this side of paradise

resident ex-con(s)

Indian Ocean – Unnamed Remote Island

Eight days earlier...

Day One

When Bucky woke up, Yelena Belova's face was the first thing he saw, and the first thing he felt was her mouth against his.

This, of course, was followed swiftly by more chest compressions, and the uncomfortable sensation of water rushing out of his lungs.

"Oh, thank God," she exhaled, collapsing onto the ground. He took a moment and coughed out the last of however much ocean water remained inside of him. He took a second, heaving in air, before he finally gathered himself and got a good look at his surroundings.

Palm trees, white sand, and nothing but ocean for miles on end.

He turned to Yelena. She was pretty beat up—she had a sizable gash in her forehead, and most of her uniform was singed. But it looked like the bleeding had at least stopped, and—aside from the gash, the start of a sunburn and chapped lips—she was, by all appearances, fine.

It came rushing back to him, all at once. The cargo ship they'd infiltrated. The fight below deck. The crossfire, the ambush, and then—finally—the explosion, the one that blew them overboard. Just as James and Yelena ducked out of the way, he'd managed to at least partially inflate his portable life-raft—and apparently, it had been enough for them to drift to shore, however many hours later.

Alexei and Antonia were with them, on the ship—were they alive? Did they wash up on the other side of the island? The only sound James could hear was the ocean waves and a couple of birds, chirping off in the distance.

"How long was I out for?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I woke up maybe ten minutes before you did. I couldn't say."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. Judging by how dry his mouth was and how low the sun was in the sky, if he had to hazard a guess, it had been at least twelve hours since the fight and the explosion.

He knew it was a long-shot, but he tapped his earpiece. "Walker, Alexei? This is James. Does anybody copy?"

He paused for a moment. He didn't even hear static on the other end of the line.

"Well, I guess that answers whether or not these are waterproof," he managed, yanking the bluetooth out of his ear.

"What do we do?"

It was a fair question for Yelena to ask, but it annoyed him. "That's what I'm trying to figure out. I have absolutely no idea," he snapped. "I'm open to suggestions."

She shut her mouth before she could say anything.

He sighed. He knew he shouldn't blame her—those last six months, in the time they'd been training together, working with the other Tunderbolts and completing various missions across the globe, she'd gotten to know him in one capacity, and one alone: Team Leader. Because as much as he hated to admit it and as hard as he tried to reject it, for better or for worse, he was—somehow—the de facto leader of the Thunderbolts team.

How in the hell that happened, he'd never know.

"I'm sorry," he conceded. "I'm frustrated. I shouldn't take it out on you."

Yelena shook her head. "Don't worry about it." And then she cracked a small smile and said, "Honestly, I'm relieved. I was wondering when I'd finally get to see some personality from you."