Well, it seemed that they had that fact in common. The Soldier - now Bucky - had learned more of his own history from a display in a museum than he could actually recall most times. He struggled to find meaning in the haze that continually plagued him, though he wondered what it would be like to have someone else's history in his head rather than a complete lack of one. He expected that it actually might be more frustrating, since all those associations were taking up space and detracting from trying to find out the truth of one's own history.

He listened to her tale, considering the information that she was telling him. Trained in the Red Room but moved to a different division. How many more were like her? How many more would be forced to copy the one true star of the show? "Would you like to know your history? Who and what you are? How long have you been searching for answers to those questions, or are you here to avoid that part of your life?" He had to wonder if all of this - everything they had lost - was worth fighting for.

He hummed and watched her settle on her makeshift bed. It seemed comfortable enough, but it allowed her to also up and move on without much fuss either. Yet, a part of him that had been searching for clues to the Red Room operations and how Natalia had fit into it all still weren't clear, but maybe he was one step closer. Part of who he was lay with that history, one no doubt locked up and archived in Soviet Russia. Maybe her history - the truth - would be there as well.

"I trained her," he said airily, as if talking about the weather. "I don't recall the details, but I remember impressions. She was... curious of me back then, I think." That's all he knew. That one single detail and everything else was little more than some blackhole from the wipes.