And all of this shit apparently made Soldat like they are, too. At least Rosinante is properly functional.

Soldat leaves their head in their hands for a long moment, the metal arm still making quiet mechanical noises, just trying to breathe and not throw up. Carefully not thinking about the target's-- about Steve's face, after they hit it so many times. But they can't hide forever.

Well, not while standing in the middle of the woods with Rosinante right there, anyway. (Up and at 'em, buddy.) They take one more slow breath and finally drop their hands, expression settling into the safest and, really, most comfortable mode: complete lack of expression. "Thanks, Rosinante. For the memory stones. And always being patient." Someday. Someday they will be able, and allowed, to reciprocate.

That time really ain't now, though.