Steve's mind was a jumble, bits and pieces of memory floating around, confusing him as to what was the past and what was the present. The scenery outside the window seemed to pass at a feverish pace, matching his mood.
"Marco!"
"Polo!" he replied, his head jerking up toward the door. He hadn't even meant to say a word, but it was like a kind of muscle memory. He knew that voice, and unlike everything else in his life, he couldn't imagine anything dark sneaking it's way in with it.