“Quit moving.”

Bucky’s voice was firm, one that said he was not to be argued with as he carefully patted a cut on your cheek with a small cotton ball soaked in antiseptic.

It stung every time, go figure, and you instinctively flinched every time it made contact with the sensitive skin within the wound. And each time you shifted, Bucky’s frown only grew deeper.

The moment you stepped foot back on base from your incredibly tiring and incredibly draining mission, Bucky was the first to find you, eyes zeroing in on every bruise and scrape littering your body. He had a little resentment (understatement) for the med bay, and he didn’t trust the nurses to patch you up right. You’d argued that they were literally professionals in doing just that, but he was already dragging you to his room and pulling out his supplies.

He was just like that, mostly with you; even the smallest paper cut and his jaw was clenching and fists curling like he had to physically restrain himself from wrapping you up in rolls of gauze. He’d probably put you in one of those inflatable bubble balls if he could, but he knew that was definitely an outlandish thought. You’d proven time and time again that you were more than capable of handling yourself.

“The hell’d you get up to out there that had you left like this?” He asked after a while, his tone gruff and just barely hiding that underlying concern he felt the moment he laid eyes on you. He wasn’t really expecting an answer, more thinking out loud.

Hands so capable of dishing out knock-out punches were slow and methodical as they laid small closure strips on your cheek cut, and he let his fingers brush a little longer against your skin than necessary.

Your hands felt stiff, tendons and muscles strained. Bucky had noticed that almost immediately - he’d had those same twitches in his fingers when he’d spent a little too long on a punching bag.

Bucky let out a sigh and took one of your hands in his, eyes flicking across the reddened knuckles with a steady gaze, though inside he was definitely cooking up a few lectures on taking proper care of yourself on the battlefield.

However, he kept his mouth shut and instead turned your hand, thumbs rubbing small circles into your palm, putting some pressure to relieve the tension.

“You’re an idiot…” He mumbled quietly, but the tenderness in his voice was unmistakable.