The darkness felt like hands, strong as steel, pulling her deeper and deeper into his consciousness—or the lack thereof. She couldn't tell if the screaming was hers, or his, but it reverberated through her. There was no sense of self inside of him, no coherent thoughts, not even images. It was only overwhelming emotion.
Her mind reared back from his, trying to put some distance between them, but his hold on her was absolute. His terror and pain became hers, washing over her in waves; she could taste the iron tang of blood on her tongue, and the deep, penetrating cold in her bones. It crept over her until she couldn't feel her own body any more, couldn't hear the pounding of her own heart, or feel the rise and fall of her lungs.
Please. Please don't. Please, I—
All of a sudden the darkness was gone, torn away from her mind. Reality came rushing in; bringing back the sensations of her body that had been cut off. Bright light made her blink, and her arms flailed as she was unceremoniously wrenched up and backwards by a thick arm wrapped around her torso.
"Darcy! Darcy!"
Tony Stark was in her face, his hands on her cheeks, and his eyes concerned. His panic shot straight through her and Darcy wrenched herself away with a cry, shoving at his chest and pushing herself back against the person who held her.
Her heart pounded erratically, and her chest heaved as if she'd just run a marathon. Stark stepped back, hands up in a peaceful gesture, but his eyes were narrowed on her. Darcy's gaze darted around, taking in her surroundings as her memory finally jogged and supplied her with the information she needed.
The Winter Soldier. His room. She was in his room because she'd touched him and…
Her eyes shot to his crumpled form. He lay on the floor, curled up in the foetal position, his eyes screwed up shut and his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. The sight of him, combined with the overwhelming rush of both of their emotions, turned out to be the straw that broke her back. Without warning, Darcy became a sobbing mess. Her knees gave out and it was only the arm around her waist that kept her from face planting straight into the linoleum floor. Great, heaving sounds ripped out of her as she was slowly lowered to the ground. She crouched on all fours, shaking and trying not to vomit.
"Darcy, what the hell happened?" Stark asked, crouching down in front of her. He, thankfully, did not touch her again.
The arm around her waist slipped away, to be replaced by a hand on her back. The touch was too close to the bare skin of her arm and she flinched away from it violently.
"Don't touch me!" she gasped, skittering away on hands and knees. Through her tears she could see the face of a very confused and concerned Captain America, but she couldn't summon the words to reassure anyone. She felt…She couldn't even put it into words. It was if every positive thought or emotion had been scooped out of her, leaving behind only the terror and the memory of pain so great she had no name for it. Unconsciously, she mirrored the Soldier's pose, wrapping her arms around her chest as if they were the only things that could hold her bits and pieces together.
"Miss Lewis? What happened here?"
"I…I…" Her teeth chattered, both in fright and in memory of the cold. The cold. It was to be feared at all costs. It seeped into her body, through skin and muscle, right into her bones so that she'd never feel warm ever again.
Suddenly, her stomach rebelled and she lurched forward, catching herself on her hands as her body tried to eject food that wasn't there. She hadn't had much of a dinner to begin with, and what she had consumed had been hours before. There was nothing in her gut to throw up except stomach acid. Still, her muscles clenched and shook, forcing bile up her throat and out her mouth, leaving behind a foul burn. When it was done, she was a complete and utter mess. Her eyes streamed with tears, her nose ran and her hair clung to her sweaty face and neck, streaked with her own fluids.
She sat back shakily. Stark was exactly where she'd left him, but Steve had moved to crouch next to his friend, his hands hovering over him anxiously but not quite touching.
He turned to her. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice abruptly hard.
Darcy couldn't say anything. The words simply wouldn't come. She shook her head and looked away. She couldn't tell him how she'd felt the madness within his friend, felt it cling to her mind until she couldn't tell the difference between him and her. It would mean explaining what she'd done, and what she was.
"JARVIS?" Stark spoke without looking away from her. Darcy cringed into herself, knowing what was about to happen. "Want to fill us in?"
"Sir, I must apologise. I bear partial responsibility for this unfortunate outcome. I allowed Miss Lewis entrance to Sergeant Barnes' room on the assurance that she only sought to help him which, I believe, she was attempting to do."
Both men looked at her. Stark's eyebrows went up, while Steve simply stared angrily.
"Shortly after touching Sergeant Barnes, Miss Lewis began displaying signs of discomfort. However, it was not until her respiration and heart rate began to increase drastically that I sought to intervene. When I could not engage her attention vocally, I alerted you and the Captain to the situation, sir."
"And just how were you going to help him?" Stark asked her. "I know you're clever, but last time I checked you weren't a doctor."
Darcy looked away from the intensity of his gaze, shaking her head. She'd already said the words once in that room, she couldn't make herself do it again. JARVIS knew, there was no way that he didn't. Nothing in the Tower was private from him.
Suddenly, Steve stood up and crossed the room. He reached down and yanked her up by the arms, his hands closing tightly around her bare upper arms.
"What did you do to him?" he bellowed, shaking her a little. "Tell me, now!"
In all the pictures and movie reels about Captain America, none of them had ever caught him in a fit of rage. He held her off the floor, his face flushed with his anger, and his eyes colder than ice. She was so distraught, her mind disorganized, that she had absolutely no defence against the skin contact. Thoughts, emotions, and images that weren't her own rushed through her mind.
She saw an image of Tony Stark in his workshop, covered in grease and sitting on the floor with pieces of a machine spread around him.
"She's Foster's assistant. Builds all her toys. Why?"
"She was there when we brought Bucky in. I didn't recognise her."
"Yeah, they're a new addition. You were off playing Good Cop in D.C when they moved in."
It disappeared quickly, replaced by her sitting the lab, hunched over a StarkPad with a half eaten Pop Tart in one hand. She could feel the curiosity that accompanied the memory: he'd wanted to stop to speak to her, but he hadn't had the time then.
Darcy kicked out at him, trying to wrench herself away from his grip. His thoughts and feelings were overpowering her, swirling around her in fragments, over riding her own mind.
"Let go!" she screamed. "Please!"
"Tell me!" he screamed back.
"You're hurting me!" Darcy sobbed.
And he was, though he had no idea. Her head throbbed and ached, feeling as if it might explode at any moment. She felt her feet touch the ground again, but he didn't release her arms. She stared at him dazedly, fixing on the hard line of his mouth. His voice screamed at her, demanding answers, but his lips had stopped moving. She couldn't hear anything from the room anymore, just his voice and the frantic beating of her heart. Heat suffused her body, starting in her chest and rushing outwards over her limbs as if she'd been dipped in hot water. The world seemed to tilt abruptly before Steve's face suddenly looked like it was at the other end of the room, his arms and torso weirdly distorted. A high pitched ringing sound began, like the hum of a tuning fork when struck, but Darcy welcomed it as it drowned out the sound of the screaming.
Her body swayed to the side, and then everything went black.
The steady beep, beep, beep is what woke her initially, but it was the throbbing in her head that kept her awake. Slowly, she peeled her eyes open and blinked confusedly at her surroundings. Lavender walls, calming scenic paintings, and the gentle glow of early dawn greeted her. It took her a few moments to make the connection to her memories of the Tower's hospital floor, but when she did everything else clicked. She sucked in a shaky breath as her brain powered up and memory rushed in.
"You're awake."
Darcy turned her head to the right to see Jane sitting in a chair next to the bed, yellow legal notepad in her lap and a pen in her hand. Her hair was an absolute mess, tied back sloppily and looking tangled, her eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, but it was the hard set to her mouth that made Darcy's stomach plummet.
"Jane, I—"
Jane stood stiffly and turned for the door without a word. The heart monitor started beeping faster as Darcy watched her leave but she didn't have long to panic. She had barely hauled herself into a sitting position before the door was opening again. Darcy watched, her dread mounting as Steve, Clint, Tony Stark, Agent Romanov, Jane, and Sam all filed into her room, making it feel incredibly small. She was briefly glad that both Thor and Banner were away; Thor in Asgard and Banner helping out with the outbreak of Ebola in Africa since the serum that made him into the Hulk also made him immune to human diseases.
She watched nervously as they all found a bit of wall to prop themselves against, arrayed around her like a council about to pass judgement. The heart monitor went crazy.
"So we had a meeting while you were out," Stark said abruptly, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down his nose at her. "Apparently you deserve a chance to explain yourself." He made a face that clearly displayed his opinion on this. "I was over ruled."
Darcy looked at each of them and found most of them impassive and carefully blank, their eyes assessing her and every hitch of her breath. Only Jane and Stark showed any emotion.
"Well?" Stark snapped his fingers at her. "Let's get to it."
"Tony," Steve warned, glancing at the other man before back at Darcy.
"I…" Darcy felt as if her tongue was about to choke her and the heart monitor was going positively mental. She ripped it off of her finger. Perhaps if they didn't know exactly how fast her heart was racing maybe it would lessen her humiliation and her fear. "I'm…a mutant," she whispered.
It was the first time she'd said those words out loud in front of so many people. Stark snorted derisively and it made her flinch.
"Tell us something we don't know," he said waspishly. "Like what you were doing to Barnes."
He gaze was hard and unforgiving, with none of that camaraderie she'd briefly experienced before; it hurt more than Darcy thought possible. When had she begun to seek this man's approval, or any of them for that matter? She hadn't realised she was so attached that their rebuff would sting so much.
"I was trying to help him," Darcy said, slightly defensive. Her eyes swept around the room to the others. "I'm a touch telepath."
"What makes you think you could help him?" Romanov asked, her voice calm and mild.
Darcy hadn't interacted with the Widow very much, the other woman wasn't nearly as chatty as her partner, but she had always been polite and kind, if a little distant. Darcy glanced at her, a little unnerved by the intensity of those blue eyes.
"I've done it before," she told them, licking her dry lips. "Once. A girl at college. She was…She'd been raped." Darcy shrugged. "I helped her sleep."
"How do you do that, exactly?" Steve asked. He, too, watched her with an unnerving intensity and she felt a little shiver of fear, remembering the strength of his hands, and of his anger. Unconsciously, she wrapped her arms around herself again.
"When I touch someone, their mind opens to me," she said softly, looking down at the blanket that covered her legs. "I can hear their thoughts, feel their emotions, and see their memories. I experience everything that they're thinking and feeling. If I concentrate on it, I can influence those thoughts and feelings." She didn't dare look at any of them now and her fingers began plucking at the blanket. "It's easier when the person is sleeping, like Carolina. When she began to dream about that night, I'd push her mind in another direction, to something happier, so she'd sleep through the night."
"That was your aim with Bucky?"
Darcy nodded, still looking at her lap. "Stark had said that he hadn't talked to anyone. When I came up here, he was sitting in the corner, rocking back and forth. I thought that if…if I could get inside his head, I could help him."
"And what happened when you…got inside his head?"
There was something in Steve's tone that made her look up, a tinge of emotion that she couldn't identify. His face was no longer quite so blank as before, his expression not as hard. He was leaning forward and his eyes practically burned as her watched her.
"He…I don't really know how to explain it," she confessed. "It was like he grabbed at me and held on. I had no control, it was overwhelming." She paused and shrugged again. "I've never had that happen before."
"Did you…see anything?"
She shook her head. "There were no thoughts in his mind. Just emotion and the darkness."
"Darkness?" Steve echoed.
Darcy nodded. "Darkness. Terror. Cold."
Steve's face paled and one hand reached up to rub at his mouth. He turned away from her, walking to the other side of the room where a window let in the gradually rising sunlight.
"So you tried to get into the Winter Soldier's head and it backfired," Stark said. "My question is what have you been doing to the rest of us?"
Darcy's head snapped up and she stammered, "I haven't—I've never—"
"You expect me to trust you? You just admitted that you have the ability to control a person's mind. How are we to know that you haven't been getting in and fucking around?" He viciously jabbed at the side of his head, his expression murderous. "How do we know you're not some kind of Hydra spy?"
Someone snorted, loudly, and everyone turned to look at Clint standing beside the Widow with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. He arched an eyebrow at Stark.
"Really? A spy? You must think we've gone soft," he remarked mildly. "Mutant she may be, but spy? I'll eat every last one of my arrows."
Beside him, Romanov tilted her head to the side. "I was raised and trained by the Red Room. She is no operative of theirs."
"Hydra isn't the only one out to get us," Stark reminded them. "She could be one of Magneto's merry band of psychopaths or any other number of groups!"
"I've asked you before, and I'll ask you again, how many times can you recall Darcy willingly touching you? Or anyone else?" He looked around at the others. "'Cause every time I've gone to touch her, she's either pulled away from me or visibly hesitated."
Steve turned around to look at her. "I've touched you. You shook my hand the other day."
Darcy nodded. "I try to block it out. Sometimes things slip through, mostly emotions." She gestured with one hand toward Steve. "I could feel your anxiety, your grief."
He didn't seem to know what to say to that, but his face didn't go hard again, which made her feel slightly better. He nodded once and opened his mouth to say something else but before he could, Jane cut him off.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded suddenly, tears in her eyes. "After everything we've gone through? Why didn't you trust me?"
Darcy had to look away, a painful lump in her throat. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"I don't want your apologies! I want a goddamn answer!"
Jane rarely swore, rarely yelled, and never at Darcy. Before she could stop it, tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "I couldn't risk it, Jane. I just…I couldn't."
She was met with a thick, painful silence. When Darcy looked up at Jane the diminutive woman was livid and hurt. "You couldn't risk it? You couldn't—"
"You should stop speaking now," the Widow interrupted. "Your emotions are compromising your logic."
Jane turned her fury on the Russian woman. "Stay out of this!" she yelled. "This is none of your business."
"It is my business. It is all of ours," Romanov replied calmly. "And you are speaking out of ignorance. You have no idea what it is like to be different."
Jane was so outraged that she lost the ability to speak for a moment. Her hand went to her chest, pressing against the old button up that she wore. "I—I don't know—How dare—"
Romanov raised a hand. "You have been ridiculed and ostracised by your community, which is dominated by old men. They are intimidated by your intelligence and your passion. It is unfortunate that this is the case, but those who admire you far outnumber your detractors. You do not know what it is like to be inherently feared for what you are, for what you have no control over."
Beside her, Clint shifted, his eyes on her face. Everyone else went silent and still, all of them perfectly aware of what it was that she referred to, even Sam, who was new to the group. Jane knew just as well as the others that Natasha Romanov had been manipulated and brainwashed by Hydra, by the Red Room, but her anger chased away whatever sympathy she might have had for the other woman.
"You're not a mutant, you—"
"I was made into what I am now, something which I had no control over. She had no control over her birth, or her genetics," the Widow said sharply, gesturing with one hand to Darcy. "There are those who would kill her simply for existing." She shot Tony a glare. "Why do you think Magneto and his merry band of psychopaths exist? Because mutants are the new blacks, the new Jews, the new gays. I do not blame her for keeping this secret from us, though she was sloppy with it," she glanced at Darcy, arching one perfect red eyebrow, before turning her glare back on Jane. "The instinct to protect oneself from harm, to survive at all costs, is the strongest that there is. You cannot understand her situation, but you should attempt to."
Jane fell silent, pressing a shaking hand to her mouth and turning her back to all of them. Darcy felt a simultaneous rush of gratitude towards Natasha, and fear that Jane would never forgive her.
The silence was broken by the sudden and unexpected appearance of a doctor. He walked into the room and stopped abruptly at the sight of them all, chart in his hands.
"Excuse me, I did not mean to interrupt. I can come back later," he said, already turning back for the door.
"There is no need, Doctor," Steve said. "What happened to her?"
The doctor looked to Darcy, silently asking for permission. She shrugged miserably, not really caring if they were all present to hear her diagnosis or not. They already knew the worst about her.
"You had a grand mal seizure, though the cause is unknown," the doctor said, coming to stand next to her bedside. "Do you have a history of seizures? Or any in the family."
Darcy shook her head. "No. I've never had a seizure before."
"You may have had one and not known it. They can be very mild. Do you ever have moments where you've lost a chunk of memory? Where you've arrived somewhere and you have no idea how you've gotten there?"
Again, Darcy shook her head and he marked something down on the chart in his hands. He asked her a few more questions before he put the chart down on her legs and pulled out a small flashlight, shining it in her eyes. The others were silent, watching the procedure without comment, and for a little while she forgot that they were there. The doctor put her through her paces, making her lift her arms and press against his, testing her resistance and her balance. He pulled a little pack of cards out of his pocket and asked her to identify what she saw, or solve the simple math equations on them. When he was done, he scribbled some more on the chart.
"I wish I could tell you why you had a seizure, but other than slightly elevated brain activity your tests are all normal. Random seizures are not terribly uncommon, and there's a good chance that it will never happen again, but I want you to be cautious, okay? Monitor your health closely, and if you feel off at all, even if you can't explain it, I want you to come back immediately."
Darcy nodded. "Can I go home now?"
He smiled down at her kindly and Darcy almost burst into tears at the sight of it. It felt like the first kind gesture she'd seen in ages, though she knew that wasn't really true. The doctor seemed oblivious as Darcy wrestled her emotions under control.
"I'm going to write you a script for a mild painkiller. Take it for the headache I'm sure you have, but if it doesn't go away after two days, I want you to come back." He pulled out a pad from his pocket, writing quickly. "Also, just as a general tip to everyone in the room," he ripped the paper off and handed it to her before looking up at the superheroes arrayed around him. "You never hold down a person having a seizure. She has intramuscular bruising on her arms because of whoever was grabbing her. Don't ever do it again," he said with finality.
"I'll have your discharge papers drawn up," he told her with another smile.
As soon as the doctor left, Stark turned to her. "You've never had a seizure before?" he asked sceptically.
Darcy looked up at him, a sharp spike of anger flared through her. "Why would I lie about that?"
If he heard the emotion in her voice, he didn't seem to care. "So why'd you have one now? Awfully convenient."
Darcy threw back the covers and slid out of the bed, going for the drawers where she suspected—vola!—her clothes would be. She snatched them up and held them to her chest against the hospital gown, thanking god that whoever had put her in it had seen fit to give her two. At least she wasn't flashing the Avengers her bare ass as well as her tattered dignity.
"I'll have my stuff out of the Tower within the hour," she said tightly, staring Tony Stark down.
"No," Jane spoke up immediately. "No. You're not going anywhere. Why would you leave?"
Darcy tilted her chin up and swallowed down the sharp lump in her throat. She refused to cry in front of them anymore, to show any more weakness. "I know when I'm not wanted."
"No one ever said that, Darcy," Clint spoke up.
"I may have," Stark interjected. "At some point."
"Shut the fuck up, Stark," Jane snapped. "You're not her boss, I am. You can kick her out of her apartment, but you can't fire her."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "Technically, I could kick you both out, you and your lab. I could take away your funding. You prepared for that, Foster?"
"It's my fault."
Steve's voice broke through the tension, cutting off Jane before she could speak, though judging by the way her tiny body seemed to inflate, she was ready to start screaming at Stark.
"What's your fault?" the Widow asked.
Steve looked over at Darcy, but it wasn't her face he was focused on, it was her arm. She looked down at herself, at where the hospital gown didn't quite cover the livid bruise on her white skin. It was the kind of bruise that gave rise to the phrase 'beaten black and blue'.
"Her seizure," he said, almost to himself, his eyes glued on the mark. "It was me. I grabbed her."
"You didn't know—"
Steve shook his head sharply. "No. I hurt her…before the seizure. She told me to let her go, that I was hurting her, but I didn't listen." His hand went up and over his face again as he slumped back against the windowsill. "I was so angry, I hurt her," he whispered.
"Okay, I hate to be the dick right now," Stark said, drawing everyone's attention back to him, "but how does grabbing her arms cause a seizure?"
Everyone's gaze shifted to her, as if they were all puppets being controlled by the same master. Everyone, that is, but Steve. His head was hanging down, his hand still over his face.
"Why are you looking at me?" Darcy snapped. "Do I look like a doctor?"
"Well, you don't like a mutant, or a closet engineer, but apparently you're both of those," Stark pointed out.
Darcy glared at him before dropping her clothes on to the bed. She was tired of feeling vulnerable around them. She grabbed her jeans and started slipping them on under her gown.
"I don't really know. All I know is that I couldn't block him out when he touched me," she said, forcing first one leg and then another into the denim. "After your soldier friend, I just couldn't hold up my walls, and you wouldn't let go and your emotions were just…I don't know. Everything went weird, and then it went black. Your guess is as good as mine."
"It was my fault," Steve repeated.
No one said a word in response; they wouldn't even look at him. It probably was his fault, Darcy thought to herself, but instead of feeling angry about it, she just desperately wanted to get the hell out of Dodge.
Thankfully, whoever had dressed her had seen fit to actually tie the stays on the two gowns, so she could pull her arms in and dress under it. Grabbing her bra, she turned her back to them as she awkwardly got into it. No one offered to leave and give her some damn privacy. Assholes, she thought bitterly.
"Why didn't you tell anyone what you are?"
The voice was new, and it belonged to Sam. She had almost forgotten that he was even in the room since he'd been completely silent since they all entered it. He'd simply found a corner to lean into and stayed there, listening to everything.
Darcy looked over to find him watching her calmly, and though part of her knew it was illogical for this to be her last straw, her temper snapped and she lashed out at him.
"Why? Why? Were you not listening to a word she said?" Darcy demanded, gesturing angrily at Romanov. "Do you know what they do to people like me? I'll tell you! We fucking disappear, never to be seen or heard of again, because we're in some laboratory basement being picked apart by scientists." She was shouting at him, but she no longer gave a fuck.
"I understand that," Sam said calmly. "But why hide it from the Avengers? You know what we do. We're openly affiliated with the X-Men. Why would you think we'd hurt you? Or even judge you?"
Angrily, Darcy ripped off her gown combo, not caring if everyone got a flash of her bra at that point. She grabbed her t-shirt and tugged it over her head.
"I've told exactly three people in my life what I am," she told Sam. "My mother, my childhood best friend, and the girl I helped in college. My mother taught me to never show people what I am, because she knew that they'd either want to hurt me, or use me—or both. And she was right. You know what that friend of mine did? He told me that my secret was safe with him, that it was so cool, and then he went and told everyone." The lump was back and she swallowed hard against it. "All of the kids at school, their parents, the teachers, everyone. It became a goddamn witch-hunt. My mother and I had to run in the middle of the night, had to leave all of our stuff, everything, because they were going to kill me."
Sam opened up his mouth to speak and Darcy held up her hand to stall whatever it was that he wanted to say. "When I met Jane, I had no reason to tell her. Why did she need to know? I was safer, and so was she, if she didn't know. But then Thor came, and with Thor came S.H.E.I.L.D, and then you lot, and there was no way I could tell you because if any of your enemies ever found out I'd be entirely and royally fucked!"
"We'd protect you—"
"Protect me?" she echoed, her voice slightly hysterical. "Sam, up until recently, no one knew that S.H.E.I.L.D was actually Hydra. Could you imagine what would have happened to me if S.H.E.I.L.D had been aware of what I am? 'Cause I sure as hell can imagine it, it's all I've been imagining since you," she shot a look at Steve, "decided to toss a couple of Hellicarriers into a building."
"Look at what they did to his friend, Sergeant Barnes" she continued. "Look what they did to a man who was born normal. They physically and chemically altered that man's mind and body to suit their needs. What do you think they'd do to me?"
"They would rip you apart," the Widow said softly, "and remake you in their image, or kill you while trying."
Darcy nodded, even as a spike of fear shot through her. She knew the reality that awaited her if people like Hydra ever found out about her. She knew the reality that was Logan Howlett's past. Mutants were always a prize to people like Hydra, but a mutant with her abilities? She would be a gold mine to them.
"I'm not like you guys," she said. "I'm not strong, or skilled. I'm not a soldier and I'm sure as hell nothing 'super'. I can't defend myself." Darcy looked at Jane, who was watching her with wide eyes, her face pale and distraught. "Secrecy is my only defence."
No one seemed inclined to say anything to that, not even Tony, so Darcy bent down and grabbed her Chucks from under the bed. She sat down in the chair that Jane had occupied in order to lace them up. No one moved or spoke until she was done.
"So what now?" Barton asked, looking at Stark.
"I know I have no right to ask this," Steve said, ignoring his comrade's question. "But I'd like you to try again with Bucky."
Out of all the things she'd expected him to say that was never on the list. Darcy stared at him in shock, and she wasn't the only one.
"Seriously?" Tony looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.
Steve ignored them all, his eyes desperate. "Please."
"I…I don't think I can," she told him, tugging at the hem of her t-shirt. "You'd be better off getting someone else like Professor Xavier."
"Tried that already," Clint said. "First person we called while you were out like a light. He's unavailable for an indefinite amount of time."
"Miss Lewis, I know that I have no right to ask you of anything," Steve said, his gaze slipping to her arms once again, "but I'm not asking for me. I'm asking for Bucky. Please—"
"You don't understand," she interrupted. "He pulled me in, held on to me. I couldn't get out of his mind, I couldn't pull back. If you and Stark hadn't come in, I don't know that I would have ever gotten out. I…I felt his madness seep into me. I was just as terrified as he was, just as lost and confused. I…I can't do that again."
Steve seemed to deflate, falling back against the wall once more. "I understand," he said after a long moment.
Despite the way he'd treated her, Darcy felt guilty for denying him. Yes, he had hurt her, he'd ignored her pleas to stop, but she couldn't totally blame him. She'd been privy to his thoughts and feelings at that moment, and she knew that his extreme anger at her had been rooted in fear for his best friend. She could understand how he'd lost sight of his reason in that moment. The best friend he'd thought was dead, the man he'd learned had spent the last seventy years being tortured and brain washed and used as a lethal killing machine, the friend he'd only just found…Yes, she could understand how all that emotion, all that fear might override his good sense, but just because she understood didn't mean she would never be able to forget it. She wasn't sure she'd ever fully trust him again.
"Sir?"
The cool sound of JARVIS' voice made her jump, as it did Jane.
"Yes, JARVIS?" Stark said.
"Dr. Madison has been waiting some time for an indication that he may commence with Miss Lewis' discharge. Shall I inform that he should wait?"
"No, that's not necessary. He can come in. I think we're done here anyway." He looked Darcy up and down. "You don't have to leave, but this? This shit isn't done yet."
Those words felt ominous to Darcy and for a second she wondered if Stark somehow knew everything, but that was impossible. The only person who knew that much about her was her mama, and Clara Lewis was long dead, taking her daughter's secrets with her to the grave. Besides, Stark had a big fucking mouth; he wouldn't be able to keep his trap shut if he knew all that she could do.
The door opened, revealing the doctor once more. In his hand he had several papers, which he held up. "Miss Lewis, if you're ready."
Grabbing her bag, which had been hanging off of the side of Jane's chair, Darcy followed him out of the room and towards the nurse's station. He went over the paperwork with her, showing her where to sign, and left her with a list of signs and symptoms of the different types of seizures and how to deal with them should she have another. When she was done, he gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder and a wish for her good health.
Darcy carefully folded her copy of the paperwork and tucked it into her bag before turning for the exit. Waiting for her at the end of the hall was none other than Steve Rogers.
"What can I do for you, Captain?" she asked warily as she approached.
"I wanted to apologise for my actions," he said solemnly. "I was completely out of line. I've never laid a hand on a woman before, and I never thought I would. I'm so sor—"
Darcy held up her hand to stem the flow. "I get it, I do." He looked incredibly sceptical. "No, really, I do. You were emotional, and you weren't thinking clearly." She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling the pull of the bruises he'd put on her, and glared at him fiercely. "But you should know that I know how to make fucking bombs. You feel me?"
His eyes widened slightly. "I feel you."
She nodded. "Don't ever touch me like that again and we'll be fine."
"Yes, ma'am."