Natasha sets her glass down on the counter before she moves closer. Even though she's not usually one for speeches, she talks as she moves, not wanting to startle him. Her voice is low and even. Like she's approaching a wounded animal. This too is painfully familiar. How many times has she bailed the other him out of the wreck the chair turned him into? Even if there's nothing there to uncover, maybe this Bucky still needs someone willing to try.

"There's a couple of things. We used to have fun, sparring together. By the time he joined my training, no one else had been a challenge for years. But there was still a tap out code. Here." One of her hands takes his prosthetic one gently, sliding around to cup the underside. There's no hesitation in the way she touches him. Her other hand moves up, her fingers pressing against his forearm in a slow, deliberate pattern.

"Later on, when I started breaking through his programming..." she trails off, not exactly sure how to phrase it. Her fingers move, stroking lightly down the length of his forearm and over his palm.