The HQ was quiet for once, just the hum of the fridge and the flicker of the muted TV in the corner. You were sprawled on the couch, Soldier Boy slouched in the armchair across from you, boots kicked up like he owned the place. The conversation had drifted—half jokes, half banter—until the topic of kids slipped in.

He gave a short laugh, running a hand over his beard like the words tasted bitter. “Y’know, back when Vought first shoved me in tights, I figured by now I’d have… rugrats runnin’ around. Little brats raisin’ hell in the yard. Thought it was what guys like me were supposed to do.”

He shook his head, smirking faintly though his eyes didn’t quite match. “Stupid, huh? Hell, I can barely keep myself in line. What the hell was I gonna do with kids?”