"Jesus." Bucky was startled by the extent of the scar, and the smoothness of it. No way that was recent, acquired in the war. When the surprise passed, it was replaced by respect. "I figured you were a tough son of a bitch. Guess I was right."

Scars didn't bother him. He'd been on the front lines for nearly two years now; he'd seen every injury a human could have, and far too many they shouldn't have. Scars on a body that otherwise had all its pieces was the best any of them could hope for.