For a second he's worried he's replaced the singular square inch of progress they've made with a foot in his mouth over what was meant to be a fond memory, but that laugh and the physical affirmation settle away the rough edges that threaten to arise again and he nearly melts into the bar beneath Tony's hand. He slumps forward a little, exhausted, onto the supportive weight of his metal elbow like a kickstand braced against the bartop.

A reluctant, wry sort of smile tugs at his lips for the first time since this whole thing began. Still hesitant, once bitten twice shy as far as emotions go, he launches into his version of things.

"Made stuff for the troops all the time, usually standard stuff. Sometimes a few modifications. Got really excited about the whole team Steve led, I think, so he started churning out stuff for us whenever he could. He gave me this... rifle," He says, and that fondness shows itself now for the first time audibly and in the slight crinkle of his eyes. "Probably the most advanced weapon I ever held in my hands at the time. He thought of everything- night vision, custom stock, took my god damn measurements and factored in the length of my torso, the distance between my eyes. Pretty sure it even calculated wind resistance, but-"

He licks his lips, stops, can't quite suppress the smile or the bubble of feeling in his chest. Nostalgia, laughter, something threatening to overthrow him.

"He forgot to factor in the actual shooting part somehow. The god damn thing couldn't hit the barn side of a broad, pulled left every time. I had to start aiming six feet to the fucking right every shot."