Into the War || A Captain America Love Story

16

TORI

Sleep — the only thing that I want right now. Shortly after takeoff, I doze off and don't wake for a while. Steve and Tony do the same, even though it's still daylight hours. However, we are still adjusting to the time difference. Soon we won't have to worry about that because we'll be home at last. I can sleep in my own bed, cook my own meals, lay on my own sofa — you know, being a couch potato. But first, we all have to endure the long flight.

I jolt awake, lifting my head from Steve's shoulder. I turn to my left, peering out the small window. Pitch darkness is the only thing I see besides small white splashes of water in the middle of the Atlantic. Steve and Tony are snoring, leaving me to be the only person awake. I see no problem here.

I lean back in my seat, scanning the seats for something to do. My memory eventually jogs in and I search underneath the seats. My hands scrape across a small leather covered book in Steve's bag — our sketchbook. I bring it to my lap, peeling to the first page.

A crisp drawing of the old Stark Tower hovers over a small cafe. This had to have been before the Chitauri. Memories flood in from Tony to a younger me. I flip the page. It's a newer photo, but almost exactly like the other one. Only the angle and the name on the building have change. The Avengers Tower stands in all its glory, towering over the other buildings surrounding it. I keep scanning through, finding random little sketches, then some beautiful masterpieces, and a few that I have helped with or have watched him draw, like his shield and clouds in the sky.

My eyes stop once I see a spot a few sketches all following after each other. The first is of me, sitting on another plane with a book in my lap. My hair is up in a bun, but small strands are flying everywhere. Honestly, I look horrible. Not because of Steve's drawing skills, but because how detailed and wonderful they are. You can tell that I'm fresh faced, clean of any existing makeup, and wearing a sweatshirt with leggings. It was just one of those boring days and I decided to not care about my appearance.

My fingers carefully turn over to the next page. It's a replica of a photograph Steve and I took. We are both mid-laugh, our eyes closed and teeth showing. He looks down at me while my head is tilted up to gaze at him. We are at one of Tony's infamous parties, more specifically the one he held in honor of me coming back from Asgard. Somehow this is the only sketch that even shows a fragment of Steve.

The last one is clearly more recent. It's me in our living room, playing with my ice on the couch. Little glowing particles are in front of my face, however, the drawing only shows my eyes that are reflecting the light from the snowflakes. This one is by far the most beautiful.

I take out a pencil, finding a new page. I glance over at Steve, who is still asleep. I quickly sketch his profile, add texture, and so on until I complete it after thirty minutes. In cursive on the bottom, I write him a little note because I know for a fact he will find this within the next eight hours left of the flight, so we're about halfway done.

So I'm left with nothing to do once more.

I'm tempted to poke Steve awake, but I'm not that soulless. So I try to sleep myself. I curl up into a ball in my seat, squinting my eyes shut. Not much later I'm drifting in and out of consciousness. Eventually I stay asleep.

•••

I think that it's called lucid dreaming, but whatever it is, it's happening to me. I know for a fact that I'm dreaming, but I just can't seem to wake myself up and I don't want to alter my naturally flowing thoughts.

The Avengers, new and old teams, dart across overgrown grass in a forest. At first, I think it's real, but that's before I realize that I'm having difficulty breathing, like there's a weight laying on my chest, in the middle of the woods. I wear my old Mystérieux uniform, the same clinging fabric that I've always hated allowing me to duck underneath bushes and in between low branches with ease.