The rain started up again, spattering the window that looked out over the little cobblestone street.
"Rogers."
"Yeah?"
"What are you thinking about?" She repeated.
"Oh." He looked back at her. "My father."
She watched him, waiting for him to go on.
"He was a soldier. He fought in the great war." He scoffed as he said it. "Died before I was born. Nearby, actually."
"I'm sorry."
He shrugged. "The war ended only a few weeks after he was killed. Just bad luck." He glanced back out the window. "This whole village was ruined. But they rebuilt."
"And then the second world war happened," she said.
"It never ends."
"Maybe we can forget that it does. For a little while."
"I've been fighting for so long, I don't remember what it's like not to. And if I stop, I might not be able to get up again."
"You're gonna have a hard time keeping a low profile if you keep getting into fights."
"How do you do it?"
"Vodka helps. And a change of hairstyle, usually."
He laughed.
#
After dinner they walked back to the hotel in companionable silence. Unbidden, she found herself thinking about Barnes. She wondered if he would come asking questions, or if he'd leave the past in the past. She remembered… she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Whatever had been, whatever they'd been ended years ago. It had to be fucked up that she'd been in so many relationships with men who'd tried to kill her, right? She frowned.
"Penny for your thoughts."
"After inflation, it'll be more like fifteen pennies."
"Can you break a five? Actually, all I have are euros."
She chuckled. "I was thinking about the past. Too many bad memories."
That wasn't entirely fair. Barnes wasn't a bad memory, per se. He was a bittersweet one. One she'd long ago put to rest.
"Yeah," he said, letting out a breath. It came out in a puff of steam in the cool night air. "I can't say I miss it."
She looked over at him. "Really?"
"Dead parents, dead best friend, and the end of the war." He shrugged. "Not a lot to go back to."
She paused. "You wanted to die."
It wasn't a question. Just a statement of truth.
"I had nothing to go back to."
"Not even Peggy?"
He sucked in a breath. "I knew her for two years. I asked her to a dance. Maybe it could have been something, but…" He shook his head slowly. "When Wanda was in my head when we were fighting Ultron, I saw her."
"Peggy?"
He nodded. "She told me the war was over and we could go home. But I didn't want to. Not with her, not with anyone. The only life I ever wanted, the only thing I ever wanted to be was a soldier."
"And what's a soldier without a war?"
"Right." He watched his feet. "So what kind of man does that make me?"
She cocked her head. "I'm rusty on Asgardian customs, but I'm pretty sure that means you wind up in Valhalla when you die."
"It's not that simple."
"Maybe it is." She looked up at him. "You're a good man, Steve Rogers."
"Would you tell me if I weren't?"
"Of course. I wouldn't be able to resist."