Chapter Text
December 16, 1991
The handler raised his head from what he was working on when the asset was escorted into his lab. He waived away the soldiers as the asset stopped exactly six feet away from his handler and looked at the ground.
“Kneel,” the handler said calmly, straightening the papers he was looking at with a brisk tap and returning them to their folder. The asset dropped to his knees and the handler stood and came closer.
“Hands on your thighs.” Head still bowed, the asset obeyed. Dried blood was still an ugly splatter across the silver metal of his left hand and dust from a gravel road made his black boots grey.
The handler raked his fingers gently through the asset’s hair. “Mission report.”
“Targets eliminated. Package acquired. Mission compromised.” The assets voice was rough with disuse and dry with thirst.
The handler fisted his hand in the asset’s hair and wrenched his head back. Any noise the asset would have made died in his chest as pale blue eyes flew open to meet brown. The asset’s hands didn’t so much as twitch in his own defense. “Describe ‘mission compromised.’”
The asset’s eyes flickered to the folder on the desk and back. “Target recognition prior to elimination.”
“And?” His handler said calmly.
“And there was a camera present on scene.”
“Before or after?”
“Sir?”
His handler’s hand tightened, pulling his head back until he was almost off balance. The asset was acutely aware of his bared throat as his heart started beating faster, but the only noise he made was a sharp inhale. “Did you discover the camera before or after?”
“After, sir. It was destroyed.”
“After? Sloppy work. It’s like you’re trying to get caught.” The handler leaned over until he was all the asset could see. “Are you trying to get caught?”
A single sharp quake shook the asset at the thought of caught and he couldn’t look away. Caught meant cages, meant pain, but most importantly, caught meant being taken away from his handler. “No, sir. Never,” he said, and didn’t dare blink. He was unconsciously holding his breath as he searched his handler’s eyes for any sign of disappointment or displeasure.
But after a long moment the pain in his scalp eased and his handler’s touch gentled, fingers soothing the sting. “Good. The tapes from the camera were recovered, so there was no harm done. Overall a very successful mission.” Suddenly his handler’s hand fell away, and the loss of his touch hurt worse than anything. Chin down, the asset watched his handler through his curtain of hair as his handler returned to the desk.
“He’s awfully…obliging, isn’t he?” There was a man on the other side of the desk from his handler, someone the asset hadn’t noticed until he spoke. There was a note in the man’s voice that made the asset want to tighten his hands into fists, but he knew better than to move without his handler’s permission.
“Quite,” his handler said curtly, apparently not liking the tone either.
“Are you sure we should be discussing this in front of…him?”
“What does it matter? He won’t remember it after tonight.”
“Hmm.” The man tapped a finger on the metal briefcase sitting on the corner of his handler’s desk, the briefcase the asset retrieved on the mission. “Do you know why Howard was transporting these in the middle of the night?”
“Clearly he suspected something, since he neglected to inform me of his intentions. But then, my father was growing paranoid in his old age.” A thread of amusement entered his handler’s voice. “I think he was afraid someone was spying on him.”
The man chuckled but the tone was off. Hidden by his hair, the asset curled his lip in a silent snarl. “You don’t say,” the man said. “Who could that have been?”
The smile his handler offered at that was cold and sharp, the brief flash of amusement already gone. “Indeed.” He pushed his chair back from the desk and stood again. “Well, this has been a pleasure, Mr. Pierce, but as you can imagine, tomorrow is going to be a very hectic day.”
“I’m sure, I’m sure,” the man said smoothly. “And what will you be doing with the asset after tonight? I would imagine he’s going to be a liability moving forward, at least until the furor dies down.”
The asset was so highly attuned to his handler that he could all but feel the air get colder as he grew angrier at the insinuating tone in the man’s voice. “JARVIS, please make sure our guest returns to his vehicle without any interruptions. He has a long drive ahead of him.” His handler’s smile was all teeth, and the asset noted with satisfaction that the man was starting to fear-sweat.
As soon as the door closed behind the man his handler growled deep in his throat, the same noise the asset had been wanting to make ever since the man first spoke. The asset heard his handler’s footsteps come closer until his shoes were in the asset’s line of sight.
A gentle hand under his chin tipped the asset’s head up and lips brushed his forehead, dry and warm. The asset let his eyes drift closed as calloused hands smelling of grease brushed his hair back and framed his face. “You did very well tonight,” his handler’s voice said gently. Pleasure, thick and sweet, flooded the asset’s veins and he relaxed into his handler’s touch with an almost soundless sigh. “Do you remember what my father said to you? The target recognition?”
The asset didn’t realize he was frowning until his handler was soothing the lines between his eyebrows with his thumb. “The target said, ‘Bucky.’”
“Do you know what that means?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. That’s good. Are you ready?”
The asset nodded once. What was coming next was not pleasant, but what came after was…life. Was all the asset ever knew or wanted to know of joy. He opened his eyes to watch his handler’s face as he put something in his ears, trailing his eyes over his handler’s thick brown hair, eyes that could be cruel or kind or both, the stubble that was just starting to cover his jaw. The asset ached to touch but that wasn’t allowed, not yet.
“Eyes on me,” his handler said. “Try not to close them.” Then suddenly there was a high pitched whine that quickly went almost out of the asset's advanced range of hearing, leaving behind an aching pressure in his head. The asset struggled to keep his eyes open on his handler’s, trying to focus on the warmth of the hand on his face as the pain intensified. “You’re doing so well,” his handler crooned, so difficult to hear over the sound coming from the device in his hand. “So good, so good for me.” The asset wanted to shake his head like a dog hearing a high pitched whistle, wanted to press his hands to his eyes that felt like they were going to pop from the pressure. He felt something warm start to trickle from his ear.
Then as suddenly as the pain started it was gone, leaving behind a phantom ache in his jaw from where he’d been clenching his teeth to avoid making noise. His handler looked so sad if he made noise during the painful part. The asset relaxed again with another sigh, and his handler was brushing light kisses across his forehead, his temple, his cheek, while a warm hand was squeezing the back of his neck lightly. Then his handler’s voice was whispering the words in his ear, the ten words that were just between them, and with each word bliss spread, until the asset forgot thirst, forgot hunger, forgot pain, there was only his handler and his handler’s smile, his handler’s voice, his approval.
Tony helped the asset to his feet, smiling indulgently when the asset swayed, eyes glassy from the rush of serotonin and oxytocin in his system. He sat the asset down on the couch and cleaned the cybernetic arm carefully, making sure no blood remained between the articulating plates and staying close while the bonding hormones worked their magic. He kept a running stream of nonsense commentary, mostly praise, while he stripped off the asset’s gear, prepping him for the cryogenic procedure that would happen later. The whole time the asset’s eyes followed him, as adoring as any newlywed on their honeymoon.
Tony could only feel smug at the evidence of his superior methods. The chair the Russians had sent along with the asset was about as necessary as a bicycle for fish; why inflict so much pain when you could bind him with pleasure, instead? Tony had also taken the time to reprogram the asset’s trigger words; anyone attempting to use the words in the little red book Tony had hidden carefully but not too carefully would be unpleasantly surprised at the result.
He got comfortable on the couch and urged the asset to lean back against him, wrapping his arms around him until the asset let his head fall back against Tony’s shoulder. He started running his hands through the asset’s hair and kept one hand as a solid anchor on his chest. “One day I hope you can understand the service you’ve done to me today,” he mused.
The asset felt a brief moment of confusion; what service? The asset couldn’t remember anything but the happiness of being near his handler, so he let the moment of confusion float away. “One hour’s work and I went from an irresponsible college student to one of the richest and most important men in America. Because of you,” he said, tapping the asset on the chest. The asset turned his head to rest his forehead on Tony’s jaw but said nothing, too well trained to speak without a direct question. “You’re mine,” he whispered to the asset, and the asset nodded sleepily. “No one will ever take you away from me, and together we’re going to take over the world.”