One week later...
"Have a seat, Sgt. Sauer," Fury motioned to a chair in his office. The ship was still under repair, now that the battle was over, but Sauer had spent nearly the entire time confined to her quarters. "We need to talk."
"What is this about, sir?"
"It took me a while, but I finally found some footage of your conversation with our...guest...Prince Loki." Fury sounded tired, but stern all the same.
"Yes, and?"
"And you seem to have forgotten to tell me exactly what that conversation was about, Sergeant. I had to have AudioTech work on the tape to pick up the dialogue, before we found this:" he pressed a button. A jerky video began to play.
Sauer shrugged. "I still owe him a lesson, *SPARK*. Revenge is an art form where I come from," *SPARK*.
He smiled dangerously at that. "Then we have something in common, Sgt. Sauer. Tell me, how serious are you with your...art?"
She smiled a little. "*SPARK*SPARK*. My perthonal betht involves high-quality explothives and expenthive pietheth of real ethtate or *SPARK*property, but Biggess doeth not detherve my betht." Prince Loki's eyebrows went up at that declaration. "He needth to leard humility, *SPARK*SPARK*leard dothing," she explained.
"Ah, I see," the prince nodded again sagely. *SPARK**SPARK**SPARK*
"It ith not my first lesson, your majesty," she shrugged. "I hab done dis before."
"And sometime after that, Sgt. Biggess was indeed killed, Sgt. Sauer. The timing seems opportunistic, to say the least." Fury said coldly.
"I did not kill Sgt. Biggess, sir. He died exactly as I described to you: fell off a catwalk and impaled on some equipment one story down. The only reason I did not join him in death was my rescue by the Hulk," Sauer snapped.
"Still, the timing..."
"Is of no consequence, as you should realize, sir. I had oatmeal for breakfast on the day of the attack. Did my eating oatmeal cause the attack on the ship and subsequent deaths, or is the timing merely coincidental?"
"Don't try to get cute with me, Sauer." Fury said coldly. "I'm not in the mood."
"I've been told my 'getting cute' is an impossibility: sir," she parried. "Most recently, by the disgraced dead Sergeant whose death you seem to want to pin on me." Her spine stiffened and her face, now nearly black from the healing bruises, glared into Fury's. "We were barely co-workers, certainly not friends nor dating. Sgt. Biggess tried to rape me-twice-one week ago, and ended up dead in his second attempt. I call that poetic justice," she snapped, "but not revenge."
"Be that as it may, I have a problem," Fury said, sitting back in his chair. "Sgt. Biggess had political connections, and those connections are railing for an inquest into his death."
"I don't care for the political games you have to play, Commander."
"Nor do I." He leaned forward. "What do you know of Sgt. Biggess' family?"
She frowned and shrugged. "Nothing. I know he came from a privileged family. His former assaults and rapes went unpunished by his superior officers, probably for that reason."
Fury stiffened. "What former..."
"Talk to Doc in Sickbay 2. He has the evidence you need. You may also want to discuss the matter with any female non-coms that have left S.H.I.E.L.D. employ in the last year."
"I would," Fury drawled, sitting back in his chair, "if any of those people were still alive."
Sauer stiffened. "What? Doc...?"
"The medical officer you know of as 'Doc' was killed by shrapnel that pierced the medical bay. It cut through a few oxygen lines and sparked an explosion. 'Doc' is dead, and his computer is destroyed: melted to slag."
Sauer was stunned. "Biggess' other victims...Doc said they made reports to their immediate superior officers..."
"I have spoken to Biggess' immediate supervisors. They all deny any problem with the late Sergeant, any plausible mention of conduct unbecoming, and certainly no complaints of sexual assault in any degree."
"Of course not," Sauer murmured. "If he was as politically connected as you say, nothing short of a dead body would be considered a 'plausible mention'. Maybe not even one of those."
"Sauer?"
"Just thinking, sir. Even Ted Kennedy had Chappaquiddick. Some people are just Teflon when the SHTF," she said grimly, "unless it hits them directly." She looked at him warily. "Surely you can make some inquiries into the ship's medical logs. Female personnel are not that common aboard ship, and anybody seeking medical attention for SA would have been logged, at the very least as a PAP smear. Cross-reference those records with anyone who has left the ship since Biggess..."
"Sergeant Biggess," Fury corrected her.
"Sergeant Biggess came on board, and interview..."
"Sergeant Sauer," Fury said in a tone that said shut up now. She closed her mouth. He had one of his I-mean-business-so-don't-talk looks on his face. She gulped.
"I fully appreciate and understand your desire to clear your name. I do. Sergeant Biggess was, by scuttlebutt, an incompetent ass at best, and an abusive piece of shit at worst. Unfortunately scuttlebutt does not make it into official documents, and it most certainly does not get reported to a dead soldier's family,"
Sauer started to inflate. Fury held up a finger. His face still said shut up, so she did.
"Especially when that dead soldier's family sits on the Council of Regents," he finished coldly.
Sauer deflated. "The Council of Regents?" She blinked. "As in, the Council-that-sits-in-shadows-and-orders-you-to-nuke-Manhattan, Council of Regents?"
"You see my problem then, Sergeant Sauer." Fury's voice was cold. Frostbitten.
"Yes, sir, I do," she answered. "The rapistwas kin to the people that own S.H.I.E.L.D., and therefore us. Therefore, he never did do anything wrong, he never could have done anything wrong, and any witnesses or claimants to the contrary must either be lying or need to be removed." The last few words were out of her mouth before she had time to contemplate them; the shock of them hit her about two heartbeats later. She looked at Fury...oddly. "Am I about to become a casualty of war, sir?" She could feel her muscles tensing.
Fury settled back in his chair and raised his hands. "In a way, Sergeant, we're all casualties of war," he said matter-of-factly. "Some of us just live longer with the scars than others."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, Sergeant, that you received a head injury during the initial attack on the ship, and were subjected to significant stress during said attack, including but not limited to witnessing the accidental death of Sergeant Biggess. You are now showing signs of severe combat stress, or PTSD, and have had to be relieved of duty."
"But..." Fury held up a finger. Sauer shut her mouth again.
"You will be held on suicide watch for the rest of the week. If, at the end of that week, Sgt. Biggess' family wishes to interview you, I can arrange for you to be nearly catatonic from 'shock'. When that danger-for lack of a better term-is past, you will be furloughed while you heal. I believe some R&R is in order. Perhaps you should take the opportunity to visit your family in Colorado," he finished, not unkindly.
Sauer waited a few heartbeats, calculating...
"Sir?"
He raised his eyebrow.
"I believe you know more than you are letting on, sir. What really happened to the other women Biggess attacked?"
Fury looked pained. "Most recently re-stationed personnel from the Iolaus worked at the Palos Altos site."
Sauer nodded, comprehension dawning on her face. "I understand that rescue operations there have been changed to recovery."
He nodded. "That is correct. We may never find some of our missing personnel."
She frowned. "Perhaps I should join them, sir."
"You can have your choice of duty stations after..."
"You misunderstand me, sir." It was her voice now that had frostbite.
Fury gave her a questioning look. "Go on."
"If the best you can do with me is to offer me up to the rapist's family as some sort of shattered lamb, then I have outlived my usefulness to S.H.I.E.L.D., sir. I will neither take the fall for Biggess' death nor whitewash it. This family," she spat the word out, "raised a rapist and tried to use a thermonuclear device on a civilian population, sir. I don't care who they think they own, they do not own me." She glared at him right then. "And if you're half the commander I think you are, they don't ownyou, either."
Fury leaned forward. "Be very, very careful, Sergeant," he said softly.
She leaned forward as well. "With all due respect, sir, if my options are fake PTSD and a vacation, with the promise of a cushy job afterwards, or a bullet, I'll take the bullet, sir." She thought for a moment. "Just send the S&W X-frame home to my father, will you?"
Fury made an odd noise through his nose and pressed a button on his intercom. A hidden door swung open at the back of the office.
Agent Phil Coulson rolled in a wheelchair, his eyes still glowing faintly blue.
Nick Fury pulled a $10 bill out of his wallet and slapped it into the man's hand. "Enjoy it," he said gruffly, "I won that bill off of Cap a week ago."
"Thanks, I will," Coulson said, tucking the bill into his wallet. "Hey, Pistol," he said to the stunned woman sitting across from Fury, "I told you to use one of those R-packs, didn't I? You're still a mess."
Sergeant Sauer turned weakly to her Commanding officer. "I don't suppose you have any single-malt Scotch, do you?"
"Swill," Fury said, pulling out a bottle of Jack Daniels. He poured them all a shot. "I always drink American."
It burned going down...when did it not?...but at least now Sauer had a reason to feel woozy. She set her glass down with a clink.
"Now," Fury said, businesslike again, "now that you're both officially dead, what do I do with you?"
"I have an idea," Coulson offered, his voice sounding oddly metallic.