug. “Mr. Maximoff, I am not sure I follow.”
Wanda reaches gently into her husband’s mind and is met with an image of their old couch and suddenly it all makes sense, a wry smirk forming on her mouth as she remembers that day. “Dr. Bennett,” she does her best to match the friendly yet dismissive tone that is usually used on them when the school (or strangers, or reporters) feel they have the upper hand, “Tommy ran his first mile at his top speed and you all know how competitive he is.” The first time they were called into the office was because someone had bet Tommy he couldn’t eat the entire sheet pan of spaghetti being offered for lunch, not realizing that yes, he could, but two, it wasn’t even enough food for his increased metabolism. “So this time he went faster, it’s just, he hasn’t quite figured out how to balance speed with the consequences.”
“He once vaporized our couch trying to show us how fast he could run.”
Their joint explanation doesn’t seem to affect anything, the principal now staring at them with a detached sense of horror and curiosity. “I see. Well as I stated, he needs to control his powers and impulsivity better.”
“We agree,” Vision’s words stop the rest of the soliloquy they get each time an incident involves the boys’ powers, “but, as you have very astutely communicated in prior meetings, the school should not be held responsible for teaching this to them.”
Wanda jumps in, hand descending lovingly on Vision’s forearm and giving it a light squeeze, “That’s our job.”
Dr. Bennett’s eyes narrow as her lips tighten into a thin line, “I concur, but there should still be punishment at school for such behaviors.”
“How about he gets a warning this time and if it happens again then you can determine what’s best?” Which has been their go-to resolution for every behavior, and it works, sort of, Tommy rarely is called to the office for a repeat offense, though he is very good at finding new offenses. “And we will pay for a new soccer goal.”
Her acceptance is slow and drawn out, the three syllables occupying the same space as a full, meandering sentence, “Very well.”
Before they leave the room, the principal shakes their hands with a flurry of politely strained have a good days. On their way out of the main office, Wanda wraps Tommy’s wrist in a tendril of scarlet, pulling him out of the chair and into the hallway, just out of view of the glass windows. “You do that again and we won’t save you.”
The cheeky, pseudo-innocent smile erupting on his face reminds her so much of Pietro, which only solidifies what she suspected, Tommy knew exactly what he was doing. “Won’t vaporize a soccer goal again, promise.”
Vision remains a stoic statue, but Wanda can feel the slightly annoyed sigh of his mind as he speaks, “Perhaps we should rephrase that.”
“I won’t vaporize anything at school again?”