"I haven't. Planned yet." Bucky steeps their tea for a bit, brows furrowed at the darkened mugs of hot water. He's not incapable of thinking something up, but he much prefers following someone else's plan.

"Do I seem like a violent guy to you?" he asks quietly instead, wondering if that's the kind of impression everyone gets. That he's a storm the place, demand answers, fight everybody and kill the doctor type. It doesn't really bother him. Or so he keeps telling himself.