Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chapter 3
October 8, 2011 – New York City, New York
Sun streaming through the window is what woke him first. The second is the static of the radio replaying the game that he and Bucky had sat through just a few years before. He blinks, his teeth gritting at the ache in his neck.
"Curve ball, high and outside for ball one. So, the Dodgers are tied, 4 – 4. And the crowd well knows that with one swing of his bat, this fellow's capable of making it a brand-new game again."
Steve sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes. What happened? This wasn't his apartment in Brooklyn. Was it a dream? A quick glance down proved that his body was still different, still big.
He sprung to his feet, nearly tripping over the shoes that were next to the bed. When the door opened, he stood defensively, backed into the corner.
"Good morning," the woman said, dressed in standard agent attire. A quick glance at her watch and she smiled back up at him. "Or, should I say, afternoon?"
"Where am I?" He asked, his throat dry and his voice scratchy.
"You're in a recovery room in New York City."
"The Dodgers take the lead, 8 – 4! Oh, Dodgers! Everyone is on their feet. What a game we have here today, folks. What a game indeed!"
Steve watched the woman, suspicion lingering in his gut. "Where am I really?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand," she fretted.
"The game. It's from May 1941. I know, 'cause I was there." He prowled closer to her, systematically looking for a way out that didn't include the window. He was not fond of jumping out of windows. "Now, I'm gonna ask you again. Where. Am. I?"
"Captain Rogers – "
Steve didn't even stop to think about what he was doing. He barreled through what he assumed was solid wall and took off running, sans shoes. Somehow, he'd made it out of the building and was hauling ass down the streets that looked familiar but different.
When he finally stopped, he's surrounded by large automobiles and graphics seemingly painted on the buildings, but they're moving.
"At ease, soldier!"
Steve whirled around, meeting a man with an eye patch and an apologetic look on his face. Or something that resembled one.
"Look, I'm sorry about the little show back there, but…we thought it would be best to break it to you slowly."
The blond swallowed hard. "Break what?"
"You've been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years."
It was like a hit to the gut. Seventy years. That's…that was enough time for his kids to grow up and have kids of their own. Enough time that he should have been in the ground and rotting for a while. But…he'd been asleep.
"You gonna be okay?" The man asked, real concern marring his features now.
Steve stared blankly.
His life was over as he knew it. Everything would be different now.
His life. His girl. Darcy. Bucky.
"Yeah," he finally said. "I just…I had a girl."
October 9, 2011 – New York City, New York
"There's a gym downstairs, armed security, and a few cameras installed around to make sure no one tries to fuck with you."
Steve bristled at the language, but nodded anyway. The apartment was sparse and tidy, not what he was used to at all. Bucky used to leave his shoes wherever and Darcy was always dropping her purse and coats near the door in a pile. He'd never really lived on his own.
Director Fury had tried to make him at home without pulling punches. He explained that the world was different now, that it wasn't the city he remembered.
"Thank you, Colonel," Steve said, a tight smile on his lips. "Did – well, was there anything recovered with me when I was…pulled out?"
"There were a few items. They'll be returned to you after some more examination, I promise." Director Fury slid the apartment keys across the coffee table. "If you need something, call. There's a phone in the kitchen and a cell in the bedroom. Laptop's set up in the office, browse all you want. It'll help you get acclimated."
Steve picked up the keys and pocketed them. His brows furrowed as he asked, "If I wanted to know about someone…who could I ask? Is there a file room – "
"We have a database, but it's secure. Any particular name you're lookin' for, Captain? Maybe a 'Peggy Carter'?"
"No, no – is Peggy still alive?"
"In a treatment facility upstate. Still a hell of a lady, but doesn't remember much most of the time."
Steve swallowed. The fact that Peggy was alive…she had to be in her nineties. Like he should be. Shaking his head, he sighed, "I'm looking for a woman. Her name was Darcy Lewis. I have her birth date – "
"I'll look into it. In the meantime, get some rest, Cap."
October 15, 2011 – Brooklyn, New York
"I kissed you."
Clint dropped the knife in his hand, sidestepping it before it could do damage to his foot. His green eyes found hers across the kitchen and he stuttered, "W-what?"
"I kissed you," Darcy said, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Her small hand ghosted over her hip and she flinched. "I hurt myself. And you…you helped me undress because I couldn't do it on my own. I…I kissed you. And you kissed me back."
"It was a hundred percent platonic," he said as he raised his hands. "I mean, I liked you at the time, don't get me wrong, but you belonged to someone else. You weren't mine, Darce."
Hopping up on the counter, she swung her legs for a moment before she cocked her head. "Did you find…who you belonged to? Jane explained soul marks to me and – "
"Yours are underneath your bracelets, sweetheart," he rushed to add, taking in her sad look. "One of your partners made them for you and you never could figure out how to get them off."
"Oh," she whispered. She pulled the chunky sweater tighter around herself as her fingers felt her bracelets. Her writing wrote Clint off as more of a…child than anything else, but she had the memory of kissing him at the forefront of her mind, the first thing she remembered.
"You said my words, but I didn't say yours," he said sadly, his calloused fingers running down her cheek. He treated her differently than he'd ever treated any girl and it was a little strange. He was protective of her.
She leaned into his touch, hyperaware that his lips were mere inches from his. His breath was warm against her lips and she sighed when he kissed her forehead instead. Disappointment was not something she was well versed in.
"I love you, Darcy. Like family. I can't…I can't sleep with you," he apologized, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her tight against his broad chest. "I'm tryin' to take care of you the best way I know how."
Her arms wrapped around him as she murmured words of thanks.
November 24, 2011 – Brooklyn, New York
It was pitiful. Well, she was pitiful.
It was Thanksgiving and she was alone. Clint had been called away on a mission and Jane had flown to her mother's in London. A trip to the grocery store had proved less than fruitful with a small turkey breast and a can of whole jellied cranberries. It was meager at best, but enough to keep her fed.
She had a few memories surface over the past couple months, all involving Clint. She remembered finding him hiding by the trashcans and giving him a bath to clean him up. Stitching up his knee when he split it open and kissing boo-boos when he fell. She'd morphed from an insecure eighteen-year-old to a mother hen, making sure he was fed when he came to visit her and that no new bruises had cropped up from missions.
She led a quiet life. She minded her own business, went to a mom and pop grocery store, took walks down to the Brooklyn Bridge. The city called to her in a familiar way. She found herself walking streets that she shouldn't know, taking alleys that were deemed dangerous. But, according to her journal, she was born in New York City, running wild through the streets of Brooklyn. Her boys…Steve and Bucky were her partners in crime, the loves of her life. It had come to her a few nights before, pairing the blond hair with Steve and the dark hair with Bucky.
Darcy would find out what happened to them. What happened to her.
January 3, 2012 – Manhattan, New York – Stark Tower
"It's called the Avengers Initiative."
It had taken some doing to get such a group of humans together. Even SHIELD had struggled, but Tony Stark had made it happen. However, he never took no for an answer.
Director Fury sat at the head of the table, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as his eye swept the room. To the left sat the illustrious Black Widow and Hawkeye, to the right Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, and sitting opposite at the other head was Captain America.
"I know that for most of you this will be the first time meeting one another – "
"Well, I know that little slice – almost killed me," Tony interrupted, pointing a finger at the Black Widow. "The one next to her, eh, he's not my type. Bruce here is a wealth of science knowledge that I would love to dive in to. And Capsicle over there is the remains of my dear old dad's science project. Yeah, Barton, that's Captain America, in the unfrozen flesh."
"Enough, Stark," Director Fury barked, slamming his fist down on the table. "The point of this little mission is to protect the earth. We've had Gods fall to earth, destroy a one-pony New Mexico town, and then beam up like nothing ever happened. We need someone to protect the citizens should the need arise."
"And I'm funding this little venture," Tony said as he stood, rubbing his hands together in glee. His Black Sabbath shirt was taut across his chest and a small light could be seen emitting from behind it. "You'll all have your own rooms, different floors, all amenities included – "
"You're a hotel, now?" Barton asked as he rolled his eyes.
"It'll foster feelings of family. No more bases for you or Widow over there. Cap can move in instead of living in that depressing apartment, and Bruce will have somewhere safe."
Bruce Banner sighed loudly, drawing the attention of the room. He took his glasses off and set them on the table before pinching the bridge of his nose. "We don't have a choice, do we?"
"Unlimited lab access, Banner. Well, not to mine, but to the other ones. You can science until your heart's content."
"I've got a – uh, um, friend – "
Tony's eyes widened. "You mean, you two aren't," he motioned between him and Natasha wildly before whistling lowly. "I guess you can bring your main squeeze with you, Barton. The more the merrier. Hey, can she cook? Takeout is only appealing for so long."
"On to more important things," Director Fury rumbled, "Now, who's on board?"
All of the hands rose around the table, the last being the Captain's.
Director Fury smiled. "Welcome to the Avengers."
"How do you feel about moving?" Clint asked as he picked at his lasagna.
Darcy perked up, giving him a strange look. "What do you mean? Am I leaving?"
"I got an offer to move to Manhattan. Be part of a big…thing. It would kinda be like an apartment thing," he shrugged, tapping his fingers against the beer bottle next to his plate. "I'm pretty sure you'd be the only one there that wasn't part of it. But, I don't want to leave you here, Dee."
She nodded, setting her fork down on her plate. She and Clint had grown close in the past months, but she didn't want to rely on him all the time. "Would I be able to get a job?" She asked.
"I'm sure that wouldn't be a problem, but you don't need to – "
"I want to," she shrugged, "It's hard being trapped in here and expecting you to take care of me. I've gotta get back into society eventually."
"I'll see if they've got somethin' at SHIELD for you. You've already signed enough NDAs anyway."
"But then you'd be giving me a job instead of me working for it."
He snorted. "You have an education, Darce. I wouldn't be giving you anything. You'd earn it with that brain of yours." He chewed his lasagna thoughtfully. "Fury'll be happy. Maybe you could be his assistant. He's always scaring his off."
"Thank you," she smiled, squeezing his hand across the table.
"Anything for you, sweetheart."
January 21, 2012 – Manhattan, New York – Stark Tower
The neighbors were…quiet. Darcy didn't think she'd ever stayed in a place so quiet before. Maybe Tony Stark had everything soundproofed. Maybe they were never home. Maybe they were secret spy ninjas who played 'the floor is lava' all day, every day. Even so, it was strange.
When Clint was home, she badgered him about his work and let him eat all the candy he could stuff in his mouth. She figured it was a fair trade off. She wasn't really comfortable with leaving the apartment. The furthest she ventured was the lounge area – with a kitchen, thank God – and she'd sit in there for a few hours in the morning with a mug full of coffee until JARVIS alerted her that someone was coming.
Darcy wasn't keen on meeting the other Avengers just yet. She and the J-Man had it covered with avoiding anyone but Clint. And Stark. JARVIS couldn't warn her when his creator was coming, something about programming, and Clint was too often climbing through the vents and surprising her.
She'd established a pretty good relationship with the artificial intelligence. He never once asked her why she wanted 1930's music on loop or why she perused the war files that had an inch of dust on them. She had a habit of asking him about things she didn't understand and he always explained with stiff indifference.
It was the oddest thing feeling like she didn't belong. It felt that way at Culver, too. But when she'd ended up in New Mexico with Jane, it felt like one of her missing pieces was found. Jane didn't mind her big mouth or unfiltered thoughts. She looked at her like an equal and Clint was the only one to do the same so far. However, he also shared her dry humor and love of inappropriate jokes. Sometimes it just felt like she was in the wrong time.
Early morning coffee was her only solace since Clint snored enough to be heard through all the walls in their spacious apartment. The lounge had a beautiful view of the city and she loved watching the sunrise.
"Ms. Lewis, the Captain will be entering the lab in approximately ten seconds," JARVIS spoke, causing her to jump.
Leaping up, she took her mug into the kitchen and set it in the sink before slipping out the adjoining door. "Thanks, J-Money."
"Captain Rogers, the lounge is empty."
Steve rolled his eyes and looked at the coffee maker, noticing the carafe was half-full as usual. There was a pink mug sitting in the sink and he knew it belonged to the woman Clint had brought along.
"Thank you, JARVIS." He pulled his own mug from the cabinet and filled it. He'd never cared for coffee, but she'd loved it. It was like a link to her and Bucky in some ways.
His shirt clung to his skin, sweat still beading on his forehead. Running was one of the only ways to help him keep focus. Sometimes, it felt like the world was closing in on him, that he wasn't adjusting fast enough. He thought that he'd picked up modern comforts well enough. The internet, Youtube, even a thing called a smart phone.
He tried to get along with the others, but they didn't understand him. Director Fury had brought the items that were recovered from the Valkyrie and he was more than relieved to see that Darcy's photo had been there – damaged, but mostly intact. His suit was worse for wear and his shield was nearly unrecognizable, but Tony had brought him another one that Howard had held onto, claiming that he'd need it for whatever mission they'd be called on.
"Captain Rogers, Mr. Barton is requesting your expertise on the shooting range."
Steve laughed to himself. "Is that what he said, JARVIS?"
"I believe his exact words were 'tell that yuppy fuck to get down here so I can shoot at him'."
"That sounds more like him."
The smell of freshly baked cookies filled the air and Darcy was rattling with excitement. The best way to make friends was to offer food and worm her way from the stomach to the heart. Four dozen cookies sat cooling on the racks above the stove and she gingerly pulled out the next pan when the oven beeped accordingly.
She thought about wrapping them in cellophane, but decided that it would just get in the way.
"Hey, sweetheart," Clint greeted her, kissing her cheek and swiping a cookie from the hot sheet. "Everyone's gonna be here soon – "
"I know," she said quickly. Her hands smoothed down her ratty black leggings slowly, showing her nerves. Maybe she should've taken Clint's advice and purchased a few new outfits, but she was proud if anything. She wanted to be able to buy her own things. As it was, she was wearing one of his shirts that he'd discarded a few days ago – he'd teased her about his 'funk', but she honestly didn't mind. Wearing men's shirts felt familiar, even if it was tied with a hair tie in the back to keep it from falling to her knees. "I thought this would be a good way to kinda introduce myself."
"You and baking. Wonderful idea, short stack."
Darcy blinked up at the man that entered the room, instantly knowing who he was. "Mr. Stark – "
"Please, Mr. Stark was my father. I'm Tony." He held out his hand to her and she shook it shyly, squeaking when he spun her around in a circle and whistled low. "Short stack, more like short and stacked. What're you doing shacking up with Barton? He's an old dog. And you know what they say, can't teach an old dog new tricks."
"Hey!"
"Clint and I are just friends…Tony." She reached for one of the cool sheets and offered it to him. "Cookie?"
His eye twitched a bit, but he relented. "I normally don't like people handing me things, but I'll make an exception." He bit into the cookie and made an ungodly sound. "Definitely worth it. Do you take orders?"
"I can bake just about anything – "
"Might want to bag up a few of those for Bruce before Captain I-Eat-Everything gets here," Tony suggested, waving to the ones still cooling. "I'd tell you where the bags are, but I don't have a clue. I doubt Pepper does either."
"You can bake anything?"
"Nat! Meet – "
"Sirena," the redhead finished, sizing her up from the doorway. When she walked, she prowled like a panther and it caused the hair on the back of Darcy's neck to stand at attention.
Something was…familiar about this woman, but she couldn't place it.
Three exits. Three possible threats, volatile if provoked. Steel knives in the drawer to the left. Ability to reach before –
"Eto bylo v to vremya."
Darcy's eyes snapped to her and she gave her a grin. "Slishkom dolgo."
"Your girlfriend speaks Russian? Color me impressed," Tony snarked as he nabbed another cookie.
Clint's eyes were wide as he looked between the women. "You two…you know each other?"
"Kasnaya komnata."
"No."
They both spoke at the same time. Darcy shook herself out of the weird space she'd fallen into mentally, pasting a smile on her face.
"Ooookay," Clint said, looking at Darcy with concern. "You okay?"
"Of course," she nodded, stuffing a cookie in her mouth.
Natasha snagged a cookie and bit into it, a smirk playing at her mouth. "My pogovorim pozzhe."
"Da," Darcy said softly. "I…I think I'm going to go back to the apartment for now."
No one could stop the petite brunette as she ducked out of the room, leaving the cookies behind. Clint watched as Tony bagged up about a dozen cookies – only after JARVIS had told him where they were located – and sauntered out, leaving him with Natasha. He was a little uncomfortable and he was never uncomfortable around her.
"So…what the hell was that?"
Natasha shrugged, stacking a few cookies together on the counter and avoiding his eyes. "Old friends catching up. But…she's different, no?"
"You knew Darcy before," he said flatly, his jaw ticking. "In Russia. Didn't you? Why didn't you – "
"Why didn't I say something?" She asked, finishing his sentence. "You never introduced me to her. You've kept her locked in your apartment – "
"She didn't want to leave!"
" – and I didn't expect her to be…to not truly remember. They must've wiped her before releasing her again. Have you had JARVIS scan her for a tracker? The last thing we need is for HYDRA to be on our doorstep."
Clint looked at her sharply. "I thought you defaulted from the KGB – "
"Same thing in Russia," she said with an impatient wave of her hand. "Two agencies working towards the same goal. I can't tell you her story, only she can do that."
"Nat – "
"But…if she remembers…just remember how I was when I first came to Fury. It'll be worse for her. She hasn't had time to work through the red in her ledger yet."
It was late when Steve finally wandered into the lounge. He'd made some pitiful excuse for spaghetti for dinner in his apartment, also massacring the recipe of what he thought he remembered for Darcy's garlic bread. Dinner had become a lump of noodles drowned in sauce with burnt bread slathered in garlic butter. Bucky, bless his heart, had tried so hard to teach him how to cook and it just didn't stick.
His nose led him to the cookies abandoned on the counter and he looked down at them curiously. They were chocolate chip, but had little heart thumbprints in the middle like Darcy used to do. His lips turned up in a half smile as he took one, closing his eyes at how familiar they tasted. Darcy's baking was always a treat; flour was expensive and Bucky could only grab so much from the store before his father would notice it was missing.
He'd asked JARVIS for a comprehensive list of casualties from Pearl Harbor, both relieved and worried when her name wasn't on it. The Dorsetts had fostered a few kids after Darcy before they retired to Florida. It'd been difficult to dig up anything on Sean 'Spot' Conlon, but he'd found out that he was in a retirement home getting ready to celebrate his birthday. Not bad for a one hundred and six-year-old. Darcy didn't have any family other than them.
He learned from the internet that Sergeant James Barnes was marked as killed in action on January 18th, 1944. His family had received his flag and they had a wake held at the same church where he'd attended his ma's funeral. The Barnes' had lost the market in 1946 and they moved back to the boroughs to be close to Mrs. Barnes family. Not a lot could be found after that. He knew that Bucky had left everything to Darcy – and everything consisted of the deed to the Rogers' apartment in Brooklyn and all the money in his bank account. But, as far as JARVIS could tell, it had never been claimed. The account was up to a ridiculous amount and the apartment had withheld the stand of time, staying locked up and occasionally tended to by the supers of the building – thanks to one Howard Stark. He made a mental point to go visit sometime soon.
He didn't know why he set a new pot of coffee to brew for the morning, but he did. Clint's girlfriend was pretty good about leaving the lounge before him – and cleaning up after herself – so he figured that it was a nice thing to do.
Grabbing a plate, he loaded it up with some cookies and ventured back to his room after putting the rest in a tupperware container. He had a lot to think about.
January 22, 2012 – Manhattan, New York – Stark Tower
Weak coffee always made Darcy cringe. When she made it, she made it as dark as she could and avoided any cream or sugar like the plague. However, it was a nice gesture when she wandered into the lounge before dawn to find the coffee finishing its brewing cycle.
She rinsed out the pink cup she'd left in the sink the day before, noting that it now had a blue friend. She picked up the cup and rinsed it out with soap before drying it and putting it away.
Darcy had run away before she could meet the remaining occupants of the tower. Shame burned in her cheeks as she poured herself some coffee, grimacing at the watered-down taste. It was…coffee flavored water at best. But it was still a nice thought.
"J-Man, what year did the war end?"
"What war are you referring to, Ms. Lewis?"
She thought about it. "World War II."
"The second world war ended on September 2nd, 1945. The United States was victorious."
She sighed. Her journal was sketchy when it came to that time. "JARVIS, do you have access to…war records? Like, if I asked you a name?"
"I have limited access to war records from the second world war. However, if it were made public record, it could be recovered. What name did you have in mind, Ms. Lewis?"
"James Barnes, born March 10th, 1917."
"Sergeant James Barnes was a member of the one hundred and seventh regiment later known as the Howling Commandos. He was killed in action on January 18th, 1944. His body was never recovered after a confrontation with a war captive."
She swallowed hard. Her voice wavered slightly as she asked, "Do you have a photo of him?"
The television on the left side of the wall flashed to life, displaying a grainy photograph of a dark haired man with a hat, fitted in a dark uniform with a tie. His mouth was pulled up into half a smile, the dimple in his chin pronounced. He looked so…carefree. So much like how she described him in her journal.
"There is also audio, Ms. Lewis. Would you like me to play it?"
"Audio?"
"A recording of Private Barnes accepting his promotion to Sergeant."
She nodded and JARVIS took that as consent.
"Private Barnes, the title of Sergeant comes with many responsibilities. Responsibilities to your unit and your country. Do you accept your position?"
"I, James Buchanan Barnes, accept this position of Sergeant."
Her knees met the floor before she realized what had happened. Darcy keened into the empty room, memories filling her head of Bucky, of Steve, of Brooklyn. Her heart broke all over again, her lungs unable to pull in enough air. It was messy and loud and completely undignified, but completely necessary.
It was like a piece of herself was slowly mending itself and it was one of the most painful things she'd ever experienced.
"Ms. Lewis, would you like me to alert Mr. Barton – "
"No," she sobbed out. Her hand clutched her chest as she drew in shuddering breaths. "I…Jay, where's the Tylenol? My head…" She swayed on her knees, gritting her teeth against the pain and trying to struggle to her feet.
"There is pain reliever in the cupboard above the stove. Might I also suggest burn cream?"
Her hands shook as she looked at them, red and angry from the hot coffee splashing on her. The pink mug was in pieces next to her feet and she was thankful that she hadn't cut herself.
"Ms. Lewis, the Captain is on his way – "
"Thanks," she mumbled, leaping up and grabbing a bottle of Tylenol before skittering out the door.
It was like a punch to the gut.
As soon as he opened the door to the lounge, there was a picture of Bucky that faded away against the television screen. He barked, "JARVIS, what the hell was that?"
"I apologize, Captain Rogers, I'm not at liberty to discuss the conversations that take place with other occupants of the tower."
He rolled his eyes, assuming that he'd imagined it, and made his way into the kitchen, his brows furrowing when he kicked something that soared across the floor and cracked. There was coffee pooled on the ground and remnants of a pink mug.
Had his coffee been so bad that it chased her away? That seemed illogical.
Sighing, he gathered up the broken pieces and threw them in the trash before wiping up the liquid with a towel. He hoped she was okay. It didn't seem like normal behavior to leave broken cups for anyone to hurt themselves on.
"Can you…can you order a new cup for Barton's girlfriend, JARVIS?"
"I can order a new mug for Mr. Barton's roommate. Will pink suffice?"
Steve smiled a little. "That'll be fine."
"What the fuck! It's like, morning still," Clint bemoaned, pulling his pillow over his face and trying to dislodge the unmoving lump that had situated itself on his legs. "I don't have training. I want to sleep."
Darcy sighed. She grabbed the pillow from him and whacked him across the face with it. "I'm having an existential crisis. It would be great if you'd wake up enough to care for a few minutes. I have coffee – "
He was up like a shot, wrestling her to the bed to climb over her and get to the nightstand. His hand smooshed against the side of her face and she yelled out to get him off. His knee was lodged against her armpit, his left hand against her face as he drank from the mug she'd brought him.
After a few moments, he sighed and smiled down at her disgruntled expression. "Ah. You can speak now."
"Put down the coffee."
As soon as the porcelain of the mug made contact with the wooden table, she grabbed his wrist and pulled hard, narrowing her eyes in satisfaction when he flipped onto his back. Her calf was flush against his throat, her weight supported on the leg she had propped between his legs.
"A little close to the goods, Darce." His eyes widened even more as he sputtered, "W-wait. Existential crisis – "
"Oh good, you were listening."
" – what happened?"
She sighed and pushed herself off of him, sitting between his legs as he sat up. "I remembered something. James. I made JARVIS research him and he pulled up a photo and an…an audio clip. When I heard his voice…" she shivered involuntarily. "It was like a dam that broke and I remembered. I remembered my life – pieces of it, anyway. Pieces with them and I remembered being happy."
"But you don't remember all of me yet."
"I remember that we kissed and – "
He shook his head. "That's not the important part. I…nevermind." He paused. "You had a moment with Nat last night. Did you remember anything from that?"
"She was in…the Red Room," Darcy creased her brows and she tried to pull at a memory that was dancing on the edge of her mind. "But her name wasn't Natasha, it was…Natalia? And my name wasn't Darcy…I can't remember clearly. I know that it was a HYDRA thing from my journal, but I don't…there's these images. And the more I try to weave them together, the harder they are to find." Her eyes shined with tears and she wiped them away angrily. "But I know, I know James. I know him like the back of my hand and – fuck, Clint! Why is this all so fucked up?"
He pulled her against him as she cried, his arms tight around her as she shook.
"We'll figure it out, sweetheart."
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~Grace
