Avengers: Altruism [N. Romanoff]

23. Roger That

CHAPTER 23

Roger That

"Could someone please explain to me, in small words, why I'm being assigned to this mission?"

Claire asked the general audience who was receiving her comms feedback. Steve Rogers, The Man Out of Time, stood in the dead center of the old gym, throwing every punch he has in him at that poor bag.

Right hook, the roof shook and let a little dust fall. Left hook, the ropes on the boxing ring swung back and forth.

Right, the punching bag broke cleanly from its chains.

"Please," she swallowed her courage.

The bag slid across the floor, landing in a bigger pile of dust. Steve's chest rose and fell, his eyebrows broken and hanging low.

He eventually turned around, making his way to the line-up of bags with his variety of choices for the next one to be punished. This seemed like a very odd routine.

He picked a dirty, brown, and torn bag, and dragged it by the chain. He lifted it up and over his head, clipping it into its position.

He then sighed, took a deep breath, and pulled his right arm back.

"If I speak up, will I get hit like that? Can't we just call it a truce?"

His punch swung past the bag, missing it. Steve's eyes jumped to meet hers, hidden in the shadows of the corner of the room. He was frightened that someone was there watching the entire time, and he didn't even know.

"Hi, Sir," he looked at her in confusion, "Cap-Captain? Captain America, sir? Steve? Ca-can we stick with Steve?"

"I'm sorry, do we know each other?"

"Oh! So sorry!" she rushed forward with her right hand outstretched, "Doctor Claire O'Connor, I'm with SHIELD."

"How do you do?" he asked, still curious about this woman from his shadows, but shook her hand, nonetheless.

"To be fair Steve, we could all be doing a little better. You look like you need some sleep."

"I slept for seventy years, ma'am. I think I've had my fill."

"But, you're not really one for the celebrations and parties either?" she looked around the old, almost WWII-Esque boxing gym.

Steve Rogers walked over to a nearby bench, unraveling the tape off his hands. He contemplated the next words he was going to say to this woman, deciding whether to unravel his thoughts as well.

"I went under, the world was at war, I wake up, they say we won. They didn't say what we lost."

"Sometimes, that's for the best, in order to move on..." she trailed on, trying to read his face as she walked over to the bench.