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ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғɪғᴛᴇᴇɴ: ᴅʀᴏᴘ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴsᴇ

❝ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ɢᴇᴛ sᴍᴀʀᴛ-ᴀss; ɪᴛ ᴘɪssᴇs ᴍᴇ ᴏғғ. ❞

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          COUGHING AND SPLUTTERING, THE ASSET LET OUT A FEW CHOKED CHUCKLES WHEN BRENDON DREW HIS HEAD OUT OF THE BUCKET OF ICE WATER.

"Ya know," the assassin croaked, "for people who claim to be the good guys, you sure are tremendous at torturing people. Too bad I've already been through worse; else I mighta just cracked and told you everything."

"Believe me, this is not a fraction of what I'm gonna put you through if you don't start talking."

With a smug look on his wet and bruised face, the assassin threw up his hands as best he could while still in the restraints. "I am talking, aren't I?"

With a low growl, Brendon swung his arm against the bucket with a force that sent it flying against the reinforced-glass window, forming a crack and sending water droplets flying everywhere. Lunging forward, he grabbed the back of the assassin's thick head of hair, tilting his head back and delivering a stunning punch before grabbing his jaw and yanking his face towards him.

"Don't get smart-ass; it pisses me off," he hissed, hovering inches away from the battered man's face, "Now, I'm gonna ask you one more time... Where. Is. Hydra. Based."

The assassin stared at Brendon blank faced, before his lips cracked into a twisted smile. "Why don't you ask your precious little snowflake? I'm sure she could track it."

With the intention of delivering another blowing punch, Brendon drew his fist back, but the voice exploding over the PA system stopped him.

"Agent Urie, that's enough. Stand down."

With extreme reluctance and at a snail's pace, Brendon lowered his fist, grinding his teeth. He shot the prisoner a final icy glare before turning around and exiting the glass encasement. When he reached the control room, he was met with the disapproving face of The Director.

Disregarding any need for words, The Director turned sharply on his heel and exited the control room. Brendon followed him out.

"Do you mind telling me what the hell that was?"

"I was getting him to talk, sir."

"Oh you were, were you?" The Director chuckled darkly. "Well, from where I stood, it looked like you were more focused on getting him to bleed than to talk."

Brendon opened his mouth to speak, but the appearance of his superior's index and middle fingers in the air silenced him.

"The only reason I assigned Agent Corvey to take over your duty and monitor (Y/N) so that you could interrogate Ward is because you're my best agent. But your actions just now are making me question if that decision was the right one to make."

"Sir," Brendon said slowly, swallowing, "just let me at him. I'll get him to talk. Guaranteed."

"That right there is exactly the problem, Agent," The Director shook his head and jutted a finger into Brendon's chest, "You're angry. Too angry. And it's clouding your judgement. You were too blind with rage to even notice that he was provoking you. Riling you up. Purposefully pushing you to the edge. Look, I understand that this situation is a sensitive one. Especially from where you're concerned, but you cannot let your personal grievances overpower over your duties as an agent."

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Brendon fought the urge to lash out, and nodded curtly instead. "Yes, sir. I understand."

"I'm glad you do, because as of now, you're off interrogation duty. Under no circumstances are you to be alone in a room with Ward. Do I make myself clear?"

If it had been anyone else standing in front of him, Brendon would have knocked their teeth down their throat a long time ago. But this was The Director, and as much as he felt like defending his case, he knew that it would fall upon deaf ears. This decision was final. His stomach twisted at the thought of not being able to get his hands on the assassin who had caused so much destruction, and his anger ignited once again. Still, he managed to compose himself enough to respond.

"Yes, sir."

The Director gave a small nod before beginning to walk away. "Oh, and Agent," he called out, not even bothering to stop walking and turn to face Brendon, "Agent Corvey is overseeing (Y/N) until 10pm; that's just over an hour from now. Take the time to get rid of that anger of yours."

~

Grunting, Corvey pushed his palms against the cold floor of the training center in an effort to hoist himself up. He winced as a sharp pain shot through the left side of his abdomen, and he fell back onto his butt as his hand instinctively went to clutch the area. Letting out a light, short chuckle, he gazed up at you, standing wide-eyed.

"Are you sure you need training? Or did you just ask for lessons so that you could show off by kicking my ass?"

"I..." you started, extending your arms to the side and stammering in disbelief, "I don't even know how I did that. How did I do that?"

"Beats me," Corvey shrugged, moving to once again try and pick himself up, "It took me six months of training before I could even attempt that move. And yet here you are, perfecting it on the first try."

"Well, I've always had good reflexes," you offered, moving to help your victim up.

"That," he wheezed, "is not reflexes. That is something else."

"I'm sorry," you grimaced, beginning to pick up the stray pieces of equipment from your session and placing it back in the various boxes, both of you grabbing your jackets and starting towards the exit once everything was back in its place, "And I completely understand if you never want to help me train ever again."

Corvey scoffed, smiling at the ground before looking at you. "Don't worry," he shook his head lightly, lifting his hand to carefully brush your hair out of your face, "I don't mind. You can kick my ass anytime."

Feeling your body temperature rise at his statement, you gave him a genuine smile. A flash of black outside the door of the center caught your eye, and you frowned as you tried to make out what it was. When it didn't show up again, you wrote it off as nothing and returned your attention to your counterpart. "Are you okay with getting your ass kicked tomorrow night at 11pm?"

"It's a date."

~

Brendon made his way down to the training center; his footsteps fell heavy and every single one of his muscles was tightened. The Director was right - he needed to get rid of some of this aggression. Or else.

He passed a few fellow agents on the way, all of whom extended a friendly greeting. Brendon simply grunted in reply and picked up his pace, wanting to reach his destination as soon as possible.

He reached the entrance soon after and was about to enter his Agent ID into the alarm system when he noticed something - or two somethings, rather - that made him freeze.

It was two people - a girl and a guy - standing in the middle of the room, gathering the equipment they had been using. Even though they were a good distance away, Brendon knew that the girl was you. He would recognize you anywhere. He also recognized the agent as one of the lower rankers. Corvey, he thought his name was.

Noticing your attire, coupled with the equipment and the fact that you were in the training center, it took Brendon less that a millisecond to realize what had been going on. Admittedly, he wasn't surprised; he had expected you to pull something like this. But he had expected you to hammer him about it a bit more. Not run off to some lower-grade idiot.

Brendon felt his enragement grow.

He watched the two of you walk to the door diagonal from the one he was at, and had to physically grip the frame of the door to fight the impulse to barge in and toss Corvey clean across the room.

So that's why Corvey had volunteered – well, practically begged – to be assigned to you while he was doing interrogations. It all made sense now. All except why you would go to Corvey for help with training.

Brendon's eyes narrowed as he continued staring at you; you were standing way too close to each other for his liking. The final straw came when the vermin known as Corvey had the audacity to reach out and touch you. He actually touched you. What's worse is, you didn't even shove him away; instead, you smiled at him.

"Son of a bitch!"

~

The next morning, your entire body was crying out in pain and fatigue, but you were in a good mood regardless. Yesterday's session with Corvey had gone wonderfully, and you were so looking forward to today's one that you were practically bouncing around.

After your usual morning routine, which included breakfast, you decided to go for a walk and find Agent Corvey to make sure that you were still on for tonight.

You hadn't seen Brendon since yesterday morning, when he temporarily transferred his bodyguard duties over to Corvey. It was strange not having him around; you felt vulnerable. It was especially odd that he wasn't around this morning, considering that his duties should have been transferred back over to him.

The thoughts of Brendon left your mind when you spotted the soft-faced agent at his usual spot on the main floor. Grinning, you strutted over to Corvey's desk, greeting him with a flick on the shoulder.

"Hey, I just wanted to make sure that we're still good for tonight?"

Corvey swallowed hard, and his face turned so pale, you were quite worried that he might throw up all over the place.

"R-right. About that," he spluttered, nervously adjusting his collar, which seemed way too tight all of a sudden, "I'm really sorry, (Y/N), b-but I can't continue training you."

"What?" you whisper-yelled, "Why not?!"

"I'm sorry. I just can't."

You stood there, eyebrows furrowed and mouth opening and closing as you tried to process everything. Soon after, it dawned on you and you sighed.

"I know what this is about."

He looked at you with wide-eyes. "You do?"

"Of course I do," you moved to sit on the edge of his desk, "I hit you way too hard and now you're worried that I might actually injure you with my haphazard strength."

Corvey looked somewhat amused for a second, before he caught himself and cleared his throat, solemnly nodding along.

"Yeah, that's it. I just don't think that it's gonna work out."

"Well, I mean... can't we try?" You gave him a hopeful smile, to which he responded with a shake of his head.

"It's for the best that we don't have any physical contact anymore. Believe me."

~

The fatigue from yesterday and the fact that you were miserable over Corvey cancelling your sessions resulted in you falling asleep almost immediately after you crawled into bed at just after 10.

Six hours later – at around 4am – someone roughly shaking your shoulders awaked you.

"(Y/N)."

"Mm," you murmured, not opening your eyes.

"(Y/N), wake up."

"Mm."

"(Y/N)!"

You jolted upright, an anxious frown on your face. Turning to your right, you saw that it was your bodyguard who had woken you up.

"What's going on?" you asked, rubbing your eyes to wake yourself up as panic began to course through you, "Are we under attack?"

"No, we're not under attack."

"Oh," your panic subsided, now being replaced by anger, "why the hell did you wake me up at 4am, then?"

"Because," he said, moving to grab some gym clothes and tossing it at you.

"Because?" you scoffed, catching the clothes and inspecting them. They were the same ones you wore to your training session with Corvey yesterday, now fully dry cleaned.

"You want to be trained, don't you?" he cocked an eyebrow at you, folding his arms, "If that's still the case, then I suggest you get changed. Combat doesn't really work well in pajamas."

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