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anonthenullifier · 4 years

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Post Hoc- Ch. 2

An “And They Were Research Collaborators!” AU

Chapter 2: Design Overview

Summary: Wanda and Vision map out how they will approach their collaboration.

AO3 Link

Note: IRB = Institutional Review Board. They review all studies that involve human participants to make sure they are ethical before collecting data.

Wanda stares at the empty pan behind the steamed tilapia sign and sighs, shuffling to the left and scooping what is supposedly a vegetable stew into her to-go box. This setback is par for her day, one filled with a series of disappointing if nots. Like if not for waking up late she would have packed her lunch and if not for Nat having a meeting and Sam working in the field she wouldn't be alone for lunch. Then, if not for needing to work on her grant, which has to be sent to the grant development office for revisions and suggestions by the end of the week, she’d have gone out to get some fresh air and better food.

Really she can go even further than today. If not for her first yearly review she wouldn’t be scrambling to put something together right now. And, if not for spending her first year on joining Reed’s team to apply for that multimillion dollar quantum loop grant he just secured, she would have already applied for her own funding. But she didn’t and that’s why even though she was applauded for her cooperative research with the other physicists, she was also informed, in very professional and not technically threatening words, that at such a highly regarded institution it wasn't good enough to always be a co-author or secondary investigator.

Wanda breathes in and tries to ignore the abyss of her future, which will be easier to do with a brownie as a treat for when her methodology is done.

Three feet to the left and she discovers that all that remains is the sign and a couple of crumbs. That seems fair. It’s not like she’ll even manage to get the methodology done today, her mind scattered in a hundred different directions on what exactly she wants to do with quantum chaos theory. The higher ups not only expect her to be a primary investigator with some significant external funding all her own, but they also demand novelty. She knows she can get there, but it takes time, which she doesn’t currently have.

Cutting her losses, she pays and heads off to her hermitage, to-go container clutched in her hands and head down, desperate not to get roped into lunch with any colleagues. Not that she doesn’t like them, but she reserves her mental and social energy for the required meetings. Plus, knowing her day, she’d probably get to hear all about one of their exciting and creative grants that happens to also scoop her idea and put her back to square one.

As she nears the exit, something in her periphery catches her eye and she turns subtly to investigate. The object of attention is the lanky form and blonde hair of a certain psychologist. Great . Things went a little uncomfortably silent after her suggestion at the bar the other week and she hasn’t seen or heard from Vision since. Yet there he is. There's a part of her that feels like she should go over and apologize, worried she may have fractured his sense of scientific integrity though Natasha claims he’s fine, simply busy with adjusting to a new job and not gifted at social interactions. The majority of her conscience isn’t particularly concerned with him right now, more than happy to give him space and lots of time to exist in a state of being busy or terrified of her, either reality meaning she has more time to work on her research. And yet she can’t seem to find the confidence to keep walking towards her office.

Is this how a particle feels when it goes to leap to a new position only to discover it’s entangled with another one thousands of miles away? This desperation to have free will while also feeling an inexplicable pull towards the movement of his sweater clad shoulders as he hunches forward?

Wanda caves to his quantum energy and heads towards the psychologist, hoping the interaction will free her to go back to work. “Mind if I join you?”

If she was surprised by their entanglement, he’s clearly uncomfortable by it, response a little delayed as he moves his attention from the book in his hand ( Seven Brief Lessons on Physics ) to her face. The slow blink of his eyes could be a startle or that look you give to the person whom you find annoying beyond words and who also still keeps talking to you. Then his ambiguity breaks into a friendly smile, the book waving at the chair across from him, “Not at all, please.”

“What are you,” as she sits down she catches a glimpse of his lunch, mind veering into a different universe, “No, they had peanut butter today!”

His brow wrinkles, smoothing out once he follows her eyes to the beautiful, plump, peanut butter frosted brownie on his tray. “Oh, yes. I usually do not have dessert, but Sean-“

Wanda assumes he’s talking about one of the other psychologists that Sam has also mentioned, “He’s the pheromone guy, right?”

Vision’s, “Correct,” is layered with so much disquiet she is tempted to switch topics and see if he agrees with Sam’s own passionate views of Sean. “But he told me to try one as it would, according to him, ‘change my life’.” It will and it explains why the tray was empty today, those brownies coveted at the institute, the only true unifying belief amongst all of them. “Would you like to split it?”

If not for the fact he was already in the process of cutting it in half, she would have been polite and refused, but you can’t put a brownie back together, right? ”Only if you don’t want all of it.”

“I don’t.”

Wanda accepts the napkin holding her prize and begins to realign their conversation to the reason she joined him, starting small in case he shuts down like he did at the bar. “That’s a good book.” She nods towards the black cover speckled with stardust. It’s the same book she sent to Pietro after he told her he didn’t know how to explain to his co-workers what his sister did.

“So far, yes.” Only now does she also see Vision’s notebook, margin to margin filled with impeccable handwriting and straight arrows forming various diagrams. “I attempted to read some of your more recent publications,” Wanda holds her breath, preparing for the typical condescension she receives from men outside her field whenever they speak of her work, “and though they are exquisite and elegant, I found my literacy in the area itself severely lacking to grasp the full meaning of your work.”

This isn’t usually how these things go, his eyes turned down instead of up and his voice absent that searing cockiness implying the disconnect in understanding is her fault. She doesn’t know how to handle genuineness, her defenses already built up for rebuttal. “You do know that you don’t have to be a physics expert since that’s my job, right?”

“I am more than aware,” the armor of goodwill might actually tighten around him, “I am simply curious about the field and wish to have some level of knowledge going into our collaboration.”

There’s no deceit evident in what he says. “Um, well, Rovelli is a good start then.”

Vision nods enthusiastically, “It is very accessible,” then his nod lessens into a discerning glance towards his notes, “though it is leaving me with more questions than answers.”

“Welcome to physics.” Unlike her last joke to him, this one he picks up on, a tiny, slightly boyish smile that seems to imply the same joke would work if you replaced physics with psychology. But Wanda isn’t here to talk about physics and doesn’t have the time to likely answer the questions in his notebook, so she moves them along. “Speaking of our collaboration, any thoughts?”

His face and shoulders drop, eyes staring at his spoon stirring the opaque broth in the bowl, his entire demeanor seeming less like the friendly man from moments before and more like a marionette with a lazy operator, the spoon stirring and stirring. Wanda begins picking at the half brownie, waiting for him to reach a thought. She decides that five minutes of this soul crushing silence will be her breaking point to call off the original idea and go with something less ridiculous. Vision only makes it thirty seconds. “I believe,” the words pull his face back up, their eyes meeting, “if we can overcome the ethical and logistical hurdles then it is plausible.”

That’s better than she anticipated. “Okay,” Wanda pushes her lunch to the side, arms coming to cross on the table while she leans forward and settles in, “what are the hurdles?”

“Well, first of all with such a paradigm we would not be able to get informed consent.”

Somehow they’ve already moved from an idea at a bar to a paradigm. “Why not? What’s the paradigm?”

Vision turns back five or so pages in his notebook and then slides it across the table. On the paper she sees several boxes connected with arrows, labeled with numbers that are then explained in the legend at the bottom. It’s gorgeous, aesthetically speaking. “If we truly want to examine gift giving of billionaires,” the idea still tastes bitter in his mouth, the entirety of his presence recoiling at merely saying it, “we have to set up a realistic fake wedding, likely through a wedding website.” He motions for her to turn the page, revealing a sketch of said website. “This site will be sent with the invitation and the RSVP would be here, so we can track it.”

For a man so on edge with the idea, he has it fairly well planned. “And if we get informed consent then…”

“Then we will have told them what we are studying and they will know it is a sham wedding, thus reducing the likelihood of realistic participation.”

Which makes sense. “The issue is?”

“Not receiving informed consent typically requires a full board review by the IRB.”

Wanda has heard Sam complain about the IRB, particularly about the wait time for approval and the, as he calls it, idiotically narrow view of the federal regulations, so she has a small inkling of the horror in Vision’s voice at what sounds like an even more in depth review by the board. “Which we don’t want,” he nods, affirming her read of him, “does it count if we tell them afterwards what happened?”

A toothy grin breaks across his face, “Precisely my thoughts,” he motions for her to turn the page again, revealing a bulleted list of thoughts. “If we have consent afterwards, then we may be able to get around it. Of course we also have to consider how to return any gifts to them.”

“They’re billionaires, not like they’ll miss it.”

This is the wrong thing to say, the joy of empiricism dropping from his face, the same way it did the other night. “Ethically speaking, it would go against the principle of Justice in the Belmont Report.”

“Okay,” whatever this report is, it is clearly near and dear to his heart, “so when we are done we send them all a consent form asking if we can use their data and what they want done with their gift?”

He nods along with his, “Correct. Perhaps we provide different options like returning it or donating it to a specific charity.”

That seems like a reasonable suggestion. “What else?”

Vision glances at his wrist, prompting Wanda to find a clock on the wall and experience the always wonderful chest tightening of anxiety when a day is already half over and she’s gotten nothing done. “I am afraid I need to go back to my lab,” a statement that should elicit relief but she’s a little sad, for some reason, likely because this was an okay distraction from the rest of her bad day.

“Why don’t you send me the list of topics and we can meet up in a few days once my grant is done?”

“Of course.”

Vision gathers up his reading materials and slides them into a brown leather bag. The next words out of her mouth are a surprise to both of them, “Oh and if you have any questions from Rovelli, feel free to email me.”

This garners an appreciative curve on his lips and a slight downturn of his eyes as he takes in the offer. “I will, thank you.” He stands and it is still a disorienting and mesmerizing sight to behold. “Good luck with your grant.”

“Thanks.”

By the time Wanda is back to her lab and settled in at her computer, lunch container open and partially eaten brownie placed reverently out of reach, she already has an email from Vision with the subject line Logistical and Ethical Issues...and Some Questions . She opens the email and slides it over to her left monitor with the intention of reading over it whenever she needs a break.

“The place looks nice!” Natasha’s voice reaches him over the soft jazz streaming out of his computer, her eyes roaming over the newest furnishings of his lab as she walks into the room. “Nice you finally have a place for people to sit.”

“It is.” And she uses it, plopping into the chair several feet away from him. Even though he was aware of the sparsity of his furniture (apparently the only standard equipment for their lab spaces are a desk, a chair, and a table), he hadn’t actually cared until his meeting with Wanda and the abject horror he felt at her having to sit on his table. “I think I need to get a few more filing cabinets, but otherwise it is suitable.”

“Probably some wall art too, it’s a little drab.”

“I like it that way.”

Natasha smirks, the same way she does anytime they come to a difference of opinions. “I know, you’re no fun.” A statement that, if actually true, would run counter to their years long friendship. “Want to be fun and get some dinner?”

A tempting offer if he didn’t have so much to finish before his meeting with Sociology tomorrow. “I can’t.” There is no reason to completely forego the offer, and he always finds a delay of gratification necessary for him to be productive. If he wants to finish his work tonight, he needs to lay a promise of reward. “I could meet for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Fine.” Natasha gracefully stands from the chair, slinging her laptop bag across her chest as if she is leaving. Only she doesn’t move, “What do you think of Wanda?” A discerning and dangerous flicker moves across her face as she waits for him to answer.

“She seems pleasant to work with so far.”

The answer is not enough based on the disbelief etched into every inch of Natasha’s stance. “That’s it, just pleasant?”

“We have only actually spoken face-to-face four times, two of them very brief.”

This still does not sate Natasha’s curiosity, nor does it reveal to him why it seems to matter so much. There’s more she wants to say, her knuckles growing white the tighter she grips the strap of her bag. And then her fingers loosen, as does her face, an amiable yet empty smile flashed in his direction. “I’ll see you in the morning. Our usual?”

“Yes.”

“Night.”

“Goodnight.” He watches her leave before turning back to his computer, the meeting agenda half-finished and staring at him on the screen. It is likely, he imagines from past experience, that Natasha’s aim is simply to help him be more sociable, something that a person like Natasha deems necessary in life. Not that she is dependent upon people (the opposite, in fact), merely that to her it is an essential part of joy. He agrees, to an extent, but also finds solitude freeing and required, a classic introvert. Not that personality factors determine everything in life, he would never give that branch of psychology so much credit.

A two note chime alerts him to a new email, likely a memo about safety goggles in the chemistry labs being mandatory for all visitors after what Natasha told him happened the other day. Vision clicks over to his inbox and is pleasantly surprised to see the sender is MaximoffW .

He isn’t sure why he is pleasantly surprised. As he told Natasha, other than some meetings, he has not actually gotten to know his collaborator. His affective response is likely due to mere exposure given the string of emails they have sent over the last couple of days and also that he seems to notice her more and more around the institute, mainly getting an afternoon tea or at the vending machines in the main lounge. Which itself is simply the Baader-Meinhoff phenomenon. Now that he knows who Wanda is, he actually recognizes her, thus he believes he is seeing her more, and, due to mere exposure, the more he sees her the more positively he responds to her presence. It is simple psychology, nothing more.

Inside the email is a brief response to his last question - This will do a better job than me at explaining it and then there is a link to a video on the double slit experiment, the most recent line of inquiry they’ve been discussing in terms of the behavior of matter. He watches the video three times, jotting key points and additional questions each time in the section of his notebook he has now dedicated to learning physics. After the third time, he contemplates what to write back. At first it’s That was very insightful! but he deletes it, the cursor blinking judgmentally at him as he tries to think of something more intelligent than that. This helped greatly in understanding what you were saying about the lasers This one he deletes before finishing, not wanting to imply her explanations have not been helpful. They have been, it is just a large and complicated field. Vision watches the video one more time and changes his tactic to witty, or so he hopes. If someone invents a shrink ray, would we then be able to test the diffraction of humans? That seems ridiculous, though she has shown a predilection towards such things. Ultimately he combines them all together and hits send.

Barely two minutes into working, the tell-tale chime draws him back to his email. Pretty sure that’s what Pym (my next door labmate) is actually working on. Though he wants to start by shrinking ants .

Vision chuckles, intrigued and confounded by the entirety of physics. It is well-known in psychology and other social sciences, that there is not a unifying theory that explains everything. Yet he always had the notion that this is not true with the physical sciences, or at least, they wish for it not to be true. Wanda concurred with this while answering his question about the incompatibility of Newtonian physics and quantum mechanics. Thus it seems there might be multiple theories that might explain phenomena and instead of embracing them all, factions have arisen. Classical ingroup favoritism and outgroup derogation.

Another chime comes from his computer, still from Wanda but this time unrelated to physics. Are you still at work?

I am .

Almost a minute passes, all spent with his eyes on his inbox. Me too. 😕 Any interest in ordering pizza and talking about our study? I could use a break from this grant.

Vision stares at the still unfinished agenda and begins to type out a polite decline, until his stomach grumbles. Pizza would not be objectionable and technically he would still be productive, just for another project, plus he can finish the agenda after their meeting. He can’t imagine Wanda will want to be at work much longer.

I would be amenable to a dinner meeting. We can meet in your lab since we met in my last time. He almost hits send and then flashes back to the numerous times he has tried to order food for people without knowing their preferences, so he adds in If it is possible, I prefer no meat on my pizza.

His notebook and computer are already packed when his phone vibrates, Wanda’s Head on over showing up on the lock screen.

The journey is fairly painless with the hallways mostly empty, allowing him to consult the various directional signs without people sending him judgmental stares. Even if he has gone to this wing on a couple of occasions to meet with Natasha, the entire Marvel complex is maze-like, stairways not always located in the most sensible places and not all of the elevators going to all of the floors. Eventually, however, he gets to the physic’s floor (or so the sign states) and all he has to do is peek in each window until he sees Wanda inside a room erasing writing from one of her boards.

Despite the fact she is expecting him, Vision still knocks, taking her wave to mean he can enter.

When Vision interviewed for the position at the Marvel Institute, he was only shown lab spaces like this one, spacious and fully furnished, a far cry from his somewhat cramped space. There are doors at the back that ostensibly lead to wherever Wanda goes to actually conduct her studies and at the right side of the room is a series of three large white boards. “This is an impressive set-up.”

Pride emanates brightly when she turns to him, arms waving out to the side like a game show model emphasizing the awe-inspiring set-up. “What would Freud say about your lab envy?”

It was only a matter of time until this type of joke was used. He allows every person one pass where he politely laughs at it while also correcting the comment, “Given the majority of Freud's theories are not scientifically based and do not hold up to empirical scrutiny, he likely would not have anything substantial to say.”

“Ouch,” perhaps it was too harsh, though a trace of her smile still clings to her face, “so Freud is off limits?”

“I, um, yes, sorry, it is--”

Wanda shrugs, turning to place the eraser on the ledge of the whiteboard, “I get it, I’m tired of hearing people quote Newton’s laws at me as a way to win an argument when Newton doesn’t even apply.” Has he done this? The specificity of it forces him to go back through every email they have sent and conversation they’ve had. “That wasn’t about you.”

“Oh, good.” He places his bag on one of the many chairs around a table, pulling out his laptop and starting it up before grabbing his notebook as well. “I will endeavor to do no such thing.”

“Thanks.” Wanda picks up a marker and begins jotting down the list of items they still need to discuss, some of them followed by a check mark while others have a star. “So the ones with the check marks,” he looks up to follow her explanation, the uncapped marker pointing at the board as she talks, “mean I think I have a solution for them. The stars are things we still need to decide.”

Over half the list has check marks and he finds himself filled with a buzzing curiosity as to what she determined to do with them. “Where do you want to start?”

“Let’s start fun.” All of it is fun to him, the prospect of chiseling out the most appropriate methodology the most enjoyable part of research. A close second is running the statistics, but they still have a ways to go before then. “I did a mock-up of a wedding website last night, let me,” she taps away on her phone and soon after he receives a link. Clicking it opens a dark gray background with golden orbs clustered around the outside of a large picture that currently is a stock photo of a happy couple with the copyright information stamped onto it. “Obviously we have to change the pictures.”

“Yes.” And all of the details, each field for venue, date, time, wedding party, and registry left either blank or with TBD written in. There is an RSVP page and a photo page, both empty. “How customizable is this?”

“There are a lot of options.” She bends closer to her phone, swiping the screen a few times. “Yeah you can customize which pages show up.”

Vision clicks through it, most of his mind thinking through the experimental design he is leaning towards and part of his mind trying to figure out why this website seems so familiar. “Is there a way to customize the order in which they see the RSVP and the registry?”

“Um…” Wanda slides her phone back into her sweatshirt and moves to her desktop, the furious clicking and typing of marginal concern, enough that he stands and approaches her work station, watching her move through the website. “I think so, what did you have in mind?”

Vision grabs a stray chair and brings it over, always feeling overbearing and awkward when he stands while someone else is sitting. “Based on your example of destructive and constructive interference, I was thinking we might want to stick with a fairly basic study on order and framing effects that way we can test classical probability against quantum probability with a phenomenon found in both our fields. Perhaps half of our participants receive a website that asks for the RSVP before showing the registry and the other half receive a website that asks for the RSVP only after they have seen the registry information.”

This is new information to share and so he gives her time to digest it, her head subtly nodding as she processes it all. “I like that idea, not sure it’s possible with this particular website though,” she hesitates, clicking through the various options on the main portal, “if we get desperate we could always talk to computer science about customizing the code.”

“Why does that only have to be from desperation?”

Now she sits back and stares at him, a harrowing quality forming in her eyes about what must be some past transgressions or infighting with that department. “Because if you want to talk to anyone there, you have to talk to Victor von Doom first.”

Oh yes, he had somehow already forgotten the other Victor was their chair. “Is he really that bad?”

Wanda nods, “He just makes me feel really uncomfortable.”

“I can be the one that speaks to him.”

A contemplative moment passes before she denies what he thought was a reasonable suggestion. “He’ll just tell you no. But,” she inhales deeply, “if it comes to that, you can come with me.” The next part he thinks is an aside, at least he cannot tell what it has to do with getting help. “I’m like 99% sure he has to be a supervillain somewhere in the multiverse.”

The multiverse is something he is vaguely aware of, primarily from reading and watching science fiction. “Why do you say that?”

“Listen--” a loud rock anthem comes from her pocket and she answers it immediately, face a little sheepish at the interruption, “Okay, yeah, be right down.” Wanda hangs up and stands, hands diving into her sweatshirt pockets. “Pizza’s here, I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

Vision scoots his chair closer to the desk and grabs the mouse, navigating through the wedding website and playing with the placement of everything. It seems it might be hard to create exactly what he has in mind, though it is possible either a different service or a professional could help them. Otherwise it seems like it should work, the privacy settings making it so they can keep it visible only to those who have the link and they can require all RSVPs and gifts to come through this website, both things that had concerned him with planning the potential for this study.

Which actually is concerning, a pit growing in his stomach the more feasible this all seems. Technically they can do this ethically. Not only did he spend the afternoon re-reading the federal guidelines on ethical research with humans but he also emailed with the chair of Marvel’s IRB to determine if post-participation consent would keep them to an expedited protocol. Though the chair was unwilling to provide any answer with 100% certainty, she seemed optimistic. Plus if they allow the participants to take the gifts back or if they donate them to a known charity and provide receipts, there is nothing ethically or legally wrong. It’s in the moral side that he still is waging a battle. There is just something about the large-scale deception that bothers him. This is despite the fact that deception is often a part of his research, but rarely ever to the extent of fake websites and actual money being exchanged, thus leaving him in a strong state of dissonance. Vision knows, as is usually the case with cognitive dissonance, it is his attitude that will change, not the behavior, and that is precisely what is happening. The more he thinks about the study, the more he communicates with Wanda, the more compartmentalized his thinking becomes. Usually it is in poor taste to use so much deception, but in this instant, it’s fine. He also wonders if there is a degree of moral disengagement going on, if this will irreparably lower his ethical standards and open him up to a world of many more deceptive studies to this degree.

“Hope you’re hungry.” The words shatter his internal debate, Wanda’s hands gripping an enormous pizza box. Clearly his surprise is palpable, a half-smile going along with her showing him the box, “They only have one size.”

Vision joins her at the higher table, taking a slice onto the paper towel she offers and then he follows her to two armchairs that face the whiteboards. “I have found that New Yorkers are very invested in abnormally large pizzas.” It’s why they have to fold the slices in order to eat it with any dignity. His first week here Natasha chastised him for wanting to use a fork and knife, telling him it would not go well for his credibility in the city if he did it.

“They really are, I love it. So the website will work,” her mind has already moved from the pizza, focusing on the board. “Sounds like you have an idea of what you want to do theoretically,” one of the items that had a star, “have you considered also measuring and accounting for demographics or maybe we need to manipulate the fake bride and groom...or groom and groom...or bride and bride?”

All things he has considered. “I truly like the idea of testing the gift giving based on demographics both of the billionaires and the couple…”

“But.”

“But there are only six hundred and twenty one billionaires in the US.”

Wanda lowers her pizza to stare at him, “That’s way more than I thought there’d be. That’s a lot.”

“It is.”

A hand comes up to cover her mouth as she speaks, not wanting him to see the bite she took, “But…”

Vision has drawn out several factorial designs in his notebook, always loving the complexity of them and their ability to more thoroughly test theories. “When doing community based research, you should plan for a low response rate, like twenty-five percent,” he places his pizza on a table and goes to the board, uncapping a blue marker, “that would leave us with one hundred and fifty six likely participants. This assumes these are the only ones that look at the website.”

“Do you know if we can track who goes to the site?”

A very pertinent piece of information he does not have the expertise to answer, “I believe that is something we would need to discuss with Computer Science,” her nose crinkles at the suggestion. “When you do a factorial design, so let’s say we did a 2 - framing,” he writes the factors as RSVP first or RSVP second , “by 3 - couple composition,” and then he writes the three options Wanda had provided before, “in order to have sufficient power to get effects we would need roughly one hundred and fifty usable participants.”

“Then we have enough.”

This is where he keeps getting stuck, because technically, yes, they would be fine but he highly doubts the response rate of billionaires is anywhere close to the response rates of more normal incomed individuals. “I worry we will get closer to a 15% response, though I am happy to consider including such a manipulation.” Wanda seems to accept his concerns and not push it, even if her face says she wants to come back to it later. “I do think we can still code and analyze for demographic information of those who respond as it will likely influence their gift giving.”

“Good.” It is said with finality, seeming to cement their tenuous design. “With quantum probability I want to have as many factors as possible to build the best model.”

Something he assumed would be the case, and something that he also likes to have even with his classical probability. The next question he prefaces with ignorance, “I am not certain how research in physics works,” a preface she lifts an eyebrow towards, on edge and ready to jump at whatever misinformation he might share, “but do you need to make your hypotheses a prior for the model?”

The jump doesn’t happen, simply a silent bite of pizza and an extended silence. “I’ll make some a priori, but I need to really look at all the possible variables we might code for first, which will have to wait until my grant is in on Friday.” Vision nods, mentally leaving that spot blank in the IRB so he does not forget to insert it. “What are you hypothesizing?”

“I am not sure we should share that information…” at least he had assumed they would not so that he does not influence her own hypothesizing or creation of the computational model. “What if my hypothesis influences yours?”

He watches her lips purse and left leg swing up and over the right one, a smugness and challenge in her stare that activates his sympathetic system, the marker passing back and forth between his hands as he waits for her to speak. “Keep your secrets then.”

Instantly his body calms, the threat gone and replaced by a fluttering amusement. “The last major issue,” there are a lot of minor ones they will need to iron out after her grant has been submitted and before the IRB is turned in, “who will be the bride and groom for the website?”

Wanda stands from her chair, hands wiping against her skirt, “Make sure to eat.”

“Oh, yes.” He grabs his pizza and takes a bite on his way to join her back at the computer, head cocking to the side as she searches for “attractive couples” and scrolls through the pictures. “I do not think we can do that.”

The scrolling stops her “Why not,” said in a way that implies she is aware why not but wants confirmation.

“What if they do a reverse image search?” The search immediately stops and she closes the page, putting them back to the blank wedding site and its all too familiar out of focus stars against a dark gray sky. “Did you base this on the cover of Rovelli’s book?”

She sits up straighter, shooting him a wink and a sly smirk, “Took you long enough to recognize it, thought it would be fun little Easter egg.”

“I like it.”

A companionable and studious silence descends, the couple in the stock photo on the website smiling and taunting him with the fact they can’t actually use the picture. He has thought a lot about what to use, knowing that every single wedding website has pictures and without pictures they would potentially be adding a design confound to their study. Perhaps they should have one site without a photo and one with, a possibility he files away for later. ��Can we pay some people to come in and take pictures for us?”

Vision has thought of this as well. “We could, though I imagine we will need more than a couple of pictures and I, personally,” he hates to admit this as he believes it makes him sound greedy or overly self-important, “do not wish to use my start-up funds for this since I have already allocated them to other projects.”

“That’s fair,” there is no apparent disgust at his greed, far more prevalent is understanding, “I don’t really have excess funds either to throw at this.” Again they descend into thoughtful quiet, broken again by Wanda. “Do you have any research assistants?” Vision shakes his head, at some point he will, but he has been informed that he needs a functioning lab before he can hire any additional help. “We could ask Sam-”

“No, I do not feel right asking for free labor from Sam’s assistants.” Particularly after all of the odd tasks Vision’s own advisor required of him during graduate school. He vowed he would never put anyone through such hoops.

Wanda gets up to retrieve another slice, folding it expertly and dangling it into her mouth. It’s at this point that they make eye contact and he almost breaks it, except the way she is staring at him is like one would at a museum, when you see a painting from far away and squint to determine if it is worth leaving your current path or waiting until you mosey on over to that end. Wanda lowers the pizza and tentatively walks towards him. “You know we probably want two people that are reasonably attractive.”

Vision agrees, having already planned a small pilot test for the attractiveness of the photos. “Correct.”

“And we don’t have the money to pay them.”

“Yes, we have already covered that.” Now it feels like being hunted by a shark, the same feeling he had after she suggested this study.

Wanda sits back down, angling her chair towards him. “Why don’t we do it then?”

“Well, I-” though his mind rages against the idea with a big, flashing neon NO, logic betrays him, mouth drying as his useless tongue is unable to articulate any sound reasons against it. To be truthful, Wanda is attractive and he is not wholly unattractive. Other than his height, he is fairly nondescript from any other white male of his age. There has to be a catch, there has to be some reason this shouldn’t work. “If they search for our images they will be sent to the Marvel Institute’s website and immediately realize our wedding is suspicious.”

Wanda’s eyes narrow, not buying the counterargument. “Well we’ll use different names and we could have a small disguise. Like dye our hair,” something he is not willing to do and nonverbally conveys. “I can dye my hair, always wanted to be a red-head, and you can, I don’t know, wear glasses.”

“That is preposterous.”

The chatter of the keyboard is his only response, her body bending towards the computer until she pulls up a picture and motions towards it, “Works for Superman.”

It does and, if he remembers correctly, there was a recent study on the effectiveness of disguises that found, as long as the person did not know the individual in the picture, simple disguises like facial hair, altered hair color or style, and yes, a change like glasses effectively made people assume two pictures were different individuals. Empirically and logistically speaking, it is likely their best option.

“It’ll work.” Wanda’s enthusiasm only seems to grow with each second while his own plummets. “We could even go on fake dates and get a lot of pictures and we won’t have to be paid for it.”

Vision can feel his dissonance being resolved the longer he sits in silence, his lack of verbally declining the option a clear sign he must be, at some level, accepting of it. “It would allow us more control over everything.”

“It would.”

Appetite gone, Vision stares at his pizza, trying to see if there is any reason not to do it. “Would that be uncomfortable, to take the pictures?”

The unperturbed air from Wanda already answers it, but she adds in an equally casual shrug, “It’s not like we’ll be doing anything more than having to stand close to each other, I mean, we’re practically touching now.” Vision looks down and sees the barely inch of space between their shins and immediately scoots backwards a hair to create a more professional distance. “I don’t mind.” In another circumstance, he would be flattered by the implicit trust she has to even offer this, a clear sign, he thinks, that she does not view him as threatening. Would she be offering this if the other Victor was her collaborator? “But if you aren’t comfortable with it, we’ll find another solution.”

Vision finally looks at her, studying the utter lack of hesitancy on her face and the gentle concern in her eyes about his own feelings on the matter. Social trust and connection is something he has difficulty with in his own life. Logic can help him with this decision. Wanda is trusted by Natasha, a person with even greater social trust issues than himself, and if Natasha trusts her and Wanda is as sincere as she seems now, it should not be an issue. “I suppose it can’t hurt to try it.”

#scarlet vision #wanda maximoff #vision #alternateuniversescarletvision #the vision #mcu #fanfic #mine

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