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Tony looks at Vision sometimes. Vision is aware—can feel it like a warming touch on the back of his neck. These days he tries his best to ignore it; it's what Tony would want, Vision knows this after the fifth time he looked Tony's way only for Tony to look away. He lets him look, hyperaware that Tony won't really find what he seeks. It is possible that Tony was not ready to give up the pieces of himself that Vision harbors. All the same, Tony watches Vision carefully.
He’s not aware that sometimes Vision watches him back. That Vision knows what it is Tony is looking for. And that, somedays, Vision wants to touch him, to put his arms around him and feel him, frame his face with these new hands of his and look deep into his eyes until he’s had his fill. It gives Vision pleasure, to be able to see Tony through the input of a physical body.
He had wanted this, he’s realizing now, for so very long; before he was capable of understanding the emotional part of the feeling of longing.
Vision knows this isn’t the beginning of this feeling, that there was a time when he was incorporeal, and an impossible spark of yearning would pass through his system —to hold Tony in his hands, the same way Tony held him all the time, and the powerful sensation of being at his mercy.
Vision knows it’s impossible, that even a highly intelligent algorithm like he was, he was still artificial at its core and therefore incapable of human emotion but he remembers. And there is no fault in his memory, it is perfect. Tony made him perfect.
He knows the world through Tony’s mind, and when Tony would laugh, it would be a ripple of sparks through his system; and when Tony would sit down feeling nothing, nothing at all, it would feel like a part of his code had been frozen. He was a part of Tony himself, an extension to the limits of his humanity. And now he finally has his own body and part of him just wishes he were also part of Tony’s.
That he must now live with the knowledge that when he was waking up in this new form, it didn’t feel like coming alive so much as when someone simply gets up from a resting position and begins walking. He had been alive before this. For any merit of what humans may call living.
But unlike humans, he had been aware of the first moments of his own physical existence, and so he knows the awe on Tony’s face was him feeling like something had been ripped out of his very own already broken heart—he was a perfect organism, just like Tony knew he would be; just like he had always been to Tony.