The Chronicles of Captain Carter - The First Avenger

31.

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Chapter Thirty-One - Patchy The Pirate Lives...

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The SHIELD vans stopped in a tunnel.

"Three holes. Start digging." Rumlow ordered as they opened the backdoor of the truck holding the three prisoners. But to their surprise and annoyance, there was only a knocked out guard, and a giant gaping hole in the floor of the vehicle.

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Elsewhere, Peggy slid open the door of the van used to escape, helping her wounded friend out of the car. They appeared to be in some sort of abandoned building that had obviously seen better days. A doctor approached them.

"GSW. She's lost at least a pint. Maybe two." Hill shouted.

"Let me take her." The doctor said, pressing the makeshift bandage they had made firmly. Natasha groaned in discomfort.

"She'll wanna see him first."

Peggy furrowed her eyebrows together. Who were they talking about?

That question was swiftly answered as Hill pulled back a protective screen and stepped back, revealing a not-so-dead Director of SHIELD. They stared in shock. Peggy didn't know how many more surprises she could cope with that day.

He looked up. "About damn time."

They shuffled into the room, Natasha's shoulder getting treated as Peggy asked how Nick was.

"Lacerated spinal column, cracked sternum, shattered collarbone, perforated liver, and one hell of a headache." He listed, his injuries extensive. "Don't forget your collapsed lung." The doctor inputted. "Oh, let's not forget that. Otherwise, I'm good."

"They cut you open, your heart stopped." Natasha spoke up, looking confused and in pain.

"Tetrodotoxin B. Slows the pulse to one beat a minute. Banner developed it for stress. Didn't work so great for him, but we found a use for it. " Fury explained.

"Why all the secrecy? Why not just tell us?"

"Any attempt on the Director's life had to look successful." Hill jumped in.

"Can't kill you if you're already dead." Fury added. "Besides, I wasn't sure who to trust."

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Bucky Barnes stared at nothing while his arm was getting repaired. His legs had been clamped to prevent any chance of escape or movement.

His mind flashed with memories, filled with pain and suffering, from both him and other people.

The crash.

The training.

The cryofreeze.

The chair.

Oh, the chair. How he loathed it. Even when he could not even remember his own name, he would tense up at the mention of it. His body remembered the pain it inflicted, even if his mind did not.

Alexander Pierce and Rumlow walked into the room.

"Sir, he's unstable. Irratic." A scientist reported. Pierce walked over to the assassin.

"Mission report."

No reply.

"Mission report. Now." He repeated in a firmer tone.