"When am I ever not open for ridicule?" Steve says dryly. There are layers of feeling there, but he follows Tony into the bathroom anyway, watching him closely. It's not so much that he's trying to get an eyeful, but there's body language to be read, and then when they get into the light there's a more distinct view of the scars on his back.

For some reason that hits Steve hard, for the second time tonight. He wants to reach out and touch, smooth them away, along with the minor, subtle signs of change (age?) in Tony's body. Fragility, he realizes. That's what's tugging at his attention; the reminded that Tony is as mortal as anyone, and not as durable as Steve, and he could slip through his fingers so easily...

That's a bad train of thought. He shakes himself a little, belatedly, and meets Tony's eyes, brows raising. "Brunettes that give me a hard time aren't my type? Better go further back in time and warn me before I start falling for 'em."

Peggy. Bucky. Sam. Sharon was sort of an outlier, although Steve has found himself deeply drawn to so many different types, he can't definitively say he has a single one. "I'm not sure how to answer that seriously, though. Sometimes there isn't a why, you know? Maybe it just is."

That sounds like BS even to his ears, though, so he worries his lip as he slips past Tony to turn on the water. "You're not like anyone else I've ever known. I've known a lot of people who started out with nothing and claws their way to where they ended up.
Lying in the mud, looking at the stars. You started out on the moon, and here you are slogging alongside the rest of us in the dirt, because...you chose that?"

"There are even easier ways to do penance for all those deaths you blame yourself for. Charity gigs, children's hospitals, get involved with lobbyists--I guess you do some of that, too. And then you run right out and put your life on the line when the need arises."