All right *cracks knuckles* gonna do kind of a combo to hit as many of those aspects as possible.  Post-Civil War, minor spoilers, I guess, and I’m assuming they’re not all actually holed up in Wakanda.

The apartment T’challa had acquired for them–in Brooklyn, because Steve left it up to Sam and Sam had pointed out the advantages of knowing the terrain–was middling in size, but it seemed echoingly huge at night.  Wanda hadn’t realized just how quickly she had grown used to the quiet noise of the others in the compound, someone always on hand to sit with no matter how late she was awake.  Insomnia and nightmares were rampant among the Avengers, and she was no exception, but now…now there was no one.  Steve was in his room, probably awake himself and trying to work their way out of this impossible problem.  Sam was better at sleeping than most of them, only really awake about one night in seven.  Lang was gone, Clint was out on a recon mission to check up on an old contact.  Barnes–Bucky–was still comatose in Wakanda, while they tried to find a cure for seventy years of brainwashing and torture.  She had offered her services, nervous, and T’challa had agreed to keep her in mind as a last resort–Wanda’s experience was all putting stuff in, but she could probably learn to take things out.  Until they found a solution, though, the man with the metal arm and the haunted blue eyes would stay in his glass coffin.

And Wanda was awake and alone and cold, at three in the morning on a Saturday, sitting on a couch and staring at a dark television.  

The light knock on the window made her lunge to her feet and spin, hands flying out and red light coiling down her arms to attack the figure hovering outside.  She blinked.

“Vision?” she whispered, creeping closer to the glass.  It was undeniably him, cloak ruffling in the wind, red and silver face staring back at her.  His lips quirked up into his small half-smile.

“I knocked,” he pointed out, tapping on the glass again with a finger.  His voice was hollow through the window.  “May I come in?”  Wanda hesitated.  “I mean no harm.  No one is aware that I’m here.  Except for you.”

“I–yes,” she sighed, stepping back as he slipped through the glass like water.  “If you get shot, do not blame me,” she added in an undertone, trying to run calculations in her head.  How good was Steve’s hearing?  How many walls were between them?  How much trouble would she be in if they found her talking to Vision?  How would they punish her?  How–?

“Wanda, are you well?” the soft voice interrupted.  “Your breathing is very rapid.  I believe you may be hyperventilating.”

“I’m fine,” she said in a whisper that even she didn’t believe.  She took a moment to try to get her breathing back under control.  Even if Steve found her talking to Vision, she assured herself, he wouldn’t hurt her, nor leave her to fend for herself.  He was a good man, a friend.  “It’s just…very quiet here,” she admitted.  She gave a shallow laugh.  “I suppose I got used to having a teammate who didn’t sleep.“

Vision’s hand reached out, hovering just over her shoulder.  “Are you having nightmares again?”

“Nothing shocking,” she said.  “The same.”  The wreckage of her house, her brother’s body.  Strucker’s failed experiments.  Straitjackets inside cages inside prisons.  The Avengers, twisted and shattered in red light.  “Some new.”  Men without limbs, and sinking into the sea, and Vision, turning his clear cold eyes and terrible power toward her.

Vision lingered for a moment, then lowered his hand so that his palm was up, an invitation.  “Come with me.  Just for a little while.  I promise to bring you back.”

Wanda reached out and gripped his hand tightly, feeling the smooth synthetic slide across her skin.  Vision was warm to the touch, warmer than a human being–he said it was only to be expected.  “Will I need a coat?”  He shook his head and tugged her forward, hand still linked tightly with hers.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, and it was all the warning she got before he pulled her straight through the window.

She muffled a shriek of alarm as the ground dropped out from beneath her, but his arms caught around her waist before she could follow it.  “Vis,” she ground out between her teeth, gripping one of his arms tightly.  “Warning, please.”

“I apologize,” he said immediately, looking down at her as they rose away from the city street.  His eyes were wide and bright with an inner glow, the ring of inhuman silver clear, and he looked remarkably heartbroken for a being who had yet to completely master facial expressions.  “I can return you, if you would like.”

“No,” Wanda said, perching her feet on top of his and shifting so that she felt more secure.  She trusted him not to drop her–they’d gone flying before and it hadn’t happened yet–and moreover trusted her powers to catch her if he did, but best not to tempt fate.  “This is okay.  It is cold, though, a coat would have been nice.”

“Here,” Vision said, shifting her weight into one arm and tugging his cape around her so that she was wound into a warm cocoon of gold.  “Is that better?” he asked, carefully resettling his arms around her waist.  She wrapped one arm around the back of his neck and nodded, peering over their arms to look down at the city.  It was as brightly lit as ever, bustling away as they rose.

“Why did you come to see me?” Wanda asked as Vision stopped climbing, hovering above even the tallest roofs, where they could see the entire nest of streets and lights.  He was silent, and for a moment Wanda wondered if he’d suffered a malfunction.

“I…do not know,” he said finally.  “I was not responsible for anything else tonight and I did not have anyone to play chess with.”

“Anyone to beat terribly at chess, you mean,” she said, smiling.  A sharp gust of wind made her shiver and press herself closer to him, a wall of unaffected heat.

“You are improving wonderfully.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I’m certain I’m doing no such thing.”  A cold flake landed on Wanda’s cheek, close to her eye, and she startled, looking up.  “It’s snowing!” she announced, feeling another smile curve her lips.  She stuck out her tongue and caught a flake, and when she looked down from the clouds overhead she found Vision watching her.  “What?”

“I have never seen snow,” he said.  “What does it taste like?”

“Cold,” she decided, and was rewarded with another half-smile.

“I am reliably informed that ‘cold’ is a physical sensation, not a taste.”

“Well, that person is not as reliable as you thought, then,” Wanda said.  “Snow tastes cold.”  And she caught another flake as if to prove the point.  Vision was still smiling, bemused and happy, when she looked back at him.

Half-drunk on exhaustion and flight, Wanda stretched up on her toes and pressed her lips to the quirked corner of his smile.  She expected him to look baffled when she leaned back.  She did not expect him to shift his grip–carefully and methodically–until one hand rested between her shoulder blades and the other at the base of her spine, and pull her into a much firmer kiss than her own.

His lips were smooth, perfectly so, and shockingly warm against hers.  Gentle, she thought vaguely as she kissed him back.  But he was always gentle with her, even with all the power coiled up in every fiber of his form.  His lips wandered up the line of her jaw to her cheekbone, a line of soft fire, and he pulled back.  

For a long moment, they watched each other, and Wanda envied his synthetic lungs as she panted.  His lips tugged up and he said, “I have not decided if cold has a taste.”

Wanda grinned.  “Well, you could always check again.”