The Soldier had spent his days of freedom studying human behaviour as well as hiding. There were a lot of expressions that people displayed to each other and many more that they tried to hide. He had forced himself to learn expression from expression to play out parts of the memories that he had. In fact, it had started when he had seen his smiling laughing face at the Smithsonian and realized that there was a man in those images that was nothing like who and what he was. In fact, Steve was almost the same, the humour and carefree freedom gone, old images for some children and adults to ogle like it was more than a memory.

It was clear to him that Steve was clinging to control and no doubt internally losing. That was perhaps why he had chosen this venue as their meeting. It was full of lost broken relics, like them. Dusty, old, forgotten but still usable if the opportunity arose. He watched Steve with tired eyes, didn't move from the small touches that he knew were for Steve to be assured of his presence, the reality that he presented. He was here. It wasn't an illusion after so long.

"You don't have to be strong for me," he said lowly, his eyes drinking in Steve's apparently forever young face. "You don't even have to pretend to be strong for yourself right now. Neither of us are going anywhere." He had made certain he couldn't go, and it was painfully clear that Steve would not leave him either, would settle and wait out days with him if necessary. "You're as lost as I am found," he pointed out, and his fingers twitched in Steve's hand, not rejecting but clearly not used to being touched.