pineslog | tell me i'm evil [open]

Entry tags:

tell me i'm evil [open]

Who: Brock Rumlow & you!
Where: Around town, Crossbones Boxing
When: 05.15-05.31
What: Just hanging out with this ~~cool~~ old dude. Or whatever!
Warnings: Language. More will be added as needed.

gym.

With doors wide open in invitation, a handful of people can be seen inside the gym. Some getting their own workout in, lifting weights, hitting bags, one seated and wrapping their hands. Near the back stands Rumlow, watching someone hitting one of the heavy bags. His expression serious, calculating, observing as each hit lands. Every so often, he'll give praise, or a correction to his student. A few minutes later, he glances up at the clock on the wall, claps his student on the back and tells them to cool off.

He meanders after, looking between the other patrons and giving them a few choice tips here and there before he heads into his office. The door remains open, and he seems to be going over some paperwork. His expression is disengaged, preoccupied with other thoughts. Either that or reading on paper is incredibly tedious, being used to the glare of a backlit computer. He'll shift between one paper and the next after a while. It doesn't seem like he would mind a visitor.

Probably because he's bored and checking over the contracts and making sure everyone is up to date on their bills is supremely dull. He is really considering hiring someone to do this for him, because while it's within his means, it's shit he really would rather pay someone else to do. Especially so he can focus on coaching. Or spending inordinate amounts of time working out to prevent his mind from wandering to the multitude of thoughts that plague him.

Coaching steals his focus better. It's impersonal and physical enough to keep his troubling memories at bay.

edge of town.

Some days of the week, Rumlow can be found running along the edge of the woods and through the less trafficked roads in town. Jogging along, he'll keep to himself, going around or cutting away from any others that might be in his path. Primarily he keeps to the outskirts, pace slow and built more for endurance than speed. Every so often, he'll slow his pace and do a little shadow boxing, as if to shove away the mundanity of cardio.

Rumlow wishes he had music to listen to, but jogging plus CD players equals skipping and that shit is even more annoying than silence. Plus, apparently earbuds haven't been invented yet here or whatever, and like Hell he's gonna wear over-ear headphones when he's running. Fashion fucking disaster. If you're quick enough or manage to get his attention, he's like to stop.

wildcard.

[ooc: your choice! feel free to plurk me if you have ideas!]

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Holy fuck-- as if she wasn't jumpy enough already, he has to appear out of the darkness frowning at her like something straight out of a Hollywood thriller. Goddamn. She gasps, clutching her chest but not actually screaming because THAT WOULD BE WEIRD! She can't be weird right now. Everything has to be normal. Despite, you know, being covered in blood.

"I'm fine." It comes out too quick, too snippy. She manages to keep her voice steady, at least. Even with the way her heart is beating out of her chest when he tilts her face up. Her eyes are still full of fear, wary, she looks like she wants to bolt. The thing is, she really wants to just curl up against him and feel his arms around her and block everything else out. Just give in, ignore everything she's heard and just... stay with Rumlow.

He strokes her cheek and she stiffens, but doesn't pull away. He's always been better at acting like everything is normal. She doesn't have the training he's had. It's hard to keep your mind in the game, on the con, when your mind feels fractured.

"A friend just had an accident. I was helping him out. Seriously, it's fine."

Ouch. Cold. Rumlow's brows furrow and his concern shifts gears. If she thinks he hasn't noticed how she's been distant (hypocritical really, considering how she'd confronted him for the very same thing a little while back), then she'd be dead wrong. Piling that onto this new form of avoidance has him suspicious. Almost like someone's said something to her.

He knows she hangs out with her fake cousin and his crew. Hasn't said a thing to stop her, but Rumlow wonders if he shouldn't have antagonized them as much as they have him. He gets why -- now. But it's not like he's done a damn thing to hurt Kenzi.

It's all speculation of course, but Rumlow doesn't feel great about it, all the same.

"And yet, you're reacting like a trauma victim. You've been keeping me at arm's length, don't think I haven't noticed. I'm worried about you."

The care in his tone isn't entirely fabricated. Emphasized, maybe. His hand drops away from her face, settles at his side. Rumlow stares at her, trying to read her, knowing full well she's keeping something from him. And doing a poor job of pretending she isn't.

"Well you can stop worrying, I'm fine." She pushes past him, headed towards their bedroom. She's not fine. It's obvious now. Glaringly so. She can't handle him staring at her like that, she'll break in seconds.

Her fake cousin has slowly become something like real family to her since being here. He has no more reason to lie to her than Rumlow does, but that's what makes this so hard. She doesn't know who to trust. She doesn't know who is telling the truth and who is leaving things out. For all she knows, they could be part of this operation! Not likely, but possible. Though Steve and the rest of them wouldn't be trying to hard to fight against it if they were. There is the lack of cameras in their house and deal making to consider.

It's all too much. Too many maybes, too many possibilities, she's gained too much information since talking to Matt and she can't process it all at once. Dealing with this on top of it? Trying to walk this fine line between knowing what Rumlow COULD be capable of but wanting to believe he isn't? It's not going well.

"Too late for that. Comes with the ring, sweetheart."

The marriage is false. Rumlow knows that. But he wouldn't keep playing out the farce if he didn't like it. He turns to look at her, taking a few steps to follow after. She can try to escape to the bedroom, but there's not much point. They share it, after all, making it all too easy for him to corner her. Inasmuch as he's willing to, anyway.

He doubts she'd respond well to anything forceful.

"So, you gonna tell me why you're lying to me?" A blunt accusation, but Kenzi has to see it coming. She's not stupid. She's either so emotionally compromised that she can't even try to be convincing -- which is troublesome in its own right -- or she's baiting him to ask. Judging by the look she was wearing, Rumlow's inclined towards the former.

"You mean the fake ring from our fake wedding that never happened, and even if it did happen it was for a green card?" Deeeeeflecting. That's just one of the things on her mind right now, not the one she's actually freaking out about.

Kenzi disappears into the closet to grab a clean t-shirt and pajama pants, but doesn't hide in there. That would make her even more anxious than she is right now. For a second she pictures a face from her past staring down at her as he closed the door and blocked out the light, leaving her standing in the dark, cramped space-- No. Focus. Breathe. She throws the pajamas on the bed and continues to avoid eye contact.

No, she's not stupid. She knew he'd see right through it, which is why she was trying to sidestep the entire thing. The lying is what finally gets her to look at him, if only briefly. Looks like that cut through some of her emotional shit. She looks guilty as all fuck.

"Wasn't planning on it, actually. Kinda defeats the whole purpose."

Opening his mouth to retort, Rumlow shuts it again, frowning. He waits as she fetches her clothes from the closet, watches her set them out on the bed. Her body language is doubling up his worry, making it that much more suspicious that someone's said something. Unless she somehow knows him from back home, her own memories returning doesn't seem a likely culprit.

"Might wanna wash off before you put those on," he remarks, noting a few bloody stains left behind from still wet fingers. He heaves a sigh and approaches her, gets in her field of vision so she has to turn and make it even more obvious she's avoiding him. Making her think about what reason she has to do so.

"And yeah, I get that. But I'm not real sure what I've done to earn it," he says, tone flat to show hurt. He is, in a way. That she might be swayed from him without any cause on his end. Rumlow knows he hasn't fucked up. Not with her. He even resumed being close, once his memories decided to kick into overdrive and dump into his head. He was careful. Just because he knows who he is now doesn't mean he's got any reason to alienate her. "'Cause I'm pretty sure I made good on the husband role, even if it's fake."

Kenzi ignores the suggestion because now she can't ignore Rumlow. He's right there. And thinking about getting into the shower with him knowing something's up sends her heart up into her throat. Not that he'd ever do something-- not that... she thought he'd ever do something. He's never done anything to her, but that doesn't negate the things he's done to anyone else.

This is what she was afraid of. If he knew that she knew, he might let that agent way of thinking override his person way of thinking. She might be considered a threat. A loose end. Something to tie up or tighten the leash on. Kenzi looks up at him, blue eyes bright from crying earlier.

"You haven't done anything." Not yet. Not to her. Not as far as she can say with the cameras in the room. Honestly, jail might even be better than this. She wouldn't have to lie. Wouldn't have to watch every word that comes out of her mouth.

She's usually so good at catching things. Seeing things no one else sees. Back home--
before, she could tell when someone had bad vibes and should be watched closely. Here? That radar is broken. It's smashed. Nothing makes sense and everything could be a lie. Her past could be a lie. All of it could be fabricated! But when two people you trust warn you to be careful, you really want to listen to them. They've been on edge since the beginning, looking back on it. Bucky's anger, Steve's cautionary advice. Either Rumlow has no idea, either they're totally wrong, or... he's hiding it.

"Yeah, you're right. You're a great actor. Nailed the role completely." Her voice is quiet, but there's a hint of anger. She can't stay as neutral as she wants right now, her emotions are threatening to drown her or come up through her mouth. Rumlow's too good to be true.

"We all have to be," Rumlow says softly, casting a glance towards where he knows a replaced camera sits and watches. He knows what she's getting at though, and it seals his suspicions. He probably should get more proof, but really, all that would do is disappoint him even more. To think that she'd believe them over him. The disloyalty stings.

He doesn't wear it on his face because she's right. He is a great actor. Good enough to fool Romanova. Good enough to fool them all.

And yet, now he's at a precipice. He could prove them wrong. He has no reason not to help them. As far as he knows, HYDRA has no hand in this place. Working with them isn't going to affect that agenda. And yet. Their determination to discard him without any sense of practicality rankles him. Rumlow tries to tell himself it's professional rather than personal, but part of it, now that Kenzi is involved, is.

"So what now? We're just going to pretend like everything we've said and done means nothing?"

"I don't know, Brock. I mean-- I don't know what anything means in here. I don't know if there's even a point to this." She throws her hands up, letting them fall limply back at her sides. She almost scrubs a still-bloody hand over her face but thinks better of it and folds her arms over her chest. After talking to Matt, after discussing potential different universes and the technology these unknown, creepy fucks have, what chance do any of them have of fighting this or getting back home? Her inner fire is flickering and it's so close to being extinguished entirely.

Focus on one thing. The task at hand. She takes a deep breath and tries to quiet the din of her mind. Forget Bo, forget the life you had, focus on the here and now. What does it mean? Right now she's been sleeping with a man that just might believe in murdering innocents with some bullshit way of justifying it. Right now she could be face to face with someone that tried to kill people just because they were different than him.

There's no point being cryptic about this. She doesn't give a fuck who's listening or watching them. She's gotta know. Cameras be damned.

"Are you HYDRA?" It's a miracle her voice doesn't break. The tears threatening to roll down her cheeks, though, that's not something she can help.

Well, there's that proof. There's no way she could know that without being told. And suddenly, the ace up his sleeve seems so much more tempting. He teeters towards revenge, letting that anger fill him. It's one thing to tell him to stay away, it's another to take someone from him. His body stiffens, like whatever the human equivalent of hackles rising along his spine.

"And here I thought better of Rogers. The place ain't exactly ideal, but it gave me a second chance and the guy has to go and ruin it." Rumlow shakes his head, a mix of disappointment and anger writ on his face. "Yeah. I was."

This is about as mid-ground as he can get. Not lying about being HYDRA, but not admitting he still is. Though, what is that worth here, really? Whatever allegiance he has is pointless. There is no HYDRA in Wayward Falls. Only him. He doesn't really expect her to listen. She's made her choice. Them. Strangers as much as him. Maybe what he's said mends some of it, but at this point, he's not holding his breath. No point in contradicting those bastards. It'll only make her trust him less. With this, no one can tell her otherwise. Rogers and Barnes? They've got no proof he hasn't given HYDRA up. As far as they've seen, he's been a model fucking citizen.

It's up to Kenzi now. Whether she really does want to throw away an ally. A friend. Rumlow snorts inwardly. Doubts she even considers him that.

"Steve's got nothing to do with this. I asked him to tell me. I wanted to know. You can't blame him for passing along information, which is more than you did!" Now she's angry. She's shaking. She's mad that he thinks staying quiet about something that huge and pretending everything is fine is a second chance. Second chances mean coming clean with the people closest to you! Kenzi thought that was her. Maybe that was an act, too.

"I seriously thought-- ..." She shakes her head. This is why you don't get attached, Kenz. This is why you don't let people in. You never really know someone, even someone you think you love, and they just end up throwing your trust in the garbage. Like Tim. Like Vex! God, she misses Bo. She needs Bo. Bo would know what to do and probably have a pint of Pile o'Pecans.

"Were you ever gonna tell me? Were you ever gonna give me the whole story? I was falling for you! Hard. How the hell am I supposed to trust you?" She doesn't really have any of them, does she? No one she knows from back home. None of them have her best interests when it comes down to it, she's nothing to them. Expendable. She's better off running solo.

"Yeah, and what prompted you to ask? His warnings?" Rumlow counters, tone flat. "And yeah, I didn't tell you. Probably because the memories finally came together, oh about three days ago."

He loves it when people throw accusations without actually bothering to know anything behind it. (Sarcasm.) Rumlow huffs. Swell double standard.

"It takes a little time to process how you're going to tell someone you care about 'oh hey, I was a member of a fascist organization before coming here.'" His words come out quieter, knowing the microphones will probably pick it up, but like her, not sure how much he cares. They're not gonna just write this conversation out. "And yeah. I would've told you. But you decided to buddy up to the people who aren't even willing to give me a fucking second of their time, regardless of what I remembered or didn't. How long were you going to avoid asking me? Telling me your concerns? Goes both ways, Kenzi."

"When people who seem to give a shit about you tell you to be careful around the person you're fucking, it kind of gives off a few red flags!" She backs away, sitting on the edge of the bed with her clothes because her legs might give out if she stands any longer.

She scoffs, smiling incredulously and shaking her head. Someone he cares about? Someone he should have been up front with. That's why this hurts so much. She cares about him, too. Cared? Cares... but how much of that is because of made up memories and how much of that was him playing a part? Filling a role. Smile for the fucking cameras.

He's been careful with her. Considerate. He never forced her into anything, but she still feels sick. He's still a stranger. Possibly a dangerous one, possibly not.

"That's real nice. Blame me, now. Awesome. It's my fault for getting close to anyone other than you, right? For making a choice? I didn't choose any of this! I didn't choose to be here! And at this point? I'd choose neither." Light or dark. Pick a side. Fae bullshit is never over. Bo chose neither and she was still in the middle of it every goddamn time. Kenzi chose Bo. Now she's choosing herself.

"Sorry for not wanting to ask a double agent if they're secretly a double agent. I kind of like having my head without bullet holes in it." She was scared. She's still scared. Maybe that's her way out? No. No, fuck that, she's not giving up like that. She's just...

Tired. She's so tired. Tired of living a lie and trying to hold all these lives in her head.

"Yeah well, they could've come to me and asked." Instead of just warning him to stay away. 'Cause that's definitely going to encourage good behavior. Rumlow huffs again and leans against the nearest item of furniture. The dresser. It creaks a little.

"You ever wonder why I wasn't close to them after tellin' you I used to work with them? Doesn't that seem a little suspect?" Rumlow says, arms crossing over his chest. "I'm sorry this turned out this way, but I wasn't about to tell you not to hang out with them. I just kinda hoped you'd at least talk to me about why I wasn't with you. Anyway, none of us chose to be here. We all got that shit in common. But it's good to know you think I'd just," Rumlow mimes firing a gun. "Blow your head off."

He shakes his head, clearly disappointed. All that trust gone because she chose to believe someone else without giving him even a moment to defend himself. Judging him without hearing a damn thing from his side.

"Don't even have a gun," Rumlow mutters. "Would've used it on the cameras to make a better point."

"YEAH! Yeah, it seemed really suspect! That's why I suspected something was seriously up!" And she fell for him anyway. Despite Bucky's disapproval, despite the warnings. She brushed them off until she was in too deep, and now?

"How many people have you killed?" She doesn't look at him. The floor is infinitely more interesting right now. Her voice is cold, detached. "How many innocent people have you killed?"

He's as bad as the dark fae if he tries to defend it. 'There are no innocent people, it's not just black and white.' People aren't food. They aren't playthings. They aren't necessary casualties. They're PEOPLE. Human beings. She's spent so long trying to establish humans as worth something to a race of creatures that think they're worthless. This is the reality. Rumlow's not the good guy she thought he was. He's not the super hero in this scenario.

"Don't tell me you wouldn't have if I threatened your mission or whatever."

"Yet, you still could have come to me. Or asked me to talk to Rogers, instead of just going behind my back. I trusted you with information that I didn't even know if I had they clearance to tell you. You couldn't even trust me to ask what had happened with my old team."

Not that he'd known, at the time, but he could have at least expressed that. Maybe gotten her to start a dialogue. It would have been better if Rogers hadn't just been a stubborn ass and actually questioned something instead of falling for his idiotic moral bias.

Kenzi earns herself a shrug at the next question. "Working for HYDRA or for SHIELD? 'Cause Rogers sure as Hell killed plenty enough himself. I killed who I was ordered to kill. That's how it works. You don't question. You do -- unless you wanna end up on that target list next."

He isn't defending it. Not really. There probably were innocents that faced down the barrel of his gun. Their guilt was probably only in being in HYDRA's way. A matter of perspective that Rumlow understands is for the greater good. The old adage of making omelettes requiring a few cracked eggs. Without HYDRA, those eggs would get cracked by all sorts of people for selfish reasons. All that chaos was poisoning the world.

Rumlow snorts, shaking his head. He stares at Kenzi. "What mission. I wouldn't be here if I had a choice. There's no mission. Only survival and protecting the people that mattered."

"But I didn't. And here we are." He didn't trust her with everything, and vice versa. She was infatuated but she didn't give him everything. Now there's a rift forming from that distance.

Kenzi pulls her knees up to her chest, wraps her arms around her legs and shrinks down. She rests her chin on her knees and just... closes her eyes. Her breathing is still shallow, but she's working on keeping herself in check.

"You never bothered to question it? Go against those orders? You never even tried to do what was right? I don't know everything, I don't know the whole story because I wasn't there. Honestly anything either of you tell me could be a lie and I don't have any way to know. No proof." They're all stuck here. They're all prisoners, but it comes down to trust. That trust is broken between them. On both sides, apparently.

"Past tense? Mattered?" She looks at him out of the corner of her eye. Her expression is more dull and lifeless than it was when the anger was coming through. She's not as angry anymore. Just resigned.

"And here we are," Rumlow repeats. It's their bed. They've gotta lay in it. He's decidedly more calm than she is about it, but he chalks that up to being used to dissembling. As much as he feels at this very moment, showing that anger isn't going to help either of them.

"Of course I questioned it. And got my ass beat for doing it. Over and over again. Until I complied. That's how it works." If you don't buy the Kool-Aid right off the bat, at least. Rumlow hadn't. But damn it's been years since he last questioned an order outright. Inwardly, sure. But never to their faces. It's one thing to question strategy, another to question motive.

"But I ain't lyin' to you." Rumlow draws a slow breath, glancing away from her as he considers whether past tense still holds. Part of it was an unconscious manipulation. It just comes naturally to him, after all these years. Part of it, maybe is just him feeling hurt at being discredited without being talked to. Believing Rogers over him. Maybe it's pride talking. Rumlow's not sure. It's a lot of feelings to process at once and he's never been very good at that.

"Matters. You still do. Just... not real sure where we stand, considering what's been levied against me."

If this is their bed, she'd rather take the couch.

She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a second to breathe deeply. "But you still joined. You chose that side. You didn't get forced into it, you picked them over SHIELD." The peace keeping organization he'd said he was part of. What's the opposite of peace, Rumlow?

"They fucked with Bucky. They took his life away and kept him in a fucking freezer. I can't--" When she lifts her head to look at him, her eyes are red. Puffy. The tears finally broke free to stream down her cheeks. "I can't stand by that. I can't forgive that. I need..."

She almost chokes on the words, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, "I need to be sure. But I can't be. Not right now. I can't be sure that you won't turn on me, too. Brock-- ... I can't keep pretending that we're okay."

"I didn't get forced into it?" Rumlow says with a scoff. "You mean, after I escaped my parents who treated me like garbage and went into the streets, trying to live my life the only way I knew how -- when I got told by a man in a nice suit that I could be something, I wasn't forced? Yeah, I guess I could've stayed there. Kept running drugs and doing whatever I could to survive. Or I could've been taken in by someone who I thought was offering me an opportunity. And once I agreed? It was too fucking late."

That certainly was a torrent. More than Rumlow expected to say, but it's out and it's said. Can't take it back now. He stares at the floor, glaring daggers at the hardwood. If she expects him to give one shit about Barnes, she's wrong. He didn't do it to him. He wasn't even alive when HYDRA took him in. Wasn't even a concept. His eyes flick back up to Kenzi's. His jaw tightens.

"I don't know Barnes' backstory beyond HYDRA taking him in after he supposedly died. All I know is he is what they made him. Hell, I didn't even know he was still alive until this year."

He's not responsible for Barnes.

"Look. I know I've kept shit from you, and for that, I'm sorry. It's been a fucking lot for me to process. I literally went from thinking I was a good guy, working for SHIELD, working with Captain fucking America to this. But it ain't fair to pin this all on me. You haven't said shit to me either, and I know you're hiding more from me. Except I ain't expecting you to spill. 'Cause I'm giving you the time you need, hoping you'll be able to open up and tell me."

Are you fucking kidding me? Kenzi actually laughs, bitterly, and gets to her feet. She looks at Rumlow darkly, searching his eyes for ... something. She's not sure what. "My stepfather used to lock me in the closet. My own mother would hit me for breaking his rules. I escaped, too. I ran away. I lived in the streets and learned to pick pockets to survive, but I didn't become a secret, modern Nazi! I never killed anyone!"

Except a dullahan, but that didn't count. Aaaaand she shoved an old, Russian folklore figure into an oven, but that's only because she cooked a girl alive and ate her. Kenzi never took orders. She never compromised who she was. She never gave up her integrity, even when she got caught up in fae bullshit. She always tried to do the right thing.

"Not knowing about him doesn't make it okay. It doesn't ... absolve anything! Passing the blame is bullshit, Brock. You stood for what they stood for. You did those things!" She takes a step back, literally shaking with how furious she is.

"This isn't about me pinning shit on you or keeping someone else's secrets. These are YOUR secrets. And..." She reaches for her left hand, twisting the ring around her finger and pulling it off. She's still crying. It takes all she's got to keep her voice steady and controlled. "Until you make up for that-- ... Until you prove you really do want a second chance, really want to change, I can't be with you. I'm sorry."

It's a pretty shit life, and Rumlow, for once in his life actually fucking empathizes. No wonder they'd ended up together. If only they'd been able to talk about this before Rogers had ruined it. All the more reason to get even. Still, he bristles at the term.

"I'm not a fucking Nazi," he says. He could explain how there's no nationalism, which defeats half the point of it, but he figures it's a moot point. Well beyond anything Kenzi wants to hear. "And I'm not passing the blame. I didn't even know they did that shit. The training they did gave a choice, granted a piss poor one. Unless you consider death a fun alternative. Anyway, way I hear it, Barnes never had that. 'S pretty far from what I'd been told. They compartmentalize in intelligence. Don't tell everyone all the secrets so if anyone gets caught, no one compromises the entire organization. I wasn't exactly ecstatic, the first time I saw him."

He stares at her in her fury. Rumlow gets it. Wouldn't be the first time he's been faced with someone who's pointed fingers at him, breaking him down from an individual person to a concept responsible for everything related to him. Usually he ends up putting a bullet in their brain to stop them from whining, but he's got no gun, no need and more importantly, no desire to kill Kenzi. All his anger is focused elsewhere. In her, he's just disappointed.

"Not real sure what else I gotta do, sweetheart. Been doing the best I can, the best I know how. I got things I could tell you, information I've learned. But how can I trust you when I know you're gonna go to the very people that threw me under the bus? Why should I trust them when they're ready to discard me without even a second thought? I ain't gonna save them if they ain't gonna save me."

Rumlow stares at the ring. He's not sentimental, but he can feel the ache in the pit of his stomach to see her pull it off. It feels like hope being ripped away. The chance at having something nice, something good, abandoned. As if he hasn't felt enough of that in his life.

"Then I guess that's it, then." He's not even willing to try. Not even willing to give it time or actually try to get her back. She can't just forgive the things he's done in the past because they're in the past, organization or not. He doesn't even want to try to be the hero.

He can't trust her, she can't trust him. They're at an impasse. He's trying to sway her with information and she just... doesn't care. There's no getting through to him.

"I'm gonna go. You can keep the house. You can keep this." Her voice does break that time, as she sets the ring on the bedspread. Their bed. His... bed. She can barely see through her tears and the running mascara welling up in her eyes as she turns to go.

She stops at the doorway, not quite looking back but speaking over her shoulder, "Sometimes it's not about what other people can do for you. People shouldn't only matter to you if they're useful. Maybe sometime you could ask yourself what you could do for them without thinking about what you'll get out of it. If you ever give that a shot, call me."

"Funny. Ask Rogers and his buddies to try the same, and see how they offer me an olive branch."

Rumlow doesn't say anything else. He doesn't need to. He seethes instead, his jaw tight while his fists close tighter. His mind is made. Why be good when all anyone sees you as is bad? Call someone a villain enough and they become one.

The loss is a blow. One Rumlow has no interest in forgiving or forgetting. Kenzi can make her choices, but her allies will bear the brunt of their mistakes. He knows what he's going to do. Now, it's just a matter of when.

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