The blow from the knee leaves Bucky winded, but not out for the count. He rolls with the pain, focuses his mind on his next move, though he doesn't need to think hard; this, all of this, comes as easily to him as breathing. As rough as he's fighting, there's an effortlessness to every strike, every counter, a fluidity that's as much training as it is instinct. He aims an elbow at Steve's jaw, Bucky's opposite fist gunning for the wound that's only just healed.

"Not really."