She frustrated him.
When Peters was told that he would be trained with another
agent, he felt excited. When he found out that it was a female, he readied
himself. His boyish charm hadn’t quite left him, and he wanted to swing with
someone not from Tokyo, in hopes that he could occupy himself with her while
they both adjusted to the new city, the culture shock – everything.
But she disregarded him and focused on the training instead,
sparring with Touta and not batting an eyelash when handling a gun. He tried
everything. He tried smooth talking and flirting and complimenting, but she
didn’t actually fall for each of it. In fact, she didn’t like it. Touta tried
to get him to stop a few days after, warning him that perhaps she wasn’t just
that easily swayed.
Peters digressed and remembered cornering her a day after,
when both of them were on their breaks. She had taken a drink of water and he
approached her, unconsciously backing her into a corner and trying to start
conversation. He cringed at the memory.
Her answers were short, cool. She tried escaping but he didn’t
let her.
It took only a few minutes for her to reach her boiling
point, and she threw the water into his face and stomped off, muttering something
about “idiotic men”.
The whole office had heard. Olsen, who had been there for a
year, chuckled at him as he passed with a red face and wet hair, the others
sighing sympathetically and others clucking their tongues in distaste.
Touta merely shook his head and continued their training.
He apologized a week after, expecting one back. She merely
accepted it and moved on, which frustrated him because he deserved a fucking apology as well.
For the next few months, the tensions had rose between them.
The woman grew to be skilled, terribly skilled with a gun and a dagger that,
sadly, wasn’t permitted at all. Peters, on the other hand, had a knack for his
fists. His tall stature assisted him, and he was a good shot.
Peters was idealistic. He loved the possibility of exploring
new views and often debated, insisting that what couldn’t be actually could be. She was a realist, a terribly
calculating and logical realist.
He had learned that the hard away when both their ideas had
clashed, and ended up walking away from each other in trembling fury. The office
had never heard such a debate go the extra mile, and Touta was exasperated,
trying to ease the tensions and calm the storm before it waged.
It took months for them to bond. Their shock and infuriation
only increased when they were put in the same squad, squabbling from the very
minute and refusing to acknowledge the other’s existence (in her case) or
believing wholeheartedly that the other was a bitch (in his case).
Eventually, the bonding was there, at least. Conversations were
less icy and more formal, less awkward. Both of them got angrier less (unless
for a good reason), and they could actually cooperate if they could. Their relationship,
however, was nothing more than that.
She thought of him as an idiot, irritating yet bearable at
the same time. She tolerated him for the paycheck and spent her time away as
much as possible, not wanting to explode around him and yet get into another
fiery argument. Peters never took anything seriously, to her chagrin, and
wondered why he was hired in the first place…and then she saw how he used his
fists in combat and grudgingly agreed that he was good in some aspects.
On the other hand, he thought of her as an ineffectual, cold
loner. She never interacted with anyone else (save for Olsen) and never went
out with the others for a night at the bar or a lunch out if they had the time.
She’d always wave it off or tell them that she had to go home early to work
more. A workaholic, he noticed, and wanted her to let loose.
Until one day.
Peters remembered. He was recruited suddenly and brought to
the bank with other members, his gun out as robbers attempted to steal
everything they could, even the belongings of the public.
It was sudden, he realized.
One of them had pointed a gun at a child, who was cowering
in fear, on his knees and crying loudly. They had gotten irritated and wanted
to shut him up, even though it was probably not even part of their plan to hurt
anyone.
The finger was on the trigger.
He jumped.
Everything was a blur after that. The yelling, the lifting,
the unmistakable goddamn pain he felt
in his upper half. And then, there was nothing but lightness and floating.
He didn’t know what to expect.
When he woke up, someone was sitting on the plastic chair,
their hair up in a tight bun and eyes swollen, reddened. They had either just
smoked or had cried their eyes out.
He wasn’t sure what it was.
“You’re such an idiot,” A rebuked him harshly. Peters would
usually detect the acid in her voice, but it came out as something quiet,
trembling. A little vapid, maybe, but full of something he had never heard from
her – worry. A mix of anxiety and anger and everything in between, it was there
when she spoke. She rubbed her eyes, “I was just about to go home when this happened. Goddamn it, Peters, how
can you be so stupid?!”
Finding his voice was hard. “What the fuck are you–”
“Saving that kid’s life,” she cut in, “Getting in the way
when you could have…where was your bullet-proof gear under your shirt? God,
Touta always told us to wear it if ever these situations came,” she hissed, but
the tears in her eyes told him otherwise.
Peters didn’t know how to feel.
“Get a hold on yourself,” he managed, attempting to sit up. The
searing pain in his body told him to lie back down and he groaned, falling back
on the hospital bed. “Son of a bitch.”
“You shouldn’t move,” she said stiffly. “The doctor said so.
It’s going to be sore for a few days, a few weeks…but he’ll give you some treatment,
painkillers, whatever.” She wiped at her eyes and Peters had the decency to
look away. “…I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I said that I’m sorry. Just…” she took a breath and sighed,
“The next time you plan to be a hero, consider your own safety, Peters. We can’t
lose one of our members.”
A turned to leave the room, clearing her throat. “You’ll
have a couple of days or a week to rest. I’ll ask Touta and forward his
message. He was livid when he found out what happened. I...I’ll go. Someone’s
here to see you. Just feel better.”
And she left.
He turned his head and saw a bottle of alcohol (carefully
wrapped) and a vase of orchids.
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