No, he's not looking to hurt her. Not this time. It's enough that she's sticking her neck out for him - that moment of indecision, that hesitation back in the corridor. Natasha had ample time to corner him for the police, but she chose to help him instead. It's not something he plans to forget. Or leave unrepaid.

"I have everything to apologize for," he mutters almost under his breath, but the tone of voice is tinged with something close to resignation. Yes, he's heard that before. Recently, in fact, from a guy with a heart that's still too big for his body. If he has a problem believing it from Captain Fucking America, stands to reason that the Widow trying to tell him the same thing isn't going to have miraculous consequences. But at least he's listening. "James was my father. It feels -- weird, I guess, having someone outside the family use it."

His mother, his sisters, even Steve on occasion. But he's been Bucky for so long - and no one at all for even longer - that being addressed in such a manner is fairly unsettling. He shifts, allowing his shoulders to slump down further against the wall, and tilts his head. A part of him is primed and ready to move, but most of Bucky's attention is now focused on Natasha.

"I've slept on worse things than the ground." Corner of his mouth lifts briefly. "It's your call, Widow. Having a weapon or two would make the sleeping a little easier, though."