Warning: This chapter contains graphic language, violence, and abstract descriptions of sexual assault.

Starve or steal. Steal or starve.

Hiding behind a pile of rubble, she stakes out the corner store for hours. Watching the man behind the counter come outside for a cigarette. How he runs from view when the bomb sirens blare, not bothering to lock the door.

Steal or starve. Starve or steal.

Two customers walk in the door empty-handed and exit with paper bags. The sun sinks behind the building. Not long after, the sirens ring out again.

Starve or steal. Steal or starve. Steal or let Pietro starve. Steal it is.

She's running across the empty street. Hand on the door in front of her. Swinging it open, the inside changes, morphing into her cell aboard the Raft.

The hand around the back of her throat tightens. Shoving her through the entryway, onto the floor. Her chin splits, bouncing off the concrete floor from the force of the fall. A succession of kicks land in her ribs and she tastes her own blood. Feel it dripping from her face as she gasps.

"Look, she's gagging for it."

She tries to shout, to protest. Instead releasing a half gurgle, half sob.

"Better give her what she wants."

Air. She needs air.

"Don't worry, slut, we'll take care of you."

Wanda wakes with a start, her eyes flying open, pulse pounding in her ears. She vaguely registers the rush of flowing water. Her head flies back, colliding with unyielding rock, and she groans.

"Wanda!" Vision. The woods. Erik. It all comes flooding back to her. Realization setting in as she gradually becomes aware of her surroundings.

"Loud." She reaches a hand to the back of her head, feeling for any damage. Blinks against the harsh light of the sun filtered through the forest canopy.

His voice is softer when he asks, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." There's a good size bump. But, there's nothing on her hand when she pulls it away. "Just confused for a second there."

"Did you have another nightmare?"

"Yeah, you could say that." She stands, stretching. "You didn't see it?"

"No. You cried out twice, otherwise, the night passed without event. I'm happy to listen, though, if you'd like to discuss your dream."

"No… yes. But, no. I don't know."

Vision hums, joining her on his feet. "Speaking about traumatic experiences can lessen the intensity of negative emotions attached to them. I believe it may be beneficial, should you wish to talk about it."

Shoes digging slightly at the dirt beneath her, Wanda sighs. "I need to wash up."

"Of course. I'll give you some privacy."

"No. Don't go." It comes out rushed, and needy. Not at all as she intended. She takes a breath. "I mean, it- it's fine. You can turn around, if you want."

He waits, saying nothing. Handsome and whole.

"I don't want to be alone."

"As you wish." Pivoting where he stands, the Vision faces away from the water. Her auspicious request filling him with hope, and confidence that, despite everything with Erik, she's still healing.

Truth be told, he was dreading being away as the offer to leave left his lips. Over the course of the night, it hadn't slipped his notice that Erik waited, ambushing them individually. It's significant, indicative of the man's fear and his lack of reliable intel. Equally as important, it means that their best defence is to stay together.

The forest around them is crowded with towering pines, firs, oaks, and sycamores, stretching out far beyond what his eyes can see. Alongside the birdsong and the rolling rustle of leaves in the wind, he hears the ground crunch under Wanda's movements, the splash of her entering the water.

"At first, I was in Sokovia. Waiting to steal food for Pietro and me. I don't know when, exactly. Before all this, I hadn't thought about that time in years…" she fades out, presumably going under. He hears her surface a few moments later, catching her breath and continuing, "At any rate, I was about to walk into some store. Then, the dream switched and I was back. Back in that hell hole. Again."

"The Raft." Clinically speaking, he's aware that if she feels comfortable and safe talking about it, she should be encouraged to. He'd simply prefer it not be necessary in the first place.

There's more splashing, followed by twigs snapping, ground cover crinkling.

"Yes, the Raft." He feels her hand flatten on his back, and the press of her forehead between his shoulder blades. The expel of a long breath. "There were two of them. I remember hitting the floor, and the bleeding. A lot of bleeding. It- it looked like so much. Like it was everywhere. And, the smell- the smell was so strong, and-"

She's getting stuck, focusing on details. There's a fine line between retelling and retraumatizing, and he knows it's best tread lightly. "Where were you injured?"

"My jaw. They kicked me in my sides, my back. Wherever they could reach. I don't, I don't know how many times. Called me a- a slut. I couldn't breathe. I could hardly move… Then, I woke up."

"Do you recall anything more of the memory?" He's enraged to the point of holding back tears, disgusted with having to ask. As if beating and degrading her wasn't enough.

He feels her nod against his back. "Vizh, I don't-" Her hands drop to his hips, turning him around, pulling him into a hug. "It's… once you know something, you can't- there's no un-learning it."

"Wanda, look at me." She lifts her head to face him, her stormy gaze meeting his own. It takes a concentrated effort to prevent the emotion from rising into his voice. "I've seen your memories. I've heard your thoughts. I've shared in your pain as you've felt it. As you have mine. There is nothing you can tell me about your imprisonment that would change how I see you. Nothing."

"It hurts."

"I'm sorry… take all the time you need."

For long minutes, she burrows back into his chest. Her eyes squeezing shut, inimical to her words when they come. "They… uhm, they took turns. That day, they were interested in my mouth, mostly."

"Mostly?" It's not particularly articulate, but he thinks it's a miracle he's managed to croak out anything over the lump in his throat.

"They liked the blood." Wanda begins to tremble in his arms, ripping a soft sob from his throat. "I didn't want to. I swear, I didn't."

"I know. I know you didn't."

"They wouldn't stop. Even after they'd already… they just kept at it. Over and over. And, it hurt. My arms, I couldn't use them. I- I couldn't yell. I couldn't fight. I couldn't- I c-can't-"

"It's okay." He stops her, matching rivulets of tears streaking their cheeks. It's readily apparent that she's reached her limit. Frankly, so has he. Listening to her, seeing the suffering it causes her, it's immeasurably more heart-wrenching than he'd imagined. He's ill-equipped for how he's affected by it. "You've done wonderfully, darling, terrifically courageous. It's okay. You're okay, now."

She doesn't respond verbally, and, looking at her, he's not sure she could. Despite having only been up for a short while, she appears exhausted, drained by the conversation.

'What do you need? How can I help?'

'Hold me?'

'Of course. Anything.'

The surf churns over the vacant shoreline, sending gulls squawking up wet sand. Arms around drawn knees, Wanda sits, scanning the Irish coast.

Flying under the cover of night, they made their leave from the forest hours earlier. Eventually touching down by the sea, not far from where Vision stands now, pacing as he speaks. Glancing up at her every few seconds as if to assure himself she hasn't disappeared into the shore.

"Yes… Yes, tonight… By the week?... Right, well, that sounds lovely, thank you…"

The pandemonium of the day, of the day before, looms over her thoughts. Her senses in overdrive, cold shivers on her skin. Operating on empty.

"No, that'd be fine… Okay… Yes, alright… Thank you, again… You as well, bye."

She stands as he turns to walk back, offering a hand that he readily takes. "All set?"

He nods, "It's fifteen minutes if we follow the beach. Do you feel fit to walk?"

"Sure." Directed by the moonshine, Wanda falls into step beside him. In the distance, sandwiched by blue waters and low green hills, she can make out the outline of an obelisk. Slowly growing sharper and taller as they near.

Surrounded by a wooden fence, next to the tower, a brick boathouse comes into view. He points in its general direction as they approach. "I booked the house for two weeks."

"Mmm. Pretty."

"I'm glad you think so. We have an option to extend on Friday."

She casts out her power as she did in the woods, scarlet smoke permeating the structure. "Empty."

After ushering her through the gate, he produces a key from a pile of rocks and opens the door. Out of habit, she reaches for her backpack, ready to drop it on the floor. "Oh, shit."

"What?"

"The backpacks. All our stuff. It's still in England." Her change of clothes, the photo of her family, his note. All gone. Wanda's struck by a pang of guilt for not realizing it until now.

"Ah, I hadn't given it any thought. You don't suppose Erik would have collected them?"

"Maybe? I don't know. I didn't look."

"No matter. We can replace what we lost tomorrow."

Not everything, she thinks, dropping onto the couch. Vision sits beside her, and it doesn't take long for the combination of her fatigue and his warmth to lull her to sleep.