Winter's Touch

Two; Negotiations

{A Winter Soldier Fic}

"What do you want from me?" you asked quietly, not wanting to irk his nerves. He didn't answer, only kept his eyes on the road; he seemed forever tense and his eyes were always dark with something. You didn't know what, but you had a good feeling you didn't want to either. You stared at him for a long time before you asked again, this time with a bit more assertion.

"Hey!" you shouted at him, "Why am I—w-what do you want?!" you demanded, trying to keep some level of severity in your voice, maybe to  show this guy you weren't to be messed with. But to your surprise and horror, you quickly caught on to the fact that he wasn't the one to be messed with.. He immediately reached over and you flinched, but instead of plunging a knife in your throat he opened the glove box and pulled out a  folder, slapping it down into your lap and continuing your evening drive. You glanced into your lap and grasped the envelope tightly, so that it wouldn't fly out of the window. You read the sides in the dim, flickering light of the street posts, making out the words Project Insight/Sanctii.

'What the hell?'  You looked at him incredulously and held up the folder in your hand—ignoring the bloody smudges that your hands  imprinted it with. "What is this?" you asked. He didn't answer you, but did speak briefly. "Inside, there's a file on a man named Wyatt Cross—open it and tell me where he lives." You stared at him in shock; he had just asked you to comply with his schemes—and after what you'd witnessed tonight, you were about as done as you could be with this. A sudden (albeit fleeting) rush of courage bubbled in your chest.

"No." All of a sudden he swerved off of the road and headed towards a small gravel street that headed into God knows where. You held on tightly to the seat and the door and clenched your jaw. "What the hell are you doing?!" you bleated. He ignored you and suddenly the car came to a complete stop; so quickly you almost smashed into the windshield.

He immediately unsheathed his knife and swung it; making you screech as it came about an inch close to the skin of your thigh. He dug it into the leather of your seat and you scooted as far away as possible from him—your back pressing against the passenger side door. From the way he sounded through his muzzle, you assumed he was speaking through bared teeth.

"Open the damn file, now," he paused, and you got a glimpse of his eyes behind his long, brown, disheveled hair that hung before his face; they were vibrant blue, and if he wasn't threatening your life right now, you'd have studied them. "Or so help me, I will carve out your teeth." You looked at him in offense, the image of such a situation suddenly laid out in your mind. You shuddered. Hurriedly, you took the file and opened it, staring into the small, fragile looking face of an older man. He was maybe in his late fifties, early sixties. He looked harmless.

You looked up to see that your kidnapper was staring at you—his brows drawn together and his eyes angry. You still couldn't get away from those eyes but you softly shook your head, fearing the word that dared to escape the cage of your mouth. "No," you whispered. In the time it took to blink he jerked his hand and the knife ripped from the seat. Your heart stopped for a moment or two before your brain conjured up a proposition. At first, you didn't know what the hell you were doing, other than trying to stay alive.

"Wait!" You yelled, holding up your hand in defense from the blade—as if it would help. He paused mid-swipe, and looked you up and down, as if he didn't trust you. 'The feeling's mutual,' you thought. Your breaths were heavy and labored, but you still managed to form a few mousy words.

"If I tell you where this man is, you have to let me go." You said softly. He looked you up and down again for a moment and scoffed through his mask. "Why should I? You aren't of importance to m–" "Then why haven't you killed me yet?" you countered. He narrowed his eyes at you, and you swallowed, fearing you were pushing your luck. "You don't seem like the kind of guy who would just take any random hostage. If you had to, you'd have killed me. But you haven't," you paused. "You need me, don't you?"  If it was possible, his eyes narrowed even further and his gaze slowly dragged across your frame. He scoffed and leaned back, staring out of the windshield into the darkness. It was a while before he said or did anything, but you kept your eyes on him—you weren't risking looking away.