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OOM: post-mission, 3:33 a.m.
Oct. 13th, 2012 01:32 pmNighttime, bedtime. The Commandos are settling in for the night--some reading, some talking, a bit of quiet laughter, as lights go out one by one--and Steve is drawing in bed, captured by the memory of trees in fog and snow. (It would look better on dark paper with a white pencil or even silverpoint, but he'll make do with what he has.) "Do any of you mind if I leave the light on a little longer?" he asks and smiles at the chorus of sleepy "No"s he gets in return.
He's tired, too, even so, and soon his eyelids are drooping and his pencil isn't obeying as readily as usual. Sleep, he decides, and closes his journal around his pencil before turning out the light. He keeps the journal on the cot with him, though, in case he wakes up with another idea. (It happens sometimes.)
Steve's dreams after missions are rarely pleasant, so he tries, tonight, to think about good things in the hope they'll give him good dreams. Eating hot dogs on the Fourth of July. Peggy's smile. Going to the pictures with Bucky and sitting in the balcony where they could watch the rest of the audience. Swimming with Orpheus in the lake at Milliways. Running in the woods...
( ... )
"Steve? Steve. Let me take the pencil, Steve."
Steve blinks a few times, realizing several things all at once--that he is breathing hard, almost like wheezing; that he has been drawing fast and hard enough to tear through the paper; and that the drawing is of the strange symbol, the circle with an X through it, along with trees and a man with too many arms and no face.
The Commandos are gathered around and Falsworth is kneeling in front of him, his hand wrapped around the pencil. "Steve," he says again, gently, and removes the pencil from Steve's fingers. "It was just a bad dream. Just a dream."
Steve presses his hands to his eyes. "I need to go for a walk," he tells them and walks out of the barracks, despite the winter weather and his bare feet, hoping the cold will finish waking him.
He's tired, too, even so, and soon his eyelids are drooping and his pencil isn't obeying as readily as usual. Sleep, he decides, and closes his journal around his pencil before turning out the light. He keeps the journal on the cot with him, though, in case he wakes up with another idea. (It happens sometimes.)
Steve's dreams after missions are rarely pleasant, so he tries, tonight, to think about good things in the hope they'll give him good dreams. Eating hot dogs on the Fourth of July. Peggy's smile. Going to the pictures with Bucky and sitting in the balcony where they could watch the rest of the audience. Swimming with Orpheus in the lake at Milliways. Running in the woods...
( ... )
"Steve? Steve. Let me take the pencil, Steve."
Steve blinks a few times, realizing several things all at once--that he is breathing hard, almost like wheezing; that he has been drawing fast and hard enough to tear through the paper; and that the drawing is of the strange symbol, the circle with an X through it, along with trees and a man with too many arms and no face.
The Commandos are gathered around and Falsworth is kneeling in front of him, his hand wrapped around the pencil. "Steve," he says again, gently, and removes the pencil from Steve's fingers. "It was just a bad dream. Just a dream."
Steve presses his hands to his eyes. "I need to go for a walk," he tells them and walks out of the barracks, despite the winter weather and his bare feet, hoping the cold will finish waking him.
