The second time he retrieved her was in the western side of Paraguay, near the Tropic of Capricorn; coordinates -24.048882, -57.347802. She'd coerced a celebrity with a jet and unrestricted airway access to fly her overnight to South America, eighty grand in cash that she'd saved up in small pieces so her father wouldn't notice. That was the story she relayed to him on the flight back, squirming under the ties and restraints that held her against the seat, dirt on her face and blood in her mouth.
She was in a village, walking through a street market when he saw her. The bright, florid colors of the city contrasted with him, sweat beading down his arm and chest under the black cotton and leather. She was wearing a bright headscarf, grinning, laughing with a vendor and holding oranges in her hands, long fingers rubbing the pores and waxy surfaces.
Then she saw him, and that picture-frame smile fell like the fruit in her hand. It bounced off of the dirt when she dropped it, her eyes wide with that temporary panic, quickly replaced with urgency. She cordially picked the orange up and gave the merchant a large bill before sprinting away from the crowd.
She was faster this time, nimbler, but he didn't actually remember it. She jumped over carts, under awnings and through tin edifices before bursting into the cusp of the jungle, the humid sheet of green engulfing her. His mask was thick with condensation, pants of air soaking his lips and chin.
He could see the golden wave of hair flicking back and forth as she ran ahead of him, yelling for help again. Soon her screams began to blend with the sounds around them, and if he raised his head he could see the massive troop of howler monkeys swinging through the trees above them, screeching, drowning her out.
She'd come to a dead end, staring over the edge, and he could hear the roar of gushing water. He saw her take a frantic step back and begin to leap forward before she was caught, yanked back down to the forest bed, and then she was fighting him again, fists a little firmer, kicks a little harder, her eyes just as fiery.
"Get off of me! Let me go now!" She roared, scratching his face and chest before his prosthetic gripped her neck and slammed her down, shoving her into the damp mud. He could drag her to HYDRA's plane, could break any bone in her body. 'No,' it would be better to get her home in one piece.
Her fingernails slipped against the metal as she wrestled him. He could hear the sound of her voice flitter away, feel the air leave her lungs and fight to re-enter, the pound of her heartbeat beginning to slow. All the sounds she emitted filled his ears, and he stared down at her defiant eyes, never leaving his. Hazel. His own flesh almost softened against her.
He was distracted, that's why he didn't notice the thumping sound in the earth beneath him, the sound of leaves flying, the flash of speckled yellow in his peripheral vision before it was too late. A massive jaguar knocked him off of her, tackling him to the edge of the waterfall, its white teeth sinking into his arm, giant paws pounding against his face, the claws extended and sinking deep.
He tried to hold it away, to keep its jaws from his neck, and he punched it and kept punching, the mechanical sound of metal mixing with the crunch of bone and muscle. It mauled him over and over, and he could hear a high sound under the growls and snarls of the cat.
She was screaming, her calls for help having returned full force. "Ayuda! Ayúdanos!" He laid still for a second when the animal pulled back, felt the moist air on his open wounds, muscles and bones exposed. He was cold.
The element that brought him back to the present was the sound of her voice, draped in actual fear for the first time, backed up against a gumtree as the jaguar slunk closer to her, shoulders oscillating, tail swinging back and forth. The words of his master rung heavy in his mind, muddled with almost-memories and foggy shapes: "Bring her home, alive. Do whatever it takes, keep her secure at all costs, soldier." She was his mission. She is the mission.
Blind strength rang through his wires again, and he shot the prosthetic out, gripping the animal's hind leg before it could lunge forward at her. He yanked back with a powerful thrust and rolled the animal over, curling the metal around its body and swinging it over the ledge into the pounding water below.
She couldn't see him anymore; she thought he'd fallen into the pit with the animal, scrambling to the ledge. The metal fingers were gripped on a loose root, tightly wound, and when he looked up at her she was reaching down to him, those long fingers wrapping around the wrist, frantic.
"Hold on! Give me your hand!" She rushed, reaching for him. He swung the battered limb up to grab the root and instantly her hand was pulling him, clawing onto him for support instead of mêlée. He lifted to the ledge and she scooted back as he climbed over, back to the patch of muddled land.
He panted, crouching down, and when she reached to him he knocked her back, trying to stand and then stumbling. "Don't! Don't stand up." Her voice was inelegantly gentle, hoarse from his previous grip. She reached to him again and called for help, her voice trailing off as she assessed him. "Oh my God, oh my God, what have I done, what have I—"
She paused in horror when the skin began to re-attach, when the wounds began to close themselves. Her ragged breath caught stickily in her throat, backing away from his body. In moments he stood again, clenching a fist, flexing a calf, before leaning down and grasping her bicep, yanking her to her feet and starting to walk in the direction of the plane.
"Who, who are you? H-how did you just do that? You're supposed to be bleeding out, how can you be walking? How can you be alive?!" She jerked back, stepping away from him. He reached for her again and she pulled away, throwing her fists, kicking him in the gut and the hip and thigh before he knocked her across the jawline, sweaty skin catching under his knuckles. She fell to the ground, spitting blood onto the rich greenery before glaring up at him, a hateful, cherry-red grin on her ruddy cheeks.
"I've gotta say, none of my chaperones are as handsy as you." She spit again, wiping her mouth before standing and facing him. "I'm not going back." She said, a motif she'd used the last time. Was there a last time?
He watched her stare him down, the gold of her eyes flickering in the pulsing sunlight. She attempted to throw a punch, and when he blocked her and spun her backwards she thrust her elbows into his ribs as he choked her out. "No! NO!" She beat against him, and just before she went limp he felt a word form in his mouth, almost spoken. 'Stop.' She was only nineteen.
He'd carried her over his shoulder like a sack of flour, hiking to the plane. Guards strapped her to her seat and ordered him to sit in the backside of the plane until they landed. She came to just after they'd taken off, the sound of Velcro pulling and tightening bringing his attention to her. When she realized where she was she stared out of the window and sighed, the bruise on her jaw moving with her mouth.
"I really thought I did it right this time, Ass-hat." She didn't look up at him, her eyes on the moving knots of clouds. She told him her plans, how she'd stashed the money, convinced a goateed millionaire to fly her to Dourados and take a bus to Horqueta, how it she made sure there was no paper trail. "Guess I'll have to be more creative." He never spoke, but her voice filled the silence. He couldn't remember if he was ever told her name.
"You know I'm just going to do it again, right?" A silence extended and she turned to him. Her face seemed different, strange. Her eyebrows were no longer knitted together, lips relaxed, teeth un-gnashing. No, her eyes. The ire inside of her eyes was subdued, softened, and when she spoke aloud he almost didn't hear her.
"Thank you." He didn't know what those words meant, he hadn't heard them in a lifetime, in two.
"Can't say a guy's fought off a jaguar for me before. Not even the bitchboy who let me use his plane." She looked down and snickered, her hands fiddling in the restraints. When she looked back to him he noticed how the humidity had thickened her hair, dirty and stuffed with leaves, how her skin was swollen and dewy, how she looked at him with a dull comfort now instead of disgust.
She made a move to cross her legs, the flesh of her ankle facing him; a tiny ink flower lay just above the anklebone; rose. He stared at it, trying to place its meaning and realizing there was none. Just a rebellious act, something permanent to stand her ground, like the constellation of scars that would not doubt litter her body if she continued to do this.
She must have picked up on his assessment of her, winking callously at his focused expression. "You do look pretty sharp without your swim goggles, though." She leaned back and closed her eyes, and he realized she'd acted different for a reason, that she'd looked at him contrarily on purpose. He'd lost the eyemask in the fight and she'd seen him, him, whoever he was.
When they exited the plan she fought again and had to be dragged to the SUV by her elbow and shoulder, bruising and scraping against the concrete. She was brought back to Pierce covered in red scratches, and when he glared her down she grinned wildly.
"You'll never guess what happened, daddy!" She squealed in a syrupy sweet tone, drily skipping into the manor before stopping and turning back. He hadn't been permitted to look at her, but he saw her glance at him before being pulled away by caregivers and maids. Just a glance, so quick no one noticed. Why had she tried to help him off of that ledge?
Before they wiped him that night Pierce gave him a nod, his fingers intertwining with each other. They were stubby, wrinkled. "Good work, soldier." He began to pace as doctors hooked him up to the machine. "Ruby is…strongwilled, and it takes more than a few bruises to break her. I would imagine she'd not done terrorizing me with these antics." He sighed down at his palms, his tone sounding similar to a rant about taxes.
"Maybe she enjoys making me worry. Maybe she just likes the attention. I doubt she has any real reason to do all of this." He waved a hand in the air, and the soldier's eyes followed him as he traced the room. "Oh, you won't remember anything, anyway. Start the procedure." He exited the room just as the mouthguard was shoved between his teeth.
Ruby. Her name is Ruby.