Winterbones

Everything seemed calm and okay, nobody who passed by looked nervous, and even if this was a trap, the area was good to get away from unharmed.

Ace doesn't leave the house. Hell, he barely leaves the basement. This means that whenever a deal has to be made outside, Aaron is the one who has to actually deal with buyers. He's being tracked, of course, and listened to, but his brother doesn't have eyes on him for now.

It's a relief.

Despite of his huge statue he could be almost silent in his movements and getting someone on the edge right from the start was a good way to see who they are behind the mask of professionally they put on.

"What can you offer me? I bet you already know that money is no problem, but that doesn't mean that I let you rip me off. And if you try I rip your head off."

"Thank you for getting me out of there," Brock grunted, well aware that Lester had probably forgotten about him the moment he left his apartment for the last time almost 3 years ago.

He looked tired. Still as muscular and buff as he has always been, but 3 years on The Raft wasn't an easy walk in the park for him.

Brock never thought that the only thing he wanted was a good night of sleep without the need to keep one eye open because on The Raft everyone was out to get him. What do they say? Find the biggest and baddest guy, challenge him, and hope that you don't get killed. For many people Brock was that guy.

It took him 3 years to gather the connections and resources to flee and he had paid a high price for it. He sold his soul to a rising dictator who needed a leader for his growing army, but at least he was out.

"The fridge and freezer are stocked according to your preferences. I will take care of supplies," he affirmed without any greater affectation.

The offer of whisky stumped him and he accepted it mutely without drinking. This was supposed to be Lester's part to step in.

"This area is okay. I won't die getting my food from these people."

Brock put a hand on Lester's shoulder and squeezed it tight when he emptied his glass.

"I noticed that you put pretty much put together. At least you try. How many cracks are in that facade and when are you crumbling again?"

Brock tried to sound as blunt as possible, but he couldn't help but to worry about Lester's condition. At least a little bit.

He let go of the shoulder and got himself a can of beer and everything he needed for some sandwiches from the fridge.

"You know what? I've always admired you… I think you're amazing."

"I've had the biggest crush on you for ages. You're incredible."

"You wanna know a secret? I think I'm falling in love with you. Isn't that crazy?"

"I'm so drunk right now, but I still know one thing… I'm lucky to have you in my life."

"You're the most amazing person I've ever met."

"Alcohol makes me honest, so here it is… I think I've loved you for a long time."

"Let's make a pact. If we're both still single when we're sober, let's give this a real shot."

"I'm so drunk that I can't even keep secrets anymore. I have a massive crush on you."

"Being drunk with you is the best feeling."

"I just want you to know how much you mean to me. You're my best friend, and I love you."

"You're my favorite person."

[text]: Hey, guess what? I've had a few too many drinks tonight, and I need to tell you something…

[text]: So, alcohol has given me the courage to admit that I think you're amazing. I might be a bit tipsy, but my feelings are genuine. I've got a major crush on you!

[text]: Okay, this might be the tequila talking, but I've always wanted to say this. You're incredibly attractive

[text]: Can I blame the shots for my sudden burst of courage?

[text]: I'm a little tipsy right now, but it doesn't change how I feel

[text]: Don't be alarmed, but alcohol made me do something brave

[text]: I've had a few drinks, and now I'm feeling brave enough to say it.

[text]: Blame the cocktails, but I had to let you know before my courage wears off.

[text]: Tequila made me do it!

"Thank you for getting me out of there," Brock grunted, well aware that Lester had probably forgotten about him the moment he left his apartment for the last time almost 3 years ago.

He looked tired. Still as muscular and buff as he has always been, but 3 years on The Raft wasn't an easy walk in the park for him.

Brock never thought that the only thing he wanted was a good night of sleep without the need to keep one eye open because on The Raft everyone was out to get him. What do they say? Find the biggest and baddest guy, challenge him, and hope that you don't get killed. For many people Brock was that guy.

It took him 3 years to gather the connections and resources to flee and he had paid a high price for it. He sold his soul to a rising dictator who needed a leader for his growing army, but at least he was out.

Maybe Rumlow was doing it on purpose, he supposed, but he had a job to finish, and he would. Even if he'd have to run Rumlow off the road and have him ride bitch to do so. It didn't come to that, and he caught up and took the lead, guiding Rumlow toward the safe house. Always aware of where he was and never too far away.

Rumlow would get to play after he'd done his part. Though Dex didn't know how long he'd be the one fronting; Bullseye for one didn't bother with the boring bits, but Lester was... compartmentalized. That had gotten worse. There had been a hot sec, when things had been like they were before with him, Dex, barely being needed but with Rumlow... all bets were off.

He finally got them to the house in the Bronx. It looked rundown and closed up, situated in one of the parts that had yet to be gentrified squashed between Motts Haven and Melrose. Mostly, it was a Latino and black neighborhood where poverty was still apparent, but the community tight-knit and held the gang activity at minimum. Quiet and mind your own business.

The squat looking three story building was nothing special from the outside, but the top floor was fully furnished and equipped for their business, including an easy fire escape.

Dex stopped and unlocked another shuttered door. A garage for the bikes. He gestured for Rumlow to drive in. Inside, there was a locked door into the building proper.

"Got it," Brock said when he parked the bike. He used the code to open the door and entered the building.

The apartment was actually quite nice. Clean, not too crowded, a good view over the neighbourhood.

"I guess you have to go grocery shopping for me," he chuckled when Lester entered the apartment. "I definitely won't deal with the vermin running around this part of town."

Brock continued his inspection of the apartment to make himself familiar with the basics till he ended up in the kitchen.

"Thank you for getting me out of there," Brock grunted, well aware that Lester had probably forgotten about him the moment he left his apartment for the last time almost 3 years ago.

He looked tired. Still as muscular and buff as he has always been, but 3 years on The Raft wasn't an easy walk in the park for him.

Brock never thought that the only thing he wanted was a good night of sleep without the need to keep one eye open because on The Raft everyone was out to get him. What do they say? Find the biggest and baddest guy, challenge him, and hope that you don't get killed. For many people Brock was that guy.

It took him 3 years to gather the connections and resources to flee and he had paid a high price for it. He sold his soul to a rising dictator who needed a leader for his growing army, but at least he was out.

Brock finished the bar and put on some Jeans and a tight fit shirt. Some heavy leather boots and a leather jacket. Gun stored in the right pocket.

Perfectly on time.

He took the card from Lester and put it into a backpack. He didn't need most stuff that Lester had prepared, but some rations and water would be good in case something unexpected happened. And some basic equipment pieces that may come in handy.

"No obligation, heh? You better give me a full debrief on what happened since I was gone. Not only about the mission. Rather hear it from you than some lame ass bureaucrat."

Brock moved on to one of the bikes he decided would be his. He felt the need to touch Lester, maybe kiss him, but this was neither the place nor the time for that. Maybe later.

“Catch up.” He said before he put on his helmet, closed the visor and drove off at a medium speed. It would be easy for Lester to catch up and he didn’t plan to make this a high speed trip. No need to get attention. Dealing with law enforcement wouldn’t be a problem, but he was probably already on a high priority list with some powered people going after him.

"Thank you for getting me out of there," Brock grunted, well aware that Lester had probably forgotten about him the moment he left his apartment for the last time almost 3 years ago.

He looked tired. Still as muscular and buff as he has always been, but 3 years on The Raft wasn't an easy walk in the park for him.

Brock never thought that the only thing he wanted was a good night of sleep without the need to keep one eye open because on The Raft everyone was out to get him. What do they say? Find the biggest and baddest guy, challenge him, and hope that you don't get killed. For many people Brock was that guy.

It took him 3 years to gather the connections and resources to flee and he had paid a high price for it. He sold his soul to a rising dictator who needed a leader for his growing army, but at least he was out.

Brock finished the bar and put on some Jeans and a tight fit shirt. Some heavy leather boots and a leather jacket. Gun stored in the right pocket.

Perfectly on time.

He took the card from Lester and put it into a backpack. He didn't need most stuff that Lester had prepared, but some rations and water would be good in case something unexpected happened. And some basic equipment pieces that may come in handy.

"No obligation, heh? You better give me a full debrief on what happened since I was gone. Not only about the mission. Rather hear it from you than some lame ass bureaucrat."

Brock moved on to one of the bikes he decided would be his. He felt the need to touch Lester, maybe kiss him, but this was neither the place nor the time for that. Maybe later.

"Thank you for getting me out of there," Brock grunted, well aware that Lester had probably forgotten about him the moment he left his apartment for the last time almost 3 years ago.

He looked tired. Still as muscular and buff as he has always been, but 3 years on The Raft wasn't an easy walk in the park for him.

Brock never thought that the only thing he wanted was a good night of sleep without the need to keep one eye open because on The Raft everyone was out to get him. What do they say? Find the biggest and baddest guy, challenge him, and hope that you don't get killed. For many people Brock was that guy.

It took him 3 years to gather the connections and resources to flee and he had paid a high price for it. He sold his soul to a rising dictator who needed a leader for his growing army, but at least he was out.

It had been too long since he was able to play with people's minds and Lester had always been someone who bordered so close to paranoia. It has always been easy to play with him in the past and Brock was curious if it was still so easy.

He decided that the remark was Lester's problem. But, yes, Rumlow's presence promised carnage. The prospect of killing was always attractive. But first, he'd finish the job.

Dex hadn't miscalculated and they were shortly next to a storage yard where he unlocked a unit. Inside where two black Erik Buell Racing 1190RS, pristine enough to warrant envy in any connoisseur of the street racers, and a case with clothes, gear, essentials, water, food and a first aid kit.

Brock was happy with what he saw. A well equipped storage to give them a good start for their travel. The bikes looked good, the clothes clean and neatly folded. The order was calming.

"Safe house? Actual house? Apartment? Where?" He asked when he undressed.

"Thank you for getting me out of there," Brock grunted, well aware that Lester had probably forgotten about him the moment he left his apartment for the last time almost 3 years ago.

He looked tired. Still as muscular and buff as he has always been, but 3 years on The Raft wasn't an easy walk in the park for him.

Brock never thought that the only thing he wanted was a good night of sleep without the need to keep one eye open because on The Raft everyone was out to get him. What do they say? Find the biggest and baddest guy, challenge him, and hope that you don't get killed. For many people Brock was that guy.

It took him 3 years to gather the connections and resources to flee and he had paid a high price for it. He sold his soul to a rising dictator who needed a leader for his growing army, but at least he was out.

It had been too long since he was able to play with people's minds and Lester had always been someone who bordered so close to paranoia. It has always been easy to play with him in the past and Brock was curious if it was still so easy.

"Thank you for getting me out of there," Brock grunted, well aware that Lester had probably forgotten about him the moment he left his apartment for the last time almost 3 years ago.

He looked tired. Still as muscular and buff as he has always been, but 3 years on The Raft wasn't an easy walk in the park for him.

Brock never thought that the only thing he wanted was a good night of sleep without the need to keep one eye open because on The Raft everyone was out to get him. What do they say? Find the biggest and baddest guy, challenge him, and hope that you don't get killed. For many people Brock was that guy.

It took him 3 years to gather the connections and resources to flee and he had paid a high price for it. He sold his soul to a rising dictator who needed a leader for his growing army, but at least he was out.

"Les--" Damn it, Adam had gotten him too used to that. "I retrieved your gear from the apartment before it was seized. Stored it all in a shipping container. I will give you the keys. Set up the basics at the safe house." Lester had been meticulous about that. Nothing of Brock's had been lost, not even when he'd been pissed off and desperate.

Dex finally looked at Rumlow, filing away everything that he saw. much the same, if older now and tired. That bit of him that was tied to muscle memory felt the heat and the want, but it was easier to ignore like this. Dex didn't really want to deal with the headfuck of getting involved with Rumlow. That was Lester's. Being Bullseye and getting Rumlow out of the Raft had been a wild ride, but neither he nor Bullseye were the one who was, still, in love with Rumlow.

The compartmentalization had escalated the years they spend apart. The need for Dex, in Rumlow's absence, had been a tipping point.

"You took care of my shit?"

Brock raised an eyebrow. He hadn't expect anything like that from Lester. "So you do like me?" he said laughing with a toothy grin. This thought energised him more than he had expected, he actually liked it. Even if he didn't plan to admit it so openly.

"I missed you too," he teased. "Not much fun on the island."

Brock got up, now towering over Lester, still that wide grin on his face.

"Everything I need sounds good. A hot shower, some whisky, a juicy steak. Perfect."

Brock also thought about pounding Lester into the mattress, but he left that out, just to tease him. It's not like Brock had been celibate, there had been more than a handful of guys who happily kept their ass clean for him in exchange for some safety. But if he was honest none of them had been as satisfying as Lester. You can't beat that amount of crazy and the way that Lester cursed him out afterwards. On The Raft nobody dared to tell him to fuck himself.

"Thank you for getting me out of there," Brock grunted, well aware that Lester had probably forgotten about him the moment he left his apartment for the last time almost 3 years ago.

He looked tired. Still as muscular and buff as he has always been, but 3 years on The Raft wasn't an easy walk in the park for him.

Brock never thought that the only thing he wanted was a good night of sleep without the need to keep one eye open because on The Raft everyone was out to get him. What do they say? Find the biggest and baddest guy, challenge him, and hope that you don't get killed. For many people Brock was that guy.

It took him 3 years to gather the connections and resources to flee and he had paid a high price for it. He sold his soul to a rising dictator who needed a leader for his growing army, but at least he was out.

Nothing personal. Just the job and the kill and a mouth that wouldn't stop as he did so. Now, after, faced with... Brock, rather than Crossbones, it got difficult. It had begun gradually as they got away from the Raft. He simply... shut down, step by step. The joy draining out of him.

Outwardly, he was in good shape. All muscle, body taut and trim, and uninjured. His eyes alert and no signs of medical mishaps. Inwardly, he barely knew who he was when the inability to simply be Bullseye struck. But he needed to function and there was Specialist Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter to serve. Dex didn't feel on way or another towards Rumlow. He was the logical choice.

"It was the--" he traded out the word mission, "job," he clinically stated, still guarding for trouble, his movements economical and brisk. "I'll secure you on the secondary site. Sitrep there."

"10 minutes is more than enough" he said, knowing that it would not nearly be enough to fully recover. But for now it was okay.

In the presence of Lester he allowed himself to close his eyes. Just for a moment, barely enough to take a handful of deep breaths, but it felt like freedom.

Brock had been a wild animal trapped in a cage that was way too small for him and even though he got the chance go slice through some of his guards, the taste of blood in prison was not the same that it was outside.

Laughter. Ease. Familiarity. Rumlow treated him like Lester. He hadn't realized. Was that good or bad? Dex didn't know. That he wasn't Bullseye anymore was obvious, Rumlow knew that shift.

"It was there. I took it," he said, suppressing the urge to say 'sir'. It wasn't untrue, but there was no explanation given. Lester had thrown a fit. A complicated one. But he hadn't planned for what happened after.

He kept his trigger discipline and tension built in his jaw. Fucking shitty passing the buck to him. But no point in crying about it. He just needed to move Rumlow, get him situated and up to speed. That was it. That was the job.

The tension in Lester's body, especially his jaw didn't go unnoticed, Brock was alert to his surroundings and the smallest details caught his eyes. But for now he wouldn't comment on it.

His ability to pay attention only sharpened during his time on The Raft, the only way to avoid any major injuries. The place wasn't only filled with the mad criminals, but also with the ones who had strict believe systems, just like he himself. And believe systems sometimes clashed.

The mad people had never been a problem, the smart ones were the ones to look out for.

"Thank you for getting me out of there," Brock grunted, well aware that Lester had probably forgotten about him the moment he left his apartment for the last time almost 3 years ago.

He looked tired. Still as muscular and buff as he has always been, but 3 years on The Raft wasn't an easy walk in the park for him.

Brock never thought that the only thing he wanted was a good night of sleep without the need to keep one eye open because on The Raft everyone was out to get him. What do they say? Find the biggest and baddest guy, challenge him, and hope that you don't get killed. For many people Brock was that guy.

It took him 3 years to gather the connections and resources to flee and he had paid a high price for it. He sold his soul to a rising dictator who needed a leader for his growing army, but at least he was out.

Nothing personal. Just the job and the kill and a mouth that wouldn't stop as he did so. Now, after, faced with... Brock, rather than Crossbones, it got difficult. It had begun gradually as they got away from the Raft. He simply... shut down, step by step. The joy draining out of him.

Outwardly, he was in good shape. All muscle, body taut and trim, and uninjured. His eyes alert and no signs of medical mishaps. Inwardly, he barely knew who he was when the inability to simply be Bullseye struck. But he needed to function and there was Specialist Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter to serve. Dex didn't feel on way or another towards Rumlow. He was the logical choice.

"It was the--" he traded out the word mission, "job," he clinically stated, still guarding for trouble, his movements economical and brisk. "I'll secure you on the secondary site. Sitrep there."

"10 minutes is more than enough" he said, knowing that it would not nearly be enough to fully recover. But for now it was okay.

In the presence of Lester he allowed himself to close his eyes. Just for a moment, barely enough to take a handful of deep breaths, but it felt like freedom.

Brock had been a wild animal trapped in a cage that was way too small for him and even though he got the chance go slice through some of his guards, the taste of blood in prison was not the same that it was outside.