As already stated, coming to is never a pleasant experience and this time is no different. The Soldier summons strength from where shouldn't be any left and rolls to his side, just in time for the sick to dribble to the floor and not choke him to death. Though there isn't much sick so he would've survived the unpleasant experience.
Allowing himself a second, the Soldier flops to his back and tries to breathe. When he finally takes a look around, the Soldier finds himself in a windowless room. It's large and with one more bed that looks two sizes bigger than a king; apart from that, there isn't a lot of furniture. Vision still blurred, the Soldier spots two full bookshelves, a couch with a coffee table in front of it, a dresser, and two closed doors, one of them which he supposes must lead to a bathroom.
The Soldier needs an embarrassing amount of time to drag his body to the edge of the bed, elbow digging into his thigh when he slumps forward. Using the bedside table to prop himself, the Soldier rises to his tired legs. He spots the cameras right away even if they're hidden. He feels like waving at them but thinks it wiser not to taunt his captors. He should just wait for HYDRA to find him.
Looking at the bed—it even has blankets which he was lying over—the Soldier has a fleeting thought: Do I want them to find me?
His brain discards the notion pretty quickly. It's ingrained in him the reality that he does what his handlers need. That's a weapon's purpose and he's meant to be the best weapon. He should be proud of it—he has shaped the century.
Entering the bathroom, the Soldier stares at the big bathtub. The part of him that remembers his training and programming, that knows he's not meant to use a bathtub or a shower, forces him to search the room for a hose. There isn't one so he steps near the tub and hovers over it, a knot forming in his stomach. He reminds himself for the nth time that these people, even if they're the enemy
(who's enemy?)
they aren't HYDRA. No one here has forbidden him from washing off. Rules are different here.
The Soldier sits on the rim, legs threatening to fail him, and turns on the water.
"Excuse me, Mr. Winter Soldier," says a voice.
The Soldier jumps, startled, bruises and cuts protesting when skin tugs at them. The Soldier looks around but finds it empty except for himself. He scowls up at the white ceiling.
"Who?" He's not sure if his grunt was intelligible, voice gruff from disuse.
"Hello, my name is J.A.R.V.I.S. I'm Mr. Stark's Artificial Intelligence," the British voice introduces itself. The Soldier's eyes widen a fraction at the last two words. Somehow, he knows what that is… and he finds it fascinating.
"Hi." Unintelligible, again.
The Soldier cups his hand and fills it with cold water so he can drink it and clear his throat.
"Mr. Winter Soldier, I would advise for you not to wash yet," the voice informs but the Soldier knows it's not a mere suggestion. He turns off the water, containing his face from making a disappointed expression or his lungs emptying themselves in a sigh.
He's getting up from the tub when J.A.R.V.I.S. speaks again. "Mr. Stark needs a sample of the substance coating your wounds. If you wait a moment, I'll send for someone to bring you the utensils needed so you can do it yourself. If you don't collaborate I will have to inform Mr. Stark and the rest of Avengers present in the Tower so they can take the necessary measures."
The Soldier stares dumbfounded at the ceiling. He nods his understanding.
"Very well," the voice finishes saying and the room falls silent once again. The Soldier kind of feels the absence of the cordial voice like something physical that's been removed from the place. It was soothing to listen to. If the Soldier didn't know better, he wouldn't have guessed that he was being held captive.
The man exits the bathroom and waits sitting on the bed. A few minutes pass until the door hisses open. And again, the Soldier's eyes widen with recognition and fascination.
"Robot," he rasps. He had been expecting a person, his imagination going as far as picturing Viv and Xin as the people who would have come through the door.
"Indeed," J.A.R.V.I.S. confirms.
The robot has a test tube in its claw and inside of it a bunch of cotton swabs. When it's close enough, J.A.R.V.I.S. instructs for the Soldier—helped by Dum-E—to collect a sample from the fluid covering his wounds. The Soldier entertains the idea of telling them what he knows of it but discards it almost instantly; a prisoner isn't supposed to collaborate. He must stay silent until HYDRA comes to collect him.
(His head hurts something awful and he blinks the tears away.)
"Thank you for your collaboration." The robot beeps as if it's agreeing with the A.I. The Soldier can only nod at the two of them, still feeling queasy. "You can now clean up, sir, if you still feel like it."
The Soldier blinks, words and their meaning taking a moment to fully register. After that, he tries to draw a bath as fast as possible, without losing his footing and braining himself in a counter. He starts with cold water but it doesn't last long until he's turning on the hot water. Getting rid of his boxers, the Soldier gets into the tub, water not covering more than three inches. The man shivers with his head resting on his knees while he feels his injuries pulse. He hugs his knees to his chest.
The man inhales deeply, ignoring the cracked ribs because there is… silence. He's taking a bath with hot water. No mission is waiting for him once he exits the bathroom and no handler. No cryo-chamber to freeze his body. No Chair to burn his brain. For the time being, he's keeping his memories and not following orders. It's true that he's a prisoner but he's not sure he wants to leave these rooms.
The Soldier tries not to panic when he realizes that it technically means he wants to run from HYDRA. Tries to reason that he's only waiting for them, he's not doing anything wrong (aside from getting himself caught in the first place.)
The man lies back and sinks into the raising water, the tub big enough that it allows a grown man to stretch his legs and there still is some space left. He unclenches his muscles, something he has to put thought into, and rolls his shoulders, hissing when every part of him screams with discomfort. It doesn't matter because for once he's not cold to the marrow.
This is what waking up must feel like for other people—mostly. His body is aching and his stump burns, and, yes, the headache is still present and he feels dizzier than before… but it could be worse. So much worse.
The Soldier rubs at his eyes, blinking heavily. He looks up and freezes, hand grabbing instinctively the rim of the bathtub, ready to shoot out of it. He relaxes the slightest when his brain registers the face as the one of the Captain. The man is scowling down at him, flustered. He takes a step backwards and hands over a grey bathrobe. When the Soldier doesn't move to take it, the man drops it on the counter.
"I'll be outside," is the only thing he says before he leaves. The Soldier catches a muttered "Jesus Christ."
Water already lukewarm, the Soldier takes off the plug and loses himself for a moment on the swirls going down the drain. He fell asleep. Had it happened during a mission or in a HYDRA facility… Shaking his muddled head (no sense in thinking about HYDRA when they aren't here), the Soldier gets out the tub and picks up the bathrobe left for him to cover with.
Putting on the robe is a bit tricky but he gets it over his shoulders and knots it on the front. He's mesmerized by how soft it feels. It catches on some of his injuries and yet it's the best thing to ever touch his skin. A cough draws his attention and reminds him what he has to do.
The Soldier observes the Captain with curiosity, wondering what he'll do. He acts unsure, as if he himself isn't certain of what should be his next move. This is until he takes a deep breath and stares the Soldier down. He notices that he's not in his uniform anymore; looks clean too. The Soldier stops his mouth from asking if he too took a bath.
"You're going to come with me," the Captain states. Declining doesn't seem like an option so the Soldier doesn't waste any time trying to negotiate—not that it is a skill he has. He nods but the Captain doesn't move. The Soldier frowns in confusion.
"J.A.R.V.I.S., could you please have someone bring clothes in our guest's size?" he instructs after clearing his throat and turning sideways. He catches his mistake and turns again to fully face the Soldier. He can see that the blond's cheeks are pink now.
The Soldier stand near the bed and waits. How J.A.R.V.I.S. knows his measurements he's not sure but he's not programmed to ask either. Sometimes not being expected to talk is a relief.
"Pardon me, Captain, but getting the clothes will take some time," J.A.R.V.I.S. informs. The blond man frowns in annoyance.
"Then have someone pick something from my closet." It seems like a decision that pains him.
The Soldier feels the other man watching him like a hawk. It's odd; HYDRA agents always ignore his presence unless he's being debriefed or questioned about an already completed mission, and even then it sounds like they're introducing commands into a computer.
The robot, Dum-E, finally arrives. The door opens and Dum-E wheels until it's in front of the Soldier. The Captain is tense and the Soldier has the suspicion that the man is stopping himself from taking the bot and hiding it from the Soldier. He feels like laughing at the image but only takes the offered garments and drops them on the bed so he can give a tentative pat to the bot's metal side. The corners of his lips pull up until he catches himself and slides a blank mask over his face.
The Captain stares at him with arms crossed over his chest. His facial muscles twitch and the arm muscles tens up; he wants to do or say something. He doesn't. The Captain turns on his heels and exits the room, leaving the Soldier alone to get dressed. Even though he's had training for situations where he may need to act with only one arm, the Soldier isn't used to it. Besides, when his punishment includes detachment of the arm he still doesn't do more than lie down and wait for someone to collect him.
Once he's completely dressed—socks included—the Captain reenters, most certainly informed by the Artificial Intelligence that the Soldier is ready. With a gesture of his head, the Captain waits for the Soldier to exit the room, too. The blond looks at the Soldier's socked feet and scowls disapprovingly. The Soldier doesn't know if he's done something wrong. Again, he has to force himself to remember that he isn't with HYDRA and little mistakes won't get him into trouble. Still, logic doesn't untie the knots that have formed in his stomach and throat.
With a determined step, the Captain starts his way to the elevator, Soldier following closely at the same time as he tries not to keel over. He trails behind, hand burrowing inside the pocket of the sweatpants. It's soft and he can't help but run his fingers through it and then over the sweater. He frowns and grunts with displeasure.
A subtle itch makes him turn to his left (clever, he thinks, picking my weak side) once the elevator doors are closed. The Captain is staring at him with an intense expression, making a single word pop into the Soldier's brain: vitriol. Apart from the disgust he's rather used to (lately, he's wondered what do people see when they're looking at him, what brings that specific emotion to the surface) the Soldier can read an interrogation etched in the expression.
"Sorry," he makes the word crawl up his raw throat. He tugs at the dark sweater so the Captain can see the stains his blood is leaving. He frowns at it as if he doesn't understand how the apology and the stains can be connected. The Soldier had hoped that showing remorse would be enough for the Captain to know he isn't deliberately dirtying up his clothes.
The Captain looks up at him, lips parted but scowl remaining, deepening, even. Then, he's shoving the Soldier against the wall, handrail digging uncomfortably into his lower back and cabin shaking.
"I don't know what you're playing at," he hisses and pressure increases against the Soldier's trachea. "And I don't care but you better stop right now. You don't deserve to breathe." He exhales against the Soldier's face like a rabid dog, catching himself getting off topic. He can see the man's jaw clench painfully. "You put my friend into the hospital, you shot Natasha… Just give me an excuse to rid the world of you."
As fast as he pinned him to the wall with a forearm, he pulls away letting the Soldier slide to the cold floor. The Soldier wishes to touch his surely bruised throat but doesn't. He looks up with a blank face, already good enough at reading the Captain to be certain it will vex him more than if he did anything else. The blond takes a warning step forward but the Soldier doesn't flinch back. Eventually, when they've finally reached their floor the Captain exits the elevator without a word, nor does he wait for him.
The Soldier almost loses him but finally catches up with the Captain in front of a pair of sliding doors. They enter and the Captain guides him to another door, the Iron Man in full suit already waiting for them, only his face visible.
"Oh, you made it," the man chirps, metal hands clapping together once. The Soldier's headache increases and he probes at his temple. "So." An unnecessary pause. "Has the Captain told you anything about what is going to happen?"
The Soldier shakes his head.
"Aren't I lucky." The man's face is too tense and the Soldier doesn't like it one bit. He starts talking about doctors, surgery, tracking chips… The Soldier can't concentrate with his head threatening to explode. He blinks moisture from his eyes so he can bring into focus the two men. He doesn't see the Captain. The room spins for a split second.
He feels something prick his neck. His hand, as if in slow motion, rises to touch the skin, fingers probing at a needle until it falls to the floor. His throat works to make an interrogative sound. "No," his voice drawls, body swaying to one side and then the other while he tries to regain balance. His stump smashes against a wall and he hears himself shout like his mouth is in one room and his ears in another far away. He falls to a floor that doesn't feel as firm as it's meant to be.