I put the last of my possessions into the box, glancing across at Michael's empty chair. His desk has been cleared while I was away on that mission, and not a trace of his presence remains except the ghost of his disapproval.
I can't seem to escape it.
I turn at the sound of footsteps and see Rumlow standing in the doorway.
"Ready to go?" He folds his arms, surveying my empty desk.
"Yeah." I pick up the box. It feels heavier than it did when I first arrived here.
"You'll like your new office. It's less… gloomy." He jokes, glancing around the cramped, dimly lit office. Truthfully I'm happy to be out of this environment. It'll mean less reminders, less guilt.
"Let me take that for you." He nods towards the box, beginning to unfold his arms.
"Relax, I'm not going to drop it again." I frown, remembering that first time we met.
"If you say so, rookie." When he raises an amused eyebrow, my frown grows further.
Damn, his arrogance grates on my nerves.
"You're still wearing that thing?" His eyebrows rise sharply, and I glance down at the star pendant. I actually forgot that I was still wearing it. As soon as I was done getting the data, we drove back and I forgot all about it.
"Well, if I ever need to contact you in an emergency, this is the fastest way to reach you, right?" I joke. We come to a stop in front of the elevator.
He chuckles, and I sense that he's about to ask me to give the pendant back when his radio begins to beep.
"Rumlow, new mission just came in. A Shield ship was hijacked." It's Rollins' voice.
"I'll be down in a minute. Call Cap, have him report in." Rumlow glances down at his watch, then up at me.
"Twenty-third floor. I'm sure Kenji will be up there to explain things to you." He presses the call button for the elevator and gives me a one-over before he begins to walk away.
"Got it." As I watch him walk away, the elevator doors open with a ding.
I step inside and press the button for the 23rd floor, then lean back against the railing that borders the mirrored walls. I wonder how long I can keep fooling myself into thinking this is a normal relationship.
Part of me wants to like him. I still find him attractive, at least. But lately, things don't feel right. Dr. Nikolav filled my head with doubt. And it doesn't help that I know nothing about the man. He promised me answers. Maybe when I have them, I'll be able to decide if we can really keep moving forward like this.
At the very least, he doesn't seem to want my instant demise. If anything, I feel like he's trying to prolong my time on the team. Whether that's to fulfill some work-related task or because "we have something", I don't know. All I know is that he still seems like a good guy. And when he strokes his unshaved stubble, or runs his hand through that charming black fauxhawk or offers me a gentle smile, he feels like a good guy too. But alas, how many serial murder victims have fallen prey to that kind of logic?
The elevator doors open to a surprisingly narrow hallway. Two armed men stand on either side of a reception desk. I've hardly reached it when the secretary looks up to meet my gaze.
He's a sharp looking guy with linear features and a long, straight nose, and his emotionless expression shifts into one of recognition as he looks at my face.
"Ms. Summers." He holds out an access pass and I momentarily try to figure out what to do with the box before a guard steps in and takes it from me, so I can take the pass and do the retinal scan for my new biometric ID.
Well. This is all very different.
"You may enter the lab; it's down the hall and to your right." The secretary points to the end of the seemingly endless hallway and then quickly returns to his other tasks. I turn to the guard to take my belongings back but he's already walking down the corridor, so I follow. When I reach the security doors, he doesn't enter with me, just hands me the box and returns without a word.
The so-called "lab" still doesn't look much like a lab, more like an open-concept workspace. It's a far cry from that joke space I was working in downstairs, though. Expansive and modern, with high ceilings and ample lighting, it looks like something truly worth being called a shield facility.
There are desks in one corner, a whiteboard and lounge furniture in another, and at the far side of the room, there appears to be a work station surrounded by multiple large monitors.
At present, one of these monitors is showing what looks to be a live feed from the subject lab. It's the first time I've seen him since Michael's death.
He looks unchanged, still seated in his chair like the day I last saw him. A man walks up to him, holds a measuring tape up as he examines the subject's face. He takes an object from a nearby assistant and I struggle to figure out what it is until the subject puts it on.
A mask.
I turn at the sound of the door opening and see Kenji enter the lab, alone.
"Elise, so nice to see you after so long!" His smile is strained, and I note the way his eyes search the room for something… or someone.
"Agent Rumlow got called on a mission and sent me up by myself." I explain, crossing the floor to stand before him.
How deeply is he implicated in things, I wonder?
"Ah, I see." The answer doesn't seem to alleviate his nerves. "Do you have the data?"
"Yes, it should be all of it." I look around for a place to put my box down—God, my arms are getting sore—and he points towards two empty desks nearby.
"Take your pick, it will be your desk."
I choose the desk closer to the monitor workstation and set my stuff down. I give the USB stick to him and he turns it over in his hands, examining the tiny writing on the back.
"Good, good. I assume this is the only copy?" He smiles when I nod and then moves to a computer. "I will upload this to the internal server. In the meanwhile, you can make yourself at home."
"Great… do you happen to know where the washrooms are?" I glance briefly around the room.
"There aren't any in here, but there's one in the hall."
As I walk away, I get the sense that he's really high-strung today. The way he seemed relieved about Rumlow's absence was especially odd.
Upon leaving the lab, I don't see any washrooms, just the other security door up ahead and the corner that takes me back to the front desk. I debate turning back to ask Kenji for clarification, but instead I opt to see if I've missed a door by the elevators or something.
No, it's just a narrow hallway like I thought.
The secretary looks puzzled to see me wandering around like a lost nomad.
"Can I help you, Ms. Summers?" He raises a quizzical brow at me.
"Yeah, sorry. Where are the washrooms?"
"There's a facility in the lab. Didn't Mr. Miyano inform you?" He looks even more vexed now.
"He told me they were in the hall."
In the silence that follows, everything happens all at once. There's a distinctly high pitched sound, followed by a loud alarm. The guards have already mobilized themselves, weapons drawn, and are halfway down the hall when a shout pierces the air.
"You will never take me, Hydra scum!"
A single gunshot. The guards have only just reached the corner, so that means only one thing. The bullet was Kenji's.
Dear Lord, not this again. I can't deal with this place anymore.
The secretary is on the phone, and it isn't long before the elevator doors open, four more armed men hurriedly exiting. Two of them carry an object that confirms my worst fears: a body bag on a stretcher.
Thirty minutes later I find myself in some lobby-level lounge sitting with Dr. Henderson again. This time, the man doesn't look so cheerful, doesn't talk quite so much. He looks as distant and confused as I am, his words more of a way to comfort himself rather than me.
"I just can't understand what got into Kenji to do such a thing. I've known the man for twenty years!" He sighs, leaning back in his chair.
I stare into my cup of tea and mull over the words Kenji had shouted before he died. "Hydra scum". Hydra. Sounds familiar. Wasn't it an organization from the world war era? But I'm sure it was eliminated back then… What an odd reference for him to make. Maybe he was suffering from a type of schizophrenia.
"Maybe he was struggling with depression or some disorder?" I suggest. Dr. Henderson's eyebrows rise sharply, all but disappearing under his curly brown locks.
"Depression? No. His suicide was a direct result of his failed attempt to delete the data from that USB."
Now it's my turn to be surprised.
"You mean… those alarms…"
"Yes, they were system override warnings." He nods, and his frown grows grave. "Still I can't fathom why such a dedicated and honorable researcher would try to tamper with data. Did he say anything to you that gave it away?"
"No, nothing at all. I asked him where the washroom was and he directed me to the hall. Presumably so that I wouldn't witness what he was about to do or try to stop him." I reply, lowering my gaze to my hands.
I don't tell him about the uncharacteristic nervousness that Kenji showed or the way he examined the USB stick when he received it, or the fact that he asked if duplicate copies had been made.
Whatever reason he had for trying to delete the data, I bet it was because he, like Pierce and Rumlow, believed that the files on that USB had missing info that Shield lacked. If he had only known… he wouldn't have given his life away in vain.
"Such a shame that we must endure another tragedy so soon." Dr. Henderson's sigh disrupts my thoughts.
I have no words to offer in reply, so I just shake my head slowly. Just when things were returning to normal, everything feels surreal again.
"Will you need time off again, my dear? It's quite understandable, given what you've been through. You should go home for today, let them clean up." He offers me an understanding smile even as he says these last chillingly insensitive words.
"I'll be fine to come in tomorrow, I think. I've taken too much time off so far as it stands." I reply. And also, I don't want the higher-ups to forget how useful I am to have around… lest they suddenly find me disposable.
"Alright then," he stands to leave, "Good to see you again my dear. Unfortunate that we only meet under such circumstances."
If it's all the same to you, doctor, I'd rather we never have to meet at all.
But that's wishful thinking in this place.