Oh, come on. It's not that bad, is it? I knew I should have shaved. I'm pretty sure I should be insulted that you think I'm more New York City hipster than a slightly-overgrown Italian artisan.

[Bucky grumbles, but it's clearly good-natured. He's smiling at her, turning and leading her down the hallway, trusting her to follow. But also listening for her footsteps, that feel of her presence; it's been a while since they followed in each others' footsteps. Since they fit into the same shadows, and he can't help the way that he likes the feeling of it.]

I've, uh. I've got a razor, but I could use some help, if you're willing.

[Not like it would be the first time. There's a very, very short list of people Bucky trusts with a razor to his throat, but Natasha is on it. This Natasha, at least. Not that he was ever the sort of man to get carried away with macho bullshit to consider her his-- 'she doesn't belong to anyone' as he was always only too glad to point out. But the one he knew, the one that knew him, where they walked parallel paths.

Maybe it's why as much as he dislikes seeing her here-- well, if anyone was going to follow him to this place, it would be her, wouldn't it? And it's because they're people that have made peace with their sins. It's not Steve or Tony or their other friends that have made hard choices, maybe even the wrong choices on occasion, but were good people at their core.

He thinks she's done more good than she lets herself believe. But he knows how she's earned it, just like he has.]