A week passes by. The same routine. Rumlow helps you in and out of the car. Very few words exchanged. You live in the same apartment, but you barley talk to each other. And you sleep in separate rooms. You miss him. His touch, his kiss, his scent. And you curse at yourself for not being able to tell him how you feel. But on the other hand, he’s not saying anything ether. The only thing that’s still makes you hold on to the hopes that he’ll come around, is that he hasn’t asked you to leave.

Because of all the frustration you feel, you Excel in your training. It’s good to be able to shut your mind off. When you’re training with Rollins, it’s like you’re a different person. And all your attention goes into your training. Your close combat skills goes beyond what Rollins expected. So he decides that it’s time for target practice.

When you enter the fire range, you take a deep breath. You haven’t touched a gun since the day when Rumlow killed David. And suddenly the memories washes over you. How you thought David shot you. And then how Rumlow shot him. You can hear his voice in your head. How he touched your face. How he protected you when you waked up. And now he’s as cold hearted as they come. You force back your tears.

– Have you ever fired a gun before, YN?

Rollins puts up the target, and presses the button for it to go to where he wants it.

– Err.. I’ve held one. And Br… Rumlow showed me how to use it.

Rollins looks at you.

– That bad huh? That you resolved to last name basis?

– He haven’t talked to me in a week, Jack! I don’t know what to do anymore.

Rollins just looks at you.

– You call me Jack, and him Rumlow… What happened, YN?

– I don’t know.. That’s what makes it so hard. He sleeps on the couch. And, well.. I realise that I know nothing about him. Do you know?

Rollins takes his guns out of the holsters. Puts them on the table.

– Yes.. I know.. But I probably shouldn’t tell you. Could you maybe ask him? Tell him how you feel?

– I don’t even know how I feel anymore.. He’s so distant. And I don’t know what I did wrong.

Rollins clears his throat. It looks like he’s contemplating telling you something. But instead he gives you one of the guns. Before he gets his range ready as well. Then he comes over to your side. Shows you how to hold the gun. Your mind instanty goes back to when Rumlow showed you. How his touch felt. How protective he was.

– Aim with your dominant eye!

Rollins’ voice drags you back to reality.

– How do I know which eye that is?

Rollins laughs a bit.

– It usually lines up with your dominant hand. But not always, so you have to try..

You lift up the gun, and Rollins shows you how to hold it properly.

– Now focus your eyes on the gun. Aim at the target. Then fucus on the gun. It’s physically impossible to focus on both.

Rollins is a good teacher. Calm, collected. And he knows what he’s doing. But you can’t help but wonder if Rumlow would be better. Maybe you could ask him to train you with the knifes, when you get home. That is after all his specialty.

– If your aim is right now, and you focus on the gun. The target should look a little blurry. Do you see it?

– Yes..

You try to hold the gun as steady as you can. It’s not heavy. It’s just new. The last time you aimed a gun at someone, you forgot to take the safety off. And it almost had you killed.

– Now chose your point of aim. Concentrate, and squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull. Slow down your breathing. The gun is a part of your body. An extension of you. You can do this. Steady..

Rollins’ voice is so calm, it calms you down. You carefully squeeze the trigger. The sound is louder than you remember. And you’re not prepared for the recoil. The surprise makes you drop the gun, and take a step backwards. You go straight into Rollins. You’re shaking.

– YN? Are you OK?

Rollins leans down, and picks up the gun.

– No.. I’m not.. I’m sorry… I don’t think I’m ready for this..

Rollins places the gun back in your hand.

– You can’t be afraid of it, YN! If you are, you’re dead! Understand? I know I’m pushing you, but you have to learn to use this. If you freeze in a fight, you’ll get killed. Or get one of us killed! This gun is a part of you, learn to live with it.

You angrily put the gun down on the table.

– I. CAN’T. DO. THIS! I’m never gonna learn this!

Rollins leans forward and pushes the button to have the target come to you. You can’t see it, because you’re facing away from it. Rollins takes a look. Then he smiles.

– Bullseye! Look, YN! You hit the target. You know how to do this. You just have to get used to it!

You slowly turn around. Not only did you hit the target. Rollins was right. Bullseye!

– Pierce isn’t stupid, YN! He knows potential when he sees it. Three more shots, and I’ll let you do close combat with guns, OK?

You reluctantly agree. And when you take the next few shots, you feel more comfortable with the piece. And Rollins was right. You know how to do this. You actually surprise yourself.

When target practice ends. You decide to ask Rollins if you can have a break. You need to splash your face with water, and calm down, before the close combat with Rollins.

You part ways, and you walk into the locker room. Splash some water in tour face, lean against the sink, and look at yourself in the mirror. You take a deep breath, before walking towards the training room. When you reach the door, you hear Rollins talking to someone.

– You have to tell her, Rumlow!

He’s talking to Rumlow.. Instead of walking out the door. You stay and listen in.

– Tell her what, Rollins?

– Everything! She’s a mess, Rumlow! She even calls you by your last name!

You hear a loud bang. Did someone throw something, or are they fighting?

– She’s not worth it, Rollins! I can’t do this. I have a job to do. I can’t be a softie! That’ll have me killed one day. I can’t afford that!

You close your eyes. So you’re not worth it? Well, nether is he! So fuck it. You can hear the door slam, so you open the door to the training area. And walk outside. Rollins is standing in the middle of the room. You dry off a couple of tears, as you reach him.

– Please tell me you didn’t hear that, YN!

You look at him.

– So you did hear it? YN, I’m sorry.

– Could you please drive me home?

Rollins isn’t saying anything. He just puts his gun back in his holster, and walks towards the door. You follow.

——————————

Back in the apartment, you start to put your stuff into your bag. You’re crying so bad, you almost don’t see what you’re putting into it. Not worth it.. So you were just a fling?

You’re in the bathroom, putting your make up into your bag, when you hear the front door opening.

– YN?

Rumlows voice. You take a deep breath, and walk out in the living room, with your bag over your shoulder. When Rumlow sees you, his face goes soft.

– You left work.. I was so worried? Did something happen?

You close your eyes. But you can’t hold your tears back. Rumlow sees the bag over your shoulder. Then he looks back at you.

– Y…. YN? What are you doing?

You clear your throat.

– What does it look like I’m doing? I’m leaving!

– YN..? Can we talk about this? Can you just listen to me for a second? That’s all I’m asking..

You walk past him, out to the hall. You put your shoes on, and get your jacket from the hanger. Then you turn to him.

– I thought you said that I wasn’t worth it!!

With that, you exit the apartment, slamming the door shut behind you.

Rumlow’s pov:

He hears the door to the bedroom close. Then he turns around. Looks at the closed door.

What the fuck are you doing Brock? Why do you always do this? Close yourself off? Deny your feelings? Just walk in there, hold her, kiss her, make love to her…

He almost laughs of his own thoughts. «Make love». She made you into a softie, Brock. Be careful!

She could have made a move if she wanted to, you wouldn’t have stopped her. If she’d asked you to join her in the shower, you would have. Why is it always you, who has to take the first step? Why is it that the responsibility always falls on you? Just because you are an Agent, that doesn’t mean that you don’t need love and affection once in a while. Fuck! Why didn’t you tell her that.

Why the fuck are you asking, Brock? You know why. You’re scared. Scared that she’ll leave. Scared that she fell for the rough, hard, Brock. Deep down inside, you know that’s not you. You’re 46 years old. You should have started a family a long time ago. You just never found the right girl. Now you have, and you’re about to push her away. Does she even want a family? You know nothing about her background. And she knows nothing about yours. Where are her parents? Does she have any siblings? Why haven’t you asked her this?

Who are you kidding, Brock? You know the answer to that as well. You know why you react the way you do when you see women being treated badly. You just don’t want to tell her that. That trauma from your childhood, is something you pushed aside a long long time ago. Promised to never let it reach the surface again. And then she came along. She’s messing with your mind, Brock! Be careful!

He lies down on the couch. Hands behind his head, stearing up at the ceiling. A tear escapes his eye. He closes his eyes.

You promised you would forget that day, Brock. You made a promise to yourself. How is this girl capable of dragging all these memories to the surface, when you haven’t even talked about it?

Young Brock. He had made something at school that day. An angel made of clay. His mom loved angels. So when they were asked to make something for mothers day. He knew exactly what to make. He can still remember how exited he was to show his mom. She would most certainly make him his favorite food, and place the angel between them on the table. Then she would ask him how school was. And all the time she would look at the angel, admiring it. He had a special bond with his mom. She always took care of him. Despite of what was happening at home, she always made sure he was safe. Sacrificing herself, for his safety.

Fuck, why are you thinking about that day, Brock? Push it aside. For fucks sake, PUSH IT AWAY!!

There is no use. The memories flashing over him like a tidal wave. The open door when he reach the house. The furnitures knocked over. The blood on the wall. The broken picture frames. How quiet the house was. How his mom lied on the floor in the kitchen, knife still in her. Lifeless. How the world became black that day. He was 10. Already then, he decided to not feel, anything, for the rest of his life. That day his dad killed his mom. The day he became an orphan. His dad had run away off course. He never saw him again. Not until… Don’t go there, Brock!

He can’t lie on the couch anymore. He has to do something. Go for a run? No! He can’t leave you alone. A shot of whiskey. And a match. That’s what he needs.

He turns on the TV, and chugs down glass after glass. He knows it’s not a good idea. He hasn’t gotten drunk since that day.. DON’T BROCK! Just don’t!

8 years after his mom was killed, he in-listed. He needed to get away from everything. And the military seemed like a good way to do that. That’s where he met Rollins. They shared similar backgrounds. Not that they talked too much about that. But some information was shared. About a year in they were both drafted into a secret branch of the military, that eventually became SHIELD. The training he got, made him an expert marksman, sniper, one of the best fighters around. And then he trained as best he could with knifes. All the way, up until the point, where he felt that the knife became a part of him. There was nothing he couldn’t do with that weapon.

He quickly moved up, determined as he was. 10 years ago, he became head of field operations, with Rollins as his second in command. That position inside SHIELD gave him access to information he’d wanted since he was 10 years old. Where his father was!

When he found him, he took a month of work. Rollins feeding him information, as he drove across the country to track him down. He’d had him under surveillance for a week before he made his move. Drinking like crazy, to work up his courage. Then, he kicked his door in. It wasn’t much of a fight. That old guy had used years to almost drink himself to death every single night. Killing him was a piece of cake. It was the aftermath that was the hard Part. So he shut it off. Every single feeling he had. And then…. She came along.. She’ll make you bleed, Brock! Be careful!

The Last glass of whiskey is half empty, when he hurls it at the wall. It breaks into a thousand pieces. FUCK, Brock! Fuck her, fuck you, fuck Pierce, fuck SHIELD, fuck fucking everything! You don’t have feelings, remember? You’re dead inside! Keep it that way! Let her go, she’s not worth it. Or is she? Is anything worth going through this again? Will she understand? Should you tell her? Will she even listen, after they way you’ve been treating her today? She’s too good for you, Brock! Be careful!

He drank too much. It’s gonna be hard getting up tomorrow. He sets the alarm, and lets his hands rest on the back of his head. The last image he sees before his eyes before he drifts off, is his mothers smile….