Steve is aware of the places he's broken, although he's never figured out how to acknowledge or cope with them. Instead he pushes them aside and denies them at every turn, and Sam tried to tell him how unhealthy that was, but there's always been something else to focus on. So, here he is, facing down some old demons in the worst time and place. And there Tony is, displaying the extraordinary capacity he has for kindness, which he hides under his various layers of psychological armor.
Steve knows he's not forgiven. He hasn't even looked for forgiveness, under the assumption it's either a hopeless case or only to be earned inch by bloody inch, with actions and not words. But he tears his eyes from the sea and blinks blankly at Tony for a moment and starts to feel a little bit less cold. There's a ghost of a smile under the beard for a moment; a sad, thin, tattered little ghost.
"Kinda figured if I let myself get started, I'd never stop," he admits, worries his lip and says, "I hate the ocean anymore. And snow, and ice."
He feels a bit woozy, actually, but he imagines that has more to do with circumstances than seasickness. "You asked me about what Wanda pulled out of my head before," he says. "A long time ago. I didn't want to talk about it. I thought it wasn't anything that was news to me, anyway. Just wasn't sure why it hurt so bad at the time."
"It was an empty room, Tony. I was walking through a dance hall, and Peggy was there and she took my hand. There was red on a man's shirt, and I thought it was blood, but it was only wine. She said the war was over, and we could go home. 'Imagine it'." He breathes in raggedly--feels a little like the asthma of his youth.
"And then everyone was gone, and it was so goddamn quiet. The most awful quiet I ever heard. I figured, hey, I knew I couldn't go home again. I knew I wasn't going to really leave the war behind, ever. I'm not the first guy who had that happen to him. There's a name for that."
"But it hit me just now...This is it, isn't it? This is the empty room. Fights lost, sacrifices made, and in spite of it all there's no one left in the room to fight or sacrifice for. I should have done...something. More. Different. I'm sorry, Tony."
it's the infinity feels war
Steve knows he's not forgiven. He hasn't even looked for forgiveness, under the assumption it's either a hopeless case or only to be earned inch by bloody inch, with actions and not words. But he tears his eyes from the sea and blinks blankly at Tony for a moment and starts to feel a little bit less cold. There's a ghost of a smile under the beard for a moment; a sad, thin, tattered little ghost.
"Kinda figured if I let myself get started, I'd never stop," he admits, worries his lip and says, "I hate the ocean anymore. And snow, and ice."
He feels a bit woozy, actually, but he imagines that has more to do with circumstances than seasickness. "You asked me about what Wanda pulled out of my head before," he says. "A long time ago. I didn't want to talk about it. I thought it wasn't anything that was news to me, anyway. Just wasn't sure why it hurt so bad at the time."
"It was an empty room, Tony. I was walking through a dance hall, and Peggy was there and she took my hand. There was red on a man's shirt, and I thought it was blood, but it was only wine. She said the war was over, and we could go home. 'Imagine it'." He breathes in raggedly--feels a little like the asthma of his youth.
"And then everyone was gone, and it was so goddamn quiet. The most awful quiet I ever heard. I figured, hey, I knew I couldn't go home again. I knew I wasn't going to really leave the war behind, ever. I'm not the first guy who had that happen to him.
There's a name for that."
"But it hit me just now...This is it, isn't it? This is the empty room. Fights lost, sacrifices made, and in spite of it all there's no one left in the room to fight or sacrifice for. I should have done...something. More. Different. I'm sorry, Tony."