on_va_voir (on_va_voir) wrote in districtmarvel, @ 2016-01-18 21:42:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | peggy carter, steve rogers |
Who: Peggy and Steve
What: Phone call
Where: District 8
When: Immediately following his meeting with Bucky
Steve was dripping wet and shivering when he walked back into his house, paying no attention whatsoever to the mud he was tracking in with each step. He stripped out of his shirt immediately, goosebumps prickling up all over his skin, and he headed to the linen cupboard to grab a towel. (It was ridiculous that he had a linen cupboard, but it had come with the house, this horrible, opulent house that was useless to him, and only ever served to remind him how very alone he was in it.) He dropped his shirt to the floor, shoved his pants down as well, leaving him in nothing but his underwear - which was also uncomfortably damp, but not quite so saturated as the rest of his clothes. The towel was warm and soft, and he scrubbed it over himself quickly, clenching his teeth together to keep them from chattering.
Once he was relatively dry, he picked up his phone from the counter and headed for the living room, where he dropped onto the couch with his towel still draped around his shoulders. There was a slight tremble in his limbs, and he didn't think it had anything to do with the chill. He'd done an okay job of keeping everything but adrenaline anger away during his conversation - argument - with Bucky, but now there were other emotions creeping in: fear, and helplessness, and maybe despair.
He didn't want to go back in. He'd volunteered for it the first time, yes, but he didn't want to go back. Steve knew his experience in the arena had been different from most of the other Victors, in that he'd never killed, he hadn't ever had to feel the weight of knowing he'd taken a life. But that didn't mean he hadn't witnessed his share of atrocities, that he hadn't spent the majority of his hours in there terrified for his life, and the lives of the tributes who had banded together with him. And now he was going to have to go back, and he didn't want to.
What made it worse was the knowledge that this could utterly destroy everything he'd been building toward. The districts were primed, he was working on setting things in motion, and there was a chance, however slight, that a revolution might actually happen. Steve had been prepared to die for his cause - was still prepared to die for his cause - but he'd always thought that would happen in the name of doing something. He wasn't prepared for his death to be a waste, to be nothing more than a spectacle, to be useless.
To maybe, horribly, halt all of the progress he'd made thus far.
And that wasn't even touching the fact that he had people, now, who were dear to him. That hadn't been the case last time, having just lost his mother, and with Bucky not speaking to him. He'd felt so alone, and that had made it easy, really, to square his shoulders and put his hand in the air, offer himself forward in place of someone who didn't stand a chance. But now?
Now he had more to lose, and the prospect of being sent back in was nearly more than he could bear.
Steve took his phone out and brought up Peggy's contact information, hesitating for just a moment before he tapped 'Call.' It rang, and as soon as she picked up, as soon as he heard her voice, his breath hitched, and he had to close his eyes, his knuckles going white with the force of his grip on the phone.
"Peggy?" he said, and his voice cracked over her name. "Peggy. You saw, right?"