The Ricochet

Chapter Seven

Someone was following her. She could feel their eyes on her, making her hair stand on end. The city was busy, crowds of people were everywhere so there was the chance she was over reacting. But she wasn't. She knew what it felt like to be observed, to be watched. Someone was watching her and she knew it.

She continued to walk through the city, blue eyes flickering to the different details. The buildings were towering. People didn't talk to each other, they kept to themselves it seemed like. The traffic was loud, crowded with cars. Noise was a constant factor. Smoke hung in the air and wind cut around buildings, tangling her long hair. She was dressed in the clothing she had lifted from the hospital. Maybe from another patient, she didn't know. The jeans were a bit long but they fit her waist comfortably, rolled so her feet wouldn't trip and the green long sleeved shirt was loose on her frame and she didn't understand the word "Aeropostale". Was postal services that traveled by air? If so, why was it on this shirt? Is that how the shirt was delievered? The shoes were loose too but she had the laces pulled as tight as they could.

Her ears perked at a perculiar shift, like the sound one would make jumping onto a landing. She looked over her shoulder and saw nothing, the crowd encouraging her to keep her pace. No one looked at her, they kept their heads down. She must have looked normal to them. It seemed that no one cared about her stiff posture, her wide and alert eyes and the fact that she was ready to sprint at a moment's notice. Her stomach grumbled and she placed her hand against her flat stomach to silence it. She couldn't recall when she last ate. It would be helpful to find food. Perhaps a market?

She whipped around again, hearing the same sound of a person on metal. Nothing revealed itself to her and she huffed. She knew that someone was there. Lengthening her stride, she took the next turn, finding herself in some kind of alley. It was dim, caught in the shade between two buildings and there were trashcans overfilled with plastic black bags. Bridgette took a breath and folded her arms, steadying her stance. She was not going to play someone else's game. Not again.

"You're pretty quick there, toots," came a voice. Bridgette turned and looked up to see a man in red looking down at her from a fire escape. Her eyes narrowed. Man. Well trained. Mercenary, most likely. American. Speaks English. Unfamiliar jargon "toots".

"Ja," she answered. He jumped down the next level. She could hear the teasing smirk in his voice despite the fact that his face was covered in a full mask.

"German girl?" he answered in her language. She was taken aback. There was a faint tug at the corner of her mouth. A smile, maybe?

"You speak German?" she asked, switching to English. She didn't know what his language boundaries were.

"Sure do!" A pair of katanas, strapped to his back. Definately mercenary. "I'm the Merc with a Mouth, and I can talk in any language I need to. Handy when tryin' to get lucky with you lady folk." He was on the ground now, at her level. He was graciously taller than her, bigger too. If she was a normal girl maybe she would have been scared. She was Bridgette Erskine. She wasn't scared. Not anymore.

"Well, not that it isn't fascinating chatting with you, doll, but I really ought to get to work," he decided, pulling the blades from their sheaths. Bridgette didn't move but she did unfold her arms, letting them hang at her sides.

"You are here to kill me, correct?" she asked. It was rhetorical, she knew he was here to kill her. For Hydra.

"That's my job, sweetheart." He tilted his head to the side, studying her. "Too bad though. Might've scored with you."

"It won't work," she warned.

"Don't worry. It'll be nice and clean. Just got this dry-cleaned," he joked, gesturing to his outfit. "You won't feel a thing though, too bad because I've got a great cut-"

"Are you fond of those swords?" she interrupted. This seemed to distract the mercenary.

"Of course. Can't you see?" He gave them an expert twirl. "They're gorgeous."

"I advise against using them against me. I suppose you could try a gun but that won't work either," she reported.

The bullet hit her forehead, rebounding away into the building to the left. He had drawn the gun so fast it was almost impossible to follow him. So he took her up on her offer. Next, her chest where the fate was the same. Her mouth moved again, the smile sensation so foriegn to her. The man in red was in front of her now, blade to her neck. She could feel him applying pressure and her skin held strong, refusing to break.

"Careful," she warned. "Your toy might break."

"Would ya look at that," he laughed. He sheathed one of his swords. "Y'know, those Hydra pricks warned me about you. That you'd be my most difficult target."

"I'm sure they did," she nodded. "I'm their best...patient. And I am not going back there, Merc with a Mouth."

There was a moment of silence as the two stared, Bridgette unable to guage his true expression due to his mask while she stayed stern. He stepped closer, invading her personal space and she saw his arm move and she closed her eyes, expecting a strike.

"The name's Deadpool."

There was a swift movement, his blade swinging high and she felt the weight of her long hair drop. He held the length of russet hair for her to see.

"Don't like doctors, myself. Might want to change your look if you want them off your scent, babe."

There. She smiled.

The ride to Germany was an awkward one at best. The silence was almost stiffling but somehow Tony managed to keep up a light chatter, whether it was harrassing Clint for his sunburn or questioning Natasha about her love life. Agent Barton was in control of the flight and was thoroughly enjoying hearing the two argue back and forth. There was barely a pause as they debated and he smirked at their choice of topic.

"-Anyone in particular-"

"-Love is for children, Stark-"

"-Okay, so what if you "like-like" someone?"

"-I am not having this conversation with you-"

"-Will you tell me if I guess correctly?"

"I'm not telling you anything of the sort."

"Well, obviously it's someone you work with-"

"-This is ridiculous-"

"-It's not Fury, because only god knows how old he is and that eyepatch is distracting. Unless you're into that, of course-"

"-You know that I am fully capable of throwing you off this jet and you can walk the rest of the way, don't you?"

"Dully noted. Who else? Not a techie from the helicarrier, if anything I bet you find them annoying-"

"-And when exactly did you become an expert on me, by chance?"

"Well, it's not like you have a facebook, so I just hacked SHIELD. Again."

"You should be arrested."

"I know. Being this attractive, wealthy and witty has to be a felony."

Steve Rogers looked over at the doctor sitting beside him, ignoring the exchange of words between Natasha and Tony. Bruce was leaning forward, elbows on his knees and he kept his eyes closed. He could hear him taking deep breaths and slow exhales, fingers laced together tightly. The Captain saw his tense posture, there wasn't a muscle relaxed. He knew what it felt like. His gloved hands were constantly finding themselves locked in a fist position, ready to strike. He was prepared to jump at a second's notice, almost begging for something or someone to challenge him so he could let off some steam. The gym at Stark Towers had already taken a loss as he pounded his share of punching bags beyond their use. His jaw was tightly clenched and his own stature rigid, spine soldier straight with his fists on his lap. He took a deep breath before quietly speaking to the doctor.

"She's going to be okay. We're going to get her." Bruce flinched but didn't look up at the Captain, keeping his eyes closed.

"Yeah," he answered, barely a whisper. Steve could feel his nerves tingle, bothered by the reaction. Like he didn't believe it.

"You don't think so?" he asked. Bruce kept his eyes closed, focusing on his breathing and not answering. This proceeded to irritate the blonde. How could he sit there and not be irreversibly determined to go save her? Didn't he want to? Or was he just so pessimistic to think that they wouldn't be able to get to her in time? Steve knew from his own personal experience that people could be saved. He had refused to listen to the Colonel Philips when he said that Bucky was killed in action. He took it upon himself to go into deep enemy territory to take back his friend. Going to save Bridgette was the same thing, in fact, the very same enemy. They were going into Hydra territory and they were going to take back their teammate and friend. Captain America wasn't going to take no for an answer.

Bruce still hadn't answered the Captain and Steve forced his gaze forward again, taking another breath.

"She believes in you. Even if you don't." Banner sighed, bringing his hand free to pinch the bridge of his nose, forcing another deep breath.

"I-if you don't mind, Cap...I'd rather not talk about her..." he mumbled.

"Fine," agreed Steve. "Then I'll talk about her." The truth was, he was a bit upset that the doctor was trying to take Bridgette out of the equation. She was the equation. The variables were all her. Everything was revolving around her. It was all her.

"Did you know she checked her phone all the time? She was checking to see if you had called." Still the doctor didn't answer. So, Steve continued.

"She referenced you, I don't think she realized she was doing it. Making comments about how you would react, or the next time she was going to prank you." Nothing but the steady breathing. Fine, he would keep on.

"She tuned in to Stark's interviews, but I think she was hoping that you would be there."

"Stop...stop it..." he muttered, brows furrowed as he kept his eyes closed.

"I just don't understand-" Bruce brought his fists down hard on his knees to gain the blonde's attention, very successfully. He turned to glare at the captain, green trying to overtake brown eyes.

"Because if I focus on her, Captain, I won't be able to think," he growled.

Images of her dared to overload his brain. Everything about her he could possibly remember. Her voice, that sneaky grin of hers. Blue eyes that glinted with mischief and determination. Her nonchalance. The contact she gave to him, unafraid of the other guy. Her bravery. Being able to smile at the end of the world, ready to take them down even though she was weighed down with such a heavy history herself. The simple fact that could smile so easily after everything that happened to her. A contagious grin that infected him even. The feeling of her phantom fingers pushing through his hair. There was so much of Bridgette in his mind, memory, and nerves, the ghost kisses she stole-no, gave him. It was taking every inch of his will power to not Hulk out and just smash his way to finding her. A plan of action that was becoming more inviting by the second.

The Captain nodded in understanding, holding his silence. In a roundabout way, he was satisfied with that answer.

"Preparing to land-"

"-My guess is Barton, by the way-"

"-Shut. Up. Stark."

The room was destroyed. The walls bore craters just like the floor. Red splattered against the white. Bridgette's body was limp in one of the broken pieces of the tile, russet hair fanned out about her head. Dr. Zola approached her, his black shoes tapping against the ground. The guard who had taken the red pill was dead on the other side of the room, the side effect of the girl's blood in a foriegn system. Fortunately, it wasn't an immediate reaction. The guard had, at most, a few hours in the prime form. It was enough.

His polished shoe pressed down on her shoulder, rolling her onto her back. Blurry blue eyes looked up, eyelids half open. She was still dressed in her work uniform, the white blouse was spotted with crimson, the black pencil skirt ripped up the sides, tights ruined. Zola sneered down at her, taking pleasure in hearing her wheeze. Shallow breathing, lower lip deep red with blood. The pill was a success, finally causing damage to the unbreakable Bridgette Erskine. Sure, the guard had died but that was a minor set back.

"Not so strong now, are you Patient Erskine?" he taunted. "Even you break." He gave a low laugh to himself as he left the room, door bolting shut behind him.

Her pulse was pounding in her head, entire body throbbing like she was a stereo with the volume up to max. Even when the guard pounded her and she was unable to move properly from being soaked with the relaxant. She tripped over her own feet and moved painfully slow, the guard catching her without trouble. His enlarged hand encircled her leg and she met the wall with surprising speed and force. Despite the trauma, her skin held firm. Never breaking. The guard roared and smashed her into the ground next. She could feel the air leave her body as she gasped, unable to draw breath. Twin fists drilled down on her and her bones screamed in protest, ribs creaking under his strength. She was mentally fighting back but her body wouldn't respond, the drug having seeped into her system. She needed to move, punch, do something! Yet, she was there on the floor. Useless.

What she really needed was help.

Her chest fought to lift with breath. It was like fire, her insides working to correct themselves, pushing and pulling to fix whatever the guard had damaged. The serum worked its power, mending her. Fixing her. Fixing, always fixing...

"B-Bruce..." she begged. No, she wasn't calling for the Captain like had when she was younger. Hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, rolling down to become lost in her hairline as she looked up at the white cealing. She was calling for who she wanted, who she needed. Her fingers twitched, a vague sense of feeling returning.

"Bruce...!"

Please...find me...

REVIEW! A little short and a bit of a filler, but don't worry, next chapter leads us into the action! So stay tuned folks!

Hope you enjoyed!