London, England

VISION

The compound had always echoed, even when everyone was present, but it echoed louder now, with every step beating and trilling off walls and floors and ceilings. Vision could tell simply by sound that there was only one other person in the upper section of the building. Usually, that person was Colonel Rhodes. On this occasion, however, it was Tony who sauntered into the kitchen.

"So," Stark said. "How was Cork?"

"I bet you pardon?" Vision said, feigning innocence.

"Oh, so you lie now, too? I thought you were supposed to be the honest one." Tony popped a raisin into his mouth and threw up holographic cellphone footage which served as evidence of Vision's jaunt across the pond.

"I'm sorry, sir," Vision said. "I didn't realize I'd been seen."

With a flick of Tony's wrist, the footage vanished. "We can't go on missions – especially overseas – without permission from the UN, or have you forgotten? You signed the Accords –"

"It wasn't a mission," Vision said. "It was a personal trip."

"Doesn't matter," Tony said. "When people see you, they think it's us, and they think we're on a mission. I've already gotten a call from Ross."

"It won't happen again," Vision said.

"See, you're still lying," Tony said.

Vision, as a point of fact, was lying, and very likely not doing it particularly well. Lying wasn't in his nature, if he could be said to have a nature at all. Perhaps more rightly it was not in his programming, which had been the primary driving force of what Vision might call his conscious. Until recently.

Vision said, "You're right, Mr. Stark. I am omitting some details. I only thought they were details you should not wish to know."

Tony tapped his fingers against the kitchen counter. He lobbed a raisin into his mouth. Little acts of impatience and indecision. Nervousness. The external beatings of a human mind. Vision did not do these things. He had no need.

"Alright," Tony said. "I've decided I don't want to know. But if I change my mind – and I might change my mind – you are going to tell me, right?"

"Of course, Mr. Stark."

"And if there's a next time, be a bit more subtle. You read me?"

"Loud and clear, Mr. Stark."

WVWVWVWVW

WANDA

London for all its fame was perhaps more unlikeable than Cork; Cork had character, scars of an ungracious history and a quiet sufferance. London throbbed. Double-decker buses careened in and out of traffic. Important people with important jobs strut up and down the street. And the weather was no better than before.

London's redeeming grace, in Wanda's opinion, was how it looked from above. In the eight days they had been in the city, Wanda had ridden the Eye as many times. Tickets were expensive, of course, because like so many other things in the city, the Eye was a tourist trap. Wanda found it worth it, though, to catch the last ride of the night, and spend some time above it all.

London was, after all, just another pitstop. Steve had assured the others that this would be even more temporary than Cork. London was dangerous for them, in a way. Too many cameras. Still, Steve had wanted something from some archive somewhere in the city, so they were all there, killing time while he worked out the when and how of his mission.

Wanda strolled along the Themes in a flood of pink-red light produced by an isle of decorated trees. It was early December, and the Queen's Walk had transformed overnight into a Christmas Market. Vendors in wooden booths peddled their wares and produced hot cocoa, fritters, and chips. Wanda paused at a woodcarver's booth to admire a flock of intricately-carved birds. They looked so lovely and free.

She jumped when someone tapped her shoulder. A tall man smiled dumbly at her and said, "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"You must've mistaken me for someone else," Wanda said. She quelled her nervous energy as she stepped away from the man. He did have one of those faces that you could almost think you'd seen before – symmetrical, with sharp cheekbones, and subtly handsome – but Wanda knew no one in London but her companions.

"Wanda."

She turned around. In the auburn glow of the lights, she could almost see him hiding under that visage.

"Vision," she said. "Is it really you?"

"Just trying on a new face," he said. He smiled, exactly the way he always smiled, and Wanda found herself utterly dumbstruck. "What? Is there something wrong with it?" Vision asked. "Have I forgotten the eyebrows?"

"No," Wanda said. "It's perfect." Without thinking, she reached up and touched his cheek. His skin felt soft and human, though there was still something mechanical underneath. Vision stared at her with curiosity – the same way he had often stared at an old woman knitting in the park, or a baby throwing its pacifier, or a couple leaning in for a kiss. Vision once told Wanda that he had come into existence with a fundamental understanding of how everything worked – from the mechanics of the universe to the structure of a conversation. What he did not always understand was why any of it happened.

Wanda herself was not entirely sure why she had put her palm against Vision's cheek, but she felt suddenly embarrassed by her oversight. She removed her hand and tried to smile away any awkwardness. She said, "Ride the Eye with me."

As they slowly arced up into the sky, Wanda told Vision about leaving Cork and finding a flat in London. This one was even smaller than their previous apartment. The lack of space and abundance of time together was wearing on all of them – even level-headed Steve was on edge.

"So I come up here," Wanda said, "to be far away from it."

"Things always seem nicer from above." Vision said. "I'm not sure about this wheel, though. I think the view would be better flying."

"Not everyone can fly, Vis. This is how the rest of us get to see it."

"Ah," Vision said. And, "Speaking of flying, I came here on a passenger jet. They don't give you very much leg room, do they?"

Wanda chuckled. "You, on a passenger plane," she said.

"It is funny, isn't it?" Vision said.

After the Eye, they took a boat tour on the Themes. Vision listened with rapt attention as the announcer chronicled the history of each bridge. A few errant snowflakes breached the open deck, and Wanda leaned closer to Vision. He offered her his coat.

"That's okay," Wanda said.

"I don't get cold," Vision said. "I wore a coat in case you did."

The boat reached the Tower Bridge and looped back. Snuggled in Vision's coat, Wanda said, "I like being a tourist."

"There's certainly an abundance of information to take in."

"It's not about the information. It's about the sights, and the people, the way things sound."

Vision nodded, and he fell silent. Wanda liked this about Vision, he was comfortable with silence in a way that most people were not. Sometimes it was good to sit quietly and just not be alone.

Back on shore, Wanda asked Vision if he could stay a little longer.

"I'm afraid not," he said. "Colonel Rhodes expects me back tomorrow for a surveillance mission. I have a flight to catch."

They walked across the Westminster Bridge and stood under Big Ben as a solemn chime shook the air.

"Find me again?"

"Of course."

Wanda dipped underground, and stared across the track to the opposing platform. Vision appeared a moment later, and he smiled at her once before a Jubilee train split the space between them. She wished the train had waited a little longer to come.