25 – Whatever It Takes

Another week passed by and Syra was growing more and more anxious. If the mission kept getting pushed back, then she wouldn't have to worry about the flu-tube as an excuse to get out of class. It would be the summer break and who cared what she did during that time? Two-thirty-one in the afternoon ticked by on the wall clock in her Foreign Language and Deciphering class. This class sucked. It was boring. Her mind wandered about, curious to know what Rumlow was doing at present.

Brock easily avoided a thrown fist aimed at his face and returned his attacker's gesture with a swift punch to the throat. The Middle Eastern mercenary dropped to his knees and gasped for air with both hands around his neck in distress. A handful of his matted black hair was grabbed in a fingerless gloved hand and a knee drove into his nose. Loud crunching sounded on impact as blood gushed down the offending man's thick-bearded face.

The clanking of a grenade rolling into the room got Brock's attention. "Grenade!" he yelled to Lorne and Clark also fighting in the room with him.

Brock yanked the dazed mercenary off the floor and threw him onto the grenade. Before the man knew what was going on, the grenade exploded as the three STRIKE members took cover behind a toppled over desk.

A spitball hit Syra in the face. She glared hatefully in the direction the slobbery mess came from and met the grey eyes of a dirty blond haired young man in his mid-twenties. His choice of a light blue button-down shirt under an open navy-blue suit coat, matching tie and slacks topped off with neatly groomed hair gave him a frat boy appearance. Sad thing was, he always looked like that. Tucked under his arm was a red and white striped straw. Syra knew this particular guy was Charles Bronson, a mischievous pain in the ass who thought he was God's gift to women.

He winked at her and nodded his head. Syra rolled her eyes and returned to working on the class's daily assignment. Another spitball shot in her direction. Oh yeah, he was definitely going to get his ass kicked tomorrow in hand to hand combat class. Since her lessons with Mongoose started, she was a lot more aggressive during her class sessions with Agent Ramirez. Sometimes, she was too rough with her opponents which she didn't mean to be.

As strange as it was for her to admit, she actually wished she was sparring with Goose instead of enduring the drudgery of the class. A good fight sounded fun.

STRIKE watched the bodies, and what remained of one, be loaded into body bags and flown out on a Quinjet. The decoy team was in place and disguised as their false identities. Once the final Turk hideout in Iran was secured, the second jet was boarded and STRIKE headed back for D.C.

Clark unfastened his body vest and dropped it to the floor at his feet. "Hey boss, I'm curious. What would've happened if the Turk was here? I thought your girl was supposed to join us? What happened?"

Brock lounged out in his seat the best he could. "Secretary Pierce thought it was impractical to bring her along on every mission to the raids. Too many missed days at the academy would raise some eyebrows with the board of education directors. Once there's visual confirmation on his location Cadet Jensen will be notified and she brought in."

Clark blinked. "That's it? We do the dirty work, and she just prisses her little ass in and takes the shot? Doesn't get her hands dirty beforehand…just…gets shit handed to her. All because that bastard did HYDRA a favor by ordering the kill shot on Jensen." He shook his head. "That's some bullshit." Clark saw Rumlow appearing disapproving of his statement. "Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against your girl. Personally. Professionally? I think she needs to put in some work, too, if she wants in on the spoils."

Rollins, who had been sitting quietly to himself and wiping dried blood off his pistol, scoffed. "Stop your fucking bitching, Mitch. It's not our place to question the orders, just do as we're told."

Dark brown eyes settled down on their teammate. "Seriously?"

Brock sighed. "Relax! She'll get her chance to prove her worth. Whether it's on the Turk mission or a different one later on down the road after she graduates the academy, I'll personally make sure her hands get dirty."

Rollins held up his pistol in the light to make sure he got all the blood off. "Is that with or without you holding her hand?"

Brock shot the agent a middle finger.

The Quinjet touched down on the Triskelion landing pad where the rest of the aircraft , and the engines shut down. The back hatch opened and STRIKE unloaded with handfuls of issued protective equipment. Brock stood in front of Rollins to stop him in his place. "What the fuck is your issue with Sy, huh?"

"We've had this talk before," snarled Rollins.

"Well, it's time for another one. So, talk."

Hazel eyes rolled in their sockets in annoyance. He knew there was no getting out of this conversation. "Lise."

"Your little sister? Okay, what about her?"

"Jensen is just like her. The anxiety, an easy target for HYDRA to prey on, her personality…"

Brock squinted in bafflement and cocked his head to the side. "You hate Sy because she reminds you of Lise?" Rollins didn't respond. The STRIKE lead wasn't expecting to stab at a sore spot in his best man and took a minute to read the other's body language. "That's not all of it…is it? You hate her because you don't want to get too attached to her. It would be like losing Lise all over again if something happened to her."

"I hate her because she adapted; because she's stronger than Lise! Because no matter how much I want to see her fail, she doesn't."

Brock shook his head. "But you don't hate her. Do you? You don't want to see her fail, either, or else you wouldn't have called her and warned her about Goose." Rollins' harsh scowl burned into his team leader. "She's not the enemy here, Jack. She lost her entire family to HYDRA, too. Yet, here she is willing to fight alongside us."

Rollins scoffed. "No, Brock. She's here to use us to get what she wants! Once she gets to pull the trigger on the Turk, I can already see her blowing the whistle on us and on HYDRA to Director Fury. Just watch." Rollins shouldered past Brock and returned to the armory for equipment check-in.

The days fell in line one after another too slowly for anyone's liking. Then one night, came the call. Brock had just come out of the shower after a three-hour long work-out at the gym and thought for a moment it was Syra calling him. His pleasant smile dropped the moment he saw Pierce's name flash on his cell phone's screen. "Rumlow."

"Decoy Bravo has reported confirmation on the target. He just landed outside his villa in a personal helicopter with his wife." Pierce could clearly visualize the excitement on the agent's face. "Do what you need to and report in. Be ready for deployment in twelve-hours."

"And the cargo?"

Pierce was silent a moment. "Prep the cargo."

"Yes, sir." Brock ended the call and cheered to himself. He hurriedly brought up Syra's number.

Syra swapped Q-tips up her bloody nostrils and examined at her bruised face in the mirror. Oh, she looked absolutely stunning. There was a swollen cut along her hairline, and another above her already scarred left eye-brow. Standing in her bathroom's doorway was Mongoose looking pleased with himself.

Syra shot him a corner eyed smirk. "Going easy on me, now?"

Mongoose crossed his muscular arms over his chest. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't break my nose! You only bloodied it!"

The man stood upright and popped his knuckles. "I can fix that if you're complaining."

Syra tossed a bloodied Q-tip at him the other one into the trash beside the toilet. She was about to replace them when her cell phone started ringing in the living room. It was Rumlow's ringtone, and she almost slipped on the slick tile floor scrambling to answer it. "Shit, shit, shit! Brock is calling!" Mongoose sidestepped to allow the woman out. She fumbled with the phone and answered it. "Hey, baby!"

Hearing his girl happy further brightened his mood. "There's my girl! How have you been?"

"Doing better now that you've called."

Brock's smile faltered as he got to the point of his phone call. "I wish you were here. It's supposed to be a beautiful sunrise, tomorrow."

Mongoose watched the school girl sparkle dim from the woman's eyes and her overall expression turn woeful. Syra closed her eyes and deeply inhaled a breath. "Is that what the weatherman just said?"

"Yeah."

Syra's head dropped. "I should get some rest. I have a busy day tomorrow."

"Get some sleep, babe. I'll call you tomorrow night."

The young woman wasn't sure how long she stood there with the phone pressed against her ear after the call was ended. Mongoose approached her with the flu-tube in his hand. She took it and weakly laughed. "Here's to that beautiful sunrise."

Two forty-eight in the morning and Syra couldn't sleep. Her head was pounding, her sinuses congested and her throat scratchy. Within three hours, she couldn't decide if she was hot or cold. She'd wrap herself up tight in her blankets because holy shit hypothermia only to toss them off minutes later as sweat poured off her body. It didn't help she couldn't stop coughing, sneezing, blowing her nose…which only started up nosebleeds…or even get comfortable.

Syra rolled her sore and aching body out of bed and dragged it to the bathroom. She started the shower for what she hoped would relax her before needing to report into the academy. While sick and almost incapable of physically moving, she still had to show her face for roll call. From there, she would be excused to the academy infirmary for analysis. It'd be determined she was, in fact, sick with the flu and no doubt be discharged for the next three days. How she was supposed to carry out the Turk mission was beyond her. Maybe she'd be lucid enough to kill that-not wait. She would. She had to be. Like hell, a little flu was going to keep her from her revenge.

Come eight-o-clock, she was sitting in her first class of the day and struggling to stay focused. If it wasn't for Mongoose driving her to the academy, she was sure she wouldn't have made it in at all. He didn't seem like such a bad guy after they warmed up to the other. She coughed. Wait, never mind. Trying to cough with the bruised ribs he gave her during yesterday's lesson hurt like hell.

Just like what Syra expected, she was released from class to go to the infirmary. The second her test results came back positive with the flu, Syra found herself almost pushed out of the door with a medical prescription in hand. Director Davis was standing in the hallway and waiting for her. He wordlessly motioned she follow him to his office, and she did.

The door was closed behind them, and Davis spoke. "Such a shame you will not be attending classes for the next three days. As bright as you are, it shouldn't take you long to catch up on your homework."

Syra deviously grinned and sneezed. "Sometimes, shit happens we can't control." She reached into her grim reaper hoodie's pocket and took out the metal tube sealed in a plastic baggie.

Davis took it without question. "Go home and take these next three days to get better." There was a sly glint in his dark eyes. "I trust you have a ride home?"

"Goose is waiting in the parking lot. We knew it wouldn't take long for my dismissal." Syra left the office and shuffled to her truck and loaded into the passenger seat. She didn't make it far down the road before she was asleep.

Night fell over the east coast. STRIKE secured themselves inside the Quinjet for their next 'training' assignment. The aircraft lifted off the ground, leaving Pierce standing nearby and watching. Next stop, the academy.

If it weren't for something as important as the long-awaited mission, Syra wouldn't have gotten out of bed. She slid into her black cargo pants, black tank top, and bloodstained grim reaper hoodie. Next, she put on her pistol's empty thigh holster and attached her two additional magazine cases to her belt.

Standing aside and watching her prepare was Fredricks. Thrown over his shoulder was her AS50 rifle case and in his other hand was her pistol case. "Are you ready, my dear?"

Syra tied up her boot laces and shoved her phone in a pants pocket. "You bet your fucking ass I am."

Fredricks handed her firearms and helped her to his car. The young woman's mind was so distracted by her excitement that she could care less how sick she was. The red Acura pulled into the academy student parking lot where a Quinjet sat like a shadow waiting for them. Slowly, the back hatch opened and out emerged Brock.

Fredricks pulled up as close as he could to the aircraft so Syra wouldn't have so far to walk.

Brock walked towards the young woman hoping for a hug but got punched in the face instead. "Fuck your beautiful sunrise," she spat through an incoming sneeze tickling her nostrils.

The STRIKE lead massaged his jaw and smiled to himself. "It's good to see you too, babe."

As Syra forced her weary body up the ramp, her eyes locked onto Rollins'. She made an effort to walk right past him and without warning, released her pent-up sneeze right on him.

"Mother fucker!" Rollins fought with his seat's restraints and lunged for the laughing woman. It took Brock and Clark together to hold him back. "I'm going to kick your fucking ass, bitch!"

Syra shot him two middle fingers. "That's for setting me up for all those ass whoopings with Mongoose because of your shitty advice."

Brock harshly shoved Rollins back in his seat. "Alright, enough you two!" He pointed at Syra, "You," then to an empty seat next to his unoccupied one, "sit!" The back hatch was closed, and the aircraft lifted into the late night sky.

Where she sat placed her directly across the aircraft from Rollins. She gave the enraged agent a taunting smirk as she put her rifle and pistol under her seat. Her focus on his was quickly ripped off Rollins by a paralyzing pain stabbing her in the neck. Syra clutched at the source of the pain to feel a syringe and Brock's hand wrapped around it. "What the fuck?"

"Your cure." The syringe was discarded in an empty biohazard container under his seat. "Everyone else has been inoculated should someone happen to catch your sickness." He sat down next to the woman to see her back to smirking at Rollins.

Syra scoffed. "How effective is it?"

The STRIKE lead's expression was deadpan. "Pretty effective."

"That's too bad." Ten minutes passed by and Syra was unconscious due to the injection she was given. Her lobbing head eventually crashed on Brock's shoulder.

Brody chuckled. "That's her? That's your girl?"

Brock stared at his teammate in warning. "What about it?"

"You better marry that ass, bro. That's a real fucking unicorn, right there."

Rollins jeered. "I hate unicorns."

The interior of the dimly lit Quinjet was quiet except for Clark's snoring. Lorne cracked a devious smile and felt around in a pocket of his cargo pants. A bag of salted peanuts was taken out, and the bag opened. Several peanuts were poured into Lorne's hand and one at a time were thrown at Clark's open mouth. Brody snickered to himself. Twelve peanuts later and one made it into the sleeping agent's mouth. Clark started to cough in his sleep and quickly woke up. Lorne and Brody boisterously laughed as the peanut was eventually coughed up.

Clark wheezed and looked at the offensive food stuff in his hand. "What the fuck?"

Lorne popped several peanuts into his mouth and sneered. "You were warned, before. If you kept sleeping with your mouth open that you'd wake up to my salty nuts in your mouth."

"Fuck you, asshole."

Brock laughed to himself. "Be glad it was just his nuts and not his dick."

Syra grumbled and rubbed her groggy eyes. "Is this what you people do before missions?" She realized she was cuddled up against the STRIKE lead and blushed. When she tried to sit up, the weight of his arm around her shoulders kept her in place. Obviously, he wanted to keep her at his side. Syra blushed a bit more. "How much further do we have to go?"

"Another hour, give or take a few minutes. How do you feel?"

Syra stretched the best she could in the awkward position she was in. "Better. I still have a headache and some congestion, though." Regardless if Brock wanted her close or not, she needed to sit up and did so, but not without noticing the sad like look in his eyes. "What's the plan? How is this going to go down?"

Rollins answered. It surprised Syra, as she thought he was asleep judging by his semi lounged out and head laid back position. "You stay in the Quinjet like a good little girl while we do all the dirty work." A hazel eye cracked open to stare venomously at the young woman. "When it's your turn, someone will come to get you and hold your hand, so you don't hurt yourself."

Syra smiled just as hatefully as Rollins scowled. "Aww, are you volunteering? That's so sweet."

Clark didn't bother hiding a shit-eating grin. "That's what I heard."

Brock interrupted the moment to avoid having to break up another fight. "My men know the plan. What Rollins said is…mostly right. You will be required to stay back and away from the main fighting. After the decoy team and STRIKE have the area and the primary target secured, that's when you get to do your thing." Syra looked disappointed. "What?"

"I can help from a distance."

Rollins barked, "No!"

Brock wanted to know what was going through his girl's head. "Like how?"

Jade green eyes were deadpan in expression. "Really? I'm a fucking sniper, Brock. I'm not going to sit in this fucking plane playing Go Fish with a babysitter while you and your boys have all the fun."

Brock blinked. Clark looked between his team lead and the cadet. The STRIKE lead sat up straighter and stared in warning at the young woman. "If something happens to you, it's my ass. Secretary Pierce already has my discharge papers written up and is waiting to process them, just knowing you're going to fuck this up somehow. Like hell, I'm going to let you ruin my life!"

Syra patted the man on the leg. "Good thing ruining your life isn't in my plans, tonight. The Turk's, yes, but not yours."

Brock shook his head in refusal. "Your ass is staying back."

"Well being a sniper, I'd prefer staying back. I mean, I don't really see too many snipers getting all up close and personal with their targets."

"Stop being a smartass. You heard me, and that's final."

Syra shrugged. "Stop being a smartass. Got it." She shot the unamused agent a teasing wink.

The Quinjet pilot loudly announced to the passengers, "ETA fifty-minutes."

Syra drug her weapon cases out from under her seat and prepped her pistol first. Once it was loaded and ready to go, it was secured within her thigh holster. Her green eyes lit up with morbid delight as she started to prep her rifle, next.

Brock was conflicted. Seeing his little Huggies willingly and excitedly going into her first bloodbath of a mission had him oddly aroused. At the same time, he was genuinely curious to know what it was going through that pretty little-broken head of hers. What did she have in mind for the Turk? How was she going to off him? In the head, between the eyes with her pistol? With her rifle? From a distance sniper style? The mental images playing out in his head further riled him up. With that look in her eye, he wouldn't doubt it if she decided to stain her precious grim reaper hoodie with the Turk's blood to go along with her deceased husband's.

Across the aircraft, Rollins observed the two lovers. The STRIKE lead was staring in silent awe at the young woman as she wiped down her rifle like a butcher readying their best cleaver before a slaughter. The only question was, just how brutal was the butcher's slaughter going to be? Was she going to bleed the pig out before carving him up? Or just end it all with a bullet to the head? He'd find out in a couple of hours' time, as would anyone else pondering the same thing.