"Already. Do more'n you should." Off comes one boot, set aside on the top of the trunk, since getting them all the way to the floor would require tossing and they don't feel up to tossing. Socks, as always, stay on. They start on the laces of the other boot. "Not supposed to want things. Do anyway. Want things I can't have."

Which, honestly, the goddamn Winter Soldier should be used to. They've always wanted things they can't have. They just rarely had things they got taken away to want back. (Training. The gymnast and the dancer, yeah? And I reacted to that by trying to kill the guards, and then got shoved back into cryo with bullets still in my chest. Then I didn't remember when I came out again. Not gonna help me now.) And maybe that's part of the problem. There's been loss for decades. There's never been any chance to learn how to deal with it.

The second boot joins the first. They don't put their face back down, letting the arm plates move as they wish now, instead leaning their head against the wall. "What do I do with this."