Recovering consciousness is rarely a pleasant experience. Lately, he has wondered if it's the same for others. Perhaps everyone's head is meant to feel like something that's seconds away from cracking open and letting his charred brains spill out. What he is pretty sure of, is that people sleep in beds and not in a cryo-chamber, ergo they don't have to go through thawing. Maybe—the Soldier has had this thought playing on his head for a long time (one has to take into consideration that for the Soldier even a week is deemed a long time)—if he slept in a bed, with blankets and pillows, his extremities wouldn't feel frozen all the time.

In fact, the Soldier has been thinking about a lot of things—he would go as far as to say that he has opinions (he can already imagine his handlers and other agents laughing at the mere notion.) He prefers his black uniform over the white one; he likes the sunshine and dislikes gavage feeding. He's reached the conclusion that there is a fault in his programming and he should have informed his handlers a long time ago about it.

But, you see, these opinions he's suddenly having, these likes and dislikes… they're truly distracting and compelling. One moment he's extending a hand to touch the dirty fur of an alley cat while he has to wait for his mark, and suddenly he's questioning if he too has a mother. He never reaches a final conclusion with that one; maybe science is that advanced nowadays that they can create people. Maybe… maybe…

Maybe his head is finally going to explode and he won't have to think so much (not that it's of any help.)

The Soldier opens his eyes and quickly shuts them back, convinced that bamboo shards just stabbed his brain through his eyes. He tries to swallow but his mouth is desert dry, a faint taste of iron still remaining. He tries to move and realizes he can't. He doesn't know why—he doesn't know a lot of stuff, that's true, but something he is sure of thanks to numerous experiences is that he will need a moment to get reacquainted with his body.

Keeping his eyes barely open, the Soldier tries to get used to the light. As usual, he doesn't know how much time he spent in the cell; time is kind of an abstract concept for him most of the time (hmm, that's ironic, his brain supplies.)

"Why is he doing that?" says a voice he doesn't recognize. The Soldier doesn't know if he's being asked the question; either way, he doesn't have an answer.

Eyes finally adapting, the Soldier studies his surroundings through slitted eyes. He recognizes the room as a medical bay and he also knows it's not one he's ever been in—at least not since his last time in the Chair.

A blond man crosses his field of vision and the Soldier feels his heart stop. It's a weird, new experience that he will analyze once he isn't in enemy hands. Meanwhile, he fakes sleep.

"He wasn't doing that a second ago," says the same voice, sounding annoyed and agog at once. The Soldier wants to put a face to the voice but he doesn't risk losing the element of surprise, should he need it.

He feels something come into contact with the skin of his arm and suddenly he understands the man's words. He is so used to keeping his muscles rigid, controlling the constant shivers, that his body commanded by habit simply stops any movement and the bed stops rattling.

"Does he have an off switch? What did you just do?"

The man doesn't withdraw his hand. In fact, he goes as far as wrapping his palm around the Soldier's wrist. There is no memory in his brain about anyone ever touching him—willingly—without a needle or knife in the other hand. The Soldier will later find this as the explanation of why he isn't able to contain a full-body shiver.

Understanding that it's pointless to keep pretending, the Soldier opens his eyes. Looking over his body he sees that he's tied to the bed. Even if he wasn't, he feels like there isn't a lot more that his body would be able to go through. At least he's on a bed—he has a pillow under his head, too. Another irony: being in enemy hands is a way more pleasant experience than being with his handlers.

This reminds him that for now there isn't anything he can do; HYDRA will come to retrieve its property. For the time being the Soldier can just wait. He's not naïve to think his visit will be a walk through the park (he's not completely sure that's how the saying goes) (this thought prompts his brain to wonder if he's ever walked through the park without having to eliminate someone there) (an image flashes before his eyes: a dark-haired girl with two braids and bright blue eyes.)

The Soldier loses his train of thought and his brows draw together. Then he sees the Captain and his brain gets back on track: he's not naïve to think these people will treat him like a guest; still, it won't be anything worse than what will happen when HYDRA takes him back after letting himself get captured in the first place.

"We have some questions that you better answer," the Captain says, hands on his belt and voice matching his stern face.

Another man enters the room followed by a redhead woman, and approach their two companions; finally, the Soldier has a face to put to the voice. Everyone seems pretty grim.

The Soldier doesn't say anything. Even if he wanted—which he doesn't—he knows his voice is still too scratchy for anyone to even attempt making out his words. He blinks at his captors. He has the fierce wish to tell them that he will endure any torture they put him through. He's been thoroughly trained.

The four share a look and then stare him down again.

"Are you the Winter Soldier?" the Captain asks.

The Soldier notices the heat the bodies are releasing and his back sinks a little further into the mattress.

The Captain repeats the question, voice raising and taking a step closer to the Soldier. He doesn't answer right away, instead locks eyes with the blond man. The Soldier has the feeling the Captain is not good with interrogations, much less outright torture. Also, his body is the one that runs warmer as a result of his enhancement, the Soldier deducts. There's a sharp pang in his chest when he realizes his body works the opposite way.

"Are you—" the Captain starts over but the Soldier stops him with a nod; there is no need for anyone raising their voices more than necessary. His head feels like an egg that's being boiled and seconds away from cracking open and spilling all its content to the outside.

"Well, we already knew that," the man with the hearing aids points out.

The Captain seems to take a minute to reorganize his thoughts before asking his next question. "Did you kill Maggie Clarke two days ago in Indiana?"

The Soldier feels himself close off. He doesn't want the questions to continue and if they do… well, maybe he will disobey. When would it be better than now that he isn't with HYDRA?

He doesn't answer and the silence is followed by a staredown between Captain and Soldier. The blond's nostrils flare in annoyance.

"He clearly did it," the man with the goatee states. His arms are crossed before his chest and, even though he tries to appear unconcerned, the Soldier is sure that he's aware of the fragility of his non-enhanced body in comparison to the Soldier's own. He could crush him even in his poor state. But he doesn't want to. "Cap, it's obvious he's the guy we've been looking for."

The man in the goatee doesn't seem aware that his Captain is lost in his own head. It must be quite the unpleasant place, the Soldier considers while inspecting his irate expression.

"Steve," the woman starts saying but the Captain doesn't give her the chance to continue. He takes a step forward and grips the Soldier's scarred shoulder with his gloved hand. The Soldier tries to ride out the wave of nausea without showing weakness.

"I don't care. He's going to talk."

The Captain pushes down on his shoulder and a quiet whimper escapes the Soldier. He chokes on air. He's good enduring pain it's just that his stump is his weak spot (the Soldier would like to think his only one but lately he hasn't been acting like he's preprogrammed to.) This time he tries to move away from the pressure but he's fastened to the bed. He finally realizes the powerless position he woke up to find himself in—he's grateful no one can hear his erratic heartbeat.

The hand is rapidly withdrawn but the Soldier knows they already have one way to make him if not cooperate then at least hurt for a while. He doesn't find it in himself to feel angry about it; he's tired.

He realizes then how heavy he feels, his body a rock that drags him down. His eyelids droop and for once he wishes for unconsciousness even if he has to wake up and go all over this again. Maybe for once, it will feel like sleeping and not like someone hit the back of his head with a brick so he won't be a hindrance.

Voices raise somewhere afar but the Soldier has already surrendered and sleep drags him down.