"It's not really the way I thought we'd end up retiring," Steve says vaguely, and he smiles at him. It's not a very happy smile; he's heavy with the events of the last few days. Weeks. Years. But it's meant as a friendly gesture.

He catches the scissors easily, but closes his eyes a moment, relieved. Because he knows he can't go on alone after this, and it's an ugly burden to place on Tony's shoulders, especially when he's still messed up from their fights, but Steve's pretty much at the end of his psychological endurance.

"I'll keep on as long as you want me around," he says quietly, and starts to fumble with the package.

Goddammit. Sheer strength is really not a match for bubble packaging. You can't just rip it open, and his nails are short and blunt and getting them under an edge isn't easy. It's probably hilarious, on some level, watching Captain America wrestle with a package of scissors, if only either of them were in a position to appreciate the ridiculousness.

"I can't undo what I did to you," he says. "And I have no right to ask you to get over it. Whatever you need from me, you have it. I can keep my distance, if it's too much. I just..."

The plastic rips at last, and the scissors fly out of his grip and tumble onto the floor, so Steve sighs and sets the empty package aside and leans down out of the chair to retrieve them. "Fucking childproof bullshit packaging," he mutters, barely audible.

"It's just, remember way back right about now, when we were under the influence of the Mind Stone and I told you you only fight for yourself? I never apologized for that, and I was dead wrong. No one's ever gonna realize how much you're giving up. You really are a hero, Tony."

He takes in air and releases it in a slow, hissing sigh. "And you're gonna a be a man out of time now, too. This isn't what I wanted for you."