Settle
The Winter Soldier hadn’t slept since waking up in the hospital and he didn’t sleep that night, but sleep deprivation must take its toll on everyone, and so he eventually all but passed out just as the sun began to rise. He had abandoned your couch in favor of the floor next to it, leaving blankets and pillows undisturbed. The carpet was still much too soft for his taste, but at least it was a step up from the worn-out hospital bed.
When he awoke it was with the feeling of the Helicarrier’s metal beam crushing his bruised ribs and choking all the air out of him, yet it was not that which sent a chilling sense of dread all the way through him down into his bones, it was the fear of having failed his mission. He saw the looming figure of the man he had been supposed to kill stumble closer, no doubt meaning to finish him off. He could almost feel the strong arms snaking around his throat again, cutting off his air supply. The Winter Soldier had never failed a mission before; he had met his match in this adversary. The snapped bone in his right arm protested vehemently as he tried in vain to free himself from his trap. He didn’t want to die; he didn’t want to die; he had never been so afraid before, not even of the wrath of his handlers. The man in the blue, red and white suit came closer. The Winter Soldier hoped he’d make it quick, shoot him or snap his neck. Instead he put all his strength into lifting the metal beam off him. Why? Why, why, why, why, why? ‘You are my friend. I’m with you till…’
He came to with a start, violently sucking air into his lungs, protesting ribs notwithstanding. The change of environments could not have been more abrupt, the crashing wreck of the Helicarrier to your serene little apartment. He needed a moment to regain his bearings, groggily sitting up and burying his heated forehead in the cool unyielding metal of his left hand.
He almost didn’t see the note you’d left him on the coffee table before leaving for work.
‘Good morning Starshine, the earth says hello!
You looked like you needed the rest, so I didn’t have the heart to wake you. Hope you slept well. Make yourself at home; fridge and pantry are at your disposal. Feel free to peruse the bookshelf or watch TV (I have some recorded baseball games, if you’re into that), but take it easy, okay? Doctor’s orders; don’t want you pulling your stitches or something after all. If anything is the matter, and I mean anything at all, you call me. I’m at work, but I can be back in about half an hour. I repeat, no matter what, even if you just want to know how to turn on the TV, call me. I left my number by the phone, work landline as well as mobile.
I’ll be back around 6pm. For dinner I was thinking pizza. Thoughts? Wishes? Cue telephone again.
Don’t die of boredom until then and please don’t try to run away again, we’ve been through this. I’m not above filing a missing person report, you know.
Until later then, _______
PS. If a red cat appears at the kitchen window please let her in and give her some food, which you can find in the cupboard right of said window.’
His stomach was indeed rumbling slightly, but he had more urgent business to attend to first. Picking himself off the floor as stealthily as he could in his battered state, he took stock of your apartment first, carefully rounding each corner, acquainting himself with all possible points of exit (or entry). Only once he was reasonably satisfied that no Hydra agents would suddenly jump out of hidden corners and drag him back to the vault to be wiped did he relax the tiniest bit. He wasn’t certain of many things anymore, but the fact that he would rather die than have his memories taken from him again was one thing he was very, very sure about.
His stomach was growling audibly by now. He hesitantly opened your fridge, peering inside and seeing a frankly unholy number of Tupperware containers. You had never bothered growing un-used to cooking for two after your last relationship had gone to the dogs, instead keeping the leftovers and effectively halving the time you actually spent in the kitchen. The Winter Soldier eventually opted for the only foods he felt somewhat safely familiar with and made himself a sloppy peanut butter sandwich with an apple on the side.
You had put a new change of clothes in the bathroom for him, together with some towels, a toothbrush, your last boyfriend’s electric razor and another note. He considered it at length, mostly because he was finding it hard to focus on one thing at a time recently, then regarded himself in your bathroom mirror. He could probably do with a shave, since mere stubble had turned into a veritable beard over the course of the previous week. Then again the beard altered his appearance quite remarkably, and anything that would make it harder for Hydra to find him was a good thing as far as he was concerned. He decided to forego a shave – also because he did at present not possess the nerve to try and work out how that electric contraption worked; just brushed his teeth and splashed some cold water on his still pallid face. It was almost too much. He swayed and had to steady himself on the sink. He vaguely suspected that this had less to do with his actual injuries and more with the myriad poisons and potions Hydra had always injected him with slowly draining out of his system. In any case he felt sick and weak and dizzy and his head was swimming. He quickly yet thoroughly rinsed his mouth to counteract the bile rising up in his throat and dragged his feet back to the couch, flopping down in front of it, lightly leaning his head against the cushioned front and closing his eyes in the hope the world might stop spinning for a moment.
The man more floated than fell, oddly serene amid all the wreckage crashing down into the water around him. The Winter Soldier did not know what drove his actions at that particular moment, but the need to act as he did was immovable, unsurmountable need, like a reflex. He dived into the waters of the Potomac and dragged the blond man in the blue, red and white suit out and onto the shore.
“Then finish it.”
His hands were shaking, the right more so than the left, which was perhaps not so very unsurprising. His head spun violently even though he was sitting completely still, curled up as he was, on the ground where the relative placement of couch, coffee table and wall created a somewhat secluded burrow, in a manner of speaking. His stomach, with little regard for his yearning for safety, no matter how illusive, lurched suddenly, sending a wave of nausea through him down all the way into his bones. He scrambled up unwillingly, knocking the coffee table sideways a fraction, and all but crawled the short distance to the bathroom, where he spent an extensively long time getting acquainted with the smooth white porcelain while retching up bitter bile and little bits of apple. After thoroughly rinsing his mouth yet again, although the acrid sting in his throat persisted stubbornly, the Winter Soldier’s gaze fell on the clock which said 5:37.
You opened the door to your apartment cautiously while precariously balancing two large pizza cartons on one arm.
“Hello?” you called out uncertainly, wondering whether your inadvertent roommate was still in attendance. You were actually serious about that missing person report; you would turn on your heel and head to the nearest police station right at that very moment if need be. Fortunately, need was not and you found him sitting at the dinner table, staring into nothing. You padded over purposely, setting the cartons down on the table with a cheerful ‘Hope you’re hungry!’. You noticed that he had set the table with plates and napkins and even, bless him, knives and forks. You smiled softly to yourself, then brightly at him, hoping to elicit some kind of response out of this mysterious, unsettlingly taciturn stranger you had so willingly invited into your home. You received none, which left you unsurprised yet with latent hope for the future. Some people’s warm up phases were longer than other’s after all.
You opened the pizza cartons, chattering about how you hadn’t known what toppings he liked, so you’d just brought some margheritas because one just can’t go wrong with that. He barely responded to your idle chatter, but at least he seemed to snap out of his thousand yard stare and fixed his gaze on you. He frowned, brows knitting together in confusion as his brain assembled words.
“There was no cat.” He eventually murmured, voice soft in volume but gravelly and raw; the voice of someone who is not used to using it. You stopped mid-movement, the plate you had heaped with pizza slices hovering awkwardly in the air.
“Hmm?”
“At …the window – no cat.” He looked apprehensive, as if he expected you to get upset – again. You could feel your heart tear a little. Just what had this man been put through?
“She doesn’t come by every day, it was just in case she might, you know?” you kept your voice deliberately soft and your movements slow as you placed the plate in front of him with what you hoped was a reassuring smile. The tension seemed to seep out of his shoulders a little bit; you took it as a good sign.
“Thank you for setting the table by the way, that was thoughtful.” You took your knife and fork and started cutting off bite-sized pieces of your pizza. Usually you would have just eaten straight out of the carton while watching TV, but you didn’t want that effort to go to waste. He started eating hesitantly, waiting until you were already enthusiastically munching away on your share.