oblivion. ▷ captain america. [1] •••DISCONTINUED•••

PART FOUR xxv ▷ years into a new life.

T W E N T Y  F I V E

25. | years into a new life.
time is your friend

steve.

•

TWO YEARS.

Two years have gone by since the Chitauri.

Not much has happened. The usual SHIELD missions have kept me occupied, which I'm extremely thankful for. I've grown even used to this century. I can recognize a lot more references and understand more slang than before. I'm still not completely adapted, but more than I was. I have at least adapted to my new schedule.

The sun isn't even over the horizon as I begin my morning run. I sprint through DC, which doesn't have a single person in sight yet. I cut around a corner, running down a long stretch of concrete. Quite a few yards in front of me is a dark silhouette. I squint my eyes at it, trying to decipher what it is. I think it's another person running, but more like jogging to me. I've never seen anybody out here before, and especially at this hour.

Before I go past them, I politely say, "On your left."

A few minutes later, I'm passing him again, this time in front of the memorial.

"On your left," I tell them again.

"Uh-huh. On my left. Got it," they say. It's a man wearing a light grey sweatshirt. He's seems like a cool guy.

It feels like hours pass, and the sun's all the way up. I'm passing in front of the stairs up to another memorial, again seeing the man jogging ahead of me. He must hear my feet slapping against the concrete or my breathing because he turns around to face me, still jogging at a decent pace.

"Don't say it," he states. "Don't you say it."

And being the little sh— and I'm not gonna say the word — that I am, in between pants I tell him, "On your left."

"Come on!" he exclaims. He quickens his pace, but still not fast enough to pass me. I hear him groaning behind me, ending in his footsteps fading into the grass. I do a couple more laps around the Reflecting Pool before seeing if he's all right.

I find him leaning on a tree near the Capitol Building, sitting in the grass with his hand over his left lung. The collar of his sweatshirt is soaked in sweat, and a few drops trickle down his forehead.

"Need a medic?" I ask him, seeing that he's still panting and wheezing.

The man laughs, shaking his head slightly. "I need a new set of lungs," he says. His voice is slightly drained out by the cars driving by and people jogging past us. "Dude, you just ran, like, thirteen miles in thirty minutes."

"Guess I got a late start," I smile, setting my hands on my hips as I squint down at him.

"Heh, really? You should be ashamed of yourself. You should take another lap," he chuckles. "Did you just take it? I assume you just took it."

"What unit you with?" I ask him, noticing the detailing on his sweatshirt.

"58th Pararescue, but now I'm working down at the VA." He holds his hand up for me to take, and I help pull him up to his feet. "Sam Wilson," he greets.

"Steve Rogers," I reply.

"Yeah, I kinda put that together," Sam pants, leaning down and putting his hands on his knees. "Must've freaked you out, coming home after the whole defrosting thing."