[ Her height-- or lack thereof-- doesn't mean anything to Bucky. He knows well enough from his real memories that small Russian women are a force to be reckoned with. See: Natasha. He holds his ground, looking baffled for a brief moment, when she makes a reference to him being angry about something. ]
Why would I--
[ He shuts his mouth as the answer comes to him, supplied by memories he didn't have moments ago. Steeling his jaw, Bucky looks around the rink, though he's not quite sure who, exactly, he's searching for.
In a flat, exasperated deadpan: ] Tell me you didn't bring him.
[ He doesn't even know who the 'him' in question is. Her husband, yes, but beyond that? He can't conjure up a name or a face, just an almost overwhelming sense of dread and apprehension that he has to force back down. ]
no subject
Why would I--
[ He shuts his mouth as the answer comes to him, supplied by memories he didn't have moments ago. Steeling his jaw, Bucky looks around the rink, though he's not quite sure who, exactly, he's searching for.
In a flat, exasperated deadpan: ] Tell me you didn't bring him.
[ He doesn't even know who the 'him' in question is. Her husband, yes, but beyond that? He can't conjure up a name or a face, just an almost overwhelming sense of dread and apprehension that he has to force back down. ]