This isn't his area of expertise. He can't inspire people with words the way Steve can, Bucky's natural tendency to be flippant not lending itself particularly well to comforting those in need. He stumbles over the words in his head, trying to figure out the right thing to say when there's nothing to do, but each possibility sounds more stupid and trivial than the last. There's no mission to rush off to, no distraction they can take for the respite. For once in their lives, they have a chance to breathe, but Bucky would rather suffocate than suffer through watching Steve fall apart.

The difference in height makes the gesture awkward to initiate, but not impossible. Quickly, Bucky wraps his arms around Steve to still him, his chin just clearing his friend's shoulder. His hands clasp together behind Steve's back, the end result more of a hold than an embrace.

"I forgive you," Bucky says, as though he ever blamed him. (He didn't. How could he? It was always Bucky's idea to jump, right from the start. He's the one who ought to be apologizing, but he knows it won't be accepted.) "You did what had to be done and I forgive you."