It was over a week, almost two in fact, before Darcy ended up leaving the hospital wing of Stark Tower. She had visitors aplenty, including Jane-to whom she made her apologies for being an unmitigated brat. Jane had been forgiving, but had wanted to know why Darcy had acted so out of character. It was her right to ask, and Darcy told her of the dream she'd had, the one that had seemed so real it was like losing her mother all over again. Jane, being an orphan, had understood completely*.
Surprisingly, she saw little of Professor Xavier. Considering his powers, she was sure that he knew she was none too keen on speaking with him. In that same vein, Jean Grey seemed to have dropped off the face of the planet, though Darcy wasn't particularly broken up about that. The woman grated on her the wrong way. Jane told her that the Professor was in and out of the Tower, conducting business with his X-Men in the area, and liaising between them and some of the Avengers for purposes unknown. Jane's curiosity and theorizing about what could possibly be going on was unsurprising—it was what had driven her to want to unravel the mysteries of the stars, and what kept her working at that seemingly impossible task. Darcy smiled and elaborated on those theories, making them crazier and more implausible, but truly she had no interest in them. She didn't want to know what Professor Xavier was doing with his X-Men and the Avengers, or where Jean Grey had gotten off to. They struck her as the kind of people whose secrets came with a heavy price and she had no intention of getting involved with that.
To that end, her visit with Steve did not go well. He had been off on a short mission with the Widow when the shit hit the proverbial fan and, to his credit, he'd come to see her immediately. He was still wearing his filthy and torn uniform when he waltzed into her hospital room like he owned the damn thing, startling her and Jane both.
"Darcy!" He crossed the room in a mere two steps and stood beside her bed, fists clenched in his fingerless gloves. "What were you thinking?"
Darcy shrugged pathetically. She wasn't particularly in the mood for a lecture; she'd already gotten one from Stark. Jane took a quick look between the two of them and stood up.
"I'll just give you two a moment," she murmured awkwardly, scooting around the Captain. She shot an apologetic look and a shrug at Darcy from behind his back, but left nonetheless.
Steve, thankfully, waited until Jane had closed the door before he started to rant. It was basically the same gist as Stark's, but with a lot less drama and a lot more guilt. Darcy let him have at it, since it seemed like he needed to say it a lot more than she needed to hear it. He paced around her bed, extolling the endless bounds of her thoughtlessness and disregard for her own safety, but he didn't really seem to be paying much attention to her and she wondered just where he had been and what had caused the singed tear right over the white star on his chest.
When he was done he just looked at her, those earnest blue eyes piercing right through her and Darcy picked up her little whiteboard and marker that Stark had so thoughtfully provided her with.
I'm sorry for scaring you.
Steve deflated at that, literally and emotionally. His enormous shoulders hunched in on himself and he folded his overgrown body into the chair that Jane had vacated, making it suddenly look childlike.
"I'm glad you're okay, Darcy," he told her softly.
She scrubbed out the words with the side of her hand and wrote again.
I'm glad you're okay too. What happened to you?
He looked down at himself and sighed, fingers plucking restlessly at a cut in the thigh of his uniform. "Trying to root out all the HYDRA bases we can find. Looking for information on what they did to Buck." His voice took on that now familiar tone that always seemed to accompany mentions of his friend.
Any luck?
He shook his head silently, his eyes intent on the side of her mattress. He looked as if he were trying to divine the secrets of the universe from the material but Darcy was beginning to get the hang of interpreting the moods of one Steve Rogers and she let him mull his thoughts over while she adjusted her pillows and slunk down in the bed, getting ready for a nap.
"What did he do to you, Darcy?"
She glanced up at him from her blankets with surprise. That hadn't been what she was expecting, based on the severity of his frown she thought he'd come out with something a lot more difficult to answer. She picked up her whiteboard but then hesitated. She couldn't really tell him the details that she knew he'd want to know in such a small space, but she could tell him if she simply took his hand. Darcy glanced at his fingers, debating for another second, and then she put the dry erase marker to the white board and wrote four words.
Do you trust me?
Holding it up to him, she studied his face. A small frown creased his brow for a second as he read her loopy scrawl, and then he glanced up at her face.
"Yes."
Darcy tossed the whiteboard down on her bed and pulled back the blankets so that she could sit on the edge of the bed with her feet dangling. She held out both of her hands to him, palms up, and waited for him to realise what she was offering.
It didn't take him long. His face registered surprise for a second, and then he was pulling off the fingerless gloves that he wore, throwing them on her nightstand. He reached out to touch her hands but hesitated at the last second, looking up at her with a little apprehension.
"Are you sure you're okay with this?"
She smiled and gently wrapped her fingers around his hand in a loose hold. Instantly, his emotions and thoughts rushed at her but she was better prepared for it this time and they didn't bowl her over.
I'm sure, Steve.
She heard his gasp and felt his surprise, felt the way his chest hitched with the sharp indrawn breath, and the wonder that permeated his mind. His eyes drifted closed and she felt him cautiously reach out to her with conscious thought.
Darcy?
Yes. She squeezed his hands in hers and let her own eyes close so as to better focus. This is easier for me. The one-way conversation she'd had with her surgeon filtered through her mind. I'm not supposed to talk yet.
Sorrow and guilt flooded her but they were Steve's emotions, and just like his super-strength body, it seemed like his emotions came in super-soldier doses. She gasped and let go of his hands as the feelings not her own overwhelmed her precarious mental walls. Her eyes flew open and she found herself looking into Steve's startled face.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
Her heart beat quickly in her chest and for a moment her breath felt trapped in her chest, but she forced herself to breathe out slowly, and then back in at the same pace, forcibly slowing down her involuntary reaction. When she was sure, she nodded and carefully held out her hands once more.
Steve eyed them but didn't reach out to touch. "I don't know, Darcy. I don't want to hurt you."
Darcy picked up her whiteboard and scrawled.
It will take too long to explain using this thing, and it's not big enough anyway.
Her words got progressively smaller and cramped at the end, perfectly exemplifying her point she thought. She raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to make a decision.
"You're sure?" he asked again.
Darcy put down the whiteboard and held out both hands again in answer.
Steve didn't hesitate again. The separation between their minds blurred the moment that their skin touched, but Darcy was ready once more and pulled herself back enough to stop their thoughts from melding together completely.
Are you okay? She asked him.
She was pretty sure that he was just fine. His emotions—anticipation, excitement, curiosity—bumped up against her mind after all, but she wanted to hear his confirmation.
I am, he smiled up at her.
Okay, I'm going to try to show you now.
She closed her eyes and linked her fingers through his, feeling the callouses that spoke of a life lived using those hands, and focused her mind on her memories of that day.
Though she hadn't really mentioned it to anyone, those memories horrified her. Jane had asked her about it, letting Darcy know that she was there for talking should she wish, but Darcy hadn't wanted to relive it. At least not while she was awake, when she was asleep she had no choice in the matter. She had woken up in a cold sweat, reliving it, more than once. When she was awake and lucid, she knew that it was a normal reaction to a traumatic experience. Professor Xavier had been right when he'd labelled it as such. Darcy knew that she was safe now, that he was contained and as long as she stayed away from him, she would be fine. But in the middle of the night when her mind was vulnerable it conjured up exaggerated versions of that day, versions where he had never let go of her neck, where he had casually snapped it like a twig and left her lying in a crumpled heap against the wall.
She pushed that all aside the moment she took Steve's hand. While she was willing to share the facts, her feelings on the matter were private, and she hoped that she could keep them that way despite opening her mind to him. Tracing her mind back to that day, she focused on the physical things she remembered, how the door handle felt under her hand, and the smell of the cleaning agent used in the halls.
"James?"
He tilted his head at her, watching her like a bird of prey eyes its next meal and the hair on the back of her neck stood up.
"I thought maybe we could keep reading? This is my copy. Steve took his back to his—"
Her words cut off as he moved across the room. One second he was there, staring at her, the next he was in front of her, his hand clasped around her throat.
Darcy felt Steve's hand tighten around her own and for a second it distracted her, but she pushed forward, playing out her assault for him like a movie. Her heart rate picked up as she relived the terrifying sensation of not being able to catch her breath, of the burning in her chest as her lungs ached for fresh oxygen. She rushed through it, she knew, because the actual altercation had taken a good ten minutes or more but Darcy found herself releasing Steve's hands with a shaky breath in half that time. She opened her eyes to see Steve looking at her with the shock and guilt that she had felt in his mind.
"I'm so sorry he did that to you," he said earnestly, placing his big, warm hand on her knee and giving it a squeeze. "I'm so, so, sorry."
Darcy grabbed her white board, erasing the words with the side of her hand again.
Not your fault, she wrote. I should have listened to JARVIS. He warned me not to go in.
Steve nodded, running both hands through his hair absently, making the short blonde strands stick up every which way. It'd be cute if it wasn't for the forlorn look on his face, Darcy thought.
"JARVIS was right, you shouldn't have been in there alone, or at least not while I was out of the building." He looked up at her, his face dead serious. "I want your promise that you won't go near Bucky without me there, not until he's better."
Darcy huffed softly and scribbled on her board again.
Dude. I'm not going within 10 feet of him ever again. No worries on that front.
Steve frowned at the whiteboard as she turned it around for him to read, his eyes darting up to hers in confusion.
"What do you mean you're never going near him again?" he asked.
Darcy stared at him as if he'd just grown a third eye above his nose. She scribbled again, her writing getting sloppier in her rush.
Exactly what I said. I never want to see him again, let alone be in the same room.
Steve looked down at his hands hanging loosely between his knees and was silent for a long moment before he quietly said, "I thought you were going to help him, Darcy."
Darcy felt her stomach swoop a little as his words registered in her mind. Her mouth dropped open slightly as she stared at the top of his head. Furiously, she scrambled for her whiteboard marker and pen.
He tried to KILL ME, Steve!
She had to kick him in the shin to get him to look up. His mouth twisted into a grimace but he wouldn't meet her eye as he spoke.
"Yeah, I know, Darcy. But that's not him, that's not who Bucky is. He just…he needs help. The help that you can give him."
Darcy felt her heart begin to pound heavily in her chest as disbelief chased thoughts through her mind. It had never occurred to her that Steve would choose James' recovery over her well-being, but even as the thought popped into her head she cursed herself for being stupid. Having Professor Xavier encourage her to continue trying to help James was one thing, he wasn't the man who was supposed to be her friend, he had only come to the Tower with the intention of helping her do just that. Steve was an entirely different story. She had been stupid to think that his concern for her would be on the same level as his concern for James, that he wouldn't expect her to sacrifice herself for his friend. Of course he would. This was James Buchanan Barnes they were talking about, Steve Rogers' lifelong friend and, some argued, the reason why Captain America put that plane in the Atlantic with himself still in it. Hindsight was 20/20, and she really should have known better, but that didn't stop the hurt that spread through her body like a physical blow. She felt the lump build in the back of her throat, and the burn of tears in her eyes, but she swallowed both back furiously.
"I'm not going to set myself on fucking fire so that he can stay warm**," she rasped, her throat feeling like sandpaper as she spoke. Steve's head shot up at the sound of her abused voice. He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off by holding up her hand. "I think you should leave."
"Darcy, I don't want to see you hurt! I'd be there to protect—"
"Out!" Darcy said, more forcefully than before. Her throat was set aflame with the effort, but she was too angry to care much about it at the moment. She didn't have the patience to write the words that were brimming at the tip of her tongue, waiting to spill over and attack him. She wanted to scream at him, truly, but that would be showing him just how much his disregard for her hurt and if there's one thing she had learned as a mutant, it was self-preservation in all its forms.
"Darcy, please—"
He reached for her leg again, and she lashed out automatically, kicking his hand away. Clearly, he wouldn't leave, so she would. She swung her legs over and scooted out of the bed. Her socked feet hit the linoleum floors just as his chair scraped against the tiles as he stood up.
"Darcy! Wait a second!"
She whirled around to face him, her tears barely held in check by her pride, and jabbed a finger in his direction.
"I am not some dispensable commodity!" She tried to yell, but her voice came out hoarse and cracked. That didn't deter her. "Go fuck yourself, Steve."
He looked pained, as if her words had wounded him somehow, but she didn't give a rat's ass about his feelings. She turned back for the door and heard him make a move to stop her, "Darcy, please, I didn't mean—". Whipping open the door, she threw herself out of the room, half expecting to feel his hand on her arm, pulling her back. Instead, the door slammed shut behind her with so much force it rattled the frame.
Darcy paused and looked back over her shoulder. She heard a thump from the other side, and then the handle jiggled, but it didn't open.
"Darcy! Darcy open the door! I didn't mean it like that!" She could hear Steve's muffled voice from the other side. "JARVIS! Unlock the door!"
"The door is not locked, Captain. I cannot open it for you."
Darcy looked down at her hands for a second and then back up at the door. She hadn't consciously done anything, but it was too big of a coincidence to dismiss. She had wanted Steve to leave her alone, so she left the room he was in, but when he went to follow her he got locked inside instead. She'd read once that the human brain seeks to protect itself, which is why people who experience traumatic events often can't recall them in detail, because the mind blocks it out for its own safety.
Slowly, Darcy smiled at the door as Steve continued to bang on it. She knew it was a smug, self-satisfied smile, without having to look in a mirror.
Go fuck yourself, she thought to the man on the other side of that door, uncaring that he couldn't actually hear her.
Turning on her heel, she walked down the hall and made her way to the elevators. He'd find a way out eventually, she was sure. She simply had no intentions of being anywhere near when he did.
As Darcy punched the call button on the elevators, she considered retuning to her apartment in the Tower, but the thought of sitting around alone wasn't exactly appealing and would probably lead to crying which was to be avoided at all costs. She had a nervous kind of energy flitting through her veins and, usually, when that occurred she would find something to tinker with. She'd head to the lab, maybe get some work done on Jane's spectrometer, the thing she had been ignoring since one James Barnes came barrelling into her life.
"Miss? May I help you with something?
Darcy turned to find a middle-aged man in scrubs with the SI logo over the breast pocket and a stethoscope around his neck. A nurse, if she were any judge.
"No," Darcy whispered, her voice still coming out hoarse and raspy like a lifelong chain smoker.
He gave her a practices smile and said, "Miss, you're supposed to be in your room."
Darcy thought about it for a second, half a second really, and then shook her head before turning back around to wait for the elevator. She was done doing things that other people wanted her to do. Unfortunately for her, the nurse was undeterred.
"Miss, I'm going to have to insist that you come with me." He reached out and grasped her upper arm firmly, giving her a little tug.
Anger shot through her at his touch. Did he know nothing about her? Had he missed the mutant memo? And what part of 'no' didn't he understand? She was a patient of the medical ward, yes, but she still had her goddamn autonomy.
"Please, just come with—"
The anger built, boiling through her veins, making her skin feel tight and warm. She yanked her arm out of his grip and he sighed, giving her a look as if she were a petulant child. Maybe she was, but what did children do? They acted out.
"I said no," she told him holding her hand up, palm out. It was an instinctual gesture, but just as it had done with Steve, her power manifested to aid her. The nurse stumbled backwards as if he had been shoved, his arms flailing at his sides to keep his balance. Back, and back, and back he went until there was several feet between them and a look of utter astonishment, and perhaps a touch of fear, on his face.
Behind her, the elevator dinged and Darcy turned neatly on her heel. As the doors closed behind her she reached out and touched the wall.
"Thanks, JARVIS."
It was too good of a dramatic exit to not be executed by the AI, and while she appreciated the flair, she appreciated the rescue more.
"Any time, Miss Darcy," he answered, his posh British voice giving nothing away. "Please look to your right and select a floor for your destination."
The wall to her right lit up with softly glowing white numbers and letters. Darcy felt her volatile emotions waver at the sight. Not all of the elevators in the Tower had buttons. The ones most likely to be used by the public did, but the ones exclusively for the residents were usually controlled by speaking to JARVIS. He was giving her buttons so that she didn't have to speak as much, and she was touched.
Her eyes teared up as she reached out and lightly touched a button, indicating that she'd like to go to Jane's lab. The elevator began moving at once and Darcy swiped quickly at her leaky eyes, blinking furiously to attempt to stem the flow. If she started, she probably wouldn't stop for a while. Jane would surely notice if she walked into the room with a splotchy face.
"If it is your work that you seek, Miss Darcy, I must tell you that the spectrometer has been taken to Sir's lab for further adjustments. Do you wish to continue to Doctor Foster's lab?"
Darcy thought about it for a minute. If she went to Jane's lab without anything to work on, she'd be aimless and bored, and more liable to think about how much she'd like to punch Steve in the throat. And then cry about it. If she went to Stark's lab, she'd have work to do and Stark probably wouldn't engage in conversation like Jane might—if she wasn't buried in her own work, that is.
She shook her head, and reached out to press the button for Stark's lab instead.
"As you wish, Miss Darcy."
The trip was short, thank goodness because JARVIS didn't seem inclined to talk and Darcy was all up in her own head. The doors opened with a soft chime and Darcy found herself looking through the glass wall that made up the entrance to Stark's lab. She strode forward and opened up the door, surprised not to hear music playing, but two male voices instead.
"—waiting to hear about Budapest."
"And you'll just keep on waiting, Stark."
Walking softly, Darcy wove her way through the mess of Stark's lab, dodging large pieces of half-built equipment, until she could see the speakers. Stark stood next to the spectrometer, it kind of took up most of the room now—and she had to wonder just how the hell they moved it from one lab to another, and how they were going to move it back later—wiping his hands off on a dirty rag. A few feet away was Agent Barton, perched comfortably on top of one of Stark's tall work tables, one knee drawn up to his chest.
"I bet it's a sex thing, isn't it? It's totally a sex thing," Stark said.
"The world doesn't revolve 'round sex," Barton replied, sounding very much put upon.
"It doesn't?"
Darcy snorted indelicately, making both of the men look up. She experienced an uncomfortable moment of scrutiny with the two of them clearly examining her with keen eyes. Stark's lingered on her face, while Barton's kept straying back to her hands.
"Well, you look less shitty than the last time I saw you," Stark told her cheerfully, as if it were a compliment. It made Darcy smile, one side of her mouth ticking up.
"Gee, thanks," she rasped.
Stark winced. "You sound like ass, though."
"What exactly does ass sound like?" she asked, trying not to raise her voice too much.
He gestured at her with his dirty rag. "Exactly like that."
This time it was Barton who snorted, though when Darcy glanced at him, a smile still dancing about her lips, his face was carefully neutral as his eyes tracked her every movement. She paused, suddenly unsure of her welcome, and was about to excuse herself when DUM-E made an appearance.
He trilled at her, the same adorable sound he used to make to call for her attention, but as soon as she focused it on him, he shifted gears.
"Hello, is it me you're looking for?"
Darcy's jaw practically hit the floor as she stared at the robot in front of her. Considering that he had no face, or even humanoid features, he looked damned well pleased with himself. Spinning on the spot, his little camera maintaining eye contact with her, he continued.
"I can see it in your eyes. I can see it in your smile."
Stunned, Darcy looked up at the men in the room, though neither of them looked even remotely surprised. Stark looked resigned.
"Yeah, that's all on you," he said, pointing at her.
She looked back down at DUM-E and he sang to her again, "Helloooooo" in Lionel Richie's distinctive voice. It was too much for her. She burst into laughter, and even though it hurt her throat, she couldn't stop. She laughed until she wheezed, which then led to coughing. All the while, DUM-E spun on the spot as if he were dancing for her, singing her lines from that terrible, terrible song.
When she could breathe again, she looked up at Stark and rasped, "I didn't give him that audio! I don't have any Lionel Richie."
Stark made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat as he threw his rag down.
"Yeah, well. JARVIS thinks he's funny."