juststeverogers | Checking in (set after Halloween event)

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Checking in (set after Halloween event)

In the aftermath of the Nightmare incident in the Nexus, Steve knew the most important thing in the immediate was making sure people were okay. Hell, he'd spent most of his time tending to Amelia's wounds such that by the time he was finished most of the cafe had cleared out. He's glad the rogue got the care she needed but he hasn't seen her since.

In fact, he's not seen most of them since. He waited a bit to see if he'd spot familiar faces in the Nexus, but with things quiet he takes matters into his own hands and sends out a message to several of his friends.

Hey, it's Steve.

I know you were involved in the mess during the Halloween party and I really want to make sure you're alright. I'm sorry I haven't reached out sooner. I wanted to make sure you got the time and care you needed after everything that happened. The coordinates to my apartment are listed at the end of this message.

Please let me know you're okay.

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Captain America? That's a little on the nose, wow. But, Jim reminds himself, Steve has his roots in Earth's second World War. Flashy propaganda was the thing to do back then, if the old records are any indication. And Steve seems perfectly aware how impractical and outdated it looks, so Jim feels confident enough not to need to hide his amused look out of politeness. Of course, it's not like Starfleet personnel wear armor either.

"Sounds like a hell of a story." He doesn't ask more than that just yet though, just nodding and giving Sarah one last pat before investigating the workout area. Just like Steve promised, there are handwraps available, and Jim shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the nearest convenient piece of furniture. A small portion of the worgen's bitemark peeks out from beneath his shirt, new pink skin healed over the injury, and it doesn't restrict his movements as he begins taping up his hands. He hasn't done this for a while now, not properly anyway, but his muscle memory hasn't forgotten how.

Steve comes back out of the bathroom dressed much more sensibly in a grey teeshirt and sweatpants. He grabs a couple of hand towels and a pair of water bottles on his way back to the far end of the apartment and sets both out of the way for now. Sarah barks a couple of times and grabs her dog bed with her teeth and drags it out of the way with a chipper little half growl that shows she's excited.

"She loves training time." Steve explains to Jim with a grin. "I'll be right here while you take the bag."

By right here he means dropping to the floor for some push ups. Sarah quick to hop on his back and sit. She gives a helpful bark for every set he finishes, Jim will find out as they go.

Well. No wonder Steve let Sarah stay, even though she was the noisiest of the three Pokemon. Jim watches them for a moment, a little surprised at the familiarity of their routine, like they do this all the time. I guess that's one way to up the difficulty.

He shakes his head a little, and takes a few minutes to do some stretches, not all that eager to wreck his wrists just because he wanted to get to the punching sooner. Bones would never let him live it down. Or go anywhere else by himself, for that matter.

Once he feels he's readied himself enough, he turns to the punching bag, his feet shifting into a boxer's stance on reflex, and he gives a few experimental taps with his fists, testing the weight and resistance of the bag. Satisfied with what he finds, Jim sets into one of his old routines, a simple set of jabs and hooks, getting the bag swinging from the increased force of his hits. It takes him a short while to find his rhythm, especially with the periodic barks keeping time, subconsciously adapting his pace to roughly follow. He's a little rusty at this, but the longer he circles the bag and lays into it, the more it comes back to him, old reflexes taking over and directing his pent-up stress and worries at the swinging target. There's no one he imagines he's hitting, no one person he can target for his nightmares or guilt or fears, just the solid snap of taped knuckles striking leather and the faint burn of working muscles,

Steve waits until Jim's slowed down of his own accord before he speaks up. He and Sarah keep counting out the reps until he's met his quota. Then he's moving to sit up and take a moment to watch Jim from where he's sitting on the floor.

"You're not half bad at that. Bit different form than I'm used to seeing. Where'd you learn how to box? I'm kinda surprised that kinda sport is still allowed in the 23rd century."

One, two, three. Jim finishes the combo before he takes a step back from the bag, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand, mindful of controlling his breathing, even during a break. Deep breaths, in and out, harsh but mostly steady.

"It's not that popular but it's still around," he answers, moving to where the water bottles are stashed and claiming one for himself. "Got different safety equipment these days. Mini inertial dampeners for your head. Can't legally fight unless you've got one. Took care of the big injuries." Modern medicine is incredibly advanced, but even twenty-third century medical science can only do so much for brain or neck injuries. Broken bones are easy. The human nervous system, not so much.

He takes a pull from the water bottle, careful not to drink too much too fast. "Took lessons when I was sixteen. Did some amateur fights to challenge myself." Jim is under no illusions that he's ever going to be on the same level as a professional boxer, but it's been handy to know more than once.

"Yeah, well. You ever want to get better at hand to hand combat, I'll be happy to teach you what I know."

Steve hops up on his feet and takes a pull from the other water bottle. Tosses Jim one of the towels while he's at it. He's got no delusion that the captain is going to ever be someone he can spar with on par, but he doesn't need an all out fight for something to be enjoyable either.

"Sounds like the sort of equipment that could be pretty useful now all things considered. Boxing, wrestling, football. All you hear on the news back home is more and more research on concussions and repeated head trauma. It's nothing to joke about."

Jim catches the towel on reflex with his off-hand, blotting away some of the sweat he's been accumulating before slinging it over his shoulder. "I'd be down for that." He's certainly picked up enough bits and pieces here and there, across the years. Pressure points, some Vulcan moves, underhanded bar fight tactics... You never know what you might need to know someday.

This is the first time he's really exercised since Halloween, so he takes a moment to rotate his arm, making sure there's no lingering soreness besides the more pleasantly tired feeling of having mildly pushed himself. He might go for another round, once he's had a bit of a break.

He frowns slightly and nods. "One thing we humans are great at is beating the crap out of each other." Not exactly the best thing to be known for, but it's true.

The laugh Steve gives at that last comment is a touch wry and more than a little knowing. After everything he's done with this new body of his?

"I think I'm living proof of that, to be honest."

Humans made something powerful enough to turn a ninety pound waif into the towering figure Steve makes now. And while yes, it's made him more of a fighter, Steve likes to remind people he was plenty fierce and just as quick to jump into a scuffle when he was small. The difference is, he was usually the one who ended up beaten back then. Now when he gets beaten, it's usually by something no human was ever meant to face.

It happens more than he'd like.

That's right, Steve said he was in some kind of special operations kind of thing, didn't he? Jim doesn't remember everything they talked about at the party, some of the memory muddled by surprisingly strong alcohol and some of it forgotten in the chaos that came shortly after. He does recall enough to get the gist, though.

He raises his eyebrows a little, capping off the water bottle and spreading his arms a little as if to ask, 'well?' "Any pointers so far?" Steve hasn't exactly seen him in action besides the basics, but if the form is different than what he's used to, that seems like a good place to start. And Jim would certainly rather think about something this relatively mundane than anything else he's got on his plate at the moment.

"You're more of a stamina guy than a power guy, I'm noticing."

Working too hard, sleeping too little. He's a lot like Tony in that respect. And Jim's fit, but he's not buff. Not really much need to be for his line of work. He fights like a guy who's had to do it a lot growing up. It's something Steve can sympathize with.

"You should capitalize on that. Drop your intensity down a peg and try to go for longer instead. I think you'll like that better in the long run."

Despite the confident, sometimes arrogant attitude that Jim pretends is his own, he takes this sort of thing seriously. How can he learn if he doesn't listen to people who know more than him about something? That's part of what being a starship captain is all about, and right now, he trusts Steve to know what the hell he's talking about.

He frowns a little in thought, flexing his fingers to loosen them up a bit. "So treat it more like running, basically." Can't cover the distance if you tire yourself the fuck out early on. Dial back, pace yourself, save some for later. Not exactly what he's going for when he wants to punch the shit out of the leather bag until he's too tired to think straight, but he was already pulling back from going to that kind of extreme at the moment anyway. He'd hate to work himself into collapse on a new friend's floor. He'd rather save that shit until they've known each other for a few years.

"Something like that. You've got a lot of natural energy, so the longer you can push yourself the more into the zone you'll get. Every swing and every connection you make well past the point anyone else would have quit just...that's when I feel like I'm really doing something instead of just practicing."

Outlasting his opponents has been Steve's strong suit too. He's not even close to the most powerful they have on their team, but he's more stubborn than all of them put together when he has a mind to be.

"It really wears you out too. Pushing past your limits. Putting all your focus into the routine instead of whatever else is out there. Helps me let the dust settle sometimes, when things just get too overwhelming."

All right, that makes enough sense that it's worth a shot. "Playing the long game. I can get behind that."

Jim doesn't do well being idle, especially when he's this keyed up, so he does a few stretches while he contemplates that, keeping his shoulders and back loosened up. This isn't the sort of thing he usually spends a lot of time strategizing on, but Steve does make a good argument for it. What could it hurt?

"Bet it's easier when the bag isn't fighting back, but I can take a punch." He's never been the best at avoiding getting hit. On multiple levels. Getting hit and then getting back up, that he can do.

"You swing hard enough and the conservation of energy will ensure that bag hits back pretty hard if you're not careful." Steve laughs then, a genuine sound of amusement even if it's a tad subdued by the seriousness Jim is giving off.

Sarah hops up on her hind legs and tries to mimic the moves Jim's doing. When he bends down to stretch she licks at his face. She's helping!! "Grow!"

Helping indeed. Jim sputters, caught off-guard, his train of thought pretty expertly derailed by a well-placed Pokemon tongue to the face. "Hey," he protests, but there's no bite to it, and even though he pushes the excited Growlithe off him, he still can't resist ruffling the fur between her ears as he does. No one can resist petting soft, fluffy animals, particularly when they're so insistent, and he's no exception.

He does feel a bit better than when he came over, though whether that's just because of the exercise or because of good old-fashioned animal interaction, who can say.

Well, Sarah has done a good job of drawing both their attentions, he's pretty sure. "She do any other tricks besides helping with pushups?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.

"A few, though none we can do inside. I've had to enlist help for one of 'em, because it involves breathing fire and there really isn't much of a safe place to do that around here."

Steve gives Sarah a pat to her side while she puffs out her fluffy chest and stands tall in front of Jim, proud to have Steve talking about all the neat things she can do. She works hard at training just like the rest of them!

"I've been teaching her a new technique called 'Take Down' lately. Seemed like her kind of move. She's getting really good at it too. Otherwise I can get her to attack on command. She's got a mean bite."

Hold on a sec. Back the hell up. "She can breathe fire?"

That... is actually incredibly cool. And dangerous as hell to have in an indoor pet, but still. A fire-breathing dog? Even the magical pet shop in Diagon Alley didn't have anything on that kind of level.

Consider him sufficiently distracted from his thoughts for the moment, just as Sarah no doubt planned it.

"Sure can. Sarah, no do not do it right now."

He knows her too well and the growlithe ducks her head slightly before giving a soft wag of her tail. Alright, alright. She knows not to do that indoors. Still a tiny wisp of smoke exits her mouth when she gives a soft whine. She likes showing off.

Steve takes a step back and watches Jim's posture relax while he takes in the pokemon. Whatever happened during the Nightmare, he's glad to see the captain looking more alive than when he walked in here. It feels like a victory.

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Checking in (set after Halloween event)

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