Coming Down ➢ Steve Rogers

three

She turned around, and there was Steve – Steve as she remembered, with his blonde hair and blue eyes, kind and considerate and the rare gentleman in today's age. Steve, her friend.

Her lips stretched out into a small smile. "I've got coffee at my apartment, if you want."

He nodded, a smile slowly spreading across his own face. "Okay."

+++

"Coffee," Delaney pronounced, placing the steaming cup in front of Steve. She settled on the opposite side of him, absently stirring her own.

"Thanks." Steve drank a mouthful. "Have you always been here?"

Delaney flushed, as self-conscious about her tiny and dark apartment as she been when Steve arrived. If she hadn't opened the door, or if her jacket wasn't draped over one of the couches, it would have been easy to believe that she didn't live there, that no one did: It was practically empty, with no personal touches.

She and Steve sat at the small table; though they sat at opposite ends, they were almost next to each other. Their coffee cups were close together; if they rested their arms on the table, Delaney was sure their arms would end up touching.

She shook her head. "No. I'm never in one place for more than a month. You can probably tell from my meagre amount of possessions." To be on the run, she needed to be able to pack everything quickly and escape. Most of her possessions fit into a backpack she kept in room: even those possessions were limited to be essentials.

Steve's eyes narrowed in concern at this news.

"Lane, please," he whispered, leaning closer. "Talk to me. We've missed you. We want to help you."

Delaney smiled sadly. "Thanks, Steve. But I can handle this on my own." She could, and she had to. She refused to drag anyone else into her personal struggles.

"You know, Lane... Maybe, you don't have to."

He sounded wistful as he said it, sad too, as though someone else he'd known a long time ago had said those same words or something similar.

"But I do." Delaney hesitated, briefly debating with herself before she spoke again. "Look. Loki's sceptre... I don't know why, but it broke through my amnesia. I remembered things. Horrible things." Her grip around her cup tightened; her knuckles whitened and the stubs she called nails dug into her palm. "Things I'd done," she continued, her voice shaky and barely above a whisper. "Things I wanted to do. Things these people still want me to do... I was left knocked out, without a single memory in my head, for S.H.I.E.L.D. to find for a reason. And their plan didn't turn out the they hoped... So, they'll be coming back for me. To turn me back into the person I was. To claim my power."

She looked up at Steve, and was surprised to find the world was blurry. She dabbed her eyes and found them wet with tears.

"So there you go," Delaney whispered, lifting her chin and staring right into Steve's eyes. "Do you still want me back on the team, where I can easily be found? Where I can be turned into what I once was: a weapon, like a bomb? This life is better." She gestured to the tiny apartment.

Steve shook his head; a sad expression crossed his face.

"That was the person you were," he said. "From what I can gather, you were raised that way. You knew nothing else. You can't help the way you were brought up. You're a different person now, and you have allies – friends. If you'd told us, we could help you."

Delaney leaned back in her seat. "It's not that simple. Believe me, Steve, I want nothing more to return. To see Nat and Clint again. To look up at the stars and see infinite possibility, not the closure of another day I had survived. But I can't."

Her hands twisted in her lap. She loved stargazing; she loved looking up at the stars, finding patterns and shapes amongst the thousand pinpricks of light. There was something calming about gazing into the endlessness of space; it was like proof infinite possibilities existed. Stargazing and reading: those had been her two favourite pastimes. Now she only owned one book, which was bent and dog-eared from the number of times she'd reread it, and the stars, for her, didn't shine as brightly as they used to.

Steve rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes. "There's no convincing you, is there?"

Delaney lowered her head. "I'm sorry."

Silence briefly consumed them.

"So... When are you moving again?"

Delaney's head snapped up. "If you're going to tell Fury, or Nat, or Clint, or anyone -"

"I won't. I promise." Steve smiled sadly. "Your secret's safe with me. Can I just make one request?"

"What is it?"

"That you not move straight away. No one has seen you for two years Lane – or should I say, Jean," he chuckled, nodding at her name badge. Delaney glanced down at the badge she wore to work and flushed. "Would it hurt you to spend about a week longer around here, just so we can talk?"

Delaney drew in a deep breath, her eyes wide.

"As long as you don't try to stop me leaving," she murmured, "I will."

Steve reached his hand out. "I promise."

Delaney reached out with her own hand, then hesitated. "I mean it. At the end of the week, you'll let me leave without a word."

"I swear it, Lane."

He was so earnest. Delaney smiled and took his hand within his own. His hand was so much larger than her own, and warm.

Then she leapt out of her seat and rushed to him, throwing her arms around him; her eyes burned with tears. "I missed you, Steve," she whispered. "I missed you all so much..."

He didn't say anything, but the way his arms wrapped around her body, gently, holding her close, spoke volumes.