"I accepted who and what you were," I say, taking advantage of the silence, however taut it may be, the words coming out metered and careful for all that they feel like they're pouring out in a stream beyond my control, "from the moment we were introduced and I never looked back. Not until the world finally beat it into me that you were gone."

I lift my gaze from where it had been hovering about three feet off the ground to Bucky's face.

"You can call me blind, but I know you, Bucky. I knew you then and I knew you when you came back. The last good thing I did before I came here, the last good thing, was asking Tony Stark to save you the way I couldn't," I say, the memory bitter for the knowledge that it was the right call to make, that I had to turn to Tony, of all people, to reach out to Bucky. I reach out to him now, to catch his shoulder, hoping that we can find a way to talk instead of following our natures and training to a foregone conclusion.

"The good old days are gone, Bucky, and if all that's left is you then the rest of them can go hang, because I'm glad."