stark
Six months after being kidnapped, you have learned that you are being held by an organization that calls themselves “HYDRA.”
You have learned that you are being held somewhere in Russia.
You have slowly gained privileges; having a room that isn’t the size of a queen bed, having a closet with a few pieces of clothing, they let you cook your own food in the kitchen, you can shower.
You have managed to remedy the burns left by the man named Rumlow with a salve you made yourself, leaving them as scars that are not pretty, but mostly healed.
You have been deemed HYDRA’s coffee girl.
As coffee girl, each Tuesday you were taken into the nearby city by some HYDRA goon, gathered however many coffees were needed that day, and brought them back for the team’s weekly briefing. If it had been a particularly good Monday for the team, sometimes they let you get a coffee for yourself as well.
Today happens to be one of those days.
The goon had told you before you left the compound to wear an extra layer today, as even for December in Russia, it was cold. So, you add an extra layer on under your coat and meet him in the car out front.
At the coffee shop, you read off the regular order and then have a small debate with yourself. Even though you feel like a fucking popsicle, you just can’t bring yourself to get a hot drink, so you decide to order an iced latte instead and suffer through it.
Though you haven’t been in Russia for a super long time, and you don’t plan to be here much longer, you did start picking up on common words that the agents would say. Sometimes, a nice agent would happen upon you and teach you a phrase or two.
That’s why, as you are walking around the conference table delivering the last few coffees, you hear the name “Stark” and tense up, now eavesdropping as best you can.
That’s why, when you hear some of the first words you’d learned; “confirmed” and “dead,” you drop the last coffee you are holding (thankfully, it’s yours) and bring a hand to your mouth before backing into the closest wall you can find. Soft gasps leave your throat as tears start to form.
All eyes are on you, but you catch one pair in particular with a small smile forming at the bottom of his face.
Rumlow.
Rumlow.
Just like the first horrible day you were here, the sadness switches to anger before you know it, and you are back on your feet, storming over to him, hands wrapped around his throat, hoping that you can wipe that fucking smirk off of his face.
But you’re being pulled off of him before you can even get a good grip on his neck, curses and sobs leaving your mouth as you’re being dragged back to your room.
You’re sure someone is going to come and punish you for the act, sure that you’ll have more scars added to the countless ones you’ve gained in the short time you’ve been here.
But no one comes. You’re left locked in your room for (you think) three days. Nobody comes to bring you food, nobody comes to torture you, you’re alone.
By the end of the third day, you almost wish you were being tortured instead of sitting here alone with your thoughts. All you can think about is how much you just want to be home. Home, with your coworkers, with Peggy, with Hannah, god you miss Hannah. You miss your job, miss feeling like you have a purpose, miss being more than a fucking coffee girl. Though, that would most likely be gone now too. You’ll just sit here alone until someone comes to save you.
No, Lou, don’t think like that.
You aren’t a fucking damsel in distress. You are a badass fucking engineer who can more than handle her own. You have all the skills under your belt to get out of this.
You are Louise fucking Anderson, and you will get out of this, even it means playing the long game.