They stopped for a rest break about four hours after he woke up the first time. The woman (he wished she would tell him her name, it seemed rude not to know it) cleared the guards from the back of the truck for him to use the bucket in his cage, which he thought was very nice of her, though it had been awkward with his hands still cuffed together. He dozed off again once they were back on the road, another thing that struck him as strange for reasons he couldn't articulate. He thought he wasn't used to being tired much, except that on another level he was used to it. It was a puzzle, and the longer he thought about it the more disturbed he got.
"I'm hungry," he said finally.
The woman got up again from her position at the far end of the truck and walked back, confident against the slight motions even in her heeled shoes. It's not as if I had any choice about learning to fight in them, you know, said a voice in his head--not her voice, it sounded...British? English, the voice corrected, and he smiled a little, because it was just like her to insist on the distinction.
Just like who, though?
"Tell me your name again," the woman said.
"Bucky Barnes," he replied, more certain this time since she'd accepted it the last time.
"Where are you from, Mr. Barnes?"
He thought about it. He didn't think he had an accent, but he guessed you never did think that about yourself. "Ah...New York? City." A second's pause, then, confidently, "Brooklyn."
For some reason, that answer seemed to displease her.
"What's the last thing you remember?"
He blinked at her. "I remember looking at you. I was sitting in a chair. Then I woke up here," he said. Though now that he thought about it, that maybe wasn't true. There was another face, not one of the guards. Dark hair, too long, falling into winter-blue eyes; an expression of shock, horror--
"Bucky!" he exclaimed, and pain spiked through the base of his skull like a stiletto. He cried out and clutched at it, nearly hitting himself in the face with his handcuffs. Images tumbled through his mind almost too fast to follow, Natasha leaning against a van with an absurdly huge rifle in her hands, Fury's sheet-covered form, On your left, the STRIKE team, his DC apartment, Peggy, the Chitauri--
Finally he drew a deep, shuddering breath and glared out through the bars. "Who the hell are you and what do you want?"
She glanced at her wristwatch. "Hail Hydra," she said casually, and gestured.
Steve didn't really have anywhere to dodge; the third dart struck him in the neck and his vision washed over in black.
*
Steve woke up in the dentist's chair again, and this time he started to struggle right away. Something creaked encouragingly, but at the same moment the woman's voice said, "He's awake, we can start." The whir made his breath catch and he yanked harder at the weak bond, but before he made any meaningful progress the arms were in place and the contacts touched his face. "No," he said, and that was all he had time for.
*
He opened his eyes to find he was in a cage, a near-cube just large enough for him to lie full-length on the thin mattress that filled its bottom. There was a bucket with him, and a pile of foil-wrapped bars and a jug of water. It seemed like these things should have disturbed him, but they didn't. Outside the cage, a woman sat in a straight wooden chair.
"Good afternoon," she said. "Can you tell me your name?"
Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 4/?
"I'm hungry," he said finally.
The woman got up again from her position at the far end of the truck and walked back, confident against the slight motions even in her heeled shoes. It's not as if I had any choice about learning to fight in them, you know, said a voice in his head--not her voice, it sounded...British? English, the voice corrected, and he smiled a little, because it was just like her to insist on the distinction.
Just like who, though?
"Tell me your name again," the woman said.
"Bucky Barnes," he replied, more certain this time since she'd accepted it the last time.
"Where are you from, Mr. Barnes?"
He thought about it. He didn't think he had an accent, but he guessed you never did think that about yourself. "Ah...New York? City." A second's pause, then, confidently, "Brooklyn."
For some reason, that answer seemed to displease her.
"What's the last thing you remember?"
He blinked at her. "I remember looking at you. I was sitting in a chair. Then I woke up here," he said. Though now that he thought about it, that maybe wasn't true. There was another face, not one of the guards. Dark hair, too long, falling into winter-blue eyes; an expression of shock, horror--
"Bucky!" he exclaimed, and pain spiked through the base of his skull like a stiletto. He cried out and clutched at it, nearly hitting himself in the face with his handcuffs. Images tumbled through his mind almost too fast to follow, Natasha leaning against a van with an absurdly huge rifle in her hands, Fury's sheet-covered form, On your left, the STRIKE team, his DC apartment, Peggy, the Chitauri--
Finally he drew a deep, shuddering breath and glared out through the bars. "Who the hell are you and what do you want?"
She glanced at her wristwatch. "Hail Hydra," she said casually, and gestured.
Steve didn't really have anywhere to dodge; the third dart struck him in the neck and his vision washed over in black.
*
Steve woke up in the dentist's chair again, and this time he started to struggle right away. Something creaked encouragingly, but at the same moment the woman's voice said, "He's awake, we can start." The whir made his breath catch and he yanked harder at the weak bond, but before he made any meaningful progress the arms were in place and the contacts touched his face. "No," he said, and that was all he had time for.
*
He opened his eyes to find he was in a cage, a near-cube just large enough for him to lie full-length on the thin mattress that filled its bottom. There was a bucket with him, and a pile of foil-wrapped bars and a jug of water. It seemed like these things should have disturbed him, but they didn't. Outside the cage, a woman sat in a straight wooden chair.
"Good afternoon," she said. "Can you tell me your name?"
He frowned.