Steve "I'LL KICK MY OWN ASS" Rogers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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nightcathedral2012-10-14 02:51 am
usavatar) wrote in nightcathedral2012-10-14 02:51 am
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It's four AM and I'm wide awake, waiting for my thoughts to fade...
He didn't risk the trek back to his own place, not after the fiasco that led to the city-wide blackout that will probably go down in Boston's history books as the most mysterious power loss in fifty years. Who knows when they'll get the power back on. Usually, that wouldn't be a problem. Well - usually, if it wasn't mid-December with a storm warning.
It's coming down fast while Steve pokes up the fire, wearing a set of Olivia's oversized pajamas that manage to fit, more or less. His own clothes are a drool and blood-sprayed ruin, taken by lab techs for help with analysis of the dead thing they're still trying to classify.
The fire is a synthetic log, which he's never seen before - and it's hard to resist prodding the thing until it falls apart, despite the fact that the instructions say not to do exactly that. He holds his hand over the flames to test the heat the thing gives off.
The room itself is soft with candlelight and the orange tremor from the fireplace, corners shadowed. He looks over at the couch and Olivia, and can't help thinking that she looks a bit like a painting, curled there in this lighting. He takes in the sight of her until he realizes that silent staring is probably awkward. "They make substitutes for everything these days, don't they?"
It's coming down fast while Steve pokes up the fire, wearing a set of Olivia's oversized pajamas that manage to fit, more or less. His own clothes are a drool and blood-sprayed ruin, taken by lab techs for help with analysis of the dead thing they're still trying to classify.
The fire is a synthetic log, which he's never seen before - and it's hard to resist prodding the thing until it falls apart, despite the fact that the instructions say not to do exactly that. He holds his hand over the flames to test the heat the thing gives off.
The room itself is soft with candlelight and the orange tremor from the fireplace, corners shadowed. He looks over at the couch and Olivia, and can't help thinking that she looks a bit like a painting, curled there in this lighting. He takes in the sight of her until he realizes that silent staring is probably awkward. "They make substitutes for everything these days, don't they?"