It's an accurate description. No longer a flicker on security systems which cut to a loop when he comes through, but an echo resounding in an empty room. He haunts the shell of someone he used to be, insubstantial and lost, retracing old steps.
Well practiced in invisibility, he watches Steve Rogers from a distance. Goes with him to the apartment buildings where Ebbets Field used to be, and tries to understand the way his mouth tugs down, looking up at them. He walks beside Steve at a Brooklyn cemetary, three hours after he's left, and traces the names on the stones. He wonders if he has something like this, somewhere. The man whose bones he walks with is a museum piece, now. His clothes are wrapped around a faceless doll. His photograph projected onto glass.
Does he have a marker, like this one? Something simple. Permanent. Stone.
He doesn't join Steve Rogers for breakfast, but he watches the mechanical way that he eats and stares at the full plate and empty space opposite. He's watched him do this maybe fifteen times, and he knows where the path goes after this. He's walked it with him, every time.
This time, when he follows, he's only three steps behind. He's a ghost, and when Steve finally turns, he expects the man to look right through him.]
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It's an accurate description. No longer a flicker on security systems which cut to a loop when he comes through, but an echo resounding in an empty room. He haunts the shell of someone he used to be, insubstantial and lost, retracing old steps.
Well practiced in invisibility, he watches Steve Rogers from a distance. Goes with him to the apartment buildings where Ebbets Field used to be, and tries to understand the way his mouth tugs down, looking up at them. He walks beside Steve at a Brooklyn cemetary, three hours after he's left, and traces the names on the stones. He wonders if he has something like this, somewhere. The man whose bones he walks with is a museum piece, now. His clothes are wrapped around a faceless doll. His photograph projected onto glass.
Does he have a marker, like this one? Something simple. Permanent. Stone.
He doesn't join Steve Rogers for breakfast, but he watches the mechanical way that he eats and stares at the full plate and empty space opposite. He's watched him do this maybe fifteen times, and he knows where the path goes after this. He's walked it with him, every time.
This time, when he follows, he's only three steps behind. He's a ghost, and when Steve finally turns, he expects the man to look right through him.]