ever marching as to war

Determined though Lucy had been not to let herself fall apart this time, that she wasn't herself was a fact made plainly apparent. She'd barely slept, barely eaten, looked far less put together than she usually did; the ring she had worn for months was no longer around her finger, and she seemed more withdrawn than was customary for her, like she had retreated into herself, gone quiet rather than looking for a fight. There wasn't anything to fight, and that was part of the problem. Railing against nothing would only leave her more exhausted than she was already, and three days after the fact, she was utterly drained. She had things to do, arrangements to make (or to break, rather, the wedding having been in the works since summer), but doing them made it all seem so fucking final, and while she'd rather have put everything behind her, working up the energy to do so was a different story. It took enough out of her to keep it together at home, to make sure she was okay in front of Samantha. The rest of the time was a different story.

Not the sort to hole up inside, though, and needing both the air and to be around people, she had ventured up to the building that the Compound had become; coming across Bucky there was unplanned, but probably fortunate. It was about time she found him, to let him know that plans had changed. Taking a seat just nearby, she just looked at him for a moment, grateful that he was still there at all, before she drew in a deep breath and spoke. "Hey," she said, quiet, more for what she seemed to be interrupting than any reasons of her own. "Everything okay?"