[ she did before, but in this particular instance — yelena didn't assume the possibility of bucky reacting negatively to her wanting to examine his hand of steel so up close and personal like this when she is practically already in his arms.

she wouldn't have been surprised if he had, but without speaking it aloud, she is thankful that he doesn't, in the end. they are, jumpy and guarded by nature — working in the shadows will do that to a person — bucky more so than she is, but it is still something they can relate to.

having a prosthetic arm is, unfortunately, not one of them, but yelena can empathize. she has always, always felt strongly; leaves her heart on her sleeve in an effort to relearn what it feels like to be in control of your actions, your feelings; to be a person again.

physical contact is a big part of that process, she thinks, and perhaps why she's so comfortable being here next to him. but even then, even if he still has the rest of him, she can't help but feel a wave of sadness wash over her. it's written all over her face too — the way the corners of her lips curve downwards into the smallest of frowns. ]

I see. [ she doesn't mean to sound or look so disappointed, so she cracks a joke: ] Well. You could probably braid hair one-handed then. Or maybe beat Alexei at an arm-wrestling match, yes?

[ her frown has dissipated and she just looks deep in thought now. she takes her pinky back and tries to pry his hand open, splaying his fingers up and apart if he'll let her— and if he does, yelena will trace her index across the palm of his hand, dragging her fingertips over where the creases would be, as if it were of flesh and blood. ]

I've noticed you make it a point not to touch me with this hand. I figure it is out of instinct. But you don't have to hold back. I don't mind.