[for Steve]

Captain America is on the ground and I oughta be happier.

Okay, wait -- that sounds awful. Maybe happy isn't the right word -- proud probably works better, or, I dunno, satisfied. (Maybe not satisfied.)

Look, point is, I shouldn't be disappointed. I've been training with the guy for about a year, now, and it's still not too often that I manage to get a good hit in when we're really going at it, tossing the day's lesson aside for a more practical exercise. These sessions usually leave me feeling like I've got a hell of a lot more to learn, especially since I never have my usual bag of tricks to throw into the mix, but then there're those times I get something right, and all the weird bruises and muscle strain are completely and totally worth it.

Today's not one of those times. Breathless and sweaty and in desperate need of a swallow of water, I lean over to give the guy a hand up.

"So I wasn't gonna say anything," I tell him, "but I'm pretty sure my Aunt May could've put up a better showing just now."