Coming Down ➢ Steve Rogers

twenty seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven;

Delaney did not understand how she was still alive.

She remembered helping the others move civilians on to the transports, yelling at some to hurry up while comforting frightened children.

She remembered that final battle, standing in front of the drill side by side with the others, against a bigger hoard of Ultron's minions than she'd seen all battle. She remembered being breathless, striking almost blindly, her heart hammering in her chest and her only thought being stop them stop them kill them don't let them get access to this drill. She remembered running on nothing but pure adrenaline as they fought them all off, and then leaving Wanda behind while they moved the stragglers of the battle on to the transports.

She remembered approaching Clint, who had Pietro lying at his feet, and shaking as she whispered, "Clint, please, don't tell me -"

She remembered the sorrow in Clint's eyes, and bending down to try and feel a pulse, some sort of life in Pietro Maximoff's body, and finding only emptiness and icy coldness instead.

She remembered falling back, her heart tearing in two as she cried, her heart empty and her soul spent, every part of her aching. She remembered Clint kneeling beside her and putting his arms around her as she sobbed, burying her face in Clint's shirt because she couldn't bear to look at Pietro's lifeless face – the youth, who should have had years ahead of him, who should have grown beside his sister and had been so full of life. He should have had a future, and that was now robbed from him.

She remembered falling asleep in Clint's arms, giving in to both the physical and emotional exhaustion of the day and being plagued by uneasy dreams.

She remembered finding Wanda being guided into a room in Avengers Tower, her face white and empty, her arms wrapped around her chest. She looked like she had lost her soul. Delaney remembered looking at the young girl and wanting to approach her, comfort her, but not knowing how. She remembered walking past Wanda's door and hearing her sob. The sound was more terrible than anything Delaney had ever heard, full of grief and heartache and loss.

She remembered that the soul of the Avengers had been crushed that day, by the events that had occurred and the lives that had been lost – and it had hurt so much, Delaney didn't know if they'd truly be okay again.

+++

Delaney knew sleep wasn't going to come easy to her that night. She was empty, her body heavy, her mind distracted. No matter how she twisted and turned, she couldn't get comfortable. Eventually she ended up on her back, staring at the ceiling, her mind on a certain brunette girl down the corridor.

A knock sounded at her door. "Lane? You there?"

Delaney smiled. "Come in, Steve."

She reached over and flicked on the lamp as Steve pushed the door open. She was suddenly very aware of her second-hand pyjamas; the overlarge shirt and an old pair of Pepper's trousers. To add to it, she had the worst bed hair. As Steve made his way over to her, she tried to comb as many of the knots as possible.

He sat right beside her, leaving barely any space between them.

"How are you holding up?" he asked.

Delaney sighed. She leaned into his side, seeking warmth. "Terribly," she admitted, wringing her hands. "I want to talk to her. Wanda. But I've never experienced grief like that... I'm sure I'd only do more harm than good."

She dipped her head. She had never had anything be that close to her before, until the Avengers, and she hadn't lost any of them yet. She would only be able to understand if Clint was taken from her, or Natasha, or Steve – the three people she'd opened up to before anyone else.

Steve rubbed her back. "You should try. She needs someone by her side, Lane, and you would probably be the best person for that. You're the person she can relate to most."

Delaney thought back to her conversation with the twins on the Quinjet and smiled sadly. "You're probably right."

Steve stopped rubbing her back, and instead placed an arm around her, leaning his head on top of her own. "I'm glad you were here, Lane," he said quietly. "You made things easier."

She laughed weakly. "How? My power was useless against them, and I was just another person..." 

Knives and guns weren't exactly the most effective weapons, either.

"You made it easier to go on, Lane, because you lifted our spirits." Steve squeezed her hand – harder than usual, but Delaney understood at once: a tether. A reassurance. "Things would have been so much harder if you hadn't been there..."

Delaney pushed herself away from Steve, but only so she sat not beside him, but facing him. She leaned forward on her knees, her eyes holding his, not blinking. "I was going crazy on my own, you know," she whispered. "Those conversations weren't nearly enough for me. I – I missed you so much, Steve, that it hurt."

He held her cheek in his hand. "I felt the same."

And then he leaned forward, and so did Delaney, and their lips met and they kissed, their bodies afire and yes, this was right – so right to have Steve's hands in her long hair and for her hands to make their way up his shirt, so right for them to gasp and want more, because damn, they loved each other so much.

"That – that was something," Delaney breathed, laughing. Her stomach was still full of butterflies, her heart continuing to soar upwards – there was no coming down. Not from this. Every part of her body was live, humming with newfound energy; she was breathless, weightless, caught in ecstasy.

Steve was smiling wider than Delaney had ever seen him, blue eyes sparkling in the dim light. "That is was."

"Can we make it work?"

"Of course," he said, and captured her lips in a second kiss.

The second kiss just as passionate, but slower, longer, more drawn out. When they parted, Delaney could not wipe the smile from her face – every part of her body was buzzing, with just how much she loved and adored Steve Rogers.

"I should check on Wanda," she breathed. "Steve... Thank you."

She meant so much more with those words than just thank you. Steve understood at once.

"Anything, Lane," he breathed, and kissed her forehead.

Delaney gave him a fond smile and squeezed his hand before she wandered off, still drunk on him, on the kiss, on her own happiness.

The closer she came to Wanda's door, however, the more solemn she became. She didn't need to reach out and touch Wanda's mind to feel the sadness, the depression, the overwhelming grief coming out from behind that door.

Delaney drew in a breath and knocked once on the door. "Wanda? Are you there?" she called softly.

There was no response. For a moment Delaney thought Wanda might be asleep, or didn't want to talk to anyone, but a moment later the door opened, revealing Wanda's small frame. Her eyes were red, her entire face white, tear stains down her cheeks. Delaney's heart broke just looking at her.

"What do you want?" she asked shortly, folding her arms. As she did so, she appeared to be curling in on herself, making herself smaller and more distant.

"To check on you," Delaney said gently. "Listen, I can't begin to imagine the pain you're going through right now, and I probably can't say anything to make you feel better. But if you need company, a shoulder to cry on, I'm here for you."

Wanda didn't say anything; for a moment, all she did was stare. Then she moved forward and rested her head on Delaney's shoulder and Delaney held her, moving them into the closure of Wanda's room as she held the girl as she broke.