An hour after dawn's bright rays split the sky, Steve burst out of the back of a black van, blinking against the sudden influx of light. Falcon stood with his shoulders pressed to the side of the van, sipping a cup of coffee. At Steve's request, and with permission from the Federal agents that arrived about an hour after the Avengers took the poli-sci lecture building, a second van had been dispatched to their location. They were using it for interrogation. Steve sighed deeply.
"That's the last man. He doesn't know anything. Widow's sure of it," he informed Sam.
Sam nodded. "Widow knows her trade."
The silent approach of the woman herself quieted the conversation. The van didn't even shake as she stepped down.
"Steve, you're not allowed to help me anymore. You're fucking up my tactics." Her words held a gentleness that didn't match their harsh content.
Steve folded his arms over his chest and stared at the ground.
"One of them has to know where Lobano took Darcy," he muttered.
A suffocating ball of guilt, anger, and helplessness rose up in Steve's chest, making it hard to breathe. This kind of physical pain had been his constant companion before he joined the army, but the emotional component was new. He forced himself to take a deep breath. He knew he needed to get his feelings under control. His lack of composure probably alarmed his colleagues, something a team leader couldn't afford at any time. But the moment he thought of Darcy's eyes—wide with fear—the pressure came back, pressing painfully against his ribcage. He deliberately inflated the lungs his rational mind knew were in perfect working order. He pushed the long breath back out.
"Steve, look at me," demanded Black Widow.
He drilled her with an angry glare, but she didn't flinch.
"Darcy isn't the mission. She's Lobano's distraction—and hostage. He's playing for higher stakes than this. You know he is. Otherwise he would have cut Darcy and Mallory loose by now and disappeared." Black Widow held his gaze, hands on her hips.
Guilty, Steve dropped his eyes.
"I know that. I know it. But we don't—"
" —trade lives," Black Widow finished for him. "I know it, too, but we have to finish one mission before we start another."
Reluctantly, Steve nodded. She was right, of course. A brief evening spent in Lobano's company revealed he was the kind of man to have backups for his backups, plans squirrelled away for the worst case scenario. It also revealed how truly merciless he was. He'd have no compunction about killing Darcy or Mallory if they slowed him down.
The Avengers had completely shut down his first operation—admittedly, almost by luck. If Lobano had managed to sneak Darcy away in the first breach, no one would have been the wiser when an LMD wearing her face replaced her.
Now the Avengers had screwed up his other mission. Culver University's conference would continue as originally scheduled, minus the bombs and murder. What was left? Ransom? If so, they should have heard from him by now. Revenge? Steve's fingers flexed unconsciously at the thought of Darcy paying the price for their success. He managed to stop himself before he slammed his fist into the side of the van.
"I'm taking a walk," he growled.
The other two watched as he stomped away.
"I'm out of jerks to interrogate," Black Widow announced, turning to Falcon. "Did you and Vision process the house?"
Darcy squeezed back tears as Brendan Mallory moaned beside her. He was still bound tightly to his kitchen chair, and he looked terrible. Damn it, Brendan, Darcy thought, irritated.
His protective instinct had come out while they were in Lobano's van, and mouthing off had earned him a hard blow to the head. He'd already passed out twice. And puked once.
Darcy shivered in the near darkness that enveloped them. Her restraints pressed her in an uncomfortable hug against an old, cold support pillar. A distant plink of water against concrete was the only sound her straining ears could hear. She knew exactly where they were. Culver's not-so-secret underground tunnels were a favorite underclassmen haunt. Most of the branches and avenues were closed off to students, but the path from the Student Union to the poli-sci lecture hall had proved so popular that the school had reinforced the old structures to allow students safe passage and avoid liability. Darcy cast an eye over old signatures, rude jokes, and graffiti decorating the wall next to her. She recalled many rainy afternoons when she'd rushed to class through this particular tunnel, grateful to avoid an above-ground drenching.
The tunnel was closed off due to the conference. Or, more likely, Lobano's goons had closed it off and no one thought to question it. At any rate, Darcy knew no one was coming. The sound of footsteps mingling with the drip of water had to be her imagination. Or were they? Darcy's heart fluttered with hope for just an instant. Then her insides plummeted when she twisted around to see Lobano return with two others.
The goon from Brendan's house carried something in careful hands, but she only noticed him for a second. The woman walking in with them sent a shock down to Darcy's toes. She knew what she— it— was, but even so, the experience of watching the LMD with her face cross the room and stop, arms folded and eyes on Darcy, made her cold in a way the tunnel couldn't.
Lobano's face was more grimace than grin as he came forward and untied Darcy. Her arms involuntarily dropped to her sides, feeling ten pounds heavier than normal. She raised them slowly and rubbed her raw wrists. Backing up against the wall behind her, she tried to keep eyes on all three figures in front of her. They each felt equally dangerous.
"Okay, strip," Lobano instructed, gesturing impatiently at Darcy and the LMD.
"What?" Darcy asked, incensed.
The LMD immediately shucked off shoes and shirt. Darcy clutched her hands to her sides as Lobano frowned.
"You two are switching clothes. Unless you'd like to be shot in the head right now, Miss Lewis." Lobano patted a holstered pistol at his waist, but didn't draw it. He didn't need to. The LMD was down to skivvies, and continued to remove clothing. Darcy reluctantly followed suit.
She hesitated as she pulled her t-shirt over her head. "Do you mind turning around?"
"No, but we promise not to leer if it makes you feel better," replied Lobano.
It actually did, Darcy realized. Seeing no alternative, she stripped down. The LMD was nude opposite her and held a pile of clothes. It stared at her curiously. That was when Darcy noticed its knees turn a mottled blue and brown, its arms appear to grow several bruises, and scrapes appear on its cheeks and forehead. Darcy looked down at herself, startled. Her knees were a patchwork of bruised coloring, and she was pretty generally beat up all over. Shit. She had no idea LMDs could imitate a human this way. Once they switched clothes, the LMD would be her identical replacement.
They traded clothes and dressed. At least she was going to her death in clean underwear, Darcy thought. Her mother would be proud. Darcy glanced at Brendan, who had fallen unconscious again.
"He needs medical attention. He's really hurt," she pleaded, unable to stop herself.
Lobano ignored her and turned to the LMD.
"The final touch," he muttered, producing a flash drive.
He pressed a finger to its hip and something gave way, allowing him to insert the memory stick. Darcy could have sworn she saw its eyes flash. Then its stance shifted. A dizzy sense of deja vu washed over Darcy as the LMD affected a slumped posture, a listless tilt to its head. It looked as exhausted as Darcy felt. It looked like a mirror image.
This time, Lobano grinned for real.
"It's done. It's ready," he laughed.
"What did you do?" Darcy blurted.
"Oh, I just loaded up the new Darcy with old Darcy's memories from the last six months. She's ready to play your role. Should be able to get her into the Avengers facility, too. She looks just like you, doesn't she?"
"You— you're lying. You can't have my memories, that's impossible. That's insane," babbled Darcy, thinking hard. When could they have messed with her head? Wouldn't she feel something? A headache at least?
"Well, you're half right. The LMD is constructing memories from the information I gave it. Martin Dreak bugged your phone six months ago, and if I've learned one thing about you, Miss Lewis, it's that you don't go anywhere without your phone. Everything you've said and every place you've been is now in new Darcy's memory— not to mention emails, texts, purchases… everything about you. It's a shame the Avengers didn't pay Martin a little more. He really is a genius with software." He turned to the LMD. "It's time. Go get rescued."
The LMD blinked, and the last vestige of doll-like imitation disappeared. Her brow furrowed, tears welled up, and she staggered away toward the lecture hall, one hand groping for support. Darcy watched herself go, mind oddly blank. She had no clue what to do now. Only then did she remember Lobano's friend, who stepped forward. He held up a vest covered in wires and small packages.
"No fucking way!" yelled Darcy.
She darted to the left of Lobano and the other man, toward darkness and a possibly populated Student Union, but it didn't work. Lobano caught her around the middle and lifted her into the air. She kicked viciously, but hit only empty space. She tried to send her head back into Lobano's face, but he evaded easily.
"Enough," he growled. "I'll shoot Mallory right now."
"Why wait? You're going to put a bomb on me, and I'm supposed to believe you'll keep him alive? No!" Darcy twisted and wriggled and kicked, but Daniel Lobano was deceptively strong. She couldn't break his grip or even get her feet back on the ground. She finally ceased her panicked motions, too exhausted to continue.
Lobano's voice took on a soothing note in her ear as she panted. "I'm not gonna blow you up. It's just insurance. Barry and I want to get away clean. You provide the distraction, that's all. The Avengers will be too busy disarming your vest to worry about us. Get it?"
Darcy only half-believed him, but half a chance was better than none. She gave a sharp nod. "What are you going to do with Brendan?"
Lobano considered. "He can stay here. I don't need him anymore."
Barry came forward as Darcy struggled to steady her shaky legs.
"Put your arms out and don't make any sudden movements," he instructed.
Lobano watched for a moment, then nodded, satisfied. "I'm getting the van. Meet me at the rendezvous point when everything is ready."
Barry grunted assent as he loomed over Darcy. Lobano exited into darkness, his steps echoing then dying away.
Darcy threaded her arms into the vest, careful not to touch it. Barry settled it on her shoulders and placed a metal tube in her hand.
"Press your thumb down on the button at the top. Good. Now, don't let it go unless you want to die."
The blunt warning set Darcy's heart racing and turned her hands to ice. Oh, my god. This is really it, she thought. I'm gonna die. She looked down at Barry, who knelt to finish securing the zipper. Before she knew what she was doing, Darcy's knee shot up and made a bloody pulp of Barry's nose with a sickening crunch.
"Gahhh!" he exclaimed, jumping back with both hands at his face. Blood leaked out between his fingers and down his chin.
Some distant self-defense lesson memory bubbled up and Darcy brought her booted foot down as hard as she could on the side of Barry's knee. He crumpled to the floor in pain, one hand clutching his face and the other groping at his leg.
Fight expended, Darcy's flight instinct took over. Gripping the button in her hand, she pelted down the long tunnel toward the lecture hall and never once looked back.
Steve returned to the two Avenger vans with his head in a slightly better place. He climbed up into the surveillance van and set his shield down against one wall.
"Any change?" he asked, knowing that Black Widow would have told him if there were.
Natasha leaned back, her sleek black jumpsuit looking out of place in the rolling office chair she occupied. "Falcon and War Machine are flying a surveillance pattern, spiraling out over the town. I have Scarlet Witch and Vision posted on campus, staying out of sight and searching the nooks and crannies. They haven't seen anything yet."
Steve nodded glumly and leaned over a metal countertop, pressing both fists into the surface. He bowed his head, keeping his gaze between his gloves.
"It's driving you crazy," Natasha said softly. It wasn't a question.
Steve avoided her eyes. "I told her I'd keep her safe."
A crooked grin parted Nat's teeth. "Steve, I'm willing to accept that one of us is an idiot, but it's not me. So don't even try. This is more than the usual sense of honor and duty."
Steve lifted his head, his gaze flicking from Natasha to Dirk down at the other end of the van, but he didn't say anything.
"Don't make me torture you," threatened Nat.
"Too late," Steve joked and she rolled her eyes.
"All I'm saying is, it's nice to see you finally—"
Steve didn't let her finish.
"Is this live?" he interrupted, pointing to a screen.
The image on camera showed Culver's poli-sci lecture hall. Well-dressed people milled around, finding their seats at white-clothed tables, unaware that those same tables had hidden bombs only a few hours before. Steve and Nat turned to Dirk. He glanced up, befuddled, and waddle-rolled over to them.
Craning his neck to look over Black Widow's shoulder, he nodded confirmation. "Yeah. We tapped into Culver's security feed to track your progress when you infiltrated. Why—oh!"
Dirk doubled over as Black Widow violently elbowed him away and sent his chair rolling to the other end of the van. She jumped up and stared at the screen, her jaw hard. When she spoke, the words were ice.
"What the fuck is Darcy Lewis doing in that room?"
Steve had already jumped down through the van's open doors.
"Rhodey!" he roared.
War Machine had Steve over the poli-sci lecture building in less than two minutes.
"Just drop me!" Steve yelled into the wind.
Rhodes ignored his urgency and brought them both down near the east entrance. A startled crowd of conference participants in formal business attire parted politely as the two rushed in.
They could hear shouting and screams as they entered the central area of the lecture building. The doors of the main hall burst open and a rush of panicked people greeted them as they moved inward. Steve threaded through the crowd, pushing his way into the room. He could see a commotion at the keynote speaker's table over the heads of those running away.
Steve slowed, then blinked, taking in the sight of not one, but two Darcys screaming at each other in front of the speaker's table. The Nobel recipient and a frightened coterie of prestigious guests huddled against the wall behind it.
"Widow, can you see this on-screen?" he asked via earwig.
"Negative," came the breathless reply. "I'm not in the surveillance van. Wait for me next time, you jerks."
Both women were the same height, with the same hair. One Darcy—his Darcy?—wore a t-shirt with a shield across the chest and a pair of too-large jeans under its untucked hem. She stood between the other Darcy and the table, arms outstretched.
The other Darcy turned Steve's blood cold. She wore a clean set of the t-shirt, skirt, and tights from two days ago, but more importantly, she wore a wired vest covered in explosives. Her hand, high in the air, clutched a metal tube with a button under her thumb. War Machine skidded to a stop beside Steve and raised his forearm, but Steve gently pushed it down.
"You can't," he said, throat tight. "It's a deadman's switch."
"What's a deadman's switch?" he heard Black Widow ask in his ear.
"Oh," she continued softly, in person, as she arrived at his other side.
"Widow, what is going on here?" Steve demanded in a whisper.
"It's been a weird two days, Cap. I may have forgotten to mention they recovered the LMD," she replied tersely.
"Forgotten?" he nearly looked at her, but the bomb vest had his full attention.
"It's not my best moment," Black Widow admitted.
The Darcy in the shield shirt caught sight of Steve and turned.
"Oh, thank God. Steve, she's gonna blow this whole place! I was trying to keep her from the keynote speaker."
Sweat beaded her brow and she breathed hard from exertion. Steve thought he saw a little tremor in her hands.
"Shut the fuck up," Darcy Two snapped. "You know that's not what's happening. Steve, I got her away from the speaker before she could kill him. You need to restrain her. Now. She's a threat!"
Darcy Two waved the switch wildly, causing gasps to ripple through the room. Steve stared hard at one, then the other, but he couldn't be sure. Both women had identical scrapes and bruises. Lobano could have forced them to switch clothes. Either one could be lying. The bomb threat, however, needed to be dealt with sooner than later.
He presented his shield to both women and slowly set it at his back, then displayed empty hands to both of them. "Okay, ladies, we are going to talk this one out. Take it nice and slow. Why don't we let these nice people leave first?"
"No! She's an LMD, she'll just blow us up!" shrieked Darcy One.
She edged over between Steve and the people on the dais. War Machine shifted uncomfortably on Steve's left, but Black Widow stayed frozen on his right. Steve's eyes switched from one woman's face to the other.
"We won't get anywhere like this," he muttered.
"We need a distraction," agreed Black Widow.
The scene in front of them stayed tense as Darcy Two took a half-step toward the Avengers, then thought better of it. She shuffled back a bit and the people behind her scattered. A few broke for the door and cleared it. Neither Darcy appeared to notice. Black Widow kept a hand at her hip, but didn't draw.
Steve pleaded with Darcy Two directly. "You've got to give me something to work with, Darcy. Either that, or surrender. We'll take you both into custody and sort things out."
Darcy Two laughed bitterly and shook her head.
"Lobano got me good, Steve. Slimy bastard made me switch clothes with her. They bugged my phone with a recording app six months ago, so she knows everything about me—everything I've said, every place I've been, every text and email. I can't prove I'm me." Her voiced cracked on the last word and she closed her eyes, a look of desperation on her face.
"Tell me about it," Darcy One complained, a nervous edge to her words. "I was going to say the same thing. She's playing tricks, giving you lies wrapped up in the truth."
Darcy Two shook her head forcefully. Her tight fists trembled in anger.
"I told you to shut it. No one needs to hear from the literal motor mouth. I know you're just a machine, but I'm going to kick your ass so hard when this is over," she harped.
"Focus, ladies! There is a bomb strapped to one of you!" barked War Machine, exasperated.
Steve raised an eyebrow over his shoulder. War Machine shrugged.
"Sorry," he said.
Steve tried Darcy One again. "Don't you think it would be safer if the two of you let us escort you out, and…"
Darcy One shook her head furiously, a mirror image of Darcy Two. Steve felt like he was seeing double. A tear slipped down Darcy Two's cheek.
"She's not going to let us leave, Steve. I told you that already. She knows everything— everything. God, this is so screwed up. Unless...wait. Steve."
Darcy Two's stance straightened a bit, causing the vest to shift. She looked down at herself in horror but when nothing happened, she slowly brought the switch to her chest and spoke again. "Lobano threw my purse out on the way to that cabin. No need for it when he was right there watching us, right?"
"Sure, Darcy. I remember that," Steve encouraged, subtly sliding closer, looking for an opening.
Darcy Two licked her dry lips. "He didn't plan on us escaping. He didn't plan on us stealing a car."
Steve gave a single, sharp shake of his head, but it was for Widow and War Machine. Darcy Two didn't appear to notice. She drilled him with a look, clutching the deadman's switch tight.
"No one heard what we talked about in there. Do you remember? Ask her what I told you. It's still true. Ask her. She can't tell you. She doesn't know."
Steve stopped short, shoulders tensing. Silence swallowed the room. He looked into the tear-streaked face and he knew. This was Darcy. He knew why she'd come back to the hall instead of looking for help. She had been looking for him. To help him. It was all he could do not to rush forward and rip the explosives off of her. His hands dropped to his sides.
"Darcy, I—"
A screaming blur entered from his left, and before he could move, the LMD planted a fist in Darcy's eye, knocking her off-balance. A small hole bloomed in the center of its forehead, courtesy of the pistol Black Widow held steady at eye level. Both the LMD and Darcy fell back toward the floor, Darcy's grip on the metal tube slipping.
"Everybody BACK!" shouted Steve.
He threw himself and his shield onto Darcy, covering as much of the vest as he could before they slammed into the floor.
Pain exploded in Darcy's face as the LMD's fist connected. The unexpected sensation caused her hands to flex, and too late, she remembered exactly why she shouldn't do that. A gun discharged nearby, she found she was falling, a massive force plowed into her midsection, and then her spine and head painfully whacked the thinly carpeted concrete floor of Culver's main poli-sci lecture hall. She squeezed her eyes closed, expecting never to open them again. Nothing happened.
Surprised, she fluttered them open to find herself flat on her back under 220 uncomfortable pounds of American superhero, plus a vibranium shield. Steve's heavy chest expanded with quick breaths, forcing her own puny human ribs to make way and flatten. The explosive contraption snugged around her body dented her breasts and back with sharp, painful angles.
Darcy looked down. Her hands were empty. Most of her upper body was shadowed under Captain America's famous shield along with the man himself. A blond head she'd spent way too much time thinking about tilted up to look at her. She could feel his heavy exhalations across her face, but couldn't read his expression through an eye that was quickly swelling shut. His breath was warm and pleasant.
"Darcy!" Steve choked out. "You're not dead!"
Then he kissed her. Hard.