Chapter 15

Frankie was back on her feet a couple days later. Rory was there when they released her and escorted her out. She wasn't sure how she felt about the kiss they had shared. The kiss had been nice. Comforting. Just what she needed at the time. But there hadn't been a flare of passion to go along with it. Sure, she loved him, but she had never thought of him in a romantic way. The five-year age difference between them had seemed much wider when she was twenty-one and he was sixteen. Now that he had matured and come into his own, it was hard to think of him as the little boy she had pulled off the streets and raised. Witnessing others greeting him differentially as "Commander" as they walked through the facility didn't help.

Instead of leading her to Level 2, where she and all the others lived, he took her up a level. The facility was built in at least four levels that she knew of. The top level housed the administrative offices and living quarters for the highest tiered members of the facility; specifically, Rory, Percy, Glenda, and the team leaders. It was connected by two shafts with elevators and one with stairs to a non-descript microchip manufacturing plant.

In addition to the living quarters for most of the residents, Level 2 held the cafeteria, a commissary, two recreation rooms, a gym, a shooting range, and a pool. Below that Level 3 was arranged in concentric rings, the inner ring forming a mezzanine that overlooked the hanger and contained the offices of Rory and all the team leads as well as several conference rooms. The next ring out held the labs, equipment rooms, training rooms, and other rooms used by the different teams.

Level 4 consisted primarily of the large hanger, maintenance bays, manufacturing facilities, and numerous smaller hangers. Frankie wasn't involved in any of the work occurring in this area, so rarely ventured down to the wing. Except for the time she met Rory and he took her to see the secret spaceship Hydra was working on.

There was at least one other level beneath the hanger. That is where Glenda and her team had taken her to be tortured and drug for God only knows how long. The thought of it made her turn cold inside and she reached out to grip Rory's warm hand. He smiled down at her, not realizing she was just seeking comfort from him. She smiled back weakly and let him think what he wanted.

Of course, there were rumors of even more levels and of secret tunnels leading out of the facility, but Frankie had not found time to investigate and she wasn't sure if she even wanted to do so now. That thought made her frown. Since when was she timid? Surely, she wasn't going to let that bitch, Glenda, break her spirit. Oh, no. It would take a lot more than what she had dished out to break Frankie.

She was thinking of ways to make Glenda pay for what she had done and didn't stop when Rory stopped. Only his pull on her arm and chuckle stopped her. She looked up, blinked, and registered where they were.

"Why are we at your rooms?"

"I have something to show you," he said with a smile as he opened the door and ushered her through.

She stopped a few steps into the room. Unlike the room she had been assigned, this room was spacious and personalized. Rory's masculine touch was noticeable in the décor from the dark leather sofa and recliner positioned in front of the large flat-screen TV, to the artwork on the walls. One wall was lined by dark bookshelves that held a variety of books, sculptures, and other odds and ends. A large desk stood in front of them, facing the TV, made from the same dark wood at the shelves. The walls were a light beige that matched the slightly darker carpeting. The only colors in the room were deep oranges and greens and gold accents.

"Nice digs, Commander," she told him playfully.

"Don't call me that," he snapped at her unexpectedly.

Frankie turned and saw him frowning. Then he met her eyes and his expression softened.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bite your head off. I hear that all day long from everybody I talk to. I would rather hear you use my name, Frankie."

Did he not like being the Commander in charge of this facility? Frankie didn't think that was it. He seemed proud of the fact.

"It's okay, Rory," she told him.

He shook his head, "it's just that you are the only one here that I can just be myself around and it's really nice. You can't imagine what it's like to always have people watching you, monitoring your actions, judging you and your worthiness. It gets old after a while."

Oh, she could imagine alright she thought, but she held her tongue. Rory just wanted a friend and a sympathetic ear.

"I can imagine that it's a lot of responsibility, but from what I've seen over the last months is that you handle it beautifully. But I'm always here if you need someone to listen."

He looked at her with his dark eyes, searching hers as if he suspected a trap, a haunted look in his eyes. Then he smiled and that look disappeared.

"Let me show you why I brought you."

He led her to one of the three doors along the wall opposite the door they had entered. The décor in this room was vastly different. The bed, dresser, and other furniture were crafted from a lighter wood stained a soft gray to give them a slightly distressed look. Deep purples, vibrant blues, and shades of gray used in the materials, carpeting, and walls complemented each other. The light fixtures and decorations were more feminine. It was a bedroom designed for a woman.

"Do you like it?" Rory asked from the doorway. "I remember purple being your favorite color."

"I don't understand."

Actually, she did, but she wanted him to spell it out so there was no misunderstanding his intent.

"It's for you." He stepped into the room, two strides taking him to her side. Wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against him, he placed a kiss on the top of her head. "I want you closer to me. I want you to be here with me at the end of each day. I want to curl up on the couch with you and watch TV or just talk. I never realized how much I missed you until you came back into my life. I need you, Frankie. You complete me."

She faced a decision. If she pushed him away and told him she didn't feel that way about him, it might jeopardize her plan to save him from Hydra. From what she had seen, his emotions could swing wildly from one extreme to the next when pushed. But leading him on didn't seem right either. She could save him from Hydra, only to lose him when the truth came to light.

Frankie settled on a half-truth. Turning in the circle of his arm and only stepping away enough to be able to look up at him without hurting her neck, she laid a hand on his chest.

"You know I love you, Rory, but I don't know if it is the kind of love you're hoping for. No, let me finish," she told him when he opened his mouth to say something. "When I last saw you, you were a sixteen-year-old boy, now you're a grown man. A successful, powerful, grown man. I am having a hard time making that transition. I guess what I'm trying to say and doing a crappy job if the look on your face is any indication, is that I need time. I need to get to know this version of you. If you want the relationship that I think you want, I need to figure out how I feel about you now, not five years ago. Does that make any sense?"

Rory's face had flushed, and his lips had narrowed into a tight line during her short speech, but at the end, that line had softened somewhat. He nodded.

"It makes a lot of sense. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to rush you into something you're not ready for. It's just…," he paused and looked down, "I had such a crush on you that last year."

"No, you didn't?" she had never picked up on it.

He nodded and smiled sheepishly, "yeah. I would sometimes sneak into your room at night to watch you sleep."

She smiled back, ignoring the shiver down her spine, "now that's just creepy, pervert!"

"If you think that's creepy, I won't tell you about peeping on you when you showered."

"I don't want to know. Oh my God, you're a creeper," she punched him playfully in the arm.

His smile faltered, "so will you take the room?"

God, he looked so much like the sixteen-year-old she remembered.

"Yes," she smiled gently, "I'll take the room. But only if you promise not to be a peeping Tom."

The look in his eyes was of triumph, like he knew he was going to get what he wanted. "Of course. We'll go at your pace."

"Besides, this room is awesome and much better than my other one," she grinned.

"Wait 'til you see the bathroom."

Rory was good on his word as she settled into her new quarters. It was actually pleasant to spend the evenings with him, either watching something on his TV or just talking. Some things about their work at the facility they could discuss, but there were aspects that Rory couldn't share with her. They laughed and joked about their past or the people they worked with.

One thing was clear, though. Their roles had swapped. Rory was now firmly in control and the provider in their relationship. He showed it in little ways. He would bring her little gifts or take her on short trips outside. He steered their conversations away from troublesome topics. When they were walking around the facility together, he would do little things like stop at someone's office and have her wait for him outside while he had a word with the occupant or stop their walk completely and hurry away to take care of something he had forgotten about. When they ate in the common area, he chose who they ate with.

One day, about a week after she moved in, he brought her a dress as a gift. He had urged her to try it on, so he could see how she looked in it. When she demurred and said she would try it on later, she caught a glimpse of his expression as she left the room to hang it up. It was thunderous with anger and his fists were tightly clenched at his sides. When she came back out, it had returned to normal as if nothing had happened. It served as a reminder of the tight line she was walking with their relationship.

Shortly after that incident, she rejoined her team full-time. Now that she passed her "test" as they called it, - that made her want to punch someone every time she heard it used – her training was stepping up in intensity. She was assigned a mentor from the security force to learn how to handle and shoot guns for two hours, three times a week. She could definitely say shooting was not her strong point. Even after a month, she still wasn't consistent enough to be able to cluster a group of shots in a circle smaller that the size of a salad plate. But she could hit what she aimed for, as long as it was bigger than a cat, and protect herself.

Hand to hand combat was more up her alley. She was agile and her ability to pick up on cues from her surroundings and other people's body language turned out to be quite useful. She could predict if her opponent was going to the left or right or was faking a move. That edge made her just a fraction faster at reacting during a match.

During one of her first matches, something happened that scared the shit out of her. She had been matched previously against three other novices and had taken them out quickly, so her instructor, Gerald, paired her with a more experienced student. Steve was not only more experienced, but bigger and more muscular than Frankie. Gerald's plan may have been to put her in her place and knock out some of her cockiness, but it backfired.

The first few seconds, she avoided Steve's punches and kicks, landing a few of her own, but he had just been using those seconds to assess his opponent because he came in strong after she landed a second kick to his side. He was fast and landed a solid blow to the side of her face, then to her stomach, doubling her over. Then he swept her feet out from under her, sending her crashing to the mat. She remembered looking up at his leering face and hearing him say, "that's how you do it, little girl." That voice was very familiar.

The next thing she knew was Gerald and two others holding her down with Gerald yelling at her to "calm the fuck down." Steve was sitting on the other side of the mat, blood pouring from his nose, a gash under one of his eyes and ragged scratches down his arms.

She couldn't believe she had done that to him. According to the witnesses, and the recording she saw later, she had come unglued and lunged up off the mat at him. She had attacked him ruthlessly, using not only her fists and feet, but her nails and teeth. She hadn't stopped when Gerald blew the whistle and continued to hammer away at Steve. Finally, Gerald and the two other men had pulled her off him and held her down until she calmed down.

She remembered none of it. That was her last time training for hand to hand combat.