[ Bucky. it's not a name that's used much anymore, at least it wasn't in the world she came from. it's... old-fashioned, a name the boy next door would have had. the guy who got into all sorts of good-natured trouble but could be counted on. she knows without knowing just how fitting that description is for him. after nearly two decades of having hundreds of other minds inside her own, she's gotten pretty good at reading people and judging their character. she doesn't need to have him in her head to know he's a good guy at heart.

that trickle of blood is unnoticed until he's holding her chin, his touch careful despite (or because of) the metal of his hand. it's both strange and comfortingly familiar for him to have a metal arm that seems to function just like the real thing. she's reminded bittersweetly of Piotr, of their days back at the mansion and all the ones that had followed. the bitterness outways the sweet, though, so the memory is brushed aside in favor of concentrating on the man before her. ]

It's okay, sugar. I appreciate you doing this at all. Helping me when you don't have to. I can deal with a little mess in exchange for that.

[ she could deal with a whole lot of mess in exchange. they're both lucky that he'd shown up when he did and she hadn't been injured further, because then she'd either be dead or he'd have had a heck of a lot more patching up to do. which, while it's clear that he's done this before, probably many times on himself, she'd have hated to be even more of an inconvenience. ]