an: written for a contest over on dA. i rather like it. not what i originally intended, but who am i to argue with phil? xD
Steve was alone as he sat atop the tower, legs hanging over the side. There was a lull in the city noise, people waiting eagerly for the first rocket to go off, children and adult alike. The rest of the team had taken place a few floors down on the balcony that had Tony's little landing pad. They had asked Steve to stay with them, but he had declined, wanting a moment to himself.
He leaned back slightly, arms behind him to keep his weight on his hands so he could look up at the sky…and to avoid risk of falling off the building. That would be bad.
The out of time soldier watched the few stars that were able to outshine the city lights. There were so few. And even those few pinpoints of light seemed weak. Huge entities that had burned for centuries, outmatched by humans' need for constant light during their short lifespan. Humans weren't even a blip in the grand scheme of things. But he had to give it to those stars. Shining valiantly, burning until the moment of their death, not giving up until going nova…and even at that point, they explode with all the energy they have left.
Steve wondered briefly…if maybe he was helping them shine a little brighter.
Sounded like something he would do.
After all, he was the one who made the Avengers get their act together. He was the one who made them shine.
Steve hated to admit it, but he was jealous of Tony, of Thor. Clint, Natasha. Fury, Agent Hill. They actually got to know him. What did Steve get? A couple of conversation. Sure, he got a suit, but…he wanted memories.
He head the whistle, saw the streak of fire, and with a boom, colours erupted in the sky. The sparks fizzled and dies as the chemicals ran their course.
"I've always like fireworks," said a quiet voice beside him as more fireworks flew.
Steve whipped his head to the side to see…Coulson sitting next to him, cross legged, hands on his ankles, in the suit he'd last seen him in. Minus the jacket, though. And he sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.
"But," Steve said after a moment. "You're dead."
"Yeah. Still like fireworks."
Oh. Right. Not one of Steve's best lines.
"It's fine," Coulson said. "Everybody dies sometime."
The only sounds for a long moment were those of the show. Steve was watching Coulson's face, the colors of the fireworks reflected in his grey eyes. There was a soft smile on his face, gaze fixed on the sky.
"Some show, huh?" Steve asked, returning his own attention to the fireworks.
"Yeah. They're different from your time, huh?"
"Yep. They weren't quite so…complicated," he said as a rather spectacular rocket exploded. "But I like them, and it's still the same reason behind them. Celebrating our independence and remembering and honoring the soldiers who won it for us."
"And we have to love the one that looks like your shield."
"Yep!"
And it continued like that. Both providing commentary on the fireworks, talking about the colors, the choice of designs, and the timing in general. As if they were experts and connoisseurs of fireworks. The final wave came and as soon as the final rocket exploded, Steve laughed.
"Wow. That was some—Agent Couslon?" Steve had turned to look at him, but he wasn't there. "Phil?" The agent wasn't anywhere. "No…"
And the last of the sparks fizzled out and died.
