Vision, like any other robot his age, is much better at laughing than crying. It's no fault of anyone's, he's just never had to express more than one strong emotion, ever. He wishes it could always be that way, because humans are strange and emotions are hard. Wanda's alright with that (she can read his mind, for God's sake), but other team members will eventually become uncomfortable with his lack of humanity. He's a robot. Humanity is for humans only.
He looks in the mirror, observing how his forehead pinches whenever he tries to smile. That doesn't look right, because robots can't be happy. He turns his mouth down and does his best to cry. There aren't any tears; what's he supposed to cry with? Motor oil? Now he's angry. He doesn't look angry in any human aspect of the word, and Wanda would laugh if she saw him like this. Vision leans across the sink, looking at himself down the length of his nose. He's neutral, not happy, not sad, not mad. Just Nothing. Vision reaches up to adjust his cape because Wanda will come looking soon because robots can't eat and What's he doing in the bathroom for so long? There's pity in his own eyes when he looks back at himself. All he ever wants to be is human. Is that truly too much to ask?
Later when Tony's by himself and eating dinner for the first time in two weeks, Vision waits and watches in the other room. He is confused. Wasn't this all backwards? Didn't humans long to be capable of knowing anything and everything simply because that was their only purpose? And he, wanting to be a stupid, mortal human that would fall apart at the touch of a butterfly. At least he had been lucky enough to find a human meant for him. He could see a version of himself, pushing his fingers behind Wanda's eyes and into her brain. That was a very human thought, he said to himself. And now I am appalled, which is human as well. He sat in a chair and felt his cape slip against his silicon legs as he shivered and waited for Wanda's return.
