Chapter 3: Mistakes
A/N: Hey, team! Guess who has a wicked sick rock collection and the most fantastic new beta?! ~This guy!~ So be sure to check out crotchety_old_emu on ao3 to read some of their amazing work. I highly recommend it. And, while you're there, check out the first two chapters of this fic in their beta edition, too! Thank you for your support, and I hope y'all are enjoying the fic so far. Stay healthy and safe!
**Tiny Wandavision reference; it shouldn't spoil anything for anyone who hasn't seen it, though. It's just a line of dialogue from the show.
The quinjet is silent but for the steady beating of Wanda's monitors. It provides Vision with the opportunity to observe her. He hasn't been away from her since the moment he found her. It isn't until now, though, that he can actually take in her appearance.
Her long hair is matted and tangled, stuck together around her temples. The space around her eyes is dark, and he can see faint lines in the grime on her cheeks from tears. Her lips are chapped and split, as bruised as the rest of her.
The Vision reaches out with a tentative hand brushing back a bit of hair on her forehead. He feels the slightest twinge in the mind stone at the gesture. He isn't sure what it means, but for some reason, it comforts him. He didn't see any injury to her right hand in all the tests he ran, so he deems it safe to slip his own around it.
Time seems to stretch beyond feasibility, each minute lasting agonizingly longer than the last. It's only been an hour since Vision and Steve escaped the Raft with their teammates, but it feels like an eternity.
Eventually, Captain Rogers breaks the silence with a look back at Vision and the rest of the team.
"We need a plan for what everyone is going to do."
Scott is the first to speak up, "I have to see my daughter, Cassie. And Hope- Oh, she's going to be so pissed. I have to see Hope, and Hank, and apologize-"
"Scott. You're a criminal, you just escaped one of the mostly highly secure prisons on the globe." Sam gives him a sad smile, "You can't exactly walk back into your house like nothing happened."
"I may be able to help with that." Clint raises his hand slightly, "I'm done running. And I am not going back to prison. I've done the government's and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s dirty work for years. I have enough leverage and some connections, still. I should be able to work out a deal for all of us."
"All of us?" Sam raises an eyebrow, knowing there must be a catch somewhere. "What kind of deal?"
Clint shrugs and stands, moving to sit closer to Vision and Wanda. "I'm not sure. Probably probation, house arrest, maybe some kind of community service or public apology? Whatever it is, I'll do it."
"And how about Wanda?" Sam looks over at where Vision has Wanda's hand in his own, barely visible under the pseudo-curtain. "We're just going to make a deal with these bastards? After what they did to her?"
The Vision was only half-listening. His plan already formed, simple and straightforward: get Wanda to safety, ensure she is healthy once more, apologize. At this, though, he looks up between Sam and Clint, "What did they do to her?"
Wanda is nothing and no one. Non-existent in an infinite void. Without feeling, sight, or sound. She doesn't know how she got here. She's not sure how long she's been away. She doesn't care.
Without warning, out of the black, something is. And everything is, again. First, like snowflakes falling, happiness, comfort, safety. Then, building up and up into an avalanche of fear and hurt and unyielding grief. A baptism by ice that sends memory after memory soaring all around, all at once.
Wanda thinks of Pietro and their parents, of being a family and whole again, and falters. It's too much, too fast, and she can't take it. She's breaking under the weight of everything that's ever happened, every mistake she's ever made.
She's about to give in, just a breath away when she sees something appear through the advance- a soft, pulsing yellow light. Small initially, then, growing the more she concentrates on it. It gets bigger and bigger until it's all Wanda can see, replacing the blinding blitz of her past bit by bit.
Recognition hits as soon as it touches her. She's felt this before, beheld its blessing and curse. Yet, it's more. More complex, more alive, more human. With as much energy as she can muster, Wanda pushes a single word into the light, certain of its origin.
'Vision.'
Scott, Sam, and Clint are avoiding eye contact with him. They're looking at the ceiling, the equipment on the walls, their shoelaces; anywhere but Vision. Eventually, Sam clears his throat and speaks.
"I don't know the specifics, they separated her from us on day one. Even if I did, I'm not sure it's my story to tell. But they 'interrogated'" Sam punctuates his sarcasm with air quotes and continues, "me twice a week, at minimum. A couple of times, when I was being transported to and from the beat-down room, I was able to see where they were keeping her. Once, they were injecting her with something, I'm not sure what. Most of the times that I was able to see her she seemed completely out of it. It was like she didnt recognize me at all."
Squeezing Wanda's hand lightly in his, the Vision languishes with the vague knowledge of how much she's endured in her short life. Clint looks over at him, opening his mouth as if to speak. Whatever he's about to say is cut off by the quinjet landing and the Captain's tired announcement.
"We're here. Welcome to Wakanda."
Vision begins preparing the machines monitoring Wanda for transport. And then, like a psalm written only for him, he hears it.
'Vision.'
Her eyes are closed, she hasn't moved, and all signs indicate that she remains unconscious. His teammates are busy around him, shutting down the jet and preparing to disembark, all without reaction. Still, he'd know that voice anywhere.
The Vision looks at their joined hands, the contrast of deep burgundy and warm ivory heightened where they entwine. He supposes they've always been inextricably tied, if only by virtue of the mind stone. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he forces himself to start moving again.
'Wanda. Can you hear- or, well, I mean to say...'
'You know I can read thoughts, right?'
He can practically hear her smirk. But Wanda isn't smirking, not really. She's too hurt to do much more than breathe. He feels something in him stretch and snap at the thought as he transfers her onto a stretcher. He forces it into the recesses of his mind, unwilling to let Wanda find it, and instead directs his attention to responding.
'Oh, of course. I'm incapable of forgetfulness. I remember everything. That's not an exaggeration, in fact, I'm incapable of exaggeration.'
He gets a giggle for his efforts and imagines the real smile he might have seen if she were conscious. Several Wakandans join Vision, assisting him in carrying her on the stretcher. He follows their lead into an opulent palace through a maze of decorated corridors and ornate rooms. All the while continuing his telepathic conversation with Wanda.
'What's happening? Am I… Did I die?'
'Well, um, no. You're not dead. We- Captain Rogers and I, that is, we helped you, Sam, Clint, and Scott escape the Raft. You're severely injured. We've just found somewhere safe to seek care for you. I'm so, so terribly sorry. I never imagined...'
'Then, you saved me? You saved all of us?'
He clears his throat out loud, earning him a curious look from one of the Wakandans. He ducks his head and steps back into a corner as they affix the stretcher to a table.
'The Captain came up with the plan, really. I never should have allowed them to intern you, any of you, to begin with.'
Vision takes a comforting breath he doesn't really need. He watches as a young girl dressed in white takes control of the room, giving orders faster than he can translate them.
'Wanda, you're really hurt. They're starting to treat you now. Had I known... I'm sorry.'
'Vizh, I-'
Whatever she's about to say is cut off, replaced instead by a gut-wrenching scream. A scream too loud to be in his head.