Chapter 25: Recovery

I asked the heaven of stars
What I should give my love—
It answered me with silence,
Silence above.

I asked the darkened sea
Down where the fishermen go—
It answered me with silence,
Silence below.

Oh, I could give him weeping,
Or I could give him song—
But how can I give silence
My whole life long?

Sara Teasdale, "Night Song at Amalfi"

Not until she was back in the pilothouse did Wanda take a breath. She gasped, sputtering as she tried to pull air into her lungs, which didn't seem to be working properly. The room was too bright, a cacophony of sensations. She focused on Vision's hand on her back. She was also aware of Doctor Strange in front of her, checking her for injuries, saying something.

"What?" she managed.

"Were you struck by anything?"

"I don't know."

"Are you in pain anywhere?"

"I don't know."

Her hands were on the floor, which was still swaying with the waves. Nausea hit her suddenly, and she vomited—a surprisingly recognizable mix of ginger ale and saltine crackers.

"Are you okay?" Strange asked.

She forced herself to nod. "I think so."

"What were you thinking? You almost got yourself killed!"

Wanda was too disoriented to compose a coherent response. "A wave...it was going to sink the ship."

"You idiot. There are two sorcerers on this ship capable of opening a portal to anywhere in the world. Even if we capsized, we'd be fine. What possessed you to step outside in this storm and play Prospero?"

She couldn't think of an answer, and could only shake her head.

Vision put his hand on her shoulder and glared at Strange. "You're attacking her in the state she's in when she might have just saved your life? If the wave hit the ship, it might have not just capsized; a wave that powerful could break a ship in half. You might have been killed instantly, or knocked unconscious. What good would your portals have done you then?"

"He's got a point," Wong said. "And I wouldn't insult Wanda if I were you; I just saw her tear a monster wave in half."

"A rogue wave," Vision said. "Two or more wave crests can converge, amplify each other, and rise several times higher than the surrounding waves. They're rare, but more likely in deep open ocean with high winds. Very few humans have seen one and lived to tell about it."

Doctor Strange frowned. He stood up and muttered an incantation, simultaneously making odd circular gestures with his hands. The walls glowed yellow, then the ship's motion stopped.

"What's going on?" Wanda asked.

"I'm putting the us in a pocket dimension until the storm is over."

"You can do that?"

"Of course I can do that. I just did." He looked at Vision. "Get her to her room. Stay with her. Watch for signs of concussion or internal bleeding. Most importantly, get her warmed up. Can you handle all that?"

"Of course."

Wanda thought she could probably walk to the women's bunkroom on her own—it was just behind the pilothouse—but she didn't object when Vision lifted her and carried her there.

The room had a row of four bunkbeds, aluminum frames bolted to the wall and floor, with barely enough room for Wanda to sit up without her head hitting the metal bars of the next bunk up. She'd chosen the bottom bunk of the bed attached to the side wall as her own.

Vision set her on the bed and knelt in front of her, eyes fixed on her face. It reminded her so much of the way her Vision used to look at her. His mind was more shadowed and troubled than her Vision had ever been, and his fashion sense was completely different, but some things were so familiar they shook her.

"I think you're in shock," he said solemnly. "We need to get you out of your wet clothes. Do you want me to help you?"

She looked at her hands. They were shaking badly. Her whole body was. She didn't know if that was from shock or the cold or the strain.

She nodded.

He helped her out of her soaked clothes and into her pajamas so quickly, efficiently, and clinically it was obvious that not only did he have zero prurient interest in undressing her, but that it didn't even cross his mind that she might think he could. His only thought was to get her warm.

Once she was in her dry pajamas, he wrapped a blanket around her and sat on the bunk across from her, so close their knees touched.

"Are you feeling better?"

"A little," she said. She couldn't get over the depth of the concern in his eyes. "You saved my life."

He frowned slightly. "Yes." He stated it like it was an obvious fact not worth mentioning. He would put his life on the line to save any human life. Plunging into the wild, freezing ocean, while suicidal for a normal human, had not been dangerous to him, so of course he'd saved her life. In his view, he couldn't have done otherwise, and she owed him nothing because of it.

"And you stood up to Doctor Strange for me," she said. That had probably been more difficult and more significant for him.

"Well, you've been so kind to me, I couldn't stand to see someone being unkind to you."

She didn't think she had been particularly kind to him. In the couple of weeks they'd known each other, she could think of several instances when she had been aloof and distant toward him. And yes, she'd spent time with him, played chess with him, helped him learn how to disguise himself, but none of that had been out of kindness, but only for the sake of the mission, or because she'd wanted to. But this Vision—Red Ultron—deserved kindness. He deserved friendship, human connection.

She had a sudden impulse—compulsion, really—to reach for him, but she wasn't sure what she would do once she did.

There was a soft knock at the door.

It shook her out of her daze. "Come in."

Wong entered, carrying a steaming mug.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better," she said.

He paused and looked between the two of them. "Am I interrupting...?"

"No, of course not," Vision assured him. He stood and moved a few steps away, giving Wong room to reach Wanda.

"I made you some hot cocoa." He stepped forward and placed it in her hand. She gratefully accepted the heat on her fingers and palms.

"Thank you."

Vision drifted further away. She was terrified for a moment that he might leave, but he lingered, uncertain what to do, what she wanted him to do.

"I have never seen anything like that," Wong said. "I wouldn't have thought it was possible. I also never knew a wave that size was possible."

"Me neither."

"Strange didn't mean what he said. He was worried about you. And I think he was testing you."

The last comment was directed not to Wanda but to Vision, who looked startled.

"Me?"

"I think he wanted to push you. You have to understand that Wanda is the most valuable one of us just now; she's the only one capable of destroying the source. We know you would risk your life for any of us, but if you have to choose, Wanda is the priority. I think Strange wanted to test your devotion to her."

Vision looked disturbed by the thought that he might have to choose who to save. "He could have just told me that. He didn't have to insult her."

"I've been called worse," Wanda assured him jokingly.

"By whom?" He sounded for a moment like he might be capable of harming anyone who would dare say an unkind thing about her.

"It doesn't matter. Doctor Strange was just...I think we're all a little on edge." She took a sip of the hot cocoa. The heat and rich chocolate were comforting, exactly what she needed at the moment.

"There is no excuse for his cruelty," Vision argued. "He should have thanked you, or thanked whatever providence he believes in that you're alive."

"That's true," Wong agreed. "Strange's pride might not let him say it, but let me say it: thank you for saving our lives, Wanda. And thank you, Vision, for saving her."

Wanda looked at Vision, trying to catch his eye. "Yes. Thank you."

"It was nothing," he said.

"Would you like anything else? Anything to eat? Tea?"

"No thanks, Wong. I think I just want to rest."

"That's probably the best thing for you right now."

She finished the hot chocolate. Wong took the mug and left.

Vision looked at her. "Would you like me to leave you alone?"

"Stay," she said quickly. More quietly, she amended, "Doctor Strange told you to stay with me, just in case. And he is a doctor."

"Right." He moved close to her, knelt on the floor in front of her again. "How are you feeling now?"

She tried to assess her physical condition. She hurt everywhere, and was sure she'd be black and blue by morning, but she didn't think anything was broken. She felt woozy. Even though the ship had stopped moving it still seemed like it was, or more like her brain expected it to be moving and was still trying to adjust for the nonexistent waves.

She was exhausted. She'd heard the English expression "I feel like I've been hit by a truck" many, many times during her career with the Avengers—especially after the mission where a druglord actually plowed into Steve with a truck—but thought using such a cliché exaggeration to describe her state after being sucked up and tossed around by a stormy ocean in the wake of a rogue wave would be an injustice.

"I'm tired," she stated.

His hand rose hesitantly toward her face, where a clump of saltwater-soaked hair was caked to her cheek, but he dropped his hand before it reached her.

It was so absurd that Wanda chuckled; he'd just seen her naked while helping her out of her clothes, but he wasn't sure if he had permission to touch her face. She took his indecisive hand and pressed her cheek into it, closing her eyes.

His hand was so deliciously warm.

She turned her head and nuzzled his palm, warming her nose and lips.

"Wanda?" His voice was a tremulous blend of confusion and awe.

"You're warm," she explained. "I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable."

"You're not. It's fine. I'm happy to help you in any way you need me." Breathily, he added, "I would do anything for you, Wanda."

She was too tired and too cold to resist. She slid off the cot and slumped into him. He obligingly wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back to warm her. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck. While one of Vision's hands stayed at the small of her back, holding her to him, he placed his other hand tentatively on the back of her head, gently stroking her hair.

What must it be like for him? He had been alone for eight years, hated and feared by all surviving humans. It must be confusing, maybe overwhelming to be so close to a human.

But he deserved it. Even if he didn't believe he deserved happiness after the things he'd done, even if he didn't believe he deserved her gratitude for saving her life, he did. She had to show him that.

She drew her lips away from his neck and pressed them to his.

He drew back like he'd been zapped.

"I'm sorry," Wanda said quickly, mortified by her own audacity.

"No, don't be sorry," he said, perplexed. "It's just...I don't understand. I'm a robot."

It was exactly the wrong thing to say.

"You are not a robot! You know that!" She took a deep breath. "Do you feel like a robot?" She trailed her fingers lightly down his chest. "Do you feel like a robot when I do this?"

Though he didn't speak, the expression on his face gave the answer. His eyes fluttered closed, his lips parted slightly.

Her hand moved from his chest to his face. Her thumb stroked his cheek in little circles, then ran over his lips. A tiny quake ran through his body, and he exhaled a gasp, but he didn't pull away.

She kissed him again. Slowly this time. Her lips fluttered against his for a moment before she pressed the kiss more firmly, feeling him reciprocate. She inhaled heavily, filling her lungs, feeling like she could breathe freely for the first time in years.

Did her body think she breathed Vision?

He returned her kisses, holding her lightly, both longing and uncertaintly eminating from his mind.

She shifted closer against him, wrapping her legs around his hips, deepening the kiss hungrily. His arms tightened around her.

And then he suddenly phased. She landed on the floor as he floated away.

"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly before she could. "I...that was...wonderful, but you might not be thinking clearly right now. You nearly died, and an experience like that affects your emotional state. Especially in regards to someone who was with you in your time of distress. Your subconscious can misinterpret the fear response of a quickened pulse and adrenalin rush for attraction."

He really didn't believe she could be legitimately attracted to him. She was almost angry that he thought she didn't know her own mind. But he might have a point; she couldn't deny that she wasn't thinking clearly at the moment.

"You're right. This isn't the time for this."

Relief flooded over his face that she wasn't angry at him. "Maybe I should leave?"

There was no misreading the emotion that gripped her at that suggestion: panic.

"No! Please. Please stay. I...I don't want to be alone right now. And I'm still cold." She climbed into her bed and reached a hand toward him, inviting him to join her. "Please. I promise I won't try anything."

He stood perfectly still for several seconds as what he wanted to do warred with what he though he should do. Then his dilemma resolved, and he lay down in the bed beside her. It was so small she had to lay partly on top of him, using his shoulder as a pillow.

"Thank you," she said.

She needed sleep, but she was also afraid of hypothermia, or some internal injury she couldn't feel catching up with her while she slept. With Vision beside her, able to monitor her breathing and heartrate with his superhuman hearing, her fear evaporated away, allowing her to relax. Inviting Vision into her bed was a medical precaution. That's what she told herself.