His touch stilled as he heard Bucky's indrawn breath, but didn't lift away; he waited for some sign from Bucky that this wasn't welcomed, wasn't wanted, but a moment later his friend was touching him in return, slowly and hesitantly, and Steve let out his own breath, cupping his cheek more firmly. His eyes closed briefly as Bucky's fingers caressed over the bridge of his nose. "Some bruises, that's all. I'll be all right." He opened his eyes again to look at Bucky, so close, so tangible and real. His eyes were the same blue-gray shade Steve remembered, though they were different somehow, more serious, more intent and grave. He didn't like to think of his best friend trapped in that crushing metal vice, alone and maybe afraid, not knowing what was coming. Steve had almost feared to approach him, not knowing what Bucky he would find--his old friend? The Winter Soldier? A man being hunted, not knowing who to trust, who was friend and foe?

He drew in a breath, studying Bucky's face. "You talked about my mom. You remembered her...you remembered me." The hope in him was alike a candleflame, flickering but bright. "Is there anything else?"