Bucky notices, and it sounded for a moment like Bucky had turned if the sound of rustling fabric is anything to go by, but ultimately he doesn't comment. It wasn't exactly subtle anyway, on Arthur's part.
"That makes one of us," is what he ends up saying instead. He's not uncomfortable thinking or talking about such a thing, although he's not sure if it's making Arthur uncomfortable. He'd like to think that he's a better man than that. That he would do the right thing no matter the consequences, no matter the personal cost. That he doesn't want to hurt people anymore. Only does it when he doesn't have a choice. That itch, it's just. Needing a purpose, that's all. Nothing to do with hurting people.
But is that really him? He's tried, all these years, to put his past behind him, to claw and crawl back to some semblance of humanity, to sit down and start to figure out what exactly they took from him, what he's lost, see if he can make sense of it all and try to put the old him back together again. But he doesn't know. And he doesn't think it was ever there. There was the smoke and mirrors that was the Smithsonian version of Bucky Barnes, that he could still pretend to be when Steve was around. But Steve isn't around anymore, and there's no need, no reason to try to be that Bucky anymore. The only thing that's left to do is to figure out what kind of man he's been made to become now.
If someone put him in Pollock's shoes, he doesn't think he'd have the thirst for hurting people in the same way. But he might be indifferent, which isn't a whole lot better. And more importantly, if it's certain people, he doesn't think he's above doing to them what the good doctor had done to him. He's not sure what that makes him, but. For now, he can settle for being a worse man than Arthur Lester.
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"That makes one of us," is what he ends up saying instead. He's not uncomfortable thinking or talking about such a thing, although he's not sure if it's making Arthur uncomfortable. He'd like to think that he's a better man than that. That he would do the right thing no matter the consequences, no matter the personal cost. That he doesn't want to hurt people anymore. Only does it when he doesn't have a choice. That itch, it's just. Needing a purpose, that's all. Nothing to do with hurting people.
But is that really him? He's tried, all these years, to put his past behind him, to claw and crawl back to some semblance of humanity, to sit down and start to figure out what exactly they took from him, what he's lost, see if he can make sense of it all and try to put the old him back together again. But he doesn't know. And he doesn't think it was ever there. There was the smoke and mirrors that was the Smithsonian version of Bucky Barnes, that he could still pretend to be when Steve was around. But Steve isn't around anymore, and there's no need, no reason to try to be that Bucky anymore. The only thing that's left to do is to figure out what kind of man he's been made to become now.
If someone put him in Pollock's shoes, he doesn't think he'd have the thirst for hurting people in the same way. But he might be indifferent, which isn't a whole lot better. And more importantly, if it's certain people, he doesn't think he's above doing to them what the good doctor had done to him. He's not sure what that makes him, but. For now, he can settle for being a worse man than Arthur Lester.