Disclaimer: Characters and settings for this story were provided for me by Marvel. I claim nothing but my own genius.


Stay


Chapter 2

Jemma awoke the next day with an incredibly stiff back. She sat up, and for a moment she thought she'd overslept and wondered how she could have forgotten to set her alarm. She reached over toward her nightstand expecting to find her clock, the problem was, there was no clock nor was there a nightstand.

"What the?-" She lowered her hand to the pallet she'd been sleeping on, and looked out at the tiny black room she was in. It was nearly empty; a metal toilet and sink in one corner, and then the pallet she'd been sleeping on.

Simmons stood up rubbing her arms briskly as she attempted to negate the chill. She'd slept in her clothes, a thin white blouse, gray vest and matching slacks which were all crumpled now.

The toilet and sink were out in the open… she cringed at the idea she might actually have to use these without privacy, which she most likely would, she'd been asleep for heaven knows how long. There were no obvious windows but they must be monitoring her in there… probably a camera hidden in the room somewhere. She searched the corner of the dark room, but there was nothing obvious.

Her mouth tasted like the mashed potatoes she'd eaten last night and morning breath. There was a wrapped pink toothbrush sitting at the back of the sink. She assumed that was a hint. Beside it was a cheap looking plastic comb and brush. Okay, well they were there might as well get cleaned up, she supposed as she turned on the water and splashed it over her face. It was lukewarm, tolerable anyhow, then opened up that toothbrush, no toothpaste, and brushed.

Would Coulson have any idea where she'd gone? She wasn't even sure where she was, she thought trying not to worry about how desperate this situation probably was.

She sat down on her pallet and began to brush through her tangled hair. Skye would find her. Yes, that was it, Skye was always able to figure something out. Track her last known whereabouts and maybe… um… patch in to Hydra's computer system or something? That sounded unbelievable even to her. They're not going to find me.

Jemma sat the brush down slowly. That realization ringing in her mind. I'm going to be stuck here. Or executed.

Just as that thought entered her mind her cell door opened and in stepped one of the guards, clad in black with a rifle slung over his back.

She stood up hesitantly. "Yes?"

He handed her a plate full of breakfast food.

"Oh, yes I am hungry, thank you-"

"It's not for you," he hissed and pushed her toward the open door.

She nearly asked where she was going but as they walked down the corridor she began to recognize the path they were taking. She was headed back to The Winter Soldier's room. A feeling of dread seized her. Why was she going back? He knew she was a prisoner now, not just some underling… and he also knew that she'd lied to him. Her legs started to feel sort of numb as she walked on, as if she were being marched to her death, and maybe she was.

"Stop here," the guard commanded.

Yep, there she was, back in front of his door. At least he was getting breakfast, she hadn't had anything nor the opportunity to go to the bathroom. Her crumpled clothes clung to her, a little sweaty from being slept in. She'd had better mornings.

The guard unlocked the door and motioned for her to enter.

Simmons took an uneasy step forward.

The Winter Soldier was doing pull-ups on a bar in the corner of the room. Half dressed.

She nearly dropped the plate as the door slid shut behind her.

He turned, looking at her quizzically. He was a bit sweaty from working out, his muscled chest shining in the poor lighting. If he had seemed imposing yesterday she had her confirmation of how powerful he really was right now.

"It's you again."

She bit her lip and nodded. "Um, yes. Just me again."

He threw a towel over his shoulders. She couldn't help but stare at how his metal arm was attached to his shoulder. It was sort of horribly fascinating but she tried to not to be too noticeable as she studied the way it was fastened onto his body.

She moved forward and set his breakfast on the table. "Pancakes, scrambled eggs and toast… I have your breakfast, apparently."

He studied her for a moment. "Have you eaten?"

"No, no I haven't." She must've sounded needy as she described his pancakes.

"You eat it."

"Me? No, no… I couldn't." She had no idea what she was saying, being overly polite at a time like this. Obviously she was hungry. She looked over at him, a look of are you sure that's okay with you etched onto her face.

He met her eyes coldly. Unmoving.

She sat down hastily and began to dig in. It was pretty good actually. "Are you on a diet or something? This is the second meal you've missed."

The side of his lip quirked a bit, then he withdrew and moved into the back, past his messy bed and into a separate area that she hadn't noticed before. He shut a door behind him and shortly afterward she heard the sound of a shower going.

"Well, that's a little unnerving," she muttered stuffing scrambled eggs into her mouth. Off to her left was a small bedroom area of, what seemed to be a studio apartment. He liked it to keep it in a bit disarray apparently. Blankets were lying half on the bed, and half off. Clothes lay all over the floor, boots, and black pants, shirts and… oh my goodness, underclothes… She blushed. It was kind of gross but he was actually so attractive, and presently in the shower, that her mind immediately went to the idea of him shucking off his clothes and just leaving them on the floor where he'd dropped them. Rather, the idea of him taking the clothes off… He did have quite a nice body. Stumbling in on him while he was doing his morning workout routine shirtless was… well… nerve wreaking.

Her eyes moved away from the underclothes in question, which were black, like everything else he seemed to wear… and roved over a TV monitor, a beat up dresser piled with paperbacks, and above it a mirror-

A mirror!

Jemma crossed the floor and headed over to the mirror, attempting to maneuver around haphazard boots and boxer briefs. The mirror, like the dresser was worn. It looked about seventy years old at least. It had that 1940s feel to it, a nice solid wood frame and brownish cracks around the edges of the glass itself. How much had this mirror been witness to?

She peered into the clouded surface and spied her own face, makeup smeared from sleep, the little black bow at her collar was turned sideways.

"Oh for Pete's sake." She lowered her eyes, trying, in vain, to see the thing in order to fix it and when she looked back up into the mirror she saw The Winter Soldier, gazing back at her. He was behind her!

She spun around, and backed up against the dresser so violently she knocked several books to the floor.

He stood there, in fresh clothes, his wet bangs hanging in his eyes. "Now you're messing up my room."

"I uh…" She laughed almost manically, trying her best at natural laughter. Of course she didn't really want to come out and call him a slob. She wasn't certain how forthright she could be with him. "I'm sorry about that. Just didn't have a mirror in my room-"

"Cell."

"What?"

"In your cell." He tossed his wet towel on the floor. "You're a prisoner here right?"

For a moment she just stood there, frozen, not realizing for about a minute that her mouth was simply hanging open and then she found her lost voice again. "Right."

"Why do they keep bringing you here?"

"I don't know."

His eyes dropped suddenly, moving down the length of her slender frame and then returning hastily to her eyes.

It happened so fast she wasn't certain. She nearly convinced herself that no, he couldn't have just done that. She slowly folded her arms in front of her body. That was why, she thought. He must've thought so too. Had they simply thrown her in there with him because they had absolutely no need of her, and the only reason she was alive was because they were keeping her as a… a… plaything for him?

"Why are you a prisoner here? Who are you?"

"I'm Jemma Simmons," she said starting to feel a little less powerful than she had before this new concept had begun to take hold. "As I told you before."

"You also told me you were kitchen help."

"Yes," she whispered, "I did didn't I?" Passing out, something she'd never done before in her life, seemed like something that might be happening now. The room seemed to be growing dark, and although she could see him talking, his mouth moving- she couldn't hear him, couldn't make sense of anything he was saying. There was a blackness around his body… his face… until there was just a tunnel and his face just a pale flicker within it.


"Jemma?"

That was a nice voice. Male. It sounded concerned. She wondered who he was concerned for.

"Jemma?"

Someone touched her cheek tenderly.

She smelled something sort of dank, and moldy and as she opened her eyes she saw something bunched up and in her face, it seemed black at such close proximity.

"Hey, Jemma."

"Uh?" She turned her face, her head rolled over something sort of soft, and she looked up into the face of The Winter Soldier. He was over her. And then she remembered, she was captured, a prisoner of Hydra and she was- on the floor- no, on a stinky pile of dirty clothes- She staggered to get to her feet.

"Hey, hey slow down soldier…"

She flailed on her way back up, struggling to gain a foothold over the mess on his floor. He caught her elbow as she lost her balance and helped her momentarily steady herself.

"I'm okay," she pushed away from him.

"You need to sit down."

She pressed one hand to her forehead, she needed to vomit… and use the toilet. Neither of which she really wanted to confess to. She wandered backward, toward the kitchen table all the while trying to get away from him and he was steadily moving toward her the entire time. Hands outstretched- she wasn't certain of his plans.

"Sit." He pointed at the chair behind her.

"I'm going to vomit," she blurted.

He took a step back, and pointed in the direction of his bathroom.

She raced back across the piles of garbage and into the bathroom, still steamy from his shower. His bathroom had dark fixtures, black porcelain sink, shower and toilet, which she became intimately familiar with in short time as she vomited. All of that breakfast she'd been scarfing down ravenously came right back up. What a waste. At least she'd made it to the toilet, she would have felt pretty bad if she'd gotten it all over the floor… also, being a prisoner, who knows the sort of punishment might have come from a mistake like that.

After a few minutes, she sat back on the floor, sweating, her head pressed up against the wall. Her vision was clearer, her breath came more steadily. The bathroom was black and gold and dim. The dark probably masked dirt, so that was good anyhow.

So, here she was… never in a million years had she expected to end up vomiting in The Winter Soldier's bathroom. Also, she probably would have never guessed that while sitting on the floor of the bathroom she'd be as annoyed by his lack of ability to clean his toilet as she'd been with past boyfriends.

A soft knock at the door woke her from her revelry.

"Um, yes…" she said weakly.

"Are you all right?" It was him.

"Better now. Thanks."

He cracked open the door, but didn't enter. "Do you want a shower?"

A million thoughts entered her mind. Why yes, she most definitely did want a shower. Was she safe with him? Would he walk in on her if she took off her clothes? She did feel really gross though, especially after throwing up. Would taking a shower cause her to be sick again? Sometimes all that steam made her woozy… but in the end the idea of the hot water melting her troubles away won out.

"Yes, I would."

"All right. Towels are beside the sink."

She glanced over at the shower drain, of course it was plugged with dark hair, eww…

"Um, are those towels… clean?"

He apparently hadn't heard. There was no reply.

Jemma stood up on wobbly legs and peered out the door. The Winter Soldier was lying in the disarray of his bed watching TV. Oh my God, he's such a guy. At least he wasn't doing anything too maniacal. She closed the door, inspected the fluffy towels, which were indeed clean and after a quick cleaning of the shower stall, slipped in and took a long hot shower.