Nothing could have added to the surreality that seemed to have taken up his life in that moment than that voice. That voice above all others.

The world in surprise was one he had grown used to being one that moved slower than him, so much slower than the new sharpness of his reflexes and the abilities he had honed to match the new shape and strength of his body. But there, just there with Bucky's voice ringing out too familiar in the air, the world felt as if it rushed by him to leave him stunned and slow, hardly able to do more than turn toward that sound before the beat of booted feet over polished floors became his best friend in all the world barreling toward him.

It did not matter that there wasn't a way on heaven or earth that it could be real, that he had seen the other man fall to his death so long ago that mourning Bucky had become as much a part of his day as breathing, not when the man he had met in that alley so long ago crashed into him and Steve was able to do nothing but hug him back.

"Bucky," he breathed, careful only to not squeeze too tight for fear of breaking even that illusion. "God, Bucky."