A/N: The next seven days are Brock Rumlow Week on Tumblr, and because I have an inexplicable love for that jerk, I will be writing a short fic for him on each of those days and posting them here (with the possible exception of Day 6: That prompt is NSFW, so I may only post that fic to AO3). Today's prompt is simply "Brock Rumlow."

"Fucking Captain America."

All Rollins says is "Mmhmm" but he's fuming as well, jaw tensed and mouth set in a thin line. Knowing that his second in command commiserates does little to alleviate Rumlow's fury. All it does is set his blood boiling again as he remembers that Rollins isn't the STRIKE team SIC anymore. He's been demoted, because Rumlow's been demoted.

All so some pretty boy figurehead with a shield can play commando.

It was like Rogers was the second coming of Christ, the way everyone had lost their shit when they hauled him out of the Arctic. And sure, maybe there had been a flicker of a thrill in Rumlow's chest, but he'd stomped that down fast.

He'd grown up with Steve Rogers. What boy in America hadn't? And sure, maybe he'd been a little more into the Captain than most, pilfering dog-eared comics from the trash and sneaking away the remote to watch the old USO specials that aired each July when his old man passed out in front of the TV. He'd held onto Cap as a guilty pleasure even when he'd taken to the streets as a teen, slipping away from his gang to sneak into the movies and gape at the approximation of Rogers on the big screen. Once he'd even gotten his hands on a Captain America porno tape. But that was just for Bambi Woods's tits.

Anyway, those were the stupid fantasies of some starry-eyed punk. He was well over Captain America and his kumbaya freedom brand of bull by the time Rumlow was overseas and watching helplessly as his friends were sent home in boxes, some of them in pieces. He'd take security over freedom and trust in his fellow man any day, and HYDRA had understood that. And that was why HYDRA was thriving in SHIELD and Rogers was a corpse in the sea.

Until it turned out that he wasn't.

And now, to add insult to injury, Fury's placing Rogers in charge of STRIKE. Rumlow's team, his family. Sentiment may be weakness but it's his, damn it, and now this idealistic antique is stealing it away? Hell no.

"Gonna make him choke on his own teeth," Rumlow seethes, "serum or no serum. I'm gonna tell him just what I think of him."

"Mmhmm," Rollins says. There's still a vein tensing in his forehead but there's a new light to his face, a sort of enraged smirk, though his mouth hasn't moved at all. Like it's a challenge. A taunt. Go ahead, commander, tell the super soldier what you think of him. See how that turns out.

"I will," Rumlow snaps, pacing the confines of the elevator. "Fury can give him whatever title he wants, fine, but I ain't marching to his beat. This is my team and he can sit back and watch my lead or he can go play soldier somewhere else."

"Mmhmm," Rollins says.

It's bravado and they both know it; Rumlow isn't dumb enough to get himself thrown out of STRIKE by mouthing off to Captain America. But like hell is he going to enjoy a single second of it, even if this does nicely tie with Pierce's order to keep a watch on the super soldier. This is his team and any compliance on Rumlow's part will be grudging and he doesn't give a damn if Rogers knows it. Like he cares what the American dream thinks.

The elevator doors slide open and Rogers steps inside.

Rumlow can sense Rollins smirking behind him, feel the stare boring into his back. He can't take his eyes off of Rogers. Robert Redford definitely didn't do the man justice back in that seventies biopic.

Before he can form words, Rogers is speaking. "Agent Rumlow?"

Captain America knows him on sight. Rumlow can only nod.

And then the Captain's hand is out and shaking his own before Rumlow even registers lifting it. "Steve Rogers." Then he smiles and damn, Steve Rogers didn't do himself justice in those old grainy USO reels. "I've read your reports—that mission in Waziristan was really something—I'm looking forward to working with you."

There is a pause and Rumlow thinks this is where he's meant to reply, except his brain and his mouth aren't connected anymore. "Uh."

"I bet we'll both learn a lot," Rogers continues, before he glances over Rumlow's shoulder and presumably meets Rollins's eyes. "Agent Rollins?"

"Mmhmm."

"I'm sure I'll enjoy working with you as well," Rogers says, just as the doors slide open again. "Well, here's where I get off. I'll see you for the briefing at oh two hundred. Nice meeting you."

And just like that, he's gone. Rumlow is left staring at the space where the Captain used to be. To his credit, his mouth is not quite agape.

"You sure told him," says Rollins.

"Shut up."

"Were you checking out his ass?" Rollins asks. "'Cause I think he glanced at yours."

"You want a foot up your own?"

"I'm too tall," Rollins says. "You'd just get stuck. Hey, wasn't the day they announced thawing him out the same day you had to make an emergency run to the store for more hand lotion?"

"I will force feed you your own tongue." They finally, finally reach their floor and Rumlow stalks out, fuming and red-faced.

"Mmhmm."

Fucking Steve Rogers.

A/N: The title is taken from a lyric in "Heaven on Their Minds" from Jesus Christ Superstar.

Parts of Rumlow's background I have invented. Other parts, such as having seen Captain America's USO movies and having been in a gang as a teen, are taken from the comics (I am convinced that MCU Rumlow was a Cap fanboy growing up just from his lines in the Winter Soldier tie in comic).

Bambi Woods was the star of the pornographic film Debbie Does Dallas.