Work Text:
"God damn, DirectorAgent, you know I have tailors right?" Tony wanted to know.
Phil didn't look up. He was seated on a cushion at the coffee table of the common room, sewing kit open and glasses on. "This is a hobby."
"HawkAss said you could sew." Tony plopped down next to him, shoulders shifting posture as he did.
Tony's factor was something he didn't bother hiding in spite of the problems it had caused him. He was almost true neutral, a 45/55 split leaning sub. Howard Stark hadn't wanted a sub son, let alone a son who rode the fence line nearly perfectly. Tony had responded by spending his life having outside-dynamic sex, famously quoted for saying, "This isn't about a power dynamic or a scene. I like sex. I want sex, so that's what I do."
Somewhat bullshit of course. Pepper was 60/40 leaning dom, which was almost necessary to keep Tony somewhat in line. Then there was Rhodes, who was a very strong dom (over 90 if Phil remembered right) and who sometimes kept both Tony and Pepper both in line, when they needed it.
Interesting power dynamics all around. The point was Tony could shift what he presented as nearly on a whim, sometimes matching who he was with, sometimes counterpointing, and sometimes just going with his mood.
Apparently right now this was sub-Tony time.
"I'm nowhere near professional, but I can sometimes make small nice things." Phil admitted. He was working with leather, soft blue suede. He had a friend who owned a shop and set aside scrap yards for him in case he was interested, and he'd seen this and known exactly who needed it. So he was making manacles, bracers really since they were six inches wide. He'd chosen dark blue thick cotton as a liner and was sewing it into place with small careful stitches, rolling the edge of the leather so it wasn't rough edged.
He was working on the second, and Tony picked up the first. It was lace up, brushed silver eyelets running up both sides and a white ribbon laced through. "No buckles or hook in eyes huh?"
"These are for Grant Ward. He's still a self-harm risk."
"Your turncoat? He's still at Fiddler's Green isn't he? By the way who the hell named that place it's creepy."
He half smiled, his eyes still on his sewing. "Yes, Ward was a double agent. Fiddler's Green is a military thing but I can see how you'd find it creepy."
Fiddler's Green being a very large, very good, and extremely high security hospital specifically intended for distressed subs and doms from intelligence agencies. Basically, a sub or dom in distress was easily manipulated even if they'd been trained otherwise, and the last thing you wanted was, say, a fragile dom Agent telling everything to a sweet listening (enemy) sub. To that end Fiddler's Green had existed in some form since the Civil War and was now its own little fortress with extremely reliable and well-trained staff.
Phil hadn't known anywhere else safe to put Ward, who needed to be treated as well as locked down. If he was ever cleared from Fiddler's Green there was the potential for a transfer to a federal prison sub wing but from the reports Phil was reading, it wasn't likely.
Tony was pondering him, watching his face. "Pretty generous thing to do for the enemy."
"He was a puppet." Phil replied, tying the stitch off then running his fingers over it, comparing it to the finished one.
"Point stands. The harness for him too?"
Phil glanced at the white leather harness he was still putting finishing touches on. It was slimmer strapped than the last one, more decorative than functional but still strong. "No. That's for someone else."
Tony hummed but didn't ask, and just sat there for a little while, watching Phil sew.
The last part of the project had proven more difficult.
"No, just, no. What the hell AC?" She sputtered.
"I'm not asking you to visit him. Certainly not asking you to give him any sort of chance." He'd set the bracers on her desk. "I did a little reading. These might help him stop self-harming."
"That I kind of get, he knows a lot of stuff, but what's that got to do with me?"
He frowned a touch at her. "Those who hunt monsters."
"Must be careful not to become one." She finished, sighing in exasperation and flopping back.
"He's fighting treatment and in what therapy he goes to he says he failed his dom. It seems he thinks that's you. This is about giving him an anchor. Think of it as long distance fostering if you have to. Just a dom giving something small for a busted up sub to cling to."
She stared at him, and when he held out the fabric marker she grabbed it in a quick jerk, signing her name on each bracer then thrusting them back at Phil. "What if this makes him worse?"
"Then at least we tried." Phil accepted the bracers back.
"Why are you being so nice to him? He screwed us over. He killed people to protect them."
Phil considered. "It is not that I want to be nice to him. It is that I think part of maintaining the moral high ground is treating prisoners with mercy."
She considered him. "Nice answer but I know that's not the only reason you're doing this."
He tucked the bracers into a messenger bag. "I look at him and see his condition as my alternative ending. Some mid step between his distress and Garrett's insanity."
"You're nothing like he was, AC."
Phil looked at her for a moment, and then nodded. "Thanks." He said it soft and sincere and let himself out of her office.
"I don't like this." Clint was driving the rental they were in. Fiddler's Green was in Newport News, an easy trip for most of the east coast. "Frankly sir you've got better things to do with your time than this."
"I know. But this is selfish. This is for me." Phil replied, watching Clint. "This isn't a factor thing is it? They're both subs."
"Are you accusing me of being protective? Because of course I am. You're my commanding officer, and outside that, you're a sub in my care and a friend. I don't want you to get hurt."
"If I do you get all the 'I told you so's you want."
"Be careful, I'll hold you to that." He almost smiled. "If this doesn't ruin your mood I had some plans for tonight, since you flashed out for a nice hotel room."
"I almost got a shitty one for nostalgia."
"My back thanks you for deciding against it."
He considered, and then lifted a brow at Clint. "Plans hm?"
"Oh yeah." He smirked. "You'll like them."
Phil was still smiling a bit to himself when they pulled up to the front gates of Fiddler's Green, both holding up their SHIELD badges for the guards. What followed was a long, long wait as phone calls were made to make sure they were legit, then the rental car was searched. They'd already emptied everything to the hotel room, leaving Phil feeling naked because he was entirely unarmed. Clint had a sidearm, but he was staying in the waiting room.
Once Phil's prearranged appointment was confirmed, they parked and walked in, Phil carrying the messenger bag. He was dressed casual because he didn't want to seem on official business. Showing up in a suit might give Ward and Rumlow the wrong idea.
Ward wasn't injured, exactly. He was being held for mental health combined with the charges for what he'd done. Some would probably be dropped in view of his state of mind but there was no final call for that, yet. One of the doctors walked with Phil to Ward's room, explaining that because of patient-doctor privilege she couldn't tell him much, but maybe he could give her additional insight.
He explained briefly what had happened. Ward's HYDRA connection and subsequent falling apart after being held in custody. That he'd been the one that decided to send Ward here.
"I have been getting reports back. None are very encouraging. He was very stoic, before all of this. Part of being a double agent I guess." Phil admitted. They were standing outside the blank wall of Ward's cell. Because it was a cell, he was a prisoner.
"He's resigned but not moving forward." The doctor replied, going to a control panel and hitting a button. "Grant? You have a visitor."
The blank wall transitioned to clear glass. It wasn't a large room, maybe twelve by twelve. There was a touchscreen monitor built into the desk. All of the furniture was built in and round-edged, but the bed looked soft and was piled in blue blankets.
The windowsill was deep enough to sit on and Ward was, hands on his knees and staring at Phil in shock. After a few seconds he startled into motion, getting off the windowsill and crossing the room with careful steps, ending up in parade rest in front of Phil.
"Are you here to spring me? Sir?"
"No, Ward. I'm here to check up on you." He replied, and wasn't surprised when he saw the younger man’s expression slam shut. "I put you here for a reason."
"I'm fine."
"The fact that we had to give you a blood transfusion and stitch your wrists together says otherwise." He saw the doctor giving him a very disapproving look and ignored it. "It's alright if you aren't fine."
"I'm doing no one any good here. I need to be with Skye. She needs me. You all need what I know."
"What we need is for you to stop resisting treatment. Please, start talking to the doctors. They are trying to help you, Grant." Grant looked away, jaw working silently, and he opened his messenger bag. "I do have something for you. Something of a collaborative project. I made them... but they're from Skye." That made Grant's attention snap back to him, obviously on high alert, as Phil look the bracers out.
"Let me see." The doctor moved over, looking at them.
"I know he's still a self-harm risk. Tried to neutralize them." Phil murmured.
"Give them to me, please?" There was a window that could be opened, maybe a foot square, and Ward was at it, hands pressed to it. The doctor nodded and unlocked the window, and Phil held the bracers just through it, letting Grant take them. He did with careful hands, looking at them for a long moment before looking up at Phil. "Her hands holding my wrists."
"Something like that. She knows you're hurting."
"... Will she come visit me?"
"I can't promise that. She is still very angry at you."
"She's right to be but I'd rather have her take it out on my back and shoulders." He said this more to himself, sliding one of the bracers on and snugging the ribbons down. Phil silently nodded to himself because he'd gotten the arm measurements damn near perfect. "Thank you. For bringing me these."
"I was glad to. Please start talking to the doctors."
".. I can't promise that." He backed away from the glass a bit, and Phil watched until he turned away toward the window.
Figuring that meant that Ward was declining to speak to him further, he hovered for a moment then stepped away from the window wall, nodding to the doctor, who set it back to opaque. "He isn't in solitary all the time is he?"
"Of course not. He has three hours in the common area in the morning and three more in the evening. He isn't very social but he does play basketball on the half court on occasion."
"That's good. I worry about him. I had a second patient to visit and a different gift for him."
Brock Rumlow was still on the hospital wing, still recovering from injury in spite of it being over three months since the fall of the Triskelion. He was no longer on ICU, now on a more general ward.
"Half prison half hospital." Phil said after a beat. There were maybe a dozen private rooms, all opening to a common area. The nurse's station was centered, shared with armed guards and closed in by glass and a high security door. "Do you get that many prisoners here?"
"We don't, but the majority of our patients are combat trained. Not a great combination with psychological issues."
Phil supposed he agreed. A guard checked the contents of his messenger bag (the harness and a still sealed water bottle) and let him go in. A nurse was talking to another patient, but offered him a smile. "Visitor? Who for?"
"Rumlow."
The nurse beamed. "He's only had one other visitor. It's nice to see someone else here." She told the patient she'd be back momentarily and started walking toward one of the rooms.
"Who's the other one?"
"A man named Jack."
Shit. Jack Rollins. Strike Force had been entirely sub or neutral leaning sub, which wasn't too unusual, but Phil's entirely sure Pierce was using it as extra control over his personal goon squad. Now Phil has to find out how Rollins, also HYDRA as far as he knew, was getting into Fiddler's Green for visitation rights.
And just that fast the concern was filed away because they’re at the room door and his heart is stuttering in his chest for a moment, looking in at Brock. Thinner, one knee in a large brace, pretty good scar on his cheek. Reading a book until the nurse knocked. "Brock? You have a visitor."
"You usually call ahead..." Brock started, looking up and gaping at Phil. Then the book was discarded onto the bed and he was across the small room, skidding on his knees with no care paid to the brace, dropped in front of Phil. "Sir. I...”
He lifted a hand to card it through Brock's black hair and was rewarded with the larger man collapsing into him, hiding his face against one of his hipbones and one arm wrapped around his waist. "You don't have to kneel to me, Brock. Not anymore."
"I am so sorry so very sorry sir. I didn't think I would see you ever again I was told you survived but...” His breathing was coming in little sobs, clutching at Phil.
"Being on this hard floor can't be good for your knee." He pointed out, then sighed when he was just held tighter. "There are things I need to ask you. I need you to tell me the truth."
"Yes sir."
"Were you HYDRA the whole time I was fostering you?"
Brock went still and slowly let go and pulled away, sitting back on his heels with his head bowed. "Yes."
"Were you gathering intel on me?"
He shook his head. "No. The fostering was legit. I wasn't responding to discipline from command."
Phil felt his stomach drop. "I fixed you so HYDRA could use you." That got a shrug. "Come on. Off the floor. I'm not mad... I just need closure."
Brock hesitated. "I can't crawl with my injuries."
"You don't have to submit to me anymore. Up." He helped Brock up and ended up letting himself be moved. He sat on the bed and Brock sprawled across his lap, shameless and proprietary, hiding his face back into Phil's hip and stomach. It's a familiar pose, one they'd often ended up in toward the end of fostering. "Talk to me."
"You know how I came to SHIELD. Being used by a bad boss, made to fight in subspace. I was in very bad shape after that. Pierce offered me further structure with HYDRA. He told me that soon we would kill everyone like the man that hurt me. It would never happen to anyone again. I liked that concept but he was too much like that. We were his bitches sir."
"I'm not your sir."
Brock shifted, looking up at him. "You were the only dom who ever made subspace seem like a good thing."
"I should have kept you."
"I would have stayed. I would have tried to shelter you when it all came down."
He sighed. "You're still in deep shit, Rummy. Even with the heavy nod to your deep sub distress."
"I know. I'm transferring to a sub prison next month. I'll be safe there. Even the guards are sub." He ducked his head. "I don't think I want a dom anymore. You were it and..."
"And I’m not a dom now."
That brought him up short. "I was going to say you won't want a broken HYDRA sub. How can you not be a dom?"
"Collateral damage to the glands in my brain during the process of bringing me back to life."
Brock was speechless for several seconds, staring up at Phil. "I thought you smelled different."
Phil had to raise an eyebrow at that.
"You always had a great natural scent. That's why I always buried my face at your hip. It was just really gently dom. It was soothing."
"..And now?"
"Does it matter? This is another goodbye right." He shoved to a sitting up position, frowning. "You said you wanted closure."
"Wait are you mad at me?"
"Not over anything that makes sense. I know you don't want me."
He scoffed. "Oh trust me. Words cannot express how badly I wanted to force you to choke on my cock."
Brock blinked, then smirked. "Past tense on that?"
"Not sure I could stand to do it now and get anything out of it."
"Shit. You are sub."
"Yeah. It's been an interesting ride. I'm still figuring it out." He reached out slowly and set one of his hands on top of one of Brock's. "I can't be your dom. But if you keep being honest with me, I can be your friend."
Brock stared at him a long moment, unease and a little distrust slowly smoothing away into acceptance. "I'll still be going to jail though."
"Sedition and treason, possibly terrorism. But, considering the factors involved, I think maximum sentences can be avoided."
They were quiet for a few minutes before Brock rubbed the back of his neck and gave Phil a wry smile. "So do I get to ask what you brought me? Can't figure you'd bring a man purse in here for any other reason."
Phil scoffed and got off the bed. "It's a messenger bag you philistine."
"So you did bring me something?"
"Long as you don't read too much into it." He got the harness out and tossed it to Brock, who caught it on instinct before looking at it and gaping. "Heard you were wearing the other one I made you when they pulled you out of the rubble."
"I wore it all the time. They cut it off me in the ambulance even though I told them not to. Help me put this on?"
He's glad he made this one more adjustable and he's able to snug the buckles down to fit Brock right. Brock fussed with it slightly, making sure the straps were where he wanted then sighed explosively, setting a hand on the strap crossing his chest.
"Thank you, sir. I missed this and I like that you made me a white one." He saw the look and smiled a little. "You are my sir. Yeah you're a sub now. You're still the only sir I will ever have from this point."
Phil stared at him for a long moment before swallowing hard, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You always did try to be a good boy for me, Rummy."
"I missed you, you know. Stay with me a while longer?"
"Of course."
He stayed for over an hour. They ended up both laying on the bed, facing each other, one of Phil's hands laced over one of Brock's. Phil told him what was happening in the world and how he was trying to fix it.
Eventually a nurse hovered in the doorway and Phil took that as a cue to leave so he did, leaning his forehead to Brock's momentarily by way of goodbye and picking up his messenger bag on the way out of the room. He felt burned up inside, more so when he saw Clint in the waiting room, holding his phone and looking ... not angry but confused.
"Did you have that human experimentation paper you wrote leaked to the internet while we were here?"
Phil hadn't forgotten about it but it had been well out of mind. "Yes. Questions will try to come to me but I am off the grid level unavailable for another 24 hours. That will give them time to stop screaming incoherently, actually read it and write intelligent questions."
Clint rubbed his eyes. "It is really hard to take care of you when you do this sort of shit without telling me."
"I am sorry sir."
That was enough of a tell for Clint to look at him again. ".. are you done here baby?"
"Yes. Can we get something to eat and go to the hotel? I'm really spent." As evidenced by him giving control away in so many words.
"Yes. We can." He reached out to shepherd Phil along with a hand at the base of his spine. "Come on."