A New Player Appears

2:30 PM

"Deputy Director Victoria Hand. I like it. It has a nice ring to it." Coulson smiled and patted the newly appointed Deputy on the back.

"Thank you, Coulson." Hand sighed and placed a box filled with her work related belongings on her shiny new desk. It, thankfully, wasn't Hill's old office, but the one next to it. She started pulling things out of it and placing them on the desk. "I only wish it came under… better circumstances."

Coulson grimaced. It sounded like she was taking this especially hard, though she would never admit it. It was hard to imagine that Victoria Hand was a woman with a heart of flesh, not ice. It was hard to imagine that she could actually develop a relationship with another human being that was completely devoid of work related issues. It was hard to imagine that she cared about anyone.

It was hard to imagine a lot of things about her, but his views changed when she placed a framed phone on the corner of her desk, the actual photo facing toward her. Her black eyes lingered on the photo; they steadily grew red, and threatened to unleash a deluge if she didn't stop looking at said photo.

She managed to tear her gaze from it and look at Coulson coldly. Unintentionally, he was certain, but necessarily to maintain the illusion that she was just fine. He played along. "About Carter's conspiratorial ramblings?"

"I'll keep it to myself." It hadn't taken her long to learn her lesson. The last thing anyone wanted was another agent being shot up, ifwhat Carter said was true. Which, at this point, was a tossup. Coulson wasn't sure what side of the fence he resided on.

A pregnant silence filled the air. Victoria busied herself with filling out the rest of the empty space on her desk, while Phil was just standing there awkwardly with his hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes, every so often, darted toward the frame on the corner. His curiosity over what about it made her so emotional finally got the better of him. His reached over and picked it up.

It was a photo of Victoria and Maria at the SHIELD Christmas party three years ago. Barton and Romanoff had made everyone where those godawful Christmas sweaters that were ugly, itchy and a size too big on everyone. Romanoff claimed to have knitted each and every one of them by hand as a means to guilt everyone into wearing them all night out of fear of upsetting her.

He, of course, didn't believe her, and found dozens of store tags in the garbage as proof. She, of course, threatened to tell everyone about the Captain America shrine that he kept hidden behind a false wall in his closet if he didn't keep his trap closed. He hadn't told a soul about it. The sweaters, that was.

"I still have that sweater," Hand commented.

Coulson chuckled. "I have mine, too. Maybe I'll dust it off this upcoming Christmas." He looked at the picture again. Their smiles were so wide and happy; wider and happier than he had ever seen out of either of them. It was a joyous occasion, but seeing them all but grinning for the camera was a little jarring.

He returned the photo back to its place and slid his hand back into his pocket. "Well, I won't hold you up any longer," he said quietly.

Hand flashed a tight, resigned smile and watched him take his leave.

"So, what kind of compensation are we going to get here, Trent?" he heard someone who sounded like Rumlow demand from Trent's office. He couldn't hear Trent's response, but it apparently wasn't what Rumlow wanted to hear. "One of my men almost died because you're too afraid that someone will talk!"

"Keep your voice down, Rumlow," he heard Trent reprimand.

"…what about Rollins?! He got shot in the stomach cleaning up your mess, and now he's barely hanging on by a thread…!"

Coulson probably shouldn't have been listening, but this sounded interesting. He pressed himself by the door, out of the doorway and out of their lines of vision, and listened carefully.

"This wasn't just my mess, but SHIELD's in general," Trent explained calmly. "We couldn't afford for that information to get out. Now look, I'm sorry Rollins was shot, but if you ask him, I'm sure he'll agree with me."

"Yeah, I'm so sure. Just remember Trent, if this gets found out, by anyone, you're on your own. I will not allow you to throw anyone on my team under the bus. You got that?"

Rumlow sounded incensed.

Coulson heard Trent exhale heavily, too heavily to be a sigh but just as frustrated. "Fine. I hear you. If you'll excuse me."

Coulson moved down the hall and made like he was only just then passing by when Rumlow stormed out of Trent's office. The man looked more enraged than he sounded, which was saying a lot. Mumbled curses tumbled out of his tightly pressed lips. He spared Coulson only a single, sharp glance before vanishing in a throng of agents.

Coulson watched him for as long as he could before turning away and continuing to his post.

"Excuse me? Is Director Trent's office near here?"

Coulson turned around and did a double take to make sure he was seeing correctly. There a female agent, with blonde her kept back in a tight bun, and a very tight black business suit that showed ample cleavage, approaching him. Her ruby red lips curled into a smile as a pair of gorgeous ocean blue watched him expectantly. In her hand, tucked closely to her chest, was a leather portfolio with the SHIELD logo imprinted on the front.

"Ah, eyes. I mean, yes. Right here." He gestured to the door Rumlow had just exited so abruptly. "I'm Agent Phil Coulson, by the way. Are you a new recruit?"

"Agent Octavia Sanders, transfer from the Sandbox," she explained while shaking his hand firmly. A reserved New Jersey accent spiced her words slightly.

"Ah, a pleasure to meet you, Agent Sanders. Director Trent should still be in there."

"Good, he's waiting for me. Thanks."

Coulson didn't want to, but he couldn't help himself. He watched her walk at a brisk pace to and inside Trent's office, and was glad that he did. He sighed as he observed her curvaceous figure stride toward, and then into, Trent's office. He didn't dare to blink until the door slid closed.

"She's taking Hand's old job, if you wondering," May informed from behind him. He didn't want to admit that he jumped slightly. "Oh, did I interrupt the viewing party?" she asked in an innocent tone when he turned to glare at her.

"What viewing party?" he countered smoothly. "Is Barnes in Chicago, yet?"

May smirked and walked in stride with him toward his post. "Not yet, but within an hour or so. Oh, and you'll find this weird. I did a little digging in the past hour, and found Hill's cousin Joseph." She handed him her phone, which already had the man's information on display.

A redheaded man with a scar across his left eye and cold, dead green eyes stared back a Coulson. "Huh. Guess he really does exist. How come she never mentioned him?"

May shrugged and took her phone back. "Hill never talked about her family." No one ever did. Not really, anyway. Families were a universal kryptonite for SHIELD agents.

Coulson was silent. As much as he wanted to find her cousin and question him, he didn't want to interfere in the investigation, nor did he want to bring up any bad memories. The man had been in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person, and had very nearly paid the ultimate price for it. Whoever killed Hill wasn't to be messed with, not by a civilian. And not by civilian cops. "Did SHIELD fully take over the investigation? As in no interference from local PD at all?"

"Sounds like it." May seemed to be reading his mind. "We'll get them, Phil. If it's a rogue military group or some terrorist organization, they won't get away with this." She touched his arm lightly, and felt whatever tension he had been feeling dissipate.

"I know," he agreed. "It's just… I left at 10:30 or so, and she was dead ten minutes later." His throat grew tight with a lump that he couldn't swallow away. "I told her about your little wager." A soft smile grew at May's guilty exhale. "She was so mad."

"Phil, stop," she warned gently. "This isn't doing you any good."

"Yeah. Yeah, it isn't. I'm sorry."

May sighed and considered him gently. "It's okay to grieve for a friend. But don't blame yourself. You didn't know, you couldn't have known. Don't pretend like you could."

May knew something about guilt, so when she spoke, he listened. "I know you're right," he admitted.

"Okay, then. Let the agents handling the investigation do their jobs. Hill will get her justice."

He scrubbed his face for a moment and nodded. "Thank you," he said honestly before disappearing inside the security room to begin his assignment for that afternoon.

May kept her eyes on the door for a long moment, as if watching him through x-ray vision before vanishing in a crowd of agents herself.