[This wasn't Rumlow's first rodeo. He wasn't shy of his scars, and he was one of the few people that could appreciate them for the story that they told of the life circling around them. He had had a host of scars, many of them long ago faded, but others were very much a part of him. Knife wounds, bullet holes, the general rough-housing life that came with being part of a military-like group of people. HYDRA was certainly not gentle on their recruits or agents either, but those scars were generally left beneath the surface for only the agent to understand the implications of.
He wondered if she was the only person who could say that about him though. I'm just glad you're alive. She was the first person to say that to him since he had arrived here, and he knew for a fact that he didn't deserve it, that the story behind them would cause the usual revulsion. However, if Ava was anything like Natasha, she likely existed in a world of grays rather than black and white. That's how many agents existed, where there were personal lines in the sand they wouldn't cross.]
Jet fuel. [His lips twisted because there was no point of lying on that fact. There was a clear difference to friction and burning, the smooth melted nature of the burns around his eyes. It should have been a lot worse, but maybe he had been put in the pod before it had melted most of his skin off.] Impact damage from an aircraft hitting the building. No chance to get out, but I got lucky... and I am stubborn.
[He knew that she was trying to be comforting, that she was making a go of it and being rather socially awkward in her attempt. They hadn't socialized her that well and it wasn't as if the Red Room was big on behaviours that made their future agents warm and genuinely fuzzy. Some were better than others of course.
The fact of the matter was that his scars were a visible show of his failure, of how Insight had failed, how his very world had come crashing down with it. He had lost everything except his life. He had lost his team, his organization, his structure, his reason for getting up in the morning. HYDRA didn't exist here, but the people who knew that he was branded by the organization (had lived, breathed, died for it because there was no retirement) made the very potential life here difficult. He stepped out of line and his head would likely get punched off.
Which left him few options. Return to the time before HYDRA, when he had been a snot nosed kid with a knife in hand, a bit to much in the way of smarts and a mean streak that he had picked up early on. There was an underworld here, of course. He knew he could slip into it like putting on a glove, but the fact was: he had failed and he was alive to swallow that bitter pill little-by-little.]
Some would say they finally put some of my ugliness on the outside. [He didn't say who because there was no point. It was some truth, that he did bad things for good reasons.
He didn't refuse her exploring touch; she had always been that kid that needed to verify things with her hands anyway. He was used to that, had half expected that she would make a go of it.]
Last woman who commented on them beyond you has threatened to throw me through a wall four times. Oh and break me over her knee. And kick my balls off. [He shrugged. It was no big deal the gesture said.]
no subject
He wondered if she was the only person who could say that about him though. I'm just glad you're alive. She was the first person to say that to him since he had arrived here, and he knew for a fact that he didn't deserve it, that the story behind them would cause the usual revulsion. However, if Ava was anything like Natasha, she likely existed in a world of grays rather than black and white. That's how many agents existed, where there were personal lines in the sand they wouldn't cross.]
Jet fuel. [His lips twisted because there was no point of lying on that fact. There was a clear difference to friction and burning, the smooth melted nature of the burns around his eyes. It should have been a lot worse, but maybe he had been put in the pod before it had melted most of his skin off.] Impact damage from an aircraft hitting the building. No chance to get out, but I got lucky... and I am stubborn.
[He knew that she was trying to be comforting, that she was making a go of it and being rather socially awkward in her attempt. They hadn't socialized her that well and it wasn't as if the Red Room was big on behaviours that made their future agents warm and genuinely fuzzy. Some were better than others of course.
The fact of the matter was that his scars were a visible show of his failure, of how Insight had failed, how his very world had come crashing down with it. He had lost everything except his life. He had lost his team, his organization, his structure, his reason for getting up in the morning. HYDRA didn't exist here, but the people who knew that he was branded by the organization (had lived, breathed, died for it because there was no retirement) made the very potential life here difficult. He stepped out of line and his head would likely get punched off.
Which left him few options. Return to the time before HYDRA, when he had been a snot nosed kid with a knife in hand, a bit to much in the way of smarts and a mean streak that he had picked up early on. There was an underworld here, of course. He knew he could slip into it like putting on a glove, but the fact was: he had failed and he was alive to swallow that bitter pill little-by-little.]
Some would say they finally put some of my ugliness on the outside. [He didn't say who because there was no point. It was some truth, that he did bad things for good reasons.
He didn't refuse her exploring touch; she had always been that kid that needed to verify things with her hands anyway. He was used to that, had half expected that she would make a go of it.]
Last woman who commented on them beyond you has threatened to throw me through a wall four times. Oh and break me over her knee. And kick my balls off. [He shrugged. It was no big deal the gesture said.]