Steve chucked as from next to him, James let out a moan of contentment laced with a touch of regret. He made a nearly identical noise himself before falling back heavily on the couch, holding a hand to his now slightly distended stomach. "I feel ya, man. I haven't eaten this much in forever." He glanced at the wide array of food wrappers and takeout boxes that covered the surface of the coffee table, slightly taken aback by just how much food the two of them had packed away in a short time. Yes, he was full to the point of not being able to move, but he regretted nothing.

"Ugh, dude. I seriously feel like my stomach is gonna burst," James closed his eyes before eyeing the half full container of potato wedges in front of him. "But I still wanna finish these off." He popped one in his mouth and chewed slowly, savoring the salty, greasy goodness. He turned and faced Steve with a humorless smirk. "Well, we least we know that my being a cripple doesn't have any effect on how fast I can stuff my face." He forced a laugh, but it was also humorless, and Steve wasn't fooled:

"James." He tried to inject the right amounts of disapproval, scolding, and tough love into his tone of voice but failed; he just sounded desperate and hurt.

Silence.

The sight before him was like a punch to the gut. James looked to be completely and utterly broken. Oh, it was obvious that he was attempting to keep it hidden, but Steve was fairly certain his friend was approaching his breaking point. The mask of cool indifference that James had mostly kept in place since their reunion was cracking, and he wasn't going to be able to keep it in place much longer. Steve sighed quietly when James refused to meet his eyes, and was trying to decide what the best method he could use to get his friend to open up.

In the past, he would have just straight up demanded that James talk to him. It had been an easy feat as an adolescent and young teen to get his often broody friend to confide in him. It had even been reasonably doable in high school, when it was considered uncool and lame for guys to talk about their feelings. In retrospect, Steve was pretty sure that the only reason James had willingly confided in him was because it was the only thing he'd been good at at that point in his life. In their group of friends, despite he and James being the closest, they were slightly divided. At school, Steve tended to spend most of his time with Bruce and Wanda, both smaller intellects with hearts of gold, just like him. James could always be found in the company of Clint, Sam, and Thor- three guys who were just as athletic and cocky as James. Tony, Natasha, Scott, and Loki (Thor's equally unfortunately naked brother) rounded out the friend group, easily fitting into both the intellectual and athletic categories. They were a tight knit group despite their differences, and they all looked out for Steve, valiantly coming to his defense on the occasions that the other kids at school decided to be dicks, seeing him as an easy target due to his size, or lack thereof.

From the moment he'd been born, Steve had been scrawny to the point of looking malnourished. It didn't matter how much or how unhealthily he ate- weight just didn't stick to him. He'd remained a bean pole until he turned 16, and was sick and tired of looking and feeling weak all the time. At this point, he and James had already talked about enlisting in the military. Not unkindly, James pointed out that he would be laughed out of the recruiter's office looking like he did. He'd squashed down his feelings of embarrassment and inadequacy and had asked his parents for a gym membership and six months of service with a personal trainer. His parents, always concerned that his small stature was going to hold him back in life didn't need to be asked twice- they were all too glad to foot this bull, and they had purchased an identical gift for James, who was at the Rogers' home so often that they loved him as a son as equally as they loved their own children, Steve and his sister, Saylor. Steve had been a bit irritated, as he had seen no reason why his already muscular and fit best friend needed a gym membership. He'd ended up being very glad and appreciative that his parents had. Like most things in life, fitness, strength training, and body building were a lot more fun when done with a friend as opposed to doing it solo. They'd had many a heart to heart while working out together in the gym, preferring to go at night for this particular reason- so they could talk freely without being overheard. It had taken almost two years and probably a billion hours spent working his ass off in that gym, but all his hard work combined with s late growth spurt resulted in the beginnings of the body he had today. He'd never looked back and up until getting shot, he'd always improvised a way to work out daily.

So, while Steve knew how he'd begin this conversation with James in the past, it was 0% helpful, because this was now. Now, they were two totally different people. For one thing, they were no longer boys- they were men. Not normal men though. They were former soldiers who had seen and lived through horrors that most other people could ever relate to or understand. That common bond, paired with their lifelong friendship should have resulted in the two of them being able to comfortably speak to each other, especially since they had both been gravely injured...but then again, Steve supposed that losing a limb wasn't quite the same as merely getting shot. No, they were actually very different injuries. Steve had come perilously close to dying (he pushed that thought out of his head, still not able to dwell on that fact without the fist of panic squeezing his heart). While he assumed that getting an arm blown off could cause death from bleeding out, not to mention excruciating pain, he wasn't exactly sure, and he had no fucking clue how to broach that subject. It was true that Steve had suffered massive blood loss, internal bleeding, and severe organ damage that had required numerous extensive surgeries and grueling physical therapy, he had emerged from the ordeal relatively in one piece.

The same couldn't be said for his friend seated next to him. He swallowed hard past the lump forming in his throat. He couldn't even begin to imagine what James had been through. While getting shot had been no walk in the park, he knew that being injured was affecting James more than him, and he knew why. It was all too apparent from the look in James eyes and the flippant way he referred to his missing arm that he now saw himself as a lesser man. A cripple, an invalid. And while Steve was able to understand that to an extent, James was still one of the most capable men he knew, and his friend needed to know that.

Sighing, Steve sat up straight and turned to face the shell of a man that was like a brother to him, and braced himself for the onslaught of rage that could potentially be coming his way shortly "James," he began, struggling to keep his voice steady and neutral, almost flat. If other man detected even a hint of anything that could even be loosely interpreted as pity, this conversation would be over before it started.

James gave him a glaring side eye and a grunt that could be taken to mean 'Hmm?', 'Fuck off', or anything in between.

Briefly contemplating tabling this talk for another time, Steve was about to drop the issue for the night when he felt his friend's hand touch his shoulder. He looked over, meeting James' blue eyes with his own. Steve had been expecting anger, not gentleness. He was trying to figure out what to say, but James beat him to it.

"Just ask me, man," he said quietly, sounding like he'd rather lose his other arm then participate in this discussion. He attempted a smile to soften the harshness of his tone.

"Are you sure?"

Steve was suspicious. This really couldn't be so easy...could it?

"Yeah. But," he paused for effect. "But if I talk, so do you."

Grimacing, Steve quickly stomped down the 'no, never mind, forget it, it's all good' that so desperately wanted to escape from his mouth. This was unexpected- both James being willing to cooperate and the absolute refusal that was still straining to break free of his clenched teeth.

"Sure, bud, that's a fair trade." To his embarrassment, his words came out slightly high pitcher and a little shaky.

In a move that reminded Steve of the old James, his friend reached over and grasped Steve's hand in his own, giving it a brief squeeze. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a terrible liar?" The smile on his face was closer to being genuine, his amusement at Steve's poor attempt at being honest evident.

The blonde man sagged back, resting his head on the sofa cushions. "Only you. Every chance you get."

James sat back also, releasing his friend's hand in the process. "Every chance I get," he agreed with a shit-eating grin.

The two men fell into silence, and Steve wasn't sure how much time had passed before James spoke again.

"Okay," the brunette man began, sounding resigned. "Neither one of us wants to have this conversation. And honestly, I wish we didn't have to. But the fact is...we do." James peeked at Steve, waiting for a denial. Once he determined he wouldn't be getting one, he continued. "I've been telling myself for days that talking about this isn't necessary. As much as I wanted to believe that, I can also feel the weight of the distance these unspoken things are putting between us." He stopped and shook his head. "That didn't come out quite right, but you know I'm not great with words."

Nodding in agreement, Steve motioned for his friend to continue.

James gave him a look of mock disdain. "You could at least pretend to disagree, you know?"

Steve shrugged, grimacing over exaggeratedly. "Dude, you just told me I'm a bad liar."

The two mean stared at each other for a few seconds before laughing.

"Okay, valid point," James conceded.

Steve stood, running a hand through his hair. "You're right, though. As shitty as reliving all of this is going to be, I think it needs to be done." Steve looked down, appearing almost shy and timid to the other man. "It's weird to feel like I have no idea who you are."

James eyes fell shut, guilt sweeping over him. Steve may have been even more fit and muscular then he himself was now, but underneath that, he was still the same person he'd always been- the greatest friend he could have ever asked for, a man with a heart of fucking gold. Steve had always had an uncanny ability of picking up on the slightest changes of emotions in a person. He knew that in addition to what he had gone through with being shot that his being a douche canoe probably wasn't helping matters. He trying to form some kind of an idea of what he was going to say when words started coming out of his mouth, almost without him realizing it.

"Steve, I need to apologize," he held up a hand, effectively stopping said man from speaking. Steve would get his turn, and more then likely would insist he didn't need an apology if James let him get a word in now. James wasn't going to let him speak quite yet. He had things he needed to say. "I realize I've been... quite difficult and withdrawn. Talking to you on the phone before you were released from the hospital was easier for me. I thought that once you got here, that things with us would be like they always had been. But, I saw your face when you realized my arm was gone. And even though you're the person I hi knows me better then anyone else, I just feel like all you, or anyone else, will see when they look at me is this...pathetic man. I mean, I just feel so useless and broken, that it's hard to for me to imagine anyone not seeing me that way."

Quiet stretched between them, and just when James was becoming anxious about the non response he was getting, Steve spoke.

"I'm not going to look at you while I say my piece, because I know that will be easier for you."

James wanted to protest, but chose not to. Steve was right. Serious conversations made him want to run and hide, and eye contact would only intensify that feeling. He just nodded, anxiety beginning to make his skin feel too tight.

Steve stared at his hands as he resumed speaking. "Obviously, I don't know what you're going through. Yeah, I was shot, but I know that's nothing compared to you losing your arm."

James paled, and when he spoke, his words held horrified anger. "Shut the fuck up, punk. This isn't a competition for who got it the worst. Damn it, Steve, you almost died. From what I was told by your mom, if you'd been found even a few minutes later then you were, you probably wouldn't be here right now, and that I can't think about. Yeah, dude, I lost my arm. And I'm having a fucking hard time dealing with that and accepting it. But for the love of God," he paused, choking up, knowing tears were steaming down his cheeks. "For the love of God, don't sit there and act like I have it worse than you. I was with my squadron when the land mine that claimed my arm went off. The medic was able to immediately stop the bleeding and get me to the infirmary at the nearest base. At no time was I at risk of dying. You were. So please don't sit there and try to downplay what happened to you. You don't have to do that. Not with me."

Steve didn't realize that he had tears soaking his face until he felt them seeking through the material of James' shirt after he stood and pulled his friend into a tight embrace. They ended up laying on the hardwood floor, talking throughout the night, each of them telling the other their traumatic experience. By the time the sky outside the windows was turning to a light lavender and the sun was rising, all was once again right with Steve, James, and their friendship. Each man had a long road ahead of them, but with each other, Steve's family, and their friends, they would make it through.