He blinks back into focus when the door to his handler's room swings open and the man himself exits, his hair sticking up at weird angles and a tired expression on his face. The Asset scans him as he exits, remembering how Stark and Wilson had both insisted that he sleep, before flicking his eyes away and waiting for his next orders.
Hopefully his handler approves of how he'd complied with the last set of orders he'd received. He hadn't known what to do with them exactly, and there is a very real possibility that he'd misinterpreted them completely, which isn't allowed—
"I'm going to make supper," his handler announces quietly, breaking into his train of thought. "You can come if you want."
The Asset blinks at him as he disappears into the kitchen and a fresh wave of uncertainty washes over him. Should he go or not? He doesn't— He scowls slightly, his jaw clenching as he clasps his hands tighter behind his back. He hates confusing orders, they always leave far too much to chance, and more often than not he ends up paying the price for them.
I will wait here, he decides firmly, choosing to err on the side of caution. Right now, it's better to prove that he is compliant to his programming rather than accidentally break any rules.
That sentiment lasts for all of five minutes before a sudden whining growl cuts through the air and his head jerks towards the kitchen. His heart jolts painfully at the unknown sound and he finds himself moving towards the other room before he even has a chance to think.
He has half-a-second to curse the fact that he hadn't even paused long enough to grab a weapon— but the rest of him is intent on getting to the kitchen as fast as humanly possible because his handler is in danger and he's always getting himself into trouble—
He lurches to a stop in the doorway, his heart pounding and his eyes wide as he scans the kitchen. His handler has his back to him and doesn't seem to be hurt but something had made that noise and he still isn't sure what—
His handler turns around and freezes at the sight of him, his hand climbing up to press against his chest for a moment as he sucks in a breath and scans the room around him. His eyes land on some kind of appliance next to him, its glass jar filled with something vaguely purple, and his shoulders drop.
"Sorry," he says, and the Asset's brain stalls for a second because his handler is apologizing to him— "I should have warned you," he continues gesturing at the appliance. "This is a blender; it cuts up food really fine so that you can drink it. But it makes a pretty loud noise."
The Asset stares at the 'blender' for a moment before sweeping the kitchen again, relaxing slightly when no other threat crops up. His handler breathes out and seems to relax as well before shifting back towards the blender.
"I'm making a frozen fruit smoothie," he says, every word but 'frozen' almost meaningless to him as he watches his handler navigate the kitchen and explain how to make a 'smoothie'. "I'll just add some milk and some more fruit," he says carefully. "Then I'll turn it on."
He grabs a plastic bag from the counter and shakes what the Asset presumes must be 'fruit' of some kind into the glass jar before covering the opening with a lid and pressing a button labeled 'start'. The same whining groan from before fills the air and the Asset tenses again at the unfamiliar sound. His handler doesn't seem concerned though and he soon leaves the smoothie to check the 'soup' on the stove.
The soup seems to be done because his handler turns off the stove and begins setting the counter next to him, which, judging from the chairs around it, seems to function as both a counter and a dinner table.
"We'll eat here," his handler tells him once he's set the table with two of everything and the Asset abruptly realises that he's going to be eating with his handler. He blinks and stares as his handler grabs the food and gestures towards a chair across from him. "You can sit there."
He complies, because of course he does, but his brain feels like it's swimming through molasses as he tries to process the fact that he's going to be eating the same food as his handler. He doesn't— he's never—
He stares as his handler portions out the food. The soup is red and steams in the bowl his handler places in front of him. He breathes in through his nose and it… actually smells. His stomach seems to wake up with his nose as he inhales again, leaning forward slightly as he does so. He can't quite place the smell – which isn't surprising – and his mind is still reeling from the fact that he's actually going to be eating the food portioned out for him. He's never—
His handler nods at him to start eating and he complies, carefully copying how he uses his spoon to eat the soup. The spoon fits into his hand naturally, like he's used it a million times before and the soup tastes— the soup tastes.
His hand clenches on his knee as he eats and he's grateful that the counter is high enough to hide his reaction. He fights to keep his face blank as he reaches out to taste his smoothie, but inside it feels as though fireworks are going off over his tongue.
A sudden wave of gratitude for his handler— for giving him this, for letting him eat his food— rolls through him and he doesn't care if he has to go back to eating regular rations for the rest of his life after this. If he can just remember this, remember this day, it will be enough.
He finishes his bowl of soup and his handler refills it. And then refills it again. And then again.
They eventually finish the whole pot of soup and the Asset's stomach is pleasantly warm for the first time since he can remember. His handler carries all the dishes to the sink and begins filling it with water while the Asset stands and watches uneasily by his chair, trying to decide if he has any outstanding orders right now or if he should just go back to the living room. Or maybe he should just stand here—
"Why don't you dry the dishes while I wash?" Handler-Rogers says suddenly, pointing to a towel hanging off the handle of the oven door. "I'll show you where things go."
He eyes the towel warily for a moment before deciding that the suggestion is close enough to an order to count and he grabs it, moving over instinctively to stand by the drain rack.
"You just have to wipe off all the water and then put the dish away," his handler tells him, and he very quickly finds it best to hold the towel in his left hand and grab the dishes with his right. The metal of his hand is slippery on the wet glass and he thinks dropping a dish right now would probably be very bad.
The task isn't hard though and standing beside his handler as he gives him quiet instructions for the placement of each dishware actually seems to ease something tight inside his chest.
—he's standing next to a woman, her face and hands flushed thanks to the hot water in the sink and she's smiling down at him with eyes that he can't quite see—
He blinks and his hand tightens slightly around his current glass as he mentally scolds himself. He has to be careful. If he doesn't have wiping protocols, he needs to be careful not to malfunction. He scowls slightly and deliberately zeros in on drying the glass thoroughly and putting it away meticulously, his jaw clenched as he focuses intently on the task in front of him. He will be careful.
Dishes are over soon enough, and he follows his handler back into the living room with a lingering sense of unease. His eyes flicker over the room and he shifts, clasping his hands behind his back as he stands at attention, unsure what to do. It feels weird and slightly awkward being around someone for so long during his downtime, since he's used to being left alone or put back in cryofreeze after his missions.
"JARVIS." His handler glances at the ceiling before sweeping his eyes over the couch in front of them. "Is there extra bedding we can use somewhere?"
JARVIS confirms there is, although the Asset isn't quite sure what they need it for. He doesn't have much time to wonder though, because his handler soon turns to look back at him.
"Did you take a shower?" He asks quietly and the Asset's breath stutters in his chest at the question, his eyes widening slightly as his mind flashes back to his handler's confusing orders. Had he been supposed to take a shower? He hadn't wanted to risk it in case it had been a test, but maybe his handler had been testing how well he could follow implied orders. In that case he'd failed completely.
"Negative," he replies tensely with a shake of his head, the world blurring slightly as he tries to breathe.
"That's okay."
He blinks, and when he dares to glance over at his handler, he doesn't look mad, instead he almost looks… well, to be honest, he looks like he's trying to keep his face blank, which is rather confusing. "Do you know how?" He asks evenly.
He opens his mouth to respond and closes it again. He… doesn't actually know if he knows. Back at the Vault he had been fine on his own, he'd known the rules there, and usually he didn't have to worry unless there was something stuck in the grooves of his arm or the agents waiting for him were the impatient type.
Here though… "Unknown," he says finally, shifting to stand a little straighter, hoping that his response is satisfactory enough for Handler-Rogers.
"Okay," his handler says carefully, his face continually blank as his hands press into his legs. "I'll show you how."
His handler leads them gingerly over to the bathroom and flicks on the light, the white tiles of the room strikingly different from anything he's used to. "When you take a shower," his handler starts, and the Asset pulls his eyes away from the bright backsplash to focus on his words. "Make sure you pull this curtain all the way across."
He motions to a pale beige shower curtain before tapping the shower faucet. This, the Asset knows, although there seems to be more taps then he's used to. "Turn this on and pull this lever if you want a shower," his handler explains, demonstrating with one hand as he talks. Water jets out of the showerhead and sprays down into the tub for a second before he turns it off again. "This tap is for hot water, and this one is for cold," he says, touching each tap in turn.
He then goes on to explain the various soaps and where to put his towel afterwards, but the Asset can't stop thinking about the two taps in the shower. The shower at the Vault had only used cold water and he's never… is he supposed to use hot water now?
"Most people take showers every two to three days," his handler explains once they're done and the Asset is very careful to file that bit of information away, since the number is a lot more frequent than he's used to. "You can, of course, take them whenever you want," his handler continues, and he slides that semi-order into his growing pile of ambiguous instructions. "I'd recommend having one at least every three days."
That, at least, is more straight forward and he makes a mental note to shower at least once every three days, hoping that that will somehow go towards fulfilling his current mission. Live in Avengers Tower, what does that even—
"Okay," his handler says, rubbing his hands together and looking around the room. "I'll take the first shower, and then you can have it, and we'll make up your bed once the bedding arrives."
The Asset nods and blinks a little as he leaves the room. Apparently, the bedding is for him.
His handler's shower doesn't take long, although it does take longer than his own. Not that he's going to fault him on that, these are his rooms after all. For his part though, the Asset is determined not to take longer than he usually does at the Vault. He's not really sure if he has a time limit here, and he'd rather not find out the hard way.
It takes him far too long to decide whether or not he should use the hot water though. Handler-Rogers had shown him both, and he hadn't mentioned not being allowed to use them… but maybe this too is a test to see what he will do. In the end, he decides against it, opting for his usual cold shower and hurrying to finish up in time.
His handler's shampoo is a 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner and smells like 'Irish Spring', whatever that is. He wets his hair and squirts a tiny amount out onto his hand, his thumb rubbing away a stray water droplet over the word 'Irish' on the bottle. His brow furls, the spray of the shower momentarily forgotten as he stares at the word. Something about it seems familiar, but he doesn't know why. For whatever reason, it seems rather appropriate that his handler's shampoo smells like it though.
Once he's finished his shower, he dries himself quickly, running the towel through his hair a few times before hanging it up. His hair is still a little wet and drips onto his shirt as he gets dressed, but his time is running out and he doesn't want to take longer in the shower than he already has, so he leaves it be.
His handler is waiting for him by the couch when he comes out, a pile of bedding at his side. He seems to scan him as he exits and the Asset wonders briefly if he's maybe somehow taken too long despite his best efforts.
"Do you need a brush?" His handler finally asks, and the question is so far from what he'd been expecting and also using pesky indefinable words like 'need' again, that he just stares at him, unsure how to respond.
His handler's lips press together, causing a spark of dread to shoot through his stomach, but all he does is edge past him back into the bathroom and exit a moment later with a brush in hand. "You can use this," he says evenly, holding it out. "Do you know how?"
He does. He doesn't quite remember when he learned, but he has apparently, so he nods and reaches out carefully for the proffered brush. His fingers graze his handler's palm as he grabs it and the touch sends tingles running up and down his arm. He… he hasn't touched anyone in…
His handler leaves him to brush his hair and he complies as quickly as possible. The bristles run through his hair smoother than usual, and once he's done, he's left at a loss with what to do with the brush. Eventually, he simply decides to hold onto it and wait. His handler has yet to get mad at him for waiting, so that's probably a safe option.
His handler returns from his room in looser, softer looking clothes and the Asset flicks his eyes over him a little nervously as he pauses to look at him, hoping to have complied properly. "You can put that back in the bathroom," is all Handler-Rogers says, his voice slightly strained and a strange look in his eye.
He complies immediately and breathes in carefully once inside the relative privacy of the bathroom. He doesn't know where the brush goes exactly, so he sets it on the counter, hoping quietly that that will be enough for his handler. So far… so far, his handler has been the most understanding handler he's ever had, but he's still a little lost in this new environment and he really really doesn't want to fail his handler.
He blinks at himself in the mirror for a second, a flare of alarm rushing through him as he consciously recognises the… the want for the first time.
It's fine, he reasons determinedly with himself, his hands curling into fists and his jaw clenching in the mirror. It won't interfere with my mission, it… it will help with my mission, it's not… I'm not compromised.
That decided, he sets his jaw and exits the bathroom. His handler is still waiting for him in the living room and he motions to the couch and pile of bedding. "You will sleep here for now," he orders and the Asset steps closer to better receive instruction. "I'll show you how to make up the bed," Handler-Rogers continues, unfolding the bedding a little as he speaks. "In the mornings you can fold it up and put it by the wall until nighttime."
He nods along as his handler begins to show him the various pieces of his bedding. Apparently, he now has a sheet and a pillow and a blanket which is much more than he's ever had before, but he's not about to complain. "I know you are trained to go without sleep," his handler says afterward, looking up at him. "But now I want you to try to get at least three hours of sleep a night."
He almost tilts his head in confusion at that because it still feels weird to be allowed so much regular sleep, but he manages to stop himself in time. "Confirmed," he says simply.
His handler offers him a small tight smile and breathes in. "You won't be punished if you sleep more or less than that number," he reassures, and the Asset's brain nearly stalls at the guarantee. "But three to five hours is a good number to aim for," he finishes, and the Asset nods back a little numbly.
Three to five…? He files that away with the rest of his mission information and watches silently as his handler excuses himself to go to bed. "Let me know if you need anything," he says, as he leaves his door half-open again.
The Asset watches him leave and blinks slowly, staring at the darkened doorway, his brain spinning slightly at the sheer enormity of changes that this day has brought. He'd both complied with and ignored orders today but had been punished for nothing. Instead he'd been given a new mission, new clothes and a new base of operations.
His mind feels exhausted, his programming sluggish at all the new information he's gathered, and he steps over to sink carefully down onto the couch. The cushions compress under him as he sits, and the blanket and pillow feel strangely soft and smooth under his hand.
He reaches down to undo the laces of his boots automatically, only to immediately pause and stare ahead of himself in confusion. Normally he leaves his boots on, since it was easier to be prepared for anything that way but… but then he would get the blanket dirty, and that wouldn't be polite.
His eyes unfocus a little and he's too tired to try and figure out where that bit of programming had come from, but it doesn't really matter because his boots slide off easily and his head sinks into the pillow as he lays down. He already feels half-asleep as he reaches down to pull the blanket over his shoulders and it settles over him gently, his eyes closing at the warmth that envelops him.
He hasn't gone to sleep warm in… in years.
oOo
He wakes and it's still dark in the room. The couch is soft and comfortable under him, but the longer he lays there the more a restless energy seems to fill his bones and a tightness grabs at his chest. If he's awake, he should be alert and ready at all times, his handler can come out at any moment after all—
He pushes the blanket back and sits up, swinging his feet down to rest on the floor. There's a clock on the TV stand in front of him that lets him know it's around 3 o'clock, and the simple act of knowing what time it is is so foreign that for a second he just stares at it. He blinks, and then blinks away the faint after-images of the numbers, glancing around the darkened room as he tries to figure out what to do next.
Normally in his cell, he just waits. There's never anything else to do and he always has to be ready in case his handler comes to get him for another mission. Here though, the room is so much bigger and he knows where his handler is. He will be able to know right away if his handler comes for him, and… it's kind of… relaxing to have that guarantee.
His eyes flick up to his handler's room, the half-open door just barely visible in the dark. Almost without conscious thought, he finds himself standing and moving across the room, his socked feet dead silent as he nears the doorway.
He stops a few feet away, his heart pounding because he's probably not supposed to be moving around (he's in his handler's rooms after all), but he continues to stare at the door, his ears straining for… for something. It's something important, although he doesn't exactly know what he's looking for until he hears it.
The sound reaches his ears and his eyes shutter closed for a second as his shoulders slump slightly in automatic relief. He breathes in, lowering himself to sit on the floor by the door and leaning his head back against the wall as the quiet, steady breaths of his handler washes over him.
The breathing is Important. He doesn't know why exactly, but it is, and he finds his eyes slipping closed again as he listens, his pulse slowing down as he relaxes. The floor is hard, although carpeted, and it isn't as warm as the couch with his blankets but… everything about him seems to slow down and click into place as he listens to his handler breathing and the thought of moving away is so undesirable that he doesn't even consider it.
He's aware, on some level, that JARVIS will probably report his activity to his handler come morning, and that will mostly likely result in a punishment of some sort but… His handler breathes in deeply behind him and the sound is good and he finds that he doesn't really mind.
oOo
JARVIS doesn't report his behavior.
He's waiting for it, even though he's done his best not to get caught. As soon as the faintest hints of light begin to brighten the morning sky, he leaves his spot by the door, his motions smooth and silent as he puts his shoes back on and folds up his bedding by the wall. By the time his handler exits his room, he's ready, his back stiff and straight as he stands at attention.
Of course, he is under no illusions that this will help much. He's certain that he'd overstepped last night, and he knows that JARVIS monitors the tower, so he's prepared to accept whatever punishment his handler sees fit for his actions.
But JARVIS doesn't say anything.
He waits for it. He waits for it as his handler makes them another smoothie for breakfast (it tastes just as flavourful as last night) and as he drinks it, he's certain that JARVIS will speak up. Surely, he doesn't deserve food like this after everything. Surely it will be taken away, replaced once again with normal rations to remind him of his place and function.
Still, JARVIS doesn't say anything, and he's so distracted by it that he doesn't even have time to overthink as he gets up instinctively to help dry the dishes after breakfast. The towel is already in his hand before he stops to wonder if he should have waited for orders.
His handler doesn't say anything though, and after a few minutes he relaxes, his mind free to turn over his dilemma with JARVIS.
JARVIS cannot reveal anything personal about anyone unless given explicit permission or if someone is considered to be in danger. That is what his handler had said yesterday when he had introduced the two of them. But he hadn't… he hadn't really thought that that counted for him. He blinks and carefully reaches for the next glass to dry. Maybe… maybe he won't be punished for last night.
Or… or, maybe he hadn't even broken any rules in the first place.
You can go anywhere in these rooms freely, his handler had said and he contemplates the words as he carefully sets the cup aside and starts to dry the glass jar from the blender. He hadn't really known what to think of those liberal instructions before, but maybe… maybe they're true.
His eyes narrow slightly as he thinks, and he files the problem away for further thought. It could all be a test of course, and he might find his punishment still forthcoming… But still… he will have to… look into this.
For the mission. Of course.
AN: Bucky is slowly slowly learning about his environment and questioning what he knows. Hopefully he can learn to trust JARVIS.
