Back to Barnes // the winter soldier

9: buddy the drunk

     With an unsightly pep in my walk, I raced back to the cell. When I got to the steel doors, I had to take a few breaths to settle down. I may have been excited about the care I could offer him outside the cell, but he would be - and I could almost guarantee it - incredibly skittish. He was still only used to me, and even the people in the halls could have made him weary. I just had to be calm for him.

With a lowered pace, I opened the cell doors and walked in. "Now, I'm going to bring you to my room - and do not touch anything, because you are still disgusting - and then I need to go grab clothes from someone - probably Agent Damon - so you have something to change into after you shower. Sound like a deal?"

The captive quickly rose to his feet, eyes still locked with mine. "Really?"

I nodded, pocketing my ID.

"Where am I sleeping?" He asked, eyes growing wide with excitement and anxiety.

"My room. At least for tonight. If that doesn't work out, we get you another room. I just don't feel like massaging your sweat-filmed back every day." I added with a curt smile. "You ready?"

He nodded slowly.

"It's okay. I'm here." My smile grew into a real one as I cuffed him. "Right here."

"I'm fine." He lied.

I walked in behind him out both sets of doors, guiding him with my hand on his back. In silence, we walked up a set of stairs, through a hallway, and into my room. He was obviously pleased with it, quick to running his now uncuffed hand over the bed frame and jumping back when he almost tripped on the rug. I didn't scold him for touching things even though I told him not to. I dismissed myself for a quick minute to grab a pair of sweatpants and another white t-shirt from Agent Damon's locker. I trusted him enough to leave him there for a minute.

When I got back, he was pulled from his ogling and into the locker rooms. With my own shampoo and body wash, he was off to the shower. I took the opportunity to change into a sweatshirt and leggings and get myself ready for bed.

By then it was a little past ten. I had forgotten about dinner for both of us and made a mental note to grab something before we went back to my room. My thinking caused me to slow in pace and eventually freeze. I hoped he would feel safe, and better in general. I wondered how he would react to Steve or even to a janitor in the halls. I wondered what he was like when he slept if his PTSD even allowed him to sleep that well. I mean, it would have explained a lot if he didn't sleep. I wondered how much longer I had to myself before he uncomfortably asked where the towels were.

When faced with my reflection in the mirror, I huffed. From this morning, I looked like a hot mess. Since the captive came, I started eating less to make more time for him, and I definitely got less sleep. Added to that, I usually didn't do my hair in the tight bun I was known for. Instead, I usually let it fall where it pleased, making it a tangled mess most mornings. I ruffled it and sighed, taking the hair tie from my wrist to notch off my braid.

"Agent Brookes?" The weary voice called from the showers.

I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing. "They're in the bench."

He didn't respond. I instead heard the squeaking of the rusty bench hinges and a huff.

____

     "Are you hungry?" I asked the almost fully dressed captive as I handed him a brush for his wet and tangled hair. He was shirtless. He was kinda hot when he wasn't bloody and smelled like stale sweat.

"Not for those awful ... chocolate stick things." He pursed his lips, eyes on his reflection.

"Protein bars." I corrected. "What about a sandwich?"