Chapter 2: Mission Tahiti

Hi again! So sorry this chapter took so long to post! This is because of these flashbacks that I'm going to release alongside the regular chapters, since I wanted to write the story chronologically because reasons.

Anyway, hopefully they should come a little more regularly, if the Internet holds up.

Have fun!

LittlePond

Chapter 2: Mission Tahiti

So after all that shenanigans with Jason and betrayal, there was only one thing that I could do. Only one thing my being ached to do. One thing that I felt magnetised, drawn, to do.

Train.

I am an assassin, what else am I supposed to do? Sit around for months and wallow in self pity? Hell no. There's no time for that, I have agents to kill, errands to run, people to see.

So it was hi ho, to the punching bag I go.

The punching bag had always been my favourite thing in the training room, apart from the foam dummies I could butcher with a sword. To me, the punching bag was essentially a body waiting for me to bruise and break. How could I resist?

And after a few days of letting Jason's betrayal sink in, my fists had been white knuckled and shaking for something to collide with for days. Besides, there weren't any worthy opponents around anymore. Without Jason, Appleshade, or the twins, the other agents were tumbleweed to me.

The feeling of skin against canvas is a nice one, the brush is soothing, and the thud is solid. The music is a melody I know well, one of the oldest. I've memorised it a thousand times over.

The beat of my heart, along with the crescendo of adrenaline was enough to block of the whispers and snickers of the agents around me, cramming in a little bit of training before dinner rolls round.

But I couldn't walk through the doors to the cafeteria and not see the image of Geeve and her thugs dragging Jason away, still and silent, no fight left in him as he knew what lay ahead.

He had seen it himself, and sometimes  he had taken apart of the goings on of HYDRA's jails.

I didn't know what to make of Jason right now. Who knew if his name was even Jason, for all I knew, he could've been a really convincing drag king.

I just couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I had made friends with, liked, trusted and loved (platonically) a S.H.I.E.L.D agent. The very people I despised the most. The species that I was hellbent on exterminating and clearing the way for HYDRA to replace.

The punching bag's chains whined from my punches' force.

I grinned a small, weak but determined grin and ignited the final fuse left in me, going at the innocent bag of cotton and canvas with all my confusion and anger. The bag's whimpers were the harmony to the melody of knuckles on material.

Any background noise from the youngsters around me silenced as my hits increased in both their intensity and volume. And with it, so did my internal monologue of questions.

How could I have been so stupid?

How could I have made friends with a S.H.I.E.L.D agent?

How could I have trusted him? Liked him? Tolerated him?

Why the hell am I so conflicted?

Why do I pity him and not want to kill him in the slowest, most painful way possible?

I might have vocalised these questions, or I might have started to grunt, or yell, or moan, but somehow, when the chains that held the punching bag aloft snapped, I fell to my knees, and made some sort of sound like a whimper. I'm not sure; the adrenaline was still silencing any sound other than my pulse or my breathing.

The agents encircled me, eyes wide and mouths either covered with hands or forming perfect circles. Here was Whitehall's golden girl, on her knees by the defeated punching bag.

Clearly, something was up.

They wouldn't get any answers, though. As soon as my brain fully monitored what the hell was going on, I was out of the crime scene in moments. In times like these, it's best to evacuate; a lifetime running from murder scenes taught me that.

It was also in times like these that I needed a friend.

Mind you, until my trip to Sokovia, I never really had one, apart from Whitehall, who apparently is a father figure and not a friend. Go figure.

I thought love, no matter whether it was romantic or platonic had no boundaries.

But since I departed, there was never a shortage, since I had Jason where there were no twins or Appleshade. But now that that mic was dropped and thrown out a window, there was no one to turn to.

No one to ask for help. No one to be there. For the first time in a while, I was alone.

And it hurt like a bitch.

The worst part was, I wasn't allowed to contact anyone in Sokovia, not even Appleshade, who was a fellow agent. You'd think Whitehall would allow me to check up on their abilities, to allow my dreams to be filled with blue and red instead of blood and gore.

Nope.

Strictly no communication. Whitehall, however merciful and righteous, wasn't always flexible.

But it was for the best, I had learned that much over the years.

Dinner didn't seem so appealing now. Now that those agents had certainly relayed the news of Agent Tempest's breakdown throughout the entire compound by now.

I didn't doubt that the scientists in biotechnology to the chefs were already discussing how broken my heart must be after realising that the 'love of my life' was S.H.I.E.L.D.

They were that fast. It was hard to believe the speed of gossip sometimes.

If there was some competition for it, I was sure that HYDRA would win; we were the Quicksilver of gossip.

Speaking of the devil, I began to make my way towards my room, whose comforting walls I craved. My fingers now longer itched to punch, but to write. To form some facade that I could talk to my only friends right now, however much like treason it could seem.

Yep, I was writing letters to Sokovia.

Very forbidden, very wrong letters that went straight against my orders. Ones that could definitely get me punished or worse. I knew I shouldn't have written them, but some nights got too lonely, too dark, too long, and the pen and paper was all I had left. God knew what Whitehall would do if he found them; he was always one for snooping.

My room was one of the few places that felt like home.

I had a bookshelf stacked with all sorts of books about biology and astronomy- my two favourite subjects besides learning fun new ways to maim and kill.

By my bed was my beloved phone, which lay by red speakers, begging for me to blast the music of my favourite artist, Taylor Swift, as I wrote the treasonous letters.

Of course I would have, had it not been for Whitehall who stood by the window straight ahead, his back to me.

I swear, it was as if the man had eyes on the back of his head, since the minute my own hit his suited figure, he turned around, hair stationary and glasses flaring.

"Aurelia, just who I wanted to see," he crooned, thumbs sticking out of his pockets. That was the biggest load of crap had I ever seen one. Whitehall was here for a reason, I could tell, those iron eyes of his were cold and calculating, as if I was a science experiment.

I held my ground though, and kept my black and white runners exactly where they were. Gripping my doorframe, I answered, "Well, it is my room, what can you expect?"

The HYDRA leader began to pace and I silently moved further into my room, closing the door behind me. Whatever he needed to say, the whole of HYDRA didn't need to hear.

The door locked with a final jab.

"You know, I was in here not to long ago, and I couldn't help but notice a particularly large bulge under your mattress," he remarked, keeping my gaze to maintain as much fear as possible.

My heart plummeted.

My letters just happened to be under my mattress.

I know, amateur move but my room wasn't exactly overflowing in hiding spots.

Whitehall continued, knowing that he was essentially signing my death warrant, "So, in fear of a bug, I checked, and you wouldn't believe what I found." My chest began to increase it's rate of breathing as from a pocket in his suit, he produced an inch thick pile of letters, kept together with a simple rubber band.

I was done for. I was going to be seeing Jason soon for sure.

"How did you find that?" I managed to ask, arms crossed and voice soft from fear and disbelief.

Then again, I did hide my illegal letters underneath my mattress, which was a move that only toddlers did.

Whitehall scoffed, placing the letters on my desk beside my bookshelf and turned back to me, and surprisingly, his face wasn't as angry as I would have expected, but it was stony, and sterile. Like he was treating a diseased dog.

"I believe I told you that any communications between you and the twins are forbidden, and letters like these are usually treason."

"Where is the harm in caring about their advancements?"

The HYDRA member shrugged, "None. But, consequences must be put in action."

Of course, I had to be punished like a child, like all agents. After all, HYDRA was a democratic organisation, and treated it's members equally.

"You're not serious?"

He started to stroll towards me, moving his hands from his pockets and folded them behind his back. "I'm very serious. I was going to give this mission to General Griffin, but, since he's otherwise preoccupied, I'll give it to you."

It seemed to good to be true.

"That's the best you can come up with? A mission?" I asked.

Whitehall kept his hands folded behind his back, "Tell me, Aurelia. Have you ever heard of the S.H.I.E.L.D agent, Phil Coulson?"

Phil Coulson, and S.H.I.E.L.D.

So many S.H.I.E.L.D agents, it was hard to keep track of both organisations. But it did sound familiar, this 'Phil' must've been pretty up their hierarchy then, if he sounded familiar.

"It definitely rings a bell." Whitehall, thankfully, clarified the name, "He was killed by the Asgardian Loki, just before the Battle of New York."

Oh right. That S.H.I.E.L.D agent.

I nodded slowly, "He was run through with the sceptre, right?" It may have sounded rude of me to mention the man being stabbed through the heart with a sceptre like that, but I had since become desensitised to this sort of thing.

Gruesome and gory deaths were my trade.

"Correct. However, our agents in S.H.I.E.L.D have reported to us that Coulson is alive and well. We want to know why and how."

He wasn't actually insinuating that I go back undercover, was he?

Last time didn't turn out so well under my part.

"So?" I asked, rubbing the back of my neck with my index finger, and keeping my eyes trained on the wooden floor.

"This means that S.H.I.E.L.D can resurrect the dead. We cannot allow them to have the upper hand."

If my enemy displayed this form of power, we needed to know how they did it, and rid them of it.

"Can't you just get someone already in S.H.I.E.L.D to access the files?" I sighed, letting my neck back in frustration.

Hopefully, he didn't notice I was trying to find a way out of this, since my 87th mission wasn't my finest hour. Undercover missions seemed to have a bad rep.

"They are only accessible to Agents Nick Fury and Maria Hill. And before you ask, our hackers have tried and failed to retrieve them. The only way we can see is to get it from Coulson himself."

He was serious, wasn't he?

I nodded again, arms still crossed- they seemed to be magnetised to each other, "So that's my mission."

Whitehall nodded in response, his black suit brushed against my grey training gear as he made his way towards my door. He was leaving, finally. I could be left alone with my thoughts, music and letters.

"Get to know Coulson, earn his trust, his respect, and get the information we need."

Rubbing my forehead with a hand and remembering the monstrosities I had to commit during my 87th mission, I sighed, "You want me to go undercover in S.H.I.E.L.D? The last time didn't go so well."

Whitehall stood underneath my doorframe, posture impeccable and fluorescent lights making his distinct figure that much more stark against the white walls. "That is your mission. Besides, we already have a HYDRA agent on Coulson's team."

I wasn't going to be fully alone? Did they not trust me? Or was this agent there for another reason?

"Can I know who this is?" I responded as fast as I could manage.

"No, they're in deep cover, and we can't risk even you knowing their identity. That agent's too good at what they do."

Very clear no use of proper pronouns.

Nice move, Whitehall.

"Right," I answered abruptly, waiting further instructions, and making plans for any clothes, books or toiletries I need to back.

After all, the middle of the month was a dangerous time for me.

"We have a plane ready for your use, and we need you to be ready by 19:00. Don't pack any clothes, you'll find out the rest of the plan when you get there."

And with that elusive comment, I was left alone in my room with no one else to bother me.

Exhaling deeply, I gripped the letters between my hands, and looked at my watch, grinning at the time displayed. There was far more than enough time for me to write my final letter prior to my new mission: discover how S.H.I.E.L.D resurrected Agent Phil Coulson.

I wondered what my friends back in Sokovia would think of me now.

"On it, sir," I whispered to no one in particular.