The taste of iron tinging her mouth was becoming increasingly all too familiar. Tongue testing teeth to find one more loose than she recalled from that morning ( was it even still Tuesday? ) and a gash cutting deep to the inside of her lower lip. Cracking dry, oversensitive eyes open forced Evelyn to squint against the harsh florescent light beaming down on her, but at the edge of the light … were those shadows moving? There was no benefit to blinding herself trying to make anything out and so she tucked her chin down to find some small reprieve.
Feeling her pulse skitter and hasten was a natural reaction. As was the chill that washed over stiffening shoulders and down her back. Not knowing where she was, how she got there, or the extent of her injuries — it took a moment for her to remember her training.
Stop. Breathe. Assess the situation.
To start, breathing was difficult. Each breath goading a sharp pain to blossom in her right side. A fractured rib, maybe more. Arms and legs restrained too tightly, forcing the circulation in her limbs to weaken and make running away difficult should she manage to slip free. Her back and rear were sore, so she had been in the chair for some time already. Impossible to know how long she had been unconscious.
Crap. She really had messed up this time.
Going after Bucky and the lingering Hydra cells that had managed to thusfar evade S.H.I.E.L.D. had been a risk and one that had backfired in the worst way. Unsanctioned, ill-prepared, and with no back-up, by all rights she should have been dead already. If this was a Hydra holding cell …
Ahead of her, she could sense a silhouette stepping into the light. Thick soles of heavy combat boots echoing against the bare concrete walls as the figure came to rest in front of her, casting her in shadow, but Evie didn’t dare look up. Not until her jaw was seized in a punishing vice and forced to meet the face of her captor. A face that sent ice shooting through her veins.
he’d never preached the semantics of it overmuch. hadn’t memorized their mottos or spent more time holed up in old, buzzing, bunker corridors than was needed. but there was something to be said for hydra’s resiliency. their base in washington overrun, thick with what pockets of shield’d stubbornly survived what ought’ve been a kamikaze for both parties. ought’ve had more men with scars webbing their maws and weights like atlas’ on their shoulders. resentment, for the lack of such, had made it all easier. put the rounds in quicker and a purpose to marching steps.
someone’d been poking around. using their clearance to nose through files their techs had encrypted long before they’d left. flags in the systems. a warning to keep eyes open. as if his had ever closed. as if he could lose sight of a responsibility. the promise made through gauze and a pain that’d steadied hands. the order that still smelt like brimstone and his own, searing flesh. focus in spite of a ringing in his ears that never quite managed to die out.
if brock still knew how to be surprised, his fist colliding with the back of familiar blonde hair might have evoked it. snuck up from behind, hugged close to shadows that did everything to compliment shrouded tactical gear and provide an ambush that, now, had fingers tangled and dragging.
less bullet holes than he remembered, evelyn’s face made for eating them’d hardly looked worse for wear. nothing the strike from an elbow hadn’t fixed. a rocking blow that had her sagging in her new seat, dangling against restraints that tightened for the nod he gave. to someone over her shoulder and disappeared into the dark out of sight. no one to distract for what he’d claimed as his. the prize for his patience and the tingle between nerves dead and very much ALIVE.
“ rise and shine, princess, ” deeper than she’d remember, his voice coal scorched and hoarse from use, “ wouldn’t want you missin’ your own party. ” wouldn’t want to miss the spark in those eyes when the recognition fully hit and his teeth shined like daggers in the reflection as they widened. the horror he’d been looking for. food for the fodder. “ there she is. ” rattling laugher, gloved fingers tightened for the jostle given. till he’d wondered how much more the bone could handle. if all it took was the one to crack her jaw and rend a smart mouth silent. an indulgence for later. after he’d gotten drunk off the sound of her.
“ what’s’a’matter? ” mockery thick and rumlow counted the beats between the question and when that swell in his chest’d reached its peak. satisfaction. “ missed me? ” | @cloverfieldings / x
