Rogers ate as slowly as he could, it still wasn't much, then tried to get up again. The world didn't spin. Good. He put the half-cup of water he'd saved under the bed. He'd want it later. There was something wet on his lower eyelids. He blinked. It didn't hurt, and his eyes didn't sting today. He was OK. He knelt down beside the bed.

"God, thank you that I can get up and walk now, thank you that I'm not in pain. Thank you that I don't have to worry about food and shelter even though I couldn't provide for myself." He paused. "God, if I did wrong with Grogan, I'm sorry. Show me, so I can not do it again. Let me honour you above all else and fear nothing." Nothing. Not even a life in total darkness, seeing through a cane, being led everywhere, unable to fend for himself. "You said you want us to be persistent in prayer, so I'm asking again; God, I want to see. I know you have the power to heal me, just like that or through the doctors. I don't know what use I am blind." He sighed. "Whatever you do with me, don't let me hate you for it. Let me remember that you always work for my good, even if it doesn't feel that way. In Jesus's Holy name, Amen."

He got up, knotted the string, third "day" awake now. He lifted a hand to the bottom edge of the bandage. It was damp, like the skin around his eyes. What was it? Were his eyes bleeding? There was nothing he could do about it right now. Someone would be back soon enough. He started pacing the room. This pacing wasn't aimless. His strides were long and fast, his breathing was measured against them. He gave it three laps each way, then started running, using the bed to mark laps, he couldn't really miss it, if he didn't jump it, he'd run in to it. Ten laps each way, then he started putting drills in, like he had yesterday.

Rogers had been going long enough that he was breathing hard when someone knocked at the door.

"Coming." He jogged over to the nearest corner and felt along the wall for the door handle.

"Hey." Grogan's voice.

"Hey." He stepped back to let her pass him.

"You're breathing hard, what've you been doing in here?" She started speaking again before he could answer. "No, none of my business. Sorry. Why do I keep putting my foot in it today?" She walked over to the far side of the room, opposite the bed. Rogers laughed quietly.

"Working out. Nothing to hide." He heard her put something down.

"You're in hospital, three days ago you had life-threatening meningitis, and you're working out." He shrugged.

"There's not a lot else I can do. Just, while you're here, can you take a look at my eyes?" She hesitated. "Under them feels wet, I can't tell what the fluid is."

"Sit down. I can't reach you standing up." He did. He felt her hand at the lowest edge of the bandage. "Well it isn't blood." She sniffed. "I don't know what it is, it might be tears, it might be lymph. Neither of those things is necessarily worrying, I'd say tears would be a good sign. Either way, don't worry about it. Anyway, I brought you water so you can wash yourself a bit. You need to keep your eyes dry, so that limited our options a bit. Let me show you." She took his arm, led him a few paces, then crouched down. She took his hand in hers and led him to a bowl of water, a bar of soap, a towel and scrubs to change in to. "We thought you might be a bit more comfortable in those than the gown." Then she left him to it. Rogers stayed still for a moment, crouching in front of the bowl. The thing would be to remember where he'd put things down. He reached forward for the soap and put it just to the right of the bowl, the towel was on the left, and that would be harder to loose. The water was hot to the touch, almost uncomfortably hot, but it was OK, it would cool down. He tried not to spill too much water on the floor, that was harder when he couldn't see. He was crouching in a puddle by the time he was done. Could he mop the worst of it up with the gown? He'd changed in to scrubs, he didn't need the gown right now. He tucked the bowl of water in to a corner, the soap behind it and hung the towel and the gown over the screen. He suspected it wouldn't pass inspection in barracks, but he couldn't do much better right now.

Rogers wandered back towards the bed, but he didn't want to sit down. He felt like he'd run enough, it had probably been two hours or more, but he didn't want to be still either. A tremor ran up his body. He wasn't cold. There wasn't a lot he could do, blind and confined to this room. He scuffed at the floor irritably and started pacing again. This time it did feel aimless. This time it felt like doing something boring to make himself less bored. He was stuck here, on his own with nothing to do and no eyes. He found the bed and sat down, then got up again. Maybe he could do more physically. He set off again at a jog, clockwise, minding he didn't put his foot in the water. But actually, it seemed, he was tired, even if his head didn't feel that way. He was breathing hard quickly and he didn't have it in him to train hard right now. Healing from an injury was tiring. He hoped that was it. Maybe he'd sleep. It would probably do him good if he could. He drained the water he had left, then got back in to bed and settled himself.

Rogers lost track of time again. His eyes were still running, he wasn't in pain at least, but he couldn't sleep. He couldn't summon the energy to do anything either. Maybe that was because he had nothing to do. Singing had given him something to do yesterday, that didn't take much effort. He sat up again. He hummed a few lines for the time it took him to work out what he was humming. It seemed to be a bit of Jimmy crack corn and I don't care, but he wasn't entirely sure. He sang through a few verses, probably in the wrong order, then ran out of words.

"As the deer pants for the water so my soul longs after thee,
You alone are my heart's desire and I long to worship thee," He'd learned this one recently, it was one of the few new ones he actively liked. It was useful to him, self-reliance was something he had to watch, well, most of the time, he wasn't leaning that way so much right now.
"You alone are my strength, my shield,
To you alone may my spirit yield," He kept on for what felt like a long time. His voice warmed up gradually, holding notes got easier, the top ends of phrases got easier, then his voice tired and started cracking. He was calmer now. That horrible restlessness had gone. Someone tapped on the door.

"Captain?" Grogan. He got up.

"Coming." He opened the door to her.

"They're ready for you."

"OK." He held out an arm for her. She didn't take it at once.

"Did you hang your stuff up to dry?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Nothing, it's just…" He could hear her smiling. "It's nice of you. Most people wouldn't bother." She took his arm and started to lead him.

"You know," Rogers started after a minute. "you know a lot more about me than I do about you. Where are you from? How did you wind up here?" He felt her arm move as though she'd shrugged.

"There's not a lot to tell really, I was born in Norwich, Connecticut, spent most of my childhood there, Mum was a physio, Dad was a lab tech, they met at work, stayed at the same hospital for about thirty years, I went to school in state, couldn't afford not to. I got a job in Detroit of all places after I graduated. I guess that's where I started to get interested in fixing what people do to other people on purpose, not what just happens when people get old or don't take care of themselves. After a couple of years I got sick of dishing out antibiotics and aspirin all day, so I started looking for work in the military. There wasn't much out there, but SHIELD was offering, so I applied."

"You must have seen some stuff most medics never see." She laughed quietly.

"Yeah, we had a concussion epidemic once, in New Mexico, there were a dozen guys who'd had their lights punched out by a blond, bearded brute who'd been chasing something so classified even the really concussed ones didn't dare tell me anything."

"That wouldn't have been spring 2011, would it?"

"How did you guess that?"

"I think I know what that was about, that's all."

"And you're not going to tell me."

"You can't show me the clearance level on your ID, so no." She laughed.

"Typical SHIELD."

"Captain. Good morning." Doctor Ryman's voice. This was morning. That made sense, those who can actually tell what time of day it is stay awake during the day, he spent the day out of it.

"Good morning."

"Nurse Grogan told me that your eyes have been wet. Have they been bothering you with that?"

"They don't hurt, they don't itch."

"That's good. If your lacrimal apparatus is working, that could be a very good sign. Lay down, we'll put you under and have a look." Nurse Grogan started to lead him towards the table.

"Would it be more use with me awake?"

"Maybe, but either way, we're not going there."

"Do you want to just… see if I can take it?"

"No, Captain." Ryman said firmly. Rogers got on to the table. "If you won't give up on a conscious exam for your own sake, do it for mine, for ours. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that it's an awful thing to see a grown man screaming in pain." Rogers dipped his head. He didn't need telling that.

"You still think it would be that bad."

"Until I have reason to think otherwise, yes." He sighed.

"It's your call." He lay down, quiet and obedient. He couldn't really be anything else. He waited for the needle and the blackness that would follow.

Reviews and/or predictions very welcome.