Bucky raises his glass, taking half the whiskey in one pull. It burns in a way that's almost nostalgic. He's spent a lot more of his life drinking basically swill than the top shelf stuff he's been treated to since he came back to New York.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He smiles, not exactly convincing. These days, he doesn't feel all that stubborn. "You must have me confused with my friends. Seems like I'm drawn to the type of person who jumps headfirst into trouble."