Up on the splintered floor, Bucky looks down into the darkness with an unimpressed expression. Sure, the other guy can't see it, but it comes across well enough in his voice when he speaks again. "They're expecting your buddies to fight and kill too, you know. So pardon me for being cynical."

In the same breath as he says that, though, he's lowering himself a little so he can reach safely down into the hole. "I don't give a crap about what people expect of me, though, so come on. I'll help you up."

He's wearing a long-sleeved jacket and gloves; it's hard to get a good read on just how muscular he is underneath it. But the grip of his hands is firm--both on his right where it's warm and on his left where it's cool and hard.