Chapter 21: Touch
fact:
the arabic word هواء /hawa/ means wind
the arabic word هوى /hawa/ means love
test: [multiple choice]
abdelhalim said you left me holding wind in my hands
or
abdelhalim said you left me holding love in my hands
abdelhalim was left empty
or
abdelhalim was left full
~Safia Elhillo, from "vocabulary." The January Children
It was Vision's turn to keep a lookout for icebergs, incorporeal interdimensional mind-eaters, and other dangers. They had decided each of them would take a 6-hour shift on watch while the others slept, ate, and found other ways to occupy their time.
They had come across one mind louse during Wong's watch. He'd sounded the alarm and they had all rushed to him. Wanda had been sleeping, but woke quickly and rushed in wearing only her pajamas. She'd tracked the mind louse to where it hid in the depths of the ship. It had been even larger than the one that attacked Wanda back at the island. It had taken both of the wizards to restrain it so Wanda could destroy it.
Keeping an eye on the ocean, that was something Vision could do. That was a way he could be useful.
So far his watch had been uneventful. There were the ever-present chunks of sea ice bobbing in the waves, an occasional whale fluke. The sky was only a slightly paler shade of gray-blue than the sea, and the clouds only slightly less roiling than the waves. This vigil reminded him of the hours he often spent watching the Mediterranean from atop the Rock of Gibraltar. Except it was warmer watching through the windows of the pilothouse. And he'd never seen whales in the Mediterranean.
There were at least five out there now. He'd been watching them breach and spout for a few minutes when he heard the sound of a throat clearing behind him. He looked over his shoulder to find Wanda there. It looked like she was wearing about three layers of socks, which explained why he hadn't heard her footsteps.
"Would you like some company?"
It felt like such a strange question. A human asking if he would like her company, when for the past eight years the thing he'd wanted most in the world was human company.
"I wouldn't mind it," he replied carefully.
She crossed the room, swaying slightly with the movement of the ship, and stood beside him at the window.
Wanda Maximoff—a woman who in his world he'd very likely killed without ever seeing her face or knowing her name, whose friends he had murdered—and knowing that, she stood next to him without the slightest flicker of fear or hate. Who was she—what was she—that she would or even could willingly keep him company?
"It's a beautiful view, in a way," she said. "Cold and lonely, but beautiful."
"There's a pod of humpback whales out there," he told her.
"Where?"
He pointed ahead and slightly to the left of the boat. A few seconds later, a whale breached not even a hundred meters ahead, followed by another slightly further off.
Wanda gasped in amazement.
Once the two whales had disappeared again, he looked at her from the corner of his eye, catching a smile on her face.
"I've never seen a whale before," she explained.
"I'm guessing you've never spent days at a time flying over oceans."
"No."
He returned his eyes to the waves.
"So I take it you've seen a lot," she said.
"Several. But...never with someone. It feels different, like I'm seeing them for the first time."
"Everything is different when you have someone to share it with," she said thoughtfully.
He figured she wasn't thinking of him. She had lost so many people: the brother she'd mentioned when talking to Clint, her world's Vision and Natasha Romanoff, whom she'd said had been her friends. And what of the lover the maddened Black Panther accused Wanda of being distracted by during the battle with Thanos? Had they died in the battle? Or perhaps survived the Snap and moved on during the five years of the Blip? Could it have been Clint? They had seemed so fond of each other...but then why would she have disappeared for a year without telling him? It didn't fit. He wished he knew more. Wanda was an enigma.
They watched the whales for a few more minutes before the pod moved off, and then stood silently next to each other for a minute or two more.
"I found a chess set," Wanda said, holding up a small box she'd carried in. "Would you like to play?"
Playing chess wouldn't be too much of a distraction from watching out the windows, he considered. In fact, Doctor Strange had suggested whoever was on watch should play games or read to keep their mind sharp.
"Yes. If you want to."
"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to," she said teasingly. "I haven't played in...six years, I guess. I miss it."
The table was a square of bare metal protruding from the wall just below the level of the windows, with two seats likewise attached to the wall. The chess set Wanda arranged on the table was magnetic, with magnetic tape affixed to the bottom of the board to hold it to the table. Obviously it, like the rest of the ship, had been altered to resist the tossing of the waves.
"I've never played chess against an opponent before," Vision said.
"But I'm guessing you know how. I saw the collection of chess sets you had."
He had an extensive collection—mostly antique, culturally significant, or particularly beautiful sets—rescued from museums and mansions that were about to be swallowed up by encroaching glaciers. His favorite was one in which the pieces had been carved from onyx and rose quartz, which he'd found in a luxury hotel in Stockholm. Additionally, he had several books on chess strategy. He had played games against himself, assigning each side the strategy of a different master player. But never against another person.
"You know so much about me," he said as he took a seat. "I feel like you know more about me than I know about myself. And I know almost nothing about you."
She looked at him—her eyes connecting with his and staying there. "Maybe it takes being known by someone else to know ourselves."
"You might be right. I've learned a lot about myself since meeting you and Doctor Strange and Wong."
"You're move," she said.
He opened with his king's pawn.
She reached out her delicate fingers and brought her queen's pawn forward. "What have you learned about yourself being around us?" Her tone was light, almost playful.
Vision couldn't think of any way to match it. "I've learned that my power source is called the Mind Stone, that it's one of the most powerful objects in the universe. Because in your world Thanos killed me, I've learned I can die. I wasn't sure about that before."
Wanda was arranging her pawns in a zig-zag pattern as she advanced them. "You weren't sure, but you believed you could?"
Vision brought out his knight. "During the war, the humans dropped an atomic bomb near me. I phased into the ground in time to avoid the blast, but the electromagnetic pulse knocked me unconscious. If I hadn't phased into the ground, I think the blast might have killed me. I never dared test it."
"Good," Wanda said, pulling her queen forward in a move that struck Vision as overly bold so early in the game.
"I decided I didn't want to die yet," he tried to explain. "Even after everything I've done, all the evil I carry...my death would fix nothing. It would satisfy some humans' ideas of justice, I'm sure, but I could only be of any use to the world if alive. Or maybe it's fear of death that makes me rationalize my life."
"You are right to live," Wanda said.
Vision took a pawn with his knight. "You have seen many worlds, so maybe you know: would a direct nuclear blast destroy me?"
"Yes."
Her answer was much easier than he'd expected. Disturbingly easy. "So Thanos and nuclear weapons. Do you know of anything else that can kill me?"
"Me, for one," she stated.
He froze.
She looked at the board as she explained. "In many Earths, we are two of the most powerful beings in the world. We aren't always on the same side."
"So you're saying there's a world where you've actually killed me?"
"A few, actually. But don't worry; I would never kill you. I swear." Her eyes rose to his again. They were imploring, apologetic. It was important to her that he know she wouldn't kill him, for some reason.
"What if we're not on the same side?"
"We are. And...I am not those versions of me who could kill you. We are all shaped by our experiences, by what happens to us, and things have happened to me that have shaped me. I couldn't kill you, for any reason. I just couldn't bring myself to do it."
"But...your powers could destroy me?"
"Yes." She unexpectedly moved her bishop. "Check."
He took her bishop with his knight.
"Of course, you could kill me too," she said, bringing a pawn forward to threaten his knight. "You could reach into my chest and stop my heart right now. I need you to know that I know that, and that I know just as surely that you wouldn't."
She had told him she trusted him before, but suddenly he understood what she meant by that.
"Thank you." He felt that was inadequate, but didn't know what else he could say.
She smiled, and reached forward. At first he thought she was reaching for a chess piece, but she instead placed her hand on his left forearm.
He jolted, and she pulled her hand away. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It's fine. You just surprised me. I don't think... I think that's the first time any human has ever touched me, except when I was saving them. Or...killing them."
"I'm sorry," she said again, though her tone this time was clearly one of condolence instead of apology. "You deserve touch."
She reached for his arm again. This time he was prepared for it and didn't pull away. He felt every point of contact from her hand. It was a peculiarly synesthetic sensation: his mind registered the feeling of her hand on his arm as a glow.
His eyes darted from her hand to her face. Everything suddenly seemed different. He didn't feel alone. She was with him, playing chess with him in this room. She was a human who sought his company and trusted him with her life, and touched him without fear or repulsion
She was beautiful, he realized. Behind her worn, melancholy countenance, there was a fierce, striking beauty in her.
Her hand slid down his arm—her fingertips brushing over the texture of his simulated clothes—then into his hand. Her index finger settled into the crease of his palm, the tips of her middle finger, ring finger, and pinky nestled against his index finger, the tip of her thumb came to rest between his knuckles.
He didn't dare move, didn't dare do anything to change this moment, this connection.
She held his hand for 26 seconds, then drew her hand away slowly, and took his knight with her queen.
He hadn't seen that move coming.
They continued their game in silence. His mind was only half on the game. She had touched him, she had held his hand. Could it have been an accident? Had she forgotten what he was for a minute?
She was a skilled opponent, but he checkmated her in about twenty minutes. He didn't say "checkmate" as he knew was customary. He knew she could see it as well as he could. She didn't look at all upset by the outcome.
Maybe she would touch his hand again? Did he dare hope for it?
"Good game," he said, holding his right hand out, offering it to her to shake, as he believed was the custom.
"Thank you." She smiled and shook his hand.
The handshake lasted a much shorter time than the earlier handholding, but it affected him in the same way; his entire being focused on the points of contact between them, and the touch seemed to sink into him and spread inside him.
She smiled again, then dropped her eyes.
He forced himself to let go of her hand and busied himself returning the chess pieces to their starting points. She did the same.
"I'm going to go get some food before my watch. Let's play again later?"
Her voice was quieter than usual, and ever so slightly hesitant.
"I'd like that," he said.
She left.
He sat back at the table and looked at his hands. He could still feel the glow where her hands had been. Maybe he would feel it forever, carry it back with him when he returned to his lair in his own world. A gift of warmth he would always carry with him, no matter how cold and empty his life became.