Bygone
Chapter 2: First Sight

She might not be a genius inventor or an astrophysicist, but Darcy knew when something was not right. And there was no way in hell that Janes dinky little wormhole had managed to swallow up ninety-three stories of steel, glass and a couple thousand square feet of Macassar Ebony flooring – totally worth the expense, that stuff made for the best damn sock slides Darcy had ever performed.

No, the Tower couldn't have gone. Which mean that she had gone. But where?

She spun around, searching for some street sign or monstrous billboard to clue her in. There was an enormous Coca-Cola sign, but that wasn't much help. No, some of the buildings were familiar from around the Tower, but others were wrong, too short and shabby to belong in Stark's neighborhood. She started walking toward the intersection, knowing the street signs would tell her what she needed to know. If she was lucky she'd only travelled a couple blocks. She had lived in New York a few months now, venturing out from the Tower on lunch and coffee runs, so she knew the surrounding blocks fairly well. Plus the grid layout made the city relatively easy to navigate. She could totally make her way back to 58th and Broadway.

"Fifty-eight and Broadway," she said dully, looking at the street signs.

Her eyes looked back to the spot where she had been standing, then back to the signs above her.

She was in the right place.

"Well, shit," she said again.

She dug into the pocket of Maria Lewis's coat, pushing past some papers to reach her phone. It still showed her posing, the start of the wormhole forming behind shoulder. She swiped the picture away angrily and dialed Jane, waiting for the call to connect. Nothing happened. The phone behaved as if it had no signal at all, but there wasn't a millimeter of ground in this city that did not get some form of cell signal.

"What the hell?"

Internet was down, too.

She scowled at the useless piece of technology. Never before had her phone failed her. It was a lifeline, a godsend, the thing that made life worth living, and it had let her down.

So what did that leave?

"Hey," Darcy called, grabbing the attention of a man hurrying past. "Where are we?"

The man gave her a look and pointed to the street signs that had already proven as useless as her phone. "Can't you read?"

"Yeah, I can. I was in Avenger's Tower five minutes ago."

"Avenge—What? I ain't got time for some daffy dame," the man muttered and continued on his hurried way.

Daffy? Dame? Who the hell talked like that?

Must be an actor practicing his role in some gangster play, she decided.

Minutes passed as she stood and stared up at the signs, waiting for them to change or for some answer to come to her. When neither happened, she huffed and stomped away toward Columbus Circle. She ate lunch there on occasion; it got her away from the Tower and reminded her that not everyone in the world was a superhero or a genius, which boosted her self-esteem considerably. As she approached the park, though, it was clear that this visit would not leave her feeling so optimistic about life or herself.

The park itself didn't look all that different. The monuments and trees stood as they always did, but, instead of children running and old men playing chess, there was a small crowd clustered around a man in a dull grey suit. He stood on a wooden crate with an upside down ad for soap on it – a soapbox, an honest-to-fucking-god soapbox. He was giving a speech about something, violence and war by the sounds of it. The men around him cheered occasionally, but mostly they nodded solemnly and once at the mention of 'Japs' they hissed.

Who said Japs anymore? she wondered.

Probably the same people who say daffy dames, she answered.

What the hell is going on?

She dropped onto an empty bench, glaring her frustration at the trees, the people, the newspaper at her feet. Newspaper? Did people still read those?

Her hands were reaching for the crumpled paper before she thought to stop herself. She flattened the wrinkles against her leg, studying the front page as she did. The pictures were in black and white, grainy and about as far from HD as it was possible to get, still they told a story, and not a happy one. The headline was bold and equally as jarring: Dutch Strike Against Nazi War Machine.

Daffy dame. Japs. Nazis.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuck," Darcy breathed the word out quietly, ripping the paper open for some proof that she was wrong, that it was an elaborate and totally not-in-the-least-bit-funny joke that Tony had spent months and a couple thousand dollars to pull off. But there was no 'Ha! Fooled you!' inside the paper, just page after page dated April 30, 1943.

She tore the phone from her pocket, certain it would work this time around. She slid the bar to unlock it and saw her worst nightmares at the top of the screen. No signal. No WiFi. No Gs – not 4 or even 3.

Of course. It's 1943. A G means money here, not data coverage.

She pushed the phone back into her pocket, feeling again the paper inside. Brows folding together in confusion of it all, she pulled the paper loose. It was a newspaper clipping carefully folded. She opened it and read the article, which promised readers awe-inspiring sights at the World Exposition of Tomorrow, including a special presentation at the Stark Industries pavilion.

Stark!

Tony.

No.

If it really was 1943, and Darcy hated to admit that it might actually be, that meant the Stark she needed was Tony's father, Howard.

She read the article again, but it offered no further information except that the Expo was at Flushing Meadows. That was in Queens. She was in Manhattan. She dug through her pockets and found a couple dollars and a dime, definitely not enough for a cab ride. Subway, then. She ran through the park the toward 59th Street entrance. She ran around the walking path once, twice, three times before the stitch in her side kept her from running any further.

It wasn't there. There was supposed to be a subway entrance at the north end of the circle, but it wasn't there.

1943. It probably hadn't been built yet, she reminded herself.

She groaned as she realized that she would be walking all the way to Queens. And that she had no idea how to actually get there. And that she had left her coffee back in Janes lab. And that the nearest Starbucks wouldn't open for another thirty or so years. She fell onto a bench for a moment of well-deserved wallowing, glowering down at the article rumpled in her hand. As she glared, she saw something new. There was writing on it.

The pencil marks had faded over time, but she could make out the words if she squinted at it. They were directions. Walking direction.

Not much caring why there was a note in Maria Lewis's pocket directing her to The World Expo by foot from her exact location in Columbus Circle, Darcy started walking, following the hand-written notes all the way across the East River and into Queens, finding her way to Flushing Meadow. Along the way, it became quite clear to Darcy that this was not a long-planned and well-executed prank against her. The details were too real, whole buildings gone, whole blocks and roads with their sidewalks and Subway entrances gone.

Three long hours she walked. That was more exercise than she had ever been made to get in her life.

"Howard Stark better be as brilliant as Jane said," she muttered as she staggered to a stop at the entrance to The World Exposition of Tomorrow.

She paid the entrance fee, a staggering ten cents, and followed behind a group of people as they marveled their way through 'the future'. It was hilarious, like the old cartoons they used to put on TV early in the morning when the thought no one was awake to see them but they had to put something on to make the advertisers happy.

"Oh, look, the Stark Pavillion!" a girl before her cried, giggling with her friend as they speculated if they'd get to meet the man himself. "I hear he's only here for the week."

Well, lucky me, Darcy thought, with absolutely no sarcasm at all.

Now, Jane never fully appreciated the skills Darcy brought to the table. She wasn't a scientist, true, but she was really good at other things – making pancakes, Mario Kart, sucker punches and picking locks, among other things. The Lewis boys were always good for teaching her something they thought every girl ought to know. She had once helped her brother break into his ex-girlfriend's apartment to reclaim his most treasured possession – a first issue Star Wars comic signed by George Lucas. Darcy had picked the lock, Bing fielded the girl's dog and Ben made a run for the comic. Totally worth it in Ben's opinion.

She eyed the stage and a smile pulled at her lips. "Too easy."

She slid into a crowd, using them as cover to jump the knee wall and duck behind the towering Art Deco proscenium, which hid a door. She gave the nob a try, laughing when it turned and the door opened.

"I think I might like the 1940s," she muttered and slid inside, shutting it without a sound and sneaking down a dim corridor.

There were voices coming from a room to her right, women chatting and laughing. With her ear pressed to the door, she could almost make out what they were saying; she swore she caught someone saying 'Howard'.

"You the replacement?" a gruff voice demanded, making her squeak and reach for the Taser she didn't have. The owner of the voice was almost as wide as he was tall, which wasn't saying much because he was barely an inch taller than her. He looked her up and down, scowling. "You're late."

"Uh, yeah, sorry 'bout that," she replied, trying not to sound as if she had no idea what was going on. After so many years of dealing with Jane, she sounded pretty damn convincing.

The fireplug of a man rapped on the door by her head. "You decent?"

"That depends who's askin'!" a girl called back.

"They're decent," he said and pushed the door open. The four girls in the room stopped talking, all turning to stare at Darcy and her escort. They all looked identical save for their hair color.

"New girl," he explained to the girls before gesturing her forward, pointing as he spoke. "Costume's there. It stays here at the end of the night, no exceptions. You go home with the boss, costume still stays here. 'at's your mirror."

"Cool," Darcy replied confidently. "I'll get gussied up."

"You do that," he said, eying her again and shaking his head as he left.

"That coat is divine," a girl cried and brushed the fur. "Where did you get it?"

"Belongs to a friend," Darcy said as she slipped it off. A disapproving murmur rolled through the room at the sight of her baggy sweater and skinny jeans. So not 1940s-approved.

The blonde sneered at her boots and jeans. "You a shit-kicker or somethin'?"

"Huh?"

"A farmer."

"Yeah, sorry, I…" she scrambled for a reason to be wearing jeans, or any form of pants for that matter. All she knew about the '40s came from old movies and what little she could remember from high school history class. Blondie had said 'farmer'. Didn't they have victory gardens during the war? Yes! They did! "I was working in the garden when they called me in. Gotta plant those vegetables for the boys."

"Oh!" one of the others smiled brightly. "Yeah, I try to do what the magazines tell me – patriotic duty and all – but it's just so much work."

"Yeah, too much," Darcy agreed. She left the girls petting her coat and reapplying their lipstick while she collected her costume. It was identical to theirs – top hat, tiny tail coat, striped vest, hot pants and fishnets. Yeah, that was gonna happen.

"So they didn't say what this was for exactly, just to get to the Stark Pavilion," she said casually.

"Oh, we're in the Stark show. We stand in front of the car, smile. Allie there introduces Howard. He does his little speech, we take the tires, and he makes the car fly!" one practically screamed. "Can you believe that? I checked for wires and everything. There's nothing. It really flies."

Darcy couldn't keep the smile off her face, both at her childish glee and at the prospect of being on the same stage as Howard Stark. Maybe she could slip a note into his pocket. Yeah, when she was moving the tire or whatever.

Ugh, but that meant wearing the redonk costume.

She groaned into her hand, but knew she had to do it. She grabbed a pen and paper and disappeared behind the privacy screen with the costume. She hurriedly wrote the note she would somehow slip Stark, then changed. The tights were horrible, the hot pants were atrocious, the tailcoat was actually pretty cool and, thankfully, the stupid vest was adjustable enough to accommodate her boobs. It wasn't exactly the first impression she would have wanted to make, but at least it would get her close enough to make a first impression at all.

"Hello, ladies."

Darcy peered around the privacy screen as the girls squealed, actually squealed. They were prancing toward the man at the door, their red lips spreading into wide and welcoming smiles.

"We ready?" the man asked.

"Almost. New girl's changing now," Blondie told him, gesturing a gloved hand in Darcy's general direction.

The man smirked a smug little smirk as they fawned over him. Darcy's eyebrow rose of its own accord as she looked him over, studying his double-breasted tux and dark pomaded hair and stupid little moustache. He smirked and swaggered. God, he was as bad as Tony.

"Stark," Darcy realized.

"The one and only," the man smiled.

"Oh, Mr Stark, I'm Darcy," she ran forward, nearly breaking her ankle on the heels they'd given her to wear.

He nodded and smiled, still not even looking at her. "Yeah, Marcie, nice to meet you."

"Darcy," she corrected, rather irritably. "I actually need to talk to you. Can I meet with you after the show?"

"Sorry, sweetheart, I got plans for tonight," he said, sounding in no way apologetic. His smirking eyes tore themselves away from Allie long enough to finally look at her. His demeanor shifted as he moved closer. "But I think I might be able to see about taking you out later in the week. What do you say, Mandy?" He slid an arm around her waist, pulling her in close.

Oh, how she wished she had her Taser.

Stark was saved by the bell. Literally, a bell rang just as Darcy was about to knee him in the balls.

"That's fifteen minutes," Howard called. "See you ladies out there. Mandy." He gave her butt a pat as he headed for the door.

"That's Howard Stark?" Darcy questioned.

"Yeah," the girls sighed.

A/N: I hadn't actually planned to put Darcy in the motor show. But while watching that scene again, 'Mandy' on the far right looked crazy awkward compared to the other girls and I just couldn't resist.

BTW, this is my first ever MCU story, so please let me know if I'm doing a good job.

THANKS!