Winter Soldier - the Smithsonian

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

"This isn't freedom. This is fear."





Once he's returned from rescuing the Lumarian Star and debriefing with Fury, Steve needs... something. He's not sure what--a reminder, maybe, of what he's fighting for. Who he's fighting for.

As soon as he's changed into his civilian clothes, Steve calls Orpheus.

"Sweetheart, can you meet me at the Smithsonian? I think I'm ready to see the exhibit now."

Comments

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

"I don't know what good it does anymore," Steve says. "It was one thing during the war. Now..."

[golden_lyre]

"Now, they need a hero more than ever," Orpheus says. At least that's his impression from what he's seen of the country.

"And here you are."

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

"Cleaning up Fury's messes," Steve says. "It's hardly heroic."

[golden_lyre]

"It doesn't matter what you actually do, lovely. It only matters what they think you do."

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

Steve doesn't answer except to grip the back of Orpheus's shirt tight as they round the curve and he can see the full mural.

[golden_lyre]

"Well," Orpheus says as he looks it over, his hand moving back to Steve's neck, rubbing again.

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

Steve walks along it silently, his eyes enormous as he walks the length.

He pauses at the group portrait of the Howling Commandoes.

"'We were soldiers once, and young,'" he says quietly, and his mouth twists.

[golden_lyre]

Orpheus smiles softly, fingers moving into Steve's hair. "You're still young, lovely."

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

"I'm ninety-six years old," Steve says. "I should be bent and drooling."

He's quiet a moment, looking at their painted faces.

"They all grew old. They all had full lives. Families, kids. All but Bucky."

[golden_lyre]

"You've been alive for ninety-six years," Orpheus says. "Not the same thing.

He watches Steve's face as he looks them over, then leans toward him, forehead against Steve's temple.

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

Steve wraps his arm around Orpheus's waist.

[golden_lyre]

Orpheus kisses his ear.

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

"Come on," Steve murmurs and pulls Orpheus into the exhibit.


[ooc: Bedtime.]

[golden_lyre]

Orpheus keeps his hand at the back of Steve's head as they go, fingers teasing into his hair or rubbing down the back of his neck.


[ooc: Good night!]

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

As they reach the exhibit itself, Steve can see the kids measuring themselves against pictures of his pre-serum self, and the awed, "Oh!"s as the picture changes to his current height and bulk. He grips Orpheus's hand tighter.

"Always weird to see how people talk about the serum," he says quietly. "It was top secret, back in the day. I still think of it that way."

[golden_lyre]

Orpheus squeezes his hand in return. "Having your secrets laid bare can be...discomfiting," he says after a moment, still watching Steve more than those around them.

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

"It's not even my secret. It was all of ours, all of the SSR."

They walk a few paces, then Steve says, "We weren't even sure what it was going to do. I was warned about the possible outcome if it didn't work the way they hoped it would. I was a test pilot, basically. Could've crashed and burned."

[golden_lyre]

"I'm glad you didn't," Orpheus murmurs, leaning his head on Steve's shoulder a moment. "And I'm not the only one."

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

Steve pats Orpheus's cheek, smiling.

The smile fades when they get to the display about Bucky.

[golden_lyre]

Orpheus glances over to see what Steve is looking at and holds him a little tighter.

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

Steve stands there for several minutes, reading the brief biography.

He looks at Orpheus and starts to speak, and then moves on to the next display.

[golden_lyre]

Orpheus' brow furrows in concern as he follows, keeping a hand on Steve's back the whole time.

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

"Let's watch the film," Steve says gruffly and leads Orpheus to the little cinema.

[golden_lyre]

"All right."

Orpheus keeps close to him, making sure to keep contact.

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

Steve sits on one of the many empty benches, holding Orpheus's fingers.