Hi, everyone! So...yeah, I'm back with the sequel to Date Night Dash. I can't seem to get these two out of my head. I'm not really sure if anyone's actually reading or not, but I suppose I'm having fun, and that's enough for me. If you do happen to be reading, shoot me a line, lemme know how you like it! It'd be great to hear from you! There don't seem to be many Wintershock fans/writers out there, so if we're a tiny group, we gotta stick together. In the mean time, I'm keeping myself busy giving Bucky and Darcy hell. I wanted to give a little prologue before my introduction, so there'd be a little set-up to start. Obviously, the horrors of New Year's haven't gone down with the ship, so the action continues here with Steeplechase: Running the Gamut. We're gonna hit all the feels with this one, like, really hard, hence the title. Anyhoo, lemme know how you're liking it so far, because I've got a lot coming down the pike. Here's chapter two. We've got some more nervous Darcy, an easy going Bucky, and...well...all hell breaking loose.
Enjoy!
PS: I'm getting set to post on AO3 as well, but am waiting for the go-ahead. No telling how long that might be; I'll keep y'all posted. :)
Steeplechase Chapter Two: First Straightaway
So, needless to say, the day hadn't started out quite the way Darcy had envisioned. True, the afternoon and evening before had been good. They'd stayed in after their interlude in the shower, lounging around tiredly and they'd polished off the last of Game of Thrones Season Four. Darcy was anxious to prod at Natasha about it, but after a glass of wine and getting curled up on the couch, the urge had mysteriously dissipated. He was feeling snuggly and held her close as they watched, curled up on his lap, and once in a while, she'd feel his mouth land tenderly on her neck, or behind her ear. But that utter contentedness had been shut down by that awful conversation.
She sipped her coffee nervously as she worked in Tony's shop, waiting. He always showed up eventually, even if it was just to poke his head in and say hello. He was such a sweet and quiet guy, he'd quickly become one of Darcy's favorites. He spent a lot of time in the shops or labs, and there had been numerous days when she'd simply watched in awe as he and Jane had tossed ideas back and forth, scribbling on the clear dry-erase boards, bouncing off theories and tests.
He'd be the one to ask. He was the scientist, the doctor
"Could you hand me that wrench, Lewis?" Tony called.
She stood, retrieving the tool from the table, shuffling loose papers out of the way and shaking her head at his mess. She crossed the room. "Tony, what is all this stuff? And do you want me to…organize a little? God, it's like 221B up in here. Aren't I supposed to—"
"Everything is where it's supposed to be," he cut her off, securing the comparison she'd made to the World's Only Consulting Detective. Finally, he stuck his head out from under the huge body of the drone he was working on to look around, his eyes landing on the stack she'd just rolled her eyes at. "Except for that. Take care of that."
She chuckled, handing off the wrench with a snort. "Got it, boss."
He disappeared again. "And don't call me 'boss'. Makes me feel old."
She laughed again, and set to work. They were mostly invoices for parts and printouts for designs from JARVIS, and she pulled out two hanging files to use in the standing file cabinet, muttering to herself.
Just then, the good doctor walked in, looking tired but ready to work.
She jumped. "Bruce!"
He looked up and smiled warmly at her. "Darcy. How's the morning so far?"
"Uh, fine. Fine." She tried not to fidget and failed miserably.
Before Tony could even begin bombarding him with questions, Bruce stepped toward her, a concerned frown on his face. "Darcy? Is something wrong?"
"Um." She hesitated, glancing at Tony, but he waved a hand from under the machinery.
"Go on, get outta here, go talk girl stuff. I'll still be here with this stupid…" The rest was lost under the drone.
Bruce set a hand to her back. "Here. Let's go out in the hall."
They stepped through the door, Darcy's heart in her throat. God, this felt like an awful, sharp, and blatant betrayal. And it must've shown on her face.
"Darcy, if there's a problem, there's nothing wrong with being concerned." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, before turning his warm, chocolaty gaze on her. "Better to get things in motion before they spiral out of control." A wry smirk. "Trust me."
She bit her lip.
He knew, didn't he? Knew it all, more than she realized. Of course, Tony had mentioned he'd poured over the brain scans.
He pressed again. "I'm sure he would agree with me. It is something he has to live with, after all. No matter who lives with it, with him. It's down to him at the end of the day. Again. Trust me."
She sighed, glancing around. "It's just…" She'd done plenty of Googling in her hacker lifetime; she was no stranger. "There's really no…scientific basis…for brainwashing…right?"
His face didn't twitch or change at all, didn't betray an ounce of what he was thinking. But he didn't imply any conjecture either. For a moment, she wanted to hug him. He hemmed and hawed, then nodded hesitantly. "Well, that's true, to a certain extent. Mind Control—or Suggestibility—is considered to be a controversial area of science, yes."
She nodded, her stomach twisting.
He took a step closer and laid a hand on her arm. "That doesn't, of course, mean that things don't happen. Science is just an area of study looking to explain the things we don't understand, Darcy. Just because science, or the field of medicine, doesn't have a consistent definition for something doesn't mean it's not a real scientific phenomenon, doesn't make it any less of a legitimate case. Just like…" He smiled. "Apollo doesn't pull the sun across the sky in his chariot. We know that now, but the Ancient Greeks had to think in terms they understood, terms they had definitions for. Just because we don't understand a truth or a fact doesn't make it any less valid to itself. You see what I'm saying?"
She nodded, realized she was still fidgeting, and thrust her arms across her chest, folding them.
His gaze was so soft. "Is there cause for doubt?"
She chewed on her lip instead. "No."
He steadied his gaze on her, ever the doctor. "Darcy. Something made you ask me. I think he'd want you to be at ease."
Her resolve crashed and burned in a spectacular fireball and she sighed, wilting and searching out the wall behind her. "No, no, it's just…something he said, I can't get it out of my head." She reached up to sweep her hair out of her face and caught her hand shaking. "Damn it."
He tugged on her arm. "C'mon. Come sit down. You're cracking. Sit before you crumble." He pulled her into one of their huge boardrooms and settled her in a rolling chair.
She took a deep breath, and gave a little hysterical laugh. "Look at me—he's turned me into a wilting girl!"
He gave her a gentle smile. "You're in love. Love changes you. Makes you into someone new. Why do you think it hurts so much?"
She dragged a hand down her face. "We were talking, this morning, about the War. And…after."
"Zola's lab?"
"Yeah. And I was stupid, I asked a stupid question, and—"
"Did you stumble across a trigger?"
She waved a hand. "No, no, he's long past all of that. God, Bruce. No, he's never hurt me—he never would. It's just…I shouldn't have asked about Tony's parents when I didn't wanna know the answer."
Again, no betrayal at all in his eyes—just steady warmth. "He's letting Tony assume he doesn't remember, when that's one of the few things he does." It wasn't a question; it most certainly was a statement of something he'd already suspected. "Judging by the look on your face, I'm assuming he remembers it with disturbing clarity."
She sighed, sinking down to stare at her hands, tense in her lap. "He said it's inconsistent. That some things are there with bright realism and other things are foggy and some things are gone entirely, and there's missing time."
He nodded reassuringly. "Darcy, you realize that's textbook amnesia…?"
She nodded. "He said it's difficult for him to determine what's a real memory and what's…something else."
"Okay…?"
"And he said…he said…a lot of it…feels real. It feels like something he, himself, was doing, that he's looking out through his eyes, but it doesn't feel like his body going through the motions. He said he remembers planning and staging, but nothing else. And he said that the lines blur and he feels…like he can't tell what was free will and what was—"
"Mental programming?"
She let out a shaky sigh. "Yeah. I…I told him that none of it was free will, but he doesn't seem convinced, and I don't know how to make his guilt go away, Bruce."
A sad look flooded his eyes, and he spoke, low and calm, to her. "Darcy. You can't. You have to let go of that. You can't fix him. Guilt is like grief. It doesn't go away. He'll just get used to carrying it around with him."
She would not cry, damn it, she would not. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "He said it's almost like…he can still feel them in there, like…he's still in there, that he's…sleeping."
His frown was more concern than alarm. "…The Winter Soldier?"
She nodded, swallowing again. "I can't get that out of my head. He said it's like he's living with his ghost." A tear betrayed her, landing on her trembling hands.
His hand slid up onto her shoulder. "Has he said anything like this before?"
She shook her head. "No."
"And he's been acting normally?"
She huffed. "Yes. Yes. He's the same he's always been. He actually didn't even have any nightmares last night, just regular dreams, good ones. I think that's the first time that's happened since fucking 1943!"
He nodded. "Good. That's good." He sighed. "Darcy. Think very carefully, okay? Can you do that for me? Try to be clear and careful and try to ignore bias."
She nodded.
"Has he been himself? In every moment, has he been himself?"
She tried her hardest to catalogue everything since New Year's. "Yes. Better, actually."
"You're sure?"
She nodded. "Yes. He's been…open and less moody, and cheerful, and flirtatious and the other day he was cooking, Bruce, in every respect, he's what a normal person would call 'fine'."
He nodded. "Okay. Good."
She looked at him. "So…?"
Bruce sighed, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm no psychologist, Darcy, and this is far from any typical case. We've already established that."
She sighed.
"Technically, it's hotly debated theory. Which is why there have been no charges brought on him. In theory, something like what happened to him could work. HYDRA has had its tentacles, if you will, in some very advanced technology. In theory, the human mind is much more fragile than we like to believe. Even for the strongest willed individual, enough pain and torment and that will, will break. Once an individual has been broken, suggestibility is a very strong possibility. They become more susceptible to other ideas, planted thoughts, 'programming' as you called it. Combined with a textbook severe case of amnesia, which he's clearly exhibiting, and under those circumstances, there's no telling what one might be convinced to do."
She nodded, feeling numb.
"That's why torture works, Darcy," he said, his voice low. "If you break a person's will, they lose everything. All feeling, all emotion. That's why he went after Steve blindly, with…anger, more than anything else, apathy at best. If he came to them with no manner of self-knowledge from his fall, he was putty in their hands. It might not have been a hard fight to smother whatever emotions he was still capable of feeling. From there, it might've been easy to simply insert what they needed him to do for them into the equation. It's all theoretically possible. You should really talk to—"
She sighed, shaking her head. "I don't wanna talk to Dr. Rosen. She…intimidates me. And—"
Bruce laughed. "Yeah, some of the SHIELD doctors are…less than friendly. Rosen seems alright, though. She's well-vetted. She's got a spotless record."
"I wanted to talk to you. You've looked at the scans. I'm sure you're smarter than everyone else in this building."
He raised a brow and blushed. "Don't forget Tony."
She smirked despite herself. "Yeah. Tony."
Bruce sighed. "Listen. There are some results and scans, some samples and labs that were done and stored. Tony was adamant that they be run when he arrived, but after talking to him, he decided they shouldn't even be studied until he was in a better place. I can pull them out, if you want. I'll go over them myself."
She swallowed, her heart panging, backpedalling. "No, Bruce. I just…I had a…mini freak out and you don't have to—"
"I don't have anything else on my plate today. I was pretty much going to give Tony a hand and check if Jane needed another pair of eyes on that Bifrost data. There's nothing you're interrupting."
She sighed again. "But Tony said you already stared at the scans until you were seeing double—"
"Yes, the scans we swiped from HYDRA. These are different, run by us. I can take a look."
She hesitated.
He stood, pulling her to her feet gently. "Say, 'Yes, Bruce, that would be wonderful.'"
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Bruce, that would be wonderful."
He smiled. "Okay. Now, go. Take the day."
She stared. "But—"
He was already pushing her out of the room. "I'll take care of Tony. Why don't you go find the gang? They were all down in the main gym, sparring, when I went through. Go relax, maybe do some observing for yourself, maybe see how he is with Steve on his own. Then go up early and try to relax. When I'm done, I'll bring you the file. This will be just between the two of us." His voice was just so warm and soft.
She raised a brow. "And 'Doctor/Patient Confidentiality'?"
He smirked. "He's not my patient, so HIPAA doesn't apply. You show him or you don't show him. This is for you. You're one of my girls. Now, go." He shoved her a little harder.
She sighed, and left.
But not before getting a hug from him—a really, really good one.
(((((((((())))))))))
He hadn't lied—just about everyone else was in the lower sparring gym. On the south end, Clint, Natasha, Sam, Maria, and Wanda were all working in one big group on lower body shots, their choreography like something out of a music video. They danced this way and that, laughing and ducking and kicking and landing hard on their asses, one at a time. She stood for a moment, watching them in awe.
"You're such a punk!"
She jumped at the loud complaint, looking around.
Down at the opposite end of the long room, Steve and Bucky were locked in hand-to-hand, laughing and yelling at each other.
Steve had thrown himself up on one of the bars hanging low for maintenance, and was swinging out of reach, grinning.
Bucky sighed, hands on hips, and stood there, watching him with a bemused scowl in his t-shirt and loose, workout pants, barefoot.
Steve—his fashion double—grinned.
Darcy smiled. So this was what everyone else did all day. No wonder the paperwork and reports she needed never got done.
"If you think that's gonna stop me, jerk…" Bucky called, shaking his head.
She chuckled and began toward them, trying not to look like an idiot on the floor mat in her heels. Finally, she pulled them off and carried them in her hand as she crossed the room, her long black pencil skirt snug on her knees. She'd found it a few weeks prior and the cut of it—like a reverse bell, tight around her hips and below her knees—reminding her of the forties. She'd shamelessly bought it.
She smirked as she rounded on them; Bucky had left before her and hadn't seen it yet, nor had he seen the snug white top she'd worn to go along with it, low in the front, or her red kitten heels.
He jumped, the serum in his blood giving him plenty of edge, and tugged on Steve's exposed legs, pulling him down with a shout to land hard on his back on the mat. He slammed down with a grunt and lay there, looking dazedly up at Bucky, who stood over him with a smug grin. "Still think you're cute, Rogers?"
Steve sighed. "Uncle."
"There you go." Bucky offered a hand up.
Steve took it and bounced easily to his feet.
Immediately, they went back to it, circling each other and laughing.
She stood there, smiling and watching them as they traded silly barbs and darted strikes at each other, nearly all of them landing, and definitely all of them capable of hurting anyone else.
Wondering how long she'd be able to stand there and go unnoticed, she tamped down the desire she felt rushing just watching them. Any display of physicality from Bucky was a horrible turn on and she swallowed it back, trying to focus, and trying not to watch the way his muscles worked as he gained the upper hand and flipped Steve clean on his back all over again.
He hit hard again, grunting, then laughing. "God. I hate you."
"Hey!" Natasha yelled from the other end of the room. "Don't break my husband. I know six different ways to emasculate you, and that one over there wouldn't appreciate that very much." She pointed at Darcy.
Laughing, she tried to shrink back, but ultimately failed as every set of eyes landed on her.
They all called a hello, and went back to it like little drones.
Steve and Bucky, however, paused, staring at her.
She felt the flush heat its way up her neck and onto her cheeks. "What?"
But it was Steve who spoke, looking a little dumbfounded, in that adorable, yet not annoying way he sometimes did. "Ain't you a dame just walked outta 1942."
She flushed brighter. "Liked the skirt online," was all she offered, shrugging.
Bucky winked. "Were you plannin' on showin' me this little number later or were you just bein' a tease?"
Steve took advantage, a grim smirk on his face as he grabbed Bucky from behind, spinning and lowering a kick to his legs, laughing as he landed hard on his own back.
Bucky coughed, glaring good-naturedly up at him. "See? You're a punk."
Steve grinned. "Don't get distracted."
Bucky stood on his own. "Not my fault your girl wears the same cat suit every day."
Steve laughed. "I happen to like that cat suit."
"You like getting her out of the cat suit, Steve," Darcy chimed in, and turned, feeling their eyes on her ass as she went to sit on an observation stool. "Go on, boys. Don't let me stop you."
But they were back to teasing and bickering.
"Keep your eyes in your head, Rogers."
"Hey—looking ain't touching."
"Oh, is that how it works, now? Should I go check out Nat, then?"
"I don't think that would be a good idea—on her part, not mine."
"You sure?"
"You hearing this, Darcy? You gonna let him talk about looking up another girl with you right there?"
She shrugged, flashing them both a coy look, even as she knew Bucky had no physical affection for the spy—she'd asked him, once. "I know where is every night."
"Oh, and where's that?" Steve needled, smirking.
"My bed."
Bucky whistled low. "Point lost, Stevie. Quit while you're ahead."
"Who says he's ahead, gentlemen?"
They both laughed, and she enjoyed the loose, masculine sound, the giggle of Steve and the huskiness of her Bucky, relaxed and easy.
"Go on, boys. I've been sent down to observe your techniques. Go to it."
"No reports to run?" Bucky asked, sidling over for his towel, wiping his face with it as he watched her.
She hesitated, then swallowed, schooling her features. "Nah, Tony kicked me out." The words felt like a sharp stick in her chest. He'd never lied to her—she just knew it, somehow—and here she went, acting like a duplicitous bitch.
Rogers came over too, reaching for his water bottle. He chugged the whole thing before throwing himself down on the mat at her feet. "Stark sure is moody lately."
Bucky followed suit, snatching up his own water before ducking for a peck on the mouth.
She made a show of whining at how sweaty he was, but kissed him anyway and shoved him in Steve's direction.
"Well, the Iron Legion isn't cooperating, I guess," he said as he threw himself down and sprawled out on his back, breathless.
"Yeah, he's been in a stalemate with it for days now. Think the drone's gaining ground, actually." She looked down at them. "What's with you two? C'mon, I'm supposed to be observing you guys in action, and you're lazing around like a couple monkeys? Is this why I never have the paperwork I need for Tony's reports?" she teased, nudging at Bucky's head with a foot.
Steve groaned.
"Oh, what's that, Rogers? C'mon, I know this one over here slept, I was right there in the bed. What's your excuse?"
He hauled himself up, rolling his eyes, but his mouth was quirked in a smile. "She like this at home?"
Bucky followed, his eyes full of mischief. "Nah, she's in a good mood at home. It's all in the technique."
She burst out laughing. "Oh, God. You two are a pair. C'mon. Let's see your mad skills."
They whiled away the morning and into the afternoon going over drills and sets. The two of them moved like a well-oiled machine. When Darcy went to get sandwiches and coffee upstairs, she happened across the lab. Bruce was too engrossed to look up as she entered, but she left his espresso on the counter as a thank you and continued on her way.
When she made it back down, it was to find everyone had paired off, Bucky alone on the side, pointing out flaws in everyone's skill sets.
She curled up on the floor next to him. "What's with this?"
He shrugged and winked impishly. "We all decided to pair off, but no one's brave enough for me. So every day around this time, I end up the coach."
She scowled. "That's lame."
He took his coffee from her. "Why? I'd rather not have an accident. And besides, from what everyone says, I'm the only one with any skills that don't need refining, apparently." He shrugged.
She sighed, dissatisfied.
But she watched as he called out shots and everyone went through the motions, eating her lunch and sipping at her coffee.
She was just thinking about going back up to check on Tony, when a soft voice called her from the door. She looked up to find Bruce there, a hint in his gaze as he waved awkwardly at those that noticed him. "Darce?"
She stood. "Yeah?" she asked, playing along.
"Tony's got something he needs you to look at upstairs."
"Oh." Trying not to shake, she gathered up her things.
"Where you goin', doll?" Bucky asked, coming back across the mat.
"Tony."
"Mm. See you upstairs." He pecked her on the mouth and waved at Bruce.
Bruce smiled and led her back out again.
The door shut behind them.
"Anything alarming?" she asked, pushing her hair back with a trembling hand and wondering if she really wanted the answer.
But Bruce shook his head. "Not really, no. But here." He held out the file. "You might want to read through it all yourself. Lots of…interesting things in there."
She stared at the thick file. "Bruce—"
"It's alright."
They got in the elevator.
"You on eighty-eight?"
She nodded.
JARVIS took the order and the elevator began.
"Look. Just read the file. If you're confused about anything, come and find me. I don't think I saw anything particularly alarming, but if there's anything strange that comes up, I really think you should go to Dr. Rosen. She's good at what she does. Come to Tony, then, and me. Okay?"
She nodded, clutching the folder to her chest.
He pressed his hand to her back and gave her a soft smile, pushing her gently off as the doors opened. "You're not alone, Darce. Neither is he."
The doors shut, leaving her in the silence of their hallway.
She sighed and flashed her badge, and went in, going immediately for a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt, a blanket and her coffee, still unfinished. It was only three, so she had plenty of time. Usually the gang packed up their various activities around four, so she hoped she could get through it all quickly.
The first two dozen pages were largely the brain scans, which, while interesting, told her a lot of nothing, since she wasn't a neuroscientist. The next dozen or so were run-ups on his general health. He'd come in at 5'11", 140 pounds, giving him a BMI of 19.5, most of which was muscle mass.
His blood type was A-positive.
Blue eyes.
Brown hair.
Approximately age 28. Hm. Interesting.
Enhanced neurological features. What the hell did that mean? She flipped some pages. Increased electrical activity in the frontal lobe. Better, faster coordination.
Occipital lobe enhancement. Increased vision sequencing, with focus on night vision.
High activity in the cerebellum. Increased sequencing of fine motor movements. So, freakishly good at hand to hand?
She sighed, squinting at the typing and straightening her glasses.
Spinal cord and brain stem appear normal, deferring normal to increased heart rate as needed, etc, etc, respiration rate, sexual arousal…blah, blah, blah. Well, that all seemed fine. She blushed.
Oh. Here. The serum.
She read, skimming quickly. …Could be responsible for i.e. see previous entry…enhanced learning of fine motor skills. So he could learn by observation? Wicked.
Increased metabolic rate. Okay, so he could eat like a horse just to get through a normal person's day. Steve. Check.
Increased hormonal output. Also, check. Well, she didn't think she'd ever get it out of Natasha, but it was likely their sex life was as healthy as hers. She blushed again. Check.
Disruption/reduction of circadian rhythms, allowing for disrupted sleep/lesser equivalent required for typical/atypical functionality compared to average individual.
Increased efficacy of sexual reproduc—
She flipped the page, blushing again. Check.
Okay, safe to say he'd been wrong, then. She bit her lip, making a mental note to double check her next appointment with the doctor.
Increased concentration/fine motor skills/vision/depth perception.
Well. He'd been a skilled sniper beforehand, so it would follow…
Check.
She turned another page.
Similar in composition to Project: Rebirth serum (A. Erskine): 96%
Her jaw dropped open and she stared at the page for a full five minutes before she noticed the clock on the table change and quickly shut it.
"Holy shit," she said aloud.
"Is there a problem, Ms. Lewis?" JARVIS cut in. "Mr. Stark, as well as Mr. Barnes are two floors below at present; I might have them to your location if you so require."
She waved a hand distractedly. "No, no! God, JARVIS."
Whew. Well. That all explained…a lot.
She shook her head in disbelief and flipped a few more pages, knocking off another two dozen just of brain scans, with what looked—to the naked eye, anyway—like sections of the aforementioned areas of his brain lit up. She frowned, bit her lip, and kept going.
The initial intake psychologist's notes were at the very back.
She paused, unsure if she wanted to continue.
But, no. She'd come this far. Might as well. In for a penny, in for a pound.
There were checklists with scribbles covering a solid 80% of most of the pages, and there were probably a dozen of those, describing in detail the thoughts behind each check.
Subject exhibits symptoms of clinical disturbance. Check.
Subject exhibits symptoms of clinical depression. Check.
Subject exhibits signs of the following in intermittent phases: fear and conditioning, suggestibility, mental trauma, PTSD, nightmares, night terrors, severe panic disorder, clinical anxiety. Suspect torture, including but not limited to: electroshock, psychological manipulation.
Subject displays clear signs of mental trauma, guilt, shame, anger, and increased reactivity.
Suggest psychological follow up? Check.
Suggest containment? No check.
Subject may be considered dangerous at present to self or others: No check. With a small note: Subject exhibits signs of increased disturbance at actions, RBG (initials) believes subject to be exposed to increased suggestibility and/or mind control. In keeping with HYDRA notes, see Zola, Arnim, electroshock used to dull senses until subject near catatonic state, at which point missions inserted as single thought process. Repeat.
That was the last page.
She flipped it closed and sat there in the rapidly dimming room, suddenly icy cold and numb at the same time.
Just then, the door beeped.
Jumping, she had just enough time to slide the file between the low chair and high carpet before the door opened and Bucky came in, hair still damp from his shower down in the gyms, t-shirt snug on his muscled chest.
He glanced up as he tossed his key card down by the door, and smiled. "There's my best girl."
She hoped she looked neither flushed nor pale; a dead giveaway, and he was a pro at spotting the smallest hint. Of course, how hilarious that she'd just read he'd been trained to do it like a fucking dog. "Hey!"
He crossed the room to her and threw himself down on the opposite end, pulling her by her ankles until she was closer before kneading at her feet. "And how is my best girl?"
She was staring down at her ring. "Fine."
He made a scoffing, playful sound. "Just 'fine'? What's wrong?"
It came bursting out before she could stop it. "You-know-how-much-I-love-you-right?"
He paused, looking at her hard. "What's up, Darce?"
She smirked. "You've taken to modern lingo way faster than Steve."
Epic. Fail. "Darce."
She sighed. "It was just a really long day, and I feel like we left things kinda weird this morning, and…you do know, right?"
His eyes softened and he nodded. "Yeah. Why?"
This suddenly felt so important, though, too important to let go with a casual 'yeah'. "No, really, Jamie. You get that, right? That I'm head-over-heels-done-looking-marry-you-tomorrow-if-you-begged-in love with you. You're probably the most important thing in my life."
His face changed, brows drawing together in a melancholy sort of way. He paused, staring at her. "Not sure why yet. But yes."
"How do you know?"
A gentle shrug. "It's in your eyes."
"You're that good at reading people—you and Steve?"
Another shrug. "Yeah. Kinda."
With a sigh, she sat forward and kissed him, hard and insistent. For a few moments, she thought it would work, as his hands tightened around her legs and he kissed her back.
But when she found the hem on his t-shirt, she was met with instant failure. He grabbed her hand in his iron grip and pulled back, looking at her evenly. "What's wrong?"
She bit her lip. "Nothing."
"Darce." Serious. No playing.
She sighed. "Nothing's wrong. It was a really long day, and—"
An eyebrow ticked up. "Darcy. Even if I couldn't tell you were lying because I can hear your pounding heart and count your rapid pulse, I'd still know you were lying."
She slumped back. "What's my tell?"
He smiled, reaching up to comb her hair back from her face. "Nothing, really. But you're strung like a bow. I can read you like a book." His eyes softened, and his voice to match. "What's wrong?"
She sighed again, her hands shaking in his lap. "It's just…"
He reached out to take them up in his and squeezed gently. "Talk to me, Lewis."
She took a deep breath. "I…I might've…read your file."
He nodded.
And it all rushed out. "Something you said this morning, it freaked me out, and Bruce could tell, and he offered to go over your labs and he smuggled your initial file out and gave it to me, and I read it, because I'm an idiot, and…" Her confession drifted off. And she didn't have the guts to look at him.
"That's it?"
Her gaze snapped up.
He shrugged. "You read that beast of a file?" He craned his head to look around. "Where the hell did you hide the thing? Sucker's huge."
Her jaw dropped open. "You're not mad?"
Something ticked in his face, and he smirked, leaning over around her legs and he dug around under the couch, grinning when he came up successful, and tossed the book on the coffee table beside their photo. "You are the most transparent fiancé a guy could have. Seriously."
She gaped at him. "You're not mad?"
He laughed. "Why would I be mad? So you read the thing—I've read it probably half a dozen times over."
"You have?!"
"Course I have! It's my file!"
"Well, I've never read anything SHIELD mocked up for me!"
He snorted. "Yeah, because it's probably fairly empty. You're normal."
"Can't be that normal, if I agreed to marry you."
He barked that laugh of his. "Touché, Lewis. You want me to sneak into the labs tonight in the dark and liberate yours, then?" He winked.
She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Felt guilty and awful for nothing."
He sighed. "Darce, if I freaked you out this morning, you should've said something. You shouldn't have to go through your whole day in a state of panic. I knew something was wrong when you came down today."
"You did?"
He pulled a face. "You came down for observation? C'mon, Darce, gimme a little credit. We live together. I can tell when you're off. I never see you during office hours unless we pass in the hall, and then you show up in the sparring gym?"
She slumped. "That obvious?"
He smirked. "Probably only to me. And, maybe, Natasha, because she's freakishly observant."
"What about Steve? Did he say anything?"
He snorted. "That it was nice of you to stop down, yeah." He laughed. "Always has been kind of a goofball."
She sighed.
His hand came up her back. "What freaked you out?"
She bit her lip, hesitating again.
"Come on. You gotta tell me these things or they'll just cause a rift. You wanna marry me, you gotta find a way to deal with the baggage."
She stared at him, horrified that he would make that jump. "It's not that!"
He shrugged, his voice light. "Then what?"
She settled in his lap, and snuggled against his chest. "God, no, it's not that. There's no…resentment, there's no rift, God, that's the opposite of what's going on here."
His hand caressed up her spine, then back down again. "Darcy…?" he prompted.
"I just…don't want you to worry any more than you already do. I feel like my concerns only compound the problem."
"What problem?"
"This grief that you carry around."
He was quiet for a long moment. "…Everyone does it, Darcy. Some of us just carry a heavier load. It's no different with me. No matter how different it all seems, I'm just another person at the end of the day. It's down to me." Just like what Bruce said.
"Bruce said my…desire to…fix you…was a hang-up."
He snorted. "It is."
She jerked her head up to look at him.
He was smiling. "You can't fix me. It's never gonna happen. Nothing fixes what happened to me, Darce. It's just a part of my physical makeup now." He shrugged. "I'm in the process of accepting that. But he's right. There are more important things you can set your mind to. I'm fine—as fine as I'm ever gonna be."
She scowled. "You really feel that way?"
He shrugged again. "Is there another way I should feel?"
"But you said…that…you felt like the Winter Soldier was…still in there." She shivered.
His face changed and his arms around her tightened. "Ah. The culprit."
She blushed.
"I should've…worded that better. I'm sorry," he murmured, resting his chin on her head. "No. The Winter Soldier's not…there's not another evil guy up in my head, Darce."
She smoothed her hand down his t-shirt. "I didn't think there was. You…made it sound like HYDRA was still up there."
He took a deep breath. "No, no. I just meant that…it was difficult to accept that…I am him. That's all. I'm him. I'm capable of being The Winter Soldier. At any moment. I…don't like that I'm potentially not…in control of my baser emotions at all times, I don't like feeling like one moment lacking stern control could hurt you. Or someone else."
She thought back to that moment on New Year's Eve, where she'd met him firsthand. "You didn't kill Lukin."
A sad smile. "Because you were there. I probably would have otherwise. As awful as the guy is, that bothers me. I did enough damage, and I'm still not sure how much was me acting under my own will. I'd rather not be responsible for any more bloodshed."
She tugged idly at the material and let it fall back again.
"That's all I meant."
"None of it was your own will."
"…You'll understand if it doesn't always feel that way. How can I be sure when I can go back and watch it all happening in front of me? It might not have been me, but those things still happened, and to some degree, I'm responsible, whether by choice or not. At best, that's Involuntary Manslaughter."
She sighed. "Buck—"
"Everything's okay. Alright? These are things I mull over all the time. They aren't a gage for my mental instability."
She scowled. "You're not mentally unstable. Besides…where did all this come from? You seemed so…not like this on New Year's."
He shrugged, contemplative. "I dunno. You were right. We got out of that alive. Together. I figured that, at some point, that was telling. And no one died. Yay. I didn't kill anyone."
"Even the bad guys."
"Besides…you wouldn't have said 'yes' if you really thought I was crazy."
She didn't miss a beat. "Oh, I do think you're crazy. I just really like this ring."
He burst out laughing.
"Oh, and by the way, you might want to give that thing another read through. I think there were a couple things you might've missed."
He frowned. "Like what?"
She blushed. "You are…very much like Steve. Like, 96% like Steve."
His eyes went wide. "The stuff in my blood is—"
"Almost identical to Erskine's original formula."
He stared.
"Oh, and, uh…that suspicion you had, was, therefore…way off."
"Oh?" He blinked, not quite catching on.
"Yes. You've both got very determined little…swimmers."
He gave a short laugh, then, a smirk dancing around his mouth, and his ears went a touch pink. "Really?"
She nodded, pursing her lips. "Yep." Another blush. "And, uh, increased reactionary responses, and that applies to…all areas. Which…explains some things."
An eyebrow slowly rose. "I have yet to hear you complaining…"
She giggled, snuggling closer until she was twisted around on his lap, straddling him. "Never."
She learned that the couch was almost as comfortable as the bed.
(((((((((())))))))))
"So, Small Fry, when were you planning on making your big announcement?"
It took Darcy a moment to realize that she was being spoken to, and finally glanced up into Tony's face with wide eyes. "What?"
God, please, not this again. Can't a girl just wear a piece of jewelry in this place?!
Bucky, beside her at the conference table, stiffened, aware of how much she hated being the center of attention. He'd learned that quickly, as the reason she often hid in her huge sweaters and her glasses when she had a full box of contacts in his bathroom cabinet.
Tony smirked, glancing around the table at the few other people who had already arrived for debrief. "C'mon, kids. No formal announcement? No blurb in the newspaper?" he teased.
She felt the blush rise in her face and scowled at him. "This isn't Britain, Tony. And it's 2015, not 1896."
Bucky snorted, leaning back in his chair and stretching.
But that only drew Tony's attention. "What about you, there, Barnes? Anything outta you?"
"What—I get a stupid nickname, but he's just 'Barnes'?!" she protested.
Bucky shrugged. "I'm deferring to her on this one, Stark."
A sly grin took the inventor's face. "Ah. I see how it is."
Darcy sighed. "You really don't."
Sam spoke up from the other end of the table, where he was lounging in a practiced look of carelessness. "Yeah, guys, you kinda hit it outta the ballpark with that rock. We're all wondering where the ball's going next."
It was Bucky's turn to sigh. "All I did was walk into Tiffany's and buy a ring! Why is this so fascinating for everyone?! From what I remember, that tradition is still the same."
Just then Steve and Natasha walked in.
Bucky took the opportunity. "No one kicked up a fuss when these two got hitched."
"That's because everyone's afraid of the missus," Tony pointed out.
"And no one's afraid of him?" Darcy questioned, gesturing at the soldier beside her.
The whole room went silent.
Everyone looked at each other.
And Bucky burst out laughing, an infectious, husky sound. "I must be losing my edge!"
Maria walked in, then, head down as she studied a file in her hands. She looked up at the noise. "What's so funny?"
Tony sighed, clearly put out that he'd been deflected again. "The snowman's gone round the big one. Go ahead, Hill."
She sat down at the head of the table, pausing to knock Sam's propped up feet off the edge, and got started, flicking through her file as she spoke.
"So, Steve, you were right. The footage you guys swiped from that vessel in the Black Sea came back clear. Looks like Alexsander Lukin went to ground."
Steve shook his head. "That part wasn't me. Buck recognized him."
Darcy scowled as she typed this out on her open laptop. "See? You should'a killed the bastard. I shouldn't have stopped you."
"That would've been a lot of paperwork, guys," Maria reminded her. "At least, this way, we have the opportunity to see where he leads us."
She reached up to rub at the back of her neck with one hand as she hit the Enter key.
"What's wrong?" Bucky murmured.
"Just a headache." She waved him off and went back to typing.
"Anyway, our intel is in line with everything else. They've been hanging around the Romanian coast. This Black Sea vessel was a one-shot deal, and we're lucky we were able to catch them when we did."
"And what did our gorgeous boys find?" Wanda chimed in as she breezed through the door and took a seat on Darcy's other side.
Maria glanced up. "Well. Steve took on the job of going through everything. Steve?"
He sat forward and folded his hands on the table. "Some weird stuff, none of it really gels together real well."
"Like what?" Darcy asked, hitting her Enter key again.
"Some odd notes, files on old operations and projects. A tagalong file on the Winter Soldier Project—still open."
Everyone glanced at Bucky, who shrugged casually.
"Also, some extensive notes on Operation: Paperclip, which also struck me as odd. Numerous mock-ups of the personal profile of the Red Skull, excess data on Project: Insight, also scrapped"—he glanced at Bucky again—"but nothing on future projects or even information on current agents. There were numerous detailed maps of some high-population areas of the country, but nothing concrete."
"So, we've got nothing to go on?" Tony asked, frowning.
Maria reached over to shove Sam's feet off the table again. "Looks like."
But Bucky shook his head, leaning forward over the table. "I wouldn't say that. Something's cookin' and I've got a bad feeling. They were out in full force for New Year's. I swear every agent in the greater New York area was out for me that night. They wanted me alive, or they wanted me left for dead. They got neither. That night, I was too tired to think much about strategy, but ever since then, I'm certain it was…almost too easy. They were sloppy, and I'd say it was because they underestimated me, but now I'm not so sure." He looked over at Steve. "Is there surveillance footage of Lukin in the data?"
Steve nodded, pushing a photograph across the table toward him to reveal a security camera shot of the same bespoke-d gentleman crossing the dim, grainy view.
He and Darcy both leaned over, Darcy still typing as she glanced.
"Darcy?" Maria prompted.
"That's him alright."
Bucky sighed, pulling a metal hand through his shaggy hair. "If he's gone to ground, and this is where he's gone, nothing good is coming. He had way too many men at his beck and call."
"I agree," Sam spoke up, hitching his feet up again. "Something was weird about that ship. I mean, it isn't the first time we went in and didn't see a soul, but all the equipment was on and running, all the files were scattered, none of it makes any sense."
"So, what are we left with?" Wanda asked, leaning back with a sigh.
"I can shore up security in the building, we can all hibernate in here for a while, see if something goes down somewhere, wait out the storm a little?" Tony offered.
Clint spoke up from the corner. "Doesn't seem right, just pretending to be a sitting duck."
"How else do we lure them out, though?" Steve projected. "We don't want to relax into a false sense of security either, do we?"
But Tony had an answer for that, too. "I can put out some feelers. I've got friends over in Constanta, you know, the business block Eastern European types, don't like to come out of their holes, but like to be at the center of the action. Can see if they've noticed anything weird."
Bruce stepped in from the neighboring lab, where he worked, the door standing open so he could listen. "I've got a buddy at NORAD. Would it be helpful to see if I can bribe him to check out some of the street view satellite imagery?"
"Nat and I can stop by The Fridge and have a few words with von Strucker?" Steve offered.
Maria stood, nodding and shoving Sam's feet back off the conference table. "Sounds like a plan. Regroup here…next Tuesday?"
Everyone murmured the affirmative and shuffled out.
Tony was already on the phone, jabbering in a foreign language that Bucky told her was Romanian, Bruce was scurrying down the hall to his office, Maria and Sam were arguing about what was appropriate during meetings, and Steve and Natasha were discussing flights out of LaGuardia. Sometimes it was just too obvious to take the quinjet.
They went back to the apartment and lounged around. Bucky curled up on the couch with To Kill a Mockingbird and Darcy lay down with her headphones for a nap, her head in his lap. His metal fingers felt good in her hair and against her scalp, and she was out in minutes.
When she woke, she found she was alone on the couch, but was tucked into the blanket. Her headache was gone. Groggy, she sat up to find him puttering around in the kitchen, something simmering on the stove.
"If that's more pasta, I'm gonna wonder if you're trying to fatten me up for something, Barnes," she quipped.
He smiled. "It's just chicken, calm down. Hungry?"
She yawned as she hauled herself off the couch. "Starving."
"How's your head?"
"Fine. Man, did I luck out with you. A man that's good in bed and in the kitchen. Where'd you come from?"
He snorted. "Brooklyn, 1919. I think. Doesn't matter. Back then, you didn't waste anything. So, yeah, you got a man that can cook."
"And pilot the quinjet, and break people in half, and see through any lie, and shoot a moving target from a million miles away, and beat up Captain America, and make me laugh, and has really good taste in books—and women—and what else? Oh! Right!" She snapped her fingers. "Almost forgot. Bring me so hard I see stars. There's that, too."
He laughed and shook his head. "Has it occurred to you that maybe the only reason it's so good has nothing to do with any skill and everything to do with the fact we're in love?"
She sighed dreamily as she crossed into the room and sidled up to him. "Yeah, but that's super cheesy, so I sorta tossed it out as soon as it occurred to me."
He snorted again.
"Besides, like I said, I only said 'yes' for the ring. Remember?"
He sighed.
She pressed herself against his back and ran a hand up his side until he flinched, ticklish, and finally relented to turning so she could press a kiss to his cheek.
They ate and curled up for TV, turning it off quickly in favor of other pursuits, most of which she claimed was payment for his skills in the kitchen.
All it did for him was confirm a suspicion; she was even more beautiful in half-light.
He woke late, very late, to find the room dark as pitch and silent, even the vents quiet as it kept up with the winter thermostat.
Something else odd he'd had to acclimate to. He remembered having trouble sleeping at camp, at first, being shocked that once lights out was enforced, it was remarkably silent. For a kid who'd grown up in the noise of Brooklyn, it was too quiet, sterile.
He'd been glad the windows in his suite opened after he'd moved in, relieved he could let in the constant buzz of New York at night so he could sleep.
But it was winter, now, and the Tower was shut up tight, sealed up like a coffin, and it bothered him, disrupting his already uneven circadian rhythms.
He sat up, frowning, trying to remember the odd dream he'd been having. There had been an awful, shooting pain in the back of his neck, and—
An icy bolt shot up his back and lodged in the area in question, making him gasp in pain. Just as he gathered himself from the onslaught, another hit, twice as hard and twice as painful, and he dragged himself, squinting, out of bed and into the ensuite bathroom.
Another hot lance shot up his neck and into the back of his head, and he doubled over, gasping as his vision threatened to go dark. He was able to pull himself to the mirror through sheer force of will, but when he peered in the mirror, everything looked normal. Craning a little, he could see most of his throat and neck looked pale and ordinary. If anything, his features were pinched from the pain and his eyes were tiny pinpricks, but that could be attributed to the sudden light he flashed on in the doorway.
Another bolt burst in his neck, then, so hard and agonizing that he did double over, his vision winking out—
And when he came to, the pain was gone, just like that.
He stood. The mirror held no clues.
That didn't matter, really. He had other things to do.
Moving quickly and efficiently, he went into the adjoining room and over to his go bag. He rifled around, searching out what he needed, before turning to the girl in the bed.
She was beautiful; it was true.
He crossed the room to her, watching her curled form sleep, peaceful and even breathing, easy, dreamless and soft.
Then he lowered the knife to her throat.
At the last moment, she woke, shifting to the side with a shriek, to avoid the blade, and her hands went up to block and push him.
She was surprisingly strong for such a little thing and she grappled with him with shocking ease, a knee up to grip and throw him aside onto the bed, where they continued to struggle.
But he quickly gained the upper hand, bearing down on her with his hands around her pretty throat, squeezing the life out of her, terror in her eyes as she struggled. Then she stopped.
(((((((((())))))))))
Bucky lunged awake with a soft shout, covered in sweat and his heart trying to beat a fast path out of his chest.
For a long, awful moment, he wasn't sure where he was and had to refresh himself.
2016. Eighty-eighth floor. Darcy—
He jumped, daring to glance down for one heart-stopping moment.
But Darcy was beside him, sound asleep, remarkably not stirred this time by his waking. She mewled softly in her sleep as he watched and sought him out with a hand.
He flinched, darting softly back, and sliding carefully off the bed to avoid waking her. For a long moment, he stood watching her sleep, enamored with the way the moonlight cut a stripe across the graceful curve of her back, her eyes softly closed and her long lashes streaking shadows across her face. He reached out, out of habit, to brush a strand of hair from her face and found his hand trembling, and fled into the bathroom.
He carefully shut the door and flicked on the light, staring at his own pale reflection. His eyes were dilated, nearly swallowing his cornflower irises.
"Just a nightmare," he murmured to himself, turning on the tap and splashing icy water on his face. "Just a nightmare." He swallowed.
But, God, he'd never had one like that before.
He'd never had one where he'd…
He flinched again, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt at banishing the image of a struggling Darcy from his brain. "Jesus Christ." He reached up to run the pad of a finger along the back of his neck, where the pain had been so awful. God, he could still feel it. But it was just smooth skin there, not even raised in the slightest where Tony had—
His tracker.
His tracker insert. It sat at the back of his neck, just there, at the top of his spine.
Brain turning, he bit his lip, considering his options, then dismissing them.
HYDRA couldn't…could they?
If they could use what amounted to theoretical science to brainwash him into becoming their heartless assassin, surely they could…
Sighing in what felt like partial defeat, he snicked off the light and opened the door, going back into the bedroom and over to his go bag, where he stored it in the corner when they weren't on ops.
He rifled around, quiet as a mouse, before pulling out one of his knives, needle sharp. He'd just cleaned them, did every time they got back, no matter if he'd used them or not. Some habits are so drilled in with the military that they never leave, even if you're not paying attention.
He went back into the bathroom and considered his real options. It could be useful, if things were going south, to have a tracker on him. Lead the team to HYDRA—or vice-versa.
Then again, if there was something odd going on, he didn't want the tracker making him vulnerable. He had vowed, that day at the Smithsonian, that never again would he be locked out of his own mind.
How did the saying go? Darcy had mentioned him once. Mandela? I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul…?
He shook it off, like he'd shaken off so much else, and took up the knife. Thanks to a false photographic memory that he'd been fitted with—he rolled his eyes—he remembered precisely where Tony had shot the tiny thing into the thin layer of flesh at the top of his spine, just by feeling alone. It was just a good thing his hair was long enough to cover the cut he'd have to make, or Darcy would be alarmed.
Biting his lip, he set to work.
It didn't take long the next day. Appropriate, really, since they struck at the crack of dawn, when the sun was just barely winking over the horizon.
As Manhattan was bathed in syrupy gold, the Tower smoked.
Darcy was just coming awake when the bed shifted. She peered around groggily, but found herself alone, Bucky dressing quickly in the corner, all in his black SHIELD combat gear, his arm glinting in the new light.
She lunged awake. "What—"
"HYDRA. I gotta go, doll."
She slid clumsily out of bed, her thin teddy nightgown clinging to her body. "What—?"
"They struck a bottom section of the Tower. They're trying to use one of the lower balconies to gain access. I gotta go."
Still half confused, she tried to recall protocol and slid on a pair of jeans, her Keds, a sports bra, and one of his soft, well-worn gray t-shirts, tossing her hair up in a ponytail and grabbing up her purse just in time for him to be ready. She slid her glasses on as they rushed the door.
He looked scary all put together. Everything was black, down to his boots and his vest, and she was very grateful he no longer had that creepy cowl, wasn't even sure what it'd been for, other than hiding his real identity. "Don't go near the outer elevator, use the one for personnel," he told her. "I'm meeting the team in the stairwell. Go down to the safe rooms, seal yourself in. I'm sure Jane and Pepper are already there. We'll come and get you when it's done, okay?"
She grabbed at his arm. "Okay? No, no, it's not okay. None of this is okay—"
"I just need you to be safe."
Her mouth shut with a snap at his soft tone.
"Okay? I need that."
She sighed. "You just…make sure you come back to me, soldier boy, or I will never forgive you! You got that? I will be super pissed at you, dude!"
He nodded. "I know," he said, softly, and pulled her into a tight embrace.
She shamelessly got lost in the feeling of his arms around her, his left one whirring softly as he tightened his hold. Safe. This was what safe felt like; she needed to commit it to memory.
"I love you," he murmured softly.
She nodded.
He pressed a tender kiss to her mouth and then was gone, pulling the handle to the stairwell door.
She stood there in the empty hallway, and when the door snicked shut, she jumped. Sighing, she went into protocol mode, and crossed to the elevator for personal use, trying not to feel guilty for snapping at JARVIS when he asked her location, even though it wasn't like he had feelings she could hurt.
She came out near the sparring gyms and went through the door at the far end of the hallway. As expected, Jane and Pepper were already there, Pepper staring at her phone with deliberate laser focus and Jane chewing on a fingernail. She jumped when Darcy came in, scowling at the windowless walls.
Lately, she'd been doing a lot of thinking about the world she had found herself in. Trying to wrap her mind around all of it being real, seated firmly in reality, a reality she'd barely scratched the surface of for most of her life. She'd been quietly struggling with a soft, mild form of anxiety, mostly concerning the safety blanket she'd come to view as her life with Bucky. She'd been recently changed into a different version of herself, a softer, milder, more contemplative version, a girl who believed in fate and chance, and wonder and magic, second chances and happily ever after.
But those other trite sayings were true, too. What happened after the ever after? And what if you were well on your way, but you never got that far? What if something stopped you, got in your way, cut the tale short? What if the prince had been corralled by the evil witch and hadn't made it to give that waking kiss? What if Romeo had just up and left Juliet before all that crap had gone down, just thrown his hands up and declared it was too much drama that he couldn't handle? What if Belle had been even a split second too slow and hadn't kissed the beast in time? Or the slipper didn't fit, or Eric didn't hear Ariel singing, or any of that other nonsense? What if all the warm, sweet magic you grew up with fizzled into its original tale, and your adult life mimicked the twisted version of reality that those stories had been magicked from?
She remembered being particularly hung up on one of her favorites, in history class, years and years ago, when, right there on the page in front of her was the truth: Pocahontas never fell in love with John Smith. Probably saved his life, sure, but he'd left, sailed back to England. She'd married John Rolfe, and then died—died—of smallpox, just like that, in the middle of her new life, fresh and full of hope, in a new world.
It had been years, really, but the twisted story she'd been told had stuck with her, a well-meaning white lie offered to sooth the ache in a child quickly learning what life was truly like, yes, but still an awful truth to cover up.
So, somehow, she felt it coming the moment the door slammed shut behind her. It was like a rock had dropped into her stomach and grown larger and larger and larger, taking up all the room in her entire body until she was just dead weight on the chair where she sat, staring at the footage being live cast from the morning news on the lone piece of visible tech in the room, a television mounted on the wall.
She lost track of the time, watching the drama unfold, HYDRA agents vs. SHEILD, everyone in black and entirely indistinguishable as they grappled, here, and there, and everywhere, taking up the entire screen.
Jane was still fidgeting nervously. Pepper was tapping away viciously on her phone. Darcy waited, that heavy feeling settling deep in her gut. She waited.
They were cleaning up now. There were government helicopters, cops, suits, more agents in black. Steve went across the camera a few times, followed rapidly by Natasha, both of them looking grim.
She flinched.
She had no idea how long they sat there, and she had no desire to dig in her purse for her phone. She couldn't even move.
Jane sat jiggling her leg and was so nervous she didn't even speak. Pepper did the same, watching, eagle-eyed in terror. She'd missed her chance once to say a potential goodbye; she wasn't ever going to do it again.
The door opened.
Jane went running out, straight past Steve, to Thor, who stood waiting for her at the end of the hall. But his smile was bittersweet. Darcy could see him from her place, frozen and stubborn on the bench.
Pepper followed her out, already talking to Tony on her phone.
Steve just stood there, looking at her, his face slack in uncertainty.
Natasha flanked him, watching Darcy with a look that spoke volumes.
Darcy remained stubbornly in place. "How bad is it?"
"Don't know," Steve said, flatly, finally looking up at her. "He's gone."