*IMPORTANT A/N*
Hey guys! Thanks for all of y'all who have stuck with me for this long! Hello to those who just started reading!
I have rewritten the first chapter as more of a prologue, so if you immediately came to this chapter, go back to reread the previous one.
I have rewritten this because I have finally found a way to write this without me cringing. This, I feel, is how I've been needing to write this story for a while. I am very excited about this story again, and I hope you guys love it. There are some flashbacks, as I am using them to explain how Bonnie got to 1941, but they are going to be slowly revealing on how things came to be. Some will be more directly leading to her time jump, others will be bits and pieces of her life as indication why she would react to certain things. If the get too confusing, tell me and Ill try to fix it then and there, or explain it more in later chapters.
Either way, I don't own anything Marvel already laid claims to, but I do own Bonnie and the plot surronding her is a mix of my own imagination, the movies, and a bit of the comics. Thank you.
Bonnie woke up surrounded by muted light, with a fuzzy mind as she tried to piece together what had happened, how it had happened, how much trouble she was in, and where she was. Taking a breath, several answers came to light.
One, there was plastic beneath her, filled with something squishy.
Two, there were sounds of cars a people not too far from her.
And three? She was in pain. A lot of pain.
In the words of Clint Barton: This looks bad.
An involuntary whimper escaped her lips as fire exploded from her chest. She must've had several broken ribs and a severely bruised midsection. Bonnie moved her fingers next; three broken on her right hand, two on the left, with that left wrist definitely broken. Toes were next, and proven to be fine, however her right leg stung greatly. Bonnie scrunched her face, noting a busted lip, a cut on her forehead, and a possibly swollen eye. Add that to a concussion she was sure she had, Bonnie new then that she was bad off, but surely she had been through worse. So why couldn't she find the strength to move?
Bonnie's mind began to fade again. She was sure it was the concussion that had her head spinning, and because of that, she had half a mind to fight it. Her body, however, was in so much pain and a little sleep would help. Even if it was in an alley.
Drifting to sleep, or maybe unconsciousness, a voice hit her eardrums. "Bucky!" Bonnie groaned, the loud shout cut through her brain, igniting the fire that was dulling. A hand grabbed her shoulder, another cradled her head, and with a swift pull, her back was slammed to the ground. Pain erupted throughout her body, inflaming injuries she hadn't known about until that moment. Had this person never heard of basic first aid?
"Bucky, quick!" the voice was urgent. "She's still alive!"
Another voice joined him then, but Bonnie's consciousness was fading quick.
May 20, 2013
"Good morning Agent Locke," Bonnie grunted at Director Fury in reply, focusing more on the punching bag in front of her. "I have an assignment for you, if you're sick of beating up that bag." Bonnie stilled herself, giving a brief glance at her superior before doing a double -take.
"What kind of assignment?" Bonnie gave a questioning look at Fury's civilian attire of dark-denim jeans and a button-up black shirt.
"A simple one," Fury replied. "A date."
"A date?" Bonnie cocked her head. "Who's the target?"
"Me."
"You?"
Fury sighed, giving Agent Locke a slight glance of concern. "It's your birthday, Bonnie. Agent Barton is on assignment, so I thought that maybe a nice dinner with me will do until he returns."
"Sir I don't think-" but whatever Bonnie was going to say was silenced with a look from the director. "I'll be ready in 30."
"Make it 5, Miss Locke," said Fury as he turned to leave. "Meet me in the garage in 10."
Bonnie rolled her eyes and made her way into the locker room, changing into jeans and a blue v-neck tee before grabbing her badge, cell, and wallet before making her way to the garage. She found Fury waiting by his black SUV, his face hard and pensive. This was the first solid clue Bonnie had that indicated that this dinner was something much deeper than a simple dinner. As they climbed into the vehicle, Bonnie's mind was racing with the possibilities of what exactly could Fury have to tell her, and why wait?
…..
Bonnie found herself upon a bed the next time she woke up. Another whimper passed her lips causing a scuffling sound from next to her. Groggy, she attempted to open her watery eyes, groaning when one stayed shut. Yes, definitely swollen. Thankfully, her other eye was generous enough to open all the way.
Bonnie looked up to a cracked and water stained ceiling. Seeing only a ceiling fan, she began using her limited point of vision to look around. From the corner of her good eye, she was able to make out a small end table to her left. Guessing by the way the light's intensity seemed to grow towards that direction; she knew that there had to be a lamp sitting atop it. Beyond that was a window; darkened by the lack of sun, but there was a faint crisscross of lines in the unmistakable pattern of a brick wall.
Testing her neck, Bonnie was pleased to find it only a bit sore, and immediately began a slightly painful turn to her right, scanning the room in the process. From her position on the bed, she could make out a door about 3 yards from the bed, a living room with a small couch and an old 1920's cathedral style radio in front of it; a small room behind that (from the sound of a faucet running, it had to be a bathroom), and finally, just passed the living room to the right, was a small kitchen.
It looked like a studio apartment from the late 20's early 30's. Where the hell could she be?
Suddenly, the front door opened. Bonnie closed her good eye until she could only see a sliver of the person who had entered. From a blurry vision, she wasn't able to see much, but she could tell that the person was tall, with short, dark brown hair. They walked with their back straight and confident, but with an almost lazy gait. A bag of something was held in their arms, before dumping it gingerly atop the small kitchen table.
"Steve," a masculine voice came from the blurry figure. "I got some bandages, a night dress, and some vegetables for a pot of soup. Did you get her wounds cleaned?"
The bathroom door opened reveling a smaller figure with light brown or blonde hair. Bonnie wasn't sure when she stopped hearing the faucet running, but she had guessed that 'Steve' had been washing either his hands or the towels before tall-dark-and maybe handsome had walked in.
"Yeah," said Steve, confusing Bonnie. His voice sound very familiar. "The cut on her head wasn't deep enough to need stitches after all, but it will need to be wrapped."
"Her leg?"
"That needed about 200 stitches," said Steve, "but she'll heal."
"Here," there was a rustling sound, followed by a thud. "I'll make the soup, you wrap her up. See if you can wake her and get her changed out of that… odd suit she is in."
Bonnie closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, allowing Steve to doctor her leg without any resistance. Okay, she thought, if they are doctoring me they may be trustworthy. Or they can be getting me prepared for something worse. Bonnie debated with herself, weighing her options. Did they know who she was? Were they… oh god, were they HYDRA? They hadn't found her, had they? Wait, was it HYDRA she was rescued from? That didn't make sense… HYDRA had been defeated 70 years ago, right? Why would she be afraid of HYDRA coming after her?
Bonnie's head began to ache as she tried to work through all the fuzziness. Calming herself, she went through the basics.
Her name was Bonnie Locke, 25 years old, born May 20, 1989 in San Antonio, TX. Her parents were James and Leeann Locke, both deceased. She was the honorary niece of Phil Coulson, now deceased. She worked for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, or simply S.H.I.E.L.D. Her best friend, Clint Barton, was on a mission without either her or Natasha Romanoff. Why wasn't either of them with him?
…
May 20, 2013
Bonnie was shocked to see Fury pick a fairly quiet part of Washington D.C. The pair was sat on the patio of a quaint little bistro, both finishing up their meal. Bonnie was the first to speak.
"Thanks, Nick, but you know I'm not a big fan of bistros," she eyed him, took a subtle look around, and kept speaking with a low voice. "I imagine my present wouldn't be conventional for me, either?"
Fury glanced up to her, cleared his throat, and said, "I think you need a vacation, Agent Locke. Ever since your uncle's death, you've been… a bit reckless." Bonnie narrowed her eyes.
"I'm fine," she spoke. "I'd be better if you didn't listen to Captain Rogers and his insane idea that I am not fit for solo missions."
"Well, maybe you'll change your mind when I show you your vacation package," Fury's face had harden when he spoke, voice becoming irritable. "I was assured that this was the best they had. You'll be gone for a couple months of rest, before you are evaluated to see if maybe we could place you back on duty."
"Where are you sending me?" Bonnie asked, raising her eyebrow.
"Ireland."
…
Ireland
That was the code. The moment Ireland left Fury's lips, Bonnie knew. The quaint, little bistro, the birthday dinner that she would much prefer somewhere else, they were surrounded by couples and families and tourist. Even his outfit choice made sense. He was blending in just enough to seem like a man taking a girl out. Fury had a mission for her. It was big, it was top secret, and she was going deep undercover. But what was it?
She hissed in pain when a hand lifted up her head. Cracking open an eye, Bonnie's mind was lost.
"Woah, hey, I'm sorry, ma'am," it couldn't be. "I just need to wrap your head. You have a pretty nasty cut." There was no way… no way in hell. "I'm Steve. Steve Rogers."
This didn't just look bad. This was bad.
Thank you to everyone who is reading this, or who has read my other version. I hope y'all love it! Please review!
