The sickening sound of flesh hitting concrete is muted by the explosion. Darcy doesn’t think she’s ever felt pain like it in her life. Her very short life, that she’s sure is about to end any second. This isn’t the first time she’s faced down death, but it’s the first time she’s felt it—the impending knowledge that there’s no rescue for it now.
And then he’s there, looming before her. The Winter Soldier, imposing as any Grim Reaper. If he’s here for her soul, she’s not giving it up willingly. Her breath comes in hard pants as she struggles to sit up. She’s not going to cower, not now.
The Winter Soldier studies her, eyes hard and glinting, barely human. There’s no mercy there.
"Aren’t you going to kill me?" she demands. While she doesn’t want to die, the waiting…it’s unbearable.
"Aren’t you going to beg for your life?" he counters. His voice is as cold as his stare and for a moment, she wants to beg, wants to ask him to end her mercifully, but her chin comes up, her shoulders go back.
"No," she says quietly, and in that moment she’s proud that her voice doesn’t tremble. She makes her voice stronger, impatient, tries to hide her terror. "Well? Aren’t you going to do it?"
She can’t see his mouth, but a frosty smile glints in his eyes. It’s not nice, not merciful, but still he says, “Not today.”
He’s gone before she can blink, and she finds herself shaking, staring after him, unsure of what’s just happened. One thing she is certain of…this isn’t the last she’s seen of him.