Brock’s fingers idly trace across Winter’s back, his calloused finger tips skating across soft flesh in an intimate caress as the pair lay sated in the safe house bed. They’ve been on a mission for over a week. The target, a Russian executive that managed to piss off the high rankings in HYRDA for daring to go against their strong armed advice to sell property, was eliminated not five hours earlier. It marks the end of their mission and begins their return to HYDRA base, but Brock is cherishing the one last night that he gets to spend within the confines of bed with Winter.
It’s always by choice that Winter climbs into Brock’s bed at the end. When the reprogramming is fresh and Winter’s mind is a slate blank save for the details HYDRA allows him to remember, Winter is blank and cold. There is always a slight recognition in his eyes when the land upon Brock as he’s pulled from the cryochamber and forced into the confines of the metal chair, strapped unceremoniously and a bit forced between his teeth as his body shakes and quivers from the abuse of just waking from the biting cold. When the reprogramming is fresh, despite the slight recognition, Winter has no desire to be close to another human being. He is closed in on himself, responsive to commands only and following them flawlessly. But on missions that take longer, spread out over several days, the reprogramming fades as the STRIKE team surround their comrade with their easy chatter and banter. Rumlow allows his team to bicker and banter when they’re out of the field, so familiar with the team members, several whose lives he’s saved with his very own hands. Despite being firm, Rumlow cherishes the relationship between each of the STRIKE team members. They’ve become significantly closer to family than to teammates and that has saved their lives in countless situations.
By the third day of a mission, Winter’s lips will quirk in a smile at the banter. By the forth day, he’ll nod along to different statements. By the fifth day, he offers responses without commands. By the sixth day, he’ll crawl into Rumlow’s bed at the end of the night and ask to be cherished in the way that only Rumlow will. When Winter was in the midst of the programming, it was a different person that stood before you. Someone who was detached from reality and emotions. Someone who would shoot his best friend point blank and not even realize it was his best friend until later. Later, Winter would be present and his eyes would sparkle with some emotions, but it would be dim. There was only so much array to his emotions, but even the taste Brock got was addicting. It’s like he was an addict and Winter was his drug.
Rumlow knows that he toes a very fine line. On one hand, Winter is the fist of HYDRA, their greatest weapon, and has broken the bones of handlers previously. On the other, Brock sees Winter for a person beneath the mask of HYDRA. Brock, when Winter’s been out long enough, even gets to see the glimpses of the person he was before HYDRA. Brock knows what boundaries to push and he’s learned when he needs to cut some slack. It took time to adjust to learning Winter and his patterns, but in the six years that Brock has been his handler, they’ve learned how to survive with each other extremely well. At this point, Brock knows that Winter has his back just as much as Rollins, who Brock would say is the closest thing that Brock has to having a best friend.
A quiet hum from the man beside him has Brock returning to the present, rather than fixating on the different ways in which the mission could have been executed with greater finesse. Winter has his head pillowed on Brock’s shoulder, laying on his right side as his mental fingers dance across Brock’s abdomen. Brock doesn’t think he’s a ten among ten in looks, but he knows he’s good looking and has a six pack that causes women in their forties to drool. He’s not as cut or as strong as the man that lays beside him, but he also knows that he’s the one with the answers and expectations and Winter falls easily into them.
“Do you ever think..” Winter begins before trailing off, almost as if he’s afraid to ask the question that’s burning in his mind. Brock’s been aware that there was something Winter wanted to say. Something he’s been ruminating on since the completion of the mission. While Winter’s always withdrawn with the STRIKE team, he was particularly withdrawn as he robotically ate the takeout that was thrust his way by one of the team members when they finally all arrived at the safe house. Winter had eaten, in part because when he’d first joined the team Brock had demanded he eat with the rest of them. Brock had told Winter at the beginning that on missions with STRIKE, Winter was STRIKE. In all the ways they decompressed post-mission, Brock expected Winter to participate, mostly because he could see the way in which the man was surprised he was included. Surprised to be allowed to participate. That had only fueled Brock’s desire to ensure he included Winter to the max, as much as the programming allowed.
“What, Win?” Brock prods, his fingers tipping into Winter’s flesh just a little. ‘Win,’ Brock’s nickname for Winter when they’re alone. When it’s safe. When it’s just the two of them. He trusts his entire team with his life, but under the duress that HYDRA is capable of inflicting? Brock doesn’t know if he trusts them with Winter’s life in those circumstances. Besides, Brock feels its just for them. Just like the heavy lidded eyes and pouty ‘fuck me’ mouth Winter has in the mornings.
“Do you ever think we’ll just be?” It’s quiet, so quiet Brock can barely make out the words whispered in the dark. He knows what Winter is asking. Will they ever be free of HYDRA? Will they ever have the chance of escape without looking over their shoulder? Could they ever just exist together?
And the answer? No. Brock doesn’t think that. He doesn’t think the fist of HYDRA will ever be able to escape with one of HYDRA’s top commanding officers, who leads one of HYDRA’s most effective and ruthless teams. Brock does not think they’ll ever have a singular moment’s peace during his life time. And when his life time ends, Winter will end up with another handler, who will more than likely be worse than Brock, just like those who came before Brock.
“I hope so,” he whispers back, just as quietly, though he knows its far easier for Winter to hear his words. It feels like a sin to say so out loud, but so badly does Brock wish they could have peace. Together.
Because tomorrow, Brock knows they will venture back to the HYDRA base where Winter is housed in the cryochamber. They will venture back as a team and report the mission success. The team will stand by as Winter is stripped of his clothing, hosed down like an animal, and shoved unceremoniously back into the cryochamber until the next time he was required. Maybe it’d be a week, maybe a month, maybe a year. Who knows.
But Brock doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t want to think about how long it will be before he sees raw emotion settle across Winter’s features. He doesn’t want to think about the ache he will feel in his chest as he watches his lover get thrust into such ungodly treatment.
“We’ve got tonight,” he murmurs as he bows his head to ghost his lips across the top of Winter’s head in a show of fondness and comfort. “I’ve got you tonight.”