The bed has to be the problem — or at least part of it. He can't help noticing— now that he allows himself to pay closer attention to his handler beyond what might pertain to a mission—that Handler-Steve has issues and preferences that seem to operate outside of a mission context.
In retrospect the realisation seems pretty obvious, but the thought is still a little strange. His handler has his own problems because his handler is a person outside of being, well, his handler. Which means that he can have problems and needs and feelings that have nothing to do with handling or missions at all.
For example, he always seems to scowl at the fridge, and while the Asset can't begin to imagine why he does that, the scowl and distaste for the fridge seems to have nothing to do with him, and his handler's disgruntled feelings around cold things never bleeds into his actual handling.
For as long as the Asset can remember, everything his handlers have ever done were Important Mission-Related things, or, important-things-to-notice-to-avoid-being-punished. Here though, his handler does things that aren't related to him (or a mission) at all.
It doesn't matter if he doesn't know why his handler hates cold things. It doesn't matter if he doesn't know why his handler sleeps on the floor—because his handler doesn't expect him to know why. His handler doesn't expect him to react intuitively and anticipate his actions because his handler does things that don't matter to him.
It feels rather strange, consciously thinking of him and his handler as two separate people, who do separate things and have separate goals. It makes it harder to determine what really is important, and it doesn't help that even though he doesn't need to know why his handler does certain things… he wants to know. He wants to know why his handler doesn't sleep and why he doesn't like cold things and he wants to know how to fix it. (Whether or not these urges are part of his programming or mission-related… he's not sure.)
(They must be. They must be. Where else could they have come from?)
Still, now that he's aware of it, it's hard not to get distracted by his handler's issues (he'd like to believe he's only concerned because he wants to be ready if Handler-Steve's issues start interfering with him or the mission, but he's pretty sure that isn't true), so he finds himself a lot more relieved than is probably appropriate when he wakes up one day to find that his handler has somehow acquired a pair of slippers.
The slippers are blue and grey (he nods at that because blue is Important) and they spend most of their time sitting out of the way by the entrance of the kitchen. The days are steadily getting warmer and JARVIS keeps the indoor temperature regulated, so his handler doesn't have to wear them much around the tower, but he does slip them on every time he goes to open the freezer.
The Asset can't help relaxing a little at that. He might not know why his handler doesn't like cold, and he might not know how he can help with it, but the slippers do seem to help, so that's good.
Of course, that doesn't really help him with why his handler doesn't sleep on his bed, but it's a start.
He's still mulling the problem over the next time his handler leaves and Wilson offers to teach him to cook again. He accepts of course, and since Wilson had seemed a little skeptical of the sandwiches last time, he lets him choose what to make this time.
"Pancakes seem alright to you?" Wilson says as they tie on their aprons. "They're pretty universal."
The Asset nods absentmindedly and follows along as Wilson shows him how to measure out and mix the ingredients. Wilson chats lightheartedly as they work and the Asset finds that he enjoys the lack of silence. It feels nice to be… included in the work, rather than being watched and judge like he would have been back with Hydra.
"Flipping the pancakes is the fun part," Wilson tells him as they stand over the stove, a spatula in hand. He slips the spatula under the cooking batter and flips it over with practiced ease. "Sometimes it gets stuck on the side of the pan," he warns as he waits for the other side to cook. He grins. "One time I actually flip the whole thing completely out of the pan and onto the floor." He scoops up the cooked pancake and transfers it over to a waiting plate before pouring some more batter into the pan and handing the spatula over. "How 'bout you give it a try?"
The Asset accepts the spatula and settles in front of the stove, watching for the telltale bubbles that will tell him when the pancake is ready to be flipped. The smell of cooking batter and hot oil is pleasant, and the weight of the spatula feels natural in his hand, even though he's pretty sure he's never done this before. He lifts up the edge of the pancake to check for doneness and prepares to flip it to the other side—
—He lifts the pan and grins mischievously at the two girls seated in front of him. The older one rolls her eyes, but smiles, and the younger one's pig-tails bob as she covers her mouth and giggles, her eyes on the hot pan.
"Prepare to be amazed," he tells them dramatically, flinging out his other arm and swirling the pan a little.
The older girl's smile grows as she shakes her head and the giggles from the younger girl intensify, her legs swinging as she bounces with impatience in her chair. "Make it fly!" She chants excitedly, her eyes sparkling.
His grin widens and he looks down at the pan. "Ready?" He teases, lowering the pan a little before flicking his wrist and watching in satisfaction as the batter inside flips over expertly.
Alic- lets out a shriek of delight and—
"Woah."
Reality drops back in and the Asset realises suddenly that not only is he standing holding the pan a few inches above the stove, but that he had just flipped its contents exactly like he had in the malfunction/memory and he had done all that in front of Wilson.
The pan lands back on the stove with a clang and he whips his head around to stare at Wilson, his eyes wide. His heart pounds uncomfortably in his chest as he tenses, waiting for the man's response to his actions. Wilson hadn't taught him how to flip pancakes— it must be obvious then that that skill had come from somewhere else and if Wilson finds out he's malfunctioning— that has to be bad right— he's not allowed to malfunction— (He wonders who those two girls were, he'd seemed to know them—)
"Cool trick," Wilson says with a smile, seemingly unaware of the gravity of the situation. "My dad and I used to do that all the time."
The Asset blinks slowly at him and continues to stare, unable to decide how to respond. Wilson doesn't seem mad at his malfunction but…
"I bet I can flip it higher though," Wilson challenges, a playful glint in his eye. The Asset blinks at him again and Wilson takes the pan from his hand, transferring the current pancake and pouring more batter inside as the Asset shifts away to make more room.
Wilson flashes him a quick grin before turning to stare intently at the heating pan, his hand poised on the handle like his life depends on it. His behaviour is inexplicable, and the Asset can't help the furling of his brow as he watches.
Wilson seems… amused, and he's not exactly sure what to do with that.
After a few moments, Wilson triumphantly flips the pancake and from the gleeful look on his face, the Asset can only assume that he'd managed to do it higher. He's not certain why that is particularly important to Wilson, but… maybe he is trying to assert himself, prove that he's better than the Asset in some way.
"Think you can do better?" Wilson says, cutting into his train of thought as he pours more batter into the pan and steps away.
The Asset narrows his eyes and scans Wilson as he approaches the stove again. He can sense no hostility from the man, and he can't decide if Wilson truly wants to know if he can flip the food higher, or if he wants the Asset to fail and thus prove his superiority.
He has no reason to believe that Wilson might play mind games with him, he seems pretty genuine, and part of him has to admit that he is a little curious as to whether or not he can beat Wilson at this competition.
His resolve hardens and he grips the handle of the pan, waiting for the pancakes to finish cooking. He won't try to fail on purpose for the moment, if Wilson gets mad or seems upset, then he'll know for future reference not to challenge him, for now the playing field is equal.
The batter cooks soon enough and he readies himself, flicking his wrist to flip the pancake into the air and watching as it flies up a few inches higher than Wilson's had. Satisfaction wells up in his chest and he turns the pan back to Wilson, stepping away.
A grin splits Wilson's face and he grabs the pan. "Oh, it's on now," he says, as he waits for the pancake to finish cooking, his tone light enough to be teasing and not angry.
The Asset finds his mouth trying to pull up in amusement as he watches Wilson transfer the pancake and pour more batter. He pushes the urge to… to smile(?) away as quickly as possible, but he can't change the pleased feeling that seems to settle in his chest.
The contest continues as they slowly work their way through the prepared batter and eventually they're forced to move away from the stove as they flip so they can have more space to let things fly.
"Alright." Wilson widens his stance as he holds the pan in front of himself, shifting a little as he prepares for his turn. "And the winner is—"
He moves to flip the pancake and at that very second, the elevator doors ding open. The sound must startle Wilson because his hand jerks with more force than usual and they both watch transfixed as the pancake flies up in to the air, landing with a solid splat on the ceiling.
In slow motion they both turn to look towards the elevator, Handler-Steve frozen mid-step a few feet away, his eyes pinned on the ceiling. Everything seems to still for a moment and the Asset feels his pulse pick up as he desperately hopes that he and Wilson haven't been acting out of turn.
Sure, Wilson had been supposed to teach him to cook, but a pancake flipping contest probably isn't part of that, never mind the fact that they'd managed to make a mess on the ceiling—
"You guys having fun I take it?" His handler says finally, looking back at them, a distinct glint of amusement in his eyes.
"You know it," Wilson replies easily, moving to turn off the stove. Above him, the pancake peels off the ceiling and falls to the floor with a thwack. "You have perfect timing," Wilson comments and the Asset cautiously starts relaxing, the calm expression on his handler's face making punishment for his recent kitchen exploits seem unlikely.
"Oh?" Handler-Steve approaches and leans against the kitchen island, seemingly unbothered by the recent events.
"Yeah, we just finished," Wilson says, indicating the now empty batter bowl and the large stack of cooked pancakes. "I'm guessing you won't mind helping us eat these up."
His handler chuckles and the Asset finds himself moving instinctively to set the table with plates and cutlery as Wilson cleans up the spoiled pancake and chats lightly with his handler. For his part, the Asset is still a little tense from the close call, but he finds himself calming down quickly enough and a part of him feels immense satisfaction at being allowed to feed his handler himself.
Usually Handler-Steve is the one to take care of meals, which he doesn't mind, but there are no slippers here in the common room and the Asset is glad that he can help his handler avoid using the freezer without them.
oOo
A few days later he's alone in the room, busy folding and putting away a recent load of laundry while he waits for his handler to return. He'd just come back from a walk with Bruce and his handler hadn't been in his room when he'd returned, but he hadn't been too concerned. It feels kind of nice to have some time away from everyone and he knows Handler-Steve will come back soon enough. He's just glad that the laundry is here to keep him occupied, he still feels a little strange entertaining himself while alone, but it now feels strange to simply do nothing as well.
"Sergeant Barnes?"
His hands still on his half-folded jeans and he looks up at the ceiling.
"If you could make your way down to the gym," JARVIS says. "Captain Rogers is waiting."
He blinks a little in surprise because Handler-Steve has never summoned him like this before, but he complies quickly enough, setting aside the clothes and heading out towards the elevator. On his way down he can't help wondering at his handler's decision to call him to the gym. So far, they have yet to train together since the time when the Avengers had gone away. He's done a few sessions with other members of the team, but none with his handler.
JARVIS lets him off and he steps into the gym to hear the steady and familiar rhythm of his handler pounding away on the hanging bags. His brow furls as he pauses a few feet away and scans his handler. Handler-Steve doesn't seem to realise he's entered the room, his handler's eyes completely focused on the bags in front of him, a damp line of sweat darkening the back of his shirt and a persistent jingling sounding from his phone sitting a few feet away on a bench.
He narrows his eyes, his mind flashing back to the other two times he's seen his handler zoning out on the punching bags and his gaze catches on a couple of water bottles on the bench next to his handler's phone. In front of him his handler throws a particularly heavy punch and the Asset clenches his teeth.
It's important to take breaks, that's what Barton had said, and from the looks of it, his handler hadn't taken one for a while. Determination flares in his gut and he marches over to the bench intending to grab one of the water bottles and offer it to his handler. That had seemed to go over rather well last time, so it's probably a safe enough option now.
His eyes catch on the screen of his handler's phone as he reaches for one of the water bottles and the words Break Time flash at him in time with the ringing alarm. He stares at it for a second before looking back towards his handler, who is showing no signs of stopping. His resolve sharpens even further, and he sweeps up the phone along with the water before marching to stand next to the bag and his handler.
It takes a moment, but his handler catches sight of him as he steps back from his most recent bout and he pauses, his chest heaving, a look of confusion flashing in his eyes.
The Asset shoves the phone and water towards him, his back stiff and his shoulders tense. "Break," he almost snaps in his determinedness. It's important to take breaks.
"Ah," his handler wipes his mouth with his hand and a faint blush covers his cheeks as he reaches out for the proffered items. "Right. Sorry."
He takes the phone and silences the alarm before opening the water bottle and taking a long drink. The Asset follows him with his eyes as his handler wipes his brow and makes his way over to sit on the bench, water still in hand.
"I'm trying to work on that," he says quietly, seemingly to the water. "Sorry you had to be called down here, I guess the alarm wasn't enough."
The Asset flicks his eyes down to his handler's wrapped hands, his mind pulling up the image of his handler's previously bloodied knuckles. The bandages are clean today and he feels a little relieved at the sight. Without a word, he moves to go sit down beside his handler, listening as his breathing begins to slow into a more regulated pace.
It doesn't seem he'll be doing any training with his handler today, but one look at the white bandages on his handler's hands and he finds he doesn't mind much. It's… good that his handler is trying to be better in that area, and he's glad that he'd been able to help with it, even just a little.
oOo
He doesn't know what to do about the bed though. That night he stays up so that he can write down his daily malfunction/memories, and he's yet again interrupted by his handler's restless sleeping. He doesn't hear him move to sleep on the floor, which is a relief, but he has to admit that he doesn't enjoy standing by while his handler seems to be having difficulty.
Obviously the bed has something to do with it. His handler wouldn't move to sleep on the floor if the bed wasn't a problem… but he doesn't know what to do with that information. He stays awake longer than he probably should, staring up in the dark as he tries to sort through his dilemma.
Maybe this will work better if I decide to approach it like a mission, he decides after a while, resolve settling like a weight in his stomach. It might not be exactly orthodox to assign himself his own mission but… he finds he doesn't really care.
Mission: 'Help Handler-Steve Sleep', kicks off and he spends his days carefully observing his handler, trying to find clues that can help him solve his problem.
As far as he can tell, Handler-Steve makes no mention of his sleeping troubles to any of the other Avengers, which makes sense, since he's their leader and is probably reluctant to admit any weakness to them. (But, the Asset can't help thinking that the Avengers probably wouldn't lose respect for their Captain if he did admit anything.)
Either way, his handler's self-imposed censorship on the matter makes it difficult to learn anything about it. Handler-Steve seems perfectly determined to suffer in silence and the Asset can't help grinding his teeth together a little in frustration at that.
He's so stubborn, he thinks crossly, fighting to keep from glaring ahead of himself as he forgoes sleep again and contemplates his problem. He can't remember ever having to be annoyed at his handler's behaviour before, but this is definitely testing his limits. With a sigh he sets his jaw and tries to go over what he knows for sure.
Fact: His handler has trouble sleeping
Fact: His handler seems to have less trouble sleeping on the floor
Fact: He brings the blankets with him to the floor, so those are not the problem
Fact: JARVIS said eight hours of sleep are important, but his handler said that five is okay because of the serum
He purses his lips. He's not sure exactly how many hours a night his handler sleeps, but even if he does get the recommended amount, they certainly aren't restful. His handler must be tired all the time then, if he isn't sleeping well, although he doesn't seem to show it much.
He always pushes himself too hard, Barton had said one time when Handler-Steve had fallen asleep on the couch. He blinks. Right. The couch, his handler hadn't seemed to have a problem falling asleep there, so maybe that is a better option, rather than the floor—
Except. Except he's sleeping on the couch. His handler can't sleep on the couch because that's his bed. Something heavy drops into his stomach and he swallows uneasily. Is his presence in his handler's room a problem? If his handler can't sleep on the bed but can sleep on the couch then shouldn't their arrangement be the other way around?
He winces and tries to shove the thought away. He can't sleep on his handler's bed. The Asset isn't supposed to have better sleeping accommodations than his handler. Except… his handler can't sleep on his bed, he's sleeping on the floor instead. So— so is the couch really the lesser of the two options? Should he give up the couch to his handler? But then he would be sleeping on the bed.
Maybe I can sleep on the floor, he thinks a little desperately, trying to find an agreeable solution to his dilemma. Either he sleeps on the bed, couch or the floor, but his handler definitely should not be sleeping on the floor—
—"I was gonna ask…"
"I know what you're gonna say Buck, it's just…" He fights to keep from sighing as Steve deflects his offer, his shoulders hunching as he heads towards his door.
"We could put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids," he wheedles, trying to make the offer seem casual and light enough that his friend will accept. "It'll be fun, all you gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe, take out the trash…"
Steve is rifling through his pockets with an air of concern and the routine is familiar enough that he doesn't hesitate to look down and kick away a loose brick, reaching down to hand over the revealed spare key. "Com'on," he says.
'Please,' he thinks as Steve takes the key. 'Let me help you.'
Steve looks down, his jaw flexing. "Thank you, Buck," he says, looking up, his determined words doing nothing to hide the pain in his eyes. "But I can get by on my own."
He shakes his head. Steve is always so stubborn, determined to prove himself to a world that thinks he's weak but… "Thing is… you don't have to," he replies, wishing for Steve to get it, for him to understand that he doesn't have to fight the whole world by himself because– "I'm with you till the end of the line pal."—
He sucks in a slow breath and lets it out. He's pretty sure that had been one of his longest malfunction/memories yet and it feels… it feels extra important. He'd wanted to help Handler-Steve in the malfunction/memory, he can't remember why his handler had been so sad, but he'd wanted to help even though Handler-Steve had been determined to do it by himself.
And I offered him the couch cushions, he thinks, running a hand through his hair and trying to decide if that is a hint for what to do now, or if he should just ignore it. Did he and his handler share couch cushions in the past? Should they do that now?
He doesn't know and he lefts out a huff of frustrated air before sitting up and shuffling over to his dresser, ready to write down this latest confusing malfunction/memory.
oOo
He decides against offering any couch cushions. Doing so would tip his handler off to his malfunctions/memories and he's still not quite sure if those are acceptable, so it's probably better not to mention them right now.
That doesn't solve his current problem though at it keeps nagging him as the days go by, seeming to grow bigger and bigger the longer he mulls it over. He's aware of himself to notice that the more he worries over it the less responsive he seems to be to his handler and the world around him and the realisation leaves him panicked because the last thing he wants to do is be an ineffective asset. He needs to figure this out, just like his dilemma with big and small Steve, so that he can move on from it and be a good asset.
Problem: Handler-Steve can't sleep on his bed.
Solution: Offer the couch
Subproblem: The Asset cannot sleep on the bed either
Subproblem: His handler deserves to sleep on a bed
Solution Two: Get a better bed
Subproblem Two: Assistance required from outside sources
Around him, the world shifts out of focus as he settles into himself and examines his solutions. His handler is patient enough with him that he can afford to tune-out a little and try to figure this out. The idea of getting his handler another bed might be the best solution since then their current sleeping arrangements don't need to change but…
But he can't get his handler a new bed himself. He doubts even JARVIS would be able to do it without outside help, which means… he needs to get help from one of the other Avengers. His handler doesn't seem willing to deal with his problem, so he doubts his handler will approach the Avengers himself…
Which means he has to do it.
The thought sets him sinking deeper into his programming, the very idea of going behind his handler's back and revealing a weakness of his, almost too much too bare.
But he needs help! He thinks desperately, trying to ride out the storm of his mind. His handler needs help and— and isn't it his job to help his handler? Shouldn't he help his handle if he can? He grits his teeth, the movement of others around him a blur as he fights his programming.
Yes, he decides determinedly. He should help his handler. According to his malfunction/memories he'd done it before, and he can do it now.
That leaves who to ask.
The question leaves him stumped for a while and he continues to eat and respond to orders mechanically, function at minimum capacity as he sorts through his programming and thought process. (His handler has yet to get mad at him and a distant part of him is continually grateful to him for allowing him the space to figure this out. He doubts most of his previous handlers would have been this understanding.)
And I'm going to repay him by revealing his weakness to his teammates, he thinks despairingly.
It can't be helped. He has to. His handler needs help and he will take whatever punishment necessary afterwards, as long as his handler gets the help he needs.
He narrows down his choice of Avengers to Stark. He'd been a little reluctant at the idea since he has yet to spend much time with Stark and doesn't know him very well. Unlike the rest of the Avengers, Stark has yet to take him anywhere or train him in any skills. They haven't really talked at all, but Stark and his handler seem to respect each other, and Stark seems to be in charge of supplying the Avengers team, so if anyone can get his handler a better bed, it will be Stark.
Choosing Stark doesn't exactly make the rest of it easy though. He's acutely aware that talking to Stark about his handler's issues is a huge breech in protocol and his handler will be well within his rights to be furious afterwards but…
The pained expression of little-Steve from his malfunction/memory flashes before his eyes and his resolve hardens. It doesn't matter what happens afterwards. This needs to be done.
Of course, that doesn't make it easy to actually find Stark and ask him. It's not like he can request to visit him, and Stark doesn't exactly seek him out either, so for a while he despairs at ever getting the chance to acquire his help.
Thankfully, a few days after he'd first fallen into the depths of his programming while trying to find an acceptable solution, his handler takes them up to the common room for breakfast, and Stark is already there, sitting at the counter like an answer to prayer.
His world sharpens into focus as he settles at the other end of the counter and tries to come up with the necessary words. Across from him, his handler rattles around the kitchen, his movements stiffer and sharper than usual.
The Asset swallows uneasily and flicks a glance towards Stark. He's aware enough of his surroundings now to understand that his handler isn't exactly in a good mood and that his mission to talk to Stark might just make things worse but… but if he waits too long then he might lose his chance and everything will start all over again.
His handler sets oatmeal and a smoothie down in front of him before taking a seat across from him and taking a few half-hearted bites, his face clouded with tired lines. The Asset finds his heart pounding a little faster and his hand shakes slightly as he reaches for his smoothie.
He doesn't want to make his handler mad, but he wants his handler to be able to sleep too.
Stark stands up, making his way towards the sink, and the Asset's heart skips a beat as he realises that if he doesn't speak up soon then Stark will leave, and he will lose his chance to speak at all. His mouth opens and closes a few times as he watches Stark's progress, his mind desperately trying to drag up the words he needs.
"Steve needs—" He almost chokes as across from him his handler's head snaps up and Stark freezes up at his words. "Steve needs'a bed," he rushes out, his shoulders hunching and his pulse loud in his ears as he pins Stark with his gaze. "He c'n't sleep'on his."
His throat closes up and he clamps his mouth shut trying to breathe in evenly through his nose as he waits for the reaction to his words. He'd spoken out of turn and revealed a weakness of his handler's to a teammate and—
And I didn't even call him by his title! His brain wails and he tenses, blood draining from his face as he realises that he'd been so intent on talking that he hadn't been paying attention to his actual words and he'd called his handler Steve. Not Handler-Rogers, not even Handler-Steve, just Steve.
Not good, he thinks frantically. Not good, not good—
"Steve?" Stark asks a little uncertainly, breaking into his downward spiral. "Is that right?"
His eyes snap back to his handler and he tries to hold as still as possible, barely daring to breathe as he waits for Handler-Steve's response. His heart pounds steadily in his chest, and he's fairly certain that he must have reached the end of his handler's benevolence by now. There's no way this is acceptable.
"Ah—" He almost flinches as his handler finally speaks, unable to keep from noticing how his handler's hands clench on the counter in front of him. "Ah, well, my bed's kind of…" His handler's voice is thin and awkward and a faint blush spreads over his cheeks as he turns to address Stark. "It's kind of… too soft for me, so— I have a hard time… sleeping on it."
The Asset stares.
He'd fully expected anger or a complete denial or both. Stark would believe his handler's word over his, so all his handler would have had to do was vehemently deny everything and there would have been nothing the Asset could have done about it but now…
By the sink Stark waves his hand indignantly and begins to rant about the different levels of firmness in mattresses, while at the same time thoroughly chewing-out Handler-Steve for keeping quiet about his problem for so long, his words letting the Asset know that he'd made the right choice in choosing Stark to tell about his handler's bed.
His handler takes the lecture with a mix of fondness and embarrassment and the Asset can feel his mouth flicker upwards without his permission as he slowly allows himself to relax, the likelihood of punishment falling by the second.
A feeling of smug satisfaction grows in his chest and he reaches for his glass, raising it to help conceal what on anyone else might be the beginnings of a smirk.
AN: It was a lot of fun figuring out Bucky's thought process during this. He still has some Hydra logic that he has to work around, but he's definitely willing to do that.
And, of course, his cooking shenanigans with Sam continue. Can you imagine being Steve walking into that? XD
