Synthesis

Chapter 15: We’re Usually So Much of the Same Mind

“It has often and confidently been asserted, that man's origin can never be known: but ignorance more frequently begets confidence than does knowledge: is those who know little, and not those who know much, who so positively assert that this or that problem will never be solved by science-” Vision stops reading aloud to adjust a shifting, cranky infant nestled in his right arm, his left holding open Charles Darwin’s The Descent of Man in the other. Tommy lets out another squawk, obviously still frustrated, but has stopped wailing, although several large, fat tears still stain his flustered cheeks. 

“Thomas, I am keenly aware that you have been recently fed, that we just changed your diaper, for the twelfth time, and that you are sorely in need of sleep, so I do not understand, exactly, why you are insisting to not cooperate with me,” Vision murmurs, and, much to his confusion, Tommy’s face transforms to one of curiosity as he reaches up to put his hand over Vision’s left eye.

“Yes, very funny. Now Daddy can only see with one eye. Luckily for you, Daddy’s a synthezoid, and can still read Darwin perfectly with my right optical receptor. Or, if you prefer, recite it by memory,” Vision mutters, before Thomas lets out a delighted laugh.

“Is that silly? That Daddy’s a synthezoid?” Vision asks his son honestly through a tilt of his head and a quirk of his lips, but Thomas only blows bubbles.

“I concur. Only moderately silly,” Vision murmurs, offering him a scarlet finger to hold through a smile, which Tommy immediately grasps with his impossibly small fingers. Thomas, who is only a handful of days old but somehow, like William, already has full control of his neck and can roll over, can practically sit up, tightens his grip on Visions index finger. But, unlike Billy, who might hold Vision’s hand for an hour, Thomas immediately lets go again, squirming in Vision’s arms.

“You’re much more, wriggly that your brother, Thomas,” Vision says through a light laugh, as his son’s eyes widen as he catches sight of the glowing, yellow stone in Vision’s forehead, now moving to bat at it. 

“Yes. I’m aware. Just like an hour and forty two minutes ago, very shiny. Now, if we could kindly get back to reading,” Vision murmurs, lowering the boy away from his face, much to Thomas’ protests. Vision sighs, bringing the infant back upward, to Tommy’s delighted coo. Now it’s Vision’s nose Tommy is trying to grab, and Vision sighs in exhaustion, and the feeling of exhaling air must startle Tommy, because Vision can see the infants’ face contorting into one of an intended cry, before Vision quickly stands from the rocking chair in the nursery, bouncing Thomas as he goes. 

“There, there. See? Not scary in the slightest. It’s just breathing. Even Daddy can do that. Breathe in, breathe out,” he says through a smile, mimicking the act. Tommy only blinks at him.

“As much as I love you, Thomas, Daddy would like to add to the record that this sleep strike is in no way amusing to him,” Vision mumbles, and Thomas only looks at him with his dark blue eyes, and Vision realizes he’s been lulled into a quiet stupor by the rocking. It’s not long before his son’s eyes flutter shut again with Vision’s rocking, Thomas’ wakeful curiosity quickly giving way to exhaustion. After two days with the boys, Vision knows not to give in to false hope. Each and every time Vision or Wanda has successfully rocked them to sleep and set them down, both boys instantly wake, and the process starts all over again. Instead, when he is sure Tommy is asleep in his arms, Vision chooses to forfeit, slowing down his swaying just slightly and sitting down in the rocking chair once more. The child’s eyes are still closed, and Vision breathes out steadily, knowing that likely his arm will once more serve as a bassinet of sorts for the next 48 to 53 minutes. At least he isn’t able to tire. He’s not sure how Wanda does it. 

At the thought of his wife, Vision frowns. He’s not necessarily worried about her, although with each hour of sleep she doesn’t get but sorely needs his concerns grow. The other night, however, when she was drifting off to sleep on the couch, Vision could have sworn the coffee table flickered red and altered its appearance, before shifting back. He assumed, of course, that the house underwent redecorating per Wanda’s magic, but the shuddering of the coffee table had stayed with Vision. At best, it was a sign his wife was greatly fatigued. And at worst....well. That was a line of thought he had been desperately avoiding.

“Things are...confusing right now, Thomas,” Vision finds himself quietly murmuring, as he rocks the child quietly in his arms. Vision thinks back to the days since the boys’ existence, the quiet tension that exists between he and Wanda, the woman he profoundly loves. The altered scenery of West View, once more changing in style to suit the new decade. The time jumps. The corrupted memories. His desperation and lack of control, the fact that Wanda, too, seems oblivious at times and profoundly aware of something else at others.

And then there is the rapid growth of his children. How time feels as if it’s slipping through his fingers, as if his hands are submerged in an hourglass and he can feel each granule fall between them partially-phased hands. Tommy and Billy’s developmental benchmarks are consistent with five to six month old children currently, not the three-day old infants they should be. And this, this above all else, troubles him greatly.

As far as Vision is aware, he himself does not age. Not in the way Wanda would or any other human. He already knows, has already accepted that, one day, hopefully one day in the far future, he will outlive Wanda. Most likely have to bury her. And now...with his children. He might outlive them, too. And the fact that they are developing so quickly, the fact that he has not had a moment to truly relish in their existence yet, is one that scares him. Human life is already fleeting, and the notion that they are aging more quickly than normal is a distressing notion indeed.

He had tried to broach the subject with Wanda, but she had dismissed his concerns out of hand. “They’re just strong for their age. Probably the vibranium properties in their DNA or something,” she had partly joked with a casual wave of her hand. Even now, Vision doubts this. Even if he had somehow managed to pass his genetic material to his offspring, he was more convinced that Wanda’s DNA, and perhaps her abilities, could be the cause. It was the reason he had started reading Darwin in the first place. Intrigued by the evolution of human beings, of a point of origin, about how certain genetic traits were passed down from generation to generation. Only time would tell if the boys had any discernible abilities like Wanda or himself, and, in the interim, they likely couldn’t approach Dr. Nielsen doctor with the information. Not when he potentially suspected so much of them already.

Under no circumstances do we reveal our identity, Wanda had said, that first night in West View. That first night that happened less than a month ago, but now felt like a blurry, metallic dream of eons past. 

Vision glances down at the boy again, rearranging the swaddle a bit so it at least covers the boys’ arms if he grows chilly. Perhaps it was foolish to worry. A child of a witch and a synthezoid was not likely to do anything in a normal fashion, and both Billy and Tommy seemed to prove this so far. And, of course, he would love them, with every fiber of his synthetic being, for as long as he was able to. No matter how long they had together, no matter what they might endure.

And, in the mean time, he would put the image of the flickering coffee table out of his mind entirely. 

—

“Wanda, I feel mildly traitorous. Are you certain this is what you want? Surely there is some sort of paternity leave that I could apply for,” he asks, fumbling slightly as he picks up his watch and wallet from the dresser, turning around to face his wife, who is still in bed, feeding Tommy. No longer is her hair straight, but now curly and in ringlets, framing her face in a way that Vision finds incredibly, well, alluring. Sex, of course, is still off the table, but he takes every moment he can still appreciating his wife’s beautify, and is sure to remind her of it often. Wanda’s recovery had been remarkably quick, and to the untrained eye it now seemed as if nothing about her physical appearance suggested she had recently been pregnant and given birth in the matter of days. This, of course, was nothing like he had read in the various baby books, although he still was sure to follow the medical advice of waiting, especially considering his guilt of his early mishap. And of course Vision realizes that, despite the frustration, despite the distance he feels from Wanda, despite all of it, he is hopelessly in love with her. From across the room, Vision is pulled out of his reverie by Billy, who whimpers in his bassinet slightly, before being pulled in by the lull of sleep once more. 

Wanda had been the one to insist he return to work, especially since so few in West View knew about the pregnancy or the twins’ birth. He had taken the past two days off, calling in sick, and yet Wanda seemed adamant that enough time had passed and that he must return. Like so many things in their life in West View, nothing about it made sense. Wanda was exhausted, catching only an hour or two of sleep at any given time, and, if he didn’t know any better, it felt like she was shoving him out the door as quickly as she could. 

Additionally, if he were being honest, nothing in him is looking forward to returning. The job is dull, apart from when its punctuated by compelling dialogue and scenes, accompanied with raucous laughter, that every so often drift in and out of the days. Regardless, he still isn’t entirely certain what his purpose is at Computational Services, as his job mainly surrounds crunching endless numbers, data without context. Indeed, the theatrics of the job seem to matter almost more than the work itself. And theatre, like so many facets of his life right now, seem of the utmost importance. Suddenly, a wave of comforting assurance flies from his wife’s mind to his, and his frown lessens slightly. 

“Vision, you only have so much sick leave you can take. And you have to work. We need the money. And there’s no such thing as paternity leave in this country,” Wanda says somewhat bitterly, moving to reattach her nursing bra and prop Tommy on her shoulder to burp him. Vision moves to quickly grab a burp cloth off the stack on the dresser, which has turned into a changing table, carefully organized with a stack of diapers and baby wipes and diaper rash ointment. Two days in, and he operates very much like the machine he fears he sometimes is, well-attuned to all the possible mishaps and needs of his family. Obviously, it feels as if he is much more useful here than he is there. Meanwhile, Wanda smiles, taking it from him, before summoning him a pair of glasses that appear out of thin air.

“Another upgrade?” he asks through a small frown, taking them from Wanda and examining the tortoise shell frames. Wanda nods. He sighs, placing them on his face, and then Wanda is smiling. It’s a sight he hasn’t seen much of the past week, aside from when her attention is focused on the twins, and he delights in the way her face changes into one of mischievous delight. It’s a beautiful moment on a beautiful woman, although he cannot guess at why she’s looking at him in such a way. 

“What?” he asks, and her grin widens.

“While I do find that my synthezoid husband looks incredibly sexy in glasses,” she says, slowly standing and sauntering toward him, Tommy still carefully perched on her shoulder, “you might want to put on the rest before you go outside,” she finishes, using her free hand to yank on Vision’s tie slightly, and he gulps.

Perhaps three days is too long to go without making love to your wife. 

 He smirks at her, turning around to look at himself in the mirror. Still scarlet and silver, and looking mildly ridiculous.

“Ah. Well,” he mutters, quickly phasing to look human, before turning around to his wife once more. She’s staring at him in that suggestive manner still, and something in him moves to cradle the side of her face, running a thumb over her cheekbone. She sighs, learning into his touch, until a sharp burb from Tommy surprises them both and makes them both laugh. Wanda slowly brings the child to hold against her chest again, and Vision drops his hand from Wanda’s cheek to run it gently over Tommy’s head.

“I am happy to work to provide for our family, but...somehow everything about me doing so still feels wrong,” he murmurs,

“I know. But it’s what’s expected of us. It’s what normal families do. Husbands go to work, wives stay at home with the children,” Wanda says through a slight shrug of her shoulders. Something about this doesn’t sit right with Vision, either. Wanda is an intelligent, compassionate, driven woman, emboldened with a level of tenacity Vision feels sometimes he himself lacks. Why should he be the one that gets to go to work and be intellectually stimulated? Not that it’s all that intellectually simulating. The only stimulating thing is right in front of you, he thinks, before a scarlet blush threatens to bloom on his now-pale cheeks. 

“I mean this in the most loving and endearing way possible, darling, but nothing about this family is normal,” Vision says through a small smile, which she returns before moving her body just slightly so that her lips grace his own. It’s fleeting, but the intimacy of his wife’s actions steady him just slightly—it is their baseline, after all— and he moves to pick up his briefcase from where it sits by the bed. Just then, however, Billy begins to truly fuss from the bassinet,  now fully awake. 

“Should I-?” Vision begins, moving to put down his briefcase, before Wanda stops his arm with a scarlet tendril of magic that wraps around his wrist. 

“No. No. I need to learn how to do this by myself,” she nods, but there is a pained look in her eye, which Vision must force himself to ignore as her magic slowly recedes. 

“Call me at the office if you need anything, and I shall depart immediately,” Vision murmurs, and Wanda only throws a worried smile his way, before setting Tommy down in his swing, who immediately also starts to cry as Wanda makes her way over to Billy.

“Go, Vision. Or you’ll be late. I’ll be alright,” she says, and Vision pauses for exactly 2.34 more seconds, and then phases through the floor.

As he takes the last few strides towards the front door, his hand lingers on the knob for the briefest of moments, torn between his responsibilities and his family upstairs, before he bears down and opens it, stepping out into the morning sun. It’s another perfect, cloudless day, the air crisp and the temperature optimal. Sherwood Drive is quiet this morning, although he waves at Dottie across the street, who is currently in the garden with her rose bushes. As Vision walks, he grips the briefcase a little tighter in his right hand, eyes darting up to the empty playground that he walks past daily. He notes how short of a walk it is from the house; it would be a good option, some day, for the children. He sends up a hopeful thought about not needing it too quickly, however, choosing to ignore the pair of swings that sway idly in the breeze as Vision walks past. 

The town square sees more activity, and Vision barely registers that everything has once more changed. The TVs at the Electronic Appliances store are bigger and brighter. The cars are boxier now, less sleek and long. Women wear pantsuits. Business men sport larger, fatter ties. A woman jogs past him in full teal and purple aerobic gear, wearing a Walkman.

A Walkman. That’s new. He’s not entirely sure what it is, before his mind is cuing up an attempted search. 

<Identify. Walkman. Define: DIALING.> The knowledge suddenly flashes across his systems, but not in letters, but in a series of zeros and ones, which he immediately identifies and interprets as binary code. 

What in the bloody hell….

Instantly, Vision nearly jumps at the distinct sound of an electronic dial tone. He looks around this way and that along the busy street, but no one else seems to notice the swell of static, followed by a progression of tones and more static, loud enough to make his ears bleed. 

<Internet status: CONNECTING.>

“What in the goddamn world,” Vision now audibly mutters under his breath. He’s still standing on the middle of the sidewalk, and people push past him with frowns, but he can’t seem to move his limbs as the loud static and buzzing continues, and then immediately stops. 

<Internet status: CONNECTED! Define: /ˈwôkmən,ˈwôkˌman/ noun: a type of personal stereo.>

Wait. Wait. 

Check internet status.

<Internet status, connected. UPDATE: Only basic services through internet, limited pathways.>

He almost drops his briefcase, his eyes darting quickly back and forth. 

D-define internet, he mentally commands.

<Define. /ˈin(t)ərˌnet/ noun: a global computer network providing a variety of information and communication facilities, consisting of interconnected networks using standardized communication protocols.>

Oh. Oh, god. 

His pace quickens as he practically darts inside of the Computational Services building, opting for the stairs, and he quickly ascends them, feet levitating just slightly off the ground, before landing once more, brushing past the secretary into his office. The internet. The internet. A global computer network that he was able, was able to readily access. To offer him everything he would possibly need to know, at any time. And since West View, he had been stripped of it, to the point that he didn’t even know what it was. How had he not realized until now? And why—

Vision stops just at his desk in the main set of offices, which he realizes are flanked with large packing boxes, delivery men with dollies shoving past him. He turns to look around at the stack of boxes near his own desk, before turning around to Norm in question. 

“Vision! You’re back. Hope that stomach bug didn’t last too long. Would you look at all this stuff!” Norm says, moving to open the nearest cardboard box with a letter opener.

“What is all this?” Vision says quietly, staring down at the giant blue letters stamped on the side of the box, which read: IBM. His typewriter and paper inbox and outbox files have also been cleared off his desk.

“Computers, Vision! Our own personal computers, a machine for each!” Norm says, pointing to the boxes around him with a wide grin on his face. “We’re going to get something called-get this- the internet!” 

—

Vision stares at the black monitor, and the lifeless void stares back. It’s a curious contraption, an IBM 6150, made up of several parts, all connected in a snare of wires and cables. There’s a curious sense of empathy that swells through him, staring at the machine, and as he reaches to turn it on, he can feel a swell of electricity as his finger hovers over the power button. Vision immediately pulls his hand back, still feeling the pinprick of want traveling up his arm. The allure of it, of somehow...connecting to it is altogether intoxicating, although he cannot begin to guess what it means. Instead, he shakes his head slightly to physically banish the strange feeling that had overcome him, and powers up the hard drive and then the monitor. The screen comes to life, flashing a series of zeros and ones at him, which he understands is the operating system’s instructions to itself on how to bring itself online.

Operating system. Binary code. Random access memory.

All new phrases and terms, that feel incredibly old. Familiar. Known. There hardly had been any time to consider what it meant in the controlled chaos of the morning. He had been tasked to get every single machine up and running, fiddling with the coaxial cables and the phone lines, trying to compartmentalize the new information now flooding his own systems. Suddenly, the knowledge of CPUs, and RAM, and hard drives and soft drives made perfect sense. As he poured over the manuals, the more he was informed of his own mind, of a sense of a past, and, now, as he watches the computer run through a series of basic commands, he wonders once more about his origins. 

He feels...a likeness to the machine in front of him. As if he is staring at some primitive Neanderthal, hundreds of thousands of years back in the evolutionary chain. Was his central nervous system comprised of something similar? He had no commands to follow, no algorithm to guide his choices, but he is certain, now, that his neural pathways understand the inner workings of the machine in a way that no human being ever could.

As he waits for the machine to power fully on, he takes the spare time to scour the internet from his own mind. He is disappointed to find that the network available to him is spotty and thinly populated at best. There are websites for IBM and AT&T. There is information on a potential incorporation of something called the World Wide Web. He searches West View, NJ, but only finds a map of it. It is what he has been missing, but something about it is off. Not right. There are whole portions of what is supposed to be there that are missing, as if most of the world’s knowledge, like it has been, remains elusive. 

At some point, he disconnects, intent on solace within his own mind to quell his disappointment. The work day dies down, just slightly, and it’s only when his eyes finally pull away from the screen in front of him and glance at a picture of Wanda on his desk does he realize he has been here for three hours, and has not worried or considered his family’s wellbeing once. His frown deepens, even as he sifts through the five e-mails currently in his account, and he waits as patiently as possible as Wanda picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?” She asks. She sounds out of breath and frazzled. Vision can hear the twins crying in the background, and his guilt grips him again. 

“Wanda, darling. How are you?” He says carefully into the receiver.

“Oh! Thank god. It’s working,” she sighs in an exasperated relief.

“What’s working?” He asks.

“The telephone! I’ve been trying to call Agnes, and then you, and I’ve been getting a busy signal all day. I’m not sure if they’re working on the phone lines or what,” Wanda says, and Vision’s brow furrows.

“Well, I’m glad it’s working now, darling. How are you? How are the boys?” He asks, and he can practically hear her frown through the receiver. 

“I’m...ok,” she says, and he can hear both twins crying in the background, and his guilt grips him again.

“Why are you calling? Is something wrong at the office?” She asks, and he finds himself shaking his head, although she cannot see him.

“No. Just the opposite. Wanda, dear, I think….I think figured out part of the problem,” he breathes lowly into the phone.

“What problem?” She asks carefully.

“I...cannot explain now. Do you need me to come home? Do you need help?” 

“No, Vision. It’s only lunch time. I can manage. Agnes might come over to help in a little while,” she says, and Vision frowns. Ever since his strange encounter with Agnes on the day of his sons’ birth, something about the woman had not sat right with Vision, although she had done nothing else to appear suspicious. Still though, Agnes anywhere near the children sends a pulse of caution through him.

“Yes, well. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to call,” Vision murmurs, and Wanda sighs in frustration.

“What? What’s happened?” Vision asks. 

“Tommy just had a blow out. Ugh. Vizh, I have to go. Be glad you’re not here,” she says, and he can hear fumbling in the background, before she promptly hangs up the phone.

“Until tonight, my love,” he mutters into the dial tone.

—

He makes a decision. He types out detailed instructions for the office staff, talks to Mr. Hart. He’s honest, well, as honest as he can be. He cannot help the feeling he is missing precious details, precious moments, so he decides that he won’t. He’s never sick, and he strings the seven work days he’s allotted to make sure he doesn’t miss them. That afternoon, as he makes his way home for work, there is an extra spring in his step. He feels, for the first time since moving here, a small sliver of control. With each determined step, he feels his confidence grow. Sherwood drive is still relatively quiet, and empty, although he spots Dennis, the mailman, and he offers a kind wave. The man only half-heartedly waves back, but Vision is too enraptured in the plan he has formed to notice.

He walks through the door determinedly, phasing as he goes, and he immediately hears the boys’ cries. He frowns slightly, quickly phasing up through the house to the bedroom. Wanda is still in her nightgown from the previous night, her hair is mussed, and her eyes are red and puffy as she stares off into the far distance. She has William in her arms, and Tommy is in his swing, but both are screaming. Vision immediately drops his briefcase, plucking Tommy from the swing, before gently going over to his wife, sitting next to her on the bed. Thomas immediately calms in Vision’s arms.

“Darling?” Vision says, moving to grab her free hand. She doesn’t respond, and Vision’s fear grows.

“Wanda,” he says , and her eyes refocus on him, aa fresh tears roll down her cheeks. 

“They won’t....stop crying,” she murmurs, and then she’s truly sobbing, and Vision feels his heart breaking at the sight.

“Wanda, it’s alright,” he says quietly, but she’s shaking her head through fresh tears. 

“I’m...I’m a bad mother. I was supposed to be able to do this. And I- I-Может быть, Бог правильно сказал, в первый раз,” she sobs, switching to Sokovian, and Vision’s control once more slips as a helpless feeling permeates within him. He doesn’t understand what she’s saying.

T-translate, he commands his mind.

<Identify. Translation. Define: DIALING.>

Goddamnit. 

“Wanda, listen to me. This is new. For both of us. And having two new infants is an incredible amount of work” he begins, as his mind struggles to blot out the cursed sound of static and buzzing. She ignores him though, her breath erratic and heart pounding. 

<Internet status: CONNECTED. Translation. Может быть, Бог правильно сказал, в первый раз. Maybe God had it right, the first time.>

Vision’s eyes go wide, and he looks to Wanda once more.

“Wanda, what first time?” He blurts out, and her eyes widen, before she shakes her head through her sobs. 

“Wanda,” he implores her, but she only shakes her head again, before struggling to speak once more.

“I’m sorry. I’m not making sense. I just, no matter what I do, nothing seems to work. Maybe I’m not cut out for this,” Wanda says, and he can’t shake the fear that she has told him something vital, something important, but William is still crying in Wanda’s arms and he can feel that Thomas is wet.

“No. No, dear. You are just fatigued. You need rest,” he says, moving to wipe a tear from Wanda’s face with his free hand. 

She leans into his strong hand, and nods slightly, closing her eyes. 

“Let me take them for evening’s entirety. Please, Wanda,” he murmurs, and she nods through closed eyes.

“Alright,” she breathes, and he feels her heart rate steady slightly as she struggles to regulate her breathing. 

“Do we have enough milk? How many bottles are in the refrigerator currently?” He asks, and she then opens her eyes, nodding. 

“At least eight. A-Are you sure?” She asks, and he nods, before moving gently to kiss her lips.

“Of course.”

—

It’s an intricate dance. He utilizes the swings, bassinet, rocking chair, and his own arms to change both infants and feed them, one nursing a bottle and the other he rocks in the bassinet, gently pushing it back and forth with his foot. After a long while, in the wee hours of the morning, William falls asleep, followed by Thomas, and he is able to put them both down. He stands in the middle of the darkened nursery, looking around at the cloths used to mop spit-up and the partially-exploded baby powder and half-empty bottles.. He’s still in his suit, although he phased the tie and jacket long ago, and now he phases the rest into a more comfortable plaid shirt and jeans. Slowly, he alters his density so his footsteps won’t wake either child as he silently picks up the room, tossing out dirty diapers taking out the waste bin, then walking the bottles back into the kitchen to be cleaned. The only sound is the grandfather clock ticking from the living room, and while Vision typically finds solace in the sound, right now it is haunting.

Maybe God was right, the first time. 

His mind is weary. He is tired of the hints and clues, of his world threatening to split down the middle just as he’s managed to stitch it back together. He wants nothing more than to wake Wanda and ask, again, what she meant, but he not wonders if she even knows herself. She had forgotten she had a twin; it was likely that whatever this secret was could also be lost, too, in the deep, black recesses of marred memory that West View had wrought on them. Sensing the instability of his thinking, he instead reaches out toward the internet once more, memorizing article after article about it’s potential future, its effectiveness, as he cleans each bottle rhythmically, setting up a pot of boiling water to disinfect them. His movements are measured, careful, certain, and it takes 3.4 seconds to register William’s whimpers again from the nursery. He immeidately sets aside the learning, striding quickly and soundless across the living room to pick up the boy so his brother remains asleep. Vision sighs, staring at the child whose bottom lip is quivering in anguish.

“William, what ails you so?” He asks, gently rocking his son in his arms again, once more checking his head for a fever, and finding none. 

“You would be so much more content if you would simply sleep,” he mumurs, gradually walking across to the window, and the moon is ripe and bright and yellow, as William’s cries once more soften and they look at it, together. Beyond, a deep purple is swelling on the horizon, the promise of a new day.

“Something, here, is not right, William” he says to son, who only blinks at him. Vision sighs, running a slightly shaking hand over his head. 

“Part of the problem, is a lack of access to information,” he murmurs to him, who only coos in response. He glances down at his son, who has a tiny hand around his thumb, and Vision smiles sadly.

“If we can access the correct information, understand the trajectory of our pasts, of both your mom’s and mine, we may be able to understand what is happening here,” he says. William blinks. Once. Again.

“Daddy got to use a computer today,” he tells William through a bigger smile, and William gurgles.

“Yes. That is a good thing.There’s an affinity there, I imagine. A familiarity. Daddy thinks, he suspects, that something about it could hold the key to the truth,” he murmurs, and William continues to simply stare. Of the two, William is calmer, somehow more knowing and the way his son looks at him with his dark, wild-blue eyes sets Vision slightly more at ease. 

“I promise, William, I intend to make this right. I will make this right,” he murmurs, in the partial light of early dawn, a hand drawn lightly dawn William’s cheek. “I’ll keep us safe, at all costs. I promise.”

—

Wanda appears in the nursery two hours later, adorned in a cream turtle neck and floral vest, showered and looking positively radiant. Vision must appear a little helpless; both twins began crying again 1 hour and 12 minutes ago, and haven’t stopped since. She takes Tommy from him, while Vision bounces William in his arms.

“It’s time to decide and conquer,” she says through a smile.

“Are you feeling better, my love?” He asks, walking over to her and giving her a peck on her cheek. 

“Only because of you. I didn’t realize how tired I was,” she says through a laugh. And then, glancing down at her watch, she notices the time.

“Don’t you have to get ready for-“

“Ah, well no. I arranged the next seven days off with Mr. Hart. It shouldn’t be a problem,” Vision says with a firm nod of his head. Wanda blinks at him, and he can tell she’s torn between smiling and frowning, so a curious befuddlement finds itself on her features. 

“Vizh. Are you sure? Wasn’t there something important? Something about computers you mentioned?” She says, moving to the changing table to undo the snaps of Tommy’s blue sleep-and-play to check his diaper. Vision refrains from telling her he changed a mere fourteen minutes ago, but he realizes it still needs changing, regardless.

“No I-don’t believe I mentioned it. But, yes. No worries, though, darling. I got most of the IBMs up and running yesterday, and am on call if there are any technical issues,” he murmurs, and Wanda turns back at him, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Well, I can’t say that I’m not happy. That was stupid of me, to insist you go to work. I don’t think I can do this alone right now,” she mutters, balling up the used diaper and placing it in the bin near the changing table. He walks over to her, bouncing Billy still, as he kisses the crown of her head.

“You are never alone. You will always have me,” he murmurs, and she turns around to smile at him endearingly, leaning into his chest before cooing at Billy in Vision’s arms.

“Shall I stay with this troublemaker here? I could always try reading to him again,” he says, looking down at the infant still fussing.

“Yeah. I need to feed Tommy anyway. Wait. Do I need to feed Tommy?” She asks, and Vision quickly pulls up his very detailed schedule of each time he has changed or fed either twin, and the increments and time stamps they have slept.

“He could stand to eat, yes,” he murmurs, and she nods as she puts a new diaper on Tommy. 

Thirty two minutes later, neither parent is having much luck. Darwin’s words do little to console William, and, finding he is lonely upstairs, starts to make his way down the carpeted stairway to find his wife making deals with Tommy. 

“I promise, if you go to sleep, you will be my favorite twin,” she says though another bounce of the baby, and Vision interjects, both of them now in the living room, a baby each.

“Now darling you know we love them both equally,” he lectures her, and she looks at him with a feigned sense of alarm.

“Well don’t tell him that,” she says, and Vision chuckles. “Any luck with Billy?”

“I tried reading to him but for some reason Charles Darwin’s The Descent of Man made him cry even harder,” Vision mutters through another bounce, and Wanda offers Vision a can you blame him? look. As they both bounce the children, a wild thought strikes Vision, and he smirks, walking closer to her, all the while bouncing William. 

“Care to dance, darling?” He asks, and she smiles suggestively at him as she closes the gap between them.

“Ooh it’s almost like were on a date,” she says through a wink and Vision offers her a suggestive mmmm. 

“Keep it down lads I was about to get my leg over,” he jokes, and Wanda laughs, although the blush still lingering on her features tells Vision all he needs to know.

Three days, now four, is definitely too long. 

“Vizh?” Wanda asks.

“Mm?” He asks, mind still replaying the details of the last time he’d had Wanda, or, rather, she’d had him, straddled over him with her hands on the back of the headboard. 

Four days is entirely, ridiculously too long. 

“Would you mind grabbing their binkies?” She asks, and Vision snaps out of his memory and dutifully nods as he moves to put Billy down in one of the bassinets they put in the living room, a creative invention to try to get them to nap, which hadn’t worked. 

“Of course not. Binkies all around I think,” he murmurs, striding through the French doors into the kitchen. He glances around at where the bottles are still drying on the counter, to a basket filled with toys the boys are entirely too young to play with. He hears a tired, frustrated, “Why won’t you do what I want?” and he frowns. In a desperate need to keep the levity up, he grabs the pacifiers and partially phases them through his auditory receptors.

“What’s that, dear?” He asks, returning, and she laughs, Vision’s purpose achieved.

“Those are not where those go!” She says. 

“Noise cancellation is not their primary function?” He jokes, and Wanda only rolls her eyes at him, before giving one to each twin. For a moment, either twin sucks on the pacifier, and they both think it might be working before William and Tommy both spit them out at the same time, and the binkies go flying, one going so far as to bounce off Vision’s chest.  Both parents sigh in frustration.

“Vizh,” Wanda says dejectedly as the twins begin crying again.

“Mmm,” he mutters, staring at the crying boys.

“What are we doing wrong?” She asks flatly.

“Don’t worry dear,” he replies, before kissing her forehead gently and wrapping an arm around her. “Perhaps we need more time to get to know one another,” he muses.

“Maybe. Or maybe we just need some help,” Wanda remarks, and then, as if on cue, Vision hears the doorbell, the door already beginning to open, and he jumps, phasing into blonde hair and pale skin as he goes, plucking a pillow from the couch to complete the ensemble before Agnes, who often likes to just...barge in...to their home, can see him. 

“Oh! Agnes! Hi! I was just fluffing this pillow with my...face,” he lamely covers, and Wanda crosses her arms and rolls her eyes, although she’s still smiling at him. Agnes is adorned with full aerobic attire, much like the woman Vision had seen on the street yesterday that had spawned the whole realization of the internet. 

“I was just on my way to jazzercise when I heard you two new bundles of joy were on a sleep strike!’ She says theatrically, posing through a smile, and Vision frowns. 

“Oh? Who told you that?” Vision can’t help but ask, and Wanda throws him a look, but he only shrugs his shoulders in response. 

“Uh, my ears!!” Agnes says, through the laughter of an invisible audience. Vision attempts a smile, but it immediately falls, increasingly put off by Agnes’ theatrics with each passing day. 

“Anyway, Auntie Agnes is here and I’ve got a couple of tricks up my sleeve!” She responds.

Like what? Agnes doesn’t even have children, Vision shoots through the muted mental link through Wanda, but Wanda ignores him.

“Agnes you’re a life saver!” Wanda says, clasping the woman’s hands, but Vision remains nonplussed, as he runs through the checklist.

“Oh very well, but be careful of their belly buttons and remember to support their heads and when was the last time you washed your hands?” He says walking over to Agnes, intent to put himself between her and the children. “Actually you know what? Just..maybe we’d better not.” 

Vision! Wanda admonishes him, but then they both glance to Agnes, who looks increasingly confused. 

“Umm... uhhh.... do you want me to take that again?” She asks, and Vision throws a look of confusion.

What? He manages to ask, and Wanda frowns, looking at Agnes once more. 

“Uh, I’m sorry?” Wanda attempts to clarify.

“You want me to hold the babies,” Agnes says quietly, theatrics forgotten. When neither of them respond, Agnes reaches to grab her duffle bag, as if intending to leave. “Should we just...take it from the top?”

Vision stares at Agnes like she truly has lost it, eyes flitting between Agnes and Wanda, before Wanda begins promptly laughing. 

“Oh, don’t be silly! Vision, let’s let Agnes give a try,” she glares at him, and Vision can only silently nod, still trying to understand what just happened. 

Take it from the top. As if it was a scene, as if she was going to redo the line? And she was looking to...who? Wanda? For direction?

Agnes quickly falls back into herself, laughing amusedly. 

“Fussy babies, meet buns of steal! We dare you to stay awake!” She says through a laugh, and Wanda is laughing alongside her, as if the odd moment had not occurred. Vision clenches his jaw, before gesturing to Wanda, pulling her over to the hearth on the other side of the living room.

“What was that about?” He says through a nervous laugh under his breath.

“What was what?” Wanda asks, and Vision’s brow furrows in confusion.

“What was what? That. What happened with Agnes just now,” he says gesturing to the woman cooing to the crying children. Wanda frowns just slightly, biting her lip as she glances at Agnes, before turning back around to her husband.

“Well I think she just got confused for a moment. She seems fine now,” Wanda says through a shrug of her shoulders. Vision’s frown grows, trying to understand what any of it could mean.

“But what she said, the way she looked at you,” Vision clarifies, and Wanda crosses her arms.

“How did she look at me?” She challenges him. 

“Well I don’t- oh,” Vision mutters, glancing over to Agnes, who is currently spritzing them with something that looks like a glass perfume bottle.

“Lavender,” Agnes says as she does aerobics in front of the bassinets. “It’s supposed to have a calming effect. Ralph sprays it on me every night but there’s no taming this tiger!” she says suggestively, and Wanda laughs, but Vision doesn’t.

“That’s so strange,” Vision mutters, and Wanda once more rolls her eyes at him.

”Oh it’s not Agnes’ fault she has an usually high libido,” Wanda attempts to change the subject, and, at this juncture, it seems Wanda is practically covering for Agnes, or trying to rewind the moment without actually rewinding it. Vision looks her dead in the eye. 

“Wanda, did you really not see what I saw?” He implores, and his wife’s frown deepens before they both hear a clanking near the kitchen.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just looking for your dark liquor,” Agnes says, holding a glass carafe of Vodka they have for special occasions in her hands.

“What?!” Vision blurts out, and Wanda shoves him in ribs with her elbow.

“Not for me. For the twins! What kind of baby sitter do you think I am? I’m just gonna go and check in there,” Agnes says, and prances off into the kitchen. Wanda turns back to him, a pleading look in her eye. 

“Vision. The boys haven’t slept in days, you and I both need a break, and Agnes is just being neighborly that’s all,” she stresses, but it is then, and only then, that his auditory receptors no longer have to pick up on the thing they’ve been muting just slightly over the past four days, and he blinks, staring in the direction of the bassinets.

“Do you hear that?” He asks carefully.

“Hear what?” Wanda obstinately says, before her eyes widen and she reaches the same conclusion he does.

“Absolutely nothing,” Vision murmurs, and he grabs Wanda’s hand pulling her over to the bassinets.

“They finally fell asleep!” Wanda replies, but when they reach the bassinets, Vision’s heart rate triples. 

“They’re empty,” He exclaims, and he glances over to Agnes to see that she doesn’t have them, and glances over to Wanda, and even to the floor around the bassinets, god forbid they already learned how to crawl out, before he hears the sounds of a child’s voice behind him. Rather the voices of two children.

“Mommy? Daddy?” The voices says, and Vision grits his teeth, hoping it’s not true, god, please don’t let it be true, but he turns to find the most heartbreaking, beautiful, terrifying image. Two children, twins, boys, physiology around the age of five. 

He whips around to Wanda, mouth hanging open, pointing at her, as if to suggest did you do this? And she quickly shakes her head, and there are almost tears in her eyes, as the children stare at their parents expectedly. From the counter, Agnes is nursing a glass of bourbon, from the smell of it. 

“Kids. You can’t control ‘em. No matter how hard you try,” she says and then toasts the air. Vision glances back to his wife, eyes wide before they both turn to the boys, who look slightly nervous, maybe a little scared. Wanda immediately crouches down, and Vision finds himself speaking.

“Well hi,” he hears himself saying, a sentiment Wanda echoes.

“Hi,” Wanda murmurs, gesturing for... Tommy, his brain supplies him and he mimics her, as William comes bounding over, and he easily moves to pick him up in his arms, the boy quickly leaning his sturdy head on Vision’s shoulder.

“How ya doing, Billy?” He asks, and the boy laughs slightly through a loving smile, as Vision holds him tighter, staring at Wanda, eyes still wide.