Chapter 6 – Exploration

Skye heard the cabin's outer door close. She waited another five minutes before slipping quietly out of bed and opening the bedroom door a crack. No sign of Rumlow; she darted swiftly through the cabin, checking. No, he was gone. She looked at the outer door nervously, biting her lip. What would he do if he found her snooping around? On the other hand, he seemed almost to expect it. She shrugged mentally. He wasn't going to do anything too serious. Jail warden, he'd described himself. Not torturer. And he hadn't actually told her not to snoop around…

She started in the kitchen, since it actually had cupboards and things that needed searching. The rest of the cabin was so minimally furnished. But the only items that ran on electricity were the fridge-freezer and the stove – even the kettle was one that sat on the hob. No false bottoms to any drawers.

Skye finished quickly and headed back into the main room. She'd already searched both bedroom and bathroom, found nothing of interest. So it had to be in here.

She found it quickly, a trapdoor under the rug on the floor. The only problem was that it was either locked somehow or too damn heavy for her to lift. Muscles strained in her shoulders as she hauled, but it didn't move.

"Fuck!"

So close and yet so far. How long had he been gone? She didn't dare stay out too much longer. Quickly, she smoothed the rug back into place, darted back into the bedroom and closed the door.

Skye lay awake for a while, straining her ears for the sound of Rumlow returning. At last she heard a very quiet thud in the outer room, and then water running briefly in the bathroom.

She didn't question why it was that she couldn't fall asleep until she'd heard him return.

There were no windows in the bedroom – in the cabin at all, actually, which seemed odd until Skye thought about the likely brutality of the winters here – so she had no idea what time it was when she woke. Her stomach was rumbling, though, so she suspected a fair few hours had passed. Quietly, she slipped out of bed and opened the bedroom door.

To her utter astonishment, the trapdoor in the floor was open. There was no sign of Rumlow. Wide-eyed, Skye looked around for a moment and then hurried over to the door. A steep flight of steps led downwards.

Descending slowly, peering around, she found herself in a surprisingly large basement room. Bigger than the cabin itself, she rather thought, it must extend out behind the cabin. There were two big double doors at the back, currently open, and standing half-in, half out of them was – oh. It was a helicopter, blades folded.

"So that's how we got here." She'd wondered.

Damn. If there was some sort of road, and a vehicle, well she knew how to hotwire cars. But helicopters were way outside her range of experience.

That said, there would be a radio in it, wouldn't there? She was just heading towards it to look when a low voice behind her said;

"Good morning."

Skye hated herself for jumping and letting out a small scream. She whipped around and looked up at Rumlow who – oh.

He was stripped to the waist, a rag in his hands, just wiping some black grease off his fingers. There was a fully-equipped toolbelt hanging low on his lean hips. And he was even more deliciously muscular than Skye had imagined.

He looked like he'd just stepped off the set of a porn movie where a desperate housewife calls for a mechanic, Skye thought a bit frantically, unable to make her voice work. She settled for a nod and a mumble which could possibly have sounded like Hi.

"And yes, this is how we got here." He walked past her to the helicopter, patted the gleaming black nose. "You see why it would be a bad idea to bring the cabin down? This is our only way out of here. So don't think about sabotage, either. You wouldn't like being trapped here."

He was quite correct. Skye watched as he leaned his weight against the machine, pushed it further inside. The helicopter's belly was supported on a low wheeled trolley, she realised, meaning he could move it easily. Once the doors were cleared, he closed them and padlocked them together.

"My workshop," Rumlow turned back towards Skye, spread his hands. "Feel free to look around. I know you investigated the cabin thoroughly last night."

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of blushing at being caught out. She was having to fight not to look at him anyway, because muscles.

I hate him, Skye told herself firmly as she took him at his word and wandered around the workshop. He's an asshole. There was no heat in her thoughts, though.

One corner of the room was taken up by what she guessed was the battery storage unit and controllers for the rooftop solar panels. Another freezer hummed quietly beside that, a big box one.

In the other corner was a workbench, well equipped with plenty of tools. Lots of weapons there. Except he'd already established that attacking him was a stupid move, because she needed him to get her out of here. Skye watched silently as Rumlow headed back over to the bench and hung up his toolbelt, putting things away neatly. He likes things tidy. Orderly.

Along the side wall was, a little to Skye's surprise, a big weights machine, one of the multi-machines that was designed to be adjustable to work out nearly every muscle in the body. She eyed it thoughtfully, wondering how on earth he'd got that here. Along with some of the other heavy items, like the solar batteries, the fridge, the couch and stove. That little helicopter wasn't capable of that kind of weight lift, surely. But then, if he could fly that, he could probably fly a heavy-lift helicopter. One of those would make light work of it, everything in the cabin could be flown in a couple of loads, she supposed.

The last thing in the basement room was a big safe. A gun safe, Skye guessed. Nearly as tall as she was. And there was a powerpoint on the wall next to it with a cable plugged in, the cable disappearing into the back of the safe. She wandered closer, trying to look unobtrusive. An old-style combination lock. Damn. She had less than no idea how to start cracking one of those.

Rumlow leaned back against his workbench, arms folded, and watched Skye explore. She seemed unaware of the fact that she was still not properly dressed, wearing only one of his T-shirts and what he rather thought was a pair of his jockey shorts underneath. He did like the way she looked in his shirt, though, her pert little breasts pushing against the fabric as she moved.

Stop looking at her breasts. His cock was already hard, had been from the moment he watched her slender legs come down the stairs. God, how he'd like to have her wrap those around him…

"Rumlow." His golden eyes were a little glazed, Skye thought. She'd been avoiding looking at him, really, mainly because when she did she couldn't help but notice the way his biceps bulged so thickly with his arms folded like that. But she'd said his name twice now and he hadn't responded. "Earth to Rumlow!"

He blinked. "Yes, what is it, princess?"

She glared at him, lips compressed at the hated nickname. "Skye," she said between gritted teeth when he only looked at her quizzically. "My name is Skye."

"What is it then, Skye?"

"Can I use your weights machine?"

Of all the things he might have expected her to say – that really wasn't it. He blinked again, surprised. "If you want." He rethought it. "As long as I'm here to spot you. I don't want you down here by yourself."

She narrowed her eyes at him. He smiled blandly back. "Too much trouble you could get into, prin-Skye."

Well, at least he'd stopped himself before calling her princess again. She'd take that as a small victory. "Now?"

"No. I'm hungry, it's breakfast time. Upstairs with you."

She wanted to protest, but he unfolded his arms and straightened up, and something in his purposeful step towards her made her turn and hastily head towards the steps. She sensed that arguing with him would end with her tossed over his shoulder and hauled upstairs against her will, and she really, really didn't want that. Not right now, not with all that tempting bare muscle exposed…

Not ever, Skye, what are you thinking!

I don't like super macho guys. I don't, I don't… Jemma's the one who goes all silly around men with muscles, not me…

Suuuuure. Keep telling yourself that.

She rushed up the stairs as though the hounds of hell were on her heels. A little bemused, Rumlow followed her, rather grateful actually when he realised it meant he had less time to admire those spectacular legs.

She'd shut herself in the bathroom when he arrived at the top of the stairs. He shrugged mentally and closed the trapdoor, hearing the click as it locked into place. She hadn't found the locking mechanism yet, then. He had no intention of showing her, either. He really didn't want her down there on her own. Heading for the kitchen, he washed his hands and started to make breakfast.

Skye stared at herself in the small mirror over the bathroom sink, noticing with horror her flushed cheeks and blown pupils. This is insane. Yes, there was a certain animal attraction to Rumlow, it was undeniable that he was a handsome man, but – he'd kidnapped her! Was holding her prisoner for Ward!

"You need to stop this," she mouthed silently at herself in the mirror, running some cold water to splash on her face. "Getting a silly crush on this man is stupid and dangerous. He's ex-HYDRA – and you only have his word for that – he's killed who knows how many people, he'd kill you in a heartbeat – he's vicious and brutal and yeah, really sexy…" for another moment she lost herself in thinking about the way he'd looked at her the previous evening when he'd suggested chaining her to the bed and for an instant she'd thought about it in sexual terms.

I caused him to look at me like that, she realised dismally. He wasn't looking at me in a sexual way before at all. He'd even taken pains to let her know that she had nothing to fear from him in that way, because she had to be delivered untouched.

I lied when I told him not if he was the last man on earth. I'd rather fuck him than Ward. Rather him than any guy I've met in a while, really…

"Stop it!" she said aloud. God, what was it about Rumlow that had her all twisted up in knots like this? She was acting like a stupid hormonal teenager with a huge crush! Splashing more cold water on her face, Skye dried her face and hands, squared her shoulders and headed out to face him again.

He was in the kitchen, cooking. Bacon in the grill, eggs frying in a pan. He glanced up as she looked in. "How do you like your eggs?"

Oh God, he's being domestic. Help. Aloud she said "Over easy, please."

"Sure. Coffee?"

"Black."

He nodded. "Go sit down. I'll be there in a minute."

She hovered uncertainly for a moment, wanting to help. But then she'd only get in his way, it was a tiny kitchen. Instead she retreated, saw that he'd already put the table back in front of the couch, set it with cutlery. Sat down a bit awkwardly and wondered where he'd slept. The couch was way too small for his big frame, even she would be a bit cramped to curl up on it, and it wasn't a pull-out.

I don't care, Skye told herself firmly. Do. Not. Care.

He came in then, set a plate down in front of her, piled with thickly cut, buttered toast, bacon and perfectly cooked eggs.

"How's your hand this morning?" he caught it as she reached for her fork, ran his thumb over her knuckles, which were showing some dark bruising. "Hmm. You'd better ice it again after breakfast."

She snatched her hand back as soon as he let go, grabbed her fork and dug in, purposely didn't look at him. Hoped he didn't notice that the light drag of his callused thumb over her bruised, tender skin had made goosebumps spring up all over her body and her nipples leap to attention, pressing against the thin shirt that was all that hid her from his eyes.

She kept her eyes down, focussed on her plate. Didn't say anything. Couldn't look at him as he ate with the same calm, swift efficiency that he seemed to do everything. Because the bloody man still hadn't put on a shirt. And her brain was far too busy fantasising about what he'd do if she pulled off her own shirt and pressed herself against him, found out what all that tanned, muscled skin would feel like against her own…

Stop it, Skye, you're losing your mind!

Well, he did just cook her breakfast with no shirt on. I'd be losing my mind too…