The Fourth Time: The first time he saw her, she gave him a heart attack. The second time, he swore he was seeing things. The third time made him think. The fifth time—well, he wondered if he was blind. Gen. AU. By Ruby.
The first time Steve saw Darcy, she gave him a heart attack. He turned around and poof, there she was. She was scowling up at him in amazement, icy blue eyes squinting at him, full lips pursed and quirked to one side. Dark hair fell to either side of her face in waves.
It was almost exactly the same expression that Bucky had when Steve rescued him from the Nazi camp. The eyes and the color of her hair were almost exactly the same.
He gaped and then gulped when he realized that this was a very pretty lady and not his childhood friend.
"Your new name is Oyster," she said, and then turned around a walked off.
Steve was torn between gaping at her back and laughing helplessly.
The second time he saw her, he swore he was seeing things. Both Darcy—he'd since learned from Thor that the quirky brunette that had scared him half to death because she looked freakishly like Bucky for a second was named Darcy—and Stark liked flirting outrageously. Half the time it would turn into banter that involved some serious wit. Steve and whoever else that might be watching would watch the two trade rapid-fire innuendos and insults, and they would be reduced to bobbing heads that would whiplash occasionally. Steve had only seen the tail end of one such session before, but now he got to witness the full scale verbal battle unfolding in front of him.
Straight-backed and in her sweaters and jeans, Darcy somehow managed to look as snazzy as Stark did in one of his Armani suits. Stark's eyes were sparkling with challenge as the two stepped across the kitchen, flirting and seduction that would never go anywhere, stepping forward and retreating almost as quickly. Darcy's phone rang in the middle of it, and she stepped—one two—and caught Stark's startled, flailing hand and managed to turn it into a graceful arc. She bowed and pressed her lips to the back of his hand, then retreated to the hallway. "We'll continue this later, Tony. I gotta take this." Then, more distantly, "Hi, Dad. What's up?"
Stark, Steve, and Natasha seemed to all be equally stunned, all for different reasons. Stark had to check the back of his hand twice—which had a hot-rod red lipstick print on it—to actually believe that had happened. Natasha got out her phone to check Darcy's file—which had no father named on it.
Steve…well, Steve was having major pre-serum flashbacks of dances where Bucky would step forward—one two—and press a gentle kiss the back of his dame's hand.
He was broken out of his reverie by Stark's bemused, "Did I just get put in the role of the woman?"
The third time he saw Darcy, she made him think.
"Hiya, Pops," she greeted him cheerfully.
"Pops?" he asked, smiling a bit. "Thought my name was Oyster."
"Sure," she said agreeably. "And Oyster is a damn fine name for a guy with muscles and pearly whites." Steve groaned theatrically. She grinned at him, and then explained: "My daddy is like brothers with someone whose granddaddy was in the Howling Commandos with all you folks. I think that we're technically not related, but I consider any and all of my fam's military men my family too. So you would probably be like a great-great uncle or something, but Pops sounds better." She paused for a moment, then tilted her head, conceding the mental point with a slightly flirty smile, "Granted, you're a little bit more distant than most."
He was unexpectedly touched, the flirting notwithstanding. "I'll go for that."
"Someone else call you Pops?" she asked.
Steve shook his head, half amused and half resigned. "Stark. He likes calling me Gramps, as well as a host of other things."
"Don't worry, I think the only one who only has one nickname is Pepper, and her nickname is pretty universal," she said. "His preferred name for me is Betty, just to piss off Bruce."
Steve stopped dead in the hallway, closing his eyes. "That man…"
Darcy snickered. "Steve, you can't say that the guy doesn't have the stones, the smarts, and the skills to back up his mouth."
"He could still drive me to drink," he muttered.
"Aw, c'mon," she said cheerfully, linking her left arm with his right. "It could be worse. He could not clean up his own messes. And he even occasionally helps clean someone else's mess, too. Now, onwards! To wherever you were going. I am bored, and you shall regale me with stories of the 1940s."
Steve snorted. "Very well, milady."
Afterwards, most of his thoughts were on the Howling Commandos, and wondering who was left. If he should visit. If he should check up on them. But one small portion was intently focused on the simultaneously gleeful and sad glint in her eyes whenever he talked about Bucky.
The fourth time he saw Darcy, the majority of her screentime was occupied by the thoughts of "OH MY GOD BUCKY" and various other expletives that people doubted that he knew because he was from the 1940s.
He couldn't even talk consciously, an unconscious, whispered, "Bucky?" slipping past his lips. And then Darcy jumped down, landing in front of him, dressed in a very similar uniform, minus the now-missing mask and goggles. Her dark hair was in a curly ponytail. She spared only a glance to him.
"Try not to kill us," she said, to Steve and not…Bucky. Who was apparently the Winter Soldier and incredibly dangerous. And almost a hundred years old.
Then she turned and walked away from him, towards Bucky. Her limbs were loose and relaxed, back straight and steps unfaltering.
He seemed confused at her approach, seemingly relaxed and undefended, and didn't move. His metal hand twirled the knife warily. Once she got close enough, he was lightning fast and had her back to his chest, the knife at her throat.
"Such a nice greeting for your daughter, Daddy dearest," she said snarkily, then seemed to undulate and somehow dislodge Bucky's hand.
(No, he wasn't going to touch Darcy's remark with a sterile ten-foot pole. Let alone anything else.)
The knife flashed and it was suddenly in Darcy's hand as she dodged, hurling it at a telephone pole, where it buried itself tip-first, handle quivering. Bucky lunged at her and she went into a backbend and kicked up, timing it perfectly somehow so that she could wrap her legs around Bucky's still-airborne figure. They both landed heavily, rolling over and still locked together. His metal hand flashed to one of her ankles and forcibly removed her leg, twisting it impossibly until Steve fully expected to hear a snap of broken bone. She twisted and clocked Bucky across the face with the back of her other heel, spun and stood abruptly.
Straight-legged, arms and shoulders loose.
He seemed to shake his head slowly, as if shaking loose a memory.
"Greatly appreciate it if you get your silicon-clad tushie off the ground before your scrawny-ass little brother has a heart attack," Darcy said calmly.
Bucky groaned. "Shaddup, Darce." He rolled over slowly, as if every joint ached. He stood, rubbing his jaw. "Where are my handlers?"
Gunfire erupted, as if waiting for that cue. Black-clad men surrounded them.
"Wonderful," Darcy remarked. "How are we doing this?"
"Why don't we continue this where we left off?"
Steve didn't understand this conversation at all.
"Looks like you two are back to brawling in alleyways," Darcy rejoined.
"Go get the punk's shield."
"Roger, Buck."
She leaped, Bucky caught her foot with his metal hand as she came back down, and launched her into the air. Fast as lightning, she drew a gun and shot it at the nearby bridge, extending a cord that started winching back into the gun as soon as it hit the solid object, carrying Darcy safely over the line of men and out of sight.
The fifth time he saw Darcy, he wondered how he could be so blind. She was fighting with his shield as easily as he did, which said something about her strength. She was obviously enhanced somehow, because she didn't look buff in the least. In fact, he never would have guessed how much strength her body held. Natasha was right behind her, and Steve could see faint confusion on her face.
Faint confusion was a lot better than his never ending mantra of what the fucking hell is going on?!
He saw the exact moment that she spotted him and—and Bucky standing back-to-back in a circle of men with guns. Her expression was almost comical in its incredulousness.
"Just like old times, eh, punk?"
"You are such a jerk," Steve responded breathlessly.
Bucky snorted—a rough thing, as if he hadn't laughed once in the seventy years that had passed for both of them.
"Anything else I should know?" Bucky asked.
"We've got another person in our party. Guy with wings. He would probably appreciate it if you don't kill him."
Bucky shifted behind him. "You take yours, and I'll take whatever's left on mine?"
Steve smirked. "Deal."
He could feel his old friend shift and then fire a bright flare straight up and then spring like a coiled snake to the nearest man.
"Steve!" Darcy hollered.
He leaped. Steve twisted mid-air, catching the shield-turned-frisbee that Darcy had hauled off and thrown perfectly and slipping his arm through it as fast as he could. He brought his feet up to brace against the shield and rammed straight into the goon that he'd leapt at, knocking him clear out of the conscious realm. He rolled hard and came up kneeling, letting the piles of coin-sized pieces of metal collect at his knees, calculating distances and angles. He rolled to the left, fixing the shield onto his right arm, and ran, crouched low at the man directly in front of him while bracing against gunfire coming from in front and to the right.
He was very thankful that the bad guys hadn't figured out that guns—automatic or not—were not the way to get him to slow down.
Someone else noticed the fight.
"Bucky!" he hollered, kicking out and nailing one in the chest hard enough to make the guy let go of his damnable gun. A decidedly prejudiced shield impacted with his skull immediately afterwards. "You're slacking!"
"Fuck you, too, punk!"
Steve grinned and batted away yet another gun with the flat of his shield and cold-cocking its owner. He spun and deflected an incoming trio of bullets from a handgun before ducking low and bracing his hand against the ground and kicking out and up, spinning and sending the person literally flying.
(Nat had actually taught him that. She said to make sure that she was there when he used it in a fight. She said that she'd love to see the bastard's face when "a nineteen forties grandpa used a breakdance move in a fight".) (He wasn't entirely sure if she had seen it, but he knew that she had been there, so he was able to claim innocence.)
Sam turned his near-stalemate with the HYDRA handlers on its head by flying in low with two automatic guns that Steve assumed he had liberated from one of said handlers. "You crazy bastard!" he hollered as he swooped over Steve.
The solider was beginning to think that phrase characterized his life.
Sam swooped again and landed next to Steve. "What is going on, Rogers?"
"My childhood best friend—who is also supposed to be dead via falling off a train and another hundred foot cliff—has been systematically brainwashed by the same agency that I thought I took with me when I crashed the Valkyrie into the Artic. He also has a daughter whom I've been working with on a regular basis and seems to have a code to override his brainwashing by said HYDRA minions." Steve paused to throw his shield. "In other words, I don't have a damn idea of what's going on."
"That's reassuring," Sam said dryly.
He reached up a hand to catch the returning vibranium disc. "Isn't it?"
"Punk!" Bucky hollered, holding a HYDRA member aloft with his left hand by the man's neck. "This one's important. Kill 'im or knock 'im out?"
"Was he important enough to actively help torture you?" Steve hollered back, elbowing another minion in the solar plexus before breaking the man's leg savagely. A punch to the temple ensured he wasn't going anywhere.
"Yeah!" Bucky yelled, fending off another goon with his other, living arm.
"Kill him," Steve growled.
He could practically hear his teammates pause in their movements.
"The guy's important," Sam said uncertainly.
"Doesn't matter," Steve said. "There are always at least three people who are important. One will have nothing to do with the dirty bits and do the coordination and the boasting."
Darcy bounced over to them. "You fellas need some help?" she asked as she shattered someone's wrist.
"Dunno about us, but Buck always needs help," Steve said, raising his voice to ensure his friend could hear him.
"Oh-ho!" Bucky crowed. "You won't get that one over on her, punk! I told her too many stories about rescuing your scrawny ass from back alley fights."
"You're right," Darcy agreed—with Steve. "I'll have to go help Dad, because you fellas just can't be helped."
Bucky tipped back his head and laughed. Steve grinned appreciatively.
And then suddenly, the fight was over. Natasha came over, wearing her mask and a bloody cut on her jaw. "What the hell is going on, Lewis?"
"Nat," Steve broke in. "Darcy is apparently my childhood friend's daughter. Said childhood friend also moonlights as an assassin. Torture, experimentation. Brainwashing of the technological kind, because they sure as hell couldn't do it any other way with him."
Both Bucky and Darcy stared at him.
"You're taking this remarkably well," Darcy said cautiously.
"How'd you figure all that out?" Bucky asked immediately after.
"Give me an hour or two and I'll be in a towering rage," Steve promised Darcy calmly. He smirked at Bucky. "Considering that HYDRA had already experimented on you before you fell off that cliff, it wasn't a huge jump. Like it or not, some of the greatest medical discoveries came from the Nazis because they didn't have the morals to not experiment on human beings. I've also had a fight with a god, I've fought with a god, I've fought both with and against a guy who thinks he's a god, and I've had a friend get bapped with a glowing stick and was brainwashed. With the crazy shit that comes up nowadays, technological brainwashing is right up there with instant microwavable potatoes on the crazy meter."
Natasha put a hand to her own forehead, an exasperated look in her eyes but a fond smile tilting her lips. "Steve, I am not going to call you Sherlock."
The blond looked at her innocently. "Now why would you be doing that?"
Bucky elbowed him. "We need to get out of here before reinforcements arrive. Now that the three of us plus two are all in one place, we need to talk."
One borrowed rental car (insisted upon by Steve, so that they could actually go back and return the car if it didn't get destroyed in their shenanigans, as well as back pay the owner for the inconvenience, as well as not depriving anyone of their main transportation) later, Bucky was telling them about HYDRA. Which just so happened to be stationed within SHIELD.
One very long pause later, Steve announced to the car as a whole, "I am so goddamn sick of HYDRA."
The entire car snorted at the understatement.
There's been quite a few fics with Darcy-as-friend/girlfriend/lover-to-Bucky (my personal favorite is a songfic called Red Lips and Rosy Cheeks), but I can totally see her as Bucky's daughter, too. There's not a whole lot known about Darcy from the movies—she's curious, patient as hell, incredibly lucky, mouthy on occasion, and drop-dead gorgeous in my opinion. In this, she's a little more confident than is seen in the movies, and has some seriously extensive training. That's pretty much the only difference.
Now, Steve…the writers for the script between Captain America: the First Avenger and The Avengers seem to be two different people. Captain America had Steve as a snarky, smart, stubborn sack of bones that translated over to when he gained ten inches and probably a hundred pounds of muscle. I can understand Steve's personality change in The Avengers movie—in case anyone reading this doesn't know, he was pulled from the ice a week (A WEEK!) before the events of The Avengers. So he's still a tactical genius and probably the strongest person I'll never meet, but all the snark is about zilch. I get that. He's traumatized. His sense of humor is probably hiding under the bed and saying all kinds of nasty things to him. I expected it to change with Captain America: the Winter Soldier. But nope, still no snark. So that has been remedied by me. And the stereotype where he can't possibly know cusswords is crap. He was in the army, people. And with the variety of people that made up the Howling Commandos, he probably knows those cusswords in six different languages.
Just saying. ;)
Enjoy!
Ruby
PS-I am not actually planning on continuing this. But like with most of my oneshots, that doesn't stay true. If you tell me that you want me to continue the story, don't just ask me to expand it. Tell me what you want to see! I don't promise to fit everything, but something will likely jog me to act on a sudden plot bunny.