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[As usual, he's smoking. And it's not unusual that he's staring at the smoke like he's been hypnotized, but he's smiling more than he has in the years he's been on board.]

You know, I've been so fixated on these things for so many years. On cigarettes, I mean, Kools if I could get them--and it's funny that these are the greyest thing in my life. The single thing that lacks color now. I sort of expected the smoke to be blue...or pink.

I actually stopped seeing color when I was four. I think that was when I stopped believing in God, Santa, and the American Dream. I assumed for a long time that everyone went colorblind (literally, figuratively, whichever) when they got old enough to be cynical. But I came here and I met a real muse, and I've realized that I was mostly wrong.

I wonder what the rest of you lost when you stopped being kids? I don't expect many of you will answer, since most of you are understandably very sensitive about your pasts, but it's a real question. What did you lose when you grew up?

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I think I am the other me.

[Which sounds more cryptic than he means it.]

I've never had any really solid defining moments, I guess. I've always just been who I am, and I've never really believed in anything long enough to be different from another version.

HYDRA sounds bad. More- I don't know. More mystic than Viet Cong or Nazi. But are they?

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[punched_hitler]

[A little cryptic at first, maybe - but not after he goes on.]

Maybe that's a good thing. [He actually thinks that, too, because,] No matter where you are, who you are, you're completely yourself. That's kind of reassuring, isn't it?

[He smiles faintly, because he doesn't know much about the Viet Cong personally, but he knows the Nazis, and he nods.] They are. Their leader believed that there were powers that had been wielded by gods - and that the serum would give him the right to do the same.

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...It is. But I wonder, does knowing there's another version of you out there change how you look at yourself, Steve?

[He tips his head at the mention of god-powers; he'd heard rumors about that from his dad, but his dad had said a lot of slurred and unreal things.] So they did perform experiments to uncover nature's secrets? I always assumed that explanation was just to make sense of senseless torture.

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[punched_hitler]

Huh. I... I don't know. [He thinks about that. Honestly thinks about it.] I don't thin it changes how I look at myself. It changes the way I look at my circumstances, though. Because those are who we are, right? Change one thing, and everything we are could be different.

[He can't help but bristle at the word experiments; he has to nod, and he looks distinctly unhappy.] I don't think anything they were after was natural. By any human definition of the word.

And most of the time, it wasn't so much experimenting as taking by force, and letting everyone else burn in the wreckage.

Either way, you're not wrong. [About the senseless torture. It makes him see red, just thinking about it.]

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I can understand cruelty, ruthlessness. Curiosity. I don't understand how people can be completely blind to it in front of them; maybe it was fear but...I remember my father talking about when Buchenwald was liberated, the Allies marched the neighboring village through it to see what they had been living right next door to. What they had just been accepting.

He said the villagers went in thinking it was going to be a parade for their benefit. They were smiling and laughing all the way up to the gates, and then they understood.

[He's quiet a moment, looking at some point on the wall.]

Do you believe in the Barge? In what happens here?

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[punched_hitler]

[Steve's expression flickers a little, at that - he never saw that happen, himself, and he never saw the camps. But he read about them. It makes him feel very lucky and very, very guilty all at once. But he can't deny a sense of satisfaction - on the part of America, all the boys that did what they did - for stopping that from going on. For liberating what people they could. But he doesn't feel that satisfaction on his own behalf, because he didn't have much part in it, even if he wouldn't change that. They didn't need Captain America to do that for them.] I hope they did. I hope it never happens again. And as long as I live... I'll do what I can to make sure it doesn't.

But I can understand how people can be blind to it. They are, every day - when they see something that's wrong, and they think it doesn't affect them. When they think someone else will take care of the problem.

[He's seen that his whole life - and been trying to stand up against it his whole life, too. Long before he stood over six feet tall.]

I do. I wouldn't be here if I didn't.

[He pauses.] I try to believe in the Admiral, too. In his choices, at least. In the people he puts here. But I don't believe he should do the work for us - wardens or inmates.

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[As detached as the Motorcycle Boy is toward most things, his father's story is one that struck him deep. Especially contrasted with the war that surrounded him back home on the streets, the senseless war overseas that threatened every able-bodied boy.] It's hard to imagine your generation making mistakes when you put an end to that. Of course every generation creates its own cages, but--I'm sure you've heard people refer to you guys as the Greatest Generation. [And he's curious what someone like Steve makes of it. Steve has the self-confidence to not need that sort of external validation, which means he probably views it more clearly than most.]

Have you got an inmate? [He feels like he should know this already.]

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I have. [His mouth twists a little, expression wry as he thinks about it, and shakes his head.] We made mistakes, just like everybody else. Not everyone agreed with the war, or with America's involvement, and I met plenty of men who were drafted and angry about it. I saw plenty of them do terrible things when it wasn't necessary, and I saw plenty of them die for something they didn't believe in, too. [He shrugs a little.] Maybe we had some things right. I saw plenty of good men do the right thing because they believed in it. I had the honor of serving with a lot of them. But I don't think we were the greatest. We just... were.

[He can see the contrast, though - he knows the war wasn't as controversial as Vietnam or Korea, and he knows the Japanese attacking probably had a lot to do with it. But he'd like to think that there are great men and women in every generation, just like there are bad ones, too.

He nods, at the question - and it's okay, because,] Yeah. Pretty recently. Her name's T'Pol - dark hair, pointed ears? She's Vulcan. She doesn't like humans much, not that I can blame her. Apparently, according to her history, we leave a lot to be desired.

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That might be the worst lesson to learn as a human being: that almost no one gets to die for what they believe in. And that to the survivors it's not much comfort if you believed in anything while you were still alive. But [a wry grin] I'm not very religious. Maybe I just don't understand faith well enough.

I've seen T'Pol. I've never spoken to her, though. I should. [Which doesn't mean he will; he tends to keep to himself] She reminds me of some guys I knew back in New York, up in Detroit. The race riots. Did you read about those? They were after your time.

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[punched_hitler]

[Steve shakes his head, smiling just as wryly.] Nah, it's a hard lesson to learn, whether you're religious or not. [Because he kind of is, but even then,] Dying for God and country isn't exactly glorious. But I guess some of us still think it's worth it.

That doesn't mean anyone who doesn't is wrong, though. I think that even if you don't get to decide what you die for, it means something that you at least get to decide what you'd like to die for - if anything at all.

She's... interesting. But you know, you might get along. [Motorcycle Boy's got an interesting take on things. T'Pol might actually respect that.

He nods, though.] Yeah. I read about them - I read a lot about what happened.

We had a colored man, in the Commandos. He never meant anything less to me than the other guys, but there were a couple of bigwigs who thought differently. Gabe was always a real gentleman about it, and he didn't need to be.

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You might have to introduce us. I don't have a memory for faces. [Or you know, names, or histories.]

After your War ended, the tensions started to come to a head in some cities between them and the establishment. My little brother paid a lot of attention to it, I think it ruined how he sees things. I took him to a pool hall once, in a black neighborhood... [he shrugs] It didn't go well.

Hey, do you ever picture yourself getting old?

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[punched_hitler]

Yeah, sure. I will. [That's okay - T'Pol certainly won't forget him.

He nods, mouth pressing into a thin line for a moment.] I think that's how people change. When things don't go well. [Not that he's suggesting his brother needed to change, though. What he means is,] Things have to escalate, before people can see the problem in front of their faces. And sometimes even then, they don't want to act on it.

[He's seen it countless times, people letting themselves be bullied, simply because fighting back seems scarier than the bully. He doesn't actually blame them, but it's just never been how he could live. He's never been good at walking away, even when it's not his fight.

His lips to quirk up at the sudden question - ] Can't help it - I'm already ninety-six.

[Joking aside, though. He's actually willing to answer the question seriously, after a moment, as the joking smile fades.] No. Not really. I think I've always known, since I was a little kid, that old age wasn't gonna be the thing that gets me.

[Before, he just assumed he'd die from the asthma or the pneumonia or some other illness that finally knocked him too flat to get up again. He didn't like it, but he was stubborn, not blind. After... he's a soldier. Soldiers die in the line of duty. It just gets more likely, the longer you put yourself in that line of fire, and he never did plan on retiring.]

Maybe it's better that way. [He thinks of Peggy, slowly losing her mind, herself, in that nursing home. It makes him sad, like he's already mourning her loss while she's still alive, even though he feels lucky, in a way, that she lived the long, happy life she had.]