One Who Conceals
Over the years, Brock had managed to read all the books, go to all the support groups, and when internet became accessible, he read that too. He was convinced for a while that yeah, something was wrong, but it wasn’t that. He wasn’t like them, their stories didn’t match. Some people said it was gradual, they’d slowly started to notice that something was wrong, or they’d always known. But he wasn’t like that. He’d woken up one morning, nineteen and living with a girlfriend of his, looked in the mirror, and said, “That’s wrong.”
“What’s wrong?” Caroline said, leaning into the bathroom. He shook his head a little.
“I dunno. Something.” He frowned.
“Maybe you’re pregnant,” she said, laughing when he threw a towel at her.
“You’re a bitch. I’m gonna take a shower,” he murmured, turning the shower on hot and stripping.
It had been a light switch, from Callie to… not Callie. He didn’t know what was wrong, why he wanted to tear out his hair and why he felt like he was holding his breath, suffocating in his own body. Maybe he was sick. Maybe his lungs were collapsing or his stomach lining was burning off. That was more plausible than anything else he could think of, which mostly went something like a self-aware body snatcher. That’s what it felt like. He could barely look in the mirror without being disgusted and he’d never been like that. He loved his body, it was nice and curvy and his olive skin was always smooth. His hair was long and shiny, but he couldn’t figure out why he didn’t like it.
He changed six times, did his hair four different ways, and washed his face over and over. He ended up in jean shorts and a t shirt, hair tied back, which was the only thing he could stomach and still wear to work. He came out into the kitchen where Caroline was reading the paper and put the bread in the toaster.
“Maybe you should try losing weight,” she commented without looking up. “Not that you’re fat, but my aunt just lost a bunch of weight and she says she feels like a new person.” He nodded a little.
“Yeah, maybe. Skinny girls are the thing now, too, right? Should keep with the times,” he hummed, frowning a little. Girls. He felt disconnected from the word, but it almost hurt to hear.
“Lose some weight, get a boyfriend, you’ll definitely feel better.” Not-Callie nodded. Maybe.
He did lose some weight, more than ten pounds over the next month. He got a boyfriend, which didn’t last long, but still. He finally talked to William, an ex from high school who was majoring in psychology. Caroline got his number and he called him.
“William? Hi, it’s Callie.” He didn’t like that name. He’d never liked Calypso. The two –o sounds in Calypso Rumlow sounded wrong, but Callie had been fine until recently.
“Oh, hey, Callie,” came William’s voice over the phone. “Didn’t expect to hear from you.” He could hear dishes clinking in the background.
“Is this a bad time?”
“No, no. What’s up?” He took a deep breath.
“I think I’m sick.”
His explanation was long and repetitive and full of William saying, “Mhm,” and his pen scratching on paper and ended with, “I’ll call you back when I know, alright? Take it easy.”
The next day, he woke up and got dressed, grabbing his purse and walked to the hair salon. He smiled when he walked up to the front desk.
“Hi, Selena,” he said kindly. Selena was the Taiwanese woman who’d been doing his hair since he was twelve. “Can I just get a quick cut?” The woman nodded.
“How much were you thinking?” Selena asked, sliding her the sign in sheet.
“All of it.”
He left the salon feeling lighter than he had after he lost ten pounds.
Another few days and William called back.
“Hey, Callie. I think I know what’s wrong with you,” he said.
“Thank God. What is it?”
“Well, I was talking to a guy in my class and he said his cousin felt the same way as you before they sent you to the mental ward. Said she wanted to be a man.”
“I… I’ll think about it.”
William had no interest in letting him think about apparently, as he’d already started telling people that Calypso Rumlow wanted to be a man.
He lost a lot of friends in a very short amount of time.
He lost his job. And his apartment.
He wasn’t the prom queen anymore. Wasn’t the pretty girl your older brother dated in high school.
He was scared and alone, homeless now. And he couldn’t even deny it. Couldn’t say William was just a spiteful ex. He was right. Calypso Rumlow was a man. He ended up enlisting a few towns over and shipping out. Everyone was doing it.
He was pretty and he could do as he was told, his superiors liked that. A lot.
He remembered when the SHIELD recruiters came, picking their handful out of the ones who’d made it through basic. Alexander Pierce was there, the Secretary of Defense. He walked up and down the line, eyeing each of them as they stood at attention. Not-Callie stood out. He was shorter than the rest, by quite a bit, at 5’4”, 5’5” in boots.
"What’s your name?” he asked. Pierce was handsome, in an older guy kinda way.
“Rumlow, sir.” He’d been working on making his voice sound a little deeper lately, and it was, since he was yelling all the time. Pierce smirked.
“Think you’re a man or something, sweetheart?” He spit on Pierce’s face.
He got picked anyway.
By the time he got to the ‘SHIELD’ basic, he’d already been filled in it was really Hydra.
His first day was as most first days, full of idiot tough guys trying to prove themselves as the alpha male. He’d gotten to sit up front on the drive to the base, chatting with the driver. The driver’s name was Brock, an ex-marine. He was 6’3”, head shaved covered in tattoos. He was missing a hand, said he lost in when it got crushed in a vice. He listened to the stories and flirted easily, all the while mulling the name over. Brock. That was a man’s name alright. He smiled at Brock as they all unloaded, catching something one of the men mumbled. Slut. He whipped around and grabbed him by the ear, threatening to rip it off as he pulled the over six foot man down to his level.
“Say it again, fucker,” he spat
“I said.” He winced. “Slut.” He slammed the guy’s head against the side of the truck a couple times. He heard footsteps come up behind them and glanced over his shoulder, then back. Superior officer. He waited to be told off, but it didn’t happen. The man simply walked up next to them and raised his eyebrow.
“I see everyone is getting acquainted.” He had an accent. Florida, maybe Georgia. Brock smirked a little, still holding the dazed man by the ear.
He could feel that name in his heartbeat, could see it in his reflection in the man’s eyes.
Brock-Brock-Brock-Brock-
He saw the officer hold a gun out to him. An offering. He could get used to it here. He took the gun and blew the guy’s head off, spattering himself with blood.
He was the alpha male now.