The kiss froze him. He couldn't return it; he couldn't find a way to make himself. But he could accept it, accept the hint of strawberry left on her lips and the soft warmness of the intimate touch. He had no memories of being kissed. It was shocking to feel it now, to believe that there was any woman who thought he was worthy of such a gift. He didn't know what she meant by it, and he wouldn't assume or guess, but he accepted it.
When the door to the bathroom closed, he drew himself up and tried shaking off the effects of that kiss. He'd need new clothing, and so would she. He could return to his own apartment and find clothing for himself, but that meant leaving her alone - even for a few minutes. He didn't -- he couldn't. Not until Rogers was here to watch after her. Instead, he rifled through the neatly pressed shirts and perfectly creased trousers in Rogers' wardrobe. When nothing seemed right, he turned to the chest of drawers. Finally finding a plain white undershirt and a pair of sweat pants, he left Rogers' room, and headed back downstairs.
Ariel was singing.
He stopped at the bathroom door and listened. The song drew him in almost completely. He wanted to forget about everything else and follow it. But he couldn't do that; he wanted her to have clean clothing she could sleep in, and that meant fetching her things from downstairs. After about 35 seconds of standing there listening, he pulled himself painfully away from the door and all but ran down the corridor to the place where she'd set all her things. He brought them to the spare bedroom, then sat down against the wall and waited. And listened. His metal hand absently went through the tasks of folding his old clothing and setting aside his tac vest while her song made him forget his headache and filled him with want so sharply that he had trouble breathing. But when his tasks were done, his eyes shut and his head went back against the wall. The song was gorgeous. It made him feel... free. Free and drawn inexorably toward her, all at the same time. James had lived his life in conflict, and such a dual press of emotions was nothing unknown to him. So he kept his eyes closed and let the voice wash over him.