Her Prisoner

Prologue

The radio goes dead. Sooner than he wanted it to, depriving him of his last chance to tell Peggy about his feelings. But maybe it is for the best. He shouldn't have to burden her with such a heavy confession seconds before the inevitable.

As the plane takes the nosedive, the last thing Steve gets to see is the light blue sky around him. He wants to see, for the remainder of time he has got left. The pale ice awaiting at the bottom comes closer and closer. Then everything goes dark.

Darkness again, but a different kind. A bright gloom. He can perceive the light under his closed eyelids. He can hear the familiar sound of traffic in the distance, feel the warm sunrays on his skin. He becomes aware of the thick mattress under him.

Another familiar sound. A radio, again. But another voice. Masculine, this time.

"Workman up for the Phillies, now. Holding that big club down at the end. He sets, Chipman pitches. »

Steve opens his eyes to an immaculate white ceiling. He wants to move and to his surprise, he can. No broken bone or injury to be noted. He lifts himself up to sit on the edge of the hospitable bed.

The baseball game commentary is still on.

The door opposite the bed opens and the slender figure of a woman dressed as an SSR agent step into the room. He pauses as he eyes her carefully.

She has the brightest red hair he has ever seen, her waves neatly brushed behind her ear.

She smiles at him warmly. She looks kind but self-assured.

"Good morning," she says. The texture of her slightly raucous voice is unique. "...or should I say, afternoon."

"Where am I?"

"In a recovery room in New York City," she answers with the same reassuring smile. "Can I get you something to eat?"

Steve concentrates on the baseball game again.

"So the Dodgers are ahead eight to five. And Chipman knows one swing of the bat and this fella's capable of making it a brand new game."

"Where am I, really?" he asks with growing suspicion.

Neither her smile nor her confidence wavers. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"The game. It's from May 1941. I know because I was there."

The SSR agent — or whoever she is — does not flinch. She simply looks...disappointed.

"Captain Rogers. Let me bring you something to eat then we can talk."

The door behind her opens again and two armed men, dressed in a kind of uniform he has never seen before, walk in.

He takes a step back. He looks at the wall and realizes it looks very thin, almost like a cardboard. He dashes towards it and jumps through it. The other side is even more dumbfounding than what he has left behind. A big room, a giant screen —he understands his room was nothing more than a set.

Other armed agents barge in. He escapes, knocking a few out of his way.

All the walls are made of metal. It looks more like a high-security prison than a military hospital.

The men running after him are shouting in a language he grew accustomed with during his years at war. They aim their rifles at him but never shoot. He uses it as an advantage and comes to a frontal confrontation. He takes a gun and shoots at the soldiers behind him.

He eventually finds a door open, stairs going up to the rooftop. He can see the sunlight in the door frame, and his freedom along with it. He bursts through the door and halts with heavy breathing.

This is nothing like New York City. Only snow and mountains as far as the eye can see.

He is trapped in the middle of nowhere.

The red-haired woman steps onto the roof. With unflinching determination, she raises her arm and reveals the gun she was hiding behind her back. She pulls the trigger twice before he even has time to respond. The two bullets infallibly hit the barrel of his firearm which flies out of his grip.

"Stand down, Captain." She warns coldly.

"You can't keep me here."

She drops her gun and rips her skirt up. She looks up at him with a slight sneer.

He tries to run away — jump off the rooftop — and she leaps forward. She hangs on to his chest, propels herself around him, and clasps his arms around her thighs.

He feels a quick and subtle bite in his neck. The woman willingly opens her palm to show the syringe she is holding. Sudden weariness takes over him and everything turns dizzy.

He leans forward and she gently hops off him to land noiselessly on her paws. She benevolently holds his arm to slowly help him down.

"I'm sorry, Captain. You really should have taken on my offer to eat."

Armed agents get to the rooftop. She gives them orders in their language with a flawless accent. They obey her immediately.

She then leans over him and smiles.

"Welcome to Russia, Captain" she says.

His eyes close on her emerald green gaze.