Bucky sounds sort of down about it, and I feel a real strong urge to make him feel anything but. I won't lie to him, though. Luckily, I don't have to.

"Mm-" I start, shifting a little, not nervous exactly but maybe kinda shy (which is dumb, I know it's dumb), "maybe kinda serious. We were both in the war, after all, and you haven't seen the end of it. Who knows how long it goes on." We also don't know what I'm supposed to look like, now. Bucky only knows the me in those pictures, the me from, I guess, back then.

"And look," I add, lifting a finger to point carefully, without smudging anything, at the man in the drawing's eyes and mouth, "it's still you. You can see it, right there."