Pre-context: Imagine it was before the accords, but they had the kitchen moment with Vision cooking without Civil War circumstances and Clint's interruption. The first bit however, is set after Endgame (roughly). Not too specific, maybe pre-Wandavision.

I hope you enjoy and I have done these characters justice! *prayer hands emoji*

They miss him as Earth misses a day; with silence. It passes, the groaning wheel of a ship which needed too many hands to push.

They cannot mourn the tearing of a sail.

And that was all he was to them. Just a part of a machine, just an unfeeling slab of man-made sweat and oil. They forget that his laughter rang our halls when we were there, the amount of frustrated moans when he simply slipped through walls, startling the numerous residents. Even the scents of cooking that roused the mouths of them all, his generous portions eventually receiving critical acclaim, just a lingering memory.

With surprising ease, everyone forgets that Vision had been one of them at all.

But I remember. Holding vigil in the unending agony inside, a vast canyon that betrayed despair and the pit that seethed, which was left in his wake, waiting for the balm that had soothed away my fears before.

In the darkness, his love had healed. The faint touches that reminded me why my heart still beat in my chest, why the thrumming power that lay neatly within the confines of my soul was tamed, unleashed only in our sparring together. The power of teasing smiles and scandalous scrapes, beneath curling retorts and shared breaths – he had always kept it in check. Soothed the addled aches of a husk that frightened me.

For such a complex, yet innocent mind, his wants and desires were enchanting. Endearing, even. When he smiled, he was happy. He made sense. And he had been the only one who knew, who had truly ever known.

He loved the stars. We discovered them when I had decided that spending another minute in the compound would make me blow up another washing machine. I launched myself into the sky, fighting the spiraling urge to scream, to let out the ferocious waves that threatened to consume me; it hadn't been a good day. Sparring with Sam was not my strong suit; his jibes and quick reflexes without the use of my abilities was enough to rile the potent competitive streak. Frustration – Clint called it anger - was my enemy, and that man knew exactly how to tease out my weaknesses.

It was all in the name of being better. Better at saving lives, better at being prepared, better at not failing your team.

I had always preferred to work alone; or at least work in a pair. Understanding all the voices and thoughts, restraining the urge to allow their panic and emotion to overwhelm me, the urgency fire my veins until I no longer knew control…

Being around others required sustained control. In battle, where there's so few moments of it, that was even harder.

Warm and friendly wasn't something I was imbued with like Steve, or embodied the natural wittiness of Tony or the silent aura of knowledge that Bruce would stutter.

Being likeable was never easy.

Pietro had been the one for that. His impish grin that would save him a day's detention for being too cocky in one class or another. On mother when he had been forced to admit his mistake, and yet would receive minimal punishment. A prankster, but…He had been a loveable one.

I never saw the expectation in Vis' eyes. The one where they expected you to break, expected you to break them, the one where they hid all the fear that your fingers could bring. The one that feared…

You.

Breathing out, away from the compound, hovering in the air, lost and so…Angry that I couldn't not bark at Sam during training, that I would have to leave before anything else broke, because before I would see Pietro opposite me, waiting for me to tackle him to the ground – push me away because girls couldn't be stronger than boys – waiting for me to prove them wrong, and that their trust wasn't in vain.

Because failing was all too common. And I knew every time I left, I failed. Waiting until -

"Wanda,"

His voice hovered in the air, waiting for my acknowledgement.

I struggled to unclench my fingers from around my arms. At least he was behind me.

"Wanda,"

I shivered, despite the sweat that dripped down my spine, the heat that stung my eyes as too many tears tried to escape. Not again. Not again. Couldn't I have just one day where I wasn't like this in front of the damn toaster.

"Wanda, maybe –"

"I don't want you to babysit me tonight, Vis, I'm not going to hurt anyone,"

Imperceptibly, I could feel the strange pulse of the Mind stone, the softest hum in the back of my mind.

I closed my eyes, I wasn't going to feel wrong about this. He was the one who came after me!

"You can't just block me out, you know," he murmured, a slight smile in his voice, - in a way so patient that it made my heart squeeze -, " I – I believe," he paused, and I can sense the uncertainty echoing through, "I believe you don't truly desire to be alone."

"What do you know?" I growled, and I gritted my teeth as the control slipped again, "You barely know me,"

His voice curled in the air, stronger.

"That does not mean I cannot attempt to understand," he pressed, and the still night air caresses my back as he shifted forwards, towards me.

My eyes stared upwards, searching for the sky, searching for the stars.

"It must be frustrating, and lonely, to not achieve what you wish," he starts, "That the others around you see you –"

"As a monster," the whisper that finishes leaves a salty trail on my lips, and two light touches against my shoulders drew me to face him.

"That is false. You are not a monster, Wanda," blue eyes dared me to argue, words falling from him as if reciting from a dictionary, as unchangeable as foundations below us.

"Tell that to –" I glanced down at my hands, glowing as they defied gravity at the simplest bend of my will – part of me wondered if I decided to let go, if I decided as my last act, I would make everyone safer.

I shook my head, stomach roiling in disgust and glared at my scarlet fingers, "Tell that to everyone these hands have failed,"

"Look at me, Wanda."

Reluctantly, my gaze trailed upwards, and his hand hovered just under my chin; a few inches and we'd be skin to skin. Outcast to outcast.

Freak to freak.

"Though you cannot change the past, that is not the same for our present circumstances. We can only learn in order to make a better future," his lips pursed, leaning forward in that evaluative contemplation, the one I'd seen when he'd persuade me to play chess, his hand a ghost but palpable underneath, the tension strung that kept me from moving away. His stare roved over me, searching for an answer, an almost imperceptible exhale, "I see I cannot convince you."

At last, I cracked a smile, pretended I couldn't taste the bitterness, "I never thought I'd be tempted to believe,"

Even when Steve tried, he only made me feel more nauseous. Talking to him – him talking to me – it felt wrong. Congratulations, you can cause more deaths by not getting over it, suck it up and keep moving soldier.

But I wasn't a soldier. With a sniff, the dampness came back to me, flickering lights and the almost recognisable sensation of the Mind stone humming, vibrating in everything. Every pore, fulfilling even the most basic thrills of breathing, scented by the stone, at last a victim that didn't die in its grasp.

How we'd survived when the rest never made it back to the cel – accommodation.

But some wicked part couldn't make me regret it, volunteering. Despite everything, I wanted for a moment what every normal person had.

A fighting chance.

Vision smiled, something that seemed both breakable and precious, as if he valued my lilting reply.

I can't remember when I last smiled, had it been with him – in the kitchen?

My fingers reached out on impulse, following that dangerous curiosity, tracing just above the red skin of his cheek, ignoring the increasing alarm, with the fear that I'd somehow imagined this, that I'd wake up and the four walls would glare back at me. The red circle on the TV taunting at the ridiculous dream of finding solace in a kitchen appliance, that the wavering breath that he took was just a fantasy of a girl who'd lost everyone else.

The first real power I had was the shudder, the shudder that rippled between the empty space and a thousand vibrations. It was gone with a gasp as he pressed forward, his skin suddenly there under trembling fingers. His eyes focused on me, holding me still, taking my heart and hearing it thunder.

Daring me to look away, daring me to recoil and fall back, waiting for the walls to shoot up and the biting retort to follow. The glance away with the barrier of my hair.

"Are you afraid?" his voice probes the silence, his lips pressed into a line once more.

My head shakes as I screamed yes, yes to the hand that shook, yes to the fear that ate at the edges of my chest, the lump that caught my throat, suspending words.

Am I just a puzzle to you, Vis?

But I feel it, sparking at the edges, a warm pulsation licking at the verges, begging to come in, sate the hunger and desperation, and God. It felt warm. Gentle.

Patient.

For once, I closed my eyes and allowed him in, surrendering to the soft, delicious welcome. The buzz of his mind brushing against mine, intimate. A caress. His harmony, his simple co-existence.

It felt like relief.

It felt like home.

I hadn't lost control that night, but given in.

Completely.

Please don't sue me for fluffy angst. I found some inspiration and some courage and went for it. I wanted to delve into their relationship and how it could have grown, and her own mindset. Any feedback and comments welcome, but I freely admit I took some artistic liberties with the timelines '^^.

Thanks all!

Enigma out.