Re: Bar: Janus/Steve
Janus didn't have anybody either. He had even fewer people than Steve--actually, ha ha, all he had was Steve. Since his return up top, he made sure he avoided any veteran affairs or gatherings by at least a five-hundred mile radius. He didn't even know how many men from his unit were still living, and he wanted to keep them in his memory the way they had been. He wanted to be in their memories the same way too, young and funny and determined in the mud. He had preferred them thinking he died with the rest in the camp outside of Hanoi. He obviously didn't know what to do with the Captain's abrupt re-entry into his life, and if he'd been any more off-balance he would have fallen on his face by now.
Janus' eyelids flickered once, twice, and then he took his hand out of his pocket and put it in Steve's. As always, Janus' skin was just this side of unnaturally warm, but dry and reassuring, like the rest of him. He was, of course, much older than PFC Allen had been, with something darker in the eyes. Maybe that could be chalked up to age. He thought he detected a fatigue in Steve, too, but it might have been a figment, an attribute Janus needed to make this work. God knows the man hadn't aged; Janus couldn't bring himself to be surprised. He had seen what the Captain could do.
"Genes." Now Janus really smiled, amused. "You, actually. Unless there's another Steve, J.D. around here." He let go of Steve's hand and couldn't stop himself from putting it back in his pocket.