Her Mind's Keeper {MCU//Steve Rogers}

Chapter 7. A Fight to Remember

That was the first night I dreamt about Steve Rogers.

Except, it wasn't like any dream I'd had before. I was flitting between replaying scenes of him storming into the lab and a darkened room I didn't recognise. He was in there, pacing. I woke up four, maybe five times and every time I drifted under, I went back to the same images. When I woke up in the morning, I remembered it perfectly.

It happened again the next night, and the one after that.

I thought if I avoided him, I could get him out of my head. So I did, for the next three days. Nick Fury was set to give everyone a briefing on Loki's threat level, which of course, Steve would attend. I told Tony I had a headache, which wasn't entirely untrue. He seemed pleased, if anything, that I wouldn't be there.

After that, Nat suggested some adjustments to my suit, which I accepted willingly. There was no other news on Loki, so my training continued as normal.

The dream faded, and got cut up between more periods of blank sleep. I knew I couldn't avoid him forever, but the tower was big and the city was bigger, so it didn't seem impossible.

That was, until, I walked into the gym one evening and saw Natasha, Steve and another guy they were calling Sam in the boxing ring. I'd never seen Steve in the gym, and it was usually deserted at that time of day. I thought about leaving, but I was so close to hitting 80% efficiency.

After hesitating in the doorway for a long moment, I skirted along the opposite end of the gym, to the cupboard Sandy stayed in when I wasn't beating him up. Their voices carried right across the hall. Nat cracked a joke about the Secretary of State and they all laughed. Steve's was easy to place, even without checking from the corner of my eye. He was doubled over, clutching onto Sam's shoulder for support.

I stuck Sandy as far from the boxing ring as I could manage and set up some simple hand-to-hand patterns. They weren't as exciting as combat exercises, but I knew I had to work on my technique. By the time I put on my gloves, Steve and Sam were sparring, and Nat was keeping score. Sam appeared to hit the floor a lot, and she was coming up with particularly creative insults for him.

"Are you planning to spend any time on your feet tonight, Sam?"

"Horizontal's treating me just fine," he replied. From what I could see, he was lying on his side, patting the bed of the ring. "You should try it with me sometime."

"Can you two please get a room?" Steve laughed, pulling Sam off the floor.

I let their conversation fade out as Sandy quickened the pace. I hit left, left, dipped under his arm and then hit right. Over and over again. Before I knew it, I was five rounds in and my score was still stuck at 78%.

Dinner time came and went. I texted mom to remind her there were leftovers in the freezer when she got in from her shift. I hit 79% once, and then went down to 77% so I tried readjusting the settings.

At some point, Nat and Sam must have left. When I checked behind me, Steve was hurling fists at a punch bag he'd suspended in the middle of the ring.

He didn't acknowledge me, though. We trained in silence until I thought I was about ready to give up on hitting 80%. I knew I was slacking on my last round, already planning what I could scrape together for a meal at home, but I didn't know that he had noticed until he called out from the ring.

"You're doing that wrong!" He was overcompensating for my non-super hearing.

I picked my form back up. Without looking away from Sandy, I shouted back, "I'm doing it exactly how I was taught."