There's a rush of relief that she can work with what he'd traced out. The lines and curves and little intricacies. It's not perfect, but then again... maybe that's what'll make it even better than if it had been traced from the sword itself. It's not complete, not there, but it's what James remembers. It's his memory, and he's learned over the years that memories are just as important to hold onto as the things right in front of you.
So, he pulls off his shirt sitting still as Libby lines the light up, tensing his arm as he realizes what that means - having his shield arm immobilized, aching until he healed. It was a gamble, and it meant a lot of trust was being put on Libby right now. Trust that she wasn't taking advantage of this, distracting him. But then again, she wasn't a robot. And James... he hadn't learned of human betrayal, not yet. It's something he's been blissfully spared from. So, he's relaxing, grinning and shrugging his right shoulder, making sure to keep his left one still under her hands.
"Yeah, it's fine," he's glancing away, then, letting her work, not really wanting to watch the actual process. Which is why he's... glad for the offered distraction. It's not that blood bothers him, he'd just honestly rather be surprised by the end product.
"My dad drew. Back before... he became Captain America, he was a cartoonist. He kept drawing, sometimes. I remember... sitting with him, when I was little. He'd draw, and I'd color," he's trying to swallow a smile. "At least I thought it was coloring. I don't draw that much, but..." it's just a natural talent he'd inherited. Practiced at night when he couldn't fall asleep.
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So, he pulls off his shirt sitting still as Libby lines the light up, tensing his arm as he realizes what that means - having his shield arm immobilized, aching until he healed. It was a gamble, and it meant a lot of trust was being put on Libby right now. Trust that she wasn't taking advantage of this, distracting him. But then again, she wasn't a robot. And James... he hadn't learned of human betrayal, not yet. It's something he's been blissfully spared from. So, he's relaxing, grinning and shrugging his right shoulder, making sure to keep his left one still under her hands.
"Yeah, it's fine," he's glancing away, then, letting her work, not really wanting to watch the actual process. Which is why he's... glad for the offered distraction. It's not that blood bothers him, he'd just honestly rather be surprised by the end product.
"My dad drew. Back before... he became Captain America, he was a cartoonist. He kept drawing, sometimes. I remember... sitting with him, when I was little. He'd draw, and I'd color," he's trying to swallow a smile. "At least I thought it was coloring. I don't draw that much, but..." it's just a natural talent he'd inherited. Practiced at night when he couldn't fall asleep.