Phil Coulson's office is first to Winter's relief. He doesn't want to see the shrink, doesn't want to know what's going on inside his head and wants even less for Shield to find out, but he knows better than to go against a direct order. And if Natasha has been telling them his secrets, how to best get him to pay attention and to fall into line, well it's only a matter of time before they find the right breaking point and he's forced to. Might as well do it while he still has the choice, before he feels like he's back in Russia under the laws of a tyrant running a training base.
The paper work is boring but Phil's good mood is infectious. Winter wonders if he always smiles this much, though it feels as if there's something more deadly than he's letting on. He doesn't seem a man that Winter would want to cross, though Winter doesn't want to cross anyone if he can help it, not yet at least, not until he learns who can and cannot be trusted.
The agent's office is small, filled nearly to the brim with paperwork separated into different bins depending on which branch it seems to coincide with. The overwhelming amount is in the one labeled Avengers, where the papers are in a jumbled mess, stacked and moving in every direction, the writing on each form different from the next. It is the only source of chaos within the entire office, surprising considering just how much information Winter imagines is stored in here. Phil, as he's asked to be called, doesn't seem to be able to stop smiling as he pulls out the file Winter needs to fill out in order to apply for the backpay that he's earned. Seventy years of it, after all. Phil jokes that he can buy a place off of base if he wants, an apartment, and Winter considers it. He's never had a place off of base before, never been allowed to. The idea is steeped in freedom, a freedom that Winter finds he has a craving for if he's completely honest with himself, and the thought of being able to escape the madness of being in the thick of things, well, it puts the first genuine smile on his face for some time.
He swears Coulson nearly swoons.
"Where would be a good place to look for an apartment?" Winter asks, watching Phil fill in the information required of him as efficiently as if he'd been born to do it. In the back of his mind Winter wonders if he was.
"I'd say look around Queens, but we've got places here on and off base that you're welcome to. They're free-anything needed in rent or bills gets automatically deducted from your pay, but it's hardly enough to offset what you earn." Phil looks up, brow furrowed. Normally Winter would be able to tell what the man would be thinking, he's quite good at that after having to do it for so many years, but with Phil he's completely blank.
"I understand and appreciate it, but I've lived on bases for as long as I can remember. I'd like a chance to get off one." Winter shrugs his shoulders, unsure what else to say about it. The only house he can remember is the one from his childhood, sitting in the small kitchen listening to his Ma tell him about her day as she cooked dinner and he worked on his homework for school. She'd lecture him about the importance of values in his everyday life, of integrity and doing what was right. Every so often he'd catch her looking to the picture of what had been his dad that hung just over the sink, as if she were drawing strength from the very sight of him since she couldn't have him there himself.
Winter jolts out of the memory at Phil's next words, though his pulse picks up and he feels his throat begin to tighten. If Phil notices, which Winter is certain he has, he doesn't mention it.
"Once Natasha gets done with her current mission she has a few days off afterwards. I'll handle the paperwork if you want her to go look at the apartments with you." It's a sign of how badly Coulson wants him to stay, to feel comfortable, this Winter can pick up on, and he's thankful for it. He reaches over to pat the man on the shoulder, which has the agent seeing stars before he pulls himself back. He looks over the paper once more, eyes flitting over the neatly filled in boxes, before passing them over for Winter to look over and to add to, such as who the money should go to if things go awry, what would he like done with his belongings from before. Shield threw nothing out, apparently, and Winter wonders just how good any of it is. He offers to have it donated, thinking he might as well start afresh. Whoever Steve Rogers had been Winter was no longer, and there was no point clinging to the past through the use of old belongings whose sentiment had long disappeared. Not to mention, if he remembers correctly, it's not as though any of his old clothing will fit him any longer. He remembers being so scrawny it's a joke to think that he came from that, remembers the fear of being rejected that kept him from propositioning girls, asking them out on dates. It wouldn't have mattered how good his intentions were or how nice of a man he was they'd all say no anyway. It was one of the reasons he threw himself so casually into the army, at first at least. He had nothing to lose, and when things started getting rougher he looked to the war effort as a chance to help, to protect his country. Well, he'd botched that one up pretty badly.
"Winter?" Again, Phil's voice brings him back. Winter shoots him an apologetic smiles.
"Lots of nostalgia, sorry Phil." The words are murmured as he continues to fill out the appropriate lines. "It's just hard to believe that I'm back. Really back."
Phil's smile is understanding and he nods his head. There's a pause that Winter notices before Phil excuses himself and steps out, allowing Winter time alone with his thoughts. He can't appreciate it more, and pushes the papers away in favor of dropping his head onto the desk, letting his shoulders shake with silent sobs, though no tears come. What the hell is he doing here, signing his life away again to another faceless organization, another scheme to "protect the world" when he knows nothing about this? He's a tool, he's a weapon, one that needs to be harnessed and pointed in the right direction, molded and handled by the right hands, but is that all? And how would he go about finding that out even if he could? He swallows hard and pulls himself together. He needs the space, the separation, needs to see clearly from all angles if he can. He's a sniper, not meant to be in the thick of things. If they want a leader out of him, which he doubts they'll get anyway, then they have to respect that.
He's composed once more when Phil gets back, a few things in hand though he's careful about not showing them off immediately, but the way he walks with a pep in his step Winter would have assumed he'd just gotten laid. It's highly unlikely, unless he's quite quick, but he doesn't want his mind to go there. That's none of his business, and he needs to pull himself out of his head before it becomes a problem. So he smiles serenely up at the agent, waiting for him to talk first as he pulls the papers back towards him and finishes filling them out. With Bucky gone he's got no one else for the money to go to if things went sour, so he puts Natasha down instead. Phil waits until he's done to speak.
"I was wondering-if it's not too much trouble, of course, and I know that you're keen to keep a separation between yourself and who you used to be but . . . I'm such a big fan. My father went to a few of your USO shows and he told me it was the best thing he'd ever seen. It inspired him to become an agent here, and in turn your comics helped me grow up and inspired me to do the same, join up with Shield. I was just hoping, could you sign these?" He said the last words very quickly and it was the first time that Winter had even seen a hint of the man being flustered or less than professional. It was endearing, and with a quiet chuckle Winter looked down at the cards the man had thrust towards him. They all had his face on them, in a myriad of poses.
"They're a vintage set-mint condition, slight foxing around the edges," Coulson practically babbles, on a roll. "And I've been collecting and saving them since I was a kid. If it's not too much trouble."
Winter nods and Phil's face breaks into the biggest smile Winter thinks he's seen in some time. The pen that the agent holds over is comfortable in Winter's hand, bringing him back almost instantly to the days he did this as a living. Granted, he was wearing red, white, and blue spandex tights and he had a shield with his cue cards taped to the back of it, but as he signs the small cards, sure to address them all to Phil, enclosing his thanks and the customary "Together we can do it" slogan it feels all too familiar. Phil actually trips over his words as he thanks Winter over and over again, staring down at the cards as if he's never seen something so beautiful in his life.
"Is that all you need, sir?" Winter asks, motioning down at the paper work. It's not that he wants to get away from the man, but, well, the more the memories came to the surface the more uncomfortable he got sitting there. He needed some space, needed to work out or get some of his own excess energy out, and sitting down in a chair with an exuberant fan of his past life wasn't helping him out too much.
"Oh, yes. Sorry, Winter. I'll file this away and your card will be to you at the end of the day with the money allotted to you." He said with a smile. "All of your old funds will be transfered there by the end of the week; the army wasn't about to let you go wanting on the off chance that you came back. Colonol Phillips was adament that they keep an eye out and maintained what you'd left behind. It's why all of your belongings were moved from your apartment to our storage unit."
The name brings back memories that make Winter even more uncomfortable, though he manages a smile before he excuses himself. "Where can I find the training room?"
"I think Stark and Banner need to run some tests-."
"Please, Phil. I need to go."
The agent must be able to see it in Winter's blue eyes because he sighs and nods. Winter wonders how painful it is for the man to break rules. "Go down this hall, take the third left, then after that the last door on the right. I'll call ahead to make sure there aren't any problems. You still have your psychiatrist appointment tomorrow at noon."
Winter nods, grateful for the chance to get away. He assures Phil that he won't push himself too hard, though he knows that idea is laughable. He's been to hell and back it feels, what with the two trips back from the ice and all the spaces in between, and Phil worries that he might pull a muscle while working out? He thanks the man once more for all of his help and takes a quick detour to his room to find some suitable clothing, settling on grey sweats and a white t-shirt, before he winds his way down to the training hall. The agents he passes in the halls still do their best to stay out of his way, and again Winter gets a moment of nostalgia, thinking of how many times he's done this exact same thing both while working for Karpov and Ivan, yet he's still not used to the sense of other that they all seem to project onto him.
He's disappointed to find that he's not alone when he gets to the training room, and as he said Coulson had called ahead to ensure there weren't any problems as Winter checked in. The two men sparring at the other side of the training room, which is more expansive than Winter would have thought the base could hold, are going at it as though their lives depend on it, one of them as tall as Winter and even more well defined, while the other is quick, agile on his feet as he slips out of the giant's hold and manages to swipe his legs out from underneath. The idea of sparring whets Winter's appetite, and with Natasha gone he sees no other option than to ask if he can take on the winner, which based on the nearly fatal looking body slam of the larger man into the smaller one looks to be coming very soon. He stands on the edge of the mats, recognizing the smaller figure now that he's closer. Clint Barton is a fierce fighter indeed, anyone would be stupid to deny it, and Winter knows he's lucky that he escaped their encounter with his life, but his speed is little match for the brute's strength. What's more the man seems to be prepared for Clint's agility, adapting his own style to come out on top. Literally. It ends when the brute has Barton on his front, one of his arms pulled tight behind his back so that the slightest of movements from the archer will result in a snapped arm. His bow arm, on top of that. The archer's not stupid enough to push it, immediately yielding and panting for breath as the other man removes himself hastily from atop him.
"That was an excellent bout my friend!" The man booms, and if Winter thought he was huge that was saying nothing about his voice; it seemed to find every crack and hole in the silence and fill it, resonating in Winter's chest.
Clint snorts and he's on his feet by the time he notices Winter. His eyes narrow ever-so slightly.
"Winter."
"Barton. Mind if I take the winner?"
The idea puts a smile on the archer's face and he nods quickly. "You sure can. You up for it, Thor? This is our newest recruit." The word leaves Barton's lips as though it tastes of poison, harsh and unforgiving. Thor, the man Winter has asked to spar against, seems to notice it as well and frowns for a moment before managing to compose his face into an honest smile.
"It is good to meet you, Winter. I am Thor Odinson, and I am glad to have you as my fellow Shield brother. Have you fought before?"
"Many times."
"Excellent. I look forward to seeing your strength." The giant of a man motions for Winter to come up and take Barton's place, which the soldier is only too happy to oblige, eager to get off of the side lines.
"Good luck," Barton mutters, though he can't sound like he means it any less. In spite of himself Winter swallows hard, wondering if he should have just stuck with the punching bag. At least it didn't hit back.
A/N: And a little more fanboy!Phil for good measure 3 Thanks so much for all the feedback, everyone! It means so much, and I would be nothing without you!