![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
I get that reference.
Apr. 19th, 2013 01:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
neverdancedThe chaos was over. The threat against humanity was over and it was business as usual for the rest of the Avengers. The same couldn't be said for Steve. Now that things had calmed, he had more time than he ever wanted to dwell on the fact that he was seventy years in the future. It was 2011, but the death of his best friend was still extremely fresh. Anyone he ever knew, anyone he fought alongside- they were likely dead by now. The Commandos. Peggy. That dance he would never get.
It was more than enough to drag him into a deep melancholy despite his efforts to not dwell on it. That was much easier said than done. He could drown out the thoughts when he trained, which meant that he spent a considerable amount of time at a punching back until his fists were numb, until he was exhausted enough that he had nothing but a deserved catharsis.
The place he trained was the safest. The room was mostly empty, there were no windows. It was mostly quiet save for the sound of his fist colliding with leather and his own breathing. He could almost pretend that he was back in a time where things made sense, when there wasn't a constant barrage of flashing lights and advertisements, advanced technology, touch screens and high speed connectivity devices.
If only there was a way to go back. What was the point of being a super soldier when you could not only save your best friend, but you had to live so far in the future and constantly remember it? Although these thoughts frequently entered Steve's mind, he was never a man to give up. He had let Bucky down and his death was in vain, the only thing he could do now was be there for when he was needed. If he helped enough, he could make up for his past failures.
Steve finally stopped to take a break from his training. Panting, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and headed into another room for water. It was good things were back to normal for everyone else, but even still.
This was kind of lonely.
It was more than enough to drag him into a deep melancholy despite his efforts to not dwell on it. That was much easier said than done. He could drown out the thoughts when he trained, which meant that he spent a considerable amount of time at a punching back until his fists were numb, until he was exhausted enough that he had nothing but a deserved catharsis.
The place he trained was the safest. The room was mostly empty, there were no windows. It was mostly quiet save for the sound of his fist colliding with leather and his own breathing. He could almost pretend that he was back in a time where things made sense, when there wasn't a constant barrage of flashing lights and advertisements, advanced technology, touch screens and high speed connectivity devices.
If only there was a way to go back. What was the point of being a super soldier when you could not only save your best friend, but you had to live so far in the future and constantly remember it? Although these thoughts frequently entered Steve's mind, he was never a man to give up. He had let Bucky down and his death was in vain, the only thing he could do now was be there for when he was needed. If he helped enough, he could make up for his past failures.
Steve finally stopped to take a break from his training. Panting, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and headed into another room for water. It was good things were back to normal for everyone else, but even still.
This was kind of lonely.
