Chapter 2: Starlight

Summary: It's one of two things that are making Darcy feel edgy, and on her honeymoon of all times:
1) The disgruntled call from her asshole father; or
2) Her wonderful serum rearing it's ugly head. Can you hear her sarcasm?

Notes: Okay, guys. I'm really sorry for the wait. This installment's been giving me major trouble this go around. Not sure why, but I haven't hit my groove yet. Then there was some vacation in there, and then a little thing called The Olympics, which I'm a huge, huge fan of. Been a bit distracted by gorgeous swimmers (has anyone noticed Miller? Also-Water Polo. Who knew, right?) So, apologies, but here's the next chapter. I've got a little padding left before I catch up to posting where I'm at, so hopefully I can widen the distance before we get there. This one's a mixed bag. There's some humor in angry phone calls. There's some fluff and angst. Then there's some more angst at the end. Title taken from the wonderful, wonderful, appropriately angsty and romantic song by Muse. Again, sorry to keep you guys waiting (if you really were waiting, that is. I'm never sure) Let me know how you like/what your thoughts are/what you think is happening or might want to happen. With this one giving me trouble, at this point, I might be up for options. If nothing else, a suggestion, even if not used word-for-word, might just plain old give me a boost along. So if there's something floating in your head or you have random thoughts, feel free to toss them my way. Love y'all. Also, I always forget this: I DO NOT OWN MARVEL. Marvel owns Marvel. And possibly the largest array of attractive men all in one place that I have ever seen. Wow, that makes me sound shallow. Well, this chapter outta be proof that I'm really not. Okay, I'll stop typing now. ((())) "Darcy?"

She jerked awake one morning a week later, looking around.

The sun was rising, casting everything in a molten glow.

Bucky was asleep beside her, the sheets low on his gorgeous hips, barely decent, covering his butt.

She frowned, shaking off the remnants of sleep and pulling a hand through her mussed hair. She stared down at him for a moment, watching the even rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, flat on his stomach, one arm beneath the pillow, one having slipped from her arm.

God, she could've sworn it was his voice she'd heard speaking, clear as day. She knew his voice inside and out, could pick it out anywhere. The warm timber of it had power over her and she was sure she could pick it out on a crowded Manhattan street in the middle of the Times Square New Year's celebration.

But he didn't talk in his sleep; he never had.

She blinked, but shook her head. "Weird dream," she muttered, sliding carefully out of the bed to avoid disturbing him, and plucked her phone from the bedside table where she'd left it the night prior.

She grabbed her light silk robe from the hook by the bath and slid it on over the lace teddy she'd brought, black and exactly what she'd guess he'd like, tying the cinch and hitting some buttons on her Starkphone, chewing on her lip as she followed the short hallway out into the open plan of the living area.

She was restless now, and she wasn't sure why.

She couldn't shake the awful sensation that something weird was going on and it made her nervous that they were so far from home, New York an entire country away. She saw that she had a voicemail and hit the icon.

You missed a call that came in at approximately 2:12 this morning, Eastern Standard Time, JARVIS told her, like it wasn't already obvious.

New York.

You also have a message, Miss Lewis. Would you prefer to listen to it now?

She smirked. "Yes."

As you wish. Playing message.

"Hey, Short Stack. Just your Boss Man. Or…whatever you wanna call me. Um…" Tony sounded uncharacteristically awkward. "Just checking in, I guess. Don't worry, everything's fine over here, nothing earth-shattering going on, you're not missing anything. Just, uh…I dunno."

She smiled.

"I miss ya, kiddo. I wanted you outta here so bad and now here I sit. The reports are piling up, so you'll have plenty to do when you get back. I was so desperate I almost did them for you, but I didn't wanna mess up your system so I put them back." He chuckled. "Listen to me, leaving sad, pathetic voicemails." He sighed. "I hope you're having fun. No, wait, I hope you're relaxing. You two need a little downtime. Like, bad. Anyway…it's been pretty quiet here, actually—too quiet, and you know how much that makes me nervous. Been tearing out my hair. Steve came round looking for you, just after ya left, think he wanted to go out on a double with you to that festival that's going on. Think he forgot you were gone. The Spider came in, all grumpy about it, so safe to say you're missed by people who aren't me."

She laughed.

"Funny, how you end up with two families in your life, eh? I mean, I dunno, dad and I, we weren't on the best and then…well…but now here everyone is, living in my tower, coming and going. You two. You two are…" He hesitated, sighing again. "Well, I miss you. So come back soon. But not too soon." Another long pause. "I, uh…"

She nibbled on her lower lip, her heart kicking up.

"Well…I love ya, Short Stack. I'll see ya. Pep sends her love and a hug for Buck."

The phone beeped.

End of message. Would you like to keep or discard, Miss Lewis? JARVIS asked.

She smiled. "Keep."

As you wish. Message saved. You have no more messages or missed calls. Would you like to return the call?

She chuckled. "No, J. Later."

"Of course. The weather at your location today promises to be much the same as yesterday, according to local reports. Clear and sunny with few overlying clouds, with a high of 87 degrees Fahrenheit. No chance of rain, with a humidity level of eighty percent. With a high ultraviolet index, might I suggest the use of sunscreen?

She chuckled. "Okay, J."

Is there any other information I might provide for you, Miss Lewis?

She rolled her eyes at Tony's marvelous programming talents. "No, J. Thank you for the weather."

Of course.

The phone beeped.

Chuckling and shaking her head, she crossed into the kitchen and hit the button on the coffee maker, pulling out the creamer and a spoon and two mugs. If her leaving the bed didn't do the trick, usually the aroma of coffee roused her sleeping husband.

Husband.

She still marveled at the word.

But it didn't banish the uncomfortable unsettled-ness about her, even as she chewed on her thumbnail and studied the gorgeous glow of the new sun, just barely full against the crashing tide. She wasn't often restless. Active, yes, but not restless and she was slightly embarrassed by the notion that Bucky was likely the only solution. Or, more precisely, his body. She was sure it was about emotional comfort or some cheesy bullshit, but she had the sneaking suspicion that the only soothing she'd find would be in him—or, rather, him…in her. She flushed just thinking about it, like their lovemaking was some dirty, shameful thing.

Behind her, the coffee machine started to gurgle, and she jumped at the sudden noise in the silence, the prickling in her neck becoming a tingle, and she set her palm to her belly, reflexively tensing for an episode. Maybe that was what it was: she was waiting for one, on pins and needles, even though she'd gone all week without one.

"Goddamn it," she muttered, pulling her hands through her hair again, smoothing it down and sweeping it off her neck.

Her phone started jangling on the countertop behind her, making her jump again.

Incoming call, JARVIS announced.

She spun, peering at the screen, photo-less and giving her no hint to who it was. She studied the number. "2-0-2 area code? Why does that sound familiar?" Never one to ignore if she could help it, just in case it was important, she picked it up and swiped the screen. "Hello?"

"Darcy. Pumpkin. What's this garbage I just heard about you getting married?"

She flinched, her whole body tensing. "Nathan. Hi."

"Since when do you call me 'Nathan'? Were you planning on telling your father you'd tied the knot with some half life from Orange County or were you going to keep that a secret too?"

She blinked. "I've never been to Orange County in my life—where do you get these weird-ass ideas?"

But her father had always been one for exposition; he cut right to the chase. "Who is he?" he demanded.

She sighed, her gut tingling ominously as the coffee machine kept up a cheerful soundtrack in complete juxtaposition to the entire situation. "Hi, Dad. Long time, no see. I've been fine. How about you? Mom? No, haven't heard from her, just like the last three times you asked. Have you? How's Siobhan? Still spreading her poison around Jersey?" she carried on flatly, as though they had ever had a normal conversation in her entire life.

And just when Tony had left her that wonderful message. How ironic, that the man she'd come to know as her father had been interrupted by her real, asshole variety father.

He sighed across the line. "Darcy. I'm serious. I demand to know."

"Demand?" she drawled, her irritation quickly rising to a simmer and bubbling dangerously high. "Oh! You know what? I just realized, just now, just in this moment, that I forgot to tell you something—totally forgot—isn't that funny?!"

"Darcy…" he said again, a warning in his tone, growing sharper. "I'm serious."

"I got married. Yeah. Can you believe it—me, of all people! Your daughter, the, uh…What was it you called me, again? The 'hopeless, future drug-addict alcoholic little beast that was the only product of your first marriage'? Was that it? I forget—I mean, let me know if I left out a word or something, would you?"

"Darcy, God damn it!" he swore, his voice sharpening. "I did not get to the office early to make this call so that you could give me your attitude."

She laughed. "Oh, God. You got up early and everything? You do care!" Then she let her tone drop. "So sorry to interrupt your sexual fantasy life with the woman-child."

"Darcy, I swear to God!"

"What?" she snapped, the anger coming to a sharp boil. "How old am I? Do I require your permission to marry anyone?"

This deflated him a bit. "Well, it would've been nice to have been informed."

"Why? So you could send a cheap bottle of wine? Give me a fucking break, Nate."

He paused. "It is a man, right?" he sneered.

She yanked her hand roughly through her hair again. "Oh, God…"

"Since when don't you call me 'dad', anyway?"

She pressed the heel of her palm to her belly, scowling and wincing as the area over her right eye began throbbing dully. "Since I was ten and you told me you didn't have time for…what was it? Oh, right—childish games."

A short pause. "So…?"

"I was a child!" she snapped. "What the fuck, dude?"

There was slight pressure on her left shoulder and she jumped, twisting to find Bucky pressing his mouth against her skin, where her robe had fallen off her clavicle. His arms came around her waist and his hands splayed down her thighs, tugging her in close for a moment. Her heart squeezed at what was obviously supposed to be a sweet gesture meant to calm her, even though it utterly failed. He pressed his face against her neck and released her.

"And this was what I meant, Darcy Jane. So, now that we've gotten this childish tantrum out of the way, would you be so kind as to tell me about this mysterious guy? Or is this some made up game like you used to play, with your imaginary friends?"

She would not cry, she would not. No matter if they were angry tears or no, she would not give Nathaniel Lewis, CEO of Pharmacon Global and worst father on the face of the planet, the satisfaction of knowing he could still get under her skin. "He's someone I work with," she said, voice flat, offering nothing further, just watching as the man in question went around her to the coffee pot and poured. His mug was straight black—as always, ever the military man—but hers he only filled halfway, replacing the pot, then adding her hazelnut cream, filling the cup the rest of the way, stirring, replacing the bottle, setting the spoon in the sink and sliding it over to her across the counter with a gentle smile.

She mouthed a desperate thank you and pulled it closer.

He nodded, leaning over the 'L' shape of the counter to face her as he sipped, naked but for a pair of boxer briefs, and he paused to unfurl her hand from around the mug and bring it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to her palm. Her stomach fluttered.

"And…?" Nathaniel pressed further. "Name?"

She sighed stubbornly.

Bucky winked, able to hear everything plain as day.

"James," she muttered.

"And what does he do?"

She rolled her eyes, taking a breath. "Oh, you know…just your everyday assassin."

Bucky coughed, hurrying to swallow his mouthful of coffee, and looked up at her with surprised eyes.

She gave him a mischievous look.

He smirked back.

But Nate wasn't convinced. "Uh-huh. Right. No, really, Darce. What's he do?"

She shrugged. "Well, I guess you could say he's in information trafficking and security…" she hedged.

Bucky snorted.

"Can he support you?"

Could he…? Hm… She rolled her eyes. "And then some."

"Oh, really? Are you sure?"

She sighed. "Well, for starters, I'm wearing a three-carat diamond wedding ring, so…I'll let you be the judge of that."

A long pause. "Ah. Well. Okay, then. Why wasn't any of this made public? I had to find out because Siobhan heard from a friend of a friend. After that, I had one of our little sleuths here at the company do a little hacking—not that I approve of your talents in the area."

Their eyes met and Bucky's narrowed suspiciously.

She changed the subject. "And how is Siobhan lately?" she asked in her sweetest voice.

"She's out on a little vacation with a couple of her girlfriends, actually," he said.

She snorted. "Oh, really? Girlfriends. Right. I'll just bet."

A long sigh. "Darcy, don't start—"

"What else has she got—your credit card?"

"How old is this James?"

She couldn't stop the smile from curling her mouth as she looked at him. "Twenty-nine."

"And he's capable of supporting you?" he asked, skeptical.

"Well, he's wise beyond his years," she quipped.

Bucky chuckled.

"So. Can I go, now? I was having a seriously great time. We're out here in Hawaii, best trip ever, until you called and interrupted it with your yuppie yammering. So if you don't mind—"

"You're using protection?" he suddenly asked, his voice its sharpest yet.

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

Darcy sighed. "Wow."

"You're not knocked up, are you? Would explain you snagging a guy can afford a ring like—"

But then the phone was gone from her hand, and she stuttered, gaping, as Bucky turned on the speaker and held it between them. "Mr. Lewis?"

She stared, her mouth open.

"And you are?"

"James, Sir."

"Ah. She's not knocked up, is she? Bun in the oven?"

"No, Sir. Most definitely not." A charming, mischievous smile. "Don't think that's happening anytime soon."

She groaned. "Nathan, there are no buns, and no ovens!

Bucky winked.

She rolled her eyes. "Oven's broken, anyway," she muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing…"

"And how long have you been involved with my daughter, James?"

"About a year, Sir."

"Only a year? Doesn't that seem a bit fast?"

Their eyes met again. "Well. When you know, you know, isn't that what they say, Sir?"

A deep, authoritative sigh. "Well, yes, if you're an insipid—"

But that didn't stop her Jamie. "We've been through a lot, Sir. It felt like it was time."

For the first time Darcy could ever recall in her entire life, Nathaniel Lewis was speechless.

With a smirk, Bucky offered the phone back to her, hitting the speaker button again. "I think this is your cue."

She was still staring into his eyes when her father managed to reclaim his voice. "Nate?"

"Well…he seems…decent."

"He's better than decent."

"Well, I don't know—"

"He's wonderful."

Bucky looked away, his body language softening. His opinion of himself was still something he struggled with, and likely always would, no matter how long he lived.

"Darcy, now, don't go off into that head of yours, okay? Remember how you used to get? This isn't some fairy tale and he's not some prince on horseback—"

She burst out with a giggle. "You're telling the wrong person that this isn't a fairy tale, Nate. Trust me. You have no goddamn idea."

He made a scoffing sound. "What would it take to get you to stop calling me that and to start calling me 'dad'?"

She paused, looking down into the smooth, creamy surface of her coffee, suddenly sober. "Go back in time and earn it?"

Bucky took up her hand again and began kneading at her palm with his large thumb. It was callused and slightly rough after years and years of combat and weapons handling, and she wondered if he realized how those hands often felt on her sensitive skin. He was damnably charming and he was a fucking dog when he was trying to mess with her, but she doubted he'd made a connection that subtle—at least to someone as classy as he could be. Redoubling her efforts in never telling him and therefore giving him even more ammunition to use against her in his already overflowing seduction arsenal, she pressed her hip harder into the counter to distract from the flame of want he unknowingly set ablaze in her.

Damn serum.

But she didn't look at him, couldn't.

"I haven't earned it simply in raising you?"

"No."

The longest pause yet.

"You haven't raised me, you ass. That's not how it works. That's never been how it works. You don't get to act like a bastard and pick and choose when you get to care. You don't get to switch it up somewhere between in and out. Men like you don't understand what that means, being all in. I'm just lucky that I've stumbled across a few in my life willing to bend over backwards for me. To put themselves in the line of fire."

"In the line of fire?! I thought you were a clerk—"

"And I'm looking at one right now that puts you to shame."

Silence.

"Bye. Dad."

She hung up, setting her Starkphone down on the counter with a soft tap. For a long moment, neither of them moved, and the only sound was the crashing of the tide down below the deck.

Darcy knew that he sometimes tried to tread lightly, that they were still new enough that he wasn't always sure how she'd react to an action, or how she'd react to him reacting.

She was glad this wasn't one of those times. Just as her knees started to shake, he swooped her up into his arms and pulled her close, holding her up against him.

For a long time, they stood like that, the surf roaring in the background, Darcy breathing into his neck and shoulder, his arms tightening around her.

It momentarily banished the unsettled feeling in her body.

Finally, she gently pulled back from him, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. "Thank you. Let's go for a walk, hm?"

((()))

They went walking again, into town, and she spent way too much money on frivolities, a pretty skirt, a wrap, a camisole. An expensive pair of sunglasses and she laughed when she realized they were his exact pair. A bottle of perfume that smelled of lilies and coconut that he teasingly mentioned he'd like to lick off of her.

A long, delicate chain with a tiny charm at the end, a shell carved from lava rock that she admired, finally drifting off when it became apparent that the shop owner wasn't around.

Bucky said not a word about her tense conversation that morning. But his hand was there, just as it always was, supportive, at the small of her back.

There was a small mini market at the end of the street, and she ducked in for a six pack of Corona to replace what they'd drank, and a small net of limes.

They walked back, taking their time, hand in hand, as the sun went down, casting everything in a tropical glow, and she was glad to note that with their serum enhancement, they weren't sunburned, but a nice, shimmering tan. Although, Bucky would have a tan line around his shoulders and the sleeves of his tank.

"Thank you," she said as they crested the hill that led to the private drive of the beach house.

"For what?" He reached up and slid his sunglasses back onto the top of his head, the very last of the glow turning his blue eyes turquoise.

"For just being you." She shrugged, looking down at their joined hands. He'd made remarkable strides in the last few months; he barely even noticed when someone commented on his unique arm and he didn't even hesitate upon going outside without a sleeve on anymore. As it was, not many people were brave enough or so lacking in tact as to ask after it. Most people did a double take if they noticed it at all, before staring up at him, blinking back down at the arm, then around, as if to spot further evidence. One man, an older gentleman they'd come across once, strolling around Manhattan one night just a few weeks ago, had taken a long look at him when Bucky's back had been turned, glanced at Darcy, nodded, and tapped him on the opposite wrist. When he'd turned, the old man had given him a casual little salute.

"Thank you," he'd said.

Bucky had blinked. "Sir?"

Darcy, having a feeling she knew what was coming, tried not to stare at the man's Vietnam cap, and she'd wondered if Bucky's eagle eyes had missed it.

But the old man was unperturbed. "It's been a long time and with the way the world is today, it's nice to see the young ones are still serving." He'd gestured to the arm. "Impressive, that one you've got there. Far sight better than the one my best buddy's got."

Still blinking, stunned, Bucky only nodded, looking a little confused.

"Anyhow," the old man had continued as he'd hobbled off on his cane. "Nice to spot a fellow soldier once in a while. So, thanks."

And just like that, he was gone.

Bucky had spent the rest of the night in a state of sobriety at the whole thing and when Darcy was finally brave enough to bring it up, he'd just shrugged and said, "That would be me. I'd be an old man." He'd shaken his head. "Or, rather…I'd match how I feel…"

But now, now, in the bright sunset, he was young and vibrant and alive, and laughing, something he still, even after all this time, seemed to only do so much of around anyone but her. "I didn't do anything other than be myself," he teased. "Did you want me to pretend to be Steve for a little while, or…"

They'd made it up the private drive now, and she pulled out her key and unlocked the door. "No, I know. It's just…supporting me is such a natural instinct with you, that I think you don't even realize you're doing it, or just what you're doing, really. But…you can always tell when I need to talk and when I need my space. And you let me come to you. And I couldn't be more appreciative of that. You never push more than you think I need. And I hope you know what that means to me. That's all." She shut the door behind them and flicked the lock again.

He shrugged. "Isn't that what this whole thing is about?"

She studied the ocean view. "Yeah, but…I don't think a lot of people get that anymore, and certainly not most men. You…took the time to…understand me. Studied me. I've…never met a guy that did that. And…I really must've hit the payback for what I grew up with, because between Steve and Boss Man, and you, I…I've got a lotta great guys lookin' out for me."

The corner of his mouth curled. "Well. I hope you don't think lookin' out for you is all I'm doing…"

She laughed, stepping in toward him and got up on tip toe to press a kiss to his mouth. "Never in a million years."

He sighed, pulling gently back to set the beer and the limes on the counter. "We should eat. What do you want?"

She chased him. "I don't want food."

They shared a long look.

"I don't want food," she repeated, reaching up to pull his sunglasses from his hair and set them on the counter.

They met in the middle, drawing together in a long, earth-shattering kiss. She sighed, arching her neck to give him access to her throat, tugging his tank up his chest.

But it was unhurried, and he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the master suite, shucking them of their clothing slowly, methodically, completely unrushed.

They knew each other by heart now, and she shifted for him and he eased into her in one long thrust, not needing to communicate with anything other than sighs and the odd caress, soft here, tight there.

Her mind drifted as they roamed through their lovemaking, recalled to those first few nights together, when he'd been careful and soft, slow and sweet, brimming with that newfound passion of lovers but holding back with everything he had for fear of hurting her, the odd burst of it seeping through here or there. She'd lapped up every little taste he'd given her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, pressing a nuzzle against her jaw, drawing her back to herself.

She admired the low light playing across the plains of his broad back, his silvery scars lit up, as though to show off. "Fine. Just thinking." She ran her hands up his back, curling her hips against him, and he adjusted, reaching for that spot. "Nothing bad. Don't worry." She smiled when he eased back to look into her face. "Nothing bad." Her thoughts drifted further as he rolled his hips, and she arched her back. "Ah. There. Found it." Her nails dug in and she let her head fall back.

"Always do," he murmured, but there was no confident inflection; only a statement of faith.

"Mm," she agreed, curling her hips again and pressing against him, bucking softly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful quality of it, lacking in all lustful hurry. "I love you," she whispered.

In answer, he curled his hand around hers and pressed a gentle line of tender little kisses up her throat, over her jaw and finally ended on her mouth, his tongue tracing the line of her teeth.

She didn't try to hold back; neither did he. In an unspoken agreement, they let the natural slope take control, and they happened to arrive together, his gasp and her whimper only accompanied by the sudden stillness of them.

It took a long time to fade; where usually they spent a long time talking and laughing in the dark, they were quiet tonight, curling up together in the center of the bed, the crashing of the tide through the open windows taking the conversation instead.

She drifted off like she used to, before the change.

((()))

But, of course, she hadn't been naïve enough to expect it to last, and sure enough, it didn't. She woke not long after, perhaps two hours, maybe three. The room still looked the same, dark and dim, the glow of the moon casting blue shadows across the carpet and furniture. The light from the next private house over was a small spot in the distance, casting a glow over the low rock walls between them.

Bucky was asleep beside her, on his stomach, his arm tenderly around her waist.

Her belly tingled.

She reflexively sucked in a breath, closing her eyes again and trying to focus on the feel of him beside her and push it off, the way he'd suggested she try not long ago. "Not now, not now," she murmured, to whom, she wasn't sure. "Please not now, not now."

But whoever it was wasn't listening. The tingling spread, first in a burst that lit up her heart and sent it pounding, then along her arms and down her legs, the ice ratcheting up until it was a burning cold, then an awful, unbearable ache. The entire process took a ridiculous five minutes, barely enough time for her to even catch her breath.

Her hand landed on his waist. "Jamie," she whispered, hating herself for disturbing his hard-won slumber. He looked so peaceful and gorgeous. "Jamie…"

He shifted beside her, his arm tightening.

She bit her lip as a fresh wave seized her and the pain spiked. She pressed her hand harder, struggling to increase her voice. "Jamie…" It came out a pathetic whimper.

But it worked. He shifted again, groggy, clearly in the middle of a REM cycle. "Wha'sswrong, baby…?" he slurred a little, his voice soft in the dark.

All she could manage was a whimper as she struggled not to writhe around. "Mm…I don't…feel so good…"

He came instantly awake, sitting up and turning to flick on the light—

"No!" she begged. "No, no light, please, not the light!" She winced at the brightness before he snapped it back off again.

"I'm sorry…"

She curled in on herself, clenching her jaw shut. "Oh, God…oh, God, this is worse," she moaned.

Instead of fumbling, he lifted her into his lap and gathered her hair back off her neck, snatching up a twist from the bedside table and securing it in a neat knot at the back of her head. "Worse?"

She nodded, curling, trying to make her small form even more compact even though she had nowhere to go. She slithered off his lap and back down to the bed, unable to hold still. "Oh, fuck," she groaned, unable to recognize the hard agony in her own voice. "Oh, God, Jamie…" The tears pushed up and out, streaming down her face and into her hairline.

He was calm, bless him. "What can I do? Can I do anything?"

"Just don't go," she wept, pleading with him in the dark.

"Not in a million years, baby. I'm right here. Hold my hand," he murmured, offering his metal one and gathering the blankets up around her with his other.

She shook her head. "I don't wanna hurt you. Don't touch my hands." She curled them into little fists as the burning increased, and all she could think of was Tony's burn, all those weeks and weeks ago.

"You're not gonna hurt me, baby. C'mere."

She gasped and a sob escaped. "Oh, God, it hurts, it hurts," she chanted.

Bucky winced, scowling. "I know, sweetie, I know."

"It's never been this bad before." She jerked away. "I don't wanna hurt you." It came out all agonized sobbing this time, but she couldn't stop it, found nothing to grip but his metal hand.

"You won't, baby."

She clutched him.

And he let her, wrapping his arms around her and propping them back in his pillow, rocking her gently and speaking to her, his voice low and soft. "Hold on. Just hold on tight. Don't try and fight it."

Somewhere, in some distant back corner of her mind, she felt silly, crying like a child, but the sobs slipped out of her, beyond her control but for her adult ability to keep them from sounding like a wracking mess. The pain was just so unbearable, claws ripping at her insides, tearing at her skin, her body one gigantic throb. She wept against his shoulder, tears streaming down her face and soaking his scars, and he didn't try to keep up with them; he just let her to it.

"Don't fight it, baby. Just ride it out, okay? Ride it out. Let it have its way."

She gasped, then hiccupped, curling her body into him, as though she could climb under his skin and hide there, where the pain couldn't find her.

"It's worse if you fight it, baby. Just let it through. Ride it out."

She gasped out another sob all made of anger and frustration. "Fuck my life."

He pressed the heel of his palm against her back, the space between her shoulder blades, and she knew he was keeping count of her heart rate. "We're gonna get through this; we will. I know it doesn't feel like it now, but we will. We'll find our way out the other side, okay, baby? You gotta be strong for me."

She bit her lip so hard she was surprised she didn't taste blood. "I can't. I can't, I can't."

"Yes, you can. I need you to be strong for me, now, okay? You've gotta be strong for me. Dig deep."

The pain ratcheted up further, the throbbing turning into a burning, and fresh tears rose in a wave and slipped down her cheeks.

"Breathe, baby."

She barely heard him, mired in a radiated cloud of heat.

"Darcy." This time, his voice brooked no argument, what she jokingly called his Winter Soldier voice, deep and lacking in all soft inflection. "Breathe, Darcy."

She sucked in a breath.

And his voice softened again. "That's it. Inhale." He paused. "Exhale."

She somehow managed to follow his instructions.

"Focus on my voice. Inhale. Exhale. Good. You're doing great, sweetheart."

She eased her death grip on him, somehow, though she wasn't sure just what route she took, the only things in her conscious mind being the pain, his arms and his voice, echoing against the inside of her skull, soft, like worn sandpaper against the pressure in her head.

"Inhale. Exhale. Good. Inhale. Exhale." His hand began trailing up and down her back, running softly along her spine, up her vertebra prominens and back down again, increasing in pressure, as though to draw her attention to it gradually. "Inhale. Exhale. That's it. Just breathe. Inhale. Exhale."

Slowly, the pain eased, little by little, until it was a dull, throbbing pulse in her chest again, her heart slipping back into its normal rhythm.

She sniffled, weak and wrung out and unable to move.

He cupped her face and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, clucking his tongue at her swollen face.

"You don't shy away when there's a crying girl around," she joked softly, her voice rough.

It was always like this after an episode, a gradual return to their usual banter, and Darcy felt ashamed for falling apart so thoroughly and leaving him holding the bag.

He smiled. "Actually, I always thought a crying woman was a pretty thing."

She gaped at him.

He shrugged. "Call me crazy."

"You're crazy," she murmured, taking his suggestion.

He laughed softly. "All you women, you're amazing. Us, men, we…we're so wrapped up in our own egos, a lot of us are slaves to our libido or the comfort of our own masculinity, we walk around and pretend we don't care. But you…you're all so unafraid to feel so much—too much—and all at once. And you're so stunningly unapologetic about it. You amaze me, repeatedly."

She had a hard time meeting his gaze. "You've always been good about sharing your feelings. Steve, too."

He shrugged. "I'm from a different time. What about Tony? Clint?"

She nodded. "I guess you're right." She edged away and turned over onto her side, facing away from him and readjusting the blankets around her chest, covering up.

But his voice came again, quiet in the dark. "My Darcy wouldn't shy away, though."

She swallowed, her throat raw. "What if it turns out you don't know who she's turning into?"

He snorted. "Oh, please—even if that were true, you love two of me. I can't love two of you?"

She was silent.

His arm came around her, softly, around her middle and his palm settled—deliberately, she knew—over her scarred belly. "Hey. Don't shut me out now, not when you're at your most vulnerable. This is when we're at our best. This is when you need me the most."

"Made it a whole fucking week," she murmured.

He made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. "Yeah—a whole week! Darce! That's awesome."

She was silent.

"Don't let it ruin this, baby."

Still, she was silent.

"Darce." His voice softened further. "Would you look at me?"

She turned over reluctantly.

He took up her hands, studying them. "I know…that this is hard. And I know it's even worse because we don't really know what's coming and you feel like a freak because you don't understand what's happening to you." He sighed. "But you're not alone."

She looked away.

But he kept on. "You worry so much about adding to the worry that you forget—I've been there, done that. I didn't know what was happening to me, baby, I didn't know what they were making me into. It was just me, and the pain. And the delirium, and the starvation, and the misery, it felt like it would never end."

She sighed, finally looking up into his face.

"I know it sounds cheap now. But we're gonna get through this. Okay? We will. I promise. I promise you, there will come a day when this will end. We will come out the other side."

And he sounded so honest and earnest that she let him curl her up in his arms and fell asleep.

((()))

With a calm, gentle smile, Bucky handed her the coffee mug over her shoulder. "Thanks," she murmured, her voice low and subdued.

His only reply was to smooth his hands down her shoulders, setting a gentle squeeze around the silk sleeves of her robe, and he pressed a kiss to her cheek, nuzzling along her ear as he left her on the deck. The screen door slid shut behind him.

She chewed on her lip as she stared down at her Starkphone in her hand, her stomach rolling. With shaking fingers, she hit the speed dial she'd attached to the third slot—after Bucky and Steve, of course—and set it to her ear.

He answered on the second ring. "Strawberry Shortcake!" he crooned. "Talk to me, Sweet Cheeks."

The vice around her heart eased just a fraction and her throat tightened. "Hey, Tony."

Short pause. "What's wrong?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm totally transparent to you and Jamie, huh?"

"Pretty much."

A lump in her throat, she sat there, unable to go forward, staring down into the surface of her coffee. Her stomach was churning.

"Come on, babe. Don't leave me hangin', here."

"Just wanted to call you back. Miss you, too. I got your voicemail, but yesterday sort of got off on the wrong foot." Understatement of the decade. "How…how are things?"

He didn't bother asking about the first part of her confession. "Episode was worse this time, huh?"

The lump tightened and tears flooded her eyes. Her stomach threatened to revolt, and she set the mug on the deck at the side of her lounge chair. But she couldn't push any words out.

"Where's Buck?"

She chewed on her lower lip. "He's inside." She glanced over her shoulder and found him exiting the hallway into the living area, pulling a t-shirt on over his muscled chest. "I knew he had a sixth sense, but…I'm starting to think he's got seven or eight."

Tony let out a tense snort. "Why's that?"

She shrugged, watching him as he moved around the living room, retrieving his book from the counter and folding himself into one corner of the couch, flicking open his copy of Return of the King. "He…knows what I need better than I do. He…knows when I need him and when I need a little space. It's…"

"Comforting?" he offered.

The lump tightened further.

"That's not an extra sense, kiddo, that's just a sign you picked the right guy. He's intuitive, the Buckster."

For a few moments, there was heavy silence and Darcy squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on not crying and not yacking.

"I don't need to ask to know he's taking ridiculously good care of you, but…you okay, Darce?"

"…Took everything out of me this time. He had to carry me out here to the deck." Her voice wobbled threateningly and she swallowed, sniffling.

He was quiet for a long moment, and she was wondering which Tony she'd get when he finally spoke: off-the-cuff, flippant, all-shields-up Tony, or Daddy Tony, the one that insisted on taking care of her last winter, when no one else seemed capable. "I'm sorry, kiddo," he finally murmured, his voice surprisingly tender.

The appearance of Daddy Tony snapped the last of her self control and she didn't fight it, tears beginning to stream anew down her face. She sniffled again, tilting her head tiredly back against the deck chair. "God, it was bad this time. I was sobbing like a little toddler." She sniffled again, rolling her eyes at the thickness in her voice.

"It's getting progressively worse, then," Tony said, as though he was making a note to give to Bruce as soon as they hung up.

"Jamie keeps saying it'll get better."

Tony sighed. "Well. He's already done all this, so he outta know. Might not seem like it now, but there's light at the end of the tunnel. He'll pull you through."

The fact that Tony obviously had at least as much faith in Bucky as she did only raised more tears. "What if he's wrong? What if I'm not like him and Steve at all? What if I'm something else, something new? What if it doesn't get better? What if I'm like this for the rest of my life, Tony?"

"Then we'll take care of you until we can figure something out—just like we've been doing." So matter-of-fact, so no-nonsense, like it was just another fact of life, like 'the sky is blue' and that dogs always had to turn in at least two circles before laying down.

She huffed out a ragged, frustrated sigh. "He can't keep doing this for the rest of his life, Tony. You can't either."

"Why not?" he shot back, totally casual.

She scoffed. "Oh, please. He didn't sign up for this. He didn't marry me so he could babysit me all day long—and I can't ask him to—"

"Mmm…" Tony hummed in thought, cutting her off. "Pretty sure you didn't ask him to do that." He paused. "Yeah, no. I was there. Nowhere in those vows is there a line about babysitting."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Tony. And if you're gonna start going on about 'in sickness and in health' you can just save it, Stark. I won't put him in a position—"

"He's not in any position, Short Stack. You're seriously over thinking this."

Annoyed, she snapped her mouth shut, the heartburn flaring in her belly.

"We're gonna figure this out. We're the Avengers, kid—we don't let something like this take us out. You're one of us. We never leave a man stranded. You're tough, dollface. You'll get through this—by letting him take care of you."

She sighed sharply, glaring at the incoming tide below deck.

And then Tony said something so very un-Tony-ish that it caught her completely off-guard. "You and Romanov get along so well because you're strangely alike, even though you display it in totally opposite ways. Don't make the mistake I made. I can't get those early years back, Darce. Take down those walls. You've gotta let at least one person in."

She frowned, opening her mouth to argue. "But, I—"

"You didn't really let him in, kiddo. You came along when he needed someone and he desperately flung the door wide for you. But you made him work for it. There's nothing wrong with that, makes a relationship strong when you've done the work. But you didn't let him in so much as he used his assassin's cover to steal his way in, in the night, when you weren't looking. He burrowed beneath your defenses and took you out before you even knew what had happened. You let him stay."

Stunned, she blinked at the roiling ocean. She'd always had the impression their relationship had happened in those terms, of course, only in reverse. She'd stolen in. He'd let her stay. Not the other way around…

Right?

"He wouldn't have stuck around if he didn't want to. Guys don't do that. He wouldn't have put all that care into you if he didn't love you. There's nothing wrong with letting him in. There's nothing wrong with being vulnerable. It took me a long time to figure that out. He wants to be there. So let him be there."

She was still blinking, too surprised to speak, shocked at the poignant, damnably on the nose paragraph he'd just plied her with. "I—"

Something clanked in the background and Tony cursed. "Ooh! Gotta go, Short Stack. Something's gonna blow up."
She rolled her eyes. "Tony! Don't—"

The phone beeped, disconnecting.

She sighed, lowering it to her lap and hitting the 'End' button.

A hand appeared, and Bucky shook a bottle, offering it to her out of thin air. She jumped, looking up at him. "What's this?"

He shook it again in offering, frowning. "Take one. I can practically read the heartburn on your face."

She took the offered bottle, but didn't move to open it. "Why? What is it?"

"An antacid. You're a sickly gray color. I know what that means. Take one before you hurl." His face and tone brooked no argument.

Sighing, she flicked open the bottle and popped one in her mouth, chewing. "Ugh. Chalk."

"You'll feel better."

She swallowed it back, trying not to gag. "I'm starting to think you're psychic."

He gave a gentle laugh and sat down, facing her, on the next chair. "Nope. Just pay attention."

She flinched, barely able to meet his gaze after Tony's therapy session. Bloody Hell, was she really that much of a stranger to herself? Was everyone around her able to so easily decipher her even when she couldn't do it herself?! "And was that a talent that HYDRA exploited or was it something they programmed you with?"

He snorted out another laugh. "Nah. That was already there. Ask Stevie."

She nestled into the chair, her stomach fizzing at its newest introduction. "So you were always a worrier?"

He sprawled out on the chair, sighing. "Oh, God, yeah. Somebody had to make sure the punk didn't get himself killed in the back alleys of Brooklyn."

She smiled, looking down at her hands in her lap. "Thank you."

His voice was low and even. "For what?"

She shrugged, unable to look up at him. "Keeping me all in one piece."

A little laugh. "Well. You'd hardly be any fun if you were all scattered around."

"I'm serious." She looked up at him, then, straight into his pretty blue eyes. "Thank you."

Sobered by her serious demeanor, he only nodded. "How could I do anything else?" he murmured.

She shrugged. "Still…"

"I'm sorry that I can't…fix it." He swallowed, hard. "I want to fix it, for you, I want to put it to right, but I…I can't."

"That's not your fault. Nothing that's happened in the past sixty years is your fault, remember?"

He shrugged, the tips of his ears going a tiny bit pink. "Still. It bothers me. Where I come from, this isn't supposed to happen, and watching you suffer is a physical pain."

She opened her mouth—

"And that's nothing for you to apologize for." He gave her another wry look. "That's just…the inherent nature of…this…thing between us. There's nothing you can do about it. I just…haven't felt anything like it in so long…I think it feels worse for my desensitization." His eyes softened. "I'd forgotten what pain—this kind of pain, anyway—felt like. I'd forgotten how awful it could be, needing someone to be…there…so badly. On top of that, I've never…been in love before. And I wasn't prepared for how much it would hurt."

"You were never in love with any of your girls?"

He smirked. "There weren't that many. Jesus, Lewis." He began kneading at her hands.

God, the calluses, and she bit her lip.

"No. I wasn't in love with any of them. When it finally occurred to me to attach the word to you, it took me a long time to come to terms with it. I didn't want to put it out there too soon, or put you in danger." He smiled down at their hands. "I didn't even know what I was feeling at first. I just knew I needed you, it was visceral, and I wanted to make sure I wasn't projecting my…healing…onto you, that I was only attached to you because of that. And I looked at you one day and the word just jumped out at me, and slapped me across the face."

She smiled. "I thought I saw something in your eyes once or twice. Not that I really knew what to look for. But you're good at wearing masks."

He winked. "You've never…been in love?"

She thought about it, breathing deep as she studied the misty high tide. "I loved. I was never in love." She looked back into his face, so young and so old at the same time. "Does that make sense?"

He nodded.

She smiled. "I just knew I wanted to jump your bones for the rest of my life. That was the first thing that occurred to me."

He rolled his eyes as she started giggling.

"I'm joking!"

"That explains why you never got tired of listening to me whine for months on end," he muttered, a smirk curling his mouth.

She snorted. "It helped that you were exceedingly pretty."

He actually, genuinely, blushed. "Oh, is that why you stuck around?"

"Actually, I stuck around because I was pretty sure, right away, that you were it for me, and I wanted to make sure you were gonna be okay, whether you loved me back or not." She thought again of Tony's words. Had she really gone all this time with him with her shields up so high? And here, she'd thought their springtime trials had cleared out the rest of the remodeling debris in her heart.

The laugh died in his throat and he stared at her.

She nibbled on her lower lip. "That day you cornered me in the lab?"

He nodded.

"And you charged in and you kissed me—I mean, you really laid one on me—and then you apologized for sneaking up and you charged right back out again?"

He nodded.

She swallowed. "I was pretty sure I was done for. Whether you wanted me or not, whether you were capable of wanting me or not. I was done. I was lost, I was yours. It was too late. I…needed you to…be okay. Your happiness was more important."

"Your…safety was more important," he replied. "I…just…needed you. To function."

"I think that's a good thing. Right?"

He laughed gently, reaching across the distance between them for her hands. "No idea. Rosen would say our relationship is codependent in nature, and that's apparently not a good thing at all."

She looked at him. "It's not?"

He shrugged. "Don't really give a shit, to be honest. I've survived a lot worse. If caring about you too much takes me out, then I'll go a happy man."

She laughed, studying their hands, entwined, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on her palm.

"How's your stomach?"

"Better. I'm kind of hungry, actually."

He stood, tugging on her. "Good. Come on. I'll make you an omelet."