title: so you think you can tell (heaven from hell)
category: thor/captain america
genre: romance/tragedy
ship: darcy/bucky
rating: nc-17/explicit
word count: 10,239
summary: As far as happy stories go, this was that. The beginning, the middle, they were the happiest times either of them ever knew. It's the endings that are sad, and every story has one. Some are just sadder than others.
so you think you can tell (heaven from hell)
-2/4-
I.
Bucky met her in the summer; it was a Monday, late-July, almost two years after he showed up on Steve's doorstep, asking for help.
He collided with her in the middle of a hallway as she came around a corner sharply and slammed right into his body, ricocheting off of his chest, her coffee dumped down his front.
"Oh, fuck, sorry, shit."
Those were her first words. Rushed and awkward.
And then, in between apologizing, she tried to clean him up with a napkin. She rambled the whole time: "I'm not usually this klutzy, I swear. This is just my first coffee because I've got three scientists that act more like toddlers than adults sometimes. Actually, no, only two, Bruce is pretty good. I mean, if we're comparing them to children, Stark's the shit disturber, Bruce goes along with it because 'science bros,' and Jane's yelling at them for interrupting her playtime. Anyway, the point is, I have not had enough caffeine this morning, and now you're wearing most of it, which, you know, not your fault, but wow, shitty timing or what, right?"
He stared at her like a putz. She was the first person besides Steve that talked to him like just a normal, average person and not like he was the deadly assassin everybody knew him to be, and he couldn't even form words. She looked up then, meeting his eyes, pressing a napkin flat against his chest, and he waited for recognition and horror to dawn on her face. Her very pretty face, with flushed cheeks and big, bright blue eyes, full pink lips, and the kind of smile that made his stomach twist up in knots.
But she didn't recoil in fear, she just quirked her head and said, "Hey, I know you… You're Steve's friend."
So he nodded, silent and curious. Did nobody inform her of who he really was? That 'Steve's friend' was a former HYDRA asset better known for killing people? Shouldn't a memo have gone out on that?
"You took out Eye-Patch, didn't you?" Her lips pursed. "Didn't know him, personally. But I hear you're the reason Coulson came out of fake dead-dom, so, y'know, props, I guess. Not on the killing part, that's a no-no, I hear. But it's kind of nice to see a familiar face around here, even if he pretends he doesn't have any other expression except 'exasperated.'"
Bucky's lips twitched, partly in confusion, partly in sincere amusement.
"Anyway, sorry for the first-degree burns." She tapped his chest with her finger, a wet napkin balled up in her palm. "I'll make it up to you sometime." She nodded her chin in farewell then and walked off, hips sashaying distractingly.
Bucky watched her go, his brow furrowed, and then he cleared his throat. "I, uh, didn't catch your name…" he said, his fingers curling into his palms as a flood of awkwardness hit him. Jesus Christ, he swore Steve said he used to be good with people, women especially, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out how.
She turned, her long, dark hair swinging at her back, and she looked at him over her shoulder, all bright colors and a sunny grin. "Darcy Lewis; scientist wrangler extraordinaire. Try not to forget me; you'll probably be running into me a lot and that'd be awkward."
He nodded faintly.
She offered a wink farewell before she left.
When she was out of sight, he started down the hall in the opposite direction. He said her name, quietly and to himself, rolling it around on his tongue, until it was familiar.
Making his way to the gym, he found Steve waiting, and wondered if his friend had any insight on Darcy Lewis that he'd be willing to share.
Darcy's favorite food was of the diner variety, cheeseburgers and milkshakes. And not just any kind of cheeseburger, but the messy kind, with the relish and ketchup squeezing out to plop onto the plate with every bite. Watching her eat wasn't pretty, but it was honest. She took bites too big for her mouth and stuffed whatever she wasn't chewing into the hollowed inside of her cheek like a chipmunk. She picked her teeth with her fingernails and put ketchup on everything, and she always drank half of whatever he was drinking. She could get as many refills as she wanted, free of charge, but she preferred to just steal his drink, leaving her lipstick imprint behind on the straw or the lip of the cup. And he found it endearing, in that way people do when they're so in love that nothing that person did could ever be a turn off.
Their first date started off as shit. They went to the pictures, but the one they wanted to see was sold out, so they saw something else, only it was terrible and they walked out half-way through in protest. But even though she complained and he couldn't get over just how much movies cost nowadays, she reached for his hand as they were walking down the street, so he knew it couldn't be a total bust. He offered up dinner instead and she shrugged. "Sure. Lead the way, Champ."
The first place they hit up was brimming with people and it was loud. He tensed up while they were waiting to be seated, flinching when people walked too close, squeezing past him, talking too loudly. He didn't have a good line of sight to the door and everybody was sitting so close together – too close together – that it was unnerving. His fingers twitched, his attention constantly elsewhere, his eyes scanning the room. He had to ask Darcy to repeat herself three different times because he couldn't focus just on her. She closed her menu, sighed, and stood up from the table.
He frowned, looking up at her, trying to block out the noise around him. And he knew he fucked up. He felt regret and shame well up in the pit of his stomach, because he knew she was going to tell him that it wasn't working and she'd find her own way back to the tower. It took him three months to ask her out on this date and he was screwing it all up. He was already trying to find a way to apologize, to ask her to give him another chance – "Please, doll, I'm just trying to get used to this; I can do better" – to explain that it was just the crowd and the noise and it was hitting all of his triggers.
But before he could get any of it out, she held a hand out for him to take. "C'mon. I know a diner a few blocks over. Best burgers you'll ever eat and it's almost definitely empty."
His brows hiked in surprise, mouth gaping a little.
She grinned, wiggling her fingers. "I don't have all night, Soldier. And I'm really craving a strawberry shake."
He nodded then, half-smiling, and took her hand, letting her lead him through the mess of people and too-close chairs, past the clattering of plates, scraping of cutlery, and the collection of noise, voices all clamoring to talk over each other.
When they stepped outside, he took a deep breath, trying to shake off the cloying, claustrophobic feeling of before. He watched his breath turn grey, like smoke, curling in front of him, coming out in a puff of relief as the noise became something more bearable.
"You all right?" she asked, squeezing his hand gently. "It's probably not easy… I forget sometimes, what it might feel like for you guys. I'm just a civilian, totally used to crowded… well, everything, so it doesn't bother me, really. But I bet it messes with you guys, always on the lookout. Can't really have an escape plan in a place like that."
He stared at her searchingly. "No, not really. I could probably just go out the giant window at the front, but I'd probably trip over half the chairs in there just trying to get to it."
She smiled then. "You could run across the tables. But chances are high that you'd step on somebody's pasta and trip, fall right on your ass, blow your BAMF cred right out the window…" She clucked her tongue disappointedly.
His mouth twitched, but his brow furrowed quickly after. "BAMF?"
"Badass motherfucker," she explained. "Do you carry one of those little 'Google this later' books, like Steve does?"
He reached behind him and dug the small notebook out of the back pocket of his jeans, waving it at her. "Comes in handy."
"I bet." She snatched it from his hand and released his so she could flip through it, nodding her head to tell him to walk with her as she started down the sidewalk. "Have you watched any of these movies?" she wondered.
He looked at the list over her shoulder, briefly distracted by the light scent of her perfume. Shaking his head, he refocused his attention on the pages full of his scribbled writing. "I don't even know where to start on half of it. Steve said it's better to watch it in chronological order, see how much everything's changed, but…" He shrugged.
"I could help you with it. Chronological order work for some things, but sometimes you just wanna watch something good." She tapped the notebook against her chin thoughtfully. "Why don't we get some dinner and then we'll pick a movie, watch it at your place?"
"Yeah?" he asked, wondering if he sounded half as hopeful as he felt right then. He cleared his throat. "That'd, uh, be nice, sure."
She grinned then. "A+ for effort; you sounded very laid back there. I almost believe you're not secretly pining away for me."
He chuckled under his breath and skimmed a hand through his hair as he arched an eyebrow at her. "Secretly? Thought I was being pretty obvious…"
"Only when you stare at me and think I don't notice…" She looked up at him, half-smirking. "Which you do a lot. And I notice, a lot. You might have to turn in your super-spy badge with Coulson."
"Yeah?" He stared down at her. "Maybe I wanted you to catch me."
"All part of your plan, huh?"
His mouth turned up on one side. "Worked, didn't it?"
"Night's not over yet, Sergeant…" She reached down for his hand and folded their fingers together.
"Good." He licked his lips and smiled when her eyes dropped to watch the progress of his tongue. "Got a little more time to impress you then."
Darcy raised her eyes up to meet his. "Impress away."
If asked later, he couldn't say what exactly he did that convinced her to take him up on a second date, or a third, or the many more that followed. But he was really glad she did.
Darcy was a naturally passionate person and sex was no different. She was unashamed, proud of her body, happy to share it with him, to laugh when things didn't go perfectly, to talk and communicate and make sure they were riding the same wave length. She was beautiful, all tousled hair and flushed cheeks and fingers folding with his, pulling him in close. Her favorite part was the build-up, it was pushing him back on the bed and stripping off every piece of clothing and layering every inch of skin with kisses, her fingers reaching and kneading and touching every part of him. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty, only a mutual drive for completion.
She was easy to get lost in. Every light touch, like he was delicate, something to be treasured, something she needed to take her time with. Darcy could do quick and fast, but he liked it better when it was slow and lingering.
They sat in the living room, on his couch, with her in his lap. Her fingers slowly pulled at his shirt, tugging it up and over his head, dragging it down his arms, her fingers stretched out to drag down each, tripping over the interlocking strips of metal that made up one. Shirt tossed away, she pressed her hands to his back, palms pressed flat to his skin, while she ducked her face down to his neck, letting her eyelashes brush against his skin, followed by her lips, just as soft, faint enough that he could have imagined her phantom kiss.
His hands skimmed up her thighs, under the fabric of her dress, fingers pausing over the thin straps of her underwear at her hips, and higher still, shuffling her dress up. He reached one hand up and undid the belt at her waist, unwrapping it from around her and tossing it toward the shoes she'd kicked off earlier. He skimmed a finger over one strap of her dress before curling it under and pulling it down her shoulder. Leaning back, slid her arms out from each strap and he tugged the front of her dress so the pink fabric all pooled at her stomach. Her bra was all black lace and hiding nothing. He cupped his hands over her breasts, thumbs rubbing circles over the pale, rosy nipples pebbled beneath. She arched into his hands before reaching up to pull the straps of her bra down her arms and around to undo the clasp at her back. The flimsy fabric fell loose, tossed away as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in closer, his mouth skimming over her shoulder and down her chest, pressing sucking kisses across her skin. She shivered, biting down on her lip as his chin, raspy with stubble, dragged over the tops of her breasts.
Her hands slid down between them at worked at the button and fly of his jeans, pushing the fabric down and out of the way as he lifted up. She cupped one behind his neck while her other wrapped around his shaft, pumping slowly, twisting her wrist, rubbing her thumb over the head of his cock. He buried his fingers in her hair, reaching in long waves down her back, and gripped it tight. He arched his hips up into her fingers, reaching down to tighten her grip on him the way he liked it. His knuckles dragged against her inner thigh as he slid his hand up to cup her, the fabric of her underwear damp. He pressed it to the side so he touch her, feel her wet and warm on his fingers. She let out a little breathless noise as he teased her open, his thumb rubbing circles around her clit. Darcy rocked her hips for friction, her breath stuttering as his finger curled up and slid inside her.
He brought her down for a kiss, their mouths slanting together, as his finger picked up speed. She squeezed his neck, nipping at his lips, and pressed her forehead to his as she spread her legs a little more. She panted his name against his mouth as he pressed his thumb to her clit, his hand dragging down her back and palming her ass, kneading and arching her hips for him. He kissed down her chin and scraped his teeth down her neck, sucking kisses at her collar bones before he ducked lower, his tongue swirling around one nipple, teeth gently digging in to her skin. She tightened around his finger, mumbling that she was close, so close, and he slid a second in beside it. It didn't take her long to come after that, her nails biting into his neck, and then she slumped against him, trying to catch her breath.
He rubbed one hand up and down her back soothingly, the other resting on her still trembling thigh.
"You remember when Stark kept bringing up how lethal your metal arm was?"
He brushed her hair back from her face to see her and nodded. "Mm-hmm."
"I can personally attest to the fact that those fingers are killer… Just not in the way he thinks."
He chuckled, leaning down to kiss her. She held him close, nuzzling his nose with hers, before finally leaning back and climbing off of him.
Grumbling disagreeably, he reached for her, tugging her back in by her hips. Laughing, Darcy pushed his hands down a little and brought her dress up and over her head, tossing it toward the coffee table. Curling his fingers around the sides of her underwear, he dragged them down her legs for her to step out of. Naked, she reached over and grabbed up her purse, taking out a condom while he shuffled the rest of the way out of his jeans and briefs.
She was all soft skin and curves as she climbed back onto him, her hair falling over her shoulder again, the ends brushing against the tops of her breasts. She grinned at him, dropping the condom on his chest. He tore the wrapper open with his teeth and rolled it on before reaching for her, one hand fitting around her thigh while the other found her fingers and knit them together with his own. She kissed him as she sunk down onto his cock, her breath hitching against his lips. She pressed her palm to his stomach and rocked her hips forward and back and around. He pressed up into her, his fingers digging into her skin as she clenched around him.
The way she said his name when she was riding him always made his gut tighten. The way she looked at him, her eyes half-lidded, the pleasure crashing over her face, the way her teeth dug into her lip, it sent waves of warmth through him. She was so fucking beautiful, her skin flushed and her head back. She slid her hand up his chest, her nails scraping against his skin. Her fingers wove into his hair and pulled him forward. He pressed a kiss to her chin and nuzzled his nose down her neck, breathing her in, sweat and perfume and the faint scent of her body wash. He licked a strip down her neck and buried his face in the crook as his hand wrapped around her hip and pulled her down harder, rising up to meet her, quicker and deeper.
Coherent thought spiraled out of reach. It was just fragments of pleasure and smells and sounds. It was Darcy and the taste of her skin, the feel of her pressed to him, around him, squeezing and fluttering, and so fucking good. It built and built until it reached its pinnacle and crashed over him, a wave of intensity that stole the breath from his lungs. He could hear her crying out against his ear, her body tensing up and then relaxing completely, and then they were just leaning against the couch, panting, sweaty, wrapped around each other tightly.
She pressed sloppy kisses down the slope of his neck and across his shoulder, never pausing as she met metal instead of skin. Somehow that, more than anything else, felt so much more intimate. It was acceptance, fully and completely, and she gave it to him without reservation. It was moments like those when he knew he could fall in love with her and never regret it.
Darcy loved dancing. With or without music, she always seemed to find a good reason to start dancing. Sometimes he walked by the labs and caught her mid-dance, usually on her own but occasionally pulling Stark or Jane or Bruce into an impromptu dance with her. And they balked sometimes —more Stark than the others, and usually just for show— but they always gave in. The music varied depending on which scientist she was with, but she always danced with the same kind of enthusiasm.
Whenever they went to galas, the only place she wanted to be was the dance floor. And if his feet got sore or he just needed a break, she waved him off to go sit somewhere while she searched out a new partner to keep up. She would take anybody, but her favorite was Steve. Not because he was good; in fact, it was probably because he was terrible. Steve, for all of his coordination, for some reason just could not tackle dancing. Slow dancing, sure, he mostly just swayed. But anything with complicated steps and it resulted in a lot of stepped on toes. Darcy never complained, though.
"Never ceases to amaze me how terrible his footwork is when music's involved," Sam said, taking a seat beside him at the bar, waving a finger for a drink as he put his empty glass down.
Bucky shrugged, absently swirling the ice in his drink. "Probably a good trade-off. Shitty dancing for everything else."
"Darcy seems to be enjoying it. She laughs every time he steps on her toes. Which is a lot."
His mouth turned up, amused. "Helps take the edge off. She's pretty sure he's only bad at dancing because he worries about it too much."
"Makes sense."
"Darcy's smart like that. About people." His gaze stayed on his best friend and his girl, moving around the dance floor, Steve's eyes stuck perpetually downward while Darcy told him where to move his feet, grinning at him knowingly, reaching up to raise his chin each time it dropped to concentrate. As per usual, focusing too much made Steve step on her toes, and while she smiled and shook her head as he apologized, Bucky knew he'd be rubbing her feet for her later.
Pushing off his stool, he clapped a hand to Sam's shoulder before he left, crossing the floor to his two favorite people.
Steve grinned when he saw him. "Come to save Darcy's toes?"
"That and your reputation. You keep stumbling around out here and somebody's gonna start wondering how you manage to stay upright in the field."
Steve snorted, rolling his eyes as he handed Darcy over to him. "Show me how it's done?" he joked.
"Gladly." Bucky took Darcy's hand and twirled her, bringing her in close so they were chest to chest. "Whattya say, Doll? You up for a spin on the floor with me?"
"Be still my heart, two superheroes in one night. I'll have to write home about this later." Wrapping an arm around his neck, she dragged her fingers down his neck lightly. "Save me another for later, Cap?"
"Sure," he agreed. "Maybe I'll get you to stand on my feet so I don't crush yours."
She winked at him. "Man with a plan; I like it."
He chuckled at her, shaking his head as he left.
Turning her attention back to Bucky, she smiled up at him. "You having fun?"
"More now." He rubbed a hand over the opening of her dress across her back. "You?"
"You know me, a little dancing and I'm golden." She tipped her head back and looked up at him from under her lashes. "You wanna duck out early?"
"Thought you wanted one more spin with Steve?"
"So we stay another hour, then we sneak out, get some real food, see what your to-watch list has to offer."
Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Sold."
Bucky liked dancing; it was one of his favorite pastimes. But more than dancing, he just liked holding her.
Darcy was the most impatient person he'd ever met in his life. Bucky wasn't sure if it was because she used up all her patience between Stark and Jane, but she complained anytime she had to wait on anything. When they went on dates, if there was a line, she only lasted five minutes, tops. She was no longer allowed to order out for food or ask how long it'd be because she always argued that there was no way it should take that long. When she wanted something, she wanted it immediately.
"Instant gratification; it's what I live for," she told him, standing in the living room, a glass of wine in one hand while she scrolled through one of her playlists on her iPod until she found something she liked. Kicking off her heels, she placed her iPod in the dock and turned the volume up a little.
He watched her foot, dressed in black stockings, slowly rub up the back of her calf. He licked his lips and raised an eyebrow. "How instant?"
She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, her dark hair spilling down her back and a smirk turning up the corners of her red, red lips. "The only time waiting is good is when the pay-off is an orgasm or chocolate… or a chocolate-flavored orgasm."
He shook his head, grinning at her, and crossed the room to stand at her back. "Should I ask?"
She hummed, turning her eyes up thoughtfully. "The short explanation is me eating chocolate while you eat me."
Sliding his hands up her sides, he drew her hair to one side and laid it over her shoulder as he reached for the clasp on her necklace. "What's the long explanation?"
She watched her necklace drop, caught in his silver fingers and placed on the cabinet in front of her. "I'd tell you, but it'll take time and probably a demonstration…" She bit her lip as he pulled the zipper of her dress slowly down her back, his knuckle dragging softly against her skin "Interested?"
He laughed under his breath and drew her dress down her arms as he dropped his head down to press a kiss to her bare shoulder. "Always."
"Yeah?" She turned to face him, curling her finger into one of the belt loops on his jeans and giving it a tug. Raising up onto her tip toes, she bumped his nose with hers before she kissed him, just a quick peck, full of temptation and promise. "Fair warning, I probably won't share my chocolate with you."
He leaned in close, one hand buried in her hand and the other teasing up her thigh. "I think my mouth'll be busy anyway," he said, his voice husky.
Darcy nodded, leaning into him, her arm sliding around his neck. "So busy."
For all that Darcy was impatient, there were some things, really important things, that she could be patient about. Things she didn't push on, things she understood were a lot bigger than her, that she couldn't make better with complaining or wishing it so. And when Darcy needed patience, she had it in spades. Enough that he wondered when she'd get sick of it, when she'd finally just toss her hands up and step back, away, and forfeit. But she didn't.
The nightmares still hit him hard. Two years after leaving the muzzle behind and he still woke up in a cold sweat, panting, eyes wide, every muscle tensed.
Darcy stirred next to him, blinking sleepily, and stretched her body out beside him. "You want me to call Steve?" she asked, her voice thick.
He shook his head, short and sharp, hands balled up in the blanket.
Darcy's hand was soft and cool as it ran up his back gently; she rubbed in soothing circles for a few minutes before kicking her legs out from the covers and shuffling off the bed.
He'd been leaning into her touch, letting it calm him down, but having her pull away set a pang of panic up his spine. He bit back the words, the worried 'where are you going?' that climbed up his throat, and instead watched her progress.
She was wearing one of his shirts, the end reaching half-way down her thighs, and nothing else. Her hair was tangled and frizzy on one side. She reached up and pulled it off her neck, using the elastic around her wrist to tie it in a messy bun. Yawning, she walked out of the bedroom, stealing his slippers as she went, and he listened to the shuffle of them moving down the hall before he heard the clatter of a cupboard door and the rushing water of the kitchen tap. His shoulders relaxed minutely and he blew out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
It wasn't that he thought she'd leave him, not really. In the last nine months, she'd seen more than her share of night terrors from him, a few of them a lot worse than this, but she'd stuck with him. Whether it was just keeping him company as he came down from it or calling in reinforcements to help him, she didn't complain. It didn't stop him from feeling like a burden, like he was interrupting her life with his issues. But Darcy always gave him a look when he brought it up, her 'don't give me that bullshit' look, and he figured if Darcy wanted out, she would've walked already.
She came back from the kitchen with a glass of cold water and handed it to him as she crawled across the bed to sit beside him again.
He guzzled the whole glass, panting a little when he finished, and put the empty glass on the end table before he fell back against the pillows, rubbing a hand down his face.
Darcy shuffled over, resting her chin on his shoulder, and looked up at him. "We can talk about it if you want to."
He considered it. It wouldn't be the first time he told her what his head came up with; scenarios, real and made up, that felt so real that they left him shaken and confused. And she listened without judgement. Sometimes she knew what to say and sometimes there just wasn't anything that could be said. But he didn't feel up to talking tonight, so instead he turned over, rubbing a hand over her tummy, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "'m good," he said.
She stared up at him, considering his words, and then nodded. She turned over so her back was to his chest, and reached for her iPod on the bedside table. She flipped through it and found one of the playlists she'd made for him months ago. It was a mix of loud, angry, pulsing music that he could feel right down to his bones and other, more soothing songs that helped him come down. He wrapped himself around her, kissing her shoulder and her neck, and buried his face against her hair. He closed his eyes as the music began and let it consume him, let it take him away and reach inside him and piece back together all the fractured parts that couldn't be helped with superglue.
Her fingers stroked up and down his forearm lightly, a soothing repetition he could focus on. She would fall asleep long before he did, and when he followed, the nightmares would skip him that time, letting him find peace again. For a while.
Darcy said "I love you" like it was a war cry. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, no shame. She didn't care who heard her as long as she got to say it as loud and as often as she wanted to. Which was always. She said it when she woke up, eyes still crusty with sleep. While brushing her teeth, toothpaste dripping down her chin. She said it over coffee-flavored kisses before she ran out the door for work; always five minutes late. She said it when he was passing by for lunch or when he dropped in to bring her coffee on her break. She said it while she laughed at her own 'old man jokes,' kissing him to make him feel better, even if he found some of them amusing. She said it while they danced in the living room, to old records or her iPod playlists. She said it every opportunity she got, like every silence had to be filled with something, and the best thing she could give was that. And he loved it. He loved her for it.
The first time she told him she loved him, it was quiet.
They were curled up on the couch together, arms and legs tangled so completely he couldn't tell which was his and which was hers. She whispered it against his neck, her eyelashes brushing his skin, her voice more like a breath, an exhalation of feeling that sunk into his heart, tied itself around it in a knot that wouldn't give, and promised never to let go.
And he knew, as she said it again and again and again, whispering those three little words that never seemed so big, that loving her would be the best thing he ever did.
Darcy loved knitting. She had a big basket of wool that she kept by her favorite arm chair and a scraggly green bag she brought with her when she was going to be anywhere for an extended period of time. Sometimes she brought it over to his apartment and she'd hang out on one end of the couch knitting while he sat on the other end, reading a book or going through files for an upcoming mission. It was nice, comfortable; he looked forward to nights like those. He mentioned once, that he didn't like getting cold, that it triggered him sometimes. She made him three beanies and a scarf and always kept an extra in her purse when they were out. That was just the first time he realized he loved her.
"My nana taught me," she told him, army green wool in her lap. "She used to say that the uglier it was, the better. That it wasn't about making it look nice, but about making something warm. Pops said she only said it because she was a shitty knitter, but I liked her logic… Who cares what it looks like if it keeps someone you love warm."
His eyes washed over her face, the gentle, nostalgic smile on her lips and the soft, sad look in her eyes. He squeezed her foot, laying in his lap. "You miss her?"
She looked over, her brows raised a little. "Yeah, sometimes. She was… one of my favorite people. She taught me a lot."
Putting his folders aside, he crawled up the couch to her, dropping his head in her lap. "You wanna talk about her?"
She stared down at him a moment, putting aside her needles and scrubbing her fingers through his hair. "Yeah, maybe."
He nodded, staying quiet as he waited.
It took her a few false starts, like she wasn't sure where to begin, but then she smiled. "She was a shit-disturber in her time. Protests and rallies and always trying to stand up to 'the man'… That's how she met pops. He was a police officer; he'd arrested her a few times. He said when he used to get called in to break some big protest up, he knew he'd see her there… He fell in love with her fire. Said she was the strongest, smartest woman he'd ever met. Made him want to be a better man. Someone who questioned things instead of just going along with the norm… They were a good couple. They fought a lot, but they made it a rule to always end a fight with a kiss. It was the silliest thing when I was kid. They'd be shouting at each other one second, they'd still look pissed and everything, and then they'd just walk over to each other and kiss. And pops would grumble an 'I love you' at her and walk off for some peace and quiet… It was weird, but awesome too. They were married fifty-six years and I don't think they ever went a day without saying 'I love you.'" Humming, she dragged her knuckles down his cheek. "Something to aspire to, right?"
"Yeah." He stared up at her searchingly. "I could love you for fifty-six years."
"Me and my ugly knitting?" she joked, but her voice was soft and affectionate.
"All of it," he agreed seriously.
"Just for that I'm gonna make you some gloves; the kind with fingers… To prove your loyalty, obviously."
He chuckled under his breath. "Obviously."
Darcy ducked down to kiss him, lingering at his lips and pecking his chin before she leaned back up.
She ended up making him those gloves; he wore them every day until she told him she believed him, laughing as she kissed him.
Darcy made friends easier than anybody Bucky had ever known. She just had a way with people, drawing them in and keeping them close without even trying. She accepted people at face value, was careful not to jump to conclusions, and didn't put any expectations or demands on her friendship. Sometimes, when he looked at the hodgepodge of people she surrounded herself with, he wondered how she kept as relatively grounded as she was. Her best friends were an astrophysicist and a warrior of Asgard; of course, girls' nights with Jane and Sif almost always ended in them losing articles of clothing and calling him, Hill or Natasha to pick them up because "the fuzz are coming and we need a quick exit." She had a weekly poker game with Stark, Barton, and Natasha. She and Banner frequently went out for taste-testing sprees at the local restaurants and tea shops. She hung out in Director Coulson's office when she was bored and texted him pictures of cats for shits and giggles. She was a 'shield sister' to the Prince of Asgard and a dance partner to Captain America. Darcy surrounded herself with the biggest personalities she could find and still managed to stand out.
"So listen, I know you're probably still pissed about that time I called you to come bail me out of fake-jail, but that was drunk-Darcy," she told him as she put a hoop earring in while she walked into the living room, her heels clicking. "And drunk-Darcy can't be trusted. Seriously, she's a shit-disturber."
"And sober-Darcy isn't?" he snorted, raising an eyebrow at her, his beer balanced on his knee as he muted the television. "Darce, I wasn't pissed that you drunk dialed me to get you outta the drunk tank you weren't even in."
"No?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Because you looked pretty pissed when you had to drive us all home from the bar after. I mean, my memory's a little hazy, but I'm pretty sure you got the eye-tick when we started singing Asgardian ballads."
"Yeah, well, I love you, but you can't sing for shit."
Darcy scoffed. "Uh, excuse me, you can't hold my drunk-singing against me. That's a foul." Circling the couch, she knelt on the cushion beside him, pushing her hair back for him to see her earrings.
"They're nice," he told her dutifully, tugging her into his lap. "What about your shower singing? Can I hold that against you?"
"No, and not my car singing or my lab singing either. Only my I-think-I-sound-pretty-good-right-now-and-I'm-almost-definitely-on-key singing. That you can praise me for, let's be real." Her brows hiked.
He shook his head, lips twitching up in a smile. "You lemme know when that happens, I'll pay extra close attention."
"Ha. Ha." She rolled her eyes and leaned in for a kiss, puckering her lips expectantly.
He kissed her, rubbing his thumb under her mouth when he smudged her lipstick a little.
"You sure you don't want to come?" she asked, shifting off his lap and grabbing up her purse. "Sif says she owes you a rematch on that last drinking contest."
"Nah, think I'll get some shut-eye."
"Old man," she said affectionately, grinning at him.
He rolled his eyes, shrugging. "It was a long mission."
"Yeah, I know. You were out there kicking ass and saving the world. I think you can take a night off from keeping an eye on three drunk chicks with loose lips and looser morals."
Bucky arched an eyebrow. "I'm not too worried. You'll call if you need help. Bail money or a ride, whichever."
"Yes," she agreed, nodding shortly. "I'll call Steve."
"Darcy…"
"Hey, you were the one who said you were tired…" She pulled on her jacket, shaking the collar back and pulling her hair free. "Besides, Steve won't mind. I mean, is it just me or does he seem to have a thing for Sif? Strong brunettes are kind of his type, right?"
Bucky grinned. "Yeah. I don't know, he hasn't said anything, but I don't think he'd turn her down."
Smirking, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "That could be interesting."
"No matchmaking," he sighed, dropping his head back onto the couch.
"No promises." Pressing a kiss to his forehead and then the tip of his nose, she smiled. "Okay, I'm going. Be good, sleep lots, feel free to stay over if you want me to wake you up for sloppy, drunk sex later."
He raised his beer in farewell and Darcy blew him one last kiss before she walked out the door.
As it closed behind her, he smiled to himself and then sunk a little more into her couch, grabbing up the remote to see what TV had to offer.
It felt good, normal, like coming home. Sure, she wasn't there, but her apartment was so her, and while he wished he had her curled up next to him, he knew how important it was for her to blow off some steam with her best friends. Kicking his feet up onto the table, he took a drag from his beer and pulled his phone from his pocket, turning the volume up high. Chances were, she would call him, and either ask him to come get her or leave long, rambling messages about whatever funny thing Jane or Sif were doing and how she missed him and loved him and wished he was there. And, because drunk-Darcy really was a troublemaker, she'd probably call and leave incriminating evidence on his voicemail, too.
God, he loved that woman.
Darcy loved Steve like a brother. A brother that frequently ran headfirst into danger and whom she would give the silent treatment to if she felt said danger was not worth running headfirst into. Or if she didn't like his methods after that danger passed.
"Is she still not talking to me?" Steve asked, tracking Darcy as she crossed the living room with a giant bowl of popcorn.
Bucky looked over from the TV screen he'd been scrolling through. "Huh?"
Steve frowned. "I wasn't even in medical an hour before they let me out. Usually it takes more than that to piss her off."
"I think it was the part where you were mid-conversation with her and left her hanging on the phone so she had to hear the gunshots with no explanation."
"And didn't even call to tell me he was okay," she put in, still refusing to look at him.
"And that," Bucky said, pointing his thumb at her.
Sighing, Steve sat forward, arms resting on his knees. "Darcy, it's movie night. You're not going to talk to me all of movie night? Your favorite part is asking me if I expected the plot twist…"
She pursed her lips and glared at the television.
"Look, I'm sorry that I didn't call you back. I wasn't expecting to get in the middle of a bank robbery. It all happened very quickly. I didn't have time to explain." When she still didn't budge, Steve pointed out, "I saved three people. One was a little kid; he had a Hulk t-shirt on. Looked just like the one I got you for Christmas last year."
Still nothing. He turned to Bucky, who shrugged at him. "She can do this for days."
"Weeks," Darcy warned.
Steve dragged a hand over his face. "Okay. You're right. I know you worry, not just about me, but the whole team. And it's gotta be hard, always being home when we're out on missions. I know you care and I made a mistake, not calling you back to let you know I was okay. I wasn't thinking about anybody but those people and the fact that they needed help."
Apparently reaching her limit, she huffed at him. "Of course they did, and I'm not even mad that you stuck your neck out and saved them. That's what you do, it's who you are. But when you're done with all the heroic bullshit, you need to call, because yeah, that kid totally deserved being saved, and now he can go home to his family and talk about how cool it was that Captain America saved the day. But you have a family to come home to too, so don't… Don't forget that." She crossed her arms over her chest and slunk down in her chair, her leg hanging over the arm.
Steve stared at her a long moment, his brow furrowed. It took him a few seconds to process it before he pushed up from the couch and circled around Bucky to kneel beside her. He dropped a kiss to the top of her hair and said, "You're right. I do. I'm sorry."
Darcy tipped her head back to see him, her brows raised. "Good. You're forgiven. But I'm not sharing my popcorn with you. Consider it punishment."
Chuckling under his breath, he held his hands up in surrender. "Deal," he said, walking back to the couch and flopping down in the corner.
Bucky smiled to himself before changing the subject to which movie they wanted to watch.
Darcy lasted a half hour before she took over the middle seat on the couch and shared her popcorn with them. She never was good at staying angry.
Darcy's ladies' nights were well-deserved. She worked a lot and if she wanted to spend one night of the week getting shit-faced, he didn't see anything wrong with that. Depending on who was working and who was on earth, there was no guarantee of who would be joining her, but she always managed to talk someone into coming along. How each night ended was pretty much the same, with her calling either him or Steve to come pick her up from whatever bar she and the girls had wound up at, because it was never the one they originally intended to go to.
"Listen, I need you to come pick us up. We're at the Thirsty Chihuahua. Wait, no we're not. I just saw a chihuahua on the street, and I'm thirsty. We're at the… Jane, where are we?"
"The bar!" she yelled back.
"Oh my god, you're a useless genius. I know we're at the bar. What bar are we at?"
There was some mumbling in the background before Darcy sighed. "Okay, you picked us up from here like last month. You know the one, it has those yellow stripes on the wall out front and the pink lights."
He nodded, scrubbing his fingers over his eyes. "Yeah, I know the one," he said, shoving off the bed. "I can be there in fifteen minutes."
"Okay good. But also, just a head's up, I might've called Steve and asked him to come pick us up too. So it's first come, first wins."
The click of her hanging up followed and he rolled his eyes to himself before dialing Steve, who answered with a, "She called you too, huh?"
"Yeah, I'll go grab them. Don't worry about it."
"I was up anyway," Steve dismissed. "You want company on the drive?"
"Sure."
After hanging up, Bucky left his bedroom, grabbing his jacket off the back of his couch and shoving his feet into his shoes. He was yawning as he walked down the hallway to the elevator, nodding at Steve as he left his own apartment, locking up and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.
"Sif with them tonight?" he wondered, walking at his side.
Bucky shook his head. "No, she was going to come in but something came up. They invited Hill out, but last time Darcy texted, she said Hill had to cut out early, so it's just her and Jane."
Nodding, Steve leaned against the back wall of the elevator as it descended to the garage below. "You ever feel old?" he wondered. "The girl's go out every weekend. Half the time I feel like napping is a better option."
Bucky snorted, mouth turned up at the corners. "It's a little different for them. Darcy and Jane spend most of their time in the labs. They're not exactly chasing down bad guys and getting beaten and bruised for the effort."
"True," he agreed, brows hiked. "Just makes me think sometimes… I know we have movie night, but maybe we should do something else, too. Doesn't have to be going out to the bar, but I know Barton and Natasha have a poker game whenever they're in-house. We could drop in on theirs or have one of our own, invite Sam, Coulson, a few others."
Bucky nodded. "Sure. Wouldn't mind that."
As the doors opened on the garage, Bucky pulled out the keys from his pocket and crossed to one of the SUV's the team was allowed to use at their discretion. The drive to the bar was spent mostly in quiet, listening to oldies, which weren't all that old in comparison to the men listening to them, on the radio, with Bucky occasionally yawning. He'd been sleeping when Darcy called and would be happy to get back home and get a few more hours before he had to be up tomorrow.
He spotted the bar up ahead and shook his head as he spotted Darcy and Jane doing the can-can, sloppily, arms around each other's shoulders.
"Is that them?" Steve asked.
"Last week it was the Macarena." Pulling the truck over to the curb, he reached for his seatbelt and climbed out. For a moment, he just watched, they weren't just dancing, but singing too.
"Can you, can you do the can-can—" Darcy paused suddenly. "Jane, I told you, we're not doing the dress flash!"
"But that's the best part," Jane complained, leaning back abruptly, forcing Darcy to catch her before she fell.
"Not on a dark, public street it isn't."
Steve snorted.
Attention immediately diverted, the girls spotted them and lit up happily. Bucky pushed off the hood of the truck and circled toward them, but they were already moving, and not in the direction he expected. Darcy, being Darcy, hopped over to Steve. "You're a godsend, Steve Rogers, my feet are killing me and nobody else gives me piggyback rides."
Steve blinked at her. "Darcy, we're five feet from the truck."
Pouting up at him, she dropped her head back and held her arms out expectantly.
Sighing, Steve obediently turned around. "All right, hop on."
"Yes!" Leaping onto his back, she wrapped her arms around his neck and said, "Take a lap, Rogers!"
Bucky was chuckling at them when he realized Jane was standing in front of him, swaying a little.
"Hey," she said, reaching over and slapping a hand against his chest.
He raised an eyebrow down at her. "You have a good night, Doc?"
She blew out a raspberry, but nodded. "So listen… I think… we need to talk. Me and you, man to astrophysicist."
Resting an elbow on the hood, he nodded at her, offering her a serious expression. "I'm listening."
Behind them, Darcy demanded, "Another!" And Steve simply walked them around the truck again.
"You and Darcy, you two are getting really serious…" She mimicked him, leaning on the hood, and put a hand to her head to keep it up, wincing when her bracelet snagged in her hair. "Like, shmoopy, fall in love, maybe get married one day, serious."
He stared at her. "Okay."
Jane's eyes narrowed up at him. "So you're saying you want to marry her?"
His brows hiked. "What?"
A scowl pulled at her mouth. "Are you saying you don't want to marry her? Because she's awesome. She's loud and sometimes lazy and she never takes science serious enough, but she is awesome." Reaching forward, she poked him in the chest. "You'd be lucky to marry Darcy!"
Bucky shook his head. "I'm too sober for this conversation," he muttered to himself before catching Jane's hand. "Listen, I'm not saying I do or don't want to marry Darcy. We haven't talked about that yet. We're serious and I love her and you're right, I would be lucky. But we're not there yet."
"Yet," she said. "You said yet. As in 'eventually.'"
He sighed. "Yeah, I did."
"Oh." She blinked up at him and then suddenly pushed off the truck and hugged him. Bucky stood completely still for a moment. He liked Jane. She was smart and stubborn and she loved Darcy. But they'd never been all that close. He considered her a friend, just not the type of friend he hugged. Actually, the number of people he would hug was pretty small. Darcy liked hugs. She liked long hugs that usually turned into cuddling or dancing. Jane's hug was purely platonic. She rested her head against her own arm and looked up at him, her eyes a little glazed.
"I'm happy she found you," she told him. "She deserves so much and she's really happy with you. And you might be really intimidating and kind of grumpy sometimes—"
"Am I?" he asked, amused. "You wouldn't know it right now."
"—but I get what she means, when she says that you fit her and she fits you. So just… keep making her happy and we'll be good." With that, she let him go, clapping her hands down on his shoulders before she turned on her heel and walked around to the back door of the truck. "Darcy, it's late, and I want to eat crackers and cry on my bathroom floor. Let's go."
"Party-pooper," Darcy called back. "All right, Steve, turn this muscle-mobile around."
Bucky rolled his eyes, grinning as he climbed into the driver's seat while Steve stuffed Darcy into her seat and fought with her to put her seatbelt on.
Just another average girl's night.
Darcy described her mother as "a pill and a half. Made of cyanide. But the fake tooth you're hiding it in won't come loose, so you just suffer in silence."
He thought she was joking. Darcy had a unique way with words and it wouldn't be the first time she exaggerated something. But then Gina Lewis came to visit her only daughter for her 26th birthday. Never mind that it was a month too late and a year older than she really was…
"Don't they usually age you down? You know, you forget a year, you don't tack one on. I'm being forcibly aged!" Darcy complained, pacing from one end of the kitchen to the other.
"Steve would tell you it was the gesture that counts," he replied, eyeing the balloon Gina had arrived with, a bright, gold 26 written on it in bubble font.
"Yeah?" She tapped her foot, hands on her hips. "Well, Steve's not here. So, what do you have to say about it?"
"I say…" He hopped down from the counter and reached for her, pulling her in close and resting his chin atop her head. "That it sucks, but, if you think about it, you get presents… You know how you love presents."
"That's true… I do love free things…" She sighed, turning her head to rest her cheek against his chest. "Just… stay close. I don't really wanna deal with her on my own. Okay?"
He nodded, brushing a hand down her hair, and kissed her forehead. "Promise."
Of course, when he made that promise, he hadn't expected Gina to be quite so… agitating.
Gina complained about everything. The Avengers, the city, Darcy's apartment, Darcy's career, Darcy's taste in men, Darcy, etcetera, etcetera. It seemed like Gina never shut up, and as long as her mouth was moving, she was putting something or someone down. It was driving him up the wall. He knew he didn't have any right to get in the middle of things or tell Gina that she needed to stop ragging on Darcy. It was Darcy's family, her business, and she needed to figure it out on her own, but that didn't stop him from wanting to step in. As soon as Gina started on one of her rants, he could feel the anger prickling under his skin and had to leave. He joined Steve in the gym to work off his frustration, but even just knowing she was in the building was bugging him.
"Maybe you should talk to Darcy about it. I mean, her mother's been here a few days… How long is she planning on staying?"
Bucky shook his head. "She skirts the question whenever Darcy asks. Wouldn't be surprised if I turned around and she'd moved right in."
Steve frowned. "Would Darcy let her do that?"
"She's different around her mother. She clams up. It's like she's a little kid and she knows she shouldn't back-talk. It's weird." He scowled, shaking his head. "I've seen her tear into guys three times her size without even flinching, but her mother shows up and she's never been quieter…" Bucky scowled. "I don't like it."
"More reason to talk to her. If she's really having trouble with her mom, maybe she needs to vent about it, a little encouragement to get her to stand up to her."
"Yeah?" Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. "And what happens if it backfires and she tells me to butt out?"
Steve shrugged. "Then butt out, but let her know you're still there if she needs you."
He sighed, nodding. "Yeah, all right, I'll try it."
As it turned out, Darcy didn't need him to butt in. By the time he let himself back into her apartment, she was in the middle of ranting at her mother.
"—I'm not a teenager. You don't get to dictate my life. Especially when you can't even remember when my birthday is or how old I am. Twenty-five, FYI."
"Oh, you're being dramatic," Gina sniffed.
"Hah! That's rich, coming from you," Darcy exclaimed. "You are the queen of drama. If they were handing out crowns for how much shit one person could stir, yours would be custom made to fit your ginormous ego." Tossing her hands up, she shook her head. "I don't even know why you're still here. All you've done is put down my friends and my home and my boyfriend since the minute you walked in the door!"
"Is it a crime to want the best for your daughter? Hm? You could have been so much more, but you wasted it all. You should be in law school, not trailing behind Tony Stark, cleaning up after him."
"I didn't want to be a lawyer. I never wanted to," Darcy declared loudly. "I didn't know what I wanted, but I did know that much."
"Darcy, listen to me—"
"No, you listen… This is my home. This so-called crappy apartment that doesn't fit your standard of living. These are my people, the scientists and the assassins and the aliens and the 1940's soldiers; they're all mine. This is my life, not yours, and you don't get to come into it and tell me everything you find wrong with it. Because it's not yours and it never will be. I love it just the way it is. I love my absent-minded geniuses and my complicated, issue-ridden friends, and my smart and funny and incredibly patient boyfriend. So no more complaining, no more putting down anybody, no more 'Darcy, if you just did it this way…' None of it! If you want to visit, fine, but you need to respect me and my life and the people in it… or you won't be invited back."
There was a long, tense silence then, before her mother finally said, "Is that what you want?"
Darcy sighed. "I want you to realize that I'm happy where I am and who I am."
"All right then… I'll get my things and go. I think enough's been said here."
As Gina walked down the hallway to get her stuff from Darcy's room, where she'd been staying while Darcy either camped out on the couch or stole away up to his apartment, Bucky stepped into view.
Darcy's face was buried in her hands as she let out a long, heavy breath, her shoulders slumped. He crossed the room to her and rubbed a hand down her back. "Hey, you okay?"
She shook her head and leaned over, resting against him. "Not really."
Hugging his arms around her, he asked, "What can I do?"
Darcy snuggled a little closer. "Just this."
So he did. He held her while Gina rolled her luggage out of the room and walked to the door, taking her sweet time, waiting on Darcy to change her mind or call her back. But she didn't, she just held onto Bucky and let her mom leave, let her words resonate, and then, when all was quiet and Gina Lewis had finally left the building, Darcy raised her head and said, "What'd I tell you?"
He half-smiled down at her. "Pill and a half."
She nodded. "Pill and a half."