When I return to the living room after washing my face, I find Rumlow in the process of making hot chocolate.

"Would you look at that, I managed not to burn your kitchen down." He smiles as he fills a mug and hands it to me. I force a smile, recognizing his attempt to cheer me up, and take it from him.

"Thanks."

He casts me a reassuring smile, and I'm filled with gratitude for his mere presence right now.

We sit in silence in the kitchen for a while, until he clears his throat quietly.

"You know, everyone has their own way of coping. It's not easy." He pauses for a moment, and I watch him expectantly as I take a sip from the mug.

"Is this the first time..." His voice trails off as he tries to pose the question in a delicate way.

I nod.

Yes, it's the first time I've seen someone die like that. It was the first time I've seen someone I know die like that.

"I've been through it. It's tough. It's messed up. But you can't let it keep you down. It'll haunt you." He gazes into his mug as though he expects to see ghosts rising out of the steam.

"How do you cope?"

He glances up at me, mulling over the question for a minute.

"I've lost a lot of pals, but that's part of the business, and part of the risk. I understand that now. That understanding helps me cope." His answer isn't quite what I'm looking for, but I'm not going to press any further on it.

"I couldn't do anything. Even if I had a gun, I wouldn't have been able to shoot him. I always thought… that I could defend myself, that I could act if I had to… but I couldn't." I squeeze the mug in my hands as I try to push the memory out of my mind. Never have I felt as helpless and weak as I did during that moment when the subject turned to me.

"Hey," He places his hand over mine, "That's normal. You couldn't have expected that to happen, and the asset- the subject, he's not normal. He's a trained assassin. If he had wanted to kill you, he would have done it."

Those words sting, and it must have shown, because he quickly tries to change the tone of the conversation.

"Did Michael do anything to provoke him? Maybe he was messing around with something that made him angry? Caused him pain?"

I don't know. I had my back turned.

I shake my head, but Rumlow doesn't look convinced.

"He must have done something to bring about his wrath. Maybe he didn't know what he was doing when he was dealing with the guy's arm."

"I'm sure Michael knew very well what he was doing." I don't know why I'm defending him and why that sentence came out sounding so angry.

He stares at me silently.

"I'm sorry. I'm just really upset. The subject has never done anything like that in our presence before and Michael was good at his job and he knew… he knew what—" I have to break off the sentence because I hear my voice shaking again. I don't want to cry again. I'm tired of feeling sorry for myself.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult your friend." His expression softens, and I evaluate his apology for authenticity. It's not like Rumlow has ever liked Michael, so I don't expect him to start liking him now that he's dead.

There's a knock on the door. Grateful for the interruption on this uncomfortable conversation, I set my mug down and make my way out of the kitchen, through the foyer to the front door.

Through the peephole, I see a bearded man dressed like a stereotypical college professor. Sandals. Polo shirt. Khaki slacks. No briefcase or clipboard, so I guess he's not a door-to-door salesman.

I open the door just a crack and peer out at him.

"Are you Elise Summers?" He checks his phone and glances up at me with a soft smile.

I hear Rumlow step into the foyer.

"What do you want?" I ask quietly, still refusing to open the door any wider.

"There is no need to be afraid my dear. I'm Dr. Henderson." He pulls a badge out of his pocket and shows me the Shield emblem inside.

A little bit of relief washes over me, and his gentle smile grows wider.

"You must have had a very difficult day, my dear." He steps into the foyer and I close the door behind him, locking it carefully.

"Ah, Brock Rumlow, is it?" He walks over to Rumlow and shakes hands with him. The two talk briefly in low voices about the incident, their expressions very matter-of-fact, like this whole subject-killing-researcher thing is a common occurrence.

"Come, come, Elise." Dr. Henderson waves me over and ushers me into my living room like he owns the place.

Rumlow returns to the kitchen, and though he's a mere two metres away, it feels as though I've been left with this stranger on a deserted island.

"Don't you worry, my dear. I only want to help you." Dr. Henderson senses my concern and pats me on the shoulder reassuringly, an understanding smile on his face.

His beard is an unruly mess of brown hair, and I wonder how he manages to pass himself off as a Shield employee looking like this.

"Brock may certainly stay for the session. I'm glad that he has been able to support you. Unfortunately it should go without saying that matters at shield are confidential. It's not always possible, therefore to confide in our relatives when such tragedies occur." He seats himself on the sofa, gesturing for me to sit down as well. I do so reluctantly.

I understand very clearly what he's trying to tell me. No one should hear about this incident outside of work.

"Then, what about… his funeral?" I can't bring myself to say Michael's name and the word funeral in the same sentence. I can't accept that, not yet.

"It has already been arranged for tomorrow."

"But… what about his relatives? Michael's family live across the country, there's no way they can get here in time." I raise my eyebrows in concern.

"There is no need to involve them. Shield will take care of things." He answers simply, flashing that reassuring smile.

I stare at him in vexed silence until he finally casts me a slightly defeated look.

He clearly hadn't wanted to say the words he's about to say.

"This is not a standard funeral, Elise. It will not be a ceremony. It will be a simple burying of the body. As such, there is no need for formalities. No pomp, no circumstance, no guests. I know it sounds horribly cruel but that is the way things work here. I'm sure you understand." He eyes me carefully, the hopeful smile on his face seeming less gentle, taking on a tone I've heard too often recently.

It's a tone that says "don't ask questions, just accept it."

And I thought this man was a therapist? He's just come here to shut me up.

"So, I can't say goodbye?" I glance towards the kitchen where Rumlow is seated at the breakfast bar, watching us. I can't read his expression. I can't even tell if he's been listening to the conversation or not.

"I'm afraid not, Elise. That is the way we do things at Shield. But that is why I'm here to help you get through this difficult time. We don't abandon our own." He smiles at me, but I can't help the feeling of bitterness gnawing away at me.

Some help you've been so far.