AN: I know it's been forever! So sorry about that but hope you enjoy. I'll try to get the next chapter up soon!
Jack was surprised but pleased when he woke up and Brock was still wrapped around him. He honestly didn't know where they stood at but he doubted any simple word would ever be able to describe Brock Rumlow. Instead, he stayed where he was, content with the present. He would have woken Brock up but that would just put him in a grumpy mood, especially after waking up in the middle of the night.
Almost an hour passed by before he felt Brock move against him.
"What time is it?"
"Nearly nine here," responded Jack. He noted how Brock tightened his grip ever so slightly, how soft his voice was. Brock hadn't shook or even really moved yet Jack knew something was wrong. "Brock…I'm here. I haven't left."
He worded it carefully so he wasn't blatantly saying it was a nightmare. Nevertheless, he was almost positive that it had been.
"I know, it's just…nothing," murmured Brock.
Jack waited, for anything, but Brock stayed where he was. Then the tears were felt against his back, a heavy heave, and once again nothing.
"I'm not dead. You know that right?" asked Jack.
"I know. The dream was worse than that," Brock whispered. "You didn't exist."
Of course, that didn't hit him as hard as it must have hit Brock. It was an odd feeling though, to think of as not existing. "Was it really that bad?"
"Not in the dream," Brock said. "You just…you were never there so I never had to miss you. And when I woke up, I was terrified as to what was happening only to find out that you were real again."
"I can't do anything about not existing," Jack said, wishing he could see Brock's face. "I can't do anything for your dreams except wish that you make it back to me. There's no one for me to fight, nothing that I can protect you from. I'm certainly not a damn psychiatrist either."
"I know you're not," murmured Brock and Jack could mentally see the man pulling himself together.
Silence passed and Jack allowed time to as well. He waited until he could finally feel Brock pulling away. Finally, Jack turned around to face him. All tears and traces of them were gone and Brock looked like himself. "We should leave now. I've wasted to long."
Jack sighed. "This wasn't wasted. You did what you needed to do."
"No, it was," responded Brock with a shake of his head. "Come on. We need to go."
Jack helped Brock up, got him dressed, and then made sure he was ready for the day.
"It'll take us around nine hours to get there," Jack said.
"With your driving more like eight," Brock said with a small smile.
As always, Brock wasn't good with emotion so Jack could see straight through him. Jack didn't say anything though, knowing that now Brock had spoken his fears, he would only deny anything that came afterwards. Instead, Jack just hurried up until they were both in the car once more.
Brock was right though. The trip only took about eight hours before they both arrived in Paris, France. Jack had to park the car along the road and the fact that he found a space at all was amazing. Getting out, he helped Brock into the wheelchair and then pushed him down the street and then turned onto a side road, one where cars couldn't fit.
"Where is it anyways?" asked Brock.
"Just up ahead. It's this old antique shop," replied Jack. "Pretty nifty thing. Their labs go into the catacombs."
"Well that's not creepy."
"When you want to build your own secret base, you can decide where to put it," Jack said with a shake of his head. God, it felt like the morning hadn't even happened it was so odd.
"Almost there?"
"Yes," Jack responded.
It was about three more minutes before they entered a seemingly normal shop. Jack took in a deep breath. He had no idea what kind of process the AIM agents had in mind for fixing Brock. It could take minutes or it could take months. Either way, he hoped Brock was prepared for their answer.
Going into the place, Brock was reminded of Rogers and how he had been remade under a seemingly innocent antique shop. Maybe it was just one of those weird things that secret organizations always did or maybe it was simple coincidence.
His heart beat rapidly and he worried about what the response would be. He wanted to walk now but things were rarely that simple or quick.
There was an old man moving around and dusting objects. He was the only person in the shop. Jack had stopped rolling Brock himself and now walked up to the man and exchanged a few words. Brock didn't hear what they were but he could tell the man had a thick accent.
He rolled himself forward just as the man headed towards the back.
"Are we following?" he questioned.
Jack nodded, moving back behind Brock, ready to push him, but Brock waved him away. "I'll be fine."
Jack raised an eyebrow but complied anyways. Brock knew it was stupid but he wanted to stand tall, at least as much as possible. He could at least damn well roll himself around.
They followed the old man to the back of the building and went to a hidden elevator behind a glass case of artifacts. The man didn't get in with them and Brock watched as he closed the metal gate and took a step back as they headed downwards.
"You've been down here?" asked Brock.
"Just once but yes," he responded.
Brock gave a small nod as the elevator continued to go down and then stopped. Jack opened it up and headed out, Brock following behind him.
The room wasn't very large, but AIM agents filled it and ran in orderly fashion from one place to another like a well oiled machine. Brock knew it was a small scale organization but it was still impressive nonetheless.
One man walked up and gave a small nod to Jack. He was middle aged and completely bald with possibly the greatest poker face Brock had seen. "Welcome. My name is Dr. Dubois. We have been waiting for your arrival for some time," the man said, his accent heavy and English moderate. "Have the terms of our agreement been made clear to you?"
"Yeah, I kill whomever you ask me to and I get to walk again," Brock said with a wave of his hand.
"You make us sound like petty murderers. Believe me; every kill will only help our progress."
Brock scoffed. "I can respect that but if there's ever anyone that pisses you off enough I can always kill them for you, free of charge."
That earned a small smile. "I will keep that in mind. Now straight to business, we cannot fix your legs, not so they are exactly like they were before."
"Figured as much. What can you do though?" asked Brock, his curiosity building.
"The quickest and only safe route at the moment is a type of harness that you would wear. Integrated into the part of your still undamaged spine, it would allow you to move just as easily as before," Dr. Dubois said. "However, if the harness is ever damaged, you would be just as weak as you are now."
"Nous sommes tous plein de faiblesse et les erreurs; pardonnons-nous réciproquement nos sottises c'est la première loi de la nature. "
Jack had to blink back his shock as the man continued to smile. "You make a good point. And I must compliment you on your French. Now, I will say why cannot just fix your neurons. Such technology is not within our grasp just yet. Nevertheless, we can give you feeling to your lower half as well as movement instead of giving you the harness. The surgery would certainly take some time and it cannot be done right away as tests are still being done. Nevertheless, the basis of the procedure is that the area below the damaged spine would be cut off and changed to robotic parts. Thanks to our current information though, the parts will look and act just like human legs, you will be able to feel, and warmth will be able to emit from the skin. The only difference is that instead of tissue and muscle underneath there would be metal and instead of blood electrical wires would be placed throughout."
Hmm, it would also mean that he wouldn't need a catheter anymore, Brock thought. That certainly seemed like a good incentive. However, the man seemed to take his silence as uncertainty and quickly continued.
"I must add that neither am I Aldrich Gillian or MODOK. I will admit that the other AIM may have more advanced technology, or even another organization. Ours is just to small at the moment."
"Thank you for your honesty," Brock replied. "Nevertheless I would much rather work with you and we'll make sure you have the room you need to expand as well, once I can move again."
"Then it is a deal. Let me show you to the work room," Dr. Dubois said with relief as he quickly turned and started walking away. It was a brisk pace but also one that made it clear he didn't want to lose them.
As they walked Jack commented, "I didn't know you spoke French."
"I was stationed here for a while. I didn't need to learn the language but…it made things easier so I figured why not," Brock answered.
Jack let out a small laugh. "No one just learns a language."
"Well I did," Brock shot back, hitting him again.
They made their way to a room with only two other scientists. One was writing something down; the other was going over the harness that hung in the middle of the room.
The harness itself reflected the light that shown over it. Brock wasn't an expert but it looked very durable but still with the ability to easily hide underneath clothing.
Dr. Dubois held out his hand and the scientist who was writing handed him the clipboard. The man walked over to Brock, handing it to him. "Thanks to Monsieur Rollins, I know of your military background but not your education. Therefore I do not know how helpful that is to you."
Brock thumbed through the pages. He understood about half of what was put down. He was thankful he knew French or else he wouldn't have understood any of it. He glanced up when Dr. Dubois continued to talk.
"The basis of what you are reading however is this: the outer material is made of adamantium, light, strong; needles are drilled into your muscle tissue and bones to allow the harness to move you; and the process is extremely painful," the man said. "However, I doubt that last part matters to you does it?"
"No it does not," responded Brock, flipping through the clipboard one more time before handing it back. "If I do this, then once you finish your other project, where you'd replace my lower limbs with robotics, would I be able to switch to that?"
"Of course, though it shall take some time before it is ready."
Brock gave a small nod, his mind wondering to Winter's arm and then quickly moving back to the present. "When can we begin?"
"Now if need be."
"Then so be it. Uh Jack, I guess—"
"He can stay," Dr. Dubois interjected. "Just not in the operating room."
"Fair enough," Jack replied.
"Good, then if you'd follow me." He turned to the two scientists. "Rassembler le matériel et se mettre en place dans la troisième salle de chirurgie."
Proceeding out of the room, Dr. Dubois led them down several corridors until reaching a door. He turned to Jack and said, "You may wait here. I shall have someone bring you a chair and any refreshments you require."
Jack gave a small nod and used his eyes to follow Brock into the room before the door closed. As Brock rolled himself in, he couldn't help but feel a little bad. He should have told Jack to go do something for an hour and then come back but having him right outside the door was a small comfort that he didn't want to lose.
As Dr. Dubois led him through the process, an assistant helped him strip and then moved him onto the operating table, flat on his stomach. Brock propped his head up and asked, "So, why the hell does it hurt so much? Do you not numb it?"
"Believe me when I say we try but you must be aware and able to feel so that we can tell if the connection is working. We've tried upping the dosage or changing the chemicals but either it's to strong or causes the subject to pass out."
"Sounds like fun."
Brock settled in. The prick of the needle was the first feeling, right into his spine. He just barely turned his head as they lowered the harness down. Thanks to the needles protruding from it, the metal lay at several inches above his skin. He listened to the orders given in French.
"Vital signs good."
"Preparing for connection with spine in 3…2…1…"
Brock felt as the hooks and needles entered his skin. He could practically visualize them as they rooted into his bones and muscle. Breathing increasing, it was painful as hell but Brock could still keep from screaming. He figured the doctor must have over exaggerated.
"Continue connection with the rest of the body."
After that Brock didn't feel most of the harness connecting with his body. Right below the damaged area and around his thighs, he felt small pricks but they were easily manageable. All feeling was gone below his knees. Finally it appeared done until Dr. Dubois said, "Begin neural connection."
"Ahhhh!"
Brock's scream lit up the room as his lower back felt like it had suddenly been lit on fire. Just barely he heard someone yell for restraints but someone else yelled out no. The pain was nearly unbearable but Brock was able to keep himself in check as he stayed as still as possible.
Most of the words spoken turned to gibberish as Brock tried to focus on his breathing and keep from screaming again. Slowly, the pain ebbed but it was still clearly there and certainly worse than the first time. Finally, Dr. Dubois was by his head and Brock concentrated on his words.
He'd reverted back to English as he said, "Try moving your foot."
"Seriously?" growled out Brock.
"Move your foot."
Brock let out another growl but tried. At first panic set in until he remembered that he still didn't have any feeling so he wouldn't be able to tell if he moved his foot without looking.
"Try rolling your ankle. Either foot will do," Dr. Dubois said.
Brock tried but still Dr. Dubois didn't say anything that might tell if he was succeeding in the tasks.
"Trying moving your entire leg, wiggling, lifting."
Doing so, he did finally feel something from the small areas in his thighs that could feel themselves being pushed against the operating table.
"Now sit up."
Brock pushed himself up, the pain still there and his breathing frantic, when suddenly he succeeded in throwing his legs under him and then swinging them over the side. The movement was so natural but seeing it happen was so shocking he almost forgot about the pain. Almost.
"Why the hell does it still hurt?" Brock growled out.
"Your neurons have basically been forced to connect with the technology of the harness. Your legs are still paralyzed. It's the harness that is moving you though it should feel just as natural as walking minus the lack of feeling."
"And pain," Brock added. "But yeah, it seems pretty normal. Should I—"
"I would not suggest walking," Dr. Dubois interrupted, having already guessed what he was going to say. "The harness allows mobility. It does not support you so you will have to regain your strength before being able to move as easily as before."
Brock sighed but gave a small nod. "Thank you," he finally said.
"You're welcome, though I will say once you regain your strength I wish to see a demonstration of your skills. I'm sure you understand."
"Of course," Brock replied. Though Dr. Dubois didn't say it, Brock was positive there would also be men following them out of this building and to wherever he and Jack went until he came back to fulfill that promise. Dr. Dubois seemed to trust Brock but he still wasn't an idiot.
Looking at the glint of metal that covered his entire lower body now, Brock asked, "Can I have my clothes back now?"
"Certainly," said Dr. Dubois, that small smile of his playing at his lips again before disappearing. He gestured to one of the assistances who quickly rushed to the side before returning with Brock's cloths.
The shirt came on first, quick and easy. With the boxers and pants, he tried standing on his own and succeeded in pulling them on himself but as Dr. Dubois had said, he was extremely weak and with pain still in his back, Brock was practically winded as he collapsed back into his wheel chair.
"So you're going to actually let us go?"
"Yes. It doesn't mean I won't have eyes on you but I trust you enough to not try and run away. The repercussions would be disastrous anyways."
It was the first threat that Brock had heard from the man's lips but he didn't really blame him. The guy was in charge of this entire organization. It would be unfitting if he didn't let loose a few threats every now and then.
"Understood," Brock replied.
"Good. I'll show you the way out."
The moment the door was open Jack was up. His eyes moving downwards, for a moment he said nothing. It was almost uncomfortable and Brock was about to say something when out of nowhere Jack said, "Huh, I thought you'd be taller."
"Damn it-why the hell do I put up with you!" Brock yelled back, slapping Jack. He wiggled his foot. "I may need to get my strength back but god damn it I can kick your ass now."
Jack looked like he might laugh but kept it in, simply giving a small smile before turning to Dr. Dubois. On the way out they talked only slightly, Dr. Dubois basically retelling everything he'd already said to Brock. Finally with a final nod, Brock and Jack went into the elevator and as it headed upwards, Jack asked, "So what should we do now?"
"As in the next few weeks? Month? I don't know but I do know right now I want something to eat."
"Then we'll eat. What do you want?"
"How the hell should I know? I speak French but I know nothing about the fucking culture besides ah hon hon baguette!"
Brock couldn't remember ever seeing Jack laugh so much.
AN: I just used google translate but the first line is from Voltaire and means "We are all full of weakness and errors; let us pardon reciprocally each other's folly is the first law of nature. "
The second is just a command meaning "Gather materials and set up the third surgery room."