Friday's were always busy at the gym, but Darcy found she kind of liked it that way. Lots of the pros came around to spar on Friday evenings, and she usually didn't put in much of a workout before she ended up watching the fights with Steve, or watching Steve win the fights. Both were fun.
Tonight, though, Steve was sitting out. She knew by now that when it got too busy, he wouldn't step in the ring. It raised too many questions about how he got so good and why he wouldn't fight for real. These were still questions that Darcy had too, but they weren't the sort of things you got answered in a busy gym. Those were the sort of answers you had to earn. And she was working on it.
Plus, tonight was clearly Lonny's night. When Darcy had first showed up at the gym a few months ago, Lonny had been a little on the scrawny side and a LOT on the nerdy side. He wasn't a day over 19 and had walked into the gym wearing a beat up old t-shirt with the Star Wars logo on the front. Darcy loved the kid right off the bat.
He had been working like a dog though, and whether it was the training or puberty starting to catch up with him, he was starting to fill out and settle into his form. Tonight, for example, Darcy was hollering encouragement as he took one of the older guys to the mat.
As the ring was clearing, Gus ambled over to her. "The kid's really coming along, 'aint he?"
"Yeah," she agreed, looking over at Lonny fondly, "he's come a long way even since I've been here."
"You know that kid is absolutely over the moon for you, dontcha Lewis?" Gus asked her, and eyebrow raised.
Darcy grinned, the way the kid stumbled over his feet and his words around her hadn't escaped her notice. She chose to find it flattering. "He's 19 Gus, he's got a crush on every girl. I'm just the only one he sees all the time."
"That may be," Gus agreed amicably, "He'll probably get over it. Besides," Gus went on, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, "he thinks you and Rogers are an item."
Darcy got the distinct impression that this was the actual point of Gus's conversation. I certainly wasn't the first time the question had come up. Seriously, sometimes the guys were as bad as a bunch of old hens. She sighed. "Steve and I are just friends, Gus, you know that."
"Alright alright!" he held his hands up placatingly, "No need to get defensive." He paused. "It's just he's great and you're great, so why not, you know?"
Darcy rolled her eyes. "You're pretty great too Gus, maybe I wanna date you."
Gus, realising she wasn't going to give him an inch, winked at her, "you name the date girl, and I'll ask my wife if it's okay."
He could tell from the moment she walked in on Saturday morning that something was up. She barely looked up to wave at him before she stormed directly over to one of the big heavy hanging bags and began unleashing some seriously intense fury. He approached with extreme caution.
"Hey Darce," he said warily.
"Hi," she said flatly, not looking up. Sweat was already beading on her forehead.
"Going pretty hard at that bag, aren't you?" he tried.
"Yep."
Well that was helpful.
"Wanna tell me why?" he tried again.
"Not really," she was huffing in little angry puffs as she punched.
"You're gonna bruise your hands," he said sensibly, nodding at her bare knuckles.
"Good," she fairly growled.
And enough was about enough for Steve, because he recognised someone settling into a good long brood. He had done enough of it himself, and he wasn't about to let Darcy fall into that kind of a funk.
He caught her hands in his, stepping between her and the bag.
"Sit," he said firmly, pointing at the bench against the wall. She rolled her eyes at him, but she sat.
"Alright Lewis," he said firmly as he sat next to her, "Spill. And then I'll let you punch me until your knuckles bleed." He paused, "But not really, you're going to put your gloves on."
She quirked up her lips in a smile, and he felt a relief from a fear he hadn't even realised he was feeling. It couldn't be anything too serious.
"My boss talked me into a blind date." She grumbled nearly under her breath.
Steve didn't laugh. He didn't. But it was a very near thing. "And this is a bad thing?" he asked carefully. Not that he was exactly thrilled at the idea of Darcy going out on a date with a guy she didn't know, that he didn't know. But it hardly seemed the sort of thing to get bent out of shape over.
"Yes Steve, this is a bad thing," said Darcy ominously. "I don't even know how she did it. She's like some kind of matchmaking ninja."
"Okay," said Steve in his most reasonable tone, "what's so bad about a blind date."
"It's not so much the blind part," she was looking distinctly not at him. And her voice had lost all of the little edge of humor it had held, "just the date part generally. I'm just…I don't want to get involved in any of…that."
This was somewhat surprising to him. Not necessarily the sentiment. Not at all really. He could sympathise. But he didn't exactly understand it coming from Darcy. She had always been so open and easy going.
But then again, she had also been very insistent at drawing a completely platonic line between her and everyone at the gym. He had thought that was a gym thing, but maybe it was a her thing.
"Okay," he said simply, because it didn't seem like the thing to get into sitting in the gym. He wasn't really too sure he wanted to get into it at all with her. He didn't like the idea that she had the kind of pain in her past that led to the kind of flat refusal heard in her voice. "Why can't you just say no?"
She snorted, "it is very difficult to say no to my boss once she gets an idea in her head." She said, "plus, I would never stand anyone up. It's not this guy's fault that the good doctor is crazy."
"hmm," Steve added non commitally. "That sounds like a recipe for a great evening."
Darcy rolled her eyes, "you're a big help Rogers."
"Well, I did promise to let you hit me," he said, getting to his feet and pulling her off the bench. "Go get your gloves."
She could not believe that this was her life.
After pummeling Steve for an hour in the gym (which had no appreciable effect on him except that he kept giving her these looks of sympathy mixed with amusement as she almost threw out her shoulder with the force of her punches) she had forced herself to go home, shower and put on her stand-by little black dress. She even made a moderate effort to make her hair look respectable. It had taken a healthy glass of wine and a self pep talk about how she had been meaning to go to the restaurant in question for a while, but she had gotten herself out the door and to her date on time at 7:00
Her date, it seemed, didn't quite get the memo on punctuality.
7:15 had come and gone and 7:30 was almost disappearing in the rear view mirror. It wasn't going to be too much longer before the breadsticks stopped coming and the looks of sympathy from the servers turned to annoyance.
She was going to have to admit that she had been stood up, by a guy who had never even met her, on a date she didn't even want to be on.
She looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath, telling herself that it wasn't the restaurant's fault and flipping over the table probably wouldn't actually help.
Just then, her phone pinged with a text message.
"Thank god," she muttered, scrambling for it in her bag, determined to pretend it was her date cancelling with a good excuse, even if it wasn't.
It wasn't.
But it was Steve, so that was something.
I know I'm not really up on all the pop culture stuff, but I hear that it's a good idea to have an easy way out of a blind date. So this is your fake emergency, if you need it.
She grinned, both at the content of the text and the way he always wrote out long winded and carefully correct messages.
She texted back, too fed up with the situation to prevaricate.
You definitely got the pop culture right, but no need. I've been stood up.
The response was almost immediate.
No way do you get stood up. Where are you, I'll be right there.
She raised her eyebrows in surprise, but sent him the address anyways.
He was there within ten minutes, looking a bit rumpled and windblown, but also sort of like her hero. She could see him looking at the staff, who had now taken to whispering about her behind their hands like she couldn't see them, as he came in. He got that hard look on his face, like when someone threw a dirty punch in the ring.
She could see his "something has to be done about this" face, but she was still surprised when he strode over to her, bent down to plant a kiss on her forehead, and said "I'm so sorry I'm late sweetheart, work was a nightmare."
But then she saw her waitresses jaw just about hit the floor and color flood her cheeks. She forgot, sometimes, how objectively handsome Steve was. He was also pretty good at plans. This plan of his, she thought as she watched the waitress give Steve a really obvious once over at look at her with a new respect, was her particular favorite.
After the waitress had rushed over to take their drink order and effusively indicate that she had never doubted for a minute her friend would show, ("Actually," Steve corrected sternly, "her date.") Darcy let out a soft snort of laughter.
"Sweetheart?" she asked Steve with a raised eyebrow.
"Well I wasn't going to let those snobby servers look at you like that," Steve said indignantly.
"Oh, no. I got that. You're a huge hero and I owe you forever," she waved a hand dismissively, "but Sweetheart? That's the fake pet name you go with for me?"
"Well it wasn't exactly well planned out in advance," Steve said defensively, but he was grinning. "What would you prefer?"
"I don't know," said Darcy, considering, "I just would have guessed you'd go for something a bit more old fashioned, like darling or doll."
The corner of his mouth turned up into an oddly melancholic smile. "Bucky always used to call every girl he knew 'doll'. I suppose it kind of got worn out." He grinned properly, "He knew a lot of girls."
Darcy was immediately intrigued. Steve hadn't said anything to her about Bucky or the mysterious Peggy since the first time he mentioned them. "Bit of a lady killer, hey? How come he didn't teach you anything?"
Steve laughed, "Oh he tried, I just was never very good at it."
"Oh come on," Darcy prodded, "tell me you two didn't put on your full military dress to pick up some groupies at a bar."
"Naw," said Steve, "he enlisted long before I did. So mostly it was double dates with him in uniform and me looking like an idiot standing next to him. One time," he leaned back in his chair, "wasn't even midnight before he left with both girls to 'see them home'."
Darcy raised an eyebrow, "Boy," she said, "you must really be bad at talking to girls." She paused, "or he was really really good."
Steve grinned, "a little of both probably, plus" he paused, "I was…pretty scrawny for a while there."
Darcy gave a little noise of disbelief, but whatever he needed to believe.
"Wish I could've met him." She said finally.
"Yeah," said Steve with a soft smile, and then "actually no way." He grinned, "Buck woulda taken one look at you in the ring, fallen head over heels, and then I'd never see either of you again."
"Hey," said Darcy in mock indignation, "who say's I'd have fallen for him?"
"All the girls fell for Bucky," he said fondly. "'specially when he was in uniform."
"Well there you go," said Darcy firmly, "a military uniform is a deal breaker for me."
Steve looked at her blankly for a long moment. "What?" he finally managed, "I thought your family was military…"
"Exactly," she said, wondering how this had gone from Steve talking about his past to talking about her dating issues. "I know too much about the lifestyle."
"The lifestyle?" Steve queried gently.
"Yeah, you know long deployment, constant danger, never knowing if they're coming home."
"I guess," said Steve slowly, "but there's always a risk, right?"
"Yeah," Darcy agreed evenly, "and generally it's a risk I'd rather not take, and certainlynot when the risk is as high as it is with a military man."
"So," Steve sounded a little upset, really, "you're just never going to fall for anyone because you might end up losing them?"
"Maybe not anyone, but I've seen what happens when a soldier doesn't come home, Steve" it was harsher than she intended, but he knew about James. She didn't understand why he was being like this.
He let out a breath. "You're right, I'm sorry. I didn't think…"
"It's okay," she said with a little smile, "I've just known far too many army wives to ever want to be one."
The rest of the meal went off pretty smoothly, or at least Steve thought so, after accidentally putting his foot in his mouth. At least it had only been the once.
The incensed anger he had felt as he sped recklessly on his motorcycle to the restaurant had faded once he had got a very satisfying glare in at the waitress. He had taken an inordinate amount of pleasure in kissing Darcy on the brow, calling her sweetheart and watching the waitress flounder as a result.
Because seriously, who stood up a girl like Darcy Lewis? Whoever the guy was, he needed a solid sock in the jaw.
It had been nice, though, having a dinner out and conversation that didn't involve boxing or zombies. Not that he had a problem with either of those two things. Darcy was right, zombies were cool.
He did feel like he knew her a little better now though. He hadn't really realised, until they starting talking about it, that they tended to avoid anything too personal most of the time. He couldn't imagine why, once they got going, because it had been nice to talk to her about Bucky and about his Mom and some of the less classified antics of the other Avengers (names changed, of course, to protect the surprisingly idiotic).
And he had laughed until tears leaked out of his eyes at some of the stories she told him about growing up with a sergeant major for a father, mostly because he could picture the rebellious teenaged Darcy so clearly in his head. Also because, from the sounds of her father, there is no way that Steve would have dared to set a foot out of line growing up in that household. He both respected her guts and despaired of her good sense when she showed him the swallow tattoo she had got on her shoulder blade when she was 17.
"I tried to tell him that it stood for family loyalty," she had said trying to keep a straight face, "but all he could say before grounding me for eternity was 'you look like a goddam Navy brat.'"
Still, he couldn't forget the look on her face when she had made her opinions about relationships with military men clear. It kept rolling around in his head, her statement: "I've known too many army wives to ever want to be one."
As much as he found it easy to pretend around Darcy, he was still a soldier. All his push back about a formal honorable discharge and contractor status at SHIELD hadn't really done a thing. He could still be called up to put himself in the line of fire on a moment's notice and for who knows how long.
And he would do it, without a second thought, every time. But it did make him exactly the sort of man that Darcy was avoiding. And she was right to. It would be completely understandable for any woman to want to avoid dealing with the lifestyle of a solider, let alone Captain America.
He sighed heavily, tossing between his sheets and ineffectually prodding at his pillow, willing himself to let it go and fall asleep.
He was home, and he was exhausted. The details of the battle were already fading, but the bone deep weariness born from pushing himself to his limits, high on adrenaline, was the same every time. He glanced down and noticed he was still in his uniform. Phil would be mad, he was supposed to leave it at SHIELD.
Just then, a soft noise from his bedroom put him on alert.
And then Darcy walked out.
He was so stunned that it took him a moment to realise that she didn't seem to be wearing much more than an old button down that she must have pulled from his closet. It wasn't exactly scandalous, but the lean expanse of creamy thighs peeking out from the hem of his shirt made his mouth go dry.
"Darcy," he croaked, "what are you doing here."
She smiled at him sleepily. "You weren't answering your phone. I was worried, but you're here now."
"Yeah, I was just…" how exactly could you explain away the uniform and grime?
She walked up to him and placed a hand on his chest, her hand pale and tiny against the filthy material. "I know who you are Steve," she looked up into his eyes, "there's no uniform that could change that."
"Oh," he said, a little stupidly, but the way she was looking at him and the hint of cleavage he could see between the buttons on her shirt were rapidly draining away IQ points.
"We should get you out of this thing," she said, taking his hand.
"Uh…" was all he managed, but followed her without protest as she pulled him towards the bedroom.
"Turn around," she said, the edge of command in her voice so familiar to him by now that he obeyed easily.
Her hands were on his back, finding zippers and tugging at the tough fabric until the top fell away. He felt her press her cheek against his skin, her hand wrapping around his stomach to find the fastening of his pants.
"Darcy," it was half whispered and he wasn't sure if it was in warning or encouragement.
All she said was "Shhh," and then he was standing naked in front of her. He didn't feel nearly so exposed as he would have thought; her arms were around him and her body was pressed against him and it felt comfortable and easy.
It was almost instinct to turn in her embrace, to tuck a hand into the soft strands of her hair, to pull her closer and cover her mouth with his. She let out a low noise as her lips opened under his and he plunged into her mouth eagerly. The way her hands gripped at his skin and the way that she pressed closer, and the way she tasted in his mouth was quickly driving him from comfortable and easy to frantic and desperate.
Her hand slipped between them and he couldn't keep from gasping as she took him in her grasp, breaking their kiss and letting his head fall to her shoulder. Her mouth was hot against his neck as her fingers wrapped around him and began to slowly slide up and down his length, her thumb brushing the head of his cock, slick with pre-cum. All he could do was grasp at her desperately, clutching the firm curve of her ass, the gentle slope of her hips, as the noises he was making grew louder.
"Darcy," he finally gasped, grabbing her wrist to stop her movement.
She smiled up at him, a look he had never seen before on her face, open and wanting and just a little bit dangerous. She started slowly unbuttoning his shirt, one by own until it hung open off her shoulders.
"Darcy," he breathed again, "You're beautiful."
She kissed him again and he slid his hands up her sides and over her shoulders until the shirt fell to the ground with a whisper.
It only took two stumbling steps before they tumbled together onto his bed, her body flush against his, skin meeting skin, and he could feel the weight of her, the heat of her, right through him. Time seemed to slow as he grabbed her firmly and pulled her until she sat astride his hips, her wet heat pressing against his hard length and her strong arms shaking where they were pressed against his chest.
He looked up at her, tucking her hair behind her ears.
"Are you sure?" he whispered.
In answer, she reached between them, took hold of his erection, and guided him into her until he was sunk to the hilt in her aching warmth.
"Fuck Darce," he exclaimed, his hips twitching as he willed himself to hold still.
"Yeah," said Darcy with a sinful grin, "That's the idea." And she lifted her hips and crashed back down into him, her head falling back with a throaty moan.
All thoughts of control quickly slipped away as they found a rhythm, he could feel himself drawing closer, and it wasn't enough. He grabbed her hips firmly with one hand, planted the other and made to roll them over…
…and found himself lying on the floor, tangled in sheets, and definitely, definitely alone.
He was still caught up in the dream, aching with need, and it didn't take more than a few messy swipes until he was coming.
And then he caught his breath.
And then he remembered what he had been dreaming about. Who he had been dreaming about.
"Oh, fuck," he muttered with feeling.