Washington, D.C. had a different rhythm than the West Coast.
I'd moved a few months after New York. The Pacific was peaceful, but Malibu always felt like I was waiting for something to break. D.C. was crowded and loud, yet strangely easier to disappear in. My apartment overlooked the Potomac, filled with stacks of books and vintage collections. It was a quiet place, a way to let the hollow ache in my chest from the portal finally settle.
I took my walks early near the National Mall. The air was usually sharp enough to sting, keeping the tourists away for a few more hours.
I was halfway down the Reflecting Pool when a grey blur shot past my left shoulder. Then, a few minutes later, it happened again.
Steve Rogers was jogging. He was lapping a man in a blue tracksuit further up the path, calling out the same polite greeting every time he passed.
"On your left," Steve said while keeping his pace.
I didn't change my stride. On his next loop, Steve tapered off. He didn't stop abruptly, but slowed his run into a jog, then a walk, eventually falling into step beside me. He was breathing a bit harder now, sweat darkening the collar of his t-shirt.
"Adrian," he said, offering a short, formal nod.
"Captain."
We walked together for a while without saying anything. The sun was just starting to hit the Lincoln Memorial, turning the stone a brilliant, cold white. Steve kept his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. His shoulders were set tight, his hands occasionally clenching into loose fists.
"You're out early," he said eventually.
"I like the city before the sun gets too high. It's... less crowded."
Steve let out a quiet, huffed breath. "Yeah. Crowds are a lot to take in lately." He glanced toward the street where the first few buses were stopping. People were already glued to their phones before they even stepped off the curb. "Everything's just... moving. I spend half my day just trying to figure out the new rules, and by the time I think I've got it, they've changed them again."
He stopped for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's a lot to process."
I slowed down, matching his halt. I could see it in the way he held himself, the fatigue of being displaced. It wasn't just the years after all.
"The world doesn't really care if we keep up, Steve," I said softly. "Trying to sprint alongside it... it just wears you down."
Steve looked at the water, his expression become more honest. "S.H.I.E.L.D. keeps me busy. The missions are... they're familiar. I know how to follow an order. It's the time in between that gets me."
"Busy is fine," I said. "But the room is still empty when you get home, isn't it?"
Steve didn't answer right away. He looked down at his shoes, then back at the monument. A small, forced smile touched his face, the kind you use to end a conversation you don't want to have. "Better than staring at the drywall, I guess."
I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a small, matte black card. No name, no phone number. Just an address in Georgetown and a time. I held it out to him.
"What's this?" Steve asked, taking it.
"My place," I said. "If the drywall gets too loud... come over. You don't have to talk."
Steve looked at the card, his thumb tracing the embossed address. He opened his mouth as if to give a standard, polite refusal, but then he just looked back at the card and nodded.
"Georgetown," he murmured.
"Whenever you need to stop running," I added.
I gave him a brief nod and continued my walk toward the bridge. Steve didn't immediately go back to his laps. He stayed there by the water, slipping the card into his pocket, finally standing still for the first time all morning.