Don't think so, no, but once we get all the dirt off, I'll know for sure.

[Often as he casts particular looks at Jefferson, this isn't the time for it. He treats him removing his pants as professionally as anyone in the medical field would. Takes his foot and gently guides it under the water. It blossoms crimson and shades of brown from the silt and mud and Rumlow lifts it again, grabbing for a washcloth sitting in the corner and soaks it beneath the spray.]

This might sting a little.

[He says, starting to scrub off anything that might be stuck on. He's careful not to irritate the cuts too much. By now he's got a better gauge of how serious the cut is and, fortunately for Jefferson, Rumlow doesn't think it needs more than he can take care of on his own. Shutting off the water, he guides Jefferson's foot back so he can finish cleaning with the antiseptic.

A little bubbling burn from the peroxide later, Rumlow has Jefferson's foot neatly wrapped up in the bandage, checking to make sure the tape is secure before he peers up at him. Offering a smile, he slides his hand up Jefferson's thigh, just above his knee.]

Want me to take care of the other foot, or do you got it?