"Hey, I'm the one wearing the hardware, I get the lousy jokes," BUcky said with a smile. He shrugged, predictable and too quick to have even thought about it. "Nah. It's fine. Oil it in the rainy season, keep it from icing up in the winter. It's good." None of which he had to do of course. What little maintenance there was, the Capitol all did while Bucky tried to keep from crawling out of his skin or flinging whoever was tweaking plates across the room. It was like the times he had to play center stage for parties, or the rare other time, when he did something else. Bucky usually needed a little chemical aid to get through. It ached sometimes, phantom pain more often. But Bucky would never mention it because it would just mean more time with people trying to poke at it.
Bucky watched the pen move, and then looked at Sam, surprised and trying to tell if he was supposed to be or not. "They got you seeing him, too? Must be sick of us 8 boys," Bucky said finally. Steve would probably hate it. Or maybe he'd like Sam and not think to be suspicious? Bucky didn't know. He didn't know Steve's reactions to strangers inside out anymore, unless he knew for sure Steve would want to punch them. THOSE he could still spot. He had no idea why Sam was here. Because whatever else he was doing was a worse option. Because the Capitol made him, because he thought he could help, maybe, and then realized he couldn't. Bucky didn't know if he should know, because he didn't want to have to doubt it if he did. "Didn't want a job where you were looking at rocks?" he said finally.
Bucky's fist bunched and then loosened. "I don't black out from headaches. I'm not cracking up. I used to get them more when I was coming off all the shit they had me on. Now it's just once in a while. I sleep in. I'm fine." If Sam got paid every time Bucky had told him he was fine in their meetings, he'd probably be a rich man.