"What don't I understand?" he asked, brows beetling together. He leaned back in his chair, mouth pressed into the firmest of lines. The anger was the easiest thing to dig his claws into and stick with, the easiest thing to process. If he thought about how goddamn sad it made him to see Bucky on the other side of the glass and atoning for his sins like a real martyr, his heart would probably deflate in his chest and this conversation would fall apart. He hadn't mustered up all this resolve to see him just to act like a runny-nosed little girl about it all.