Synthesis

Chapter 9: Uncharted Waters

The bright morning light shines down on them both as they walk, hand-in-hand, towards the town square. Vision feels the radiating happiness from Wanda, its circumference wide enough that it pulls him into her orbit once more. Their minds are connected in that muted way they always are, and he feels the rolling, gentle emotions tickling at the edge of his own thoughts. How seamless Wanda’s emotions are, he thinks, how fluid and natural. It is a mystery to him, the ease in which Wanda feels. She squeezes his hand a little tighter, as if she caught that last thought, and he squeezes hers back before glancing at her. She’s in an emerald green turtle neck and colorful cardigan, her hair parted and tied back into two streams of long, flowing hair, and she is beautiful. 

It’s almost enough to not notice the profound difference that has taken over the town. The colors are everywhere now, and the town square has undergone major renovations, seemingly overnight. The Lincoln Continentals and Ford Barricudas are now replaced with Dodge Challengers and Chevy Chavelles. The appliances store is selling color RC television sets, much like the one that adorned their living room this morning. Most women are now in pants, even bell bottoms, and men are less often in silk ties and button ups and more often in polos and... corduroy, his mind supplies him. 

“Do you have the list?” Wanda asks, just as they are approaching the town square, and he is not surprised she has interrupted. Every time Vision marvels at something that seems somehow otherworldly, every time he allows his thoughts to drift, Wanda seems to sense his concern. He nods to her, pushing the plastic rimmed glasses up his nose that complete his human disguise. He’s also in a rediculous long-sleeved light teal polo and jeans, and he felt the need to make his blonde hair a bit shaggier and longer this morning, although he was not altogether certain why until he sees that the other men in town, too, have adopted similar looks. Maybe it’s because-

 “Vizh? The list?” Wanda has stopped them near the gazebo, tugging at his hand and staring up at him in concern, and he immediately refocuses his attention on her. 

“Yes, my love. My apologies. I’ve cross-referenced several of the books, and I think the list sufficient. Although it is a lot. Wanda…” Vision stops, glancing around to make sure no passersby are in earshot, before looking down at her and rubbing a hand over her belly gently. 

“Are you sure we can...afford all this?” he asks, and Wanda only offers him a revolution of her irises before tugging at the sleeves of her cardigan, turning to take his hand again.

“Vizh, you’re the one with the job. You know how much money you make. Of course we can afford it!” She laughs, but has broken eye contact with him. Vision frowns a little- in fact, he doesn’t know how much money he makes, has never seen a paycheck, and so far has not seen any bills come through the mail yet— but nods, and they start walking towards Wentworth’s again.

The department store has changed, too. It is bustling with people, and as they make their way up an escalator that did not exist a week before, Vision trails Wanda to the infant and children’s section. Suddenly, they are surrounded in a wash of pastel pinks and yellows and blues. Wanda squeals, flocking to the nearest assortment of onesies, and as soon as she leaves his direct vicinity, Vision’s worries once again grow. The list is overwhelming in his mind as he cautiously approaches an aisle of various baby products, formula and canned baby food mostly, all adorned with healthy and picturesque infants on the packaging. Considering her physical appearance alone, Wanda seems to be several months pregnant, and if she continues to progress at this rate, he could be a father in a matter of days. 

Days. 

Vision frowns as his fingers trace along a shelf of baby food, as he catches sight of a painted image of the Gerber baby, pale skin, blue eyes, and a whisp of blonde hair, currently displayed on a jar of mashed sweet potatoes. His frown deepens as he stares at the infant and the infant stares back at him, and something about the image is deeply unsettling. 

Blue eyes. His eyes were blue, were they not? Although the pigment in his irises was much more the result of the metallic machinery whirring inside them, emulating an arc reactor.

Arc reactor. 

Vision blinks, shaking his head a little, unsure of where the term came from or what it means, before staring back at the baby food. No, it was unlikely that the baby would have any of his genetic traits, as he is certain that he had no genetic traits to pass. The organic parts of his body are synthetic, and while his heart beats in his chest and his lungs process oxygen and his brain sends electric current through his biological neurons, the rest is a plethora of wires and clever robotics, paired with vibranium. (He is not sure how he knows this, but he feels it to be true. And, since most knowledge is so very elusive to him right now, going off a feeling is enough.)

The baby wouldn’t be like him. But...what if it was? What about the speed of Wanda’s preganancy? What about Wanda’s own powers? 

I know, in my soul, that this child is yours as much as it is mine. I...I don’t know how. We may never know how.

He was not entirely sure he wanted it to be possible. What if, god forbid, the child did have his genes? Would he want the baby to be anything like him? Certainly it had to be human, but if it wasn’t, if it wasn’t quite human enough, what would they do? There is no book in the world, as far as he knows, that discusses the matter, as there is no one else, as far as Vision knows, like him or Wanda. Would the child have to hide? Have to alter its appearance too? Vision shudders at the thought. Life was already difficult enough without such... snags to consider. Still, however, he lets himself be consumed by these thoughts, until Wanda catches him standing impossibly still, staring at the Gerber food label. She has a shopping cart, already half-full of mostly clothes, although a butterfly mobile and a teddy bear are also present. He finally moves, refocusing on the task at hand, taking note of her inventory. 

“Wanda, darling,” he says, staring down at the collection of blue and green onesies and sleepers. “We don’t know the child’s sex yet.”

“I just have a hunch,” she says through a soft smile. “And if not, girls can wear blue. And I’m making progress. What’s left?” She asks, and Vision pulls up the list from where it is saved in his memory under a file simply marked littleone.xv

• Crib, including frame, mattress, mattress pad, bumper and bedding
• Bassinet, including mattress and bedding
• Receiving blankets, burb cloths, bibs, swaddle blankets, wash cloths
• Various clothing in sizes ranging NB to 12mos.*
• Changing table, changing pad, baby wipes, diaper rash ointment, diaper pail**
• Diapers varying in sizes ranging NB to size 3**
• Bottles, bottle cleaning supplies***
• Outlet protectors, corner protectors, first-aid kit

*assuming the infant grows at a normal rate. Adjustments to be made if this strays from the normal physiological development of an infant.

** assuming the infant has a digestive system and is, for the most part, human

***assuming the infant nurses. Refer to **.

He mentally projects the image to her, and Wanda frowns. 

“You’re accounting for our child not having a digestive system? What makes you think he wouldn’t?” she says, tilting her head at him inquisitively, on the cusp of being offended. Vision swallows hard, and, underneath his disguise, he can feel his irises clicking to the left quickly as he tries to backpedal.

“It most likely does, or it would not be able to survive in your womb, no doubt. But we cannot expect the child, especially at the rate of your pregnancy, to be...altogether normal,” he drops off.

“Vizh…” Wanda says gently, reaching to lift a hand up to his face, when a salesperson accosts them from mid-way down the aisle.

“Can I help you two with anything?” The dark-skinned woman asks, noticing their shopping cart and Wanda’s burgeoning bump.

“Oh! How precious! You’re going to need linens! Let me show you where they are!” she says, and Wanda forgets his concerns, smiling in delight as she follows the woman with the shopping cart. Vision sighs, and trails after the two, leaving the 42 pictures of Gerber babies plastered on the sides of tiny glass jars behind him.

—

Exactly one hour and forty six minutes later, time forever inching closer to when they need to get home to prepare for the doctor, Vision has managed to coax Wanda towards the registers. Their cart is overflowing with the contents of Vision’s mental list, and he hauls what would be a heavy box containing the new crib behind Wanda, noting he should probably be looking like he’s struggling with it. They are nearly there, when Wanda stops, eyes widening, as she notices a ridiculously tall, stuffed giraffe amidst a toy display near the register counter. 

“Oh! Look!” Wanda exclaims, abandoning both Vision and the shopping cart to hug the creature around its long neck. V

“That’s not on our list, my love,” he attempts, pushing up his glasses with his free hand again. Damn things. He insisted he phase a pair, but Wanda had handed him the glasses before they had departed, telling him he needed a desperate “upgrade,” to the chorus of invisible laughter. They were clear plastic lenses, of course, his eyesight being ten times better than the best humans could hope for. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad characteristic to pass along to the baby, he thinks idly, while also waving his hand to beckon Wanda back to the cart.

“Most of these things we’re going to need shipped to our home as it is,” he reiterates, shaking his head at the giraffe, but his wife has already bent down to pick up the enormously large stuffed animal

“Wanda! Darling, here,” he says, walking over with the crib and taking it from her, stuffing it under his arm with all the rest, casually looking down at the tag, eyes widening when he realizes it is $49.99.

“I’m know, I know. It’s expensive, but it’s just so cute. I loved giraffes when I was a little girl. Anything exotic, though, really,” she says, smiling knowingly at him as she begins to inch the cart to the checkout line. Vision tilts his head at her inquisitively, suddenly forgetting about worrying how much all of this is going to cost him and hanging on to every word.

Wanda rarely mentions her past, but, today, she has mentioned it twice.

Twins run in my family, you know.

“Is that so?” Vision asks through a small smirk, and Wanda nods.

“Yes. Well, growing up in a crowded city, I always dreamed of being whisked off to a far away place. Mama would tell us stories about them. Elephants and Lions on the Serengeti. It helped, late at night, sometimes, to imagine I was somewhere different, with all the violence…” is where Wanda stops, the color draining from her face for a small moment, her eyes looking off in the distance, to something he can’t see, and he thinks he hears the sounds of explosions and gunfire echo through her mind via their connection before she cuts off all access to her thoughts. 

“Wanda…” he whispers, half-intent to set down the items he is carrying and console her, just as a cashier clerk yells, “Next!” Wanda shakes her head a little, and is smiling again, determinedly pushing the cart forward. 

Remember. Violence. The sound of gunfire and explosions. Remember, he commands of his mind, but the details are already blurring as the clerk comes around the counter to help them. 

“Oh, dear! Quite the haul you have there! I’m assuming you want most of these items shipped to your home?” She says, helping Wanda to move the items from the cart to the counter.

“Yes,” Wanda says softly. “But we’ll take the crib and... that,” she says, pointing at giraffe Vision is still holding. “Home with us,” Wanda says so quietly, that Vision has to turn up his auditory receptors to hear. 

—

It ends up that he has precisely enough cash, down to two dollars to spare, nestled in his wallet to pay for everything. They manage to get some of the items home, Vision carrying most of it, and when he sets the things down in the spare room and phases out of his disguise, he realizes Wanda has found a place on the couch, snuggling up to one of the yellow and green plaid pillows. 

“Wanda, dear. Perhaps you should rest,” Vision suggests, walking over to her quietly and sitting down next to her. She immediately leans into his chest, sighing in contentment as she does so, and he easily and naturally puts an arm around her. 

“When…” she yawns, before finishing her sentence, “when will the doctor be here?” She asks. 

“We have an hour until he arrives,” Vision says, fingers tracing a lackadaisical pattern on her arm, when he remembers. Violence. Twins run in my family. 

“Wanda…” he murmurs.

“Hmmmm?” She hums.

“When you mentioned the violence, in Sokovia…” Vision begins, but he realizes, then, that her breathing pattern has changed, that her wakefulness is slipping, and so, as with most of his questions, he fails to ask, instead pulling her more tightly to him. 

Perhaps some things were better left unknown.