Chapter 9

It had been a week since Zaria woke in the hospital bed aboard S.H.I.E.L.D's Helicarrier. She had been allowed to enter their training facilities for physical therapy, although everyone began to realize that it was almost unnecessary. Most of the broken bones had healed probably, and fairly quickly, now all they were waiting for were the broken ribs.

Samantha had left the ship just after Zaria had woken up, leaving her in the care of Bruce Banner with strict instructions that it was Bruce or no one; she still had a daughter to look after. In the beginning Bruce had tried to make apologies for everyone's reactions to her, especially that of Steve's non-appearance since her waking, but he soon gave up with Zaria brushed them off and told him she had expected it. She was surprised to learn that Bruce wasn't actually a medical doctor, he specialized in Gamma Radiation, but he had extensively studied the Super Soldier project so he was the best to deal with the differences in her DNA.

Clothing had been provided to her since no one had actually gone to her home to retrieve any of her own clothing; there was still a debate about whether or not that should happen. So she wore black yoga pants, tank tops that ranged from white to gray to black and the various shades in between, and sports bras in colors matching the tank tops; at her request they brought her several leotards. They had not moved her out of the hospital room yet, keeping her segregated from the others even to the point where an Agent brings her food to her room and escorts her to the training area only when it's empty. She was a prisoner and in all but the name and the jail cell though she had come to viewing her hospital room as her jail cell.

This morning she was in the training room exceptionally early where, with the help on the unwilling Agent, she had set up bars for gymnastics. She had changed to one of the leotards she had been given and pinned her hair back as best she could. It almost felt foreign to her, dressing up for gymnastics when she had given it up when she had skipped out after the military school her grandmother had put her in, but here she was getting ready to do some maneuvers on the uneven bars.

She chalked and spritzed the bars with the help of the unhappy Agent before she chalked her hands and backed up to look at the bars. Staring at them she puffed up her cheeks as she considered how she wanted to go at them; maybe she should have started on the balance beam. It had been so long since she had been on actual equipment and not just doing movements wherever she could when the mood struck her and she hadn't been on the bars since she quit, but it was now or never. If she didn't get up on them now she didn't think she would ever do it.

So, after a moment's hesitation where she was sure the Agent watching her was wondering if she would just stand there staring all day, she ran at them, catching the low bar and propelling herself up and onto the high bar. She started simple, holding herself up on the high bar in a handstand as still and for as long as she could before letting gravity swing her body down and around, bending her legs as she passed the lower bar so she didn't bang into it. She continued to spin around on the high bar as she got back into the feel of it, spinning with both hands on the bar or with one. When one hand was on she rotated her body a full turn around as she swung up and her body was completely perpendicular to the bar. As she got more comfortable she began to release and let herself fly to the lower bar where she would spin herself around it, rotating the direction of her swing, and launching herself back to the high bar.

Now that she was more comfortable she threw her body weight into the air, going to the splits, as she rotated the direction she was facing and catching the bar again before flinging herself to the lower bar, swinging her body around and launching herself back up to the high bar. The feeling was exhilarating, the feeling of flinging herself through the air only to catch herself on a small bar before twisting her body around on her hands and launching herself off again. She grew bolder in her movements, pushing herself off into the air in a twisting movement before snapping her hands back onto the bar for the downward swing.

Her ribs had begun to ache somewhere in the routine until finally she knew she was done for the day, so in a last ditch effort of truly enjoying the feeling of flying, she spun around the high bar several times, picking up speed before she launched herself into the air, releasing the bar as her body twisted around and around as she went from head to the floor to feet to the floor. The landing jarred her and pain rocketed through her side, but with someone watching her she kept her feet together and straightened herself up with her arms pointed above her head from the years of competitions.

There was applause from one side of the room and Zaria whirled around, surprised that the unhappy Agent tasked with watching her would be applauding, and came face to face with Steve. Stunned, she just stood there staring, her mouth probably a gape with shock.

"I, uh..." She started as she shook herself free from the paralyzing surprise. "How- How long have you been standing there?"

"I'm pretty sure I saw the whole routine." Steve answered. "You didn't say you did gymnastics."

"I haven't done them since I left school..." She answered reflexively as she began to look around for the Agent. "I'm sorry, I'll leave; I'm not supposed to be in here if others want to train. I'm surprised my prison guard didn't stop me to tell me. Sorry about that."

"I told him to let you finish."

Zaria's head snapped back in surprise. "I'm sorry, you what?"

"I told him to let you finish. You seemed to be enjoying yourself."

"I uh..." She started as she tried to figure out what to say in response. This was the first time she stood facing Steve since he found her trying to kill her grandfather and here he was just making small talk about gymnastics. She took a breath, trying to quell the butterflies in her stomach, and her ribs caught, pain sparking through her side and lancing into her brain causing white sparks to blossom in her vision. Instinctively her hand went to her side as she hissed in pain.

"Are you alright?" Steve questioned, concern coloring his voice.

"I'll be fine." Zaria answered through gritted teeth. "It'll pass in a moment."

She straightened, moving her hand away from her ribs in a vain attempt to hide her pain, but pain speared through her body again and she went down to a knee before she could help it. She closed her eyes as she tried to take control of the situation.

"If you need help you can ask." Steve's voice came from next to her. The mat dipped as he knelt next to her.

"But I don't."

"Don't what?"

"Ask for help." Zaria breathed out slowly as she made her way to her feet again; pain convulsed her ribs as she tried desperately to avoid showing any signs of it. "I'll be fine."

Steve stood with her, watching her carefully which made her angry; she didn't like to be treated as a child.

"Look, don't act like you're concerned about me. It's pretty obvious that you don't so just, don't."

"What makes you think that I don't?" Steve asked, he sounded genuinely surprised by her statement.

"You haven't been around or even spoken to me since I woke up, and probably hadn't even been into see me since I was brought here. The only reason you're talking to me now is because you ran into me here. You probably would have gone on without seeing me if you could have."

Silence pervaded the room and she was sure she had hit the proverbial nail on the head. She felt tears in her eyes and quickly blinked them away. The truth had hurt more than she thought it would, part of her had hoped that it wasn't true but she couldn't hide from the truth when she was the one that put it out there in the first place so she turned to the exit of the training room without a backwards glance at Steve.

"It's true," Steve's voice caught her off guard. "I had been trying to avoid you for a while; at least since I found out the truth about you. I didn't know how I would react if I saw you."

Zaria hung her head, her throat thick with unshed tears as she struggled to gain her composure. The truth, though it hurt, was probably for the best. At least this way she knew where she stood with him and she could move on with her life.

"But that's not the whole truth."

Her shoulders dropped as her head went back and she stared up at the ceiling. All she wanted was for him to let it go, not rub it continuously in her face.

"What's not the whole truth?"

"I did come to see you, every day since I brought you here unconscious after the attack." Steve had moved up behind her, she could feel his presence radiating off of him. It made her almost want to turn around and curl up in the embrace of his arms. Almost.

"Why?" She nearly whispered. Even with the pain in her side raging, spearing her with every breath, she needed to know more. She warred with herself, this could all be a ruse, it could end badly, or it could be the truth, he could really be concerned about her, care about her; she wasn't sure which.

"I was concerned about you. You were dying in my arms while we waited for someone to pick us up. No one expected you to survive, not even you. But somehow you survived; you pulled through it when everyone else had given up on you. Yes, I felt betrayed. You clearly knew the person who you were trying to kill or be killed by, I'm still not sure which. It's hard to not see that when he called you names, said things that were too intimate to just be a kidnapper, but you save Jane and Pepper's life when you didn't have to, you killed those men to make sure they would be safe, you attacked a man that was far stronger than you even if you knew you wouldn't win. You put others before yourself, I can't be that angry with you."

"Even with the truth?"

"Even with the truth."

"I should have told you..." She said as her hands balled into fists. "You had a right to know the truth before now."

"And how would you have told me? 'Hi, I'm the granddaughter of your best friend. Oh no, he's not dead, he's just working for the Russians now'." He sounded bitter when he mentioned the last part.

"You didn't need to find out in front of everyone, that wasn't fair."

"You're right, you should have told me sooner, but how would you have done that? And what makes you think I would have believed you? If I hadn't seen him in person and see the pictures S.H.I.E.L.D could pull up on him I would have told you James Buchanan Barnes died that day when he fell from the train."

"He did die." Zaria muttered. "That man is not the same man you knew. Whatever they've done to him he doesn't know anything about his past before he started working for the Russians. For all intents and purposes James Barnes died, that man is the Winter Soldier and nothing and no one else."

After a moment's pause Steve chuckled quietly. "You remind me of him. Just as stubborn."

Zaria spun around and jabbed her finger into Steve's chest. "I am nothing like that man," She snapped. "The only thing we have in common is our DNA and that's because there's nothing I can do about it."

Steve raised his hands in surrender and said nothing.

Zaria growled angrily and turned on her heel, stalking off a few paces before wincing in pain and attempting not to clutch her side, it wouldn't make the pain go away and she didn't like to show weakness.

Suddenly she was upturned, her legs swept out from under her, a strong arm encircling her back as her head was cradled against a firm chest. Surprised, she looked up to see Steve carrying her.

"What are you doing?" She asked, confusion coloring her voice.

"Taking you back to your room where we can get you something for the pain." Steve answered as if it should have been obvious to her.

"Why are you carrying me? I can walk just fine."

"Yes, you can walk, but I doubt Doctor Banner or Doctor Davenport would appreciate me letting you cause more issues by walking back to your room when I can help."

Zaria sighed, she would win the argument as far as she could tell, but some part of her secretly enjoyed being carried as if she were something fragile. Because just this once, she wanted to be fragile, she wanted to be carried, and she wanted to be cared for.