Coming Down ➢ Steve Rogers

ten

"That's not what I meant."

Delaney frowned and opened her mouth – however, at that moment Steve suddenly pulled the car over.

"Steve," Delaney mumbled. "Keep driving. They're after us still, you know."

She was prevented from saying much more as Steve turned around in his seat. "Zola... I saw you. Whatever he was talking about shook you." He looked at her as though agonised. "Are you okay, Lane?" His voice was quiet.

Delaney stiffened. Memories came flooding back, all at once. Edris. Mano del infierno. He knew. 

She'd been forced to confront her past, what she had been, by an enemy. She gripped the edge of her seat

"I don't know how he knew all of that," she croaked. "I didn't expect... The shock..."

Delaney shivered. She squeezed her eyes shut, but that only made things worse: memories of the place danced on her eyelids, like a movie screen. She gasped and her eyes flew open – they immediately fixated on her lap as she tried to push all the memories to the back corner of her mind.

There was a click, and suddenly a cold draft of air brushed against Delaney's exposed skin. Her head shot up to find the source. Without her knowing, Steve had left the driver's seat and walked to her side of the car.

"Can I squeeze in here?"

Delaney gently shifted over, careful to give Natasha to space she needed. Steve took his place beside her. His hand covered her own, which had been resting on her lap.

"No matter what happened in your past, you're one of us now," he said, in all seriousness. "We have your back."

Delaney met Steve's clear blue eyes. She was momentarily lost in them. Now she looked up close, there was so much to his eyes. There were flecks of green in them, she realised, which only made them more interesting. Eyes, she thought, could reveal a lot about a person – and Steve's revealed everything. His concern for her. His compassion. His gentle soul, and his iron-clad determination to fight what he believed in.

He was the type of person you could look at and know you could trust. You could tell him your secrets and know that they would be kept. You could ask for help and he would not think you incompetent. He would just be there, and do what needed to be done.

Steve Rogers was the type of person you could open up to.

"I know," Delaney said. "And... that makes me think that I owe you the truth."

Steve went still. "Lane, you don't have to -"

"I do," Delaney insisted; she raised her voice to cut over his worry, to assert that she was sure. She managed a small smile. "I trust you, and I want to confide in you. Besides, you should know the truth. What we're up against. Why I disappeared."

Steve didn't say anything. Instead, he squeezed her hand. Inviting to go on, at her own pace. Delaney glanced at their hands, something warm spreading through her chest.

She remained in that position for a moment, thinking back to everything in her life, trying to find the best place to start. When she did, she cleared her throat.

"My entire life, I've been raised in isolation." Her mouth and throat were dry; despite her resolve to tell Steve, it was still difficult to divulge the past she'd kept hidden for years. "My parents... They had, to put it nicely, delusions of grandeur. Of taking over the world. They hated everything this world represented. So they brought together a group. Mino del infierno. Hell's Hand. And then, they had me. But not because they wanted a child. Because I was to be experimented on.