Wanda wondered why the world seemed so hazy. So bleak and cold. Her skin itched faintly, and hummed with buzzing veins and synapses. She had a vague memory dart through her mind, too quickly to make much sense of it, but she recognized the feeling it brought.

She made to moan, but her mouth felt swollen and filled with cotton. Her tongue felt fat in her mouth, lulling about left and right without any kind of coherent syllables being formed.

The room around her cleared into focus. Slowly but surely. White walls and beeping machines came into shape, not fully solidified but getting there. Her head ached.

There was someone sitting near her. Wanda realized her hand was the only thing that felt warm. Every other part of her felt lifeless and cold.

Christ, why did her head hurt so much?

It was like a cross between the worse hangover she'd ever had and being hit by a truck.

Sleep came back quickly, taking Wanda with a hush and a whisper. She didn't fight it.

When Wanda opened her eyes next, she had no idea how much time had passed, but she recognized the room. Everything came into sharp focus this time, and she blinked a few times to clear the last of sleep's long embrace.

There was a beeping machine in the corner, about a foot or two from her head. A little green line winked away in time with her heat beat. Above her head, an IV dripped languidly. Her eyes trailed down, following the little clear tube that ended in the crook of her arm, held by tape. Wanda fought the sudden rise of panic that rose up inside her chest. Those thoughts from before had begun to take form inside her head. No longer hazy. No longer out of reach.

Memories of the hydra experiments filled her head. She remembered thick, bubbling green substances being pumped into the same spot on her arm all those years ago.

Yet she felt something tighten around her hand. Her mind reached out, brushing against a swirling pool of worry and guilt.

A hand reached up and brushed hair from her forehead, and Steve's face came into view.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Wanda noticed his smile, as if seeing it for the first time. She noticed how relieved he looked. His eyes were so soft, that pretty, swirl of subdued colors that made the orbs so pleasant to look at. His thumb continued to make tiny circles on her forehead, pushing aside the sweat and messy hair that had covered her face. His fingertips were warm, soothing, and she found herself welcoming the touch. She leaned into it, only lightly aware of doing so.

"Hi," she said lamely after a pause, and struggled to sit up for a moment before Steve gently eased her back down. Her head swam and the room spun briefly. She groaned. "What happened?"

Steve hesitated for a moment, then said, "You were shot."

Wanda laughed, though she was sure it came out closer to a breathless wheezing, "Oh. Right."

Steve frowned, "Wanda it's not funny. You could have died."

She made a little huffing noise, attempting to be humorous, but her throat wouldn't let the sound come out smoothly, and she immediately felt embarrassed with how ugly the noise ended up. "Remind me of that every time we step out of the base."

"Wanda…"

But she cut him off, "Steve. I am okay." Then she shivered, "Cold though."

Steve moved away from her, withdrawing his hand from her forehead, and she whimpered. She reached out for his hand weakly, missing the warmth and the comfort it brought her. Steve spun on his heel; worry quickly spreading across his face. He was back at her side in a second, inspecting everything.

"What is it? What's wrong? What hurts?"

She let out an exasperated sigh, "Stop."

"Stop? Stop what? What's wrong?"

"Stop pacing. I am fine. You are giving me a headache." Or at least a bigger one, she thought to herself. Maybe it was the same headache, or the pervasive shivers she seemed to be having that made her outstretch her hand and prod him.

"What is it?" Steve asked, still on edge.

"Hand. Now." She said.

Steve blinked and cocked an eyebrow, but offered her his hand anyway. She took it and placed it back on her forehead, revealing in the returned warmth and comfort.

Steve let out a small laugh, tight and forced, "You bounce back quick."

"After everything I have been through? Being shot is the most normal thing I have experienced in a long time."

Steve grew somber again, and his face betrayed the guilt that Wanda was beginning to sense roiling around inside his brain. "It's not a normal thing, Wanda. And we aren't going to pretend it is."

Wanda dismissed him with a roll of her eyes, "Stop talking."

"How are you feeling?" Steve said, ignoring her, "Any discomfort? Pain? Nausea?"

"No, Doctor Rodgers, I am alright," She replied, "Just cold and the wound itches quite a bit but otherwise I am fine."

"I'll get the doctor. See if he can do anything about that."

When he made to withdraw his hand, Wanda reached up and snatched it, squeezing it as forcefully as she could.

Steve panicked, "What is it? What's wrong?"

Wanda shook her head, "Stop apologizing."

Steve blinked, "I didn't ap—"

"You were thinking it. Quite loudly."

Steve's face cracked just a little bit. The soldier gave way to the man beneath. Wanda begun to see just how much this had been hurting him. She could feel it churning away inside him. The guilt for letting her accompany him. The fear that his rashness had almost cost her life. Wanda did her best to quell those emotions with her own. She pushed them at him as aggressively as she could, hoping to smother his guilt with her need to remind him that everything was alright. That she was alive and okay.

Steve seemed to pause then, weighing her emotions against her own. A moment later, his face hardened, and the soldier had returned. His hand withdrew from her forehead and with it the warmth and grounding that she had enjoyed.

"I'll get Banner and the doctor." He said, and didn't wait for her response.

She huffed, exhausted, and reclined into the uncomfortable hospital bed.

She waited, realizing that the necklace around her neck had been removed. She panicked for a moment, wondering where it had gone. What would Pietro of her carelessness? That thought spread further, trailing out along the roots of the concept. How would he have scolded her for being so careless? For being so easily distracted? She found her missing his almost parental scolding. For all his carelessness and reckless abandon Pietro never let that stop him from being a wise, and level-headed brother. Or at least, not when the situation was appropriate. She felt her hands numbly ghosting along the spot on her neck where her necklace clasp had been. She felt empty, naked without it.

Wanda wondered why Steve had shut her out. His mind had gone blank. A noise similar to a gong going off had sounded out and then she had been forced away.

It felt a little odd, being simply in her own head. Having spent a significant chunk of time tapped into Steve's over the last two days and then suddenly going from living in two minds to being forced out into just her own was... Disconcerting. To say the least.

Banner came in, pulling open the door to her room quietly and expertly. A S.H.I.E.L.D Doctor followed him in, looking a little miffed. Probably had been called in on his day off.

Banner reviewed her, although admitting he wasn't exactly trained for this, but assuring her he had a solid idea of what it was like to have an altered physiology.

The SHIELD doctor and Banner made the process as quick and painless as possible for her. Asking her to shift this way and that to see if the stitches had set correctly. When there had been little to no discomfort in the movements Wanda asked how long she was going to be held for.

Banner glanced at the doctor, and Wanda could feel how Banner saw this question as a little out of his depth, which Wanda disliked. Banner would let her out. The other Doctor might not. And Wanda hated clinics and hospitals and doctors and anything resembling an office where the sick might go.

It all was a reminder of the experiments she had endured. The hallways she had been lead through, so hopped up on whatever drugs they had pumped into her that the walls seemed to wiggle and bend into tubes rather than angles and squares.

After inspecting the wound once more, the doctor conceded that she had been lucky and the bullet had missed pretty much all of her internal organs and major arteries. The angry Doctor concluded that she would be held for a few more hours for simple monitoring and tests and then released if she so chose.

Wanda conceded to the agreement quickly. Everything smelled of disinfectant and sterilized bleach or something of that nature. It made her skin crawl. The whole room felt soulless and time seemed to drag on at the slowest possible interval. She wondered how many had died in the same spot she was sitting in. The morbid thought made her shiver. Though she had been prone to less than pleasant thoughts and anxieties prior to her avengers initiation, the white impersonality of the room seemed to amplify that character flaw. She couldn't wait for the time to end.

When Banner and the doctor finished and left, Wanda sat, trying to breath through her mouth to keep out the sickening smell of cleanings past.

Wanda hoped Steve would come back. Would help her keep stay awake. Keep her from dreaming up the inevitable scolding Pietro would have given her. The thought made her heart ache. He would have scolded her for days. She wondered what he would say about her recklessness. If he would criticize her trust in Steve. Wanda felt a weird defiance in that thought. It hadn't been a danger in trusting Steve that had landed her here. That had been entirely her own fault (which made her feel inept and foolish) and she would have argued that quite adamantly.

Still... The fact that she had been distracted so easily made her feel guilty and childish. Maybe Steve who had been wrong to put his trust in her. Wanda wondered if he thought she had failed him. If he had been wrong to misplace his trust in her.

That brought a strange tightening in her stomach. Anxiety in a pure form. It made her mouth fill with sour saliva and she felt a weird need to spit.

She shook her head and resolved to keep those thoughts from taking root. Though as the time crawled on and the fact that Steve hadn't returned made her feel as if there might be some truth to them.

Move faster. Hit harder.

Two brief thoughts, wound over and over each other until one bled into the next. The sandbag shuttered against the force behind each blow. Each grunt, each sharp exhale, each twitch and release of coiled muscles brought on a fresh new wave of guilt.

It was all becoming so routine now. Finding thoughts. Playing them back over and over again like broken records. Ironically that was a phrase that still made sense to Steve.

The night was loud. Steve thought that was good. The cicadas and crickets could be as noisy as they wanted. It would drown out the sound of his fists.

The sandbag tipped back, swinging from the force of Steve's fist, tipping up almost parallel to the ceiling, before swinging back in retaliation. Steve sidestepped, ducking out of the way and reeled back, muscles tightening, ready to strike.

He pictured the man with the gun. He saw it all play out in slow motion.

A dawning sense of horror creeping its way into his consciousness. The red mist wasn't surrounding her. For just the briefest of moments. Wanda had this look on her face, a look Steve couldn't quite put his finger on. Steve realized too late. Always too late.

The sound had been deafening.

At first Steve hadn't seen her even falter. He had thought the bullet might have missed Wanda entirely. She had continued on, and the mist had returned, and he had turned away.

And when he had turned back, she was on the floor.

A thousand thoughts had filtered their way through his head.

The sandbag shuttered, and gave, exploding beneath the force of the blow.

She had been cold. He couldn't tell if it was from the air, or if she had lost too much blood. It had been so hard to focus.

The chain above snapped, and the sandbag launched across the room. Spraying its contents across the gym.

He had panicked. He was going to lose another friend. He was going to lose someone else he cared about. Because of Hydra. Because he had been too careless. Had let himself get distracted. Hadn't kept her safe.

Another broken promise.

Lying in pieces all over the floor. Just like the sandbag.

Steve reached down and grabbed another one, stringing it up by the reinforced chain. He curled back, and just like the gun, he fired off a punch. The sandbag swung beneath his anger. The chain groaned. Steve sidestepped away, ignoring the bloody imprint his fist made on the bag.

He fired again, three quick punches in rapid succession. Blurring and booming against the rough leather. This time he felt the blood run down his wrist.

Again. Don't you dare stop.

Steve listened to the voice, the angry little sound in his head.

How could he have let this happen? How could he have been stupid enough to put someone else in Hydra's way? Was he doomed to never learn from his mistakes?

He screamed, and the bag shattered. He watched it fly across the room as if on springs, and hit the wall, spilling its contents, with a sickening similarity to how Wanda had bled. His breathing was ragged, and Steve could feel his heart thundering.

But the rapid beating had nothing to do with his body. Steve wasn't tired. He was angry. He couldn't get the image out of his head. The way she had looked, asleep on that hospital bed, clad in a flimsy white gown, gooseflesh on her skin. The way he had to remind himself that the doctors needed him to leave if they're were going to do their job and save her.

God, he hadn't wanted to leave. The thought made his stomach sink.

Her hand had been so warm when Banner had convinced him it was time to leave the room.

He chained up another bag. Took a step, ready to strike out, but stopped.

How many people were going to be hurt because of his carelessness? Wanda had joined the team at his request. Moved at his belief that she could rise above what Hydra had made her. Maybe if he had just let her go on her way, maybe if he had just kept his mouth shut and let her have a chance at being just a normal person free of all the heroics and danger the life of an Avenger provided. Maybe then she wouldn't be walking around with a knotted little scar on her lower abdomen for the rest of her life.

Steve remembered Banner's words to him.

She got lucky. Two centimeters up and it would have passed through her kidney. She might not be comfortable wearing bathing suits for a while, but she'll be alright. Still… this was close. Too close.

Steve had asked something, he didn't remember what, but he knew the sound of the panic in his voice. Banner had told him to settle down, and Steve asked if there had been anything he could do. Banner had nodded.

Stay with her. She's should have someone by her side when she wakes up. God knows, I would want that.

So Steve had stayed. And his heart had done happy little flips in his chest when she had woken up okay, safe and sound, and feeling alright.

The sandbag groaned in protest as his fists began to beat an indent into the leather. Steve felt torn. In his mind, he was envisioning beating the ever-living snot out of the Hydra grunt with the gun.

There was violence on Steve's mind.

A kind of rage that is so completely out of character for him, if his fists hadn't been leaving bloody craters in the training bag before him Steve might have actually been afraid.

Afraid of what this might mean. Afraid that he's adding too many possible casualties to his already dangerous life. Afraid he was letting too many in, and paving the way for further heartbreak. He couldn't handle another Bucky. Today, Wanda had almost become that.

His grunts of frustration and fury rose in volume and frequency. He was dimly aware of a strange heat that was beginning to permeate his body. Starting in the pit of his stomach and racing out down his limbs. He felt tight and on edge and expectant in all the wrong places. Like the first time he had kissed Peggie.

But that didn't stop him. Steve would have no distractions. This was his night. It was time for his punishment.

All at once that heat faded, making him pause just long enough to shiver.

"So this is what you have been doing with your nights?"

Steve froze.

Could she really be up and moving?

He spun on his heel and found Wanda leaning against the doorway to the gym. She was wearing short, tight running shorts that Steve wasn't sure how she could possibly sleep in. But when his eyes passed over the cut off shirt she wore he felt his heart sink. On her left side was a mess of gauze and bandages, marring what was otherwise smooth, toned skin.

Steve hadn't realized he was staring, but when she cocked an eyebrow and made her way into the gym on uncertain feet with equally uncertain steps, he found himself looking away, unable to hold her gaze.

He squared his shoulders, clenched his fist, and let them fly.

"You're getting blood everywhere."

Steve's breath hitched in his throat. He thought to say something, but in the end decided against it.

"Not exactly a wise decision, no?"

Steve let out the breath he'd been holding, and said simply, "No. No it's not."

"Then why do you continue to injure yourself?"

"Because I heal fast."

Wanda tapped her fingers on her thigh, "I see then. So this is simply punishment." Wanda stifled a sigh.

Steve watched her. Her hair had begun to fall out from the messy bun she had tied it up in. She looked worse for wear, yet to Steve, she still managed to carry herself with all of the power he knew her small body housed. Still, he knew. God, he was so painfully aware of just how close that same body had come to breaking today. Steve hadn't protected her; he'd been so caught up in his fight, his need for answers, his desire to find Bucky that he had left her on her own. And Wanda had certainly paid the price for it.

But that thought wasn't an answer. So Steve did the only thing he could think of and shrugged. When his fist connected with the leather, the bag swung and before it could pendulum its way back, it froze.

Red mist swirled around it. Steve turned to find Wanda with one hand outstretched, the other wrapped around her gauzed side, red wisps of energy twining around her fingertips.

"I do not like being ignored," She said.

Steve sighed, and dropped his hands. Wanda seemed to relax, and the swirling tendrils of red power drifted away. Steve crossed the room, undoing the bandages around his knuckles, and said, "I'm sorry."

Silence passed between them for a moment and Steve could feel her at the edges of his mind, probing, looking for entrance. A kind of shiver going up and down his spine, making the hairs of the back of his neck stand.

"Why are you doing that?"

"Doing what?"

Steve sighed, "That. Looking into my mind."

Wanda cocked her head, "Because you will not speak it."

Steve felt his teeth grind, "What do you want me to say?"

"You could say a lot of things."

"I could."

Wanda's mouth tightened and her chin rose in defiance, "But you will not."

Steve opened his mouth, but closed it, feeling his stomach sink. What could he say? What could possibly make this whole situation any better?

Wanda seemed to sense his trepidation, and she let out a huff in response. She closed the distance between them slowly, and Steve knew she was giving him the opportunity to back away. To turn and run if that's if he wanted to do. Her fingers gently wrapped around his blood knuckles. She grabbed several bandages from his gym bag. She held up his hands one at a time, taking her time wrapping the bandages around the inflamed digits.

"Why will you not talk to me?"

"I…" Steve started, but trailed off.

"Is it because you think I am weak now?" Wanda asked.

"No! No. Not at all, it's not that," Steve replied.

"I know what it is," Wanda said as she finished up.

"Then why do you keep asking?" Steve replied, hating how harsh it came out.

Wanda was silent for a long while then. She absently scratched at her wound, and Steve couldn't help the passing blush that dusted his face when he realized how short her shirt was.

"Because I want you to say it of your own free will," Wanda said, "It will mean more that way."

"Wanda…"

"I want you to find strength in me, as I have come to find it in you."

Steve felt his mouth open and close like a fish gasping. He could feel the courage it had taken Wanda to work up just to say that. He could feel the hesitance rolling off her in waves. By saying that, it meant opening up. It meant showing a part of herself she had not shown to anyone since Pietro's passing. Steve knew despite their growing closeness that they were only scratching the surface. Steve stood dumbfounded by the honesty she pushed at him in his mind. There had to be a equally profound way to respond to that bombshell.

He could feel the comfort she had come to find in him. He wasn't Pietro, Steve knew that and so did she, but he was a friend. An ally. Someone she could trust without fear of reproach or rejection.

"Wanda…I—"

But Wanda held up her hand. "You can tell me when you are ready. That is fine. I will not force it from you. I want this to come naturally. I want this bond to be a give and take one."

Steve swallowed, feeling like he suddenly had a stone blocking his throat.

"You can talk to me whenever you are ready. About anything," she said, "You have been patient with me. It is my turn to offer you the same."

Steve could hear the invitation behind the words. She was offering him the chance to tell her why he was out running laps at three in the morning. Or decimating sandbags when he should be sleeping and recovering for the next mission.

"I trust you," She said, "And I understand how…difficult…it is to discuss things like…this," she motioned to the gym and his bloody knuckles, "But I have come to find that trust and acceptance in you, Steve," she gave his hands the faintest of squeezes, "I hope you know you have the same from me."

With that she let his hands go, and tucked away the bandages and antiseptic cream she had been applying.

Wanda had taken a few steps from him, her dark hair swaying in loose strands falling from that haphazard bun. Steve watched her go. Her footsteps were like thunderclaps. Or were those his heartbeats?

Steve couldn't tell.

Why did it so suddenly feel like he was watching a door close? And before he could stop himself, Steve was speaking.

"I'm afraid."

Wanda stopped. Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. She turned to look at him. Wanda's eyes felt like fireballs. Warm and welcoming. When had she become the one person that Steve felt like he could understand? Or was it that she understood him so simply, so effortlessly?

"Afraid?" Wanda asked, one dark eyebrow arching, maybe finding the notion that the paragon of American bravery was afraid of something a little confusing.

Steve didn't know what to do, what to say, so he just shrugged. He felt like he was working through fog. Unsure, feeling his way along the lines and the walls like he'd been suddenly struck blind.

He had opened up to her before, so why was it so hard now? Was it because it was her who had needed the comfort and not him? Was because comforting was so much easier than being comforted?

She cocked her head at him, imploring him to continue. Wanda didn't force him, rather the gesture felt weirdly patient, curious almost. Maybe she sensed his new hesitance, and she too was thrown off by the sudden confusion that boiled away in his stomach.

"Why are you afraid?"

Steve could feel himself caving beneath the look in her eyes. She looked just as open and understanding as she had when she'd offered to join him on the mission. Steve felt his teeth chew a worried line in his lip. He wondered what the price of his honesty would be. Would it protect her in the future? Would it make him seem weaker in her eyes? Why was it so much harder to give advice than to receive it? The uncertainty of the whole situation was becoming almost as terrifying as facing it.

"Because…" and Steve couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Wanda took a step forward, and then her mind twined out and closed the distance. Steve could feel her slipping through the cracks of his own thoughts like water through his hands, filling him with a sense of comfort. Suddenly Wanda seemed to exist within a space all her own. A space she would welcome him to share.

She reached out, fingertips resting on his shoulder, "You do not have to answer if you are not ready."

"I'm afraid because I've lost so much."

"Steve we all have. No one would fault you for that."

"It's more than that."

Wanda's eyes seemed to probe his. Steve could feel the ice crawling back up his skin. The cold was here to take him away. To swallow him up whole. Wanda must have felt it to because she shivered, and rubbed her arms absently. Gooseflesh had broken out across her arms.

"When I lost Bucky it ripped a hole in me. I didn't know it could hurt that much to lose someone. And when you were hurt…I thought I was going to go through all of that again."

"But you didn't," she said, ducking her head to meet his eyes.

"I know, but all I can think about is 'how many more friends am I going to lose?' When I formed the Avengers with the others, I kept looking at this team like a group of soldiers and the more we do this whole thing, the more I realize these are my friends. And they keep getting hurt."

Wanda smiled slowly, "I see."

"I can't do it again. I can't keep watching the people who matter to me get hurt." Steve said, feeling his voice lose its even edge, and soon his words were tumbling from his lips in rapid bursts, "I can't lose another friend. My friends are all I have now." Steve shook his head, feeling his heart thundering away in his chest like the booming of some primitive drum, "Don't you see? I'm a man out of time. I have everything to lose, and so little to gain." Steve ran a hand through his hair, "And the one person I have to gain – uhh, back - I put others in jeopardy for."

"Steve…"

But he was too far-gone now. His words had lost the tempered steel that usually lined them. They came out raw and swollen with sadness and fear he had spent so long repressing. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have been at your side. I should have been focused. You've got a scar for the rest of your life because I was careless. There's no excuse for that."

Wanda said, slow and steady, "Steve, nothing is going to happen to us. I am alive and well. We all are. You are not to blame. We will try harder next time."

Steve shook his head, wondering how he could make her see. "When I formed this team, you were all strangers. Soldiers with a common mission, soldiers I could lead, knowing that putting our lives on the line was part of the job. An inevitability that we all had accepted and expected."

"And now? You no longer want to lead?"

"Every time we step out of the mansion I can feel that little pit of fear in my stomach getting bigger. You saw into my head. You know that-"

"That you think constantly, 'What happens the next time I step out of the base with five friends and come back with only four?' I know." Wanda said.

Wanda was silent then.

Steve, at an utter lose for words, threw the full force of his thoughts at her, pleading with her to understand the fear that he had packed away for so long. Would he be able to survive if Nat was gunned down by Ultron? Could he face Clint's grave if it ever came to that? Would he have the words to properly eulogize Tony if the need came to that, or would he choke and run? Would he ever find someone who understood the aches he felt as well as Wanda did?

"You've become a part of my life that I'm not sure I would be willing to forfeit for the sake of the greater good anymore. And I was so wrapped up in saving Bucky that I almost let that happen. Don't you understand Wanda? I let myself be so wrapped up, so damn blinded, by the need to save Bucky, to fix the one void that I still have sitting in my heart, from my life before Captain America, that I let you pay the price for it." Steve let his eyes drift down and away from hers, unable to face her, so let her see how weak he felt.

Wanda was silent for a long while. Steve let his eyes stay glued to the ground. He didn't want to face her. He shut his mind off from her. He didn't want to hear what she thought. After all, Captain America had just admitted that maybe he wasn't fit to lead anymore. That he was allowing fear to rule his actions. He was letting himself become selfish.

Wanda reached up then, and her fingertips brushed across his cheek. Steve met her eyes as her fingers twined through his hand. She seemed to hesitate then. Choosing her words. Playing them around behind her teeth, searching for the feel of them.

"Some time ago, I asked you if you knew how to go on living after losing what mattered most. You said you did not know."

"I don't."

"Neither do I. But I know I am willing to try to find out together if you are."

She gave his fingers a squeeze.

"Come," she said. And when Wanda tugged, Steve found himself following.

She led them down the hallway, back into the kitchen, and out into the common area. The room was dark, save for the eerie blue light of the city in the distance. Wanda reached up and flicked on one of the lamps that sat on a table beside the massive luxury couch. She pulled him along, and stopped in front of the plush leather monstrosity.

Steve looked between her, and the gaudy sofa. Wanda lifted a thin, dark eyebrow.

"You can sit, or I can make you. You're choice."

Steve hesitated for a moment longer, and then sank into the admittedly comfortable pillows. Wanda grabbed the remote from the table across from the couch. It was a thin, silvery piece of technology; one Steve was still unfamiliar with and had yet to master.

Wanda tossed Steve a blanket before snagging one for herself. She sat beside him, making a funny little 'oof' noise as she sunk into the cushions. She raised the remote and tapped a button with her thumb. From the ceiling descended a rather large screen. Tapping another button, the screen flashed to life.

Different movies and television shows danced across the screen in separate lines. Wanda navigated them deftly, jumping from this movie banner to that.

"Wanda—"

"My brother had a favorite film." She said softly, cutting him off, "He would watch it whenever he was upset or stressed or unsure." Wanda tapped another little knob on the remote and the list disappeared for a search bar, "For whatever reason, the film helped him think. Pietro found it calming."

Steve watched her, bathed in the light of the screen before them. Had her eyes always been so big? So brown?

The little cursor on the screen finished clicking away, and a banner popped up on the screen. In big, bold letters the banner read Cinema Paradiso.

"We were afforded few things when we were under Hydra's thumb. However books and films were offered to us regularly." She said, "Pietro fell in love with this movie the first time he watched it."

"I've never seen it."

"I have been too afraid to watch it since his funeral," she said, quiet, almost a whisper, then she turned to Steve and her voice grew steady, "Will you watch it with me?"

Steve felt confusion wash over him for a minute, but then almost reverently, he nodded. "Yes," He said.

Wanda smiled. Big and bright. She stood up quickly, rushing back to the kitchen area, "I'll make some popcorn."

Steve watched her work, and found his eyes drifting back to the movie screen. In her own way, Wanda was trying to help him. If Pietro found solace and a kind of clarity through the film, maybe he would too. She understood that maybe he needed something to help him sort his thoughts. For her to share something so closely related to Pietro felt both good and terrifying. She was offering him a chance to help both her and himself.

When she returned, she plopped herself down into the cushions, and offered him the bowl. Steve felt his stomach grumble longingly, and he plucked several pieces from the bowl. Wanda smiled at the sound of his stomach. She scooted closer, so their shoulders touched faintly, and placed the popcorn between them, so it rested on both of their legs.

If Steve hadn't broken in front of her earlier, he might have felt embarrassed. Now he enjoyed the warmth of her skin against his. The comfort he took in having her close. In knowing that despite the way he had fallen apart, she still cared to be around him, that she thought no less of him.

And so they sat, watching the scenes play out on the massive screen before them. Laughing when the film showed its heart. Feeling the tense sadness when the plot dipped to its most disheartening. Steve found himself being drawn into the beauty of it all. And within the newfound appreciation, some of the holes in his heart seemed to knit themselves back together. It was…nice. He barely noticed when Wanda's head dipped down and nestled into his shoulder.

Steve looked to find her asleep, peacefully unaware of the intimacy of her position. It reminded Steve of all the old films from his time. Steve went to wake her, but instead thought better of it.

She seemed so serene. The idea of waking her seemed almost cruel. She looked beautiful, hair falling about his shoulder, blissfully quiet and finally unburdened by grief. Yet, her beauty didn't come from a physical standpoint, though Steve would silently admit he was growing more and more aware of that aspect of Wanda, rather it was in the way she lacked smoothness. She wasn't some kind of porcelain, pristine, unmarred angel. She was nothing but rough edges. And for whatever reason, Steve found that to be her best quality. It made her seem so perfectly human, despite the amazing abilities she possessed. So he let her be. Knowing she would a have a creak in her neck, and might not get the most comfortable sleep, he was glad she at least found it. He'd seen her insomnia first hand. He would have given up a lot to know she could find a night of simple, uninterrupted rest.

So he followed her lead. Leaning his head back, Steve listened to the characters speak in a language not his own. He listened, and finally, he slept.

Hey Everyone,

I guess it's about time that I finally attempt to make one of these author's notes that I see everyone doing at the end/start of their stories. I'm still all relatively new to this so hopefully this won't be too intrusive to the story or your (hopeful) enjoyment.

First and foremost I would like to apologize for the slow updating. Normally, I'm not one to take this long to finish a bit of a story but unfortunately work has been exceedingly hectic lately, which tends to mean I have A LOT less time to write. So, my apologies for that everyone. I'm going to try and be much quicker on the updates from here on out. In the mean time, I wanted to give you all a solid chunk of story to make up for the excessive amount of time I took in updating this. Hopefully the length isn't too much or annoying.

I'll admit, I was totally not expecting this story to have any traction. Honestly, I started this story because I have zero experience in writing romance, and I wanted to get some practice in before I started on writing the romantic sub-plot in one of my own original stories. So I picked one of my favorite pairings and tried to see if I could craft an interesting story. I fully expected to be so horrendous at romance that I would end up either discontinuing it or just wrapping it up pretty quickly and pretending I never made the attempt in the first place. But I ended up getting some really wonderful reviews, which totally took me by surprise. So to those of you who took the time to review our story so far thank you so very much. This chapter goes out to you guys. It's always a fantastic feeling to hear that people are enjoying what you're writing, and it definitely fuels the fire, keeps me eager to update, and helps me know what I'm doing right. So please keep those reviews coming and if you've made it this far, please leave one if you can. Means a lot.

In the mean time, I hope you enjoy chapter 5. Leave a review, or a favorite, or a follow if you can.

Enjoy,

Poet