The beginning of the end came unexpectedly. It was on a trip to Argentina when two guys kept pestering Owen regarding his funding a supposed can't-loose business venture. She intervened expecting it to be short and one-sided. She was sadly mistaken. The two tag-teamed effectively with hard punches and kicks landing right and left. One punch landed squarely near her left eye, and the surrounding tissue immediately swelled. Both her depth perception and peripheral vision were negatively affected. She should have grabbed Owen and made a dash for a more public space; she did not. Instead she swung wildly, and her adversaries sensed an opening to take her out of the fight. One from behind hugged her whole body just below her shoulders freezing her arm movement, while the other closed in for a flurry of painful jabs to her abs, chest, and face.
A couple hard heel stomps to the feet of the guy hugging her quickly curtailed his involvement, but the guy in front was still pounding away at point blank range. Through the veil of her collapsing vision, she could see his fists becoming tinged with red from rivulets of blood trickling down her face. This was not going well, and the only option was the knife. The choice was a death plunge or something else. She chose a slashing strike connecting with his forearm resulting in a large torrent of red and a terrifying scream. He immediately disengaged leaving her a weary sullied survivior and Owen stunned like never before.
By any account this was not what Owen bargained for. Lethal force was clearly called for, and she had not performed. When they got back to the hotel, her face was turning an array of colors beyond anything Owen had seen before. He suggested going to a clinic; she refused. His trust was clearly shaken and quickly left her alone to attend to her many bruises. The next morning he announced they were leaving that afternoon, and that's when the shouting commenced. He was incensed by her inaction and demanded an explanation. The state of her face even after hours of TLC left no doubt she had almost failed him. Instead, she pointed out that her stamina to keep up the fight had distracted his assailants from their primary target- him. How she chose to protect him was none of his business, and unless her eyes deceived her, he was no less handsome or free than yesterday. What happened to her was really beside the point.
That afternoon at the airport she dodged concerns over her facial trauma as side effects from recent cosmetic surgery. Just before landing, Owen fired her. He wasn't paying for close calls. She had heard him end partnerships before and wasn't surprised by his cold demeanor. No mention was made of their past intimacy, and they parted at the airport without even a hug or a handshake. In the taxi on the ride home she knew it was for the best. He wanted an assassin slumming it as a bodyguard. Perhaps it was her NYPD training, but jumping to lethal force when other measures were available was an compromise she could not make
The next week Kate insisted that the urgent meeting called by her Gamma liaison be held at her place. Her face was not fit for public viewing even with sunglasses, a covering scarf, and a floppy hat. When her handler arrived, one look explained her insistence. They reviewed Owen's feedback, and though Kate considered some of his report more alarmist than accurate, she did not disagree with the basic facts. The handler was not pleased. The choices were stark. Quit or attend a remedial camp. A camp, her handler hastened to add, where the staff would be predisposed to make things exceedingly difficult.
For the first time in her professional career, the subject of her age came up and not in a good way. The job was for the young, and perhaps it was time for her to consider closing this chapter of her life. As her handler explained, most didn't get the kind of rude awakening she got, but age is a capricious culprit few can outrun. Kate was more than a tad bit upset by this unexpected notion. It irked her because once confidence was lost, it would be a mammoth task to regain it. Once again, her agent bravado clashed with what the mirror showed plain as day.
Kate's response was defiant. "Where is this camp? How long does it last? I have done very well in these trials before and can do so again. Perhaps you are unaware that I was unknowingly sold to a real fight club where punishment was quickly doled out for failure. Alone with just one way to avoid punishment, I persevered. The camp maybe a tough slog, but it cannot be worse than that."
Her contact's response was not encouraging. "I don't know much about these camps. Most times no one is recommended for reinstatement, and they set it up as a competition from the moment you arrive. That creates some very unpleasant dynamics among the attendees. I know you have a high opinion of your ability to handle adversity, but why commit to such a grueling challenge where the chances of success are slim to none?"
By the time her handler left, Kate was both perturbed and unsettled. Neither choice was appealing. Her emotions favored attending the camp and proving them wrong. Her brain felt the demonstration was futile since it would not lead to the reinstatement she coveted. She had a momentous decision to make, and a sounding board would be welcome. That would require a level of candor she had not contemplated since her partial attempt with Jason. Right now, the only candidate to consider was Karl.
His observation of her expertise at the combat club must have left him wondering. It would be nearly impossible to dismiss what he witnessed as the actions of a zealous amateur. Her reveal would start with a test. She would call to suggest their first ever fight. She reasoned that a taste of her brutality would leave him either running for the exits or curious. If he walked away, nothing really was divulged. If he stayed, she could proceed slowly and stop if his demeanor transformed into either fright or repugnance.
She set the fight up for the early morning hours at the club hoping few if any onlookers would be around. They agreed on three rounds with a safe word for automatic timeouts. The fight itself was brutal. By the second round, he was definitely having the worst of it. Her furry was on full display, and she deliberately chose not to let up. He finally used the safe word in the third round; she never did. At the end his only comment was, "Who the hell are you?" It came with no whiff of judgement or shock. She had no firm definition of what reaction constituted a passing grade, but deemed his subdued observation good enough to continue the frank discussion somewhere else.
About an hour later after a shower and some pain meds, they sat at a secluded table in a coffee shop, and she calmly began her rather long download. She chose to start with her time at the NYPD, before skipping over her AG and agency work, and jumping into her most recent stint with Gamma. After retrieving their second refill, she went into detail about her last assignment, the summary dismissal, and her employer's rather unsupportive response. She felt it was a pretty accurate retelling of what she wanted to share. She was so accustomed to keeping her past obtuse that she felt no remorse about the many omissions she made along the way.
Karl did not respond immediately. It was a huge departure from what they talked about at the gym or the hotel. She reasoned that his long silence meant no flip answer was in the offing. In the end, he advised her to quit. Once the option to leave was on the table, it was his experience that there was little chance of a reprieve. The remedial camp idea to him was a ruse. They obviously had a failure regimen in the can, and she would be putting herself through a hellish experience with little to no chance of success.
Her retort was defensive. "I have rarely failed at something I have put my mind to."
"Do you really think there is any definition of success they will accept for reinstatement? Cut your losses and move on."
She left still pondering her choices. She still believed what happened was a one-off - a lucky break for her assailants. Without any real intention she ended up at the fight club where she hoped some exhausting work with the heavy bag would provide some much needed clarity. After changing, the usual gym rats taunted her for a little one-on-one in the ring, and much to their surprise, she agreed to three challenges after a brief warm-up. All donned the usual headgear, and the first contest was not the lopsided affair she expected though it ended before time expired in the first round. The second went even longer. He was good with knees and feet; she was good with fists and elbows. Eventually, the fists won out, but not until both were showing signs of exhaustion.
Little did she realized that the third time would not be the charm. He was unknown to her and looked to be at least ten years younger than herself. She knew from his first punch this was going to a slog. His deflections of her attack were nothing short of textbook, and he was patient waiting for each strike to land with devastating effect. In the first round they traded knockdowns. None of the bystanders had ever seen her stumble, and that brought loud calls from the bystanders to gather around. The end came at the beginning of the final round when one of his crosses landed squarely on her cheek not protected by any headgear. She went down in an instant and knew submission was the only option. As the crowd surrounded the victor, she slowly righted herself and began a solitary retreat towards the showers. This was only the second time she had lost at the club. The first was a deliberate dive to divert attention that might compromise her anonymity. This though, was a real loss and another crack in the thinning veneer of her usual over confidence. Perhaps her handler had a point. Aging spares no one - no matter how much you wish otherwise.
Author's Note - Since this has not garnered the response I hoped for, I will try to rap this up with one last chapter posted in the next few weeks.