ever marching as to war

Bucky hadn't, of course. It was a dumb mistake -- about as dumb as jumping on that plane in the first place, in fact, but he thought he had it, he thought it would work out, like every other dumb move he'd done up 'til that point. He suppresses a chill from the memory of the cold Atlantic winds biting at his skin, absently rubbing his hand against his false arm, the hologram re-enabled so that it looks like flesh.

"Yeah," he murmurs, not sure what to say. He wants to ask if it helps, remembering that detail, but there's no kind way to go about it, and if he's going to instigate a fight, it won't be between them, regardless of whether or not they need one.