[Every day there's a new memory, it seems. One he wakes up with, dripping from his subconscious like an ichor. Thick and heavy, unfinished. There are pieces missing, things Rumlow doesn't understand. Why? The question that lingers. Why would SHIELD have him do these things? Interrogation, sure. But beating someone near to death? Sure, they were a little shady, but torture seems a little beyond that.
It isn't even the worst part. Of course it isn't. He has to fulfill the cliche, doesn't he? So Rumlow grew a little distant. The last few days he's been trying to process it. Decide whether it's real or some sleeper implants, designed to test him or something. It's an escape and he knows it. Hates that it feels like running away, but he's got to be sure. Has to know that whatever's in his head is real. Because if he's going to accept it, he's got to come to terms with the fact that every blow, every punch, every impact of his fist into that man's skull felt good. That the drip of blood onto the floor was a part of the song as the man grunted and gasped, gurgling the blood that filled his broken mouth.
Rumlow blinks. Kenzi. She's standing before him, giving him a look that Rumlow knows means he's in trouble. She's noticed. Of course she's noticed. She is his wife, after all and not stupid. She can tell he's been isolating. Avoiding. He blinks again.]
That all it's been?
[He says, deflecting. It's not that he doesn't trust her. It's just, this is something Kenzi doesn't need to know. Doesn't need to find out. Her world is already unsteady and Rumlow knows he's one of the few steady points left within it. If he shakes that foundation -- he's not interested in letting her fall.]
To be fair, Kenzi, it is my job to be here, and y'know. Gotta get in my own workout too.
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It isn't even the worst part. Of course it isn't. He has to fulfill the cliche, doesn't he? So Rumlow grew a little distant. The last few days he's been trying to process it. Decide whether it's real or some sleeper implants, designed to test him or something. It's an escape and he knows it. Hates that it feels like running away, but he's got to be sure. Has to know that whatever's in his head is real. Because if he's going to accept it, he's got to come to terms with the fact that every blow, every punch, every impact of his fist into that man's skull felt good. That the drip of blood onto the floor was a part of the song as the man grunted and gasped, gurgling the blood that filled his broken mouth.
Rumlow blinks. Kenzi. She's standing before him, giving him a look that Rumlow knows means he's in trouble. She's noticed. Of course she's noticed. She is his wife, after all and not stupid. She can tell he's been isolating. Avoiding. He blinks again.]
That all it's been?
[He says, deflecting. It's not that he doesn't trust her. It's just, this is something Kenzi doesn't need to know. Doesn't need to find out. Her world is already unsteady and Rumlow knows he's one of the few steady points left within it. If he shakes that foundation -- he's not interested in letting her fall.]
To be fair, Kenzi, it is my job to be here, and y'know. Gotta get in my own workout too.