Bucky can understand, not liking that isolation, being in this box with an untold number of people watching, feeling like an animal in a cage and people too afraid to even talk to you. The Alps were different though. It didn't feel like Siberia, a few visual similarities aside.

"No. There was no one else for miles. It felt safe." And not safe like nobody would come looking for them up there in their warm little cabin, but safe like it was the kind of space he could take his time to work through some of the mess inside his head and no one would rush him through anything. He could snap and there wouldn't be anyone around who could get hurt - other than Zemo.

"A little inconvenient, but. It's how I hoped I would get to live the rest of my days. Just-- alone and quiet and. No... Witchcraft or sentient robots or genocidal aliens, military or politicians." Bucky sighs and lowers his gaze, wringing his hands in his lap, swallowing the lump in his throat. He knows how old he sounds saying how much life was easier 80 years ago. But he didn't have to think about all these things back then.

"I mean. Here I have to worry about getting recognised or. Not meeting expectations. People getting hurt. I don't know. Over there I-- felt free."