Chapter Text
There are roughly a dozen applicants already in the waiting room, the shortest of them is 6'2. Vincent takes a sideways look at the guy next to him, who is reading anxiously through some notes. "I heard the guy in charge is a fuckin' nutter." He doesn't get a response. "You ex-army or something?"
"NAVY Seal."
Vincent hums, looking the guy up and down more obviously now.
"Been on Strike Team Epsilon for three years. Alpha's the best of the best. Commander Rumlow's old school, if you know what I mean. Fucking tyrant, but..."
Vincent internally curses. This dude was already on one of the elite Strike teams. And clearly already knows this Rumlow guy. "Oh yeah, totally." Vincent did not know what he means.
The door opens, a lithe man who barely cracks 5'10 appears in the doorway, surveying the room. "Do I have a volunteer?"
Vincent sweeps the room, noticing with amusement that everyone, even Mr. ex-NAVY Seal already on Team Epsilon seemed to be shitting his pants. With a smirk, Vincent stands.
"I'll volunteer."
"The hell's with the accent? You one of them fucking tea drinkers?"
Vincent grins wider. "Can’t stand the shit."
"Fuck's wrong with you. Tea is amazing. No taste I tell you."
"No-one over this side of the pond even makes a decent cuppa. Might not drink it, but I can make a decent brew."
He vaguely registers the guy next to him watching the exchange with the same kind of horror you might expect someone watching a car crash.
"So, you're one of them snobby types who've come to show us lowly colonials how it’s done? Is that it?"
Vincent shrugs. "One of my many talents."
"Then get inside and put your money where your mouth is." The man steps back, allowing Vincent entry.
Vincent flashes a smug grin at his neighbor before stepping forward. "Yes sir," he almost purrs.
The man leads him down a hallway. “What have you heard about Commander Rumlow?”
"Hard as nails, ruthless as hell. Mean as fuck in a fist fight. Everyone either wants to be him or be with him," he chuckles. "But I figure, if alpha is the best of the best, then he's gotta be better than the best of the best if he’s leading them."
“Good to see you’ve got some fucking common sense at least.” The man opens the door to a conference room.
Inside are three men; one is 6'8 of pure muscle, on a chair at the back of the room stands man with slicked back black hair, roughly 6’1, twirling a knife between his fingers and glaring daggers. The last is roughly 5'10 of wiry muscle with his feet on the table, flipping through files.
Vincent's guide leaves him, without introduction. The huge man offers a huge smile, "Take a seat, son."
He regards the two men sat in front of him. He had no idea what Commander Rumlow looks like, but he'd heard plenty of stories. The huge friendly looking guy couldn't possibly be Rumlow. The emo dude in the corner doesn’t exactly scream leadership. But the last guy? Despite the relaxed posture Vincent could recognize the coiled strength and cunning of a man trained to kill you in multiple ways with nothing but the pen in front of him. Worth taking the chance.
"Commander Rumlow," he said, directing his greeting to the guy with his feet up. He looks to the other man, who was still smiling. "Sir," he greets the other two in turn. The safe option when he doesn’t know names or titles. "Ashley Vincent."
Commander Rumlow (?) doesn't deign to respond. The huge man however, gives an impressed nod of his head. "Thank you for coming into today, Agent Vincent.” He holds an enormous hand, which Vincent shakes. “Agent George Watson.” He gestures to the man behind them. “This is Agent Jack Rollins. Could you tell us why you're applying for the job?"
"I've got the physical and mental skills to serve with the best of the best. I was in the marines for five years. But it wasn't..." Vincent pauses, cocking his head. "It wasn't enough for me. You need an outta the box solider, you'd be able to recruit any of us in that waiting room. But you're looking for something else, something more than that. Someone who wants more than that."
"And what's this more that you want?"
"S.T.R.I.K.E. isn't just hero work. Sometimes we go in and get our hands dirty." Vincent grins. "I ain’t no hero. And your job description was vague enough that you know I have no clue what I would actually be expected to do. But I'm loyal as hell. I get to know my team, connect with my team. Means when it comes down to it I'll do whatever it takes to get the job done."
The door bangs open. "Is it because of Captain America?" Vincent's guide from earlier demands.
"Morgan," Watson says warningly.
"Captain America's going to be on Strike Team Alpha. Everyone knows that. No wonder we've gotten so many recruits. Buncha fucking fanboy groupies."
Vincent raises his eyebrows and turns to look at the guy from earlier who is apparently Morgan. "You shitting me right now? Is this 'cos of the tea thing?"
"No, Captain Rogers will indeed be working alongside our team," Watson says.
"I trust we can keep that on the down low."
Vincent stares at the big dude and snorts. "Well, fuck me." He abruptly remembers this is a job interview. "Sir." He realizes belatedly how that must have sounded and winces. "I mean, I aint gonna tell anyone. Ain’t got no-one to tell, and no-one would believe me anyway!"
Rumlow snorts, the first reaction he's given so far.
Vincent glances his way before looking back to the other. "Next thing you'll be tellin' me the Winter Soldier is actually real!" He says with a chuckle.
Morgan cackles, coming in and mimicking his Commander's style of sitting. "So, you've got no one? Guess that means no one to tattle if you went missing."
Shrugging, Vincent turns to him. "Yet another of my strengths. Completely bloody expendable. Just the kind of guy you need, no?" He turns back to the other two. "Look, I know the mortality rate of this job. I'm under no illusions, no rose-tinted glasses here. You want the truth? I applied for this job because I'm so completely fucking bored of the bullshit of every other job. The red tape, the mundane routines, the politics. The job sounded interesting, risky, hard fucking work. It sounded right up my street."
Rumlow puts down his file, rising. "Congrats kid. You made it to round two."
Vincent smothers the temptation to pump his fist in the air and smiles serenely, as if he ever doubted it.
"Whoever is going to break the news to all the guys out in the waiting room?" Morgan asks.
The look he gives Vincent telling and expectant.
Vincent smiles as if Morgan had just told him his birthday and Christmas had come at once. "Oh, please tell me I get to?"
Morgan flips him off, "Only if you beat me to the door."
He's out the door in a flash. Nearly knocking the chair flying, Vincent isn't far behind.
Jack Rollins drops into the chair next to Rumlow. “You sure about this Rocky? Now there's going to be two of them."