A/N: I think Aj will always be my favorite original character of mine. No matter how many more i make or how much more i write i think this little fireball, asshole will always have a place in my heart.


Chapter #03:

Sparkly Blue Pants and the Will to Live


"I let my body learn,

I let my body learn

to enjoy the flames." -Unknown


When I came to everything was blurry. Fuzzy. I felt nauseous and my head was literally throbbing with pain. A small gasp left my lips when I went to move. Oh boy, did I hurt. I shakily lifted a hand to my head above my ear where the pain was the worst. The skin was torn, and my skull had to be cracked. I couldn't feel the fracture, but something wasn't right. My hand went to my ear where dried blood was pasted against my face from the canal. Fuck, definitely fractured.

"Good morning, Kroshka." A cheery voice called out and I flinched.

Focus, focus, focus.

You weren't out of this yet.

I forced myself to sit up and look around. Through the blur I could tell I was in a small room. Some kind of office with red carpet and dark furniture. Two men stood over by the desk with a third seated behind it. He was talking. He had been talking. How had I missed that? I sucked in a sharp breath and tried to hone in on what was happening.

"Pathetic." Now that voice I recognized.

"Hey Boss." I called out with a pained laugh. I rubbed at my eyes and slowly the world was starting to come into focus. The two men standing by the desk were the ones who literally kidnapped me, and the guy sitting behind the desk was bald with a thick beard and wore an expensive suit. In front of the bald man, he had turned his laptop around, and I could see Boss' weasel like face in the screen.

The men marched toward me and scooped me up to set me in a plush single seat chair. I glanced at the one who I had known hit me over the head with something hard, "I don't wanna hurt your feelings because I'm sure you consider yourself a professional, but usually cracking the skull of your fighter before they fight is a bad move."

"Shut your mouth, pet." Boss snapped and I lazily looked back over to him. He was pissed about something, but he was always pissed about something. "So, is it true?"

A wave of nausea rolled over me, courtesy of the concussion, and I forced myself to shrug, "Is what true? Gotta be a little more specific than that, man."

"Have you been talking with two secret agents from SHIELD!?"

Oh, shit. This was bad. I would be worried about my face giving me away, but since I was just sitting here with a pained look of 'trying not to black out again' I figured I was fine. Quickly, I shook my head then stopped with regret, "I have?" I glanced at the one of the Russians standing next to me with a shrug. "I mean, how was I supposed to know? Secret agents and all."

The guy backhanded me, and I saw stars. If my brain wasn't already bleeding, I had a strong feeling it was about to start. I gasped, desperately trying to suck air in, and block out the waves of pain that washed over me.

"It's true then. You're working for the Avengers."

I let out a laugh that sounded more like a groan, "Working with is a stretch. They aren't even paying me. Actually—" I motioned to the laptop. "You're not paying me either. God, I made some poor choices in my life."

"Yes, you have and your last one was choosing to side with them."

"Well, Iron Man did buy me this cool jacket—"

Backhanded again. I slumped over in my seat. I was awake, conscious, but I felt like I was lying on my back in a giant, warm pool. Sounds were muffled and for one second I was too out of it to even register the pain. It didn't last though. It never lasts. I was sucked back into reality when one the Russian men grabbed my hair and pulled me back up in my seat.

"You're no longer my problem to deal with. I actually got a fairly good deal from my new associates for you." Boss laughed. "My favorite cash cow as always."

"And here I thought I'd be clearance priced." I mumbled the words out. It was getting hard to talk, to stay awake. Boss said something else, but I missed it entirely. That was kind of nice though. Whatever final thing that asshole had to say to me didn't even register in my very broken head. Hah.

The man behind the desk rose and it was only then I realized how huge he was. The guy had to be over 6'4 and he was built like a damn wall. Thick everything. He chuckled and knelt down in front of me. I forced myself to mumble again, "Are you the vodka bear I was promised to see?"

"Little Bradshaw." He cooed. I hated these men. Ones like Boss who looked at me like I was a prize they won at market. Like I was just walking, talking, fighting meat. "My name is Vladimir. I am excited to see you fight. I hear good things."

I actively worked to keep my eyelids from fluttering closed. I didn't want to be unconscious around them. That just sounded like a terrible idea.

"Remember what I said about cracking heads?"

Vladimir laughed at me, "That is no concern of mine. We don't need you to win. We just need a dumbAmerican to lose."

"I've been told I play the role of dumb American…" I sucked in a breath, "Very well."

They said more words, but I was losing this fight against the darkness. I was scooped up again, on the move, and I tried to get a bearing for where I was at. It seemed like good future information to use, but it was beginning to blur again. Cold air hit me as they dragged me through a door and for one last second, I had a moment of clarity. Of knowing.

My last coherent thought was looking at the foreign signs and realizing I was not in America anymore.


As he stepped into the room, he heard Natasha's voice ring clearly, "I think it's a little bit our fault that she got kidnapped by Russians, Clint."

His feet came to a stop and he looked over the information flashing on the large screen in front of both agents he had grown to call friends. There was a search going on in the corner where JARVIS must have been looking or trying to triangulate something. Street camera photos of a young woman were plastered a small bit above it. Short brown hair, tired blue eyes, and a scowl that would send anyone trying to approach her running. And then, of course, there was the grainy video in the other corner playing on repeat. The video of two large men knocking said young woman out and dragging her into their van.

Clint and Natasha both suddenly turned to look at him. Natasha kept her usual cool demeanor. The only thing giving away her nonchalance was the wrinkle between her eyebrows. The wrinkle that usually showed up there when a mission was going south. Clint on the other hand had his jaw slack with surprise in his eyes.

The archer held up one hand, "Ok, so this looks bad."

"What is going on?" Steve crossed the room to get closer.

Natasha, her arms crossed over her chest, replied, "Remember that favor you asked of us?" He nodded once. "Well, that's what we're working on right now."

"And it involves…" Steve went to motion toward the pictures of the young woman, but as he got closer, he realized he recognized her. Somewhat. There was something different, but also something familiar. He just couldn't put his finger on it though.

Clint either ignored his troubled train of thought or didn't notice it at all, "It's kind of a long story."

"Sharon got her ass kicked so we asked a civilian to put a tracker on the Russians' phone and the Russians picked her up way too soon, and way too violent."

Clint paused, "Ok, so not very long. Very bad though. We fucked up a little."

"You got a civilian kidnapped by Russians." Steve shook his head and spoke firmly, his as Tony puts it 'Captain America voice' slipping out, "That's more than a little, Barton." The agents looked back to the screen and Steve sighed, "Have you found where she is now at least?"

"Russians took her phone so we can't track that. We're trying to go through the cargo planes leaving the area to see if we can track her, but…" Natasha twisted her lips in frustration. "It's been about 12 hours since this happened. Best case scenario is that she's in Moscow right now so."

"That's best-case scenario?" Steve shook his head.

"Worst case is they, uh, took care of her here." Clint explained. His voice didn't give himself away, but Steve could see how stiff the archer sat in his seat. Clint was usually the guy to lounge on whatever surface he sat on whether it be a chair, couch, or to Tony's dismay the kitchen counter. Right now though, he sat up straight with tense shoulders. He was worried.

Steve dragged his eyes back to the screen while the agents discussed more details of what they could do. There was a file open on screen with information and he read over the name, 'Aimee Jane Bradshaw'. It didn't sound like a name he had heard or said before. Still, there was something in her intense, ice blue eyes that looked very, very familiar to him. He crossed his arms and resisted the urge to shake his head.

This was his fault.

Whoever she was, however he recognized her, didn't really matter all that much at the end of the day. His futile search for his best friend got her caught up in it, and now she was at the mercy of a very dangerous group of people. When Sam Wilson told him that his search came up empty maybe he should've taken that as a sign that Bucky didn't want to be found right now. Steve just couldn't let it go though, and now an innocent civilian could be getting killed or worse by these Russians.

If she wasn't already dead then she was probably terrified out of her mind and in pain and that was all on him.


"Fuck you, motherfuckers." I spat the blood in my mouth at them. The two men in front of me, ones I didn't recognize, didn't seem to blink at my outburst. As if this was just another normal day at the office for them. Hell, it probably was. I was in a dressing room of some kind. I assumed it was a dressing room because there was a mirror against the wall and one couch. That was it. Oh, and of course the wooden chair in the middle of the room I was tied to. That seemed like a vital piece of the furniture set here.

When I woke up for the second time, I had found myself tied to the chair. That was the bad, bad news. The good, bad news was that I was thinking clearly. The concussion induced haze had lifted from my brain. And then the just bad news was that I was hurting and hurting bad. That was a typical Thursday for me though so maybe it didn't even count as news.

My head still throbbed violently, the concussion was ever present, but I wasn't dead. That blow to the skull hadn't killed me immediately and then I didn't die on the long plane ride to Russia and I also didn't die the second time I blacked out. That probably meant I was going to live. Well, live was a strong word. I probablywasn't going to die of a brain bleed. That was better phrasing.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey. Look at me. Look at me." I continued to repeat until finally one of the men standing by the door made eye contact with me. "Fuck you."

Realistically, I should probably shut my mouth. Play nice and wait patiently while looking for a way out. That sounded like a lot of work through and I was tired. I was so fucking tired. The thought of holding in all the dumb shit I say sounded exhausting.

The guy's shoulders stiffened, but then the sound of the door unlocking filled the room. It swung open and Vladimir was here again holding a bag in his hand. It looked like something was inside the bag, so I hoped that meant he didn't plan on putting it over my head. Vladimir opened his arms open widely, "Kroshka!"

"I don't know what that pet name means but I swear to God if it's a dig at my size—"

Vladimir chuckled and pulled a knife from his belt under his suit coat. I stiffened and he smirked, but as he walked closer all he did was cut the ropes with his blade. Despite the ropes being thick he was able to slice through them with ease. He sat back up and placed the knife back, "Are you ready for the show, Kroshka?"

I blinked once in worry, rubbing my wrists where the rope rubbed into them, "Show?"

"It's time for you to fight!"

My entire mind went blank. I couldn't fight. Not right now. Sitting in this chair I felt steady enough to not immediately black out, but the moment I started moving it wasn't going to end well. I had fought through some pretty big injuries in the past, but never after a fucking skull fracture.

"I can't fight." I said firmly. "All that money you spent on me will be wasted. I'll die in the ring tonight."

"Nonsense. You fight, and when it becomes too much you lose." Vladimir shrugged and shoved the bag into my arms. He was asking me to throw the fight? That was one way to survive, I guess. Drop after the first hit, let the Russians laugh at the weak American, and then get dragged back to my cell where I could lie in the corner and sleep. "Put on uniform."

I stood and pulled the bag open, "Uniform?" The clothes inside were flashy with the bright, recognizable colors of the good ol' USA. I looked back up at him. "Not to sound dramatic, but I would literally rather die."

Vladimir raised an eyebrow at me, "We can arrange that."

"Right." I mumbled. "Forgot who I was talking to."

It looked like the outfit was tight, so I at least didn't have to worry about getting grabbed. The shorts were a glittery blue, and the sports bra had red and white stripes with a single black star in the center. Vladimir left with a chuckle and I stood there wondering why the universe hated me in particular. I tossed aside the bag then looked to the Russians. I spun my finger, indicating that they should turn around, but they just smirked at me.

I clenched my teeth and turned around. Still, I could feel their eyes on my back, and I made damn sure I wasn't in front of the mirror so they didn't get a view of my front too. Quickly, I shrugged out of the leather jacket, which had fared pretty well all things considering, and set it on the back of the wooden chair. Without thinking about the leering gazes watching me, I quickly slipped out of my jeans and pulled the tight shorts on. Then I ripped off my shirt and put the sports bra over my normal bra before unhooking it and pulling it out. I turned around slowly, dropping my bra, then flipped both men the bird.

The man to the left motioned for me to follow and I stalked after him. My feet were bare on the very, very cold concrete and that same cold seeped into my bones. There was a hair band around my wrist, thank God, and I messily pulled what hair I could into a small ponytail. The concrete hallway filled with light when a window came into view. I turned to look and saw rings and upon rings. It was like the one back home, but a million times worse.

Was this my life now? I traded Boss for Vladimir? Now I would wake up every morning to fight whatever they put in front of me. Entertaining the Russians as they watched the small, pathetic American get the shit kicked out of her. As that thought washed over me, another one hit me harder. I was going to die. Either today or tomorrow or the day after that or God knows when, but this concrete bunker was my tomb. I could throw fight after fight and survive for as long as possible, but that didn't change the end of my story.

This was it. This was the final chapter.

My hands curled up into tight fists.

If they wanted a show, I'd give them a show.


Bucky Barnes felt off kilter. Like his entire world was on an axis that kept tipping further and further. From the moment he pulled Steve out of the river, he felt lost. He wandered for a little while, trying to get the fog of whatever Hydra had done to him out of his head, but then wandering had turned to running. Running from the Government. Running from Hydra. Running from Steve.

Running from his sins.

It felt like every time he closed his eyes, he'd see another face. Another death at his hands. Months had passed since he last saw Steve, and thankfully his head felt clearer. Bucky felt like himself sometimes. The memories would resurface, remind him of what happened, and he'd spiral… but Bucky clung to those moments of clarity as tightly as he could.

His travels had taken him all the way over to Europe. He wandered around there for a little and then made his way to Moscow. Bucky had only been in Moscow a few weeks before he decided this wasn't where he wanted to settle for the time being. Romania would be a better bet, but before he could move on his way someone recognized him.

Bucky watched Vladimir walk back into the large lounge. Vladimir was a small time criminal. He ran fighting circles and had his hand in the drug scene, from what he heard, but Bucky had slipped up and the man caught a glimpse of his metal prosthetic. That was enough for him.

"Sorry about that, I needed to prepare for the main event. New blood on the scene." Vladimir said in his natural language and sat down on the plush seat beside him. A large window made up the wall so they could look down into the rings and watch the fights. In the center was the main arena. "Where were we?"

"You were asking for a favor." Bucky replied, biting back a sigh. He leveled a glare on the man, "But I'll stop you there, I don't do that anymore."

"Excuse me?" Vladimir growled.

"That is no longer who I am."

Vladimir was seething besides him, but Bucky was surprised when he suddenly relaxed and chuckled. He reached over and clapped him on the shoulder. Bucky stiffened at the touch, "You enjoy the fight. You stay the night. We re-discuss tomorrow."

Bucky shrugged and leaned back in his seat. He could just leave. No person in this room would be able to stop him. Bucky could literally stand up, throw a few hits, and then walk out as if this had never happened. However, it was late, nearly 1 in the morning, and it was cold outside. It wasn't something he couldn't deal with, but why waste time searching for shelter when the idiot beside him was offering him a room?

There was a loud cheer from the crowd below and Bucky sunk in the soft seat.


The room was so loud that I could hear it through the concrete walls. Hell, I could almost feel the vibrations under my feet. Knowing that these guys probably weren't going to give me time to stretch, I started rolling my shoulders. I pulled on my arms, making sure to stretch them out best I could. An announcer like voice was yelling loudly. The guy beside me stood to the side holding his head tilted as if he was waiting for a cue. I turned to him and pointed to my hands, "Hey, shithead. I need tape."

He ignored me entirely and I motioned to my bare arms again. Instead, he swung the door open and we were hit with a wall of 'boos' and jeering yells. The guy dragged me down a narrow area and I tried not to look at the crowd on either side of me screaming. I didn't speak Russian, but I could gauge the feel of the room. It was kind of ironic. I spent my nights in the Pit being treated the best an illegal fighter could be treated. Yeah, Boss kicked me around, but I was respected by the patrons and other fighters.

Yet, here I was, my final fight and I was getting screamed at. Something wet splashed against my arms and it smelled distinctly of beer. I let the man drag me to the edge of their ring. It was the same size as the pit, but this one had a fence surrounding it to separate from the crowd. On the other side of me, was a beast of a blonde woman. She was much taller than me and had arms as thick as her thighs. Jesus Christ, what did Russians put in their water?

"Hey Helga!" I yelled out over the noise. Picking the name from my list of stereotypes. I lifted my hands and pointed to them, "I need some tape. You got any I can borrow?" She just smirked and began to circle around the edge of the ring. I matched her pace and shook my head, "So that's a no?"

Helga roared and came at me with her full weight. I ducked under her arms and sent a few punches where her kidneys were. With that move alone, I knew something was wrong. I was moving slower than I usually did. Usually I could get in four good punches with that move but this time I only got three. Helga whipped around and swung her arms at me. Quickly, I ducked under them again and scrambled back to put distance between us.

Already, I was breathing hard.

My head pounding even more.

Focus, focus, focus.

Helga was big, but I could use that against her. Fighters who were her size relied on their brute strength. If I could just tire her out… She came for me again and I ducked and dodged under her punches keeping my hands up. At the quick movements, I started to see double. I slipped to the left and right into her punch; it sent me to the floor. The crowd roared and I cursed myself for dodging the wrong punch. Helga walked away from me throwing her hands up to rile the crowd up more.

I rested my forehead against the cold concrete for a second before pushing back up to my feet. Helga turned to grin at me. She pointed her taped up hand at me, "Are you ready to suffer, America?!"

I spat out the wad of blood in my mouth, "Hey." My voice wavered, but I stayed steady. "That's CaptainAmerica to you." I motioned to my outfit and she rushed at me again. "Fuck."

We started the dance all over again. Her lunging and me trying to weave around her. I could only keep it up for a couple seconds at time though before my brain screamed at me. I got a few good licks in. Broke her nose, busted her lip, and her face would probably be sore tomorrow, but that was it. She swung at me again and I ducked under it to put all my force and energy into a right uppercut up into her diaphragm.

Helga wheezed, the air leaving her, and she stumbled back. It was a solid hit. Getting hit in the diaphragm hurt like a bitch and it was disorienting. I tried to follow it up with a knee to her face as she stood hunched over, but I didn't have the strength. All my energy went into that punch, so my knee wasn't driven up nearly as hard as it should've been. Helga blocked it and before I could remember to lift my hands to cover my face, she punched me right where my skull fracture was.

My vision immediately went black and I felt myself hit the floor hard, but it didn't end. She was on top of me and all I could do was pathetically throw my hands up. Pain was everywhere. It didn't even feel like I was in my body anymore. It was dark, I was hurt, and I was tired. God, I just wanted to sleep. I was so sick of getting back up. I was so sick of being a punching bag. Helga hit me one more time in the face, hard, and then I felt her stand.

Slowly, my vision came back to me and it was like the world was moving in slow motion. All I could hear was a ringing, but I could see the blurry form of Helga pumping her fists in the air. What did I do so badly that the universe thought I needed to be punished like this? I was kind of an asshole, admittedly, but I wasn't evil. I tried to do the right thing every single day. Every single day I found one small thing to do to stave away the guilt that came from beating the shit out of strangers at night. The last good thing I did was help out two secret agents. It was a good deed and yet here I was lying in my own blood again.

Anger buzzed in my veins.

Fuck the universe.

Fuck karma or whatever it was that hated me so damn much.

And fuck these Russians bastards.

With a sharp, painful breath, I rolled over onto my stomach. The ringing was still in my ears, but I preferred it over the crowd. Blood leaked from my mouth as my nose brushed the concrete. My hands hurt, but I pressed my knuckles into the floor. With a cry of agony, I pushed myself up to my knees and then shakily rose to my feet.

Helga stared at me in shock. The ringing was starting to fade, and I realized the crowd had momentarily gone quiet. I was breathing through my mouth. That meant my nose was probably broken. My entire face hurt so badly that it was just one giant ache. I shook my arms out, steeled myself, and then lifted my hands to hold in front of my face. Helga chuckled and stepped toward me, her arms still down, "You just do not stay down, Kroshka."

"Yeah." I pushed the word out. My voice sounded wrong. "I get that a lot. Personal flaw, I guess. Nobody's perfect."

"I respect that." Helga nodded appreciatively. "Almost enough that I don't want to kill you."

"That's nice of you."

"Do you wish to continue?"

I spat out more blood, but still more ran down the back of my throat, "Why do you ask? Are you tired? We just started, Helga!"

Helga smirked and set one foot out in front of her, "Kroshka, you come and kiss my feet. Kneel in front of me, and I will not kill you tonight."

"Well as wonderful as that deal sounds…" I rolled my shoulders and clenched my teeth at the pain from the movement. "I'm really not good at following directions."

Helga marched forward, her pace picking up as she cocked back her arm for what she planned on being the last punch of the fight. With energy that I didn't know I had, I lunged forward quicker than her and threw my right elbow right up under her chin. Her arm flopped down as her teeth smashed together painfully. I didn't stop. I punched her in the throat, something I would never do back home since it was such a dirty move, but I was desperate. Helga gasped for air and I swung a punch into her ear. She threw her hands up, but I weaved around her and sent a front kick to her back. My heel dug into the base of her spine roughly and she stumbled forward onto her knees. Helga whipped around just as I lunged at her, caught me with a growl, and then slammed me into the ground.

I threw my hands up as she began to punch. I blocked most of them then suddenly dropped my hands. Her eyes widened slightly in confusion, one of her punches landed, but then I wrapped my hands around her neck and brought her down to me as I slammed my head up to hers. Nobody wins in a head butt, but my skull was a goner already so why not? Helga leaned back, dazed, and that gave me enough room to shove her off me and then get on top of her.

Then I went to town.

I sent punch after punch and I felt my knuckle crack against her face, but I didn't stop. Helga tried to block, but I used one hand to swipe away her block and hit harder. I was in such a daze that I almost didn't feel it. A hand tapping against my hip desperately. Helga had given up blocking to try and tap out. The rage inside me said keep going. Keep punching. But that wasn't me. That wasn't me. I stood up and stumbled backwards away from her. The crowd was booing again, unhappy with the results. Helga stayed on the floor, trying to catch her breath, and I fell back onto my ass. I tried to catch myself with my hands, but they were useless right now.

The adrenaline was fading. Reality was setting in.

I was lying on my back. Had I fallen the rest of the way down? I didn't even know. I just stared up at the round light hanging from the ceiling above me. The light was growing, spreading outward and enveloping everything around me. This was nice. If this was my final moment, I was ok with that. The light was warm, and it felt like falling asleep.

I was finally falling asleep.


The guest room that Vladimir raved about was a small room with concrete walls and a bed pushed into the corner. The bed was a single with metal springs and a mattress as thin as Bucky's current patience. There was a bathroom however, but there was no door or shower. Just a dirty toilet, sink, and cracked mirror.

He leaned against the wall and wondered if it was even worth staying here. The door into the room was made of metal but had no guards since they thought the metal would be enough. Bucky could get through that easy though. With a sigh, he walked over to the bed and sat on it. The entire thing screech and he sunk down so low that his ass nearly touched the floor. Outside was looking better and better.

Bucky laid down to try and sleep, but the sound of the door unlocking made him pause. He sat up, expecting Vladimir to come in and talk more, but instead it was the girl. Bucky's eyes widened as one of Vladimir's henchmen dragged her in and set her in the middle of the floor without even looking at him.

"Hey." Bucky stood and the henchmen jumped slightly. "If you leave her here, she will die."

The henchmen shook his head, "If she dies, she dies. Vladimir's orders. We only have one guest room. Sorry."

Bucky glanced back at the girl. She was an absolute mess. Her face puffy and actively bleeding. Her knuckles raw and swollen. The girl was breathing, but each breath was ragged. He shook his head, "Will Vladimir at least send a first aid kit? And a shirt?"

The henchmen shrugged and Bucky straightened his shoulders in annoyance. The Russian man stumbled back and hurried out the door. He wasn't sure if he was going to get that first aid kit, but he couldn't just lie on the bed and watch this girl die. He shrugged out of his canvas jacket leaving him in just the long sleeve henley. Carefully, he lifted her up to slip the jacket under her. With every movement she whimpered, and Bucky whispered apologies. Eventually he got the jacket under her and pulled the sides up so it covered her front too. The guest room was warmer than the late Russian fall weather, but it was by no means warm.

There wasn't anything he could do right now. Well…

Bucky lifted his gloved hand and stared at it for a moment. It took a minute for him to finally pull the glove off and look at his metal hand. He flexed the fingers once then lightly set the metal over the girl's right eye which seemed to be the most swollen. A small gasp left her lips at the cool touch and he was pleased he could at least do that for her.

She was strong. Kroshka, they were calling her. Little one. Which was accurate. She was slim, but he could see the outlines of the muscles on her athletic form. Height though, she had to be 5'4 at the most and the jacket he wrapped around her engulfed her entirely. Her hair was dark, but that could just be the matted blood. What had impressed Bucky was her fire. It kind of reminded him of a punk kid picking fights he knew he couldn't win in an alley.

Every time she hit the ground, Vladimir cheered, and Bucky had resigned to the thought that he was going to watch the blonde Russian fighter pummel another fighter into the concrete floor. Kroshka didn't stay down though. Even the last time, when Bucky was almost sure she had passed out or was dead, she rolled onto her stomach and got back up.

She got back up and she had won.

It was absolutely suicidal and stupid, and it was the reason why she was dying on the floor of this pathetic guest room, but he had to give credit where credit was due. The Russians thought they were going to beat this tiny American girl into the ground, but she kicked their asses. Bucky could respect that.

The door opened again suddenly, and he turned just in time to see the henchman from before throw in a bright orange bag. He nodded once then slammed the door shut. Bucky pulled his hand away from her, trying to ignore her whimper, and dug through the bag.

For the next thirty minutes all Bucky did was clean her up. Using the questionable water from the sink, he cleaned away the blood and bandaged the wounds he could see. There was a gash on the side of her head, above her ear, that he had to stitch up, but he didn't do it well. It was difficult with her dark hair, but Bucky did the best he could.

Her right hand had a broken knuckle. That needed to be put in a splint. There was none in the bag so Bucky ripped open a box and used the thin cardboard of it best he could. He folded it up to make it thicker, placed it under her pointer and middle finger, then taped it all together. She flinched lightly at the movement, but other than that she didn't stir.

Bucky took care of a few more scrapes before looking at her broken nose. That needed to be reset now, but she was not going to like it whatsoever. He took a steady breath and leaned over her slightly. Bucky placed one thumb on the right side and his metal thumb against the other. Not too much power. Not too much power.

"Sorry, doll." He mumbled then snapped the nose back to where it was supposed to be. She took in a jagged gasp and her eyes shot open in terror. She just stared up at him with large, panicked blue eyes. "Hey, you're ok. You're ok." The panic dulled slightly, and her eyes fluttered once before shutting again.

Bucky set her hands onto her stomach and scooped her off the floor. She whimpered again and he mumbled more soft apologies. She didn't look like someone who should be anywhere near this place. Why was she even here?

He set her down on the thin mattress, the bed dipping from her weight but just barely, and then he sat on the floor beside her. His back pressed up against the wall as she slept soundly. Bucky should've left. It was the smart thing to do, but he couldn't leave her here in this shape. It was a sad desperation, but with all the lives he took it would be nice to save one.

"I don't…"

The voice was soft and weak. Raspy and tired. He turned his head and watched the girl's busted lip quiver without making noise. For a moment he was starting to think he had imagined the words altogether. That was, until she spoke again.

"I don't wanna die."

The pain in the voice made Bucky's chest ache. Didn't she have family somewhere? Where was her home? Why was she all alone out her in Moscow? He cleared his throat once, "You're not going to die." He actually wasn't sure about that. "You're ok."

"I don't wanna die." She mumbled again. Her eyes still closed. The right side of her face still painfully swollen. "I just get tired. I get so tired. I just…" She let out a shaky breath. "I just wanna stop." Bucky sat up slightly when her chest shook. There were tears leaking from her closed, swollen eyes, "But I can't. I can't stop."

"Why not?" He found himself asking.

"It's who I am."

"You're a very good fighter. Dumb. But good."

"She was better."

Bucky shook his head. Was he talking to this girl or was he talking to her concussion? He spoke, "You won the fight."

"I just got up more times than she did. That's all it is. You just…" She took in a shaky breath, the last of her words faint, "—gotta keep getting up."

Bucky sighed and reached over to set his metal hand across her forehead again. Her tense face relaxed as she just slept on the sad, little bed. He told himself he should get some rest too. He needed sleep. Granted, Bucky rarely got a full night of restful, nightmare-less sleep, but he still needed a few hours to function.

Instead, he sat there the entire night and listened to her every pained breath.