Thanks so much for the positive feedback, you guys! Seriously, you guys are the definition of awesome! So I've finally gotten back into the groove of this plotline and I know exactly where I'm going. I'd like to see if I can rush this out before Christmas, as I've got a really killer idea for the holiday that I'd really, really like to do!
Hopefully this chapter fills in some gaps that some of you are annoyed over. Sorry for the delay, but I'm all about delayed gratification and half the fun is the suspense and the guessing, right? I mean, half the fun of all these Marvel movies is spending the wait time between them trying to figure out what direction we all think they're going next, right? The actual movies are only half the fun...
Anyhoo, the villain is officially revealed below. Hopefully (fingers crossed) no one is epically disappointed. Not all is revealed, of course (we're still getting to that) but we'll be picking up steam from here on out. Also, I hope you guys are cool with all these flashbacks. It'll be interesting to see if anyone can keep track what's real and what's memory, which is a theme I wanted to play with a little bit.
So I hope you guys enjoy. The chapter title is taken from the My Chemical Romance song of the same name. As always, I don't own anything Marvel, I just like to have fun with it rather than sit on my hands between movies.
Again-you guys have any prompts? You can shoot me a message or stick it in the comment section and hopefully I'll be able to track it...
Enjoy! Let me know what you think! I love hearing from you all!
3 Sarah
((()))
"What…?"
But the rest of her query was lost as she rapidly stepped backward in the foolish hopes she could delay him while she screamed for Bucky, fully aware that even her experienced level of training would not be enough to defend herself—even if he was alone, which he clearly wasn't.
She didn't get a chance, anyway.
With a smile, he drew a long, vicious looking needle from his Ralph Lauren coat pocket and—grabbing her roughly by the shoulder and yanking her close—emptied it into her neck.
She dug her nails into her consciousness, desperate to stay upright. But it was no use. She went limp.
Everything clouded over until the gray was so thick it turned to black.
((()))
"Sir, I'm getting an alarm at the Honolulu property," JARVIS said in his calm voice, momentarily interrupting the blaring Foo Fighters in Tony's lab.
He didn't even look up from Drone 13. "There a black car?"
JARVIS paused. "Affirmative."
He waved a hand over his shoulder, dismissing the AI. "That's just Deb. She stops by to clean. She probably forgot to turn off the silent alarm. The kids must be out. I'll check the cameras later."
The digital butler restored Dave Grohl's growling voice. "Of course, Sir."
((()))
Heaving a deep sigh, Bucky rose from the water and shook himself out, sweeping his hair out of his face as he glanced up at the house.
He froze in his tracks as his eyes swept first over the small group of people—strangers—in the living room, then the two sleek, European and British imports parked at the front of the house.
He searched frantically for Darcy, his heart beginning a harsh sprint in his chest when he found she was nowhere to be seen.
He ran for shore, faster than the average human but still not fast enough for his liking, finally reaching dry sand, where he threw on his t-shirt.
If Darcy had been conscious, she would've been curious to identify the reason for the strange, thumping noises she'd heard as the Jaguar had pulled up to the house.
As Bucky approached, there was a high-pitched whine that reached his sensitive ears just a little too late for him to identify as he tripped an invisible barrier and was thrown back across the beach, unconscious.
((()))
She came around slowly. The sludge was much thicker than the last time she'd been under, which—considering it was just after she'd been stabbed nearly to death—was saying something. Her eyelids were heavy and sluggish and she kept having the odd sensation of pulling them half open to obscured vision before they'd fall rebelliously shut again.
Head lolling, she clawed toward consciousness desperately, a voice at the back of her mind imploring her to wake up. It grew in volume until it was nearly shouting at her, and it sounded suspiciously like her Jamie.
But when she finally pulled herself to consciousness, she found he wasn't there. She studied the scorched and melted handle on the ruined screen door, still hanging by one sad looking hinge.
There was only one man in the room, and he was grinning like the proverbial shark. "Well, hi, there," Aldrich Killian greeted her casually, leaning a hip against the kitchen counter.
With a start, she came to full awareness only to realize that she was tied down like she was in a bad movie, her wrists secured to the arm of one of the kitchen chairs, and her ankles to the legs. She groaned, then leveled her gaze upward, glaring through her lashes and long hair at her captor with all the malice she could muster.
But he only smiled again, all casual, like they were just two old friends, playing catch up. "Hi." He gestured. "Yeah, sorry about the binding. We've got to build up a center of trust, you know?"
She tried to steady her rapid heart, willing it to slow and soften. The last thing she wanted was an episode. And she could practically hear Tony screaming in horror in her head. This was the man that was responsible for nearly killing Pepper, yanking her would-be father's world down around him in heat and flame. "You're supposed to be dead, remember?" she drawled.
He cocked his head mockingly, revealing the burn scars along along one side of his face, his shaggy hair helping to obscure it slightly. "Are you sure?" He made a show of checking his pulse.
She narrowed her eyes as though in consideration. "…Yyeeah…pretty sure."
He shrugged, smirking cutely. "Oops."
She clenched her jaw shut.
A man all in black came in, looking like he was on a mission, all the way down to his thick combat boots. "Perimeter secure, Sir," he reported.
Killian turned his head but didn't deign to make eye contact with his underling and Darcy saw that his one ear was malformed, like it had been melted, and was only half familiar looking. "And the Soldier?"
"The TMS blast took him out. Erwin was right—whatever they did to his subconscious made him vulnerable—at the very least, it'll take the technology of the arm a while to reboot."
Killian scowled. "How long?"
"It'll hold. Erwin is sure of it. At the very least, that arm will be useless. Erwin set up the low-range EMPs lining the perimeter. He'll be dead in the water."
Darcy couldn't help it; whatever drug he'd given her was making it less than easy to control her filter. She burst out laughing, vaguely aware that she sounded hysterical. "You did him a favor—he hates that thing!"
Killian turned his gaze on her, but it was only mildly annoyed. "Fine. Keep an eye out."
The underling smirked. "Sir, even the Winter Soldier can't get past this technology. It's iron clad."
Aldrich turned, this time leveling him with a hard stare. "Haven't you been paying attention? You underestimate him, he only finds your weakness and snaps your neck. He's been doing this a little longer than you. Keep. An eye out. Got it?"
The soldier in black slunk off, back through the kitchen.
The scientist turned back to her. "You feeling okay?"
She let her head tip back. "Could use a little coffee."
He clucked his tongue. "Oh, no. We need you good and malleable."
She raised a brow, her brain finally beginning to turn over all the potential options. "What for, I wonder?" She was still too groggy for fear, a separate part of her aware that Jamie was gone.
He smiled, a slow, sly 'cat that ate the canary' grin. "Later. Don't you worry."
She smirked back. "He'll remove your spine from your body. You know that, right? When he finds his way in here, it's gonna be like that scene from last season of Game of Thrones, dude."
But Aldrich shrugged, approaching her again, pulling out another nasty looking needle. "By the time he does, it'll be far too late." He tested the plunger, a tiny squirt of clear fluid spraying out. "Now. With this, you should be nice and relaxed for what we have planned."
And then the cloud cover was back.
Darce.
She jerked, the pain blossoming again behind her closed lids.
Darcy. But Bucky was whispering to her, her Bucky, her Jamie. Sweetheart.
But the pain, the pain was ratcheting—God, how did it get so bad so fast? When had this devolved into torture?!
Darcy…
She scowled, screwing her eyes more tightly shut.
Darcy, baby, you've gotta be strong for me, now, okay?
A small moan of suffering slipped out before she could clamp it back down again.
Please, Darce? You've gotta be tough for me, now. I need you to be tough. You can't give in. You hear me?
Biting down hard on her lip against the ache, she shook her head vigorously in protest. "I can't. I can't. It's too much. I can't do this anymore, Jamie…"
I know. I know it's hard. But you've gotta find a way this time, Solnishka. Dig deep. I'll be there as soon as I can. Just hold on…
"Is it working?"
"…I'm not sure yet. Give it a minute."
Just hold on…hold on to me. You're strong. Be strong.
"Is it working?!"
Hold on…
She jerked awake, her eyes snapping open against the bright light of midday, but she didn't see any of it. She was blinded by the intense pain of her body—her entire body—and she struggled against the chair she was still confined to.
"Whoa." Killian jerked back, staring at her approvingly, a small smile in place. "There's our answer."
The small woman at his side smiled. "Told you. Just a couple cc's of my stimulant mix wakes her right up." She gestured. "You wanted a catalyst to study her bouts with the new serum—here you go."
Aldrich grinned. "You were going to draw blood. Go to it. I want answers, sooner rather than later."
The pain was so intense that Darcy blacked out again as the woman bent over her.
((()))
Bucky woke in the surf, water lapping at his shoulders where he lay in the wet sand. Horrible realization came crashing in within seconds, but it nearly paled in comparison to the immediate feeling that something in him was very…not right.
Images began flooding him at light speed, flashing in his mind's eye quicker than he could process.
Steve.
Becca.
His father and that horrible row they'd had.
His time in the trenches.
Italy.
Switzerland.
Everything—everything that had been missing from his jumbled mind—came flooding in like light into an oculus, expanding to allow a higher volume of passage.
He struggled to his hands and knees, gasping with the effort, his left arm heavy and locked, the mechanism that kept it running having failed.
This was nothing new. It had happened from time to time.
Snarling, he swung his arm in a wide arc, pulling his shoulder in a rapid circle to encourage a reboot.
Nothing happened. It was like a car without steering assist.
"Ugh," he sighed. "Son of a bitch…" He'd have to handle it without. He rolled his eyes and struggled to kneeling, dizzy as more images and thoughts rammed his brain, too many to handle all at once. They flew before his mind's eye in a rapid, Technicolor blur.
Becca, crying.
Steve, bleeding.
Maria Stark…begging for mercy.
Darcy, screaming.
He forced his head up to get a look at the house in the evening's dampening light.
Another scream pierced the air, and he realized that part wasn't in his head.
Whatever force field they'd set up, he'd tripped it, and whatever signal it was, it had done a hell of a lot more than knock him out.
It had knocked things loose.
He slumped back to the sand, exhausted and spent just from struggling to move, dizzy, his ears ringing.
Darcy. He couldn't even stand.
Darcy was hopefully strong enough to outlast him.
Darkness claimed him again.
((()))
Tony blinked into the darkness of his lab, so familiar when the lights were on, but somehow eerie and sinister now, at three in the morning.
Frowning, he reached over and hit the light switch.
He stared around for a long moment, looking for something—anything—that was out of place. Or, at least, more out of place than usual for him.
Nothing.
Everything was normal.
Socket wrench.
Screw driver.
The stupid, fucking drone from hell, all in pieces, some strewn on the floor, the motor he'd been working on also in pieces on the steel table.
His computer, screen dark, indicator light blinking as it slept in hibernation mode.
No alarms.
No flashing lights.
No indications from JARVIS.
Nothing.
Just the dark, quiet lab, seemingly peaceful and waiting patiently for him to return to it, his home away from home, a few dozen floors up.
Nothing seemed…at all wrong.
He chewed on his lip.
Then why was he getting that feeling at the back of his throat, why were the hairs on the back of his neck prickling and standing on end, even as he stood there in the middle of the ordered and organized room?
He slowly entered, pacing deliberately between this table, then that one, looking for more details.
Maybe something he'd left behind?
Something of Pepper's he'd meant to take up?
Had the kid left something behind?
The kid.
He really needed to call her something else, at least in his mind.
Nothing else felt right, though. Nothing else sounded right in his head, nothing else fit her. The hefty weight of 'kid' felt full, rounded, and solid to him, a good balance struck between the image of Darcy and the familiar tag.
Like she was his.
He might as well admit to himself, even if it wasn't out loud.
He'd never felt inclined to have children of his own. After all, he practically was one himself, and not nearly responsible enough to raise a small human alone. Pepper hadn't particularly cared after they got together, and claimed that he was enough of one for her.
But Darcy.
Darcy was a heavy weight in his mind. She struck some chord in him and echoed, causing a, frankly, disturbing ripple effect that he was still shrugging into, the warmth of someone new to worry about.
The daughter he'd never had.
A clever, whip-smart, witty little thing that only he could produce, someone to keep up with him, his rapid fire, his relentlessness, his crazy.
He knew, after all, how he was, what he was like. He wasn't so obtuse and distracted, wasn't so selfish that he didn't know how he seemed to other people. He was usually just too selfish to rein it in.
But Darcy had rolled right with it, didn't bat an eye, kept him in line, kept him centered, kept his mess organized, kept him in coffee, made sure he ate—after all, she'd pulled Foster out of her Thor-less funk the year prior—and she laughed at his jokes on top of it all.
She kept him on his toes.
The girl was tough, had a thick hide, and he knew—even though she hadn't told anyone, presumably aside from Barnes—that it was likely due to her shit upbringing. Maybe that was why they gelled so well—Tony had had a shit upbringing, too, a loveless family.
Perhaps that accounted for her staunch loyalty for the people in her life.
Certainly, Tony hadn't expected her to latch onto Bucky, of all people, and he was pretty sure Bucky hadn't expected it either.
But Darcy was funny that way.
She was independent and prone to flights of unattached fancy.
But she was also very warm and nurturing.
Where she saw a need, she was the first to: a) notice; and b) do something about it.
So, likely, while everyone was taking turns getting a glimpse of their newly acquired Soviet assassin like he was an animal at the zoo, Darcy had been wondering idly if he didn't simply want some sort of companionship after so long alone, some compassion, having just realized what he'd done.
For all that Tony could tell, she'd been the only one.
Steve had been far too involved to even surf that train of thought, too tied up in making sure his best friend was safe and was still, of course, said best friend. The state of Bucky's mental well-being would've been lower on the list.
And no matter Steve's honorable—always so damn honorable—intentions, Darcy alone had managed to un-tether the killer from his former noose.
It held him a little in awe, truthfully.
Darcy had come to them as an accessory of the astrophysicist's, like a tagalong in a sidecar, a gopher. But, never one to sit still for long, she'd quickly realized everyone else's spheres of lack and gone about fixing things like a little Roomba, skittering about underfoot without anyone noticing she was there until things just sort of…settled in place.
Suddenly, Steve and Nat were flirting, Hill and Wilson were flirting, the common room was clean and tidy, there were freshly baked goods, like, everywhere, and they had a new, fancy, expensive-ass coffee machine in just about every majorly used room.
Of course, it was all on the Stark company card, but he could hardly complain, when she made a blueberry coffee cake that mouthwatering.
Jane was working.
Thor was in check.
Bruce was suddenly doing yoga.
Pepper was going out for lunch.
Natasha wasn't quite so broody.
Clint was around more, and with his kids in tow.
Maria was giggling.
Sam was acting liaison to their Veterans' Affairs network.
Steve was getting laid regularly and had relaxed a bit, dabbling in pop culture.
And the Winter Soldier was smiling.
The Winter Soldier.
Smiling.
And laughing.
Blinking, he sat heavily down in his desk chair.
That damn girl had…that damn girl had gone and repaired all the little leaks that had appeared in the Tower and everything associated with it that had gone just slightly wibbly in the past few restless, chaotic years.
"I'm gonna have to give her a raise," he muttered out loud to himself.
Of course, somewhere along the way, she had squirmed into a tiny little cavity in his heart, the microscopic, defensive little chamber he reserved solely for those truly closest to him.
Pepper.
Rhodey.
Happy.
And now, Darcy.
She was a genius in her own right, not even taking into account her hacking skills and her Master's in Political Science.
"I'm really gonna have to give her a raise." When she got back, of course. Maybe he'd throw her a little private party, something to make up for the huge engagement bash he'd been forced into. He still felt guilty about that, not that he'd had much choice. Pepper had backed him into a corner.
If she comes back…a tiny little voice said at the back of his mind.
He scowled, pulling himself up out of the chair.
There was no reason to believe something would happen to them. They were at his place, full of security measures, he was the fucking Winter Soldier, and Pepper would tell him to shut up and stop babbling like an idiot.
If he could just convince his mind of that so it would let him sleep.
Sighing heavily again, he shut off the lights, went out into the hall and got into the elevator, JARVIS automatically taking him up to his quarters.
By the time he'd reached their bedroom, black as pitch from the shading on the windows, he was fairly certain he wasn't about to get back to sleep.
He slid carefully in beside his wife and rearranged the blankets.
Pepper stirred. "Tony…?"
He was silent; usually if he didn't reply, she fell right back under again.
"Tony?" she repeated, turning over into him.
He wrapped his arms around her. "Yeah, Pep?"
"Don't be all casual," she murmured, yawning. "You disappeared. Where'd you go?" She sighed sleepily. "It's late. Even for you."
He smirked. "Ha-ha. I was down in the lab."
She snuggled in against him. "Why?"
He took a deep breath, reaching up to brush a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "Can't sleep. Restless."
"Why?" She already sounded like she was half asleep.
He hesitated, his heart inexplicably clenching. "…Can't shake this feeling."
She snuffled against his well-worn t-shirt. "They're fine, Tony. What's going to happen to them in Hawaii?"
He huffed out a long, loud sigh. "Seriously? What—just 'cause it's pretty there, nothing bad ever happens. Haven't you ever seen Magnum PI?!" He huffed, deflating. "No, I…I know. I…I know."
A smile, then, in her sleepy voice. "If you could adopt that girl, you would…"
He exhaled a silent laugh. "…Yeah. Probably. She comes with add-ons, though."
"Mm," she hummed. "They make a good pair. She loosens him up and he weighs her down."
"Mm."
"It's sweet."
"It's just that she's right: she's got a target on her back now, Pep. And Buck is freakishly capable. I mean, he's scary when he wants to be. But he can't see the future, and he sure as hell can't keep the damn world from collapsing. What if they're overrun? What if something happens?" It all came flooding out before he could temper it and he winced, expecting a smack from his fiery wife.
"Tony," she whispered, surprising him. "We know they made it there. You've spoken to her."
He sighed. "Yeah, and that actually made me feel worse. She's miserable, Pep. I practically pushed them out the door, and she wasn't ready. It would all be my fault."
She sat up, turning to look him in the eye, her red hair a halo in the deep dark, and they both knew exactly where this all was coming from. "Tony. You've been particularly twitchy since that mess with Ultron."
He pulled himself up. "I know. It's just—"
"Nothing happened. You caught the bad programming before it became insidious. Nothing happened. You fixed your mistake before it went south. Nothing is your fault."
He chewed his lip, pulling a hand through his short hair. "My…my dream. That nightmare, it—"
"Was a nightmare. Nothing more." She shook her head. "Tony, you've been having problems with anxiety and sleep since before The Mandarin, and he just made it worse. You know it's just a dream. It's just residual nerves in your mind. That's all."
"Darcy was in the last one. And Buck."
The words hung between them for a moment, heavy in the dark.
"They were dead. His arm—the arm—it was gone, and he was clutching her, but her eyes were empty. And it was my—"
Her small hands reached out and took up one of his, pressing against it. "Tony. It's just. A dream. You're worried about the people around you and you aren't sure how to process it. That's all. It doesn't mean the world is ending. And there's no indication that Darcy and James are in any sort of immediate danger. You said it yourself: he's scary when he wants to be. That's a pretty strong deterrent for most bad guys—another bad guy. He was a legend and a ghost story for a reason. How many people are going to willingly go toe-to-toe with him?"
He took a breath. "What if they don't need to?"
((()))
Everything hurt.
Her whole, entire body was aching, throbbing hard with her pulse, hot, then cold, then hot. The burn in her belly flared up in waves that, wincing, finally pulled her eyes open.
"Mmmm…" she groaned in pain, trying to focus. "God…" Her first instinct was, in alert hindsight, an unfortunate one, in this case. "Jamie…" She winced.
"That was incredible."
Not Jamie.
She dragged her eyes up.
Killian was standing over her with a funny, awe-struck sort of look. "I mean, really. I knew that Karpov created a good base, but wow. Amazing."
"Oh, yeah. I forgot. You're here," she muttered, letting her head tip weakly forward. "Why are you here, anyway? I was having a nice, peaceful, sexy Hawaiian vacation before you rolled up in your British import." She winced at a hard stab of pain.
Aldrich smiled. "Well, I'm here for you, sweetheart."
She scowled again, which wasn't hard, considering the immense pain that was radiating from her core. God, Bucky was right—it was like she was experiencing the initial injury over and over, like she was trapped in some mini time warp.
She'd always hated The Time Warp. Ever since her college boyfriend had dragged her to a Rocky Horror Show for his birthday, made her go up to the front for that goddamn initiation, laughed at her, and then promptly fallen asleep.
The jerk.
But she digressed.
"Oh, wow, I'm having trouble focusing here, buddy. You're gonna have to elaborate."
He nodded, looking mockingly sympathetic. "Yeah. PCP can do that to you."
PCP.
That jarred something.
They'd used PCP on Jamie. Large amounts of PCP; such large amounts that, over the years, they'd overridden its usefulness, not that he'd told Lukin about his tolerance, of course.
She smirked. He'd managed to defy them a little bit, after all.
"Alright. Fine," Aldrich relented, smiling at her like she'd pried it out of him at long last, and he was giving in, guilty pleasure style. "Let me explain. You remember last year? When Lukin got his hands on your guy?"
She nodded. "Yep. With painful clarity."
He nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, that must've been tough, I'd imagine, huh? And just when you'd gotten engaged." He began pacing before her, one part manic scientist, one part soliloquizing villain. "See, I was watching from my little hidey-hole, recuperating from the vicious and altogether unwarranted wounds suffered at the hands of Ms. Potts. And I applauded you and your brave little club when you finished your clean up. But you guys had no clue that I had an ace in the deck, did you?"
She glared silently up at him. If she would just get her legs free she'd maybe stand a cha—no. No, she didn't stand any chance. Not for a moment.
Killian grinned again, that shark-like smile as he leaned over her. "I had a guy on the inside."
She gave him a cynical look. "You mean to tell me that one group of bad guys infiltrated another group of bad guys? Why? To be king of the hill?"
His smile faltered and he backed off, reaching a hand into his inside jacket pocket. "He not only presented me with interesting information concerning the Winter Soldier's girl. He brought me a little present." He held up a small vial, filled with a clear, viscous liquid, and promptly paused for dramatic effect.
Darcy knew what it was, of course, but wasn't about to vindicate his arrogance with any sort of acknowledgement. The gunk in her veins had been made clear enough for him in the past eight hours or so, judging by the angle of light coming in off the water. Almost dinner hour, if her estimation was on point; she couldn't see a clock from her position by the small dining table, where, just the night before, they'd enjoyed an impromptu allowance of greasy burgers and fries from the little hole in the wall down the street. The little old lady waitress had called them a handsome couple. She'd thrown a few fries at him when he'd teased her, but he'd just caught them in his mouth, laughing.
Killian recovered with another smile. "All I had to do was wait."
She swallowed. "For what?"
He shrugged. "Well, I had to wait and observe you, obviously. See what Lukin's new serum did to you, if anything at all. See if it killed you and left your poor soldier bereft." He set a hand to his heart.
"You're sick," escaped before she could stop it, Bucky's voice in her head that he didn't know what he'd do without her.
He smiled again, broader. "I know." He shrugged. "Really, all I am is an opportunist, really."
She gestured with her chin. "So? You've got whatever gunk was still in the machine. Newsflash, Killian: that shit doesn't work."
His creepy grin only broadened. "Maybe not yet. But it will when I'm done with you."
((()))
Steve looked up from his sketch as Bucky came in, showing smiles and just-got-off-work ease to hide the fatigue and stiff back from his day at the garage. "Hey, Buck."
Bucky sighed as he shrugged off his coat. "Hey, Stevie. How's the cough today—better? You were still asleep when I left."
Steve shrugged his narrow shoulders and looked down at his drawing again. "It's okay. I think it's better." Promptly, a tickle he couldn't suppress rose up his throat and forced its way out of his chest, and it was wet and hard against his elbow, where he buried his face.
Bucky cocked a brow as he added his scarf to his coat on the peg by the apartment door and came all the way into the room. "Yeah, sounds much better. I won't bother stopping by to see Doc Severs on the way back from the diner tomorrow, eh? Since you're feeling so great…"
Steve sighed and returned to his drawing. "Jerk."
"Punk," Bucky rapidly returned.
Knowing they could volley all night, Steve let it drop as his friend came around behind him in the threadbare armchair and studied his half done sketch. "That Becca?"
Steve shrugged his thin shoulders again and shivered. "Supposed to be. Dunno if it's any good."
Bucky reached down to give his friend's shoulders a quick, affirmative squeeze, and crossed to the radiator, fiddling with the knobs. "They turn the heat back on this afternoon like they said they would? I squared up with Sam yesterday."
Steve nodded. "Think so."
Bucky shook his head and yanked at a button on his jumpsuit with one hand while the other continued to nudge at the stubborn switch on the thermostat. "This thing's on the fritz again."
"What's new?"
Shaking his head, Bucky stood and crossed the apartment into the bedroom to change. Steve warred with himself the whole five minutes it took for his friend to change into something not streaked with engine grease, but in the end, he felt like either decision was a major loss.
"Your uh…your pop stopped by," he finally said, haltingly. "'Round lunch."
Bucky paused in the doorway, his face hardening. "And? The old man come to badger you about me?"
Steve shrugged, then promptly lied. "Think he was just making sure we were settled okay."
Bucky snorted, pulling on his cardigan as he came into the room. "You lie for shit, Rogers."
Steve sighed. "I know. Sorry. I tried."
Bucky curled himself into the couch and turned his gaze to the window, overlooking the street below, busy in the half light of early evening. "He drunk?"
Steve hesitated.
"Was he half in the bag, Stevie?" he asked again.
He looked down at his drawing. "…Yeah. Wanted me to warn you again."
Bucky snorted, still staring out the window. "Warn me about what? Getting written out of the will? Shaming the family? Abandoning the business? Not settling down with a girl like any good son my age?"
Steve snorted. "…I think you covered all the main points, yeah."
He sighed. "Nothing new, then." Then he shrugged. "Guess I can't blame him for drinking. I'd drink, too, I dug graves and buried people all day. Why I left."
Steve chewed his lip. "He seems to think you should, uh…how did he put it? 'Be a man and just do it.'"
He still hadn't turned, but his voice was low. "I can't, Stevie. Not after…"
Not sure what to say, he was silent.
"I helped him for years. You know that. But the booze. And Becca. And Sarah…"
A stab of pain caught Steve by surprise; he'd thought he was far enough out to avoid those little jolts, now, almost a year gone. "I know."
"He's not the same man he was, Stevie."
Steve could only stare down at his drawing, the raw look he'd unknowingly given Becca, pain in her eyes that he just noticed now, but Bucky surely had. "…I know."
"…I dunno, Rogers…this isn't feeling so good."
Steve looked up.
Tony hit a button on his remote and immediately they were assaulted by the loud, opening strains of 'Shook Me' by AC/DC.
Steve jumped, yanked out of the memory and back into the present, blinking hard in an effort to focus. He had to focus. God, he had to stop getting lost in his own head, getting lost in the past. He'd been doing that a lot lately. "What doesn't, Tony?"
The inventor snatched up his socket wrench and went back to work on the drone's motor. "This whole 'working in here without the kid' thing. It's freaking me out."
Steve studied him for a moment. Tony did seem…on edge, his mind a dulled blade, out of focus and without direction. He'd become closer with Darcy than Steve had initially thought, seemed like he was spread too thin, like he needed a…what were people calling it now? A hit. "Why?"
He slumped back in his swivel chair and fixed him with his signature no nonsense, all walls down look, his coffee eyes vulnerable. "You feeling weird lately? Twitchy?"
Oh, shit.
"What do you mean?"
Tony stood and began pacing rapidly up and down in front of the long steel table. "The last couple weeks. You feeling weird at all?"
Yeah. My wife's adventuring in the lion's den, my two best friends are in some nebulous danger, I can't help, and—Oh, right—I haven't been laid lately. That too.
But he didn't say any of that. Mostly because Tony would flip, but also because he'd be relentlessly mocked for Captain America even using the word 'laid'. Of course, Tony only teased when he was particularly stressed.
And he looked particularly stressed.
"…Not really. Why? What's up?"
With a heavy sigh, he threw himself dramatically back into the same chair again, sending it spinning. He didn't bother to correct it, speaking to the space in front of him as he turned as though he hadn't moved at all. "I've been…having this recurring nightmare. Lately. Well. Since that mess with Ultron, really," he said, haltingly, and Steve realized why he'd let the chair turn.
"So…after New York?"
After he'd almost died, laying eyes on the far reaches of space and the Chitauri base on the other side of a worm hole. That would do that to a person.
The chair finally turned back and Steve was surprised when Tony looked him in the eye. "Yeah. It's been…worse since they left. Like something's wrong. But it can't be. I just talked to Short Stack a couple days ago. I can't keep calling, and there's no way I'm checking the cameras. Even I'm not that much of an exhibitionist and I do, in fact, draw lines—just, you know, usually, they're further along than the ones most people draw, and stuff."
Steve smirked to hide his trepidation. That was Tony. "What happens in the nightmare?"
The train car is so loud, the wind and the tracks are deafening.
Add to that the gunfire and it's a miracle they can hear each other at all.
And his shield is up, but he's not holding it.
And the metal is twisting.
And he's not strong enough—even now, he's not strong enough, not quick enough, not now, when it matters most—
Bucky!
Hang on!
Grab my hand!
Bucky!
"You know what?" Tony cut into his thoughts again, abruptly getting up and as he reached out with the remote again, the music cut out, leaving the room echoing. "Forget it. No biggie. You want lunch?"
Steve sighed, recognizing a moment that Tony wasn't ready to have, abundantly clear in the way he veered hard left. Just as well—Steve wasn't ready for it, either. "Uh. Sure," he said, following him out the door and down the hall.
"I'm feeling Thai. You want Thai? There's a great place in Times Square. I'll have Happy bring the Veyron around."
Even Steve knew that one. "You've got a Bugatti Veyron?!"
((()))
A prick at the crease in her elbow almost—but not quite—succeeded at drawing her out of the thick, nebulous fog she'd descended into. She was suspended there, privy to half conversations and snatches of thought, frayed ribbons of idea that she snatched fruitlessly at, unable to focus enough to close her hands around them, and they drifted through her fingers, sifting, like sand, rapidly approaching and arriving with loud haste, before fading to murmurs that she was unable to entirely pick out and catalogue.
"Anything yet?"
"I'm not entirely sure at this stage. The last episode did draw an inordinate amount of white blood cells to the fore, but I'm not sure what the mechanism is, yet. I'm not definitively able to tell what the base has latched to, be it the white cells or something else. Until I'm sure, we'll need to keep using the catalyst."
"So that sets us back?"
"Unfortunately. We can't apply our filler until we know how it will affect her. It might kill her. Then your formula will be useless, gone."
"Alright, alright. Loud and clear. How long will that EMP perimeter hold? And that TMS you rigged? I don't want any chance of us having any uninvited guests."
"Don't worry. I've been keeping an eye. That TMS has him pretty thoroughly down for the count. We've got time yet. Next time she's up, we'll stimulate a stronger episode and see what happens."
She floated, half aware, not fully awake.
The gray of her thoughts was shifting and nebulous.
The lines were blurred.
"Jane. It's just lunch. He asked me to lunch. What are you worrying about?"
"Seriously? You don't know what I'm worried about? Thanks, but I was lucky just to find you. I'd rather not lose my intern—and very good friend—to a master assassin."
Darcy sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose and slide her glasses back in place. "Jane-y. He's not gonna snap and kill me in the food truck line, okay?"
"And how the hell do you know that, Darcy?"
She sighed—again. "I just…I just do."
"Uh-uh, I want you to explain to me how you seriously think you're inside the head of a—"
"Don't say it." She held up a hand. "Oh, my freaking God, Jane. What happened to your compassion? This man—this seriously gorgeous man—was a prisoner of war for almost sixty years. He was mind raped, brainwashed, forced to do horrible things, and now has to live with the consequences. Can you imagine how that must feel? Can you? Because I can't."
Jane paused at the whiteboard and turned to give her a guilty look. "I…I know. Okay, Darcy? I'm not a heartless bitch. I just…I just don't think it's safe."
"Of course it's not safe!"
Jane frowned. "So you agree?"
Darcy shrugged. "Of course I agree—it's New York! New York is bat-shit crazy. But Bucky's not. In fact, having only spoken to him a handful of times, I can tell that I can trust him with my life—it's everyone else in New York that freaks the shit out of me."
Jane slumped. "Darcy—"
"Has it occurred to you that maybe he just wants a friend? Someone who won't keep asking questions? Someone who's okay with him feeling the way he feels without trying to fix it?"
She slumped further.
"Can't you tell?"
"Tell what?"
Darcy stood from the workbench and dumped her file folder on the done pile. "He's lonely, Jane. The only person who's familiar is Steve. And Steve is such a good guy, but he's totally got blinders on. He only sees the Bucky he knew. The one that fell off that train."
Jane's eyes narrowed. "So…?"
Darcy sighed again, frustrated. "So, he's not that guy anymore. How could he be?!"
Jane finally turned to face her, hands on her hips. "So you have to be the one to—what—fix him?"
Shaking her head, the intern crossed to the doorway to grab her cardigan from its hook. "Of course not. But if asking me to lunch helps him feel more…more fixed, then I'm sure as hell not gonna say no. It's. Just. Lunch. I'm a big girl, remember? You RSVP'd to my graduation ceremony next week. Technically, according to the university, I'm done working for you. I stay because I love ya, but you've gotta loosen the reins, okay? Not my mother." She grinned as she pulled on the sweater.
Jane threw herself onto a lab stool. "I know. I'm sorry." She capped her dry erase marker and set it on the steel table. "It's just…he's scary. And, when on earth have you even talked to him?"
"He's not scary. He's just a little…damaged. We talked—well, I talked—in the lab just after Steve brought him in."
Jane pulled a face and opened her mouth—
But Darcy kept trucking. "And at Tony and Pep's wedding, I found him by accident out on the back deck, hiding from everyone and trying to find a little peace and quiet. He's not scary." She shrugged. "He's sweet."
Suspicion dawning as she listened, Jane rose again from the table, eyes wide as she came around it, pointing her finger.
But her intern was already ducking out. "Just lunch, Jane-y! Back in a couple hours. Eat a Pop Tart!"
As soon as one nebulous something drifted through, another was on its tail, so quickly and yet so without order or reason, that she wasn't able to keep it all straight, her conscious mind clawing for a handhold, somewhere, anywhere, in the fog.
"Wait, so the guys in red always die?"
Darcy laughed, scooting closer and tucking her feet under his thigh. "Yeah, Steve didn't get that right away either. If you pay close attention on all landings and shore leaves, usually the guy that gets it is in red."
"And they're…support officers?"
She nodded. "Yep." She settled into the couch cushions and reached up to brush a strand of hair behind Bucky's ear. "You're sure you wanna watch this? You seem strangely confused for you. I mean, usually you're pretty whip smart—you pick up things twice as fast as Steve."
He shook his head, watching as William Shatner spoke into his communicator. "No, no, this is good. Just making sure I've got it all straight."
She grinned. "You're a geek."
He looked over at her, a half a smile curling one side of his mouth. "Oh, yeah?"
She nodded, leaning into his arm, wrapped around her back. "Yeah. You dragged Steve to the Stark Expo before you shipped out, right?"
He chuckled. "Wanted to see the hovering car."
She snorted. "Yeah, that was what we call a 'concept car' and nowhere near actual truth."
"But it was cool!"
"Science your favorite topic at school?"
He shrugged his right shoulder. "And history."
"Always had your nose in a book?"
He nodded.
"Yep." She poked his temple. "Geek."
"Said the girl who just got her Master's in…what was it?" He cocked a challenging brow. "Politics?"
She gaped at him in mock hurt. "You know very well it's Political Science, Mister Barnes!" She poked him again, but he reached up to grab her hand.
"Sorry. All I heard was 'political'."
She gasped. "You take that back, Winter Soldier!"
He laughed. "Nope."
"Yes!" she insisted, giggling as she futilely attempted to retrieve her arm from his iron grip. "You take that back right now!"
His brows went up. "Why should I?"
"Because!" she continued, yanking at her hand. "Because, I…I'll…" The rest was lost as they struggled back and forth, laughing and breathless, until finally she was pinned beneath him on her tiny couch, arms up behind her, held in place by his big hands, and his weight was a delicious heaviness on her that she hadn't felt in far too long.
"You gonna make me?" he challenged, his voice low and his summer blue eyes darkening into sea water at night, and he didn't have to say anything for her to know what he wanted.
They hadn't, yet.
Not that she didn't want to.
She wanted to give him time, regardless of the fact that she suspected she was long gone and entirely lost to him.
She didn't answer, just swallowed and stared up at him, well aware of the dramatic pause they'd manufactured.
And then he was kissing her, thoroughly, and with ridiculous finesse, much as he had many times previously. His mouth drew every single thought out of her mind like a brisk wind and sent her reeling. His tongue lapped at her lips and she let him deepen the embrace, curling her legs around his waist, Star Trek forgotten on the screen, but she had to temper herself or he'd pull back.
She'd been trying desperately to pace herself, fully aware that while she knew they were definitely at the same point in the relationship, she was on a much more even playing field, no dark memories, jagged edges, or nightmares to speak of. She didn't want to push him when she understood his worry of hurting her by mistake.
But she couldn't stop the moan of pleasure from easing up her throat and out, and, right on cue, he pulled slowly back, catching himself up, leaving her with a hot trail of little kisses down her throat—her favorite habit of his. "Darcy…" he murmured.
"It's okay," she said, breathless as she reached up to run her fingers through his hair. "It's totally okay. I get it. You don't…feel like…you, yet. I get it. You don't need to explain."
He looked guilty. "You'll be the first to know?"
She smiled, combing the soft strands behind his ear. "Awesome."
He pulled her up and let her curl into his lap, her head on his shoulder and his metal arm around her back as they went back to the television.
"You're gonna love this—this is the one with the Tribbles…"
"The what?"
She snorted, snuggling against him. "You'll see…"
Darcy.
Darcy, it's gonna get hard, soon, baby.
You mean it's not already?
Not yet. You'll see.
Are you coming?
I'm coming as fast as I can. But you need to be strong. Okay?
I dunno. I don't think I've got it in me.
You do.
This serum…it's sucked everything out of me. Everything that made me, me, it's pulled it all out like some kind of incubus.
It didn't. You'll see. You've just gotta be strong. It'll be over soon. It'll be over and you'll see what I mean.
Don't go. Please don't leave me here.
I'll be right there, solnishka. Just hold on. Just hold on for a little while longer. Hold on to me.
I won't ever let you go…
She jerked awake with a gasp, her eyes wrenching open as she sat bolt upright. "Jamie?"
"She keeps doing that," Aldrich said. "Should she be doing that? Is she okay?"
The same small blonde from earlier gave him a steady look. "Killian. We've been dosing her with PCP for hours. Add to that your standard displacement of pain, and yes—it's normal. She reaches for the nearest port of land. In this case, she feels safest with him. She searches for him first. Like a touchstone."
Aldrich sighed. "Whatever. Just get going. Dose her up."
She glared at him as the conversation finally trickled through. "What now, Aldrich? Another field trip into my head?"
He smiled. "Oh, no. I haven't finished my villainous lecturing yet. That's still coming. First, we have to establish your base," he said, waving his hand, like this should all be obvious.
"What base?"
The woman stepped forward, testing the large needle in her hand with a squirt of yellowish liquid.
"We have to find the threshold for the serum in your veins, find the highest point of its working order without totally breaking you. It's standard procedure."
Darcy nodded, groggy in her bravado. "Oh, right. Of course. Of course."
But a hard lump of fear was lodged in her throat. She couldn't keep doing this when she had Bucky—now, without him… She swallowed, looking pleadingly at the woman. "Please." She tried to sound even-keeled and brave. "Please. Don't. Please."
She glanced back at her superior.
He waved his hand again, frowning. "Go."
The needle was jabbed into her arm before she could plead again, and whatever catalyst it contained sent fire spreading through her veins with rapid ease.
She screamed.
