AN: In case you're interested, the title of the story and the chapter names are from the song 'Some Nights' by Fun., which I listened to a lot while writing this story. And yeah, sorry about the short chapter, I'm really having trouble figuring out where to put the chapter breaks in this fic!


The next day, Darcy arrives at work to find that Jane is just the right amount of distracted—not so out of it that she forgets to eat the sandwich Darcy leaves under her nose, but on enough of a science high from her latest discovery that she doesn't notice Darcy's own brief lapses in concentration.

Darcy is halfway through entering a long series of numbers into a spreadsheet, a task that gives her the urge to gouge her eyes out with a spoon at the best of times, when she realises she's spent the last two minutes picturing Steve and Bucky shirtless and kissing. An extremely pleasant pastime, to be sure, but not exactly conducive to numerical accuracy. She puffs out a sigh and scrolls back up to the top of the list to recheck all the figures.

Her roommates are aware of her penchant for guy-on-guy action, mainly because it's physically impossible for her to sit quietly through a whole episode of True Blood and all its homoerotic subtext or, more often, straight out text, but it's one of those things she generally keeps to herself. Not because she feels weird about it, but because most people just don't get it. Case in point, the night it had come up after far too many cocktails with Jane, Natasha and Pepper.

She can't even remember who'd proposed the discussion topic 'weird things that turn you on,' although that totally sounds like something drunk-Pepper would suggest, now that she thinks about it. When Darcy had freely volunteered that there's nothing better than gay porn, Jane had squinted at her in confusion.

"Like... lesbians? Oh my god, Darcy, I didn't know. How did I not know you were a—?"

"Calm your tits, genius. How many times have you seen me checking out Thor's ass? Not exactly the MO of a lesbian," Darcy had replied.

"Oh yeah," said Jane, grinning sheepishly and taking a slurp of her margarita.

Despite Darcy's compelling and highly detailed descriptions of the awesomeness of two guys getting it on (in hindsight, she feels kind of sorry for anyone in the bar who overheard the conversation) Jane and Pepper continued to shake their heads and laugh good-naturedly in disbelief. Natasha, however, had sported a smirk that had Darcy seriously re-evaluating the significance of the glances that were exchanged whenever Coulson passed Clint and Natasha in the halls of SHIELD headquarters.

Darcy still didn't think her answer was anywhere near as outrageous as Jane's.

"Stripy football socks."

"Are you sure you heard the question right over the music?" Darcy said. "Things that turn you on."

"No, I know!" Jane laughed, blushing and covering her face with the cocktail menu. "I don't know what it is about them, I just..." She dissolved into giggles, and all four of them were laughing by then.

"You make Thor wear football socks in the sack?" Darcy said. "Dating a Norse god: you're doing it wrong."

Darcy grins to herself. That had been one epic bender. The hangover the next day had been pretty epic too.

She laces her fingers behind her back and extends her arms in a stretch as she checks the time in the bottom corner of the computer screen. She stifles a groan. The only way this day could go any slower is if she was in a SHIELD code of conduct seminar. Agent Hill's bad ass levels are through the roof, but put her in front of a powerpoint and the result is coma-inducing.

The room is quiet, except for Jane's short flurries of typing and clicking, interspersed with long periods where the scientist glares silently at the information on her screen, as if that will help her ferret out its secrets.

The silence makes it harder to ignore the little voice in her head—she's thinking of naming it Buzz Killington, thank you Family Guy—who keeps suggesting that maybe leaping into bed with her two best friends is going to end up being more complicated than it seems. But she's already come to the conclusion that, if the goal is to help Steve acclimate, then any actual sex is probably taking things a bit far. More likely it's just going to be a bit of a grope-fest—not that that won't still be all kinds of awesome.

She tells Buzz to take a hike as she recalls the last lines from the Firefly episode they watched last night, because obviously the answers to all of life's questions can be found within one little season of a cancelled sci-fi western.

"Ain't about you, Jayne, it's about what they need," she murmurs to herself in a western drawl.

"Huh?" says Jane, looking up from her monitor on the other side of the room.

"What? Oh, nothing, don't worry about it," says Darcy, and Jane goes back to staring down the graph on her screen like it's hiding something from her.

Darcy lifts her eyes to the ceiling. "JARVIS, my man, I need some fat beats up in here. Help a sister out?"

A selection of her favourite playlists jump up onto the screen for her perusal. "Anything for you, Ms Lewis," comes the delightfully British reply.


That evening, Darcy puts her plan into action, breaking out a round of beers and a pack of cards once the dinner plates are cleared away. Steve still enjoys the odd drink, even though it has no affect on him, and the beers are purely to give the evening a bit of a party vibe anyway. She has no intention of getting anyone drunk, though she figures a dash of Dutch courage can't hurt under the circumstances. She suspects Bucky agrees, by the appreciative press of his fingers over hers when she passes him his drink.

To Darcy, card games had always been something you resort to when the power's out, not something you do when you could just as easily be on the internet, but Steve and Bucky had managed to change her mind. The three of them pass plenty of evenings like this, playing games and having a few drinks, and it's way more fun than Darcy would have thought possible for something that doesn't require electricity.

After several rounds of Gin and a few raucous games of Snap, she collects the empty bottles and goes to get three more. She's pulling them out of the refrigerator when Bucky catches up with her in the kitchen.

"Hey," he says, slipping a hand onto her hip as she turns to face him. She lets the door swing closed behind her. After the cool air of the refrigerator, her skin soaks up the warmth from his hand.

He leans in close so Steve won't overhear them in the next room. "You still sure about this?"

His voice is a low rumble, and the anticipation in it knocks her pulse rate up a notch.

She rises up on her toes and lets her breath ghost over his ear. "Don't tell me you're getting cold feet, Sergeant," she teases.

He chuckles, and she feels it in the puff of air against her cheek, in the vibration through his chest where she's pressed herself against him.

"No fear of that, doll."

She's sure there are a thousand very good and feminist reasons why she should hate it when he calls her that, but instead it just makes her knees turn to honey. She rocks back onto her heels, letting the playful smile linger on her lips.

For a long moment it looks like he's going to say something, but eventually he just gives a small nod. "Alright then, let's get this show on the road." He relieves her of two of the beers. "Ladies first," he says, ushering her back into the living room.

Steve is where they left him, sitting at the dining table, shuffling the deck with the fluid motions of a card sharp.

"Your turn to choose, Darcy. What should we play next?" Steve asks, as he accepts the beer Bucky holds out for him.

"I'm not playing any more Snap with the cyborg here," Darcy says, bumping Bucky with her hip before taking a seat at the table. "I'm always afraid you're going to moosh one of my fingers. I want to play Truth-or-Dare Black Jack."

"That's not a real game," Steve informs her, like he always does.

"Just because I invented it doesn't mean it isn't real," she replies archly.

"Okay, but this time, no dares that involve leaving the apartment," Steve says, in his captain-y voice. "Mrs Foster still hasn't stopped complaining since the ruckus out in the hall last time."

Darcy bites her lip and grins, Bucky snorts outright and finally Steve gives in to a smirk as the three of them recall the spectacle of Darcy and Bucky in their underwear singing 'When the Saints Go Marching In' at the top of their lungs outside in the hallway.

"Who does she think she is anyway, Simon Cowell?" Darcy says, as she sweeps her cards off the table.

Bucky and Steve share a sceptical 'I have no idea what she's talking about' look, and Darcy rolls her eyes. "Trust me, that was a zinger," she assures them.

Even though some of her one-liners fall on deaf ears, there's something special about the fact that in this apartment, if nowhere else, the past outnumbers the future two to one. She's happy to be the odd one out occasionally if it gives them the chance to feel a little less disconnected.

She takes a look at her hand. A pair of kings. On the outside she's all poker face, but internally, she's doing a little fist pump. Not only is it a kick-ass hand, but she decides she's going to take it as a good omen too. She's still got pretty serious doubts about being able to get Steve on board with their little plan, but damned if she's not going to give it her best shot.