[ that is the question, though, ain't it? if he had an answer for himself, he might be more inclined to share it, but it doesn't make a lick of sense to him or anyone else. he inhales deeply, gaze flitting to steve's door and down the hall, and shrugs. ]

Seventy years is a long time. Memory's not what it used to be.

[ get it, because he's old and senile and everything he used to be was burned out of him time and time again. it's funny, insofar as he spends most nights ( and some days too ) screaming at voices and faces that aren't there anymore, and someone somewhere called this a success. bucky hasn't seen it, hasn't lived it yet, and part of him prays to a god he doesn't believe in anymore that bucky never will. he hopes they never leave this tower, if it means they're protected from the gaping maw of what's waiting outside.

even if it means living with the disappointment in his own eyes staring at him. he carries guilt with him everywhere he goes, but bucky makes him feel ashamed, like he's let him down somehow. and maybe he did, when he gave in to zola's torture and mind-breaking. if he had fought harder, if he hadn't been so weak, a lot of lives would've been spared.

if only they'd just let him die. it wouldn't be the first time he's thought it, or even asked - no matter how many times, in however many languages, no one ever heard him.

maybe bucky might listen. ]

Ask me whatever you want, I'll tell you what I can.

[ he owes him that much, at least. but - he looks up to steve's door again, then down the hall to where the older steve, could come from at any moment. ]

But not here.

[ he walks away without waiting for bucky to respond; whether he follows or not doesn't make a difference to him. maybe his room is safe, or the roof. the roof is better. he makes his way to the elevator. ]