the phases of Vision: I
I.
The first time he phased into her room had been an accident; he’d wanted to have a word with Stark and had opted for the most direct route to his destination. But something stopped him in his tracks the moment he passed through the wall. He found himself surrounded by objects suspended in midair by wispy tendrils of red energy. A photo frame drifted past him, he could hear the crackle and pop as tiny pieces of glass broke away from its pane and drifted lazily through the air. Then it hit him, squarely in the center of his forehead. Pain, sorrow, grief. He located the source: Wanda, curled up in a corner of her room, sobbing. Above them, the ceiling lights flickered on, then off, and on again. It had barely been a month since the death of Pietro. He gazed down at her, and filed the mental image of her shaking form along with the waves of emotion she was emanating. This is mourning. He left the room as silently as he’d entered. It was neither the time nor place for him to initiate any form of interaction with her.
This was the first time.