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"Is it just me, or do you concur that it is snowing harder?"
They were huddled together on a narrow bench, dangling from a wire twenty feet above the ground as the ski lift hauled them uphill. The wind was vicious up here above the treeline, and she had to strain to hear him despite his nearness.
The Vision was better off than she was--the cold didn't seem to bother him at all. His gloves were dangling by their cords from his wrists and his scarf hung loosely around his neck. Breath fogged his goggles with every exhale.
"It is snowing harder," she agreed. "It will be a blizzard by tonight, I think."
Snow was something she knew well. Winters in Sokovia were harsh: storms blew down out of the mountains, dumping meters of snow on the city below, forcing everyone to hide indoors for days or weeks at a time. Shelter was scarce, and when the mountain passes were cut off by walls of snow, provisions could be hard to come by.
"It is already a blizzard." Vision shifted in his seat, squinting forward into the whirling flakes, lips compressing into a frown.
"No, it's not," she said. "It will be a blizzard when you go like this--" she held her hand out at arm's length, palm in "--and you cannot see your hand."
"Oh." He sat back, looking perturbed. "That sounds dangerous. How will we ski in conditions such as those?"
"We won't," said Wanda.
"Oh."
The thought of being indoors, sitting by a roaring fire, drinking cider while their coats dried made the bite of the wind all the more apparent. She shivered and gripped her poles.
"Are you cold?"
"Of course I am, it's freezing," she said. "Americans don't know how to make good coats."
Not that she had had a better coat back in Sokovia. Not since she was a child.
"It is well below freezing, actually," he said, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "You may have my coat, if yours is inadequate. Cold does not affect me negatively."
"Mine is fine," she said. "I've been colder. Keep your coat."
The lift continued its rickety ascent. The empty chair in front of them, barely visible through the driving snow, swung dangerously back and forth in the wind as it crested the next post. She swiped the snow from her goggles and puffed warm air into her scarf.
"Why are we doing this again?" she asked.
Vision looked at her, perplexed. "You wanted to ski the longest run, which would take us from the top of the highest lift to--"
"Rhetorical question, Vizh," she said. "What I meant was, maybe this was a bad idea, but that's what makes it a good idea, right?"
"I'm afraid I don't follow."
"We're going to slide down a mountain on two strips of wood strapped to our feet, under terrible conditions and on a course we don't know. What could go wrong? Sounds like fun."
"Many things could go--ah. You're saying that the sense of heightened danger from these circumstances would make it more enjoyable?"
"Pretty much." Safe behind her scarf, she smiled.
"We are superheroes, after all," he said, mulling it over in his mind. "I suppose we are accustomed to a sense of heightened danger."
"Look!" she said. "There's the end of the lift."
They exited without a hitch, unlocking frozen joints and sliding down the off ramp to the top of the slope. As they halted, Vision swayed.
"Are you all right?" she asked. "Is it the altitude? Are your legs asleep?"
"No, no," he replied, shaking his head as if to clear it. "There's no internet here. It feels . . . uncomfortable. It was easier to ignore on the lift, but now that I am standing it is more difficult. . . . I will adjust."
"Can you ski?" That was the last thing she needed, to be stuck at the top of a mountain in a snowstorm with a robot who couldn't ski.
"Yes." He straightened his shoulders. "I should be able to ski."
Wanda wasn't convinced, but she let it go and focused on preparing for the run. Pole straps around wrists, helmet buckled, scarf scraped mostly free of ice, goggles secure--
"Hey!" A voice from her right.
Vision and Wanda turned. A snowsuited dark figure was stomping towards them. It wore no skis, and in the usual fashion of the mountain it wore so many layers its gender was indistinguishable. It waved its arms to get their attention.
It was the lift attendant. Wanda remembered them from the station at the top of the lift. She raised a hand in acknowledgement.
"We're shutting down the lift!" they shouted as soon as they were in earshot. "Conditions are too bad up here. You two are the last ones up."
"We will keep that in mind," said Vision. "Thank you for letting us know."
"Just doing my job," said the lift attendant. Their eyes flicked to Vision's hands, still bare and red in the freezing air. "Wait a sec," they said, looking first at Vision and then at Wanda, "aren't you--?"
"We're not anybody," said Wanda, and the attendant's eyes flashed red. "Return to your post."
"Stay safe out there!" The lift attendant turned and stomped their way back to the top of the lift.
"That wasn't necessary," Vision murmured.
"They recognized us," she replied. "Would you rather I let them stay, and compromise our presence here? I would like to return someday, and we can't do that if there are fanboys lying in wait for us. Or assassins."
"That may be true, but even so," said Vision. "It is a breach of privacy to use your powers like that."
"Breach of privacy or not, it is better than getting found out," she said. "Let's not argue. I want to ski. Are you ready?"
Vision gave a short sigh. "We will talk more at a later date. Yes, I am ready."
"Let's go."
Wanda pushed off and started down the slope, Vision tracing her path a few seconds behind. They were as high as they could go on the mountain without climbing or flying, three lifts above the treeline, and the run was wide open and very steep. She couldn't see any other skiers or snowboarders, but given that conditions were rapidly approaching whiteout it was impossible to tell.
She rocketed recklessly down the slope, cutting in wide arcs from side to side to check her speed. She was flying blind, the only indication of what lay ahead being what was already under her skis. Snow stung the sliver of exposed skin between her scarf and her goggles. She grinned.
Pietro would've loved this.
Behind her, she could sense the Vision's mind, more fearful and cautious than Pietro's had ever been. Why he was afraid, she had no idea; he was damn near indestructible and if Ultron couldn't kill him, a mountain surely wouldn't. But his fear wasn't stopping him from keeping up with her.
The ground rose up beneath her with zero warning and before she could register that, she was in the air. She shrieked, flailed, landed, and after a heart-stopping moment where she teetered between balance and unbalance she found her feet and stuck the landing. Behind her, she heard Vision turn sharply to avoid going off the same jump.
"Did you see that!" She shouted back at him. "That was cra--"
And then the ground disappeared.
She hung in the air for what felt like forever, and then the ground returned at an angle she didn't expect and smashed all the air out of her lungs. She rolled, helmet smacking against the ground, dimly aware of her feet tearing out of the bindings of her skis, until she came to rest against something soft and very cold.
A spray of snow hit her in the face. "Wanda!" It was Vision, coming in fast around the dropoff. She tried to tell him she was fine, but her lungs were still empty.
"Are you all right? Are you hurt?" He shook his hands out of his poles and unclipped the skis from his boots, abandoning them to kneel beside her.
She nodded vigorously and started to wave him aside, but then her breath came back with a gasp and a cough, and she was choking on snowflakes and snot was running down her scarf.
Cold hands lifted her head and torso and helped her sit up against the snowbank. Vision's concerned face entered her field of view. "Are you all right?"
"I'm... okay," she said between coughs. Then, as she returned to her senses and began to register the pain messages from her body, "Actually, I take that back. Not okay."
If Vision had had human skin, he would have paled. His eyes widened. "Where are you hurt?"
"My ankle," she said, and as she spoke she realized that it was really hurting. Must've happened when my skis came off. "I--I think it might be broken."
He immediately turned his attention to her legs and started rolling her pants up off her boots.
"Not that one, the other one." She moved her injured foot to indicate the correct one and felt a line of pain shoot up her leg. Maybe moving was a bad idea. "Ow... What are you doing, anyway?"
He was still struggling with her pants. "I need to scan you to see the extent of the damage."
"Can't you do that later?" She sat up all the way and scraped snow out of her face. It was caked in her hair, giving her icy dreadlocks that swung when she shook her head.
"Are you able to stand?" Vision looked at her, worried.
"Of course I am," she said, getting her feet under her and straightening up. "Stop treating me like I am breakab--ah!"
Her bad leg gave out and she toppled sideways; he caught her and made her sit.
"You are only breakable in the sense that you can get injured," he said. "It does not, by any means, imply weakness. Admitting you can't walk is not weak."
She glowered at him, then felt around in the snow till she found her poles. Using those to balance herself, she hobbled over to her fallen skis and picked them up, her leg throbbing with every motion.
"You are going to injure yourself further!" said Vision from where she had left him.
"I told you to stop!" She was having trouble getting the skis to clip together; they kept sliding in opposite directions.
He picked up his own skis and strode easily over to her on top of the snow. "Where do you intend to go?"
"The lodge; where else?" She gave up trying to clip the skis together and stuck them upright in the snow instead. "Stark and the others are probably back by now, they'll be waiting for us."
"It would take all night to walk that far."
"Then fly us."
"At this level of visibility, that would be extremely ill-advised."
"What, then?" Wanda wasn't sure why she was yelling, but the combination of the cold and the pain in her ankle and the shitty situation they were in was enough to make her eyes glow.
"According to my archives, there is a warming hut three hundred and fifty feet below our approximate location," said Vision. "It should be more than adequate for our current needs."
"What is a warming hut?" she asked.
"Like a cabin, only smaller," he said. "It should be stocked with firewood and the appropriate nonperishables. We can stay there until the storm clears and you are able to travel."
Wanda sighed. The reality of the situation was finally settling in; they were miles up a mountain in a snowstorm with three working legs between the two of them and no way to call for help. Pietro would know what to do.
She set her jaw. "We don't have any other viable options, do we?"
"None that I would recommend."
"Then let's go."
Her eyes fluttered open to the smell of wood smoke and the sight of Vision’s red face peering into hers with a worried expression. Icy fingers were cradling her head.
“Wanda? Wanda, are you all right?”
Her eyes slid from his face to their surroundings. The blank whiteness of the blizzard was gone; they were sitting in stale wooden twilight. The smell of wood smoke covered up the smell of mildew and cedar, and whatever she was lying on was knobbly and cold.
“What happened?” she mumbled. “Where are we?”
She could sense his mind going into overdrive, checking and rechecking her vitals and trying not to panic, though when he spoke he sounded remarkably calm.
“We are in the warming hut,” he said. “You passed out, so I carried you here. I fear you may have a concussion. Are you seeing clearly? Do you have a headache? Do you feel like you might--”
“Stop coddling me,” she said, and pushed his face away. She closed her eyes. The light from the fire hurt. “I am fine.”
Vision shifted, and she realized that the cold knobbly things she was lying on were his legs. He was sitting on a bench not a meter from the fire. His long fingers caressed her shoulder, brushing back her hair and tucking her coat more firmly around her.
“Your refusal to answer my questions leads me to believe that you are not fine,” he said. He looked around, worry creasing the skin between his brows. “This hut is cruder than I anticipated, and poorly stocked. If we are forced to stay longer than a night or two, we may run out of firewood.”
“Is there any food?” Wanda’s stomach was making itself known to her, loudly announcing its current empty state. “I’m starving.”
He bent over her to reach under the bench, using his left hand to keep her from sliding off his lap. A rounded tin was in his hand when he straightened again. “There are several more of these, but according to my database many humans find this distasteful. However, it should still provide the energy and proteins necessary for your body to sustain life.”
Wanda read the label and let her head drop back, pressed a hand to her face and groaned. “I can’t eat that. Are you certain there’s not anything else?”
“Why not?” Vision looked alarmed. “It is well within its expiration date. Your file did not list any allergies, but my scan may have not been as comprehensive as I thought. I can scan again--”
“Spam isn’t kosher.”
Confusion was plain on Vision’s face, though relief was close beneath the surface too. “Oh.” His eyes blanked, and she could feel him accessing his archive. “Your human religion.”
She didn’t like where this was headed. “Yes. My human religion. I can’t eat pork.”
Files still flicked past behind his eyes. “But, you are still physically capable of eating pork, yes? Could you not make an exception? This is a life-or-death situation, after all--”
“This is not life-or-death!” She sat up and pulled her legs off of his lap so there was some distance between them. Her ankle flared; she ignored it. “I’m fine. Nobody’s going to die. The storm will blow over, and then we can go home.”
“But you said you were starving.”
She sighed. “I was exaggerating. I’m not eating it.”
“But you are very hungry! It has been several hours since you last ate, you are certainly experiencing hunger pangs by now. You have the opportunity to end this unpleasant sensation right in front of you, and yet you do not take it! It is not logical.”
“Some things aren’t logical.” She rubbed her temples, pushing back the familiar prickle of her power. “You cannot make me eat it.”
“But you are in pain.” Distress was clear in his voice. He leaned close and moved a strand of hair away from her face, thumb brushing her cheek under her eye.
“I have been hungry before,” she said. “It is not so bad. If my life were in danger, then I would eat it. I will be all right for now.”
“If you were truly starving, you would eat it?” This close, she didn’t need her powers to show her what he was feeling. The look of concern on his face was so sincere she couldn’t help but smile.
“I would.”
“Good,” he said, and then there was a moment between them that could’ve been only a few seconds but which felt longer than the ride up the mountain. She was suddenly aware of the smell of his breath in the air around her, sweet but faintly metallic, and the point where his hand was resting on her neck burned as warm as the firelight. His lips were full but delicately sculpted, like a Greek statue.
Vision broke the spell. He looked down, lifted his hand away. “I should put this away, if you’re not going to eat it,” he said, turning the tin of Spam over in his lap. “I could eat it, but that is not necessary.”
“It would be a waste,” she agreed. Her pulse throbbed in the hollow at the base of her throat. She pulled a lock of hair over her shoulder and twirled it around her finger, pulled it tight, watched the tip turn purple. She changed the subject. “Where is my helmet? And my skis?”
“Over here.” Vision bent to return the tin to its place under the bench, then stood and walked the three steps to the door. Firelight flickered off of four parallel vertical lines. “I brought them inside so they would not get buried or damaged by the storm.”
“Good thinking.”
“There is a buildup of snow and ice on them that will soon melt off, however,” he said. “I cannot guarantee that the floor will stay dry.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. Her ankle flared again, drawing her attention to her feet, which were still in her boots. “Ah, shit, I forgot I was wearing these.”
“Would you like me to assist you in taking them off?” Vision looked up as he gingerly placed another log on the hearth. Sparks spat across the air between them. “I can scan your leg. Make sure it’s not a break.”
“No.” Irritation came surging back into her voice; she gritted her teeth and willed it away. “I can do it myself. You don’t need to help me.”
“You are very stubborn.” She could hear the smile in his voice. It only fueled her irritation.
She undid the straps on her boot, flipping the buckles back and pulling the ends free so the boot was loose. Her ankle really did hurt. She pushed the tongue forward out of the hard shell of the boot and bit back a yelp.
Vision was at her side in an instant, long red fingers fluttering over her own; she batted him away. He snatched his hands back and clasped them together, though he remained hunched closer than she deemed actually necessary. “I could cut it away for you.”
“I can do this myself,” she said. Bracing herself against the wall, she took a deep breath and yanked her foot free. Pain seared up her leg. Despite all of her precautions, a squeak of pain escaped, growing into a whimper as her ankle adjusted and started to throb.
“Are you all right?” Vision was practically shaking with the effort of holding himself back from her; his knuckles were white from gripping his fingers so tightly.
“I’m fine,” she said, voice significantly higher than she’d have liked.
The other boot came off easier, her uninjured ankle providing less resistance and greater flexibility. She set both boots on the floor where they dripped in chilly indifference.
“I would like to scan it now, if you are willing,” he said. She shrugged, so he sat again on the bench next to her and allowed her to place her foot on his lap. His fingers stroked over the injured limb, rolling up her pants and removing her sock, investigating through feel as much as through whatever visual means he was using to examine her. His touch was firm but gentle, like a nurse taking a pulse. Calm concentration spread across his face.
“It is not broken,” he said, his voice soft, as if he was coming out of meditation, “merely sprained. There is a lot of inflamed tissue around the joint--ice will help with that, and there is no shortage of that here.” He probed her skin gently with his fingertips. “Do you feel pain when I do that?”
“It hurts a little bit,” she shrugged. She suspected her face might say otherwise. “Not much we can do about it.”
“That is true.” Instead of standing again as she had expected, he sat back and looked at her evenly, resting his hand so lightly on her leg she thought he must be adjusting his density so as not to hurt her. “Do you think the others are waiting for us?”
“What, no ice?” she said, mock-surprised.
Vision’s surprise was genuine. “I thought it best we kept the door shut,” he said. “Ice can wait. Unless you would like ice now, in which case--”
“No no, this is fine,” she said. “Go on.”
“Do you think the others have noticed we’re gone?”
Wanda shrugged. “Maybe. We were not the only ones still out when we parted ways. The lesser ones may have gone back to the lodge, but I am certain Thor and the Captain are still out there somewhere. Unless they saw the storm and decided to go back. It may take them a while to realize we are not with either group.”
“Do you think they are worried?”
“No.”
“Why not?” He frowned. “I would be.”
“They know we are both perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves.” She pulled her leg out of his grasp and sat closer. “If we can hold our own against Ultron, we can hold our own against a little snow.”
“Let’s hope we can,” he said.
A moment passed in silence, and Wanda found herself thinking about the millimeter-wide gap between her shoulder and his. The air there felt charged with static electricity.
“That person at the top,” he said at length. “The lift attendant. What you did to them with your powers, that was wrong.”
“They recognized us,” she said. “In another second, they would have called us by name. If I hadn’t done anything, everyone on the mountain would know by now.”
“You do not know that for sure,” he said. “There was no one else at the top of the lift. They might have kept the information to themselves, had we thought to ask them to. But using your powers to alter their thoughts, without asking permission beforehand--a gross breach of privacy such as that is a terrible misuse of your power, and though I hate to admit it, it has disturbed me greatly.”
“I didn’t think it bothered you so much.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye; he was looking down, forehead creased, mouth pulled tight. “This was a covert mission, I didn’t want to give our location and identities to whoever might hear it.”
“Why did it matter so much?” he said. “This was never intended to be a mission, this was intended to be a vacation.”
“Because--” Wanda searched for an answer. “Because that’s what I’m used to! There is no such thing as vacation when you have to survive. One lapse in attention could compromise everything. Look at what the press says about Spider-Man; you don’t want that, do you?”
“I suppose I do not,” said Vision. He frowned, the firelight throwing his face into contrast, making him appear as a gaunt stranger. On his forehead, the gem winked. “But it still does not excuse delving into that attendant’s head. Has Clint spoken to you about mind control? It is incidents like these which give telepaths a reputation for untrustworthiness.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“I do!” Vision turned his head suddenly and looked directly at her. His eyes were shockingly blue. “I trust you wholeheartedly. The same may not be true for the others. Mind control is a serious matter.”
“I could never mind control you,” she said, and on an instinct brought her hand up to touch his face. His eyes widened, then he relaxed into her palm. His hands stirred in his lap.
“Why not?” His voice was deeper now, barely above a murmur. “The others say you had no problem with the rest of the team.”
“Things are different now,” she said. She was embarrassed to find herself whispering. She swallowed. “And besides,” she said, “there is nothing in your mind I would want to change.”
The tension in the air between them was almost palpable, like an elastic band drawing them together, and then her lips met his and his lips were soft and cool and tasted the same as his breath. The kiss sent a current of energy down her spine into her core--they were kissing, they were kissing, and oh, it felt so good--it was like those dreams of flying where you wake up and still feel floaty in the pit of your stomach.
She leaned in, traced her hand down to the back of his neck, felt him shiver. Her own heartbeat quickened at the thought that she made him do that. She, Wanda Maximoff, was making the Vision, the most powerful being on earth, shiver just by touching him. He pressed back against her, hungry, wanting, and she had everything to give.
But then a cold breeze touched her lips when he broke the kiss and pushed himself away.
“No!”
Wanda stared at him, mouth open, as he bent double and held his head in his hands.
“What’s wrong? Did I move too fast?” She felt her face heat up and quickly looked down.
“No, no, it’s not you,” he said, and made as if to pat her hand but stopped himself. “It’s--I--I cannot let this happen.”
“Why?” demanded Wanda.
“Because--oh!” Vision stood up, rubbing his palms across the metal plates of his scalp, and paced the length of the room from the door to the opposite wall. Snow had piled up so high outside the windows that she couldn’t see out. “I want this to happen, Wanda, I truly do.”
“Then why stop?” Awkwardly, hampered by her sprained ankle, she stood up and caught his hand as he went by, hopping to keep her balance. He halfheartedly tried to pull out of her grip, but she didn’t let go.
“Because you deserve better.” He was looking down and to the side, away from her, eyes squeezed shut as if to prevent some terrible pain. His voice broke. “You deserve a real man. Not a synthetic one.”
“What are you talking about?” Wanda squeezed his wrist to get his attention. “How much science fiction have you been reading? Listen to yourself! Do you hear how silly you sound?”
He met her eyes, blinking rapidly, and she gave him an encouraging smile. “What are you feeling right now?”
“I . . . don’t know. It’s very complicated. Many emotions at once.” He leaned closer, like a pin drawn to a magnet. “Predominately sadness, I think.”
“It feels real, yes?”
“Yes, to me, but--”
“And this is real.” She reached up and brushed his cheek, showed him the smear of liquid on her thumb.
“Yes.” An expression of longing appeared on his face. “But what if I am only programmed to believe it to be real? What if it is just a construct of my programming?”
“Does it matter?” Wanda was so close she could feel his wanting on her skin. “If it feels real to you, does it make a difference?”
“Wanda, I--” he began, but she interrupted him by kissing him, and he grabbed her and held her tight like he had been waiting for her. Again, it was he who broke the kiss, pulling back and gasping for breath. His heartbeat raced beneath her palms. “I only want what’s best for you.”
“You are what’s best for me,” she said. “I want you. I want you.”
“And you are more than I ever dreamed,” he whispered, and she felt the ghost of each word brush across her lips before he drew her to him and kissed her again.
“Stop reading so much Isaac Asimov,” she said against his mouth.