Winter's Soulmate | Winter Soldier ✔

Chapter Sixteen

~Amelie's POV~

I ached.

The pain was... I hadn't felt anything like it.

I blinked, willing my eyes to stay open long enough for my body to realise it was awake.

My head didn't feel too bad, but my arms stung with every slight move, and I could feel each bruise that currently decorated my skin.

I gingerly prodded my face, tracing my cheeks and eyes, down to my lips.

And then turned and looked at Winter who was sat upright, eyes drifting around the room.

He caught me looking, and offered a small smile. I had rarely seen him smile, barely even laugh, and the sight of him struggling to smile now made tears well in my eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asked, eyes searching mine deeper now he knew I was awake.

I nodded, seeing a small white tube clutched in his one hand, "did you use that?"

He looked down, almost surprised he was holding it, and nodded. "The injuries... I found it in my bag."

"Your bag is here?"

He nodded and, leaning over the edge of the bed, he picked up both mine and his.

I glanced at it, realising there wasn't anything I wanted from it.

I didn't want anything right now except to not be in pain anymore.

Winter twisted more then, balancing his body carefully, before his hand drifted over my cheek and ribs. "Wait here," he muttered, before standing up and walking away.

I edged up the bed so I was sat upright, and waited for him to come out of the bathroom. He emerged with a box of coloured tubes.

He then pulled a chair that had been placed by the window to my side of the bed and sat on it, carefully adjusting himself so he could be sat with the box in his lap.

"What are those?" I asked slightly croakily.

He uncapped the white tube, the one that he'd used to treat his own injuries, and began rubbing them into my cuts and scrapes. They stung and hurt, and I couldn't help but hiss when he touched a particularly sensitive bruise on my thigh.

His eyes flicked to mine. To others he could appear uninterested as he paused his work, but I could see worry setting behind his eyes. "I'm okay," I whispered.

He nodded, and continued, slower and softer this time, as he patched me up.

He replaced the cap and then pulled out a pale purple tube. He squinted at the small writing, "this is moisturising hand cream, and will make your body feel calmer," he rolled his eyes a little as he skimmed down the advertising slogans. "Do you want this?"

I nodded, and held one hand out. He squeezed a small blob into my palm, then used his one hand to rub it in, shaking his head when I said I could put it on myself.

I watched as he went back into the bathroom, and listened to the tap as he washed his hand.

How can he wash with one hand?

Trying to hold in my groans, I half rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. He was hitting his hand against the hand towel, rubbing it against the counter.

Silently, like he had soothed me earlier, I lifted his hand and the towel, and rubbed it dry. I took the hand cream, and carefully rubbed it over his knuckles, the sound of his staggered breathing the only noise I could hear.