Notes:

So, quick story. A few days ago, I was looking through new WinterShock fan fiction, because I finally caught up with all the stories that I subscribe to, and found a new story. I left a comment, and found out that the author reads my stuff too, which is always awesome. Long story short, this chapter is dedicated to ejdvdsn. And if you haven't checked out her story The Weak Link on Archive of Our Own, you absolutely should run, not walk. You know, right after you read this chapter and leave me a nice comment.

Enjoy!

Kitten

Chapter 11: Doorways

The cold rough concrete bit into the bare bottoms of her feet as she stumbled down the endless hallway. The dingy walls sagged and strips of sickly green paint hung like wilting flowers. Each door she passed was locked tight; gut wrenching screams rattled the solid wood and rusted hinges. The worst were the ones she passed, where silence rang back, followed closely by the sound of broken sobbing.

Every noise made her heart jump; the end of the hall was lost in grungy gray darkness, there were no windows to the outside, only solid doors. The only illumination came from the occasional bare light bulb, casting harsh shadows that danced along the walls as the lights rocked back and forth. Darcy was caught between the urge to run and the need to curl up and hide. She knew what was behind the doors, even if she'd never dared to peek through their small metal slats. She knew each choking scream and every hopeless sob came from her own throat. She had this all-consuming terror of what might wait for her at the end of the hallway, and the knowledge of what horrors where laid bare behind each door. The wish to get away from her own tortured cries was unbearable.

As she stood frozen in place the door closest to her burst from its rusted hinges, littering the floor with shards of shattered wood. Yasha, a wild look on his face, was across the hall, metal fingers wrapping around her throat, before she could even think to run. She felt pathetic and small as his steely grey eyes bore into hers and he crushed her against the opposite wall, forcing the air from her lungs, burning up her constricted airway. He pushed her up the wall, forcing his hips between her dangling legs, when she finally forced a scream past the crushing metal of his fist.

A cold wet nose grounded Darcy as she woke screaming from her nightmare. Lucky lay curled into her side gently nudging her, and scooting his furry body as close to her as possible, small sad sounds whimpering from the back of the dog's throat. She pushed herself up against the headboard, rubbing her eyes and letting the golden retriever situate himself fully in her lap.

"You okay, sestra?" Natasha set her hip to the open doorframe of Darcy's bedroom, the Russian's hair was unapologetically sleep tussled, leaving Darcy with a deep pang of guilt at pulling her friend out of bed, even if the other woman had been camped out on her couch. She and Clint took turns staying with Darcy. Clint didn't sleep on the couch. But he also didn't push anything, Darcy liked to cuddle, and when Clint wasn't there, Lucky was a perfect, albeit furry, substitute.

"Yeah," she buried her hands in to Lucky's fur and tried to give the other woman a reassuring smile as the dog happily licked Darcy's face. She almost preferred to cuddle with Lucky. He didn't make her feel guilty, no matter how unintentional. "Lucky's looking out for me." The Widow nodded and disappeared back into the living room. Darcy listened to her friend resettle on the couch, as she slumped down into her own covers. Lucky huffed and laid his long snout on Darcy's belly, enjoying his ear scratches as they both drifted back into the arms of Morpheus.

An alarm clock replaced Jarvis' directive to bring the lights up, two weeks after she arrived. Jane had given it to her, it was pink and covered in rhinestones, and Old Darcy would have loved it. Jane also gave her a brand new iPod, loaded up with all of Darcy's music, and some stuff Jane thought she'd missed; she was slowly filtering through the five hundred hours of music, trying to find a connection with the noise that spilled out of her tiny white earbuds, again.

Darcy woke in her sun warmed bedroom, and hit the snooze, burrowing back under the covers with her favorite bedmate. Lucky was the only dog she'd ever met who slept under the covers with his head on a pillow. She absolutely blamed Clint, who was a pillow hog himself. She woke again more than an hour later to the scent of freshly brewed coffee, Natasha humming to herself in the kitchen.

"I missed you in the gym this morning," the Widow smiled at the girl as she stumbled from her bedroom, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"I hit the snooze," Darcy made grabby hands for the mug her friend had just poured. Natasha chuckled as she handed over the mug.

"And slept through Clint coming to get Lucky at seven, and turning off your alarm," the Russian curled up on one of Darcy's kitchen stools and peered at the girl over the rim of her cup. "You wanna talk about your nightmare?"

"I was in the hall, again," she looked down into her coffee, breathing in the earthy scent. "Yasha," Darcy choked out. "The soldier, he had his hand around my throat, just like," she reached out instinctively for the comfort of Lucky's fur, before she remembered Clint had him. She rubbed her hand against her flannel sleep pants and clenched her fist. "Lucky woke me."

"He's a good dog," Natasha sipped her coffee, continuing to watch her friend. The look in her eyes told Darcy that the other woman had not missed her aborted comment. "You're going to have to face what's behind the doors, Darcy. You're talking to Sam today?" The younger woman took a shuddering breath and nodded. "How did it feel to sleep in?" The Widow took another long drink from her rapidly cooling coffee, knowing not to push too hard about her friend's nightmares.

"Almost as good as this coffee smells," Darcy brought the cup up to her lips, enveloping her scenes in the dark aroma. She was forever grateful for Natasha enabling her habit. She secretly wondered if Yasha had told her that Darcy liked vanilla in her coffee, or if the Widow had scared up that information on her own.

"How about when I tell you that it's been decided that we can disable the internal locks?" the Russian grinned into her mug.

"Really?" Darcy carefully put her mug down on the counter so she didn't spill it, her hands were shaking.

"Really," the older woman nodded. "Jarvis will still monitor you for a while, but you're free to come and go as you please, within the boundaries of the facility."

"Thank you for the coffee, Vdova," she dropped off the stool and brushed a kiss against Natasha's cheek before heading into her room to change.

Darcy slid into the plush leather armchair that sat in the corner of Sam's small office. It wasn't conventional, but his personal knowledge and experience working with both Steve and Bucky, made him the most convenient choice. Plus, Darcy liked him, which made it much easier to talk to him.

"So," Sam slumped down on his leather couch, a perfect match for Darcy's chair, it was a bit of a reverse for a psychologist's office, but the chair was in the most defensible positing, and Sam wasn't a psychologist, as he liked to remind her often. "You wanna talk to me about your nightmare?"

"Not really," just because she liked him, did not mean she made life easy on him.

Sam hummed and propped his feet up on the coffee table, hands clasped over his stomach, and gave her an appraising eye. "I'll try this a different way," a small smirk on his lips. "Tell me about the nightmare that caused those dark circles under your eyes, that even Pepper's most expensive concealer couldn't hide, or I'm going to let Tony break out those Hello Kitty dishes he may or may not have gotten to welcome you into the Avenger's Family, and Bucky's been trying to convince the idiot, is an inappropriate gift."

"He didn't," Darcy slumped in her chair. "Of course he did, Tony would totally do that. At least there's little to no chance of them exploding." She huffed. Vaguely telling Natasha over coffee was one thing, but Sam made her think. "It's the same hallway," she twisted her fingers in her opposite hand, chewing on her bottom lip. "I know it's me behind the doors, but I can't look." Darcy closed her eyes, not wanting to see her friends face when she continues. "Yasha burst through one of the doors and grabbed me. He wrapped his hand around my throat and pushed his way between my legs. I woke up screaming before anything else could happen."

"Good," Sam nodded, steepling his fingers on his stomach.

"Excuse me?" Darcy wasn't sure how having a nightmare about Yasha choking her out and attempting to rape her was good.

"The hallway's always been empty before," her friend explained. "The fact that Bucky made an appearance means you're making progress."

"Yasha," she corrected.

"Right," Sam sighed, they'd been through this often. "I understand you have a need to make a distinction, compartmentalize the aspects of Bucky, but while a lot of the Winter Soldier's actions weren't Bucky's choice, the underlying person, the one who you cared about and who has loved you for years, Bucky or Yasha, he's the same person." He watched Darcy nod, silent tears seeping down her cheeks. "I want you to do something for me," Sam pulled himself up right and handed her a tissue, looking her in the eyes. "I want you to talk to him, it doesn't have to be alone, we can do it here, or you can bring Natasha with you. It doesn't even have to be about anything real, talk about the weather, coffee, doesn't matter. But I want you two to talk." He watched the girl pick at her nails, eyes cast towards the floor, after a minute she nodded. "Anything else you wanna talk about, exciting news you want 'a share?"

"I hit the snooze button today," Darcy let a small smile out, delighted at the full throated chuckle from Sam.

"Is that so?" he asked. "Not what I was fishing for, but that's awesome. It's great. Taking charge of your own routines is very important."

Darcy stood outside the apartment Bucky shared with Steve, two steaming cups of coffee in her hands, one cup of strong coffee with a single shot of espresso in it, the other a vanilla latte. She answered her knock, giving her a long hard look before stepping aside to let her in. "Bucky's in his room, second door on the left."

"I didn't mean to hurt him," Darcy said in a quiet voice.

Steve nodded. "I know," he closed the door behind her, cognizant of the small jump the girl made when it clicked shut. "I know that this is all hard on you, but he's my best friend, and he needs you. Loosing you and the baby, he's dying inside, sweetheart."

"No promises, Cap," she let a tear slip from her eye and looked down at her shoes, twisting one foot around to step on the toes of the other. "But I brought coffee, so I could at least try."

"Just," Steve tipped her chin up to look at him. He almost never intentionally touched her, but he needed to look in her eyes. "Try hard." Darcy nodded sharply, sniffling slightly before stepping back. "Second door on the left."

The door was shut tight. A heavy wooden door that made her stomach flop. It wasn't the same; she told herself harshly, Bucky wasn't going to hurt her, not physically. She took a deep breath, screwed up her courage and stuffed down her fears. Back straight, she knocked on the door.

"Not in the mood, Steve," Bucky's voice was muffled though the wood.

"Es' not Steve," Darcy forced out, doing her best to keep her voice steady.

The door was opened before she could blink. Bucky stood there in his doorway, gray sweats hanging low on his hips, a faded vintage Brooklyn Dodgers t-shirt hugging tight across his shoulders. "Darcy," he breathed out, his blue eyes watery as he shoved hair off his face. She couldn't remember his eyes ever being so blue.

"I brought coffee," she held out the cup to him, putting it between them.

"Come in," Bucky took the offered beverage, warmed when she didn't flinch as their fingers brushed.

Notes:

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