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Chapter Text

Toile DeMarais didn't really enjoy the silence that had been building in intensity since the end of the group session, the thoughts on Sam Wilson's mind were clearly a little too... awkward to just blurt out. She'd initially assumed he meant to ask how she was doing as an amputee with the number of times he'd looked at the stump of her arm or her prosthetic legs throughout the session, no matter who was talking. It worried her, Sam was normally more respectful when it came to her losses, but today. It was different. 

The silence went on, punctuated with the clatter of the foldable chairs as they put them up, and it was grating on Toile's nerves. 

Step. Step. Clank.

Step. Step. Clank.

Step. Step. Step. Clank.

"Sam!" Toile exclaimed, trying to sound exasperated but coming across whiny, "You can only procrastinate your topic for so long, so, please. Just. Spit it out." She finished, grabbing her stump in an attempt to cross her arms and scowl at him.

Sam let out a strained chuckle and sat down on one of the last four or five chairs and motioned for Toile to sit across from him. He still hadn't said anything as she sat and moved her prosthetic to sit comfortably in her lap. 

"I wanted to talk to you about someone I'm dealing with, yeah?" Sam started, crossing his arms over his chest as Toile watched him, a tad uncomfortable about being sat where she was in the room, the door behind her. 

"Who?"

"You know I can't tell you that, Sugar." He teased, easing up a little, "He's a charity case, yeah? Been struggling to adapt to his prosthetic arm. Any advice?"

Toile almost laughed before looking at him seriously and frantically waving her little nublin around, "Sam! Sam! I have a question!" She stopped, the smile on her face slitting as she tossed her long black braid over her shoulder with said nublin, "Does it look like I have the experience to help?"

Sam made a pointed effort to look at her leg as he slowly said, "Yes," with the same mischievous grin on his face, white teeth stunning. 

Toile would be lying if she said Sam Wilson wasn't attractive. She'd also be lying if she said she wasn't interested in him, but that wasn't new and Toile was 99% sure it was a case of Lust at first sight. 

The young ex-marine gave a small sigh of indignation, uncrossing her legs and leaning back, "How sophisticated is his prosthetic?"

"Stark Tech."

Toile scoffed, only a little bitter. She hadn't been able to afford the high-grade Stark prosthetics, but she wasn't going to complain, she had something had functioned for agile movement and something for looking sophisticated (not that she'd actually worn it since her last fitting).

"Well, something he can do to get himself familiar with it is just going something that requires fine motor skills." She suggested, "Puzzles would work well, I guess. Fine motor skills and they require a fair amount of focus to stop any unsavoury thoughts about using the prosthetic?" She added as she started tapping her 'Foot' against the lino flooring.

"I didn't do something quite so delicate with my leg but I feel like that's the hands equivalent of hiking."

Sam was nodding slowly, looking far too serious for anyone's good. 

"Or just tell him to jack off with it, that could make him awfully familiar with it." She teased, smirking from ear to ear as Sam choked on his laughter and glared up at the Vet. 

"Oh, looks like I don't need to ask you how you've been doing, Little shit."

"Oh, Mr Wilson, that's awfully unprofessional of you!"

"Zip it, Nubbly." He laughed and got up, pulling Toile up as well, "Come on, let's get this place cleared up and we can go do that run that you've been waiting for." He teased as they moved about, putting the last of the chairs away.

"Oh, what made you think that?"

"You're wearing your running leg?"

"I hate you sometimes, Wilson."

"No, you don't."

"Yeah, I do."

"Liar."

The two of them had finished clearing up after a little while and made their way out the door, Toile pulling on her vandalised Army jacket with a little help from Sam. She didn't need that help but who would pass up the opportunity. Sam made sure to tut at her for having shortened and sewn up the right sleeve of her jacket but after a short reminder that she didn't need the sleeve anymore he fell suspiciously silence. 

The first half of the walk to Sam's favourite coffee shop was silent, beside the soft click of Toile's crutch. She'd been lacking in the leg department for about two years, but she still didn't quite trust herself in the prosthetic, especially under the pretence that she didn't get it until a year or so into being an amputee. She was lucky that the prosthetic she was wearing was one she was familiar with and there for a little more stable in. 

"You okay, Sugar?" Sam queried, looking down towards were the shoeless curve of the running foot pressed against the concrete as they waited for the light to turn red. 

"Yeah, why?"

"You're looking a little more pensive than normal." He said nonchalantly as they made their way across the road. Toile thought a little more for a second before shrugging.

"Honestly just wondering why I didn't leave my crutch in your car..."

"Cause your prosthetist said you should use your crutchES if you started feeling rubbing?" Sam said in the scolding sort of manner he normally did when Toile did something that he heavily disapproved of. Like ignoring her prosthetist or being too down about her lack of limb. 

"Shush, Sam, it's not rubbing anymore than it normally does." She hummed happily, pushing the door to the coffee shop with the nublin of her arm and smiling to Rachelle behind the counter as Sam lead her to the back table by the fire exit that they almost always took why they came by. The shorter woman sat and had to stop herself from tugging her leg a little, a habit, a bad habit, that she'd picked up to test how well the prothesis was secured.

Sam chuckled lightly, "Right, Iced Irish with two shots of Espresso, yeah?"

"That's it, Gov." Toile hummed as she pulled her phone from her crutch bag, scrolling through the inane posts on Twitter and stifling a few snickers at the Amputee meme's she found along the way. 

Five minutes had passed and Toile glanced up, chewing her lip as she set her phone on the table and looked around the coffee shop. They'd been there a hundred times since her recovery began and Wilson had started being her chauffeur when he wasn't off saving the world with Captain America. That little fact. That didn't stop the sudden panic when she realised she was alone, without a weapon, in a place surrounded by people who could hurt her. Who would hurt her?

Breathe. Breathe. She had to remember to breathe. The panic would pass. She may have been off by an arm and a leg but she could still through a punch. Sam had made sure she could defend herself, not only cause of his possible endangering her with his company, but also because of moments like that one.

Where Toile DeMarais, Survivor of two amputations and a stone-cold badass under most circumstances, was curled up on an old wooden chair in an old, crappy coffee shop, shaking like it was below zero and she was without a coat. It was moments like that one where her dog tags, where they rested against her sternum, bit like acid against her skin.

Breathe. Breathe. It wasn't her voice in her head. She could never pull together one coherent thought when she was like this, her thoughts a rambling jumble of 'He's out to get you' 'You should run' 'You're not safe' 'Why are you still there' 'Get OUT'. It was Sam's voice. Smooth. Calm. Breathe. Breathe. 

She focused on that thought. Those little memories of Sam holding her hand in his car at her first VA meeting, while she was hounded by the sounds and the smells and sights, and telling her there it was okay. She was safe. 

She breathed. Not just to stop the spasming of her lungs but to take in the smell of the air around her. Smoke. Smoke. Not Smoke. Coffee. Warm, harsh and bittersweet. She closed her eyes, to stop her brain tricking her into 'Everyone's looking at you' and 'you're missing something', so she could focus on the sounds. It was overwhelming in the best way. The loud grind of coffee beans. The chatter of older people and teens. The incoherent white noise music on the Tv that hung next to the counter. The whirl of the steamer, frothing and heating milk. 

She started tatting her foot to that beat. The faint one that pumped from the few small speakers around the room. 

It wasn't new music. It was old. Real Old but it made her smile with that swing.

Hit the Road, Jack,

Don't you come back,

No more, no more, no more, no more.

"You did well," Sam said, voice soft by her ear before she opened her eyes to see him set her cold coffee in front of her as he settled into his seat across from her, his back to the door and from the way he glanced over his shoulder he was nearly as... concerned as she was. 

"Why did you help me?" Toile's voice was a squeak but she didn't care. She didn't feel betrayed as she felt alone. 

"Toile. You're a grown-ass woman, You don't need my help to do something you've been doing since you were born."

The woman in question stifled a laugh, knowing what he was about to say and silently thanking him as she took a deep pull on her drink.

"Breathe." Sam teased, nudging her knees with his as he smiled over his coffee, "You know I'm proud of you right?"

Toile scoffed back a laugh, "Thanks, Dad." She joked and winked at him over her own drink. She didn't realise how dry her mouth or throat had gotten before she drowned that driness in that sweet, cold and thick drink.

"I mean it, Toile. You've come so far in just a couple short years. I know guys who come to the group from Vietnam who still aren't as together as you are on their best days." Sam said matter-of-factly as he took a slow drink from his steaming cup.

"Just means I've seen less shit than them, yeah?" Toile mumbled and hoped he'd get the hint that after that little panic she really didn't feel all too 'Accomplished' in her 'progress' and that she didn't feel like talking all too much about the situation. 

"Jesus, Sugar... Give yourself some credit. A lapse is a lapse, it happens. If the all-mighty Captain America can have lapses then I think the little folk like us can as well. It's human." 

The little woman didn't bother to argue. She knew Sam well enough to know he didn't back down from these kinds of things. She set down her cup, moving her hair over to her handy shoulder and untied the braid, setting the tie on the table. The least she could do to distract herself from her troubles was to fix her messy braiding from the day before. It wasn't too hideous, but it wasn't too pretty to look at either. 

"You ignoring me now, Nubbly?"

"Yes."

"Right. Okay." Sam said a little playfully, "So, One coffee, I'll drive you home and be on my way then? See you in a few days for the next meeting?"

"Is your charity case gonna be there?"

"No... Not quite... You really wanna meet him?"

"Well, I found that when I lost my... All of it. It was good to talk to someone who'd been there before and was proof that losing a limb wasn't really equal to losing your life." Toile admitted with a shrug as though her little confession wasn't something most people just didn't understand. She sipped her cold drink and stirred it with her spoon, watching as the white foam melting into the pale brown fluid.

Sam seemed to be in his own little world for a while, though Toile didn't mind. It meant a little interlude of silence for her to think a little. It wasn't much, just to acknowledge the way the little boy a few tables away was poking at his leg then glancing back to Toile's mechanical one. She smiled at him, before fighting off a yawn. She was drained, though not from the time. It was hardly midday. The tiredness was more than definitely from her little panic. They always left her a little drained.

"What the hell," Sam mumbled under his breath, leaning over his coffee to speak softly, "Alright, but you're sleeping over with me at the Avenger's Compound." He grinned from ear to ear as Toile almost poured her cold coffee over her mustard yellow shirt, floundering for words.

"I'm sorry... What?!"

Chapter Text

"Sam, no." 

"Sam, Yes." He corrected as he leant back into his seat, "You wanna meet him, you come and sleepover with me."

Toile was a little short of words if she was being honest, but then again, she had a reason. She knew Sam worked with the Avengers, He'd told her as soon as Captain America showed up on his doorstep in the middle of the day, battered and covered in soot. Did the fact she knew about it all change her opinion on him? No. Did she ever expect to meet any of them? No. Not at all. 

The ex-marine did a quick run over of who of the Avengers could possibly need her assistance with adapting to prosthetics. Not Tony Stark, Not Colonel Rhodes, Not Steve Rogers, Not Natasha Romanoff. 

It hit her like a truck.

"James Barnes."

Sam laughed that stiff little laugh he had for times he felt uncomfortable or called out. Toile had to take a few breaths. It made sense. Barnes wouldn't be used to his prosthetic in a more domestic sense having really only used it in a less... savoury situation. There was a moment of silence as though neither of them wanted to confirm it before Toile spoke up again.

"Alright." She hummed calmly before taking a slow drink from her cold coffee, "Can we drop by my place so I can pick up my go-bag?" 

Sam's shoulders relaxed and he chuckled, a little more genuinely this time, "You know... It's not a good sign that you still keep a go-bag?" 

"It's convenient."

"Okay, Sugar." Sam smiled at her, shaking his head a little, "You're one of the only people who would agree to work with the Winter Soldier..." 

"Well, I'm one of the only friends you have, so I couldn't let you be hopeless." Toile hummed, finishing her drink in a few more pulls before she picked herself up, pulling her crutch under her left arm and looked at him, "Come on then." 

Toile knew that her eagerness was showing, but she didn't mind too much. The idea of walking into the Avengers' Compound and meaning the people that Sam did not shut up about? Thrilling. That was something that she never guessed would have happened and yet. It was going to. She was going to. 

"Alright, alright, Nubbly, come on." Sam laughed as he finished the last dregs of his coffee, getting up and checking that everything that they brought with them was leaving with them as well.

The walk back to the centre felt way longer than the walk to the coffee shop, though this time there was no silence to be awkwardly held between them. This time Toile was rambling off questions that, really, half of them were non-sense and the other half were benign and not quite useful to either of them. 

She asked what they'd be doing that evening and overnight during the sleepover, stating candidly that her nightmares had been worse over the last few days and she wouldn't want to wake him up with her screaming. She was thankful he only gave her an understanding look before answering with a simple 'movie night'.

She asked whether or not she should bring her hand wrap, and when answered with a 'Why' she explained in a rambling manner that if she was going to be spending twenty-four hours in the Avenger's Compound, she was going to be making the most of the time there.

Sam couldn't deny that it made him happy to see her so excited. 

He remembered when they'd first met. When he'd seen her in the group meeting, sitting in the group of fifteen or so Vets, bound to a wheelchair, eyes cold and sad as she stared blankly through him. The woman next to her had been trying to get her to open up. Get her to thaw. It was after that session that Sam had tried to do the same. Her nurse had warned him not to expect much. She was right, the broken girl hadn't given him more than a weak mimic of a smile and a shrug as he'd handed her his number.

It was a month after that little meeting that she'd texted him. He could still tell you exactly what it said.

'Hi, Wilson. Txtig w/o a arm is hard. Cofe?'

It still shocked him that It hadn't been more than two years and she was already up, walking, smiling and talking about it. He'd said it in the coffee shop but he was proud of her. That much he couldn't lie about. 

"Alright, Nubbly, What's the plan?" He asked with a spring in his step, ignoring the fact he'd cut her off, as they approached the centre. His chevy was parked in the employee parking, less than a few yards from the door, which had proved very beneficial when Sam had started being Toile's lift into the VA after the amputee's nurse had been politely told to fuck off.

By the Amputee.

"Well, Robin," She started with a smirk, knowing how Sam hated those 'Batman' dollar store Comics, "Plan is, to my place to get my stuff, to your place to get your stuff to Narnia for the Adventure of a lifetime!" She grinned at him and laughed with him as he helped her into the car. 

"Sounds good." Sam agreed as he tossed himself into the driver's side, before covering his face, "Huh, we didn't do that run, did we?" 

"It's alright, but you gotta introduce me to Captain America instead."

"I think I can do that."

The round trip to Toile's two-bed bungalow, then to Sam's house was less than an hour. That was fine. Toile wasn't too fussed at that time gap. Then. The worst happened.

"And now, the four-hour drive to the compound," Sam stated as he pulled out of his driveway and onto the roadway, looking over at Toile as she sat in the passenger side. She must have heard him wrong. There was no way he'd said four hours, right? No way.

"How long?"

"To be precise? Four hours and 35 minutes." He said calmly, "Want me to put on music?"

"I would rather eat monkey brain."

"Ah. Okay. Well." Sam said with a grin on his face, "I'll wake you when we get there."

"Better," Toile replied, trying to keep the bitterness from her face as she removed her prosthesis and liner, a little disgusted with the amount of sweat and briefly apologising to Sam as she wiping her residual limb dry, trying not to focus on the mottled and marbled scar tissue as she patted her nubbin free of moisture. She pulled on her compression sock and set her supplies back into her leg bag before she curled into her seat, hoping she could have a dreamless sleep for the duration of the journey. 

She jinxed it. She had to have. 

It was hot. Dry heat.

The Sun was beating down on them as they walked.

Boots on the sand.

Sand in Boots.

Someone Shouting. A familiar voice

An explosion. Echoing, loud, So hot.

Screaming. So much Screaming. Someone screaming orders. Some people just screaming. No words

Toile was screaming for help. Someone had to help her. She didn't want to die like this.

Pain. Burning pain that tore through her right side with no end. 

She jolted awake to bright light, Sam stood on her other side, the car door open as he held her in his arms, mumbling 'I've got you' over and over again. Holding her even as she thrashed to push him off of her. To get away from the noises. 

"You're okay, sugar, I've got you. You're home." His voice was fuzzy and warbled. The sound of gunfire seemed so much more real than him, even though she could see him, feel his arms around her and feel the warmth of his breath on her shoulder. 

"Breathe." There it was. There he was. Coming into focus, the sounds of battle and war fading into the background before disappearing completely. As the focus came, the panic stopped. The thrashing stopped. 

The tears started. She sobbed as they fell. 

She'd heard stories of how other Vets would feel numb when they came around. Would feel tired.  She couldn't relate to those stories. If she was being deadly honest, when she came around she always felt broken. Maybe because in the worst way she was. But that wasn't something she really cared about. Her being 'broken' was something that she'd come to terms with a year or so ago. Now it was time to get up, brush off the dust and keep marching.

Through staggered breaths and blurry eyes, Toile looked up at Sam and threw on her best smile, "I'm okay. Are we there yet?" She asked as though she wasn't still in tears and she wasn't shaking like an autumn leaf in the wind.

Sam saw through it. He always did and she knew that but she appreciated the soft, honest smile on his face and his shrug, "Not yet. About an hour out yet." He said as he pulled away, making sure she was steady in her seat. She looked about and realised they must have been at a service. It was the one place she could think of that had a gas station, a McDonald's and a Bookstore so closely crammed together, especially an hour from no-where. 

"Thought we could pull in for some food before the rest of the journey, yeah?" He suggested, tilting his head towards the fast-food place. The idea of greasy, fattening food brought a grin to Toile's face and all she could do was nod before she found her words again, seemingly calmer. 

"Could you get my crutches from the boot?" She asked, looking down at her little leg nublin, waving it at Sam playfully as he rolled his eyes and ducked around the car. The brief moment alone allowed her to collect herself, wipe the water from her eyes and work on that award-winning smile of hers. Oh and the even import job of putting her leg back on. 

Toile had just put herself together as Sam rounded the car, holding her crutch, "Ready to hop, little rabbit?" he asked and helped her out of the car onto her legs, smiling at her. She took the crutch and arranged herself, pulling her back onto her shoulder before nodding.

"Let's go, Birdbrain."

Their food trip didn't last too long, just long enough for the both of them to scoff down a big mac each and fill the tank. With that, they were back on their way to the compound, this time with the radio blasting bad eighties pop music as the two of them shouted along with the lyrics, neither of them really possessing the voice to sing.

The hour to the compound felt like ten minutes, the two of them laughing and joking as though nothing had happened. Toile didn't mind. She'd quite happily let that be the case. 

Let the world believe everything was okay.  

Parking at the Compound was something that she found fascinating. Not the aspect of parking, that was the same tedium of finding a spot and parking into it, then realising you weren't in the lines properly so you pull out and park again, only to be marginally better. 

What Toile found fascinating was the building. 

Again, not the parking building, that was just a series of tarmac floors and ramps and concrete pillars. Toile was fascinated by the actual compound. From in front, it was a brick of a building, constructed with metal slates and beams and glass, but from the side, from inside the hideous parking building, it was a labyrinth of sections and rooms, all walled in glass, some with metal binds pulled over the outside and some with blacked-out windows. 

The grounds were just as impressive, a large span of green grass, dotted with trees and bushes, making the sparse land look more lived in, more lively. 

Once Sam's car was parked, he got out, snagging their bags and assisted Toile out of the car as well before walking with her to the compound. Sam had been there many times. Had shown pictures of the exterior to Toile. Being there? It was a completely unique experience and Toile was excited. She had to stop herself from bouncing on the ball of her foot as Sam buzzed in to let them in. 

"Sam, that you?" Steve Rogers' voice was the voice that sounded over the buzzer and that was incredible to Toile. The Man. The Myth. The Popsicle. Captain America. 

"Yeah, man, it's me. I brought a friend, that alright?"

"Well, too late to say no now, huh? We're in the commons." Steve Rogers laughed from beyond the buzzer before the door clicked and Sam pulled it open, allowing Toile, star-struck as she was, to walk into the foyer of the compound. 

Toile stood, with her crutch under her arm, gripped firmly and her jacket sitting snug around her nubbin, and she was suddenly very aware of her flaws. Of her Weaknesses, as she stood on the same floor walked by men above men and literal gods. 

"Blackbird to Raven, You there?" Sam laughed as he waved his hand in front of Toile's face, watching as she gasped and smiled up at him.

"Raven to Blackbird, copy." She teased, "Come on Birdbrain, you still gotta introduce me to the Capsicle."

"Sometimes, I realise how much like Stark you sound and in those times. I really do hate you." He teased and patted her shoulder, "Let'sa Go, Mario."

Chapter Text

The 'Commons' was in a completely different part of the building where the entranceway was. That being said, sam knew more than a few shortcuts so the both of them wouldn't have to walk as much. He'd thought that it would be easier for Toile so go the short way through the training room and the cafeteria. 

Toile thought that Sam's insistence on the shortcut was patronising and was therefore determined that she could and would walk to the commons the proper way. She became even more determined when Sam exclaimed that it wasn't that interesting and it was just corridor after corridor. 

So that's why they were there, with Toile on Sam's back, her arm around his neck and his hands on the back of her knees, the both of them laughing as he jogged through the hallways towards the commons. He wasn't going to tell her that he could have gotten her a wheelchair when she'd started complaining about being tired. 

She wasn't going to tell him that she hadn't been tired.

When Sam rounded the archway into the commons, still laughing and joking with his piggyback, he noticed how silence fell over the people inside. He caught eyes with Steve as he turned away from talking with Clint and Nat, sat leant forward towards the coffee table. The table itself was covered in finger foods, but that wasn't new, Stark was never one to skimp on snacks.

The two newcomers went quiet at the same time, Toile calmly removing herself from Sam's back, pulling her crutch back into its place under her arm. She didn't want to come out from hiding behind Sam. He made a great cover nearly a foot taller than her and broad enough to hide her.

"Hey, Steve," Sam said casually, picking himself up as Barton chuckled to himself before retrieving an elbow in the ribs from his female companion.

"Hey Sam, You okay there?"

"Yeah," He hummed as he stepped aside with a flourish, "My friend, that I mentioned."

Toile was shocked frozen, before quickly looking from Sam to Captain America, to Sam. She shook herself out of the stupor as much as she could and waved her nublin without thinking.

"Hi, I'm Friend."

Toile hated herself the minute the words left her mouth but they were out there and There was no taking them back. The second everyone realised what she'd said they were laughing, Sam included, pulling Toile into a hug and laughing over her shoulder as she mumbled 'Toile' and 'Hi, I'm friend' over and over with increasing embarrassment through her laughter.

"Wanna try that again?" Sam offered and Nat nudged Clint to shut him up as Steve brought his head up from where he'd been laughed and resetting his position.

Sam pulled away and gave her two thumbs up that only made Barton laugh again before his pain response kicked into Nat stamping on his foot.

"Okay, Retake- Hi, I'm Toile DeMarais. Also known as Friend apparently." 

"Steve Rogers." Captain America said as he stood up, "Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton." He introduced, pointing to each of them before offering his hand to shake.

He probably didn't even think about it. Or hadn't realised she was really unequipped to accept the handshake. Toile spent a moment, looking at the outstretched right arm of the man who won the second world war. The moment of waiting went unnoticed by everyone but Sam who barely masked the discomfort on his face. 

Toile held out her left hand, "Starting off on the wrong hand, Captain." She said with a soft smile, almost laughing as he fumbled around to correct himself, mumbling sorry repeatedly as he shook her hand without much conviction.

Toile had to admit to herself, that she felt bad. He probably didn't realise what he was doing. She knew that she'd done it more than enough times just after she came. Always putting the wrong arm forward.

"Sorry." She said calmly, catching Rogers off guard as she cut into his apologies. She grinned up at him and shrugged, "It was an honest mistake, I didn't mean to make a deal of it." She said and Sam patted her back.

"Come on, let's get you set up in my room, yeah?" he suggested in an attempt to get her and Steve out of this incredibly awkward conversation. Toile gave him a thankful smile and nodded quickly.

"Check." She affirmed and stretched, noting the confusion in Nat and Clint's face, before remembering what she'd read about them. No military time. "That works." She hummed and leant into her crutch, "Lead the way."

The walk from the commons to Sam's reserved room wasn't that far when you factored in the time cut out from the use of the elevator, it felt even shorter with the two of them messing around and chatting about what they'd be doing, deciding the movies they wanted to see. After the ten minutes of discussion on the way to the room, they'd decided that they'd watch the good old-fashioned animated Disney movies. 

Toile had almost screamed in excitement, bouncing on her leg when Sam had mentioned that he had the 1961 animated 101 Dalmations on Dvd. It had been among her favourite movies since her squadmate, Matthew Henner, had forced her to see it, during the break about their first-year deployment. 

Sam must've guessed where her train of thought was when she'd fallen silent cause he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to his side, almost making her stumble, "You there, Toile?" He questioned with a light tone, looking down at the ex-marine. Toile gave him a thumbs up.

"Yeah, I'm alright Sammy." She hummed and he continued their line of conversation, acting like the silence had never happened and Toile's heart clenched as they pulled up to his room, thankful for this wonderful man. 

The inside of Sam Wilson's Compound room was spartan, clearly not used often, though that could be from no sleep, or the fact he still owned and clearly used his house. His room was furnished with a basic single bed, dark grey sheets made flat with hospital corners, his towels over the end of the bed.

A flat-screen was on the opposite wall over the top of a chest of drawers, a metal stool was sat in front of a door at the end of the bed. There was a pang of nostalgia in her heart as Sam pointed out that the door was to the head where there was a shower as well as a tub. 

After the little information, Sam pulled a foam bedroll from under the bed before pulling their bags in its place. "Which do you want?" He asked pointing from between the mattressed bed and the foam roll was he was holding. 

"I'll take the roll." Toile hummed and pulled off her jacket, folding it and setting it on top of the drawers before taking the roll and setting it out, thanking Sam when he handed her a pillow, from the airing cupboard, and politely declining when he offered her a blanket. It wasn't too cold at nights so she didn't exactly see the need for it.

She made sure she was set up by the bed, though far enough away that she wouldn't impede Sam getting up. That same nostalgia for her time after Bootcamp hit her. Sure, She'd been hazed- sorry 'Motivated'- but who hadn't? Especially as a fresh. 

"Toile, are you okay? Honestly?"

Sam's voice sounded a million miles away and Toile answered with honesty. "I don't know." She admitted, looking up at him from where she'd laid on her bedroll already, "I'm getting little flashback memories of my first deployment and before." She stated, looking away from him, "Henner, Jacobs and Me kicking around a soccer ball before a recon mission outside the wire... I don't really remember when We'd stopped." She laughed a little weakly. "The obstacle course in Bootcamp, and watching Henner fall on his ass off the ladder climb followed by twenty burpees."

Sam laughed, "Your Drill Sergeant made you all do Henner's punishment?"

"No, I volunteered for his punishment of fifteen." She answered, looking up at him again. He looked contemplative, looking at his calloused hands. Toile and he hadn't served together. He got out before she did but he had similar memories. He remembered downtime with Riley before and after runs, remembered his time in Bootcamp. 

"Hey, get up." He said a little harsher than he'd meant to and watched as Toile pushed herself into a sitting position, then into a kneel before forcing her legs under her, her prosthetic foot leaving a little indent in the foam. She had that look. The look that ex-military get when given an order. That blank, listening stare.

Sam pushed himself up and laughed, "At ease, soldier." He patted her shoulder, "Come on, I think we both need to de-stress." He said and pulled their bags, snagging his work-out clothes and smiling at Toile as she gave a little sheepish smile before pulling her our work out kit. Knuckle Wrap, shorts, sports bra and a shoe. 

"You wanna use the sandbag?" Sam asked and Toile laughed.

"Dumbass question, Sam, you know me." She laughed. 

"Still got a sucky right hook." Sam laughed as they started walking from his room to the training area, which was, unfortunately, downstairs, so they'd have to take the elevator again, not that Toile minded. The easier things were on her leg, the better. 

Toile gave Sam a look that was the definition of 'if looks could kill, you'd be dead', before the both of them burst out into laughter, "Fuck off, Wilson."

"Make me."

"Dick."

"Cripple."

"Ouch."

The journey to the Training room was just longer than the trip from the commons room to Sam's quarters, but that didn't matter, the two of them making idle conversation about Sam's work at the VA and as an Avenger, about Toile's life now that she had mobility. They didn't really need the quiet that came over them as they approached the door of the training area.

Toile didn't really need the apprehension that hit as Sam was about to open the door.

She didn't really need to move behind him as the catch clicked open.

Sam did pretend to not notice is as he walked in, immediately acknowledging the few people in there already, "Rhodes, Stark." He said a little calmly and waved as he walked in. Toile followed in behind him, looking at the two men where they were talking in the large sparring area, barely looking up to wave at the two of them. 

The two of them didn't plan to be in the training room for very long. Then again, things don't always go as planned. 

Sam and Toile were in that training room for going on three hours, laughing and panting, talking and joking as they worked out. 

That was until Sam decided that was too long for even him, let along Toile. He wouldn't say that. He valued their friendship too much to even whisper those words that so easily implied that she was weaker than him. That she was incapable because she was missing her arm. And her leg.

"Come on, Toile. I'm starved." He whined all of a sudden, slumping over a bench like a child and looked up at her with wide puppy dog eyes and grinning when she laughed, slowing her treadmill to a stop before hopping off with an obvious limp. Sam's heart stopped as she almost fell, tripping over her own leg. He didn't think he'd ever moved faster, vaulting the bend and catching her. 

"Yeah, I think that's enough of that." She laughed out loud, holding onto his shoulders, "I think. Showers, food, movies?"

"Deal." Sam agreed and picked her up, "You gonna be okay in the showers?" He asked as a genuine question. He'd helped her before. Admittedly, he'd been in trunks and she'd been in a bikini, for modesty's sake but if she needed him to suck it up and help her-

"I'll be fine." Toile said with a smile, "Just listen for the scream." She said, this time without the smile a grave undertone in her voice. 

Sam nodded and set her on the bench in a shower stall, thankful that it was shared shower rooms as he closed her curtain and moved two stalls down to shower for himself. 

Toile hadn't thought really any of this through, having slipped off her leg, her work out gear with relative ease, hopped to the shower and sit on the bench there as the water came down. That was the easy bit. Showering. Everything can be cleaned with one hand. Sometimes with a little issue, but it's possible.

Once the cleaning and the drying were over. She managed to put her t-shirt, her little nublin sticking out of the sleeve, pink scars and (worst, in Toile's opinion) the angry red scars left by surgery on view for the world. She also managed to put on panties after some kind of struggle, that- although frustrating and embarrassing- feels like it should be mentioned. The scarring on her leg was worse. Not only the surgical scars but the actual scars from the blast. She swallowed her anxiety and reached for her liner. 

She stopped herself on instinct when she felt out the silicon was damp. It hadn't been in the water with her. She gave out a tired groan, rinsed it off in the small sink before putting it into a plastic bag to store in the top of her leg before she pulled on joggers, rolling up the legs until they sat behind her knees. That little lesson had been taught to her by her prosthetist. Never put back on a sweaty liner. It caused sores, rashes. Nothing good came from a bad liner and leg.

Once she was dressed to the point that she could be, everything bar her shoes, Toile looked about and gave a reluctant sigh. She was hopeless. No crutches, the inability to put on her leg? She supposed she could hop back to the room but that would put her good leg in risk. Normally she would just hop it. Her shower was less than four metres from her bed at home. But now she was on a strange land and vulnerable.

"Sam!" 

"You alright?" Sam's voice was almost instantaneous behind her's and her head beat a little faster, not just from the embarrassment of having to say that she was legless in a shower stall.

"Physically, Almost, I can't do my leg, Liner's damp."

"No Factor, gimme a sec."

"Copy."

When Sam was finished his shower, he dragged on his clothes as quickly as possible, tossing his bag over his shoulder and jogged to Toile's stall, pulling the curtain back with a smile, "Taxi for Toile DeMarais?"

"That'sa Me!" Toile grinned and pulled up her arm and nublin, the foot of her leg sticking up out of the top of her back where it hung on her back. Sam sucked in a laugh and picked her up, smiling when she clasped onto his front like a little Koala. "You're a lifesaver," Toile added and smiled up at him. Sam smiled to hide his heart skipping, moving her up a little so his head could rest on her shoulder and he could see where he was going on the way to the Kitchen. 

Toile may or may not have panicked a little on the way to the kitchen, having assumed, that since she was lacking two legs (albeit that one of them wasn't real), they were going back to the room so she could sit and be useless while her Bipedal could run around like an errand boy for sustenance and her own entertainment.

Once she figured out where they were going, she relaxed a little and held onto her ride, her leg nublin bent and pressing into his left kidney (Not satisfactory) and her stubby arm, resting pointlessly on his left shoulder. 

Sam didn't mind. It wasn't comfortable or easy to carry the veteran down the hallways, through the commons (which was thankfully empty) and up a flight of stairs into the open plan kitchen that looked over the common's area. The comfort didn't really matter though. 

"Food? Food... food..?" Toile mumbled incoherently, and Sam had to laugh at how clearly tired Toile was after the shower. He settled her down on a chair before he pulled away and got to making some food. He didn't really feel in the mood to make anything exaggerated but he could pull together a sandwich each for them.

"Sausages?" Toile mumbled and Sam laughed. Or sausages. He thought to himself and headed to the fridge, pulling a frying pan onto the oven and getting to making a super simple meal for both of them.

The food didn't take long to make and took less time to eat, but then again, that's the way it is most of the time, isn't it? 

Toile finished after Sam and they made their way back to the room to nap before they started their night of movies.

Chapter Text

A movie night is always something to look forward to. 

It may have not been a common occurrence for Sam or Toile but having the freedom to sit, with one of your best friends and just. Exist. To sit and laugh and exist with someone else was something that Toile overlooked before her time in the military. 

Now, as rare as it was, she enjoyed it. She sincerely enjoyed the time spent with the people she knew before her deployment and the friends she made during her recovery.

So, being sat on the floor of one of her best friend's rooms, in her PJs, talking and laughing as 101 Dalmations played on the TV in the background. Were they paying attention to the movie? No. Did they really care all too much? No. 

They talked about a date that Sam had been on. Something about one of the Vets from the group putting him up with his sister. They laughed as Sam teased about how incredibly well that went.

They talked about how Toile had been looking for some kind of job that would get her out of the house and moving. If Toile was being honest, they talked about that for longer than she was comfortable.

They laughed about how Steve Rogers, Captain America had fallen down the stairs (Albeit only three steps) like a senior citizen and cursed like a 90-year-old when Sam had laughed at them.

They made inside jokes thought their conversations, little ones, that petered out of existence in less than an hour, but made them crack up about it when it was relevant. 

The movie ended. 

They put on another. Disney, something they could sing along to in hushed tones now that the lights were out and it's be oh so rude to disturb their neighbours. That'd only been a real idea in their head when there were was a hard knock on the adjoining wall followed by a tired 'keep it down will ya'.

Both of them cuddled up, sleep pulling at them as they sat on the floor, back pressed firmly against the side of Sam's bed.

Eventually, the movie that they were barely watching was turned off, Sam pulling himself onto the bed and Toile curled up on the foam bedroll she'd borrowed for the night. 

Sleep wasn't fair behind them, even if Toile fought it as best she could, the fear of waking everyone up screaming clinging to her. After maybe half an hour of tossing and turning she became too exhausted to fight anymore and she sank into sleep. It was dark. Black seeping through her eyelids and Toile thanked whatever god there was that there were no nightmares.

No explosions, no screaming, no sandy plains and no pain.

Even without the nightmares, Toile was awake after only a few small hours. Her throat was parched, heart hammering in her chest and skin coated in cold sweat. Toile swallowed a cough as she worked her leg on. 

She was a grown woman. She was strong. She needed no man to fetch her water. She reminded herself of all of this as she limped, crutchless, to the kitchen. 

The short walk was a small victory and as Toile sat herself down in the commons, still a flight of stairs from water, she let out a long sigh. It felt good. She didn't care if any normal two-legger could have done it without even a second's thought.

Five minutes. She sat on that way too comfortable couch for five minutes. Breathing. Recouping before the climb.

In. Out. "Breathe," Sam said in the back of her mind and she listened, imbracing that memorable advice as she took breath by breath.

After those five minutes, Toile pulled herself up and made her way up the stairs. One step at a time, gripping the bannister in her hand as she pulled herself up. She gave out a small, pointless laugh halfway up. Her brain told her it was to alleviate the feeling of inadequacy. Her heart told her brain to shut the fuck up. 

Top of the stairs and Toile froze. 

Kitchen, Not clear.

Toile eyed the figure of the man, sat at the kitchen table, slowing moving a glimmering knife over a whetstone. A noise that she should have heard. The faint SHLIK of metal against stone. 

The figure was muscular, fair more than Toile, wearing a grey tank top and black sweats. Long hair was tied up into a bun behind his head, a few hairs over his face as he continued the task like he didn't know she was there. 

He did. There was a tension in his shoulders. A hard set his jaw and the sharp definition of the muscles in his back and shoulder-

Toile almost smacked herself. She'd been stood there for longer than 30 seconds and she'd only just noticed that his left arm was glistening. Not in the same way her forehead was. With sleep sweat. His arm was shining like metal. It would make sense. 

James Buchanan Barnes. 

The whole reason she was here and she just happened to meet him in the kitchen, at- A quick glance to the clock- 3:19 in the morning, while she was alone.

"You gonna stand there." His voice was something else. Low. Growling. It rocked her out her stupor and she shrugged, heading in as she tried to keep her cool.

"So you know where they keep the glasses?"

"Sit." James Barnes said with. Something. It sounded like he was trying to be soft and suggest that she sit and he'd do it for her. It came out as an order and Toile found herself in a seat before he could repeat himself.

It took everything in Toile not to answer his commander with 'Yes sir'

"What did you want?" He asked as he stood up, knife in his hand still as he walked over to the lines of cupboards.

"Just water."

Barnes nodded and skipped over the cupboards, grabbing a bottle from the fridge and opening it for her as he set it in front of her. There was silence as he settled in his seat again, returning to his task of sharping his knife. 

The two of them just sat in that silence. No-one said anything until Toile starting to find the almost complete silence (bar their breathing and the rhymic Shlik of knife on whetstone) unnerving.

"That a Ka-Bar?"

"Yes, Ma'am." His reply was robotic. Toile didn't mind. She'd sounded much the same after her deployment.

"You out-rank me, Sergeant." She said, "Lance Corporal Toile DeMarais."

"Sergeant James Barnes of 107th." He recited from memory, "Or so they tell me."

The two of them fell silent as they rested into that same almost silence. Every sip of water drowned her parched throat and soothed her burning skin. 

The silence lasted longer this time and it was Barnes who spoke this time. His voice was quiet and if Toile'd have breathed she would have missed it.

"Nightmares keep you awake?"

"I think so."

"You think?" It sounded like a snap but Toile had come to a conclusion that Barnes wasn't too friendly with people he didn't know. She'd take what she was giving and would thank whatever for this miracle of a conversation.

"Yeah. I don't remember the nightmare. But I got kicking Phantom Pains and Woke up all shaken."

"You tried Reflection Therapy?"

"Reflection Therapy?" Toile asked a little confused. She didn't recognise it, but then again, she didn't really enough research the things that caused her pain. Kinda a dumb ass thing, but she'd resigned herself to a life of meds and phantom sensation when her doctor had told her there really wasn't a cure for the pain. 

"Yeah," Barnes said and looked at her, straight on this time. Those tired blue eyes tearing into her own brown ones and she gave him an equally tired smile.

"You put a mirror to block your view of your residual limb. Look at the reflection of your other arm, move it and match the movements with your phantom hand?"

Toile gasped, "Mirror Therapy!" She said with an air of recognition, but the exclamation shocked Barnes, who in turn jumped and shocked Toile.

Silence fell again as they both just sat there, in the kitchen, way too early in the morning, and processed what was happening.

Barnes was looking at the woman in front of him. Lance Corporal DeMarais. The woman who was eyeing his face and his knife, like his was wound spring who could and would attack at any notice. He noted her arm. Or her residual limb. She'd lost less of an arm than him, but he supposed that didn't matter when you factored into her lack of a leg. 

He dragged his eyes over the blotched and streaked scar material at the end, taking in the sharp line of her surgery scars. There was a brief moment. 

A second. A second when they both took in each other's scars. Toile's gaze pulling over the long, thick, rope-like scars that burst from the end of his permanent prosthetic and across his chest, intersecting with old scars and angry and red under newer ones.

"Sorry," Toile whispered. Voice soft, shaky. "I'm sorry I made you jump."

"It's not your fault. You know how it is." Barnes mumbled. He was fumbling here. This was the longest conversation he'd have with someone who wasn't Steve, Natasha or Sam. He wasn't sure how these things went anymore. 

Did he say what was on his mind and find himself blurting out questions like 'how'd you lose your arm and leg, Lance Corporal?' 

Or did he hide it? Did he smile and laugh and joke? He did remember how to do that. He remembered from snippets of mission memories when he'd been ordered to attend little gala parties and flirt with a target to get information. He remembered little bits from his days before it all, laughing and joking with his sisters and Steve. 

That silence had come back.

It wasn't the same kind of silence he'd had with Sam. That tense expectation of conversation. Or the same kind of silence he'd had with Natasha. That sad noiseless-ness that let him know there was something to remember that he just couldn't.

It was the same kind of silence he had with Steve.

That soft silence. It didn't want anything, just to exist and to rest. No need for conversation, the silence was enough.

Another hour passed. Silence. Toile watched him sharpen his knife to the point of cutting paper. He watched her finish her water and watch him. He didn't blame her. There was a calm in sharping knives, that's why he did it. He was slowing working his way through his collection of blades as he tried to combat his sleepless nights. 

Toile was slowly falling asleep. There was nothing to do about it. She was slowly passing out, sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hand, watching the steady push and pull of Barnes's hands on the knife.

The woman could not tell you when she'd passed out. Barnes could. He could tell you exactly when her breathing had steadied out and she'd settled heavily into the palm of her hand. He could tell you when he silently slid his knife into its holder on his hip. He could tell you the exact time when he'd pulled her into his arms, almost scoffing at how little she'd struggled, before he shushed her silent. 

Barnes could also tell you the exact time he'd slipped into Sam Wilson's room, setting her gently on the bedroll on the floor, a fresh bottle of water next to her head. 

The Winter Soldier couldn't tell you what had possessed him to remove her leg, laying the liner on the top of the cabinet before he left, shutting the door so softly that he didn't think anyone could hear it. Let alone himself. 

It was the next morning when Toile came to that she really realised what had happened and her first reaction was embarrassment. Followed by Fear. Followed by more embarrassment. 

After the waves of emotions, Toile made her way into the bathroom, looking briefly at Sam in his bed, still passed out, as she pulled the stool from in front of the bathroom door into the bathroom, sitting it in the shower. Preparations for her showers always took longer than the actual event but it was worth it. better than sores and sweat rashes on already sensitive skin. 

The shower was 10 minutes. Cleaning her liner was 15 minutes, with drying and after that, she was getting dressed. That took a little longer. 

All in all, Toile was done with her morning routine but the time the clock hit 10. She felt a fear that was only ingrained in her through BootCamp. You wake up late, you get laps. You take too long in prep, you get push-ups. 

Luckily, all that was behind her. No more Drill Sergeants yelling because it was their job. No more motivation. Just. Life. Civvie life. 

Or at least today, it was like living with the Avengers, Whatever that entailed.