Disorientation is quickly followed by confusion when James' eyes open. The lights are dimmed in the living room and he needs a second to orient himself and realize that he doesn't know what he's doing here, doesn't know how he got to the couch.

James sits up and feels something slip down his chest the same moment his brain screams in pain. He looks and sees a blanket—definitely doesn't remember that. He clings to it for a second longer, not comprehending why it's warm. A second later, his ears register a voice and his senses finally check back online to warn him of someone at his right, crouching in front of him.

"How did I get here?" He didn't intend for his tone to be so demanding.

Steve sits on his haunches, warm hand withdrawing from James' knee. "I brought you." James doesn't like how that sounds and Steve must see it reflected on his face because he's quick to elaborate. "You were making yourself a shake—do you remember that?"

He needs to think it over but James finally nods his head. He looks down at his lap, hand under the blanket running up and down his thigh. His muscles tense but he's not sure if to flee or fight.

He had spent the day in the bedroom, unwilling to venture outside. Until, that is, he'd heard Steve return to the apartment and James had finally decided that he could at least drink a protein shake, maybe inspect the bookshelves Steve has near the glass wall, since James had already inspected the one in the bedroom.

Also, seeing Steve hadn't felt like a bad idea. Frankly, James had tried to get out of the bedroom on more than one occasion but his courage had shriveled every time his hand had come in contact with the handle of the door. His fear of the unknown more powerful than his curiosity of said unknown.

"I came to talk to you and…" Steve trails off. "I don't know what happened exactly, it was like you weren't… there."

Steve is looking up at him with a furrowed expression James finds difficult to decipher. He gets to his feet and sits on James' right. "Is this okay?"

James considers him for a few seconds.

"What?"

"Can I sit here?"

Steve Rogers makes his head hurt. What's more irksome is that James knows he should get used to it.

"Yes," he answers curtly and tries to slide to the left without being too obvious.

"J.A.R.V.I.S. told me you have to put lotion on your shoulder after cleaning the wound," Steve says. This must be the reason why he woke him up, James concludes.

"Not until…" His mouth falls closed. It's already night-time. "How-how much time…?" He can't finish the question, too afraid that he's lost time. He'd hoped it would only happen with HYDRA or the times he was put back in his cryo-chamber. He had imprudently thought it would stop now that he's here—in hands of HYDRA's enemies. He's just a weapon that's only changed the hands that use it, isn't he?

Weapons don't have a mother.

Weapons don't have preferences.

James would like to shut off his brain. Being a weapon is what he understands and having his own mind challenging that is… rather tiresome, among other things.

"A few hours," Steve answers, unaware of James' spiraling.

He wants to ask what happened while he was unconscious, if Steve did something, but knows he wouldn't get an honest answer. And even if the answer were yes, what is he going to do about it?

James feels his short fingernails dig deeply into the muscle of his thigh, a bruise on its way of healing aching under his fingers.

"James." Steve puts a hand on his arm, touch slow and light. James looks at him from the corner of his eye. "Tell me what's on your mind."

This makes him turn to look at the man. "What?"

"You're tense. Something seems to be upsetting you."

He turns his head away and after a split second looks back at Steve to study his face. He needs to know if he's being serious (if this is some kind of test.) Steve seems honest enough, expression earnest. He's really asking a weapon to—

James remembers again how Steve had called him a prisoner. Steve doesn't know what James is, with what purpose he was created.

(James feels his body sag heavily on the couch, too exhausted from having to tread wearily with everything he says and everything that's said to him.)

"What happened while I was unconscious?"

Steve's mouth opens and then immediately closes with a sharp click of teeth. His face journeys through different expressions from which James recognizes a few he usually sees on his marks: confusion, understatement, shock—though not in that precise order, at least when it comes to the Soldier's marks. Steve's features finally settle on something disturbed.

James feels like he's learning a lot about expressions and emotions just by watching Steve Rogers go through them every time they interact.

"You slept and I kept you company," Steve finally informs him, reigning more control over his voice than features. "I promise, James. If you want, J.A.R.V.I.S. can show you the recording."

James mulls it over and nods. Steve gets up and returns with a laptop. He sets it over his knees and turns it on. After a minute, James can see a video of Steve getting into the kitchen and trying to talk to him, eventually finding out that he would get better results trying to speak to a fish.

He looks closely but can't find anything that indicates Steve has lied to him. He feels his shoulders drop with relief after this realization; he had been rooting for Steve's version of events.

The video goes on and James watches himself and Steve side by side on the couch, sides flush together. His arm tingles and he almost feels an echo of Steve's warmth. Or it could be that the man is close enough to touch. James slides an inch closer, as stealthily as possible.

"You needed sleep," Steve points out.

"I don't have my… chamber."

Silence while Steve fishes for words.

"Your cryo-chamber." James nods. "Do you remember ever sleeping while out of it?"

He probes his memory, fishing for something useful. "I've been unconscious," he supplies finally.

James spots Steve's hands balling into fists and he wonders if pulling away before the impact will be productive. "I-I." He has to swallow, throat suddenly parched. "In the hospital."

"You were unconscious after the operation," Steve clarifies, as if it doesn't count.

"Sorry." The word chokes him on its way out.

Memories resurface but not ones that will be of any use. James knows apologizing never worked with HYDRA and now he remembers some of the times he tried to, before learning the lesson.

Steve's fist hasn't risen yet so he decides to try something else while he has the chance. "It's difficult sleeping out of it. Sleeping's difficult."

Steve gets to his feet, back turned to James so he doesn't get to see him flinch away. His hand stays under the blanket, which is already cold. He wearily eyes Steve's tense muscles.

"They freeze you," Steve voices, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "And that way you aren't aware of being constantly cold."

The words catch him by surprise. Steve turns when he doesn't get an immediate answer and James forces his head to nod once.

"James, before we got to you, when was the last time you slept?"

James finds it odd that Steve is so determined on asking questions that will only upset him further.

"I'm not sure," James says, aware that the answer is too quiet for a non-enhanced person to hear, even if they were to be a foot away from him.

Steve returns to James' side, skin warm. James has noticed how Steve always makes sure to be on his right side. "What happened to you today," he turns to face James, "was because of the lack of sleep, probably the stress, too. J.A.R.V.I.S., do you think it makes sense?"

"I do, Captain. Mr. James should get at least eight hours of sleep every night."

"Or less because we're enhanced," Steve clarifies, even though James is aware of his durability and endurance. Steve hurries to add, "But more sleep is better."

Steve looks intently at James, licking his dry lips. James feels like ants are crawling over his skin and now he's not sure if he wants to flee or lean a little closer.

"Do you want to consult a doctor?" James is shaking his head way before Steve has finished the sentence. He looks like he wants to insist but his shoulders sag, defeated. "How about a shake? Sounds good, pal?"

James' transfixed by the last word and needs a second to signal his affirmation. Steve bolts to the kitchen then and comes back in less than five minutes with a shake in each hand. He passes one to James, forcing him to finally extract his hand from under the soft blanket. James drinks it, the sensation of hunger foreign to him and the sense of appeasement when it's extinguished even more. Steve hands him the second one when he's finished. He'd thought Steve had prepared it for himself.

"Thanks," he says after putting the empty bottle on the low table in front of him.

"My pleasure," Steve says and he's wearing a thin smile, one that sure looks sincere, devoid of its usual awkwardness and uncertainty. James gives it a go and tries one himself; it seems to make Steve's get bigger.

He's struck by a thought. Perhaps Steve can't find his footing either when it comes to James. Maybe Steve needs time, too, to understand how to deal with someone such as James. A weapon that isn't a weapon; a person that isn't a person. The same way James doesn't remember ever meeting someone like Steve, Steve has probably never met someone like James.

One more time, he sits by James' side. He feels drained now, even though he's slept a few hours. Steve's warm body makes his own tilt sideways until Steve slides closer, shoulders pressing together. His eyes feel irritated.

"Do you want to watch a movie?"

James gives a shrug, the question catching him by surprise, and Steve picks up the remote. His skin crawls and he can sense Steve's tense muscles.

"By the way," Steve says shifting on his cushion, "you better put this on your shoulder."

Steve extracts from his pocket the lotion the doctor had given James when discharged from the hospital wing. He hasn't been applying it to the wound for two reasons. James doesn't know how to redress the stump since he's always been dependent on HYDRA to do maintenance on him; the other reason is that his shoulder hurts constantly and James doesn't want to do anything that could aggravate it. He's had worse, but just thinking about his stump makes a knot form in his throat.

No one else needs to know this so he takes the lotion.

He hadn't counted with having Steve stare at him, waiting for James to start the treatment for his shoulder.

After a minute stretches into eternity, Steve offers, "Do you want me to help you?" James bobs his head without daring to look at him. He had intended for his head to give a shake.

Steve doesn't comment on it, doesn't look annoyed that he has to do what James is supposed to do on his own. Steve goes to the bathroom and comes back a minute later, looking sheepish. "I thought about carrying a bucket with water to the living room, but I think it will be better if we clean your wound here. Is that okay with you?"

James answers by getting to his feet and relocating to the bathroom. Steve smiles at him and doesn't comment when James leaves the door wide open.

"Here," Steve instructs him, hand almost imperceptibly steering him in the sink's direction.

Warm.

Steve steps to his left (James fights the instinct to cover the stump with his hand, protect it) and waits for James to do… something. It seems Steve was expecting James to take off his hoody and t-shirt, which he points out. James makes sure Steve isn't annoyed by his obliviousness.

"Let me help you," Steve says when James' muscles struggle to get rid of the garments fast enough.

James turns to face Steve and the man assists him. Good, he doesn't seem pissed off. Even better, he has a slight smile adorning his face. James believes the man isn't aware of it.

James raises his arm, eyes methodically set on Steve until fabric obscures his sight. Steve gives a little pull to free his head from the hoody and James stumbles forward. A hand catches him by the hip. James freezes in place and most of his brain activity is directed to that exact patch of skin.

Warm.

He almost forgets to control his muscles and not let his body freely shiver.

"Sorry," Steve murmurs and helps James get all the way out of the sweatshirt. He leaves it on the counter. Steve clears his throat. "Only the t-shirt left."

The hand slides off his skin and James blinks.

What should he be thinking right now? Is it normal to want Steve to touch him? Just a hand on his side, his arm, his face. Like he'd seen him do in the recording but can't remember it happening.

(Who is gentle with a weapon?)

A thing has been occurring of late but he hasn't been able to ignore it since he woke up on the couch. He never felt overwhelmed after the Chair and he already knows that the longer he stays without being wiped, the worse things will get.

While hanging on that tree days ago (it must have been days, though he cannot know how many), looking at that little bird on the branch, James had itched with curiosity. At that moment, he'd wanted to know how many new thoughts his brain would come up with if given a chance. His chest had felt full with anticipation.

Now, he's here, he possesses memories of a mother, of victims, of his own name that somehow doesn't completely fit. Now he has an opportunity.

Now, when he looks at Steve's face he knows he's done something wrong, said something odd. He's not acting the way a person is meant to. Because that's the thing, right? Steve Rogers is treating him like a person and expects James to react like one. But James isn't one…

He can't be…

He doesn't remember being one.

A weapon with a mother, a weapon with a name, a weapon that wants to be more…

Now, when he's about to start questioning (because he will) what he should be feeling, thinking, saying at a particular moment, instead of the flashes that cross his mind, he decides to build a dome around it all, the flashes and the 'what should I's. James has the feeling that if he doesn't do it, things will get out of control. His scalp itches when he tries to think about what will happen if he doesn't control his brain's impulses.

(Perhaps that's what the Chair is really for and he's in desperate need of it. Could he be a weapon with a fault that makes it think…?)

(He better not go there again.)

Steve takes the t-shirt by the hem and his knuckles graze James' skin, shocking him out of his head.

James struggles to lift the walls behind which he can stow his qualms.

Steve's face is serene when James resurfaces from the folds of the t-shirt. He stares a bit too long, feeling his brain settle.

"You doing okay, pal?"

"Yes." He swallows. "Pal."

Steve watches him with amazement written all over his face and James has a second to think how no one has ever looked at him with that emotion before. If you see the Winter Soldier you either run, scream or beg. Unless you're HYDRA, of course. Things are pretty different with them.

Steve throws his head back and laughs. "Yeah, we're pals," he states with mirth, hand patting James' bare shoulder. James pats Steve's back in a state of amazement himself; the whole thing feels… good.

"I'm going to get rid of the bandages now, okay?" Steve warns him, hand lowering to his elbow. James nods, his own hand falling to his side.

After washing his hands and putting gloves on, Steve guides James' body until he's facing the mirror and that way he has access to James' bandaged stump.

He's seen dead bodies—he's killed people in many different ways that any human being would find horrendous, but James has to turn his head away so not to see the space where a limb should be. He sees the image reflected in front of him and his eyes shut tight. It doesn't work.

James stares at Steve. The man has an air of deep concentration while he removes the dressing. James' body remains tense but he needn't be; Steve is attentive with the damaged area, taking great care to not irritate it any further or touch the stitches. When air finally hits his skin, James sees Steve's forehead crease.

"Did they give you instructions about how to take care of the wound?" Steve inspects the shoulder without touching it.

They probably did but James can't remember. He has the recollection of a doctor telling him how to change the dressing every day and applying lotion before going to bed—even if James hasn't done it once since he was discharged.

"I think." He'd thought to just say yes but he doesn't want to lie. It's been happening more often around Steve Rogers.

Steve considers him for a minute and then gives half a step back, James almost following. "Maybe you should take a bath."

James wonders if Steve is trying to tell him he smells. He subtly sniffs the air and feels his face heat up when he realizes he does.

"Sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry." Steve's hand goes to James' shoulder again and this time he takes the half step forward. His legs feel tired and wobbly. "Do you think you can do it by yourself?"

James considers it: HYDRA would have never asked him that, and if they had, he would have been obligated to answer affirmatively.

He shakes his head and his stomach unclenches when Steve's face doesn't shift to anger or disgust.

"I'll help you, then."

Steve squeezes gently his shoulder and goes to the bathtub. They wait for the water to raise enough and then it's time for James to get undressed. His hand goes to his sweatpants and he toys unconsciously with the drawstring.

"Do you want me to help you?" Steve offers, just as James was expecting him to do.

James licks his lips and nods once. He's able to do it by himself but makes the decision not to. Steve offered help and he decided to accept it. Perhaps Steve lending him a hand (his brain is too focused on Steve approaching him to notice the irony in that sentence) will involve more contact skin-to-skin. He's almost vibrating with anticipation.

"All right," Steve says under his breath, not meant for James to hear. He stares at James with intense eyes and James feels as if he's going to be given an important order. "If at any moment you feel uncomfortable, don't hesitate to tell me."

Steve's face has turned so serious and earnest that James has to use his words, a simple bob of his head not feeling enough in comparison. "I understand."

"Good." Steve smiles at him

(James remembers staring at the sky in the Indiana forest, waiting for the sun to come from behind the clouds)

and then his hands drop to James' pants. Steve doesn't linger and pulls down sweatpants and boxers in one swift movement. Steve kneels down and gets the socks off too, dropping everything in the hamper.

It's different from when HYDRA strips him of his clothes to clean him. It doesn't feel like he's going to be shoved against a wall so a jet of water can wash any grime off of him.

James' pulse accelerates ever so slightly when Steve straightens up and looks at him.

Warm, his mind begs.

Without a word, Steve places a hand on his arm to steer James to the bathtub. James gets one leg in the water and a sound is punched out of him. It's something strange, between a whine and a gasp. He quickly gets his other leg under the warm warm warm water and then lowers himself in the tub. His body shakes.

"Feels good, right?"

His teeth chatter and he hugs his knees to his chest. Steve moves out of his field of vision and comes back carrying a washcloth. He tries to offer it to James but he only receives a scowl as an answer. Steve snorts a laugh but doesn't force James to take the cloth.

"I assume you're giving me permission to…" He raises a hand and points at James. "Wash you." He nods, arm tightening around his legs.

In the silent bathroom, James rests his cheek against his knees and observes Steve soak the washcloth and then put body wash on it. His eyes fall shut when the fabric comes in contact with his back. His bruises and lacerations burn but only a sigh leaves his lungs.

"Mr. James," J.A.R.V.I.S. chimes in. James doesn't move even a bit from his position but his stomach clenches. "According to some medical webpages, it's advisable that you do not keep your residual limb submerged for too long; it can soften the skin and make it more vulnerable to injury."

"Thanks, J.A.R.V.I.S.," Steve answers. He makes sure that James' stump is above water level and then continues washing his back. Rather different from being hosed down, indeed—James can firmly say that he prefers it much better.

(Weapons don't receive baths.)

"Lean back," Steve instructs after a while, the order strangely not sounding like an order. James complies and leans his back against the bathtub, eyelids heavy.

Steve raises James' arm to wash it and then moves to his neck when he's finished.

A sound escapes James and he feels Steve's hand still. His brow knits until Steve's movements resume. He blinks his eyes open, mere slits through which he observes Steve wash him. The man has the same expression of concentration as if he were in the midst of planning a mission.

Steve raises his eyes and they stare at each other for a moment. "You doing okay there, pal?"

"Mhm."

He thinks he's almost smiling, cheeks tingling oddly.

"I'm glad, then." Steve shifts on his knees to wash James' legs.

James can't wrap his mind around this; him in a bathtub, being taken care of by the person he had tried to kill and who had later tried to kill James in return.

"I didn't want to kill your friend."

James can't believe he just said that—Steve seems in the same position. Hand stopping its motion, Steve glances up. "I know." James observes his throat jump when he swallows. "But thank you for saying it."

James feels like the thump of his heart against his chest should be creating ripples in the water.

James wants to say more, that he wishes HYDRA never used him against Steve and his friends. That he doesn't want to be ever used like that.

"I'm going to clean your wound now," Steve informs him when he's finished with his feet. James wiggles his toes and stays silent.

Steve kneels on James' left and looks at the stump for a long moment. "I think I should google this."

James doesn't understand that but doesn't say anything. Right now he feels like his mind is completely blank, not even a wall behind which he could find something dangerous. He feels like the surface of an undisturbed pond.

Steve gets to his feet and exits the room. James looks at him when he returns, phone in hand. He sits down by James' side and taps on the screen for a few minutes. James waits patiently in the warm water. He raises his hand but rapidly submerges it again when cold air hits it. Really unpleasant feeling; he doesn't know if he'll ever get out of the tub.

Right now, James can't comprehend how he spent days perched on a tree with a blanket of snow covering him. He doesn't want to be cold ever again.

"Okay, I think I know how to do this."

Steve stands up again but this time comes back with a first aid kit. He plops down and takes in his hands what's left of James' left arm. James' head snaps forward but he can still feel Steve cleaning and then drying gently the stump.

"James?"

His neck stays firmly turned in the opposite direction.

"Did I do something? Did I hurt you?" James can hear the distress in Steve's voice but he keeps still. A hand is placed on the spot where shoulder meets neck—it's strong and warm and it makes James' lip wobble. Steve is relentless and he circles the tub until they're face to face. James sags back.

"Hey, buddy."

James sees it happen in slow motion and knows the walls are going to give. Steve's hand raises and he places his big and warm palm on James' cheek. It must be freezing in comparison. James' eyes fall shut, a few slow tears rolling down.

"It's gonna be okay."

James knows these are only empty words but he doesn't care. HYDRA never told him it was going to be okay, that it wasn't going to hurt, that he had done a good job. His mom did. His mom always tried to make him feel better, say that things would turn all right in the end, even if she was struggling to believe it herself.

Steve's forehead rests against his own for a while, hollow but comforting words being spoken by a soothing voice. His hand slips into his hair and James chokes out a whimper. Steve's fingers card through the tangled strands.

"Will you let me wash your hair?"

James nods his eager approval against the other man's forehead. He believes he can remember someone playing with his hair when he was a kid but it wasn't his mama.

(Weapons don't have a childhood.)

Steve pulls away, hand lingering on his cheek. He watches James for a little longer, thumb slowly rubbing the skin under his eye. "Do you think you could sleep after I redress your shoulder?"

James shrugs and he's grateful when Steve doesn't push for a more elaborate answer.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, I guess." James is proud he caught the teasing tone in Steve's voice.

James leans back and lets Steve take care of his hair and stump. Steve quickly circles the bathtub and starts on James' hair. He pushes on his shoulders until his hair is submerged. His hand balls into a fist and his muscles strain when the water covers part of his face. Steve holds his head over water with one hand and with the other—

Wow, James almost voices the thought.

Steve's fingers dig into his scalp and James doesn't understand how he hasn't dissolved into the water because that's how his body feels. His hand digs into his thigh. Steve tells him to lean against the back of the tub and James complies, eyes closed. He starts lathering the shampoo and James can swear he's close to purring like that cat he had petted in an alley years ago. It had taken him a few minutes, but the animal had started purring louder than a car's motor.

He's in a haze when Steve instructs him to get his hair under the water again and then to return to his position. When he starts on his stump, James almost doesn't notice any of it, only warm fingers. Finally, Steve drains the bathtub and tells him to stand up and get out of it. James looks at him for a few seconds.

"Help?" Steve guesses. The only reaction James gets out of him when he nods it's a new smile.

(James wants Steve to know how grateful he is for letting him communicate mostly with nods and shakes of his head and monosyllables, but the words keep clinging to the inside of his chest and refuse to exit his mouth.)

James gets to his knees and, with one hand on the rim of the tub and Steve's arm around his waist, he makes it out without any accidents. Steve's front is now soaked but he doesn't seem to mind. James thanks him when Steve gets him wrapped in a bathrobe—everything is soft here, is James' first thought. The second is that the bathrobe won't be that warm once Steve is gone. He can't dwell on it because then Steve starts drying his hair with a towel.

"It suits you," he tells James when he removes the towel, James' hair a complete mess. He's smirking so James draws the conclusion that it must be a joke. Without giving it a second thought, James shakes his head energetically. He's pleased to see through the strands of hair that Steve's face isn't only damp, but he sports a dumbstruck expression, mouth hanging open.

"You're a fucking jerk," Steve says like he's just had a revelation.

Maybe I am, James thinks and it strikes him that he can discover what he is or isn't. He really hopes HYDRA has decided to let go of their defective Asset—the weapon that thought itself a person.

They go to his room and James sits on his bed. Steve opens the dresser and asks James which pants and top he wants; he asks for sweatpants, a sweater, and socks. James doesn't want to force Steve to do anything he doesn't want to, but even before he can say anything, Steve tells him to stand up.

"As I told you already, if you feel uncomfortable with something I'm doing, just tell me. Or tap my arm," he adds the last part as an afterthought. James lets him know he understands with another silent nod.

The bathrobe falls to the floor and Steve helps him get into his underwear; James shivers when warm fingers skim his lower back by accident. He's aware of Steve's closeness and is struck by how fine he feels with it—has felt for the last half an hour.

"Already cold, huh?" Steve says, lips an unpleased line. He seems to sink into his own thoughts while he helps James into a pair sweatpants.

"Thanks." He's saying that a lot. Steve only answers with a smile but James has the impression that it's turned a bit stiff.

"What are you thinking?"

Steve snorts a laugh at the question.

"About a lot of things," he deflects and James feels his face fall—it took him a lot of courage to ask. "About what to do about your temperature, for starters; you're always tense."

He is and it's caused by more than one reason, but James guesses that Steve is talking about him controlling his shivers by keeping his muscles strained.

"I have a proposition," Steve says. His face has turned battle-ready and James doesn't know what to expect. "And if you don't like it you, can tell me to go to hell."

James' attention is already caught; he leans forward with interest. Steve seems uncomfortable, seconds away from withdrawing an offer he hasn't even presented.

"I guess you've already noticed that my body runs pretty hot." James feels like laughing at the understatement. He keeps his eyes on Steve and doesn't let himself believe Steve is going to say what has already sprung a couple of times in his own mind, only like an absurd pipe dream.

"I thought." Steve huffs and rubs at his stubbled cheek. "I'm not going to beat around the bush: I thought we could sleep together—sleep in the same bed! Jesus."

Steve covers his pink face and James can only think about touching his warm cheek.

He doesn't need to think for long, his brain already overflowing with chants of warmwarmwarm.

"All right."

Steve looks unconvinced. "Are you sure, James? I want you to really think it through."

"I." He grants himself a moment to find words—useful ones would be preferable. Steve waits patiently, a quality James thinks the man will need if he keeps dealing with him.

"How about you tell me after you're dressed?" James isn't totally pleased with Steve's tone, feeling a bit childish. But at the same time, he believes Steve cares about the answer he will give him. So he answers with another nod.

Steve maneuvers James' limbs until he's dressed and he plops on the bed, feeling drained. Steve takes his feet in his lap so he can put on the socks.

"I want to sleep," James states. Steve lifts his head, and for just a second James' mind becomes too concentrated on counting his long lashes. "I can't sleep if I'm cold. It's difficult."

Steve nods his understanding.

"I don't hate it when… you touch me." He catches Steve's Adam's apple bob when he swallows. He's not sure of the emotion that has taken over Steve's features but something in his chest doesn't like it. His mom would have hugged Steve until it had disappeared.

"I." He tries to voice another thought. Steve waits and James has to push the words out. "I don't want you to feel… I don't—"

He grunts when his head starts throbbing and the right words keep eluding him.

"Don't do it because you feel obligated. Out of duty."

Steve stares bewildered at him, body reacting with shock: his head snaps back, shoulders straighten, mouth hangs open.

"Damn," he finally breathes out, blinking the shock away. "Anyone would think you've known me your whole life."

Hands still on James' knees, Steve regards him with a thoughtful expression that eventually turns into something more jocund.

"I assure you, it's not out of obligation. I'm not forcing myself into anything, James, I really want to help you."

James believes him—he's been doing that a lot, lately. He takes a moment to internally panic about this sudden trust he's developed.

He looks at the bed he's sitting on and Steve immediately catches the meaning, already attuned to James' speechless gestures. "I'll go dress in my pajamas."

Steve leaves the room and James sits in silence, hand fingering the fabric of his sweater. His brain takes advantage then and his neurons start firing up.

He doesn't know what to do, how to feel, think, what to say… but it feels like a good starting point to do exactly the opposite of what had been expected of him while with HYDRA. Yes, perhaps imitating past behaviors he's had with the people who made him a weapon is something to avoid if you want to become a person. James' brain thinks it makes some kind of sense, a quality not a lot of things and situations have had since the last time he was on the Chair.

Maybe building up a wall to imprison his thoughts wasn't such a great idea if he's capable of coming up with such insights. James preens at being able to do more than handle a gun.

Steve comes back, now dressed in a grey shirt and his pajama pants. He has his toothbrush in hand and gestures with a smile for James to follow him. He rises to his feet and walks into the bathroom. James feels lightheaded but it's not an unpleasant sensation.

Once in front of the large mirror, Steve scours through a cabinet until he comes with another toothbrush that he hands to James. He holds it up while Steve puts toothpaste on it and then on his own brush. He gives James a meaningful look and starts brushing his teeth. James can't remember if this is a procedure he goes through after being thawed or if it's done to him.

He eyes the toothbrush in his hand for a moment and then mimics Steve. The man is looking at him in the mirror and James can make out a grin around the froth. It's such a silly image that he huffs a laugh and white suds shoot in all directions. James freezes with his eyes going wide. Steve starts laughing then, more suds dotting the mirror, and James feels his stomach unclench and then flip.

"Shut up," he grumbles through the toothpaste and his stomach somersaults when Steve keeps laughing.

Steve finishes first and rinses his mouth. After patting James' back, Steve tells him he'll be waiting in the bedroom. James hurries and follows the other man. Steve is under the blankets, frowning at his phone but he sets it on the nightstand when he sees James enter. He slides from one side of the bed to the other and pats the free spot.

James nears the bed and observes Steve. The blond seems to have turned hesitant and if the only sane person in the room is having doubts… James' arm wraps around his middle and his head turns to the door that leads to the hallway.

"James." Steve looks at him with a reassuring smile.

One good night's sleep, he reminds himself. Maybe not even good but mediocre; better than nothing followed by more nothing for days.

Warm, his brain chimes like an alarm, sounding almost vicious. He's intrigued to know what if feels like when your body is at a normal temperature.

He puts a stop to the surge of discouraging ideas that cross his head in droves.

James climbs under the blankets, already warm thanks to Steve.

"Can I turn off the lights?" James assents, pulling the blankets over his shoulders and to his chin.

Steve settles on the right side of the bed. They're not touching and James can still clearly feel on his skin the heat that Steve's body is producing. It makes something akin to anger bubble in James' chest, even though he knows it's not Steve's fault.

He feels the bed dip further when Steve slides the few inches between them, their arms brushing.

"I think there should be more contact for this to work."

Even after the litle time they have spent together, James is already able to picture Steve's uncomfortable expression. He turns his head on the pillow; even in the dark, James sees what he'd already been expecting.

"Okay."

James starts turning on his side until his stump presses against the mattress and pain flares up his shoulder. He settles on his back again and tries to breathe evenly.

"Maybe you should turn on the other side."

James fights the desire to answer with a sarcastic retort. He just wants Steve to stop feeling so awkward so he won't make James feel guilty. His brain is already telling him this is his doing.

James isn't prepared when Steve's chest presses flush to his back. At first, the sensation borders on painful, like being submerged in boiling water. Then his body starts adjusting to the change. James' eyes close tight when Steve wraps a hesitant arm around his middle, the skin of his abdomen soaking up every bit of warmth.

"Good?"

James forces his head to move in a nod when a knot grows in his throat.

Steve shuffles until their bodies have completely aligned from head to toe. James can feel hot breaths on the back of his neck, and goosebumps rise on his arm.

"I'll keep watch while you sleep."

It's at that moment that James' body melts into the hold, eyes closing and respiration slowing down until he falls into a deep sleep. James is certain that waking up next time will be a completely new experience.