"You don't have to come with me, you know," Darcy said, letting herself into the medical ward and holding open the glass door for Jane.
"I know I don't," Jane said mildly. "But I want to."
"For Science?" Darcy asked, glancing at her friend over her shoulder.
Jane shrugged, completely unabashed. "Maybe just a little bit."
"Glad you got my back, bro," Darcy joked.
"That is what Captain America is for," Jane told her. "I still think you're a little bit mental for willingly going into the room with that man. Again."
They turned the corner, revealing Steve's profile as he stood at the window to his friend's room. Darcy didn't bother to reply to Jane's unvoiced question, because she'd already gone over it with the other woman several times since she'd revealed that she had agreed to try to help get Sergeant Barnes out of his own head. Jane hadn't been all that thrilled, but she'd grudgingly let it go. Sort of.
"Hi," he said, turning at the sound of their footsteps. "Dr. Foster. I didn't expect to see you here."
Jane shrugged and stepped up to the window, peering in. "Curiosity."
Steve's eyebrows rose slightly, and the expression on his face told Darcy that he wasn't totally happy with that answer. His eyes shifted between Jane and the hospital room beyond the glass, concern evident. Darcy could understand that concern—the reappearance of the famous Bucky Barnes seventy years after he was supposed to be dead would be enough to attract a hell of lot of attention but adding in the whole 'brainwashed assassin' bit and it was no wonder Steve was apparently a bit protective of his friend. He didn't want Barnes to become a sideshow act, something to be gawked at.
"Curiosity is the scientist's sin," she told him. "She's here more for me, than him."
Jane turned around at that, crossing her arms over her chest. "Of course I'm here for you. I don't even know him."
"Yes, well…" Darcy shrugged. "I suppose we should, um, start."
"Dr. Foster, you will remain out here," Steve said, and there was no question that he was giving her an order.
Jane eyed him up and down for a moment, not even remotely cowed by his tone. "And if he goes berserk in there?"
"You will not be able to help from inside," he told her plainly. "Inside you would be another person for me to protect. Outside, you're in a better position to get help."
Jane considered it for a moment before her shoulders relaxed slightly. "All right. I'll wait out here."
Steve gave her a brief nod and reached for the door, entering before Darcy. She was used to his well-bred manners, and this little act surprised her until she realised that he was most likely assessing the threat level his friend posed before he let her into the room. His broad back practically spanned the entire doorway, effectively blocking Darcy from sight of anyone inside, and keeping her in the dark about what was going on beyond the wall of All-American muscle. Before she could get worked up about what might be waiting for her, however, he stepped to the side, letting her into the room.
Nothing had changed, though she didn't know why she'd expected that it might. If it had, she would have noticed earlier when she was standing right next to the window where Jane was currently watching them with a slightly anxious expression. Sergeant Barnes sat under said window, his eyes still riveted on the floor before him.
Darcy glanced at Steve, but he looked just as unsure as she felt, his eyes darting between his friend and her. Clearly, he wouldn't be much help, she thought to herself.
"No time like the present," she muttered under her breath, taking a step forward.
She didn't want to startle him by standing over him, so she sat down and cautiously scooted forward on her butt, cleaning the linoleum with the ass of her jeans. She stopped when his sock clad toes almost brushed up against her pants.
Remembering that he didn't react well to being called 'Bucky' she consciously avoided using that as she slowly reached out and touched his clothed leg. "Sergeant Barnes…" she tried, watching his face keenly for a reaction.
She brushed her hand up his bony shin, to the knob of his knee, the scrubs that they'd put him in feeling smooth under her fingertips. "Do you remember me, Sergeant?" she asked. He didn't so much as blink. She tried a different tack, using his given name. "James? Can you hear me, James?"
Darcy glanced back at Steve and almost winced at the expression on his face. It was desolate, the pain in his eyes raw and hard to look directly at. He watched his friend's face with a desperation that verged on manic.
She turned back and ran her hand over the leg in front of her, firmer this time. "Can you look at me?" She paused, hoping for a reaction, but nothing was forthcoming. Her heart skipped a beat as she opened her mouth again, "Bucky?"
As she'd expected, he flinched, his entire body jerking at the sound of that name. Behind her, Steve made a pained noise. Guilt flooded her.
"I'm sorry," she told the unresponsive man, her words tumbling out of her in a rush. "I don't think you like being called that name, but I had to check that you're still listening. You're not exactly a chatterbox, you know." She squeezed his knee, trying to act as if she wasn't speaking to a brick wall with a pulse. "I'm going to touch your hand now, okay? So, uh, please don't…don't grab at me like you did before, okay?"
It was like speaking to a coma patient despite the fact that his eyes were open and occasionally blinked. Part of her wanted to look back to Steve for reassurance, or perhaps up at where she knew Jane would be standing, her nose probably pressed to the glass, but she knew that neither of them were exactly in a position to reassure her.
Taking a fortifying breath, she bit the bullet and reached out with her hand, slipping her fingers over the back of his and her eyes fluttering shut.
Finally, she got a reaction, but it wasn't the one she wanted.
He was waiting for her, and she felt him reach out, latching on to her like a drowning man in the middle of the ocean. His grip was like iron, his desperate fear flooding her mind. She tried to pull back, and he responded by holding on tighter to her, his mind doing the equivalent of a bear hug to hers. Panic shot through her, but she still had enough presence of mind to pull herself away from him physically.
She fell backwards, landing hard on the linoleum. Her head cracked painfully against the floor but the physical pain was nothing compared to the way her mind reeled from the sudden and violent disconnection. The world seemed to tip sideways, as if her equilibrium had been thrown out of whack, and she blinked hard against the blurriness of the world around her.
"Wha—" Her head felt fuzzy and thick, but she registered the feel of hands lifting her up by the shoulders, of a body behind hers.
There was a loud bang, quickly followed by Jane's worried voice. "Darcy? Darcy, are you okay?"
"I think she might have hit her head on—"
"Why didn't you damn well catch her?"
"I didn't expect her to just suddenly fall back! She seemed fine just a moment before!"
"She's doing this—"
"Ugh. Will you both shut up?" Darcy moaned, reaching up to rub at the back of her head. "Neither of you are helping right now." Behind her, Steve shifted slightly, reminding her that he was actually somewhat helpful. "'Cept you, Steve. You make a good chair."
He snorted. "Not exactly being a chair, am I?"
"Okay, maybe a one of those pregnancy pillows you see in maternity stores. The ones for your back."
"Oh, Christ, Darcy," Jane groaned, slapping a hand against her face. "Are you all right?"
Darcy pushed herself up into a sitting position and rubbed her head. The world was mostly back in focus now, and while she could feel the beginnings of a headache forming, it was sourced at the spot where she'd knocked her skull on the floor.
"Yeah," she said. "Just a goose egg, I think."
"Why the hell did you fall backwards in the first place?" Jane demanded, kneeling in front of her, eyes anxious.
"He kind of got the jump on me," Darcy explained. "But I'm ready for him this time."
"You're not doing that again."
She shot Jane a look. "The hell I'm not."
"Darcy, you—"
"Am a grown ass woman capable of making my own decisions?" Darcy interrupted sharply. "Why, yes I am. Thank you for noticing."
Jane shut her mouth, her expression pinched and disapproving, but she didn't continue. She glared at Steve over Darcy's shoulder, as if everything were his fault, and then stood.
"Fine. But I'm staying in the room."
"I don't think—" Steve began but was cut off by Jane's curt, "I'm staying." Wisely, Darcy ignored them both and took up her previous position in front of Barnes.
She placed her hand on his knee. "What did I tell you about the grabby thing? You can't do that, dude, it's scary as fuck." She patted the knee gently. "We're going to try this thing again, okay?"
Darcy didn't expect a response as she reached for his limp hand once more, and so she was incredibly shocked when that hand suddenly flexed, fingers stretching for a moment, as if anticipating her touch. Her gaze shot up to his face, but his expression was just as blank as before, his eyes still trained downwards. Still, it gave her a little surge of hope.
"Let's do this," she whispered, her voice so low that only he would hear it. Her fingers trembled slightly, but then there was the warmth of his hand under hers, and her mind sunk into his.
This time, she was ready for his mental launch. Before he could grab hold of her, before his emotions could flood her, she threw her own at him. It was Jane and her presence that inspired the idea, the memory of the two of them sharing emotions with each other through the connection of their palms. Just as she had done on that day, Darcy concentrated on her own emotions and shoved them through their mental link.
She knew that he'd felt it, because all of a sudden he went still, both mentally and physically. With her eyes closed she couldn't see his physical body, but she could still hear the room around her, the sound of four bodies breathing and living in close proximity. In front of her, his breath stuttered in his chest and halted. In her mind, she felt confusion, a trickle of it that slowly grew into a steady stream.
Darcy felt it like a blow and she almost wanted to cry. Confusion.
She'd thrown love at him. Love, and affection, and fondness, emotions pulled from her happiest memories. In the face of that, he could only be confused. He didn't recognise what she'd shared with him, the emotions that were tied to so many moments of her life and that she always felt manifested as a fuzzy kind of warmth, right under her sternum. She pushed her emotions at him again, pushed that warmth that resided inside of her chest.
His confusion turned to fear.
He reared back mentally, and then it became Darcy who was clinging, holding on for dear life. She reached for him, trying to keep her own emotions level and calm, to project that on to him so that he might calm down.
He didn't.
The fear increased, but it had no direction. It was not like before, when she had known that it was the cold that needed to be feared. This was mindless, a wild panic that had his breath shuddering through his chest and his pulse racing beneath the skin of his hand.
James… She tried using words, projecting them into his mind. Using his title was too impersonal, and she wanted to build some sort of trust between them, and if calling him 'Bucky' from the safety outside of his mind made him upset then she didn't want to know how he'd react if she said it while she was inside his head. James, please. I'm not going to hurt you. Please, talk to me. Tell me how to help you!
Abruptly, as if it had been triggered by her words, images began flashing through his mind. She could tell that he wasn't purposefully sharing these with her. There was no flavour of intent on them, they were just memories floating through his consciousness. They were fragmented and blurry, as if he couldn't quite hold them down, but she got the impression of a dimly lit room and the presence of people around her.
No. Not people. Threats.
And then the voice began. It was low, soothing almost, though she couldn't make out any of the words. It floated around her in a constant loop, never breaking for breath or thought. Guilt flooded him at the sound of the voice, guilt and fear. Beneath her fingertips, his hand twitched.
James. I don't understa—
A face floated into her mind, crystal clear where all of the others had been indistinct. It was a man, significantly older and greying but with the clear signs that he'd once been very handsome. His eyes were a bright, piercing blue, and they were locked on to hers, quietly furious. His mouth, framed by lines, began moving, but the words were indistinct and she couldn't tell what he was saying.
James, who is that?
The guilt she'd felt from him earlier surged again, and she felt it as if it were her own before he suddenly pulled away from her, the sensation sharp and abrupt enough in her mind that it startled her back into herself.
She blinked suddenly in the dim light of the room around her as sensations she'd forgotten about began to rush back in. Her body was stiff, her ass numb, and her lower back ached slightly. The world was blurry again, though she was thankful that there was no vertigo.
"Miss Lewis?"
Darcy visibly jumped and turned around, wincing as the motion made her muscles protest. Behind her was Steve, sitting on the floor with his back propped up against the wall and his long legs stretched out in front of him.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"I…Yeah. Yeah, I am."
He learned forward, turning his gaze to Barnes. "Is he all right?"
Darcy glanced back at the silent man, sitting limply in the corner. "As much as he can be, I think," she said honestly. Slowly, she rose to her knees and then stood. "Maybe we should try putting him in the bed. If my ass is numb, I can only imagine how his feels."
Steve shot to his feet, surprisingly graceful for such a bulky man, and crossed the room to cautiously crouch before his friend. When the Sergeant didn't react, Steve slowly slid the metal arm over his shoulders and hauled Barnes up. To Darcy's surprise, he supported his own weight once he was upright, and as Steve turned to guide him toward the bed the other man took steps on his own. They were slow and unsteady, but they were steps all the same.
Some part of him was participating.
Darcy nearly swooned with relief, or maybe it was a lack of food. She reached out, grabbing the wall for support as a wave of exhaustion rolled over her.
"Miss Lewis?" Steve left the bedside where Barnes was half lying, one leg dangling off the side of the bed. "You're not all right, are you? Please sit."
Hands closed around her shoulders again, guiding her towards a chair at the end of the hospital bed. He gently pushed her into it. God, she couldn't remember the last time she'd been so damn tired.
"What's wrong? What can I do?"
Darcy opened her mouth to answer him, but instead she yawned in his face.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," she said, clapping a hand over her mouth in embarrassment.
"Well then," he said, mouth twitching a little. "Just tired?"
"And hungry," she answered honestly. "My liver might be in danger of being consumed by my stomach."
"Then it's a good thing Dr. Foster left to scrounge you up some food," he told her, turning back to the bed. Gently, he lifted Barnes' leg up on to the bed and tugged the sheets out from under him so that they could be draped over his body. It was a bit creepy to watch, especially since Barnes just stared at the ceiling as if he were in a vegetative state—and maybe he kind of was, she thought, reflecting on what she saw inside his head.
Darcy caught sight of the clock on the wall and gaped at it. "Eight? Holy crap."
Steve turned back to her. "You've been sitting there for nearly four hours," he confirmed. "Which is why Jane thought to get you some food. And I think she was bored."
Darcy yawned again, remembering to cover her mouth that time. "She has a surprisingly short attention span considering that it sometimes takes years to make breakthroughs in science."
Steve nodded absently, one large hand smoothing the crisp white sheet over his friend's legs. "What…what did you see?"
She pulled one leg up under her, getting as comfortable as she could in the hospital chair. "I saw a room, and a man," she told him. "The room was indistinct, out of focus. I know that there were people in the room, people that he felt threatened by, but I never saw any of their faces. The only face I saw was of an older man."
Steve stood next to the bed, his hands still on the sheet, but his eyes were intent upon hers as she described all that she had seen, heard, and felt from Barnes' memories. As she spoke, his expression hardened.
"I think I know who that man was," he said when she was finished. He reached into the pocket of his khakis and pulled out a StarkPhone. It looked too small and delicate for his big fingers, but he managed just fine, pulling up a photo and turning the screen her way.
"That's him!" she exclaimed, leaning forward to look at what was clearly a professional business photo. The man was wearing a tailored three-piece suit and standing in a lavish, modern looking office. "Who is he?"
"His name was Alexander Pierce," Steve said shortly, pocketing the phone. "He was Hydra."
"Was?"
Steve gave her a pointed look and it clicked. "Ah," she said simply.
Silence fell over them. Steve turned back to Barnes, his expression closed off and hard as he stared at his best friend. Darcy considered whether or not to tell him how she had stopped the Sergeant from overwhelming her again. He hadn't asked, so perhaps he didn't want to know, or didn't think there was a special explanation. Part of her wanted to be transparent with him, but the look on his face gave her pause. Behind that practiced calm was a wounded man, and Darcy didn't want to add to the weight already bowing his shoulders.
She yawned again, unable to help herself. "I should go back to my apartment," she said, her head feeling muzzy with fatigue. "My liver will either survive or it won't."
"Livers are fairly important."
Darcy waved a hand at him lazily. "They grow back."
"Do they really?" Steve looked surprised and it took Darcy a moment to remember that he was a man born and raised in a time when physicians gave things like cigarettes a stamp of approval From what she'd read about him in high school, he probably didn't have much of a chance to get an education either; he'd been dirt poor before Project Rebirth and then he'd gone to war. It didn't exactly leave a lot of time for intellectual stimulation. Neither did coming out of said ice and discovering that the world had moved on without you. He looked intrigued, though, so Darcy scooted her chair closer to the bed so that she could lean against it, and began explaining what she knew about the regeneration abilities of the liver, and how liver transplants were done. It was actually a subject she was fairly well versed on, considering that once upon a time she had done the research to become a donor herself—but then again being a woman's daughter didn't necessarily mean that you were a genetic match for organ donation. Because life just fucking sucked sometimes.
"They take a lobe from the donor and—"
The door opened abruptly, cutting off Darcy's explanation, and Jane appeared holding two white plastic bags with boxes inside. The scent of food and grease wafted in with her and Darcy's stomach let out a terrifying growl.
"I got you that disgusting fries thing that you like so much," Jane said in lieu of a greeting. "And I had to wait forever for it, so you better enjoy it."
"You got me poutine?" Darcy exclaimed, suddenly wide-awake and excited.
Jane piled her bags on the small table at the end of Barnes' bed and dug through one to produce a white box with delicious grease stains already on it. It was filled to bursting, beef gravy and a lone fry spilling out of one corner.
"Oh my god," Darcy moaned, reaching out for the food. "I fucking love you."
Jane smirked and held up a fork. "I thought you might."
"What is that?" Steve asked, watching as Darcy opened her container and made another noise, slightly more obscene than the first. She wasted no time in grabbing the fork and beginning to shovel fries, cheese, and gravy into her mouth.
"It's a Canadian thing," Jane explained, pulling out a few more boxes. "And it's disgusting."
Darcy made an indignant sound, pointing her fork at Jane threateningly. Jane was unfazed, however, as she rolled her eyes and held out a box to Steve.
"I got you a double burger, I hope that's all right."
"Oh." He looked slightly surprised to be given food. "No, that's fine. Thank you, Dr. Foster."
Jane shrugged off his thanks and pulled out a burger of her own and a side of plain fries. They began to eat in silence, both Jane and Steve opting to stand rather than go find a chair. It was a bit odd, Darcy reflected silently, sitting in the room of a comatose man and eating greasy diner food, but then again her life hadn't exactly been normal since, well, ever really, but she only started counting when Thor fell out of thin air.
The silence continued, only broken by the sound of quiet chewing and the squeak of Styrofoam containers, but for once it wasn't awkward or tense.
xXx
The pool was quiet, dimly lit, and warm. It was not really conducive to waking a person up, especially a person like Darcy who hated the early morning hours. She was sorely tempted to fold her towel on to the floor and take a nap instead of doing laps, but she knew that the Widow would ask eventually and Darcy hated lying—especially to people who could kill you with the flick of a wrist.
The water was, thankfully, just shy of lukewarm, and it provided the little wake-up call that she needed in order to get going. Swimming was something she actually enjoyed, though she wished that reliable waterproof headphones were a thing that existed. The feel of her body being supported by the water, of her smooth motion forward, was soothing in a way that running just wasn't. It probably had a lot to do with the fact that she practically had to wear body armour in order to run with breasts as large as hers were. It was both a blessing a curse, her body. She personally found curves and softness (as the Widow had put it) to be attractive, but it was a double-edged sword when it came to buying bras off the rack, or just a simple pair of jeans that fit her ass properly. Not to mention the damn back problems that were definitely not covered under student health insurance.
Darcy approached the wall and dove under the water, twisting as she did so that she could push off from the tiles. Her lungs burned with the need for oxygen and she surfaced, taking a deep breath of air. It wasn't enough. By the time she reached the other end of the pool she found herself panting pretty hard, and after only one lap. Granted, it was an Olympic sized pool, because Stark did not believe in doing things by halves, but still. She grabbed the side of the pool and treaded water lazily.
"Christ," she muttered to herself, looking back at the other end of the pool. "Well, this sucks."
She let her breathing calm down a bit before she pushed off the wall again, face first in the water. At least she wasn't a smoker.
Time slipped by as Darcy swam, her mind wandering from one topic to another with no real purpose or destination. Sometimes she would tell herself little stories, but that morning her mind couldn't, or wouldn't, focus on any one topic for very long. In fact, she was so lost in not thinking about anything that she almost missed the dulled sound of a familiar robot calling for her attention.
Darcy stopped mid-stroke and looked up, water in her ears and her goggles clouding her already challenged eyes. She could just make out the dark shape of what was undeniably DUM-E standing on the edge of the pool platform.
"What are you doing here?" she called to him. "You shouldn't be in here. It's too damp for you." She pointed at the door that he'd most likely came in through. "Go on outside, silly."
He made a trilling sound at her and raised his claw, as if in greeting.
"Yes, I'm happy to see you too, but I'm swimming right now DUM-E. Why don't you meet me in the lab later?"
She was never wholly sure how much of her conversations with the robot were actually understood, and as she watched him she was fairly certain the answer was 'slim to none' because instead of turning around and leaving the pool, the stupid robot rolled forward.
Right off the edge and into the pool.
Darcy had a moment of sheer panic, and made an instinctive lunge toward the edge, though she'd never make it in time, but when the splash and the terrified squeal of the robot did not accompany any blinding pain indicative of being electrocuted, Darcy relaxed for a moment, turning around in time to see poor DUM-E sink to the bottom of the pool like he was a bag of rocks..
"Oh, no." She watched as his lights flickered and went out. Clearly, he was not waterproof. She swam over to the shallow end of the pool—thank god he'd not been near the deep end—and reached under the water to get a grip on his claw. It quickly became apparent, however, that she would not be getting him out of the pool on her own. Hell, she wouldn't even be tugging him closer to the wall.
"JARVIS?"
"Yes, Miss Lewis."
"Is Captain Rogers in the building by any chance?"
"Captain Rogers is in the medical ward."
"Can you ask him to come down here and help me?" she asked. "If he's not too busy."
"Of course, Miss Lewis."
The room went silent, the gentle lap of water against tile broken only by her futile attempts to move DUM-E. Adjusting her goggles, Darcy dropped beneath the surface to take a closer look at his structure, hoping to find a place where she might disassemble part of him and make it easier for her and Steve to get him out of the water. She'd made three or four of these checks when she surfaced to find Steve standing at the edge of the pool.
"Didn't your mother ever teach you that robots don't belong in pools?" he asked, his tone teasing.
"How would you know, Mr. I-Was-Born-In-The-20s?" she snarked back, pulling her goggles off.
Steve shook his head, still smiling. "I was born in 1919. Check your facts."
"Yeah, cause they totally had robots in 1919," she said. "Now, do you think you can help a gal out here?"
Steve pulled his shoes and socks off, taking his phone and wallet out of his pocket before he slipped into the pool. "How did this happen?"
"I think he wanted to say hi," Darcy explained. "I'm not sure he knows what water is."
"His name is DUM-E for a reason, Miss Lewis," intoned JARVIS, making both her and Steve look up. Steve chuckled as he crouched down and got a good grip on DUM-E. When Darcy made to copy him, he shook his head at her.
"Don't worry, I've got it."
"Are you sure?" she asked dubiously. "I mean, I know you're Captain America and all, but he's solid titanium. He ain't no feather duster."
"I've got it," Steve insisted.
"O-kay." Darcy backed off, giving him plenty of room.
She watched as Steve got his feet under him, adjusted his grip, and then lifted DUM-E straight up. Her mouth dropped open slightly as he turned to her and grinned.
"See? I told you, I go—"
Without warning, Steve lost his footing against the slippery tile. He went down fast, DUM-E in his arms. Water splashed everywhere, and for a second Darcy felt her heart stutter in her chest, but then Steve was pushing DUM-E off of him and rising to the surface, spluttering.
"You got it, huh?" Darcy asked, trying hard not to laugh.
Steve rubbed water out of his eyes and glared at her. "Shut up."
Darcy snorted, and then giggled, and then burst into loud guffaws that echoed off the walls of the poolroom, bouncing around and making it sound as if there were several people laughing at once. Steve continued to glare, but with his blonde hair plastered to his skull and the sullen look on his face he looked a petulant child, and it only made her laugh harder.
"This is what I get for helping you," he grumbled, reaching down for DUM-E again.
This time, Steve was prepared when he lifted the robot in his arms. Darcy's giggles died out as she watched his muscles flex under the grey t-shirt that clung to every curve and dip of his body. Water ran off of both man and robot as Steve hefted DUM-E above his head and turned towards the ledge, putting his burden down with a surprising gentleness.
He turned back to Darcy and shot her a grin that made her insides do a strange little wiggle. "I told you, I got it."
Without waiting for a response, he hauled himself out of the pool, water rushing off of him in rivulets and creating a huge puddle on the tiles. Darcy shook her head, trying to physically dislodge the image of Steve in soaking wet clothes. It wouldn't do to develop a crush on Captain America.
"Where to?" he asked.
"Huh?"
"Where do you want to take him?" Steve clarified.
"Oh, probably should take him to Stark's workshop," Darcy said. She grabbed the side of the pool, prepared to haul herself out, when Steve offered his hand to her.
"Uh…" She glanced at his hand. "Thanks but no thanks."
Realisation dawned over his face. "Oh. Right." He pulled his hand back and stood up, looking mighty awkward. "Sorry."
Darcy pulled herself out of the pool, trying not to be self conscious about the fact that she was standing in front of Captain America wearing a one piece that still managed to leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.
"No biggie," she said. "How're we going to get him upstairs though?"
Steve looked down at the pile of broken robot for a second, shrugged, and then picked DUM-E up once again as if he weighed nothing. "Grab my stuff, will you?" he asked, only a slight strain in his voice.
Darcy hurried to scoop up his discarded items, along with her own shorts, flip-flops, and towel. Her clothes were in the locker room but they would be fine there until DUM-E was dropped off. She scurried after him, her flip-flops slapping madly as she followed the wet trail he left behind, hugging everything to her chest and hoping that Steve wouldn't mind if his socks were a bit damp.
They squeezed into the elevator, Steve trying to not bang the robot off the walls and leave dents in the glossy wood, and JARVIS began the descent to Stark's workshop without a word.
"This is really awkward, isn't it?" Steve asked suddenly.
"Yeah," Darcy agreed. "I'm dripping."
"That made it more awkward."
"Yep."
The doors opened to an expectant Barton, who stopped mid-step when he spotted who was occupying the elevator, and a male Stark Industries employee whom Darcy didn't recognise.
"Well, this is different," Barton said, eyeing the pair of them. The young man beside Barton gave her the 'up and down' and smirked. Darcy, still standing in nothing but her suit and swimming cap, felt her awkward meter shoot straight up.
"DUM-E decided to go for a swim," Steve supplied easily. "Now move."
Both Barton and the SI man jumped out of the way as Steve strode forward, one drowned robot in his arms, and an incredibly embarrassed Darcy in his wake. She absolutely refused to look back as she followed him, her flip-flops sounding loudly in the hall, and her mind trying to imagine just how bad her ass looked in that moment.
"JARVIS?" Steve grunted as they reached the glass walls that separated Stark's workshop from the rest of the floor. "Little help?"
"Of course, Captain. Might I suggest you brace yourselves?"
The glass door swung open and music—incredibly loud music—practically slapped them in the face. Darcy recognised it as something from the 70s—the wailing of the guitar was pretty distinctive—but it wasn't a hit song, or at least not one that she recognised. Stark was on the opposite end of the room, a protective mask over his face as he used a blowtorch to heat a piece of metal.
"Stark!" Steve called, trying to pitch his voice over the music. "Stark!"
The other man looked up suddenly, though Darcy couldn't see his eyes or his expression behind the mask. He made a gesture with his hand and suddenly the music cut off, leaving a slight ringing in Darcy's ears.
Stark pushed the mask up and released the trigger on the blowtorch. "What the fuck, Rogers? What'd you do to my robot? And why the hell are you dripping all over my floor?"
"Where do you want him?"
"What?"
Steve sighed. "Where do you want him?" he repeated, speaking as if Stark were a child.
Stark gestured to the side of the room. "You still haven't told me what the hell happened to him," he said, following Steve as he walked over and gently put the robot down.
"He fell in the pool."
"He fell in the pool?" Stark echoed. "What the hell was he doing down there?"
Steve looked to Darcy, and Stark followed his gaze. She watched as he took in her attire, and the items she still held pressed to her chest, and snorted.
"Figures. He's in love with you," he said scornfully. "What the hell made you think he'd be able to swim?"
"I never thought he could swim," Darcy said defensively. "He just rolled right into the pool before I could do anything!"
Stark glanced at DUM-E and rubbed one grease stained hand over his face, leaving black smudges on his cheeks and brow. "Idiot," he muttered.
"You're the one who made him that way," Darcy pointed out.
"It wasn't on purpose!" Stark said. He gestured at the robot with one hand. "I realised he was dumber than a sack of shit when I turned him on, but I was too lazy to fix him."
"So it's your fault he doesn't know that he can't swim," Steve said.
"If we're going to compare who knows what, you're still going to lose to my robot, Capsicle."
Steve rolled his eyes and turned to Darcy, holding out his hands. "I'll take that from you, thanks." He relieved her of his stuff, enabling her to finally wrap her towel around her waist without dropping everything she held on to the floor.
"Sorry, your socks are a bit wet," she mumbled.
"The rest of him is wet, he won't notice," Stark said.
"It's not a big deal," Steve said, ignoring Stark. "Thanks, Miss Lewis"
"I should be the one thanking you." She watched as he stuffed his phone and wallet in his dry shoes. "I would never have gotten him out of the pool on my own."
Steve shrugged slightly. "Glad to help," he told her, smiling sweetly.
Behind him, Stark snorted and turned back to his work. "Jesus, you're killing me here. Get out."
Steve shot a look at the back of Stark's head. "Are you going to fix him?"
Stark waved an uninterested hand. "When I have the time."
The answer seems to satisfy Steve, but Darcy felt a pang at the thought of a DUM-E free workday. She looked over at the sad pile of metal that he was, still wet from the pool, with all of his lights off.
"I'll do it," she said suddenly. Both Stark and Steve looked at her.
"You'll do what?" Stark asked.
"Fix him."
Stark's eyes roved over her, his expression inscrutable. It irritated the hell out of her that they all seemed capable of keeping their face's carefully blank when they wanted to. It was as if they had all attended a seminar and she had missed the memo. Darcy forced herself not to fidget despite the fact that she still felt exposed—even more so with Stark staring her down.
"Fine," he said after a long pause. "I listen to my music loud. Don't like it? Get out."
Darcy and Steve looked at each other, both apparently just as shocked as the other.
"JARVIS!" Stark called, turning back to his workstation once more. "Music!"
The music picked up exactly where it had left off, at an ear-shattering decibel. Darcy recognised the dismissal and, with Steve, she headed to the doors.