Turning at the waist, he looked behind him. His hair partially obscured his view, but it was held back enough by the cap. There was no mistaking Steve for anyone else. Steve Rogers might have been a tiny thing from Brooklyn once, but he was the epitome of masculine perfection now.
It figured he'd be here in this place. Why wouldn't this place have brought him along with Bucky? He felt as if it were some kind of inevitability.
"So it is. What do you want?"
Revenge was the first thought to come to his broken mind. He'd left Steve for dead on the side of a riverbank last he'd seen him. No one of import should have seen him the way he'd left him. It was doubtful anyone had seen him that way knowing how the world needed to see Captain America.
They definitely didn't need to see him beaten bloody at the hands of The Winter Soldier.
A smirk floated over his mouth before his expression went blank again.
"Do you want to try to even the score? I'd say I know you weren't the kind who'd want to beat a man when he was down, but I don't know anything anymore. Mind-wiped. I remember your name. I remember you. In bits and pieces. Who you were. I remember. Who you are? I don't know."
He didn't know this Steve. There were memories of him as a soldier. Some. Those were fewer, farther between each other than the ones from their youth, but the memories of those days existed for Bucky. Steve had been a good soldier. Uncertain at times as a leader, but if he stood just so at his side? It was enough to wipe all of that hesitation away.
What had made him interesting to this man? Why had his opinion mattered? Had it been lingering feelings of obligation to him for when he'd proved useful as a bodyguard? Was it some sense of---guilt?
Steve had left him. For dead. He'd believed him to be dead. And. He'd left.
Was that it?
"You don't owe me anything if you're not interested in passing along that beating I gave you. It wasn't your fault. I was dead. Bucky Barnes was dead. That's it. Dead. So what do you want?"