Alright, folks-we're almost there. Second to last chapter. This one's got some angsty stuff, so brace yourself. It's also got a scene at the end that I just couldn't resist doing. It came to me one afternoon, and it just really begged to be written, so I hope it's got the desired affect and didn't turn out too...what's the word? Cheesy?
Anyhoo...let me know how you like, because those comments are seriously helpful, even if I'm too lost in my writing to get replies to you all in orderly fashion. I really hope you guys like this-let me know if you want more, because I'm...sorta already working on the next installment. Is that good or bad?
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Chapter 11: Final Jump: In which there's a knockdown-drag out, a grandma, and a gaggle of children.
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The next morning, when they met Bruce down in the lab, he was manic with excitement. "This is incredible, you guys! I've never seen anything like it before!"
Tony traipsed in, looking exhausted, as though he hadn't slept. He squeezed her hand as he sat down on her left, toying with her ring. Bucky had slipped it back onto her finger that morning, down on his knees again like a gentleman, and she'd giggled at the absolute ridiculousness. "What's up with Short Stack? She grow a super power?"
Bruce grinned, hitting buttons on his little remote. "Yes, in a manner of speaking." The projector in the ceiling displayed a slide, what was clearly an image of her blood, tiny cells visible, rushing to and fro. "So, let's start from the top. I took a sample of her blood just after she woke up—after the raid. See how the white blood cells are packed in tight? They were in overabundance—her immune system was boosted by the serum and rushed the site of her injury, healing her at a superhuman rate."
Bucky slipped his arm around her waist, drawing her nearer to him.
Tony refused to relinquish her hand and she squeezed back.
Bruce judged his glasses back up his nose. "Now, there are different types of white blood cells. Basophils, Neutrophils, etcetera. We could go on and on. Basophils draw around connective tissue, aren't very common, and are only drawn out into the blood stream on rare occasions. But see, here?" He pulled up another slide and gestured with his laser pointer. "Darcy's are all over the place! I've never seen this many on one slide before! They're rare; they make up the smallest number in the stream at any one time! But they're just massing here in her blood! It's like their population exploded!"
Bucky sighed.
"This slide—it's from the draw you took yesterday?" Tony asked.
Bruce nodded. "Yes. Incredible, isn't it?!" He was grinning so widely and looked so enthusiastic, Darcy's heart hurt.
"And look—here. Neutrophils! Now, these are the most abundant type in the blood stream, they envelop bacteria and other invasive bodies in order to facilitate healing and immune defense, but they only have a lifespan of about two to three days. I've never seen this many of these on a single slide either."
"So what does this mean, Brucie?" Tony sighed, looking like he was ready to pass out.
Darcy had a feeling he'd been up half the night worrying about her and feeling guilty for just grabbing that damn drone without thinking.
"The serum raised your body's defenses so high that it's turnaround is like nothing else in medical history, Darcy! Your body is so full of this stuff that it doesn't know what to do with it all. That's how you were able to take the wound off of Tony and how you were able to heal it yourself in such a short span of time! Your bone marrow and stem cells are turning these out faster than your body can use them!"
Bucky sighed again. "So she's a walking first aid kit?"
Bruce gestured emphatically. "Yes! Essentially. Not, of course, that that should be used—or taken—lightly." He paused, his face calming. "This might have strange side-effects. You might be less tired, more willing to go, go, go. You might pick up other things—some of those things might just be the serum itself enhancing you in other areas, or it may be related to this ability. There's no way to tell, really. You might respond better to stimuli. Have you noticed any other side effects of the serum so far?"
She felt the flush heat her cheeks and shook her head in what she was sure was a pointless exercise. Stimuli. Right. At least that made sense now…"Um. No."
Bucky's arm squeezed.
Tony eyed her.
But Bruce took it and ran, too distracted by the news. "Darcy. I don't think I need to tell you how amazing this is. If you'll allow me—and only if you'll allow me—I'd like to take a little more blood. If I could find some way to utilize this effect, we might be able to keep everyone on the team safe, if we could take something like that in the field?! Can you imagine?! Everyone could be safe from intense harm—at least temporarily, until we could get them back here!"
Bucky's arm tensed.
"I mean, Darcy! Do you understand what your blood is capable of?! It's a medical breakthrough! Healing on command! I can't even stress enough what this could do!"
She flinched, though, her heart sinking like a stone.
It was relatively good news. She could help the team in a way other than record-keeping and hacking. She could be a real member, if unofficial and on-call only.
Then why didn't she feel good about it?
She laid awake that night, listening to Bucky's soft, even breathing beside her, and tried to puzzle it out.
The ability to heal at a rapid rate and use that to heal others as well.
Cool. Unbelievably cool.
She was alive. She hadn't died.
She could help people, she could help the team. Hadn't she been wanting to do that, to do more? Hadn't she been wanting to let her life finally settle around her, the choices she'd finally made to wrap around her and calm all the rough edges?
To finally marry him, after what felt like an eternity? God, it felt like he'd asked her, down on his knees, so, so long ago…There was an entire lifetime between then and now, this moment, here with him, asleep and peaceful beside her. Such a rarity: him at peace.
She'd never thought too hard about actually being someone's wife before, but with him, and after what Tony had said…it felt…natural. And normal. And the figurative next step.
The ability to…
Bruce's words drifted through her head again. I can't even stress enough what this could do!
People will be after you. Bucky's words, too.
They would. She knew. It would get out. Sooner or later, something like this would leak and all the…bad guys, all the evil, comic book villains would know what she could do.
She turned her head to look at him. He was lying on his belly, his head facing away, and the strong line of his naked back was a beautiful curve against the covers.
She bit her lip. There was no way she could subject him to that. He'd been through more than enough suffering—more than enough to last one lifetime, let alone two, or three—or four. To leave him vulnerable to going through another round of the same, exact thing—and just when he'd escaped it—would be so unbelievably selfish, she would never be able to forgive herself.
He'd come along, he'd run with her, if the need arose, he'd run with her and never look back, he wouldn't hesitate for a moment. He was so old-fashioned, so loyal. He'd follow her to the ends of the earth, she knew.
And it broke her heart.
I would tear down the fucking world for you.
She swallowed down the tears burning their way up her throat and looked away, up at the ceiling.
They'd come for her; someone would, someday.
And he'd be just as cornered as she would; cornered again, in a life already so filled with noise and unrest, and she couldn't ask him to do that, she'd never be able to look past it.
The fact that he'd insist had the power to break her in half.
She couldn't be that selfish. She couldn't allow him to be that selfless.
She couldn't.
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Life, ultimately, continued at a languid pace, and Bruce came and went almost as often as Tony. Darcy was embarrassed that she seemed to have gained half a father, but Bucky thought it was adorable, the way he fawned over her while she floundered half the time, totally unsure how to handle it. But she was slowly acclimating to what had happened to her, accepting that she'd almost died, that she was different now—new—and while she was still figuring out how to handle it, she was doing…okay. Bucky slowly went back to SHIELD life, taking short assignments here, recon missions there. Sparring sessions with her would have to wait until Bruce had a better understanding of her healing rate, though. He was leery of her being hurt again.
He came back after one assignment to find some little changes that he didn't remember having decided on, not that he minded. It was her apartment, too, as far as he was concerned. He'd kept the suite a bit Spartan, he knew, and he figured it was probably all thanks to the army. That, or the Winter Soldier didn't like framed art. One of the two.
But beside his photograph of her sunflowers hung an enlarged picture of the two of them. She'd dragged him to the museum and insisted they take a photo right in front of the huge T-Rex in the dinosaur hall. She was grinning mischievously while he looked like his old, grumpy self, a little chink of bemusement in his gaze as he looked at her, a cheeky smirk curling the corner of his mouth. At first, looking at it later, at lunch, she'd whined that he hadn't been smiling very much, but later, after she'd forgotten about it and found it anew on her phone she'd gone all melt-y at his expression, paired with the fact that he was looking at her instead of the lens.
Little did she know what he'd been thinking in that moment—that he wanted to press her recklessly against the wall and lick a stripe up her throat, bite down on her earlobe and listen to her broken moan in his ear. The thought had come out of left field, and it had been so long since he'd wanted a woman that the return of his latent desire had hit him like a punch to the gut. But that had been just after Tony's wedding, and they hadn't technically been an item yet. Just suggestive flirting and shy maneuvering. He hadn't been quite sure how to get a handle on what he wanted vs. what he was still wondering if he was capable of wanting.
Beside the shot of them in the lab that he'd had in the center of the coffee table was that God-awful shot of him in his uniform from nineteen-forty-something, complete with crooked cap. Ugh. God, he hated that picture. He looked like such an ass. "Darce?" he called.
She came down the hall with a wan smile and came to greet him. "Hey." She got up on her toes. "Welcome home."
But when he dipped to kiss her she smoothly evaded him and set a warm kiss to his cheek instead.
Frowning, he wrapped his metal arm around her so she'd be locked in place. "What's wrong? You're awfully subdued. Who died?"
She flushed. "No one, you jerk."
He smirked.
She ducked back from him, tucking her chin.
His frown deepened. "What's up?"
"Nothing."
Acting on instinct, he reached up before she could anticipate him and tugged at her collar, pulling it down to reveal the short, jagged gash on her shoulder, clearly healing, but still slightly raw and harsh.
She flushed again. "I was practicing with one of the Gerber knives you left home," she admitted, her voice low.
The frown slid into a scowl. How on earth she'd managed to injure her shoulder practicing with a knife was beyond him, but he let that part go. "Why?"
She shrugged, trying to pull back from him, and frowning when he didn't let her budge. "Because."
He sighed. "Darcy. I keep those ungodly sharp. I thought we'd agreed that you'd only train with me—or Nat?"
She nodded, swallowing. "I know. But I wanted to get a jump. And Nat and Steve went back to their place. And you were out with Clint. How'd it go?"
He shrugged. Clint was easy to work with. Didn't ask prying questions, didn't judge, seemed to quietly understand his need to keep in his own headspace about who he'd been versus who he was. And he had a good, dry sense of humor. They made a good team, probably better than him and Steve. Steve liked to open up about things, and Buck wasn't so good at that. Clint, on the other hand, was no-nonsense and into keeping things light while they got their mission done. "Standard recon mission. Off without a hitch." He gestured at the wound again. "Bruce take a look at it?"
She shook her head, looking away.
"Why not?" he asked, hearing the scolding in his own tone.
She shrugged. "Not like he needs to."
Evasive. Quiet. Defensive. Feeling the battle coming, he loosened his grip and let her go. "Darce. What's wrong?"
She ducked out of the loop of his arm and toward the window. "Nothing, really. Just wanted to keep up with my training and get back to it while you were gone, that's all."
"What was so important that it couldn't wait for a two-day gallivant off to the Riviera Maya to check out a creepy dude trafficking Chitauri blades?"
"Is he?"
He noted that she easily evaded his question. "Yes. Darcy…"
Abruptly, she turned, her fingers working as they twisted in her nervousness. "I was thinking…that I should give this back to you." Her voice was low and ragged.
She held out her ring.
He blinked down at it, then up at her.
She wasn't looking at him, but down, focusing hard on the jewelry in her shaking palm.
"Darce—"
"Take it."
Swallowing, he took a step back, refusing to touch it. "What are you doing?"
She took a deep breath. "Giving this back to you."
"Yeah, I see that. Why?"
She shrugged. "Because I am."
He shook his head. "That's not an answer. Why?"
"Because. It's only a matter of time."
He narrowed his eyes. "You're making this about your mother, aren't you?"
She rolled her eyes. "No."
"Yes. Only a matter of time until what? I walk out on you?"
"No," she insisted. "Only a matter of time until this doesn't work anymore."
He dumped his bag on the couch and crossed his arms over his chest. "Until what doesn't work?"
She rolled her eyes again. "Us." Like it was obvious.
He shrugged, flippant. "Oh, of course. Why didn't I think of that? What about us isn't working? I personally thought we were getting married—now you're giving me a very expensive ring back that you suddenly hate?" The words were like ash on his tongue, but his heart refused to soften—he wasn't sure what this was yet, but denial was burning a hole in his stomach.
Shock. It was shock.
"I don't hate it. I just don't want it. Take it."
He narrowed his eyes again. "And why don't you want it? You wanted it last week."
"I just don't," she insisted, her tone sharpening. "Take it."
"No."
"Take. It."
"No."
"Why not?!"
"Why the fuck should I?!"
She flinched.
He rarely raised his voice.
"'Because I don't want it' isn't what I would consider a viable answer. I want a real one. I think I deserve one. It's been a year since we met, I think I've earned it." His throat was closing; he had to stop that in its tracks. He swallowed the cramp down, hard.
"Because I don't want to drag you down with me," she ground out, her teeth clenched, like it hurt. Maybe it did.
He blinked. "And where are you being dragged?"
She huffed out an impatient sigh, like this was the last conversation she wanted to be having. "You said it yourself: people will come for me."
Bucky was sure it was definitely the last conversation that he wanted to be having. "And? What difference does that make?"
She turned around again to face the window, silent.
He took a step toward her. "I didn't ask you to marry me so you could push me away."
Her shoulders tensed.
"And I didn't stick around in all this just because I wanted some tail."
They rose higher.
"And I sure as hell didn't stand by you only because you stood by me. You were the only person who truly did, and I chose to stand by you because I wanted to. Because I love you. If you think I was doing it out of obligation, you should think again, dollface. I ain't that selfless."
She tapped her foot impatiently. "You said you'd tear down the world for me." She sounded broken.
He pulled a hand through his hair. "And I would."
"Why?"
He snorted. "I just said it: because I love you. So I keep you safe. I'd do anything to do that, to keep you safe, with no thought to the consequences. That's what love is."
She spun around, and her face was hard, her eyes icy with unshed tears. "And that's why I'm giving it back to you. Because I can't have you doing that. I can't ask you to do that. I can't ask you to run with me, I can't ask you to damn yourself if something like that happens. You've already done so much for me, and you've suffered so much—too much for one person, for one lifetime, and I can't keep doing this with you knowing that you might have to do more."
He sighed, staring at her, the surreal quality of their conversation swimming around him. "You didn't ask. I offered."
She shook her head. "Well, you shouldn't have to. And I can choose not to accept. Because if I had to run, if I had to interrupt my life, I would never be able to forgive myself that you would interrupt yours, that you would put yourself in harm's way, that you would have to suffer again—for me. Just when you've escaped them, I couldn't bear the thought of them taking you again—or someone else getting their hands on you. I can't do it. I won't do it. I love you too much."
He took a calculated step closer. "I'd do anything for you."
"That's the problem!" she wailed, her façade finally cracking. "That's the problem. I'm…I'm different now. And I can feel it coming, I can feel this all shaking loose. And when the storm hits, you can't come with me. You have to stay here, where it's safe."
Anger bubbled in him again. "I've never backed down from a fight, doll. Not in all my life. I won't do it now. You do know that I'm probably more stubborn than you, right? And that's saying something. You know I'd be after you as soon as you left, right?"
She rolled her eyes.
This reaction lit a bit of a fire. "What happened to making my own choices, hm?" he snapped. "What happened to not feeling guilty anymore, what happened to doing what I chose to do? I chose to ask you to marry me. That meant I had chosen to spend my life with you—just like you chose to say yes. You remember when you told me that? You chose to say yes. I took back control of my life that day on the shore of the Potomac, and no one gets to make up my mind for me anymore—not even you," he snarled. "I love you, but you don't get to take control of my life—or my decisions—and damn it hell if you think you're going to try!"
She flinched.
"You said we were a team—you remember that? You said you wanted to fight for me, because I'd fought for you. When? When have I had the opportunity to fight for you? Hm? I won you, fair and square, and you gave yourself to me. You made the decision to stand by me when few others would, but I don't recall doing much fighting. Now, if we're a team, then we're a team, but teams work by majority vote—decisions don't just get made by one mulish person." He snarled again, eyeing her hard. "So either we're a team or we're not. But that's your decision, sweetheart—not mine." He snatched up his gloves again, and his jacket from the bar stool where he'd hung it. "You better decide, quick. Because that ring? I ain't takin' it back, whether you want it not."
And he slammed the door behind him.
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There was a gentle little rap on the door.
"What?" she rasped.
"It is Mr. Stark, Miss Lewis," JARVIS provided, his voice low and unobtrusive.
She unfolded herself and went to open it, shuffling across the living room with zero energy, unsure she'd really moved until Tony stood before her in the hall.
"Wanna talk about it?" he asked, his face open but distant, not giving an inkling.
"No," she said flatly, turning away and leaving him standing in the hall as she threw herself down in the chair facing the bank of windows.
"Alright." Tony came in, shut the door, and threw himself down on the couch, the very spot he'd just vacated a few hours before. He'd taken to hanging around to keep an eye on her when Bucky was out on jobs. He figured it probably annoyed her to some degree, but she never complained and it made him feel better, so he figured what the hell… "So, don't talk then. Just listen."
"Tony—" she started.
"Thought you didn't wanna talk?" he countered.
She scowled at the view.
"That was a pretty good first shouting match, you got good volume."
She sighed. "I—"
"Privacy protocols were shut off. Remember? JARVIS and Bruce been keeping an eye on you?"
She slumped. "So everyone heard that?"
He smirked, but there was no humor in it and it looked more like a grimace. "Nah. Bruce is too far down, Spangles and Nat are across town, and Clint's out with Laura. I, uh, ran upstairs for a part and heard most of it, I think." He winced. "Good thing Pep's down in PR or she'd have been up here, ready to pull you two apart."
"He didn't lay a hand on me."
"Oh, I know he wouldn't do that. You, uh…sounded like you laid a few things on him, though."
She rolled her eyes and pushed herself deeper down in the chair and folded her arms childishly across her chest.
"First one's always the hardest, feels like the world's collapsing," he mused, settling back against the cushions. "But, uh…you know you're…being kind of neurotic, right?" he continued, wincing in anticipation.
She shook her head at the window, frowning.
"You're uncomfortable with him lookin' out for you. Makes you feel guilty that it might put him back in the crosshairs."
"What are you, a shrink?" she snapped. "Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist, Honorary Psychologist?"
He shrugged. "Eh, just telling you what I know, kid."
"Why?"
"Because, I know what it's like to push someone away, Darcy, and if you're not a stupid kid—which I know you're not—you'll listen to me." He crossed his arms. "Let's just start with that ring. I mean, that's really Exhibit A, right?"
She ground her teeth, but wouldn't look at him, trying not to think about Bucky's comment all that time ago that in guy speak, it meant she was stuck with him.
"I'm a guy. So as a guy, I'm gonna spell it out, real clear, so there's no room for doubt. A guy doesn't buy a ring like that because he has lingering doubt. Only reason a guy buys a ring like that is because all his boxes are checked, like every single one. Nothing's left open. So, ergo, what can we understand from that?"
"Thought I wasn't supposed to talk?"
He smirked. "The only thing—and I mean the only thing—that means is that you've got everything he wants and nothing he doesn't."
"He just thinks I do. The state his mind is in, I'm like a rebound."
He snorted, shaking his head and laughing.
This got a rise, and she snapped her head around. "What?!"
He shrugged. "Nothing. That's just so far off base it's actually funny."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're telling me I'm wrong?"
He clapped, once, twice, three times. "Hey, folks! She catches on quick!"
She rolled her eyes and flounced back in the chair again, glaring pointedly at the view.
"Darce, the state his mind is in, it's remarkable that he's even capable of feeling the way he feels about you. According to science, it's remarkable that he's functioning at all." He swallowed. "We all know the story. Every single inch of it, now, and that kid is so fucking strong-willed, ain't nothing he does that he isn't sure about. Do you think he would've asked you if there was any doubt? I mean, God, how long did it take him to ask you out? To touch you at all, to not flinch when you touched him, to not be terrified that he'd snap and kill you in your sleep?"
She was silent.
"I remember Wanda following you around that morning, joking that she had to check you for all your limbs. I didn't say anything, because contrary to popular belief, I do take some things seriously, but I thought it was incredible that he let you in at all, let alone into his bed. But you…you spoke to some part of him, obviously, because he let you in more than he let anyone else in this Tower in, and that includes Rogers." He looked at her, hard. "You realize what that means, right? You were closer to him than Steve Rogers. Darcy. No one was ever closer to Bucky Barnes than Steve Rogers. You can't break that. You won't. It's too late. And you're stronger together. Trust me. Yeah, this might make you both vulnerable. But you've always been vulnerable, from the very beginning. I know you knew that. So what if this adds to it a little? So what? A little is good, so more must be better, so you might as well, right? Yeah, sure it might make you vulnerable. But so does being alone. He's right, and after everything he's been through, he damn well outta be: together, you're stronger."
She burrowed deeper into the chair. "Are you done, Tony?" She sounded drawn and raw.
Penny in the air.
He stood, unsure if he'd helped or hindered, but could sense that his time was done; or should be done. Whatever was going to happen had to run its course, no matter which way the penny dropped. "I'm just saying…you never saw the way he looked at you, kid." He pointed at the photo hanging in the kitchen, of them in front of that dinosaur, Bucky's soft eyes and affectionate smirk. "Like that. I saw it. He's always looked at you like that—always…He's not supposed to be here, but history dictates that he is. Fate dictates that he is. You ever wonder why?" He moved toward the door and pulled it open, pausing in the doorway. "You've got lightning in a bottle, kid. Don't let it be a flash in the pan."
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"So. Which one's yours?"
He jumped, the thought that he was losing his edge drifting through his mind as he looked up. A small, little old woman was sitting beside him on the bench with expectant eyes. They were big, magnified by her thick glasses—what Darcy would've called retro—and her old, weathered face was kind.
He looked back across the playground. "Oh. I just…sat down. It's been a long day," he answered awkwardly as he watched the dozen or so kids running around, playing in the late afternoon sun, yelling and giggling, screaming as they ran to and fro, and hoped she didn't assume he was some creep.
She nodded sagely, her blue hair swaying slightly around her face. She folded her small, wrinkled hands in her lap. "I know that look. Rough one?"
He snorted. "You could say that." He wasn't sure why he was opening up to a little grandma, but the way his life was going, nothing really surprised him anymore. Stranger things had happened and even stranger ones would probably happen tomorrow.
"She kick you out or did you go yourself?"
He stared at her.
She winked. "I'm an old crone. Like I said: I know that look."
A smirk crooked his mouth. "And which one is that?"
She narrowed her eyes like she was reading his face. "Well. Your eyes are guarded, but your body language is defeated. Your arms are crossed over your chest, that's defensiveness. There's nothing aggressive about you that I can outwardly discern, but your mouth is set, so you're still upset, your anger has dissipated—and it did so quickly, as your bark is worse than your bite—but you look grim and vulnerable." She shrugged, looking away, her eyes following a small blonde girl darting across the playground to the swings. "Tough look to pull off. A little helpless. You've done all you can but you feel exposed. You slam the door pretty hard on your way out?"
He sighed, not sure if he should feel annoyed that the woman had read him—an ex-assassin, a ghost story, by all reports—like a book or if he should feel chagrinned that this little waif of a woman seemed capable of dressing him down in seconds, flat. Bark worse than his bite. Nothing outwardly aggressive. He wanted to giggle. "Yeah, I did," he half groaned, instead.
She laughed softly, her voice rasping with age. "Good. She'll be sorting out what she wants now, then. A well-slammed door makes a girl think hard. Good job."
He side-eyed her with a narrow look. "Is that sarcasm, ma'am?"
She laughed. "No, no. I've had plenty of doors slammed in my face, young man. Always made me think extra hard, usually more than once." She reached out and patted his shoulder consolingly, then paused, her face changing and her brow went up. "Ooh, strong one, hm?" She smirked. "Yeah, she'll hang onto you unless she's got an overabundance of stupid. You just sit back and wait."
He snorted, shaking his head as he went back to watching the kids. Something about watching them playing was warm and familiar. Everything—everything—had changed from the world he'd known, but it remained a constant that the children would be grouped playing in the park, totally oblivious to everything harsh going on around them. "They have no idea," he said.
She watched them for a moment. "No idea about what?" she suddenly asked.
"What's waiting for them. They have no idea."
She laughed softly. "Oh, so young to have such an outlook."
He laughed humorlessly, the idea ringing in his head that he was probably born a good, solid, twenty years before her, at least. "What if I just look young?" he asked, cryptically, giving her a mischievous look.
She met his gaze with a twinkly eye, and laughed, louder. "Oh, dear, she's a fool if she let's go of that face. You're quite the charmer, aren't you? I suspect you were quite the rascal in your childhood."
Another bittersweet laugh bubbled up out of him. "I can't help her if she won't let me."
She clucked her tongue and shook her head. "Ah. The hardest pill to swallow, isn't it?"
He sighed, watching a tiny boy with a blond mop go tearing off past them after another little one, dark, cropped hair and a striped t-shirt. Something awful welled up in his chest for a moment, and he had to work to swallow it back down. The blond one was so much smaller than the brunette, with a soft face and tiny hands.
He cleared his throat against the bitter ache of homesickness.
"So, what brought you here, then, rather than, oh, I don't know, the bar?"
He snorted. "Don't drink."
She nodded, smiling wryly again. "A blessing and a curse."
He chuckled. She had no idea.
"So…?"
He watched the two boys talking animatedly, clearly formulating a plan, darting glances back and forth at the main part of the playground, where another small group was gathered, watching them in return. A plan of attack. His throat tightened again, but he forced it down. "No matter how long I've been here…this is one of the only things that feels familiar."
She nodded. "Mm. Some things never change, hm?"
He watched the two boys launch their two-pronged attack on the playground, one coming up from one side, the other heading up across the bridge. They met there, just in time for one of the other group to shove at the brunette. But the blond was able to push past him and grab his friend by the hand before he fell backward, wincing as he tugged him back up onto the set.
He raised a brow at the scene. "Bit on the nose, isn't it?"
She leaned over. "What was that, dear?"
He realized he'd spoken out loud, and shook his head. "Oh…nothing."
"Don't look so glum. These things have a way of working themselves out," she said, her tone light again. "Besides, you're quite the looker, with those pretty eyes. She won't be able to resist."
He laughed, shaking his head.
Just then, the little blond girl came running up to them. "Grandma!"
"What is it, dear?"
"I fell!" she stated, not hurt so much as irritated and full of gumption. "The swing broke!" She stomped her foot.
"Oh, my! Are you alright, sweetie?" She turned her granddaughter around and smoothed a hand down the little girl's back, dusting off some sand.
"Yeah, but the swing's broken! The metal's all twisted!" she complained, clearly very upset.
Grandma sighed. "Well, I'm sorry, dear. I can see if I can call the city when we get home, so someone can come take a look at it…" she offered.
"I might be able to help," Bucky suddenly spoke up, not even sure what he was doing while he was doing it.
They both turned to look at him.
Grandma smiled.
The little girl stared at him, looking shy and entranced at the same time, and Bucky was suddenly glad he'd remembered to slip on his gloves before he'd left, hiding his metal hand in his sleeve. But all she said was, "Grandma, he's got really blue eyes."
Grandma smiled. "Why, yes, he does, doesn't he? Well, go on, show him what swing it is, he won't bite you."
"I don't think I've ever done that," he played along, only half playing.
Grandma laughed. "See? Rascal!"
If you only knew.
"Go on, then, go on!" She shooed them off and the little girl grabbed at his right hand without hesitation and pulled him along, right into the throng of various, little toddlers.
She tugged and tugged, pulling with what was clearly quite a bit of might, while he struggled not to step on any of them or make a wrong move. His left arm was heavy and he didn't want to hurt one of them or knock one over. "Whoa, there, dollface, slow down. There's not a fire."
This was all very surreal.
Finally, they'd made it across the sea of children and she yanked him forward to the swing that was hanging crookedly on its metal chains. "See?!" she said, looking straight up at him, her neck craning.
He took it up in his hands. Sure enough, a link in the chain had twisted, likely due to simple wear and tear. The rest of the links had pulled free and left the swing half attached, the links dragging on the ground. Simple enough to just slide it back on and press the link shut again.
Just then, he had an odd sensation and dropped his gaze to find a small gaggle around him, all watching him intently.
He looked at them in return. "I have an audience."
A little boy in the back piped up in a small voice. "What are you gonna do?!" His plaid flannel shirt was hanging crookedly off one shoulder and he was dragging his coat in his other hand. He had freckles and glasses and he struggled to the front of the pack to see. When he finally arrived, Bucky saw he was really quite short for his likely age. "How are you gonna fix it?!"
He smirked. "Well, it just needs a little elbow grease." He slid the links back together and very subtly slid his left hand around it, taking it up in his palm and squeezing. "See?" His arm whined softly, and he felt the link close, tight, the metal ends scraping against each other. Then he let it go, and the swing swung down into place, chain restored.
They all gasped, staring, wide-eyed, their little mouths open in over exaggerated little oh's.
He smirked, their innocence tugging at his chest.
"How'd you do that?!" the little freckle-faced kid asked, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
He waggled his eyebrows. "Magic."
The little grandma's girl, the one who had tugged him over, gave him a haughty look and crossed her arms over her chest, throwing out her hip in a pose that reminded him painfully of Darcy. "Magic? Gimme a break. You grown-ups come up with the silliest answers to these questions."
He stared right back. "Well, aren't you precocious…?"
She sighed, unmoved. "There's no such thing as magic."
He tugged on the chain, testing it, with his left arm. "Eh, I dunno, dollface. Don't be so quick."
She rolled her eyes. "So you're a grown-up and you're telling me you believe in magic?" she asked, skeptically.
He chuckled and shrugged. "Well. I've seen more than my fair share of weird stuff I couldn't explain. So I dunno what's out there, but I don't pretend to understand what isn't. Know what I'm sayin'?" Never mind that he could be considered one of the weird things…
She shook her head, clearly feeling impatient. "No."
He laughed, burying his hands in his pockets as he skirted around them and out of their gaggle, back toward the bench. "Someday, you probably will."
They all followed him, chattering over each other and swarming him.
"How'd you do that—for real?!"
"Can you show me?!"
"Can you teach me how to do that?!"
"What's your name?"
They arrived back at the bench safe and sound. Grandma smiled. "Well, Heather, I see he fixed it for you. What do you say?"
"Thank yooou!" they all chorused at the same time in their little teeny voices.
He laughed at the absurdity of it all. "It was no problem—really."
Quickly losing interest, they all slowly drifted off, animated again with each other and Heather skipped off to the swing and got on, walking backwards until she'd built up a good head of steam and then let the momentum take her, content.
Grandma was staring up at him with a funny look in her eyes. "That was very kind of you."
He shrugged. "Eh, was nothing."
"But you've got a kind face, so I really shouldn't be surprised."
He watched them playing for a moment. "Well. The world's a harsh place. They should have the luxury of being innocent for as long as they can. If me fixing a link on a playground swing makes them happy, who am I to argue?"
She smiled. "Indeed."
He sighed, looking up at the sky. Nearly dinner hour. He'd been out for a while now—hours, in fact. "I should probably be on my way."
She nodded. "Go on back to her. She's probably coming to her senses right about now. We women can be a mercurial bunch, so maybe a little patience when you get there wouldn't go amiss."
He chuckled. "Patience, I've got, strangely enough. Can't do anything, she doesn't let me in." He shrugged and straightened his left glove. "Well. Night."
She smiled. "Thank you again, dear."
"It really was no problem, ma'am." He began away, back up the grass toward the sidewalk.
"I expect you're tired of the cold, so go on home where it's warm, Winter Soldier."
He froze. Everything in him caught. Mid-stride, the air caught in his chest, in his throat. His heart skipped.
He blinked.
Turned.
She was staring at him, sure enough, twisted around on the bench and giving him a calm, shrewd look.
"I'm sorry?"
She smiled, not unkindly. "Don't play that game, sonny boy."
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
"Recognized you. Took me a few minutes, but your trick with the swing was a dead giveaway. You might've fooled the little ones, but you underestimated the distance between the swings and this bench. How's a regular man manage a trick like that?"
He strolled stiffly back over to her and stood awkwardly behind the bench.
"Older than you look, I do believe, if the rumors are true. Funny joke."
The game was up. He sighed, glancing around. "The one time I don't wear a cap…"
But she laughed, loose and easy, no fear, no apprehension, no nothing. "Oh, love, you can't hide those eyes. Besides, just 'cause I'm an old bat doesn't mean I don't know my computer, and I know how to hunt through my news like a Baby Boomer. Some of the footage from that data dump saw eyes before it got sucked back up by the government machine."
The most adrift he thought he could ever feel in his entire life—which was really saying something—all he could do was stand there and stare at her.
She gave him a cheeky look, then darted a glance around. "Could I…?" She gestured toward his left arm.
He swallowed, hesitated, then stepped closer toward her, figuring at this point, he had nothing to lose. When she didn't bolt at his nearness, he loosened the wrist strap on his glove and pulled the leather off, letting the late afternoon sun wink off the steel. Stark was right, it was probably at least partial vibranium. Only way he could go up against Steve's shield without damage.
She stared at it, then reached out and touched her fingers lightly to his. "My, my. The things they get up to these days." She looked up at him. "Can you feel it?"
He shrugged. "Works like any other arm."
"Except more, right?"
Another shrug; he was vaguely uncomfortable with this, but it was, frankly, lost in the general uncomfortable-ness of his whole day, so whatever. "Works like any other machine, really." He closed his fist and opened it, turning his arm over so she could hear the mechanics whir and hum.
She gasped. "Oh, my! How fascinating!"
He cleared his throat.
She looked up, obviously hearing a hint there. "I'm sorry, dear. You're not a sideshow." She patted his arm and he slid the glove back on with a nod. But she continued to stare up at him with that odd gaze. "I grew up with the stories of you and Steve Rogers. How's he doing?"
God, how had all this gotten out, SHIELD data dump or not?!
He shrugged. "Seemed fine when I saw him this morning." And he winked.
She smiled. "Ah. The two of you. Saved the world, you and your band of merry marauders."
He shrugged and shook his head. "No, ma'am, that wasn't me. That was Stevie."
But she was already shaking her head. "No. That was all of you, Mr. Barnes. You might've been…sleeping, but I was there, after the War. I saw what you did, what you sacrificed, what you've done."
What you've done. He took a step back. "Ma'am—"
"Forgive yourself, dear."
Again, he froze, staring at her, feeling the blood drain from his face.
But she didn't flinch. "You said it yourself: the world is a harsh place. But you've come out on the other side with yourself intact. So don't waste it carrying around what you don't need."
He swallowed, but couldn't look away from her face.
She smiled gingerly, like she knew he was fracturing into tiny pieces where he stood. "The Winter Soldier just fixed part of a children's playground. You can add that to the list of things he's done. And then you can just…cross off everything else. Because he didn't really do them. Did he?"
He swallowed again, determined to keep it in check, in a death grip.
She sighed. "I promised myself that day, when I stumbled across that empty-eyed picture of you, that if I ever came across you, I'd remind you that you still share a trait with all of us that you've likely stumbled over remembering."
He frowned, cocking his head.
"You're human. And nothing more." Her eyes dipped to his cybernetic arm. "That's all."
And he just stood there, completely unable to react, or move, or breathe, or anything.
But she only smiled again, and rose to meet him, smoothing down the left sleeve of his jacket and tugging the wrist strap on his glove taut. "Now, go home. It's cold out here, and I suspect you're rather tired of freezing temperatures."
When he still stood there, she gently shoved him. "Go on, Soldier. Go on home."
Finally, the link between his brain and his legs began to flicker and he got his gait back under him, and she stood there, watching as he finally went on his way, glancing back all the way up the shallow hill and to the sidewalk, still bustling with small groups of people.
"Oh, and Soldier!" she called.
He turned.
She smiled. "Thank you for your service!"
Blinking against his stinging eyes, he nodded, and left.
