A/N: Hey, just a heads up! I made a few modifications in the last chapter. Nothing huge but just some adjustments to make this chapter smoother, so if you want pop on back and review chapter 17, feel free to do so.
Thank you, readers and reviewers and followers.
Enjoy the new chapter. Thank you for the your patience with it. Please leave a review and tell me your thoughts.
Chapter 18: Masters and Slaves
"My compound. I will text you the coordinates. I have Natasha Romanoff. You have forty-eight hours to show yourself, or your pretty little spider dies."
The line disconnects, and Hermione tosses an impish smile over her shoulder. "It's the base. They've got a juicy one needing squeezed. They want me to meet with him before they hand him over to the CIA. That is, if Gonzales doesn't decide to fire me first. I've been, and I quote "disdainfully ignorant.'" She sits down on the couch, shoving her boots on and she grabs her coat that's draped over the edge of it. "We'll do this again. We always do."
"Put in a transfer request. Work for Fury full time. Live here in D.C," Brock says.
"Why would he want me all the time when he's got the golden girl that is Romanoff? Plus, I sort of bombed the Stark job." She saunters up to Brock and pecks him on the jaw. "I have meetings at the Triskelion three times a month. You know this. I've never been a stranger."
He made it clear-as she blew him in the kitchen-he was done sharing her. If an assignment required her to sleep with someone, she better make damned sure he didn't hear about it ever again.
She leaves his apartment and takes the stairs to the parking garage. As she peels out of there, she calls Barton and puts him on speaker phone.
"When I see you again, you're fucking target practice."
She presses on the gas. "What happened?"
"Natasha didn't make the rendezvous point with her package. She made it to Odessa when communication failed. The last thing Hill received from her was that she was being tailed."
Clint speaks like she knew Natalia is on assignment and in retrospect, she did. Nat's always working. "What was the package?"
"That's classified—"
"Barton!"
He lets out a sigh. "Cruz-Gesenko. Nuclear Engineer."
Hermione stares at her phone because surely she hadn't heard right.
"Abegglen!"
"What was her mission?"
"Main priority was to get him out of Iran and to Russia. He requested a private meeting with Fury. He implied he's got something major to tell him."
"You've got to be kidding me." She takes in a deep breath and tries to calm herself by internally speaking soothing words of comfort. Like, there's no chance HYDRA will be exposed because of one minor slip-up of Hermione's almost three years ago. No way. It's not logical in the least.
She sees the Triskelion across the Potomac. She shakes her head and squeezes the steering wheel. "Look, Barton, I know where she is."
If she's not already dead and this is just a ploy to lure Hermione into Kabul because Amdaal saw an opportunity.
Or had been waiting for a convenient enough one.
"You know where she is," he repeats incredulously.
"I need to hang up. I've got to call Coulson."
"What? No. No, no, no, no, no. You've got connections in the Middle East, and I need someone who's not going to play by the rules to get her out of there. Coulson has to answer to Fury who won't sanction an extraction mission—"
"Trust me." She disconnects and phones Coulson and such a good, reliable man, he answers promptly with a, "What do you need?"
There's a warm sensation in her chest she can't help but feel whenever they speak. It's a dangerous kind of sentiment she allows herself to house. It could be a little crush as she finds his conviction of her redemption from her KGB sins incredibly flattering. It's hard for Hermione not to bat her eyelashes and grin at Coulson whenever he talks to her as if she's the best thing that's happened to S.H.I.E.L.D., and she knows Natalia holds the same near-professional respect for him. They've talked about him, she and her.
"I'd suck him off if he'd let me," slurred Natalia after too many vodka martini's during last year's New Year's Eve party at the Triskelion.
Coulson. He's the one who stitched—as best as he could—Hermione's and Natalia's torn alliance, though their with Natalia never healed completely. There's still a rift, and Hermione's responsible. There's still a sting. On top of that, she keeps Natalia at arm's length out of self-preservation. It's only a matter of time when Hermione will be the one to betray her. Again. The first time with handing over all the names of the girls in the Red Rom. The second time will be when HYDRA unveils herself, and Hermione can't help but think she'll be the one having to put Natalia down. The woman will take it personal because of course she would because Hermione would if the roles were reversed. In a way, they had been.
So why? So why go through the trouble of saving her when she'll just have to kill her later?
Hermione tells herself she's going to do all what's necessary because she has to. Because she has to clean this mess she created, and it's unfair Natalia and HYDRA are at risk when this battle isn't theirs. She tells herself HYDRA needs Natalia still as a pawn, powerful and deadly as she is, and would be a waste to leave her for dead.
Reason after reason she concocts because she's going to have a hell of time convincing Pierce why she involved herself in the annihilation of Cruz-Gesenko and to rescue the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who betrayed her.
Especially.
Especially…if this is all a trap. For all Hermione knows, Natalia is dead. Cruz-Gesenko is dead, and this is all a trick to lure her into the lion's den, so she can die, too.
Hermione catches her reflection in the rear view mirror.
So she can die, too.
This is what it's all about, isn't it?
"Agent?"
"I'm here. I'm just…thinking."
"What do you need?" repeats Coulson.
A hell of a plan but a ride'll do. "I need to get to the Iran Afghanistan border. How fast can you get me there?"
"It'd be faster if you were already on the ship. Are you at the Triskelion now?"
"I'm just pulling up." She slows at the security booth and rolls down her window, showing the guard her badge. "Can you get me a bus going?"
"The Alpha team is heading out in 0200 for a routine flyover the area. I can probably sanction you a ride."
"Alpha doesn't do routine flyovers, Coulson," she murmurs.
"Just don't go snooping around, all right? There's classified material on board."
"Noted and uninterested. Get me that green light. Until then, I need to talk to Pierce."
"I couldn't have heard you correctly."
"Trust me."
"You can't go to the CEO and—do what exactly? Agent, you haven't even met the man…"
"Everything's going to be fine. I promise." Likely a lie. Hermione's not even sure she'll make it out of Afghanistan alive once she hits it. The inevitable confrontation with Natalia post Project Insight may not even happen. Hermione's not being lured to Kabul for tea and biscuits, is she?
"Hey, I need a backpack with all the goodies," she tells Coulson.
She hears him sigh. "Are you sure you're up for this? You haven't been on a combative op in over two years. Barton's on holiday, but he wants to come in on this. I'm seriously considering sending him with you."
"I've got this." Hermione parks her car, exhaling softly. "And I need to do this alone. Coulson, this…is my fault. It's Amdaal. He's doing this. I'm sorry. I have to go now."
She disconnects the call before he can get a word in. Climbing out of the car, she calls a number she's not even supposed to have.
"Hello?" Pierce greets suspiciously.
"Mr. Pierce." Hermione takes the elevator the atrium. "This is Agent Abegglen. We met some years ago. Perhaps you remember?"
There's a pause on the other end. "Milas? How did you get this number?"
"I need to speak with you. It's urgent."
"Have you been compromised?" He sounds panicked.
"Not in the way you think. I need to speak with you. You're still in your office, right?"
"Milas," he begins, his tone a chiding one. Like he's talking to a rebellious teenager. "This is highly unorthodox and completely against protocol. I'm a busy man. If you have troubles, and you're not compromised, I believe you're supposed to contact Sitwell. He's not your S.O. anymore, but he takes care of these situations—"
"This concerns the possibility of Cruz-Gesenko not being dead, sir."
He pauses. "You have my attention."
It's then he complies to her request for a meeting and gives her a temporary pass code to log into the elevator systems so she has access to his private floor. She knocks on his office door before entering and sees both Pierce and Obadiah Stane get up from his desk and shake hands.
"Sorry to cut this short," says Pierce warmly, smiling at Hermione and beckoning her to come further into the office. As if he's tickled pink to see her, and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s not at the cusp of exposure. "An unexpected situation has come up that requires my attention, but I do think you remember Melissa Abernathy aka Agent Abegglen."
Stane shakes her hand, grinning. He's the one truly tickled pink to see her. "You did an excellent job with Tony. He didn't suspect a thing."
"And neither did Fury, most importantly," remarks Pierce. "Thinks you really did botch it up on accident when the truth is, we don't exactly want an undercover operative in the company, do we?"
"Let's give Mr. Stane his credit, Mr. Pierce. He knew if I slept with Mr. Stark, he'd never pick me because he got what he wanted right away. He belayed the information to me, and it worked. The best part about this is that, indeed, Fury has no idea I was sent in on the operation to purposefully fail. He doesn't need to know that, you, Mr. Stane, are selling Stark weapons under the table on behalf of funding S.H.I.E.L.D. aka HYDRA" She winks. "And your own personal accounts."
Stane still has her hand and then brings the back of it to his lips. "I miss Melissa's English accent, Agent Abegglen. It suited her. Maybe it will suit you, too."
Hermione retreats her hand to straighten his tie and the lapels of his suit. She channels her native Surrey accent she used as Melissa and relays, "I got word from Fury he's secured a spook in accounting. He's taken Pott's old job. I trust you make sure he finds nothing."
"I adore you," Stane says and then turns to Pierce. "I adore her. Give her a raise."
"The private staircase, Obi." Pierce points to the opposite corner, an impatient twist to his lips.
"I get it. I'm on my way." He downs the last of his drink left on Pierce's desk and waves them a wide salute and then darts to Pierce's private stairwell.
Once he disappears behind the door, Pierce shuffles over to his private bar and pours himself a brandy. "Would you like a drink?"
"What do you know about my eighteen month stay in the Middle East?" she starts.
Pierce doesn't respond right away. He's unnervingly silent for ten seconds or so before unapologetically confessing, "I almost don't anything about you, Agent Abegglen. I didn't even know it was you on the Stark job until an hour ago. All I know about you is that you're a five million dollar malfunction."
He looks at her over his shoulder then shrugs it, turning and placing a full glass of brandy in front of her. He sips at his own and continues, "Didn't know that, did you? The modified formula we injected you with was expensive. I'm sure Strucker didn't tell you that. Wanted to spare you the shame. It's embarrassing enough we have you manacled and muzzled like a dog. It's a waste."
Hermione lets out a long, careful breath. He wants to go there? Fine. "With all do respect, sir, the bracelet was and is not necessary. I could be everything you wanted and wished for if only by your say. I can be more than just an interrogator. I'm as powerful as Rogers and Schmidt. Plus, with my other abilities beyond reading minds—"
"Tell me about your eighteen months in the Middle East." There's an open file on his desk. He licks the tip of his pointer finger and turns a page.
Her mouth is open but nothing's coming out, the subject change and utter disinterest of her valid point arriving so fast, she's whiplashed.
He looks up at her expectantly. "Unless it's not really that important, and you just knew exactly what to say to get a one-on-one me with to discuss the removal of the bracelet."
"Of course not, sir," she manages. She clears her throat. "Um…the KGB sent me to the Middle East after 9/11. I made enemies. This one in particular. The Amdaal family. I made the mistake of not killing the son. I thought bankrupting him, hurting him badly, and killing his family would be enough in neutralize him. But he must've had connections because he's found me months ago and has been harassing me ever since.
"My demographics are under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s protective wall, and I'm not Romanoff. I'm not out and about making a name for myself and becoming popular with vomitus swill of the international criminal underworld. I'm almost as invisible as I've always been. The way he found me was because we had a stranger in our house. It didn't take me long to smoke the spy out and privately eliminate her. For a while, the harassment stopped, but now I know she wasn't working alone, and I haven't found out who the second spy is—"
Pierce holds up a hand and sits down in his chair. "This is something you need to report to Garcia, and I fail to see how this has anything to do with Cruz—"
"I know Fury sent Romanoff to grab him and get him to safety and so does Amdaal. He told me not an hour ago he's got her. If he's got her, then there's a chance Cruz-Gesenko is alive."
Pierce frowns at her and then takes out his cellphone. He dials a number and then puts it to his ear. "Yes, can you give me an update on Cruz-Gesenko." Pause. "I see. Yes, do that."
He hangs up and stares at Hermione. "We do not have a confirmation on his death, nor do we have word on Romanoff. They've gone missing, apparently, and the asset has been asked to return to Iran. Our HYDRA operatives believe SAVAK might be involved, and if that's the case…"
Pierce downs half of his brandy in one go.
"I don't think it is."
He slams down his glass. "An email about this would've been nice. Why are you here, Agent?"
"I'm concerned that traitor Cruz-Gesenko is alive. Are you aware he was supposed to meet Fury in Odessa. He wasn't just being taken to a safehouse. He was going to out us. It was his leverage to walk free."
"Hm." Pierce brings the glass to his lips again to drain the rest.
"Sir?" She expected him to be more concerned.
"You're not going."
"Pardon?"
"I'm grateful for the information you've provided. Amdaal, you said? Afghanistan, then. I'll have the asset start heading in that direction because I'm sure you're concerned with the risk of Cruz-Gesenko living through all this." He points at her. "He's a dead man walking if he isn't eliminated already, but I know what this is really about. Romanoff is special to you. She's your...pet or something. You want me to okay an off-the-books op for you."
"Do you not hold a fondness for Fury at all?"
"Mind yourself, Agent," he chastises. "Don't think for one second what little dalliance you have with that Soviet slut is anything like I have with the director. Fury would never betray me as the man he believes me to be. If Amdaal has her, let the bastard kill her. As for that second spy, we'll work on it."
"She is a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and an unknowing asset to HYDRA," argues Hermione. "She is a perfect puppet and one of my ins on knowing what's going on in Fury's inner circle. You had no idea until I told you Cruz-Gesenko was going to meet with Fury."
"But it wasn't Romanoff who told you."
"It was Barton," Hermione reveals. "Who told me because of Romanoff. If she dies, he's not going to tell me anything ever again. He doesn't trust me, and the sacrifice in blowing the Stark job, making myself look incompetent for the sake of protecting Stane, cost me a fulltime gig in joining Fury's team. That leaves me Coulson and Hill. The former is friendly but good at keeping secrets and the second distrusts me more than Barton does."
"These are small potatoes. I have more to worry about than the cool kids letting you eat lunch with them, and at this point, I'm not too concerned with Fury's objectives."
"At this point, yes, but he's director, and he'll have plans and proposals you'll want to hear about first before the World Council hears about it. I go and save Romanoff, there's my in with Barton and Fury, right there. I get those two, Hill and Coulson will follow their lead. I may still not get to eat with the cool kids, sir, but I'll be—"
"It's a no, Agent."
She supposed she expected as much.
Hermione clenches and unclenches her hands, a pleading expression on her face, though she chooses not to continue defending her stance. He's unmovable. Natalia isn't worth much to him in the long run because he underestimates her value to Fury. He believes she wants to rescue her for selfish reasons only. He's not entirely wrong, but fuck him, she wants him to believe she's got HYDRA's best interest in keeping Natalia alive because it is a hell of reason. Hermione does need her for such superficial purposes.
The power on her bracelet is still down from when she showed Brock that trick after sex. She touches her pointer finger to the glass and stares at Pierce pointedly. The contents of the glass slightly expand and solidify, crackling and transforming into a solid chunk. Soon enough, the glass shatters, and Pierce doesn't even flinch. Like he anticipated from the moment she called him that she'd lose her cool.
He lifts a finger, his lips quirked. "I have something to show you, and I'm glad I have here it with me. A nice present for you. Just in time for Christmas."
A box—almost like a cheap jewelry box—is taken out of his top drawer. The lid is removed, and he plucks a one-inch silver square device from the velvet layer. On the square device is a circular indent of a button. Without any preamble, he presses it, and an white, hot electric shock pulses up her arm. She lets out a pained and startled yelp, nearly falling to the floor.
The shock is short-lived. A brief flare, but her arm tingles uncomfortably as does the entire upper left half of her body. Even the right side of her face feels off. She touches her cheek and finds it numb. A dull throb in her head begins to beat a rhythm.
"Good. It works."
She goes to speak and finds her that the left side of tongue is numb, as well, and her throat feels odd. Swollen and stuffed inside her neck.
Her bracelet. It's rigged. And she hates how surprised she is.
"You know." He gets up from his chair and circles the desk to stand next to her. "I had wondered when you'd start sassing your uppers. I mean it's one thing to give Sitwell a hard time. That I can let pass. But me? And over Romanoff?" He clicks his tongue. "Do you think she'd care about you at all if she knew who and what you really are? She would put a bullet between your eyes in a heartbeat, Abegglen."
He presses the button again, and her legs give it out. The sharp pricks travel both downwards and upwards, and her knees catch her fall. She puts her hands to the ground to keep from lying flat. She will not go down all the way. She refuses. Her training instilled in her to never be weak. To never let your enemies and even your allies know how badly they can damage.
Hermione knows she deserves this punishment, and if she could speak, she would tell Pierce as much. She would tell him she's sorry. She really is. But…
…not that sorry. Soon he'll understand. She make him sure of it.
She powers down the bracelet completely on her bracelet and knocks the remote out of his hand and hastily plasters her hand to the side of his face. A rush of power, almost tangy and delicious-like, ravage her veins. Tears almost spring forth. The sensation is as good as a perfect orgasm after a dry spell.
She stands and channels that pure energy into her hand, her fingers and pushes it into Pierce's mind. The last time she did this, she spoke her will, but her voice box isn't quite ready.
Pierce's blue eyes film over for a moment, and those tears do spill from her own. She's not a crier. She's not emotional. Very few things touch her heart. Natalia betraying her was one of them. And this. Guilt. Shame. Those quickly replace the rush of her powers being back in full swing. This is treason of the highest form, but she can fix it. She can kill Cruz-Gesenko and still save Natalia.
Hermione will have her close ally and her in with Fury. Pierce won't thank her one day because it was his idea to begin with, wasn't it? All she did was come in and express concern that HYDRA could be compromised due to her a botched mission three years prior.
When the damage is near finished, she coaxes him back to his chair and goes to fetch his shocker remote, fighting the temptation to break it. The lethal little square goes back in its box, neatly tucked into the drawer. With a wave of her hands, she repairs the drinking glass and slips the solid chunk of brandy in place, liquifying it.
Lastly, the bracelet. She powers it up all the way.
For now.
Ten minutes go by before she's able to speak. In that time, she works on Pierce's mind, piecing and coaxing bits together to form her will but being cautious as to not delve too deep below the surface. Mind her own business while in there. She peeped where needed and nowhere else. All the while, she ponders her abilities.
It's so curious, her powers. And this, obviously, is not the first time she's contemplated them, and still, she's stumped. There's no…pattern to them. No rhyme or reason. There are individuals in the world who are different but not like her. For instance, those locked away in The Fridge. Each of their peculiarities, are limited to one or two things. Unless, they were tampered with for scientific purposes which gave them maybe one more ability.
Her own abilities. They're diverse. Ranging from bringing a dead flower back to life to controlling another human being. What logic is there behind that? All of those freaks in that prison bloomed a strange but scientifically explainable phenomenon.
And then here she is.
Hermione could be comforted by the fact that she's not alone. 54 was like her, and when Hermione reflects on her from time to time, she wonders what became of her. If anything did. Sometimes she wonders if Baron got rid of her even though he said he didn't when she asked later. He kept his answer vague, and it was always the same thing.
"I sent her away."
Her vocal cords lax and she gently and caressingly retracts from Pierce's mind, and her exit is so discreet, he immediately begins speaking mid-sentence. A swell of pride in herself erupts. She wants to keep doing this. She wants to be what she was supposed to be all along. Unstoppable. She doesn't have to be the five million dollar malfunction.
Bitterness and reality overcome, and she crash-lands from her high. Her future at the moment is rather bleak. Better yet, uncertain. Her phone buzzes, and she checks it. The coordinates of Amdaal's compound greet her.
"…idea. Risky, yes, but the asset has lost sight of the target. It would be perfect for you to ensure Cruz-Gesenko is at this compound and take care of him. If Romanoff happens to be there. Sure, get her out of there. Why not? It'd make Fury pleased as punch. "Fury's a hard one to get a read on sometimes and I get why you believe we need her around still. Just make sure she doesn't find out what your real mission is. Bring her back, kiddo. If you think you got it in you." He grins jovially. "It'll be off-books, though. Not formally sanctioned. You won't get any help. When you walk out that door, you'll be on your own."
"I'll manage, sir, thank you."
Pierce purses his lips and holds up before she gets far. "Secure Romanoff. Send a message when you have her. If the target isn't around, you're mission isn't over. Eliminate him. By any means necessary."
She nods and turns around to leave, her heart beating fast. When she reaches the door, hand on the knob, it's not surprising she jumps a little when he call after her.
"But you keep that bracelet on, Agent."
The action she couldn't make herself make him do while inside his head. Make him change her mind about the bracelet. Whether she couldn't do it out of fear and respect, or it was too drastic of a paradigm shift for her to dare tamper with, she's not sure.
The bracelet has never felt so tight.
"Yes, sir."
Coulson keeps his promise on that backpack full of goodies. When he hands it to her with interesting smile of his, standing a few feet from the ramp of the quinjet, he tells her to be safe and to stay the hell of the grid for as long as possible.
"Fury will have a coronary when finds out you went above him to Pierce."
Hermione unzips the backpack, rifling through all the tools and gadgets she may need. "I'm saving his prize. He'll only be upset for a second."
"I know I've said this, but I'm glad you and Romanoff mended things. You two will make a hell of team someday."
"I don't think we'll ever be what we were, and I think everyone knows that. We'll never be assigned as a duo."
"You're risking your life to save hers. You're rescuing her. You two should be right as rain—"
"It's more complicated than that, sir."
"Having your best friend betray you will be that way, but you've forgiven her. For the most part."
Zipping up the bag, she slings the pack over her shoulder. "Would you have? How would you feel if the person…or people you trusted the most in the entire world weren't who you thought they were? Would you be able to forgive them completely?"
Coulson removes his sunglasses, his expression worried. "Romanoff did what she did to get you of the KGB's clutches. They were using you. They didn't care about you. Maybe it all could've gone down differently, but sometimes we have to make the best of situations. She had to cough up a comrade to gain our trust, and she chose you because she wanted you around and knew you'd be smart enough to strike a deal."
The quinjet roars to life and the Alpha team begins to board behind them. "Let's hope for my sake, she doesn't ever find out what that entailed. Doesn't matter she turned me in, she won't forgive me if she finds out."
"She won't."
"She's Black Widow, Coulson. Sooner or later, she's going to find out, and then what?"
"She might understand. It was incarceration for the rest of your life or them, and you owed them nothing. Nothing, do you hear me?"
"It's understandable why people murder their idiot neighbors, but they're still going to prison."
"This is going to fix things. You'll see," says Coulson.
Hermione's tempted to tell him this gig won't fix the damage he's hoping for, and she can't even imagine an outcome where she'll see him again. This isn't a rescue mission. It's pretty much an exchange unless she figure something else out which she's got to. She can't let Cruz-Vesenko walk freely when so much is at stake. He could expose HYDRA and as badly as she wants to keep Natalia top priority, she can't. This is much bigger than saving her friend.
If Amdaal does, indeed, have Natalia and Cruz-Vesenko, he has no idea the landmine he's resting on.
"You look nervous," supplies Coulson.
"I haven't done combative field work in a while." She swallows. "After all this is over, why don't you take me to dinner, huh?"
A faint, rose color blossoms on his cheeks. "I'll say it again. I'm too old for you, Agent. Plus, I'm afraid Rumlow might break my spine. I saw him do it once to somebody. No, thank you."
She frowns at him. "I—"
"Everybody knows."
"Sitwell?"
He almost looks perplexed. "Romanoff."
How does that bitch know? Arms fold, she cants her hips and says, "When I get back, we're going to have a conversation. The three of us. Over dinner."
"You're going to miss your flight—"
"I have yet to have a burger, you know."
Coulson opens and closes his mouth like a fish. He then stands tall and straightens his tie. "Over dinner," he agrees. "I pick. Get going." He then bobs his head slowly up and down, taking her in. "And I took the liberty of getting you a suit. A box above the light in the bathroom. One of Natasha's. It should do."
Hermione nods and salutes him a wave then makes a b-line for the ramp which closes shut immediately once she's boarded. She jogs up the metal stairs into the main part of the quinjet and enters the bathroom where she shoves the light fixture up and removes the box. Inside is Natalia's skintight Kevlar-lined bodysuit, and Hermione wonders how her own extra four inches and completely different body shape will fair in it. The boots, as well, are a half-size too small. Hermione expects blisters by Kabul.
Hermione's not a combative field agent anymore. S.H.I.E.L.D. retired her and HYDRA went along with it for the time being. Put her behind a desk and a table and a one-way mirror. She doesn't get her own goody bag or her own fitted suit. She gets blazers and blouses and pinstriped trousers. If she has to accompany the Beta team, all she gets is a thigh-holster.
Checking her reflection in the mirror, she turns on the faucet and dampens her shoulder-length curls, securing them in a braided knot at the base of her skull. Her phone buzzes on the toilet. A message from Pierce. Coordinates. She opens her pack and pulls out a S.H.I.E.L.D. emblemed notebook, booting it up and searching the coordinates which leads to a safehouse in Herat.
Bang, bang, bang!
"In a minute," she says to the person on the other side of the door, fishing out a military-grade watch and latching it onto the same wrist as her bracelet and set's it to how much time she's got left before she's got to be on Amdaal's doorstep.
"Dinner's in twenty. Lights out at 2300," says Hamill through the barrier.
"Thanks." She steps up on the toilet and puts the box back in place as well as the light fixture. When she exits the bathroom, Hamill's going down the narrow hallway but then whirls back around.
"Hey, Donoghue's leaving the team. He got a job with the Secret Service."
"Good for him."
"Which means I got a spot open." Hamill's thumbs hook onto his suspenders. "I've been looking at your boy."
She makes a face and rolls her eyes. "Seriously? Does everyone know?"
His laugh is guttural and unapologetic.
Eleven o'clock finds her and the team fast. There are compact, capsule-like bunks in the quinjet and since half the team is not on there, she gets one. She tries to get a few winks in, but her mind's running a marathon, and she can hear the reaper laughing. She tries to distract herself by sexting Brock. A term she heard from one of the rookie techs back on the Lemurian a few months ago. He thinks she's at the Hartsfield–Jackson waiting for her midnight flight to London.
Aside from the tight sleeping quarters, traveling by quinjets is a favorite of Hermione's. It's one o'clock in the afternoon when she arrives a couple of hours outside of Zabol via chute. It's important to not draw attention, so she's in the middle of nowhere and has to trek across the desert. The chilled, strong wind and warm sun beat down on her as she tries to stay off road and out of sight.
Hermione keenly watches a Humvee a quarter of a mile away from her as the wheels kicking up dirt. The vehicle carves its own pathway on bumpy terrain. The driver must spot her, and the car jerks abruptly and darts towards her. There are no plates on the Humvee and is early 90's, U.S. military grade.
Stolen.
Her assumption is verified when the the car stops and five natives-all men-spill out of the car to openly leer and point their firearms at her. She guesses there's no way in talking herself out of this one, given she's quite literally dressed as a spy in Natalia's garb.
These men aren't soldiers, though, and if she has to guess, she's going with common smugglers. Still, she hears their conflicted thoughts of loathing and lust directed at her. One wants to kill her outright. Another wants to rape and then kill her. One wants to ask what the hell she's doing out here before raping and killing her. The fourth man wants strip naked, roll her up in a tarp and sell her.
Well...she can't have that.
She grimaces up at the sun. God, it's bright. Her face is probably all sunburned and freckly. And her nails. She frowns at them, buffing her filthy digits over her sternum.
Hm. But she will have their car.
Bringing the Humvee to a stop a few miles from the border, Hermione gets out of the car and touches her wrist because good God. It's naked save for the watch. In the mini-mass grave she produced for those four smugglers dwells her bracelet. Mangled and buried three feet deep in the desert, the tracker fried because she fried it because for this...she needs to be free. She has to be free. If she wants to come out of this more or less unscathed, there can't be any hindrance. This isn't an op for HYDRA in all honestly. It's a mission for herself.
Ping!
Instinctively, she drops to the ground at the sound of gunfire, the window of the backdoor shattering. Shards of glass fall onto her back, and a white hot sting blooms on her ear. She touches it and sees blood on her fingers. Movement in her peripheral refocuses her attention, and she sees the Solider stalking towards her, mask and all, HK 416 trained on her.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
"Stay down," he orders in Persian.
"At ease, Soldier," she replies in Russian, lifting her arms.
"Stay down until I say," he hisses, this time in Russian, as well.
When his boots are centimeters from her forehead, he orders her to slowly get to her knees.
"Remove everything you got," he says. "Backpack first."
She unbuckles the two clips above and below her breasts and slips off the straps, dropping it between them.
"Guns and knives."
"My pistol's in the pack." She unzips the bag with one hand as the other creeps to her boot. He lowers the firearm and backhands her with his metal appendage. The blow knocks her to the side, and pain flares up the left side of her face. She spits onto the dirt, her slobber bloody. She licks her teeth, grateful none are loose or broken.
The Soldier is on her before she can even gather her bearings. Knee digging into her thigh, painfully, and her throat in a chokehold, his freehand divests her ankle of her Halo-Tech knife. He examines the knife and then flicks the blade erect.
"This tells me you're FIS," he accuses.
Wriggling her free leg up, she knees him between the legs which makes him recoil enough to loosen his grip on her throat and move his knee from her thigh. She rolls out from under him and stands, but he's quick to recover. He moves for his HK 416, so she makes a jump at him, using his own leg as kickoff point for her to reach high enough in wrapping her legs shoulders and twisting her body towards the ground so he'll follow suit. She flips and lands in a slippery but graceful-enough, wide plie as he timbers.
From the ground, he glares at her turned out feet and then tilts his head up at her.. "KGB."
Lightning fast, he grabs the fallen knife and slashes the back of her calve, and then he's on his feet in full attack mode. With perfect and precise movement. Hermione's beginning to think this man is a terrible, terrible problem to be running into. How is that he happens to be here? Yes, she gets him being in Iran on the way to Afghanistan but in the same place she is? It's more suspicious than ironically inconvenient.
She can't help but think Pierce might be behind it.
The blade comes in contact with her torso, ripping a tear in her suit. She retracts into a backhand spring, kicking the knife out of his grasp and getting further away from him.
"Jesus Christ, will you stop?" she barks in English. "I got coordinates that could possibly lead you to Cruz-Gesenko. That's why you're still hanging out here next to the border, right? You're waiting on word when you can cross?"
He stares vacantly at her. "Where do they lead, the coordinates?"
"Kabul. Do you want to see them?"
He dips his chin.
"All right, I'm going to get my phone and computer out of my pack. I promise I will not pull out anything else." She scoots to her pack and crouches, eyes trained on each other as she extracts her cellphone and brings up the message from Amdaal before tossing the device to him. She then goes for the the laptop and punches in the coordinates, the screen bringing up a shoddy, grainy satellite image of a heavily secured piece of property. She sets the computer on the hood of the Humvee and gets out her binoculars.
"You're sure my target is there?"
"Sure enough," she replies. "I don't want to fight you. I really just need to get across the border, so if you don't mind," she shakes the binoculars at him pointedly, "I'm going to stand watch and rest up for a little while."
As in heal. Her jaw's still aches, and the slice on her leg smarts as does her ear. She retrieves the first aid kit tucked away in the pack. As she cleans up her wound, she glances over at the stoic Soldier who frowns at her cellphone in his metal hand, crushing it with a careless squeeze.
How nice.
It's going to be a long night.
To be Continued...
