8-1-0-9

Chpt. 2

'      I walked through a pair of doors, feeling as if I was weighed down by a bag of bricks on my shoulders. I took the handle in my hand, gripping a lot tighter than I intended. Two different hands grabbed me by my arms and dragged me inside with haste. The room was dark, tainted green by sun-stained windows and dingy overhang light bars. It was a stark contrast to the exterior, which had a much gentler, welcoming tone with the white doors and large glass windows on either side.

     A man sat on a chair, surrounded by different vital machines that beeped and buzzed as I was slung into a plush office chair beside him. I was restrained by my forearms, a silvery metal clamped down and making me feel lightheaded and empty. A feeling I remembered and was used to.

     Our — I and the man — handler walked through the doors, which had changed into that equivalent of a cell. He crouched down in front of the man, blue eyes staring at blue eyes. The Winter Soldier. Alexander Pierce. The latter looked at me, moved his mouth without sound, and turned back to the former.

          "But I knew him," the Soldier whispered. It was dangerous of him to talk back to our handler. We both knew that. His steely eyes met mine, and they were filled with terror until they switched to a gentle rage. Jealousy. Disgust. "You. Go back to where you came from, Geyl."

     My eyes narrowed at him until he was slapped across the face, pulled from the chair and swapped placed with me. I still wore the silver shackles, but now I was staring up at a machine closing in on me as I began to hyperventilate. Guards appeared out of nowhere and someone in white shoved a mouth guard between my teeth right before I started screaming.      '

I shot up from the soft seat I was slumped in, a blistering headache vibrating through my skull as I slid forward and down onto my knees. Not without face planting into the dash in front of me, of course. I didn't even react to that, but only when it worsened my headache did I groan. A hand found my arm and I shoved it away, determined to clear my head and vision on my own and get back up. "C'mon, E," I heard in a lightly twinged voice, the hand returning more tenderly to my arm. "You did it again."

     "Shut up, Nico," I rasped, flicking his hand away again as my hearing absorbed my surroundings. The rumble of an engine, the pavement below full of potholes that jerked the cab of a truck. Semi-truck. Right. Munich, vaccines.

I shifted on the floor until I wasn't awkwardly squished between the seat and glove box, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain in my head. I batted the air until my gloved hand came into contact with his, using it as leverage to haul myself back up into the seat. His playful chuckles made me roll my eyes. "You're a funny one, E-Z. So determined to do it yourself if it meant you were seen as strong and independent."

     "I am strong and independent," I muttered, sending him a glare that was lighthearted and taking deep breaths. "What's your point?" I questioned, dusting myself off and settling in my spot again. My hands were clenched hard, trying to hide the evident shaking by shoving them under my thighs.

Nico hummed, and I knew he was going to ignore my question. "They make seatbelts for a reason, y'know," he said quietly, looking me over from the driver seat with a veil of care in his eyes and a teasing smirk on his lips.

I scoffed, brushing my hair away from my face and rolling my eyes when he reached over and fixed a few strands I couldn't see. "Yeah, and have me wake up screaming bloody murder while thinking I'm restrained? No thanks, kid. And I can handle a lot more than you can, even with your..." I gestured at him and blinked away my headache. "New strength. So even if I get hurt, I can walk it off."

     "I can still care, E. You're not one-hundred percent bullet proof." He sighed, running a hand through his black hair, back down his face and scratching his bearded chin. He looked over at me, searching my eyes.