Rogue plunked down at a table to clean out her rifle. Disassembled it, oiled it, then put it back together. Then she moved on to her black M9A1 Beretta handgun, a boot camp graduation gift of sorts from Frank, and did the same thing. She would not stop until she saw the insides gleam. She liked the feel of it in her hand better than the cannon that was the 1911. It gave her superior accuracy and had a soft trigger pull, which meant less pressure was needed to pull the trigger.
Frank busied himself by making sure his armor was repaired and in good working order. He'd taken care of his guns earlier. Then he moved onto reloading shotgun shells. He used a specific press to do it, and she watched the whole process.
She put her sidearm back into her thigh holster, which had straps around her leg and buckled to her belt. "Ah think we're bein' stalked. By some Fed. Heard he's been sniffin' around 50th and Main." Which, she noted, was about ten blocks away. For some reason, her instincts told her that this particular man knew how to pursue his quarry.
"I know. I'm keeping track of him. Hope he has the sense to stay away from 53rd. That neighborhood has no love for LEO's." Frank said, then took a seat next to her. "He's been asking about you specifically. My bet he's working the Church incident."
Rogue sighed. She'd be dead meat now if it weren't for Frank, but she didn't want to give him trouble, either. She liked the man and believed what he did was needed. "Ah ain't causin' you too much grief? One person can disappear easier than two."
"No. He's just one man, and I've had greater challenges." Frank said. "It'll be fine. Just be careful when you're out. If you suspect you're being followed, don't come immediately back here. Lose him in a crowd."
"Ah don't know, Frank. Somethin' about this man feels different to me. Ah talked to the shop keeper earlier today while you were in the Bronx, the one we're friendly with, and she showed me a picture of him. He's intense, Frank. He looks like he knew his business." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a picture. The man was built, being around Frank's own size and muscle tone. Attractive with bright blue eyes. Rogue thought he resembled Jon Hamm.
Frank studied it, then frowned. It entered his mind to ask her why she didn't bring this up sooner, but there had been no real opportunity. This particular FBI agent was different. He saw what Rogue had been talking about. This man knew his trade—tracking people down. His eyes could dissect a situation—or people—to find the truth. Frank drew upon his own acute sense of judgement—and that this man also had—and came to the conclusion they had better be extra cautious.
"It's unusual that he doesn't have a partner. Most of them do when they are working a case. It's safer that way. He must be doing something off the books." Frank mused. He would be mindful of the agent, but not worry too much.
Rogue rose to her feet and headed for the small, concrete area where they kept the food. It was too sparse to call a kitchen, just a place for food preparation. "You hungry? Ah was gonna make some stir fry."
"Sure." It suddenly felt uncomfortable to have someone cook for him and he was reminded of how Maria loved to make meals for the family. He remembered her infectious smile and fell silent. He hadn't had anyone to make him dinner for a long time. He glanced over at Rogue, who cooked happily away. After all these years, an echo of him still missed Maria.
But, he stayed silent as Rogue served up the stir fry on brown rice and handed a plate to him. He ate without talking as Rogue, aware that he apparently didn't have anything to discuss, stayed quiet as well. She picked up their plates and did the dishes.
"You've been dancing around the topic of Mystique since we were in the Poconos." He said, mostly to break the awkward silence.
"Because it hurts, Frank. It hurts to think of her. You know what she did to me when Ah disobeyed? Which was a lot? Whipped me. She's a sociopath." Rogue said. "She's dangerous, Frank. Ah know you could handle her if you saw her coming, but chances are, you won't. And Ah don't want anythin' to happen to you—not by duplicity. Not by her. Do you realize you're the only person who has treated me with any sort of respect? And how much Ah respect YOU for that? Ah'd go to hell for ya."
The expression in her eyes brought to mind Lisa. He realized that Rogue saw him as a father figure. Maybe even loved him as such. Bringing Rogue here was a bad mistake, not for me. For her. I'm no father. I have no family. I lost my chance at that a long time ago. But it would take a harder heart than his to hurt her. "I'm going out to the Bronx again. Don't wait up."
He grabbed his rucksack and walked out to his van. He put it in the back, then drove out to where he was going to obliterate a nest of gang banging assholes. Only to find someone had been there before. The hangout was completely shot out. Rather sloppily, he said to himself, could be another gang that wanted their turf. An innocent easily could have got killed.
He listened as two detectives conferred amongst themselves. Luckily, they were close to his van and he was able to catch their conversation.
"Nyah, not the Punisher. Too messy. No military precision. Bunch'a amateurs that just think they're soldiers did this." The older detective said.
At least one of the NYPD's finest has some common sense, He thought, with a touch of sardonic dryness.
After listening to some of the more sundry details, he carefully pulled out and made his way back to the safe house. Still, that bothered him, nagged at him. He had been there just that day, scoping out the territory and prepared for a bust. And then, completely wiped out by the time he showed. Something's funny. I don't believe in coincidences.
He got out of the van, and headed for the door. He entered the safe house and called out for Rogue.
She wasn't there. Neither was her coat. He shrugged, feeling a little uneasy about it, but Rogue was an adult. She could leave if she wanted to. When the clock struck 3 a.m., with still no Rogue, Frank began to arm himself. He was worried now, and started to think that perhaps the FBI agent had managed to track down Rogue. Or worse, she'd gone into a bad neighborhood.
Rogue went for a walk to clear her head. What did you expect from him? A warm, welcoming hug? That ain't his style. Ah'm an idiot for thinkin' he might feel the same. The night stung her cheeks and oddly made her feel better. She paid attention to the rhythms of the street. Of the lowlifes behind her. They'd been following her for about two blocks now.
"Hey sweetie, looking for a good time?" One of them asked and she turned around to count four of them.
"No. Ah'm not. Leave me alone." Rogue was glad her coat was long enough to conceal her gun. She saw them move like a pack of wolves around her. Great. A group of yahoos. Ah better get ready to teach them some manners. Unless it went bad, she wasn't planning to shoot them. Just beat some sense into their asses. She needed additional CQC experience anyway.
The leader, a Latino with a shark smile and bright eyes, replied. "C'mon, baby. It'll be fun. You're cute and if you play your cards right, you might get to be my main chick." The girl was smoking hot, he thought, with a face that would break hearts. And probably had an ass that wouldn't quit.
The other men leered at her as if they were imagining her breasts. Rogue was disgusted.
"You really know how to pick up a woman, don't you?" Rogue's eyebrow raised in question. "Look, Ah ain't about to get with a man Ah just met. Ah only want to be left alone. So scram and find a hood rat to accommodate you. "
The Latino, whose name was Renaldo judging by the gold chain around his neck, made a grab for her arm. With the palm of her hand, she slammed it against his nose. A crunch then a spurt of blood followed. "What the fuck…" She then punched him in the throat, rendering him useless and studied the others.
Inevitably, one pulled out a Bowie knife and lunged at her. She adroitly managed to put a leg behind him and used her hip to throw the man onto the asphalt. The surprise move made him drop the knife and she picked it up. She knocked him out with a punch to the head. He'll be ok. Granted, he'll have a headache but that's what he gets for accosting young women.
"Who's next?" She growled. The other two men sized her up and decided she was too tough for them. They split, leaving their friends with her. "Too bad your friends chickened out. Ah was about to show them a 'good' time." She spied a telephone pole and knew what to do. "But Ah'll give YOU a good time—mah version of it, anyhow."
Rogue pushed Renaldo against the pole, seized his hand and pinned it to the pole with the knife. He screamed, but could not bear to pull the knife out of the center of his hand. "Ah don't ever want to hear of you doin' this to another lady. If you do, our next talk won't be so pleasant."
After that, Rogue's desire to take a walk was satisfied, so she went back to what she called home. It gave her time to think about where her life had been and where it was going. Destination: unknown. The unknown is better than being stuck with Smurfette, that's for sure. Why did Ah give her so much of mah trust? Best not follow that line of thought. Just move forward and kick ass—stop wastin' time on nonsense.
She watched the city darkly seethe as she moved. Sleazy pimps with strung out hookers—all of age, she observed with a critical eye. Something in the way Rogue moved told the pimps to avoid her. Maybe it was that she had the cocky strut of a fighter or the gleam in her eye that said, "I'm not to be fucked with, boys." She saw a few druggies shooting up, and part of her ached for them. Ah can't help ya. Wish Ah could tell ya to stop wasting your life on that shit. Ah wish you would just wake up and realize you're wastin' your life. Ah wish you would LISTEN.
Before she knew it, she was back at the warehouse. The van's here. He must have had a short night. She knocked on the door with a specific rhythm, so that he would know that it was her and not some other idiot, then let herself in.
Frank, just having finished preparing to go out after her, took a good look at Rogue's irritated face. "What happened out there?"
"Four assholes made an attempt to get me to party with them. They kept on insisting. Ah kicked their asses. The feel good ending of the century. Ah didn't kill 'em, but Ah laid the hurt on 'em. "Rogue removed her coat with a sigh. "You're back early. Was the takedown easier than expected?"
"Someone got there before I did. Shot the whole place up like Swiss cheese." Frank replied. "Very unprofessionally done."
Rogue breathed, trying to relax. "Sounds like a territorial issue." She sank into a chair at the table, adrenaline surged in her veins. It was three in the morning, but she knew she could not sleep yet. She replayed the incident over in her mind. Maybe I should have handled it differently?
"Could be." He handed her a mug of warm tea, her favorite. Chamomile.
"Thank you, Frank." She smiled at him, grateful for this gesture of thoughtfulness. The scent of it hung in her nostrils.
"That's what CO's are for. Duty of care." He added, gruffly. This is the best I can do, kid. "I'm going to bed. See you in the morning." With that, he left her alone with her thoughts.
Bright and early the next morning, she trained with Frank in close quarters combat. Frank was of the opinion one needed constant training and practice. He had a bigger reach, but Rogue was nimble and had the tenacity of a terrier. He drilled her in grappling maneuvers and how to disarm someone with a gun. He made her do it until he gave her a passing grade.
"Don't forget: to minimize risk of injury to fists, go for soft areas such as the throat. Don't be afraid to claw someone's eyes out if you get the chance. The solar plexus is good if you want to knock the wind out of your opponent. "Frank instructed, as he showed her where to hit on his chest. "Hit hard. Grind your opponent to shreds of meat." No problem on that account, Rogue is a fiend.
They continued until he deemed it time to rest and make a game plan for the rest of the day. Frank spoke up after Rogue caught her breath. "I'm going to Flatbush. I've already done solid recon on a location there. Do you want to come with me?"
"Sure," Rogue replied. "What do you want me to bring?" She helped herself to a glass of water, then mopped her sweaty brow with a towel.
"The Barrett M82. You're going to take sniper position." He began to get ready for the trip. "My plan is set things up and wait for nightfall."
Then they heard the knock at the door.