"Some things were left over there, and some things need to be brought back. As for how we bring them back, that's our business."
"Whether you crash into a box or put it in your wallet depends on you..."
Sam stood on the small platform, looking at the veterans below and using his words to ease their anxiety.
Rogers leaned against the doors, quietly listening. He didn't make a sound until Sam had finished.
At last, the discussion ended. Most of the soldiers returned to their own lives and headed outside.
Only Sam recognized Rogers at a glance. With a smile, he walked over and said, "Aren't you the running whiz?"
"I heard the last few minutes. That was really good," Rogers praised him.
"Yeah, brother. We all have the same problems—guilt and regret." Sam spoke with deep empathy.
"Did you lose someone close to you?" Rogers couldn't help asking.
Sam's gaze dimmed. "My wingman, Riley. A nighttime flight mission, a standard space rescue operation, something we'd practiced thousands of times..."
Sam's story reminded Rogers of his good friend Bucky. Looking at the grieving Sam, Rogers said softly, "I'm sorry."
Their shared experiences quickly warmed the feelings between them.
"It must be nice to return to a normal life."
"Sort of. What about you? Thinking of quitting?" Sam looked at Rogers as he asked.
"No. I don't know either. To be honest, I don't even know what I'd do if I quit."
Rogers had long been thinking about leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. After the battle in New York, the Avengers had practically become nothing more than a name, while Rogers, just as before, waited at any moment for Nick Fury's orders.
He was already sick of it.
"You can do whatever you want. What do you like doing?" Sam asked with a