Pre-Civil War Recruitment

[infligere]

Who: James "Bucky" Barnes & Brock Rumlow
When: Pre-Civil War
What: Rumlow has abandoned HYDRA and putting together teams for missions; he found evidence of the Winter Soldier and decides that the former HYDRA-weapon would be a great addition to the team.
Warnings: TBA


It was one of his more dangerous missions, if there was such a thing anymore. At this point, everything that he did had an element of danger to it, the potential to end this miserable existence that he had taken up. It had to be done though, not entirely because he felt a little bad for standing by but more because taking things from HYDRA had become part of the point now. His skills hadn't diminished and that made it relatively easy to do that, to sell himself to the highest bidder to complete the missions that no one else would.

There was no getting back the life that he had before the fall of the Triskelion. With its fall (literally on him), he had lost everything. Some who knew him well that weren't in prison might have even whispered that the scars were just an external show of his new madness.

That might have been why he was ascending the multiple stories of stairs to a small apartment in Bucharest, Romania. It was a good place to hide, highly populated but also so far away from the original blow up in the United States that it would be easy to disappear into. The apartment building itself was many stories high and it was on the lower-end of price range so it was another sign of someone just wanting to be left alone. It was only by chance that he had found this thread, but damn if he was going to not take the extreme risk to pull on it.

Hence why he was easing up the stairs alone with a hoodie pulled up over his head to hide his scars. He kept his gear light, aware that it would do him any good if he needed to move his ass; he also knew there was no point gearing up because the Winter Soldier could tear him apart regardless. This was about giving the perception that he came in relative peace, that he had something worthwhile to offer. That was why he only carried a single Glock 19 sidearm as his main weapon.

Pausing on the landing, he pulled out a piece of paper to check the apartment number and then approached the door, pressing lightly on it. The way that it subtly moved told him that there was no added weight, no alterations to it, so he did what any man would when searching for a ghost. He broke into the apartment quickly and effectively; this was nothing compared to the places he was used to getting into.

Easing inside, Rumlow could already tell the sad pathetic existence that the former Winter Soldier led. Papers on the windows blotted out light and the ability to see inside; there was a musty smell of a plain existence and shit, were those cinder blocks holding up a shelf? Well, he didn't expect more, but that didn't mean that the Winter Soldier was any less dangerous.

"Winter?" He might have been a handler and extremely good at his job while performing it, but even he understood the need to break certain rules. Naming the Soldier something other than a title might have been why they had worked well together. For him, a weapon was more than an object.

Comments

[rzhavyy]

Hiding was the easy part. It was building a life, trying to put the pieces of his mind back together, figure out what was real and what wasn't, how they all fit together that was difficult. Putting his little apartment together when he had trouble knowing what that was even supposed to look like was still a work in progress, but he had a place that was his. He slept in the same place, had a place to cook his food, and a bag of important things he kept stashed under a couple loose floorboards.

There's that call of Winter, and he knows who it is even before he slips into the room on silent feet, hardly even displacing the air, still every bit the ghost. He knows that Hydra is looking for him, will keep looking until every piece of them is dead, but this is far from what he expects.

Rumlow should have a team, and he should have tried to get the drop on him, and he'd expect him to at least have a Colt carbine if not something bigger; Rumlow's too smart to think he can take him like this. The fact that this isn't right makes him wary, even as he tries to figure out the angle. He knows Rumlow has been more mercenary than Hydra agent lately. Not because he was particularly keeping tabs on him, but his face had come up in the newspapers. But it doesn't mean the man wont try to bring him in.

"Leave," his voice is low and dangerous. He's watching Rumlow hawkishly with those sharp blue eyes, but he hasn't tried to shoot him. So that's something, even if Bucky's left hand flexes under the black leather gloves he wears. While he doesn't want to draw attention to himself, doesn't want to be that person again, the one they'd made him, there was a definite list of people he would kill without blinking. People where he'd sooner rebuild his fragment of a life, run all over again than allow them to keep breathing.

He'd only had one handler that had broken some of the rules, given him a name that wasn't Soldat or Asset, made any attempt at treating him as something more than just a different kind of gun. As he's slowly assembling the pieces of his memory, he's actually able to remember that, along with the horror. He doesn't trust him, his presence alone makes him tense, anger he just barely keeps down, and he doesn't trust that there's not a plan here. But it does keep Rumlow off that list, and it buys him some time.

Bucky's body language says probably not a lot of time, though.

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Rumlow no long had much in the way of hairs on the back of his neck that could rise in warning, but his scalp still managed to prickle. He had learned the limited signs of his body, and he suspected that he had survived because of his years as a double agent and the long history of military-type campaigns into foreign affairs. His instincts were sharp even if the signs that his body would give were dampened from the scarring. He would be stupid not to know when Winter was around; the guy was likely a recluse to a degree.

And, of course, this little hovel of an apartment wasn't actually big enough to hide a man of Winter's bulk. He turned at the order to leave, using the hood of his sweatshirt to mask where he was looking. His eyes flicked around searching for a weapon beyond the metal arm but also drank in the rest of the scene when it came to the living arrangement. It was a sad fact that this was probably all a novelty for HYDRA's former weapon. It wasn't as if HYDRA had cared much for bedding or personal space when it came to their prize. Dehumanizing the Soldier had always been the point, had been part of the protocol.

And Winter... well, Winter didn't look horrible, but there were lines of strain. He had no doubt that being without the constant upkeep of HYDRA had certain effects, likely none of them easy to cope with. But the Winter Soldier had been built to survive almost all odds, in and outside of battle. Despite the hollowness, there was a blush of health, a certain way that a man carried themselves that spoke a lot of where Winter was at... and how much there was still to go in whatever stage of healing was going on.

Slowly, he dropped his simple sidearm to one side, not even bothering to aim at the man he had come to see. What was the point? If Barnes wanted him dead, a few well placed bullets wouldn't do anything but annoy the big bastard. Rumlow knew those skills as well as anyone, maybe better in some regards. He had always liked to watch how Winter moved and that told him a lot about what action was about to be taken and why.

"Nice to see you too," he remarked, mostly ignoring the order to get out and likely never come back being unspoken. "Looks like you've made a little home for yourself, which is more than you had before." His tone was conversational even as he took another step deeper into the room, never stopping facing Barnes. "I'm not here because of HYDRA; like you, I walked away." No point to give his reasons.

"I'm here to offer you an opportunity."

[rzhavyy]

Rumlow doesn't listen, which is hardly surprising, but at the same time, it gets under his skin. Not just his presence, but if Rumlow can find him, it means this place isn't safe. There are others that could find him, and no matter how this goes, he'll have to find another city, maybe Italy or France. He'll have to start over; he has some cash in his bag, but not as much as he'd like. It means his papers are probably burned, too. He doesn't have any weapons on him, aside from the knife he keeps on his belt. But he doesn't need a gun to be deadly.

He knows Rumlow can probably read him better than most. He'd always been good at picking out when there was something that bothered him, those little whispers of things he couldn't-quite remember that could incite him to anger, though not disobedience. Not until Steve, until the man on the bridge. Until he'd pulled the blonde from the water. He'd returned to the Hydra safehouse a couple days later, but it hadn't been for reconditioning. He'd killed everyone that got in his way, stolen the gear he needed, and then he'd vanished like the ghost he'd been trained to be.

It was hard. The conditioning was rough on him, and trying to figure out how he was supposed to live, how to move forward felt like trying to put together pieces with the wrong edges. He'd been trained to blend in, but in a limited sense, for a task, a mission, almost always with someone there to monitor him. This was something he hadn't really been trained for, but he was surviving, making it work. Survival. He'd always been good at that.

"Why." He doesn't say it like a question at first, more like an accusation. "Why did you leave them?" He doesn't address the issue of an opportunity, not yet, though there's enough of a flicker of interest there. Enough that he's not throwing him out the window, at least. Rumlow had to know how dangerous coming here, confronting him was, and if he wasn't with HYDRA, that meant that it wasn't because of orders. And while Rumlow might not see a point to it, it mattered to him. Trying to put together the puzzle, decide how much of a risk it was to give him the chance to try and sell him on whatever opportunity he somehow thought might be appealing enough to drag him out of the life he was trying to build.

He couldn't see anything that Rumlow could possibly have to offer, but the man was good at what he did, and without some sort of idea of what his angle was, the very thought of hearing him out seemed dangerous in and of itself. He had a fair idea of what sort of thing Rumlow would want him for, though. The sort of things he'd told himself he wasn't going to do anymore, even if he'd been good at them even before they'd tried to craft him into something new.

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If Rumlow had allowed people in his life to drive him off easily, he would have never succeeded nor caught the eye of important people that allowed him to elevate through the ranks of many places, including HYDRA. That was all in the past now, long dead and burnt up as far as he was concerned, but the truth remained that being ordered to leave would likely only work with considerable violence and maybe even physically being removed. Who knew, he might just decide to crawl back.

He had also seen and experienced enough HYDRA 'training' videos to understand that every single member of the organization, at some point, was brainwashed. There were parts removed, parts added and parts subdued. They all had to play their parts, and if they didn't, they would be forced to fit the mold. It had been a worthy sacrifice once. Now... well, now it seemed as if all that sacrifice was entirely one sided, and he had a problem with that. He was less accepting now in his old age.

"A building fell on me," he said plainly, aware that Barnes was skirting the other option that was on the table. He was fine with that; he was here to put the bug in that one's ear, to open the door that likely had been closed. "And when I woke up attached to tubes and covered in bandages and realized no one would ever come for me after all I've done... that was it. I cut loose and I walk... well, I technically stumbled for awhile, but wounds heal and scar. I know you understand that principle."

Because finding oneself in the mud that had once been complete order and control was like cutting open all the old scar tissue to see what was beneath. Sometimes the mind wanted to rebel, and he always thought there was a part of Winter that was on the verge of rebelling if given half the chance. That's why there were handlers; they reported anomalies and then they were dealt with appropriately. Like sedating a wild animal.

"But you and I... we're survivors. It's always been that way. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you had been through Hell." He nodded his head towards Barnes, keeping his hood on still. "And now I think you must be understanding some of that Hell, but the depths of their reach will always be all consuming unless you cut it out."

[rzhavyy]

There's that twitch in his fingers, that wants to go for his knife, slam him into the wall, violence isn't something he can completely scrub from his psyche, even if he's trying. He'd been good with a gun even before Hydra got their hooks into him.

But he listens as Rumlow talks, about having a building fall on him and his realization that HYDRA weren't going to come for him. He doesn't understand it on a personal level; he never really sacrificed for them. Everything he'd given had been taken, he'd fought against everything they'd stood for at one part of his life that even now feels more like shadows and someone else's words than his own memories. But it at least gives him a lense on Rumlow, which is something. It's an idea of what had pushed him away from them. And it does seem genuine, even if he knows better than to take that entirely at face value. It's enough for the moment, enough for him to entertain that he really had gone mercenary.

It's the attempt at drawing a line between them, the comment about having been through Hell that makes him tense, sharpens his blue eyes. "And you were part of that," he points out, his voice a low rumble. It's more fact and less accusation, but there's clear, sharp anger to it. The other man had been the chain they kept around his throat, and even if he was the best of his handlers, that was still a venomous torment.

HYDRA wasn't so gentle that saying no was an option for anyone, but that didn't make it easier.

"I don't hurt people anymore," he says. But the twitch of his fingers and the heat of his eyes says that it's not so far from the surface as he might like it to be. "You need to leave." Even just having Rumlow here, it gets under his skin, and he doesn't really believe this can end without a fight, but he's trying.

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At any time, he knew that Winter could decide to take him apart at the seams, but that would make a mess and people would ask questions. No, he didn't think that Barnes would do that here, would likely take him somewhere quieter and then do the work necessary. Of course, a man of Barnes' skill could likely make it quick here and hide the evidence, but getting rid of a body was more difficult than it used to be. There were no easy clean up crews to set the stage or wipe it clean. A fugitive didn't want to have to consider unwanted questions after all, so for now, he was safe from too much violence as far as he was concerned.

Slowly, so that all of his movements could be judged as - hopefully - non-hostile, he lifted his sidearm and eased it back to the holster on his belt. That freed up his hands, even if he had to flex them in the gloves that he wore. He knew that Winter would be focused almost entirely on him, the greatest threat in this vicinity, which allowed him to draw out the act of lifting his hands and slowly pushing back his hood so that it fell around his shoulders.

Even in the limited light, his scars stood out. He had managed to grow his hair out, which was no small miracle, but his skin looked like a candle wax that had rehardened. He rolled his shoulders and licked the corner of his lips, wetting them and perhaps a little uncomfortable exposing himself to someone he had once taken great value in being a part of. You wanted the best, you deployed Winter.

"I was," he admitted. There was no denying that and it would be a waste for both of them for him to come up with excuses. He decided on an explanation instead. "I wanted to set you free, especially after the chair. But there was no place and no time to do that, so I thought after Insight, I could petition to have to set loose." It had been a small plan, but after all those years of service, he figured Winter deserved it.

He snorted and ran a gloved hand through his hair. "Bullshit," he said plainly. "You just don't brutalize people anymore, but hurting them comes easy. I'm forming a team for another mission, and I want you to join up. Living alone with these... whatever is going on here ain't good for a man. A bit of distraction and more than that, mostly honest work is better."

He had no intention of leaving just yet. It was a waste to tell him to leave.

[rzhavyy]

He had no plans to actually kill Rumlow, unless the man pushed him to it, left him no choice. He didn't want any more blood on his hands. And there was the mess, the trail it would leave, and worse: the attention that it would draw. Even if he'd have to find a new place to lay low, there was a difference between leaving in silence or with the scream of sirens. Rumlow wasn't worth that. Tossing him out a window was much more palatable, if it came down to it.

He watches Rumlow with hawkish intensity, although he keeps an ear out for any shifts or changes that might signify a change in the environment, those first echoes of a trap. He thought Rumlow knew him better than that. Not that he'd put it past him to do it just to watch him take them apart, maybe try to prove some point. But he lets Rumlow holster his sidearm, and then watches in careful fascination as he pulls back the hood, revealing the scarring of his face, which seems to have been more extensive than he'd imagined.

Ice blue eyes tracing over raised lines of faded red, mapping out the differences from what he remembered. He takes a half-step closer, whether as a concession for the display of exposing himself like this, or pressing against it might be hard to tell given that he doesn't say anything, just looks at him. There were places where it seemed like flesh had literally melted, uneven scarring, places where even without touching he knew the skin would be too-smooth. The scarring around his left eye was particularly bad, but didn't seem to have actually impaired his vision, which was a definite mercy. That his hair had grown back in was even more surprising, if less of a strategic gain.

He listens as Rumlow explains, and he's quiet, watches him, shifts his weight on his feet almost imperceptibly. He can almost hear the rush of blood in his ears as he tries to process that, decide if he thinks it's true, or an angle he's playing. He's good at reading people, it was one of those mission-critical skills, being able to read a situation, but Rumlow was one of the best-trained deep cover operatives, so he doesn't entirely trust what his eyes tell him.

The Soldier in the back of his mind considers pushing him against the wall, asking at that moment of impact, but Rumlow was HYDRA, not some gun-running interest whose facade he can rattle with a flashy show of force. He doesn't ask, since he's still not sure how much he can trust him, and the questions that curl in his eyes fall in territory that matters. And that's dangerous. "You thought they wouldn't need a weapon after all of HYDRA's enemies had been eliminated." There's a pause, a slight tilt to his head.

He watches the way Rumlow's hand runs through his hair, taking in every gesture, every blink of his eyes. There's a flicker of tension in his jaw when Rumlow calls him out, but then there are the words that follow, and he frowns. "Are you asking?" There's doubt, like he doesn't quite believe it. But all he can really remember is coming when called. But I want you and honest work make this seem more like a request than forced recruitment. In theory that should make it easier to say no. But Rumlow's not dumb-- he's honestly far too smart. He wouldn't come here and bet on sympathy. He has something on him. He just can't imagine what it could be.

[infligere]

This little foray into meeting each other again could very well end with him picking up a few new scars. He had recognized the possibility when he had made the choice to come here in the first place, but he knew the value of hiding as much as the Soldier would. People would talk if there was too much noise; people would gossip if something was amiss; people wanted something exciting in their lives no matter what they might say otherwise. Any assault on him where he could potentially make a big deal would be avoided. The only real aspect of this in the Soldier's favour was he didn't want to be seen or heard as much as Barnes didn't. They were on the same page, which increased the likelihood that they would play nice so long as one didn't overstep the bounds of the other.

His appearance had once been a thing of pride, one of the few aspects of himself that he kept meticulously groomed for a certain look. Even in aging, he had wanted a certain appearance and the fact that all of his aspiring grooming was now for nothing irked him enough that the Soldier's interest in his scars, while understandable, was still bothersome. He could never be forgotten now, never be lost in a crowd. The eye would always been drawn in all the wrong ways to his scars and that was why he hid his face so much now. He had lost the element of being just another face in the crowd; it meant more than ever that he had to be careful with who he revealed himself to. And yeah, it was annoying that even the best trained operative HYDRA ever had stared.

Rumlow knew that this was a lot of information to process, the offer, his appearance, the implications that he had found Winter at all. If he could, it meant others could, but that really wasn't as easily true. It had been a fluke, nothing more, and he was still a good enough agent to cover those tracks as well as his own. Still, showing up here unannounced would throw Winter for a loop and he only hoped to use that to earn a new potent ally in his little odd jobs. Plus, it would be nice to work with someone who was more effective than he was.

He shrugged his shoulders at the statement. "I knew I could gamble for it," he said simply. "I single-handedly sent the helicarriers up, and I did that to garner enough favour to get to you. I knew you'd survive; that's what you do." He shifted his hand slowly, scratching at his cheek. "HYDRA's enemies would be few and far between, the kind of men and women where a single bullet couldn't take them out. They would need you full time, so I figured I could convince Pierce you didn't need ice time but a steady hand on the wheel. If I could, you'd never see that godforsaken chair again either." That might have been a bit more of a stretch, but the plan back then had been a work in progress.

Now, it meant nothing. HYDRA had been revealed and fallen. Agents would flip on their superiors. All that mattered was that his intentions for Winter had been there.

He raised what remained of his eyebrow, which was scarred up flesh. It was an act he had been practicing for months. "I am," he said simply so as not to mince words. "I could force you, but why? You and I will get far more out of an agreeable association." And yeah, he was smart; he had a lot of this all planned out. He had no access or want to the technology that had kept Winter in check, so he wouldn't even consider the need for it.

[rzhavyy]

It could end with new scars, but as much as the idea of roughing him up was satisfying to a shadow in his mind, it wasn't the smart choice. And Rumlow was right about at least one thing-- for all else that he might be, he was a survivor. And he knew that more than just having to find a new place, attracting enough attention could bring the heat trailing after him ever since DC down on him again. Not something he couldn't escape, but it had taken time, it would be months before he could restart, rebuild again, pick up the pieces. And Rumlow knows that. Neither of them wants to get caught here.

He's well-trained enough that he could ignore the scars if he wanted to. But he doesn't. It's both a way of making Rumlow uncomfortable without putting a finger on him, and it's also a quiet defiance. He never would have dared before. Interest and fascination with the patterns that scar tissue made over damaged skin would not have been part of his programming or a mission objective. And they were always wary with him, if he looked too much, spoke too much, even if Rumlow had always been the easiest hand, it had still been a hand at his throat.

It really was throwing him for a loop, even if he'd already resigned himself to giving up this place, grabbing his backpack under the floorboards and running. Seeing Rumlow here, this close, and the evidence was in the fact that he was asking questions at all even when he knew it was an invitation to let himself get drawn in. It was giving him a chance. But he listens because he can't help himself, watching every mannerism, twitch of a fingertip. He knows the people he means when he says HYDRA's enemies, but he lets that point lie for the moment, because there's something even stranger about Rumlow's story.

"You make it sound like you cared," he says it like an accusation, not like some soft revelation, all doe-eyed and hopeful. His words are sharp and biting, low and dark, almost a rasp in the dark. It's a dangerous suggestion, but what Rumlow lays out, the path he'd allegedly intended, it was effort and risk for benefit that wouldn't fall on Rumlow aside from keeping his hand as the one on the Soldier's leash. And that almost bitterness as Rumlow brings up the chair-- it's all strange, seems wrong, but Rumlow's words don't seem openly deceptive.

Maybe the burns have made him harder to head? He isn't entirely sure in either direction. "Agreeable," he repeats slowly, carefully, watching Rumlow like an exceptionally venemous snake.

[infligere]

Rumlow actually snorted at the poke that he might have cared, and it was closer to the truth that he let anyone believe. His life back then had been the mission, a dog of war, a soldier of HYDRA who knew his place and had found the top pedestal to sit from and watch it all burn around him. He was high enough in HYDRA to have some clout, to occasionally have the Secretary's ear, but in the end, he was a soldier. He had a job and negotiating was a risky business, especially where the Soldier was involved.

His life hadn't been about caring. It had been about getting the tasks done, to bring in the New World Order (tm). Maybe - just maybe - he saw a little of his own position in Winter's, of how they both gave up everything for the mission, though he had a choice on that and Winter most definitely had not. His attempt to buy freedom wasn't about caring - it was totally about caring - but about letting another soldier free after so many years of service (still actually about caring).

It took him longer than probably necessary to actually answer the accusation, instead shifting his stance to something casual, like they were talking about the weather or the latest ball game. He knew that tone well after all, but lying would be about his own manhood and would benefit neither of them. That realization actually irked him a bit as well, though he had planned on all of this to begin with. Whatever, he had lost everything else, why not show that emotional vulnerability he never let show because of his male emotional constipation. Winter hadn't killed him; was it worth the risk?

"Maybe I did care," he drawled lazily, again making this all seem rather casual. "Maybe I thought you deserved better. Maybe I still do. Fact is we could both benefit from an association. I know HYDRA bolt-holes better than most; I know the radio channels they use; I know how to hide and get us jobs which actually pay for the skills we have."

And yeah, this was about being agreeable. It wouldn't work otherwise. "You know they put shit in your head to control you. What if I could help get it out?"

[rzhavyy]

That answer stops him short. He'd expected a deflection, or a lie, or something other than the words that slip from Rumlow's mouth. It's phrased as something that's a possibility instead of a certainty, but that's all framing. He doesn't really know what to make of it, how to process that. The man here, burned and scarred, and saying that he'd cared enough to care about getting him out and the very fact of how long it takes him to say it, the way he still seems to duck around the edges of the admittance of it says a lot.

Not that Rumlow isn't a terrifying manipulator, but he's remembering pieces now, and some of that means that he remembers things about him, too. Not quite enough for him to trust that he can read him entirely, but it's something. Enough for the irritation and the hesitance to seem genuine enough, even if Rumlow does try to make it seem casual. He doesn't kill him, doesn't throw that admittance back in his face, but the other man moves quickly onto the next point. They both know there's no way he can keep from biting at the bait.

He doesn't trust that it's real, just that they both know it's his biggest weakness. "How?" His eyes are sharp, laser focus as he looks at him, something in his stance changing- dangerous waters. The problem is that Rumlow has to know that as much as this is perfect bait, it's also the sort of thing that might fast turn this violent if it's an attempt to play him. The subject of it is still too raw and too vulnerable for anything else.

But if it's not a ploy, Rumlow cares enough to want to fix him, and that's something he could work with. He knows Rumlow has his own angle, and his own benefits, but this is hardly just selfish.

[infligere]

Not that long ago, he considered himself a master of lies, particularly if it was going to land him somewhere useful. He recalled his lies very well too, had always had a memory for that sort of thing, though he also always liked to inject a grain of truth into each of his lies in order to make them more believable and have a better follow through. With the shedding of his identity of HYDRA, he had more or less given up the need for lies, had made a personal decision to just say what he meant and if people didn't like it, screw 'em.

However, while his interactions were few and sometimes far between, he had liked to think that he hadn't purposefully lied to Winter. It was one of the reasons he thought they got on so well, even if all the truthful details had been about mission details and answering the necessary questions to have a mission go successfully. In the times there were difficult questions, he deflected with a promise to explain at another time and he always came back around to that. Soldiers in a war zone only put one another at risk with lies, so he kept those to a minimal.

And yeah, he knew that throwing down the bait was probably unfair. However, it was going to always been a bone of contention with anyone who found Winter. He knew some of the details but not all of them; there were some aspects of Winter that were classified even from him. HYDRA was an expert machine for compartmentalization. No one knew everything in order to hide secrets better.

Maybe it was a bit surprising that Barnes didn't immediately throw a punch at him for bringing it up. "There are... resources and a few people who exist in hiding who know bits and pieces of how you were maintained. I can get access to them, and we can get that shit out, break it down." He shifted his shoulders, letting his hands continue to be seen without a weapon. "However, that involves you putting a considerable amount of trust in me, and I get that would be difficult."

He gestured with his head towards the door. "It's why I suggested mercenary missions first, so you can assess that I'm not out to just lock you down any way I can, and you can walk any time you want. If you can trust me with bullets flying to do the right thing, I figure I can eventually earn your trust enough that we can help you."

[rzhavyy]

He's quiet, silent and still for a long moment as he considers. Rumlow has never lied to him personally that he can recall, not that such a thing really says much. And the way that he offers it, isn't as some magic fix, a switch in some bunker that they can go and get and fix the decades of torture and theft of his very identity. And that more than anything says to Bucky that maybe- just maybe- Rumlow actually cares enough in some fucked up way. Enough to help him get his head on straight.

But he's right, of course. In that it's nothing he'll trust him with right out the gate. Not some sort of thing where Bucky trusts him enough to even really talk about it, no matter how clear it is that Rumlow knows enough about what they did to him. It was a near thing, punching him for bringing it up. But he also wanted to know just what he was offering, so here they were. Bucky still stays quiet, still.

Then he moves, walks into the kitchen- still keeping an eye on Rumlow, even if they both know it wouldn't help his cause to attack him now. He writes something on a piece of paper, and folds it. It's coordinates, and a number. He knows drop locations, picks them up just by inhabiting an area, and a lot of them are old things from his hydra days. This isn't one of them. It's a sort of risk, but not a particularly large one. Bucky knows he's good enough to pick up a reason to run long before it comes down to it. He hands over the slip of paper with a slight shrug to his broad shoulders.

"You have twenty-four hours. Briefing and a burner phone. If I like the specs, I'll call you."

It's one chance. It's also a forceful changing of the rules he was under as the Winter Soldier. He could stand being Winter, because it was a piece of identity he'd stolen when there had been so little to have, and that meant something. And insisting on Bucky just gave Rumlow information he wasn't sure he wanted him to have. But the only way he was doing this was if he got choice and information.

"Now will you get out?"

[infligere]

There was a always a chance that this entire plan was going to go tits up, and he'd find himself in whatever SHIELD considered a prison for traitors now a days. They would enjoy making him rot, but in order to turn him over, Winter would have to reveal something of himself in the process, and while he might know all the information, he knew enough that he could let it slip in whatever active torture game they were playing on in interrogate lately.

It was better for them both to keep matters cordial, he knew. He understood Winter's need to be paranoid and violent towards anyone that had previous associations with HYDRA, even if he called them previous. He was a skilled liar after all, and he had out-acted even Romanoff who was known to be able to sniff out enemy agents if she was given any kind of indication something was off. Or maybe he had always just been so far beneath her notice that there was no need to give him or STRIKE a second glance.

He'd never know. He didn't care. Right now, it was about establishing something with someone who was also recently free from the clutches of brainwashing that game with being a HYDRA operative. He liked to think that he could scratch Winter's back and Winter could scratch his.

Yet, he reached out and took the piece of folded paper, not bothering to open it up and examine it here and now. Again, it was a show of trust, that he was receiving good information. He nodded his head to the stipulations, agreeing to them without even questioning.

"Seems like we're gonna be working together again. Good times ahead," he replied with a smirk that twisted up the scar tissue on the left side of his face. He was confident that they would run at least one op together and see how things went. "You won't be disappointed."

He turned, tucking the paper in his pocket and moved to the door because yes, he would respond by getting out. He eased the door open after listening at it for signs of other people and then looked back, winking at Winter. "Dress appropriately for our hot date," he teased and then slipped out of the door, allowing it to close quietly behind him. Then he descended the stairs, only pulling out the paper halfway down to the bottom floor to investigate the location.

Seemed legit.