Home sweet, home

Summary:
January 14, 2015: Cap finally returns home after a long mission; Sara stops by to check in.

Brooklyn

No sleep till Brooklyn.


Characters

NPCs

  • <Name of NPC or "None">
  • <Use same pattern for all npcs>

Mood Music:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHEOF_rcND8


It's been a long few weeks.

A mission he'd rather forget got him home a day too late. His country, his town was attacked as he was on a plane heading back from southeast Asia. It's a terrible trip under normal circumstances. It's a horrific trip when you're country has been attacked and you are stuck, waiting to get home.

There was a brief meeting with the President and then he was on his way back, taking a motorcycle up towards home, heading through Metropolis instead of Philadelphia to watch Tony working on getting the power up through the city.Through Gotham and the rest of Jersey and now home. He hit trafficof course there was trafficand it was emblematic of the past few hours to be sure.

The keys go into the dish. The boots come off as does the bomber jacket and he heads to the refrigerator. Nothing good. He goes to the freezer and the cupboards.

« You eat? »

It's a simple text from Sara, finally getting off shift at the precinct. With so much chaos in the city, the weird crimes are going to have to wait. No one has time to look into reports of ghosts or demons when there's literal fire in Central Park. All available units have been shifted to the investigation, and with SRD handling the actual metas and supers, extranormal investigations counts as available.

« Can swing through the store. You might want to check the milk. » Funny how not spending all of her free time holed up alone in her place has almost domesticated Sara. Almost. He might want to be careful about checking the milk.

Steve fumbles a bit with the keyboard—he never learned how to type and was, therefore, never really exposed the Qwerty system because in those gender biased days, women did that sort of thing. His thumbs move slowly as he searches to type out the words.

«Sirloin Steak t.v. dinner. Cocktail weenies. Cream corn.»

Followed a text a minute later. «Milk is awful, yeah.»

« I have been a bad influence on Captain America. My life is now complete. »

Sara tucks the phone back in her pocket with a brief, rueful smile, swinging through the bodega on the corner for milk, a loaf of bread, and some cheese and sausage. It takes her about half an hour, but soon she's knocking at the door to the apartment.

"Hey," Steve says as he opens the door and let's Sara in. "For the record, this is the kind of stuff we ate back when I was younger." Way younger. "We were the generation who took preservatives to a whole new level." He is 94 and looks great, all things considered. It's probably the high sodium.

"How were things while I was away?"

Despite the conversational tones, it's clear that something is bothering him. The way he fidgets. The nervous energy. The dead look in his eye. It all shows the wear of the recent attack on the nation and how he wishes he would have been here.

"Oh, you know," Sara answers as she steps inside, setting the groceries on the counter. "The world went to hell, and this time it wasn't my fault." There's a faint smile cast his way before she puts the milk in the fridge, then starts unpacking the rest of it. She eyes him for a moment, noting that edginess.

"It's not your fault, Steve," she says quietly. "It's not anyone's fault. No one saw it coming."

Steve swallows with some difficulty as he plops down the tray steaming Sirloin Steak (with icy center no doubt)onto the tray he keeps in front of his recliner. The television is tuned to the news, of course, and it hasn't gone off since he's walked in the door. "It's our job to see it coming, Sara."

Sara pulls out a knife, starting to cut the bread first. "I'm not going to ask what sort of classified mission you were on," she says slowly. "But I'm going to go out on a limb and say that if you were on it, it was probably pretty important. That was something someone saw coming. It was something you had the power to do something about. And that's what you were doing." She tucks her hair behind her ear, glancing toward the television.
"Whoever planned this? They spent a long time planning it. And that's always the problem, Steve. It's always going to be the problem. We're the good guys, and that means we play defense. Which means the bad guys get the initiative. They get to pick their time. Pick their place. Pick their weapon. Best we can do is be prepared for it, and be ready to bring them to justice if we can't stop it."

"Do you honestly believe those things you're saying," Steve says with a raised eyebrow and a weak smile. "Or are you saying that just to make me feel better?"

He takes a bite of the sirloin steak but immediately puts his fork down. It's not clear if he hit the cold spot or if he just can't eat anymore given the circumstances of the news or the conversation.

"I'm going to be part of the interrogation team who interviews him in the morning. I'm not sure who will be leading it, but I'll be there. What's Manning up to?"

"I honestly believe that saying it makes me feel a little bit better when I start to feel like nothing I do matters," Sara replies with a rueful smile of her own. "Whether or not it's true…" She trails off, shrugging slightly. "Being a cop's not really like going to war, Steve. You want an opinion on that, Paul's the one you should talk to."

She slices off some of the sausage and some of the cheese, tossing it onto a plate before joining him in the living room. "Just like the rest of us, pulled onto extra duty to try to cover some of the chaos this has left behind."

Steve rubs his face for a moment, allowing him one more moment of reget as he leans back in the chair and looks up at her. "I'm sorry. Over the past few weeks I haven't gotten the chance to keep up with your life as much as I'd have liked to. How are things down at the station? How are things elsewhere?"

Sara laughs softly, brushing a hand over his hair before settling in on the couch. "Pretty much like they usually are. They were quiet for a little bit, actually. It was nice. And then, as they ever do, they picked back up again. Kid in forensics got picked up for murder. Looks like someone's setting him up. Using possessed people as puppets." She leans back with a sigh, echoing his gesture and scrubbing a hand over her face. "I really hate the possessions. It's like…the biggest middle finger ever from the universe. Hey, you know this person you're trying to save? The only way to beat us is to beat them. Have fun working that out!"

"Sounds pretty intense," Steve says in response. He's not really one for the dark arts and the fact that she dabbles in it so freely as part of her life has never truly sat well with the Star Spangled Avenger. He can't imagine dealing with that as often as she does. "Will I sound annoying if I ask how safe it is for you?"

"Depends," Sara grimaces. "Physically? Not unless we're talking about some sort of greater demon. The Witchblade is…not designed. Not really. But keeping those sorts of things in line is pretty much its purpose. So it keeps me safe enough. Emotionally?" She snorts softly. "Tears me up. I still have nightmares about those kids. And as much as I run into it, I can't- I don't-"

Sara lets her hands fall to her lap as she shakes her head. "I've got a sharp, pointy weapon and a suit of armor. Which drops me in a whole world of magic I can't do anything but hit. Except, you know. Magic. Hitting is not generally the answer."

There's really not much for Steve to say. It'd be a horrible thing to relive, night after night. And he knows a thing or two about having to relive things night after night. After a long pause, he sighs and looks over at her, "I'm sorry I haven't been there as much as I'd have liked for you. It hasn't always been fair."
Sara looks back up, arching a brow. "Life's not fair," she counters, matter-of-fact. "Honestly, though? Here all the time or here one weekend a month, you're the brightest thing around, Rogers." A brief smile flickers, tugging at one corner of her lips, as she looks down to her plate to stack some of the cheese and sausage onto the bread. "They call this thing the Balance. And up until a few months ago, I was pretty sure it'd brought me way more dark than light. And then there was you." Glancing back, she raises a finger. "And if you tell anyone I said something that sappy, I won't warn you about the milk next time."

"Who'm I going to tell?" Steve says with a chuckle. "You're pretty bright yourself, in your own special way." He pulls the tv stand away from him in order to take the sirloin dinner and cross the small path to pitch it. "I haven't slept in days," he says as he comes over to give her a kiss upon the head if she lets him. "If you want to stay, I'l leave out your things." Girls have a lot of things they bring, after all.

Sara checks her watch, considering for a moment. "Mmm. Thanks, but you need your sleep," she replies, reaching up to set a hand briefly to his cheek at the kiss. "You've got an interrogation in the morning. Give me a call if you need someone to give him a scare," she offers, standing with a small smile and picking up the dishes. "Pretty sure the Captain would have to file that under being useful in the investigation."

Steve can't help but chuckle at her snide remark; it's so much different than his own demeanor, but that's one of the best parts about her. "If you'd like to come, you'd probably do a better job interrogating than I would. It would be pretty great to see you at work, again."

"That's because you're Captain America," Sara points out, putting the leftover cheese and sausage in the fridge and wrapping the bread up before putting it into the pantry. "Everyone knows you're a good guy. But I'd love to get a look at the guy who did it," she admits, closing the pantry and stepping out of the kitchen. "Let me know when it is, I'll be there."

"Tomorrow morning. 6 am. We can carpool," Steve says as he walks up towards her. Looks like this is goodbye. He's so awkward at goodbye and has come to loathe them. "Or if it's too cold for you on the bike, we can take a bus." He smiles down at her and shrugs his shoulders.

Sara snorts softly, grin flashing. "Like I'm ever going to say no to the bike." Like a band-aid, Steve. "I'll see you early, then," she says, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. "Sleep. The bad things that happen at night are my problem." She gives his shoulder a squeeze, then turns to head out into the hall.

Steve purses his lips as he heads out of the door abruptly, and as the pit grows just a bit in his stomach he's not really sure what the cause is.

It's probably sirloin steak.


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