Chapter 9
“So, you’re telling me this is the place Zemo managed to escape?” I shout to the Deputy, my voice concealed by the chopper blades above our heads, and the crashing waves of the Atlantic Ocean. For the last few hours, I’ve essentially been standing in a huge, floating piece of metal. Before entering the prison under sea-level, there was nothing else to be seen other than water… water… and guess what else?
More water.
“Like I said, he’s not the first to do it.” Deputy Hill shouts back, covering her face with her arm to shield herself from the wind as we climb back into the helicopter.
The Deputy made a joke to one of the guards as we arrived, something along the lines of ‘don’t worry, we aren’t planning on breaking anyone out today’.
They didn’t find it very funny.
The visit to the Raft has been a success. Luckily, the guards hadn’t touched any evidence before SHIELD arrived, so I was able to get a clear picture of what happened.
There’s only one way in and one way out, so I know the entry and exit point for certain. We were informed by security that a helicopter was used for the escape, just Zemo and one other person on board. We are still unsure of their identity, but they were wearing a guards uniform. As well as minimal damage to the facility, we could almost confirm the theory of the escape being part of an inside job. There are a few casualties, one dead and two injured, but luckily nothing more sinister.
“You’re sure you got everything?” Hill asks, and I nod my head before putting on my headphones, so I can hear her better.
“Yeah.” I reply down the microphone, Hill putting her own headset on. “Yeah I got it.”
I managed to get hold of the footage from the Raft, which I will begin to analyse on the helicopter ride back to NYC, and then I can start to piece it together with the incoming footage from countries bordering the Atlantic.
“Alright, let’s head back.”
But first, I have a date.
A knock on the door interrupts me, as I’m trying to put on the last of my jewellery. Besides my watch, which I use for work, I place it gently on my dresser. My fingers are littered with dainty rings, my neckline decorated in delicate chains. The gold accents match the emerald satin dress that I chose, with the help of Claire. I didn’t exactly ask for her assistance, but she turned up at my apartment last night, whilst my small choice of evening wear was sprawled across the couch.
“Where the hell are you going to need to dress like that?” She’d asked, pointing at the arrangement of evening wear, consisting of a couple of dresses, but mostly trouser suits of different styles and colours.
“Business dinner.” I replied, repeating the words that Bucky had said earlier in the week, shoving a forkful of my dinner in my mouth. “And while you’re here… you might as well help me choose.”
“Jeez, you gotta get me a job there. Let me see that.” She pointed, her other hand resting on her chin. She was posed like some avant garde fashion designer, choosing their latest piece for a supermodel ready to catwalk, and it looked hilarious. I chewed on my cheek, walking over to grab the dress, the satin soft in my hands. I held it up, positioning the dress in front of my body, looking between Claire and the mirror.
“Yup, don’t even need to look at the others.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Have you seen that dress?” She exclaimed with a shake of her head. “It’s fucking gorgeous.”
I smile at the memory, having one last look in the same mirror, appreciating Claire’s choice. I have to admit, I agree wholeheartedly, it makes me feel like a million dollars.
I walk noisily towards the door in my golden stilettos, removing the chain on the door before opening it.
Bucky stands in my doorway, and I’m mesmerised by the sight before me. I’m tempted to pinch myself, just in case this is an elaborate dream, snapping myself back to a harsh reality. He wears a charcoal herringbone overcoat which sits mid-thigh, unbuttoned, allowing a sneak peak at the outfit underneath. He’s ditched the suit jacket, but the black button-up shirt, tucked into form-fitting suit pants, held together by a silver belt buckle are more than sufficient. He’d even managed to ditch his boots for a shiny pair of shoes, which admittedly looked barely worn. I imagine he doesn’t have many excuses to dress smartly, but damn, he looks flawless, his hair styled in the usual way, teased lightly on top, his facial hair not unruly, but not trimmed to perfection. There’s something about the slightly messy look that I can’t get enough of. The leather gloves encasing his large hands blend in with the winter weather, but I’m certain that isn’t the reason he’s put them on, he doesn’t feel the cold like everyone else.
“Woah-”
“-You’re early.” I blurt out, and we both laugh awkwardly, interrupting each other’s greetings, and Bucky steps forward as I invite him in.
“I’ll uh, just grab my coat.” I say, shuffling past him to close the door, and I feel a hand snake around my waist, and I’m pulled towards him, my chest hitting his.My breath hitches as his full lips connect with my throat, kissing me gently. A soft moan escapes my mouth, and Bucky groans back, teeth grazing across my collarbone.
“No, not yet. We have a little spare time.” He mumbles into my skin, and I swallow, not even beginning to try and respond. I slide my fingers into his hair and bring my lips to his, slightly easier tonight in these stilettos. I can taste his toothpaste, and I smile into the kiss.
“God…you look incredible.” He muses, resting his hands on my waist. “You know, seeing you like this, all dressed up for me… I’m starting to consider an alternative evening.”
My hands mess with his tie, my fingers dancing around the soft fabric. “As tempting as that is…” I tease, and I can feel uneven breaths fanning my skin. “You promised me dinner, and I’d hate for this dress to go to waste.”
“Let’s make use of it twice, in one night.” Bucky rests his mouth against my forehead, his words rattling my brain.
Damn you.
My hands gravitate towards his belt, tucking my fingertips under his shirt. My skin is ice cold in comparison to Bucky’s, and he sucks in a breath at the feeling, flinching at the touch. He sighs heavily as I trail my hands up and down his abdomen, settling them on his hips, and I slowly tilt my head upwards to the sight of Bucky’s parted lips, shallow breaths tickling my skin.
“How long do we have?”
His eyes flicker down to my dress, and I watch his pupils dilate at the sight. Without speaking a word, his hands grip my waist roughly, pulling me up towards him, and my legs wrap around his body as he begins taking heavy steps to my bedroom. My dress has completely ridden up to my hips, given that the material just about reaches my knees when standing, and Bucky takes advantage of this, slipping a hand under the material, squeezing the back of my thigh, the leather gloves cold from the evening air.
I’m placed gently onto the bed, and Bucky pushes my dress up even further, the material pooling around my waist, leaving my underwear exposed. A throaty groan escapes him as he pushes the winter coat from his shoulders, letting it fall into a heap behind his feet.
“So beautiful.” He murmurs as I revel in sight of the front of his shirt hanging over his belt. I sit at the foot of the bed, stilettos planted firmly on the floor, hands at my sides, and thighs clenched together with anticipation, watching Bucky slowly unbutton his shirt, a devilish smile washing over his face. I swallow as he carefully holds out a hand for me to take, and I willingly do so.
As he pulls me up to stand, he swiftly turns me to face away from him, my ass coming into contact with the growing erection concealed underneath his trousers.
“Fuck…” Bucky groans, placing a hand on my back, pushing until my chest lands on the mattress. I’m thinking of how purchasing a tall bed frame like this one was such a great idea, but my thoughts are interrupted by a hand striking my ass. I gasp from the impact, my feet wobbling in my heels.
“Bucky-” I whine, interrupted by the sound of him unbuckling his belt, followed swiftly by the zipper.
“Shh.” He coos, two fingers tracing over my underwear. They move from my waistband, down the curve of my ass, swiping gently over my folds, and his hands are now gloveless, and it feels as if my slick is already starting to coat his fingers. A low chuckle from the soldier confirms this, and I whimper at his touch, before he pulls away. “Be a good girl and sit pretty for me, don’t make us late.”
I feel the blood rise to my cheeks, the ache in my core strengthening from his words. I push my hips back in an attempt to earn some sort of satisfaction, but his palm strikes me again, and I can instantly tell which one, the cool metal stinging my bare skin. Bucky creeps his hand lower, this time to part my underwear to the side, before sinking one finger into me without a warning.
“Oh!” I cry, steadying myself with my forearms digging into the mattress, already reeling with pleasure from the lightest of touches.
“Shit, honey.” Bucky rasps, with a few slow pumps of his finger, curling slightly to graze just the right spot before removing himself in one swift motion. “Gonna feel so fucking good.”
Moans escape both of our lips as the contact returns, this time in the form of his length sliding between my folds, creating a mixture of our juices, before he pulls back, teasing my entrance with his tip as he positions himself.
“Bucky, please, pl- fuck !”
He pushes into me, frustratingly slowly, stretching me until he bottoms out. I cry out from the sensation, his hands grip my hips tightly as a growl comes from his throat. Bucky begins to thrust back and forth, pushing my hips into the mattress to keep me in place, wanting to do all of the work himself, to be certain that all my pleasure comes from him, and only him.
“You like that, huh? “So fuckin’ wet for me.” He grunts with pleasure as his pace quickens, the sound of our moans laced with slapping skin filling my bedroom.
“Feels s-so good.” I try to muster up a coherent sentence, my main focus being the ache that grows deeper into my core.
He’s ploughing deep into me, desperate for his own high, my walls tightening around his thick cock. It’s a different level of euphoria, teetering on the edge of being overpowered by Bucky’s strength, learning the limits of what my body can take, but with enough self-control to avoid my breaking point. Today is calm in comparison, but there’s no such thing as bad sex where Bucky Barnes is concerned.
The pleasure balloons at the bottom of my belly, threatening to burst. My breaths become laborious and my hands claw at the bedsheets, Bucky not showing any signs of slowing down.
“That’s it, honey. There you are.” He coos in response to my reaction, feeling my orgasm approaching, which only heightens the feeling, the sounds now leaving my mouth practically unsolicited.
“Oh- god, please, I’m-” I can’t string the words together, not uncommon, but Bucky continues for me.
“Lemme feel you. Fuck, c’mon- come for me.” He rasps, his own words now a struggle, sending me over the edge.
The balloon bursts and I’m overcome, crying out as Bucky continues thrusting into me, hitting that one spot to ride out my high. I clench around him, and his movements begin to falter, the pads of his fingers digging into my skin a little more than they were before.
No words come to either of us as Bucky pumps into me sloppily, before pulling out quickly, the weight of one hand leaving my side. I feel the seed from his own release falling onto my skin, an utterance of curse words following his own orgasm.
We pause for a moment to catch our breath, before Bucky pulls himself away, slipping into the bathroom. He returns promptly with a towel, wiping away the evidence from the bottom of my back. The towel gets thrown in the direction of the bathroom, and an arm slips in between my stomach and the mattress, helping me to stand. I rest my hands on the edge of the bed, the material of my dress falling back to tickle my knees. My legs are unsteady from my orgasm, the stilettos not helping my case. I spin around on the balls of my feet, gripping Bucky’s forearms as my balance falters, and his hands catch my elbows.
“Sorry.” I mumble, correcting my posture, my chest rising and falling as oxygen fills my lungs.
“Don’t be. My fault.” He says, also breathless. His trousers are buttoned and his belt is buckled, but his shirt still hangs loosely on his body, not yet having the time to re-dress.
“That was-”
“Yeah.”
“We uh-, we should go, right?” I ask, with my head in the clouds. I manage to let go of Bucky to adjust the straps on my shoulders, and his arms drop to his sides, before nodding in agreement. I suppose I should check my appearance, so I disappear to the bathroom, before committing to leaving my apartment.
After using the toilet, I take a look in the mirror, surprised to see that my hair and makeup still look intact, minus a couple of mascara smudges. I easily remove them, teasing my fingers through my hair to freshen it, quickly joining Bucky in the hall.
His coat is back on, and he looks exactly as he did when he first walked through the door, except with my coat over his arm. He holds it out to me, inviting me to feed my arms through the sleeves. I accept the help, Bucky slipping the ankle dusting coat over my shoulders. I wrap the material over me before tying the belt into a bow, reaching to the kitchen counter to fetch my bag, now feeling more than ready to leave for dinner.
Bucky looks stern as he slips the gloves onto his hands, but I don’t think it's purposeful, he seems to have a sort of… natural scowl, and wonders why people are intimidated by him. It never concerned me, that scowl. Maybe that’s what attracted him to me, that I don’t see him in the way that others do. The situation we have going on, there’s a level of trust that needs to be mutual, an expectation that neither of you are going to be a judgemental piece of shit. With a plethora of bad luck and poor life choices shared between us, there’s never been room for that.
To both mine and Bucky’s surprise, I lean towards him, planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth, before grabbing the door handle.
“Okay, let’s go.”
“So, how was the meeting?” Bucky asks, taking a sip of whisky from his glass. I nod, drinking from my own. It’s like what happened an hour ago didn’t happen, except this time something about this feels more… normal.
“Good. I got the ICER, that’s what he called it. Incapacitating Cartridge Emitting… somethin’ somethin’.”
“What else did he say?”
“Said they used to issue them to SHIELD agents, but now not unless the target is enhanced. Copycats started to come to the market, so they needed more control over them, so, he asked why I wanted it.”
“I can imagine he was confused when you told him it was for me.”
“Thankfully I worded it a little better than that.” I chuckle, setting my glass down, resting my hand at the bottom of the stem. “He said the precaution is a good idea, especially since the effects of the conditioning wear off after unconsciousness.”
“What about the Raft? How’d that go?”
“You’re full of questions tonight.” The corner of my lips twitch in amusement, not usually getting to hear Bucky be so talkative. I trace my fingers along the bottom of my glass. “I got what I needed, gonna start piecing it together tomorrow.” I take another sip of my drink, and the delivery of our dinner to the table interrupts us.
As we eat, something starts to play on my mind. Bucky makes an effort to hide his prosthetic, but I never realised to what extent. It seems to be more obvious in public, but maybe that’s why I’m only just picking up on it. Being spotted together has never been on the cards, so we haven't made too much of a habit out of meeting in public.
I notice that he’s chosen a dish that’s easy to eat with one hand. Gramigna pasta with sausage, to be a little bit more descriptive.
When he arrived at my apartment, Bucky was wearing his leather gloves, only taking them off due to other articles of clothing also being removed. During the cab ride to the restaurant, his hand rested on my thigh, but the glove prevented me from feeling his warmth. When we arrived, he removed his coat, putting the gloves in one of the pockets, sliding his left hand into his trouser pocket. I took off my own coat, and Bucky thanked the waiter for taking them. The waiter studied Bucky for a fraction of a second too long, and the both of us noticed the gesture. Luckily, the waiter was kind enough not to say anything, turning away to hook our coats onto the stand behind him, before showing us to our table. When picking up the menu, Bucky reached across his body to collect it from the left of the table, keeping his other hand in his lap.
I take a bite of my own food, swallowing before speaking.
“This is probably a stupid question, but do you ever think of not wearing it?” I ask, motioning to his left side, and he looks at me sheepishly.
“My arm?” He asks, his brow furrowed.
“I can see that you’re worried about it.” I add, continuing with my dinner so it doesn’t go cold.
“Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. If I wear it without covering it, people stare. I’m sure if I walked around with one arm, they’d still be staring.” Bucky shrugs, sticking his fork back into his food. “They have no manners.”
“Bucky, if people are gonna stare either way, then why hide it? Surely it’s inconvenient, having to think about it all the time. Plus, I think it’s cool.” I shrug, sipping on my drink. “Your arm is worth more than everything I own. Might as well show it off.”
He chuckles, before it turns to a sigh. He puts his fork down, reaching to grab his drink, not taking his eyes off me whilst taking a sip of the amber liquor. He sets the glass down, but when he picks his fork back up, he chooses his left hand. I smirk, settling back in my chair, glancing at the golden bands of vibranium that curl around his knuckles.
“Better?” He asks, stabbing the last piece of pasta with his fork, and putting it into his mouth. After that, he reaches across for the whisky glass again, finishing his drink. He places his hand back under the table, the freedom short lived, but it’s a start.
“See?” I mumble, finishing my own meal. “That wasn’t too bad.” I pick up my drink to finish that, too.
“Well, now I’m all out.” I look down at my glass, swirling it in my hand. “And I believe that it’s my round. Same again?” I ask, already standing out of my seat, not giving him the time to object.
Bucky nods. “Thank you.”
“Alright, I’ll be back soon.”
The walk to the bar feels longer than usual, wearing these shoes. I don’t usually wear high heels, but I’ve also never been to a fancy restaurant with a super soldier.
Wow, if only my past self could hear me now.
I reach the bar, catching the eye of the barman almost instantly. I take the nearest empty seat after ordering our drinks, which turns out is the only spare stool anyway, the bar starting to get busier as it gets later. I wouldn’t usually sit to wait, but my feet are starting to hurt.
“Same again, please.” The man beside me requests the barman, who nods before confirming his drink, the same one that I ordered prior.
“I see you also ordered that one.” The man speaks in my direction. I smile, looking only briefly at the man, not really caring to stare.
“It’s a safe bet.” I shrug, tapping my fingers on the bar.
There’s a pause, not much of an awkward one, but he dares to speak again. I’m not in a ‘talking to strangers’ mood, so don’t care to entertain him for too long.
“Your date, over there, he has a familiar face.” The man speaks, and I frown, knowing that Bucky sits well around the corner.
“It’s more of a business arrangement, but yeah, he gets that a lot.” I mumble, focusing on the barman making the drinks, hoping he doesn’t take too much longer. This man can’t seem to grasp the possibility that I’m not interested in talking to him.
“Tell me, Agent, is my face familiar to you?”
My head turns in shock at the sound of my title, and now that I see the man’s face, things start to make sense.
If the accent wasn’t telling, the dark brown eyes staring back at me, the chestnut hair neatly parted to the side, are both more than adequate. The slight stubble on his face and neck casts a shadow over his jaw, suggesting a lack of shaving over the last couple of days after his escapade. To anyone else, Helmut Zemo could come across as a regular man, but to a SHIELD agent like myself, he’s unmistakeable. I suck in a breath, stumbling to get off my seat, ready to call to Bucky, but something cold and dull jabs at my leg, right at the split of my dress.
“I suggest you stay seated, unless you want a nasty hole blown through your skin.”
I look up to the barman, who is already looking at me. He puts my drink in front of me, using two fingers to slide the glass towards me. My worried expression doesn’t concern him, and what makes me panic more, is the nod he gives to the Baron sitting next to me.
“You could’ve gone anywhere in the world, but you came back to New York fucking City.” I whisper, balling my hands into fists to stop them from shaking.
Zemo pushes the barrel of his gun further into my leg, and I wince. “Drink up.”
“You’re a piece of shit, Baron.” I mumble, looking down at the glass in front of me.
I pick up the glass, swirling it around, knowing the barman has put something in there that he shouldn’t have, and I know I have to drink it. There’s an option to kick up a fuss, but I don’t know how many people in this restaurant are working with him. If I don’t drink, and I choose to fight, I might be dead before Bucky can even think of getting out of his seat.
“He’ll not let you take him.” I follow up, making a reference to Barnes. “He’d rather die.”
“Which is why I would like to offer my apologies, Agent, for your involvement. Simply put, it’s been made apparent that you’re the only leverage I have.”
I roll my eyes. Even if I try to waste time, hoping that Bucky will come to check on me, Zemo will find a way to progress the situation. Instead of stalling, I throw the drink back, feeling multiple pairs of eyes watching me swallow the drink. Zemo’s chair scrapes back, motioning for me to do the same. I can already feel my eyes getting heavy. Maybe it’s tiredness, or the earlier consumption of alcohol, or maybe the drugs work damn quickly.
With a spine chilling whisper, Zemo directs me out of the restaurant, and I sense bodies moving in our direction, following closely behind.
As the air hits my face, I realise just how sleepy I am starting to feel. My feet falter, and my head is fuzzy, but someone is keeping me from falling. I hear the sound of a door sliding open, but I can barely see a thing anymore. The last thing I feel is falling onto a hard floor, before my eyes close, sending me into slumber.
Ugh, my head is pounding. I have to force my eyes open, but the lights feel like they could blind me.
I try to move my arms, but I look down to see that I can’t, tied to the arms of the chair, rope wrapped from my wrists to my elbows. Seems excessive, but they’ve probably read my file.
I look down, and I’m still wearing the dress I passed out in, which is riding up to my thighs now, too high for my liking, even more so given the freezing climate. Ah, if only I’d chosen a pair of trousers to get kidnapped in.
“Sorry about this, I know it’s quite distasteful.” A voice surprises me, and I flick my head towards it, a little too quickly, wincing at the pain.
Zemo stands to the side of me, but about ten feet away, arms folded across his chest, the fur on his coat collar brushing against his stubbled jaw.
“The restraints is where you draw the line? I’d say taking someone hostage is distasteful enough, you bastard.” I scowl, hair sticking to my face with sweat, even though it’s freezing in here. Why do people keep fucking drugging me?
My legs are covered with goosebumps, and my feet are sore, feeling bruised from the prolonged wear of the stilettos. I look around quickly, trying to get a grasp of my surroundings. Old building; concrete beams holding up the ceiling; chains dangling from metal structures. A smell of diesel, maybe an old garage? Machinery warehouse?
“Yes, and again, I apologise.” Zemo responds. For a murderer and a psychopath, he sure sounds like a gentleman. A respectable asshole, if there’s such a thing, but he doesn’t gain mine. I’d put a knife to his throat and a bullet in his head if I could, for Bucky, who could never do it, despite his slight murderous nature. He’d beat him within an inch of his life, yes, but wouldn’t kill him. I don’t know why, I just know that he couldn’t do it, despite the pain he’s caused.
“Unfortunately, it seems that in recent weeks, Sergeant Barnes has taken a liking toward you, according to my sources. Hence....” Zemo unfolds his arms, gesturing to where I’m sitting.
“Sorry to disappoint, Baron, but I’m nothing more than a colleague.” I lie, pulling my wrists upwards to try and help loosen the rope on the arms of the chair. It burns, but it doesn’t stop me, and doesn’t stop me wanting to get out of here, either.
“If only that were true.” He tuts, shifting his hands to his pockets. “I was in love, once. I can still see it in others.”
I laugh, well, more of a snort. The guy is clueless, but he’s very good at playing pretend. Zemo doesn’t acknowledge my reaction, and I frown.
“Love… right. Anyway, Baron, what’s the plan? You're gonna wait for Barnes to get here, put a gun to my head and make me beg for my life? Make him watch? Is that what we’re doing?”
“You really think that little of me, Agent?” He asks, walking a little closer, and I know I need to stall, to try and stop whatever he has planned.
“I wouldn’t have thought my opinion would matter to you.” I shrug as best as I can in my situation, with my forearms tied. “Although, I do wonder what your poor wife and children would think if they could see you now. Surprise, kids! Daddy’s a cold blooded killer.”
The back of Zemo’s hand strikes my cheek, and I hiss. It stings from the impact, even more so due to how cold I am, but quickly, I begin to laugh it off. Mostly from nervousness, but also because I managed to break his calm facade so easily.
“Damn, that was insulting… I think I deserved a punch at least.” I complain, sarcastically, but Zemo stands still, staring at me, flexing the hand he just smacked me with. “Seriously though, God rest their souls. What’s it like being a widower?”
“You’re lucky I have my composure, Agent.”
“Do you even know how to punch? Let me out, I’ll teach you a thing or two.” I threaten, wriggling around in my seat, trying to loosen the rope still.
“Careful, dear. You’ll be sure to expose yourself if you keep writhing around like an animal.” Zemo speaks calmly, but my cheeks grow hot, and I stop moving, eyeing the material of my dress, and he clearly noticed that it was creeping up higher, pooling between my parted legs, as my ankles were tied to the chair too. How dare he-
“I made sure you kept your dignity on your way here, don’t make me look like a pervert in front of your boyfriend.” Zemo frowns at me and turns his back, walking away from me. He played me at my own game, shutting me up, and he knows it.
“He’s not my boyfriend, asshole!” I yell after a quiet moment, but he doesn’t take any notice, and disappears behind a piece of machinery. I huff, my head hurting from the sound of my own voice.
I hate playing the waiting game, it’s not my thing. Despite his request, I continue to strain against the rope tying me to the chair, loosening the slack ever so slightly, but not enough to set me free. Whilst I’m wriggling around, making more friction burns on my skin, a glint of light catches my right eye. I look around, seeing where the light is coming from, and see an open window to my right, a light flashing from the outside. Please be coming to help me. Please.
I can’t see who it is, because they’re so far away, but I nod in recognition. They flash the light once toward Zemo, and then once back at me.
Distract him, maybe? I can try.
“Hey.” I call over to where Zemo disappeared to, not currently able to see him due to whatever hunk of metal he was shielding behind. “Hey, shitface.”
Someone else appeared. Not Zemo, one of his bodyguards, maybe. Even better. He’s a big guy, round, almost. He wears an all black suit, too small for him, some of his shirt buttons are threatening to pop off, but I can see weapons stuffed into his pockets.
“I’m thirsty.” I say, almost as a demand.
“You wouldn’t be so thirsty if you didn’t talk so much.” He sneers. Hilarious.
“Come on, are you gonna let your hostage suffer?”
The guy rolls his eyes at me, walking back to where he came from. He comes back moments later, bottle of water in hand. He takes off the cap, putting it towards my lips, as I am unable to do it myself, the notion making my stomach turn. I take a sip, mumbling to tell him that I’d had enough, and he takes the bottle away. Some of the water drips onto my dress, the water marks showing up almost instantly. I’d be more upset about it if I wasn’t currently tied to a god damn chair.
I swill the water around in my mouth, and as the man proceeds to stand upright, I spit the water out, aiming for his face. I don’t miss - spraying the water that drenches his front, and I smile sweetly afterwards, swallowing the little that remained behind my lips, enjoying the angry expression on his face for a second or two.
Almost immediately, the guy retaliates, delivering a punch to my face, hard enough to knock my chair off balance, and I land on my side, still attached to the chair. I cry out in pain, but luckily my head is raised enough so it doesn’t hit the concrete. I take a heavy breath, grunting as he reaches down to pick me up, setting me upright, but that’s when my hand swiftly enters his pocket, clutching the knife that I can feel. I take my hand out, concealing the folded blade behind my fingers as he sits me back up, grabbing a fist full of my hair. I wince, my head jolted to look at him.
“Leave her be.” Zemo’s voice sounds from behind the guy, and he loosens his grip, following his orders. I look towards Zemo as his ‘muscle’ walks away, and I run my tongue over my teeth, once more spitting out, but this time aiming at the ground beside me, blood splattering onto the floor.
“He supposed to be the tough guy, boss?” I quip towards the two men, and just as the man in question tries to turn back towards me, Zemo puts his hand on him, stopping him in his tracks.
“If I knew you were this easy to aggravate, I wouldn’t have hired you.” Zemo grumbles. The man waves his hand away, walking away to sulk behind the machinery.
Before he can get there, a deafening eruption comes from the large garage door at the other end of the building, as it’s blown off the hinges. Smoke billows from the cavity, and I squint my eyes towards it, as Zemo’s goon ducks down and covers his head with his arms, scrambling towards the piece of machinery, taking cover behind it.
A figure appears through the smoke, and a few other men that accompany Zemo appear from behind the machinery. I can see them all now as they point their weapons to the door, and I vaguely remember their faces from the restaurant. Zemo reaches into one of his coat pockets, pulling out a pistol, holding it at his side. It’s got my name written all over it, but whilst he isn’t looking, I start cutting away at the rope around my wrist. He clicks a bullet into the chamber, keeping his eyes on the door, and his other hand deep in his coat pocket.
“Is that you, James?” Zemo calls, and he almost sounds excited. The way his name sounds on his tongue sends an unpleasant shiver down my spine, but I keep sawing away at the thick rope, almost through one piece. I can start to loosen it then.
I hear a gun cock, and then those familiar, heavy footsteps, echoing as Bucky appears through the smoke, marching into the building.
“You’re damn right.”
He wears the clothes that I last saw him in, minus the coat and suit jacket, now only in his black button-up shirt and matching trousers, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His eyes scan over me quickly, clearly noticing my injuries, and looks back to the group of men that slowly walk towards him. The way they’re walking, they look trained, like they could be soldiers, but they’re all wearing suits, not uniforms.
I sigh, my body relaxing ever so slightly, but not entirely, when the Director’s orders come to mind. I need to get out of here, and fast.
God, I wish Sharon was here. I dropped my bag with the ICER inside at the restaurant, she’d have a spare.
“You wanna talk? Let’s talk. Tell them to put their guns down or they’re all dead.”
Zemo raises his eyebrows, taking a second to answer. “You heard the man.” He looks to his minions, who with reluctance, lower their weapons. This seems too good to be true.
“On the floor.” Bucky points to the ground with the barrel of his gun, then back up.
“You okay?” He calls to me, only taking his eyes off the men in front of him for a second.
“Yeah, I’m good.” I nod.
He takes a breath with a sour expression on his face. “Why’s she bleeding?”
The men are silent, with solemn expressions, clearly unhappy about Zemo’s request. Bucky takes a slow step forward, not enjoying their silence. If I was in their position, with a gun pointed at them by a former assassin, I’d be terrified. “I’m not asking you again.”
Bucky’s eyes scan over the men, looking briefly to their hands, for a sign of assault. He must have seen something on the larger man, because he aims his gun nonchalantly, firing instantly at the man’s leg.
I flinch in my seat, nicking my skin with the knife as I cut through the rope.
“Jesus, Barnes!” I exclaim, my brain rattling against my skull with the sound of the gun shot. The man cries out in pain, falling to the floor to clutch his knee. It’s probably shattered.
I start to pull on the frayed rope to loosen it, having much more luck now I have the knife. Blood slowly seeps from the small cut on my arm, soaking into the rope.
“I suggest the rest of you leave.” Bucky stares at the remaining men, and doesn't have to tell them twice, as they practically scurry away, making their way to the exit.
Zemo looks towards me, spotting the knife, and my now almost free arm, and I freeze. He moves towards me instantly. Shit.
“Hey!” Barnes shouts as Zemo makes a move, moving with him, past the injured man on the floor, but the Baron is quick, and we all know he won’t shoot him. Fuck, I really wish he would.
“Drop it.” Zemo orders, and I clench my jaw, still tasting blood in my mouth. I don’t take my sore, angry eyes from his, as he brings the pistol towards my face, pushing it into my cheek. I squirm, struggling against the pressure.
“Now.”
He’s positioned himself well enough so I couldn't touch him with the knife if I tried.
“What do you want, Zemo?” Bucky asks, with panic evident in his voice, and Zemo notices, smiling.
“I have everything I want, James, right here.”
I see movement behind Bucky, who has his back to the man he just shot. He’s letting me distract him, putting himself in danger. The man reaches into his pocket, pulling out another weapon, one that wasn’t on the floor with the others. I recognise it straight away, because it’s mine.
The ICER. I left my bag at the restaurant, but they must have collected it as we were leaving so Bucky didn’t find it.
“Behind!” I yell as a mechanical sound rings out, and Bucky flinches, not having time to turn around. I watch in horror as his eyes roll back, muttering my name with a slur as his grip falters on the gun he holds, which sends it clattering to the ground. He quickly follows it, his knees hitting the concrete, body slumping to the floor, unconscious.
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