Darcy and the Muscle Sandwich
A gift fic for trinsghost
The facility was a leftover from SHIELD's glory days, when it had unfettered access to a fathomless well of government funding. Each cell was designed to hold something as supernaturally-powered as the Hulk or as subatomically-manipulative as the Scarlet Witch. There was even a little box crafted specifically for him, with steel restraints thick as tree trunks and a fail safe waiting to sever his arm, if need be.
The thought of that casket sent chills down his spine. Bucky hated being here, loathed the place with every fiber of his being. But it was secure, and it was needed. After all, it was the only place left on the planet secure enough to hold Loki.
Bucky glowered at the prisoner in the brilliantly-lit fluorescent cave before him. Skeletal and grinning—always grinning, always smug—Loki caught his gaze and lifted a half-empty water bottle in mocking toast.
Bucky didn't react. He'd seen what happened to people who did. And he didn't have the energy or the personality for a battle of wits. Not anymore.
So he kept his face impassive and waited for Loki to lose interest. Like a cat, a few seconds were enough for that. Loki flung himself backwards on the narrow cot and sighed gustily, throwing the water bottle end over end, catching it in the opposite hand each time.
The sloshing thunk of the plastic counted the seconds, weary and slow, as they passed between them. It was hard to fight the boredom, especially when you'd lost the trick of it, as Bucky had. This was the longest time he'd been conscious since—
He shook away the thought and stood abruptly. He couldn't think of it without pain; like a sore tooth, if he could keep his thoughts from coming in direct contact with the wound, he could forget the agony.
Think of something else. Anything else. Think of—
Bucky turned sharply on his heel. He didn't want to think of her either. She was light, sweet, beautiful, and funny and he'd lost the right to think of girls like that after he'd sniped his first man.
"Hey Metallo! Chow time!"
It was just too bad she'd taken it upon herself to make sure everyone in the facility was well-fed.
When he disengaged the lock, Darcy pushed her way backwards into the detention area; her arms were full with a tray laden with three different sandwiches, two thermoses, and a three-tiered slice of chocolate cake. She turned carefully, securing the larger of the two thermoses with her chin, and grinned.
"So, Steve told me you hate cream of mushroom. Today's soup du jour is chicken noodle. Okay?"
He nodded. It was impossible to take the tray from her without some kind of contact, but he didn't flinch when the soft skin of her hand grazed his fingers. But he couldn't stop himself from noticing the dusky rose of her smiling lips or the sweet vanilla fragrance that hung about her hair.
All of that wouldn't be enough to disconcert him, if only she didn't have the tendency to hang around and make conversation. After three weeks, all of his silences and grunts hadn't driven her away. No...she plopped down beside him, throwing one shapely leg over the other, crossed her arms, and proceeded to chatter away.
Bucky unwrapped the first sandwich and jammed half of it in his mouth. If he was eating, she wouldn't wait for his answers; she'd just keep talking, and then he could enjoy the pleasant lilt of her voice and the ever-changing expressions on her face. It was...nice.
Bucky wasn't used to nice. It was a surprisingly good feeling, he remembered. To have enough to eat while listening to a pretty girl.
Tonight however, their prisoner had other ideas.
"Am I to starve, then?"
Darcy fixed him with a magnificent side-eye. "Feeding time for the animals is at eight and five, you know that."
Bucky tensed; he'd seen how fast Loki could make a dent in his cage. But the other man just sat forward—hands on knees and eyes alight—and chuckled.
"Finally, someone with some bite," he grinned, "Miss Lewis, I presume?"
"Darcy," she replied, still curt. "And you're the Ass-gardian, aren't you?"
"Asgardian," he corrected her, "Though only by association."
"I like my way better," she replied, "since you are a giant asshole."
"Hmm. Midgardian wit at its finest, I see," he sighed and tsked, "and I had hoped there would be one person in this hole worth talking to."
"I doubt you and I would have anything to say. You're a megalomaniac, which I totally respect, by the way," she stuck one finger into Bucky's cake and licked away the frosting, "but villains are a lot more interesting on paper than in real life."
"Then you admit villains are fascinating?"
"'Course," she shrugged, taking another swipe of frosting, "Everyone knows that. Doesn't mean you are, though."
Loki didn't flinch. He cocked his head in mock sympathy and nodded towards Bucky. "Then how do you justify throwing yourself at a man who has been a mindless killing machine, slaughtering innocents at the will of others?"
"Watch it," he growled, almost startled himself at the sound of his own voice. His hand hovered over the shock button that would electrify the floor at an instant's notice. It wasn't enough to knock Loki out, but it was a hell of cattle prod.
"Ah, there you are," Loki cat-eyes darted his way, "I had wondered what it would take to get a rise from you. So long frozen...I had feared you beyond the reach of passion's heat."
"Leave him alone," Darcy snapped. She grasped his forearm and every muscle in Bucky's body tensed. Rage, lust, and frustration mixed in a powerful, intoxicating cocktail stronger almost than his determined restraint.
"Why should I, when with a few words I've managed to achieve what you've so often failed to do? Believe me," and now Loki's gaze swept over Bucky in lingering appraisal, "I understand the impulse."
"Say what now?"
Bucky didn't know what he'd say even if he wanted to.
"Come now," Loki went on, wheedling and coy, "surely you don't need me to list your attractions?"
He was a soldier, a sniper, an assassin, a tool. He was beyond the reach of—was he blushing?
Darcy looked from one to the other, mouth falling open but curling involuntarily at the corners.
"Under completely different circumstances, I'd totally wanna be the filling in this sandwich."