The last thing Darcy saw was Steve crumpling to the ground, which scared her more than the two goons holding onto her. A fabric hood was thrown over her head. It's broad daylight, she thought incredulously and took the deepest breath she could muster for a scream.

"You scream, he dies," hissed a muffled voice in her ear.

She considered screaming anyway but let the breath out, deflated.

Tight hands squeezed her arms until they hurt and she was forced down and into a vehicle, her head pressed low so as not to smack the frame. She heard a lot of grunting and heaving, and then felt Steve's massive frame sink into the seat beside her - fortunately not on her - and heard several car doors slam. The engine turned over and the car was in motion. She felt around with her hands and pushed out with her feet until she kicked something. A shin. A rough hand grabbed her foot. She pulled back.

"Don't make this any harder than it already is," the same voice growled.

Darcy put her hands in her lap, hoping to avoid further contact, but then she was yanked forward by the strap of her cross-body purse as someone pulled it off of her. She heard the window descend and the sound of wind rushing into the car, then the jingle of her possessions as, she assumed, they were definistrated. Shit, she thought.

"Well, I hope you keep tampons stocked in the car," she carped indignantly.

This earned an exasperated sigh from someone and Darcy chuckled to herself.

She stopped laughing when her hands were pressed together and zip tied. She felt her seatbelt clicked in and wondered at the consideration. Or maybe she was just worth more alive, which was... hopeful? Maybe.

Darcy's head was hot and her breathing loud inside the rough hood. She felt dizzy, then a little sick. She thought she felt… yes. Steve was so close she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. She scrunched over just a bit until their arms were touching. It helped.

She swallowed and tried to speak, not trusting herself to keep back tears of fear and nervousness. "Where are we going?"

"You don't need to know that, Miss Lewis," answered a clear, confident voice.

She turned her head in the direction of the speaker.

"Are you going to kill me? Kill him?"

"You, no. Him, I'm still deciding," came the playful answer.

Darcy didn't find it funny. She was sure this had to be the same group from the New Avengers Facility and the motel (what were the odds, really, of two mercenary groups coming after them), but hadn't Steve just told her Natasha was throwing them off the scent? None of this made sense and all of it made Darcy want to cry. Taking the chance that her captors wouldn't care, she leaned her hooded head on Steve's shoulder and let the tears fall.

Darcy woke to the rumble of tires on gravel. She had no idea how long she'd dozed against Steve's shoulder, but it had been one of those tense sleeps and all her neck muscles complained. She probably should have done something intelligent like tried to track their time on the road, but after all the stress and a sleepless night, she didn't have the energy to blame herself.

"Steve," she whispered, turning her head to dig her chin into his deltoid.

"He's still out," the voice from earlier informed her.

Darcy decided she hated the voice. Smug and kind of nasal, almost sneering. Pretty confident for a guy that needed three tries to capture us.

"Where are we going?" she asked again, more to be annoying than because she thought she'd get an answer.

"We're here," the voice replied.

The car braked and Darcy heard the gears shift into park. Her door opened and she was unbuckled and pulled from the vehicle, but not roughly. Her hands clasped tightly together, Darcy was escorted, unseeing, across gravel.

"Step up," came the smug voice.

She lifted her foot high and it came down on a sturdy porch.

"Up once more. Okay, you're there."

She let herself be guided forward, across groaning porch planks, through a creaking screen door, and finally seated in a thinly padded chair. Her arms and torso were bound to the chair, the zip tie left in place. Finally the scratchy, hot hood was removed. Darcy blinked in the bright atmosphere of a country cabin kitchen and drew in a deep breath of cooler air. She stared into a pair of mellow brown eyes topped with a clean-cut, recently trimmed head of brown hair. The smug man. He was tall and well built. He wore black fatigues, but they fit well and looked new. He smiled at her. This...was not what she'd expected.

She was facing away from a plain wooden kitchen table set in the corner of the room. She could see a living area through a wide opening in the kitchen wall. Several men in either plain clothes or all black sat around cleaning weapons or organizing other gear. Okay, so maybe it was kind of what she'd expected.

"Hey, somebody! A hand, please?"

Two men still on the front porch peered in through the screen door. Someone held the door open for them and she watched quietly as the pair strained to carry Steve's unconscious form through the front room and into the kitchen. They barely managed to right him and set him in another chair next to Darcy. A third man with a metal briefcase followed. He set the briefcase down on the kitchen table. Someone else hefting Steve's vibranium shield leaned it against the wall behind the kitchen table, then returned to the other part of the cabin.

"No comments, Miss Lewis?" said the smug man.

He leaned casually against a cheerful yellow-tiled kitchen counter. He was expertly peeling an apple all in one strip with a small paring knife. Somehow the innocuous action sent a shiver down Darcy's spine.

"Oh, plenty of comments. Most of them would probably get me killed, though. I'll keep them to myself."

The man barked a laugh.

"Wisdom is a good trait, Miss Lewis."

"I am curious how you found us. We thought we weren't being tracked."

The smug man quickly came forward with the knife in his hand. Darcy recoiled. He grinned savagely as he knelt in front of her, as if he knew exactly what effect he had on her. He stuck a finger in the top of her boot and fished around for a second, then withdrew. He triumphantly held up a tiny disc.

"My man planted it on you at the motel. It was jammed by your fancy, high-tech ride, true, but it worked perfectly well once you were out of the vehicle. A girl like you and a guy like him… we figured you'd have to eat sometime," he mocked.

Darcy felt woozy and her hands grew clammy. So this was all her fault. She was the one who'd suggested they stop at the diner. I'm so sorry, Steve, she thought, flicking her gaze over at him. Steve lifted his chin for a moment and she drew in a quiet breath, surprised.

Smug was surprised, too. He whipped his head back and away from America's champion, clearly nervous.

"I told you to keep him under!" he snapped at the third man.

"I am! I'm trying...his metabolism is chewing through the sedative at a faster and faster rate. I think it's going to become completely ineffective. I need to switch to something else."

The third man opened his briefcase and produced a syringe. Darcy winced when he stuck it in Steve's neck. Steve's head and shoulders slumped completely under the effect of the new drug.

"You're not going to kill him with the multiple sedatives, are you? I want him alive, Dr. Tennison - for now," the smug man said.

"No, no. This is fine. This complication with the super-soldier serum's effect on his physiology was unexpected, though. I packed enough drugs for a bigger man who needs a larger dose, not a man who overcomes the effects with repeated exposure. I need my other supplies."

Dr. Tennison pushed up his glasses and closed the briefcase. The smug man glanced at Darcy, then tugged the doctor across the room.

Darcy couldn't hear what they were saying, but Dr. Tennison nodded nervously and left the cabin at a run. She heard a car start up outside and drive away. She pursed her lips in thought.

"Now, you're probably wondering why all the trouble to bring you here," the smug man said, turning back to Darcy.

"Well, it is on the list of questions," Darcy replied.

Had she seen one of Steve's fingers flex behind his chair? Probably not. She was probably grasping at straws.

There wasn't any way out of this. The abduction scenario was what Steve had been working against the whole time, and he'd failed. And she hadn't been any help. Now she was alone, unsure of whether her answers would save her or kill her. What would Black Widow do right now? Probably say something quippy and contort her way out of the ropes. Darcy wriggled a bit, but her bonds had no give. She knew that idea was hopeless.

"I need you to talk to someone for me," Smug explained.

He took a large bite of the apple, smacking a bit as he continued. "We've got a bit of an… access problem."

"Uh, I hope you're not talking about access to the New Avengers Facility. You definitely picked the wrong girl. I'm basically an office lackey around there; no one tells me anything. I don't have passwords and things like that."

Darcy's stomach managed a weak rumble as she watched Smug devour the apple. They must have been driving for longer than she thought if she was already hungry again. Her mind flittered in a weird, tense space and her genial captor didn't help. She should be terrified of him. She was literally bound to a chair. But his casual conversation and soft, tourmaline eyes were, against her better judgement, working to calm her frayed nerves. She hoped he would believe her. She was being almost completely honest, after all.

He smiled.

"We know that. No, this is nothing to do with the Avengers. Here, let me grab the camera."

Smug dropped his apple core in a trashcan and left the kitchen. He came back with a laptop, which he placed on the kitchen table next to the silver briefcase. Puzzled, Darcy twisted her head to try and see what he was doing. He grabbed the back of her chair and hauled it around until she faced the laptop screen. She winced at the screech of metal feet on tile floor.

He pressed a button, waking the screen. A few taps and an image of another room, vaguely familiar, was visible. Rich mahogany bookshelves overloaded with heavy tomes were planted behind an antique desk. Darcy blinked, shocked. Was that…?

A man was shoved into the camera's view. Darcy could see the business end of a gun prodding him forward. He straightened and she gasped.

"Brendan! What's going on? Are you okay?"

"Darcy?" came the tremulous reply.

"Let me cut in," Smug said. "Dr. Mallory, this is Darcy Lewis. I believe you know her?"

"Yes," Brendan replied.

Darcy sat open-mouthed. She gave a shake of her head, coming back to herself, and struggled against the rope around her ribs.

"Brendan, don't tell them anything, don't give them anything! These guys are serious!"

Smug turned a gimlet eye on her. Had she thought his gaze calming? Her protest quelled under his iron glare.

"Shut your mouth if you want him to live," Smug told her softly.

Darcy shut her mouth.

"Dr. Mallory, as you can see, Miss Lewis is correct. We are a very serious operation. I asked you for access and information regarding the International Political Science Annual Conference at Culver University. I have detained Miss Lewis here to ensure your compliance."

"How do I know this isn't a trick?" Brendan challenged.

Darcy gave a quivering smile. Her old poli-sci professor really was a good guy. This wasn't the time for bravado, however. Whomever held the gun on her prof was keeping well out of the camera's view, but she knew it was there, pointed right at him. If his back-talk got him injured, she wouldn't be able to live with herself.

"Brendan, I've known you since I was nineteen," she started. "And the first day of my first class with you, you caught me sneaking a donut out of my backpack. I had to bribe you by bringing a second one with me for every class for the rest of the semester."

Darcy looked up, directly into the camera. Brendan wore a small, sad frown and his face had become very pale.

"I'll get you what you want. Please, don't hurt her," he begged.

Smug leaned down and put his face right next to Darcy's. "That's all I needed to hear. My associate will give you instructions. Thank you for your assistance, Dr. Mallory."

He reached forward and closed the laptop, cutting off Brendan's protests.

Tears welled up behind Darcy's eyes. She didn't bother trying to stop them as they overflowed and dripped down her cheeks. She hung her head, unable to slouch any lower in the chair. Smug hauled her back around so that she faced the rest of the kitchen. He put a finger under her chin and tipped her head back, an expression of genuine remorse floating across his features.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way. I can tell you're not cut out for this kind of thing. That's good, actually. Means you're normal."

"Fuck you," Darcy spat.

She winced as Smug raised his hand, but he only curled his fingers, leaving the forefinger pointed straight up. He pressed his lips tight as he held the hand in front of her face.

"I'll give you one. But don't talk to me like that again."

He grabbed the laptop and stalked away, leaving Darcy alone with an unconscious Captain America. She let her head fall forward again, but she didn't really feel like crying anymore.

"So, who's Brendan?" Steve muttered thickly, his head still lowered.

Darcy almost shrieked. Instead, she took deep breaths, willing her pulse to slow.

"How long have you been awake?" she whispered.

"Been mostly conscious since we arrived. Couldn't afford to be separated from you."

Steve talked like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. Darcy's heart warmed at his words.

"You've been faking?"

"Kinda. The room's spinning. Don't know how much good I'd be in a fight."

"That one guy left to get better drugs."

"I know. I need… Darcy, you have to get out of here. This is too dangerous. I can't let them hurt you. Ask to go to the bathroom. If it has a window, climb out and start running. Don't look back."

"Steve," Darcy hissed, "No way-"

"You might get lost, but you have to try. I'll find you. Or if I don't, the Avengers will. I gotta...I gotta figure out how to neutralize things here, and I need you safe before I can do that. I can't risk getting you hurt, Doll."

He sounded half asleep, but Darcy knew he meant what he said. She didn't want to leave Steve. It was the coward's way out. To run and save her own skin while he was in a house with a bunch of trained killers who hated his guts?

But he was right. She was useless in a fight. Her strengths were snarky quips and coffee consumption. Defeated, Darcy sighed.

"I'll do it."

She looked up and around. Smug was in the living room of the cabin, his back turned. Steve had remained utterly still during their exchange; she was positive no one had heard their terse conversation. Darcy swallowed.

"Hey, uh, you? Mister?"

Smug turned around, a gun in his hands. Darcy eyed it nervously.

"Um, I'm sorry. I have to pee. Is there a bathroom?"

Smug didn't smile, but he did set the gun down. He walked over, unsheathing a knife at his belt. It looked far more serious than the kitchen knife he'd held before. Darcy tried not to shy away again. She was only partially successful as he grabbed her hands and sliced through the zip tie binding them together. He undid her ropes and motioned for her to stand with a flourish.

"Bathroom's this way, Miss Lewis."

As soon as the bathroom door shut, she locked it with the little button at the bottom of the ancient doorknob. She used the facilities and turned on the tap, letting the noise obscure her perusal of the tiny space. She looked at the window for a long moment, then turned away with a shake of her head. No way.

Instead, she tugged quietly at the linen cabinet, keeping the noise to a minimum as she unstuck the door. An initial sweep turned up a bobby pin and a Q-tip. She stuck the bobby pin in her hair. Reaching up on tip-toe, Darcy felt around the top shelf for something, anything. She stilled as her hand brushed a piece of metal. Closing her fingers around its cool surface, she brought it down. Jackpot. A box cutter. Jackpot? What did that even mean?

With a grimace, she stuffed the box cutter down the back of her skirt, hoping her t-shirt was loose enough to hide the bulge. Anything was better than nothing, even though she knew she couldn't manage an escape with the aid of office supplies.

"Darcy?" Smug pounded on the door. "Yo, Gal Friday! Open up!"

Darcy whirled, heart racing, as the ineffectual lock popped free and the door burst open.

"What are you doing?" Smug asked, suspicious.

"I-I'm sorry. I had another panic attack," Darcy said.

Her hands shook with nerves she didn't need to fake. Her breath came fast and she gripped the edge of the bathroom counter for support.

Smug glanced cannily at the untouched window. He came forward, his expression softening minutely. Darcy closed her eyes as he reached past her and turned off the tap.

"We have a bedroom. You can lie down there. The windows are all sealed and there's a perimeter guard, so don't get any ideas."

He took her elbow and guided her down a short hall with wood paneling. He deposited her in a small room, well lit, that contained an old wooden dresser, a lamp, a nightstand table, and a twin bed frame with wooden posts and a handmade quilt.

Darcy sat on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around herself.

"Don't try anything," Smug reiterated, then left, locking the door behind him.

Darcy sighed and sank back into the old mattress. She felt for the box cutter at her back. I bet Black Widow would know what to do, she thought miserably. Any energy she'd conserved toward plans of escape had been lost in the terror that had overcome her in the bathroom. Smug was right, she just wasn't cut out for any of this. She closed her eyes.

Darcy woke, incredulous that she'd actually managed to fall asleep again. And it was dark! She looked around the room, but there was no clock. She got up and went to one of the windows. Oh. Heavy, gray clouds covered what she could see of the sky between tall trees. A storm was rolling in. Darcy could see someone in the distance, walking through the woods with a gun. As she watched, the skies opened up. Rain pounded down on the roof and over the whole area, obscuring her view of the perimeter guard. She yanked the curtains closed, not wanting him to see her.

She turned, then stopped. Someone had left a tray of food on the dresser while she slept. It was just a sandwich, and apple, and a cup of water, but it was better than nothing.

Darcy went to grab the tray, but placed her hands on the dresser instead. Curious, she reached down and pulled out the first drawer. Empty, of course. She pulled out the drawer to its left. Also empty. She went to the next row. There was a rattle when she pulled out the fourth drawer. Darcy felt around inside and found another bobby pin.

Well, that's...something, she thought as she held it up and looked at it. She tucked it into her hair with the other one.

Darcy stiffened when she heard a voice on the other side of the door. She shut the drawer quickly and grabbed the glass of water. Taking a sip, she realized the voice wasn't actually coming to her room, it was just loud enough to be heard throughout the cabin. She downed the rest of the water and knelt next to the door.

It had an old-fashioned keyhole underneath the knob, the kind a person could look through. Unfortunately, when she pressed her face to it, all Darcy could see was outdated wood paneling. Instead, she put the glass up to the keyhole like a fifth-grade sleuth, her ear against it.

"It was a huge waste of time and resources," Smug was saying.

A muffled thwack followed by a soft grunt punctuated his words. He's setting something down on the table, Darcy thought. Maybe the drug guy had returned. She wished she knew what time it was.

"Why didn't you just use the LMD to convince Dr. Mallory?" Steve's familiar voice rumbled.

The drug guy wasn't back, Darcy realized. And Steve could no longer reasonably keep up the ruse of unconsciousness. It must be later in the day.

Another thump and another grunt. What were they doing?

"Two separate jobs, dipshit. The LMD was provided by our client to gather intel in the New Avengers Facility. Miss Lewis was our best weak link - perfectly trusted and positioned within the organization to gather sensitive intel, but with negligible self-defense capability. A quick kidnapping, and then the LMD's tale of escape, and we were in. But we needed the real Miss Lewis for final programming. It wasn't a decent fake yet."

"Meanwhile, the real Darcy is used as a hostage, to ensure access for your other operation-"

Steve's voice tightened oddly, in time with another quiet thump.

"Basically, yes," Smug replied.

Darcy's face fell. The best weak link? Yeah, that pretty much summed her up. She removed the glass and sat down on the floor. As much as Steve wanted to convince her otherwise, Darcy knew it was all true. Smug's plan was perfectly sound. Steve was the reason - the only reason - she had stayed out of their grasp for any length of time. If she hadn't chanced upon him in the third floor hallway, these assholes would have grabbed her and no one would have known. There was the slight possibility that Jane might have noticed Darcy was "off" when she got back from her conference, but Darcy had no doubt the rest of the Facility's employees would have accepted the LMD without batting an eye.

"He what?!"

Startled at the explosion of sound, Darcy popped the glass back up. She could make out a quiet murmur, but couldn't hear what was said.

Smug sighed gustily.

"Johnson, keep an eye on things here. Especially him. Griggs and I will go get Dr. Tennison. Idiot. It's not raining that hard."

Their booted feet echoed on the thin cabin floorboards as they exited into the storm.

Sighing, Darcy rose from the floor and carried the tray of food to the bed. She sat in the growing darkness, eating food without tasting it, lost in thought.