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The feeling is overwhelming, like water filling lungs, slowly drowning a victim. Breaths become shallow, shallower than they have ever been before. Death is coming, stalking like a predator. One wrong move and it will pounce, shredding the tender strings of life that she is gripping to. One wrong move and she will be gone.
Maybe death would be a release from this pain: the pain that swims about in her head and the pain that sears through her body. She can’t take this much longer but she has to for the soft voice in her ear is telling her so. Just a few minutes longer it says. But minutes are becoming more and more scarce. With each minute, death draws closer.
It is impossible to stop fate, but that doesn’t diminish her fight fueled by his voice. Like a fire fueled by gasoline. She has to fight, just as she has ever since her parents were killed. She’d see them again once all of her fight, all of her strength, is drained. And her brother. She’d see them all again. But that time isn’t now. Not now.
Breathe . One breath at a time. In and out. Each inhale becomes progressively harder, having to suck air into her searing lungs. Each exhale just follows with another shaken gasp of breath, one that shows how close the predator is. How close it is to pouncing.
Eyes that once saw the world clearly only see a hurricane. A flash of a familiar hue of red appears momentarily and it is gone just as fast. A flash of white, bursting like an explosion. Thousands of colors, like fireworks and then a scream, one that no human being alone can emit. A deranged scream, an unstable one. Eyes roll back into her head and her numb body rises.
Realization hits that the screaming comes from her as every nerve in her body begins to burns with an unforgiving intensity. Raw power is the only way she can explain it; pure, raw power consuming her from the inside out. The pain is paralyzing, unlike anything she's ever felt before. This pain is even worse than the experiments that left her unconscious for days.
An odd but strangely familiar feeling cascades down her levitating body. Her power isn't just escaping from her fingertips but from her entire body. The scarlet hue pulses around her, the pain escalating with each beat. Increasing. Building.
The surroundings flicker away: every scream, every shatter, every worried holler. It is just gone. In less than a second. Is this death? Pain still ripples with unimaginable strength. And thousands of plaguing thoughts and memories consume her exhausted mind. In death, you are relieved of the burden of pain, of worrying, of exhaustion. Or so she hoped.
White is the combination of all color, and fittingly so, it is the only color that makes itself present. But she doesn't have any time to register the eerie surroundings. Random bursts of memories flash on the back of closed eyelids. They stay glued together as a response to the poison spreading within her body, blinding her from reality.
It is inescapable; every inch of her living body plagued. And her mind, that once held a sense of security for the dying girl, is gone. Only a jumbled mess remains, with fractals of her past life blurring by. She can’t remember the soft whispers of the one telling her to fight. She can’t remember the reason to fight. She can’t even remember her own name. Maybe giving up was the only option here. She’s fought enough and even though the memories are jumbled, she knows that there is nothing left for her when, if, she comes back.
The pain starts to ebb, now a gentle stream compared to the crashing waves from before. It still lingers in the aching of her joints, in the rapid beating of her frantic heart, in the knife that draws with each breath inwards. Still, being saved from this mental prison seems unlikely. Who would save me anyways?
Darkness starts to seep through the broken cracks of erratic memories and she welcomes it. No more white, no more pain, no more anything. It would be better this way, right? Of course, it would. Second-guessing this close to death is pointless.
There would be things that she would miss, no doubt. Specifics blur together but music has always made her smile and movies always tug at her overactive imagination. Books take her on magical adventures that nothing else could.
But something seems off. Something or someone was there throughout these cherished memories. A presence.
Human? Maybe, maybe not. It is hard to tell, even more so than before because of the dark edges bleeding together.
The only things she knows about the presence is that she likes it. She likes its company, its security. Somehow she knows that it has always comforted her in times of need. It has laughed with her and it has loved her. And she’s loved it. Is there someone worth living for back in my old life? No, there can’t be. No one could love me like that. No one could cherish a monster.
A monster. Was this prolonged death proof that she was something more than a human? Something more that shouldn’t be loved, that people should fear. Are all humans just monsters, hiding under the blanket of society? Is everyone a monster in their own way and do they also kill like I do?
Then a change; those black edges have finally connected like a puzzle. The only thing that remains is a limbo, ebony-blanketed dimension. Even though she makes no attempt to fight the darkness, she still feels restraint and the tension that accompanies. This isn’t death, a feeling tells her. Or maybe it is a voice. Is it hers or was it another's? Maybe the presence’s?
Nothing responds to her inquiries. Maybe she is hearing things. That didn’t seem too crazy to assume once considering the events that have occurred in the last few minutes. Wait, has it been it minutes or seconds? Hours? Maybe a longer stretch of time?
Memories greet her as she floats, untethered to the grasps of the real world. But the memories are unfamiliar, not her own. Most of these memories are pleasant. They hold faintly familiar faces, ones that may have been in her memory fragments from before. Even with her shattered mind, she can tell something is different, altered. It is as if she is seeing these people through a different set of eyes. What is happening?
Again no answer. These unknown memories continue, seemingly with no end. They are like silent movies of a stranger life. Words and phrases sometimes find their way, but very rarely. Occasionally, memories laced with horrors find their way to destroy the joyous ones. There always seems to one person that she --- no, not her; the owner of these foreign memories --- is worried about. A soul that is damaged yet beautiful at the same time. This person is someone that the owner of these memories cares about.
Now there is a change, the memories are sharper and words finally emit from moving mouths. She sees people that she knows are allies (though how she knows is puzzling) through an unfamiliar set of eyes. Names still seem to prison themselves though. Most look in utter shock, which then hardens into skepticism. Only one expression softens to curiosity. She has a connection to this woman already, an odd one.
She --it-- lunges towards them, her --this-- body out of her control. Then a window overlooking the brilliant New York skyline. But it’s focus doesn’t sweep the cityscape. Instead, it focuses on the reflection of a red being. A familiar one at that but to place who it is is harder than it should be.
And then clothes materialize from thin air but there is control in the action. This body made the clothing, an unnatural and inhuman act. Words come and they come to her as a comfort, as a reassurance. She doesn’t know why they ease her panic but they do.
The being floats back down to the ground gracefully.
“I am sorry. That was --” A pause, “ -- odd. Thank you.”
People that she assumed were allies look at the being with distrust except for that one person, the person who sends an overwhelming sensation crashing over it. She couldn’t pinpoint it just as the being couldn’t.
Their eyes lock, it staring into her green irises and she staring into his blue ones. Its gaze is only torn from the curious woman when it hears the word Ultron.
She knows that word, vaguely from her past. It brought her pain, for what reason though remains unknown. The being knows who, or what, Ultron is as well. Maybe their lives and memories are bleeding together. Who knows how long she has been inside its memories. Maybe I am this being.
The being explains that they cannot defeat Ultron alone and then one of the allies speaks.
“Why does your Vision sound like JARVIS?”
Both the words Vision and JARVIS sound familiar, but from where? The being -- which she has temporarily named the Vision -- starts to pace as the allies talk. With each footfall, the conversation becomes more and more distant. Full sentences are muffled by the drowning sound of silence. She likes the distant familiarity that the memory brings and to be ripped from it cause a new surge of panic to arise.
The colors and surroundings blend together, leaving her once again with a blank canvas. All other questions remain unanswered as fractals of other memories paint themselves in dulled colors. The picture is never complete though, not like before. She is never immersed into another memory of Vision’s as she had been before.
After some time of watching a patchwork of unfamiliar memories and being on edge, she is finally pulled into a full memory. The second she emerges, she doubles over in pain. It is as if it is her pain, searing throughout her body, causing her to wince and make an unusual sound.
This memory doesn’t bring a sense of peace at all. The panic she was feeling before, the uneasiness, rises to an unimaginable level. Every muscle in her body is tense and fear immobilizes her, or maybe it is the pain. Stop it! Stop it! Stop! I don’t want this!
The forest surrounding her doesn’t register in her brain until she -- or is it Vision?- - sees a woman approaching, a look of panic on her face. She caresses his face after inspecting the two stab wounds in his torso. The woman says something but pain blocks him from registering it. This pain is different, it sears from the stone in his head.
Please stop!
If tears could come to her eyes, they would. But she is trapped in his body, not her own. She has no influence over the situation. She wants to run but the body stays.
“He’s coming.”
Then a flash of white. With that, the memory is erased and it is gone. The next sensation is overwhelming, like thousands of voice and images speeding through her head. She can’t help but scream and twist in agony. Get them out! Get them out! These aren’t mine! Get them out!
And then her eyes open to reveal a bright room, beeping machines and a multitude of people talking quickly, urgency laced in their voices. She feels someone put pressure on her left arm, causing her to wince. The beeping from the annoying machine beside her head increases in tempo as she becomes more agitated. She starts to panic as realization hits. This is not safe. I have been here before.
The experiments and the ruthless torture as she screamed. The force that they used to hold her small, emaciated frame down. The mix of tears and sweat on her pale face as she struggles against the restraints. The pain that left her incapacitated for days. The needles that they plunged into her skin everytime her powers went array. The devices; the collar. It is all the same.
“Let me go!” Tears stream down her face as she pulls at the velcro straps digging into her wrists. She tries to release herself with the help of her powers but the pain comes back just about as strong as it had before. It is as if someone is splitting her skull with a rock and compressing her head from all sides.
She slips in and out of consciousness, her body going limp for a few seconds before shuddering back to life and thrashing about again. Someone is talking to her but through the pain and her unstable conscious state, she cannot hear anything he says.
The doctor, or nurse, says something with a sickeningly sweet smile on his face. A cold liquid travels throughout her veins, the source from her right arm. He drugged me.
His face goes in and out of focus as a medicated haze overtakes her, leaving her to sleep peacefully for the first time since before the incident.
Discomfort is the first thing that registers upon awakening. Aching radiates from her joints, neck included. Voices mumble around her but her foggy head has to take time to comprehend the words being said. Is this my body now?
The numbness starts to ease its way from her arms and leg, the pins and needles feeling overtaking her body. A sharp pain sits in her side but this pain is a relief in comparison to before.
The ringing in her ears finally fades out and she hears the hum of the AC unit, the shuffle of impatient feet, and the rustle of clothing. Anxiety builds in the pit of her stomach. Am I safe? Who is there?
And finally, someone speaks.
“Wanda wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” Immediately she sighs softly in relief, nearly unnoticeable even to the watchful eye. I know that voice: Steve.
It is only then that she realizes the sensation of a hand in hers. Their thumb glides across her knuckles at a steady pace, sending shivers throughout her body. The feeling is euphoric and the tingling sensation causes her to sigh softly.
As a result of being disconnected from the real world -- for however long it was -- the feeling of another’s hand is just another sign that she is, in fact, alive.
The hand holding hers is smooth and almost inhuman-like. So familiar. Realization. It couldn’t be.
She can picture him sitting next to her, hand encased in hers, with a look of guilt and of worry. She can just imagine his lips pressing to her forehead every time he has to leave her side. She can see him sitting beside her for hours, eyes glassy as he is trapped in his own head, thoughts rampant. I am awake. He doesn’t need to be like this anymore.
“I know. But I still feel I could’ve done more, Captain. She wouldn't be in this position if I would’ve denied her request to split up. I thought it was the correct thing to do at the time to find the endangered children.” That voice, his voice. This is real!
A white tiled ceiling greets her eyes that snap open. Details are blurred for a second before her vision sharpens. She mulls over every divet in the ceiling, every imperfection. She drinks in the dull white tiles.
Normally, these tiles would be overlooked but every new thing, every sensation, reminds her that she is alive, that she is breathing.
“Vizh?” The singular word causes her to wince, her throat raw from screaming and the lack of use. But it works nonetheless. This is reality. I have control.
Vision startles, eyes wide with shock. He stares at her for a second with disbelief. His mouth opens but it closes back up: he is at a loss for words. Wanda smiles, breathing in deeply and returning the pressure to Vision’s hand. This act of grasping his hand brings him out of his shocked state.
“Wanda,” He breathes, a tearful smile now growing on his face. The urge to caress his face, to hold him closer, to make sure he was real, is subdued by the exhaustion consuming her body. Lead fills her veins so she just lays there, scanning every part of his face. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, just as she had envisioned him doing.
Her hoarse whisper seemed to have caught the attention of the other people in the room.
“Oh my God, she’s awake?” A female voice exclaims, her voice followed by the click of boots on the linoleum. A relieved face comes into focus, her now red hair shoulder length.
“Hey, Nat,” Wanda says with a soft chuckle. A sharp pain reverberates as she does, causing her eyes to snap shut and flinch. Her grip increases on Vision’s hand as she lets the pain pass. He places his other hand on her cheek, hating to see the pain she has to endure. Nat places her hand on Wanda’s covered leg, guilt evident on her face.
Steve stands next to her, jaw set in stone as he watches his teammate in pain. His eyes glimmer with sympathy. Wanda buries her face into her pillow, not wanting to see all the pitied expressions. There is nothing they can do anyways, and the look on their faces shows that they know it.
“Maybe we should just let her rest. She’s been through so much already and standing around, looking like helpless puppies won’t do us any good.” A person, who of which she didn’t know was in the room, says. Sam .
“I will stay and keep an eye on her.” Vision says almost instantly after Sam finishes. His eagerness is blatant on his face, causing Natasha to snort, covering a laugh. Wanda flushes after Nat shoots her a teasing look.
Sam’s face appears from behind Vision’s shoulder, a knowing twinkle in his eye and a growing smirk on his face. He knows what will happen thes second those doors close, closing only Wanda and Vision in.
“The nurses just gave you some morphine about 5 minutes ago, by the way. Your pain should go away soon,” Sam announces before the door closes.
Just as expected, once the door clicks shut, Vision immediately leans down to kiss her chapped lips. She welcomes him, slowly raising her aching arms to wrap around his neck. It is painful but worth it to feel his vibranium skin once again. The kiss is slow and sensual, both just enjoying the feeling of being close to one another. Breathlessness comes easy to Wanda and Vision pulls away, forehead resting against hers, knowing that these advances are physically draining.
“I thought that I had lost you.” He says, kissing her again. This one is quick, but even the brief feeling of his lips on hers brings want, brings the need to feel his lips on her neck and his hands running down her body. His breath is warm on her skin, a nice contrast to the cool air in the hospital room. “I thought that I had lost you again.”
Words seem to fail her, so she stays silent. Outside the door, footfalls echo on the tile and nurses murmur, carefully not to wake any sleeping patients. But her focus isn’t on them, but rather on Vision’s face, every curve, every depression. She reaches up, with great effort, to run her fingers along the intricate weavings of Vibranium.
“I thought I had lost myself,” she says as words finally come. Vision’s perplexed look pushes her to explain. Vision sits on the side of the hospital bed, on hand in her and the other running up and down the length of her thigh. He pulls back from her face to let her talk.
“When I was there, whenever I was, I wasn’t myself. It wasn’t me. I can’t really explain it.” To her surprise, Vision had the answer.
“You were inside my head, I think. During the time that you were unconscious, I felt your telepathy searching for my brain. It was looking for relief from the pain, just as it did back after Pietro passed. So I took your pain; I didn’t resist your powers. I allowed you to rest peacefully without the pain, but that meant I took the pain instead. ” Vision says, jaw clenching as he makes eye contact. Just as he’d imagined, her mouth was opening to protest.
“Why di--”
He presses a finger to her lips, silencing her remarks. He caresses her lips before settling on her chin. “What is done is done. You can’t change it. Besides, when seeing the person you love in pain, you can’t help but try to help. And that is what I did.”
Silence ensues, this haze slightly uncomfortable. But the tension starts to ease as Vision continues to stroke her leg. The action is soothing yet arousing at the same time. Total opposite reactions and yet one action could induce both of them. Suddenly, a random thought pops into her mind.
“How long was it? Time seemed to be nonexistent when I was trapped inside your head. I couldn’t tell if it was hours, days, or seconds.”
“You were out for 5 days.” A sharp intake of breath escapes from Wanda’s lips. Shock . “2 of those days, you were in excruciating pain. You wouldn’t stop screaming, screaming for them to just make it stop. The doctors tried every drug, every sedative. Everything they could do to help, but nothing did.” His voice is heavy with emotion, each sentence building up a ghostly haze in his eyes.
“It wasn’t until I let you in that your cries ceased. Even then, you moaned in discomfort.”
Wanda squeezes his hand, trying to pull Vision from his thoughts that seemed to be consuming him.
“Hey, look at me. I am okay now, all thanks to you. Even though I would’ve preferred for you to not take my pain, I understand your reasonings and I probably would’ve done the same thing.” Wanda says, her voice dropping to little more than a whisper. “You will never lose me, I promise.”
Even though they know that this promise could very easily be broken by the circumstances of fate, the words help ease the stiffness from Vision’s joints.
“ Wanda?”
“Yes?”
“What all do you remember, from before the incident, and inside my head?”
Wanda holds her tongue, recalling the distant memory of the mission. “We’d been following the case for a while: 4 kids being experimented on in Mongolia. One of Strucker’s lackeys had survived and was trying to recreate the experiments they had done on Pietro and I.” Her grip on Vision’s hand increases as venom spills from her mouth. “I don’t know how people live with themselves, especially after torturing orphans.”
“Some people just have bad intentions and for reasons unknown. That is why we exist, to make the future better for generations to come, for other children who will be able to live their lives without having to worry.”
“That’s a nice thought,” Wanda states, slipping into her mind. Would she ever have children and would they be able to live in a place free of the terror she’s had to endure?
“Do you remember what happens next?” Vision says, pulling Wanda back to reality. His hand settles on her hip, now drawing small circles with his thumb. A chilling sensation tears down her leg, causing her to shudder. I love it when he touches me.
“Why are you so curious?” She questions, blinking her eyes quickly to stop her eyes from fluttering shut. Her mind tells her to stay awake, to keep engaging in conversation but something else tells her to surrender to his touch, let it take her to a peaceful place. Her mind wins as Vision responds.
“I want to understand why you were put into this state. Maybe there is something that I can do to help prevent it next time if there is a next time.” Wanda nods understandingly. She lets a few beats pass to catch her breath before continuing.
“We split up into teams to cover more ground. You and I were paired up because -- well, because.” Wanda smiles, a chuckle rising in her throat. But the pain from before reminds her to hold the laugh. Vision returns the smile.
“That is very specific, love.” Vision lets the word fall gracefully from his lips, his face not telling if he had regretted it or not.
“ Love ? That’s new.” Wanda says, the grin playing on her lips growing. Her eyebrows raise in amusement, eyes glittering. Vision laughs, bashfully looking away to the ground.
“I thought it was -- oh what’s the word?” Vision knows exactly what the word is but the look on Wanda’s face is priceless.
“Cute?” A nod of approval, a bashful smile still played across his lips. “Oh my God. I love you.” Wanda says before shifting closer to Vision, her head now lying on his leg that is splayed alongside the length of the bed.
“I love you as well,” Vision replies, moving the hand on her hip to thread through her knotted hair. The feeling of his fingertips makes her sigh, leaning into his touch. Every move he makes beckons her to sleep, his warm body heat like a blanket. No, stay awake! Continue with the story.
“Anyways, you and I went down the east sector to scout out the first child. Halfway down the hall, there was a fork. In order to save precious time, both of us agreed to split up. The last thing I remember before the pain was two men. One had a gun and another had a device. I don’t know exactly what the remote-thing was but it immobilized me in some way. I couldn’t move, couldn’t use my powers.
“And then the pain came. Blossoming from my stomach, like fire. It just kept getting worse, although this pain wasn’t from the gunshot but from my head. I dipped in an out of consciousness. I know you carried me out of the base and I remember when they were wheeling me into the hospital. My powers, they exploded from me didn’t they?” The question lingers in the air for a second before Vision nods, breathing deeply.
“Yeah, they did. Your eyes were glowing scarlet, and your powers spilled from your skin. You rose from the bed, screaming.” The pain in his expression causes Wanda to press a kiss to his hand, as a reminder. “I caught you before you could fall to the ground and hurt yourself. That is when I figured out that your mind wanted to go to someone else’s head. But I didn't know how to let you in until a few days later. It was as if your mind was desperate, not sure of where it was supposed to go like when you're awake.”
“It was just white for some time. There was nothing. I then went into your memories. I think it was your first memory when you awoke from the regeneration cradle. That memory is one of the only ones I saw. Even then, I didn’t pick up in everything in your memory, only certain things. It was like your brain was telling me only what was important.”
“What did you pick up on?” Vision questions, curious to hear what she’d seen in her head.
“Many things about Jarvis and about me.” Heat rises to Vision’s cheeks and, if it’s possible, her cheeks redden even more then they were before.
“That does make sense. Jarvis had a large effect on me in the beginning and I was very... curious about you.” Vision doesn't elaborate. Wanda smiles, exhaling as exhaustion starts to creep through her body. “Jarvis was an interesting topic at the time. After I was created, I was trying to figure out who I was. Was I Jarvis or was I something else? After time, I started to understand that I was my own being but in the beginning, it was hard, especially with people often mistaking me for Jarvis.
“How much do you remember from Jarvis? Did you regain the information that he had, like the data that Friday now has?”
Vision shakes his head, the dim hospital lighting illuminating half of his face. The dark night slithers in through the curtained windows, hiding the two from the outside world.
“I don’t remember all of the information Jarvis had. After being attacked by Ultron, Jarvis went underground to protect himself. Although, as a result of distancing himself, all of his memory was erased. I got pieces of the information that he had acquired between the times of being implemented into my system and being brought back from hiding.”
“How do you know all this? Did Tony tell you?” Wanda asks, playing with Vision’s fingers as a way to keep her awake.
“Yes. He brought me into his lab one day before he left to return to Pepper. We had just moved into the new compound. He answered any questions I had, even the dumb ones.” Vision looks away, as if bashful. Wanda freezes, her eyes peering up from his hands to his eyes.
“What? What did you asking him?” The smile on Wanda’s face grows and laughter sparkles in her tired eyes.
“I asked him how young children were created and born, as seeing as I had just seen Nathaniel earlier that day.” Wanda snorts, burying her face into his leg to refrain from laughing. Smiling, Vision continues on. “After laughing, he sat me down to have ‘The Talk.’ And at the time, I didn't realize how uncomfortable that topic would be. I knew that talking about that . . . stuff was intimate and to be discussing it with him was . . . interesting. Once he spoke the first sentence, I knew I had made a mistake.”
Wanda bursts out laughing, the morphine numbing the once present pain. Maybe it is the lack of sleep or the medicine clouding her brain, but whatever it is, she's hysterical. Her laughing seems to never cease. Once she finally calms down, exhaustion finally causes her to crash.
“That should be enough tonight. We can talk more tomorrow. You should sleep, love.” Vision says, watching as her eyelids struggle to stay open. A yawn escapes her lips simultaneously.
“Love. I like that.” She mumbles, eyes now closed. “Come lay with me, please.”
Vision hesitates, causing Wanda to open her eyes. If he were to lay with her, he could very much so be breaking a law, or at the very least a hospital rule. But the look on her face and the overwhelming urge to cradle her against his chest eliminates all of those worries.
“Of course.” Wanda moves over, allowing her lover to crawl in next to her. The warmth of his synthetic skin and the easy thrumming of his heart lulls her to sleep. On the cusp of drifting off, one thought drifts through her mind. Even though the last week was full of uncertainty, there is something Wanda knows for certain in this very moment: no matter where she is, as long as Vision is there, she would always be safe.