The last time Tony saw Bucky Barnes was grainy newsreel footage of a plucky teen in a mask-- or it might have been a trading card, or war bonds poster from his collection that survived the ruins of the mansion. Certainly, the Bucky that Tony expected to see wouldn't have any metal limbs whatsoever, so this one, in a way, would be a step closer to what Tony would imagine Bucky could be.

As it was, it didn't occur to Tony to relate this man to a long dead Invader of any stripe, even with the shield in his hand. It might be the way the shield draws Tony's gaze, sharp an calculating, fingers drumming reflexively over his heart as he seemed to map the angles of the object, Bucky's face, and the trajectory of the conversation or confrontation that could take place in the next five minutes, it could be this demeanor that was most familiar about Tony. But that gaze was a cold blue, and the furrow in his brow hadn't lined his face with age yet. "Of course," he replied, slowing cautiously to a very casual saunter as he approached, veering to start to circle this new puzzle and leave no face unexplored. That shield looked real enough, Tony had never seen a replica get the balance right. "And yourself? Out for some frisbee? Nice night for it."