Ch. 23

When Alma woke up, her head felt fuzzy and pounding. Gingerly, she rolled her neck and found a sore spot on the right side.

The injection site, she thought angrily. That'll teach me to have an emotional breakdown in public and let my guard down.

Whatever type of drug that they had given her a shot of was wearing off fast, which almost made her more afraid. It was professional grade stuff, made to knock someone out quickly and bring them back with no lasting side effects. It wasn't the usual kind of pharmaceuticals that amateurs dabbled in.

An expert.

Alma took a deep breath, sighing. Pavlov, she thought. Of course. Just what I need right now.

She was secured to a straight back chair, but it was sturdy and metal instead of wooden, which meant that trying break it was out of the question. It was even bolted to the ground, meaning that moving it or tipping it over was out of the question.

However, it seemed as she did have a bit of luck. Pavlov was a bit old school and her hands were tied behind her back with some type of plastic rope instead of handcuffs. She smiled to herself. She at least had a chance. Slowly, she began to fiddle with the knots as best she could.

She opened her eyes slowly, trying to get an idea of her surroundings. It was a dimly lit, rather large room with red brick walls. It smelled of an odd mixture dank mildew and strong bleach. There were no windows, just scattered fluorescent track lighting that flickered intermittently on and off and let off an annoying low pitched buzz. There was a stack of wooden crates in the far corner. The floor was polished concrete and there was a drain in the middle of it.

A drain.

Alma gulped. Nothing ever good happened in a room like this. A room that could be easily hosed down. A room where the blood could just be washed away.

The basement. At Pavlov's estate, she thought. She strained to remember the details from the schematic that she'd seen. She saw a flight of metal stairs off to her right, the only way in or out of the room. There were most likely guards stationed outside of it.

For a moment, Alma gave in to pure fear and panic. For a moment, all of her training fled her as memories of her past imprisonment came flooding back to her. She remembered lying on the ground, begging for mercy and there was none. She remembered screaming for help and no one came. She remembered praying for release and waking up every morning to a fresh hell.

A million thoughts ran through her head. How long would Pavlov keep her alive? A day? A week? Maybe as long as a month? And what would happen to her during that month? What kind of sick fate was in store for her?

Then, the door at the top of the stairs opened and Alma stuffed everything way down, burying it away, focusing on the problem at hand. Someone flicked on the rest of the fluorescent lighting and Alma squinted at the influx of light. Slowly, the person made their way down the stairs.

A moment later, Pavlov came into full view, wearing an expertly tailored suit and tie, looking every bit the cultured businessman he pretended to be. Alma debated pretending to still be knocked out, but she quickly abandoned that strategy.

"You're awake, I see. That really is a marvelous drug. You can time its effects down to the minute. How do you feel, my dear?" Pavlov asked as he approached, a glass of liquor in his hand, a smug grin on his face.

"Fine," she said quietly, letting her fear tinge her voice. "I'm . . . . I'm fine."

As he came nearer and set the glass down on a lone nearby crate, she shrank away from him. She began panting slightly in dread as he loomed over her, his hands on both arms of her chair causing her to cower in front of him.

Pavlov ran a tongue over his teeth, reveling in her obvious mounting terror, enjoying her discomfort. He slowly ran a finger down her right arm, gloating as her felt her tense under his touch. "Oh, you needn't worry, my dear. Your virtue is still intact. Your Captain Rogers seems far too smitten with you. If he perceived I had been less than chivalrous with you, I am sure he would renege on our deal."

"Deal?" Alma asked tremulously, her voice hoarse.

Pavlov crouched down in front of Alma, his face mere inches away, grinning like a madman. "Why, he's on his way right now as we speak. Ready to give himself up for his lady love. It's all really quite sweet when you think of it." He began to play with a strand of her hair, twisting it around his finger.

"You forgot one thing," Alma said, slowly leaning in to whisper.

"And what is that?" Pavlov asked with a smirk, his whisky-soaked breath hot on her neck.

"I'm really, really good at my job," Alma breathed seductively in his ear, taking the rope that once held her hands and twisting it around his neck, pulling with all of her might. He bucked away from her, flailing, but she held tight, maneuvering around to use her right knee against his back for leverage as he gasped noisily for air. Before long, he sank to the ground, clawing uselessly at her, thrashing in his desperation. For a brief moment, Alma didn't want to stop. She wanted to feel the life slip away from him. She wanted to put an end to him once and for all. How many people had he murdered? What had he been planning to do to her? To Steve?

But, in the end, she let go once he had lost consciousness. She already had too much blood on her hands. She knew she might regret her decision one day, but she couldn't travel down that path right now.

She had some information she needed to get.

00000

"I count four guards sweeping the perimeter. If he's got as many men as he had on the boat, that puts at least twenty more in the house, not including Pavlov himself and his . . . . companion, Olga." Steve told Sam. They were lying down on their bellies on a ridge not far from Pavlov's house, both using binoculars to scope out the estate below them before heading in. They were partially hidden by some brush to avoid being detected. "Here's the layout to the estate," Steve said, waving to the blueprint next to him, pointing out the various locations. "The main entrance is here, but there's a back entrance here, a side entrance here and most importantly, a skylight here, in this great hall. You clear on the plan?" Steve asked.

"You go in, pretending to surrender, and I charge in like the cavalry," Sam said quietly, nodding.

"More like fly in," Steve said, waving at Sam's Falcon suit. He tapped the comm unit in his ear. "Once you hear I'm in the great hall, you smash in through the skylight." Steve paused, considering his next question very carefully. "Are you sure you're up for it?" he asked softly, concern filling his voice.

"A chance to be a hero again? Yeah, I'm up for it. Don't worry about me," Sam said firmly. "We'll get her. We'll save Alma. I won't slow you down. I'm fine."

Steve had his doubts. He had seen Sam wince more than once when moving his shoulder. He had tried to dissuade his friend from coming, but to no avail. "Okay. Make sure you come in before they get those magnetic handcuffs on me. Once they do, it's all over," Steve muttered.

"What are we whispering about?" a woman's voice asked behind them.

Steve whirled around and stood, shocked at the sight before him. "Alma, I thought Pavlov had you."

Alma shrugged with false bravado. "The day I can't get away from a guy like Pavlov is the day I hand in my super-spy credentials," she said with a wink. "So, is this your normal look?" she asked, waving to his Captain America uniform and shield.

"Yes," Steve said sheepishly, rubbing his freshly-shaved chin.

"It's a good look*," Alma said saucily. "You were going to come and rescue me," she said with a genuine smile.

Steve grinned at her. "Always."

She beamed at him. "That's one of the things I love about you. You always take care of other people."

"Love?" Steve asked, eyes widened, hope written all over his face.

"Love," she repeated, closing the gap between them and tugging the collar of his uniform to bring him closer.

She gently brushed her lips against his in a soft, tentative kiss and he nearly felt his heart stop from the jolt of electricity that seemed to pass between them. She pulled back a little, looking up at him, nibbling on her lower lip, her eyes wide.

"Hey . . . you know, I was going to come rescue you, too," Sam said hopefully, standing up and walking over to stand near them.

Alma gave a snort of a laugh. She turned and gave Sam a quick peck on the cheek. "Thank you, Sam," she said indulgently.

Steve sighed. "We'll need to find a way back in. We still need to find the information that he has on what happened to Bucky, on where he might be," Steve said regretfully.

"No, we don't," Alma said, fishing a thumb drive out of her jean pocket. "Like I said, super-spy. So, let's find a laptop and figure out where your friend is. We've got a lot of work ahead of us."

Steve took her hands in his. "Us? Did you just say us? So, you're not leaving? You're going to join us? Help us find Bucky?"

"Sure . . . . Seems like you guys need the help. After all, I am an expert at undercover work. And I wouldn't leave my best guy in the lurch like that," she said lightly.

"But . . .," Steve swallowed, looking down at her hands, "what happened to you after what I did . . ."

"We all need forgiveness. I know I do. The things I've done in my life . . .," she squeezed his hands. "Steve, I know you would never intentionally hurt me. That's not the kind of person you are. The more I thought about it, the more I knew I had to let go of it. I needed to free us both," she said.

"I love you," he said huskily, pulling her in once more.

"I love you, too," she said.

As Steve felt her lips on his, it blew every dream, every fantasy he ever had about her out of the water. He felt her lean into him, her body pressed against his, her nails lightly scratching the back of his neck as she pulled at him, silently begging for him to deepen the kiss. He felt the curve of her hips as his hands rested on them, tugging her even closer, not wanting the moment to ever end. Too soon, both aware that they were not alone, they parted, breathing raggedly, trembling slightly.

"So, I hate to interrupt . . . .," Sam began, "but what's next?"

"We find Bucky. We reverse the process. We bring him home," Steve said, hope filling him. He had gone looking for information, but as he held Alma in his arms, he knew that he had found so much more.

Author's Note- First off, thank you so very, very much for every single review, follow, and favorite. The idea of having Steve meet an ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agent directly affected by the data dump came to me about 48 hours after watching Captain America: The Winter Soldier. I had meant it to only be a few chapters long, but it blossomed into a mini-novel directly because of your encouragement. I may, in the future, circle back on this story and write a sequel. I hope you've enjoyed it. Thank you once again for all of your sweet reviews and kind, up-lifting messages!

*If you saw the first Thor movie, you'll recognize this line.