[ She's used to waiting him out, and they're both used to navigating each others' moods, so Bucky finally pauses in the middle of the room and looks up to the ceiling of the tent, re-gathering himself. Deep breaths. He was supposed to be her rock, and vice versa; they'd always been there for each other, and even moreso after her mother had died and Steph had become an increasingly common sight at the Barnes residence, Bucky's ma constantly shoving food in front of the girl in the hopes that she'd put some meat on those bones. Not look so sickly-thin all the time.

That's changed now, but not exactly in the way he expected. ]

Then why did you do it?

[ His voice is softer now, calmer, as his gaze drops and he looks at her again. ]

And don't worry, I know it wasn't to be plastered on posters. You're not some glory hound. [ He waves a dismissive hand, as if the idea isn't even worth considering. Even in all their childish dreams of what they wanted to be when they grew up, showbiz hadn't exactly been on the list. While he's mulling it over and trying to come to terms with this impossibility standing in front of him, another thought suddenly occurs to him: ]

Are there any others like you?