Steve has already had breakfast—yesterday's leftovers—, visited Sam, spent two hours in the gym, practiced with the shield at Barton's shooting range, taken a shower, and now he's settling on his couch with a sketchbook. Steve believes he'd need to write a book of sonnets to express the awe he feels every time he looks through the large windows in Tony's tower—also, how out of place. He only needs a few words to express how unworthy he is of living in such a place.

Steve wishes his mom could spend at least a day in the Tower, a day in this new New York with everything Steve could give her now. As a kid, he had spent a lot of time daydreaming about all the things he would buy his mom when he grew up. She'd died before he got the opportunity and even if she had lived longer… Well, for starters he hadn't had much money and then he had traveled to the future in the form of a block of ice.

Steve has quite the collection of sketches of New York's and Washington's skylines but the action of drawing them once and again, sometimes from memory, brings him tranquility.

Steve's drawing the Iron Man armor giving Hawkeye a ride when he hears a door slowly sliding open. Steve doesn't lift his head because he already knows it's just James getting out of his bedroom—for the first time today. He knows this primarily because he checked the box with protein shakes and noticed that not one of them was missing, and secondly because he asked J.A.R.V.I.S. He felt bad for prying but he wanted to make sure everything was okay with the man.

From the corner of his eye, Steve makes out James' shape, shoulders hunched and head bowed, his hand inside the front pocket of his sweater—Steve notices it's the one he gave the man a few days ago. James hesitates before entering the living room and heading directly in the kitchen. Steve can hear him only because of his enhanced senses but it's easy to notice that James is trying to be as quiet as possible while preparing himself a protein shake.

Steve acts as if he isn't aware of his presence. He doesn't want to just sit and ignore James, it doesn't feel right, but he tells himself that perhaps that's what James needs. Space and time for himself… to… be alone… and… feel his skin pricks every time he makes a sound.

After a minute, Steve thinks it best to keep him company. He stops acting like he's using his pencil for something more than drawing random lines and gets to his feet, leaving the sketchbook on the coffee table. He steps into the kitchen area and has a perfect view of James' back and how it goes eerily still. Steve sees his shoulders rise to his ears and then the man turns into a statue. Steve feels like a threat, the enemy.

"Hey, pal," Steve says, feeling like he shouldn't be speaking, that he's only going to make things worse. But he perseveres, knowing that right now James doesn't have any other options aside from Steve. "The boxes arrived this morning. I knocked on your door but maybe you didn't hear." Steve knows James did hear him.

Steve gives a step forward and James' muscles tense further, shifting under the clothing. Steve winces, believing such strain must be painful. He still remembers the man's body, black and blue, bloody…

Steve shakes the image away and gives a tentative step forward. He can't see James' face and he really needs to read his expression so as to know what is going on through his head, at least part of it. He had thought they had made progress yesterday, had seemed like James was more comfortable in Steve's presence. Steve thought James had understood he isn't an enemy.

Really naïve of him.

"James?"

Steve quickens his pace when he hears the man rasping for breath. Placing a careful hand on his arm, Steve turns him around.

James raises his only arm and stumbles back.

For a moment, Steve's brain can't register what is happening, what James is trying to do. He's been Captain America for some years now—sometimes it feels like too many—, a figure people expect to help them, save them from peril. Even before the serum, when he was just Steve, he had done everything possible to give a hand to those who were in need of it. Now, Steve gets a glimpse of James' face and feels horrified at the fear he sees there directed at him.

"James," he calls out, voice already turning to the soothing tone he uses when he's around the other man. Steve raises his empty hands so James will know he's unarmed. "James, I won't hurt you."

Steve sights something else: James seems disoriented.

"You know where you are, pal?"

James takes a step back, arm lowering a bit as he takes a quick look at his surroundings. His eyes are huge and glossy, and Steve winces at the dark bags under his eyes, the only color on his ashen face.

"James, you're in Avengers Tower, remember?" Steve prompts, staying on his spot. He can feel his heart beat with might inside his chest. "Do you know who I am?"

James finally focuses on him. His eyes are bloodshot and the delicate skin around them looks irritated. "Captain America."

"Steve Rogers," he corrects, keeping his voice soft. "I'm Steve and you are..."

He gives him a moment to think it over. His forehead creases and he shakes his head like someone trying to get rid of a problematic thought. Steve has to jump forward when the brusque movement makes James list to the left. He grabs his arm with one hand and his waist with the other and holds him in place. Steve looks closely at his face, searching for a sign of recognition.

A minute passes and Steve doesn't find any; what's more, James' face scrunches up with further confusion.

What's even more unexpected, though, is having James himself take a step forward as to close the few inches between them.

Steve doesn't believe it possible but there's a final surprise when James' hand gets under his t-shirt and presses against his side. A shiver runs up his body and a gasp escapes his lips when the cold skin gets in contact with his own.

Steve stays frozen in place, hands hanging in the air at James' sides, unknown of what to do now. He concentrates on James' breathing while it slows down.

"James?"

James doesn't answer but his hand shifts slightly and Steve notices that the skin has warmed up a bit. Steve pulls his head away, trying to get face to face with James but the other man is looking away. Steve notes his gaze seems unfocused and he's unsure of what to do next. Maybe it won't be safe to try to pull him out of his daze, Steve ponders.

Slowly, Steve places his palm to James' cheek. Even though he had already expected it, the cool skin shocks him. Gently, he turns James' face and inspects it attentively.

"J.A.R.V.I.S.," he almost whispers, "would you be able to tell me when was the last time James slept?"

Steve observes the glazed look, the drooping eyelids, and his thumb strokes the delicate skin under James' eye. He thinks he hears the man exhale a little breath. He definitely feels it against his throat.

"According to my data, Captain Rogers, Mr. James last slept this Monday, around six pm."

Steve stares in astonishment at James.

"Today is Thursday," he says to no one.

James' eyes are drooping and Steve cups his other cheek when he tilts forward.

"How's that possible?" He tries not to raise his voice but it still has a shrill note to it. "He was being administrated strong painkiller, how was he staying awake?"

"With sheer willpower, I would guess."

"Jesus," Steve exclaims with feeling.

James grumbles something under his breath and tries weakly to pull away. His eyes still look distant. His hand stays firmly on Steve's side.

"Do you want me to notify someone about the situation, Captain?"

"No." The decision takes more time to be made than the answer to be voiced. Steve is not one hundred percent sure he's making the right decision but taking into account what happened in the operational room, he deems it wiser to keep at a minimum the number of people accosting James. He prays he isn't about to fuck up.

"It's all right, pal," Steve tries to soothe him. James exhales deeply and Steve can feel his body leaning into his hands.

"How about…" he starts with uncertainty. His eyes search the room. "How about we go to the couch, huh?"

Steve gives a tentative step in that direction and James follows, pliant. Steve wasn't expecting it but maybe he should have, considering James' background.

"You're doing great, buddy." Steve feels foolish saying the praise but he's surprised to find that it makes James' hand squeeze his side. Perhaps it was only a muscle spasm.

Steve guides him until they've almost reached the couch. Intrigued, he decides to try something.

"James, sit down on the couch." Steve doesn't have the opportunity to end the sentence with a 'please' because James is already dropping into a cushion. Steve stares at the man, appalled at himself for what he just did. Except for the stage, the scenario could be the same as the one in the videos Steve and the others found in the HYDRA pen-drive.

"No, no." He drops down in front of James, uncertain hands fluttering over the man's knees. James doesn't look at him. "Fuck. I'm so sorry, James."

He's not going to answer, Steve finally accepts that, so he drags himself up and to James' side. How is it that he's only been his worst version around James? Maybe he should speak with Tony so they'll relocate him to a different floor.

Bad becomes worse, Steve remembers the words the way he's been doing lately.

No, no, he's not going to just entrust James to someone else, like he's a burden he's trying to get rid of. James is going to need time to get better and he will need someone to help him, Steve knows this well, and since at the moment no one can know James is alive, Steve is one of the few options the man has.

Steve's head hangs between his shoulders and he lets himself calm down and think for just a second.

Good God, of course he's not like HYDRA—like the woman that struck James with a stun gun when he didn't immediately obey. Like the people who tortured a man and filmed it, their voices not having waivered once while they explained every atrocity they did to James.

Steve gets to his feet and takes the fleece blanket from the back of the couch. He pushes lightly at James' chest to make him lean against the couch and sits on his right, throwing the blanket over the two of them. With his side flush to the other man's cold arm, Steve waits for James to come back. Resurface.

He doesn't, but after half an hour James falls asleep, head resting on Steve's shoulder.