The team of agents toss their gear around the front room of the safe house, grumbling about having to wait around for the right time to act. They're all antsy, and rightfully so. Most Hydra agents get nervous working with the Asset for extended periods of time. It's trained to be silent unless spoken to and it tends to track anyone's movements when at rest. Most of the agents scramble to be in any room that the Asset isn't in during waiting time, leaving the role of watching it to one unlucky sonuvabitch who loses whatever betting pool they have going that week.
When Brock Rumlow started working with the Asset, however, all of that changed. No one seemed to need to fight over who had to watch it, because Rumlow just did it. He didn't seem to care about the silence or the unsettling way the Asset's eyes followed his every movement. He kept it in the corner of his eye and basically ignored it, or tried to. The Asset was, after all, a machine. When not in use, all it did was sit. What harm was that?
The Asset grew curious, over time, seeing more and more of Rumlow during missions. Hydra would wipe its memories, but they left it with Rumlow's face and voice in the recesses, so it wouldn't forget who was in charge. Rumlow became its official handler, and the Asset seemed to respond well to the agent's commands, so they didn't bother changing things around much.
Today's mission seems like it's going to take a lot longer than any of them want it to, however, and Rumlow drops into a chair in the front of the safe house with a heavy grunt while the rest of the team meanders toward the kitchen or the back rooms. The Asset sits in the chair next to Rumlow's, its gaze steady on the man, eyes icy as they stare over the mask covering its nose and mouth.
It's already been a long day, the trek to get here having taken the team a good 6 hours. Most of them are exhausted and the Asset can tell. It can hear it in their voices, see it on their faces, but Rumlow still seems calm and ready to go. It's intriguing, to say the least. The Asset has taken to studying the agents it works with, filling its mind with information that will no doubt be erased by the time the mission is complete. It's something to do. Even a machine gets bored.
Flexing the fingers of its left hand, the Asset lets out a grunt in the quiet that settles between them. Rumlow glances over, but says nothing. He meets the Asset's eyes with his own and watches it, before dropping his gaze to the metal hand and arm.
"Is it locking up?" Rumlow asks finally.
The Asset doesn't speak, but flexes the fingers again and nods once. Its expression is hidden by the mask, but there's a hint of pain in its eyes.
"I've got some tools," Rumlow sighs. "I can't do much. It won't be a permanent fix, but I might be able to help." He pushes himself to his feet and goes to his pack, coming back to the Asset with a small kit and crouching next to the chair it's sitting in. The entire time he moves, the Asset tracks him, only its eyes moving.
As Rumlow reaches for the arm, the Asset's breaths come heavier, its chest rising quicker. Rumlow drops his hands to his sides. "You've got to trust me, idiot," he grumbles, looking up at the Asset, catching its eyes with his own. "It might hurt, but it's gonna hurt worse if it goes out of commission during this mission."
The Asset seems to frown, its brow furrowing. It moves finally, tilting its head in invitation and looking away. It doesn't want to watch.
Rumlow rolls his eyes and gets to work on checking the joints in the hand and arm, sighing quietly. He knows basic maintenance for it, as all of the Asset's handlers are taught, but if it goes haywire, they're screwed.
"Did you hit it off something?" he asks. "Get something in it?"
The Asset doesn't respond.
Rumlow lets out a low growl and puts his hand on the Asset's leg, squeezing hard. It's enough to send a jolt through it and it stares at him suddenly, anger flashing behind its eyes for a moment.
"I asked you a goddamn question," Rumlow snarls. He forgets sometimes the Asset only seems to respond to aggression.
"Something stuck," the Asset says, clearly not wanting to speak at all. Its voice is clipped and angry. Its gaze is heavy.
Rumlow hums and gently starts clearing out the spaces between each slat of metal with a thin tool. "You've got to be more careful," he grumbles.
"You're being too kind," one of the agents says as he passes through the room. "It's a fucking robot, man. Don't give it any compassion. It doesn't understand that shit anyway."
The Asset snaps its gaze to the other agent, glaring, and the agent freezes for a second, then scurries off to another room. Rumlow chuckles.
"Don't like him much, huh?"
"Am I a robot?" the Asset asks, ignoring Rumlow's words. Its voice isn't indicative of emotion, which is eerie. It's literally just asking a question.
"You're-" Rumlow pauses and leans back, looking at it. "You're a cyborg. So sure."
"Cyborg," the Asset hums. It seems to taste the word, then falls silent again.
Rumlow looks at it for a long moment, then goes back to cleaning out the sections of the arm. He decides to just stay focused instead of trying to understand anything about the damn Asset right now. It's too confusing, the way it seems to analyze everything, but understand nothing. Or maybe it understands far more than it lets on. He has no idea how this whole brainwashing thing works.
Once the arm is cleaned to the best of Rumlow's ability, he stands up and puts away his tools, heading back to his pack to store the kit. "Are you hungry?" he asks, without thinking.
The Asset stares at him. A couple of other agents who are in the room still turn and look as well. Rumlow looks around at them all, then looks at the Asset with a sigh. He forgets, often, that the Asset is actually programmed to be incapable of knowing things like hunger or thirst. It's a very good way to make it reliant on the handlers. It's also incredibly inefficient.
In Rumlow's opinion, it's a damn good way to make the cyborg annoying as hell. One more thing to worry about all day long.
"I'll just bring you something," Rumlow grumbles, heading for the kitchen.
The Asset hums, but says nothing as it flexes its arm again. It's moving a lot more smoothly now and the Asset seems pleased with that fact. It leans back in its seat, though its back somehow remains rigid, and stares across the room at nothing in particular.
Rumlow returns several minutes later with two plates of food. He hands one to the Asset and sits in his seat again, glaring. "Eat," he growls.
The Asset turns and looks at him, then looks down at the food. It's a plate of bland chicken and rice. The Asset can't really handle much more than that, considering its constant cryo naps and IV regimens. It picks up the fork and pokes at the chicken a moment, then sets the plate on the arm of its chair.
"Eat, dumbass," Rumlow snarls. "We're gonna be here a while and I'm not having you fucking passing out on me."
The Asset ignores him, bringing its hand up to pull its mask off. It leans its head back and lets out a heavy sigh. Finally, it picks the plate up again and takes a bite in silence.
Rumlow rolls his eyes and goes back to his own food, trying not to think about the killing machine sitting 3 feet to his left contemplating a plate of chicken like it's the goddamn Dead Sea Scrolls.
They eat in what might be considered companionable silence for a while. Occasionally, one or two of the other agents will wander through, grab something from the kitchen, and wander back to the back rooms or upstairs. Rumlow doesn't acknowledge any of them. The Asset watches each of them with an intent stare, studying.
Finally, after the third agent comes and goes, Rumlow sighs. "Why do you do that?"
The Asset blinks and turns to look at him, head tilted ever so slightly. It doesn't answer, but then it rarely does. There are some questions it's required to answer, but most of the time it remains silent through conversations. Past handlers have given up pretty quickly. Rumlow is still going after quite a while. The Asset would find that odd, if it really cared.
"You've got this stare," Rumlow continues. "Like you're looking through us all. Are you studying us or planning how to kill us?"
"You are not my mission," the Asset says automatically, and Rumlow visibly shudders. He's still getting used to that.
"Then what are you doing?"
The Asset hums and looks back at its plate. The food is half eaten and the Asset doesn't look like it's about to eat anymore. It sets the plate aside again and stares forward, watching a spot on the far wall. "Watching."
Rumlow blinks, but decides to say nothing. He finishes his meal and stands up, grabbing the Asset's plate as he passes and tosses both of them in the sink in the kitchen. He'll deal with the mess later. He returns to see the Asset staring at him. "What?"
"Previous handlers would have made that my task," the Asset murmurs, then looks away. "You're different, and I can't figure you out."
Rumlow huffs, grabbing his bag and dragging it back to his chair. "Good," he grumbles as he drops into the chair again, rummaging through the bag. "Keeps you on your damn toes."
"You don't like people studying you," the Asset says. "Or trying to understand you. It makes you itch, to be examined."
"Fuck you."
There's a strange noise that falls from the Asset's lips. It takes Rumlow a moment to realize it's chuckling at him. He looks up and stares, matching his gaze to the Asset's.
"It makes you feel open and raw, doesn't it?" the Asset hums after a moment. "Knowing I can see through you."
"You can't see shit," Rumlow says, pulling a book out of his bag and opening to his last spot. He forces himself to focus on the page instead of the Asset's cold eyes. It's very difficult.
The Asset watches him read, studies him, and even stares at the book itself for a long while. It starts to get really unnerving, until Rumlow finally looks back up at it and sighs heavily. "What?"
"What are you reading?"
Rumlow blinks, confused. He looks at the book in his hands, then up at the Asset again. "It's- just a book."
"Which book is it?"
"Aren't you supposed to stay quiet unless I speak to you?"
The Asset blinks and stares at him for a moment. Then, in a soft voice that doesn't sound like it, it says, "You did. You asked what."
Rumlow stops, eyes going wide. He can't fault the Asset. He did speak to the damn thing. He runs his hand down his face and turns the book in his other hand, showing the cover to the Asset. "It's called Moby Dick," he offers. "One of those old classics everyone says is really good. I figure if we're stuck here a while, I can catch up on what people claim is good literature."
"Is it actually good?" The Asset is staring at the book again, its eyes scanning the cover.
Rumlow sighs and folds down the top corner of his page before handing the book to the Asset. "Here," he groans. "You can read it. I'm not feeling this one."
The Asset takes the book, turning it over in its hands. It runs the fingers of its right hand down the spine, following the cracks in the binding, then opens the book and holds the first page between its first finger and thumb. It doesn't seem to be reading it, just holding the book and feeling it.
Rumlow watches for a long while, then takes a slow breath in and leans closer, snatching the book from the Asset's hands again. "If you're gonna just feel it up, fucking forget it."
The Asset blinks a few times, a strange expression crossing its face before it looks back at Rumlow. It casts its eyes down to the book once more, then back to Rumlow's eyes. "I haven't read more than a mission brief in-" It pauses. "I don't know how long?"
Rumlow rolls his eyes. "You can read, though, right?"
The Asset stares at him, but says nothing. Rumlow sighs and opens the book to the first page. "'Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world...'"
This is how it starts. By the time they're ready to complete the mission, Rumlow is over halfway through reading the book to the Asset, and the Asset has listened intently to every word. Or, at least it seems to listen intently. It never moves and watches Rumlow through all of it. They read 2 or 3 chapters in a sitting, and often read multiple times a day.
There are even moments when other agents settle into places around the front room and listen to Rumlow's low rumble as he reads, his inflection soft, but poignant. He doesn't give voice to any character or put any dramatics to his readings, but it starts to draw the team in all the same. It's something that gives them a strange sense of home that they're all missing.
When the mission comes to an end, they return to base and the Asset is wiped and put back into cryo. Rumlow's team disperses and he returns to his secondary life, keeping SHIELD at bay from the inside. His mind lingers, though, back to those quiet moments in the safe house, reading aloud to the most attentive audience he's ever had. There's something eerily warm about the thoughts.
He remembers the way the Asset watched him, eyes focused at first on the book, then on Rumlow's face as he spoke. It was unnerving at first, then almost comforting. He knew exactly where the Asset was and what it was thinking in those moments. It was lost in the story. He wonders just how much of it stuck.
—
The next time they have a mission together, it comes with multiple parts and they have to stay in another safe house. Rumlow packs a few books. When they settle at the house after the end of the second day, he watches the Asset sink into a chair, closing its eyes and groaning in pain. It took a bit of a beating this time and while they should be checking it to make sure it can still function, it's been growling at any agent who comes near.
Rumlow sets his pack at his feet and sits in the chair next to the Asset, pulling out a book. Immediately, he can feel the Asset's gaze on him. He looks over, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, cyborg?"
The Asset pushes a breath out through its nose quickly, seeming upset for a moment, but its eyes drift to the book. "Will you read again?"
Rumlow blinks. He knows they wipe its memories, more or less. The Asset is still left with some, though, obviously. He looks down at the book in his hands, then looks back at the Asset as it shifts and winces slightly.
"No," Rumlow says suddenly, watching the Asset's eyes go wide in confusion. "I won't read to you unless you let someone look over your injuries. Without snapping at them."
The Asset narrows its eyes at him. He can almost see the edges of its jaw clenching around the mask and he raises an eyebrow in challenge. The Asset takes a slow breath in and shifts forward in its seat, beginning to pull at the buckles to its holsters and top, revealing a deep bruise down its left side.
"Fine."
Rumlow hums and sets the book down before standing and moving toward the Asset to get a better look. He calls for one of the others to help him check for broken bones and they settle the Asset carefully back into its seat a few minutes later, an ice pack strapped to its middle.
With a sigh, Rumlow sits back in his own seat and picks up the book. Once again, he feels the Asset's gaze. He hums and opens the book. "Where'd we leave off?" he asks as he unfolds the top corner of their last page. He glances over to see the Asset staring at the book, then goes back to reading aloud, as though picking right up from the previous day and not several months down the line.
They finish Moby Dick during this mission and start on To Kill a Mockingbird.
—
"Why'd you stop so quickly?"
"I am not reading that word out loud."
"What word?"
"Look, just forget it. I'm not gonna be responsible for teaching you a slur."
"Okay? So skip the word?"
"You think so, genius?"
—
He learns quickly that he can threaten to stop reading to get the Asset to do what needs to be done. If the Asset acts out, he takes away the books. Suddenly, the Asset is a lot more agreeable. Each mission, it remembers where they've left off in whatever book they're reading and it waits for the next time Rumlow reads. It's almost like it looks forward to it.
Rumlow thinks that's really creepy, in a strangely endearing way. His team seems to enjoy story time as well, considering they're all spending more time in the same room as him and the Asset these days. Missions go smoother and the other agents don't seem as on edge around the Asset anymore. Overall, the reading seems to be doing good for them.
Then, one mission, the Asset flat out refuses a task. It's snowing heavily outside the safe house and one of the agents orders it to check the perimeter and bring in more firewood.
"We have plenty," it responds. "And no one is out there."
"You can't know that without going out and looking," the agent growls. Rumlow watches, though he's fairly certain this is immediately turning into a power struggle more than anything.
"I can," the Asset sighs. "I can hear it. It's snowing. And that's all that's happening out there. It's already too deep to safely travel in and visibility at this time of night will be shit even for me. I'll get more wood in the morning."
The agent, who's not used to being told no, turns to Rumlow angrily. "It's acting up. Where's the fucking reset?"
Rumlow lets out a heavy sigh and looks at the Asset. "You have been given an order," he says firmly, though something in him doesn't want to. "You do your task without question. That's how it's always been. Of any of us, you'll be fine out there."
"No," the Asset says, matching Rumlow's tone.
Rumlow raises an eyebrow. "Go get some firewood or I'm using the book as fucking kindling."
The Asset stares at him, studies him, then shoves past him to step outside. It leaves a heavy ache in Rumlow's gut. Something in the Asset's gaze hit in a way he doesn't like, but he throws himself into his chair and waits. The book threat worked. That's all that matters.
15 minutes go by and the Asset doesn't return. Rumlow starts to get anxious and he taps his hand on the book sitting on the arm of his chair. There's a part of him that's worried, and another part that actually wants to read to the Asset. It's become routine, and Rumlow enjoys routine. He thinks the Asset does too, but he's unsure.
At the 30 minute mark, Rumlow stands and goes to the door. It's been too long and he doesn't like the feeling in his gut. He pulls on his heavy coat and steps out into the snow and harsh wind. Immediately, he realizes just how bad the weather is and he regrets sending the Asset into this.
He steps carefully around the building, trying to keep at least within touching distance of it as he looks for the Asset. When he makes a full round, he finds that he has to circle out wider. He looks at the snow at his feet, but it's been snowing so hard, he can find no signs of anyone traveling in any direction. He curses under his breath and steps out toward the shed where the firewood would be.
It takes all of 5 minutes to make the trek, which in good conditions should take less than 1 minute. He notices the light is on in the shed and finds his way in, stopping when he sees the Asset sitting on the floor next to the wood pile. It doesn't seem to be hurt, but it is darker with only one light bulb in here and the Asset's eyes are closed. It doesn't seem to be responding to outside stimuli.
When he steps closer, Rumlow can see the puffs of breath even through the mask and he can tell the Asset's breathing is labored. Something happened, but he can't identify what. Not yet. He crouches in front of the Asset and grips its right shoulder, shaking it roughly.
"Wake up, idiot," he snarls. "You're gonna catch hypothermia or something. Can you even do that?"
The Asset's eyes blink open slowly and it finds Rumlow after a few moments. It looks him up and down, then sighs and lets its head fall back against the wood pile.
"Nope," Rumlow grumbles. "No, we are not doing that. You need to get up and we need to get back inside. You're- are you? You're fucking shivering?"
The Asset shrugs and rolls its head. "I was wrong," it murmurs softly. "Not someone, but something out there. Animals get desperate when they're starving."
Rumlow frowns for a second, then curses, shifting forward quickly, his hands going to the Asset's shoulder and side. "Where? What happened?"
The Asset hums and takes a slow breath. "Right lower leg and ankle," it says, voice dropping. "Couldn't get up once I got in here. It caught me by surprise in the snow. I had just enough strength to kick it off and get in here, but I can't stand again. Was letting it heal."
"You fucking idiot," Rumlow sighs, shifting to untie the Asset's right boot and trying to pull it off the swollen ankle carefully. There's holes in the boot and pants leg from teeth and claws. There's blood, too, and more than Rumlow's comfortable with. Now that he's properly looking, he can see a decent stain of it under the Asset.
"You told me to come out here," the Asset accuses, and Rumlow can't argue that. He did. Goddamn it, he did, and now because of his snap judgment and power grab, they might lose their best weapon to blood loss, because there's far too much blood here to be recoverable.
Rumlow growls at himself and shifts, hoisting the Asset up and practically carrying it back through the shed and out into the snow. He manages, by dumb luck, to get them back to the safe house, shoving the Asset down on a mattress in the front room and snapping at a nearby agent to grab some medical supplies.
It takes too long to get the leg wrapped and the Asset's color back. They take off its mask and feed it broth and water. Rumlow curses the fact they have no way of giving it blood, but they give it juice and pray.
While the Asset lies there, floating in a semi-unconscious void of pain, Rumlow sits at its side and reads. The time for the mission to be carried out comes and passes, but the Asset doesn't rise from its spot. Rumlow reads on.
It's a week later and two books down when the Asset finally stirs. It's weak and aching, and it states as much when asked for a status report, but it seems to at least be alive enough for travel after a couple more days. They all pack up and head back to home base, the mission a failure, and Rumlow cradles a new lesson to his chest.
Sometimes, the Asset is fucking right and Rumlow needs to listen.
He watches as they wipe its memories, rewrap its leg, and get it into cryo. It'll be down for several months again. Rumlow gets a handful of cruel words from his higher ups and returns to SHIELD in the meantime.
—
The next mission, it's just Rumlow and the Asset. Rumlow sits in a chair in the safe house. The Asset walks in after him, looks around, and moves to Rumlow's seat. It settles on the floor in front of the chair, back to one of Rumlow's legs, and pulls the other man's pack to itself. It pulls out the most recent book and holds it over its shoulder to Rumlow without a word.
Rumlow sighs heavily and takes the book. "Make us some food first," he says, softer than previous orders.
The Asset looks back at him, nods once, and gets up to go to the kitchen. It makes its own chicken and rice and brings Rumlow a plate of stir fry. He isn't quite sure how it knows how to cook if the damn thing doesn't know when it's hungry, but he doesn't question it. They sit in silence while eating, and when Rumlow is finished, he taps the Asset's shoulder. The Asset takes his plate, stacks it under its own, then takes them both to the kitchen.
It returns and sits back at Rumlow's feet, keeping its back to him. "Now?"
Rumlow sighs and nods, picking up the book and starting to read.