Steve had also abandoned his shirt a while back. There was no one up here but him and Bucky. He couldn't help but look at the scarred skin where the metal arm was fused to Bucky's body. He was trying very, very hard not to stare, and mostly succeeding. Bucky didn't need any pity.
"I know what you mean," Steve said. "When I woke up in 2013, I ended up with almost seventy years back pay, plus merchandise royalties. Stark took care of the legal issues. But with inflation, it hardly even seems like real money. I remember all the things a nickel could buy."
It was wonderful, up here with his best friend, working with his hands, building something for his girl. It was a slice of a life Steve had given up on ever having. And here it was.
He could tell that Bucky still had something more on his mind. He still knew all of his friend's cues. He would give it another minute or two before prompting James to spit it out - Bucky was improving every day, and sometimes only needed a little time to say things on his own. Other times, he still needed some prompting. Steve was letting him set his own pace.