It was 8 p.m. again.
Tony marched down the hallway. Agents saluted him, some addressed him as Director – he waved them all away. He even gave one very pretty lady a half-smile, but from the way his skin stretch too tightly around his eye, it was as if he'd forgotten how to.
It couldn't have been more than three days since they brought Steve in. He'd made all the arrangements. A grand service at Arlington befitting the Son of America. A eulogy.
Tony took a left turn. He'd taken to skipping dinner to come down here instead. Nobody deserved to be left so cold and alone, certainly not Steve, not after all was said and done. Today though was different. He was hungry beyond belief that it'd started hurting, but something told him that he couldn't miss this visit.
The room was dark, just like when he'd left it yesterday night.
"Hey Steve, miss me?"
Tony flicked a switch up. And on that stainless steel table it wasn't Steve, not really, not any more. The body was two heads shorter, the strong muscles had degenerated that it was mere skin on bones. Tony sunk to his knees and held his head in his hands.
And he cried.