Recognizing the lifted pitch of his own voice, the echo of which he could no longer feel in his chest, came second place to the realization that with the gain of certain...assets, he had lost something rather integral. A piece of himself he had rather liked, no matter Stark's (either of them) insinuation that it had gone unused for too long and was bound to fall off without use.

That loss in and of itself would have had him carding his hands through his hair (too long, his hair was far too long), but as he stood and looked at the person he had run into (or had run into him, which one was rather a mess at the moment), the feeling of disorientation only increased. In any other situation his embarrassment might have gone tenfold at realizing that he had bounced off of a shapely and gorgeous woman, but then and there with things ten kinds of awry and the woman having a right arm of metal, things were not so easy as simply blushing at having tripped over his own feet.

Oh, there was that as well, as it pinked his cheeks in embarrassment for his lack of coordination, but there were greater concerns of the moment. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I'm so sorry," he said, trying and failing to ignore the pitch of his voice, just as he tried and failed to keep from looking at the woman's arm.

It was nothing like the arm he had seen Bucky wear, nothing like the photographs in the file that Natasha had passed him, and yet its existence was a reminder of another place and another mission. "Are you okay?"