Secretive - Bucky Barnes

2 || Disaster || 🔪

»Miss Callan, do I need to remind you on the loss you're about to willingly sacrifice?« Schmidt asks, his tone far from relaxed now while I fix Steele with my eyes, trying to shoot daggers right into his that so provokingly shimmer in the red of a target.

Without turning away, I cock an eyebrow. »Do I need to remind you that there is something you want from me, something you need from me? I am sure you would have already pushed the button if it wasn't for anything to prevent you from it. No real kidnapper would hesitate as long as you do. You know I'll be gone the second James is dead, and with my leave, I will take down every single one of your workers, your family, all achievements you got in life. I will make you watch it, and kill you at last with a torture worse than the fate of Vermentro. You very well know about this, so you won't kill me until you did something that would survive you and last. I ain't stupid, Schmidt.«

»Nor can you risk the life of your lover, can you?« Steele snaps, clearly in dismay. I must have hit his ego pretty bad. »I'll take her with me. Give me the thing controlling her.«

My heartbeat quickens, and I fear the organ controlling it might burst out of my chest, making my bones splinter into every direction on the way, just to escape the future I can see incoming.

»Steele, you know we actually need her.« Schmidt interrupts under his breath, hand driving through his short, brown hair in despair. I know his hands are tied without needing to take a glimpse onto his piteous appearance; his breath hitching at these simple words has been enough.

»And I need answers.« the spoken-to hisses back, stalking towards Hydra's leader. »I need tons of answers so if you have any burning questions for her, you may note them and get them to me. I will make her talk.«

Round about half an hour later, I find myself in a complete dark room. No lights on, no windows, nothing that would indicate anyone watching. And even if someone tried through the cameras in every of the four corners, they would only realize that the wires were cut, so no one gets to know what Steele is doing with me inside, and no one gets to listen.

I assume Steele being able of just the thing I am: night vision. I can see his silhouettes clearly in the edge of the room, a polishing cloth rubbing up and down on a freshly shining blade with a just as poisoning scent glued to it as to the one I burned. His blonde hair is a mess due to him rushing around and getting some weird looking stuff together he stacked onto the small, long table next to him.

Unawareness fogs my mind. It kills me to know he has the same abilities as I do, and I just do not know where from. To now, I am the only one on this planet with such powers; a healing process faster than Steve Rogers's, no need for air or food or drinks for a long time, no need for sleep, either. Night vision, unearthly colored eyes and hair. Just to name a few.

Tilting my head, I scrutinize him a little more detailed, subconsciously biting my lip. Trying to figure him out, figure out what he is. It is devastating to know he is so similar to me, and yet so foreign. Familiar somehow, but then again, I know I have never seen him before. And I surely would have: As someone formerly doing the dirty work for the German Government and afterwards both infiltrating and cooperating with the Avengers, I would know about someone with such powers. People like that do not stay long below the radar. What does make him a superior to the leader of Hydra? What is his secret?

»You're lucky you're pretty, because otherwise, that staring problem of yours would declare you a creep.« he suddenly mouths, voice mere a breath, as he himself was drowning in nostalgy rather than the present. Still, his glance is stuck to the blade within his fingers.

I do not tell him where I got that habit from, so he continues nonchalantly. »Any luck with estimating me, yet?«

»Does it look like I had any luck?« I bite back, frustratingly representing my misfortune by pulling my arms up. They move no more than a centimeter each; he tied me onto a hard chair, both lower arms and lower legs.