Laying with his eyes closed, arms folded over his stomach, he doesn't feel the shift. Doesn't pick up Steve's hand on his radar, has no way of knowing it's there. He does, however, appreciate the murmured sentiment. His lips twitch in an absent, sardonic little smile.
"I don't," He says, because the nice woman at the VA is right. He doesn't blame himself for not saving that kid, and he knows if he hadn't taken the shot his whole troop would've been blown to fucking bits - or maybe another guy would've stepped up to do it. He knows this. "But it still happened."
And it is what it is.
And they are who they are.
There's no self-pity in his voice, toneless and factual. He compartmentalizes, he always has, that's how he gets through. It works for him most days, the feelings are a distant and unacknowledged memory. It's just that sleep has a way of letting the walls down long enough for invaders to slip through.
A few quiet moments pass, and he murmurs a soft, "Goodnight, Steve."
no subject
"I don't," He says, because the nice woman at the VA is right. He doesn't blame himself for not saving that kid, and he knows if he hadn't taken the shot his whole troop would've been blown to fucking bits - or maybe another guy would've stepped up to do it. He knows this. "But it still happened."
And it is what it is.
And they are who they are.
There's no self-pity in his voice, toneless and factual. He compartmentalizes, he always has, that's how he gets through. It works for him most days, the feelings are a distant and unacknowledged memory. It's just that sleep has a way of letting the walls down long enough for invaders to slip through.
A few quiet moments pass, and he murmurs a soft, "Goodnight, Steve."