gaucherie

• lack of social grace, sensitivity, or acuteness; awkwardness; crudeness; tactlessness •

• • •

I stood in front of the locked cell. The Winter Soldier sat inside, completely still, and, as usual, completely silent. He hadn't seemed to notice me approaching but I knew that he knew I was there. He was on his back, eyes closed. I could tell he wasn't asleep due to the pained and stressed expression on his face.

"Hey, Broody, I've got breakfast for you," I chuckled. I swore I could see the outline of a small smile on his face but as soon as it was there, it was gone again.

"Thank you," he said quietly. I nodded and slid it under the bars, watching as he sat up, took the plate and put it on his lap.

"Why are you being kept in here?" I asked, looking at the damp, grungy place. There was water dripping down the walls and everything, just like the lab, was covered in a thick film of grime. I grimaced, looking back at the man.

"It's my room," he responded.

"It's disgusting, is what it is," I countered, sitting down in front of the bars. He gave me an odd expression but began to eat his food. I'd been able to swap out his hospital grade slop for some of my own cooking. The stuff they were feeding him was quality only suitable for prisoners, the dead, or cockroaches... and not even for prisoners.

"What is this?" He asked, looking up at me.

"It's my own recipe," I waggled my eyebrows. "I saw what they were feeding you and didn't approve. Do you like it?" I asked eagerly.

"It is excellent," he said. "It almost.." He abruptly stopped talking.

"Almost what?" I questioned, looking at the mashed potatoes and steak on his plate.

"It's nothing," he assured me. I could see straight through his lies though. Something was bothering him.

"What's wrong?" I ignored him. He shook his head, hair swaying with the force of it.

"I just thought it reminded me of something, that's all."

My eyes went wide. Reminded him of something? How was that possible?! The Winter Soldier was no one. He told me himself. He didn't have a name, or a history. He just... was.

"I'm sure it's nothing," I said, slightly perturbed. "Probably a side-effect of coming out of the ice after so long," I suggested. That was sure to muddle up someone's brain.

"Yes,"  he said. Nevertheless, he shovelled the food down and passed back the plate.

"Hey, I'm sorry about your living conditions and everything, but I've got to go," I said, getting to my feet. He nodded, unaffected.

"Thank you for the food," he said before laying back again. I nodded and left, mind running a million miles an hour. I gave the dirty plate to a worker who was walking past and walked away. He could take care of it.

Instead, I made my way to the garage, found my car and got in. I rested my head against the headrest. My old, beaten up four-wheel-drive was my baby. It had been my first car and hadn't let me down... much. I turned the keys and the engine turned on. I smiled, brought up the address for the hospital, and drove.

It only took about twenty minutes to reach the hospital, and when I did, I didn't go in for another ten. I was worried that someone would recognise me even with the blonde wig. When I worked up the courage, I stepped out, locked the door and shoved my hands into my pockets.

The view inside the doorway was practically blinding. White, clinical walls and the smell of hand sanitiser assaulted my senses. I blinked and held back a cough. An array of people littered the waiting room. Some crying, some sniffling from colds, some silent. Some were nursing various appendages and some were coughing into handkerchiefs. I grimaced and walked towards the lady at the counter.

"Hello, how may I help you?" She asked with a bored expression. I smiled awkwardly and put my hands on the desk.

"Hi, uh, yeah. I'm here to see Maya Patel," I said, looking away from the lady slightly. She started typing on her keyboard.

"Are you immediate family?" She asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Yeah, she's my... sister," I responded. I bit my lip, hoping she wouldn't catch the lie. Her eyebrows furrowed for a moment but then uncreased.

"She's in room 22B," the receptionist said, glancing towards the map on the wall to my right. I nodded, thanked her, and turned to the map. I searched the extensive map for the right floor. After I found it, I set off down the hall.

"Maya Patel," I read the name tag on the door to myself. I took a deep breath and pushed the squeaky door open. I winced at the noise but continued into the room anyway. The door swung shut behind me and I glanced at it quickly before looking back at the bed in the middle of the room.

The first thing I noticed was the repetitive beeping of the heart monitor. I took a deep breath.

"Who are you?" Asked a timid, Indian-accented voice. I spun to the source, heart beating quickly. I hadn't been expecting her to be awake.

"Who are you?" She asked again, panic in her voice.

"It's okay, I'm not here to hurt you," I said reassuringly. The machine beat a little faster.

"Who are you?" She asked again, confusion creasing her brow. Her fists curled the sheets.

"I'm, uh, you don't know me."

"Yes, I know that. That's why I asked," she said, sitting up in her bed. I looked at her for a second and bit my lip, thinking profusely about my answer.

"Look, I was there when you got shot. I asked the police for your name and I came to see if you were alright," I said quickly. Technically, I had been there the day she was shot, but how I got her name was a complete lie. I'd googled entrants with gun shot wounds and searched until I found the right one.

"Oh, right," she said, calming slightly. "How'd you get in? I thought they were only letting family members through," she accessed. I smiled.

"I told them I was your sister."

She grinned, making my own smile grow.

"So, uh, Maya, right?" I checked. I already knew the answer but I asked anyway.

Yeah, that's me," she responded.

"How are you doing? I brought you some cookies," I chuckled, placing the bag of biscuits onto her lap. She smiled at me and opened them. For someone who was just given home-made food by a stranger, she seemed awfully trusting.

"I'm okay, actually. I'm going to have a nasty scar on my belly but aside from that, I should be good," she said around a mouthful of biscuit. "An interesting story for my children someday," she added.

"That's excellent news!" I exclaimed happily.

"Yeah, I thought so too," she smiled. I was truly glad to hear that she wasn't going to die, or be seriously injured for the rest of her life.

We sat down for another half an hour or so and talked about the attack. She didn't know who I was and I planned to keep it that way. We discovered that we were both fans of the same shows and had similar interests. My phone rang about halfway through my sentence and I sighed and read the caller. It was Alexander. I looked up apologetically at her.

"What?" I asked into the receiver.

"We need you here, now," he seethed. My brows furrowed. What had happened?

"Why? What happened?" I asked, glancing from Maya to the door in my line of vision. She was listening quietly.

"Captain America. He escaped and has information that we need," he said, practically growling. I nodded even though I knew he couldn't see it.

"I'll be right there," I said, internally wishing that Rogers could have waited a few hours before trying to escape. Preferably until I was there to stop him. I sighed and ended the call and looked at the girl in the bed.

"Hey, uh, I'm sorry but I have to go. The Boss needs me," I said apologetically. She shook her head.

"It's fine. I do hope you'll come back though," she said, giving me a small smile. I nodded.

"For sure! I like you," I chuckled and so did she.

"I'll see you soon then," I smiled, heading for the door. She bid me goodbye and I closed the door behind me, heading back to the carpark to get to S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters. Had the woman I was responsible for becoming inured, becoming my friend? That wasn't exactly the outcome I had been expecting when I came here today but I'd take it.

Updated on the 10th of August, 2016.