A Birdie Lost in Time | Bucky Barnes

|5|

She wasn't sure how long had passed since she was brought to that God forsaken cell, but she knew how many times the door had been opened.

Four times.

Twice for food, which consisted of a measly piece of hard tack and paper cup of water, and twice for Richardson to interrogate her.

You'd think he'd give up by then, seeing as she had given them nothing more to go off of other than what she said on her first day—but no. They were determined.

And that was a terrifying thought.

Not that she let herself think too much about that. She maintained, however naïvely, that she was getting out of there. Because she was. She just hadn't figured out how yet.

Sure, this was objectively the worst situation she'd been in—and yes, she was including fighting the purple alien who genocided half the universe because unlike then, right now she was alone. Utterly alone. And so on that front, she would allow some self-pity. But only enough that would spur her to get out of this situation and back to her friends—her family.

Because she was also determined, and when she was determined, it was more often than not driven by spite. Sam always said when she got into those moods, she could prove a round room had a corner if she had enough time.

And hell, in here, she had time.

So that's what she was running on; self-pity, spite, and whatever the hell hard tack was.

⁂

"So, are you going to talk yet?" Richardson asked, crouched in front of her.

This was the first time he'd spoken. He just strolled in, not even sparing her a 'good morning' before punching her straight in the gut.

Rude, she thought as she doubled over in pain before he continued his assault for a few more minutes.

"I could talk... but you're not going to like what I say," she mumbled, resting her head against the wall behind her.

"I have something that might make you talk," he countered before standing and turning. "Send in the Asset."

Marlow didn't need to wait to know who he was referring to. She'd read enough files to know that there was only one person in Hydra history known as the Asset.

And that thought was enough to shake her. To send her begging to whoever might be listening.

Not him, she thought, as if that might make any difference. As if through sheer will, she wouldn't have to endure whatever was to come by the man she'd become friends with. Who only smiled politely when Marlow's reaction to meeting him was starstruck, cautious, and bashful.

She remembered her fingers getting shaky and her words getting tied together as she tried to introduce herself, and although she blamed it on the weight of oncoming battle, she knew it wasn't just that.

She'd heard the stories of Sergeant Barnes, seen the grainy black and white photos in her history textbooks that did little to cover the dashing looks he was all but known for. Then, that cocked smile leapt off the page and became a tangible thing in her recent life. It sent butterflies into her stomach, and she had to learn to calm them the first handful of times it had been directed at her.

She wouldn't call it a school-girl crush; even if she weren't stuck in 1970's New Jersey, she wouldn't pursue it—and not that she had been thinking about it, but Bucky showed no interest in a relationship, especially with a girl somewhere around ten years younger. Or eighty, depending on who was counting. She just recognized an attractive face when she saw one.

But regardless of his dating status, she knew his face. She felt she knew it like the back of her hand by that point, so she tried her hardest to prepare herself in those infinitely long moments after Richardson spoke.

It didn't matter though; she couldn't help the hiccup of her heart as he walked in, dressed in leathers, with his hair significantly shorter than she'd ever seen in person. As his eyes landed on her, she tried not to expect his face to be the one she knew. She tried not to expect it to shift into a look of realization, then to worry, then to protection.

Because he wasn't the Bucky she knew.

It didn't matter how hard she tried to avoid feeling any shock—she did. She felt it like the earlier punch to the gut. Then she felt a wave of terror ripple through her body as he stepped towards her.

Because he wasn't the Bucky she knew.

"Good to know you're smart enough to be scared. I was starting to worry," Richardson quipped, but she couldn't find it in herself to rebut. "You mentioned our asset a few times during your attempt to fool me, and I thought you might have some affinity for him. That maybe you wanted to meet him; up close and personal," he said voice sickeningly joyful.

Of course, he would enjoy this.

"We're going to do this again. I'm going to ask questions; you're going to answer. If I don't like your answer, the Asset will deal with you. Understand."

Her eyes didn't tear away from Bucky's; shockingly blue and undeniably his, but they relayed no teasing spirit—no emotion.

"I'll take that as a yes. What is your name?"