With Steve sitting so close it's impossible not to read him; the way his jaw clenches, the set of his shoulders, the line of his brows. And as has been happening all too often of late, he finds himself looking, subtly and then less subtly, until he's not working on the arm at all but watching Steve quietly, eyes dark.
"I can't remember," he says softly to whatever question Steve is asking inside his own head right now, do you remember what happened or do you miss it or even did you choose to keep this, did you let them turn you into a weapon. It could answer any of those, except that it's a lie. He has four variations of 'I can't remember'/'I don't know.' The first is flat and cold and angry at Steve for asking. The second is panicked, an excuse to make Steve stop talking, if he can't remember something then he doesn't have to think about it, doesn't have to deal with the reality of it. The third is guilty, soft and helpless, do you like coffee? or burgers or hot dogs?
The fourth is new, having appeared only recently. The soft and calm version, when he remembers perfectly well but doesn't want Steve to hear him say so, and looks at him with dark eyes and something approaching concern.
It's the same tone of voice that Bucky Barnes used to have when he'd grip Steve's shoulder or pull him in, take his face with both hands and turn him away from the whateveritwas. A soldier shot dead a foot from cover. A story about a girl raped on the street, or a child frozen in the snow. The men that weren't as lucky as James Buchanan Barnes, Hydra POW. The camps. The gas.
'Sometimes things just happen,' he used to say, knowing otherwise but not wanting Steve to hear him say it, watching him with dark eyes and concern on his face.
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"I can't remember," he says softly to whatever question Steve is asking inside his own head right now, do you remember what happened or do you miss it or even did you choose to keep this, did you let them turn you into a weapon. It could answer any of those, except that it's a lie. He has four variations of 'I can't remember'/'I don't know.' The first is flat and cold and angry at Steve for asking. The second is panicked, an excuse to make Steve stop talking, if he can't remember something then he doesn't have to think about it, doesn't have to deal with the reality of it. The third is guilty, soft and helpless, do you like coffee? or burgers or hot dogs?
The fourth is new, having appeared only recently. The soft and calm version, when he remembers perfectly well but doesn't want Steve to hear him say so, and looks at him with dark eyes and something approaching concern.
It's the same tone of voice that Bucky Barnes used to have when he'd grip Steve's shoulder or pull him in, take his face with both hands and turn him away from the whateveritwas. A soldier shot dead a foot from cover. A story about a girl raped on the street, or a child frozen in the snow. The men that weren't as lucky as James Buchanan Barnes, Hydra POW. The camps. The gas.
'Sometimes things just happen,' he used to say, knowing otherwise but not wanting Steve to hear him say it, watching him with dark eyes and concern on his face.