Author's Note: This is a very very short, fluffy drabble that happened because I couldn't concentrate on work this afternoon. New to this ship and fandom, so be gentle :-)
Heart in Her Hands
The first thing Steve Rogers noticed about Darcy Lewis was her hands. Her fingernails were painted a bright turquoise and the glitter in the polish reflected the florescent lights in the meeting room as she gestured emphatically during her conversation. She greeted Thor, who followed behind him, enthusiastically by waving the slim, pale digits. Steve had later watched, enthralled as those same sparkly fingers flew over the high-tech equipment in front of her to pull up information for the team to review. He hadn't been compelled to draw in so long, but upon returning to his apartment, he sketched; her hands first.
The fascination continued when they finally spoke. Circumstances were less than optimal as he provided cover for her during an attack on Stark Tower. Her tiny hand, now with bright green nails, squeezed his bicep as he escorted her quickly out of danger. Her grip was as strong as the snark in her comment regarding their attackers, but not quite as strong as the fear he saw lurking in her eyes. When it was all over and Steve properly introduced himself, it wasn't necessarily Darcy's pretty face or her attractive figure which drew him to her, although those helped. It was the feel of her delicate, small hand in his as they shook that caused his heart to pound with excitement.
He worked up the courage and was in town long enough to ask her to dinner. While Steve was utterly charmed by her dry wit and self-deprecating sense of humor, it was the realization that Darcy Lewis would be unable to converse without her hands which entranced him. She gestured, she portrayed, she mimed. And later on when they walked back from the restaurant and she slipped her hand casually into his as the other pointed at something, he knew he wouldn't want her any other way.
Months passed and her hands checked him for injuries after missions, playfully slapped his away in public and slid through his hair at night in bed. Darcy's hands could sooth or excite him depending on the situation. He kissed her hand before she would settle it over his heart, literally and figuratively every night. Her hands and her ever-changing nail color (Ironman red during a couple of fights no matter how many bottles he threw out) kept him grounded and were a physical reminder of why he fought so hard to come home every time. Steve never wanted to be apart from Darcy and her magic hands.
But never had her hands been more precious to him than the day he slid a ring on her red, white and blue painted finger.
