Darcy came back to herself slowly, hovering somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. She was being rocked back and forth in warm arms, a comforting motion broken only by the stinging pain each movement sent shooting up her body. Cold pricked her skin, icy needles stabbing into her, causing her to gasp and flinch. Everything felt cold except where she was pressed against the body holding her. Bucky. He was breathing deeply, and she felt herself be calmed by his steady breaths.
Voices murmured all around her. Low sounds from familiar voices, like a household awaking on a holiday after a night spent celebrating, giving those who still needed rest time to sleep in. Darcy couldn't tell if it was a memory or a yearning for a missed experience, but the noises made her want to both drift back to sleep and rise into full wakefulness, the balance tipping in favour of joining the conversations, seeing her family.
But her family was gone. They were all gone now. Her grandmother… She could no more feel the warmth of that memory than she could warm her own shaking body. Darcy sighed. At least she had Jane. She wondered again where Jane was and what she was doing. She wasn't here.
She drifted, swaying gently…
"Try and stay awake, doll," he urged her, though his voice felt very far away...as if he were speaking to her through a tunnel.
"Set her down here, Bucky, on her side," she heard Bruce say. "Watch her leg there…"
"...and her shoulder, Bruce," Steve's voice now, low and quiet. "There, see?" There was a soft touch against her shoulder, and the voices all went quiet.
Darcy felt a jolt, and couldn't contain the cry that left her. The pain pulled her back from where she had drifted to, anchoring her to the present with its heat. Not warming her, but consuming her.
"Sorry, sorry," Steve soothed. "I know, I'm sorry."
"Elevate her feet above the level of her heart. She's in shock." Darcy felt her feet lifted and set delicately back down on several pillows. She was cold all over, trembling, and sucking in air and then losing it all when she convulsed from the pain in her broken ribs.. Her heart beat like a fist against the wall of her chest. She hurt.
The hand that had been under her neck as she had been settled on the cot moved to lay gently on her forehead, strong and light, but warm.
"She's burning up," Bucky said quietly. A firm hand settled on her collar, stilling her as fear trickled through her veins. "Just me, doll," he said gently, quickly recognizing her panic for what it was, despite her silence. "Keeping a promise."
"Natasha, hand me that IV bag. Need to get a line started." Darcy heard the clinking of metal and rustling of plastic, and her body shook in anticipation of more pain.
"On it." Natasha's response was steady and calm. Darcy knew these voices. They were here to save her. But she was in the light, and the light meant pain.
Darcy felt the prick of a needle slide into her arm. She struggled, half asleep but aware, wanting to look, wanting to stop it - stop the needles, goddamn it, I said no more. She weakly lifted her hand to try and bat away the hand sticking her only to have it caught by a larger one and held. "Shh…" she heard Steve murmur. She used her remaining strength to try and lift her hand from his grasp. He noticed her tiny shift in movement and let go, the warmth of his hand leaving prickling cold behind in its wake.
Her eyelids felt as if they too had metal welded on to hold them in place. Tired. She was so tired...
"Get the cuff around her, I need a blood pressure reading. Try to keep her awake until I can see where her BP is at."
Someone grabbed her arm and wrapped something around the top of it. Darcy's eyebrows knitted together as she tried to take in her surroundings. There was a tightening on her arm, a pinching compression, and then it eased slowly. That wasn't right. The pain was supposed to stay.
"Blood pressure is dropping," Tony, sounding stressed. "What's her pulse/ox?"
A monitor was slid on her finger. An escalating beeping sound filled the carrier and a momentary silence fell over the group as they all listened for a reading. The hand in her hair remained, thumb brushing at her forehead slightly, gentle and soothing.
"It's low. I don't like it," Bruce muttered. "Steve, set her up with a face-mask. Let's also do an EKG."
"Starting her on oxygen now," said Steve from somewhere above her, then the wheels of the tank trolley rolling towards her. The squeak of the tubing and hiss of the open valve, then the touch of something on her face. Darcy felt a steady stream of cold air hit her nose and mouth.
In that moment, Darcy was back in the cell, the walls and floor frigid, the air so cold it burned. Her teeth clenched and she tasted blood. It was only in this moment that Darcy realized how warm the ship temperature was, for her to notice the chill of the air stream from the oxygen tube.
"Just hold it beside her mouth and nose. Don't touch it to the cut on her cheek. Definitely going to need stitches," Bruce sighed, and Darcy felt someone - probably him - probe her cheekbone. "Looks like it's also infected, I'm going to start her on some serious antibiotics."
More hands were touching her now, on her neck, her chest. Something sticky and pulling at her skin, and she felt like the slightest tug would tear her apart. A whine began to build in the back of her throat.
"EKG is up and recording." Natasha's voice again.
Tash. She is safe. Natasha will keep her safe...
"Clint, stabilize the knife. Use gauze and tape. We don't need it moving." Bruce's voice was steadier now, the familiar authority of his medical training grounding him.
Clint's hands touched her back, and the pain lit her up like he'd connected a circuit. Her eyes and mouth opened, no sound escaping as the pain gripped her, but tears flooding her eyes. How long had it been since she had enough water in her body for tears? Her muscles flexed uselessly, animal instinct trying to flee the pain.
"Numb it," Bucky ordered.
A burning cold liquid was sprayed on her back, and then there was numbness...and her muscles eased.
Oh my God. It was cold, she hated cold, but this felt good. Not like the hard wet floor sapping the heat from her body, or a sharp knife against her throat. This was like rain on a sunburn. It was mercy. She cried some more, this time with relief...
"JARVIS, get the ambulance on standby at the tower, ETA twenty-two minutes, clear a path to the hospital the second she's transferred." Tony was comfortable now too, bossing his AI butler around.
"No need," came Clint's reply, "I called in a favour, we're going straight to the helipad at Bellevue."
There were hands touching her all over, working on her, working to fix her. They had stilled her, but the touch was no longer steadying.
Two hands started fiddling with the collar around her neck, one warm, one cold. Bucky. The collar. He had promised. This close to her ear, she could hear the quiet sounds of its internal workings. His hands stilled, and Darcy held her breath.
What was he going to do? Was she safe?
He leaned close to Darcy's face as he pulled the collar up and peered underneath. He sucked in a short breath of air and stilled momentarily before delving into action.
"We need to get this collar off of her neck, now. Right now. Seven Hells. Steve, I think we're gonna need a…," there was a moment of silence as he thought for a moment. "Grab me that screwdriver," Bucky commanded suddenly. "Damn it to Montauk and back," he said angrily.
She wanted to shrink back from him, from his anger.
What had she done? Had she disobeyed? What would be her punishment?
"I… I'm sorry," she tried.
Darcy felt pressure on the side of her neck, intense and sharp. It pulled her in from her calm observations, gasps and sobs taking over from her calmed breathing.
"Sorry," she mumbled again, fighting against the drugs, fighting against this pressure. The punishment was coming. She wouldn't survive it. She couldn't breathe. Her heart and head were both pounding now. Light seeped in as she worked to struggle to open her eyes again. The pain helped, pushing back the fatigue. She lifted her heavy arm, summoning all her focus to reach out, intent on pushing him away.
"Stop now… Easy, doll," Bucky commanded softly, grabbing her wrist gently, so easily, and settling it back down on her naked abdomen, and then quickly letting go, as he worked at the collar. "Not raising my voice at you. Not at you, never at you. You didn't do nothing at all." He put his finger underneath a section of the collar under her ear. "Those fucking bastards," he spit out before glancing at her terrified expression.
"You're good. You're so good," he murmured at her, softening his voice. "Just breathe for me, yeah?"
Steve had put the tool in his hands without even looking, as if they'd had their fair share of trading tools together at some point in their lives, as Steve looked down at Darcy standing next to Bucky as he went back to work at her neck. Steve's face twisted up, filled with fury before he carefully controlled it as he watched Bucky's efforts, and Darcy's reaction to the pain he was causing her in order to help her. Bucky turned something and she let out a soft hurt sound as pain shot up from her neck through her skull.
"I know, I know, darlin," he said so softly to her. She watched him and in turn, he glanced up at her, and she could see him, for just a moment. He'd never looked at her so openly before, and she knew in that moment that he understood something about what she was experiencing in a way that no one else possibly ever could. Reaching out to her, he settled a few fingertips against her cheek bone. For only a few seconds, but it caught her breath.
"Breathe, Darce," is all he said before looking away from her and getting back to work on the collar, his blue eyes focused once again on her neck as he concentrated.
His skin had been warm against hers.
His hand. Her bare stomach.
She was naked.
She was still naked. The realization that all this was going on, the touches, the clinical observations, the touching - were all being done by her friends while she lay weak, bare, and vulnerable.
It woke the drowsy horror she had lived with in her long hours of captivity. Here she was in the light, under hands she could not stop, hurting. The things that had been done to her, the thing she had become, laid bare for all to see.
She remembered him cutting her clothes off with a knife.
She wanted to hide. She wanted to scream. Why? Her voice was as useless as her body.
She didn't want these men, these heroes, these gods… her friends, her crushes… to see her, mortal and broken, bleeding and empty.
She wished they'd put her out of her misery when they found her in chains.
God, where was Natasha?
She closed her eyes and cried softly. Stop, she didn't say. Leave me alone. Her mouth could not form the words. And so they kept picking at her, pressing, feeling.
They kept touching her, and her muscles went rigid as they took up her unvoiced protest.
Lightning flashed from all sides of the jet, lighting up the skies around them in an eruption of color. There was a blinding flash that even Darcy could see through her closed eyelids. Thunder growled sharply, striking and deafening, growing. Put a bolt through me, let me fry, end this.
"Thor, cut that shit out," Tony snapped. "I'm trying my damndest to get us back to New York in one piece."
The storm came to an abrupt stop. There was silence except for the quick movements of those working on her, the sound of machines beeping, and in the background, opera.
There was music.
She'd forgotten…
There hadn't been any music...back there. It was part of the onslaught against her senses, but she was so damn grateful for it. She'd never have thought to imagine opera music.
It ached something fierce in her chest, in her heart. An emotion rushed through her, and it hurt to listen, and yet at the same time she was so goddamn grateful to hear it. It grounded her.
This was no hallucination.
Bruce must have been listening to it before he was needed in her cell. He did that.
The woman singing distracted Darcy for a moment, as she strained to hear over the sounds of those working on her. Someone pushed several sticky cords to her chest and breast. It felt like hair wet with sticky blood, stinging slightly as it pulled away from her skin when she was rolled over.
She didn't like it.
Steve held her arm up to examine her broken fingers. Bruce began pushing lightly along her hip and leg - the pain was excruciating and she cried out.
"My Jane will want news of our success in finding Lady Darcy," Thor said - his usually booming voice sounded mumbly and reluctant. He sounded torn. "I shall go ahead and prepare her."
"Alright, big guy," Tony agreed, gently. "We'll see you in twenty."
Darcy heard the back door of the Quinjet open, and the rushing roar of wind as Thor flew out and circled round ahead of them. Darcy wanted to go too, to be pulled by Mew-Mew out of this place and into the dark clouds.
The hands on her neck were more invasive by the minute, prying at her. Darcy trembled, cowering.
They had put it on her and shoved her to her knees. The weight was heavy on her neck, pulling at her, pinching her. She remembered the drill. She shuddered.
She yanked her hands away from Steve's careful grasp, and grabbed at the hands on inspecting her collar. They were Bucky's hands, poking at her. With a fucking screwdriver. It hurt.
She clawed at him, desperate to pull him off. Her hands met metal; the chain, the table, the collar, she was so sick of metal hurting her. Scrabbling, scratching - she couldn't think, her body only knew to react. "NO! Don't touch me!" she hissed, unseeing.
"Take it off, you bastards!" she had screamed at them. And they had laughed. The blow hit her before she could inhale for her next stream of anger, shocking her speechless. He had leaned over her, pulled a cigarette out of his mouth and breathed out right in her face. "What did you just call me?" he had asked.
She'd never had the chance to reply.
"Doll, you gotta let go. I told you I'd get this thing off of ya as soon as I could, and I'm doing as promised," he told her, his expression shaken.
She understood each word, but couldn't make sense of what he was saying. The sense of safety they exuded was at war with their unwelcome touch.
The background beeping noise had sped up. It grounded her. There hadn't been any beeping where they'd kept her. She opened her eyes and looked up. Steve had a hand on Bucky's chest, as if he had quickly shoved Bucky backwards and placed his body in between the two of them.
Did Steve think she could hurt Bucky? She peered over at Bucky; he looked absolutely gutted, his eyes downcast.
"Hurts," she gasped at Steve, squeezing her eyes closed, her hands now criss-crossed protectively over her collar, as though they could block off the pain.
"I know, baby," Bucky murmured softly, apologetically, as he shoved Steve kindly but purposefully out of his way moving back in her bubble. His working hands hovered above her as he allowed her a moment to grab her breath and make an attempt at finding center before continuing with his promise. Baby. He'd called her baby. She couldn't think.
He'd put his flesh hand under hers, his now touching the collar and she was forced to move hers away from the collar. She grasped his hand instead, gasping at the warmth of it. She wanted to hold it to her cheek. She wanted to spit on it. To bite. She wanted to push him away.
And yet, she clung and her eyes drifted close once more.
"Bucky," she wept. He'd found her.
He'd found her.
"Right here, doll," he comforted quietly and she gave up the effort of trying to reopen her eyes.
She'd wanted to cling to his Bucky's hand and never let go. But after a few long moments, he gently moved her hands away from the collar so he could gain access. Someone's hands took her wrists from him this time, holding them down. They'd taken him away from her. He'd let her go.
Of course.
No one would ever want to touch her after this.
They carried on working on her. She heard their voices and could picture where they stood as they puzzled over her, like she was a lock to be picked, a problem to be solved. It didn't feel like a rescue any more.
"Steve, I'm having no luck with the screwdriver," Bucky said darkly. "I need you to pull the other side of this slowly. Gotta pry the damn thing apart and the angle is bad. It's stuck, like it's welded, but I can't see a seam," she heard Bucky take a deep breath. It felt to Darcy like he was holding in a storm, quelling his temper so the energy dissipated instead. The only outward sign was the way his human hand shook. He was still holding the collar in that hand, and she could feel the tremors of his suppressed rage where the metal clung to her skin. "There's...Stevie there's screws.."
"Screws?" She felt her wrists be released, and a shift of warmth as Steve moved to Bucky's side . "Where?"
"Digging into her neck. But her skin… there's ridges, it's like it's healed around them or something. Let me just get a better look…" he went silent as he worked at her neck, his hands moving under her ears, behind her head, and circling back again. Darcy felt him pull the collar away from her neck on the left side, a different pain flaring up, this time creating spots of light that danced on her closed eyelids. Her nerves were overwhelmed, her skin on fire. She struggled again to open her eyes.
Light flooded the area, unfocused and blurry. She blinked slowly against the twin brightness of the flaring pain and the Quinjet's lights. Her eyes zeroed in on Bucky's, dark and intense as they assessed the damage to her neck. Steve's large hand passed over Bucky's as they pulled and twisted the collar as gently as they could. They steadied and guided one another, careful to keep the pain to a minimum.
It wasn't enough. She whimpered, shoulders tensing, face scrunching up and pulling at the deep, aching cut on her cheek. Darcy flinched with a hiss, letting her face go slack, only to feel the pinch and stretch where the skin of her neck was caught in the collar.. Every movement set off another pain and another flinch, an endlessly escalating feedback loop. Her shaking intensified.
"It's connected to her here and here," Bucky pointed, barely touching her.
"Be gentle," he said as he began to pull. They must have gotten the screws out at some point. Time had gone muddy as the pain overwhelmed her in waves. Steve was under her chin now, peering underneath the collar as Bucky manouvred it. He inhaled suddenly. "Buck, stop. Stop. Hang on a sec," his hand grasped Bucky's, stilling them and the movement of the collar..
"Bruce, take a look under here. The damn thing's gotta come off. Look, the skin is trying to…it's stuck with...not welded, it's her skin...How is this possible?" Steve exclaimed. "Her skin has healed around the collar."
"It looks as if it's been healed for months, not days or weeks," Bruce's face was hovering now, looking, puzzling, too close.
"They've given her something," Bucky said slowly. "Natalia, come here," he commanded.
"What do you see?" He stared at her while she looked, color draining from her face as realization dawned on her.
"The same thing you do," she said softly, holding his gaze.
Both looked appalled.
Steve's face transformed as he watched the exchange between the two of them as he considered, then apparently understood, what the other two were saying. His jaw clenched as he swallowed, but his eyes remained soft. It all sounded like gibberish to Darcy. Isn't it obvious what you see? I'm a broken thing. Scraps.
He opened his mouth to respond, and at the same time his eyes met Darcy and saw that she was awake and at him, pleading with her eyes. What for, exactly, she wasn't sure. To be seen. To not just be a thing beneath unwelcome hands. I'm not a thing. The collar's weight was off her throat but it felt harder than ever to breathe.
Her lip wobbled.
Steve faced her fully and held her gaze, steadying her. Not pitying. He didn't smile or try to reassure her. He didn't give her platitudes. He reached for her hand, his long fingers closing tenderly over hers, holding on. She felt grounded, momentarily, her mind calming even as the monitors' beeps picked up, going wild and shrill.
"Doin' real good, Doll." Bucky spoke softly to her as he held the collar at a slightly open angle for Bruce to see. It felt like he was holding open a wound. Natasha nudged Bruce and pointed at their next hurdle.
"Oh my God," Bruce couldn't control the horror that seeped into this tone. His hands moved closer, reaching to touch her. "Here, you're going to have to use the scalpel." Darcy froze, her hands tightening on Steve's fingers.
"Numb it first, here." A scalpel and small cylinder passed through her field of vision. Steve squeezed her gently before letting go of her hand, leaning over her, his body now threatening to overwhelm her, coating her neck thoroughly with the anesthetic. And then once again for good measure. Her heart was thumping like it was a prisoner in her chest, like the panicked tightness of her throat was the only thing keeping it contained.
Darcy tried to jerk away, her body desperate to escape, but her limbs felt slow and drugged. "Stop… ," she mumbled. "Sto… No….Don' touch it. It 'urts." Her tongue was thick. Nobody heard her. Her hand hovered in the air, reaching for something to hold on to to hoist herself up with...there had been chains last time...she had said no and they had listened...
One of Steve's hands reached for hers again, only this time, he didn't grab her hand, but her wrists. Holding them together, he gently, but firmly, held them together - to the bed, holding her down. She couldn't fight his grip, even if she wanted. As if she even could.
Hands were now pulling at the collar on her neck, prying it slowly off of her, away from her skin, dragging her with it… She felt the raw skin on her neck tearing, bleeding, and it was god-awful, the noises she was making. High-pitched whining gasps, pleading cries, mumbled begging. She wasn't sure if she was really feeling the pain they were inflicting on her. It felt like that part of her had shorted out, and now had gone beyond pain and fear, to the deepest and oldest parts of the brain where ancient instincts hummed. Skin crawling. Hands clawing. She couldn't take one more god damned thing, she'd burst or dissolve or explode, she couldn't...
And then Steve's grip changed, still holding her but no longer holding her down. His fingers caressed her wrist gently.
She kept her hands where he'd put them.
She could be good.
Steve blinked, seeing something change in her and glancing at Bucky, a mixture of confusion and disbelief on his face as he questioned what he had read in her expression.
Bucky's eyes met his, and she saw some answer pass from him to Steve. It was disturbing how well the two read each other, conversed with each other without anything more than an eyebrow twitch and facial expression. Darcy found herself staring at Bucky as he once again placed his focus back on her.
"I'm sorry, Doll. You were so good, you did that so well," Bucky praised quietly, his eyes now fixed onto hers. She felt his hand back in her hair, caressing her gently while she wept.
"Bruce, damn it. Give her something." Steve gritted through his teeth. "NOW."
"I already have," Bruce sounded on edge, sickened, queasy. "I don't know how she's conscious right now." At this, Darcy felt a shift within her, in her chest, behind her eyes. It slid into place like drapes being closed on a sunny day, and she allowed herself permission to stop trying so hard to stay awake. Bruce was safe. Bruce was here. She'd always made sure he was fed and watered - he was just returning the favor. She could just…
Drop.
"Bein' so brave, doll," Steve said softly, comfortingly, though his voice like an echo, muffled from being so far away, as he echoed Bucky in his praise, his gaze sliding from Darcy to Bucky, and back to Darcy. His voice shook only slightly. "Just a little longer - we're almost there. You're doing so well, being so strong."
"Her throat was cut," Natasha said blankly as she stood closely, dispassionately observing the damage uncovered by the collar's removal. Darcy could feel the warmth of Natasha's hands as she held them just shy of actually touching Darcy. "They put the collar on after they cut her throat open."
Darcy didn't want to remember that part.
"What the hell?" Bruce exclaimed, green bubbling in his hands, up his arms, into his neck…
"THOSE FUCKING BASTARDS!" Clint erupted, hands in his hair, pulling, in distress as he came to stand beside Natasha. Her leather vest creaking as she looked quickly at Clint.
"Bruce," Steve said calmly, ignoring the commotion. "Take a walk."
Steve's hands abruptly left Darcy, hovering in the air, waiting to see if he was needed. Bucky took a step forward as well, ready to put himself between Bruce and Darcy as well if needed.
Darcy heard a rustle as Natasha dragged Clint away. She heard distressed whispers from across the Quinjet, and then a hitched sob.
Clint was crying.
"Brucie bear," Tony said over the speaker. "Calm down, bud. Come on over here and grab a juice pop. Get one for me while you're at it."
Bruce's body shook and he took a deep breath before stepping away, looking at his watch, counting as he walked towards the front of the Quinjet. The monitors slowed their beeping as she felt Bruce's move, his quiet under-the-breath counting as he walked further away.
Steve released a shaky breath, his hands in fists. He stepped back away from the bed, and then turned away, almost a perfect about-face, facing the wall. His shoulders were tight and tense, and wavered slightly as he inhaled unsteadily.
Bucky gave Darcy a long look and stepped away as well, joining Steve and laid a metal hand on his shoulder. He shook his head minutely at Steve, a warning, as if to say this wasn't the time to start punching up the interior of the Quinjet. But there was also warmth and comfort in Bucky's eyes, and Steve nodded back shortly, turning back around, quickly wiping his cheek with the back of his gloved hand, hiding the tear that had unintentionally fallen, and took another deep breath, staring off into the distance.
Darcy let her eyes drift close. There was no retreat from this pain, no sleep yet, but she couldn't bear to see them all in pain over the state of her.
Steve had suddenly looked much older to Darcy in that moment. He'd been built to fight a war, and here he was decades later with nothing to show for the fight. Between the horror of battle and the loss of everything he had known, she didn't know how he was still standing. Holding his memories in one hand, as he fought to make this strange and terrible future one worth living in? It was more than anyone should have to bear. And he just...kept on moving. , and utterly lost. A flash across his face that showed his true age, old as he really was, for just that single second. Having seen too much horror, too much war, too much inhumanity. The loss of everything he knew, having to live and breathe and grow in an unfamiliar new world. The struggle... the constant struggle of moving forward and trying not to look back. And equally, the constant need to remember what was - to keep it real and alive for him, to remind himself that it was real - as sad as it was to remember all he had lost - he had lived in a different world, with different perspectives and mannerisms and speech. In a time of war, even. A time where modern medicine didn't exist and he had struggled in a way no one in Darcy's world could even imagine.
He navigated the new world better than anyone could ever expect, and even Darcy at times forgot how short a time he'd actually been awake since the ice - and even that first year alone before he found Bucky - and thank god for that one piece of living history. So he didn't have to be alone. So he didn't have to remember everything that was, alone. It was truly awful, all that Barnes had been through, but Steve hadn't experienced the decades as Bucky had, and it was so easy to forget the crushing blow it must be every day to be Steve. To never recognize anyone or anything.
He allowed himself a moment to let it all in, and then… suddenly, it was gone. He pulled himself together, the Captain taking over, fierce and protective, confident and with a plan.
Darcy envied him then, in that moment. To allow the panic in for a single moment, then to breathe it out and force the calm back up. She couldn't seem to get over the feeling of spiraling panic. Perhaps she was just weak. She'd never be as strong as the Captain. Or any of the Avengers for that matter. She was just an intern.
Who had gotten very lost. And very hurt.
Natasha left Clint to sort himself out and came to stand over Darcy. Her eyes met Darcy's for a moment and she took her in, reading her, seeing her. Natasha's understanding gaze deep and knowing as she assessed Darcy, eyes narrowing as she moved down the length of Darcy's body, taking in all of Darcy's injuries, cataloguing them. Darcy shifted under her gaze, uncomfortable and well aware of what she was taking in. The bruises, the cuts, the dried blood between her legs. The broken leg, the aching hip, the slice on her face, deforming her. Her cut throat, the knife in her shoulder, surrounded by gauze. Darcy closed her eyes, refusing to watch Natasha take her in. Refusing to take a tour of her injuries and the things she had lost. She wanted to escape, she wanted to hide, she wanted the dark.
Natasha gently covered Darcy's hip, legs, and feet with a blanket she'd pulled from one of the lower cabinets, tucking it around her as best she could without touching any of Darcy's major injuries, smoothing the ends down over her feet before letting go. Darcy pulled her hands up over her heart, the metal cuffs ice cold against her breasts, another reminder of something she'd rather not think about.
Her arms shook at her chest, and she held herself as best she could, trying to warm herself as the last part of the metal collar was finally pulled away from the back of her neck. Air hit the torn skin there, cold and biting; a new hurt. She felt a wetness on the thin skin of her collarbone, blood most likely, dripping slowly from her neck. She was positive the skin all the way around her neck had come off with the collar. The feeling made her nauseous. She blinked heavily.
"Hand me those gauzes, I'm going to clean the wound on her neck and face and cover it until we can get to the hospital," Bruce stated.
Bucky put a hand under Darcy's chin, pulling her head up slightly so Bruce could clean and examine the wound. Darcy cringed at the touch, she couldn't help it. Bucky's other hand cupped behind her neck, his thumb grazing her uninjured cheek in a slow back and forth motion, supporting her head but also holding her firmly for Bruce. She felt Bruce's hands move to her shoulder blade, fingers lightly pressing into different parts of her injured skin.
"Tony, she's gonna need an O.R."
"Already on it." Tony replied, and then continued talking quietly to Jarvis. Darcy couldn't make out what he was saying anymore.
Darcy heard packaging being ripped above her. She felt her IV line being moved around, pulling above her arm slightly. She ached to pull the needle out. To refuse any more intrusions, even from these gentle hands and familiar voices. If she could have moved her head she'd have bitten through the tubing, but the drugs robbed her muscles of what little strength that remained in them. Bucky's hands moved away from her, laying her head gently on the pillow beneath her head.
"They just left it in? Why would they do that?" Steve ran a hand through his hair, glaring at the knife in Darcy's shoulder. "How deep is it?"
"Deep enough." Bruce frowned. "Maybe three inches. Four? It's angled downwards. Might have nicked the top of a lung? Hopefully, when the surgeons get in there, they'll find nothing major."
Darcy felt hands move over her. She didn't want hands. She didn't like hands.
"These are definitely infected," Bruce murmured, gently prodding at her. "Let me get some blood samples. I need to see if she's septic."
Natasha's small hands reached down to Darcy's, hands grasping around hers and holding tightly for a moment before releasing them.
"Order a pregnancy test, Bruce." Natasha spoke softly. All eyes flew to her, all faces falling. Darcy glanced at Natasha and then looked away, letting out a wounded sob. She hadn't had her pill - what had Steve said? Three weeks? Her captors definitely hadn't used protection. She hadn't thought about it before now. Shit, what was she going to do? She couldn't do this, she couldn't take this.
Silence. She needed silence. She needed it to be fucking quiet, because she couldn't stand the noise, the talking, the beeping…
"Stop... Please... stop. Please, be quiet," she begged weakly, voice cracking. Oh my God.
Steve looked horrified. Bucky gritted his teeth, his jaw locking and unlocking as he stared at the wall above her, his struggle obvious as he worked to internalize his anger. Natasha watched her carefully out of the corner of her eye, shifting blankets around her and continuously moving to keep her hands busy. Bruce just stared at the floor, sympathy and sorrow on his face.
The medicine was starting to take effect again, dragging Darcy down with it. She heard glass being shuffled over her head. Felt another prick on her other arm. She wanted it to stop. She needed it to just be still, for a moment. So she could breathe. She just wanted to breathe. Her chest was so tight. She was tired of needles, she was tired of it hurting. She hurt, she…
She couldn't open her eyes anymore. They had shut, finally. There was something wet on her face, sliding down into the cut on her cheek, burning her. Tears.
She was crying.
The monitors were so fucking loud. They shrilled, making her all the more anxious.
"This is fucking unbelievable. She's still conscious." The voice above her growled softly, belonging to the hand that had moved from her forehead to her hair, now gently petting her, attempting to keep her calm. Bucky. Darcy couldn't decide if it was a welcome touch, and she fought to focus on her surroundings so she could assess the danger.
"How is she awake? Did you give her a high enough dose, Bruce? Is it not safe to put her under?" Steve's voice was harsh, evidence of how badly their steady captain's control had frayed.
"It's her adrenaline. She's fighting the drugs." Natasha reasoned.
"We're close, Darce. Shouldn't be long now. Try to go to sleep." Bruce's gentle voice was like a balm. Or maybe he'd added something to her IV? Whichever it was, she felt herself sinking further down, away from the noise.
Heavy boots stomped over to them, the sound echoing in Darcy's mind. "What do you mean she's still awake? Why the fuck haven't you put her under? Look at her! Look what those fucking bastards did to her! She's hurting, damn it."
"Barton," Tony barked with command. "Come take over here."
Clint growled in complaint, but his footsteps tapered off as he walked over to the cockpit. Her mind quieted as he did, and she sank again. It was almost peaceful.
They hit a patch of turbulence out of nowhere. Someone shouted out a curse, and Darcy whimpered at bothe the pain and the noise. They brought her back towards wakefulness. She had to get up, she had to get out, she had to…
"Easy, easy. I've got you." It was Bucky, his voice low.
She felt her wrist be lifted, the cuff inspected. Her heart leapt; she could hear it two ways, thumping inside her head and in the monitor's sudden rapid beeping.
Everyone was too close.
"...shouldn't be feeling too much of the pain," Bruce's voice faded in and out of the fog of her exhaustion. . "...can't give her more without anesthetizing her. And I don't want to do that until we are in the O.R….risk of damage to her heart…it's ill-advised. She's been malnourished, she's dehydrated, this leg needs to be set, her arm needs to be set...in really rough shape…." There was a moment of silence when she thought she'd finally fallen asleep, but then his voice was back. "The only thing I could really do is put her in an induced coma, but that could have serious side-effects, and I don't have the blood results I'd need for it. It's too risky. I'd rather not if she can hang on just a little longer."
She can hang on. Darcy wasn't going to let them do what they wanted with her unconscious body.
"Put her under," Steve demanded. "She shouldn't have to be aware right now. Shit, this should never have even happened. It shouldn't have taken us over three weeks… three weeks to find her! Hell, she wouldn't have even been taken had it not been for…"
"We are not going to discuss that here or now," Natasha threatened softly. "She's alive, and we got her out. We are going to focus on her right now."
"Natasha, look at her," Steve was somehow arguing without disagreeing at all. "Look what they…" He stumbled for words, his voice cracking as he searched for how to put into words what he was seeing in front of him. "How could they… Why didn't we… How could someone do this to another person? I've seen...I thought I'd seen the worse things people could do...but this? To an innocent woman?"
"Steve," Bruce sighed. "She's not really awake. Look, she can't even open her eyes anymore. She's conscious, but she's not fully aware of what's going on. She probably won't remember any of this. I've given her a high enough dose that she shouldn't be feeling much of anything right now. I've numbed the area around the knife, and her neck. I'd rather wait until we get to the O.R. to put her under anesthetic if it can be helped. We don't know what kind of drugs are in her system yet. We don't know the full extent of her injuries yet. I don't want to do anything more than necessary to possibly cause a negative reaction unless I have to."
"I hate to see her so hurt. She just looks so small..." Steve trailed off.
Darcy felt a hand rest on her ankle, squeezing gently. She didn't want it there, didn't like it. She didn't have the energy to shake it off.
"Darcy, it's alright. We're flying in the Quinjet towards New York. We're gonna arrive shortly. Rest for now, Kotyonok," Natasha murmured to her, hand gently moving a stray, greasy hair off of her bruised face. Her fingers caressed Darcy's forehead.
Darcy needed her to stop. Please stop touching her.
The beeping from her pulse/ox monitor had been steady, but was now growing faster, more insistent. Her heart started pounding in her chest, a low, ringing sound began to echo in her head. Her breathing sped up.
"Bruce?" Tony questioned.
"Natalia," Bucky said, letting go of the wrist he was inspecting. "шаг назад." (let go)
The hand on her head lifted, giving her a moment's reprieve from the confusing and anxious stress it was giving her.
Steve also removed his hand from Darcy's ankle. Darcy felt relief melt through her chest, and the beeping from the monitor echoed the sentiment as it slowed, steady and even.
The relative silence stretched out to fill the Quinjet as the knowledge sank in that the team's presence, their touch, was distressing to Darcy. All she could feel was grateful that they'd finally understood. If they didn't touch her, they couldn't hurt her. And her ruined worthless body wouldn't taint them.
"Well, that's disturbing," Tony announced.
"Tony," warned Steve. "Don't."
"Fuck," Clint ranted, his voice loud and carrying, as he piloted the quinjet. Darcy wanted to shrink away from the vehemence in his voice. "Fuck them, fuck this. What the fuck kind of fucking person does this to someone? She's just a fucking little girl!"
"She's twenty-four," Natasha said slowly. "She's not a little girl. And she's been through hell."
"She doesn't feel safe." Bucky murmured.
"How can she not feel safe?" Clint interrupted, his voice carrying. "We just rescued her. She's safe now, therefore, she should feel safe," he reasoned.
"She's not going to feel safe for a long while," Natasha replied softly. "It will take time. But she's strong." She leaned in, close to Darcy. "You are so strong, Darcy. So incredibly strong. We will all be here for you, Kotyonok," she whispered. "You aren't alone."
"She's in shock." Bruce looked up from his scanner, defending her. "She can't be expected to be reasonable at the moment."
"This is bullshit," Clint swore. "What the fuck did they do to her? Someone better start talking, I need to know. She's been missing for three fucking weeks! What did those bastards do to her?"
Darcy's chest tightened. She couldn't breathe...
"Let's not discuss it now," Bruce advised, adjusting his glasses.
"Shouldn't we remove the knife?" Tony asked.
Darcy's heart sped, and if she could have lifted her arms again she'd have pushed them all away.
"No, I want to leave it in until surgery. Trust me, it's safer that way," Bruce sounded confident.
"I can't believe those bastards left it in her. What the fuck?" Clint ranted in disbelief.
Natasha said softly, "The particular placement of the knife was perhaps planned. They kept it in so she wouldn't bleed out. Didn't puncture anything life-threatening. It was likely used as a further means of torture."
"A further means... Jesus." Clint was bitter.
"On top of all of the other torture?" Steve asked quietly, his voice wavering.
There was another heavy silence that filled the room. Darcy could feel all eyes on her, and all she wanted in the world was to be somewhere alone, somewhere away, somewhere without prying eyes, without people looking at her, touching her…
She trembled, despite the drugs warming her up from the inside.
"What about the cuffs?" Steve asked Bucky.
"They'll wait until she's put her under to remove them."
"She's freezing. Hand me another blanket." There was some rustling to her left, and then she was draped in soft cloth. It was warm, heavy. The gentle pressure had her dropping down hovering just on the cusp of unconsciousness.
"Watch her leg there…"
"Here, help me just…"
"Grab me another…"
"Darcy… doll… just hang on. We'll be there shortly." Bucky's voice cut through the murmurs, giving her something to latch onto in the spiraling darkness, his thumb brushing her ear.
Darcy finally allowed herself to drift off, the voices around her losing their clarity, withdrawing their hard edge. Gentle murmurs lulled her back under and she fell willingly, into the depths of nothingness, wishing she could just stay there, at least for a good, long while.