ʟᴏꜱᴛ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ || 𝟙

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 17

"Come on, then," Bucky said, half-dragging half carrying, the bound and gagged doctor up the Quinnjet's ramp, her body limp, eyes flittering like butterflies, barely registering the huge jet that was partially cloaked. She hadn't spoken ever since the outburst the afternoon before. Even when Demetria came back to the cabin, giving Parker the privacy he needed to deal with MJ, the doctor was merely staring out into space dreamily in a manner that seemed unhinged.

"Morning." Peter greeted Demetria who was trying her best not to watch the scene, munching on a slice of what was actually a decent loaf of sourdough bread they had found in the pantry.

Jerking her head in his direction as acknowledgement, she quickly acted incredibly preoccupied with her own slice, hoping that he hadn't noticed that she had noticed how tense things between him and MJ were getting.

She might have amnesia but that didn't mean she was stupid. 

"So, nothing?" she asked, pointing to the laptop that he was carrying, voice coming out muffled as she stuffed the last bit in her mouth, Bucky waving at them to haul ass.

He patted the laptop passively, shaking his head. "I need FRIDAY's help to interpret some of the data. Besides, I don't read Russian. My translator works but everything's in code so it's going to take some time." 

"Let me have a look." She suggested, holding out her hand dusting errant breadcrumbs off of them.

"Right now?" he asked, as Bucky called out another warning. He was this close to leaving those two behind.

"Yeah." 

She had meant it. If she could speak Russian, who was to say she couldn't read it?

"Oh-kay." He said skeptically, passing it to her as they boarded, immediately going through the files closest to the cursor, distractedly taking her place on the ship, barely managing to park herself in a seat. 

Peter noticed. "Demetria, you better buckle in." He warned, as the hum of the engines grew louder.

She was far too occupied with the files in front of her. 

Bills to the cabin addressed to a 60 year old American male under a Jack Smith. Huh, that made sense. Of course no one was going to investigate a name that sounded both incredibly white and incredibly male.

"Seriously, if you get tossed out of your seat and hit the back of the plane you have no one to blame but yourself," Bucky said, sitting opposite her, as she continued to ignore them both, immersed in analyzing the files.

She scoured the entire laptop, finding nothing except a couple of bank transactions the doctor had received regularly from a small off-shore bank named PROSOC.

"PROSOC, hmmm." She stared at the name, the same itch that bothered her when she heard the name "Avengers" returning.

But this one had far more sinister implications. Like a shadow had been cast in the back of her mind

The laptop crashed to the floor as the Quinnjet took off and she lurched sideways in her seat.

"Fuck," she cursed, steadying herself against the acceleration, watching, annoyed as the laptop slid to the back of the plane where the good doctor had been shunted off to.

Bucky watched impassively as she struggled to grab the buckle straps that waved elusively away from her fingertips.

Silently, a hand yanked her back into her seat, Parker's arm reaching out past her torso to buckle her in.

"Thanks," she muttered grudgingly, waiting impatiently for the few minutes it took for the aircraft to right itself and cruise calmly amongst the clouds.