The look he gives her then is unmasked and so very tired. It's something he tries to clamp down on, something he tries not to let Steve or anyone else who might worry about him see, because she's right. Even with his memories back, he's still hallow and there's still so much in there that isn't Bucky and doesn't belong to him and he'd carve it all out in a heartbeat if he could, just wake up with a missing arm and no idea how he'd survived falling from the train.

"And guilt." He whispers. "When you remember what they used you for."

It's more than he'd give away to anyone else, but she understands things about him that he just can't explain, because the words mean vert little when you've experienced it. The words are empty and clinical. It's the reality that's vivid and brutal and that stays with you until you die.