I'm alright with a slow burn
Taking my time, let the world turn
I'm gonna do it my way, it'll be alright

- "Slow Burn" by Kacey Musgraves

II.

Darcy knew she was in trouble.

Once Steve left her alone once more in the lounge with the Christmas tree and her decorations, the music sounded less sweet, the tinsel less shiny.

She sighed, knowing that she wished he would come back. She knew she wanted to please him, and even hated him a little for having that power over her so soon.

She did not know Steve Rogers, and he already had enough going through his mind. He was clearly struggling with everything that transpired with Thanos.

What surprised her the most about him was how accepting he was of his own grief, when she could have sworn Captain America was the world's best fighter because of his spirit.

She couldn't imagine him being alone with her again so soon.

Steve was rattled. Darcy Lewis was too assuming.

Assume makes an ass out of 'u' and 'me'. He thought of the saying as he went to bed, staring at the ceiling.

Steve decided she irritated him. Her behavior-coming into the compound like that and making the place look ridiculous because she felt like it- rubbed him the wrong way.

Too friendly, and yet she was crass. She was abrupt with her sentences, so flippant about the rules and what was appropriate.

This random girl decided Christmas was a priority, and now Steve would have to play along with it to avoid offending her. And yet part of him really didn't care if he hurt her feelings.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling in the dark, and without much warning, the memory of her round ass invaded his mind.

He had been looking, but he didn't mean to. Steve felt a little ashamed for her sake, because he didn't believe anyone was in the right state to be looked at that way.

And besides, this Lewis woman wasn't his to look at. He had no idea if she had a husband, boyfriend, whatever – he didn't know her at all.

He felt the blush on his cheeks fade as he closed his eyes, determined to drift off.

The next morning, Darcy raced down to the field.

She shivered despite the thick coat she borrowed from Erik, seeing her breath in front of her face.

She didn't expect to see Steve racing by, dressed as if it was summer while she stood beside the track with the Santa hat in one gloved hand.

She waved at the blur that was Steve Rogers and he came back around, slowing down as he neared her. He was panting, sweat pouring from his forehead down his face, his skin glowing in the morning sun.

Darcy supposed it would be pornographic if he ran without a shirt, and so she was thankful for the grey t-shirt he wore that was soaked through.

She could smell him, and she was surprised he smelt of anything at all – he seemed so clean. His pristine appearance made Darcy uncomfortable for the most part.

He didn't return her smile, just frowned at the Santa hat she held aloft and shook his head.

"I hoped you weren't serious."

"Come on! It's Christmas," Darcy retorted, and then felt herself cringe inwardly at her lame choice of words, but Steve only quirked his eyebrows.

"I'll think about it."

Darcy knew that meant no, but he was too polite to say. She nodded, shrugging a little as a silence fell over them.

The air was so still that all Darcy could hear was Steve panting beginning to slow down, his breathing returning to normal.

Darcy looked at the ground and scuffed her boot.

"It's so quiet here. There are hardly any birds."

"When Thanos used the Gauntlet, half of life was wiped out," Steve said, and Darcy's eyes snapped back up to his.

He wiped his forehead on his short sleeve.

"All life, not just humans."

"That fucking sucks," Darcy muttered, because it was the first thing she thought of to say. She froze, wondering if Steve was the type to chide her for cussing.

She pressed her lips together but Steve's mouth pulled into a small bitter smile.

"No, you're right. It fuckin' sucks."

He broke off into a jog without warning and Darcy stepped back in shock, but all he did was race off towards the residence buildings on the other side of the field.

She mistook last night for an offer of friendship. He was clearly not interested in interacting with her if he could help it, and Darcy stared down at the Santa hat she still held, shaking her head.

"Stupid," she muttered.

Darcy walked off to the kitchen and threw the Santa hat on the bench, wanting to forget about it, and rifled through the cupboards to find something to snack on.

A box of cornflakes was calling out to her, and she began eating it by the handful, leaning against the sink with her eyes on the door, wondering about what she could do now that the tree was up.

She could go out again and get baking ingredients. She missed the taste of gingerbread. If she made it for everyone, it would justify her own eventual pigging out.

Black Widow walked into the kitchen, pausing as she saw Darcy eating the cornflakes.

"You sleep well?" she asked, and Darcy shrugged.

"So-so," she muttered. "You?"

Natasha shrugged back, going to a cupboard near Darcy's head, grabbing a mug from the vast collection inside.

"I never do," the blonde admitted.

Darcy watched her make her coffee, staring out the window as the machine whirred and spat out the steaming brew.

Darcy imagined she'd be taller.

"What do I call you?"

"My name, I'd hope," the blonde replied, her lips quirking. She turned her head away from the view. "I have a few names."

"What's your least favorite?" Darcy asked, feeling something in her chest loosen.

"Natalia is my birth name. My American Natasha is better," Natasha said.

She grabbed her coffee and walked over to the table, spotted the Santa hat, which she brushed aside while giving Darcy a pointed look.

"I offered it to Steve," Darcy said, shaking her head. "After he came running by me on my way here."

Natasha didn't say anything, but her eyebrows rose as she sipped her coffee.

"Does he always run like that?" Darcy tilted her head, picturing him hurtling around. "Is he trying to kill himself?"

Something passed over Natasha's face and Darcy instantly regretted her poor choice of words, and the moment passed, the conversation dropped.

Darcy was still eating the cornflakes out of the packet when Steve walked in, his hair wet from a shower, wearing clean clothes.

Darcy's eyes flitted to his bare feet and then his face, which was contorted into a frown.

"Those are mine," he said, and Darcy looked down at her hand in the cereal box.

"OH! Sorry, dude," she muttered, taking her hand out and wiping it on her leggings, noticing there was significantly less in the box than when she first started snacking.

"I think you're almost out," she added, attempting a sheepish smile.

Steve didn't look at her, and instead he went to the cupboard to get a mug.

"I could make you something else," Darcy offered.

Steve stabbed the coffee machine's buttons and waited while Darcy kept going.

"Pancakes. Chocolate chip ones, maybe? I saw there's an abundance of eggs, so maybe an omelette?"

Steve turned back from the coffee machine, his mug close to his lips as he muttered with his eyes locked on Darcy:

"Or you could just not steal my food."

There was a loud scraping as Natasha pushed back her chair and left them alone without another word.

Darcy turned the box over to check, feeling her face grow hot.

"It doesn't have your name on it."

"I didn't have my name on it because everyone knows –"

"'Everyone', meaning the three other people who live here?" Darcy interjected, but Steve didn't slow down.

"- that it's my cereal."

He was genuinely upset about his goddamn cornflakes. Darcy made her third mistake that morning.

She rolled her eyes at him.

To be clear, she looked at the ceiling and sighed without thinking, and it only seemed to make him angrier.

"You know what? You're a brat."

"What?" Darcy snapped, and she took the few steps toward Steve. She shoved the near-empty box into his chest and scowled at him. "I'll get you some when I go to the store!"

She stomped away, down the hallway and then nearly straight into Natasha, who was still drinking her coffee.

She seemed to be waiting for her.

"If you're going to the store, buy him a big marker to write his name on everything that's his."

"Do you encourage him?" Darcy fired back, and the smile faded from Natasha's face.

"He's very – he's not – anyway." Natasha drained her mug and sighed. "Could you get me some vodka, please?"

Darcy nodded, and then remembered something from yesterday.

"You speak to Bruce Banner or Hawkeye yet?"

She didn't know exactly what to call either of the two men. She knew Bruce Banner used to work with Erik before his accident. She supposed calling him "The Hulk" was not strictly polite. Hawkeye on the other hand – she couldn't remember his other name.

"Bruce is on his way back," Natasha said. "I'm not sure about Clint."

Clint. Hawkeye's name was Clint. Darcy would need to remember that if she chose to stick around long enough to see their return.

Given Steve's frosty reception so far, she was considering asking Erik if it was worth them staying there.

"Where's Clint?"

"He's on a job," came Steve's voice, and Darcy spun around to see him walking toward them, and he moved past Darcy with little recognition, instead looking at Natasha.

"I doubt he wants to come back any time soon, Cap," Natasha murmured, and Darcy took it as a sign she should leave.

When people lowered their voice around her, Darcy knew they didn't mean for her to hear. After Steve chewed her out earlier, she wanted to become part of the wallpaper more than ever.

She sighed, crossing her arms as she peeled off, trying to remember which way the labs were. There was the south wing and the north wing, and she couldn't remember where Erik's stuff was being kept.

Once Darcy was out of earshot, Natasha glared at Steve.

"If she leaves because of you, I'll be pissed," she said, and Steve didn't doubt it for a second.

His only excuse for behaving so poorly earlier was that everything happened so quickly, and he acted without thinking first.

He still frowned at Natasha, not quite ready to apologize. The annoyance that Darcy Lewis brought on had settled inside him, and he wanted to let it fester. He wanted to feel something other than what he'd felt for months since Thanos.

"She doesn't live here," he retorted, and Natasha's eyebrows rose.

"You're not even treating her like she's a guest, let alone a resident," she threw back. "She's like a – a tourist."

Steve looked away, feeling shame begin to grow over the annoyance.

In another life, he would have been mortified for acting the way he did in the kitchen. But this was now, and Darcy was walking around like she was perfectly comfortable with everything, and it bothered him.

He didn't need Natasha to tell him what he did was wrong, and she knew that, too. She just hadn't acted like this in a while – sticking her nose in his business.

For weeks all he'd done was brood and run, and she said nothing. With Selvig and Darcy Lewis there, everything was churned up again and Steve had to pretend he still had manners.

Maybe it was too disconcerting for Natasha to see her friend act that way around a virtual stranger, but even Steve didn't buy that.

"Why do you care if she leaves, anyway?"

What on Earth could Natasha get out of a friendship with Darcy Lewis? They seemed like total opposites, and he'd never known Natasha to even have female friends.

Natasha's eyes narrowed.

"For weeks I didn't even see another woman until yesterday. We need them here, Steve."

This was news to Steve. Most of the time he was by himself, never keeping track of Natasha's comings and goings. Bruce was usually off somewhere, always coming back frustrated, and Clint was off assassinating whoever he could find.

Natasha was telling him she was suffocating and he hadn't even noticed.

Steve closed his eyes and the thoughts piled on.

You useless sack of shit.

Before, all someone had to do was point him in the right direction and he'd go and fight. Now he had no idea what he was doing.

Steve opened his eyes and saw Natasha was looking at him differently, her eyebrows knitted together with concern.

He couldn't handle her worrying about him.

"Right. I'll make it up to her," he murmured.