The Asset

He looked up however when the other mentioned ‘dates’ and having a life of his own- he thought back to that charming drawing of the man he apparently had been... the sweet smile and handsome face. His brow furrowed again for a moment. He didn’t think that a life for him now would be at all the same- he didn’t know much in the romantic sense now either. It just wasn’t part of what he was now.

“... It’s dangerous.” He said simply, chewing the inside of his cheek for a brief moment as he tried to focus his thoughts- tried to get his head straight. “They’ll hurt you... to hurt me.”

He tipped his head again, scooting closer to the other and lowering his head once again, hunching over so that he could press his forehead and face into the other’s shoulder- those hands still clasped tightly around Steve’s own.

Names weren’t something that were normally spoken around the android and most of the time he would refer to those working on him as ‘sir’ or ‘miss’- but on occasion he would b instructed to refer to them by their proper surname. Never a first though. He didn’t even know what to do with it when it was given to him. Regardless, he gave a quick little nod and watched as the man- Brock- started looking over the terminal. “Yes sir, Mr. Brock.” He answered, not understanding that he didn’t have to refer to the other in the same way as everyone else- or that Brock was his first name at all.

“No. I was merely told to sit and wait until someone came.” He had been waiting quite a long time but didn’t mind it. “Usually I am given tasks to complete or they feed me data to process- though they usually do that during my rest cycle.” He shifted his weight a bit, still sitting upon the table but moving so that one of his ankles was tucked behind the other. “What is it you are supposed to be teaching me, Mr. Brock?” He asked, that same little chime of interest in his voice.

He wasn’t really sure what his purpose was, not really. All he knew was that he was supposed to help a lot of people and prevent them from getting hurt- which seemed like a good thing! He liked everyone, or thought he did, and didn’t want them getting hurt so how wanted to do everything that he could to keep that from happening… again, not fully grasping the situation. He really was like a child and that probably rubbed some people the wrong way- like Brock- but instead of embracing that little human bit they kept him at an arm’s length so they didn’t have to feel anything about it. Besides, you couldn’t hurt a machine’s feelings-

          Brock never even liked being called sir by his officers and techs. After his father’s INSISTENCE that he use the term of respect for his pathetic excuse for a person, the word just… he hated it. That was all he was gonna say on the matter. “No… no sir. That’s the point my me giving you my NAME,” he corrected gently with a shake of his head. “And… no need for the Mr. stuff either, okay? Just Brock… it’s my first name.” He offered him a tiny grin, then ran a hand through his hair with a quiet huff of breath. This was going to be harder than he’d THOUGHT. “But… only when it’s just the two of us. Around everyone else, it’s probably best you call me SIR.”

          Just sit and wait. FANTASTIC. He wasn’t really sure what the hell they expected him to do, just take the CHILDLIKE mind of a new android and immediately start training him to defuse bombs? That sounded like a recipe for nothing GOOD. Sighing heavily, Brock scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration and shook his head slightly. He moved to check a few readouts and then looked back at Winter. “Right…” he huffed quietly, frowning. “I’m SUPPOSED to be teaching you to defuse bombs. Explosive ordinance disposal.”

“That sounds dangerous.” He observed, understanding how him knowing such a thing could indeed keep plenty of people safe. “I am a fast learner and am certain that I will be able to learn this new task far more accurately and quickly than a human.” He wanted to be useful, wanted to be please those that had created him...

Winter was a prototype model but he was a very sophisticated piece of hardware. He was made to learn and grow- to observe- but that did not mean that every detail would make it into the eventual model that would come after him. He had other uses too- he’d been taught first-aid as well as some martial combat... but that obviously wasn’t everything.

He let the other slip away when he moved to stand, the soldier quietly returning both hands to his side of the table, and watched as Steve put the soup away and pulled on his winter clothes. Bucky’s brow furrowed as the blonde made his way to the door, telling him that he would be back in a few moments, before leaving.

Bucky stood after a moment or two, making his way towards the door as well, as anxiety began to creep into him. He could feel the cold seeping in from around the door- that chilled biting cold that reminded him of-

He finished his soup relative quickly, slurping up the last bits before setting the now empty bowl down and wiping his mouth on his wrist and forearm. “No.” He said simply when Steve mentioned that he could have more of he still felt hungry. Bucky sat quietly across from the smaller man, studying him and taking in every little detail he could in an attempt remember things about him- anything. He had recognized him almost instantly but he had trouble remembering the details of how or when- mostly because from his perspective there was no /when/. His life was a black space and occasionally faint glimmers of shapes or memories would surface and he wouldn’t understand it...

Being here though was helping to put that all together- even in such a short time...

The soldier’s brow furrowed however when he took note of those faint bruises on the other. Carefully he reached forward, cool metal fingertips brushing over one of the dark marks that bloomed on the other’s pale skin. Metal fingertips traced the mark- smooth and gentle despite clearly having the power to crush bone...

The metal hand unclenched after a moment or two more, a faint mechanical sound emanating from the limb as it’s sleek metal plates shifted with artificial muscle. He was trying, he wanted to try. He could tell from the way the young artist looked at him that he cared so very deeply for him- and even if it felt a bit strange to be looked at like anything other than a tool or weapon... it was nice.

It made him feel /something/.

He nodded obediently when told to eat, taking the bowl in that silvery grasp, and brought it to his lips to sip. The brunette was going to need some time to re-learn his table manners but he was less ravenous this time and so didn’t make quite as much of a mess. He still chose not to use his utensil, seeming completely fine just sipping his meal straight from the bowl...

Metal fingers twitched involuntarily as he watched the other- listening closely to try and tell if there was any hint of a lie in the answer. Though he found none there, certainly not in those big blue eyes that looked at him with such warmth.

When the bowl was presented to him he took it in hand and watched as Steve took a seat at the table, choosing to join him a moment or so later (he’d already been told at breakfast that he could do and say what he liked- and not to just stand around like a hungry animal). He sat, glancing down into the bowl to study its warm contents- smelled nice just like earlier. He hoped it tasted just as good.

He looked back up however when Steve said that last bit- that he wanted him around even if he couldn’t remember- that he wouldn’t be the same person like he used to be...

The brunette glanced down at his soup again, the mechanical hand clenched tightly as it rest upon the tabletop- his other sort of fidgeting, rubbing his index finger over his thumb in a sort of nervous manner. Eventually though he gave a small nod, letting the other know that he acknowledged it.

When he got to the drawings of himself he stopped to study them for a long time. He’d apparently been a very charming man from what he could tell in the way Steve had drawn him, but he felt detached looking at them… it made sense that they were of him, but it just didn’t feel like it…

Carefully he laid them down on the small nightstand beside the bed and curled up, not to sleep but merely to think and seek the comforting scent that continued to draw him in… Part of him wished to return upfront to the blonde’s side and watch him draw but he needed to think…

How had this happened to him-? Any of it..? He couldn’t quite remember… but he could remember loosing his arm- sort of- and vaguely recalled something else that had happened to him… but other than that it was all just a wash of blackness…

Eventually the drawing was done and he was able to slide it into a large envelope which had been pre-labeled and stamped for the Times office in Manhattan. He’d have to take that to the mailbox later. For now, it was past lunch time, and therefore past time for Steve to get up and cook. He wasn’t used to having guests, or rather, a roommate anymore, but thanks to living through the depression, he never wasted or failed to preserve food. 

Out of the freezer he took a container of frozen chicken soup and managed to wrangle it into a large pot. Within minute the apartment began to smell like hearty soup; something his mother used to make, and now Steve had the honor of continuing the tradition. He hovered over the pot, making sure it was warming up evenly, and occasionally giving it a stir with a wooden spoon.

Music-

Bucky lay there for a few moments listening- the song unfamiliar to him while the music itself brought up something else in him... though he knew not what just yet. Slowly tipped his head over his shoulder, the warm scent of food flooding his nose, and carefully swung his legs over the edge to stand. He paused though when he noticed the drawings he’d set aside previously, keen eyes studying the picture of himself that lay on top of the rest.

He stood, attention returning to the doorway, and slowly made his way over. The brunette paused once he’d reached it and watched as Steve went about making lunch.

When he got to the drawings of himself he stopped to study them for a long time. He’d apparently been a very charming man from what he could tell in the way Steve had drawn him, but he felt detached looking at them… it made sense that they were of him, but it just didn’t feel like it…

Carefully he laid them down on the small nightstand beside the bed and curled up, not to sleep but merely to think and seek the comforting scent that continued to draw him in… Part of him wished to return upfront to the blonde’s side and watch him draw but he needed to think…

How had this happened to him-? Any of it..? He couldn’t quite remember… but he could remember loosing his arm- sort of- and vaguely recalled something else that had happened to him… but other than that it was all just a wash of blackness…