when you're alone silence is all you know [ strange + steve ]

[becloaked]

let in the noise and let it grow

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[becloaked]

"I don't even remotely care about what the State thinks of you," Stephen says blandly, pouring his own tea, a Nepalese green tea he'd grown fond of in Kamar-Taj. Despite the shaking in his hands, he keeps them steady enough. "Nor do I care who was on what side during that kerfuffle about the Accords."

That had been just before he'd had his car accident, and though it had been all over the news, Stephen hadn't much cared about it. He doesn't care about it now, either, though for a very different reason -- the sorcerers as an order do their best to stay out of politics. They have enough of their own politics to keep them busy for centuries. Just last week, Novice Cheng's mispronunciation of the Latin for to misplace had offended several visiting dignitaries, and that's going to be the talk of the water cooler for weeks.

He sits, then, cup cradled in his hands. The warmth goes a fraction of the way toward easing the constant ache in his fingers.

"As a superhero, you're reasonably strong and athletic -- your sense of strategy is probably your biggest weapon. As a man, you hold incredible influence," Stephen explains, though he suspects Steve knows it already. "If you decided you wanted to take over the world, I imagine you could get further than most."

Still, he believes Steve when he says that he's been helping with cleanup and family reunification. He seems the type to always need a mission of some kind, to always be helping. Still, there's this tiredness about him that Stephen can't quite get a read on. He's retired, shouldn't he be well-rested?

"Don't worry, we're not going to attach an ankle bracelet to you," he says dryly. "If we did, we'd be hypocrites." Of the two of them sitting in this room, whose alternate variations have ended multiple universes? That's right, it's not Steve. "My main reason for inviting you here was... well, to see how you're doing." It comes out a little awkward, because Stephen's not used to trying to be friends with people.

[veracious]

The idea that anyone beyond the US Government would be watching him as a possible threat for world domination actually makes Steve laugh. It's not big or loud, but there's amusement in it that even reaches his eyes. He hasn't laughed, genuinely, in such a long time that it almost feels foreign.

Everything lately has felt so heavy and dark.

"Well, let me assure you that I don't exactly have any world- takeovers planned in the near future. Just trying to help put it all back together instead. It's what people expect of me."

And it isn't that Steve doesn't want to do it, but he can't remember a moment of reprieve since he came out of the ice. He woke and hit the ground running, with all eyes on him, expecting him to be the very same energetic, optimistic hero he'd been before he crashed that plane into the water. Even now, when he stands before the public eye, he has a person that they inherently expect, and it's a role he has to fill.

Time away, though, doesn't sound terrible. Even if it fills him with an aching sort of guilt for even having the thought. It's Stephen's follow-up question that has him pausing, blinking over the cup of hot tea. They're colleagues in battle, and not truly friends, and yet something about all of this seems to disarm Steve, his shoulders rounding just a little.

The facade, slipping.

"I'm doing as well as anyone."

How do you do what they did and come out feeling whole again? Maybe it's easier for the others - who finished the battle, attended a funeral, and went back to their lives. It's only just started ending for Steve, really.

"I returned the Stones to their rightful places, came back. Took me a little longer than expected, but. Now I'm just trying to lend a hand where I can. Not sure where else I am better needed than that."

Steve is acutely aware that that is not the question he was asked. "How about you?"

[becloaked]

It's what people expect of me.

Now that is an interesting thing to say. The Captain America of times past would, perhaps, have stopped at saying that he was just trying to help put the world back together. But that little add-on, and the tiniest of slumps in Steve's shoulders, are adding up towards a picture that Stephen hadn't expected.

"I just spent the last week skipping between dimensions trying to stop a grief-stricken witch from killing a teenager, I'm very well-rested," Stephen replies dryly, taking a sip of his tea. It's a little spicy, a little fruity, and exactly what he needs to reinvigorate the senses. Steve clearly isn't telling the whole story; Stephen isn't going to either. Telling Steve everything wouldn't serve any kind of useful purpose right now.

He watches Steve thoughtfully, eyes bright in the afternoon light coming in through the nearby window. Golden motes of dust, dust that seems to permanently accompany everything in this place, dance in the air as he shifts, crossing one leg over the other.

"I'm a little surprised you didn't choose to stay in the past," he says, blunt as ever. "One of the Stones came from your original timeline, didn't it? It would have been an easy thing to save that one for last, and simply stay in a time you're more familiar with." Captain America's struggles with adjusting to the present time are well-documented, though Stephen really only knows about it because of the occasional headline he'd glimpsed and not through any heart-to-hearts with any of the Avengers.