A Birdie Lost in Time | Bucky Barnes

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She wasn't sure why, but she was surprised when her eyes opened.

And then confused when she saw the ground passing beneath her despite her feet not moving.

She tried to catch each tile with her eyes, but it brought an ache to her head, so instead she squeezed her lids shut and tried to breathe. When she finally opened them again, she was careful to look around.

Oh, she realized, I'm in a wheelchair.

Although it bobbed, she eventually turned her head to look above her, finding the face of someone unrecognizable.

That's when she remembered what happened to her, and the sudden spark of adrenaline had her surge against her restraints.

Nothing good ever comes from being restrained in a wheelchair.

She yanked at her wrists, but the tight cuffs held her back easily.

"Uspokoysya, vse v poryadke," the young man's voice said calmly.

"I don't know what the fuck you're saying, but let me the fuck out," she argued, pulling at her wrists despite knowing it wouldn't do anything.

"Mayor zovet tebya, ptichka, verno? Nu, ptichka, stoboy vse budet poryadke. You, okay," he said, accent making the English words clunky in his mouth.

It wasn't a question, but a statement.

"I am not okay," she huffed in indignation, giving her best glare to the man above her.

He continued talking as if she hadn't said anything, his words soothing as if he was trying to console a child.

A few moments later, she was wheeled into a room, barely catching sight of the guards before hearing the sound of doors shutting and locks sliding into place behind them. The room was dark and she could barely distinguish shadow from object before she was stopped in front of a small group of men.

"Hello, ptichka, how are you today?"

She didn't deign to acknowledge the Russian's words, eyes focused instead on the empty space beside him.

"Ah, but you had behaved so well the last time we spoke," he taunted sarcastically.

Still, she said nothing, hoping it would embarrass him in front of his friends. To show that despite everything he had done, she still wouldn't answer his questions.

He just smiled, although it didn't seem annoyed. It seemed... satisfied. And that made her worry.

"Gospoda, this is who I have been working with these last months," the Russian said, and Marlow didn't miss how he spoke English. "She has had broken bones, stab wounds, taken beatings that would make most grown men cry, yet she has not broken. My little ptichka has not sung," he explained with an air about his words that she could only liken to pride.

The disgust she felt at his tone was only overshadowed by his words.

'My ptichka'.

I am not yours.

"That is why I have suggested we integrate her into our ranks."

Marlow's eyes shot up at that, meeting the Russian's and knowing then for certain; it didn't matter if the others understood his words, he wanted her to know. He wanted her to be scared.

"We already know that our device works, so I suggest we use it on her. We need to know where she got her information, whether there are copies, determine who else may know. Afterwards, I believe her resolve would be beneficial to make use of. She has told us her name is Marlow Hendrix, and if that is true, there are no records of her. When we take care of her counterparts, no one will come looking for her. She will be a ghost."