... Good. [He repeats, but it's a sound from a different world this time; softer, quieter, with something not quite relief but maybe reassured. God only knows how many times he very nearly went to him, stood outside his door, biting into his lip-- and always turned back. Let him be, gave him space even as he could see the edge of that knife glinting in his mind as he walked away.
He listens in silence, Art laying out his thoughts, logical and calm in a way that he knows no one else could manage, in a situation like this-- the only visible sign of reaction is his eyes darkening at the mention of Moral.]
You think your friends woulda been fooled by someone pretending to be you? [While that man may have had the ability... knowing what he does of those Art left behind, Bucky can't imagine at least one of them noticing something out of place.] An' is that friend someone who'd lie to you, about something like that?
[If so... then, yes, maybe. But if not...]
I can't say, either. The only thing I know... [His eyes fall closed for a moment, his voice heavy, honest when he continues.] If there's the faintest possibility for that, I won't stop hopin' for it.
[Perhaps there's an apology in the way he looks at Art, then, an I'm sorry if this isn't what you want to hear, that he'd cling to that possibility like someone far more naive, far more optimistic than he's ever been-- but this one thing... he can't help it. Won't help it.]