𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄 » avengers x reader

59. Nostalgic

Washington, D.C.

"Are you excited about your date tonight?" I asked Lewis as I drove down the Washington streets.

Last night was eventful for me but I chose not to bring that negativity back home. Besides, I rarely ever tell Lewis what goes on at work anyway. It's not his business and S.H.I.E.L.D. is a secretive organization, so I can't really risk letting information out to the public.

Lewis shrugged in his seat, "I don't know."

I furrowed my brows, "What do you mean you 'don't know'?"

"I've never met this girl. What if I don't like her?" he asked.

"Well that's what the date is for, to find out more about her," I stated the obvious.

"But what if she's not as good as you?" his voice sounded soft and emotional.

Stoically I shut down his thought process immediately, "Cut that crap, Lewis. There are billions of people out there who are way better than me. Maybe even ones who don't have a lot of guy friends you could complain about. Or even better, who aren't Avengers and can actually make time for you!"

I didn't understand why I couldn't drill it into his head that we weren't right for each other. The fact that we never agreed on anything and he hates most of the things I did, I'm surprised he wasn't able to let go of me easily.

Lewis shut up after that. The ride over to the VA Center was quiet. As it should be. At this rate, I felt that talking to Lewis would make him fall for me even more. His presence was actually starting to annoy me and I was now considering Sam's suggestion of moving out.

We finally arrived and I was the first one out of the car. All I wanted to do was drop Lewis off, maybe have a quick catch-up with Sam, and then rush home, getting as far away from Lewis as possible.

We stepped inside and found that Sam was leading another meeting in one of the rooms. I peeked in to hear what he was saying.

Lewis tapped me on the shoulder, "I'm going to the restroom."

I nodded permitting him to leave. I sighed a put my hands in the pockets of my winter jacket. The January cold was harsh and came seeping through the crack in the doors. The heating was on but it honestly didn't help.

I peeped into Sam's room, leaning against the door frame as one of the veterans spoke up about an experience that triggered her PTSD earlier in the week:

"The thing is I think it's getting worse. A cop pulled me over last week, he thought I was drunk. I swerved to miss a plastic bag. I thought it was an IED," she explained.

My heart broke for her. As a soldier, I almost felt guilty that I couldn't relate to how she was feeling. Some of us are lucky that the trauma doesn't haunt of forever, but at the same time it means you become desensitized to conflict.

"Some stuff you leave there, other stuff you bring back. It's our job to figure out how to carry it. Is it gonna be in a big suitcase or in a little man-purse? It's up to you," Sam sermonized.

I smiled at Sam's words. He is so good with his words. He knows how to comfort a person, not because he has to but because he wants to. It's what I loved about him and why I valued our friendship.

I felt a sudden gust of cold wind against the side of my face. Someone had opened the front door and made their way in. Turning my head I saw the tall blond man himself; Steve Rogers.

"Steve, I'm sorry about last night. I wanted to call you and ask if you were okay, but then I thought you would need some space—"

"It's okay," he cut me off. "I'm more annoyed with Fury and Natasha, to be honest."