"So," Barton puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. "What do you want to do?"
The Asset blinks at him and his brow furls just slightly as he tries to decide if he's being tested. "The Asset does not have wants," he reminds Barton, privately hoping that his… deviation from that directive has not been discovered.
Barton's face goes abruptly blank for a second and he stills. "Well." He flicks his eyes over him and his hands clench inside his pockets. "That's dumb." The Asset stares at him and Barton rolls his shoulders in a lazy shrug. "Tell you what," he says, a strange hardness in his eyes. "Have you ever watched a movie before?"
"…Negative," he replies, a little confused.
Barton flashes him a grin and motions for him to follow as he heads over to the couch. "JARVIS, can you turn it on for me?" He asks, settling onto the couch with a remote in his hand. "You can sit," he says, throwing him a brief glance as he begins flicking through pictures on the screen.
The Asset sits cautiously on the other end of the couch and watches as Barton continues to scan through the images on screen.
"First movie," Barton mumbles under his breath as he flicks through the options. "Big responsibility." He stops on the animated image of a child and a… The Asset narrows his eyes as he tries to remember the word. He catches sight of the title under the image and relaxes. A dragon. Yes, that's what it is.
"This is a good one," Barton says with a smile. "My— ah, it's really popular with kids these days so…" He shrugs. "Yeah, anyways, How to Train Your Dragon, I hope you like it." He presses a button on the remote and the screen goes black for a second before the movie intro begins playing.
The animation style is a little different than he's expecting (although he's never seen one of these before, so he doesn't know why he's expecting anything in the first place), but he finds himself getting drawn into the story nonetheless.
Hiccup, the main character, is too small to really be of any use fighting the dragons, but he wants to fight them anyways, and he reminds him a lot of… His brow furls. It reminds him a lot of… someone. Someone small and determined and… and blond.
He blinks and mentally shies away from the thought, not wanting to accidentally trigger a malfunction. If Barton sees him malfunctioning, then he might turn off the movie, and he… wants to see how it ends. He clenches his jaw and turns back to the film, watching as Hiccup finally manages to shoot down a dragon, only to be unable to actually kill him later.
From there Hiccup befriends the dragon, naming him Toothless and helping him learn to fly again as he begins learning all sorts of new things about dragons that he hadn't known before. He finds out that there's an Alpha dragon controlling all the other dragons and forcing them to fight (he tenses up at that scene, but he doesn't know why), and Hiccup goes to try to share his newfound knowledge with the rest of his village.
The village doesn't want to listen though, and he watches as Toothless is taken away and Hiccup must come up with a rescue plan, he and his friends riding dragons of their own to take on the Alpha queen.
"That thing has wings!" Hiccup says before urging Toothless to fly higher, prompting the Alpha to fly after them. He watches with bated breath, unconsciously leaning forward as Toothless and Hiccup whip around at the last moment to fire into the Alpha's mouth, burning her up from the inside and causing a firework of explosions to light up the sky.
Except now Hiccup is falling and Toothless' prosthetic tailfin is broken and useless as he tries to get to him.
—grab my hand!" [His handler] St- reaches for him and he reaches back desperately, even though he's not really sure how Ste- intends to pull them both back up afterwards. He misses, his hand flailing in space as his stomach lurches into his throat and the bar under him gives away with a piercing screech of metal. His eyes widen as he drops, and a scream tears its way out of his throat.
"Bucky, no!" Ste- yells and—
His metal hand makes a soft whirling noise as he tightens it into a fist and blinks hard, focusing back on the movie, silently hoping that Barton hadn't noticed anything.
Barton doesn't say anything, and they finish the movie, watching as Hiccup wakes up, a new prosthetic leg replacing his old one. (His shoulder pulses in sympathy and he wonders if Hiccup has anyone like Doctor Banner who will try to find a pain medication for him.)
The movie ends and he relaxes a little as the credits begin to scroll. Beside him, Barton stretches and checks his watch. "Looks like Cap's not back yet," he says, picking up the remote. "Do you want to watch another one?"
The Asset flicks his eyes over him for a second before he hesitantly nods, and Barton smiles. "Perfect," he says. "How do you feel about horses?"
Barton chooses another movie called Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron and the animation for this one is more familiar (which still doesn't make sense, but whatever.) They watch until JARVIS announces Handler-Rogers' return and the Asset stands instinctively as the elevator doors ding open. He scans his handler as he enters and he looks tired again, the smile on his face more of a grimace than anything else.
"Hey Cap," Barton says, pausing the movie and looking over at him. "We were just watching Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron, did you want to watch?"
The Asset feels a pulse of panic as his handler surveys the scene, a part of him worrying that he might not be pleased with how he'd spent his time. Barton had been the one to suggest movies, and his handler had said to defer to Barton for instructions, but movies aren't quite the most… productive ways to spend one's time and maybe his handler would have preferred that he spend his time training instead—
"Sure," his handler says, blinking a little tiredly as he comes around the couch to sit next to Barton. "What's it about?"
Barton recaps the movie and the Asset slowly lowers himself back onto the couch, his eyes trained on his handler, ready for any signs of disapproval. His handler doesn't even look at him as Barton hits a button on the remote and they all turn to continue watching.
It's only about 15 minutes later that his handler's head starts nodding off next to them and his eyes blink closed. He slumps slightly as he relaxes, his breathing slowly evening out. Barton doesn't take long to notice Handler-Rogers' behavior, and when he does, a soft, almost exasperated smile crosses his face.
Barton uncurls from his side of the couch and grabs a throw blanket from a nearby chair. "He always pushes himself too much," he says almost fondly with a shake of his head as he drapes the blanket over his handler. "He could use a break."
The Asset flicks his eyes over his handler and looks away, fighting the urge to nod. He's suddenly absolutely certain that his handler is—is an idiot sometimes. He blinks and shoves the thought away (an asset should not critique his handler), before focusing back on the movie, a part of him remaining continually aware of his handler's sleeping form beside him.
Barton leaves after the movie finishes and the Asset sits frozen for a while, internally debating whether he should wake his handler or not. In the end he doesn't, choosing instead to move to the chair facing his handler, his eyes trained on his chest as he watches him breathe up and down.
The breathing is important.
It doesn't take long for his handler to wake up though, and he seems to blink in surprise as he does so, his eyes scanning the room around him, before pausing briefly as they run across him. His cheeks heat slightly for some reason and he sits up. "JARVIS, what time is it?" He asks blearily.
"The time is 5:22," JARVIS replies.
"Ah." He stretches and rubs at his eyes. "I guess we better start getting supper ready then," he says looking over at him.
The Asset finds himself nodding in response, his chin barely dipping as his handler stands up and begins heading towards the kitchen. His stomach rumbles quietly and he wonders what kind of smoothie his handler will make this time.
After supper they head back to his handler's room, and the things he'd ordered earlier have arrived, sitting in a pile of cardboard boxes by the door. He helps his handler carry them inside and they set everything down next to the couch in the living room.
"These are changes of clothes," his handler says, patting one of the boxes. "When your clothes are dirty, you can change into new ones and put the dirty ones in the hamper in the bathroom."
He nods at the new information and watches as his handler slides a few flatter boxes towards himself. "This is a dresser," he says. "So you can put your things away. We just need to put it together."
Apparently, furniture assembly is harder than it looks.
He doesn't think he's ever had an assignment quite like this one before, and his skills don't seem to be very well tailored for it. Luckily, his handler doesn't seem too annoyed that he doesn't know how to build furniture, and he even insists on helping him with most of it.
"Okay." Handler-Rogers sucks in a breath and sits back slightly from the half-finished dresser. "What's the next step again?"
The Asset reaches over again for the instruction manual and carefully reads out the next step. "Step five." He angles the paper slightly so that his handler can see the rudimentary drawings for the step. "Add, and screw in drawer side rails."
"Okay." His handler scowls (but at the screwdriver, not him) and nods determinedly, the look somehow achingly familiar. "Can you hand me the screws?"
The Asset complies and helps hold the drawer rails in place as his handler screws them in. His metal fingers slip on the pieces, but his handler doesn't get mad, instead helping hold them in place like… like they're both working on this together. (He thinks he likes this assignment the best so far.)
"You can put whatever you want in your dresser," his handler says when they're done. "I'll let you know when it's laundry day." He starts gathering up the bits of garbage and extra screws that had come with the dresser before angling off to his room. "I'll let you put your stuff away," he says as he leaves. "Let me know if you need anything."
He waits until he's certain that his handler is asleep before he pulls open the cardboard box with his new clothes. Inside he finds several pairs of the same type of soft pants that he already has, as well as a few pairs made out of stiffer material.
He fingers the fabric for a moment before flicking his eyes to the ceiling. "JARVIS," he rasps quietly, shrinking slightly as he speaks. He still not quite certain this is acceptable, but JARVIS hadn't reported him last time... "What… are these?" He asks, something about the fabric seems… familiar.
"You are holding a pair of jeans, Sergeant Barnes," JARVIS replies.
Oh. Jeans. Work clothes, he thinks, even though he's not quite sure how he knows that. He nods mutely at JARVIS' response and moves to unpack the rest of the box. The shirts inside are soft, just like the one he has now, and he now has both long-sleeve and short-sleeved ones (the strangest part about them though, is the colours, only two of them are black, the rest are varying shades of brighter colours, and he wonders how those are supposed to help him on his missions.)
The clothes all fit in the first two drawers of his dresser and he carefully stashes his weaponry throughout, taking note of where everything is in case of an emergency. He hadn't been carrying his weapons around because he's not supposed to be armed unless given permission by his handler but… but he's willing to break that rule if there's ever any danger.
Not that there would be though, JARVIS seems to have that handled.
Once his clothes are put away, there isn't much left for him to do besides make up his bed, and he goes to sleep wondering if, in the morning, it would be okay if he wore the blue shirt he'd gotten.
The table is cold under him and he can't move. It hurts to move anyways – hurts to breathe actually – he's pretty sure his rib is cracked, and besides that, he's seen Ste-'s pneumonia enough times to recognise the wheezing in his lungs anywhere.
…Probably why they pulled him off the assembly line. He'd tried to keep up with the quota, but sleeping on a cold cement floor every night and surviving off of starvation rations every day isn't exactly helpful when trying to fight off an illness and that blasted guard had seemed to have it in for him—
The door opens and he squeezes his eyes shut, his breath stuttering as he listens for the doctor, with his stupid piggy eyes bugging out from behind his ridiculous glasses and his bloody needles full of who knows what—
"Asset."
His eyes fly open and his heart lurches in his throat because it's Pierce standing over him, his face cold and dark and his mouth presses into a thin, disapproving line.
He struggles instinctively against the straps holding him down and pain spikes through his left shoulder in response, making him gasp sharply and drag in a ragged breath as his vision whites out for a second.
"Желание." He hears Pierce say in badly accented Russian and he panics, pulling harder at the restrains as his pulse speeds up. "Семнадцать."
"No," he gasps, because he doesn't want this, he doesn't want—
"Ржавый," Pierce continues, and he bucks against the straps, desperately trying to get away. If he can get away then maybe he can stop it, maybe he won't have to—
He jerks awake, his heart hammering in his ears and his breath thin and strained in his lungs. He drags in a breath and curls in on himself on the couch, his teeth clenched together and his eyes squeezed shut.
Pierce is dead, he reminds himself firmly, his arm whirling slightly as he breathes. Pierce is dead, he's gone, he's gonehe'sgone—
A noise sounds from his handler's room and he freezes, his eyes shooting open as his breath stutters in his chest. He darts his gaze over to the doorway and it's still dark as ever, but— but what if his handler had heard him—what if he gets in trouble—what if he—he's not supposed to malfunction, he's not supposed to malfunction—
He stutters in another shaky breath as he sits up as quietly as possible, his heart pounding relentlessly against his ribs and his eyes trained fearfully on the door. His lungs spasm and he sucks in a breath, his hands clenched in his blankets. He looks down and becomes aware for the first time how twisted they've gotten, and he slowly, slowly unwinds the fabric from around his legs, his ears perked continually for any sound from his handler's room.
He folds the blanket away from him before stilling, barely breathing as he picks up the creak of bedsprings from the other room and his heart climbs up into his throat as he hears his handler climb out of bed. His eyes are adjusted well enough to the dark that he can see him immediately when he appears in the doorway, and he tenses warily, his heartbeat loud in his ears as he waits for his handler's verdict.
Handler-Rogers seems to tense too at the sight of him and his shoulders hunch as he glances away. "I…" His voice is shakier than he's expecting. "I, was just, going to the kitchen," he says, and his hand trembles just slightly as he runs it through his hair. The Asset swallows nervously, not quite sure how to respond, and his handler shrugs away. "If— if you want… you can come," he says, before darting off to the kitchen.
The Asset breathes in uneasily and tries to calm his churning stomach. His handler hadn't seemed angry, he'd actually— he'd actually looked tired, and the Asset isn't sure… how… to respond to that.
"He always pushes himself too much," Barton had said. "He could use a break."
He stands jerkily, without quite knowing why, and finds himself, against his better judgement, making his way over towards the kitchen. His handler's back is towards him when he stops in the doorway, although he must have made a noise because Handler-Rogers jumps, whipping around to stare at him in a half-defensive stance.
The Asset freezes and stares, his heart pounding uncertainly.
"Oh." His handler drops his shoulders and sucks in a breath. "Sorry I— guess I'm a little on edge."
He blinks at the apology and deems it safe enough to edge his way over to where he usually sits, his eyes fixed on his handler. 'Why are you on edge?' He wants to ask as he sits down, and he bites his tongue, forcing the words back.
In front of him, his handler rubs his arms and looks around the room restlessly. "I'm making tea," he bursts out, his eyes focusing intently on the countertop. "Did you want some?"
His handler's behavior is so erratic that he isn't sure how to react and a few seconds later his handler's hands tighten on his arms and he swallows. "I… guess… you've probably never had tea before," he says slowly, which is true, and the Asset watches as his handler nods decisively to himself and turns towards the cupboards. "I'll make you some."
The Asset's insides still feel slightly shaky as he watches his handler pull out a small box from the cupboard and set aside some mugs for them, and he breathes in quietly, clenching his hands under the counter as they wait in silence.
Eventually, a light on the kettle clicks on (and he realises abruptly that they'd been waiting for it to boil the whole time) and his handler pours the water over their tea before handing it over. "Careful, it's hot," he says, blowing on his own mug.
It is hot, and he can feel the heat of it seeping into his right hand as he holds his cup. He takes a sip and almost scalds his tongue, but the warmth drops straight to his stomach and helps ease the nerves left over there from his dream.
He flicks his eyes over his handler as he drinks and notes the bags under his eyes and sweat spiked hair. His lips press together at the sight and he drops his eyes back down to his tea, only to jerk them up again a second later when his handler sighs.
Handler-Rogers glances up at him and swallows, breathing in carefully through his nose, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "I guess we both have trouble sleeping," he says a little ruefully, and the Asset keeps his eyes pinned on him as he tries to assess whether 'sleeping troubles' is bad or not. His handler had said they both have it, so… maybe not?
"JARVIS tells me we're supposed to get eight hours of sleep a night," his handler continues, his tea tilting dangerously as he fiddles with his mug. "I try to tell him I don't need that much because of the serum, but he doesn't believe me."
"That is because your serum can only go so far, Captain Rogers," JARVIS cuts in and they both jump, although, thankfully, without spilling anything. "Even super soldiers need to sleep."
His handler mumbles something sulkily under his breath and the Asset gets the distinct impression that he's amused. That impression is reinforced as his handler flashes him a smile. "There. See?" He says cheekily. "What did I tell you?"
He eyes his handler and feels his own flare of amusement bubble up in his chest. Punk, he thinks fondly, without knowing exactly why, his mouth twitching upwards briefly.
His handler's mouth twitches in response, and he swirls his tea around in his mug for a moment before turning to look back at the time on the microwave. "It's too early to really do anything but…" He turns back and swallows. "…I'm not really tired."
The Asset stays quiet and looks down at his tea, the thought of going back to bed not really appealing for him either.
"What about you?" His handler asks and he darts his eyes up. "Are you tired?"
No, he thinks.
"Negative," he says, his eyes flicking down to the counter, fully aware that even though he's replying to a direct question, he's still expressing an opinion on something, and that… doesn't always go over well.
His handler breathes in and glances over at the living room behind them. "Well…" He says slowly. "Well, I… never did get to see that movie that you and Clint were watching…" The Asset's eyes narrow before he can stop them and he stares at his handler, the hedging tone of his voice suddenly very familiar. "If you want…" His handler continues with a not-so-casual shrug. "If you want, we could watch it… now."
He stills, his mind working to try and figure out the best response. He… really isn't ready to try going back to bed yet, and judging from his handler's behavior, neither is he… but replying with an opinion might not be— but— but. If it were mission related, then…. Then he could. It's fine if it's mission related and his mission is to live in Avengers Tower, and it seems that watching movies is something one does in Avengers Tower so— so logically it should be fine if he agrees.
So… so yeah. He can agree. That is something he can do.
He opens his mouth and for a split second he wishes for his mask. He hasn't worn it since arriving at Avengers Tower – he doesn't even know where it is actually – but it had often been his saving grace before, keeping his face and expression hidden from dangerous handlers.
Not that his handler is dangerous, mostly the situation is, and he doesn't…
He breathes in. "…Affirmative," he replies, his shoulders hunching into himself despite his best efforts.
His handler's shoulders drop, and he knows immediately that he's made the right decision. "Great," he says, flashing him a smile. "We'll have to watch it in the living room. Is that okay?"
He gives a shaky nod because it still feels weird to have his handler ask him things and he drops his eyes, draining the rest of his tea as quickly as possible so he can follow Handler-Rogers into the living room.
JARVIS starts the movie up for them as they sit on the couch and they watch in silence as a wild stallion grows up and is captured by Western settlers. He's already seen the movie, but he can't help sympathizing a little with the horse as he's jerked around in an attempt to tame him. They cut his mane— and for a half-second he's certain that his hair used to be shorter, he can feel it, like a ghost against his neck and face— and then the moment passes, and he's left staring a little emptily at the screen.
Despite the settler's best efforts, the stallion refuses to be tamed, throwing off every rider that tries to mount it. The Asset finds himself repressing a grin as the horse launches its most recent rider into the sky, silently rooting for it as it refuses to be broken.
"Sergeant," the leader of the settlers snaps. "Tie this horse to the post. No food or water. Three days."
He tenses.
—he stumbles as they shove him in, his bare feet scuffing and catching on the cement floor.
"See how you like it in here for a few days," the guard snarls in accented English, grabbing his chin and twisting it towards him. "You will break Sergeant," he hisses. "You will fight."
"Not for you," he spits back, earning himself a blow to the face. He overbalances and falls, his arm and shoulder screaming as he lands hard—
He breathes in very carefully and risks a glance at his handler. Thankfully, he seems focused on the screen and not on his asset who is busy malfunctioning.
He is distinctly aware that his hair had been shorter in the malfunction.
He clenches his jaw and fixes his eyes back on the screen, determined to finish watching the movie. Beside him, his handler continues watching as well, for some reason growing tenser as time goes on. He doesn't understand why his handler is so stiff and after a while he cautiously glances over.
Handler-Rogers doesn't look back, his knuckles white in his lap as he watches the stallion get led dejectedly onto a train car, seemingly hopeless after the death of his friend.
Something sour and anxious swirls around in his gut and he looks away, the pained expression on his handler's face difficult to process. He shouldn't look like that— he shouldn't— he shouldn't have to look like that.
His uneasiness over his handler's emotional state only grows as the movie continues and he finds himself desperately racking his brain for something that will make that horrible heartbroken look leave his handler's eyes.
On screen the stallion bucks and breaks free of his chains, accidentally triggering a forest fire as he escapes. Words rise up in his throat as he watches, and he shoves them down because, how are colours supposed to help his handler feel better?
The words persist though, and he shifts, swallowing nervously as his heart beginning to pound a little faster. The words push against his tongue and he doesn't exactly understand why those words but— but his handler looks so sad and—
He clenches his jaw. "Th…" His throat tries to close up and he resists, figuring that he's already gone this far, he might as well keep going. "Th' fire's red," he mumbles, his stomach dropping as he pulls into himself, his pulse loud in his ears. What is he thinking, what is he thinking—
His handler stares at him, his mouth slightly open and his hands frozen in his lap. The Asset stares back, his shoulders hunched defensively. He'd probably spoken out of turn but he— he clenches his jaw. This is right, he doesn't know why but it is.
"Yeah… I—" His handler blinks rapidly at him. "I see it Buck," he says, his voice strained as he swallows.
Relieved that his handler seems to have accepted his words, he nods determinedly at him and turns back to the movie, warmth unfurling in his stomach as he turns over the name in his head.
Good, he thinks decisively.
AN: So Clint introduced movies to him (I like to imagine that he was inspired by his kids :D)
And then Bucky got to tell Steve the colours. He doesn't exactly remember WHY it's so important, but he knows it is.
