Do I Know You?-(Steve Rogers x Reader)

12. Trapped

Every bump in the road and stone in the way was felt in the confinement of the van I was currently trapped in. The soldiers sat to the side of my animal cage, although they looked half dead as they stared in front at me which was rather intimidating. Though I was meant to be a super solider- and a good one at that, I still felt I stood no chance against their guns and weaponry. If I was out of the cage and prepared, they'd be long forgotten in no time, but they had taken my knives and I was now trapped in a cage of misery. One soldier has a scar weaved into his cheek, his eyes a beautiful brown. His expression mean and the gun he held in his hand looked as though it had never been used. All for decoration. A woman sat beside him, same position with her gun in her right hand rather than the left the other solider had his in. Her hair was black and, in a bun, tightly tied at the back of her head. If her face once had wrinkles, they weren't showing and the stern expression on her face showed little movement in the time she was there. Almost like she had just had Botox injected into her face leaving her almost still and unmoving.

As I study the soldiers, I realise the confinement I am put in, a clear box with metal outlining, almost as if made to make me look like an art piece or a tiger in a cage with no escape. Tiring with each tap on the glass from a child with sticky fingers; their carer had brought them popcorn or candy floss beforehand. These soldiers, although only trying to serve their country and even if their intentions are pure, are after the wrong people. Apparently from the time that me and Bucky spent with Steve we are suspects for the murder of King T'Chaka, despite the fact I didn't know who the man was until just a few hours ago.

Slowly, the van startled into a stop, sliding my cage forwards slightly even though it was securely placed into the vehicle by ropes and metal chains. Each guard's face didn't change from the stern expression that seemed to adorn each face making me think I was dreaming about the stop; one stands to get the door and the other follow in an orderly fashion. One of them take one glance at me and walk towards heavily muscled people who start to lower  me out the van, on some sort of ramp. I look around to see that Bucky is in a similar cage to me, he glances frantically to make sure I am still there.

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Gazing around my current surroundings, I find that I have been transported from one blank space with guards to another.

Hours seem to go by and I sit thinking about getting out of here, a life of freedom and peace. Living by a lake and everyday greeting the neighbour that lives down the road as they are the only people for miles. Finding that my potatoes and cabbage have finished growing and the potatoes look good to mash with chicken and carrots for dinner tonight. Looking inside the cabin that I call my home and wiping my wellie boot clad feet on the welcome rug, looking around to see my husband on an armchair reading the 'Wind in the Willows' a book that he loves so dearly and that when we first met, he read to me. In the background 'Swinging On A Star' by Bing Crosby, playing on the wooden radio.

Before any more ideas come to me, the guards look at each other with a frightful look on their face as they've received a message on their channel of walkie talkies. As they rapidly walked out of the room, they glanced back at me almost to say stay here, as if I could escape. Then proceeded to lock it behind them, keeping me away from whatever commotion was happening outside. Now that I know something has happened, I am dying to know what it's about, I started jolting around in my animal cage trying to see if I could get it to budge or anything really. There really was no method behind the madness I was creating, shaking it was really not going to do anything. As I continued to do unnecessary movements that would get me absolutely nowhere, except for being in a sweaty state. I heard a message over the intercoms, "Stay still, you're only wasting energy." says a smug voice. Probably one of the men that sit in an office, eating biscuits out of a jar and settled with his favourite mug beside him that hints to where he went on holiday that year.