"Yeah?" That sounds very dry, for some reason.

Bucky sighs, and makes himself settle back against the wall.

"Look. I'm sorry for jumping down your throat. It's not your fault that I've got a head full of broken glass and sharp edges from being turned into someone else's weapon without any choice of my own," he says, offering it up simply, as a matter of fact.

He nods to the tattoo, and looks at the plastron. "The writing's familiar. Can't quite place it yet, though."