They had to go approximately 485 miles from Florida to Cuba and the boat traveled at 10 knots, steadily cruising through the water. If they kept this steady rate up, they would reach Cuba in approximately 48 hours. Sophie didn't know this, of course, but the Winter Soldier did the calculations in his head and tonelessly told Sophie to be prepared to spend two days on the boat. He didn't really care about reassuring her or giving her any extra information but he sensed that she would do something drastic if she didn't know how long the journey would be.

It was Monday morning and they would arrive around very late Tuesday night or very early Wednesday morning. It all depended on whether they increased or decreased their speed—but the oceans were calm and Sophie had a feeling they were just going to keep cruising at this speed.

The thought of spending another two days on this horrible, rocking boat with the Winter Soldier and a bunch of Russian thugs who probably belonged to the mob made Sophie want to throw herself overboard. She half considered it for a while, too, except she morosely figured that the Winter Soldier was not that easily deterred. He would probably just dive into the water, save her, and then beat the crap out of her once he brought her back on board. It was amazing how the captive wanted to die and it was the captor who was forcibly keeping her alive. Wasn't it usually the other way around?

The Winter Soldier must have left her at some point during the night because there was a bag on Sophie's bed with the toothbrush and toothpaste she thought she'd left in the van, a roll of toilet paper, a water bottle, and some random snacks. No junk food this time: beef jerky, dried sugared fruits, and saltine crackers. That was it. Not the most appealing combination but Sophie could care less. And she had no idea where the food or toilet paper had come from, but if she had to guess, she'd say he'd taken it from the Russians. Probably forcibly. "I'm going upstairs to brush my teeth," she told him and tentatively began climbing up the stairs. She expected him to stop her but he didn't. Strange.

The men looked at her once when she came above deck but then they hurriedly looked away and she remembered what had happened yesterday. Her stomach flipped. They were probably too afraid to even look at her now. She had to say, this wasn't exactly a bad thing—but the reason why they were afraid to look at her was a bad thing. She had become a threat somehow just by being in association with him.

She brushed her teeth and spat into the ocean, silently apologizing to Mother Nature. She held her arms out, allowing the faint sea spray to mist over her. Her hair felt greasy to her and she wondered if she smelled. She had never worn the same underwear or clothes straight for this long before, nor had she ever gone without a shower this long. It was a disgusting feeling.

She turned around and was startled to see the Winter Soldier emerging from the trapdoor, standing on the first step, arms crossed, watching her silently. Of course he wouldn't have let her go off on her own—why had she ever assumed he would? She ignored him as she approached him. She looked past his shoulder down to below deck and assumed he would move out of her way—but he didn't.

She looked up at him, frowning, and he stared down at her. It looked like he was almost challenging her. Really? It's not enough that he's ruined my life and turned everything upside down—now he has to have an attitude problem and annoy me? She was so irritated that she didn't even do the usual thing and politely ask him to step aside. She just turned herself sideways and squeezed past him. She was slender enough that she could slip past him without brushing up against him…too much.

He followed her down, naturally, and Sophie's irritation was growing with each second. So she said, "I need to use the bathroom. Go away." He stood there for a moment and she dared to get even bolder. "I said go away. I need to use the bathroom—or bucket, or whatever the hell I'm going to use."

She saw his fingers twitch violently and took a step back—Careful, Sophie, don't push him too far—but amazingly, he complied. He turned and went back up the steps, sliding the trapdoor shut. She considered hurrying up and locking up—but glumly, she realized he would probably just rip the entire door off of its hinges to get down there. And then there would always be a hole there with a chance of someone peering (or leering) down at her.

She found a small bucket in a corner and squatted over it, trying hard not to think about what she was doing. When she was done with her business, she wiped herself off and held the bucket, wondering what to do with it. Eyeing the tiny circular window on the opposite wall, she walked over to it, lurching slightly as the boat rocked on the waves, and pried the window open. The circular glass swung outwards and she carefully, awkwardly dumped the waste out of the window. It was the grossest thing she'd ever done before but she really had no choice in a situation like this. She hoped she would get a chance to take a scalding shower before her death, which was probably coming really soon.

She hid the bucket in a corner, stuffing with a bunch of ratty blankets to mask any remnant smell, and then sat down on her bed just in time for him to slide the trapdoor open.

Unless he had read her mind and knew she was done. Sophie still wasn't ruling that out as a possibility.


She was getting bold—too bold. He had done the right thing, saving her from that man last night, but he could tell it had given her a tiny bit of confidence she really shouldn't have. That and combined with the fact that he hadn't attacked her in a while…and her foolish, stupid attempt to try and form a human connection with him by seeing his face… He cracked his knuckles. Yes, she was getting out of line. She mistakenly thought he was softening toward her—that she could befriend him or push his limits.

She was wrong.

He would show her how wrong she was.


Sophie expected him to come down the steps and go sit in his corner as usual. She didn't expect him to stride over to her bed and deliver a stinging blow to her face. It happened so quickly that she didn't even have time to cry out in pain or shock—one second she was sitting upright and the next she was laying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, hand slowly raising to her bloody lip, ears ringing from the blow.

What just…?

He knelt over her and pressed his metal hand to her throat. She stiffened in terror, hardly daring to breathe. His fingers felt icy-cool on her skin and she could hear the faint clicks and whirs of his arm as the tiny metal plates in it adjusted and shifted so he could move. She wanted desperately to be able to look him in the eyes—glare at him—but he was still wearing his goggles and she was too cowardly, deep down inside. She knew this. She stared at the ceiling, not breathing, trembling.

"If you ever speak to me like that again," he whispered, bending low so his face was inches from her own, "I will rip your throat out."

Then he was turning around and stumping up the stairs, slamming the trapdoor shut so hard that it shook and dust fell from the ceiling. Sophie lay there, swollen mouth open, fingers pressed to her bloody lip, shaking and trying her hardest not to cry.

You deserve this for trying to be brave, you stupid little girl, the meanest part of her mind told her. You were asking for this to happen. You know he's not a good guy. What did you think you could do, tame him?

Sophie closed her eyes and let the blood drip into her mouth. For some reason, she wanted to taste the salt. Tears trickled out of her eyes and down the sides of her face, into her ears and hair. They soaked the mattress beneath her head and a thin drop of blood trickled down her chin and dropped onto her neck, staining her skin with a thin red streak. She felt too numb and frozen to wipe any of it off. Let her lay there, tear-stained and bloody. A good representation of her. Her ears seemed to keep ringing and echoing strange, muffled noises.

She wished again that she had useful powers. Why, oh why, couldn't she be like one of the Avengers? She didn't know much about them—only the basics, which everyone knew after they had saved the world two years ago, during the Battle of New York—but she knew that if she'd had Captain America's super strength or Iron Man's suits or the Hulk's strength or Thor's powers…or even Black Widow or Hawkeye's fighting skills…she would never be in this mess. Couldn't she have had telekinesis or super-speed or the ability to fly? Something that could help her get out of this mess? No, she had the world's most useless powers, powers that had ruined her life and certainly weren't helping now.

At the very least if she couldn't be an Avenger, she wished she could send out a radio distress call to one of them so they could get her. Hey, Captain America or Iron Man or Thor. I'm being held captive by the Winter Soldier. He seems like a superhuman himself. Do you think you could possibly fight him for me and rip his head off and return me home? Much love, Sophie Duran. P.S. Love what you did in New York, thanks for that!

She smiled weakly at her own silly daydream. She didn't fall asleep—she wasn't sleepy enough to drift off, though she wish she could have—but instead just lay there, eyes closed, focused on ignoring the pain in her face and the nausea in her stomach. She tried to distract herself by replaying all the happy memories of her life. She didn't have very many joyously happy memories—her life had a strange one full of mishaps and isolation and overprotective parents…and then there was also the college incident—but right now, even just sitting around and reading books while drinking tea felt like the happiest memory in the universe. Even the memories of her mother dragging her to stupid society events seemed happy right now.

Would her parents know she was gone yet? Probably not. She had missed her day shift at Home Depot. Her coworkers would be cursing her and her manager would have marked her up. She didn't foresee any alarms being raised yet.

I think I literally socially destroyed myself into an early grave. She could have killed herself if she didn't think the Winter Soldier would probably pass through Death's door and literally drag her back even from the great beyond itself. He was nothing if not persistent.

She didn't fall asleep but she fell into a strange dreamlike state where she seemed to be drifting through her past memories. She was still vaguely aware of the rocking of the boat and general shouts up above and the feeling of her hands clasped on her stomach… But none of it seemed to matter as much as her memories. Her eyes were closed and she drifted through her own mind, shifting through her mental files and choosing different ones to slip into.

Sitting on the couch when the final Harry Potter book finally came out, nearly vibrating with excitement as she flipped open to the first chapter…

Painting her nails hot pink while flipping through a Vogue and wishing she was good at making girlfriends so she could go shopping with one…

Taking a rare trip to the National Mall and enjoying the sunshine as she walked around the edge and people-watched…

Pouring her heart out into her journal only to rip those pages out after and burn them, still too paranoid that someone would find out about her…

Choosing a can of pale lavender paint from Home Depot to repaint her small bedroom walls with…

Someone shaking her…no, someone roughly shaking her…

Her eyes slowly opened and she stared, brow furrowed, at the Winter Soldier, who stood above her. He was saying something, she thought, but she couldn't tell because he wore a mask. All she heard was a strange, garbled noise come out of his mouth. She frowned and stared up at him. He was saying something and she couldn't understand. She expected him to yank her up—and he did. But the entire world, not just the boat, tipped when he did and she fell over like a rag doll, tumbling off the bed and onto the floor. She lay there for a second, feeling extremely bewildered, and then she clambered to her feet. The ringing in her ears kept going and her legs felt like jelly. Why were the walls tilting so around her like this? Why was the Winter Soldier turning as if he, too, were spinning in a slow circle?

She slowly reached out to touch him, just to make sure he was real and she wasn't hallucinating, but she missed by a long shot, even though she was moving very slowly, and stumbled, falling over back onto the bed, feeling dizzy. He stood still and stared down in her direction. She stared back at his black mask and goggles, mouthing to herself, "What is going on? Think, Sophie, think, think…"

She closed her eyes and recalled something from a high school anatomy and physiology class: equilibrium. The thing that affected hearing and balance within the body. It could be temporary thrown off by a hard blow to the head. She remembered her teacher telling them a story where she got hit in the head by a baseball bat and couldn't hear well or walk well for a good two hours. She had to go lay down to get over it.

"That's funny," she said and she could hear her voice now, slightly muffled but growing clearer. "Equilibrium." She struggled to sit up and he gripped her arm in a crushing grip and pulled her up. She tried to tug away from him but it was like trying to pull a twig away from a gorilla: useless. So she let him hold onto her while she told him, "You hit me so hard you threw off my equilibrium." And then she started laughing.

Had it affected her emotions as well?

Or was she just laughing because really, how much worse could it get? It was so bad that at this point, all she could do was tiredly laugh. Her mind was frazzled beyond the point of caring. If he punched her in the face right now, she wouldn't have even flinched. She was learning to expect the pain whenever and wherever.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Did I do this to myself? Can I really blame him for taking advantage of me when I basically made myself a victim? I made myself weak. I isolated myself.

No. No. Don't think like that. You don't deserve this. You've never hurt anyone.

But am I right or wrong?

He spoke again and this time his words made more sense: "You need to eat."

"Why?" she asked, wiping the tears off of her face.

"Because you'll die if you don't," he said. It didn't even sound like a threat this time—he was stating a fact. And he was right: she would die if she didn't eat. But isn't that what she wanted? To die and escape from this nightmare?

No. You hate yourself for being weak—so be strong now. Of course you don't want to die. You'll find a way out of this.

Her heart swelled. I will find a way out of this.

Even if it did kill her in the end…she decided that she would go down heroically. Maybe she would die—but it wouldn't be by her own hand or through her own choice. She wouldn't let herself waste away. She'd wasted her entire life running away from her problems but she could at least face death with some dignity, couldn't she?

She silently picked up the bag and picked through it, slowly and mindlessly eating a stick of the beef jerky, absentmindedly shredding it with her fingers as she thought about what came next. She didn't even notice she was done eating it until he spoke from across the room: "Keep going."

"I feel full," she announced.

"Keep. Going."

She'd made a vow to herself not to kill herself—but that didn't mean he didn't still terrify the living daylights out of her. Her stomach flipped horribly at his flat, threatening words and she pacified him by eating some of the sugared fruits. Everything was dry and tasteless but it didn't really matter. She was too consumed with thoughts over what was coming next. Somehow she had allowed the entire day to pass by as she daydreamed and evening had fallen. Just over 24 hours to go until they reached their destination. Where was it? What was going to happen there? Was that their destination or just another stop along the way?

Looked like she would find out tomorrow night.