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"HAVE YOU THOUGHT OF A CODENAME YET?"
Brendon sat back in one of the desk chairs surrounding the conference room table, his body slack and facing the doorway as his gaze wandered beyond the transparent material. You were one room over, engaged in serious conversation with Natasha, not even tossing him the smallest of looks despite being fully aware that he was watching you.
His face may have been as expressionless as ever, but his mind was bursting with thoughts as he observed you. Almost half a day had passed since his arrival back to S.H.I.E.L.D, and it was eleven hours ago that he'd kissed you.
Unsurprisingly, as soon as he had pulled away and let you out of his embrace, you pushed past him and were out the door before he could even turn around to try and stop you.
And you hadn't taken any notice of him since.
Needless to say, it bothered him. He was well aware that you were unexplainably resentful towards him for the stunt that he pulled, and he agreed that your rage was warranted. But so was his reason for doing what he did.
Unfortunately, however, he couldn't explain that to you – what with his brother being the reason you had lost your parents and all – and so that left him with no option other than to wait it out, and hope that you didn't fire an icicle through his skull while he was asleep.
"Hello?" Dallon leaned forward, waving a hand in front of his unresponsive friend's face.
Brendon broke his stare and turned his head to look at the techie, blinking away the discomfort that came from keeping his eyes open for so long.
"I already have one," he answered Dallon's question about the code name.
"You do?" Dallon raised both brows in shock, having not expected that response.
"Yeah," Brendon nodded, raking his fingers through his hair, "we all do."
Dallon perked up, eyes widening in excitement. "Me too?" he grinned enthusiastically, thrilled over the prospect of having a code name; it was wonderfully superheroesque.
"No."
"Oh."
Spencer placed a supportive hand on the deflated techie's shoulder, clicking his tongue at Brendon's harshness before offering a justification.
"What dickhead over there meant to say was that all Elite Agents have code names," Spencer explained, "It's not a general thing. We hardly ever use them, though, so don't sweat it."
"Yeah," Dallon mumbled, suddenly becoming incredibly interested in the buttons on the jacket he was wearing. There was silence for a moment before the techie spoke again. "So what is it?"
"What is what?"
"Your code name," he clarified, then cocked his head to the side and pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose, "Well, your Avenger name, now, I guess."
"Ace."
Dallon nodded and made an impressed face, showing his approval. "That's cool. 'Cause the ace is..."
"...the most valued card in the deck – the deck being S.H.I.E.L.D, obviously," Spencer finished for him, leaning back in his seat with a slight smirk, "Yeah. Brendon really is that bitch."
Rolling his eyes, Brendon wheeled his chair closer to the table and rested his forearms on the glass. He looked at Dallon with raised brows, nodding in Spencer's direction.
"You know what his is? Fucking-"
"Agent Urie," The Director appeared in the doorway, capturing the attention of all three agents and quietening Brendon, "a word, please."
Without a second's hesitation, Brendon pushed his chair out and stood up from his seat, picking his jacket up from the tabletop and slinging it on as he followed Fury's lead out of the room and towards a smaller one down the passageway.
The Director stepped in first, holding the door open for his agent to follow suit. Brendon crossed over the threshold and entered the room, eyes immediately landing on you. You stood across from him, arms folded and face unusually blank.
The t-shirt you were wearing left the top part of your chest and your neck exposed, and your bodyguard's attention was suddenly drawn to the piece of jewellery around your neck.
The sight of it relieved him; the fact that you hadn't taken the necklace off despite everything showed that you hadn't completely written him off.
"Hi," he greeted.
"Hi."
Fury looked between the two of you and shook his head once. The tension tangled between you and Brendon was so intense that it was impossible for anyone to be around the two of you and not to feel it – and as your godfather and as The Director, it was the last thing Fury was interested in feeling.
"Look, obviously there are issues here," Fury started, holding his hands out and moving to stand in the middle of the two of you, but not so much forward that you were unable to see one another, "and they're gonna take a long while to work out."
The two of you hadn't once looked away from each other.
"But we don't have a long while," your godfather continued, "In fact, we have no idea how much time we have. And if we're gonna beat this, I'm gonna need all of my best people at their best. Which means –," he gave a stern, one-eyed glare at you and then Brendon, "I can't have two of my strongest assets bring their personal grievances onto the battlefield in this one. Am I understood?"
"Yes sir," Brendon said, pursing his lips slightly, "That's not me. You know that."
You scoffed, and were about to pass a snarky remark but caught the eye of your godfather, who looked at you beseechingly. With a sigh, you nodded.
"Yeah. Understood."
"Good." Fury straightened up and folded his hands together behind his back. "Because we got work to do."
