Hey guys! Sorry about the extended delay. As some of you have noticed, we've reached the CATWS storyline and I took a short break to make directional decisions. As an apology you get two chapters today (40 and 41). Thank you again for all of your reviews and follows/favourites! :) They make writing more worthwhile. It's interesting to see your predictions and comments! By the way, I recently saw the Purge:Anarchy and Frank Grillo was a BOSS. If you like Rumlow, you'll love the movie! - strike
The next morning when I come in for work, the lab is as spotless as it was when I first saw it. It's impressive, how well they clean up after these incidents. And unlike after Michael's death, they've removed all of Kenji's things. It's like he never existed at all. I have only the memories of his last nervous moments to remind me of what happened here.
It seems they haven't been able to find a replacement supervisor yet, but an email notifies me that the files have been successfully uploaded to the private server.
I begin the arduous task of sifting through three decades worth of manuscripts, data files and spreadsheets, but my mind is elsewhere. There are two other researchers in the lab this morning, and though I went through formal introductions earlier, they haven't spoken to me since.
One is engrossed in writing formulas on the board—for what, I don't know—and the other has been typing on her laptop for quite a while.
I glance at the monitors airing the live feed from the subject lab. It's empty. I guess he's off training or something.
My thoughts then turn to Rumlow, and I wonder what happened on his mission. I wonder if he'd tell me if I asked.
I probably won't be seeing him around much now that I work up here. The realization saddens me a little, and that concerns me because it means that I'll miss him. I'm getting attached.
I lay my head on the desk and look out the window, watching clouds roll across the vast blue sky, mentally singing the lyrics to Rihanna's Fool in Love.
The day passes mercifully quickly. Without a lead supervisor, we can't move forward very much. All that can be done is to organize the relevant and irrelevant data and to read and annotate files. I'm relieved. Whatever that data is tied to, it seems like the type of sinister project I'd want to delay working on. It's already led to two deaths, and I'm not about to become the third just yet.
The commute home is a struggle, and the traffic downtown is horrendous.
The wreckage of police and civilian vehicles litter two main streets, and further ahead on the road there's a black SUV laying on its roof. It looks completely demolished, and it's riddled with bullet holes.
It's enough to pique my curiosity, and I'm grateful to have something new to mull over that isn't related to my life-or-death job.
When I finally get home, I flip channels on the TV until I find a news broadcast of the accident.
The cops aren't letting any reporters close to the scene, but the cameraman manages to zoom in on the toppled SUV. For the most part, it looks like an ordinary vehicle, but the gaping hole carved cleanly into the asphalt beneath it… that's anything but ordinary.
That doesn't look like it could have been produced by a common crook. Looks like military grade technology… or black market… or Shield.
The cameraman is motioned away by a nearby officer, and I turn to the internet for clues. Sure enough, social media is crawling with pictures of the car chase. Few of them are clear, and most of them have been removed before I can click on them to get a better look… like they're being censored in real time.
New pictures appear on twitter, this time of a figure standing in the middle of traffic. He's clad all in black, and he has a gun pointed at the SUV barrelling towards him. None of the pictures show the driver clearly, but there are numerous pictures of the gunman.
He dons a mask identical to the subject's, and I know by his hair that it's him, even though the jacket he wears conceals his metal arm.
And just as soon as they're up, the pictures are gone.
Someone doesn't want the world to see this very public assassination. And I'm willing to bet that it's someone at Shield. Maybe the subject is an inside agent they send after their own traitors.
But making such a visible fuss about the whole thing? In broad daylight? I guess they want that person dead ASAP.
Wait, no. I don't want to think about this anymore. Somehow everything in my life has become related to Shield. I sigh as I get up to prepare dinner. I just want to live a fraction of a normal person's life.
I'm in the middle of making fried rice when there's a knock on the door. I turn the oven off, wash my hands quickly and wipe them on my jeans as I walk to the front door, hoping against all hope that it's a long-lost relative or a friendly sales person and not an assassin or a Shield employee.
It's Rumlow. I can't help the instant happiness that washes over me, even though he's definitely not a long lost relative or friendly sales person.
I open the door and peer at him curiously. He's wearing heavier combat gear than usual, including a Kevlar vest, and his hands are behind his back. I open my mouth to question his attire, but he cuts me off with his usual casual tone.
"Dinner, huh? I was going to take you out. Hope you made enough for two." He steps inside the house, but he's careful to block my view of whatever he's holding behind his back.
"Who said you were invited?" I joke as I lock the door.
When I face him again, he pushes a bouquet of blue and purple flowers into my hands.
"How about now?"
"What—why?" I laugh, "What's the occasion?"
"You liked the pendant, and I haven't given you anything before. Thought you'd like them." He rubs the back of his neck self-consciously, and the gesture hits a soft spot in my heart. He's embarrassed. This navy-seal alpha-male death-bringer is secretly embarrassed. I'm torn between laughing and wanting to kiss him.
Either he genuinely feels something for me, or he's an Oscar-worthy actor.
"I love them, thank you." I grace him with the sweetest smile I can manage and hug him.
"I'm glad." His arms wrap around me as I rest my head against his chest. I can't hear his heartbeat through the Kevlar, but neither can he feel mine. If he could, he'd know how relieved I am to have him here.
"I'm glad that you're safe." My words are barely louder than a whisper.
He pulls me away slightly to press an answering kiss against my lips.
"I'm glad that you are too." He murmurs, running his fingers through my hair, his eyes locked on mine.
He's heard about Kenji, then.
I avert my gaze and he lets go of me.
"Are you okay, Elise?" His voice is sober and questioning.
"Let's talk about that later. You can suffer through my cooking first." I force a smile and take him by the hand, leading him into the kitchen.