Disoriented » Captain America

chapter thirty four

34 x stasis

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Everything had been quiet since the day in DC. The X-Men and Fantastic Four had eventually drifted back to their rightful locations, once a week passed.

They were at a month now.

Steve didn't leave the room that housed Jo's unconscious body. It pained him to see her so still, so pale. He longed to see her mischievous brown eyes open and gleaming at him, encouraging him toward their next adventure. He'd even take the taunting of a 'see you soon,' which he knew meant it'd be somewhere else along his timeline that in some mismatched, roundabout way, fit into her own.

It was wrong for her to be so still.

Vision has explained (to the best of his ability) what Jo had done. Even he had a very rough, rudimentary understanding of what she'd managed . . . Steve recalled phrases like 'time flux,' and 'fixed point,' along with something about the space-time continuum and removing Doom without wiping out everything he'd ever done.

Steve wished she'd just erased Doom's entirety, if that would mean she'd be awake.

Bucky visited him once in a while. Wanda came more often to see Jo, Pietro usually accompanying her; Wanda would check for brain activity, discover her forcefield was still active. Pietro would hold her hand and mumble an apology before they both left.

The only one who would come and actually sit with Steve in his silence was Sam. He'd just stay there, no questions, no words, for hours at a time. At the end of it, he'd leave with no explanation, usually right before Steve fell asleep.

He'd talk to her sometimes, recall his memories of their encounters, tell her all about how he'd been entranced from the moment he'd first seen her. He'd laugh at certain moments, but the laughter was always accompanied by tears.

When a month and a half approached, Steve would venture out to beat punching bags. Natasha would appear in the training room, leave water bottles, and leave without a word.

"Please wake up," became the only words Steve would utter, holding her small hand with both of his own, pressing his head into the edge of the bed.

One day, at nearly two months in, he woke up from being leaned against her bed to find his head resting in her lap, her fingers combing through his hair.

He practically tackled her to the bed in joy.