Valentina had never been good at fighting. Growing up, all she had known had been one tactic: suffering through, letting the punches rain onto her and hope that they would not leave ugly souvenirs. Now, in Division, she was expected to fight back – to know how to react to an attack and she was expected to be able to win and not get hurt in a fight and while it had been a concern, but not her biggest problem when she had joined Division, it had grown more and more important to the Brunette. Her loss against Zooey had been a crack to her self-confidence, a worry that she might not make it through had formed. The only one who could help her get better – overall – seemed to be Bennett, but he was nowhere to be found; not even to pick her up from Zooey’s iron fist. As much as Valentina told herself that she would be fine on her own, deep down she knew that she needed assistance, that her mask wasn’t forever and that she was slowly breaking apart behind it – the fight had shown her as much and the wound that still showed on her temple reminded her of it.
Only the sound of her own two feet was to be heard in the hallway as she made her way to one of the private training rooms of the bunker. She had heard about a new handler who was willing to train recruits who had no handler to turn to – which made most of the recruits in the bunker. Her chin up, her steps as secure as she could manage, she walked into the room and spotted the man she had been looking for, she leaned against the doorframe eyeing him, distant, her arms crossed – cautious.
