On The Run

Allies

The next day she called the number on the little piece of paper. The paper itself was so ripped and tear stained it was a wonder the words were even still legible; she had to rewrite the number again twice in black pen to be sure she had it right.

She told Steve; not much, certainly not about what had happened the night before, but enough to convince him that Lydia was a friend-otherwise, they would be all over social media and very possibly under arrest. When he approved it she hopped off the platform and walked a ways into the tunnel so she wouldn't be heard-like Natasha did when she talked to Bruce or Clint and Scott when they talked to their families-and dialled Lydia's number.

Lydia picked up on the third ring, "Hi, who's this?"

"This is Wanda Maximoff. If it's all right, I'd like to ask you for a favor-and I also want to say thank you."

She hesitated for only a second; it was obvious she hadn't been expecting a call back, "Sure. What do you need?"

It took them thirty minutes to work out a date and finalize plans, but eventually they were able to make it work. Wanda was smiling when she climbed back onto the platform and stole a potato chip from Sam's bag. "We're going on a short vacation in three days."

Bucky looked up from his newest book-Stephen King; he couldn't seem to get enough of the genre-curiously. "What do you mean?"

"We're going to spend the night somewhere different. It's nearby, but it's not in this underground hell. And it's a safe place too; we're staying with someone trustworthy," She pulled out a book of her own before she could get swamped with questions. Yes, it was a leap of faith-but she knew she was going to go crazy if she didn't get out more. And for once, this was a leap of faith she was willing to make.

~🅰~

They took everything they could fit in their backpacks and left everything else back on the platform-several pizzas, a few (covered) platters of sesame chicken, and enough books to fill a small library. It was obvious Natasha and Bucky were still wary about the idea, but Steve and Vision had vouched for her, Clint was hesitantly on board, and Scott and Sam were willing to do whatever they could to spend another day outside. Lydia lived nearby, in an apartment a few streets down-not a very nice apartment, by the looks of the graffiti on the walls that dated back to at least the eighties.

Even though she'd been expecting them, the look on her face was still priceless when she opened the door and saw them all clustered in the slightly seedy looking hallway. "You're just in time," she said, recovering quickly. "Mom just left for work; she's pulling the night shift so she won't be back until ten or eleven tomorrow morning at the earliest. I think she said she might crash at her boyfriend's place, so we should have the apartment to ourselves." She bit her lip. "It's not much, but-"

"I'm sure it'll be just fine," Steve said, smiling to put her at ease. It seemed to work-slightly. "So you're Wanda's friend, right? Lydia Steinwell?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling hesitantly. "I...know all of your names. It's kind of hard not to. Would you like to come inside?" They passed through a dark entryway that was deserted except for a couple of coats hanging on wooden pegs and a couple pairs of flats that had been thrown haphazardly into one corner into a living area that had seen better days: the television set was barely bigger than the plain wooden table it sat on and the chairs scattered around the room were slightly threadbare-as though they had given up a long time ago. "So you're welcome to go anywhere on this floor. Bathrooms are down the hall and to the right. Mom and I have our bedrooms upstairs. There's food in the kitchen-I have something to do now, but as soon as I'm done I'll see what there is to cook-and blankets and pillows in the cabinet. It's not very extravagant but the AC works perfectly and I don't think the police will try and look for you here." Her smile was genuine as she went down the hallway; Wanda could hear her soft footsteps on the stairs a few seconds later, along with the soft strains of some kind of music she couldn't quite place.