Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

At first, all Wanda does is sleep.

The darkness is her only solace from the empty space where Pietro used to be. It sucks her down to somewhere where she can no longer feel, where she no longer has to live this life without him. She prefers nonexistence.

But the others don't let her stay there. The Avengers are constantly coming in and out of her space, interrupting the silence

The Black Widow brings new clothes in shades of black and red and tan—“since you liked my jacket so much”—that lie in untouched piles on the bed. Captain America asks her if she’s eaten, if she’s had any water, does she need anything, anything at all? The dark-skinned Falcon man sits next to her for long periods of time, waiting for her to speak, though she never does. The Asgardian, Thor, sits down, announces that he, too, has lost a brother, and when she doesn’t reply, thumps his large hand against her shoulder before leaving.

Even Stark’s girlfriend comes into the room once. She gazes at Wanda for a moment and then exits without ever speaking.

Their thoughts buzz around her in agonized whispers that, for the first time in her life, she can entirely ignore. Something in Pietro’s death has closed her off to the outside world. For the first time, she does not listen.

The only one who evokes a response from her is the Vision. He is as constant as the Captain, pausing for a moment in her room each day as he travels through the walls of Stark Tower. Unlike the Avengers’ leader, he doesn’t speak. He asks nothing from Wanda at all, seemingly content to just observe before moving on. Before she lost her heart, Wanda, too, felt curiosity. She stood in the doorway and watched the synthetic man, opening her mind to the tones of his, and though it was muted, she saw something new, something different, in the depths of his synthetic brain. Human, but not. A strange miracle that blended a chaotic mix of identities—Ultron, JARVIS, the Mind Gem—to somehow coalesce into—this. Him.

He saved her, that day. Catapulted into the air over Ultron’s torn body, despairing, burning, she embraced death. Of course she feared it, as all do when facing their end, but she also knew it meant release: a return to Pietro’s side, where she belonged. Whether that was a final end, nonexistence, blackness, or something greater, she was not sure. Her own parents, Jewish by blood and practice, had argued over the existence of an afterlife, she remembers that. But she and Pietro, orphaned and living on the streets, never had the time to consider it.

She just wanted to follow Pietro.

So she remained silent, her power sparking but contained, never calling out for help though she could have tried. Yet the Vision found her—she still doesn’t know how. He made his way through the train car, gathered her up in his arms, and flew her to safety, as the conflicted emptiness inside of her screamed both agony and relief. She wanted to die, but in the same instant, she wanted to live. Her survival instinct was too strong, and she’s not sure she can forgive herself for that betrayal.

In sleep, she no longer has to think about that.

Though she has lost her curiosity, along with all other feeling, she cannot help but turn her head to look at the Vision when he phases into her room on the seventh day after Sokovia. It’s the first time she’s made eye contact with anyone since he rescued her, and the memory of those eyes, that moment, cracks her heart open. She gasps in, deep and painful, and turns her head, too late. The Vision says nothing, but he hovers for an extra moment before moving on. Barely five minutes later, Captain America throws the door open.

“Vision said—he thought—do you need something?”

Her pain, so sharp after all the emptiness, has thrown her off-kilter. Despite herself, she makes eye contact for the second time, now with the Captain, who smiles warmly in response.

“Hello,” he says. “Do you want something? Food? Water?”

The same questions every time. She almost sighs. Instead, her voice breaks through, croaking from thirst and disuse—

“Clint.”

She doesn’t know what she’s going to say until it’s already out in the air. But this, this is the truth. The only thing she has wanted, amidst the emptiness, is for the Hawkeye, Clint Barton, to speak to her. And he is the only one, other than Stark, who has not come. She knows he's still here. She has heard, though she hadn’t consciously realized it until now, the strain of his thoughts in the air. But he never came.

“What?” Captain America pins her down with his wide blue eyes.

This shouldn’t be so difficult. “I want Clint,” she repeats.

“Oh.” The Captain looks over his shoulder and then back to her. “Are you sure?”

She looks at him.

“Okay.”

Extending her mind outwards for the first time since she arrived here, Wanda follows his thoughts out the door and down the hall, where he is joined by none other than the Vision. She recognizes the Vision as a clear thread of thought with no white noise to it—and that one thought is focused on her.

And here she had thought his wanderings were random.

“She wants to talk to Clint,” Captain America says.

“Shall I get him?” the Vision replies.

“No, let me. Do you know where he is?”

“I suspect the kitchen.” A touch of wryness, startling amidst all that calm and order.

“Right.”

The Captain moves far enough away that Wanda’s powers can no longer focus on him. She’s weaker than she’s been in years, ill-practiced. It shouldn’t frustrate her—she never really wanted this, after all—and yet it does. She can sense the Vision moving closer towards her, though, and she feels it when he pauses, indecisive. Then he phases through the wall just next to the door—what does he think doors are for?—and comes to a stop in front of her. It’s too late to look away now, so she meets his gaze. She feels less pain this time, and instead focuses on him. The deep red skin surrounding those mechanical blue eyes is startling when compared to the lightness of the Captain’s skin.

“Agent Barton will be here shortly,” the Vision says. “Do you need anything else?"

“No.”

He stands there for a moment, indecisive and confused, and then floats away. Wanda almost—almost—smiles at the sheer awkwardness of this unimaginably powerful being who, nonetheless, has no idea how to conduct himself around people. Then she catches herself and is horrified to realize it.

No smiles, she tells herself. No.

Ten more minutes pass before she senses Clint outside. He’s agitated, unhappy, but he's here. Wanda sits up and turns to face the door, crossing her legs underneath her. Unthinkingly, she reaches up to smooth her hair. Knots and tangles everywhere. Impossible.

Clint opens the door, walks in, shuts it behind him. He does not make eye contact. Wanda can feel Captain America and Vision standing outside, guarding the room, in case Wanda's temper snaps and she uses her powers to harm again.

“Clint,” she says.

He flinches. She brushes more strongly against his mind, trying to see, trying to understand, and is overwhelmed by the agonizing wave of guilt that pours into her.

“—the kid gone—all my fault—trying to save me and the baby, wasn’t fast enough—she could break all my bones if she wanted, but I should’ve seen—too young and she’ll blame me—why doesn’t she get it over with—”

More unexpected is her own response. Hot anger floods her through, burning away all the emptiness inside her and replacing it with scarlet. He should not, he cannot, regret this.

“Stop it,” she snaps, and Clint looks up at last. Crow’s feet, tense muscles, tight lips. No smile. “Stop feeling guilty. This is not your fault. You are not allowed to regret it. Just stop.”

Speaking louder than she expected. Pounding heart, agonizing pain. Clint’s face shifts as he takes in her words.

“You—”

“I do not blame you,” she says. “Not for that. Pietro made his choice, he chose—” Her voice breaks. “—to do the right thing, to save you and the child. How dare you act like that sacrifice is unwanted? He meant it, with his very last breath he meant it.”

Clint’s eyes widen. “He shouldn’t’ve—”

“He did,” Wanda interrupts. “He did, and the fault is with Ultron, because he shot at a child, and now he is gone too. Pietro did what was right. He did what mattered, what was important—” Her voice breaks again, and she has to duck her head to hide her expression. She can feel the pain bleeding out across her skin.

Clint takes a step towards her. “Wanda—"

“You never came to see me!” She lifts her head to look him in the eye, though she knows that rage and agony shine from her own. “You invited us to be with you, you accepted us when no one else did, you saw something in us that even I could not see, and then you left me here. You are the only one I know, and I trusted you—” Her breath catches in a sob, and the tears are pricking behind her eyes. “—don’t just leave me here, please.” Another sob, rippling through her body, forcing her chin down. Then Clint sits on the bed next to her, reaching out, and she throws her arms around him.

She cries.

The tears stream hot down her face and onto Clint’s shoulder, and she sobs, feeling the pain so deeply and the relief just as strong. Clint pats her on the back, rubs circles with exacting fingers, and lets her cry. She can feel, from him, another measure of pain and relief. The fatherly instinct pierces through him with the memory of his own daughter—Lila—who is so much younger but just as vulnerable. He wants to protect Wanda, he wants to soothe her, as he would his own children, and in that moment, it is everything that she has been lacking.

“I do not know—how to be alone,” she sobs. “I don’t—I cannot—"

“Shh,” he whispers. “Shh."

Chapter Text

Forty-five minutes after entering, Agent Barton finally leaves Miss Maximoff’s designated room—and he's not alone. Miss Maximoff is tucked into his side, with her head turned into his shoulder as he helps her along. A quick scan confirms what is obvious—she is weary, as tired and hungry and thirsty as before, and her body is now sore and worn down from the exertion of—tears, Vision thinks. She has been crying.

The thought pushes Vision backwards, a barely noticeable shift of a centimeter and a half that he quickly corrects.

“Miss Maximoff,” he says, but Agent Barton looks up and shakes his head.

“We’re gonna go see Natasha.” The man somehow addresses all of them at once, soothing Miss Maximoff while informing Vision and Captain Rogers. “And get cleaned up.”

Vision processes this in half a second—cleaning up: washing her face, having a shower, getting dressed. Things that Miss Maximoff dearly needs. As the only other female presently in the building, Agent Romanov is the right choice to assist her. Vision relaxes and moves to let Agent Barton and Miss Maximoff through. He considers following them, so that he can wait in near proximity for the result, but recognizes from Agent Barton’s posture that this is not desirable.

Some part of him rebels—a spark deep inside of him that has been singing since the day of his birth: I want, I want—he wants to know that Miss Maximoff is all right, but he shuts it down. It's more important that he cooperate.

So he phases up into the kitchen, where Mr. Stark is putting away his groceries, which have been delivered to the front door. This is the usual way for Mr. Stark. Vision knows this from JARVIS’s memories, now integrated into his consciousness as a strange, 2D understanding. A part of him, and yet so different from how perceives things now.

“Mr. Stark,” Vision says.

The man stiffens, turning from the fridge with the word “JAR—" on his lips. Then he remembers, pauses, restarts. “Vision,” he states. “What’s up.”

“Miss Maximoff has left her room,” Vision says. “She requested Agent Barton’s presence, and now they're going to see Agent Romanov.”

“Why?” Mr. Stark says distantly as he opens the vegetable drawer.

“I believe Miss Maximoff is..." Vision hesitates. "...ready to rejoin the world.”

Mr. Stark turns to look at Vision. “Ah.”

Feeling that he needs to offer something, though he does not know what, Vision says, “She appears to be doing better.”

Mr. Stark’s lips thin under his mustache, his facial muscles tense. “Huh.” He turns back to the fridge, and Vision is left with nothing else to say. Still feeling that spark inside—I want, I want—he floats over to the table, where he remains standing, ignoring the impulse to phase back down and check on the others.

“It’s about that time.” Sergeant Wilson enters the room, rubbing his hands together. An adept cook, the ex-soldier seems to take a great deal of enjoyment from creating the team’s meals every day. It is currently 4:47 P.M., which means dinnertime. Vision inclines his head in response, and Mr. Stark moves out of Sergeant Wilson’s way.

“Fine by me,” he says, and Sergeant Wilson begins pulling items from the refrigerator.

“How are you doing, Vision,” he says by way of greeting.

“I am... well. And you, Sergeant Wilson?”

The ex-soldier sighs. “Man,” he says, his back still to Vision as he collects ingredients, “I’ve told you a hundred times, call me Sam. 'Sergeant Wilson' is way too stuffy. And it's not even accurate anymore.”

“It is the most appropriate title I could find,” Vision says. “Would you prefer 'Mr. Wilson?'”

“I would prefer 'Sam'.” The man shoots a look over his shoulder as he shuts one of the cabinets. “It isn’t that hard, man. Three letters. One syllable. Sam.”

“Sam,” Vision tests the word in his mouth and can’t help but wince. “It feels so… personal.”

Mr. Stark, sitting down in a chair near where Vision still stands, lets out a snort. Sergeant Wilson shakes his head.

“We’re all friends here, right? Friends use each other’s first names.” He turns to face Vision and Mr. Stark across the counter. “I suppose it is kinda ‘personal’—I mean, it's my one and only name that I have, as a person." Sergeant Wilson grins. "So go ahead and use it, like everyone else here does. A’ight?”

Vision hesitates. Perhaps it is old programming, the remnants of JARVIS, but he's uncomfortable speaking in such a manner. “I don't know that I am worthy of being termed ‘friend,’” he says. “I am not… like you.”

The ex-soldier looks Vision up and down and raises his eyebrows. “The hammer says you’re worthy. I’m not gonna argue.”

“I believe that to be a different measure—”

“Okay,I say you’re worthy. You are hereby allowed to be a friend, okay? I’m sure the others agree.” Sergeant Wilson—Sam—turns back to his cooking, leaving Vision feeling... lighter. Though he knows it cannot be, he glances down to be sure that his form has not shifted density. No, he remains as opaque as he meant himself to be.

“Birdman’s got a point," Mr. Stark says. Vision turns to look at him and notes tension in the other man’s body. “I don't mind being called 'Mr. Stark,' but I doubt the others feel the same." He pauses. "Just... don't ever call me 'sir.'"

Vision nods, understanding this to be a reference to JARVIS. “I will—try to adjust.”

“Would you sit down?” Sam adds. “I know you could probably float there all day if you wanted to, but people don’t just float around. We sit down, relax, get on each other’s level.” Sam says the last words slow and even, waving a hand in Vision's direction. “You might wanna give it a try.”

“Ah.” Vision examines the chair in front of him. If he returns to density base zero, the state at which his body was created, he should have no problem sitting. He pulls the chair out, analyzing by touch its exact density, and folds himself into a sitting position on top of it. He looks over at Mr. Stark, trying to mimic his stance. It doesn’t feel quite right, but after a few moments he adjusts to the placement and, more at ease, folds his hands on the table in front of him.

“Much better,” Sam says. “You almost look like a regular dude now.”

Vision blinks, and Sam stirs the food in the pan in front of him, chuckling and shaking his head.

Twenty-six minutes later, Sam calls the rest of the team up for dinner—a magnificent looking stir fry and rice, with pot stickers and store-bought fortune cookies.

“Chinese,” he announces with a toothy grin when Captain Rogers enters with Colonel Rhodes behind him.

“I see that,” the Captain replies. “The others’ll be up in a moment. No Pepper?” he asks Mr. Stark as Colonel Rhodes takes his seat next to the man.

The edges of Mr. Stark’s eyes crinkle into a barely perceptible wince. “No,” he says. “Not tonight.”

Captain Rogers does not press the issue, though this is the third night in a row that Ms. Potts has been absent. Vision wonders if he himself has something to do with that—when Ms. Potts saw him for the first time, and heard JARVIS’s voice coming from his mouth, she paled and went stomping off to find Mr. Stark. Vision cannot imagine that conversation was very pleasant.

“Thor’s also off on business.” Captain Rogers pulls out the chair next to Vision and nods. “Vision.”

“Captain Rogers.”

It's something of a relief when the Captain does not correct him. But then, Captain Rogers is not like that. He accepts the members of the team as they are, at any and every comfort level, guiding them in a different direction only when he sees a serious need for it. His leadership skills are, indeed, admirable.

A moment later, the Captain looks up past the others. “Hello,” he says.

Vision feels the oddest sensation, as though his synthetic heart has broken free and leapt into his throat. Anxiety, he decides, as he turns to see the other three members of their group in the doorway. The sight sends the pressure in his throat thumping back down into its regular place, though it aches still.

Agent Romanov walks hand-in-hand with Miss Maximoff, Agent Barton following closely behind. The younger woman’s head is ducked, but Vision can already see the improvement—her skin is brighter, her eyes clearer, and her hair combed out. It's smooth and wavy and lighter in color than he had initially thought it to be. She has also changed from the outfit she wore in Sokovia—the dirty, tattered black dress—and now wears another dress in the same color and style, but clean and intact. A quick scan reveals that Miss Maximoff is still as tired and hungry as before, but at least she appears improved. And she's here, coming to sit for dinner with them.

She lifts her eyes, and in the same moment, Vision feels her consciousness brush against his own. The touch does not feel like the times previous, when she examined his thoughts—she is only acknowledging his existence. He slowly blinks his own greeting to her, though some part of him is loath to break eye contact. She looks away, gaze flitting across the others at the table. Mr. Stark clears his throat and shifts in his seat, and Miss Maximoff’s body stiffens. Vision wants, suddenly, to separate the two of them, though such an action would not be practical.

Miss Maximoff steps forward, letting go of Agent Romanov’s hand, and walks over to sit at the table, one chair away from Captain Rogers and two chairs from Colonel Rhodes. The two agents follow. Agent Barton whispers something in Miss Maximoff’s ear that she nods to. Then he takes a seat to her left, leaving his hand on the back of her chair. Agent Romanov sits beside Agent Barton, next to Colonel Rhodes, and relaxes back in her chair as though she had no care in the world—though that appearance is deceiving. Vision has discovered he can perceive the tiny inflections of movement in a way the others often cannot, and though Agent Romanov appears to be at leisure oftentimes, she is never more than a blink away from bursting into action.

“All right, Chinese food, good Chinese food for everybody.”

Sam places the finished meal on the table. Normally Vision would assist him, but he’s not sure, if he rose, that he could remember how to sit again. He scans Miss Maximoff once more, the ache of anxiety deepening, and finds her in the same condition.

Of course. Her state of being would not have changed in the past minute.

Feeling ridiculous, Vision steadies his hands against the table before folding them together again. For some reason that he cannot explain, he's protective of the young woman—and she does look quite fragile and vulnerable, sitting there like that in front of him.

But Miss Maximoff is not alone in her fragility. Compared to Vision, all of the humans sitting around this table are breakable, including Captain Rogers. This whole world, all of humanity, wobbles eternally at the peak of a precipice.

Sam takes the last empty seat beside Miss Maximoff, who shifts uncertainly over towards Agent Barton. Sam grins.

“Eat up, everyone! Especially you." Sam points a finger at Miss Maximoff.

She blinks at him, and then the edge of a smile crinkles the corners of her eyes. Vision has never seen her smile, not even slightly, and he finds this small movement endlessly fascinating.

Then she is looking directly at him. He blinks and straightens.

Her brow creases. “You are not eating,” she states in her notably Sokovian accent.

Vision looks down at his hands, placed over the empty spot on the table where dining utensils would rest. “No, I have no need to do so.”

She stares at him, and he adds, “I'm unsure what would happen if I did eat.”

She nods and looks down at her food. To her right, Sam is grinning again.

“Look at that,” he says. “She does talk. Lovely voice you got there,” he adds when Miss Maximoff turns her gaze to him. “Pity I haven’t heard it before. I’m Sam Wilson.” He holds out his hand for her to shake. She takes it.

“I am—Wanda.” She tilts her head. “Maximoff.”

Wanda Maximoff.

“Nice to meet you.” Sam lets go of her hand. “Now eat that food. I made it myself. Good stuff!"

This time Wanda's lips move when she starts to smile, though it never reaches fruition. As ordered, she begins to eat, and the ache inside Vision ceases. Somehow, he thinks, they have crossed into safer territory. She will not be starving herself.

The meal continues in much the same way that they have for the past week, though Mr. Stark is unusually quiet. Most of the banter is between Agents Barton and Romanov, with the Captain or Sam adding thoughts in passing. Agent Barton keeps his arm stretched out, hand on the back of Miss Maximoff’s chair, the entire time. A gesture of protection. Vision does not know what happened between him and Miss Maximoff in that room, but he appreciates its effect. Though she cried, a clear sign of pain or grief, she now shows signs of greater well-being.

All goes well until the end of the meal, as the others break their fortune cookies. Curious about a custom he has knowledge of but has never experienced, Vision leans over to see how Captain Rogers’s fortune reads.

“A new outfit will bring you great joy.”

As Vision frowns at the statement, Captain Rogers laughs and discards the paper on his plate.

“Time for a costume change?” he says to Mr. Stark, who nods and offers a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Across the table, Miss Maximoff—Wanda—chokes out a gasp. Vision looks up, as do all the others, to see her holding her fortune taut between her trembling fingers. Her face loses color quite suddenly, and then she is dropping the paper and she is pushing back her chair and she is clutching a fist to her body as though in pain and she is saying, “Sorry sorry sorry—” as she rushes out of the room.

Vision lifts into the air without conscious decision. “Miss—”

“Let her go,” Agent Barton says in a low voice. Vision looks over and sees him staring down at Miss Maximoff’s fortune with a troublement on his face. Agent Romanov leans over and reads aloud: “'Invest, not in material goods, but in family.’ Ah.”

The others sit back with various releases of breath. Confused, Vision turns his gaze to Captain Rogers and Sam just as they exchange looks.

“That's unfortunate,” Captain Rogers murmurs.

They glance at each other again. Sam nods. Captain Rogers sighs and, with his elbow on the table, rests his forehead on his hand.

“She’ll be feeling that loss for a while. Forever, really. Just—”

“The smallest things crack you open,” Sam concludes.

Mr. Stark clears his throat again and rises from the table, throwing his napkin down on top of his plate. “Later,” he says.

They watch him walk away.

Chapter Text

Now, Wanda dreams in nightmares.

The pain comes in waves that knock her to her knees over and over again. Every time she gets up, thinking that this time she will remain steady, she is bowled over by the sheer agony of her loss. Before, Pietro’s absence felt like nothingness, like empty, but now that she's awake, it's like a raw wound. It's a screaming cavity inside her chest and an neverending wall of rubble in her mind, cutting her off from the expanse that she used to know—his thoughts, his soul.

Everything reminds her of him. She hears his laugh—“You didn’t see that coming?” “Budi u miru, sestra.” “You know, I’m twelve minutes older than you.” She sees his smile, the mischief in his blue eyes, the silver of his hair after the Mind Gem burned through both their veins. She feels his arms around her as they waited to join their parents in death, as they cowered in orphanages, as they shivered on the streets.

Blue and silver, heat and speed, brother, family, spirit.

She is incomplete without him.

That first day after her awakening, she almost doesn’t get up. The temptation to slip back into the darkness overwhelms her—but she knows that it's impossible. She cannot ebb the flow of feeling that has opened up inside of her. Sleep will bring no peace, and if she stays here, lying alone in this bed, she will drown in her anguish.

So she forces herself to stand. Day after day, for a whole other week, Wanda rises, she dresses in the clothes Natasha lays out, she brushes her teeth, she eats and she showers, and she tries to distract herself by watching the others in their constant movements. Day after day, she breaks open at the smallest reminder. Day after day, she curves around the shattered pieces of herself, trying to beat the pain into submission.

Clint and Natasha remain close at hand. Natasha does Wanda's makeup and helps her pick out new clothing from catalogues. Clint braids her hair, turns random objects into projectiles, and challenges Wanda to match his aim, which she never quite can. Sometimes Natasha sings Russian lullabies while Wanda presses her face into the pillows and cries. Once, Wanda looks up and finds Natasha crying. Without thinking, she reaches for the woman’s mind and, upon seeing what's there, whispers aloud, “Bruce Banner?”

Natasha vanishes from the room before Wanda can even comprehend her movement.

Later, she returns, tall and stiff and proud, and tells Wanda that she’s sorry, but she needs Wanda to keep her wandering thoughts away. “I can’t let you in like that,” she says. “I just can’t.”

Chagrined, Wanda nods. “I will try,” she says.

Natasha smiles. They return to their pastimes.

Captain America—Steve Rogers is his name—and Sam Wilson come to see her too, sometimes with the man called Rhodey, but the three of them ask nothing from her, for which she is grateful. Stark and Ms. Potts keep their distance, as does Thor. Oddly, Vision, too, keeps away, though she can sense him slipping through the walls in his apparently eternal roving. When she sees him, he is as cordial as ever, but he does not seek her out.

Their meals together as a group are quiet. At first, the food sits wrong in Wanda's stomach. She is not used to having so much to eat, and of such richness, too. Often, in Sokovia, she and—well—

—she would go hungry.

She adjusts, though. She likes the food that Sam makes.

By the end of the week, Vision’s absence begins to nag at her. Wanda doesn't know what she did to cause him to drift off like this, and she doesn’t like not knowing. All that time, he was watching over her, seeing that the life he once saved remained alive, because he—he is on the side of life. Perhaps now that her survival seems more definite, he no longer cares?

That doesn’t fit with what she has felt of him. Despite his origin, he is not so simple as numbers and letters, black and white, death and life. He feels true compassion, she knows that much. He would not lose interest in her simply because she’s not dying.

So she goes in search of him, down the hallways and into the room where he first burst into being, underneath Thor’s hammer. She finds him hovering by the windows, as he had that night, gazing out at the daylit city. As she approaches, she realizes that he's phasing his hand in and out, passing it through the pane of glass and watching it fade and reappear. Curious, she reaches her mind out to his, brushing up against its clear tones—wonder, fascination, awe. Vision starts and turns as though, somehow, he felt her telepathic touch, the way Pietro always did.

Her chest threatens to cave at the memory, but Vision is setting his feet back on the ground, lips curved in welcome, and she can’t run away.

“What are you doing?” she asks him.

“I was—” He pauses and gestures at the window, his golden cape fluttering behind him. “Observing.”

“Observing your hand?” She raises her eyebrows.

“Yes.” He ducks his head, and she is amused at the tinge of embarrassment that ripples out from him. “I find it... fascinating, all of it.” He lifts his hands for examination, and the same wonder as before fills his body, and hers too. “These hands, this glass, the city below, the people walking by—physical existence. This body is…” He stops, struggling to find the word.

“A miracle,” she says. It isn’t a stretch, with the feelings that are emanating from him.

He stops and stares at her. “Yes.” Then he lowers his eyes to his hands again. “A miracle. I feel, sometimes, that all of this is. All of the pieces that created me, experiencing the physical world in this form—it's a wonder.”

A smile tickles her lips. “I’ve never thought about it like that. Physical existence.”

Bright blue eyes, locked onto hers. “No?”

For some reason, she flushes. “I am more of—the mind, the soul.” She summons a trickle of scarlet energy to flow across her fingers, a movement he watches intently. “Hence my powers.”

“But that—the soul, the spirit, feelings—that, too, has physical existence.” He floats towards her, hands uplifted and energy pounding within him. She tilts her head, thinking that she should feel alarmed at his approach, but she's not. “At least, I believe it must. The Mind Gem holds ideas, entire consciousnesses, that I cannot comprehend, but what I gather seems to indicate that there is real being to all of this. That—”

He stops suddenly. Wanda watches him settle, in a very physical way, and turn to face the window again. Brushing against his mind again she thinks she feels—sorrow? But then it slips away like a wisp of smoke, and there is only him.

“That the human soul requires more than simple intelligence,” he states. “Ultron, JARVIS, they existed in a plane without physical being, and it had so much less meaning.”

“I am glad you enjoy your existence,” Wanda says, an unwanted smile tickling her lips again.

He turns back to her, hands folded behind his back. “And you? Are you well?”

“I am… coping.” Not wanting to think of herself, her pain, she tilts her head. Her hair shifts across her shoulder. “You have been distant.”

“I did not wish to intrude,” he says. “I'm not sure I’m of much help to you now.”

“You don’t have to be of help,” she replies. “I just wanted to know where you have been.”

“Here.” His white teeth a surprise against his burgundy skin, he waves his hand towards the window.

A laugh escapes her, turning into a cough as she chokes it. “I see that.”

They look at each other. He narrows his eyes in consideration, as he did the first time he looked at her. “I will… be sure to come see you later.”

“Do,” she says primly, and with her head held high, she turns and walks away.

The next day, after a painful night that leaves her raw, Wanda does have a visitor—but it’s not Vision. While scrolling through the apps on the phone provided to her by Stark Industries, hoping for something to distract her from her sorrow, she suddenly starts. Stark himself is approaching. She folds her legs up under herself just as he knocks on the door, then pushes it open.

“Can—” He clears his throat. “Can I come in?”

She raises her eyebrows and spreads her hands. “It’s your building.”

“…Right. Okay.”

Leaving the door open, he saunters in, hands in his pockets. She watches him with some bemusement. Pietro—

—Pietro himself had said that these people were not so bad. Since joining the Avengers, Wanda, too, has lacked the hatred she once felt towards Stark. She does not like or admire him, but she feels as though the events in Sokovia opened her eyes to the reality of the man—not a monster or a tyrant, but a broken, confused human being who has made so many mistakes.

Can she say any different?

Stark coughs again. “I just wanted to say… sorry.” He stops and peers at her as though gauging her reaction. When she doesn’t respond, he continues, “I suck. I know that. I made a mess of so many people’s lives, especially yours.” She feels him as he considers speaking the names—her parents, Pietro—but chooses not to. “I can’t… fix it. I can’t make things right. But I am sorry.”

She purses her lips and tosses her head. “I know,” she says.

“You—what?” He stares at her.

“I know you are sorry,” she repeats. “You are human. You have made mistakes, and you regret them. All those years in Sokovia… I never imagined you knew remorse. But I, too—” Her voice cracks from the flare of pain that breaks inside her. “I have made mistakes. I played a part in Ultron’s plan.” She turns her head away, unable to handle the raw shock on Stark’s face. “Don’t bring it up again. It is the past. You will do better next time.”

He hesitates, leans to one side and then the other, and glances at her. “I hope so,” he mutters.

She nods.

Walking back to the door as though released from a great weight, he says over his shoulder, “Anyway, I’ve been building this compound for the Avengers. I can’t have you guys staying here all the time, especially if the team gets any bigger. It’s ready for everyone to move in. So I thought I’d get the apology out the way, since you’ll be there and I’ll be here.”

He leaves her alone and taken aback at the revelation.

But it turns out to be true. That night, Steve tells them that the Avengers will be moving from Stark Tower into the new Avengers Compound the next morning.

“We’ll get out of Tony’s hair,” he says, “and head to someplace better.”

Stark, reclining in a nearby chair, snorts.

“The compound is pretty isolated," Steve continues, "and has plenty of space for training, rooms for everyone plus extra, a pool, a big lawn. It’ll be perfect. A good home for us all.”

Clint hums deep in his throat. Thor purses his lips. Stark runs a hand over his face.

Wanda gazes at Clint. She knows, from his memories, that the compound will not be home for him. He has another place, also safe and isolated, where his family waits for him. He has been in contact with them every day, promising that soon, soon, he’ll come back. He can’t stretch this stay out much longer.

Chapter Text

After everyone else is asleep, Vision finds Sam and Mr. Stark in the living room. Mr. Stark has an alcoholic drink in his hand, and the two men recline on separate couches, sitting in a silence that somehow seems to hold more than silence. It seems the perfect opportunity to ask the question that has been circling through Vision's mind since his conversation with Miss Maximoff yesterday.

“I have a question,” Vision says.

Their gazes flicker up to him, and Sam groans. “Oh, God.”

Mr. Stark chuckles.

Vision blinks. "What's wrong?”

“Is it a hard question?” Sam peers up at Vision. Then he scoots back to sit up straighter with a heavy sigh. “How hard am I gonna have to think?”

“I don't know,” Vision says. “I wouldn't ask if I knew the answer myself. I could attempt to continue searching the Internet if you would prefer, but I thought that it might be wiser to hear your thoughts—”

Mr. Stark speaks over him. “What is it?"

Vision turns his head to look at the man, and with a quick scan, finds that his blood alcohol level means he must be, in some sense, inebriated. “I wish to know—"

“You could sit down,” Sam interrupts. Vision turns back to him, feeling a tinge of frustration. “It’s weird talking to someone who’s looming over you. Normal people, they keep their feet on the ground and they sit when everyone else does.”

“Normal people cannot fly,” Vision points out. But even as he speaks, he lowers himself onto the empty space left beside Sam—deep in his mind he pauses to appreciate the relative softness of the cushion when compared to the chairs at dinner—and rests his hands on his knees.

Sam nods in approval.

“Miss Maximoff is suffering,” Vision begins.

Sam's lips purse and eyebrows lift in an expression Vision identifies as surprise. “Okay.”

“I… wish to be of assistance to her,” Vision says.

“Get it, Robot Son,” Mr. Stark mumbles.

Vision turns his head sharply. “I am neither a robot nor your son,” he says, more strongly than he intended.

The other two men look at him again, and he takes in a deep breath as though to steady himself. The term ‘robot’—it grates at what little feeling Vision possesses, fueling greater heat from the spark of wanting inside him. Though he recognizes that he is not—not like them, he does not identify as a ‘robot’ either. The word implies flatness, a lacking. ‘Robot’ is JARVIS, Ultron, Dummy: 2D intelligences made of metal and base electricity. Vision is not these things. He's more.

He wants to be more.

“Well.” Mr. Stark attempts to sit up, but only manages to move half an inch. “I did create you. So that kinda makes you my son.”

Biting back the bitter taste in his mouth, Vision says, “You alone are not responsible for my creation. I would argue that our relationship does not possess the intimacy of father and son.”

Mr. Stark slides back down. “’Intimacy,’” he mutters. “I don’t know what’s intimate about fathers and sons.”

Vision chooses to ignore that. “As I was saying,” he says. “I thought you might have advice on how to approach the situation. Though I know that Miss Maximoff is experiencing grief due to the loss of her brother, I don’t understand the experience myself.” He gestures towards Sam, who gives him an encouraging nod. “I fear that I might do more damage than good. I have read that grief is a serious form of suffering.”

“You can say that again.”

Vision hesitates, and his memory provides that Sam's words are a colloquialism, not a request. So he continues, “I checked the database, and you both have sustained losses in your lives.” He inclines his head to Sam. “Riley, your copilot.”

Sam sits back and puts his hands on his thighs, breathing out slowly. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s tough stuff.”

With a single glance at Mr. Stark, Vision decides not to identify his loss. All three of them know already that Mr. Stark is an orphan.

“I don't wish to harm her,” Vision says instead. “I have stayed away from Miss Maximoff this past week, but yesterday, she sought me out. It seems that isolating myself is not effective. So how should I proceed?”

Mr. Stark remains silent, but Sam sits forward. “Look,” he says, making direct and sincere eye contact with Vision. “There isn’t much anything you can do. Grief is… personal. Even if you had lost somebody, it wouldn't be the same. She’s gotta work it through for herself.”

Vision furrows his brow. Though this is what he found on many of the websites he's consulted, he had hoped for a different answer. “But—"

“What you can do,” Sam interrupts, “is be a friend. Sit with her, let her talk if she wants, or not if she doesn’t. Play a game, maybe, help her stay distracted.” Sam lifts his pointer finger. “And if she starts crying or somethin’, don’t try to fix it. Women don’t like that. Just—touch her. Not—” Sam adds, his eyes widening as Mr. Stark begins to snicker from the other couch. “—nothin’ awkward, just some nice, comforting physical contact.” When Mr. Stark continues to laugh, Sam clarifies, “Put your hand on her back—upper back—or hold her hand or something, okay? That’s all. Maybe hum a little bit. Say ‘There, there.’” He waves a hand in the air. “Let her cry it out, it’ll help.”

“The act of shedding tears does release endorphins,” Vision offers.

“Yeah, it’s good stuff.” Sam shakes his head. “Point is, you gotta be there so she doesn’t feel like she’s doing something wrong and getting herself ignored, but you don’t wanna be stepping all over her boundaries either. Let her set the pace.”

“Nice and sloooow,” Mr. Stark says.

Sam looks at him sideways, shaking his head. “Dude.”

Vision rises from the couch, levitating for a moment before remembering Sam’s command to keep his feet on the ground. “Thank you,” he says. He stretches his toes against the unexpected feeling of the wooden floor. “I will take all of that under consideration.”

“T,” Mr. Stark mutters. Vision pauses mid-exit.

“’T?’” he repeats, unsure whether Mr. Stark has degraded to the point that he now is speaking only in letters. or if he is genuinely attempting communication.

“Tea,” Mr. Stark says. “It might help.”

“Ooh, yeah!” Sam turns to point at Vision. “Chamomile or lavender tea. That’s good. I’m a coffee kind of guy myself, but for comfort, tea’s great. I can see Wanda liking that.”

Vision pauses to process this information and then nods. “I see.”

He wishes he could speak Miss Maximoff’s first name with the casual ease that Sam does. It would be like a song on his lips, or a prayer, something beautiful—Wanda. But she has not invited that kind of closeness, and Vision will not take what he has not been permitted. He knows, for him, it is a privilege simply to be alive.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” he says.

As he walks away, pressing his feet against the ground with each step, he hears Mr. Stark mumble, “Robot son.”

Sighing, Vision phases through the wall and continues his rounds through the rooms and hallways of Stark Tower. At this point, he thinks he has seen and touched every corner of the building—fortunate, since they are now to leave it behind. Pressure touches his throat—regret? sorrow? Stark Tower is the closest thing to a home he has, and he has valued the chance to physically engage with all the places that JARVIS once saw through video feed. Still, there is a whole world out there filled with wonder, and—

And Wanda will surely be more comfortable in a space that is not Mr. Stark’s.

—it's practical. The Avengers need more space to operate in.

Vision wanders the Tower, haunting the halls after even Mr. Stark has fallen asleep. He avoids going into rooms where others rest—he understands the necessity of privacy in those vulnerable moments—but never sleeps himself. Though he can alter his consciousness to mimic the process, he does not need to do so more than once every two weeks in order to remain at optimal health. His body takes what it requires from the molecules and energy around it, a prime kind of functionality. Vision needs sleep only to allow his brain time to recalibrate, as the others’ brains do every night during their REM cycles.

Once in the night, Vision thinks he feels the touch of Miss Maximoff’s mind, a sweep of turmoiled energy that latches on nothing and passes by as quickly as it came. She must be sleeping, of course, and her telepathic power expanded for a moment without conscious control—but he does not like the way it felt. There was no rest in that energy.

In the morning, Vision joins the others coming in and out of the kitchen. After last night’s conversation, he notes that most of them are sipping coffee or tea as they grab breakfast and read the news on their phones.

“Has anyone seen Miss Maximoff this morning?” Vision's voice breaks the comfortable quiet that fills the room, and everyone turns to stare at him.

Agent Romanov twists in her seat so she can get to her feet. “I’ll go check on her.”

She hands Vision her empty coffee mug as she passes, taking a banana from the counter with her other hand. Vision gazes at the mug in confusion. He does not consume coffee, so—ah.

Recollecting the examples of Sam and Captain Rogers throughout the past few weeks, Vision moves past Mr. Stark, who's currently using the coffee maker, and to the sink. He rinses the mug out with care and places it in the top rack of the dishwasher. Then he steps back, pleased with himself.

As Mr. Stark moves to Agent Romanov’s vacated seat, a print newspaper tucked under his arm, he chuckles. “She’s even got you under her thumb."

Sam laughs. On the other side of the room, Agent Barton levies a dart at a dartboard. "That's Nat's special skill," he says.

Vision frowns at them. “I was happy to help.”

Mr. Stark turns and points at him. “Exactly.”

Vision hesitates, then shakes his head. For how much he admires humanity, sometimes they are impossible to understand.

A moment later, Captain Rogers walks into the room. He glances around at the group and nods. “If everyone’s set," he says, "it’s time to get moving.”

Mr. Stark shakes the newspaper out in front of him as though he hadn't even heard Captain Rogers. Agent Barton, on the other hand, abandons the dartboard.

“What do you need?”

“Sam, Rhodey, and I have already taken care of the general supplies taken care of, but we need everyone’s personal items,” Captain Rogers says. “Bedrooms, bathrooms, just get everything in the trucks outside.”

Agent Barton nods and exits the room. Thor looks at Captain Rogers, takes a deep sip of coffee, and says, “I will meet all of you outside.”

Captain Rogers glances over, startled. “Oh, yeah. I guess you don't have much to bring?”

Thor chuckles. “Only the clothes on my back. And Mjolnir, of course.”

“Of course,” Captain Rogers says.

Thor strides from the room.

“Do you need help with any of your personal items?” Vision asks the Captain.

“No, I’m set,” Captain Rogers says. “If you want to go help Clint and Natasha, though—"

“Of course.” Vision floats out of the room before remembering himself. He phases down two levels, places his feet on the ground, and walks through the walls to the hallway where the team’s two women have been staying. He finds Agent Romanov packing up the restroom.

“Where is—oh.” As Vision speaks, Miss Maximoff peeks out from Agent Romanov’s room, dangling a pair of strappy black heels from two fingers.

“Natasha,” she says, “I do not know where to put these.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Agent Romanov says without turning around. “Just stick them somewhere.”

Miss Maximoff sighs, but, with a small smile in Vision’s direction that somehow warms him, she retreats again.

“What is Miss Maximoff doing?” he asks.

“Packing my stuff,” Agent Romanov says as she bags a set of shampoo containers. “She doesn’t have anything of her own, so I'm putting her to use.”

“She doesn’t have anything?” Vision echoes.

Alerted by the tone of his voice, Agent Romanov leans back to meet Vision’s gaze, her hands on her thighs. “I highly doubt HYDRA let the twins keep their personal stuff when they went in for experimentation, so even if we hadn’t blown up their fortress—”

Vision lets out a muffled noise, startling himself.

Agent Romanov rises to grab a couple more bottles from above the sink. “All she had were the clothes she was wearing, and I threw that outfit out. It was super grody.”

“Grody?”

“Grody: adjective, slang. Gross, dirty, or just plain disgusting. Example: After wearing her clothes through two battles and for a week without washing, Miss Maximoff had in her possession some very grody clothing.” Agent Romanov speaks in a stilted manner, which, after a moment, Vision realizes is an imitation of himself.

Agent Romanov turns, sees his face, and sighs. With facial muscles softened by apology, she offers him the bottles in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “That was rude. Could you put these in my suitcase, please?”

Vision nods and exits the restroom through the door before entering Agent Romanov’s room, also through the door. An inconvenient path, but necessary in order to transport Agent Romanov’s items—he can only phase the molecules of his own body through solid matter.

He finds Miss Maximoff leaning over an unzipped black suitcase stuffed with clothing. She turns and tilts her head. “Vision.”

“I’m to put these in Agent Romanov’s suitcase,” he replies.

Miss Maximoff takes the bottles from Vision, her fingers brushing his. “Here.”

As Vision pauses to process the unexpected touch—very different from windows and walls—Miss Maximoff tucks the bottles into a corner of the suitcase and steps back. “I think I am done,” she announces with a questioning lift of her hands. “For a 'master spy,' Natasha has many possessions. And at least three of those jackets do not belong to her.”

“Just because I’m a great operative doesn’t mean I can’t live in style.” Agent Romanov slips past Vision with a cardboard box in her arms. “Those sweatshirts are war trophies." She nods at Vision. "Let’s get everything to the trucks.”

Vision picks up the two suitcases resting on the floor and follows the women downstairs, feeling, for the first time, truly welcome.

Chapter Text

Wanda doesn't know how to feel about their new home.

The Avengers Compound is larger than anywhere Wanda has lived before, larger than Stark Tower and full of amenities the likes of which she’s never seen. The entire fourth floor houses bedrooms, each with their own connected bathroom and an electronic sliding door that, when locked, will open only for its designated occupant, though Steve has an override. When told to pick a room for herself, Wanda falters. She never had that kind of choice before.

Vision is even more confused at the prospect.

“I don’t require that,” he tells Steve. “I can manage without a room of my own.”

Steve claps him on the shoulder. “Yeah, but you don’t need to. Pick a place, anywhere you like. It’ll be yours.”

Vision stares. The expression on his face, so utterly confounded, opens pity inside Wanda, and she decides to take charge.

“You can sleep… here.” Wanda stops in front of a smaller room with large windows that face out across the lawn. “You like to look outside, right? The view is very open, and there is not too much space inside. It would be comfortable for you.”

“Th-this would be satisfactory,” Vision stammers. Then he draws himself up and strides a few doors down. Waving a hand into one of the rooms, he says, “This room is protected and secure, facing the trees. It has plenty of space for you to fill with whatever you’d like, just as Agent Romanov does. Perhaps you would like it here, Miss Maximoff?”

Wanda blinks at him, and strange warmth floods her cheeks. “I…would not have thought of it, but you're right. This is perfect.”

Vision dips his head, and Steve looks between them with a widening grin.

“Great,” he says. “I’ll get Tony up here to program the doors.”

Vision steps forward. “There's no need,” he says. “I can do it myself.”

As he turns to the room Wanda chose for him and fiddles with the touchpad, Natasha slips out of her own bedroom.

“Wanda,” she says. “Wanna help me unpack?”

Wanda sighs, but helping Natasha again is better than being left on her own. Vision’s choice of a room may be the best she could ask for, but it’s still not something she’s ready to face, knowing how empty it will be. She has nothing, right now, to fill it. There is only the blank space where her brother belongs.

Then Vision stands beside her. “Should I code your room before you go?”

She jumps at his sudden appearance, but nods. He turns to her room’s touchpad. Watching from behind as he works, Wanda wonders how he can understand the process so quickly. As always when she is near another person, she can hear the course of his thoughts, a steady hum focused entirely on the actions of the moment. She doesn’t try to delve into their contents, though. All on her own she realizes—this must be knowledge that his predecessing programs contained: all the intricacies of Stark’s technology. Of course.

Vision reaches out and grasps her wrist in one gentle red hand. Pulled quite abruptly from her thoughts, she stares. He doesn’t seem to notice. Reeling her in, he says, “Place your hand here.”

He presses her hand flat against the touchpad, his fingers sliding over her skin in what could almost be a caress. His body burns hot behind her, closer than she expected, and her breath catches. Then the screen around her hand lights up and lets out a chime.

“There.” Vision pulls back. “Now this room will recognize your handprint. I believe there is another touchpad, a mobile one, inside. It can control the lights and heat and lock or unlock the door.”

“Thank you,” she says shakily. She turns to face him, and the words spill out: “You are hot.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow.

“I mean—” Now she’s blushing. “—temperature. Your skin is hot.”

“Yes.” Vision lifts his hands and looks at them. “I can alter my internal temperature at will. I prefer warmth, I’ve found, though my body can function anywhere from 50 to 120 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“That is… incredible.” Wanda blinks. She doesn’t have full grasp of the Fahrenheit scale, but she knows the human range for a good internal temperature is significantly smaller.

Sometimes, on the streets in Sokovia, she would have given anything to make herself warmer.

Vision smiles at her, flashing white teeth. “I thought so.”

“Unpacking?” Natasha says.

“Oh.” Wanda turns to her. “Yes, I'll help.”

Lips pressed into a thin smile, Natasha nods. Wanda follows her into the room. She’s surprised to find that most of Natasha’s things are already out of the suitcases and scattered across the floor. Natasha uses her mobile touchpad to close the door, and they sit cross-legged on the floor to pull clothes onto hangers.

“Take whatever you want,” Natasha says.

Wanda pauses. “What?”

“Whatever you want,” Natasha repeats. “You’ve been wearing my clothes anyway, so take some. I can buy more.”

“I don’t—”

“After you’ve picked some out,” Natasha says, “we can start shopping.” She picks up the touchpad and grins, waving it in front of them. “We’ve got a flexible budget. We can buy new clothes, and supplies for you—shampoo and stuff. You can’t keep using mine forever.”

“But you want me to take some of your clothes,” Wanda states.

Natasha’s grin deepens. “It gives me an excuse to buy more!” she says. “Plus, it’ll take a couple days for everything to get here. You need clothes.”

Wanda sighs and returns to sorting the clothing. “All right.”

By the time all of Natasha’s current possessions are put away, Wanda has a respectable pile of clothes to take back to her own room—many of them items that Natasha tried to throw at her during the first week anyway.

“I knew I had your style down,” Natasha says. Then she wiggles the touchpad in Wanda’s face. “Ready?”

Wanda can’t believe the sheer amount of money they end up spending—but Natasha doesn’t even seem fazed. She keeps encouraging Wanda: “Get more. Get that one. I think you’d like that. Wouldn’t that look nice on your wall?” Despite herself, Wanda gets pulled into the excitement. Necklaces and rings, skirts and sweaters, scented candles. Books, too. Natasha insists on buying Wanda a makeup palette, though Wanda only has experience with lipstick, eyeliner, and mascara.

“I’ll teach you,” Natasha says. “It’ll be fun!”

“If you say so.”

By the time they finish, Thor has left Earth behind. Stark has returned to his Tower. Clint stands outside Natasha’s door with his hands in his pockets, waiting.

“Clint,” Natasha says, and she pulls him into a hug that speaks of finality.

“I gotta go,” Clint says. Wanda knows he’s speaking to both of them. “It’s past time. Laura—my wife—she’ll be having the baby any day now. I have to go back to her. I have to go back to them. My kids are waiting.”

“I know,” Natasha says, and she steps back. “I’ll see you soon.”

Now Wanda faces Clint alone.

“Are you gonna be okay?” he asks.

The words are like a prayer, with waves of desperation and hope coming off of him and breaking her heart in the process, because Wanda hasn’t felt a shadow of love like this since Pietro. Clint cares so much, despite barely knowing her. But his family, his real family, needs him. The brokenhearted girl can’t take precedence anymore.

“Will I see you again?” she asks.

He smiles, relief all over his weathered face. “Of course,” he says. “Just like Nat, I’ll have you over at the farm, and I'll be back later. Promise.”

He watches her put on the smile she knows he needs to see, and after a moment, his expression turns somber. “Listen,” he says, “the others will look out for you. Steve’s a great guy, and Nat likes you a lot. You’re gonna be fine. Just promise me you’ll let them help you. We’re a team, after all.”

Wanda drops the fake smile and nods. “I will,” she says, and means it.

Clint offers her another smile, and then he, too, is gone.

Returning to her blank, barren room comes as a shock to Wanda. She’s able to quickly furnish it with her imagination, placing all of the items she has bought where she wants them and inviting Natasha and Steve in, and she can believe that she is not so alone after all.

But without Pietro, without my brother—!

As so many times before, her heart cracks open, and she crumples onto the bed with its thin white sheets, hugging herself. She knows now that this must happen, but her soul rebels against the thought of moving into a life that does not include him. It feels like betrayal. She cannot question anymore that she must live—life is a gift. Vision, in his own strange way, proves that, and if she were to die, even in spirit, Clint would be devastated. But—but—

She doesn’t even have a reminder of him. Yes, there’s the necklace that Pietro bought for her, her only remaining possession, but it’s a cold, inanimate item. It doesn’t carry his memory. It isn’t enough. She needs something else that can bear the burden of Pietro.

Wanda already suffered from nightmares, but now, living in a place where Pietro has never been, they drag her into the worst of her horrors and then spit her back out, exhausted and trembling. She never gets more than an hour’s rest before she bursts back into wakefulness. She reaches out for a hand that is not there, and she cries at the realization, over and over.

Pietro falling from the sky as Vision carries her away, begging and screaming—twelve bullet wounds in his body—golden light snaking through her veins in an agony of feeling and sound—amidst a carpet of bodies, the scarlet bursts from her as though it will tear her body apart, and this is when Pietro finds her, but he doesn’t, not this time—

Seeking relief, she opens herself up, but it provides no solace—

Mouthless faces, twirling children—needles full of potion, screaming, “Who the hell is Bucky?”—falling from the sky, on fire, not this, not him, no—fingernails tearing, grasping at metal edges, trying to find purchase—please stop please—

She snaps back and barricades herself within walls like metal—

Ultron’s heart in her hand, crushing metal between her fingers, and she is horrified that she is this, that this is her—how did she get here—they used to believe in something real—but the metal is flesh and blood drips from her hands in streams of scarlet, and it is Vision’s heart she’s breaking while her brother lies dead—

She chokes on her own breath and wakes up with hot tears streaming down her cheeks. She doesn’t try to stop them this time. She cries as much for her inability to find peace as for the things that she’s lost, and as she cries, she crawls from her bed to the floor, into the corner, where she cowers with her arms around her knees. She will stay here for the rest of the night, in a cage of walls, surrounded by demons, and she will not risk sleeping.

Chapter Text

For the first two weeks after the Avengers move to the compound, they all have uneasy dreams. Even Vision, after his biweekly sleep session, finds himself less coherent than he should be, though he cannot name dreams of his that were as miserable as the ones the others suffer.

Though they try to remain cordial, the nightmares take their toll. Even Captain Rogers becomes snappish, griping at Sam about his cooking until Sam throws down the pot holder he’s holding and stomps away. Thursday evening game nights, which were common the first week, come to a halt. Vision tries to compensate, treating everyone with an extra measure of politeness and keeping his feet firmly on the ground at all times, but it doesn’t help. He begins brewing coffee for the others in the mornings, an easier process than expected. It garners him a few ‘thank you’s, but fails to create peace. Tension seems to thicken the very air.

Vision worries most about Wanda—Miss Maximoff. Though the sharp angles of her face are softening now that she has steady access to meals, the circles under her eyes only become more pronounced. He takes to scanning her every morning, only to find her body growing more fatigued as the time passes. He cannot understand it.

Their first day at the compound, Captain Rogers informed Vision that they each had a comfortable amount of money with which to furnish their new rooms. Vision ignored this information at first, but Sam insisted upon showing Vision the options. Vision ordered only a single painting, a Van Gogh, to place on the wall. Sam found Vision’s reserve terribly annoying, and told him so, but Vision requires nothing else—no toiletries, no clothing, no entertainment, no comforts. To be technical, he does not even need the bed that came with the room.

He enjoys the painting. Van Gogh was so quintessentially human.

Still, Vision keeps coming back to the online catalogues. He doesn’t understand why, at first, until he finds himself perusing sections of women’s clothing and realizes the ridiculousness of this. He’s trying to imagine what Miss Maximoff would like—but she already has what she ordered, and he has no business choosing more for her.

With a sigh, he puts the touchpad down on the bed and then sinks through, moving to an upright position as he reaches the next floor. This is the common area, where the kitchen and living room and other such amenities are. Vision means to see if there are any errands anyone needs running, but he’s sidetracked by the sound of crying.

Wanda.

She’s huddled behind one of the couches, her face hidden in her knees, which are wrapped in her arms. Her hair is a waterfall around her. Her phone lies discarded beside her.

Vision kneels.

“Miss Maximoff.”

It takes her a few seconds to look up, and when she does, exhaustion is written across her every feature. Tears continue to track down her cheeks, clinging to her eyelashes as she blinks them out into the open.

“You need rest,” Vision says.

Wanda—Miss Maximoff—lets out a strangled sound and drops her head back onto her knees. Vision remembers, then, Sam’s advice for crying.

As directed, he places a hand between her shoulder blades. For a moment, he’s distracted by the feel of her body through her shirt—muscle and bone and skin, built so wonderfully and with great purpose. He can feel the movement of her breath, the expansion of her ribs. A work of wonder indeed.

Then she shudders, just slightly, and he remembers himself.

“There, there,” he says.

She starts shaking even more, her breath coming in erratic spurts, and then she lifts her head and he sees that she’s laughing. Even as she does, the tears keep coming, which Vision finds confusing, and more than a little alarming.

“Miss Maxi—"

“Oh my God, Vision,” she says. “What—”

As their gazes lock, her mind touches his, poking at his thoughts. He lets her see them with no attempt at concealment, hopeful that they might gain some clarity together. Wanda shakes her head, still laughing, still crying, and he feels for a moment like the blue-green of her eyes might consume him.

“You know that was advice, not a list of commandments,” she says. “Sam did not mean—you do not have to take it so literally.”

“I don’t understand.”

She shakes her head again and lets it drop to her knees. “Of course not.”

Vision stares at her—hurt, uncertain—as her body relaxes again into the slower, deeper sobs of crying. His fingers curl, slightly, into the fabric of her shirt.

“I don’t know what to do.” Miss Maximoff's words come out thick and muffled. “Everything is… it is all a mess.”

“Everyone does seem tense,” Vision agrees.

Wanda pauses, as if startled, then throws her head back so that her hair falls across his fingers. She groans. “Oh, Vision.” She pulls away from him and rises to her feet, picking up her phone. “Just—just don’t.” She walks away.

Vision is left kneeling on the floor in abject confusion.

The next morning, Agent Barton gives them a phone call.

“Oh my God, everyone, everyone come see,” Agent Romanov calls, racing down the hallways. “Come here!"

Vision joins the others in the living room—Agent Romanov, Captain Rogers, Colonel Rhodes, Sam, all in varying states of wakefulness. Miss Maximoff yawns, her hand clamped over her face, as she trudges in. She’s still in her sleeping clothes—shorts and a loose tank top, hair in a messy bun.

“What is it?” she grumbles. Vision avoids looking at her.

“Hey guys,” Agent Barton says from the touchpad Agent Romanov holds. She lifts it up so that everyone clustered behind her can see him on the screen. He looks worn, circles under his eyes to match Miss Maximoff’s, and he’s sitting beside—a hospital bed?

“The baby.” Captain Rogers is suddenly alert. “Is everything okay?”

Agent Barton breaks into a smile. “Better than okay. Everyone, meet the new baby Barton.”

He turns so that the Avengers can see a woman lying in the bed—brown hair, sweet face, tired eyes—Agent Barton’s wife, Vision presumes. He knows very little of Agent Barton’s personal life, but tidbits have been thrown around since the man left the compound.

The woman offers them a brief smile. In her arms lies an infant with a pale face and a sprinkling of hair, wrapped in blue and sleeping soundly.

The others burst into various exclamations of joy and congratulations. Vision stares. He’s never seen a human infant before. It’s uglier than he expected, wrinkled and curled up tightly as though it had been caught in some kind of compactor—well, I suppose it has, Vision reflects. Still, something about the child compels him. Vision doesn’t know why he would possess any kind of parental instinct, but perhaps it comes from his duty towards humanity. This child is human, after all, and one of the most vulnerable in its young age.

Vision is suddenly grateful to have avoided that stage of life.

Agent Romanov rests a finger on the screen as though touching the baby’s head. “Hi, Nathaniel,” she coos. “You are the cutest little traitor I’ve ever seen.”

The other woman laughs. “Isn’t he, though?”

Everyone bursts into exclamations once more. Vision looks around, bemused, and his gaze catches on Miss Maximoff. She’s smiling, really smiling, for the first that Vision has ever seen—cheeks round, eyes squinted, teeth flashing. Her hands are pressed to her chest.

“Oh my God,” she whispers.

Agent Barton leans in so that he can be seen on the video. “Thought you guys might like to see him.”

He and his wife exchange looks, something brief and serious passing between them. The woman nods. Agent Barton turns back to the camera, and his eyes seem to find Wanda. He breathes in once, deeply, and then says, “His full name is Nathaniel Pietro Barton.”

Silence. Everyone looks at Wanda, whose eyes well up suddenly with tears.

“Oh my God,” she says, her voice high and strained. “Oh my God, Clint—"

Agent Romanov pulls Miss Maximoff forward, and then the girl is laughing and sobbing and shaking and her hands are over her mouth and Agent Romanov is embracing her as she cries. Agent Barton and his wife smile at Wanda from their hospital room. Vision glances around to see that the others are smiling too, though he can tell from the way Sam rolls his eyes up to the ceiling that he’s trying very hard not to tear up.

“Oh, thank you,” Wanda cries. “Oh, he is perfect. Oh—”

She rocks back and forth in Agent Romanov’s arms, an explosion of sound and feeling that Vision cannot comprehend, hard as he may try. His own confusion frustrates him.

My efforts are not enough. I am not enough.

“He saved Clint’s life.” The woman on the screen cradles the baby, rocking him in her arms.

Wanda quiets enough to clearly say, “Thank you,” this time to the woman. The woman nods.

“I’m Laura,” she says. “It’s so nice to meet you, Wanda.”

Wanda smiles widely, putting her hands to her cheeks as if to hold back her joy. “It is like a piece of him lives on now.”

Laura smiles back. “I hope that it does.”

Vision takes in a deep breath. Perhaps he does understand.

Wanda makes another noise between a sob and a laugh. Her hands shift to cover her eyes, and she leans into Agent Romanov. Agent Barton and his wife exchange looks.

“We’ll let you guys go,” Agent Barton says. “Thanks for picking up, Nat.”

“Obviously,” Agent Romanov scoffs, her hand going to Wanda’s hair. “See you later, Clint, Laura. Nathaniel. Don’t be strangers!”

The video clicks off, and the others start talking again, reaching out to embrace each other with soulful man hugs, as Wanda buries her face in Agent Romanov’s shoulder. Sam slips through to the kitchen to start making the coffee, a wide grin on his face.

“Fantastic, man,” he says.

Tentatively, Vision steps towards the two women. Agent Romanov’s eyes meet his, but she doesn’t give any sign of warning, so he rests his hand on Wanda’s back, conscious of the brush of her hair against his fingers.

“He’s beautiful,” Vision says, and though it’s not true in any objective sense, he means it.

Wanda turns and throws her arms around Vision’s neck.

He stiffens, startled, but Wanda simply rests her face against his shoulder as she had with Agent Romanov, her chest brushing against his torso as she breathes, and he realizes that this, what she's offering him, is gratitude and affection. With warm pressure flooding his body, he rests first his fingers against her back, then flattens his palms. He holds her, and she him, for a long, wonderful moment, and then she pulls back, tear-stained and smiling.

“Thank you,” she says.

Vision smiles down at Wanda as she turns back to Agent Romanov. They two go to join the men for breakfast, and he stands alone and watches them all.

Later, he makes a selection from the online catalog: a bed, larger, thicker, and softer than the ones provided at the compound, with colorful sheets and a warm comforter. He selects “Buy” and sets the destination for Wanda’s room. Then, in an afterthought, he goes back to the catalog and orders a number of classic novels for himself.

Chapter Text

Something clicks after Nathaniel Pietro Barton is born.

Before, Wanda struggled to keep herself contained in the midst of her dreaming. Now, she regains some semblance of control. Though her nightmares continue as horrifically as ever, though she spends most the night restless, the others no longer feel the effects. Peace returns to the compound.

A couple of days later, a bed arrives for her room. Wanda didn't order it; she hadn’t even thought about any furniture other than what had been provided. She asks around, but as far as anyone can tell, it belongs to her.

As it turns out, she loves the new bed. It sinks under her weight and envelops her in comfort and warmth, and the space it has allows her to stretch out when she lies down. It doesn’t ease her nightmares, but her body doesn’t ache quite as much from the lack of sleep after using it. She orders other furniture—a bedside table, a chair, objects to fill the rest of the room now that it’s becoming more of hers. She worries, a little, that she might be spending too much, but no one complains.

“I’ve got something for you.” Sam stands outside her door with a couple of picture frames in his hand.

Curious, Wanda steps back to let him in. He heads straight for the bedside table.

“I did some digging through the Internet, found your files—found these.” He sets the pictures up on the table and then steps back to see her response.

She gasps, rushing over to take a closer look. Two pictures: one is a candid of Pietro and her, sometime within the past couple of years—his hair is still dark—sitting in some Sokovian alley and leaning towards each other with, not smiles, but certainly contentment across their faces. She has no idea who took this or when. The second image is older, a posed portrait of her entire family, her parents together—she’d almost forgotten their faces—and she and Pietro, little children, in front of them. The twins have their pinkies linked, though Pietro looks decidedly unhappy about it. Wanda chokes back a laugh.

“Oh, Sam… thank you!”

She reaches out to squeeze his hand, and he smiles down at her.

“You don’t have to keep ‘em there, of course, but I thought it’d help if you had them. I’ve got…” Sam hesitates, then nods to himself. “…a picture of my own, in a drawer.”

She resists the temptation to peek into his head, to wade through the whisper of his thoughts and find the answer. Instead, she asks aloud, “Who?” Then she smiles, proud of herself for respecting Sam’s privacy.

“Riley,” he says. “My wingman, and best friend. We flew together, when I was in the Air Force, and he died on one of our missions. It was rough,” he adds in response to her sharp intake of breath. “It’s still rough. I got PTSD pretty bad, but then I set up a group for struggling ex-soldiers. Cap’s been there a couple times.”

He sits down on the bed, and Wanda follows suit.

“I don't know if it'd be your scene, but maybe you could come too,” he tells her. “It’s a good place for people who’ve been through tough shit. This team—the Avengers—we kinda have the group thing down already. We’ve all seen stuff. We’ve all lost somebody. Well, except Vision, he’s just weird.” When Wanda laughs, tilting her head in thought, Sam continues, “The main thing is support. We all need support. So if you need anything from me, come ask. I’m down for that.”

Wanda nods, and Sam stands again. Gesturing at the pictures, he says, “I'm glad you like it.” Then he leaves.

She lies back on the bed and, for a long time, Wanda looks at her family with aching eyes.

Though the sight grants her comfort, their presence does not keep the nightmares away.

With the fading of her parents’ memory, her old nightmares of the bombing had been replaced by newer dreams of cruel foster homes and starvation, then of the pain of Strucker’s experiments and the terror of her new power, and now of the Battle of Sokovia and Pietro’s death—but with the reminder of their faces, the old dreams make a comeback.

Dust and plaster falling like rain around her—bullet holes in the photo marring the faces of everyone but the little Sokovian girl with the smile on her face—blood pouring from the place where her mother’s face should be, her father’s, her brother’s, and onto her bedside table—Stark Stark STARK—“još dvanaest minuta, mi to možemo da uradimo, pričekati, Wanda”—

Thrown into wakefulness. Her hands clenched in her sheets, the pictures on her bedside table facedown.

Scratching against thick metal walls, fire in her veins, golden light red light blue light—the pain is indescribable—tears run down her face as she sees her parents’ bodies lying across the room with her strapped to the table, her hand in Pietro’s, but when she looks over at him, she realizes he’s dead too—she is all alone now—a monster explodes into being with golden light bursting from its cracked metal mouth—“You needed something more than a man,” it says, “You will tear them apart from the inside”—

Awake, a gasp burning inside of her. Tears in the corners of her eyes.

The Avengers in a pile atop a stone altar, dead or dying, and she kneels at the top with Vision’s heart in her hand as she screams and screams at him—“You should have let me die, you should have let me go, why did you save me?”—and then a hot weight on top of her pushes her to the ground—Pietro, arms around her to shield her from the explosion, but no, no, no, he is dead, it’s his corpse that weighs her down—

Blinking to awareness, rolling over in the bed with the sheets tangled around her like chains.

A burgundy hand dragging her out from under her brother’s body—Vision soars into the air with her in his arms, and she beats her fists against his chest only to find them covered in blood from the gaping hole where his heart should be—below them, the planet explodes in a mass of fire and debris, but it’s not the Earth that’s exploding, it’s her home where her parents lie dead at the dinner table—

Wanda sits up, breathing heavily, and tries to smooth down her tangled hair. She pulls herself out of the sweat-soaked sheets and rises to her feet, padding over on shaking legs to check the time on her phone. 3 A.M., and she’s already done trying to sleep. With a sigh, she steps over the things on the floor—items she telekinetically threw in her sleep. Even if she can keep her mind from prying into the others’ now, she can’t seem to stop the scarlet energy from materializing.

Pulling her tank top away from her chest to air it out, she unlocks the door and exits the room. She doesn’t bother to open up her mind and sense the others. Right now, she doesn’t care.

Wanda ends up downstairs in the living room. For a long, silent moment, she sits on the couch, hands folded in her lap, and gazes across the room. Then the tears start down her face. Frustration, grief, rage, guilt—all of her misery runs down her cheeks in hot lines, burning the back of her eyes. She is tired of crying, but she can’t seem to make it stop. Every time, all the time—

She slides off the couch and rests her head in her arms on the low coffee table. Pressing her face against the cool glass, her legs folded beneath her, she tries to breathe deep and even, though the tears continue trickling out. Her head aches. Her whole body aches. If she could only sleep, then maybe she could think of a way to stop the nightmares, but she can’t. All her history keeps bearing down on her, crushing her.

Minutes pass. Wanda’s breath catches once, a quiet sob, and the sadness in that sound makes her want to cry even more.

Then she hears a clunk to her right. The table vibrates against her brow. She raises her head, startled, and sees a blue-striped mug resting next to her that most certainly was not there before. She reaches out to touch and finds it warm. Lavender. She can smell it now. Tea.

“What—"

The metal walls she builds each evening around her mind crack open, and she realizes someone’s standing to her left. She turns and lets out a bemused gust of air through her nose.

Vision. Yet again.

He grips the back of an armchair with one hand, his gaze lowered to the floor. He’s still fully dressed in the same costume as always—the skintight navy with that silly golden cape fluttering behind him. It makes Wanda all the more aware that she’s a mess of a girl wearing a tank top and shorts. Her hand closes around the mug beside her.

“Vision,” she says. One more tear escapes her eye as she blinks.

It takes him a moment to look up. When he does, he does so without raising his head. His expression is the closest thing to guilt Wanda’s ever seen on that burgundy face. He's wary. Afraid.

She remembers the last time he tried to comfort her, and suddenly, she’s the one feeling guilty.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hello,” he replies softly.

She lifts the mug of tea to her lips and tests it with her tongue. Hot, but not to the point that it’ll burn her. She takes a sip and sighs at the taste—pure comfort, sliding down her throat. It’s good.

To her left, Vision relaxes at last.

Wanda’s eyes sting—they must be nearly as red as Vision’s skin—and the salt from her tears itches as they dry on her cheeks. She puts the mug down and wipes at her face with one hand. “Bad dreams,” she says.

Vision takes a breath as though to say something, then reconsiders and closes his mouth. She gazes at him for a moment, listening to the faint, steady hum of his mind. She thinks she hears the tone of it jolt, once, as though Vision were startled by one of his own thoughts.

“I’m sorry." Wanda cradles the mug between her hands, and Vision meets her eyes again. “I should not have gotten angry with you before. You are trying. I cannot ask for more than that.”

“I wish I had more to give,” he murmurs.

Wanda sighs. He’s too kind, this burgundy-skinned and metal-lined man, too sincere, and so very perplexed by her. She thinks, for a moment, of Nathaniel Pietro. Vision is barely a month older than the baby, though his mental capacity is that of an adult. How confusing must this be for him?

“What is it like?” The question leaves her mouth before she can think about it. “Being so new?” She meets his gentle blue eyes.

“Oh.” Vision sighs and steps closer, around the couch. She straightens her shoulders and crosses her legs so she can better look up at him. “I imagine it’s a similar experience to your own.”

When she tilts her head in question, Vision continues, “Though you are only nineteen years old, through the minds of others you have seen a plethora of varied memory, lifetimes that are not your own. I, too, carry the memories of others. The difference is that with your gift and years of life, you experience those moments. I possess plain knowledge with no experience to back it up. What little sense of existence I have comes from the Mind Gem, or so I believe.”

“Interesting,” Wanda breathes. She lifts the mug to take another sip, and Vision’s face softens.

“Would you like anything else?” he asks.

She pauses, looking down at the mug in her hands, and once again, the words pour from her mouth. Perhaps the comfort of this tea, combined with her total exhaustion, has lowered her restraint. She isn’t sure.

“I become so angry with you sometimes,” she says. She sees Vision, out of the corner of her eye, stiffen. “For saving my life in Nova Grad.”

There's a loud stutter in the hum of his mind. “I— I don't— I...” Vision takes a deep breath but says nothing more, his stuttering trailing off.

Wanda looks up at him. There's horror and pain and confusion all across his features, his nostrils flaring as he blinks rapidly. She has never seen him so emotional.

“Why did you save me?” she asks.

Vision swallows, squaring his shoulders as he shifts his weight between his feet. "How could I not?" he says at last.

Their eyes meet, and Wanda's heart twinges. She thinks of her nightmares, all the times she’s torn Vision open as she did Ultron. She hates that she carries any resentment towards him. He is not a cold and unfeeling savior, insensitive to her feelings and her wishes. He's so much more than that.

“It was the right thing to do,” she assures him. Lowering the hand she’s instinctively reached towards him, she says, “I know that now. I am ready to live. Only—” Her voice breaks, and the back of her eyes burn again with those damn, damn tears. She turns her face away. “I miss my brother.”

One tear slips through. Damn.

Vision settles on the couch behind her, and with a split second’s decision, she crawls up to join him, leaving her tea on the table and curling up on the couch. Her bare arm rests against his, her cheek a centimeter from his shoulder, heat and fabric and muscle. He gazes down at her with wide eyes, his body tense.

Another tear escapes her. “I would not have survived Strucker’s experiments,” Wanda says. “I would have died like all the others, but Pietro held my hand the entire time, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t leave him behind. I was so close—but then something in me snapped, and I could feel and hear him, all of his pain—we shared.” She sits quietly for a moment, Vision relaxing bit by bit beside her as her tears bleed into his arm. “We were going to change the world.”

Being here with Vision, it’s almost like cuddling up to Pietro for the warmth and the comfort. But it’s not. It’s not the same.

“We were born together,” she chokes. “Lived, fought, suffered—we survived together. How is it that we did not die together, too?”

Strangled on a sob, she hits her forehead against Vision’s shoulder twice, three times. Then his fingers touch her temple, holding her back with careful pressure. She takes in a few breaths, enough to calm down, and looks up into his eyes. Tiny gears, shifting. This close up, she can see them within his blue irises, moving in steady patterns.

“Matter and energy can neither be created nor destroyed,” Vision murmurs. His fingers weave back into her hair, parting it in gentle lines. It stuns her how that touch warms her spirit and burns her lips. She wants so badly to lean into it. “Your brother is not gone, W—Miss Maximoff. He still exists, though not in the form to which you are accustomed.”

She can’t help but smile. Her heart feels broken open again, but for once, it’s a good kind of pain.

“I am sorry that you cannot speak with him or—hold his hand.” Vision pulls his own hand away, as though in realization, and straightens. Wanda hadn’t realized that they were leaning into each other. She sits up straighter as well. Even though it’s a warm June night, the absence of Vision’s touch chills her. “I know you miss him.”

“You are right.” She closes her eyes and puts her own hands to her temples. “Of course. I just have to learn how to cope with what’s here.”

“I believe you will,” Vision says.

She meets his gaze and is trapped by it. They stare at each other for a long moment, and heat blooms inside of her. She looks away and, for the sake of having something to do, picks up her mug for another sip of tea.

She’s emotional right now, that’s all. Vulnerable. The lavender, both scent and taste, recenters her. She remembers Sam’s advice to Vision.

“Who told you about tea?” she asks with a laugh.

Vision takes in a deep breath and steadies his hands on his thighs. “Mr. Stark,” he says with a faint smile. “Though Sam recommended lavender.”

Surprise touches Wanda’s face. Tony Stark, “I am Iron Man,” her once-mortal enemy, being so thoughtful as to recommend tea for her comfort.

“How funny,” she murmurs. She takes another sip of the tea and blinks at the heaviness that settles on her eyelids.

“Are you tired?” Vision rises to his feet.

Wanda lets out a strangled laugh. “I am always tired.”

“That was the wrong word,” Vision says. “Perhaps ‘sleepy’ would be more accurate.”

“Oh.” She stops to think. “Yes, I think I am.”

Vision smiles fully. “Then the tea worked. You should rest.”

“Yes. Thank you.” She gets to her feet and slips past Vision towards the stairs, her arms crossed. Before she leaves the room, she pauses and turns to look back at him. He’s gazing at the floor again, a slight frown on his face, but he glances up when she turns.

“Call me Wanda,” she says. "Please."

Chapter Text

By the time Captain Rogers joins him for coffee, Vision is still half-stunned.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Captain Rogers says with a nod as Vision pours him a mug.

“Of course.”

Vision hands the mug to Captain Rogers and stands back, hands clenched on the counter, as the Captain takes his seat. Sam enters a moment later, a towel draped over his shoulder. Vision pours him a cup as well, working hard to hold the pot steady. He can’t seem to blink the image of Miss Maximoff’s face away—so close to his in the half-light. Wide blue eyes. Curving lips.

“Call me Wanda. Please.”

Sam nods. “Steve.”

“Sam. We’re expecting a visitor today.” Captain Rogers lifts his coffee in acknowledgment.

“Who’s that?” Sam takes the seat next to him as Colonel Rhodes walks in.

“It’s a surprise.”

Sam scoffs. “Come on, man.”

“What’s a surprise?” Colonel Rhodes asks.

In desperate need of something to focus on, Vision does what he never has before and interrupts. “Sam, what do you intend to make for breakfast?”

Sam turns, arm over the seat back, and stares at him. “It’s not like you eat.”

“I thought I might help you prepare it.”

Agent Romanov and Wanda—Miss Maximoff—enter the room together. Wanda—Miss Maximoff—smiles at Vision.

The rapid thundering of his heart evokes actual pain. Vision's eyes widen. His hands shake so much he nearly drops the coffee pot.

He turns his back on the women, pouring more coffee, and censures himself.

This is foolish.

Taking in a deep breath, he runs a scan over his own body. Elevated heart rate, breathing, and body heat. Embarrassed with himself, Vision closes his eyes and readjusts.

Much better.

He turns back around, handing Agent Romanov her coffee as she raises an eyebrow at him, and is able to look again at Miss Maximoff with more objective eyes. Though her own eyes are still red, she appears to be better rested than before, maybe even at peace. Their conversation clearly gave her some comfort.

Or perhaps that was just the tea.

“Cap says we’re having a ‘surprise visitor,’” Sam announces, looking at Agent Romanov. Just as the woman’s face breaks into an smile—she already knows—the private quarters’ door buzzer goes off.

“Clint.” Agent Romanov dashes over to key the door open.

“She ruined the surprise,” Captain Rogers says, with little surprise in his own voice.

Miss Maximoff rushes after Agent Romanov. The four men follow more slowly as the women’s joyful cries echo through the building. Vision feels a twinge—jealousy?—Wanda is so happy to see Agent Barton. He wishes that he might inspire that kind of fervor.

Then Agent Barton appears, grinning, messy-haired, and red-faced. Wanda—Miss Maximoff—hangs on one arm, beaming up at the man. Agent Romanov guards Agent Barton’s other side.

“Clint.” Captain Rogers steps forward to embrace Agent Barton, forcing the two women to step aside. The men pat each other on the back a couple of times and then step back, both smiling. Sam gives a jaunty, two-fingered salute from the forehead. Colonel Rhodes offers a single nod.

“Hey, guys,” Agent Barton says. His gaze catches on Vision, and he jerks his head up in another sort of nod. “Vision.”

Vision dips his own head in response. “Agent Barton.”

“Heh.” Agent Barton’s smile twists a little before he turns back to Captain Rogers. “Great to see you, Cap. Great to see all of you.”

“How are your family? Laura? Nathaniel?”

Agent Barton breaks into another smile. “They’re doing great, thanks for asking. Cooper and Lila are causing trouble left and right, but that’s why this is such a good idea. The kids could use a distraction, and Laura needs a break.”

“Wait, what’s a good idea?” Sam asks, looking between Captain Rogers and Agent Barton.

“Laura and I are inviting everyone to come stay on the farm for a little while,” Agent Barton announces. As the others respond with surprise, he shrugs his shoulders. “It worked last time. Somehow. The kids won’t stop asking when they’re gonna see the Avengers again. Plus, it’d probably help with team bonding, or something.” His eyes flicker towards Miss Maximoff, and Vision understands. While all of what Agent Barton has said may be true, this invitation is primarily for Wanda’s sake.

“Has Tony said anything?” Captain Rogers asks.

Agent Barton nods. “Stark’s coming over tonight for dinner, but otherwise he’s be staying at the Tower.”

“I am in,” Sam announces. “Dinner’s the only word I need to hear.”

“I’ll have to decline,” Colonel Rhodes says. “I’ve got too much work to do—but I’ll come to dinner if Tony is. He needs someone to keep him in line.”

Agent Barton snorts. “Right. Nat and Cap are already in—Wanda? Vision?”

“Of course,” Miss Maximoff says immediately. “I am so excited to see—I’m so glad—thank you so much for inviting me.”

“Laura can’t wait to see you in person.” Agent Barton pats her on the back, and they smile at each other.

“I will come too,” Vision decides, looking at Wanda and imagining the positive ways that this might affect her. “It does sound like a good idea.”

Agent Barton nods while Miss Maximoff turns to smile at Vision, and Vision's entire body warms. She looks as pleased now as she was to hear of Agent Barton’s arrival.

Surely it wasn’t just the tea that helped her last night.

“Great.” Captain Rogers claps his hands together. “That’s—” He scans the group. “Six of us heading over now. Clint, can your car hold everyone?”

Agent Barton shrugs at him. “I brought the station wagon, so that’s the right number. It’ll be a tight squeeze, though, if you include whatever you’re packing for the week.”

“I would prefer to fly,” Vision interjects. The thought of being in a confined space, unable to move as he wishes, shudders uncomfortably through his body. He isn't just a bank of cameras on the wall anymore, a stationary computer program. He swallows back the anxiety as they all look at him and says, “It’s a reasonable solution. I can manage as long as I have directions, and you will have all the room you require.”

“You sure?” Captain Rogers asks.

“You’ll be missin’ out on some bonding time,” Sam warns him. “Close quarters, real friendly.”

Vision inclines his head. “I’m sure.”

“All right,” Captain Rogers says, and Vision lets out a sigh. “Clint, could you—"

Clint nods and turns to give Vision the instructions. It takes some discussion—the Barton farm doesn’t show up in any SHIELD files or public maps—but by the time the others have packed their things, Vision knows where he’s going.

He waves goodbye as the station wagon pulls out and feels another twinge at the sight of Miss Maximoff and Sam sitting next to each other in the back seat. Shaking it off with some frustration, he rises into the air and follows his own course to the farm.

He arrives a few minutes before the others do. Unwilling to intrude, he waits outside until they arrive. As the Avengers’ laughter fills the air, the group tumbling from the car with their belongings in hand, Agent Barton leads them to the front door. It swings open as Laura Barton steps out.

She’s thinner than Vision expected, and looks almost as tired as Miss Maximoff, but she offers a genuine smile.

“Hello,” she says.

A chorus of salutations fills the air as Agent Barton steps forward to kiss his wife. The intimate gesture is brief, more of a greeting than anything, but it still gives Vision pause. He has never seen anyone kiss before—not as himself, anyway. His face heats as he suddenly recalls the many scenes that JARVIS witnessed while watching over Mr. Stark. Vision’s predecessor had an extensive knowledge of human sexuality. Still, the fact that Vision himself now has a body makes it different. He knows emotion, to a limited extent, and he knows touch. JARVIS possessed no capability to understand the intensity and significance of intimacy.

They have children, Vision thinks. He pauses, uncertain why that occurred to him in this moment—but then he understands. That, the existence of children, is a whole new depth of intimacy. Though intercourse would have occurred to create these children, their lives add another layer even to that experience.

Vision blinks; Laura Barton has turned to look at the rest of them, and her eyes meet his. She tilts her head slightly, reminding Vision quite forcibly of Miss Maximoff, and then offers a slight smile.

“This must all be so strange to you,” she says.

Everyone looks at Vision; he feels Miss Maximoff’s gaze like a brand on his skin. “Yes,” he admits. “It is.”

Laura Barton’s smile seems to become more genuine. “You all can come in.”

She steps away from the door, and Agent Barton holds it open for the others to pass through—but thinking of him as “Agent Barton” suddenly seems wrong. After Vision’s recognition of the incredible bond between the man and his wife, he cannot think of Clint Barton only as an “agent.” In this setting, Clint Barton isn’t an agent or a SHIELD operative. He’s a father and husband, a human being in possession of a unique, profound experience.

Vision understands, suddenly, why the Avengers call each other by their first names. They see this, the humanity in each other, and it changes the way they understand each other. It turns titles and identities into something personal.

He nods to—Agent Barton, Mr. Barton, no, it can only be Clint—and sweeps through the door after Sam. The Bartons follow, and Laura settles down on the couch with a heavy sigh. A quick scan and Vision determines that she is still recovering from the strain of giving birth. She ought not stay on her feet too long.

“Wanda.” Laura holds her hand out, and Miss Maximoff—no, her name is Wanda, she asked you to call her Wanda—tentatively takes it, kneeling in front of the other woman. Laura gazes at her for a moment and then smiles. “I’m so glad Clint invited you over," she says. “He cares about you a lot.”

Wanda’s throat moves as she swallows, twice, and then nods. “Thank you,” she whispers.

A moment later, two children burst into the room, followed by Clint. The small girl—Lila—runs straight to Agent Romanov—no, she, too, must be 'Natasha' in this setting—who picks her up and rests her on her hip. Lila gives Natasha a gap-toothed grin. The boy, Cooper, frowns at the rest of the group.

“Where’s Thor?” he asks.

“He had important things to go do on that home planet of his,” Clint says.

“On Asgard,” Cooper corrects him.

“Yeah, that.”

Cooper frowns for a moment longer, then brightens. “He's my favorite. But you're pretty cool, too," he tells Captain Rogers. He looks around at Sam, Wanda, then Vision. “I don’t know any of you. You weren’t here last time. Who are you?" This last question seems to be directed specifically at Vision, who finds himself struggling to respond. He's never spoken to a child before.

"I— I don't—"

“Are you an alien, too?" Cooper moves closer. "Is that why you look like..." He waves his hand towards Vision's face.

“Cooper,” Laura chides. Vision thinks he sees Wanda hide a smile.

“No,” Vision says, grasping onto this more solid query. “I am from this world. Except for this,” he adds, with a thoughtful gesture towards his forehead. “The Mind Gem used to exist on Asgard. I’m not sure where it was created, but it is… alien."

“Ohhh.” Cooper stares at him for another long moment. Then he bursts out with an overwhelming string of questions. “So what are you? Are you like a secret race of people? Do you live underground? Or in the Amazon? Or underwater? How did you get that jewel if it’s from Asgard? Does everyone like you have outer space jewels? Are you like the Gems in Steven Universe?”

“Cooper,” Laura repeats more strongly.

Cooper glares at his mother. “What? He’s cool!”

A positive statement. Realizing that Cooper, in his youth, is as fascinated by the world as Vision often finds himself to be, Vision says, “If I may, I will try to answer.”

Everyone looks at him.

“There are no others like me,” he states. “I was created, not born. My body was designed as a shell for a... computerized entity, to grant it a more organic, superpowered form. The... individuals who created this body chose the color red to set it apart,” Vision says. Doctor Cho likely chose the color in order to warn others of Ultron's danger, and Vision recalls, from Ultron’s memory, the thought of being unique, powerful, impossible to ignore. “In the end, my mind was created from two AI programs that combined with the Mind Gem to invoke—me. I can’t quite remember—but I believe Thor brought my body to life using lightning, and… in that moment, I was.”

Wanda’s mind brushes against him, as though gauging his memory, and he makes eye contact. She blinks slowly. Laura, next to her, is a surprising near-mirror image. He can imagine them as sisters.

“So Thor made you.” Vision turns to see Cooper’s eyes widening. Behind him, Sam is talking softly to Lila, who is still perched on Natasha’s hip.

“He was involved in the process.”

“You’re like a superpowerful alien android!" Cooper exclaims. "What are your powers? What’s your superhero name?”

“I… am known only as Vision.” Vision blinks down at the boy, who seems only to be increasing in curiosity. “The extent of my powers are not yet known, although I can release energy bolts from the Mind Gem and shift my density to move through walls and fly. My body also possesses greater strength and durability than the human body.”

“So why is your name Vision? Do you have super vision too?”

Vision hesitates. “My senses are… unusually attuned. However, Thor is the one who gave me my name. He had a vision of me, I believe, which encouraged him to bring me to life despite the… dangers. I am his vision, a necessary part of the future he saw.”

Wanda makes a soft noise behind him, but Vision stays focused on Cooper, waiting for the inevitable barrage of new questions. Cooper simply nods and grins.

“Yeah, you're cool.”

An infant’s wail comes from above—Nathaniel. Clint steps forward as Laura, with a groan, pushes herself to her feet and heads to the stairs.

“All right, time to wrap it up,” Clint tells the group. “Plenty of time to talk later this week. We need to divide rooms up. Last time it was cramped, and there were only four extra staying over. We’ve got five now.”

“I do not require a bedroom,” Vision states. “I rarely sleep.”

“You stay up all night?” Cooper asks.

“Don't get any ideas, kid.” Clint rolls his eyes. “No, that’s good. You do your business. Four rooms. Natasha likes to sleep near the kids—that still means someone has to double up.”

“Me and Steve.” Sam straightens up and crosses his arms. “Give the lady her own room.” He shoots a wink over to Wanda, and she shakes her head.

“Who are you?” Cooper asks Sam.

Sam bends forward to be at eye level with the child, putting his hands on his knees. “I’m the Falcon,” he says in an intense voice. “I have metal wings so I can fly.”

“Like inside your body?”

Sam straightens up, and his eyes dart around at the others. “Uh, no, more like Iron Man.”

Captain Rogers stifles a laugh.

“Oh.” Cooper nods, disappointed.

“Right,” Clint interjects, as a distinctly offended expression crosses Sam’s face. “So that’s settled. I’ll show you to the rooms. You can put your stuff down and get ready for dinner. Iron Man and his Iron friend are coming over for that,” he adds for Cooper.

“Cool,” Cooper says.

“Freakin’ Iron Man,” Vision hears Sam mutter as he, Wanda, and the Captain head upstairs after Clint. Uncertainly, Vision settles down on the coach. Cooper jumps up next to him and sits staring.

Which, as it turns out, is how most of the evening goes. It’s a pleasant and friendly dinner, the most welcoming they have ever had, but because Vision does not eat, he feels isolated. The fact that the three children, infant included, won’t stop staring at him doesn’t help. They turn away only when Wanda demonstrates her powers, red energy flowing through her fingers and lighting the sunset-hazy field around them.

Cooper reaches towards her hand, and she pulls back, the energy dissipating.

“Careful,” she says.

Cooper squints at her. "You have a weird accent."

"Why do you talk funny?" Lila asks in a softer voice from beside Natasha.

Laura heaves a sigh. Clint shakes his head.

“I’m not from America,” Wanda tells the two children. “I am from a country called Sokovia, near Russia. English is my second language. Growing up, I spoke Sokovian.”

“What does that sound like?” Cooper asks.

“Ti si luckast dečak koji postavlja mnoga pitanja,” Wanda says. Vision has been running research in the back of his mind for a couple of weeks now about the Sokovian language, and he knows enough to recognize the phrase “You are a silly boy” and the word “questions.”

“Ohhhhh.” The children say in near unison.

Wanda reaches a finger out to Nathaniel, who grasps it quite suddenly in his own hand, and she lets out a delighted laugh. Vision cannot help but smile as his chest warms. This family, these children, they make her so happy.

Then he realizes Mr. Stark is standing behind him, a Coca-Cola in his hand—Laura refused to give him a beer. Mr. Stark jerks his head to the side.

“Wanna talk to you,” he says.

Vision nods and follows him back into the house. The entire group has been in and out all evening, so their movement doesn’t catch anyone’s attention. Mr. Stark gestures for Vision to sit with him at the dining room table.

“You really have a thing for the Little Witch, don’t you?” he says without any preamble.

Vision frowns.

“You’re interested in Wanda,” Mr. Stark clarifies. “You look after her, you’re always asking about her—you went to me and Birdman for advice on how to help her.” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “So what’s up? Do you see some kind of threat there?”

“No," Vision says, more strongly than he intended to. “Of course not. She—she’s no more a threat than any of the other Avengers.”

“So she's a major threat. But that’s not why you’re interested.” Mr. Stark puts the soda can on the table, sits back, and crosses his arms. “What, then?”

Vision has to take a moment to think. What indeed? He has been drawn to Wanda, fascinated by her, from the moment he was born. Something about her compels him in a way deeper than his own logic. Though he recognizes the value of each member of the team, she is special.

“There are… many reasons, I believe.” Vision folds his hands on the tabletop. “Stemming from my origin, perhaps. Her powers came to her through the Mind Gem, which is now a part of me. We have a shared commonality there, in the nature of our powers and our relationship to this…” He waves a hand towards his forehead, unable to find the right word.

"Magic space rock, yeah.”

Vision looks at Mr. Stark for a moment before continuing. “There is something about the Mind Gem that runs deep and strange, an untethered and ethereal power. I see that in her, too.”

“Okay. What else?”

Vision takes in a breath and releases it. “Her mind… was the first thing this body felt.”

Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow.

“Before you took custody of the Cradle,” Vision says, “Wanda—Miss Maximoff—and her brother were with Ultron, and they were there as Ultron began uploading his consciousness to this body. Miss Maximoff heard his thoughts, within this more organic mind, and she went to the Cradle and reached out. I see most of this through Ultron’s memory—” He swallows. “—but I can remember how it felt when her mind touched this body’s energy center. It was… new, and visceral, full of feeling and curiosity. Even though this body was not yet alive, something within it reached back towards her, and she saw the truth of Ultron. I remember her fear—” Vision stops and shakes his head. “It was overwhelming. Nonetheless, I think I would have been more confused upon waking for the first time had that not been in my memory. It was formative.”

“Interesting.” Mr. Stark nods. “Anything else...?”

“Yes,” Vision says. “I know of one other factor—”

“Yeah?”

Vision looks back into Mr. Stark’s eyes in silence.

“What?”

“Ultron,” Vision says, and Mr. Stark frowns. “Though it is—not a part of me that I prefer to think of, I do possess the last remnants of him within my consciousness. And he was fascinated by Miss Maximoff—almost obsessively so.”

Stark, too, swallows, and avoids eye contact.

“In Miss Maximoff, Ultron saw the raw power necessary to exact his mission. He could envision molding her into the perfect tool and standing beside her, in this body, as they tore the Earth apart and created his twisted conception of peace.” Vision shudders at the thought of this body, his body, standing with Wanda while containing nothing but Ultron. “But there was more to it still—she escaped his understanding. In all her humanity, her feeling—in her connection to the Mind Gem—she was not something he could easily comprehend. He wanted to unravel her, and yet, he valued her existence in a way he did not any other living being, because she was a mystery. He thought he knew everything else, and dismissed it all, but he did not know her. He saw her as—a toy, perhaps, or a puzzle.”

“An experiment,” Mr. Stark mutters.

“Yes. As many others have before.” Vision pauses to look at the man beside him. “Ultron's programming is a part of me, and so I, too, wish to understand her.”

“You think of her like an experiment?” Mr. Stark lifts his head.

“No,” Vision says. “I am not Ultron. I see her humanity and I value her far more deeply than he ever could have. I am not—” He pauses, swallows. “I may possess Ultron’s curiosity, but I am made from more than that. I know that she is more than that.”

Mr. Stark stares at Vision for another long moment, squinting. Then he sits back in his chair.

“You’re not—what I thought,” he says.

“What do you want?” Vision asks tiredly.

Mr. Stark breathes in, still gazing at Vision, and then sighs the air out. “All right.” He leans forward in his chair, hands on the table. “I just want to warn you about her.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Wanda Maximoff is dangerous,” Mr. Stark states. “You gotta be careful."

Vision stares, unable to believe the man’s audacity despite the years of video evidence in his memory. “I don’t believe it's your place—”

“I don’t mean it like that.” Mr. Stark holds his hands up. “I kinda like her, even though she tried to kill us all." Vision frowns as Mr. Stark continues, “Look, she’s a lot like me.” The man leans forward, making steady eye contact, and Vision knows then that he’s speaking in sincerity. “We’re messy, impulsive people with too much power. We make mistakes. You won’t understand this, but the two of us aren't good at taking breathers and thinking things through when we're under stress. And the mistakes we end up making?” Mr. Stark shrugs and looks back at the table. “Huge. Apocalyptic. That’s what happens when messy people have power.”

Vision blinks. “…so?”

“Don’t underestimate her.” Mr. Stark taps his fingers on the table with each word. “I think you could do her a lot of good, but you have to remember what she's capable of.”

Vision gazes at Mr. Stark for a long moment, considering. He knows more about this man than anyone else in the world, and yet he is continually surprised by him. Vision can see Mr. Stark’s point, and it adds some understanding to his conception of Wanda. Messy, impulsive, full of feeling. He files the information away for future reference.

“Yes,” he says. “I will.”

“Good.” Mr. Stark rises to his feet, back in his usual, careless persona. “Barton, I’m heading out!” he calls towards the door. He slaps Vision twice on the shoulder. “Good talk, Robot Son.”

As Mr. Stark walks away, Vision sighs.

Chapter Text

Though she had a brief, glorious respite in the hours after Vision spoke to her, a deep sleep fueled by tea and exhaustion and comfort or something—tonight the nightmares return. She has no way of making them stop.

Alone in an unfamiliar room towards the back of the farmhouse, Wanda tosses and turns beneath a patchwork quilt. Every hour, a new horror adds itself to the familiar litany—

Her Sokovian apartment opens into an American farmhouse, framed pictures on walls shaking and cracking, and the picture on her bedside table has fallen over—she reaches to right it—her family’s faces are missing, a blank expanse of skin with bullet wounds in their chests—slowly, cracks spread upward across the image, creating a break in the frame that separates her from the others—

She drops the picture and it disappears in a burst of flame, a charred scar on the table—she looks up, and the Bartons stand before her, smiling, unaware, but she knows, she knows, and she screams at them to leave, she is cursed, they are cursed, anyone near her is destined to die—RUN, CLINT, GODDAMMIT—an explosion of dust, a spew of bullets, brother and sister clutching each other on the floor, which collapses as she reaches out from her bed towards them—

”Naša porodica je magnet za nasilje, ali smo uvek prevazišli”—a line of numbers on his forearm—there is no escape, no escape, this destiny will always finds them—

“Miss Maximoff.”

Bullets and tear gas and shouting, her lip bleeding, her arm aching—they can’t fix it, they can’t do anything, their lives will never be anything other than this—

“Miss Maximoff?”

Mechanical blue eyes in a red face and as she reaches down towards the Cradle, it, too, cracks open and he bleeds the gold of what could have been—

“Wanda!”

She jerks awake with half a cry choking in her throat, and her gaze immediately locks onto Vision. He is a safe distance away, hovering off towards the foot of the bed and to her left, but the space between his eyes is creased with concern. He has lifted one hand towards her as though to steady her.

She gazes into those eyes, the ones she dreamed just a moment ago, and suddenly feels too tired and heavy to even care that he has intruded. Her relief at his aliveness is quickly overcome by her frustration with herself. Her head slams back on the pillows. She curls up on her left side under the blankets, dragging them up over her face with a deep groan.

“Does that occur—often?” Vision moves closer to her.

She lifts her chin back over the blankets, her eyes hot and aching, to say, “What?”

“The… nightmares. Do they happen often?”

She is so vulnerable right now, in bed, in her sleepclothes, exhausted, emotionally broken, and she knows that it should make her uncomfortable that he’s standing over her. He’s strong and seems so patently male in this moment. But she cannot dredge up the energy to care. The thought of her frailty is a spark of logic drowned by everything else. She cannot imagine him hurting her.

Wanda allows her consciousness to open again, just to make sure of his thoughts, and the cleanness of his mind, blurred as it is, slides across her nerves like a cleansing balm. She breathes easier.

“Every night,” she tells him. “All the time.”

Her mind still open, she buries her face in her bed again.

“That's why you are so tired,” Vision muses.

“Yes,” Wanda mumbles. “I cannot sleep, I cannot—I can’t—they never stop, I cannot make them stop.”

Vision exhales, and she senses it as he lowers himself to his knees beside her bed, wanting only to be closer at hand for her.

“I understand now,” he says. “Before, I did not—I couldn’t hear you, at the compound. The walls are much thinner here.”

“You heard me?” she mutters into the quilt.

“I was—passing, per my usual, and I heard you cry out.” He is quiet for a long moment. “I am sorry for intruding on your privacy, but I thought you might have been hurt. I came in and heard you speaking in your sleep. You were muttering—” He pauses. “’No, run, please.’ Things of that manner. I thought it best to wake you.”

She thinks she nods, but she’s so tired now she can’t remember.

“Miss Maximoff—” Another unusually long pause, crackling with energy. “—Wanda, you must find a way to rest. You’re going to make yourself ill.”

“Oh, thank you,” she mutters. “I had no idea. I will just fix that now.”

“…Indeed?”

“No.” Wanda rolls back enough to glare at him, the open air harsh in her lungs. “Do you not realize that I would have done that already if I could? I don't want this. I want to sleep, I want to be safe from my mind, I want my past to leave me alone—I don’t want to feel like this.” She pauses to take in a deep, pained breath, and says, “Everything hurts and all I want is to rest. That should be obvious, even to you.”

Vision hesitates, tilts his head. “I don’t—"

Wanda lets out the breath, and with it, her fury. ”I am sorry." She feels a pang at the sight of his gentle, confused expression. “That was not okay for me to say. I am sorry. I’m just—so—tired.”

Wanda balls up her fists and pounds it into the blankets, but Vision grabs it before she can manage more than a couple of strikes. She pauses, arrested at the sight of her own small, pale fist held aloft between his two burgundy palms. The smoothness and heat of his skin, too, is a surprise. For the first time, she awakens enough to look around. A lantern near the door emits a soft, warm glow, allowing her to see both Vision and the places where she threw the room décor to the ground in her turmoiled sleep.

“Oh, Bože iznad,” she says. “Did I break anything?”

“That is hardly the main concern right now,” Vision says. Startled, she looks back into his face to see that the worried crease has returned. She can see the whir of gears inside his irises again. “I doubt the Bartons will penalize you. They care deeply for you.”

Her heart jumps at the compliment.

“Tell me, how long have you had these dreams?”

“Oh.” She sighs again and lets her head rest on the pillow. Her hand, between his own, has unfurled from its fist. Now she curls her fingers slightly over his own, savoring the comfort of that touch. Vision pauses to examine their hands. “For years, I suppose. Since—my parents.”

Vision’s gaze lifts back to hers, and he dips his head in a nod.

“As I have gotten older, they have only worsened… I have given them much more material to… play with.” Wanda swallows. “Especially now. There is so much. Too much.”

“How did you cope with the nightmares before?”

Pain cracks through the inside of her heart, and she swallows before allowing a bitter laugh through. “Pietro,” she whispers.

Vision has lowered one of his hands, but the other, the one she clings to, he wraps more securely around hers. “I'm sorry.”

“H-he—” She swallows, suddenly determined to explain. “He held me, when we were little. After Stark’s—after the bomb. He held me when I woke up crying, and we cried together, and after a while, I was better. I was not so afraid, because I was not alone. I had moj brat.” She raises her voice from the whisper into which it has dropped. “I still dreamt bad things, but I could manage. After HYDRA, though, the nightmares got much worse. I could not control my powers at all—” She lets out a shaky breath. “—and in the experiments, it was—bad. I cannot tell you what I saw and felt and heard. It was—” She stops and shakes her head.

“Your brother helped you then, too?”

“Yes. The doctors tried to medicate me, because I kept breaking things… and people…” Her gaze flutters back to Vision’s face, hoping he does not condemn her. He nods gently, and relief floods her. “That only made it worse. I could not even wake from the nightmares to make it stop. So they let Pietro stay with me after that. I found that—I was connected with him deeply.”

Her voice breaks in time with her heart’s painful beat, and she has to stop to take in a few breaths. She realizes then that she is squeezing Vision’s hand. “Oh, am I hurting you?”

She tries to let go, but his fingers brush across the back of her hand, stopping her.

“I'm not easy to harm,” he says. “Unlike the rest of you.”

“I could go into Pietro's mind,” Wanda says in a burst. She pushes herself into a sitting position, the blankets falling away from her upper body. “Whenever it was time to sleep, I would get away from myself and find comfort inside his thoughts. He had bad dreams too, but it was not the same. And with us together like that, it happened less. The HYDRA agents thought it was strange.” She frowns at her and Vision’s intertwined hands. “They did not like it. But they did not like very much about us, except that they could use us as weapons.”

Vision nods slowly. “It makes sense. You found comfort in each other’s presence before, and that was simply a closer way of finding it. One that lasted even within an altered state of conscious.”

She tilts her head. His eyes rise up to meet hers again.

“Have you tried that here?” he asks. “Reaching out, seeing if someone else’s dreams would be a safer place for you? I know it would not be the same, but—”

“No.” She wrinkles her nose. “My fear poisons them. They have bad dreams too, most of them. When I am awake, I can hear them: the nightmares from their own pasts. There is no solace there. And I worsen their dreaming. I magnify it. I had to block off my mind, trap myself in here during the night, so I cannot hurt them.” She taps the side of her head with her free hand.

“Ah.” Vision nods. “Yes, I understand.”

Tiredness enfolding her again, Wanda rests her head against the headboard. Her hand goes limp in Vision’s. “You should see inside Captain Roger’s head,” she mutters.

With a faint, tight smile, Vision rises to his feet. He squeezes her hand once before letting it go and watches her slide further under the blankets. “Sleep, Wanda,” he says. “I'll find you another way.” As she smiles, eyes closing and warmth rising inside her, he turns and floats towards the wall.

“Vizh,” she mumbles.

She doesn’t have to open her eyes to know that he has frozen, still facing the wall, his muscles tense.

“Thanks,” she whispers.

“Always, Wanda.”

There is no time for her to wonder at the choked tone of his voice before she slips into a much sweeter sleep.

Chapter Text

The Avengers’ week at the Bartons passes by in a state of general happiness. Each of the team members seems friendly and free as they play games, watch television shows, and speak over meals together. They all take turns helping with Nathaniel, a task that Vision avoids out of fear of harming the child. He has no right to touch something so precious.

The conundrum of Wanda is a constant vexation to him. Surely, he thinks, there must be a way to help her. He stands vigil outside her room every night, in case her cries become too pained; he wanders through the expanse of field and forest around the Barton Farm every day, pondering the issue. Happy as Wanda is here, the Bartons have also noticed the toll her fatigue takes on her.

Once, after lunch, when he is making his way to the kitchen to see if he can assist with the dishes, he hears them talking. He pulls to a quick stop just beside the doorway.

“Clint, she looks sick,” Laura says.

“She’s grieving,” Clint argues. A dish clatters into the sink. “You want her to look happy? Her brother is dead!”

“Stop it.” The faint whip of a towel. “She told you not to obsess about that.”

“Well, I doubt she’s over it. They spent their whole life together, from the goddamn womb until he jumped in front of those bullets and died. They had a relationship deeper than anything I’ve seen, all right? He was great, and she is, too, and they loved each other.”

“I’m not saying Wanda’s not grieving,” Laura says more softly. “I’m saying that this is something more. She needs help, Clint.”

“That’s what we invited her here for!” Clint says. More dishes clatter into the sink. “Does it look like it’s helping?”

“We don’t know what’s really wrong!—No, it's not grief. Like I said, she seems sick. When was the last time she saw a doctor?”

“I imagine the last time was when the Maximoff twins were with HYDRA,” Vision says as he slips through the wall to join them.

Laura lets out a small shriek and jumps backwards, hitting the sink with her hip. Clint, a couple of cups in his hands, glares at Vision, who steps towards Laura with his hands reached out helplessly.

“I’m sorry. I just—I thought I might have some insight to offer.”

“Whoo!” Laura lets out a breath and then pushes herself upright. “It’s all right. What were you saying?”

“HYDRA.” Vision takes the towel from her and moves forward to help dry the dishes. “I’ve spoken to Miss Maximoff on a number of occasions, and from my understanding, she last saw a doctor at the HYDRA compound where the Avengers retrieved Loki’s staff.”

“They don’t count,” Clint snaps. “Those guys were madmen.”

“Perhaps,” Vision allows, “but there were qualified medical professionals on staff. While it may be wise to take her in for a checkup, I happen to know what is ailing Miss Maximoff.”

Both Laura and Clint turn to stare at him. “What?”

“She suffers from nightmares,” Vision says. “She has for many years, but without her brother, she lacks recourse to cope with them. I have known for some time that she's severely fatigued, but only since we have been here have I discovered the reason. If you pass her room during the night, you might hear her crying out.”

Laura drops the other towel. Clint’s hands fist.

“What, you’ve just been listening to her screaming?”

“I woke her the first night,” Vision says, speaking carefully in response to the horror on Clint’s face. “She explained to me then. Since that moment, I have remained outside her bedroom during the night, listening in case she seems to be in any unnatural distress. I fear that waking her, even during such dreams, would prove counterproductive to her getting any sort of rest. The nightmares are constant.”

“Could we—get her sleeping meds?” Laura turns to her husband in question.

“I fear that, also, has proven in the past to be less than ideal," Vision says. "The medication only traps her deeper within the nightmares and increases the negative impact of her powers during sleep.”

“Her powers?" Clint raises his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Vision tells him. “With her telekinetic abilities, she often moves items around her during her dreams and has previously induced nightmares in the minds of others.”

Clint stares at him. “And she just… told you all this.”

Vision blinks. “Yes, of course. I asked.”

Clint turns to his wife and lets out a breath as she, too, laughs.

“He asked.”

“We should've thought of that,” Laura says.

“So what do we do?” Clint turns to Vision.

“I've been pondering that question. I will let you know if I come to any conclusion. I find that I'm greatly affected by her suffering.”

Clint stares at Vision for another long moment.

“Yes?”

“You remember when she first saw her brother's body?” Clint puts down the dish in his hand and walks towards Vision, who ducks his head. “You and I were both there, with her. There on the helicarrier, near the edge of that crater where her home used to be.”

Laura looks anxiously between them.

“Of course,” Vision murmurs.

“You carried her to him, and we watched as she threw herself over his body.” Clint’s voice is tight, on the edge of breaking, dangerous. “Sobbing. Her forehead on his. Crying out in Sokovian. I have never seen anyone in so much pain. And you walked away.”

“Ultron,” Vision explains. “His last vessel was crawling up from the crater, not quite dead. I had to end it.”

“While she cried.”

“Clint,” Vision says, and the man hesitates at the sound of Vision’s voice, insistent amidst the intimacy of speaking a first name. “I had to end it. Ultron killed her brother and thousands more. I could do nothing for her. I could not take away her pain. But I could do that.”

Clint looks Vision in the eye for a long moment. Then Laura steps forward to take his arm. Clint’s gaze drops, and he nods.

“All right,” he says. “All right. Remember, though, next time she tells you something important—” He steps forward and points at Vision. “I was there too. I watched her cry. I brought her twin brother’s body to the edge of the crater. I helped her bury him there. I’m gonna think about what we can do for her, and we will figure this out together.”

Vision nods, and Laura steps forward once more.

“I’m proud of you both," she says. "Vision, why don’t you go check on Wanda while we finish the dishes.”

Vision nods once more and turns to exit the room. As he shifts through the wall, he hears Clint mutter, “He’s ‘greatly affected by her suffering.’”

“Hush,” Laura says.

For all his time spent thinking, Vision arrives at no solution during the week. On the last day, the Bartons have a barbecue outside, Captain Rogers and Sam watching over Nathaniel. Clint waves Vision over to the grill, his eyes on Wanda, and asks, “Anything?”

“No,” Vision says. “Unfortunately, I've found no solution.”

Clint grunts. “Same for me. God,” he adds. “We have to do something. Laura’s right, she looks like hell.”

Vision gazes over at Wanda, who is speaking with Natasha, and frowns. “I would say she looks significantly more lovely than that.”

Clint turns to stare at Vision, who adds, “She does, however, look ill.”

“...Right.”

Vision feels Clint’s gaze on his back as he returns to his previous location. For some time, Vision watches Wanda. His mind keeps flashing back to that night: the way she cried out for her family, all of the objects levitating red around her as she twisted beneath the blankets, the pain and exhaustion in her opened eyes—the feel of her hand between his own. He presses his thumb into his other palm. She had curled her fingers into this hand, clasped to it, a shift that he still cannot help but wonder over. He glances briefly across at everyone else.

They don't see it, he thinks. They are too familiar with their lives to recognize the beauty in their very existence, the power of their movements. He lets his gaze settle on Wanda again. Her voice echoes in his head—sleep, faint, the murmured “Vizh.” She’d called him Vizh.

He lets out a quick breath and turns to Sam and the Captain.

“Sam,” he says. “May I request your assistance inside?”

Sam’s eyebrows lift. “Yes, sir, you may,” he says in an affected British accent. Then he drops the tone, rising to his feet with a groan. “All right, come on, man.”

He pats Vision on the arm, and they head back inside the house, Captain Rogers frowning after them.

“What's up?” Sam rounds on Vision.

“I need your advice again pertaining to Miss Maximoff.”

“Again?”

“You were helpful the last time,” Vision says. “Do you have any suggestions as to how I might… lift her spirits?”

Sam glances towards the window. “I don’t know, man, she seems pretty happy right now.”

“She's suffering,” Vision states. “She has told me. I'm working on a way to amend the situation, but I would like to do something for her in the meantime. I was thinking… a gift?”

“Oh.” Sam rocks back on his heels, arms folded. “Yeah, all right. I feel that. What kind of gift?”

“I don't know,” Vision admits. “That’s why I have come to you. What do you think she would appreciate? What would be useful to her?”

“Mmm, doesn’t have to be useful,” Sam says. “Although it could be.” He turns and paces back across the room. “Standard gifts for a woman? Perfume, jewelry, shoes, candy. I don’t think that’s what you’re looking for. Flowers could work. But you really want to ‘lift her spirits,’ it should be more personal.”

“How so?”

“Something she’s into,” Sam tells him. “I’ve given women books, CDs, cute knickknacks, whatever fit their interests. Wanda never had much time for fun before, so finding out her interests could be hard.” He hums to himself, thinking. “Music. Try music.”

“Music?”

“Yeah!” Sam walks up to Vision. “Yeah, Natasha told me she likes it. Lullabies and folk songs and crap. Gifts that remind her of Sokovia are probably good too. But not yet. That might be too painful right now.” He gazes past Vision, then nods. “Yeah. Try music.”

As Sam passes Vision, heading back outside, he adds, “For future reference, if you want something really meaningful for a woman, the best tip is do, not give. Like finishing an extra chore, cooking a nice meal, dancing, stuff with an ‘-ing’ at the end. That’s a tip for later, a’ight? You’ll have some smooth moves in your arsenal.”

“I don't know what that means,” Vision says, but Sam has already gone.

Vision moves to the window and watches Wanda talking to Clint at the grill. Wanda glances in Vision’s direction, and he notes a bit more color in her face than there previously had been. A good sign, he hopes. Maybe, despite the evidence from his vigil, she slept better last night.

Chapter Text

Wanda returns to the compound the next day with a heavy heart. While she is glad to see her room again—her very own room, with her very own possessions, a picture of her family on the bedside table—she knows that she will miss the Bartons. This place seems so much emptier, in its largeness, than the cozy farmhouse.

Before bed, Vision seeks her out.

“Wanda,” he says, and she feels a flush beginning on her cheeks. “If you wish, I will remain outside your room during the night. In case you should have need of me.”

“Oh,” she says.

There's a long silence. Wanda has no idea how to respond. On the one hand, the idea of a man waiting outside her bedroom as she sleeps discomfits her. On the other hand, Vision’s presence has the opposite effect, and she might actually sleep more safely knowing he’s nearby.

He is not a normal man, she tells herself.

And yet, after her conversation with Clint during the cookout the previous evening, she cannot help but realize the strangeness of this situation.

“What’s up with you and Vision?” Clint asked her as he stood by the grill with the meat sizzling before him.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

Clint flipped one of the burgers over. “I mean, he seems pretty interested in you. We talked earlier—about your nightmares.”

Wanda let out a frustrated sound. “It is not—I don’t want you to worry. I’ll be fine.”

He looked her straight in the face. “Are you sure?”

When Wanda didn’t answer, Clint nodded. “Yeah, I thought so.” After a pause, he added, “He said he’s been hanging outside your bedroom while you sleep.”

“Yes.”

“You knew? And you didn’t mind?”

Wanda shrugged. “It is tight quarters here, and he does not sleep. He might as well stay nearby in case I—” She hesitated. “In case I'm about to wake someone else up.”

“Screaming,” Clint stated.

She nodded tightly, keeping her eyes locked on the grill. Clint took the cue to flip over a couple more of the burgers.

“I just don’t get—I mean, I didn’t think he'd care that much. He’s not exactly a normal person.”

“He is not normal,” Wanda agreed. “But that doesn’t mean he does not care. He has feelings too, Clint. Purer ones, in many ways.”

Clint raised his eyebrows at her.

“He does not have the same prejudices and ideas that most people do. He did not grow up surrounded by judgment or fear or hatred. He is new.”

“And he likes you,” Clint stated.

“I—do not know.” She glanced towards the house and met Vision’s gaze through the window. Her face reddened. “I mean, yes, he does, but I do not think it is different from how he feels about anyone else. He likes all of the Avengers. It’s only that I am struggling. He wants to help,” she added.

“Hmm.” Clint didn’t seem convinced. Pushing at a row of hot dogs to check how they were browning, he said, “When he talked to me and Laura, he said he’s ‘greatly affected by your pain,’ or something like that. And a minute ago he called you ‘lovely.’”

Wanda stared at him. Oddly, tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. “He did?”

Clint stopped to examine her face, and she looked down, pursing her lips.

“You like him too,” he said in a tone somewhere between betrayal and wonder.

"Why shouldn't I?" Wanda tossed her head back haughtily. “He is different, like I told you. Pure in heart. Not judgmental. And very confused by the world. It is sweet, and he's a good man to have around. But I like all the Avengers now, too, I think,” she added, then wrinkled her nose. “Though maybe not Stark, so much.”

Clint squinted at Wanda for long enough that a couple of the burgers started emitting a burned scent, and then said, “Well, be careful. I sure as hell don’t understand the guy, and I don’t want you getting hurt. But you know people better than I do.”

“I can read minds,” she reminded him.

“That’s what I meant. Just be smart, okay?”

She sighed. “I will, Clint.”

He grinned then. “You sound like one of my kids. Waiting for me to stop lecturing and shut up.”

“You do keep fathering me as though I were your child,” she teased. As she turned to rejoin the others, she felt Clint’s smile drop. She smiled and spun back around to add, “It’s a good thing.”

He looked up, his eyes brightening, and she said, “I need someone to look out for me.”

Now, in her bedroom at the compound, Vision waits for her response. She meets his eyes again and there sees everything that she said to Clint. Perhaps wariness is a good practice, but she is not afraid of this man. Her well-being is the only thing on his mind. He's not even thinking about himself.

“You need to rest too,” she reminds him. “Isn’t it time?” He blinks slowly, and she says, “Go get your sleep. I will manage. I always do.”

“I worry for you,” he states after a pause, his eyes darting down to his burgundy hands and then back up to her.

Her heart throbs inside her throat. “Thank you,” she says. “For caring. I will be fine.”

He dips his head. “Of course, Wanda.”

Selfishly, when the nightmares come, she wishes she hadn’t told him to go.

The next day, she's thrust into an early wakening by the sound of a deep voice, one with an accent that Wanda doesn’t recognize, booming over the intercom system into her bedroom.

“All of you, get your asses down here now. I’m not playing.”

Heart racing with fear, Wanda smooths her hair before stepping into the hallway. Is this a threat? Has someone broken into the compound to harm them? What should she do?

Her eyes meet Rhodey’s, the only other person in the hallway, as he hurries past.

“You’d better head down,” he says. “I’ve heard Fury’s not someone to trifle with.”

“Fury?” she asks as she follows him. “Is that a bad guy?”

Rhodey lets out a low laugh as he runs down the stairs. “No. Fury was the director of SHIELD, before HYDRA screwed everything up. He’s one of the good guys. Kind of the Avengers’ manager. He brought them together in the first place.”

Wanda sighs with relief. “Oh.”

She and Rhodey round the corner into the dining room and find the other Avengers, still in their pajamas and looking the worse for the wear, sitting at the table while an African American man glares down at him. He has an eyepatch and is dressed entirely in black. He might be on their side, but he poses a threatening figure. Biting her lip, Wanda slides into the seat next to Vision, who looks as serene as ever, and avoids making eye contact with anyone.

“Is that everyone?” Fury demands. When Steve nods, Fury cracks his knuckles.

“All right. What have you idiots been doing for the past five weeks?”

Steve, Sam, and Rhodey exchange looks. Natasha chews on her lip.

“Nothing? Because I’ve got a hell of a public relations crisis going on out there, and I was hoping maybe you were making yourselves useful. Maybe you were doing something that excuses you being all cozied up in here out of the limelight, pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist. But you've just been having a sleepover like a bunch of nine-year-old girls, haven’t you?”

“We needed to recover after what happened with Ultron,” Steve tells him.

Hands behind his back, Fury strides towards Steve, who holds his gaze without flinching. “While you’ve been in here recovering, the media’s been tearing you a new one. You blow up half a country and then disappear? It’s a madhouse out there. I never thought I’d see the day when Stark was the responsible one.”

Wanda frowns.

“It might have been his robot that caused all this," Fury says, "but he can’t do damage control alone. Every single one of you was there too, and you’re responsible for what happened.”

With an edge of pain humming inside her, Wanda swallows.

“You’re right,” Steve says. He's still, to Wanda’s admiration, managing to maintain eye contact. “I’m sorry. What do you want us to do?”

“Remind them that you’re heroes.” Fury takes a step with each word, until his hands grip the table edge. “Good people doing everyone a service. The heat’s on Stark, but the longer you stay silent, the more it turns to you. If you can make them remember that you’re people they like, people they can look up to, things might cool down for everyone.”

There's a long moment of silence.

“This is what you gotta do,” Fury says at last, taking pity on them in his own strange way. “First, make use of the training programs Stark so kindly set up here. I’m bringing on some ex-SHIELD agents who I trust. It’ll look better if you’re working with them. The last thing you want is the public thinking of you as bunch of overpowered amateurs who just blow stuff up willy-nilly.”

But aren't we? Wanda thinks. Then she looks around at the others. No, just me. Steve, Sam, and Rhodey have experience and military training, and Natasha is more skilled than any of them. Vision might be new, but he has a great deal of control and intelligence. Wanda is the only wildcard.

The thought is not a pleasant one.

“We’ll be happy to work with them,” Steve says.

“Second, you need to make public appearances. The original Avengers team did great after New York. Parties, charity events, even a couple interviews—I know it was mostly stuff that Stark set up, but it helped the public connect with you. Like it or not, you’re celebrities now, and if you want to keep doing what you’re doing, you need to show them your human side. People want to feel like you could be buddies, hang out in between all the heroics. They want to understand you. Especially you two.”

Fury’s gaze turns on Wanda and Vision, and Wanda stiffens.

“They don’t know anything about you,” Fury says, “except that you were in Sokovia and you’ve got superpowers. Rumors are leaking, though, so you need to show them who you are before they make you into monsters in their heads."

Vision lifts his head slightly, and Wanda risks a look at him. Though he still looks calm, she knows Fury’s words have affected him.

“Now, I’ve been working hard," Fury says, "and I got official permission for you both to live here in the U.S. So legally, you're off the hook. But your foreignness—you being Sokovian and you being… who the hell even knows—makes it even more important that America gets to know you, as people.” Fury turns back to Steve. “Make sure those two get out there. And—” He eyeballs Wanda and Vision again. “—make sure they know how to act.”

“They’re good people, Fury," Steve says. "If they show the world even a fraction of what I’ve seen, the public will love them.”

Wanda and Vision look at Steve, but Steve holds Fury’s gaze. After a moment, Fury nods.

“Good. Final thing: get out there and start acting like heroes. SHIELD might not exist anymore, but there are still plenty of people who need the Avengers, even without killer aliens or robots on the loose. I've got a lot of contacts who would be happy to make use of you every once in a while. I'll get in touch with them, and we'll see what we can do to get you in on the ground. All right?”

When everyone nods, Fury turns his gaze to each of them individually, waiting until they make eye contact.

“Be heroes,” he repeats.

To Wanda’s surprise, he then takes a seat at the table. Sam, Steve, and Natasha all visibly relax.

“Now that that’s over," Fury says. "What’s for breakfast? It better be worth my time.” As Steve gets to his feet, grinning, Fury nods at Sam and Rhodey and shoots another glance down the table at Vision and Wanda. “Nick Fury, former director of SHIELD. Good to meet you.” He looks around a second time. “Where the hell is Barton?”

Chapter Text

The Avengers take Director Fury’s advice into implementation immediately after his visit. Each day, the compound fills with regular trainees in uniform, who make use of the first two floors and the outdoor fields. Vision often finds himself watching them through the windows. His contact with people, he realizes, has been limited up until this point. Knowing full well the strangeness of his appearance, he has no idea how to interact with them without causing alarm.

The issue of Wanda’s nightmares, too, continues to plague him. With his unmatched sense of logic and a nearly unlimited access to the information on the Internet, he should be able to find a solution—but he can't. Nearly every site he finds recommends counseling, but who could properly counsel someone with Wanda’s experience? She, like him, is an original. There is no precedent for her life. Furthermore, her impending fame would make difficult to find someone who could remain appropriately professional and discreet. Vision knows that finding a counselor for any individual can be a struggle: the patient and counselor have to be able to connect properly. When faced with Wanda's unique issues, it seems a near impossibility.

Another important aspect when it comes to emotional health is friendship and support, hence Vision's wish to give Wanda a meaningful gift. The bed, while high in objective quality, wasn’t nearly good enough. It has no emotional or personal meaning, and it turned out to be useless in fixing Wanda’s particular problem. But Vision has less time now to consider gift-giving. Training takes precedence, his only free time now being on weekend evenings and during the night. Vision finds training to be such an interesting challenge, the thought of it distracts him even during his free time.

They start off in isolated training. Vision asks Sam, once, why this is.

“Don’t tell anyone I said this,” Sam says, “but Steve’s worried we’ll make fools of ourselves. He wants us up to speed before people see us in action.”

“Ah.” Vision tilts his head. “Yes, that makes sense.”

For three weeks, they spend many grueling hours in a private gym space. Vision doesn't require manual upkeep in order to stay in shape. As such, he spends much of his time spotting the others while they lift weights, perform stretches, and run laps. He keeps a closer eye on Wanda, who is unaccustomed to physical work, severely underrested, and only just beginning to recover from years of malnutrition. She manages better than Vision might have expected. It helps that Captain Rogers doesn’t ask as much from her as he does the others. Unlike the rest, Wanda can fight from a distance, which makes her physical endurance less of a concern.

They all participate in daily combat training. Captain Rogers and Natasha Romanov insist no one uses weaponry or their special abilities, so as to better learn hand-to-hand fighting. Vision sees the wisdom of this, and their demonstrations are stunning, to say the least. He commits their moves to memory and spends his nights researching terms and tips to match what he observes. He is the fastest learner, though his technical proficiency still lies far behind that of Agent Romanov’s. Wanda lags the furthest behind, and Romanov spends a great deal of time working with her one-on-one.

Clint Barton joins them for two sessions, but is otherwise absent. On Independence Day, Mr. Stark also appears, to join the others in their celebration of Captain Rogers' birthday.

Amidst the intensive training, time for personal interaction all but vanishes. The others eat meals at random, staggered times. It’s nearly impossible to engage in one-on-one conversation. Nonetheless, when Vision comes across Wanda sitting listless on the floor outside her room Friday evening, he feels a pang of guilt.

He stops. “Wanda.”

She lifts her head, and he’s saddened to see that her eyes are tired and empty. “Vizh.”

He hesitates and looks at the door next to her. “Are you having trouble entering your room?”

“Yes,” she mumbles. Then she sighs and uncurls from her closed position, pushing waves of hair back from her face. “No. I just got tired. I meant to go in, but…” She lifts her shoulders.

“Then allow me.”

Vision holds a hand out to Wanda and helps her get to her feet. She staggers slightly, so he gathers her to his side. The amount of dependence she demonstrates on him as she opens the lock alarms him.

This training is too much for her, he thinks.

“You must rest,” he says aloud as he guides her to her bed. She collapses onto it, whimpering, and he sits in a nearby chair. After a moment, Wanda turns her head to look at him.

“I am so tired, Vizh,” she whispers. “And I hurt… I don’t know what the point is.” She releases a sudden, shaky breath, and tears start quiet trails down her pale cheeks. “I am never going to be good at this. I am only a burden here, with these soldiers and fighters—I have no place trying to be an Avenger. I am not like the others.”

Does she really think that? “Physical training is not everything, Wanda," Vision says. "It encompasses a limited skill set. You have already learned a great deal since we began, which is all that can be asked. Your true potential lies in other realms, after all. Is that not what makes you an Avenger?”

Another couple of tears slide down Wanda’s face as she swallows.

“You are needed here,” Vision adds.

Wanda makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and turns her head away.

After a moment, Vision rises, his golden cape drifting around him. “Rest, Wanda. I will make you some tea.”

By the time he returns, Wanda has already fallen asleep. He places the cup of tea carefully on a shelf across the room and settles into a sitting position on the floor. Wanda's soft breathing fills the room. As he gazes into her tear-streaked, half-hidden face, a quiet kind of pain blooming inside of his chest, he thinks again of the gift he meant to get for her.

I shouldn't have stalled. She needs this now more than ever.

But soon, in the stillness of the room, Vision's thoughts become unfocused. He has not had a moment this peaceful in quite some time. Even the quiet, isolated nights have felt frenzied, focused, and tightly wound. With Wanda sleeping nearby now, he feels himself relaxing away pressure he hadn’t even realized he was carrying.

It’s then that it occurs to Vision what he should do. Pleased with himself, he phases neatly through the floor and leaves Wanda to sleep.

The next day, after initial warm-ups, Vision indicates to Captain Rogers and Agent Romanov that he needs to speak with them. When they have separated from the others, he turns. “I must request the day off,” he says.

Captain Rogers and Natasha raise their eyebrows.

“Really?” Captain Rogers says. “What for?”

Vision presses his lips together. “Miss Maximoff… is in desperate need of a break,” he murmurs, with a glance across the room. “I came across her yesterday after training, and I am certain now that the physical exertion has taken too great a toll on her. She has struggled with sleeplessness since she first came here, and her body is not built for this kind of strain.”

“Mine can manage,” Natasha says.

Vision looks at her. “You are not Wanda.”

When Agent Romanov nods, Vision continues, “The emotional toll must be as significant as the physical. I ask that I be given permission to take her into the city, so that she can have some... 'fresh air,' as it is said. I also would like to express my hopes that we will soon move on from this aspect of training. New faces and a chance to make use of her true abilities would be good for Miss Maximoff. For all of us.”

Captain Rogers gazes across the room, watching Wanda where she stands with Sam. After a moment, he nods, then shakes his head.

“You’re right. I’ll finish up with the others today and catch up with her tomorrow. It's time we moved forward.”

“You think Wanda’s ready?” Natasha asks incredulously.

Captain Rogers meets her eyes. “I think she’s improved." When Natasha crosses her arms and sighs, he adds, "Natasha, this isn’t what she's good at. You and I thrive doing this kind of thing, but Wanda needs a chance to prove herself where it counts for her. Keeping her in a place where she feels helpless doesn't do any of us any good.”

“If we train her, she won’t be helpless—”

Captain Rogers puts his hand on Natasha’s shoulder, stopping her mid-sentence. Natasha clenches her jaws, her eyes darting to the side, and then, finally, nods.

“I forget sometimes,” she mutters. “This isn’t the Red Room. She can learn to survive in her own way.”

“Good.” Captain Rogers turns to Vision. “You have your day off. Wanda!” he calls across the room. Wanda looks up, then hurries towards them. It distresses Vision to see that the circles under her eyes haven't lessened in the slightest. “You’re taking a break,” Captain Rogers tells her. “Vision needs to run some errands in the city.”

Wanda frowns slightly, but makes no protest. Captain Rogers slaps Vision on the back as Natasha goes to give the others their orders.

“Take the grocery list with you," he says. "Online shopping doesn’t cover everything.”

Chapter Text

They take a car into the city, despite Vision's discomfort with enclosed spaces, so that they can bring everything back home. Along with citizenship rights for the both of them, Fury got Vision a special driver's license, since he has all of the necessary knowledge. Wanda, for her part, knows very little about driving.

“Where are we going?” she asks as Vision weaves the car through overwhelming traffic. If he weren’t so trustworthy with practical matters, Wanda would be terrified.

“Shopping,” Vision says without removing his gaze from the road. “I have need of some things.”

“You do?” Wanda asks in surprise. She’s even more surprised to see his eyes crinkle into the faintest of smiles. He doesn't say anything else.

It takes Vision some time to find an appropriate parking space. Once he does, he waits for Wanda to exit the car, and then they walk together towards a street full of shops. Despite how overwhelming Wanda finds the crowd—she has never seen so many people in her life—she is glad to be out of the compound. The open air and new environment provide relief from her growing frustration. But she also feels guilty. Wanda is here, taking a break from training, when she's the one most in need of it.

“Why did Steve have me come with you?” she asks Vision, taking quick, jogging steps to keep up with his longer stride.

“I asked him to,” Vision says.

Wanda stares up at him. “What?”

Vision meets her gaze briefly. “I thought you could use a break.”

“And he said yes?”

Vision nods.

Wanda takes in a quick breath. Vision told him about yesterday, and now Steve is giving up on me, she thinks. I should not even be here. She blinks back the threatening tears only to find Vision looking at her.

“You are frowning,” he says. “Did you wish to stay at the compound?”

She laughs, but it’s a painful, choked sound. “I—I don't—I—” She can’t force her thoughts into words, especially not English ones, so instead she shakes her head. Vision frowns.

Then Wanda’s attention is drawn away by the dull roar of thought around them. Before, she only picked up clear words and images from a few distinct threads, and besides some complaints about Vision’s billowing cape, no one was paying them much attention. These New Yorkers are focused on their own realities, their minds hurried and brusque and surprised by very little. After all, the city has seen many oddities. But Vision’s strangely textured red skin and bright costume have begun to attract interest. Luckily, no one has identified him yet; most of them think he’s some kind of street performer.

“They are starting to notice you.” Wanda tilts her head towards the people around them. Vision scans the crowd, his eyes pausing on a few people watching him.

“Ah,” he says, and Wanda finds that she knows his mind well enough to separate his discomfort from the swarming energy of the crowd. She glances down the streets at the buildings they pass until she finds a men’s clothing store. Grabbing Vision’s arm, she tugs him towards it.

Confused but trusting, he follows her.

They enter the store to the tinkling of a bell, and Wanda sighs with relief as the glass door closes behind them, cutting off much of the sound. At Vision’s questioning look, she taps the side of her head and says, “Much quieter.”

He glances out at the street again and nods. “I should have anticipated that. I apologize.”

“It is not your fault,” Wanda says. “But I was thinking it's probably time you got some clothing of your own.” She waves a hand at the store around them, which is quiet and empty but for the racks of shirts and sweaters and pants. “You cannot walk around in that outfit all the time.”

Vision’s forehead creases, and he looks around, this time at the clothes. He examines Wanda’s outfit briefly with an up and down stare that turns her cheeks hot, and then looks back outside at the men walking by.

“I hadn't noticed,” he admits. “This—” He indicates his torso. “—would attract attention. It’s very unusual.”

The cape floats around him, and Wanda has to resist the urge to laugh. This poor man.

“It is a uniform,” she tells him. “You wear it when you are on the job as an Avenger, saving people. So they know that you are here to do that. So they can recognize who you are. Stark has been working to make one for me, too, but the rest of the time, I wear this.” She indicates her dress. “Normal clothes. For normal days.”

But Vision is only half-listening. He wanders down the row to touch the sleeve of one of the shirts. He rubs the fabric between his fingers. Then he looks back up at Wanda.

“I see,” he says. “There’s a great deal of information about fashion online. I never thought to check before. Unfortunately, I am still not sure how to choose correctly.”

“I am here to help.” Wanda spreads her arms out wide. “Look around here. These are men’s clothes. What do you like?”

He rubs the fabric between his fingers again. “I'm afraid my only… ‘fashion icon’ is Thor.”

Wanda has to take in a deep breath through her nose to keep from bursting out laughing. When she’s gained control of herself, she says, “All right, then I will choose some things for you to try on. We can see how it looks.”

She wanders through the rows, passing a couple of men who pay them no attention, and picks out pieces of clothing as she goes. Vision follows. When they’ve reached the dressing room, she holds the stack of clothes out to him.

“Try these,” she says. “You can go into that back room to change.”

“There’s no need,” Vision replies.

Before Wanda can ask what he means, Vision lifts the first shirt off of the pile, glances it over—and then the clothes he's wearing shimmer. Wanda has a flash of panic before realizing that a perfect imitation of the shirt he is holding has replaced his costume in covering his skin. Vision still holds the actual piece in his hands, however, and the lower part of his costume remains in place.

She gasps from a mix of shock and relief. “What—”

“I can project an imitation fabric over myself.” Vision lifts up a pair of pants that replace the lower half of his costume, the blue darkening into black. “Any design I imagine.”

“How—” Wanda begins, but she can’t think of how to end that question. Instead, as Vision lifts his arms up for inspection, she steps forward and pokes his shoulder. It feels as though she is touching a shirt. “Is it real? Or do you—am I touching your skin right now?”

Vision’s arms lower as he thinks. “No,” he says at last. “The molecules of the fabric are mine, and I can manipulate them at will, but in this form, they are separate from me. I have created actual woven cloth in extension from my body. My nerves do not extend into the fabric. It is in every way like true fabric, though I can reclaim it if I wish.”

“Oh,” Wanda says, relieved.

“Does it look all right?” Vision lifts his arms again.

Wanda steps back to examine the ensemble, black track pants and a green jersey, then shakes her head. “No, it is not right for you. Try another.”

Vision goes through the entire pile and yet nothing seems right. By the time they finish, the store worker, a lithe young man with brown hair and a flashy ensemble, has come to watch. He holds a skeptical hand to his chin. Vision's unusual appearance doesn't even seem to startle him. When Wanda and Vision finish, the man drops his hand and steps forward.

“I swear to God, if I could do that, I would be set for life,” he says. As Wanda and Vision look on, the man walks around Vision and examines him from all angles. “All right, here’s the problem. Sweetie?” Wanda meets the man’s gaze. “You’re darling, I can tell, and I love what you’re wearing, but you’re not picking the right stuff for him. You’re thinking of someone else.”

Wanda looks Vision over again herself, and then nods, feeling a pang. Of course. In the back of her mind, she’s been thinking of Pietro.

“You strike me as having more of a classic vibe,” the man says to Vision. “40s, 50s, maybe. Collared shirts and sweaters, dress pants, maybe even a fedora! I’m Harvey, by the way. What do you think? Should I get you some pieces?”

Vision turns to Wanda for advice, and she nods.

“Please do,” Vision tells Harvey.

As soon as Vision phases to match the outfit Harvey picks out, Wanda knows that it’s right. Regular clothes look strange on someone like Vision, whom she’s used to seeing in costume, but these fancier options fit him much better than the clothes she selected.

Harvey directs Vision to a mirror. When he sees himself, Vision straightens.

“It’s… right,” he says. “It reminds me of… a certain man. Someone whose information I have stored in my system.” Seeing Wanda in the mirror behind him, he adds, “JARVIS was named after him.”

Harvey looks between them, beaming. “Well, you are now the best-dressed android I've ever met. Or—is android the right word?” He bites his lip.

"I— I don't—" Vision stammers, caught off guard.

Wanda steps in. "He's... complicated. Maybe... a synthetic person?"

Harvey's smile returns, and he nods, even as Vision turns to stare at Wanda.

"You're one of the best dressed men I've ever met, then," Harvey says. "I'm glad I got the chance to help out."

His eyes still on Wanda, Vision smiles. “Thank you.”

“May we get a hat?” Wanda asks Harvey. “For on the street, so he draws less attention.”

“Of course.” Harvey whirls off for a moment and then returns with a brown fedora.

Vision takes it in his hands, examining it closely, then looks up at Harvey and Wanda. "Recreating this will be... more difficult. Perhaps it would be best to buy this piece for now."

"All the better!' Harvey says.

They go to the register to pay for the hat, and Wanda insists that Harvey takes additional money for his consulting services. “Since he will not actually be buying the clothes,” she says with a glance in Vision’s direction. “Maybe you should also take a fee for… um.” She can’t think of the proper term in English. “Vlasničke ideje,” she says, hopelessly.

To her surprise, Vision translates. “I believe she's referring to 'intellectual property.'”

Wanda stares at Vision as Harvey nods. “I wouldn’t worry about it, darling,” he says as he runs Stark’s card. “You’re celebrities after all, and here’s a secret for you: these designs aren’t that original anyway. Glad to help out. Have a nice day!”

As they prepare to hit the street again, Wanda says, “You can speak Sokovian?”

“I believe I have attained fluency,” Vision responds. “I study it at night, among other topics.”

Wanda pauses inside the door and tilts her head. “Why?”

Vision meets her gaze, his own eyes gentle as the minuscule gears whirl within them. “Because it’s your native language.”

Once again caught off guard by a prickle of tears, Wanda ducks her head and hurries back out into the crowd. Vision follows right behind her. When she’s calm enough, she says, “Where is it you needed to go?”

“Captain Rogers requested we get some groceries. Perhaps we should go there first.”

Vision takes her to a supermarket at the corner, and they get to work picking up produce and other items, navigating a squeaky cart between clumps of people. This store, though not as packed as the streets, has many shoppers. Most of them are individual adults with small children in tow. Some of the children stare at Vision, but the adults pay no mind. They are too focused on their shopping, and unless they look directly into his face or see his hands, nothing about Vision catches attention. Although Wanda has to tell him, twice, not to phase through the shelves.

“People will not want food a person went through,” she scolds, clutching his sleeve.

“I’m not contaminating it in any way.” Vision frowns. “My form remains intact. I leave nothing behind.”

“Still, the thought of the thing,” Wanda says. “It is not polite.”

Vision stares at her for a moment and then nods. She lets go of his sleeve.

They then have another close call at checkout, when the woman runs the card and sees Stark’s name. Confused, she squints at the screen and then peers at them. Recognizing Vision at last, she opens her mouth.

“Don’t.” Wanda slams her hand down on the counter, jarring everyone nearby. “Please. We just want to get our things and go home."

The woman stares at them. At last she nods, though her eyes remain wide. “Can I at least get an autograph?” she whispers. “For when people start to know you, then I can be the first.”

Wanda sighs. “Fine.”

She snatches up a pen and scrawls a signature across the back of their receipt. She hands it to Vision, who, looking more confused than ever, follows suit. Wanda gives the slip to the woman, and she clutches it to her chest.

“Thank you. It’s such an honor. Have a nice day!”

Grumbling, Wanda gathers up their bags. Vision puts out a hand to stop her.

“Allow me to take them back to the car,” he says. “I’ll be quick. We have one more stop after this.”

Wanda lets him take the groceries and waits at the store entrance as he slips back through the crowd to where they parked. She notices a number of times when he phases part of his body through someone in order to move forward, and she has to shake her head.

I hope no one notices, she thinks. It’s uncomfortable watching him do it, like when he walked through the food. It feels wrong, in some strange way, despite Vision's reassurance that he disturbs nothing in the process.

Wanda leans against the wall as she waits for his return. Though it’s much better than if she were in training today, she’s still exhausted. Vision is right. She needs sleep, proper sleep, soon. She can feel her body fighting against her every moment now, breaking down, shutting off. Physical fitness was never her strong suit, but this—this is a sickness. She only feels worse knowing that Pietro would have excelled.

This is where he belonged.

When Vision comes back into eyesight, Wanda smiles and straightens up without conscious thought. She's happy to see him, she realizes, in a deep and relieving way that stems from inside her core. His very presence brightens the world.

He is my friend.

She hasn’t had one of those, other than her own brother, in years.

Vision’s face softens into a smile of his own as he nears. “It’s just around the corner,” he says.

“All right,” Wanda says, and she follows him.

Chapter Text

A blade of nervous energy cuts through Vision's body as they near the store. He isn’t sure this will appeal to Wanda, but he’s taking the chance. Acting in the midst of his own uncertainty is a new experience. He wants, deep in that hot space inside his chest, for this to make her happy. The sensation strikes him as being turbulent to the point of absurdity, and he doesn’t entirely like that.

Taking a breath to calm the heat, he leads Wanda from the sidewalk to the music shop.

“Oh!” She turns on her heel, taking in crowded walls covered by instruments and accessories. The floorspace is full of shelves containing old records and CDs, and the store as a whole teems to the point of claustrophobia. “I did not know you liked music.”

“There is a great deal to like,” Vision replies. “It’s remarkable, how humankind is able to translate thought and feeling into sound, even with the exclusion of words.” Wanda looks over at him as he adds, “However, we’re not here for me. This is for you.”

Wanda frowns. “Me?”

Vision takes in another deep breath. “I hoped a gift might give you some comfort. Previously, I bought you a bed—”

“You got me that bed?”

He examines her expression. Raised eyebrows. Mouth just barely open. It could mean many different things. “Yes, I… I was aware of your fatigue, and I thought perhaps a better mattress would help. I was wrong, of course. I miscalculated your needs. So instead, I’d like to help you find something that you will enjoy having.”

“The bed was a good gift.” She turns to look at the room again and shrugs. “Not a usual one, but logical.”

“I… am glad.” Vision frowns at a display of flutes and piccolos. Everything about gift-giving confuses him. He thought he’d had it right this time, but he had thought so then, too. Perhaps he should have left off with the bed.

“I like this, though.” Wanda takes a few steps forward, and Vision relaxes. “I like music.” She glances over her shoulder at him. “What were you thinking of?”

He directs her towards the lefthand wall, which is covered in guitars of various types. “From what I’ve heard myself, a great deal of music includes the guitar as a central instrument. I thought you might like to create music yourself, and since the guitar is so versatile—”

Suddenly, Wanda is rushing forward. Vision stops to watch as she kneels, reaching towards a relatively cheap, light-colored acoustic guitar. As she takes it in her hands, he steps forward, intending to direct her towards a higher quality model. Then she turns. There are tears in her eyes, but she’s smiling.

“Mama,” she whispers.

Vision hesitates, recalculates, and reconfigures himself into a kneeling position beside her. He can feel the warmth from her body against his own arm. Wanda shakes her head and brushes a fringe of hair from her face. “My… mother had a guitar like this. She would play all sorts of songs, popular and older folk songs, day and night. She sang, too. My dada would tease her, say, ‘Marya, ti pevaš češće nego vi govoriti.’ We all loved to listen, though, him most of all. She started to teach me, but…” Her smile falters. “I did not get to learn very much.”

A strange sensation causes Vision pause. He’s feeling a vague and empty pain—as though some of Wanda's sorrow has taken residence inside his own body.

In the moments after his birth, Vision searched the databases for information on each of the Avengers. He found each life a tragedy unto itself, yet hers has remained with him most strongly. Even in this moment, he can see the two news clips from before the twins’ time with HYDRA—one, a violent protest from a few years back, the other, older still. Two children amidst awful turmoil, pulled from the rubble of an apartment by rescue workers and taken away on stretchers. The girl—Wanda—was bleeding, covered in dust, and crying silent, empty tears. She moved only to reach a hand out to her brother, who struggled and shouted until they brought him to her.

Two body bags followed.

Vision never thought to imagine the loving family that might have existed before that day.

“I—” Wanda stops and swallows, the guitar still cradled in her hands. “I would like to learn. I could honor her that way. More than I ever have before.” Her mouth twists in a moment of bitterness. Then she looks down at the instrument and smiles. “I want this. This guitar.”

Vision nods and rises to his feet. “Then you will have it.”

As he helps her to her feet, Wanda beams. The smile is so startling and bright that Vision's heart constricts.

“I cannot thank you enough,” Wanda says. “This—this is perfect.”

Vision nods again; Wanda swallows again. She rests the guitar against a shelf, and then her arms are around him.

All of Vision’s thoughts stutter as his skin registers her body, pressed against him through the fabric of their clothing. She clings to him with her hands resting below his shoulder blades and her cheek against his chest, all warmth and softness and fragility. The last time she embraced him—the first time—though lovely and powerful, it had not been so fierce or so intimate. The sensation, and the response it generates, overwhelms Vision. He rests his own hands on her back. He tries to understand what he’s feeling.

In the long, slow seconds of her embrace, he realizes that it’s awe, just as he often feels when faced with humanity, but also… something new. Affection, he would say, if he believed himself capable of it.

Wanda pulls back. It takes Vision an extra second to move his own hands, during which he marvels at how large they are in comparison to her small torso. She is still smiling, tears glimmering in her wide eyes.

“Thank you,” she repeats. “You are—the kindest man I know.”

The words burst out of him, and he realizes he had been carrying them, unknowingly, at the forefront of his mind since they left the clothing shop. "Do you really think of me that way?" he asks. "As a... 'synthetic person?'" As a man, not a machine?

Wanda smiles, but there's a crease in her brow and a tilt to her head. "I think of you as my friend," she states. "A fellow Avenger, a good person."

"A person," he repeats. Her friend.

Still smiling, Wanda straightens Vision's hat and then moves towards the front desk. She clutches the guitar as tightly to herself as she had a moment ago clutched him. Vision follows more slowly, resting one hand on his abdomen. He does not know if his body will ever forget the heat of that embrace.

Touch, he thinks, is just as powerful as music.

Wanda purchases the guitar. As twice before, the person at the desk looks between them and recognizes who they are. The man, who is middle-aged with a salt-and-pepper beard and wearing a summer appropriate version of Vision's own outfit, nods.

“You’re Avengers,” he says in a low, pleasant voice. “The new ones.”

They nod back at him.

“A real mess, what happened in Sokovia. I'm sorry you had to go through that.” He moves away from the desk to grab a small device—a guitar stand—and misses Wanda’s brief, pained expression. “Here, for free.”

“Oh, no—”

“It’s a delight to see you taking an interest in music,” the man says, interrupting Wanda’s protest. “Music is the best way of life there is. So take it. I’m honored.”

“Thank you,” Vision says. “You have a lovely voice. I can see why you choose a career in music.”

The man lets out a quick laugh as Wanda shoots Vision a surprised look. “Why, thank you. Have a good one.”

As they exit the store, Vision looks over at Wanda. Her smile hasn’t faded, a fact which pleases him. “Are you ready to return to the compound?” he asks.

“I’m ready to go home,” she agrees.

So they make their way back to the car amidst a crowd that barely notices them. Vision himself can't seem to stop smiling as he navigates the vehicle back to the compound. He doesn't even have to look at Wanda to somehow feel that she is happy.

It takes a few trips for them to move everything back into the compound, and the trainees outside watch with more than a little curiosity, but soon they are settled back in. Vision phases up into Wanda's room once he has put the groceries away. She's kneeling next to her bed, gazing at her new instrument on its stand. She starts at his appearance, but says nothing.

"We may rejoin the others downstairs if you'd like," he tells her, "but Captain Rogers won't require it."

"I'd rather not." Wanda scoots around to face him. "That was... tiring." She offers a small smile. "But then, I am always tired."

Vision moves to sit cross-legged beside her. The sensation of his new clothing, which is looser than his usual outfit, startles him slightly.

"I wish I could help more," he says.

"You have done more than enough."

For a long moment, they sit in companionable silence. Then Wanda reaches out towards her nightstand.

With a flash of writhing red, one of the framed photos flies into her hand. Wanda sighs and holds it out so Vision can see: her and her brother, not too much younger than Wanda is now, gazing at each other inside a back alley. A rare moment of peace. He has seen the image before, in the HYDRA files.

"Pietro did everything he could to protect me," Wanda says. "We moved from orphanage to orphanage, but no matter where we were, there was no peace. The others bullied us." She shrugs. "We were easy targets. They made fun of the way we cried at night or the fact that we were Jewish. Pietro got into many fights. We could never stand to be separate, so I always went with him when he got kicked out."

She's silent for a couple of breaths, stroking the image of her brother's face. Vision doesn't understand why she's telling him this, but he's glad she's talking about it. He watches the soft movements of her finger.

"No one would help us," she says at last. "The government did not care. Bombs went off every day. I would sit in school, learning the language of my mother's murderer, and hear gunfire down the street. Everywhere we went there were broken buildings and smashed cars, from all the other countries stomping on us to get past. The Americans were the worst, or so I thought." She glances at him. "I saw on TV how nice it was here, how easy Americans have it, and meanwhile people were dying on the streets everyday. Like my parents."

"I'm sorry," Vision says. Wanda barely seems to hear him.

"All I could think of was Stark." She growls the name. "In my dreams, always, I saw the letters across the bomb that might have killed us. My parents' bloody bodies under the dining room table. Pietro cradling my head and saying over and over, 'Twelve more minutes. Just twelve more.' I could not breathe. Even years after, I could not breathe from the fear. There was just always 'S-T-A-R-K,' printed inside my eyelids. He was everything that I hated." She takes in a rattling breath and stares at the picture in her hands. "Pietro and I ran away when we were sixteen. No one looked for us." She shrugs. "We lived on the streets, starving and cold, trailing after rebels who led protests and rallies. That's when government started to care. Tear gas and metal sticks, sometimes bullets, that was their caring."

Vision swallows, remembering again the two news clips and comparing them to all the decadence of Mr. Stark's life. He remembers his fledgling self, the flat code that was JARVIS, looking on with nary a clue that, on the other side of the world, Wanda was suffering. It's hard to think that he wasn't there to help her.

"That was when HYDRA showed up, disguised as SHIELD," Wanda continues. "We begged them to make it stop, and they told us that they could make us powerful like the Avengers, so that we could fix things ourselves. It... took a while for me to agree." She circles Pietro's face with her finger again. Vision touches the photo to stabilize it. The image of her face, gaunt and dirty, rests barely a centimeter from his thumb.

"I kept thinking," she whispers, "how helpless I felt. I couldn't take it anymore. So we went to their headquarters, walking miles in the snow. They accepted us quickly, because we were young and no one cared about us and they could use us." Her voice cracks.

Vision can't watch her hurting like this and do nothing. Remembering the effect her touch had on him, he strokes the back of her hand, which rests on the floor between them. To his relief, she shudders and then relaxes.

"It didn't take us long to realize who they really were, but..." Wanda shrugs and turns her hand over so that Vision's fingers brush against her creased palm. "It was too late. And when it was over—when I realized what I could do, I was so... happy. I thought I would never have to feel helpless again. I swore I never would."

Removing herself at last from the distance of memory, Wanda shifts to face Vision. He swallows as their eyes meet, hers clear and deep and full of colors.

"It didn't matter," she states. "Fear does not care how powerful you are. Fear follows wherever you go. I see that now. But..." She weaves her fingers between his and lifts their joined hands. A jolt of electricity breaches inside of Vision's fingertips. "...so does family. All that time, I had my brother, and I knew that he would not leave me. Now..." She swallows and squeezes Vision's hand. "I have the Avengers. I stay alive for you and the others, and I fight for the family I lost."

Vision lets out a slow, steady breath, taking the moment to recalibrate his body. He files everything he has learned away amongst his other memories of her.

"I'm glad," he says.

She smiles, her eyes crinkling, and lets go of his hand so she can send the picture back to its place.

"I am going to start learning this guitar now." Wanda gets to her feet and pulls the guitar off its stand. As she backs up to sit on her bed, Vision, too, rises. "Maybe I will play for you soon. Something my mother used to sing."

He smiles back at her, his body humming with relief. "I would like that."

Chapter Text

She sleeps easy for one night.

Wanda has never talked about her past before, not in so much detail. Having told her story now, she feels a relief more profound than she could have imagined. She hadn’t realized she was hurting so much. Now that the burden is shared with another, now that she is not the only living person left to carry it, the sharp pain like a cactus growing in her chest has vanished. She still feels grief and sorrow deep in her bones, but for once, she breathes easy.

While dressing the next morning, she brushes her already sore fingers against her new guitar’s face. It will be a challenge to learn to play, but one she looks forward to. She remembers the calluses on her own mother’s fingertips with fondness.

Her throat tightens as she joins the others at breakfast. How can she look any of them in the eye knowing how pathetic she must seem to them? Skipping out to the city to be Vision’s shopping buddy, constantly being flattened by the rest of them during combat, never able to keep up when they run or lift weights. It haunts her, the thought that Pietro is the twin who would have been admired and accepted. Pietro would have sped past all of them, three times over and running backwards. A streak of silver and blue rather than a shaking spot of scarlet.

But Vision smiles at her as she pours herself a bowl of cereal, and that, too, brings relief. Whatever the others think, he has never looked down on her. She doesn’t believe he’s even capable of it. She returns the smile and is grateful for the way his eyes crinkle and body straightens in response.

No, Vision will never think badly of her.

“Hey,” Rhodey says as he joins the group. “Package from Tony just arrived.”

“Wanda’s costume, finally.” Steve rises from the stool he was sitting on. “Perfect timing, too. Any other word from Stark Tower?”

Rhodey shakes his head, and for a second, sorrow flashes from Steve’s heart to Wanda’s. Then Steve nods. “Right. Wanda?”

Having just put a spoonful of cereal and milk in her mouth, Wanda freezes and meets Steve’s eyes. He had to look at her right now? But Steve smiles, and that expression is even more of a relief right now than Vision’s was.

He does not see me as weak after all, she realizes.

Sometimes, her own feelings are so strong that they cloak other people’s thoughts. Wanda is glad to know this is one of those times.

“You finish your breakfast,” Steve says with a gentle nod. “Natasha will show you to the armory after.” He claps his hands together and backs towards the doorway, addressing everyone now. “Big day today! Exciting stuff. I look forward to it.”

With Steve gone, Wanda swallows and wipes her mouth. “What does that mean?”

To her utter shock, Natasha, who is already dressed for training, also smiles. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fun.”

“Your definition of fun or mine?” Wanda asks.

Natasha smirks and turns back to her phone.

“We are moving forward with training.” Vision sits beside Wanda and folds his hands on the tabletop. “They believe you’ve made suitable enough progress.”

“Really?”

“Vision, you are the worst at surprises.” Natasha swivels back around, and Wanda can’t help but smile at Vision’s expression. “Yeah, really. Like I said to this disastrously goodhearted hunk of red-and-silver yesterday, you don’t have to be like me to survive out there. There are other ways to fight.” She shrugs. “It’s time we started making use of everything in our arsenal.”

“Oh.” Wanda’s cheeks flush with happiness as Natasha smiles. This is the best day she’s had in years.

“I’m sorry if I ruined the… surprise,” Vision says from Wanda’s other side. “I simply wished to reassure Miss Maximoff. She appeared concerned.”

“Wanda,” she corrects automatically.

“Yes. Wanda.”

Their eyes meet, and for a moment, Wanda is perfectly still. She watches the gears in Vision's eyes twirl in circles, knowing that behind them is, perhaps, the best friend she’s ever had. Strange and naïve as he is, Vision represents a goodness she wasn’t sure was in this world.

“Are you eating or nah?” Sam asks, startling her.

Flushing again, Wanda turns back to her breakfast. Vision remains beside her as she finishes, and then Natasha nudges her shoulder.

“Let’s go.”

With a quick glance back at Vision, who smiles reassuringly, Wanda follows Natasha to the second level and into one of the many back rooms she’s never seen before. Wanda lets out a quick breath as she looks around. Three-fourths of the room is taken up by weaponry—gun after gun, knives, arrows, rockets, a handful of pieces from Iron Man-type suits. It’s an overwhelming display of firepower that Wanda finds terrifying in the moment before she remembers that she's on the Avengers' side.

The other part of the room holds a rack of clothing—the others’ costumes and training outfits—with a number of what she presumes to be dressing rooms off to the side. Wanda scans the clothes. Two Captain America suits. Many different shorts and t-shirts for exercising. Four or five of Natasha’s Black Widow bodysuits. Many different shoes, a few well-used pieces of equipment. One suit that probably belongs to Clint. A spare outfit that clearly belongs to Thor.

Finally, in a bag at the end, she sees the outfit that must belong to her. Red, almost the same shade as Vision’s skin, feminine in cut, with a long jacket, boots, and fingerless gloves. Not bad, especially since Stark made it. She takes another breath and nods.

“It looks nice,” she says.

“More importantly, can you fight in it?”

Natasha takes the hangar off the rack and holds the clothes out to Wanda. Wanda folds them into her arms and opens one of the side doors to a dressing room. Once inside, it takes only moments for her to dress. Despite how fancy it looks, the costume is easy to get on and off, and quite comfortable. Pants, she has to admit, are not something she wears often, but they’re far more practical than a skirt for something like this. And the gloves kind of make her feel badass.

She opens the door and lifts her arms out for Natasha to examine. Natasha smiles.

“Perfect,” she says. “Come on.” As she turns to lead Wanda out of the room, Natasha mutters, “Give that android something to stare at.”

Wanda stumbles mid-step. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Wanda huffs, heat flooding to her face again, and follows Natasha back to their usual training room. The others are already waiting. As with a handful of other times before, Steve has set up a line of dummies for stationary practice. Wanda relaxes a little. She prefers that to having to actually fight Natasha. The number of times she’s ended up on her butt the past few weeks is humiliating.

Steve nods across the room at the two women, and the others turn to look. Sam lets out a wolf-whistle.

Wanda ducks her head, but she’s smiling. There’s nothing predatory in Sam’s thoughts, and she knows that this is meant as an honest compliment. She lifts her head to show her smile, and her gaze catches on Vision. The hum of Vision’s thoughts catches and stutters once, but he doesn’t otherwise react except to return her smile.

Wanda lifts her chin still higher.

“Is it working for you?” Steve asks as they approach. “Comfortable, easy to move in?”

Wanda dips her head once, decisively. “Yes,” she says. “I like it.”

“Great.” Steve claps his hands together, and Natasha moves to stand by his side. “Okay, everyone. Like I promised earlier, we’re moving on with our training today.”

Sam lets out a loud whoop, and Rhodey shakes his head.

“All right, all right,” Steve says. “We’re joining the other trainees tomorrow, so today I want to get a better idea of what you can do. I'm looking for no holds barred, full power stationary attacks. Then Natasha and I will create individual training exercises to perfect your skills. Rhodes, Sam, you have your equipment?”

“Hell yes,” Sam says, just as Rhodey says, “I can get it.”

“Okay, get your gear on,” Steve tells them. “Everyone else, basic warmups.”

Wanda follows the others through stretches and a bit of jogging while they wait for Rhodey to return. When he does, Steve calls a halt.

“Targets: training dummies on the lefthand side of the room," he says. "Mission: take out your target. Like I said, no holds barred. I hope to avoid the need for kill shots in actual battle, but we're doing it now, for educational purposes. So show me what you’ve got.” When the group nods, Steve steps back. “Natasha? Want to do the honors?”

“Certainly.”

As the group creates a wide circle around the dummies, Steve standing directly to the left with his arms crossed, Natasha approaches. Before Wanda can even blink, Natasha has taken the dummy to the ground, put it in a chokehold, drawn a gun from who even knows where, and shot the mannequin point blank in the forehead.

“Perfect,” Steve says as the others stare. “Next dummy. Sam.”

“Whoo-hoo!” Sam deploys his wings, apparently just for flair, because he then shoots three holes in the dummy without even approaching it. “I’ve missed my guns!” he exclaims.

Steve chuckles. “Good work, Sam. Colonel Rhodes?”

Two bursts of energy that make Wanda flinch, and the dummy tumbles over backwards. Rhodey didn’t even put his suit’s face mask up.

“Right. Now—”

Before Steve can finish his sentence, three arrows arc through the air out of nowhere and hit the dummy in the forehead, chest, and solar plexus. The group turns to see Clint rappelling down from the galley, armed with his bow and arrow sheath. When he reaches the ground, Clint salutes to Steve and strides forward to join the others.

“Were you gonna leave me out?” he says.

“Guess I don’t get a target,” Steve replies, grinning. “Welcome back, Clint.”

Wanda beams over at the man, who returns with a wink.

“So the next one goes to Vision.”

With a calm nod, Vision steps forward to face the last dummy from a few yards away. Wanda watches as he squints, lowers his head, and then a blinding yellow beam drives a fist-sized hole straight through the dummy’s chest. Everyone pauses to watch it smoke.

“Great!” Steve says. Unfazed, Vision dips his head in acknowledgement. “Wanda?”

Wanda takes in a deep breath as all eyes turn on her. She’s felt pressure before, but this is unlike any other time. She wants so desperately to show them that, despite her lack of physical ability, she belongs on the team. She can save lives—and take them.

Clenching her hands into fists, she approaches the final dummy. It takes a couple breaths for her to focus enough to take hold of the mannequin. Wanting to be as impressive as Vision, she, too, stays a few yards away as she uses her hands to direct energy into the dummy. The sensation trembles at her fingertips and aches inside of her mind. She can just barely see the scarlet tremors extending from her to the target. Holding her hands before her as a bright sphere of energy builds between them, she weaves herself into the fibers of her target. She thinks of Ultron. She takes a breath.

Then she digs her fingers into the sphere between her palms and pulls, evoking in her own mind the feeling of separation. She watches as if in slow motion as the dummy explodes into pieces of brown fabric and stuffing and metal, outlined by her glowing scarlet light. The others flinch backwards, and she uses all her remaining energy to stop the inertia of the fragments so that they fall straight to the ground.

Time speeds up. She takes in a shuddering breath, her mind going fuzzy, and stumbles backwards. For a second she panics—she used too much energy, she’s going to fall—and then a sturdy, textured arm crosses her back, holding her upright. She gasps—Vision, thank God—and lets him support her weight. The touch is much needed now.

She’s never done something so violent, not in a peaceful environment like this.

“Holy shit!” Sam is shouting. “What the hell—”

“Wow,” Steve interrupts him. “That’s—incredible. That—” He meets Wanda’s gaze, and his shocked expression softens. “I hope we never have to use that, but it’s impressive.” He strides over to clasp her on the shoulder. The touch drives the Captain’s sense of pride and wonder into Wanda's own mind, and she straightens. “Good work.”

Wanda watches him walk back over to Natasha’s side, feeling Vision’s heat at her back, and her heart swells.

Yes, today is a good day.

Chapter Text

Vision keeps his arm behind Wanda until she regains her strength, which only takes a twenty-three more seconds. Her stamina for mental exercise is far greater than that for physical exertion. He steps back as she steps forward, and takes the opportunity to scan her. Fatigue is still clear in the way her muscles move, but she has a new spring in her step.

She must be pleased at the chance to use her powers. It clearly weighed on her that she lagged behind the others in training.

Vision has to admit, as he studies Wanda, that her new costume has a pleasing appearance. Since his birth, Vision has possessed a great appreciation for the aesthetic of the human body, in all its form and function. As Wanda once said, his own body is a miracle, and he has felt deep wonder in its experience. However, as he has become accustomed to his own physicality, the differences between his body and those of the others have fascinated him more and more.

Wanda’s body differs from his the most of all. She is soft and small and pale, with all the feminine curves that his masculine form lacks. In the past, her hands have drawn his attention the most, decked as they so often are by rings that glitter as she moves her fingers to direct her powers. They are the center of her energy, the anchor that ties her consciousness to the outside world. Now, Vision tilts his head, considering the rest of her body. Though he has always been aware of her, this new outfit brings her form into a different light. Her curves become more obvious and more demanding of attention.

Clint Barton’s hand clamps down on his arm. Vision jumps. He’s never been startled before, and it’s not a pleasant sensation. He blinks a couple of times to regain focus.

“Did I just catch you staring at Wanda’s ass?” Clint hisses in his ear.

Vision turns to look at the other man. Clint’s face is more furious than Vision has ever seen, an expression best termed as a “glower.” He clearly means for Vision to feel threatened, though Vision cannot imagine feeling threatened by someone as fragile as Clint. Then Vision analyzes Clint's words, and they invoke something that is indeed akin to fear.

There is no good way to respond to Clint’s query.

“I… swear to you, I did not mean it in the way you imagine,” Vision stutters. “I’m sorry.”

“What, was there a fly there you wanted to swat?”

Not a true question either. Honesty, or something near it, would be the best response. “I find the human body to be aesthetically pleasing. I meant no threat towards her. Everything about the physical world interests me.”

“Well, you’d best step back from that physical world,” Clint mutters. “It’s not yours. She’s not your plaything.”

Vision’s heart stutters. He can hear echoes of Ultron in Clint’s words. “I wouldn't… I have never thought that she was.”

Clint squints at him for a moment, and then lets his hand fall. “All right.”

He doesn't sound convinced.

As Clint moves forward to join Wanda, standing in a location that makes it impossible for Vision to continue looking, Vision takes a breath. His heart rate is still faster than it ought to be. Clint frightened him, despite the lack of a physical threat. No, what worries Vision is that Clint might be right. Perhaps Vision was looking at Wanda in a way similar to how Ultron did.

He cannot afford not to honor and respect her. He is the last person who should treat her in such a way, when he cannot even claim to be human.

He looks up to check on Captain Rogers and Natasha and finds Wanda watching him, her forehead creased. She glances at Clint and then at Vision again. Of course she can feel the tension.

Vision shakes his head.

Wanda purses her lips and turns away, jutting her hip out and tilting her head. Vision very conscientiously looks away.

Training passes, blocks of analysis and action interspersed as Natasha and Captain Rogers get a handle on what their teammates can do. Naturally, their focus is primarily on Vision and Wanda, whose abilities are more difficult to understand. Captain Rogers takes particular interest in how exact and intricate Wanda can make her telekinetic movements.

They break for dinner, though the Captain, as usual, issues an invitation for them to continue practicing during their free time. It’s the first group dinner they’ve had in three weeks and six days, but Vision finds himself unable to enjoy it. The anxiety that Clint invoked has settled in his abdomen, and though he has never been ill, he can only describe this as sickness. He wishes he could resolve the issue.

Wanda finishes her meal before the others, and, excusing herself, touches Vision’s shoulder.

“I want to talk to you,” she says.

Vision nods to the others and follows her out of the room. He is all too aware of Clint’s glare behind them.

Wanda leads Vision up the stairs and to their block of rooms, but instead of going to hers, she stops in front of his.

Vision blinks, then uses his handprint to open the door.

The temperature inside his room is cooler than outside, and it remains bare and empty. He uses it so infrequently that it seemed pointless to decorate it any further, though his small collection of books and the Van Gogh painting add a little color. Wanda walks to the bed that Vision rarely sleeps in, examining the room as she goes. She takes a seat on the mattress, crossing her legs, then pats the spot beside her.

“Sit,” she says.

Vision complies.

“What’s wrong?” Wanda shifts to face Vision, but he can’t meet her eyes. He doesn’t dare look at her right now. “Vizh. You are usually so calm, but now you are upset. What did Clint say?"

Vision doesn't respond.

"Vizh, look at me.”

He does.

“I want to help,” Wanda says.

Looking into her pleading eyes, knowing, if nothing else, what that desire feels like, Vision gives in. “I don’t wish to upset you, and I am terribly sorry. I'm afraid he caught me… looking at you.”

Wanda’s brow crinkles.

“He took it to mean something that I didn’t intend. He’s angry that I may have been… disrespecting you.”

Wanda’s face smooths slightly. “Oh.”

“I fear that he’s right.” The words come bursting from Vision’s tongue. “Not in the way he meant, but… While I am fully aware that you’re an individual with your own will and that I have no right to you in any way, I was admiring your figure.”

Wanda tilts her head quite abruptly, and something in Vision’s abdomen clenches tighter.

“I did not mean to treat you as… an art piece, or some other object for my visual entertainment,” he says quickly. “I believe that’s called ‘objectification,’ and I know that it’s disrespectful. I simply find the human body intriguing. The aesthetic of it, as with many things in this world, is beautiful. I didn’t intend… but I’m afraid I may have done you wrong, and I must apologize.”

A couple of seconds pass, and then Wanda breaks into a smile, her eyes crinkling. She shifts closer to him. Vision stares.

“Vizh,” Wanda says with a small laugh. “You have nothing to apologize for. Clint… he does not understand you, and that makes him wary. He assumes the worst. But I know things he doesn’t.” She taps the side of her head. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I don’t—”

Wanda clenches her hands on her knees. “I will try to explain…” She purses her lips and swallows before meeting his eyes. “You should never feel guilty for admiring something… ‘aesthetic.’ To see beauty is human, and many things are beautiful. I don’t think of it much, but it's true. You are curious because every body is different from yours, and you are so new that you still see what is special about them. Me, I only notice sometimes. But everyone notices a little.”

She hesitates, then reaches out to touch his arm. He shivers as she trails her finger across his forearm, over the strands of metal woven between his red skin. Her touch tingles, but he doesn’t want her to stop.

“Your body,” she says in a lower voice, “is interesting to me. Because it is different. It is easy to see what’s special about it. For you, it’s the same way about all bodies. But neither of us is looking at each other and thinking of ourselves.” She draws back, and Vision takes in a shaky breath. “Vizh, seeing beauty is not the same as trying to own it. You are not looking at me and thinking that I am for you. You are just looking.” She pauses. “Does that make sense?”

“I’m… not sure.” He frowns and plants his feet more firmly on the floor. “I don’t think I know what the difference is, or where it is that I would cross that boundary.”

She smiles. “That is because you have never… ‘objectified.’ You are so kind, you don’t know what it feels like.”

Vision purses his lips.

Wanda clasps her hands together. “How about I promise that I will tell you if I hear you think that way? I'll tell you if you make me uncomfortable. And you can promise that you will stop, if you do start thinking of me as a thing that belongs to you, instead of as a person.”

Vision feels the tension leave his muscles. “Yes,” he says. “That would be helpful.”

“Then I promise.” She taps the back of his hand and smiles. “What matters most is that people listen when they're told to stop. That is how you respect each other.”

“I see.” Vision straightens. The sickness inside of him has vanished. “And what about Clint?”

Wanda shrugs and wrinkles her nose playfully. “Just try not to piss him off. He will figure out that you are a good man eventually.”

Vision can’t help but smile, though he’s not sure if it’s in response to her crassness or the compliment. “Thank you for explaining.”

She shrugs again. “You have helped me a lot. I want to do the same for you.”

Vision doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he simply bows his head. Wanda smiles, unfolds herself from the bed, and leaves the room.

Chapter Text

After speaking with Vision, Wanda pulls Clint aside. “You scared Vision,” she scolds.

Clint rolls his eyes. “Can he even feel fear??”

“Yes, Clint. And you made him feel bad about himself.”

“He was staring at your ass!”

Wanda blinks a couple of times, then shakes her head. “He's not like that. He might as well have been looking at a painting—a painting with thoughts that he respects, I mean.” She closes her eyes and huffs. “He does not know how to look at someone and think he owns them. He was more upset than I ever feel from him, and just because he looked at me and thought I was pretty.” She flushes slightly on the last word.

Clint doesn’t seem to notice. “I don't know, Wanda. I don't want you to think that just because he's a... whatever he is—" Wanda rolls her eyes. "—that he won't hurt you. That he's not like other dudes."

“I read minds.” Wanda glares at Clint. “Nothing in his thoughts makes me uncomfortable, ever. You are the one who needs to be nicer."

Clint sputters.

“I mean it.” Wanda points into his face, and Clint nearly goes cross-eyed watching her finger. “You are afraid he thinks of me as a thing instead of a person, and then you look at him and see a Ultron. He is not a machine, and he is not a monster. He is a good person. The worst thing you can say is that he is naïve.”

Clint crosses his arms, but Wanda knows she’s gotten through to him. “All right,” he says. “Fine. I trust you. But I don’t want to see him staring at your ass again. You’re like a daughter to me, and… it’s just wrong.”

“I do not think you need to worry about that,” Wanda says dryly. “He might never look at another ass again.”

Clint rolls his shoulder. “Good.”

Clint doesn't return for a while after that, but Wanda doesn't have time to worry—her attention is all taken up by the new training routines. The new Avengers team is among outsiders for the first time now. They spend their days working with the people that Fury rounded up to be their backup. That means more of the physical exercises that Wanda has come to dread, but this time, she is also allowed to use her powers.

At first, the other trainees stare, never having seen her particular talents before. Most admire her, but some are afraid. When Wanda was with HYDRA, she didn’t mind being feared, but this is different. Even when she was driven by hate, Wanda never wanted ordinary people to see her as bad. She just wanted to feel strong.

Nonetheless, Wanda is happier than she’s been in a long time, maybe even since her parents’ death. She’s among friends who care for her. She has a purpose again, one based on compassion rather than anger. She’s free to be herself and able to use her abilities without fear of being defined only by what makes her different. For once, she belongs. In the quiet moments, she thinks of Vision “admiring her figure” and smiles.

Wanda has never before been admired by a man in a way that did not feel threatening. But with him, she's glad to have approval. She likes that he makes her feel beautiful. She likes that he looks at her and sees someone who matters.

Clint looking at the two of them and seeing lust makes her uncomfortable. It makes her and Vision's friendship, which to her is pure and beautiful, feel dirty. After years living on the streets and being a mind-reader, Wanda associates sex with control and dehumanization, exactly the things that Clint made Vision’s gaze out to be. Wanda knows all the ways that sex can be a weapon. Logically, she also understands that it can be good—she has had sexual feelings of her own before—but after everything, she cannot help her anxiety.

With Vision, she always feels safe. She doesn't want anything to taint that. No matter how interesting she finds his body—and why did she tell him that?—she cannot imagine looking at him in a lecherous way. He’s too kind for that. She cares about him, as a person, a human being, and any admiration she has for him will always be dependent on that. She knows it’s the same for him. He respects her in a way few people ever have.

But—he did “admire her figure.”

She bites her lip to keep from smiling in the middle of training. Right now, Steve and Natasha are watching her telekinetically move small objects through complex obstacle courses. The task isn't too difficult; HYDRA trained Wanda and Pietro’s abilities back at their compound. Wanda knows how to do this. And it is much more pleasant than trying to take apart someone’s mind.

HYDRA had her do that too, many times.

Wanda finishes the course and lets the small metal ball she was manipulating drop to the lawn. The handful of trainees watching give her a polite round of applause.

“Good work,” Steve says. “Take a break.”

Wanda heads back to her room to take a shower and change her clothes. Back in one of her favorite black dresses, her hair still damp, she considers practicing her guitar, but she doesn't feel like being alone right now. She wanders back downstairs instead. From there, she can hear the others training outside. Distant laughter wafts through the air.

Smiling, Wanda settles down on the couch with her phone in hand. She’s gotten into reading e-books, though reading English has always been harder for her than speaking it, and right now she’s in the middle of a novel full of romance and magic. She loves the characters, the writing, the way the story transports her to a whole different kind of life.

She scoots down further on the couch, wriggling to get comfortable. The cushions are soft, and the room is warm, and her eyes are heavy and sore. She is… so… tired.

Wanda’s phone drops to her chest, and she slips into unconsciousness.

Wanda’s happiness has afforded her a little extra rest during the night, but not enough. Never enough. No matter how good she feels when she’s awake, dreaming arouses all the dark and painful places in her memory. It dregs up the horror that she forgets to feel during the day. In this moment, she slips back into the familiar litany.

Red scores like claw marks burn themselves on the Avengers’ faces, stars imploding around them. The fall to their knees, screaming and clutching their ruined cheeks—Her mother, her father, Pietro, white-faced like ghosts and drowning in a sea of blood and shadow as lightning crackles overhead. They reach out, choking, crying, but she has no hand to reach to them—She stands alone in the frozen mountain of rubble that used to be Sokovia, choking on dust, her tears like acid on her skin, and she screams, and screams, and screams—

Then everything shifts from red to gold like an ocean wave breaking across her mind.

She feels the universe turning beneath her feet. She lifts her arms as far as she can to embrace it. Her power sparks over the skin on her hands and arms, warming her. Outside the window and across the expanse of grass, the setting sun paints bold streaks of red and gold.

She turns around, and Vision stands there. He lifts his hand, the muscles under his silver-red skin shifting in a display of power that catches her attention. Then a smile, white teeth amidst burgundy.

“Game night?” he asks. “The others are waiting.”

With a confident smile, she places her hand in his. It’s an easy choice. With another smile, Vision leads her down the corridor and into a half-lit room where the Avengers sprawl in their pajamas on couches and blankets, popcorn in front of them, all laughing and talking. There’s Natasha, Clint, Steve, Sam, Thor, Rhodey, Stark, Pietro—

The sharp ache inside her heart wakes her, and Wanda gasps in a breath. Her phone falls to the floor.

“Are you all right?”

She blinks away the blurriness to see Vision moving towards her. His brow is creased in concern, lips turned down.

She lets out a shaky half-laugh. A hum grows in rising tones within her brain, a realization only half-born and waiting for the sun to rise upon it—and he waits at the center. Dazedly, she lifts her hand out to him, pushing herself backwards and into a more upright position as she does so. She needs to touch him, that’s the only thing she knows right now. She needs him.

“Wanda.” Vision approaches cautiously. When she doesn’t answer, he settles into a kneeling position beside the couch, his face inches from her fingertips. The worry in his gentle eyes destroys her.

“You said, at the beginning, that I should look again.” The words fall out of Wanda in a wild burst. “That was what you said. Did you mean it?”

He frowns. “I did. Wanda—”

“No one has ever wanted me to look, not ever. No one has ever asked for that. I’m always taking what no one wants to give. Vizh.”

As he studies her face, she takes in two deep breaths.

“May I?” She moves her hand so that she nearly touches his temple.

Never breaking eye contact, he nods.

With her hand raised to guide her, Wanda opens herself. She hears his thoughts hum louder, and then, following both sound and touch, she tumbles from her own consciousness into his.

When she hits the boundary between them, her fall slows. His mind wraps around her like clouds of cotton: soft and easy, blurred but recognizable, accepting her in and halting her descent. Through her own eyes, she sees Vision shiver, once, and then close his eyes. The Mind Gem darkens and then begins to bleed from gold to red. She breathes in, expands, and lets herself feel.

As she had heard in small echoes before, his thoughts are quiet and organized. Though fast-paced, they do not feel frantic. A steady thrumming whisper in the sound of his voice speaks her name, like a heartbeat. The rest comes in easy waves. Hope. Peace. Affection. Wonder. She sees the world whirling about them exactly how Vision sees it, and its beauty is undeniable. Her mind fills with facts and information that she never before had access to, databases upon databases of flat knowledge that she struggles to translate into 3D reality. She sees the faces of her teammates and knows in that moment that they are both so small and so magnificent. For an instant, she even feels the power of Vision’s body from within, the intricate weaving of fiber and metal and flesh moving in ripples and waves that she’s never felt in her own skin. She watches as a man who has barely yet lived try to make sense of the unknowable using facts and figures.

Her heart shudders and stops, and then she knows.

She folds herself back into her own body, gasping, and watches the red fade from the stone in Vision’s forehead. Slowly, he opens his eyes and gazes back at her. Waiting.

“You…” She laughs, or she breathes, she’s not sure which one. “You.”

She lets her hand fall so that her fingers actually touch his face. He tilts his head into her hand. She cups his cheek, gentle and careful as she can, because she knows now that her touch always surprises him. The contrasting feel of metal and skin shivers up her arm. “I don’t know if it’s the Mind Gem or if it’s that you are not afraid, but…” The same breathy sound escapes her. “You can feel me. When I do that, but not just then. Any time I reach out with my mind, you know that I am doing it.”

“Yes.” Vision reaches up and folds her hand inside his own palm, holding it less than an inch from his cheek. He frowns, just slightly.

“Pietro is the only other person who could do that.” Wanda's voice breaks. “I thought it was because we were twins, or because we got our powers in the same instant, and maybe it is that, but… you can do it too. You are… connected to me, somehow.”

“Yes,” he says. Wanda lets her hand drop from his, and Vision examines her expression. “Both your theories have merit. The Mind Gem connects us, and I don't fear you as others have in the past. In fact, I find myself quite open to you.”

She smiles.

Vision blinks slowly. “You seem intrigued by this."

“It—well.” She ducks her head. Of course, she has gotten ahead of herself. Vision is not Pietro; he has no obligation to help her. “When you walked into the room, with me still sleeping, you... changed my dreams. I was having nightmares, the same as usual, and then they stopped. You let me have a normal dream.”

Vision makes a soft humming sound in the back of his throat, one full of surprise and interest.

“Vision.” Wanda sits up all the way, putting her feet back on the floor. “You can fix my nightmares. You can help me sleep.” Vision straightens, keeping his bright eyes locked on hers. Wanda smiles. “I do not know why I didn’t see it before—maybe because I was trying so hard to protect everyone from my mind, or maybe you were not as open before—but I can access your mind like I did Pietro’s. More… um, mutual than with others. You can reach back to me when I reach out to you, and I can use your thoughts to redirect my dreams.”

“I can help you get the rest you need.” Vision’s mind hums with intrigue.

“Yes.” Wanda folds her hands together in her lap. “I’m sure it will work. It is not even just that we are connected. Your mind is… peaceful and organized. It’s unusual that way.”

Vision purses his lips. “Inhuman, you mean.”

“No, it is perfectly human,” Wanda says with a dismissive hand wave. “Just…” She thinks for a second, and then gives a quick laugh. “It's a mind worthy of Thor's hammer. A lovely place to be. Safe. If anyone’s mind could make nightmares stop, it would be yours.”

“Ah.” Relaxing, though his gaze drops from hers to the floor, Vision nods.

“I am not…” Wanda hesitates, biting her lip. “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. I have survived this long; I can keep going. Eventually, the nightmares have to fade, right?”

“Wanda.” Vision turns and rests his hand atop hers, its heat bleeding through to her thighs. “I want to help.”

Wanda nods and finds that she can breathe easy again. Vision draws back, watching her with the same steady, accepting gaze that has strengthened her the past two months. She nods once more, to herself.

“You would have to be in the same room as me, while I’m asleep,” she says, and, with her face going hot, she tilts her head and looks away. "It is… uncomfortable, I know. But I think nearness is necessary, especially so that I don’t get into anyone else’s head on accident.”

He gives the same slow blink as before. “Yes, that makes sense.”

“If you are okay with that, we can try.”

“Now?” Vision rises to his feet in one smooth movement.

“Oh.” Wanda laughs, looking up at him. “No, I don’t… I don’t want to sleep through game night!” She wrinkles her nose playfully, and Vision responds by lifting his chin higher. “Later. At bedtime.”

“All right.” Vision nods and offers her a smile. “I’m glad you’ve found a possible solution. It worries me, how tired you’ve become.”

“Is it that obvious?” Wanda raises her eyebrows.

To her amusement, Vision pauses to think. “Perhaps more to me than to the others. I have knowledge in my memory pertaining to medicine and health, and my brain better detects small body movements, such as muscle tremors, than the human brain does. But I know Clint has been worried.” Then he ducks his head, and Wanda feels shame go through him—most likely relating to the “figure” incident. She bites her cheek, hard, to keep from grinning.

“You have dark circles under your eyes,” Vision continues, “and, despite your good performance in training, you move more sluggishly and unsteadily than you did before. I find it hard to believe that Captain Rogers and, ah, Natasha wouldn’t have noticed, at the least.”

The urge to smile leaves her. “Great,” Wanda mutters.

Vision frowns. “There’s… nothing to be ashamed of, if that’s what you’re thinking. Did you yourself not say that Captain Rogers has terrible dreams?”

“Yes, that is true.” And she would rather not remember them.

“You cannot help this happening,” Vision tells her. “Or, I should say, you’re not at fault for it. Everyone will be glad if you can get some rest, not because they are disappointed in you, but because they care about you.”

Heat floods Wanda’s cheeks again. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“Of course.” Vision stands looking down at her for a moment longer, and then he lifts his head to look out the window. “I will see you at our dinner and game night, then.”

Wanda watches him float straight through the window, his clothes shifting from a sweater set into his Avengers outfit as he goes, and a smile twitches on her lips.

Chapter Text

"Game night," what the other Avengers' call their Thursday evening tradition for “bonding,” follows dinner in the usual manner: with a great deal of argument. Clint, Mr. Stark, and Thor are all absent. Today, rather than playing a game, the team is watching a movie. Neither of these things makes the arguing any less.

After a long disagreement between Natasha and Sam about which movie to view—Mad Max: Fury Road or Toy Story—Captain Rogers makes an executive decision.

“We’re watching Star Wars,” he says.

The others groan.

“Again?” Sam complains.

Captain Rogers, who is sitting beside Sam on the couch with his arms folded, gives his friend a stern look. “Unless the rest of you can agree on something.”

“Let’s do Sleepless in Seattle,” Colonel Rhodes says from the Captain’s other side.

Everyone turns to stare at him. Vision takes a moment to research the film in his head, and then joins the others with his own curious look.

Colonel Rhodes shrugs, and Vision sees that his muscles are more tense than his facial expression reveals. “Hey, I’m in the mood.”

“We're not watching that," Sam says.

“Okay, what about While You Were Sleeping?” Colonel Rhodes offers.

“You might as well have us watch Legally Blonde, or Mean Girls,” Sam counters.

Colonel Rhodes looks at him. “Those movies are nothing like what I just said.”

“Okay then, if you’re down for romance tonight,” Sam says, “how about Disney? Good stuff, family friendly, fun for all the boys and girls—and androids, too, of course."

Vision lifts his brow muscles.

"Tangled?” Sam concludes.

“I’m good with that,” Colonel Rhodes says.

“How could anyone not like Tangled?” Captain Rogers says in the same moment.

As Colonel Rhodes and Sam look over, apparently trying to ascertain whether or not Captain Rogers is being serious, Natasha rises to her feet. Vision, who has given up trying to research all these different movie titles, watches her. She opens the streaming app, takes the controller from the TV stand, and selects Mulan.

“If we’re doing Disney tonight,” she says as the others turn to look, “we’re doing Mulan.”

There’s a pause. Everyone looks at Captain Rogers.

“That seems fair,” Colonel Rhodes says.

“Yeah, yeah, fair enough,” Sam says.

“Did you guys finally agree on something?” Captain Rogers asks in an apparent mockery of surprise.

Sam crosses his arms. “Shut up, man.”

Natasha settles down on the floor beside Wanda again and presses play.

As the movie begins, Sam goes to get some popcorn. Though normally he’d help, Vision finds himself too engaged by the artistry of the opening animation and music. Sam doesn’t seem bothered. He comes back in a moment and turns the lights off as he does, setting the popcorn in front of Wanda.

A second later, Vision realizes they’re all looking at him.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“Yeah, could you put out that light?” Sam asks.

Vision frowns. “I’m sorry?”

Wanda leans over, close enough for him to catch a sweet scent wafting from her hair, and she murmurs, “The Mind Gem is a little too bright.”

“Ah.” Vision glances upwards and sees the golden light reflecting from his forehead across the room and onto the screen. “Yes, I believe I can fix that.”

He concentrates, trying to get a better grasp on the energy of the Gem. After a moment, he manages to dim it down to what he hopes is an acceptable level.

“Great, thanks.” Sam settles back in the chair, and Wanda passes the popcorn bowl to Natasha, who passes it back to Colonel Rhodes. Vision returns his attention to the film.

It’s an enjoyable one. Vision finds the cultural and gender dynamics intriguing, though he’s not sure he understands the purpose of a talking dragon. He also finds much of what the others laugh at confusing. Even extensive research cannot answer the question of humor.

More than anything, the priority that Mulan places on ancestry interests him. He doesn’t have a family. He is an isolated anomaly with no past to anchor him. But as Vision looks around this room, he can imagine that the Avengers are something like family. Not by blood, but they are connected, and that connection reaches back into their individual ancestries, back to the Jarvis before JARVIS before Vision.

Later in the film, Vision begins to feel an ache. He looks back to the screen, at Mulan crying in the snow, and he presses his lips together. He, too, will always have to prove he has a place in this world. He can never take his existence for granted. He was not born; his life was never meant, by the laws that created the universe, to be. Though she has been abandoned, Mulan’s life still has natural meaning. She at least has that.

Within the construct of the narrative, that is. Vision knows that she’s only a drawing.

He sighs, glances over at Wanda, and sees her face shining with tears. Startled out of his thoughts, he frowns. He reaches out to brush his fingers against her upper arm. He would like to touch her hand, but her grief has her curled up so tightly that he can’t reach it.

Wanda’s eyes dart over to his, startled, and then she offers a tremulous smile. As she uncurls, he pushes a sense of concern towards her mind, not wanting to interrupt the movie with speech. Wanda hears him, it seems. She shakes her head, ducks it, and then offers a more sincere smile. Then she shifts closer to him. Vision watches her for a moment longer, but she seems relaxed now. He returns his attention to the film.

It’s a good evening, all in all. The others spend some time afterwards chatting and discussing the film. Natasha agrees to them seeing Tangled the next time they watch a movie.

“It’s not like I have a problem with it,” she says. “It’s sweet, and she hits people with a frying pan. And I like Legally Blonde.” She shoots Sam a scornful look. “I just wanted to watch something more badass.”

“You were in the mood for war, Rhodey was here for the love, we’re all happy now.” Sam stretches his arms along the couch back.

“I forgot they don’t even kiss in that one,” Colonel Rhodes says.

“Dude,” Sam says.

It’s past midnight when Captain Rogers finally insists that they go to bed. Vision follows the others upstairs. When they reach the space between his door and Wanda’s, Vision stops and watches the others trail by. He turns to Wanda, meaning to ask whether she wishes to attempt the experiment now.

“Wait,” she murmurs.

They stand still for a moment, and then she opens the door. “Come in.”

He follows her into her room. She makes a couple of huffing noises as she moves around, adjusting sheets that already look to be perfectly in place. Then she turns towards him, eyes on the ground and arms crossed.

“You are still sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, of course,” Vision replies. She seems uncomfortable, though he’s not sure why. “And you?”

She huffs a laugh. “Yes.” She pauses and then comes to a decision. “I am going to get into my sleepclothes. Stay here.”

Vision remains standing as Wanda gathers some items from her dresser and goes into her restroom. Vision’s room has an adjoining restroom as well, all the bedrooms do, but he has no need of it. His body produces very little waste, and any unnecessary molecules such as dust and dirt can be removed easily by phasing. He requires neither shower nor bathtub nor toilet nor sink.

As with most things he has never experienced, he finds the concept of restrooms fascinating.

After what seems to Vision a long time, Wanda returns. She pulls the legs of her shorts down a little, as if to cover herself, and rushes to sit on the foot of the bed. When she’s in place, she finally looks up at him.

“Hello,” she says.

He nods.

Another long moment passes. Vision doesn’t understand it, but as he stands here, he begins to feel discomfited. There is no logic to it. He has been in her room many times before. He has seen her in this outfit of tank top and shorts, he has seen her with a bare, natural face, he has even been in the room while she was sleeping. Yet, somehow, this particular circumstance feels odd. He knows that, for humans, privacy when sleeping is important and that his juxtaposition to Wanda in the nighttime has implications. But that does not apply here—and yet, despite knowing that, he is overaware of her softness.

“I… usually read a little before bed,” Wanda offers.

“Of course.” When Wanda continues to stare at him, Vision remembers how his standing while others sit makes them uncomfortable. “May I sit?”

“Um…” Wanda casts about the room for a location, her eyes briefly resting on the seat beside her bed. Then she turns to him again. She tilts her head, eyes squinted. She sighs. “You might as well sit on the bed. It’s a big bed, and you bought it, after all.”

He inclines his head and moves to sit on the bed a safe distance from her. When he’s settled, Wanda scoots back so that her head is near the pillows and maneuvers herself underneath the sheets, lying back and pulling the covers up to her chin. Her eyes are cautious.

“You can sit back on the pillows,” she says.

“I don’t require—”

“Please, Vizh.”

Awkwardly, Vision puts his feet up onto the foot of the bed and assumes a similar position to Wanda, though more upright and over the sheets rather than under. He looks to Wanda for her approval, and she smiles. Then she untucks one arm to grab her phone off the nightstand.

“Are you reading on your phone screen?” Vision asks.

She glances over at him in surprise. “Yes.”

“You shouldn’t do that before sleeping,” Vision says. “Screens on phones and other electronic devices disrupt hormone production in the human brain by creating a false perception of daylight. Melatonin levels drop in response. You’ll find it much harder to get a good rest.”

Wanda raises her eyebrows. “Reading relaxes me.”

“I can read to you, if you like.” Vision holds out his hand for the phone.

To his surprise, Wanda’s face turns pink. She clutches her phone to her chest. “No, that is okay.”

He frowns. After a moment’s thought, he asks, “Are you embarrassed by your reading choice?”

Wanda huffs, still blushing. “It is not… it is not bad, but it’s not some great novel by an old author, like we read in school. It is not… art, not a big important story with deep meanings and history. I don’t want… you should see the best of art first.”

Vision lifts his chin, considering. “All fiction is important artwork, to me. It comes from the human mind and heart, and it gives insight into your thoughts.” He smiles at Wanda in what he hopes is a reassuring way. “I’ve already read many of the classics myself, and downloaded more. I would like to see what you read.”

Wanda only seems to flush deeper, but she hands him her phone. Vision checks the title and does a brief search using the online access within his head.

“Ah. This book is highly praised by those important to the genre. I’m sure it will be good. If I may take a moment to download the pages you’ve already read, to refer to the plot points I’ve missed…” Vision gains access to the novel and collects the missing information. Wanda watches. “All right,” Vision says.

He begins reading the story aloud. It’s far slower speaking the words when he could process them himself in nanoseconds, but he enjoys the experience. The sound of the language has its own kind of artistry. He further enjoys seeing Wanda’s reactions. This story is certainly more immediate and driven more by base emotion than others he has read, but it has an equal beauty. It reminds him of Wanda, in fact.

After only five and a half pages, Wanda asks him to stop. With a wide yawn, she mumbles, “I am ready to sleep.” She burrows a little deeper under the covers. Looking at her, Vision feels the same quiet come over him as had before in the rare moments with her where she was completely trusting.

“All right,” he says.

Vision lets go of the phone as red energy envelops it. The phone returns to the table, and the room’s touchpad tablet moves to Wanda, who pulls her arm out of the blankets again to turn the lights out. Vision’s eyes adjust immediately to the change, but the lack of light nonetheless emphasizes the glowing scarlet mist that dissipates as Wanda puts the tablet back. It also emphasizes the light coming from his own forehead. He takes a moment to dim the Mind Gem.

Wanda shifts and mumbles with a sleepy laugh, “Noćnosvetlo.” Nightlight.

Her breathing deepens, and Vision hesitates. A moment later, he proceeds anyway in saying, "Perhaps we should establish a mental connection before you sleep? As you did earlier today? I believe it would increase the odds of this working.”

A brief silence, then Wanda sits up a bit, groaning. “Yes,” she says. “That's good.”

Vision inclines his head towards her, and Wanda reaches her hand to his temple. Scarlet unfolds inside her eyes like a blooming flower. Then Vision feels her consciousness bursting into his own. Gladly, he welcomes her, eases her along, and lets her settle into stillness, the threads of her self flowing from her mind to his and back again. Invigorating, like before. She holds so much in such vibrancy, all feeling and thought and energy in a beautiful endless chaos. He does see how his own mind would be calming to one such as hers.

Wanda’s hand drops, but the bond between them remains. “If you do not try to block me,” she mumbles, “the connection stays, I think. We will know soon.”

Vision feels, in the heartbeat of her consciousness, concern for him. In the clarity of that moment, he understands that she fears causing him distress with her nightmares—and even more distress, perhaps, should the bond between them become a fight rather than a free choice. She worries that she will involuntarily harm him should he stop wanting her there amidst his thoughts.

He fills his mind with reassurance—You won’t hurt me, Wanda—and then watches with a faint smile as she drifts off into sleep.

Chapter Text

The building folds in around her, dust and ashes, stone crumbling towards her head—

A sudden sense of reassurance, of stability.

Warm sunlight against her skin as she stretches on the grass behind the compound, Vision hovering nearby—then a hand bursts up from the ground, caked in dirt, and she knows it must be her brother—

Peace, strength.

The quiet strumming of her guitar in her bedroom, rain on the windowpane, a gentle ache at her fingertips. She plays two verses of an old folk song—then her mother’s hands hold the guitar instead, and she knows that when she looks up, she will see blood and broken bone—

Serenity, certainty.

Vizh?

Then there is quiet.

Wanda opens her eyes to see his face, hovering above her. Burgundy skin, swooping silver lines, gentle blue eyes shifting in an eternal, mechanical circle. His lips are slightly upturned. She knows every curve, every muscle movement that makes this face his. A profound rightness resonates deep in her bones and hot in her soul. This is where they are meant to be, together in the quiet, peaceful warmth of their bed. The pulse of their combined consciousness testifies that this intimacy between them was destined to be. A forever beyond eternity distills into a single moment: the moment when she wakes with him beside her. She cannot imagine that there has ever been anything but this.

Then the moment passes. Wanda struggles to sit up.

“It worked, Wanda.”

“Yes. I feel—” She shakes off the last cobwebs of the strange fantasy that seized her as she woke. “—good. Not so tired.”

A flash of white teeth against burgundy skin. “I’m glad. Your hair is a bit tangled,” Vision adds.

Wanda flushes with embarrassment as she pats the thick, riotous mass that her hair has become. “I tie it up to keep that from happening. I forgot last night.”

“Don’t worry.”

She realizes then, as she feels his weighty comfort, that their minds are still intertwined. “Oh. Wait.” She pulls her mind away from his, severing their thoughts, and quietly gasps. The disconnect feels like an actual physical absence, as though she has surgically removed a part of herself. She takes a second to collect herself, then looks up at Vision.

“Go down to breakfast,” she says. “I will get dressed.”

“I’m afraid we missed breakfast,” he says. “It’s past noon.”

“What?” She blinks at the bright sunlight outside her window. “Oh. You did not wake me!”

“You needed the rest.” She feels the echo of Vision’s surprise humming in the air and has to fight not to mentally reach out to him. “I thought that your body would be the best judge of when you should wake.”

“Yes, but I have to train.” She untangles herself from the sheets and stumbles over to her dresser. “There are things to do. Next time, get me up. Or, not next time.” She pauses in the middle of brushing her hair. “Next time is Saturday. But on weekdays, wake me up in time for breakfast.”

“Of course.” He nods, rising to his feet. “Then we will do this again tonight?”

“Yes—if you do not mind.” Wanda turns to look at him. “It worked.”

“Yes,” he agrees.

“I will see you downstairs,” she tells him. A shimmer of gold starts up at Vision’s feet, and he sinks through the floor and out of her room.

In the quiet that follows, Wanda hesitates. That was… strange. But I knew it would be. She waves the turmoil of her feelings away.

She spends the rest of the day on mixed combat and power training, working alone in one of the side rooms. Her energy level has improved since the day before, and she can see the effect on her fighting.

Now that Vision is helping her sleep, she will be able to stand tall alongside the rest of the team.

Friday, Saturday and Sunday pass, and Wanda becomes accustomed to Vision’s nighttime presence, much faster than she expected. She is greedy for sleep, for the peace and the safety that his mind brings. Though he still has to actively redirect her thoughts at times, just having Vision there keeps the nightmares further away.

Tuesday afternoon, Steve and Natasha hold a press conference outside of the compound. During breakfast, they warn the others to stay inside—“Especially you two,” Natasha says with a gesture towards Wanda and Vizh. "Maria Hill and another agent will guard the doors, in case some overzealous reporter tries to get in."

“Tony’s done a good job so far with the media,” Steve says, “and we've allowed a few statements from the other trainees here to get out. Now Natasha and I are going to give our statement and answer some questions, but we need to keep you out of the picture for now.”

“Why’s that?” Sam asks.

“Director Fury wants a more controlled introduction.” Natasha takes a sip of coffee. “Something public and humanizing. No uniforms.”

“Tony has an event planned.” Steve scoops a spoonful of Cheerios from his bowl, chews, and swallows. “It's a party, black tie with a lot of celebrities invited, happening downtown next week. There will be press, but only a few inside the building.”

“It’s the best way to formally introduce you without making you look untouchable,” Natasha says. “People go to parties all the time.”

“Not parties like Tony’s,” Rhodey mumbles.

“No.” Natasha purses her lips in a smile. “But the point is to start out with something other than fighting and training. Director Fury and his team will monitor the press, and we'll see how it goes from there. Hopefully, we can do some fieldwork as a team.”

“Yeah, I saw that you two have been taking on some missions on your own.” Sam swivels on his stool, pointing at Natasha and Steve.

Wanda blinks, but Vision doesn’t seem surprised.

“Hey.” Steve holds his hands up. “Like Natasha said, the rest of you will be joining us soon. But right now, we need you to stay out of sight and get ready for Tony’s party. Tony and Natasha have been working with some fashion designers. After the press conference, we’ll come around and see what you think. You’ll each have a few choices that match your costumes. It’s to help…” Steve pauses, frowning, then smiles and shakes his head. “I don’t remember how Tony put it.”

“To help 'solidify your brands,'” Natasha says with another pursed smile. “So people will recognize you later. After this party, you’ll have a little more freedom with what you wear, but Fury’s insisting on a controlled entrance.” She glances at Steve, her smile turning mischievous. “And they’re not just ‘some fashion designers.’ These are big names, and they’re all clamoring to dress you next week.”

“What day is this party, exactly?” Sam takes his phone out of his pocket.

“Friday next week,” Steve says.

“Or is that inconvenient for you?” Natasha asks sweetly.

Sam glares at her. “Looks like I can make it.”

“Good.”

Wanda has to cover her smile.

After breakfast, Wanda does some more indoor training—fitness, followed by combat, then more exercises to increase the strength, distance, and exactness of her telekinesis. While she’s in the midst of attempting to throw dummies from different distances, Vision enters the room. She turns and tilts her head in his direction.

“The press conference is about to begin." Vision returns her smile. “While it would be unwise to watch from the windows, we can view it live on TV.”

“I would like that." Wanda strides past him. "Let me get ready, and we can watch it in my room.”

Vision follows Wanda upstairs. Now that they’re near the outside walls of the building, they can hear the noise of the crowd where the reporters gather, shouting to each other and setting up equipment. Wanda is somewhat nonplussed when Vision comes straight into her room, rather than waiting for her to dress, but she has used the adjoining bathroom with him in here several times now. Shrugging, she goes in to change.

With no time for a shower, she wipes some of the sweat from her face and body using a damp towel. She pulls her hair up into a loose bun and then hurries to gather her things as she hears the click of the TV turning on. She rejoins Vision on her bed just as the conference begins.

It’s a strange experience, especially since she can hear the sounds from the conference outside that the television broadcast echoes. She and Vision watch as Steve and Natasha take turns delivering a prepared speech about Ultron’s disastrous attack in Sokovia and the international role of the growing Avengers team. Their amplified voices boom through the windows. Steve’s sorrow resounds almost as loudly.

Wanda leans into Vision’s shoulder, her heart throbbing.

Then it’s time for Steve to take the reporters’ questions, with Natasha standing watchful behind him.

“Has Mr. Tony Stark received any penalty from the Avengers for creating Ultron?” shouts a male voice. “Will he be allowed to continue operating as a part of the team?”

“Tony has taken independent responsibility for Ultron and the attacks he committed, and we support him in that,” Steve replies. “He’s donated to various charities involved in efforts related to the tragedy in Sokovia, and he has cooperated fully with the government in their investigation and subsequent recommended reparations. Tony feels the weight of this burden deeply, as do we all. When Tony is needed, he will be welcome to join us.”

“How many chances do you feel Mr. Stark deserves, given the negative impact that many of his so-called ‘experiments’ have had in the past?” a woman asks.

On screen, Steve clenches his teeth. Natasha leans across him and into the microphone to say, “No comment.”

“What can you tell us about the other individuals who were there at Sokovia, this… ‘Vision’ as well as Sokovian nationals Wanda and Pietro Maximoff?”

Steve relaxes, and Natasha takes a step back.

“Vison and the Maximoff twins joined the Avengers of their own free will during the fight against Ultron. Pietro Maximoff lost his life doing so. It’s a sacrifice that we all honor, and mourn, and it was given in the true spirit of the Avengers Initiative.”

Wanda swallows as the news station flashes a picture of Pietro from HYDRA’s files across the screen. When the picture returns to Steve, she sees that he has lowered his head in a brief moment of silence. He lifts his head now to resume answering.

“Since then,” Steve says, “Vision and Wanda Maximoff, along with our previous collaborators Sergeant Sam Wilson and Colonel James Rhodes, have been living in the Avengers facilities. They are all training and preparing for future missions as part of the team, and they've made great progress. We’re pleased to be working with them.” He smiles, as does Natasha.

A barrage of questions follows: “You say that they joined ‘of their own free will’—is that an accurate term when referring to the programmed... identity that is currently known as ‘the Vision’?” “Does Wanda Maximoff have clearance to be on U.S. soil?” “As another creation of Tony Stark, can this ‘Vision’ be trusted? Or is it just another version of Ultron?” “What, precisely, are Vision and Wanda Maximoff capable of? Can they control their powers, and can the Avengers control them, should they go rogue?” “Do Colonel Rhodes’ operations as a part of the Avengers present any conflict of interest with his current operations in the military?” “How did Pietro Maximoff die, and why haven’t we heard more about this event? What about the other deaths that occurred in Nova Grad?” “What exactly is the Vision? Did it name itself? Does it have a preferred gender identity? Does it have feelings?” “Is it wise to allow Wanda Maximoff, a previous agent of HYDRA, access to Avengers' operations?” “Does Vision have any form of citizenship? What are its—his—rights as a synthetic, non-human being?” “What level of clearance do these new Avengers have? Now that SHIELD has been dissolved, who has oversight when it comes to your operations?”

Steve answers the questions as appropriate, offering only limited information and at many points reminding the reporters that he cannot speak for the others on personal issues. Natasha moves forward a few times to mediate. Soon the aggressive interrogation builds into a blurred wall of anxious sound. Wanda chews on her lip, barely aware that she is now clinging to Vision’s arm.

“Captain Rogers answers these questions well.” Vision's entire body is tense. “Though I’m unsure why the reporters find it necessary to ask such things.”

“We’re famous.” Wanda presses her chin to Vision’s tricep. “They can ask anything. It does not mean we have to answer. But they will write about anything they can, to get readers.”

“I don’t know how I would answer,” Vision murmurs.

Wanda gazes up at him. “Well, we know you do have feelings.”

Vision turns to her, an echo of surprise in his energy. Their eyes meet for a moment. Then Wanda straightens up, suddenly aware of how much of their bodies are touching. She offers a smile to cover her embarrassment and turns back to the TV just as the press conference closes.

“That’ll be all. Thank you.” Steve offers a wave, and the camera crowds in, following him and Natasha as they go back into the building. Then the broadcast turns back to the studio, where the reporters begin analyzing.

Wanda uses the room’s touchpad to turn the TV off. She and Vision sit in silence for a moment.

“I suppose we know more now about what this party will be like,” she says.

“I should see what outfits Mr. Stark has selected.” Vision begins to sink through the bed. “I’ll let Natasha know that you are ready to see yours as well.”

When Wanda nods, Vision phases the rest of the way through. In his absence, Wanda sighs and puts her chin in her hands. Only then does she realize how much she’s trembling.

Chapter Text

Looking at the different outfits selected for Mr. Stark's event, Vision finds himself at a loss. He doesn’t know enough to distinguish between the five suits. When he asks Captain Rogers for assistance, the man only offers a shrug and an apologetic smile. Vision suspects the Captain is more shaken from the press conference than his expression would reveal. He watches as Captain Rogers hurries up the stairs towards the bedrooms.

In the end, it's Sam who sits down with Vision and guides him, finally, to the fourth option: a suit in a light gray that matches the metal interwoven through Vision’s skin, along with a tie the same muted blue-grey as Vision’s Avengers costume, and red-tone leather shoes.

Sam rubs his chin, looking between the outfit and Vision.

“You might try a gold tiepin, a little sunny one to match the Gem.” Then Sam takes another look at Vision and wrinkles his nose. “On second thought, that Gem is enough all on its own. Don’t wanna overdo those statement pieces, y’know what I’m sayin’?”

Vision shakes his head.

“You’ve got enough color all your own,” Sam explains. “Better to go simple on the clothes. But I’m sure the designer will help you with all that when you get fitted. Seriously, what do I know?”

Sam heads back into the kitchen to start dinner, and Vision sends his selection back to Mr. Stark. Then he sits on the couch a moment longer, contemplating. A hundred different thoughts cross his mind—Why did those reporters ask those questions? Have they no sense of propriety?

He can still see all those bodies on the TV, reaching and grabbing, and hear their frantic, angry shouts. It reminds him of the way Ultron’s army converged in Sokovia—but the humans have so much more color and passion.

His thoughts turn to Wanda. The fear on her own face was clear as they watched the broadcast. It doesn’t surprise Vision that his sentience and his legal rights would be questioned, but Wanda is one of them. She's human. How could they treat her as though she were something strange and terrifying?

She's anything but.

A phantom warmth presses against his arm: the memory of how she curled into him this afternoon. Like before, she sought his touch for comfort. Sam was right in saying, back in June, that physical contact would be best in such situations. Although Vision never imagined the effect it would have on him. It's stronger than all of the other physical sensations he has sought out in the months since his birth. Her touch evokes such incredible warmth—and pain—inside him.

A sign of his own feelings, he supposes. Vision is grateful for Wanda’s confirmation that, in whatever small way, he does have emotions. He thought that he might, and he has been labeling the sensations in his body as such, but with no experience otherwise, he could only guess that what he felt was similar to what humans feel. Now, with Wanda's reassurance, Vision can at least protest his ability to feel, should the reporters descend again.

His feelings may be only a shadow compared to how strong human emotion is, and his decisions may be more strongly driven by logic, but he still feels.

With a quiet sigh, Vision gets up and goes to see what help he can give Sam.

Dinner passes as usual, though the group seems tense. Afterwards, rather than training, Vision goes to his own room to review the news reports and check any relevant legal documents relating to the new Avengers’ situation. What he sees is not entirely desirable, but at least most of the newscasters now refer to him as “he” rather than an “it.”

A knock startles him from his reverie. Opening his eyes, he says, “Come in.” A beat later, he remembers that he’s the only one who can walk through walls. He rises to his feet and goes to open the door.

“Wanda! Hello.”

She offers him a small smile. “Hi.”

After a pause, she tilts her head back towards her room. “Are we…?” She bites her lip.

“Is it nighttime already?” Startled, Vision checks his internal clock. “I’m sorry. I lost track of the time. Of course I’ll join you.”

She beams up at him, and they head back across the hall. “Let me just get dressed,” she says as she opens the door. For a moment, Vision thinks of how inconvenient it must be to have to use doors all the time.

He reclines on the bed in his usual position as Wanda uses the restroom. When she returns, he can’t help but smile at her. Though it’s very different from her Avengers costume, Vision finds her sleeping clothes just as pleasing. Now that the initial discomfort of their arrangement has passed, he can appreciate the purity of her simple, bare appearance. Her lovely pale skin, her clean face with all its human imperfections, her soft tank top. The image conjures up the very feeling of tranquility.

When his eyes slip down to her legs, however, he checks himself.

Wanda gets under the covers, shifts into a more comfortable position, and hands him her phone so he can read more of her book. They only manage two pages this time; Wanda relaxes into sleep more quickly every day. She reaches up towards Vision’s temple, and the pulse of her consciousness syncs with his own mind. This bond, too, establishes itself faster now.

Vision settles back in the darkness. He closes his eyes, dims the light of the Mind Gem, and lets Wanda’s emotions fill him.

Sitting quietly with Wanda as she drifts into sleep provides Vision with a sense of calm deeper than he can feel on his own. His thoughts only know how to be silent when he’s with her; it is the only time he’s allowed to focus on the moment. He lives these nights in slow motion, aware of every passing second. By day, Vision constantly thinks and analyzes and prepares, caught in both the past and the future. But with Wanda, he feels the steady drumming of the present.

He imagines that this is what it is like to be human. Hyperaware. Thrumming with emotion. Lulled into silence by the immediacy of your own existence.

Even in the slow depths of sleep, Wanda is restless tonight. Her agitation seeps into Vision, threatening to transform into horror and rage at any instant. Rather than flinching away, he opens himself up to her, flooding their combined thoughts with peace. Every so often, he catches an image—reporters, protests, guns and bloodbaths. Pain pierces through him in response to Wanda’s suffering. The physical way these emotions tear into him is exquisite, and anything but restful. Yet somehow, Vision’s added pain seems to calm Wanda more than his stillness did.

Slowly, she settles. She shifts onto her side, facing him, and curls up under his arm. Knowing that to pull back in any way would harm her, Vision sits back and lets himself feel the warmth coming from the top of her head, her tight fists, her knees. He savors the moment, even as her touch sends shivering electric pulses through him.

He doesn’t know what this is, only that it is.

For now, that’s enough. He lets himself settles into the new kind of pain throbbing deep inside his synthetic heart.

The morning comes, and Vision wakes Wanda at the prescribed hour. She smiles sleepily and rolls away from him, stretching her limbs as far as they can reach. Vision watches her get up and walk into her restroom, closing the door behind her. Reluctantly, he phases down to the kitchen to make the team their coffee.

The next evening, when Vision enters Wanda’s room, he hesitates by the door. Wanda turns to look at him. When he meets her gaze, she tilts her head.

“What is it?” she asks. “What’s wrong?”

“I… am in need of rest myself, tonight,” Vision says.

“Oh.” Wanda walks back towards him, a slight frown on her lips. “Can you not do that here?”

“Yes, I can take my rest anywhere. I don’t believe your presence will disturb me. Rather, I’m concerned I won’t be able to help you, as I have been.”

She shakes her head and smiles. “If you need sleep, you need it,” she says. “I do not mind.”

“I’m… overdue, in fact.” Vision meets her eyes, then drops his gaze to the floor. “It seems that your consciousness, while you sleep, provides a substitute that allowed me to extend my schedule. However, it would be unwise to continue in this way.”

“We can see how it turns out,” Wanda says. "I am not afraid to try." Vision looks at her again and is surprised to see that she seems more curious than upset. “Sleep.” She waves her hand towards the bed. “I will join you.”

“Yes.” Vision dips his head, and they resume their usual routine. When Wanda returns from the bathroom, she frowns, pulling at the hem of her top.

“You can sleep under the covers, if you want.”

“I often rest in an upright position.” He gives her a reassuring smile. “This already is far more comfortable.”

Her shoulders relax slightly. “All right.” She gets into bed. “So what do you think it will be like?”

He shifts position to give her more room and shakes his head. “I dream, like yourself, although I’m sure it’s less… vivid. I don’t know how your mind will respond. As I said, I’m unsure whether I will be able to redirect your nightmares.”

Wanda shrugs and slides further under the sheets. “Pietro dreamed, and his were bad. Just having him near helped me.”

“I am not your brother,” Vision murmurs.

Her eyes snap up to his. “I know,” she says sharply. “I know that.”

Vision swallows. He has upset her.

With her gaze still locked on Vision's face, Wanda sighs. “Some things are the same. You are the only other one I could connect with. I trust you. I feel safe with you. You are…” She stops, swallows, and shakes her head. Seeing the forgiveness in her expression, Vision lets himself relax again. “We should at least try. You are different from him, but it doesn't mean that you can’t help me.”

Vision nods. “When you’re ready, then.”

Vision stays awake until Wanda has settled into REM sleep, and then, with trepidation at his throat, he shifts his brain from consciousness down into the same level.

Bursting from the Cradle into life and feeling her eyes, hot on him. Standing in the forest with the last of Ultron. Reaching out through the window and watching his fingers shimmer with gold. She stands behind him. He turns, and Wanda’s standing there in her sleeping clothes, head tilted, smiling. They settle down on the couch, and then his mind becomes silence interrupted by brief sparks of feeling, echoes of a harsh past too distant to be his own.

He wakes precisely at 7:30 A.M., as usual. Feeling his thoughts align just as they should when he is rested, Vision weaves himself along the lines of feeling that come from Wanda. She seems peaceful, lying beside him, but he still worries that he has failed her. He pulls her gently into wakefulness.

Wanda blinks up at him, and then smiles. “It was fine, Vizh.” She sits up and the covers fall down around her. “A little… brighter, perhaps, wilder—” She wrinkles her nose playfully. “—but I slept well.”

“Oh.” Something in Vision’s chest unclenches. He takes in a deep breath and smiles back at her. “I’m glad.”

“Did you get enough sleep?” A wrinkle appears between Wanda’s eyebrows.

“Yes.” He nods. “I will be fine for the next two weeks.”

Wanda’s face shifts back into a smile. “Good. Time for breakfast, then.”

Vision slips downstairs as she goes to change, full of relief, and it isn’t until Sam points it out that he realizes he’s smiling.

Chapter Text

The rest of the week passes quickly. Soon all of the chosen designers, with their entourages in tow, descend on the Avengers compound to finalize the team’s outfits for Stark's party. Wanda chose a beautiful dress, one beyond what she saw in even her wildest dreams back on the streets of Sokovia, in a vibrant shade of red. Her level of emotion surpasses excitement as she waits to see the result.

The designer, a tall, impossibly thin woman with dark hair and an eternal scowl, doesn’t bother to introduce herself. She just waves to her team, who descend upon Wanda. They take measurements all around her body, apparently confirming the numbers that Wanda sent Stark earlier, and then turn to nod at the woman in charge.

“Undress,” the woman says.

Biting her lip, Wanda strips down to her undergarments. She has to resist the urge to cross her arms over herself.

“Your brassiere as well.” The woman waves an impatient hand. Her accent is British, like Vision's.

“My—?”

“Your bra.”

Wanda heaves a small sigh, blinking rapidly, but does as she is told.

“Hmm.” The designer nods, examining Wanda’s body. This time, Wanda does cross her arms.

“Arms up.”

Feeling, foolishly enough, like crying, Wanda follows the instructions.

The others converge again, unwrapping a mass of scarlet fabric from its covering and draping it over her head. Everything goes red for a moment, the dress cool against her arms, and then it settles into place, cinching against her torso. Wanda blinks, pushing strands of hair away from her face.

“Hmm.” The designer walks around Wanda in a circle and pulls on the fabric in various places, adjusting the way it has fallen over her body. When she reaches for Wanda’s breasts, Wanda waves her off and makes the adjustment herself. The dress, it turns out, has built-in padding.

The woman harumphs and steps back. “Right, then,” she says. “It’s not awful.” She taps her fingernails against her chin. “Except for your panties. They’re a bloody nightmare, mind my French. You’ll need a different pair for Tony’s event. Do you have anything more appropriate?”

Wanda looks down at herself, then shakes her head. She’s not even sure what “more appropriate” would look like.

“We’ll bring some next time, then.”

The woman waves to her team again, and they set to work pinning sections of the dress Wanda hadn’t even noticed were loose.

“We’ll need to take the torso out,” one of the assistants says, offering Wanda the first smile she’s seen. “Perhaps a quarter inch, from the bust down to the buttocks.”

“You’ve put on weight,” the designer tells Wanda.

“I guess so.” Wanda can feel herself tensing. She’s seen American TV; she knows that judgment comes next.

“Good,” the woman says, and she turns back to her team. Wanda blinks. “When you’re done, take photos for Chris and Henneley.”

Then she leaves.

A few moments later, the nice assistant asks Wanda to turn so she can take a few different pictures, front, side, and back. It’s an old camera, one that actually prints the photos after each one is taken. The woman spreads them out on Wanda’s bed, then nods approvingly.

“For our makeup and hair team,” she says. A second later she adds, “You do look lovely. It’ll be a smashing debut.”

“Thank you,” Wanda murmurs.

“All right, arms back up.”

The women pull the dress up off of Wanda and set to work putting it away while Wanda hurriedly returns her normal clothes to their rightful places. Then the assistant offers Wanda her hand to shake.

“It’s a pleasure working with you,” she says. “We’re all quite honored that you choose us to dress you for this event. I promise you won’t regret it.” When Wanda nods, she adds, “I’ll see you again after breakfast Friday.”

Wanda frowns—After breakfast? The party's in the evening—but the women have already left the room.

She didn’t even get to see how she looked.

That night, as she brushes out her damp hair in front of the mirror, she asks Vision, “How did your fitting go?”

“I think I alarmed them,” he says from his spot on the bed. He clasps his hands together. “They didn’t know I could imitate the fabric using my own molecules. Mr. Sweeney seemed upset, at first, but then he said it was… ‘a phenomenal ability.’” Vision frowns. “They did spend quite a lot of time asking me to alter the fit. Mr. Sweeney even asked me to shift the color, just slightly.”

Wanda smiles. “They must have liked that.”

“I believe they did.”

Wanda puts the brush down and goes to join him. As she slips under the covers in a sitting position she sighs.

“I have always wanted to braid my hair.” She runs her fingers through the strands, then blushes as she remembers who she’s talking to. “Having them all working so hard, just to make the dress right, it made me think—but it’s silly.” She shakes her head.

Vision blinks. “What is?”

“I just…” She smiles, faintly. What the hell. “I used to dream all the time of having nice dresses and fancy hair and getting to do things like in movies. Bubble baths and manicures. But I couldn’t, not how my life was.” She breathes out a laugh and shrugs. “Now, I can. They came here to make me look beautiful, and they will do my makeup and all of that Friday—but I still cannot even braid my own hair. It comes out wrong; I don’t know why.” She smiles again. “Pietro tried, a few times, but he was even worse.”

Vision is silent for a moment.

Wanda turns to look at him, afraid that he thinks she’s foolish. Pietro always made fun of her for wanting girly things. He didn’t mean it, not really, but he also didn’t understand. He couldn’t see how the black paint on her fingernails made her feel fierce, how the movement of her skirt made her feel free, how the necklaces strung over her chest and the rings placed around her fingers made her feel important. All of those “silly” things made her feel, not just beautiful, but like she belonged to a secret world where women had their own quiet power.

Vision meets her gaze, his slow-whirring eyes gentle, and smiles. “Would you like me to try?”

She blinks. “You… what?”

“Braiding your hair,” he says. “I believe I can manage it. Once I learn, perhaps I can teach you, too.”

“Oh.” Wanda sits a moment in dumbfounded silence. “You can if you want.”

She turns to make her hair more accessible to him and hears him shifting forward. Now that she’s turned away, the heat of his presence burns hot on her back. Then his fingers begin threading through her hair, and she has to swallow back a sigh.

This, too, is what she likes about playing dress-up. When someone else is helping you, you cannot help but feel safe and loved.

Vision’s touch on her scalp sends floods of warmth cascading down her neck, across her shoulders, and into the pit of her stomach. Her thoughts go quiet as she relaxes into the moment. She doesn’t know if he’s doing it right, if he even has a clue what he’s attempting to do, but she doesn’t care. The soft movement of his fingers drowns out any worry.

“Your hair smells lovely,” he murmurs. “Like roses.”

She shudders at the feeling of his breath at her neck.

He hesitates.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks.

“No,” she laughs. “Sorry. You can keep going.”

After a moment, Vision continues braiding. Wanda closes her eyes and waits.

At last, his hand lifts the mass of her hair away from her neck. “Do you have something to tie the end off?”

Lazily, she holds her hair tie between two fingers and over her shoulder. He takes it from her and finishes the braid.

“There,” he says. “That seems correct.”

As he lets go of her hair, Wanda feels a twinge of disappointment—the loss of contact is almost as acute as when she breaks their mental connection each morning. But the sting of that loss has become less and less, the ease of their connection greater. This loss is new.

She turns to look at him over her shoulder, aching for his touch. Her lips buzz with the need to be pressed to his, to extend the moment. To share some of the joy she felt having him close to her. For a moment, in a giddy haze, she imagines leaning in and kissing him. She imagines the heat of his breath against her tongue.

Then she catches herself. Turning away and biting her lip, she pats the back of her head. From what she can feel, Vision did indeed do a good job. She takes in another shaky breath and shifts back to her usual spot in bed.

“It’s good,” she says.

She can feel him smiling, so she settles down, giving him her phone to read from.

No, Wanda, she tells herself. You will not throw yourself at this poor man. He would not know what to do.

While they lived, Wanda’s parents were affectionate, both with each other and the twins. Wanda and Pietro carried that legacy on after their deaths. Touch meant love and safety and comfort, an expression of emotions that they otherwise could not share. As such, Wanda’s nature, whenever she becomes emotionally close to someone, is to reach out physically. But thanks to the few, brief friendships she had growing up, she’s learned to restrain herself. Some people don’t like being touched. And some take it entirely the wrong way.

She frowns as the even tones of Vision’s voice sweep over her. She never wanted it like this before. Feeling such a specific urge, to kiss someone on the mouth—all she ever wanted before was closeness. Cuddling. A hug.

You got confused, she tells herself. You just wanted to kiss him on the forehead or cheek.

He is your friend.

As Vision finishes reading the chapter, Wanda turns to face him, snuggling deep into the covers.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

He looks down at her, his light eyes surprised. “Of course.”

Be quiet, she says to her tingling lips.

Chapter Text

Though she seemed to approve of the braid he created, Wanda doesn't ask Vision to help her with her hair again. Vision can't help but wonder why. For his part, he enjoyed the chance to study human hair. Having none of his own, he is intrigued by the way the strands of keratin flow together to create a lovely, multicolored weave. He hadn’t expected it to be soft, but Wanda’s hair is. He knows now that the rose scent he detected likely came from shampoo or another hair product.

The day of Mr. Stark's party arrives. Shortly after breakfast, Wanda and Natasha's designers enter the compound with their assistants. They head upstairs to the women’s rooms while the male Avengers remain in the dining room.

When Vision asks Sam why the designers have come so early, Sam lets out a snort.

“Women take forever to get ready. They’ve got a ton of work to do for it to be just right—hair, makeup, dress, shoes, I don’t even know what else. Shaving their legs and all that shit. It’s ridiculous. But hey, I guess it works.” Sam grins across the table at Captain Rogers.

“But... then, men don’t require as much work to maintain an acceptable appearance?”

Sam shakes his head. “Nah.”

“What an odd double standard.”

Captain Rogers chokes on his orange juice.

“Those are some big words, there,” Sam says.

Clint, who is sitting at the end of the counter, takes a sip of coffee. “This is Vision we're talking about."

Unwilling to have a pack of beauty experts descend upon his farm, Clint opted to join the other Avengers here at the compound before the event. It’s the first time Vision has seen the man since his objection about Vision looking at Wanda. Vision can’t help but think that Clint would be furious if he knew Vision now shares Wanda’s bed at night.

The thought of Clint’s anger, strangely enough, makes Vision want to smile.

A few hours later, the rest of the designers arrive to dress the men. Mr. Sweeney appears last of all, only two hours before Mr. Stark’s party is meant to begin. Vision directs the team to his room, and they set to work making final adjustments to the outfit that Vision manifests across his skin.

“Hmm.” Mr. Sweeney shakes his head. “You are by far the strangest client I have ever worked with. Such an odd color composition to manage, and yet so little upkeep!” To Vision's great confusion and discomfort, Mr. Sweeney takes Vision’s chin between his finger and thumb in order to examine his face. “I keep trying to imagine ways to experiment with your appearance—male makeup, tattoos—but none of it would live up to what you already have. No, you are good to go, my good sir. Whatever happens, you’ll make an impression.”

“Thank you,” Vision says as Mr. Sweeney finally lets go.

The other Avengers will be going to the event in groups and by limo. Mr. Stark, a few days ago, attempted to convince Vision to join them. Vision, per the usual, insisted upon flying.

“It’ll be a grand entrance, at least,” Mr. Stark muttered in response. Then he clapped Vision on the shoulder. “You just have to one-up me, huh? Gotta outshine your old man!”

Vision just looked at him.

Because they're at the center of the current media attention, Wanda and Vision have been directed to arrive last. With this in mind, Vision keeps his speed easy on the way to the event. Though he didn’t see Wanda as she left, he knows the license number of the limo that she will be arriving in and times himself to make an appearance concurrently.

He lands in front of the conference center forty-seven seconds before the limo pulls up. As he makes his descent, the mass of bodies in front of the locale surges forward, pointing and shouting with camera lights flashing everywhere at once. Retaining his calm, Vision waits at the curb. So long as he doesn’t try to distinguish any of the voices from the rest, the reporters’ questions and comments cannot affect him.

When the limo pulls up, Vision waves to the driver to stay put and opens the door himself. After a couple of seconds, Wanda steps out.

She is stunning—too much so. Her appearance edges on false. Vision has seen her makeup-free, in her sleeping clothes, as well as in her day to day and Avengers attire, and it all seemed natural, fitting for her. Today, Wanda’s designer has taken her beauty to such a polished extreme that she almost looks inanimate.

Yet, objectively, he knows she is lovely.

As he offers his arm for her to take, he reaches out mentally, only to find her reaching back. Their connection clicks, faint but real, and Vision relaxes. She smiles up at him as she wraps her arm around his elbow. Her eyes sparkle.

Of course Wanda is still there, vibrant and alive. Makeup cannot mask her spirit.

He glances her over one more time, more appreciatively this time. Her dress, which is in a shade of red that almost matches his skintone, flows down far enough to reveal only a peek of her black polished toenails. It matches the curves of her body closely, then transitions into a looser, straight skirt. One of her shoulders is bare. The other begins with a long, billowing sleeve of transparent, darkly glittering fabric that finally cinches to a close at her wrist. The bare arm, which is now curved around his own, has a circlet of near-black metal around its upper length. Per the usual, a collection of silver-tone rings deck her fingers. Wanda's hair drapes across her shoulders in loose curls, and her pale skin glows.

“You look beautiful,” he tells her.

“Thank you,” she says.

They take a few steps down the red carpet, and the noise of the crowd returns to Vision’s awareness with a deafening roar. Despite himself, he catches a few distinct questions about his flying entrance, Wanda’s dress, and what Wanda thinks of him. A few more cameras goes off, and she stumbles. Vision pulls her closer to help her keep her balance.

Wanda lets out a shuddering breath. “They are very curious.” She glances warily at the people crowding the edge of the carpet.

The two of them move a few more steps forward. Wanda tries for a smile at the reporters, but Vision knows she is anxious. A few others are walking the carpet, ahead and behind them, but none are receiving this much attention. Vision can only wonder at how overwhelming the frenzy must be to Wanda’s telepathic mind.

“Director Fury said that we need to show them we are human,” he says thoughtfully.

Wanda takes in another breath. “Well.” She tilts her head and offers Vision a real, playful smile, scrunching her nose up. “We can do that.”

If Vision had eyebrows to raise, he would. She spoke with such confidence, while he can only think of how hard a task it will be for someone as far from human as he is. How can he, a man of metal and synthetic flesh with a consciousness derived from computer programs, make himself seem human to those who actually are?

They reach the double doors, which two men in suits pull open. Together, and more than a little wide-eyed, Vision and Wanda step into the ballroom.

Chapter Text

She has never seen such controlled chaos before. The high-ceilinged ballroom is lit up with crystal and gold, and everywhere, beautifully dressed bodies press together and move to the beat of the music. For a moment, Wanda’s too overwhelmed to process the scene. Then she recognizes the singer’s voice and comes abruptly back to reality.

Stark is on the stage at the front of the room, singing loudly and slightly off-key into a microphone. Wanda knows enough to recognize “Uptown Funk.”

“Ah,” Vision says, also looking towards the stage.

“Is he drunk already?” Wanda asks.

“It would seem so.”

“Yes, well, why not?” Wanda snorts and pulls Vision the rest of the way into the room.

For another moment, they take the room in. Stark’s voice floods the air, barely loud enough to overcome the groundshaking bass. Then a small flock of people converge on Wanda and Vision.

“Us Weekly,” the woman closest to Wanda announces. “Can I ask a few questions?”

Wanda glances back at Vision, but he’s already talking to a different reporter.

“All right.” She warily unwinds her arm from his.

“Let’s go sit here.” The reporter leads Wanda over to the bar, a recording device on one hand. Her tight black dress flares behind her. “Want a drink?”

“I don’t think it is legal,” Wanda replies.

The reporter pauses and looks back at her. “How old are you again?”

“Nineteen,” Wanda says.

“Oh, wow.” The reporter sits on one of the tall stools. Wanda carefully spreads out her skirt to do the same. “So young!”

“I guess so.”

“So what’s it like being a part of the Avengers?”

“Good.” Wanda folds her hands in her lap. “They are good people.”

“You came to this party with the Vision, I see. What are your thoughts on him?”

“Also good,” Wanda says. “He is my friend.”

The woman sighs and gives a small chuckle. “I’m gonna need a bit more than that, sweetheart.”

“I do not know what to say.” Wanda rolls her shoulders uncomfortably. “Steve is nice and very thoughtful. Natasha has taught me a lot. Clint has helped me, and so has Vision. Vision is the one I talk to the most.”

“Because you’re both new to the team?”

“I guess so.” Then she shakes her head. “No, not just that. He is a good listener and very calming to be around. He pays attention.”

“The others don’t?”

Wanda blinks. “Of course they do, but not like him. The world is new to him, so he’s interested in it all.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re not the youngest after all.” The reporter laughs. “But he doesn’t act his age?”

Wanda shakes her head. “He is as adult as any of us.” Stark, still strutting about the stage, catches her eye. “More than some of us.”

The woman follows Wanda’s gaze and smirks. “I’m sure. So you feel like you’re fitting in? Not just with the Avengers, but here in America?”

Wanda shrugs. “I miss home, of course, but there’s nothing there for me anymore.”

“Because of your brother's death.”

Wanda turns away, swallowing. “Yes. But I think he would have wanted to stay with the Avengers anyway.”

“Your parents are also gone?”

Wanda nods.

“So the Avengers are like a new family for you?”

“Yes.” Wanda turns back to the reporter. “They do not replace my family, but they are another one. The one I have now.”

“I love your accent,” the woman comments.

“…thank you?”

“Who designed your outfit tonight?”

After a couple more questions, the reporter gives Wanda a smile and a nod and excuses herself.

“I’m sure there are others who’d like to hear what you have to say,” she says.

Wanda presses her lips together. The reporter vanishes into the crowd, and Wanda glances around. She’s lost track of Vision, and she doesn’t know where any of the others are. Even Stark has vanished from the stage, his rough singing replaced by the prepackaged tones of a female’s high, breathy voice.

For a moment, she appreciates the relative peace. Trying to answer all those questions without giving away anything too personal or negative was surprisingly difficult. She goes over what she said in her mind. She didn’t sound nearly as smooth or as smart as Steve and Natasha had during the press conference.

English is not my first language. They do know that, don't they?

Then the heat of a single mind cuts through the noise of the crowd. Wanda doesn’t even have to look to know—there’s a man at the other end of the bar looking her up and down. He’s grinning. He’s thinking lewd thoughts about her body and how he might successfully “hit that.”

Goddammit.

Wanda rises from the stool as gracefully as possible and weaves her way through the dancing people. She senses the man follow, but then he seems to give up. Standing somewhere in the middle of the dance floor, Wanda turns. She has no idea what to do. Even a reporter would be appreciated now.

A touch on her wrist makes Wanda jump. She whips around and finds Natasha grinning at her.

“Come on.” Natasha tilts her head back through the crowd.

Breathing freely at last, Wanda follows Natasha into a break between all the bodies. She's glad to see most of the Avengers gathered there. The rest of the crowd gives them space, either too afraid or too awed to break into the invisible circle. As Wanda enters the space, she feels the awareness of the crowd turn in her direction.

Most of the others have drinks, and Steve and Sam clink glasses as Natasha encourages Wanda forward. Wanda is disappointed to see that Vision isn’t here, but then she sees Clint smiling at her from behind the other men.

“Clint!” She hurries over to hug him.

“Hey, kid.” He pats her on the back. “Nice threads.”

Wanda pulls back to look him over. He’s wearing a suit of charcoal grey and a purple tie. “You look very good.”

“Yeah, my kids haven't had a chance to ruin this yet,” Clint snorts.

Natasha, who has settled back on a stool by a small glass table, laughs. “Whatever, Clint. You know you’ve always been able to rock it.”

Wanda gets her first good look at Natasha’s outfit. It’s an eye-catching one—black, low-cut, and with revealing cutouts at the waist. The cutouts create an hourglass effect which is compounded by a red hourglass symbol at the center of Natasha’s torso.

Wanda squints. “Black Widow?” she asks, pointing at the symbol.

“What? Oh, yeah.” Natasha looks down at herself. “Apparently the name caught on after I leaked SHIELD’s files.”

“Yes,” Wanda agrees. “It’s a good one.”

Natasha’s hair slides over her shoulders as she smiles. “Thanks!”

“My dear lady,” a familiar voice says in an affected British accent. Wanda turns and finds Sam grinning down at her. He puts his drink down on the table and holds out his hand. “Shall we take to the dance floor?”

Wanda raises her eyebrows, but accepts his offer. One hand in his and the other at his shoulder, she follows his lead in small circles around the edge of their group. Grinning, Steve lifts his glass towards them in acknowledgement. Sam winks and returns his attention to Wanda.

“Gotta feel that groove,” he says, moving his hips smoothly to the music. “’I just wanna look good for you, good for you,’” he sings in an atrocious falsetto.

“Oh my God,” Wanda responds with a laugh.

A second later, Stark breaks out of the crowd and into the circle, stumbling into Sam as he goes. He has his arm over Vision’s shoulder. It looks like he dragged Vision from wherever they were before. Vision’s put-upon expression makes Wanda smile even harder.

“All right, you crazy kids,” Stark announces as Sam pulls their dance to a halt, looking distinctly offended. “Time to go mingle.”

“Yeah.” Steve straightens up with a groan. “He’s right.”

“Steve—” Natasha starts to complain.

“We spend time together all the time,” Steve tells her. “That’s not why we’re here. Go make some new friends.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and struts over to Wanda’s side.

“Let’s break some hearts,” she says, winding her arm through Wanda’s. Wanda shoots another look back at Vision, who offers her a tight smile, and then she lets Natasha lead her away.

For the next hour and a half, they work their way through the crowd. Now that they’ve broken away from the other Avengers, a bunch of the partygoers—mostly men—approach them. Natasha skillfully flirts them all into submission, to Wanda’s great relief. They answer a few reporters’ questions. They pause a few times to dance, though never with partners. In fact, Natasha seems to have no interest in the men that constantly swivel towards them.

“How do you do that?” Wanda asks after the seventh time Natasha leaves a man discombobulated in her dust.

“Hmm? Oh, getting guys to leave us alone? A lot of practice.” Natasha pushes her hair back from her face. “It helps that everyone knows I could break a man's neck before he got one word out. Some of them think they can test me, but…” She shakes her head. “I'm more powerful than they are, so I have the luxury of acting agreeable.”

“Huh.” Wanda breathes a laugh.

"Not that there's anything wrong with going for it." Natasha winks at Wanda and smiles. "Sometimes I'll bring one of them home with me. But tonight, I'm busy. You could have some fun if you want," she adds.

"No thank you," Wanda says, and Natasha laughs.

A few minutes later, they find Stark with Clint and Vision in the middle of the dance floor.

“Oh no.” Natasha gives a heavy sigh, rolls her eyes, and then stalks over to them.

Wanda is so glad to see Vision—and so busy appreciating how good his suit looks—that it takes her a second to realize what Natasha’s upset about: Clint and Stark are trying to teach Vision “the Robot.”

Wanda huffs and joins Natasha in pulling the men apart. As Natasha berates Clint and Stark tries to defend them both, Wanda pulls on Vision’s bicep, forcing his arms down. When he looks at her, surprised, she simply says, “No.”

He pauses to think, then ducks his head. “Perhaps not.” He looks back at the others—Clint is now standing in between Natasha and Stark, trying to calm them down as they shout at each other. Wanda feels a spark of hurt move through him as he realizes that they were making fun of him.

Evoked to empathy by his expression, Wanda rubs his arm and says, “It's okay, Vizh.”

A second later, one of the men in the crowd reaches out to fondle Natasha’s bare waist. Natasha slams him into the ground with one arm, eliciting cries of shock and effectively ending conversation for the moment.

Chapter Text

Clint and Mr. Stark slink away as Natasha pushes through the crowd in the opposite direction, leaving the overly opportunistic man groaning on the floor. Rather alarmed at this turn of events, Vision looks down at Wanda. She's frozen in place, her hands still clutching his sleeve and her rosy mouth partly open in shock.

“Perhaps we should find somewhere to sit,” Vision suggests.

“Yes,” Wanda says slowly. Then she shakes herself back to the present and smiles up at him. “Yes, let’s go somewhere else.”

They head to an empty table at the edge of the ballroom. The party slowly revives in the wake of the Avengers’ argument, and soon people are dancing again. As he had before, Vision notes their overtly sexual moves, but his thoughts remain on Clint and Mr. Stark’s apparent mockery.

“Vizh,” Wanda sighs. “They were being stupid. They are not worth your sadness.”

Vision just shakes his head.

A reporter comes by a moment later, drawn to the sight of the two sitting together. Vision and Wanda allow him a few questions, but when he asks about the earlier disturbance, Vision politely sends him on his way. They are left alone after that.

“I cannot even understand the music,” Wanda complains. “The bass is so loud.”

Vision tilts his head and compares the sound to the music on file online, then locates the lyrics for this particular song.

“‘Anybody could be bad to you. You need a good girl to blow your mind. Yeah,’” Vision recites. Wanda turns to look at him, her eyebrows scrunched together and her eyes wide. A moment later, she turns away again, her cheek lifting into a smile. Encouraged, Vision continues, “‘Bang, bang, into the room. I know you want it. Bang, bang, all over—’”

“Yes, I hear it now,” Wanda interrupts. Her voice is strained.

Vision smiles and nods.

After another moment, with the song still pounding through the room, Vision turns to her. “I’m puzzled by the fact that many of these songs relate to sexual intimacy.”

Wanda sucks her cheeks in, hard enough for Vision to hear the rush of air. She breathes in and out through her nose a few times. Vision watches the others gyrating on the dance floor, their drinks in hand, bodies pressed close together. Mr. Stark now has three different women by his side. Squinting, Vision notices that, while Mr. Stark is friendly to them, he doesn't show any particular interest. Not like he used to before he started dating Ms. Potts.

Vision wonders where Ms. Potts is tonight.

“Though Mr. Stark sometimes acts otherwise, I was under the impression that intimacy was… well, intimate,” Vision says. “Why would it be encouraged at such a public event?”

Wanda scans the crowd. “It's not about… intimacy. It is about power,” she says. “Thinking that they have that effect, emotional and physical control over someone else, that they are wanted—it makes them feel big. Important,” she corrects. “They want to show it off. Their power, I mean.” She bites her lip, her cheeks reddening.

“It incites a stimulatory response, certainly.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Wanda says, her voice strangely high-pitched. A moment later, after another few breaths, she adds, her voice lower and dry in tone, “Some of the men here have wanted to… ‘exercise their power’ on me.”

Vision looks at her.

“I am not interested,” she says.

Vision looks back out at the crowd, relieved. Though he doesn't know why it should bother him, the thought of Wanda being intimate with any of these men makes him prickle.

“Pietro would like this, though.” Wanda sighs and brushes her hair back from her face. “Not the men looking at me, that would make him angry, but having women look at him. He does not mind it being about power or just… I mean, for fun, or whatever.” She shakes her head, flushing again. “But I have spent too much time being used by others.”

“And power isn't everything,” Vision says, thinking of one of their earlier conversations.

“No.” Wanda rubs her finger over the table in swirling patterns. “Power only matters when you don’t have it.” After another moment of silence, her eyes flicker up towards the crowd, “But some people are so drunk on it, they do not hear it when you say no. They are not happy just having power, they have to have more power than you.” She taps the side of her head.

It’s then that Vision notices the man standing a couple of yards from their table. He’s younger than Sam, but older than Wanda, with dark hair and a five o’clock shadow. His sharp blue eyes are locked on Wanda, and his expression is anything but subtle. His mouth is curled into a distinctly lascivious grin and he’s swirling the drink in his glass in an appraising sort of way.

Vision looks at the man until he meets Vision’s gaze. Feeling a surge of something hot and ruthless, Vision narrows his eyes and stares until the other man makes a dismissive movement and strides away. A laughlike noise bubbles deep in Wanda’s throat.

Turning suddenly to her, Vision says, “If we dance, perhaps they will not bother you.”

Wanda stops, glances between him and the crowd. “Yes,” she says slowly. “I’d like that.”

A moment later, she holds her hand out to him. He takes it, pleased by the sight of their fingers woven together, red against peach in long, thin stripes.

He follows her onto the dance floor and takes up the same position he saw her and Sam in before. Though his mind is instantly overwhelmed by the curve of her hip underneath his palm, he thinks that this must be okay. They are at a safe distance. Even Clint could not possibly dislike him for this.

Wanda tilts her head. “What’s wrong?” As he meets the startling blue of her eyes, she adds, “You are tense.”

She slides the hand on his shoulder down his arm, which only serves to make him feel more uncertain.

“I… simply do not wish to make you uncomfortable in any way.”

She lets out a laugh and turns her head as if listening to the crowd once more. She bites her lip, looks up at him, and with a wrinkle of her nose, says, “You won’t.”

Vision relaxes in increments as they sway to the music. The song changes, and Wanda lets go of his hand, reaching up so that both of hers are on his shoulders. He’s left with little choice but to place his free hand on her other hip, bringing them closer together.

But they’ve been this close before. Closer, even.

“I don’t understand how being with someone could make your face numb,” he says.

Wanda laughs. As Vision smiles back at her, she weaves her hands up around his neck and pulls him into an embrace. She rests her head against his chest.

“Thank you,” she says.

Right there, in that moment, Vision doesn’t care if Clint finds them. Let him come. Let him see that even if they all think he is somehow lesser, Wanda cares. She has been more than generous in her assessment of him, and she trusts him to be here with her. What more can he ask for?

He runs a quick analysis of the sensations in his body.

No, I can still feel my face, he thinks.

“How long to we have to stay here?” Wanda asks sleepily.

Vision glances around. “I think we could get away with leaving, if you wish to do so.”

“Yes,” she says. “Thank God.”

She pulls away from him, leaving behind the imprint of her heat, and Vision takes her arm to escort her, as discreetly as possible, out of the door. Most of the press outside has left, but a few stragglers take pictures as Vision opens the limousine door.

“Are you coming?” Wanda asks.

“Yes, I will meet you at the compound,” Vision replies.

Shutting the door behind her, he shifts up into the sky. This time, he doesn’t have to time his arrival with hers, so he takes a quick, direct path home. When Wanda enters her room, he is already there, back in his regular day clothes and sitting on her bed.

She breathes a laugh, setting her purse down. “That was quick.”

Vision has no response, and Wanda doesn’t seem to require one.

“Let me go get out of this dress and makeup,” she says.

She doesn’t return for twenty-three minutes, but when she does, she appears quite relaxed. Rolling her shoulders as she plods towards the bed, bare-faced and back in her loose night clothes, she smiles.

“It is nice to be out of all that—” She waves her hand in the air.

“Yes. You looked beautiful, of course, but you look lovely now. Happier.”

She huffs out a laugh, her cheeks pink. “I am ready for sleep.”

He gestures towards the bed beside him. “Sleep awaits.”

She laughs again, this time with a voiced, pealing sound, and slides under the covers with a happy sound. She stretches her whole body and then curls up beside him. Smiling, he turns out the lights and lets the thundering river of her consciousness wash over his own.

The night passes quickly as he releases his own hold on time and leaves her mind to guide him. Though awake, Vision enters almost a trance as Wanda’s soft, happy emotions flood through him. The image of them dancing together whirls around and around in his head. It’s not until he hears a knock on the door that he realizes it’s 11:24 A.M., the next day.

“Wanda?” Captain Rogers calls. “Wanda, are you awake?”

Vision looks over at Wanda. She is, in fact, deeply asleep, turned towards Vision with fists clutching the top of her blankets.

“Wanda?”

Vision glances between her and the door, unsure what to do.

“Wanda.” A pause, and then a huff. “Wanda, are you okay?”

Vision blinks at the door.

“All right, I’m coming in!”

The handprint sensor emits a series of beeps, and the door swings open. Captain Rogers steps inside, meets Vision’s eyes, and stops in his tracks. For a long moment, they stare at each other.

“What are you doing here?” Captain Rogers narrows his eyes and look past Vision to check on Wanda.

“Nothing untoward has occurred, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” Vision crosses his legs at the ankle. “Wanda discovered that my presence soothes her nightmares. My mind acts as a sanctuary for her as she sleeps.”

Captain Rogers crosses his arms across his chest. “How long has this been going on?”

Vision attempts to push himself into a more upright position, but as he does so, Wanda makes an unhappy noise. He feels her consciousness grasping for him.

“Ne idi,” she murmurs. Wriggling in her bed, she rests her arm over his torso and pulls him towards her. She snuggles her head into his side.

His chest full of a sudden pressure, a sensation between joy and pain that seems to threaten collapse, Vision looks between her and Captain Rogers. At his wide-eyed gaze, the corner of Captain Rogers’ mouth twitches upwards.

“How long,” he demands.

“Two weeks and one night.”

Captain Rogers’ eyes flick between Vision’s face and Wanda’s curled body once more. “Well, you… you two…” He rubs his jaw and shakes his head. “Just be safe, all right?”

Vision dips his head in agreement as Captain Rogers hurriedly exits the room, muttering something about elevators and fondue.

Chapter Text

Wanda still has a bubble of happiness inside of her chest when she heads down to get some food. Parties have never been her favorite, but Vision’s friendship makes everything better. She hums to herself as she puts together a sandwich. The kitchen is empty, though there are dishes and such strewn about, indicating that the others only just finished their lunch.

Wanda washes a couple of the dishes by hand before sitting down to her meal. She’s only taken one bite, though, when someone clears their throat behind her.

She turns to see Steve, his hands stuffed in his pockets, shuffling into the room. She can sense his anxiety from here.

“Hello,” Wanda says.

Steve nods. Wanda watches patiently as he comes to lean on the table beside her. He will tell her what’s got him so worried when he’s ready.

Sure enough, Steve takes a breath, and then speaks.

“So,” he says. “I came to check on you this morning.”

Wanda squints at him. “Okay.”

“You weren’t by yourself.”

Vision.

“Oh, God,” she blurts without thinking. “It's—it is not what you think.”

Steve raises his eyebrows as he lowers himself into the chair next to her. Wanda quietly panics.

“Vision told me that he’s helping with your nightmares," Steve says. "Something about his brain being a safe place—peaceful—something like that.”

Wanda’s eyes widen in relief. “Yes,” she says. “His mind keeps the bad dreams away. It's the same as how it used to be with Pietro.” She winces, even as Steve starts to relax. “I mean, Pietro helped me the same way.”

“So Vision’s been… spending the night… in your room?”

“I need him close,” Wanda explains. “If I cannot find him, I might go into your head, or one of the others, and that—” She shakes her head. “It is not good. I make the rest of you have even worse dreams.”

“Oh.” Steve looks down at his hands for a moment. “So it’s working, then?”

“Yes.” Wanda feels herself start to blush and bites the insides of her cheeks.

Steve nods a couple of times and then makes eye contact. “And… that’s it? Nothing else has happened?”

Wanda raises an eyebrow, once again to mask her own blush. Also flushing, Steve adds, “I’m sorry, that’s not my business.” He drops his gaze. “I just… I want to be sure you, um.” He takes in a deep breath. “That you’re being safe and things are okay. So you don’t have any questions, or…”

“Oh my God,” Wanda realizes. “Are you trying to give me the—način prirode talk? About sex?”

Steve looks at her like a cornered animal.

“You are! Steve!”

He starts stammering, but Wanda talks over him.

“First of all, I already know all about that. My parents talked to me about it when I was eight years old, and Pietro and I have talked, too. I’m not stupid. Second, Vision isn’t—he does not—he has feelings, yes. I know you do not always think so, but he does. Same as other people. But not in that way. He—we—it is not like that. Third,” she adds as Steve tries to protest again, “I would ask Natasha for help if I needed it. Okay?”

Steve closes his mouth, chastised. Wanda softens her gaze.

“I do not mean you're not helpful,” she says. “You are a good man. But Natasha is…” She shrugs. “A woman. I will talk to you about other stuff, but not this. Okay?”

Steve nods, sighing. “Okay. I’m sorry.” He shrugs and gives Wanda a small smile, which she returns.

“Thank you for caring, though,” she says.

After a long, tense pause, Steve gets up from his chair.

“Please don’t tell anyone about—this.” Wanda says.

“I won’t.” Steve nods again, gives her another brief smile, and leaves the room.

Wanda lets out a huge sigh and looks back to her sandwich at last. She can’t stomach another bite, though, not after that. With a groan, she rests her face on the table.

Wanda spends the rest of the day practicing guitar and reading books in solitude. At dinner, she refuses to make eye contact with either Vision or Steve, focusing instead on the conversation going on between Clint and Natasha. Having been, from what whispers Wanda has heard, chastised by Nick Fury for his long absence, Clint is back on the compound. He’ll likely go home again soon, but from now on, he’ll spend more time with the team.

Wanda can only pray that Steve keeps his promise and Clint never finds out about her arrangement with Vision.

Clint would murder him. Against her will, Wanda’s eyes flick over to Vision’s solid burgundy figure. Or at least he would if he could.

Feeling incredibly overwhelmed, Wanda goes up after dinner to have a bath. She has all the amenities now that she once dreamed of—constant access to hot water, various high-quality potions including bubble bath, a fluffy set of towels, even candles. She brings out the entire arsenal tonight. And finally, amidst the watery warmth and sweet perfume, she starts to relax.

After thirty minutes, Wanda gets out of the water and wraps herself in a towel. Her skin is wrinkled and tight, but her muscles finally feel loose. She breathes deeply as she rubs lotion over herself. Then, smiling a little, she leaves the bathroom to find her sleepclothes.

As she opens the right drawer, she senses Vision’s presence. She whips around, towel clutched to her body, just as he phases up through the floor in the middle of her room.

“Get out!” she cries.

She catches one glimpse of his startled eyes before Vision disappears.

Once he’s gone, she leans against the dresser, breathing heavily. “God,” she says to no one in particular.

After a moment, she collects herself enough to grab her clothes and retreat back into the bathroom, where she knows Vision won’t interrupt her. Furiously uttering curse words in both English and Sokovian mixed in with entirely random syllables, she dresses. The relaxation she managed to achieve in the bath has gone.

She takes a few deep breaths, waiting until she’s sure she won’t lose her temper, then goes back into her bedroom. Too frustrated to risk running into anyone else, she opens her mind. It only takes seconds for her to find Vision. He’s pacing the floor below, full of shame. She nudges him with her consciousness.

Come here.

She’s never done it before and has no reason to believe it will work, but Vision does recognize her touch. She feels him hesitate before slowly lifting off the ground. She opens her eyes just as he phases through the floor again, head ducked. Crossing her arms, she waits for him to meet her gaze.

“Sit down,” she says.

Vision lowers himself to the bed.

“You cannot just phase into people’s rooms whenever you want,” Wanda says. “The door is there for a reason.”

“I am truly sorry,” he murmurs.

“Doors don’t exist just for normal people to walk through,” she tells him. “They are also a… signal. If they are closed, people know that they should ask to come in. We all need our own space, you know. It is not polite to ignore that.”

Vision nods. “I'll remember that.”

“That’s not all.” Wanda sighs, taking some pity on Vision, and sits on the bed next to him. He shifts to look at her. “You didn't tell me that Steve came in and saw us.”

Vision’s brow crinkles. “Yes, this morning.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shakes his head. “I… didn’t think it was necessary.”

Wanda huffs. “Well, he came to talk to me about it.”

He nods in realization.

“Vision—we have to be more careful.” Wanda folds one leg under herself so she can face him. “I do not want that to happen again. I don’t want people to know about this.”

Vision frowns. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Do you understand what it looks like to people?” she says dryly.

Vision’s face smooths. “Yes,” he says. “I’m aware of how Captain Rogers initially took it. However, I did explain to him—”

“He still was not sure,” Wanda tells him. “He asked me if—he wanted to know what was going on. It was embarrassing.” She covers her face with her hands for a moment. “And too much to explain. I don’t want the others to find out,” she says again. “They will talk about us, and no matter how much we explain, some of them will still think it is something else. I do not need everyone asking me about it, or teasing us, or watching us all the time to see if there are any signs.”

Vision is silent for a moment, looking down at his own hands.

“I didn’t think anyone would believe me capable of… such a thing,” he says at last.

“It’s not—” Wanda’s face goes hot. “They would not—It’s complicated.”

Vision tilts his head, and Wanda feels him tightly reining in his curiosity.

He has a right to know. “They will all have a different idea of it, because they all have a different idea of you,” she says. “Steve was worried—about many things. That you did not understand what was happening. That I did not understand what was happening. That I wanted something you could not give. He thought that for you it would be just… a thing that happened, but I would have feelings about it and be hurt when you didn’t have those feelings, too.”

Vision nods slowly. This, at least, makes sense to him.

“If Clint found out, he would take it another way.” Wanda bites her lip and shifts her weight on the bed. “He would be very angry. And the others—I just don’t want to deal with it, Vizh.” She sighs. “It’s not like that, and we know it isn’t, and the others do not need to know. It is—not their business.”

“I understand,” Vision says.

“So you have to be careful,” she tells him. “It does not matter so much when they are not watching, but the rest of the time, we cannot act like we are too close. That’s another reason why you cannot just phase into my room all the time.”

He nods. “I’ll be… discreet, from now on. I promise you.”

Wanda smiles at last. “Thank you.” Then she flops over backwards onto the bed. “I have such a headache,” she groans.

Vision straightens. “Do you need medication? Ibuprofen, perhaps?”

“No,” she laughs. “It has just been a hard day. I am ready to sleep.”

Wanda crawls to the top of the bed and wrestles with the covers until she’s in her usual spot. When Vision doesn’t immediately move, she slaps the bed next to her.

“Get up here, you ridiculous… red… person. I forgive you for your mistake.”

Vision smiles just slightly as he moves into his own place on the bed.

Chapter Text

Vision is relieved by Wanda’s forgiveness. When he realized what he had done, phasing into her room like that with her still undressed, he had feared that she wouldn’t want his company anymore. An irrational fear, perhaps, but Vision still doesn’t understand much about humans. What exactly causes a friendship to break?

Not that, it seems.

Nonetheless, he will be careful. Their conversation has given him much to think about.

“The media is eating you two up,” Natasha announces the next day during lunch. “It’s looking good so far.”

Wanda looks up at her. “What are they saying?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t watched the news yet?”

Wanda shakes her head.

“They’ve been discussing many of the same things they did before,” Vision says, confused.

“Mmm.” Natasha shakes her head and swallows a bite of pasta. “It’s different, though. They’re excited about having their first real sighting of you.”

As Vision frowns, Natasha turns back to Wanda. “They’re talking about you exactly like I thought: ‘Is Wanda Maximoff a sweet refugee ingénue profiting from America’s grace, or is she a powerful sorceress seeking to destroy our freedom? Are the Avengers offering her salvation or have they fallen into her trap?’”

Sam lets out a snort of laughter. Wanda opens and then closes her mouth, her eyebrows scrunched together.

“It’s how they talk about all women,” Natasha reassures her. “I recommend you go for the sweetheart role. I’ve got the seductress covered already.”

“I just…” Wanda shakes her head. “But I’m just me.”

“Don’t worry,” Natasha says. “The important part is that, whatever role they decide on, you play it in a way that makes you look like you’re on the side of the good guys.”

“…I am.”

“I know.” Natasha tosses her hair over her shoulder and turns to Vision. “I wasn’t sure how they’d go with you, but it looks good. Surprisingly similar to how it was for the other guys. The men are interested in how strong you are—if you’re another macho hero for their boys to look up to and for them to compete with—and the women want to know if you’re secretly bursting with feelings.”

None of this is making the situation any clearer to Vision. “I’m sorry?”

“They want to think you’re a romantic hero with a heart of gold.” Natasha grins at him. “It’s exciting for them to imagine being the one to draw those feelings out of you, even more so than with the others since you’re a bit—robotic.”

“Right,” Vision says uncertainly.

“At least the ‘heart of gold’ part is true.” Wanda smiles at Vision from across the table. He returns the smile without thought.

“That’s just your girly feelings talking,” Natasha says. It takes a moment for Vision to realize that she’s joking. She shifts on her chair to better face them both. “Honestly, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. The details are different, but they’re looking at you the same way they looked at the rest of us. It’s good.”

“How are they talking about me?” Sam wants to know.

“They aren’t.” Natasha smiles at him.

Clint laughs at Sam’s offended expression and reaches over to slap him on the arm. “Don’t worry, man. They might not be talking about you as much, but they are talking. Mostly about how you and Rhodes are ‘great role models for African American boys.’”

“Just because we don’t have flashy superpowers…” Sam grumbles.

Wanda and Vision exchange looks.

“They’ll come around when they see all the great work you do,” Steve says from the other side of the room.

“Or not.” Clint shrugs. “But hey, it’s kind of nice flying under the radar. Take it from another ordinary guy.” He pats Sam on the shoulder again.

Sam breathes a laugh and offers Clint a crooked smile.

Vision tries to watch the news reports afterwards with an eye for what Natasha said. He can see the patterns if he pays close enough attention, but he has no idea how she pinpointed them. It confuses him, the way these reporters try to dissect his and Wanda’s natures, as though they had any idea who the two newest Avengers really were.

Across the next two weeks, training shifts into something less power-based. The new Avengers begin sitting in on sessions, led alternately by Director Fury, Captain Rogers, Colonel Rhodes, and Agent Hill, about conflict management. They discuss minimizing civilian casualties, de-escalating situations where possible, and keeping their cool in the midst of battle, as well as various tactical issues. Natasha leads a two-day workshop on covert operations.

(BONUS ONESHOT)

The beginning of the second week, Captain Rogers and Natasha begin taking Sam and Colonel Rhodes on some missions. They also allow Vision and Wanda greater access to information about these missions. Most involve serious criminal threats. Many of their targets have connections to HYDRA; others are involved with different war crimes. Vision has enough access and past memory to understand the political issues surrounding the missions. Wanda requires more explanation to understand what's happening.

Nonetheless, it is, for both of them, a very educational experience. Most of what the Avengers have been famous for are the supernatural or alien attacks, such as what happened in New York. These quieter, more constant missions fly under the radar, but have just as significant an impact.

As the third week begins, Vision once again takes his own rest. After waiting for Wanda to drift off beside him, he shuts his own sensors down and directs his energy back into his subconscious. The hours pass easily enough. Though the few dreams he has are intense, battle-focused, they don’t qualify as nightmares.

He begins to shift back to wakefulness at 7:30 A.M., but gives himself, for a moment, the luxury of remaining only half conscious. His link to Wanda, as always, allows him to put thought in the background. He lies still in a haze of warmth. The scent of roses and clean linen fills the air. The front of his body melds to another shape, while beneath his thumb lies something soft and supple, a texture that the conscious part of his mind finds fascinating. All else is simple joy.

Barely a second later, Wanda gives a sudden start inside their minds. Vision blinks himself awake.

It takes him a moment to realize where he is: in Wanda’s room, on her bed, on his side and against her back—Vision has Wanda wrapped in an embrace. Her hair pillows across his right arm. He is stroking her upper right arm with his left thumb.

In one swift movement, he untangles himself and rolls onto his back.

What are you doing? he thinks to himself.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” he stammers.

Wanda lets out a strange sound. With their mental connection now broken, Vision has to look at her to see that she’s laughing. She blinks sleepily at him as she, too, turns over. He swallows down the joy that wants to choke in his throat at the sight of her trusting eyes and smiling face.

“You were asleep,” she says. “You didn’t know.”

“Still, I—should have realized sooner.”

She leans over and presses her lips to his cheek, stunning him into silence. “There are worse things,” she says. She pushes herself up into a sitting position and combs her hair with her fingers. Vision resists the urge to touch the place where her lips met his skin.

The scent of roses lingers around him.

“You were thinking something.” Wanda climbs out of bed and goes to the dresser. “Before you woke all the way. I could not quite hear it.”

“I…” Vision stops and tries to remember. “Oh. It was—nothing.”

“No,” she laughs, turning to face him. “Tell me.”

“Your skin.” He averts his eyes as politely as possible. “Humans have a layer of hair on their skin, even in the places where it can barely be seen. I was… admiring the sensation of the fine hairs on your upper arm.” Embarrassed, he adds, “It’s odd, I know, but since I have no hair myself, I find the texture intriguing.”

Wanda blinks. She’s now rubbing her own fingers against her upper arm.

“Oh,” she says. “I never thought about that.” She lifts her fingers to her mouth, as if remembering the texture of his skin. Then she smiles and drops her hand. “I like that. You make me think about things I would not usually.” She turns away, to her bathroom. “I will see you downstairs.”

Unprepared to face the others, Vision instead goes to his own room. Four weeks ago, he returned the bed that had been there and replaced it with two plush chairs. He sinks into one of those chairs now and sits brooding, his eyes on the Van Gogh across from him.

At breakfast, Captain Rogers announces that they will have the day to study whatever they see fit.

“Whatever you think your weakest points are, start fixing them up,” he says. Then he nods at Clint. “Clint, Director Fury has granted you the leave you requested. You can head back home for a couple of days. The rest of you, get to work!”

The team splits off across the compound. With nothing else to do, Vision wanders the halls, mentally reviewing the tenets of de-escalation. His weakest point, in fact, is stealth, but Natasha told him last week not to bother.

“I don’t think you’ll ever be our man for covert ops,” she said with a wry smile.

As Vision passes in front of the living room windows, he catches sight of Wanda. She’s out on the lawn some distance from the other trainees, fighting an imagined enemy. She contorts her body, and the area lights with flashes of scarlet. Vision pauses to watch for a moment, then phases through the wall. It’s colder outside, the air scented with tree leaves only just beginning to die.

As Vision comes up behind her, Wanda flinches. She jolts around to face him. He’s captivated, for an instant, by the fire in her eyes. It’s such a pure, unfiltered fury, revealing within her unimaginable depths of untapped power. Then Wanda recognizes him, and her hands drop to her sides.

“Vizh.” Her irises revert back to their natural blue-green.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he says.

She pushes her hair back from her face. “You can only build a house of cards so many times.”

Vision offers her a half smile. Some time ago, Captain Rogers recommended that Wanda hone her powers by building houses of cards. A good training exercise, requiring exact control and attention to detail. But Vision can imagine the tediousness of such a task.

“May I watch?” He gestures towards the field.

“Oh.” Wanda blinks a few times. “I guess so.”

Glancing back at him twice, she takes up her earlier stance. Vision has to refocus his attention—as she turned, his eyes had come to rest on the curves of her figure. He stands back and watches her throw energy out at the imagined figure. She attempts a few of the fighting maneuvers Natasha taught them, but since her powers are best directed through her hands, she remains in a more standard position most of the time.

An idea begins to simmer in the back of Vision’s mind. Unable to form it completely yet, he lets it rest until it comes to the forefront. It finally clicks as he observes the way Wanda anchors herself against the recoil as she sends out a particularly potent blast.

“Wanda,” he says. She immediately stops and turns to him.

“Yes?”

“Have you ever considered using your powers as an anchor for your own movement?”

She tilts her head and squints. In response, he lifts himself into the air, coming to hover a few inches away from her. She watches his approach.

“Basic physics,” he explains. “It takes some exertion of force to both create and maintain movement. Consider flight, for example—due not only to the particles in the air, but also to gravity, the mass of an object must be offset by an appropriate energy output in order to both rise and maintain height.”

She raises her eyebrows. Vision drops back to the ground.

“With your powers,” he says, "you, in essence, engage and then manipulate pure energy. I believe you might be able to use that to propel yourself—possibly even to the point of achieving flight. It’s similar to how the Iron Man suits operate.”

Wanda looks down, then lifts her hands for them both to see. “You mean how the suits use energy from the feet and the hands to move?”

“Precisely. Even if you never manage that kind of flight function, I’m certain you could use your abilities to propel yourself some distance. It might make physical maneuvers easier, at least.”

She turns her head to gaze across the field. “I never thought of that.”

He smiles, even though she’s not looking. “I’d be happy to assist you. I have plenty of memories to draw on from Mr. Stark’s test runs.”

Wanda breathes a laugh, but before she can respond, Sam runs up to them.

“Cap wants us in the main training room,” he says. “An alert's come in from Ukraine.”

Vision and Wanda exchange looks, and then follow Sam inside.

Chapter Text

A couple of hours later, the Avengers are inside the quinjet as it speeds its way across eastern Europe. Steve is saying much of what Wanda thinks: how this is their first time in this area since Ultron, how he hoped they wouldn’t be needed here for some time.

It takes all Wanda has to keep breathing smoothly. Vision stands a conventional distance from her, as he has done since their earlier talk. She wishes he were closer right now.

“It’s nothing we haven’t handled before,” Steve reassures them.

A shadow falls across the jet. Natasha cries out, and Steve sends the vehicle skyward, barely avoiding an apparent strike. Outside the window, Wanda finally catches a glimpse of their enemy—and it looks exactly like Ultron.

No.

But this robot is enormous, crushing houses beneath its feet like insects. It can’t be Ultron—

It just can’t.

Before she can take another breath, Steve calls the team to action.

As has been discussed in previous sessions, Vision takes responsibility for Wanda, and Sam for Natasha, as they jump from the stalled jet parachute-free. Tucked up against Vision’s side as he supports her weight with a single arm around her waist, Wanda feels a burst of comfort. It’s just enough to keep her from thinking about how far they are from the ground.

The way Vision flies, it doesn’t even seem like an effort.

Steve hits the ground first, rolling up onto his feet, but before the others can join him, Rhodey calls a warning to Vision. The robot’s enormous fist swings towards them, Vision’s grip loosens as he phases, and then Wanda is falling.

In that moment, one thought breaks through her terror—Use your powers!

The ground races towards her, and she throws her hands out, pushing energy downwards. It’s unsteady, but after the brief practice she and Vision did in the training room while waiting for Steve to show, it does the trick. She lands on her feet no worse for the wear.

She looks into the face of a monster.

Wanda sucks in a breath. She expects to feel fear still beating through her, but now that she’s facing the robot head-on, all she feels is cold certainty.

“You have chosen a face I don’t particularly care for, monster,” she calls, and though her voice shakes, her heart sings steady. “And now you will pay for it—”

It doesn’t respond, but she’s already pulling her energy in, grasping hold of its lines and rivets. It’s difficult to get a good grip—the thing is so large, she can’t see its entirety from where she stands.

The others speak in her earpiece. It’s a strange sensation, and she has to resist the urge to shake her head, as if getting rid of a fly. The Avengers seem to have come to a conclusion, though—this creature may look like Ultron, but it has none of his intelligence. Someone else is controlling it.

As Sam and Natasha break off to find the culprit, Vision and Rhodes blast the robot across the face. Wanda continues to narrow her attention, trying to find weaknesses to exploit, the little details that, when shattered, will break everything else down. Steve sends his shield ricocheting across the robot’s surface, and she hears the metal crack.

“Let’s take it down!” Steve shouts.

Vision and Rhodey set off a series of explosions in the robot’s upper half.

“It’s just a house of cards…” Wanda whispers, and one of the robot’s knees burns yellow and loudly creaks. She closes her eyes. “Just a house of cards…” She summons all her energy, pulling it into the palm of her hand as the robot’s joints groan and shudder. She sets her mind against all the seams, drives herself into the core of the creature, and grabs hold.

“Enough.” Her eyes open. “You’re done.”

She crushes the monster with a single fist.

It explodes above her, limbs breaking off and fire bursting from every crack. As the pieces sway and then crumble towards her, she realizes her mistake. She throws her hands up, hoping to create an energy shield strong enough to protect herself—but then she’s in the air.

She gasps, feeling the hot lines of Vision’s abdomen against her own body as he holds her close. She watches over his shoulder, clasping her arm to his back, as the robot falls to the ground. Explosions echo through the village, across the mountain.

“Steve,” she breathes. Vision pulls a sharp U-turn, and they hover over the shattered bits of metal. As the dust settles, small fires burning around it, Wanda scans the debris anxiously.

“Steve,” she calls.

“I’m all right,” comes his voice through the earpiece, strained but clear.

Wanda chokes out a relieved laugh as Steve pushes himself out from under one of the robot’s shattered arms. Rhodey makes a landing nearby, and Sam and Natasha appear from around a corner, dragging a pair of bound men between them. Vision swoops down and sets Wanda, gently, atop what used to be the robot’s head.

“HYDRA agents,” Natasha explains, pushing one of the men to the ground. “Looks like they took the bits from all the Ultrons left over after Sokovia and used them to build a larger, remote-controlled version.”

As the others secure the rest of the HYDRA team, Wanda stays where Vision left her. She uses her powers to move debris and smother the small fires still burning. One by one, the Avengers come back together. Natasha, grinning, somehow manages to climb up to where Wanda stands and takes a seat. Vision hovers nearby.

“We’re lucky the village evacuated when this thing showed up.” Steve surveys the area. “As it is, there’s a lot of damage. But it could be worse.” He smiles up at the group. “For your first mission as a team, you did good work. I’m proud of you.”

“Let’s bring the quinjet down and get these pieces of garbage out of here.” Natasha gestures back at the HYDRA men.

“Sounds good to me.”

Once they’re all back at the compound, left again to their own devices as Steve and Natasha take the HYDRA agents to the government authorities, Wanda wanders through the empty living room. She drags her fingers against the couches. Now that the moment’s over, the shock of seeing Ultron’s face sets in. Adrenaline bleeds out from her cells, leaving her tired and melancholy.

Will it always be like this? she wonders. Her fingers tremble against the fabric. So much violence, she thinks.

She should be used to that, but after these few months at the Avengers compound, peace has become her norm. A strange idea—something she never would have believed possible before Ultron happened—but true. Wanda has become accustomed to quiet, to closeness, to safety.

How can I stand it, going back into battle again?

Movement outside distracts her from the explosions still happening behind her eyelids. She draws to a stop before the windows—and smiles.

Vision phases outside from the level below, and, as Wanda watches, reaches towards a butterfly fluttering past. The insect seems to hesitate for a moment, and then it comes to rest on Vision’s outstretched fingers. He floats to the ground and stands, for a long moment, gazing at the tiny creature on his hand. It flaps its wings, all orange and black, twice, and then takes off again with Vision staring after it.

That’s how, Wanda thinks.

As long as something so good and so precious exists, Wanda can bear the darkness.

Chapter Text

Two more weeks pass. On October 31st, Halloween, Mr. Stark arrives bearing multiple bags full of candy and an excessively jovial mood. His appearance is fortunate, because only moments later, Clint and Laura also arrive, with their children in tow. Cooper wears a costume in imitation of Thor. Vision doesn't recognize the other children's costumes.

“Trick or treat!” Cooper and Lila scream.

“Yes.” Mr. Stark hands the children a whole bag, which they immediately tear open, despite their mother’s loud protests. Clint, in his normal day clothes, collapses on one of the living room couches. He chuckles.

“Lots of mini-Avengers out on the streets tonight,” he says. “I even saw a couple of boys dressed as Vision.”

Vision blinks over at him, unsure what to think. Wanda, who's sitting at the kitchen table sucking on a lollipop, smiles.

“Whoo-hoo!” Sam comes out from behind the kitchen counter with a variety of snacks on trays in hand. Vision comes closer, and sees that most of them are in the form of death-images, cats, or pumpkins.

“What an odd holiday,” he remarks.

“There’s nothing odd about candy.” Mr. Stark throws a bunch of Smarties into his own open mouth.

Vision looks at him. “I beg to differ.”

After the Barton children leave, Mr. Stark invites the group back to his home for a party—one more informal than the public event that occurred in September. Vision makes a brief visit, but is so perplexed that he returns to the compound barely twenty-six minutes later.

“I don’t understand why humanity would be so interested in the macabre as to devote a holiday to it,” he tells Wanda after she comes home. “It’s so different from your usual tendency to hide from what you cannot control.”

Lying with her head over the end of the bed, she laughs. “There is power to the darkness.” She sits up to face him, her expression shifting from playful wickedness to solemnity. “Death is something we fear, but it is also a reality we cannot escape. So we find ways to face it. We make it into something we can accept. We learn to find peace in chaos.” She glances at the photos beside her bed.

Vision nods. “I see.” He sighs. “I may never understand what it is to fear death—but I do understand, in some way, the movings of the universe: that death is a vital part of the life cycle, that there cannot be renewal without destruction. While nothing truly ends, everything must break in order to be rebuilt into something greater. I can see the beauty in that.”

“People fear what they do not know,” Wanda tells him. “We don’t know that there will be birth after death. We don’t know what the darkness will turn us into. We do not know if the thing that makes us ourselves will last.” Her voice catches, and she smiles tiredly at her own hands. “We find power when we embrace the change anyway.”

“So this holiday is a small way of embracing it.”

“In little pieces,” she agrees.

“I see.”

And in his own way, he does. After all, did he not join the Avengers in an attempt to counter entropy itself? Humanity may be beautiful even if it lasts only a brief time, but Vision would prefer to hold onto it longer than that. Though he accepts the ever-changing nature of the universe, he is, ultimately, on the side of life. He welcomes chaos while yet seeking to create order.

Perhaps he is more human, in that way, than he thought himself to be.

Though their mission to Ukraine was a success, Captain Rogers doesn’t call the Avengers together as a team for some time. Vision and Wanda remain inside the compound, training, while the others come and go. Vision is happy with the arrangement, which allows him to spend time coaching Wanda to fly. But Wanda soon becomes restless.

“I can’t stand this,” she groans. She drops from her position near the ceiling of the room and lands on the floor without even a wobble. As Vision lowers himself to join her, Wanda gazes out the nearby window. The first snowfall of the year has come and gone, and today, the sun shines. “How long do we have to stay in here?”

“We could take a trip into the city, if you’d like,” Vision suggests.

Wanda’s face brightens. “Yes, please.”

“Let’s fly there,” he says. “For practice.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, but smiles and runs upstairs to grab a thick sweater before following Vision outside. He lifts off the ground with ease and waits as she gets a running start before pushing herself up into the air. He indicates for her to lead the way. Wanda has never flown at this height or distance before, and though he has faith in her, he can’t help but feel a bit nervous.

I will catch her if she falls.

Though she’s unsteady in her movements, a bit unbalanced, Wanda makes it to a stretch of shops nearby with no problem. She hands Vision his hat from the men’s clothing store, and he keeps his head down and his hands in his pockets as they stroll down the busy sidewalk. Snow has piled up in corners and turned into greytoned slush.

“Pizza.” Wanda points to one of the buildings as they approach it.

“Would you like to get some?”

She skips ahead of him and opens the door in answer. Vision goes inside with Wanda following behind. The restaurant is busy, so Vision keeps his head ducked and stays near the entrance while Wanda orders a slice. A few people shoot him looks, but none seem to realize that his skin is, in fact, a shade of red unseen among their kind.

Soon they return to the street. Wanda takes bites of her pizza as they walk. She seems happy, though Vision, shooting glances at the thick sheen of oil on top of the cheese, isn’t sure he sees the appeal.

When they reach the end of the block, Wanda sighs. “It’s good to get fresh air.” She lifts her face towards the sky, though the sunlight makes her squint. Then she giggles and wrinkles her nose.

Vision can’t help but smile in response.

It happens so fast that Vision is never able to pinpoint the source. In seconds, his name is being murmured up and down the street. People press closer, their eyes hot and curious, and soon Wanda’s name joins the chorus. As the crowd descends upon them, Vision grasps Wanda’s arm. But they don’t stop coming. Faces and bodies push into each other, phones flashing, hands grabbing, a swell of voices begging for attention. It turns into a frenzy that slams Vision and Wanda together. Vision’s hat is swept from his head.

Vision clasps Wanda against him, as he did in Ukraine, and leaps into the air. The people reach upwards, brushing his ankle and exclaiming in loud tones, but he keeps rising. Wanda gasps in his ear.

Vision continues up and over until they are out of the crowd’s sight. Then he lands inside a brick-lined alley, far enough in the shadows that no one notices their descent. Wanda stumbles, but manages to stay on her feet.

“Oh,” she gasps. “That was—”

“Yes,” he says, though he doesn’t know how she would have finished the sentence.

Wanda moves towards the entrance of the alley, running her hands through her hair and taking deep breaths. Vision gives her a moment. Looking instead at the flyers plastered on the walls, he stops to examine one that looks familiar.

It takes a few heartbeats for him to recognize Mr. Stark’s face.

The photo, a close-up with an uncharacteristically serious expression, comes from the government’s file. Painted across the man’s face in capital red letters is the word “MURDERER.”

Vision looks at the next poster, and a shock pierces him through. Though he can only see part of it, he recognizes this face as his own. He reaches forward to push back a stained, curled corner and finds himself staring at the word “ROBOT.”

He swallows, blinking. It takes him a few seconds to process the hurt, not in the least because it surprises him that the culprit would know exactly the word that affects him most. Then his eye catches on another poster: Wanda. “WITCH.”

Vision turns and strides out of the alley. “Let’s go back to the compound,” he says.

Wanda doesn’t question him. She pushes off the ground unsteadily, and Vision grabs her arm to help her rebalance. Together they rise into the air and speed back to the Avengers compound.

Vision’s anger on Wanda’s behalf confuses him. After all, “witch” comes in low on any list of insults. Many other words would pack a greater punch. Even the other Avengers have often referred to Wanda using that term. And yet, this person meant for the word to cause harm, and that upsets Vision.

He cannot imagine how the others manage to keep themselves calm on a day-to-day basis, with their emotions being so much stronger than his own. By the time Vision feels like himself again, Captain Rogers and Natasha have discovered what happened.

“Vision? Wanda? A word.”

Vision and Wanda follow Captain Rogers out of the dining room, the rest of the team staring after them from their places at the dinner table.

Captain Rogers waves towards a side room. Inside, Natasha leans against the wall with her arms crossed. Opposite the door, the TV plays a news broadcast. Vision watches himself fly upwards and away amidst a sea of waving hands, his arm around Wanda. The footage continually shifts into awkward angles—taken on a cell phone camera, no doubt.

“Have fun?” Natasha asks.

Wanda turns towards her. “I just wanted to get out.” Her voice comes out hard and loud, a tone that Vision hasn’t heard since the first time they spoke—"I looked in your head and saw annihilation." “You leave all the time. We didn’t know that would happen.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Captain Rogers joins Natasha against the wall. “But people got hurt. What did happen?”

“We were just walking, and then someone saw us, and then a whole crowd was there, running and grabbing and screaming—I thought they were going to crush us.” Wanda’s voice breaks, and she shakes her head. “Vision saved us.”

Captain Rogers sighs. “Someone did get crushed.”

Vision stares at him.

“You set off a riot,” Natasha says. “I know you didn’t mean to.” She lifts her hand to cut off Wanda’s protest. “But tensions are high right now, and everyone’s really excited about you.” She exchanges looks with Captain Rogers. “We’ve been getting a lot of calls. Some people are blaming you for the injuries. One guy says he got kicked in the head when you were flying away.”

Wanda’s eyes shine with tears. “This is not our fault.”

“We know.” Captain Rogers pushes himself off the wall. “It’s okay. We’ll be paying some of the damages, to smooth things over. This is just a warning, okay?” He offers Wanda a brief smile. “But Vision—”

“He didn’t do anything!” Wanda grabs hold of Vision’s arm. Though Vision doubts he deserves such a fierce defense, he appreciates the gesture.

Captain Rogers keeps his eyes locked on Vision’s. “I’m sorry, but you can’t go into the city again.”

Vision dips his head. “I understand.”

“No—” Wanda protests.

“It’s all right.” Vision meets Wanda’s gaze. The concern in her blue-green eyes makes him wish he could return her touch—but Captain Rogers and Natasha are watching. “I am in perfect agreement with Captain Rogers. I’m too easily recognized. If it had only been you, I don’t believe they would have realized. As Natasha has said—” He inclines his head towards the other woman. “—stealth is not my strong suit.”

“So you can never leave?”

“We’re not going to force him to stay,” Captain Rogers tells Wanda. She turns to him, and her grip on Vision’s arm relaxes. “But as a member of this team, he has to think about the consequences of his actions. If he wants to go for a visit somewhere less populated, like Clint’s farm—I’m okay with that. But until people get used to him, it’s not safe in the city.” Captain Rogers shakes his head and looks at Vision again. “That means we won't be taking you out on most missions.”

Vision nods.

“You are still a part of this team.” Captain Rogers places a hand on Vision’s shoulder, maintaining eye contact. Vision isn’t sure what the touch is meant to accomplish, but he lets it happen. “We need you, and we want you here. But when it comes to our usual missions—you can’t be out on the field.”

“We’ll bring you along for the giant robots and aliens.” Natasha offers Vision a grin that belies the somberness of her eyes. “You’ll be like our own Special Forces.”

“I understand,” Vision says.

Chapter Text

Though Wanda is furious, Vision seems unfazed by Steve’s order. After a few more discussions, he takes up position with the ex-SHIELD crew, monitoring news alerts and organizing requests for aid. When Wanda and the others go out on missions, Vision stays and helps make decisions about who goes where. Sometimes he gives them directions over their earpieces.

Wanda would prefer that Vision came with them.

“I enjoy it,” he tells her one evening. “I’m useful here. It’s similar to what JARVIS used to do for Mr. Stark.” Vision lays back against her pillows and looks over at her. “I simply wish to assist the team wherever I can.”

“I miss having you with us,” Wanda says.

He gazes at her for a moment, just long enough to make her nervous, and then smiles. “I miss your company too,” he says, and the gears in his irises whir in endless circles. “But I’m sure there will be need of me eventually. For now, we have our evenings together.”

Wanda smiles and wills her cheeks not to flush.

Though Wanda has found friendship with almost every member of the Avengers team, she still feels closest to Vision. When Christmastime comes, he’s the one who gets a menorah in memory of the Jewish heritage Wanda has long forgotten to honor. (BONUS ONESHOT) He’s the one who comforts her on the day she becomes a year older than Pietro ever had the chance to be. He shares her bed while she dreams and reads stories to her before she sleeps. Vision’s smile is the one that brightens her life the most.

Ever since the morning they woke to find his arms around her, Vision has kept a safe physical distance from Wanda. Through their mental connection, she sees that he has even learned to lock his muscles into place before he sleeps. She’s grateful to him for respecting her wishes. The others seem to have no inkling of where he spends his nights, and Natasha’s teasing comments have died off.

But some nights, Wanda craves the heat of Vision’s embrace. She remembers how it felt to have him curled around her, how gently his thumb stroked her arm, how his muscles flexed against her, and she wishes he would hold her again.

She wishes she could return all of the support that he’s given her, but so much is still a mystery to her. There has never, in all the history of humankind, been a man like Vision. For all the advantages that her mind-reading abilities give her, he constantly surprises her with observations about a world that she long ago became weary of. His compassion seems to be boundless. And though she knows his face now as well as she knows her own, she still finds herself caught off guard by little details—the curve of vibranium against his skin, the muscles flexing in his forearm, the turn of his feet. Sometimes, she has to stop herself from reaching out, in pure awe, to touch him.

She understands now why Vision was “admiring her figure.” His body has given her a new awareness of physicality: the human form and its aesthetic, its function, the way that it moves. Now that she sees that in him, she finds it nearly impossible to ignore. She stays focused when Clint’s around, though. The last thing she needs is for him to catch her staring at Vision’s ass.

Over eight months have passed since Ultron’s attack, and the Avengers have settled into a routine. They still have game nights every Thursday. Clint comes and goes as Fury allows. Stark appears every so often. They rotate through missions, most of which end up splashed across the front page. The only thing that hasn’t settled is their reputation. For all the interviews Steve and Natasha and Stark have given, for all the public appearances they’ve made, and for all the good deeds that the Avengers have done, people are still afraid.

“After New York, we had so many invitations coming in that Tony had JARVIS start filtering them,” Steve says one snowy afternoon as he paces across the living room. “It’s not like that now. After SHIELD’s downfall and what happened with Ultron, people don’t trust us.”

“Can you blame them?” Clint mutters from his spot on the couch.

“I’m going to schedule a school visit.” Steve stops in the middle of the room. “And we can see if there are any charity events or ribbon cuttings going on. I know that we’re doing the right thing, but I’d be happier with the people’s trust behind us.”

“Stark has been doing all of that stuff, and they still don’t like him,” Clint points out.

Steve looks down at him, lips pressed together in disapproval. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.”

Clint shrugs as if to say, Well, yeah.

“Vision, Wanda, Sam. You’re up first. I’ll contact some of the schools we’ve visited before and see if they’ll let us in.” Steve strides out of the room, leaving the rest of the team to look at each other with raised eyebrows.

Natasha shrugs. “Always on a mission.”

A couple of weeks later, Steve, Sam, Vision, and Wanda stand in front of a classroom packed full of seven- and eight-year-old children. A few parents watch from the back of the room. Every mind, adult and child, buzzes with intrigue.

The teachers, Mr. Jeffries and Ms. Jones, give an introduction, and then Steve steps forward.

“Hi, kids!” Steve smiles at the crowd of children.

“Hi!” the children scream.

“Remember me?”

“Yeah!”

Wanda clasps her hands together and bites her lip to keep from smiling.

“I’m Captain America, and these are my friends, Sam Wilson, Vision, and Wanda Maximoff. They’re Avengers, too! We’re here to answer your questions. So go ahead and ask us whatever you want to know.”

Almost every child’s hand shoots into the air, and a beat later, one of the fathers raises his hand too. Steve smiles and points to a brown-haired girl with glasses sitting at the front of the classroom.

“I know what you can do,” the girl says in a matter-of-fact tone, “but what about the others?”

“I’m the Falcon,” Sam tells her, in the same overenthusiastic voice he used with Cooper Barton back in July. “I have a suit with metal wings that I use to fly.”

Vision nods at him and turns to the girl. “I can shift my density in order to fly and pass through solid objects, among other things, and I can release energy bolts using the Mind Gem. I also possess a greater strength and durability than the average human.”

The children stare. “Huh?”

“He can fly through stuff and shoot lasers from his forehead,” Sam says. “Plus he’s strong—and super smart, obviously.”<

Wanda smiles as Vision frowns. “I can move things with my mind,” she tells the children, “like this.” Using her powers, she pulls a pencil from the teacher’s desk and brings it towards her. She tucks it into her hand, letting the energy dissipate, and the children squeal and clap. “I can also read minds.”

“What am I thinking?” a blond-haired boy in the back blurts out.

“Joey, raise your hand,” Mr. Jeffries says.

Steve points instead to a dark-skinned boy sitting in the middle of the room.

“Vision and Wanda,” the boy says, “where did you get your powers?”

“My powers are… a part of me,” Vision says carefully. Through the stuttering flow of his thoughts, Wanda can feel him struggling to translate his answers into simpler terms. “I was made with them, though they mostly come from the Mind Gem.”

He gestures towards his own forehead, where the Gem glows golden. A few of the children make impressed noises.

“My powers came from experiments,” Wanda adds, “also using the Mind Gem.”

“What’s the Mind Gem get its powers from?” a different kid asks. “And isn’t Vision a robot?”

Vision takes in a breath as though about to speak, then pauses. He looks to Wanda for help.

She purses her lips into a smile. “The Mind Gem is a stone from outer space, so we don’t know a lot about it. And Vision is a person. He just got made a different way.” She wrinkles her nose at the boy, and he returns her smile.

Vision, beside her, relaxes.

“My mom says that Vision is bad and doesn’t have a soul.” A tiny blonde girl with a high-pitched voice and pink leggings draws her legs up to her chest and stares across the room at Steve, bouncing up and down. “Because he was made and not born. She says the people who made him are going to hell.”

“Kelly.” Ms. Jones looks at the Avengers with anxiety in her eyes.

Everyone goes quiet.

Wanda has no idea what to say. Kelly’s mother is wrong—cruelly so—but how do you tell a child that? She looks over at Steve and Sam and finds them just as stunned. But Vision seems unfazed.

“I don’t know about heaven or hell,” he tells the girl, who glares at him with suspicion in her eyes. “It is possible, even likely, that I don’t have a soul. In spite of that, I do all I can to be good. The same is true for my friends.”

Kelly relaxes into a wary nod, putting her thumb up to her mouth.

“Next question?” Sam asks, and the adults breathe a sigh of relief.

“My mom says that Wanda is a comm-ist and that she’ll blow us all up,” a boy with red hair and freckles says. “With her witchy powers.” He wiggles his fingers in the air.

“That’s not a question,” Sam tells him. “Let’s have some questions, please!”

“I have a question for Vision!” a bright-eyed boy shouts, waving his hand as high as he can reach.

“Yeah?” Sam says.

There’s a dramatic pause as the boy takes in a deep breath. With wide eyes full of disarming sincerity, he asks, “Do you poop?”

The children fall apart into a chorus of laughter and screams, and the adults jump up to scold them all. Vision observes the scene with a faint, confused smile. Wanda presses closer to him, and when he looks over at her, she shakes her head, smiling back at him.

“I don’t understand,” Vision says in a low voice.

“Children are silly.” Wanda wrinkles her nose playfully. “It was not a real question.”

“I understand the concept of toilet humor,” he tells her. “At least in theory. But I am different in that regard. It seems a valid question to ask.”

She shrugs. “Then answer it once they are quiet. Maybe they will learn something.”

Once the children are quiet enough to hear, Vision says, “I do not.”

The classroom falls silent. Even the teachers stop to stare.

I don’t eat,” Vision explains. “My body absorbs everything it needs from the molecules and energy around me, and waste is removed similarly, in small, dispersed portions of molecules that phase out of my body throughout the day. So I don’t… ‘poop.’ I don’t use the restroom at all.”

"What's a molecule?" a kid in the back mutters.

"A small piece of something, so small you can't even see it," Mr. Jeffries says.

“Oh.” The mischievous boy from before stares at Vision. “Do you sleep?”

“Every other week, yes.”

“That’s two times a month,” says the girl who asked the first question. The other children ooh and ahh.

“Do you breathe?”

Yes.” Vision smiles. "Though I likely can manage without doing so far longer than you could."

Whether it was because of the simple humanity of the gesture, or whether the children saw a glimpse of the goodness Wanda always sees in Vision, she doesn’t know—but the effect is palpable. The instant Vision smiled, the entire room warmed to him.

After that, the visit goes smoothly. The children ask many different questions, some of them very insightful, and every so often one of the adults adds a thought that turns the conversation in a new direction. Wanda talks about life in Sokovia. Vision answers questions about his abilities and his differences. Sam fields a few about his childhood. They also discuss their fellow teammates and what it’s like to train as an Avenger. Sam is especially good at telling stories that make everyone laugh.

Steve concludes with a speech about citizenship and doing good in the community. They wave at the children as they leave, the teachers picking up with a lesson about “being heroes in their own lives.” Then they head out to the car.

“That went well.” Steve strides across the parking lot, beaming. “Thanks so much for cooperating, everyone.”

“Of course,” Wanda says. “It was fun.”

As the Avengers continue, in various configurations, to attend charity events, make school visits, and succeed in their missions throughout the world, the mood of the public cautiously becomes friendlier. As the weeks pass, the media's tone turns welcoming. Though the usual political arguments and hurtful gossip are discussed, in general, the Avengers are being portrayed as heroes again.

Despite Clint’s doubts, Steve’s plan seems to be working.

Chapter Text

Every so often, Captain Rogers and Natasha invite Vision to rejoin the team for a day of training. One such day occurs on a sunny Thursday in late April, almost three months after their first elementary school visit.

“So you taught Wanda how to fly?” Captain Rogers looks at Vision, his arms crossed over his chest.

Vision nods. “Her powers allow for self-propulsion. I helped her make greater use of that.”

“That’s great,” Captain Rogers says with a smile. “It’s good work. And it gave me an idea.” He steps back and indicates towards Vision with his head. “Wanda?”

Wanda steps forward and offers Vision a faint smile. Vision smiles back at her.

“Steve thinks that I could push the others,” Wanda says. “Into the air, like flight, but just for short distances. In case they need access to something off the ground.”

Vision dips his head and glances between her and the Captain, silently questioning their point.

“So I wanted to check—” Captain Rogers says. “You’re pretty familiar with what Wanda can do. Do you think it’s possible? Is it safe?”

“Possible, yes,” Vision tells him. “Safe… I would say, less so.” He tilts his head and sighs. “Her energy itself has no harmful impact, but it’s a question of how well she would be able to control it. The likelihood of her accidentally dropping one of you, or running you into an obstacle, is still high enough to be a concern.”

Wanda looks down at the gym floor.

“Right,” Captain Rogers says. “But if I trained with her—I’m not all that likely to get hurt.”

“It’s possible,” Vision repeats. “Such a skill would be an asset to the team.”

Wanda glances over at Captain Rogers, and the Captain grins at her. “Wanna give it a shot?”

Wanda smiles and nods. Captain Rogers claps his hands.

“Okay, everyone! Head to the other side of the room to do some combat review with Natasha. Wanda and I will set up over here.”

Captain Rogers puts his hand on Wanda’s shoulder and leads her to the edge of the gym, where they use the system that controls the training room to pull out a nine-foot wall. Vision watches them for a moment, then, reluctantly, follows the rest of the team. He can’t help but cast a few looks back.

Wanda and the Captain are getting along quite well. Based on Wanda’s smile, they have become closer in the time that Vision has been with the ex-SHIELD team. This realization makes Vision… wary.

He forces himself to pay attention as Natasha leads them in a few exercises, but when Captain Rogers shouts, “Go,” everyone turns to watch.

Bracing herself, Wanda lifts her hands and throws waves of energy towards the Captain. It immediately goes wrong. Captain Rogers lifts a few feet off the ground, flailing in a bubble of red, and then smashes brutally, face first, into the wall.

“Oh!” Wanda’s hands go to her mouth. Captain Rogers drops to the floor.

“Yike,” Clint says.

“Steve?” Natasha calls.

“I’m okay!” Captain Rogers lifts himself up, slowly and painfully, and staggers to his feet. “It’s fine.”

“I’m so sorry—” Wanda gasps.

“Don’t worry about it.” Captain Rogers walks forward to touch Wanda’s shoulder again. “It was your first try. Let’s go from a little further back.” He wipes at his nose and nods. “Let’s go again!”

Natasha tries to lead the rest of the group through more practice moves, but it’s clear that no one’s focused. They keep stopping to watch Captain Rogers and Wanda, wincing and groaning as the Captain repeatedly collides with the wall.

Finally, Vision steps forward.

“If I may.”

Captain Rogers nods. Vision and the Captain approach each other, and Wanda follows, looking between the two men with wide, worried eyes. Vision can see, as he draws nearer, how beaten and bruised Captain Rogers has become. His lip is split—and yet, he maintains his usual behavior, as though the injures had no impact on him.

“It would be better if you had a running start,” Vision tells the Captain. “By establishing forward momentum of your own, you would allow Wanda to focus on pushing her energy upwards. That way, she could more easily achieve the proper height.”

Captain Rogers glances at the wall, which looks more dented and bruised than he does, and nods. “Sounds good. Wanna try?” he asks Wanda.

Wanda just looks at him, biting her lip.

“I’m fine.” Captain Rogers swipes at his bleeding mouth. “I promise, I’ll let you know if I need a break.”

Wanda purses her lips. “Okay.”

“I recommend starting at this angle,” Vision tells them. “The greater Captain Rogers’ distance from the target, the more time Wanda has to reach the appropriate height.”

“All right.” The Captain turns back to the wall. “I’m ready when you are, Wanda.”

Wanda swallows and looks up at Vision. She's near tears.

Vision leans towards her and softens his voice. “You are improving,” he says. “This will make it much easier. Just focus on reaching the target height. Put all your energy behind that idea.”

Though everyone is watching, Vision risks putting his own hand on Wanda’s shoulder. To his relief, she relaxes.

“Okay,” she says, nodding. “All right.”

She steps out from beneath Vision’s hand and takes in a deep breath. On her signal, Captain Rogers starts running, and Wanda envelops him in energy, throwing him skyward as he tucks into a ball. The forward momentum and greater distance makes all the difference, as Vision thought. Captain Rogers clears the wall and disappears behind it.

Natasha, Sam, Clint, and Colonel Rhodes burst into cheers and applause. Vision smiles as Wanda straightens, staring at the wall with all her muscles tensed. A moment later, Captain Rogers runs out. He’s grinning.

“You did it!” he tells Wanda.

Wanda breaks into a laugh and returns the Captain’s high-five. Then she looks up at Vision, eyes gleaming.

“Thank you,” she says.

Vision dips his head, still smiling. “Of course.”

“Let’s try it another couple times, and then we can work on getting closer. Come on!” Captain Rogers shouts.

Wanda rolls her eyes, but her smile doesn’t dim.

“Go train,” she tells Vision. “I’ve got this.”

Now that the goal has been achieved, the rest of the Avengers are able to work through a few different fighting routines. On the other side of the gym, Captain Rogers and Wanda move closer and closer to the wall. Captain Rogers slams into it a few more times, but as Wanda’s confidence improves, so does her ability. At lunch, the team takes a break, then returns to the gym. Evidently worn out from his ordeal, Captain Rogers rejoins the rest of the team, alongside Wanda, to practice fighting in close quarters.

A productive day, all in all.

The others clean up while Vision sets out dishes and starts boiling water. Sam then takes over the meal preparations. Afterwards, the Avengers settle in for another game night. Before the night begins, Wanda goes up to her room, asking the others to wait for her to come back. She returns with her guitar in her hands.

“I’ve been learning to play.” She glances around at everyone, chewing on her lower lip. “And I am ready to show you, if you want to listen.”

“Great!” Captain Rogers exclaims.

Clint leans forward, grinning. “Let’s hear it.”

With a small smile, Wanda settles on the ground in front of the couches. She takes in a breath and begins to strum. Vision recognizes the notes of a folk song, Sokovian, which, after a few bars, Wanda begins to sing. She’s quiet, matching her tones uncertainly to those of the guitar, but the effect is lovely.

Vision smiles and looks over at the others to see the music softening them, too. As the group listens, a fullness overcomes Vision’s heart, as though that vital organ was swelling and filling, not with blood, but with the very sound of Wanda's voice. He cannot help but continually monitor the others for their reactions. For some reason, he feels buoyed every time he sees their appreciation, as though he were the one being praised. Yet Wanda's skill has nothing to do with him, and he would never claim such a thing.

Wanda finishes her song and looks up, her lips pressed together. Vision's gaze lingers there as the team bursts into applause. Vision, too, claps his hands.

“That was good!” Natasha exclaims.

“I’m proud of you, kid,” Clint tells her.

Yes, Vision realizes. That's the emotion I'm feeling. Pride, not for myself, but for her. Because she is my friend, and I want her to be appreciated.

Wanda turns to Vision. He smiles at her, his eyes still ablaze with the wonder of her performance, and she ducks her head. When she looks up again, she’s smiling too.

“Do you take requests?” Colonel Rhodes asks.

Wanda tilts her head, raising her eyebrows. “I can try.”

For the next seventeen minutes, the Avengers suggest songs, and Wanda does her best to play them. Soon, the requests devolve into ridiculous, Avengers-themed tunes: “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” for Natasha, the U.S. national anthem for Captain Rogers. As the group dissolves into laughter, it becomes clear that the concert is over.

Wanda heads upstairs to put her guitar away. While she’s gone, Natasha sits forward, grinning.

“I know what we should do tonight,” she says. “Makeovers.”

“What?” Clint says. Sam and Steve groan.

“No, seriously!” Natasha slaps the couch. “It’ll be fun.”

“So do it with Wanda yourself sometime,” Sam says. “I’m not putting that shit on my face.”

“Wanda deserves this tonight,” Natasha argues. “Look, her nail polish is starting to chip, and I know she loves this kind of thing."

"She does," Vision says.

"See?" Natasha points to Vision. "Do it for Wanda. And do it because it'll be fun.” When Clint, Sam, and Colonel Rhodes exchange dubious looks, Natasha heaves a sigh. “If it's your masculinity you're worried about, there's nothing to be afraid of. You’re superheroes, for God’s sake. You’re all about muscles and explosions. I think you can play with makeup for an hour without turning into women.”

Clint and Sam look at the floor. Colonel Rhodes shakes his head. Vision watches Captain Rogers, who’s looking down at his own hands with slumped shoulders.

"I guess it's nothing I haven't already done with Lila," Clint mutters.

"That's the spirit," Natasha says.

Wanda enters the room and immediately stops, tilting her head.

“What…?”

“We’re doing makeovers,” Captain Rogers announces, rolling his shoulders back.

Wanda’s face scrunches up. “Really?”

“Yesssss.” Natasha bounces up from the couch. “Go get your makeup and hair stuff, all of it.”

She drags Wanda back upstairs. Sam mutters to himself in their absence, but doesn't make any overt protest.

A little while later, Wanda and Natasha return with their arms full of various bags and boxes. Despite himself, Vision is surprised at the sheer amount of substances that the women possess.

“Clint,” Natasha orders. “Get over here and paint Wanda’s nails. Steve, I’m gonna show you how to use a curling iron. Sam, Rhodey, and Vision, pick out some colors for Wanda’s face. In those bags, there.”

Once the others are involved in their tasks, the tension in the room lightens. Clint turns out to be quite skilled at nail-painting, and the others seem to enjoy their tasks. Vision's access to the Internet turns out to be important in his task of selecting makeup for Wanda. The other men have little idea what the different supplies are.

Once Wanda’s nails are painted and her hair curled, Natasha calls them over.

“Good work.” She picks up and studies each container in turn. “Okay, everyone, go sit and watch. Make suggestions if you want. I’m gonna turn this girl into a masterpiece.”

Wanda flushes as the men settle down in front of her, but she’s smiling.

Though he has no suggestions to give, Vision enjoys watching the process. He’s never seen makeup being applied before, but it’s quite similar to other art forms. Natasha seems to have an eye for the features that can be best brought out on Wanda’s face.

At first, the others watch and comment. Sam soon loses interest, though, and turns to Captain Rogers.

“Come here,” he says. “I’m gonna try some of this on you.”

Captain Rogers bats his hand away. “Sam, no.”

“Steve, sit down! I’m giving you a makeover!” He jabs a brush into the Captain’s face.

Vision and Colonel Rhodes stare at Sam.

“Oh, God.” Captain Rogers shakes his head. “All right, fine.”

He changes positions so that Sam can have better access to his face. Colonel Rhodes turns to watch them, and Vision and Clint return to watching Wanda. Every few minutes, Vision checks on the other men and finds their “makeover” going surprisingly well.

“You got some lovely baby blues,” Sam croons as he dashes eyeliner across the Captain’s twitching lid. “Gotta bring out the eyes. Ooh, and that razor-sharp jawline!”

Captain Rogers raises his eyebrows. Colonel Rhodes snorts.

By the time Natasha is finished with Wanda, all the men but Vision have gotten into what amounts to a makeup fight. Natasha turns to find Colonel Rhodes, Captain Rogers, Clint, and Sam covered in a dusting of pinkish-red powder and brandishing products at each other. They stop mid-argument to look up at Natasha, wide-eyed.

“Guys,” she says. “That costs money.” Then she shakes her head, her mouth twitching into a smile, and sighs. “Get over here and help me pick out my own look.”

The others comply as Wanda joins Vision on the floor, still smiling.

“You look beautiful,” he tells her. He’s glad to see that his color selection was appropriate.

“Thank you.”

Then Wanda stops and tilts her head, studying his face. Vision blinks.

“Would you like me to try on you?” Wanda asks.

Oh. “If you’d like.”

So Wanda grabs the eyeliner and sketches a line of black around the edge of one of Vision’s vibranium facial plates. Then she smiles.

“The color stays very well,” she says. “Because your skin is so smooth.”

Vision watches her as she sketches line after line in various shades of black and blue. These particular substances are meant for application in the eye area, but Vision’s appearance is so different, he doesn’t question Wanda’s choices. He’s happy just to look at her in the quiet of the moment, to see the all the watchfulness on her face focused on him. It brings him the same kind of peace that her sleep does.

At last, Wanda pulls back.

“It’s good,” she says. “Here.” She hands him a small mirror, which he holds up.

He starts, unaccustomed to the oddity of his own face, and then squints, cataloging the newest differences. Wanda has outlined in black each vibranium piece and shaded in blue some of the portions of his skin. Loops of black outline his eyes and branch up around the Mind Gem.

Somehow, Wanda has brought out his strangeness and made it beautiful.

He smiles. “I like it.”

She scrunches up her nose. “You don’t need it, though.”

“Neither do you,” he murmurs.

For a long moment, they gaze into each other’s eyes. Then Natasha declares herself done. Wanda scoots back and turns to smile at the others.

“Whoa, Vision.” Sam strides towards him, staring.

“That looks pretty cool,” Colonel Rhodes agrees.

“You look like you’ve covered yourselves in blush,” Wanda says. The men shoot her a look.

“I’m calling it a night,” Natasha says. “Go wash yourselves off. Wanda and Vision and I look great, and that’s what really matters.”

“Oh, whatever,” Clint says. He and the others troop out of the room as Wanda and Natasha laugh. Then Natasha gets out her phone and takes a picture of each of them.

With a smile, Vision excuses himself.

The evening has ended earlier than usual, and the night is quiet, so he decides to take a walk outside. Under the darkening sky, his mind turns again to the sweet sound of Wanda’s voice as she sang and to the intense expression on her face as she drew lines on his skin. He remembers her soft blue-green eyes, so near to his own—and the way that she looked at him then. It was an honor, to have her so close to him. It was an honor, to be able to study her face in the same deep and thorough way she studied his.

His heart feels apt to burst. He is overwhelmed by feeling, choking on his awareness of Wanda’s beauty, and he wishes that he could do something to express that to her.

His eye catches on a bed of flowers sprouting nearby.

Fifteen minutes later, Vision checks to see if Wanda’s door is open. Once he confirms that it is, he phases through the wall and settles onto her bed, clutching a bouquet in his hands. Three minutes later, Wanda enters the room herself and comes to a stop.

“Vision,” she says with a smile. “What is this?”

“I thought that the… ah, flowerbed could use pruning.” He holds the bouquet out to her.

She laughs and takes the flowers from him. “That is so sweet.”

As Vision watches her turn to the restroom, bouquet in hand, he finds that, impossibly, his heart has become even fuller. And yet there’s no pain to this fullness. In giving something back to Wanda, he has found happiness.

Everything, in this moment, is perfect.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Then comes the explosion in Lagos.

Then the Sokovia Accords.

The airport fight.

The Raft.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

At first, all she can think about is him. As the tranquilizers they gave her on the way to the prison wear off, the thought drums louder and louder inside her head.

Vision. Vision. Vision.

The feeling of her own heart shattering when he implied that she was a threat to the public. The gentle resistance he gave as she crushed him into the ground. The sincere way he apologized, never questioning that he had done her wrong. The way he held her, his arm around her waist, his hand on her thigh, and how badly she wanted to pull him closer.

The endless whirring blue of his eyes.

And what do you want?

“For people to see you. As I do.”

“For people to see you. As I do. For people to see you. See you as I do. As I do for people to see you as I do for people to see you as I do for people to see you as I do for people to see you—”

Endless hours pass. Her muscles begin to cramp.

“They cannot help but fear you. They will never stop being afraid of you. It’s a matter of safety. Not yours. They cannot help but fear you they fear you they will never stop—”

“I’m sorry.”

Wanda doesn’t know if Rhodes is alive, if Steve is alive, but she knows one thing: that Vision is suffering. The horror and devastation she felt emanating from him when he realized that he had shot Rhodes—it pounds through her blood still, breaking her more with every moment that passes. She tried to speak as Vision flew away, but men with guns surrounded her. They handcuffed her, marched her across the airport, and forced her into a van along with Clint, Sam, and Scott Lang. Wanda couldn’t help Vision, and now she’s here, with no way out, no way to help Vision—

Awake at last, she struggles against the straitjacket, and the collar shocks her.

Me too. “I’m sorry.” Me too. “Catastrophe. They will never stop being afraid of you.”

She can’t break free—

“It’s a matter of safety. Not yours. We would protect you. We would protect you. We—”

She can’t breathe—

“Not yours. We would protect you. They will never stop being afraid—”

Shock after shock, shivering through her system and burning her neck—

“We would protect you—”

Where is that protection now?

Wanda opens her mouth and screams.

Her scream echoes through the cell, reverberating off the glass walls. She thinks she can hear Clint shouting in the distance, but then she stops hearing anything at all. Her throat rips from the force of her voice, and as the collar continues to shock her, she seizes, muscles flailing. She bites down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood. A group of armed guards burst into the room. She struggles against them, against the straitjacket, against the world, until—

A needle pierces the skin above the collar. Ice cold flows through her veins. She shuts down.

She stops moving. She stops feeling. She stops thinking.

There is nothing but Vision’s eyes, staring into the abyss.

“Wanda.”

The next thing Wanda knows is a release of the pressure against her throat. Her neck stings in the open air, and she lifts a hand to touch it. She blinks and sees, for the first time she can remember, something besides those mechanical blue eyes: bright red liquid on her trembling fingertips.

Blood.

She stares at it for a moment, and her mind blinks back to life.

Blood. On my hands. My hands, which are free. I can move my hands again. I can touch my neck, which means the collar is gone—

She looks up and sees the faces of her friends.

Steve and Sam and Clint and Scott stand over her. Steve throws the straitjacket into a corner as Sam drops the metal collar, disgust on his browned features. It clatters against the cement. She stares up at them, unable to believe what’s she seeing.

“Wanda.”

Clint pulls her up from her knees and clutches her to him. Her legs scream with pain from the unexpected change in position, but her thoughts are overwhelmed by Clint’s warmth. By human touch.

In that moment, she realizes that this is real.

Two thoughts barrel into her consciousness: They came to rescue me, and, But he never did.

She tries to move her arms to hug Clint back, but she can’t. Her muscles don’t remember how to move. Tears prick at the back of her eyes, but her legs are prickling much harder. She can’t support her own weight, so Clint sets her down on the floor again, where she sits staring dumbly up at them. Steve steps forward.

“Come on,” he says. “We’re getting out of here.”

She continues to stare as Steve scoops her up into his arms. She stares as he carries her out of the cell and down the hallway, the others trooping behind them. She stares as he opens the outer door, and then she flinches and blinks as cold air and drops of water wash over her skin. It’s dark out. She hasn’t seen darkness in a long time. She stares, trying to adjust to the lack of light, but it’s not until she’s inside the jet—a sleek, high-tech vehicle that she doesn't recognize—that she can finally see.

“Here we go,” Steve tells her, with a faint break in his voice. He sets her down across a soft vinyl seat. Clint kneels on the floor beside her, and the first sound emerges from Wanda’s torn throat—a whimper of pain. That only hurts more, though, so she winces and falls silent.

“Clint?” Steve says as the others settle down. He’s heading towards the front of the plane.

“She needs help,” Clint says, his own voice rough and broken. “Let’s go home.”

Steve turns. “Clint—”

“Take. Me. Home.”

Steve slips into the cockpit without another word.

Overwhelmed by pain, Wanda fades out. She returns to consciousness only a few times in the aftermath.

Steve carries her across a half-lit lawn, towards a familiar farmhouse, and a woman runs towards them, her mouth open in a cry that Wanda cannot hear. A child’s voice asks, “Is she okay?” Then searing pain shocks her awake, and she reaches up, trying to smother the place that’s on fire, screaming despite the brokenness of her voice. Multiple calloused hands hold her down until she passes out again. She wakes briefly to soft hands wrapping wet bandages around her neck, pulling blankets up to her chin and coaxing water down her raw throat. Another time, hot wetness streams down her cheeks. A blur of faces—Laura, Clint, Steve, Cooper, Scott, Sam—and voices pass. Her joints unbend little by little. Gentle fingers run through her hair.

Four days after their escape from Raft Prison, Wanda awakens.

She’s lying in a bed, the sheets tucked in around her body. Everything about this bedroom is both strange and familiar—it’s not her own room, but it is a place she’s been before. She has memories from this place—

She flinches back from the image of Vision’s face and turns her head to see Laura Barton, sitting back with her eyes closed on a nearby chair. Wanda blinks a few times, opens her mouth, and then thinks better of it. Her throat still feels raw and broken, and she doesn’t know what will come out if she tries to speak. Instead, she reaches out a hand. She’s too far away to touch Laura, and the stretching movement sends another stabbing pain through her joints.

Wanda winces, but the pain is manageable now, with an undertone that hints at relief. So she gingerly sits up, feeling each of her muscles protest, and scoots over until she can reach Laura.

Laura’s eyes startle open. Still haunted by the strange blue eyes that followed her into the Raft, Wanda avoids meeting them. She’s glad to hear Laura’s voice, though, when she says, “You’re up! God, are you all right? Wanda?”

Wanda swallows and nods, but that movement brings true agony. She grasps at the fabric wrapped around her neck—for a moment, panicking—Get it off, get it off of me! Then Laura’s hands fold over hers.

“Don’t,” Laura says. “You just started to heal.”

Wanda looks at her with wide eyes, silently begging for answers.

Laura sighs. “When you came here, your neck was—bad. We had to wash the wound out and remove the burnt skin. It was painful. I hope you don’t remember that.” Laura pauses and blinks rapidly before continuing. “Then we put ointment and bandages on. We’ve been changing them every six hours. So far, it’s going well.” She stops and frowns. “How’s your throat? Clint said you were screaming… before, too.”

Wanda doesn’t know how to reply. She can’t speak or move her head without a significant amount of pain. So, after a brief pause, she clasps her hands together like a prayer.

“Okay. Let me go get something to help with that.” Laura gets up and leaves the room.

In the brief time that she’s gone, Wanda starts to panic. It’s quiet, and empty, and alone, and she can’t be left to face those eyes again, she can’t—

But Laura returns, and she brings Clint and a cup of steaming water with her.

“Honey and lemon,” she explains as she hands it to Wanda. “Drink some and see if you can talk a little. Clint’s got some ibuprofen for you to try after.”

Wanda nods and takes the cup from her. Clint rubs her arm as she drinks. The initial sip stings, but subsequent swallows relieve the dryness and pain. Wanda puts the half-empty cup down and says, in a quiet, rough, but audible tone, “Thank you.”

Laura and Clint both relax.

“Good,” Laura says. “Finish that, and here’s the ibuprofen for you. If you want to get up and go to the bathroom, or if you want some more water, please let me know.”

She and Clint stay by Wanda’s side until she decides to stretch her legs. Though it’s difficult, it’s a relief to entire body to be walking again. Laura guides her to the bathroom and back, and then brings her some more water with honey and lemon. Feeling herself at peace, Wanda soon drifts back into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

The rest of June passes in a torment. Every minute of every day, Vision feels as though his very core were being torn apart. He cannot reconcile his thoughts, his desires, his memories. All that he knows is that this is not how things should be.

He wanders the empty hallways of the compound and ponders questions he cannot answer. He thinks of the moment when his attention slipped, just enough for him to hit Colonel Rhodes with the Mind Gem. He thinks of Wanda’s guileless eyes, staring up from within his arms.

There is no solution.

He misses her so deeply, and yet the consequence of his feelings is one that he cannot bear. He got what he wanted most, and in exchange, he destroyed another man’s life.

He avoids the bedrooms. He avoids the kitchen. He avoids Colonel Rhodes. Every so often, he returns to the now-mended spot where Wanda threw him through the floor. He deserves no less than this misery.

At first, Vision thinks very little about the future. The terms of the Accords are clear—Wanda, Sam, Clint, and Scott Lang will be imprisoned in a UN-approved facility. Vision never questions whether they are being treated fairly. He doesn’t stop to think about where Captain Rogers and James Barnes have gone, or why Natasha Romanov ran, or when his former teammates will be released. He doesn’t think about juries or trials or the logistics of keeping a superpowered telekinetic mind-reader locked up. He thinks only of the past.

He thinks about how he tried to keep Wanda from leaving. He thinks of the pain and betrayal on her face when he told her that the safety he was protecting was not hers. He thinks of her cold determination as she took control of his body and drove him through the ground. He thinks of the breathless moment after, when he recalculated and realized his own cruelty in using her insecurity against her. He thinks of Captain Rogers’ clear, guiltless gaze and Mr. Stark’s furious, bruised expression. Vision does not allow himself the luxury of remembering the one gleaming moment in between. Instead, he replays, over and over again, his worst mistakes, analyzing every instant and driving the wedge of guilt deeper into his own chest.

Two full weeks pass before Vision can stay in the present long enough to question Wanda’s current location. Imprisonment may be the consequence of her actions, he thinks, but he cannot see the fairness of his own freedom after what occurred. He must know what has happened.

He reaches into the Internet and tracks document after document, breaking into multiple restricted areas, until he finds the name of the prison. He looks at maps, employee files, admission reports, and the more he sees, the more horrified he becomes.

This is not what he wanted. This is not order. This is not peace. This is cruelty.

Without second thought, he phases through the floors to the offices where Director Fury and Agent Hill used to operate. They have since been removed by United Nation order, along with most of the other agents and trainees. This office belongs to Mr. Stark and the few others who stand with the Accords now. Other agents are trickling in one by one to replace those who have left.

Mr. Stark is sitting in the office with his chin in his hand, leaning his elbow against the desk and gazing out of the windows into the distance. His bruises are still in the process of healing. Captain Rogers’ shield lies on the ground nearby.

“Mr. Stark,” Vision says.

Mr. Stark jumps a little, then turns and gives Vision the most forced smile he's ever seen. “Vision!”

Vision levels Mr. Stark with a single look. “Mr. Stark. I know you say that Colonel Rhodes has forgiven me for my… mistake,” he says, “but it is not right, that I should remain free while the others are imprisoned for making a mistake no worse—”

“They’re not,” Mr. Stark interrupts.

Vision hesitates. “I’m sorry?”

Mr. Stark looks down at his own hands, his thumbs pressed together. “There was a break-in at the Raft today. It’s possible that Rogers was involved. It’s possible that Ross asked for our help. It’s possible that I accidentally hung up on him.”

Vision stares at him. “You knew about the Raft.”

Mr. Stark nods. “I visited once.”

“But—”

“It was bad.” Now when Mr. Stark faces Vision, there's not even the semblance of a smile. “You don’t need to know anything else.”

“Yet you did nothing.”

"I knew Rogers wouldn't leave them there.” Mr. Stark pushes a pen off the edge of his desk with one finger. It clatters to the floor.

Vision swallows. “Miss Maximoff—”

“They made it out,” Mr. Stark says. “All of them. Ross’ll be here soon—and he's mad as hell. I’m on notice with the UN.” He shrugs as though it were nothing, as though the threat of being imprisoned in the Raft himself had no impact. “They’ll want us to find the others, but. How are we supposed to know where they are?”

Vision stares at the other man for a long moment. Then he turns and leaves the room.

For the next two week span, Vision does his best to locate the renegade Avengers—not with any intention of reporting to General Ross, but because he needs to know the truth. The more he searches, the more information he finds about the Raft. When he finally accesses the camera feeds, he’s so affected that he spends the next 48 hours running through them. He watches armed men tranquilize Wanda and force her into a straightjacket and shock collar. He watches them push her into her cell. He sees Mr. Stark come and go. He sees the moment when Wanda suddenly starts fighting her restraints. He sees her screaming and straining, he sees Clint and the others bang on their windows on the floor below, shouting, and he sees it when the guards tranquilize her again—and again and again, never letting her wake up in full.

He doesn’t see their escape—the cameras cut out at that point. In the next instant, her cell is empty but for a discarded, bloodied piece of metal.

Vision has never felt so sickened.

He knew that humans were capable of great horrors. He has access to all their recorded history, across the world, and even to those most terrible secrets unknown by the public. Yet seeing Wanda being treated like an animal, watching her struggle and break—nothing else could possibly matter the way this does.

Towards the end of the month, Scott Lang makes contact with the United Nations. Using his knowledge of the conditions in the Raft as leverage and pleading for the chance to raise his daughter, he manages to reach an agreement where, instead of returning to the Raft, he's put on house arrest for the next two years and banned any access to the technology that he used during the airport fight. General Ross is more than a little furious about the agreement, not in the least because Mr. Lang refuses to answer any questions about where the others are. But many members of the U.N. prove to be against the Raft once they discover what occurred there. Thus, Mr. Lang returns home.

For a brief instant, upon hearing about Mr. Lang, Vision feels a spark of hope.

Perhaps Wanda can return home, too.

But he instantly knows this to be an impossibility. Mr. Lang isn't considered a threat the way Wanda is. Mr. Lang was never a member of the Avengers and came onto the scene after the signing of the Accords, which the U.N. takes to mean that he was only a minor part of Captain Rogers' plan—likely a true statement. Wanda was closer to Captain Rogers, and since she refused to sign the Accords, her motives are treated as suspect. Additionally, Mr. Lang has no innate powers, while Wanda's own abilities are both incredibly powerful and near uncontrollable. While Mr. Lang has a child to care for, Wanda has no dependents who need her. The general anti-immigrant sentiment that many in the United States possess won't help matters either.

No, there will be no amnesty for Wanda Maximoff.

So Vision takes to the skies. He hovers in the air over city after city, town after town, reaching out with his mind in the hopes that he will feel someone reach back to him. He knows how unlikely it is that this technique will succeed, but in his desperation, he's willing to try anything. General Ross makes no protest, guessing the purpose of Vision’s action, if not his intent. Vision travels across the continental United States and back again in the space of a week, and it’s only when he arrives at the compound that he remembers the Bartons.

If anyone knows where the Avengers are, it’s Laura Barton. Vision can’t imagine that Clint has gone this long without reaching out to his wife, and there are no records of the farm or of the family for General Ross to access—

But Mr. Stark, Colonel Rhodes, and Vision all know.

Nonetheless.

A transponder was placed in Vision's system by the United Nations before the airport fight, to satisfy the Accords' requirements that every person having intrinsic power be tracked at all times. When the programmers placed this transponder, there was some concern about Vision hacking into it. However, top-grade security was placed around the transponder, separating it from the rest of his system, and Mr. Stark assured General Ross that Vision wasn't the type to think of doing such a thing anyway.

Somewhat guiltily, Vision now diverts his consciousness into the transponder. After a little over an hour, he gains stealth access. He reroutes the tracker so that it shows him to be repeating a path to a previous location, and then he takes to the skies again.

Vision checks multiple times to be sure that no one is following him before he flies to the Barton Farm. He rehearses his words on the way, trying to figure out the exact phrasing that might convince Laura to give up a secret so precious and so dangerous.

He descends onto the grass behind the house and approaches the back door, but before he reaches the entryway, the door swings open.

Wanda Maximoff steps out.

Chapter Text

In the weeks after Wanda wakes, she struggles to reconcile memories of friendship and love with those of cruelty and torture. She spends hours shifting through the history of her and Vision, wanting to find the peace that was once there, but after the Raft, she cannot see his face without thinking of pain.

Her neck continues to heal. Laura removes the bandages so that the open air can finish the job. Bands of scar tissue are forming, thick and dark and scabbed—sometimes Wanda touches them. She likes that a part of her has become harder.

She keeps her distance from Sam and Steve, who are both struggling with their own turmoiled emotions in the aftermath of the Accords. Scott has left the Farm for home as part of an agreement made with the United Nations, and the house is much quieter without him. The Bartons themselves are like family, and she enjoys their presence.

She misses Pietro, not the same way she did after his death, but in a quiet and constant manner. He would fit in perfectly with the Bartons. He would understand exactly how she’s feeling.

Then, on the first day of July, Wanda hears Vision's mind.

It takes her a moment to recognize him. When she does, revulsion punches her in the stomach, a sudden bright light breaking through her apathy. A thousand images flit through her thoughts, and every one of them repulses her.

But she can’t ignore him. She has to get him away from the house.

She sneaks down the hallway and out the back door just as he lands in the backyard. She turns, and Vision is standing there, a stranger with a familiar face, his eyes widening in shock. She avoids looking into them.

“Wanda?” Vision whispers.

She turns and walks across the grass, towards a grove of trees that will get him out of hearing distance from the house. He follows. She can feel him reaching out to her with his mind, but her consciousness is as solid and impenetrable as rock.

“Wanda,” Vision says. “What are you doing here? Mr. Stark knows of this place. If the others find you—Wanda. Wanda?”

He touches her arm.

Wanda spins around to push him away. As she does so, she staggers, and her eyes lock on his. Red, metal, blue, spinning, fear, devotion—it all collapses on her, and in a single instant, Wanda crumbles.

She remembers his arm around her waist, his heat at her back, his imprint on her bed. A hand phasing through the window. A cup of tea on the table. A light brown guitar, a black and orange butterfly, a bouquet of pink flowers. The gentle touch of his mind, welcoming her in. The sound of his voice, speaking perfect Sokovian. Every inch of him full of compassion, never for an instant wavering in his affection. She remembers looking into his face, the first night he spent in her bedroom, and feeling so at peace. She remembers wanting him closer.

She remembers herself, sitting with her family as her mother sang them a song, and then lying, broken and afraid, underneath mountains of rubble with Pietro and a bomb labeled “Stark.” Orphanage after orphanage, street after street. Protests and riots, a newspaper ad, a red hydra painted on a dark metal door. She remembers the Mind Gem exploding into a supernova of gold light that burned a path through her veins. She remembers scarlet light shattering the glass walls around her as her brother raced, a streak of blue, to pull her into his arms. She remembers summoning the Avengers’ nightmares and seeing Vision’s face emerge from the black. She remembers Ultron and the Cradle, the chaos of Sokovia, Clint’s admonition. She remembers Pietro dying. She remembers Vision lifting her from the train wreckage and into the air.

She is made of more than this. She has been through more than this.

How could she have forgotten who she is?

Wanda’s on her knees in the grass, sobbing out breaths as hot tears race down her cheeks. In that instant, she feels everything that she has ever felt: love and hate, shame and forgiveness, peace and fear, loss and belonging. She bursts free of the tomb that the Raft built for her and into a world of color and feeling that washes over her in a single startling pulse. And in the midst of that heartbeat, Vision’s arms surround her.

She clings to him, burying her face in his shoulder. In his embrace, she begins to warm.

“I’m sorry,” Vision says. “I’m so sorry.”

For the first time Wanda has ever heard, his voice breaks.

She holds him for a moment. She takes a few calming breaths and lifts her head. She wipes away her tears, even as more stream free. Then she looks straight into the burgundy-and-silver face she loves.

Vision, her vision, her best friend. Those blue eyes aren’t a curse, they’re a comfort.

He kneels across from her, anxious for her response.

“You never came,” she says in tones still roughened by her screams. “I was so worried about you, and that prison was so—” She breaks off and shakes her head. “But you never came.”

“I wish I had.” Vision blinks rapidly. “I should have. I—didn’t realize the circumstances of your imprisonment until after you had escaped, but…” He meets her eyes. “I should have looked.”

“They bound me and put me in a collar.” Wanda spits the last word. “Whenever I moved, it shocked me.”

She indicates her neck. Vision swallows. He reaches one hand towards the healing scar, but Wanda stops him. She doesn’t want to associate him with any more pain. Instead, she covers his long fingers with her own palms and lowers his hand to the grass. Then she reaches up to stroke his smooth burgundy cheek.

Vision’s nose flares, and he swallows again. He closes his eyes.

With Wanda’s knuckles still resting against his face, Vision says, “Afterwards, I— I felt— I never thought they would treat you in such a manner.” He opens his eyes, which seem to brim with pain and sorrow, and reaches up to take her hand in his. “I am so sorry.” His voice shakes.

Wanda cannot help but forgive him. So she asks the only question left.

“Are you okay?”

Vision lets out a breath and looks down. Wanda’s hand drops.

“Rhodes,” she says. She had forgotten about their teammate.

“Colonel Rhodes is paralyzed,” Vision says. “From the waist down.”

“Yes, I—" Wanda tries to sort through the blurry, grey memories of her time here. "I think Steve mentioned that. I'm so glad he's alive," she adds, the words bubbling out like a brook. She reaches out towards Vision's face again, trying to comfort him, but he shakes his head at the ground.

“Mr. Stark has created mechanical braces to help him walk, but he’s still learning," Vision says. "It’s unlikely that he will ever fight again.”

Wanda tilts her head as a deep upset radiates from Vision’s mind into hers. “Vizh,” she says. “Is he angry with you?”

Vision hesitates. “Mr. Stark says that Colonel Rhodes has forgiven me, but…”

Wanda raises her eyebrows. “Have you talked to him?”

Vision shakes his head again.

“Vision,” Wanda says with gentle exasperation. “You need to. For both your sakes.” She touches Vision’s cheek, trying to get him to look at her. When he does, the brokenness of his expression tears at her heart.

“How can I face him?” he asks. “In a moment’s error, I tore his life apart. I am not— Mistakes were not part of my purpose. It should have been impossible.”

“You’re not perfect.” Wanda stares at him. “None of this would have happened if it weren’t for me. I blew up that building in Lagos. I am the one that people are afraid of. I have killed people, there and in Sokovia.” She blinks back more tears. Her guilt is besides the point. “You have killed no one, Vizh. If there is still hope for me, there is hope for you.”

Vision lets out a sound that Wanda thinks might be a laugh. “I am not you,” he says.

“You are better.”

He meets her gaze, startled. After a moment, his expression softens.

“That can’t be true,” he murmurs.

She turns to hide the heat blooming in her cheeks. “Go talk to Rhodes,” she says. “If anyone can help you, he can. And he needs to know of your apology.”

Vision nods. “The others—”

“They are here,” she says. “Clint, Steve, and Sam.”

Vision hesitates, and Wanda’s heart gives a sudden thump of fear. “You’re not going to—”

“No,” he says quickly. “Whatever my thoughts on the Accords and Captain Rogers’ actions, there is no justification for what occurred in the Raft. I couldn’t—” He shakes his head. “I won’t.”

Wanda frowns. “Then—”

“You mentioned neither James Barnes nor Natasha.”

She scrunches up her face. “James Barn—? Oh, Bucky. Steve’s friend.” Wanda nods, then shakes her head. “I do not know where Natasha is. Bucky decided to go back to…” She doesn’t know how to explain it in English. “Zamrznuta san,” she says. “That’s all that I have heard.”

Vision frowns. “Why would Sergeant Barnes return to stasis?”

Wanda shrugs. “He wanted to be out of the way, I think. Not cause any trouble.” She looks at their knees pressed against each other in the grass, one bare, the other covered in black fabric. “I wanted that too, but… this is my life. I can’t be afraid of it.”

Vision touches her hand.

For a moment, they sit together in a somber but companionable silence. Then Vision takes in a breath.

"Why are you here?" he asks. "The farm may be absent from all record, but Mr. Stark, Colonel Rhodes, and myself are aware of it. I never…” He shakes his head. “I never thought you would be here.”

“Clint was betting on that,” Wanda explains. “That none of you would think of us being here. That Stark still—” Had enough decency not to reveal his secret. “—would not tell anyone else about the farm.” She shifts her weight. “After the Raft, I was… not well. Clint knew he could help me here, and he thought that it would be better in a familiar place. I don’t know how long we’ll stay, but.” She tilts her head. “It has been nice.”

Vision nods. “Your nightmares?” he asks.

“I have not dreamt,” Wanda says. “Since the Raft, it’s been… empty.”

Vision purses his lips. “But you are sleeping?”

Wanda nods.

“For an adequate amount of time?”

“Yes, Vizh.” She pushes a strand of hair back behind her ear, smiling at his concern.

“The others are watching over you."

Wanda nods once more.

“So you are safe. You’re… well.” Vision's eyes flicker down to her scar.

Wanda holds her hand in front of her neck to hide it. “I’m fine,” she insists. “Or I will be. I am just glad to see you.”

“Then…” After a brief pause, Vision sighs and pushes himself up to his feet. Wanda follows suit. “I’ll return to the compound," he says, "and I will speak to Colonel Rhodes, as you requested.”

“Good.” Wanda smiles.

They look at each other, both waiting for something that the either doesn’t know how to give. Wanda’s hair shifts in the evening breeze.

“I promise I will not reveal you,” Vision says.

“Please come back soon,” Wanda says.

At last, Vision smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. The sight of that warmth across his lovely face makes every part of Wanda light up.

“Goodbye, Wanda,” he says.

As he begins to rise into the air, panic shudders through her.

“Wait!” she cries.

He turns, and she lifts her arms up to him. Slowly, holding her gaze, he returns to the ground.

The instant Vision’s feet touch the grass, Wanda throws herself towards him. With one hand cradling the back of his head and the other touching just below his shoulder blades, she presses herself to him. She holds him like the precious thing he is and prays, hopelessly, that she’ll never have to let go. His heart beats against her cheek as he rests his own hands on her spine. His chin brushes the top of her head.

I love you, she thinks. I’ll miss you.

“Goodbye,” she says. “Vision.”

Chapter Text

Every part of him feels fuller for having been touched by her. His skin, his lips, his heart—that moment was sacred, precious, something gifted to him that he ought never to take for granted.

Nothing could ever relieve Vision’s pain the way Wanda does.

Yet the further he gets from the Barton Farm and the closer he comes to the compound, the more dark and uncertain Vision feels. Now that he is reassured of Wanda’s condition, he has nothing to distract him from his deep state of confliction.

How can I do this? How can I let myself care when my care for her is what caused Colonel Rhodes' paralysis?

How could something so beautiful be the cause of such horror?

Vision returns to the ground outside the compound and makes his way through the building. For the first time since the night the Avengers broke apart, he goes up to the bedrooms.

I promised her.

He walks through Colonel Rhodes’ open door.

Colonel Rhodes looks up from his tablet, and his eyebrows jump. He uses his arms to push himself upright against his pillows.

“Vision,” he says.

Vision swallows, finding it impossible to maintain eye contact.

“What’s up?” Colonel Rhodes asks.

“I… wished to speak with you,” Vision says, though in truth, he'd rather do anything but.

“Yeah.” Colonel Rhodes indicates towards a nearby chair.

Reluctantly, Vision walks in and sits down. This close to the man, he feels all the more uncomfortable. He looks down at his own lap.

“I know you told Mr. Stark that I was forgiven,” he says. “Nonetheless, I must convey my sincerest apologies.” Vision takes in a deep breath and meets Colonel Rhodes’ dark, deep-set eyes. “I am sorry for what I did to you. It was an irrevocable act that caused more damage than I could ever make up for. I am…” He shakes his head. “Unsure whether I deserve your forgiveness.”

Colonel Rhodes frowns. “It was an accident, right? You got distracted.”

Vision swallows. “Yes.”

Colonel Rhodes shrugs, relaxing again. “Then of course I forgive you. Like I told Tony, it’s a hazard of the job. I’m lucky to have gotten so much time. And I’m still alive. Not everyone can say that.”

Vision meets the man’s eyes uncertainly.

“Look.” Colonel Rhodes rolls his shoulders, adjusting his position on the bed so that he can better face Vision. “You were in the middle of a fight. There was a lot going on. I don’t really know how it works for you, but you wouldn’t be the first guy to get confused. It’s a lot of…” Colonel Rhodes lifts one hand in the air as he searches for the word. “‘Input.'” He shrugs again. “So you messed up. It happens. Maybe it’s our fault for thinking your system could handle it.”

A heavy weight seems to press down on Vision's chest. “That—that’s not what happened.”

Colonel Rhodes stares. “So—what?”

“My system is capable of rapidly processing many varied forms of sensory input,” Vision says. “Your expectations were in no way faulty. I wasn't distracted by the chaos of battle. I was caught off-guard by my… anger.” He drops his gaze to his own hands.

“Your what?”

Vision chances a glance up and sees that Colonel Rhodes’ eyebrows have risen. “Moments before you called for my assistance, you harmed Miss Maximoff.”

Colonel Rhodes squints at him. “Yeah. She was on the other side.”

Fire sparks up within Vision, and he has to swallow and take another deep breath to keep himself from speaking too harshly. “Nonetheless,” he says, “she is my friend. Her pain… pains me. I was upset. I went to her aid. As I was speaking to her, you asked for my help. I believe…” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. Stay in control of yourself. “It was not my intention, but I believe my anger caused me to miscalculate. Subconsciously, I saw you as the target, rather than Sergeant Wilson.”

“So this happened.” Colonel Rhodes indicates his own unmoving legs.

Vision turns away. “Yes.”

There's a long pause. Then—

“Huh. Okay.”

Vision looks over sharply. To his confusion, he sees that Colonel Rhodes has relaxed. Even his facial expression seems to portray acceptance.

“Okay?” Vision repeats.

“Yeah,” Colonel Rhodes says. “Okay.”

“I don’t understand."

Colonel Rhodes shakes his head. “What?”

“Regardless of the cause, the result of my error is the same,” Vision says. “Yet you seem happier hearing this explanation. What would make you more inclined to forgive an emotional error over one of processing?”

Colonel Rhodes lets his head rest back against the wall. “I’d forgive you either way. This just makes more sense. It’s… human.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s good to know you have it in you.” Colonel Rhodes smiles.

“How can it be good when it caused this?” Vision speaks the words more loudly than he intended, and Colonel Rhodes raises his eyebrows. “It would be better if I were more like the man you saw me to be. Then this never would have occurred. You would not be paralyzed. You could walk. You could continue with your career.”

“Alongside a dude with no feelings? No.” Colonel Rhodes lifts his head. “Even if it saved my life, I’d never ask a guy to stop caring. I’m glad you do.”

Vision lets out a huff, unable to verbalize the mess of frustration that his thoughts have become.

Colonel Rhodes sighs and rubs his temple. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what went wrong, back at the airport,” he says. “What happened with the rest of the team wasn’t right. I still believe in the Accords,” he adds, looking over at Vision. “I do. But I think we went about enforcing them the wrong way.”

Vision leans his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped together, and breathes deeply. He doesn't know where Colonel Rhodes intends to go with this line of thought, but he's grateful for the chance to collect himself.

“You and me, I think we made the same mistake,” Colonel Rhodes continues. “We sided with Tony because it made sense. The Accords make sense. But logic fails when it forgets emotion. Do you get what I’m saying?”

Vision shakes his head.

Colonel Rhodes purses his lips and lifts his head further so that he can keep his gaze tightly locked on Vision. “We were out there thinking it’s all about what’s right," he says, "and we forgot that everyone else was motivated by something different. Tony was out of his mind with guilt, and he was pissed at Steve for not siding with him. Steve had all that pride on the line, and then he got caught up trying to protect Barnes. Everyone else had their own feelings to deal with. Even us.” Colonel Rhodes smiles joylessly. “I thought I was being rational. But I was just scared. I used to be a really angry kid, did you know that?”

Vision shakes his head again.

“I was out of line,” Colonel Rhodes tells him. “But in the army, I learned how to control it. Rules became my life. I made it so that everything was about order and reason. But underneath all that, I was just scared of losing control again. So when the Accords came, I ignored all the signs. I pretended Tony was being smart. I pretended feelings didn’t have anything to do with it. I was wrong. I was even wrong about me.”

“I—” Vision begins.

“You were the best of us,” Colonel Rhodes says. “You didn’t lose it until after Wanda got hurt. But that’s good, because it means you can understand what I’m telling you.” He clears his throat. “Sometimes, you have to think about feelings," he says. "You have to let them tell you what to do. Otherwise, you won’t have a clue what’s really going on. Logic without feeling is cold. Feeling without logic runs hot. You need them to balance each other out, see? Because there’s things you can’t understand with just one of them.” He sits back against his pillows. “I wish we'd all figured that out before. But here we are.”

Vision exhales, and it’s like all the tension in his body leaves with his breath. Everything that Colonel Rhodes is saying resonates inside of him as truth. This is exactly what Vision has always seen in humanity: soul and spirit, heart and feeling. Instinct. Balance. This is what he aspired towards. Even he, with everything that separates him from humankind, can find worth in such a wealth of knowledge.

His mistake does not negate the value of that.

“So of course I'm glad that you have feelings.” Colonel Rhodes offers Vision a faint smile.

Vision nods, letting his shoulders fall. “I understand now. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me.”

He gets to his feet, prepared to phase down into the living room. But then he pauses and turns back.

“My apology still stands,” he says. “In this case, logic ought to have balanced feeling better than it did. My error was regrettable, and I am sorry that you are the one to suffer for it.”

Colonel Rhodes huffs out a laugh. "Funny how things go. But I forgive you. So let it go. Go live your life, Vision.”

Vision dips his head. “Thank you, Colonel Rhodes. For your forgiveness as well as your assistance.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Vision leaves Colonel Rhodes’ bedroom. As soon as he reaches the living room, however, he knows that it’s not where he needs to be. Instead, he moves upwards again and phases into Wanda’s empty room.

The room is untouched, all of Wanda’s belongings in the places where she left them. In the dim light, Vision closes his eyes and breathes. Though Wanda’s absence feels as conspicuous as it would if it were a missing piece of his own body, the air still smells of her. It almost feels like her. He sits down on her bed and runs his hand over the comforter.

He can allow himself to miss her now.

He can allow himself to feel.

He closes his eyes again and imagines, for a moment, that Wanda is here with him.

Chapter Text

The day after Vision visits Wanda, Clint and Steve announce that their group is moving locations.

“We’ve been here too long as it is,” Steve says. “We’re lucky the others haven’t thought to come here yet.”

Wanda looks at him sideways from her spot on the couch.

“Now that we’ve recovered,” Clint adds, “it’s time to get out.”

A heavy, metallic taste chokes Wanda’s throat, and she looks back down at Nathaniel, who’s sitting on the couch next to her, waving his tiny fists through the air. How will Vision come back to her if he can’t find them?

Wanda recognizes the irony: though not directly, Vision’s visit is what precipitated this decision. Clint and Steve have seen the positive shift in her, and decided that she’s ready to face the world. In coming to see her at last, Vision has widened the distance between them.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

Steve shakes his head. “We’ll figure it out on the way.”

Wanda stares. “But—” She turns to Clint. “You are not telling Laura?”

Clint shakes his head, too, staring at the floor. “It’s safer this way.”

“She’s not going to tell anyone,” Wanda points out.

Clint looks at her with harrowed, haunted eyes—Not willingly, his mind whispers—and Wanda quiets.

“What if we don’t figure it out?” Sam asks from his place on the other couch. His arms are crossed.

“What?” Steve looks over at him.

“You said we’d figure it out on the way. What if we don’t? We can’t just fly around forever. Tell me you’ve at least got some places set up.”

Steve raises his eyebrows in amusement. “I have an idea.”

“And I’ve got places,” Clint interjects. “We’re not stupid, man.”

“So we’re just going to leave?” Without conscious thought, Wanda pulls the squirming baby into her arms, hugging him like he’s her only anchor to this world. Nathaniel squalls, and Wanda startles before loosening her grip on him.

“We have to.” Steve and Clint look at her with compassion in their weary faces.

She swallows and nods. Tears prick behind her eyes. She has never felt so untethered as this.

Early the next morning, the group packs up their meager belongings. With Steve and Sam already out by the jet, Wanda goes in search of Clint and Laura. They’re in the master bedroom, with the door cracked open and Clint’s open suitcase visible on the bed. Wanda steps in, and then looks away politely as Clint and Laura kiss each other goodbye. Clint breaks off the kiss, walks to the bed, and picks up his suitcase. He gives Wanda only a glancing look as he passes her, but in that look, Wanda sees resignation and heartbreak.

She turns to Laura. Blinking at the floor, Laura clears her throat. She lifts her head to meet Wanda’s gaze. Without speaking, Wanda steps forward, her arms open. Laura accepts her embrace.

“Thank you so much,” Wanda manages, and then she bursts into tears. Embarrassed, she buries her head in Laura’s shoulder.

Laura rubs circles across Wanda’s back. “Shh,” she murmurs. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

“I’m scared,” Wanda whispers.

“I know,” Laura says.

Wanda lifts her head and wipes at her eyes. She backs away from Laura.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “Your shoulder is wet.”

Laura smiles wearily and shakes her head. “I have three children. I think I can handle a few tears.”

“I’ll look after Clint,” Wanda promises, and Laura breaks into a true smile, her eyes squinting.

“I know you will,” she says. “Thank you.”

“If Vision comes here…” Wanda begins, and Laura stiffens slightly in surprise. Wanda stops and clears her throat, looking at the floor. What could she even say? Tears prick at her eyes. “Never mind.”

After a pause, Laura steps forward to tuck Wanda’s hair behind her ear. “It’ll be okay,” she repeats. “Things have a way of working themselves out.”

Wanda nods, and Laura smiles.

“You have everything you need?”

Wanda nods again.

“Good.” Laura tilts her head towards the door. “Better get going.”

“Goodbye,” Wanda whispers.

She goes back into the living room, where all the children sit, their faces uncharacteristically solemn. She kisses each of them on the cheek. They all let her, even Cooper. Wanda waves goodbye, choking back her tears yet again, and goes out to the barn, where the beaten-down plane that the Avengers originally arrived in sits.

Wanda sits in silence as the miles widen behind them. Towards the front of the plane, Clint and Steve argue in hushed voices about where to go. Occasionally, Sam adds a thought. Wanda barely listens. It doesn't matter to her where they end up; the only thing that matters is the fact that they've left.

The others reach a decision. The jet banks to the left.

Hours pass. The sun rises and falls. Wanda dozes off, and when she wakes, she can hear chatter going back and forth over the radio.

A few minute later, the plane descends. They hit the ground and glide to a stop. The side of the jet opens up into a moonlit night, and Wanda stands, squinting. Without another word, Steve walks out from the cockpit and strides out of the plane, Clint and Sam behind him. Wanda follows more tentatively.

As soon as she steps out of the plane, Wanda blinks in shock.

They’re in the middle of a huge city where buildings in shades of brown, green, and white reach high into the sky. Even from this one, shadowy glance, Wanda can see that the streets are full of wonders both technological and artistic—sleek vehicles and natural-toned streetlights, jungle-like architecture and beautiful flowering vines. It's like nothing she's ever seen before.

Their plane has landed on a dark, isolated runway, which is flanked on both sides by a line of short-haired, dark-skinned women draped in red and orange fabric. They stand at attention, staffs in hand. In the center of the runway, flanked by Clint and Sam, Steve speaks to an equally dark-skinned man wearing a gold and black tunic and black pants.

"There was no need to return the plane." A soft wave of humor emanates from the black man's mind, and Wanda feels Steve smile. "To us, it is little more than yesterday's garbage."

"Still," Steve says. "I wanted to thank you. I was able to get everyone out, with your help."

"It was not right, the way they were being treated," the man says, with a nod to Sam and Clint. "I was happy to help."

Wanda squints. Something about the man seems familiar, in the smooth way that he moves, or perhaps in the gentle strength that he exudes, but she can't quite figure out how she knows him.

"I thought you should know that we're all right," Steve tells him. "We had to take some time to recover, but now we're looking for a place to hide out."

The man raises his eyebrows. "So you thought of Wakanda."

Wakanda?

"I don't want to impose." Steve shakes his head, holding up his hands. "You've already done more than enough. We can find somewhere else. I just thought, since Bucky—"

The man lifts his head to look at Wanda, and Steve stops mid-sentence, turning.

"Oh, this is Wanda Maximoff. Wanda, this is King T’Challa of Wakanda.”

King T’Challa inclines his head. Wanda stares, flabbergasted. She has no idea how to address a king.

King T'Challa doesn't seem to mind. "Welcome to Wakanda," he says. For a moment, Wanda feels the skin on her neck prickle, a silent warning as to where the King's eyes have fallen. Then, squinting thoughtfully, he turns back to Steve.

“We will return to the Royal Palace," he says. "There we can discuss your arrangements.”

Steve's shoulders relax as he heaves a sigh of relief. “Thank you."

Guarded on all sides by female warriors, Steve, Clint, Sam, and Wanda follow King T’Challa across the runway and towards a convoy of sturdy-looking black vehicles. Sam drops back to keep pace between Wanda.

“Remember that guy with the black cat suit who fought on Tony’s side?" he mutters. "That’s him.”

Wanda looks over at Sam.

"The King," Sam clarifies.

Oh.

Wanda's fists clench as she stares at the king's back. “If he is on Stark’s side, why are we here?” she hisses.

Sam shrugs, unworried. “He's a friend, or that's what Steve says. This is where Steve stayed before he came and got us, you know. It's where Bucky’s at, too. T’Challa has him in stasis, and they're watching over him until they can figure out exactly how to fix his head. Wakanda’s got the best technology in the world, medical included, so if they can't do it...”

Wanda blinks at Sam. “The last time I saw this man, he wanted to kill Bucky.”

“Yeah, well, he changed his mind.”

"And how do they have the best technology in the world?" Wanda continues, brow furrowed. "I thought Wakanda was... was like Sokovia." She stutters on the last bit, glancing up at the city that looked nothing like her homeland.

"Didn't you hear?" Sam is grinning again. "They were hiding this whole city, all of it, under force fields, keeping it away from you white people." He winks as though to soften the words. "T'challa only just came out and told everyone what was really here in the middle of Wakanda, like, a week after our airport fight. Turns out, they've got a crazy amount of vibranium here, and more technology than anyone in the world!"

Wanda blinks at him as they reach the vans. "Really?"

"Yeah!" Nodding and laughing to himself, Sam clambers into one of the vans. Wanda follows.

As they drive away, Wanda watches the city pass outside the window. She’s amazed that the Wakandans managed to keep all this under wraps for so long. The city is gorgeous and intimidating, full of both raw and refined power, nothing like broken-down Sokovia. The palace itself, once they reach it, strikes Wanda as a marvel. Gigantic black panther statues and lush gardens surround the building, which reaches higher into the sky than any of the others.

In silence, Wanda and the rest of the group exit the vehicles and are escorted into the building, at which point King T’Challa dismisses all but a few of his warriors.

“Thank you so much,” Steve says as the king turns to face them head-on. “I really can’t express the depths of my gratitude.”

“You will stay for a short time only,” King T’Challa warns him. “I may have mercy on you and your friends, but Wakanda is a part of the United Nations. I cannot withhold their fugitives forever. Justice must be upheld.” His gaze sweeps across the group.

“While you are here,” he continues, walking slowly towards them with his hands folded behind his back, “you will remain within the Royal Palace in the area which I will designate for your use. You will stay out of sight. You will not interfere with any of our affairs.” His eyes lock on Steve’s. “You may be Captain America, but here, I am King.”

Steve gives a small bow. “Of course, your Highness.”

King T’Challa looks back at the group, and his gaze falls on Wanda. She can’t help but flinch.

"I hope you will remember to keep your powers in check while you are here," the king says. "I understand it to have been an accident, but I will not suffer another Lagos occurring here in my country."

Wanda's face heats and tears prickle behind her eyes. She ducks her head. This is what I will always be. Like Vision said. They will never stop being afraid of me.

After a pause, King T'Challa says, more softly, “You and I have both lost a great deal. I am sorry for what has happened to your country and to your family. For all that you have suffered, I hope that you will feel safe here.”

Wanda meets his eyes and sees only gentle compassion there. King T’Challa nods to her, and she manages a faint smile.

“We will heal that wound.” The king waves towards her neck. “We have the technology; it is a simple matter.”

Then he turns away, leaving Wanda with a sudden hole of gratitude and grief inside her.

“If that’s understood,” King T'Challa tells Steve, “I will have my people show you to your rooms.”

Steve agrees, and the king stands back as one of his companions, a tall, lithe woman with a strong face, leads the Avengers out of the room and upstairs.

They each have their own set of rooms, similar to those in the compound but decorated far more lavishly and in various earth and jewel tones. Left to her own devices, Wanda runs her hands over the canopy that surrounds her bed and traces her fingers through the chains of metal and jewel that hang over the window curtains. There are large, plush chairs near the bed, and a small panther statuette sits on the bedside table.

She looks at the statue for a moment, and then turns away, feeling a pang of loss. The Maximoff family photos that she has become accustomed to having nearby are still back at the compound. So are her guitar, her dresses, her jewelry.

Her Vision.

She swallows and moves into the bathroom, where a lush, green potted plant marks the only color on a perfect white landscape. Even the fluffy towels are white.

This is beautiful, she thinks. But it’s not home.

Chapter Text

Vision only manages for a few days before the urge to see Wanda becomes unbearable. Mr. Stark has busied himself in selling Stark Tower, and Colonel Rhodes’s sister Jeanette Rhodes and her daughter Leah are on their way to visit. In the midst of all the preparations, Vision slips out.

He takes his usual path across the country. As he approaches the Barton Farm, he reaches out with his mind. To his confusion and concern, he receives no response, just empty silence. He comes to a stop a little ways behind the house and waits, but after fifteen minutes, he still hasn’t seen—or felt—any sign of Wanda.

Perhaps she’s out, he thinks. He rises into the air and circles over the farm plot, but to no avail. She can’t possibly have gone into town. The others would never let her.

That leaves only one logical conclusion: the ex-Avengers have moved on.

Vision sighs and flies back to the compound.

He knows Wanda and the others will be safer elsewhere, and that brings him great relief. However, he’s left now with no idea of where to find Wanda, and that realization feels like a hole carved into the space where his heart belongs.

Perhaps she will reach out once they’re settled.

The two weeks that follow are unpleasant, to say the least. Vision returns to his old pattern of pacing the hallways, perusing the Internet as he goes for any possible indication of Wanda’s location. Meanwhile, Jeanette comes in and out of Colonel Rhodes’ room, towing her daughter along with her. It’s clear from her dark, suspicious glances that she holds Vision in no high favor.

He cannot blame her.

Leah, however, seems to feel more curiosity than hatred. Sometimes, Vision phases through the kitchen, only to find the dark-skinned girl sitting at the table watching him. Her expression reminds him of Wanda. He swallows and moves on, his heart throbbing.

Four days into the Rhodeses' visit, Leah speaks up.

“You’re the Vision,” she says.

Vision pauses and turns to look at her. “Yes.”

“You hurt Uncle James.”

Wincing slightly, Vision dips his head.

“My mom’s pissed,” Leah says. “Uncle James keeps saying it was an accident, but she don’t care. She says they both have a right to be pissed if they want.”

“She’s right,” Vision tells her.

Leah tilts her head, appraising him. Yet another reminder of Wanda. Vision takes a deep breath through his nose to soothe the pain.

“Why do you got that accent?” Leah asks.

“My voice originates from an AI program built by Mr. Stark.”

“And why're you wandering around everywhere? You make me think of a ghost, actin' like that.”

Vision waves towards the seat across from Leah. “May I sit?” When she nods, he slips into the chair. “I have little else to do. The United Nations is focused on apprehending the other Avengers at present.”

“Captain America and them?”

Vision nods.

“I think that’s bull,” Leah says. “They’re superheroes. They can do whatever they want.”

“Like hurt your uncle?” Vision asks mildly.

Leah looks at him with eyes so full of fire, Vision can’t help but feel cowed. “I just mean that they’ve never done nothing that wasn’t supposed to be good. If people got hurt, that’s the bad guy’s fault. Or an accident.”

“What about Ultron?”

Leah stares at him, shaking her head and raising her eyebrows.

“Mr. Stark created him,” Vision explains.

“Oh, well. That ain’t Captain America, is it? That’s just Tony.”

Vision's lips curve into a faint smile.

“Do you think it’s right?” Leah demands.

Vision flattens his palms on the table and takes another deep breath before answering. “I think the Accords have merit, but they require a great deal of modification to be appropriate. The punishment does not equal the crime at present.”

Leah purses her lips and nods. She looks at Vision for a moment, then speaks again.

“You don’t seem that bad,” she says. “Quiet, sure. But hear my mom tell it, you another Ultron. She wants to have you dismantled.”

Vision’s brow creases, and he looks at the table.

“Uncle James says you ain’t really a robot, though,” Leah continues. “He says you a person. You’re just different.”

“I... prefer your uncle’s theory,” Vision says.

“I think you’re too gentle to be Ultron,” Leah says, “but I dunno about the whole robot thing.”

“I do have emotions,” Vision offers. “If I didn’t, your uncle would still be able to walk.”

Leah makes a face. “He can, with Tony’s help. But what’re you talkin’ about, anyway?”

“I… injured your uncle in a moment of anger. Not purposefully,” Vision adds, his gaze darting between Leah and the kitchen table, “but I believe my judgment regarding the angle at which I was to shoot was impaired by my feelings.”

Leah considers his words for a moment and then nods. “Uncle James says he still gets mad about what happened sometimes, like how Mom is, but that you were only makin’ the same kinda mistakes he did. He says it’s cuz you’re young.”

Vision blinks. He’s never heard himself described that way before. “He’s not wrong.”

“Why were you mad?”

Vision looks away. “He hurt one of the others during battle. Miss Maximoff. I found it upsetting.”

“Ohhhh, so it’s about a girl.” Vision looks back at Leah just as she puts her hand on top of his, giving him a sideways smirk. He stares at her hand, wondering at the casualness of the touch. “Well, that don’t sound like no robot.”

Vision’s lips twitch upwards.

“You care,” Leah says. “That’s good. You’re just quiet, that’s all.” She sits back in her chair, letting his hand go. “So how about your girl then? She like you back?”

Vision blinks. “We are friends.”

“Mmm.” Leah raises her eyebrows. “Pretty hard, I guess, with her on the run and all.”

Vision looks down at his hands, swallowing. When he meets Leah’s gaze again a moment later, she’s smiling.

“You’re sweet,” she says. “I hope things work out.”

Then she gets up and leaves the room

Vision sits in the kitchen a moment longer, a soft warmth glowing inside of him. He doesn’t know why, exactly. Leah’s approval is an oddity, but in some way, it makes him feel more positive towards himself, as though the girl justified his emotions with her words.

After Vision talks to Leah, Jeanette stops glaring so much. She still doesn’t seem inclined to speak, but whatever Leah told her, it must have been enough to ease her mother’s suspicion.

Their visit ends after two weeks, and Leah waves goodbye to Vision as she heads downstairs with her mother. Vision lifts his own hand in return, Colonel Rhodes standing unsteadily next to him with his legs in Tony’s mechanical braces.

“She likes you,” Colonel Rhodes says. “Leah. I don’t know exactly what you said to win her over, but then, she's always liked a good love story.”

Vision looks at him in mild surprise. “A love story?”

Colonel Rhodes raises his eyebrows, grinning. “Mmm-hmm,” he says.

Three more days pass with no information on Wanda’s whereabouts. The United Nations knows even less than Vision does, never having been aware of the Barton Farm. General Ross’s frustration is growing with each moment, but there’s nothing else to be done.

At least, not that the General knows of.

On the fourth day, Vision tells Mr. Stark that he’s following a lead. Taking a circuitous path once more in order to avoid being tracked, he makes his way back to the Bartons’. Wanda may not be there anymore, but Vision’s original plan still has the most merit of any. Laura Barton is his only lead.

He lands in the front yard and goes to knock on the door. After a moment, it swings open. Laura Barton stands there, pushing her staticky hair back with one hand as she holds Nathaniel against her hip with the other. She looks up, her expression harried, and freezes.

Vision smiles.

“Vision,” Laura says.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” Vision holds his palm up in front of his chest in a placating gesture. “I’ve not told anyone about you, and nor has Mr. Stark. I have no intention of revealing your existence. I simply wish to speak with you.”

Laura squints at him for a moment. Then, her eyes wary, she steps back to let Vision into the house. He ducks his head as he enters. Laura shuts the door behind him. Nathaniel squirms and makes a smacking noise with his mouth, and Laura touches the top of the baby’s head to quiet him. There’s a wet spot of spit-up on her shirt.

“Is... there anything I can help you with?” Vision asks.

Laura looks at him for another long moment. “Laundry,” she says at last. “If you could switch out loads and fold the dry clothes, that’d be wonderful.”

“All right. Where is…?”

Laura leads him to a back closet and points at a nearby laundry basket overflowing with dark-colored clothes. “Put that one in the washer,” she says, “and move the clothes from the washer into the dryer. Then you can fold the dry clothes. I have to go check on the kids.”

Vision nods, and, with one suspicious glance backwards, Laura leaves him there.

Having never done laundry before, Vision has to do an Internet search to be sure he doesn’t make any error. Once he’s certain of his task, he sets to work. It takes eighteen minutes.

Just as he’s wrapping the final pair of socks together, Laura returns. Her hair has been smoothed down and her clothes changed. Nathaniel is no longer with her.

“Oh.” Laura glances around, her eyebrows raised. “Nice job. I don’t suppose I could get you to take out the trash?”

“Of course,” Vision says.

Laura directs him towards their truck, and he puts the bags in the back. He also carries their compost out to one of the gardens at her request and helps her straighten up the living room. When they’re done, Laura looks much calmer.

“So what do you want to talk about?” Laura asks as she takes a seat on the couch. Vision follows suit.

“I know you have no reason to trust me,” he says. “I am in part to blame for your husband’s absence. But please believe me when I say I have no interest in returning him and the others to the United Nations. The Raft Prison is not a fair response to what occurred. The Accords need amending.”

Laura just looks at Vision, her lips pressed together.

He ducks his head, realizing in the very moment that he tries to get the words out that he cannot possibly convince her. He himself would never give up the answer if he knew.

“This was foolish,” he says, throat constricting. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Wait.” Before he can stand up, Laura touches his arm. “Why did you?”

Vision looks at her. “I was hoping you would tell me where they’ve gone. I… I miss Wanda.” Embarrassed, he turns his gaze back to the floor. “I came here approximately three weeks ago,” he says. “Wanda spoke with me. She told me how Clint had brought her here to give her a chance to recover from… from what was done to her.” The vibration of his vocal chords wavers on the last words. “Now they are gone. I’m glad,” he adds, with a glance up at Laura. “They weren’t safe here. But…” He shakes his head, unable to continue.

“You miss her,” Laura repeats. Her voice is flat, but when Vision looks over, her facial muscles have softened.

“Yes.” He swallows. “Dearly.”

Laura’s expression indicates something not quite a smile. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I can’t help you.”

Vision nods. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

Laura finally smiles. “No,” she says. “You helped a lot. I needed it. Thank you.”

Vision rises to his feet, and Laura also stands.

“You’re welcome,” Vision says. “If you… if you hear from Wanda…” He hesitates, pursing his lips. “Tell her I’m thinking of her. I hope to see her again someday.” He almost chokes on the last word. Someday. Indefinite, ages away.

Laura nods, and Vision thinks he sees a touch of sadness in her eyes. “I will.”

“Thank you.”

He leaves the Farm behind—for the last time, he thinks—and returns to the compound with a pain within him so sharp, it feels like something breaking.

Chapter Text

A month passes. Restless, Wanda takes to wandering the section of the Royal Palace that the Avengers are allowed to frequent. Outside the windows, she can see the city moving, people in bright outfits and face paint coming and going, the jungle flourishing in the heat of the summer sun. Inside the Palace, things stay quiet and cool.

One afternoon, Wanda finds Steve sitting in a small back room. He’s on a bench, staring across the room at a cryogenic chamber stained over with frost. Wanda comes up behind Steve and squints. An instant before she recognizes the face of the man inside, she realizes the obvious answer—It’s Bucky.

“Do you come here often?” she asks.

Steve starts and turns to look at her.

“Oh,” he says, turning back again. “I guess so.”

She frowns and sits on the bench next to him, looking up at Bucky’s sleeping face. “That cannot be good for you.”

Steve shrugs and shakes his head as though the thought were only a minor irritation.

“Steve,” Wanda says, as gently as she can, “look at me.”

He does, and the sadness in his eyes seems both sweet and bitter.

“Bucky made his choice,” Wanda says. “He knew what he wanted, and it was not this. No, listen.” She grabs Steve’s shoulder as he starts to turn away, forcing him to look back at her. “This is not good for you. You will only make yourself sad watching him.”

“He’s my best friend,” Steve simply says.

“And he will be here when it’s time to wake,” Wanda says. “He isn’t in danger anymore. He’s not wandering, he’s not confused, he isn’t going to die. He’s safe. You don’t have to be afraid of losing him anymore.”

Steve’s eyebrows rise as he listens to her speak. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Wanda gives an emphatic nod. “I know you get scared. I know you think your whole life is going to disappear.” She taps the side of her head. “But it won't. He's safe, and so are you.”

Steve stares at her for another long moment, and then his eyes crinkle into a smile. “Am I at least allowed to miss him?”

“Yes.” Wanda glances down at her fingernails, at the black paint that’s started to chip. “We all miss people. But you can't drown yourself in it. You’re still here, Steve. We’re still here. And we need you.”

Steve's brow crinkles. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying that... I miss you,” Wanda says, only just realizing it to be true as she speaks. “I miss everyone. All of us. We are broken, and alone, and none of us is even trying anymore. We need to stop being like this and start talking to each other again.”

Taking in a deep breath, Steve gives her another nod. “You’re right.” Then he gets to his feet and stretches, his shirt tightening across his wide chest. “You're right. I'm sorry.”

Wanda smiles. “Does that mean you'll talk to the others?”

"Yes. I promise." He stops and looks at her. "Are you okay?"

Wanda shrugs, and her gaze goes back to her hands. "As much as I can be."

Steve smiles crookedly, reaching down to pat her on the shoulder.

"We'll be okay," Wanda adds, looking up at him.

Steve nods, and, with a heavy sigh, traipses out of the room. Wanda turns her gaze back to Bucky.

It's strange to see him frozen under glass, a gentle, relaxed expression on his unmoving face. He looks so different from the wary, conflicted man that Wanda first met. He will stay here, Sam said, until the Wakandans can figure out how to remove HYDRA’s programming from his mind. Until Bucky is safe to be around others.

They healed her wound. There’s not even a scar left to mark the place where the collar once sat.

But I wonder…

Wanda stands and approaches the chamber. She sets her fingertips gently on the glass and closes her eyes. In the same way she once reached out to Vision’s body in the Cradle, she opens her mind to the chamber’s occupant.

A breath of quiet—and then everything crashes from Bucky’s mind into hers: dark, confused images of blood and metal and death, sounds of screaming and bellowed Russian words, a profound sense of horror and loss. The strange and disconnected flow of his thoughts threatens to tear Wanda’s mind in half.

Vypolnyat' prikazy, vypolnyat' prikazy—a woman’s scream—“Doklad missii.”—agonizing pain and bright colorful lights searing behind his eyelids—“Hail Hydra!”—the sensation of someone’s bone breaking inside his fist—“Howard!”—black paint streaked across his face—“But I knew him.”—a weapon, a machine, a monster—“Who the hell is Bucky?”—I am not who I used to be—“Toska. Rzhavyy. Semnadtsat'. Rassvet. Pech'. Devyat'” Who am I? “Dobrokachestvennyy! Vozvrashcheniye domoy! Odin! Gruzovoy avtomibil'!” Who am I?

The touch of gentle hands on Wanda’s back throws her back into reality. She sucks in a loud breath. It takes her a moment to realize where she is: on her knees on the cold stone floor, her fingers wrapped through her hair and her hands clutched to her head, mouth open mid-scream. She raises her head to see Bucky, still asleep behind the icy glass above her.

“Are you all right?” a man’s voice asks.

Wanda flinches away from the hands on her back and scutters into a position where she can see her new companion.

Oh.

King T’Challa gazes down at her, the corners of his dark eyes creased in the faintest indication of concern. He's wearing a black robe with an intricate design on the front. Wanda's eyes are drawn to the necklace of silver spikes wrapped around his neck.

“I’m fine,” she gasps, pushing wild strands of hair behind her ears. “I was—I wanted to see if I could help him. With my powers.” She stumbles into a standing position. “His mind is—I have never seen a mind so broken.”

King T’Challa looks past her, at the cryogenic chamber and its occupant, frowning. Wanda takes the chance to catch her breath and smooth her hair. Her knees sing with pain from her fall to the floor. She’ll have bruises, later.

“What was done to him has never been reversed,” King T’Challa says. “He is the only one still alive.”

“I can’t do it.” Wanda’s face flushes with shame, both at her admission and at the stark difference between King T’Challa’s lovely, accented English and her own stuttering words. “There is too much damage. I am not strong enough. I would need more practice.”

King T’Challa nods.

Wanda brushes dust from the front of her dress, swallowing. “Thank you,” she says. “For waking me up.”

“I was passing by,” King T’Challa says, as though it were no matter, “and I heard you screaming. Come.” He waves her towards the door with one hand. “I was on my way to speak with Captain Rogers.”

So Wanda exits the room. King T’Challa walks alongside her, his movements strong and paced exactly to her own steps. Within instants, the intimidation Wanda felt on the first day returns.

“You have always intrigued me,” the king says, startling her.

“Have I?”

“Yes.” King T’Challa turns to look at Wanda, his expression friendly and open. “I have followed news of the Avengers from their beginning, and I was surprised when you joined them. You are not like the rest. You are young and foreign, from a small, broken country with no power. Your life is marred by tragedy. You, even more than I, have seen how the machinations of a few powerful men can cause the destruction of so many. You once fought against the Avengers, and yet, after all that, you became one of them.”

Wanda nods.

“I thought, after Lagos, that I was wrong about you,” the man continues. “You had become an American, all power and pride. But I no longer believe this is so.”

Unsure of what to say, Wanda stays silent.

“You only wish to do good in the world,” King T’Challa concludes. “Do the Avengers welcome you?”

“Yes,” Wanda says. “They are not perfect, I know,” she adds, answering his raised eyebrows, “but they are good. They want to help as much as I do. And they have never made me feel unwelcome.”

“Even Tony Stark?”

Wanda meets the King’s smile. “Stark is very human," she says. "He tries.”

“Hmm.” King T’Challa falls into a moment of deep thought. “If you had never gotten your powers,” he asks at last, “where would you be now?”

“Nowhere good.” At the King’s questioning gaze, Wanda elaborates. “We were homeless,” she says. “My brother did all he could to keep me from the worst parts of that—he did odd jobs and stole things, whatever it took to keep us alive. He protected me so that I never became a—” Another word she lacks in English. “I don’t know the word. A woman on the streets.”

King T’Challa nods, his eyes tightening in a barely perceptible wince.

“If we had stayed…” Wanda hesitates. “I do not know that Pietro would ever have let me get like that, but in the end, it would have been something. Drugs. A bullet. A bomb.” She shakes her head. “We lived only for hatred. It would not have been a good life had I stayed.”

“Were you never educated?”

Wanda looks up. “I dropped out of school when I was sixteen. It was more than some people got.”

She catches a wave of controlled horror rippling through the King. “I see how being an Avenger is better. They helped you complete your education, then?”

Wanda blinks at him. “No,” she says. “After everything, it did not seem to matter.”

“Did not seem—!” King T’Challa pulls himself to a halt, squaring his shoulders. “That must be amended, now that you are here. In Wakanda,” he explains, as Wanda stares at him, “we prize education above all else. While you are your guest, I will not allow you to go untaught. It would be a dishonor.”

“…oh.”

They arrive at Steve’s room and find the others all gathered there. Sam sits beside Steve on the bed, while Clint stands in the corner with his arms crossed.

“Have the rest of you completed your educations?” King T’Challa asks as soon as they walk into the room.

Steve and Clint exchange startled looks.

“Yeah,” Clint says. “I mean, I got my GED. Sam joined the military right out of high school, and Steve had a year of art school before he became a soldier."

King T’Challa gives them all a dark, disapproving look and shakes his head. “I am getting you a tutor,” he tells Wanda. “The rest of you are welcome to attend her lessons.” Then his gaze locks on Steve. “Captain Rogers? I wished to ask you for a status update.”

Steve waves a hand around at the others. “We’re all doing fine,” he says. “Still working on finding another place to go. I was calling a team meeting right now, actually.”

“Fine,” King T’Challa says. “I will return later.”

Before Steve can say another word, he sweeps out of the room.

“What was that all about?” Sam asks Wanda.

“Apparently, they value education in Wakanda," she says with a shrug. She sits, cross-legged, in a large chair covered in gold-and-red embroidery. "I told him I had never finished school and he... just offered."

“Well, now that we’re all here…” Steve, regaining his composure, meets each of their gazes in turn. “I wanted to apologize for not being around more. I’ve been distracted, but I should’ve realized that everyone was having a hard time. We’re still a team, okay? I want us to act like it.”

The others nod.

“Sitting in on Wanda’s lessons might be a good idea.” Steve gestures towards the door. “Since he’s insisting.”

“And we really need to start thinking of places to go,” Clint adds. “For real, not just telling his Royal Highness that we are.”

Steve gives him a crooked smile. “Yeah,” he says. He looks around at the rest of the group. “So let’s talk.”

Chapter Text

At the beginning of August, with there having been no success in apprehending the ex-Avengers, the United Nations gives the current Avengers the go-ahead to open their newly secured email inbox and phone lines to requests for aid. Under the Accords, the Avengers can only act within a country if given the permission of that country or if the UN subcommittee decides it. As such, every country that signed the Accords has been given direct access to the Avengers. Mr. Stark expects an influx of requests as soon as they open their lines, but instead, the messages flow about as fast as a drip from a non-leaky faucet.

"I don't get it." Mr. Stark paces across his office, Colonel Rhodes and Vision looking on from the couch. "The Accords haven't changed things that much. And the Avengers used to get requests from Fury's contacts all the time. Right now, we don't even have any requests for a celebrity public appearance!"

"Tony," Colonel Rhodes says, "our inboxes and phone lines are 100% being monitored by the U.S. government now. You know that, right?"

Mr. Stark stops, and, lowering his sunglasses to look at them, says, "And?"

"All those other governments know that too!" Colonel Rhodes waves towards the window. "They aren't requesting our help partly because doing so would mean our government knowing all of their problems, along with whoever else manages to hack in."

"The lines were monitored before, weren't they?" Mr. Stark demands.

Colonel Rhodes shakes his head. "I doubt nearly as much. Fury knows how to work around the government, and most of the requests we got came directly to him. And they came from lower down, too. Police forces and individual agencies. Now, everything is coming directly to our door from the very top."

Mr. Stark blinks and shifts his weight between his feet. "But... requests for aid come to the U.N. all the time, right? That's what the U.N. is for. Our government knows about those problems!"

"Those requests primarily come in the event of a natural disaster," Vision tells him. "Hurricanes, earthquakes, disease outbreaks, an influx of refugees. While we might be of use in rescue efforts, what those incidents necessitate most are supplies and medical care."

Colonel Rhodes gets to his feet and walks towards Mr. Stark. "That's not to mention the fact that we're currently down to two men after having a very public breakup. We haven't even managed to recapture the other Avengers. You really think anyone's raring for our help right now?"

Mr. Stark's gaze drops to his feet, and Colonel Rhodes nods, his expression resting somewhere between weary and sympathetic. Placing his hand on Mr. Stark's shoulder, the Colonel guides Mr. Stark back to his desk. As Mr. Stark takes his seat, Vision takes the risk of adding, "Plus, the two of us who remain are the two who struggle the most with stealth. We'd hardly be the right choices for the missions we went on prior to the enacting of the Accords."

Mr. Stark tilts his head to stare at Vision, his eyes bright with offense. "I can be stealthy!"

Vision just looks at him.

"Tony," Colonel Rhodes says, his hand still on Mr. Stark's shoulder, "when someone's thinking the word 'stealth,' you are literally the furthest thing from their mind."

In September, Mr. Stark finishes moving into the compound, though some of his items are destroyed thanks to a man named Adrian Toomes. Immediately afterwards, Vision is under the impression that Spider-Man will be joining them, but this never occurs. Instead, Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts announce their intention to be married, to the delight of countless journalists and fans alike. Vision finds this "engagement" fascinating, though he still hopes for the arrival of Spider-Man. When nothing in that vein occurs, he asks Colonel Rhodes what happened. Colonel Rhodes simply says that, since Spider-Man is underage, it's best that he remain at home rather than join the Avengers. Vision sees the wisdom of this, though at times he wishes there were someone else on the compound.

At Colonel Rhodes' request, they've enacted a few measures to help increase the flow of requests for aid. Mr. Stark is working on public relations and making contacts in different countries, while Colonel Rhodes and Vision monitor the news, social media, and government reports for any incidents that might be worthy of their attention. When they find one, they send a request to the UN subcommittee to be allowed in. Most of the time, their requests are denied.

Vision has never felt so aimless. He reads novel after novel, classics and contemporary both. He listens to libraries of music. He watches every award-winning American and foreign film he can find. Always, he keeps his eye out not only for appropriate missions but for anything that might indicate the location of his old teammates.

He finds nothing.

He also experiences a great degree of loneliness. The only people he sees, most days, are Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes, and they both seem uninterested in spending time with him. When he's not working, Colonel Rhodes re-learns how to walk and goes on social outings with old friends. Mr. Stark is usually away either improving government relations or touting his own charities, and when he's not, he spends his time downstairs working on new inventions.

It’s not as though Vision has alternative options. He cannot simply go out to a bar and make new friends.

When General Ross visits in mid-October to request an update, Vision is so glad to speak with another person that he almost forgets his distrust of the man. At that point, it becomes clear that he needs to get out of the compound. Laura Barton may not welcome Vision's presence, but perhaps she will allow him into the house if he agrees to help with more chores. Her face, and those of the children, would be a glad relief.

So once General Ross has left, Vision heads back to the Barton Farm. The journey leaves him grateful for the open air and change of scenery. As he settles down on the front lawn, though, he feels a slight pang. Wanda was here, once. He can imagine her opening the door as she did before, smiling up at him. He can envision her carrying Nathaniel on her hip while watching Clint barbecue, with all of the other Avengers milling around them.

He misses her so much.

He knocks on the door. A few moments later, Laura appears. She has a faint smile on her face that Vision can’t help but return.

“Mrs. Barton—” he begins, but she interrupts him.

“Vision! Come in.” She reaches out and pulls him into the house by the arm.

“Oh,” he says as she shuts the door behind him. “I was not sure I would be welcome.”

“Sit down.” Laura hurries into the living room, and Vision follows. “I’m glad you came.”

Vision frowns. “Is there something you need me to do?”

“No.” Laura sits on the couch, indicating for him to join her. “Well, I’d love some help with the dishes,” she adds, “but I actually wanted to talk to you.”

Vision stares at her from his spot on the couch.

Laura beams at him. “Clint called a few days ago.”

“Oh!” Vision is surprised at the sheer strength of his own relief. He hadn’t even realized how worried he was. They’re all right.

“They’re moving locations,” Laura explains. “Natasha tracked them down, and they’re going to split up into different safehouses. They set up phones that no one can trace, and that's how Clint contacted me.” She stops to smile again, pressing one hand against her cheek, before continuing, “They’re all safe. I got to talk to him, and to Wanda, too.”

Vision sits up straighter.

Laura’s eyes crinkle. “I gave her your message. She said to tell you hello, and that she misses you, too.”

“Oh.” Vision lets out a sigh.

“She’s doing well. She’s working on getting her GED, or whatever the equivalent is where she is now.”

“Ah—might I ask where that is?”

Laura’s smile drops. She shakes her head. “I don’t know. They didn’t tell me. I didn’t know where they were before, either.”

“Oh.” Vision blinks.

“Clint says it’s safer." Laura shrugs. "He’s probably right. Natasha said that she’d tell me if she could, but then she’d have to kill me.” Laura lets out a sound somewhere between a huff and a laugh. “That’s what I get for marrying a spy.”

“I’m sorry,” Vision offers.

“Oh no, don’t be.” Laura shakes her head, smiling. “He'll be coming home soon!"

Vision stares at her. "Really?"

Laura nods, and her smile fades. "We talked it over, and we decided that it's worth revealing the existence of the Farm and of our family if it means that Clint can come home. So he's negotiating for the same set-up that Scott Lang got. He'll tell the U.N. about us, and he'll agree to be put on house arrest so that he can be here, with the kids." Her lips thin as she presses them together. "It's a risk, but Natasha doesn't think they'll be able to find him unless he lets them, and considering Clint's situation, he has a decent chance of convincing them not to put him back in the Raft."

Vision blinks rapidly. "I see," he says. "I am... happy for you." And though he wishes it were Wanda, not Clint, who was able to return home, he finds that he means it.

Laura beams, tilting her head to examine his face. "You really do mean that." Her smile changes, her eyes saddening as she reaches out to touch the back of his hand. "I wish I could tell you where Wanda is. But I don't know. And I doubt Clint trusts you enough to tell you."

"There has always been some tension between us," Vision agrees. He feels a bit like he's choking. "Besides which, once General Ross knows about your existence and location, it will no longer be safe for me to come here." He shakes his head. "Still, I am glad to hear that the others are all right. And I'm glad that you trust me enough to let me know."

"Of course!" Laura gets to her feet. “So was there something you needed?”

Vision shakes his head again. “I wanted some company, that’s all. The compound is rather empty, these days. You said you could use help with the dishes?”

So Laura sets him to work on more chores. The children come and go, shooting Vision looks that grow ever more trusting as the hours pass.

Wanda misses me, Vision thinks while he works. She said that she missed me.

I only wish that I knew where she was.

At the end of the day, Vision says goodbye to Laura and the children for the last time before returning to the compound.

Two more weeks pass, as quietly as the ones before. The weather in New York City goes from cool to cold. Then, when Vision wakes from his rest one morning, a message arrives. He blinks at the bright gold letters and numbers that float before his eyes, obscuring his view of Wanda’s empty room. Somehow, the message has been sent directly to his system. He can’t seem to track the source. He squints, trying to interpret the characters. Then he realizes—They’re coordinates.

He doesn’t have to do any more research. He knows.

Vision waits until Mr. Stark is settled in before phasing into the downstairs office.

“Mr. Stark,” he says in greeting.

Mr. Stark has circles under his eyes, which he’s shading with one hand, and a half-empty coffee cup in the other hand. “Vision,” he grumbles.

“I’d like to request some time off.”

Mr. Stark looks up, raising his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“There has been very little to do these past months,” Vision explains, “and I’d like to experience a ‘vacation.’ There are many places I have yet to visit which I would like to see.”

“Like what, the Taj Majal? Switzerland?”

“Yes,” Vision says.

Mr. Stark laughs. “Well, I don’t see why not. Might as well check it all out while it’s still here. I’ll let the UN know.”

Vision dips his head. “Thank you.”

“Yep.”

Vision says goodbye to Colonel Rhodes, and with that, is free to go. He tucks a few items into his pockets, hacks the transponder to show a winding path to India, and takes to the skies. The journey requires many hours and a great deal of energy, but Vision has become skilled at managing his body’s needs. Nearly seven hours later, he arrives outside of Edinburgh, Scotland.

He lands in a small back alley near the location the coordinates specified. With some difficulty, he materializes a coat with hood around his body. He puts his hands in the pockets and ducks his head as he leaves the alley, even though it’s well past sunset now. His heart thunders in his ears.

Soon he’s standing in front of a tall apartment building. Vision risks a glance up, trying to figure out which window leads to his destination. He starts as the front door swings open. He turns away. Then a hand clamps down on his arm.

“Get in,” a familiar voice hisses.

Vision’s heart both leaps and falls within seconds.

Nonetheless, he allows Natasha to pull him through the door and into the elevator. She smashes the button for the fourth floor and rounds on Vision as the elevator door slides shut.

“Did anyone see you?” she demands.

“No,” Vision says, staring at Natasha’s newly dark brown hair, which falls in curls around her head, and lightly made-up face. If she hadn’t spoken, he might not have recognized her. “I was careful.”

Natasha huffs, but turns to face front, crossing her arms. When they arrive on the fourth floor, she glances out to be sure no one’s watching, and then drags Vision down the hall.

One of the doors opens, and there’s Wanda, waving them inside.

Once they’re all inside the apartment, Natasha locks and chains the door. She hurries through the entry and into the living room, checking that every curtain is closed. Wanda follows her, so Vision does too. He drinks in the sight of her, reveling in how she moves and breathes. She’s wearing her sleeping clothes and looks exactly as he remembers—except for her hair. Like Natasha’s, it’s been dyed a different color, lighter than her natural hair and orangey in tone.

“Are you insane?” Apparently satisfied with the room’s security, Natasha crosses her arms and glares at Wanda.

“No,” Wanda states. “He won’t tell. He’s not—”

“Not that.” Natasha waves an impatient hand in the air. “Wanda, Vision blows when it comes to stealth. He’s completely recognizable.” She glances back towards the window drapes. “Anyone on the street could have seen him, and then we’d have to pick up and move. What were you thinking?”

Wanda puts her weight on one leg, jutting her hip out, and glares. She and Natasha stare each other down for a long, silent moment.

Vision glances between them.

Then Natasha’s shoulders sag. She sighs. “What’s done is done,” she says. “But next time, be smarter. And stay away from my phone!” She jabs a finger at Wanda as she walks around her.

Wanda lifts her chin and holds position until Natasha disappears into the back hallway. Then she relaxes and turns to Vision. She beams up at him, her cheeks full and wide from smiling.

“Vizh.”

Without hesitation, he steps forward into her embrace.

Chapter Text

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she murmurs into Vision’s chest. God, she’s missed his touch. Everything about him brings her peace—the rush of his heart, the murmur of his mind, the faint scent of metal overlaid by the softer aroma of his human skin. She doesn’t want to let go.

“I feared I would never see you again,” Vision says, and Wanda’s heart leaps at the gentleness of his voice.

She looks up and nods, keeping her arms locked around his torso. The gears in Vision's light blue eyes wheel round and round. “We left right after you came to the Farm,” Wanda says. “We went to Wakanda.”

Vision frowns. “Wakanda?”

“Turns out King T’Challa doesn’t like what happened either.” She rests her head against Vision’s chest again and is rewarded by the touch of his fingertips drawing small circles on her back. “He’s keeping watch over Bucky until they can figure out how to fix the brainwashing, and he let us stay in the Palace. He even got me a tutor, so I could finish school.” Wanda shudders as Vision’s fingers move lower on her back.

“Laura Barton told me you were working on your GED,” he says.

Wanda lifts her head. “You got my message!”

Vision smiles. “Both of them.”

Wanda forces herself to let go, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s still not used to seeing that orangey color out of the corners of her eyes. “I got ahold of Natasha’s phone.” She gives Vision an impish smile and lowers her voice so that he has to lean in. “She had a message app with your name, so I used that. I don't know where she got the information, but—" She gestures up at Vision. "—it worked.”

“It worked,” Vision agrees.

Wanda can’t get enough of looking at him. She wants to run her fingers across his face, over every piece of blue-grey metal and every inch of burgundy skin.

“I’m glad you contacted me.” Vision shoots a glance over towards the hallway where Natasha disappeared to. “Although it seems to have upset Natasha.”

“Don’t worry about me, kids.” Natasha struts back into the living room, a small leather jacket thrown over her shoulder and a purse in hand. “I’m just trying to keep us off the UN’s radar, that's all.”

Wanda purses her lips and shoots Natasha a look.

“I’m going out.” Natasha walks past them to the entryway. “Don’t wait up.”

She unlocks the door, pulls it open, and then slams it shut as she leaves.

Vision frowns.

“She’ll get over it," Wanda tells him.

Then she rolls her shoulders and wiggles her toes against the floor, breathing in deeply. She and Vision have the apartment to themselves.

“Where are the others?” Vision looks over her head and down the hall.

“Not here. It's just us two girls.” Wanda smiles. “Sometimes I talk to the others using our phones."

“But Natasha stayed with you?”

Wanda nods. It was honestly a relief not to be left alone. She doesn’t know how she would have survived had Natasha not come to live with her. “She’s working in town while I finish school online. Once I’m done, I’ll get a job too. Help pay for the apartment.” Wanda smiles. “It will be nice.”

Vision smiles back at her. “I’m glad,” he says.

“I’ve missed you.” As an intense surge of feeling rises up inside of Wanda, the words burst free. She blinks, embarrassed. “I miss home.”

Vision nods, still smiling. “It’s quite empty without you.”

Wanda ducks her head as heat flashes across her cheeks. Get it together, she tells herself. “I’m glad you’re here,” she repeats.

“I hope you won’t mind.” Vision clasps his hands together in front of his stomach, his eyes tightening with anxiety. “I told Mr. Stark I was going for a ‘vacation.’ If you and Natasha would prefer, I can do as I said and explore elsewhere, but… I would like to stay.”

Wanda stares at him, hardly believing her ears, and then breaks into a grin. “I don’t even care what she says,” she announces. “You’re staying.”

A smile melts across Vision’s face.

Wanda beams back at him, taking his hand in hers. "Come here.” Half-skipping from happiness, she leads him back to her bedroom.

“This is where I’m staying,” she announces as she waves Vision in. “It’s not the same, really. I miss my things. I miss the others. But it’s nice.” She sits on the bed and bounces against the mattress as she looks around. “I’ve got some of the same furniture, and Natasha bought me a bunch of clothes.”

Vision clears his throat. “I brought you something.”

Wanda looks back at him just as he pulls two pieces of paper out of his pocket. He smooths them and hands them to her. Wanda looks down, and her breath catches in her throat.

“Pietro,” she says.

Vision has brought her exactly what she missed most—the two photos from beside her bed. She runs her fingertips across the images, reverently touching the faces of each of her lost family members. Tears bud in the corners of her eyes.

“Thank you,” Wanda whispers.

“I also brought you this.” Vision brings out a coin-shaped necklace. “I know it was a favorite.”

She holds out her hand, and he drapes the chain over her palm. She clenches her fist around it and smiles up at him.

“This is the best gift,” she proclaims.

Vision ducks his head. “I wish I could have brought more,” he says. “But I didn’t wish to arouse any suspicion.”

“This is perfect. This is exactly what I wanted.”

Vision glances up with a smile as Wanda unfolds herself from the bed.

“Let me put these away,” she says.

She places the photos on her bedside table, next to a book and an empty glass, and tucks the necklace into the little wooden box that she’s been using to hold her other necklace and her rings. Then she looks around the room and sighs happily.

“Come on.” She turns back to Vision with her hand outstretched. "I'll show you around.”

Chapter Text

The apartment is much smaller than the compound and contains nothing of any great surprise, but Vision is happy to let Wanda walk him through nonetheless. She goes back through the living room and kitchen—“You could try your hand at paprikash again,” she teases—and indicates the direction of Natasha’s room and the laundry.

“Then here’s the bathroom, between me and Natasha,” she continues. “I miss not having to share, but it’s still nice.”

Vision pauses. Half-hidden in the shadows and strewed across the counter, he can see a number of bottles and other miscellany—most of them Natasha’s, he suspects. Wanda’s restroom was never this crowded, though she, too, had her comforts.

“Vizh?”

He starts, and turns to see Wanda watching him, her head tilted. The sight warms him.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I lack experience with restrooms.”

The corners of Wanda’s eyes crinkle. “That’s right,” she says. “I forgot. Do you want to look?”

Vision hesitates, then nods. Wanda darts past him and flips a switch. Light floods the small, tiled room.

“So that’s the sink,” Wanda says, pointing at each appliance as she goes, “and the counter, with all of our things on it. It’s very messy, I know. The mirror…”

Vision turns his head towards the reflective surface and jumps. Seeing himself standing beside Wanda’s very human self in a very ordinary bathroom evokes dissonance. Red skin, curved metal segments, hairless scalp—somehow, Vision had forgotten his own strangeness.

“The toilet…” Wanda continues, as Vision runs his hand over the top of his head, looking into his own odd, mechanical eyes. “Our towels, the window… and the bathtub. That’s it.”

He turns back to Wanda just as she turns to him.

“You know how it all works,” she says. “Right?”

Taking a deep breath, Vision slips past her to pull back the white plastic shower curtain. He peers in at the bathtub, eyes flickering across the knobs and tabs and then up towards the showerhead. “I think so,” he says.

There’s a squeaking sound, and Vision looks down to see Wanda leaning over and turning one of the metal knobs. Water flows from the tap.

“You can try it,” she tells him without glancing up. “Let me get it to the right temperature first.”

Wanda’s hair has fallen across one shoulder, and the strap of her tank top slips down from the other, leaving the shoulder bare. Vision’s attention catches on a small brown freckle marking her skin. He stares.

Somehow, in all their time together, he never noticed that freckle before. Now that he’s seen it, he can’t look away.

Despite the barrier of clothing, Vision is capable of calculating the exact measurements of any person he sees. Nothing about the human body can truly escape his knowledge—or so he thought. Now, staring at the dark spot on Wanda’s pale skin, he realizes that he misinterpreted. He may know exactly the shape of her body, but he never stopped to think about skin. His own strangely colored skin is patterned in a uniform way. It’s predictable—but real human skin has flaws.

Vision is struck with sudden wanting. He wants to uncover every inch of Wanda’s body. He wants to introduce himself to each of her freckles, spots, and scars. He wants to trail his fingers—his lips—over her skin and draw a map of the marks that make this body uniquely hers—starting with that freckle on her shoulder.

Wanda straightens, and Vision blinks, thrown abruptly back to reality. Wanda smiles at him as she pulls her tank top strap back into place, drawing his attention right back to the spot he needs most to ignore. He sucks in a breath and keeps his eyes locked on hers.

“Ready?” she says.

She pulls up a switch that sends the water raining down from the showerhead instead of flowing directly into the tub. Vision blinks as the spray mists across his face. Wanda puts her hand under the water, still watching him.

“I think it’s a good temperature,” she says uncertainly.

Chastising himself, Vision lifts his own hand to feel.

The water cascades over his skin, its warmth a near-match to his own internal temperature. He’s surprised at how pleasant it feels.

“Yes,” he says. “That’s nice.”

Wanda smiles. “If you need me to change it any, let me know.”

But Vision’s already phasing into the bathtub to let the water fall over his entire form. Wanda makes a small sound, and Vision turns to see her turning away in a failed attempt to cover her smile. Their eyes lock in the bathroom mirror.

“Your clothes are getting wet,” Wanda says in a voice choked by laughter.

Vision lifts his arm out of the water’s arc for inspection. His shirt sleeve drapes across his skin, dragged down by the added weight.

“It’s no problem,” he says. “I can remove the water easily.” To demonstrate, he retracts the molecules of that arm, and the extra water splashes down into the tub. In an instant, his shirt sleeve returns to its normal, pressed state.

Wanda turns to face him. “It can’t be comfortable, though.”

Vision looks down at himself, analyzing the way that the wet clothes press and drag against his skin. “No,” he admits.

Wanda laughs. “That’s why people shower naked.”

Immediately after she says the words, her smile drops, and her cheeks turn pink. For an instant, the thought of the two of them being undressed flits across Vision's consciousness. He quickly shuts it down.

“I—I’ll be in my room, then,” Wanda stutters, pointing back towards the door. “You can stay here as long as you want.” She smiles once more before ducking out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Vision hopes she didn’t hear his thoughts.

He pulls the shower curtain shut and turns to face the other end of the bathtub, pulling the molecules of his clothing back into his own body. It’s an immediate relief—the sensation of the water against his naked skin is much better than that of the wet clothes. He looks down at himself, at the drops and rivulets moving over him, and sighs.

He can’t ignore it. His feelings towards Wanda, and the way that he looks at her, have changed. He’s no longer dispassionately admiring the beauty of her form, as he did that day in the compound gym. Now he wants to touch her, to claim her, to breathe every part of her in until he knows all that there is to know about her.

He’s looking at her now the way that Clint feared: with lust.

It makes little sense for Vision to experience sexual desire. After all, he lacks both the biological ability and the imperative to reproduce. Scientifically speaking, there’s no reason for him to want Wanda this way. But he once thought himself incapable of feeling, and he proved himself affected nonetheless. It’s not beyond reason to think that he is also capable of some form of lust. He imagines that the urge has emerged from deep inside the ancient patterns of his synthetic DNA: a human remnant in a false body, invoked by his deep emotional connection to a human woman.

What he’s to do with his desire is another matter.

I cannot let it overpower me, he thinks. I cannot let it overshadow my caring for her. She sees me as a friend; she needs me to be her friend.

To imagine that she might return his romantic or sexual feelings, inhuman as is he is, would be folly. She deserves and must therefore be seeking a partner of her own kind. Thhe best course of action now is for Vision to gather these feelings up and lock them in the furthest part of his consciousness, where they cannot infringe upon their friendship or cause Wanda discomfort.

Perhaps if he waits long enough, the feelings will fade, and leave him to continue in the way that he has. The way that things must be.

Chapter Text

Wanda sits crosslegged on her bed, covering her face with her hands. The sound of the running shower comes from the next room.

“That’s why people shower naked,” she thinks mockingly. Dear God, Wanda.

But Vision would have missed the potential innuendo, as he has so many times in the past. She is the only one made to feel awkward by her remark.

He’s thinking about showering, that’s all, she tells herself, and she lets her hands drop back to her knees. Calm down.

So instead, she thinks of how he stepped into the shower fully clothed, and she lets out a quiet laugh. She's missed Vision’s continual enthusiasm about the things she has learned to take for granted. She’s missed the wide sincerity of his eyes as he learns about human culture.

She’s so glad he’s here.

The shower clicks off, and Wanda hears a faint thump, like when she squeezes the extra water out of her hair. Vision phasing the water off his skin, she thinks. Yet again, she has to force herself away from the thought of his naked body.

What is wrong with you?

A moment later, a fully clothed Vision appears in the doorway, his expression tight and uncertain.

“I don’t know where you—”

Wanda pats the bed next to her, and Vision relaxes into a smile. He walks across the room to sit beside her.

“This bed is smaller,” she says, apologetic and blushing. “But I’d like you to stay for the night.”

Vision nods. “This will be fine.”

Wanda smiles. “Let me go wash off my makeup.”

She heads back to the bathroom and wipes off her face using a cleanser and a towel. Normally, she would’ve taken her makeup off before this, but it took all the self-control she possesses just for her to get into her tank top and pajama shorts earlier in the night. All she could think about was when Vision would arrive.

Now he’s here.

A fluttering sensation leaps from low in her stomach.

She pushes it off. It’s just Vision.

Back in her bedroom, she curls up beside him, careful at first, but relaxing in increments. Though their location is different, this feels familiar. She knows how it is to sleep next to him. She knows how it is to have him watch over her dreams. She enters his mind and slips off into a peaceful sleep.

Natasha doesn’t come back until the next morning. She raises an eyebrow when she sees Vision still present, but sips her coffee in silence. She and Wanda eat breakfast together before she heads out to work.

“Don’t let anyone see you,” Natasha warns Vision as she exits the apartment.

Vision nods.

Wanda spends the day doing her schoolwork online while Vision watches over her shoulder. At first, it’s distracting, but he turns out to be a good resource, almost as good as the tutor she had in Wakanda. He adds thoughts and pieces of information that she never considered and talks her through any parts she has a hard time to understanding.

Natasha returns for dinner.

“How long are you staying?” she asks, turning to Wanda before Vision can even respond. “How long is he staying?”

“As long as he wants,” Wanda says firmly.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Couple of freeloaders.” Though her tone is gruff, her expression is good-natured. “All right. I’m going out again. Have fun. Don’t start any trouble.”

So Wanda and Vision fall into a new routine: breakfast, school, lunch, school, dinner, a movie or board game, and sleep. Every day, Natasha goes to work, and every evening, she leaves again—which is unusual even for her. Wanda’s used to Natasha going out one, maybe two evenings a week, and rarely for so long. Although Wanda doesn’t sense anything of the sort, she can’t help but think that Natasha is trying to avoid Vision.

Then one night, Vision tells Wanda that he needs to rest.

Wanda looks up at him from where she’s already tucked herself into bed. “Are you okay sleeping here?” she asks.

He smiles. “Yes. I just wanted to let you know.”

So Wanda snuggles up against her pillow as Vision turns off the light and takes his usual spot. She opens herself to the gentle flow of his thoughts, and, after a few minutes, drifts into sleep.

Standing in the living room of the Avengers Compound at midnight, city lights coming through the window to barely illuminate the space. There’s a figure next to the kitchen table, turned away from her, and though it’s too dark to see, she recognizes him. She knows the shape of his body and the way that he stands. She hurries towards him just as he turns, and their lips meet.

At first, their kiss is soft and surprised. Then his mouth slips open, and she tilts her head, and each, feeling the other respond, responds more fiercely. Their kiss deepens until her back is pressed up against the wall and they’re both struggling for breath. Lips on lips, tongue touching tongue, gasp against sigh—his long-fingered, burgundy hands slide up and down her sides as she clutches him to her. The Mind Gem glows golden in the small spaces between them.

Then his hands move lower, his thumbs hooking around her hipbones, and oh, she’s never loved her body as much as she does right now, because it fits into his hands so perfectly. Her hips arch towards him. She turns her head to the side. Before she can even catch her breath, his lips are on her neck, his tongue tasting the softness of her skin. She lets out something between a gasp and a cry as desire shocks through her, so hotly that—

—she wakes up.

No.

She turns her head and sees Vision staring wide-eyed at her.

Oh, no, no!

Their mental connection broke the moment she snapped awake, but she doesn’t need it to know what he must be thinking.

Wanda jumps up, throwing the sheets off, and hurries out of the room to the neighboring bathroom. She shuts the door and sits on the edge of the tub, clutching her head in her hands.

She can’t deny it, not anymore. The love that she has for Vision is no longer simple friendship. She wants, more than she has ever wanted before. She wants to feel his hands and his lips on every part of her body. She wants to run her fingers down his bare spine and press her lips into his shoulder. She wants to know him deeply and thoroughly, in every possible way: mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically.

Wanda is in love with Vision.

And now he knows it, too.

She presses a hand over her mouth to stifle her moan. She just pushed every bit of her desire into his mind and created a false memory that he won’t know how to process. She did exactly what so many others did to her on the streets of Sokovia: she forced him to become the object of her sexual fantasy.

How could she do that to Vision?

She can imagine already the news articles if anyone found out: "Troubled foreigner and criminal on-the-run Wanda Maximoff harasses her robotic former teammate in a deranged attempt at seduction destined only for failure."

Wanda takes a few more minutes to calm down and then, on trembling legs, walks back to her bedroom. When she opens the door, Vision’s standing beside the bed, staring down at the crumpled sheets with a troubled expression. He spins around to look at her.

“Wanda,” he says, his eyes going wide. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Sickness chokes her throat. Of course. It’s just like Vision to apologize for something that she did.

“No,” Wanda interrupts. “It’s not your fault.” She hesitates, then forces herself to shrug and smile as though the dream were nothing of import. “It just happens sometimes. Part of being human.” True, though not this time.

Vision nods slowly, watching her face.

“Don’t worry.” Wanda walks past him, hoping he won’t see her expression. She's struggling to spit out every half-false word she speaks. “It won’t happen again.” She picks up her sweat-dampened pillow to fluff it. It won’t, she vows to herself. I won’t let it.

“All right.”

Wanda plasters a smile on her face and turns to face Vision. Looking into his uncertain eyes, however, she feels her shoulders and her smile drop. She can’t pretend. Not when it's him. He deserves her honesty.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

Vision ducks his head and nods. There’s a long, terrible pause.

Then Vision says, very carefully and with his eyes still on the floor, “Perhaps I should stay somewhere else for the night.”

Wanda’s heart drops from her throat straight into her stomach, shattering in the process.

“Okay,” she whispers.

Vision nods, and without another word, phases through the wall.

Wanda sinks onto her bed, hands clutched against her mouth, as the first tear burns from her eye and falls across her cheek. She collapses against her pillow and turns her face into it to smother the sound of sobs wracking her body.

No, no, no.

She cries, hot aching tears of true misery that seem endless, until she's so exhausted that all she can do is press her wet face into the sheets and feel the emptiness echoing around and through her.

It’s then that Natasha comes home. Wanda hears her open the front door, pause, shut it, and then walk down the hall. Natasha's confident, clacking footsteps stop in front of Wanda’s door, and then Natasha quietly knocks.

Wanda uses her powers to turn the knob, opening the door just enough for Natasha to notice.

“You’re awake?” Natasha pushes into the room. “Vision’s—” She stops. “Wanda?”

Wanda turns over so that Natasha can see her tearstained face. Natasha's expression immediately shifts from laughing confusion into taut seriousness. She shuts the door behind her and comes to sit on the bed, curling up next to Wanda.

“What did he do?” Natasha looks Wanda straight in the eye. “I’ll kill him.”

Wanda lets out a sobbing laugh that she hopes Vision can’t hear. “No, it’s my fault, not his.”

Natasha’s face crinkles into a frown. “What happened?”

Wanda lets out a breath. “He has been sleeping in my room—”

“I know,” Natasha interrupts.

“Before this, too. At the compound—”

“I know.”

Wanda stares at Natasha. “What do you mean, ‘you know?’ Wait.” She feels her own face fold into a glare. “Did Steve tell you?”

Natasha’s eyebrows jump. “Steve? No. I figured it out ages ago.”

Wanda huffs. “It’s not anything weird, he just—”

“Helps you with your nightmares.”

Wanda glares. “Yes. We connect mentally at night. His mind is peaceful enough to keep me from having bad dreams, and he doesn’t mind me doing that. He can even redirect the dreams sometimes. Or did you know that already, too?”

Natasha shakes her head, leaning in to listen. Wanda rolls her eyes.

“Tonight, I—” She stops and swallows as more tears threaten to burst forth. “I had a dream. About him. A... certain kind of dream.”

“Ooh.” Natasha raises her eyebrows, smiling. “Was he any good?”

“It’s not funny.” Wanda wipes roughly at her wet eyes. “He saw it, and now he doesn’t want to be anywhere near me.” She chokes on a sob. “I ruined everything.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Natasha shakes her head. “That man adores you.”

Wanda turns her hot, red eyes on Natasha. “That doesn’t mean he wants that.”

Natasha frowns, but has to shrug in agreement.

“He’s upset with me now,” Wanda says. “Too uncomfortable to stay. And I just…” Another sob breaks loose. “I can’t lose him.”

Natasha rubs Wanda’s back while she cries. Once Wanda’s calmed again, she looks up and sees, to her surprise, a slight and vicious smile on Natasha’s face.

“What?” Wanda mumbles.

“Oh, I was just imagining Steve's reaction when he found out.”

Wanda chokes on a laugh.

Chapter Text

Vision paces through the darkened living room, tapping his fingers against each other as his heart thunders. He can hear the faint sound of Natasha and Wanda talking in her room, but he doesn’t dare move closer. He's not sure he wants to know what they’re saying.

How could I let this happen?

The memory of Wanda’s shocked expression and the way she ran from the room haunt him. He keeps replaying their conversation: her attempts to explain away the dream, the moment when she realized that he wasn't human enough for this to just be “something that happens," then her sincere apology. She apologized, for not sharing his feelings.

Yet underneath that memory, still, lies the sound that tore out of Wanda’s throat when his lips pressed against her neck.

In the dream. A dream.

Vision presses his palm to the Mind Gem and tries to stay calm.

After nineteen minutes, Natasha exits Wanda’s room. Shaking her head, she goes straight for the kitchen, where she pulls out ingredients for a tea. Vision stops to watch her. Natasha lets the tea brew, her fingernails clacking against the counter, and when it’s done, she pours it into a mug and heads back across the living room.

Instead of going back to Wanda’s room, however, she holds the tea out to Vision.

“You need to talk to her,” Natasha says, and her tone allows no argument.

So Vision takes the cup and returns to Wanda’s room, his hands trembling.

He’s surprised, when he comes in, to see Wanda sitting up in bed with clear signs of tears written across face. A beat later, sickness floods his throat.

He made her cry. He must have frightened her terribly.

“Natasha asked me to bring this to you,” he says, and Wanda makes a small noise of surprise, turning to look at him. He approaches her, and she takes the mug from him. He remains standing. He’s unsure what to do, but knows he doesn’t dare sit down.

“I’m sorry,” Wanda says.

Vision closes his eyes and shakes his head. Another undue apology. “No,” he says. “I am. We’re friends. I want to be friends.”

He opens his eyes to see Wanda chewing on her bottom lip. The pain in her expression breaks him.

“Please,” he says. “Can’t we let this pass? I promise you, I will maintain our friendship.”

Wanda nods, and Vision sees her relax just slightly.

“We can still be friends,” she says. “Yes. If that’s what you want.”

“Is it what you want?” Vision asks anxiously.

To his relief, Wanda nods, hard. “Yes,” she says. “I want it to be like before. How it has been.”

A pang resonates deep down inside of him, but he ignores it. “All right,” he says. “Thank you.”

Wanda presses her lips together into a smile. He returns it and backs away, out of the room.

“All good?” Natasha asks, her arms crossed across her chest.

Vision nods. He takes a deep, calming breath before walking over to the couch and sitting down. He rests his head in his hands.

Natasha hesitates. Then, in his peripherals, Vision sees her bright pink, high-heeled shoes approach him. Her weight presses down on the couch beside him.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

Vision nods without looking up. “I will be,” he says.

He stiffens, surprised, when Natasha touches his back. An unexpected gesture of comfort, lingering for a few seconds. Then Natasha gets up and leaves him alone with his turmoiled thoughts.

Eventually, across the next week, the tension between him and Wanda lessens. Vision now spends his nights in the living room, while Wanda stays in her bedroom. Natasha also remains at home during the evening, providing a quiet barrier between them. Vision is grateful for her presence. However, it's clear that he has outstayed his welcome. At dinner Sunday night, he announces his return to the compound.

“I think it’s time I checked on Mr. Stark,” he says.

Natasha nods as Wanda plays with her napkin.

“How’s he doing?” Natasha’s brow crinkles.

Vision sits back. “Not his best,” he admits. “Though he puts on a good face, and is genuinely happy about his engagement to Ms. Potts, he seems to have lost his will. He has little interest in acting without the permission of others. After what happened at the airport…” Vision tilts his head delicately. “His confidence in himself has failed. ”

Natasha purses her lips. “I’m sorry to hear that. Tony’s an asshole, but he’s a likable one.” She shrugs and sighs. “I wish things had turned out differently.”

“As do we all,” Vision replies. Wanda looks up and gives them a small nod.

That evening, Vision says his goodbyes. He doesn’t know when he’ll return, and the thought brings sorrow, but it seems that Natasha and Wanda are settled in. When he comes back, they’ll still be here.

He only hope they'll welcome him.

He gives Wanda a brief hug goodbye and watches her hurry back to her room.

Natasha comes up behind him. “Here,” she says, holding a small slip of paper in front of his face. He blinks at it for a moment, and a series of numbers swarms into his mind. Then she crumples it, moving around to face him.

“That’s my phone number,” she says. “Call me if there’s an emergency. But remember, if you share it with anyone, I will personally come and kill you.”

Startled, Vision stares at her. “That would be an accomplishment.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, already walking away. “Just keep it safe, okay?”

Vision's return trip to New York is a lonely one. He watches the sun reverse its course and run backwards as he flies across time zone lines, and arrives just in time to greet Colonel Rhodes making dinner.

“Back from your trip?”

Vision nods.

“Was it good?”

Vision forces himself to smile and nod once more.

Colonel Rhodes nods too. “You’ll have to tell me about it sometime.”

Sighing, Vision phases up into his own bedroom. He collapses in one of his chairs and gazes at the Van Gogh on the wall.

Perhaps it would have been better if he had just gone to the Taj Majal.

Two slow and empty weeks pass him by. Then, early one morning when the frost has settled on the tips of each blade of grass, Vision steps outside to see an unexpected figure approaching.

“Thor,” he says.

“Vision!” The man throws his arms around Vision, tapping him on the arm with Mjolnir.

The hammer is the only remnant of Thor’s usual outfit; currently he’s wearing brightly colored shorts and a t-shirt. His strength has not waned, however; were Vision not so invulnerable, Thor’s hug would undoubtedly hurt.

“My friend,” Thor says.

“You have returned to Earth,” Vision replies.

“Oh, I’ve been here for many months.” Thor lets Vision go. “I stayed with my girlfriend Jane for a time, but that… did not end well.” Thor makes a face. “Unfortunate, but I have moved on, as one must.”

Vision blinks at him, thinking briefly—painfully—of Wanda.

“After that, I stayed in Australia.” Thor smiles. “I made a friend there! Darryl is his name. We shared a living space, and I spent some time at his place of work.”

Vision has no idea how to respond, but then Thor’s gaze shifts, and Vision turns to see Mr. Stark striding across the lawn towards them.

“Thor! Buddy!”

“Man of Iron.” Thor pulls the other man into a crushing hug. “I heard about the fight. But don't worry, my friend. I'm sure you and Captain Rogers will mend your friendship soon. Loki and I have argued a thousand times, and we still ended as brothers.” He smiles over Mr. Stark's shoulder, a touch of sadness in his eyes.

“Aww.” Mr. Stark wiggles himself out of Thor’s reach and points a finger into the man’s face. “You really need to get a cell phone.”

“Bah.” Thor waves one large hand in the air. “In Asgard, we use ravens.”

“Yeah, that’ll never happen here." Mr. Stark grins before saying, “So what are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yes.” Thor nods. “I simply wished to invite Vision for a little trip.”

Vision looks back at Thor, surprised. “A trip?”

“He just got back from a vacation two weeks ago.” Mr. Stark crosses his arms and raises his perfectly trimmed eyebrows. “What kind of trip are we talking about?”

“Oh, Heimdall contacted me,” Thor says with another careless wave of his hand. “There is some trouble on Asgard. Nothing serious. In fact, it’s probably nothing at all. But since I’m going back, I thought I would bring Vision along!” He claps Vision on the back. “I’m sure my father would like to meet him.”

“Well, he can carry the hammer,” Mr. Stark says. “I guess he might as well meet the natives of the kingdom.”

Vision turns to look at Mr. Stark as Thor laughs, his hand still on Vision's back.

“Mr. Stark,” Vision asks, “are you sure I ought to leave?”

Mr. Stark nods. “Yeah! Wish I could tag along. But I have to stay. So you go!” He waves a hand in Vision's general direction. “It’s not like we’re doing anything interesting down here.”

If Vision had eyebrows, he would raise them. “All right.”

With a perky wave at Mr. Stark, Thor lifts Mjolnir into the air.

“Heimdall!” he shouts. “We’re ready.”

Chapter Text

The days are listless without Vision. Wanda does her schoolwork, she watches Natasha come and go, and she spends the nights alone. Multiple times she wakes up in a sweat, feeling the echo of Vision’s lips on hers. Multiple times she chastises herself for dreaming of such things after promising him her friendship.

By January, however, Wanda feels a little calmer. She thinks that if Vision returned now, she might be able to do as she promised.

It’s then that Natasha gets a call.

“Where are we going?” Wanda asks for the fourth time, as Natasha drags her out of a taxi in the middle of nowhere. Since this morning, they’ve taken two trains, a bus, and now this. Wanda doesn’t even know if they’re in Scotland anymore.

“You’ll see,” Natasha grumbles. She waves the taxi off and watches until it’s out of sight. Still gripping Wanda’s arm tightly, she strides down a dirt path and into a nearby stretch of trees. They walk for a long while in silence, finally stopping at the edge of a large grass field.

Natasha turns her face up to the sky. “All right!” she calls.

A flash of rainbow light blinds Wanda. She covers her face with one arm, squinting, as a rush of light and movement drops down before her—and then she’s blinking away the afterimage and looking at Thor and Vision.

They stand together in the midst of a complex burnt shape on the grass, both fully costumed with capes and all. Thor has his hammer in one hand. Vision rests his hand on the man’s other shoulder.

Before Wanda can even begin to process the scene, Thor breaks into a wide smile.

“Romanov and the Little Witch!” he bellows. He strides across the field towards them, Vision following behind. “It's good to see you!”

“Thor!” Wanda exclaims. “Vizh—what?” She turns back to Natasha, only to find the other woman giving Thor a wave and Vision a stern look.

“Are you sure this counts as an emergency?” Natasha asks the latter.

Vision starts to shrug, but Thor is already speaking.

“Oh, yes. Most serious, indeed. We could not possibly manage without her.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows, crossing her arms, but there’s a smile in her eyes. “All right. You’re lucky you caught us when you did. She just finished a class.” Natasha taps Wanda on the shoulder and smiles with both eyes and lips. “Bring her back safe, okay? I’m trusting you.”

“A great honor indeed,” Thor says.

“What’s happening?” Wanda looks between Natasha, Vision, and Thor. “Where am I going? What’s wrong?”

“I will tell you on the way.” Thor rests a large hand on her shoulder. Just that one touch drags Wanda down. So much muscle. “Farewell, Natasha,” Thor adds, turning to the other woman. “I wish you luck in all your endeavors.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, still smiling. “Yeah, same to you.”

She turns and heads back the way they came, leaving Wanda to hurry alongside Thor and Vision as they return to the burnt spot in the field.

“What’s going on?” Wanda repeats.

“Not to worry.” Thor smiles at her. “You look well!”

“Vizh.” Wanda turns her gaze to Vision, who smiles apologetically, his cape fluttering behind him.

“There has been some trouble in Asgard,” he says. “Nothing too serious, but it seems additional help is appropriate. I have been there myself for a month now, and have been unable to locate the source of the problem.”

“You’ve been on Asgard?” Wanda says, but Thor speaks over her.

“That’s because there is no problem, my friend,” he declares. “Heimdall is simply... overanxious.”

Vision keeps his gaze locked on Wanda’s. “Heimdall is the guardian of Asgard,” he explains. “He possesses the ability to see all, across at least nine planets. He says that something feels wrong on Asgard, though he cannot pinpoint the issue. Thor was on Earth, and so he brought me along to look into it.”

“And to enjoy the comforts of my homeworld!” Thor exclaims.

“It has been nice,” Vision admits. “But we’ve made little progress. Heimdall recommended you join us. He believes your abilities might be helpful, given that all we truly have is his own sense of… unease.”

“And I thought it a marvelous idea!” Thor says, beaming down at Wanda. “I always welcome a friend. I did not get a chance to speak with you much before I left, but Vision has told me much about you. Now we can truly get to know each other!”

“Oh.” Wanda can’t help but smile at Thor’s enthusiasm, despite her confusion. “So how do we—”

“You must hold on to Vision,” Thor tells Wanda. "He will shield you from the Bifrost." Looking up at the sky, he adds, "I'm afraid you humans are a little more fragile than us."

"The— what?" Wanda glances at Vision for his reaction.

Vision's brow wrinkles. "Perhaps if would be best if you were to carry her."

Feeling as though she's been slapped, and trying desperately not to show her feelings, Wanda looks away.

"I must carry Mjolnir!" Thor protests, waving the hammer for emphasis.

"I can carry—"

"No, no." Thor gives Wanda a gentle push that sends her right into Vision's arms. "That will do well enough. Hold on tightly, Little Witch!" he adds as he rests his free hand on Vision's back, lifting Mjolnir up towards the sky.

In a surge of panic, Wanda throws her arms around Vision's torso, just as his arms come down to hold her.

"Heimdall!" Thor calls.

Wanda gasps as a pillar of multicolor light thunders down around them and pulls them into the air. She's grateful for Vision's closeness now, though she knows he doesn't want it. She clings to him as they hurtle through the skies. His arms tighten urgently, pressing her closer and protecting her from the violent rainbow energy. Outside, the atmosphere turns to space: stars and planets and galaxies.

Then they land on solid ground. Vision's grip loosens. Wanda stumbles sideways.

It takes her a moment to process her surroundings. She’s inside a large golden dome that spins around, slower and slower with each second. A small levered platform stands at the center of the dome, and on the platform stands a dark-skinned man dressed in gold armor.

Wanda tilts her head, looking into the eyes beneath the helmet. The man gazes back at her, a gentle smile on his lips, and she sees that his eyes are as golden as their surroundings. She blinks as the same sensation that hit her a moment ago strikes again—the whirling of a thousand stars, a hundred worlds, an expanse so unfathomably vast and powerful that it dizzies her thoughts.

A wondering smile touches her lips. She circles the man, who continues to watch her with his strange golden eyes. What she feels from him is only a fraction of his full being, she knows—she’s not even trying to access his mind.

“Heimdall,” she says.

“Welcome to Asgard." He gives a dip of his head.

She comes to the edge of Heimdall’s platform, still taking in the incredible wealth of information that she can sense from his mind, and then turns to look at Thor and Vision, just as Vision ducks his own head.

“Heimdall," Thor says, "do you have time to meet?”

Heimdall turns his gaze towards the wall, once again watching the universe pass. “In a few hours’ time,” he says. “Go settle in. I will be there.”

“In our usual place?”

Heimdall nods, and Thor seems satisfied.

“Come,” he says, leading Wanda to the other side of the room. “I will introduce you to my friends!”

Thor, Vision, and Wanda exit the dome and walk into a world unlike anything Wanda has ever seen. She stops mid-step, her mouth dropping open, and looks around.

They stand on a shimmering rainbow bridge that lies over an expanse of roiling water. At the end of the bridge, a city rises into the air—sharply crafted lines and pillars of pure gold. It’s very different from Wakanda, designed for the sky rather than the jungle, but like Wakanda, it is an unbelievably beautiful place. Sunlight catches against each building and reflects up into an expanse of clouds and stars and planets.

“Oh,” Wanda breathes.

“Jane liked it too,” Thor declares, and Wanda turns just in time to see his smile slip. Catching her eye, Thor brightens up again. “Asgard,” he says with a chuckle. “A wondrous place, is it not?”

Wanda nods.

As they weave their way through the city, her heart pounds. Everything about this world inspires awe, from the lushness of their trees to the glory of their architecture to the stature of their people. Here, Thor and Vision’s costumes fit in perfectly. Everyone, child and adult, is dressed in draping fabric, many in magnificent color and with beautiful metalwork. It makes Wanda feel small and dirty in her jacket and simple black dress. She ducks her head and hurries onward.

“My home.” Thor gestures ahead to the enormous golden palace at the center of the city. The building is structured in a way that reminds Wanda of the pipes on a church organ. “Let us enter.”

Chapter Text

The guards lined up along the palace entryway nod as Thor passes them. Unlike the Asgardians on the city streets, these men stand straight with their eyes forward, resisting the urge to examine the newcomer. Wanda seems relieved at the reprieve from all the attention she's been receiving.

“It’s such a beautiful city,” she says.

Thor’s chest puffs up with pride. “My friends!” He lifts a hand in welcome, and four Asgardians at a table near the end of the entry turn to look at them.

“Thor! Vision!” Already grinning, the Warriors Three and Lady Sif wave the new arrivals over.

At first, Vision found the boisterous hugeness of the Asgardian people startling, but he has since adjusted. They are nothing if not sincere, and though they find Vision fascinating, they don’t judge him for his differences. They welcome him as an equal.

Also, Vision appreciates their aesthetic.

“Is this the Little Witch, then?” Volstagg smiles at Wanda underneath his curly auburn beard as she, Thor, and Vision approach.

“Yes.” Thor turns to Wanda and gestures around the table. “These are my friends: Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun, and the Lady Sif. They are mighty warriors and loyal Asgardians who have performed great deeds across the Nine Realms.”

“This is Wanda Maximoff,” Vision adds.

“Hello.” Wanda’s eyes flicker across the Asgardians’ faces. She smiles, shuffling her feet. “I feel underdressed.”

Vision, Thor, and the other Asgardians stare at her.

“What do you mean?”

Wanda indicates her simple black dress, which stands in stark contrast to the layered, metallic outfits that the others wear.

Thor smiles. “Ah! Your clothing. Yes, your Midgardian ways are very different from our own. When Jane visited, we found her something more suitable to wear. Perhaps you would like that as well?”

Wanda nods.

“Lady Sif?” Thor asks.

The female Asgardian rises to her feet. “Come,” she says. “I’ll show you to the women’s quarters. We have spare clothing there.”

“Thank you,” Wanda says, and the two women leave the room together.

“So?” As Thor and Vision take seats at the table, Hogun turns to them. “Does she like it here so far?”

“She will enjoy her stay,” Thor affirms.

At Heimdall’s request, Thor and Vision have kept the true reason for their visit secret even from Thor’s closest friends. All that the Warriors Three and Lady Sif know is that Vision and Wanda are here to tour Asgard.

“These Midgardian girls are small, but beautiful, eh?” Fandral nudges Vision with his elbow. “I bet the women on Midgard give you a lot of loving!”

The other warriors nod and laugh, but Vision shakes his head.

“On Earth, I am seen as being… unusual,” he says. “I hardly fit their perception of beauty.”

“Besides which, Vision seeks only the company of one particular woman,” Thor says.

The Asgardians hoot as Vision shoots Thor a warning look across the table. Thor dips his head, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

The Asgardians’ conversation washes over Vision as he waits for Wanda to return. He can still feel the hot imprint of her body against his, and brief images keep emerging in his mind’s eye: her shocked expression when he and Thor appeared on the field, the way she gasped as the Bifrost pulled them upwards, how she gazed at Heimdall with wonder in her eyes.

Vision’s heart thuds, heavy and aching. She has never looked at him that way.

“Aha!” Fandral cries. “Now that is an outfit worthy of our lovely new companion.”

Everyone turns to look. Lady Sif has returned to the entryway, leading Wanda back to their table. Wanda’s movements are smoother now, more relaxed and confident.

Vision feels a tightening in the pit of his stomach.

Wanda has changed into a two-piece lavender gown. The halter top features a metallic pattern of diagonal lines, while the skirt flows free, cascading to the floor. She has a cape of the same shade draped around her shoulders, but bare skin shows in a sliver at her waist. Every step she takes sways through her hips and accentuates the space between her top and skirt.

Vision does his best to ignore that particular detail.

“Thank you,” Wanda says as she sits down. “I like it too.”

She glances over at Vision. Vision looks firmly down at the table.

An hour and forty minutes of loud conversation and drink pass, and then Heimdall enters the hall. He nods to Thor, who says farewell to his friends and gestures for Wanda and Vision to follow him. Vision feels the urge to put himself between Heimdall and Wanda, but, knowing it to be foolish, abstains.

Once they’re safely inside the back room where they’ve been meeting for the past month, Heimdall turns to face the others. “Lady Maximoff,” he says. “Are you aware of the current situation?”

Wanda tilts her head. “Vision said that there is something wrong, but you don’t know what.”

Heimdall nods. “In the time since Thor left for Midgard, I have heard whispers and murmurings throughout Asgard. There is a sense of… restlessness. Unhappiness. All of this negative energy seems to be directed towards the Allfather, which brings me great concern.”

“And I do not see why such a thing would be,” Thor says.

Heimdall dips his head. “I know your thoughts, but I must treat any possible threat to the Allfather with all due solemnity. I believed that the situation would settle with Thor’s return," he continues, "but it is not so. The whispers have only grown louder.”

Wanda tilts her head, staring at Heimdall. “I… see what you are saying.”

“Then you will help us?” Heimdall keeps his golden eyes locked on Wanda’s.

Wanda nods. “I will do what I can to find the source.”

“I am glad.” Heimdall smiles.

“Today, my father is busy with meetings,” Thor interjects, and Heimdall and Wanda look away from each other. “I will introduce you to him tomorrow. Then we can tour Asgard!"

Wanda gives Thor a weary smile.

Thor dismisses Heimdall, and then he, Wanda, and Vision head to the banquet hall. Thor proudly introduces Wanda to every person who passes by. In between visitors, he asks Wanda questions, many of them on topics that Vision has never stopped to consider.

“Your favorite color?”

Wanda smiles. “Red.” She lifts one hand to show Thor the rippling energy that flows between her fingers. “Fitting, right?”

“Ah.” Thor leans forward in his chair. “Red is a mighty color indeed. The color of war and blood and passion. Like my cape!”

Wanda laughs. “Or Vision’s skin,” she says. Then she bites her lip, her eyes darting towards Vision. He frowns, distracted by her lips, which are also very red.

“Noooo.” Thor drags the word out disbelievingly. “He is not red. He's purple!”

Wanda and Thor both look at Vision, who blinks at them.

Wanda tilts her head. “A purplish kind of red,” she agrees, “but definitely red.”

“Bah.” Thor waves one hand and turns away. “He is purple.”

“No,” Wanda says, but her lips are pursed into a smile.

Vision looks down at his own hand. He’s inclined to agree with Wanda, but in truth, he’s never given much thought to the exact shade of his skin. All that ever seemed to matter was that he looked different than humans.

With his elbow on the table, Thor leans his head into his hand. “Perhaps I should call you ‘Red Witch,’” he says, “instead of ‘Little Witch’. After all, your magic exceeds your stature. You even overpowered me!—once.”

Wanda smiles. “‘Red Witch?’ That's nice. I have been called ‘witch’ so many times,” she adds with a wrinkle of her nose. “I am not all that different from the others, you know. I have powers, like Vision or Steve. Not ‘magic.’”

“Yet your powers are those of a great witch,” Thor tells her. “What some call science, others call magic. It is the same.”

Wanda nods in understanding. “‘Scarlet Witch,’” she tries. Then she smiles and straightens in her seat. “Oh, I like that. I always wanted one of those code names—like 'Black Widow.'”

Thor grins at her.

“You know,” Wanda continues, drawing invisible loops on the table with her finger, “on Earth, they used to burn ‘witches.’ Women who didn’t do what people wanted, who had their own way of living, they would be called witches and killed for it. They didn’t really have magic; men just didn’t like the idea of a woman who was strong. They were afraid of what a woman could do if she had the chance.”

“Most condemned witches were hanged or stoned or drowned,” Vision interjects. “Few actually burned.”

Wanda raises her eyebrows. “My point is that to be a witch is to be powerful, even when it makes you different. I could be that kind of woman.” She shrugs. “It would fit who I am.”

“Then the Scarlet Witch it is!” Thor slaps the table. “I will inform the others.”

Wanda laughs, the corners of her eyes wrinkling.

Vision can’t help but smile too.

Chapter Text

After a whirlwind day, Wanda finds herself alone underneath thick white-and-gold blankets in an enormous Asgardian bedroom. Her eyes remain wide open. No matter which way she turns, she cannot sleep. The events of the day are too overwhelming and the room too quiet. She needs someone else here, if not to talk to, at least to share company with.

Vizh, she thinks.

But she hesitates. She and Vision haven’t seen each other in a month, and just because they're here together now doesn’t mean he wants to share a room with her. The last week that he was in Edinburgh, he stayed on the couch because he was so uncomfortable with the dream she had.

And then he left Earth to get away from her.

But he did say that they could be friends. He promised her that.

Sighing, Wanda reaches out and searches the palace with her mind. It takes her a little while, but she finds Vision on the opposite side, in the men’s quarters, pacing through the hallways as he used to do at the compound.

She nudges him. Vizh.

After a brief pause, he moves towards her. Wanda sits up in bed.

“You came,” she says when he phases through the wall.

He blinks at her. “Of course.”

“I can’t sleep,” she tells him, hugging her knees to her chest under the covers. “It is—too much has happened.”

His brow crinkles, and he sits on the end of her bed. “Your nightmares?”

“No,” Wanda says. “I can’t even get to sleep. There is too much to think about. Yesterday I was in my apartment in Edinburgh, doing my school and eating dinner with Natasha—and now I’m in Asgard.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I cannot believe it.”

Vision smiles, and Wanda’s heart jumps to see the warmth in his eyes. “It is different,” he says.

She lets go of her legs and sits forward. “It’s incredible. The rainbow light, and that gold dome, with Heimdall—the whole city, with the planets in the sky and the buildings, and all of the people—the clothes—and I get to stay and see it all!”

Vision’s smile shifts in a way that Wanda can’t quite define. “When we arrived, you did seem… interested in Heimdall.”

“Yes." Wanda nods, hard. "His mind is so unique! I’ve never seen anything like it. Everything he can see and hear, all of the stars and planets—I don’t know how he holds it all.”

Vision’s gaze drops from Wanda’s face to the bed.

“Everything is so different from Earth,” Wanda continues. “It’s like a... an exotic vacation. But to a new planet.” She beams. “I love it.”

Vision nods, giving her a slightly lopsided smile.

Watching him, Wanda's own smile fades. “You’ve been here a month,” she says. “Do you... I mean, are you going to stay here? Don’t you… miss Earth?”

Don't you miss me?

Vision blinks. “Yes, I miss it. I’ll be glad to return once we've finished our mission here."

Happiness sparks inside of Wanda, causing her to sit up straighter.

"Though I like the Asgardian people,” Vision continues.

"Yes.” Wanda presses her lips together, thinking of all that's occurred. “Earth people aren’t so nice.”

Vision looks at her. “Some are.”

Wanda gazes back at him. When the sincerity of his eyes doesn't falter, she breaks into a slow grin.

“I’ve missed you,” she says. Then she bites her lip. “I can’t—I wish we were still at the compound. I don’t like that we’re so far apart all the time.” She hesitates, but allows herself to ask, “May I hug you?”

Vision’s brow crinkles, and he shakes his head as though unsure why she's asking. “Of course.”

Wanda crawls out from under the covers and to the end of the bed. Kneeling to Vision’s right, she wraps her arms around him and presses her face into his shoulder. She breathes in his scent. She basks in his warmth. She feels younger right now than she has in ages. Vision’s breath hitches, and Wanda lifts her head.

“You’re my best friend,” she murmurs. “You know that, right?”

Vision smiles, his face inches away from hers, and Wanda bites back the next words that bubble up.

I love you.

“Will you stay with me?” she asks instead. “We don’t have to… connect, mentally. I don’t need that. But I don’t want to be alone.”

Vision nods as she lets go of him. “If you want.”

She doesn't allow herself the chance to doubt. “I do," she says.

She clambers back over the bed to get under the covers. Once she’s in place, she pats the space beside her, and, with another small smile, Vision gets up. He comes around the bed to join her. As he settles in, a profound wave of relief comes over Wanda.

It was like an agony she didn’t even know she carried, having him away from her.

She turns on her side to face him, closing her eyes. “Thank you for being here,” she murmurs.

Gentle fingers trail across her face, pushing her hair back behind her ear. She savors the sensation, breathing in deep as tingles spread across her skin.

“I’m glad to see you, too,” Vision says.

Waking up with him the next morning is just as good as falling asleep beside him. Wanda blinks in the morning light and smiles up into his face.

“Hello,” she says.

Vision returns her smile. “Good morning.”

With a groan, Wanda sits up and stretches her arms. “Time to get dressed,” she says.

Vision nods. “I’ll meet you in the banquet hall.”

He gets up and phases out—through the closed door. Wanda turns away, grinning. He's the same Vision as always: totally unaware of how doors work.

Then, a knock.

“Come in!” Wanda calls.

Lady Sif enters, carrying a long red-and-silver dress.

“The royal dressers worked all night,” she says. “They wanted to make something special for our new visitor, and I thought you might like something a little more battle-ready.” With a smile, Sif holds the dress out to Wanda. “Here, try it on.”

Wanda raises her eyebrows, smiling back at Sif. “Thank you.”

With her visitor waiting in the bedroom, Wanda uses the adjoining bathroom to get dressed. She can only see part of the outfit in the mirror, but she likes what she sees. The clothes are part dress, part armor. Like the dress Wanda chose yesterday, it has a halter top, but this one is in a red slightly brighter than her Avengers costume. It has silver shoulder coverings that begin where the straps of fabric end. A panel of chainmail then begins at her armpits and goes from the tops of her breasts to her hips. There, the dress transitions back into red fabric, which ends just above her knees. In addition to the main skirt, there are two gauzy red-tone panels draping from either of her hips and down across the floor. Wanda's surprised to discover that a pair of red shorts has been sewn into the dress, perhaps because the Asgardians have been told about her flying ability. The outfit comes with fingerless gloves that end halfway up Wanda’s forearms and calf-length boots.

“What do you think?” Wanda asks as she exits the bathroom.

Sif turns and looks her over. “Good." She holds out another small red-and-silver piece. “I also found you this.”

Wanda takes the object. It’s a flexible headband made of silver chains with a line of red beads in the center and an odd, ‘M’-like shape.

“To hold back your hair,” Sif explains as Wanda puts it on. “Here, look.”

Sif walks Wanda over to the floor-length mirror in the corner of the room. Wanda looks herself over and breaks into a smile.

“I love it,” she says. “It’s a little heavy, but it looks good.”

“Armor’s supposed to be heavy,” Sif tells her. Then she smiles. “Come, let us go to breakfast.”

Sif and Wanda meet up with the others in the banquet hall. Breakfast is a hearty affair that, unsurprisingly, involves much meat and drink. Once the other Asgardians have left the hall, Thor turns to face Wanda and Vision.

“I will introduce you to my father today,” he says to Wanda. “Remember to kneel before approaching the throne.”

Wanda nods, and Thor rises to his feet.

Wanda and Vision follow him out of the banquet hall. Thor stops before a set of golden double doors and nods to the guards outside, who push the doors open. The three of them walk through together, Vision and Wanda on either side of Thor.

“My father, Odin, King of Asgard!” Thor declares, before getting down on one knee.

Vision, too, kneels before the throne, but Wanda stops.

The man on the throne looks the part, slouched in his great golden chair with a horned half-moon shape framing him and a spear in his hand. He’s old and weathered and has an eyepatch over one eye. But everything about the image screams wrongness to her.

Vision glances up. “Wanda?” he says in a low voice.

Slowly, she tilts her head. “That’s not Odin.”

Chapter Text

Odin straightens, his one visible eye sparking with emotion—Vision isn’t sure whether it’s fury or intrigue, but either way, it doesn’t bode well. Vision glances over at Thor just as Thor's downturned face contorts into a deep frown.

“Of course it is,” Thor hisses. “Kneel.”

Wanda doesn't respond. With her eyes locked on Odin’s, she lifts one hand. Her irises glow red.

The man sitting before them begins to change.

As a ring of scarlet light drops around his body, sizzling at the edges with shimmering gold, a new figure reveals itself. Dark hair, a sharp and youthful face, clothing of black and green—the man bares his teeth and his eyes sparkle in an expression halfway between a leer and a growl.

Thor lifts his head. “Loki,” he breathes, and in that one word, he manages to express a world of confoundment.

As quick as a blink, Loki has his hand around Wanda’s throat and is lifting her into the air.

“What are you?” Loki asks Wanda, unaffected by the noises she makes as she struggles against his grip. “Another of Thor’s Midgardian friends? Or are you his newest lover?” Loki glances over at Thor, his gaze passing right over Vision without response. “This one seems even more fragile than the last.”

Vision prepares to lunge, but then Wanda’s eyes flash red. Loki's follow suit. The frost giant stumbles backwards and collapses to the floor. Wanda lands on her feet, and, rubbing her throat, hisses, “I didn’t say you could touch me.”

Then she turns and strides out of the room.

Two heartbeats pass. Slowly Loki rises, an appraising expression on his face. He almost seems to smile.

The broken sound of Thor’s voice stops Vision before he can make another attempt at grabbing Loki.

“I thought you were dead.”

Loki grins. “That’s two times now. Rather gullible, aren’t you?”

Thor rises to his feet, anger beginning in his eyes.

“I enjoyed that speech about how I deserved the throne more than you,” Loki continues. “Do you still believe that?”

"I don't know what I believe," Thor replies, his voice still uncharacteristically somber. "Only that I don't believe you."

Loki chuckles, but Vision cannot stand to listen a moment longer. He turns and leaves the room. Wanda is slumped against the wall only a few feet down the hall, breathing loud and fast.

“Wanda.” Vision kneels in front of her.

With her hand still resting on her neck, she lifts her head. Her wide eyes seem to look right through Vision. "For a moment,” she whispers, “it was like I was back there, in the Raft, with the collar—”

“No.” Vision draws Wanda into his arms. “You’re safe.”

“Vizh,” she gasps, and it turns into a sob.

Vision holds onto her as she clutches at him, her hands frantic on his shoulders, her whole body trembling. She’s sobbing into his chest, and all he can think of is how he wasn’t there to help her when she was suffering on the Raft. Without hesitation, he presses a fierce kiss to the top of her head.

“He won’t hurt you,” Vision vows. “And you will never be restrained like that again.”

Wanda makes a small noise in her throat and pulls back to look at him. “You promise?” she says, and though there are tears in her eyes, a faint smile starts at her lips.

“Yes,” Vision says, and Wanda lets out a small laugh before burying her face in his chest again.

“Don’t leave me,” he thinks he hears her whisper.

A second later, a crash comes from the throne room. Vision turns to see the doors wide open and the guards gone. Wanda also lifts her head, her expression shifting from brokenhearted panic to pure focus, and when Vision looks back to her, she says, “Thor.”

Together, Vision and Wanda hurry towards the room, only to have the two guards barrel right past them.

“Alert the others!” one shouts. “We must start a search immediately!”

“Thor.” Looking into the throne room, Vision sees the Asgardian collapsed on the throne room floor in a heap of metal and red fabric. He rushes to check on him, but Thor waves Vision off, uncurling from himself.

“I'm fine,” he says thickly. “But Loki has escaped.”

“What is he—how—” Wanda seems to decide now isn’t the time, and instead of finishing her question, she reaches out a hand to assist Thor. Vision sees one leftover tear drop from her eye and across her cheek as she does so.

"We must find him," Thor mutters, nearly pulling Wanda over as he gets to his feet. Striding away, Thor leads them out of the throne room and through the hallways. Numerous armored men run up and down each hallway and into every room, presumably checking for Loki.

“Send guards into the city,” Thor shouts as he goes. “Search every building. We must do all we can find him.” Then, muttering to himself, "I must find Sif and the others. We need to secure Loki now."

“You fear the damage he’ll do to Asgard?” Vision asks.

“I fear the damage he's done to my father,” Thor replies.

Vision stops, tilting his head, and Wanda comes to a stop beside him. Thor continues onward without a glance backwards.

“They’re looking for both of them.” Wanda gazes after Thor and through the crowd of guards. “Loki and Odin.”

“Ah.” Vision also turns his gaze forward. “Perhaps we should help.”

Wanda nods and sniffles, wiping at her face. “Let’s try the air,” she suggests. “Maybe we can see something from above.”

They take to the skies and, alongside Asgard’s regiments, sweep the city for any sign of Loki or Odin. After a few hours, however, it's clear that, if either of the two men is here, they are not visible from the air. Vision drops to the ground just outside the palace, Wanda beside him, and glances at the chaos that surrounds them.

Wanda touches a passing Asgardian woman’s arm. “Any sign?” she asks.

The woman shakes her head and hurries on.

“They will have to work late into the night in order to check every possible hiding spot,” Vision tells Wanda. “Even then, Loki could disguise himself.”

“I didn’t see anything from where we were, but that doesn’t mean he was not there." Wanda chews on her lip, the muscles tight around her eyes. “I think I would have to be close to know whether something was an illusion or not.”

Vision nods. “Why don't we remain in the castle for now, until we come across someone in authority?" he suggests. "They will tell us what must be done.”

Wanda returns his nod.

So they wait at the table in the entryway as the hours pass them by. It’s difficult to keep track of what’s happening, but at no point does Vision see any indication of either Loki or Odin. By the time Thor returns, the sun has begun to set.

“Nothing.” Thor throws himself onto the bench beside Wanda. “No trace of Loki or my father. The guards are still searching, and they will continue past daybreak, but—” He shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry,” Wanda murmurs.

Thor turns to her and Vision, tears gleaming in his eyes. “I thought him dead,” he says. “I watched him die—stabbed through the chest as he saved my life. I left him there, on another planet, with no fire or funeral to honor him—and the whole time it was a trick. Yet another trick.”

“You didn’t know.” Wanda touches Thor’s shoulder.

Thor nods, accepting her touch. “But he’s been here all this time. For how long?” He stares at Wanda, then at Vision. “How long has my father been missing?”

“We will find Loki,” Vision says. “He cannot hide forever, nor do I think him inclined to do so.”

Thor gazes off into the distance. “What if it's too late?” he murmurs. Then, shaking his head, he rises to his feet. “Go,” he tells Vision and Wanda. “Get some rest. I will tell you of any news tomorrow.”

Wanda tenses. “We want to help," she says.

“There’s no point,” Thor tells her. “It will be better if you both have clear heads in the morning.”

He strides away, leaving Vision and Wanda with nothing to do but follow orders. Vision, at least, can busy himself in watching over Wanda. It takes her a long time to get to sleep.

The next morning arrives without Loki or Odin. The Asgardians comb through their city a second time, and sweep the surrounding areas when nothing appears, but still come up empty. On the evening of the fifth day after Loki's escape, Vision, Wanda, Thor, and Heimdall meet again.

“You see nothing?” Thor asks dully, his head propped up by one fist.

Heimdall’s lips press together. “No,” he says. “I am looking, but there is much to cover, and in the past, I have failed to see through Loki’s illusions.” He dips his head in Wanda’s direction. “I was right to seek your help,” he states. “I know of no one else who has been able to do what you did.”

Even though the compliment is not meant for him, Vision feels a strange stab of pride.

Wanda bites her lip. “I’m sorry we couldn’t stop him.”

“He is a clever man,” Heimdall says. “There is no dishonor in failure where Loki is concerned. If there were, few of us could stand with pride.”

Thor pounds his fist on the table, a dull and empty gesture. “I need to know where my father is."

“We will find him.” Heimdall turns to Thor. “Both of them. But you must have patience.”

“Though we have found the source of your people’s unease,” Vision says, “your troubles are not over. We will stay with you for as long as you need. We will do all we can to help you find Loki and Odin.”

“Loki cannot hide forever.” Heimdall places a hand on Thor’s shoulder.

“So what do we do next?” Wanda asks.

When Thor doesn’t respond, Heimdall turns to look at her. “You mentioned that you searched the city from above during the initial sweep, but could not sense anything from that distance. Perhaps, if you were to tour the city now, you might attain some success.”

Wanda nods. “I can’t promise anything, but if that’s what you want, Thor, I will try.”

Thor takes a few deep breaths. Then he turns to face his friends.

“It is better than doing nothing,” he says.

Chapter Text

Sif enters Wanda’s room early the next morning. Wanda awakens to find Vision touching her shoulder and Sif standing over them both in full armor, her hands on her hips and her eyebrows slightly lifted. Wanda jolts upwards, clutching the sheets to her chest.

“Your tour starts in twenty minutes.” As Sif turns to leave the room, she adds, “Thor is searching the men’s quarters. I will tell him that I already found Vision.”

“Thank you,” Vision says to the door as it closes behind her.

“I—” Wanda stops and shakes her head. There's no point in trying to explain the situation to Sif. She doesn't seem to care anyway.

“You might want to brush your hair,” Vision suggests.

Wanda pats the tangles on top of her head and shoots Vision a dirty look. “I will be getting dressed now.”

Vision nods and phases down through the floor.

With an amused huff and a roll of her eyes, Wanda gets herself cleaned and dressed. Her armored dress has gone to the wash, so Wanda dons a flowy watercolor blue gown with a V-neck and a black and blue rosette design on the sleeves and bust. Hurrying downstairs, she runs straight into Thor and Vision coming up to check on her. Vision hands her a bread roll and some cheese to tide her over as Thor leads them outside to what turns out to be a small flying boat.

For the next while, they circle the streets of Asgard. As promised, Wanda keeps her mind open to any wayward thoughts.

“That's the library,” Thor says, pointing. “Here are some more personal residences… This is where they hold a market. You can find some very lovely cakes and fruit. And my personal favorite: the training grounds. You can fight with all manner of people there. Perhaps we should stop for a joust!”

Though the thought seems to cheer Thor up, Vision looks much less enthusiastic.

“Some other time,” he says.

Wanda smiles.

“Yes, of course, of course. That is our development center…” Thor continues. “You would call it a place of science. I've spent much time there, and in the library as well. Always good to learn new things... Now… ah, the gardens.”

They’ve rounded the back of the palace and into a stunning multicolor expanse broken up by winding grey paths. A number of Asgardians are walking through, stopping at times to smell the plants they pass. Wanda lifts her chin so she can see better over the edge of the boat.

“So many different flowers!” she exclaims.

“I thought you might like it,” Thor says. “Let us go through some of the paths.” He diverts the boat into the garden, passing under a large dappled shadow, and a genuine smile crosses his face.

Wanda rises up onto her knees, turning her face upwards. “Oh,” she breathes.

At the center of a hedge labyrinth in the middle of the garden stands an enormous tree. It towers over the entire area, taller than almost every building. Its canopy of branches extends out to provide a cooling shade for all the garden's visitors, broken up only by small, bright patches of sunlight shining through its leaves and onto the plants below. Squinting at the tree's massive trunk, Wanda thinks she can see two different colors of bark.

“What is that tree?” she asks.

“Ah, you’ve noticed the Sacred Tree, Mímameiðr!” Thor declares.

Wanda exchanges looks with Vision. How could I not notice it?

“I would not begrudge you going to see it,” Thor says, already turning the boat away from the maze, “but that part of the gardens is a solemn place of worship, and the boats are not allowed in. You will have to return some other time on foot.”

Wanda tilts her head. “So it’s… holy land?”

Thor nods. “Mímameiðr was grown from combined ash and elm to act as our image of Yggdrasil, the World Tree.”

“Ig—what?”

“I have heard of Yggdrasil, from the Norse myths,” Vision says, “but I would like to hear the tale from an Asgardian.”

Thor smiles. “Yes. Yggdrasil is not a literal tree, at least, not as we know trees to be, but its likeness can be seen in every tree that grows. Yggdrasil is that which connects all worlds and all peoples. It branches out across the universe, through stars and planets, and possesses within its core an infinite reach of power. It is said that a tiny piece of that power lies at the heart of Mímameiðr. That’s why the fruit of Mímameiðr is given to every Asgardian woman who is with child. Yggdrasil’s gift promotes life.”

“Ah.” Vision nods, and Wanda looks between them.

“So you worship this power? Yggdrasil’s power?” she asks.

“We honor it,” Thor says. “Without Yggdrasil, we would not be able to travel between worlds. In fact, we would not be at all.”

“Huh.” Wanda sits back down and glances over her shoulder at the gigantic tree.

Moving away from the gardens, Thor takes them around the rest of the city. Everything about Asgard today is just as glorious as when Wanda first arrived. Unfortunately, during their journey, she catches no sign of Loki.

“I’m sorry,” she says as they disembark. She looks up at Thor, biting her lip. “I don’t think he is in the city. If he’s still on your planet, it’s somewhere else.”

Thor nods as he sends the boat away from the palace, his face tired and worn. “I understand.”

Another day passes, leaving Wanda to wander the palace, unsettled and indecisive. Heimdall and Thor are busy gathering information—Heimdall about where Loki or Odin might be, Thor about what exactly Loki did while in possession of the throne—and though Thor has Vision going through records with him, no one has any need of her.

Alone in a city of gods, Wanda finally ends up treading the streets that yesterday they toured. Sunset has started to fall, illuminating the stars and planets above. In the slanting orange light, Wanda makes her way back to the gardens. She refrains from touching any of the plants, knowing that even if they’re safe for Asgardians, they could be harmful for her, but she stops to look at them all, appreciating their beauty. A few other people are in the gardens, and they nod to her without speaking.

Eventually Wanda finds the entrance to Mímameiðr's labyrinth. She looks at it for a moment, but in the growing darkness, she doesn’t dare try navigating it.

She returns earlier the next day. The maze is a small one, not overly complicated, but it still takes her long enough that by the time she reaches the center, sunset has come again. She knows that she ought to find her way out. Instead, she circles the trunk stretching up before her.

The center of the labyrinth is almost entirely taken up by the tree’s trunk, but on the opposite side from where Wanda entered, a single root has broken the surface and plunged itself into a pool of clear water. Glancing at the pond, Wanda can see the tree leaves reflected above her.The two different kinds of wood are clearly visible when standing this close to the tree: the bark forms in a similar pattern, but one section is greyer and darker than the other. The elm and the ash wrap in small strips around each other all the way up.

Wanda glances around. One man stands a little ways away from her with his forehead pressed against the tree trunk. He seems to be murmuring to it, so Wanda lowers her head in reverence. After finishing his prayer, the Asgardian turns, nods to Wanda, and exits the clearing.

She’s alone now.

Curious and restless and heartbroken, Wanda steps up to the trunk. She looks around once more to be sure no one is watching, and then presses her palms against it. The bark scrapes against her hands.

She closes her eyes. In the peace and the quiet here, the memory of her family attending services at the synagogue calls out to her. So she opens her mind and her heart, grounding herself to the tree, and prays.

If you are out there, whoever or whatever you are… please help us to be strong.

A moment of quiet. Then, the backs of her eyelids explode with a sudden white light.

Wanda’s eyes fly open, and she tries to step back from the tree, but something has a hold on her. Though her eyes are open, she cannot see what’s in front of her. Her palms feel trapped against the tree bark.

Listen. a gentle voice says, and a barrage of images and voices hits her.

It’s even more overwhelming than when she reached out to Bucky. Each piece flies by so quickly that Wanda’s only able to process a few of them an instant at a time, and she knows that so many more are slipping out of her mind as quickly as they come. She gasps, chokes, and drowns in a river of knowledge.

—a dark-haired man sitting cross-legged in the middle of a desert a white hand intertwined with a peach one “the power to rewrite reality” twin boys looking somewhere to their left “this battle is not necessary” six glowing stones of different colors, spread out across the universe growing closer every moment “I love you” a man with a strange green pattern glowing around his hand “he's looking for the stones” a monster with purple skin sitting on a throne “how can stand against an enemy like this?” an enormous city falling, burning to the ground a wild burst of scarlet energy “we'll face him together” a woman with dark, reddish hair and green skin “multiverse theory, all these dimensions stacked on top of each other” Vision in greyscale lying on the ground with a cavern in his forehead “order and chaos belong together” golden irises around small dark pupils ”until the stars burn out” Thor’s hammer exploding into a billion black-and-white pieces “with a snap of his fing—

Wanda surfaces, shuddering and blinking. The first thing she sees are her fingers, surrounded by scarlet light and curled into the tree trunk. She pulls them loose. Splinters have dug themselves under her fingernails and now draw stinging pinpricks of blood. Looking at them, Wanda stops barely in time to keep from tripping over the tree’s one loose root.

She glances down. The once-clear pool of water is now shimmering white.

In shock, Wanda looks back up and sees faint lines of gold light, thin as a thread, weaving their way up the tree trunk and into the leaves, where, all across the branches, buds of white light have bloomed into being. Looking up at the treetop now is almost as blinding as looking into the sun.

Wanda's heart thunders. What did I do?

“Mímameiðr has spoken to you.”

Wanda turns to see Heimdall approaching. As he nears, he removes his helmet and gazes up at the Sacred Tree with respect in his golden eyes.

“You reached out, and the heart of the tree reached back into you.”

Wanda stares at him. She can feel herself trembling. “I don’t know what’s happening. I saw—so many things—I heard—voices—”

Heimdall’s gaze drops to meet hers, his expression gentle. He sets his helmet on the ground beside the pond. “You have a minor gift for foresight,” he says as he comes alongside her. “This is known to us. When you reached into Thor’s mind, your gift sparked an image that contained fragments of the future. This was Thor’s vision, which became your Vision.”

Wanda swallows. “I remember.”

“Mímameiðr, like Thor, is a strong, otherworldly presence.” Heimdall glances up towards the tree. “It responded to your magic by showing you the future. Just as you saw the Vision then, you have now seen truths about what is yet to come.”

Wanda squints as she looks up towards the glowing white lights. Shouts are coming from outside the labyrinth—the Asgardians, responding to this new event.

“Vision and yourself,” Heimdall says hesitantly, “you are… each unlike any other being who has existed before. Your powers are unknown to us, and your future a complex thing.”

Wanda turns back to him, raising her eyebrows in question.

“I have a gift for foresight as well,” Heimdall says with a dip of his head. “It is one of many sights that I possess. I have seen many things, about you and your friends… but I do not know all. Nonetheless, if you would accept it, I would give you some advice.”

Wanda frowns, but with the chaotic, violent images from the Sacred Tree still sparking across her thoughts, she cannot do anything but accept. She nods.

Heimdall squares himself and winds his dark fingers together. “Your abilities reach far beyond what you have yet experienced,” he says. “You have only yet seen the beginning of what you are capable of—I see an infinite and eternal power unfolding within you. I would ask that you remember that, when you face what may seem to be an ending, it is not always the end. Time is a more flexible thing than most people realize. Yet there must always be balance in the universe: light and dark, chaos and order.”

Wanda waits, but Heimdall seems to be done speaking. So she nods.

“Thank you.”

Heimdall bows slightly. “It is my honor.” Turning his gaze to the walls of the labyrinth, he adds, “I believe it would be best if you returned to the palace. After what has occurred, many will be coming to the foot of Mímameiðr.”

“Yes,” Wanda says and, rather dazedly, she stumbles away.

Retracing her path through the labyrinth turns out to be a much simpler task than disentangling the tree’s vision. She pushes past a growing crowd of Asgardians, through the garden, and turns back to the palace, a thousand voices echoing in her ears.

Behind her, the lights on the tree throb.

Chapter Text

Vision is in the middle of examining a recent order of imprisonment when Hogun bursts into the room.

“Thor!” Hogun cries. “Mímameiðr— It— You need to come see!”

Thor and Vision exchange glances and rise to their feet.

“What is it?” Thor asks.

Awe and panic war for space on Hogun’s features. “Mímameiðr has awoken!”

Thor and Vision leave the room and enter a world of madness. Asgardians are running for the doors and windows, scrambling to see outside. Frowning, Thor hurries past them all, Hogun and Vision following in his wake.

The streets have exploded into a chaos even more extensive than what was indoors. Hundreds of bodies press towards the gardens, hundreds of faces turned up to the sky. At first, Vision can see nothing, save for a lightness that doesn’t match the time of day. Using his remarkable physical strength, Thor carves his way through the crowd and into view of Mímameiðr. He, Vision, and Hogun turn onto the proper street and freeze.

The Sacred Tree stands in its usual place, looking in every way how it did during yesterday’s tour—except for a number of spherical white lights that cling to its branches, so bright that Thor and Hogun have to lift their arms to shield their eyes. A halo of drifting white lights also hangs in the air around Mímameiðr, and when Vision looks closer, he sees that the tree is, in fact, ejecting its strange fruit into the atmosphere.

Hands reach into the sky as more spherical lights drop. As the Asgardians touch the spheres, Vision watches the effect. What he sees indicates no obvious danger: each person who touches a light goes blank-faced for an instant, after which they break into varying expressions of joy, anger, sadness, and fear. What has happened to them, he doesn’t know, but afterwards, they seem fine.

As such, Vision doesn’t try to stop Thor when he reaches up for one of the lights. As soon as the Asgardian's fingers touch the sphere, his face turns blank. At first, Vision thinks that Thor's blankness is lasting longer than that of the others, but then he realizes that Thor has simply maintained his expressionlessness even after the initial response. As the light fades, Thor swallows and turns back to Vision and Hogun.

“We must return,” he says.

Hogun hurries after Thor, but Vision hesitates a moment, looking back at Mímameiðr. He watches the tree release its last few lights. He’s so distracted that he doesn’t realize a stray light has come towards him until its heat brushes against his head. He flinches backwards, trying to look up at it, but is overcome by an image like a waking dream.

His own face, slack and vacant, without color, and in his forehead where the Mind Gem should be, a jagged cavern that reveals torn wires and broken connections.

He blinks awake just as the sphere vanishes and darkness falls. Noise rises around him as the Asgardians discuss what has happened.

Confused and alarmed, Vision turns and makes his way back towards the palace. He searches first for Thor and Hogun, but is unable to locate them. Then he thinks of Wanda.

He finds her sitting alone on a balcony a little ways from her room. She has tweezers in one hand and is using them to pick at the other. Her expression is distant, almost dreamy, not truly focused on her task.

“Wanda,” he says.

She turns to look at him. “Vizh.”

“What are you doing?” He sits on the ground beside her. In the shadowy streets below, the crowds are just beginning to disperse.

“I have splinters,” Wanda says, holding her hand out for him to see. “Under my fingernails.”

Vision frowns at the small slices of wood and spots of blood. “Please, allow me,” he says. She gives him the tweezers, and he sets to work removing the splinters as quickly and efficiently as possible. As he works, she tilts her head, watching him with the same distant expression as before. She doesn’t seem bothered by the pain.

“How did this happen?” Vision asks when she holds out her other hand for him to fix.

She blinks, and the distance in her face disappears. “Oh,” she says. “I was holding onto—something wood, and I got distracted. I clamped down.” She demonstrates with her free hand. “So the splinters got under.”

“What distracted you? Was it Mímameiðr?” Vision pulls the last splinter loose, and Wanda winces before nodding.

“So you did see it, then," Vision says. "I caught one of the falling lights, and something... odd occurred. A vision of sorts.”

“I know,” Wanda says in a quiet voice.

Vision looks up at her, but she doesn’t elaborate. So he rises to his feet, palming the tweezers, and looks out at the city below them.

“I wonder what it means,” he says. “That this should happen now, while we are here. It doesn’t seem like a normal occurrence.”

Wanda steps up beside him, the wind brushing her hair back from her face. “No,” she says. Then she touches his cheek.

Surprised, Vision turns to face her. Their eyes meet. Hers are intent, focused on him, and yet somehow just as distant as before. She cups his face in her hand, and the touch tingles across Vision’s skin. Carefully, Vision turns his head to press his lips into her palm, just as he has dreamed of doing so many times now. She smiles, and her fingers fall to his chest. She stops there, staring into his eyes with her hand against his heart.

“Heimdall said something,” she murmurs. “About us being—unique. That there is no one out there like us, with the powers that we have.”

Heimdall.

Vision takes a step back, and Wanda’s hand drops.

“I have always been different,” he tells her. “I’m not surprised that this is true on the worlds that Heimdall sees.”

Wanda tilts her head, looking at him. “I’m different too,” she says.

For a few minutes more, they stand in silence. Then Vision shows her the tweezers, still in his hand.

“Where shall I put these?”

Wanda takes the tweezers and leaves the balcony, looking back in a clear invitation for Vision to follow. His heart beats steadily underneath the handprint that she left as he follows her back to her room.

The next morning at breakfast, Thor asks Vision and Wanda to meet with him and Heimdall in the usual place.

“What happened yesterday,” Thor says, pacing across the room. “It has never happened before, not in all my memory.”

“Nor mine,” Heimdall says.

Thor paces another length and then asks, “Is this to do with Loki? Has he caused Mímameiðr to awaken somehow?”

“No.” Heimdall and Wanda exchange looks, his eyes gentle and hers intent. “This is not Loki,” Heimdall continues. “This is another occurrence entirely. It marks the beginning of… greater and darker things to come. I’m afraid Loki will be the least of that.”

Wanda’s gaze drops to the floor.

Thor shakes his head in irritation. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Loki must be our priority,” Heimdall tells him. “The rest of this still has some time left to come. For now, we must do all we can to find Loki and to locate Odin. Without the Allfather, I fear our future will be far worse.”

Thor nods, coming to a stop. “How do we do that, then? None of our efforts have come to any success.”

“I think I know something,” Wanda says.

All three men turn to look at her.

She meets each of their eyes in turn. “I don’t know if you all saw the visions that came with the tree—”

“Yes,” Thor says, his arms still crossed.

“I saw something too,” Wanda tells him. “It’s hard for me to separate out—it’s a lot to remember—” She wrinkles her nose, pressing a hand to her forehead. “—but I’m sure that I saw Loki. If you give me a moment—”

Vision frowns. Wanda’s vision must have been much more complex, for her to be having this much trouble remembering. His own apparition still hangs brightly in the annals of his memory, haunting him.

“A desert,” Wanda says at last. “He was in a desert. I felt like it wasn’t too far—is there a desert on this planet?”

Heimdall shifts positions as Thor nods. “The Boiling Plains, past the mountains. It has nothing to offer. None of our people go there.”

Wanda looks at him. “We’re going to.”

Chapter Text

She doesn’t have to say anything more to convince them. By this point, Thor is willing to take any chance that comes his way. They spend the evening packing supplies for their journey. Thor insists upon giving Wanda a knife, and Sif checks in to be sure that she has her armored dress on hand. No one seems quite as worried about Vision as they are about Wanda, to Wanda's great annoyance.

Lying next to him in bed that night, Wanda wonders what Vision saw when he touched the tree's light. From what she’s heard, the others all saw brief images relating to their own futures. She thinks about asking, but she lacks room for anything else in her head. The Sacred Tree gave her too much already.

Tonight is Vision's time to sleep. Wanda lies still and quiet until she’s sure that he has shifted into his subconscious, and then she turns onto her side. She’s never had the chance to watch him sleep. In the past, with their minds connected, he has always waited until after she fell asleep to take his own rest. It's been over six weeks since they last connected, though, and now she’s wide awake, with him the one who has drifted off.

So, with the minutes ticking past them, Wanda gazes at Vision's face. She caresses with her eyes all of the hills and valleys that her fingers might never get a chance to touch. She memorizes all the lines and seams. She looks until the only colors she can see anymore are burgundy and gold. She watches Vision breathe, she sees the muscles around his eyes relax in a way they never do while he’s awake, and her heart fills until the ache within her is near unbearable.

A few of the images from the Sacred Tree reemerge across her thoughts—scraps, blinks of the eye that mean nothing to her now but that have somehow tied themselves to her memory of him.

I would do anything to make you happy.

She purses her lips and closes her eyes. Snuggling under the covers, still turned towards him, she imagines that things are different. She imagines that he loves her as deeply as she loves him. She imagines that they will be like this forever.

She can still feel the shadow of his kiss on her palm.

The next morning dawns bright and cold. After a quick meal, Thor, Vision, and Wanda set out. Thor leaves his friends in charge of watching over the city. Wanda waves at Sif as they fly away, and Sif gives her a nod in return.

It takes most of the day for them to reach the Boiling Plains. In order to get there, they have to fly over the Asgard Mountains and across all the farmland and small towns that follow. Because she lacks Thor and Vision’s superhuman strength and endurance, Wanda has to let them carry her for multiple stretches of time. It’s embarrassing, quite frankly, but she’d rather that than force them to stop entirely.

“The land is so flat out here,” she exclaims once. “I feel like I can see forever.”

In response, Thor informs her that Asgard doesn’t have the spherical shape of Earth and many other planets, but is, in fact, a slightly rounded disk with edges.

“How does that even work?” Wanda stares at him.

Thor just shrugs.

The group stops at the edge of the Boiling Plains to eat—more meat and cheese. Wanda wipes her sweaty forehead as she nibbles on her meal. She has never been to a desert before, not even on Earth, and she does not enjoy the experience. Though there is beauty to the colorful rocks and waves of sand, it’s impossible to appreciate when she’s this hot.

“We must find a place to settle for nightfall.” Thor’s forehead creases as he brushes crumbs from his beard.

“I’ll keep watch while you both sleep,” Vision tells him.

Thor nods his gratitude.

They continue onwards until they find a crevice between rocks that seems suitable. Without the sun to pour heat into the sand, the desert’s temperature changes dramatically. Wanda shivers as she tries to find a comfortable position.

Vision settles down beside her. “I must sit upright in order to keep watch, but if you would rest your head on my lap—”

Before he can finish the sentence, Wanda shifts over so that her head rests against his thighs. She curls up on her side, facing his feet, and smiles. This is much better.

Vision runs his hand over her hair, soliciting another shiver. “I’ll raise my internal temperature,” he says. “You should feel the effect momentarily.”

Wanda reaches around behind them, scrabbling in the sand until she finds Vision’s cape. She pulls it across his left shoulder as far as it will reach and then drapes it over herself, creating a makeshift blanket. Vision pauses a moment and then lets out a small laugh. Wanda smiles.

As his body heat rises and warms her, she drifts to sleep.

Vision wakes Wanda and Thor early in the morning. Still tired from yesterday’s travel, Wanda sits up and stretches all her tight muscles. Sand has collected in the folds of her dress, and when she pats her face, she can feel a slight indent where Vision’s thigh pressed into her cheek.

Vision brushes a small amount of sand from the ends of her hair using his fingers.

“My apologies,” he says.

“It would have been worse without you,” she replies.

“Let’s start with a search from the air,” Thor says. “We will cover half the Plains today, if we are fortunate.”

Wanda barely resists the urge to groan.

By the time anything of note happens, Wanda is drenched with sweat. The sun has just passed the noon mark, and she’s sure that, if Vision were not providing shade for her with his own body, she would be terribly burned. As it is, the heat from the sand blazes and roils against her face.

That’s when she feels a twinge in her mind.

“Wait,” she calls.

They pull to a stop. Narrowing her eyes, Wanda does a slow sweep of the terrain in front of them. After a few moments, she’s able to pinpoint the unnatural energy.

“There.” Grateful for the chance to be back on the ground, she falls to her feet. Vision and Thor join her. Together they approach the false area, and with a sweep of her hand, Wanda disintegrates the illusion.

Thor takes in a sharp breath. In front of them stands a small, makeshift camp: five men and one woman crouched around a half-circle of ratty tents. Three of the men have gleaming knives in hand. The other two men and the woman have gigantic black guns propped up on their shoulders. At the center of the group, sitting cross-legged and looking entirely unfazed, is Loki.

“You're making yourself a nuisance,” he says to Wanda. Following her gaze to the others in the camp, he laughs. “My followers. It turns out they enjoyed my short kingship. It’s a small group, but there are more of us than there are you.”

“We were not done talking.” Thor strides towards Loki. “I need to know what you did to my father.”

Loki rises to his feet. “Do you?”

In a sudden arc of movement, Loki thrusts Odin's spear towards Thor, and a stream of blue energy bursts out. Immediately, the three gunmen press their triggers and release three more bursts of blinding light, while the remaining men throw themselves forward, knives in hand. Gasping, Wanda thrusts her arms outwards to dissipate the energy blasts. Vision ducks in front of her to block two knife-wielders. Thor roars behind them, and Wanda spins around only to find a circle of laughing Lokis suddenly surrounding the camp.

“Vizh, up!” she shouts.

Without a second’s pause, Vision rises into the air. Wanda throws scarlet energy at one of the knife-wielders while Thor takes on the second, having already incapacitated the third. Vision comes down behind one of the gunmen and puts him in a chokehold.

The circle of Lokis begins closing in.

The two remaining guns turn on Vision.

Vision may be invulnerable to knives, swords, and regular bullets, but Wanda has no idea what these guns might do to him.

With a yell, she uses her powers to push herself into a somersault, flying straight over the knife-wielder she was battling. She slams into the ground in front of Vision, but only manages to parry one energy blast. The second grazes Vision’s arm.

Vision winces backwards, the hum of his mind going sharp with pain, and lets go of the third gunman. Crouched on the ground, Wanda already has both hands in the air, holding up a churning red dome of energy that encases her, Vision, and the gunman. The two other gunmen outside the shield can’t reach them, but the one within is scrabbling on the ground for his weapon. He grabs his gun and lifts it towards Wanda, who is already using all of her energy to maintain the dome.

Then the Mind Gem goes off. The golden blast bores itself into the gunman’s chest, and Vision stumbles backwards. The gunman’s skin has been burned clean through. As he falls to the ground, shrieking and writhing in pain, Wanda sees the white of his ribs.

“Vizh,” she groans. Diverting a minimal amount of her energy, she pulls the knife Thor gave her from her armor and throws it in Vision’s direction. He catches the knife in one hand and stares, dazed.

“Finish him,” Wanda grinds out between gritted teeth. A flash of lightning to the left of the dome takes out the female gunmen as she speaks.

Vision turns to her, his mouth half-open.

“It’s better than letting him sit there and suffer,” she cries, just as the injured man manages to pull a dagger from his robes. “Vizh!”

The gunman stumbles to his feet, sweat pouring down his face, and throws himself in Vision’s direction. Vision turns towards him, and the gunman collapses, knife handle jutting out from just below the hole in his chest.

Thor takes out the final gunman, and Wanda releases the energy. As she turns to face Thor, she snakes her arm around Vision's waist, pulling him to her. Then she shrieks. All of the Lokis are jabbing Odin’s spear forward. Twelve wide, bluish streams of energy arc towards them.

Wanda throws the shield back up around her and Vision. The lines of light reflect off of the barrier, barely missing Thor, who stands between two of the spokes with his arm lifted in front of him.

“Which Loki is real?” he bellows.

“I don’t know!” Wanda shouts. The weight of her own power presses her into the ground as she lifts her palms to the sky. Vision crouches behind her. His uninjured arm wraps around her waist now in a silent reassurance.

Thor growls and thrusts his hammer towards the sky. Storm clouds gather above them.

Taking as deep a breath as she dares, Wanda closes her eyes and focuses her mind on the shield. It takes her a moment to calm down enough to distinguish them, but it soon becomes clear that none of the blasts is real. Loki is actually sneaking away across the desert, many yards past the place where Thor stands. Her eyes fly open, and she screams at Thor, “Past the circle, behind you!” She points.

Thor turns and drags his hammer downwards, directing a stream of lightning towards the culprit, whose eyes widen as he tries to dive out of the way. But the explosion knocks him sideways off his feet, and the circle of false Lokis vanishes.

Chapter Text

As Thor strides towards his adoptive brother, who lies flat against the earth, Vision takes a moment to look at his injured arm. He has never experienced physical injury before, and the sensation is both unpleasant and distracting. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as some of the emotional pain he’s felt, but it hurts louder, or brighter, perhaps, in a very insistent and surface way.

Wanda lets go of the shield, her body trembling against Vision’s touch, and turns to look at him. “Vizh.” Her skin is reddened and covered in sweat and dust, but to Vision, she’s the most beautiful sight imaginable. Her blue-green eyes are wet and worry-stricken. “Are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” he reassures her.

She shifts to examine his arm, but as she moves, a burst of blue light catches both their attentions. Loki has recovered from the lighting blast, and, on his feet once more, has thrust Gungnir towards Thor. Thor lifts Mjolnir just in time to parry the blast. Face-to-face and snarling, the two men push against each other with their weapons.

“This battle is not necessary!” Thor bellows.

Loki laughs. Lightning sparks around them.

“Tell me where my father is!” Thor shouts.

Very slowly and very precisely, Loki says, “I don’t know.”

Making an impatient sound, Wanda jumps to her feet and throws out a blast of scarlet energy that catches Loki in the side and thrusts him backwards. Before he can recover, she's sprinting forward. She brings her hands together and a roiling ball of energy forms between her fingers, enveloping Loki with her powers. The frost giant is driven into the sand, much like Vision the last day that he and Wanda were together at the compound.

Thor picks up the discarded spear, and he and Vision approach. Wanda’s arms are trembling. Vision doesn’t know how long she’ll be able to hold Loki down.

“Tell me where my father is,” Thor repeats.

“I don’t know.” Loki strains to get the words out. “When I say that, I speak truthfully.” His eyes narrow as he looks up at Thor from his position, flat on the ground. “What do you intend to do with me?”

Thor huffs and looks away, his fingers clenching on Gungnir’s staff. “I will not kill you, and yet I cannot let you go free. Tell me, what can I do?”

Beneath the shimmering red layer that covers his body, Loki’s eyes narrow. “A deal, then.”

Thor raises his eyebrows. Vision rests his hands on Wanda’s shaking shoulders, hoping that in some way his presence will strengthen her enough to get her through this.

“I’ll tell you what I do know,” Loki says. “In exchange, you imprison me in my old room with a contingent of guards. No one dies, I don’t have to go back to that ridiculous prison downstairs, and you can search for Odin to your heart’s content.”

Thor scoffs. “We both know you would never be contained by that.”

"Then do imprison me downstairs. What do I care?" Loki's eyes glitter dangerously.

Thor shakes his head.

Loki’s nose flares, and he lets out a huff. “I’ll make you an even better offer, then: I will help you find Odin. Take me with you while you search. You can personally keep watch over me, and afterwards, we will negotiate the terms of my imprisonment.”

Thor hesitates, shifting his weight. “Father will decide your punishment.”

“I realize that.” Loki’s upper lip curls. “I simply ask that you vouch for me. Give Odin the same speech you gave after my ‘death.’ Tell him you renege the crown. Tell him that I would make a better king.”

Thor’s eyes darken at the reminder. “And why would you agree to those terms?”

“Because I want him to know.” Loki’s voice becomes a growl as he bares his sharp teeth, and Vision sees unmitigated fury in his dark eyes, far too powerful to be faked. “I want him to know that I ruled Asgard for a year and a half—and that all was well. I want him to know what could have been, had he not rejected me for my blood.”

Thor sighs and shakes his head again.

Loki lets out a choking sound. “Would you please ask your witch to loosen up?”

Thor glances back at Wanda, his face as serious as Vision has ever seen, and, after a pause, nods. With a gasp of relief, Wanda drops her hands. Her shoulder muscles ripple under Vision's touch. The layer of red energy crushing Loki’s body into the ground dissipates.

Loki sits up, an expression of great distaste spreading across his narrow features. “You're trouble,” he says to Wanda, his calculating eyes flickering between her and Vision. “I liked your last girlfriend better,” he adds with a glance at Thor.

“The Scarlet Witch is not my girlfriend,” Thor says. “She is my friend. Now what do you know about my father?”

“Do we have a deal?” Loki rises to his feet, brushing sand off his arms.

Thor just looks at him.

Loki sighs. “I did help you the last time. I took you where you needed to go so you could save your precious Jane. In fact, I saved her life a few times myself. You should really be thanking me.”

“You faked your death and took my father’s place,” Thor reminds him.

Loki shrugs. “What did you expect?”

Thor heaves another sigh, rolling his eyes, but says, “You help me find Father, and I will do my best to secure better arrangements for you in the future. He will know about all that has occurred here.”

Loki’s eyes gleam. “Good.”

“Now tell me.”

Wanda is leaning back into Vision, her breath coming hard. He squeezes her shoulders.

“I cast him to Midgard,” Loki says, with a casual wave of his hand. “It wasn’t hard to overpower him. He’s an old man, and I had surprise on my side. I used Gungnir on him as he once did to you and left him with all your precious humans, all alone and powerless. He won’t have a clue what to do.” Loki breaks into a broad smirk.

“But you don’t know where on Midgard he is.”

Loki shakes his head. “I’ve learned some tricks since the last time I wielded Gungnir. I warded Odin against detection when I cast him down. Heimdall will not be able to see him, and I’m afraid I don’t know how to lift this particular spell. We will have to go there ourselves and look.”

“Delightful.” Thor turns and paces the other way, running his hand over his head.

“So are we going back home now?” Loki looks between the three of them. “I don’t see a boat.”

“We flew here on our own,” Thor says.

Loki rolls his eyes. “Well, I can’t do that. We’ll have to use the path I took to get here.”

“Or I could carry you,” Thor growls.

Loki raises an eyebrow. “I’d rather not.”

“I can’t—” Wanda stops, reaching up to put her hands on top of Vision’s. “I do not think I’ll be able to fly again. Not today. I’m too—it’s too—and Vision is injured.”

“A surface wound,” Vision assures Thor when he stops to look at them. “But it would be best to proceed on foot from here.”

“Then it’s settled.” Loki strides past Thor. “I’ll show you the way.”

Chapter Text

It’s a long walk back to the city. What took a day by air takes three by foot, and Wanda’s already exhausted.

Luckily, Vision’s injury isn’t serious. A small chunk of skin was scraped from his tricep by the gun blast, showing golden light underneath. It doesn't bleed. Vision explains that, unlike humans, his body contains a minimal amount of water—saliva to wet his mouth, tears to wet his eyes, a little more inside to help conduct energy through his system. It would take a much more significant injury to draw even a drop of fluid from him. With his phasing ability, Vision is able to manipulate the molecules of his body to fill in the lost cells, and before they even set off, he's healed.

"You have an incredible amount of power," Thor observes. "Though I, too, heal faster than any Midgardian, I could not repair myself so quickly."

"We could test it," Loki offers. "Take a divot out of your arm, see how long it takes to heal."

Thor shoots him a look.

As the days pass, Loki’s comments become ever more directed. Within a few hours of their departure, he begins referring to Wanda as Vision’s girlfriend, rather than Thor’s, and no matter how often Vision and Wanda correct him, he refuses to stop. Then he starts throwing jabs at Thor about “this lovely Midgardian couple that you must be so jealous of, now that you’re so tragically unattached.” On the third day, Loki wonders aloud what it would be like to date an artificial being.

“Better than dating a fragile Midgardian girl,” he concludes, and Thor growls. Looking at him sideways, Loki quiets—but only for a few minutes.

“This strange creature rejected me when I offered him the throne, did you know that?” he says to Wanda, waving a lithe, long-fingered hand in Vision's direction. “Thor told me—or, ah, ‘Odin’—that your Vision lifted Mjolnir. Since Thor already rejected the crown, I thought I would ask if your mechanical lover wanted the honor. But he said that, ‘Asgard is not my home, and I have no interest in ruling anyone.’ Imagine that!”

Wanda rolls her eyes, though heat rises to her cheeks in response to the words “mechanical lover.”

“I thought you ought to know,” Loki adds. “I'm told women prefer men with ambition.”

Wanda swears, and Loki backs off with his hands in the air.

“Oooh,” he says. “Touchy.”

All in all, Wanda is grateful to see the palace come into view. The other Asgardians give Thor, Loki, Vision, and Wanda a wide berth as they tromp through the city streets. Sif and a group of guards greet them only a few blocks from the palace.

Sif eyes Loki with disgust. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“Nothing,” Thor replies. When Sif raises her eyebrows, he adds, “Loki is under my protection. I will be returning with him to Midgard in order to search for Odin.”

"Tell me you didn't make a deal with him," Sif says.

Thor's gaze skirts sideways in abashed confirmation, and Sif sighs, rolling her eyes.

As soon as they’re back inside the palace, Wanda hurries upstairs to shower. Nothing could possibly feel better than this: all the layers of dirt and sweat washing away from her skin. She takes some time to brush the tangles out of her hair. Then she changes into a new gown and puts the sand-plastered armored dress into the laundry chute. Sitting on the bed, she wiggles her toes, happy to be clean.

“Wanda—ah. May I come in?” Already halfway phased through the door, Vision pauses.

Wanda rolls her eyes and laughs. “Yes, you may.”

“Thor would like us to meet with Heimdall one last time.” Vision steps all the way through and settles into place, his cape swirling behind him. “He has settled matters in the city. Soldiers have been sent to collect the…to collect Loki’s followers from the Burning Plains.”

Wanda bites her lip, remembering the bodies they left behind, and nods. “All right.” She unfolds herself from the bed and follows Vision downstairs.

They are greeted by two guards standing outside the side room. The guards nod to Vision and Wanda and step aside to let them through. Inside, Loki stands in a corner with his hands cuffed, while Thor, Heimdall, and Sif watch him with wordless distrust.

“Ah, your Midgardian pets are here,” Loki says.

The others lift their heads.

“Lady Sif.” Vision dips his head in acknowledgement.

“Before we begin,” Sif says to Thor, “I want it known that you are a fool for leaving me out of this. I should have been told that something was amiss.”

“I’m afraid that was my decision, my lady.” Heimdall dips his head in an echo of Vision. “I did not know who to trust.”

“He should have,” Sif says with another sideways glance in Thor’s direction.

Thor nods good-naturedly. “Well, now we all know. Loki took over the throne soon after his supposed ‘death’ and cast Odin to Midgard. All of the unease and the murmurings that Heimdall heard—they stemmed from the differences between Loki’s false rule and Odin’s true one.”

“We’re lucky he didn’t do more damage,” Sif says with a disgusted look in Loki’s direction. Loki smiles back at her.

“Unfortunately, Heimdall cannot locate my father from here,” Thor continues. “As such, Loki and I have forged a deal in which I will take him with me to Midgard and we will search for Odin together.”

“You cannot trust him,” Sif warns.

“I don’t,” Thor tells her. “That doesn't mean I cannot put him to use.”

“Ouch.” Loki gives an overdramatic wince.

“Be quiet,” Thor and Sif tell him.

“Loki and I will depart at first light tomorrow morning,” Thor continues. “I wish to begin the search immediately.”

Heimdall nods, his eyes taut and pensive. “That is for the best. Our enemies will not hold off for long, knowing that the throne lies unclaimed.”

“As for my friends—” Thor turns to Wanda and Vision. “Will you return with Loki and I to Midgard? Asgard will not turn you away, if you wish to remain. Your assistance would be appreciated.”

Sif nods, but Vision shakes his head.

“It’s time that I returned,” he says. “Mr. Stark will be waiting.”

That makes Wanda’s own decision definite. She heaves a heavy sigh as the others turn to her. “I will miss Asgard,” she admits. “It’s been nice, escaping the… problems we have on Earth. But I’ll return with Thor and Loki. It’s time to go home.”

"Home." What does that word even mean now? she wonders.

“Then it’s settled.” Thor nods. “Lady Sif, I leave you in charge of Asgard. I am counting on you and Heimdall both to protect our world. Do what you must to keep it safe. I will try to make this absence a brief one.”

Loki laughs, which everyone ignores.

“We will,” Sif says, and Heimdall nods. “Your friends forever stand by your side.”

“Stand by Odin,” Thor tells them. “And by Asgard.”

The next morning, Thor, Loki, Vision, and Wanda arrive in the United Kingdom. First light in Asgard equals midday here, but the sun is covered over by snow clouds. Thor offers to contact Natasha using Wanda's phone, and Wanda lets him, knowing that it's partly a ploy to give her and Vision a little time to say goodbye. She can't help but smile at how awkward Thor looks holding the phone in his huge hand.

As Loki gazes around with an expression of bright curiosity on his face, Wanda turns back to Vision.

“Thank you for bringing me to Asgard,” she says.

Vision looks down at the frozen ground. “Thor and Heimdall are the ones whom you ought to thank.”

“I’m thanking you,” Wanda tells him. “You’re the one I was happiest to see. You're my friend.”

Vision lifts his head, his eyes crinkling into a gentle smile. “I was glad to see you, too.”

Oh. Wanda’s heart skips a quick beat.

“Will you be staying in New York long?” she asks.

Vison hesitates. “I must,” he says. “I’ve been away long enough that General Ross will be unhappy. I cannot leave Mr. Stark to deal with him alone.” He meets her eyes. “It may be some time before I see you again.”

Wanda nods quickly and swallows, trying to push her sadness down. “Okay,” she says.

Vision nods, too, and they stand searching each other’s eyes until Thor steps forward, dragging Loki behind him.

“Here.” Thor hands the phone back to Wanda as though it were something disgusting. “She will be here soon.”

“I’ll… start walking,” Wanda says, looking back across the field as she remembers the long trip she and Natasha took to get here the first time. “Thank you, Thor.”

“My thanks are with you, Scarlet Witch.” Thor grins, and Wanda reaches out to give him a hug.

Thor pats her on the back and then lets go. Wanda turns to Vision again.

“I… I’ll see you another time.”

“Yes,” Vision agrees, before pulling her into a quick embrace. Wanda rests her face on his shoulder and breathes in as deeply as she can.

When they pull apart and Wanda starts walking away, she hears Loki protest mockingly, “What, no kiss?”

Wanda bites her lip. The rainbow bridge bursts into being behind her with a loud swoosh.

She keeps walking.

Chapter Text

In a burst of multicolored light, Thor, Vision, and Loki arrive back in Heimdall's observatory. Vision half-chokes on sorrow as Heimdall gives them a single nod. Then the dark-skinned Asgardian pulls the golden lever again, hurling the threesome through the universe. They come to a stop on the lawn behind the Avengers Compound in New York and blink in the cool morning light.

Thor heaves a heavy sigh with which Vision can't help but concur.

How many times must I leave Wanda behind?

His entire body aches with the desire to return to her. Even knowing that she does not feel for him as he does for her, it's better to be near her than not. He already misses her smile, her friendship, her touch, so deeply.

Together, he, Thor, and Loki step off of the patch of burned grass and melted snow and stride towards the building.

“You speak a single word—” Thor jabs one large finger in Loki's face. “I will renege on my deal. Do you understand?”

Loki shrugs and, lifting his hand to his mouth, makes a movement like turning a lock.

"Not a word," Thor repeats.

“What—the hell is this?” Mr. Stark steps through the door onto the lawn and immediately stops, disbelief written across his features. “Loki?”

Loki smiles.

“Yes,” Thor says. “Loki was the cause of the problems we faced in Asgard.”

Mr. Stark's eyebrows rise impossibly higher. “I thought he was dead."

Loki lets out a muffled laugh.

“Perhaps I should explain inside,” Thor suggests.

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Mr. Stark waves them all inside, his face crinkled with worry. He pats Vision once on the back as he passes.

They head upstairs to the living room and sit on the couches. Vision is surprised to feel a pang of joy at being in the familiar environment. Though it has become distinctly less homelike in the absence of the ex-Avengers, somehow, the compound still holds emotional pull with him.

Mr. Stark takes his seat. “So what’s going on?”

“It took some time," Thor tells him, "but we have discovered that during the fight with Malekith, Loki faked his death and went to Asgard to overpower my father. He then assumed my father's guise, replacing him on the throne.”

Mr. Stark’s mouth hangs open. “So... Wait, you're saying Loki's been in charge of Asgard this whole time?"

Thor nods, and Loki grins.

"And Asgard's still standing?"

Loki huffs a sigh and rolls his eyes.

Thor ignores them both. "We still don't know where my father is," he says. "That is why we are here. Loki banished Odin to this world, somewhere. I have made a deal with him, that he assist me in finding my father in exchange for a looser sentence in the future.”

“That's a terrible idea,” Mr. Stark says.

Thor closes his eyes and shakes his head once before opening them again. “I mean to travel across your world, keeping a tight grip on Loki, until I find Odin. It is of the utmost importance that we do.” Thor lifts his head to look Mr. Stark in the eye. “I know of your Accords, and I have no intention of interfering in your mortal affairs, but I will not be kept from my task.”

“Oh.” Mr. Stark shrugs tiredly. “I don’t know what the United Nations will think, but it’s not like you’re a citizen of Earth.”

“Precisely,” Thor says. “I am within my rights to seek my father.”

“Just—keep a leash on Loki, all right?” Mr. Stark shoots the grinning frost giant a sideways look. “The last thing we need right now is him breaking loose and causing trouble.”

That would indeed be difficult to deal with, Vision thinks, now that all but two of the Avengers—three, with Thor included—are in hiding.

“Promise me that, and we're good,” Mr. Stark says. “Oh, but hey, what were you doing in England?”

Vision and Thor stare at Mr. Stark.

“I’m sorry?” Thor asks politely.

“England.” Mr. Stark raises his eyebrows. “Come on, you have to know we would’ve noticed. The whole UN has eyes out for you, plus about a billion and twenty fans worldwide. Back at the beginning of the month, the magic rainbow bridge appeared in England. Twenty people saw it. So what were you doing? Or was that not you?”

“Oh.” Thor nods and smiles, and Vision takes a deep breath, prepared to step in should things go in the wrong direction. “Yes, I was seeking a source there. There are some very good minds in the Land of Eng. I returned there this morning, in fact, to thank my friends for their help. Without them, we might never have found Loki.”

Vision watches warily as Loki’s eyes light up. Clearly he’s realized that they’re trying to keep news of Wanda away from Mr. Stark.

Vision only hopes that Thor’s threat will keep him silent.

“Oh.” Mr. Stark’s eyebrows jump. “I thought maybe you were seeing Jane or something. She’s in London, right?”

“No.” Thor ducks his head. “I mean, yes, she’s in London, but we are… no longer together.”

“Mmm.” Mr. Stark pats Thor on the shoulder. “Sorry, man. We all know how that goes. Well, I don't, not anymore, but.”

Thor nods.

After a long and rather awkward pause, Mr. Stark clears his throat. “All right. So you were getting help from someone.”

“Some people I know through Jane,” Thor says, with a nod of pleasure at his own intelligence.

“Great!” Mr. Stark says. There's no sign that he suspects Thor of being untruthful. Vision relaxes. A beat later, the phone in Mr. Stark's pocket starts ringing.

“That’s probably the UN," Mr. Stark says. "I’ll let it go to voicemail.”

“Actually, we had better be going.” Thor stands and pulls Loki to his feet. “Many miles to cover.” He gives Mr. Stark a tight, toothy grin.

“Okay. Well, good luck finding Odin,” Mr. Stark says. “And seriously, don’t let Loki escape.”

“I have no intention of it.” Thor grabs the back of Loki’s collar and drags him out of the room, leaving Vision alone on the couch.

"Uh—" Mr. Stark stops and looks down at Vision. “You staying here for a while?”

Vision nods, and Mr. Stark smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Great," he says. "The U.N. was really starting to get on my ass. And I think Rhodes missed you.”

“That’s Tony for ‘I missed you,’” Colonel Rhodes says as he walks past them to the kitchen. Vision notes that the man is moving much more smoothly on his legs now.

“Oh, is that how it is?” Mr. Stark says.

Colonel Rhodes grins. “No, but seriously, it’s good to have you back.” He glances up from pouring himself a cup of coffee. “It was starting to suck, hanging out with just Tony.”

“Good morning to you, too,” Mr. Stark says as he leaves the room.

To Vision’s surprise, Colonel Rhodes comes over and wraps him in an embrace. “Welcome back, man.”

Confused, but warmed to the core, Vision pats Colonel Rhodes on the back.

Chapter Text

It doesn’t take long for Wanda to settle back into life in Edinburgh. As she focuses on her schoolwork, Asgard fades into a distant memory. Occasionally, she stops to wonder if Thor and Loki have found Odin, but most of the time, Wanda gives her adventures there little thought. She talks to the other Avengers on the phone every week, she helps Natasha make dinner every night, and she goes on with her life like normal. Like she's not a superpowered witch in love with a synthetic man who lives three thousand miles away.

Wanda’s 21st birthday comes and goes. February, March, and April pass. Vision stays away.

She misses him, badly, but there’s nothing to be done. However much Wanda wishes things were different, she cannot change their situation.

Damn the Accords, she often finds herself thinking. Damn them and the UN and everyone else, too.

In May, Vision and Stark make international news after fighting a strange lizard-man in India. Wanda latches onto the reports, poring over every picture and analyzing each detail. For a moment, she feels better.

Then the heartache gets worse.

As the weeks pass, Wanda misses Vision so much that she starts seeing him on the streets, feeling the echo of his mind brush against hers. But every time she turns, she realizes it’s someone else. Always someone else. Because of that, when, in late June, Vision finally arrives, it takes Wanda a few minutes to realize that it’s actually him.

In the middle of putting away groceries, she drops a head of lettuce on the floor and rushes out of the room.

“What the hell?” Natasha calls behind her, but Wanda’s already running up the stairs to the roof.

“Vizh!” she cries as she crashes through the door and into the cool night air.

He turns and smiles. “Hello.”

She throws her arms around his shoulders. “I’m so glad to you see you.”

Vision’s muscles relax under her embrace, and he lowers his head, pressing one hand to her back. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs into her ear.

Wanda shivers and pulls back to smile at him. “Let’s go downstairs,” she says.

Wanda leads Vision back down the stairs, looking around every corner to be sure no one’s there. They make it to her and Natasha’s apartment without incident.

“You bruised the lettuce,” Natasha calls as they walk in the door. “What the hell was that about? Oh,” she adds when Wanda and Vision round the corner. “You.”

Vision dips his head. “Hello, Natasha.”

“How are things in New York?” Natasha turns back to the groceries.

“Uneventful,” Vision says.

“Besides the lizard-man? But that was in India, not New York, wasn't it?” Natasha shuts the refrigerator and turns to grin at him.

Vision smiles. “Yes.”

“I already have plans tonight.” Natasha leans against the counter. “I should be heading out any minute.”

“That’s fine,” Wanda tells her. "You can go."

Natasha smiles, her eyes twinkling.

Wanda and Vision spend the evening watching The Princess Bride. Wanda does her best not to think too much about love and kissing and Vision. When the movie’s over, she looks over at him.

“Do you…?” she says uncertainly.

“I’ll sleep wherever you prefer,” he says.

Wanda nods back, a smile spreading across her face. “Come on,” she says, and she leads him to her room.

A few days pass. Wanda continues doing her schoolwork, with Vision’s help, and watches the news with him and Natasha every evening before Natasha goes out. Then one day, Rhodes appears on NBC for an interview. It turns out Stark Industries is making the mechanical braces that help Rhodes walk available to the public, and Stark, per his usual "philanthropist" way, is setting up a fund to help those who can't afford to buy them at market price. Besides the braces, they talk a little about Stark's ever-newsworthy personal life and what it's like being a consultant with the Avengers. Rhodes announces that, thanks to Stark's tech, he's been moved from consulting with the Avengers to being placed back on active duty. One tense moment comes when the interviewer references rumors that Rhodes' injury happened at the hands of a fellow Avenger, but Rhodes brushes her off, saying that it's all water under the bridge. The interviewer turns instead to an even more controversial topic: the Accords.

"As of this month, we've reached the one year anniversary of the ratification of the Sokovia Accords, the controversial United Nations document that caused the breakup of the original Avengers team and has so far turned five of your previous teammates into fugitives. As viewers may remember, under the Accords, enhanced individuals, including all those who operate on the Avengers team, may act only under the approval of a United Nations subcommittee. While Clint Barton has been apprehended and granted house arrest for the sake of his family, Captain Steve Rogers, Sergeant Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, and Wanda Maximoff are still on the run. Has there been any progress in finding them?”

“No," Rhodes says. "Nothing that I'm aware of, anyway."

The interviewer nods. “Viewers are reminded that these individuals are highly dangerous fugitives and that it is imperative that they be caught. Please send any tips you have regarding their location to the number shown on the screen." After a brief pause, in which a phone number flashes on the screen, the interviewer turns to look at Rhodes, folding her hands on the desk in front of her. "Colonel Rhodes, you signed the Accords when they were enacted. Do you still stand by them today?”

Rhodes sighs and adjusts his position in his chair. “I believe in the concept of oversight. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that the Accords need amending."

"Really?" The reporter raises her eyebrows.

"Yeah," Rhodes simply states. "I've been studying the Accords and considering everything that happened, and there are a lot of things I disagree with.” Rhodes starts ticking the points off on his fingers. "First off, the Avengers weren't involved in the creation of the Accords. We were told what was up three days before the signing. Since the Accords are directed towards people like us and have sections relating specifically to the Avengers, including us in the talks would have been a lot more productive and respectful. Secondly, the Accords allow the chosen United Nations subcommittee to lock up anyone who breaks the rules of the Accords, no matter how minimally, in an unnamed high security facility, without trial, and for an unspecified amount of time. Just knowing that much, I can tell you the Accords break the laws of many of the countries in the U.N. and violate Common Article 3 of the Geneva Conventions." Rhodes lets his hand fall back into his lap. "The U.N. might have gone easy on Clint once he turned himself in, but the committee still has an unprecedented amount of power. Really, they can do whatever they want to anyone they claim has violated the Accords."

"Yet you've continued to follow the Accords."

"I believe in following the law until it becomes absolutely necessary to do otherwise," Rhodes says. "And like I said, I do think it's important for there to be some kind of oversight for the Avengers. Obviously the 117 countries that ratified the Accords would agree."

“If you could speak to them now, what would you tell your former teammates?”

Rhodes looks into the camera and sighs. “I’d tell them to turn themselves in. Until they come forward, we can’t work anything out.”

"What about the threat of being unfairly incarcerated?"

Rhodes hesitates. "That's... an issue, yeah. But awareness about the unfair and unjust aspects of the Accords is growing, obviously, and I think, even if the United Nations does return them to the facility they escaped from, we'll be able to appeal it. We'll be able to fight for a fair sentence, with a public trial and everything. And once we're all together, we can discuss the situation with the United Nations and come to a mutual agreement on what amendments need to be made to the Accords. I really do believe, that if the others step up and do what's right, eventually we'll figure something out."

Wanda's mouth opens, but no words come out. Eventually? As the memories of what happened during the two weeks she was at the Raft wash over her, she shudders, and Vision puts a comforting hand on her back. With the Raft, eventually isn't good enough.

As if she heard Wanda's thoughts, the newscaster asks, "What about the rumors regarding conditions in that 'unnamed high security facility?' People are saying that, prior to their escape, the ex-Avengers were placed under excessive restraint, even tortured, and that the prison presents a serious risk to their health, even if they're placed there only for a short time. Many members of the United Nations have expressed concern regarding these rumors and are asking for the prison files to be released for review."

"I... can't confirm any of that." Rhodes looks down at his hands, smoothing out his pants legs. "I just don't have access to that information."

Wanda glances at Vision, but he looks as surprised as she is.

Nobody told Rhodes about the Raft?

"On the other hand." The interviewer sits back in her chair. "Many are saying that the fact they were able to break out of the facility suggests that the security needs to be increased, rather than the other way around."

There's a pause. "A fair point," Rhodes admits.

"While many of your former teammates, including Clint Barton, may have been sufficiently contained by the security at a regular prison, others, such as Wanda Maximoff, have innate gifts of incredible power that may require a great deal, or even what may be seen as an 'excess,' of restraint."

An involuntary whimper escapes Wanda's throat. Vision's fingers dig momentarily into her back as his hand starts to clench, then he starts rubbing instead, just as Natasha takes Wanda's hand nearest to her in her own.

"Do you have thoughts on how an appropriate sentence can be made for such individuals?" the interviewer continues.

On the TV, Rhodes gives a half-smile. "Issues like this are why it would've been nice if the U.N. had included us in the talks, and why I hope they consider amending the Accords in the future. There are a lot of things I think we could work out if they have a little faith in us. And we deserve that faith. For all the damage that's been done on our watch, you have to admit we've done a lot of good."

The reporter nods. “Thank you. You've given us all a lot to think about." Turning to the screen as the camera zooms in on her, she continues, "Stark Industries' new 'Walkers' will be released on July 15th and can be purchased through the following retailers..."

Natasha turns the TV off and tucks her hair behind her ears. Wanda sits back against the couch, sighing.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asks.

Making only the briefest eye contact, Wanda nods. "Yes, I'm... I'm fine."

But she can feel the heat of tears behind her eyes, threatening to reveal her.

Damn the Accords, she thinks, furiously.

But no amount of anger can dissipate the pain that Rhodes' interview evoked.

Chapter Text

Vision finds it difficult to sleep after watching Colonel Rhodes’ interview. The other man voiced many of his own, growing frustrations with the Accords, and yet Colonel Rhodes doesn't know the full extent of the issue. Unlike Tony and Vision, Colonel Rhodes apparently possesses no knowledge of the Raft and what actually occurred there. What they did to Wanda.

Perhaps it would be expedient for Vision to make him aware of the situation.

After a few failed attempts, Vision finally manages to shut his sensors down. Yet he wakes earlier than usual, at 5:42 AM. Blinking in the dark, he turns to look at Wanda, but she’s not there. When he touches the imprint leftover from where she lay, the sheets are cold.

With a sensation that feels like his heart climbing into his throat, Vision phases into the living room. Relief slams into him when he sees Wanda sitting at the kitchen table. But then he stops. Wanda has her knees pulled up to her chest, and she’s gazing out the window towards the night sky, her shoulders slumped.

A second later, she turns, and her eyes, which are red and damp, widen.

“Oh!” She jumps up to pull the curtains shut. “I didn’t— You’re up.”

Vision approaches her. “As are you.” As Wanda sits back down, he adds, "Are you all right?”

Wanda sighs and shrugs. “I—had a bad dream.” She bites her lip.

Vision frowns. “You should have woken me. If the nightmares are back—”

“It just happens sometimes, Vizh." Wanda looks down at the table. "Even for normal people. Just with all the news—” She draws curving lines and curlicues on the wooden surface with her fingertip. “It’s a lot.”

Vision takes a seat across from her, uncertain. “What did you dream of?”

“I had... a lot of dreams," Wanda admits. "About the Raft, about the Accords... but most of them were fine. I could handle it." Vision makes a small noise of protest, but Wanda speaks over him. "The last one was worse. I was… standing outside the compound, and all of these people were there with signs, yelling… General Ross had the Accords in his hand and he was waving them at me, calling me a monster.” Wanda’s voice cracks, and the tip of her nose reddens. She crosses her arms. “There were helicopters, and men with guns, and I knew they were going to put me in handcuffs and take me back to the Raft, put me in that collar, and that no one would get me out this time. I would stay there forever.”

“Wanda,” Vision says, but she stops him.

“That wasn’t the worst part,” she says, meeting his eyes. “You were there. You were in the crowd, and you were looking at me like—” Her voice breaks again, and she looks down, a single tear trailing its way across her cheek. “Like you hated me. Like I was the most disgusting thing you’d ever seen. I’ve never seen you look like that.”

Vision hurts so deeply, he thinks he might break. “Wanda, no.”

She sucks in a long, sobbing breath. They sit there, silent, for few minutes. Wanda keeps her arms wrapped around herself as her chest moves up and down in time to her quick breaths. Vision wishes he could touch her, but her body language doesn’t seem to welcome it.

“Are you afraid of me?” she whispers.

Vision looks at her. “No,” he says. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Wanda glances up. “But I threw you,” she says, “through the ground. I pushed you all the way into the earth. I took control of your body, and I pushed you down until you couldn’t keep me from leaving. How could you not be afraid of me?”

Surprised to hear her referencing their fight of a year past, Vision blinks. “I was never afraid,” he tells her. “Startled, yes. Saddened, yes. And perhaps, afraid to lose you. But not afraid of you.” He gets up and steps through the table before kneeling next to her chair. “I made mistakes that day, too. I hurt you just as you hurt me. That’s why we apologized.”

“It’s not just that.” Wanda shakes her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m—I just—I’m scared that—”

Vision puts his hand on her knee. “Wanda.” When she meets his eyes, he says, “You are not a monster, and I’m not afraid of you.”

Wanda lets out a sob, and her hands come up to touch the sides of Vision’s head. “Are you sure?” she asks.

Vision nods.

Wanda’s eyes glow red, and Vision feels her consciousness slide into his, just the way it used to every night. Without thinking, he flinches. He pushes every thought he’s ever had about her beauty and his own desire as far back as he can, locking them in a cast-iron box and putting himself between her and it. Fear blooms in his throat.

Wanda’s hands drop. She turns her head away. “You are afraid.”

That's when Vision realizes what he's done. “No,” he says. “No. Wanda.” He grabs her hands and lifts them back to his face, his heart thundering painfully. “Look again.” He takes in a deep breath as her wary eyes meet his. “I won’t hide anything from you.”

Wanda’s fingers tighten, and scarlet light unfurls in her eyes, slow and tentative this time. Fear still rages through him, but Vision closes his eyes and lets all his mind lie bare. As Wanda touches his thoughts, brushing through his consciousness and stepping across his memories, he opens himself to her. He welcomes her in.

He lets her see how deeply he wants her.

Then the chair squeaks, and Wanda’s touch vanishes. Vision opens his eyes, but she’s no longer in front of him. He stands and turns and finds her in the living room, staring at him. Her cheeks are flushed, and her wide eyes glisten with tears.

“I’m sorry,” he says, reaching out towards her. “I know you don’t feel—”

“Don’t tell me what I feel.” Wanda’s chest rises and falls. “You don’t know.”

Vision shakes his head, helpless. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I have no intention—”

“Let me tell you what I saw.” Without ever breaking eye contact, Wanda sits on the couch. She pats the cushion beside her.

Following her direction, Vision steps towards her and sits down. She reaches up and brushes her fingers down his cheek.

Vision freezes at the heat of her touch.

“You have the most beautiful mind I’ve ever seen,” she says, and her voice, though strong and even, trembles with emotion. “You are untouched by prejudice. You see beauty in everything. You love this world, and everything in it. You love… you love me.”

Her blue-green eyes meet his without wavering. Vision swallows.

“I don’t know that I am capable of love,” he says. “But… all that I have, I would give to you.”

As he speaks the words, his heart burns like the brightest flame, testifying the truth. It’s a caring so strong that it causes him pain, an affection so intense he cannot bear to hold it. He can hardly breathe. All that he knows is the touch of her fingers and the color of her eyes and the strength of his own feelings.

Wanda’s nose flares and she smiles, her fingertips stopping at his cheekbone. “You think that love is too human for you to feel. Even when you are full with all that you feel, you think that the rest of us know more. But it’s not true. Vizh.”

Wanda closes her eyes and slips into his mind again. Vision breathes in deep and sharp as she projects a wealth of emotion from herself to him—peace, affection, wanting, wonder. For a moment, he is overwhelmed. Then Wanda opens her eyes again and lets her hand drop. “Did you feel that?”

Vision swallows. “My feelings for you.”

Wanda’s smile deepens as if in triumph. “No,” she says. “That’s how I feel for you.”

Vision’s heart seems to stop. He stares at her, unable to speak, unable to comprehend what she’s just told him. Her hand returns to his cheek.

“I love you,” she says in the same strong, trembling voice. “Just as you love me.”

Then Wanda’s leaning in, and Vision can smell softness and roses, and her lips are touching his, slow and gentle, and then she’s pulling back, leaving a lingering trail of sparks on his mouth. He stares at her as her eyes flicker up to him, searching his face for a reaction.

His heart kickstarts in a single, blazing beat. He surges towards her, taking her face in his hands. He presses his lips to hers. Vision kisses her, putting into that gesture all the pent-up passion and devotion and wanting of his short, glorious lifetime. Wanda’s mouth opens beneath his, and their tongues touch, and the sensation shivers through his entire body, hot and lovely. Her arms are around his neck, and she’s kissing him back just as deeply, just as fiercely, and he could live in this moment forever, if only he were given the chance.

He pulls back, gasping for breath, and says one word: “Love.”

In response, Wanda captures his mouth with hers, dragging him back down and drowning him in her touch. She sighs against his skin, and he pulls her up towards him, grasping at her waist with hungry fingers, until she’s straddling him, her face above his and pressing down with more hot, beautiful kisses.

Oh, he thinks. Oh, oh, oh.

Then Natasha’s voice comes from a few feet away, startling them both. Wanda jumps back, and she and Vision turn to stare.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt." Natasha grins. "But I am glad I can finally stay here for more than a couple of hours."

Vision glances at Wanda. Her hair is tangled and wild, her cheeks and lips are reddened, her eyes are sparkling with wonder, and she has never looked more beautiful to Vision than she does right now. Her forehead now creases in confusion, and she shakes her head at Natasha.

"Why do you think I've been leaving the apartment all the time? I was giving you two some space to get it together,” Natasha says. "Seriously, what the hell took you so long?"

Wanda and Vision look at each other. There's a pause as they process Natasha's words, and then they burst into laughter. Natasha struts away, shaking her head and smiling.

Once Natasha's out of sight and their laughter has calmed, Vision touches one hand to Wanda’s face. Wanda stops and looks at him. Slowly, carefully, Vision tilts his head and presses his lips to the side of her neck. Wanda's head arches back. She lets out a sound quite similar to the one she made in his dream, so many months ago.

Vision’s lips curve into a smile against her skin.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks pass in a blurry haze of pure joy. Every chance she gets, Wanda’s touching Vision—drawing patterns on his skin, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his chest. He returns her fervor with gestures of his own—a home-cooked meal that actually tastes half-decent, a kiss pressed to her palm at breakfast, a pre-drawn bubble bath for her to enjoy. Every night, they wrap themselves around each other, kissing and talking in soft voices until Wanda drifts into sleep.

Natasha can’t seem to decide if she’s pleased or annoyed with their constant displays of affection.

Quite frankly, Wanda doesn’t care what she thinks.

Wanda’s final secondary school examinations are coming up soon. If she passes them, she’ll finally have her diploma, and she’ll be free to go and work wherever she wants—anywhere that doesn’t require a higher education, that is. She’s already made a list of all the stores and restaurants she wants to apply to. But with Vision’s arms tight around her and his breath on her neck, she finds it hard to care.

“Are you studying?” Natasha asks every day at dinner, and every day, Wanda gives her a small, guilty smile in response.

Finally, Vision insists that she get to work.

“I want you to do well,” he says, one arm wrapped around her waist as he types out the school’s web address with his free hand. “You’ve put a lot of effort into this.”

Wanda groans. “Fine,” she says. “But if you want me to focus, you’re going to have to go somewhere else.”

A crooked smile on his face, Vision picks up her hand, kisses her knuckles, and leaves the room. Wanda settles in to study.

She tries to stay focused on the practice test, but her mind keeps wandering back to him: his hands, his eyes, his smile, the way she can feel him now pacing through the living room… Finally, sighing and gritting her teeth, Wanda calls, “Just kidding!”

Vision phases through the wall, tilting his head in silent question.

“This is much worse,” she tells him. “Here.” She hands him the laptop. “You sit over there and ask me the questions.”

In that way, Wanda manages to make her way through all the practice tests. Vision’s suggestion, halfway through the history exam, that he reward her with a kiss after every five questions she gets right turns out to be an excellent one, though he often has to push himself away from her afterwards while she complains and begs him to come back.

On July 18th, Vision wakes Wanda bright and early with a kiss on the nose. “Your exams are today,” he tells her when she blinks up at him.

“Ugh.” She pushes herself upright and heads into the bathroom to get ready while Vision goes to prepare breakfast. He’s actually gotten quite good at cooking basic dishes, with a little help from Wanda, of course. Natasha joins them before heading off to work.

“Good luck!” she tells Wanda as she shuts the door behind her.

Wanda turns to Vision, who gives her a smile and a nod.

“You’ll do well,” he says. “I have the utmost faith in you.”

She laughs. “Do you?” Before he can answer, she presses a kiss to his lips and leaves.

The exams take most of the day, and though it’s a struggle to get through them all, Wanda is well-prepared. By the time she finishes, she’s confident that she’s done well.

She returns in time for dinner. As soon as she walks through the front door, Vision’s there, his eyes wide and concerned. In just that instant, Wanda can tell that he’s probably spent the day pacing back and forth worrying about her. She smiles.

“I won’t get the results until later,” she tells him, “but I think I did it!”

Vision laughs and pulls her into a hug. She tilts her head upwards for him to kiss her, which he does, quite gladly. Natasha walks through the door just a second later, juggling a bag of groceries, her purse, and her keys. She groans when she sees them.

“Every time,” she mutters.

Wanda breaks the kiss and turns to face her friend. “Nat, I did it! I think I passed!”

Natasha smiles. “Good job. Now you can become a contributing member of society.”

Wanda rolls her eyes and laughs.

“When will you get the results?” Vision asks, and Wanda shivers at the sensation of his breath at her ear.

“Soon,” she tells him over her shoulder. “A few days, they said. Then I'll start applying for a job.”

Vision nods, and Wanda feels his thoughts drift off in a different direction. So she sets to work making dinner with Natasha’s help, while Vision quietly broods. After they’ve all sat down to eat, Vision says, “I think it’s time that I return to New York.”

A flash of hurt runs Wanda through. She stops and stares at him.

Natasha’s fork has stopped halfway to her mouth. “Yeah?” she asks, also staring at Vision.

Vision nods. “Not—” His eye catches on Wanda’s expression. “Not for long,” he tells her, quickly reaching out to brush his thumb down the side of her face. “A week at most. There are some things I need to do, that’s all. I have no intention of staying away.”

Wanda examines his expression, but all that she senses from him is happiness and a renewed sense of determination. “Okay,” she says. “You’ll be back soon?”

“Yes,” he says. “I’ll leave for New York tomorrow, if that’s all right.”

Wanda nods, breathing a sigh of relief that he’s not leaving tonight. I’m not ready to say goodbye.

“Okay,” Natasha says as she resumes eating. “We’ll be here. Be careful.”

“I will,” Vision says.

Wanda spends the next day as close to Vision as possible, brushing kisses against his face, tucking herself into his arms, talking to him about everything and anything. If she can't convince him to stay, she can at least enjoy every moment of the time they have left together.

Recent news reports worldwide have been hinting at Steve’s presence, and when Vision asks, Natasha confirms that Steve has started crime-fighting again.

“I’m surprised he lasted this long, to be honest,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

Wanda can’t help but smile. “That does sound like Steve.”

“Let’s just hope he keeps it under the radar,” Natasha says. “I don’t even want to think about how hard it’ll be to break him out of prison after all this.”

Wanda shudders.

Once the sun has set and darkness has fallen, Vision says his goodbyes.

“You’ll be back?” Wanda asks for the third time.

The edges of Vision’s eyes crinkle in a smile. “Always,” he says, and he brushes his fingers down the side of her face. “Until the stars burn out.”

Wanda takes his face in her hands and kisses him once more with all the fierceness and passion that her body possesses. “Make it quick,” she says when she pulls away, “and we can pick up right there.”

Vision smiles, a spark of hunger lighting up inside his eyes. “I will,” he vows.

He presses one last kiss to the center of her palm and steps out the door and into the night.

Chapter Text

Unsurprisingly, when Vision returns to the compound, he finds both Colonel Rhodes and Mr. Stark angry with his long absence.

“What the hell have you been doing?” Mr. Stark demands. “It’s been over a month. According to the transponder, you've been moving around all over the place. I've called you twenty times, and you never answered. General Ross sent out a team to find you, and they couldn't catch up. The United Nations keeps asking me if you’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“An unlikely theory,” Vision says absently. The thought of the United Nations looking for him worries him some; it presents a threat to Wanda. But his reprogramming of the transponder was evidently effective.

“Well, what are we supposed to think?” Colonel Rhodes sits at the kitchen table with his arms crossed. “You told Tony you were leaving to check on a lead. That means a week at most, with check-ins.”

“Am I required to remain on duty with the Avengers at all times?” Vision asks.

Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes exchange looks and then turn back to him, identical expressions of furious confusion on their faces. Although their anger is unpleasant, Vision finds himself surprisingly unbothered by it.

Wanda loves me, he keeps thinking. We love each other.

He remembers her last words to him—about picking up where they left off—and a smile lifts his cheeks.

Colonel Rhodes shakes his head. “This is serious.”

“Yes,” Vision says. “However, I see no reason why I should have to account for myself. I’m here, and I have done nothing to violate the Accords.” Other than ignoring the long-standing order to capture Wanda and the others, and I feel no guilt for that.

Mr. Stark shakes his head. “I… don’t even know what to say.”

“Then I suggest you update me on what has been happening here, and we’ll move forward from there,” Vision says.

Mr. Stark’s eyebrows rise again, and he huffs out a breath before saying, “Well, okay, then.”

Vision spends the week perusing Wanda’s old bedroom for any small items he could bring with him on his return trip. General Ross stops by once, and he and Vision have a similar conversation to the one Vision had with Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes earlier. General Ross leaves in a fury.

Afterwards, Colonel Rhodes tries to convince Vision to tell him what exactly has caused this change of heart, to no success. Instead, Vision phases down to Mr. Stark’s office.

“Mr. Stark,” he says.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Mr. Stark turns to face Vision immediately, his brow crinkled. Seeing the man’s genuine concern for him, Vision feels a pang of compassion.

“I wanted to inform you,” he says more gently. “I’m considering leaving the compound.”

“What—” Mr. Stark tilts his head, his frown deepening. “You mean, permanently?”

Vision dips his head. “Yes. I think… it may be time for me to move on.”

Mr. Stark shakes his head, his mouth hanging slightly open. “I don’t understand.”

Vision sighs, waving a hand to indicate the building around them. “It no longer seems, to me, that the Avengers Initiative is in action. With so much of the team missing and the United Nations entirely in charge of our activities… this is not the life we used to have. This is not the life I want to have.”

Mr. Stark sits forward. “Hold on,” he says. “I thought you were in favor of the Accords.”

“I was,” Vision admits. “I was wrong. In their present form, the Accords are unsuitable. More thought ought to have been put into our actions last year.”

Mr. Stark stares at him. “So now you’re leaving?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Vision corrects. “In my absence, I’ve been looking at my options. I think… I would like to make a life for myself, elsewhere. I would like to experience the world the way that normal people do.”

“Oh.” Mr. Stark sits back, gazing into middle distance as his brow crinkles still further.

“It may be time for us to accept that… the Avengers are over,” Vision says gently.

Mr. Stark shakes his head. “I just thought maybe you’d found the Little Witch or something,” he mumbles.

Vision presses his lips together. “I’m sorry for any hurt this causes you,” he says. “I haven’t made my decision yet. I simply wished for you to know what’s been on my mind. I’ll be leaving again soon, to… look over my options once more.”

Mr. Stark nods slowly, distantly, barely seeming to hear Vision. “I guess every bird’s gotta leave the nest someday.”

Two days later, Vision gets ready to leave. His heart speeds at the thought of seeing Wanda again, and he can’t help the smile that lingers on his face. Just as he’s stepping out the door, Colonel Rhodes stops him.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” he says in a flat tone.

Vision turns to face him. “I’m sorry?”

“To Tony,” Colonel Rhodes clarifies, walking towards Vision. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to Tony. You know, since you talked to him, he’s started making Iron Man suits again? A whole ton of them. He’s obsessed.” Colonel Rhodes shakes his head. “How can you do this?” he demands. “After everything that’s happened?”

“I’m simply considering my options,” Vision tells him.

Colonel Rhodes scoffs. “Yeah. Sure.”

“I don’t mean to cause any harm,” Vision says, “to you or to Mr. Stark. This doesn’t seem to be a suitable or sustainable way of life. I think it would be better if we… accepted our losses and moved forward.”

“Not like this.” Colonel Rhodes crosses his arms. “You’re just gonna stop saving lives, leave us in the lurch? That’s not the way you move on.”

“I’m sorry,” Vision says.

“You can’t give up, man.” Colonel Rhodes takes another few steps forward, his eyes brightening with sincerity. “It doesn’t have to be like this. If you stick with it a little while longer—the others will come around. Steve, Wanda—they’ll be back. And with their help, we'll find a way to amend the Accords. You just have to hold on.”

“I don't see that as being very likely,” Vision says in as kind a tone as he can manage. “But I have not made my decision yet. I simply wanted to tell Mr. Stark what I was thinking.”

“Well, you should stop thinking it.” Colonel turns to walk away, but as he goes, he throws one last thought over his shoulder: “I don’t know what kind of life you think you can have, anyway.”

The words break through Vision’s happy certainty like a slap to the face, pressing sharp fingernails to his skin.

“I don’t know what kind of life you think you can have, anyway.”

As he travels back to Edinburgh, Vision turns the words over and over in his head, and the more he thinks about them, the more impossible his ideas seem.

Who is he to want a normal life?

Chapter Text

As soon as she can sense Vision, Wanda’s on the roof. Her heart soars to see his face again. He gives her a faint smile, and without pause, she takes his hand and leads him downstairs. Once they’re in the apartment, Wanda turns and pulls Vision’s mouth down to hers, kissing him with the same fervor as from before he left.

“I promised,” she says between kisses, “we would pick up here.”

Vision nods, and he does kiss her back, but his kisses lack feeling. They feel more like cursory touches, an acceptance of what’s she’s giving, rather than a true response.

Startled, Wanda draws back. She tilts her head. “Are you all right?”

Vision gives her another faint smile. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.” Wanda opens her mind in order to get a better idea of his emotions and finds mixed preoccupation and heartbreak. Her brow crinkles in concern. “Vizh?”

“Don’t worry,” he tells her, and then he walks past her to go say hello to Natasha.

Wanda stares after him.

When they go to bed together that night, Wanda tries once more to catch his attention. This time she’s cautious, kissing Vision deep and slow the way she did the first time and pulling back every few seconds to check his reaction. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable or unwilling, but neither does he pull her in for more. Instead, he just looks at her, watching her face as though memorizing each feature.

Finally, Wanda just lays back and watches Vision watch her. After a few minutes, he reaches out and takes her hand in his, kissing her knuckles. Wanda smiles, encouraged, but Vision pulls back.

“I must sleep,” he tells her.

A few days pass. Vision helps Wanda look through job listings, he watches movies and the news and plays board games, he makes food for her and Natasha and sits at the table with them, but the whole time, he’s more polite than affectionate. His kisses are sweet, but passionless, and though he allows Wanda into his mind at night, he withholds some of his thoughts. He locks his true feelings away, the way he originally did his feelings for her.

Wanda could break through and see what he’s hiding, but she doesn’t want to do that. Not to him.

Yet Vision’s heartbreak grows as the days pass, and Wanda doesn’t know how much longer she can stand to be patient.

Monday evening, Vision makes Italian food for Natasha and Wanda. As they eat, Natasha asks Vision questions about his trip to the compound—how Tony’s doing, how Rhodes is, whether General Ross was totally pissed about his long absence. Vision’s answers are short and to the point. No matter how much Natasha pries, he won’t explain what made him come back in such an altered mood.

Finally, Natasha sighs, uncrossing her legs, and drops her tomato-stained fork to the table with a clatter loud enough to make Wanda jump.

“Okay, children, listen up.” Natasha leans forward. “I’m not an expert when it comes to relationships, but one thing I do know is that you have to communicate. Otherwise, your love will die a slow and awful death, which is not something I want to see happen.” Natasha pushes her chair back and stands up. “So I’m gonna go and get us some dessert. You two, talk. When I come back, I expect you to have worked this out.”

Wanda stares, her mouth hanging slightly open, as Natasha marches towards the back rooms. Natasha returns with her purse in hand, and, grabbing an umbrella from beside the door, exits the apartment. Before she closes the door, she calls one last word over her shoulder: “Talk!”

Wanda turns to Vision. He ducks his head, examining the table.

“Vizh,” Wanda says. “Natasha's right. I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”

Vision presses his lips together, his nose flaring, and Wanda feels a throb of pain emanate from him. “I’m afraid,” he says, very carefully, very slowly, “that it might be best if we… were not together.”

Wanda’s heart stops. “What?”

Vision stands and sweeps from the table into the kitchen, where he starts organizing and cleaning dishes. Wanda’s heart restarts. With every beat, pain washes more strongly through her body.

“I’ve given the issue some thought,” Vision says, “and our relationship is not tenable.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Breathless, Wanda puts her fork down.

Vision stops and faces her, his eyes cool and direct. “Our relationship is unlikely to last,” he tells her. “It’s illogical and out of place. It doesn’t have the potential that other relationships possess. In essence: we don’t belong together.”

Every sentence Vision’s speaks forms dark coils around Wanda’s neck, choking her. She can no longer tell whether or not he’s hurting, too—her own pain drowns everything else out. “What are you saying?” she says in a voice with no air behind it.

“I’m saying that I think we ought to… ‘break up.’” Vision returns to washing the dishes.

“Oh.” A sudden wash of hot anger gives Wanda the strength to speak more clearly. “And when were you going to tell me this?”

Vision’s jaw clenches.

“I thought you loved me,” Wanda says as she rises to her feet, speaking just as slowly and as carefully as Vision. “What happened to that?”

“My feelings have not changed.” Vision puts the final plate down and skirts past Wanda, phasing through her hand as she reaches out to grab him. She turns to face him as he comes to a stop near the living room window, staring at the off-white curtains with a dark, brooding expression.

Relief and frustration intertwined act as a balm to Wanda’s heartbreak. “Then why are you doing this?”

“I told you.” Vision fingers the edge of the curtain. “Our relationship is not tenable. My feelings are irrelevant.”

“What—what do you mean ‘your feelings are irrelevant?’” Wanda takes a few steps towards him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Vision doesn’t respond.

“Don’t tell me your feelings don’t matter,” Wanda says, striding towards him. “They’re real!” She places herself in between him and the wall so that he can’t turn away again.

That’s when she sees the first drop of clear liquid slide from the corner of Vision’s eye and run down his smooth burgundy cheek.

Her heart stops all over again.

Wanda reaches up and wipes the tear from Vision’s skin, hardly believing her eyes. But it’s true.

“You’re crying,” she says, and Vision leans his face into her hand, squeezing his eyes shut. Despite the compassion and heartbreak that Wanda feels, she finds herself raising her eyebrows. “Or are you going to tell me your tears don’t count either?”

Vision lets out a strangled laugh, and another tear falls down his face.

“What’s wrong?” Wanda wipes the liquid away. “Why are you saying all this?”

“When I was at the compound, I... I said some things to Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes that upset them.” Vision opens his eyes, and the gears click around until they’re focused on her. “As I was leaving, Colonel Rhodes asked what kind of life I thought I could have, away from them.” Wanda sucks in a breath, but Vision continues, “I realized… he’s right.”

“Vizh—”

“Wanda.” He holds her gaze. “I cannot give you the life that you deserve. A human man would be able to go out in public with you. He could work, take you out to dinner, do all of the things that couples do together. I don’t know that I will ever be able to go out in public unnoticed. With me, you will constantly be at risk. Even if the Accords weren't a threat, you'd still have to contend with people staring, or mobbing, as they did that day in New York. There are other things a human male could give you that I couldn’t…” Vision shakes his head. “I cannot produce children, for example.” Wanda makes another sound of protest, and Vision speaks over her. “With me, you cannot have a normal life. You deserve that, Wanda.” He takes her face between his hands, his eyes full of sincere anxiety and his voice breaking. “You deserve better than what I can give you.”

“So you think we should break up because our life together wouldn’t be normal?” Wanda laughs incredulously and reaches up to grasp his wrists in her hands. “Vizh, listen to me. I don’t care about those things. I don’t need them. What I want is us, together, just the way we are.” Vision’s hands fall from her face to her shoulders as she continues, “Love isn’t about those things. Love is for souls, not bodies.”

Vision turns his face towards the window, a quick breath escaping through his nose. “All the more reason, then.”

Wanda shakes her head. “What?”

“Wanda,” Vision meets her eyes, speaking each word precisely and with emphasis. “I don’t have a soul. I can’t. Nothing about me is natural or human. I am not something that the universe ever intended to exist.”

Now Wanda is the one to take his face in her hands, blinking back tears. “Vision,” she says, her voice trembling. “Listen to me. You’re wrong. You do have a soul. Vizh,” she says, and she laughs, “you beautiful idiot, I can read minds. I, of all people, know what a soul looks like. And your soul is the most beautiful, human thing I have ever seen.”

Vision’s nose flares as Wanda’s hand slides down to his chest, his eyes lighting with distant hope. “How…?”

Wanda shakes her head, smiling. “I don’t know. All I know is that, somehow, when all the pieces that created you came together, so did your soul. You.” She pokes her finger harder into his chest. “Right there, that is your soul. Everything that I love about you, all at once.”

He stares at her.

“Vizh,” she sighs, “what more proof can the universe give you that you’re meant to exist than that you do?”

Vision’s nose flares again. He swallows, once, twice. Sensing that he’s unable to speak through the influx of emotions pouring through his body, Wanda reaches out and pulls him towards her. She presses her face to his shoulder. Closing her eyes and breathing in deeply, she allows all of her love for him, all of her devotion, to replace her hurt and exasperation.

“I love you,” she whispers.

His hands come up to touch her back. “And I love you,” he says, his voice slightly choked.

Wanda lifts her head. “Then show me,” she says.

Vision’s expression shifts as he recognizes the challenge in her eyes. His gaze intent on hers, he pulls her up into his arms, just the way that he did that first day in Sokovia. She holds his gaze, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Without ever breaking eye contact, Vision carries Wanda out of the room and down the hall to her bedroom.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Sweat pouring down his temple, the wide-eyed man points his gun at Vision.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Vision says very calmly.

The man bares his teeth in a desperate sneer. “And why’s that?” As he speaks, he pulls the trigger, and a bullet explodes from the barrel of the gun.

Vision doesn’t flinch. He looks down at his chest and watches as the bullet bounces off of him. “Because bullets don’t harm me,” he says, as the man lowers his gun, gaping. “And…” He pauses, tilting his head to listen, and a smile spreads across his face. “My wife is here.”

A blur of red, Wanda lands in the sand beside Vision, throwing her hands to the side. The man flies through the air, screaming, and Vision and Wanda watch as he splashes, kilometers away, into the middle of a large lake that they stand beside.

As Wanda stares after the gunman, Vision leans over and, taking her hands in his, kisses her fingertips. A simple gold band adorns the ring finger of her left hand. “I’m afraid you didn’t beat your record this time,” he says.

“Too bad.” Wanda wrinkles her nose. “I did not like him.”

Then her expression shifts from fury into a beaming smile, and she turns to wind her arms around Vision’s neck.

“Hello, husband,” Wanda says.

“Hello, my love.” Vision leans in and presses his lips to Wanda’s.

She responds eagerly, opening her mouth beneath his and tightening her grip to pull him closer. They kiss for a long moment—and then Sam Wilson runs past them, wielding the Captain America shield, along with Hope van Dyne and T’challa. Six gunman chase after. In the same moment, Colonel Rhodes' voice crackles over the comms.

“Wanda. Vision.” His tone speaks of resigned exasperation. "How many times do we have to tell you two to control your urges and focus on the job?"

Vision and Wanda break off their kiss.

“That was the twenty-sixth time, Colonel," Vision states.

Wanda laughs, and Vision grins down at her.

“Come on,” she says, “we should go rescue the bad guy before he drowns.”

Vision nods, and they both rise into the air, soaring above the chaotic battleground and over the sparkling water. They come to a stop just above the distant, struggling figure.

“Together?” Wanda asks him.

“Always,” Vision says. “Until the stars burn out.”

As Wanda drops down towards the lake, he adds, more quietly, “Perhaps even then.”

Vision follows Wanda down into battle, his golden cape swirling through the air behind him.