"Don't you turn this around on me. I'm the one who's supposed to offer you breakfast when you turn up on my doorstop, remember? Or are we reserving that for when you swing by and I feel inspired to upend my life?"

A smile flickers across Sam's features. They got history, alright, and while much of it is tinged with something wounded in Sam's chest, he's keeping that back. Has no desire to lash out at Steve - a Steve who, from the very looks of him, hasn't even done the things that stung so badly yet. A Steve who just wanted to embrace him.

They never got to have that heartfelt, intense reunion that 5 years of death should have awarded. Not in the way either of them needed. Sam's not sure Bucky and Steve got that either, considering that apparently a portion of their conversations before Steve's departure were dedicated to Steve sharing that plan.

Telling Bucky what he planned. Telling Bucky about Sam and the shield, too.

Sam flexes his fingers. Feels them prickle, as if he's about to fall to pieces again, ash and dust in some random Wakandan thicket. For a moment Sam just stands there, doesn't really know what to do. Then he beckons Steve over to the small sitting area the room has. Would rather do this in private than somewhere anyone could overhear them. Screw food. Screw company.

"Ain't really sure where to start honestly."