Finished Am I a hypocrite?

"If age and experience came at birth, we would have neither youth nor mirth," Pietro said from behind his hand, repeating another proverb in their shared tongue. Removing his hand from his face, he smiled softly at Natasha and beckoned her further into the room.

"I am old, Natasha. I know you have lived longer, but I must confess that I feel much, much older. My bones don't ache but they feel like they should. I am an old man trapped in the body of what is easily an eleven year old girl. Stuck, despite all my best efforts."

Shifting his feet, he rested one of his stilettoed foot onto the ottoman near his chair. He seemed captivated momentarily by the black leather and gold plated buckles. "I am a relic. Obsolete. But what is there then for me other than to quietly take a walk at sunrise?"

"Maybe you are right. That was part of why I stepped down from my position. I felt like I could offer no more after all this time. But nothing really makes me happy anymore. Or maybe it never did..."

As he spoke, Pietro absentmindedly ran his fingertips down Natasha's spine; bringing his hand to rest at the small of her back, right where it dipped before her hips. He didn't seem consciously aware that he was doing this; it was just a habit picked up long ago.

"I just worry, I suppose. That I am out of touch in ways that I cannot even see. What you said to me in my home all those months ago, it bothered me more than I even let on..." Pietro wasn't quite used to being this candid. But he had a feeling that Natasha wouldn't go blathering about this to anyone.

Still halfway lost in his own thoughts, his hand began running the line of her spine slowly, almost as though he were petting or caressing her. Pietro realized quickly and pulled his hand away however, looking away to hide his embarrassment. "My apologies, Miss Lockwood. Some of my servants in the past would sit on the arm of my chair like that and - never mind, it really isn't important."

"No you are of course correct. I always knew I wouldn't be able to please everyone. But the idea that a majority of them saw me as..." Pietro wasn't sure what word was cutting enough to bring the full impact of how he felt, so he just scrunched up his nose in mild disgust.

"But yes, unconscious. Once, I kept a servant by my side at all times. It was a bit like keeping a pet, though one you regularly fed on. Times were different then, or course."

"Now I don't have servants so much as employees. Biting flesh to drink has been all but replaced with surgically implanted ports for ease of access with minimal trauma. It's all so modern and clinical, and I appreciate it for the ease of it all and the peace of mind that I can truthfully say that I am not a monster. But..."

His dark red eyes slowly traveled up Natasha's body until he fixated on her face. "I crave that which I cannot have. A hundred years ago I ached to be accepted. To be able to move freely among the people without being feared as a monster. Now... maybe I realise that despite my best efforts, I am still that monster that stalked Stalingrad all those years ago."

"What a shame I never got to see you then. Perhaps we could have suffered together," Pietro said with a small laugh. "I was a right terror back then. When I wasn't being commanded around by the vile creature that turned me in the first place."

Pietro took his glass in his free hand, taking a long sip from it and sighing contentedly. This was nice, in its own way. Far and away from the noise, though he did enjoy it to a point. "There's that phrase again," he said with a laugh. "You seem fixated, Natasha. Which is it though that you prefer? The old world, aristocratic gallantry or the new man you claim isn't a monster anymore?"