"And to tear apart the ties that bind, her last 'fuck off' might be too kind..."
- "Do Me A Favour" by Arctic Monkeys
Part Fourteen: Bucky
By the way Steve behaved just moments before, Darcy was surprised he didn't pull out of her straight away and just toss a rag at her.
They panted together, his grip lessening on her ass as the world began to right itself. Darcy felt his arms readjust and she opened her eyes again, one of his arms slipping under her neck and propping her head up so he could slant his mouth over hers.
The tenderness of the kiss surprised her, it was nothing compared to how he eventually curled himself around her, sighing with his face in her neck. Steve was a cuddler, and Darcy found herself wishing she didn't know that about him.
She'd been called a lot of things. Callous, mean-spirited, bitchy, cunty, slutty. But she'd never been called a coward, and in that moment Darcy realized she was one.
Steve's face surfaced from her neck and he smiled at her dreamily.
"I like you like this," he whispered.
"Sweaty?" Darcy said, her voice not matching his.
"Spent," he replied.
She nodded, feeling her guts churn. She needed to get out from under him. When she didn't return his smile, Steve slowly moved back, releasing her from his hold and sliding out of her.
She felt the slow seep of the mess they made together on her thigh and she swallowed.
"I need to shower."
She walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind herself, leaning against it. She knew what was wrong with her. Intimacy was a fatal thing. It's why she never did relationships in the first place, it meant less space for being disappointed and being disappointing. She just needed space, and possibly some time.
When she emerged from the shower Steve was sitting on the bed with his clothes back on, an expectant look on his face.
He wouldn't be that far if he left. His room was just across the hall from her. She'd see him in a few hours, ready for their next flight. They were expected in Wisconsin in a few days, and headquarters was about to turn into another circus Darcy had to deal with. She had a lot on her plate.
"Even when you're naked you're wearing chain mail," Steve said, and Darcy lowered her gaze, nodding.
She knew what he meant. She was holding back though they were closer than ever. She felt the instinct to snap, to downplay his emotions, but Steve wasn't any other guy she'd slept with.
"I'm having the urge to run away, or to push you away," she admitted. She looked up into Steve's gaze, water still dripping from her hair. "I'm trying to not sound like a cliché."
Steve nodded. He didn't seem hurt, in fact his face softened at her admission. He swallowed, looking at his hands.
"You want me to go," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Yeah, but I don't want to hurt your feelings," she said, and he looked toward the ceiling.
"I'm not about to resign because you won't be my girlfriend, Darcy," he replied, and Darcy knew it was a jab. He was trying to remind her she wasn't all that. He glanced at her again. "And we're not friends."
"That's fair," she murmured.
The silence felt heavy and Darcy wished she could take it all back, rewind to the part where he came inside her and fix it. Steve stood up, picking his jacket up from the floor and heading toward the door.
"Steve," Darcy said, and he paused with his hand on the doorknob. The look he gave her was the same as when he saw Doug and her in the hallway.
"What, Darcy?"
"Would you take me to Bucky's grave, when we get back?"
Her question seemed to throw him off completely and he blinked a few times.
"Yeah," he breathed.
"I'll go with you. When was the last time you went?" she asked, crossing her arms over her naked chest. The cool air had begun to set in and she shivered.
"Christmas. I go in March for his birthday, too," he said, voice still small.
Darcy nodded, trembling.
"'Night, sweetheart," Steve murmured.
He shut the door behind him before Darcy had a chance to reply.
"Okay, now look up."
Darcy obliged, feeling a puff of air on her face that was Tony's laughter he'd struggled to stop from bubbling up.
"I swear to God, Tone," she muttered through the corner of her mouth.
The camera clicked and the photographer moved back, nodding.
"Good! Good. Again."
They were in the middle of shooting a Time Magazine spread. Tony was meant to be on the next cover and they'd managed to squeeze in a few hours in Manhattan. Most of the photos were of Tony alone but they added Darcy to some.
She wore a form-fitting Gucci gown with long silk gloves and her hair in a ridiculous bouffant. It was like a 1950's acid trip and Tony was playing doting husband in the shot they'd messed up at least five times because he couldn't keep a straight face.
"Very serious, everyone," Tony called out, making Darcy grit her teeth to stop her mouth from twitching into a smile. "Think Cold War. Think McCarthy."
"Exactly," the photographer said, and Darcy shook her head.
"Don't encourage him."
"Miss Lewis, could you tilt your chin slightly?"
Darcy swallowed and did as she was instructed.
Steve tossed a copy of Time on Darcy's desk and her eyes widened.
"Holy shit," she said, seeing the cover image of Tony with the bold red, white and blue script Imagine across the bottom. She picked up the magazine and flipped through it.
Steve's hands were on his hips as he stood while Darcy remained seated. They hadn't slept together since D.C. but he wasn't avoiding her entirely. They fell back into their professional roles, and only occasionally did they share secret glances.
"Did you see my favorite one, yet?" Steve said, watching her reading.
Darcy flicked through the spread, stopping on the final image of her, standing alone clutching a bloody heart in her hands with her arms and shirt caked in blood.
Darcy held up the magazine. "You mean this one?"
Steve smiled. "Good for business, that one."
"I can imagine."
Darcy's eyes darted to her office's open door. Steve noticed, his face changing.
"You want to go see Bucky today?"
He nodded. "You found out his birthday."
Darcy told Cherie she needed to step out for a while. She managed to clear her afternoon schedule once she knew Bucky's birthdate.
They travelled together to the cemetery that held the mausoleum with Bucky inside. Once they made their way inside their footsteps echoed on the marble floors. They'd hardly exchanged a word during the trip over.
"He's here," Steve said softly, pointing to a plaque on a wall.
They walked over, and Darcy felt her chest tighten. His epitaph showed the tragedy – James Buchanan Barnes was just twenty-three years-old when he died in Afghanistan.
"Do you talk to him?" Darcy asked.
Steve sighed. "Sometimes. I used to come here more, at first. Then I got busy."
He looked at the floor and then back up at the plaque, clearing his throat.
Darcy took the opportunity to take out a little paper flower out of her handbag and place it in the little metal holder beside Bucky's name. Steve's eyes widened as she did this, and Darcy caught him staring at her. She tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear and blinked up at him.
"I learned how to fold it. Took a few goes. I watched some tutorials," she murmured.
Steve didn't say anything to that, and Darcy reached out a hand, carefully running her fingers over the gold letters of Bucky's name.
"Hey, Buck," she whispered. "I'm… I'm… not good at this." She looked down, sighing. "Thank you for your service. I work with Steve."
She hated that she was too aware of Steve's eyes to say something more profound. She glanced at Steve, fingers still touching the letters.
"She's a real loudmouth, Buck," Steve said, looking right at Darcy. "You would have asked her out before I could if you were here."
Darcy looked back at the letters, feeling the edges.
"You would have snatched me up for sure," she whispered. She pushed aside all fear of sounding like a fool. "I'm taking care of him while you're gone, okay? But he'll see you soon enough."
She didn't believe in God or heaven but the idea that those who were gone were not too far away was something she wanted Steve to believe in.
They grew silent and Steve reached out to touch the 'J' with his finger, his eyes turning glassy.
They fell into a routine of their platonic bond over anything sexual, and soon March had melted into April. Tony was still ahead of Gunn but the distance was narrowing.
Darcy took a trip one afternoon at the beginning of May, Cherie with her. Darcy told her assistant to lag behind to not scare off the man she planned to meet.
Sure enough, he looked over her shoulder when she sat beside him on a bench in Central Park.
"I don't have to ask what this is about."
"We need a running mate and your name came up," Darcy replied, keeping her eyes on the pond in front of them. She lowered her sunglasses. "Tony's idea, not mine."
"Why not your idea, too?" Clint Barton asked.
Darcy turned her head, giving him her full attention. "You retired from politics for your wife. I like to take the wife's side nine times out of ten."
Clint's eyes lingered on her face. "Hmm. I heard about you. Lawyers calling you sorority girl turned ball buster."
Darcy's mouth quirked into a smile. "Did I major in ball busting, is that what they're saying?"
He smirked. "Yeah, among other things."
Darcy narrowed her eyes slightly. "At Harvard?"
He glanced away toward the water. "I could suggest three other people off the top of my head for Tony to have on the ticket."
"But you're not gonna 'cause you want to be on the ticket," Darcy countered. "And I don't need help finding people."
"Sweetheart, I have no doubt," Clint said with a laugh. "I've got three kids and a wife, what does Scott Lang have?"
She'd waited for him to say that. "Lang's got an ex-wife and a kid under twelve plus he's an ex-con, so he's out. Try to challenge me next time. I do my research."
"I saw that photo of you with the heart," he said, and Darcy rolled her eyes.
"A lot of people have," she replied.
They stared at one another for a minute, before Clint relented, sighing.
"Ball busting, cute, smart," he muttered. "Goddamn it."
"So you'll talk to your wife Laura about it?" Darcy asked, as if he hadn't just said all those things.
He leaned forward with his hands on his knees and sighed again.
"Yeah."
Darcy got up, looking around at the people walking by and picnicking on the grass.
"Whatever else you heard about Harvard," she began, and Clint looked up. She lowered her sunglasses.
"It's all rumors," he said, hands up.
"I was gonna say, only believe what you heard if it's bad," she said.
She turned her heel and walked off to Cherie, who stood poised with her phone.
"He's in."