"For the last time, Dr. Jones, Agent Rumlow is just training me. That's all. I'd really appreciate it if you didn't mention anything so suggestive in front of the others, especially Michael."
"Why?" She raises a curious eyebrow, and I know I've only set her off on a new track.
"Because he's already mad at me for interfering with his workflow, pretty sure he doesn't want me to get distracted or mess anything else up for him." I lower my voice, my eyes briefly glued to the door to make sure the man in question doesn't enter mid-explanation.
He doesn't.
I return my attention to the examination room window. The subject is sparring with the Strike team. Correction: the subject is defeating the Strike team. Despite the fact that they have 5 guys out there, the exercise only lasts a few minutes before the next round of fighters are up.
He's so ruthless. It's completely different when he fights. He doesn't hesitate to hurt people at all, even if it's just supposed to be practice. It's like he can't control his strength, or like he's a preprogrammed robot. It isn't long before some of his challengers come wincing in with broken ribs and other miscellaneous injuries.
I read the files last night. I know that he's an assassin, and they've been keeping him frozen between missions… but to think he's been frozen for near half a century… That's a little insane.
Most of the documents were censored beyond readability. Not the first time, probably not the last, but I expected a little more security clearance when I was told I'd be working under Alexander Pierce.
"Geez, you think at least they'd send me some back-up to deal with this." Dr. Jones scrambles to treat the men, "Can you lend me a hand Elise?"
"Okay," I concede hesitantly, "but I have to warn you… I'm a PhD, not a physician."
Between us we manage to patch up most of the guys. Some of them needed a few stitches, and as much as I hate sewing people up, I'm forced to apply my rusty skills. Probably should have reviewed my Shield-mandated first aid knowledge when I transferred to this team.
I've just finished dealing with my last patient when Rumlow enters, a bloody tissue clenched to his nose. He tosses it into the trash and makes for the door when Dr. Jones blocks him.
"Oh no you don't! You sit down and get your wounds disinfected."
"I don't need any medical attention." He scowls, attempting to move around her.
"Brock Rumlow, if you get a flesh eating disease because of an infection you pick up in the field, I couldn't care less if you come crawling to me for help. Now sit down and let Elise see to your cuts." Dr. Jones glares at him.
I've never seen her so angry. At 5 foot 4, she's almost a whole foot shorter than Rumlow, but her commanding pose and defiant expression have him backing down.
"Fine, I got it." He concedes, running a hand through his hair as he makes his way towards me.
As soon as his back is turned to her, Dr. Jones immediately drops her angry expression and gives me a thumbs up and a wide grin.
I have to bite back the laugh as I avert my gaze from her face.
"What's so amusing, punk?" Rumlow's brows furrow in disapproval as he stands before me.
"It's not every day someone actually manages to land a punch on you, huh?" I reply with a smile, dipping a cotton ball in alcohol.
"I don't know how Dr. Jones expects me to be bandaged up by a rookie who can't even tape her own hand." He ignores my question, gracing me with a barb of his own.
He winces at the unexpected pain as I slap the wet cotton ball onto his scratched cheek.
"That's mean, you know." I mutter, letting my fingertips graze his rough stubble as I wipe the blood off his handsome face. It's not every day I get the chance to touch it so gingerly.
"Is your nose okay?" I lift his chin to examine his nose for potential breakage.
"It's fine. I've already broken it once before. Nothing new." He pushes my hand away.
Dr. Jones emerges from the storage room with new suture thread for the last remaining man. Seems he split his ear open or something, by the looks of the blood soaked towel pressed to the side of his head.
That's when the subject comes in, his lip bleeding, face cut in various places.
"Elise, can you deal with him? I've got my hands full." Dr. Jones glances over at him, surveying his wounds, "Shouldn't be anything serious, just disinfect his cuts."
Rumlow moves to a nearby chair before I have the chance to say anything else about his nose.
The subject seats himself on the examination table without any argument, and I appreciate his obedience. I mean, for someone I just watched brutally take down a bunch of people, he's awfully quiet and well behaved. I've been warned that he has a tendency to lash out, though, so I'm not going to completely let my guard down.
I dab the cut on his cheek with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol. He winces very slightly, clenching his jaw to stifle his reaction.
"You took those guys out so easily." I smile at him, lifting his chin slightly to get at the bleeding wound on his jaw.
Predictably, he doesn't respond. I take his right hand, examining his knuckles. They're raw, like he's grazed his fist on concrete.
I'm in the process of bandaging his hand when Michael comes in.
"We need you in the lab—" he stops mid-statement, then changes his tone. "What are you doing?"
It's like a question a parent asks when they've found their child doing something they shouldn't be doing.
"Dr. Jones asked me to help her. I was on my lunch break anyway." I glance over at him briefly as I tighten the last bandage for the subject before heading to the sink to wash my hands.
By the time I turn around, the subject is already gone. Michael's still in the doorway waiting for me, but he isn't looking at me. I follow his gaze to the corner of the examination room.
Rumlow's attention is trained on him, and I realize he's probably figured out that this is the co-worker I was talking about.
The tension makes it feel like sparks are about to fly at any moment, and I wonder what each man is thinking.
"I'll see you after work, Elise." Rumlow is talking to me, but his eyes are still on Michael and it sounds like he's said it to make a point.
"Yeah." I reply, hearing the uncertainty in my own voice, and I correct myself, "See you later, Dr. Jones."
"Thanks for your help!" She looks up from her patient and smiles at me.
I cast one last furtive glance at Rumlow as I leave the room, trying to decipher his thoughts from his sober expression.
Nothing.