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It's been a busy few days at the council office. We'd only just settled back in before the island had turned itself upside down and into a very familiar landscape- just not familiar enough.
Manhattan is almost what it should be, but the little differences are so incredibly jarring. The mansion is there, stately and unbroken, but it's a museum. There are no As engraved in the wrought iron gates. Stark Tower and the Baxter Building aren't where they should be, which is unsettling- the skyline is just that much off.
The bridges don't go anywhere. I've tried. Brooklyn sits quiet across the river, and I can't get to it, which bothers me more than I should let it. Even with all this, though, and the strange specters that populate the city alongside our actual citizens, it's nice. The food is amazing, and a lot of my favorite places are there. Central Park looks glorious in the snow and even though none of it's real, and it makes me a little homesick, I still want to enjoy it.
Not alone, though.
I've got a list as long as my arm of coffee houses, diners, restaurants, museums and views I want to take Peggy to, things I want to show her. We've already been to a few. More, though, my thoughts and concerns turn to Bucky. I worry about him, and about us, our friendship. It's not what it used to be, and that hurts. It's hard enough watching Tony crawl back into a bottle. I'm grateful to know the people here that I do, but I miss my friends, the best of whom is right in front of me.
Well, I'm done with letting it be.
It only takes a minute to pack a couple small, hard snowballs and absently rest them on the hood of the Chevy outside the building Bucky's hut turned into. I tip my head back, counting over, and launch one squarely at the glass.
Manhattan is almost what it should be, but the little differences are so incredibly jarring. The mansion is there, stately and unbroken, but it's a museum. There are no As engraved in the wrought iron gates. Stark Tower and the Baxter Building aren't where they should be, which is unsettling- the skyline is just that much off.
The bridges don't go anywhere. I've tried. Brooklyn sits quiet across the river, and I can't get to it, which bothers me more than I should let it. Even with all this, though, and the strange specters that populate the city alongside our actual citizens, it's nice. The food is amazing, and a lot of my favorite places are there. Central Park looks glorious in the snow and even though none of it's real, and it makes me a little homesick, I still want to enjoy it.
Not alone, though.
I've got a list as long as my arm of coffee houses, diners, restaurants, museums and views I want to take Peggy to, things I want to show her. We've already been to a few. More, though, my thoughts and concerns turn to Bucky. I worry about him, and about us, our friendship. It's not what it used to be, and that hurts. It's hard enough watching Tony crawl back into a bottle. I'm grateful to know the people here that I do, but I miss my friends, the best of whom is right in front of me.
Well, I'm done with letting it be.
It only takes a minute to pack a couple small, hard snowballs and absently rest them on the hood of the Chevy outside the building Bucky's hut turned into. I tip my head back, counting over, and launch one squarely at the glass.
