Keeping his head bent down, Steve looked up at her words. He huffed a laugh and smiled, but shook his head. "Yeah, it's huge. And I never even finished art school. Even if I did manage to find a job drawing - which, sketches are one thing, whole comics are another - I... I wouldn't feel right, taking that job from someone else." He tried to figure out how to articulate what he meant. "I'm-- I already have a job, as--" he flicked his gaze around, then murmured, "as you-know-who. Which, maybe that's not as irrelevant as I'd been thinking. It's not an every day job, but if it's important to people, I'm not gonna give that up."
Nothing was coming out right. He wasn't quite sure how to explain the fact that he was no longer that scrawny kid, dreaming of becoming a big name on the cover of comics. He'd seen the world, or at least large portions of it, that he'd never expected; he'd been to war; he'd essentially traveled through time. He wasn't sure he could be satisfied with the dreams he'd used to have. Not after everything else he'd gone through. He'd always feel that itch; that restless sensation that he should be out in the world somewhere, actively helping people. Fighting.
It all came back down to fighting.
His hand had slowed, but continued to add lines while he'd been contemplating. Now, he turned his attention fully back to the drawing, giving a one-shouldered shrug. "Maybe. We'll see." He gave a self-deprecating smile. "I'm not all that good, anyway, not compared to some others. This whole conversation may be a moot point after you see what I can manage."
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Nothing was coming out right. He wasn't quite sure how to explain the fact that he was no longer that scrawny kid, dreaming of becoming a big name on the cover of comics. He'd seen the world, or at least large portions of it, that he'd never expected; he'd been to war; he'd essentially traveled through time. He wasn't sure he could be satisfied with the dreams he'd used to have. Not after everything else he'd gone through. He'd always feel that itch; that restless sensation that he should be out in the world somewhere, actively helping people. Fighting.
It all came back down to fighting.
His hand had slowed, but continued to add lines while he'd been contemplating. Now, he turned his attention fully back to the drawing, giving a one-shouldered shrug. "Maybe. We'll see." He gave a self-deprecating smile. "I'm not all that good, anyway, not compared to some others. This whole conversation may be a moot point after you see what I can manage."