"Buck? Where are you? Where is she?" She could hear the worry in Steve's...no, in Captain America's tone through the comms as Bucky replied softly as not to startle Darcy more than necessary.
"Basement floor, building two, third door to the left. "
This was the Captain.
"Roger that. I'm in stairwell C heading down to basement level now," and even through the static from the interference of concrete and being underground, he sounded certain and authoritative.
Steve's voice could be kind and soft, gentle yet sassy; sarcastic even at times. It was Darcy's favorite thing about him. The more he let her in, the more she got to know him, the more she got to see Steve's funny, intellectual humour. He might possibly even be more sassy than she, which would be a feat all on its own. The first time he'd sassed her, she'd stared back open mouthed as he walked away laughing, a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his face. She'd loved it and had chased him to see how much more she could get out of him. He'd progressively let her get closer, but still - there was something, and she wasn't sure what exactly, that kept her at arms length from him.
The Captain's voice, on the other hand, was authoritative, direct, challenging. This was not her friend, her movie night cuddle buddy. The Captain was a superhero. He did the impossible, he made the non-negotiable decisions, he saved the day. It was hard to get to know the Captain. Strategic, decisive, in charge - he was exactly as described from the history books she read about growing up. What she hadn't expected, though, was the complete 180 she experienced when interacting with the Captain vs. plain old Steve. And the difference between the two was like night and day. At the same time, however, he managed to fit both personalities into one person, flitting between the two not as separate people, but just how he dealt with each conversation, each individual person, each moment as it came.
She'd watched him, and had seen Bucky watch him as well, and even Natasha - all be enraptured by his easy transitions from superhero to normal Steve. While she expected to feel whiplash from the back and forth, there wasn't any of that. Both were him and he was both and it was just the way of him.
It wasn't Steve though, who was leading the team to rescue her.
This was the hero, the legend, coming to save her. And fuck anyone standing in his way between where he fought and where his mission lay.
She wasn't sure if it was better or worse that it was the Captain who was about to see her like this. She suspected it would be easier on the both of them for the "Captain" to find her while he was carrying his armour, and in more ways than the shield.
They were friends now, she and Steve, and while the Captain didn't really express friendships whilst carrying that weight of leadership, there was awe and respect towards him when he was in charge.
Bucky was good at hiding his feelings - masterful, in fact. The best out there. Super ninja spy thing, Darcy surmised. Exactly like Natasha. Who'd once admitted to Darcy during a girls night, in a moment of dark secret telling that can only be shared over wine and with lots of tears, the kind of dark and terrible honest truths that can only be whispered in the dark to those you trust above all others, that Bucky… well, the Winter Soldier at the time, had been a large part of her training in the red room. She hadn't elaborated, the secret so harsh and let out with so much effort that Darcy hadn't pressed for more, but it was plainly obvious that Natasha suffered great trauma from that time and that somehow Bucky had been largely involved. The two of them didn't avoid each other, but they definitely were not warm and fuzzy like one would expect from a shared past.
Darcy had been dying to know why, but it wasn't something often talked about, or asked, and Bucky and Natasha had a storyline all on their own, a secret life before that only the two of them understood, but Darcy could see so much in how they looked at each other. There was something there, old and serious, and she could never tell if it was rage, trauma, a shared understanding and compassion, or simply reminiscing between the two when they looked at each other. But as far as she knew, they hadn't spoken since Steve had brought Bucky into the tower and in a moment of unpreparedness, Natasha had dropped all of her defenses so quickly and so drastically, the color rushing out of her face so quickly - it was so unlike anything any of them had ever witnessed from him.
He'd simply looked at her, his eyes steady, his face expressionless, utterly unsurprised at finding her there. They'd looked at each other from across the room, both frozen in memories, horror, or something else - she didn't know, until Clint, worried, dragged Natasha from the room while Steve did the same with Bucky, back to their own respective quarters.
The next morning at breakfast, a mutual understanding or at the very least some kind of line drawn in the sand of peace had come between them and they stood next to each other in the kitchen cooking, working over each other and somewhat collaboratively, without a word between them. Tony, Clint, and Steve had simply looked at one another in confusion, shrugged, and then went on to eat the plates set in front of them with gusto. Leaving Darcy to just stare at all of them like they'd lost their ever-loving damn minds. What the hell was going on?
She'd tiptoed around Bucky a bit ever since, because where Natasha treaded carefully, Darcy was even more cautious. Steve had been a huge lead in making Bucky more human, less… frightening. More… approachable. Still, Darcy had waded carefully around him, because she didn't know. There wasn't enough information on the table for her to feel one way or another, approach him in any specific manner, act any particular way around him.
The Bucky sitting with Darcy now, so simply, and just to keep her company so that she would know for sure, 100% that she'd been found and wasn't alone anymore, was hard to associate with the same Winter Soldier that Natasha knew, respected, and possibly feared so greatly. Perhaps the Winter Soldier had hurt her, deeply, traumatically. Darcy didn't know, and Natasha hadn't told.
Foreignly to her, however, despite not knowing much more than glossy details regarding Bucky's past via Steve, made Bucky feel like the safest person to sit near her right now than anyone else. He had two weapons, the rifle which she glanced at more than once while they waited, and his shiny arm, that kept whining and shifting as he clenched and unclenched his fist.
He understood something in her that she didn't have to speak about. Somehow knowing what had been done to her without having to ask. Which was very good, because she didn't ever want to talk. She didn't want him to ever leave. The desire to cling to him, to attach herself physically to him and never let go was so strong she would have had to work to keep her body in check had she not been physically unable to shuffle to him.
She was very concerned about how she would feel once the Captain was in the room.
He was all things good, steady and fair. He was honest and... he wouldn't... understand. How could he? Darcy couldn't begin to understand. She began to tremble in worry at Steve's reaction to seeing her.
She was being saved - this was a good moment, the moment she'd been waiting for. But instead of feeling joyous or relieved, she felt… nothing.
They were too late.
Her eyes swept over to look at the little window, closed off today by metal shutters. Bucky's eyes followed hers, searchingly, calculating, eyes narrowing with swift understanding. And then he looked back at her, his eyes softening in cognizance. His head tilted to the side as he truly assessed her physical form, his expression darkening as he followed the open cuts along the length of her bare legs, up her torso, the cuffs the collar. He took in the knife wedged in her shoulder, and the huge gash she had across her face, his gaze remaining gentle and observant, but made no move to touch her. Her swollen eyes, her matted hair, her cracked lips.
Sitting silently with her now, just as he'd promised, he kept her company. He had been keeping up a running commentary, she thought he had been, at least, but must have noticed her zoning out and hadn't pushed her to come back until she was ready so he allowed himself to trail off, which she deeply appreciated.
The fact that he hadn't left - his promise to her felt like a lifeline in which she now emotionally clung to as promised and awaited his followthrough. He kept quiet now, there was nothing to be said. What could anyone possibly say about her, about this wreck of a person she now was?
He's stayed with her though, which was everything to her in this moment, sitting near her but not too close, keeping his promise not to leave, and it had been so long since she hadn't felt completely alone that she was inexplicably grateful for the few moments between just the two of them that, to give her time, to prepare her, and allow her to to simply soak up the feeling of not being alone anymore, not forgotten and unwanted.
They had come.
She had known it, but had convinced herself otherwise.
It had been such a long time.
It was a marvel Bucky could even recognise her, really, covered as she was from head to toe in filth. Her own filth, their filth, mud from the cell. Layers of dried blood, semen, spit. Her hair stringy, filthy, half covering her face and eyes - she knew she resembled something out of a horror film.
Swallowing was hard, her mouth dry. She thought longingly of ice water, and then shook at the thought. Nothing cold. Something warm, like hot chocolate, or apple cider.
Bucky's gaze never left hers, but she refused to acknowledge his gauging evaluation of her. Please, let him stay quiet; she didn't want to know what he thought, what he saw. He knew what it was to be bound and tortured.
He'd been remade into a weapon; she had just been ruined. She couldn't think about what he saw, what he recognised and what was different. The old her would have pelted him with question after question, wanting to hear his point of view and draw her own conclusions from what he did say, and what he didn't. Collect all the information until she had the whole picture.
But she couldn't look at him. He saw too much.
At least there was a window, she had thought in the first few days of her captivity and had been so very grateful since, eyes flicking towards it now. Even if it hadn't allowed any light in. The window was an acknowledgement that the world had continued to exist outside these walls. There was somewhere to go back to.
He glanced back at the window. He seemed to understand not only her thought process, but her need to block him out, her need to remind herself of the outside world.
Was she so easy to read?
Subconsciously projecting to him the few thoughts that had been hers to keep, the little certainties that had kept her going all this time? It was good that he could read her without her ever having to say anything.
It didn't take long before she and Bucky could hear distantly his boots running down the hall, as his calls grew louder and it wasn't long before she heard Steve's real voice instead of the crackled echo via the coms, as he neared and approached her cell.
"Buck…" Cap skidded to a stop as soon as he walked into the room and saw them, saw her - his shield shiny and bright, the white star gleaming - a beacon of safety but also a weapon that he held close to the chest upon entering the room, always on the lookout, always prepared for a fight.
He would have fought for you had he been here. She knew it.
It hurt her to look at him. His expression held every fear she'd expected.
He was aghast, his face contorted in horror. Even looking away at the window, she could see Bucky glaring at Cap. Why? Because he hadn't kept his poker face? It wouldn't have helped. She knew what she'd become.
"Steve," Bucky admonished softly.
It was strange seeing that disapproval on Bucky's face, and directed towards Cap. They had come for her; she knew it was a good thing. Her mind was telling her so.
She just couldn't believe it. It didn't feel real. Because, perhaps… it wasn't.
Her heart hurt.
Why had they left her here for so long?
Cap walked in slowly, his eyes widening as he took her in, his enhanced eyes seeing more than the normal person would upon first entry. His shield dropped; its heavy clang rattled in her ears as it hit the ground, not even bouncing a little, just slamming into it like the opposite poles of two magnets clamping together.
"Oh my God," he breathed.
They were here to rescue her, to help her. But the uncomfortable and unsettling realization that even trusted, even as they were here to rescue her - they were still men, standing over her in the cell, and that only meant one thing. She knew what they wanted.
She couldn't take it from them. It was too much.
She whimpered, her mind warring with itself over what to make of the contradiction, and shuddered with the effort of figuring out this new game. This wasn't supposed to happen here in her dark, safe place.
You can trust them.
They will hurt you.
They're your friends.
They could break you with one hand.
They could kill you.
Why haven't they killed you yet?
What did they want her to do?
She stared at them with wide eyes; she wanted to hide her face but she couldn't. Had to watch them. Had to figure out what new game was coming next, what to expect. Could she protect herself against them?
Could she escape?
This is not the kind of place you escape from. She'd come to that weighted realization early into her captivity. But escape was a laughable imaginative dream, especially hobbled with injuries and weighed down with metal and fatigue.
Her helplessness was suffocating.
Being exposed in front of them, in a way that had nothing to do with her nudity, was overwhelming. To be vulnerable here meant she couldn't gather her wits, couldn't hoard strength or prepare for the next onslaught. She needed them to leave, needed to be alone in the dark, needed them out.
She needed...
Why would they care what you need, Whore?
What could you give them to earn your freedom, Pet?
Bucky was still crouched relatively close, though he'd begun slowly inching backwards away from her as her distress intensified. How did he know to do that? Had she said what she wanted out loud? That hadn't mattered to any of the other men.
Cap, either not noticing what Bucky did or not caring, moved closer until he towered above them both. Unable to voice the panic she felt in his shadow, her breaths quickened until she was hyperventilating. Panting, clawing at her throat, and then screaming wordlessly, wildly. A dull clanging sounded as her cuffs hit the collar, and the reminder of her remaining restraints chewed away at what little remained of her control. Every step he came closer, reaching towards her…
Oh God, he was going to touch her.
The panic bit into her mind like sharp metal edges into skin.
She lost her fucking mind.
"No!" she shrieked, her voice cracked but shrill. "I don't want it, I don't want to, please no!"
The way Cap recoiled at her words, it was like he'd been hit by someone else's shield for once. It looked like it had hurt him. She didn't want to hurt him but she couldn't help it, couldn't stop. She tore at the collar and the skin beneath it, begging incoherently.
Get it off, let me out, let me die, please...
"I don't understand the rules…" she choked out.
The silence that followed was long and thick, like cement. It actually made her think of a tall Mahogany tree. In her mind, the leaves were no longer green, but white. Wind, racing and spirling around the leaves, close but not quite touching yet… she could see the exact moment the wind hit the leaves, causing them to tear and break away from the tree, like torn and tearing sheets of white paper flowing in the air, not flying, not falling… just floating in the silence. She imagined she was a floating paper leaf, having been torn from her tree.
She floated.
"The rules?" Steve questioned, aghast, looking at Bucky with wide eyes.
"We aren't gonna hurt ya, sweet thing," Bucky whispered at her, so, so gently. Had she said something out loud? Why were they still so close? They were hovering, they were in her space of safety - this was hers, damn it. They didn't hurt her here.
They waited until after they dragged her out. She couldn't leave. They had to go.
"Get out," she screamed, choking on the unfamiliar taste of her own demands. "Get out! I'm not her!"
"Darce," Cap said her name so calmly, with such compassion and she felt sick. "What do you mean?" His voice trailed off.
"We are absolutely not leaving you here," Bucky told her, still infuriatingly calm. He wasn't necessarily gentle… could one really be "gentle" holding a rifle in one hand like he was, poised to fight, to murder on her behalf?
Her eyes narrowed at the rifle. He was collected; he knew the situation, he understood her, he comprehended so much about this situation it was dizzying, and he treated her thus. He shuffled slowly towards her, kneeling next to her, palms up in front of him - on the ground, submissively. She knew the posture, she'd been taught so well.
What was he doing?
He slid his hands towards hers, his hands open and gently spread as if to catch her should she fall. "We ain't here to hurt ya." he told her, his murmured voice a soft blanket of comfort. You're safe right now."
He didn't tell her she would be okay. It was as if he somehow knew she wasn't and would never be. He made no silly promises or false, laughable statements.
"We're gonna get you outta this mess. Deep breaths, dollface. Like this." He demonstrated, still remaining low in front of her, making himself as small as possible, in front of her, trying to get her to breathe with him, or simply distract her enough that her body took over breathing where her mind stuttered and made her body forget. Whatever he was doing though, it was working.
She felt herself beginning to calm.
She trembled, hands shaking, teeth chattering. She attempted to swallow again, her voice raw, her dehydrated body making her tongue stick to the top of her mouth. It was then that she remembered the collar. It made everything worse, breathing, moving, swallowing. It had to be removed.
"Collar... off, please…" The words weren't more than a whisper, her throat raw, terror clinging to every word as she worried their reaction to her request. Should she have trusted them enough to ask? Would she be punished?
She flinched back, fearing the worst.
"Darcy," Steve breathed, unable to contain his horror, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. "Oh my God."
"Steven." Bucky scolded sharply this time.
Darcy stopped breathing at the sound of her name and the unexpected sharpness of his tone. Cap had said her name a second time - her eyes once again jerking to the floor. Two times was two times too many. She'd been taught better.
Pet, you know better. Playthings don't have names.
It had been ingrained in her in such a short time.
The conditioning ran deep; she moved unconsciously to brace herself for the expected pain. Just this small change of posture was enough to jostle the knife and complete the circuit. She bit down the scream of agony that threatened to make itself out of her. To scream would cause further punishment. She could hold it in, she could do it. Darcy, you can do this.
Her stomach lurching as if she'd eaten rotted food, she couldn't stop her mind spiraling away from her.
A thing, you're just a thing.
That's not your name, Whore.
This wasn't happening to her.
She had a name.
She was a person.
She was Darcy...
She glanced at her window, pleading with her heart to beat slower, to calm down. Don't give yourself away, she begged. She felt herself zone out again.
It helped.
"What just happened?" Steve fixated on her immediately, eyes raking over her, assessing her, frowning. His words were clipped as he stood over her, tall and broad, taking in both Bucky's and her submissive posture, her bowed head, the way her face went carefully blank.
"Maybe don't call her that right now, Steve," Bucky muttered, so quietly only a supersoldier would have heard it if the room hadn't gone so deadly quiet.
She winced, careful to only move her head.
"Don't call her what?" Steve demanded. "What the fuck have they done to her?"
"Don't say her name," Bucky told him quietly, understandingly, pausing as if wondering how much to say in this moment. Determining whether it was the right time, or place to open up knowledge that he knew simply by reading her body language, her terror, and the few, fleeting sentences she'd let out in panic.
"But why?" His voice now soft, losing all of his strong, angry, indignation, so unexpected, seeming genuinely lost.
"It hurts her, Stevie."
Darcy shuddered. How the fuck did Bucky know this about her?
How does he know?
You didn't say anything. He couldn't know anything.
He called you your name, though..
That isn't your name.
Your name is a punishment.
They hadn't called her the other names. She couldn't say them now, didn't want them to know what she had become. Couldn't be them. Didn't want to please. Wouldn't do what she was told.
They say they want to help you,
but they won't give you what you want.
But then you said NO and they STOPPED.
She felt utterly lost and confused.
Steve stared at Bucky. "Her name hurts her," he repeated slowly, blinking under his cowl, his mind quick at work, discerning the problem. Not quite in disbelief; not fully understanding.
Bucky nodded his head minutely, his eyes so soft as he looked at her, his arm whirring as it repositioned itself once again submissively in front of Darcy.
She didn't know what he wanted from her.
She refused to look at his hands, instead, choosing to remain staring at the floor, away from both of them.
Perhaps if she looked away, they wouldn't see her either.
Steve stared for a long moment, and then stared at Darcy. His panic rose as he assessed her the way Bucky had; instead of resonating a calm, sad understanding, tension and confusion rolled off him in waves.
Shock. It felt like shock, and denial. She recognised it; that's exactly how she'd felt the first time she'd set foot in the cell.
The idea of being able to deny her reality was too much. The collar was suddenly too tight. She couldn't breathe. They were seeing too much. They were so close, almost touching her. Bucky was so close. They were so big, she needed them away.
The collar tightened, and Darcy's world shrank until it contained just that cold chokehold and her burning lungs. It was getting tighter by the minute. Dying like this wasn't mercy, wasn't what she'd asked for. She raised her hands to her throat and began pulling, frantically.
"Take it off," Darcy wailed, panic fully setting in as she clawed with bloody fingernails and little strength at the collar. "Please, please, take it off."
"Doll," Bucky said, low and soothing.
Darcy paused, pulling in shallow breaths; taking in the new word, the endearment.
Here came the new rules. She couldn't be her, couldn't be them, but she could be someone new. Someone who could want. Could be rescued.
When he saw her response, her sudden attention, the small tilt of her head, he addressed her again.
"Doll," Bucky said again, his voice steady and calming, letting her get used to the endearment.
He glanced carefully all around the collar, seeing how it was connected, trying to look without touching how they had put it on.
"Doll, we can't take it off yet," he sounded apologetic. He glanced at Steve, saying softly, "we're gonna need tools from the Quinjet. And a sedative, because it's gonna require some physical leverage to get it off."
Steve nodded, looking at it as carefully as he could from where he stood as well.
Darcy whined, pulse racing once more. "It's getting tighter, I can't breathe," she gasped.
"Okay, alright." Bucky was quick to respond, crooning at her as one would do to a wild horse. "Easy now." He took a deep breath, evaluating how and what to say next. "Doll, it's not getting tighter. You're feeling panicked, and that's alright. You've got every damn reason to feel the way you do," he swallowed his anger, looking away for a moment to contain it.
"I can't breathe, Bu-," her voice was thin and full of nerves, trailing off as she began his name and quickly stopped mid-way through. Was she allowed to say his name? Would he hurt her for it?
"I would never hurt you." His promise was unexpected. Sincere. Honest.
Bravely, she looked up at him, right into his eyes, and he looked steadily back into hers. "I need it off," she whispered. She could need things now. He would allow it.
Steve had pulled his cowl off, rubbing a gloved hand at both eyes. Was he crying?
"I will, I swear it. I'll take the damn thing off as soon as we are out of here," he swore.
She shuffled uncomfortably, the movement sending a shockwave of fresh pain down her body.
"Steady now, I know it hurts, I know. Try and calm down. It's hard, I know I'm asking a damn lot, but you can do this," Bucky's voice was gentle, his presence grounding.
She tilted her head, trying to listen to him, working to focus on what he was saying.
He inched his hands towards her again, closer, almost touching her…
She didn't want it, he was too close, he couldn't touch her, no one could touch her, she didn't want to be touched.
"No!" She jerked back so hard as she screamed, slamming her head into the wall behind her, and she wailed, broken, choked, and childlike as panic fully set in once more. The word she'd voiced was nearly as terrifying as the encroaching hand. It had been so long since she had been someone who could say no.
"Buck," Steve warned, hands dropping from his face, eyes rimmed with red, feet still planted where he'd first stopped.
Bucky was already backing off, pushing away from her as fast as he could until he hit the wall opposite her, almost behind Steve. He had his hands up, palms facing her - in supplication.
"You're okay, Doll," he said quietly. "Nobody's gonna hurt ya. You're safe now. Just breathe. We're gonna get you out. No one's gonna touch you if you don't want it. I promise. We're just gonna wait on Bruce for a minute - he's on his way."
He promised her.
You've been promised pain here.
It has been delivered.
Why shouldn't this be?
It echoed within her. She wanted to believe him so badly.
Why was Bruce coming?
"Take a second, feel the ground beneath you," Bucky murmured, his voice deep and masculine. Protective. She scratched around the dirty floor beneath her, her fingertips brushing against the gritty floor she'd grown so accustomed to. It was damp beneath her, soiled and dirty.
"Look at your window." Her eyes flitted upwards. It had been her window. Her small square of solace in this small cell she'd never wanted to be in, and now never wanted to leave. Her head ached. She turned, so slowly, the collar pulling tight at her throat. She was panting now, taking short breaths - but breathing nonetheless.
There was freedom in looking at that window; it had been her reminder of the possibility of rescue, had kept her sane, and in looking at it - even for this small, dictated moment - she felt the calm certainty of a world that existed beyond these walls. For a moment she forgot that she wasn't alone, that she was half unbound, and held tight to what remained of her hope.
They will rescue you. They will come.
"That's it. We're here now, you aren't alone. Take a deep breath. Just one," Bucky interrupted her moment of safe haven, his even commentary helping to ground her to the present.
They were here. She needed help. The cold air stung her sinuses.
And then Captain America came out of his shock and began to move around the cell in a frenzy of motion, startling her. "Where is a blanket? Buck - grab something - we need to cover her. Why are you just standing against the wall? Shit, where are her clothes? It's fucking freezing in here. What the hell - chains... The ground is wet. Why is the ground..."
He glanced around, eyes wide and horrified, "What the fuck is this room?"
"Uh, you're gonna need to give us some context, Cap." Tony's voice over the comm was tense, "None of that sounded very…" he trailed off, lacking an adequate descriptor.
"We need a blanket, or clothes or…," he trailed off, looking around as if to find something in the grimy room.
"We'll find something," Tony replied over the comm, his voice grave. "Romanoff? You reach them yet?"
"Almost there," she replied immediately, the sound of her running boots hitting cement echoing down the hall, getting closer.
Steve hovered over Darcy, hands open in midair, afraid to touch. His voice still loud and slightly frantic as he asked what he could do, what did she need. The more he hovered, the more panicked she got, the more anxious she felt, and the higher her voice escalated. She was gasping and sobbing noisily, clawing at her neck, at her throat. Her nails on the cell wall behind her, bleeding... she was lost, she was so lost…
"Steve…" Bucky started, as he stepped forward towards his friend, to reach him, to pull him back, to aide him - Darcy didn't know...
"For fuck's SAKE, back away from her - get out! You are making it worse! Идиоты! (Idiots!) отойди от нее (Get away from her!)" Natasha snapped, stepping into the room and pointing towards the door.
Bucky gave her a dark look.
Steve froze again instead, his expression a mixture of complete horror and a man aghast and unbelieving of what he was seeing with his own eyes in looking at her. Staring at her as if he couldn't believe that she would be afraid of them.
Darcy shrunk deeper into herself at his grayish face - as if he might be physically ill at any moment - it took Bucky's hand steering him by the arm and then shoving his lower back gently to get him out the door, where Thor now stood.
Mighty, powerful, God of Thunder, Thor.
She'd prayed to Thor. Begged him to find her.
He hadn't come for her.
It hurt her, deeply, seeing him now. She let out a wounded sound.
He stared down at Darcy, thunderstruck, hammer pulling at his arm towards the ground as if he no longer held the strength to hold it up, his face paling as blood drained quickly out of his face.
He said nothing, his sad gaze sweeping over her, taking her in as she was, frantic, naked, and ruined. He didn't reach out to her, didn't even try to take a step towards her. He didn't try to enter the room. He simply stepped aside and helped Steve exit the space and then took over as much of the doorway as he could to prevent Steve's re-entry, or possibly anyone else's, dare they show up.
She dared a glance at him. Why hadn't he come for her?
She'd pleaded...
It was as if he somehow just… knew. Everything that had happened to her, he saw in a single glance, the overwhelming sadness she now felt in actually seeing him - right there in front of her - she wanted to cry. She had already begun.
Thor looked back at her, his expression so deeply grieved. He possibly did see and know everything she'd been through, all they had forced her to do, all that she had become in trying to be better at what they demanded from her - maybe he did.
His expression in looking at her was something old… something she had never seen on his face before. It held the knowledge of centuries past, of seeing things he still couldn't comprehend, something he could never think of to mentally prepare for. And was all at once, witnessing yet again, something he would never be able to forget.
He saw beyond what she was, terrified in this room, naked and vulnerable. He could see what she'd gone through, and what she had done to survive.
Come on, Pet, show me how much you want it. Oh, you cry so pretty.
He could see so much, how was it even possible? The knowledge that somehow he knew - he knew it all - it was impossible, yet she could see it in his face - made Darcy feel ill.
"It is so very good to see you, ástin mín," Thor said, his eyes serious, his body tired and aged as he took her in, as if all of his great power had left momentarily.
His eyes became bright blue, crackling with light that went down his arm to Mjölnir, the voltage going back up as quickly as it went down, yet he did nothing more than stand there, now guarding the door instead of standing there in sudden shock.
Bucky stayed where he was. He hadn't moved an inch after escorting Steve out of the room. They could all hear Steve in the hallway trying to explain her condition without actually saying much of anything, descriptive verbiage leaving him silent in his attempts as he communicated into the comms to Tony, Bruce, and Clint, letting them know she'd been found and was alive. The comms kept making white static noise in between conversation, and it actually helped ground her and encouraged Darcy to remain present.
Natasha gave Bucky a hard look with narrowed eyes, a look that would normally frighten the strongest of men, which Bucky simply returned evenly, holding her gaze for a long moment, refusing to give into her demand that he leave. Her eyebrows twitched, irritation and then...a softness - so unexpected - followed by a look of understanding crossing her face - a single flash before hardening again as he straightened back up to his full height, refusing to give even a single inch.
She gave him a questioning, lingering look, not in disapproval, just a quick glance of confusion which he chose to ignore as he instead, tilted his head in Darcy's direction. Frowning slightly, she turned towards Darcy, taking her own moment to fully assess what she was dealing with. Her face betrayed nothing.
She glanced back at Bucky after her quick assessment, her eyes angry and soft as she looked him over, and nodded imperceptibly back at him. His dark, serious eyes bored into Tasha's and an understanding passed between them. They both directed their energies back at Darcy, almost in tandem.
What even.
When Steve had been moved out of her bubble, Darcy had taken the moment to try and calm down, to just breathe, as Bucky had first instructed before Natasha showed up. She was still panicked and shaken, eyes wild, and nerves shot to fuck, but she wasn't screaming anymore, wasn't begging.
Bucky nodded to Natasha and she stepped slowly towards Darcy, allowing Darcy time to watch her every move as she neared. Her hands facing upwards, just as Bucky had done, in submission or supplication - Darcy wasn't sure which one - as she knelt down and slowly reached out towards her.
For the first time, Darcy didn't flinch. She wasn't afraid of Natasha. There was a longing there, hope rising in her chest, painful and sharp, but good in an awful kind of way, a desperate need to feel safe.
"Kotyonok (Kitten)," she said gently, softly. Another name.
Another set of rules?
No, not with Tasha.
Nothing made sense in Darcy's confused, broken mind.
Natasha reached down to the ground, sliding her knuckles across the filthy floor toward Darcy until she reached Darcy's hand. Brushing the tips of Darcy's fingertips with her own, so gentle, so comfortingly, in a very similar manner in which Bucky had first attempted... Only this time, Darcy allowed Natasha's small touch, taking in a moment just to feel the gentle warmth of safe hands.
Hands that weren't seeking to hurt her.
Yet.
The thought was there. Would it always be there?
Darcy shuddered at the touch as comfort became terror, before yanking her fingers away. She wanted her close, but couldn't bear to be touched, even by someone so trusted.
"You are safe now, Kotyonok," she promised. "There is no one left here that will hurt you. We've taken care of them and they cannot hurt you anymore. We are going to take you home now, okay? You are safe." She repeated gently, steadily.
Darcy paused, overwhelmed by the absurdity. This wasn't real. It was all a hallucination. But better to speak to a hallucination than feel so utterly alone anymore. If this was death, she'd rather it be this than be alone during her final moments.
Darcy shook her head, there was so much confusion and blankness, such a lack of understanding, unable to form thoughts or words until she all but stuttered. "No, I'm not going home. I'm not safe. This isn't real, but I want it to be real - so much." She shuddered, tears streaming down her swollen cheeks as she reached towards Natasha before snatching her hand back before Natasha could grasp onto her.
"I'm dying." She knew it. She felt it. She believed it.
Her shredded voice broke as she finally looked up at Natasha, tearful blue eyes meeting steady green ones. "Please... I'm dying, Natasha. And I don't know what to do."
Steve sucked in a deep breath. You could hear him from down the hall. Bucky's jaw tightened and his hands clenched into fists. She could hear the metal whirrings moving of his mechanical arm.
"No, Kotyonok, no," Natasha murmured comfortingly. "You are not dying today. It is not going to happen. You are going to live, Darcy." Darchy flinched hard. Natasha took a moment, taking in that reaction in the same way Bucky had. She even glanced back at Bucky at that, his tiny nod of confirmation all she needed to refocus back on Darcy.
What could they both see?
Darcy could see the similarities between the two in a way she never had before.
"I swear it," she promised. "You know me," she said. "You know me. I will not let any man hurt you." She reached out towards Darcy again. Darcy's eyes dropped to the floor, and she waited for the pain to strike.
She felt Natasha turn and glance back at Bucky. She imagined a fierce understanding that ran deep between the two, a silent conversation. Turning back to Darcy, Natasha's eyes burned passionately, yet were so very kind at the same time; understanding. Patient.
"Look at me, Kotyonok," she said softly. "We are here. Really and truly. We're going to take you home now." Her breath trembled but she continued, pushing through her emotions. "And I'm sorry, Kotyonok, I am so very sorry, but we are going to have to touch you to get you out of here."
Darcy couldn't breathe. She couldn't take a deep breath. Dots of gray threatened her vision. She didn't want hands on her.
"Take a breath, Kotyonok," Natasha commanded. "I will get you through this - we all will. You are not alone. No harm will come to you anymore."
Darcy's voice was barely a whisper in reply. "Please, please end this. Let this be over. I need it to be over."
She paused, sucking in a deep breath, tears pooling under her swollen eyes. "I want to die, Natasha," she whispered. "I can't go home."
Bucky sucked in a silent breath. Steve's breath hitched from the hallway, his boots thumping a path as he walked back and forth to try and gain control of himself as Bucky and Natasha had. Thunder clapped loudly and unexpectedly above them and Thor's grip on his hammer tightened. Darcy wasn't sure how Mjolnir's handle hadn't splinted in his grasp.
"What the fuck?" Clint whispered harshly, his sudden, unexpected voice crackling loudly over the coms. "Did she just say… Darce…she didn't just..."
"Hawkeye!" Tony interrupted quickly, too loudly to be accidental. "Let's get the quinjet ready for liftoff. I'll take the helm - you help get medical set up. Cap, meet you and the team in ten. Let's get out of this shithole."
There was a shuffling, and some muffled arguing; Tony most likely dragging Clint out of the building, crackling through the comms, so loudly that Steve, Bucky, and Natasha all quickly turned the sound down on their comms simultaneously. Clint's words of dismay and denial echoed in the cell, followed by Tony's authoritative direction, reverberating like a gong in Darcy's brain, making her feel both lightheaded and drained.
Darcy's body throbbed in anguish. She couldn't stop the whimper that left her, even though she was damned near chewing through her lips to prevent sound from escaping.
Someone shuffled behind Thor.
"Bruce," Natasha requested, keeping her voice calm and light.
Bruce stepped in slowly, needle in hand.
Needles. Shit. No more.
Darcy shrieked, panic clawing at the back of her throat. "No!" she struggled. "Natasha, no! No needles. Please, no more needles. Leave me alone."
"What did they give her?" Steve demanded. "Needles?"
"We don't know yet, Captain," Bruce replied softly, green edging upwards on his neck and he closed his eyes, breathing, allowing his heart rate to lower once again.
"Bucky, please," she pleaded, now that Natasha had betrayed her by calling in Bruce to give her something via syringe, tears now streaming down her cheeks. She stared at his rifle and he followed her gaze before frowning slightly.
"Just point and shoot. It will be quick," she begged. "Make it stop, I want it to stop. Please."
Steve let out an anguished cry, so unlike the Captain in this moment, hiding his face behind his hands, and Thor pulled him into a quick side hug. Steve allowed the embrace for maybe all of two seconds before pulling back to stand a few feet away. Thor released him slowly, his hands holding Steve carefully as if not believing Steve was altogether himself quite yet but respecting the man's decision, keeping attuned to him carefully as he turned his attention back to Darcy.
Bucky paled and his eyes darkened as he looked back at her, but rather than lifting the rifle towards Darcy, he pulled the strap over his shoulder and placed the gun on his back, away from her.
"Darcy. Doll, no," he said and Darcy flinched again at the sound of her own name.
"No?" she whispered in the dark. This was her room of safety…why were they taking this from her? Why wouldn't they let her go?
This was all she had left.
Bruce looked ill and angry, a twinge of green seeping into his skin, but he was holding it off, taking deep breaths and remaining calm. Natasha laid a hand on his shoulder, helping to ground him. "We have to move you and... it's going to hurt..." His voice trailed off and he stammered, so unlike him in moments like this. She could only imagine what she looked like to him, to them all. "A... a lot. This will help with the pain, and nothing more."
She shook her head, only to wince and stop when the collar swung and tugged at her throat. "No, Bruce - please. Please, no." Her heart raced. "I don't want it." She struggled to shift away from them, but the knife in her shoulder shifted, and she cried out.
The blood was hot on her back again. How could she still have any blood left? Anything warm inside? She was cold to the core, she must be by now.
Bruce looked at Natasha as if to say, "What do I do?" Before she could answer, however, she looked over at Bucky as he had already moved forward, plucking the needle from Bruce's grip, stepped forward, gently grasped Darcy's arm as she attempted to struggle away, "No - Bucky, no! I said no!" and sunk the needle into her arm.
How dare he? How could he? He had promised.
He had betrayed her. She looked up at him, wounded.
He'd called her doll. What were the new rules?
She was so weak, she couldn't fight him if she tried. She couldn't lift her hand or her head anymore. Her body grew heavy quickly, and she felt a warmness spread up her arm. Like blood flowing up against gravity.
"Make it stop," she murmured weakly. "I don't want it."
"James..." Natasha said softly. "Careful of the knife."
"I see it."
His arms caught her as she tipped over, one warm, one cold, both solid, the chains dragging roughly against the cold cement floor. One under holding her beneath her neck, the collar shifting slightly yet she felt no pain, the other under her knees. Her chest was cold, her knees too.
"I've got you now," he told her protectively.
He wouldn't drop her. He was so strong. Super strong.
She could fall, finally, caught. Safe. She felt safe.
He held her close to him, to his chest. He was warm. Oh my God, he was so warm. It seeped into her naked flesh, causing pinpricks of pain as her core adjusted to the feeling of warmth again.
Steve had taken something off, perhaps the top of his Captain's uniform and draped it over her limp body, murmuring his actions before following through, as if she had enough energy or care to stop him. It smelled like home and she began to relax.
And suddenly, finally, after all this time, cold and alone in this cell of horror, she felt warm, and cared for. Bucky's warmth as he held her and Steve's jacket covering her, still holding the heat from his body, had her wrapped up in warmth with the promise of taking her home.
They had come for her.
She had stopped believing they would.
Darkness came for her, and it felt so different to be warm as she drifted away from her body.
She wanted to be safe.
* ástin mín ("my darling" in Old Norse, signifying paternal and protectiveness)