"...and then she was gone." Steve had been filling Director Fury and Maria Hill in on the circumstances that surrounded the previous evening's misadventure. The meeting had been semi-impromptu in that Fury rang his doorbell at seven sharp and now the team was assembled in the communal kitchen eating breakfast while debriefing.
It was hard not to sound morose as he thought of her leaving. The idea that he'd never again see her at the bar or hear her sing left him heartbroken. She had been a tiny sliver of joy in his life that he coveted deeply and now felt bereft without it.
"Shot straight into the air and vanished into the sky like a damn meteor," Clint filled in as he picked apart his apple danish. He wasn't a fan of the frosting they were using, it seemed weak and didn't really mesh with the overall dessert. "It was kind of impressive."
"Impressive or not, Jarvis said the heat she was throwing off was testing the upper limits of the suit's structural integrity. That's saying something."
"I believe the phrase I used was 'calcine', sir," Jarvis observed dryly.
Tony smirked at Steve. "You would get a date with the hottest woman on the planet. Literally."
"Right? He only just worked up the nerve to talk to her last night and she burst into flames. Talk about bad luck." The archer popped the last of his breakfast in his mouth as he leaned into the group. "She managed to burn a century's worth of pollution off the sides of those buildings. The fire department had to take care of the partially melted dumpster that fused to the asphalt, and medics had to haul away a bunch of the mutant registration agents for second and third degree burns, and that's not counting the ones she cremated. Like in front of me. I may be scarred for life." He made the comically big puppydog eyes. "And all that was before she threatened to turn Tony into a Hot Pocket." Hawkeye's glee was evident, even if it wasn't shared by everyone at the table who'd been on the scene.
Natasha wrinkled her nose and rolled a shoulder in a dismissive shrug. "Less threat, more warning, really." She snagged a croissant off the tray and began to systematically rip it apart. "If she'd truly wanted to kill people, she could have done that inside the building."
"Or torched the whole alley," Clint added.
She nodded. "That too. It's pretty clear to me she didn't have to run."
It was clear to Steve, too. He thought about the way she'd cringed back from the violence, and limped out the door. She had truly been in pain, and still she didn't do anything until she'd been outside and away from noncombatants. As far as he was concerned, she only reacted after being backed into a corner. "Do we know what happened? What triggered her reaction?"
"She got hit." Clint bound up from the table and began rummaging through the cabinets before finally settling on the bowl of fruit on the counter. He brought it back to the table and thumped it down in front of him.
Just the words made Steve's hands curl into fists, and he had to consciously focus on relaxing his fingers and keeping his composure. "I'm sorry?"
"One of the MRA guys punched her in the face, so she smoked him. Literally." His tone indicated the silent agreement around the table, the guy who hit her had it coming, still, it was telling that her transformation was rage-initiated. Not unlike Dr. Banner's situation.
As far as Steve was concerned, everything he needed to know about her came down to the fact she could have fought, she could very well have killed everyone in that building, or on that block himself included, but instead, she chose to run. She did not seek out conflict and only reacted when she had to, he could respect that.
Tony's empathy only went so far, however. "Yeah, yeah, can we get back to the part where she threatened to turn me into me a Hot Pocket? Really? Who does that?"
"Certainly not the worst idea ever," Director Fury replied lightly while sipping his coffee. His patience with Tony's theatrics was notoriously low on a good day. And today was not a good day. He looked to Bruce. "What do we know about her power?"
Dr. Banner straightened up in his chair a bit more and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Analysis from Jarvis and from other sources on the scene say that she's possibly plasma based? Her surface temperature for the initial flair was something upwards of 2000⁰ Celsius, but the melted dumpster and glowing bricks on the buildings indicate she could go as high as maybe 2800 or more." He shrugged and sipped his tea. "We don't have an upper threshold, but I can tell you, she has amazing control." The note of jealousy in his voice was tough to miss.
The Director's eyes narrowed. "How do you figure?"
Bruce reached for a croissant and meticulously spread some goat cheese onto his pastry. "Captain Rogers had no idea she was a mutant, and he'd encountered her several times. She did not flare up in the club and didn't do it when initially detained. She didn't take the buildings down when she clearly could have. In short, as Natasha so succinctly put it, she didn't have to run. There's nothing they could have done to stop her."
"Something to keep in mind when we catch up with her." Fury looked at each of their expectant faces around the table, then asked, "So what do we know now?"
AD Hill pulled up a map to show everyone with a clear path that started about two blocks from the Avengers Tower and went pretty much due north. "We tracked the heat signature as far as Yonkers, but lost it." She tapped on the tablet in her hand. "S.H.I.E.L.D. has agents out of the Albany office sitting off her mother's house in Schenectady. No movement there, but it's early yet."
"Any other family?" Clint asked. He'd moved on to produce and was cutting slivers of an apple and eating them off the blade.
His boyfriend shook his head. "None close. The search is ongoing but for right now, no."
"So what do we know about her?"
Phil stood up, reading from his tablet. "Born in '85, she's the only child of Meredith and Harold Ford of Poughkeepsie. Harold died of a massive heart attack when she was two, Meredith moved to Schenectady and didn't remarry. Musical prodigy, BFA from Sarah Lawrence. Delilah was born sickly, with a few autoimmune diseases, one of which causes early-onset arthritis. Looking at these x-rays, it's a wonder she can walk at all."
Steve thought back to the bar, the way she moved onstage, always next to her stool or seated at the piano, the way she shuffled to the emergency exit when the fight started. Her sad, muffled admission that she didn't run because she couldn't run. Damn, but that made his heart hurt.
"Considering she floats, I wouldn't think that would be too much of a problem," Tony mused as he absently doodled in the margins of the morning paper's crossword puzzle.
Carrying on as if Stark had never spoken, "And that was before the leukemia." Phil look of barely repressed annoyance could have written a treatise.
"What about locally? Do we know where she lives in the city?" Steve knew he was grasping at straws here, but more than one fugitive had been found after returning home one last time.
Phil scrolled for a moment before settling for whatever was on the screen. "Her last known address for the last five years according to the IRS is in Red Hook, but agents found the home empty with no forwarding address."
"Brooklyn girl, huh?" Steve couldn't help the small smile that stretched across his lips. It was a surprising small comfort in this situation.
"I'll let you know if we find a more current address."
"Anyone reach out to Professor Xavier yet?" Bruce asked as he listlessly stirred his tea. Charles Xavier ran a school for x-gene positive kids (read: mutants) as well as helming the X-Men. Generally speaking their goals and SHIELD's were not the same, still, when looking for a mutant who needed help, the Avengers weren't necessarily opposed to reaching out off book.
Maria shook her head. "I'm... going to pretend I didn't hear you ask that." She looked around the table before heaving a deep sigh. "The largest issue is getting to her before the MRAs do."
That did not sound good at all. "We're not going to capture her, right?" Steve demanded, working hard to keep his tone even. "She wasn't hurting anyone when they came to get her, and only reacted when provoked."
Dir. Fury shook his head. "No, right now the goal is containment, but she's dangerous and several people are dead because of her. Federal agents from the Mutant Registration Agency are being sent home to their families in boxes-"
"And ziplock baggies," Clint mumbled into his coffee as he attempted to hide the slight chuckle that accompanied it in a cough. Nat didn't even look at him as she pinched his side to hush him up. "Ow."
Steve could practically hear the Director's teeth grinding down to powder. "The agents are dead and someone is going to have to answer for that."
"The larger problem," Phil stated as he pushed away his tablet and snagged the last bit of apple from the flat of Clint's knife, "is she's now considered a 'Dangerous Mutant'. Every law enforcement agency in the country will be looking for her, not to mention civilians."
"So instead of making the public safer, the Mutant Registration Agency actually made it more dangerous for everyone, especially Delilah." Steve's disgust with the situation was evident.
"She's going to need to get out, and quickly." Nat offered, collecting the crumbs off the table in front of her into a napkin. "The only way for her to survive this is to run, or kill everyone hunting her."
"That's a huge list," Steve noted, getting up to rinse out his coffee mug and place it on the drying rack.
"Not insurmountable," she asserted confidently, "but you're right, it is a lot of people."
He crossed his arms as he looked over his at his friends and colleagues. At this point, it wasn't about the danger Delilah posed, it was about righting a wrong done to her. Her whole life upended on someone else's whim, it wasn't just or fair to her and he wasn't going to be a party to it. "I don't think we can wait for Xavier to reach out. We need to go and ask him directly."
Tony perked right up. "Road Trip!"
"Shotgun!" Clint called at the same time and while the two argued over who would actually be riding shotgun, Bruce and Natasha approached Steve.
"You okay with all of this?" Dr. Banner inquired softly as he washed out his tea cup and dried it with the towel on the counter.
"Not even a little, but this is what we need to do to keep her safe." He wasn't even worried about the peril she posed to the rest of the world; Delilah and her wellbeing were his sole objective.
"I'm sorry. I wish I could do more. I'm going to head back to the lab to see if there's anything we can do to mitigate her situation. It's not much, but hopefully I can find a way to resolve this peacefully for everyone involved."
Steve greatly appreciated the man's gentle approach. "Thanks, Doc. Let me know as soon as you have anything." His friend nodded and then wandered off in the direction of his laboratory.
Nat passed a gentle hand down his arm as she replaced Clint's fruit bowl on the counter. "While you're dealing with Xavier, I will be looking into people who can get her what she needs to flee the country. She can't run if she doesn't have paperwork."
The assassin's network was vast, and Steve had no doubt she could find exactly who she needed to get this job done. If there's one thing he had confidence in, it was his team. "You want backup?"
Her slow smile laid bare a chilling confidence. "Thank you, but no. This is one situation I have well in hand."
The estate of Charles Xavier, now the Xavier School for Gifted Children, was a complex of Tudor-style buildings on a sprawling acerage. It looked like any of a number of East Coast liberal arts colleges: part F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, part spread out educational campus.
Regardless, as they entered the property, it was easy to miss the intense security of the facility unless you knew what to look for. And Steve definitely knew what to look for. As the home base for the X-Men, it was easily as locked down a fortress as the Avengers Tower.
"Thank you for seeing us, Dr. McCoy," Steve began as they entered the main house. He'd met them at the gate and brought them up, clear on the urgency of their visit.
Hank took them straight through the administration office to the private library where they could have tea and discuss the issue. The blue beast in the lab coat, and shirt with a tie and cufflinks was nothing if not the pinnacle of politeness. He closed the door and took a seat across from him, Tony, and Clint, whose pockets they were going to have to check before they left to make sure he didn't take anything on this jaunt.
"Our records state she came to us when she was fourteen, brought in by her mother who was concerned about her." He poured tea from a delicate porcelain teapot that looked too small and too delicate for his blue paws.
"Imagine that," Tony murmured as he stirred in black and yellow sugar cubes shaped like bees. Parental care and concern had been in short supply in his life and he kind of resented it in other people.
"She wasn't going to abandon her, or anything like that. She simply wanted her daughter to learn to harness and control her gifts and had heard of us through varying means." He picked up a folder that had been laid on a side table and slid on his glasses as he opened it. "She was a sweet, gentle soul, but very, very ill."
Something in Steve's chest ached as Hank slid them her intake pictures of a brown-skinned young girl, with bright eyes and voluminous pigtails, a wide smile that still hadn't seen enough to harden, in a lavender t-shirt and denim skirt. The sturdy-looking heavy metal brace on her leg was visible from just above her knee down to her ankle above her canvas shoes. Even more noticeable was the forearm crutch cuff just below her elbow. There was an inherent sweetness to her that drew him in, which was very similar to his current feelings. "We know some of it. Was her cancer before or after here?"
Hank's tone was melancholy. "She left here after four years to be treated for her first bout of cancer and never returned." He let that information sit before putting the folder aside. "She was in a lot of physical pain."
"Because of her illnesses," Steve filled in, though he didn't know where McCoy was going with this.
Beast nodded. "Yes, exactly. And her physical pain fed her… gift. Pain, stress, anger, all of it strengthens the expression of her mutation."
"So the more pain she's in, the more dangerous she becomes. Excellent." The irony in Tony's voice was practically another presence in the room.
Steve glared at him until he settled back down before addressing Hank. "Dr. McCoy, what can you tell us about her power?"
He sipped the last of his tea and set the cup and saucer on the table with the rest of the china. "We called her 'Thermite' because she burns so hot and so thoroughly. She can burn through the touch of her hands or illuminate her whole being in an aura-type sphere of radiant heat. She has always had incredible self-control, but with a power that strong, sometimes it can get away from her."
"So her aura is like a shield?" Clint asked from the upper rungs of a library ladder across the room as he examined the leatherbound volumes on one of the shelves.
Beast grimaced. "Not quite?" His eyes focused on the middle distance he thought about it and finally sighed. "It doesn't deflect anything, like your shield does, Cap." He nodded at Steve, then focused on Clint again. "More that it absorbs whatever is thrown at her and becomes more potent, stronger."
Tony suddenly looked quite concerned. "How much stronger?"
"Her normal temperature when she's shifted forms previously is somewhere in the neighborhood of 2500⁰, give or take, and though it's been several years since we've seen her, the hottest temperature we'd recorded from her was an aura close to 5100⁰."
Tony stiffened next to him and blinked before carefully setting the china teacup and saucer set down on the table. The deliberateness of his movements concerned Steve, who wasn't used to seeing a man normally so frenetic be so careful. "Celsius or Fahrenheit?" he asked slowly.
Beast's brows drew down in confusion. "Celsius, of course." As a man of science, he knew Tony would know that and clearly had no idea what he was on about.
"I… hmm." He took a deep breath, passed a hand over his mouth, then tried again. "Is there… that is, do you have footage of that? Do you have empirical evidence of that, that I can see?"
"What's wrong?" Clint came back and sat with the group, a battered copy of 'Catcher in the Rye' in his hands.
Hank nodded. "I can get you a tablet and show you the footage if you'd like."
"Please," he nodded sharply. "If you would."
"Tony," Steve waited until the man's dark eyes were on him and he looked distinctly unsettled, "what's the problem?"
He rubbed his forehead in agitation before drawing a hand down his face. "The surface of the sun, as in the star, at the center of our galaxy, shining in through the window right fucking now, is roughly 5500⁰C, give or take," he gritted out through his teeth with growing intensity to his teammate before turning back to Dr. McCoy. "Is that her upper limit?" The exigency in his voice was unmistakable.
"What are you-?"
He held up a hand to forestall Clint's next question, repeating each word with as much clipped enunciation as he could muster. "Is that her upper limit?"
"I have no reason to think it is." Beast shrugged, one massive shoulder rising and falling underneath the fine broadcloth of his suit jacket. "Honestly, I have no reason to think she has one."
"Fuck." All at once, the engineering genius shrank back onto the couch, looking wrung out and spent all of a sudden.
"Tony," Steve asked cautiously, "what are you thinkin'?"
He turned his head with an expression on his face of restrained madness. "Cap, she could burn a hole through the world. Through. She could ignite the atmosphere if she so chose. She is an extinction level event waiting to happen."
Steve's mouth went dry at this revelation, but before he could respond, the door to the library opened and Professor Xavier rolled in. He was a man with a pleasant enough face, buttoned up in his perfectly knotted tie and waistcoat, and possessed of the kind of reassuring personality that made people comfortable leaving their children in his care. Of course, that could also have been his telepathy working, but Steve chose to believe the best about him.
"Gentlemen, we have a problem."
Delilah's grandmother Geraldine's kitchen hadn't changed since the Reagan administration, the front right burner still scalded the milk for hot chocolate and torched the mac n' cheese. The dishwasher was more decoration than appliance. And the two person crayon stick figure family she had drawn at the tender age of seven still hung in a frame just inside the back door by the window over the sink.
The only real change to the tiny bungalow in White Plains was that it was now Aunt Lori's house and, so long as her mother's sister was in Florida visiting her grandkids, would be her base of operations for the next couple hours while she figured her shit out.
Starting with clothes. Bless her aunt, since her daughters moved out, her sartorial tastes had run to… Stevie Nicks at her ethereal witchiest. Complete with wind machine. So while going supernova in the alley in front of the Avengers had incinerated her dress, and well, everything else, she now had something to hide her shame. Yes it was a black peasant blouse that laced up with a corset belt that made her boobs look like cantaloupes, black leggings of questionable opacity, and black spangled UGG knockoffs, but it was better than trying to flee the country naked and barefoot.
That was the only thing left to her. She couldn't go home, and everything was there, all her medications and her spare cane, her books, her whole life. Whoever was looking for her wouldn't have too hard a time finding her new place. Her roommate was a barback at the Velvet Rose and had likely seen everything go down. She was a friend, but Delilah would never ask a friend to cover for her with something like this.
Delilah was so mad at herself, had worked so very hard at keeping track of her pain levels and emotional state and all that was for nothing because, if the morning paper was to be believed, her getting almost abducted and accosted somehow resulted in being Public Enemy Number One. All because she stepped into the audience to meet the cute guy who came in every night.
She could have been backstage, she could have slipped out the back door and fled and no one would have been the wiser. And yet… The tiny smile that curled the corners of her lips couldn't be helped. Captain Frickin' America thought she was beautiful. It was literally the most absurd thing she could imagine.
"Anyone home?" Her mom's voice filled her with relief down to her feet. Since her dad died, it had been just the two of them against the world, and there was no one else Delilah needed more in this moment.
She listened to her mother's movements across the ceiling as she waited in the basement, making sure she was alone before cautiously climbing the stairs. She emerged from the basement door just in time to hug the floor as a can of mixed vegetables that had been winged from the kitchen sailed past her head.
"Christ, Ma! What is wrong with you!" She slowly got to her feet as her mother came out of the kitchen in a defensive stance with another can cocked and ready. The drywall where she'd been standing had a gouge in it from where the can impacted. Her body promised she'd pay for that unguarded reaction later, but then, she was always running a tab.
Her mother's eyes were as wide as saucers. "What's wrong with me?! Delilah June! My God, you scared the life out of me." She clutched the neck of her t-shirt and had yet to really blink.
She snagged the small, dented can off the floor by her feet and walked into the kitchen to throw it away. "I'm sorry, Ma." Her leg stiffened as she stood, but she didn't want to call attention to it and make her mom feel bad.
"You should be! What are you even doing here?" Her mother put down the paper sack of groceries she'd had in her hands and began to unpack. Her mom normally stayed in the family house while her sister was away to watch over the plants and see her doctors at Mt. Sinai.
After tossing the can, she made her way to the fridge for a bottle of water and leaned back against the counter in front of the sink. "I... it's bad, Mama. Really, really bad."
Her mom didn't look at her as she put away the canned goods and the boxes of pasta and things, but nodded with a slight shake of her curls. "I saw the video. You're all over the news. What happened?"
Delilah cracked the seal on the bottle and proceeded to kill half of it in one long sustained swallow. "They found me, Ma." She rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth to catch a drop of water that had escaped. "The mutant registration people. I… I don't know how, because I hadn't had an episode in a long time, but they found me and we have to go."
"Go?" Her mother moved around her as she stored the groceries and didn't even stop moving as she pressed a box of cookies into Delilah's hands. "Go where? Did you really do all they said you did?"
As she ran a finger under the seam of the box of Nilla Wafers, a movement in the window over the sink caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. A black sedan she didn't recognize pulled onto the block and parked across the street and up three houses. She didn't see anyone get out but she was more than a little nervous now. Pinching the shiny silver sack inside between her fingers, she opened the cookies and kept a watch on the car. "Mama, he hit me in the face. They tried to kidnap me and hit me in the face." There were a lot of indignities she could suffer quietly but that was not one.
Her mother dropped the can she'd been holding and it bounced once off the floor before rolling across the kitchen. "Jesus Christ, Delilah. Are you okay?" She approached her daughter cautiously and turned her chin to see the mark on her cheek that was still visible. Her mother had never batted an eye at her mutation, and had just counseled patience and forbearance for other people who were not as understanding or just outright cruel. Still, the anguish on her mother's face at the cruelty of others visited upon her child ripped chunks out of Delilah's heart.
As she did with most things, she shook off the concern. "I'm fine, Ma." She punctuated her assertion by eating a handful of little cookies. Her mother's eyes narrowed but as all four doors on the sedan down the street opened, she knew they were out of time. "There was a lot going on, and I'll tell you all about it, but we have to go. Now."
Her mom pulled back her hand in confusion. "So you say. Go where, exactly? For how long?"
Watching the group converge on the house, Delilah felt her pulse ratchet up and begin to pound in her ears. "I need you, right now, to go in the basement and lock the door." When her mom opened her mouth, she turned her and pushed her in the direction of the cellar. "Please don't ask questions, I need you to go right now. Hide in the old coal cellar. Repeat what I just said."
Her mom's eyes narrowed but she didn't stop moving. "Hide in the old coal cellar. Got it."
"Thank you." The tension in her body melted a little bit because she knew so long as her mother hid, there was a chance to keep her safe.
Right as she got to the door, she turned and pulled Delilah's head down to kiss her forehead. "Whatever is going on, I love you. Be safe." At the last moment, she pressed the box of cookies into her mother's hands, and closed the door.
Delilah waited until the bolt on the basement clicked into place before pulling a hair tie off her wrist and tying back her long and fluffy locks. So long as it only involved her, she wasn't as inclined to aggression as an offensive strategy. Now that they'd involved her mother? Oh, there would be hell to pay, even if she had to conjure up the gates herself.
First thing she noticed when she stepped out of the front door-aside from every single gun pointed at her-was that these weren't the same thugs as before. They still had boring government rides, but these guys were in suits with sunglasses. She walked down the driveway, mindful of her limp, and never looked back, making it to the sidewalk before one man approached her. He would have been menacing if he hadn't stopped about three feet away like he was worried she had an especially contagious strain of cooties.
Tall enough to make her neck hurt looking at him, at least six and a half feet give or take an inch, with an ill-fitting, off the rack suit and slicked back hair. If ever there was a guy worthy of the 'USDA Random Govt Dude' stamp on his forehead, it was this chucklehead. "That's far enough ma'am. You're under arrest."
"You have a warrant?" She made a point of sounding bored because she knew these guys were especially keyed up.
He dug through his interior jacket pocket and produced an envelope. "This count?"
Imperiously, she held out her hand, making all of the agents there flex a bit. A scrape of boots on rock behind her had her lazily rolling her head in that direction before turning back to the main one with a smirk. "I read it or I fight, and you're standing way too close to me for that to go well for you." She made grabby fingers until he placed the packet in her hand, and when he did, the idiot who thought he'd been creeping stealthily up behind her grabbed her other wrist and slapped on a cuff.
The look of horror at the standard police cuff immediately heating bright red, then white, then sliding off her wrist in a puddle of molten metal was second only to the screaming that came from when she melted the kevlar glove he wore into his flesh. Disinterested in his suffering or the men that dragged him back from the encounter, she read the paperwork in front of her. "That was rude, Agent…?"
"Peterson," the man snapped impatiently.
She nodded and didn't look up from her reading. "That was rude, Agent Peterson, and you don't want to do that again."
"You're under arrest," he repeated, sneering at her but making no move toward her.
Delilah waited, a stalemate, until she heard a scream come from the house. And that's when she decided that mass murder might be the way to go here. Before she could react, however, a man emerged from the car closest to her. The heat in her hands spread up her arms and she was gearing up to literally scorch the earth until they turned her mother loose.
"All right, Miss Ford. That will be quite enough." The voice was calm, dismissive. The kind of voice that raised all her hackles and made her want to pick a fight just because. "This does not have to go badly. You can see now we have the upper hand. With your continued cooperation, your mother will remain unharmed."
She watched as they struggled to drag her mother down the driveway, her mom fighting and kicking the whole way. "I see."
A ghost of a smile passed over his lips. "I appreciate how reasonable you're being. Now, if you'll just get into the car, we'll be off."
"No."
Other than blinking, he didn't move. "I'm sorry?"
"I'm not getting in the car." She kept her tone bland and face impassive, even as the pain began to sing up her back from her leg. She was on a clock, she knew, and her neck down to between her shoulder blades hurt from working to keep her pain under control.
His jaw set, the teeth-grinding was audible. "Perhaps I was unclear. Unless you come along quietly this, as you say, will not go well for your mother. Is that what you really want?"
She smiled wanly, blinking slowly. "I could kill you right here." She knew enough to know that killing the leader of this mob would be enough to throw them into chaos, long enough for her to escape with her mom to regroup.
"And if you do, three more will grow in my place." And suddenly it became clear who she was dealing with. While the group didn't shout 'Hail HYDRA!', the intensity of the situation began to prickle across her skin like sacred fire. T-minus 30 and counting.
"Strong offer, I will say." She casually approached him, and the car, making sure to stand next to the gas tank and far enough away that they couldn't snatch her off her feet. "Here's my counter offer." Delilah put her hand on the door to the gas tank as an unmistakable threat. "How about I fry each of you little HYDRA fucks in your own skin?" The paint beneath her hand began to bubble and she could hear the sizzle and pings of the metal as the heat spread out over the car. "Deep fry you like fucking calamari."
"Not without hurting your mother." The man's facial expression was stony, but his body language had a lot more to say, most of it about running far away from the scary woman with the plasma cutter hands.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the men with her mother stop, well outside of the initial blast radius. Everyone was watching this exchange raptly, and so she decided to keep performing. "I'll chance it." At his daring raised eyebrow, she chuckled softly. "And I could certainly kill enough of you to make it worth my while."
The heat in her hand began to travel up her arm, a familiar feeling of impending painlessness and destruction. It was a choice, often her only choice: agony or annihilation, but the roar she heard was not her own. A moment later a streak of red and gold passed over the scene, coming to a rest floating above her driveway next to her mother.
"Honestly, I like her. She's got style." The voice coming over Iron Man's speakers could have been talking to anyone, but it was enough of a shock to make her withdraw her hand from the car, leaving a five-fingered scorch mark in its place. "Still mad about the Hot Pocket thing, though."
Delilah cocked her head to the side as she regarding him. There was so much wrong and incomprehensible with this situation, it was hard to find a place to begin. "Bygones," she hollered over to him her voice breaking on a slightly hysterical giggle.
"Now, let's start this party over, shall we?" He reached down and placed a hand on her mother's shoulder. "May I?" When she nodded, he deftly scooped her up, her former captors rendered terribly unsure of their next course of action as to this change of fortune. "Yes, well. Here's how this is going to go. We're going to leave, all of us. That means Delilah, her mother, all of us."
"Or?" The man bit out, his face now pale but mottled with concentrated patches of red rage.
"Or," Steve supplied from the roof of the car next to them, bringing all eyes to him. How he'd managed to get up there a mystery she wasn't inclined to ponder. He was glorious, in the suit with his shield on his back, looking every bit the dashing superhero. "We can let her kill you all. Your call. I have preferences, but I'm happy to follow your lead." His blue eyes cut to her shocked face, and again, even behind his cowl, he winked at her. It was the kind of thing that could make her knees melt.
Before anyone could make a move one way or the other, a crack of thunder sounded overhead so loud the concussive waves of it forced her to her knees. "My friends! I am told you are in need of transportation!" Thor wrapped an arm around Cap's waist and then leaned down and scooped up Delilah before taking off and hovering above the scene. Honestly, she would have protested being manhandled as such, but considering her previous situation, she opted for cagey, but stupefied silence.
Iron Man met them in the air with her mother in tow. "Took you long enough, Blondie."
The giant thunder god shrugged. "Humblest apologies, Man of Iron, I had a pressing engagement and arrived as soon as was practicable."
"Guys?" Delilah waited until she had all of their attentions. "I think we should go now."
"Already on it." Tony fired up his repulsors, taking out the vehicles at the front and back of the caravan, enough to buy them some time and breathing room to make their escape.
Taking off in opposite directions, he and Thor regrouped a couple miles away at a deserted gas station where Clint waited, kicked back and snoozing in the driver's seat of Tony's red Audi A5 convertible. It wasn't as flashy as his R8, but then, he was toting three people around instead of just himself.
"I can't believe I left you the keys," Tony groused as he came in for a landing with Meredith in his arms. He set her gently on the ground and lifted his visor, making a show of looking the car over for scratches and dents.
"You make bad decisions," Clint replied with a smile as he hopped out of the driver's seat over the closed door. "It's kind of your thing." His attention shifted to Delilah's mom and he offered her his hand. "Clint Barton, good to meet you."
Meredith's grin was strained as she tentatively too his hand and shook it once. "Likewise." The moment Thor touched down, she was right by Delilah's side. She grabbed her head with both hands and kissed her forehead. "Baby, are you okay?"
She couldn't help her soft snort of amusement. She brings armed gunmen to the house and almost massacred a neighborhood including her mother, and her mom was concerned about her wellbeing. "I'm good, Ma. I swear. I'm so sorry." Her leg and back didn't hurt, but she suspected that was a temporary situation until her adrenaline still burning through her veins like jet fuel settled down.
"None of this is your fault, baby." The way she held her head, she forced Delilah to look at her and didn't let go until she nodded. "Good. Now that that's settled, why are the Avengers here?"
The guys, who'd moved around to the other side of the car to give them some privacy, rejoined them cautiously. Tony reached them first and had changed out of the suit into an old Stones t-shirt and jeans. "There wasn't time for introductions earlier. Tony Stark, billionaire genius. Or genius billionaire. The order's not really important."
Meredith's lips twitched as she shook his outstretched hand. "Meredith Ford, former HYDRA hostage." She looked over his shoulder at Steve and Thor. "Thank you," she addressed all of them, "for showing up when you did."
Thor's smile was almost as intense as his loud voice. "I am pleased to be able to assist you in your time of need." Delilah marveled at her mother's ability to roll with the punches. It wasn't often, well ever really, one was addressed by a god. Kind of a big deal and very strange, yet her smile was just the same.
"Least we could do, ma'am." The slight flush that spread across Steve's cheekbones was absolutely endearing. He'd taken off his cowl and now in just the uniform looked like the hottest action figure she'd ever seen. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Ford."
Delilah caught her mother's sly smile before she faced Captain America head on and took his outstretched hand in both of hers. She might have told her mother about the 'mystery white boy' coming to watch her sing. Her mama was no dummy and raised no dummies either. "You as well, Captain."
His shy smile made her hands itch and she had to actively remind herself that this was not the venue for reaching out to touch him. Not that there ever really was an appropriate location to molest an American Icon, but still, in front of his friends was definitely off that list.
The hum of a car engine in the distance grew into a growl as it approached, putting everyone on their guard. Everyone but Clint. It was a boxy, nondescript grey SUV with a familiar redhead behind the wheel. Natasha slowed down but left the engine running as she threw open the passenger door.
"Okay," Clint clapped his hands bringing everyone's attention to him as he straightened away from where he was leaning against Tony's Audi. "Let's roll out." He grabbed the large briefcase that had been by Tony's feet and walked around to toss it in the back of the truck.
Tony's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Why wouldn't we just take the-" Clint's elbow clarified things quickly. He looked meaningfully between Cap and Delilah with a hand out like a demonstration model as he held the door for Meredith.
"Let's move, boys!" Nat called from the driver's seat, and rather than waiting for Iron Man to pick up the social cues, Clint just hustled them into the car.
"Meet us back at the tower," he called over his shoulder to Thor as he trundled Tony into the backseat and followed behind him.
Thor nodded as the truck peeled off. The thunder god shifted his attention to the couple by the car. "Will you be there as well, Captain?"
Steve's eyes never left hers. "We'll be along shortly."
"Lady Delilah," Thor acknowledged her right before he took off, leaving the two of them alone on the side of the road.
"Hiya, doll," Steve whispered, like he almost couldn't believe she was actually real.
"Hi back." Delilah bit her lip as she leaned back against the passenger door of the car. Maybe it was the shock, or the adrenaline, she couldn't say, but when Steve came over to open her car door for her, she knew she needed to do one more thing before they left.
He was close, so close she could smell his cologne, feel the warmth of his body, even under the uniform, the commanding calm he exuded was so intense she wanted to curl up in his lap and purr. Instead she hooked a finger in his collar and shifted closer to him. He met her halfway as his lips crashed down on hers, more passionate than elegant, it was a kiss of confirmation, affirmation.
His strong body pressed to hers, the way he kissed her had to practically bent over the door and leaning into the passenger seat. He framed her jaw with his hand, with the other around her waist holding her up and against him like she weighed nothing at all.
His lips were so soft, so agile as they moved over hers, like he'd been thinking about this a lot and had been dying for the practice. She whimpered softly as his tongue tentatively brushed against her full bottom lip, turning up the heat as the kiss deepened.
Warm as she was, she was surprised his uniform wasn't smoking. When he pulled back for them to take a breath, he rested his forehead against hers, passed his thumb over her parted lips. "Hi," he repeated softly, a shuddering huff of breath against her lips that made her smile. His blue eyes were so dark, so intense when they met hers, a frisson of arousal shimmered under skin.
"Hi back." She licked her lips, and his eyes tracked the motion before meeting hers again. "I'm sorry for-" Steve rushed to cover her mouth with his again, swallowing the rest of her words as his hand slid to cup her neck to deepen the kiss. His growl of pleasure shot through her and made her very aware of how badly she wanted to forget her responsibilities and just lose herself in an afternoon of carnal delight with her 'mystery white boy'. Everything about her life had been thrown into chaos and he, this superhero who loved her music, was an anchor point in the storm.
Steve had no idea why Delilah would want to apologize, and honestly, didn't care. And the kiss, the desire he had to make sure she was okay combined with a spark of wildness that was intrinsically her, left him shaken in his soul. She was incredible, so soft, so sensual… so perfect it was alarmingly easy for him to think about casting aside the things that needed to happen in favor of just another minute with her. With a deep breath, he pulled back slowly, his every breath filled with her, her taste still on his lips. It was an addiction. Gradually he became aware of her hands, one fisted in his shirt against his chest and the other tangled in the fabric at his waist, as he straightened both of them up, though he never let her go. "Whatever you're apologizing for, don't."
Delilah snickered quietly and nodded once. She blinked up at him, dark eyes hazy after the kiss clearing to a certain wariness, but he couldn't bring himself to move away from her. The hand that held her face slid down her arm. "Are you really okay?" Steve asked softly. He took both her hands in his, his thumbs rubbing back and forth across her knuckles.
She frowned and looked down at their joined hands. There wasn't really a way to succinctly express her terror, relief, joy, and growing physical discomfort, so she went with her old standby. "I... don't know. I'm... fine? I guess." There was one thing she couldn't sort out though "How did you find me so soon? Did you have me tagged or something?"
"Not quite." He smiled and brushed his nose against hers. Stepping away, he drove both his hands through his hair as he sighed deeply. He seemed as relieved as she felt. "We were looking for you, actually, and meeting with Dr. Hank McCoy. I didn't want those guys chasing you the other night to find you first. I had no idea about HYDRA."
At the mention of the bar incident, she felt a flush that started somewhere around her toes and burst all over her body. Mortified didn't even begin to cover it. "I'm sorry… about that scene in the bar." She spoke to the toes of her shoes as she dug them into the ground. "I know you weren't hurt or anything but I feel bad that you somehow got dragged into this."
He ran a hand over his mouth in an attempt to hide his smile. "There are worse places to be, trust me. Besides, it's not like you needed rescuing." He nudged her shoulder with an affectionate smile as he opened the car door for her.
Her scowl was just for show as she slid onto the luxurious leather seat. "I suppose not. More like you rescued them, really."
"Uh huh." Steve hustled around the back of the car and hopped inside next to her. He fired up the engine and peeled out in a spray of gravel. The convertible top unfurled with the touch of a button sealing them in to a luxurious cocoon as they drove.
"They're rude enough, I bet they won't even thank you." She snuggled back in the seat and crossed her arms as she stared out the window.
He smirked and turned on the radio. It took him a moment to fight with the presets before conceding defeat. "Probably not."
"Irredeemably rude." She was quiet for so long, he would have wondered if she had drifted off if he didn't hear her softly singing along to the music on the radio. It wasn't the type he was used to from her, but her gift wasn't particular and every song sounded golden to his enhanced ears. "How's Hank been?"
"It wasn't really a social call, but he seemed well enough." As well as a man covered in blue fur could be.
Delilah hummed and relaxed against the headrest with her eyes closed. "I'm glad." She hummed along with the music for a moment before turning her head to him with a soft smile. "He was a very good teacher, and very kind. Never made me feel 'less than', even though I clearly was… at least physically." As present as her shadow, her body's frailties, shortcomings, and size were always ghosts that could not be exorcised.
She didn't miss Steve's side-eye perusal of her from head to her black sequined toes, or the accompanying sensual grin that slid across his lips. "I might argue to the contrary," he offered.
"Noted." Her nose twitched with a tiny indulgent grin. For a man who'd seen so much, he was clearly a bit touched in the head, but it was nice that he thought of her like that. At least for long as it lasts. Guys like him-beautiful, whole-in the mythically rare instance they were interested, were only here for a good time, never a long time, and honestly? She didn't have a whole lot of room in her life for either kind of time right now.
The scenery transitioned as they proceeded from Westchester County into the city, and the anxiety of her situation reasserted itself abruptly. "So you're taking me to my mom or something?"
He nodded as he watched traffic. "Yeah. We'll get you both someplace safe and then we'll figure out what happens from here." At the stop light, he shifted in his seat to look at her and took her hand. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you."
Delilah gave him a tired smile as she looked down at their joined hands. "I'm not worried about me." She sighed as they drove over the George Washington Bridge into Manhattan. "I'm… uniquely indestructible. In spite of myself." She trailed off with a slightly cynical laugh. "My mom, however... My mom is all I have left. She's the one that needs to be kept safe. Everything else is inconsequential."
Steve squeezed her hand before reaching over to shift gears. 'Family above all else' was a sentiment he could absolutely get behind. "Copy that."