Acceptable Risk (always-a-spy)
After giving Steve the file on the Winter Soldier–for which she’d called in a considerable number of favors–Natasha had left DC to begin establishing a series of new safehouses and identities.
She started in Hagerstown, Maryland, wanting a place that was close to D.C., but well out of the eye of the people whose eye she’d like to be able to avoid. Hagerstown was a small, working class city that met her needs nicely, and was 83 miles away from the capital.
Her name was currently Judith West, blond and 29, and she’d rented an apartment building that was upscale enough not to be under close watch by the police, but in a neighborhood that was dangerous enough that people didn’t tend to pay much attention to the comings and goings of their neighbors.
Things had been proceeding nicely when two police cars had boxed her in and dragged her out of her car, offering no explanation, but plenty of dirty looks.
They didn’t seem to know that she was anyone other than ‘Judith West’, and made no move to arrest her, read her rights, or take her in to the station.
It reeked to high heaven, especially once it became apparent that they were waiting for someone.
A short time later, a pudgy, middle-aged man arrived, flashing FBI identification, and led her to his car.
She could have escaped easily, but at this point, she thought that this was a heavy-handed way to get her back to Washington for further questioning by the Senate, perhaps arranged this way so as not to blow her cover. The impression was furthered when the agent whispered, “Sorry about this, Ms. Romanoff” as she got in the passenger seat.
That was not the case. As the police drove away, ‘Agent Lewis’ opened the driver’s side door, smiled in a friendly fashion, and shot her with a taser. Repeatedly.
When she woke, they were driving fast through a desolate part of town, and her hands were both cuffed together and secured to the dashboard.
Agent Lewis looked at her, a smug expression on his face, and said, “Heil Hydra. Y’know, I thought you’d be better.”
He didn’t look so smug when she brought her feet up and kicked his head through the driver’s side window.
Unfortunately, as she did that, he also slammed his foot on the gas and turned the steering wheel hard, sending the car careening out of control.
When she woke again–struggling to see through a curtain of blood and double vision, hanging upside down, secured by her seat belt and the cuffs–it was to see the impossible. Her tone was confused, and to her ears, tinny and distant, when she said, “…Bucky?”
Her vision went fuzzy, and then black, her last conscious thought being, ‘That can’t be real. How hard had she hit her head?’
What? Should he remember her? Bucky wasn’t certain, but she’d called him by his name, his real name and not the moniker of what Hydra had turned him into. If for no other reason than to find out why, he had to get her out of there.
The other guy was a lost cause, though Bucky wasn’t entirely sure that was a bad thing. He could be the enemy. Really, either one of the car’s occupants could be bad news, but he’d come over to help, and he wasn’t going to let this woman die over his own paranoia.
He reached to break the chain on the cuffs, but thought better of it. If she was dangerous, the last thing he wanted was her more mobile than she had to be. It took some finagling to reach the agent on the other side, but he found the key to the cuffs and freed her from the dash, immediately clasping the metal back around her wrist in case she woke up. The seatbelt was next, and supporting her with his still injured arm, he reached with the other to free the clasp. It was painful, and her dead weight wasn’t remotely helpful, but Bucky managed to pull the woman free.
So much for skipping town. Bucky couldn’t leave her if he wanted any answers, and if the car wreck hadn’t drawn attention yet, it likely would soon. Out of better options, he carried her back to the abandoned power plant he’d taken refuge in. It was rundown and dirty, but it took enough effort to get into to keep them marginally safe for the moment. He had very little in the way of medical supplies, but there were napkins from a prior meal in his backpack, and he used them to mop away as much of the blood as he could.
