None of those words belong. Obviously he knows that assets can’t actually possess things, that the weapons and kit they’re given are just borrowed inventory. The facilities where he’s been kept, the food and water he’s been allowed, the maintenance on his prosthesis; HYDRA only temporarily gives all of those things in order to complete the mission. That’s all. So when Stark says he can have his own space, the Winter Soldier stares at him without comprehending and he has to remind himself that Stark doesn’t know better. It shouldn’t be a surprise, given he’d freed him earlier and got a scalpel to the leg as his reward.
“I’ll shower,” he grunts.
It feels out of place, the way that Stark not only keeps trying to insist he can own things, that he wants to give him these things. How he keeps asking for permission when he doesn’t need to. Things are requests and suggestions with the man, not orders. The Asset will wonder quietly about that as Stark leads him to the elevator and they step inside, the silence falling between them like a living, breathing thing. At least he can get himself cleaned up and reevaluate this floor he’s “given”, check out the accommodations, and it sounds like Stark actually intends to feed him after, even though it would’ve made more sense to start reduced rations as punishment for stabbing him.
Stark doesn’t make sense. He’d risked his life only a few hours ago just to drive in the lesson that there’s no escape, and yet he’d turned around to offer luxury after luxury. He’d tried to - poorly - bandage his own leg even though it would’ve made more sense to get outside help for it, almost like he didn’t want to inconvenience anyone even though he’s clearly rich enough to afford plenty of staff. Guilt ebbs off him in clouds. For some reason he keeps apologizing. On trying to personalize an asset by insisting on names, as if he can’t imagine someone without…even though he controls Friday and Friday controls the Winter Soldier.
He’s…unpredictable.
Maybe Tony Stark’s more of a threat to HYDRA than his parents had ever been.
The Soldier mulls that over by the time the elevator dings and they step out onto “his” floor, Stark limping a bit while he leads the way and favors his injured leg. Cardboard moving boxes still line the hall and past the door where, according to Stark, is the living room, there’s a bedroom and an office and a kitchen, this single floor larger than any of the HYDRA barracks he’s seen. No aging concrete stretching from floor to ceiling to radiate the cold so that it seems to seep everywhere.
The Asset’s silent, outwardly unimpressed even though his eyes are flicking everywhere (his version of rubbernecking), until Stark shows him the bathroom. It’s all modern angles. Stone tastefully arranged in places. Stainless steel without rust on the metal fixtures; no signs of mold or rot on the tile. The shower itself is an entire room in itself with glass partitions, looking so new that there’s no water stains or cracks or scum from years of soap. It’s fully tricked out with detachable shower heads, an overhead spray set into the ceiling, even a seat if you want to sit underneath a miniature waterfall and just relax under the warm cascade that can issue from a slit in the stone wall.
Something’s missing. Enough that the Soldier finally breaks the silence, speaking up as he stands there staring at the nicest shower most people will ever see in their lifetimes.
no subject
None of those words belong. Obviously he knows that assets can’t actually possess things, that the weapons and kit they’re given are just borrowed inventory. The facilities where he’s been kept, the food and water he’s been allowed, the maintenance on his prosthesis; HYDRA only temporarily gives all of those things in order to complete the mission. That’s all. So when Stark says he can have his own space, the Winter Soldier stares at him without comprehending and he has to remind himself that Stark doesn’t know better. It shouldn’t be a surprise, given he’d freed him earlier and got a scalpel to the leg as his reward.
“I’ll shower,” he grunts.
It feels out of place, the way that Stark not only keeps trying to insist he can own things, that he wants to give him these things. How he keeps asking for permission when he doesn’t need to. Things are requests and suggestions with the man, not orders. The Asset will wonder quietly about that as Stark leads him to the elevator and they step inside, the silence falling between them like a living, breathing thing. At least he can get himself cleaned up and reevaluate this floor he’s “given”, check out the accommodations, and it sounds like Stark actually intends to feed him after, even though it would’ve made more sense to start reduced rations as punishment for stabbing him.
Stark doesn’t make sense. He’d risked his life only a few hours ago just to drive in the lesson that there’s no escape, and yet he’d turned around to offer luxury after luxury. He’d tried to - poorly - bandage his own leg even though it would’ve made more sense to get outside help for it, almost like he didn’t want to inconvenience anyone even though he’s clearly rich enough to afford plenty of staff. Guilt ebbs off him in clouds. For some reason he keeps apologizing. On trying to personalize an asset by insisting on names, as if he can’t imagine someone without…even though he controls Friday and Friday controls the Winter Soldier.
He’s…unpredictable.
Maybe Tony Stark’s more of a threat to HYDRA than his parents had ever been.
The Soldier mulls that over by the time the elevator dings and they step out onto “his” floor, Stark limping a bit while he leads the way and favors his injured leg. Cardboard moving boxes still line the hall and past the door where, according to Stark, is the living room, there’s a bedroom and an office and a kitchen, this single floor larger than any of the HYDRA barracks he’s seen. No aging concrete stretching from floor to ceiling to radiate the cold so that it seems to seep everywhere.
The Asset’s silent, outwardly unimpressed even though his eyes are flicking everywhere (his version of rubbernecking), until Stark shows him the bathroom. It’s all modern angles. Stone tastefully arranged in places. Stainless steel without rust on the metal fixtures; no signs of mold or rot on the tile. The shower itself is an entire room in itself with glass partitions, looking so new that there’s no water stains or cracks or scum from years of soap. It’s fully tricked out with detachable shower heads, an overhead spray set into the ceiling, even a seat if you want to sit underneath a miniature waterfall and just relax under the warm cascade that can issue from a slit in the stone wall.
Something’s missing. Enough that the Soldier finally breaks the silence, speaking up as he stands there staring at the nicest shower most people will ever see in their lifetimes.
“Where’s the sanitation hoses?”