A/N: I couldn't help myself! That two year gap is just too tempting. Enjoy :)
I.
'Loyalty'.
'Logic'.
'Loyalty'.
'Logic'.
'Loyalty'.
Vision understood those words and the feelings that should be associated with them.
Then why were they running across his mind in a perfect, endless, infinite loop? As if his systems were unable to move on to any other task or function until he fully and wholly processed those two words and all of their possible connotations.
'Loyalty'.
'Logic'.
He had firmly believed that he understood the meaning of those words until recent events seemed to prove otherwise.
So now he was analyzing those two terms even further as he hovered next to Wanda Maximoff's deserted bed.
Everything was exactly the way that she had left it that night when she had fled the compound with Agent Barton. Her bed was still rumpled, but made, a notebook was lying open on her desk, old clothes spilling over the laundry basket, and a burgundy cardigan was tossed over the back of her desk chair. He found the colours of her bedroom - the greys, the blues, the ivories – to be comforting, soothing, and he found that if he really focused he could still smell the aromas that her closely associated with Wanda - freshly burned incense mixed with the light citrus of shampoo and body spray.
Since joining the Avengers, Wanda had made it a point to spend a great deal of time in her bedroom, perhaps because she had never truly had a bedroom of her own. She liked her silence, her peaceful solitude. Her bedroom was her refuge so she was easy to find when she wasn't training, or in the kitchen, or watching a film with Sam Wilson. And over the past few months, she had invited him into that refuge. Something that he recognized as a great privilege.
She was at home here with her guitar, her books, her photographs, and knickknacks. Her little touches of painful memories and hope for the future. She belonged here with all of her things. The Avengers facility was her home.
Was.
He lowered himself to the bedroom floor and reached down to feel her bedspread beneath his fingers.
'Loyalty'.
'Logic'.
He had signed the Accords because it was the right thing to do. The logical thing to do. His equation was flawless in its design. Strength leads to challenge, challenge leads to conflict, conflict leads to catastrophe. He still believed that.
He had also signed the Accords because it was the loyal thing to do. It showed loyalty to human life. Life that he was destined to protect. The collective good. He was always on the side of life, whatever the cost.
But loyalty and logic had failed him because he had not allowed for his growing loyalty to one individual to override his logic. Logic told him that one life was not worth the lives of everyone else in the universe, or on Earth, or millions of humans, or thousands. But when it came to Wanda Maximoff, the synthetic organ that paraded as a heart told him otherwise.
He had always known that he felt a duty to protect her and look out for her that was not comparable to any of their teammates. He had chalked it up to other, more logical responses. But she had been his entire focus during the Leipzig battle. He had been quick to notice how bold and strong, and beautiful, and determined she looked weaving her scarlet magic. It had distracted him. He had felt a tug in his abdomen when Colonel Rhodes' shockwaves sent her to the ground, and he had flown to her side without a second thought. His concern for her wellbeing had outweighed his mission. She had distracted him.
There was no logic in that.
And what had loyalty and logic ultimately gotten him anyway. The compound, which had once been brimming with life and purpose, was practically empty, he passed through the hallways like a ghost. The Avengers were no more, Colonel Rhodes may never walk again and, as a result, Mr. Stark was more despondent than usual, and Wanda was gone.
After a brief moment of debate, he settled on the bed in the supine position and stared up at the ceiling.
'Logic'.
'Loyalty'.
What caused humans to experience loyalty?
'Love'.
Humans struggled with that emotion on a daily basis. It was definitely outside the realm of understanding for a synthetic being such as himself.
The endless loop of thought in his head had seamlessly rerouted.
'Logic'.
'Loyalty'.
'Love'.
"You miss her."
It wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact, and Vision slowly sat up to face Mr. Stark, who was standing in the open bedroom doorway with a frown on his face.
"Yes, I believe I do," he responded softly. "I have this feeling that I can only describe as emptiness."
Mr. Stark continued to frown as he fiddled with whatever tool was in his hand. "Well, I didn't see this coming," he muttered to himself.
"We were wrong to keep her restricted to the compound," Vision stated with just a hint of anger in his voice.
"Yeah," Tony conceded with a sigh. "Maybe we were."
"How are we supposed to get the world to treat her as anything more than a weapon when that's exactly how we see her?"
The expression on Mr. Stark's face was close to unreadable, he looked down at the tool in his hand and frowned, but something else was pulling at the left corner of his mouth. "That isn't how you see her."
Vision shook his head as his systems shifted into memory recall.
"For people to see you, as I do."
It was true, he didn't see her in the same light as those who listened to the news reports, as the volatile, unpredictable, temperamental child. People were afraid of her because they couldn't help themselves. Like he had explained, the human amygdala saw the glow of scarlet from her fingertips and behind her eyes, and they recognized her otherness, and they couldn't stop themselves from fearing her. But that stopped them from seeing her kind heart, and her soft smile, and her fierce strength and perseverance.
And when he looked at Wanda Maximoff that's all he saw.
'Logic'.
'Loyalty'.
'Love'.
II.
Vision thought that he had arrived at a solution to his nagging questions. He had equated that whatever he was feeling (that his systems had reluctantly labelled 'longing') would disappear when he saw her again. Flesh and blood and not just his perfect, crystal clear memory. He told himself that he would feel better when he could clearly hear the sound of her heartbeat and detect the familiar smell of her hair.
But this, sitting across from her in some interchangeable European hotel room was far worse than he had ever imagined. Because although he could hear the calming rhythm of her heart, slightly elevated compared to the average human, smell the light citrus flavour of a familiar shampoo in the air, and brush his consciousness against hers if he so wished, she could barely look at him.
All that he could do was stare as she habitually played with the rings on her fingers and avoided his gaze. All that he could do was stare at the slowly healing bruises on her delicate, pale neck and wrists; the evidence of the way that the American government had treated her like an animal. Knowing how she had been treated in that awful excuse for a prison made him feel something close to rage. If he had known that they would do that…if he had known that they would treat her as something less than human when she was one of the most beautiful humans that he had ever met, then he would have…he would have…well he's not exactly sure what he would have done, and he had an inkling that that was part of the problem.
She had said exactly six words since he had found her near the town square – why are you here? and let's go – and she had not let her guard down in any way. He could see it in her body language, she was wary and suspicious, exactly like she had been at his birth. She had barely offered him a hint of a smile or the briefest physical contact.
She was also on edge and angry, he could sense it. Their connection allowed him to sense it. She was angry at him for stepping aside so easily when she was arrested at the airport. She was angry at him for leaving her in a cell not unlike the one that Hydra had kept her in, and yet, somehow, far worse. She was angry at him for seeking her out. She was angry at him for not seeking her out sooner. She was angry at him for so many reasons. While her anger usually fuelled her magic, there was too much hurt and betrayal behind her eyes when she glanced at him for even the faintest spark to crackle at her fingertips.
Maybe it would be easier if he just felt her anger. But he hadn't even felt anger when she had forced him through ash and rubble of storey after storey.
And he felt what he had learned to call shame, and guilt, and remorse. And still so much longing.
"Wanda," he finally spoke. He at least wanted to try to explain himself.
"You should go, Vision," she responded quickly. "You shouldn't be away for long."
She stood and moved towards the room's kitchenette. He stood up as well and watched the way her newly darkened hair, so dark that it was almost black, brushed her shoulders. He didn't want to leave, but he didn't want to fight with her either. Fighting with Wanda made air catch in his throat in a way that was rather uncomfortable.
"Okay," he agreed calmly. "I will find you again soon."
He hoped that he said his words with so much conviction that she had to believe him.
III.
She kept him at arm's length for his next several visits. Her expressions softened and she opened herself up to more conversation, but he missed the nature of their relationship before the Accords. He missed her deep husky laugh when he said something that caught her off guard, the gentle strumming of her guitar in the early hours of the morning, a brief but meaningful touch to his hand or forearm, their hushed conversations late at night while the rest of their teammates were asleep. He missed what he perceived to be the natural evolution of their relationship towards something more than just camaraderie.
And he held on to the hope that what had changed between them was reparable. They just needed time. So he kept returning to her, no matter where she was.
The first time that he stayed with her overnight, he sat in a cushy armchair and watched over her while she slept. When she started to stir, his eyes widened in concern. She turned over, from her side to her stomach, and clenched the bedsheets beneath her in both fists. He had to use all of his restraint to keep his body in the chair and not go to her, but he could feel his molecules involuntarily shifting. He had always been responsive to her nightmares, ever since her very first night in the Avengers facility.
He heard her whimper and his jaw clenched.
One quick look into her mind and he could see that her current nightmare was flashing images of violence and pain. Falling bombs…dirty, crowded streets…being strapped to an examination table…Pietro…the Raft…putting him through the floor of the compound?
He flew to the bed without further thought, not willing to watch and listen to her suffer any longer. He settled beside her, gently cradled her face in both of his hands, and fully opened his mind to hers. She had once called his mind ordered and calm, like a steady stream on a spring day. She said it helped when her own mind was feeling particularly chaotic. Her body soon stopped squirming and a contented sigh escaped her lips.
He smiled, and pride swelled in his chest, as she curled into him and essentially used his body as a giant pillow. He moved his hand through her long hair in what he had learned was a soothing gesture, and dared not move a single muscle for the entire night.
The early morning sun was streaming into the room when Wanda finally awoke and blinked up at him in confusion.
"You were having a nightmare," he rushed to explain. "I just wanted…" She just stared at him and the heavy feeling in his stomach made him phase through her and move off of the bed. He stood at the foot of the bed and looked down at his feet contritely. "My apologies, Miss Maximoff," he stated, falling back into formalities. "I overstepped."
She continued to blink sleepily as she slowly sat up, a tad disoriented. "Come back to bed, Vizh," she murmured huskily.
His mouth hung open in surprise as he watched her roll onto her stomach and close her eyes. She was calling him back to bed? He continued to stand, absolutely still, for several more minutes. Did she really want him to join her? Or was she simply dreaming? Oddly enough, both outcomes made him happy.
"Vizh," she spoke again. "I'm getting cold."
He needed no further invitation. He settled on top of the bedsheets beside her and re-established their mental connection, like he had done when she had suffered from nightmares in the compound and requested the salvation of his mind. "Is this better?" He asked softly.
She reached behind her to grab his arm and pull him closer. "I missed you," she whispered.
Vision couldn't suppress his elated grin so he hid it against the top of her head. "I missed you too, Wanda, and I am sorry, for everything."
"Me too, Vizh," she responded, her voice still husky from sleep. "And I'm glad you're here."
IV.
Wanda knew that she had treated Vision unfairly by staying mad at him for so long, but she had always been called a stubborn child. It had always been her job to be calm, thoughtful and even-tempered in order to balance out Pietro. He was so impulsive, impossibly quick-tempered, and she had needed to be the other side of his coin. But that did not change the fact that her first reaction in most situations was anger as well. And she had allowed herself to feel the full force of her anger towards Vision.
They had made their decisions, chosen their sides, committed to their paths, drawn their lines in the sand, and it should have ended there. She shouldn't have given Vision another thought because she had too many other things to think about.
She was back to living without safety and security. Yet, life on the run was oddly comforting to her. She knew what it was like not to sleep because she had to keep watch. She knew what it was like to keep only the bare minimum on her and buy only the things that she absolutely needed. Her body knew what it felt like not to eat. She knew how to make herself disappear. This was something that she was good at, and there was a security in that.
A security that she couldn't fully embrace because she found it difficult to stop thinking about Vision.
When he had found her that first time, almost physically unrecognizable in his pale skinned, blonde, blue-eyed human disguise, she had sensed the guilt rolling off of him in tidal waves. Guilt for letting Stark down. Guilt for injuring Rhodey. Guilt for not fulfilling his duties. Guilt for sneaking away to find her. It had made her curl her top lip in derision and think that he was going to whisk her back to the United States at any moment, just so he could convince himself that he was doing the right thing again. She knew that he felt something for her, but he also saw her as the one thing in his perfectly ordered, logical mind that he didn't have control over, and she hated that.
She hated that he had her, and their relationship, filed away as this anomaly - this flaw in his design - that he didn't truly understand. The one thing that disturbed his logical views of the world.
But, as with most things where Vision concerned, she quickly learned that his distress came from not being able to correctly identify his own thoughts and feelings. He struggled with placing labels of feelings on particular moments, especially where she was concerned. Nobody's mind was quite like Vision's, so calm and peaceful, and pure, but he was in turmoil for those first few visits. And all because he could sense that she hadn't forgiven him. His thoughts and feelings regarding her had taken over his systems.
It had taken so much of her energy to be mad at him when he was so kind, considerate, attentive, and clearly in so much pain – all because of her.
It was also hard to stay mad at someone that she had missed so desperately. He wasn't the only one in pain.
She invited him into her bed, to keep the nightmares at bay, and she revelled in the physical contact, even if he had to wear that stupid disguise that so many other women seemed to find devastatingly attractive.
She smiled up at him as he propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at her, his other arm tossed across her waist. She tentatively reached upwards and touched the tips of her fingers to his forehead.
"Can I?" She murmured.
The Mind Stone allowed them to have this seamless, natural, mental link, but she still tried to actively stay out of his head until she asked first. Right now, she was overwhelmed with the desire to see what he was thinking.
He promptly nodded. "Of course. Always."
She pushed down the very strong feelings that welled up inside her at his response. People did not willingly let her in into their head. Even those who trusted her fiercely, like Nat, Steve, and Sam, were scared of this part of her. The only people that had ever fully accepted this part of her were Pietro, her other half, and Vision. And he had done so since his birth.
"Look again."
Faint wisps of scarlet stretched out to connect her fingers to his forehead and she smiled at what she could read from him.
"What am I feeling?" He questioned quietly.
"You are content."
He nodded, pleased with that answer. "I am."
He reached for her hand still hovering near his forehead and brought it to his mouth to kiss. He had become very aware of her hands as of late, taking any opportunity to hold them or kiss them, which also made her irrationally emotional. She remembered those first few weeks in her Hydra cell, after the final experiments, when she had been so terrified of her own hands that she would sit on them until they went numb. She had been, and to some degree still was, afraid of what her own hands could do, and yet Vision treated them like the most precious parts of her. Like they weren't capable of vicious, awful things.
He kissed her palm again and smiled into her skin. "What would you like to do today, Wanda?"
"Whatever you want, Vizh."
V.
"You have freckles," he stated out of the blue one morning when they were lying in bed.
It was a hot, humid Italian morning and over the course of the night Wanda's tank top had bunched up so that the skin of her lower back was on display. He had always found the human body fascinating, the way that it could be so soft and strong at the same time. So fragile, like Mr. Stark's heart, and so formidable, like Captain Rogers' enhanced musculature.
Early in his life he had found Wanda's body of interest, particularly in the ways her body differed from his own replication of humanity. Her femininity was lovely. He had believed it was his newness that made him so interested, but as Sam had once told him after catching him observing her making tea in her pajamas – it's okay, man, guys like to look at pretty girls. It's normal. And Miss Maximoff was objectively beautiful. He had gathered enough research to be confident in that statement. He had spent countless minutes observing the waves of her hair and the shape of her lips. He had calculated the exact length of her legs and catalogued the precise colour of her eyes.
And yet, he had never stopped to notice the expanse of freckles over her soft, pale skin. He had never considered that seeming imperfections could be so…
'Alluring'.
"Yeah," she chuckled. She turned her head towards him and watched his brow furrow in concentration.
"Fascinating," he whispered.
He tentatively reached forward and began to trace the freckles on her back with his index finger as if he were connecting the dots. His touch was so soft that it was almost imperceptible, but it sent shivers down her spine.
"Be careful, Vizh," she warned. He raised an eyebrow in question, he wanted to know what he was doing wrong. "It tickles."
"Oh." A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth; he found that information pleasing. "Fascinating," he repeated.
She giggled into her pillow. He found the simplest things fascinating, it was one of her favourite things about him. He saw the world in such an interesting way, with the intellectual capacity of an all-knowing being and the innocence of a young child.
He continued to caress her back and the sensation had almost lulled her back to sleep when he spoke again.
"Do they extend down to your buttocks?"
Wanda blushed furiously and rolled over onto her back. She grabbed his hand to entwine their fingers and offered him a small smile. "Maybe that's enough research for today," she joked feebly.
He frowned as he noted her change in demeanour. "That was improper, wasn't it?" He inquired.
"A little," she explained honestly, but shyly.
"Can you please explain why?" He asked gently. "I apologize, and I would like to know the difference for next time."
"Well," she trailed off and focused on their joined hands so that she didn't have to look at his penetrating gaze. She had never had to have a conversation like this with a man before. In Sokovia, a hard stare, a well-placed insult, and Pietro hovering beside her was typically enough to ward off unwanted male attention. She had never thought she would need to explain why asking to see her butt wasn't exactly appropriate.
But it was Vision, and he was so harmless and curious. He meant nothing untoward or perverted by it. Apparently he just found her freckles "fascinating".
And they did have a comfortable, affectionate relationship; they just didn't have that kind of physical relationship. She was prepared to never have that sort of relationship with him. She remembered overhearing a conversation between him, Stark, and Dr. Cho where they had been discussing the evolution of his emotional spectrum and range. It seemed that as he experienced the world, his knowledge of human emotion expanded to the point that his personal grasp of emotions would shift, and she had seen evidence of that herself. He showed concern and worry for her, she had seen him distraught and saddened when she had refused to talk to him in the early stages of their reunion, and she had seen him smile with happiness and pride when she enjoyed a meal that he cooked for her. He had feelings, like any person, especially where she was concerned, but he did not biologically have a sex drive. Dr. Cho and Stark had seemed pretty confident about that. Not having a sex drive meant that he would never feel yearning or desire…and that he would never want to see her behind for any purpose other than scientific exploration.
"We don't have that kind of relationship, Vizh," she finally exhaled with a smile.
He pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment before his brow furrowed in trepidation. "What kind of relationship do we have, Wanda? Are we friends?"
She finally turned towards him and gazed at his inquisitive blue eyes. "I think you know we're more than friends," she whispered. "We care about each other, right?"
He nodded in agreement. "Very much so. I feel…odd…when I have to leave you. I can't quite quantify it."
He furrowed his brow again and Wanda could see him struggling to identify what he was feeling. "It's okay," she assured softly. "I feel odd when you leave too."
VI.
Vision spent a great deal of time, energy, and research trying to pin down that 'odd' feeling. Nothing enlightened him, but he continued to experience it. He felt it when they parted so that he could get on whatever bus, flight, or train he needed in order to properly cover his tracks and her location. He felt it as he processed the time that they had left together, down to the second. He felt it when she squeezed his hand as a form of goodbye.
New feelings were hard for him, especially the complex ones that didn't seem to be as readily available and easily explained on the internet. Humans were complicated, he frequently reminded himself.
But that had always been what set him at ease about being around Wanda. She was definitely complicated, sometimes all too willing to acknowledge her own otherness, but that's why she was so patient with him. She always allowed him to feel whatever it was he was feeling, and ask questions if he needed. She allowed him to feel, and not just rationalize.
It was in a small café in Budapest that he questioned her about a new fleeting emotion.
"Why do I feel an irrational hostility towards that young man in the corner that I do not know?"
Wanda quickly tore her eyes away from the book in her lap and he could see her scan the room, most likely surveying the minds of its occupants. She was ready to run or engage in combat at a moment's notice; he could even see a faint flickering of scarlet between the fingertips of her hand cradling her cappuccino.
"Do you think he's following us?" She did not speak the question out loud, instead she placed it at the forefront of his mind.
Vision slowly shook his head. "I do not think so, but he is staring."
Wanda turned back to her book, but to ease Vision's concern, she zeroed in on the stranger's thoughts. "Nothing suspicious," she reported in a murmur. "He's simply wondering if we're together."
"We are together," he responded matter-of-factly. "We are sharing a table."
She smiled as she raised her cup to her mouth. Some of the intricacies of language still escaped Vision. "He just thinks I'm pretty, Vizh. It's nothing to worry about."
That made him sit up straighter in his chair and push his systems into high alert. "You are not just pretty," he corrected. "You are exquisite."
Wanda blushed and used her curtain of hair to hide her annoyingly human reaction. "Thanks, Vizh," she whispered.
"You are welcome, Wanda."
He watched her return to her book and coffee, and he looked over his shoulder at the man that had spurred this conversation. Something made him narrow his eyes, and later his systems would tell him that it was what humans would call 'jealousy'.
VII.
Sometimes they just spent hours on end in the safety of a hotel room. Wanda could fully relax without constantly sensing the minds of those around her, or looking over her shoulder, or feeling as if her body was ready to spring into a defensive position that Natasha had conditioned her for at a moment's notice. She and Vision would read together on the couch, or talk for hours on the bed. Sometimes they would mindlessly watch television, and Vision would prepare her tea and play with her fingers for hours.
Other times they would play chess, with very unique rules. No mindreading. No telekinesis. No accessing the internet for strategic advantage. Vision was still far superior in skill, but their rules made it more of a fair fight.
Wanda was still easily frustrated with the game. Her first experience with chess had been at the Avengers compound with Vision and she was still fuzzy on some of the rules and strategy.
"Vizh," she groaned as she stared at the chessboard between them. "I'm so bad at this."
"You are still learning," he replied calmly. "And you are doing fine."
"Because you're holding back," she accused.
Vision feigned a look of innocence, that he had surely picked up from Stark. "I am certainly not."
She giggled and curled her legs underneath her, shifting in the armchair that she occupied. She rested her head in her hand and hid her irrepressible grin in her palm. She loved observing the small human quirks that he absorbed. It made her wonder what he had picked up from her.
She tentatively moved her king's bishop two spaces and he promptly captured it with his remaining rook. With a zap of scarlet, she took her bishop and placed it back on the board.
"That's cheating," he gasped.
She simply shrugged and uncurled one of her legs so that she could reach across the space between them and push his knee with her bare foot. She was feeling playful, something she surely hadn't experienced since before she and Pietro had volunteered for the experiments. Vision was surprisingly willing to indulge her; he wrapped his long fingers around her ankle and started to stroke the sole of her foot with his other hand. She immediately squealed and tried to squirm out of his hold, and it put the most beautiful smile that she had ever seen on his face.
Apparently Vision enjoyed her response to his action.
"I don't think I've ever heard you make that sound before," he stated with the level of wonder that he had exhibited the first time that he had seen rain.
She didn't say anything, but she pushed feelings of warmth, happiness, and contentment from her mind to his. A slow smile spread across his face and he sent the same feelings back to her. There was a several second delay before he placed an image in her head, whether intentional or not, of her curled up in his lap with his arms wrapped around her midsection. Her eyes widened slightly and the blush that tinged the pale skin of his human disguise let her know that letting her see that image had not been deliberate.
"I want to show affection," he explained shyly, "like when we hold hands."
She missed being physically close with someone, she also hadn't experienced that since Pietro. And her and Vision's connection was already so strong that being physically close only enhanced their bond. She already experienced it when she held his hand; she could hear his ordered, logical thoughts that much clearer when she was touching him.
His emotional responses, however, were decidedly messier, and they practically screamed at her when they made contact. No logic. No rhythm. No clear way forward. Just pure emotion that told her that he liked touching her as much as she liked touching him.
She smiled softly as she got up out of her chair, closed the small space between them, and settled sideways in his lap. She tossed her legs over the arm of the chair and grabbed his arms so that they settled around her waist, like in his imagination. "Like this?" She whispered.
He nodded slowly as he took her hand and brought it to his mouth. "Yes," he exhaled before he placed a soft kiss in the center of her palm. She cuddled closer to him, resting her head on his chest, so that when he spoke again it was almost directly in her ear. "Are you happy, Wanda?"
She grasped the material of his t-shirt and closed her eyes. "When you're here."
VIII.
Wanda curling up against his side or in his lap, like a relaxed cat, became Vision's new favourite way to pass time. He liked having her close, feeling her warmth, smelling her scent, counting the beats of her heart. He liked it even more when she fell asleep against him. She trusted him to hold her and keep the nightmares away, and that made him feel something very unique.
One particular evening, she fell asleep on the sofa with her feet in his lap while the movie they had been watching played on. He smiled to himself as he observed her peaceful face in slumber.
His attention was drawn back to the television mounted on the wall when the two leading characters started to engage in a rather arduous love scene. He tilted his head in thought and pursed his lips. He had never really thought about human sexual intercourse being so beautiful before. He had considered that the goal was procreation and yet humans engaged in it for far more trivial reasons, but he had never thought about the why. He knew a little based off of the memories he had from Jarvis of Mr. Stark's exploits, but his own understanding of the concept was lacking.
The half-dressed woman on the screen was pretty, with long, dark hair, brown eyes, a dark complexion. Her gentleman counterpart was clearly attracted to her, his mouth and hands barely left her body. The thought occurred to him before he could stop it: the woman in this film would be far more appealing if she looked more like…
He flushed, and shame quickly overtook him. That thought was so crude…so…so human. He wasn't supposed to have those basic, primal desires. He was above them. He was supposed to be above them. So what was bringing them on now?
Another flaw in his design perhaps?
"I'm not what you are, and not what you intended."
He glanced towards his sleeping companion and watched her turn over onto her side, resting her head on her bent forearm. It wasn't fair for him to think about her that way. It was illogical, irrational because she was a living, breathing, magnificent young woman and he was just a machine, and a very flawed one at that.
IX.
"How is our Juliet?" Colonel Rhodes asked as he strode into the kitchen.
Vision, deep in thought, raised his head from his place sitting at the island counter. "Pardon me, Colonel Rhodes? I did not hear what you said."
He chuckled before he restated his question. "I asked you how our Juliet was doing?"
Vision furrowed his brow in confusion. He understood the allusion. Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet. Star-crossed lovers. What he didn't understand was who Colonel Rhodes was referring to as Juliet?
He did not need to ask another question for Colonel Rhodes to elaborate. "Come on, Red. For the first few months after the airport, it felt like this place was haunted. You just floated around like a cloud of misery, and then all of a sudden you were smiling again. And only one person has ever made you really smile. So, how is Wanda? Is she safe?"
Vision's initial reaction was to lie, to protect Wanda. "I'm sorry, Colonel Rhodes, but I don't know what you're talking about. Our former friends are fugitives." He smiled politely before he stood and turned to leave the kitchen. "Enjoy the rest of your day, Colonel Rhodes."
"Vision!" He called before the android could leave the room. "I'm not fishing for information, or looking to get you in trouble, or judging you, or whatever. You seem happy, and that's good!"
Vision hung his head before he slowly spun around. "Does my happiness matter, Colonel Rhodes?"
The African-American man's eyes widened in surprise. "Of course it does!" He took a deep breath before he added, "Remember, you're not Jarvis anymore, your purpose is not to serve someone else. You make your own decisions."
"I am breaking the Accords," he stated with conflict obviously present in his voice.
Colonel Rhodes shrugged with a wry smile. "Ah, well."
There was a long pause before Vision spoke again. "Colonel Rhodes? Can I speak with you about other things that are troubling me?"
X.
Vision stood at the foot of her bed, hovered more accurately, so that when the door to the bathroom opened, she gasped in shock. "Vizh! You scared me!"
She clutched the towel around her body tightly to her chest and he could see the way a flush spread throughout her cheeks, down her neck, and across her chest. He tilted his head in intrigue as he felt what he imagined to be a similar sensation spread across his chest. He couldn't stop staring at the way water droplets dripped from the ends of her newly reddened hair and rolled down her lean legs.
"Vision," she called with worry clear in her voice. "Is something wrong? You seem…off."
He frowned as he slowly lowered himself to sit on the bed. "I have been having difficulty processing something," he admitted as he placed his hands on his knees.
"What is it?" She asked as she slowly approached him.
Her voice was so soft and she wasn't even attempting to disguise her accent. It made his fingers twitch.
He was so preoccupied with his own disorganized thoughts that he didn't register her sitting next to him until her hands were cupping his face. Her fingers delicately traced the lines of his synthetic cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and he blinked at her slowly. His irises spinning as he absorbed every detail of the beauty before him.
"Hey," she whispered, "you look like you're in pain. What is it?"
He swallowed, unnecessarily, before he spoke slowly. "I am finding it increasingly difficult to be away from you," he finally confessed. "The more time that I spend away the more that I realize that you're all I've ever known. The first mind I felt when I was in the cradle. The first pair of eyes I saw. The first person I touched." He pursed his lips before he added sadly, "The first person to make me feel like I'm more than a machine." He took one of her hands and kissed her palm in what was now a very familiar gesture. "I keep considering that perhaps I was not created to protect humanity at all, but instead I was made for you."
"Vizh," she cooed.
He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration as she continued to stroke his face. "I don't know how humans make this look so easy—it's-it's not—it's complicated—the social cues are confusing—why is the man supposed to take the lead? Why is that a standard? In films—"
She cut off his nervous rambling by placing two fingers over his lips. "Vision, slow down. What are you talking about?"
He opened his eyes and looked at her pleading. He didn't want to ruin or jeopardize their connection, but he didn't know what to do with all of these thoughts and feelings anymore. He was afraid that his systems would continue struggling to function until he expressed them. "Please don't be upset with me," he murmured.
Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Why would I be upset with you?"
He ignored her question, and steeled all of his resolve, before he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. He was so paralyzed by anxiety that he had no idea what he should actually be doing besides the contact itself. He was pleasantly surprised when she slipped her hands downwards to grip his neck, and then she moved her lips against his.
He followed whatever instincts had been occupying his mind lately and he somehow ended up on top of her. Her towel fell open and he felt her – she was soft and warm, her skin still damp from the shower – and the smell of her hair was intoxicating. His mouth followed the line of her jaw and he didn't have enough experience with taste to classify the taste of her skin, but he knew that he liked it. She gasped as he found a spot on her neck that must be particularly sensitive and his synapses fired rapidly as his brain processed the sound. He wanted to hear it again, and again.
For research, of course.
His left hand found her hip and his fingers traced the protruding bone there as his mouth proceeded to move lower, over her throat and towards her collarbone.
"Wait, Vision, stop," she breathed as she placed a hand on the top of his head. "Stop."
He obediently did as he was told and pushed himself up off of the bed. He watched, with yet another odd feeling rushing through him, as she shyly gathered her towel and headed back into the bathroom. He could only compare it to the feeling of the one incidence where he did not phase quickly enough during a training session and Captain Rogers had landed a strong punch to his abdomen.
She was in the bathroom for exactly eight minutes, but it felt like hours to him. She emerged in her pajamas, a pair of shorts and a long-sleeved shirt, and she had tied her hair back into a neat braid.
"Vision," she began sweetly, "we need to talk."
He hung his head in shame. "I know. I need to apologize for my behaviour. It was unacceptable. I know that I cannot give you things a real man can, and I should not have been so," he paused as he struggled with his word choice, "rash, and naïve. I can assure you that it will not happen again. Will you forgive me?"
"Hey," she responded quickly, and he was surprised by the edge to her tone. "You have nothing to apologize for." She stepped up to him and placed both of her hands on his abdomen. "I liked that you kissed me. I liked what you were doing."
His eyes widened in surprise and he watched, with great interest, her hands move across the planes of his torso. "Oh."
"I told you to stop," she began to explain slowly, "so that we didn't get carried away." She stepped even closer to him so that their bodies were practically touching at several points. "This is all very new to you, you shouldn't rush."
"Oh," he repeated again, feeling very inarticulate for the first time in his short life. "I was beginning to feel overwhelmed," he admitted.
He smiled, but it was her turn to hang her head and look conflicted. "Vision," she sighed, "I hope you know that you don't have to do anything to prove to me that you're more than a machine. You're more of a man than anyone I've ever met."
He kissed her hands in gratitude and pulled her into an embrace.
But it wasn't until they were lying in bed, with his hand in her hair and the other around her waist as she slept, that he realized the intention behind her words. She believed that he was compelled by some search to understand and emulate humanity, or that he was doing so in an effort just to make her happy. While those things were true, they weren't the whole truth. His recent thoughts of desire and 'lust' – he had settled on an appropriate label after discussions with Colonel Rhodes – were entirely about his feelings for her, and her alone. He hadn't even considered the possibility of engaging in sexual contact and intimacy with anyone else.
He was confident that this was a Wanda Maximoff specific phenomenon. One that he certainly wanted to explore.
XI.
"You know I don't like it when you sneak out."
Wanda froze before tossing her long jacket on the coatrack beside the door. She didn't need to flick on a lamp to illuminate the dark apartment in order to identify her unexpected guest. There was only one person who had a mind strong enough to sneak up on her.
"I know, Natasha," she sighed.
"You're being careful?"
"I am," she confirmed. She was putting extra effort and concentration into disguising her accent to convince her mentor that she was perfectly fine.
There was a pause before Natasha turned on the lamp in the living room and offered her a small smirk. "How is he?"
Natasha expected to see an easy smile grace Wanda's face, as was typical of her reaction whenever someone mentioned Vision these days, but instead she got a look of perplexity.
"He's conflicted," she finally answered.
"About what?" Natasha prodded, her suspicions growing by the second.
Wanda gracefully moved into the living room and curled up on the sofa. She rested her chin on her fist before she carefully responded. "About what he is. About who he is."
The older woman shared a sigh of sympathy. "I'm sorry. That sounds hard."
Wanda just nodded in agreement. She wasn't sure how she had tricked herself into thinking that Vision's self-imposed quest to understand humanity would be easy. And who was she to be the one to guide him? She was one of the world's most dangerous, most wanted fugitives.
And even before she had chosen the side of breaking the law, there was nothing about her that made her worthy of a being as innocent and pure as Vision. All that she had ever known was war and fear. She had let the name Stark control her for so long that she had forgotten what it was like to be fuelled by anything besides hatred, grief, and a desire for revenge. When she had finally seen a small glimmer of hope, a chance to be an Avenger and do some good, she had lost Pietro. She had felt her brother die so vividly that if was if she herself had been riddled with bullets, and sometimes she wished she had been. She had never felt pain like that before and she had thought that she would never feel anything besides it ever again.
And then Vision had literally flown in to save her.
"I don't know what to do," she muttered as she felt tears sting the back of her eyes.
Natasha swiftly moved to sit beside her and wrap a maternal arm around her shoulders. "He's Vision," she stated with a chuckle, "which means that he's going to be honest with you, so just be honest with him too. He loves you."
Wanda was quick to correct her. "He's never said that."
She chuckled again. "What else makes you chase someone around the world?"
XII.
His next few visits were filled with trepidation, and dare he say: 'awkwardness'. And that tugging of longing in his chest was back. He now understood what Sam and Colonel Rhodes sometimes bantered about in the morning – women, and why men were constantly thinking about women. He found himself staring at Wanda in a different light and it caused a stirring in the pit of his stomach.
Her small beautiful hands and long fingers, which had become a constant source of his affection, had always been one of his favourite features. He had found it interesting that she took so much care decorating her fingers with rings and painting her nails varying shades of dark colours. The outlet of her powers, hands that could bring down buildings, vaporize beings, plant and manipulate fears, were so soft and beautiful, and he wanted to feel them trace over the lines of vibranium on his body. At night, when he watched the rise and fall of her chest, the very breath that gave her life, he found his mind straying down paths that had seemed inconsequential before. Her lovely smile. Her tiny, slender frame. Her bright green eyes. Her pale, freckled skin. Everything worked together to entrance him.
She had to be the definition of feminine beauty, of that he was certain.
And he knew that what he was experiencing were definitely the desires of a hot-blooded man. It was like an itch that he couldn't quite reach to scratch. It was like being around her provided simultaneous relief and growing frustration.
"Wanda," he called from the kitchen as he was making tea.
She raised her head from where she was sitting on the bed, reading a book. "Yeah, Vizh?"
"Everything about you is incredibly beautiful."
Even from across the room he could clearly see a blush spread across her cheeks. But what worried him was the way her brow furrowed. "Thanks," she replied a tad unsurely.
Now he was unsure. "Did I say something wrong?" He asked as he carried her tea towards the bed.
"No, of course not," she replied. "You're very sweet. I guess I'm just not used to hearing it from someone as sincere as you."
"Oh." He smiled cheerfully as he handed her the tea that he had prepared and phased through the bed so that he could settle behind her without jostling her. "Well you are."
"Thank you, Vizh," she replied softly. She leaned back on his chest and comfortably settled between his legs with her book and her tea.
He read over her shoulder for several minutes before he gingerly pushed her hair to one side. He dipped his head and placed a timid kiss to the side of her neck. She sighed and tilted her head to allow him further access. He explored the dip between her neck and her shoulder enthusiastically as he slipped his arms around her waist.
"Vizh," she sighed, and he had never heard his name spoken in such an appealing tone before.
He spoke her name in a similar manner. "Wanda."
She placed her tea and novel on the nearby bedside table and turned around in his arms so that she could brush her nose against his and look directly into his blue eyes. "Are you sure this is what you want?"
He raised one of his hands to move gently through her hair. "More than anything," he replied determinedly. "I want this with you." He cradled her small face in both of his hands and softly kissed her. But she didn't press her lips back against his and he could feel the tension in her muscles. He tore himself away from her with all of the willpower and self-restraint that he possessed. "I'm sorry." He squeezed his eyes shut and his inner monologue shifted into self-loathing. "I did not take into consideration what you wanted. How terribly selfish and greedy of me."
He leaned back against the headboard and ran a hand over his face. He opened his mouth to speak again but she cut him off by placing her fingers over his mouth.
"Before you start beating yourself up again," she began with an almost coy smile, "I just wanted to be sure you've thought this through."
He nodded repeatedly. "I have, every possible outcome."
She answered him by running a hand through his light blonde hair and kissing him hungrily. "Okay," she breathed, "then take off this silly costume."
He brought one of her hands to his forehead and encouraged her to touch the Mind Stone and do it herself.
XIII.
Making love to Vision was everything she had ever imagined, and all of her worries about his lack of sex drive were apparently for naught. He was gentle, tender, and considerate. He touched and kissed her almost reverently. He was shy and nervous at first, which only furthered to endear him to her more. His confidence built steadily as he became attuned to the things that gave her pleasure.
It was perfect for all of the reasons that it wasn't. So much better than the fumbling encounters that she had had with boys in the back alleys of Sokovia when she had managed to escape Pietro's watchful eye. Vision certainly was not a boy.
He needn't worry about being thought of as a man, he was more than a man. No man had ever shown her such sincerity and vulnerability, and warmth. No man had ever made her feel so safe and secure, even though she was a fugitive living from hotel to hotel. He was built like a god, more physically perfect than any human man could be with all of his red sinewy muscle and plates of vibranium, but without any of the restraints of human energy. He didn't need to sleep. He couldn't feel tired. His worship of her was endless.
But she certainly had limitations.
"Vision." She moaned loudly as his hands gripped her thighs and he sweetly nuzzled between her legs. It felt like he had been down there for hours but that had to be the intense pleasure messing with her head.
One of her hands was tangled with his, and had been since they had shed their clothes, but her other hand landed on top of his smooth head. "Vizh," she gasped. She squirmed beneath him and eventually used her magic to push him far enough away to allow her to roll over onto her stomach. "Timeout," she exhaled as she closed her eyes in relief.
When she reopened them, she saw him kneeling at the foot of the bed with his open palms resting on his thighs, looking simultaneously confused and chastised.
"You didn't do anything wrong," she told him before he could ask.
"But I feel as if I did," he responded slowly.
She beckoned him towards her with a crook of her index finger and he gracefully crawled up the bed until he was lying beside her. She shifted towards him until she could peck him on the lips. "You didn't," she reiterated as she placed a hand on his chest. "There's just a point where I'm too sensitive to keep going. Does that make sense?"
His eyes widened in realization. "Oh yes, of course, the female—"
She cut him off with a giggle. "I feel that if you continue you're going to sound like an encyclopedia."
He smiled bashfully and pressed his forehead against hers. "Thank you, Wanda," he finally spoke. "There is no one else I would rather be with like this."
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him even closer. "Me either," she whispered. She kissed him slowly and softly, and when she pulled back he had an expression on his face that she could only describe as mischievous. "What?" She questioned with a grin of her own.
"Are you still sensitive?" He asked in a rather husky voice.
She rested her head on his shoulder and dissolved into giggles.
He ran a hand through her hair as he asked another question. "And just what is so amusing?"
She finished laughing and placed a kiss on his collarbone before she tilted her head back to look him in the eye. "What have I done?" She teased. "You're insatiable."
He surprised her when he teased her right back. "We only have my quest for knowledge to blame."
She laughed yet again and pushed him onto his back. "I need a little more recovery time, but you do not."
He opened his mouth, clearly intent on inquiring as to what she meant, but he became distracted by her movements. Completely intentional on her behalf. She was far too satisfied in knowing that a flip of her hair and the shift of her legs caused one of the most powerful beings in the universe to lose his systematic train of thought. He was only capable of one word sentences as she dragged her mouth down his abdomen.
XIV.
Vision quickly learned that physical intimacy made their time together that much more meaningful and their time apart that much more agonizing.
No amount of research had prepared him for the specific sensations of being intimate with Wanda Maximoff. His readings had not warned about the way his systems would stutter when she looked at him with big green eyes from underneath her dark lashes while she ran a finger down his chest, or the way that his eyes would stare, completely without his permission, as her hair lifted to expose the tantalizing slope of her neck before falling back down her shoulders when she removed her top.
Things had definitely shifted between them, for the better. When they were together in public, there was absolutely no doubt that they were together; they could barely take their eyes off of each other. He took any opportunity that he could throughout the day to make physical contact with her, and she smiled at him coquettishly when she noticed. Watching her undress had become his favourite thing about the end of the day and their nights together were no longer filled with nightmares, but with moans and sighs.
Those crude videos floating around on the internet certainly had done nothing to help him handle the experience of touching her, and being touched, and the exquisite torture of being buried inside her. Something he never thought that he would want or need was being joined in that way with a human woman. Reference articles seemed to suggest that it would feel a certain way with anyone – tight, warm, impossibly satisfying – but he knew that things were different with Wanda. No ordinary woman would accept him and be so patient with him, and their connection through the Mind Stone enhanced their pleasure. Even though it was mostly through waves of colours, temperatures and images, seeing what she was feeling when they were together was what short-circuited him the most. He imagined that it was similar to the full force of her magic: hot, crackling, crimsons tendrils that seemed to dance as she weaved her spells.
He had not lived on Earth for long, but he found it hard to believe that anything could make him feel more needed than Wanda, beneath him, begging him in breathy moans to bring her to climax.
"Vizh," she groaned lowly, sending a sense of pride and accomplishment straight to his gut.
He smiled against the soft skin of her back as he kissed up the graceful arch of her spine. He could clearly detect the sounds of her uneven breath and the gradual levelling out of her heartrate. He flicked his tongue out to taste the sweat lingering on her skin before he spoke in a whisper. "Are you okay?"
She hummed as she shifted from leaning on her elbows to lying on her stomach. "That was good."
He found it amusing that humans used such lackluster words to describe remarkable events.
He nodded in agreement as he placed one last kiss on the back of her shoulder. In a trick that she had grown to enjoy immensely, he phased through her and the bed so that he could settle beneath her and she could drape her body over his.
"Hi," she giggled when they were practically face to face.
He grinned back at her. "Hi." She shifted until she was completely comfortable and he sighed in contentment as he ran his hand, in a repetitive motion, through her long hair, down the small of her back, and back up again. "How do humans get anything done?" He pondered out loud.
"What do you mean?" She asked sleepily.
"Well, sex is so satisfying, addictive." He could practically feel the receptors under his skin buzzing as he spoke. "What drives them to do anything else?"
She laughed, in a way that he had become familiar with when he asked interesting questions as they laid together naked and sated. "I dunno, Vizh, lots of things."
He took her hand that was resting on the top of his shoulder and brought it to his mouth for a series of kisses. "I could stay here for the foreseeable future," he murmured. The meaning of forever was lost on him but he knew that if he had been human that's the word he would have chosen.
She softly kissed underneath his chin in response and he felt her further tangle her legs with his, a sure sign of her growing affection.
"Wanda," he whispered. "Please tell me what I'm feeling right now…I think–I-I think I know–b-but I need…please."
He looked down at her after a moment, but she was sleeping soundly on his chest. He couldn't stop himself from smiling even though his emotions were spinning out of control. But Wanda generally had that effect on him. She made him see that chaos had order too.
XV.
Vision stared at his duffle bag with a frown. He had gotten rather good at packing bags for his trips to appear more human, but that's not what was bothering him. That endless loop of thought that had been occupying his mind for the better part of two years had ceased without warning, and without apparent resolution.
He no longer had to compartmentalize thoughts of:
'Logic'.
'Loyalty'.
'Love'.
'Longing'.
'Lust'.
They were just gone. It was curious.
Perhaps because his mind now had a singular focus. Wanda.
Even though there was no one to hide his smile from, he tried to suppress it nonetheless. Just thinking about her made him ridiculously giddy. He was counting down the minutes until he was scheduled to meet her in Edinburgh.
Time was a very fickle thing, he thought. He wished that his time with Wanda didn't pass as quickly as it did; he wished that he could just stay. No more duty, no more commitment, no more promises, to anyone but Wanda.
Steeled with resolve, he grabbed his bag and left the Avengers facility for what he hoped was the last time.
A/N: Please review! :)