WHO:The Winter Soldier and Jefferson WHERE: A new apartment Jefferson found them WHEN: After this conversation WHAT: Somebody's getting a haircut~ WARNINGS: Jefferson holding a pair of scissors.
Nobody had ever cared what his opinion on a subject was before. Nobody had ever stopped to ask him how he felt about something or what he wanted. He didn't have freedoms. He was a weapon, an asset, something to go into storage and be brought out when his special skills were needed.
He had never once been given the chance to voice his desires and have them matter.
But here they asked and expected answers. He wasn't coping well, uncertain of the motivation behind these questions. Were they tests? Was this training exercise to measure the strength of his training and programming? And what if he failed? What if the integrity of the asset was compromised? Would they wipe him and start over again? He knew they did that. Or would they kill him and start over?
Not that it mattered. Agent Barnes wouldn't even get a chance to defend himself.
He was used to having decisions out of his control and it was in some way comforting to think that Agent Jefferson at least was taking initiative and telling him what to do. Report for a haircut. Follow the girl called Ruby. Do what he was told, operate within parameters. Agent Barnes was a weapon, trained to do what very few others were capable of. He operated best under a set of parameters, from which he could then make his own minor plays in the field. Agent Jefferson gave him assignments and direction; Agent Barnes had to appreciate that.
Still, his words about Agent Barnes being a person capable of thought, feeling, opinion--disconcerting to say the least.
Now, he was climbing stairs toward an apartment he would apparently be sharing with his handler. These arrangements were not unusual, nor was changing his appearance in some way. That his hair had grown so long was a matter not of personal preference but of happenstance; it had grown because they had not cut it.
He didn't bother to knock on the door. He just opened it--with his right hand, carefully--and walked in. Agent Jefferson was already present, and apparently cooking. At least he was fairly certain that his timing was impeccable, or there might have been some more sinister expression on their face. "Jefferson," he said, nodding in the direction of his handler. "I'm here for my haircut."
And maybe he was sincerely hoping it wasn't the same one Jefferson seemed to prefer. It was a little...fluffy for Agent Barnes' taste. Not that it mattered.