Family Dynamics: An Avengers Family Thanksgiving

by Marvel Lit Chick

Darcy thought a trip home for Thanksgiving would kill two birds with one stone: make amends with her father and introduce Bucky. The last thing she expected was to get shot at. Again. Really, she shouldn't have been surprised. An Avengers Thanksgiving One-Shot.

Family Dynamics: An Avengers Family Thanksgiving MarvelLitChick Summary: Things...don't quite go according to plan. Notes: Surprise! A holiday treat! And you all thought I'd abandoned you for a while...I hope you're all having a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend (if you celebrate that sort of thing)! I, myself, am so very thankful for all of my wonderful readers. Love you all. I'll just...leave this here.

((()))

"Remind me, again, why we're doing this?"

Bucky sighed, but smirked. "Because he's your father. He called to make amends. He's getting a divorce. And you're his daughter. That means you're supposed to try and be there for him if he asks you to be. And also because he begged your forgiveness." He flicked on the blinker of the Range Rover Evoque, and checked his blind spot before shifting into the right lane.

"Right," Darcy muttered, nodding as she watched the scenery dash by out the window: the urban landscape of Manhattan rapidly giving way to New Jersey. "Right."

Bucky leaned over and changed the radio station, switching from Justin Beiber to Noel Gallagher.

"One more time? Just run that by me one more time."

He chuckled. "Darcy. Relax."

She tugged her fingers through her loose curls and sighed. "Seriously. This is gonna blow up in my face. I can feel it. Everything with him always does, Jamie. And as if it's not awkward enough, I get to pass you off. 'Here, Daddy—I know we haven't seen each other face-to-face in years, but meet my husband. He's a Russian assassin'!" She shuddered. "Aren't you nervous? Social convention dictates you should be nervous."

He gave her a wry look and took the exit to their right. "Okay, first: I'm not Russian. Barnes is an Old English name, which makes me largely British, with some Italian thrown in there on my mother's side—"

"That's why your cooking is so ridiculous! I knew there had to be a reason!"

"Second: The Russians used me for a while on loan from HYDRA."

"Bastards. I've said it a thousand times, I'll say it a thousand more."

"And lastly: why should I be nervous? We're already married, so I don't view this as a bid for his approval. I may have been born in 1917, but this is 2017—also, if he's an ass, I can just get in his face about it. Pretty easy, really. Once you've been in the trenches in a World War, something like this is a cakewalk."

She grumbled as she continued to stare out the window. "Don't know why he married that little gold digger in the first place. Now he comes crying to me. She's just lucky I'd just moved out to come work for Jane or I'd have been in her face about what a Valley Girl monster she was."

"They got together just as you were hooking up with Jane?"

"Not that it matters now. They're splitting up, thank the Gods, and Foster's just a stupid memory."

He whistled low. "Okay. Babe, you need to relax." He reached over and set his warm, human hand on her knee. "This is just Thanksgiving dinner. The world isn't ending. You only have to endure his company for a few hours and then we'll be on our way, okay? Just a few hours. Who knows? You might even enjoy yourself."

She snorted morbidly. "You do hear yourself right now, right? You hear the words that are coming out of your mouth?"

He sighed. "Sweetheart. He's your father. Stiff upper lip. And Jane will come around. I stand by what I've been saying. Just give her time to work through her—"

"PMS?!" she snapped.

Another sigh. "I was going to say 'pride', but whatever you think works."

"And Pepper went out of her way to have this catered for all of us so that it felt like a real Thanksgiving family dinner, you know? You saw Tony's face when I told him we weren't coming, right? The irony of the fact that I'm more worried about my fake father than I am my real father is not lost on me, by the way."

He nodded, watching traffic. "Glad you've noticed."

"I mean…" She deflated slightly, tugging a hand through her hair again. "I was there, in…in your head. And as weird as that is to say, would you want to go back and have Thanksgiving with your father?"

He took a right and headed toward Jersey City. "You make a fair point; however—your father never used Corporal Punishment. Or at least, if he did, you haven't mentioned it. I feel like should've been nearer to the top, though."

She growled out her frustration and pressed her face into her hands, only to jerk them away again in fear of smudging her perfect makeup job. That cat-eye had been a bitch that morning. "So you understand!"

He signaled and pulled off into the driveway of a gas station. "Yes." He pulled a hand through his own hair. "Yes, I would sooner punch the man again than sit at dinner with him. But, that being said, not only was it a completely different time, but he never showed any interest in taking back any of the nasty things he said or did—to me or Becca. Nate did."

She scowled, aware of how childish it appeared. "And I suppose you would give anything for him to do that, right?" she said, rolling her eyes.

He snorted. "Actually, no. I hated the old man and was perfectly content without him, no matter how hard-up it left me and Steve. I still don't know how I paid those bills, Darce. With smoke and mirrors, mostly, I think."

She gave him a look.

He ignored it and turned back out onto the road. "Nate said he wanted to talk. So I think you owe it—"

"I don't owe him anything!"

He reached out for her knee again and squeezed. "Let me finish: I think you owe it to yourself to give it a shot. If it's the same old bull shit, we'll leave. The table will still be set and I'm sure Tony will be ecstatic to pour you a glass of wine."

She huffed again, staring out the window. "Your logic is really fucking obnoxious."

He laughed. "You love me anyway."

But she set her hand over his on her leg, the heat of his palm through her black leggings a comfort. "I snagged a keeper."

They drove in silence for the rest of the trip, Darcy watching as the neighborhoods grew more and more upscale and pricey, Bucky's hand never moving from her leg.

Trust her father to realize the mistake he'd made in marrying a psycho blond and go about divorcing her for high alimony. Where on earth he'd found it in his head to call up his only child and beg her forgiveness for his idiotic actions was beyond her, but she had to admit that Bucky was right. She would've gone all along—kicking and screaming, yes, but she'd have gone all the same. It wasn't in her to turn her back, or she'd be over the crap with Jane.

Really, it was almost more curiosity at this point, than anything else.

Finally, Bucky turned onto 5th, and managed a parking spot in front of the huge brownstone she'd grown up in. There were trees still lining the street and she could see through the elegant double doors that it was all lit up for them inside, festive golds everywhere the eye could see—and see they did, for Nate had made sure to leave the drapes open so that every other Richie-Rich on the block could see straight in and remove all doubt.

Bucky came around and opened her door before she could move, and he straightened his vest and his cuffs as she slid to the pavement in her sheath dress, black to match him and lacy leggings to complement.

He shut the door to the SUV, and the sound echoed on the largely empty street, most everyone in for the early afternoon festivities.

Jersey was crisp with fall now, the trees in full autumn bloom, and the rich smoke of burning hearths permeated the air.

She glared at the double doors and sent up a prayer to a God she wasn't too sure about that she managed to survive this with her pride intact, tapping the toe of her stiletto boot impatiently on the pavement.

A wave of wanting slid through him like liquid smoke, and he stood for a moment, watching her, a little stricken—as he was from time to time—by just how wonderful she looked. The girl could pull a look together faster than you could say 'New York Fashion Week', and her sheath dress hugged her in all the right places, that lace made him a crazy, and those knee-high boots with the sharp, Don't Try Anything Sneaky toe were so Goddamn sexy, he was feeling a little old Catholic Schoolboy guilty that he was having maybe-dirty, definitely-inappropriate thoughts on a national holiday. Her Don't Fuck with Me attitude, coupled with the determined glare she wore drew the look together so perfectly that he already found himself planning it all out. Boots off. But he wouldn't start with the dress. He'd start with those lacy leggings, slide his palms down those curvy stalks of hers first, set a kiss to the inside of her thigh…

He blinked, then, swallowed, and gave himself a mental shake. Sometimes the super soldier libido was a huge hassle. Later. Later. He slid his hand around hers and let out a soothing breath. "So this is it, huh?"

"Mm," she grunted. "Certainly more than what you were used to seeing a century ago, huh?"

He nodded, a soft chink of hair falling over his face. "It is that."

She took a deep, steadying breath.

He squeezed her hand. "I'm right here," he murmured. "Right where I've been, beside you."

As usual, somehow, he'd managed to find the exact words she needed to hear.

So she swallowed them back, ingesting them for strength, and let him lead her up the stairs, her hand tucked warmly in his elbow.

Surprisingly, it was Nate himself who met them on the stoop, and not one of the various housekeepers he'd hired since she'd moved out.

He was still exactly as she remembered him: tall, but not too tall—Bucky's height or a bit shorter—with perpetually graying hair, cropped short and business. He was in—shocker—jeans and a button-down gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

Even Bucky had worn slacks.

They were designer dress jeans, sure, but Darcy couldn't remember seeing her father in jeans in…ever.

His blue eyes were clear and merry behind his wire-rim glasses and he was clean-shaven as he smiled. "Darcy!"

Blinking in shock, she was too stunned to avoid being pulled into a loose, if slightly awkward, hug, and she stood there, stupid, as her father held her. "Nate."

"I'm glad you came! I was afraid you wouldn't show!"

She wasn't sure where to put her hands, and she glared at Bucky as he gave her a wry look over her father's shoulder. She had just enough where-withal to flip him off out of Nate's sight before he released her.

Bucky winked.

She straightened her dress, her heart tap-dancing in her chest as her father finally turned his gaze to the man beside her.

"James, right?" Nate finally said, squinting at him critically.

Darcy was relieved that Bucky used her father's previous bad attitude to side-step all the bullshit, and smiled. "That's right." He also didn't initialize the handshake and she was so glad he didn't add any 'Sirs'.

But Nate offered, and they shook, firm and very un-passive-aggressive.

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Okay. First hurdle.

"So you work together at Stark Industries?"

They both nodded, keeping to the script they'd concocted as they'd gotten in the car. They'd decided keeping it as close to the truth as possible was safest.

"And you…?" Nate asked, leaving it open.

"I'm with security," Bucky smoothly answered.

Yeah, world security.

Nate nodded and gave him a quick once-over. "Well, you look fit, but I don't know if you look like any bouncer I've ever met," he teased.

Darcy focused hard on not glancing at Bucky's left hand, discreetly hidden in the pocket of his black slacks. He'd thought it best to leave it out of the opening conversation. It tended to…distract. She smirked, sliding her arm around his trim waist and setting her hand up his back. "Well, he's tougher than he looks." Was he being deliberately obtuse, she wondered, or was he simply the first person, in the history of the last few fucking decades, to not see the potential menace in her husband?

But Nate chuckled. "I'm sure." He turned to Darcy. "Well, he's certainly an improvement from that Daniel prick."

She couldn't hide her flinch, but did manage to keep the rest of her reaction non-noticeable as her hand clenched into a fist. She struck softly at the space between Bucky's shoulder blades with the side of her fist, working out a tiny burst of frustration.

Bucky, God bless him, didn't react at all, just smiled at her father's off-color comment. "Well, I hope so."

"Well, come in, come in!" He gestured around the wide space as he led them further into the room. "I had Shelly come and decorate, and Maria just finished the food, and it's set to warm in the kitchen, so we can have some drinks and chit-chat, and then we can sit down and eat!"

Darcy looked around. "Yeah, Shelly sure did some decorating…"

The living room—which they'd entered straight into—seemed even larger than she remembered it, stretching the length of the front of the house. It was all decked out, too, in shades of gold, with long runners, blazing candles, soft vanilla scents, and various holiday-appropriate decorations. She spotted numerous stylized reindeer, which seemed to be the theme, and there was soft jazzy Christmas music playing on the sound system.

"Well, I wanted everything perfect for my little girl," he said as he went to the bar and started puttering around.

Irritation pricking her again, she took a deep, deep breath.

Bucky leaned down and pressed a soft, quiet kiss to the space behind her ear, reading her perfectly, as usual.

"What was it, again, Darce? White Zin?" Nate prompted, opening the wine chiller on the floor.

She flinched again at the overly-familiar pet name, but bit her tongue. "Moscato."

"Ah. Right. Pink or red?"

"Pink."

He nodded, gesturing. "Pick your poison, James."

With a strained look only an expert could catch on his face, Bucky demurred, clearly annoyed by the use of his full name. He didn't often tolerate it and Darcy could tell that even this new version of Nathan Lewis was rubbing him a little wrong. "Same thing is fine."

He did a double-take. "Really? Not something a little harder? You do have to spend the afternoon with your father-in-law…"

Bucky chuckled, but gestured. "Not a big drinker."

"Really?" Nate narrowed his eyes, like it had all been a test, but didn't comment any further, instead filling two stemless wine glasses a third full and passing them off. "So. Let's sit."

They moved to the plush suede couch and he took the recliner opposite them with a tumbler half full with bourbon.

Darcy wasn't sure how to get comfortable. If they'd been at home, Bucky would've curled up in easy pose and she'd have snuggled into his side, pulling her legs up under her and cuddling beneath a blanket. But she hardly thought setting her head to his shoulder would be appropriate now, no matter how badly she might still want to stick it to her father.

But Bucky took it all in stride, sliding his arm around her back and letting his fingers trail over her collar bone, four points of warmth on her chilled skin. She remembered it always being cold in here and it was still exactly the same.

"That arm…certainly is…interesting," Nate finally said, pulling Darcy from her thoughts.

And there it was.

She choked back her sip of wine and it burned in her throat.

For a moment, Bucky ignored the comment, holding her steady while she cleared her throat. "You alright?" he asked, his voice low.

She nodded. "Fine. Fine."

But Nate was undeterred. "I said, your arm…it's certainly…interesting." He looked a little apprehensive, but clearly not enough to not mention it.

Again, her husband was totally cool. "Works just like any other arm," he said.

Yeah, but deadlier.

"Is it…some kind of…metal?" he continued, completely missing the uncomfortable shift in his daughter. "I've never seen anything like it before." He smirked. "Unless you two are having a game on me or—"

"He served," Darcy finally bit out.

A long moment of silence.

No other way to say it. And it wasn't a lie. Just a slight…truth bending.

His eyebrows went up. "Oh?" But he shook his head. "You know, I've been against all this Middle East stuff from the very beginning. That's the problem with this country—too much fighting. I think we need to work on our talking skills, you know? I mean, who knows what could've happened if we'd just talked to Hitler, you know? We could've avoided that whole mess—and now look."

Another long moment of silence.

Darcy blinked at the very stupidity of her own father, that he could possibly think that someone like Adolf Hitler could've been reasoned with—or had wanted to talk things out like the whole issue was a domestic dispute to begin with. She opened her mouth—

And Bucky's hand clenched down on her shoulder, just hard enough to stop her. She swallowed, raising her wine glass to her mouth to give it something else to do instead. Talk to Hitler—she could show Nate what talking to Hitler had done to her husband—and her husband's left arm.

Nate looked between them, and finally seemed to sense that there was tension in the way they were sitting.

So far, this was going exactly the way Darcy had expected it to: Nate would act like a pompous ass, put his foot in his mouth, Darcy would erupt at him and soon it would be a shouting match about how stupid she was. Every. Single. Fight. They'd ever had.

"How's work?" he suddenly asked, looking at her.

She took another steadying breath. "Fine. Good."

He nodded. "And how's Jane?"

She would not flinch, she would not. "Don't know. We don't…talk much anymore."

"Oh?" Nate frowned. "That's too bad. Wait, so, who are you…?"

"Tony Stark."

Those eyebrows shot up again, straight into his thinning hairline. "Tony Stark? The Tony Stark? Of Stark Industries. That Tony Stark?"

She smirked and swished the wine around in her glass. "There's only the one."

His eyes were wide and full of a strange shade of wonder. "So you're working the SI books?"

She snorted. "Uh, no. I'm more of a PA for him."

"That must pay well."

Trust her father to go straight for salary.

She smiled tightly and clutched her wine glass. "Well, I'm never bored."

"And you two got married…?"

Bucky took over. "Last May."

He nodded. "And…was it—"

"It was small," she filled in, knowing exactly where he was going. "Like, microscopic."

He continued nodding, his expression sort of drooped. "And you didn't think…?"

She tried to soften it as best she could and looked him right in the eye. "Why would I?"

He sighed, running a hand over his hair. "Right. That's why I wanted you to—"

He was interrupted by the shrill ringing of what could only be the oven timer. He sighed again, and got up. "Right. Well. We might as well eat, then." He disappeared into the kitchen.

She took the opportunity to chug back the rest of her wine out of nothing more than habit—it wasn't as if she could still feel the effects of the alcohol. Her body metabolized it too quickly now. She set the glass down a bit too hard and winced, but it didn't crack. "This is going exactly the way I thought it would," she whispered.

God, she wished they were back in London, sightseeing and going back to that insane hotel room and having great sex. They'd earned it after all the Hawaii/Aldrich Killian shit, and she didn't think she'd ever been happier in. Her. Life.

Yep, there it was: God, he made her ecstatic. Seriously, so happy, she thought sometimes that she might burst.

Bucky sighed, rubbing his hand up her back, then back down again, then back up. "Just try and play through, okay?"

"And you're always the voice of reason!" she whisper-yelled. "Why are you always the fucking voice of reason?!"

"Well," he whispered back, "Because I know if we can get through this with our sanity intact, later, I can peel those leggings off you in a dark room."

She whipped her head around to look at him.

He gave her a playful little smirk, one corner of his full mouth curling up. "Good and slow." He winked.

She growled out an annoyed sigh, grabbed him by the collar of his black button-down, and tugged him roughly in. "God, I love you." And she planted a kiss on him that had him letting loose a low, soft sound of surprise as he kissed her back, the wine sharp on his tongue.

"Dinner, you two!" Nate called from the kitchen.

She shoved him back and stood, smoothing down her dress and refocusing. Play it through. Yep, play it straight on through. She could do that, she could totally do that, she could stare all of it in the face, all the awful feelings she'd harbored for her father, and her childhood and the memories she'd buried for years upon years. She could.

Stare it all right in the fucking face.

Bucky stood, smoothed his collar and charcoal vest, and slid his arm around her waist, his hand trailing warmly over her ass like it was the most normal thing in the world—

And it was.

She smiled—actually smiled. What a nice thought. Then she led the way into the dining room, decked out to match the living room in bright, sparkling gold. The table was set, him on one side and them on the other.

To normal people, it looked like your average formal dining table, an intimate setting for three.

To Darcy it just looked like a battlefield, two fronts preparing to face off—the calm before the storm.

Had he changed?

Had she foolishly fallen for it—again?

She straightened her spine. Didn't matter. It would be just as it had been since they'd met: them against the world. Her and her Jamie.

He pulled out her chair and pushed her into the table.

Nate poured out more wine into fresh glasses and sat, his figure seeming to move behind all the steam rising off the painfully typical family Thanksgiving dinner they now sat in front of: A huge turkey they'd never eat the entirety of, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, a heaping pile of dinner rolls, fresh cranberry sauce, the works.

It was sort ironic, really.

She kept herself from pulling a face; she really loved that cheesy canned cranberry stuff, the gelatin that came out perfectly shaped like the inside of the can.

And Tony had promised her a whole can to herself while Pepper splurged on the fancy stuff she now sat in front of.

Yep. Totally ironic.

Also ironic was the fact that he then said Grace. She could hardly remember all the words, but her Good Catholic Boy husband still had it down, pat.

"So, like I was saying, Darcy, I'm glad you two decided to accept the invitation," Nate said as he began slicing the turkey, like it was no big thing. "I honestly wasn't sure you would, and then I wasn't sure you'd actually show up, so it was a relief when you pulled up. What was that you were driving, by the way?"

"A Range Rover," Bucky answered, picking up Darcy's plate to accept the turkey her father offered across the table when she was too distracted to do so.

She jerked, catching herself. "Right. Sorry. Thanks."

"Range Rover?"

"An Evoque."

Nate nodded. "Wow, yeah. I've heard those are nice. Expensive."

Again, straight to the money.

"When did you buy it?"

"It's Tony's," she interjected. "We live in Manhattan, Nate. No one drives in Manhattan. It's pointless to own a car."

He nodded again. "Right. Right. Sorry."

They continued dishing out food for each other and then dug in. Darcy picked at her food, her appetite feeble compared to the blaring starvation her super metabolism should've been providing. "Is Maria a new cook?" she offered.

"Yes. Hired her a few years ago. She does a spectacular spread, really goes all out.

She squinted, trying to determine if she was talking to a new Nate after all or someone who was just wearing a mask.

She let Nate make small talk with Bucky, who seemed receptive enough to reply in kind, and it faded into the background as she pictured what she'd come to consider her real family: Tony and Pepper, Steve and Nat, Thor, and Sam, and Clint…

They'd all be sitting down now at the huge table in the Common Room—

"Well, you certainly traded up from Daniel, Darce."

She flinched.

She flinched so hard Bucky felt it beside her.

She stared across at Nate, unsure if he was doing it on purpose like he used to do to wear her down before he finally worked his way down to the bedrock of his point.

He stared back.

She thought the air flickered, and wasn't sure if it was her imagination or if she was losing control of the abilities she was slowly finding herself in possession of. She'd been working on it, reluctantly, mostly because she was on her own. It wasn't as though she had a guide for this. Bucky could help her with the uneven moments of super strength, but no one else had what she had. Wanda might've been similar enough, but she barely ever saw her now, hiding on the other end of the room during team meetings and trying to avoid her gaze.

"Everyone gets caught between rocks and hard places," Bucky said then, his voice low and soothing. "Right?"

She stared straight at her father, that old anger starting to simmer low in her belly. "Right."

Nate finally faltered, breaking eye contact to study his plate, like it had just appeared there before him. Then he grinned. "Well, what I mean is, you two kids seem well-suited, is all."

She saw Bucky look warmly over at her out of the corner of her eye. "He's pretty awesome," she murmured.

Nate smiled—but there was a ring of falsehood to it that her sharp, learned eyes spotted immediately. "So young though."

And here it came.

"And living in Manhattan, in a huge high rise. Does James bring in as much—"

"Really?!" she finally blurted. "It all comes back down to money again?" She thrust her left hand out toward him across the table, into the foreground over the glistening, golden turkey. "Look at this rock."

Nate whistled low. "That's a gem." He glanced up at Bucky. "Quite the payment plan, I'd guess."

"He walked in and wrote a check," she snapped. "Good enough?"

Nate's brows disappeared into his hair line.

She pulled her hand back and set it carefully in her lap, trying to sooth her breathing as her fingers crackled again with bright, white heat.

Bucky studied her carefully, his face passive, but he didn't try to diffuse the tension, which made her feel better. There'd been a tiny niggle of fear teasing at the hem of her consciousness all morning that he'd try to be a peacekeeper, rather than take her side. But his silence here reassured her to no end.

"Was this the only reason you invited us here?!" she demanded. "To assess all parties involved before you asked my forgiveness? Which I still haven't heard you ask for, by the way. Is there a test I have to pass first, a ceremony where you deem me worthy?"

He sighed in that old, familiar way. "Darcy—"

At that precise moment, the room went dark and quiet, the low lamps, the stereo system, and every digital clock ticking off as the power went with a low, humming thunk.

There was a moment of silent apprehension.

"Nobody move," Bucky said, his voice low.

"But—" Nate started to protest.

"Don't even blink."

Darcy edged her gaze slowly over, her heart starting to pound, so she could spy out the window. "The lights are on next door," she reported, her mind already turning.

They shared a look.

"We probably just blew a fuse," Nate offered.

There was a single, loud thump from the direction of the roof.

"You didn't blow a fuse," Bucky said, his voice low and grim as he glanced up at the ceiling.

Darcy couldn't fight off a shiver as they sat there for a moment, listening for something, anything, to work off of.

But there was nothing.

"I'm serious," Nate said. "I'm sure there's a logical explanation for the power blowing. You two are letting your imaginations run wild. Darcy, no wonder you like this guy."

Neither of them answered, but for another shared look, an entire conversation between two sets of eyes and two sets of experiences that had taught them that things in the shadowy world were seldom what they seemed.

"You two are being silly," Nate chuckled, but there was a twinge of apprehension there, at the bottom. "Typical Millennials."

"He's not a Millennial," Darcy muttered.

Bucky didn't reply, but his gaze was hard in the dark as he turned and looked out the other window, shifting forward and slowly edging his hand behind his back.

Nate stared, aghast, as his son-in-law set a gun down on his dining room table. "Is-is that a Magnum?" he stammered, eyes wide.

Bucky was calm and cool, not bothering to be interrupted enough to look at him. "They seem fine, but, ironically, I'm unaccustomed to American. The last US rifle I used is long out of commission."

Darcy snorted. "I'll say. What was it again?"

"A Johnson M1941. Good piece of equipment." He smirked. "Called her Dot."

Nate frowned, choosing that moment to remind Darcy how much he'd always been interested in American War History. "But the last time they used the Johnson was…World War Two. Was a sniper rifle."

They ignored him.

He swallowed audibly. "And that's…?" He eyed the SIG.

"A SIG."

"Elite?"

"Elite. P226."

"So…professional?"

"Professional."

Darcy shifted, feeling around her skirt, and finally pulled out the Beretta.

"Darcy, why does your husband have a gun at Thanksgiving dinner?" Then over to his daughter. "And why do—?"

They ignored him.

Bucky blinked at her. "You brought my Beretta?"

She shrugged. "I've learned the hard way to never go unarmed anymore. They should tell you, though—a thigh holster is seriously uncomfortable."

He raised a brow. "You're wearing a thigh holster?" he asked, as though confused as to how he'd missed it.

She shrugged again. "Well, your Beretta doesn't fit in my clutch."

A tiny, tiny smirk curled that mouth of his again. "Is it weird if I think that's sexy?"

She winked at him.

"For God's sake!" Nate finally interrupted. "What the Hell is going on?!"

"Someone cut the power," Bucky said, his voice hard, belying his growing impatience with the man. "In no uncertain terms should you get up." He shrugged. "Then again, they might be after any of us."

But, as usual, unless Nate was dictating the terms of the game, everything else was silly fancy. He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Oh? And what might happen?"

"A sniper might shoot you in the head. Reason enough for you?"

Okay, so they were dropping the pretense. Darcy could work with that.

"A sniper? And where would a sniper hide around here?" he sneered.

Bucky pointed along his sight-line to the next roof over. "Right over there, for instance."

Darcy whipped around, but there didn't appear to actually be anyone perched beside the chimney of the place one over.

Nate snorted. "And you would know this…?"

Bucky finally turned his head and gave her father a level look. "Because I'm a sniper. There are at least three acceptable vantage points into your living room that I can spot from here alone, and one ideal location from which to scout the entire front of the house."

It was so hot when he let slip how hyper switched-on he was all the time.

A strange, clicking noise began echoing through the room.

Nate stared at his daughter. "Darcy, why is your husband a sniper?"

She checked the clip on the Beretta and slammed the magazine shut again. "That's not all he is," she replied, half under her breath.

He blinked, slowly starting to back away from the table. "What else is he?!"

She smiled to herself. "Really fucking sexy, that's what he is."

Bucky snorted, and his hand found her knee in the dark and squeezed.

"Are you two seriously joking right now?!" he snapped. "The house is being taken over and you're joking?!"

She leveled a look at him. "I thought we were letting our imaginations run wild? Which is it—you can't have it both ways."

"Yes, well, fine!" he snapped. "Now is not the time to joke!" Just like that, his demeanor shattered and he started flinched at the small ticks still evident, his eyes darting around.

"On the contrary, I think if we don't joke around in times like this, we hardly ever do," she contradicted him. "When things go to shit at the Tower, it's the only way to stay sane."

Nate huffed. "So what are we going to do now?!"

She snickered. "Well, what I'd like to do is drag this one over here into the spare closet behind the fireplace, where it's nice and warm and shag him up against the wall."

Nate stared at her brashness.

So she shrugged, satisfied she'd had an effect. "But, since there's trouble afoot, I think that would be a bad idea." She looked up at Bucky. "Babe?"

He was giving her that wry look she loved. "Yeah, probably a bad idea."

"Well, then I'm getting out of—" Nate snapped, standing up—

There was a sharp report of gunfire, and Bucky lunged up inhumanly fast to grab the man by his collar and drag him down just in time to miss being struck in the forehead. He sprawled, one hand landing in the mashed potatoes, staring, wide-eyed at the hole that had been ripped in his teak cabinets, still smoking with discharge.

Another shot rang out, and Darcy flinched as it hit Bucky's left shoulder and pinged off, ricocheting left and shattering the kitchen window. "Jamie—!"

He sat back down, twisting to survey the damage. "I'm fine."

She snatched up his hand.

He smiled. "It's okay."

She took a turn fixing him with a look. "Okay? Yeah, alright, just like it was okay that one time when we were fleeing under fire from a beach house on Oahu in a stolen Jag? Or that one time when I was driving during that high-speed chase and you were firing out of the sun roof like a fucking action movie? That kind of okay?"

He grinned. "Yeah, that kind of okay."

She smirked back. "Okay."

"Really?!" Nate spat. "We're flirting now—flirting?!"

"Hey, dude—this is how we do things. You think you can manage this alone, go to it. We'll just sneak out the back—we're good at that," Darcy said, gesturing.

Nate slithered out of his chair and to the floor. "I am so confused right now."

Bucky glanced beneath the table at him as he palmed his SIG. "You don't have a panic room, by chance, do you?" He looked up at Darcy. "It would be easier to just put him in there while we sort this out…"

"I'm not BRUCE WAYNE!" he snapped.

Darcy rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath. "And he thinks I have a wild imagination."

"No! NO panic room!"

Bucky shrugged, then gave him a hard look that Darcy recognized as the Winter Soldier mask. "Then we do this my way. Got it?"

Her father gave Bucky his best incredulous look. "And what makes you so qualified to call the shots—your gun?!"

For the first time Darcy could recall in the entire time she'd known him, he really lost his temper, and—on top of that—used his past to intimidate someone outside of the loop, and with no twitching or self-hatred involved.

He slid under the table to join her father on one knee, grabbed him by the collar with his metal fist, and hauled him close, his voice low and hard. "You remember that guy a couple years ago that was all over the internet for almost killing Captain America?"

Nate flinched.

"I'm that guy."

Nate stared at him with wide eyes. "But that was…"

Bucky gave him a shark-like smile. "Are we on the same page?"

Nate swallowed audibly.

But Bucky wasn't done. "You are going to follow my instructions to the letter, you're going to keep your damn mouth shut, and you're definitely going to stop talking to my wife like she's a child. Is that clear?"

Eager to please, Nate nodded quickly, jerking.

Bucky let him topple back to the floor and turned to look up at Darcy. "Feel better?"

She sighed. "Did I mention, earlier, that I love you?"

He winked, but took directive. "Okay, we don't know any specifics right now, other than the fact that two minutes ago, someone was placed on the roof of a building across the street and to our left. They're likely moving into their next position. That gives us a small window of time in which to move." He turned to Nate. "Is the master suite upstairs?"

He nodded.

"Then I need you to follow Darcy to the stairs, and I need you both to keep as low to the floor as possible."

Nate looked expectantly at his daughter.

But Darcy blinked. "Wait, you want me to take the lead?"

Bucky nodded. "You've been training. Besides, you know your way around this house—and I'm watching your six." Then he smirked. "In more ways than one."

She flushed, but ducked quickly below the table and crawled out between the legs, heading toward the stairwell behind the fireplace. Its vanilla carpeting was glowing in the dim light. "These leggings aren't surviving the night," she muttered.

And Bucky heard her as he crept after at a half-crouch. "Even better."

"What's the point of this?!" Nate snapped.

"Getting to high ground," Bucky said. "Keep moving, no slowing down."

They jogged up the window-less flight of stairs and came out by the ridiculous bathroom, but Darcy didn't give anyone a chance to duck in there, and took a sharp left into the main suite, throwing the door wide in a swift arc, her gun up and out.

Empty.

"Good," Bucky said. "I want you to hole up in here while I do a full-scale sweep. Keep the door open—it'll eliminate the possibility for any surprises or potential traps."

Darcy whipped around to stare at him. "But—"

"You've got this," he interrupted her, edging back from the doorway and giving her a steeling sort of look. "You're fine." He gestured with the SIG as he took the first step back down the stairs, giving her father a stern frown. "She's in charge."

Nate glowered and curled into the corner of the room.

And he was gone.

Suppressing the urge to be vocal about her feelings on this plan, Darcy edged over to the far window of her father's room and peered out, careful to watch the top of her head as she did so. But no shots rang out. "Scooby Doo Rule Number One: Don't split up," she muttered under her breath.

"What?"

She sighed. "Nothing." He knew what he was doing—of fucking course he knew what he was doing.

The silence was eerie, and Darcy scowled out at the cloudy sky with mild trepidation, although she was beginning to resign herself to the fact that she was getting used to this sort of thing now. Things were starting to darken out there. Night was some hours off, yet, but rain was coming, the dreary and hollow kind, not the kind you didn't mind getting trapped in.

It was the sort of dark that made Darcy think that things were only getting started.

"James," Nate said, then, his voice low. "He said he almost killed Captain America. And that gun, its professional grade. You don't own a SIG Elite unless you know what you're doing with it behind your back, wearing a blindfold."

Darcy swallowed, but didn't answer as she continued scouting out the window. She'd been spiteful about the fact that he really didn't think she'd done anything for a living, but now…

Now she wasn't so certain his train of thought—admittedly slow—was going anywhere she felt like following—and certainly not now. She'd defend Bucky to the death, but she didn't want to do that with her own father. And, admittedly, she was getting awfully tired of having to do so, over and over, like he still needed to atone when that was all he'd been doing to himself for the past two years.

"Almost killed…Darcy Jane, you married a murderer?" He sounded more fearful than angry.

She pulled out the clip again and checked the Beretta's magazine, somehow grimly unsurprised that her hands didn't shake.

After all, she'd been trained by the best.

But she didn't speak.

"Darcy. I'm serious. Are you aware of his past—he must have one, a dark one."

She snorted, but just shook her head as she swept a glance back out the window. The shadows were long, but nothing moved that she could assess.

"He said he's a sniper?! Do you even know who you married? And why did you bring a gun to dinner?!"

She gave him a sharp look, quickly running out of patience with his yammering. "Because I've learned the hard way that when you're me, you get shot at a lot."

He blinked stupidly at her in the dim room.

A flash of light caught her eye out the window, but it was just a passing car. She started across the room, keeping low as she moved toward the other window, skirting the silk-upholstered California King on her way.

"Why would you get shot at a lot?!" he whisper-yelled. "What's going on?! I thought you were just a clerk for Stark Industries!"

"Iron Man would take direct offense at that—for me," she said, voice low as she slunk across the carpet, wincing at her already chafed knees. What she wouldn't give to be back at the Tower at that moment—Hell, what she wouldn't give just to be hidden away in that closet downstairs, behind the fireplace, where it was nice and warm, with Bucky pinning her to the wall.

She shivered.

"So you work for a stupid superhero—what's the difference?!" he snapped, like it was nothing, working directly for an Avenger.

She smirked. "There's a huge difference when you're close enough that it changes you."

"And you're married! To—"

She whipped her head up to stare at him, knowing exactly, now, after two years, what that pause meant.

His eyes were wide. "Almost killed…he's the Winter Soldier." His very voice shivered.

She winced, but tugged it inward as she scouted out the window, keeping her head low—

But not low enough.

The glass tinkled adorably as a bullet sailed through it, creating a neat hole as she ducked, and it plinked off the far wall over her father's head and lodged itself in the doorjamb.

He flinched and threw himself to the carpet. "You married the Winter Soldier!" he yelled.

She sprawled over to him and yanked on his collar, losing her patience entirely. "Would you shut up?!"

"The Winter Soldier, Darcy! You married history's most notorious ghost—"

"You fucking call him a ghost story, and I swear to God, I'll punch you in the throat."

"But he's—"

"He was the commander of the 107th Infantry Division, he gave his life for you, and he's twice the man you've ever been!" she finally snapped. "And if I could have children, I have no doubt he'd be a better father, too!" She shoved him back against the wall with a bit too much force, and he flinched, staring at her with wide eyes as her fingers crackled with electricity.

"Darcy—"

She was already edging back toward the window, rolling her eyes. "What gave it away? You think you're so up on American History, but you didn't think the vibranium arm looked familiar?"

"But…Sergeant Barnes, he's a legend," he said. "But he's dead. He was pronounced Killed in Action in the winter of '45, Darcy."

She snorted. "There's a difference between Missing in Action, and Killed in Action, dumbass."

"So he's still…your age? After…decades?!"

"It's a disgustingly long story, pop, and I really don't wanna get into it right now, okay? We've got a little more going on right now."

Namely that someone may be after the very guy they spoke of.

"Conspiracy theorists, they think he killed Kennedy, Darcy! And you married him?!"

She flinched again, and was glad her back was to him. "Best decision I've ever made. I've never been gladder to use the word 'yes' before in my life."

The moment dissolved into contemplative silence and Darcy kept watching for movement outside that would tell her where the threat was coming from, but her eyes weren't as experiences as Bucky's. "Damn it, Jamie…" she muttered.

"Sort of disappointed I won't be a grandfather…"

This statement was so far out of left field, that for a second, she blinked stupidly, not sure if she'd heard correctly. But when she turned to look at him, he was serious. "What?"

Nate shrugged, giving her a strangely soft look. "I won't be a grandfather. That's sort of…sad."

She gave him a hard look, determined not to fold after his display at the dinner table. "Really? I'm relieved."

He flinched.

Her satisfaction felt a little hollow.

"Why can't you?"

She sighed, rolling her eyes again. "'Nother long story." A shadow caught her eye as it adjusted outside and across, on the rooftop opposite. She narrowed her eyes, irked that she didn't have any sniping skills of her own. "Any idea who might be after you?" she asked, checking the magazine in the Beretta just for something to do with her hands.

"What did they do to you?" he asked instead, eyes downcast. "SHIELD, I mean."

She chuckled bitterly. "Listen to you, using your brain." She turned and gave him another hard look. "And it wasn't SHIELD. They've been my family for the past two years while you were off gallivanting with the Valley Girl."

He flinched again.

"That's what I've been…doing with my life, dad."

He swallowed. "You work for a shadow organization?"

She shrugged. "All that stuff you mentioned when you wanted me to stay at home?" She gave him a cold grin. "All of it was true."

Her satisfaction felt all too sweet now, as she watched his face drain of color.

"I've faced aliens and soldiers, mad inventors, and men who've travelled through space. I met James Barnes and I married him, and now I'm not entirely human. Am I doing enough with my life, now, daddy?"

He stared at her, face slack and open, like he didn't recognize her.

Gun shots rang out below, two in rapid succession, then silence.

She flinched, glancing at the doorway.

One shot. It echoed.

The unmistakable sound of a body dumping to the floor.

Ice shivered down her back, but she smiled. "There's my baby." She gave Nate a teasing look. "He's got eyes in the back of his head, I swear to God."

"Wait, but he's a good guy, now, right—he was working for—I don't—!"

"That's our cue!" Bucky yelled up the stairs, appearing there a moment later as he sprinted up to meet them, throwing himself into the room and slamming the door shut.

Numerous things happened, then, in rapid succession:

Someone crashed straight through the opposite window; Bucky threw himself in front of Darcy; Nate screamed like a small child and tried to wedge himself under the huge bed; and Darcy tightened her grip reflexively around the Beretta so hard that her fingers went numb before she recalled her lesson on proper weapons handling in the field.

Silence.

A silence so loud, it assaulted her ear drums and she could feel the static build-up in her body sluicing through her veins. She tightened her grip on the back of Bucky's shirt.

The figure in black stood, flipping blond hair over and around, and Siobhan glared back at them all, smiling grimly like a comic book villain making a grand entrance.

Darcy stared, slack-jawed.

"Siobhan?!" Nate gasped, pulling himself to standing.

Bucky blinked. "This is Siobhan?"

Darcy, still slack-jawed, nodded.

"This is the chick you said was so gorgeous and obnoxious?" He gestured, but threw Darcy a confused look.

"She was obnoxious," Nate sighed.

"But she's not that gorgeous," Bucky added.

Darcy finally pulled her mouth shut and surprised even herself when she reacted to his comment by swatting playfully as his ass. "Could you get any better—seriously?!"

Siobhan grinned and cocked her head at Bucky. "You're a hard man to kill."

Bucky gave her a shark-like grin right back. "Thank you."

She snorted and shot her eyes toward the ceiling. "Wasn't a compliment."

"Really?" he retorted, glancing back at Darcy for agreement. "It…sounded like one…?"

Darcy nodded. "It did. I heard it too."

Siobhan sighed and stuck her hands on her hips.

"I mean, look at her—she's all skin and bones."

"But she made me feel so young," Nate sighed again, shaking his head shamefully.

Darcy rolled her eyes at that, but went back to Bucky. "You like 'em curvy, huh?"

Bucky shrugged. "Well. Yeah. Who wouldn't?"

"A lot of men," she filled in.

Now he completely showed Siobhan her back, not necessarily to face Darcy, she thought, but to also dictate that he saw her as the very opposite of a threat, regardless of her spectacular entrance. "Seriously?"

Darcy, smirking, nodded. "Yes. Seriously." She gestured up and down her figure. "And besides—the serum took half of what I was working with away, babe. I'm about half as curvy as I was before…"

He waved a hand. "You're perfect—seriously, guys like 'em looking like those models on the runway, like they're in danger of floating away or being knocked over by a stiff breeze?"

She nodded wryly. "Yeah. Some of them do."

He huffed an annoyed sigh, but then seemed distracted by Siobhan's continued presence. "Can I help you or something? We were having a perfectly cliché, awkward family dinner. Did you need something else?"

"She works for AIM," Darcy realized, leaning around him. "Don't you? You have this whole time."

Siobhan stared at her, narrowing her eyes, but didn't choose to give her guess the dignity of a reply.

"Wait, what?!" Nate finally clued in.

"Plot twist," Darcy muttered, nodding her approval.

Bucky crossed his arms over his muscled chest and Darcy inappropriately appreciated the way it pulled the vest he wore taut across his strong back. "She's a shadow agent."

Nate looked altogether scandalized. "Is that like a sleeper agent?"

Darcy snorted.

Bucky turned his head and gave him a withering look. "No." He glanced over his shoulder at her again. "Where'd you get all your smarts from—isn't he a CEO?"

Darcy snorted, again, and went back to Siobhan, who still stood, looking a little disappointed that her entrance hadn't caused more fireworks, but had fallen rather like a dud. "You in love with Killian too?" But she held up a hand. "No. Forget it. I don't wanna know. Who're you after—this one or that one?" she asked, cocking her head first at Bucky, then at Nate.

Looking pleased to finally be getting attention, Siobhan smiled and took a step closer. "Well, ideally, I'd hogtie you two for the boss, get a big promotion, and shoot this one over here for being such a monumental dick," she finally said, smiling coolly at her former husband.

Darcy sighed. "He is that, isn't he?"

"Hey!" Nate interjected, looking between them.

"But you can't do any of that—sorry," she finished.

Siobhan set her sights on her and scowled. "And why not?"

Bucky's arm came back across her, his hand landing on her hip as he shielded her. If it weren't for his determination to be old-fashioned and protective, she'd have been annoyed that he thought she couldn't take care of herself. But she knew he didn't think that—after all, he'd trained her to be able to do otherwise. Really, really well.

She made a show of hemming and hawing. "Well, see, you can't just barge in here and think you can just walk out with us in tow. That's just not playing fair."

At that precise moment, two other black-clad figures crashed through the other window and landed neatly on the carpet. One of them was at least three inches over six feet, the other a stocky boxing type.

Darcy grimaced. "Aw, come on!"

Siobhan smirked. "And who said anything about playing fair?"

Bucky sighed and rolled up his sleeves. "I'll take the big one, you take his buddy?" he offered.

She glared. "See, this is why I didn't wanna come!"

But they both dove in anyway. Bucky went in harder, of course, doing damage in triplicate compared to Darcy as he met the larger hulk in the ring.

But she held her own, tugging on the serum in her veins and pulling it to the fore as she landed a punch on the second goon's shoulder, surprising him.

Electricity zapped in the dim room, made contact with the air, and fizzed, adding extra sizzle and landing him on his ass. He took a moment to shake himself off, and looked up at her with a confounded expression, frowning, like she was breaking the pre-agreed-upon rules.

"You know, it's appropriate," Bucky said. "You're sort of like a walking tazer all on your own, now!"

Darcy snorted.

"Get up, you idiot!" Siobhan yelled.

Before he could, Darcy used the toe of one boot to nail him in the groin—

But at the last second, he dodged aside, and she missed, striking the side of his knee instead. He blanched in pain, but swept his leg aside, swinging his arm to backhand her across the shoulder and throw her aside.

Bucky made contact with the larger of the two, the sound of his jaw actually snapping loudly in the room as his left fist made contact, forcing his jaw shut. "Well, at least we're not still staring awkwardly at each other around the dinner table!" he laughed.

She growled, hoisting herself back up. "Yeah, well, we could be yukking it up with Tony and the gang over drinks right now instead!" She feinted left to avoid the swinging, rage-induced punch from her own opponent, and landed a body shot with her right fist. "I told you we should've gone after Killian!"

He went down like a ton of bricks, the back of his head striking the wall.

Bucky shrugged as he waited for his own enemy to recover. "Eh. You win some, you lose some."

She spared a second to glare at him.

He shrugged again. "Or, in this case, the evil mastermind manages to scarper off—"

"And send his evil bitch minion to do his dirty work?!" she cut him off, taking a shot to her left hip that made her dance back a step.

"Finally, you have proof, huh, sweetie?" Siobhan called.

"Siobhan! Why?!" Nate finally pleaded.

Siobhan snorted, watching it all like a well-choreographed fight scene in a summer blockbuster. "Don't worry, baby. It's nothing personal. Do you have any idea how much those two are worth?" She shrugged off her ex-husband's dumbfounded expression. "Well, I suppose you wouldn't, would you? All these years, you thought your little girl was just off gallivanting across the States, having fun, partying, and here she is—formidable opponent to one of my best fighters and lawfully signed over to the care of history's deadliest assassin. Sort of a slap in the face to your ego, huh, honey?"

"Signed off?" Darcy interjected, overhearing. "Signed off?!" She sent her opponent flying again, her hands zapping with a hot charge, and rounded on the blond. "I'll show you signed off—!"

"Darcy—!"

Stocky Boxer took advantage of her distraction and threw himself down, sweeping a leg out to catch her with her back turned and she went down as her legs went out from under her. She hit the floor so hard her jaw snapped. The part she hated most wasn't even the pain that followed situations like this—it was the waiting for it. You never knew how intense it would be, and when this wave hit a second later—shaking bone-deep through her jaw—she grimaced.

"You alright?" Bucky asked.

But she caught herself up, flipping over on the floor in time to catch the guy just as he was coming around again, and she sent him lying still with a kick to his gut, sharpened further by the points of her right boot.

He didn't get up.

"Now I am," she answered, watching as the bigger of the two was sent packing as well, Bucky snatching up his head and throwing it into the wall, the metal-induced force knocking him out cold.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Siobhan muttered.

But as Darcy turned to give her a snarky comment, there was a sharp pain in her throat. Surprised, she raised her hand to find a tiny needle there, right where her pulse rocked beneath her skin.

She barely had time to see Bucky doing the same thing beside her before the floor came up to meet her.

((()))

Reality slowly filled up the empty channels in Darcy's consciousness and all at once, she regained wakefulness, jerking around in the dim afternoon light that was pooling in the dining room.

Nate was watching her from the armchair with a grim expression.

"Are you alright?" Bucky asked from beside her, his own strain evident in his voice and his body warm against her back.

She twisted to find him behind her. "Oh, thank God, Jamie."

"Are you alright?" he snapped again in his Winter Soldier voice.

"I'm fine," she insisted. "I'm fine, I'm fine. My head's splitting in two, but I'm fine," she groaned, wiggling around to find they were back-to-back and—sure enough—tied together at the wrists and totally immobilized. "Oh, fuck. Jamie—"

"I know," he said, his voice low. "And don't even try Nate—he's zip-tied too."

Nate nodded at her and held up his wrists.

Darcy sighed, then let her head thunk back down onto the carpet. "Fuckity fuck." She winced in pain as her temple throbbed. "What did they shoot us up with?"

"Don't know. Enough to knock out a bull elephant, I think, to overcome the serum."

Nate frowned. "What serum?"

Darcy snorted, shifting her wrists to find her hands largely numb. "Well. At least we're together." She chuckled.

Bucky was silent for a moment. Then, very quietly, "I love you."

This released a hollow pang in her chest, and she thought it entirely ironic that she missed him when he was right behind her. "I love you."

Nate stared at her, his face open in surprise to hear her say it, like he'd been uncertain, in their interactions all these years, that she was capable of feeling any such emotion.

She ignored him, wriggling until she was able to twist her hand around and fit it into his.

He squeezed. "I'm gonna get you outta this, okay? I'll get you home and you'll get that canned cranberry sauce yet, if it kills me."

She gasped out a damp laugh, panic starting to pool in her gut. "You remembered."

His voice was soft. "Course I remembered—it's hard for me to forget anything. You trust me?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Then don't panic. I've gotten out of worse scrapes than a little plastic rope and a bitch in combat gear, okay? Zip ties are nothing."

"I was right," Nate said then, watching them. "You are well-suited. Except for the fact that he's a—"

"You call him a monster and I will personal see to your castration as soon as I am untied, do you hear me, old man?!" she snarled.

Nate flinched.

Bucky sighed, his hands starting to work against hers to loosen the zip tie. "It's okay, Darcy. It's nothing I haven't heard before, and I'm sure it's tame compared to some things I've yet to hear. He's just your dad—doesn't matter."

Nate flinched again. "Do you really think so little of me?" he asked, his voice low.

Darcy opened her mouth—

But Bucky surprised her, speaking instead. "You don't see her after you hang up the phone. You don't have to patch her up again after she talks to you. I do." That was all he said. But it was enough.

Nathan flinched yet again. "The Winter Soldier hates me," he mused, studying his bound wrists. "Huh."

"Don't. Call me that," Bucky said, his voice that certain shade of low and threatening that made even the hair on Darcy's neck stand up, and she knew she was well out of range of his temper.

She sighed. "How are we getting out of this, Jamie?"

He took a breath. "Okay. Um. You got any juice left or are you tapped out?"

She took a moment to concentrate, let her eyes drift shut and reached out. She was relieved to find the answer of a soft hum there, at her fingertips. "I've got a little."

"Okay, good. Then on my count—One, Two—"

They both tugged, Darcy clenching her jaw shut as she pulled away from him, and—

The plastic bands snapped with a harsh pop and she felt her skin slice along the sharp edge, blood coating her hand in seconds. "Safe to say this dress is ruined," she muttered, folding herself up so she could stand.

Bucky examined her, tutting under his breath.

But it was healing in just moments, while he took stock of the room. He edged around the exterior wall, keeping low and under the dim light still on in the kitchen, still making their now-freezing feast glimmer and glow.

Darcy's stomach growled.

"Okay, we've got the Ex from Hell out front and two hostiles, one on each side here, at the north and south ends of the house. Easy enough, but I doubt we'll have time to take out both before she comes back in to check on us."

She scrubbed at the drying blood on her hands with the skirt of her dress and scowled. "So what do we do? Can't we both go out, share the stakes?"

He hesitated, his eyes tight as he stared down at her.

She pulled a face. "Baby, it is seriously romantic, you wanting to protect me and all, but we don't have time for this."

He sighed, and shook his head, pulling himself out of it. "Fine. You're right." He started gesturing as he called the shots. "You go out, you take care of it, and you come back in, you hear me?"

She nodded.

"No fucking around. If you can't take him or you meet with a complication, you come back in and you wait for me, do not engage, got it?"

She nodded.

"You remember the choke hold I showed you, the one for a petite build?"

She nodded.

He huffed out a breath. "Fine, then." His eyes hardened, and he didn't cross to kiss her. "Go. And don't get dead or I'll never forgive you, you hear me, Barnes?"

She nodded, again, and winked, smirking as she took off for the sliding door off the deck. Very quietly, she edged it open and slipped out, leaving it ajar.

He was smaller than her last opponent, not much taller than her, and with his back to her, she could take stock of him. A sidearm. A flashlight. Dark cap, black combat gear. Low collar. She smiled. Perfect. Careful to tiptoe, avoiding the snap of the heel of her boots, she ducked behind him, going over the move in her head for a moment as she held her breath.

She'd done this a thousand times with Bucky on the mat. She could do this now, for real. She could. She totally could. Reach up and over, quickly, to minimize retaliation, close the hold, and jerk. Close the hold and jerk. Easy.

She took a breath and went for it, up and over.

But she didn't close the hold fast enough, and as her arm shut on his throat, he jerked up, throwing off her balance.

She closed the hold and threw her weight behind it and wrapped her legs around his waist, but wondered if Bucky had let her off easy in training, letting her get in the hold while he held back.

No. Nope, he definitely wouldn't do that with her—he was a taskmaster on that mat, trainer down to the core, it was like second nature to him.

"Stop flailing around, you jerk!" she grunted as he got up on his toes to try and throw her off, snarling in his efforts to dislodge her hold.

He took a step back, then another, then another, jerking around in self-defense, and slammed her back into the brick of the Brownstone, hard enough to make her catch her breath up in her chest, gasping.

But she held on.

"Get. Off!" he groaned through his rapidly crushing windpipe. "You. Bitch!" And again, he slammed them both back against the house, harder.

Her tailbone protested loudly and where her dress caught up between them, it tore along the left seam, exposing part of her ribcage. She tightened her grip, pressing her forearm into his throat. "I really. Liked. This. Dress!" she growled, tugging on the center of her powers, deep in her core. She tightened her arm again with a harsh jerk, and he went still in her arms.

She held on, counting in her head as he suffocated, hearing Bucky there as he coached her to hold on for an extra count of five—just long enough to ensure her opponent was unconscious, but not so long as to kill them.

Then she rode him down to the pavement, her knees scraping the decorative gravel there. "Seriously—somebody was ripping this dress off me, later, but it sure as hell wasn't you, buddy." Huffing in annoyance, she straightened her dress, turned him over to ensure he was shrouded by the neatly manicured bushes around the border of the house, and slipped back inside.

Bucky was already back—of course—and leaning on the jamb inside the sliding door, smirking. "Good job."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. It was terrible."

"No. Not bad for a first time."

"I was too slow."

"You were fine—I think I should probably be concerned that watching you take out hostiles seriously turns me on, but I don't know if I care enough to be," he snarked, that one side of his mouth curling up.

She got up on her toes to kiss him.

He slid his hands around her waist, but jerked back from their embrace as his warm fingers slid against her bare skin. "What happened here?"

She rolled her eyes. "Like I said—it was terrible."

He gave her a sly look. "You know, if you wanted me to rip that dress off ya, you should've just asked, dollface."

She huffed again, but went back into the room and over to her father, who was watching them with shrewd eyes. "What?" she snapped, the fuse on her temper shortening further and further as the day wore on.

He shrugged. "Nothing."

"It's been a long-ass day and we've barely been here two hours. You got something to say, just say it, old man." She examined his zip-ties and scowled.

He swallowed, then smirked. "It's just ironic."

"What?"

"That my rebellious daughter ends up marrying—"

"Choose your words carefully, pop."

He paused. "A bad boy."

She snorted, then tugged at the plastic wrapped around his wrists. "That's not ironic, idiot. Ironic is the other way around. Your rebellious daughter nailed her SATs, remember?"

He sighed. "Well, it's certainly appropriate that you wound up with an immortal assassin, then. He must be awfully good to you—or is it just that he's good in bed?"

She'd slapped him before she decided to, her hand stinging with the sharp report of it as his head snapped harshly to the side. The heat went up on her low-simmering irritation, and she got down in his face. "Interesting you'd say that when the ink is barely dry on your divorce from the jail-bait sex kitten out there, don't you think?" she murmured, her voice low with anger. "How does it go? People in glass houses and all that?"

Bucky's hand at the small of her back. "Darce…"

Her anger boiled over. "What?!" she snapped, turning on him. Then she blinked, and caught herself, the red fading from her vision. "Sorry."

With watchful eyes, he nodded. "There's still an unaccounted for sniper out there. We should really think about moving." He nodded toward Nate's hands. "Why don't you let me in there? I've got the metal hand and all."

She took a breath, let it out, and straightened, shaking the fury off with some confusion. "Right. Right, yeah. Sorry." She shuffled out of the way and wandered off a bit, pressing her hands to her face and breathing deeply.

"You've got a pair," he murmured lowly.

Darcy's ears tweaked, her serum rising to the fore and sharpening his hushed voice.

Then there was a squeaking sound, rapidly followed by the snap of plastic, obviously her husband being a little rougher than he needed to be. She didn't turn to look.

"Say something like that again, and I'll rip that pair off."

Nate jerked to standing, scowling at Bucky. "Where are we going?"

"Out."

"With the sniper?!" he demanded, his voice rising.

"Keep it together, Nate. You're ex-wife is just outside. And she'll be back soon so we have to be quick. Out is our best bet, and I'll be able to navigate the maze."

"What about the Range Rover that you—"

"It's safe to assume they may have rigged it with a tracker, a bomb, or worse. The Range Rover is out. Anything you have parked is out, too," he finished as her father opened his mouth to argue.

"Why's she even after you?"

Bucky sighed. "Let's just say I pissed off her boss last summer."

"Doing what?"

"Breaking your daughter out of his captivity." He paused to glance out at Siobhan, still standing sentinel on the front lawn, clearly waiting for something.

Darcy didn't want to start thinking about just what that might be.

He frowned, his face pinching. "You were…kidnapped—"

"Nope," Bucky cut him off, ducking down low as Siobhan turned to survey the house. Luckily she didn't move. "No, you don't get to call your daughter cheap and then turn around and be concerned to hear she's been mistreated. That's not how it works. You had your shot. You threw it away. I take care of her now."

Darcy grinned at this tell-off as she turned. "I feel like I need to protest this like Princess Jasmine in Aladdin, but I just don't think I can find any fault in the chivalry, I really don't."

Bucky turned to give her a playful wink. "There you are. Was wondering where my Darcy went."

She stuck her hands on her hips, trying to ignore the urge to shiver at the giant hole in one of her favorite dresses. "What's the game plan, babe?"

"I'm taking the lead. We go out the back, your dad in the middle, I need you to watch your six, okay?"

She nodded.

His eyes hardened. "Also, ignore what I said weeks ago—this time, you shoot to kill. Got it?"

A chill succeeded in fighting its way up her back anyway. She nodded.

"Don't get dead."

"10-4, Sergeant." She couldn't help but smile at his phrasing—sometimes it was just so damn obvious he and Steve had been close—let alone having been born to fight in World War Two. All the Army Talk was sort of charming.

He smirked. "Then get your cute butt over here and fall in, Corporal."

"This is insane!" Nate whisper-yelled, shaking his fist. "I will not be forced out of my own home!"

"Then we'll leave you here as chum for your ex-wife," Bucky snapped. "You have no idea what the man she works for will do to you. Darcy can tell you all about it. So you got a better idea?"

"But—"

He rounded on him again as he pulled out his SIG. "Listen, pal, I've been doing this since before you were born. You think Hitler was bad news, I can tell you all about his friend, The Red Skull. You wanna tell me how to lead my troops?"

"But Darcy isn't a soldier!"

Bucky's face softened as he looked at her. "Yeah, she is. Best one I've had in seventy years." He winked.

She blushed and went to join them, taking the Beretta from his offered hand.

Nate hesitated again as they began slinking toward the back door. "But…"

"My way or the highway, dude," Bucky said without turning.

Darcy nudged him in the ass. "Move it or lose it, pop."

They made it out back with no incident—in fact, it was genuinely fascinating watching Bucky work, slinking up behind the lone agent there, sliding his arm up and around, and making efficient work of Darcy's earlier fail. The tall agent slithered, unconscious, to the ground. They continued onward, but it was slow going, as Nate kept pausing to look up at the rooftops around them.

The back yard was massive, by all standards, and Bucky kept them to the shadows around the edges, which had the unfortunate side-effect of being the long way around. Nate grumbled about this, too, and received another nudge in the ass from his daughter for it.

She broke the rules for a moment and got lost in her head, remembering her time spent in the green, grassy haven growing up. She'd had a small pup tent that she set up from time to time, and she'd spent hours in it, reading with the flap open, watching the local wildlife wander by, rabbits, robins, even a fox one afternoon who had stopped to peer in before scampering away.

The sharp report of sniper fire jolted her loose, though, and she jerked to the right for the cover of the bushes, the Beretta jumping free of her hand to get lost somewhere in the underbrush. "Shit." But she didn't have time to stop at look for it, not under fire.

"Fuck," Bucky snarled low, grabbing Nate and throwing him down.

"We can just wait here, right?" Nate asked, his voice thin with nerves.

"Where we can get pinned down? Yeah, no," Bucky muttered. "Keep low, and keep up." And he darted for the three-car garage that manned the boundary of the lot at a rapid clip. Darcy had to shove her father along to make sure they kept up. "God, you always were lazy," she groaned as she pushed him ahead of her.

Another shot rang out, then another, and the dirt behind her sprayed a small arc in the air. "Move your ass!" she snapped. "If I have to, I will run ahead!"

"Move!" Bucky yelled, giving up all pretext at being quiet. "Cover's blown—just move!" He stopped beside the garage gate and yanked it open, then stood waving them through, Darcy pushed ahead of him. "Just go—"

"And just where do we think we're going?" Siobhan asked, hands on hips, feet planted around the corner of the garage, wicked smile in place.

They all jerked to a stop, Bucky's metal hand closing around the back of Darcy's dress to drag her back behind him. "You know," she continued, playing at studying her fingernails. "I might play the ditzy wife on TV, but I'm really not."

Nate panted for breath. "Siobhan, we just want to play through, okay?"

She glared at him. "Play through? Seriously? All those afternoons were said you were working and you were just playing golf, remember those? You leaving me in that giant, Godforsaken house alone?!"

Darcy, getting hopelessly impatient with this entire endeavor, threw her hands up. "We are not having this domestic dispute right now, while there are people shooting at us!"

Siobhan smirked. "Oh, no one's shooting at you. I mean—" She pulled the firearm from behind her back—"I might be. But no one else is, not without my express order." And she leveled it at their tight little group.

Fed up, Darcy stepped out, around Bucky and crossed the distance, his grip from her shoulder brushing clear in surprise. "Listen, bitch. I came here today even though it was the very last place on the face of the fucking planet that I wanted to be, and you're going to let me go home, even if that means I have to step over your dead body to get there." She grabbed the nose of the gun.

"Darcy—" Bucky started, but she waved him off, seeing red, her heart in her throat with adrenaline. "You wanna shoot me?"

She was so sweetly vindicated at the hesitation she saw there in Siobhan's eyes.

"Oh, you don't wanna shoot me, then?" She smiled. "No, you don't. I'm too valuable. You talk a good game, but your boss? He wants me. He wants me at any cost. See, he made me. But he made a mistake with me, too. He let me get away. And he'll pay any price to get me back so that he can do whatever voodoo shit he's got planned. So what do you think would happen if he found out you'd just shot me instead?"

Siobhan glared, her hand shaking around her weapon. "I—"

"You what? You're gonna take me out, then best the Winter Soldier in hand-to-hand?" She snorted. "Right. Sure you are. All your little chickies are down for the count, sweetie. It's just the four of us now. We're like a little party!" She tugged viciously on her power and yanked the gun out of her grip. "I hated you when you married Nate and so far, tonight, that initial impression hasn't changed. But now I have an excuse to do this—"

And she hauled off and punched her, so hard that the crack of her jaw was audible as her teeth clacked together and blood sprayed from her broken lip and trailed down her chin.

"Darcy…" Bucky started.

Siobhan didn't back down so easily, though, coming at her with a lunging shove and sending her back a step.

"Shoot her!" Nate yelled, gesturing wildly.

"They're too close together," Bucky said, his voice tense.

"Aren't you supposed to be a master marksman?!"

"No, you didn't hear me—they're too close together. I can take the shot, but I won't take it. Do you understand?"

Darcy snarled and retaliated, turning to level a kick at her midsection and sending her sprawling. She hit the pavement with a smack, but bounced immediately back up again to throw herself into her.

They slammed into the side of the garage, and Darcy put all her weight behind her knee, throwing it into her gut.

Siobhan gasped, falling back.

Darcy grabbed her by the throat, spun her and shoved her back against the siding, tightening her grip. "You just don't quit, do you?!"

"Darcy…" Bucky tried again and she could feel him approaching without turning to look. "Darcy, take a breath, okay…? You've got her on the ropes…"

But she didn't hear him, the blood rushing in her ears so loudly it was deafening, her pulse thudding hollowly at the back, a harsh accompaniment to her sharp, unwieldy temper.

"You fuckers are always coming around, like cockroaches!" she snarled, tightening her grip and feeling the plastic-like cartilage in Siobhan's throat yielding beneath her palm. "You can't just let us be, can you?! You always have to be moving your little chess pieces around the board—I'll show you what that last move did to me! You want to see?!"

"Darcy!" Bucky again, his hand—the left one—folding around her shoulder and shaking her.

There was a soft, bleating sound off to the left, someone whimpering in fear or sadness, she wasn't sure. It was distant and weak compared to the roar of rage in her ears.

Siobhan went rapidly loose in her grip, her face a dark purple-red.

"Darcy!" Bucky yelled again.

She was breathing hard, pressing all her weight into—

"DARCY!" Bucky snapped, his Winter Soldier voice, sharp in her ears—

And finally successful in severing her connection to her rage.

With a start, she blinked, and the redness was gone from her eyes, and she realized what she was doing.

Gasping, she jerked back, rapidly fleeing from the scene and staggering into the open space behind the lot, a large swatch of grass that butted up against the lot on the other side.

She watched through a hazy veil as Bucky checked a crumpled Siobhan for a pulse.

Nate stared at her, wide-eyed and wearing the signature look of complete non-recognition.

Breathless, she collapsed to the ground when Bucky turned and gave her a nod.

"Why—why didn't we just call for help?!" Nate finally gasped, bending at the waist and holding himself up on his knees.

Bucky waved a hand. "Back-up would've been too slow in coming. Seriously, you think this is my first rodeo?"

((()))

The Clean-Up Crew arrived not long after and took over. They seemed certain, given the recent intel from Darcy and others, that AIM wasn't interested in Nate nearly as much as Siobhan herself was, and told them they'd finish their work and conclude the interviews and that they were free to go.

It took Darcy a long time to come back down to herself, her hands shaking and her pulse a rapid, uneven catch in her throat. The adrenaline rush and following nadir left her a stumbling mess, and Bucky had to help her back into the Range Rover and buckle her in, she was shaking so hard. He retrieved her clutch from the house and they left.

They didn't speak.

The afternoon clouds gave way to weak, watery sunlight outside Darcy's window, but she barely saw it as it zipped by at freeway speeds. She set her forehead to the cool glass and tried to understand just what had happened to her.

It was hazy and something that, now, she honestly couldn't particularly even remember. She just remembered the need for revenge, for vindication, for something, her rage at all the things that had happened to them in the past year coalesced and aimed squarely at Siobhan.

She'd almost killed Siobhan.

She'd almost killed Siobhan.

Before she knew it, they were parked in the lower parking structure beneath the Tower, and she realized that Bucky was calling to her.

"Darce?" he asked, softly, his voice low, as though trying not to spook her.

She blinked, swinging around to look at him. "Sorry."

He studied her quietly. "You wanna tell me what that was back there? Or…don't you know what that was?"

She swallowed. "I'm…not sure."

He gave her a soft smile. "You can say it, if you want. I could hardly blame you."

She frowned. "Say what?"

"'I told you so'. Have at it. I deserve it."

She was surprised when a laugh tipped out of her mouth. "Nah." Familiar flirtation tingled at her fingers as she looked at him, warmth seeping back in. "You've already got that covered."

He smiled, then went around to help her out.

They took the elevator up, rapidly ascending to their floor, and met with Tony in the hallway, a bowl of salad in his hands.

He blinked, looked them up and down, then blinked again. "Do I wanna know?"

Bucky sighed as he towed her along toward their room. "Nope. It's pretty much what you're thinking and about exactly what it looks like."

He nodded. "Right. You're okay?"

"Yep," Darcy called.

He was completely nonplussed as he started off again. "Okay, then. Dinner's in a half hour. Don't be late."

"Sure thing."

And the door shut behind them.

Like hot metal striking iron, it was like Darcy was dropped squarely back into herself, and she dragged him to her mouth, the eventful afternoon flooding her with residual runoff.

He didn't stop her, only wrapped his arms around her, dropped his hand to her hip, then her butt, and let out a little growling moan as he ground her into him.

Up against that wall. Just like she wanted. And so delicious.

Then their shower ended up drifting off in that direction, too, and what started there ended in a mess on their bed, damp and still slightly soapy.

"Seriously," he said later, watching her as she sat up and looked around for clothes. "What was that, back there?" His hand lazily traced a shape on her back as she looked around for her discarded bra, his skin warm.

She glanced back at him, knowing it was pointless to try and lie to him. He made a sexy, relaxed figure in the bed, the sheets pulled half back where she'd gotten up, and low on his hips, showing off the buff V of his pelvis. "I dunno."

They locked eyes, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder blade.

"Any ideas?"

He sighed. "Well. The serum can make it difficult, sometimes, to control your reactions. And you went into today tense and irritable. So I guess, this being your first experience with the heightened effect it can have on you, you probably just let it carry you away."

She finally landed on her bra. "Is that what that was?"

He sat up. "Probably."

She heaved a deep breath, relief flooding her. "Well, thank God. And thanks."

He cocked his head and slid out of the bed, padding over to the dresser. "For what?"

She stood and followed him, pressing herself against his back. "For pulling me back from the brink."

He winked as he pulled open a drawer. "No problem. That's what a partner does out in the field, right?"

She snorted a laugh.

They got dressed again, Darcy in a long blue tunic and leggings, with a cinch belt, Bucky in jeans and a button down with the sleeves perpetually folded up.

When they went downstairs, the whole gang was there in the Common Room, sitting around a long, oval table and chatting while they snacked on rolls and nuts.

Jane, Wanda, and Maria all huddled together in the corner and started talking, low and urgent, and completely devoid of eye contact, like a bad impression of a high school clique. Thor, as usual, was cheerfully oblivious as he waved enthusiastically, his smile wide and bright.

She smiled, but rolled her eyes and accepted a glass of Moscato from Pepper, who smiled and then dashed back out again, into the adjoining room that housed the huge, restaurant grade kitchen, where the caterer was busy.

"Nice top, Darce!" Natasha called down the table, toward the end, where she was sitting with Steve. Steve smiled and winked.

She waved.

Bruce was closer, and he smiled and straightened his glasses.

Clint checked his watch. "C'mon, I'm on a time crunch, here, guys. I've got a second one of these to get home to, or I'm going to be very slowly murdered."

Tony waved a hand. "Eh, just tell the wife you had to save the world or something." He stood at their end of the table, grinning as he checked them over for injuries. "So, the saying's right then—you can't go home again?"

Darcy sighed and leaned into Bucky's shoulder, glad for his arm around her waist. "Yeah, no. I don't recommend it. You might run into those in-laws you hate."

"Don't I know it!" Clint called.

"Hey, man! Shut up!" Sam said, nudging him from the next chair over. "She looks exhausted, dude."

Clint shrugged. "Sorry, not sorry?"

Bucky laughed.

Sam picked up the nearest roll from the basket and threw it at him. It bounced off and dropped heavily to the floor, where it rolled lazily away.

"That's a waste of food!" Clint accused, smirking.

"You're an archer, man! You should'a caught that!" Sam bickered back.

"Your chair." Tony gestured down at the first chair on their side. "Buck, if you want that one, there you go."

The Common Room was done up all in golds and reds, oranges and yellows, tasteful drapes and stylish dishes. And twinkly lights to finish it off, with classic Christmas songs playing over the sound system.

Pepper made a grand show of introducing the caterer and the team that then filed out and served the spread family-style.

And it truly was like an episode of a sitcom, with everyone passing dishes back and forth, serving themselves and each other. Rolls were tossed around—literally.

Bucky handed her the canned cranberry and kissed her on the cheek.

She beamed and served herself a huge scoop.

"All for you, Short Stack. Keep it right here." Tony plunked it down between them, then patted her thigh and gave her that signature Daddy Tony smile and a little wink.

The celebration went late, long after the food was all packed away for leftovers and they'd lost half the group to the long hours. They all sat around chatting and continuing to snack, and Darcy was warm, snuggled against Bucky's front, watching Tony relate some story from his youth with entirely too much alcohol in it.

She was home. Content and home, with her real family.

It was funny, she thought. The family you chose often ended up being more important to you than your actual family. And you really couldn't go home again. Well. You could. But it was never the same. And that, of course, was the point.

She was relieved, really, to have confirmed it. Now she could close that file and store it away while she worked on this one, with Bucky, and Tony. And Steve and Nat. And Clint. And Sam and Bruce.

Home. As bat-crap crazy as it usually was.

"…And so I said, 'That's not a turkey! That's a porcupine!'" Tony howled, laughing so hard he could barely talk. "But he was so drunk, he didn't even feel it when it speared him in the hand!"

Everyone howled in laughter.

She turned to look up at Bucky, and landed a kiss to his jaw. "Hey."

He looked down at her with a soft look. "What?"

"Thanks."

"Again? What for, this time?"

She squeezed his thigh. "For always having my six."

He smirked as he picked up his wine glass. "Well. It's an awfully cute six."

FIN

THANKFUL FOR ALL YOU WONDERFUL READERS! 3