Steve hadn't had the guts to visit her again. He shouldn't have gone to that hospital room in the first place, so why would he go back? She clearly had no idea who he was and it was best if it stayed that way for as long as possible. He knew she'd find out eventually when one of his (hopefully) successful missions would end up with his face plastered all over the news.
The man out of time was afraid his presence would have a negative emotional effect on the girl, that just by being there long enough he would trigger a memory inside her to remind her of what had happened to her. According to her doctors, she couldn't remember those four days. Steve thought it was probably for the best. He'd seen enough people fucked up by their own traumas to know sometimes it was easier to just forget.
He hadn't told any of the Avengers about going to see her and decided he wouldn't. He didn't need any of them to lecture him about it.
Janie was still closely monitored by doctors and psychiatrists around the clock, even though she refused to speak to them about what (if anything) she recalled. She hadn't seen the familiar stranger since that night and almost a week later, she still couldn't shake the thought of him from her mind.
"You know that holding everything in isn't going to help you, right?" Dr. Johnson - her temporary psychiatrist - told her as he did his daily visit.
"No shit," Janie told him, "I just think people like you are full of what makes the grass grow green so I don't see the point in discussing things with you."
"And what would that be?" Johnson wondered.
"Horse shit." She crossed her arms and looked away, waiting until the man himself finally got up and left for the second time that day.
She didn't want to talk to some stupid psychiatrist about her problems. She wanted to heal up and get the hell out of this place as quickly as possible. She didn't need to discuss her issues with a psychiatrist, much less one getting paid big bucks to force people to open up about shit they didn't want to talk about.
Just as she was beginning to think she'd seen the last of the blonde stranger, a knock on her door shook her thoughts from the television screen above her bed. For a split second, Janie thought Dr. Johnson was back for more mental torture.
"You have a visitor, Janie." Miranda, her nurse said.
She liked Miranda. She was a small, stocky lady in her late 50s who wouldn't take shit from anyone. Her heart was in the right place.
Janie's breath hitched in her throat when that familiar blonde hair and those soft blue eyes came walking through the door, carrying another bundle of flowers under his right arm. He wore a thin jacket over his white t-shirt this time, but even through the extra layer of fabric, his muscles bulged, pulling the nylon taut over his arms.
"You're back," Janie sighed, "and there are more flowers."
"Yes ma'am," Steve said awkwardly as he watched the door close behind him, "of course."
"You were gone," Janie stated, "You're like Edward from Twilight."
"I'm sorry," Steve began to unwrap the bouquet slowly, careful not to tear off any leaves or prick his fingers with the thorns, "I was very busy. Who's Edward?"
"Never mind. I know what you mean. Lying here all day, trying to catch up on the latest episodes of Dr. Phil while getting poked and prodded by doctors and shrinks all day, is very tiring indeed. I haven't been able to catch a break from the hustle and bustle of this place."
Steve frowned at first, but when he saw the smile on Janie's lips, he relaxed.
"Sarcasm," Steve nodded, "Got it. Have you figured out who I am yet?" Steve asked as he picked the old bouquet out of the vase and tossed them in the trash can, anxiety rising quickly in his chest.
"No, but clearly you know who I am and I feel like I should know who you are as well. I keep thinking I might have hit my head on something or perhaps you're someone from my past, like, middle school or whatever, but nothing comes to me," She watched Steve walk into the bathroom with the vase and back out again, carrying fresh water inside, "you're just a stranger to me."
"How are you feeling?" He asked, avoiding eye contact with her for a moment while he arranged the flowers to fill out any gaps.
"Better, all things considered. Are you a shrink? Is that what this is? You're just here to get answers out of me? Is this a mental evaluation put together to see if I snapped during the... during what happened?" She narrowed her eyes, "Well?"
"Let's say for argument's sake I am," Steve began, "Would you talk to me?"
"Maybe," Janie bit her lip, "If you tell me who you are. I mean, probably not. I wouldn't get your hopes up if I were you, but you can give it a shot. I don't really like being kept in the dark. Literally and figuratively, if you know what I mean."
Steve set down the vase and wiped his hands on his jeans to get rid of the clammy feeling, before clearing his throat. He stuck out his hand and watched Janie's eyes travel towards it while he spoke, "I'm Steve."
Janie hesitantly reached for his hand. She frowned at this but didn't say anything. She'd never met anyone so polite before. He was so polite it was borderline creepy.
"Steve..?"
"Just Steve."
"Of course. Okay, Just Steve. So what do you do then? Are you a soldier? You could totally be, judging by your physique. I mean, it's impressive. And you're awfully polite." She swallowed thickly.
"You could say that, yes." He finally said after taking a moment to contemplate his answer. Technically, he wasn't lying. He just wasn't telling the complete truth, either.
"So you were indeed there when they found me," Janie realized, "That's how you know me, isn't it? Thank God. I thought I was suffering from long-term memory loss for a second. Did they send the army in to find me? Jesus, it's much worse than I thought. Now I kind of wish I could remember."
Steve didn't know what to say.
"Of course," Steve said quickly, "Your father was very worried about you, as were we all."
"He's the one who put me in this predicament to begin with, so let's keep him out of this," she paused, "but thank you. Not just for saving me, I mean for serving as well. I had a boyfriend in the navy when I just got out of high school. It never really worked out. He had some anger issues, but when he was happy, he was very nice. Too old for me, though."
Steve continued to tweak the flowers, re-positioning them so he wouldn't have to look at her anymore. He wanted to be honest, but words on the tip of his tongue failed to come. He should just say it before she found out some other way. A nurse would eventually make a comment about why Captain America kept visiting on the regular. He'd make the 5 o'clock news soon enough. Why couldn't he just fucking say it?
It dawned on him then. He was afraid. Afraid of how she'd perceive him if she knew. The sudden urge to dash rose up in Steve's gut like bile.
"I really have to go now," he said without warning, "I'm so sorry."
Dreams of men dressed in black, screaming profanities from mouths hidden by black masks haunted Janie every single night during her hospital stay. She tossed and turned as much as her broken body would allow her to, fighting off the images of cocked guns, knives with sharp, shiny blades, and a swinging light bulb hanging from a wire while she slept. She saw menacing eyes, boring holes into her soul while the men that invaded her dreams took turns interrogating her until she couldn't take it anymore.
She saw the heroic man dressed in blue who carried her through dark hallways in his arms. The white star on his chest illuminated the engulfing darkness that surrounded the two of them, while his azure eyes shone so bright she could hardly look at them. The only thing she could compare to the brightness of the star stuck in the dead center of his broad chest was dazzling snow in the winter, contrasting beautifully with the ocean blue of his tactical suit.
The unease crept back on her when she could no longer see him. He had vanished suddenly, disappearing in front of her very eyes as everything turned dark again. When she turned her head to the right, she could see him lying in the corner of the basement, crying out for help. Blood squirted from his chest, turning the white star a sickly shade of deep crimson. His eyes bore into her while he begged her to help him, demanding to know why she wouldn't come to his rescue as he'd done for her.
She saw wavy water pooling at her feet, bright blue like his eyes, and watched as it rose higher and turned red. She drowned in it, sputtering for air until her lungs burned. Then finally, she woke up, gasping for breaths she couldn't seem to find.
It was roughly the same nearly every night. She'd wake up in darkness, sweat covering her brow and the heart rate monitor she was attached to beeping furiously. Doctors had told her it was common for her to have nightmares, especially in the beginning with her body still trying to heal, not to mention the number of drugs they pumped through her system had a tendency to make dreams more vivid, but that didn't mean she had to like it one bit.
Because she didn't get much sleep at night, Janie found herself continuously tired throughout the day. All she did was lay around tossing and turning in bed, frustrated with how little she was allowed to do and more so, with how little she was able to do.
Apparently, she'd broken her collarbone and had gotten surgery that left her with screws inside her bones that partially stuck out through her skin until the bone had time to heal. Her left leg was also broken and three toes on her right foot along with it. Two of her ribs were bruised and she also bruised her back. But the worst part was the concussion, which left her memory of what happened foggy. Perhaps it was a good thing that she didn't have to relive her experiences over and over again, but to her, not knowing was even worse.
She imagined walking down a busy street. People left and right passed her by, unaware of her presence while they continued to live their lives as normal. She imagined passing by her captor, walking passed him on the street, or taking a seat in the back of his cab. She imagined sitting next to him on the subway or the bus, imagined him to be one of her doctors or teachers at school.
What if she would never be able to remember who was responsible?