I'm literally stepping out for lunch. After last month's prolonged trip back home -- or whatever dream world I thought was home -- I've taken to eating on the roof of the Compound to break up the hours I spend between the Council office and the school. It's not much of a view compared to the city, but it's better than sitting behind a desk in a concrete box, wishing I was anywhere but sitting behind a desk in a concrete box. Of course, no sooner do I think this than my name's being called with the sort of urgency that only spells trouble.
And, you know, there's about a fraction of a second where I'm honest-to-God relieved. How's that for awful, huh? Fortunately, the guilt kicks in right away when I realize who's doing the shouting -- and why. I'm not especially close with Bucky -- not that he doesn't seem like a nice guy, or anything, but he's from both before and after my time, which is a weird thing to think about, really -- but the man whose weight he's struggling under is a different matter entirely.
"...Cap?"
I blink a couple of times, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. Which is insane, because there's no sense to be made. I mean, I get it. Superheroes, we get shot. You kinda sign up for that. It's part of the gig. But somehow, it's different, seeing someone like Captain America clinging to the edge of life. There are about a million questions I want to ask -- numbers one and two being what happened and how are you so freaking calm -- but I don't get any of them out. I drop my half-eaten sandwich on the ground, then jump down the steps, helping Bucky lift Cap without another word.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2011-04-08 08:14 am (UTC)And, you know, there's about a fraction of a second where I'm honest-to-God relieved. How's that for awful, huh? Fortunately, the guilt kicks in right away when I realize who's doing the shouting -- and why. I'm not especially close with Bucky -- not that he doesn't seem like a nice guy, or anything, but he's from both before and after my time, which is a weird thing to think about, really -- but the man whose weight he's struggling under is a different matter entirely.
"...Cap?"
I blink a couple of times, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. Which is insane, because there's no sense to be made. I mean, I get it. Superheroes, we get shot. You kinda sign up for that. It's part of the gig. But somehow, it's different, seeing someone like Captain America clinging to the edge of life. There are about a million questions I want to ask -- numbers one and two being what happened and how are you so freaking calm -- but I don't get any of them out. I drop my half-eaten sandwich on the ground, then jump down the steps, helping Bucky lift Cap without another word.
"I don't-- He just showed up like this?"