Murderer. It was a cold and heavy word and she wondered if the boy before her had actually murdered someone. Or someone's. He was tense to the point of shaking, and the waves of anxiety and fear rolled off of him indicated that his words were genuine. Surprise was there, in a corner of her mind, that she had not been told about him previously. It was possibly she was being tested or he wanted her reaction to be sincere and unprepared.
Either way, it was instinct that caused her to reach out slowly--so as not to startle him--and take the mug from his hands, clasping her's around his instead across his desk, looking him intently in the face even if his eyes were closed, "Bucky. Family, by blood or by choice, doesn't care, thats what family is." Her voice strong, insistent, her comfort did not come in sweet words and candies, but truths she held dear and would defend to the death that kept her and her family standing that were not forced.