A Birdie Lost in Time | Bucky Barnes

|4|

"You're doing well," Natasha said as she passed the girl an icepack wrapped in a t-shirt.

"Thanks," Marlow muttered sarcastically. "I thought so too. My face makes a great target, huh?"

"You really are improving. This was a difficult scenario."

She let out a disbelieving chuckle, leaning against a long-forgotten filing cabinet as she pressed the ice pack to her throbbing lip. "How should I have gone about it? How could I have won?"

"I can't tell you exactly because each situation will be different, you have to—"

"Evaluate your surroundings, I know," Marlow droned.

The blond woman sent her a scornful look; one that had Marlow shrinking.

"Sorry. Continue."

"I would have tried to get the person's neck as near to the restraints as possible and either used them to choke my attacker, or gotten my legs around them. If they had a gun or stun-weapon, I would try to keep them there until I got a hold of it..."

⁂

"Fuck me," Marlow hissed as she rolled onto her side, searching for a position that would lessen the pain she was feeling across her entire body.

It felt like her and Nat went one too many rounds... But Nat wasn't around anymore. And she wasn't on a jet. Or at a safe house. Or at the pop-up.

Her eyes opened and she found herself laying on cold cement, hands cuffed in front of her with a chain leading out of her line of sight.

Fuck me, she repeated in her mind.

They took me.

Where the fuck am I?

With a huff of effort, Marlow pushed off her side, using the little strength in her arms to lean against the wall behind her.

A room.

Cold, dark, damp.

Guarded, she noted mentally, eyeing the two men in front of the door, demeanor unchanged despite her new state of consciousness.

She sized them up, humoring herself with the idea of fighting them. Even without her body feeling like a million pounds, she probably couldn't considering their biceps were the size of her head.

Bigger maybe?

She readjusted, body laggy like she couldn't quite wake it up.

"Did you guys drug me?" she bit, running a heavy hand over her face as if it would clear her mind. She didn't get a response, although she really wasn't expecting one—it just would have been nice to break the hovering quiet. The silence meant she was left contemplating how fucked she was without their input.

Very, she concluded.

She sat in the stillness of the room, occasionally asking the guards the time or when meal would be served. And on that note, whether she could put in for something—she was pretty picky.

She was questioning whether the men were even real when there was a sound from the door. A moment later, it opened and Richardson walked in, a scowl on his face that made Marlow want to roll her eyes.

"So, is this what S.H.I.E.L.D. prisons look like?" she wondered out loud, looking around the dim room while holding back the shiver that threatened to shake her body when a cold draft reached her from the open door. Despite only wearing the thin blouse and pencil skirt, she refused to ask for a blanket or even show her discomfort. She wasn't interested in giving them the satisfaction. Even her asking about food was done in such a sarcastic manner as to appear like she was simply bored; making light of the situation because she couldn't care less.

Something, Steve always told her, reminded him of Tony.

"I've had some men looking at your suit. It's advanced; they've never seen anything like it. How does it work?"

"Funny story, that," she said, adjusting herself against the wall, "I have no idea."

"Where did you get it?"

"New York."

"Where in New York? Who made it? Who gave it to you?"

"Upstate, not exactly sure, and Captain America."

I'm not lying.

An annoyed grunt came from Richardson, and he stalked towards the girl, stopping to crouch in front of her and grab her face roughly. "I don't think you realize the situation you're in. No one is coming to get you. S.H.I.E.L.D. can't protect you. Whoever you're working with can't protect you. You will not escape. It's in your best interest to come forward with the truth. It will be far less painful that way."

She pondered his statements, feeling the cold truth sink into her bones.

Sam was right; he isn't getting me out of this one.

It's me and that's it.

But you've relied on yourself for twenty years, you can do it again.

So, she shrugged and told the same lie she'd repeated her entire life.

"I always tell the truth."