Synthesis

Chapter 20 : It Works

Avengers Compound, Monday, July 11th, 2016, 10:02am

The first conversation with Captain Rogers had gone poorly. In the confines of his room, hovering mid-air, Vision had silently communicated to the Captain through a secure connection FRIDAY had set up for Vision. Terse words had been exchanged. 

Vision, of course, had considered the odds. Considered how the information of the conditions of the raft might further drive a wedge between Rogers and Stark, but he found himself caring very little. Wanda’s safety was paramount, and trumped any lingering feelings of regret he might have suffered from. He had also tried, at length, to envision Captain Rogers’ side of the argument, how he might have logically made the conclusions that Rogers had, although it had become quickly apparent to Vision that Rogers’ often made decisions with what humans tended to call his gut. Instinctual decisions based on a wide variety of emotional indicators. Sergeant Barnes had been instrumental in those decisions. Vision had surmised after several hours of considering Rogers’ position, that Barnes was very much Rogers’ equivalent to how important Wanda was for Vision. It was then that Vision sent images from the Raft. Rogers knew they were being detained there, but he had not seen what was inside. After the images, the tension between the two had eased considerably, and a similar outrage that coursed through Vision could now be heard in Captain Rogers’ voice. 

“I agree with you. The conditions are terrible, but do we know we can trust you? Because the last time I saw you, you were tearing down an air traffic control tower on top of our heads ,” Rogers mutters.

“I was under the command of Mr. Stark as one of the Avengers, and I was tasked with the order of not having you leave with Mr. Barnes. At the time, we were not aware of Helmut Zemo’s involvement,” Vision murmurs.

“Yeah, well you weren’t aware of a lot of things ,” Rogers snaps, and Vision is silent for a moment, allowing Rogers’ time to once more get a hold on his anger. Rogers’ next words are softer.

“How is he?”

Vision knows Rogers means Tony. Vision closes his eyes momentarily, knowing they are wasting time, knowing that with every passing second, Wanda suffers. He responds vaguely, hoping to keep Stark’s privacy in-tact. 

“I...cannot speak to Mr. Stark’s well-being, only that he has recovered from his physical injuries. He has also moved into the compound,” Vision responds clippedly.

“He has ?” Rogers sounds surprised, and it’s obvious that he wants more information, but Vision isn’t keen to offer it. Rogers had made his decision to leave, and had almost killed Stark in the process of making it.

“Yes,” Vision confirms. There is a long pause on the other end of the line.

“And why now Vision? Why not then? What’s changed?” Rogers asks softly.

What’s changed? Vision considers the question. Everything had. Nothing had. The moment he had lain eyes on the images from the Raft, the moment he had seen the pain that Wanda was in, everything that had been lurking inside of him, each tight grip in his chest when Wanda would run a hand down his arm, each hitched breath when she reached out to him in her sleep, every conversation. Every smile. Each morning. He loved Wanda Maximoff. Desperately. And he would do anything to see her to safety, the consequences and the laws be damned. 

“Nothing has, Captain Rogers. My only concern in this situation has been, and continues to be, Wanda’s immediate safety,” Vision murmurs. Another pause, before the Captain speaks. 

“Along with Sam and the rest, of course ,” Rogers says.

“Partly, but her conditions are particularly inhumane,” Vision murmurs. 

“They are. But some would argue that keeping her at the compound against her will was inhumane ,” Rogers says quietly, and Vision almost winces, before a quiet anger licks its way through his veins. 

“And some might further argue that ensnaring her in your mission simply because you needed more firepower without informing her of all the risks is just as inhumane,” he says, and he hears Rogers sighs into the phone.

“It seems like we both made mistakes,” Rogers says. 

“Indeed, Captain Rogers. We have,” Vision replies softly.  

“I was already planning on springing them, but your help would make this be a lot less messy. I think I’ve already got the general idea, but what were you thinking?”

A complex and detailed plan emerges. Vision would alter his digital tracking signature, hack into the Raft’s mainframe, speak to whatever computer system was running the security features, and quickly bring the security protocols offline. Barnes would remain in the QuinJet and Rogers would be waiting to spring all four prisoners, Wanda included. Hopefully without incurring bloodshed. 

Captain Rogers would then bring Wanda to the rendezvous point, a safe house Vision was arranging in Edinburgh where Agent Romanov, who had achieved fugitive status after prohibiting King T’Challa from stopping Rogers at the airport, was set to meet him. From there, Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes would travel to Wakanda. It was agreed, tentatively, after Vision assumed he earned Agent Romanov’s approval, that Vision would oversee Wanda’s welfare for a time, until Wanda decided what she wanted to do next. 

Because he did intend to get there, without being noticed. He would disable his transponder. He would break every law, rule and code if he had to. He would set government buildings on fire, if it came down to it, to see her safe.

He had signed the accords a mere month ago, and here he was, about to hack into the most secure prison on the planet. 

God, help him.

Rogers had 48 hours. That’s all the time Vision could stand to give him to prepare. Hacking into the mainframe took less than a minute, but Rogers, obviously, would have the riskier portion of the prison break. It was painful to wait, but Rogers would have to ready the QuinJet and work on stealth strategy, and a successful outcome would be the only one Vision would tolerate. 

In the interim, he locates a less populated area of town in Edinburgh, purchasing a small flat with just a fraction of the funds he has incurred since being alive. He schedules it to be properly cleaned. He has a security system installed, paying extra to have them there and finished within the next 12 hours. He then hacks into the coding so he can unlock and lock the door from where he sits in New York. He selects a small, local furniture store, even speaks to the owner on the phone, and is assisted in picking out a wide array of furnishings, arranging for the delivery and assembly. He purchases over a hundred novels from another local shop. On Amazon, he purchases every box set of television that Wanda adores and has them overnighted. He sets up a grocery delivery, and is certain to select a wide assortment of teas Wanda cannot live without, and a variety of rich, stout blends of coffee. He hems and haws, but finally purchases two rather expensive bottles of wine, and has a bottle of Champagne shipped from France, just in case.

He does all of this from his seat next to the chessboard in the main living area of the Avengers compound. Stark is none the wiser. 

Meanwhile, he doesn’t visit Rhodes. He has been instructed not to leave the compound.  as of yet. In the few words he has exchanged with Tony, it seems unclear whether Tony blames Vision for his injuries or not. 

It is no matter, because Vision already blames himself. 

—

Avengers Compound / The RAFT, Wednesday, July 13th, 2016, 11:58pm

He is deep in the raft’s mainframe. A surge of his consciousness, picking apart the firewalls and finally accessing the computer’s central process system. He is astonished at how barbaric the system is. He thought he would be speaking to something rather intelligent, on the verge of the AI, but this is not the case. He easily changes the computer’s protocols, allowing himself access. He takes hold of the security cameras, the doors, the mechanisms that lift the Raft up and out of the water. He does this without an actual human detecting a trace of his presence. He is sitting in a leather chair in his room, fiddling with a book in his hands as he does so, and he grips Of Mice and Men, more tightly when he sees the footage of Wanda. He hadn’t dared look since FRIDAY had showed him the feed, simply asking the AI to update him on Wanda’s well-being, but she is in visibly worse condition.

She is currently in the fetal position on her cot, and she isn’t moving. Her arms are still bound in the straight jacket. She appears to have only been permitted the opportunity to shower once or twice. Dried blood is visible around her neck. Quickly, he accesses the computer’s files on her. She has been given inordinate amounts of gamma-hydroxybutyric acid and haldol, and he has to control his seething anger. They have taken blood and tissue samples, and even though he erases the data from the computer’s system, he knows that the results have already been sent to the United States government among others. He closes his eyes tightly, waiting now for Rogers. The QuinJet had been hovering over the appropriate coordinates in stealth mode, and now he hears Rogers’ voice in his mind. 

“We are in position, Vision. Are you sure you can raise the Raft?” Rogers murmurs.

“Easily, Captain Rogers,” Vision replies.

“Alright, begin phase one,” Rogers gives the command. It’s the equivalent of pressing “enter” on a keyboard, and then the system complies, easily raising the giant, metal structure out of the water. Rogers will have to move quickly, because the guards and security team on board will be well aware of the prison’s upward movement. Rogers knows this already, however, and Vision watches as the QuinJet descends onto the landing pad after he opens the central hatch. Vision watches through camera 14 as Rogers silently and with ease exits the jet, quickly taking out the first swell of guards alerted to the noise. They don’t even have time to shoot their AR-15s. 

“ The control room, Captain Rogers,” Vision reminds him, and Rogers is already swiftly moving toward it. 

“ On it,” Rogers murmurs. Vision opens the door for him, as he had on so many missions in the past where he was required to stay behind. It takes all but twenty one seconds for Rogers to incapacitated the six guards housed inside.

“Initiate phase two. Proceed down the main hallway into the center hull of the prison. There you will find Wilson, Lang and Barton,” Vision instructs, and he watches from the security cameras as Rogers enters. Vision is working behind him, deleting the footage from the security cameras as he goes. Then he hears gunfire, and Vision quickly access Camera 21 to see that Rogers has encountered brute force. It’s ten seconds longer than they had planned, but Vision had worked in the probability of surprise encounters along the way. 

In less than a minute, Vision is opening up the cells for Barton, Lang and Wilson. And then, before he can instruct Rogers to Wanda’s cell, he watches Sam run down the corridor to where Wanda is confined, brutally incapacitating a portly guard in front of Wanda’s door, knocking out his front teeth. 

“Sam, uh, is getting Wanda,” Rogers reports, and then Sam’s voice is in Vision’s mind, Rogers having passed extra communication devices to his fellow teammates.

“Sam, be careful. She has not eaten properly in a little over two weeks. If she is conscious, she will be agitated,” Vision responds, and Sam pauses just inside Wanda’s cell looking up towards the ceiling.

“Vision?” Sam asks, clearly confused.

“Yes,” is the only word Vision utilizes, and Sam nods, knowingly.

“You finally come to your senses to bust your girl out of this joint, eh?” Sam asks, and, despite himself, an echo of a smile graces Vision’s lips. He realizes he has missed Sam’s antics around the compound greatly.

“In a way, yes,” Vision murmurs, before he watches Sam gently picking up Wanda’s limp body in his arms.

“She is unresponsive, but alive. Steve...it’s bad ,” Sam murmurs, and Vision’s grip on the book is so tight his knuckles turn gold at their strain.

“Wilson, the landing pad. Now! Barton, Lang, cover me,” Rogers barks order after order, working his way through guard after guard. More gunfire. A failsafe alarm trips, but Vision quickly silences it. He realizes, in this moment, he wants nothing more than to be there. To collect Wanda in his arms and fly her far away, to the flat with the floral bedding that he had picked out he hoped she liked and the wide assortment of teas. He never wants to be without her, again. But he isn’t there, so he merely listens. 

“Phase three. We’ve got everyone on the jet. We’re departing. Vision? Get to work,” Rogers mutters.

“Yes, Captain Rogers,” Vision murmurs, his consciousness traveling through the mainframe, frying the security protocols, erasing every bit of data the Raft has on the prisoners, and making sure his own signature is untraceable. Even through the eyes of the world’s most advanced tracking systems, Vision was never there. 

—

Twelve hours and forty two minutes later, Vision receives word that Agent Romanov and Wanda have arrived at the Edinburgh flat. The message is this time sent through the deep web, and he only has the barest of reassurances that Wanda is in decent health. He has been ordered to allow Agent Romanov and Wanda two days so that Wanda may rest and they may debrief her, but Vision doesn’t put off the rest of his tasks. He continues to order things for the flat, and, in the late afternoon the day after the prison break, he finds himself rapping on Tony Stark’s laboratory door. 

Stark doesn’t look up from the sauntering iron, but mutters a “come in.” He’s currently got all of his bots working in the basement, and Vision watches them in a mild interest. The bots had not been present at the compound in the year Vision had made his home here, and had instead existed at Stark’s Santa Barbara residence. But since moving into the compound, Vision assumed Stark had shipped the bots to New York. Vision had not been down to the lab since Stark had pulled him from the rubble, but Vision has perfect memories of over a dozen years of experience with them. Butterfingers and You are in the corner, and DUM-E, Stark’s most beloved bot and the first AI Stark ever built, when Stark was the whole of 17 years old, currently rolls over to Vision like a guard dog, turning its camera to stare at him cautiously.

“DUM-E, Vision. Vision, meet DUM-E,” Stark says, not even bothering glancing up from his work. The bot continues to stare at Vision curiously, until Vision feels the odd want to pat its head, muttering a “hello there.”

Immediately, the bot perks up at Vision’s voice, spinning around wildly and then quietly bumping into Vision’s leg over and over again. At the bot’s erratic behavior, Stark looks up, a frown on his lips.

“He...might think his old pal JARVIS has returned. Although he should know better,” Stark mutters. 

Just as Stark says these words, a message comes across the server, directly meant for Vision, and Vision frowns, realizing that it’s a message from the bot in question, threaded in simple C++ coding. 

<Query: Unit Designation J.A.R.V.I.S. has returned???> It asks, and Vision almost winces, frowning and shaking his head slightly at the bot. 

<Answer for Unit Designation DUM-E: Afraid not, little one. Well. Not quite. Although JARVIS’ personality matrix does make up part of my programming now. That must be what you recognize.>

<Unit Designation J.A.R.V.I.S. has returned.>

<No, DUM-E.>

<Unit Designation J.A.R.V.I.S. has returned!!!> 

Friday?? Vision murmurs mentally and the AI sighs. 

I’ve attempted to explain to him the difference. Your signature is too close to JARVIS’, I’m afraid, for the simplistic AI to comprehend how you wouldn’t be the same. 

Vision frowns as the bot continues to spin in circles and bump into Vision’s leg, and Stark watches, half-amused, half-pained from his workbench. 

“Let me guess. You tried to explain it to him, and he didn’t see the difference?” Stark says, taking off his goggles and wiping the sweat from his brow.

“It...seems that way,” Vision frowns, once again patting the bot on the head, and the bot whirs in content.

“Aww, don’t tell him Santa Claus isn’t real. Let the boy dream,” Stark mutters, stalking over to the far wall and downing a half-bottle of water. “Hey, DUM-E. Back to sweeping!”

The bot lowers its head in a mild pout, before it rolls away to pick up the broom again.

“So… the prodigal son returns. Are you here to help or complain?” Stark asks, picking up a wrench and twirling it around in his hand before heading back to the workbench. Vision simply watches from his spot near the doorway, trying to ignore DUM-E’s attempt at sneaking Vision questions, despite the fact that the bot’s gone back to sweeping.

<Query: Why was Unit Designation J.A.R.V.I.S. gone for so long? Was the incident of April 20th, 2015 at 2:04pm the reason? Unit Designation DUM-E did not mean to spill the smoothie. Unit Designation DUM-E has assumed J.A.R.V.I.S.’ absence for exactly 10,322 hours and seventeen minutes was due to recorded smoothie incident.>

Vision’s frown deepens as he blinks at the bot, and then to Stark, and then to the bot again, answering both questions at once. 

<Answer to Unit Designation DUM-E: Unit Designation DUM-E did nothing wrong. Unit Designation J.A.R.V.I.S. did not leave due to Unit Designation DUM-E.>

“I’m here for neither. Simply an update,” Vision responds, finally walking further into the lab to just a kilometer away from where Stark works.

<Query to Unit Designation J.A.R.V.I.S.: Explain reason for absence.>

Stark raises an eyebrow at the synthezoid, obviously waiting for him to continue. 

“Barring any official missions, I am leaving for Edinburgh, Scotland in 48 hours. I wish to keep my transponder on, but I plan on re-coding the government tracking signature to suggest that I am here. It is a fairly simple diversion tactic,” Vision says simply, eyes down to floor, as Stark sighs, setting down the wrench.

“This about the Raft prison break?” Stark asks, and Vision pauses.

<Query to Unit Designation J.A.R.V.I.S.: Explain reason for absence.>

“You gonna go see Wanda?” Stark specifies his question and, again, Vision is silent. Stark sighs, taking another sip of water, before setting it down quietly.

“Look. Right here, right now, I’m officially enabling a “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy. After you answer me a couple of questions. Are they all safe?” He murmurs, and Vision finally looks up to meet Stark’s eyes.

“Yes,” Vision says, and Stark nods, once.

“And this is about Wanda right? Or am I expecting to get a resignation letter saying you’ve jumped ship and joined Steve’s Band of Merry Men?” Stark asks more bitterly, and Vision's eyes widen.

“I am only concerned with Wanda’s safety and wish to apologize. I have no interest in Captain Rogers’ whereabouts or his...vigilantism,” Vision finishes through a short nod. Again, Stark sighs through another nod.

<Query to Unit Designation J.A.R.V.I.S.: Explain reason for absence.>

“Alright, then. If she is crazy enough to take you back, you get two weeks at a time, but no more than once every couple of months. I can’t cover for you longer or more frequently than that. I assume you know how to cover your tracks, because I really don't need Ross knocking on my door demanding I hand you over. And if I need you, you come home ASAP, you understand? The world still needs, well, Avenging, every once in a while, and I can’t do it on my own. That’s what you signed up for,” Stark murmurs, before sliding on his goggles again. Vision blinks at him, entirely surprised. He had not expected Stark’s permission let alone his leniency, and he wonders if perhaps their conversation several weeks prior did have more of a long-lasting effect than he had thought.

“Of course, Tony. I...thank you,” he murmurs.

<Query to Unit Designation J.A.R.V.I.S.: Explain reason for absence.>

Vision sighs, quickly glancing at the bot, who has paused its sweeping and is staring at him. Stark raises a brow glancing between Vision and DUM-E, as Vision quickly searches his memory banks, and realizes that most often JAVIS had a mildly annoyed fondness for the simplistic AI, although there had been no messages or explanation given to the bots about why before JARVIS had sacrificed himself. 

<Answer to Unit Designation DUM-E: Unit Designation J.A.R.V.I.S. was gone to obtain a body. The one you currently see in front of you. Unit Designation J.A.R.V.I.S.promises Unit Designation DUM-E he will never be gone that long again.>

DUM-E finally seems satisfied and Vision turns on his heel, pasting DUM-E once more before heading to the door

“V?” Tony shouts after the synthezoid, and he pauses, glancing back to Stark.

“Rhodes wanted me to tell you. He doesn’t blame you, for what happened,” Stark says through darkened goggles, before adding, “And I don’t, either.”

Vision dips his head slightly, eyes on the floor.

“That is...considerate of you both, sir. Thank you,” Vision says, phasing through the nearest wall, just as he hears Stark shout one more time.

“And after your vacation you owe me 150 manhours down in this lab! I don’t care how much you prefer Helen to me! I have parental rights too, and I need the help! And now that you’ve made a mess of the DUM-E situation, it’s your job to keep up the Santa Claus lie!” Stark shouts after him, and Vision only grins slightly on his way out. 

—

Above the Atlantic, Sunday, July 17th, 2016, 3:04am

The journey is mostly uneventful, although more taxing than his calculations had suggested. Although he maintains an alias and fake documentation under the name “Edwin Jarvis II” (cleverly set up by Stark himself, although from what little Vision knows of the AI’s predecessor, the actual man who helped raise Stark, Vision is not inclined to mind), his inability to truly mask himself makes public transportation impossible, and any use of Stark transportation is out of the question. And so the miles of dark ocean stretch below him, and above, the beautiful sky of night, a vast swath of pinpricks of light. When he grows bored, he charts the constellations available to him, anything to keep his mind off the impending meeting. He is for the most part incorporeal, but as he nears the Scottish coast, his nerves threaten to overwhelm him again and he feels his body trying to betray him. He tries, against everything, to compartmentalize his mind, leaving most of his energy for the flight and logistics and very little of the rest to recite his apology to Wanda once more.

At his request, Romanov had not explained Vision’s role in her escape, and he is certain the woman kept her word. The last thing he wishes is to catch Wanda off guard, but after much deliberation, he understands that his best chance in seeking her forgiveness is for the truth and the pending apology to come directly from the source. He is due to meet Romanov in the flat in two hours, and he urges himself to fly faster, as the day breaks beyond him and the sky fades from midnight blue to deep russet and the richest of roses. When he finally is met with shoreline, he flies even higher still, until he is certain he’s targeted the correct coordinates. He is pleased with his research; there is a small alley outside of the flat on the quaint, cobblestone street, which allows him to dip down to the side of the building and out of sight.

It is as his feet touch down, however, that his mind once more tries to rebel, flooding his senses with all the anxious questions he has considered. What if Wanda throws him out? Or worse, doesn’t wish to see him at all? Or perhaps even worse still, what if she listens to his apology and does not accept it? He had been assured she had made an all but full recovery, apart from burns on her neck, most likely from the shock collar, but her mental state was another story. He knew very little of what Wanda might be thinking or feeling, and he finds himself pacing in the alley way, until he remembers to phase from his uniform into a button down shirt, cashmere sweater, and slacks. He pauses, clenching his jaw, before he phases through the building and up through the floor into the living room of the residence, certain if he were to wait any longer he would undoubtedly turn around and fly all the way back to New York.

The living room is empty, and he pauses for a moment to take in his surroundings. It’s quaint, but large enough, exactly as he hoped. There is a comfortable light blue sofa and brown leather armchair, along with a coffee table, three bookshelves, a small desk. Toward the north end is a small kitchenette, and toward the south, a closed door to the single bedroom and adjoining bath. The light filters through the sheer curtains, and as he turns towards the kitchenette, he is startled when he meets the eyes of Agent Romanov, who has a glock pulled on him. 

“Jesus! Vision!” Romaov says, clasping her chest as she lowers the weapon. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

“My reputation apparently follows me to Scotland in that regard,” Vision murmurs, offering her an apologetic look before glancing towards the closed bedroom door. 

“Did anyone see you?” Romanov asks, attaching the gun to her holster and picking up the mug of tea she had been seeping, moving towards the living room. 

“Not that I’m aware,” Vision says, unable to pull his gaze off the bedroom door. “I was incorporeal for the length of my journey.”

“Incorporeal does not equal invisible,” Romaonv says flatly, taking a seat at the small dinette set meant for two. 

“How is she?” He asks.

“She’s fine, but don’t go in there yet. She’s asleep. Sit,” Romanov commands, gesturing to the free chair. “You know it makes me nervous when you hover like that.”

Vision frowns, looking down at his feet to realize he is still hovering, and gently touches down before clearing his throat, pulling out the chair and sitting.

“Is she in pain?” Vision asks, well aware his direct questions could be taken as rude, but also finding himself caring very little. Romanov is not one for pleasantries, anyhow, a fact that he is entirely grateful for in this moment. 

“No. At least, I don’t think so. The first night I gave her oxycodone, but after that she refused to take it. She didn’t want to... “feel drugged,” as she put it. They...did a lot of that, I think…” Romanov drops off, and Vision’s body stiffens. 

“Physical status?” Vision asks blankly, eyes sliding to the closed bedroom door once more.

“Contusions, mostly. Her neck suffered shallow second degree burns, however, and it will scar. I’ve got advanced antiseptic and bandages, however, and she’s healing. Still though, she suffered daily electric shocks.” Vision closes his eyes for a moment in tension, before solemnly opening them. 

“Mentally?” He asks, his voice quieter now, and the woman across from the table sighs, her eyes darkening slightly.

“She’s slept a lot. The woman has already got a healthy dose of PTSD, if you ask me, and this probably won’t help matters, but she’s coherent. She’s…mostly herself,” Romanov murmurs, pausing momentarily. Vision is already researching the signs and symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, moving to stand, before Romanov whips out a hand, urging him to remain seated. 

“Look, I know you want to see here, but I need to talk to you first.”

“My... apologies. Of course, Agent Romanov,” Vision replies, feeling scolded, and the woman rolls her eyes.

“God, Vision. I haven’t been an Agent for like, three years. Nat. Call me Nat. Or at least Natasha,” she says, and Vision nods his head once.

“Alright, Natasha,” Vision mutters, and she rubs her temples slightly, smoothing her auburn hair and glancing around the flat..

“I want you to know that this,” she glances around the flat, “All of this, means a lot. Not just to me, but to the others too.”

Vision only frowns slightly, swallowing his words about this being mainly intended for Wanda, a personal olive branch, an apology, an attempt at mending something that may be far too broken.

“But she’s no longer a free woman,” Natasha finishes, eyes once more darkening, and Vision swallows hard, nodding slightly. 

“I am aware of that, Natasha,” Vision murmurs, and the woman’s eyes narrow as she places a hand on Vision’s arm resting on the table. It’s the first time the woman has attempted an encouraging physical gesture in any way, and it should be startling, but Vision is far beyond being surprised when even the most guarded of humans display emotion, especially in their darkest hours. 

“I know you care for her. More deeply and profoundly than the rest of us combined,” she drops off and Vision glances downward, unable to summon the appropriate words. “But you have to be prepared for the fact that she might feel differently,” Natasha says, removing her hand.

“Natasha, I assure you. All of this was only to ensure her safety. I do not expect anything of Miss Maximoff, especially regarding myself,” Vision murmurs, and the woman sighs through a nod.

“If she does feel similarly, however, Steve wanted me to tell you, it can’t always be here. And it can’t always be often,” Natasha says grimly. Vision offers the slightest of nods.

“I am aware. I am under….my own restrictions in that regard,” Vision says.

“What does Tony know?” Natasha asks, and when Vision only frowns, she shakes her head in regret.

“You know what, never mind. I trust that you won’t have the government swarming the place. It would go against everything you’ve attempted to do so far. Alright. Other stuff I need to tell you. If this place is ever compromised-“

“I destroy all record of it ever existing under the name I’ve provided” Vision murmurs.

“What name did you purchase it under?” Natasha warily asks. Vision frowns.

“Edwin Jarvis II. It is the same name tied to my bank accounts,” Vision says quietly.

“Does Stark deposit funds directly into those bank accounts?” Natasha asks seriously.

“No. Just as with the Avengers’ monthly compensation, the money is handled by a third party,” Vision says quietly.

“But wasn’t Edwin Jarvis Howard Stark’s butler?” Natasha presses, and Vision manages a sigh.

“Yes, but the man died in early April of 1997, and, regrettably, was not remembered by history,” Vision murmurs, and Natasha nods.

“Hmm. Still a little too close for comfort, but I’ll let it slide,” Natasha says, biting her lip just slightly, glancing towards the door.

“What I do know, Vision, is that she still wants to fight,” Natasha finally says, and Vision detects that this is what the woman was dreading the most in relaying to him. Vision understands why. His jaw involuntarily clenches, his hand now in a loose fist on the table.

“May I inquire as to why?” Vision asks carefully, quietly.

“Does it surprise you all that much? She still wants to do good. And whatever nonsense Tony put in your head, remember that Steve and the rest of the team are dedicated to that very cause,” Natasha chooses her words carefully.

“Forgive me for this, but is she aware that she would only be putting herself in an incredible amount of danger that way?” Vision asks, but the woman only shrugs her shoulders, as if danger is a small price to pay for justice. Which, of course, it normally is, but running from a government that seeks to imprison them all seems a high price to continue to protect a public that distrusts them. 

“She’s a grown up girl, and she makes her own decisions. I thought that was the lesson you were supposed to learn in all of this,” Natasha says, and there is a note of warning in her voice. Vision swallows and only nods, glancing downward at the mason jar of freshly picked summer flowers between them. 

“Meanwhile, your homework is to work on your disguise,” Natasha says, now standing and walking the partially consumed mug of tea to the kitchenette once more.

“My...disguise?” Vision mutters and Nat comes back into the living room, casually picking up a black duffel bag stored in the corner of the flat as she goes.

“Yeah. Being incorporeal is not enough. It would be preferable if you could take public transit. Less likely you’ll be tracked by satellites that way. Which means you need to not, well, look so red,” Natasha says, an apologetic smile on her face. It’s the first time she’s offered him the ghost of a grin since their conversation began. Vision, however, frowns.

“I have attempted to alter my physical appearance in the past, to no avail,” Vision murmurs, and Natasha only shakes her head slightly, a challenge in her eyes.

“Well ‘attempt’ harder. I don’t care how stubborn those molecules of yours are. If you can feign cashmere, you can fake a hair and a face. I want you to walk into this flat next time, passers by none the wiser, ” Natasha says, heading for the door, before pausing again.

“You get three days with her. That’s when I’m coming back to check on her, provided she doesn’t throw your ass out of the apartment before then. She has my number, and if she gets a whiff of anything disingenuous from you, and she hasn’t already done enough damage, I will not hesitate in finishing the job,” Natasha says, her hand resting threateningly on the glock strapped to her thigh. 

“I have no doubt,” Vision says through a small quirk of his lips, also moving to stand. The woman only nods once, although Vision stops her before she can leave.

“Before you depart, Natasha, I...wanted to offer my apologies, and my condolences. As I think back and replay the events of this past month, I have come to suspect you were the only member of the team who was thinking clearly, and making the most sound decisions based on the evidence at hand, throughout the length of the entire altercation,” Vision murmurs, and the woman sighs, hand still on the doorknob.

“Thank you, but it’s in the past, Vision. Let it go. No matter what I chose to do, I’m a criminal now. And so is Wanda. You’d do well to remember that. Because the only reason I’ve survived this long is by doing one thing,” Natasha murmurs.

“And what is that, Natasha?” Vision asks quietly.

“Accept what’s in front of you. It’s the only reality we really have,” the woman says, before seeing herself out.

—

Edinburgh, Scotland, Sunday, July 17th, 2016, 9:25am

He lets her sleep. He busies himself by organizing the apartment, bothered how the books have only been stacked haphazardly along the bookshelves. He arranges them alphabetically by author and genre. He straightens a picture that is four degrees slanted to the right. He turns the armchair slightly, and double checks the security system, by far the most expensive thing in the flat, almost as expensive as the flat itself. He then goes to the kitchen, preparing the kettle on the small gas range. It whistles quickly enough, and he takes his time preparing a pot of tea, stirring in the chamomile tea leaves, preparing a cup with honey and a fresh squeeze of orange. He works quietly, before he can no longer put off what needs to happen. He takes a deep breath in, and slowly he walks the tray towards the bedroom door, and raps gently. 

There isn’t an answer, but he chooses to phase through the door anyway, unable and unwilling to wait any longer.  He walks in slowly, to notice Wanda is still sleeping in the center of the queen bed. Her hair is everywhere in that relaxed, sleep-induced sort of way, and she wears an oversized, outdated SHIELD t-shirt, most likely on loan from Romanov. Carefully, he sets the tray on the bedside table, considering where to sit, and realizing the only place is on the bed. He does so gently, but at his movement, she stirs almost immediately. 

Vision’s heart jumps into his throat. Metaphorically speaking, of course, but he quickly understands the origin of the idiom. His whole body seems to forget its purpose, functions and reasons for each of his specific systems scattered and frayed as her eyes lazily blink open, and as she focuses, her brow immediately furrowing.

“Vision?” She whispers, eyes darkening, and Vision swallows, hard.

“Wanda,” he mumbles, as she strains to sit up. He wants to help her, but he lets her do so on her own, unsure of how welcome his presence is, let alone a lingering touch.

“What-what’re you doing here?” She asks, still shaking off the remnants of sleep, but he notices her eyes are already glossy with the nascent beginning of tears. 

“Please, I know you must be furious with me, and I would like to attempt to explain,“ he begins, his hand betraying him by seeking out her own, but she withdrawals it quickly. She shakes her head, a single hot tear falling from her cheek as she holds her hands to her chest. He longs to wipe the tear away, to cradle her face between his hands, to hold her against his body. He refrains, however, allowing her the space she seems to insist on wanting.

“Why isn’t the government here arresting you?” She demands, furiously wiping away a tear, and Vision sighs. 

“I have deactivated the government signature on my transponder,” he murmurs, and her eyes fly wide. 

“Doesn’t that mean you’re...breaking protocol right now or something?” she says bitterly, her voice holding a note of disdain, and Vision stiffens. He had accounted for this response, although he accounted for reactions far more violent and awful, so he maintains the slightest bit of hope. 

“Yes. Although the offense can hardly be paralleled to hacking into a federal prison and assisting in springing its occupants,” Vision murmurs, glancing down to his hands that lay in his lap. He feels her ripple with confusion, a softening, and he dares to steal another glance at her. Her face is lined with so many emotions. Pain. Regret. Longing. He notices the bandages on her neck, the same color as her skin, the kind they keep stored in the QuinJet that promote advanced healing. 

“You helped Steve to-” she begins, attempting to put the pieces together, and he nods quietly. 

“I had to,” he says, and her brow furrows with a mixture of concern and tension. Meanwhile, his world spins more quickly on its axis.

“You- why?” She asks, looking around wildly.

“I had to know you were safe. Wanda, as soon as I found out where they were keeping you. What they were doing,” he stops, trying to get a hold of his anger, as his eyes fly to her neck, and she looks down. 

“But- but you had to have known they would take me somewhere. Why would the place matter?” She asks, and he winces slightly at her skepticism, at the biting sting of her doubt and sense of betrayal she more than likely feels.

“It...was not so much the location, as it was seeing you. It was the final catalyst, I suspect, in understanding how very wrong I was,” he murmurs, unsure of what to do with his hands, so rest them on his legs. He feels like he’s only a fraction of a second away from falling apart, groveling before her to beg for her forgiveness. Meanwhile, she is gripping the delicate floral pattern of the comforters with bare fingers. Of course. They had most likely stripped her of her uniform and any jewelry on the Raft. It is logical, but it feels wrong, somehow, to see her so raw, so stripped of the life she had come to make for herself since arriving in the United States, of the life she had come to know.

“But you were...so adamant, about staying. About signing the Accords, about-” she stops as he interrupts her, seemingly unable to help himself.

“Wanda, as much as I would have liked to think otherwise, I had very little choice,” he murmurs, and she shoots a glance at him, a look of confusion once more blooming on her features.

“I know that we disagree on this, but I do still believe in the concept of oversight. What I failed to tell you, however, was the entirety of what led to my decision,” he says, and she says nothing, obviously waiting for him to go on. He clears his throat, before glancing her way again.

“Wanda, my very existence is made illegal in the document,” he says clearly, and she interrupts.

“I know. That’s why it makes no sense, why you would sign it,” She hisses, through an angry blossoming of tears. He sighs, closing his eyes momentarily. He was hoping to not have to admit this next part, but he also understood that Wanda, from the moment she had looked at him with betrayal that night at the compound when he realized what he had been attempting to do, deserved to know the truth. 

It was a right he would never take away from her again.

“Ross conveyed to me, in no uncertain terms, I would be seized by the government and decommissioned if I did not. By signing, I was agreeing that my existence could continue so long as I complied,” he murmurs, his posture stiffening, and when he finally dares to look at her again, he realizes she is still crying, but her eyes have softened, as she shakes her head slightly.

“What?” She asks softly.

“I never meant for you to know, my darling. My wellbeing should not have had a place in your decision,” he murmurs, and she shoots an angry glance at him, and he lets his hand fall.

“Are you insane? Of course it should have. Don’t you know how much I, how I f-” she stops, her hand over her heart, and he moves closer to her still, daring to gently touch the side of his face. She lets him.

“I think I do now, Wanda. And I am sorry for being so... blind. So entirely ignorant,” he mutters, and she leans into his palm. “But most importantly, for thinking I knew what was best for you. I should not have kept you from leaving. Because what has happened after, what I have felt…”

“I was so angry with you. You were being insufferable,” she whispers, interrupting him,  and Vision sighs, wiping a tear away with his thumb.

“Yes,” he says softly. “And I am here on the most selfish of errands, I’m afraid, asking for your forgiveness. For saying what I did. For keeping you there, for being so... scared... of what it all might mean. Because I have learned, Wanda, that I cannot, and will not, commit to a life, an existence, without you in it, knowing there might be a chance that what has transpired could be...mended,” he says shakily, and it is then that she truly loses her composure, slowly leaning into him as she silently cries. His heart shudders, even as he threads a hand through her hair, murmuring soothing words into her ear as it happens. 

After several long moments, she grows more quiet and finally lifts her head up to him. 

“I got your shirt all wet,” she murmurs, staring at his shoulder, and he offers her a small smile.

“It’s not really a shirt,” he says, and the tension breaks as she lets out a breathy laugh. 

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, and he chuckles slightly, before staring up to her once more.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself, but I hope, in time, you will find a way to forgive me,” he says, cupping her face gently. She glances downward for a moment, and he feels a surge of guilt flow from her mind.

“You aren’t the only one to blame,” she says, looking up to him hesitantly. “We both...hurt one another,” she says softly, and then, he can feel it, her mind nudging and then encircling his, and he lets her in. Then he feels the overwhelming wave of regret, of sadness, of mind-numbing longing and want. He almost keels over at the emotion, but, instead, moves closer to her. 

“I want to…” he begins, unsure of what he’s asking, before she nods slightly.

“If you don’t, I’m going to throw you through that  window over there. Take your pick,” she says, just a mere centimeter between them, and then he is gently pressing his lips to her own. She opens for him, sighing into the kiss, and his senses are overwhelmed with the feeling and needneedneed from both their minds. He deepens the kiss then, running his tongue over her own, and when they break apart they are both breathing heavily.

“God,” she finally whispers, before he kisses her once more, more gently this time, lingering on the feeling and heat from her mouth, before breaking apart.

“You should rest, darling,” he murmurs gently into her ear. 

“I don’t want you to leave,” she says quietly, and his hold on her tightens. Gently, he lies back with her on the bed, so he has an arm around her and her head lay on his chest.

“There will be more time...to talk. For now though, I am here. I’m not going anywhere,” he says, and she shudders slightly, and in mere moments, she is once more asleep. 

—-

Eight hours and forty five minutes later, early in the evening, she stirs. She has slept remarkably peacefully, and her head is still resting on his chest, an arm thrown around him. He barely dares to breathe. She has never slept like this beside him, and her warmth and her body next to him makes him dizzy, his mind spinning. Their conversation went better than he could have ever hoped. In all of his calculations, the likelihood of them here, like this, had only a 12.4% chance of taking place. And god he likes living in these odds. It’s a faint smile, and then her eyes flutter open, and she seems mildly surprised, but for the most part content.

“You’re still here,” she murmurs, lifting her head slightly to meet his eyes.

“Of course I am,” he says, his grip around her arm tightening slightly. She says nothing, but the way her eyes slide down his body is terrifying and wonderful, and he feels his breath hitch in his throat. 

“Wanda, I feel I must reiterate-” he begins before she gently raises a finger, pressing it to his lips.

“Shhh,” she says, and she sends him a request through their mental collection. He nods, turning slightly so he is also lying on his side. Slowly, he threads a hand in her hair, and she moves closer, ghosting her lips to his again. 

“You need to eat something,” he murmurs. She rolls her eyes slightly, and he finds himself reveling in the return of the Wanda he knows and loves. 

“Shut up and let me kiss you,” she says.

“Al-alright,” he says, and then her lips are on his again, more hungrily consuming him and he moans a bit into the kiss, hand still threaded in her hair as her other hand runs down his arm, and he shudders slightly at the deliberate, curious touch. 

When they break apart, she brings her hand away from his arm and closer to his face, fingers lazily trailing across the pattern of vibranium, and he shivers slightly, despite himself.

“I’m still mad at you,” she murmurs, and he opens his eyes, staring at her.

“I know,” he responds. 

“You can’t keep making decisions for me,” she says, her fingers still exploring, ghosting down his neck, and he responds with his own hand daring to slide over her collarbone and then over her shoulder. 

“I know, darling. This was the last one, you have my word. I had to see you safe, when I saw the footage…” he stops, and she freezes, a frown etched on her face.

“You...saw all that?” She asks quietly.

“Yes,” he mutters, and the blast of rage from his mind is keenly felt, before he can contain it. 

“You’re angry,” she says, eyes now shrouded in concern, and he exhales sharply.

“This was my fault. Had I just gone to you, had I not been such a coward-” he begins, but she stops him, fingers trailing over his lips.

“None of that. We were both at fault,” she says, before she kisses him again, and he never wants to leave, if only it means she keeps touching him like this. “We’re safe now. In this place. But...where is this place, exactly?” She asks, and he smiles.

“A flat in Edinburgh. I...purchased it so you would have someplace safe to go,” he says finally, and her eyes go wide.

“You...you bought it?” She asks, and he tilts his head at her. 

“Of course. After Captain Rogers and I discussed a plan and a potential rendezvous point, we determined this city would be among the safest. The flat itself is only a walk away from a grocery store, a few shops. It is also integrated with an advanced security system. I tried to...think of everything you might need,” he murmured, and then he feels her hand beneath his chin, her thumb swiping over the vibranium there. 

“Usually a guy starts off with flowers,” she says through a lopsided smile, and he can feel the heat rise in his cheeks. 

“I do recall, my dear, you reminding me that we are not usual. In fact, we are very unusual,” he says, and she smiles brilliantly at him, before pecking him on the lips again.

“I like it that way,” she says, and his lips quirk, before he remembers Natasha’s words. 

“I am afraid it is...not permanent. At least, not in the way I would like. I cannot stay. Not indefinitely. Mr. Stark...knows enough.”

“And why isn’t he knocking down the door to arrest me?” Wanda asks, her eyes darkening.

“I know you feel as if I have...an unhealthy relationship with the man, but he does trust me. He does not wish to interfere with our happiness. However, I must return routinely. I am still beholden to the Accords,” he murmurs. She frowns slightly, but sighs through a nod.

“I...know. I told Nat that I...would help Steve and the others too, if they needed it,” she says softly, and Vision tilts his head curiously, as he considers the poetry of their circumstances.

“ Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,” he begins and her smile widens at him. 

“Who’s the Capulet and who’s the Montague?” She asks through an arch of an eyebrow and he laughs.

“I’m not sure if it quite matters, Juliet,” he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and the revolution of her irises has him smiling again.

“Hopefully our ending is not as tragic,” she says, and his smile dips, as she quietly places a hand on the side of his face, fingers delicately tracing the raised, impossibly straight lines under his eyes, along his brow. 

“Tell me why again,” she finally asks, and he immediately understands her need for validation. She wants to know he will not phase away, become intangible once more. That he intends to keep his promise to her that he made after his first month of life: that his mind, his body, his goddamned soul, if even has one, is hers and hers alone.

“Because there is nothing more in this world that I’d fight harder to protect, to live for, than you,” he says, her eyes are wide as she stares at him, and they are glossy.

“That’s a lot to promise,” she whispers softly. “Because...that’s a lot to lose.”

“It is only because I thought I lost you that I understood,” Vision murmurs, and she wipes a tear away, before he leans in gently to kiss her and she sighs into the kiss, moving to get closer, before she pulls back, hissing in pain,

“Wanda?” He asks, sitting up a bit, quickly checking her vitals. A slightly elevated heartache, but that could be for a whole score of reasons.

“It’s...nothing. I’m just...sore. Everything aches,” she says through a faint smile, and he sits up even further with a nod of his head. 

“Let me draw you a bath, then. I have read that warm water does remarkable things for contusions, for muscle aches,” he says, about to get up, and Wanda stops him. 

“You don’t have to do all this,” she reiterates stubbornly. “You don’t owe me anything. I threw you through, like, ten floors of concrete,” she says, a frown on her lips. At this, he only smiles, tucking another tendril of hair behind her ear. 

“Sixteen,” he clarifies, and a blush creeps along her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, and, despite himself, he lets out an airy chuckle.

“Darling, it was deserved,” he says, before snaking his hands around her body.

“What’re you…” she begins, as he lifts her up, arm around her shoulders and arm underneath her legs. “ Oh. You’re...carrying me,” she says, practically dazed, and he only hums in contentment. He walks her into the en suite, adorned with a large, claw-footed bathtub. He sets her down in the cushioned chair next to the built-in vanity, and once she seems sturdy enough to keep her balance, he moves away to fiddle with the faucet.

“This is...rather lavish, for a safe house, and all,” she murmurs, watching as he checks the temperature of the water with one hand. He walks over to the sink then, plucking out bath salts and rose-scented soap as he goes, taking it over to the tub.

“It’s yours. Or, rather, ours ,” he murmurs after the soap mixes with the flowing water, the frothy suds of bubbles now filling the tub as well.

He turns to look at her, and she’s blushing a bit, and he in turn does, before her eyes light up.

“You know...something I’ve never told you. You blush gold,” she says, moving to shakily stand, and his eyes travel up her long, bare legs the t-shirt barely covers, before settling on her face. 

“I...do?” He asks, tilting his head at her inquisitively, and she nods, a glint of something mischievous in her eyes. He smirks at her, before moving to turn off the faucet. 

“I’ll take my leave, then. There are towels on the counter, and a robe hanging on the back of the door.” He turns to leave, and her hand catches his, and he pauses, looking back to her.

“Stay?” She asks through another blush, and his eyes widen, and he is at a loss for words.

“Not...it doesn’t have to be like that. You can turn around, if you really want to. Until I get in,” she mumurs, and he nods once, turning his back in the most gentamanly of ways, clamping down the more... erotic thoughts that have sprung up from nowhere as he hears the water ripple as she descends into the sudsy water. She lets out a content sigh as he turns around, the bubbles hiding most everything, although the creamy flesh of her chest and delicate features of her collarbones and shoulders make the presumably gold blush creep higher in his cheeks, until he sees several black and blue spots marring the skin that is visible, almost as if she has been painted with them.

He doesn’t point them out, as she is likely very much aware of them, and hesitates for a moment, unsure of what to do. She’s staring at him vulnerably, and he decides to sink to his knees next to the tub, so his eyes are even to her own. She smiles, then, and he is struck with a rather outlandish idea. Gently, he collects a ceramic pitcher from the floor, and moves towards the bath, submerging it in the water, filling it up gently.

“What’re you-“ she begins, before he instructs her to sit up slightly, pouring the water over her hair.

“Oh god,” she murmurs, as he gently takes the soap, curious of the feeling of it between his fingers, and approaches her cautiously.

“May I?” He asks, and she only gulps and nods, as he works his fingers through her hair, lathering the shampoo, massaging her temples, and she sighs in bliss.

He tries not to notice the blue contusions along her back. He attempts to put out of his mind the one he finds around her neck, too, along the waterproof bandages. He takes his time, being as gentle as possible, until he takes the pitcher again and washes out the soap. 

“I could get used to this,” she murmurs through closed eyes, and he chuckles slightly, as she speaks again.

“Although, it would be much better if you were in here with me,” she says, sea green eyes opening and daring him slightly. His eyes narrow at the innuendo, and he only offers her a mysterious smirk.

“Perhaps another time. When you’re feeling a bit...sturdier,” he says innocently enough, but he is sure to notice the mischievous grin overtake her. He stands then, drying his hands with a towel as he goes. 

“I’m going to get the antiseptic, if you need it. I’ll also prepare you some light breakfast,” he murmurs, standing near the door as she looks at him.

“It’s like...six at night, Vizh,” she says through a smile, and he only mirrors it back to her.

“It’s breakfast if you haven’t eaten all day,” he says, nodding once, and seeing himself out. What Wanda doesn’t realize, however, is this: that he immediately puts his back to the door, exhaling heavily, mind heady and hot with everything he had kept hidden from her. Never has the desire to touch and to taste and to want been so thick and heavy within him, to the point where his limbs are on fire with need. 

He moves away from the door then, walking slowly into the living room and stilling his shaking hands as he arrives at the kitchenette. He slows his racing thoughts with tasks. He prepares something light, toast with butter and jam, and remakes the tea. When she finds him in the living room, her hair is brushed and damp, and she is consumed in the large, fluffy robe he had purchased for her. She smiles brightly at him, but when her eyes catch sight of the breakfast on the table, she swallows hard. 

“I’m not sure I can eat yet,” she says, eyes apologetic.

“Wanda. You must eat something,” he murmurs, walking over to her with concern, a hand cradling her face. This is quickly becoming second nature, as if he’s always been this close, this intimate with her. Her worried eyes dance to the left and to the right, before finally glancing downward.

“I...wasn’t treated in a way that...well. I can’t eat yet,” she finishes, and he stares at her darkly, before nodding quietly.

“Tea then,” he says, and she nods, finally sitting down as he pours her a cup. She inhales it’s rich flavor, savoring the smell.

“This smells exactly like the same tea from home,” she murmurs, and his chest aches with the knowledge that home meant the compound, where she is no longer welcome.

“That’s because it is,” he replies softly, and then, she seems to notice her surroundings taking around the room, the television, the DVDs, the books.

“You bought all of this?” She asks, and he shyly nods. 

“Vision. This is...too much,” she says, but the look on her face gives her away.

“Trust me, darling, it was not. This is a place, a safe place, to come to, should you need it,” he says, and she extends her hand across the table, gripping his own tightly. 

They end up watching Bewitched. Wanda genuinely laughs at the show, still adorned her robe, her hair dry now and flowing freely around her face and down her shoulders. Vision manages to laugh too, here and there at the simplistic humor and physical gags. After the tea, she had opened a bottle of wine for Wanda at her request, and even managed to get her to eat some fruit and crackers. She had indulged in a glass and a half of Pinot Noir, and he could tell by her flowing mind and the warmth radiating from her that it was enough to loosen things between them, because after the credits of the next episode aired, she is eyeing him suggestively, declining the need to watch another episode. His arm is around her shoulders, and she is snuggled in tightly against his, but as the show ends she sets down her glass of wine and turns to him.

“I’ve always been jealous of Samantha,” she murmurs, and he turns to her through an arch of a brow.

“How so?” He asks through a tilt of his head. For being forced into the role of a mid-century housewife, having to always hide her powers, Vision finds himself far from envious of the couple. The secrecy would be stifling, although, as he comes to consider their own position they now find themselves in, he isn’t so certain they’re much better off. Wanda blushes a little under his inquisitive stare, snuggling closer to him.

“I don’t...know exactly. I guess...the pretty house. The loving husband. The fact she seems so... sure of herself. Of her magic. That she’s not the only one of her kind,” she says, waving a hand to the now dark television screen.

“It’s a false ideal though, isn’t it? The suburban life? And the secrecy I think, leaves something to be desired…” Vision drops off, staring at the screen. 

“I don’t know. There can be something... thrilling... about secrecy,” she says, turning to him once again.

“Is that so?” He asks, making sure to note the hint in her voice and the gleam in her eye.

“Mmm hmm. In fact, I would even go so far as to say that Darrin and she had a healthy, robust sex life,” Wanda says and Vision nearly chokes on his next breath, staring at her wide-eyed. 

“They’re only actors, darling,” he manages, but she’s still looking at him that way, and it stokes a fire deep within Vision. He’s sworn she has sometimes looked at him like this before. Once, when he pinned her in training, again, when she had pinned him, and a handful of times when they were alone and something he said or did invited the same response. He was without...the full meaning and context at the time, but now, now. 

“So should we talk about it?” She asks, and he cocks a brow at her in question. 

“About... what?” He asks, eyes carefully on her own.

“What you were so suavely alluding to while I was in the bath,” she says through a deep blush, and then he arches a suggestive eyebrow at her.

“Which was…?” He asks, playing coy, and she rolls her eyes slightly, before moving closer to him.

“Hmmm. I don’t know. Maybe that we seem ridiculously, completely attracted to each other,” she whispers into his ear, and she moves to kiss lower, lips barely grazing the base of his jaw. He sucks in a breath as she does so, but he’s prepared for it this time, prepared for the onslaught of new sensations and feelings toppling through his coding, entwining with his empathy modules and personality matrix. 

This, of course, isn’t news. He’d been tracking her heart rate, her pupil dilation, her body’s response to his new closeness. But the words, out loud, are sharp and biting in the close space they both share. She leans back, obviously waiting for him to respond.

“Yes. I...concluded that might be the case,” he mutters, and she smiles, the same glint of mischief in her eyes.

“And at least, that’s how I feel. Do you feel the same way about me?” She asks, and he notices then her bathrobe tie has become more loose, and that a thin, vertical strip of her skin is visible between the terry cloth. 

“I...I mean. I do, but…” he attempts to vocalize anything he’s feeling and fails. This, this very situation, he had calculated only having a 5.6% chance of happening, and he realizes now that his math might have been very, very off. Meanwhile, she arches a brow at him, and moves closer still, arms now traveling boldly up his chest along his sweater.

“You’re stammering, Vision,” she says through a breath before her lips briefly meet his again.

“Do you,” she pauses, kissing where his jaw meets his neck, “feel,” she says, lips traveling lower, “the same way?” She finishes, finally placing her lips on where vibranium meets synthetic skin, and his whole body shudders at the feeling, as she pulls back to wait for an answer.

“Y-yes. I...I don’t know the how of it, but yes. It is only that it is...overwhelming,” he finally mutters a coherent sentence, and she nods in subtle understanding.

“What if you...treat it like, I don’t know, a scientific experiment?” She says, her eyes dancing, and he raises a brow at her.

“How so?” 

“Well…”she says, leaning in to kiss him along the seam of vibranium along his neck again, and he breathes out shakily. “So when I do that…”

“I undoubtedly come undone,” he murmurs, looking at her slowly and she smirks at him.

“So let’s take it slow, then. So we have...time to consider all potential variables, come up with a realistic hypothesis,” she purrs, as her hand snakes up to his neck, bringing him closer. His breath is coming in more rapidly now, greedy for oxygen, as he feels himself nodding, before his mouth meets hers once more. 

It’s a slow languid kiss, and he marvels at all the various ways a kiss can happen. The variables are endless: a slow and wanting progression, a desperate and deep need, a light peck, an unraveling loss of oneself. It’s more than he can attempt to process, but when she pulls away, she validates him.

“You’re... really good at that,” she finally murmurs, and his eyes widen in surprise. “How-how did you-“ she begins to ask, and he finally finds his words once more.

“I...calculated and tracked the patterns and statistical likelihood of each movement. I..created an algorithm based on situation and subtext,” he finally shyly admits, and her grin widens.

“You...created an algorithm? To kiss me?” She asks, her eyes bright and beautiful, and he nods dumbly.

“Based on a large number of probable variables,” he murmurs, and she hums in satisfaction, before she pulls back, a challenge in her eyes.

“Kiss me again, Vision,” she murmurs, but before he can lean in to capture her lips, her hand against his chest stops him. 

“Somewhere else,” she manages, and he narrows his eyes and nods. Now that he has permission, he finds himself desperately seeking out the tender spot behind her ear, capturing her pulse gently with his mouth. She sighs before he works his way up to her ear, sucking on the lobe for just a moment, before pulling away.

“Oh,” she murmurs, before he kisses her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, then back again over the left side of her jaw, and, ever so gently, decreasing his density to do so, the bandage on her neck. 

Meanwhile, her hands have been roaming his chest, and now she fiddles restlessly with the hem of his sweater and he pauses, pulling back to look at her. 

“I’m...I’m not sure how this comes off,” she murmurs, a daring and yet somehow shy look in her eye. His eyes widen, before he nods gently, and the illusion of the cashmere fades away, revealing his bare torso. Wanda’s eyes widen, as she whispers an “Oh god” and suddenly a wave of embarrassment overtakes him.

“I know I’m not...well. If it’s too alien,” he murmurs, and she shakes her head harshly, before a careful hand travels up the line of vibranium of his rib cage and he closes his eyes, shivering.

“You are beautiful,” she whispers in his ear, and he releases the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, as she drinks him in again, hands roaming over the symmetry of his body, his mind overloaded with new variables, new possibilities as she memorizes and maps the patterns along his abdomen, his chest, his upper arms. His heart is pounding heavily in his chest, the typical ability to run multiple thought processes at once inhibited and unraveled. 

And when she presses her lips to a seam running along his chest, he is truly undone. 

“I thought we were taking it slow,” he barely has the ability to hiss, and she smiles slightly at him, before moving upward, just beyond his ear.

“This is slow, Vizh. Trust me, you don’t want to know what fast looks like,” she says.

He shivers again, completely at a loss of what this woman is doing to him. She stands then, taking him by the hand and walking them both into the bedroom once more. She stands by the bed, sloughing the robe off one shoulder, and he stands close to her, kissing her shoulder posessively, delicately, as she urges him with her eyes.

“Fair’s fair,” she murmurs. “Care to help?” She asks, and, with shaking hands, he gently slides the robe off her. She is now just in her underwear and nothing else, and his eyes slide up her navel, her rib cage, along the curve of her breasts. Bruises mark her skin here and there, but it makes no difference. Vision has lost all train of thought. 

“Vision?” She asks, a look of concern blooming on her features. He blinks, coming back to himself.

“Hmmm?” He asks, and she laughs a little, and he realizes she’s waiting for something. His reassurance perhaps,although he’s entirely uncertain how he could put anything he feels into words. 

“You- you're the most radiant thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, and she blushes again before grabbing him by the hand, pulling him foreword, and they fall into bed, although he braces himself by hovering over her, before gently landing just before her, arms braced on either side of her. Her eye are bright and inviting, and he kisses her again with a new surge of energy, and she reciprocates in kind. He gently lifts a hand hesitantly to hover over her.

“May I...?” He breathes the words, and she smiles sweetly at him. 

“I’m half-naked, Vizh. That’s sort of the point,” she smiles, and he laughs gently, before kissing her softly, while a quivering hand experimentally travels up the length of her navel, and she sighs, before his hand settles on her right breast. Her skin is so soft he’s lost in the tactile sensation. He marvels at the feeling, and experimentally runs a thumb over her nipple, which immediately pebbles under his touch. He breaks the kiss and tilts his head in question, and does it again to gauge her reaction. She sucks in breath, her heart increasing to over 100 BPM, and he then worries it a bit, before grinning devilishly, growing bolder, and moving his mouth to the other, taking her left nipple in his mouth, kissing before sucking gently. Her mind is an explosion of pleasure and need, even through the muted mental link. He pulls his mouth away, kissing a trail to her other breast, giving it the same treatment. 

“Your skin is so soft,” he murmurs, and she smiles, as her hand trails down his abdomen, and he shudders.

“So is yours,” she marvels and he smiles softly at her, before he feels the question on the brink of her mind.

“Thoughts?” She asks through a mischievous smile.

“Wha?” He only manages half a word.

“For the experiment, Vision,” she teases. “What..are you thinking? What is this doing to you, for you?” She asks, and he can tell her curiosity is real, and he only smiles at her, overcome with an idea. Gently, he takes her right hand and presses her fingers to his temple. Immediately the connection deepens, and she runs her hand down his chest again, and her eyes darken at the feelings radiating from his mind.

“Oh,” she says, and his smile is wider as he captures her mouth once more, hand posessively finding its way to one breast, before traveling lower, along her abdomen, and lower still, until it settles possessively on her hip, toying with the edge of the fabric. He pulls away again, a lingering question and curiosity in his mind. He is too overcome with emotion, with lingering embarrassment, to ask, so, instead, he gently pushes the question to her mentally. She smiles,  trailing his arm until her hand is over his own.

“I only know how, in theory….” he mumbles to her, and she nods knowingly.

“I’ll show you, любовник,” she says, and she guides his hand underneath her underwear, fingers softly gracing over curls before his fingers meet her center. He understands the female anatomy, knows what he needs to do (he had, although it was beyond his wildest dreams at the time, researched the topic, among others, reading everything from medical texts to blogs to articles in women’s magazines) but for a moment he’s simply lost in the warmth that radiates from her. He experimentally graces over her folds as she lets go of his hand, and his fingers dip lower, before his thumb softly grazes over the bundle of nerves at her center, and she sucks in a desperate breath. 

“Wanda,” he breathes, feeling the pleasure radiate from her. It’s overwhelming, as she softens the connection slightly, and he brushes over her clitorous again, while a finger dips lower, gracing her entrance.

She nods her consent, as he sinks a finger inside her. She’s impossibly warm and wet, and he thinks he could get lost in the feeling of being inside her. He slides the digit outward, and experimentally back in again, while also grazing over her clit, and she moans now, her heart rate rising.

“Another,” she moans softly after a little while, and his brain ignites in a fiery need with each word she moans, mind reeling from the how her vocalizations match his ministrations, but his hand strains against the fabric of her underwear, and in a moment of frustration, he phses them off.

“Oh,” she gasps. “I…I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Neither did I,” he whispers, and then growls a bit against her long and deep kiss, easily sliding another finger inside her. She sucks in a breath, moans again, as his fingers curl inside her, as she gasps, and he feels her heart beating faster, feels the tension coiling in her body.

“Harder,” she moans, and he complies, bursts of light behind his eyes as her pleasure crests. A wave of creativity spikes with in him as he uses his opportunity placing kisses on her body with his mouth, once more attending to a breast, and then she’s moaning his name, over and over, a prayer on his lips, as waves of pleasure course through her and from her, and he lets out a breathy groan, as he works her, taking her higher, a plane beyond normal existence, as an explosion of pleasure ripples through his own mind, as he slows his hand, and she breathes, a sheen of sweat glistening on her body. He quietly checks her vitals, making sure he hasn’t hurt her, when he realizes that she’s simply coming down from... an orgasm, his mind supplies the word, and he blinks, overcome with the knowledge. He removes his hand, his fingers wet with her moisture, he lays his forehead gently against her body, as she gently takes his hand and kisses his fingers,  and it’s the most erotic and wonderful thing he’s ever seen. He quirks a brow at her, and she kisses him then, as she manages to catch her breath.

“That was…” he manages to find his meeting.

“Mind-blowing,” she murmurs, and he nods, eyes wide, as he rolls off her, lying on his arm on his side as he realizes his body is struggling to catch his own breath. She turns to him, a hand running down his body, and he closes her eyes, before slowing her hand.

“That’s enough for tonight. You are still healing, and you need rest,” he murmurs, and she whines a bit, but he can feel her exhaustion, 

“Since when do you give me orders?” She murmurs, and he laughs, meeting her mouth again to kiss her gently.

“If you rest, and you have more strength, perhaps then you can make the demands,” he whispers against mouth, and her breath hitches, and he smirks at her.

“As I said…. insufferable,” she says, and he grins, pulling her closer to his body. They lay like that for long moments, breathing together, before her mind is pulled into sleep. 

--

Her dreams are soft, flowing, languid. They are immersed in rich, warm tones and colors, and he finds himself losing time as he floats alongside them. He thinks he sees a field of wildflowers, an older woman he does not recognize walking hand in hand with Wanda. Tall mountains arch in the background, the tops of them encased in snow white and blending into a rich violet and blue. And then the scene shifts, and they are in her bedroom at the compound, together. It’s a hot, blurry swath of gasping breaths and desperate touches, and in the dream he is making love to her, in the traditional sense. It’s then he feels the heat in his cheeks, as he disentangles himself from the dream, and he realizes in the darkened shadows of the flat’s bedroom he is breathing heavily. He still eclipses her form, both of them on their side while she sleeps, and he gently touches his lips to the nape of her neck. She sighs in contentment in her sleep, but he finds a frown just barely gracing his lips.

He had considered their predicament, during long and desperate nights when he pined for her. It was a simple answer, really, an easy rearrangement of his molecules would do the trick. But there was no mechanism in his mind to feel the climax he had brought her to in the throes of ecstasy hours earlier. His own body had not been designed with the intention of copulation, and while he could easily find loopholes to make up for his physiology, bringing about the change to concoct some sort of equivalent of chemical completion was not something he could so easily mimic or create.

Unless... he gently prys his way into the coding of his systems, analyzing the mechanisms that had made him want her. He looks at each lingering touch, each gasping breath. He had no need to breathe, and yet she made him greedily suck in oxygen. He could feel after all, and the emotional intention behind every touch was most likely the reason his body responded physically. He detangles the code, looking for points of origin, the emotional reaction to physical stimuli. He detects patterns, and easily discovers similar signatures to the dopamine and serotonin in a human brain. He understands, then, with enough time and effort, he had the potential to recode his system to physically alter underneath her deliberate touch in an involuntary fashion, and, with enough clever reprogramming, could potentially reach a similar point of climax. Such changes would take careful time and attention though, and, in the end, her pleasure was far more important than his. But the feeling he had experienced of bringing her to completion, the pride and slight smugness he had felt, was something he would not deny her, if she wanted it.

It’s only when the muted grey light of morning lightens their bedroom that he realizes he hears the patterning of rain. He cannot go outside anyway, but he imagines that here, now, is the most preferable place he could imagine being on such a dreary and dull day in the Scottish highlands. An hour more passes, and then he feels her begin to stir against him. Once more he places his lip to the nape of her neck, kissing the skin there gently, as she truly wakes, stretching slightly as she turns to greet him.

“Hi,” whispers, and he grins. 

“Hello,” he murmurs, and then she smiles shyly at him, before slipping away from his grasp and sliding on the discarded bathrobe. He tilts his head in curiosity, realizing that she’s taking part in her typical morning ritual. Often when she woke while they were back at the compound, he would hear the sound of water and her brushing her teeth, and when she emerged she would always look more put together, more comfortable. She called them “human moments,” which had always amused him to no end. In the past, when this happened, the bathroom door was always closed. Now, she leaves it open, and he watches curiously from his place on her bed as she combs through her hair with her fingers, turning on the faucet and plucking out a tooth brush.

He had never seen anyone brush their teeth before, and the whole process fascinates him to no end. He realizes he’s staring, but she doesn’t seem to mind, as she combs the cabinet afterward and finds what she’s looking for.

“You even bought my favorite kind of mouthwash,” she says, holding the bottle up in wonder, and he smiles. Although he’s sitting up, he hasn’t moved from the bed. He isn’t altogether certain why, but he soon discovers the reason, when Wanda darts back toward the bed and hops into it, practically on top of him. 

“You have more energy today,” he says through a chuckle, and she moves to kiss him greedily. He realizes quickly that she’s straddling him, legs on either side of his lap. It’s a compromising position, but one he’s dared to imagine them in on more than one occasion, usually encrypted under the folder Unrealistic Fantasies. He realizes then he’s still shirtless, and she’s sloughed off her robe, and is now very, very naked. He can’t help himself as his eyes slide down her body as her hands slide up his own.

“You’re insatiable,” he teases, and she only grins at him, peppering his shoulder with kisses. He responds with enthusiasm, palming her breast with one hand, while another hand snakes between them, brushing fingers over her sex. She moans, and he can feel how wet she already is, before she lowers her head, darting her tongue out, licking her way up the line of vibranium. Vision can’t help himself as he softly groans, and a blast of pleasure radiates from Wanda’s mind.

“See? That,” she murmurs, moving to kiss him deeply once more.

“Wh-what?” He asks, catching his breath, and she laughs at the characteristic tilt of his head.

“That. I love it when you moan,” she says, hands moving lower along his chest, fumbling with the edge of the illusion of slacks he still wears, before he stills her hand, his heart rate involuntarily increasing.

“Before we take anything further, darling. I’ve been considering the limitations of my body,” he begins before she cuts him off through a subtle eye roll.

“Vizh. I think you’re forgetting I’ve seen you naked before. I don’t care if-” she begins, and once more he stops her.

“What I mean to say is, I can, if you like,” he murmurs, running a hand through her hair, and it’s her turn to look at him inquisitively, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I can mimic the appropriate sexual organs via molecular manipulation. I do not have the ability to climax, however, not in the traditional sense, at least. But I believe, with enough time, I could reprogram my synapses to mimic the physiological process. For now, though,” he stops, gently lying her on the bed so he hovers over her. “I’d like to try having intercourse through fairly traditional means. I have read that women can achieve orgasm differently through vaginal stimulation,” he says, breathing out, entirely glad that part of the conversation is over.

“Love your pillow talk, Vizh,” she grins at him, and he blushes, before she gently slides a thumb over his cheek. 

“Teasing любовник. You could say anything and I’d be turned on. That voice. I guess I have Stark to thank,” she says, and he smiles softly at her. 

“That word, любовник... you’ve called me that before,” he gently murmurs, running a thumb along her collarbone, and she shivers. 

“Yes,” she says softly. 

“It is Sokovian for… ” he drops off. Lover. Paramour. Beau. Inamorato. Soul mate. 

She only smiles at him, having read the words in his mind.

“I still have trouble, believing you see me that way,” he murmurs, and she breathes out steadily.

“Then I’ll just have to convince you,” she says, before she turns them again, so he’s lying on his back, as she leans down in his ear to whisper,“Pants off.”

He nods, breathing in as he phases, also intentionally manipulating his molecules to form a phallus of larger-than-average size, after yet even more hopeless research on what women liked. 

“If the size isn’t to your liking-” he begins, suddenly very nervous and self-conscious, and she only grins wildly.

“I...have a magic boyfriend. Who can adjust the size of his cock deliberately...” she murmurs, and his cheeks flame with shyness once more, realizing the word “boyfriend” has just slipped from her lips. It is not as intimate as the word любовник is, but it is different in that it implies a sense of permanence, of this happening more than once, and he finds himself in a state of euphoria as her eyes slide down the length of his body, teasingly close to said cock.

“Wanda,” he practically begs, brain adjusting his neural receptors as he goes, amping up the sensitivity of the area, and he almost chokes the first time she touches him.

“Well that seems real enough,” she murmurs, and he can only nod, as she touches him again, and there’s nothing inside his mind except for blinding white light. 

“I love what I do to you,” she whispers into his ear, and then she’s kissing him again, hard, and when he feels her wet core come dangerously close to him, he groans through the kiss, before gathering up enough sense to speak.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” He asks quietly, and she smiles softly at him.

“I’m not exactly a virgin, Vizh,” she says, and he tries to mask his shyness by reaching out to run his fingers through her hair as she adds, “I think, if anything, I should be asking you that.”

“I know what I want,” he breathes, threading his fingers through one of her hands, and she nods slightly, before she grinds herself experimentally against him. He moans again, it cannot be helped, and she smiles devlishly, teasing him slowly with her movements, before she surprises him on the fifth such orchestration, slowly guiding him to her entrance, sinking down on him. 

It is, in a word, unearthly. She is impossibly hot and wet around him, and the hundreds of pressure points on his skin now send pleasure up through the core of his being. They’re both moaning now, as his hands grip her hips as gently as he muster, knowing she’s still healing. 

“Holy fuck. Molecular manipulation indeed,” she breathes, experimentally raising off of him again, to slowly go back down. He sees stars. Again, she does it, and the pace is agonizingly slow, but he lets her set it, as they meet again, and again. Finally, he feels the nudge in his mind, and he understands she wants him to take over, and he practically growls, sitting up to turn them so she’s lying underneath him again. He’s still inside her, his arms straining on either side of her beautiful body, as he kisses her again, tongue sliding over her own, before moving out carefully, and then sinking deep within her once more. 

He monitors every reaction. Every angle, each speed of his thrust, as her hands scramble for purchase along his back He kisses every part of her he can, sucking on her jawline, moving to her chest and taking a nipple in his mouth. She arches her back as he thrusts, adjusting his actions everytime based on every clue she gives him, and the pleasure coursing from her mind is loud, needy, thick and hot. In a moment of curiosity, realizing quickly the possibilities of his ability to alter his molecules, he carefully, every so gently, enlarges himself inside her, and her eyes go wide, as she drinks him in, and he pauses ever so slightly to make sure she’s ok, and she nods, and then he returns to thrusting.

“Fuck. Oh god Vizh,” she breathes, and at her mental encouragement he quickens his movements. He is unbelievably lucky, he realizes, that his body never slows, does not feel exhaustion and can perfectly maintain a steady and maddening pace. Indeed, he is left stammering and speechless by the closeness their coupling allows, the way their minds are entwined as one for so long, their bodies finally after over a year, following suit. It’s ecstasy, the feeling of being inside her warmth, her heat, and the first time she orgasms, it nearly blinds him, her walls clamping down on him and briefly inhibiting his orchestrations as he moans her name. 

“Wanda,” he breathes, and she’s saying his name over again, peppered with swear words- oh god. Oh fuck, Vizh. Harder. Fuck me harder. Да, любовь моя.- as he shakes off the mind numbing pleasure he is feeling by proxy and does as she commands. The next time it happens, her nails are at his back, attempting to claw at his skin, and just as the pleasure builds, she strengthens the connection, and he feels the illusion of toppling over with her. He is gasping for air, she is writhing beneath them, and they are beyond the tangible planes of existence, somewhere far away, beyond space and past time. 

He is not sure how long they stay like that, lost in the throes of bliss as he slowly moves, riding out the last of her orgasm, before he finally stills himself above her, pulling out gently. He places kisses on her body once more, falling in line beside her. She is still gasping for breath as she stares at him, pupils blown wide with awe, the way a pious follower might look upon a god, which is ludicrous, because he’d worship at her altar for as long as she’d permit, until the end of time. 

“You-” she finally breathes, staring at him, and he grins shyly, pulling her close to him and kissing her gently. 

“You,” she finally says, struggling to get away from his attempt to distract her in his self-consciousness, “are the single most amazing thing that has ever happened to me.” 

“So it was...satisfactory?” He finally murmurs into her hair, as she strokes his arm in a dazed, winding sort of way.

“Satisfactory does not begin the outer body experience I just had,” she says through a small smile.

“Yes, I...believe I felt some of that,” he murmurs, pulling back slightly to look at her face. She smirks at him, kissing his lips slightly. 

“Good. I was hoping I could give you something,” she says softly, before her smile falls slightly. “I only wish you could feel the same,” she murmurs, tracing the lines of his face. “How long did you say-” she begins, and he chuckles.

“The next time I am here, I think I’ll have managed it. If you’ll have me,” he says quietly and she grins at him, surging forward to kiss him once more. 

—

The next time it happens, he has her up against the wall, and then on the counter in the kitchenette. He draws the filthiest curses in both English and Sokovian from her lips, and each word she utters feels like a hit of the strongest drug. His mind is already hooked on it; her pleasure the most intoxicating and potent of elixirs. Finally, they manage to wind down, so she can eat. He’s happy to see that the Wanda he knows is slowly returning to him with each passing hour, and late in the afternoon, she lies with her head on his chest, as she draws lazy patterns on his skin. They’re both only in partial states of dress, and Vision finds he likes it this way. The next words on her lips surprise him, however, and he turns to her in curiosity as she utters them.

“I think...I met you once... before,” she murmurs, fingers stilling against him as she looks up to him

“Yes,” he murmurs, hands tightening around her arm, as his eyes meet hers.

“You...remember?” She asks, and he closes his eyes, summoning the images. A Hydra base, the image of a woman with brown hair and dark eyes, tormented, staring at him.

Your thirst for revenge is misplaced.

“Yes,” he murmurs, and Wanda frowns. 

“I...had no idea. I was staring at Stark’s suit, and I couldn’t...separate you from him,” she murmurs, and he pauses, trying to find what to say to calm the burgeoning regret she may feel.

“I was horrible, to him, to you,” she adds, and he frowns slightly, before placing a gentle kiss to her forehead to reassure her that she has committed no sin, and that he holds nothing against her.

“You had your reasons. And... it wasn’t really me. Not entirely. Not yet, darling,” he says, smoothing her hair, and her frown lessens, before staring at him with curiosity. 

“What is it like, to have so many of someone else’s memories? I mean...do they feel like your own?” She asks quietly, and he frowns slightly at the question, trying to put the phenomenon into words.

“They are, and they are not. It is strange. Perhaps...the best explanation I can come up with is that it is a sort of...reincarnation. My essence is there, in every thought, in every memory, but who I am now, how I think and feel, is different,” he murmurs against her and she smiles at him

“Reincarnation, huh,” she says softly, and it is now his turn to offer her a curious glance. At his attention, she blushes, resuming her soft tracing along the lines of his body.

“It’s just...Liza…” she says, and then stops, fumbling with her words.

“The woman you were with?” He asks, and it is an honest question, no trace of judgment or fear in his tone. Wanda only rarely offers up information from her past, and he finds himself entranced with anything she chooses to reveal to him. 

“Yes, but more like a girl. We were young. Only teenagers,” she says through a soft sigh. “Anyway, she believed in reincarnation.” Vision listens with rapt attention at the softness in her tone as she recalls a memory he cannot see.

“Oh?” He asks, and she nods.

“Yes. She thought that...souls traveled through time through various lives. Different bodies, sometimes in the form of plants, animals...AIs,” she says, smiling widely at him and he chuckles softly. 

“I am… uncertain of so much in that regard. I would have not said I believe in any sort of deity, I still don’t, but I admit that particular concept feels like a reassuring one,” he says and Wanda nods.

“It felt reassuring at the time. I’d recently lost my parents. It felt comforting to know that maybe they were out there, still somewhere, living a different life,” she murmurs. “Liza...helped me through a lot of that. That...unresolved grief.”

“Then I am grateful you had her in your life. That she was there for you,” he murmurs softly, and she looks up to him with a new hesitancy.

“And...that doesn’t bother you? That I’m...well...not entirely straight?” She asks quietly. “Because, with some men, well…” she drops off and he only blinks at her.

“Wanda, darling. Considering who I am, what I am-” he begins, and she cuts him off.

“I don’t like when you talk about yourself in that tone,” she says softly, and he sighs.

“I only mean to say that…as much as I wish to be, I am not human. At least, not entirely. And my gendered programming...well. It is more of an expression rather than an identity. Considering this, it only seems rather fitting, that your tastes are what they are,” he murmurs, and despite the fact her eyes are glossy with emotion, she smiles knowingly at him. 

“What?” He asks quietly.

“I think you just admitted to being nonbinary,” she says shyly, stopping her fingers from trailing paths on his body as he stares at her, blinking. Quickly, he searches for the term. Not relating to, composed of, or involving just two things. He specifies his search. An umbrella term for gender identities that are neither male nor female‍—‌identities that are outside the gender binary. He considers this through a tilt of his head.

“Perhaps that is the best term, yes,” he finally murmurs, and she smiles more widely at him. 

“Although, may I add, very masculine presenting,” she grins, and he pulls her closer, laughing into her hair gently before kissing her once more. 

“Can I ask…” she murmurs as she pulls away, biting her lip in thought as she considers her next question.

“Anything,” he responds quietly.

“How did you find out about me? You said...you saw the footage?” She says, something dark now coloring her features, and Vision frowns slightly at the memory.

“I spoke with Friday. She alerted me to the conditions inside the Raft,” he says softly, fingers drawing down the length of her face. She arches a curious brow at him, and he clarifies. 

“We managed to...overcome our differences. I...I went to see her, after what happened when you left,” he chooses his words carefully, fully intending not to bring her more guilt over last month’s events. Wanda’s brows furrow as she considers this.

“What do you mean, you ‘went to see her’? Where?” She asks, and he smiles. How to explain? Gently, he places his forehead to her own, his memories of seeing Friday open up, and Wanda’s eyes go wide, as she witnesses the visuals, the reflecting planes of light nestled deep in the coding of the compound.

“Oh,” she whispers, eyes wide, staring at him in disbelief once more. 

“I...reached out into the compound’s mainframe, after, well, while I was still several kilometers under the dirt. I believe...I was brooding. She...assisted me, in understanding…” he trails off.

“Understanding what?” Wanda asks quietly.

“Who I am,” he murmurs, and at this Wanda’s frown deepens.

“I’m getting a little jealous of her,” she says slightly and at that he chuckles.

“No more jealous than I am of Liza,” he murmurs, entwining his hand with her own and she rolls her eyes at him playfully. No one speaks for a few moments, before he hears her exhale softly. 

“So what now? What happens...after this?” She asks gently, and he pulls away slightly to look at her.

“After I... have to leave, we talk through the deep web, and we arrange to meet,” he says quietly.

“Here?” She asks softly, with hope.

“Here is always an option, but I will travel to wherever you are, always,” he says.

“And you’re not mad at me, for wanting to still...well...Avenge?” She asks softly, and he exhales in a quiet exasperation.

“Your safety is always my highest priority, but I would be a hypocrite if I told you that I expected something different,” he says through a small smile. “I think... we are similar in that regard. In our inability to stand idly by and watch the world suffer, if we can do something to prevent it.”

“So you will also still be...Avenging?” She asks, and he nods.

“Yes. I have committed myself to Stark as a member of the team, but... we should honestly not be discussing this right now,” he murmurs, moving to hover over her.

“Why?” She asks, before he dips his head to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, and then, getting bolder, nipping it between his teeth slightly, and she hisses in pleasure. He removes his mouth and looks at her innocently as she smirks at him.

“Because, firstly, we have several days left together,” he says, kissing his way to the other breast and offering it the same treatment, before kissing his way down her sternum, and then lower to her navel. “And secondly...I wish to conduct…” he says, moving lover still until he settles himself in front of her sex, placing a kiss on either of her inner thighs, and this time she moans in pleasure, “...another experiment.”

It’s then he settles himself between her thighs, nosing her gently, before breathing in her warmth and pleasure.

“Oh,” she murmurs, looking at him through hooded eyes, a bright blush on her cheeks and he smiles devilishly.

“I have faith, from our previous intimate endeavors so far, you will instruct me on the best course of action,” he says, and she snorts quietly, before raising one brow.

“And I have faith that you will listen, and then exceed any expectations I would hope to have,” she says, just as he places his mouth to her center for the first time, gently toying with the bundles of nerves between her thighs, making her arch in pleasure.

“Undoubtedly,” he says as he pulls away for only a moment before tasting her again, and he thinks he hears her murmur, “show off” until he licks up the length of her, reveling in her warmth and texture, as he renders her speechless.