"I'm not armed." He has guns on the property, yes. Zemo is standing closer to them right now. They're for hunting and coyotes though. He never wanted to use a gun on people anymore if he could help it.

The mention of those old words puts him on high alert, drives his stress levels up considerably. He feels like if he says or moves or does anything, it'd give away more than he's prepared to admit. But sitting there trying to keep his breathing controlled and at the same cadence throughout is just playing a long game that is working increasingly in Zemo's favour. His gaze darts uncertainly around the floor, as though his eyes are following an invisible cockroach dashing haphazardly around the living room.

"The new me justs want to stay here with my animals. I haven't caused any trouble." And he doesn't want to. And Zemo can see that with his own two eyes. This whole house is Bucky's state of mind, just about. The exterior might look
alright but he's really run down ragged on the interior, in need of work but not able to muster up the energy or the resources to do all the necessary repairs. Holes in the walls, doors of cupboards and pantries that are so jam packed full of trauma that they can't stay closed. Not really willing to meet any therapist halfway to fix everything up, either. If the Winter Soldier is here, only the shadow of the torment he's inflicted on Bucky remains. He's this close to asking Zemo very nicely to leave, as unpleasant as that would be for him.