Steve Rogers/Captain America One Shots

Monkey on a Tightrope

You hugged the olive green trench coat closer to your body, as you shook softly from the chill that spread across your skin. The rain poured down heavily around you, making you thankful for the thin yet sustainable tent covering you from the downpour. But the precipitation only made the nipping cold in the wind grow, as the clouds were grey and bleak and the raindrops carried a chill all their own. The wind blew harshly against your skin, the chill taking advantage of any exposed flesh it could find. And although the long--and clearly too big--coat covered you more than your colorful costume ever could, your skin was still left victim to the cold.

But you listened to the soothing sound of the droplets hitting the pavement around you, sounding as though rushing waves slapping softly against the shoreline. It was oddly calming despite the way it made the world around you dreary and drenched in the coldness it brought. And the scent that you breathed in slowly through your nose, as your head tilted back slightly to gaze upon the droplets that fell from the meloncholy sky above, had a surprising tranquil essence to it. For there was a richness; one that was clear and pure and deep. The scent of the Earth, washed of it's impurities until the sun came up the next day and started all over again. Your lungs felt clear as you breathed in a breath of the fresh air, that was saturated with the beautiful nature of the rainfall. 

The soft sound of your heels hitting the floorboards of the stage beneath you, lifted into the pattering rush of the rain. But the sound that seemed loud in the stillness that seemed to settle over the Earth in this moment of peaceful rainfall, didn't faze the figure that sat feet away from you. He was still; his shoulders slouched forward as his feet rested on one of the few steps leading off the stage. Far enough under the protection of the tent that his coat and hair stayed completely dry, but you saw the way the raindrops patterned the toes of his light leather boots. Collecting in droplets until one too many made them slide down the sides, onto the wooden step that had turned darker from the moisture it took on. And carefully, you leaned your left shoulder against one of the far beams as you stayed hidden in the shadows behind the unsuspecting man who, just like you, had just gotten off of the stage. 

His army green coat covered most of the brightly colored outfit that adorned his tan and chiseled physique, but if you tilted your head slightly to the left, you could see the dark blue pants that contoured to his skin. Tucking into the warm brown leather around the base of his calves. And his hair, even from the back, was still slicked back with whatever styling agent they had used on his beautiful blonde locks. There was something about the way he sat here, alone, in only the comfort of the rain and his thoughts, that made you see the man underneath the stars and the stripes. The man that the soldiers in the audience couldn't see, when he was forced to stand before them in a façade created for the people who needed one back home. As the rain fell around him with gusts of soft wind, he looked as though a man in turmoil. And it was with that reason that tugged at your anxiously beating heart, that you took a single step out of the shadows and into his light.

"I didn't know that Captain America could draw."

Your voice seemed like a boom of thunder resonating throughout the sorrow filled sky. And you watched as Steve Rogers's body jolted at your unsuspected presence, but as his head whirled around and his striking blue eyes fell upon you, his expression softened. His eyebrows rose a fraction as you watched his forehead crease in surprise, and his eyes seemed to twinkle with a glimmer of the light that the world around you was missing.

"Hi." His tone was soft, breathless as though still in shock that you were standing behind him, seeking him out. And you smiled softly at his sheepish greeting that made a butterfly begin to dance in the pit of your stomach. 

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." You spoke gently, but as soon as your words reached Steve's ears he shook his head and laid the pencil that was between his fingers, down in the open pages of the leather back journal resting on his knees. The pages were worn and slightly discolored along their creased edges, and they fluttered softly in the faint breeze that accompanied the somber rainfall. And even as his body covered most of the pages that lay open and still across his lap, your eyes traced over the outlines of pencil that ran over the paper, trails of lead bringing the emotions hidden within Captain America himself, out into light.