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"Listen." Rumlow took a step and turned around as far as his restraints allowed. It was over. He saw Rogers shoot him an annoyed glance, almost like a stranger. He wanted to pretend they were strangers. The story was written; all that remained was for the court to confirm it.
STRIKE, aiding a coup led by a terrorist formation, Pierce's orders — you brought him back every time didn't you? you knew didn't you, I couldn't have known I don't buy it, hell no that's above my pay grade, but you were there you stood right there and watched —
The eyes of the man standing next to Rogers were like two dark lakes, and they were fixated on him now.
How many times had he looked into them? When he pulled onto the tourniquet, when he dug the bullets out of him, going deeper and deeper and the flesh was nauseatingly warm around his fingers —
"Don't let anyone persuade you that you were surrounded by enemies. In Strike there wasn't a man who wouldn't take a bullet for you. And some did."
Well, that clearly struck a nerve; so much that Cap couldn't say anything, he just opened and closed his mouth. Strike's loyalty wasn't his alone. Was he bitter about it?
"Not gonna start lying now and say that if I knew I would get you out."
There was something else — something strangling him and crushing his jaw, desperately wanting to break out.
"But I — I would give as much."
What didn't he give to Hydra? Could he ever give as much? Doesn't really matter now.
At least Jack can’t see him now.
Then the man gave him a slight, almost imperceptible nod.