As Nat stepped back into his personal space, he reached out and carefully set the antidote back on the table in its case. Those metal fingers of his could so easily have crushed the glass with a twitch, a flicker, but he handles it like delicate china; like the rare and precious treasure it is. There's only so many samples available for them to use.

"Burn it all down?" Bucky asked, with a rueful tug at the corner of his mouth, a tired smile. The last remnants of the Winter Soldier programme — or so he thought — had been destroyed. Their dead bodies floating in those cryo vats. Each of them annihilated.

He hoped it ended better for the widows.

As her fingertips grazed his forearm, his right hand drifted up to gingerly brush against that scratch on her temple, the slowly-forming shape of a bruise on her face. Nat had cleaned up, and she had that ironclad composure buttoned up as she always did, but he could see where the edges were fraying. He knew her well enough for that.

"You're gonna need some rest first, if we're gonna be flying to Russia and staging a jailbreak."