((OOC: Man, I couldn't do the baby thing. Mad respect.
Oh! I can absolutely do both Nat and Buck! I think I've got an idea for both for you! ))
The Soldier hadn't been able to get those blue eyes out of his head since the failure of Project Insight. Since his target put down her shield and they both ended up in the Potomac River. He frequented the Cap museum and found his own face there. A recounting of how he'd been lost and how Steph became the Super Soldier. The Star-Spangled Dame of Fame. But he was lost in his own head. 90 years of muddled programming, hazy memories of being used as a weapon, all of it overlapping with the older memories trying to break through. Was he even safe to be around?
In his wandering, he kept finding himself back on a street corner, seeing the blonde jogging like he was drawn to her for some reason. So, one evening, Steph would come home to find a man in an oversized black hoodie, zipped up with the hood pulled up. He was sitting on the floor outside her apartment with his back to her door, head against his knees. Black gloves on both hands used to conceal the metal left hand.
"You're three and a half minutes later than usual." His voice was rough with disuse but he didn't lift his head.
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Oh! I can absolutely do both Nat and Buck! I think I've got an idea for both for you! ))
The Soldier hadn't been able to get those blue eyes out of his head since the failure of Project Insight. Since his target put down her shield and they both ended up in the Potomac River. He frequented the Cap museum and found his own face there. A recounting of how he'd been lost and how Steph became the Super Soldier. The Star-Spangled Dame of Fame. But he was lost in his own head. 90 years of muddled programming, hazy memories of being used as a weapon, all of it overlapping with the older memories trying to break through. Was he even safe to be around?
In his wandering, he kept finding himself back on a street corner, seeing the blonde jogging like he was drawn to her for some reason. So, one evening, Steph would come home to find a man in an oversized black hoodie, zipped up with the hood pulled up. He was sitting on the floor outside her apartment with his back to her door, head against his knees. Black gloves on both hands used to conceal the metal left hand.
"You're three and a half minutes later than usual." His voice was rough with disuse but he didn't lift his head.