It's selfishly good to hear, that Bucky's got most of it back. At least some of the good bits, too, because he can't help but admit, "Yeah, well - you're part of most of the good bits from my end, too." It's true. And something in him says he ought to say it out loud.

Then his brain catches up with the rest of it, and - "A new name?"

Because hearing my old one hurt too much. And there's a sudden, sharp curl of horror, of anger, deep in his gut. His fingers clench on nothing, fists low at his sides because there's nothing to punch except the knowledge, the surety, that HYDRA had won some victory, here. Had taken something from Bucky that he can't reclaim.