The first thing Darcy did was return to her apartment and head straight for the shower. She could smell vomit in her hair, and that dirty feeling that always accompanied a hospital visit clung to her skin. She turned on the water as hot as she could stand it and stripped naked, dropping her clothes on the bathroom tiles.
She stepped under the spray, turning her face up into it and welcoming the warmth and that little bit of a sting that came with good water pressure and an enormous heater. It washed away the sticky feeling of old tears on her cheeks, and her shoulders slowly started to relax as the room warmed up and the air grew heavy with moisture. Turning in place, she tipped her head back, soaking her hair.
"Jesus Christ," she groaned, rubbing her hand over her face and down the back of her head. "I'm so fucking stupid."
She had known the moment she stepped into that man's room that it was a bad idea, and yet she'd gone and done it anyway. Her mama would have been appalled by how reckless she'd been. She knew better, she really did.
Her mother picked up the phone on the second ring, twirling the long cord around her finger as was her habit.
"Hello?" she said pleasantly. "Oh, Vivian. Hello. What can—What do you mean, they know? Who knows what?"
Darcy glanced up from her book at the change in her mother's tone in time to see her mother turn sharply towards her daughter, eyes concerned.
"Vivian, you've got to be kidding me! He's a little boy. Boys make up stories. There's nothing wrong with Darcy."
Darcy felt her stomach drop out of her, and then her mother's gaze changed with whatever it was that Vivian Walters was saying. Darcy's heart began to pound erratically as she recognised the look in her mother's eyes: fear.
"I see. Okay. Okay. Thank you for telling me. Goodbye."
She hung up the phone, slamming it down into the receiver. "Go get your coat and your shoes on. I want you to go to your Uncle Peter's and wait for me."
"Mama—"
"Go, Darcy!" her mother shouted, a panicked look in her eye. "I'll meet you there. Just go!"
Darcy sighed and reached for the bottle of shampoo. Unlike with Jeremy, she'd only exposed herself in order to help. She really and truly had thought that she might be able to bring about a positive change for James Barnes, but now she wasn't so sure. While it had been emotionally draining to be in Carolina's mind, and Darcy herself had had nightmares for a while, that experience had been so much easier. Carolina had been traumatised, yes, but her mind was solid and stable whereas his was fractured and chaotic. Just the memory of being in his mind made her shiver.
She poured a generous dollop of shampoo into her hand and began working it through her long, thick hair. The scent surrounded her, comforting and familiar, which was exactly what she needed after the stress of her morning. Tipping her head back under the spray, she thought back to how the Avengers had reacted to her revelation and, all things considered, she had to acknowledge how much worse it could have gone. The thought of the Black Widow's comments, though, brought warmth to Darcy's chest that had nothing to do with her shower. A part of her, albeit a small part, was actually relieved to have it out in the open.
But then there was Jane.
Darcy could get over it if Stark never spoke a kind to word her ever again. It wouldn't be great, but she could deal. She could even deal if all of the Avengers shunned her, though that didn't look like it was about to happen, but if she lost Jane? That was a possibility she didn't want to contemplate. Her eyes began to burn again and if tears leaked out of her eyes, at least there was no one there to notice. Darcy sniffed and grabbed her bar of soap, rubbing it absentmindedly on her skin.
She would find Jane after her shower. She would explain. She'd do her damnest to make Jane see. It hadn't been a deliberate slight against the astrophysicist, and Darcy knew that if she were to fix things between them she would have to make Jane see that. Her powers were like Jane's research in a way—something to be held close to the breast and kept hidden from everyone else lest it be taken away or, in Darcy's case, used against someone.
A thought occurred to her as she washed and she paused in the act of her ablutions. Holding the bar of soap out in front of her on the flat of her palm, Darcy concentrated on it: focused on the shape of it, the slippery feel of its surface, the weight of it in her palm.
Slowly, it rose a few inches above her hand and hovered there as if awaiting instruction. It was such a small thing, that little bar of soap, and yet what she could do with it meant so much. Suddenly angry at herself, she whipped her hand away from the bar and it dropped, landing hard against the floor of the tub. She didn't bother to retrieve it. Turning back to the water, she rinsed the soap off of her body and tried not to cry again.
By the time she left the shower, her body was flushed pink and her fingers were pruned like raisins. She stepped over her clothes, they could be dealt with later, and grabbed a towel to wrap around herself. Leaving wet footprints behind her, she padded to her bedroom and pulled out fresh clothes. She dressed more for comfort than for that unique 'Darcy style' that she usually aimed for, throwing on a pair of black yoga pants and an old long sleeved shirt that had been washed so many times it was stretched out weirdly and almost transparent.
Pulling a brush through her hair, she braided it and tied it off, not bothering to dry it. It would be a nightmare later, but she'd deal with that when the time came. Forcing her feet into a pair of socks and grabbing her shoes, she headed for the door, intent on finding Jane.
She was only a few steps away from it when a knock sounded on the other side. Darcy paused, her stomach jolting nervously.
"Doctor Foster is on the other side, Miss Lewis," JARVIS said suddenly, startling her.
"Oh. Um. Okay." Darcy crossed the distance and opened the door, shoes in one hand.
Jane looked up at her, expression absolutely miserable. Her nose and eyes were red, and it was clear that she had been crying for quite some time.
"I'm sorry!" she blurted. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have—" She hiccupped. "—have yelled at you. I'm a b-bad friend."
Darcy didn't pause to think about it as she dropped her shoes and closed the gap between them, grabbing Jane around the waist and pulling her in for a hug. Jane clung to her, hands pulling at the back of Darcy's shirt, and before either of them could do a thing about it they were both crying and holding on to each other tightly. They stood like that, just holding on, and Darcy didn't bother to count the seconds as they turned into minutes. The part of her that had been quietly panicking finally quieted as the feel of Jane's thin arms squeezing her tight enough to be mildly uncomfortable.
Jane pulled back first, sniffing and giving her a watery smile. "Oh, I think I boogered on you," she said, wiping at Darcy's shoulder.
Darcy sniffed too, and laughed wetly. "Ew. Take it back. What'd I ever do to you?"
"It's how I show my love."
Instantly, the levity was gone and Darcy's face crumpled. "I love you, too. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm so—"
"No," Jane said, shaking her head. "That crazy Russian woman was right. I reacted emotionally. As soon as I stopped to think about it, I realised I was being incredibly dumb." She sniffed again, fixing Darcy with a look. "Which you know I'm not usually."
Darcy laughed again and buried her face in Jane's shoulder, careful not to let the skin of her cheeks brush against Jane's. Jane didn't seem to care much as she pulled Darcy in closer, wrapping her arms around her back and resting her head against her friend's wet hair.
"Can you forgive me?" she asked softly.
Darcy nodded adamantly against Jane's shoulder, her words muddled, "Nothing to forgive."
Jane pulled back again, just enough to free one of her arms, and held up her hand as if expecting a high five. Darcy looked at it, and then back to Jane, confused.
"What are—" Jane wiggled her fingers and it clicked in Darcy's mind. "Are…Are you sure?"
Jane nodded, a small smile on her face. "I trust you."
Darcy nearly started crying again, but she managed to stop herself. Barely. Instead, she reached up and pressed her palm flat against Jane's, opening her mind slightly to the other woman's.
Warmth rushed through her, filling the corners of her mind and sweeping her along with it. Images of Darcy, of her with Jane, with Thor, with Erik, quickly followed. Overlaying it were snippets of her own voice making some pithy comment, or her boisterous laughter. Darcy could feel Jane's concentration as she pulled up memory after memory of the two of them, everything from mopey drinking sessions to all night science benders to casual lunches where Jane made Darcy inhale her drink on a laugh.
At that, Darcy did start crying again. "I love you, too," she said sniffling and smiling. She shifted her fingers, twining them between Jane's and holding tight.
Concentrating, Darcy focused on the emotions Jane invoked within her and then pushed them at the invisible line that separated their two minds. She knew when Jane felt it, because the other woman gasped, and then began to laugh, tipping her head forward until their foreheads rested against each other, their eyes closed and their hands joined.
"That's pretty amazing, Darce."
"Yeah?"
"Definitely."
"Can…Can I show you something else?" Darcy asked, tugging on Jane's waist slightly. The smaller woman nodded and allowed herself to be pulled into the apartment proper. Darcy let go of her to close the door, ending the link between their minds.
"What is it?" Jane looked at her curiously, but to her credit she didn't look concerned or wary.
Darcy sighed and snatched up her keys from where they sat in a bowl near the front door. Standing in front of Jane, she held the keys tightly in one hand, and hesitated. Part of her knew that Jane deserved to know everything, and that hiding anything else would certainly break not only Jane's heart, but also the fragile ties she had to the Avengers. They would see her secrecy as a sign of duplicity, and that was the last thing she wanted.
Still, old habits died hard, and her heart pounded as she slowly opened her hand, letting her keys lie flat on her palm. It took her longer to do it, her concentration was a bit shoddy, but she forced herself to focus on the shape and feel of the keys, remembering the sharp scent of metal, and exerted her will on the item before her. Slowly, it began to hover above her palm.
"Holy shit, Darcy," Jane breathed.
Darcy didn't look at her, not because she didn't want to see Jane's reaction—she definitely did—but if she didn't give this 110% of her attention, the keys would fall. Slowly, she dropped her hand away, letting them float gently in the air between the two women, casually defying the laws of gravity.
"Holy shit," Jane repeated in the same awed tone. "Can you do that with anything?"
Darcy reached out and caught the keys just as she released her hold on them. "No, only small things. I'm not sure but…I think I'm limited to the things I can physically move. Like, I can't shove a car out of the way or anything." She grinned suddenly. "I totally tried once. Nadda."
Jane laughed suddenly, the sound reverberating off the walls in the otherwise silent apartment. "Of course you did."
Darcy shrugged, smiling sheepishly. Her heart felt light, lighter than it had since her mama died back when she was a sophomore. She surged forward, grabbing Jane up in a hug again, squeezing her as tight as she could.
"Thank you," she whispered.
She felt hands on her head, gently stroking her damp hair, and Darcy promised herself that she wouldn't start crying again.
"Hey, Darce?"
"Mmm?"
"Can we do that again? The hand thing?"
Darcy pulled back and laughed. Reaching up, she and Jane entangled their fingers again and their minds blurred together. Darcy was careful not to go too far into Jane's consciousness. She didn't want to probe, even by accident. She'd always pictured her mental shields as a floor to ceiling concrete wall, stretching as long and far as the eye could see. It had a single door in it, and it was this door that she used to block the majority of people's feelings and thoughts when she touched them. It wasn't fail proof, and she always ended up with at least a little bit of their mental white noise, but it worked well enough to let her interact with people in a some-what normal way. But Darcy had never shared her mind with someone like this before, not even with her mama. It was both invigorating, and freeing, sharing herself like this.
They stayed like that for a while, both of them pushing thoughts and emotions at each other. When they finally pulled apart, their tears had dried on their cheeks and Darcy was glad she hadn't bothered to put on any make-up after her shower.
"Okay, enough crying," Jane said, wiping at her face. "I'm hungry. Are you hungry?"
"The Grille?" Darcy asked, thinking of their favourite breakfast spot. Cheap, greasy, and huge portions. It suited Jane's inherent inability to feed herself a balanced meal and Darcy's ingrained habits of eating on the cheap from her college days.
"God, yes," Jane moaned as Darcy stepped back and snatched up her shoes. "Where were you going, anyway?"
"To find you."
Jane smiled softly at her, and then reached out to steady her as she balanced on one foot to get her shoe on.
"Thanks," Darcy said with a smile.
"Any time."
Darcy sighed comfortably as she and Jane entered the lab, their bellies full of good, old-fashioned diner food. It felt as if days had passed since she'd last been in there, though it had only been half a day. Her experience with Sergeant Barnes had only put her in the hospital for a few hours, which, all things considered, was a blessing.
Their routine was old and worn in, like a favourite pair of shoes, and they fell back into it as if nothing out of the ordinary had passed. Jane buried herself in calculations that would have to be programmed into the machinery that Darcy crawled around on the floor with, grunting and giving it a swift kick when something didn't fit quite right—because contrary to what some people say, sometimes kicking it really does fix it.
DUM-E found her quickly. He rolled up to her, chirruping happily and offering her a selection of tools that she didn't actually need but took anyway, just to make him happy. She'd half-expected to find that Stark had forbidden the robot from being around her, but either DUM-E didn't give a single fuck for Stark's rules—a distinct possibility considering that the robot had a legit personality—or Stark's simply not that vindictive. She's not sure which one appeals to her most.
She and Jane had worked steadily for several hours, the sun dipping low in the sky outside their windows, when the semi-silence—infiltrated only by grunts and the occasional shouted inquiry—was broken by the sound of boots on linoleum. Darcy looked up as the Black Widow entered the lab, her eyes sweeping around the room and taking everything in as if she expected something to pop out at her.
Jane looked up at the same time that Darcy did, and she could see the scientist's spine straightening at the sight of the agent, but the Widow only acknowledged her with a small nod of the head. Her eyes were focused on Darcy, which, naturally, made Darcy's stomach feel like it was about to fall out of her butt.
"Lewis," she said, approaching Darcy's desk. She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a pair of black gloves. "These are for you."
She dropped them on the table and looked at Darcy expectantly. Only Darcy didn't really know what to say. She stared at the gloves; they were made of some sort of synthetic material with dark grey stitching along the seams, but they may as well have been hot lava for all that Darcy wanted to touch them.
Clearly, the Widow didn't trust her to keep her powers to herself. Darcy tried to shove away bubble of emotion welling up inside her gut. Really, she shouldn't be surprised. The Black Widow was a famous spy and assassin. Why would she trust Darcy, whom she'd only met a few times, and who clearly had secrets of her own? Obviously—
"They're for when we train," she said, interrupting Darcy's spiralling thoughts. Darcy's eyes snapped up to her in confusion and watched as the Widow pulled out another pair, identical to the ones on the desk between them. "I have my own. They're lightweight and flexible, and they won't make your hands sweat. At least, not any more than normal."
Darcy blinked at her stupidly. "I don't understand..."
Romanov's lips curled up ever so slightly in the corners.
"You. Me. Training," she said slowly, pointing first to Darcy, then herself, and then holding up a fist. "You said that you can't defend yourself," she explained, dropping her hands to the table to lean on it. "I'm giving you the opportunity to change that."
Darcy's mouth dropped open in an expression that would have made her mother cringe had she been around to see it. "You…You…Me?"
The redhead nodded, looking ever more amused. "You and me. For now. Clint will teach you to shoot."
"Shoot?" Darcy squeaked.
"Shoot."
Darcy deliberately looked down at herself, and then back up at the other woman. "Are you sure about this? I'm not exactly…" Darcy searched around for the right word "…physical."
The Widow crossed her arms over her chest and smirked. "I'm up for the challenge." She stuffed the second pair of gloves back into her pocket and turned on her heel. "Wear similar clothing to what you have on now. Tomorrow. 16:00 hours. In the gym."
Jane and Darcy watched her leave, both of them sporting similar looks of shock and confusion.
"Did that just happen?" Jane murmured aloud.
"Unless I'm having a stroke, I'm pretty sure it did," Darcy said, picking up the gloves from the table before her.
Jane frowned at her. Darcy didn't need to be looking at the other woman to know; she could feel Jane's frown vibes from clear across the lab. "Are hallucinations symptoms of a stroke?"
Darcy shrugged. "Heat stroke, maybe?"
She heard Jane sigh, but Darcy ignored it. Slipping one glove on her hand, her eyes widened in surprise at how nice it felt. The material was slightly cool, soft, and very flexible. She couldn't feel the seams against her skin, just the slight stretch and pull of the fabric as she clenched her fist repeatedly. She slipped the other one on and stared at her hands.
"You have to tell her about the rest," Jane said suddenly, making Darcy look over at her.
Darcy nodded. "You think I should go find her?"
"Nah. Just tell her tomorrow. Before you start training," she added. "She doesn't exactly socialise and play nice with just anyone, so I think her offer to teach you how to protect yourself is pretty important to her." Jane's focus was momentarily diverted to the doorway that the Widow had come through, her expression thoughtful before she turned to look at Darcy. "You should definitely tell her before you start anything."
Darcy nodded again, seeing the wisdom and truth in Jane's words. The Widow didn't play nice with just anyone, even with the Avengers team she still held herself apart, really only close with Clint. Perhaps that's why she'd chosen the archer to teach Darcy to shoot. Her stomach swooped at the thought. Shoot a gun? Her?
She groaned and dropped her head onto the table, her cheek smooshed up against the paperwork she was supposed to be filling out.
"What now?" Jane asked.
"They're gonna make me shoot a gun. Me, Jane."
"I'm sure they'll teach you how to first, Darce. They're not just going to give you a gun and say 'Have at it, kiddo'."
Her words didn't reassure Darcy in the slightest. "Jane, I could accidentally shoot you while aiming the gun at my own head, okay? This is going to be a disaster."
"I'm sure you're not that bad. Have you ever shot a gun before?"
"No!" Darcy said vehemently. "And there's a damn good reason for that! You never saw me in gym class, Jane. I was a menace. No hand-eye co-ordination. At all." Darcy rolled her face along the papers, making them stick to her skin as she moaned some more. "In fact, all of this is going to be a disaster. I'm going to walk into that gym and brain myself on something before she can even get a word in."
Jane suddenly started to laugh, a deep, throaty sound for someone so little. It filled the room and Darcy looked up to glare at her friend from across the lab.
"I think I'll come watch then," Jane said, between giggles.
Darcy dropped her head to the table once more with an audible thunk.
"You're a terrible friend."
Darcy rolled over and stared at the green glow of her clock for the umpteenth time that night. It was 4am, otherwise known as the ass crack of dawn, and she hadn't slept a wink.
Her mind was full of him.
Was he all right, after she'd touched him? She hadn't thought to ask at the time. In fact, it wasn't until everything had slowed down, and she'd finally convinced Jane that sleep is necessary, that she let herself even consider him again.
His mind had been so chaotic, for all the fact that it was virtually blank. Darcy was used to minds that explode with colour and sensation, memories overlapping each other with thoughts and fantasies and half-remembered dreams. His mind had been a fortress of darkness and raw, painful emotions, his only memories being that of the inexplicable cold.
She rolled over again, punching her pillow and flopping onto it angrily. What did a woman have to do for a little sleep? She nagged at Jane—and maybe blackmailed her a little by saying she'd tattle to Thor the moment he came back—about how important a good night's sleep was and yet there she was, counting the bumps and crevasses of her ceiling. If she were on better terms with Stark, she'd tease him about how his Tower wasn't perfect.
But she's not on good terms with Stark, because she had to go and grow a goddamn hero complex and touch Sergeant Barnes. The Winter Soldier.
It suddenly occurred to her to wonder if the winter part of his code name had anything to do with his fear of the cold, and then her imagination ran wild creating scenarios that made her feel sick to her stomach. She sat up, throwing the covers off of her legs, and padded into the bathroom for a glass of water. She flicked on the light and turned the knob of the tap, sticking her finger under the flow to wait for it to get nice and cold. It was a habitual routine for her, one that came from growing up in apartment complexes where your water didn't always run cold, or clean, immediately, but as the water turned icy over her finger she was suddenly taken over by an irrational dislike and she yanked her hand out of the water.
"Jesus Christ," she muttered to herself, rubbing a hand over her face.
She couldn't even begin to imagine living such a bleak existence. Sure, her life had never been roses and fairy tales, but she got to grow up with a good woman for a mother and if she lost her early, at least it wasn't before Darcy was old enough to understand just how much Clara Lewis had sacrificed for her daughter. She couldn't imagine a life where her memory didn't burst with the happy images and thoughts of her childhood, a life where all of that had been taken away from her.
Without testing the water, Darcy turned both knobs and filled up her glass, choking down lukewarm water. As she did, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her eyes wide and her skin paler than usual.
Part of her wanted to blame him; for being in the Tower, for being so helpless and vulnerable—if it weren't for his presence, she would never have exposed herself—but she knew that that was the small, petty part of her that she didn't like very much and so she pushed it away.
She turned from the bathroom and headed to the front door, stuffing her feet into a pair of black flats on the way. It wasn't exactly stylish, they didn't go with her smiley face pants or her oversized t-shirt, but she wasn't particularly concerned with whether or not JARVIS would judge her and he was likely the only one who would see her.
The elevator opened for her as soon as she reached it, and the AI's smooth voice asked, "Where would you like to go, Miss Lewis?"
"Can you take me to medical?" she asked.
"Of course."
JARVIS didn't ask her any other questions, and he didn't hesitate either, which led her to believe that Stark hadn't restricted her access to anywhere, at least not to anywhere that she was allowed to go before. The doors opened to the medical floor and she was met with the now somewhat familiar sight of the receptionist's area. Darcy pressed the button on the desk and let herself in.
His room was pretty much the same as it had been before. Someone had cleaned up her vomit, and hopefully aired it out, but other than that it looked identical to the previous night. The only difference was the man inside.
He still sat in the corner under the window, making her press the side of her face against the glass in order to see him, but instead of the steady rocking motion she had encountered before there was only stillness and silence. He didn't move, not even to blink.
"He's been like that ever since you touched him."
Darcy spun around, a gasp caught in her throat, to find Steve Rogers walking up to her, a paper cup in his hand.
"I…I didn't…"
Steve held up one hand. "That wasn't an accusation," he told her. "Just an observation."
He came to stand next to her and the scent of coffee wafted over from his cup. She was silent for a moment, hesitating to voice her opinion.
"You should call Professor Xavier again," she said, focusing her attention on the man in the room. All she could see of him, without pressing her face to the window, was the top of his unkempt head. "Even if it's not for a while, he should still come."
"He's out of contact right now," Steve said quietly. Darcy looked up at him questioningly and Steve shrugged. "All I know is that it's personal."
Darcy 'hmm'd quietly, unsure of what to say to that. They stood for a moment in an awkward silence, neither of them moving away from the window, before Steve suddenly thrust his coffee at her.
"Want some?"
She glanced between the coffee and Steve, taking in his awkward expression.
"Uh…"
"Of course you don't, sorry," he said quickly. "I'm sure you'd rather have your own. Do you want one? I can go get you one."
Darcy watched as a pink stain stole over his neck and cheeks, and she almost wanted to smile despite her knowing exactly why he was so nervous around her. It was hard to resist the earnestness of Captain America, complete with the anxious back of the neck rubbing, and the awkward shuffling of the feet. Feeling suddenly generous, Darcy decided to cut him some slack and reached out for the coffee.
"Sure, but I'll keep this one, thanks," she said, taking a sip. It was way too sweet for her tastes, but she could hardly give it back. "You don't have any cooties, do you?"
He blinked at her. "Cooties?"
"Yeah, you know? 'Circle, circle, dot, dot, now I've got my cooties shot'?"
His look of confusion lasted for another second before he suddenly grinned. "Your idea of cooties must be different from mine."
Darcy tilted her head at him, a slight frown on her brow. "Why? What's your idea of cooties?"
"Fleas, mostly. Bed bugs. Vermin in general."
"Fleas!"
"So you're not asking me if I'm infected with bugs?" he asked, still grinning.
"No!" She huffed, half a laugh, half exasperation. "It's a child's game. Usually boys would tease their friends if they touched a girl. As in," she put on a whiney voice, "eeeew, now you've got girl cooties."
Steve chuckled and shook his head. "Soldiers called fleas and other bugs cooties. It was common to get them when you ate, slept, and lived in pit of mud."
"I can only imagine," she said, shaking her head. "Though, now that I think about it, I have no idea why I expected you to know what the hell I was talking about."
He shrugged slightly, his smile turning a bit sad. "It's nice, sometimes, when people forget about Captain America."
Darcy nodded but, again, didn't know what to say to that. If she felt closer to him she might ask him what it was like being Captain America, both then and now, but not only did she barely know him, they didn't exactly have a solid track record to work from. Silence reigned again between them and Darcy took another sip of his coffee, the sugary taste washing over her tongue.
"I don't really know what to do for him," Steve said suddenly. "The doctors…He won't let them near him. It's the only time he really responds to anything, is when they try to get close. They can't take anymore blood, and they can't hook him up to an IV. He's not eating, or drinking. I don't know how long he can hold on like this."
"And you have no idea when Professor Xavier is going to be available," Darcy said, voicing the unspoken thought between them.
Steve didn't say anything, which she appreciated. He might have been trying to pressure her, but she didn't really think so. She was the one who had sought out the Sergeant's room, and Steve couldn't have known that she'd be there. Besides, if this was his idea of putting on the pressure then he'd have made a pretty shitty S.H.E.I.L.D agent.
Darcy took one final sip of his coffee before holding it out to him. "I have to go get ready for work," she told him. "Thanks for the coffee."
"Finish it," he said.
She smiled slightly and shook her head. "Way too much sugar," she confessed, wiggling the cup a bit. "I promise, I don't have cooties."
His lips turned up in a soft smile then, and he took the cup from her. "Should I ask the nurse about a cooties shot, just in case?"
Darcy chuckled and turned on her heel. "You totally should…Make sure she doesn't have an actual needle in her hand, though. She just might stab you with it."
Darcy required directions from JARVIS in order to find the gym. Apparently there was more than one, though that really shouldn't have surprised her, considering whom the Tower belonged to. She walked into a large, well-lit room, one side lined with mirrors and mats, the other side liberally decorated with weight lifting equipment. In the middle of the mats was the Widow, her legs spread wide in a split and her upper body bowed elegantly over one leg.
"Okay, so there's something you should know before we start," Darcy said in lieu of a greeting. "Actually, two things."
The Widow straightened up and looked at her for a second before her eyes dropped to Darcy's chest and she straight up grinned. Darcy looked down at her shirt and blushed a bit.
"Well…you know." On her ample chest was a cute cartoon picture of a rooster standing beside a kitten. Underneath it were the words 'I'll take both'.
"Interesting choice of attire," the Widow remarked mildly, lips still twisted into a smile.
"It was this or the 'I Sell Crack for the CIA' one," Darcy admitted. "Laundry day is fast approaching."
Romanov shook her head slightly and straightened out of her stretch, shaking out her limbs. Darcy took in her long sleeved shirt and work out pants, pretty much the same outfit as Darcy wore, minus the sexual innuendo shirt. On the floor where she'd been stretching were the same gloves that Darcy held in her hand.
"What is it that you wish to tell me?" the Widow asked, bending her arm behind her back in a manner that didn't look humanly possible to Darcy.
"First off, one, or both of us, is going to leave here with something broken," Darcy said in a rush. "Probably me, let's be honest here, but seriously, it's inevitable. I'm a liability problem, you should probably be forewarned."
Romanov's eyebrows went up but she looked immensely amused, if the spread of her smile was anything to judge by. "As I said earlier, I am prepared for a challenge."
"And uh, the second thing was, well, you see…" Darcy bit her lip as the other woman simply watched her, face suddenly wiped clean of any previous emotion. It was incredibly intimidating, which was probably why she did it. "The thing is, I can move shit with my mind."
The Widow's eyes widened slightly and her head tilted to the side as if examining Darcy from another angle might reveal more information, but other than that, she didn't react.
"Show me."
"Uhmm…"Darcy's mind cast about for something, before she remembered the gloves in her hand. She held them out, palm up, and concentrated on them. Slowly, they rose and levitated about a foot away from her palm. Darcy risked a glance at the other woman. Her blue eyes were zeroed in on the gloves.
"The others do not know about this, do they?"
Darcy released her hold on the gloves, letting them drop. She managed to catch one, but the other she had to scoop off the floor. "Uh, no. Well, Jane knows. But none of the other Avengers. I didn't exactly want to tell them…before."
The Widow nodded briefly, her hard eyes sweeping over Darcy now. "What else can you do?"
"That's all of it."
Romanov crossed her arms over her chest. "And how strong is this power?"
"Uh…I don't know? I mean, I can't do anything super with it," Darcy said, shrugging. "Mostly, I just use it when I'm too lazy to get up from the couch."
Romanov's lip twitched ever so slightly, and Darcy would have missed it had she not been paying such close attention for the other woman's reaction to her news. It gave her hope that all was still well.
Slowly, the Widow began walking around Darcy, her arms still crossed over her chest, but her eyes now focusing on different parts of Darcy's body.
"Your form is good for a civilian," she said abruptly. "You are not overweight or physically deformed, but this is through no effort of your own."
"Wha—"
Darcy was cut off. "You eat too much junk food," Romanov said. "Really, you are lucky that your metabolism is as good as it is, or you would be fat, not just curvy. If you are to take your training seriously, this must stop. No more sugary foods or drinks."
"No more Pop-Tarts?" Darcy was aghast.
Romanov's lips definitely twitched then. "No more Pop-Tarts," she echoed. "No pop, juice, chips, cookies…none of it." She reached out and poked Darcy's hip. "You will replace your softness with muscle."
"I thought you just said I'm not fat," Darcy said, a tad defensively. She was quite used to not being the typical beauty—Romanov was right, she was definitely a curvy woman—but that didn't mean it didn't sting when men's eyes skipped over every part of her except for her breasts.
"You're not. You're a beautiful woman," Romanov said simply. Darcy blushed slightly at the compliment, but the other woman either didn't notice, or didn't care. "But you are a soft woman. This is not a bad thing for a civilian, but you know that you are more than that." Romanov stopped in front of her, her expression calm and serious. "You are part of the Avengers' circle, and you are a mutant. There is a target on your back and being a soft, beautiful woman will not help you with that. This is your choice, but if you wish to learn how to protect yourself then you will have to change your lifestyle."
Darcy didn't really have to think about it. She knew Romanov was right long before she even finished speaking. This was something Darcy wanted, desperately. It would be nice, she thought, to not always feel so vulnerable, to not feel like a handicap the next time a Destroyer decided to pop by.
"Well, I guess fewer Pop-Tarts is probably better for me in the long run, huh?"
Romanov smiled slightly and nodded, approval in her expression. "Yes."
From then on, she began laying out Darcy's new schedule. In the evenings or the mornings, whenever she could find time, she would begin a workout regimen. The Widow gave her the option of either running or swimming for her cardio and Darcy opted for the swimming since it meant less bouncing of her breasts. When she wasn't doing a cardio day, she'd do weight training. Romanov produced a few sheets of paper with instructions on weight and repetition and began showing her which machines she would need and how to use them.
"When am I going to learn how to choke a man out with my thighs?" Darcy asked, much later.
"I didn't choke him out," the Widow corrected, looking perilously close to rolling her eyes. "Though I could have."
"Minor detail," Darcy waved a dismissive hand. "Show me how to kill men with my thunder thighs."
At that, Romanov actually laughed. Darcy stared at her for half a heartbeat—mostly in shock—before she joined in.
"We will work up to that," the Widow said, still laughing. "First, you'll learn basic defense techniques. Come, grab your gloves. We'll start now."
She was exhausted, both mentally and physically.
Her body ached in places that she didn't even know could ache, but she probably should have expected that when she was training with Natasha Romanov, a woman with a famous, and slightly macabre, reputation for killing people without a weapon.
So why she found herself pressing the button on the receptionist's desk on the medical floor once again was a mystery even to her.
Turning the corner towards his room, she wasn't even remotely surprised to find Steve standing there, paper cup in hand once again. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps but he didn't exactly look surprised to see her either.
"You look tired," he observed.
"Understatement of the century," Darcy agreed, coming to stand beside him and looking through the window. "Any change?"
The slight smile on his face dropped off and he turned back to the window. "He almost killed a doctor today."
Darcy blinked in shock. "Why?"
Steve sighed heavily, making his shoulders rise and fall and drawing Darcy's attention to just how tight everything he wore seemed to be. Something told her that it wasn't vanity, but rather a lack of other options considering his size.
"The doctor tried to force an IV into his arm," he told her. "It was like a switch had been flipped inside of him. He went from docile and harmless to…" Steve hesitated and glanced down at her. "He became the man who shot me again."
Darcy looked back at the man in the room, sitting in the same corner as she'd last seen him, still as a statue. If Steve hadn't told her differently she would have assumed that he hadn't moved an inch since that morning.
"I want to help him," she said, still looking at the Soldier. "But I'm not willing to sacrifice myself for him."
"I understand that."
"No, I don't think you do," Darcy disagreed, looking up at Steve. "That'd be like me saying I understand what it's like to fight in a war, or sleep for seventy years and wake up to an entirely new world."
True understanding washed over his face, and he nodded slowly. "You can't understand, but you can try," he said.
"Exactly," she agreed. "His mind is like a box." She gestured with her head towards his friend. "A box that's been painted black, sealed shut, and stuck in the deep freezer. I'm afraid of going back into that box."
Steve didn't say anything. What could he say, really? Darcy sucked in a breath, and her stomach jumbled with nerves. She wasn't sure she was making the right choice, but neither was she sure that she could live with herself if she didn't try to help. It was what had brought her into his room in the first place, despite the knowledge that she could expose herself and her powers.
"I'll try to reach him again," she said, "under two conditions."
He turned to her, and there was naked hope plastered all over his face. "What conditions?" he breathed.
"Someone must be in there with me, at all times. JARVIS can monitor my vitals while I'm with him, but someone has to be there to separate me from him if I can't do it myself."
"Done," Steve said instantly.
Darcy held up a hand. "It has to be someone who can take him on, not a nurse or a doctor. It has to be one of the Avengers, preferably you or Agent Romanov, or Thor if he was around. If he'll flip out on a doctor for trying to put a needle in his arm there's no telling what he might to do to me if I'm poking around in his mind."
"Done," Steve said again. "I'll stay with you."
"The other condition is that you get Professor Xavier as soon as you can," she continued. "He's an incredibly strong mutant, and he's trained for this shit, whereas I am definitely not." Darcy looked up at him seriously. "You need to understand that. I'm not a psychologist, or a psychiatrist, or anything like that."
That got his attention, and he glanced back over his shoulder towards the window and his friend. "Do you think you could accidentally hurt him?"
Slowly, Darcy shook her head. "I don't think so. My power doesn't manifest physically…" She winced and corrected herself. "Well, not in that way at least."
Steve raised an eyebrow at her, and Darcy waved a dismissive hand. "I can move shit with my mind, but not really far, and only small things. I'm not putting on a show right now."
"You can…move things? With your mind?"
He looked incredibly sceptical and that got Darcy's back up. Her unwillingness to perform her little party trick for the third time in less than 24 hours disappeared. "You know what?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "I will demonstrate. Drop your coffee."
"What?"
"Drop. It."
Steve shot her another sceptical look but did as she demanded, holding his coffee out a bit and then releasing the cup. It was cocky of her—she'd never done such a thing before, it required her to concentrate on not only the paper cup, but its contents as well—but her pride demanded it. Focusing on the shape of the cup, the ugly orange and brown of the paper, and the scent of fresh coffee, Darcy's eyes followed the movement of the cup's fall until it abruptly stopped about mid-thigh level. Slowly, it rose until it was back at its previous height, hovering a scant few inches away from Steve's hand.
Darcy reached out and snagged the cup from midair, looking up at Steve's utterly gobsmacked expression with a hint of smug pride. "And not a drop spilled. Pick your jaw up off the floor, Cap'."
His eyes darted between the cup and her face, his lips slightly parted in shock. "You…I…Wow. That must be…incredibly helpful."
Darcy made a 'kinda sorta' face, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm starting to feel like a performing monkey," she told him. "That's the third time I've done that."
"But…" He hesitated, glancing down at her hands. "Can't you use that to protect yourself?"
"From your friend?"
"From anyone," he clarified. "Before you said that you can't defend yourself." He nodded at her hands. "Seems like a pretty good defence to me."
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "Nope. I told you, no big stuff. It's pretty much limited to my physical strength. I couldn't throw your friend off me with my power any more than I could with my arms."
"Oh." He almost sounded disappointed. "Well."
"Which is why you need to be in there," she said, jerking her thumb towards the room. "Or someone who can take him."
He followed the direction her thumb and his face took on a distinct look of determination. "I'll be in there," he said after a moment, turning his intense blue eyes on her. "You have my word."
Darcy eyed him warily. "You're taking this awfully well."
His eyebrows rose briefly and he tipped his head to the side. "I had a serum injected into me to make me a super soldier and slept in ice for seventy years," he said dryly. "Your little trick is nothing."
Her lips curled up at the corners. "Touché."