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Bucky doesn't pretend to be anything other than what he is. Not with Steve or the Avengers or god damn SHIELD. He's a trained killer, a broken soldier covered in regrets and guts and the mistakes of a nearly forgotten past. There is no chance for forgiveness. Not for men like him, with death in their eyes and blood on their hands.
And yet there are times, times when Natasha breaths out his name, James, a whisper across bare skin, her lips pressed against his in a way that's almost fleeting, makes Bucky reach for her, wanting to touch whatever part he can; times when she pushes him onto the bed, curls up against his side, gentle kisses peppering his chest.
Those times, sometimes, Bucky thinks he can be a better man.