A dark brow lifts in response. Who is she to tell him what to think? Excuse you, lady, he can do whatever the hell he wants right now. Just because.
Actually, no. That's not fair. He can choose to do anything right now, and revel in the choice, but there will be consequence for each and every action he takes. And she's just trying to help, hence the advice. Now, granted, it's something he already more or less knows, and just hasn't completely accepted in his heart yet. His brain knows that no amount of 'sorry' will ever make up for the things he's done. And that's okay, he'll live with it. But his heart still holds that traitorous little sliver of hope. It has since he found Steve in his safe house.
"Yeah. You keep moving forward, because if you stop --" He frowns, expression kept deliberately neutral, except for the moment of levity. He reaches up, rubs at one eye with his flesh hand as if wiping away weariness, and then turns his head to look at her again. "Why are you helping me? I'm Steve's ..." Friend. "Problem, not ... not yours."
Bucky's voice is quiet, a thread of softness running through it that he's too tired to mask. She ran with him. For him. By all rights, Natasha should hate him, and should have trapped him in Berlin. He still doesn't know why she choose otherwise, even if he is grateful to have gotten a chance to stop monsters worse than him.
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Actually, no. That's not fair. He can choose to do anything right now, and revel in the choice, but there will be consequence for each and every action he takes. And she's just trying to help, hence the advice. Now, granted, it's something he already more or less knows, and just hasn't completely accepted in his heart yet. His brain knows that no amount of 'sorry' will ever make up for the things he's done. And that's okay, he'll live with it. But his heart still holds that traitorous little sliver of hope. It has since he found Steve in his safe house.
"Yeah. You keep moving forward, because if you stop --" He frowns, expression kept deliberately neutral, except for the moment of levity. He reaches up, rubs at one eye with his flesh hand as if wiping away weariness, and then turns his head to look at her again. "Why are you helping me? I'm Steve's ..." Friend. "Problem, not ... not yours."
Bucky's voice is quiet, a thread of softness running through it that he's too tired to mask. She ran with him. For him. By all rights, Natasha should hate him, and should have trapped him in Berlin. He still doesn't know why she choose otherwise, even if he is grateful to have gotten a chance to stop monsters worse than him.
"I just don't understand."