Hi! I'm back! I wrote a one-shot! You all seemed receptive, so I scribbled this short little number down. Well. Maybe it's not so short. This is actually an idea I had a while back, while I was toying around with ideas for a sequel, but I couldn't seem to fit it in anywhere, and since my plot for a sequel has changed drastically, I thought I would do this. Please let me know how you like! Your comments are really, really...addictive. :)
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Pawing at the Ground
"Oh, shit."
"Double shit."
The elevator doors stood open against the silent, pitch black common room.
Bucky's hand tightened around hers, the cool of the wedding band on his right ring finger soothing against her palm. "You know what this means, right?" he muttered.
"That we're totally fucked? Yeah, I'm…very aware."
"Congratulations!" The room erupted into noise, the lights blasting bright to illuminate the crowd—crowd—of people gathered amidst the streamers and sparkling champagne.
Darcy jumped, only held in place by his comforting, iron grip.
"If we're quick, we can make it outta here," Bucky said, his hand straying to the button that would close the elevator doors.
Running with his idea, Darcy opened her mouth. "JARV—"
"Disregard that order, J." Tony Stark appeared before them, sliding deftly out of the crowd of party-goers with a sly smirk. "These two aren't going anywhere."
"Of course, Sir," the onboard AI replied in his crisp, British lilt. "Because they do seem to be so overjoyed by the gathering. Their hearts are simply pounding with…anticipation."
Tony rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Artificial Intelligences aren't supposed to be mouthy."
"Listen to JARVIS, Stark," Bucky said.
Darcy nodded. "Yeah, listen to JARVIS. He's usually onto something."
Tony waved a hand. "You two are so melodramatic. You just got hitched!" He pointed. "You got hitched, and didn't invite anyone. That automatically requires a rousing party for you upon return home, with all the trappings, such as good food, good booze, and lots of loud noise. No back-sies."
Bucky slumped; they were still hiding in the elevator, while everyone had already moved on to eating and drinking, regardless of the point not really having been acknowledged yet. "We invited you and Pepper," he pointed out.
But that hardly worked. "We don't count."
They looked at each other. Darcy had to admit that, for a moment, she was a little lost just looking up at him. Their long weekend away had done Bucky a world of good. His eyes were brighter, his skin was tanned and flush, and the dark circles beneath his eyes had faded, at least a little.
And she couldn't do it. So she sighed, leaning across him to the buttons again. "Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Epic nope. We were having a nice, quiet, pleasant evening with a book and a bottle of wine, and we had plans later, and then you tricked us up here under the excuse that you needed us to help Pepper redecorate the place?" She snorted, hitting the button that would close the elevator doors in the billionaire's face. "I can't believe we fell for that." She turned to face her new husband, who merely frowned and shrugged. "How did we fall for that? Pepper—need help redecorating?! Hah! I've gone stupid. We're gone for one weekend of peace and quiet and I've gone stupid!"
"And good sex," Tony pointed out. "Or, you know, presumably good sex. Was it? I'm curious—is it different, when your partner's got a metal arm?"
"Okay," Darcy cut him off, hitting the button again like a child, thinking that repeated slapping would make it work faster, her heart racing in her chest at the prospect of a room full of people, only some of which she knew, let alone liked. "That's the evening for us. You guys have fun! We'll be on our way!" She bit her lip, eyes going skyward. "JARVIS? C'mon, dude—help a girl out, hey?"
His programming, of course, not allowing him the ability to disobey a previous, direct order, all he said was a cool, "I do still await a directive concerning a potential change in surname, Ms. Lewis."
Tony, a look of malicious mischievousness painting his obnoxious face, quipped, "Is that Mrs. Lewis? How does that work, anyway?"
Slumping, she groaned.
Tony, swizzle stick between his teeth, wandered confidently off. "Take your time, Mr. and Mrs. We got all night."
She groaned again, turning to press her face against Bucky's shoulder. "Fuck."
The party continued in the common room before them, reflected in Bucky's sapphire eyes. She'd wanted to have a nice, quiet night—that was their thing, what with all the crap they'd been through and Bucky's still slightly scrambled mind, quiet nights—and she'd really had her heart set on giving him his wedding gift. She'd worked her tail off in the weeks before the tiny ceremony, trying to get it for him and she was ridiculously proud, and extremely excited. They'd agreed not to spend anything on each other, and she was a little smug with herself that she'd managed to be so savvy, let alone clever. Truth be told, it was pure luck, really, that she'd managed it at all.
She'd really, really had her heart set on seeing the look on his face—that, and, of course, a really nice night of sex, and the black lace teddy that she'd totally nailed—she'd totally pegged him for a traditional lace guy in the bedroom.
They were homebodies. They'd been all snuggled up on one end of the couch, hands-y and relaxed, and he'd been reading A Study in Scarlet out loud and they'd been sharing a really nice bottle of Moscato, even though the alcohol didn't do anything anymore for either of them, but…
The prospect of going from that to a ridiculous wedding shower type of party with a bunch of strange people…? She swallowed hard and clutched at Bucky's hand. "Do we have to, Jamie?"
He chewed on the inside of one cheek in an adorable nervous tic. "Think you could fake an episode?"
She sighed. "No." She gestured toward a rather mousy man standing to one side, shockingly present, talking to Natasha, his glasses straight and his graying dark hair slightly askew. "Bruce is even here—he'd know something was wonky right away."
Her episodes had indeed been increasing, ever since her initial injection. Four months prior, they'd been at the tail end of the worst period of their lives together. Bucky's disappearance back into the clutches of HYDRA, the team's combined efforts to get him back again, his subterfuge, the team's fracturing and Darcy's final, near-fatal wound at the hands of a mechanically bound Red Skull had been one long stream of torturous episodes, and they'd come out on the other side largely intact. The only change had been Darcy—literally. She considered the exchange slightly lopsided, but in favor of dying—or Bucky truly being dragged back to their enemies—she'd gladly be injected with the Super Soldier serum again, and suffer the side-effects.
If only she could get them under control.
Her blood, apparently, had organic healing properties now. She'd rejected the gross amount of serum she'd initially received, but her body had ultimately adapted it for its own use, the translation of which was inspired by her own enhanced healing.
Her hope that she'd get off scot-free was dashed one afternoon in the lab, when she'd healed a massive burn on Tony by compete accident.
It had only gone downhill from there.
Her panic attacks at being found out by HYDRA or any of their evil mastermind competitors had finally faded to maybe one a week. Luckily, she'd just recently married a guy with plenty of experience in handling panic attacks.
The episodes were another story.
Bruce theorized that the healing properties in her blood had increased the activity of the many different white blood cells in her body. He postulated that as their activity spiked, she needed to use said abilities in order to keep it under control. The longer she went without stretching her muscles, so to speak, the worse the episodes got.
A pain so deep it radiated outward from her heart to her entire body.
A cold so sharp and icy it made the trembling last for what felt like hours.
She couldn't breathe.
Bucky had to coax and console her through them, his voice soft and lilting as he helped her hold still, and she trembled for hours, struggling and gasping while he rocked her in his lap, his mouth pressed to her temple where she'd curled up under his chin. They'd only been back a week and he'd already had to ditch on a training session or debrief twice after JARVIS had told him Tony had made her go home. Both times, he'd found her curled in a ball on the couch, shivering and writhing in pain, her face etched in agony, with tears streaming down her face from the intensity.
Of course it didn't help that she'd been having trouble focusing.
She couldn't sleep either, but she blamed that on the basic fact that she was enhanced now. She wasn't like Steve or Bucky, but she had a slice of what they dealt with on a regular basis.
Enhanced reflexes.
Increased stamina and libido.
She didn't require nearly as much sleep as she had before.
Bruce was still working out the details, trying to find where she fell in the grand picture of Captain America, Strong Savior, the Winter Soldier, able to beat up said Captain, and the Black Widow and her watered down version given to her in the Red Room.
She wasn't sure she wanted to know.
She just wanted to go back upstairs, give her new husband his gift, have a little wine, make a little love, and try, super hard, to actually get some sleep.
It was convenient, not having to spend so much time on it, but being awake that long still managed to cause some strange level of overt, long-lasting exhaustion.
Bucky had told her it was mental and that she'd get used to it.
She wasn't so sure. Like now, for instance. She slumped harder against him, groaning out another complaint and blinking tiredly as she watched Maria—Maria, the bitch—throw back a shot. "God damnit, Jamie, I can't do this, not now."
But he was surprisingly lax about it. "Sure you can. We'll be fine."
She growled, gesturing again and scowling, not bothering to look away when the woman in question caught her gaze. "And why the fuck is Maria here? Haven't I made it perfectly clear that I never want to speak to the bitch again?!"
Maria, perhaps able to hear her—or at least read her lips—flinched, and looked away, going back to her attempt at making conversation with Sam. It didn't seem to be going over very well. At first Sam and Bucky hadn't been particularly crazy about each other. Somewhere along the line, it had been made clear to Steve's new friend, that the old one was in need of…just a little patience. They'd struck a strange truce ever since, and Sam was big enough to offer quiet support now and then.
Darcy was suspicious it had nothing to do with any niceties and everything to do with the fact that he was distracted from Sam and Steve guy bonding time with her, and Sam had taken advantage.
But she supposed she had to change that theory now, watching him ignore Maria. After all, he'd supported her when Bucky had been taken. He'd taken her out on a little impromptu, casual date of sorts, had agreed that Bucky was clean.
Maria…hadn't.
"Calm down, doll." He squeezed her hand. "It's just one party." He sighed out a long breath. "We can do one party, right? I mean, did we have any right to expect that Stark was gonna let us get off scot-free?"
"But we invited him!" she argued.
"Yeah, and he was the only one. He probably let the others talk him into something stupid while we were gone."
She grumbled. "I'm not talking to Maria."
He snorted. "You don't have to. I won't either."
The woman in question glanced back at them, once, before flinching away again, fear washing over her face, and Darcy wondered what might've gone down between them while she'd been trying not to die on Bruce's table. But she didn't ask. The look on Maria's face said it all. Bucky was a good guy—at least, now he was, now that he was conscious and everything—but when he was angry, he wasn't above using his previous condition to threaten and defend his high walls. He would never act on anything, no, but he was perfectly willing to use his arm to look creepy and dangerous.
She took a breath, panic pushing its way up her throat.
Bucky must've sensed this in the tension in her hand, because he let go and moved that hand up, to cradle the place just behind her neck, under her skull, his hand warm and firm. "Hey. You good?"
She looked up at him for a long moment, searching his gaze. He held her eyes, waiting. They'd been doing this lately, as a little grounding technique whenever she felt herself slipping. His eyes were always firm and sure when they were directed at her. Warmth spread out from her heart, and she reached up for his hand again, and wove their fingers, nodding. "Sure. Good. Yeah." She took a step.
"I'm right next to you," he murmured comfortingly, his hand ushering her ahead of him at the small of her back. His ring, again, gave him away.
Or maybe she was just hyper aware of the fact that he was wearing it, wearing a ring to match hers. She was still getting used to the idea that—
"You came!" Jane squealed in a very un-Jane-like way, bouncing over to them and grabbing Bucky up in a hug.
Darcy stared, alarmed, at this uncharacteristic display. Jane didn't trust Bucky as much as Darcy had hoped she would, all things considered. The scientist tolerated him, at best, but had never been particularly crazy about her lab intern dating him. And she'd been sure to be very vocal about it. "Are you drunk?" she asked, stepping back a little to watch as Bucky patted her back, shockingly easy-going about all of it, bending to hug her friend properly.
Jane scowled, releasing the Winter Soldier. "No!"
"She is," Thor corrected, nodding as he approached in her wake. "She is too small for such revelries. I try to stop her, but you know how she is." He shrugged, smiling, and leaned down to envelop Darcy in one of her favorite, rib-shattering hugs. But he was surprisingly gentle. "Congratulations, Sister."
She patted his back awkwardly. "Uh. Thanks, Big Guy."
"I am not drunk!" Jane insisted, her argument dulled considerably as she swayed just a fraction.
Bucky reached out to steady her with his metal hand, and Jane didn't even flinch.
"That thing is seriously fascinating. You've gotta let me run some diagnostics on it one day," she commented, poking curiously at his shiny forearm.
"You and Stark, both," he muttered wryly, seemingly unbothered.
"Can you feel it?" the scientist asked, peering at it. "Like, can you feel it like you feel your other arm?" She leaned down over it and started prodding.
Thor, surprisingly tactful, tugged on her arm. "Jane, my love. A soldier is very private about such things. Do not make him disconcerted."
She stubbornly pulled against him, frowning. "It's just a question." She turned back around, her face reflecting blurrily in the mysterious metal. "Is it vibranium? Because if it is, it's incredible craftsmanship—I mean, it looks just like your other arm! Did they make a cast, fit a sleeve? How…" she trailed off, muttering to herself and slurring as she leaned in farther, nearly bumping it comically with her nose.
Darcy smirked as Bucky met her gaze over the scientist's head, raising a brow and shaking his head.
"Jane, my dear…" Thor called again, looking uncomfortable. He'd accepted Bucky the quickest, completely willing, with only a few short words of warning that had sounded less like a threat and more like an agreement offered on a pretty little olive branch. "James is not one of your experiments."
She flapped a hand back at him blindly, reaching up to bend his arm at the elbow and leaning in to listen to the mechanics whir.
Darcy snorted.
Bucky shrugged. "It's okay, Thor. I'm kinda…used to it now. Stark and Banner do it, too. They're just…a little more…sober while they're doing it."
Thor rolled his eyes.
"It's likely vibranium, yeah," he offered to Jane, who immediately straightened, grinning brightly.
"I knew it! It's way too durable to be anything else. Even surgical steel couldn't hold up this long—and it looks new!" She leaned in again. "And you can get it wet, obviously—I mean, you shower and everything." She leaned closer, peering at it with a studious frown again and outlining the star with a fingertip, the only part of the arm that seemed to bother him, the symbol of the Soviets. "You smell fantastic, by the way—so clearly you can—"
"Hey!" Darcy teased. "Crossing the line, there, Science Lady. Stop sexually harassing my man!"
Jane straightened, finally pulled from her distraction by her best friend. Then she blushed, looking around. "Right. Sorry."
Thor chuckled huskily, his voice deep as he shook his head.
She took a step back, her hand sliding off the metal with a soft 'shing'. "Just…a question. That's all."
Bucky nodded, a smirk curling the corner of his mouth.
"And that was not sexual at all, Darcy. Don't be ridiculous. Just a stray observation." She took a sip of her vodka martini and started toying idly with the olives stabbed in the glass. Then she turned to her friend. "I tried to tell them you would hate a party, but they didn't listen. Then I insisted that you just wouldn't come, and I think I may have made it worse. Tony is…totally not a guy to suggest subterfuge to." She pulled a guilty grimace.
Darcy sought out Bucky's hand again, and his warm flesh fingers settled around hers. "It's…okay, Science Lady. No biggie."
His hand squeezed, once.
"When did you guys get started, anyway?" she asked, looking around. The buffet looked like it was already picked over, and if Jane was drunk—small, little refrained Jane—they'd have had to have been going for a while. "I mean…Tony called with his paint swatch excuse twenty minutes ago."
She nodded. "Yeah, they argued with ideas to get you down here for an hour." She shrugged. "They got tired of waiting to eat and after a while, Clint got bored and opened the bar."
Thor nodded in agreement.
Bucky shook his head and rolled his eyes.
It looked like it was mostly Tony and Pepper's people—suits that worked the lower floors that the two of them were closer with—the department heads and assistants in PR and HR. People neither of them knew, which made her sure they'd been invited just to fill the room and, therefore, make them more uncomfortable.
Dr. Rosen was off to one side, talking to whichever psychologist it was that Steve was seeing that month. He liked to switch off and get a rounded experience. The pantsuit seemed to never leave her body and Darcy wondered if she just had sets and sets of the same exact outfit lining her closet in her suite. Her blond hair was trimmed short in a bob around her chin and her black framed glasses hid large, dark eyes. She smiled at Darcy tightly, and Darcy waved back, feeling awkward. How was she supposed to treat the woman? She never knew. Bucky had told her that she'd encouraged their relationship and approved, but she didn't know if that look she often got—a thin, almost parental smirk—was just her being professional or her hating her guts for some unknown reason.
But then, shockingly, the doctor raised her glass—half full of red wine, likely the most expensive bottle Tony's looser assistant's had been able to find—in a little toast, and winked.
Winked.
She blinked at her, then caught herself and smiled, nodding back, a little too stunned to do anything else.
"So, how's the ball and chain treatin' ya so far?" came a voice, breaking her out of her interlude. She jumped, looking around to find Clint approaching, beer bottle in hand, and a sly grin in place.
She narrowed her eyes playfully. "What was that, Clint, dear?"
Bucky laughed. "There's no ball and chain."
Clint chuckled, taking a pull off his Corona Light and glancing back at Laura, his own wife, where she was exchanging conversation with Pepper, who was nodding warmly and gesturing down at Lila, their daughter. The little girl twirled in her bright pink dress, and Darcy could practically hear the little girl's tiny voice proudly declaring it her princess dress. "Yeah," he drawled, looking affectionate. "I know."
"'Ball and chain'?" Thor questioned curiously, frowning. "I…do not understand…"
Darcy snorted. "It's a very unbecoming term for what some men consider 'nagging' wives."
Clint shrugged. "Just a joke, Big Guy." He slapped Thor on the back. "Laura keeps me in check. Wouldn't have it any other way."
Thor, still looking a little confused, nodded. "Ah."
Darcy leaned into Bucky's collar. "Right. Over his head."
Bucky chuckled.
"So, how you liking the party?" Clint asked, taking another drag off is bottle, eyebrows raised, already guessing the answer.
Darcy glared at him. "I might kill Stark."
Clint snorted. "Yeah. Told him you'd say that. Pepper wouldn't let up. This one, too." He gestured at Jane with the neck of his bottle. "Kept going on and on about not being invited, suggested a party."
Darcy gasped, rounding on Jane, who shrank and glared at Clint, looking affronted. "What?!"
Jane grimaced. "Turncoat."
"Hey." Clint shrugged. "Fair's fair."
"What the fuck, Jane?!" Darcy crowed, snatching a champagne glass off the passing tray of a waiter. She downed it in one go, letting it dangle from her fingertips. "You know I hate this shit!"
Jane wilted. "I know! But Wanda kept going on about how betrayed she felt that you'd eloped, and she wouldn't leave my lab, and then Maria was acting all guilty and depressing, and I had to do something!" She turned to Thor for support.
Her Asgardian lover backed away, raising his hands in a surrender. "Do not look to me, my love. I clearly remember suggesting that Darcy and James may not appreciate being made a warrior's spectacle of. I can firmly understand one's waning desire to make such a rousing revelry out of every instance in life." His eyes dimmed a bit and Darcy wondered if he was thinking that things just weren't as shiny now, without the brother he'd thought he'd known.
She reached out to lay a hand on his forearm. "It's okay, Big Guy. Thanks. We'll…survive."
Bucky's hand slid over the small of her back again and she was reminded of the cool press of his wedding band. It was silver, to match hers. Tiffany's. She'd had it engraved after he'd temporarily stolen hers. Unable to think of anything clever that would fit in the small space, she'd merely told them to cursive a pretty 'Jamie' on the inside, and she'd been relieved to find he'd reciprocated with a simple, sweet 'Doll'.
They were married.
She was someone's wife.
The domesticity was supposed to freak her out, and the fact that she—wild-hearted, crazy, bounce off the walls, forever an intern, never an adult, Darcy—was married and it didn't bother her was something she was still getting used to.
He'd been right of course. Nothing had changed. They'd exchanged a few words, slid on some jewelry, signed a piece of paper, had a short vacation, pooled their bank accounts, and returned to the same high rise suite. The past week since their return had been the same as before. Snuggling, TV, his fantastic cooking, a few awful episodes, really great sex, Tony trying to blow up the lab, and Darcy not letting him.
She'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop, if she was being honest with herself. They'd left and Wanda had been furious at them. They'd returned, and she was suddenly playing nice.
Maria had attempted to make small talk in the elevator just that morning, and while she'd run straight into a brick wall, Darcy had been utterly confused by the offering of a white flag. Since the events of the spring, Maria had made no attempts at mending the burned bridge between them, her essentially calling her a stupid, naïve whore still sitting sour and chilly in the pit of Darcy's stomach.
But there she was, making small talk with Bruce, who was very awkwardly glancing in their direction, likely thinking that Darcy was petty enough to hold it against him. She wasn't like that. And it wasn't about a grudge, really. She wasn't like that either. But the betrayal and the accusation that she'd allowed herself to be used for a good night in bed just sat, heavy and thick, in the back of her mind, and she just wasn't ready yet to let it go. She couldn't. Not only had Maria betrayed her friend, she'd betrayed a team mate, someone she'd agreed to defend. She'd betrayed a victim as a villain.
Bucky wasn't as angry as he had been, and he wasn't as angry as Darcy still was. But he hadn't bothered to make amends either, and the week had been slightly chilly whenever they'd been in her presence. Even Tony had steered clear.
Just then, Sam said something that she couldn't hear, and Steve let loose a huge, infectious laugh that had her grinning anyway. "It's funny…" she said.
"What is, Darce?" Bucky asked, his attention immediately on her.
She shrugged. "We don't even know half these people. But they came for the food and the booze."
He smirked. "Yeah. But they'll be the first to leave and then maybe we can relax."
She nodded. "It's weird. Now that we're here…" She shrugged, her heart tugging and catching her completely by surprise. "I dunno. I wish…I wish my family weren't a bunch of jerks—was your family a bunch of jerks?" She snorted. "Mine are all assholes, but you already know a little of that." Then, all at once, she sobered, and tugged him into a quiet corner, glancing furtively around. "Don't you…I dunno, don't you, like…have people you're missing?" She scuffed the floor with her shoe and found she suddenly couldn't meet his eyes, such a rare thing with them that it nibbled at her insides.
He looked down at her with soft eyes.
"Do you miss your family? I mean, you, you had one. Steve's was gone. But you…" She sighed, finally looking up into his face. "Didn't you?"
They'd hardly talked about it before; she'd yet to work up the guts to ask if his memory had provided any more missing pieces. She was half scared that he'd been lying and keeping them a secret.
But his face was warm, if tinged with just a touch of melancholy and bittersweet feeling. "Becca."
She swallowed. "Your mother?"
He shrugged, switching gears. "Eh. Dad was an ass, and mom obeyed his every word. It was okay, I guess. He kept food on the table. But you can't really expect much warmth from a gravedigger, you know?"
She was so shocked by this left-field pronouncement that she gaped at him, slack-jawed. "What?!"
He waved a hand. "Later. That doesn't matter."
She reached down for his hand. "Who's Becca?"
"My kid sister." His mouth softened into another fond smile, then slipped just slightly. "She's probably an old woman now."
She sighed, looking around and pretending not to notice as Steve looked onward with concern. "Jamie…"
He shrugged, looking around at the tasteful, classy string lights Pepper had woven around the room. "She'd have loved this. She loved parties. Any party, didn't matter what it was for. If there was food and music and people, she was there. Used to have to drag her home by her skirts." He laughed, a warm, affectionate sound.
"Yeah?" she encouraged. She'd learned he was the most open when she said little; just enough to keep him talking.
He nodded, the smile slipping again. "Ma and Pops. They took a while to break through. But Becca. She was suddenly there, bright, like a star." He looked down at her, the haze clearing from his eyes. "I'm sorry. I should've told you about her."
She shook her head. "It's okay, Jamie."
"It's hard, talking about her. The look on her face when I left…"
She reached up to cup his face. "It's okay, Jamie."
He sighed out a long breath, then nodded. "Right." He took her hand. "We should get back out there, at least pretend to have fun."
He pulled her back into their small group, and it seemed no one had noticed their absence.
But then, a sharp wave passed through her head, and she tilted, grabbing at her temple.
Everyone jerked to look at her and Bucky reached out with his quick reflexes to grab her around the waist. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low and urgent in her ear. "An episode?"
He'd been so, so good to her in the time since her injection. Patient and nurturing and soft, gentle and attentive and supportive. She'd never had a man before who was so heartbreakingly good to her. It made her heart hurt. "I dunno," she gasped, her head swimming.
"No. Only me," an accented voice said, and Wanda appeared at her side, reaching up to brush a strand of hair off Darcy's shoulder.
Bucky scowled darkly at her. "Wanda…" he warned, clearly unhappy that someone was making Darcy feel potentially worse than she'd felt, on top of the injection.
"What the fuck, Maximoff?" she groaned, even as the sensation passed.
Wanda shrugged. "Sorry. Had to peek inside your head."
Bucky growled, really angry now. "Why?"
Another casual shrug as she sipped her champagne. "I needed to see how she truly felt."
Darcy, distracted by the discomfort, felt the champagne flute slip from her fingertips, but Bucky darted his hand out and deftly caught it, setting on a passing tray. "You could try, oh, I dunno, asking me?" she suggested,
Yet another shrug. "That is no way to get to the real truth with people."
She rolled her eyes. "And what did you happen to determine, perchance?" she drawled, leaning back into Bucky's shoulder, one hand on his chest for balance. He cradled her in the shape of his warm, human arm.
Wanda smiled. "You are happy."
"You needed to climb inside of her head to determine that?" Thor asked, looking irked.
She took another sip of her champagne. "Yes."
Darcy sighed, straightening onto her feet again and pulling her hand through her hair. It wasn't the first time the empath had rifled through her thoughts, but the last time, she'd had warning.
Sam wandered by, squeezed her shoulder and was caught in conversation with Jane and Thor as they moved aside, and Darcy was grateful for the room to breathe.
"Darcy!"
She jumped, but didn't have any time to prepare before a small pink ball had rammed into her legs, and Lila's small little arms wrapped around her thighs. "Lila. Hi." Her hand came down on the little girl's head and she ran her fingers through her hair.
They'd met a handful of times, when Clint had brought them over to see the Tower. The little girl had taken an interest in her for reasons Darcy still didn't quite understand. She'd never been particularly into kids and her experience with them had been relegated to a small career as a babysitter after college and before her internship with Jane. She'd had no siblings and hadn't had any contact with any uncles or cousins. Her parents—divorced, remarried and a couple of assholes, as far as Darcy was concerned—she'd gotten out of there as soon as she could, fleeing to NYU and choosing a major at random.
She'd made good money for a while on the side, keeping an eye on the children of some higher ups she'd gotten to know a little at the local coffee shops. But then an internship had caught her eye in the paper, the fine print of her degree keeping her just shy of graduating until she completed a semester in the field.
And here she was, getting hugged by a superhero's daughter that she'd accidentally made friends with at his last barbeque at his house, the only 'adult' in attendance willing to see her Barbie doll collection. "Hey, kiddo. How's Ken's Jeep holding up?" They'd holed up in the little girl's bedroom that Saturday afternoon, gluing parts back on it after Lila had told her that Cooper had stomped all over it, playing "Pirates and Swords" with his friend Brant from the next farm a few miles down.
Bucky had laughed at her discomfort all the way back into Manhattan.
"Fine!" she peeped, letting her go so she could look up at her. "Mommy showed me the picture of you from last week, when you were in your dress. You looked really pretty!" she crowed, twirling her skirt.
Bucky's arm tightened around her waist and she knew that it was him silently agreeing. As though he hadn't already said it enough.
Incandescent, he'd said. She was pretty sure that one was her favorite.
"Well. Thanks. I guess," she said, patting her head.
Lila finally released her, her eyes drawn to Bucky, whom she'd been too wrapped in her dolls last time to meet with more than a cursory glance. Shyly, she ducked her head a little, alternatively craning her neck to look all the way up at him. "Hi."
Bucky, seeing her unease, softened his stance and bent over her. "Hello." He offered his right hand, tucking the metal one slightly behind him. "I'm Bucky."
She nodded, slowly settling her tiny hand in his, dwarfed as he shook gently.
Laura approached, smirking as she took in the scene. "Well? Don't be rude, Lila. Tell him your name, sweetie."
Clint chuckled. "Yeah, he won't bite—much."
Lila jerked back at his words.
"Clint," Laura admonished softly, slipping her arm around his waist. "Seriously?"
Bucky let her hand go with an easy smile.
Slowly, she took a step toward him. "I'm Lila."
He nodded at her in an old style, and she smirked at another thirties hanger-on. "Hello, Lila." He crouched down fully at her level. "You came for the party, huh?"
She nodded, then, her confidence won, and her eyes sparkled as she decided to trust him with her opinion. "Yep! It's a really nice party! But daddy won't let me drink any of the bubbly juice." She grimaced.
Bucky laughed, the sound husky and warm. "Well." He leaned in conspiratorially. "It's not as good as it looks."
"Bucky!" The call echoed surprisingly well for the room's acoustics and then a slightly larger figure crashed across the space and Bucky's reflexes were Cooper's only savior as he threw himself at him.
Cooper's introduction to Bucky had been the complete opposite of his sister's. Upon their arrival for the barbeque and before Lila had stolen Darcy away, Cooper had approached him immediately, completely fearless. "Is that a metal arm?!" he'd asked, eyes wide.
Bucky had blinked at him in shock before Darcy had pushed him closer, urging him on. "Uh. Yeah."
Cooper had been an acolyte ever since, too young to understand the idea that he'd had to suffer through losing the real arm in order to gain the mechanical one. His blond, duck fluff hair brushed Bucky's t-shirt as he hugged him. "They told me you were coming, but you took forever!" he squeaked.
Bucky smiled. "Sorry, kid." He held out his arm so Cooper could check it out in the brighter light of the room, and not surrounded by grill smoke like the last time they'd met. "Here. Take a gander. The lighting's better in here."
Copper marveled, his little face reflecting in the bright vibranium. "Wow!" he whispered, then jumped, his mouth wide in a happy grin when Bucky moved it and made it whir. "Cool! You're like a robot!"
Darcy flinched, though Bucky seemed surprisingly unbothered by the mindless automaton reference.
Laura noticed, her motherly eyes missing nothing. "Cooper, sweetie." Her hand settled on his head.
"What?" he asked, turning. "He is! It's super cool!"
Clint stepped in, quiet and unafraid to just say it. "You gotta watch how you say things, bud. Remember, we talked about this on the way over?" He gave him a firm look.
Bucky straightened. "It's okay, Barton. No big deal." He shrugged.
But Clint shook his head. "No. You gotta keep your head about you all the time, kiddo—remember?"
Cooper slumped slightly. "I don't know what I said…?"
Lila turned to look up at Laura questioningly. "Is calling someone a robot mean?"
Bucky smiled.
Laura hesitated. "Well. Let's let daddy explain it—he's good at that."
Clint crouched in front of Cooper. "The metal arm's cool, yeah. But you're getting to be a big kid, now, remember? You've got two little siblings at home you gotta watch out for, right?"
Cooper nodded.
"How you think he got the metal arm, Coop?"
Cooper shrugged.
"C'mon, sport. How you think he got it?"
Cooper shrugged again, staring at the floor, his voice low. "He had to replace the real one?"
Clint nodded. "Sure did."
Lila gasped quietly, turning back to Laura. "That would hurt, mommy!"
Laura nodded. "Yeah, baby. I'll bet it did."
Bucky tried again, slipping his good arm around Darcy's waist. "It's no big deal, guys. Really. It's been a long time."
But he was ignored. "So. If losing that arm hurt, maybe it might not be a good idea to go too overboard about it, hey? People don't always like being reminded of stuff that was bad, okay, kiddo?"
Cooper nodded.
Clint, smiling wryly, tapped him on the head and stood. "So—"
"What's the party for, mommy?" Lila spoke up again. "It's real pretty in here and I got to wear my dress!"
It was awfully well done in the common room, tasteful decorations and a classy white tablecloth on the buffet and bar.
Darcy looked up at Bucky, who looked considerably less at ease than he had a moment ago, what the sudden change in subject.
But Laura was biting back a smile. "Well, it's a shower—sort of. We're celebrating that Darcy got married." Short and sweet. Not too complicated.
"That's why she was in a pretty dress in the picture?" she asked.
Laura nodded.
Cooper, likely embarrassed over his discussion with his father, wandered off, looking shy and out of place. Darcy watched Bucky's eyes momentarily trace his progress, and she wouldn't be surprised if he went and hunted him down later to make him feel better.
"Who'd she marry, then?"
Clint snorted, taking another pull off his beer.
Laura chuckled. "Well, she married Bucky, sweetie." She gestured.
Bucky gave an awkward little one-armed wave.
Lila smiled. "Ooh!" She stepped forward again and gestured him down to her.
He bent.
She pressed her mouth to his ear, cupping her little hand around it, and whispered something, leaning back a moment later with a giggle.
Bucky straightened, a brow raised. "Ah. I see. Barbies, huh?"
Darcy snorted, rolling her eyes.
Clint chuckled.
"So are they gonna have a baby next, mom?" she asked. "Heather said her mom told her some stupid story about a big bird. That's not how it works, right—they get a baby next?"
Darcy froze.
Bucky's arm tightened around her waist.
"They got married, so now Darcy has to have a baby—like you did!"
"Lila!" Clint snapped, his voice sharper than Darcy had heard it in a long time, and especially with his children. She'd been around his family enough to know he was a good, kind father, and to hear him so defensive made her flinch.
"It's okay, Clin—" she started.
But they were gone, Laura apologizing over her shoulder as Clint dragged his daughter away by the hand, speaking firmly to her as they retreated. "What did I just tell your brother? Wasn't the point of that so both of you could learn a little tact?!"
Darcy sighed, watching their retreat. "Words gotten out, then," she muttered. "Darcy's officially joined Natasha's freak club."
She wasn't sure how it had happened really. One minute, Bruce was running diagnostics, the next he was telling her the serum had likely sterilized her as it had Natasha. Now the rest of the team knew? She'd expressly told him to work extra hard at keeping it a secret. She'd only told Tony—and she knew Bucky would take a secret like that to the god damn grave. And what the hell was it about the serum crap that enhanced guy's swimmers but totally took the ladies off the team? Sexist, much?
Bucky's hand ran up her back. "I thought you said it was a good thing? No more worrying about when you had your last shot, no more chance of…well…"
She sighed. "Yeah, it's great! It's fucking fantastic! Just about the only good thing about the gross shit that I've been able to think of so far. What's less great is being treated like a freak. I'm so embarrassed."
"No one's treating you like a freak."
"Are you sure?"
Laura came rushing back, her face slack in worry. "I'm so sorry, you guys! We're taking the kids home. Clint's pretty frustrated and it's gonna be late enough by the time we get there."
Darcy smiled. "Laura, really—it's okay. It wasn't really a quash on any plans, okay?"
Laura blinked, then blinked again. Then she nodded. "Oh. Right." She glanced at Bucky. "I…Right. I guess I get that." She sighed, looking back the way she'd come. "But seriously. Kids are just…ugh. I'm sorry, okay? Really."
Bucky chuckled. "Let it go, Laura."
She took a step back, retreating again. "Okay. Right. Letting it go. See you guys later!" She waved, halfway back across the room already. "And congratulations! Your gift's on the table!" She pointed.
They waved and Darcy dared a glance, her jaw dropping open at the huge full buffet, piled with white-wrapped gifts. "Holy shit."
"Don't worry—you're not expected to open all those tonight. They'll be here in the morning," Pepper said as she approached, a wry smile in place.
Darcy glared. "Pepper. Seriously. You remember that part where we wanted to elope to avoid all this? You remember that?"
Pepper didn't even bother looking admonished.
"And that diagnostic I ran could easily have been adulterated by some environmental factor," Bruce added as he approached. "We can always run another."
Natasha followed. "Bruce. You're making it worse."
Darcy, feeling a hot flush gathering on her cheeks, hid her face in Bucky's shoulder like a child, her voice muffled as she said, "Yes, Bruce. You're making it worse."
Steve joined in. "What are we making worse?"
"Nothing," Tony said, his voice firm as he arrived. "Absolutely nothing, Rogers."
Steve blinked, glancing between his oldest friend and his significant other with his brows drawn. He opened his mouth, but Tony cut him off—
"Ask your wife later in bed, Cap."
That was enough to shut him up, his ears going pink.
For a long while they all just stood there, talking, the core of their little team shooting the breeze and avoiding any and all talk of anything serious, work-related or uncomfortable.
Tony wheedled them about their long weekend and Natasha joined in. Steve muttered something to Bucky that Darcy could almost hear, and Bruce apologized profusely when he had successfully caught Darcy's ear.
Thor finally had to drag a very drunk Jane home, and for a moment, they all laughed as her calls of "I'm fine!" and "Put me down!" and "Congratulations, Darce!" echoed all the way to the elevator.
Sam ushered an unsteady Wanda in a while later and pushed the button, ever the gentleman as Maria watched with jealous eyes from across the room. A half hour later, she left, herself, looking forlorn and lonely, but no one made an attempt—and neither did she.
Darcy felt a pang of guilt before shoving it roughly aside.
Sam stopped to give her a hug, yawning as he and the very last random suit got in the elevator and left.
They didn't keep them long. They all thanked them for enduring the awkwardness—and Natasha murmured another apology, having heard the entire exchange with Cooper and Lila—and they set them free. Tony ushered them into the elevator with a smile and a squeeze to Darcy's shoulders. "Congrats, kids! Now it's past your bed time."
"We can help clean up?" Darcy offered, hesitating in the doorway.
But Tony shoved her. "No. Go to bed." He paused. "And then go to sleep."
She sighed, turning to glare at him, and the door closed on his mischievous face.
When they'd made it back to their suite, she threw herself bodily across the couch, huffing out a long sigh. "Oh, shit. That was about as awful as I expected."
Bucky tossed his cardigan over a bar chair. "But we survived."
"We've gotta open all those gifts tomorrow," she groaned. "And it's a huge spectacle now, which was exactly what I didn't want—" She jerked up—"And, oh God, we're gonna have to write a long, drawn-out thank you card for every. Single. One." She flopped back over. "Oh, God damn it."
He leaned over the back of the couch and studied her. "You okay?" he asked after a long moment, a soft, worried frown on his face.
She sighed, blinking up at him. "Yeah, why?"
He shrugged. "Just…that whole thing, with the kids…"
She cocked her head. "The 'robot' thing or the 'baby' thing?"
He waved a hand and scoffed. "The robot thing was no big deal. I mean, I get what Clint was trying to do, but it's been a long time. I've made my peace with this thing." He shrugged the metal shoulder. "I meant the bit with Lila."
She snorted. "What—the bit where she made a really hilarious reference to a stork?" She blinked. "I wonder where that even started…"
He frowned. "Darce."
"I'm not deflecting! It's a legitimate question!"
He cocked a brow. "You know, it's okay if you're disappointed, doll. You're allowed to be disappointed."
She huffed out a sigh. "I'm not disappointed. Me—a mother?! Are you fucking nuts?! I'd be awful! And that's some long-ass commitment there, dude. I mean, twenty years?! Twenty years?! And nothing but eating and sleeping and whining and screaming, and ugh!" She shuddered. "No. Thank you. This whole thing is hilariously convenient. I mean, I feel like fate's getting ready to laugh at me, but I'm not gonna question it, you know?"
He didn't reply. He just continued to stare at her with those inscrutable, gorgeous blue eyes.
"What?"
Nothing.
"What?!"
Still nothing.
"For God sakes, Jamie, stop with the Winter Soldier look already!"
Silence.
She huffed out another frustrated sigh that he'd managed to break down all her walls—again—without even saying a word. "Okay, fine. You know what it is that bothers me? You wanna know?"
"That's what I've been trying to communicate. Usually, that doesn't really require words, but you took an awful long time to get there," he finally said.
She glared at him. "I've always been the weird one, okay? Too many books, not enough parties—when I did go, I always left early—and I always slept with the wrong guy. I wasn't rigid enough for dad, but mom didn't want me when she left either. Took a random internship with a crazy scientist in a field that I knew nothing about. I fell in with superheroes completely by accident—I mean, you don't get much more accidental than hitting a disoriented God figure with your fucking van, Jamie!"
He smirked, but knew better than to interrupt her when she was on a roll.
"And I was still the weird one! How fucked up is that?! And I fell in love with a former brainwashed assassin—total badass, yes—but an assassin! And the weird girl did something she totally never thought she'd ever fucking do, even if you paid her—she married him! I'm your wife! I'm your wife, Jamie!"
He nodded. "I'm aware."
"And I'm still weird! I'm this enhanced freak who's even more of a freak because her side-effects totally negate the thing that society—not me, mind you, never me—dictates makes a woman a woman in the first place!"
He opened his mouth to argue—
"And then there's you!"
He jerked. "Me?"
She sat up. "Yes, you!"
He blinked. "What did I do?"
She sighed harshly again. "Just, you—being all adorable with the little kids, and you and your nineteen thirties values and you, talking about your kid sister, and I can't give that to you, Jamie! I can't. Even if I changed my mind and wanted to, I can't—not anymore!" Breathless, she belatedly realized she was biting her lip to hold back harsh and sudden tears, viciously tugging at the back of her throat. "You're so wonderful to me, and I feel like—"
"I never wanted kids," he interrupted her. "Are you kidding—me? The Winter Soldier? You just said it—I'm an assassin. I don't even know how many people I've killed—I wasn't counting. I'm not cut out for that, Darce."
She blinked.
"Don't you remember—we talked about this on New Year's Eve?"
Another blink.
"I don't want any kids, Darcy," he said again."I never have."
She bit her lip. "Jamie—"
"Am I a liar?" he cut her off again, fixing her with his Winter Soldier stare. "Have I ever lied to you?"
She slumped a little against the couch. "Well. No."
"Darce, I volunteered to go and fight in the War! I asked to go and risk my life, I asked to go and fight the Nazis!" He shook his head. "I wasn't planning on coming back."
She swallowed. "You weren't?"
He snorted. "No! None of us were, not really. When you enlist, there's an inscrutable idea in the back of your head at every moment that you might be living on borrowed time, but hopefully it won't be in vain. And if you got to go home, then great. But us? In the Howling Commandos, going in the way we did?" He shook his head. "Nothing prepared me for falling out of that train, Darce. But it wasn't anything I wasn't expecting, to die."
She stared at him. "Well, that's…morbid."
He smirked. "Yeah. So is war."
She wilted back against the cushions again, blinking at him. "So…all you wanted was to…"
"To go and kill some bad guys, and, maybe, if I was lucky, come back and see Stevie and my kid sister again. I felt the need, after Pearl Harbor, to go and do that. But that was it. And then, when Steve showed up, and looking like that…" He shrugged. "I dunno. It changed. I felt like I was finally on equal footing, you know? But things change. Sometimes you kill the creepy guy with the red face and sometimes you fall outta train cars. You know?"
She stared at him again. "You're so…blasé about your own death."
He smiled. "How else am I supposed to be, after everything I've been through?"
She shrugged. "I…dunno, I guess."
He reached down to brush a strand of hair off her shoulder. "Stevie wanted to come home. He wanted to do his part—I mean, you know how bad he wanted to do his part."
She nodded.
"And then he wanted to come home, and marry his girl and be that guy. I…didn't."
She thought of Peggy, her dark hair and her fiery expression in all the old photographs she'd seen, her classic makeup, the look of a woman unafraid to take her power. She thought of the look in Steve's eyes when he talked about her—and she remembered the look in his eyes when she'd hugged him goodbye the morning he'd left for DC—and her funeral. "What did you want?"
He shrugged. "I dunno. But I was never that kind of guy. I catted around, I had my fun, but I was never in a place where I wanted—or was ready, for that matter—to settle down and be that guy." His eyes softened. "I know why, now." He smiled.
She blushed.
"But I…I'm not that kinda guy. And if I was ever gonna be…? That guy…he's dead. He's long gone. We might've passed in the hall, but we were never introduced. You know what I mean?"
She nodded.
He finally came around the couch, picked up her legs and sat down, settling them in his lap. "I was never that kind of guy, Darce." He tugged at her ankle boots and pulled them off, one foot, then the other, his metal hand working, slow and steady as his expression sobered. "I'm old, Darcy. I'm tired. I'm battered. I look young, but I'm an old man up here." He tapped his temple. "The guy that might've been a father ain't here anymore, and the only thing whoever this guy is wants is a little peace and quiet. Can't have that with kids around. I want a different kind of fulfillment now. You know? Just a little vindication and maybe a touch of redemption. That's it."
"Not a family of six?"
He shuddered. "Absolutely not. And don't let anyone else make you feel weird about it. It's not weird."
"So there's…nothing else you want?"
His face sobered again. "Part of me wants to go back in time and…tell her everything will be alright." He gave a humorless laugh.
"Becca?"
He nodded.
She sat up further so she could reach him and set a hand on his forearm. "You miss her." It wasn't a question.
"I should've told you about her. I'm sorry."
She shrugged. "Hey—long as it ain't a secret, you don't have to tell me anything. You're allowed to have little things to yourself."
He ran a hand up her calf, then smoothed it back down again in a soft caress. "She was…a feeling more than anything up until a couple months ago. Then I had a dream, and she…"
"Turned up in bright Technicolor?"
He nodded, focusing down on his hand on her knee. "Yeah. I guess."
"You're allowed to keep her for yourself, Jamie. You don't have to share her with me. I…I was an only child, I didn't have any siblings, so I don't know what it feels like. But having to leave her behind, especially a big brother, and during the War. Must've felt like being eviscerated."
He flinched. "She'd have liked you. She was always quiet and indrawn, but you—you're full of moxy."
She smiled. "Is that why you think I'm so sexy?" she teased, batting her eyelashes.
He chuckled. "Probably a big part of it. You're my type—my type in a world where those sorts of girls don't exist too much anymore."
She raised a brow. "And what type of girl is that, Barnes?"
He smirked. "Cute. Curvy. Full of…oomph. And you don't take anyone's shit."
She snorted. "No, you're describing the legend that was Peggy Carter."
But he shook his head. "Yeah, well, you and her are pretty similar."
She flushed, but covered it quietly. "So, if I surprised you on your birthday with a cheesy photo shoot type of deal with me draped like a pin-up on some fly-boy's B52 nose art, you'd go nuts?"
He laughed, his ears tipping pink. "No guarantees."
She moved to straddle him, settling in his lap and pressing against his front, undeniably turned on by these proclamations. "Really? My soldier's got a kinky streak, huh?"
His hands outlined the shape of her hips. "It's not kinky. It's just a rarity nowadays."
She dipped to kiss him, lapping her tongue against his mouth.
But he pulled back. "It's appropriate, really, that we're talking about this." He looked up at her, and his eyes were soft. "You want your gift?"
She sagged. "Oh, finally! I've been on pins and needles with yours, but the moment never seemed right!" She clamored down off the couch and darted into their bedroom. "I kept to my end of the bargain and didn't spend anything, so you'd better have done the same!" she yelled as she rummaged around in her bedside table drawer where she'd been hiding it. She scooped up the rattling box and returned.
It seemed he hadn't moved. "I definitely didn't, don't worry." He held up a velvet box.
She narrowed her eyes as she slid in next to him again. "Sure looks like you did. If that's from Tiffany's, we're having words, Soldier Boy."
He held up his hands. "Just the box. No worries. You're wearing its previous tenant."
She took the offering and handed over her own.
"You first," he murmured, the low lamp light casting a romantic glow across one side of his face.
Sighing, she flipped the lid back—
And gasped and stared.
It was gorgeous. Slid into the slot where her engagement ring had once been was a beautiful antique ring. Even if she hadn't guessed judging by his age alone, she'd have been able to easily tell by the burnished surface of the pewter –colored silver.
"It was hers. Actually," he said haltingly.
Her mouth parted, she pulled it from its slot and set the box in her lap. The small, delicate thing was intricately carved into the shape of a rose, its band a vine that wrapped around a finger. There were no thorns; just leaves and a perfect, half-open bud.
She flashed back to the rose he'd brought her the previous spring, when he'd ditched on HYDRA for the evening and come home with a single red bud. "Jamie…" she whispered.
"She loved roses. Always did. Saw that in the storefront and begged Pops for it, but…"
She looked up at him, still stunned.
He shrugged awkwardly. "He was…a difficult man. I felt bad. We'd already…had our falling out and I'd already moved out with Stevie, and she was there alone with Ma. Pops blew her off. She was just a kid, twelve, maybe. She came to the diner while I was working my shift and sat in the back and told me what was going on at home, that he was drinking more, and I took my check and bought it for her when I got off work."
She could picture him in an apron, flipping burgers in a diner.
"Stopped by when I knew he wasn't home. Gave it to her. She cried for a half hour." He smiled affectionately, the look dimmed by the passage of time. "She wore it for the next two years, never took it off. When I enlisted, she was furious. Came over that morning and argued with me for an hour, pleaded with me not to go. Finally gave me that and made me promise I'd give it back to her. She was always sort of…romantic. Insisted that if she was with me, I couldn't die, because that would be breaking the rules and pulling her in half, if part of her was still at home." He took a deep breath. "Never took it outta my strongbox." He finally looked up at her, his eyes full of an aching pain. "I want you to have it."
She shook her head. "Jamie…I can't."
"I want you to."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "Just feels right. She'd have liked you."
She hesitated, staring down at it. "It's beautiful."
"Cost me my whole paycheck. Steve and I were eating scraps from the diner for two weeks. But he didn't care. Think he was always a little sweet on her, actually. He had to hold her back when I finally shipped out. He was a weakling, but he was bigger than she was." He took the ring and slid it onto her right ring finger. It slid on with no argument. "Perfect fit."
Her heart throbbing, she could think of nothing to say. What on earth could she possibly say? And he'd always appreciated silent understanding. Instead, she silently held out her own box, careful not to rattle it.
For a long moment, he stared at her, then at it, and she tried not to squirm, like he knew. Finally, he reached out and closed his hand around it.
"Took a lot of digging…and maybe a little hacking into evidence files—but that was a total accident."
He smirked.
"Actually, it was mostly pure luck. I figured it was a total pipe dream, but—hey—never underestimate the savvy creepiness of HYDRA."
He pulled off the lid—and stared, his mouth opening.
"They were in a dusty back room at INSCOM. Which is creepy. Someone was obviously just another mole at Army Intelligence, had them stuffed away while you were…in service."
"When did—when did you…?" he stammered.
She smiled tremulously, less than confident in the look on his face. "Last time you were out with Clint. I had Tony fly me out there in one of the Quinjets. Swore him to secrecy. The evidence room at that place is practically screaming for a bloody murder, seriously."
He lifted them out by their chain. "You found my…dog tags?"
She nodded, swallowing thickly, trying hard not to backpedal. "I made the jeweler that restored them sign a nondisclosure. It was sorta fun, flashing my badge."
"…You found my dog tags."
"Total miracle. And I'm not even religious. I mean, mom was Jewish, and she gave a half-assed attempt, but after it was clear that dad was a dick, she ditched for booze and pills. So…"
He continued to stare at them in shock, unblinking. "I mean, I figured…they were buried in an icy grave somewhere in the Alps, but…you found my dog tags."
She hesitated. "Is that…okay?"
Looking dazed, he nodded.
She bit her lip. "After I confirmed they were out there and I'd ferreted out where, I almost didn't do it. I mean, I know everything from…back there…is just one big ball of…well…I thought it might be too painful for you. But I guess I figured they were too important to let that stop me."
He cupped them in his palm and studied the clean metal.
"After all…a soldier's dog tags are…really important, right? Like, to him?"
He nodded, his eyes a hazy of memory. "I didn't have silencers. I tucked them in my shirt so they wouldn't clatter and make noise on ops. Steve used to bitch at me about it." He blinked again. "I wasn't even sure I remembered putting them on, the morning we went after Zola. It all happened so fast, and for a while, I thought maybe I even grabbed his by mistake. But, he's got his." He shrugged. "Figured they were long gone."
She bit her lip again, wringing her hands in her lap. "Is it…okay that I…I mean, I wasn't trying to be…I dunno, weird, I mean, I know they're a super personal thing, and I know—"
He pulled her into his arms, cutting her off.
She gasped at his tight embrace. "Oh. O-okay."
"You found my dog tags."
She pressed her mouth against his shoulder, nuzzling him. "I did."
"You know what this means?" he asked, voice low.
She shifted closer and he tightened his embrace. "What?"
"James Barnes is still alive." He sounded stricken and shocked all at once. "Officially."
I'm still me. I'm not him. I can be both.
Relieved, she laughed softly, pressing her face against his throat, breathing in his soapy aftershave. "Yeah. I guess so."
"Thank you."
"Mm."
There was a soft jangle, and then a fraction of extra weight on her neck, and she pulled back to find he'd dropped them over her head. She looked down to find them there, nestled between her breasts, two metal tags, about two-by-one, clean and shiny, on the original chain, identical, with his name, his social security number, his blood type, and the date of his last tetanus shot, the notch in the corner where they'd been held on the die press.
She cocked a brow. "Oh, I'm supposed to wear these, aren't I? You soldier's think it's sexy, isn't that it?"
His ears went just a touch pink and he shrugged. "Well. You are my girl."
She nodded. "Mm." She pulled them over her head. "Think Nat wears Steve's?"
He leaned in close, shaking his head. "Don't care."
She giggled, meeting his mouth as he slanted it across hers, and took the opportunity to drop them over his head. They took turns trading them as they kissed on the couch, clothes slowly discarded, the night darkening outside their windows as the party was forgotten.
He was still healing.
Old wounds were never really old, in the grand scheme of things. Could you say that time healed every single one when all it took to reopen the scab was a certain song, or a smell, or a look, a familiar face that turned out to be not so familiar after all, the illogical joy becoming a shameful fiery crash when a stranger turned around and the ghost disappeared?
She was still becoming herself, as she'd come to think of it in her own head. It would be a long time before she felt comfortable in the skin she'd thought she'd understood.
And life in the Tower was something you never really got used to—not entirely—and certainly not when danger lurked around every corner.
But it didn't matter. Not for the next few hours anyway. And when they finally left for their honeymoon trip, it wouldn't matter then, either.
Only one thing mattered now.
"Take me to bed, husband," she finally murmured, mouth turned up teasingly in a coquettish smirk. For the first time, the word felt normal, natural.
"Yes, ma'am," he whispered, lifting her and carrying her down the hall to their bed.
They were together.
She was still wearing the tags—and only the tags—the next morning.
So, do you guys want a sequel? I've got a really good idea...