Re: log: Tony's Super Secret Facility
Being careful may not have been necessary for the man in front of him, but it was very necessary to Bruce. If even half of the things he had read and suspected were true, then care was something too-long lacking for Barnes. More than that, it was the same sort of care that Bruce would provide anyone that he was trying to help. When he was able to, when he had conscious control over it, his helping was about care.
He was about to answer, to glance up again at what sounded like a reassurance from an out-of-practice source, but then the leg was tensing in front of him again for a reason he couldn't immediately place. It made him draw both of his hands away, lifting them slightly as he straightened out of the hunch he'd curved himself into and looked quickly around them. With his own focus so close on the wound, he realized that he was trusting Barnes' reactions to anything outside of that small bubble of awareness.
But there was nothing there other than Tony in the suit, and by the time he'd looked around, relaxation had returned to that wounded muscle. He took another minute to peer back at Tony, wondering if it was something he'd done, or (as Bruce was now suspecting) it had been something more internal that had caused the tension. Tony had stepped forward, the suit stilling after that and facing the bed where he sat with Bucky. He looked at the familiar red and gold and took a moment to wonder what Tony was doing in there. What he was learning and what would be done with those discoveries. Because after knowing the man for a few years, he could at least begin to guess at some of the things Tony might do.
Their ongoing conversation still didn't pertain to him though, so he returned his attention to Barnes. The question about running only received a quirked eyebrow and a soft hum of agreement as he curved over the still-bleeding leg. He'd been told that the man beneath his scalpel had done research on him, had certain information. Surely his time away was well documented at this point. A last glance up showed him a soldier's eyes shadowed in memory, or at least in thought, and he didn't want to shatter the quiet contemplation with words. The scalpel though, lowered and pressed, on a journey toward that last piece of shrapnel. The piece that was finally found with the subtlest grit of metal on metal, and then drawn out by the reappearing tweezers and dropped with the others. the final piece removed, Bruce turned for thread and a needle, not knowing how fast Barnes would heal, and not wanting to leave a wound that deep open to injection or re-injury.