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AMBROSE DELEYNE IS A VERY COLD MAN.
He is distant, preferring to keep everybody at arm's length. Enough to be cordial, but not enough to consider anyone a friend. He likes Maria Hill and Clint Barton enough, maybe Natasha Romanoff, but that is where his patience ends. You can't really blame him. He wasn't always like this. Ever since the Afghan War, Ambrose has been closed off.
Ambrose Deleyne doesn't like people.
This changed when Captain America himself came out of the ice. In a way, Ambrose met a man just as cold as he.
Steve Rogers didn't have a lot of time to adjust to the new generation. Billboards with bright lights overtook his vision, and before he knew it, he was being boarded onto a helicarrier that reached a height of 35,000 feet in the air. Everyone was happy that he joined the battle efforts, that they had Captain America on their side. After all, they won. Right?
Steve finds himself staying up late at night. Yes, they won the battle, but who's to say they won the war? Who's to say aliens won't come from space and exact their revenge? Specifically on the Avengers?
It's 12 am when Ambrose first finds Steve. Steve is in the Triskelion's gym, which is odd. Tony Stark had transformed part of his tower into a living space for the Avengers. This, of course, includes a state-of-the-art home gym. Why not train there?
Ambrose is distracted by the sound of fists making contact with a punching bag. He and Steve had just returned from a week-long recon mission. Most people take the time after a mission to sleep in and unpack. Maybe make some tea while letting the warmth from their bed comfort them. Not Steve. Steve has bullets of sweat streaking down his forehead. His muscles are just as big and strong as they look in the Smithsonian. His knuckles are wrapped in off-white cloth, and his clear blue eyes are focused on the punching bag before him.
Ambrose steps inside quickly and quietly. His default setting is stealthy as a shadow, so this comes easily to him. He watches as Steve's strong punches assault the punching bag. He says nothing, watching as Steve continues to hit the bag.
Ambrose leans on the door frame, his arms crossed under his chest as he clears his throat. His soft cough rings through the air, taking Steve's attention away from the punching bag. He immediately freezes before looking to the brunette man. "How long have you been there?" Steve breathes heavily. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with a nearby towel.
"Long enough to enjoy the show," His brow cocks up. "Long enough to wish I had some popcorn."
The light blush on Steve's face doesn't go unnoticed.
"Why are you here?"
"That's a question I have for you." Ambrose slowly steps into the gym, deliberately letting his footsteps echo throughout the space. "It's 12:12 am, and here you are, training as if you can't run a marathon in fifteen minutes. Not only that, Avengers Tower has a private gym." His head tilts to the side. "So, Steven, why are you here?"
Steve's eyes widen at the name. He hasn't been referred to as Steven since... he can't even remember a time before being known as Steve. "Needed to clear my mind," He looks at the punching bag for a moment before examining his reddened, cloth-wrapped knuckles. "Trying to adjust, I guess."
"Mhm," Ambrose lets out a soft sound of acknowledgement. "I know you're a soldier, so you may be aware of this already, but you're holding back."
"Holding back what, exactly?"
"Your punches." Ambrose raises a brow. "As attractive as they are, you're holding back. You're much stronger than that."
Steve says nothing, his silence a clear indication of his shock.
"Well," Ambrose turns to leave. "That's all I wanted to know. Have a good night, Steven."
And with that, Ambrose leaves the room as quietly as he had entered, leaving a surprised Steve behind.
