Aftermath
My back ached. My head ached. Everything fucking ached. I was lying on, on something. My lips were moving. I was speaking, barely. I mumbled familiar numbers like a prayer. Offering up myself for any god that would take it. 32557038. A shaky breath escaped me as I tried regain my senses. Something cold was touching me, cold and wet and unpleasant. Sounds murmured above my head, too far away from me to reach. I tried blink. Instead I let the blackness overwhelm me again, to go back to the familiar world with no pain, no senses, no consciousness. Peace.
“He's out again. Is he normally like this?” Steve asked, continuing to gently clean the grime off the Soldiers arms.
“Yes, it's nothing to worry about. The programming and then Jones was just too much for his body. He'll be okay by evening.” Steve tried not let the relief show on his face. He eyed the Soldier, contrasting the weak figure lying here mumbling incoherently with the strong, confident man he normally saw. It was a contrast Steve didn't enjoy.
“You'd think they'd give him more steroids or something, or train him to handle more.” The other man continued. An older guard, who had been put on these duties as he recovered from a leg injury. Steve remained silent, nodding occasionally as he carefully washed up the Soldier.
“You know you don't have to clean him up, he’s gotta learn to do it himself.” The man continued, scratching at his beard.
“I know. But, but I don't like the dirt, I'm a bit of a clean freak. I'll make him actually clean himself later.”
The older man hummed vaguely before moving on to discuss his weekend, something Steve had no interest in but was happy to mindlessly nod to.
I groaned, opening my eyes and shutting them again. More aware, more present. Regretting it massively. I winced away from the touch to my side. Too close, too cold. Where the fuck did my shirt go? “Hey, hey it's okay. Relax James.” A soft voice, a familiar voice. I still couldn't intense, not more than pretending to loosen my limbs and relax enough that no one could say I ignored an order. Steve's voice? Continued to talk above me to another man. I couldn't be bothered to listen, to process the words for a long while. Instead I let Steve scrub me clean as I tried work out how to move without throwing up. Eventually I began to process more than just his touch, focusing on the two’s discussion.
“I'm so tired of boring work. I should only have a week to go until my legs healed enough that I can clear for field work again.”
Steve hummed non-committally before stammering out his reply. “Oh- oh that will be good! Not long to go!”
“If it was any longer I'd just give up, I don't know how you do this kind of work each day.” The older man laughed as he spoke, a fact that would've endeared me more if he didn't keep prodding at my cuts when he got too bored.
“I don't mind it, I'm not one for much excitement.” Steve replied. It definitely suited what I'd seen of him. He was scarcely in a uniform that fit, and normally looking off distantly as he stood guarding this or that. But he rarely looked bored, tired and frustrated, distracted yes, but never as if he was itching to fight something like the other guy was. I liked that about him.
The thought shocked me so much I started coughing, dry heaving coughs that shook my body. I forced myself upright, to sit. “Fuck-” I mumbled to myself. A quick look down confirmed I'd been stripped. Hopefully so they could clean me. I glanced around, Steve holding a wet murky cloth and the older guard with a thick beard and a baton raised. Fuck. I froze staring at the guard. “I'm sorry sir, I was just-” He didn't look in the mood to talk, and I wasn't planning on taking another beating today so I fell silent. The man glared at me, assessing me carefully. It startled both of us when i moved or did things unthinkingly, I didn't use to. I remember before, vaguely. The main thing I can recall is being trapped in my mind, watching myself act. Thinking about it makes me feel disgusted, makes my stomach recoil. Makes me grateful for the doctors efforts now to help me, to keep me from being like that.
Eventually the older guard relaxes, stepping back from me. “I hate to do this Rogers, normally two of us have to-” he says, toying with his watch.
“No, no I know. I can handle it. Lunch or more dull work?” Steve grins slightly.
“Lunch, thank Hydra-” The guard pats Steve's arm as he turns, leaving speedily for someone so supposedly reluctant. A two person job. That is a lot of things when it came to handling me. Grooming, punishment, training, transport, medicine. The curiosity bites at me unpleasantly but I push it down. Better to focus on here and now.
“Don't you know it's bad manners to undress someone without asking first? Or could you not resist after seeing a peek last night?” The familiar guilty regret rushed me but the way Steve blushed almost made it worth it. “Don't get your hopes up James.” He stammered to get it out but the cocky grin that lit up his face gave him confidence. Clearly he'd been planning that reply, a fact that made me feel like blushing myself.
“All prepared for me aren't you?”
He grinned. “Actually, I'm the one preparing you today.”
“Hm?”
“Prep the Soldier for transport by 2300 hours, long term, necessities.” Steve replied, reciting it in a stern voice.
“Solid Kowski impression.” I said, flexing my fingers slowly. Transport means I won't regret stretching everything I could now.
“You could tell?” Steve grinned again as he spoke, each more infectious than the last.
I nodded, standing up from the cold table I had been laying on. “All you're missing is the moustache.”
“Oh I'll get right on that, don't worry James.”
The casual conversation calmed me as Steve began bustling about to find clothes for me. I don't want to know how dirty and destroyed my old clothes were.
“So any details you can spare me?” A long shot on my end but one I was willing to risk with Steve. He'd given in a few times over the months, and I'd never ask for enough to get him hurt. I hope.
“No James, it's a suprise.”
“Oh you shouldn't have Steve, that's too kind.” I grinned as he rolled his eyes.
“Can you sort out your hair?” He asked, to which I nodded. I glanced back down at myself - I was cleaner than I thought. He was more thorough then I expected. He'd bandaged some scrapes on my stomach, my thighs. I hoped it was him, and I wish I could remember him doing it. A shameful part of me wanted the memory of his hands on my naked body, even if he was just innocently doing his job.
The brush he tapped my hand with jumped me out of my thoughts. “James?” Steve asked, his brows furrowed. “I'm okay. Thank you. Do I need to pack my bags?” I watched him debate, humming.
“I'll do it, if- if that's okay James. It's just, you need to dress and I think they said something about prepping your arm.” I nodded, grinning to myself. He was sweet, asking as if it was an option for me to pack. I lost those priceless after I. After I.. the thought escaped me easily and left me with a pain behind my eyes. A steady breath, and then I move on. Clearly not something I need right now. Instead I turned my focus to what normally happened, and to the hair I was brushing roughly. There was probably a list of what I should take, most people ignored it. It was funnier for them to watch me scramble about to find the things they'd left behind.
Until I knew where I was going it was useless to try bargain or beg or remember where I had hidden essentials. Steve was humming to himself as he went through to the room beside this clinical metallic one. My room lay next to it, that I knew. He had forgotten to give me the clothes, or find them. Malicious? It would hurt me too much to try work out, instead I let that fade away and stood up to follow him. My feet felt alarmingly tender, and my metal arm heavier than normal. I stretched, bending, twisting and turning. Trying to resettle my body, trying to feel like a person. Eventually I accepted this half stiff numbness wasn't leaving. My hand rubbed my eyes wearily. The travel wouldn't be pleasant in this state. I don't think it had ever been pleasant. My feet shuffled towards my room, and I leaned in through the doorway as Steve rifled in my drawers.