Agent [Rose Book Two]

Two Years After

My knee hurts. Again. I'm sick of it. It's been two whole years. Shouldn't it have at least, you know, stopped hurting every time I sprint? I'm a track star, it's my natural instinct!

Two years. It seems like so long since that day. I still remember it well, except for the part where I passed out. That still remains a mystery.

Oh, by the way, my name's Rose, in case you forgot, and I'm an Agent of SHIELD.

I was in rehab for five months. Last month, I was finally let back into the field. Normally, my rehab would have only been three or four months, but apparently my cardiovascular system took a pretty big hit. Fury said I was under for at least three minutes without air. By all accounts, I should've died, or at least had some mental damage. The only thing I've found is occasionally losing my train of thought. I remember the first time I had tried exercising after the accident.  My lungs had hurt like hell, only matched by my knee.

I was let back into the field only to go back into rehab for another month. I've been in and out ever since. You know, most SHIELD agents spend their first six months actually doing something. All I did was try and comprehend exactly what happened in New York.

I slow to a stop halfway around the track, and bend over, panting. Ward jogs across the field. "Lungs or knees?" He asks. I might not be a cadet anymore, but Fury still has Ward as my S.O. He says it's until I get old enough at sixteen. Almost exactly one year. My 15th birthday, April 2nd, was about a week ago.

I straighten back up. "Knee. Gods, why's it still hurt?" I say angrily. Another thing: I might've started saying "gods" after New York.

"It took a lot of damage." Ward says. "Are you sure it's just your knee? You never used to get tired this easily." I nod in reply. "Yeah, just my knee. The rest of my has already adjusted to shallow oxygen levels." Ward looks doubtful. Another agent runs up to him with a message. I stiffen. The last time this happened, it was to tell me terrible news about my brother. He's still holding out, almost a year later, but just barely.

Ward comes back over to me after speaking with the agent. "You've got a couple days off. I've got somewhere to be, and it might take a while. Stay out of trouble." He says.

"Don't I always?" I reply. Ward gives me a look. "No." He replies, then walks off. 

I decide to head over to the Washington Monument. I'll walk. Hopefully, it'll help my knee.

Once I'm out of the classified zone, I pull out my phone, and press record. "Hey, Luke! It's me again. I'm in Washington DC today again. It'll be a while before I'm anywhere else." I pan the camera towards my knee, which is covered in a brace. "I'm headed to the Washington Monument today. I'll send you a video in about a half hour." I end the video and send it to Lucas. About a minute later my phone goes off.

"Awesome!" The text reads. "Hope your knee gets better." I told him my knee was injured in a training accident. I didn't tell him about any of the other damage. I didn't tell him I was in and out of the hospital for a month. I didn't tell him I've got asthma now. I've always kept my promise to him, sending pictures wherever I can. I take so many pictures.

Maybe some part of me is hoping my savior is going to be in one.