A soft smiled pulled at Vision's face at Tony's words. That was one of the (million) things that Vision loved dearly about humans and, in particular, his creator. There was no way for him to have inherited anything, of course. Most of what made him up had been programmed, the rest of it was the influence of the Infinity Stone. And yes, he had been built to learn, to grow and change as needed, but that didn't mean much when it came to genetic history. He couldn't have his “father's” nose or “grandmother's” eyes. Yet Tony still jokingly attributed facets of his personality to that. Whether it was the man's terrible cooking or humor “most certainly picked up from Bruce”.  It made the being feel good. Feel.. Human, in a way. Included when so often he was not.

He uncovered the bread he'd bought from beneath a pile of ingredients and popped a couple of pieces into the toaster. Despite the fact that he was pretty sure he wouldn't mess it up, Vision still found himself checking the number on the dial a few times as they waited.

“You should eat more regularly,” He started, reluctant to break the uneasy quiet that had fallen on the pair of them. But he hated the way that Tony looked, couldn't stomach how poorly he was taking care of himself. Words would do little – he'd been trying for what seemed like forever to make them get through to Mr. Stark. But words were all that Vision had to offer. That and perfectly toasted bread.

“Jam? Butter?” He turned way to search the fridge. “I could call one of the cooks in to make eggs? Bacon?”

Sneaking Around - RP Vision, Tony

Vision wasn’t naive. While he’d been eager for Tony to try his food and had been hoping it would be good he knew that facial expression. It meant that whatever he’d done, whatever he’d created, was absolutely inedible. The being sighed, clicking off the heat on the stove. What had gone wrong? He peered at the mess, then at the cookbook, then back again. He mentally ran over the ingredients, the temperature, the steps, but couldn’t find the error in his attempt. Maybe there was something fundamentally wrong with how he had been made. Was it possible to be built to be particularly bad at cooking?

“Perhaps we should do something else for dinner,” He offered, moving the pan to the sink. With the mood Tony was in he wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to choke down the mess just to be nice. No one deserved to suffer through that, especially if their stomach was already on the rocks.  

“What do you think we did wrong?” He asked, disappointment gnawing at his stomach. It was likely Mr. Stark wasn’t particularly sure either. Perhaps it was just best to drop it? But then how would he know for the next time? Would there even be a next time? He doubted that he’d be able to convince anyone to test any of his concoctions if this kept happening.

This kind of thing was beginning to feel like an accurate representation of all of his good intentions. Done to the best of his ability, with the hope of making other people feel better, but ending only in sour disappointment. Wallowing in self pity a la Tony was beginning to seem more and more appropriate. But Vision did his best to pull himself out of that train of thought, working to remain positive.

“Maybe I should have started with something more simple?” A small smile grew on his face, “Like toast. I do believe that I can’t mess up toast.”

Vision wasn't naive. While he'd been eager for Tony to try his food and had been hoping it would be good he knew that facial expression. It meant that whatever he'd done, whatever he'd created, was absolutely inedible. The being sighed, clicking off the heat on the stove. What had gone wrong? He peered at the mess, then at the cookbook, then back again. He mentally ran over the ingredients, the temperature, the steps, but couldn't find the error in his attempt. Maybe there was something fundamentally wrong with how he had been made. Was it possible to be built to be particularly bad at cooking?

“Perhaps we should do something else for dinner,” He offered, moving the pan to the sink. With the mood Tony was in he wouldn't be surprised if he tried to choke down the mess just to be nice. No one deserved to suffer through that, especially if their stomach was already on the rocks.  

“What do you think we did wrong?” He asked, disappointment gnawing at his stomach. It was likely Mr. Stark wasn't particularly sure either. Perhaps it was just best to drop it? But then how would he know for the next time? Would there even be a next time? He doubted that he'd be able to convince anyone to test any of his concoctions if this kept happening.

This kind of thing was beginning to feel like an accurate representation of all of his good intentions. Done to the best of his ability, with the hope of making other people feel better, but ending only in sour disappointment. Wallowing in self pity a la Tony was beginning to seem more and more appropriate. But Vision did his best to pull himself out of that train of thought, working to remain positive.

“Maybe I should have started with something more simple?” A small smile grew on his face, “Like toast. I do believe that I can't mess up toast.”

Sneaking Around - RP Vision, Tony

“Spices?” Vision offered unhelpfully, scooping a bit of the concoction onto a spoon. “Ah.. .Curry powder, ginger, garlic, cumin, salt, and pepper.” He squinted down at the spoon, “There is also coconut milk and vinegar in it…” It hadn’t sounded right, but that was what the book had said and Vision had followed it to a T. At least the vegetables looked good, even sitting in such a strange sauce.

He offered the spoon hopefully, watching Tony’s face for any hint of a reaction. At least the man was in such a state he probably wasn’t going to be able to lie. As desperate as Vision was to close the gap between them and get something decent into his creator’s stomach he didn’t want to make him sick. It was ridiculous how one could do everything in a book exactly the way it was written and have it come out terribly. He hoped that this time was an outlier and he’d finally mastered making something that wasn’t blended and full of fruit.

If it wasn’t right… Maybe he could get one of the cooks to come in? They had to be bored anyway. They mostly just sat around, getting paid and waiting to be told someone needed them, only to watch a steady steam of takeout enter the building. All of the businesses in the area probably enjoyed it, though. He knew that several of them had posted signs that bragged on how often they delivered to the tower. He wondered if they’d still do that if they knew most of their food went uneaten and trashed. Probably. It was a good way of bringing in customers.

“Should I try something else?” He asked, already resigned to toss yet another failed dish out.

“Spices?” Vision offered unhelpfully, scooping a bit of the concoction onto a spoon. “Ah.. .Curry powder, ginger, garlic, cumin, salt, and pepper.” He squinted down at the spoon, “There is also coconut milk and vinegar in it...” It hadn't sounded right, but that was what the book had said and Vision had followed it to a T. At least the vegetables looked good, even sitting in such a strange sauce.

He offered the spoon hopefully, watching Tony's face for any hint of a reaction. At least the man was in such a state he probably wasn't going to be able to lie. As desperate as Vision was to close the gap between them and get something decent into his creator's stomach he didn't want to make him sick. It was ridiculous how one could do everything in a book exactly the way it was written and have it come out terribly. He hoped that this time was an outlier and he'd finally mastered making something that wasn't blended and full of fruit.

If it wasn't right... Maybe he could get one of the cooks to come in? They had to be bored anyway. They mostly just sat around, getting paid and waiting to be told someone needed them, only to watch a steady steam of takeout enter the building. All of the businesses in the area probably enjoyed it, though. He knew that several of them had posted signs that bragged on how often they delivered to the tower. He wondered if they'd still do that if they knew most of their food went uneaten and trashed. Probably. It was a good way of bringing in customers.

“Should I try something else?” He asked, already resigned to toss yet another failed dish out.

Sneaking Around - RP Vision, Tony

It was hard not to sigh, which was rather unusual for Vision. He pondered briefly if his sudden, emotional reactions counted as progress or not. On one hand he knew that people often sighed around Mr. Stark. They also often become irritated, aggravated, excited, and hopeful – though he was sure that the man would declare the last two lies. On the other hand, Vision had never really considered himself “people” and didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of not being able to choose what he reacted to. He made a mental note to keep a closer eye on his reactions, try to distance himself a little better. Learning was fun, but he’d learned his lesson with guilt and grief. Sometimes throwing yourself into new feelings was a huge mistake.

“As you wish,” he hummed, gathering the rest of their ingredients.

For awhile they cooked in silence, the air thick and awkward with tension, fragrant with vegetables and spices. Vision kept a close eye on his companion, watching as he handled the knife, worried that a tremor might cause him to slip. There was enough to feel bad for without adding an injured Tony to the list. Well, physically injured. He was already an emotional wreck. Another reason that Vision was reconsidering the way he had bathed in human experiences. Would there be a time where his mourning swallowed him whole? Would he be able to battle it or would he fall into the same darkness? Was there anything he could do to pull Tony out?

“…” Vision opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. He frowned down at the pan before them, trying to think of something that might bring a little light into Tony’s life. All he had to offer was what he’d learned, though he doubted it would mean much. “You’re supposed to squeeze mangoes to see if they’re ripe.” It sounded silly to his ears, but he powered through. “Which I felt strange doing in the middle of the supermarket. People kept staring at me, though I think that may have been because of the cape.” The ends of his mouth curved into a small smile, “That was a joke, I wasn’t wearing the cape. I bought a t-shirt.” One that proudly proclaimed “I <3 NY City” on it, nonetheless. He’d even added a baseball cap, like he’d seen the others do when they went incognito. “Does this taste alright?”

It was hard not to sigh, which was rather unusual for Vision. He pondered briefly if his sudden, emotional reactions counted as progress or not. On one hand he knew that people often sighed around Mr. Stark. They also often become irritated, aggravated, excited, and hopeful – though he was sure that the man would declare the last two lies. On the other hand, Vision had never really considered himself “people” and didn't particularly enjoy the idea of not being able to choose what he reacted to. He made a mental note to keep a closer eye on his reactions, try to distance himself a little better. Learning was fun, but he'd learned his lesson with guilt and grief. Sometimes throwing yourself into new feelings was a huge mistake.

“As you wish,” he hummed, gathering the rest of their ingredients.

For awhile they cooked in silence, the air thick and awkward with tension, fragrant with vegetables and spices. Vision kept a close eye on his companion, watching as he handled the knife, worried that a tremor might cause him to slip. There was enough to feel bad for without adding an injured Tony to the list. Well, physically injured. He was already an emotional wreck. Another reason that Vision was reconsidering the way he had bathed in human experiences. Would there be a time where his mourning swallowed him whole? Would he be able to battle it or would he fall into the same darkness? Was there anything he could do to pull Tony out?

“...” Vision opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. He frowned down at the pan before them, trying to think of something that might bring a little light into Tony's life. All he had to offer was what he'd learned, though he doubted it would mean much. “You're supposed to squeeze mangoes to see if they're ripe.” It sounded silly to his ears, but he powered through. “Which I felt strange doing in the middle of the supermarket. People kept staring at me, though I think that may have been because of the cape.” The ends of his mouth curved into a small smile, “That was a joke, I wasn't wearing the cape. I bought a t-shirt.” One that proudly proclaimed “I <3 NY City” on it, nonetheless. He'd even added a baseball cap, like he'd seen the others do when they went incognito. “Does this taste alright?”

Sneaking Around - RP Vision, Tony

Vision turned away to deal with the kettle, listening closely to Tony’s words. He was doing his best to put on a show, but it wasn’t working. It didn’t take being a super-perceptive, advanced AI with alien tech to see that. Guilt reared its head again, that awful, ever lingering feeling that haunted his every moments. Guilt for what he’d done to Rhodey, guilt for hurting Wanda, and guilt for making Mr. Stark suffer through their interaction. He’d been blinded by his eagerness to spend time with him, nearly convinced himself there wasn’t an elephant in the room. But in doing so he knew that he was hurting more than helping, dragging out wounds that weren’t even close to being healed.

“I’m not sure what I’d paint,” he replied idly, busying himself with grabbing cups – two, even though he couldn’t really drink anything -, rearranging spoons and knives and forks. Busy work to keep his hands moving and his back to Tony. He had a feeling it would be easier this way, without watching him.

“Was there a reason you came to see me, Mr. Stark?” He ignored the question about dogs, wishing to get it all over with. Rip off the bandaid and deal with what was underneath. Carefully he took the two cups of tea and brought them around, setting one down in front of his creator. The other he kept tucked to his chest, feeling the warmth and taking a small enjoyment in that.

“I know you’re…Busy.” A wry smile flitted across his face as he thought – sadly, not truly bitterly – about Tony’s lab.

“The Avengers and their favorite T-shirts” Series - Post 3/3

You can find POST ONE here (Tony, Steve, Bucky and Sam) and POST TWO here (Clint, Natasha, Thor, Bruce and Clint + Sam).

If you are interested, some of these T-shirts really exist! You can find them here: Wanda - Pietro - Vision - Hope - T’Challa - Rhodey - Sharon - Peter - Sam

Vision turned away to deal with the kettle, listening closely to Tony's words. He was doing his best to put on a show, but it wasn't working. It didn't take being a super-perceptive, advanced AI with alien tech to see that. Guilt reared its head again, that awful, ever lingering feeling that haunted his every moments. Guilt for what he'd done to Rhodey, guilt for hurting Wanda, and guilt for making Mr. Stark suffer through their interaction. He'd been blinded by his eagerness to spend time with him, nearly convinced himself there wasn't an elephant in the room. But in doing so he knew that he was hurting more than helping, dragging out wounds that weren't even close to being healed.

“I'm not sure what I'd paint,” he replied idly, busying himself with grabbing cups – two, even though he couldn't really drink anything -, rearranging spoons and knives and forks. Busy work to keep his hands moving and his back to Tony. He had a feeling it would be easier this way, without watching him.

“Was there a reason you came to see me, Mr. Stark?” He ignored the question about dogs, wishing to get it all over with. Rip off the bandaid and deal with what was underneath. Carefully he took the two cups of tea and brought them around, setting one down in front of his creator. The other he kept tucked to his chest, feeling the warmth and taking a small enjoyment in that.

“I know you're...Busy.” A wry smile flitted across his face as he thought – sadly, not truly bitterly – about Tony's lab.

Sneaking Around - RP Vision, Tony

Vision chuckled, “Neither am I, Mr. Stark. But we can’t get any better making excuses.”

He filled up the kettle and popped it onto the stove, preparing to make much more than was really necessary. Cooking was hard enough, trying to make just enough or one or two people was impossible. He decided that, should it turn out right, he’d bring some to his new supermarket friend. She’d appreciate seeing her mango-teaching efforts put to good use, he thought.

Divvying up the mangoes, Vision showed Tony how the book said to chop them and gleefully got started. While his face didn’t betray too much excitement, inwardly he was bouncing off the walls. It felt good – like progress. Like maybe his compilation of their old team had been understood not as a way of acting out, but out of sheer loneliness. Maybe, just maybe Tony had felt bad enough to make an effort, to try and bridge the gap between them. Had he been too quick to judge? That made Vision feel bad. He silently reprimanded himself for thinking the worst, or at least, tried to. There was still a niggling sensation that Tony was just dragging their confrontation out.

“I have been trying a variety of human pursuits,” He offered up a scrap of conversation. It felt strange to be the one trying to keep from lapsing into silence. With Wanda their pauses had been comfortable, relaxed, but he couldn’t imagine that being the case here. Rambling wasn’t exactly his style, though. “But above all I think people watching is the best. The things you can see in Central Park..” He trailed off, a smile ghosting his lips.

Vision chuckled, “Neither am I, Mr. Stark. But we can't get any better making excuses.”

He filled up the kettle and popped it onto the stove, preparing to make much more than was really necessary. Cooking was hard enough, trying to make just enough or one or two people was impossible. He decided that, should it turn out right, he'd bring some to his new supermarket friend. She'd appreciate seeing her mango-teaching efforts put to good use, he thought.

Divvying up the mangoes, Vision showed Tony how the book said to chop them and gleefully got started. While his face didn't betray too much excitement, inwardly he was bouncing off the walls. It felt good – like progress. Like maybe his compilation of their old team had been understood not as a way of acting out, but out of sheer loneliness. Maybe, just maybe Tony had felt bad enough to make an effort, to try and bridge the gap between them. Had he been too quick to judge? That made Vision feel bad. He silently reprimanded himself for thinking the worst, or at least, tried to. There was still a niggling sensation that Tony was just dragging their confrontation out.

“I have been trying a variety of human pursuits,” He offered up a scrap of conversation. It felt strange to be the one trying to keep from lapsing into silence. With Wanda their pauses had been comfortable, relaxed, but he couldn't imagine that being the case here. Rambling wasn't exactly his style, though. “But above all I think people watching is the best. The things you can see in Central Park..” He trailed off, a smile ghosting his lips.

Sneaking Around - RP Vision, Tony

“I don’t know,” Vision admitted, feeling a little trepidation at cooking for Tony and having it go badly. He wanted to impress him terribly bad, but it was hard when you were never sure how food was supposed to come out. He had plenty of pictures and videos and directions, but cooking was certainly a human art. It required a creative touch, thinking on the fly, seasoning to taste which was something he couldn’t exactly do. Baking was more about math, a lot simpler for someone like him. But it wouldn’t do to only make muffins and cookies and cakes. ( Though they’d probably be more well received. )

He frowned down at the curry recipe in his book, noting that he’d placed a green post it on it. Curry made him think of Bruce, though he hadn’t spoken much to him either as of late. Vision found the scientist fascinating. The extreme difference between the Hulk and Bruce Banner was something quite remarkable. He had enough tact not to say as much and never looked at him like an experiment, but it was something he’d considered looking into more than once.. Eventually he’d decided that it wasn’t his business – was one of those things that Wanda said was private and should only be breached when permission was given. She was still teaching him lessons, even in her absence.

“Do you need help?”

Vison’s head snapped up, surprise flickering on his face before he sprung on the opportunity. He slid the book towards Tony, eager to get his opinion. “That would be wonderful – you can be the taste tester.” It would be much smoother with the pair of them working in tandem, “It is supposed to have a ‘sweet, spicy taste, marrying the hearty flavors of chicken with the syrupy flavor of mangoes, balanced with vinegar'” he quoted. Whatever that meant. He’d underlined it, as if he’d be able to grasp it with repetition.

He wasn’t quite sure when he’d come across the cookbook – that was before time had meaning to him, but he’d slowly worked his way through it, scattering the pages with post it notes in reds and greens, purples and blues, and some very fancy golds. Sometimes it hurt to come across a page he’d marked for a missing teammate, but he would force himself to read on, to imagine that they’d be reunited soon. It was a good exercise in getting used to the pain that came with emotions. Small doses first, then he’d confront the bigger problems, like Rhodey.  Maybe Mr. Stark could try that? Or maybe he shouldn’t bring it up at all.

“While we’re working I can get you something to drink. Tea?” He thought of the cups he left quite frequently outside of the man’s workspace, nearly all of which went cold and untouched. “Or..Ah, I know how to make smoothies. They’re really quite easy, though I do not believe they go well with curry?” He honestly didn’t know. “I think tea is more traditional…” He considered googling it.

“I don't know,” Vision admitted, feeling a little trepidation at cooking for Tony and having it go badly. He wanted to impress him terribly bad, but it was hard when you were never sure how food was supposed to come out. He had plenty of pictures and videos and directions, but cooking was certainly a human art. It required a creative touch, thinking on the fly, seasoning to taste which was something he couldn't exactly do. Baking was more about math, a lot simpler for someone like him. But it wouldn't do to only make muffins and cookies and cakes. ( Though they'd probably be more well received. )

He frowned down at the curry recipe in his book, noting that he'd placed a green post it on it. Curry made him think of Bruce, though he hadn't spoken much to him either as of late. Vision found the scientist fascinating. The extreme difference between the Hulk and Bruce Banner was something quite remarkable. He had enough tact not to say as much and never looked at him like an experiment, but it was something he'd considered looking into more than once.. Eventually he'd decided that it wasn't his business – was one of those things that Wanda said was private and should only be breached when permission was given. She was still teaching him lessons, even in her absence.

“Do you need help?”

Vison's head snapped up, surprise flickering on his face before he sprung on the opportunity. He slid the book towards Tony, eager to get his opinion. “That would be wonderful – you can be the taste tester.” It would be much smoother with the pair of them working in tandem, “It is supposed to have a 'sweet, spicy taste, marrying the hearty flavors of chicken with the syrupy flavor of mangoes, balanced with vinegar'” he quoted. Whatever that meant. He'd underlined it, as if he'd be able to grasp it with repetition.

He wasn't quite sure when he'd come across the cookbook – that was before time had meaning to him, but he'd slowly worked his way through it, scattering the pages with post it notes in reds and greens, purples and blues, and some very fancy golds. Sometimes it hurt to come across a page he'd marked for a missing teammate, but he would force himself to read on, to imagine that they'd be reunited soon. It was a good exercise in getting used to the pain that came with emotions. Small doses first, then he'd confront the bigger problems, like Rhodey.  Maybe Mr. Stark could try that? Or maybe he shouldn't bring it up at all.

“While we're working I can get you something to drink. Tea?” He thought of the cups he left quite frequently outside of the man's workspace, nearly all of which went cold and untouched. “Or..Ah, I know how to make smoothies. They're really quite easy, though I do not believe they go well with curry?” He honestly didn't know. “I think tea is more traditional...” He considered googling it.

Sneaking Around - RP Vision, Tony

Delight.

Delight was a rare and fleeting emotion nowadays. But it radiated from Vision’s stomach when Tony agreed, warming his chest and making his smile much more genuine. He floated eagerly behind the man, brain whirring as he tried to think of the most nutritious thing he could make. There needed to be vegetables, of course, and definitely some protein – Tony’s pale color really was frightening. Nothing too heavy, though, not like all the junk food he put away. Chicken, then? And maybe some asparagus or green beans? Did Mr. Stark even like vegetables? Vision knew he was giving the task at hand more thought than it needed, but it helped to distract from the voice in his mind that told him he was delaying the inevitable. Soon they’d need to talk about whatever had been found and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“I’m thinking chicken breast,” Vision hummed, placing his tablet on the kitchen counter. He drifted over to where he’d left his cookbook, an actual physical copy, beaten up with study and crammed full of notes in the margins.  There were even color coded post it notes, each pertaining to a different teammate, marking recipes he thought they’d like. “And some kind of vegetable, though I am not sure what you like.” He poked his head into the fridge, “We have a variety, I went shopping the other day.”

Usually Mr. Stark had all of his groceries delivered or picked up by one of the many chefs employed by the man, but Vision had been bored and looking for some kind of entertainment. He had lost himself among the shelves, studying every bit of produce for flaws, taking detailed mental notes on the processes that other shoppers used. He’d even made an acquaintance. An older woman, one who had stopped him from buying an atrociously under-ripe mango. It had been a good day – productive, something to chase away the coldness of the tower. Disappointing, though, when he’d returned and realized most of the food would go to waste. He had considered trying to reach out, to contact Pepper or Rhodey and invite them to one of his attempts, but fear had stopped him. Fear was another emotion that Vision hated above all.

There was no point in thinking about that, though. Not with Mr. Stark there, offering to put up with his cooking. Vision wasn’t naive, he knew that this wasn’t some kind of olive branch, an attempt to mend their relationship. But was it so bad to pretend? Lying to yourself, avoiding consequences… These were very human things to do and he knew that they were bad. But having been lonely for so long, shut out from the day to day life of those he cared for, he felt like he was going insane. Pictures and video couldn’t reply, couldn’t quiet his racing mind. They couldn’t satiate his need to learn, to feel, to be involved.

“We have mangoes,” He noted, glancing over at the large bowl nearby. Maybe he’d gone a bit overboard, temporarily pleased by his new find. “…Do those go with chicken?” A wrinkle creased his brow before he gave a small laugh, “I think I might have seen a curry like that..I’ve never made curry.” Or tasted curry. Or chicken. Or mangoes, really. But he wanted to make something that would make Mr. Stark happy, even if that seemed impossible.

Delight.

Delight was a rare and fleeting emotion nowadays. But it radiated from Vision's stomach when Tony agreed, warming his chest and making his smile much more genuine. He floated eagerly behind the man, brain whirring as he tried to think of the most nutritious thing he could make. There needed to be vegetables, of course, and definitely some protein – Tony's pale color really was frightening. Nothing too heavy, though, not like all the junk food he put away. Chicken, then? And maybe some asparagus or green beans? Did Mr. Stark even like vegetables? Vision knew he was giving the task at hand more thought than it needed, but it helped to distract from the voice in his mind that told him he was delaying the inevitable. Soon they'd need to talk about whatever had been found and it wasn't going to be pretty.

“I'm thinking chicken breast,” Vision hummed, placing his tablet on the kitchen counter. He drifted over to where he'd left his cookbook, an actual physical copy, beaten up with study and crammed full of notes in the margins.  There were even color coded post it notes, each pertaining to a different teammate, marking recipes he thought they'd like. “And some kind of vegetable, though I am not sure what you like.” He poked his head into the fridge, “We have a variety, I went shopping the other day.”

Usually Mr. Stark had all of his groceries delivered or picked up by one of the many chefs employed by the man, but Vision had been bored and looking for some kind of entertainment. He had lost himself among the shelves, studying every bit of produce for flaws, taking detailed mental notes on the processes that other shoppers used. He'd even made an acquaintance. An older woman, one who had stopped him from buying an atrociously under-ripe mango. It had been a good day – productive, something to chase away the coldness of the tower. Disappointing, though, when he'd returned and realized most of the food would go to waste. He had considered trying to reach out, to contact Pepper or Rhodey and invite them to one of his attempts, but fear had stopped him. Fear was another emotion that Vision hated above all.

There was no point in thinking about that, though. Not with Mr. Stark there, offering to put up with his cooking. Vision wasn't naive, he knew that this wasn't some kind of olive branch, an attempt to mend their relationship. But was it so bad to pretend? Lying to yourself, avoiding consequences... These were very human things to do and he knew that they were bad. But having been lonely for so long, shut out from the day to day life of those he cared for, he felt like he was going insane. Pictures and video couldn't reply, couldn't quiet his racing mind. They couldn't satiate his need to learn, to feel, to be involved.

“We have mangoes,” He noted, glancing over at the large bowl nearby. Maybe he'd gone a bit overboard, temporarily pleased by his new find. “...Do those go with chicken?” A wrinkle creased his brow before he gave a small laugh, “I think I might have seen a curry like that..I've never made curry.” Or tasted curry. Or chicken. Or mangoes, really. But he wanted to make something that would make Mr. Stark happy, even if that seemed impossible.

Sneaking Around - RP Vision, Tony

Nervousness wasn’t a new sensation, but it was certainly unpleasant. It twisted in his stomach like a knife and set his processors running double time for excuses. It took him only a moment to come up with a handful of reasons for why Mr. Stark had come looking for him, though none of them were very convincing. He was incredibly good at ignoring people he didn’t want to come in contact with and Vision knew that somehow he had become one of those people. That meant that the only reason Mr. Stark had decided to speak with him was because he’d found out; that wasn’t paranoia thanks to his frantic nerves, it was just logic. And if there was anything that Vision thought he was good at it was logic.

Still, it was hard for panic and anxiety to win when his concern for the man was so strong. It had been nearly a week since they’d come face to face and in that time Mr. Stark had not been taking care of himself. His cheeks were slightly sunken, stubble shockingly dark against his pale skin. Had he been eating? Not regularly. It made the being want to drag him ( kicking and screaming, most likely ) to the kitchen and refuse to let him leave. And even with his limited senses, Vision could tell that he had been drinking. He didn’t need to smell it on his breath, he could see it in the slight wobble, the glassy look in his eyes. It hurt, it hurt as badly as when Wanda had thrown him through the floor – hurt worse than being locked out of the lab. It was heart wrenching to know that someone so important to him was suffering and wouldn’t accept any help.

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark. How are you?” He couldn’t help the words, they rushed from his lips like water from a geyser. Fast paced and uncontrolled and natural, Vision liked to think. Inappropriate, though, perhaps. Was it not his concern that had caused the rift between them in the first place? That and Mr. Stark’s frustrating insistence that he didn’t deserve love or kindness, but that was a more difficult thing to fix. His features rearranged themselves on their own accord, worry swelling, pity poisoning his eyes.

Comfort was a good thing, was it not? He had seen many of his teammates offer it and a few more accept it. Captain Rogers had been particularly good at saying the right thing, something soothing to make you feel better about your lot in life. And Mr. Wilson as well, whose very presence emitted a wave of something very solid and reliable. Rhodey – though he couldn’t bear to look at the man himself – was rather good at pulling people from their heads. Though that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? Their group had worked well together because everyone had a part to play. Fractured, splintered and wounded, they struggled to live alone. Carefully Vision placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder, trying to emulate the things he’d seen before the split.

“Would you perhaps like to have dinner with me?” There. That was good, not obvious or accusing. “I have been researching new recipes, but I’m not sure if they’re coming out right.” He attempted a smile. It didn’t feel right.

Nervousness wasn't a new sensation, but it was certainly unpleasant. It twisted in his stomach like a knife and set his processors running double time for excuses. It took him only a moment to come up with a handful of reasons for why Mr. Stark had come looking for him, though none of them were very convincing. He was incredibly good at ignoring people he didn't want to come in contact with and Vision knew that somehow he had become one of those people. That meant that the only reason Mr. Stark had decided to speak with him was because he'd found out; that wasn't paranoia thanks to his frantic nerves, it was just logic. And if there was anything that Vision thought he was good at it was logic.

Still, it was hard for panic and anxiety to win when his concern for the man was so strong. It had been nearly a week since they'd come face to face and in that time Mr. Stark had not been taking care of himself. His cheeks were slightly sunken, stubble shockingly dark against his pale skin. Had he been eating? Not regularly. It made the being want to drag him ( kicking and screaming, most likely ) to the kitchen and refuse to let him leave. And even with his limited senses, Vision could tell that he had been drinking. He didn't need to smell it on his breath, he could see it in the slight wobble, the glassy look in his eyes. It hurt, it hurt as badly as when Wanda had thrown him through the floor – hurt worse than being locked out of the lab. It was heart wrenching to know that someone so important to him was suffering and wouldn't accept any help.

“I'm fine, Mr. Stark. How are you?” He couldn't help the words, they rushed from his lips like water from a geyser. Fast paced and uncontrolled and natural, Vision liked to think. Inappropriate, though, perhaps. Was it not his concern that had caused the rift between them in the first place? That and Mr. Stark's frustrating insistence that he didn't deserve love or kindness, but that was a more difficult thing to fix. His features rearranged themselves on their own accord, worry swelling, pity poisoning his eyes.

Comfort was a good thing, was it not? He had seen many of his teammates offer it and a few more accept it. Captain Rogers had been particularly good at saying the right thing, something soothing to make you feel better about your lot in life. And Mr. Wilson as well, whose very presence emitted a wave of something very solid and reliable. Rhodey – though he couldn't bear to look at the man himself – was rather good at pulling people from their heads. Though that was part of the problem, wasn't it? Their group had worked well together because everyone had a part to play. Fractured, splintered and wounded, they struggled to live alone. Carefully Vision placed a hand on Tony's shoulder, trying to emulate the things he'd seen before the split.

“Would you perhaps like to have dinner with me?” There. That was good, not obvious or accusing. “I have been researching new recipes, but I'm not sure if they're coming out right.” He attempted a smile. It didn't feel right.

Sneaking Around - RP Vision, Tony

In the beginning time hadn’t really meant much to Vision.

He was never late for anything, he knew how time worked, he just didn’t particularly care. Hours, minutes, seconds, they could all bleed together. Had he no outside influence he could have sat in silence forever, watching the world pass from afar. There was nothing that pulled him away from his inner thoughts and discoveries except for work with the Avengers. When there was downtime he retreated inwards and then, in the blink of an eye, he was called to battle again. For a short while, Vision was content with that.

But it had quickly become apparent that one could not grasp a full understanding of the world in such a way. He’d begun to branch out, to talk to his teammates. And his knowledge began to expand rapidly. Suddenly the concept of “time” was alive. It crept up on him in nights, stealing his companions for rest and interrupting conversation. It birthed bright new days and brand new discoveries. Those days lived for far too short, the time between missions even shorter. It was like the floodgates had been opened, his curiousity whetted and now starved. He wrestled briefly against the sudden realization that he might have eternity, but others did not. That their knowledge would fade as their lives did. So what he might have once researched on his own, reflected on in peace, he found himself observing with others. And in this Vision discovered he liked to learn hands on.

There was no real distress in his realization that the world was slipping by at an alarming rate. He was a logical being, able to understand that all life must end in due time. There was no “mid-life” crisis like the humans experienced, no risky actions taken in battle. He simply adjusted his behavior, learned to savor and store his favorite moments. In turn he learned to enjoy those simple, flashbang days, soaking up each new bit of information like a sponge, using it to grow like a parasite. In those days he couldn’t imagine dreading the beauty of seeing the sun rise and paint the world in its rainbow colors. Couldn’t even entertain the idea of wishing the day would end faster, that he might not remember a week or two here and there.

It was a blissful time period.

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Sneaking Around - RP Vision, Tony

In the beginning time hadn't really meant much to Vision.

He was never late for anything, he knew how time worked, he just didn't particularly care. Hours, minutes, seconds, they could all bleed together. Had he no outside influence he could have sat in silence forever, watching the world pass from afar. There was nothing that pulled him away from his inner thoughts and discoveries except for work with the Avengers. When there was downtime he retreated inwards and then, in the blink of an eye, he was called to battle again. For a short while, Vision was content with that.

But it had quickly become apparent that one could not grasp a full understanding of the world in such a way. He'd begun to branch out, to talk to his teammates. And his knowledge began to expand rapidly. Suddenly the concept of “time” was alive. It crept up on him in nights, stealing his companions for rest and interrupting conversation. It birthed bright new days and brand new discoveries. Those days lived for far too short, the time between missions even shorter. It was like the floodgates had been opened, his curiousity whetted and now starved. He wrestled briefly against the sudden realization that he might have eternity, but others did not. That their knowledge would fade as their lives did. So what he might have once researched on his own, reflected on in peace, he found himself observing with others. And in this Vision discovered he liked to learn hands on.

There was no real distress in his realization that the world was slipping by at an alarming rate. He was a logical being, able to understand that all life must end in due time. There was no “mid-life” crisis like the humans experienced, no risky actions taken in battle. He simply adjusted his behavior, learned to savor and store his favorite moments. In turn he learned to enjoy those simple, flashbang days, soaking up each new bit of information like a sponge, using it to grow like a parasite. In those days he couldn't imagine dreading the beauty of seeing the sun rise and paint the world in its rainbow colors. Couldn't even entertain the idea of wishing the day would end faster, that he might not remember a week or two here and there.

It was a blissful time period.

And then.. The Accords. The fights. The sudden, intense rush of feelings he'd heard of but never personally experienced. Sadness, guilt, distraction, regret. How foolish he had been to think that he was above such things. He'd tried to dance a fine line, living blindly in the rush of exploration and the exhilaration of experimentation. Those things were like fire, burning every fiber of his being, urging him to keep growing. These new thoughts stunted him, doused his body in something not unlike ice, but more like molasses. The world slowed unbearably, to the point where he felt every breath took a minute, every piece of news was wrested from rigid hands in battles that took hours. He found himself wandering again, in silence and alone. Even Tony – Mr. Stark, he still thought of him as – no longer seemed amused by his presence. Delight had faded from his eyes, replaced by a weariness that used to be tucked carefully inside. It pained Vision to see this, but his attempts to reach out were rejected.

Loneliness, Vision decided, was the second worst new emotion. No matter how he tried to shield himself there was always some crack it slipped through. Sometimes it was in the morning, when he floated into the kitchen and there was no one making breakfast. Mostly it was at night, when he stared out at the city and wondered where his old friends were. And it hit him particularly hard the first time he'd tried to float into Tony's lab and been met with the startling sensation of slamming into a wall. He'd been so thrown off he tried again and, well, that wasn't exactly smart.  So that was it then. Mr. Stark had tired of his constant urging to drink less, to go out more, to eat something other than take out and closed him out. The only way he'd get into the lab where the man practically [i]lived[/i] was by invitation and he didn't see that coming.

Vision learned jealousy next, though he found it didn't suit him. He tried to be angry – envious, even as he watched Peter slide easily where he wasn't welcome. When he couldn't build up resentment he took to shadowing the young man, attempting to emulate the parts of his personality that Mr. Stark found so appealing. All that seemed to do was irritate both of them and left Vision feeling... Lost. He turned his mind from Peter to Tony, mapping his movements, his actions, when he could. And Vision learned another emotion – a useful one.

Spite.

Perhaps not in the human way, but spite as best as he could experience it. He wasn't stupid even if he could be clueless. There was a strict schedule that Mr. Stark had laid out in order to avoid him. Vision realized he could use that to his advantage, to use the time that he was distracted to try and heal the ache that had settled in his chest. He began his research anew, alone once more, but with a focused purpose. He collected videos, chats, forum screencaps, anything he could find on the “fugitive” Avengers. It had started first with a handful of grainy videos of Wanda, then evolved to hunting down every scrap he could find of the old team. It eased him whenever he found something new, to see that they were all there, all alive and fighting for what they believed in. And, in a sick way he tried to ignore, it felt good to do something “behind” Mr. Stark's back.

His newest piece of information was just a still from a video camera that he'd enhanced. It was black and white originally, but he'd taken the time to adjust the colors. All he seemed to have now was time. Time to float about the guest rooms, observing the new shadows under Captain Roger's eyes, the frown on Sam's face, the sunken cheeks of the whole team, as if they hadn't been eating enough. Time to memorize every angle of light, every speck of dirt, every cut and bruise. Even time enough to-

He was literally thrown from his thoughts as he collided with... Mr. Stark? Vision clicked the tablet he'd been using off quickly, composing himself as fast he could. Inwardly he cursed at the way he carted the thing about, physical evidence that was difficult to get rid of, but soothing to hold. What was going on? What had made the reclusive scientist deviate from his self-imposed schedule? “Ah...Good...Evening?”

I wish to understand it. The more I do the less it controls me. One day, who knows, I may even control it.

I’m sorry.