A few days later, Darcy came home from the lab and found a leather jacket hanging on a kitchen chair. A folded newspaper sat on the table. The door to the second bedroom was closed. She carefully inspected the rest of the apartment. Nothing else had changed from when she'd left that morning, except for the cat, who had been eyeing her suspiciously from the dresser in the master bedroom earlier and was now eyeing her suspiciously from one of the pillows on the bed.

Darcy knocked on the door to the second bedroom. "If you're not Bucky, you should know that I'm armed and extremely dangerous," she told the occupant. She waited a moment, but there was no sound from the bedroom. "If you are Bucky, I'm ordering Chinese food, so tell me if you want some." Still no response. "Okay, I'm just going to order extra so you don't eat mine. Again."

Darcy called in her order, then dumped a can of cat food into a dish and left it at the far edge of the kitchen. The cat slipped out of the master bedroom about twenty minutes later, ate the food, bumped her head against Darcy's shin, then ran back to the bedroom when the deliveryman rang the doorbell.

Bucky emerged from the second bedroom about fifteen minutes after that. Darcy was sitting on the couch in sweatpants with her feet up, eating kung pao chicken and watching last night's Daily Show. "Whoa," Darcy said, pausing the show. "You look like hell."

Bucky ran a hand through greasy hair. He had dark shadows under his eyes and a fading bruise on one cheekbone. "You sure know how to make a fella feel good." He trudged over to the kitchen counter and peered into the takeout bag.

"I'm not here to feed your ego," Darcy said. "Maybe you should go back to sleep."

"Wasn't sleeping," Bucky said.

"Maybe that's the problem," Darcy said. She looked him over. He was in a long-sleeved t-shirt with a spattering of bleach stains and dark green cargo pants worn ragged at the heels. He wasn't wearing shoes and his black socks had a hole in one toe. "You want to just hand over your knives now and save us both some time?"

"Not carrying any," Bucky said. He got a carryout container and chopsticks from the takeout bag and took them out to the living room where he dropped down on the recliner and dug into the food.

"I looked you up on Wikipedia," Darcy said, pointing at him with her fork. "It said you were born in 1917."

Bucky nodded, scooping chow mein into his mouth.

"But I figure you're not a vampire because you ate all my garlic pizza. Thanks for that, it was going to be my breakfast." She glared at him.

Bucky gave her a guilty look. "I got hungry."

"Skip the sad-puppy eyes." Darcy stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork. "The freezer's full of food."

"I was born in 1917," Bucky reminded her. "I don't know how to use a microwave."

"Really?"

Bucky nodded sadly. "It's sure hard to learn all this new-fangled stuff."

Darcy narrowed her eyes. "You are totally full of shit."

Bucky grinned and lifted his shoulders in a what can you do gesture. "It worked on Stark."

"Did you give him puppy eyes?" Darcy asked.

Bucky scratched his unshaven chin with the back end of a chopstick. "No, I don't think I did. Was that my tell? I oversold it?"

"I'm afraid so," Darcy said.

"I'll work on it." He scraped the last of the noodles into his mouth, then frowned at the empty box.

"Oh my God, you're as bad as Thor," Darcy sighed. "There's orange chicken, too," nodding toward the kitchen. She picked up the remote and pressed play.

"And now we go to Samantha Bee, Senior Intelligence Correspondent, for the latest on the superhero arms race. Sam?"

"Hi Jon! Thor has lead the arms race since the battle of New York and he's still going strong. The Yamblr campaign gained Hawkeye some ground, but Thor's reappearance in London dealt that a heavy blow."

Bucky leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the TV with a slight frown as he ate chicken from a takeout box.

"However, a new contender arose during the attack on D.C. Can you bring up a photo of the Falcon? There we go. Just look at those arms." The studio audience cheered.

"Uh, Samantha?"

"I'm looking at his arms, Jon."

"We're on the air, Sam."

"Right! Sources say that Thor may soon find himself elbowed out of first place."

"What about Captain America?"

"He's got potential, Jon, but those long sleeves are holding him back. He's currently ranked just above Tony Stark. Our team of analysts have compiled the data and suggested a few costumes that would give him a fighting chance. Number one, please." The audience cheered. "As you can see, this is very close to what he wore in the Battle of New York. A classic look with a slight variation. "Now number two-" The audience whooped and whistled. "This one also gets him a leg up in the leg race, currently dominated by the Hulk. And then there's number three-"

Bucky had just taken a large bite of chicken. He doubled over, coughing.

"… a category which only Tony Stark currently qualifies for…"

"Are you okay?" Darcy set her takeout box on the coffee table and ran over to him. "I know the Heimlich Maneuver."

Bucky waved her away. His effort to exhale the chicken in his windpipe was hindered by his inability to stop laughing. Darcy tried to smack him on the back anyway, but his metal hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. "Don't."

"You're talking, that's good, that means you're breathing, so you wanna let go of me?"

Bucky opened his fingers. Darcy pulled her wrist back and rubbed it with her other hand. "Sorry," he said. He sucked in a couple of breaths and leaned back against the counter, his right arm wrapped around his ribs. The cat slipped out of the master bedroom and sat down at the edge of the kitchen, primly licking a paw and pretending she hadn't come out to see what the fuss was about.

"… Steve Rogers needs to remember that we, the American people, have the right to bare arms."

"Thanks, Samantha. We'll be back in a minute."

"Don't suppose you know a seamstress?" Bucky asked. He looked down and realized he'd squeezed the takeout box and now had orange sauce all over his right hand. He transferred the box to his other hand and licked his sticky fingers.

"Not in New York," Darcy said. She walked back to the couch and picked up her food. "You've got sauce on your clothes," she said.

The right cuff of his t-shirt sleeve looked like it'd been dipped in sauce and he'd managed to smear some on his chest and pants as well. "Great," he muttered. He walked around the counter to the kitchen sink and started scrubbing at his shirt with a wet paper towel.

Darcy sat down on the couch but jumped up when she heard the rattle of the window sliding open. She dropped her food on the coffee table and grabbed her taser from her purse. The cat dashed into the second bedroom. Bucky vaulted over the kitchen counter and drew a gun from the back of his waistband. He reached the window first and stopped two steps in front of the intruder with his pistol pointed at the man's chest.

"Whoa!" the man said, lifting his hands over his head. He wore a tight olive-green t-shirt and had something strapped to his back with a chest harness. "It's me, Bucky. It's Sam. You know me."

Bucky's face didn't show any recognition. It didn't show any emotion at all.

"Bucky…" Sam started to lower his hands. Bucky raised the gun to Sam's head. Darcy fired.

The electrodes hit Bucky in the back. He stumbled forward, pivoted and swung the gun towards Darcy.

"Crap!" She dropped flat on the ground and threw her arms over her head.

Bucky pulled the gun back, color returning to his cheeks. "What are you doing?" he asked, hurt. "He's the intruder!"

Darcy lowered her arms and lifted her head. "He's the Falcon. You were being freaky."

"So you shot me with a weapon you know doesn't work on me." Bucky tucked the gun in the back of his waistband and strode over to offer Darcy a hand up. "Good reaction time, terrible strategy."

"What's up with that, anyway?" Darcy asked, scrambling to her feet. "It's worked on everyone else."

"You ever shot Captain America?" Bucky asked.

"No," Darcy said. She walked over to her purse, which was sitting next to the couch. "I shot Thor once, though." She dug out a new taser cartridge and swapped it out for the used one.

Sam slid the window shut. "You tased the God of Thunder?" he asked incredulously.

"He was having an off day," Darcy admitted. She stuck the taser in the right pocket of her sweatpants.

"I'm starting to think you have trust issues," Bucky muttered.

"Yousaid you weren't carrying any weapons," Darcy said accusingly.

"I said I wasn't carrying any knives," Bucky corrected.

Darcy strode over to him and held out her hand. "Gimme," she said.

Bucky frowned. She wiggled her fingers. Understanding dawned. "I am not giving you my gun," he said.

"You nearly shot me!" Darcy said. She wiggled her fingers again and tapped her foot impatiently.

Bucky held up his hands to keep her at a distance. "You did shoot me," he pointed out. "I am not giving you a loaded weapon."

"You can't have a gun in here. You're too jumpy."

"I'm too jumpy?"

"Maybe you could give it to me," Sam suggested.

"No," Bucky snarled. Sam took a step back and lifted his hands.

"I might be a little jumpy," Bucky admitted, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand.

Darcy raised her eyebrows.

Bucky closed his eyes and sighed. "You can have my bullets," he offered. He drew his gun from his waistband and popped the clip out. He thumbed the bullets out of the clip and into her hand, then gave her the one from the chamber.

"Do you have more?" Darcy asked.

"Not on me," Bucky said.

Darcy examined the bullets suspiciously, nodded approval and dumped them in the left pocket of her sweats.

"When was the last time you got some sleep?" Sam asked Bucky gently.

Bucky ran his hand through his hair and gave Sam a tight smile. "Are you here to check up on me?"

"I am here because some punk-ass engineer put a shiny new power core in my wings which overloaded the thrusters and shorted out the primary steering. Had to take her down fast. Luckily there's a nice open roof up there," he said, jabbing his finger at the ceiling. "Hi, I'm Sam," he said to Darcy. "I usually call first." Sam unbuckled his harness, slid the folded wing pack off his back and set it down next to the recliner. It said Stark Industries - Falcon - Mark I along the side.

"Darcy." She offered her hand and he shook it. "I'm catsitting. I don't think you have my number. If you gimme your phone, I can fix that."

"As the lady requests." Sam took his phone from his pocket and handed it to Darcy. She plopped down on the couch and patted the seat next to her.

"Thought the lady had a boyfriend," Bucky said. He sniffed the cuff of his sleeve.

Sam joined Darcy on the couch.

"I'm moving to the city. I want to meet new people," Darcy protested.

"You keep staring at his arms," Bucky gave her a sly smile.

Darcy heaved a sigh. "You are the worst wingman ever," she told Bucky.

Sam leaned back and laid an arm along the back of the couch. "I used to wonder," he said to Darcy, "how a good-looking guy like Steve Rogers stayed so single for so long." He looked over at Bucky. "I'm starting to get the picture."

Bucky lowered his wrist. "You saying you're a better wingman than me?" Bucky asked.

"Hell, yeah, I'm better," Sam said.

"Steve's still single," Bucky pointed out. He picked at a glob of orange sauce on his t-shirt.

"I'm working on it," Sam said.

Darcy tapped Sam's phone and hers beeped. "There you go," she said, handing his phone back.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I'm gonna change." He disappeared into the second bedroom.

"How long are you in town?" Sam asked. He accepted his phone and slipped it into his pocket.

"Another week," Darcy said. "I've got to set up my boss's lab and find an apartment, then I'm back in London until the end of the month." She picked up the kung pao chicken she'd dropped on the coffee table. The container had fallen on its side, but since it was only half full, most of it had stayed in the box. She mopped up the rest of the spill with paper napkins.

"You work with Dr. Foster?" Sam asked.

"Yeah!" Darcy said. "Do you know her? Does she know you and didn't tell me? She does that."

Sam laughed. "No, but Tony Stark's very excited about all the science that's going to be happening in his building."

Suddenly they heard a screech from the second bedroom. The cat dashed out and dove under the couch. Bucky ran out after her, pale and distressed. "Is she okay?"

"What did you do?!" Darcy jumped to her feet and reached for her taser. Sam dropped flat on his stomach to look under the couch.

"I… I think I stepped on her tail," Bucky said. He ran both hands through his hair, eyes wide and worried. He was wearing nothing but a ragged bandage on his ribs and a pair of Captain America boxers. "She was under the bed. I didn't see her!"

"She's fine," Sam said. He pushed himself up and leaned back on the couch. "I think you just wounded her dignity."

Darcy shot Bucky a dirty look and bent down to look under the couch. "It's okay, Meow Meow, I won't let him hurt you again."

The cat hissed.

"Okay, we'll be here when you're ready to talk about it," Darcy told the cat. She sat back on the couch and narrowed her eyes at Bucky. "You owe her an apology."

"I'm really sorry," Bucky said to the couch. He gave Darcy a puzzled look. "What kind of name is 'Meow Meow'?"

"Asgardian," Darcy told him. "I named her after Thor's hammer. By the way, was gonna ask, does Captain America's shield have a name?"

"Who names a shield?" Bucky asked. He walked over to the couch and crouched down to see the cat.

"Who names a hammer?" Darcy countered. She turned to Sam. "Do your wings have a name?"

"Called 'em a few things on the way here," Sam grinned.

"We'll stick with Meow Meow," Darcy decided.

"Doesn't Steve get to name his cat?" Bucky asked. He stretched his right hand toward the cat, who growled. He pulled back his hand and stood up.

"He took too long," Darcy said.

"Do you want me to rewrap that?" Sam asked, nodding at the bandage around Bucky's chest.

Bucky looked down and realized what he was wearing - and what he wasn't. "I got it," he said and made a hasty retreat to the bedroom.

"Are you sticking around?" Darcy asked Sam. "We're going to watch Dog Cops."

"Wish I could," Sam said. He stood up, picked up the wing pack and hoisted it over his shoulders. "I need to get this back to Stark so he can revise the prototype. Gimme a call sometime. I'll show you and your boyfriend around the city."

"Awesome," Darcy said. "Will do."

A few minutes after Sam left, Bucky emerged from the bedroom fully dressed. He wore a clean t-shirt and a lightweight jacket.

"You know, you could be a contender in the arms race if you wore short sleeves now and then," Darcy said. She'd salvaged what was left of her kung pao and resumed eating it.

"I'm not qualified," Bucky said.

"Um, I got a good look and yeah, you are," Darcy said. "Bonus points for the cool metal arm."

He stuffed his left hand in his jacket pocket and hunched his shoulders. "I'm not interested," he said.

"Fine." Darcy lifted a hand in surrender and dropped back against the couch cushions. "Get over here and I'll start the show."

"Be there in a jiff," Bucky said, heading to the kitchen. "I'm going to make popcorn."

"Where are you putting all that food?" Darcy wondered. "Is that arm hollow?" She heard him rummaging in the cabinet and called out, "Need help with the microwave, Gramps?"

Bucky leaned out and shot her an annoyed look. "I can fly a plane," he said. She heard several beeps from the microwave. Bucky came back around the counter and dropped down in the recliner. "Start it," he said.

"Yes, sir," Darcy said, and pressed play.

"Previously, on Dog Cops…"

Five minutes later, the fire alarm in the kitchen shrieked. Darcy clapped her hands over her ears. Bucky jumped to his feet, gun in hand, just as the smell of burnt popcorn drifted into the living room. Darcy grabbed a magazine off the coffee table, ran to the fire alarm and fanned it to clear the air, trying to cover both ears with one arm wrapped around her head. Neither worked.

Bucky stuck the gun back in his waistband, stalked over to the fire alarm, ripped it off the wall and crushed it in his metal hand. In the ringing silence that followed, Darcy stared at him.

"Um," Bucky said, letting the pieces of the alarm fall from his hand.

"Okay, while that was super cool," Darcy said, "it does have an off button." She poked her finger towards the mangled plastic on the floor.

"Why didn't you use it, then?" Bucky asked.

Darcy looked down at the magazine in her hand. "Tradition?" She dropped the magazine on the kitchen counter, popped open the microwave and tilted her head at the contents. "Do planes come with a popcorn setting?"

"I'm going to open the window," Bucky decided. He took a step toward the living room. Darcy heard a clatter on the fire escape just before Bucky tackled her, throwing them both to the ground behind the kitchen counter. A second later, the window shattered and Darcy heard several heavy thumps from the living room.

"Contain the asset. The girl's disposable," said a voice from a radio.

"Uh, not friends?" Darcy asked.

Bucky's face went tight and grim. "Oставаеся на кухне," he ordered, and then he was off Darcy and over the counter to the living room.

"I have no idea what you just said!" Darcy called after him. She took a deep breath and drew her taser.