#captain witch

His hands reached for hers, fingers seeking and lacing together. His hands were so much larger than her own, engulfing hers completely and yet… she didn't feel small in his presence. Quite the contrary, in fact.

His thumb brushed over the back of her hand.  

"Wanda… look at me…" he murmured.  

She shook her head. "I can't."  

"Why?"  

"Because I'll wake up."  

He chuckled again, the sound sending bolts of sensation to the far reaches of her body. Her nerves sang out for him.  "Wouldn't want that… not yet, anyway."  

"No… I wouldn't…" she replied, fully aware that this dream was just that. That she wouldn't wake up in his arms like she truly wished she could. She'd wake up in a cot in the room of the safe house where he'd brought her after the Raft.  

Clint would be on another cot in the corner of the room and Sam would be across the hall with Scott. And they'd all be giving her a wide berth because she hadn't spoken in weeks. Not since she'd been carried out of that cell and laid down in the back of a quinjet.

Not since she'd thanked _him_ for saving her.  

"But you're going to have to. Sometime, Wanda," he said.  

"I know, Steve…" she whispered.

"Just talk to me, okay?"  

"I am."  

"No. Really talk to me..."  

Her desire to see him got the better of her and she looked up, tears spilling over her cheeks as she glimpsed the dark blue of his eyes gazing down at her.

"How can I?" she asked, his hands slipping from her as everything went dark.  "Steve? Steve?"  

She reached for him, her hands grasping something warm. Something soft.  Something…

Her eyes flew open, adjusting to the darkness and realizing just what (or who) she had clutched in her grasp.  "Steve?"  

"I'm here, Wanda…" he murmured. "I'm here… are you okay?"