11 – Love, Hate, and Dried Blood

A heart monitor's steady rhythmic beeping was all Brock had to let him know his little Huggies was still alive. Her breathing was shallow and her color dreadfully pale, even after a blood transfusion. He knew when she woke up, she was going to receive more bad news on top of knowing her husband was deceased. During the events of the hostage situation in downtown, it was quickly learned of her and her instructor's fraternization. Not just a fraternization, but secret and greatly unauthorized marriage. When Brock was questioned regarding his knowledge of the fraternization, he denied everything. He just didn't lie to protect the cadet, but more to protect himself. If he confessed to knowing the truth, he'd get more than a slap across the hands and a two-week long punishment of academy instructions and morale speeches. Bye-bye career. Maybe one of his HYDRA connections with power could pull the right strings to keep him in. It was that same connection he hoped could save the cadet's blossoming career. She saved his life, after all, and took a bullet because of.

He owed her one.

Brock held her frail hand in his and caressed the area around the IV with his thumb. She risked her life for him. The crazy, beautifully broken young woman saved him. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips against her bruised knuckles. He recognized bruising like this. There was no question she received them when she knocked out the SHIELD agent standing guard in a parking garage. Brock smiled to himself. The incident was just one of many demerits against her that edged her closer to dishonorable agency discharge. Fraternization, disobeying a direct order by a senior field agent as well as assaulting a field agent was just the main no-nos.

Did no one stop to think of the good she did? She overcame a disability to do what was necessary. Aside from that, she put aside her personal affections for one to help save the lives of both SHIELD agents and civilians. Even after getting injured, something he knew would set off all sorts of PTSD issues, she was willing to do what was necessary. And she was only, what? Twenty years old? Fuck… thinking about it, he was robbing the cradle, wasn't he? Here he was in his mid-forties and pining over some girl barely in her twenties.

His face crashed to the bed in the realization of how horrible his predicament must look. "Ugh…I hate you so much right now," he groaned into the bedsheet.

"I hate you, too."

The breathless response had Brock's head jerking upright to see weary half-lidded eyes stare back at him. Something fluttered in his gut that made him feel like a little boy, again. What should he be bothered by the most? How much older he was than her? The fact he was still there? Or how he couldn't deny to himself how strongly he felt for her? He then became aware he still held her hand and slowly released it. He could only cross his fingers she didn't notice.

Brock cocked a half smile. "Welcome back. How do you feel?"

Syra licked her dry lips and swallowed. "Like shit."

"That's different from any other day, how?" The young woman didn't answer. She closed her eyes and deeply inhaled. "My condolences for your loss."

Syra scoffed. "Cut the shit, Agent Rumlow. You hated Mikel, and we both know it."

Brock leaned back in his chair. "Not everyone will get along on the worksite, no matter where that is. Regardless, he was damn good at what he did."

"Why are you still here, anyway?"

The agent scoffed. "I'm under investigation. My whole team is. As such, we're to remain in the area until the investigation is concluded, whether good or bad."

Syra struggled to keep her emotions in check. "You must've pissed off the wrong people somewhere."

"I usually do," Brock laughed. "The same people you pissed off, yourself." A labored sob escaped the woman. "You know you're in a shit ton of trouble, right?"

"What punishment am I looking at?"

"Punishment? Or punishments? There are multiple counts of fuck you working against your favor right now. The biggest one is fraternization…"

Syra wiped at the tears hanging on her eyelashes. "It wasn't just fraternizing. I loved him. The academy and higher-ups can do whatever they want to me. Expel me, whatever. I don't care." Her eyes hardened and lips pursed. "I don't regret falling in love with Mikel nor do I regret marrying him three months ago. A person can't control who they fall in love with. They can try to lie to themselves, but it's only a matter of time before they succumb to the inevitable."

Brock listened, concentrated eyes fixed on the woman. How the truth of the woman's words struck him. Someone knocking on the hospital room's door halted any other words the two were going to say. Brock got up and answered the door to see Fredricks. Standing behind him were Rollins and Clark. There was a smug grin on Fredricks' face, the STRIKE agent knowing it was because of Jensen's death. Toted in one of his hands was Jensen's AS50 rifle case.

The academy instructor straightened his expression. "How's the girl?"

"She's awake." Brock stood aside so Fredricks could enter the room. He gave a nod to his two team members to wait in the hallway.

Fredricks did so and cautiously. He waved his fingers at Syra and sat the rifle case down beside her. Syra reached out for the item with a trembling hand and solemnly accepted it. She tried to open it the best she could with no success. With some help from Brock, the case was opened and the rifle exposed. Portions of it were still caked in blood, which further fueled the emotional turmoil inside the young woman.

It pained Brock to see her so wrought with grief. Sure, presenting her her slain husband's rifle still caked in his blood was a dangerous move, but a move Brock thought the right push towards his carefully orchestrated plans. "I can see you're hurting, and not from that gunshot either." He pointed at her shoulder. "You want to find the son of a bitch that did this, don't you?" He studied the enraged young woman's slimming downgaze. "The man responsible for ordering the shot that killed Jensen is still out there. He got away from us." Still no change in the woman's demeanor. "I might know some people…some pretty powerful people…that can help you get your revenge." He thumped the stock of the AS50. "With you being the one to pull the trigger on the bastard that gave the kill order on your husband."

Syra's fists and jaw muscles clenched simultaneously. Her gaze forced off the bloody rifle and back to the STRIKE agent. A slight shift in visual observation showed Rollins and Clark standing in the hallway and watching through the room's large window. The young woman thought deeply on the words.

Her expression wrinkled in mild disgust and disapproval. Jade green eyes met light brown. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" No verbal answer was needed for the malicious glint in Brock's eye, and the smirk on his face spoke loudly enough. "Something tells me this wouldn't be a SHIELD-sanctioned mission."

Brock shook his head. "No, it wouldn't. It would be through someone else… a stronger organization. They can make it happen for you, Sy, and my men and I will be there to help."

She thought she knew what was being proposed. When he mentioned influential people, she wondered who, exactly, those people were. Perhaps it better she didn't know. All she could think of, at the moment, was the pain still bleeding out of her from the loss of Mikel. She closed her eyes as her lips pressed into a deep frown. Her body lightly trembled in rage with the overwhelming desire to have her revenge. The taste of bile rose to her throat, but she refused to be sick. She wanted revenge. She wanted to kill whatever big boss man it was that arranged the whole hostage situation that resulted in her husband's death.

When she opened her eyes, she looked at the STRIKE agent next to her. She growled in response. "Tell whoever it is you need to tell...I want that fucker dead."

Brock nodded in approval. "Consider it done." He studied the woman glaring up at him. She ran a weak hand along the rifle, not caring about the patches of dried blood painting the barrel and stock. "It's a good look for you," he stated with a grin and walked away. He joined Rollins and Clark in the hallway. "Now to pay Secretary Pierce a visit when I get back to D.C."


Come Wednesday and Syra was finally released from the hospital at eight in the morning. Thanks to Agent Rumlow, she had a clean set of clothes to change into. A black tank top, sweatpants and slip on shoes waited for her at the foot of her bed.

It completely took her by surprise to see Agent Davis the one picking her up. She nervously and awkwardly walked to his dark red Chrysler 300 parked under the patient pick-up overhang. Davis offered a hand in assistance as she got into the front seat.

Syra just knew this was going to be the talk of her academy dismissal and braced herself for it. Davis got in the front seat and started the engine. His sly smile and dark eyes held a novel's worth of secrets she dared not inquire about. "I'm sure you're ready to get home."

Syra stared questionably at the academy director. "Let's just skip the chit-chat and cut straight to the part where you tell me I'm expelled."

Davis's smile only widened, and his hand rested on her knee. "I guess you haven't heard the news, then." He waited before continuing to watch the mix of facial expressions morph the young woman's face. "Agent Rumlow put in a good argument for you to the right people in a phone conference. You see, those people we work for, fight for their own. You saved Agent Rumlow's life. You have his utmost respect. That is something not easily achieved. As such, he convinced some higher-ups in D.C. to grant you pardon on your…offenses."

Syra's brow furrowed and eyes cut down on the academy director. "Offenses?"

Davis put his car in gear and drove away from the hospital as he explained on the way to the academy.

Once they arrived at the academy, Syra was startled. "What are we doing here? Am I to resume my classes or something?"

Davis laughed and waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, no. Not at all. The hospital has insisted you remain on bedrest for the rest of the week. Depending on how your check-up goes next Monday morning, you might be allowed to resume your training then. Of course, you'll be exempt from participating in certain classes like hand to hand combat and firing range practice. Don't want to hurt yourself further, now do you?" Syra rolled her eyes and grumbled. "We're here because Agent Jensen's employee locker needs to be cleaned out. I felt it best you be the one to do so, given your relation to him." Davis stopped the young woman from leaving the car by grabbing her wrist. He politely asked with his eyes she remained inside the car a little bit longer. "About your husband's funeral…" Syra studied the director with keen jade eyes. "There's a reason why I pushed to have you discharged from the hospital early. You weren't supposed to be released until Friday. His funeral will be held tomorrow afternoon at two-o-clock."

Syra nodded and left the car. She proceeded through the academy faculty parking lot and to the front glass doors of the central building. She stopped just inside the central lobby, however, when she saw Agent Rumlow and his two STRIKE team members standing nearby. Unblinking jade green eyes locked onto brown ones.

A tingle ran down Brock's spine. There was no fear or nervousness in those eyes. There were no tears, no sadness…just hate. Pure, unbridled hate and a hungry lust for revenge. That look in her eye was enough to stir some excitement within his pants. His mind went straight to a place he wasn't ashamed to think about. Nothing felt better than angry sex, make-up sex or rough animalistic get it out of the system sex. He wondered which one she would be at that moment; number one or number three? He imagined those nails of hers raking down his back as he buried himself further between those thighs…hearing her moan his name… The memory of the smell of her hair and the feel of her body pressed against him made the fly of his pants feel more constricting. He wanted her. No. He needed her. Brock watched the woman proceed through the academy lobby and pay no nevermind to the stares and whispers in her wake.

Clark snickered at his team leader. "If that isn't the most obvious 'I want to fuck the hell out of you' face, then I don't know what is."

Rollins stared placidly at Brock. "Seriously? Jensen's body isn't even cold, yet, and you've got that pussy on the brain?"

Clark laughed louder. "You kidding me? He wanted to tap that ass before Jensen was killed."

Brock didn't say a thing. He followed behind the cadet and Davis to the second floor where the employee lockers were. There was a men's and a women's side. Syra stood motionless before the men's locker room door.

Brock took one look at Syra and then to Davis. The director gave a subtle nod of his head to the agent. Brock understood and softly stated to the young woman, "Wait here. I'll make sure it's clear, first." With that, he disappeared behind the closing door. He emerged thirty seconds later for an all clear. Syra fought back the tears swelling in her eyes and followed the agent into the locker room. Sitting on a bench in front of Jensen's sealed locker was an empty box. She released a labored exhalation. Brock patted her on her uninjured shoulder in comfort. "I'll leave you to it."

"Stay." The hastily spoken word stopped Brock in his tracks. He forced a weak smile and leaned against the lockers beside her to observe her.

For several seconds the woman stood there, staring at the locker reading Jensen. Above the handle was a password encrypted keypad. The memory of the day she programmed the code ripped her insides apart.

She had snuck into the locker room to find the place empty shy of one person. She tried to sneak up on him, but what good that did. Jensen had her in a chokehold, playfully threatening to rat her out to Agent Davis. She knew he wouldn't. That was when he decided to change the code on his locker seeing how it was in need of it. Upon clearing the last code out, he let her key the new one in. He took her hand in his and used her finger to press the numbers for the new code. When asked what the number was of, he told her; the day of their first meeting.

Agent Rumlow's voice sounding outside brought Syra out of her memory trance. "You okay, there, Cadet?"

Syra didn't answer. Using the same finger Mikel had, she entered the number code. The locker clicked open and with an unsteady hand, opened the locker. There were no pictures taped to the inside of the door or anything suggesting his personal involvement with her. From there, it was emptying the locker of what few items there were; a clean change of clothes, running shoes, and a towel.

On the top shelf was a shoe box. Syra tried to reach for it, hissing at the sharp stab of pain in her left shoulder. Brock helped get the box down and handed it to her. She weakly smiled at the warmth those tough boy eyes enveloped her in. Had she not have been married to Mikel in the past or mourning his passing, she would've taken up the offer he only visually relayed to her. Syra brought her mind back her present task and opened the shoe box. It contained several toiletries.

Minutes later, she finished cleaning out the locker. She left the room with the box of stuff in her hands, knowing she shouldn't be carrying the weight. The pain tearing through her shoulder that radiated through her chest, left arm and upper back was agonizing. She only used this physical pain to nurture her deepening desire to pull the trigger on the enemy boss man.

Syra strode through the academy and to Agent Rumlow's truck. She didn't ask for a ride, nor did he offer. He didn't need to. Rollins and Clark got into the backseat, and both stared at the young woman. Clark nodded in approval to his team leader's reflection in the rearview mirror. Rollins made a gun with his hand and aimed it at the back of the front seat. He didn't trust her and wouldn't until she proved she could be a trusted ally for HYDRA.