Using a phrase like 'self-flagellating' was probably asking for teasing, but Steve's too far gone into guilt and depression for wordplay right now. He's never been quite as innocent as he comes across, of course, but the war dampened his sense of humor a little bit. Best that Tony doesn't test him right now, all things considered. But he doesn't come back at Steve with anger or recrimination, which is more or less what Steve expected, and some of the tension in his neck and shoulders eases gradually.

"It's kind of a blur," he says. "That fight. I remember images the way I usually do--perfect snapshots, because of the, you know--" He taps his head with a fingertip. "Memory thing. The pictures are out of order, though. I remember falling and I thought he was screaming. He swears he wasn't, and it didn't sound like you, so maybe I'm crazy."

Or he's got some shell-shock, PTSD, whatever, to deal with. He's heard the term. He tries not to think about it much. "I'm kind of a basket case, but there's no stopping to recover, you know? When he was about to punch my skull in on the helicarrier, I remember feeling--"

No, wait, that's too much information. He shakes his head and drags his focus back to the present. "I'm fucking tired, is the problem."

Still, what Tony's saying sinks in slowly, and if anything, it gives him a few grains of hope. Which is amazing, because Tony's style has in the past been more along the lines of humor to slice through drama and tragedy, rather than gentle pep-talks. Steve can at least take what he can dish out, in the inspirational speech department, and while he looks at Tony like he's never seen anything quite like him for a moment, a little smile shows up on his face, and he nods.

"I missed you," he confesses.