#my legs I got left before I can’t hike and snowshoe and climb trees | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

star-trekkin-across-theuniverse · 7 years

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Cover You in Oil, pt 23

Word Count: 5127 Tags: @outside-the-government, @yourtropegirl @to-pick-ourselves-up-7, @ghostssss, @rampant-salamander, @saysay125, @sistasarah-sallysaidso @shewhorunswithfandoms, @flirtswithdanger @supermoonpanda @rayleyanns @anyakinamidala Author’s Note: Any errors in the Russian are solely my own shitty ability.

Sally processed through the hall toward the huge double doors, nearly frozen with fear and tension. She couldn’t remember ever feeling as nervous and anxiety-ridden as she did in that moment. Sasha must have sensed it, because he squeezed her hand to reassure her, and when she flicked her eyes in his direction, he winked.

“I’ve got you, kid,” he said. She swallowed and acknowledged him with a nearly imperceptible nod. As the grand doors of the hall swung open, Sally was overwhelmed by the cheering crowd waiting to see her. She took in the throngs of people, completely astonished by their numbers. She hadn’t thought that many people lived in Latveria. As she and Sasha stepped out, the crowd, on cue, surged forward, knocking over the barricades and swarming around them. The last thing Sally remembered seeing as she descended under the mass of bodies was Victor rising in the open-air carriage, a look of absolute rage and panic on his face.

She felt the crown pulled off, and the bracelets of state. Then the cloak. Soon, she was just in her coronation gown, a sea of hands pulling the symbols of office free from her body as they pushed her toward Sasha. He grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her toward a sewer storm grate that had been pulled open, pushing her ahead of him and through the dark opening. Steady hands grabbed her legs and guided her down into the inky black tunnel. Sasha slipped through behind her.

“No lights,” A masculine voice said.

“I can’t see shit,” Sally complained.

“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty, but we would all prefer to stay anonymous.” The voice was sarcastic and Sally felt herself smile despite the irritation. She felt a hand at the base of her spine, and knew it was Sasha beside her.

“I’m gonna unzip the dress, Sally. The seamstress gave you a silk base layer, and then we have some winter clothes for you. I have to get changed too, but there’s someone here to help you,” he said.

“Thanks, Sasha,” she murmured.

“You should probably try to get used to calling me Bucky now,” he corrected. “We aren’t going back.” Sally felt his hand at the zipper, and the dress fell away from her easily. Before she could even try to adjust to the darkness, a sweater was thrust into her hands. She pulled it over her head and stepped out of the pool of dress at her feet.

“Lift your left leg,” the voice ordered. Sally did as she was bidden and felt the man take her boot off and slip a pant leg over her foot before pushing the boot onto her foot again. “Now your right.” She did the same, and again, boot off, pant leg on, boot replaced. He pulled the pants to her knees, and Sally brushed his hands away, pulling them the rest of the way.

“We have to get moving,” a second voice whispered.

“I’m ready,” Sally said, and allowed a strong grip to take her arm and lead her through the dark tunnels. Her eyes were slowly adjusting, and she was beginning to make out shadows, but nothing substantial. She recognized Bucky ahead of her, and knew there was at least one more person behind the man helping her. Bucky led them to a junction in the tunnel.

“Straight ahead will lead you to the baths, left will lead you to the edge of the city,” the man holding her arm said. “Mariya has a vehicle waiting. Be safe, godspeed.”

Bucky took her hand and pulled her down the left corridor, picking up his pace slightly. “As long as you can manage a quick pace, we’re going to haul ass, Sally.”

“I’ll manage,” she managed, through gritted teeth. Her leg was already throbbing, but she wasn’t about of acknowledge the pain she was having. Bucky sped up again, and Sally stumbled to keep up. He caught her easily and helped her along the tunnel, keeping their pace fast.

“We’re nearly there,” he assured her, as the follow the tunnel’s bends and curves. Finally, there was a faint light from a short candle, signaling where they needed to climb up. Bucky climbed up first, and checked the room before reaching down to help her climb through. They popped up in the backroom of Mariya’s bakery. Lying on the bench by the door was snowpants and coats, knit hats and gloves. They quickly dressed and Bucky cracked the door just a hair to assess the outside before opening it, and gesturing for Sally to get into the waiting vehicle. She climbed in first, and Bucky climbed in right behind her, pulling her down to the floorboards and throwing a blanket over her. Mariya looked back at them and offered a tense smile.

“You are ready?” She asked. Bucky nodded. “Then let’s go.” She pulled away from the bakery slowly, leaving the city by a narrow twisting road leading away from the mountains. Once they were beyond city limits, she turned down a barely used path. It had only been driven once or twice since the snow had fallen, and tracks were full of drifting snow. They slowed considerably as Mariya maneuvered the vehicle through the deep snow until they came to a small shack. She got out and trudged through the deep drifts until she got to the cabin and opened it up, checked it and then nodded back to Bucky.

“Let’s move, Sal,” he said, offering his hand so she could hop out of the vehicle. She followed in his footsteps to the cabin, overwhelmed by how slow going it was.

“This is going to take us forever,” she worried aloud. Bucky smiled in reassurance.

“We have a snow machine from here. This is Mariya’s family’s ancestral land, and no one, not even Victor, is supposed to trespass. With you missing, that will be moot, but Victor fears Mariya’s people, so hopefully this will stall him. Grab that pack. You’ll have to carry it while we head up the mountain, but once we’re on foot again, I’ll take it.” Bucky pointed at a backpack sitting on the floor. It matched their snow outfits. Everything looked like it had come from the military. Their snow gear was all off-white and non-reflective, like it was intended for snow maneuvers. Bucky led her to a dilapidated shed a short distance from the cabin, and climbed on the snowmachine inside. Sally noticed Mariya was hauling wood into the cabin and poked Bucky.

“What is she doing?”

“Creating her alibi,” Bucky answered as he revved the snowmachine’s engine. “She’s been up here for nearly a week already, hunting. The fire died down while she was in town, so she’s got to stoke it so it’s nicely banked before any of the Guard get here. She’s also got a nice deer hanging in the cold shed. Shot it last night, I guess.”

“How long has it been since we left the coronation?” She asked. Everything had happened so fast that her head was spinning.

“It was four minutes between the gutter to Mariya’s. Less than ten to the cabin.”

“I owe these people so much,” Sally breathed, unsure if Bucky would hear her.

“Sally,” he shook his head. “You’re their queen now. They’d do pretty much anything for you. That’s why we had to wait until after the coronation.”

“It’s been fourteen fucking minutes, Buck,” she exclaimed, staring at the back of his head in shock as they headed up the mountain. Bucky must have known where he was going because every time Sally looked back, the trees and snow looked the same, but the castle was smaller and smaller until she couldn’t make it out any more. Sally was unsure of the time that was passing, but there were storm clouds rolling across the sky, and the forest was growing dark.

“We’re nearly there,” Bucky called back to her, as they crested a ridge. Another small cabin came into view, with a plume of cheerful smoke rising from the chimney. Bucky pulled right into the storage shed and led Sally inside. “This is our last stop, and we hike from here. There’s no path for about four miles, and then there’s a well-beaten deer path. But until then, we’re on snowshoes. How is your leg holding up?”

“I’m fine,” Sally lied.

“You aren’t,” he countered. “Need something for pain?”

“No!” Sally shook her head. “I need a clear head for this. I will be fine, Bucky.”

“Then let’s get moving,” he said. “There’s an outhouse around the back. Make sure you go before we leave.”

Sally nodded, and met him back at the front of the cabin when she was done. He had his snowshoes on, and was just getting hers ready when a Servo-Guard dropped out of the sky into the snow in front of them.

“State your name.”

“Maxim Petrovich. This is my sister Anastasia Petrovna.” Bucky put the fake accent on again for the benefit of a robot.

“Identity cards?”

“They are in the cabin,” Bucky started. “I’ll just –“

“Database searched. Maxim Petrovich and Anastasia Petrovna, you will appear in lesser court in three days time to answer to the charges against you,” the Servo-Guard cut Bucky off.

“Charges?” Bucky looked confused.

“Absence from the coronation of the Empress. Dereliction of responsibility. Punishable by two weeks servitude to the Emperor.”

“Three days, at the lesser courts?”

“Affirmative.”

“We will be there to acknowledge our crimes,” Bucky acquiesced. The Servo-Guard shot back into the sky without another word. Sally let out her breath in a rush and stared at Bucky. “That was close.”

“That was ridiculous,” Sally agreed. “Let’s go before it realizes it should have double checked us.”

Bucky helped her into the snowshoes and gave her a quick lesson on how to use them before taking the backpack and tossing it on his back. He led her up the mountain, away from the cabin. Sally could feel exhaustion kicking in and as she forced her legs up the mountain, she cursed herself for not doing more hill training while she’d had the chance. They plodded along in silence until the deer trail. It was a beaten down, narrow track twisting up the mountain. In the distance, below them, Sally could see the ski hill where she’d had her accident. They had come a long distance already.

“At the risk of infuriating you, how much further is it?” Sally asked.

“How are you doing?” Bucky countered.

“I’m hungry. And tired,” she admitted. He flipped the backpack in front of him and pulled out a strip of something to hand to her.

“It’s jerky. Eat it, we can take five. We’ve got another three to four hours of hiking ahead of us before we pop over into Hungary,” he said. “Some of it is downhill.”

Sally discovered that Bucky mostly was lying when he said some of it was downhill. It was mostly creeping higher and higher into the mountains with the occasional few steps down an embankment. Her leg had been aching at the coronation hall, and by the time another hour had passed, it was on fire, and she was fighting to contain tears. Bucky was leading, so didn’t see the anguish on her face until she stumbled into him. He turned and caught her before she went face first into the snow, and helped her to sit on a fallen tree.

“You should have said something,” he admonished her.

“I didn’t want to say anything until I knew we were across the border.” Sally gritted her teeth and tried to push herself back to standing, but her leg gave out. “I didn’t actually believe until this moment that my leg had been broken.”

“I still don’t believe it has. I think all your pain is related to that soulmark,” Bucky shook his head. “Come on, I’ll carry you for a while. Climb on my back.” He slid the backpack off his back and handed it to her

“You are not piggybacking me up a mountain, Bucky.”

“You know they used nearly the same serum on me as Erskine used on Steve, right? Climb up,” he turned his back to her and squatted. Sally slung the backpack over her shoulders, and with a great deal of hesitance, wrapped her arms around Bucky’s neck and allowed him to pull her up on his back

“I feel ridiculous,” Sally complained.

“I won’t be as fast this way. If the weather changes, or we’re spotted, you’re going to have to push through the pain and hike,” Bucky said. Sally nodded against his back and kept lookout for the next hour.

The trees got more and more densely packed together the further they climbed, and Sally finally understood why this route wasn’t a concern to Victor. Who would want to climb through a maze of trees, scraping against needles and branches, just to get into Latveria? It hardly seemed worth it. She also understood where all the stories about werewolves and vampires came from, as the shadows playing across the trees made her skin crawl. Coupled with the occasional howl from a wolf, she was feeling a little spooked. Bucky suddenly laughed.

“What is so funny?” Sally snapped. Her pain was easing, but her temper was worn.

“I was in Latveria for close to a year,” Bucky started. “Never once did Victor ask me about my name.”

“I thought Alexandr was a common name?” Sally asked.

“Sure, it was. But don’t you think it should have sent up a warning flag that my last name literally translated as son of the vampire?” Bucky asked. Sally snorted.

“Really?”

“Yeah, in Russian. I didn’t know a lot of Latverian when I crossed the border. Enough that I could get by, but Latverian is kind of a patois or pidgin of Romanian, Hungarian and Russian, with a little Romany tossed in to make it interesting. I had crossed into the country from here, in the Carpathians, and thought it was a funny name. Mariya always said it would be the name that got me caught,” Bucky explained. Sally chuckled softly.

“You’ll miss her,” she commented.

“I probably will. Mariya’s a good woman,” Bucky nodded.

“Will she be caught? Punished?” Sally asked.

“Hopefully not, but she knew what she was doing,” Bucky shrugged, the action bouncing her on his back a little. “She wasn’t doing you any real favours, Sally. She didn’t really care what your outcome was, provided Victor suffered. You were just a catalyzing agent for her revolution.”

“I owe her a debt,” Sally was firm about it. Bucky shook his head.

“You really don’t. You gave her exactly what she was looking for. Instability it the house of Doom. She wants to topple his regime,” Bucky explained.

“And then what?”

“I didn’t ask,” he admitted. Then he laughed again. “I mean, I guess the reality is that the throne passes to you. It would be up to you what happens in Latveria at that point.”

“What?” She squawked. “I’ve run away. I can’t think of a clearer sign of abdication!”

“Until we can get you home and sorted, you are very much still the queen,” Bucky laughed. Their conversation had distracted both of them, and night had fallen around them, chilling the air and silencing the forest. Bucky paused, holding a finger to his lips to silence her questions. Sally’s curiosity about what had stopped him was sated when he threw her to the snowy ground and dropped on top of her, right as a bullet whizzed by their heads.

“What –“ Sally breathed. Bucky slapped his hand across her mouth.

“I think it’s a motion sensing defensive weapon. We’re only about half a click from the border now, and part of the function of the Servo-Guards is border protection. It would stand to reason that Victor had placed some up here. I hope we haven’t triggered a wake protocol,” he interrupted, hissing the words against her ear.

“If it’s motion sensing, how are we going to go that last half kilometer?” Sally breathed, careful to not put her voice behind the words.

“We’re going to have to run, in an erratic pattern,” Bucky replied.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sally started thinking about what it would be like to die on the top of the Carpathians.

“You can do this, Sal. You go first. The goal is the peak up ahead. Once we crest it, the Servo-Guard will shut down, and we’ll be safe. It won’t know to try to identify us, it will only know that we’re too close to the border,” Bucky explained.

“Are you sure?” Sally asked.

“I hacked a great deal of Victor’s files,” he nodded. “Whenever you’re ready, my queen.”

“Oh, fuck off, Bucky.” Sally shoved his shoulder, and he rolled off her, a ridiculous smirk on his face. Sally shook her head. Even in the face of danger. Or maybe because of it, he was laughing. It was no wonder he was a legend. She rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself into a crouch slowly, trying to track where the robot had gone. Bucky tapped her shoulder and pointed to the right, down the hill. Once Sally saw it, she nodded, and got her good leg placed so she would get strength and speed from pushing away. It was going to be hard going through the snow, but it was no longer deep snow due to how close the trees were. Between the trees and the snow though, Sally was sure her path would be erratic. But it was also going to be dangerous.

She took a deep breath and pushed away from the ground, focusing on keeping her eyes on the crest of the hill and weaving in and out of the trees. She could hear something or someone behind her and just kept running, not wanting to know if it was Bucky or the Servo-Guard. She felt a burning pain in her good leg and nearly toppled, crying out, but forced herself to keep going. She glanced over her shoulder and couldn’t see Bucky but could see the Servo-Guard gaining on her. Sally’s heart was hammering in her chest as she forced herself to run, fully exerting herself. Her lungs were on fire. Suddenly, she felt someone grab her arm and tug her ahead and looked up into Bucky’s concerned blue eyes.

“Focus on running. Don’t think about the pain,” he yelled, hauling her along. As they neared the crest, two shadows emerged and Sally sagged. They were caught. Something whizzed past her head, and a strange metallic pop sounded behind her. She glanced back and saw the first Servo-Guard tipping backward, an arrow embedded in its chest. Her head shot back to the top of the mountain, and she could barely make out the silhouette of a bow.

“Clint?” She called.

“Move your ass, Sally!” He hollered, nocking another arrow. “There’s about a dozen closing in fast!”

Muzzle flash to the left of Clint made her narrow her eyes as she continued to push herself forward, half limping, half being dragged by Bucky.

“I just took out two, Clint,” a feminine voice laughed. Natasha. Sally dug deep and pushed herself forward. She was nearing collapse, and there was another biting sting, this time on bum, just above her thigh.

“Just a few hundred feet more, Sally, come on!” Bucky encouraged her. “We’ve got cover now, you can slow down if you need to.”

“Now this, Nat? This is like Budapest!” Clint laughed, releasing another arrow into the darkness.

“You’re right, we do remember Budapest very differently!” Natasha called back, firing her weapon again. Sally collapsed, finally too exhausted to go on. She could barely catch her breath, and everything hurt. Bucky scooped her up, slung her over his shoulder and kept moving, until finally they hit to top of the hill, and he started running down the other side.

“Why are you still running?” Sally asked, watching as Natasha and Clint started to retreat, eyes still on Latveria.

“Those Servo-Guards seem pretty fucking determined for a motion detection protocol. They know it’s us!” Bucky speculated, continuing. “These ones have probably identified us, and they will cross the border. Any reinforcements will stop until they can positively ID us, and then they’ll come across too.”

Natasha and Clint picked off the last three robots, one by one. They turned and started to run, trailing just a little behind Sally and Bucky. Bucky led them down the mountainside, weaving into a dense copse of trees to lose the sighting ability of the Servo-Guards. After he’d led the group of them for about ten minutes, he finally slowed down, carefully dropping Sally on the snowy ground. Sally flinched and tried to push herself back up.

“Let me see the wounds, Sally,” Bucky demanded.

“What wounds?” She asked.

“You were shot. At least twice. I need to get the bullets out.” Bucky pulled the backpack off her and pulled out a field medic’s kit. Sally eased herself over so Bucky could look at her thighs. He poked at the painful spot on her thigh and on her bum, causing Sally to shriek and try to get away.

“I’m sorry, Sally. I gotta get these out,” Bucky apologized. “They could have trackers in them.” He drew up a syringe of something and jabbed her in the thigh. Soon, the pain in the area was gone. Natasha and Clint caught up as Bucky was cutting away the fabric around the wound in her thigh.

“Shot in the ass. Totally Budapest,” Natasha nodded at Clint.

“Shot in the thigh. More like Rio,” he countered, flopping into the snow beside Sally. “Other than the lead in your ass, how are things?”

“That’s one hell of an opening line,” Sally laughed weakly. “Strangely, my ass hurts. Thanks for coming you guys.” Sally looked up at Natasha, who was staring at Bucky.

“Вы? Ты Саша?” Natasha was pale, like she was shocked. Sally doubted that happened often.

“Не сейчас, маленький паук,” Bucky warned, not looking up from Sally’s thigh.

“Хуй тебе!” Natasha rolled back on her heels and looked like she was about to light into him.

“Не сейчас, Наталья!” Bucky snapped, holding a bloody hand up. “I’m trying to patch up our friend.”

“Our friend?” Natasha retorted. “Do you even have friends?”

“I have at least two.”

“Sally, are you sure –“

“I know exactly who Bucky is, Natasha. He told me everything,” Sally groaned from the forest floor.

“Even that he shot me?”

“Why would he need to tell me that to help me escape?” Sally asked. “He told me he was a weapon. He’s not a weapon anymore.”

“Another shot, Sal,” Bucky interrupted as he stuck the needle into her again. Natasha fell silent and glared at Clint like she was trying to tell him something.

“Wait, dude there is the Winter Soldier?” Clint asked, suddenly cluing in. His bow came back up, trained on Bucky. Bucky sighed. Sally flinched, causing him to back off the stitches and look at her.

“Clint, do you trust me?” She asked him.

“Well, I don’t know about trust, but you did a damn fine job on my car,” he hedged. Bucky realized the flinching wasn’t his first aid and got back to his field medic work.

“Would you trust another vehicle in my care?” She pressed.

“In a heartbeat, kid,” he nodded.

“And are we friends?” She asked.

“Our bromance will go down in history as the most bromantic of bromances,” Clint smirked.

“I’m going to assume a certain level of trust then, Clint,” Sally started. “The only reason I am here is Bucky. Not even a word of a lie. If it hadn’t been for him, Tony would be risking another Sokovia to rescue me. He’s not who he was.”

Clint relaxed his draw and quivered his arrow. Natasha shook her head and squatted beside Bucky, watching him patch Sally up. “Do you want me to call in Tony now?”

“While my ass is in the air and another man’s hands are all over it? I don’t think that’s a great plan, do you?” Sally winked. Natasha laughed.

“It’s good to see your humour is intact,” she smiled. “But I’m going to have to notify the team that we’ve got you. And Tony isn’t going to wait once I do.” She turned away and held her hand to her ear, speaking quietly as Bucky finished dressing Sally’s wound. Sally pushed herself onto her back and sat up, flinching at the pinching pain where the freezing was starting to wear off. She hugged Bucky, impulsively, and she felt him stiffen. Pushing him away, she took her time assessing him, and saw that he’d also taken at least one bullet in the upper thigh.

“Bucky! Why didn’t you say something?” Sally accused. Natasha turned back to face them, and Sally gestured at the blood dripping down Bucky’s leg. “I don’t know how to fix that.”

“I can,” Natasha offered. She made quick work of cutting back Bucky’s pants and assessing the wound. “This is already healing.”

“I’ve had the serum,” Bucky admitted.

“The serum?” Clint asked.

“The KGB worked with Hydra to replicate the super soldier serum. It was rumoured that the Winter Soldier was the result of that, but there were never any records that could support that,” Natasha explained. Bucky nodded.

“How’s your pain tolerance then?” She asked. “Because I’m gonna have to dig this out.”

“Do what you have to do, маленький паук,” Bucky nodded. Natasha pressed her lips together in a tight line and used her boot knife to cut into his skin, lodging the blade just below the bullet and popping it out. Bucky cursed under his breath. Sally closed her eyes and looked away, a wave of nausea threatening to make her sick.

“Clint, pass me some gauze?” Natasha asked, and pressed the gauze against the wound. “Sorry. I didn’t think about the pain.”

“It’ll pass,” Bucky shrugged. “Let’s get moving.” He pushed himself to his feet and offered Sally a hand. She took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet, and they continued down the mountain, slower than they’d been. Bucky wasn’t impeded at all by his injuries, but Sally’s bullet wounds, coupled with the freezing and the existing issue with her leg, was hobbling, and it was slowing everyone down. The adrenaline was finally starting to wear off, and Sally was spent. She was not some specially powered human. It was not her job to participate in covert operations. And her body was making it clear that it was angry with her. She had no energy left.

“How are you doing, Sally?” Clint asked. She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears.

“I can’t do this,” she managed, dragging in a deep breath.

“You’ve done it. We just need to get you home,” Clint argued.

“I’m tired, Clint. I’m freezing cold. There’s a pain in my ass like a bee stung me, but apparently it’s a bullet wound. And my leg really hurts. I can’t do this,” she cried. Clint pulled her into his arms.

“And I’m telling you right now, this is the easy part. You already completed the hard part. Come on. I’ll help you,” Clint rubbed her back as he spoke. “Nat, take the rear. I’m gonna help Sally down this fucking mountain.”

“I can carry her,” Bucky offered. “I did earlier.”

“I got this one,” Clint shook his head. He collapsed his bow with a flick of his wrist, and snapped it onto his quiver before scooping Sally up into his arms. “Dry those tears, Sally. We’ve got you.” Bucky stepped through the snow to them, and tucked Sally’s hair back under her cap.

“I’ve got something you should probably have,” Bucky said, reaching into his coat. He pulled off Sally’s glove, and reached into his pocket to pull out her engagement ring. “Safe and sound. Just like you.” He then handed her her phone. “It’s time for you to call your man, and let him know you are safe. Natasha has already informed the team, but he really needs to hear it from you.”

“How did you –“

“Because if you were my girl, I’d need to hear it,” Bucky said. “Call him.”

Sally looked at the phone in her hand, suddenly nervous, worried and conflicted. More than anything, she wanted to hear Tony’s voice. But not over the phone. She wanted to hear it because he was standing in front of her, taking her from Clint’s arms into his own.

“Do you want me to tell him to come, Sally?” Natasha read her mind. Sally nodded and laid her head against Clint’s chest as they continued down the mountain. Natasha stepped away and spoke quietly, her back turned. She caught up a few minutes later, walking backward down the hill beside them, her eyes on the trees behind them. “They’re on their way.”

Sally nodded and leaned into Clint. “How long?” Clint asked.

“They’re climbing up. Tony said he doesn’t want to put the suit on unless he has to.”

Bucky continued to lead them down the mountain, the night getting colder and darker. Sally tried to concentrate on anything other than the pain shooting through her leg, watching the trees pass, eventually looking up to watch the stars, silent the whole time. She could feel pressure lifting from her chest as they made their way out of the higher altitude, and slowly, she also could feel herself beginning to relax, the tension leaving her muscles, secure in the knowledge she was with friends and Tony was on her way to her.

Finally, a light flashed through the trees below them, and Sally’s heart started thumping wildly.

“Put me down,” she demanded. Clint wasn’t expecting her to speak, and didn’t hear her. “Clint! Put me down.” He eased her to her feet and Sally started slowly, painfully walking toward the telltale flicker of the flashlight, the other three staying close by. The light flashed across her quickly, and then flashed back and stayed, causing her to raise her hand to block the blinding brightness. And then the light was gone, and the noise crashing through the woods was overwhelming. And Sally was enveloped in a suffocatingly tight embrace.

“I thought I would never see you again. I thought I would die without you.” His words tore into her. “You’re finally safe.”

The burning pain that had been confined to her leg since the accident tore through her entire body, burning her from the inside out, and she collapsed, limp, in Tony’s arms.

#avengers fanfic #tony stark x OFC

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erinelezabeth920 · 7 years

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#mtnbabes

Something bothered me this week, and I wanted to be able to talk about it. On Friday my friend and I went on a hike, down route 90 out of Seattle. We didn’t have graduate school class that day and it was a sunny day, the last before a long week of rain. I woke up early from my boyfriend’s house, threw on the layers I had in a little backpack, nabbed his rain jacket and first aid kit, because sometimes I’m not very prepared, and got in my car. I drove down the early streets of Seattle as the sun was rising over the eastern Cascades, listening to the country music station. A song came on which I had put on a birthday CD for a friend last summer, who I hadn’t heard from in a while. It made me sad. I sang along anyway. I pulled into my friend’s driveway, banged on her door and told her we had to get going to avoid traffic. She opened the door hurriedly, pulling on a hiking boot, and pointing me toward the fruit and a french press pot. I loaded the snowshoes and poles into her car, and she rushed out a second later, layers and jacket in hand. We were on the road about 7:15am.

Driving down rt. 90, the sun was starting to rise above the mountains. There was mist and some early morning Seattle city traffic commuter, straight faced, sad looking, holding their coffee in one hand, steering wheel in the other. I was so happy to be wearing hiking boots instead. The clouds hung low, but there were hints of blue sky above. The kind of day in February in the Northwest that makes you tingle with the longing of what long days used to be like, an aching in your wet and frozen bones like a reminder of a nice faded dream. I munched on a cliff bar and drank some of my friend’s coffee. We played a CD a guy had made her a while back, when he had come to visit Seattle before he left to travel to Ecuador; sappy sweet acoustic songs of love and leaving. I stuck up my middle finger to the dashboard. “Mountain men.” I scoffed, an angry band aid covering up my own handmade country CDs and heartbreak.

After a stop to a gas station, and up and over Snoqualmie Pass, we made it to exit 63, where the trail report said to park. Just a few other cars, and a line of porta potties shoved into a snow bank six feet high. A fog hung over the valley, but hopefully the sun would burn it off. We grabbed our snowshoes, packed our little packs, and prayed the car would go unnoticed without our parking permit. (I’m sorry Washington State Trails association. I’ll buy a pass soon, I promise.) Crossing the highway, we started up the trial, a series of groomed cross country ski tracks. After about half a mile we saw the sign and right turn off to Amabilis Mountain, a dirt forest access road that’s not maintained in the winter. Strapping on our snowshoes, we headed up.

As we walked, I was ecstatic. The pine trees were tall, draped in snow that was dripping in the warmer air. I had felt cooped up in the city for weeks; a combination of rain, sickness and graduate school exhaustion. This was exactly what I needed. I loved walking next to my friend too, the female energy and a sense of freedom.

After coming to a fork in the road, and heading left as the trail report said, we ended up walking up a small side trail into the trees. According to the WTA website, there was a shortcut through the trees that would cut off about 2/3 of a mile, which seemed okay by me. We started walking, following some tracks. Eventually the tracks thinned to simply a few animal prints, squirrels and maybe a rabbit. The air was silent. Absolutely no wind. There was a steady drip, drip of snow from the trees, falling into the stillness. The sun was warm between the trees, and as the fog began to lift the valley spread, highway and lake far below. As we walked our awkward snowshoe legs up the so-called shortcut, the trees thinned until we came to a kind of wide ledge. Apparently this trail was supposed to connect to the main road at some point; however as we walked it became apparent that it did not, and we had simply gone down a false path. It was beautiful where we were however, completely untouched, smooth wide patches of snow and pine trees. We frolicked for a bit, our snowshoes crunching through the fresh powder. Stopping to take in the view, a wide lake under crisp snowy peaks, my friend looked at me, grinned and said, “You know what we should do? Topless photo.”

I laughed, a little unsure. But subsequently we did, posting the camera on a backpack. Stripping off my layers and finally, in a quick movement, my sports bra, I walked up to the edge. I felt so good. Amazing really. Happy. The sun on my bare skin was warm, in a way I hadn’t felt in months. It felt like years, forever. I felt connected to all the things around me, safe in my body and space. We laughed, as my friend tried to get her phone to stand up and I danced a little to the mountains, alone and free.

Later that day, 10 + sunny miles later, dead legs and exhausted, I looked through our photos in the car on the way back. The topless one was just beautiful; in my mind natural female bodies in the mountains, both strong and powerful. An accomplishment both of what women were capable of. After a while, I decided to post the photo on Instagram. I wanted to show off our accomplishments, and unabashedly share our moment, the ability to feel comfortable in our bodies and to climb mountains.

Soon after, later that night while out with friends, I received a comment on the post from an old co-worker and avid outdoorsman with the hashtag, #mtnbabes. I clicked on it. Soon my phone screen filled with a series of photos similar to ours; women in the outdoors naked or topless in similar forms. It was beautiful, the scenery and the bodies of the women, but immediately I was filled with annoyance, shame and a kind of burning feeling in my stomach. I almost wanted to take the picture down. It still makes me mad or embarrassed writing this, and the worst part is, I can’t entirely articulate why. Maybe it was the fact that it was a male that had posted this, even one who I knew well as a friend, and progressive minded outdoor person. We had even sat together in a staff training once having conversations over privilege and accessibility in the outdoors. So maybe then it was jealousy, seeing all these beautiful competent women, and feeling lesser than.

But I think it was something else. Talking it over with my friend out to dinner over Indian food in Seattle the other night, I was able to rant through my curry and verbally process enough until something kind of coherent came out. “It felt, objectifying, kind of Spring Break-ish” I said. “Like, you know, WOOO TOPLESS, type of short skirt background dancer of a music video, pretty girl by the side of the pool kind of feeling. Like the girls on this feed are doing this for attention from men.” That even as well intended though the audience might be, the fact that they’re spending their free time scrolling through half naked pictures of women leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

And I know that’s not the whole story, of course. I’m sure most or really all of them are bad ass, competent women who want to promote the freedom of their bodies in the outdoors, and the absolute right of women to exist in those spaces, the same as men. That social media is a slim filter to show our whole selves. But it bothered me still, to be associated with that feeling of sexualized inferiority somehow, and that I couldn’t figure out in our world of social media how to portray this feeling of freedom, the sense of womanhood, empowerment and belonging in the mountains because the system was so ingrained in the way that women’s bodies have been objectified. So that’s a simple solution, right? Just don’t post the pictures.

And there is it, the strong part of me that feels as though this whole feeling is completely invalidated. That I’m incredibly wrong here, with no grounds to even stand on. It’s like there’s this voice in head, Erin If you don’t want to cause problems, why even post the picture in the first place? You’re not good enough to say these things, you don’t have the power to think like that. Why do I feel like that? That every time I get angry it’s not a valid thing; that I’m being silly? That it’s just, as my (incredibly wonderful supportive, feminist minded boyfriend), laughed after seeing the picture, calling it another ‘Girls Show Their Tits To The World’ photo. (He later apologized.)

I think it’s confusing moments like these when I listen to Lemonade, cry a lot and then resolve my steel. (Thank you Beyonce, always). And moments where a good friend takes me to an all ladies naked spa day the weekend after I had my IUD procedure, just to thank me for being brave. And moments on Orcas Island, in the clothing optional hot tubs, sitting with friends and laughing in the salty pine air, just like the majority of Europe where bodies are not sexualized in our staunch puritanical bullshit principles, but appreciated as unique, natural and beautiful.

So I WANTED to post the picture. I wanted to try to accurately depict an incredible, powerful moment in the quiet of the mountains and the sheer beauty thereof. And of being women. And not following any man up the mountain, but hiking it ourselves. And how hard, how so fucking hard that is to maintain, promote and demand as equality in this society, simply to be recognized as equals, as equally entitled. I work for a rock climbing gym, and as part of staff training we had to write through safety scenarios. One of the scenarios was a woman following her boyfriend to the gym, and acting unsafe in the environment. It pissed me off so much, and I still haven’t been able to say anything about. That was months ago. Every half hour on shifts we have to tally up the total of men and women in the gym, simply for record keeping purposes. Every time the ratio is always in favor of the men, and every time it digs me, just a little. Yesterday was the first time I had ever seen the number equal. I actually wrote an exclamation point next to the tally.

I was listening to the SheExplores podcast in the kitchen the other night, in which a woman told of a story of going hiking with her boyfriend. He was an ex-marine, and she always felt like she was slowing him down, feeling the need to overcompensate and prove herself. She told a story that one time, he told her that he didn’t want to hike the John Muir Trail with her, even though it was a long term dream of hers, because she would, quote, “slow him down.”

“DUMP HIS ASS” I yelled into the sink of dirty dishes I was washing, splashing water onto myself, knowing full well I had no right to dictate life choices to a woman from a podcast.

The thing that got to me though, was that that wasn’t even the point of the story. The point was her work as a product researcher for an outdoor company or something along those lines. The fact that she felt inferior to her boyfriend in the outdoors was just a small detail. What got to me was the way she spoke of it like it was almost normal, the following of men up mountains and on trails. And the feeling of disempowerment it brings. Like it’s just something that women just have to “deal with” in order to go outside. The podcast producer expressed similar sentiments, and the whole thing just got me so upset that I had to pour a glass of wine to keep listening.

Up on the climbing wall cork board is an article entitled, How to Fight Sexism in the Climbing World. Yesterday I saw a guy read it, scoff “interesting…” like it was a new and foreign concept to him. I stood there quietly, insides burning. So goddamnit, yes I will take my shirt off, and if you want to objectify me, then let’s remember, that mountains are shaped exactly like female tits. So who’s house is this really?

Here’s the photo. I captioned it “Views for days”. I kind of hate myself for it. It sounds objectifying and diminishing.

Here’s what I really wanted to caption it, my favorite U2 quote, and one of my favorite song quotes of all time.

If you want to kiss the sky, better learn how to kneel. On your knees boy.

#outdoorwomen #pnw #outdoors #feminism #instagram

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bijankr · 7 years

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On January 31, 2017 I was supposed to board a long haul flight to Abu Dhabi en route to Iran. Since the previous November, when I’d bought my ticket, I’d been day dreaming of adventure in the Alborz and Zagros mountains, long train rides through the central Iranian plateau and down into the marshy outlets of the Shatt Al-Arab into the Persian Gulf. On late night and early morning shifts while stocking the shelves of the camping department at the REI store in SoHo I envisioned using each new piece of gear to climb to a new height and capture a new photograph. Before I could put my imagination to practical use I called Etihad airlines’ office and cancelled my ticket. It would take volumes to explain the reasons for cancelling the trip, including an equally voluminous bibliography. Instead I’ll write about the feeling of despondency I felt when I hung up the phone totally unsure of what the next hours, days and weeks would look like. I wasn’t sure if I’d made the right choice, but the most pressing concerns were practical. I had taken a two month leave of absence from REI, given up my apartment and the shift in my internship at WNYC Radio. The first week was rough. It’s hard to have nothing to do and it’s not easy to make new plans on the fly. Friends suggested I take another trip, but it didn’t feel right to simply go on a vacation. I was heading to Iran for work, to pick up where I left on 3 years earlier. Now I had to pick up the pieces of broken itineraries. Friends and family were concerned. I hadn’t announced that I’d cancelled the trip and most people thought I was up in the air somewhere until they saw me. Explaining what happened quickly became tiring. I needed to get away. I talked with friends about short trips and visits, but still nothing came of it. Finally after a few weeks stomping around I floated the idea of winter camping to a former REI colleague who was enthusiastic about getting up into the Adirondacks over President’s Day weekend. I was equally excited about starting a new adventure if only for a couple days. I haven’t truly been in the mountains since I left Iran in 2013. During the intermediary I was tied up with producing projects, work and life. The balance was skewed, but now my imagination was back at work dreaming up the wintry high peaks of New York state. We left on Friday evening from the REI store in SoHo and made for the George Washington Bridge. n the Jersey side we found a Super Stop and Shop and loaded up on the all important supplies for the weekend; a 30 pack of Italian sausage, 2 packages of fresh bell peppers, 2 large onions, several sandwich roles, dried salami, and a 24 pack of Miller High Life (The Champagne of Beers). After the detour we were quickly back on the road and buckled in for another 5 hours of driving narrated by political, philosophical and personal conversation. In face the conversation was so in depth that we overshot our exit by a good half hour before realizing we needed to turn back. When we finally did turn off the highway the first thing I noticed were the massive banks of snow lining the road. We snaked our way along route 73 West toward the Adirondack Lodge and campground. The turnoff onto Adirondack Lodge road was even more spectacular. There was a clean sheet of hard packed snow and ice, completely white, covering it and the banks of snow were even higher. The road was lined with pine trees. It was well after midnight by the time we pulled up to the entrance to the park so we paid the parking fee via a slip into a lock box at the entrance and made our way slowly through the campsites, trying to find the most secluded one. Originally we planned to kick out snow and hurriedly setting up camp, but decided on folding the seats down as best we could and sleeping in the car. The thermometer read 9 degrees outside, but wrapped in a bulky Trestles 0 degree bag I didn’t feel cold. Of course I didn’t feel altogether comfortable either. In the morning we got to work setting up camp and making breakfast, biscuits and gravy by Mountain House. We made fairly quick work of both and started packing our gear for the day. The plan was to hike up to Algonquin peak, the second tallest peak in the Adirondacks. It was getting late in the day and we still needed to register our campsite, get maps and fill up on water from the Lodge. First there was one more snag: we accidentally set up in a closed campsite and had to move the whole camp before setting out. It must have been interesting to see 3 REI guys carrying a fully built Base Camp 4 tent down an icy road. It was 11:00 before we finally hit the road, fairly late in the day and our prospects of a summit and return before nightfall dimmed. There was a shared sense of disappointment amongst the three of us. But once we got into a rhythm on the trail the disappointment began to wane and instead we were taken by the winter wonderland surrounding us. The trail itself was hard packed, but a step to the right or left was a waste deep plunge into the snow. We tried to get as much beta as we could from returning hikers, but got mixed reviews. At one point we were told we had two and a half hours to go, a few minutes later another party told us 4 hours and so it went with different numbers from each party we passed. There was one common thread: you can’t reach the summit, the winds were too high. After a mile or two the trail splits and turns upward. There are a few switchbacks and slopes, but there is over 3,000 feet of vertical gain in a relatively short distance. I felt myself starting to wane physically early on. I’m in decent condition, but it’s been several years since I have done any major activity such as this and I was feeling it in my legs, lungs and thoughts. For me the beauty and barometer of a climb is the internal dialogue. Whether climbing in a group or on my own I get lost in my thoughts and the suffering becomes meditative. How much further can I push myself? Where are my limits? Why am I doing this? At the steeper pitches of the climb the wind picked up and the trees shortened. The sun welcomed us through the wobbling trees. At the trailhead we tentatively decided on going for Wright peak instead of Algonquin, slightly lower, but a mile shorter. The closer we got to the top the more our decision making turned toward Algonquin. We kept re-calculating the return time. None of us wanted to be on the mountain after dark. So far we were still in range to hit the summit and be back down with daylight to spare. We hit the fork where the climb splits toward Wight and Algonquin. A team of French Canadians was regrouping on their way down from Algonquin. We asked again how much further to the top? “.9 miles. Straight up.” They were right. As soon as we turned the corner onto the trail it looked and felt like a near vertical climb twisting and turning toward the summit, now hidden by the trail itself. After another 20 to 30 minutes we got a glimpse of the summit push. I told my two colleagues I couldn’t go on. I was tired and cold and most importantly afraid of missing our decent window. We pulled off the trail at a switchback to get something to eat. From there I saw two climbers coming off the summit and their figures cut a different perspective on the distance. Combined with the protein bar I’d just eaten it didn’t seem so far away and I was ready for the final push. We rounded two more switchbacks and got our first look at the bald summit and first full on taste of the 70MPH winds that engulfed it. The first piece of mountain that was uncovered was a steep icy patch, but it was positioned outside the wind. I shortened my trekking poles, grit my teeth and leaned into the slope. As soon as it ended though I felt the full force of the winds and dropped down to my knees to prevent myself from getting blown over. I tried to stand again, but was quickly knocked down again. My climbing partners couldn’t have been more gracious. They knew I was on the ropes, but gave me just enough encouragement to give it another go, but not too much to force me into an uncomfortable situation. I tried twice more to get my legs underneath me, but now it was my mind that was failing. I couldn’t stand up and I couldn’t go on. It was time to turn around. I volunteered to wait back at the treeline below the first steppe for my partners if they wanted to make the summit. They guided my back down, mostly sitting and sliding. They said they’d be back in 20 minutes and then I was alone. I’ve always forced myself to the summit, oftentimes when I probably should have turned around. Instantly my thoughts came back to my decision to cancel the trip to Iran. 20 minutes is a lifetime when you’re not moving on a cold mountain and I disappeared back into the quiet internal conversation that defines my climbs. I felt different looking up at the empty mountain. Another group of climbers were coming down and saw that I was sporting crampons instead of the of snowshoes strapped to my pack, which itself was tucked into the snow. “You should wear snowshoes.” I didn’t quite understand at first, I thought they were just asking if I had snowshoes so I pointed to my pack on the ground. They said again that I should use the snowshoes and I realized they were talking about the summit. I just smiled and said I wasn’t going up. And I felt fine. Something felt different. I was cold, tired and hungry, but I was smiling. The others came back over the hidden slope of the summit. I told them I was sorry I couldn’t make it, but I just didn’t feel right. They both agreed that I’d made the right decision, if you don’t feel up for it, don’t go. Feeling a sense of accomplishment rather than failure we started down the mountain. We glided along the steep narrow pitches that plagued us on the way up. The conversation turned to the idea of a raging fire and roasting Italian sausages. Before I knew it we had rounded heart lake and could see the yellow glowing windows of the Adirondack Lodge; a wrong turn took us happily directly to the car where we stashed our supplies. At the campsite it took about an hour to get everything together including a roaring fire to cook dinner. We sat on a tarp with our shoes off warming our feet at the edge of the fire (which we built by digging out almost 3 feet of snow). We finished off the evening with a cool drink of Miller High Life and I was beat. It was probably no later than 8:00 when I went to bed. In the morning we were on the by 9:00 and sitting down to breakfast at the Noon Mark Diner by 10:00. It was a beautiful day in the sun and the traffic wasn’t so bad as it still wasn’t the end of the weekend. By the evening we were back where we started dropping off snowshoes, poles and a tent at REI SoHo. I didn’t make it to the top, but I made my destination. And maybe that was my REI Challenge after all. Realizing that I didn’t always have to go to the top, learning again to listen to that voice inside that tells you to get up and go.

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