Re: [En route: Janus, Steve, Atticus]
Steve looked to Janus for empathy, abstract and actual. He looked to everyone for that, regardless. Empathy was the basis, to his mind, of society and relationships, be they platonic, romantic, acquaintances, or just someone you walked by on the street. Civilization encouraged it, democracy required it. So, whatever Janus was, Steve absolutely looked to her for some understanding of why people did what they did.—For example, Steve exercised his empathy to understand why green eyes might sharpen on him when he spoke of rights and POW camps. He could read the quick, successive blinking as disbelief and, maybe, hurt feelings or betrayal. While he was sorry he might've injured Janus' feelings, he didn't think he was wrong to say what he said. It wasn't a low blow. It was asking for an extension of the demon's hand toward others, it was a request for empathy. But, Janus grew quiet, as did Atticus, after a statement to trust what they saw, and Steve just sighed at them both, like a disappointed teacher with his two brightest students.
Empathy, however, or, more accurately, a lack thereof, couldn't get in the way of what was right either. Janus might have looked out the window after her comment, but Steve didn't. Softly, not as a superior officer would speak to a soldier, but as a friend would speak to a friend, he said: "This isn't war." He knew war, didn't he? His life was steeped in it and shaped by it, at least as much as Janus' was, if not more. "These aren't soldiers, even if they've managed to get their hands on weapons. They're people, civilians. Until we know the whole story or they give us cause to believe otherwise, that's how they're going to be treated." That was all he said on it or anything else until they deboarded the plane and he told them to suit up. (That was more habit than anything usual. Steve might've achieved strength, power, and strategy other might hadn't, with the help of the serum, but, when it all came down to it, he was still just a man.)
Once they were at the house, once Janus spoke again, Steve—Cap—missed the Commandos with an acuteness that felt like fresh grief, instead of an old wound. "What you have is fine," he told the woman before him, and he went upstairs with his own gear. It turned out, he had a fairly small pack that carried his old suit. Red, white, and blue. He stepped into it with a familiarity that should've atrophied to awkwardness, but hadn't. His clothes were folded and set on the empty bed in the room he'd chosen at random. Then, after hefting up his shield, he came back downstairs. Assuming Janus and Atticus were both present, he told them, fully embodying Captain Liberty at this point, "I'm going to get my bike. Send me his location, Janus, when you get it. I'll let you know if I need backup."
He didn't wait for either men to respond. He gave them a nod and left, the eye of his shield starry and at his side.