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Steve had spent a lot of the last ten years mourning the life that he'd lost. Mourning that he'd been dead—or as close to it as possible without actually dying—while everybody else had moved forward, settled down, and passed on. Now that he was the one left behind, he spent most of his time wishing that he, too, had disappeared into nothingness.
Meetings at the VA helped a bit. Picking up his sketchbook and settling in at the park to people watch had been nice during the summer, but the activity didn't hold the same appeal in the fall wind. Still, as he peered through the glass at the passersby, he couldn't help but wish he had something other than a mostly-finished bagel to occupy his hands. Without the distraction, it was all too easy for his mind to steer him in the direction of what exactly he'd been dreaming about when he'd been abruptly awoken that morning.
Maybe it was time to pay Nat a visit.