It was colder in here than Bucky remembered. And darker. And he couldn't think straight.

A lab coat was bustling around, tinkering with wires and buttons and a machine beside him was beeping, but he wasn't sure if it was his heart or his pulse, or neither.

He came in and stood over him.

"Mission report."

Dazed, he blinked up at the fuzzy shape in front of him.

The voice hardened. "I said, 'mission repo—Why does he always do this?"

Another voice—the lab coat—sighed. "I've explained why."

"Well, explain it again. What am I paying you for?"

"Technically, you're not paying me…"

"What was that?"

A deep sigh. "This is a new science, Sir! There aren't any established perimeters." "So?"

"So…he might be gone. Or he might be rememberi—"

"Stop. I don't want to hear it. Just wipe him."

The lab coat was alarmed. "Sir! That could be extremely detrimental—"

"I don't want to hear it. I've got a new mark for him, a girl, right under Stark's thumb, little assistant. She's too smart for her own good, she's asking too many questions. Can't have her digging around, and Stark is dangerous enough. Just do it. Start. Over."

The lab coat hesitated for only a brief moment, continuing to tinker and something else beeped irritably. Metal pieces were slipped into place.

He bit down on the hard plastic. The vice clamped down on his arms and the machine started whirring and buzzing. His heart started to pound, but over it, he could still hear them.

"—And make sure it sticks this time!—"

He jolted awake, lunging up into open air with a jerk, tipping blindly in the dark as he caught himself. He looked wildly around for a moment, uncertain and gasping for breath, struggling to clear his head.

Nightmare. Right.

He raised a hand to rub at an eye.

Home.

Right. He was home.

In their Tower suite. Floor Eighty-eight. 2016. Right, yeah, 2016. New Year's—it had just been New Year's, about a month back.

He swallowed past his dry throat, and looked around.

The room was fairly pitch dark, but his strengths included a certain amount of ability seeing better in lower lighted conditions.

He reached up to run a hand through his hair, sticky with sweat.

He hadn't had an Alexander Pierce nightmare in…God, months, now. He hoped that wasn't a bad omen. And he'd been talking about a new mark, someone else he was supposed to kill. Who was it again? He sighed. It was gone, drifted away, the tail of the dream dissipated like a wisp of smoke.

"Jamie?"

He jumped.

Darcy was half awake, looking blearily up at him. "You okay?" Her voice was thick and groggy with sleep, and he always thought she was hopelessly adorable like this, trapped, grasping for alertness.

He took a deep breath, a little soothed, and leaned down to press his mouth to her bare, exposed shoulder. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Go back to sleep, doll."

But she was nothing if not stubborn. She sat up, rubbing at her eyes and grappling with her glasses on the bedside table. "Zola again?" she questioned, blinking.

He sighed and slid his legs over the side of the bed. "No." He stood and crossed the room to one of the window slats, unwinding it until it slid open, letting in a slight breeze, cool on his flushed and damp skin.

She frowned, wrapping the bed sheet around her naked torso. "Usually you're head's pretty quiet after…well, y'know."

He liked to think she was blushing in the dark. Usually, after an evening of good sex, his head was pretty quiet. She was sure the endorphins and serotonin excess was responsible, doping the bitter thoughts until they faded.

Not that he'd gone and asked Bruce his thoughts on it, though, of anyone in the Tower, he was probably the one to ask. Since his girlfriend, Betty, had come back into his life, Bucky wondered how much the two of them were mirrors of each other.

He sighed again and rejoined her in the bed. "Well. The yoga's not helping so far. Or the meditation." He'd have to tinker with his timing again, see if doing it later in the evening was better.

She slid against him, setting her head in the hollow of his shoulder and sliding a leg up, over his hip. "What was it this time?"

He raised his good arm around her and soothed a line down her spine with a fingertip. "Pierce."

She went still. "Alexander Pierce?"

"Mm." He ran the fingertip back up again, focusing on the smooth softness of her skin.

"You never mention him." Her voice was hesitant, like she knew she was venturing into uncharted waters. "Like, ever."

"Mm." He let his eyes slide shut, feeling his breathing slow and running his hand back up her spine.

"Which tells me you reserve most of the residual fear for him."

He snorted. "What are you—my new shrink?"

She ducked her head a little in a show of submission, which was so not-Darcy that he was alarmed for a second.

He laughed. "I'm pulling your leg, Darce."

"Oh."

He swallowed. "But…yeah. You're probably right."

She started drawing nonsense lines on the skin of his chest with a fingertip. "You wanna talk about it?"

He shrugged. "Nothing new, really. Had me on the machine. Arguing with the scientists. I woke up as I was biting down on the mouth guard this time, though, so that was better."

She stiffened again. "It…was a replay of…that footage?"

"Mm, another version of it, I guess, yeah." He tightened his arm around her, trying to tromp down on the sudden urge to turn her onto her back again and lose himself in her. He still had to ask Bruce about…whether or not he was like Steve or completely unable. He figured it was probably a toss-up. They couldn't keep doing this and assuming the protection would continue to hold; and a baby was the last thing he needed. "Why?"

She raised her head to look at him, shifting so she could rest her chin on his chest. "I hate that footage the most."

He frowned, confused. "Why?"

Her eyes fell a little. "Just…the look on your face. And your…screaming. I've watched it a few times, but I can't get through it without crying, and Darcy Lewis does not cry. With the exception of that Game of Thrones episode last week, because that was brutal. I can't…I can't watch…that footage."

His heart squeezing, he reached both arms around her and shifted, gathering her against him, their legs tangling. "I'm fine, Darce. I'm better."

"I wanna reach into your head and pluck out the nasty shit. And that would be first. Every time I see him slap you I wanna shoot him in the fucking face."

"Sshhh…" he soothed, running his metal hand up and down her back. He kissed her, softly. "It's over. I'm alright."

She rolled her eyes. "This soothing part's my job."

He smirked at her in the dark, her eyes just little pricks in the light coming in from outside, all the noise from the street, far below, and the skyscraper signs around them. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

He sighed, parting from her.

"Where you going?"

He looked at her. "Darcy…"

She sat up, hooking a leg over his hip and straddling him, letting out a soft moan as she felt his arousal against her. "I got my shot last month. We're good." She leaned over to kiss him, and he slid his tongue into her mouth, running teasingly over her bottom lip.

"You are…insatiable."

She laughed, low. "Mm-hmm…" Her hand slid between them, and she smiled against his mouth. "Whatever they gave you to make you like Steve, I'm glad this is a side-effect. That was fast, soldier. I'll have to ask Nat about it…"

"Shut up. Don't wanna talk about Steve…"

She laughed, reaching down again.

His breath hitched as she slid herself down around him, and she leaned forward to brace herself on the bed beside his head, her hair a curtain over one shoulder. She canted her hips, working the angle until he was stroking right where she needed him, and her eyes shut for a moment as she adjusted.

He clenched his jaw as he grasped her hips in his hands, focusing on being gentle with his left, but it was difficult as she started moving in earnest.

His hands slid up to her waist, and around, tugging her torso closer to him so he could kiss her, and she leaned. He closed his mouth around her throat and she moaned again as he sucked at a sensitive spot near her shoulder. He'd learned well that teasing at her breasts didn't do much of anything for her, but her throat was sensitive, especially around her pulse. If he could reach, the tiny spot just behind her ear did it too, and the small of her back.

He drew lines there, very softly, and her rhythm hitched, and she bit her lip. "Buck."

"Mm?"

She didn't answer, but leaned over further, altering the angle so she could kiss him, bite down on his lower lip.

He jerked, smirking, and he tugged again on her waist, sharpening the angle she wanted again. Two could play that game.

She came with a soft cry, pausing to look dazedly down at him. "I hate you," she rasped, but it was weak and he reveled in the hoarseness of her voice.

Taking advantage of the distraction, he turned them over so she was beneath him. "No, you don't," he murmured, gathering her close to him.

She was still struggling to breathe. "Yeah, pretty sure I do."

He pulled back for a gentle thrust, the angle still shallow with them all gathered together, and smirked again as she gasped another mewling moan in his ear.

"Or maybe I don't," she sighed, curling her legs around him and reaching around his neck to run her hands down his back.

He smiled.

"Your eyes crinkle when you grin," she said, her voice soft and low.

"Mm?"

"Yeah," She sounded sleepy with pleasure. "It's, like, my favorite thing about your face."

He kissed her silent, and went to work, his arms around her shoulders and her face exquisitely focused and pinched, something else adorable.

She paused, laughing, to slide off her glasses and toss them down on the bedside table before pulling his face down for a searing kiss that was so open and hot that he laughed into her mouth as he shook apart, much earlier than he usually did, and certainly earlier than he intended.

She laughed, canting her hips and enjoying the sensation. "I win," she declared a moment later, looking up at him a little smugly.

"I fold," he replied, sighing as he eased away and back down to the bed.

She curled into his side again. "Better?"

"Mm." He tilted his head to fulfill her request for another kiss.

For a long while, they lay there, listening to the distant strains of traffic horns and shouting far, far below, the sound of the breeze. It was February now, still too cold to let in any breeze for long. He rose to shut the slat and came back, and she watched, her eyes glued to the gorgeous lines of his toned body. "Keep your eyes in your head, Lewis."

She laughed, poking his side as he laid back down. "Hey, I could be fantasizing about Thor."

He snorted.

She settled her head back down again, pressing her face against his side, and she sighed.

"Love you," he murmured.

For a long moment, she was silent, and he'd started drifting off again when she finally spoke. "When do you leave tomorrow?"

He blinked, sighing, and slid an arm around her. "Wheels up at one. Why?"

She snuggled closer. "Because I worry about you every time you go. I barely sleep."

He laughed gently. "Darcy, baby, I'm probably the surest bet to come home without a scratch, outta the whole bunch. Sam's just working with his pack, Steve doesn't have a cybernetic arm."

"He has his shield."

He shrugged. "Yeah."

"Just…don't get too confident. I'm a firm believer in the jinx."

"Besides, you got the girls while we're gone. You're all…in the same boat, I guess. Nat. Maria. Jane's a nervous wreck every time Thor goes back for the shortest visit to Asgard."

She nodded, looking down at her fidgeting hand on his chest. "I know."

"And you got this to keep you company." He grabbed up her left hand and held it out.

The silver ring shone in the dim light and the three carat setting was so huge, Darcy still felt like it should weigh her down. She'd argued when she'd seen it, nestled there, in that gorgeous Tiffany's box, feeling embarrassed at just the thought of wearing it and drawing attention from the girls. But he'd insisted that he was weighed down himself by veteran's back pay, let alone his salary from Tony.

She glanced over, into the other room, toward the couch. They'd been all snuggled up, watching Sherlock, and he'd asked her if she still felt like hanging around. And he'd sighed and said he couldn't keep ignoring the weight in his pocket and slid out of their cocoon and to the floor on both knees.

"Just in case I gotta bribe ya," he'd quipped as he'd opened the box, but she saw the nervousness in his eyes as she'd stared at him, her mouth open and her eyes wide.

"What…?" she'd asked, surprised that he'd jumped at this so fast, again, so much faster and calmer than she'd ever expected anything from him.

But his words were so soft, nothing trite and nothing cheesy, no speech and no flowery declarations or confessions. "Will you?"

She'd sighed. "Get back up here so I can kiss you!" had been her only reply.

"Yeah…I know…" she said now.

"What is it?" he pressed gently.

She shrugged. "I love the ring. But…I'd rather have you than the ring. I don't want anything to happen to you when you're out there." She rolled her eyes. "God damn it, Barnes, you've reduced smart-ass Darcy to a blithering girl."

He laughed, but his eyes were soft. "I'm careful. We all are, we always are. This is just a grab for intel. Ship off the coast of Romania is harboring HYDRA files. We're going in, getting it, then getting back out again. It's gonna be a palms up run, twenty minutes in and out. We've done this a half dozen times in the past month, babe. The ride on the quinjet there and back is gonna be longer, and believe me—with those two punks, that's the hardest part of the mission."

She smiled. "I know. Don't kill each other."

He snorted. "No guarantees."

She cuddled closer. "Just…be careful."

))))))))))((((((((((

"You got everything?"

"Yep."

"And Tony checked out your arm?"

"Always does."

"And the jet's all fueled?"

"Doll. We're not going to war. Trust me. This ain't what war looks like."

"Just espionage," Sam quipped as he crossed by them with his bag, Maria waving from behind them. "Wheel's up."

"Yep."

"You've got—"

"Darcy." He grabbed her shoulders. "I'm back day after tomorrow. Go watch a few movies and I'll be back before you think twice."

"I just worry—"

"I know. But I gotta go."

She sighed. "Kiss."

He complied, pulling her close and laying a good one on her. "Love you. Don't lose that thing down the drain." He fingered the ring on her hand.

"Very funny."

He began away, toward the jet.

"Love you!" she called.

He waved over his shoulder and didn't look back. She hated that. He did it every time. The worst part was knowing he did it so he'd be able to make himself go.

"They'll be fine," Nat said at her shoulder.

"I know," she sighed.

"You're not alone. We can be miserable together."

Maria came over and completed their group. "Sounds about right. Mojitos?"

"Those are for parties," Darcy said, shaking her head as the engines fired up and the pit closed, the landing board shutting with a tremendous boom. "I want something harder."

"Vodka?" Natasha offered.

They both nodded. "Yeah. Sounds about right," Maria agreed.

))))))))))((((((((((

"So…were you planning on telling us about this…boulder on your hand, or…?" Natasha began, eyeing her, hard, an eyebrow cocked down at Darcy's left hand. She set the vodka bottle on the counter.

"Were you just waiting for us to kidnap you and torture you first?" Maria added, smirking mischievously as she pulled three shot glasses out of her tiny cabinet.

Darcy bit her lip, looking between the two of them with uncertain eyes.

A knock sounded at the door, and Maria went to open it.

"My saving grace," Darcy muttered.

Natasha snickered.

"No, it's really not," Wanda contradicted as she swept in and shut the door behind her.

Darcy scowled. "Stop doing that creepy thing where you're, like, omniscient. I'm not the only one who hates it."

"You are, however, at a disadvantage," Natasha pointed out, topping off a fourth shot glass in Maria's offered hand.

Darcy sighed. "Nope. Not going there."

Maria studied Natasha. "There's gotta be a way."

"Since when do you clam up like this? You told us all about little Ian," Wanda pointed out, throwing her shot back and wincing as she forced it down her throat. It was only a matter of time now, until her accent thickened further.

Darcy threw her own back like a college pro and upended the glass on the counter. "Since six months ago."

Maria rolled her eyes. "The thing's huge. He is aware of that, yes?"

She shrugged. "Backpay. He's, like, the oldest POW on record."

"Princess cut," Natasha said, sparing a glance at it.

Maria leaned over. "Two carats?"

"No," Natasha corrected, shaking her head. "Three."

"Fine silver," Wanda added. "Did he have a speech all planned out? That sounds like him."

Darcy pulled a face. "How on earth does that sound like him? Getting words out of him is like pulling teeth." Then she bit her lip, realizing she'd just fallen for her trick. "And the reverse psychology has just run its course."

Natasha looked downright devious at their shameless ploy.

"One more shot—and I will not fall for that again."
Maria sighed, flipping her glass back over. "Yeah, hit me again. Sam passed out after the briefing last night and I didn't even get send-off sex. I'm pissed at him."

Wanda snorted. "I'll bet Natasha did."

Natasha cocked that brow again. "Do you hear me complaining?"

They all downed a second shot in silence and stood there, staring at each other.

"Seriously—nothing?" Maria continued. "You got nothing? We're dying. Jane's not here and she's the easy mark. Bucky, like, never speaks. He's like Fort Knox. You gotta give us something."

Darcy squirmed, the vodka easing her unease a little, and she crossed the room to flounce down on Maria's leather couch. "Guys…" Weakest warning tone ever.

They all followed, throwing themselves down.

"C'mon…" Wanda needled. "She wants to, it's in her face."

She shook her head, rolling her eyes, that old urge back, like a dog over its prey, the 'back-off' warming the back of her throat. He was not a goddamn sideshow.

Natasha narrowed her eyes. "She's defensive."

"So, possessive," Maria read.

"Are you guys watching too much Sherlock? What the fuck?"

Wanda giggled, then caught herself, and slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. "Ooh, too much vodka."

"You're an awful lightweight for being part of that whole tradition."

But Natasha was still studying her. "He treats her well; that much is obvious."

She wondered if she was blushing.

"And she's blushing," Maria added.

Darcy rolled her eyes. "God, I hate women."

"Blushing, yeah, so the sex is good."

She clenched her jaw.

Up went the eyebrow. "Really good. Hm. Interesting. Wonder if Stark's taken a look at the contents of his blood, the signature of whatever Zola dosed him with."

Darcy made what she knew was a feeble attempt. "And do you wanna tell us about how that effects Stevie, perhaps?"

Natasha shrugged. "Nah."

"Deflection," Maria pointed out, moving right along. "She's had that thing for…two weeks, right?"

"Not too long after New Year's."

"That was the night Lukin tried to take him back in for HYDRA," Wanda offered.

"So…big night, I'm thinking," Maria said, nodding. "Now we're getting somewhere."

"He's still having the nightmares," Natasha spoke, quietly.

Darcy's jaw dropped open, tired of this game. "Okay. I'm gonna go." She made to stand.

Maria pushed her back into the cushion. "You've got circles under your eyes. You were up last night—and not all of it for good reasons." She winked suggestively.

She glared at each of them in turn. "I'm telling on you all to Steve as soon as that quinjet lands back on the pad. He's gonna be pissed."

Natasha smirked. "Probably. He's fun when he's pissed."

Maria chuckled. "Is he?"

"Bucky's not," Wanda added, studying her further. "Although most of what ails him effects Darcy more than it effects him."

That one she decided to take a passing glance at. "Okay, fine. You want something? I wanna bring Alexander Pierce back from the dead so I can shoot him in the fucking face myself. Happy?" she snapped, her patience dissolving, the alcohol drawing it all to a sudden, fine point.

It went silent.

The girls stared at her, looking slightly more sober.

Wanda swallowed.

"Fury gave him two rounds to the heart," Natasha offered, looking—shockingly—vaguely guilty.

Darcy leaned forward. "Not. Good enough. Nothing short of getting him between the eyes with a sawed-off would be good enough."

Maria cleared her throat. "I haven't seen that footage."

Darcy sat back, suddenly feeling those few sleepless hours the night before. "Good. Don't. I can't get it out of my head, anymore than I can get it out of his." Her voice had softened now, and she realized they'd gotten her angry enough to talk.

"So…he remembers that?" Natasha asked; of course, she would've gone back later and watched every scrap of intel she herself had dumped.

She sighed. What was the use? "He remembers most of…that. I think he's…remembered everyone he…now, anyway. It's the stuff before that he has trouble with."

"Before the War?"

She nodded, looking away, at the gray, rainy sky out the window. "Bits and pieces. Fuzzy scraps. Snatches of conversation. Steve's mother's funeral. Zola's lab. Getting out."

"The train?" Maria asked.

She shrugged. "I dunno. He doesn't…say it all."

"But he talks to you?" Wanda, looking concerned from her armchair.

She bit her lip. "Yeah." She sighed. "Guys, I can't…can we not…do this? He's not…a circus sideshow. I know that's not what you mean, but he's..."

"Too important to betray," Wanda finished, effectively shutting it down.

Maria sighed. "We just…wanted to make sure this wasn't, like…a fling gone mad, what with that ridiculously huge rock on your finger."

Natasha nodded. "I hate you, that thing's perfect."

Wanda agreed. "And she wouldn't have said yes if he'd made a flowery speech. Probably a handful of words left his mouth."

Darcy sighed. "He talks more about Game of Thrones."

Natasha eyed her hard. "You two asses are going to finish that before Steve and I! You're making a game out of it, aren't you? I told Steve you were sneaking around! He didn't believe me!"

Darcy eyed her. "You're two seasons back. You'll never catch us now! Hah!"

Natasha gestured. "Wait—we're on the one with where the little prick gets slapped by the Lannister guy—Tyrion! What season is that?"

"Two."

Her face fell. "And you're already to season four?!"

Darcy laughed. "You know, for a spy, you can't even keep character names straight."

She rolled her eyes as she slumped in the chair. "Hey. There are a lot of people in that show. Goddamn it, I told Steve!" She muttered something in Russian.

Darcy snickered. "Just wait. You're gonna love what happens at the beginning of the season…"

Natasha shook her head in betrayal, glaring out the window. "Ugh."

"I have the fifth season all queued up on Netflix. We're just about there."

"You bitch."

"It's just…it happened really fast," Maria pointed out, eyeing her ring again.

Darcy rolled her eyes. "You wanna ask the Spider over there about fast?"

But Maria wasn't budging until she was satisfied. "I guess it's just…he's…okay enough…for…all this?"

Darcy sighed, looking back out the window for something to do. "He says…I'm the only thing that makes any sense."

She could practically feel Wanda melting at her side.

"Does that fold your argument?" she asked, eyeing up Maria.

She nodded, looking slightly embarrassed.

"I'm really exhausted, okay, guys. Can we just put on something to distract us—a movie? I worry about him constantly when they're out there. I mean, we still don't know if any of his conditioning is still…interwoven in his brain. It just…freaks me out."

"You said he was fine after New Year's?" Wanda pointed out.

"Yeah, Steve said he was fine when they talked on the phone—actually, he seemed a lot more at ease later that night," Natasha added, and Darcy didn't miss her own very subtle blush.

"He was…but…Lukin tried knocking him out with a sleeper phrase and at first it didn't work, and I thought we were golden. But then…"

Maria leaned forward, ever the team head on intel, ready to soak up the info. "What?"

She looked to Natasha. "You know how they are, him and Steve. They don't get tired as easy, and they're stamina is ridiculous. His pain threshold is insane, but…Lukin repeated the phrase, and it had him on his knees, the pain in his head was so bad. He said it was blinding."

Natasha was scowling, like she was itching to call Steve and tell him right there.

Darcy swallowed. "It freaked me out. I mean, he's so…strong. But…just a handful of Russian and…"

"Do you think it would've worked?" Natasha asked.

Darcy sighed. "I don't know. He shook it off, but…seriously, I haven't been able to get it outta my head. He insists they're always careful when they're out, but all it takes is one guy to recognize him or something, and—I don't wanna think about him just disappearing. Not only would it be awful if they were able to reestablish their hold over him, but…"

Maria leaned forward again. "But?"

She chewed on her lip. "He has enough trouble with this as it is. I don't wanna think about what might happen if he wakes up after being forced into it a second time. I don't think the guilt would release him a second time. I don't think he'd be able to…"

She felt guilty for doing this; talking about him. But she could hear him in her head, their discussion not a week previous.

The girls still asking about us?

They won't let it go. It really is like an episode of Sex and the City—you were right.

Babe, if it makes you feel better…

Why would it make me feel better? What goes on in your head is none of their business.

Yeah, but I've got the doc. And you. You've gotta have someone to talk to, other than me and Stevie. Go ahead. Just, you know, don't tell 'em what we do in bed.

That feels like a betrayal.

If you can't confide in them, then you're betraying yourself a little too, aren't you?

She sighed. "I just…I wish I knew what to do for him. Most of the time, now, he's fine. You know? He's getting better, he's just a regular guy. But…"

"He gets that look in his eye," Natasha offered, her eyes somber. "Right?"

Darcy snorted bitterly. "Loki said it best."

Wanda frowned, confused. "What?"

"Called him—"

"A 'man out of time'," they said, nearly in unison.

Maria nodded.

"Jerked awake last night, woke me up. He's used to most of the nightmares now, they don't bother him too much. He gets a glass of water, goes back to sleep, but this one…"

"Pierce?"

She nodded at Natasha. "He never mentions Pierce. He's told me just about everything else, but he never mentions Pierce. I can…feel the fear, rising off his skin, I think most of its wrapped up in that bastard. And he's already dead. Makes me feel useless. And I can tell he hates it. I think most of the wiping and conditioning went on under his watch. And a lot of it is fuzzy now, it's just…vague feelings and images and the sound of that machine—"

"Machine?"

It was Natasha who spoke again. "They used electroshock to wipe his mind, if he started to remember anything. Steve told me…" She visibly hesitated. "Anyway, he broke his conditioning on that helicarrier, when they nearly killed each other, and if Bucky would start to remember things, they'd…well, they'd shock him and start over. Wipe him. Or they'd put him back in cryo."

Wanda's lip curled in disdain. "Bastards."

"He told me he was alright. But now they're gone and I can't keep an eye on him, and I feel stupid for even wanting to—he's a grown man, he's with Steve, he doesn't need a babysitter, and he'd resent the implication that he does—"

"But you're his touchstone."

They all turned to look at Wanda. She blinked. "What?"

"I'm his what?"

She shrugged. "His touchstone. The thing that keeps him grounded. He's leaned on you. We all have one. Sometimes this is an idea or a dream, a distant concept. Sometimes it is a person, someone you cannot live without. He has chosen you. He does not wish to live without you. It is simple, really. You are his North Star, his Polaris."

Darcy blinked.

Wanda shrugged, a smile pulling at her mouth. "It is romantic, really."

Darcy sighed, turning to throw herself across the couch, sprawling. "God…"

"So, he's not okay?" Maria clarified.

"I dunno, Maria! Go talk to his shrink! Do you think a brainwashing victim is capable of being alright again? What do you think? Gee, I dunno—maybe he's gonna snap next week and gun us all down in his sleep!"

Natasha crossed to sit next to her, shoving at her legs until she could lie down beside her and gathered her into her arms.

"That's not what I meant."

She sighed again. "I know."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

Natasha buried her face in Darcy's neck, combing her hair back. Darcy was a little surprised at this; she'd been growing closer to the girls for a while, more in the last month since she'd moved into the Tower. But she'd never known Natasha to be physically affectionate with anyone other than Steve—or maybe Clint. She'd certainly never had a relationship with a girlfriend in the past that was close enough to involve cuddling like this.

But it made her feel better, a little less frayed.

"I just was making sure he was really okay. Emotionally, not mentally. Tony might be flippant about it, but he's right—if he was gonna snap, he'd have done it by now."

Darcy let her eyes slide shut. "He's fine. He's strong. He's just…he's so tired. He's exhausted. He's like Steve. Guilt pulls him so hard. And he barely sleeps."

"Sounds to me, that somewhere in all this, the sex is ridiculous. Brooding men are always terrific in bed," Wanda declared from the couch.

They all twisted to look at her.

She shrugged impishly, eyes wide. "What—you thought I only clung to Pietro all my life?!"

They all burst out laughing.

))))))))))((((((((((

The next two days passed—mercifully—without incident and with nearly sufficient distraction. Natasha checked in with her more than once, and while Darcy worried that it was out of pity, she was relieved to see the spy showing signs of her own distress. When she ducked her head into the lab the following afternoon to tell her she'd pinged Steve's tracker over the Atlantic, Darcy nodded gratefully, sure that she was reading nerves in the stone-solid former assassin's tired eyes.

She spent her time entering Jane's new data, nibbling on her lip as the numbers went to work, working out the readings into some form of graph that the tiny scientist was able to extrapolate into something that seemed to resemble results.

Thor largely kept himself entertained playing Plants vs. Zombies on Jane's tablet when he wasn't being briefed, cursing the undead miscreants under his breath in what Darcy was sure were half a dozen different languages, none of them actually from earth. One of them sounded so guttural and violent that she asked if it was Klingon, and received the typical quizzical frown from the big, sweet brute as the reference sailed right over his head.

Tony dropped in to leave her a few files he needed sorting through on his Ultron project, but left her to her duties with Jane and went into a meeting with Maria.

The following morning was all his, though, and she sat in one corner of his shop, listening to him muttering under his breath as she typed up a report for him, and he called out orders to JARVIS, the two of them keeping an odd, yet highly entertaining soundtrack of sarcastic jibes and passive aggressive suggestions. He was working on another drone for his Legion, but it kept restarting, over and over, until finally something sparked violently, short-circuited, and Tony stormed out, throwing down his rag and telling her they were done for the day and that she was free to go brood in her quarters. She smiled apologetically, got him a double espresso, left it quietly on the end of his desk, and left. He seemed to appreciate the sentiment, and she tried not to laugh out loud when he threatened to bust DUM-E's motherboard for parts.

She went back to her empty suite and sat on the couch, watching reruns of Mork & Mindy and finishing the last of her Chinese takeout from the night before, trying not to notice how huge the space was, and how quiet it had gotten.

She'd been pleasantly surprised to find that Bucky was the cook of the two of them. She'd come home two weeks prior to find him rooting quietly through the cabinets, muttering to himself as he pulled out a huge pot. Setting her purse down, she'd enjoyed the rare instance of watching him when he had no idea she was there, and she'd stood for a full five minutes, watching the muscles in his strong back move as he stirred tomato sauce in a smaller pot on the back burner, humming quietly under his breath. He'd been dropping the pasta into the large pot when he finally saw her out of the corner of his eye. Of course, he denied that he jumped, but she soon quit teasing him when he'd plated the best red pasta dish she'd ever had, moving right on to the question of where in Manhattan he'd found fresh basil at four on a Friday afternoon. She could do a little cooking herself, but nothing fancy. She didn't see the point of the effort when she was alone.

The bed was like an ice sheet. It got harder and harder every time he was out on an op, and she wondered if she'd ever get used to it. The realization that she'd soon become what amounted to a military wife made her laugh hysterically for a few moments before it lost its bitter appeal. Furthermore, she knew he'd vociferously deny that he was a member of the military anymore, even though she'd been with SHIELD long enough to know the difference. He was a bit touchy about the War; not in any aggressive way. But she could always tell when even one further question could tip his mood into sadness. It was a balancing act that she was getting good at playing. It stung, though, that he was ever in pain. She was slowly acclimating herself to that too; dealing with his pain. She felt useless most of the time, even while he insisted that sitting on the couch and making him watch some TV show was her doing exactly what he needed her to do.

So, shivering and stuffing her headphones in her ears, she finally fell asleep, late, twisting her ring nervously on her finger and wondering if Natasha was doing the same. She debated going to find her for a moment, knowing she spent these ops in their old quarters, but was determined to do it on her own. And besides, she thought maybe Natasha wouldn't appreciate an interruption in her own musings.

She was determined, as she dropped off, to find a better distraction the next day.

))))))))))((((((((((

Yawning, Bucky flashed his keycard in front of the gage on their door and it popped open for him. He pushed it open all the way and went in. "Welcome back, Sir," JARVIS greeted him. He nodded; he was never sure just what to do with the ever-watchful butler program. He was still trying to decide if it comforted him or made him uneasy, the knowledge that he was being watched at all times to some varying degree.

"Darce?" he called out as he dropped his bag on the hardwood by the door, music greeting him, but no fiancé.

Fiancé. God. He was still a little dumbfounded, let alone apprehensive. Was there a timetable now? Was he expected to do…something? This was another obnoxiously fuzzy area in his brain, and he cursed it silently as he moved into their shared space, the soft hisses and wisps of a playing LP drifting through the apartment.

"Once there was a way/to get back homeward. Once there was a way/to get back home…"

He swallowed, frowning at the lyrics as he came further in. "Darcy?"

"Sleep, pretty darlin'/do not cry. And I will sing a lullaby."

He sighed. She wouldn't have left the record player on if she'd stepped out. Maybe she'd darted out quick to help Tony with something?

The strings on the song started up again, repeating, and the same lyrics met him, a rasping voice, deep and vaguely mournful.

"Once there was a way/to get back homeward. Once there was a way/to get back home…"

A knot formed in his stomach, and he swallowed, hard. No kidding.

Then the song changed, the tempo pulling up tight, the signature picking up speed, and the strings disappeared.

"Boy, you're gonna carry that weight/carry that weight a long time."

The knot in his stomach tightened painfully, and he scowled, crossing the room quickly to pluck the needle off the LP, watching numbly as it slowly spun to a stop and sat there expectantly.

Silence. He cocked his head, frowning, but his strengthened hearing picked up nothing—but, wait—

"JARVIS? Is there something wrong with the record player?"

Darcy came slip-sliding down the hall from their bedroom, frowning curiously and muttering to herself. She was wearing a pair of his boxers, an old t-shirt that said Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge on it, a button down of his over it, and a pair of bright pink knee-high socks. "Can you even scan tech that isn't controlled by you or…? I should probably know how Tony's tech works, shouldn't I?" She looked up and froze as she spotted him.

He squinted, pointing at the deck. "Beatles?" he guessed.

The only answer he got was a happy squeal as she threw herself at him.

"Whoa!" He caught himself back on his heels, smiling bemusedly and wrapping his arms around her. "Okay. I'm gonna assume I got it right."

"Oh, God," she groaned unexpectedly. "Sorry. Probably not the best way to introduce you to musical genius. The lyrics to that aren't very…" She shook her head. "Golden Slumbers and Carry that Weight. I'm sorry."

He just laughed.

She pulled back out of his embrace. "Are you okay?" She grabbed him again and started checking him over. "You're alright?"

He chuckled. "I'm fine. I lied though."

Her face went slack. "What?"

He smirked. "It only took us ten minutes, not twenty." He held out his arms. "Not a scratch." He raised a brow. "You can check later, if you want."

She frowned at him, reaching out to swat him. "Jerkface!"

He laughed, reaching for her and pulling her close. "I'm just teasing. How were the past two days? I miss anything good? Tony didn't blow the building over, I see."

She rolled her eyes. "Nearly."

"Oh?"

"He and Drone 13 are engaged in a battle of wits—and Tony's losing."

He whistled low. "Foiled again."

"Yeah. Was pretty brutal yesterday. Tony called an early retreat and I was stuck here in the silence."

"See? I told you—this place is too big for one person."

She settled her head on his chest. "I sound like a total girl—I missed you."

His hand settled warmly in the space between her shoulder blades and pressed tenderly.

"I was cleaning, just to keep myself busy. And I moved things around a little in the bedroom, I hope that's okay."

"My space is your space. Doesn't matter." He shrugged.

"You're so blasé about most things, it's a juxtaposition."

He grinned, parting from her to retrieve his bag. "I see you haven't lost anything down the drain."

She blushed. "I used the dishwasher."
He laughed. "Of course you did."

She narrowed her eyes. "And I see you look exhausted. You sure you're alright?"

He shrugged again. "I can't sleep on that quinjet—I can pilot it, but I can't sleep on it. It's a lost cause. JARVIS takes over, the two of them strap in and all I do is sit there, listening to Steve move around and Sam snore. It's awful."

She smirked. "Maybe you'll actually sleep through the night, then, tonight. Something else that's similar between you and Project: Rebirth. Regardless of the dreams, you barely sleep. You're up with the sun. Are you sure you haven't got the same serum?"

He shrugged. "Hell if I know, doll." Tossing his bag down on the couch, he nodded at her shirt. "Like the t-shirt. Should wear that on our next HYDRA raid."

She grinned, looking down at the black material and splashed red writing. "No, no, we haven't gotten to this band yet. My Chemical Romance is way too recent. We have to take your music history chronologically, or it won't make any sense. Trust me."

He rolled his eyes, smirking. "And what's with the socks? You're a fashion plate today."

She bopped playfully, showing off the look. "I said, I've been cleaning. Just threw this on. I don't have to look office-ready at all times, do I?"

He shrugged, but there was a playful gleam in his azure eyes. "You can walk around naked for all I care, doll."

Then it was her turn to roll her eyes. "Oh, and you'd care so much." She pointed her toe. "You like the naughty schoolgirl look? Considering you're from the 40s, I'm sure there's a joke in there somewh—"

He cut her off as he crossed to her and hauled her over his shoulder, drawing a shriek from her, then another as he held her in place with a big hand on her ass.

"You caveman!" She wriggled, giggling. "Put me down."

He laughed as he went down the hall. "Nah. You're fun when you squeal like that."

She stopped struggling, instead poking him on the back and tugging at a strand of hair. "Gotta trim that hair. It's nearly to your shoulders."

"Bother you? I can cut it back to 1945, if you want."

She laughed. "God, no. I like my men with wild hair." She pretended to wriggle again, and was rewarded for her efforts when he flipped her onto her back on the bed. She fell back and sprawled out.

He tossed his bag down beside her and set to unpacking, tossing some folded clothes on the bed, the rest in a small pile on the floor.

"You got the intel, though?"

He nodded. "Yep. Steve will probably pour over it tonight."

"Poor Natasha. There's a chance I've gotten to know her too well. I could see right through her this time, and she's a bit of a raw nerve herself."

He smiled, leaning over to kiss her when she wriggled over and sat up in his face. "I'm sure she'll find a way to get what she wants outta him. Stevie's a sucker like that."

She raised a brow, grabbing him and hauling him down on top of her while he was distracted. "Oh? And you're not?" She curled a leg around his thigh and laughed as he tried to leverage himself back up.

He sighed. "…Maybe a little."

She giggled, throwing her head back. "Yeah, you sure?"

His mouth teased at her throat. "Notice I'm not struggling."

"I did notice."

She clung on as he stood, shrieking when he made to fumble her. "I need a shower. I suppose you'll insist on joining me?"

"How else can I be sure you're totally clean?"

He laughed and kicked the door shut behind them.

She was right, of course—he slept clean through the night, without interruption. She was up before him, actually, which was so rare that she laid there, watching him, the soft angle of his head, tilted away from her, the dusky shadow on his jaw where he'd shaven just the afternoon before, fresh out of the shower. She bit her lip, reaching up to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes, and he shifted, turning over to face her with a sleepy sigh.

The sun cut a gorgeous angle into the room and lit off the side of his jaw. She stared.

He slowly came awake, shifting and sighing, his arm snaking across to find her, and he pulled her in close, eyeing her through a cracked slit, cerulean blue in the dawn light. "Morning," he rasped.

She smiled, snuggling against him. "Mm, your sexy voice."

He whispered a laugh. "You bein' creepy, Lewis?"

"Hm, was it considered creepy to watch your partner sleeping back in 1945?"

"It's always been considered creepy, Lewis."

She giggled softly, squirming as his fingers danced down her bare back. "Guilty as charged."

"Mm…" He stretched, and she heard at least three joints pop and crack. "Only good thing about every op, I get to come back and sleep like the dead."

She turned over to glance at the clock. "That was a good, solid ten hours. Any dreams?"

He frowned, looking thoughtful. "Yeah. Two. I think."

She sighed. "Aww. Well, shit." She slumped.

"No, no. They were good."

Surprised, she nestled closer. "Oh?"

There was a smile lost somewhere on his face. "Haven't had a good dream in…God, years. Sarah and Steve were there. I don't remember…what was happening..." He frowned in contemplation, looking around as he concentrated. "Nope. It's gone. We were laughing though. And Sarah, she looked…good. So it must've been before she got sick."

She bit her lip. "How'd she die?"

He sighed. "Pneumonia. Took her quick, too. She was such a looker, Stevie's mom. Real dame."

She smiled at his speech. "What about his dad?"

"Joe died when we were kids. Don't remember him real much. Stevie looked like him, though, I remember that. He had Sarah's eyes."

She ran a hand down his front and rested her palm on a hip. "What about your parents?"

He frowned, thought for a moment, then shook his head. "They're still elusive. Remember they were both around. Depression was hard. We were better off than Rogers, though. But he was always too damn proud about it. Didn't stop me from bullying him into stuff, though." He smiled, his eyes far away.

She rested her chin on his shoulder. "What was the other one about?"

"You were there."

She blinked, surprised. "I was?"

"Mm. Don't remember what was happening. We were outside. There was a field. I remember the yellow dandelions."

"Ooh, sounds intriguing," she chuckled.

"You were in white." His voice was so hushed and soft, it gave her pause, and she jerked her head back, staring at him.

"White?"

He blinked, hearing her implication. "Don't think it was that kinda white. But I don't remember anything else. You were laughing." Then the spell on him seemed to break, and he blinked again, looking at her. "That's it, the rest is gone."

She swallowed, her heart jumping into her throat in anticipation. Was this about to fall apart? No. No, he looked, if anything, contemplative.

"I don't…really remember what I'm supposed to do here, and I'm…so far outta my depth on this I'm actually in the wrong decade." He winked.

She rolled her eyes.

"I'm not sure…what I'm supposed to do in 2016."

Having a feeling what he meant, she leaned back over. "Well, it's pretty ambiguous, nowadays. What do you wanna do?"

His hand found her thigh. "Are we supposed to…I dunno. Talk about this?"

She smiled. "You are so fucking cute."

He blushed.

"What do you wanna do?"

"Make good on my promise. But aren't I supposed to be asking you that question?"

Another shrug. "Not really like that anymore. What was it like then?"

He surprised her when he barked out a laugh. "Well, back then, ma would'a kicked my ass straight to confession by now, I remember that much."

She burst out laughing, throwing her head back. "Have you been a naughty boy?"

He followed her, his laughter loose and warm; she reveled in it, it was such a precious rarity. "Yeah, think so."

She sighed. "Then what?"

"I dunno, Darce. Never got that far."

"Just far enough to be a dog?"

He snorted. "Guess so. I dunno. You'd be sequestered away from me somewhere with all the ladies, I'd be reprimanded, we'd be shunted in by the nearest priest and you'd be gussied up in as many white layers the ladies could get their hands on, just to make it difficult later."

She was still breathless with laughter. She was pretty sure she'd never laughed so much with a lover as she did with him. Which was saying something. "Lots of fire and brimstone?"

He was just as breathless, a smile still dancing on his mouth. "Oh, yeah, worse with us, 'cause I'd a had you already. Shame, shame. Gotta marry you now, case I knocked you up."

She swallowed. "Then you'd have gone off to war and I would've waited for you at home, and written you letters and—what? Worked the field as a nurse or gone to a munitions factory?"

His eyes were contemplative, still. "One of the two, yeah. We're on the coast, so you'd probably ship out as a nurse. Probably would'a ended up in London or Italy, or…"

It suddenly wasn't that funny anymore. She nuzzled him. "Wasn't as romantic and patriotic as it's been painted, was it?"

He sighed a deep, deep breath. "Well…for the folks at home it was, I guess."

"But…"

"The frontlines weren't so picturesque. And the Germans, they…" He hesitated.

"We don't have to talk about this," she cut him off.

His arm slid around her. "No, no." His voice was light. "The Germans were probably…painted a little better in the long run than it appeared they were then. I mean, I sure didn't get out without my fair share of scars. You've missed some on my back." He sounded vaguely playful.

But she was still mired in the darkness. "How'd you get through that? What pulled you through?"

Another deep breath. "A lot of that is hazy. It starts getting foggy around the whole bit with Zola and the train."

She squeezed him tighter.

"I remember I kept thinking that if I had one more day in me, that'd be one more day they couldn't claim. I remember that. Then Steve showed up, and the way he looked, I thought I was already dead."

"Sounds awful."

"Don't remember it to well."

"You don't remember the pain?"

He shook his head.

"Good." She pressed a kiss to his chest.

He gave her a sad smile. "Every life has pain, Darce."

A question suddenly popped up, one that she couldn't ignore, no matter how much she knew she probably didn't want to know. "Do…do you remember…?"

"Howard and Maria?"

She sat up, staring at him. "How—?"

A wry smile on his face. "Been waiting for you to ask."

Swallowing, she stared at him, watching the emotions play on his face.

"Yes." His voice was disturbingly clear and concise. "Yes. It was late. And dark. And wet. I set up a diversion on the main road, forcing them onto a rocky, narrow side thoroughfare, where the Pacific Coast Highway was being repaired. I left an oily mess there."

She winced.

"HYDRA had some new tech they wanted me to use. I waited until they were right on me, even with the cliff where I was perched. I hit them with the tech, the momentum threw the car onto the oily slick I'd created, and they went over. I went down, checked they were dead, retrieved the tech so it would look like an accident, and I left them there. Mission complete."

Not once did he blink, and his face was deceptively passive.

She stared at him, tears welling in her eyes. She swallowed again. "Buck—"

"That one I remember. Yes. That one was one of the first to come back. Not long after my reintegration put me in the path of some news articles about Tony. He looks just like his father, it's eerie."

She sighed in what resembled defeat. "He said he was hoping you didn't remember."

He fixed her with a hard stare. "And we're going to pretend that I don't. Okay? It's bad enough, as it is. I don't want him to be tempted to…"

"Ask you about it?"

He nodded, once. "Right. So…please."

She swallowed again, and nodded. "Okay. You…don't remember much about any of your…missions."

He shrugged. "It's an uneven lie, at worst. Most of them, I don't. Just the faces. The faces come back to me, even if I don't have names. Some of them are hazy. Some of them are clear as glass, like it was yesterday."

She ran a hand up his chest. "For you, just like for Steve, I'm sure it feels that way."

"It's weird."

"What?"

Another shrug. "The memories. It's like watching an old movie reel. Like, when we were kids and the War was just breaking out, and we went to the pictures." A vague smile crossed his face, like he knew he was aging himself again, just by talking. "But it's like it's me…but it's not me. I lose track of…what was real, and what…"

She swallowed, watching the grief play across his face.

"I'm looking out through my eyes, but…they don't feel like my hands, it doesn't feel like my body. It was me, but it wasn't. I wasn't…aware of what…I was doing. I can't sort out…how much was free will and how much…"

"Buck, none of that was free will."

"But…how can I be sure, when I remember it so clearly? It feels like I made the decision, I went through the planning and the prep and I ran their car off the road." He blinked, finally looking at her, his eyes clear and blue in the morning light. "How am I supposed to separate myself from…him? And how much of me…is too deep to retrieve?"

Her heart was pounding, but she wasn't ready yet to admit to herself how much this idea scared her. Reigning it in tight, she sat forward. "Bucky—"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm fine," he assured her, sighing, his hand running up her back. "I'm okay. It's just…sometimes it feels like…he's still in there…like he's sleeping. Like he's a ghost I have to carry around with me, the bastard."

She swallowed and snuggled in beside him again, nuzzling him to hide her terror-stricken face.