A/N: Hey, y'all. I know it's been a while and I appreciate anyone who's stuck it out. I don't want to make any promises about when the next chapter will come out but I do have the rest of the story planned out. It's just a matter of finding the time to do it. I hope everyone is staying safe & healthy! Enjoy! & As always, thank you, thank you, thank you to crotchety_old_emu over on Ao3!
Chapter 17: Striking
Heartbreak. It's the easiest emotion to identify and the cruelest Vision's felt. Like dolour, helplessness, and failure all rolled into one. It's beyond the heartache he'd felt previously, worse for the fact that Wanda feels it, too. She's trembling in his arms, wracked with guilt and haunted by maltreatment.
He tries to avoid indulging his own thoughts and emotions, rubbing small circles on her shoulder blade. The same shoulder he witnessed being crushed in her flashback. He forces himself to be better than the mistakes he's made, to concentrate on what really matters at the moment- keeping Wanda grounded.
"We're in Kraków, Poland, in a rental. You're okay. I know it felt real, but it's not. There's no danger here. You're safe."
It takes her less time to calm down than it did previously, despite the intensity of the attack. Her respirations resuming an average rate after only 18 minutes. In the interim, Vision rotates between whispers of "It's alright," "You're okay," and "Just breathe."
Repositioning herself on the couch, Wanda settles into the crook of his arm, her head on his shoulder. It's mumbled, but he hears her nonetheless when she asks, "What's wrong with me?"
"Not a thing. Healing takes time."
"Yeah, well. This doesn't feel a whole lot like healing." Using her uninjured hand, Wanda flicks off the tv and the lights with a wave. Bedight in darkness, she seems painfully diaphanous, delicate.
"I'm sorry."
"It isn't your fault."
"Nor is it yours."
"Yeah, it doesn't really feel that way, either." She sighs, and Vision can feel the waft of air against his skin. He knows how she feels, how she blames herself for her assault, how she continues to be tormented by it. It wouldn't matter if he told her a hundred times that she wasn't to blame. It's a string of vacant words, worthless until she can speak and believe them for herself.
Rather than placate her, he attempts to offer reassurance in the only way she's been comfortable asking for it. Taking her hand into his, he ambles the pads of his digits across hers, mimicking the way she fiddles with her hands, and of late, his, when she's nervous.
Wanda's quiet for so long that he thinks she's fallen asleep. When she speaks up again, her voice is almost muted. "I tried to fight, you know. I really fucking tried."
He adjusts his vocal volume to match hers. "I know."
"It never ends. And I feel so stupid. Because I should be fine. I should be happy. It's over and done with. This should be the easy part." From his point of view, the Vision can't tell if she's still crying. Though he presumes she knows he is, fat teardrops rolling off his cheeks, leaving dark marks on his shirt. Inhaling a shaky breath, she squeezes his hand. "But it fucking isn't."
"I'm so sorry."
"I know."
Two hours into the final leg of their journey to Sokovia, Wanda crashes, falling asleep on The Vision's shoulder. He's surprised she made it as long as she did, staying up the previous night and throughout the trip from Kraków to Kyiv. Watching the evening sky pass in the window, he's lost to the same fruitless train of thought he's spent all day chasing.
Since sharing her flashback with him, there's been a perceptible shift in how she interacts with him. A marked difference in her behaviours- how she used the channel to speak with him, despite their being alone. The way she's maintained some form of physical contact with him throughout the day.
Vision's trying to quantify it without success, scouring through countless databanks seeking understanding, coming up empty. A sudden sensation, almost like pulling, stirs him from his disappointment. It's fast fading, quick, and he's already more than halfway convinced it was a glitch in his systems when there's a knock at the compartment window.
A train attendant comes into view, the door sliding open enough to reveal the older man's face framed in silver-grey hair. "Anything from the trolley?"
He gives the array of goods a cursory once over, feigns consideration of the various snacks and beverages in their colorful packaging. Keeping his voice low, he shakes his head, "No, thank you."
"Of course, enjoy the remainder of your trip." The gentleman smiles, quipping, "Might I add, the two of you make quite a striking couple."
"Oh, um, thank you." But the door's already sliding shut again, the attendant setting off down the corridor.
"I apologize, Mister and Missus Shade. It's going to be a while before your cabin is ready for you."
Frustrated, Wanda runs her hand through her hair. Ignores the twinge it sends across her palm. "How long is a while?"
"Three or four hours, maybe. I'm sorry, we only have one cleaning person on staff and they won't be in for another hour, minimum. Again, I'm so sorry. You can leave your bags here at the desk for now, if you'd like."
"Yeah, no." Her teeth were already on edge before they'd walked through the doors of the rental office. Before they'd gotten off the train. From the moment they'd entered the country, the apprehension had set in like a dense fog, heavy and rolling over her thoughts. "No thanks. We'll hold on to them and come back."
Realistically, she knows that the teenager behind the front desk, most likely, isn't to blame for the delay. It's just one more thing to deal with, and the girl's only a messenger.
It doesn't stop the aggravation from slipping out in an audible puff of air, turning her back on the girl at the desk. "Come on, Vizh, let's go. The room isn't ready yet."
Outside, the wind coming off the mountain turns the evening air cold. The chill stinging her lungs with each breath.
Mt. Wundagore's visible from virtually everywhere in Transia. Under the light of the waning moon, it dominates the skyline. A shadow of sharp teeth biting into the horizon. A reminder that should sing of home but leaves her haunted instead.
The skeleton of the mountain is all that rings familiar. A mirror image of the points and dips she could only ever barely see from her bedroom window.
In Transia, there's no dust, no haze, or pollution. No charred piles of debris lining the street. No gunfire ringing out or mothers weeping in the street. Just the sound of nightbirds and the occasional car passing by.
It's untouched by the war. Unphased by the battle that raged less than three years prior. Unconcerned that, just over the line of that damned mountain, Novi Grad sits, buried in its own destruction.
'Where are we going?'
'I don't know.' Wanda doesn't want to be pissed off, but she can't help it. Her emotions feel out of reach. Out of control, like everything else in her life, she thinks. It makes her feel more childish, more embarrassed. 'Do you remember, in the quinjet, when you said that your feelings can be chaotic?''
Vision nods, the end of his scarf falling off his shoulder, waving about in the breeze.
'How do you handle it? When you feel that way, I mean.'
He tucks the scarf back into itself, taking her hand in his before returning it to his coat pocket. 'I suppose I try to separate and identify the emotions. Sometimes I talk to you about it and that helps. Why do you ask?'
'Because I feel like I'm losing my mind, Vizh. I thought coming here would help, but it's not. This place. It's not my home. And it's like I can't… All I can think about is how Sokovia is being torn apart as we speak. How all of that fighting, all of the organizing, and protesting, and arrests. It was all for nothing. They're signing the deal to split the land next week. Soon, here won't even exist.'
'I imagine that would cause a variety of conflicting emotions. Not to mention that you've been through a lot, in a short amount of time. I assure you, though, you've not lost your mind.'
'You're quite certain of it, are you?'
'Yes, quite certain.' There's only sheer confidence in his words. His faith in her, apparently, unshakeable. 'I've seen it myself, or felt it, rather, through the channel. In all the times we've been connected, I've never felt that you were lacking sanity.'
'What do you feel?'
Wanda hadn't meant to ask him, not really. It's more a thought gone astray, slipped through without intention. There's no time to explain what she meant by it. To tell him that it was an accident and swiftly change the subject. There's no time to say, or feel, or think anything.
Because, without hesitating, Vizh is already responding, 'I just feel you.'