Blinking in confusion, Bruce looks at the back of Steve's head. Cap isn't the only one who's tired. "Huh? ...What are you sorry for? That's." He thought he'd made that clear enough, but apparently he was wrong about that too. A long minute passes before he scoots himself until his feet hit the floor again.

"Look, I." He stares at the floor and tries to go and figure out what he's going to say without screwing up what he means. "If you had gone and... You know. Made a lab rat of yourself. You wouldn't have gone and. Done what you did. Which made a difference. N-not only in the whole, er, war thing, though you did make a huge difference there too, I'm not saying you didn't but." Bruce keeps his eyes down and his ears go more than slightly red. "You probably go and get this a lot, but. You've meant a whole lot to people since then, even to the people who just thought it was a, um. Comic book story. Just. That's important enough for--"

Bruce shakes his head as his hand fists at his pants, the clothe bunching up between his fingers. "What happened to me, that... I know that wasn't anyone's fault but my own. I was stupid and impulsive and reckless and I didn't think beyond the." He cuts himself off there - it's an old rant, one he's rehearsed in his head too many times to count, and Steve doesn't need to hear it. "So that's. It's not on you."