((()))
Darcy was not in a good mood.
She should've been. Oh, totally should've been.
It was Christmas, after all. She loved Christmas—hard. Always went all-out. But there were numerous things working against her that morning.
She was currently waiting in her fourth line of the day, one which she'd been standing in for over a half an hour, which brought her total wait time for all said lines to nearly three hours.
The woman behind her was gabbing on her phone about the girl she'd just caught her boyfriend two-timing her with, and she was using way too many descriptors to tell everyone in line at Target just what she'd caught them doing and how.
She winced at another as it flew by.
So did the woman ahead of her.
A few more people back from Chatty Kathy there were, not one, but two screaming toddlers: one, yelling at the top of her lungs just for the fun of it, the other bellowing his sternum straight up his throat because his mother had recently refused him a Power Rangers toy.
Yes. She'd heard the whole thing, from the very start.
She sighed.
Christmas had always been one of her favorite holidays—right up there with Halloween—but this year was just feeling like it was steadily working against her.
Bucky had been called away at the beginning of the month with Steve for a long scouting mission, hadn't had much information to tell her, and had barely been in contact since, deep cover. She'd had precisely one text that reminded her of his affections, and nothing else. She'd survived off that thing for three days, coasting along until she'd ground to a rapid halt. And nothing since.
She and Natasha had nearly gone through her vodka supply and all the movies on her shelf.
She was lonely. And irritable.
And to top it off, Natasha—who was still on speaking terms with Maria—had heard that morning that the guys weren't likely to be back before New Year's.
She wasn't sure she'd have minded that much, if only she knew what was going on. What was the mission and why the deep cover? She was crazy with worry.
But she'd had the perfect Christmas planned in the assumption that they'd be back. She'd been bound and determined to make everything spotless for their first official holiday season together, regardless of the non-start they'd had at her father's house for Thanksgiving. Talk about a debacle. She didn't even care enough to pursue the intel Sam had managed to squeeze out of her step-mother.
The tree was up, but star-less. Not only was she too short, but she felt too foolish asking one of the guys to do it for her. And growing up, Nate had always been the one to star the tree, and she'd gotten it in her head that that would be Bucky's job.
So the star was currently taunting her on the kitchen table, lying there, looking all smug every time she passed by.
She'd taken countless pictures of Max lolling around adorably on the thick, snowflake-decorated tree skirt, but couldn't send them to Bucky's locked phone.
She'd really wanted to do her annual re-read of A Christmas Carol with him, since reading was sort of their thing, and his voice had such a nice timbre when he read aloud.
She'd opted for a spread of holiday appetizers and cookies—things she was good at—rather than the full spread, with turkey and stuffing. Pepper had insisted on catering in again from the place they'd used the month before, to make it like a family party.
It was all sitting in the fridge or in Ziplocs on the counter, looking forlorn at not having been eaten. She'd found him the perfect gift, a First Run edition of The Great Gatsby, and signed by Fitzgerald himself. It was wrapped, nice and neat, beneath the tree.
She'd found a great compilation album of all those old, classic Christmas songs that she'd had on repeat for days. The old Darcy would've laughed at her, but she'd looked forward to swaying around the apartment with him to the strains of Nat King Cole.
But it was too late for all that. It was Christmas Eve.
She hated going out on Christmas Eve. The only reason she'd been forced to battle Manhattan holiday traffic was the fact that they were out of dog food—and coffee. And she'd just barely managed to order Tony's present online in time for it to arrive, and she'd been to two other stores to pick up its accompanying gift already that morning.
In all the hubbub, it had all simply slipped her mind.
She scowled deeper as the woman behind her chose another wonderful word to describe her boyfriend's junk.
The woman in front of her rolled her eyes and took a glorious step forward in line.
Darcy glanced down to find her foot slipping straight out from beneath her as it caught on her long coat. In bullet-time, she saw the woman going down in the next half second, slipping straight down like a bad joke in a Three Stooges movie. She shot out her hand and snatched the woman by the arm, righting her as she gasped, lurching to find her balance.
Darcy held on tight until she was steady again.
Eyes wide, the woman turned to stare at her, a little winded. "Oh, my God. How did you do that?!"
Darcy shrugged. "Quick reflexes." She resisted the urge to cross her fingers behind her back as the accompanying zing of her serum still rang in her fingertips
The woman chuckled. "Well, thanks. Wow. Thank you! I would've seriously regretted this coat."
They shared a nice laugh, then moved forward in line again and Darcy wondered if her grip would leave a bruise on the poor woman.
"Sheila, I am telling you, girl, you should've seen his—"
Darcy flinched again, and turned to give the woman behind her a look—not that she noticed.
"It was nasty."
This went on for another twenty minutes. Darcy huffed the hair out of her face and hauled the huge bag of puppy chow higher up her hip and tried to tune out the distant strains of 'Have A Holly Jolly Christmas' Usually, she was all Cindy Lou Who at this time of the year. This year, she was leaning a bit more toward 'Bah. Humbug.'
But. That was her problem. It wasn't that obnoxious toddler's fault that she was spending Christmas alone. It was the universe's fault.
A newlywed.
Spending Christmas alone. Like the military wife Bucky insisted she wasn't.
At least Max was home. They could worry about the third member of their party together in front of a rerun of Magnum PI.
She took another deep breath and finally dumped the gigantic bag of dog chow on the conveyer belt of her register.
The girl behind the counter smiled wearily. "Is this it?"
Darcy nodded. "Yep."
"Wow," she said as she yanked the bag over the scanner. "Big dog, huh?"
"Well, he's a growing boy."
"Looks like it."
She rang her up and Darcy swiped her card, declining a receipt and the giant bag. Then she meandered through the maze of jostling customers and was out the sliding doors, gasping for air. It was entirely too hot in a crowd of people and she was feeling a little claustrophobic.
The older man ringing the bell at the collection bucket outside looked exhausted too. His Santa outfit was drooping. Smiling, she pulled out a fifty, rolled it up, and slid it through the slot.
"Well, thank you, Sweetheart!" he said, and he sounded just like her grandfather had after a cigar had made his den all sweet and his voice warm, like Winnie the Pooh. Her heart squeezed. "Don't see anyone put anything that large in there that often."
"Well. I've got a little to spare," she assured him, hitching her Michael Kors bag higher up her shoulder and the dog food higher up her hip. More than a little. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Darlin'! I'd say you're on the Nice List this year!"
She smiled and waved as she moved toward the curb, muttering under her breath. "Doesn't really feel that way…"
She hailed a cab to the nearest Starbucks and paid the driver double to wait with the dog food.
The crowd inside Starbucks was even worse.
When she finally got to the register, the Hippie behind the counter fixed her with the most condescending look when she set just a large bag of fresh-ground Blond Roast on the counter. "Just this?"
She bit her tongue and smiled anyway. "Yep."
The barista rolled his eyes and rang her up while Darcy contemplated making him happier by taking up more of his time and ordering a Double-Soy, Double Foam, Extra-Whip, Extra Syrup Americano.
But, in the spirit of the season, she held her tongue, paid, and was just about to make her escape when the woman beside her in the next line muttered, "Shit. I think I forgot my card…"
The girl behind the second register made sure not to roll her eyes, but before anything else was said, Darcy reached over and slid her card through the machine.
The woman gaped. "What…what did you just do?"
Darcy leaned over and read the cup the barista was still holding. "Bought you your Half-Caf Flat White."
She blinked. "Oh, my God. Thank you."
Darcy shrugged. "Got some to spare. A drink won't break the bank." Especially when she was wearing the gigantic rock currently decorating her left hand. Modern Woman that she was, she'd tried insisting that his back-pay was all his, don't feel obligated, separate accounts wouldn't offend her, that money was all his.
But. Old-Fashioned Bloke that he was, things were pooled while she gaped at the current balance and he stuck his tongue out at her while the financial analyst at the bank chuckled at them.
"I…I…" the woman blustered, staring around. "I thought that kind of stuff only happened in movies—please don't think I'm a total slob! I just forgot my debit card—I must've left it in my other wallet!"
Michael Kors boots.
Coach bag.
Darcy smirked. "Don't worry. I don't."
That 'other wallet' was probably a freaking Louis Vuitton. Even on her new, Tony Stark Salary, that was a realm she couldn't justify to herself to matter how hard she tried. And she tried. So hard.
She waved the woman off with a smile and left.
Then stopped, staring at the empty curb. Mercilessly, the cab was gone.
Along with Max's food.
No good deed, apparently.
She stood at the curb for about five minutes, staring, comprehending, but not quite ready to accept the lot dealt her, before she sighed and started trekking back up Park with her bag of coffee and packages.
Max could totally survive off of scraps of turkey for a few days, until traffic was down. Pepper would probably insist on all of them taking leftovers home, anyway, shoving bags into their hands while they protested.
Otherwise, she was sure there would be options at the drugstore in the morning—those places never closed, not really.
Or Tony would fly something in, special order. That was just something he would do. The idea made her smirk, but it was short-lived—especially when the snow started falling.
The streets and sidewalks quickly turned to slush and her hair was soaked in a matter of moments, the fluffy, wet stuff sticking to everything and blowing in her collar. She'd forgotten her scarf that morning.
She tried hailing a cab, but with the weather turning sour so quickly, they were all full up and clogging the streets with even more traffic. She sighed again, tugged her collar tighter, and glanced up at the street signs. Not too far. She could suck it up for a few more blocks.
Waiting at a corner to cross, it happened again.
A young boy this time, maybe ten, with duck-fluff hair and glasses, his down coat open and his mittens dangling from his wrists. Like most in Manhattan, he didn't seem bothered by the 'Don't Cross' signal on the other corner and stepped off the curb into traffic to cross over.
A flash of yellow out of the corner of her eye had her reaching for him at lightning speed to yank him back by the collar as a taxi slid by, horn blaring, tires unable to find purchase. Ultimately, it careened into the side of a Hummer sitting at the light with a crunch of metal—right where the boy had been headed.
"Oh, my God."
She turned.
A middle-aged man was hurrying up, his scarf flailing in the wind, his glasses frosted. "David! How many times have I told you to wait for me?! You see what happens?!"
The kid was still too busy staring, alternatively, at the bent metal door panel on the Hummer, and at her left hand—
Which was glowing.
She stuck it quickly into her pocket and winked at him, focusing on shoving the serum back down into her veins so that her hand would return to normal. She was slowly finding at least partial control over her abilities, such as they were. It was just taking a lot longer than she'd expected.
"Oh, my God, thank you so much!" the man said, breathless as he clutched his son by the wrist. "You have no idea…!"
Darcy shrugged. "No big deal. Perfect timing. And now he's learned his lesson—right?" She gave the kid a stern look, hoping to support the dad.
The kid—still silent—nodded dumbly.
"That's right!" said dad. "And we're gonna hammer that lesson home in the time-out chair as soon as we get home—aren't we, David?" He shook his head and tugged on him. "Merry Christmas! And thank you again! You're an angel!"
Thinking of Siobhan, she shuddered in memory of their last encounter, but smiled. "Oh, no I'm not. But you're welcome."
They were gone.
She narrowed her eyes into the snow as she crossed—with the signal—and wondered what the hell the universe was trying to tell her.
She ducked into the café on the corner and bought herself a chocolate chip scone and a cup of hot cider and sat by the window watching people go by.
A gaggle of girls in their winter finest, laughing as they hurried through the snow.
A pair of moms, looking harried as they looked around for a free cab, arms laden with various shopping bags.
A busker with his guitar case under his arm, cigarette dangling in one hand.
When a couple strolled by, arm in arm, she rolled her eyes, finished her drink, and left, huddling beneath the overhang out of the elements while she calculated the walk still remaining. "Ugh," she sighed, thinking of all the times last year when she and Bucky had trekked to the coffee shop, Darcy clinging to his warm side, then went on her way. Blocks away yet. Seriously. She was just way too cynical for all this crap.
Then, there it was: squealing slushy tires, then the unmistakable hollow thud of a car striking a living thing.
Someone shouted.
She stopped in her tracks, stunned.
"Okay, now this is getting ridiculous," she said to herself. "Seriously?!"
She looked around, and spotted, just beside her in the street, a yellow cab—not a great day for cabbies in New York—atop a dog.
She , God, not a dog.
On closer inspection she saw that it wasn't the whole dog, a black and white Collie by the looks of it.
Mercifully, it was just it's leg.
A woman next to the site was sobbing into her hands as she stared, stricken, by the sight of her leashed animal trapped beneath the tire of the car. "Oh, my God!" She looked around, gesturing wildly, her eyes wide. "Can someone help! Someone help my dog!"
The poor cabbie stood there, looking a little helpless as he punched numbers on his phone screen, his shoulders hunched. "I'm sorry, ma'am—the animal ran out—"
The woman ignore him. "Somebody! My dog!"
Darcy sighed, but was already moving, feeling the serum pulsing hard in her veins again, and she hadn't even thought of calling it up yet. Maybe she was getting the hang of this…
The cab driver was frantically talking into his phone, and the woman—seemingly unsuccessful in calling any tetchy New Yorkers to her cause—was trying to push the car over to no avail.
The dog seemed strangely alright—if a bit frantic—but was lying instinctively still and crying softly as it looked around, it's one visible eye wide with nerves.
Darcy wondered if the leg would be destroyed—dogs were strangely good at bouncing back from all manner of ailments—but was glad that the damage wasn't worse. She was a dog-lover, after all, and was doing her best to separate herself, with her line of work and all.
Casually—she'd rather not be noticed—she went around the back of the cab. The dog was under the left rear tire, and she got her hands under the right rear bumper.
"Please work," she muttered under her breath, and she lifted with everything she had.
The car came off the wet street. Hot, pulsing adrenaline flooded her veins—she swore she could feel it—and warmed her storm-cold body.
The woman—seeing her—gasped. "Oh, my God! How are you—"
"Get the dog!" Darcy gasped, her heart pounding. The car was still heavy, after all.
Frantic, she ducked down and tugged, pulling the dog out as it squirmed free, barking and soaked with gritty, gray storm muck.
The cab driver stood there, mouth agape, phone still pressed to his ear. "Sir? Sir?! What's your location, Sir?!" Darcy could hear the emergency tech insisting across the line, her voice a tinny impersonation of human speech.
"Oh, my God!" the woman sobbed, clutching her dog close. "Thank you! Thank you!"
But Darcy was already gone, ducking out of the small crowd that had gathered and crossing the street, narrowly missing a cab herself.
"Where did that girl go?!" the cabbie asked in accented English.
"She lifted the car! Did anyone see that?! She lifted the car!"
"No way!"
"She did! I saw her!"
Dog under car. Check.
She continued up the street, moving with determination now, in a rush to leave the crowds and the snow behind. She could feel the stress of the bad morning starting to catch up to her, and, in combination with all the emotional baggage she'd had to bar against, she knew she only had so long before her own feelings started building up to a boiling point.
Bucky had been right: she'd become shit at controlling her emotions because of these new abilities. She just wanted to go home and wallow with a glass of wine.
She could admit it to herself: she was missing him too terribly to ignore and she knew it was probably unhealthy, but there it was. She was lonely, it was depressingly winter outside, and she hadn't been good and laid in way too long. And it was Christmas.
She wanted to cry a little.
And it only got worse.
The crowd followed her, slowly at first, apprehensive, staring at their phones, but as she hurried, so did they, and soon she was ducking around people as she glanced over her shoulder, bumping and apologizing and generally horrified that they would catch up with her.
And eventually they did.
"Hey! Did you seriously lift that car?!"
"That was you, right?!"
"I got it all on my phone, girl, you can't run away!"
She swallowed and kept walking, head down against the snow, feeling vaguely like she ought to say 'no comment'. But she could barely breathe, let alone speak.
"You're kinda hot—you know that, right?" one of the young guys said.
"Dude, she's got a ring on—look at that thing!"
"It's a fucking boulder!"
"You too are such dumbasses," a female companion told them. "I got it all on my phone, so it doesn't matter if she won't talk to us."
"She's probably some secret Avenger!" someone else suggested, joining the fray travelling slowly up Park, like a group of carolers in the snow.
Panic lanced its way through her and she tried desperately to push it down. The last thing she needed was to lose it in a crowd on a Manhattan street.
She thought again of Siobhan and what she'd almost done to her, that white-hot, blinding rage, and—most disturbingly, the part that still horrified her—the fact that she'd lashed out at Bucky when he'd tried to pull her back from the brink.
It wasn't so much that she was truly afraid she'd be capable of hurting him—he was still the Winter Soldier, after all—but just the idea that she'd turned on him, someone she loved so much it hurt. It had caused an echo that was still ringing in her belly.
"Seriously, I just wanna know—how'd you do that? You saved that dog!"
"Hey, on Twitter, it says there was someone who was seen saving this kid from getting hit up the block earlier—you think that sounds like her?" another guy said.
She kept her head down.
"'Long, dark hair,' it says. 'Pea coat. Boots.' Gotta be."
"Hey, were you uptown earlier?"
"Can I give you a hand with that stuff, Hot Stuff?"
Okay, it was starting to feel vaguely not-nice, this attention.
"Dude, she lifted a car—she don't need help with a couple bags."
She kept. Walking.
"I just wanna know how you did that!"
"Can I get a picture?"
"Seriously, I'll bet she's some new Avenger! Is there another one we don't know about?"
"How would we not know about it? They're superheroes—it's a little hard to hide 'em!"
She swallowed again, thickly, anxiety ramping up and making her insides shake. She slid her hands firmly in her pockets in case they started to glow.
"Yeah, well, we didn't know about all that crazy shit that went down a couple years ago, did we? And out comes this Winter Soldier guy with a metal arm!" a guy argued back, keeping pace with her, and entirely too close. "And we still don't know much about him. It's weird, man."
"That's the point of an assassin, you noob—you don't know anything about them."
His friend boxed her in on the other side. "Yeah, hey, do you know the Winter Soldier?"
Coincidently, she wanted the Winter Soldier really, really badly right about now, seriously needed him. He was good in these situations, calm and cool and collected, and he was good at keeping her calm and cool and collected. Terror that she could lash out at these idiots struck her across the face and she battened down the hatches again as her palms grew hot—and not in a way that was the result of nerves.
She tried to edge around her two main admirers on her next step but they shadowed her and the group started to close in even tighter.
"Do you? 'Cause that guy is badass, man."
"He could kill you with one finger, dude, he's creepy."
The crowd was getting louder, some twenty-to-thirty people trailing along on the sidewalk while passersby stared; she could feel every single individual's aura at her back, surrounding her, suffocating her, and thought again of what Stephen Strange had told her—that there was no way to quantify what she was capable of, not yet.
"Can we get a picture or something? What's your name?"
"Where are you from?" someone else called above the crowd.
"Are you on some mission?"
"Are you with the Avengers?"
God, how was she going to get home now, with them following her?! She could hardly move for the Tower or they'd all have their answers, and she could not be that person, that one that drew a crowd and caused a security ruckus. She tapped at her phone in her pocket, but couldn't figure out a way of using it without drawing attention either.
Maybe if she just called Tony and left the line open?
But she couldn't do that blind and if she pulled out her phone, she just knew they'd snatch at it—and then she'd hurt someone. She just knew it.
"I'll bet she knows 'em all!"
"Can we get a picture?" someone yelled again.
"Miss? What's your name? How did you lift that car?"
Sounded like a fucking reporter.
"Have you had these powers your whole life? Did you acquire them somehow?"
"Who are you?"
She stopped.
She wasn't sure she did it on purpose or by any force of will.
Her feet simply stopped carrying her forward.
She looked up at them all, a sea of people surrounding her, closing in.
She wasn't sure why she'd stopped, really, as these clearly weren't the type of people to be reasoned with.
And they kept closing in.
"Hey! Angela!" someone called a greeting. "Come over here! This chick lifted a car off some guy!"
"What?!"
"Yeah! We think she might be some new superhero or something!"
"Ignore them," a guy said to her left, his breath a riot of stale coffee and cigarettes, his blonde hair soaked through with melted snow. "Can I just get a picture?"
Before she could react, he raised his phone and snapped a shot, the flash blinding her.
Then everyone else joined in, and phones came up, and no matter how she tried to block it all out, the flashes were suddenly a mess of white on white on white and she was trapped.
The anxiety in her core expanded rapidly, roiling anger and frustration coalescing in a cloud of reactivity that she was starting to think she might not be able to repress, a ball of heat rising up her center.
Her heart was hammering in her chest and her hands were hot in her pockets, steam rising from her pea coat.
"Dude—this is so going on Facebook!"
"I'll bet she lives in that big skyscraper up the block!"
"Do you know Tony Stark?"
"What about Captain America?"
Her admirer on the left laughed. "That's who gave her that rock!" he crowed, laughing.
"Miss, can we get your name? Who are you? Do you have a statement for us?"
She raised her hands instinctively with the intent of shielding her face, but much more than that happened.
All her bottled emotion from the past month—the events of that morning—drew to a sharp point in her heart and released, a bolt of energy bursting from her palms in an arc of light and a warping of air as she cried out in frustration, pain, and anger.
There was a thunderclap in the sky above them, the sound of a shattering barrier.
((()))
When she blinked, it was silent and still around her.
The street was still full of plenty of people. All of them were staring now—some with mouths gaping open—at the sight of the group around her.
They were all laid flat out and unconscious on the sidewalk around her, their chests rising and falling but their bodies bowled over by whatever force she'd unleashed.
There was steam rising off the wet street and sidewalk where—seconds ago—there had been accumulating snow.
She'd never before heard silence like that on a Manhattan street, a quiet so still that she could hear the snow continuing to fall around her, in her little singed circle of sidewalk.
She was trembling, staring around at them all, when her phone rang.
She scrambled it out of her coat pocket, but couldn't speak, managing exactly zero words as she blindly held it up to her ear.
"You're all over Twitter, Short Stack. What's up, you defuse a bomb in Times Square or something?" Tony asked wryly.
She swallowed, tried twice to speak, but failed again.
"Get in." The line went dead.
A car pulled up beside her at the curb.
A Tesla. An actual, honest-to-God, silent-as-the-grave, Tesla. The Model S, that stupid expensive, Only-Tony-Stark-Could-Afford-It T Sportline.
She stood there, staring.
The black door swung open and Tony stuck his head out, sunglasses on, even in this weather. "You wanna take a picture, kid? C'mon! Get your little butt in here!" he called, smirking at her expression and decidedly ignoring the continued stares from the local onlookers.
She ducked in beside him and shut the door, nodding mutely to Happy in the driver's seat.
Tony didn't even look up from his phone. "The Twitter-Sphere has exploded with sightings of a, and I quote, here, 'Bombshell Angel'." He swiveled his head to look at her and pinned her with a wry look. "You wanna…maybe tell me what that's about? I mean, I know what I think of ya, and I know what your man thinks of ya, but this has me a little puzzled, since, uh…" He held out the phone. "This is you. Right?"
There she was.
Right there, centered in that photo. Lifting a fucking car.
"Adrenaline rush?" he asked wryly.
It was a hazy photo, sure, and there was snow all over the camera lens of the phone it was clearly taken on—from a distance—but…
Yep. Definitely her. That was her black pea coat, and her knee-high boots, and her long, damp curls blowing in the snowy breeze around her frowning face.
She blinked, feeling starting to seep back in—too quickly. Her stomach tightened. "Fuck," she breathed.
Tony snorted, but shook his head as he scrolled, sparing a hand to wave at her. "Oh, this is nothing, kiddo."
She slumped and raised a shaking hand to her face. Her eyes were starting to throb, a sure sign of a headache. "Doesn't feel like nothing."
"Yeah, there was that one time—remember, Boss?—you were caught on camera in Honolulu, drunk off that tequila you found! Naked as a Jaybird!" Happy was quickly in tears remembering it. "I had to chase you down the main thoroughfare with your pants!"
Tony chuckled. "What was it you kept yelling again?"
Happy was barely audible, he was laughing so hard and Darcy wondered if he could even see where he was going. "I don't remember—I wasn't too much more sober than you were!"
The two of them shared a laugh as Darcy looked out the window, barely listening, her chest smarting and her cloying yearning for Bucky sharp in her side. She would not cry, she would not.
"So it sounds like you…let's see…saved a kid from getting crushed in a snow-related accident, then lifted a cab off of an injured dog? Anything else I should know about, Supergirl? Gas station hold-ups? Cats up in trees?"
She swallowed. "There may or may not have been a woman I kept from slipping in the middle of Target."
Oh, God, this was bad. This was so bad. Tony was just trying to make her feel better, but this was such a PR mess. Pepper was going to freak.
He nodded. "Ah. Yeah, here it is. Woman behind you had her cell phone out, conveniently enough—wow, you do move fast when the mood strikes, dontcha?"
She groaned and rubbed her hands over her tired eyes. That obnoxious woman with the nasty boyfriend strikes again.
She was exhausted. She could never—it didn't matter how many smart or stupid tricks she tried—sleep without Bucky in the bed.
Never. His presence was just too big, his warmth too warm, his weight too large on the mattress at her back. She'd been a mild insomniac for the last three weeks, spending her nights shivering as she lay there, staring up at the ceiling. At least she'd gotten some reading done.
"Well, long as they don't figure out your name, Short Stack, you should remain the elusive Local Celebrity, so long as you don't go around saving children every time you're on Walkabout. Sound good?"
She groaned again.
"I'm gonna take that as a 'yes'. That my present?" He glanced down at the gift between them on the leather seat and gave her a teasing look. "Whatja get me, Daughter Mine?"
She huffed at his nonchalant attitude about it all, and snatched it back against herself on the seat, scowling at his good mood. "Never you mind, Starkface. Tomorrow. You have to wait for tomorrow."
Tony sighed, latching onto her nickname. "Darcy Stark. Woulda sounded good."
She snorted. "You're too late, Pops. Somebody else already changed my name."
He chuckled. "You're gonna love what I got you—you're gonna freak. And, to top it all off, something else I ordered finally got here today, too!"
She shut her eyes and tried to pretend it hadn't happened. She'd never lost it like that before, not since her episode with Siobhan. What the hell was happening to her and when would it all end?!
He went back to his phone. "Seriously, kid, people like ya. The guys think you're a real knock-out. That's gotta feel good."
She indulged in a quiet, wistful sigh.
"I know, Short Stack. I'm sorry." He reached over and squeezed her leg. "You stick with me and Pep, 'kay?"
Things continued this way, with him ribbing her mercilessly, until they finally pulled below ground into the Tower parking structure. Happy parked the Tesla and they all got out. The elevator ride was slow—on purpose, Darcy was sure—and JARVIS made sure to tell them all about the newest hits to Tony's Twitter account. Tony cackled while she turned bright red.
Maria met them in the hall with a hard look and immediately dragged Tony away to discuss containment. She didn't even spare a glance in Darcy's direction, which was exactly the way Darcy preferred it.
"We'll discuss this at the party!" Tony called, chuckling.
Huffing her annoyance, she brushed past Wanda outside their door and ignored her entirely when she congratulated her on saving the dog as she shoved it open. If she thought she could just ingratiate herself all over again with a snap of her spell-casting fingers, she could think again.
"Lift one vehicle off the pavement and all hell breaks loose," she grumbled under her breath as she shouldered her way through. "Max. I'm home, bud! You'll have to do with scraps, though, okay? I promise I'll get out tomorrow. This cabbie was a total dick on Park Avenue…" She trailed off as she pulled off her boots, though, her eyes landing on a familiar bag of dog food, propped up in the corner.
Had Tony gone out, just like she'd thought? But he couldn't have known…
"Max?"
Usually he came running to greet her.
But…nothing.
She set her packages on the counter, slid off her coat and hung it over a bar chair to dry. "Seriously, Maxie, it's been a really shitty day, okay? We should get you outsi—"
"Should I be jealous that guys are all over you on Twitter or would that be weird?" a familiar voice called. "'Cause I feel like I should be jealous. Some of them are being seriously ungentlemanly."
Bucky came down the hall—Max at his heels—with nothing on but a towel around his waist and his eyes on his Starkphone.
She froze, staring at his half-naked, still-shower-wet form.
He looked up from his phone and smirked. "My eyes are up here," he quipped.
Unable to take anymore, she burst out crying, covering her face with her hands as rough sobs shook their way out of her.
Bucky was to her in half a second, his voice softening. "I'm kidding, I was kidding, baby!" he murmured, pulling her close and folding his arms around her. "I was hoping for a warm welcome," he chuckled. "Not sure what to make of this…"
"You're home," she hiccupped, tears streaming down her face as she pressed it against his chest.
"Course I'm home—wasn't gonna miss Christmas with my best girl," he assured her, his voice soft and low, his hand sliding up, under the back of her sweater to press warmly at her heart. "What's wrong, huh? Bad day?"
She sniffled and moved to pull back, but he didn't let her, tightening his embrace instead. "Total shit." His warmth seeped in and saturated her.
For a long moment, he just held her. "I'm still all wet…" he told her, chuckling.
"Don't care. Besides—"
"So are you," he finished, tugging his hand through her hair. "What on earth happened to you? You take a swim through the river?"
She pulled back. "No. It's snowing."
He glanced toward the window and nodded, reaching up to wipe gently at her face with his knuckles. "Yeah, I know. But—"
"And I had a cabbie take off on me, and I had to walk, and then it started snowing, and there was this kid, and then this dog, and Tony—"
"Slow down, slow down," he soothed her, smiling sweetly and taking her hand. "Hold on." He led her down the hall and to the bedroom and sat her down there. "Okay. Now talk."
She sniffled, explaining her day away as his towel was discarded in the chute and he moved around their bedroom, pulling out clothes, totally naked, every inch of his body neat and tight. He had a scar that ran across his back that she always found herself tracing with her eyes. A bullet scar in the hollow of his right knee and one on his left side, so low it was barely his waist and nearly his ass. What had to have been a deep, deep cut on his lower right hip that was still pink and tight, even now, decades later.
But he never seemed bothered with her.
She ached to trace those marks with her fingertips. She never would've thought she could be so besotted. But here she was, like a junkie looking for a fix, tracing her mate's progress around the room and feeling her pulse jump in her throat, hungry for his own answering heartbeat, pressed against her skin.
She shook herself out of it as he spoke again.
"So things have been exciting while I've been gone, huh?" he finally said when he was dressed, running his fingers through his wet hair. Mercifully, he said little concerning her…explosion. She wasn't sure what else she could call it, and figured she'd get a couple hours reprieve before he truly brought it up.
She looked up at him, into those sea-blue eyes. "Not really. Today just topped off a…long, lonely month." She flushed and looked down at her hands, where she was kneading them in her lap. She hated admitting to girly stuff like missing him.
"Hey."
She looked up to find him standing over her, his expression soft, a little tilt to his mouth.
"I'm home for Christmas. Just like the song says." He winked.
Right. That song was from The War, wasn't it?
She swallowed. "You work some magic?"
He shook his head. "Nah. Tony did."
She blinked stupidly. "What?"
He sat down on the bed beside her. "This was a joint mission with the FBI. He's friends with their director. Appealed to his humanity, I guess."
"Well, what were you guys—"
He stopped her with a kiss to her mouth, long and slow and entirely overdue.
She gave a little mewl and reached up to tug at his shoulders.
He took a deep breath in and pulled back. "Later. Not important right now. And also, sorta boring."
She finally smiled, her heart expanding in acceptance that he was really here, really home. "Oh, yeah?"
He gave a theatrical shudder. "So, so boring. Was crazy with missing you, I was climbing the walls." He stood and dragged her up with him. "Should get you outta these wet clothes. Then we've got stuff to do."
She showered, greeted the dog, and he told her about his—truly boring—mission. The general takeaway was that they got the bad guy just in time and instead of sticking around another week to tie things into a neat little bow, Tony insisted they come home, pulled a favor and set up a way for them to do their accompanying paperwork remotely.
"I'm just in time for the party, huh?" he said, snatching up Max's toy to throw for him again.
Max locked his sensors on it, then darted across the room to try and catch it where Bucky had managed a Hail Mary with his cybernetic arm.
"You really like daddy's robot arm, huh, bud?" she cooed. "Actually, I don't even really wanna go now…" she sighed, dropping onto the couch.
He picked up the star and finally topped the tree, straightening it once, twice, before he was satisfied and joined her on the couch. "Which is probably why you should go. Don't you think?" He squeezed her thigh. "Don't make me give you incentive, Barnes."
She flushed, a flare of want lancing through her, but she managed to tamp it all down.
They dressed to match a little, dress casual, patted Max where he'd curled up on the couch, and left, taking the stairs up to the Common Room instead of the elevator. Bucky was a shameless flirt and chased her up the last two flights, making her shrieks echo in the corridor as they burst out the door and into the upper lounge.
"Hey, Short Stack!" Tony called, waving from across the room.
Pepper—on his arm—smiled.
The party was already in full-swing, agents, suits and executives all milling around, with their small group in one corner, near the bar. JARVIS was playing those old Christmas classics and monitoring a TV on one end of the room that was currently airing some football game that a bunch of suits were all gathered around, chattering, with their bottles of IPA.
The spread was gigantic, though Darcy steered clear of the caviar and plucked two champagne flutes from the tray of a passing waiter and handed one to Bucky.
Clint and the kids were there, and Cooper made straight for Bucky, who indulged him smilingly, again, moving his arm around so that it whirred.
Clint just rolled his eyes.
Lila made sure to show Darcy her red, frilly party dress, and reciprocated by asking if Bucky had called her pretty lately, as, according to her, that was the only true requirement of his job description.
Darcy snorted a laugh and reassured her, but not before Bucky could make a show of acting Romeo. She wasn't entirely surprised that he remembered his half of the infamous balcony scene from the original Shakespeare, and Lila giggled so hard when he changed 'Juliet' to 'Darcy' that she turned beet red and toppled over into the leather couch.
This drew the attention of Thor and Steve, and thus followed a bit where Darcy laughed overwhelmingly hard this time, her spirits lifted, as Steve and Bucky—with hilarious mockery from Clint—tried to explain the intricacies of Shakespeare in American literary culture to an alien from another planet. The big brute seemed confused as to how two star-crossed lovers could've fallen in love so very hard, after one of them spent the beginning of the story involved with someone else.
Clint tried to pass off some complicated form of mind-control—which Thor seemed much more ready to accept as reason of insanity—but Steve was particularly adamant in explaining the real reason—Shakespeare was a Romantic at heart.
Clint scoffed.
"So, the story shows much similarity to the coupling of Darcy and yourself, then?" Thor compared to Bucky, nodding in understanding, and smiling like a dork.
"No, that's…that's not it at all," Bucky said, shaking his head and frowning.
"And let's not use the word 'coupling', okay, bud?" Darcy interjected.
"But…Darcy, you were involved with the intern, were you not?"
She snorted. "Ian? Yeah, no, bud, that was over weeks before this guy showed up." She hooked her thumb at Bucky.
"But, don't forget, she broke up Bucky and Steve," Clint interjected himself, smirking.
Thor's eyes went to the size of dinner plates. "What?" He blinked. "I am given to understand the practice of love between two men on Midgard, but I wasn't given to understand that Steven and Ja—"
"Were not a couple," Steve stated, his voice hard and flat, and a touch too loud.
Bucky was laughing so hard, all he could do was shake his head.
Clint burst out laughing.
"You are such a child," Laura reprimanded, stepping up beside him.
"That joke is getting really old," Steve huffed, frowning at Bucky, who was still laughing. "And you're not helping."
Bucky coughed, regaining his composure and straightening to slap Steve on the shoulder. "I dunno, Punk, you're pretty hot."
"Would you not classify your relationship with Darcy as this...'Star crossed'?"
Bucky sighed. "Well, sure. But…that's not really the same."
Thor frowned. "Why not?"
"Well, to start with, Romeo and Juliet kill themselves at the end of the play."
Thor gaped. "They take their lives?!"
Clint patted his shoulder. "Yep."
"In what way is this romantic?"
Steve sighed. "It's not that they aren't together at the end, it's the effect that the whole affair has on everyone else, Thor. Their families stop fighting, and it's about the fact that they were so in love, they'd rather die than be without each other."
For a long moment, Thor stood there, blinking and frowning, clearly thinking very hard on the subject. "Well. It would seem that that may describe every romantic relationship, should it not?"
Bucky shrugged. "It should. Doesn't mean it does. Not everyone is…like that."
"But you would rather cease to be, than to be without Darcy, surely, or you would not have been so bereft last spring, when she was so mortally wounded, yes?"
Bucky flinched, and swallowed, his smirk disappearing. "Well. Yes."
Thor, oblivious to the change in the atmosphere, turned to Steve. "And you, Steven? You would rather be finished than to be without Agent Romanoff?"
Steve, looking uncomfortable, glanced at Bucky, and shrugged. "Yeah."
Thor nodded. "Yes, then. I see."
"It's funny, really, considering they were so hopelessly besotted with each other before The War," Clint interjected, breaking the tension, before laughing again.
Steve sighed, rolled his eyes, and slouched away, back to Natasha across the room, who seemed to understand with just a few looks, and gave him a pouty face of sympathy.
Darcy snorted.
"Hey."
She spun around, Bucky still chuckling with Clint behind her, to find Jane hovering in the space before the windows, looking pale and uncertain.
Darcy swallowed. After the day she'd had, she did not need this right now. "Hey."
Jane fidgeted and finally spoke. "Could we…talk?"
Before she could even think twice, Bucky's hand was at her back, pressing gently at the space between her shoulder blades, forcing her gingerly away. She scowled back at him for a moment, but followed Jane across the room, to the quiet corner at the balcony door.
"What's up?"
Jane took a deep, shaky breath. "I just…wanted to talk."
She took her own breath, and, endeavoring to be as charitable as possible, said, "About what?"
Jane pulled a face. "About what a horrible bitch I am."
Darcy shrugged and perched on the arm of the nearest lounger. "Okay."
Jane blinked. "That was your cue to say, 'But, Jane, you weren't a bitch!'"
Darcy did her own blinking. "I didn't take the cue." She could be charitable, but she'd be damned if she didn't stand her ground. If nothing else, this nonsense had shown her her true strength.
Of all the things to cause strife, she'd simply gotten married. Of all the things in Avengers Tower to cause such chaos, the simple act of tying the knot had made ripples into tsunamis. It was ridiculous.
"Listen, um…" Jane chewed on her lip and glanced at Thor. "I…I've been a little…judgy."
Darcy raised an eyebrow. "A little?"
Jane nodded. "Yeah. I was…biased. And judgy. And weird. And maybe…a little possessive or something? And overprotective, and totally stupid, because…well. Look at him." She gestured across the room.
Bucky was sipping his champagne and talking in hushed tones to Natasha, who glanced back in their direction.
Smirking at something he said, she nudged him in the belly with her elbow, causing him to dart out of her way, laughing, those adorable crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes.
"What about him?" Darcy wanted to know. Had to know.
Jane shrugged, watching them. "He's…he's obviously fine. I mean, I guess. He must treat you well, if you married him. I mean, I remember what you told me about Daniel, so Bucky must…treat you like… He does seem like he'd be…kind of…snuggly, under it all."
Darcy smirked.
"Of all the things for him to do in his…recovery, I mean…he must love you, if he proposed to you. I mean, especially after only a few months." She huffed a sigh. "I don't even know what I'm trying to say, I…"
Darcy just watched her.
"Do you trust him?"
By way of answer, Darcy said, "He's saved my life at least three times now."
Jane nodded. "Right. Yeah. And…you love him?"
She blinked.
What a question. Did she love him? As though she could put what he made her feel to words. That he could look at her like he did sometimes, and she could call it love. That he could be so caring and tender, so soft and sweet, so gentle and loving and funny and unassuming, and charming, and soothing. That he could take care of her they way he did, like it was as natural as breathing. That he could smile and light up her whole body, that he could touch just the right coordinate of her skin and set her pulse quickening, that he could kiss her and draw a curtain around the whole world.
That she could forget where she ended and he began.
Thst she could be content in him and nothing else for the rest of her long life.
That she would never wonder, ever again, if there was someone out there who put her first.
Was that what love was? Was that the defining note in a storm of feelings, the maelstrom of emotions associated, the want and the need, the yearn, and the ache, and the pain and the happiness, the warm safety and the sense of belonging, the insanity of giving yourself to someone else and trusting them beyond the mere definition of the word to keep your heart safe and never break it? Was that what it meant?
She wasn't sure one, simple word was capable of defining it. She wasn't sure any word was capable of defining it. And while she was certain beyond the shadow of a doubt, that her Jaime would never break her heart, she still found herself occasionally terrified that the circumstances of their life together would someday find a way to do it for him and she'd be left, empty-handed and bereft.
But those were the dark moments. She didn't have many of those anymore. Most of them were soft with buttery morning light and turning over to find someone in the bed beside her, warm and solid and always.
A lump in her throat, she just nodded.
Jane swallowed, eyes glued to her expression—it must've been a betraying sort of one. "Maybe I…I got that way because…I dunno." She hedged. "I don't…know what that…feels like."
Darcy blinked. "But…Thor…?"
Jane shrugged. "He's great, but…" She hedged. "I dunno—"
And she broke off, darting away, moving across the room and out the door at rapid speed, chewing on a fingernail as she weaved between people.
Natasha followed her flight with her eyes, and looked over at Darcy for an answer.
Darcy, shocked and gaping, shrugged.
Thor, looking worried, followed her out.
Bucky came over. "What was that abo—"
But he was interrupted, too.
"Hold on!" Maria shouted over the chatter. "Everyone shut up for a minute!"
Quiet started to settle and the suits around the TV gathered closer.
"JARVIS—volume," she commanded.
Of course.
The audio on the television erupted.
"News reports have been streaming in all afternoon now, that Manhattan may have gotten a new Avenger for Christmas," a newscaster was saying, a note of wry humor in her voice.
Darcy's heart plummeted and it felt like the entire room froze around her.
"As you can see from this grainy video—sent to us from a cell phone just this afternoon—there seems to be a new hero walking around."
Very poor video quality though it was, the shaky footage showed her lifting that car off that dog, right there on the screen.
She wanted to bolt, standing there, clutching her glass.
But suddenly she wasn't, and she jumped, looking over as Bucky very gently plucked it from her rapidly tightening grasp, his expression unreadable.
Maria sighed, scowling.
"Is that…Darcy?" Clint asked, squinting and moving closer to the giant screen.
"It's Darcy," Steve said, sounding amazed.
"You lift cars now, girl?" Sam asked, smirking at her.
She wanted to melt into the floor.
"The Maxim Vigilante, as she's been tagged on Twitter, was seen today in various parts of Manhattan performing rescues, including this dog, as well as a young boy, who was nearly hit in a snow-related accident in Mid-Town. Reports are unclear if her presence is, in any way, related to the small explosion that took place just a few blocks away that sent nearly two-dozen people to the hospital with moderate concussions."
"How is that Darcy?!" Wanda exclaimed.
She could feel the color draining from her face as they were presented with more video footage—shaky and dim—of her energy burst from earlier, the small crowd around her dropping like an installation of dominoes to the pavement, leaving her standing there, her face not altogether blurry.
"Oh, my God," Steve murmured in front of her, and turned to give her a questioning look.
She swallowed, edging back.
"More on the situation as it develops. Anyone with information regarding this supermodel hero is asked to come forward." The reporter was flat-out grinning now. "Jim? Over to you. Is this snow going to stop anytime soon or are we having a really white Christmas?"
Maria grabbed the remote and turned it down until Jim—"Well, Nadine, it sure looks like we'll…blanketing…parts…Upstate…" was gone.
Panic clutching her gut, she darted blindly for the rear door that would dump her in one of the guest rooms. Chaos erupted behind her as she fled.
"How was that Darcy?"
"Stark, I thought we agreed—"
"You think I'd report to the news? Hill, I might be a playboy sometimes—"
"You're not."
"—But I wouldn't do something that stupid. This is Darcy we're talking about."
"Are we sure it's Darcy we're talking about?"
"That was Darcy, right?"
"I didn't think she could do that, I mean—"
"We don't know precisely what she's capable of, yet. Just that she's displayed attributes of both the Supersoldier Serum and Extremis. Whatever may have happened when those two effects joined is anyone's guess. I've been working with Stephen Strange, but—"
"Wait, that sorcerer guy in Greenwich?"
The door slammed behind her, and she was left with only the sound of her own gasping, raw and too loud in the empty hotel suite.
Oh, God, this was a disaster.
Shuddering in dread, she tore through the room and into the cavernous walk-in closet, slamming those doors shut behind her in fear they'd find her in just the open room. Would they check an empty closet?
Her back hit the side and she sank down the wall, hugging her arms around herself and breathless with panic.
Oh, God, now everyone would know her. She'd spent most of her life hiding behind a desk, she didn't want any of this! And Tony would insist on making her complicated gadgets, and Steve would insist that she stay back and avoid all the danger, and Bucky would feel so guilty.
And she'd screw something up; she knew she would, and someone would get hurt.
And—
The door opened out in the main room.
She held her breath.
"Darce?" Jamie's voice, gentle on the other side of the door. "You lemme in?"
Of course he'd come and find her immediately—he was the sort of partner that understood the language of flight. He was supposed to chase after the girl. That was part of his job.
The timber of his voice—so soft with her, all the time—snapped the dregs of her self-control, and she found herself sniffling again.
She stood on shaky legs and opened the door.
The bedroom door swung open and Maria marched in to join them, followed by Steve and Tony, Natasha at the back, looking apprehensive.
Bucky opened his mouth—
"Darcy, I thought you understood that you were supposed to lay low at all times?!" Maria snapped, approaching and striking the quintessential boss pose, hands on hips.
And just like that, the threat of tears evaporated and was replaced with hot, sizzling anger. "And I thought I wasn't a member of the team, Hill. Which is it? And since when are you my boss?"
Maria rolled her eyes. "I might as well be, when you go off, half-cocked through Manhattan and expose us more than we already are! What—you couldn't find any kittens stuck up in trees?"
Darcy narrowed her eyes. "This isn't about that, and you know it," she hissed. "You've been waiting on any excuse to take a swipe at me."
"No, this is about you acting without any self-control!" she snapped, her voice rising as she stepped into her space, and they stood, nose-to-nose, staring each other down.
Darcy's hands began to crackle with energy, the air in the room going hot and thick.
"Take a step back, Maria," Bucky said, his voice low—scary low.
Maria snorted and turned to give him a sneer. "What are you gonna do, Barnes?"
A muscle jumped in his jaw and his eyes went from pretty, sea blue to storm tossed waves. "Something you won't like."
She snorted. "In front of a group of people?"
His jaw tightened further. "Touch. Darcy. And I'll do it in front of a stadium full of people, bitch."
The air sizzled.
Steve shifted on his feet. "Maria."
"Don't be stupid, Hill," Natasha said, her voice measured and controlled.
Tony swallowed, audibly. "Pep's already working on damage control. It's no big deal. Besides—I'm her boss. So back off."
Ooh, the appearance of Pissed-Off Tony added to the mix very well.
Maria stared her down for a split second more—darting a glance down to Darcy's hot-house hands—before snarling and backing off toward the door.
Steve and Natasha followed her out, their brows set for confrontation.
Tony hesitated in the doorway, hanging back and giving Bucky a look.
Bucky nodded. "Give us a few minutes."
He nodded, and pulled the door shut behind him.
She melted, pressing her face into her hands. "Oh, God, this is a disaster!" she wailed, retreating into the closet again.
He sighed and followed her, sliding the door shut behind him and turning the lock. "It's not that bad."
"'Not that bad'?! Jamie, my face is on the fucking evening news! I'm clearly lifting that car, babe, and there's no way to twist that like I'm David fucking Copperfield! Don't lie to me! You've never lied to me and I don't want you to start now because you think it's what I want to hear!"
He just looked at her, tugging a hand through his hair restlessly. "This could be a lot worse. Trust me—I outta know."
She chuckled humorlessly. "And you know what the stupid thing is? If I went out there now, I probably couldn't even lift the fucking couch!"
He shrugged. "Simple: no motivation."
"That's not how my abilities work, and you know that!" she said, tears welling up and leaking down her face. "I have no control, Jamie! And no one has any idea how to help me get it! I'm drowning!" Her back hit the wall again and she huddled there.
He approached. "You're not drowning. I've got a hold on you."
"And those people! I attacked all those people, Jamie!" Her chest was tight as a vice and getting tighter as she wheezed.
"They're fine. Just mild concussions. You heard the report. And besides, they should all know better than to form a mob. You acted in self-defense."
"But I didn't even mean to! That's the problem Jamie!"
He reached up for her arms and squeezed her shoulders. "Darcy, you're making this twice as bad as it is. I get it. I do. Just breathe, okay? You're in full-blown panic attack mode."
"And Hill's freaking out—and Pepper! She's gotta put out my fire!"
"Darcy."
"Those people—and what if they figure out who I am?!"
"Darcy…"
"I won't be able to even go outside, Jamie—I'll be trapped in here!"
"Darcy."
"I won't be able to rep for Tony anymore—"
"Darcy." He reached up to cup her face, softening his voice further still. "Darcy, baby, look at me."
She blinked up at him, wheezing in air as hard as she could.
"Hold your breath," he instructed, his voice low as he held her gaze. "Now let it out—slowly."
She exhaled.
"Good. Just breathe. I've got you."
And there they were, standing in a ridiculous, apartment-sized walk-in closet in the dark, huddled together while she wheezed like an old carburetor.
"You're in complete control. No one else is behind the wheel, and I'm in the passenger seat, with a spare brake pedal in case you need me. Okay?"
Trying to breathe deeply, she nodded.
"The doors are locked. No one's getting in, and I'm not planning on getting out. Okay?"
She nodded.
"It's just us, baby. It's just us and the open road and the people we pass as we drive by. That's all. Cleanup is part of Pepper's job. She did it for Tony, and if she did it for Tony, she's damn good at it." He smirked. "She'll smooth things over. It's not as if there isn't a protocol for this, okay?"
She sniffled. "And Hill—"
"Maria can get fucked for all I care," he said breezily. "She's just a yapping dog, that's all she is, Darcy. Don't let her get under your skin."
She let her head tip forward until her brow was pressed to his sternum and his heartbeat was solid and steady and soothing.
"The photos and that video, they were blurry. That leaves plenty of room for plausible deniability, and do you know how many brunettes are out there? There's no way they can pin this on you and those idiots you knocked out—good job, by the way—they probably won't even remember. It'll just be hazy memory to them, and nothing more. This isn't a catastrophe, solnishka. Just give it time and it'll blow over."
She took a deep breath.
"Okay?"
She finally stood up straight and nodded, looking up at him with tired eyes. "Okay."
He smiled, her favorite smile, the soft, sweet one, with the crinkly eyes and the warm affection.
Warmth bloomed in her and spread to her extremities.
They stood there for a moment in silence, listening to the muffled sounds of the football game, back on TV and the suits cheering and jeering, the low music thumping its bass beneath it all, the chattering attendees.
"I missed you," he whispered, looking down at her, his eyes dusky in the dim light.
"I missed you," she whispered back.
"It felt like forever that we were gone. And we had what we needed on the second week, but we had to wait for proof. And the guys were really meticulous, it took them weeks to slip up."
She smiled. "Good to know I wasn't alone in the loneliness department."
"Nah. You had a friend in the club."
"I was pretty pissed off this morning, though."
He frowned, reaching up to brush her hair out of her eyes. "Why?"
"Because. I was standing in line after line, everyone was obnoxious, trouble seemed like it was following me, and on top of that, I'd put up the tree and done the baking and the shopping and the music was all loaded into the stereo, and I knew I'd be going home to an empty place. On our first Christmas." She shrugged. "I was bummed."
He smiled softly. "I made it home. And you're gonna love what I got you."
"Oh, yeah?" she teased. "You haven't gotten me anything yet…"
With a flirtatious smile to match, he leaned down and claimed her mouth with his, wasting no time parting her lips to deepen the kiss and taste her with his tongue, making it clear the tension was getting to him as well. People could say what they wanted about relationships, but the fact of the matter was that everyone needed someone to scratch that itch once in a while. And she'd been lonely for a long while, now.
She responded, mewling in pleasure, reaching up to tug him down to her by his vest, his stubble scratching her sensitive skin.
His hands slid down the wall around her and snaked around her waist, his fingers splaying deliciously over her backside.
He tasted like champagne.
She let him tug her flush against him and wrapped her arms around his neck, nibbling on his lower lip and losing herself in the warmth dropping through her blood like a blanket. It made the serum fizz in her veins and the bubbling made her heart buoyant and light. She shivered as he kissed a trail down her jaw and along her neck until he reached the coordinate where her pulse jumped in her throat.
He closed his mouth around it.
With a little grunt of satisfaction, she went pliant, her hands sliding down his shoulders and chest until she reached his belt, the cool leather soft beneath her fingers. She tugged it loose and popped the button on his dark slacks, a little dark place in her glad that she'd decided to wear a flouncy, old-fashioned skirt as part of her holiday attire.
He smiled against her mouth. "Anxious?" he murmured, his hands drifting around her hips, along her thighs, and finding the hem of her skirt.
She could only give him a breathless noise of encouragement as she slid her hand in.
He jerked.
Just like that, she was pressed back into the wall of the closet, her legs locked around his narrow waist, everything in her tight in anticipation, her pulse roaring in her ears.
With a jaw so tight he could break teeth and a low noise of satisfaction, he slid into her, slowly, with intention.
She took a shuddering breath, her nails pressing half-moons into the skin of his upper back, where her hands had suddenly found themselves of their own accord, sliding beneath the collar of his shirt.
The party was still a muffled wall to her left, and she reminded herself that she had to be quiet.
She squirmed, adjusting to the sharp angle until he was seated right where she needed him. She bit her lip, every nerve ending in her lighting up at once, and she dug her nails in deeper, wondering idly if she'd draw blood.
He watched her with a dark, teasing look, a certain glint in his eyes in the dim light of the closet as he waited patiently, for her adjust. "Good?" he asked, his voice low and rough.
The sound of it almost undid her before things got started.
She nodded, not sure she could trust her voice, then swallowed. "Mmhmm. Mmyeah."
And he was kissing her, softly, so softly, his hands solid at her hip and thigh, guiding them. It was all muffled party noise and the rustle of cloth, the sound of his breathing in her ear and her soft attempts at keeping quiet, an escaped sound here or there that only made it worse. He struck a good, unhurried rhythm, and she could feel his strength beneath her thighs, holding her up, consistent without rushing ahead.
She clutched at him, working out all her demons from the day, the demons that had been building in her since their disastrous attempt at Thanksgiving at her father's house, her indirect loss of control, and every moment since, each dark second she was terrified she'd lose the small amount of control she'd managed to amass.
He nipped gently at her throat, dropping his face to her shoulder and pressing his mouth against her skin, murmuring quietly against her body.
With each even stroke she felt the need building, tightening so hard in her core it was painful, and sweet, and painfully sweet, and her throat began to close again with the renewed urge to cry.
He always managed to strike just the tone she needed; he knew she needed this distraction, this release, he knew she needed to not be there for just a few minutes, even if she couldn't truly escape.
She jerked and jostled, attempting to work out the itch, and the sharp angle increased, drawing her closer to the cliff's edge. Her right hand clawed into a fist and she struck once, gently, at his shoulder, clamping her jaw shut to avoid crying out—
The door to the main room opened.
Bucky jerked to a halt, freezing, his chin dropping to her shoulder.
Bereft and left hanging, Darcy set her forehead to his chest, breathless and dizzy. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," she gasped beneath her breath.
"…I don't know, Thor, I mean, you tell me—where is this going?!" Jane's voice drifted through the—mercifully locked—closet door.
"Jane, I do not understand why you are upset…" Thor tried.
"Seriously?!" she whispered, looking up at him. "A domestic?!"
Bucky smirked. "Your friend has hilarious timing," he murmured.
She glared. "She is not my friend yet! Status…yet to be determined!" she whisper-yelled, then gasped as he shifted, curling against him.
"Sorry," he winced.
A charge tingled through her fingers and his skin grew hot beneath her touch. She stared, her eyes going wide in the dark.
Bucky smiled. "Mm. Makes a nice addition."
Jane—out in the main room—sighed, as though searching for words that Thor would understand without feeling hurt. "Thor, it's just…I look around, and everyone's moving forward. Everyone. Everyone but us."
"How are we not moving forward, Jane?" he grasped again, not quite reaching.
She erupted, exasperated. "Look around, Thor! Steve and Natasha are married! Natasha. Natasha Romanoff married Captain fucking America!"
"…And?"
A pause, and when Jane spoke, her voice was thick. "And I fucked up with Darcy, and she's…she's…"
Thor went soft. "She is what, Jane, my love?"
A heavy sigh. "Thor. You're a prince. You're a prince from another planet. C'mon. You know what that means for us. You've gotta know. And I pushed Darcy away and…and look at her!"
Thor was starting to sound impatient. "What about her, Jane?"
"Not going well," Bucky muttered, his voice lost somewhere in her hair.
Darcy tried to focus on slowing her heart, but it was impossible with him…inside of her, and she squirmed, biting her tongue hard as things continued to tighten. "Oh, God." Electricity fizzed between her fingers and she bit her lip, dropping her head back against the wall.
"Just breathe," Bucky murmured, his words soft.
Jane was gasping. "She's the last fucking person I'd expect any of this from, Thor, but look at her! She's totally…besotted!"
Thor was lost again. "I…do not understand…"
"She's head-over-heels in love, Thor! God! Our Crazy—My Crazy Darcy! She's stuck to Bucky like glue! Thor, you should've seen her earlier, when I asked her if she loved him! She just looked at him, and it was all there, on her face, like the page of a book, and she couldn't even speak to answer! She just stared at Bucky like…like he was…like he was the sun, and she just nodded, like fucking Elizabeth Bennet, Thor!"
"I don't—"
"And I don't have that, Thor! I don't even know what we are!"
Bucky was looking down at her, his expression warm and tender, and he reached up to fold a lock of hair behind her ear with his human hand, leaned to kiss her, full on the mouth and slow, again, with intent.
Her heart calmed.
"I just," Jane continued. "I want that. And I don't feel like we're moving in that direction, Thor. You have to go back, don't you? To Asgard? I know you do, you know you do, right?"
Thor sounded a little put-out. "I have renounced my claim to the throne, Jane, you know this."
She sighed. "I know. It's just, you're never going to be without that. Never. And what then? What happens when Asgard needs you, Thor?"
Silence.
Silence and the sound of Bucky's heartbeat lashing against Darcy's belly.
It rang for what felt like an eternity.
Then—
"Why don't you come find me when you've got an answer?"
Darcy's mouth dropped open.
Footsteps. The sound of the door opening again, the party noise echoing both from outside their tiny tuck-away spot and the main room. Somewhere out there, Tony laughed, his silly giggle that she just loved.
A long, hard sigh.
Footsteps. And the door shut, sealing off the rush of merriment.
They crashed together, Bucky's teeth closing around the flesh between her shoulder and her neck as he moved with determination now, miles past the point of no return, his strokes even and unhurried, but definitely seeking to give her release, deep and sharp.
It welled back up to meet her, rushing up in a wave that crashed over her not once, but twice, ripping the air from her lungs and setting her pulse to drumming a tattoo against her sternum.
She gasped, going rigid, electricity completing a circuit and lifting the hair on his brow as it surged through him.
He jerked, hitching her—hard—against the wall as he found his own finish line, some low, Russian curse bubbling off his tongue.
They stilled.
Darcy slipped into that familiar haze, her blood rushing in her ears, making everything ring, the light in her eyes too bright, so bright that everything she looked at had a halo.
Her breathing slowly calmed as she pulled her fingers through his soft hair, sifting it through her fingertips.
He pressed tiny kisses along the silky skin over her collar bone. "We should get back out there or they'll come looking for us—and you know what'll happen then."
She sighed out a laugh and swallowed past her dry throat. "Oh, do I."
He slowly retreated and set her back down on her shaking legs, her heels wobbling unsteadily on the thick, plush carpeting. "Are you alright?"
She pressed her hand to her belly. "Better now."
With an affectionate smile, he set about straightening his clothes while she readjusted hers.
"Oh, God, I'll be paranoid for the rest of the night that everyone will take one look at us and know what we did."
He chuckled, reaching up to smooth a hand over her hair. "The color is out of your face. Don't worry."
She did the same for his hair and looped a button on his vest that she must've pulled loose at some point.
"There," she said, sighing as she tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Does it look like I was just—"
"Ravaged?" he offered with a smirk.
"Right."
"No." He offered his hand.
She slid her fingers into his and followed him out, a thought occurring to her belatedly. "Oh, God, I just realized—my heels—I'm sorry, that must've hurt, I—"
"Don't be," he cut her off, his voice low and dark as he pulled the doors open, not even bothering to look at her. "It was hot."
She blinked at his back.
But then the door was open and the party volume hit her like a wall of sound, and there was Tony, handing her a drink—a real one this time—and smacking her on the back.
The rest of the evening passed in a haze of merriment, and Darcy felt the tension of the last few weeks leaking away, soft and easy.
They left when it was still early and spent the rest of the evening listening to her Christmas album and shuffling around the apartment, Max following them and getting underfoot. They stayed up too late, catching up and reading A Christmas Carol to each other and finally Bucky had to carry her to bed.
Max woke them up early to go outside, and bounced around on the bed like that little kid on Christmas morning, jostling them.
Bucky fawned over his gift.
Darcy laughed at how it appropriate it was, then, that he'd gotten her an original, signed, British Edition of the first in the Harry Potter series.
Tony barged in, Pepper behind him, then Steve and Natasha.
They had brunch together, around their table, like a family, laughing and bickering and ribbing each other to the strains of Nat King Cole and Bing Crosby.
It was everything Darcy had wanted the morning before, sloshing sullenly through the snow, and she marveled at how everything from that moment had completely turned around on her.
"What's wrong?" Bucky asked later, approached her from behind, where she stood before the windows, looking out.
"…I just think it's hilariously appropriate, the fact that you brought Apple Pie," Tony was saying from the kitchen bar while Steve did the dishes. "I mean, everyone's thinking it."
"Nothing," Darcy murmured, sipping her coffee. "It's just funny, how life sneaks up on you."
Bucky smirked and leaned over to turn the music up. "Yeah. It is."
She smiled and reached up to wrap her arm around his waist. "Maybe that old man was right. Guess I was on the Nice List this year."
He frowned, confused. "What?"
She shrugged and reached up to brush a strand of hair from his eyes. "Never mind."