The sun had just risen as she made her way along her familiar jogging route; down to the southern perimeter of the base and through the trees. There wasn't a trail that far out, and only a few spots even had footpaths, but she preferred it over the crowded streets of the base.
It also gave her a quieter environment to think.
She returned to base nearly a week ago, working with her team doing background research on Frank, searching through the files she'd copied from him, and watching the activity on his computer.
It was a program she'd tracked down through an old contact that gave them remote and unmodifiable access to the target's computer—meaning all they could do was watch the computer, but that lowered the possibility of the program being found out.
They kept 24-hour surveillance on the computer, but there had been no activity, leaving them alert but focused on other tasks. Like getting a rough estimate of the number of weapons the terrorists had gathered.
Too many, they realized.
Guns and bombs, among other resources like protective equipment had been purchased through the German middleman, but they still hadn't found the information they needed. No names were associated with the deals; every party had been given a codename and as of yet, none of them were identifiable.
Another team was analyzing the blueprints, trying to see if they could track where they had been manufactured and therefore where the terrorists might have purchased them from. But she had no connection to that team, so as of that morning, she hadn't heard anything on their progress.
The only solid information she had were locations of trades, letting them map out sites of importance.
It was good, but also a stark reality. The terrorists had connections everywhere; in the last six months there had been 107 transactions associated with 23 countries, without pattern and without a destination listed.
But it was significantly more than they had before, and enough that they could begin preparing themselves.
The option of arresting Frank was tempting, but everyone involved knew that was the best way to lose any possible lead. If he disappeared, the terrorists would certainly know something was up and would likely hide underground or even retaliate somehow. Not a risk they could take.
Her feet touched pavement as she crossed a road, slowing down as the backside of the barracks came into view. She calmed her breathing, returning it to a normal pace as she walked leisurely along the grass. In the distance she noted a few joggers, finishing their own workout before breakfast, but other than that it was quiet.
Until a voice greeted her from behind. "Good morning, Lieutenant Farrell."
She turned, eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of Fox a few feet away. "Morning, private," she responded, watching him drop his salute.
"I was hoping to speak with you."
She shifted her weight, glancing down to her watch. "What about?" she asked as her eyes met his again.
"I wanted to discuss what happened in PT. Clear it up."
Of course, he did. In all honesty, she was surprised it had taken so long for him to approach her on the subject. "Alright," she agreed, nodding for him to continue.
"I believe I've been treated unfairly. You singled me out, and it's not right for me to be paying such a significant consequence for it."
Her hackles rose immediately. "Private Fox, we are not having this conversation if you still don't see what you did wrong."
"No, I don't," he pushed, not giving up. "I don't see why you did what you did."
"You do not respect me or my authority," she barked. "There is nothing else we need to discuss. Dismissed, private," she ordered.
He didn't move. "I was being honest."
"Do you think I'm joking? Dismissed."
"I'm trying to have a conversation—"
"Enough. You're trying to get out of a punishment, so stop before you give me grounds to have you reprimanded further."
"You have no right—"
"I have every right. We are finished here, so if you have an issue with your consequences, make an appeal with legal."
With that, she turned. But he stepped in her way.
"Private," she warned.
"I have a strike on my record because of what you made me do; you've gotten me kicked from the most prestigious platoon on base; and you've smeared my name."
"Step aside, private."
"You owe me this much."
"I don't owe you anything."
"It's your fault," he insisted.
"This is over, private," she stated again, stepping to the side.
"We're not done," he snapped, grabbing her arm to stop her.
Her blood boiled as she looked at him incredulously. "Let me go."
"No. You're going to listen," he insisted, hand tightening.
She remained still, anger to the point that she was ready to deck him. But she held back, fists clenched as she let herself simmer silence, waiting for him to fuck himself over further.
"Everything I've worked for has been taken from me because you seem to hate me. But I stand by what I said; I don't think you know what you're talking about. You are power hungry and a show off," he bit. "Good for you, you can do sit ups, but unlike us, all you did that whole PT was stand around—same as when we sparred; I'd been working out for the last forty-five minutes, while you just strolled around us. And then there's the way you were purposefully antagonizing me, riling me up until I'd lash out so you could cry to Lieutenant Riley to kick me off the team. And if that wasn't enough, you had to have yourself done up like you always do. You were practically begging for people to look at you. Like when you pulled your jacket off; was that to distract me? Or maybe you wanted to get me in trouble for looking at you, as if it's not what you wanted. Cause fuck, you must know all the men are looking at you, thinking about what's under that uniform, right? God you must fucking love it," he spat.
"What?" she breathed as she blinked in surprise; her anger being sidelined by shock as she tried to process his words.
Did she hear him correctly?
What the fuck was that supposed to mean?
He leaned forward in response to her shift in attitude, his confidence visibly growing. "Don't try to deny it when it's true. Because if you were as good as you think you are, you could have fought me in your jacket, but you took it off. You wanted everyone to see you—wanted me to see you, didn't you, Daisy? I bet you wanted more than that, huh? Maybe the reason you were antagonizing me was because you like it rough... Is that it? Did you want me to slap you around a little?"
Her heart hammered in her chest as his words seemed to grow distant, as if she were overhearing someone else's conversation.
He couldn't be speaking to her that way. Accusing her of... of whatever he was accusing her of.
But she knew it was happening. Knew she was tugging her arm against his solid grip as a voice told her she should walk away, or yell, or fight back, but she felt cold. Paralyzed.
She wasn't prepared for that.
It wasn't how the conversation was supposed to go. She was going to yell. She was going to be angry at him for making excuses for himself.
But... she wasn't prepared for that.
"Maybe you want me to now? Lieutenant Riley's not around now to interrupt—cause trust me, I'd love to see tears falling down that pretty face of yours, Daisy. Hearing you beg for it to stop... Or maybe for me to keep going," he suggested darkly, his body pressing against hers.
The threat made it feel as if he had his hands around her lungs, holding her breaths hostage. She didn't understand what was happening. Couldn't properly register the words he spat at her. But at the same time, she did; his presence turned deeply unwelcoming—dangerous—but she was made to endure it by invisible forces holding her still.
"God, what I'd give for that..." he mumbled before lowering his chin. "But that's not why I wanted to talk to you. Here's the deal; you're going to put in a good word for me, explain to Lieutenant Riley that you've had a change of heart and that he should bring me back on his team. You will then make sure that the rumours that have been spread about me are addressed. And, as long as we're working together, you're going to be pleasant; no more baiting or punishments," he ordered, his words lodging into her nerves as if they were barbed.
He seemed to revel in the power he'd gained, watching as his voice forced hers down.
"And fuck, stop walking around like we're all lucky to be in your presence. You might be fit, but it's ruined when you act like a slag desperate for attention," he growled. "You just love when the focus is on you, huh? Probably how you made it to Lieutenant..."
Her face twisted, and his brightened.
"I'm right, aren't I? Did you go spread you lips for whatever officer wanted you? Were you a bunny at your last base?" he taunted. "Don't know how they got past your attitude, but I've got a fucking tip your you, Lieutenant; you're much more palatable when you're quiet like this, not pretending to be a soldier. Pretty face like yours should be pushing pencils, not leading—because God help any soldier assigned to you. You'd probably mistake an enemy for the good guys and lead everyone to the slaughter. Maybe you'd even betray your brothers in arms for a good fuck?" he accused bitterly before shaking his head. "I'm going to have a word with Lieutenant Riley, let him know he should be keeping you on a much tighter leash. No one else seems to see how useless you are in a position of power... Unless the reason he has your back is because you get on your back for him? Is that it? Do you go begging him to fuck you at night?" he suggested, his eyes burning into her knowingly. "Lucky man if he is... I'd take extra assignments to see you like that, Daisy... to be able hold you down while I made you feel good. Maybe one day you'll lose the attitude, and it could happen... Or I could make it happen..."
Everything seemed to burn, everywhere he looked, every word that he spit out.
Nothing else around them existed; she couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything, except for him.
The smirk that graced his lips turned her stomach, and he leaned forward, voice coming out low. "Do you understand our agreement?"
She didn't answer. She couldn't.
His hand tightened on her arm, shaking her roughly. "Do you understand?"
It seemed to knock enough sense into her that she managed to yank her arm away then step back and out of his grip. His hand—which she'd not noticed being on her waist—left a burning behind despite the hoodie that covered her.
She knew there should have been words ripping from her mouth, insults, threats of repercussions for his words and actions, but her mind was empty. Everything was focused on creating distance between her and the threat. The moments stretched as she watched him, trying to force herself to do something. Anything. But she just stood there, drowning in her inability, hating how he looked at her.
But finally—finally—her body reacted, taking a step backward. Then another. Then she turned, hurrying toward the barracks.
Distance didn't help; he could still see her. The burn of his gaze festered with the certainty that he was proud of himself. And further knowing he was looking at her body. Imagining it—
Her heart thumped even after she was hidden behind brick and cement, even when she was locked inside her room—which felt no safer than outside. Minutes ticked past her unknowingly, until slowly, she started coming to her senses. The voice that told her she should have yelled got louder, clawing for dominance over the shock that told her to submit.
She dropped her face into her hands, brows furrowed as she tried to understand.
Why would she ever let someone speak to her that way?
Why had her body told her to cower when usually she would bite?
Humiliation stabbed her, each of his words settling in her mind. His accusations. His admittance. His threats. But moreover, the fact that she let it happen; she was stronger than that. She would never let someone speak to her, insult her the way that he had. She had never cowered beneath the gaze of an insolent man like she had with Fox.
Her eyes burned, a mixture of embarrassment, and anger, and disgust. And as much as she tried to fight it, belief.
What he said wasn't true. But what if there was some merit to it?
There wasn't.
But his accusation that she would make a mistake, a mistake that would lead to her team's deaths—
Her chest rose and fell quickly, and she pulled her head up, eyes searching her room. For what, she didn't know. But when they landed on her clock and she saw it was just after eight, she let out a few calming breaths before standing.
She needed breakfast before work. She had to go.
Her nerves were electrified as she pushed out her door, practiced eyes scanning for signs of Fox. Not to avoid, she ordered herself. No, she forcefully rekindled the fire within her. Stoked it. Because she wouldn't let herself be treated like that again.
When she reached the commissary, she collected a few items before catching sight of Soap and Ghost at a table on the other side of the room. When she reached them, she dropped her tray and sat, eyes down as she took a long sip of coffee.
"You sleep in?" Soap teased, "you're—"
"I didn't sleep in," she cut off, words sharp. She hadn't necessarily meant to sound that way, but it was already out of her mouth. And she really wasn't in the mood to talk at the moment.
"Oh," he smirked, "is this our first experience with grumpy Drew?"
Her searing eyes snapped to his, "I'm not grumpy; I don't want to talk."
His brows lowered a little as his eyes flicked toward Ghost. "Alright, then."
With her gaze on the table between them again, the conversation continued across from her—about what, she had no idea. But her subconscious scornfully taunted that it was about her. That they saw her moment of weakness. That she was easy to break; all it took was a few low comments and a towering figure.
God, she felt small. She'd never felt that insignificant before in her life, even in bootcamp when officer's reminder that she would be cannon fodder if she didn't keep up. That she was a dazed, ditzy young woman who needed to figure her shit out. That she wouldn't it make it anywhere in life.
That was nothing compared to Fox tearing her skin away to leave her exposed in ways she didn't even know were possible.
And God, it made her afraid. Not like she was in the throws of a fight with the enemy; that was different. She could manage that adrenaline.
She felt a deeper fear, one she couldn't explain. One that burrowed and burned and made her skin itch.
She'd dealt with men thinking they could speak to her in disgusting ways, but something about Fox—about how little he respected her, about how deep-seated his dislike for her was, about how it was on base, outside, in the open—
It felt as if everyone was watching her. Like everyone knew what had happened. And once they found the source, they would attack it, rip it further, destroy everything she'd worked so hard for.
Movement in front of her nearly made her jump, her wide eyes snapping from Soap to Ghost who stood to return their trays.
It brought her back to the moment and she looked down to her plate, realizing she hadn't eaten anything. But a quick glance at the clock told her she only had twenty minutes to get dressed and across campus.
She muttered curses under her breath as she stood and followed the others to the bins, thinking about how she could manage the feat.
"But you didn't—" Soap started.
"Leave it," Ghost grunted, dropping his empty tray onto a stack before turning away.
Drew had barely noticed the interaction, absently dropping her uneaten food into a bin before placing her tray atop a stack of others. Then she lost herself amongst the crowd, letting it drag her out and to her room before she found her way to the intelligence building.
She made it on time, sitting at her computer without question and burying herself in her work.
It distracted her enough, and when she was alerted that Frank was active on the computer and organizing another transaction, she called Price, letting him know they had to move quickly.