Re: log: Tony's Super Secret Facility
He watched the 3-D image of his own body projected in front of him with a small amount of dissociated interest. It was a strange feeling. He'd looked in almost no mirrors since he was set loose on the world again, and none at all before that aside from the occasional reflection. He didn't doubt that it had been on purpose. Seeing himself might have given him an opportunity to remember something, to build anything like a consistent identity.
He noted the extent of the metal under his skin with keener interest, lingering on that for a moment with his eyes. The extent of the metal across his collarbone and the back of his shoulder was consistent with the tug he felt from the arm, but it was also a reminder of how much he really didn't know. The when of how it had been attached, there was now the occasional flash of that; bright lights, crooked bone saws and surgical masks. The how, not so much.
Stark's brief laugh was unexpected. The Soldier's answer had been earnest. Maybe not entirely serious, which was interesting. He hadn't thought much about it before saying it.
That servers were destroyed. His tense shoulders relaxed a tiny amount at the news, and then a little more to know there was nothing inside him which could be tracked. Stark might be a blowhard, but he ought to know his tech. "Good."
He hadn't given much thought to how dry his throat was, but it had been almost a day since he'd had fresh drinking water. He went for that first when Banner tossed food and water on the bed, tearing the top off of one of the water packets and downing it in two short swallows. The brick of emergency rations was next. He opened it and began pulling off a large piece. Rations like this were, and he had no complaints about their simplicity. Food was to keep the body running.
He was working his way through the first chunk of compressed nutrients, vaguely lemon-flavored, before he considered that the doctor was not a soldier, and the rations weren't standard for a medical bag. His eating slowed a little, and he watched Banner lay out his instruments. Interesting.
He continued to eat while Bruce started pulling the bullet fragments from his leg. Fishing with his fingers hadn't done much but drive them deeper. He wouldn't have accepted painkillers from the doctor, no, but he didn't seem to need them. His leg initially tensed, then relaxed. He knew better than to tighten a muscle while someone was trying to remove a bullet from it.
After that, he started on the second portion from the ration brick, watching with a close eye as Bruce rooted carefully in the wound with his instruments. Pain was obviously registering with him - if they cared to check, there was a spike in brain waves to corroborate it - but he didn't so much as wince. He just watched Banner, breathing slowly. The pain passed beneath his notice, or was required to. A handy, albeit disturbing, skill.
"Prepared," he observed, finally, still working his way through the rations and water. "Well-prepared. For a doctor."