A little copy/paste message to start: BRR109 has pretty much quit the fan fic site. IDK if temporary or permanently. She didn't say. I've known her for years and know she's been going through some really tough IRL shit. After she told me she took down several stories, it pissed me off. So now I'm reposting the ones I remember she talked a lot about. Sorry to anyone who had this story on favorites or followers and it got removed. Idk I'm still learning this whole fanfic thing. I'm just going by what I saw BRR109 do the few times I watched her post something...

1 - Punishment

This was not where he wanted to be. Agent Brock Rumlow stared in exasperation at the SHIELD academy roughly fifty yards in front of him and clenched his jaw. All the happy agency cadets strolling to their first class of the morning, chatting happily amongst themselves was enough to piss him off even more.

This was his punishment. A punishment for doing his job. So he ignored protocol and went against a direct order. He was not about to lower his weapon when he had a perfect shot lined up on one of SHIELD's most wanted and HYDRA's least liked holding a female junior agent at gunpoint. The barrel of a .9 mil was being pressed against the junior agent's temple as she cried to be spared. Making any unexpected movement could've ended her life with a hairline pull of a trigger. But he wasn't going to allow it.

His own pull of a trigger saved a young agent and helped rid SHIELD of a terrorist they had hunted down for nearly two years. He mostly wanted to take the person out because of a deal that went bad with some HYDRA higher-ups. Now here he was, having to serve punishment by aiding in the instruction of academy cadets for two weeks versus receiving an indefinite suspension from the agency. Was he supposed to be thankful for this? He knew this was SHIELD's doing and not HYDRA's.

Heaving a sigh, the disgruntled agent proceeded in through the academy's front double glass doors. Now to find his person of contact, academy director Agent Davis, and begin his grueling next days' work.

The moment he walked into Agent Davis's office, a sly smile lit up the director's face. He was an older gentleman wearing a dark brown suit over a proud and robust posture. Streaks of grey littered the temples of his otherwise neatly groomed black hair and his dark gaze piercing. "Agent Rumlow. I heard you were to grace my campus with your presence." Davis extended a welcoming hand, the agent accepting it. "It seems you upset the wrong people."

"Yeah… fuck that shit, man." Brock shook his head and closed the office door behind him. "I did what I was supposed to. I did my job."

Davis cut his dark eyes down on the agent, his sly smile stretching further. "By not following orders?"

Brock scoffed. "SHIELD should be sucking my dick right now for taking out one of their most wanted. They'd only been after that guy for years…"

Davis shrugged; a more amused expression on his face now. "Well, I know your actions went unnoticed with a few big names."

That seemed to lighten the agitated agent a little. The STRIKE team leader laughed to himself. "So what bullshit am I going to be stuck with for the next two weeks?"

Davis buried his hands in his charcoal grey suit. "Director Fury insisted on morale speeches, the most. The meaning of teamwork…following orders…" Brock expressed his disapproval with a vocal groan. "But, I feel your expertise could be better used in other classes, such as hand to hand combat and the firing range. I know Fredricks would enjoy your company at the range."

Brock laughed again. "Fucking Fast Freddie. I thought he retired."

"From being an agent. He prefers the civilian life, now…working as an academy instructor instead." Davis observed the field agent as he carefully planned his next words. "I must warn you, however, that by working at the range you will encounter a certain individual in the afternoons."

Brock's attention shot to the academy director. "Oh yeah? Who's that?"

"Agent Mikel Jensen."

"Son of a fucking bitch," quickly left the agent's mouth. Brock's jaw clenched, and his eyes flared in anger. "Seriously? Now I know that mother fucker retired years ago! What the hell is he doing here?"

"Instructing a young cadet on sniper training. She shows promise, despite her disabilities."

Brock's brow furrowed curiously. "What disabilities?"

"Mental. She has PTSD and anxiety." After the agent was done laughing disbelievingly, Davis continued. "Anyway, the first class of the day will start shortly. Director Fury wants a report by the end of each day on what classes you spoke with and at what times."

"Great."

Davis went around behind his office desk to get a piece of notepad paper out of the top drawer. He handed it to the agent to take, Brock seeing it was a schedule. It listed the classes and times he was to assist with.

Before the agent could leave the office, Davis continuing stopped him shy of the closed office door. "Oh and Agent Rumlow, might I suggest you refrain from taking your aggression out on Jensen."

Brock just stood there and stared at the academy director with a deadpan expression. "I can't make any promises."

Davis smirked. "Hail HYDRA."

Brock's deadpan expression morphed into dark delight. "Hail HYDRA," and he left the office.

Monday morning was the most uneventful and painful three hours he had ever been forced to endure. Two classes over the course of three hours were all about the importance of teamwork. The whole 'there is no I in team' speech had him choking on his words. After the end of the second class, it was eleven-o-clock and time for lunch.

Brock took one look at the crowded cafeteria and turned on a combat booted heel and marched away. He'd rather eat the MRE he had stashed in his backpack somewhere as far away from people as possible. He was on his way out of the cafeteria and checking for any missed messages on his cell phone when he collided with a person in his way.

Any and all snarky comments were cut short on the tip of his tongue the moment his brown eyes locked onto jade green ones. Judging by the frazzled locks of long, medium brown hair curtaining a young woman's face, she was in a hurry. Flustered cheeks of an otherwise fair complexion enforced this.

Her eyes widened in panic, and pale rosy lips tremble with forming words. Jade green orbs quickly darted to the visitor badge clipped to the front of the man's black jacket to see he was a field agent. "M-my apologies, sir." She fumbled with one of the double doors leading out of the cafeteria and opened it for him. "Guess I should pay more attention to where I'm going."

Brock watched the fluster turn a deeper shade, and her eyes revert to anywhere else, but on him. She couldn't be older than nineteen, possibly twenty years old. Kids these days.

He drummed his thumb over his cell phone in his hand for a moment then scoffed. "That's a good idea," was given in curt reply.

The man sneered and briefly met her gaze from the corner of his eye as he passed by her on his way outside. To the parking lot he went and into his black truck he retreated for what hour of peace and quiet he could savor for lunch.

He was halfway through his lunch when he saw the timid green-eyed brunette emerge from the cafeteria. She had a soda can in one hand, and a plastic wrapped sandwich and bag of chips in another. It seemed she wasn't too partial to the long waiting lines, either, and chose something from the quick and easy line.

Brock watched her nestle down amongst the roots under a tree by herself with her back against the massive trunk. He saw this as a cautious act. She didn't want to leave her back exposed while being able to watch her surroundings. Her eyes stayed alert and observant to anyone who strode nearby. She'd cautiously look them up and down as though visually searching them for any potential threat. Once they passed on by, the young woman would continue eating her lunch.

The STRIKE team leader smirked and spoke to himself. "You're a paranoid one, aren't you…looking over your shoulder. What happened, little girl? Uncle Dearest get too touchy?" He took another big bite of his MRE chicken pesto pasta and swigged it down with a gulp from his water bottle. After finishing his lunch, he dug around under the driver's seat for a half a pint of whiskey. "It's one of those days." He took a quick shot, recapped the bottle and stashed it back under the seat.

Once it was noon, Brock knew it was time to return to his punishment. Just four more hours then he'd be done for the day. Only four more days to go in his first week and then the weekend. After that, it was another five days of hell then back to fieldwork. He slammed his truck door closed and mashed on the electronic key lock aimed over his shoulder to lock it.

He tossed his collection of MRE trash into a waste bin near the parking lot and reached into his cargo pants pocket. The folded-up notepad paper with the schedule on it brushed against his fingertips. Withdrawing it and opening it up displayed the next class he was to assist; the gun range. Oh, this should be fun. No more talking about teamwork. Instead, he would get to show up all the cadet scrubs attempting to shoot a pistol or rifle. Only one problem; Agent Jensen. There were not enough words in any language's dictionary to describe how much contempt he had for the other man.

The trek to the gun range brought back memories of his cadet days. This was the only class during his training at the academy he enjoyed and excelled incredibly at. Well, that and the hand to hand combat course. Everything else as far as the reading and studying was mindless drabble printed on paper.

He followed the sidewalk leading away from the central academy grounds and up and over a hill. Below him and encircled with a barbed wire fence was a beige brick and rust colored metal roofed building. Roughly twenty-five yards on the far side of the building was the actual firing range.

One by one, students wielding rifles filtered out of the building's side door leading to the range to start their day's lesson. Without a care or concern about the cadets, the agent strolled into the brick building. One look at the severe and intimidating features worn on his face had the junior agents scampering out of his way and standing off to the side. Good. At least they recognized a figure with authority.

The familiar smells of gun cleaners filled his nostrils the further into the building he went. Four rows of long tables placed parallel to each other sat in the middle of the spacious room. On the other side of the room was the armory cage where an assortment of training rifles and pistols were kept. Standing behind the cage's window was a face Brock knew all too well; just a bit older than last remembered. He was looking forward to this reunion.

The instructor, an older man in his early sixties with silver grey hair peeking out beneath a ball cap, handed a young male cadet an M-16 rifle. That was when the instructor looked up, seeing Brock standing shy of the cage window. Still the arrogant smirk on his face. Smiling deepened the crows feet wrinkles at the corners of his grey eyes.

"Well look who the director sent me...Agent Brock Rumlow." He extended a hand for the other to take.

"Fast Freddie Fredricks," Brock laughed out.

"How have things been going?"

Brock glanced around at the line of people awaiting their rifle and pistol issue. "They got me stuck here for the rest of the week babysitting these newbies."

Fredricks snickered. "You never did like it here. Always used to complain. Glad to see you again. Maybe you can help me teach these pups a thing or two."

"It'd be my honor." The agent's voice was demeaning in tone. "All I need are the tools for the job."

"I can get you that. Just come on back, Big B, and I'll get you squared away." Fredricks unlocked the armory's two deadbolt locks to allow the visitor access inside.