It was finally the weekend and that was now deemed as your time off by Fury because you've been here for almost three weeks now. After running with Sam, a couple of days ago, you haven't really stopped thinking about your brother and what happened. This time though, it didn't send you into some murderous pit of darkness where you would disappear for days and barely remember what happened until you heard about it on the news. Alcohol and notorious crime bosses in different countries may have been involved, but that's neither here nor there really.
Right now, it was Sunday morning and you were full of waffles, lounging in the living room with a book and bothering the guards.
"I've literally never seen you take a bathroom break," You pointed to the one nearest to you, "Just go, man! Nobody's stopping you! Flee to pee!"
He made no indication that he could even hear you, but you were entertaining yourself and right now, you couldn't be bothered to care. Steve walked through the room and you rolled your eyes, going back to your book as he greeted the guards, making you gape at them when they responded.
"You talk to the dancin' monkey, but not your favorite inmate?" You scoffed at the one smiling to Steve, but when his eyes went to you, his face fell to a stoic one.
"Okay, I gotta know," Steve shook his head, coming to sit next to your feet that were up on the couch and you recoiled them, "Why do you hate me so much?"
"I don't even know you, sir."
"Come on," He groaned, resting his arm on the back of the couch, "Just tell me what I did."
"You got me arrested," You squinted at him in disbelief, "Isn't that enough?"
"I don't think that's all it is." He used a high voice, clearly not believing you.
"I should be in France right now," You sighed, peering back down at your book, "Sipping wine and visiting the Louvre or whatever the fuck they do in France. Eat cheese? I don't know, point is, it'd be paradise."
"No, it wouldn't because you'd always be on the run."
"I love cheese and I value my freedom," You narrowed your eyes at him with a head tilt, "Thought you'd get that second part at least."
"You don't deserve freedom when you take lives, when you break the laws set in place, and when you-"
"Go against almost every country, getting a bunch of people killed for your 'cause', and becoming a fugitive...all to stick with your friend?" You cut him off, faking shock, "Oh wow, you're right Mr. Rogers, how dare I even come close to something like that! Shame on me."
You went back to your book, not looking to continue the conversation, but he wasn't done, and he made a point of it when he yanked it away from you. The pencil you were holding fell from the force and dropped to the floor.
"What the hell, Rogers?" You snapped angrily.
"You're not reading," He realized out loud, looking over the pages, and then back to you, "You're...sketching?"
"Yeah, fine, whatever," You shook your head, reaching for it, "Can I have my book back, jerk face?"
"Yeah." He mumbled, caught off guard, and handing it over.
"Thank you." You sighed in frustration and he got up, looking utterly confused, but you didn't notice.
Before he left, he stopped and turned around to face you again. At first you ignored him, but the moment went on for too long, so you looked up with raised eyebrows, silently asking him what he wanted.
"Those were good agents who died protecting this country," He told you with hurt behind his eyes and indignation in his voice, "And I did the right thing. I didn't kill for revenge or because that's what I perceived as justice, so I'm sorry you don't like me, but maybe you're just the type of person who would live on hating someone like me because I'm a symbol of everything you go against."
