7 – Damn Parasite
Back out into the sunshine filled day, Brock strode, and to the tan Toyota truck, he was relieved to see unmoved in the parking lot. The closer he got to the truck, the better he was able to see the windows rolled down and its passenger laid back in the driver's seat asleep. He leaned against the door and stared down at the peaceful form. He reached out ever so lightly to caress her cheek and across her jaw. He wasn't expecting her to be asleep and was torn on whether or not he should leave her here to go back to his hotel room.
"Son of a bitch," he groaned under his breath.
By later in the afternoon, classes were dismissed for the day. Cadets went to their vehicles and drove off. Little bit by little bit the parking lot emptied, leaving only Brock's truck at one end of the parking lot and Novak's at the other. The academy faculty had their parking lot, which was good.
Brock was sure his being seen sitting on the lowered tailgate of a cadet's truck wouldn't look very professional. As four-fifteen rolled around, Syra started to wake up.
Her eyes fluttered open to see it was late in the afternoon and the parking lot almost barren of vehicles. Panic flooded her, and she shot upright. "Shit! Shit!" She popped her seat back in its upright position and fumbled with her keys.
From where Brock sat, he could hear the verbal tangent from the young woman. "You okay in there, Huggies?"
Syra froze, her hand wrapped around the keys in the ignition. Her focus darted to the rearview mirror to see the owner of the voice sitting on the tailgate of her truck and glancing back. Their eyes locked.
Just as Brock got off the tailgate, Syra got out of the truck. "What are you still doing here?"
Brock gave a good head to toe examination of the cadet. Her legs weren't as unsteady as before, and her color looked more normal. "I wanted to make sure you were okay before I left." He watched her cheeks turn pink with blush. "You okay enough to drive? Need a lift back to your place?"
Syra fervently shook her head. "Nope!" The suddenness of her response took the agent by surprise. "I mean…no, sir. I'm-"
"Don't call me sir. That shit pisses me off."
The young woman arched a brow in confusion. Cadets had to call him sir, and he didn't seem to mind it. If anything, he seemed to relish in it. So why was he so adamant about her not calling him sir? She thought back on his past actions towards her versus the other cadets. Where he had been demeaning towards them, he was lenient on her. Was it because of her psychological handicap? Then the realization hit her like a ton of bricks. The way he looked at her on occasion…how he comforted her in the hallway with a surprisingly gentle touch…and most of all, when he watched her during lunch. While it was a bit unnerving to be stared at like some attraction in a zoo, and she often wondered why, now it all made sense. She wasn't sure if she should be flattered by his taking to her or uncomfortable with it.
Syra bit her lips together and took a slow step backward to her truck. "I need to get going. My hus-" Syra stopped herself before saying anything else.
Brock cut his brown eyes down on jade green ones. He thought on the little bit of words he just heard. It sounded to him like she was about to say husband. Wait…she was married? He planted his hands on his hips in a flare of jealousy and cocked his head to the side.
Syra continued. "Mikel is probably wondering where I am."
Go fucking figure. She was married to Mikel Jensen. That mother fucker. Well, this just put a big ass kink in the plans of trying to recruit her into HYDRA's ranks. The fact it was HYDRA who broke her mind was already a significant hurdle to overcome. How could she be recruited into them when she knew damn well it was them who sent the Winter Soldier to off her family? Now came this latest bit of news. Jensen was about as pro-SHIELD as they got. There was no question he had pushed his ideals and beliefs onto the gullible young woman. Should HYDRA try to worm their way into her trust and change her mindset, Jensen would definitely find out. He already killed six operatives. What's to say he wouldn't kill more? Maybe HYDRA could off him before it came to that. But what if Syra found out her dear husband was killed by the same people trying to recruit her? That would only make things worse.
Brock decided to play off the cadet's near slip of the tongue. "Why would he wonder where you are?"
Fluster further deepened the young woman's cheeks, ears, and neck. "He not only instructs me in sniper training but also hand to hand combat. We train every other day in that and sniper stuff the other days."
Brock knew it; she was privately taught. It surprised him, though, that she wasn't much better in her skills. Perhaps her PTSD had something to do with that and Jensen was taking his time training her to help her adjust to it. Just because he didn't know much about Novak -er, Cadet Jensen's- personal life didn't mean he couldn't figure things out with the information he knew.
Despite the extreme urge churning in Brock to rat out the two peoples' secret marriage to bring down Jensen, he refrained. Why bring down Novak -damn it, Cadet Jensen- and ruin her career before it even got started just to spite one person? Oh, but he wanted to sooo bad. He was sure a meeting with the right high ranking HYDRA official would grant the cadet a pardon, and she be allowed to continue her training.
Brock nodded in forced acceptance of the answer. "Okay. I advise you take it easy, though. You've already had a hell of a day, what with that knot on your head and your little episode in Moseph's class."
Syra was becoming further bothered by the kindness of the agent and worried if he would try anything forceful on her. "Right." As she back peddled, she closed in on the driver's side door and quickly retreated inside.
Brock stood aside and watched the young woman leave the parking lot at a speed that most definitely would've earned her a driving demerit with the academy. A part of him wondered if it was because she was afraid of him. He saw a flicker of fear flash in her eyes before her speeding off. Was it something he said? Or maybe something she almost said? Brock started devising a series of scenarios and their possible outcomes in his head. Some of those were how to win the cadet's trust further while others were how to take out Jensen without it coming back on HYDRA. Whatever the outcomes would be, he had a year and a half to work out the details before the cadet graduated. He wanted to make sure she got assigned to a pro-HYDRA supervising official with a silver tongue to help get her into their ranks. While he wouldn't mind looking at that nice ass of hers on a daily basis, he absolutely would not allow some newbie into his STRIKE team. Who could be a good enough supervising official candidate?
Brock strode across the parking lot to his truck as he thought.
Another Wednesday. Brock kept his eyes open for his favorite cadet but never saw her. Come to find out, she was allowed an absence following Tuesday afternoon's fit. Davis felt it best the young woman take a day to rest. This just put Brock in a lousy mood for the remainder of the day. During lunchtime, he kept staring distantly at the unoccupied tree where Syra sat. That afternoon during the rest of the classes he was unjustifiably harsh and verbally brutal to the cadets at the firing range. More cadets were brought to tears in those two class periods than he made cry the week prior. It was even enough to make Fredricks concerned.
Another Thursday. Almost done. Just today and tomorrow and done! The weekend was right around the corner and Brock couldn't wait. A few of his STRIKE boys were coming down to join him in his celebrating his freedom from the academy Friday and Saturday night. It was sure to be a fucked-up weekend. Strippers…booze…all night partying… What could go wrong? He hoped he could talk some of the dancers into coming back to the hotel room. That is if the girls weren't stuck up cock teasing prudes like more were than weren't.
Then he saw her; Syra Novak -fuck, Jensen! He noticed other cadets avoid her as they passed her in the hallway. Some would give her questionable backward glances while others would whisper and point in her wake. She was aware of this, and it obviously bothered her. He motioned her to join him off to the side near a large window.
Brock spoke loud enough for the offending cadets nearby to hear. "Don't let them get to you. Fuck 'em. They don't know what it's like having to live with what you've seen…what you've experienced. Because their lives are so damn perfect, right? Like they're ones to judge you." The whole time he spoke, her eyes were downcast or looking out the window. "It's the ones like you that come out the strongest in the end. You might not think it, but eventually, you'll become accustomed the pain. It'll make your stronger…more resilient against it later on down the road. And when that happens, you'll be unstoppable." Syra looked up at the agent with a small shimmer of home. "So keep your head up. Keep your eyes forward. You're a survivor, and that already makes you shit tons stronger than those mother fuckers talking shit. When you walk past them, don't look away in shame. You have nothing to be ashamed of! You stare them straight in the eye; you got that?"
Syra nodded and inhaled a deep breath. After taking a few moments to compose herself, she walked away. She tried to do as Agent Rumlow told her, to stare the others in the eye, but people laughing at her only brought her back down.
Friday. The very last day to be stuck in this shithole. One-thirty in the afternoon, Brock's phone vibrating in his pocket had him digging it out. It was a message from Rollins. He and one other from the team, Clark, had just landed. They were on their way to the hotel that he stayed at. Tonight was going to be a good night, indeed! Brock bit back his excited smile and continued to listen to the Foreign Languages instructor, Agent James Tullos, teach his lesson. At least this instructor was another HYDRA operative. As relieving as that was, the fact the instructor kept kissing ass to Brock was annoying.
By the end of the day, Brock was in the parking lot and looking for that little tan Toyota truck. He made it an attempt in the mornings to locate where she parked and while he had done that that morning, the truck was nowhere to be seen. "Damn. So much for that."
The firing range was tomorrow. She was always at the range on Saturdays for pistol practice. That's it! He'd say his farewells to her tomorrow. Damn that parasite! If only his right state of mind self could see him now. He'd kick his own ass! Hell, if Rollins and Clark saw him right now, they'd kick his ass for him! But they weren't here. Brock set the alarm on his phone to try and wake up around twelve-thirty tomorrow afternoon so he could be at the range by one. Keyword try. He might not be sober, but he'd still try.
Brock arrived at the hotel and rushed to the rooms he had reserved for his two best men. Unfortunately, they were two rooms down from his. Could be worse. He could hear Rollins and Clark talking inside the room and banged on the door. Silence.
The door unlocked and cracked open. A tall black man built like a brick wall answered the door. Brock stood there, arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face. Rollins was heard asking in the background, "Who is it?"
The black man, Clark, answered. "Room service."
Brock laughed out loud. "Oh really? Do I look like room service, mother fucker?"
Clark opened the door and allowed the team leader inside. Rollins was lounged out on the bed and flipping through channels on the TV. Sitting on the nightstand next to him was a bottle of whiskey and shot glass. Brock didn't ask as he made a shot for himself and downed it in one gulp.
Rollins waved a hand in front of his face. "What is that God-awful smell?"
Clark chuckled. "I know, right? If being castrated had a smell, that'd be it!"
Brock gave both men a middle finger in the air. "Which is why I'm ready to get showered and say to hell with the past two weeks! In two hours, I expect to have a hot bitch's tits in my face and her ass in my lap!"
"Hell yeah!" cheered Clark.
Rollins selected a channel featuring a wrestling match. "Just waiting on you, boss."
In twenty minutes' time, Brock was showered, dressed and ready to go. Just like his teammates, he had his pistol tucked away out of sight. No way was he going out unarmed. Since it was still a bit early and time permitted, the three decided on dinner at a steak house up the road from one of several strip clubs in the area.
It bothered Brock how he thought he kept seeing a particular green-eyed brunette amongst the crowd of people at the steakhouse. A second glance showed it was a different brunette. Thinking about it, he wasn't so sure he wanted to leave the academy just yet. Leaving meant no more picking on Cadet Jensen. No more calling her Huggies in front of her classmates…making her subject of his demonstrations during hand to hand combat…hearing her snippy comebacks to his jabs…watching her during lunch…seeing her smile…those eyes… fucking parasite!
Brock forcefully stabbed a piece of steak and shoved it into his mouth.
