Jack first saw the empty bed but before he had time to panic, he looked about the room and saw Brock sitting in the corner. He noticed the wetness on the barrel of the gun in his lap but it hadn't been fired. He would have heard that. Brock looked defeated but also pissed off so Jack stayed where he was, slowly closing the door.
"Are you really going to do it?"
"I was."
"And now?"
"I can't," murmured Brock. "Even in this condition life seems more interesting than death."
"Well, you never struck me as religious. And you're not a coward so I suppose seeing you blow your brains out would've been a bit surprising," Jack commented as if it was the most normal conversation in the world. Seeing the gun still kept his heart constricting. "We have running water. You thirsty?"
"Am I going to die from some horrible bacteria if I do?" asked Brock with a sigh.
"Locals seem fine enough," responded Jack as he took out a glass and filled it from the sink. As he walked over, he asked, "Are you religious?"
"Why are you asking?"
"I'd like to think of you as a friend," Jack admitted. "We've known each other for years, more than a decade now. We've fought side by side, risked our lives together, but I honestly don't know much about you. Well, except that you have a sweet tooth."
"I do not have a sweet tooth," Brock growled.
"Yeah, say that to the honey bun wrappers I always found at the bottom of your locker when it was my turn to clean. What's so wrong about having a sweet tooth anyways? I think it's kind of funny," Jack said, sitting beside Brock and handing him the glass and taking the gun.
Brock didn't answer, simply taking the glass and swallowing, the water, a welcome feeling. "I'm not religious though. My mom was…really religious. My dad I have no idea," he finally answered. "Yourself?"
"Not particularly. I suppose I believe in there being something. Just never put much thought into it." Jack looked to the sky and asked, "Are you planning on sleeping on the floor or would you prefer the bed." The glare was response enough so Jack let out a sigh and said, "Fine, just honestly curious. Come on let me—"
"I can do it myself!"
"Right, and when you get a splinter from dragging yourself across the floor don't ask me for help getting it out now come on," Jack said, reaching under Brock and pulling him up.
If it hadn't meant a painful fall, Brock would've struggled but instead, he let Jack drag him back to the bed, his feet hanging limply below him.
"You want me to tuck you in too?"
"I'm not a damn child," Brock grunted, resisting the urge to yell again.
"It was a joke."
"Oh."
"You know, you use to be able to at least take a joke."
"Also could kick your ass but now look at me."
"Oh I don't know," Jack responded, going back for the glass and putting it up, "you could still probably get me on the ground within a minute."
"Is that a challenge?"
"Sure, but not today. You should rest at least a little bit before trying to wrestle me to the ground." Jack walked back over and sat on the hard wood floor, pulling the blanket over him.
"That looks bloody uncomfortable."
"Since when did you care about my sleeping habits? And when did you become British?"
"Fucking, okay? It looks fucking uncomfortable; does that make you feel better? I didn't know you liked a crude mouth," muttered Brock.
"Funny. But really, I'm fine right here. You know we've both slept in worse places."
"We have, haven't we? So what's the plan? Staying here, taking care of little old me, working the fields? Sounds pretty boring."
"I was waiting for you to wake up before making any concrete decisions. But you are little and old."
"I am average height! It's not my fault you're a giant," Brock replied, pulling himself over so he could look at Rollins and trying not to get majorly pissed. "And fifty-one is not old."
"You said it, not me," Jack replied as he turned over but not before Brock could see the smirk.
Brock huffed in response and pushed himself down, staring up at the ceiling. He'd slept for weeks and now all he wanted to do was be active. Run around, do his usual workout, have a sparring match, make sure his aim hadn't gone off with a gun. He couldn't do any of that now and being a fugitive and a traitor didn't really leave much in the field of choices.
He tried to think of a way to get his legs back. That was the key. Any way of getting them back though could be risky, not being able to trust anyone now. Then something came to mind.
"AIM."
Jack remained silent so long that Brock thought he might be asleep but he finally replied, "Is that it? Just aim? Aim for what?"
"No, AIM as in Advanced Idea Mechanics," responded Brock.
"That was created by Aldrich Killian right?"
"Yeah, in the late nineties or something. They supplied HYDRA with some weapons for a while but after Killian died they went underground."
"Yeah, who was it that took over after him?" asked Jack.
"Some…thing named MODOK, at least for part of AIM."
"Oh yeah, they wear yellow and the other ones wear blue right?"
"Yeah."
"Well that's great to know but why the hell are we talking about it," grumbled Jack, rolling over to look at Brock.
"If anyone would know how to fix my legs it would be AIM. Not with MODOK though. I hear he still affiliates himself with parts of HYDRA. The others, they could help."
"Are your legs really the most important thing right now? I mean, you're still healing and—"
"None of that's important. I can't live my life like this, at least not without trying," Brock argued. "Will you help me?"
"You already know the answer."
"No, I actually don't. I still don't understand why you would risk your life to save me."
"If you're still stuck on that then I guess you're really blind."
"I'm paralyzed, not blind now tell me what the hell you're on about."
"It'll just freak you out."
"Don't be an ass and tell me what the hell you mean!"
Jack hadn't expected it so it was pretty shocking when Brock pulled himself off the bed to land on top of him. They struggled for a while, grappling back and forth but eventually, despite the cast, Brock was able to get both arms around Jack's neck. He wasn't choking him but he could just as easily do that or snap his neck if he wanted to.
"Tell me!"
"No."
Brock waited his grip tightening as he expected a struggle. However, a very unexpected event happened. Jack let out a sigh and relaxed his body, not pushing at all.
For a moment, Brock was to shocked to do anything until finally, he just let go, allowing his back to fall against the bed. "Why won't you tell me?" he asked softly.
Jack opened one eye. "I already told you, it would freak you out." He sat up and turned to Brock. "Besides, you couldn't kill me. Who would carry you out of here?"
Brock groaned, knowing that it was true and made any threat now null. Still, just the utter ease and lack of resistance had shocked him and, in truth, disturbed him a bit. He'd never had anyone ever except their fate so readily. There was always a fight, a struggle; it was what made the job fun. But this…
"Please?"
"Did you really just say please?" Jack asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes and I won't say it again. Tell me."
"No."
"I don't remember you ever being this difficult," growled out Brock. "Even when I was training you, you were the only trainee that never argued back."
"Well, I've grown up since then," Jack said with a smirk, remembering that time. He'd been nineteen, the first time he'd met him. Brock had been thirty-one. "Besides, you never tried to pull anything out of me that I felt you shouldn't know."
"And you think I shouldn't know this secret? Because it would freak me out? Come on! I'm not a child either."
"Maybe not but you won't get it out of me. Sorry."
"You're an ass, you know that?"
Jack shrugged. "Yeah, but you're not much better either."
Brock just groaned and then twisted his body around, grabbing hold of the bed and pulling himself up. Jack didn't move, simply watching as Brock pulled himself onto the bed with an oof and then pulled his legs over as he rolled onto his back. "Thanks for the help," Brock said sarcastically.
"If you have trouble next time, simply ask me and I will help," Jack responded, knowing that Brock would probably never do such a thing due to pride. "Go to bed. You're cranky when you don't get any sleep."
"Am not," Brock shot back and then rolled over so that he wasn't facing Jack.
Dragging himself across the floor and tackling Jack had taken a serious toll on Brock. He had to remember it had been more than a month since he'd been awake. Eventually he fell asleep, thoughts of AIM and the possibility of walking again filling his head.
When Brock woke up, he noticed how the room was empty. For a second, he feared Jack had left him but then quickly threw that idea way. If he hadn't left the night before then he certainly wouldn't have tried to leave in the morning.
Brock knew he should wait but he needed to see his face, see how damaged he really was. He'd felt the scars but he needed to see them.
It took so long that it was surprising Jack didn't walk in at some random point but Brock was able to drag himself and a chair over to where the bathroom was and then pull himself up onto it. He was sweating by the time he was finished but he'd done it nonetheless and there was some pride to be found in that.
Only using his arms, he pushed himself up on the edge of the sink and finally looked at himself.
His hair was an utter mess, sticking up in weird places and cut pretty badly, courtesy of Rollins. He'd grown a beard as well which was kind of shocking; he'd honestly not noticed it before hand. Looking into his own eyes, he looked like hell. It was the scars that attracted Brock's biggest attention though.
A burn covered part of his left cheek and crawled down his neck. His nose (though now healed) held a scar right over the bridge. A scar was on his chin, below his left eye, and a rather long one ran along the right side of his face, next to his eye, and along the forehead. The small ones would fade in time but the burn and scar that stretched across his face wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon.
Finally, arms aching, he eased back into the chair, letting out a tired sigh. He waited, seeing if Jack would be there arrive soon but when the man didn't show up, Brock pushed himself back onto the floor and dragged himself back to the bed, leaving the chair where it was. He was just pulling himself back under the blanket when the door finally opened.
"Where'd you crawl to this time?" asked Jack dropping a bundle of fabrics onto the table.
"You make it sound like I'm a babe that crawled out of its crib."
"Well it wasn't my intention," muttered Jack with a sigh. "Here." He threw some of the fabrics at Brock who saw that they were cloths. "Figured you'd like to put on something different."
The pants and shirt were a light brown color with few decorations on them except at the hems. The shirt had short sleeves and both were made of a light fabric. Brock almost asked about shoes and then remembered he wouldn't really need any. Such a thought was pretty odd.
The shirt went on easily but the pants were another matter. After struggling with them for a while he finally grumbled, "Could you help me out here?"
Jack, who'd been watching the entire thing, raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry. I couldn't hear you. Did you just ask for help?"
"Shut up and get your ass up."
"Not until I hear you say that one more time."
"Can you…help me?" Brock asked. He almost added a please in there but didn't want to give Jack the satisfaction.
"See, not that hard," responded Jack as he walked over. "I'll hold you up and you pull them up."
It certainly went more smoothly than rocking back and forth. Still, it was embarrassing and Brock was thankful when he was put back down. "What are we doing then? What's the plan?"
"You still want to go after AIM, right?"
"Yes."
"Then you're doing nothing and I'm going to see if I can get any information," said Jack. He walked over to the cabinets and started pulling food out and placing it on the floor next to the bed along with three glasses of water. "This should tide you over until I get back."
"Exactly how long do you think you'll be gone?" asked Brock. He kept the panic out of his voice but that didn't mean it wasn't there. It was like being in the middle of a battlefield without any weapons, zero armor, and no water. He felt weak and open.
"No idea. I suppose it depends on when I find them. I'll leave a bucket by your bed to so you can empty the catheter," Jack added.
Brock sighed, almost having forgotten about that. "Just don't be long."
"I'll try my best."
Jack left, came back with the bucket, and then was gone. Immediately boredom set in. There were no books to read, no TV or even a radio. He couldn't work out and there wasn't any busywork to do so finally he just lied down with his thoughts. Memories and ideas floated by, every once in a while he grabbed something to eat, drank some of the water.
It was past mid day when he passed out from exhaustion. The night before he hadn't dreamed, probably from being too tired. Now he did and his mind replayed when the Helicarrier crashed into the building over and over again.
Brock would fall, feel everything crashing in on him, and then the floor beneath would give way and he was in the hall again, everything fine. Then the Helicarrier would crash in again and he was running before he fell once more, a continuous loop. He could feel it all, every crack, every scrape or burn, again and again.
When he finally did wake up it was with his chest heaving and lungs constricting. He shot forward, trying to clear his throat so he could properly breath as well. He'd never experienced dreams like this. Granted, death had never been such a terrifying prospect either. He'd been held at gunpoint, had a knife shoved under his throat, but those deaths would have been quick and besides, he'd always known someone had his back.
When he had fallen, everything had been coming down around him with no one there to help him. He had tried to outrun it, he'd known he tried his hardest, and yet in that moment his best wasn't good enough.
He was ashamed of himself, nightmares just being one of the many things to add to the growing list of problems. Brock had experienced nightmares as a kid but that was a long time ago. Now the feeling of waking in a cold sweat, unable to breath, and terrified of what the dark corners of his room could hide was unknown to him.
Looking around, he saw that it was still light outside but that was quickly disappearing and Jack wasn't back yet. If Brock had to guess, it was probably still the same day but that didn't ease any worry inside him.
That was another unknown feeling. He'd never worried about anything, not like this. This was a cold fear of being left alone, left to die and never be found and not being able to do anything about it. It was a troubling thought.
Days passed with nothing but thoughts and the occasional nightmare to appear. Because of his messed up sleeping habit, Brock couldn't tell how many days passed but he eventually got to the point where he had to drag himself over to the kitchen area to get water or food and he had to dump the bucket into the shower (thank god they had one).
At least six days passed, Brock knew that, when the door finally opened.
His first thought was HYDRA. They'd found him and they were coming to kill him. Would it be someone he knew? A former friend? Then he thought about SHIELD. He wouldn't just be killed. He'd be tortured for weeks or even months before death would finally come.
He wanted to cry from relief upon seeing Jack instead.
Instead, all he got out was a half strangled sob that he couldn't quite keep in which caused Jack to look twice at him. When Brock didn't say anything else or let out any other distressed noises, Jack ignored it.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine."
It was a lie but one that neither felt like broaching at the moment. Jack gave a small nod and said, "I'm sorry it took so long. It was harder than I first expected."
"I had a hard time keeping track of days," said Brock, his voice finally regaining control. "Has it been six days?"
"Eight actually. Like I said, I didn't mean for this to happen," Jack replied and Brock almost felt like yelling at him, anger was an emotion he didn't mind expressing, but the man was just so goddamn sincere that he found he couldn't.
"And what did you find?" Brock asked instead, pushing himself up.
"Well I went to Egypt and caught a plane to Switzerland. From there I went to known places of operation that weren't against HYDRA but weren't exactly working for them, talked to some people, and eventually ended up in Paris, France where there's a base for AIM. The ones that don't work for MODOK."
"Do you know if they'll help us?"
"Well they either wanted money or some form of Intel, both of which we do not contain at the moment. I promised them something better."
"Which was?"
"Us, after you get your legs back."
"You what?! What the fuck were you—"
"Thank you for having so much trust in my judgment," muttered Jack as he interrupted Brock. "Do you really think me that much of an idiot? This is what I figured; neither of us wants to exactly join up with anyone now or even in the near future. However, AIM needs people to fight for them so what do they do? MODOK has HYDRA agents keeping them safe but these AIM agents don't have that luxury and their research is frowned upon by most governments so, at least openly, there's no support there. Instead, they hire mercenaries."
Brock frowned. "Is that what we are now? Mercenaries?"
"Is there anything else you can think of giving them? Besides, if you really don't like it we can always kill the lot afterwards. They're a bunch of science geeks, not military officers. It would be easy."
Brock gave a small nod. "Mercenaries, it certainly sounds appealing."
"I figured you'd think so. Work when you want, charge whatever you want. I certainly wouldn't mind it," responded Jack. "I figured we'd head out tomorrow."
"I've done nothing but sleep these past few days," Brock said. "Let's head out tonight."