who ; Steve Rogers
what ; Steve set up an obstacle course for himself in the junkyard to try and get away from people for a bit and get out of his own head.
where ; THE JUNKYARD \o/
when ; Right. Now.
warning(s) ; FEELINGS.... This happened sooner than expected, but he's starting to wrestle with his own uncertainty re: his political position in
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She steps out from around a trash dune with her gun in hand - and automatically lowers it and stares when she sees Steve standing there surrounded by twisted metal and miscellaneous junk, shield on his arm.
"...why am I not surprised it's you?"
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And then he sees her, falters, slips on a piece of debris and almost falls over, catching himself instead on a standing piece of pipe- which promptly grates, shifts, and dumps him into the chaos he caused.
...Serves him right, really. He doesn't bother getting up, just stares through his one clear eye at the distant ceiling. "Um. Hello, Miss Mason."
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Finally, she holsters her gun and starts carefully toward him, making sure to place her feet carefully on something solid before putting her full weight on it. There may not be zombies on the station, and quick healing may be easy, but she still doesn't want to twist an ankle here - if she does, she's certain something nasty would take that opportunity to fall through the rift on top of her.
"Hello, Steve. So... nice job, super soldier. What the hell just happened?"
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He would be very, very glad she didn't get it on film, if he knew she carried as many recording devices as she does. "Well... I was just trying to drill, but it wasn't-"
Sigh. "I lost my temper."
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She stops beside him and holds out a hand to help him up. "You know, it's kind of reassuring to know you can lose your temper - makes you seem a little more human."
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Steve finally reaches up to take her hand, more out of politeness than need, and climbs to his feet. "Do I really not seem like it?"
He'll get to the question of what he was losing his temper about once he... figures it out himself. Or he'll pretend he forgot she asked. He's liking the second option better
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"Technically, yeah, I'm pretty sure you're human," she says with an amused little snort. "In practice..."
She shrugs a little.
"People are selfish. They think of themselves first, they let things like fear and anger get the better of them, and they'll throw other people under the bus if it'll help them and the people they care about - or even if it's just easier than not doing that. It's not a judgement, it's just a fact. It's human nature, something to which you seem to be strangely immune. So it's nice to know you even have a temper, buried under all the too-good-to-be-realness."
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Aside from one nick across the edge of the white star - the metal underneath unharmed - it's as pristine as ever.
"And I know that's not how they have to be. I know if you give people a chance, they can be a whole lot more." He stares down at the shield in silence, trying to put his thoughts together and not really pinning any down at all. "I miss my people. I miss my team. I miss fighting someone I know is wrong for a cause I know is right. It's only been... not even a month, but I miss it."
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It surprises her a little that he actually answered the question - honestly, too. Okay, she's not sure he could be anything but honest, but he didn't have to tell her what was really on his mind either.
She frowns for a second, folds her arms over her chest, and glances away, scanning the junkyard for movement while she searches for a response. She feels like she should say something reassuring, or sympathetic, but... she's never been good with other people. That's what she keeps Shaun around for.
"I don't," she says finally, so quietly she's not even sure he'll be able to hear it if his ears are still ringing. She's not sure she wants him to hear it. "I'm grateful that I'm here, and scared out of my mind, and angry about more things than I can count. I'm worried about my team, and frustrated I can't help them, and I miss my job, and my van, and my ( ... )
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Huh. Guess that thing's good for something after all.
And that's really all she has time to think before he picks her up and starts running. She lets out a startled, indignant sound somewhere between a yelp and a growl, nearly elbowing him in the side before she manages to turn the impulse into a flailing grab at his shoulder, like she doesn't entirely trust him not to drop her.
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He's going to sit down now. He'll be fine within five minutes, but running for your life after fighting a small avalanche can take it out of a person.
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"What the hell?" she snaps, slamming her glasses back up the bridge of her nose - they'd slipped down during the run - and taking several quick steps back to regain a little of her personal space. "I have two legs, and they work just fine."
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Another little gesture. "It won't ha- well, I hope it doesn't happen it again."
He looks up at where the rift must be and frowns.
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Yeah, he had a valid reason. She gets that, and she appreciates not being flattened, but that doesn't mean she has to like physical contact with people not her brother.
She follows his gaze to the the rift, and grimaces a little. "Can we get out of here already?"
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"Where's Shaun? I was starting to think you two never did anything on your own." It's not judgmental in the least - from art classes to back-alley fist fights, he and Bucky are and always have been the same way.
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