LEO
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30/05/2002 - 12am
Phoenix, Arizona
Redhawk Base
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I thought the worst day of my career was when Carlos got his head blown out. Turns out, that was just the prelude. Today? Today takes the goddamn cake.

"Nova Shields? You're fucking with me, right?

Commander North is shooting me a glare that could strip paint off walls, but I barely register it. My eyes are locked on the photo lying dead center on his desk, a standard-issue Fleetwood ID shot, but even in a mugshot this woman manages to look like she's about to knife someone.

Long dark hair. Sharp green eyes like cut glass. A small scar across her right cheek. 5'5 on the height chart, give or take. Nova goddamn Shields. Of course it's her.

She obviously wanted to kill the photographer when this was taken by the murderous look on her face, a similar way she looked at me back in '99.

"Nova Shields is replacing Richards?" I scoff, leaning back in my chair like I've just been told hell has frozen over. "That's rich."

North doesn't even blink. "She's a highly skilled operative, Hendrix. Still not someone to take lightly."

"She's a highly skilled pain in the ass," I mutter, pointing at the picture. "You do remember Santa Elena, right? Or do we just not talk about near-catastrophic fuck-ups anymore?"

North pinches the bridge of his nose like he's already regretting everything. "This is exactly why I didn't tell you sooner. I knew you'd pitch a fit."

"It's not a fit," I argue. "It's logic. You're throwing gasoline on a campfire and expecting me to toast fucking marshmallows, North." I turn away from the picture like it's poison. "I can't stand the woman."

He gives me a tired, disbelieving look that makes you want to slam your own head into a desk. "This isn't goddamn summer camp, Hendrix. This is Fleetwood. You're professionals, for fuck sake. I'm not asking you to make daisy chains and dance in the damn breeze together. You don't need to like each other. You need to execute your mission. And I'm not about to let your fucking personal vendetta compromise an op because you'd rather strangle each other." 

"I'd like to see her attempt to strangle me." I chuckle under my breath, shaking my head in disbelief.

North definitely isn't amused. He taps the desk with a single finger, slow and deliberate. "Just shut your goddamn mouth for five minutes, Hendrix. She's going to be your new partner, like it or not. And I swear to God, if you try and play alpha dog instead of getting the job done, I'll boot your ass so far out of Redhawk you'll land back in Santa Elena."

"Great. Can't wait," I say, tossing the photo back towards him like it burns. 

He glances down at his comms. "She's landing within the hour, twelve-fifty. You're staying here with your ass glued to that chair until I get back. And you're going to be civil when I do."

What the fuck? She's arriving today. Great. And I've been dragged into this room with North's supervision. He's gonna be the zookeeper who observes as two lions get shoved in the same pen. 

This has got to be one huge fucking joke that I'm not in on. By the look on North's face, he's already expecting my reaction. So I don't give him my initial idea of one. 

"Civil. Got it. I'll tie a ribbon around a welcome grenade for her." 

North mutters something about wanting to kill me and wanting to retire simultaneously before storming out, slamming the door shut behind him, rattling the frame.

I glance at the wall clock, 12:35pm. Fantastic. Fifteen minutes of solitude with nothing but the ticking of time and the picture of Nova fucking Shields. 

I have until 12:50 to get my shit together.

Considering my lifestyle consists of missions where hours feel like minutes, having to sit in a room on my own with absolutely nothing to do but wait to see her is putting me on edge. 

Time's moving like molasses. Slow, sticky, painful. I've pulled six-hour surveillance stints that felt faster than this. 

My knee bounces with impatience as I pretend to read through the mission file I brought. Y'know, the one I thought this meeting was actually about before North tossed a picture of the green-eyed devil-spawn in front of me. The world blur together. All I can picture is her face. That photo. That glare. 

I glance at the clock, hoping it's been at least fifteen minutes. 

12:40.

For fucks sake.

Ten more minutes of this absolute purgatory. I let out a groan, drop the file, and rest my forehead on top of it like it's a makeshift pillow. Maybe if I stop trying to speed-run time with my brain, it'll move along naturally. 

I close my eyes. 

Just for a second. 

Big mistake. 

My head jerks up as North slams the flat of his palm down on the desk with enough force to rattle the mission files. My eyes shoot open, narrowing against the sudden blur of fluorescent light. And there she is.

Nova fucking Shields.

Same intense green eyes, still sharper than a scalpel and twice as mean. Her stare cuts straight through me, unimpressed and already full of judgment. A thick strand of dark hair has come loose from her ponytail, but it only adds to the whole 'unhinged but focused' vibe she's always mastered. She's got an AK-47 slung casually over one shoulder like it's a handbag. And despite barely hitting 5'6", she stands like she's twice that.

North is beside her, watching me like I'm about to ruin his day. Again.

I lean back slowly in my chair, grinning like this is some sitcom I've been cast into without a script. "Well, look who decided to come in guns 'a blazing. Not even a hello?"

She doesn't answer. Just locks that green gaze on me like she's trying to telekinetically combust my skull.

"Thought I'd make an entrance," she finally mutters. Her voice hasn't changed. That low southern rasp that always sounded like a warning.

I stand, pushing my chair back with a screech that scrapes the tension like nails on a chalkboard. I take a few measured steps forward. She doesn't move. We're a few feet apart now. 

I nod at the rifle. "Big gun for a little frame, Shields. You learn how to aim it since Santa Elena, or are we still relying on dumb luck?"

Her eyes flash. And before I can blink, she lifts the AK off her shoulder and raises it, levelling it with my chest. I don't flinch. But I do feel North's panic rise like steam in the room.

"Maybe I'll test it on you?" she says smoothly, her finger brushing the trigger.

"Charming as ever," I mutter. "But I don't think North dragged you out of whatever hole you were nesting in just to turn me into wall art."

Her arms are steady. Muscled. I'll give her that. She's bulked up since '99. So have I. But she still looks like the same walking storm cloud I remember from Santa Elena.

"You sure you can handle the recoil?" I ask, smiling through my teeth.

Her laugh is humourless. A razor-blade dragged across skin. "Don't worry, I'll aim for the part of your brain you don't use."

"Still got that aim that makes medics sweat?"

"Still got the face that begs for a headshot?"

We're both still. Locked in a standoff that's lasted three years too long.

North looks like he's aged a decade in the past thirty seconds. He moves between us and presses down on the barrel of her rifle. "Enough. For the love of God, shake hands or shoot each other. But I'm not dealing with your petty bullshit on day one."

There's a long pause. She doesn't move. Neither do I.

Finally, I extend my hand. Not because I'm the bigger person, just because I want her to know I'm not afraid of in the slightest. The only thing she possesses is the ability to piss me right off. "What an absolute joy to see you again."

She takes it. Her grip is brutal, trying to crush bone. I squeeze back just as hard. We're both smiling, but it's malicious.

"Pleasure's mine," she replies, eyes locked on mine like she's mapping out pressure points.

I pull away and glance her over. Still small. Still sharp. Still carrying that permanent chip on her shoulder like it's standard-issue gear.

"I wonder if you'll live up to these claims that you're so 'skilled' now," I say.

She tilts her head. "Well, Hendrix, you certainly haven't changed. Still all mouth and no substance."

That one actually hits. Not because it's true, but because she says it like she means it. Like she's been waiting three years to say it again.

Before I can fire back, North slices in with a sigh that carries the weight of two decades of bullshit. "This isn't the start I was hoping for. You're both adults. Fucking act like it."

He turns to Nova, waving her toward the door. "Shields, come with me. I'll show you to your cabin. 6PM sharp, you're both in my office. Briefing for the upcoming op. Don't be late."

Nova doesn't look at me as she walks away. But just before she leaves the room, she turns her head and gives me a glare cold enough to turn bone to ash.

I watch her go.

This is going to be a goddamn disaster.