"Mm, if I can't put you back together, then surely someone around here can.." But Zemo would do his best to have a monopoly on that role. Or better yet, try to make sure Bucky didn't wind up in this state in the first place. But apparently, that was easier said than done.
"If it's suicide, then maybe you'll get lucky and won't have anyone to protect anymore." This time, Zemo's smile was sharp and sarcastic. "I'm aware that it's dangerous. But they won't catch me off guard like they did in the park just now. I apologize, James. That was careless of me, letting us get ambushed like that. It won't happen again."
With Bucky settled on the cot, Zemo took the rolling chair, setting his tools on the medical bed beside his patient. He then took Bucky's arm, resting it on his shoulder. The position moved the arm out of the way and since they'd be here a good twenty minutes or so, it would be more comfortable than making Bucky hold it aside. That, and Zemo superficially liked it. Not that he would voice this.
"I have done this a lot, yes," he spoke, preparing the needle, "On myself, on others. I used to be a Colonel with the Sokovian Armed Forces, you know. Medical training wasn't necessary, but I thought it might be an important skillset to have and, well. Turns out I was right." Zemo reached out, his fingers just barely touching Bucky's skin; a silent warning that he was about to begin.
"You'd miss me if I died though, wouldn't you?" Zemo wasn't stupid. He knew the answer to that question. He was asking more for the sake of distracting Bucky because he could tell he was uneasy about the needle. Keeping his mind preoccupied on something else would help make the process more tolerable. "Maybe a little bit?"