Steve reached down to cover her arm with his hand, not holding, but a loose embrace, stroking her skin for a moment as he bent his head to press a kiss to her hairline. "Thank you," he whispered, almost breathing the words out. He didn't just mean for her happy birthday wish, but for the entire day, and for staying with him, and─ just everything.
Yawning a little himself, Steve shifted slightly against the bed, knocking his head back some against the soft pillow, trying to get it to flatten a little bit. He hadn't found a pillow yet that was very comfortable, all of them fluffy and soft and not at all what he was used to. But he made due, and having Rogue wrapped around him actually helped him relax, and the last thing he knew was the feeling of Rogue, in his soft t-shirt, breathing gently against him...
Until...
He'd already released the other prisoners, and now was headed further into the bowels of the Hydra facility, searching for the isolation ward, where he'd been told Bucky was being held. Under the blaring alarms, he could hear gunfire starting up, and loud booms of concussion blasts, probably from larger, Hydra-engineered weaponry.
Spotting Zola leaving a doorway, the two stared at each other, in a transfixed tableau, before Zola turned tail and began running. Steve took chase... but coming to the door the little man had exited, he slowed, remembering what he'd originally come here to do, and curiosity getting the better of him.
Moving into the room, Steve glanced around at what appeared to be a scientist's office space. It looked surprisingly like Howard's workshop on base, with papers scattered everywhere, bits and pieces of different equipment in various stages of construction. He found a case of neatly arranged cartridges, that glowed a strange blue, and plucked one out, tucking it into a pocket to take back to base with him. Maybe Howard could figure out how those strange blue weapons worked, and how to combat them.
Another sound began to make itself known under the distant gunfire and constantly blaring alarms. Repetitive, with enough changes he could tell it was a voice. Steve knew that voice, and he moved toward the small doorway in the office to see who it was.
This doesn't feel right, a part of him thought. It was drowned out by the sudden knowledge that he'd found Bucky; he could rescue him, and get them back to safety.
The room was large, undecorated concrete; there was a steel tray with various medical instruments on it, including empty syringes and bloodied gauze, but Steve only peripherally noticed, moving toward the table where a figure was strapped down, repeating the same phrase over and over again.
Steve became more apprehensive, wanting to turn back, not wanting to see this. This isn't right! But his body didn't listen, walking forward cautiously until he was standing over the figure and could hear the words being spoken.
Wearing a battered and torn S.S.R. shirt and brown uniform skirt, Rogue lay strapped to the table, staring up toward the ceiling unseeing, repeating, "Em...four-eight...two-seven. Em-four...eight-two-seven..."
Steve twitched a few times in his sleep, a soft, high-pitched whine starting at the back of his throat, but not making it past his clenched teeth.
no subject
Yawning a little himself, Steve shifted slightly against the bed, knocking his head back some against the soft pillow, trying to get it to flatten a little bit. He hadn't found a pillow yet that was very comfortable, all of them fluffy and soft and not at all what he was used to. But he made due, and having Rogue wrapped around him actually helped him relax, and the last thing he knew was the feeling of Rogue, in his soft t-shirt, breathing gently against him...
Until...
He'd already released the other prisoners, and now was headed further into the bowels of the Hydra facility, searching for the isolation ward, where he'd been told Bucky was being held. Under the blaring alarms, he could hear gunfire starting up, and loud booms of concussion blasts, probably from larger, Hydra-engineered weaponry.
Spotting Zola leaving a doorway, the two stared at each other, in a transfixed tableau, before Zola turned tail and began running. Steve took chase... but coming to the door the little man had exited, he slowed, remembering what he'd originally come here to do, and curiosity getting the better of him.
Moving into the room, Steve glanced around at what appeared to be a scientist's office space. It looked surprisingly like Howard's workshop on base, with papers scattered everywhere, bits and pieces of different equipment in various stages of construction. He found a case of neatly arranged cartridges, that glowed a strange blue, and plucked one out, tucking it into a pocket to take back to base with him. Maybe Howard could figure out how those strange blue weapons worked, and how to combat them.
Another sound began to make itself known under the distant gunfire and constantly blaring alarms. Repetitive, with enough changes he could tell it was a voice. Steve knew that voice, and he moved toward the small doorway in the office to see who it was.
This doesn't feel right, a part of him thought. It was drowned out by the sudden knowledge that he'd found Bucky; he could rescue him, and get them back to safety.
The room was large, undecorated concrete; there was a steel tray with various medical instruments on it, including empty syringes and bloodied gauze, but Steve only peripherally noticed, moving toward the table where a figure was strapped down, repeating the same phrase over and over again.
Steve became more apprehensive, wanting to turn back, not wanting to see this. This isn't right! But his body didn't listen, walking forward cautiously until he was standing over the figure and could hear the words being spoken.
Wearing a battered and torn S.S.R. shirt and brown uniform skirt, Rogue lay strapped to the table, staring up toward the ceiling unseeing, repeating, "Em...four-eight...two-seven. Em-four...eight-two-seven..."
Steve twitched a few times in his sleep, a soft, high-pitched whine starting at the back of his throat, but not making it past his clenched teeth.