Work Text:
Music is the key to the heart, people say, but for some it's not so superficial. Music to the Asset is a key to his memories and his mind and his whole life he can't remember. On nights where he shivers under the thin blanket on his dingy mattress in Bucharest, listening to the neighbours argue through the paper thin walls, he'd heard snippets of a song on his Walkman.
He obviously remembered it at one point in his life, but he doesn't remember adding it to his tape. He doesn't remember anything. The Asset soaks his sleeves with his tears as he frantically swipes at his face even though there's nobody around to hide from. There's nobody around whatsoever.
The music lulls him to sleep like a forgotten lullaby, and only one word circles his brain; Steve. Steve, Steve... who's Steve? His sobs are muffled in his bionic hand, the whirring vibrating over his lips. Why can't he remember? But as the tears lull him into a restless sleep, his dreams are full of a crop of blonde hair, dazzling blue eyes.
No face to be seen, but he wakes up drenched in sweat. He needs to find Steve.