When Darcy wakes up, she's still pretty much half asleep and still doing a great as fuck impression of a zombie, but she can feel eyes on her. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck slowly rise as a shiver slithers down her spine. She glances around to find a lone figure crouched near the window and angled towards her. At seeing the person's hunched but alert position in her room, the first thought to run across her mind is that holy fucking shit, there's a person in her room! How in the fucking hell did they make it past Friday? Sure, the newer A.I. isn't Jarvis and his all-knowing amazingness, but she's smart enough to know that an intruder is never welcome. Then she thinks about it and, even through her sleep-fogged mind, figures out that Friday would never let anyone into her room unless they lived here and had consented access. Still, the fact that someone had gotten into her room while she was asleep makes her question whose consent was given since hers certainly wasn't, as far as she knows.
With a couple more swipes across her face to get the sleepies out of her eyes, ergo hopefully waking her up a bit more, Darcy makes the (maybe not so wise?) decision to go identify the person and learn why they're here. Then she's sliding out of her bed and padding gently towards her guest, slipping her phone off the nightstand and into her hand on the way. It's still dark out, at least from what she can tell, so in some part of her currently slow mind, a voice is telling her to tread carefully. Whoever it is probably isn't in the best of mindsets, most likely due to a not-so-lovely bout of nightmares that she knows everyone in the Tower suffers from.
Sure enough, as she gets closer, she can make out the familiar features of James' face. Relief that it's just him ripples through her. Somewhere among their many movie watching encounters becoming a Thing, she'd given him unreserved access to her place so that he could get comfy on her couch while she got the Munchies ready. If it weren't for the fact that he's somehow managed to hide his left side along with most of his body and thereby keeping his metal arm from shining into the darkness of her room, she'd have easily been able to identify him from her bed.
As she approaches and her eyes get adjusted to the lack of light, she guesses that he must be in Soldier Mode, but then something about this time seems different. Ever since the first time she was around to see it happen, she's had the theory that Soldier Mode normally means that James is no longer in control, that he's letting the Soldier take control because James can't or doesn't want to handle a situation. She's noticed that whenever the Soldier is in control, their eyes dim to a cold abyss, like a cold glass has fallen between them and their ability to feel emotions, not even confusion. Yet, now, she can see emotion. No, this is not the Soldier. This is James with a faraway, terrorized echo in his eyes and a gun in his lap, just sitting there, His hair had been pulled back in an elastic, but sometime between then and now, pieces have fallen out in a harried way. A quick glance at his attire tells her he's still in his PJ's too.
Once she's right in front of him, she crouches down so that their eyes are at an equal level, but then she's lost. Maybe she could reach out a grounding hand…? No, that could be potentially disastrous. He could unintentionally perceive her outstretched limb as a threat and then she'd really be fucked. If she had her voice, she thinks maybe she could have said something good, something encouraging or calming. Something that might help bring him back to the Tower with her and away from the haunting images and memories he's enraptured by now. She can't. Sure, she could type something, but again, she'd be running into the whole outstretched limb being taken as a threat problem again. Maybe getting someone else? However, again, getting someone else could be bad too. Would they be able to help better than her? Maybe. Probably. Most likely. After all, they could talk about shit with him and take him on in a fight if he got potentially physical. Plus, they're teammates, even if he's more like a backup with Wanda, Pietro, and Sam than a full-fledged member like Steve. Even Tony could maybe do better than her, having such strong PTSD and the Iron Man suit, and a hidden, but definitely there, empathetic side to him that had become prominent when he didn't let her cry alone when she broke down last week. Honestly, Darcy's got no idea why James even came to her place in the first place, any of the others would know what to do better than her, right?
However, he had come to her and that had to mean something. Sure, it could be more the product of accidental wandering without seeing, but she's pretty sure that's not it. He must have had some idea of where he was going, even if it was just the slightest idea. Besides, he probably already knew all this. He chose her, and now she's going to do the friend thing and help him.
Okay. No talking and no touching. Hmm, what's left? Waiting. There's waiting and just being there with him. Sometimes just being there is just as good if not better than talking shit out. Sometimes people don't wanna talk and just want someone there, their mere presence saying "We don't have to talk, and that's fine. I'm here. I support you. You are not alone. I'm here for you." And she sure as fucking hell can do that like a pro. So she settles down on the floor in front of him and crosses her legs, his eyes watching her every move. She's still tired but staying up to be a comforting presence for a friend, it sure as hell is worth the few hours of sleep that she's sacrificing. She may be a bit grouchier tomorrow, but it will be worth it if it means James isn't alone right now.
After a while of just sitting in the dark together, Darcy figures maybe she could get Friday to put on a film or something for them, something good and easy. She turns on her mobile and texts Friday the request, making sure to keep her movements as non-threatening as possible by keeping her hands and her device close to her person in front of her so her ever watching companion doesn't accidentally think she's trying to hurt him.
Almost instantly after her text is sent, a reply lights up the screen. The next episode of Phineas and Ferb has been queued up in your living room, Ms. Lewis. I have also taken the liberty of turning the volume down to 10% so as not to startle Mr. Barnes, it reads.
She quickly types out thank you, Friday, before getting to her feet, making a point to be obvious about her actions. From hanging around Clint and Nat, she's learned that it's better to be obvious and even loud sometimes when moving around them because trying to be sneaky makes them think that the person has less than wholesome intents and causes them to react in turn. However, being loud and obvious means that you obviously want them to know of your presence, and therefore allows them to feel slightly more comfortable in your presence. She thinks the same tactic can probably apply pretty well to James too. At her standing, he does the same in a swift maneuver. Then she pads out of the room, letting her back be turned to him in the hopes that he takes the action as a show of trust. He hasn't acted out with any volatile intentions yet, so she'll give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides if he does end up doing something, there's really not a whole lot she could do, even with Nat's training. Behind her, she hears him make enough sound to let her know that he's followed her.
Instead of heading straight to her couch, she makes a stop in the kitchen. While she goes over to a drawer and gets out two spoons, just in case he wants some as well, he stands by her counter to watch, his gun now put away somewhere on his person. As she turns to move over to her freezer, she's met with his sudden appearance at her side, an empty hand outstretched slightly for the silverware. Holding in a squeak at his abrupt thereness and trying to keep any fear off her face, she doesn't want him to think she's afraid of him because Darcy really hasn't been for ages, she hands him the spoons, which he accepts silently. Then she moves over to her freezer and digs out a partly eaten carton of Mediterranean salted caramel gelato. Yes, Ben and Jerry are ice cream gods and Darcy will fight off anyone who disagrees, or maybe sick Thor on them while she eats some of the heavenly treat herself, but gelato is also another favorite chilled dessert of hers.
Gelato in hand, oh so gorgeous gelato, she shuffles over to her couch, brunette assassin and part-time Avenger following on her tail. Plopping down with all the grace of brick, Darcy cozies herself with her favorite fuzzy blanket, which she tends to keep on her couch for times like this, and then pats the empty space next to her on the couch, indicating that she wants him to sit down next to her if he wants to. He does some fancy spysassin flip over the couch and lands next to her with his legs all crossed like a pretzel. She pops off the lid of the gelato carton and, without further prompting, he hands over a spoon before sticking his own into the carton and pulling it out with a nice, proper bite of the treat. Then, he simply says "Okay, Friday," prompting the friendly, neighborhood A.I. to start up the show as he shoves the spoonful into his mouth.
She counts the time going by with episodes. After two episodes, the carton has been properly emptied, him having eaten more than her with his enhanced metabolism. After three episodes, his eyes have lost some of the shadows of pain passed. After four, his lips have curled the slightest fraction upwards at the antics displayed by the genius stepbrothers. After five, he's allowed himself to slouch into the couch. By the sixth episode, he's gathered some of her blanket over his legs.
And as the seventh adventure has rolled to a close, he speaks. His voice is raspy and quiet, but she can easily hear it over the show. "If these kids were real and much sassier, I'd swear they were Stark's kids or somethin', cause half the shit they've made are definitely something' I'm pretty sure he'd come up with if he hasn' already. And that Perry, how the hell do these writers come up with shit like this? He's fucking fantastic! Do ya think Stark could find one for me? Or maybe Natasha could…? She can get anythin'."
Hearing this, she chances a glance in his direction. He's serious. Like 1000% dead serious. He wants a platypus, more specifically Perry the Secret (but Not Really that Secret) Agent Platypus. Confident that he's not going to snap at an outstretched limb, she hastily digs out her mobile from the depths of her blanket and then types out a reply.
Dude, sorry to disappoint, but you do know any platypus you get won't be like Perry, right? He's one of a kind and also kind of just an awesomesauce cartoon.
After reading her message, his lower lip juts out just the tiniest bit, but she notices. He also sags deeper into the cushions and crosses his arms over his chest. HOLY FUCKING MOTHER OF GOD SHIT! JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES, THE WINTER SOLDIER FOR GOD'S SAKE IS POUTING, AND IT'S ABSOLUTELY FUCKING ADORABLE. LIKE, PUTTING PUPPIES TO SHAME ADORABLE! Crossing her fingers that he won't kill her later for this, she snaps a quick photo. For blackmail purposes. Not because of all the cuteness. Yeah. Blackmail.
"Yeah, I know, but I can dream, right?"
Okay, yep. At hearing this, Darcy loses it. A raucous chorus of howling, snorting laughter that would definitely not be appreciated in a public place. After a few minutes of wild chortling, full on body wracking guffaws, even James lets out a few chuckles himself, probably more amused with ungraceful laughs than actually understanding why she's laughing, but hey, Darcy Lewis has gotten the ex-cold, unfeeling Russian assassin to laugh. That's totally a win in her book.
The night may not have started out the best. Darcy may never find out why James snuck into her room and not someone else's. She may never learn what woke him up and the nightmares that enraptured him, and that's fine. This night may not have been the best night, or even a good night, but in her book, it ended pretty fantastically.