WARNING: This chapter contains violence. If you don't like blood or gore, then I suggest not continuing this story.
I was warm, almost too hot. My fingers brush a scratchy comforter; I grab hold and toss it away from my overheating body before my eyelids lift an inch. God, I feel exhausted. I know healing from my wounds with Barton was a long 3-month ordeal, but I swear I was mission ready when I hopped on the Quinjet with Tasha yesterday? Today? My eyes fully open and I see a peeling white ceiling before sitting on my elbows to get a look at the room I am in. Not much of a room, more like a shitty 8x6' closet; no art on the bleak deteriorating white walls, a large wooden door straight ahead, and the camping bed I am currently snoozing on, in the middle.
How the hell did I end up here? My brain a little muffled, sleep attempting to cling to my mind for as long as it can. Luckily, I am saved from dropping back to sleep as the door opens and Sigurður walks in carrying a tray of something that smells amazing. He kicks the door shut before moving to set the tray on the foot of the bed.
"I trust you slept well? Quite tired it would seem, hum?" he says and looks down at the tray he's brought.
Steam whiffs from a bowl of a meaty looking stew besides a glass of clear liquid. I start to reach for the glass when Sigurður interprets my move and meets my palm half way with the drink. My throat seems to feel like sandpaper, so I move the glass to my dry lips and take a sip. Holy hell! I cough, splattering droplets forward. "Vodka!" I wheeze. My throat now a burning ache.
"Da, you're in Russia. It will help you feel better," Sigurður casually says, holding out the stew and accepting the glass from me when I take the offered bowl. Fucking Russians. I dip the spoon in the stew and bring it to my nose to sniff, smells delicious, so I tentatively take a slurp. Robust flavor of tomato, a hint of fennel, some dense meat, and light cream cause me to salivate. I start shoveling the stew in my mouth, all of a sudden, I'm famished and this stew is my lifeline.
"Haha", Sigurður chuckles, "Slow down. There is always more if you would like a second helping." His eyes twinkle and his lips turn up slightly in a knowing smirk.
I can feel a blush starting along my cheeks, but maybe Sigurður will just think it's from the cold. I start to notice that this room isn't as cozy as I had thought when I'd first awakened. I feel a soft breeze behind me, so I turn to look and notice that there is a little window about 8 feet high on the back wall. The window is open, small bits of snow drift inside. I inadvertently shiver and turn back forwards, looking for the comforter I threw off earlier. I grab it with my right hand, the left holding the stew bowl, and tuck it around my hips.
Between slower spoonfuls of stew, I ask Sigurður how long I've been asleep – 3 hours; has the storm passed – no and it will be here within the hour; and where is Natasha – scouting the perimeter. My spoon scraps the remnantsof the bowl before I hand it back to Sigurður. He offers me the vodka again, but I just wave my hand no. I desperately want water. The stew was amazing, but did nothing to diminish the thirst steadily growing. I make to throw the covers off and stand, but Sigurður puts a gentle hand on my covered thighs and tells me to stay, rest.
"I just really need some water," I tell him.
"I'll grab you some," he stands, taking the food tray with him, opens the door and leaves, a quiet click as the door shuts. The open window is causing a bigger draft as the wind starts to pick up outside. I decide I want to be cozy warm, so I throw the comforter off and attempt to stand so I can shut the window, but a wave of dizziness throws me back onto the bed. Whoa. I take 2 deep breathes and attempt to stand again, but this time nauseous accompanies the dizziness and before I realize, I'm hunched over spewing undigested stew across the side wall, gently splattering my lower legs. So eww. After 30 seconds of dry heaving, I collapse into a fetal position in the middle of the bed and pull the comforter tight around my shivering body. I'm not sure how I went from hot to hungry to a shivering mess, but this little mission is starting to suck. I just hope Natasha is doing ok outside because it sounds like Mother Nature is one pissed off woman. I decide that a small nap won't hurt. The storm is here and I can't do anything anyhow. My eyes close and I'm out.
"какой беспорядок." The foreign words draft towards me with the sound of slopping. I turn my head to the right, lifting my heavy eyelids and see Sigurður dipping a cloth into a bucket and then bringing it out, dripping wet, to mop the yuck I left along the wall and floor.
"Sorry," my voice a hardened croak which turns into a labored cough.
Sigurður whips around to see me awake, grabs something from his left side and brings it to my lips. It's a glass and the cool liquid slides down my parched throat. Tastes like cold, bitter green tea, but it's wet and feels soothing, so I dismiss the not quite awful taste, and drink greedily.
"I think maybe, you are sick?" Sigurður offers, pulling the glass from my lips.
I pull the comforter to my chin and just stare at him. Small shivers wreck my body.
"Not to worry, Renee, made this drink specifically for you. Will help you feel better soon," he puts the glass back to my lips and I sip more of the liquid. Renee? Who? My brain feels like it's encased in cotton balls, but I manage to finally deduce Renee must be the name of the scientist. Not sure why it took me so long to get that, as there's only 4 people in this shitty cabin in the woods, but this abrupt Cold is attempting to kick my ass. Ah shit, Tasha is gonna kick my ass when she realizes I'm a liability. Ugh, just when she wasn't treating me with kid gloves anymore.
"Tasha?" I whisper. The light seems to be weaving in and out, my thoughts scattering, but I know that Tasha will have an extraction plan if I become useless; which feels like it might be eminent.
"Have you known Natasha long?" Sigurður is asking.
"A while," I reply. My body is floating.
"You both work for Shield, but what do you do for them?" He inquires.
"Ah, you know, this and that," My tongue feels thick.
"Can you tell me about Project Starlight?"
"What?" I'm fairly certain Sigurður is asking about something he shouldn't know about, but he's looking at me with kindness, bringing the glass back to my lips; wiping the drips that run down my chin. "No, no Project named that." Yea, that sounds convincing.
"Come now, Project Starlight is why you need Renee, is it not? What are Shields plans for it?" his voice is like a soft melody, calming my nerves. Technically he is right, we would be using Renee's research to complete Project Starlight. It could save so many lives if used correctly. "How?" What, did I think out loud? More liquid slides down my throat. "How?" whispers in my ear. I feel my tongue move, vibrations in my throat as words leave my mouth, but my mind wanders and I'm unaware of what I speak. Time drifts, the walls move, my brain shuts down.
A shaking movement awakens me. I try to take in my surroundings, but it's really hard when everything is bobbing up and down. A second passes, the neurons in my brain start to fire and I realize that the shaking is my body shivering. I open my eyes, giving them a second to focus. I'm still on the little camper bed, curled in a ball in the middle, the comforter surprisingly absent. I seem to be in my long johns only and bare feet. Maybe I developed a fever and Tasha took away everything warm to cool my body off? Maybe it worked because I certainly wasn't overheating anymore. Snowflakes swirl above me and drift down. I tilt my head back and see that the window is still open, but a steady stream of snow is blowing inside the room with a howling sound shrieking across the outer wall. I gather my feet and slide them off the right-side of the bed while slowly pushing myself into a hunched over-seated position. My feet touch cold slush as my equilibrium tilts, almost causing me to fall back onto the bed. But I'm determined to stand up, so I center myself and push off the bed. I manage a half Quasimodo hunch and shuffle-step to the back wall. The floor near the wall is dusted in white, my bare feet numbing as I stand below the window. I would kill for some slippers.
Looking up I see the glass shutter of the window in a locked position above the 1-1/2 by 2-foot open window. Why the hell would Sigurður leave the window open when a storm is coming, and in the room of a sick person? Some people just aren't smart. I put my hand up, reaching for the shutter, but yeah, a 5'6" feet verses a good 8.5', I'm shit out of luck. A large draft blows in and I shiver, hugging my arms around my body. Ugh.
I turn back to the bed and reach to grab the back right corner. I start tugging it backwards, but nothing happens. I pull harder, my feet slipping slightly in the snowy mush, but the bed stubbornly refuses to budge. Dropping to my right knee I look under the bed and around the leg posts for why it's staying put. With a shock, I notice that the back right and the front left metal legs are welded to an iron plate screwed into the floor. WTF!
I stand back up and walk to the door. I grab the handle and turn it. It rattles, but is locked. Taking stock of my situation: I'm in a small room with a bed stuck fast to the floor, an open window with a mean storm brewing outside and floating inside, and a locked wooden door in front of me. My head is pounding a staccato and my body feels like an icicle. This just isn't the first mission back I had hoped for.
"Hello?" I call out. "Tasha?" The wind is the only noise to greet my questions.
"Tasha," I hit the door with the palm of my left hand, "Tasha where are you?" I yell. The window rattles with more snow drifting in. I stand for a few more minutes, alternating between kicking the door and hitting it with my palms, but eventually my body is tiring and I shuffle back to the bed. I sit in the middle with my knees to my chest and my arms hugging them as I stare at the door and wait for something that is slowly dawning on me to be unpleasant. Tasha wouldn't leave me trapped like this; something is definitely not right.
Creak. My head snaps up, having fallen onto my knees while the minutes (hours?) passed. I'm incredible stiff from being in a tight huddle position and shivering from the cold, plus my head feels like it's stuffed with wool. The door is swinging open, Sigurður stepping through with a mug in his hand.
"Ah, you're awake again. Lovely," he stops at the end of the bed as the door closes behind him.
"Whe-where is Tasha," I studder. The cold really isn't doing me any favors.
"She's around," he says, "but really you should worry about yourself," he lifts the mug towards me, whiffs of steam emanant from it. "Drink this, you must be cold. Let's get you warmed up." His smile is bright, but his eye don't twinkle anymore. The mug is a foot in front of my lips, the heat radiating across my half numb face. "Tasha?" I ask as my hands reach to grab the mug, wrapping around its steaming ceramic, warming my frozen fingers. I smell the green tea flavor of the cold liquid I had earlier.
"Drink and I'll answer all your questions." Sigurður sits on the edge of the bed and looks at me. I bring the mug to my lips, relishing in the warmth the steam brings, while maintaining eye contact with Sigurður as he encourages me to drink with a hand wave and a slight nod. I hold his eyes for several seconds; the steam evaporating, the wind whistling, my body shivering. He blinks and I extend my right arm, the mug in my palm, and toss the hot liquid in Sigurður face.
"Ahhhhhhhh!" he screeches, his hands going to his face to wipe the burning tea from his eyes while I clumsily unfurl my legs and make to stand. My feet hit the floor, my left leg foot slipping slightly in the frozen slush, but my right hand steadies my body on the side of the bed before giving myself a push into standing position. Sigurður is making a choked noise as I slide past him towards the door.
My thoughts are jumbled, but I know that Sigurður does not have my best interests in mind and Tasha would never leave me in a frozen closet. I grab the door handle with my right hand and turn. It doesn't click. Shit! I only have a second to ponder the stupid locked door before my shoulders are grabbed and I'm thrown sideways into the wall, where the right side of my face bounces off it before I land in a heap on the snowy floor facing the bed. "Ugh," I huff.
"Cyka!" Sigurður yells, connecting his boot with my stomach. My back hits the wall and I slump farther against it. "I guess we do this the hard way, глупая девчонка." My eyes tilt up and I see that Sigurður's face is now covered in red splotches; his eyes narrowed. His attractive face has definitely seen better days. "What did you do with Tasha?" I ask. The kick to my upper chest is unexpected, the pain causing my breath to suck inwards and my eyes to squeeze shut.
"I ask the questions," he growls. I feel him squat to my level, then his meaty hands grab my shoulders and he starts shaking me until I'm blearily looking him in the eyes. "Focus девчачий. Where is Project Greenlight? Is it at the Storm base?" I just stare at him in defiance. "The Tormin base?" My eyes widen a fraction. How does he know of these bases? "Ah, the Tormin." He smiles. "What is the entry code?" He stares intently down at me. "I don't know what you're talking about. I just a lemming," I plead. He slaps my left cheek. Ow. "I don't have time (slap) for your (slap) insubordination (slap)." My head thwacks the wall with each hit, muddling my brain a little more. "You will answer my questions, I mean, you've already been such a help to me earlier," he coos.
What? I look into Sigurður's cold blue eyes, questioning. He just raises his eyebrow. Fuck, the tea. How stupid could I be. Sigurður is completely right, I'm a stupid, stupid girl. He smiles wide, "I see you've figured it out. A shame you can only tolerate a limited amount before you pass out. Pity you threw the rest of it in my face… this could have been painless," he calmly states before driving his left fist into my solar plex, stealing the air from my lungs. I take an upper cut to my chin and a jab to my right eye. Something cracks on the left side of my chest. I taste iron in my mouth when the world refocuses. I cough a bit, red flecks splatter my lips. Sigurður is pacing in front of the door and mumbling softly.
"Tasha?" I whisper. The pacing stops, I blink, Sigurður's pinched face is a foot from my face, his eyes squint before he tilts his head to the right. I blink again and Sigurður has moved backwards. My thoughts of a reprieve are quickly ended by right foot being yanked up and forward, my head slamming to the ground before my body slides through the snow, following the foot Sigurður is currently pulling through the now open door. I try to grab the leg of the bed while I'm pulled forward, but my depth perception is off and my hands close on empty air. I'm being pulled down a ratty carpeted hallway, my hands sliding off the walls, not strong enough to halt my forward momentum. I lift my head and see that we've come to a locked door at the end of the hallway. A wall is to the right and when I turn my head to the left, I see a wooden staircase leading up. The cabin has a basement? I lazily watch Sigurður drop my leg, reach into his pocket, pull out a key, and unlock the door. He swings it open before reaching down to grab the front of my shirt, hauling me upright and tossing me through the open door. I land on my right side against concrete flooring and more snowy slush. What is with the snow?
"Маленький," a wheeze above my head. I look up and still. Natasha hangs from tied wrists hooked on a metal bar stuck fast to the ceiling. Her bare arms are covered in trails of dried blood emanating from thick rope wrapped around her bound wrists with her head leaning again her left arm. She's wearing a black tank top and undershorts. A dim light bulb somewhere to my left illuminates her goosebumps. I flick my eyes behind her and see the same type of open window that was in my "room". A shiver wracks my body. I'm sprawled on the icy slush that Tasha's toes lazily swing through. I bring my eyes to meet hers – they are barely open, but I feel her track my face.
"What did you do to her?" I yell, turning my head to stare at Sigurður, who steps forward and stands blocking the only exit with his hands on his hips. "This is what happens when you don't answer my questions," he yells, kicking my left leg. He steps fully into the room and shuts the door behind him. "Tell me about the security on the Tormin base." I weakly scoot backward as Sigurður laughs. "Where do you think you're going? Hum?" He circles behind me and Tasha.
Thwack. "Ugh" Tasha exhales. Her body sways to the right. I manage to turn myself and look at them. He's behind Tasha wearing a smirk; her head is now touching her chest. "Asshat!" I scream. "I'm going to kill you." His right knee comes up, turns, and roundhouse kicks Tasha in the side. I try to reach for him, but he perries out of my way. "Leave her alone!" I shout.
"You know, maybe this will be fun," he sing songs. Tasha swings hard to the left again. Fresh blood is seeping down her wrists. I've made it to my feet, my hands on my thighs for balance before I stand semi hunched over, bringing my closed fists in front of my chest. "Why don't you try kicking someone who can fight back?" I challenge. Sigurður steps to the right side of Tasha and I can now see he has a huge smile on his blotchy face. "As the lady wishes," he lunges and I barely lean to the left, avoiding a right hook, but consequentially absorbing a backhanded left fist to the face as Sigurður spins into and then away from me. I stumble left, but maintain my balance. Bastard!
He kicks out with his right foot, connecting with my left kidney before skirting away. Get it together! I feel rather than see the right fist aiming towards my head, but I bring my left arm up in a feeble block, and strike with my right fist and hitting his left eye. His hands fly to his face giving me a chance to front kick him in his stomach followed by a side kick to his throat. He collapses to the ground, both hands wrapped around his throat while coughing harshly. I glance at Tasha, she is swinging gently, her head hanging down. I try to see if her chest is raising, but I'm suddenly lurching sideways and I crash to the floor.
A chuckle. I follow the sound to see Sigurður half crouched, his left leg out and behind him. He must have done a sweeping kick. Eyes on the prize. Eyes on the prize. I chastise myself. I can't be distracted or Tasha and me aren't making it out of here. He makes his move, a lunge towards me. I roll to my right as his knee lands where my chest was. I keep rolling until I push myself back into a standing position and throw my hands up in time to block a front kick. We're facing each other now, Tasha behind Sigurður. I take a breath and bring forth my inner Tasha, my foot bounces off the ground as I leap up and onto Sigurður's shoulders, spinning midair and wrapping my thighs around his neck. His hands instinctively reach for my legs and start pulling outwards. I start hitting his arms with my fist as his face turns purple. His legs give out and we land with a splash in the snow. My thighs squeeze tighter as I pray this will fucking end soon, but a white-hot pain in the side of my upper right thigh sidetracks me and suddenly my legs are empty, there's a terrible coughing noise and a loud groan.
My hand reaches for my leg and encounters liquid. I bring my hand to my eyeline and see dripping red. I look to Sigurður, who's laying 2 feet away, one hand on his throat and the other holding a 3-inch blade. Son of a bitch. I scramble upwards and jump on Sigurður's chest, my hands reaching for the arm with the knife, grabbing hold of the hilt and pushing right and down, towards his opposed stomach. He's still coughing, but his left arm clasps my hands and is attempting to push the knife away from his vital organs while his right hand rubs feeling back into his throat. I raise onto my right knee, digging it into his middle-left chest, gaining better leverage for me as it caves inwards with the sound of a "snap". "Ahhhhh", Sigurður screams. Both of his hands wrap around my wrists now and push upwards. He might be stronger, but I have a gravitational advantage and as I wiggle my right knee, his arms weaken for the single moment I need to drive the blade into his flesh. "Ahhhhhhh!" I twist the handle before letting go, bringing my hands to both sides of Sigurður,'s head, grasping his hair, lifting up and slamming the back of his head into the floor. Once, twice…three times and he stills.
My breathing is heavy as I sit astride my would-be assassin. His eyes are closed as a growing puddle of red stains the snow melting under him. "Uhh." My head jerks up; Tasha is minutely moving her head back and forth. I stand up, a bout of dizziness almost sending me back down, but I steady myself. Tasha is clearly awake now, her eyes small slits, but I know she sees me. I reach down and unapologetically pull the knife from Sigurður's belly before making my way to Tasha's hanging form. She is slightly taller than me and her hands are at tip of my reaching point on tippy toes. This is going to suck…for both of us. "Tasha," I rub my hand up and down her arm for comfort, "I can't reach your arms from here." I put my face right in her eyeline, "I need to (what's a nice way to say climb?) um, use you to , um, free you." She rolls her head so I can see the least swollen green eye and gently nods.
"I'm sorry," I say before I wrap my arms around her chest, pull myself up and put my legs around her waist. She grunts as we both swing from her tied wrists. I quickly raise the knife to the ropes and start sawing. Her blood is softening the thread, making the cuts easier. I try to block out her small whimpers, focusing on the cuts. 4 slashes, 30 seconds of sawing, and 2 more slashes before the thick coil unravels and we're both tumbling to the floor. "Ophf" Tasha croaks as I land on top of her. "Shit," I roll off her prone figure; arms laid above her head. Dropping the knife, I unwrap the remaining pieces of the rope from her wrists and run my hands down and over her body looking for any non-obvious wounds. Her face is a mass of bruising, the right eye almost swollen shut, a medium sized lump behind her head, her left side is a tad squishy (Broken rib? Ribs?), a plethora of more bruising across her extremities, but other that she seems ok.
"Tasha", I gently pat her cheek, "we got to get moving. "'K," she rasps. She attempts to move her arms up and towards me, but they are stiff and it's a jerky movement. I reach for her forearms and gently move the limbs towards me while pulling frontwards until Tasha is in a seated position. "Drugged," she whispers, turning her good eye to look at me. "It's ok, I've got you,'"I throw her left arm over my shoulder and lift up with my legs. "Argh..fucky, fuck, fuck," I shout getting us both to our feet. My thigh is dripping blood again and I'm not sure if I've ripped it in half. Feels like it, but as Tasha hangs loosely against my side, I realize I have more pressing matters at the moment than my discomfort.
We shuffle hop to the door. I reach for the handle and turn it…it yields easily in my hand and I pull it inwards, where the wood bangs against the inner wall. Finally, some Goodluck. I step forward, dragging ourselves into the light.
"Come on Tasha," I huff, carrying most of her dead weight. Her feet stumbling on the stairs as we clumsily make our way upwards. "I know you can do this," I encourage. Her head is against the left side of my neck, small puffs of air tickle me every time she exhales. I have her right arm swung over my shoulder and I'm practically dragging the two of us up out of the creepy basement. We reach the top step and I stop us, listening for anything out of the norm. Creaks of the cabin groaning from the fierce roar of the howling wind and a whistling. The whistling grows louder until it's a piercing scream; tea kettle…Renee. Damn.
We can't stand on a staircase all night, so I chance it and creep my head out, the top curves left with a shabby carpeted hallway leading forward. A semi-closed door on the right and a closed one on the left before the hall opens into the living room. It looks like the only light is coming from a fire in the hearth and flickers of candles from beyond my viewpoint. I hitch Tasha higher on my shoulder and drag us forward. I stop at the first doors and push it the rest of the way open. A dumpty bathroom is revealed. We hobble to the second door and as I turn the knob and push it open, the stench of death assaults my nose and I retch into my mouth, just barely managing to swallow it back down. I breathe through my mouth while my eyes adjust to the darkened interior. On the floor is a mattress and the shape of a person laying across it. Long hair sprawled around their head. My brain is slow, but the pieces are falling into place: a crazy Russian asking about passcodes and secret bases, weird drugged tea, an extra body in a remote cabin…shit…dead scientist…sabotage. Tasha shifts next to me, "trap," she whispers. "I think we're past that," I counter. I pull the door shut, and drag us forward. When we've made it to the openness of the living room, I look around to find it empty, so deposit Tasha on the couch before it occurs to me the tea kettle has stopped screaming.
Crap. My hands are empty, the knife…ugh I left it downstairs. I look around and note the fireplace. I reach out and grab the fire poker from where it lies next to the extra wood pile, hold it in front of me and make my way towards the kitchen. I have to assume that Renee (if that is even her name) is behind the wall, so I try to move as quietly as possible. Numerous candles in glass jars are on the kitchen counter, casting wavering shadows into the corners. When I make it to the dividing wall, I raise the poker above my head, take a breath, and step forward while turning left and bringing the poker down as hard as I can with both hands. About the time I realize that my downward movement has stopped with a jilted shock through my arms, I hear a high-pitched scream, a groan, and a sizzling sound. A beat later my neck is on fire, burning liquid dripping down my chest while Renee is clutching her left wrist in her right palm and swearing. The tea kettle rolls under the dining table, a puddle following in its wake while the poker is abandoned next to my foot.
"Oh my God. Ow, ow, ow," I yell, grasping at my opposed neck and stumbling backwards.
"Cука!" Renee seethes. She is standing 3 feet in front of me. Her eyes a blaze with hatred and pain. She drops her rapidly swelling wrist (I really hope it's broken), and lunges for my throat with both hands. I'm not all prepared for the sudden attack so she gets a good grip on my neck, pressing against my burns and squeezing. I grab her wrists and start pulling, but she has more strength than me and doesn't seem phased by my lame attempts to free myself. I'm feeling way more lightheaded than I was and if I don't end this soon, there's not going to be a take 2. Fuck fighting fair, I move my hands to her face and dig my fingers into her eyes. The soft orbs squish.
"Ahhhhhh!" she screams, as the pressure is released from my neck and fresh air flows into my lungs. I cough towards the floor, my hands squeezing my thighs for balance. Suddenly I'm airborne, my back crashing into the side of the kitchen counter as a large pain erupts in my chest. My right hand flails outwards and hits one of the candles, knocking it over and onto the floor; I crumple next to it. I have a second to look up before Renee's foot stumps on my exposed right hand and I see black spots. "Agggg!" I scream and pulling my hurt appendage to my chest.
"You are not worth all this trouble," Renee spouts. "Should have killed you when you arrived." Her eyes are puffy and her face red with anger. She goes to raise her foot for another kick, but I sweep my right leg through her planted foot and she crashes to the floor with a grunt. I scramble to my knees about the same time she is in a semi crouch. We both start swinging, punching, hitting anywhere we can. My foot taps the previously dropped candle and I reach back searching for it. I take a right hook to my cheek before my hand wraps around the glass and I swing it up and sideway, straight into the left side of Renee's face. The force cracks the glass, embedding small fragments in her face, one in her left eye. Her scream is feral. We both pause, breathing heavily. Her eye gushing blood down her cheek, some flowing into her mouth, staining the teeth red as she growls at me.
She lunges, a large sliver of the glass in her out stretched arm. I raise my right palm to deflect, but feel the shard slice through the meat of my hand and poke through the other side. "Ougf," I exhale and kick her in the chest where she slides away. Taking shallow breathes, I look at my shredded right hand; slick with blood, purple from being stumped on, and now a freaking hole in the middle. I use my feet to push my back into the kitchen cabinets and push upwards, giving me leverage to get to my feet. Ms. Fake Scientist is also about on her feet. We both stand swaying and staring at each other.
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to terminate your contract," I puff. Renee barres her teeth, red staining the gums. "I quit!" she growls before coming at me one more time. I pivot to the left, at the same time bringing my right arm up and slamming it into the side of Renee's head as she charges past me with her inertia. Her head thuds into the edge of the counter, while the glass in my hand lodges into the side of her skull. She must have knocked herself out, cause her body sags to the floor, pulling the glass shard through my palm as she lands in a crumpled heap at my feet.
"Ahhhh!" Fuckey, fuck, fuck. My brain is flashing little static lights in front of my eyes while my right hand feels like it's been chopped off. I feel hot liquid pouring from the newly gapped wound, but I can't force myself to look at the mess of my dominant hand. I quickly look to see if Renee is down for the count; I nudge her with my foot, but she doesn't move. I turn and stumble across the counter looking for the dish towel. It's hanging over the middle of the sink divider. I grab it and wrap it tightly around my right hand. I'm pretty sure I'm crying, but secret agents don't cry, so it must be grit in my eyes.
I take a moment to steady my beathing. In out, in out. The past hour has totally sucked. I open my eyes, and survey the room. Renee is still out on the floor between the kitchen counter and the half wall, there's a bunch of science stuff spread all over the dining table and every surface within reach is splattered with blood. Gross. I hobble to the table looking for anything that can be used as a restraint. It's just paper, beakers, and test tubes. "Ugh," I shout, swiping a pile of papers onto the floor. This is totally going to suck. Using my left hand to grab the hem of my long sleeve shirt, I pull it over my head. My ribs protest and something in my back isn't too thrilled with my body shimmy, but I get the shirt off, leaving me in one of my ratty sports bras. Should have worn the newer bra 'cause when Barton saves us, I'm never gonna hear the end of it. I turn to the counter and start opening all the drawers, finding a steak knife in the third one, I set about cutting my shirt into long thick strips.
When I have 3 of them, I crouch next to Renee, flip her all the way onto her back, pull her hands behind her back and start weaving one of the strips through and around her wrists. I pull the end knot tight before grabbing her feet and repeating the knot process. Once her arms and legs are secure, I use the third strip to fastened her feet and hands together. I leave her hog tied on the kitchen floor and turn to the living room.
I'm just stepping towards the couch when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. I snap my head to the right and see Sigurður stumbling out from the hallway. His head is matted with blood and he leans to the right, his left leg barely touching the floor. I make to move towards the couch when I hear, "uh uh." Sigurður's brings his right arm from behind his back and points a gun at me. "глупая сука. You've ruined everything."
I hold my hands in front of me, palms up. I'm 10 feet from the couch, from Tasha, who is blissfully out of it that she doesn't have to deal with this completely shit situation. I can't tell if I envy her or not, but I could totally use a friend right now. I flick my eyes back towards Sigurður, who smiles and limps towards Tasha's unprotected body. He stops in front of her prone body, the gun aimed at my chest. "Want to answer my questions now, девчачий?" His gun lowers, pointed directly at Tasha's head. I gulp, "Let's not do anything hasty." I inch forward. "What did you want to know again?" My feet shuffle softly forward. "Was it the Storm Base's guard schedule?" I ask while steadily moving closer to the couch. "No, you сука. The Tormin Base codes!" Sigurður yells. I'm within 3 feet of the back of the couch now. "Well, it's been a long day, sorry I blinked on your interrogation," I quip.
Sigurður is breathing rapidly, his chest flairs with each loud huff. He points the gun back at me, "Tell me!" he screams. Our eyes lock; light blue with steely blue. A slow smile parts his lip, his eyes moving down, down toward the couch. His gun hand following. I step once and launch myself up and off the back of the couch and straight into him. A loud boom blasts my ears as we both tumble to the floor. I land on top of Sigurður, my hands searching for and failing to find the gun. A weak punch to my already sore rib throws me onto my right side. Sigurður shimmies out from under my wiggling body as blackness encroaches. I force away the dark spots and focus on what's in front of me. Sigurður is lying next to me, breathing deeply, but looks to be coming back to himself, no extra blood added to his injuries. I don't feel any new pains, well besides the fire emanating from the site of the last punch, and something is digging into my right side, but neither of us look like we have acquired a fresh bullet hole. I'm trying to collect myself enough to get in a seated position, when I open my eyes (when did they close?) to see that Sigurður practically up on one knee. Shit.
He wavers a second and then lunges for my throat, hands wrapping around my severely abused neck. What is with bad guys and choking? My fingers fruitlessly scratch at his hands, his face above my reach. I can feel my energy waning, the darkness creeping back in. The thing digging into my side happens to ground me enough for my right hand to dig under my body to discover a curved handle and a long tube. One second Sigurður is trying his damnest to murder me and the next, blood splatters across my face as he falls forward and lands, still across my chest. I cough a bit, greedily attempting to suck in air, but Sigurður's deadweight is crushing me. My right hand drops the gun before pushing at Sigurður's left shoulder. I lift it a few inches and scoot my way out from under him. I turn and look at his body, his eyes are open, a small hole above his left eye.
I might have drifted for a bit, but I really feel a little rest was deserved. I mean, I did save Tasha and my butts, what, like 3 times. Shit, Tasha. I shift onto my left side and slowly push my body into a seated position. I can't really feel my right hand anymore, so it flops in my lap. I turn my head to the left and see the couch is about 2 feet in front of me. My eyes travel upwards and Tasha is slumped to the right against the arm of the couch, her hair obscuring her face. My vision is wavering, so I don't believe what I first see. I crawl to her and am leaning in front of her face when my blurry eyes focus. My left hand comes up and tentatively sweeps the hair off her face. I pull my hand back and connect the fresh scent of iron with the sicky substance on my fingertips.
"Tasha?" I'm leaning over her now, shaking her shoulders, "Tasha?" She's a rag doll beneath me, flopping where I shake her. Her red hair is clumped in a bloody mess by her left ear. Blood has dripped across her eyes, down her cheek, and is soaking into the couch cushion. I put two fingers on her neck and pray. One second…two seconds…three seconds. I hold my breath. Five, six, seven seconds. Tasha remains still. I can't feel a thump under my fingers. I wait ten seconds more… twenty. I feel numb. "Come on Tasha. This isn't how you end," I cry, tears leaking from my eyes. I pull Tasha into an upright seated position before sitting where her blood has congealed and gently lowing her head onto my lap.
My world is a narrow focus. A pin pick of light with mostly the feel of silky strains leading to a matted clump as I run my left hand over the cradled head of my best friend lying limply in my lap. Red hair, stained darker by her life forced ebbing away and flowing down my inner thighs, puddling under my butt.
We'd come so far, just two little orphans who finally found belonging, a family together...and with a slightly stupid older brother. We three, with no one, somehow in the chaos of the universe, found each other, became each other's "other", and now three is two. And two might become one.
Hot tears part the grime on my cheeks. "I'm sorry...so,sorry," I breathe above a whisper. "Я тебя люблю". My lap feels cold now. Hell, everything is a fuzzy numb. It feels almost peaceful with the faint sounds of the fire crackling - so inviting just a few hours ago, and the soft whistle of wind outside- the storm, inside and out, having passed. Maybe this is a peaceful place after all. Maybe I should just sleep for a bit.
Yellow light narrows to grey-
"Princess?" A soft whisper.
Grey turns to dark grey. A tentative touch on the left side of my neck.
"Kid, it's gonna be o-"
Blackness...silence...rest.
какой беспорядок – what a mess
сука – Bitch
глупая девчонка - Stupid girl
девчачий – girly
маленький - Little one