These are the Hands of Fate - Steve Rogers x OC

Three: You Understand Now Why They Lost Their Minds and Fought the Wars

March 2, 2020

As much as Maggie, and everyone else, tried to ignore it, the world hadn't gone back to normal since The Decimation. At least, not to the 'normal' that they'd once known. She'd been in the Peace Corps; she knew how earth-shattering events sent shockwaves out for years after the fact, but a disaster of that scale had been unprecedented. It hadn't just affected a state or country or region—half of the universe had been snapped away in an instant.

Stock markets crashed, infrastructure crumpled, governments floundered and flailed before resigning to creating one that would oversee the entire globe until a better solution was found. The material issues were only exacerbated by the humanitarian crisis; instances of acute post-traumatic stress skyrocketed, and suicides increased in return. It almost felt as though they'd been dropped into the pages of a dystopian novel with no end in sight.

She knew that she'd been one of the very few lucky ones; she hadn't had many people to lose to begin with and she'd somehow been spared of losing the few that she did have. Despite this, she'd watched as those closest to her grappled with their own losses. Steve, Natasha, and Tony had lost a huge fraction of the team that they'd spent years building and fighting with, Poppy had lost her childhood love, some of the few friends that Maggie kept from the Corps and college had lost family members and were left alone.

Somehow, she'd kept her loved ones. She had a safe place to live. She had a stable income because her work was designed for crises like these, albeit not on such a large scale. The overwhelming feeling that surrounded her was guilt; her life was coming together while everyone else just struggled to stay afloat, thrashing around in the dark, unexplored depths of the sea of change. It just didn't seem fair that while everyone else was forced to suffer, she was able to silently count her blessings.

It turned out that maybe the survivor's guilt didn't start and stop with the demise of her parents.

As they approached the second anniversary of the event, it was like a staticky, white noise fell over the earth and muffled everything else that was happening. Special after special ran on the news channels, books were released, vigils were held to commemorate the loss. It had been two years and markets were only just beginning to bounce back. Specialty groups and therapy resources were created for those that needed it. Everything was slowly being rebuilt but no one had anticipated tragedy befalling more tragedy.

Maggie rested on her bed, her back leaning against the cool wood of her headboard whilst she checked her planner against the work calendar illuminating the screen of her laptop. The week had been long, and she was exhausted; one of the adoptions she'd been overseeing had fallen through and she'd finally had to break the news to the eight-year-old little girl who had been eagerly waiting for the day to come.

Days like this were the worst, days when she had to carefully explain to a child that they only had to wait 'a little while longer' before they found a family that was made for them. She'd cried in the bathroom stall after leaving her office.

Her bloodshot eyes hidden behind the thick glasses' frames were drawn to a movement in her doorway just before the gentle rapping of knuckles cut through the silence. Leaning against the door jamb, lit by the warm golden glow of her room, stood Steve. He was like a balm; just his presence seemed to make even her worst days seem more palatable. Still dressed as though he'd come from his office, she knew that he'd only just arrived home. It was a rarity that she was ever home first; she wasn't the only one who'd had a bad day.

"Hey, you." Maggie gave him a half smile, closing the spiral notebook and tossing it aside before extending her arms, inviting him into the cozy sanctuary of her bed.