Chapter Two;
"One flat white and chocolate croissant." Delaney smiled at the man she was serving. "Was that all for today?"
He nodded, lowering his newspaper. "That's all. Thank you... Jean," he said, squinting at her nametag. One part of being on the run was covering up one's identity – it changed with each city she visited. This time, she was Jean Scott. Nice and ordinary: nothing special, nothing to look at twice. There were probably a few others with the same name, which made things all the better for Delaney. It was easier to hide that way.
The customer reached out and took a sip of the coffee and Delaney took that as her cue to leave. Spinning on her heel, she walked back to the counter. Her co-worker, Danielle, glanced up as she approached.
"Is that your last order for the day, Jean?" she asked brightly.
Delaney nodded. "My shift just ended."
She'd been working as a waitress at the French patisserie in Washington for the past two weeks. It was a bit of a risk, being somewhere so populated – the capital of America, no less. But she wasn't flaunting her location here, and maybe hiding out in a capital city for a month was what the people looking for her would least expect.
Danielle rolled her eyes. "Lucky. I just started." She swatted Delaney's shoulder playfully. "Go out, relax. You've looked too stressed since you arrived. Grab coffee and doughnuts or something."
Stress can be a side effect of being on the run, I guess.
Delaney laughed. "Thanks for the advice, Danielle."
"Anytime."
Delaney grabbed her bag from the back; inside was her purse, a phone she kept switched off and only used in the case of emergencies and, most importantly, in a hidden pocket, her weapons.
Knives had been her weapon of choice since she had been recruited to S.H.I.E.LD.. She had taken to them instantly with unnerving accuracy. Delaney now knew why; she had been trained to use knives for years before she arrived at S.H.I.E.L.D.. She now carried at least five with her wherever she went, and at her apartment she had a belt with ten more knives, awaiting her use.
Natasha had also supplied her with numerous weapons, such as small darts that produced brief surges of electric waves. They were handy to make quick escapes, or when she was unable to fight hand-to-hand. Delaney hadn't needed to use them once over the past two years, but they were handy to keep nearby in case a situation suddenly turned dire.
Delaney checked her weapons were still in her bag as she walked outside into the afternoon air, blinking quickly as her eyes adjusted to the light. She felt reassured as her hands brushed over the cool metal. Squaring her shoulders, she walked along the street with several other busybodies, still dressed in her work clothes: a crisp white blouse and black skirt. They were comfortable enough, so Delaney hadn't bothered to change.
She ended up following Danielle's advice; the coffee and the doughnut were both delicious. She hummed under her breath as she ambled along, basking in the sunlight. Looking for a nice environment, Delaney headed to the Smithsonian Institution; she had been in Washington DC for two weeks, but hadn't yet glimpsed the famous museums.
She almost tripped when she saw the exhibition being advertised.
An exhibit about Captain America - or, as she knew him, Steve Rogers.
Delaney sucked in a breath, her eyes fixated on the image of her friend in his Captain America outfit. She stepped closer, eyes wide, unable to believe that for two weeks she hadn't known that this was here. If she'd known... She'd have stayed away, she knew that much. She'd cut herself off from anything about the Avengers since she'd left two years ago – she hadn't even checked the news. To see this in front of her was almost overwhelming.
Her feet moved on its own accord; Delaney didn't even notice she was moving inside until she passed through the doors of the Smithsonian and headed toward the exhibit. Her heart skipped a beat, but then she calmed herself. It was just an exhibit. No harm would come from looking.
A large crowd of people mingled inside, looking at everything they could in regard to the famous Captain America. None of them knew him as Steve Rogers, Delaney thought, smiling softly at an image of Steve before the serum injection. He was still the same kind-hearted person; she knew that from experience.
As she wandered deeper into the museum, memories of Steve jumped into her mind, unbidden, no matter how hard she tried to suppress them: it was impossible, when she was surrounded by all things that related to him. Eventually she sighed, surrendering herself and allowing the memories to take her over.
+++
Delaney wished she'd pulled her hair into a ponytail. The breeze continued to blow it into her face. Scowling, she glared at Natasha's short hair, which of course was giving her no problem whatsoever. Delaney grimaced and instead pulled her jacket hood over her head to keep her hair under control.
She was with Natasha, standing on the outside of the Helicarrier as Steve Rogers' ship landed. She stood a little apart from her mentor and close friend, her heart beating irregularly fast in her chest. She didn't understand why. Maybe the shock and hurt of losing Clint was contributing to this reaction – the news that her best friend had been taken had shattered her.
When Rogers exited the aircraft, Delaney had been surprised to find that she couldn't stop a swell of hatred burn within her. She slapped herself mentally and ducked her head, breathing deeply. Get yourself together, Lane, come on! What is wrong with you?
She hadn't noticed that Rogers had approached her until he spoke. "Ma'am?" He sounded concerned.
Delaney lifted her head, willing herself to control the involuntary anger. She didn't understand how she could hate him – he was a hero. He'd done so much for their country. And his blue eyes showed his worry, for her.
She cleared her throat. "Captain Rogers. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Steve," he insisted, and offered his hand. "Might I inquire your name?"
She shook it. "I'm Lane."
That was all she'd said to him while on board the Helicarrier; she hadn't spoken to anyone, not Bruce Banner, or even Natasha or Coulson. She'd hung back and didn't utter a word until they were on the flight to Germany.
And that was where everything had changed.
+++
Delaney sighed at the memory, her heart aching. She'd been less than approachable the first time she'd met Steve (only now did she understand why), and he hadn't been offended. Instead he'd been kind and patient, talking to her and encouraging her into conversation. And it had worked. She'd built up her trust in him, to the point where they started to form the foundation of a friendship. He'd been easier to talk to than any of the other Avengers and Delaney found that, despite her initial reaction, she quite liked Steve.
That was now all in the past.
Delaney lowered herself onto a seat in a secluded area, unable to remain standing, overwhelmed with emotion. She pushed her brunette hair over her face, barely aware of the mother and her child sitting beside her, or the clip that was playing on the screen in front of her. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.
Steve. She felt closer to him now than she had in two years; the information available here was common knowledge enough, but seeing everything made her feel like she had intruded on Steve's personal life. She hadn't even gotten to know him that well when she had been an Avenger...
Delaney exhaled heavily, several strands of hair blowing in her face. Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of someone else moving into the room and seating himself beside her; Delaney kept her eyes facing steadfast forward at the screen.
A pretty girl was on the screen, recounting moments from Steve's life – the documentary had introduced her as Peggy Carter. Delaney detected a hint of fondness, of regret in Peggy's voice, and at once knew that she had been close to Steve. Probably closer than anyone in this century was.
The man beside her shifted and held an object in front of him. Delaney's eyes lowered involuntarily to the object in his hand.
Her eyes widened, and she had to press her lips together to stifle a gasp.
A picture of Peggy Carter. The girl on the screen. In black and white – an old photo.
And the man holding that photo...
Steve Rogers.
Oh no. Oh no.
Delaney's blood went cold; it turned to ice and left her unable to move, for she was frozen. She couldn't even breathe – she was staring at Steve Rogers for the first time in two years and he couldn't be there, he couldn't be allowed to realise that the girl beside him was her, she had to get away for he could say anything that would make her want to stay.
Ducking her head, Delaney hastily clambered to her feet. Her sudden movement, however, had caused Steve's eyes to unconsciously glance her way. He caught a glimpse of her face before her hair could obscure it again and Delaney heard him suck in a breath.
"Delaney," he whispered, as though he was seeing her in a dream.
She couldn't let it become anything more.
Shaking all over and ignoring every part of her body that screamed at her to stay beside her friend, Delaney turned and sprinted toward the exit.