Re: log: Tony's Super Secret Facility
He was not entirely awake, as of yet. Even his advanced physiology had not been able to account for the blood loss, and for the bullet which had, unbeknownst to him, splintered into several large fragments on penetrating his body armor. If he had been alert he would have tried to limp toward an exit by now, injured or not. He didn't recognize the facility, and as he struggled up, a quick, hazy assessment of the room offered no clues as to who it belonged to. Rows of beds with no occupants? Someone's unused black site, it had to be, so clean and tidy. But whose?
There was no way to be sure this facility didn't belong to an offshoot of Hydra, or, worse, SHIELD. Even as that thought settled like a bad taste in his mouth, he knew he was too weak to stand right away. Assessing and coping with his injuries was an important part of his functions on a mission. The same advanced physiology that had kept him alive and awake was now trying to push the bullet shards back out again. He wouldn't be able to support his own weight in this condition.
The body armor had absorbed much of the blood from his wounds. It felt as if every drop his body produced went right back out the raw hole in his left thigh, or seeped out the hole clear through his right forearm. Still unable to focus completely, he grabbed the edge of the bedframe with his left hand, metal on metal, gripping it so tightly the steel bent and crimped. With a sharp pull, he managed to maneuver himself to sit up against the wall.
The hole in his arm had a clean exit, and was already beginning to heal. The one in his leg would not heal at all unless the pieces of the bullet were removed. His knife was gone, and the room was bare.
He was digging to get the shards out when Bruce and Tony walked in.
If it caused him pain to fish inside an open wound with the cold metal fingers of his opposite hand for large splinters of a bullet, he made no sound at all when they approached. When Stark and Banner came through the door, he looked up at them, eyes still clouded with concentration and the vagueness caused by blood loss.
With dream-like fluidity, a blood slick steel hand reached for his gun, and touched nothing. It wasn't at his hip. Whether he'd been disarmed by Stark or lost it in the fighting, he was without any weapons at all.
He knew Stark on sight already, but the doctor took a moment longer to recognize, before his face clicked with the photographs and briefings, foreign and cool in his mind. The building would belong to Stark, then. Not SHIELD. They would never have allowed two so valuable assets to their cause visit him under any circumstances.
He had no option to run, not just now. Being unarmed had never stopped him from winning a fight before, not even with a robot, but Banner was a concern. Without a reliable leg, it would be tricky. Doable, but tricky.
There was sometimes value in temporarily admitting defeat. "Stark," he grated. "Doctor." Less pleasantly, if such a thing could be imagined. He had asked Banner for a favor, yes, partially to see if the man complied, partially to see what sort of access SHIELD offered the Avengers. That still didn't mean he liked doctors. Doctors or lawyers. People who made money off misery weren't worth much.