It is a common occurrence: Waking to find Sam struggling with a pancake batter bomb. It is in his hair, on the walls, dripping off the countertops. The pan that holds bacon, very burnt by now, is smoking slightly.

"Good morning" he calls, cheerfully.

I walk forward, taking the spatula from his hand, suppressing a laugh.

The smoke detector goes off, sending the shrill alarm echoing around the place.

"Shit." Sam curses under his breath, wiping his hand on his unbuttoned bathrobe, flustered after another failed attempt at breakfast.

Steve comes rushing in, hair rumpled, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "What's going on?" He says, but his words are smeared with a yawn. "Sam's sixteenth failed cooking attempt." I tell him, moving to grab a handful of paper towels.

"Someone turn the stove off." He says. Sam rushes to take care of the bacon as Steve waves a hand towel in front of the detector, managing to make it shut up.

Nat pads down the hall in a sweatshirt, taking in the scene.

"Sam, maybe it's better to let Steve handle the cooking." She says, helping me wipe the batter off the countertops.

Steve gets coffee on the table for all of us. I insist on helping him. Luckily, there's another bottle of pre-made batter in the pantry. I busy myself making the pancakes. Sam and Nat settle at the table. She makes a few, halfhearted digs at his skills, or lack thereof, in the kitchen, but doesn't push it.

The pancakes are ready in a matter of minutes. I telekinetically balance the plate while I grab butter and orange juice out of the fridge. Everybody settles in, watching the sun through the window as it climbs higher in the sky.

I grip my coffee mug tightly, listening to the small talk that bounces between them. I keep silent, letting my mind wander.

Today is Saturday. It has been two months since Ultron's fall. I have been an Avenger for two months. The weeks that followed Pietro's death were hell. It was never ceasing pain that consumed my every moment.

There was an empty space. A gaping hole, like an organ torn from my body. It was in my head, too. I spent so much time reading him, his emotions. Feeling his thoughts blend with mine. When he died, I knew immediately. I felt his heart stop. I felt him ripped from my fingertips. The flow of energy was gone.

Now, I'm starting to fill that hole. Little by little. But it's a ravaged, mangled scar. It won't heal. It tears me apart every single day.

He'd want me to go on. This I am certain of.

"I have a meeting with Tony, today." Steve says. "Sam, you're welcome to tag along."

Wilson shakes him off. "No, I promised Nick I'd help whip some new S.H.I.E.L.D. recruits into shape.

"Nat?"

"Nah, I'm helping Clint with the kids." She smiles, but her eyes are shadowed. Steve tells me she's spent her nights watching the news, or tapping into radio feeds and endless files. Looking for Banner, he claims.

"Wanda?" He says, hesitantly. They tiptoe around me. I can see the reluctance in their eyes. The sympathy, maybe even pity. It incites a sort of tension that I wish didn't exist. I proved I was willing to help them, to become them. But they are afraid I'll snap. Because of Pietro. Because I'm definitely not the most approachable person in the world.

"No. I promised Vision I'd take him shopping." I tell him, forcing smile. And it's true.

Vision is the only one without that reluctance. I like to think he does not fear me. Maybe he does, but he's good at hiding it. It works out for both of us. I've found a friend in him, over these last few weeks.

Steve nods, thanks me for breakfast, and leaves to prepare for his meeting. I stay, taking sips of my coffee. Behind Natasha, Vision materializes through the wall.

"I apologize I did not join you sooner. However, I don't . . . eat." He says, giving everyone a warm smile. He takes a seat beside me.

"Do you still want to go out today, Viz?" I ask, gently.

"Yes, I think that would be a pleasant weekend activity." He agrees. "But, Wanda, we do need to take caution. I am not sure the public will be as accepting of me."

I nod. "We will take precautions, don't worry. We'll get you sunglasses and a long coat. We'll avoid busy stores." I say. We'll steer clear of the mall, that's for sure. On a Saturday, it'll be busier than I care to to endure. "We're going downtown, Viz."

The Avengers Facility is located in upstate New York, surrounded by old Stark Industries warehouses. Luckily for us, it was near a quaint little town with dozens of shops in the center. Plus, my goal isn't simply to shop. In reality, I detest shopping. I've never found much use for it. I just buy what I need and get out.

Yet, Vision needs to learn about regular people with regular lives. I think I need to learn a little about acting normal, too. I've had these abilities for the longest time, I need to taste the old world again. I need to escape HYDRA. I need to breathe fresh air for the first time in years.

"You guys have fun. I'll be heading to Clint's in a couple hours." She says, standing up. She takes her plate to the sink and goes, pausing to touch me on the shoulder.

"Thank you, Wanda." And it's genuine. Maybe I can find a friend in Natasha, too. And, if not a friend, an ally.

I return to my room, leaving Vision to his own devices.

I shower, and dress in a black leather jacket and jeans, trying not to draw attention to myself. After I'm finished, Viz helps me dig through closets until we come up with a long trench coat, a crimson scarf, and big sunglasses. The result is comical, but at least it keeps him hidden well enough. I suppress a laugh, and we bid Nat a final goodbye. We take the car I've been allowed to drive. It belongs to Tony.

I try to entertain Viz by flipping through the radio. He names every song and band or artist. I can see the computer inside him working to analyze the lyrics and beats, but then he smiles and the human in him appears, smeared into the mix. It's intriguing.

We arrive in less than thirty minutes.

Being near so many people, numerous thoughts invade my mind. I'm unconsciously reading everyone in the near vicinity. It's invigorating and haunting all at once, and I make myself focus, building my natural barriers, silencing the voices.

I set off down the street, trying to convey confidence in the way I walk. I have to remind myself they have no reason to fear me. I certainly don't look out of the ordinary. I'm hiding in plain sight, and it invigorates me. Vision is another story entirely. He keeps close to me, looking around quite nervously. He's concentrating on keeping feet on the ground.

"It's okay, Viz." I tell him. He nods, but he's preoccupied by a gaggle of teenage girls that strut by, giving his too-big sunglasses ugly stares.

I glare at the as they pass. I can read them, too. I can't help it. One girl picks up on it. She reacts as if I've slapped her, staring after me. She hurries to catch up with her friends, looking weary.

"Wanda." Vision says, forcefully, pulling me forward. "I advise you not to do that again. People will begin to grow suspicious." He reminds me.

"I know, Viz." I say, tiredly.

We pop in and out of stores. Viz picks out an array of formal sweaters and collared shirts. One woman at the cash register gives Vision a scowl, and again, I question my clothing choices for his disguise. Nevertheless, I shoot her a nasty glare.

We get lunch at a cafe on the corner, sitting outside. I get a sandwich, and Vision watches me eat with interest.A full glass of water sits, untouched, in front of him. His attentiveness to my chewing is quite unnerving. I find myself avoiding his gaze. The napkin on my lap is suddenly fascinating.

"You're company is delightful, Wanda." He says, after a while. Blood rushes to my cheeks. "Yours too." I tell him, swallowing hard. He looks away, watching a car as it speeds down the road. A dog, belonging to a passerby, starts barking as he passes Vision. The woman, obviously embarrassed, scoops it up. It strains against her pudgy hands, it's hackles risen, teeth bared.

"Animals are quite smart." Vision says, thoughtfully.

"Yeah?"

"They sense things that you humans are oblivious to."

I nod.

"Except you, of course. You sense everything." He tells me.

"Energy, mostly," I take a sip of my Diet Coke. "Energy surrounds everyone. Brainwaves, too, are energy. I can read that energy. Sometimes I get visions," I pause. "Fleeting images. Or flashes of emotion."

It is much more than that. Each individual brain has barriers and weaknesses and wounds. Each has a labyrinth of thoughts and images and sounds and memories. I can pick and choose, or I can let it fill me up. But It's like living another person's life. It's alien. I don't quite like opening myself up to people.

I can give the barriers a nudge, or I can attack the weaknesses. When I do it, I can feel the ebbs and flows of energy. That energy, it's as close as you come to a soul. To me, it's tangible. It's readable.

"Pietro had a dog, when we were young." I say, changing the subject. "A mutt. A nasty thing, big and black and hairy." A flash of pain, but it dissipates in a matter of seconds. I try to Pietro out of my head, but fail. He lives there.

"Animals are honest." Vision says. "Humans are not."

"I suppose you're right." I tell him. "Animal minds have nothing of the complexity of human minds. Animals react. Humans think. And human minds are a much tougher nut to crack. There are many dark corners. But there are also many weaknesses."

Vision regards me with a thoughtful stare.

"I don't fear you, Wanda."

"I know." I lie. "You have no reason to."

Vision gives a sharp laugh.

"I wonder, Wanda, have you heard yourself speak? I would dare to say I have many reasons to fear you." He says.

I burst out laughing, because he's right. And because it's the closest thing to humor he's ever given me.

It gets me a smile.