[ it's like he sees it happen in slow motion: that light of recognition sparking in her eyes. that cold leaden weight sinking into the pit of his stomach, realising he's been recognised. for a moment he's certain the woman's just going to start screaming and running, a terrified civilian recognising him as the killer he is.
but the blonde doesn't run. her face goes pale and tight and stricken, but she doesn't move, and bucky feels that pain mirror across his own face; he hates the way people are afraid of him once they know who he is. it always feels like something has fallen away, some unavoidable loss, an ease he'll never get back. a bell you can't unring.
and a moment later, bucky winds up startled, too. he wasn't expecting russian. he was not expecting to hear that name, his name, in russian, on this stranger's tongue. he straightens even further, like there's an iron rod strapped to his spine and he's standing at attention. ]
[ he hadn't even been intending it before he instinctively answered her in russian, echoing the choice of language. his expression is wiped clear and still and as empty as he can make it, the mask of the winter soldier inadvertently slipping into place even as he denies it.
but he takes a step back, his hands up, showing the empty palms. he didn't bring a gun. maybe it was a mistake to not bring a gun everywhere he goes. he's been getting complacent. ]
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but the blonde doesn't run. her face goes pale and tight and stricken, but she doesn't move, and bucky feels that pain mirror across his own face; he hates the way people are afraid of him once they know who he is. it always feels like something has fallen away, some unavoidable loss, an ease he'll never get back. a bell you can't unring.
and a moment later, bucky winds up startled, too. he wasn't expecting russian. he was not expecting to hear that name, his name, in russian, on this stranger's tongue. he straightens even further, like there's an iron rod strapped to his spine and he's standing at attention. ]
Π£ΠΆΠ΅ Π½Π΅Ρ.
[ he hadn't even been intending it before he instinctively answered her in russian, echoing the choice of language. his expression is wiped clear and still and as empty as he can make it, the mask of the winter soldier inadvertently slipping into place even as he denies it.
but he takes a step back, his hands up, showing the empty palms. he didn't bring a gun. maybe it was a mistake to not bring a gun everywhere he goes. he's been getting complacent. ]