Water. Warm water.

He was used to warm water, of course. Whenever he showered, he had warm water.

This water felt warmer.

'This is the toothpaste,' Steve had begun his instructions and explanations. 'We don't use tooth powder anymore. And a fresh toothbrush. The toilet's the same, well, except for flushing, you push the lever, there's no chain. The shower only has one knob for hot and cold. This is how you adjust the water temperature. Let me get it started for you... You don't need anything special for your arm, do you? Do you? Because I can get anything you need.'

Steve had gone on about trifles until finally he had to point out, quietly,

'It hasn't been seventy years for me.'

'Yeah, I know. I just don't anything to be a surprise for you.'

He thought nothing could surprise him.

After Steve left, he'd used the toilet, then pulled off the clothes that he'd been wearing longer than he could remember and put them in a neatly folded pile at the door. He'd brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth and then gotten into the shower and started the process of getting the rest of him clean. The soap didn't smell of chemicals or feel like grit. The shampoo didn't sting his eyes, didn't make his hair feel like scorched grass.

'Just take as long as you need, Buck. We won't run out of hot water - believe me, I've tried. Take as long as you need. Take as long as you want.'

And the water felt warmer.

When he was clean - and that was as long as he needed - he dried off using a towel that was bigger than some blankets he'd been given on assignments and didn't smell sour. He folded the towel when he was done with it and laid it on top of the used clothing and got dressed in what Steve had left him. Sweatpants - he'd never worn them, but two of his targets had. The looseness of the material and design made it harder to accurately pinpoint kill spots on a body, but he'd managed. There was also a t-shirt. He usually wore those but this fabric wasn't as heavy as he was used to.

He didn't look at himself in the mirror over the sink or pull the towel off the one on the back of the door. Steve had covered the mirror; he wasn't allowed to look.

When he was dressed, he picked up the used laundry and opened the door. No guards. No one standing, impatient, outside the door. There were no voices, no commands or demands, so he followed the sound of a faucet running down the hall into the kitchen.

Steve was taking cups out of the cupboard. He set them on the counter and turned. "Hey! How're you doing? Here, let me take those clothes; I'll put them in the washer. I made tea. It's just us; Bruce went home. Are you hungry? I don't have tomato soup, but how about chicken noodle? Or maybe a sandwich? Or did you want to get some sleep first?"

Questions. Too many questions too fast.

"What do you want me to do?"

Steve stopped just as he seemed about to ask another question. "I guess I'm going too fast again, hunh? Bruce said I had to watch doing that. Here." He took the used clothes and set them on the corner of the sink. "We'll have tea. It's in the dining room. C'mon."

He followed Steve back down the hall. A teapot, two cups, and a carton of milk waited on the dining room table. Dr. Banner seemed absent. He wanted to ask, but maybe he wouldn't like the answer. Maybe Dr. Banner was really off preparing his next cryofreeze.

"Sit," Steve told him, and added, "Please."

So he sat. Steve poured tea and milk and set a cup in front of him before sitting down himself. He watched Steve pick his cup up in both hands and sip from it and he copied him. He felt the warmth of it in his hands and down his throat. He didn't remember tea.

"I'll wash your clothes while you're sleeping."

"They're not mine."

"Sure they are."

"I took them from you. I stole them from you."

Steve smiled and shook his head.

"Can't steal what I want you to have. Anything you need, anything you want, Buck - it's yours."

"Chocolate - " It came out so fast it surprised him. It scared him. He didn't ask for anything. He wasn't allowed to ask for anything. Instead of finishing his request, he took another sip of tea.

"Chocolate?" Steve asked. He sounded happy. "Sure. Wait 'til you see what I've got. It was your favorite." He left the dining room and went back to the kitchen.

Chocolate cake. Cold milk. That woman whose face he could almost see -

"Here you go." Steve was back and set something on the table next to the tea cup.

Chocolate.

"It's Hersheys," Steve said. "We used to save up to buy them, then we got all we wanted in the Army. Field Ration D, remember?"

He didn't remember Field Ration D. He didn't remember Hersheys. He picked up the chocolate bar because he was supposed to take what he was given and not ask for anything else but it slowly crumpled as his fist closed around it. He didn't want chocolate. He wanted chocolate cake. But what he wanted didn't matter. It never mattered.

"No. No, I don't -" Every instinct told him to back down, eat the damn chocolate and shut the hell up but he threw the candy down onto the table as the words forced themselves out. "I don't want this."

He expected the room to fill with guns and guards, swarming out from some hidden room he hadn't detected. He'd be dragged away and wiped and lose everything he'd found today and all because he wouldn't eat a chocolate bar because he couldn't remember how to say 'cake'.

But no one swarmed. No guns or guards or punishments appeared. Steve reached over the table for the destroyed candy then sat back.

"Maybe you get some rest now," he said, even though he suddenly sounded exhausted. "You've had a hard -" Steve stumbled over his words there. "You must be tired. You should sleep. C'mon."

Sleep. Cryofreeze. Unconsciousness. Oblivion.

He followed Steve down to the bedroom; it hadn't changed from the night he took the clothes. Steve pulled the blankets back on the bed and gestured to it.

"All right, here you go. Lie down and get some sleep."

Not cryofreeze, then. Something, though. He was never given sleep. Especially not after he'd reacted violently. It had to be something more than sleep. He'd lost everything.

"Will I see you again?"

"What?"

No, he shouldn't have asked. He shouldn't have refused the chocolate. He shouldn't have said anything about chocolate. He should just lie down and go to sleep.

If he could remember how to do that.

He sat on the mattress but before he could process what the next step might be, Steve put his hand on his shoulder.

"You know, you're just resting, right? Just taking a nap. I'll wake you up when supper's ready. It'll still be daylight. It'll still be the same day. You'll see me again. Today."

Then Steve paused, waiting for an answer. An acknowledgement. A confirmation. But he didn't know how to answer him. If he wasn't going to be punished -

"It's okay, Buck. It'll all work out. Just get some sleep."

Then it was really just going to be sleep.

But -

"I don't remember how to sleep."

And Steve's expression sharpened, as though he was in sudden pain.

"Your body will remember. Just lie down, close your eyes and breathe. Your body will remember how to sleep."

So, he laid back on the mattress, flat and straight and still unwillingly waiting for some punishment to follow.

"Just close your eyes," Steve said again. "Just let yourself rest. I'll be nearby if you need me, okay? If you need anything, if you want anything, I'm right outside."

And he closed his eyes and breathed, smelling that Old Spice smell again. Heaviness filled his skull, traveling from the back of his brain, over and around and finally stopping and settling just below his eyes.

"That's right," he heard Steve say softly, as he felt the blanket pulled over him. "That's exactly how you do it. Just relax, just breathe. I'm right here. I'll be right here."

And the world went dark.

To be continued