003.

____________________

Because in the weeks of quiet companionship, in the moments of wordless understanding, something had settled in his chest.

A connection.

____________________

Steve entered the room the same way he always did—calm, steady, as if he were stepping into something fragile, something that might shatter if handled too roughly. The tray of breakfast was balanced in one hand, but today, there was something else tucked beneath his arm.

A book.

Selene sat in her usual spot on the bed, back against the headboard, legs pulled loosely to her chest. She looked at him as he approached but didn't react beyond that.

She never did.

It had been two months since she arrived, and every day had followed the same routine.

Steve would bring her breakfast.

She would eat only enough to survive, just enough to keep from collapsing but never enough to be considered a real meal.

And Steve—never one to sit by idly while someone wasted away—had tried to intervene. He requested an IV, thinking it would at least keep her hydrated, but the second a nurse approached with a needle, Selene lashed out, her body moving faster than anyone could react.

The nurse had been lucky—only a broken wrist and a shaken look in her eyes—but after that, Steve didn't bring it up again.

He knew what it was like to have someone take control of his body without consent. He wouldn't do that to her.

So, the routine continued.

Breakfast. Small talk. Silence.

Then, he would ask if she wanted to shower, never pushing, always giving her the choice.

She liked that.

It was the first time in her life she had a choice.

She never said yes, but it was her choice.

The rest of the team—the ones he called the Avengers—hadn't visited her since the first time she had seen them. She had injured them all the first time she met them, and while Steve never held it against her, the others weren't as forgiving.

Only Bruce Banner visited once a week to check on her vitals, speaking in hushed tones with Steve while she ignored them, unable to understand half of what they said.

She knew the basics of all types of languages, but some of the words were unfamiliar—medical terms, scientific phrases. It was another reminder of how much of the world she had yet to grasp and how much Hydra had kept her in the dark.

But today was different.

Steve set the tray down on the table beside her bed, but instead of sitting in his usual chair, he placed the book on the sheets between them.

Selene's eyes flickered to it, suspicious.

He noticed.

"It's just a book," he said lightly, leaning back in his chair. "I figured... maybe you'd like me to read to you."

She said nothing.

Of course, she wouldn't.

She hadn't spoken once since she arrived.

Steve had stopped expecting her to.

Still, her gaze lingered on the book, golden eyes scanning the worn edges, the faded title on the cover. She didn't move to touch it, but she didn't look away either.

Steve took that as progress.

"It's a good one," he continued, flipping it open. "One of my favorites when I was younger."

The Wizard of Oz.

Selene turned her head to the window, but he could see the subtle shift in her shoulders, the way her breathing slowed just slightly, as if she was listening.

So, he started reading.

His voice was steady, warm, filling the room with words she might not fully understand but could still hear, still feel.

For the first time in two months, the silence between them wasn't empty.

_____

The shift was small—so small that, at first, Steve thought he imagined it.

After two months of the same routine, two months of silence and carefully maintained distance, something had changed.

He had read to her.

And somehow, that had made the difference.

When he asked if she wanted to shower, expecting the same shake of her head as always, she surprised him.

She nodded.

Yes.

Steve barely had time to process it before a grin broke across his face—wide and unguarded, an expression he hadn't worn in a long time.

But then reality set in.

Could she shower on her own? Did she even know how?

His brows furrowed as he led her into the bathroom, hesitating at the threshold. The room was pristine, untouched, as sterile as everything else in the tower's medical wing.

Steve pointed to the shower, turning the knobs to demonstrate. "This one controls the hot water, this one's the cold. You can turn it up or down to—"

A sudden grip on his wrist cut him off.

His breath hitched.

Pain bloomed where her fingers wrapped around his skin—too tight, too strong, the kind of grip that would leave a bruise by morning.

Steve froze, expecting her to lash out, to push him away.

But then he followed her gaze.

She wasn't looking at him.

She was staring at the bathroom door.

Realization struck like a punch to the gut.

She wanted him to keep watch.

Steve swallowed hard, his chest tightening at what that meant—what she must have endured in the past to fear being vulnerable, to need someone standing guard while she bathed.

And yet...

She was counting on him.

Maybe it was a test. Maybe it was trust.

Either way, Steve wasn't going to break it.

His expression softened as he nodded, slow and deliberate, a silent promise. Then he stepped back, leaving only to grab a towel and some spare clothes before setting them on the counter.

"I'll be right outside," he said firmly, then turned his back, positioning himself in front of the closed door like a sentinel.

Minutes passed.

Then footsteps.

Not hers.

Steve tensed, glancing over his shoulder just as Bruce and Tony strolled into the room.

Bruce he expected.

Tony? Not so much.

"Well, well, if it isn't Nurse Rogers," Tony quipped, taking in the untouched breakfast on the table before leveling Steve with an unimpressed look. "You do realize you've had her locked up in this looney bin of a hospital room for two months, right? It's been long enough."

Steve sighed. "She's not locked up, Tony."

"Sure. She's just voluntarily sitting in isolation, ignoring all of us, eating next to nothing, and—oh, right—almost killing the only person who tried to stick a needle in her. Sounds perfectly well-adjusted."

Steve clenched his jaw, but Bruce cut in before he could snap back.

"He has a point," Bruce admitted. "She's been doing... better. Slowly. But she needs a real space, Steve. Somewhere comfortable. Somewhere she can actually start living."

Steve exhaled sharply. He knew they were right. Hell, a part of him had been waiting for this moment, for the team to finally acknowledge her progress.

But another part of him—one he wasn't proud of—didn't want to let her go.

Not far, at least.

Because in the weeks of quiet companionship, in the moments of wordless understanding, something had settled in his chest.

A connection.

A fragile, unspoken bond with someone who understood what it meant to wake up in a world that wasn't theirs, to feel like an outsider, a weapon instead of a person.

So, he asked before he could second-guess himself.

"Can she have a room on my floor?"

Tony's brows shot up. "Oh, so now we're doing sleepovers? Should I get the popcorn and matching pajamas?"

Steve just stared at him, unamused.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever. But if she stabs you in your sleep, I call dibs on your bike."

Bruce, on the other hand, offered a small nod, glancing at the untouched food again. "I'm glad she's improving, but I am worried about her not eating, Steve. It's been almost two weeks."

Steve's stomach twisted.

"I know," he murmured.

And he had no idea how to fix it.

Tony and Bruce left, and a few minutes later, the bathroom door creaked open.

Steve turned, expecting hesitation, maybe even unease.

But Selene barely spared him a glance.

She stepped past him, clean and dressed, her long black hair damp as she padded toward the bed and sat down, her golden eyes finding the window once more.

She didn't acknowledge him.

Didn't say anything.

But she also hadn't pushed him away.

Steve exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. Now that she was clean, he could really see her. See the sharp features of her face, the paleness of her skin, the youth in her features.

She was young.

Too young to have been through whatever horrors had shaped her into this.

Maybe 22.

And that just made him more determined.

She deserved a better life. A semi-normal life.

Maybe he couldn't give her that completely, but he could at least give her a step toward it.

"Hey," he said softly.

Selene didn't look at him.

But he kept going anyway.

"Would you like to see your new room?"

Golden eyes flickered to meet blue ones.

_____