A/N: Hola, amigos. Thanks for sticking around this far. I didn't think this story would end up being as long as it's shaping up to be, but here we are. This week I'm posting back to back, so the next chapter will be up tomorrow. There is a reason for it, I swear. Some infinity war dialogue ahead. My undying appreciation forever and ever amen goes to the magnificent crotchety_old_emu over on Ao3, as always.

Chapter 11: Undoing

Wanda wakes up feeling embarrassed and markedly less tired. She doesn't remember falling asleep, only falling apart all over Vision. He must have left while she was sleeping because no one else is in her room. She's thankful for it; uses the time it allows her to get changed and prepare herself for the unavoidable conversation that's to come.

Wanda comes up with a plan. If she can get him to go out somewhere with her, they can talk in public. She figures, this way, she'll be less likely to be overcome by her emotions. If only for the sake of social graces. She takes a final breath to steel herself, opening her door. Vision catches sight of her the second she steps out, and she knows her time's up.

She reaches out to him through the channel before he can meet her in the hallway, determined to have some modicum of control in this. 'Meet me in the bathroom, I want to try something.'

His eyebrows knit together, questioning, but he follows her. She stands to the side of the vanity, waving him in when he halts outside the door. "Okay, stand in front of the mirror." She gathers a small handful of beauty products from the countertop and turns to him.

"What are those for?"

"For us. We're going to disguise ourselves."

"What? Why would we need to disguise ourselves?" Vision runs a hand across his forehead. "We really should talk about-"

"No. I'm sorry, but no." Wanda lets out a breath, attempting to gather her thoughts into something intelligible. "We can talk. We will, but not here, please. I need to get out of this apartment. It feels like I'm locked up again and I hate it. It's like I'm constantly going from one prison to the next, and I can't… I just can't."

"Okay."

"Okay?" She didn't think he'd give in so easy, expected at least some fight.

"Yes, okay. We'll disguise ourselves, but I don't need any of that." He gestures towards the beauty products.

"You don't? Then, how-" This time, Vision cuts her off. Not with his words, but with his actions. Instead of answering, he takes on the appearance of a human man. It leaves her more than a little flabbergasted. She's never seen him do anything remotely like it, didn't know he was capable of it. An audible "woah" slips out without her permission.

He gives her a quick grin, and she can see the resemblance immediately. He still looks like himself, sort of. The same handsome features he's always had- his strong jawline, his high cheekbones, they haven't changed. His eyes are different, though, the same blue, but no mechanics. And he has hair, shorter on the sides than the top, styled effortlessly as if he'd been doing it his entire life.

"What do you think?" He assesses himself in the mirror, a hand on his chin. "I've been working on it while the others sleep. The ears are a bit troublesome, though." He tugs on one to illustrate his thought, turning to her, "Do you think it's convincing enough?"

"Definitely. You look great. That's incredible. Vizh, you're amazing." Wanda can't help but smile when he blushes red at the compliment. "Alright, give me ten minutes, and we can go?"

He nods and steps out, giving her the room.

The city's peaceful, the sound of the ocean filtering through the streets. It's a brief walk to the nearest cafe, but it might as well be eons, as far as Vision's concerned. He does his best not to let it show, to be patient, as Sam advised him. He waits outside when Wanda goes into the small establishment and places her order, kicking dirt up with the front of his shoe.

On the walk to the beach, he doesn't say anything, hoping he won't have to be the one to start the conversation again. By the time they're sitting in the sand, watching the white caps and passersby, he's ready to give in. He wants to say anything to put an end to the silence, but she beats him to the punch.

"I'm sorry about last night. I was so tired. It's not typically like that when I read someone. Usually, the person I'm reading doesn't feel me, and no one's ever been able to access my emotions along with theirs. I didn't expect it to be so... different." She's not looking at him, her gaze still fixed towards the horizon, hands drawing patterns in the sand beside her.

"Please don't apologize. If there's anything I can do that will bring some comfort to you, I'm happy to do it. You need only ask." Wanda turns to him then, a trace of a smile playing at her lips.

"As for it being different, I've been giving a good deal of thought to this entity in my head, about its nature. But also, its composition. And, after last night-" He watches her draw a shape and erase it with her palm. "I think your power is similar to its own signature. I suspect your experimentations with the mind stone may have something to do with your experience last night, as well as the channel we share."

"Maybe. It's a good theory." She takes a sip of her drink, turning back towards the sea, a hush settling over them.

The Vision lets it drag out as long as he dares, reluctant to ruin the eathful lull. A short while later, the beach clears of the last few couples and groups strolling the coastline. Summoning his courage, he yields to his conscience and leaps into the imminent breach.

"Wanda, I...I'm afraid I've not been entirely forthright with you. There's something I haven't, er, told you, yet. I intended to tell you before, and I'm sorry I didn't. I wasn't sure how and I-I-"

"Vision, what are you talking about?"

"Uhm, well..." He has another theory. The first time the channel made itself known, the strange feeling from the mind stone that day on the quinjet. The visualisations. The way Wanda's powers interact with him so exclusively. He thinks there must be a correlation, some type of causation or catalyst, even beyond Von Strucker's previous experimentations. He's hoping it won't fail him as words are, "perhaps, I could show you."

He fears he may never know whether he feels authentic emotion or a calculated faux equivalent. Still, everything in him is screaming that it's his best chance. Vision lets her memories fill his mind, accedes to the sorrow, anguish, and remorse it reaps. He outstretches his hand to hers, and holding fast to the succour the contact provides, he endeavours to impart it all.

Wanda can feel Vision's hand in her own, the cool sand under her. The sea that was there a second ago, though, is gone from view.

Replaced at first, in flashes. An accelerated slideshow of the worst moments of her life. Then, slower, like being inside a movie version of her memories. She can feel his emotions again, but it's not like when she used her power.

There's no reciprocal of her feelings for him. Though his regret, distress, and torment are there, it's not as extreme. And, instead of sharing his perspective, he's there with her.

They're watching her conversation with Ross on the Raft. The first time they'd sedated her. There's no reason for Vision to remember this. Not when she's never told him more about it. She has to look away. Concentrate on looking up at him before composing her thoughts and asking, 'What is this?'

'What I was trying to tell you.' She can feel how sorry he is, sees it in his face, hears it in his tone. It doesn't make it any easier.

'How?' It switches to the next scene, taking her attention back. One of the guards approaches her in her cell and turns his back to them. She knows what happens next well enough to know she doesn't want to see it. 'Stop.'

Abruptly, Wanda's sitting on the beach in Casablanca, looking out at the North Atlantic. She wanted to come here so she wouldn't be as inclined to lose control of her emotions.

It's not working. She's devastated. Powerless to stop the tears from coming to the surface. It makes her livid. She rips her hand away from him, cradling it to herself as if scorched.

"I'm sorry."

She whips her head to look at him. He's running a hand through his fake blonde hair, eyes downcast. She repeats her question, barely louder than the crashing waves, "How?"

"I don't know…The evening of your nightmare was the first time. Then, again, last night." His eyes shine when they meet hers, "Wanda, I'm so sorry. I-I didn't know how to tell you and-"

"You didn't know how to tell me? So, what? You thought it would be better to lie to me, instead?! Again!?" The sand around them vibrates as she gets louder, red-tinged grains beginning to lift and hover.

"Please, we can't draw attention to ourselves." It's her undoing. She stands, seething.

"I don't give a fuck." She shoves the sand at him and takes off, soaring towards anywhere else.