"There are three kinds of tests," Shuri explains. Four, Bucky thinks, but keeps his mouth shut and listens, while beside him Steve does the same. "Physical, memory, and cognitive function."

Bucky stands up, sits down, stands on one foot and then the other, touches his nose with his eyes closed and open, and keeps going through an entire battery of physical tests, some more incomprehensible than others. "Did you have to do this?" he asks Steve, after he finishes a quick jaunt on the most complicated treadmill he's ever seen. Steve just grins at him. "Suck it up, Barnes."

Shuri swats Steve on the arm with her tablet and demands Bucky's full attention as she moves to the cognitive function tests. Bucky proves to everyone's satisfaction that his ability to think is still intact -- "as much as it ever was," he jokes, while Steve rolls his eyes -- and waits for the next set with more apprehension than he's letting show. His memory'd already been shattered by the repeated wipes before; what if--?

It nearly brings him to his knees to realize that not only is it still there, it's the same. He hasn't been patched like a malfunctioning robot or AI. He's been restored, to himself; his new self, hard-fought and hard-won and damaged, but undeniably him, scars and all.

When he meets Steve's eyes, his best friend's are bright with emotion. He doesn't realize that his own are, as well.