They moved out when the sky turned dark. The light in the room had already been dim to begin with and it only got progressively darker as the day wore on. Sophie thought that this felt like the longest day of her entire life. She could hear the busy sounds of street life right outside the window and she wondered what would happen if she suddenly started screaming for help. Probably no one would hear her—or if they did, he would just kill them and spirit her away. She couldn't decide if she was being a coward for not attempting any more escape attempts or if she was being courageous for trying to keep others out of danger.

Maybe it was a little bit of both.

Once the sky was almost pitch black, he silently stood up, fluid as water, and said, "Let's go."

He stood there, immobile, making it clear that he intended for Sophie to go first. She took a deep breath, grabbed her clothes, and headed to the door. They stepped out into the alley and he led Sophie down the alley in the opposite direction from the way that they had initially come. The alley was empty of any movement, except for the fluttering clothes hanging on lines above them. When they stepped out onto the main road at the other end—where lots of people were—Sophie nearly let out a shriek of shock when he suddenly wrapped his arm—his metal arm—around her waist and tugged her close to him.

"What are you doing?" she gasped.

"Shut up," was his response. There was a pause and then— "We're going to act like a couple. You're going to make it believable."

Or else, Sophie finished his sentence. In a sick way, it made sense. The streets were crowded now (people in Cuba didn't go to bed early, it seemed) and he couldn't steer her down the street the way he had this morning (God—was that really this morning?). Someone would surely notice. A couple, walking with their arms around each others' waists, on the other hand…

Sophie slipped an arm around his waist and he jerked suddenly, as if she'd static shocked him. "What—"

It was the first time Sophie had seen him betray even an ounce of surprise and she smiled grimly to herself. So he was unnerved by touch. She filed this information away for later and said, "You said to make it believable. Couples walk with both arms around each others' waists." Has he seriously never seen a couple? she wondered.

He nodded once, accepting her explanation, and they began walking down the street, keeping to themselves. Sophie didn't understand how he planned on walking through the streets with a mask and goggles—but she soon realized that his hood thrown up cast such a deep shadow on his face that no one could even tell. Not that anyone glanced in their direction anyway. People were too busy with their own lives to worry about them and his build was more than enough of a warning to any criminals not to mess with him—or the girl his arm was clamped around.

His grip was painfully tight and she dug her nails into his side as retaliation but was disappointed to realize that his clothing was so thick that he didn't seem to notice. Either that or he did feel it and it just wasn't painful to him.

He kept them moving at an alarming pace and Sophie said, in a low voice, "If you're trying to avoid attention, you probably shouldn't sprint through the streets."

His arm tightened painfully and she let out a gasp—but he did slow down.

And then Sophie was strolling down the streets, arm in arm with the Winter Soldier, being towed to some secret…whatever, while taking in the streets of Cuba around her. It was the most surreal, insane thing she had ever done. When are we going to reach the limit? she wondered dimly as they strolled. I keep thinking that no, this is the craziest thing that's happened to me. And then he goes and tops it with something else.

Cuban nightlife on the streets was interesting but it didn't look as brightly-lit or friendly as pictures of places such as Spain and Rio de Janeiro that Sophie had seen. She'd never left the country so it was possible that she was just being naïve or ethnocentric—but still, the area they were walking through didn't seem nice. People were on the streets, it wasn't as if it was abandoned, but there were a lot of dark alleys and corners and there weren't many open shops or places to step into. She could hear people talking and laughing—but in a muted way, in their own huddles and clumps. It didn't seem like very inviting street life. She supposed a part of it was that this area seemed to have much more poverty than probably larger towns.

She shrank into the Winter Soldier's side without even thinking as they passed a very large group of men standing around smoking outside a dark shop. They didn't even glance in her direction but the memory of what the frat boys had tried to do to her was still fresh in her mind. She didn't even realize she was clutching onto him until the men were out of sight and she suddenly let go of him, feeling almost faint with humiliation. Had she really clung to him for protection? He was ten times more likely to hurt her than any random group of men! He had been the one to thrust her in front of the frat boys in the first place!

Still, she couldn't deny that a tiny part of her—a teeny, tiny, minuscule part of her—was glad he was with her. He was dangerous and violent but he wasn't likely to hurt her on the streets and Sophie, like most women, automatically became wary and afraid when walking through dark streets at night. Not that she'd done much (or any) of that back home in D.C.—it had been too big of a risk for her, as most things had been. But his presence was still comforting in that sense. She tried to not think about it too hard because if she did, it began to make even less sense to her in her mind.

They wandered through a maze of small streets and alleys, picking up speed as the night stretched on and there were fewer people on the streets. Sophie had no idea what—or where—or to whom—he was taking her to but she soon realized that they were leaving the town. They passed through the outskirts of the small town, leaving the streetlamps behind, and began walking down a small dirt road. He immediately let go of her waist and she let go of him at the same time. Neither of them could wait to get away from each other, it seemed. That annoyed Sophie slightly; what reason did he have for wanting to get away from her? Not that she wanted him near her, but really, he was acting like she'd been the one to kidnap him.

He veered off of the dirt path and headed towards a cluster of trees. Sophie stopped and stared after him, not understanding. Was he really going to the forest? What the hell was in there? He didn't look over his shoulder to see if she had followed and she wondered if she was supposed to—or if this was a good time to run away. She took a step back and squinted through the darkness, trying to gauge where he had gone. He seemed to have vanished into the dark thicket of trees. She took another step backward and was just steeling herself to turn and sprint back towards town—when a small golden light flared up through the trees and a motorcycle slowly rumbled out from the trees and onto the road.

Where the hell did this come from? Did he pre-plan his entire route? The thought made Sophie's stomach churn queasily. The thought that he had spent time preparing to kidnap her…that while she had been biking to the grocery store and going to work at the coffee shop and reading books, some strange, dangerous man had been actively working to rip her away from her home…

Her heart was beating strangely as she approached him. Her face was unusually calm but inside, she felt waves of fear, rage, and—strangely enough—sadness crashing in her. She felt disgusted and frightened and angry, yes, but she also felt sad…sad for the innocent girl who had been going about her quiet, lonely life, not realizing what was around the corner. Sophie felt almost protective about her past self, wishing she could go back and somehow warn that girl of what was about to come. About what was being carefully, disturbingly planned for her.

She climbed onto the back of the motorcycle and clasped her hands around his waist, trying her best to hold on as lightly as possible, to avoid touching him. However, when he pushed off and roared down the road, she instantly tightened her grip and pressed her face into his back to avoid falling off the motorcycle.

She suddenly became aware that she was in a great position for ruining his plans by simply…dying. At the speed he was going, all she had to do was let go of him and allow herself to fall backward off the motorcycle. Hit the ground at sixty miles per hour. The thought was faintly enticing and she spent a long, dark moment wondering if it was actually worth it. What waited for her at the end of this ride? She had no idea and that terrified her, made her break out into a nervous sweat and made her mouth taste acrid with fear. She didn't want to die but even more than not wanting to die, she didn't want to die a slow, painful death…which was possibly what awaited her at the end of this journey.

So was dying here possibly worth it?

Her fingers twitched slightly, her grip loosening a bit. But then she remembered her vow to herself: she would not kill herself. She would not give up that way. She would face whatever was coming with her head held high (or…at least reasonably high, since she still was a shy and timid person generally). After being scared her whole life, the least she could do was spend her last days—moments—whatever—pretending to not be scared.

Even though her stomach churned, her body trembled at the thought of what came next, and she felt a bit like puking.

His hoodie smelled like tobacco smoke and she vaguely wondered who it had belonged to before he had, of course, stolen it. They sped off the dirt road and onto a more paved road, one that wound very close to the coastline. Sophie could almost hear the ocean crashing somewhere to her right and she could smell that rusty, salty smell that came from the sea. She lifted her head, her hair streaming behind her like a fluttering flag, and took a deep breath. She'd always loved the ocean but she didn't visit it often. She'd read about it often enough, however. She wished she could visit this sea under better circumstances.

If I survive this, I will come back, she promised herself. If I survive this… She squeezed her eyes shut. I will travel to every country in the world. I will buy a car. I will buy a computer. I'll do everything that scared me before.

If she was given a second chance at life, she would make sure she didn't waste it again.

They drove along the coastline, encountering very few cars, for quite a while. Sophie couldn't tell how long exactly. All she knew was that it was long enough for her cheeks and nose to feel icy-cold with the cool wind rushing past them, despite the fact that it was a muggy, hot night if you stood still.

He eventually pulled off the main road and headed inland, the motorcycle bouncing over a rough dirt road through an enormous field. There were no lights in any direction; just the dark night sky, the wind, and the smell of cigarettes from his hoodie. He pulled to a stop and Sophie immediately let go of him and jumped off of the motorcycle. This was a mistake—she immediately fell, tripping over wobbly legs and dropping to one knee with a thud. She squeezed her eyes shut in both pain and humiliation and spent one second in a strange Tim Tebow sort of pose, asking, Why, God? Why me? Just…why?

The least fate could allow her was to be graceful on her feet around her kidnapper, who moved with terrifying—and annoying—grace and precision. Like some sort of enormous, lethal jungle cat. Sophie was scared of it but also envious, deep down. Of course she had to look like a klutzy fool in front of him.

"Get up." He roughly grabbed her left shoulder arm by the armpit—"Ow!" she wailed as the bruises on her arm exploded in pain—and jerked her to her feet. "Walk." He prodded the back of her neck roughly and she obediently walked forward, rubbing the back of her neck, wishing she could stab his, and squinting through the darkness to see where the hell he was taking her.

When she saw it…her heart dropped. An airplane. A small one, a private plane, meant for only a couple of people. Sitting silently in the field, windows dark. She'd always known this was an option—leaving Cuba and going even further away from home—but she'd fervently hoped it wouldn't happen. The further she got from home, the less chance she had of ever making it home alive.

"Where is this taking us?" she squawked, suddenly refusing to walk anymore. She did not want to board that plane. He ignored the question, grabbed her arm roughly, and dragged her towards it. "Wait!" She tried to dig her heels into the ground. "I don't want—just tell me where the damn plane is taking me—"

He swung around and slapped her. Her head snapped to the right and for a moment, she didn't even feel it—just shock. Then her cheek began to sting and burn and she touched her face, feeling almost bewildered by his sudden violence. It had been a while since he'd really hit her—she'd almost forgotten…

No, you hadn't. Admit it: you were just hoping he was softening toward you. You never learn do you, Sophie? It took being run out of one college for you to learn that lesson—now it looks like it's going to take being murdered by this man to learn this lesson.

She let him pull her towards the plane, her hand pressed to her cheek, still unable to speak. He'd hit her so many times now but she didn't think she'd ever really get used to the violence. She might come to expect it but on the inside—the part of her that had been raised properly by her mother and father, the part of her which had learned that a man was never to hit her ever—she would always feel a sudden, cold shock at it.

Of course…he was the bad guy. She didn't think her father's lessons on how a man should treat her really applied to bad guys. That was the whole point of them: they broke rules. All the rules.

Even if the bad guys in her romance novels always ended up being chivalrous, swoon-worthy romance leads…and never actually hurt the heroine or damsel…

Snap out of it, she told herself furiously. This isn't a book. THIS ISN'T FANTASY.

A man was leaning against the plane, smoking, staring off into the distance. When he saw them coming he dropped his cigarette and crushed it with his boot. He wore all black, had olive-tan skin, and floppy hair. A slash went down his right cheek. He didn't even seem to register Sophie, asking, "Ready?" to the Winter Soldier. He nodded once and the man yanked on a hatch on the plane's side, pulling a small ladder down. Sophie climbed it and entered the plane.

It was dimly lit, had no windows, and only eight seats, four down each side. It looked like a tiny version of a commercial plane (minus the windows, of course). She sat down in one and when the Winter Soldier made to buckle her in, she tempted fate—and her life—and slapped his hands away, snapped, "I can do it myself." She quickly looked down at the buckle, hoping he would walk away without retaliating. She didn't realize she was holding her breath until she exhaled in relief as he silently stepped away from her.

He didn't buckle himself in, stretching his legs out in front of him. It was the closest Sophie had ever seen him get to "relaxing" and even then this pose could hardly be called relaxed. More like…rigidly lax. The other man clambered into the plane, pulled the stairs and door up and shut, and locked the door. Then he ducked his head and went through a small door in the front, slamming it shut. The plane's engines roared to life and they began to move down the field. Sophie couldn't see but she could feel them moving and picking up speed—and then suddenly they were racing down the field. She leaned back in her seat, clutching her armrests and closing her eyes, trying to breathe—

And then the plane was lifting, tilting into the sky. Her stomach pressed back against her spine and she kept her eyes closed and her breathing measured until she felt the plane even out slightly. Once she was sure the plane felt reasonably horizontal, she opened her eyes and looked around. The Winter Soldier was still staring at the door to the pilot's cockpit, sitting incredibly still.

"Wish I had a window to look out of," she said to no one in particular. She watched him very closely and sighed and said, "Sure would be nice to have something to look out through…" He didn't respond. They sat in silence for a few more minutes and then, emboldened by the fact that they were on a plane and what could he really do to her on a plane, she loudly asked, "So, do you not know how to fly a plane? Or did you just feel like being chauffeured?"

"Shut up." He sounded bored. She paused, watching his hands, his every movement, waiting to see if he was going to hurt her—but he didn't move. He genuinely seemed like he wasn't interested in hearing her talk.

"Are you ever going to take your mask and goggles off?" she asked. "I mean, who am I going to tell now?" She chuckled to herself, feeling almost…hysterical with the madness of what was happening now. "I mean, let's be honest. I'm never going home."

I'm never going home.

Until she'd said the words out loud…they hadn't held any weight. She'd still clung to the belief that she would somehow find a way home.

But now—now—

Trapped in a plane with a murderous kidnapper—

Heading to some unknown destination—

With no money or passport—

I'm never going home. She touched her mouth and whispered, "I'm never going home." She felt the full force of the words, how they pressed down on her windpipe and eyes and shoulders, threatening to suffocate her and blind her and crush her. She thought about her parents—her well-meaning, very-dense parents who'd never known what to really do with her—and felt an enormous crush of shock and grief. She was never…going to see them again?

She closed her eyes and mouthed, "I'm so sorry." She didn't know who she was talking to; her parents, for disappearing…or to herself, for finally giving up the last hope she'd clung to?

When she looked up, she noticed that the Winter Soldier's head was imperceptibly turning away from her—almost as if he'd been watching her. She suddenly felt very tired and settled back into her seat, closing her eyes and willing herself to fall asleep. And fall asleep she did, falling prey to the darkness that swept in with the almost-soothing rumbling of the engines beneath the plane.

"I thought I was your friend." She stood in the doorway of someone's room. The room was filled with blinding, golden sunlight. She couldn't see who was sitting inside the room but she could feel the urgency inside her, the panicky, desperate need to see what she had done wrong and what she could to fix it.

The person inside the room stood up and walked toward her and she averted her eyes, unable to look at them. Something about their face…it was too hard to look at them. She couldn't think about it. The person gently grasped her hands and leaned in close and whispered, "You belong in jail."

She looked up wildly but then the door was slamming shut in her face. She sank to the ground, crying, knocking softly on the door, calling, "Please, please, please, please…please forgive me…"

"I'll always forgive you." She was young and she was being scooped up into familiar arms and carried off to bed. Her mother sat on the edge of the bed and smiled but her eyes looked sad. "What am I going to do with you? My impossible, dangerous daughter."

"Why am I dangerous?" she whispered.

Her mother closed her eyes. "I can make it all better, if you'd like."

"Make it go away," she said, clutching her sheets.

"Alright." Her mother leaned down for a hug—but instead placed her warm, gentle hands on her throat. She started, trying to cry out in shock, but her mother was increasing pressure—it hurt to breathe—she couldn't see out of the blurriness of her vision, but she thought she saw the outline of a man sitting at the edge of her bed—the hands on her throat felt like icy-cold, hard metal and she felt someone bend over near her and whisper, "If you ever talk to me that way again—"

Sophie's eyes flew open, shuddering. She jerked upright, stifling a gasp, and wildly looked around, heart pounding and breathing heavy. She was—where was she? Where the hell was she? As she looked around in a panic—hands massaging her pristine, untouched (thank heavens) throat—it took her a few minutes to calm down and realize where she was: in the plane with the Winter Soldier, heading to some random place.

"When are we getting there?" she asked blearily, rubbing her eyes, out of habit from her few vacations with her parents. Then she sighed as she realized she'd just asked the Winter Soldier and there was no way

"Two hours."

Sophie raised her eyebrows. She'd gotten a response. That was amazing. She tentatively ventured to ask another one. "How long have I been out for?"

"Five hours."

It had felt more like five minutes to her. She tried to recall the nightmare she'd been having…but even now it was slipping away from her. She sat puzzling for a moment and then gave up. She noticed that the Winter Soldier was holding some sort of small handheld device with a glowing screen and was staring intently at it. Her entire body seemed to go up in flames. So far on their travels, she hadn't seen one piece of electronic equipment—but now here it was.

Will I or won't I?

"What…is that?" she asked, her mouth dry, trying to sound casual. He didn't reply and she almost shrieked with frustration. Out of every time he'd been silent, now was really not the time to be silent. "What is that?" she asked more forcefully.

He slowly looked up at her intense tone and she cursed herself for not being more slick. He stared in her direction for a moment and then slowly said, "Tracks coordinates."

"It's tracking our coordinates?" Sophie asked, amazed that he'd even responded.

"Yes."

"That's—that all it does?" she asked, feeling crestfallen. "It doesn't have anything else on it?"

"No," was his terse reply. "Now shut up."

I guess I won't.

She sank back into her seat, disappointed. It was a piece of technology, yes, but it didn't have much use to her. She'd be able to see…which direction they were headed in at the moment. Not very useful considering at some point they'd arrive and she'd figure it out anyway. Unless knowing where they were headed before they landed could somehow help her…? She thought about it for a moment but couldn't come up with anything.

Besides, I'd have to get it away from him first—and then hold onto it long enough to do my thing. She looked at him, the way his hands tightly clenched the device. She imagined those hands clenched just as tightly around her neck and shuddered. No thank you. That wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

His head was bent over the device, face fixed directly over its screen, and she didn't know if she was imagining it—since he was always still—but he looked slightly more rigid than normal. Was something wrong? She sat up in her seat just as the nose of the plane tilted downward slightly. She fell forward a bit, her buckle cutting into her stomach, and let out a yelp of pain. "What the hell?" she hissed, rubbing the sharp pain in her abdomen.

He was still staring at the device as the plane righted itself. Sophie shifted in her seat and then let out a shout as the plane dipped forward again and she fell against her belt again. "What the heck is going on?!" she shouted.

The Winter Soldier was suddenly on his feet in a fluid motion. The plane righted itself again, the tip gliding back up till the plane was level, but he was already kicking the door to the cockpit open and slamming it shut. Sophie stared at the closed door with growing apprehension. She leaned forward, listening carefully, but heard nothing but silence. What was going on? Should she be concerned—more concerned than normal, that was?

She knew she shouldn't—she knew he would be pissed if he caught her—but she couldn't help herself. She unbuckled her seat belt and then began to tip-toe toward the door. She was only halfway there when the plane suddenly jerked and shuddered so hard that she actually fell over, hitting the ground on her bad arm. She rolled onto her back, squeezing her eyes against the pain, and then threw her arms out flat against the floor in terror as the plane began to shake and tremble quite violently. She'd been in planes for cross-country flights before—back when she'd been younger and less afraid of everything in the world—but she'd never encountered turbulence like this.

The plane rocked from side to side so violently that she was thrown against one wall. She hit her face on the wall and snagged her tooth on her lip. Tasting blood on her tongue, she sit up and heard the sounds of a struggle coming from the cockpit.

"Oh shit," she said, her stomach dropping through her body, through the floor of the plane, straight down to whatever was thousands of feet below them. Oh god oh god oh god oh god something is wrong, the plane is going to go down, we're all going to die, this is not how I wanted to go, oh my god no

She staggered to her feet just as the plane tipped forward alarmingly and she lost her balance and fell backwards, falling head over heels and slamming into the wall behind her that separated the cabin from the cockpit. She heard a deafening bang from the cockpit—a gunshot—and then suddenly she heard that horrible, screeching, blaring sound of the engines blasting full force and wind rushing past the plane and alarms blaring on the plane, the plane's front pointing dangerously downward—

The plane was going down. Something came hurtling right at her face from the back of the plane and she threw herself to the side just as it clanged next to her. She looked at it. Some type of black plastic box. She grabbed it and shook it, trying to open it, but it was either locked too tightly or her hands were too slick with terrified sweat. Her entire body shook as the door next to her burst open, the door flying off of its hinges and landing on the other side. The Winter Soldier climbed out of the cockpit and grabbed Sophie.

He pulled her to a standing position but both of them hit the wall hard when the plane flipped towards its left wing, the wailing, shrieking alarm sound of the wind and the plane, the roar of the engines, the alarms and beeping of panic mode systems on the plane making it hard for Sophie to hear anything. Lights were flashing in the cabin—on the ground, on the door handle, over the seats—and a disembodied mechanical voice was saying something except it was in a different language—

"What are we going to do?" Sophie yelled over the noise to the Winter Soldier.

He responded by grabbing Sophie in his metal arm around the waist, holding her tightly like she was a sack of potatoes, lifting his foot—and then slamming it through the wall of the plane. He smashed a chunk of the wall out and immediately it was like a vacuum had formed. All Sophie could hear was the roaring and howling of the wind outside, the freezing cold air as the plane spun and hurtled to the Earth. The small hole grew wider as chunks of the airplanes wall began to rip away and they were yanked toward the hole. Sophie's shriek was lost in the noise as he stood precariously near the edge of the hole, one hand holding onto her tightly, the other hand gripping the wall just as tightly.

To his credit, he managed to keep a hold on them as the plane spun to the dark Earth below. They were jostled and Sophie felt like her face and hands had frozen off. At one point, his grip slackened on her and she was almost ripped out of the hole, but he grabbed her just in time and hauled her back.

"What are you doing?" she shouted at him.

"You said you wanted to see the view below," came his reply.

"What?" she screamed, hardly daring to believe it. Was he really choosing now to be sarcastic and witty? Or was he—

Was he being serious?

"We're going to jump?"

"Yes."

"YOU'RE CRAZY!" she screamed.

She thought she felt him shrug. Then he took a step back—she braced herself for him to leap out the hole with her and plunge to both of their certain deaths—and then he suddenly took a running start and threw himself through the left. He smashed through an entire bit of wall and then they were out of the plane and free falling through the dark night sky, Sophie pressing her entire body into his, him holding onto a car-door-sized piece of airplane as they hurtled to the Earth or sky or whatever was below them. The winds around Sophie howled like possessed demons and she felt like her skin was being torn off by the icy-cold wind, the shrieking and whistling in her ears drowning out even the sound of her own heartbeat, her heart lodged in her throat like a bullet.

He'd calculated well. They didn't fall from such a high height that they were immediately destroyed on impact.

But they still fell from an incredible a height—a height no one had ever dared to jump without a parachute before. Somehow, he managed to cram them onto the piece of airplane and they skidded and slid down the surface of whatever ground they were hitting—sparks sprayed all around them, singing their skin—and then they slammed straight into a boulder. Both of them flew into the air, sailing forty, fifty feet and slamming into the ground as the airplane crashed into the mountain above them and exploded in a ball of fire.


Ringing. Ringing in his ears.

He opened his eyes and all he could see and hear and feel and taste were ashes and grey and smoke and something dirty, gritty, salty, bloody. He tried to raise his head—tried to claw his way through the darkness—find the mission—

The mission—

The girl

Ringing. Something was clanging in his head. Alarms. Sirens.

His head dropped to the ground. Wet. Something was wet on his cheeks. Face. Tears? Blood? Dew?

Rain?

Blood?

Ringing.

Dust and fire in his mouth. Smoke. Tasting the smoke. He could taste the smoke.

Get the—

Get the mission—

His mind drifted, then. Detaching. Disconnected.

An island alone, afloat in the dark, glassy sea—

His eyes closed.


A/N: What do you guys think so far? Leave a review and let a girl know!

Also: THAT CIVIL WAR TRAILER! Whoa! Just...whoa. The excitement is seriously TOO real at this point! The movie looks like it might just be better than Cap 2 and that would be no mean feat.