Equilibrium
Chapter 1: Guitar Song
The cold, gray skyline of New York loomed out the windows of the common room as Darcy settled the old wooden guitar in her lap, her legs neatly folded on the soft leather couch. Days like this, a light rain pattering against the towering windows, that moment when summer was well and truly over, the leaves turning brilliant colors and fluttering to the ground, days like this were the hardest. She settled her hands over the cold strings, her left hand curled around the solid wood of the well-worn fretboard, the body of the guitar soft from hundreds of hours of being touched, polish worn dull. She could almost feel her mother's hands ghosted over her's, strong hands with long graceful fingers, holding Darcy's as she showed her daughter how to curl her fingers into the notes.
Darcy hit the play button on the well-loved iPod, thank you Agent iPod Thief, the deep smoky voice of Sharleen Spiteri cutting through the silence of the empty tower, as she let her hands begin to wonder across the stings, thankful for the earbuds that concealed the flat notes of the old guitar that was in serious need of tuning, the strings frayed and too loose, strings she couldn't bear to replace, and wouldn't tighten.
A soft ping in her ear alerted her to the presence of the only other occupant of the tower. The dark figure reflected in the floor to ceiling windows was no surprise, he wasn't trying to hide, not that Friday would let him. He couched in plain view on the upper level, decked out in full gear, his lower face covered in his black mask. Hiding in plain sight.
Tony had been nervous about leaving Darcy along with him. "Darcy, sweetheart, he's not right," Tony pinched the bridge of this nose. "I don't like that the Cap is leaving him here in the first place."
"Friday's keeping an eye on him," She said, coolly. Darcy rolled her eyes, Tony had known about her for five minutes, and already he was trying to pull this concerned dad bullshit on her. "Steve wouldn't leave him here alone with me if he thought he'd hurt me."
"Cap's stupid when it comes to this guy," Tony told her. "He could level a city block, and he'd bring him home, he's like a dog that's been hit too much, you don't know what little thing'll set him off."
"I won't do anything stupid." Tony left it at that, but set up for Friday to ping Darcy's earbuds anytime he drifted into her vicinity.
Darcy wasn't going to let his presence ruin her 'me' time. The sad strains of the guitar helped her drift into her own mind, the cold dark presence at her back, his icy gaze tripping against the back of her skull, faded into nothing as her mind wondered to days in her old house, sitting on the old thrift store couch in front of a warm fire, singing the rain away.
The Soldier slowly came down the metal steps of the common room, the earbuds blocked out all sound, but she doubted that he made any. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as the couch dipped on one side, and she felt him cross his legs, always at attention.
Darcy let her voice drift in and around the beautiful refrain as her fingers danced over the worn strings, careful not to strum too hard. When she opened her eyes an hour later, the fearsome Winter Soldier was fast asleep, his mask dangling from his fingers. She pulled the soft, thick afghan from the back of the couch, and tucked him in, before padding over to the kitchen to put a pot on to boil.
It was a week before he said anything. He'd drift into the common room whenever Darcy was there, padding quietly to the couch, sitting on the opposite end, and curling up. He'd watch whatever she put on the television, or listen to her play the old guitar, the end result was always her pulling the blanket down around him while he slept quietly. She wondered if he ever slept at night.
She had Pirates of the Caribbean on the big screen, her feet up on the coffee table, when the soft ping sounded.
"Worried I'll jump out and say 'boo,' Doll?" His voice was deep and gravelly from disuse, and his face was as cold and stoic as ever, but the words themselves had a hint of self-depreciating teasing.
"You don't scare me," She smiled at him and patted the sofa. "Pull up a cushion, Soldier, this is a classic."
"I'm not a soldier," he said quietly, but sat down on his side of the couch and looked toward the big screen.
"I don't know what to call you," Darcy said to the screen, watching Captain Jack Sparrow ride his ever sinking ship into the harbor.
"Steve calls me Bucky," he shrugged.
"Is that what you want me to call you?" She peeked over to him, his legs were curled up on the couch, and he had his arms around his knees, the servos in his metal arm were spinning a whirling, like he couldn't hold still.
"James," he said.
"Okay, James," Darcy said, listening to his arm settle down. She filed away his tell, and smiled at him. "You're in for a treat; this is one of my favorite movies."
James was fast asleep when the credits rolled, but he hadn't worn his mask, and he'd spoken. It was a good day. Darcy keyed up the second movie, and settled in for the afternoon. He slept through dinner.
The third week, James sought Darcy out in her lab. Tony had dedicated part of the floor he'd designated for Avenger R and D, for Darcy. A glass wall kept her separate from Jane's lab, so she could keep an eye on her best friend, but one entire corner was just for her. Her gleaming lab currently only held a single lab table, stainless steel, and unscratched, housing parts and pieces of a giant server, which she was busy taking apart.
"You weren't in the common room," James settled himself cross-legged on the work bench, as she poked at the old server that used to be JARVIS.
"I broke the 'E' string," she said quietly, she tried to tell herself it wasn't a big deal, it was an old guitar, but she had to hold back tears. To be honest, she was punishing herself with a nearly impossible task. "And I needed to do actual work."
James face called bullshit, but he didn't say anything. "What are you doing?" He tilted his head to the side, trying to get a better look. Darcy held up the circuit board she'd pulled out. "I'm trying to figure out what made JARVIS so special." It wasn't a remarkable board, other than Tony'd built it himself. "So far I've pulled out circuit boards, and combed through code, I've dug through every file I can find that Tony's got sitting around."
"What have you found," he shifted, he was making and effort today, but she could still hear the servos working, as he tried to stay still and calm. He'd finally abandoned his uniform for more comfortable jeans and t shirts, he'd asked her if his arm bothered her, and she'd shrugged, it was his arm, nothing to be bothered by, he'd smiled, and stopped wearing long sleeves. He probably didn't like the lab, he'd spent enough time in them, she'd read his file, Friday had readily given it to her when she asked, and Tony'd given her unfettered access to Avengers Tower.
"Nothing," her shoulders sagged in dejection. "As far as I can tell he shouldn't have been any more special than Friday, but he was a person, complete in everything but body, until recently. You know Tony let him write his own code, treated him like a complete person. Friday needs so much instruction to run a simple task; it's almost not worth it." She shrugged. "Have I introduced you to the Xbox in the common room?"
"What's an Xbox," the puzzled look on his face was priceless.
"I'll show you," Darcy hopped off her stool and strolled out of the lab, not bothering to see if he was following.
James like racing games. He was scary good at them, and played even the most ridiculous with a stoic concentration that couldn't be missed. He sat calmly on the couch navigating Yoshi around the rainbow road. Darcy stood, twisted and turned; James just lifted his eyebrow at her antics. She danced around the room the first time she beat him, though she suspected that he'd let her, watching the Princess do her victory lap, while his dejected Yoshi shook his head. James laughed out loud, and Darcy hugged him.
The Wednesday before thanksgiving dawned cold and gray. Darcy looked at her mom's guitar in the corner, the 'E' string wrapped around the fretboard, begging to be fixed. She shook her head and shuffled up to the common room. She curled up on her end of the couch and watched the rain run down the windows, the cold wind she couldn't feel inside began to seep into her soul.
Friday had abandoned the ping to let her know when James entered the room, she didn't need it, she could feel his dark presence before she felt him drop the afghan around her shoulders, settling down on the couch beside her.
"I don't like rainy days either," he said quietly, leaving just enough space between them that they weren't touching. They'd been alone in the tower for a month, the space seemed artificial, but she couldn't muster the energy to bridge the gap.
"I used to love the rain," she replied, almost under her breath. "Mom used to light a fire in our living room and we'd cuddle on the couch and she'd pay her guitar and it was like the world lit up, and the whole house would warm to her voice." I took a long breath. "I wasn't there when she was diagnosed; I was with Jane in London. I didn't know what happened, but pancreatic cancer is fast, it was only a few weeks between her diagnosis, and the day she died." I hadn't been there, the end of the world kept me from checking my messages, and I hadn't been there for her. "She died on a cold rainy day two Novembers ago; I've played her guitar since."
"And now it's broken, and you can't play and chase the rain away," he concluded.
"I can't," she agreed, a cool tear slid down her cheek. She knew the strings were frayed and it was in desperate need of tuning, but every time she tried, she could seek the long fingers turning the keys, plucking those strings and she stopped. He didn't ask, just nodded and hugged her to his side. Tucking them both under the heavy afghan.
"Steve would get sick when it got cold," was all he said, the tension in her shoulders melting away, resting her head on his warm shoulder. "His mom worked all hours to support the two of them, so when it got cold and damp, and Stevie couldn't get out of bed, I'd take care of him." His voice was soft and deep, and he ran his fingers up and down her arm. "He used to complain about my cooking, said my chicken soup wasn't like his momma's, and my noodles where always hard."
"You love him," Darcy said quietly. She shifted so she was laying her head against his thigh, and he curled his fingers through her loose hair. The hypnotic feeling of his fingers against her scalp and his rumbling voice was soothing.
"More then I should," he told her, his fingers never stopping. "It wasn't acceptable when we were young." He shrugged. "He doesn't love me like that, certainly not now."
"What makes you say that?" She'd heard the good Captain tell stories about Bucky Barns; there was always a wistful gleam in his eyes, like remembering a lost love.
"I'm not Bucky anymore," his voice full of sadness. "He might have loved Bucky, the carefree boy who catted around with the girls and made him bitter tea, and watched over him when he got real bad, to make sure he didn't stop breathing in his sleep."
"He tore thought heaven and earth to find you," Darcy said. "I helped JARVIS comb through security footage all over New York and DC trying to find any trace of you."
"You found the Winter Soldier," he said, cold ice seeping into his voice his fingers stilling against her scalp. "That's quite a feat." She felt him take a long breath, the servos on his arm twitching as he struggled back from Soldier to James. His fingers stared massaging her scalp again. "He thinks I'm broken, I don't know."
"You're getting better," just the fact that he was comfortable sitting on the sofa with her, his back to half the room, in his sweats and wife beater, said how far he'd come.
"You make it easy, you have on expectations of Bucky, I'll never be Bucky again," his voice left no room for argument. "I'm a duty to him; he has to take care of me, because of Bucky."
"You were never together back then?" She asked, not sure if she had the right.
"It wasn't' acceptable," James said. "And Steve was too sick, and then we were at war, and then I was gone."
"And now you're different," she said.
"And Steve doesn't love James; he doesn't even really know me. He just wants to fix me." Darcy could hear the tears he wouldn't let fall, and had no words. She sat up and hugged him to her, letting him slide around so his back was to the couch, running her hands through his hair, his head on her chest and his arms around her waist, the cold metal arm slowly warming to her body temperature. As the rain pattered on the windows they fell asleep, comforted by each other's presence.