Wanda awoke with a start. She sat up, putting a hand to her chest, feeling the rise and fall of her erratic breath. Her pulse raced and the sheen along her hairline began to cool.
She took a steadying breath and glanced at the clock; a red 3:23AM glowed steadily. She'd managed to sleep longer than normal, she considered with mild annoyance. Wanda longed for the days of dreamless sleep, exhausted next to Pietro. But those days, just like her brother, were gone, a thing of the past.
With a sigh, she swung her legs over the edge of her untidy bed-the sheets tangled and the blanket crumpled on the floor. Wanda made her way to the small on-suite. As far as she knew, each Avenger's room had its own bathroom in this new compound.
She flicked on the light and rinsed her dewy face. The cool water was sobering, closing the space between her dreamscape and reality. The emotions spurred on by her dreams didn't dissipate quite as easily, as the dull ache in her heart reminded her. She glanced at the mirror, meeting her tired eyes in the reflection. She noted the ruddiness of her cheeks and, with a frown, the knots forming in her hair. Hastily she scooped up her tangled waves and messily tied them in a pile on top of her head. She would deal with unknotting them in the morning after a good conditioning.
Resolved that she wouldn't be sleeping again any time soon, she decided that a cup of tea might ease her nerves. Back in Sokovia, the days revolved around tea-breakfast, snack, and supper. It was a simple luxury she and Pietro rarely indulged in, as tea is hard to come by when one is a starving orphan. Now, however, tea was becoming part of her daily routine. The stillness of sitting by the large windows while letting the hot fragrant steam rise to her face was her meditation, her time to reflect.
Wanda threw on a loose long sleeved shirt over her camisole and shorts and padded her way to the kitchen. The cool tiles beneath her feet felt invigorating after her heated nightmare. Nights like this were often still and dark and she took refuge in their solace.
Wanda switched on the lights in the kitchen, the glare from the stainless steel counters making her momentarily squint. She knew this kitchen well enough, its design masculine, metal and clean. She opened the cupboard and pulled out her box of lavender chamomile tea. She observed the box, its light purple top and ornate writing. Were she in Sokovia, such a tea and its fancy box would be looked down upon. Her home country was big on simplicity, having long ago perfected a hot cup of black tea. But, as she reminded herself not for the last time, things were different now.
She reached for the steel tea pot and turned on the faucet. She thought she sensed something in the air. Abruptly halting, her hair stood on end, allowing her skin to better feel the electric fluctuations around her. Fight or flight panic pooled in her stomach. She heard a noise, something like a breeze but with a subtle hum. Wanda dropped the kettle in the sink, her hands radiating red, spinning to see behind her. Her mind automatically sent out its tendrils, searching the space for a presence.
Just as she thought she'd picked up a mental signature, Wanda saw Vision approaching her from an adjacent hallway. He wasn't walking; instead, he opted to use his power to glide, floating above the tiled floors noiselessly. Wanda was irritated with him for this. Why float around in the middle of the night like some strange red specter?
Wanda let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. She willed her body to relax, calming the flare of her hands. As Vision entered the light from the kitchen, Wanda noted that his crimson face held an uncharacteristic expression of confusion.
She too wore an expression of confusion, though her eyes carried both suspicion and a touch of anger.
Vision met her gaze. "Forgive me, Miss Maximoff," he said, his voice apologetic but curious. "I didn't know it was you in the kitchen." The way he said it irritated Wanda further, as if she were an outsider.
Wanda returned to the sink, the water still flowing. "You know," she started, "it's rude to just sneak up on people like that." She filled the pot, a faint grin on her face as she smiled at her own hypocrisy-how many times had she done exactly that?
She turned off the water, set the pot on the burner, wishing the old adage about a watched pot wasn't true. She didn't mind Vision but she was not used to such company in the middle of the night. She flushed when she remembered her attire, the small shorts and messy hair.
Vision, after a pause, replied. "I simply didn't wish to startle whoever was in the kitchen; I was waiting for an opportune time to enter." He approached the stone island, sitting in the chair across from her at the sink. When Wanda didn't respond, Vision paused again, seeming to think over his next question. "I'm still learning," he said, a bit wistfully, "how to appear to be normal, to act human. Do you find it difficult to stay out of the others' minds?" He must have sensed her earlier search for his mind. This made her flush again, though she couldn't name the reason.
Wanda eyed the kettle, urging it to whistle. She missed the easy conversation with Pietro, the companionable silence that came with two decades' worth of proximity.
"No, I don't find it difficult," she lied. Well, it wasn't entirely a lie, she corrected in her head. When she first joined the Avengers, her grief made it difficult to tune out the live-wire cacophony of their minds. She resorted to removing herself from them as much as she could. Slowly, as she compartmentalized her anguish, she was able to tune out their thoughts, one by one. She never had this struggle with Vision. If anything, when everyone else's mind seemed to be at a volume of 10, his was a 1. The few times she'd tentatively listened for him it had taken a large effort on her part. She'd chalked it up to him being an android, not fully human. Now she considered him again, sitting there. Maybe there was more to it than that.
Wanda eyed him curiously. He was no longer dressed in his usual blue suit but instead was wearing a simple sweater and jeans. Wanda thought the change must be him trying to appear normal, human. Not exactly an outfit for sleeping, though. This made her wonder. "Do you not sleep?"
Vision returned her gaze with his neutral expression, a practiced passive face that Wanda wasn't sure how to interpret.
"Yes, I do sleep, though it would seem not as much as the average human. Yet, I could almost say the same of you, Miss Maximoff. Do you not require the recommended 8 hours each night?" he asked, innocently.
Wanda paused, and before she could respond the kettle whined. She promptly turned to remove it from the heat. She readied her cup and, knowing that Vision rarely ate, asked out of politeness, "Would you like some tea?"
Vision nodded and Wanda readied a second cup. She carried both steaming mugs to the granite island, then after retrieving spoons and sugar, sat next to Vision.
Wanda spooned a small dip of sugar into her tea, absently stirring the already sweet drink. The aromatic steam calmed her, releasing the tension in her shoulders, her frustration with Vision's approach fading.
Vision looked at her, politely expectant. Ah, yes, she hadn't answered his question. "Do you dream, Vision?" she asked, knowing it's against the rules to answer a question with a question. Suddenly she became annoyed with herself: she was posing questions to him that she herself didn't like, questions that reminded the recipient how different they are, alien, removed.
"Yes, I do dream. Though," he paused, brows furrowed, "I fail to see how my dreams prevent you from sleeping."
Wanda stirred her cup again, then, leaving in the spoon, took a hesitant sip, not wanting to scald her tongue. Vision stole a cue from her, spooning sugar into his tea and stirring. It dawned on Wanda that he probably never had tea before. The idea of him sharing a first experience with her, though small, eased something within her.
With a resolute sigh, she opted for honesty. "When I sleep, I dream. The dreams change but it's always the same in the end: I'm falling, with brick and rubble and glass, I'm falling. And I see Pietro's face... Sometimes above me, looking down, sometimes below me..." she trailed off.
Wanda was fixed on the memory of Pietro's face. She felt the sting of tears threaten to leave her eyes. As she fought not to embarrass herself, she noticed a shift in Vision's expression. He leaned forward, placing his hand over hers on the cold stone island, a gesture intended to be reassuring.
Vision's long fingers on top of hers felt warm, electric... Jarring after having not been touched in months. She sharply inhaled, brought back from her reverie. Vision's face held nothing but sincere compassion, lacking the usual trace of pity she'd noted on others.
Vision removed his fingers and returned his attention to stirring his tea. Wanda observed Vision's face again under the pale kitchen lighting. It had been a long time since she had seen it up close; though she saw him daily, he was usually at a distance. His skin was smooth, a pleasant shade of red, though lined with barely visible intricacies. His nose was classical, masculine, complementing the line of his jaw and the fullness of his lips. She met his inquisitive eyes after lingering too long at those lips. His eyes remained a cerulean blue: deep, intense, yet kind, as she'd remembered. She flushed with embarrassment; her insomnia had made her strange and awkward. To end the tense silence, she asked, "What do you dream of?"
Vision looked away and smiled. She noted that it did not touch his eyes, appearing instead to be a nervous smile, one born of manners. Internally she cringed at herself again. Pietro was the one who was good at conversing, his personality inviting and easy. She had always been quiet, reserved, more inclined to take in the scenery than talk about it. Perhaps reading minds had made her this way-there isn't much mystery left when one sees a person's thoughts played out like a film.
"Like most newborns, I dream of my experiences, day to day routine. Which lends itself to many dreams about training." There he paused and gave a slight chuckle. She smiled with him, knowing just how routine training had become. "Sometimes," he continued, "I dream about the stars, the planets, the vastness of the universe." He appeared distant, recalling those dreams, as if questioning the universe again.
Wanda thought of the stars and wondered if she could see them through the large window off the kitchen. To her surprise, she saw the sun on the horizon, staining the sky orange and plum. She swallowed down her now chilled tea and stood. She offered to take Vision's cup, mostly empty, but he insisted on cleaning the dishes.
"The sun is up, it must be nearly 5 in the morning," she groaned, tired. She knew the team would be up in an hour, their noisy banter filling the halls. Vision looked at her from the sink, face neutral. Wanda continued, "Speaking of training, I should get ready. Thank you for keeping me company." She half smiled, hoping next time he wouldn't scare her in the middle of the night.
"I enjoyed our conversation," Vision replied simply. "See you again at training." Wanda thought she caught him smirking as she trailed back to her room.