#cannot wait to see the cephalopods go through the horrors once more

[fogwarden]

[anonthenullifier]

Of Cephalopods and Pistol Shrimp

Summary: Vision helps Wanda figure out a new way to harness her powers by using techniques from the ocean.

AO3 link

Based on a fic suggestion from @thissweetmoment about how Wanda goes from her looser powers in Age of Ultron to the tight, electric spheres in Civil War. Sorry this took me so damn long to actually write. I hope you enjoy!

I hope everyone else enjoys this as well!

Existence is a fascinating ordeal.  Technically the number of experiences and sensations are finite, yet each day Vision encounters something new. Sometimes it is a smell, such as Rhodes’ burnt toast or the antiseptic, lemony sting of the new cleaning solution the custodial staff recently switched to. Other days it is a sound, like the way pages whisper when Sam falls asleep on the couch, his magazine tumbling to the floor or the authoritative click of Natasha’s shoes. Tactile sensations are amongst his favorite, entire nights spent running the pads of his fingers over the bumps in the imperfect paint on his bedroom wall, dipping into the crevices of the grains in the kitchen table, analyzing the difference between the tiles of the backsplash and the grout, or relishing the effervescent embrace when he flies into the clouds. Taste is a curiosity but not enough to waste food.  Even when he experiences the same stimuli numerous times, it is somehow never the same and that is what makes it so enthralling. 

His eyes do not waver from the reinforced plexiglass in front of him, arms crossed over his chest in mimicry of Sam and Steve’s shared stance (apparently, this is a sign of contemplation), as they complete the latest test devised by Stark to map the abilities of the new Avengers. They all watch as Wanda sends furious and untamed tendrils out, the scarlet matter beginning as a cohesive unit before spasming into myriad uneven pathways. It’s reminiscent of a documentary he watched the other night on cephalopods, the red clouds surrounding Wanda shimmering and undulating much like the frenzied dance of the ink as the animal fled danger. The tactic is mesmerizing, always new, the patterns sporadic and unique, much like snowflakes, yet just as with snowflakes, it is only effective in large quantities, which tires Wanda out.   

“She’s terrifying.” 

Steve grunts noncommittally at Sam’s awed comment and Vision finds himself confused at the terminology. Terror is what horror movies are meant to evoke, the white knuckles of Wanda’s hand as she absentmindedly grips his bicep during a team movie night, or the wide-eyed, shaking stance of a small child they find in amongst the ruins on a mission. There is nothing about this display that elicits said reaction. Perhaps their adversaries would feel some terror from this, but teammates should not. “I think it is calming.”  

The two men turn and stare at him, the same furrowed brows and slight side-eye occurs now that happens any time Vision attempts to make an observation counter to what has been stated. “It’s something, for sure.” Steve remains neutral, unaffected by the training as he clicks the intercom switch, “I think we’re good for now, Wanda.”  

Wanda throws a tired thumbs up in their direction and exits out the side door, arriving in the communication center minutes later, her breath light and rapid, muscles shaking slightly as she huddles in close to watch the tape of her performance. It is impolite to stare, or so he has been informed, and yet Vision cannot stop himself from watching Wanda watch her own tape, curious to see if there are any signs of terror in her stance. “It seems a bit sloppy.” Her comment is factual but tinged with a negative emotion that is not terror, per se, perhaps more like the time Wanda stepped in the aftermath of a food fight that happened at the team’s fourth of July barbecue. Disgust, yes, that’s it, not terror.  

“It could be tightened up,” Steve agrees with her observation, though he does not seem upset, “we really need to find a way to channel it all into, I don’t know,” a wary hand rubs the back of Steve’s neck, his day longer than their own, having to watch and critique each teammate, “concentrate it somehow.”  

Wanda nods, forehead wrinkling at the comment while her lips purse in concentration, “Do you have any recommendations?”  

A sigh answers her, the same one Steve used when Vision asked him if there were any known exercises to help him with his phasing. “I need to think on it for a bit.”

“Okay.”  

“Sam,” the conversation moves on as Steve turns to the last of the team to go into the simulator, “you’re up.” 

Sam grins, snapping on his goggles with an, “Alright!”  

Her session done, Wanda leaves the room and Vision waits exactly five minutes before excusing himself for the evening. 

  It’s while he’s watching another ocean documentary that Vision realizes he may be able to help Wanda. Unfortunately, this occurs at 4:15am and for once, no one else in the compound seems to have insomnia. To pass the time, he sets himself up in the common room lounge and drafts plans for different exercises, tests some of them himself with the Mindstone, though he recognizes the confound in his attempts to extrapolate his own power set to hers. It’s at 5:30am when Steve and Sam come in with a friendly, “Morning, Vision.” 

“Good morning, Captain Rogers, Mr. Wilson.”  

Sam always gets this smirk when Vision addresses him, a small shake of his head and sometimes a roll of his eyes. “Dude, just Steve and Sam.”  

This has been told to him before, yet it seems very impersonal given their longer duration in heroics. “My apologies.” 

“We’re going out for a run, wanna join?”  

Usually Vision is not in the common room at this time, mainly for this reason. He is aware the offer is out of politeness when it comes from Sam (it is a command when it is from Steve), which means he can technically say no, though his stomach always seems to rotate uncomfortably when he turns them down. But he doesn’t want to get distracted and miss out on Wanda. He also, if he is being honest, is not particularly fond of running, flight a far more invigorating experience. “No thank you, I am attempting to draw up potential exercises for Miss M- for Wanda to better examine her powers.” 

Steve nods in approval, “Good, I think that’s a great idea, you two can probably learn a lot from each other.” 

“Yes,” Vision’s stomach evens out, no longer churning at dismissing their request, “I do believe that is true.”  

“Alright, well, have fun.” Sam winks at him, taking a bite of his granola bar as he and Steve leave the common space.  

It’s approximately forty-three minutes later that Wanda enters, her hair thrown up in a ponytail and still adorning her pajamas with a baggy sweatshirt. She shuffles towards the kitchen, her eyes leaving the ground once to make sure she is heading in the right direction.  “Good morning, Wanda.” He seems to surprise her, her hands clutching the sweatshirt tighter as her face swings in the direction of his voice.  

It takes several agonizing seconds for her to respond with an un-emotive, “Morning.”  

“Did you sleep well?” 

Wanda shrugs and it conveys more than enough information, her sleep patterns erratic and unhealthy, though they are getting better. This seems to end their conversation, her feet taking her closer to the kitchen. Vision stands, fingers twisted as he considers his next step, but now that he’s standing, it would be awkward to sit back down, he thinks, so he phases through the couch and follows her to the kitchen, coming to stand next to the stools at the island while she busies herself making her tea. “I had an idea last night,” Wanda turns towards him, face expectant, “I, um, well I believe I had an epiphany on how best to harness your powers,” her stare doesn’t change, despite the fact he feels like it should be blossoming with the excitement, just as his did when he had the revelation, “the way Captain Rogers suggested, by concentrating it.”  

Her response is slow, the two-syllable, “Okay,” lasting long enough that it feels like eight. 

“I was watching a very fascinating documentary last night about cavitation and pistol shrimp—” 

“Am I going to need some coffee for this?” 

Vision pauses, taken aback by the change in her preference and why she is inquiring of him, “I believe you should drink whatever sounds most appealing to you.” 

This garners a laugh, though he isn’t sure why, but it is a pleasant experience, his own mouth lifting in response to her apparent joy at his comment. “You’re going to have simplify this for me.”  

Which is fair. “Cavitation is a phenomenon in which cavities are formed due to rapid changes in pressure and this change in pressure, if it becomes too great, the cavity can collapse into a shockwave.” 

“More simple.” 

Vision follows her as she fills her cup with tea, drizzling honey in while she stirs and then tossing in a pinch of sugar for good measure. No one else on the team ever attempts to understand him this way, to demand he work on his communication, and so he is never offended when she asks him to rephrase or simplify. “When you use your powers now, they are free-flowing, like,” the simile of his revelation may be apt to use now, “a cephalopod…” Wanda glances up at him as she blows gently on the tea, and wordlessly she informs him to keep simplifying, “a squid or an octopus, when it is alarmed, it sends out ink into the water. This method is particularly useful for obfuscating,” another glance and he runs through a thesaurus online, “confusing people, a distraction–” 

A shimmering cloud engulfs her hand, wispy and tumultuous with the rotation of her wrist, “Are you forgetting how my squid powers took you down in training last week.” 

“I am not, it was an impressive display of power,” she glances down at her tea though it is not enough to fully mask the upward curve of her mouth, “but you would have been victorious even faster had you acted more like a pistol shrimp.” 

“Which would be?” 

“Oh, um,” this speech went smoother when he rehearsed it earlier in the morning, though his conversational skills are always more confident when he is alone and practicing than when her green eyes are locking onto him, flecked with an amusement that sends electric shocks down his spine, “to gather your powers into a bundle of unequal pressure and then let it loose.” If the quirk of her eyebrow is any indication, this is still not as illuminating as he hoped. “I can show you a video?”

Wanda waves her hand at the tablet on the counter and she takes the seat next to his as he searches for a good example. Together they watch a five minute clip of a pistol shrimp, first at actual speed which makes it look like the shrimp is punching the air, but then the scientists present a slowed down version and together they watch as a small air bubble forms in the middle of the open pincher. “This is pretty cool.” 

A warmth, similar to his first time winning one of the training challenges, circles his chest, “It is.”  

Suddenly the shrimp closes its pincher and the bubble collapses, sending a shockwave through the water, stirring the rocks at the bottom of the tank and immobilizing the smaller crustacean in the tank. When the video ends, Wanda lifts her hand, powers collapsing from their usual tempest into a centralizing orb. “So, you’re saying something like this could be more effective?” 

“Assuming your powers can be driven by cavitation, yes, with enough pressure you may be able to more efficiently remove threats.”  

She studies the orb undulating in her palm, head cocked to the side, allowing the red to reflect off her eyes, and Vision is briefly mesmerized by it, until she extinguishes the orb, jolting him back to the present. “Worth a shot. I assume you already have exercises planned?” 

Others on the team have said similar statements, theirs laced with exhaustion and aggravation, at times, Wanda’s is neither of those, the corners of her eyes pinching as the right side of her mouth tips up. “I do, yes. Shall we reconvene in the training gym in approximately fifteen minutes?” 

“Sounds good.” 

  When they meet again, he has restructured his molecules into his uniform, feeling like his new staple of slacks and a sweater do not belong in such a space. Wanda is not in her uniform, but is wearing the same outfit she dons when Steve forces her on the morning run three days a week. “Okay,” Wanda’s tightens her ponytail as she talks, “so how are we doing this?” 

“I believe we should start simple, so I have set up a number of targets ranging in weight and size,” he directs her towards a table containing several sizes of soup cans, dumbbells, and kettlebells. “I have downloaded a relatively novel program that will allow me to analyze both the broadband noise and subharmonics created before you unleash your powers.” 

Wanda’s lips tighten in time with her hesitant nod, “I’m guessing that’s how you tell the, um, power of the attack?” 

It is close to what he is doing, if she replaces power with pressure. “Precisely.” A broad, toothy smile parts her lips and he mimics it, always enjoying these small moments of glee she shares with him. “Would you like to try?” 

“Yep.” Wanda spreads her feet out so her stance is a touch wider than her shoulders, her right foot approximately an inch closer to the display than her left. Slowly her powers pool around her hand and even more slowly she draws them together into an orb. He expects her to release it, but she doesn’t, instead her fingers continue to wave, weaving her powers into a bigger orb that spins faster and faster. 

He checks the measurements streaming through his mind and frowns, the display reporting an error. It is only at the subtle dip of her hand that he figures out the problem, “Wanda wai—” she doesn’t hear him soon enough and she flicks her wrist, the orb soaring through the air and exploding upon contact with a can of tomato soup that never stood a chance. The shockwave of the hit throws the table across the gym, the viscous soup coating the floor looking more like blood than lunch and several new holes have been created in the wall from the weights. Vision rushes to Wanda’s side, “Are you okay?” 

Shock pulls her jaw down, eyes wide and hands clasped into fists at her thighs. “That was fucking awesome.” 

“I—” he follows her gaze to the destruction, not certain awesome is the best term, it was remarkable, for sure, but he’s going to have to explain how this happened to Natasha and Steve and Tony, a meeting he is not thrilled about. His worry is eradicated when she laughs because it’s the freest sound he’s ever heard from her, effervescent and untamed, her body shaking so much she leans against his shoulder for support. “It was amazing.” 

“There’s soup everywhere!” 

“Yes,” her reaction is infectious, his own lungs beginning to spasm as light huffs intersperse his response, “that was an oversight on my behalf.” 

“At least it you didn't grab something like corn.” 

The image of hundreds of kernels littering the ground is a much worse reality. “This is true.” 

Wanda straightens her spine, removing her touch from him, and turns with a smile that might almost be described as wicked. “Can we do it again?” 

A survey of the damage forces him to reassess his strategy. “Yes, though I believe we need to be more methodical.” 

Together they pick up the table, Vision arranging the weights on it while Wanda uses her powers and a mop to remove the soup from the ground. “So, what’s the plan?” 

“I believe we should experiment with how much pressure you build up to determine the amount needed to effectively deal with the target without destroying it.” 

For the next hour they do just that, Vision reading the indices and informing Wanda when to release her orb. They start small, and work until finding the most efficient amount per each weight. Once they’ve done this, he stops informing her of when to attack, instead allowing her to determine the feel of it in her hands, since he cannot constantly assess her during a mission. It’s after she’s successfully sent the heaviest weight flying an acceptable and not destructive distance that they move on to the punching bags, which are more analogous to the foes they face. With each target she grows more confident, the power coalescing faster and faster until she can attack within seconds.  

During their (well her) water break, Wanda suggests the next step, one he hadn’t yet conceptualized since he did not (foolishly, admittedly) anticipate her being so proficient after a half day. “You know, in the video we watched the prey was moving, so I don't think I'm one with the pistol shrimp yet since we've just used immobile targets....” 

"Oh, well, I can find some of the mechanized bullseyes from the supply closet."

This doesn't seem to be what she had in mind, the tips of her ponytail dancing as she clarifies, "Those never move like the actual people we face on missions."

A true statement and one dripping with suggestion that is driven home by her pointed stare at him. It takes Vision 1.5 seconds longer than it should to fully grasp the implication. “Are you asking me to be your soup can?” 

“Yes.” Her face grows serious other than the flicker of red in her eyes, “Vision, will you be my soup can?” 

He’s not sure why the question releases a torrent of heat in his cheeks, a reaction he will need to further parse out at a later time. “I suppose since you asked so nicely, I have no reason not acquiesce.” 

 “Don’t worry,” she pats his arm as he walks past, an action she’s never done before, “I’ll be gentle.” 

Vision has to suppress the way her actions and the glimmer in her eye make him feel unsteady, keep his voice calm and unaffected as he quips back, “I believe I am somewhat more formidable than Campbell’s.” 

“We’ll see.” 

He stands twenty feet from her, the optimal distance they decided on during the prior phase of her training. “I will maintain my normal density for this.” Wanda sends him a thumbs up and he activates the program, recording the accelerate spike in both the broadband noise and subharmonic index, sending her a wave when he believes it should have some effect. The orb crashes into his body, the shockwave of it bursting flutters his cape, but nothing else occurs. “Try again.” And she does, fifteen times and yet she can’t seem to send him farther than a centimeter back. “Perhaps try using both hands to form the orb?” He has no basis for the suggestion, but he hypothesizes that each of her hands serves as an independent source, using both might double the impact.  

Wanda’s feet spread a bit farther apart as her arms wave through the air, the orb oscillating between her palms reaching the highest threshold of his measurement system in a matter of seconds. The power is released before he tells her, not to any detriment, the burst of scarlet against his chest sending his sympathetic system into a frenzy, his body desperate to increase its density but he resists, instead allowing her to throw him back into the wall.  

“Oh shit!” Footfalls echo around the gym, the noise bouncing too fast for him to pinpoint her location until her hands wrap around his biceps, worry streaming from her fingers, “Vizh, you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?” 

Her right hand leaves his body and hovers in front of his face, fingers bending and straightening as his eyes adjust. “You are switching between two and three fingers.” 

“Can’t even trick you after that.” 

Vision smirks at the despondency in her response, sitting up slowly while running a quick system check. “Wanda,” she meets his eyes, “that was incredible.” The last stray wisp of concern leaves her face, replaced by a proud grin. “Shall we try it again, only I will fly this time?” 

“Only if you’re okay.” 

“I am fine.” 

Despite his assurance, Wanda still offers her his hand, helping him stand before returning to her position in the gym. It’s at this point that Natasha comes in, a wave towards them that states she’s merely here to watch. Wanda’s fingers flex at the added attention, still overcoming her self-consciousness of being scrutinized by the former spy during training.  Vision takes a moment to approach Wanda, standing far enough away to not encroach in her personal space, but close enough that she can hear his slightly lower voice. “Pay no mind to Natasha,” Wanda’s head tilts, in what may be annoyance or anger or some other emotion he has yet to determine in situations such as this, “I want you to go back to one handed throws. We want to train your accuracy first and then you can add more power.” 

“Okay.” 

“And Wanda.” 

“Yeah?” 

For some reason he is tempted to reach out to her, give her arm a comforting embrace, but he doesn’t, instead clenching his fingers into fists at his side. “Remember that no one else on the team can do what you can.” 

His comment seems to latch onto the corners of her mouth, tugging it up into a brief smile. “Don’t go easy on me, okay?” 

He reassures her with a heartfelt, “I will not.” 

Vision lifts into the air, eyes scanning the gym for all accessible routes and protection. For the first attempts, he determines to remain relatively low to the ground, allowing her to fine tune her aim at a more accessible level before moving higher and requiring greater calculation on her behalf. He waits for her to form an orb before moving. Like with any other foe, he positions himself so that she is always in his view, even if it is just his periphery, but primarily he utilizes his proprioception to determine how to angle is body or bend his limbs to avoid her attacks. Even with her rapid-fire method, the closest she gets to a hit is a singe to his cape, her movements too predictable to him given the hours they have spent training together. Vision lands softly in front of her, assessing the stoop of her shoulders and the way her fingernails are digging into her palms, a small action he has come to associate with her frustration. “I believe we may be approaching this incorrectly.” 

“How so?” The weightless ease of her voice is gone, replaced by the measured rhythm she uses during any other training, particularly after being beaten down a few rounds by Natasha.  

No single animal utilizes just one attack pattern, nor do any of the Avengers, and yet that’s what they’ve been trying to do. “We have only been focusing on this one aspect of your powers, but for the task at hand, you need to utilize more than that.” Wanda waits for him to continue, arms crossing as her eyes slide to where Natasha is sitting. “You need to obfuscate first...” 

Now her attention returns to him, “So squid power you?” 

“I- yes, correct, distract me and then—” 

Her frustrations flips into understanding, “Then I pistol shrimp you.” 

"Correct.”  

A shared nod cements the plan and he returns to the air, waiting, yet again, until scarlet oozes from her hands to begin flying. This time is very different, every direction he flies is teeming with scarlet clouds, each one obscuring his view and sending him into a new location, only to be met with another dense nebula. Vision decides to tempt fate by flying through one of the formations, having no other means of getting to the other side of the gym, it’s then that the cloud constricts around him, throwing off his senses long enough that he feels an impact on his side, hard enough that it stings yet soft enough that he remains steady in the air. Vision lands, hand rubbing out the branching tingle still spreading throughout his oblique. “That was much more effective.” 

“It was. Mind if we try ag—” 

Before she can finish, a new voice enters the gym, Steve’s authoritative, “Training starts in two minutes everyone,” setting an end to her suggestion, Wanda’s mouth closing and her shoulders shrugging, the look on her face one he thinks says Maybe later?

   A week later he stands again with Steve and Sam, arms crossed and head tilted to the right, his eyes never leaving the varying patterns of scarlet through the plexiglass. This time her powers seem to dance, a careful choreography of wild undulation followed by disciplined restriction. “Holy shit,” Sam steps closer to the glass, hand rubbing his chin at the destruction being wrought within, “she’s even more terrifying now.” 

Terror is still an odd descriptor, because what Vision sees before him is more beautiful than even the undisturbed dawn over the mountains, the memory of her powers erupting in tingles along his skin, a fascinating texture he now associates with power and marvel.  

“What exactly did you two work on?” Steve only watched some of their additional trainings, never interceding, something he tends to do when the more fantastical powers are at play.  

Vision doesn’t pull his gaze from Wanda as he answers, “Obfuscation and cavitation.” 

“Not really helpful, man.” Sam, like Wanda, will always tell him if he is being too dense, though never as nicely, but never rudely either.  

The other way Vision can think to explain it likely won’t help them either, but it is how Wanda describes it to him as she eats lunch after their trainings, hair dripping with sweat, hands shaking from her hard work, and her smile radiant, so he determines it cannot be worse, “She has become one with the squid and the shrimp.”  

“Okay then,” Sam’s two words last for four seconds, his confusion palpable, but Vision doesn’t amend the statement, deciding to let Wanda explain it to them later, allowing Vision to become engrossed in the fascinatingly breathtaking display in front of them.