Alright, guys. So I wrote a sequel. No guarantees on publishing times with this one, though. It's been slow going, and I don't know how long it might take me to keep up. But I think this will be a great idea once I find my groove. Anyhoo, this is going to start out slow, but we'll get to the action quick enough. This beginning is mostly humor and fluff. Let me know how you like. I really, really, REALLY love hearing your feedback! Happy Fourth!
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Leaving On A Jet Plane
Chapter One: Island in the Sun
Chapter title taken from the Weezer song. Totally applies here, go give it a listen. Story title also taken from a song-guy named John Denver, you might've heard of him. Love him, go check him out too.
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Justin Timberlake blared through the cavernous sparring room, the bass a pounding echo that set her veins fizzing. Smirking, she watched her companion slide off his Nikes and cross to the supply cabinet, pulling out the wrapping tape, the contours of his back barely covered by the white tank he wore. "All this needs is a film camera and this could be a super sexy music video, what with you looking all yummy over there," she called.
"Eat your heart out, Lewis," her companion called back.
She laughed, thumbing the button to turn up the volume further. "I fully intend to. Why you think I came down here?"
He snorted, shaking his head. "And here I thought you wanted me to help you work on your sparring."
She shrugged demurely, looking across at him through her lashes. "Well. Sparring can be fun."
He rolled his eyes, but his mouth was curled in a self-satisfied smirk, and he snapped the fingers of his human right hand. "Front and center, Lewis," he ordered.
She sauntered over, taking her time to accentuate the generous curves she knew he watched, even when he looked like he wasn't. "I like it when you boss me around." But she gestured with her chin. "Why don't you wrap your hands?"
He took up her right hand in both of his and went to work, winding the white tape around her knuckles. "Because I've been doing this a lot longer than you have—and I only have to worry about one to begin with." He held up his right. "Sorry, doll. Tape it is."
She stood dutifully until he was done, his hands gentle on her, as always. It still amazed her, the idea that the same hands were capable of so much more. She'd seen video of him strangling her own boss's mother, but he was never anything short of tender and careful with her.
"Besides—enhanced or not, you're still a lot more fragile than I am—and I was a good boxer before the War."
She nodded, not about to argue when she knew he was right; her serum was…different. Incomplete.
"You're making that face you sometimes make," Bucky finally said, face serious in a strange contrast with the bright music.
She blinked up at him. "What face?"
"You know, that face where you're thinking about how much you hate HYDRA and wanna go back and kill them all for what's happened to me."
She felt the blush rise on her cheeks. "I hate you, Barnes."
He pulled her wedding ring off, the platinum of the silver glinting off the lights as he set it aside and went to work taping her left hand. "Then why'd you marry me?"
She nibbled on her lip. "For the sex," she quipped.
He snorted, shaking his head.
But she didn't really feel the verbal sparring; he'd caught her red-handed. "How do you always know?"
He shrugged. "Maybe it was part of my programming: Advanced Body Language with a Certificate in Facial Expressions. Who knows?"
Now, she snorted.
"C'mon, Lewis. Look alive. We've only got a few hours to do this, then we gotta pack and get going or Stark will have our hides."
"I checked the reservation last night—we're all set. The keys will be at the front gate."
They'd rented a sprawling beachfront property in East Hampton for three weeks. Three weeks away from the Tower, three weeks away from Tony's sarcasm and Jane's crazy, away from any and all chance of the world needing saving—even if it did, their sniper wasn't showing. It was his day off. Three weeks all to themselves on their own beach on the ocean. She could hardly wait.
But he only nodded, sinking back on his heels, all soldier, all business. Without giving her any warning at all, he lunged forward, striking out with his right hand.
She reared back just in time to duck out of the way of his hook, and she felt the breeze of his punch whistle past her face. "God damn it, Barnes."
But he only sank into a feint, tapping her on the backside with the heel of his hand. "I said, 'Look alive'. C'mon, Lewis, let's go. You're better than this. Get your head in the game."
"Enough of your manhandling, Coach," she replied, dropping back and striking out with her right, careful not to tuck her thumb.
He let her sink the shot into his metal shoulder and she winced, regretting that she didn't go for his gut. But when she recoiled and aimed for his core, he nailed her on the right side.
Hissing in pain, she jerked back, glaring at him. "You're not supposed to beat up your wife before the honeymoon, you jerk."
He gave her an easy smile, coming in close—which he knew always threw her off—to grab her shoulders and shove her back. "Then don't give me an in. Your right side was wide open. Cover all your weak spots."
She barely caught herself up before she landed on her ass, but he was there, landing another hit—this time on her left side—reminding her of the overpass fight she'd watched the footage of countless times. Steve had had nothing but his shield—then even less than that—and Bucky had been vicious, relentless in his determination to find Captain America's weak spot with his Gerber blade. She could never decide if she thought it was creepy or sexy, and she wondered what that said about her.
She growled, striking blindly at his pretty face and connecting with his hard jaw. She grumbled as the report sang up her wrist.
He laughed as he took up her arms and helped her balance back on her feet. "Good. Do it again."
Without waiting for him, she struck out, smirking—
But he snared her wrist in the iron grip of his left hand, tugging her in close. "Stop thinking so hard," he said, his voice low and insistent.
"Stop pulling your punches," she shot back.
"I'm your husband, not your jailor—and you might not be as fragile as you were, but I could still beat you into a bloody pulp. I'll pull every punch I throw, thank you very much." And he gave her a challenging little shove, throwing her back on her heels.
Annoyed, she sank back into a crouch and they circled each other.
"I've taught you the moves; now you have to put them into use, fast as you can. If you work the choreography too slow, every opponent will be able to memorize your playbook and you'll lose before you even start. You have to be able to run through it without thinking; you have to be able to substitute moves and turn on a dime or it'll all be for nothing."
She was irked with herself that she hadn't managed to turn off her libido this time. Whenever they came to the mat like this, she made it about five minutes before she was overcome by the base desire to throw him down and jump his bones—theoretically speaking, of course. As if he'd let her. He didn't take any distraction whatsoever. He was entirely focused, entirely militaristic—entirely the Winter Soldier.
She'd been trying—really hard—to turn that off lately. Her serum had made her into a goopy mess and she couldn't very well spend the rest of her life acting like an animal in heat. What was worse—he'd noticed. He noticed everything. The downside of having a husband with a photographic memory and mechanical focus. He'd been programmed to spot a speck on any blanket of chalk and usually she appreciated his ability to care for her when no one else noticed how bad a day she'd had. But this? This was…
She blushed, focusing on her footwork.
He'd smirked the other day and murmured—in his best husky voice, the one he knew made her gut into a ball of knots—that a side-effect of her serum was clearly making her into a puddle at his feet. As much as it stoked his ego, he'd said it was dangerously distracting and that she'd have to work through it.
So, scowling, she took the offensive, stepping forward into his space to land a knock to his right shoulder that he answered with a swipe at her legs.
She went down—hard—on her ass, wincing in preparation for the pain, but the mat was thick and cushioned and she bounced, glaring at him.
He just raised a single brow, his mouth cocked in a flirtatious line.
She couldn't decide if she was pissed off or turned on all over again. Snarling in determination, she threw herself forward and into him, kicking, then twisting when he used her own leverage against her, managing to pirouette back onto her feet rather than be swung around and landed on her ass again. So she switched gears slightly, coming in close, smiling sweetly as she moved into his space. His only answer was a wry look and a raised eyebrow, but he was prepared when she raised her leg to knee him in the gut, his metal hand catching her shin and propelling her back down—onto her ass.
He smirked. "Too slow."
She huffed her hair out of her face. "Don't you think that's unfair, since you're outfitted for speed? I've seen that footage, you know. You came after Steve-O like some sort of…ninja."
He snorted, not bothered in the least by the honorable mention. "Wasn't trained in martial arts, but okay. Whatever you say, doll." He bent over her. "Focus. I know you've got it in you—I've seen you in action. How is that any different now?"
She narrowed her eyes. "The choice of opponent is damnably attractive," she snapped.
"And you're going to be distracted by other things in the field. A little distraction from me here is nothing compared to what you'll have to deal with out there. If you can't handle me in this room, alone, how will you handle a team out there?"
"You're mean on the training mat," she accused, half-heartedly.
"I'm trying to prepare you to stay alive. If that makes me mean, I don't care." He crossed his arms over his chest. "C'mon, Lewis—was marrying you the last challenge already?" he goaded her. "Don't tell me that's all you got up your sleeve!"
Growling and fed up, she lunged up off the mat, using her body weight to surprise him onto his back, and they landed in a heap on the hard floor, their momentum shooting them clean off the sparring mats.
It was a long, breathless moment there in a pile, and she would've laughed at the movie scene they surely made if she weren't so shamelessly distracted by his turquoise eyes. She was pretty fairly sprawled across him and if they hadn't been in a serious-bordering-on-codependent-relationship, it would've been indecent, the straddle of her hips."How's that?" she challenged, their faces so close their noses were touching.
He swallowed, but he wasn't even winded, his hands tight around her waist to catch them both up. "Better."
"You as turned on as I am?"
His brow went up. "Can you do it again?"
She leaned down to steal a kiss—
"What is this garbage Foster just told me about a Hamptons trip?" a voice called out over the music, clearly unhappy. "And while I can appreciate Justin Timberlake's latest album, don't you think TKO is a little on the nose?" The music was immediately cut off.
Darcy sighed, but didn't look up from her husband's face. Where, a moment ago, it'd been hard and determined, no-nonsense, now his expression was soft and affectionate. "I was being facetious." She raised her eyes to glare up at Tony Stark through her lashes, but didn't bother to move. "Like I'd be able to knock this guy out."
Tony smirked, eyeing them both up from the doorway, where he held up the jamb with an expensively tailored hip. "Depending on the definition, technically, you could be right now, Lewis." He waved a hand. "Though, technically that would make you the knock out, not the one to deliver the knock out." He sighed. "Syntax."
Darcy rolled her eyes.
"No, seriously. You're going upstate? For your honeymoon?"
She sighed, pushing off the Winter Soldier's chest to leverage herself up and off him, much as she didn't want to. He was so…comfortable. "Yes."
He pulled himself up and made sure she was steady before tugging the hair band from his hair and securing the knot again.
Tony shook his head. "That has gotta be the saddest excuse for a honeymoon I have ever heard. Barnes, you're loaded—why you letting her get away with that pansy idea?"
Bucky snorted. "'Letting her'? Who's to say the idea was hers?"
Tony blinked, coming all the way into the room—sauntering, really, his hands in his pockets. "You mean it wasn't hers?"
Darcy hesitated, looking determinedly down at the wrapping job he'd done on her hands.
"So it was hers?" Tony clarified.
She bit her lip. "…Technically."
"And I agreed," Bucky finished. "Quiet. The Hamptons are quiet."
Tony snorted. "Kid, you don't know the Hamptons like I do. They're anything but quiet during the height of the season—which is why I made you other reservations."
Darcy gaped at him, totally caught off-guard. "Tony!"
But he just waved a hand again. "All-inclusive, fully-staffed Hawaiian beach house." He grinned, gesturing. "And—drop the mic."
She sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Tony—I already made the down payment."
He scoffed. "Oh, please. What do you think I am—an amateur? I've got a place there, I'm on the Board. The first thing I did was call up Robertson. It's his place. He refunded it. Had a whole waiting list of people on that place, it ain't like he was hurting to rent it out."
She snatched her water bottle from Bucky's offered grip. "And this mysterious Hawaiian house? Where is it? Why is it? Who's supposed to pay for that?"
Tony began ticking off his answers on one hand. "One: the Big Island; Two: It's Hawaii—isn't that reason enough; and Three: there's nothing to pay for, seeing as it's my place."
"We wanted to be close to home."
Again, the billionaire scoffed. "Oh, please—you don't want to be anywhere near this place if shit's going down."
"We wanted quiet."
"What's quieter than your own stretch of Hawaiian beach in your own beach house?"
Darcy hesitated, glaring at him.
Tony smirked. "Hear that? That's the sound of your argument becoming invalid."
She sighed again. "Boss Man—"
"C'mon, Short Stack. I made you two suffer through a belated wedding shower so my wife would stop hounding me—let me do this for you." He closed the gap between them to stand directly in front of her. "It's been a really hard year—especially on you two. And I know, sometimes, I can be…" He hesitated.
"A jerk?" Darcy supplied.
"An idiot?" Bucky added.
"Stubborn?" Darcy suggested.
"Definition of 'mad scientist'?" Bucky continued, gesturing with his water bottle.
"How about a total pain my ass?" Darcy stated.
Tony rolled his eyes. "Alright, that's enough. No wonder you two work so well—the banter is—"
"Adorable?"
"Hilarious?"
"—Obnoxious," Tony finally cut in.
"You said it yourself, Stark: you made us suffer. That requires vengeance," Bucky snarked.
Tony sighed heavily. "Just—hold on a sec. Listen, I know I can be…all those things." He rolled his eyes again. "But I'm gonna get mushy here for just one minute and make sure you know that no one—not one person in this tower—was rooting for you guys harder than I was. Okay?"
They glanced at each other.
"Seriously." He crossed his arms over his chest and studied them. "I been down a lot of roads, guys. A lot. Not nearly like you and the Star Spangled Man," he amended, nodding at Bucky. "But enough to know, okay? Enough to understand what it means to physically—physically—require redemption. Okay? And while everyone was gaping at the two of you like a school of fish, and while everyone was laughing that you had to help him screw his head on straight, and while Wanda and Jane were checking you for injuries like you'd just left the goddamn lion's den, I was ticking off the days until that one—" He pointed at Bucky—"lost that haunted look in his eyes, the dark cloud that was following him around. You wanna know how long it took before that cleared? You wanna know?"
Darcy swallowed, looking down at her wrapped hands again.
"One month, two weeks, four days."
She jerked and looked up at him, her eyes wide. "Wait, what?"
Tony blinked. "One month, two weeks, four days before you clawed something outta him, kid." He smirked. "I knew you two you were done lookin' about four months before either of you did."
Bucky shifted nervously.
"And it's been shit ever since. I swear to God, since I got into this superhero shit, nothing's hit the fan so hard since you two got together. It's some kind of record." He sighed. "So go. Please. I'm begging you here—it shall not leave this room." He eyed them. "It's quiet there. There's a private beach. It's on a bluff. Pep and I went there, I bought it from the guy first day. It's got a staff of two—Olga cooks and Deb cleans—they're seriously the most awesome grandma's I know. They'll be invisible, outta your hair, laundry done, food in the fridge. Just go. Get as far away from here as you possibly can, okay? I'm serious. You two are killing me. I just need you to go and not be here for a while."
Darcy sighed.
Tony stared, first at her, then at him—hard.
Bucky sighed.
They looked at each other…
((()))
Which was exactly how they ended up taxiing down a runway at LaGuardia the next morning in Tony Stark's private jet.
"You don't need to beat it around the bush, Bruce. Just give it to me straight. You won't break me."
Bucky took her carryon from her hand and stowed it in the side compartment.
"Well, it's just…" Banner hesitated.
Darcy rolled her eyes and adjusted her Starkphone against her ear. "Yeah?"
"…Tests came back the same." It all rushed out of the shy scientist's mouth, like he'd been holding his breath. "You're um…"
She cocked her head, smirking. "Shooting blanks?"
She could practically hear him wincing. "Uh, yeah. Yes."
She nodded, once, though he couldn't see her. "Good."
A pause on the line. "Good?"
She shrugged. "Yeah, good. This is a good result, as far as I'm concerned."
Banner was blinking, so hard it was audible. "Oh. Well. Okay, then."
Darcy slid into the plush white leather seat and pulled a face at how comfortable it was.
Bucky smirked as he clicked his seatbelt shut.
"Oh, my God, have you been on the private jet—I feel like Stark's been holding out on us," she said as she slid on her own seatbelt.
"That's…not all," Bruce said, sounding reluctant again, totally ignoring her aside.
Darcy snorted, donning her best infomercial voice. "But wait—there's more! Act now, and we'll double our offer!" She sighed. "What's up, Doc? Kinda got a honeymoon to get to, here, so let's move it or lose it."
Surprisingly, he got right down to it, diving into the science speak and Darcy wondered if Tony had walked in, giving him an exaggerated gesture to get it over with. Boss Man knew how much she hated waiting. "Well, listen, the blood panel came back, and your T Cells were elevated again."
"Again?"
Bucky frowned.
"Yes, again. There's a clear, definable pattern that's emerging."
"A pattern that my ability can't controlled?"
"No, no. I mean, that remains to be seen. Just…that it needs to be limited."
She pulled another face at Bucky. "Limited, how?"
"Well, we're not sure of that, yet, are we? All I'm saying is, the way this looks, is that we don't know how using the ability might affect you."
"Like, removing Tony's burn brought a burn—"
"Onto you, yes. You essentially took it away from him." he finished.
"So…if I, say, wanted to heal someone's heart attack—"
"There's no knowing how that might affect your own heart, yes, exactly."
She blinked. "So…?"
Bruce paused, then sighed again. "Just…I'm just saying be careful. Okay? Until we can study this a little more, in the lab—in a controlled environment. Okay? Be careful."
She snorted. "Take it easy, there, Brucie. I doubt I'll come on any zombie apocalypses down here in the middle of a luau, okay?"
Another long pause. "Right…"
"Anything else, Science Man?"
"No." His voice warmed. "Just be careful, okay, Darce?"
She smiled. "I know. Thanks, Bruce."
"Anytime. Have fun, okay?"
"Will do. Checking that off the list right now, let's see…have fun, have fun. Ah. There it is. Further down than I thought it would be—check. There, I put a big red check mark next to it, okay?"
Bruce chuckled, his voice soft. "Okay. Bye, Darce."
"See ya!" She ended the call and tapped the button for airplane mode before stashing it in the cup holder in the arm rest.
"So. Nothing's changed, then?" Bucky asked, having surely heard the whole thing.
She settled into the bucket seat, looking around at the opulence with some growing reluctance. "Nope."
He nodded. "You okay?"
She nodded. "Perfect. Just gotta avoid the end of the world while we're gone, okay?"
He chuckled. "Might be tough—we'll try."
Darcy sighed, blushing at the flight attendant as she nestled the champagne in the ice-filled brass bucket. "Thanks," she muttered as she strutted off, likely relieved that the days of her dancing around the cabin for the plane's owner were long gone. "This is too much," she said as she sat back in the seat. "It's making me feel really awkward."
Bucky grimaced as he lifted his arm around her. "Right there with you."
The stewardess stalked past again, and Darcy narrowed her eyes as she thought she detected a hint of slowing down, her eyes straying across Darcy's opposite shoulder, tucked against Bucky's chest. But then she was gone again.
She rolled her eyes. "Perfect. How long is it to O'ahu?"
Bucky peered out the window as they picked up speed. "About eleven hours to Honolulu."
"Ugh." She slumped. "Forever."
He snorted. "Be a lot longer if we weren't in a billionaire's private jet."
"I guess I should be grateful," she grumbled, feeling the heat in her cheeks. The stewardess walked by again, and Darcy was sure this time that she was eyeing up the diamond on her left hand. "Aaand yet I'm not."
His hand came up her back and he combed his warm fingers through her hair. "Why don't you take a nap?" he suggested.
She snorted. "You sound like a desperate parent trying to stop a kid's tantrum in the middle of a crammed United Airlines cabin."
He chuckled. "You've been sleeping for shit lately—you know you have."
She slumped, letting her head tip back against his arm. "…I know."
His hand went through her hair again. "You'll adjust. Just give it time."
She growled out a sigh. "How much time? It's been two months!"
"Exactly. It's only been two months. Darce. Stevie and I have had—literally—years to get used to this."
She gave him a withered look. "You realize I've passed out three of the last four nights, only to toss and turn after you've already fallen asleep? It's cutting into our sexy fun times, Jamie!"
He smirked affectionately, his hand going back through her hair again. "I didn't marry you for the sex, babe."
She groaned again as the stewardess strutted by. "Ugh, then why did you?"
He laughed lowly in her ear, his hand running down her shoulder, then back up. "Just try to relax. We're on vacation, remember?"
Her ears popped as the plane lifted into the sky, then finally eased as they leveled out. The seatbelt sign winked out and she unbuckled, scooting around in Tony Stark's leather bucket seat until her head was in his lap.
"Better?"
She heard the smile in his voice. "Shut up, Barnes."
His fingers wove through her hair again, cool on her scalp.
She sighed. "That feels really good. What does it say about me that I enjoy being petted like a puppy?"
He snorted again. "Just sleep, Lewis."
She drifted, feeling sappy and safe and warm in his lap, his fingers against her scalp lulling her into a soft state, her eyes falling shut on the beam of sunlight cutting across the snow white carpeting of the cabin.
"Sleep," he murmured, his voice soft and low.
"You think I'll ever learn how to control it?"
The fact that she didn't need to specify for him spoke volumes, she thought. "You'll learn how to field it, not control it. There's a difference."
"Like you've learned to read your…head?" She grimaced at the implication.
But she felt his torso jerk with a silent snort of humor. "Yeah. Exactly."
"That still makes me a freak, though."
His fingers, again, through her long hair. "When you learn your way through it, it'll make you a force, not a freak, dollface."
They fell into comfortable silence again. The stewardess wandered through again as well, her eyes outlining Bucky's broad shoulders. Darcy had never—never—been the jealous type, let alone possessive, but part of her, way, way deep down, wanted to hiss and tell her to fuck off.
Bucky either hadn't noticed or didn't care. She knew him to be ridiculously loyal, and as much as it made her feel cheesy to admit, she trusted his affections to the ends of the earth. A man like Bucky Barnes only took vows for one reason, and only a man that didn't see it as a punishment or akin to locking himself in a cage was capable of taking marriage seriously. She'd be the only woman on the face of the earth to share his bed until the day he died. When two years ago, she'd have laughed at the concept, now she took comfort in it. After so long floating directionless, she felt like her arrow was finally pointing in one single direction. She didn't want anyone else heading in that direction with her.
She sighed. "You know…I felt silly before…this whole week, really. I've felt…kind of stupid."
His hand never slowed. "Why?" He sounded the most relaxed he was capable of, especially anywhere that wasn't their suite—or their bed. He never fully relaxed, Bucky Barnes, not really, not unless he trusted you. And not the regular, average sort of trust, either, but a hard-earned, self-accepting trust that told you he was confident that he liked you enough to not snap and kill you if you moved the wrong way.
"Because I was happy."
"…Was?"
She shifted in his lap. "Well, you know what I mean…"
"You felt silly for feeling happy and content?"
She nibbled her lip, feeling her cheeks heat up. "Don't laugh, it's not funny."
"I'm not laughing at you," he said, his voice lower still, though he knew she could hear him, enhanced and new.
She raised her head to look into his face.
But it was the same as always, calm and soft on her, his eyes warm.
"You think I'm crazy?"
An affectionate smile. "Because you were restless in your contentment? Not at all." He shrugged. "I outta know."
She huffed out a laugh. "…Yeah. I guess so." She laid her head back down. "I guess I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"I've felt that way this whole time—since the moment you sat down across from me and started talking."
"Too good to be true?"
"Mm. Keep waiting to wake up in Pierce's chair and find this was all a dream." His fingers stilled in her hair.
She burrowed against him, nuzzling his thigh. "I'm not the type to be content. I've never been content before. It's been that way since I was a kid. I hated my parents. I got out of there as soon as I could."
"When did they split?"
She shrugged. "I was a kid. Dad's a suit, was never home, mom couldn't deal, and she took off when I was little—took the booze and pills right along with her. Haven't spoken to her since."
His hands started moving through her hair again.
"Dad's an ass. Siobhan's my age. I mean, who does that?! Doesn't that just feel…wrong?"
Bucky sighed. "Evidently not."
She snorted. "I guess I shouldn't throw stones."
He laughed softly. "Most of the last few decades I spent sleeping, Darce, just like Stevie. Rest assured, I'm physically twenty-nine. Nothing inappropriate. I'm not a cradle-robber."
She giggled, hiding her face against his leg.
He chuckled. "That would be…"
"Gross," she provided.
He wound her hair into a tail and wrapped his hand around it, lifting it off her neck so he could blow cool air in a stream against the soft skin there.
Her body released and she melted against his lap.
He smiled. Wrapped around his finger. "You are putty in my hands, dollface."
Her only reply was a lazy, sleepy groan.
His smile widened.
"I'll make sure and pay you back for that later, hey?" she mumbled.
He laughed. "Sounds like a plan."
"Or we could just go in the bathroom…"
He rolled his eyes. "I'm not too out of touch to be able to know what that means—we are not joining the Mile High Club, Darcy."
She giggled. "Ooh, the full name. That never bodes well."
He sighed.
((()))
Natasha was staring out the window of their eighteenth floor loft when Steve came in, six pack in one hand, brown grocery bag in the other. "Well," he said as he locked the door behind him. "It's official. I can't go to the grocery anymore without being hounded like a celebrity."
Natasha didn't turn. "You are a celebrity, Steve."
He opened the fridge and unloaded the groceries into it; the Dos Eqis, two steaks, some other things in wrappers and deli containers. "Well, if this is what Mark Ruffles goes through every time he walks down a Manhattan street, he can have it."
She snorted, finally turning and crossing the room toward him. "Ruffalo, Steve. Mark Ruffalo."
He flushed. "Right. Sorry."
She smiled, but it was forced as she reached past him into the fridge for a beer.
"Hey. You okay?" he asked.
She winced, twisting off the bottle cap and bumping the door shut with a hip. "Fine. Why?"
His eyes narrowed, but she was the damn Black Widow, and she refused to shrink from his all-seeing gaze. Him and Bucky both, it was like they could see an aura around everyone they met, and knew how to decipher each and every one. "You sure?"
She crossed back to the windows and threw herself into the chair there, where he usually sat to do his work, the huge windows perfect for lots of natural light, and she glanced down at his newest sketch, the photograph beside it that he was working off of.
Bucky—smiling—his arm around Darcy. She was leaning forward, laughing—hard—into both hands. She remembered that night. It had been late and Tony had used the bribe of good, expensive food to keep both couples there with him and Pepper. Last winter, just after Darcy had moved in, but before everything had gone to shit. It had worked out in his favor, really, as they'd ended up essentially snowed in for the night. They'd played Two Truths and A Lie late, late, into the early morning, and Tony had suggested that one drunken escapade from his youth had led to Rhodey—not present to defend himself—had gone home with a cross-dresser. Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course, he'd insisted—if you weren't straight as a rail.
Clearly, Steve remembered that fondly as well, or he wouldn't be using the photograph—camera wielded by a sneaky Pepper after one too many glasses of champagne—as a belated personal wedding gift.
"You gonna paint this or leave it as is?"
Steve approached behind her, his hands settling on her shoulders and squeezing. "Wasn't sure yet. Probably leave it. You…sure you're okay?"
"You ever find out if Tony's story about Rhodey was true?"
He sighed. "No. Tash…"
She slumped back in the chair and took a pull off her Mexican beer. "They left this morning."
There was a pause and she knew Steve was working out why this would bother her. "Yeah. I know. Why…is that bad?"
She sighed. "I've got a bad feeling about this, Steve."
He came around and leaned on the arm of the chair. "Why? They're with Tony's people, right? You know he runs a tight ship. It's his place."
She nodded. "Yeah. I know. Just…"
He reached up and brushed a strand of her hair behind an ear. She'd left it straight and long this morning—the way he liked it—rather than pulled back off her neck. "Just what?"
She couldn't look at him, but studied her beer, picking at the green and red label. "I've got a bad feeling in by gut, Rogers."
He nodded, then sighed, glancing up out the window for a moment. "In this business, it's easy to worry constantly. I mean, we all know that. But…are you sure you're not—"
"I'm not imagining it, Steve." She worked to soften her voice. This wasn't his fault and she had to let it be okay when he tried to comfort her. That was what a husband did, right? "It's just…I've had a long time to get used to knowing when there was really something there. You know?"
He nodded, but didn't argue. "You wanna call them?"
She huffed, shaking her head., "Pointless."
He shrugged. "No, it's not—not if there's genuine call to worry—"
"There probably isn't, Steve, and they're under enough stress as it is." She took another sip of her beer. "I'm probably just worrying over Darce. And she can't get much safer than the Winter Soldier, can she?"
A wry smirk. "Not really, no."
She nodded.
"You've, uh…gotten pretty close, lately…you and Darcy, huh?"
She nibbled on her lip, but didn't say anything.
"That's a good thing, Nat. In our world…you can use all the allies you can get, right? She's…good. Darcy. Never has any ulterior motives. She was just what I needed after I came outta the ice. And sometimes Dr. Foster is a little distracted to do much good, so…it's a good thing. Just…if you're gonna call, be sure about it, you know?"
"Shut up, Rogers," she said, voice low.
He stood. "Okay."
((()))
By the time they finally landed Darcy had napped and finished half of her new book. Bucky beat her ass at checkers half a dozen times on her tablet, and he'd shooed off the flight attendant half that amount, finally giving her an annoyed scowl that caused her to turn clear around in complete view, halfway across the private cabin. Darcy had been unable to hide her snort of laughter, but she did attempt to muffle it against his chest while he sighed and rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, "God…like I'm a piece of meat."
"You have no idea how gorgeous you are, do you?"
He gave an annoyed grunt.
She snickered as she gathered her carryon. "And that hair. I mean, Jesus, Barnes."
He only sighed and swatted at her butt to get her moving.
((()))
"Nice Downward Facing Dog."
"Tell me something I don't know," Darcy called from her bent up position, her voice carrying over the sound of the surf off the front deck. She dropped down into Plank and pulled a Vinyasa flow through to Cobra Pose. "This one's better—take a look," she teased as she sank into the stretch.
"Oh, trust me—I am," he quipped as he wandered past with his cup of coffee.
She gave an airy laugh. "You should join me. Yoga's even better when you have nothing to do after you're done."
He chuckled as he slid the sliding door open. "Maybe tomorrow."
"I'm holding you to that, Soldier Boy," she said with a wink. She'd gotten him into Yoga and Meditation a few months back, and while it had hadn't done anything to quell his nightmares, it did help him sleep better.
"I know you are."
She stepped back up into a forward fold.
"Were you dreaming?" he suddenly asked, his voice pitched strangely in the large room, and it echoed into the deep acoustics of the high ceiling and exposed beams.
She drew up into a half bend, frowning. "Huh?"
He turned his back on the expansive view of the oceanfront and faced her. "Hm?"
She blinked, confused, her head going fuzzy, likely from the zigzag of her blood pressure. She shook it out and came up into Mountain Pose. "You asked me something…?"
He cocked a brow. "Nope."
She stared at him.
He turned his head at a quizzical angle. "You okay? You look kinda pale."
She shrugged. "I think so. Weird…"
He set down his coffee. "You wanna go for a walk on the beach?"
She rolled her eyes. "You need to ask?"
((()))
Tony had been right, of course. The house wasn't huge or sprawling—at least by Stark standards—but it was set up like an open-air cottage of sorts, with exposed beams, lots of woodwork and a gorgeous deck overlooking the promised expanse of private beach. There was a bar and a hot tub and a set of stairs that led down into the sand. The kitchen and living area were an open plan design, a dining table tucked into one corner and a TV larger than any Darcy had ever seen—including the big screen in their suite in New York.
The California King in the Master Suite was bigger than their bed back home too, and even Bucky couldn't reach all sides of it from the center. She laughed the next morning as he tried, stretching out, but she stopped laughing when he grabbed her and hauled her on top of him.
((()))
"You still feel stupid for feeling happy?" he asked later as they lounged on the deck.
She settled deeper into his shoulder and sighed as she sipped her wine. "This has all happened so fast and it's all so surreal that it's giving me whiplash," she murmured. "Venus?" she questioned, pointing up at a particularly bright point in the night sky.
His mouth pressed against her temple. "No," he mumbled. "That's Mars, babe."
"Damn it. You'd never know I spent two years with Janey Poo."
He exhaled a laugh. "Well. There's a lot going on out there."
She snorted. "Yeah, I guess we answered the question: 'are there aliens?'"
He chuckled. "Funny. That was never a concern when I was a kid."
She burrowed against his side. "Just busy trying to keep your heads above water?"
"Exactly."
She shivered.
He drew his hand up her arm and rubbed, creating warmth. "You okay?"
"Fine. Just chilly."
He pulled her more snugly against him. "Not an episode, is it?"
She shook her head. "No. Those come on differently."
He took a pull off his Corona, the lime bouncing against the glass of the bottle. "What's it feel like?"
She hummed, thinking. "Hard to describe. Like a trembling or a vibrating in my gut."
"Where you were impaled?" He swallowed reflexively at the reminder.
"Mm-hmm. And it sort of radiates outward, like a gong being struck, all the way out to my fingertips. By the time it reaches my toes, the shaking has turned into pain and the shivers set in." She shivered again.
He tightened his embrace again. "It's like you're experiencing the initial effects of the serum over and over again, like its engrained in your body's muscle memory and you keep triggering it."
She sighed. "Well, whatever it is, it's fucking torture." She ran her other hand down his thigh and gestured with her wine glass. "Ursa Major?"
"Very good." He took another pull off his beer. "This isn't half bad."
"Told you." She moved her hand. "The Big Dipper?"
"That one's easy."
"I always liked Orion."
He nodded. "The Hunter."
"Where's he?"
"You can't see him in the summer, dollface. He sets with the sun."
She sighed. "Lame."
He laughed.
For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, the only sound the crashing of low tide below.
She set her head to his shoulder. "Times like this I wish I had a family to share this with." She blushed, deliberately not looking up at him. "To share you with."
"Technically, you do," he said gently, his voice low. She could be like a twitchy rabbit with her family, ready to bolt whenever the subject came up. He knew enough not to mention it often; knew her anger and hatred was rooted in old, old hurt, so old it had rusted around her and oxidized into bitter carelessness.
She sighed. "Just because they knocked boots and had me does not make them my family."
He had to work not to chuckle at her choice of phrasing. "I wasn't talking about your parents, sweetheart."
She grumbled under her breath.
He smirked. "You've got family all around you, Darce."
She wouldn't look up at him; she wouldn't. "The Winter Soldier isn't supposed to be this cheesy."
He snorted. "I'm serious. You can choose the people you surround yourself with. You could've left Jane when you finished your degree, you couldn't said 'fuck it' and ditched her and ditched Thor, and washed your hands of it. You could've told Tony to take his offer of a job and shove it. But you didn't. Why?"
She set her wine down, purposely looking the other way, though she knew she'd never fool him, not Mr. Alter Ego, not in a million years. Sometimes, she swore, the man could see through her like she wasn't even there. "Because I loved Jane." She shrugged, ducking her head as she stared down into her lap. "And maybe I loved Thor, the big idiot. And…maybe it occurred to me, at some point, that my self-destructive thrill-seeking had sort of turned into an actual job that I somehow enjoyed."
He smiled, reaching down to sweep her hair from her face. "And?"
"And I love Pepper, and I love Wanda, although she can be kind of prickly. And I love Nat. She…gets us."
"What do you mean?"
She shrugged. "Her and Boss Man. They were the only ones that didn't look at me like I'd lost my marbles after we started going out."
He smirked.
She finally looked up at him. "It's not funny. You're…not funny. What happened to you—"
"Shouldn't be taken lightly. But if I hadn't found a way to find humor in my condition, Darcy…I wouldn't have survived the aftermath."
She sighed. "So you would've looked at me like I was crazy too, then?"
He shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe."
"Natasha, she just gets you and gets me, and gets us, together, and she doesn't require an explanation, she doesn't need a full-on report about any of it, you know? And Boss Man…"
He waited.
She struggled. "Boss Man, he's…"
He gave her the softest smile he could muster. "Go ahead and say it…"
She bit her lip, looking away again.
"You'll feel better if you do," he coaxed.
She slumped. "Alright, alright, I love the dumb jerk, okay? He's a total dad and I didn't even know I was missing that, okay?"
He snorted. "Jesus, Darce. It's not like this is Confession. You don't have to feel weird, saying these things out loud."
She curled into his side and wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking her head under his chin and burrowing against him. "I had an easier time telling you that I'd fallen madly in love with you," she murmured.
He set his chin at the crown of her head and switched his beer to the other hand so he could run the other up her back.
"You still think you're a monster?" she murmured, sounding half asleep.
He glanced down at her. "Not currently. But I was one. I can't color the page different color now, you know? It's already done."
She surprised him and didn't argue with his reasoning. "Well. Then I'm hopelessly in love with a monster."
He smiled. "Beauty and the Beast, right?"
"That would mean I'm the beauty," she scoffed.
"You're a knockout, dollface."
"I'm a little surprised I haven't had an episode yet, actually. It likes to happen when I'm super relaxed."
He smirked. "Thought you were a strong believer in The Jinx, Lewis."
She nuzzled against him. "Yeah, I should shut my trap."
"I could go get you un-relaxed, if you want…"
She giggled softly, already moving. "Well…since you're offering."
((()))
They spent much of the next day in bed, only getting up to eat, before returning. Darcy mentioned feeling guilty at not having anything to do, then shrieked like a banshee when he teased and grabbed at her, calling her a workaholic.
They went for a walk just after sunset, the shoreline a fuzzy blue-gray, and Darcy tiptoed after a lone seagull until it finally fled. She waded in, dragging him by the hand, but even though he warned her, she splashed him anyway, giggling and squirming as he hauled her into deeper waters, snared in his arms until he was shoulder deep and they were both soaked.
They crashed through the door off the deck not long after, groping blindly into the dark living room, all tangled up. Bucky was uncharacteristically graceless as he fumbled with the door lock at his back, and she laughed as he pulled her closer, slanting his mouth across hers in a hungry kiss.
She sighed as his hands slid under her white t-shirt, glad she'd only bothered with one of his shirts and a pair of shorts, and his hands were warm on her cold, damp skin, even his left a tolerable temperature in the humid Hawaiian air. His fingers traced shapes on the small of her back, making her arch against him, her fingers straying to the button on his jeans. She yanked the zipper down and slid her hand beneath, and he hummed into her mouth as she touched him.
His t-shirt was pulled over her head and tossed to the floor, soaking wet. Before she could make any such progress on her own, she was suddenly lifted into his arms and carried—her legs wrapped around his waist—through to the master bedroom.
He lowered her carefully to the foot of the bed and went to work easing off her heavy, wet shorts, his mouth straying up her leg as he went through his task. He nipped her with his teeth along the high inside of her thigh, making her jerk and clutch at his hair. "Mm…" she mewled, jerking harder as he bit down, the sting burning its way straight to her core, even as he soothed it with his tongue, edging higher.
She tugged at his hair. "As talented as I have no doubt you are with that mouth, I am so not kissing you afterward if you go down on me, Barnes," she sighed breathlessly.
He smiled against the sensitive skin of her leg and set her shorts aside.
She pulled at the waistband of his jeans. "God, get these off, like now," she moaned plaintively.
He slid them off, pausing to pull his t-shirt off as well, coming to standing where he towered over her, lying, prone and restless, a lithe, tempting form on the bed.
It was all so surreal.
By the time they were settled and he was buried deep in her, warm and sweet, he could only stare down at her, lying content beneath him, her heart pounding against his belly. "You actually married me," he whispered.
She smiled warmly, reaching up to tuck a loose lock of hair behind his ear. "I know. Can I plead temporary insanity?"
He shook his head. "I married you."
She smirked affectionately. "Glad as I am for the refresher course, are you okay, baby?" She slid her nails down his back and over his ass, drawing a hiss from him, and he bit his lip, pressing his face against her shoulder.
"Fine. Just…thinking."
She pulled her fingers through his hair, tugging hard. "The Winter Soldier thinks too much." She turned her head to press a kiss to his cheekbone. "Tell him to shut the fuck up, Jamie."
"This feels just as surreal to me. You're not the only one with whiplash. Sometimes I still feel like you're asleep…"
She blinked, her head going fuzzy again. "You mean, you feel like you're still asleep? Like, with HYDRA?" She clutched at his shoulders as her head balanced out again, her ears ringing.
But he didn't seem to notice. "Right."
She sighed, rolling her hips against him, not that he gave her much room. "Well, you're awake. And if you don't start moving, I'm gonna combust."
He smiled at her demanding tone, snapping his hips as he leaned down to kiss her. "Yes, ma'am."
((()))
When she woke the next morning, everything was fuzzy and warm, soft light and the room looked overexposed, like a photograph taken when there'd been too much light allowed into the shutter. She sighed, not daring to shift as she looked across at Bucky, facing her on his side, still asleep, his arm draped across her middle and his hand splayed protectively over the shape of her backside.
She smiled, trying not to twitch. He was so attuned, after years and years of being told when to be awake and when to be asleep, that he could wake in a snap. His still being asleep when she woke was so rare; she had to take it when it was offered.
She raised her hand and studied her ring, the bright platinum reflecting the white sheets, gathered in a sea around them. She kept finding herself doing that—staring at the expensive mineral set in the metal—like it held answers. She couldn't deny how content she'd been during the past year with him, how settled she'd felt and uncharacteristically sure of herself. She'd never felt so eased before in her entire life. She'd spent the majority of it so far bouncing from place to place, both literally and figuratively, restless and discontent. Now that she'd found what she hadn't known she'd been looking for, the anxiety that she was in a place where it could go up in smoke at any moment was a constant prickling at the back of her neck.
She wasn't completely in denial. She knew that was half her problem, half the reason for her panic disorder. She'd not had any attacks since they'd arrived, though, which she was pretty sure was a good thing. But as she thought about going back in two-week's time, she was sure her pounding heart wasn't her imagination.
"It's okay, sweetheart. It's not gonna disappear."
She turned her head.
Bucky was watching her quietly, his eyes bright from sleep, a captivating turquoise blue that matched the sea out the massive windows. "You okay?"
She shifted closer to him, sliding against him and tucking her head under his chin. "I don't think so."
He adjusted his arm, sliding his metal palm up her back to settle between her shoulder blades. "You don't think so? We're on vacation. You're supposed to be okay on vacation."
She set her palm to his belly and felt the hard ridges of his abdominals under her hand. "That's just it; I don't want to go back."
He laughed softly.
"I'm serious. We shouldn't go back."
He stilled, his mouth coming to rest on her temple. "What's wrong?" His voice was so damn soft and lilting, sweet and coaxing that she couldn't stand it.
"This feels…precarious. And fragile. And if we go back, it could shatter—like glass."
His hand ran up her spine and his middle finger pressed against her vertebra prominens and kept pressure up the center of her neck, into her hairline, and then moved back down again. "Stop clenching your teeth," he gently reminded her.
She sighed, easing the pressure in her jaw, not even aware she'd been doing it.
"I kind of thought what we had was a little stronger than glass. I mean, I didn't think it was quite that breakable," he said offhandedly, his voice low. "I mean, I was thinking more along the lines of steel. We got through the last six months. I'd say that's a pretty significant test we passed, there."
She pressed her face against his heart. "Not what we have, together. Just…what we have. I think that's what's been giving me all this underlying anxiety lately."
But he took it in stride; how did he take so much in stride? "What do you mean?"
She took a deep breath. "Sometimes, living the way we do, I can swear I can feel it slipping through my fingers. Like it'll disappear in a wisp of smoke, like it was never there. If we go back, it just raises the chances of something tearing it out from under us."
He was quiet for a long, long moment. When he finally spoke, he said the very last thing she'd ever expect. "Do you wanna leave SHIELD?"
She jerked back from him. "What? No! I…I love everyone too much." She huffed out a frustrated breath. "Like that would help. No. They wouldn't let us, first off, and second—"
"It doesn't matter, because I'll always be a target," he filled in.
She sighed. "So will I, now."
He looked down at her, hard, holding her gaze with a steady, stern look. "Don't mar this worrying about things that might never come to pass. You'll just ruin it for yourself."
She swallowed, nodding.
"All any of this means is that we have to hold onto each other a little harder than normal people." He shook his head. "Don't let go of me. Okay?"
She looked down, unable to bear the look in his eyes.
But he gripped her head in his large, vibranium hand and tilted her neck, forcing her to meet his unflinching gaze. "It's not gonna be easy. Nothing like this ever is, and I outta know. We're gonna have to wade through plenty of muck. We're going to have to rely on our faith in each other. We can't waver, not for one second, because that's when they swoop in—trust me, baby. Whatever happens. You hold on to me as tightly as you can. And you don't let me go for anything, do you hear me? Don't let go of my hand. Okay?"
She swallowed against the tears rising in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "You're right—I'm ruining this."
He shook his head. "Don't apologize, you haven't done anything wrong. I understand, sweetheart. I understand. Just try to let this go—at least for now. It wouldn't do to let it eat at you."
She nodded. "You're right, you're right."
He drew her back in to press a kiss to her forehead. His mouth trailed along her cheekbone, down, tracing the line of her jaw, then softly traversed her throat, pausing along the throbbing of her pulse.
"You trying to distract me, Soldier Boy?"
He smiled against her throat, his left hand trailing down, under the sheets, traveling. "Is it working?"
She swatted at him. "No."
He set his mouth to hers and kissed her, a sweet, warm kiss, a kiss with intent. "How about now?"
She pulled back to look into his face. "I'm sorry. I know I…I have trouble with…" She swallowed, looking down at her hand, splayed open on his sternum.
"Trust?" he offered.
She sighed again, letting her eyes slide shut as she sprawled out beside him. "Yeah…I guess."
He smiled. "That's one of those things that you didn't need to say, Darce. I know."
She rolled her eyes.
His metal hand ran up her arm. "I'm sorry that your childhood was hard."
She nodded, swallowing. "Dad would blow a gasket, he knew I was here with you." She smirked. "I take comfort in that."
He laughed. "You take comfort in the fact that you married a deadly assassin?"
She shrugged, smirking. "An assassin who doesn't even need a gun. Now that's badass."
"It's creepy."
"Creepy can be sexy."
"Stop talking, Lewis."
She disentangled their limbs and sat up. "I need coffee."
But he snared her round the waist and she shrieked as he hauled her back down. "Mm, no, you don't."
She giggled as he pinned her down, his mouth trailing up her throat again, and she tangled her fingers in his hair. "Mm, morning sex. My favorite."
((()))
That was pretty much how the trip went—soft quiet conversation mixed in with bouts of passion so intense that one time, they didn't even make it to the bed. Laughing, she stumbled into the couch, but instead of dragging her the rest of the way, he'd just bent her over the arm and trapped her there, one hand on her hip, the other braced around her shoulder, keeping them steady. For all her experience, this had never been a pleasant one for Darcy before—but that quickly changed, the sharp angle and the pressing heel of his hand causing her to cry out—embarrassingly loudly—in only a few short minutes. She'd always prided herself on not being a screamer, and the escalation of her voice from pleading moans and whimpers to harsh cries surprised even her. He was uncharacteristically rough, and she blushed later as she went over the memory, recalling with blunt clarity the sound he'd drawn from her throat, his hands tight on her body. Then she woke him up to do it again, curious if he could achieve the same result when not tripping through a rushed moment.
He could.
In fact, just the set up was enough for her, his knee between her legs, his metal fingers folding over hers around the headboard, his mouth closing around her shoulder. It was on the knife-edge of painful, and though she'd never been that type of girl in bed before, the hard edges of his body set her on fire. When his fingers set to stroking, she was beyond lost; putty in his hands, and she gritted her teeth against the shriek when he brought her up to the edge and pushed her over, too many sensations wracking her to keep it all locked up. By the time she'd run out of energy to push back against him, and by the time his teeth closed around her shoulder and he was spent, she was shaking in the struggle to hold herself up. She wasn't sure where she found the strength to arch her back, his mouth running soft butterfly kisses along the dewy skin over her shoulder blades.
They didn't get out of bed again all day.
It was like a dream, felt too soft and satisfying and content to be anything else.
The sensation followed her around.
When they walked into town and ambled along the streets, sifting through the sidewalk shopping.
When he laughed, bright and open, his eyes hidden behind his Ray Bans.
When they had dinner out on the deck and walked down the beach, hand in hand, as the sun set.
As Olga stared at Bucky's snug t-shirt and khaki shorts and then gave Darcy a mischievous look and a suggestive wink from behind the refrigerator door.
As it occurred to her that she should be exhausted—not to mention sore—over all this activity, romantic or otherwise, if it weren't for her serum working it's magic.
As she was overcome with a warm sense of happiness she hadn't had the guts to let herself feel and she started crying all over him in bed, explaining to him in weepy sighs that God, she loved him, and please don't let this end, and he didn't laugh at her at all.
It was like a dream.
