"I won't be able to do anything until I see it," she told him, voice soft, and turned her face skyward as well. Nine minutes. Wordlessly she reached out and grasped Cap's hand. Her gaze fell and she looked around.
The other helicopter was leaving. The senators were gone but there were others. A news truck, parked by the sidewalk, the reporter on her knees sobbing, the cameraman still holding his equipment with the lens tilted towards the sky. Eight minutes.
A small group, a family, rushing onto the lawn towards the ascending helicopter, screaming. The man holding onto the hand of a boy with a tear stained face, the mother with a crying baby in her arms. Wanda felt tears stinging her own eyes. Seven minutes.
A lone man on the Capitol steps, hands clasped before him, eyes squeezed tight as his lips murmured silent prayers. Six minutes.
Wanda pulled her phone out of a pocket with her free hand and carefully typed out a message (I love you all, I'm sorry) and chose the contacts, and hit send. Billy, Teddy, Nick, Clint, Tony. Five minutes.
She turned then and threw her arms around Steve's neck and buried her face against his chest and felt the hot tears spilling down her cheeks and when she pulled away from him Wanda stood up and pressed a kiss to his cheek and brushed her lips against his. Then she turned and moved away. Four minutes.
There it was, a glint above. She followed it with her eyes, tried to gauge where it would hit, and willed herself to rise into the air to meet it.