yup. still in day four. don't ask me - idk what this thing is either.

...

day four; "hurricane" by the hush sound.

He stays at her place.

One time. Twice. It's not personal. They don't do anything, most of the time he's there. She doesn't watch tv, he's too nose-deep into the books that he brings along with him. And she sleeps. A lot. She'd like to say that she doesn't know why he's there, but she does.

(Apparently, her heart stops beating for three seconds on the way to the hospital after her 43rd near death experience and suddenly it's a big deal.)

(Really. It's not. She's alive, isn't she? That should be enough.)

She gets tired a lot though. Her leg hurts, her back and side are healing from the burn, her lung wheezes uncontrollably when it's not supposed to and everything throbs. So, yeah. Sometimes, she really doesn't mind having an extra company around. And Rogers' a really good nurse when it comes down to it.

She doesn't know what makes her say it. Does it.

But she's realised this from the beginning: Rogers is something else entirely. It's the integrity, the principal, the sense of righteousness he carries with him. The tales Phil tells makes him sounds like a fairytale, a mighty American dream, and then he shows up, sashaying the shield around like it's nothing but paper airplanes and goddammit, he's so much more and Maria doesn't know how to handle it.

(Mostly, she views him as more human than he is his shield, because that's easier. Because the bottom line is, they all bleed; because over time, she figures that there's a part of him that's thankful she does so.)

And he's handsome. So handsome with yellowy blond hair and pink-lipped grins and all-American blue eyes (they're so fucking blue, it's ridiculous) with gentle touches and soft words and she stops, considers and realises that he's standing there and preparing for a date. (A date? Seven o'clock, isn't it? With who? She doesn't know, doesn't remember when he was mentioning it. She's kind of dizzy.)

She sees him.

(And on that moment, he's the clearest thing she's ever seen in her entire life. More clearer than the time she clutches mom's old photograph and runs to the army. Clearer than Coulson's guarantees of a promising career, a brighter future when she's 21. Clearer than that moment she has to push the button down, setting all of her hard work into flames not too many years ago, nearly burning him alive.)

She says, "You're the finest thing there is, Rogers," when he twirls the tie, hesitates to stand and go. She's lying on her bed, the finer side against the mattress and bunch of blankets lying, twisting, curling from her hip to her chest down to her feet, and he's just standing there, looking gorgeously uncertain of everything.

Like a fucking normal human man.

(Sometimes she's so, so glad he's more than his shield.)

He lies on her bed. She doesn't know how - maybe she's patted the empty side? - but she welcomes him when he hesitantly does so, picking his head carefully to lie it close to her, but never touches. His blue eyes flick, and slowly, beautifully, he breathes.

She tells, "I can't sleep."

"I know."

She's been restless for hours, but she closes her eyes when he checks in for the sake of keeping him from nagging and yapping about. (He does that. He's such an old man.)

"You're in my head too much." She says some more, twirling the edge of her lip into a tired grin, wondering if she'd sounded as drowsy as she hears it in her head. (The medication generally sucks.)

He breathlessly chuckles out, and smiles, a little. "That's not a bad thing is it?"

She shakes her head as much as she could, hums. "No." She brushes a hair, bats her eyes once at him, says again: "You're the finest thing, Rogers. One of the best I've... had..." Her mouth dries up, and she closes her eyes, pinches at the bridge of her nose when a headache strikes up. "Fine. You're gonna be- fine."

"I'll stay with you 'till you fall asleep," it's not a question, she detects, and Maria frowns into the mattress, hushing out:

"No." She forces, "You have a- got a date. Go."

"It could wait." She hears him say, voice rumbling through the bed, jolting straight up to her spine. Weird. (Somehow she finds that those kind of things - feelings - would not be the a one-time-thing if it's him.) "Sleep, Maria."

And drowsily, she tosses and does.