"Where the fuck is the Asset?"
Brock Rumlow slams his back against the wall next to his second in command, Jack Rollins, and glances over at him. Rollins raises an eyebrow at him, but says nothing at first. They're under a barrage of gunfire and right now isn't exactly the time for chatter.
Rollins tilts his head and listens as some of the sounds start to die down, then looks at Rumlow again. "You're supposed to be its babysitter. Shouldn't you know?"
Rumlow pinches the bridge of his nose. "You were on point with him on this mission, Jack."
Rollins shrugs. "It just ran off when the bullets started flyin', Brock. I got no fuckin' clue. You're supposed to keep a better handle on it than that."
The gunfire is getting even quieter and Rumlow shifts, looking at Rollins for a moment in confusion, then shaking his head. "He," he starts, and he puts specific emphasis on the word because he doesn't like calling anyone an object even if they're a highly trained and brainwashed assassin, "tends to have his own agenda sometimes."
He's been working with the Asset for a few months now, and it's surprising just how much the Asset thinks for himself. He doesn't speak much, and he rarely deviates from the set plan, but he does strategize. There is something between those ears. He's not just a gorgeous ball of stupid with bright blue eyes.
"It isn't supposed to have agendas, Brock."
Rollins' voice cuts through his thoughts and Rumlow looks at him. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops suddenly. It's gone quiet around them. There's no more gunfire. No shouting. Nothing.
"What the fuck?" Rumlow moves like he's going to peer around the wall, but suddenly a gloved metal hand grips his front and pushes him back against the wall, hard. "Hey!" He glares at the Asset.
For his part, the Asset doesn't seem to be paying much attention to Rumlow's protests. He's checking Rumlow for injuries and tearing the fabric of his left pant leg up to the knee. There's a bullet in Rumlow's calf. How the Asset knew it was there, he'll never understand, but having this powerhouse of a creature so intent on tending to the entire reason he'd had to hide in the first place is…
Well, it's almost a comfort.
The Asset works silently to get the bullet out of Rumlow, using the tip of his knife (a clean one, thank God) to pry it free before pulling at the supplies in the pack Rollins offers to him. He gets Rumlow's wound cleaned with what little alcohol they have left and wraps it tight, then looks up at him with those ice-blue eyes, an expression on his face that says everything his words never will.
Don't die. Don't get hurt. Don't leave me.
It's only been a few months of them working together, but Rumlow has started to feel a connection to the Asset, his heart drawn to the man beneath the brainwashing, as deeply buried and impossible to retrieve as he may be. It's moments like this, in the still silence after a battle, the Asset covered in the blood of those he's killed but his eyes bright and focused on keeping them alive, that Rumlow considers just how much of the man is actually still there.
Rollins lets out a sound and Rumlow and the Asset both turn to him.
"We ought to get the fuck outta here," Rollins mutters. He looks at them both, then looks right at the Asset. "You cleared the place?" The Asset nods. "On your fucking own?" The Asset smirks. "Jesus fucking Christ. I can see why Brock likes you, kid." He reaches over and runs a hand over the Asset's head, mussing up the filthy strands of his hair.
The Asset seems to lean into the touch for as long as it lasts, all of two seconds, then looks at Rumlow once Rollins pulls away. Rumlow nods.
"Jack's right," Rumlow says softly. "We got what we came here for. We gotta get the fuck out before more of them show up and find the carnage."
The Asset stands up and helps Rumlow to his feet, then he and Rollins both help Rumlow out of the warehouse.
—
It's hours later, with Rumlow's injury properly wrapped back at base, that he finds himself looking through the corridors for the Asset in concern and confusion. He's not with the techs in the lab. He's not in cryo. And he's not in his usual cell.
The Asset doesn't get to just roam free. It's a standard rule. When they'd gotten back and Rumlow was taken to medical, the Asset should have been escorted to his cell at the very least. So, now that he can't find him in his usual places, Rumlow's starting to get a little worried.
It's not until he's headed down the hall toward the cafeteria when he hears it. There's a muffled sound from a supply closet nearby. It sounds like a struggle going on and that isn't normal. So, he squares his shoulders and, despite his newly acquired limp, pushes his way into the room.
His heart drops into his stomach.
He's found the Asset. Three agents have him surrounded, backed up against the far wall of the room, and he's already got some decent bruising swelling up along his left cheek. It will heal quickly, but it shouldn't be there in the first place.
One of the agents is holding a metal pipe, and by the looks of the way he's standing, and the blood on the damn pipe itself, he's already hit the Asset over the head with it at least once. The other two are practically gnashing their teeth to get a few blows in. None of them notice him entering the room.
Except the Asset.
Blue eyes find him and relief fills his expression for all of two seconds. Then, terror replaces it. The Asset isn't sure if Rumlow is here to protect him or to aid in his punishment.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Rumlow growls.
The agents startle and turn. It gives the Asset enough time to slip aside, out of range of the pipe, and to another wall. Rumlow looks at him and he can see more bruising along his jaw and neck. He can see the blood in his hairline.
"Soldat, come," he adds, pointing at his side. The Asset is at his side in seconds. Rumlow turns his attention back to the agents as he sets his hand against the back of the Asset's neck. "I only like to say things once, but I get it if you've gotta get your heads outta your asses enough to hear me. I'll ask one more time, and if I don't like what I hear, I'm turnin' him loose on all three of you. What. The fuck. Are you doing?"
The agents exchange a look. Then, the one holding the pipe points it at the Asset. "Thompson is dead because it fucked up today during your mission," he growls. "We're teaching it a lesson."
Rumlow steps forward and grabs the end of the pipe, ignoring the fact that he can feel the Asset's blood and- God, there's hair too. He yanks the pipe out of the other man's hand and flings it aside.
"Are you his fucking handler?" The men shake their heads. "Are you the Director?" Another collective head shake. "Then do you have any fucking authority to punish him, or anyone, for mistakes on the field?" They all look at each other, then back to Rumlow and shake their heads again.
Rumlow looks at the Asset, sees the blood trickling from his hairline. He squeezes his neck, then lets go. "Soldat. Break an arm for each of them. Your choice of left or right, but each of them leaves this room with a broken arm."
The Asset looks at him, then nods and moves to the agents. Rumlow raises an eyebrow and watches as the Asset does what he does best. He follows orders.
As they leave the supply closet, the pained groans of the men fading behind them, Rumlow looks over at the Asset. "You didn't deserve what they were doing to you," he says. "You know that, right?"
The Asset doesn't say anything. After a minute, Rumlow stops and presses the back of his hand to the Asset's chest, stopping him.
"Lookit me, kid." The Asset turns. "You ain't just here to get beat, alright? You're a highly fucking trained assassin and you deserve to be treated with at least some respect. You're going to be while I'm around. Anyone ever gives you shit, you tell me. I don't care if it's the fucking Director. You did nothing wrong today. We lose men in the field all the time. Got it?"
The Asset nods slowly, glancing back toward the hall they've just left. He watches as the three agents step into the intersection from the cafeteria, look their way, then turn and run the other direction. To medical. The Asset looks back at Rumlow with a soft smile.
"You liked that, didn't you?" Rumlow asks. "Gettin' to hurt them back?"
The Asset ducks his head and nods. "I did, Sir."
Rumlow chuckles and grips the Asset's shoulder. "Come on. Let me take a look at those injuries and we'll see if you need medical or not. I'll take care of the report on those idiots. Don't worry. And if anyone ever comes at you tryin' to punish you for somethin' on the field like that again, you hit back and you come find me. Got it?"
The Asset nods. "Yes, Sir."
Rumlow's grin widens and he wraps an arm around the Asset's shoulders. "C'mon, kid."