The walk to the doors seems interminably long. He can see trees out the front, which is briefly confusing until he spots the sign - Rockefeller University Hospital. Campus. They're on the campus. The undecimated, autumn-bright campus.

He puts his free hand on Peggy's arm to steady himself as they walk out into the sun. Students, meandering back and forth, some with their faces in their books and others sharing gossip - many of them women, a handful of boys who would have been too young to serve during the heaviest periods of recruitment. Someone laughs, loudly, and a teacher looks up to give Steve and Peggy a sympathetic glance before she keeps walking.

It smells like the city. Dirt, exhaust, garbage, oil, rumbling under the scent of plants that take the edge of grime away. He closes his eyes and inhales, the shock of home hitting him in a fresh wave.

That, more than anything, drives home the fact that they did it.

"It's over," he says.