"Are you all right?" you ask softly. Bucky looks up, startled, and for a moment you think he might attack you again. He just stares at you, though, before returning his gaze to the floor.

"I…I don't know if I'm worth this," he says brokenly. Your heart aches at the expression on his face.

"James –"

"I've killed people," he interrupts. "I've killed a lot of people. Hell, I almost killed you. And for you and Steve to risk everything, to go against your friends like that…I don't deserve it."

You sit down next to him, shaking your head. "That wasn't you," you say gently. "You didn't have a choice. Steve knows that." You pause, studying his face. "You know, there was a time when you were all he had. I think, given the opportunity to go back, he would make the same choices over and over again. I think he'd do anything for you, James."

Bucky looks at you again, the same broken look in his eyes. "What about you? Why are you helping me?"

You smile wryly. "Well, I know a little of what it's like to not be in control of your own mind," you say, before growing serious again. "A lot of people have died because of me as well."

Now it's Bucky's turn to shake his head. "You're nothing like me…you have no idea, the things I've done." He stares at his lap, his voice shaking. "I have so much blood on my hands."

You sit there for a moment, contemplating what to do, before reaching out to touch his metal arm. You watch him carefully as you run your fingers lightly down his forearm and across his palm, then gently maneuver his elbow into a 90-degree angle. You fit your hand neatly into his, slowly intertwining your fingers together.

"Can you feel that?" you say quietly, flicking your eyes up to meet his. He lets out a soft sigh, pulling his hand from yours to place it ever so gently on the left side of your face.

"Yes," he whispers, dragging his thumb across your lower lip. A beat of silence stretches between you before he leans down to kiss you, his mouth pressing urgently against yours. In contrast to the harshness of the cold metal against your cheek, his lips are warm, soft, and exceedingly gentle.

He leaves as quickly as he had come, resting his forehead against yours briefly while he collects himself.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I – I shouldn't have done that." He begins to pull away, but you quickly place a hand over his.

"No, that…" you let out a shaking breath, unsure of what to say next. You peek up through your lashes to give him a small smile. "That was perfect." You grasp his hand more firmly, guiding it along your jaw. "You're perfect, James. Just as you are."

You press a chaste kiss to the tips of his metal fingers, your eyes never leaving his. His mouth falls open slightly as you release him, his hand falling limply into his lap. You sit there like that for what seems like eons, neither of you wanting to look away, until a yell from Steve signaling your arrival breaks the trance.