His eyes flick up briefly, peeking through hair, because that's-- handlers don't talk like that. He doesn't want things, he's just an asset.

That's. The target. The-- not target. He'd decided not to use that, because he's not hitting that face again. He knows this. "Rogers," he croaks as the name comes back, and with it, memory of where he actually is, what they were supposed to be doing, and oh hey, how he fucked up something again. Mission focus, like hell.

The stillness is gone, and he's shaking, and bringing his hands up to grind his palms into his eyes. "Fuck."