James slips out from under the bed when he hears Steve's bedroom door close at eleven p.m. His bedroom looks enormous from this angle and it's already making his skin crawl. He doesn't return to the safe space under the bed and instead stretches his back. He's still hurting all over but he knows his body will start healing like it's supposed to in a few days, when all the chemicals have left his system.
The first thing he inspects is the dresser in front of the large bed. In the first drawer, he finds t-shirts and more sweaters, a lot of blacks and greys but some are more colorful. James looks over his shoulder at the door; he wants to ask Steve if this is for him. He reminds himself of Steve's own words when they were still in the hospital wing.
His hand is slightly trembling when he opens the second drawer; he finds jeans and sweatpants. The third drawer is full of underwear and socks while the fourth and final drawer is empty—James makes sure of it.
James goes back to the first one and sinks his hand in the soft fabric to stop the shaking. He pulls out a t-shirt, throws it on the bed and then does the same with a pair of sweatpants—he doesn't like the texture of the jeans.
James takes his time to change into new clothes, stopping to breathe deeply every time his body tells him to fucking hurry, you have to hurry. He needs to remind it that there won't be any consequences if he dawdles. It takes him fifteen minutes to change into new clothes—the sweatshirt Steve gave him in the hospital room included—and his heart hasn't stopped beating with unnecessary speed.
He turns the lights in the bathroom and searches the drawers. He doesn't find mics or cameras. The same inspection is carried in the bedroom, too. Aside from the necessary cameras and microphones for the A.I. that James had already expected to find, he doesn't discover additional surveillance equipment. That having been taken care of, he returns to the bathroom and brushes his teeth. While he looks at himself in the mirror, James realizes something: his eyes are blue. He's not sure if he had forgotten about it or HYDRA erased that tidbit of information from his brain, too, not deeming it important enough for him to keep it.
His toothbrush snaps in his hand and James looks down at it with eyes wide open. He rinses his mouth and the throws the broken pieces in a paper bin. James pulls a drawer open looking for a replacement—he plucks it right off the cabinet.
"No," he hears himself say from afar.
No no no, his brain chants while he tries to put it back into its place but it won't fit.
"Please," his voice begs. He doesn't feel his bandaged shoulder collide against another drawer, too concentrated on fixing what he's done.
His hand is trembling too much for him to do anything with it, not even to solve a puzzle with only one piece. His stomach sinks when he drops the drawer and the sound echoes in the opulent bathroom. He holds his breath, so concentrated on listening that he doesn't even notice the drops of sweat falling on the tiles. A door opens somewhere in the apartment and the Soldier can hear steps getting closer.
A knock on the door.
"James?"
He doesn't move nor answer at first but he makes himself stand when Steve calls him a second time. He doesn't want to, he doesn't want to. Every muscle tenses. What the Soldier wants doesn't matter because sooner or later the Captain will find what has happened—maybe the A.I. will tell him. Or he already knows.
James unlocks the door and opens it just a smidge. Steve is in pajama pants and a grey t-shirt that has written 'S.H.I.E.L.D.' on it. He seems concerned.
"Are you okay?"
James swallows but can't answer, brain too focused on the question and what it is supposed to mean—what is he expected to answer?
"I heard something," Steve explains when James doesn't offer any explanation. His hand is still holding onto the handle and he feels the metal dent under his fingers.
"James," Steve says with insistence. It's the moment he takes a step forward that James cracks.
"It wasn't intentional," he lets out as if the sentence were a single word.
The last time he fucked up a mission, James hadn't acted like this, all palpitations and weak legs. He had entered into the cabin with Maggie Clarke's body over one shoulder, dumped it at Viv and Xin's feet, and waited to be debriefed.
Just more evidence that his malfunctioning is getting worse with the passing of time.
Steve raises his eyebrows at the outburst. "Okay. I'm sure it's not a big deal. What happened?"
There's a knot in his throat but James steps back and lets Steve enter the room. He lets go of the handle and flexes his finger so they'll regain blood circulation. Steve looks at him and then at the bathroom's open door, lights still on. After directing another look at James that he can't decipher, Steve makes his way to the room, James following closely behind.
When Steve nears the counter, James stops and waits just outside—his breath refuses to leave his lungs. Steve kneels, lifts the drawer to inspect it, and then puts it back in its slot. It looks really easy when he does it.
James waits.
And waits.
Steve finally steps in front of him and James feels his muscles tense up. Steve puts a hand on his bicep. And that's it.
"It's fixed now." Steve tries to give a reassuring smile but it doesn't hold for long and then he's looking at James with an expression of… James isn't sure what is the exact emotion but it reminds him of that one time a technician dropped the coffee cup his daughter had made him at school and it broke to smithereens.
James blinks and has the feeling of coming back to his own body. His lips part and Steve's eyes drop to them for a split second and then they're back to his face. He isn't standing too close to James but his hand doesn't falter on the hold it has around James' arm.
Now that James can breathe and he's starting to feel light-headed, he can't remember why he reacted in such a dramatic fashion, why his body's first and only reaction had been to expect positive punishment. He knows that even his last handler wouldn't have done more than sigh at his clumsiness, maybe even push him to a corner and tell him not to move.
Better the devil you know than the devil you don't, says a little voice inside his head.
"Do you need anything else?" Steve asks in a voice soft enough that James doesn't pull away. He shakes his head. Steve's hand slides to his shoulder and squeezes it with a smile that's still uncertain and awkward, just like all the others he's directed at James.
He leans a bit into the touch, curious about the feeling it evokes. No, it definitely doesn't feel like anything HYDRA has done to him in the past. Not even like negative reinforcement, which consists of the HYDRA agents and the Soldier's handler leaving him alone when he successfully finishes a mission. Touch is quite the opposite of the Soldier's positive reinforcement and yet those two words fit it better than being pushed back into his cryo-chamber after spending hours ignored.
"Thanks," James gets the word out before Steve has yet exited the bedroom. This makes him stop and turn; James can tell that Steve's thinking about doing something but isn't sure it's the wisest idea.
"James, you're safe here." Steve gets a bit closer but James knows he won't take another step forward. His muscles unclench a fraction. "I-I don't know what you thought I was going to do after seeing the bathroom but I can assure you I'm going to treat you just like everyone else in the Tower."
James would like to know what exactly that entails, being safe. Not receiving positive nor negative punishment for breaking something, for starters. So far, it sounds pretty good to James.
Not knowing what else to say and feeling drained now that the adrenaline rush is over, James nods his understanding. He averts his eyes when he catches disappointment cross Steve's face.
"There's food in the fridge," Steve informs him when he's heading out the door.
"I can't eat." James can't stop the words from getting out.
There is something in him that wants to cooperate and he's not sure if it's been triggered by his training or something else. The only thing he knows is that now he has a bedroom, he has clothes… It seems like he's going to have to get used, not only to not being hosed down, but to the idea of speaking—or maybe these new frills will be taken away.
Still, in this place, what's expected from James to do so he won't be punished or disciplined, it's different and easier than when he was with HYDRA. Or that's how it seems now but James knows not to assume.
Steve steps back into the bedroom with an expression of deep confusion. James swallows and flexes his fingers. "Not solid food, at least."
He can pinpoint the exact moment Steve realizes what he means by that. "We'll find a solution."
James is sure Steve believes that. He's not that sure about himself but nods, nonetheless.
"There are protein shakes." Steve steps closer, face bright with hope and it must be contagious because James feels his stomach flip. "Dr. Banner and Tony created a specific formula for me since I need a higher protein intake. I'm sure they can make one for you, too."
James catches himself nodding along, transfixed in the other man's hands while they gesture in the air.
"Thanks," James says again but this time he tries to imitate Steve and his hand grasps the blond's arm. His body moves forward on its own volition when the skin burns under his palm.
Steve is watching him with attentive eyes. "The clothes aren't doing a lot, are they?"
James removes his hand, embarrassed that he's been caught. He shakes his head as an answer but keeps his eyes on the other man.
"I talked with Tony about it and he'll try to find a solution but…" Steve trails off.
"There isn't one," James says. "HYDRA's tried to fix it for years." He's not sure he's supposed to know that but he does now. HYDRA had wanted to get rid of that defect in the serum so the Soldier wouldn't get so many muscle contractures by maintaining his body in continual tension. It wasn't good for the missions.
He also doesn't know if he should be divulging that information since it's HYDRA's. He feels something cold pool in his stomach but he reminds himself he isn't with HYDRA anymore. He doesn't know what that means for him and his head feels heavy when he tries to think about his conversation with Steve the previous day and the one before that... How can a weapon be a prisoner? A weapon that's a prisoner to the same people that made him.
But, at the same time, how can a weapon have a mother?
Steve hums while he considers this new information and James is thankfully pulled away from the new thoughts Steve himself has planted. "We'll give it a try. If Tony doesn't find a solution, we'll find an alternative."
James, once again, doesn't know what he's supposed to say so he stays silent so as to not repeat himself with another 'thank you.'
"Are you hungry?" Steve asks him.
James stays silent with a concentrated expression, as if he has to consult with his stomach and is waiting for it to give him an answer. The last time he received nutrients was last night when they unhooked him from the IV bag. A tray of food was left in his room this morning but he didn't touch it, knowing what would happen if he ingested solid food.
"I'm not sure," he answers, fearing it won't be the correct response.
Steve doesn't seem to mind the ambiguous answer. "How about we go to the kitchen and you can pick a protein shake? There are different flavors."
Who would have thought that thinking can take so long? Steve waits patiently until James gives his approbation and they head directly to the kitchen. Steve stretches an arm to pick a box from a high shelf and James' eyes fall to the patch of skin that's uncovered by the t-shirt. He tries to shake off the image but his cold hand has a mind of its own and wants James to reach out and feel the warm skin.
He frowns at the weird impulse.
"You all right, pal?" Steve's voice breaks him out of his trance.
"Yes, sorry, just got... distracted."
He frowns at Steve's waist, unable to look the man in the eye.
"It's okay, happens to everyone."
Does it? James wants to ask while his eyes travel up to Steve's neck and he imagines himself wrapping a hand around it just to feel its warmth. He's shocked to realize it would be the first time he does that without following it with squeezing the life out of the person.
"Here," Steve says and drops the box on the kitchen island.
James doesn't think it possible but they proceed to make protein shakes of different flavors and Steve has him taste them until he finds the one he likes the most. It's a bizarre experience. They spend more than an hour in the kitchen and James doesn't even notice time ticking by until Steve crowns banana and chocolate as the winner and promises to order another three boxes. For James.
Not for the first time, James tries to make sense of the way Steve treats him. Why try to keep a weapon warm? Why make sure his intake of nutrients also tastes good? There are so many questions he could formulate but it's all trashed when his brain insists on one thing.
How can a weapon have a mom?
It makes his head hurt enough that he stops asking and wondering and just... acts. Without being given an order, James does. He drinks, and he thinks about how much he likes chocolate and banana flavor, and strawberry flavor, and dark chocolate flavor…
"I think we should head to bed," Steve suggests after glancing at the clock.
The man gets to his feet and stretches his arms over his head and yawns. James wants to ask Steve if he would let him get his hand under his shirt where it must be toasty, but even he knows that's weird. So he only nods.
Steve walks James to his bedroom and wishes him sweet dreams—he winces the moment the words are out of his mouth. After an awkward wave of his hand, Steve leaves.
James won't sleep that night, mind and body incapable of accepting that there is no threat to watch for, but he can feel his body healing and his stump has never hurt so little. On the other side of the hall and through the closed door, James can hear Steve's breathing and he concentrates on that instead of all the thoughts that try to drag him to a dark corner.