Synthesis

Chapter 16: Conflict Breeds Catastrophe

Avengers Compound, May 2nd, 2016, 3:12pm

Vision had been enraptured by the melting snow and the slow progression of plant life that began to emerge on the grounds of the compound. With each passing day, the sun rose earlier and set later, and with each passing day the temperature would fluctuate enough to show a progression of warmer mornings ahead. It was impossible, sometimes, to consider what was so desolate and frigid mere weeks ago now showed signs of dormant life surging forward, new green leaves and the heavy buds on trees appearing from nothing. In the time he wasn’t preparing his case to apply for natural personhood with Stark’s lawyers or helping Wanda study for midterms or assisting Helen in the lab analyzing the particular characteristics of vibranium in comparison to adamantium, he spent much time outdoors along the perimeter. He catalogued each species of flora and fauna long ago, but to see the plants reemerge, fighting for their spot in the sun, slowly growing tendrils of stem and leaf after a long, frigid winter, filled Vision with a sort of ethereal awe. 

With the slowly appearing vegetation, he found himself also slowly learning more about the intricacies of the world around him. He was more respected, now, among his fellow teammates, and, surprisingly, had developed a unique friendship with each of them. He most often went to Sam for friendly advice or to ask about a particular United States cultural custom, because Sam never laughed at Vision. Sam was also the most apt to play board games with Vision, and often was exceptional at breaking Vision’s concentration by goading him. Rhodes, as he insisted Vision call him, had a brilliant mind when it came to combat strategy and would often compel Vision into long conversations about the hypotheticals of any given battle. Agent Romanov often enjoyed testing Vision’s physical combat techniques, and she found it a sort of challenge to go hand-to-hand with Vision, and she had been the only one, so far, to discover that even Vision himself had his weaknesses and “tells” during combat. She had sent him to the ground twice. Mr. Stark, of course, had developed a sort of on-and-off affinity for the synthezoid, engaging him periodically in a mechanical engineering quandary, and when perhaps their back-and-forth got too friendly or easy, Stark put distance between them escaping to Santa Barbara for weeks at a time.  Captain Rogers was more formal with Vision, although he often would talk about life seventy years prior during dinner, enrapturing the entire table in the details of his stories. By the spring, no one called him a robot and he was treated, more often than not, as one of the team, as a person, no longer an other. 

And there was, of course, Wanda. Wanda. Most evenings he found himself in her bed, reading to her. Most days they were inseparable. He was present at her meal times, he often was paired against her in training, and they spent their evenings reading or studying or watching television. Most recently Wanda had been obsessed with Mad Men, a show that puzzled Vision to no end, but in which he was still intrigued by. Don Draper had adopted a false life for himself, performed and acted in a role of sorts, and suffered from imposter syndrome often. He was cruel and heartless to the women around him though, and that’s where the subtle parallels Vision felt between himself and the character stopped. 

It was nights like these, when Vision watched Draper stare down an empty elevator shaft, Wanda asleep on his shoulder, draped around his arm, that Vision’s resolve faltered. He had buried those...feelings. The inclination of something running deeper than friendship, the infatuation, far within his consciousness, so the mental link he and Wanda often maintained made Wanda none the wiser. He sometimes revelled in these quiet moments though, fully aware of her warm body next to his. Even months after the realization of his feelings toward Wanda, he still wasn’t entirely sure what they were or what it could mean. On his best days the feelings befuddled him, and he had had several long conversations with Helen since the New Years Eve party. How could he have the impulse to kiss Wanda? What was the extent of a physiological response to his infatuation? On his worst days, when he was rendered powerless by the way Wanda would gently sing in Sokovian as she strummed her guitar...well, on those days, he merely suffered.

He was not certain if what he felt was unrequited. It was not always easy to understand what Wanda wanted from him: a friend, a shoulder to lean on, a teammate, a mentor, a partner, a lover? No. No, that could not be right. While there were many casual touches, Vision had not catalogued any from Wanda that would clearly indicate that she returned his feelings. And it shouldn’t matter, because ultimately those elusive and unsubstantiated feelings shouldn’t matter. Wanda’s well-being was all that mattered. To Vision’s relief, Wanda’s grief had ebbed considerably, and he had been there through it all. The nights where the nightmares raged, the evenings where she sobbed quietly, mourning Pietro, hiding her face in his chest. The sunny afternoons where Wanda smiled at the first taste of ice cream, or the way she triumphantly smirked when she managed to pin him in sparring. He had been there through it all, and while she had established the baseline of only friends, perhaps best friends, Vision was fine to keep it that way, the subtle moments, like this one, pushed further and further down, the want of something undefinable stifled. 

As finals week for Wanda’s classes neared, however, her anxiety grew. Vision was insistent on helping Wanda where he could with her studies, but he sensed easily enough she had come to a breaking point. Vision, too, was dealing with forces that he felt were outside his control. He had applied for natural personhood through the state of New York, in the hope to prove he was autonomous enough from an AI to be granted basic human rights. Stark’s lawyers were the very best money could buy, but even they doubted a favorable ruling on Vision’s case. His existence was unprecedented, and as such his legal battle would require persistence, and most likely would be punctuated by disappointment. 

There was also the team’s impending mission in Lagos, Nigeria. Captain Rogers had got word that there was speculation that an ex-Hydra agent attempting to steal a biological weapon from the Institute for Infectious Diseases and also that in James Buchanan Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier, had been spotted in the area. The team was preparing to be dispatched later on that evening. Vision was ordered to stay behind, as this was a stealth mission and his appearance would be a hindrance to the group. It wasn’t the first time he had been explicitly left out because of the nature of a mission, but something about it still bothered him, especially when the majority of the group was needed. He would casually unlock doors and hack into whatever building they needed access to if it came to it, although it left something to be desired. Wanda would be joining the rest of the team, and every time Wanda left without him, since Albania, something restless stirred inside him.

Needless to say, he, too, was restless, and when restless, he usually felt a profound need to be outside. Typically this meant a walk around the grounds, except for the fact Mr. Stark had just purchased a Mercedes-Benz SLV class convertible, and Vision had been overcome with an overwhelming urge to try it and drive it. The question is on the tip of his tongue as he phases into Wanda’s room, startling her.

“Shit! Vizh!” She exclaims, and he looks at her bashfully, silently begging her forgiveness. She lays on her stomach on her bed, surrounded by various notebooks and textbooks. She looks tired, but not so exhausted that she requires immediate sleep. 

“My apologies, Wanda. How is the studying going?” He asks, quietly walking closer to the bed to scan her current topic. Biology. 

“I’m exhausted. I think I need a break soon,” she says through a yawn, moving to sit up on the bed as Vision sits on the edge of it. He watches her stretch, her long arms reaching towards the ceiling, her shirt riding up just slightly along her midriff, and Vision averts his eyes. He’s not sure why he does, but it feels necessary. But then she is scooting closer to him, until she’s right next to him, her feet hanging off the side of the bed. 

“What are you up to?” She asks, gently prodding him with a pencil. 

“I’m actually here because, well, I have a proposition for you,” he says through a smirk, eyes on her once more. 

“Oh?” She asks, finally noticing the car key in his left hand, and then she is grinning. 

“I know you leave tonight. But, since you have the afternoon free, I was wondering if you would like to go for a drive?” He asks, bringing up the keys in his hand and swinging them around his index finger. Wanda lets out a laugh.

“Do you...even know how to drive, Vizh?” She asks, playfully nudging his shoulder with her own, which fills his body with an odd, reactionary heat, before he moves to stand, offering her his hand to pull her up. She’s standing by him now, and he quickly downloads driving protocols, along with memorizing all 77 pages of the New York State DMV driver’s handbook.

“Now I do,” he says through a grin. She rolls her eyes at him.

“Show off,” she says, swatting his arm, and he grins wider. “Well I know you don't’ have a license. So, what, you’re planning on just...breaking the law?” She says through feigned alarm. 

“I intend to stay close to the compound on the backroads, nowhere near respectable civilization,” he says and Wanda’s smile grows.

“Is this because we watched Rebel Without a Cause recently? Did James Dean make the idea of breaking the rules sexy?” She asks, crossing her arms and arching an eyebrow in his direction. 

Something deep inside him twists at the sound of that word coming from Wanda’s lips, but he manages a simple, “Perhaps” instead. 

“It might take your mind off things,” he adds, and she sighs through her nose, before nodding. 

“Fine. Ok. But I get to pick the music,” she says, snatching her phone from her bed and holding it up. “I just got a Spotify account.” 

“Deal,” Vision murmurs, nodding his head once. 

—

The garage is expansive, and Vision is aware, with remarkable clarity, how much Mr. Stark has paid for each of his many cars and how much they mean to him. There’s also a Land Rover, a Harley Davidson for Cap, and a black Cadillac SUV, should they need to travel discreetly. But the one Vision eyes is new, and he had been given a sort of roundabout permission to drive it.

If this lawyer stuff ever gets to you, just take the new Benz out for a spin, Mr. Stark had said flippantly with a wave of his hand a week prior.

Vision doubted Stark truly thought he’d ever take him up on the offer. 

Stark needed to understand that Vision’s wants and needs are evolving. 

As they near the vehicle, Wanda grins, and Vision walks around to open the door for her. The vehicle is a smooth midnight blue, and Wanda runs her hand gently over the leather interior before she hops in. He shuts the door, phasing partly through the car to get to the other side, sitting down. Immediately he notices he’s too tall, and after downloading the vehicle's manual into his consciousness, he slides his left arm down to push the seat back. Wanda smiles as he adjusts the mirrors, and she slides a pair of sunglasses off where they had been hanging off the hem of her shirt, putting them on. Just to be cautious, Vision throws up an overlay screen on his optical receptors, because as much as he might hope to air a relaxed vibe, his full intent is to keep Wanda safe. He glances over to the woman who repeatedly makes his heart thud harder in his chest; she seems excited, and with that he pushes the “ignite” button on the engine and it roars to life. Wanda breathlessly laughs. 

“This feels so...rebellious,” Wanda smiles, and Vision smirks, sending a quick message for the garage to open, before putting the vehicle into drive and casually tapping the acceleration pedal, pulling out into the sunlit street. So far, so good, he thinks to himself, turning on a blinking signal to head out down the fairly empty winding roads of upstate New York. 

They’re on the road for precisely 1.46 seconds when his panic sets in. 

There’s a car behind them. Tailing them, practically. Vision narrows his eyes at the reflection in the rear view. Wanda has also turned on the stereo, and the melody of mellow guitar and vocals begin. He checks his speed. 39mph. The speed limit is 45, and it is best to be safe, he thinks. The car behind him speeds up, and Vision’s grip on the wheel tightens. Meanwhile, Wanda is singing along gently to the music, her hand outside of the car, feeling the wind as it rushes past. The car then speeds alongside them, honking as it goes, and Wanda frowns.

“What’s their problem?” she asks, flipping the car off as it passes, and Vision wishes he could phase through the seat.

“I, erm, might be driving a bit slower than the speed limit. If only because of your safety,” Vision says through a nod, and Wanda laughs.

“Vizh. You aren’t going to kill me. You’re doing fine so far. Speed it up a bit!” she says, and he nods, pushing down on the accelerator slightly as the road banks, and the sunlight pours through the evergreens flanked on either side of them.

He must be radiating tension, because Wanda turns to him, peering at him through her dark glasses.

“Calm down, Vizh,” she says, gently laying a hand atop of his on the wheel. 

“I...I am sorry. My whole intention was to make this relaxing, for you, and it seems I am the one thoroughly not obeying orders,” he murmurs, and she laughs a little, squeezing his hand before letting it go.

“Well, I forgive you,” she murmurs and he shoots her a wry smile. 

“Here, this should help,” she adds, pulling out her phone and summoning a new song, and now a woman’s voice and the sound of more guitar fills the cabin.

I am walking, out in the rain, 

And I’m listening to the low moan of the dial tone again.

And I’m getting nowhere with you.

And I can’t let go, and I can’t get through. 

Vision frowns as he listens to it, and he attempts to refocus on the road as Wanda sings along with the song, dipping her hand out of the car again to catch the wind between her outstretched fingers. 

And I’m watching your chest, rise and fall

Like the tides of my life, and the rest of it all.

And your bones have been my bed frame 

And you flesh has been my pillow

I have been waiting for sleep

To offer up the deed 

With both hands. 

Vision clears his throat, slowing to make a turn at the upcoming stop sign. Noticing this, Wanda frowns slightly, turning to peer at him over her sunglasses.

“Do you...like it?” she asks, gesturing to the music that flows around them.

“Yes. It is...raw. Honest. Who is singing?” he asks. Wanda smiles knowingly.

“Ani Defranco. I listened to her so much as a teenager. I worshipped her like an idol. Once, after a really bad break up, her music was the only thing that seemed to help,” she says.

Wanda has not once mentioned her love life before this moment, and the fact that she is doing so now, so nonchalantly, while he is driving them in a large circle around the compound, does not go unnoticed by him.

“Breakup?” he asks, and Wanda bites her lip, frowning.

“Yeah. I got dumped,” she says, somewhat grimly, through a subtle lift of one shoulder. 

“Well,” Vision replies, attempting to offer solace. “I’m sure whoever he is he regrets his decision.”

She turns around to him then, smiling widely, and he thinks perhaps he has said the right thing, until she corrects him.

“Yeah, maybe she does,” she says through a smile.

The car jerks ever so slightly to the left, Vision’s hands acting on their own accord, and Wanda’s smile grows wider as Vision practically over corrects and turns to look at her with wide eyes.

“My...apologies. I did not know you were-” he begins, but she interrupts him.

“Gay? Well, I’m not. Or, not all the way,” Wanda mutters through another shrug of her shoulders. “Gender just...never stood in the way of me liking someone. I had a couple of boyfriends, too...it came down to the person in the end…” she trails off. “Anyway, Pietro was protective to say the least. And it didn’t matter to him if it was a guy or a girl. That’s probably what drove her off, in the end. I was young. Only about 18,” she finishes almost wistfully, humming along with the song’s melody. 

“Ah,” is all Vision manages to say, his heart pounding as it is and his mind desperately trying to remember the rules of the road. No one speaks for some time, before the song changes to the same woman singing about being “imperfect” and Wanda’s voice is on the air again, turning to him determinedly. 

“How about you?” She asks, taking her sunglasses off now as if to study him more closely.

“Pardon?” he asks, grip tightening. 

“Which way do you, you know, swing?” She asks suggestively, tilting her head to the left and then to the right. He steals a prolonged glance at her as she does this, and there must be a peculiar look on his face, as Wanda rephrases her question through a laugh.

“I mean umm...what’s your sexuality?” She says through a white smile, tucking a tendril of hair that has escaped its hold behind one ear.

You are my sexuality, is the rogue thought that enters his head, practically on its own accord, and Vision’s frown deepens. Perhaps he hadn’t shoved down those pesky feelings as deeply as he thought. And for god’s sake, sexuality? When had kissing gone to thoughts about sexual intimacy? Just now? Before now? And why? 

“I don’t think that sexual orientation...very much applies to me,” he finally mutters, moving to turn down another bank in the road, making sure to tap the break as he does so.

“No?” She asks through a tilt of her head, and Vision only sighs.

“I’m a synthezoid, Wanda,” he mutters. 

“And?” she asks, as if this were a non-issue. This has always been the trouble with this woman, Vision surmises. She sees him so often as human, she forgets that he isn’t.

He says nothing, and Wanda frowns again, sliding her sunglasses on once more.

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet,” she says through a shrug of her shoulders, and he can feel her disappointment seep through their connection.

If Vision could laugh at the irony, he would. Right now, though, he is set on not running them off the road. 

“I- I don’t believe that’s the problem,” he murmurs, slowing down to a red light, breathing out shakily. Wanda is looking at him again, obviously wanting more, and he glances at her hesitantly. 

“I just have a hard time, thinking anyone would...consider me that way,” he drops off through a dip of his head, clenching his jaw.

“Well I don’t...I mean...have a hard time with it. Considering you that way, I mean..erm,” Wanda bites her lip, but Vision is once more silently staring at her, helpless to do anything else. 

“What I mean to say is that...you’re a beautiful person, Vizh. Anyone would be lucky to have that sort of relationship with you,” she finally murmurs. Vision blinks at her again, speechless for another 3.24 seconds, before he finally finds himself responding.

“Thank you, Wanda,” he says softly, whirring eyes still focused on her sea-blue ones.

“Of course,” she practically whispers, the quirk of her lips suggesting a faint smile, just as a car honks behind him and Vision practically jumps, realizing the light is now green. He accelerates, Wanda giggles, and Vision tries not to think about what any of it means. 

—

The rest of the car ride mostly passes by in silence, both of them letting the music, and what had just passed between them, settle. He feels Wanda pull back a bit mentally, and he respects her need for privacy. It isn’t until Vision pulls the Mercedes up near the compound does he see Stark waiting just outside the garage, tapping his foot.

“Shit,” Wanda mutters, crossing her arms and sinking down in her seat a little, as Tony walks alongside the car and into the garage. Vision parks the vehicle and turns off the engine through a sigh, even as Stark begins pestering them both.

“Out on a school night and everything. What did your father tell you if you plan to take the car for a spin, mister? Fill it and bring it back washed,” Stark mocks, as Vision phases out of the car and Wanda hops out, giving Stark a disgusted look, before heading inside. Vision begins to follow, before he feels Stark’s grasp on his wrist pulling him back.

“Easy there, Romeo. I need you upstairs. The lawyers arrive in five,” Stark mutters, dropping his hand and glancing down at his timepiece. 

“I trust they have news of the court’s decision?” Vision asks unenthusiastically, and Stark only offers him a grimace. Vision sighs, trailing Stark inside, and when they both enter the foyer they find a confused Wanda blinking at Vision, hovering in the hallway. To clarify, he sends her a soft mental message, hoping she receives it.

Stark’s lawyers are arriving promptly. I will be sure to wish you goodbye before you and the team depart. Wanda nods her head, and disappears down the hall. 

“Huh,” Stark mutters, crossing his arms, looking to the place Wanda was standing to where Vision still lingers.

“Yes?” Vision asks, trying to temper his growing frustration.

“I just owe Rhodey $50. That’s all. Now come on, conference room on the third floor.”

—

“So Helen’s testament, the eyewitnesses from the missions, the lab reports? All of that is considered circumstantial evidence?” Vision bites back in frustration. 

He is currently pacing the small conference room, just beyond where two lawyers and Stark remain seated. He isn’t surprised. He shouldn’t be surprised. Why is he surprised?

“Look, buddy. You knew it would be hard to separate yourself from Jarvis, to fully show autonomy is harder than it sounds. And it’s political. Of course it is. New York has got a bunch of low-life state senators right now, most of them up Ellis’s ass to get re-elected,” Stark mutters, glancing to the Latina woman next to him in a sharp business suit, smiling at her, before she snaps her portfolio shut, startling Stark. 

“Mr. Stark is not entirely wrong, Mr. Vision,” Ms. Roman, Stark’s personal lawyer and a woman Vision had met only once before to go over his testimony, says. “But you must see it from their viewpoint. To them, you hold immense power, and well over half the public, the voting public, is terrified of you. Even if you had been granted natural personhood, what would that look like? How would you be limited in what power you held?” 

“I thought I clearly wrote out, in over a four-part and sixty page testimony, what that would look like,” Vision mutters.

Finally, a pale man with dark glasses on, a man Vision has never met before who introduced himself as Mr. Murdock, begins to speak. 

“It was the consent they got caught up in,” he says clearly, and Stark runs a hand through his hair and gestures to the man. 

“Oh, now he says something,” Stark grumbles. Ignoring the billionaire, Vision looks up to the lawyer for clarification.

“I am sorry. Who are you in relationship to Mr. Stark, Mr. Murdock?” Vision asks, and the man sighs. Vision realizes, since the man is only glancing in Vision’s general direction, that the man is blind. His heartbeat is also 22.1% faster than an average person’s.

“Stark brought me on when he realized the likelihood of a favorable outcome was slim. I am merely a consultant here, but I’ve read over your files, and I can tell you, they seem convinced that your work with the Avengers is a byproduct of JARVIS’s coding. You’ve been programmed in the past to assist the Avengers, and as you are currently mimicking your previous protocols, there was not enough distinct difference for them to consider natural personhood,” the man sighs, glancing downward. “I am sorry.”

Vision breathes through his nose, right as Ms. Roman begins to speak. 

“Mr. Vision, we are here to tell you our options are limited. However, with the help of some clever thinking on the part of Mr. Murdock, we were able to secure legal personhood as a viable second option. All you need to do is sign here,” she pauses, handing him a thin stack of legal documents, “and you will be granted first and fourteenth amendment rights as a...subsidiary of Stark Industries.”

Vision stands there for a moment, closing his eyes and swallowing. He knew it would most likely come to this, but now that the alternative is in front of him, he is not sure it sounds so alluring. 

“If I sign this, do I not admit that I am property?” He asks, trying to keep the gratitude in his voice instead of the impending bitterness. To his surprise, Stark groans, hand falling to the table in frustration.

“Come on, kid. It’s the next best thing. Ok, so no voting. Trust me, its not all it’s cracked up to be anyway,” Stark tries to ease his mind, and Vision stops pacing, staring at the man. He cannot be serious. He cannot be suggesting Vision just be happy he even has this.

“On the contrary, Mr. Stark. Mr. Vision should be informed of what is missing. As a legal person, he could potentially own property, and be criminally prosecuted under the law. He would not, however, be allowed due-process rights, such as the right to marry or the right to adopt,” Mr. Murdock says, gripping what Vision realizes is a walking cane between his hands.

Vision knows what due-process rights are, of course. He is also well aware of the difference between natural and legal persons. Too aware. 

“Oh, come on, Matt. Vision isn’t concerned with all that anyway, right Vision?” Stark looks up to the synthezoid, and Vision only closes his eyes to quell the burgeoning frustration he feels towards Stark. He feeds himself the cold truth of logic. Stark is on his side, and Stark is trying to help him. Meanwhile, Ms. Roman has started talking again, and Vision opens his eyes to concentrate on her words.

“Mr. Vision. I don’t think Mr. Stark needs to remind you that there is growing animosity within the government on both the left and right side of the aisle. Thaddeus Ross is set to be Secretary of State. I know you are aware of his sentiments regarding... enhanced persons,” she says, and at this, curiously enough, she shoots a glance over to Mr. Murdock, who doesn’t seem to notice, although his grip on his cane tightens infinitesimally. 

Of course, Vision knows fully well how he’s viewed by Thaddeus Ross especially. He had hoped after meeting the man face-to-face he would have left a decent impression; he had been wrong in that regard. 

“We- we can protect you this way, Vision,” Stark says, and there’s a look of hurt in his eyes, desperation.

Vision must throw them a questioning glance, but does not speak, and is surprised when it is Mr. Murdock who attempts to clarify.

“As a legal person, Vision can claim equal protection under the 14th and amendment. So if the government decided to try and seize you under the warrant that you’re nothing but a sentient weapon, which of course we know you’re not, Mr. Vision, Stark Industries would be allowed to sue the government, which is most likely enough of a legal deterrent to keep them at bay,” Mr. Murdock finishes thoughtfully. 

“Is that something that is likely?” Vision asks, and he hears Stark swallow, hard.

“That reality is a little too close for comfort, at least what we’ve seen so far. Two months after Sokovia they seized all of my technological patents. Luckily for you, you’re not one of them,” Stark mumbles, glancing down to his hands that grip his coffee mug. 

“The longer you exist in this legal grey limbo, the less likely we are able to protect you should they decide to try anything,” Ms. Roman says. For some reason though, Vision finds his eyes trailing to where Mr. Murdock quietly sits.

“Mr. Murdock, would you advise this as the best course of action?” Vision asks, and if the man is surprised, he doesn’t show, glancing up in Vision’s direction once more.

“Yes, Mr. Vision, I would. Unfortunately, things are not getting easier for people who have committed themselves to saving the world. And if you cannot have all the rights, some are better than none, in most cases. This also enables you to keep doing what you do best,” he quietly pauses ,and Vision swears despite the man’s apparent blindness, he looks straight into Vision’s eyes. “Protecting the ones you love,” he finishes. 

Vision frowns slightly, but chooses to sit down at the conference table across from the three of them once more. He dips his head in defeat, gesturing to a pen. 

“I’ll sign.” 

—

He finds her framed in sunlight, packing the rest of her duffel. She’s in full mission regalia, down to a smartly fitted scarlet coat, her hair pulled tightly up behind her head. He stands in the middle of her open doorway, remembering his slip from earlier, and simply watches her for a moment. 

Well I don’t...I mean...have a hard time with it. Considering you that way.

The question is, did Wanda mean this in a hypothetical sense or an actual sense? Her accelerated heart rate and the slight dilation of her pupils in the car, which he only noticed because he had gone back and played the memory retroactively, would suggest it’s the latter. But that can’t be right. Because...it if was. If it was. 

You would more than likely disappoint her. 

She finally feels him standing there, and she looks up and smiles at him. He must have a certain look about him, or must be emitting an unease through his mind, however, because she instantly drops what she’s doing and walks over to him.

“Vizh...what’s wrong?” she asks, casually taking his hand in her own. He sighs, swiping a thumb along the topside of her palm.

“It seems I am...officially not a natural person in the eyes of the United States government, although I have the opportunity to be protected as property,” he murmurs, and it takes everything in him to keep his eyes on hers. It would be so easy to avert his gaze, but he knows he will find no judgement, no doubt, no hate there. 

“What?” She barely breathes, and he squeezes her hand a little tighter. 

“They denied my case. Natural personhood is not possible, artificial personhood seems the only option, at least currently. It is not a surprising verdict. I’ve extensively read the laws surrounding AIs, legal persons, natural persons, corporate law, and even slavery, and-”

“Are you saying...what, you’re a slave in the eyes of the government?!” Wanda can’t help but interrupt and Vision frowns slightly, leading her to the edge of the bed to sit. She doesn’t let go of his hand, and turns to face him directly.

“No. More that I’ll be considered property of Stark Industries, and in some aspects a subsidiary of the corporation, legally, in the eyes of the government,” he tries to soothe her, thumb still running rhythmically over the top of her palm. 

“How? How can they do this?” She whispers vehemently, her anger just barely under control. 

“If I am the property of Stark industries, I have some rights. First and fourteenth amendment rights, notably. And, of course, it offers a legal deterrent, making it less likely that I am seized by the United States government as the weapo.” 

Wanda’s eyes widen at his remark.

“They- they wouldn’t do that. Right?” she asks, but he says nothing, glancing down at their entwined hands. 

So much time entwined in Wanda, so much of his life defined in reaction to her own. Every human emotion, each experience, realized only because she had helped him know it for what it was.

“Vision...you can’t sign it. You can’t do this,” she pleads, and he realizes, painfully, there are the nascent beginnings of tears in her eyes. He gently reaches up to wipe a tear just as it falls, and she leans her head into his hand.

“It’s already done, darling. There is little choice I have in this matter. If I am handed over, I will be decommissioned or worse,” he murmurs, then immediately regrets it, as her eyes narrow and her voice goes cold.

“What do you mean worse?” she hisses, and Vision finds himself being unable to answer. 

“Vision-” she begins, before he cuts her off. 

“I do not wish to subject you to what is only speculation-” he attempts, but then her hand grabs his wrist where it still cradles her face, bringing it down slowly.

“What do you mean worse?” she asks again. “Tell me.”

Vision sighs, closing his eyes tightly for a moment, before looking at her once more. Best for her to understand, to remind her of what you are.

“Stripping the approximately three billion dollars’ worth of vibranium from my body. Or, more likely, stripping what I know of myself.  Reprogramming.  Re...wiring.” the words sound wrong and harsh on his tongue. He’s not even certain if this is possible or not, for as many wires do run through Vision, natural tissue does as well. But he is certain the government would give it a thorough try. A chill shoots down Vision’s spine at the thought, as he watches Wanda slowly bring her hand to her mouth in terror, and he knows he’s gone too far. He brushes a hand along her hair, tucking it back behind her ear as he attempts to soothe her. 

“And if that happened, I couldn’t...I wouldn’t be able to protect anyone.”

I wouldn’t be able to protect you, he thinks before he can stop himself, although he is not certain he was projecting enough for her to hear it. 

She blinks through two or three more tears, but now moves a soft hand to the side of his own face. 

“If they could only see what I see,” she murmurs.

Well I don’t...I mean...have a hard time with it. Considering you that way.

Vision’s heart thuds louder as the remembered words sneak back into his mind.

“I wish I didn’t have to leave,” she is saying wistfully, letting her hand drop, taking a glance down at her duffle bag.

“I wish I could go with you,” Vision murmurs, quietly retracting his hand from hers.

“I still don’t understand why you can’t come,” she mutters, moving to stand and zipping the duffel bag once more. Vision stands as well, watching her do so, knowing they are out of time. 

“We’ve been over this,” he replies, as she looks up to him again and he wipes away another tear. “On stealth missions my presence is a hindrance.”

“Not to me, it isn’t,” she says, wiping her cheeks in frustration at yet another escaped tear.

“I will be listening to the comms the whole time, like always. And besides, I’ve got my part to do here,” he murmurs.

“What? Like unlocking doors for Steve?” she asks through a bitter laugh.

“Precisely,” he says, offering her a small smile. 

“I’m going to miss you,” she murmurs, stealing a glance at him once more.

She has expressed similar sentiments in the past. In the past, they have held hands, run a hand down a cheek. Tucked hair behind an ear or playfully swatted an arm. But this, this feels different. Because this time, he doesn’t just want to kiss her. He wants her to kiss him back. He wants to keep kissing her, wants to trail his hands down her arms, her torso. He wants to explore every possible way they could know one another. He wants to memorize every detail of her body, know every facet of her mind, bask in the warmth of this beautiful woman’s soul. That he supposes, that’s the difference. And it terrifies him.

“Wanda-” he merely whispers, her name like a hopeful prayer on his lips, but she is interrupting him.

“What you said, in the car today, about you thinking nobody would consider you that way…” she drifts off, looking at him through blushing cheeks. His heartbeat is so loud in his auditory receptors he can barely hear her. 

“Yes?” he murmurs, and she takes a step closer.

“Well, I-”

Suddenly a sharp voice interrupts them through the doorway.

“Maximoff! I said ten! It’s been ten. The jet leaves in the next two minutes, and you better be on it,” Agent Romanov barks, arms crossed, looking more than a little formidable in combat boots and tactical gear. 

“I’ll be right there-” Wanda begins.

“NOW!” Agent Romanov commands, stalking off down the hallway. Wanda sighs, before turning back to Vision. 

“Return safely, Miss Maximoff,” he says quietly, taking her hand up and squeezing it, before, struck by a strange sensation to be closer to her, lifts it gently to his lips, kissing her knuckles. Her skin is warm and impossibly soft. She sucks in a breath, eyes locked on his, before she throws herself at him, embracing him tightly. He cautiously puts a large hand over her back, and kisses the crown off her head, 

“It will be alright, Wanda,” Vision murmurs into her hair, and she then steps back from him, grabbing her duffel and swinging it over her shoulder, nodding once. 

“I know,” she says. “It will be.”

—

Lagos, Nigeria / Avengers Compound, May 3rd, 2016 12:03pm

<"BREAKING: President Ellis discusses his nomination of Thaddeus Ross for Secretary of State! Watch live." >

<“Wakanda’s Efforts in Nigeria: How Can They Possibly Help Turn the Tide.”>

<WHiH revisits: Former felon Scott Lang vindicated as VistaCorp indicted on overcharging customers.>

<“Watch President Ellis swear him his new Secretary of State, Thaddeus Ross.”>

“Vision, you copy?” Rogers' voice is instantly in Vision’s mind.  

Vision hovers in his room, eyes closed, logged into the nearest Stark satellite. He’ll be fatigued the rest of the day, his mind so entrenched into the internet as it is, but he wagers it will be worth it, if only to keep his promise to Wanda. As a part of his mind scans the onslaught of social media news outlets, his voice lies alongside Wanda’s and the rest, and he has visuals in Sam’s goggles and if Redwing is deployed. He can hear Wanda clink the edge of her mug with a spoon, where she sits in a cafe, slowly stirring sugar into her tea, even as another part of his processing core keeps track of the Twitter feed around Lagos, Nigeria.

“Yes, sir,” Vision murmurs to the empty room, his language processing system quickly turning the tones of his voice to computer code and sending it as an audible message into Captain Rogers’ earpiece.

“This isn’t supposed to be a firefight, or you know you’d be here, right alongside us,” Rogers says. Vision’s jaw clenches, as he is aware Wanda can hear everything the Captain says; they all can.

“Indeed, Captain Rogers, I’m aware. I’m scanning local television feeds and the Lagos Police scanners. I’ll notify you if I pick up anything,” Vision says, quickly retargeting their locations via the Stark satellite. Agent Romanov and Wanda at the cafe, Rogers in the north apartment on the eighth floor, Sam on the south building’s roof. So far, everything is quiet, and there is nothing suspicious to pick up on. Meanwhile, he listens to their tutelage and testing of Wanda’s stealth mission knowledge, and at the sound of Wanda’s voice, Vision focuses on it. 

“Alright, what do you see?” Rogers asks.

“Standard beat cops. Small station. Quiet street. It’s a good target,” Wanda responds.

“There’s an ATM on the south corner, which means?” Rogers quizzes her. 

“Cameras,” Wanda responds easily, and there is a quirk on Vision’s lips, even though his mind is stretched to its furthest limits from his body.

“Both cross streets are one-way,” Rogers presses.

“So compromised escape routes,” Wanda answers. 

“Means our guy doesn’t care about being seen. He isn’t afraid to make a mess on the way out,” Rogers responds. “You see that Range Rover halfway up the block?”

“Yeah. The red one? It’s cute,” Wanda says, and, again, Vision’s smiles. Her confidence, alongside her mild frustration with being handled with kid gloves still, is apparent in her voice. 

“It’s also bulletproof, which means private security, which means more guns, which means more headaches for somebody….probably us,” Romanov lectures. 

“You guys know I can move things with my mind, right?” Is Wanda’s reply.

Wanda, remember they only have your best interests in mind, Vision sends a secure message through his mind exclusively to her comm. Wanda doesn’t respond, can’t respond without everyone hearing, so she says nothing. Or perhaps she’s cross with his own form of lecturing. Vision makes a note to not sound so damn condescending. 

“Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature,” Romanov shoots back. 

“Anyone tell you you’re a little bit paranoid?” Sam says from the roof, coming to Wanda’s defense, as is typical of the man. Vision smiles again. 

“Not to my face. Why? Did you hear something?” Romanov toys with him. 

“Eyes on the target, folks,” Rogers orders. “This is the best lead we’ve had on Rumlow in six months. We don’t want to miss him.”

“If he sees us coming, that won't be a problem. He kind of hates us,” Sam adds. From there, Rogers asks Sam to scout a garbage truck that has just pulled out onto a one-way street, headed north. Vision can hear the clink of Wanda stirring her tea as a feed of Redwing’s visuals is made available to Vision, and he quickly targets the threat..

“Sam, that truck is loaded to capacity,” Vision says to Wilson. “And headed directly toward the Institute for Infectious Disease Control.” 

Sam relays the information, just as Romaov is shouting, It’s a battering ram!

“Go. Now!” Rogers shouts. “He’s not hitting the police!!”

Vision’s mind immediately floods with panic, and every golden reach of his consciousness wavers a little in response.

“Wanda, the institute-“ he begins.

“I got it!” She shouts, as Vision’s jaw clenches. This would be a firefight, and he isn’t there. God. He isn’t there. 

“Body-armor. AR-15s,” Rogers mutters through the comm link.

“I make seven hostiles,” Sam mutters. 

“Wanda, traverse the south wall and surprise them from the awning where Sam just landed,” Vision says to her privately.

“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Vizh. Shit, wait. You’re right,” Wanda can’t seemingly help but say through the comms to everyone. Through the eyes of Redwing, Vision notices that Wanda did follow his advice, even as he quickly accesses the Institutes' mainframe. The building has already been breached, and toxic fumes have been utilized. Vision targets three hostiles, tracking the heat signatures in the building. 

“Sam, third floor,” Vision communicates quickly. <Third floor, Bioweapons,> Vision reads from the building's blueprints, and Vision swallows, hard. Meanwhile, he can hear Captain Rogers instructing Wanda to lift him up and through the window.

“What about the gas?” He hears Wanda breathe, hard.

“Get it out!” Rogers shouts. 

Meanwhile, the alarms from the Institute's mainframe sound in Vision’s mind.

“Captain Rogers, they have broken into a high security biohazard lab in the southwestern portion of the building,” Vision communicates.

“On it,” he can hear Rogers breathe, before the shrill sound of his shield richoteing off the the innards of the building drowns it out. 

Meanwhile, from the Institutes' outdoor security feed, Vision watches two gunman perch themselves around the front perimeter of the building, preparing to target Wanda, who is currently trying to send the toxic gas upward.

“Wanda, behind you, now!” Vision practically growls the message into their feed. 

“I’ll cover her!” Sam shouts, and Vision hears more gunfire, he realizes that his actual feet have touched the ground in tension. He doesn’t dare activate his ocular receptors right now, though, as tuned in as he is. He is seething. 

“I should have been there,” Vision communicates privately to Wanda

“Yes. They were stupid in thinking they didn’t need you. But I need you to quit complaining and help us any way you can!” he hears Wanda’s voice speak into the feed, and she sounds out of breath, just as Rogers begins shouting into his own comm. 

Rumlow has a biological weapon! Rogers reports, Vision gets pulled back to surveillance. He can feel the ache in his head. He wasn’t meant to do this. He isn’t FRIDAY or JARVIS anymore, and he knows he’s reaching his limit. He ignores the pangning sensation, however, doubling down on his efforts. 

“Sam, he’s in an AFV heading north,” Vision communicates to Wilson, targeting the vehicle from Stark’s satellites. He sees all of their GPS targets quickly begin to move, but Wanda’s hasn’t yet. 

“Wanda,” Vision breathes. “Time to move. Head north, to the Lietta market. Four blocks, straight ahead. Sam has already arrived.”

“Shit. Shit,” he hears Wanda curse into the comm. 

What happens next is a flurry of activity, between Captain Rogers losing his shield, forced to engage in hand-to-hand with Rumlow, and Sam and Agent Romanov apprehending the other hostiles. Sam comes up short, but Agent Romanov targets the hostile with the weapon. 

“Drop it, or I’ll drop this,” the hostile snarls, and Vision can make out that Agent Romanov is in a standoff. 

“Sam, Redwing has a clear target.”

“Perfect. Thanks V,” he hears Sam say. And then Redwing fires, shooting the hostile and Agent Romanov quickly snatches the biological weapon before it hits the ground. Meanwhile, he can hear the struggle between Rumlow and Rogers, while he tracks Wanda’s position, moving north to the market.

“Wanda, hurry,” he sends a message only to her. 

“Who’s your buyer?” Vision hears Rogers demand. 

“You know, he knew you. Your pal, your buddy, your Bucky,” Rumlow spits, and Vision’s hands body goes stiff. Barnes is Rogers’ weakness. Rumlow is attempting to stall him.

“Captain Rogers-“ he attempts, but he is ignored in the feed. 

“What did you say?” Rogers mutters. 

“He remembered you. I was there, he got all weepy about it. Till they put his brain in a blender,” Rumlow hisses.

“Wanda, now! Rumlow is distracting Rogers. My best estimation is that Rumlow has an explosive device of some kind. Rogers is in immediate danger.”

“He wanted to tell you something, he said to me, please tell Rogers, when you gotta go, you gotta go,” Rumlow spits. 

“I see them. I’m on it,” Wanda shouts.

“Wanda, be careful!” Vision practically growls, and he feels his heart pounding in his chest, his circ-system firing too rapidly, even with his feet firmly planted to the ground.. 

“And you’re coming’ with me,” Rumlow snarls.

“Wanda!” Vision shouts, just as Rumlow presses the detonator for the suicicide bomb, and then he hears the explosion, somehow contained, and he realizes too late that Wanda has circumvented the blast, and he hears her struggle, hears her vy for control, as she sends Rumlow and the exploration skyward, but it careens to the left, and through the cameras on Redwing he watches the building to their left set ablaze, as a shower of debris and ash rain down on his teammates. 

He hears Wanda’s gasp and then following sob through the comm, and it practically undoes him. 

“Oh...Sam... w-we need fire and rescue on the south side of the building,” Rogers murmurs.

—

Avengers Compound, June 1st, 2016, 6:59pm

<News update: Lagos, Nigeria: 20 dead, including 11 relief aid workers from Wakanda in Avengers standoff.>

<Reports of Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff and former S.H.I.E.L.D. operative Natasha Romanoff in Lagos are confirmed>

<BREAKING: President Ellis to issue statement from the White House>

Vision tears himself away from the news, a bitter feeling rising in his throat. He had been pacing the library of the compound restlessly, awaiting his teammates’ return. He had reports that Wanda was in distress, but in one piece. The team had stayed on to help with search and rescue for over three weeks, but he had not been permitted to join them, and had been instructed not to call, unless there was an emergency at the empty compound he was currently watching over. 

Wanda would most likely be devastated. Vision had run the probability of Wanda’s reaction to the events that took place in Lagos in thousands of different ways, and there was a 82.45% chance this would be her reaction. They had left so many things unspoken before her departure, but now, none of that mattered. Nothing mattered but Wanda’s wellbeing.

He knows he must comfort her, but is not certain what the best course of action is. Should he acknowledge the truth behind the tragedy? Assure Wanda that she did what she thought was right? Leave her alone for the time being, offering her space? These questions raged inside Vision, so much so that he barely picks up on the whine of the QuinJet landing. He freezes, turning only two degrees to the direction of the window. He understands his mistakes from the last time a mission failed. He will not rush out to meet them. He will give them the time they need to unload, reorient themselves. He only wishes he had been there, been there to comfort Wanda immediately after.

But if you had been there, all twenty lives could have been saved, a nagging voice in his mind suggests, and he clenches his jaw. He hears commotion from the east side of the building. He gently stretches his mind out to Wanda, projecting the need for connection, but he doesn’t find the reciprocation. Vision frowns, waits precisely fifteen more minutes, and then phases down to the bottom floor, to see Rogers quietly walk into the main hall. Agent Romanov and Sam trail him. Wanda is nowhere to be seen.

Rogers smiles at Vision sadly, before walking up to Vision, patting his shoulder. 

“Good work on the comms, Vision,” he murmurs, and Vision nods once,

“I appreciate that, Captain Rogers. I only wish I had done more,” he says quietly, and Rogers sighs, before looking Vision directly in the eye.

“It was a mistake, not bringing you. One I won’t make again. Wanda-“ he begins, and Vision finds himself speaking, cutting Captain Rogers off for the first time in the history he has known the man.

“Is she alright?” Is what falls from his lips. Roger’s frowns, eyes darting towards the elevator where Wanda most likely escaped to.

“Give her some time, but then you should go check on her. She’s closest with you. And she’s going to need a shoulder to lean on,” Rogers murmurs, before walking past Vision down the hallway. 

Vision watches him go, then makes eye contact with Sam, who gives him a half-hearted wave, and Agent Romanov, who only offers him a serious glare. Vision swallows again, closing his eyes and levitating several floors up into his quarters. Already, he can hear the sound of the news flowing from her room. He wants nothing more than to phase through the wall, hold her in his arms, stroke her hair, comfort her. But he suspects now is not the appropriate time or place.

—

Wanda doesn’t reappear from her room. It worries Vision to no end, especially since there is a constant barrage of news from her quarters. The night ends and a new day begins, and Wanda still stays inside. Vision finds himself pacing the wall between them, waiting for her permission to enter, but it doesn’t come. He knows she is tormented by guilt, most likely consumed by it, and after not seeing her at lunch or dinner, he decides at 10:02pm that following day to finally phase into her room, hoping that enough time has passed for Wanda to have space. He finds her sitting on her bed, hugging a pillow, tear stained. Her pack is still on the floor from where she must have dropped it last night. She barely acknowledges his presence, and he frowns, moving to sit beside her on the bed. She lets him, and, finally, she tears her eyes away from the news to take him in.

“Where were you?” She asks through a quiet breath. 

“I...was hoping to give you the proper distance. You know, space,” he says gently, and her frown deepens through fresh tears.

“I don’t want space. I want to go back in time and fix this,” she says, as more tears well up in her eyes, and he collects her in his arms, holding her tightly to him, smoothing her hair as she buries her face into his chest. 

“I thought...I thought you were disgusted with me, like all the rest,” she murmurs, and his grip on her tightens.

“Wanda. No. I-“ he drops off as he murmurs the words into her hair. “I am only sorry, I wasn’t there to help.”

“This isn’t your fault,” she finally whispers, moving away from him slightly to glance at the television screen again. 

“Wanda Maximoff has been reported as a key assailant in the bombing of a UN medical building-“ it stops as Visions immediately commands the television to power off with his mind. Wanda frowns, turning to him once more. Hot tears still seep down her face. 

“They’re terrified of me,” she hisses, and Vision slowly grabs her free hand, squeezing it gently. “I was, I was trying to dig people out of the rubble, help them, before Steve pulled me away, but and I saw...just...awful things. And it was all because of me.”

“No,” he murmurs, unsure if it’s the truth or not. The public had long since treated both Vision and Wanda differently, and no amount of press conferences or exclusive interviews had changed this fact. Simply put, they were outsiders, simply apart from the others, powers innate and therefore abnormal. Too different, even by Avengers standards.

“I’m- I should have been stronger. God, had I just been stronger, those people wouldn’t have- they wouldn’t have- oh god,” she cries, and then he’s pulling her to him again, holding her tightly to his chest as she sobs, her fists gripping his sweater as he strokes her hair once more.

“It’s not your fault,” he murmurs into her ear.

“Yes, it is,” she whispers bitterly into his chest, and Vision finds himself shaking his head, pulling her back just slightly from his chest.

“Wanda. Wanda, look at me,” he says, and she finally does, the blue of her eyes contrasting starkly with the flushed red of her face.

“You did everything you could do to save as many lives as possible. Had the blast gone off in the market, hundreds may have perished, and Rogers and you with it. And...god, if I had lost you…” he drops off, his own feelings suddenly choking his words.

 She stares at him through tears, and then suddenly she surges forward, capturing his lips with hers. He freezes, breath caught in his lungs, and he feels his hands drop from her as he realizes what has just taken place. She notices his stiffening and pulls back from him, breath hitching in her throat.

“I’m...I’m sorry. I thought, well. I thought you-” she murmurs, eyes darting to the left and the right and his mind surges with horror as he realizes she thinks he’s rejecting her. He finally has regained control of his limbs, and his fingers hesitantly pull at her shirt, as he lets out a shaky breath, closing his eyes for a long moment before opening them, locking with her own.

“Do it again,” he breathes, and she blinks quickly at him, a sharp intake of her breath.

“What?” she whispers, and he barely finds his voice.

“Just...please. Do it again,” he murmurs through shaky breath, and she approaches slowly this time, pressing her lips gently to his own, and he reciprocates, brain firing rapidly, mirroring the way she applies pressure, Vision subtly following her lead, even as shock floods his systems. He shudders when she runs her tongue along his, traversing his open mouth, and he only wishes he could taste the salt of her tears and the subtle complexities on her tongue, but he feels her warmth, and it is enough. A quiet groan escapes him as she deepens the kiss and he pulls her closer, impossibly close, left hand snaking around her waist, the other settling on her right hip, pulling her practically into his lap. 

“Vision,” she murmurs, and his heart quivers at the way his name sounds like that on her lips, before he kisses her again, initiating it this time, and her hands scramble for purchase along his chest before one wraps around his neck, pulling him closer. His pulse is loud in his auditory receptors, as she finally breaks the kiss to gasp air, and he finds his own breath ragged, staring at her hesitantly through a tilt of his head.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” she says through a blush.

“You-you have?” Vision murmurs, eyes wide. She smiles again, before she kisses his jaw this time, again, then again, until she goes lower, setting on his neck where the seam of synthetic skin and vibranium meet. He sucks in a harsh breath at the overwhelming tactile sensation of it all, and she pulls back from him suddenly.

“Did I do something wrong?” She asks quietly, and his hands immediately fly to her shoulders in reassurance. 

“No. No. It is just...new. A lot to... process,” he murmurs, closing his eyes as Wanda slowly weaves her hand in his, smiling shyly, just as a sharp word punctuates the air.

“Maximoff,” Romanov says from the door, and Vision practically leaps off the bed, standing back with his head down just as Romanov enters.

“Oh. Uh, Vision. Hi. Do you mind…” she asks. 

“No. I was just leaving,” Vision murmurs, stealing a quick glance at Wanda who appears shocked and perhaps mildly forlorn, before he phases down through the floor into an empty conference room, stumbling over to put his back to the wall. 

He tries to regulate his breathing, in and out, staring at his shaking hands. His mind is racing as he recalls the kiss, every subtle and tiny complexity forever seared in his databanks. And when she went lower, his body practically burned with something he cannot identify. Something he thought he would not be able to feel.

Lust, floats across her mind, and he swallows hard.

What was he doing? What had he done? He had crossed the line, or perhaps she had crossed it, or maybe they both had when he begged her to repeat the action and she did. The possibilities now stretched endlessly before him. Wanda returned his feelings. Didn’t she? Is that what the kiss meant? Wanda returned his feelings. Wanda returned-

Just then, a sharp alert pulsates in his mind, and he realizes that Tony Stark is attempting to contact him. He quickly puts the call through, finding his voice.

“Y-Yes, Mr. Stark?” He finally says..

“Vision? Why do you sound like that? Were you training or something?” Stark mutters, and he can hear the sound of a jet engine faintly in the background.

“Something like that,” Vision mutters. “How can I be of assistance?” He asks, hoping to shift the conversation. 

“I’m flying to Washington as we speak. I’m meeting with the Secretary of State. I need your help.”

—

He has gone over the kiss from every possible angle, replayed it again and again in his mind. Wanda’s first attempt, his freezing, his plea for her continue. It seems there is now tangible, solid evidence that Wanda does feel similarly, and it feels like too much. The statistical variables and potential variances in probability are far too numerous to calculate.  Agent Romanov had kept Wanda busy most of the evening, and she had not sought him out again after, and he is partly grateful for it, his mind teeming with fear and probability.

The only thing that keeps him from obsessing to the point of insanity is the document that Stark sends him. Desperate to take his mind off of her, he opens it, and immediately frowns.

It is what he has been preparing for, at least subconsciously, but it does not lessen the panic he feels as he quickly downloads the data and rereads over the words:

• Any enhanced individuals who agree to sign must register with the United Nations and provide biometric data such as fingerprints and DNA samples.

• Those with secret identities must reveal their legal names and true identities to the United Nations.

• Those with innate powers must submit to a power analysis, which will categorize their threat level and determine potential health risks

• Those with innate powers must also wear tracking bracelets at all times.

• Any enhanced individuals who sign are prohibited from taking action in any country other than their own unless they are first given clearance by either that country's government or by a United Nations subcommittee.

• Governments are forbidden from deploying enhanced individuals outside of their own national borders unless those individuals are given clearance as described above. The same rule also applies to non-government organizations that operate on a global scale (including S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers).

• Any enhanced individuals who do not sign will not be allowed to take part in any police, military, or espionage activities, or to otherwise participate in any national or international conflict, even in their own country.

• As a corollary, they will not be allowed to participate in any active missions undertaken by private or governmental law enforcement/military/intelligence organizations (such as S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers).

• Any enhanced individuals who use their powers to break the law (including those who take part in extralegal vigilante activities), or are otherwise deemed to be a threat to the safety of the general public, may be detained indefinitely without trial.

• If an enhanced individual violates the Accords, or obstructs the actions of those enforcing the Accords, they may likewise be arrested and detained indefinitely without trial.

• The use of technology to bestow individuals with innate superhuman capabilities is strictly regulated, as is the use and distribution of highly advanced technology (such as Asgardian and Chitauri weaponry).

• The creation of self-aware artificial intelligence is completely prohibited.

Stark had sent this to him hours ago, with a note in the email that the document was classified, and for his eyes only,  and the Machiavellian nature of the exchange sets Vision further on edge. This would be presented to the Avengers, soon. As he scours the internet, he realizes that it is all over the news, suddenly. The only reason to send Vision the document in its entirety is a simple one. Stark is searching for loyalty, and Vision is not altogether certain if he has loyalty to spare. 

 What emerges is a grim reality, at best. The world is frustrated with the Avengers operating with unlimited power. A registration of all enhanced individuals feels inevitable. The tracking devices and the very limited uses of power are discouraging, but perhaps what is most concerning is the clear indication that AIs, in any form, are now illegal to bring online. There are over seventeen mentions of Vision himself in the document, making it clear that the world views him as a sentient weapon, and they are adamant his existence be observed, tracked, and controlled, and most clearly never reproduced. 

You need to talk to her, a voice inside his mind says, and he earnestly shuts his eyes.

Stark had already signed the document. Somewhat prematurely in Vision’s mind, but then again Stark is riddled with guilt. It permeates from his every pore, and Vision is not surprised. What is surprising is the limited options they will have if the rest do not choose to sign the document.

“So, we would not be able to use our powers, in any capacity?” Vision clarifies with Stark that following morning.

“No. Not at all, kid,” Stark mutters into the receiver.

“And what of me? When my very existence is a use of my power?” He murmurs, knowing full-well what the authors of the Sokovia Accords thought of Vision.

“You fall into somewhat of a gray area, I’m afraid,” Stark stammers. “Thank god that legal personhood came through in time though, eh?” 

It is meant to be a reassurance, but Vision finds it has the opposite effect of him. 

Meanwhile, Vision has searched for Wanda’s mind, but has so far not received an invitation. Still, he hovers near the wall they share, lost in anxiety and doubt. Wanda was overwhelmed with emotion, and he begins to fear their passionate embrace was only due to emotional external stimuli. He fears that perhaps he took advantage of her grief and guilt, even if she initiated things. Perhaps he should have left the room, or inhibited things from going further. Instead, he had let his emotion— his overflowing, overwhelming emotion—get the better of him, begging her to kiss him again. 

Perhaps he was a fool. A desperate, clever machine, as the Accords would have him believe, starved for validation, starved for human experiences. He was certain his feelings were Wanda were genuine, but he never thought he would be offered the opportunity to act on them. If Wanda did return his feelings, the thought of mutuality terrifies him. What could he possibly offer her? There is no future with him, no hope for a normal life. What had he been thinking, entangling his life with her own so thoroughly? 

Finally, after the third day, her refusal to come out of her room worrying him to no end, he carefully balances a bowl of oatmeal and an apple in one hand, while being sure to knock on her door with the other. 

“Wanda?” He murmurs, and then she opens the door for him. She has showered and looks remotely better, but there are still dark circles under her eyes and a frown sits on her face.

“I thought perhaps, you might be hungry,” he says.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she murmurs, lifelessly taking the bowl from him, setting it down on the desk next to the doorway. She still has not offered for him to come inside, so he hovers in the hallway awkwardly.

“No. I...simply did not know if you wished to see me,” he murmurs, hands now empty and restless. She says nothing, allow her brows crease just slightly in concern. 

“Wanda, darling, we need to talk about what happened,” he murmurs, reaching out a hand for her, but she takes a step back. 

“Did Stark tell you he’s already signed the accords?” Wanda suddenly says, and Vision cocks his head to the left in confusion.

“How did you know about-“ he begins, but then his eyes trail past Wanda to the television, where a press conference from the White House is being held about in response to the very thing he was supposed to be keeping quiet about. 

“So he did tell you about them, didn’t he?” Wanda asks, and Vision clenches his jaw. 

“I have read them, yes,” he murmurs, glancing down to the floor.

“They’re calling you a sentient weapon,” Wanda says blankly.

“I am aware,” Vision murmurs, and Wanda stares at him, hard. 

“You’re not actually thinking of signing them, are you?” She hisses, and at that he looks up to her.

“I think it would be prudent of you to read the entire document before making up your mind,” Vision murmurs, and Wanda’s brows raise. 

“Is this...is this why you’ve so distant?”” She asks, and Vision’s anger flares.

“I have not been distant. If anything-” he begins, and she frowns. Vision glances down the hallway, still being kept out of Wanda’s room, and the sudden threat of being overheard overwhelms him.

“Mr. Stark is arriving promptly at 10:00am this morning. I thought you should know,” Vision mutters, and Wanda frowns.

“Sounds like a meeting I can miss,” she says and then turns away from him, sitting down on the foot of her bed to watch the news. She doesn’t shut the door, but this time, it is clear that he is not invited. 

—

Three hours later, they sit in the conference room as Thaddeus Ross himself admonishes them for their dangerous, sloppy work over the course of the past six years. It is not a fair depiction of what transpired—Vision has to bite his tongue from pointing out that the US government deployed a nuclear missile in 2012 meant to detonate on the city of New York, which would have caused the deaths of millions—and Ross’ tone is acerbic. Wanda is sitting next to Vision, and he can feel her stiffen at the footage of Lagos. Vision remains perfectly still, a mode he is entirely comfortable with, as he has to consciously demand he shift his body every so often to appear more human. More human. The words are noxious and upsetting, and he closes his eyes momentarily, before opening them to see that Ross is glaring at him, before looking to the others. 

“For the past four years you’ve operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That’s an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution. The Sokovia Accords,” a thick bound legal document is handed to Wanda, and her hands shake slightly as she holds it, before pushing it Rhodes’ way in disgust. At her actions, Vision stiffens slightly, even as Ross continues.

“Approved by 117 countries, it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they’ll operate under the supervision under a United Nations panel only when and if the panel deems it necessary,” Ross lectures them. Meanwhile, across the table Captain Rogers appears skeptical at best. Stark is tormented.

“The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we’ve done that,” Rogers pipes up, and Ross turns to him, a sarcastic smile on his lips.

“Tell me, Captain. Do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?” He presses. Rogers says nothing.

“If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes, you can bet there would be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That’s how the world works. Believe me. This is the middle ground,” he finishes, pointing to the document Rhodes holds.

“So there are contingencies,” Rhodes pushes, and at this Wanda steals a glance to Vision, although he doesn’t return it, choosing to look just past Ross’ left shoulder. 

“Three days from now the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the accords,” Ross states. “Talk it over.”

“And if we come to a decision you don’t like?” Agent Romanov says through a sly smile. 

“Then you retire,” Ross mutters, and, slowly, the Avengers begin to leave their seats. Wanda is out of hers first, and is already fleeing for the kitchen. Rogers, Stark and Vision are the last to leave, but before Vision can exit, he hears Ross clear his throat. 

“Vision, stay back for a moment,” Ross orders, and he watches Stark throw him a desperate look as he files out. Vision turns back around, stealing himself for an unpleasant conversation. 

“How may I be of service, sir?” Vision murmurs, glancing at the thick, bound document on the table and back up to the man who clearly despises Vision’s very existence. 

“I want to make something perfectly clear,” Ross says, rounding the table and staring at him with a threatening glare. Behind him, his assistant shifts his posture just slightly, obviously uncomfortable.

“Your new legal personhood allows you to sign this document, and you should,” Ross says, picking up the book and pointing at it. 

“And why is that, Secretary Ross?” Vision asks, keeping his voice calm and without suggestive intonation.

“Because if they don’t sign, they have the option of retiring. If you don’t sign, we will retire you,” he practically growls, throwing the book down on the table once more. 

Vision says nothing, jaw clenched as he stares at the man in front of him. He feels a new emotion alongside anger. Despair. Hopelessness. Retaliation. 

Ross practically bares his teeth, pointing a finger at Vision once more. 

“You have the luxury of waltzing around this place as if you are normal, and they pretend you’re a walking talking human being, but let me be perfectly clear with you. We know who you really are, and it would behoove you not to forget it.”

“And who am I, Secretary Ross?” Vision says, eyes narrowing.

“The government sees you as nothing more than a sentient weapon. A puppet. A clever piece of Stark technology, and make no mistake, that is what you are. By breathing, you are in violation of the accords. If you do not sign them and register as a willing participant, you will be seized by the United States government and decommissioned. Do I make myself clear?”

Vision doesn’t change his posture, doesn’t show weakness but one of his fists tightens slightly, the tension thrumming along the nerves of his body.

“Perfectly, Secretary Ross,” Vision mutters under his breath. Ross nods to him, and then gestures for he and his assistant to depart, leaving Vision in the conference room with the Sokovia accords, alone. It’s only then that he realizes his hands are tightened into fists. 

—

After Ross departs, it isn’t long before Captain Rogers calls them all to meet outside of the conference room. Vision has not strayed far since his skirmish with Ross, choosing to sit in one of his favorite spots, closer to the very chessboard he had played so many games with Wanda. Before things became complicated. Before he has seemingly taken two steps forward with Wanda and then five steps back. Before the only family he’s known is two threads away from ripping apart. He is surprised to find that, as his fellow teammates file in, they congregate around him. Wanda sits next to him on the tan couch, glancing at him warily. He attempts a small smile for her, but he is sure it doesn’t show, as exhausted, overwhelmed and overworked he feels.

As the conversation begins, it isn’t unlike a game of chess. The sides forming clearly in his mind, the push and pull of rook and pawn evident in the room. It is clear early on that Captain Rogers is skeptical and hesitant, and that Sam will side with him, ever loyal to his best friend who brought him on board to the Avengers in the first place. Rhodes, of course, is in Stark’s pocket. He has known Tony for far too long to side with anyone else. Vision is without options, it seems, which only leaves Agent Romanov and Wanda, who are wild cards. Vision’s mind throbs with information and statistical probability, even as his fellow teammates squabble. Currently Sam and Rhodes are at one another’s throats, as Vision, Wanda and the rest watch. 

“How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?” Sam says bitterly, standing with his arms crossed. 

“117 countries want to sign this. 117, Sam. And you’re just like ‘not that’s cool. We got it.’,” Rhodes contests, and Vision sighs. Wanda notices it, stealing a glance at him. 

“How long are you gonna keep playing both sides?” Sam is saying, before Vision chooses to interrupt. 

“I have an equation,” he offers, and Sam rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, this will clear it up,” Sam says, but Vision continues on, regardless. 

“In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons,” he drops off, daring to steal a glance at Wanda, who is fiddling with her rings and staring down at her hands, “has grown exponentially. During the same period the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.” 

“Are you saying it’s our fault?” Captain Rogers looks up at Vision, a dangerous look of contention in his features. Vision continues with an eerily calm exterior. 

“I’m saying there may be a causality. Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict breeds catastrophe. Oversight...Oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand,” Vision finishes, glancing around the room. 

“Boom,” Rhodes says, and Sam’s sighs loudly and rudely. 

“Tony. You’re being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal,” Romanov says, glancing at the billionaire who is lying on the opposite couch with a hand over his face. 

“Because he’s already made up his mind,” Rogers asserts, and Vision can feel the space fill with tension once more. 

“Boy you know me so well,” Stark taunts, moving to stand, rubbing his forehead as he goes. “Actually, I’m nursing an electromagnetic headache. That’s what’s going on, Cap. It’s just pain. It’s discomfort,” he stops, staring down at the sink, slamming his hand down on the counter. “Who’s putting coffee grounds in the disposal? What am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?”

No one says anything as they glance at one another, as Vision easily calculates what Tony’s play is. He hopes to assuage his guilt by sharing it with the team, getting them to own up the responsibility of their actions. The only problem, of course, is that the team regularly does own up to their actions, as the past three weeks spent in Lagos would suggest. 

Meanwhile, Tony has set his phone down in a basket of fruit, projecting an image of a young, dark-skinned man for the team to see. 

“Oh, that’s Charles Spencer by the way. He’s a great kid. Computer engineering degree. 3.6 GPA. Had a floor-level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first he wanted to put a few miles on his soul before he parked it behind a desk. See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn’t want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn’t go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor...guess where. Sokovia,” Stark growls, cracking open the bottle of ibuprofen as he does so. Vision manages to steal another glance at Wanda, who’s heart rate has increased slightly, and his heart beats more heavily in his chest. 

“He wanted to make a difference I suppose. We won’t know because we dropped a building on him when we were kicking ass,” Stark says bitterly, taking a sip of lukewarm coffee.

“There’s no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check, and whatever form that takes I’m game. If we can’t accept limitations, if we’re boundary-less we’re no better than the bad guys,” he hisses, crossing his arms as he walks back to the group. 

“Tony, if someone dies on your watch, you don’t give up,” Rogers asserts, and Vision tilts his head at him. Rogers also accepts responsibility for his actions, Vision surmises he always has. Vision does not quite understand his inherent need to not be tied down. From what he knows of the man, Rogers happily served in the United States Army, which would have had far more restrictions. 

“Who says we’re giving up?” Stark bites back. 

“We are if we’re not taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blame,” Rogers argues. 

“I’m sorry, Steve. That is dangerously arrogant. This is the United Nations we’re talking about. It’s not the World Security Council, it’s not SHIELD, it’s not HYDRA,” Rhodes adds. 

“No, but it’s run by people with agendas, and agendas change,” Rogers says, a note of desperation in his voice. 

“That’s good. That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing,” Stark says walking over to where Captain Rogers still sits. 

“Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose,” Rogers contends, and at this something in Vision stiffens, a bitter feeling once more rising in his throat. It is true that he agrees with the accords in principle, although there are many issues that need amending. However, if he was staunchly opposed, Vision would not have the luxury of living his life peacefully, as was made clear by Secretary Ross. Rogers is so wrapped up in his own, what Wanda would call privilege, that he does not understand the idiosyncrasies of a marginalized life. Perhaps Rogers often had the privilege of choice, but it is not something Vision so easily comes by. Even at his birth, he was asked to pick a side, not given a moment’s breath to pause and consider his new reality or consciousness. And, since then, he has not been offered any other choice other than being an Avenger, a job he prides himself in doing, but the option to leave feels...false. Impossible.  Additionally, he regularly has not had the right to choose where he may go and for what reason, because if he had, he would have been in Lagos that day, and no one would have died. He is a pawn, more often, in someone else’s game, and if he did not inherently trust Stark or Rogers, his existence would be incredibly problematic. 

Vision frowns slightly, and he can feel Wanda’s eyes on him. He wonders if Wanda thinks and feels these same things, as they are the only two who cannot have their powers stripped from them. 

“What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go? What if there is somewhere we need to go and they don’t let us? We may not be perfect but the safest hands are still our own,” Rogers says, and Stark drops his arms in exhaustion.

“If we don’t do this now, it’s gonna be done to us later. That’s the fact. That won’t be pretty,” he says, glancing over at Wanda nervously.

“You’re saying they’d come for me,” Wanda says flatly, and Vision is struck with a sudden impulse to grab her hand, but, of course, in front of everyone, he doesn’t. Instead, he finds himself murmuring his next words.

“We would protect you,” he says, and Wanda quickly glances up to him, while everyone else looks around in discomfort, before Agent Romanov speaks again. 

“Maybe Tony’s right. If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off-“

“Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?” Sam interrupts from where he stands.

“I’m just reading the terrain. We have made some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back,” Romanov says, and he can feel Wanda stiffen once more. 

“Focus up. I’m sorry, did I just mishear you or did you just agree with me?” Stark toys with her, and Vision sighs slightly.

“Uh, I wanna take it back so bad now,” Romanov shoots back.

“No you can’t retract it. Thank you. Unprecedented. Okay. Case closed. I win,” Stark taunts, and Wanda’s frown deepens before they look to Steve, who is answering a text message.

“I have to go,” he murmurs, putting the copy of the Accords on the table beside him and immediately leaving the room. Wanda looks to where he was sitting, and then glares at Tony.

“Whoever is all for signing, I need your John Doe, now. Come see me in my office. The rest of you, you better decide quick. This thing is bigger than all of us, and we’re short on time,” Stark mutters, before sticking his hands in his pockets and stalking out of the recreation area. 

Rhodes follows Stalk, along with Romanov, while Sam mutters something about going to look for Steve. That leaves just Vision and Wanda on the couch, the Sokovia Accords and the chessboard directly in front of them. 

“What are you going to do?” She murmurs, before throwing a glance his direction. He turns then, facing her more fully.

“I will sign them,” he says quietly, clenching his jaw as he stares at Wanda’s crestfallen face. 

“Is this because of Stark?” Wanda asks quietly, and Vision turns to her, eyes calm and steady.

“Yes and no. I admit that, as a legal portion of Stark Industries, my ties to him feel rather permanent. But I agree with the overall principle of the accords. Oversight is not the issue, and as for the rest-“

“The part where they make you sound like a villain who needs constant supervision or else decommissioning?” Wanda says flatly, and he looks at her. 

“They are not kind in how they word my existence, no,” he murmurs. 

“How about you?” he asks cautiously, carefully. Wanda’s eyes dart to the left and the right, as she is made obviously uncomfortable.

“I...I have nowhere else to go. Stark told me if I don’t sign they’ll take away my visa. And that scares me. It’s just...all of this feels so totalitarian, like I’m back in Sokovia, or Russia.  It feels so suffocating. I know I have to sign them, but then...what about Steve and Sam?” 

“They will have to make up their own minds,” Vision murmurs.

“Yeah, and then what? Retire to Clint’s farm? Or live a life on the run?” Wanda asks. 

“Wanda-“ Vision tries to calm her.

“What scares me about it all is that there is only the illusion of choice, when really I don’t have a choice at all. And I’m assuming you don’t either for that matter,” she murmurs, daring him with her eyes to disagree with her. 

“Yes, the illusion of choice is disturbing, but when you are left with little other options, what then? Logically, the accords were always in our future, and this is the nicest offer that we are likely to see from the world. It is more of an olive branch, if anything. If we do not comply, Stark is right in that they will only make us later,” Vision finishes. 

“I don’t want to be forced into doing something, even if it might be the right thing,” Wanda retaliates, a burning in her soul and this, this is what he’s afraid of. The retaliation. The inherent need to do what feels right instead of what is right. And if she chooses this path, he will lose her, most likely for good.  He must appear rather disheartened because Wanda’s hand is then squeezing his own. The gesture makes him involuntarily stiffen, as a fire rages inside him. 

“So...are  we gonna talk about it?” Wanda quietly asks.

“You were not so eager, earlier, to talk…” Vision drops off, and Wanda squeezes his hand. He shuts his eyes tightly, trying to summon the right words. What would he even say? That he’s wanted this for months, the greater part of his life? That he’s loved her from the moment she first spoke? That she is breaking his trust and heart in her more-than-likely retaliation of the accords? That nothing is appearing to work correctly since Lagos?

“I am not sure if I have...properly analyzed my motives or my actions anyway,” he finally murmurs, and he feels Wanda drop her hand from his.

“So you’re saying...what? That you only kissed me because I kissed you?” She whispers, vehemently, and he swallows hard, shaking his head. 

“No. I’m saying that I would like time to think about it. The Accords complicate things. Everything is now complicated. And I need time to process this, Wanda,” Vision stammers, and Wanda frowns, opens her mouth to say something, and then stops. 

“Alright. That’s fair, I guess,” Wanda murmurs, and she sighs, heading for the door. 

“Wanda,” Vision calls after her, and she stops several paces away from her. “Please consider signing them. I...I don’t want to lose you too.”

“I am not property, Vision. I can’t be lost,” she says through glossy eyes.

—

Avengers Compound, June 23rd, 2016, 2:39pm

Stark’s office feels cramped and awful. Piles of papers litter his desk. Stark had decided, quickly, that he would move into the Avengers compound as soon as Captain Rogers left unannounced three days prior, and he has beckoned Vision to his office several times to “talk shop,” about the future of the Avengers, about what the Accords will mean for missions going forward, and what to do about Captain Rogers and Sam, who have been MIA for the last three days, last seen attending Margaret Carter’s funeral in London.

“Do we know about Wanda yet?” Stark says, using a file folder to fan himself. His sleeves are rolled up, and his heart rate is elevated, most likely due to the four Americanos Stark has consumed.

“Wanda has not signed,” Vision murmurs quietly, glancing out the window to the compound beyond. If he focuses, he can still make out the rich green of the campus, life thriving all around them, and he wishes more than anything he was there instead of in this desolate, grey office space. 

“Well, if she hasn’t done it yet, I don’t think she’s going to,” Stark says, plopping the file folder down on the table and running a nervous hand through his hair. 

“Mr. Stark. What will happen to her if she doesn’t?” Vision asks carefully and Stark’s frown deepens and he sighs heavily.

“Look. Right now, I’m just trying not to have her deported. Her hemming and hawing is not good for business, especially since she’s not a United States citizen. They’re not fucking around when it comes to her. I found out today they’re reneging her visa. If she steps a foot out of this house, she’s likely to be arrested and deported or worse. ICE may still show up at our front door step,” Stark says, waving wildly to the window. Vision winces at Stark’s words, half-inclined to leave Stark’s office now to do a patrol of the compound. He had very little knowledge regarding Wanda’s visa or her citizenship until the Accords, which specifically state that unless she registers her powers, she would be deported. Stark’s lawyers are working on amendments as they speak, but it still might not be enough. 

“If she uses her power so much as to open a door, she’d be detained indefinitely,” Stark mutters, and Vision frowns.

“Then what are we going to do to protect her?” Vision implores. 

“I don’t know. But I’m working on it, alright? God this is such a fucking mess,” Stark mutters, just as his phone lying under a stack of papers on his desk goes off. He shoves things out of the way to grab it and read the next message.

“There’s been a bombing at the signing. Nat’s ok, but...she thinks Steve is there. Fuck. Fuck. He’s going to try to stop Barnes,” Stark says, quickly typing something into the phone and shouting at FRIDAY at the same time.

“FRIDAY, give me Rhodes!” Tony shouts.

“On it, boss,” Friday murmurs, and then suddenly Rhode’s voice fills the room. 

“What fire do you need me to put out now, Tones?” Rhodes mutters. 

“I need you in Bucharest, like now,” Stark shouts to Rhodes. “I’ll send the information to the War Machine suit.”

“Got it, Tony,” Rhodes says, before he disconnects.

“What would you have me do, Mr. Stark?” Vision finally gently asks. Stark whirls around to him, obviously forgetting Vision was still in his office.

“Stay here. And make sure Wanda doesn’t set a foot out that door, not even so much as to buy a stick of gum,” Stark says, throwing some papers and pieces of tech into a leather briefcase. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Stark, but are you asking me to detain her?” Vision says slowly, fear in every word he speaks.

“I’m asking you to protect her, like you said. God, Vision, you know how grave this is for both you and Wanda,” Tony says, latching the briefcase and plucking his suit jacket from the back of his chair.

“Yes...I’m- I’m aware, Mr. Stark. But would it not be better to simply inform her of the risk-”

“I have informed her. Multiple times. And she still won’t sign. Which means she doesn’t leave this compound, because if she does it’s likely you or I will never see her again. The government would snap her up like that,” Stark says with a sharp snap of his fingers. Vision flinches. 

“If you informed Wanda of the risks, then it is my estimation she will stay at the compound without needing to be persuaded,” Vision says through a short nod of his head, and Stark snorts from across the desk. 

“Newsflash, loverboy. You’re blind when it comes to Wanda, so let me fill you on what you’re missing. She’s stubborn, and she loves a good rebellion. She’s also way too young to understand the implications of what she’s doing, or not doing in this case,” Stark mutters. 

“She is twenty seven years old-“ Vision attempts to interject. 

“Please. That’s a child. She’s a child. And if she had a lick of sense she would have signed the accords for the same reason you did,” Stark mutters, and Vision stiffens in his seat across from Stark. 

“Mr. Stark. I want to make it clear to you that I did not sign the accords because my fate rested in my willingness to do so. I signed them because I believe in them. I believe, at this point in time, our actions need to be regulated,” Vision says quietly.

“That’s great. But Wanda thinks differently,” Stark says, sliding on his suit jacket and looking to Vision once more.

“She doesn’t leave. I don’t care what you have to do. Keep her here.”

—

Avengers Compound, June 23rd, 2016, 5:22pm

Vision’s hands shake as he knocks on Wanda’s door once more. The compound is now completely empty, save for Wanda and himself, Mr. Stark on a flight to Berlin to apprehend and talk down Sam and Rogers. Meanwhile, Stark’s words have ignited a fear in Vision, and he has patrolled the entirety of the perimeter twice, paranoid that someone or some entity could be out for Wanda. After hours of patrolling, he finally decides to come back inside, but not before hooking a direct line of the security feed into his brain, along with administering extra security protocols for FRIDAY.

“Wanda?” He asks, gently entering the room. Her door had remained open since that day he had attempted to bring her breakfast, but there is nothing else to suggest that she isn’t still furious with him. Malcolm in the Middle is on the television, and she watches idly, Bryan Cranston’s fatherly advice going mostly unnoticed.

“Hmm?” She asks, finally turning to him, frowning at his attire. The classic uniform. 

“Where have you been?” 

“Patrolling the area. I simply wished to notify you that Mr. Stark has left the premises to travel to Berlin. It seems that Colonel Rhodes has apprehended Rogers and Wilson, after they tried to capture Barnes who was attempting to escape in Bucharest. Stark hopes to talk terms with the two,” Vision states. 

“Do you think they’ll come around?” She asks quietly.

“I...do not know,” Vision says coldly, too coldly. Do something to assuage her. To let her know that she is safe here. 

“I...am going to attempt to cook dinner,” he says, and at this, a true smile breaks out on Wanda’s face.

“Are you now?” She asks.

“As the cleaning and cooking staffs have been off duty for several weeks now, and since Sam is not here, I feel as if it’s my responsibility that you eat a well-balanced meal,”

“I can just eat cereal. It’s not a big deal, Vizh,” she says through a wave of her hand.

“It is to me,” Vision murmurs, and something in her eyes softens, although she doesn't respond.

“If you need me, I will be in the main kitchen,” Vision murmurs, turning on his heel and striding out before he says or does anything he might regret. Like pretending the last week didn’t happen and pulling her down on top of him and having her kiss him again against the soft fabric of her bedsheets.

—

Saveur: Chicken Paprikash

In this comforting dish based on a recipe from Hungarian home cook Olga Kolozy, braised chicken and paprika gravy are served with buttery homemade dumplings. Pair the dish with an acidic white wine that cuts through the sauce’s richness.

• 1 tsp. kosher salt, plus more to taste

• 2½ cups plus 2 Tbsp. all-purpose flour

• 1 egg, lightly beaten

• 1 whole chicken (3-4 lb.), cut into 6–8 pieces, skin removed

• Freshly ground black pepper

• ¼ cups canola oil

• 2 tbsp. sweet paprika

• 1 Italian frying pepper, chopped

• 2 tomatoes, peeled, cored, seeded, and chopped

• 1 cup large yellow onion, minced

• 1½ cups chicken broth

• ¾ cups sour cream

• 3 Tbsp. unsalted butter

• 2 Tbsp. finely chopped flat-leaf parsley

Bring an 8-quart pot of salted water to a boil. In a bowl, whisk together 2 cups flour and 1 teaspoon salt; form a well in the center. Add the egg and ½ cup water to well; stir to form a dough. Knead in bowl until smooth, about 1 minute. Using a teaspoon, scoop walnut-size portions of dough into the pot. Boil the dumplings until tender, 6–8 minutes. Drain dumplings and rinse in cold water; cover with a tea towel and set aside.

Vision is flummoxed. There is no other word that could possibly describe the position he currently finds himself in. He is not entirely sure how to mince anything, and he forgot to form the wells in the center of the dough. He was not sure if he applied enough pressure or too much while kneading it. 

He is not sure what “medium-high” heat means. 

The conversion between teaspoons and milliliters is infuriating.

His hands, for some reason, won’t stop shaking. 

He is just combining the ingredients, hoping it comes together, not altogether certain it will, just when he hears Wanda’s voice float through the hallway. 

“Is that... paprikash?” She asks hesitantly. 

“I thought it might lift your spirits,” he murmurs, focusing on the task at hand until Wanda joins him next to the island, and he glances to look at her. She is still in her black sweatshirt and skirt from earlier, and she enters quietly as if testing the waters. Vision tries to quell his own anxiety, as she comes to stand directly beside him, stirring the dumplings with a ladle, bringing the mixture up to her lips to taste. He watches her quietly, entranced by her movements, by her beauty, things he has not let himself think about since the conflict over the Accords had descended on the compound. 

“Spirits lifted,” she says quietly, looking over to him through a nod, but his insecurity immediately comes into play, as he finds himself stammering an excuse. 

“In my defense, I haven’t actually ever eaten anything before, so I-“

“May I?” She asks, and he dips his head, wiping his hands and stepping back.

“Please,” he murmurs, and the word radiates through his mind as he is reminded of a night only a handful of days before.

Just, please….do it again.

Wanda is picking up the various jars of spices still littered on the kitchen island, as Vision looks around in indecision. He had not expected her to actually make an appearance, not now, and her presence is doing little to settle the questions teeming in his mind. He finds himself saying her name before he understands what else he means to add to it. 

“Wanda….” Vision drops off.

“Hmmm?” Wanda asks idly.

“No one dislikes you, Wanda,” he mutters, feeling idiotic and fumbling with his words. She throws him an odd stare, glancing up from the parsley to do so. 

“Thanks, I guess,” she murmurs, setting down the jar and stirring the dish once more. 

“Oh, you’re welcome. It’s an involuntary response in their amygdala, they can’t help but be afraid of you,” he presses, and then immediately regrets his words. That is not...how he meant to put it, but before he can rephrase, she interrupts him.

“Are you?” She asks, throwing him a look with an arch of her eyebrow. 

“My amygdala is synthetic, so-” he jokes, taking a seat across from her as he considers his words. Was he afraid? No. Not of her powers, but more the power she has over him. Meanwhile, Wanda is glancing down at the ladle and the paprikash, a sad smile on her lips. 

“I used to think of myself one way, but after this…” she drops off, a red tendril dancing between her fingers. “I’m still me, I think. But that’s not what everyone else sees,” she says glancing up at him, a challenge in her eyes, and although she is not sharing them, he can practically read her thoughts. When everyone already fears me, why should I attempt to compromise? 

Vision sighs, considering their similarities. Both influenced by the Mindstone, but hated and feared by the public, both misunderstood, perhaps. It is no wonder they gravitated toward one another, why there was a high probability that they would become close. Vision had never guessed this close, but now that he knows that Wanda does not consider him out of the realm of intimate possibility, perhaps it should have been expected. He needs her to understand that he realizes how she feels. That he knows what she means. 

“Do you know... I don’t know what this is,” he says, pressing his finger momentarily to the Mindstone in his forehead, and it reacts by glowing slightly brighter. Another unknowable phenomenon. “Not really. I know it’s not of this world, that it powered Loki’s staff, that it gave you your abilities, but its true nature is a mystery... and yet it is part of me,” he murmurs, finally meeting her in the eye. She is staring directly at him now, ladle forgotten.

“Are you afraid of it?” She asks. 

“I wish to understand it. The more I do the less it controls me. One day, who knows...I may even control it,” he says, and, immediately, he understands it is the wrong thing to say, somehow, despite the fact that it is the truth. Wanda looks down, starts dancing on the balls of her heels, before glancing at the dish once more. 

“I don’t know what’s in this but it is not paprika,” she murmurs, and Vision’s eyes widen. He knows for an absolute fact that it was paprika he used, had checked the label three times. She is using his self-confessed ignorance with cooking to create an excuse. “I’m going to go to the store. I’ll be back in 20 minutes,” she says suddenly, fiddling with the keys that are already in her pocket. Which means this interaction, this conversation, was a test. She already suspects she is a prisoner, but she wants him to admit that this is the reason for his presence here. He instantly phases through the island, standing in her path.

“Alternatively, we could order a pizza?” He quickly attempts one last-ditch effort, but she does not fall for the flimsy ruse. She stares at him directly in the eye, and there is hurt there. 

“Vision, are you not letting me leave?” She asks darkly, and he glances down at the floor, at a loss of what to do, or what to say. 

“It is a question of safety,” he murmurs, and she practically scoffs. 

“I can handle myself,” she murmurs, about to walk forward, before he gently wraps a steady hand around her shoulder. She stiffens immediately, a look of anger and frustration blooming on her features, and Vision steels himself for the worst. If she intended to leave, perhaps Stark is right in the fact that Wanda would not understand the extent of the danger she is in. And even if she did, Vision knows she values her life less than those of others. And therefore, the only way to keep her here, to keep her safe, is to suggest the opposite. The answer, the horrible answer, is to use her own pain and grief and loss, against her. 

It takes .789 seconds to make the decision, and it is the longest .789 seconds of his life. 

“Not yours. Mr. Stark would like to avoid the possibility of another public incident until the Accords are on a more secure foundation,” he breathes, hating every word, as he turns to stare at her. She tilts her head, her eyes deadly serious, as she poses the next question.

“And what do you want?” She murmurs, voice wavering with danger. He answers with honesty, it is all he has left to give her.

“For people to see you, as I do,” he says, holding her gaze, his grip tightening on her infinitesimally. 

“And how do you see me, Vision?” She asks carefully, and it’s at this question that his hand falls, and he glances to the ground. She laughs bitterly, shaking her head slightly.

“You can’t even answer me,” she says, bringing her hand up to her head in disbelief before walking over to the dining room tables and turning back around to him.

“Wanda-” he begins, his brain scrambling to find a way to fix this. 

“And you, what...agreed to keep me here? Against my own will?” She asks, and her eyes are now glossy with tears, and he shakes his head slightly.

“Wanda, it is not what you think. Mr. Stark explained to me-“ he attempts before she interrupts with a growl.

“Ugh! That name. Always with you and Stark. He doesn’t control you, Vision! You know this, right? He’s not your master, or your owner, or your God you must worship-” she nearly shouts.

“I know that,” he murmurs quietly.

“Then why do you follow him blindly?” She retorts. Her right shoulder of her jacket has slipped off her shoulder, revealing her bare arm and tank top below, and something painful ripples through Vision at the sight. 

“It is not that simple, Wanda,” Vision quietly contends, and she crosses her arms, blinking rapidly at him. 

“It never is with you though, is it?” She replies bitterly, and he nearly flinches at the acerbic tone in her words. He has not moved from his spot in the kitchen, and there’s nearly a kilometer of distance between them now. 

“I am not sure what you’re implying, but I can assure you that I-” he attempts, before Wanda interrupts him again.

“I practically threw myself at you a week ago, and then you avoid me as if I have the plague. You say you need time to consider all factors and probable outcomes, like...like what is happening between us is an equation that needs solving.”

“I know no other way,” he barely whispers.

“Excuse me?” Wanda shoots back.

“I know no other way,” he says more loudly. “Wanda, you do not understand. I read and process everything through binary code. It is impossible for me to not work those equations, to not see the degrees and angles and lines of the world.”

“You can’t quantify this,” she says, silent tears falling down her face now.

“As a matter of fact, I can. For instance, based on your actions and words and nonverbal cues so far, there is a 78.4% chance of you attempting to leave this compound. There is a 91.4% chance that, after you do so, I will never see or hear from you again, because there is a 96.3% chance you will be captured quickly after departing,” Vision says with conviction, to the point where Wanda is silently shaking her head in denial.

“Stop-” she breathes, but he realizes he is angry, and he intends to finish his point. 

“And if you do not leave, if you choose to stay…” he wavers slightly in his resolve, but then summons up the courage to finish, “there is a 82.5% chance of me disappointing you, in a wide variety of ways. And only a 12.4% chance of a relationship between us being successful,” he finishes more quietly, looking at anything in the room but her. For a moment, no one speaks as she looks to him in disbelief.

“You belittle yourself and what you’re capable of feeling, of being,” she finally hisses.

“Wanda,” he says, although he is uncertain what else he could possibly say. Despite the fact that it still beats in his chest, his heart is breaking. 

“This hurts,” she cries, wrapping her arms around herself. “Everything about this hurts.” 

Again, he feels anger. Anger at the fact Wanda has not considered his position, anger at the fact she is acting so obstinately in the face of something so unbearably threatening. Anger at the fact that his newness and unique situation and vast ignorance towards much of life is being ignored in her attempt to see him as entirely human.

“Listen. What you’re asking of me, I am not certain I can even give you. And you do it in the middle of… our world ending,” he murmurs, and then her brow dips and her face becomes one of anger. 

“If I recall I was not the one pleading for it to happen more than once,” she snaps, and sighs, looking down at the floor in defeat. It is in this moment something in her breaks, because he can hear her closing the gap between them, intending to run a hand down his face, but he stiffens, shifting back two centimeters. Her hand is frozen in the air, as more tears fall.

“You’re afraid,” she says quietly, through what can only be described as pity. 

“Yes,” he murmurs, refusing to look at her. 

“Of...of me?” Her words waver, and he closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a shaky breath. 

“Of you. Of myself. Right now, as of this moment, of everything, Wanda,” he says, and he can hear her sniffle as she steps back, and he finally dares to look at her. 

“I-I’m going to bed,” she murmurs, and he immediately reaches out for her, but it is too late. 

“Don’t...follow me,” she snaps, fresh tears in her eyes. “I‘ll be in my room. Make sure to put that in the report you send to Stark.”

—

It is a long night. He is torn, now, between patrolling the grounds and keeping an eye out for Wanda. He is uncertain if she will leave or not, and, when it comes down to it, he is uncertain if he has the resolve, or the power, to truly stop her. After cleaning up dinner, carefully placing the uneaten food in Rubbermaid containers, and doing the dishes by hand, he considers what has happened, and what may happen. He stands by the dripping faucet for what feels like hours, although he realizes only 42 minutes have passed. A quick scan of heat signatures reveals Wanda is where she says she is, and if he adjusts his auditory receptors, he can hear the quiet picking of a guitar. He bows his head in frustration, quickly tuning her playing out, and phases through the walls to his own room, phasing into this uniform as he does so. He intends to remain on patrol digitally tonight, all night, carefully scanning each of the hundreds of cameras in the compound simultaneously. He hovers without thought, in the place where the bed (he stubbornly insisted they donate to charity) used to be, as he dials himself into the security system. 

Vision? It’s the voice of FRIDAY, although she is not using the intercom to speak to him.

Yes, Friday? He murmurs defeatedly.

I have...deleted the footage of your...altercation with Miss Maximoff. Out of the sake of privacy, she says carefully, and Vision audibly sighs.

Thank you, Friday. That is one less thing I will be tasked with tonight because of your thoughtfulness. How does the perimeter look? He asks.

No detection of a potential breach, and no reports of any disturbances in the surrounding area, FRIDAY responds dutifully.

Have you received word from Mr. Stark? He finally thinks to add, and FRIDAY hesitates.

Friday? Vision presses.

Mr. Stark’s attempt to persuade Captain Rogers has failed. He left shortly before Barnes led an assault on the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre and that Captain Rogers has Wilson.

Then ties truly are severed, Vision murmurs. 

FRIDAY is silent, and he sends one more message to the AI.

Please alert me the moment Mr. Stark is in contact, he says.

Of course, Vision.

Hours pass. He wavers in and out of active consciousness, letting the planes of the internet flow over him. He had once described the feeling to Wanda as peaceful, a trickling stream of data, to which he could find the answer to any question.

Not all questions can be answered. 

Of course, she had been right. And he had been ignorant. There were so many things she had taught him. The meanings of so many idioms and turns of phrase. The words behind the feelings inside him. The discovery of his own dry wit. The beauty of music. The meaning of loss and grief. Of friendship. Of... love. 

And now...what of now? Had he truly lost her? Had he truly missed the only chance, his one opportunity to be with the woman he loved, because he was afraid? Afraid of what, exactly? Of his own limitations? Of her potential rejection? Of the fact that she may tire of him or find him useless outside the confines of the compound? 

Or was it more profound than that? Was he simply afraid that he truly lacked the capacity to love? Or was it that he was afraid of love itself? Of the power it held over someone? Of the crippling grief that seemed to forever be its long-lasting partner? 

He almost misses it. It is several kilometers away, just beyond the perimeter, but he is pulled out of his thoughts immediately, just as Friday’s voice enters his mind once more.

Vision, the perimeter has been breached. 

Who? How many?

I detect a single heat signature. 

He quickly phases up through the floor, and is surprised to find Wanda just beyond the kitchen. She is staring fearfully out the window at the explosion beyond the east lawn.

“What...what is it?” She asks.

“Stay here, please,” he murmurs, quickly phasing through the outer wall into the thick summer night. He quickly flies through the dark to the site of the explosion, only to notice whatever bomb had been used was remotely detonated, just as FRIDAY sounds the alarm.

Vision. It’s Clint Barton. He is inside the facility, she says hurriedly, and Vision flies even more quickly to phase back inside, just in time to see Clint tugging on Wanda’s arm, obviously in a plea for her to depart with him.

“Clint,” he announces, slowly walking closer to the pair. “You should not be here.” 

The man exhales, turning back around to look at him skeptically. Meanwhile, Wanda doesn’t dare bring her eyes up to Vision’s own, and Vision buries the pulsating feeling of betrayal that now courses through him. 

“Really? I retire for like, what, five minutes, and it all goes to shit.”

“Please consider the consequences of your actions,” Vision warns, walking closer still.

“Ok. They’re considered,” is all that Vision hears, before a surge of electricity hits him. His body immediately goes into shock, immobilized by the electric field of energy, and he growls through a pain he has never before felt. His mind struggles to get on top of searing torment, but it appears every biological cell he has is screaming, as the tripwire he walked right into sends wave after electric wave of coursing, throbbing pain through his extremities. His optical receptors barely make out Wanda and Clint in front of him, but he notices Wanda is pausing, and Clint is urging her to run. And then, his body sends up enough focus to the Mindstone, quickly blasting one of the arrows, deactivating the tripwire, and Vision storms towards Barton. 

Barton quickly releases an arrow, but it easily goes through Vision before he alters his density to knock Clint to the ground. The man deftly rolls to his feet, before pulling out a baton and attempting to strike Vision, who alters his density again to have the weapon fly through him before quickly becoming denser, grabbing Clint’s right arm. With his free one, Clint swipes at him again, and once more the baton travels through Vision. He blocks Clint once more and increases his density, and the baton immediately snaps in half as he attempts to strike Vision in the head. Barton has a look of exasperation on his face, while Vision stares at him blankly. Barton attempts to round a kick at Vision, and Vision easily goes intangible before grabbing Clint by the neck and holding him tightly. 

“Clint, you can’t overpower me,” Vision says simply as the man grunts at the force of Vision’s chokehold. 

“I know I can’t. But she can,” Clint mutters, and it is then that Vision meets Wanda’s eyes for the first time since the altercation, a glowing, pulsating orb of red energy growing in her hands. 

“Vision,” she breathes, slowly walking toward him. “That’s enough. Let him go. I’m leaving.” 

No. 

“I can’t let you,” Vision murmurs, as Wanda quickly pulls her hands back and he feels her mind and body and soul in his consciousness, entwined in a way they never have been before, and then his density is once again altering, molecules separating, so Clint easily falls through Vision’s arms. He stares at his own body, a sense of pain and betrayal and sorrow brimming in his mind, and he is not certain if it is hers or his or a collective amalgamation, as he now feels his density rapidly and dangerously increasing.

“I’m sorry,” he hears her breathe, just as the marble floor beneath his feet begins to crack under his rapidly-increasing weight, Wanda’s eyes a striking red as she holds him there. Once more, he is powerless in her hands. 

“If you do this,” he strains, his tightly-compacted molecules barely allowing him the use of his voice, as his knees helplessly hit the floor. “They will never stop being afraid of you.”

Wanda only looks more adamant, although her voice breaks in response.

“I can’t control their fear, only my own,” is the last thing he hears, before his world collapses, and he is pushed down down down by her magic, through floor after floor of concrete and steel and then, finally, earth.