X marks the spot

Shadows

"You got him?"

"Yeah, window above. Up, there you go." The woman praised as she placed her binoculars and pad on the floor. She turned to her partner who held the rifle with a steady hand, adjusting the scope slightly before he finally saw his target.

A man in a suit, just like the rest of them. Short, brown hair, green eyes according to the file. "Jemma out?" He asked, waiting for the moment to strike his prey.

"She's out." The woman reassured.

That was all the boy needed to hear, as he squeezed the trigger fully. A crackle was heard, and he waited a few seconds. Watching through the scope, before the window was coated with a red colour, and probably some brain matter.

He still kept his eye through the scope though, checking to see if any danger was still there. He didn't want a repeat of last time. Neither wanted a repeat of last time.

A scribble brought finally brought him out of the scope. He turned to look at his partner, her blonde hair being tied up, a black hood covering it. In fact, everything the two wore was black. It was their gear, but it also reflected the times they lived in. Times were staying hidden was the best call. It helped the illusion that, maybe, if they kept this up, then maybe the light would one day be restored to the world. Even if they stood out in the light of the day.

The boy pulled the sniper up, removing the suppressor from his rifle and opening the sliver case next to him, clipping it open and then slowly breaking the rifle apart, bit by bit. Finally, he placed it in its retrospective place, and closed it again.

He allowed himself to finally take a breath, to finally let it seep in. He'd killed someone, and he'd lost track of how many he'd killed a long time ago. It was nothing new.

In a way, it was frightening to think that. You just went from a killer for one organisation for the polar opposite. That's all. His mind taunted him with. But he'd always find a way to repress it; to make it quiet; whatever it took. So, for now at least, this was that. His release.

The girl opened the door to her room. Their room. A simple room; two beds on either side, with a few folders on a table in the middle, a spare rifle next to one bed. Thank god that the building in question was abandoned. Otherwise some serious questions would have been raised as to what their business was. While for the boy it was repression or whatever he called it.

For her, it was just a job. Nothing special. That's what her father said, almost as if he was on a loop. Nothing personal. Nothing ever was with him; then again, nothing ever was with her either.

It was as if the two had just shut down; had no personal lives to live and instead just had their SHIELD lives. But, to her at least, her father's philosophy made a small bit of sense. At least, now it did. It was just a shame that it took both his betrayal and then death to make it clear to her that it had a small amount of truth to it.

She grabbed her rifle, throwing it into a black zipper bag on the floor, along with the files and her notepad, all the names on it having been scratched out. Starting to pack the things from the boys side too. But a door opening made her throw the bag to the intruder, who grabbed it and continued where she left off. The two worked in silence. A kind of peaceful reflection for the pair. A few months of going out again, and again, and again had started to wear on them. And, while they didn't hate each other's company, it would be nice to have something else. Someone else to talk too. Or, at least see.

"Agents." Coulson's voice broke through the line. The two sitting in their black, unmarked vehicle; phone in the middle of the car.

The man himself was staring out his window, having just given the other group of his active field agents the clear to 'go dark', like he had with them a few weeks ago when they started; telling them to only resurface when it was done.