juststeverogers | Checking in (set after Halloween event)

The news that not only was Amelia there, but that she was injured and it has something to do with him, comes as a surprise. It's not entirely unexpected that the beast would have threatened someone else, but he'd hoped... well, it doesn't matter.

His reply doesn't come until about a half hour later, once he's calmed down.

Not permanent. Is she okay?

Might take you up on that offer. Will let you know.

She's fine. No bites, just a gash. We treated it night-of and a witch by the name of Hermyonie (sp???) healed her right up too.

Steve thinks for a long few minutes before adding anything to his reply. He doesn't really know a whole lot about the captain aside from the conversation they had the night of the party. Really not sure how much to say or how much support to give that won't make him feel stifled. Steve's getting definite Bucky vibes off of the guy. That's never good.

My door's always open metaphorically. Offer's standing, just give me a heads up when you do.

It's a small comfort to know that she's all right. That he didn't do any permanent damage to her body, although he can't imagine she'll be thrilled to see him the next time they run into each other. And he'd deserve her ire, this time. It's his own stupid fault he got bitten. Never mind that he didn't know what would happen, never mind that the only other option was to run like a coward and leave his counterpart to the mercies of the worgen, or that he had no control over the beast once it clawed its way out of him. Still his fault.

Appreciate it. Will do.

He doesn't feel ready for anything more just yet, still trying to get his own shit together at home, going out in public only to report to the Academy and get through classes for the day. But it helps, a little, knowing that he has options. That Steve isn't going to push, uninvited. Won't ask him too many questions or insult him by pretending that nothing bad ever happened. Just an open door and an open invitation. No pressure, whether or not he accepts.

Edited 2017-12-08 16:19 (UTC)

Steve doesn't reply again, but Jim will be able to see that Steve's read his message. He let's Jim have the last word and the final say over the offer. Leaving the ball in his court.

The captain has the coordinates to Steve's place now. He knows where to go if he needs or wants to. It'll have to be good enough for Steve.

More time passes without any word. Jim's health and mood slowly improve, thanks to liberal application of sleeping potions and a kneazle with an agenda, and then things go completely off the rails when Hunter is attacked by some crazy witch, injuring him and damn near destroying the apartment. Crookshanks leaves to keep his witch company, Jim reaches the safe limit of how much magical sleep aids he can put into his system, final exams are coming up fast, and he's faced with having to start his own exposure therapy so he can set foot in Engineering without having a breakdown immediately afterward.

If he can be glad about anything, it's that this didn't happen when he was still practically a zombie from exhaustion and the immediate, traumatic aftermath of the Nightmare. But even so, he suddenly finds he has a lot on his shoulders and not a lot of ways to shed the stress. He hesitates to send the message, reluctant to impose on anyone. But Steve did offer.

That punching bag still available?

It takes maybe fifteen minutes for Steve to reply to Jim's message. The first text has no words, just a picture of a punching bag hung up in what looks to be the corner of a room. Steve had to jog back to his apartment to take the picture but he'd finished up with his training anyway so it was no trouble for the soldier.

Ready to go when you are.

The delay is just long enough for Jim to start doubting himself, but before he can send a message to disregard the previous one, that picture pops up, and he breathes out a small sigh.

Be over shortly then.

Jim shows up at the designated coordinates in his usual basic exercise gear, a light jacket thrown over his sleeveless shirt out of deference to the chill, not really that nervous about visiting someplace new to meet someone he's talked to all of once before. He'd be a terrible explorer if the unknown scared him off so easily, and he's looking forward to the chance to work out some of his issues the old-fashioned way, with his fists.

He's looking a bit better these days, not that Steve probably would know, unless he'd caught a glimpse of Jim during the aftermath. His injuries have healed up nicely over the past few weeks, and he's managed to sleep enough that he just looks a little tired instead of thoroughly wiped. His hands don't shake at all as he raises one to knock on the apartment door.

The first thing Jim will hear after he knocks on the door is an excited 'GROW, grow!' of barking. It only lasts a moment; Steve shushes Sarah and carefully opens the door for Jim.

"Sorry about that. I called a sitter for them but she's not here yet. Come on in, it won't take but a minute or so." The dog in question is a bright fiery orange with dark stripes running along her body and a floofy lighter colored muzzle and ruff on the back of her neck and tail. She gives the captain several excited sniffs when he steps inside, tail going a mile a minute as she sniffs out Steve's New Friend.

"Sarah!!" Steve shoots Jim an apologetic glance. "She gets excited over new people."

That is officially the strangest bark he's heard before, but it makes more sense when the door opens to reveal one of the most interesting dogs he's ever seen, like somebody crossed the family pet with a tiger. Jim can't help but a smile a bit at the sight of the excited creature, hoping that the doglike features go hand in hand with behavior, politely offering a hand for her to sniff. He probably doesn't smell too strongly of kneazle anymore, definitely more like coffee and old books than anything else.

"It's all right," he assures Steve, casting him a curious look. Them, he'd said. Is there a whole pack of these critters around? "What kind of dog is she? I've never seen one like her before."

SUCH SNIFFS!! Coffee and paper human identified. Good human. Sarah butts Jim's hand with hear head in a not so subtle hint that she would like attention now please. She is a Good Girl and deserves it.

Steve gets the door shut and sighs when a lout plodding can be heard from the far end of the apartment. A tan colored little dinosaur creature with a strange metal growth on her head is tilting her head sideways and studying the newcomer carefully.

"Now you've done it, Sarah..." Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and gestures to both animals and to the large bird Jim will see sulking in the corner eyeing him warily. He's the only one of the three who does not move up to inspect the new person. "Jim this is Sarah, Ethel, and the shy one over there is Bucky. They're called Pokemon. A bunch of them came through here in a huge stampede a long while back and these three ended up lost with no way home. I took them in and do my best to train them and give them a loving home. But, as you can see, it gets a bit cramped in here with all of us, so with any luck we'll have some more free space in a minute."

It won't take that long before a pleasant knock comes to the door again. Sarah drops Jim like a bad habit and runs back to the door barking all over again. This time however, the bird looks up in interest before hopping down from his perch with a curious 'Ary?'

"Come on in Adia!"
"Yes-hello Sarah please let me in--" Adia's muffled voice can be heard in the entryway and the bird--Bucky-- is already hopping over toward her. Whether to protect her from the stranger or just because he likes her is hard to say. Ethel remains seated and turns a slow look up to the captain. Bumps her shiny head gently against his leg. You're alright, human. Sarah's rushing back and dropping her fluffy butt next to Jim again as though she'd never left. What? She was here the whole time!

"You want me to take all three of them out for a bit? Oh!" Adia gives Jim a small wave but she's clearly got her hands full with the Pokemon. Ethel plods over to her obediently and Bucky's already trying to get outside. Steve's quick to open the window and whistle for Bucky. Easier to let him out from up here.

"I'll keep Sarah here. Thanks again for looking after them." In a flurry of feathers and slow plodding out of the apartment, it's soon much quieter than it had been a moment ago. Steve sighs heavily. "Okay, let's try that again. I'm sorry, they're usually not so intense."

Jim is quick to oblige the demand for pets, both for Sarah and the metal-headed critter that comes over to investigate him. Without Crookshanks around, he's kind of missed this sort of thing, any easy reprieve from the stress, no matter how brief. He doesn't mind the mild chaos either, a little amused by Sarah's seeming fickleness, and gives Adia a wave hello (and goodbye) as she takes two of the three Pokemon with her.

Spock would be fascinated by Ethel especially, Jim feels, and makes a mental note to mention it to the Vulcan the next time they see each other. Not a lot of strange new lifeforms to discover when you're stuck groundside, but the Nexus... that's a whole other ballgame, and he hasn't been using it like he should.

"Don't worry about it," he says, giving Sarah another scratch between the ears. "I've had worse run-ins with paparazzi before."

Steve grimaces when Jim uses the word paparazzi. A full on flinch and shudder.

"God, don't remind me. I'm so glad I don't have to deal with the press or anything like that here in the Nexus." It's nice to come back to a place where he's Just Steve. A place where his work doesn't really matter because next door lives an old god. It's nice to have a place to come back to that doesn't know about or need Captain America sometimes.

"Do all captains in Starfleet have to deal with the media?"

Oh, a kindred soul, now that he didn't expect. But hey, at least he doesn't have to awkwardly explain how claustrophobically awful it is to be mobbed by vultures looking for juicy gossip and the most compromising picture they can manage. It was shitty enough when he was a kid, never mind how annoying it is as an adult.

He pulls a similar face at the question. "Kind of? I mean, there's ceremonial stuff that gets broadcast across the Federation sometimes, like on Remembrance Day, so it's not like it never happens. I'm, uh, sort of a special case though." His smile isn't really genuine, though he's rather practiced at pretending it doesn't still bother him. There's hardly anyone at home that doesn't know about George Kirk. It's not a secret. "Youngest starship captain ever, and my dad was... kind of a hero. Went out in a big dramatic blaze of glory, that kinda thing. News has kinda had an interest in my family ever since."

Steve sees the pain on Jim's face when he explains and nods along with what the captain is saying. It's clearly an old wound and not one he likes having probed. Steve didn't know, but it's no excuse to get nosy. So he takes half a step back, his own smile warm and genuine.

"Hold on. Hold that thought." He grabs a duffel bag that's by the door of his apartment and disappears into his bathroom. It only takes him a minute (thanks to years and years of practice) to walk out in his suit, his helmet clutched in one hand and his shield in the other. Steve puts on the helmet once Jim's looking at him properly. Holds out both of his arms in a 'tada' kind of way.

"At least you don't have to wear this when you do it."

Jim isn't quite sure what to make of Steve's sudden departure, left standing there making sure Sarah gets sufficiently petted while they wait, and he is even less sure what to think when the man comes out looking like someone crossed some kind of paratrooper uniform and the old flag of the United States of America. His eyebrows leap up towards his hairline as he looks Steve over, kind of stunned at the flashiness of it. It makes even the colorful Starfleet duty uniforms look tame in comparison.

On the bright side, he has suddenly completely forgotten they were saying anything whatsoever about George Kirk.

"That's your uniform?" he asks, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Captain America at your service." Steve winks at him from under the helmet before yanking it back off and dropping it into the duffel bag again. "Though I don't fight in it anymore. This is specifically for dealing with the press these days. Or was. You would not believe how many Public Service Announcement tapes the government had me record. My god, it was horrible."

He never drops his smile though, and laughs at the uniform as much as anyone else.

"It is a bit old fashioned. But then, it was designed in the 40s. My actual gear is a lot less flashy, but same general design. Let me get into my workout clothes though, and we can get started. I'll answer any questions you've got, but you came here to punch and I'm gonna hold up my end of the deal. Feel free to tape up while I change. Sarah knows better than to get in the way too much in that corner of the apartment."

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.

Checking in (set after Halloween event)

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