Leaving On A Jet Plane MarvelLitChick

Chapter Management
Chapter 16
: Fools Rush In

Summary: Some dancing, some reminiscing, and some guilt.

Notes: Hey, guys! I'm back! Like I said, I'll be posting a little faster now, so I can catch up. I'm so glad you all liked the last chapter! I was a little worried about all the action coming off well, but it seems like it was okay! Thank you all for the comments and stuff, I'll be replying to you all in just a few minutes! This chapter is pretty light. I'm sorry it'll be a few pages shorter than usual, but I just couldn't fathom posting the next scene with this group I've got in this chapter, and it was just way too long. It'll open the next chapter next weekend. Anyway, like I said, this one is pretty light on the action, heavy on the angst. There's some dancing, there's some Natasha, there's some Jane, feeling guilty-as she should! Hope you guys enjoy! Please let me know any feedback/questions/ideas you have. I'd love to hear someone's ideas for this gang! I really would! Once again, I don't own Marvel. I also don't own anything else pop-culture-related here, so Harry Potter, Game of Thrones, etc. Chapter title taken from the song originally recorded by Elvis Presley, Can't Help Falling In Love. It was written by Hugo Peretti, Luigi Creatore, and George David Weiss, and is owned by RCA. The version I mean to use here is the recent cover by Haley Reinhart, from American Idol fame. Honestly, I think her version is a little more of an emotional heavy-hitter, go give it a listen, it's just so freaking good. You probably will recognize it from those adorable Extra Gum commercials last year! Enjoy! Love! Sarah

((()))

When Darcy woke the next morning, she was confused for a moment about where she was. It was the same motel room, yes, all done up in blue, sure.

There was the bathroom on the left. The TV straight ahead, no problem.

But the bed was cold beside her—ice cold, in fact.

Then there was the matter of the single red rose on the bedside table, in a crystal vase with an etching of chasing foxes around the base, carved in remarkable likeness. She loved foxes.

She blinked at it for a moment, sitting up in her t-shirt and raking her fingers through her loose hair.

The bathroom door opened.

She jumped, whipping around.

"Whoa," Bucky said, voice low as he held up a hand from the doorway. "Just me."

She blinked stupidly at him, glanced around the room again, then at the vase, then back to him.

He smirked, his face softening in bemusement. "I let you sleep, yeah. You were out pretty hard."

She opened her mouth, shut it again, cleared her throat.

"You forgot," he said, the smirk widening into a soft smile.

She cocked her head. "Forgot what?"

He chuckled and slid onto the bed beside her, stretching out to kiss her on the cheek. "Happy Birthday."

She blinked again, her brain sticking in second gear and refusing to accelerate. "Birthday…" she repeated stupidly.

He chuckled again, reaching up to comb her hair back from her face. "You needed the rest. Seems like you still do…"

She shut her eyes and shook her head, frustration adding to her cloud of grogginess, but she couldn't shake it so easily. "It's my…?"

He sighed. "Well, we have been floating around for a while, but last I checked, it was July 12th. Now, I can't really brag, since I've been outfitted with a photographic memory, but I'm pretty positive that's your birthday—unless, of course, you lied to me out of some need to pretend it didn't exist." He grinned. "You've never shied away from it before. Last year, didn't you go out and get plastered with the girls and come to my place to beg me to…what was it?" He tilted his head as though thinking of a direct quote. "I believe you said, 'bang you like a firework.'"

She groaned, pressing her hands to her face. "Ugh…"

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling with affection. "You were pretty drunk."

"Thank God, or I'd have to be committed."

He laughed softly, sliding closer. "It was cute."

She groaned again, the pieces of her memory slowly slotting into place. "And did you?"

"Did I what?" He slid his hand along her bare thigh, exposed by the hem of her t-shirt.

She winced. "Bang me like a firework?" She only had to guess—she didn't remember (she'd been really drunk) that she must've drawn a parallel from her birthday to the holiday it followed on the heels of.

He smiled. "I did not. I gave you two Advil, made you drink a glass of water, took off your jewelry, and tucked you in. I finished my book, then slept on the couch and was waiting with more Advil and another glass of water in the morning when you returned to the land of the living."

She groaned again, sliding back down onto her back. "I remember that now. That hangover was a bitch."

"And that's why when I finally got you out the door, you borrowed my sunglasses and we spent three hours in the Starbucks off Fifth."

"Ugh." Bang me like a firework? God, that was awful. It had been a long time since she'd last felt embarrassed around him. "God. Did we at least have epic sex after that?"

He thought for a moment. "The next day. You had a pretty nasty headache."

"Ugh, didn't even get birthday sex."

He snorted. "Uh, no. I'm a bit more thoughtful than taking advantage of a drunk girlfriend—" He raised a finger when she went to interrupt—"No matter how badly she thinks she wants it."

She groaned again, rolling against his side and hiding her face against his waist. "When did you get up? What time is it, even? Holy fuck."

"It's after ten. I was up around seven, checked the date, and went to see what I could scrounge up with the cash in my wallet. I'm afraid an actual gift will have to wait until we get home. I saw that at the florist's I found and remembered how much you liked foxes."

They were supposed to have been home a week ago, now. They'd been picking their way across the States for far too long.

Twenty-nine. She was twenty-nine.

"Getting home will be a gift enough."

He shook his head. "No. Mm-mm. My girl gets something tangible on her birthday. I'm making that a rule. You want something from Tiffany's to go along with your ring?"

She pressed her palm against the tightness of his abdominals. "No, no more expensive jewelry."

"Why not?"

"Because. It's too—"

"I've got the money to blow, Darce. I could never spend it all, not the way I was raised. It means something different to me."

She made a grudging sound in her throat.

He sighed. "I'll find something."

He finally managed to drag her up out of bed. She got dressed and demanded they find a Starbucks, ASAP.

They managed to find a little hole-in-the-wall type of place, where she inhaled an omelet and burned her mouth on a chai latte, while Bucky laughed at her over his plate of blueberry pancakes. Coffee black, as usual.

It was a bright, sunny morning, and the sky was the same shade of blue as his eyes, and when he smiled, she felt her heart do the same little pitter-pat it did that first time she'd seen him, sitting sullenly in the lab and bleeding from a rapidly closing gash on his cheekbone.

The waitress smirked at his flirtatious mood and when they went to pay, she waved off the coffees and remarked that Darcy hold on tight, lest she let Bucky get away.

She rolled her eyes and held up her hand and let her know that she was stuck with him, either way.

They all had a nice, refreshing laugh, and they got back into the truck.

She gasped when she spotted a book store in a high-end strip mall and he indulged her, disappearing while she lost herself in the fantasy shelves.

They hopped back on the highway and drove for a few hours before stopping for lunch and continuing onwards.

Just as late afternoon was turning into evening, they found another roadside motel, this one cute and quirky, like something out of a cozy mystery novel, with a little bar attached that was absolutely blaring jukebox music.

They checked in and Bucky left her in the room to scope out the area.

She sighed, dropping down onto the bed with a curiously contented feeling.

Her birthday.

She was twenty-nine.

When had that happened?!

Which was to say nothing of all the horrific missing time that Bucky dealt with…

She sat up, taking a deep breath. Man, if they were home, Tony would've insisted on throwing a huge party, and they would've piled on their living room floor with oversized pillows and watched Ghostbusters and destroyed at least half a dozen pizzas. Clint would've gotten drunk and Natasha would've dragged him off to crash at their place.

Jane would've left early to canoodle with Thor.

Pepper would've gotten antsy after only a few hours and started cleaning up and would miss the end of the movie.

Tony would've bought her something outrageous.

Bucky would've—

She blinked at the shopping bag on the small card table near the door. It was white, with a blue silky ribbon tying the paper handles together, like little boutiques liked to do—or Victoria's Secret.

With a raised eyebrow, she dragged herself up—God, she was sore from whatever that had been yesterday—and crossed over to it, tugging it slowly toward her, like she half expected it to burst onto her face like the Facehugger from fucking Alien.

Tissue paper. In fluffy shades of gray and cloudy blue.

Was that a good sign or a bad one?

And at the bottom of it all, a little black dress.

It was gorgeous, all simple lines and a slim waist, the hem bordered with a tiny, thin metallic stripe. It had wide straps and a plunging sweetheart neckline.

She held it up, staring at it with not a small amount of awe.

The door opened.

She jumped.

"Just me," he said, smirking. "You found it, then? Figured you would."

She clutched it to herself defensively. "What the hell is this?!"

"We're goin' out, dollface. Get dressed."

She blinked. "What?"

"We're going out." He tossed another bag down on the bed. "So get dressed."

Feeling vaguely whiplashed, she stared at him. "Well…what…I…" She huffed. "How did you even guess my size?!"

He grinned. "I do fold the laundry once in a while, you know," he told her wryly. "It's kinda hard to miss. And besides—I come from a time when tailoring was, you know, a real thing, rather than an afterthought." He raised an eyebrow at her. "I've seen every inch of you. If I can't guess your measurements by now, then I haven't been paying attention—and I've been paying very close attention." He pulled something out of the other bag and she saw more clothes, though she couldn't discern exactly what he'd done.

"But—"

"The joint next door is pretty nice. It's a club sort of thing. Food looks good. Impromptu date night."

Her brain was telling her to be impressed, but her mouth was still a few steps back. "Just how much cash did you bring on this trip?!"

He shrugged. "You never know what kind of crap you're gonna run into. I brought enough." He crossed the room back to her and took her elbows in his palms, walking her across the room again with him. "Now go get dressed, dollface."

She hesitated. "There's no way this is gonna fit me, Jamie," she argued.

"If it does, do I get to buy you whatever I want?"

She huffed again. "It doesn't matter—it won't fit. I'm too curvy for this."

"Your curves are just right." He gave her a little swat on the butt. "Now go on." He shoved her gently into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. "I want the full effect when you come out."

For another minute, she stood there in the doorway, holding the dress limply in one hand, and staring down at it like it was a foreign creature.

Sighing resignedly, she pulled off her t-shirt and shorts, toed off her sandals and adjusted her bra, glad they'd stopped a few times along the way for more suitable clothes than the ones he'd been forced to work with after their abrupt departure from Hawaii.

Hawaii.

She sighed again, wistfully, as she stepped into the dress and pulled it up over her hips.

Too small.

She'd known it was going to be too small.

She'd tried to tell hi—

The zipper slid smoothly up her back and she scowled at herself in the mirror.

Damn him to hell.

As soon as the thought occurred, she winced. He'd already been there. He'd been there and he'd managed to claw his way back. The sentiment was empty now.

She flung the door open. "I hate you."

"No, you don't," was his usual answer, his back to her as he buttoned up a black dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And those dark gray khakis he'd found were perfectly fitted, not too dressy, pretty casual—how did he make everything look so blasted easy?!

He turned.

She fidgeted as she stood there, could feel his eyes like two warm spots on her bare feet, then her shins, and her thighs, half exposed by the medium hem of the dress. They paused on her hips and her waist, before climbing the rest of the way up, her neck, then her face, where they stopped.

"Hm," he hummed, a soft smile lingering in his eyes and curling one side of his mouth.

"What?" she said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

He took a step toward her. "Nothing. It's just even better than I expected, that's all."

She swallowed hard, her cheeks pinking with heat. "Oh. You, um…look nice. Well, nicer than usual, which isn't really a stretch, since you somehow manage to look good even when we're on the run and you're bleeding from some long-healed wound on your shoulder, and—"

He stepped across the room and silenced her with a kiss, soft, and sweet, his hands coming up to cup her face.

When he released her, she couldn't stop the little breathless gasp from escaping. "Oh."

"You were babbling," he murmured, his blue, blue eyes so close.

She nodded, her heart racing in her chest. "So I was."

He smiled. "Why are you nervous? It's just me."

She cleared her throat, stepping out of his embrace to smooth the lines of the dress. "Dunno. Let me, um…let me just brush my hair and…and stuff." She grabbed her bag from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. "Good thing we've done some shopping on our travels…"

She pulled her hair back in a simple clip, securing it in a boho style at the back of her head, then swiped on some eyeliner and a little lip crayon in a deep, matte red.

She rubbed on a little lily perfume with shaking hands and adjusted her ring on her finger, twisting it one way, then the other.

"Get it together, Darcy," she muttered to her reflection.

When she went out, he was waiting for her, leaning back against the door with his arms folded over his muscled chest. "Ready?"

His slip-on sneakers somehow brought the look down just the right notch and his hair was falling in his face just so that she wanted to run her fingers through it again.

She nodded, and he took her hand loosely in his and closed the door behind them.

He was right: the thing she'd thought was a bar, was really a casual little nightclub. Clearly, during their early afternoon hours, they were just another burger place off the highway, beer on tap and a jukebox. But now that the sun was setting into early evening, the place was filling up with people dressed similarly to them, a dress casual sort, sandals and dresses, shirts and shorts.

They slid into a booth in the back, just within view of the small dance floor, where the waitresses were convening a quick pre-rush meeting, flicking their hair back and adjusting their aprons over their black matchstick pants.

One of them traced their progress, her eyes on Bucky, but Darcy just smirked, unthreatened. She'd married a real hottie.

Luckily, the waitress they got was another, with a ring already on her finger and a neat, studied air, like a recent college grad, a little like Darcy in her bookish glasses. She took their order and Darcy watched the other groups of people, laughing, talking, a small gaggle that gathered on the dance floor to shuffle around a little bit, her hand clutched loosely in Bucky's warm, human one.

When they were out in a large place like this, he tried to keep the techno thriller appendage as subtle as possible and rarely reacted when someone openly noticed it.

He wasn't ashamed of it. It irked him more than anything else, the reminder of the enemy he'd been forced to fight for, the Soviet star, bright, bloody red on his shoulder. He was saved a bit of effort this time by the longer sleeves he wore. But the one waitress, the blond, she noticed it, and she stared, fascinated, her eyes pitched for long-distance flirtation, not that Bucky noticed.

Their food came.

"So, I'm thinking London. Paris, maybe?" Bucky began. "Somewhere not in the States. Maybe somewhere more exotic would be the key, here." He took a sip of his water. "Maybe Australia?"

She blinked, slicing her steak and setting her knife down. "What are you talking about?"

He popped a fry in his mouth. "Honeymoon Plan B. Where do you wanna go?"

She snorted, shaking her head. "No. Nope, sorry. All attempts are cancelled at this point, babe. Maybe next year, when the goons you've carved up have forgotten about us or been bullied by someone fresh and new."

He chuckled. "C'mon. I don't give up easily. You know that. We're going to have a solid block of no running from bad guys, I'm determined. Site seeing, food, shopping—no bad guys."

She sighed. "You really wanna chance it?"

He popped another fry in his mouth. "Yes."

"But is this really what our marriage is going to be? I mean, really? I mean, don't get me wrong: you're talking to a girl who must be head over heels, because she thought she'd be the last person she'd see marry anyone. And I'd rather spend my life running around with you than doing anything else, including being safe and sound and bored in New York. But…"

He smirked. "But?"

She sighed again, putting her fork down. "It's just…That doesn't mean I'm averse to a little normal…domesticity. You know? It would be nice to have a period in our relationship where things are normal and work and dinner and sleeping together for longer than, you know…two weeks."

His smile dimmed a little. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Ugh!" she huffed, picking up her knife again and rolling her eyes. "There you go again, blaming yourself. Stop it! I chose this, remember? All of it. I followed after Jane on purpose, not that she fucking cared." But she shook it off. "It's just that I want some time to rest. You know? To figure out what's going on in my body and to get some training in and to settle into a project with Tony, you know? To be able to appreciate the idea that I have someone to wake up to now, you know? Officially. I want to…change my name, and…I want you to teach me to cook, and…and to have movie nights with the gang and just…just be normal, now. Is that weird?"

His eyes softened and he looked achingly affectionate. He shook his head. "No. That's not weird."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the other patrons laugh it up as they shuffled around to the whining strains of Careless Whisper.

"George Michael?" he asked.

"Almost. Wham."

They shared dessert and battled with their forks over the last bite of Whiskey Cake, but Darcy suspected that Bucky let her win.

The sunset was glowing now, lancing in the quaint, shuttered windows in golden shafts and lighting up his hair.

And when soft piano started up, he slid off his chair and held out his hand, no words needed.

She stood, blushing, and smoothed the lines of her dress again, looping her hand around his elbow.

Wise men say/only fools rush in. But I can't help/falling in love with you.

"This was the song my parents danced to," she scoffed as he took up her left hand in his right.

"Well, this doesn't sound like Elvis," was his low rebuttal.

And it wasn't. It was a girl, with a deep voice, and she sang with an aching pull of feeling.

Darcy swallowed hard.

Like a river flows/surely to the sea/darling, so it goes/some things…are meant to be.

She took a deep, shuddering breath as his arm tightened around her waist and he pulled her closer, shifting her hand into his, where he cupped it over his heart, his eyes only on her.

She had the sharp sensation that they were the only two people in the room, the only two people on earth, though she could see others drifting around them out of the corner of her eye.

For a moment, she worried everyone would stare, but she could hear talking going on around them, the clinking of glass and silverware.

No one was watching, no one cared.

Take my hand/take my whole life too/for I can't help/falling in love with you.

She'd never have expected the cold, detached killing machine that was the Winter Soldier of looking so…she didn't have a word for the look on his face.

Affection.

Boundless devotion.

Like she was the answer to every single question he'd ever had.

How had she gone from careless, blithe college grad to…this? And so quickly. Under two years.

The perfection of the moment was staggering and for a second, she was distracted and thought she might trip over him—

But he righted her with a simple tightening of his arm around her waist and a little curve of his mouth.

The sunlight blazed in his eyes, giving the appearance that they glowed from within before winking out below the horizon.

Oh, for I, I can't help/falling in love with you.

((()))

Natasha watched them from a back corner, hidden deep in the shadows of her booth.

She thought her heart might burst from her chest, and through sheer force of will she kept it from cracking open.

She'd been following them for the past few hundred miles, since only two days prior. She knew Bucky would be annoyed that someone—anyone—had managed to track them down again, which was why she'd taken to shadowing them, just as a precaution—at least for the time being.

She smiled at Darcy's pink cheeks. Her friend was confident, and a lot—a lot—of things didn't rattle her the way they would other people. Most other people.

But Bucky Barnes had a way of tearing down all her defenses with just a look.

She swallowed hard, listening to the dreamy, aching Elvis cover blasting out of the jukebox in the corner, and finally caved, pulling her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. She dialed blindly and held up the phone.

"Tasha."

The breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding finally eased the tense pressure in her body and she sighed. "Rogers."

"Where are you?"

"Relax, Rogers. I'm fine.

He didn't take that as enough of an answer. "Where are you?" he repeated.

"Somewhere in Missouri. I found them."

"You found them?!" There was an indistinct clatter in the background, and muffled voices.

"I found them."

"Well—"

More clamoring around. "Tell Tony they're just fine."

"They're fine, Stark."

She grinned despite herself.

"You're alright?" Steve asked, his voice low, muffled movement in the background telling her he was likely moving away from the nervous inventor and out into a hallway. He sounded so concerned and tender that her heart squeezed again, a painful reminder that not only were they separated, but that she wasn't supposed to be letting herself enjoy these silly, melodramatic moments in her life.

Or was she?
She sighed. "I'm fine. I miss you."

A pause on the other end of the line. "I miss you. I can…meet you?" he offered, a sad sort of resignation in his voice even as he spoke the words.

"It's okay, Rogers. I'll be fine."

"You don't sound fine."

Bucky shifted Darcy's hand and settled it against his heart. "Yeah, well, two of my friends are having a rare moment of peace and it made me homesick—what's it to ya?"

Steve gave a husky little laugh. "Didn't mean to step on your toes, there, Romanoff."

She smiled, shifting the phone to her other ear so she could continue her salad. It was good, but she found herself just picking at it, her appetite dissolved.

"Moment of what? Peace? Those two?"

She glanced over at them again, the damn song eternally long. "Don't get me wrong—the way Buck's acting, it's clear they've been dogged. Looks like he's had a pole shoved up his back, like that singer. But right now, we're tail free and the three of us are sharing dinner."

"She's with them?!" Tony's voice in the background, an unmistakable, totally unveiled thread of desperation in his tone.

"Stark, for God's sake—"

"No. No, I'm not," she interrupted before they could start their usual bickering. "I haven't revealed myself yet. They look like they…need a minute."

"Besides, what singer has a pole up her back?" Steve asked, confused, totally missing the reference, as usual.

"Gloria Estefan," Tony inserted, not missing a beat.

"Oh." Pause. "Wait-who?"

"But they're okay?" Tony interrupted again. "Darcy's—"

"She looks fine," she interjected, unsure just how to sooth his totally frayed nerves to any true satisfaction. Only Darcy standing in front of him, alive and whole, was going to do that, she was fairly certain. "She looks exhausted, but…fine."

"And Buck?" Steve cut in, sounding a bit wounded.

"The same. A little pale. But fine."

"Bruce!" Tony shouted, his voice fading from the background.

Steve sighed. "He's been driving me up a wall…"

She smiled, glancing up out the window. No change to the cars in the lot. The sun was cutting through the blinds at a weirdly picturesque angle and picking out the highlights in Bucky's hair. "He's just worried."

"I mean, I know how he feels about Darcy, but he's acting like—"

"A father," she finished. "Making up for lost time. He's reeling from that on top of everything else." She forced another forkful into her mouth and chewed dutifully. "How's Hill handling all this?"

"'Bout as well as you'd expect," Steve replied, his voice grim. "Thinks we should be focusing on some Cuban drug lord who's selling Chitauri weapons on the side—"

"Why doesn't she just leave that to the FBI? You've been working with them on and off months."

"That's what Clint tried to tell her."

"But…?" She could hear it coming.

"But you know how she is; she's like a dog with a bone. It's like she feels so guilty about last spring, she'd rather dig herself in deeper than face it head-on. Sam's furious with her. Tony can't even look at her. She's got no allies here at the moment. There are no other jobs until the team's whole again. Right, Tony?"

"Damn straight, Rogers," came Tony's distant voice.

Natasha couldn't help but smile. The one thing the boy's shared—love for their team. They shared leadership of the gang, and, conversely, it was usually what contributed to all their bickering. But sometimes, their solidarity paid off. She rolled her eyes. Men. If only they could work like this all the time. "Someone needs to remind her that, now that Fury's gone, temporary leadership is out of her hands."

"Tony rebuilt SHIELD in his absence. I'll…send out a memo."

She snorted.

"You hear from Nick lately?"

She sighed again, sitting back and putting down her fork. "Not so far."

They sat for a long moment in silence with each other, and Natasha let her eyes slip closed, finally giving in, retreating, and let herself imagine that she was sitting on the couch in their suite, Dostoyevsky open in her lap. And Steve would come up behind her and settle the blanket over her shoulders and press a kiss to the top of her head, his palms warm against her chilled arms.

"How are you?" he asked, his voice unbearably soft.

"Cold."

"I'm sorry."

"How about you?"

His voice softened further, hushed and low. "I can't sleep without you in the bed."

She smiled. "Buck up, Rogers. You did it in the army."

He laughed. "Listen, I…I should go. Tony and Bruce are looking into Darcy's reactions to all this, and they're gonna need a third set of eyes."

Her heart pinched and she bit her lip. "Okay. Make sure you tell them that she looks okay. Not good, but…strong enough. She's taken care of."

"I wouldn't expect anything else," he replied, a smile in his voice. "I love you."

"Love you."

"Roger that."

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Steve."

((()))

Jane stared into the flickering flames that danced in the fireplace before her. It was summer in New York, but Thor had the air blasted to Arctic temperatures, and rather than break his heart and turn it down, she'd opted to make a fire. It was cozy, after all, and it wasn't like a fire pit was an option when you were camping. This was no different. She tugged her long-sleeve flannel more tightly shut and sighed, frowning broodingly as the Norseman in question puttered around in the kitchen behind her.

A memory was nagging at her, dredged up by Tony Stark's digging around in the muck. She'd tried shoving it back down all day, pushing it back under the mud of her memory, but it insisted on having its day.

"Jane."

She swallowed, folding a lock of her brown hair behind her ear as she stood awkwardly in the hallway. "Darcy."

Darcy stood leaning on the door of her apartment, her face passive and her eyes a bright mix of ambivalent and annoyed. "What's up? We were about to put on Game of Thrones."

She nodded, her heart sinking just a little. Bucky was there. Of course he was, she was an idiot—it was his place for God's sake. "Oh. Okay."

"Come on in," Bucky called from deeper in the suite.

Darcy flinched.

Jane shrugged, already taking a step back. "I can come ba—"

"For God's sake, Foster, just come in," Bucky repeated, sounding one part annoyed and one part bemused. "I don't bite."

Jane hesitated in the hallway, bumbling as Darcy watched her, an eyebrow raised in mild amusement at her friend's squirming. "Don't worry, Jane—I won't let him suck your blood," she snarked.

"Darcy," Bucky scolded.

His fiancée rolled her eyes. "I guess you should come in, then, before he huffs and puffs and blows the building down."

A loud sigh from within.

Darcy held the door wider.

Jane inched her way over the threshold, looking around. She hadn't been in here yet and she wasn't sure what to expect. Ammo strewn about, guns everywhere…

But it was clean—Spartan, in fact.

There was steam wafting in the kitchen, drawing her eye, and Jane glanced over to find Bucky at the island, pulling boxes of tea from a drawer. His white v-neck tee looked soft and his hair—loosely waving around his face—even softer. His jaw was scruffy, but he looked over at her with clear, blue eyes. "Just making tea—nothing sinister." He smirked playfully at her.

She flinched, edging further in. There was a blue runner leading in from the doorway, thick and cushioned beneath her flats. The hardwood floors in the kitchen abruptly cut off, much like in her apartment, and switched to thick, luxurious carpeting.

The couch faced the large, wall-mounted TV, a coffee table between them. One lounger faced diagonally beside it, but the other had been moved across the room to face the long, floor-to-ceiling window that was the star of the suite, really, the drapes flung wide to reveal the deep night cityscape of Manhattan. There were blankets draped across each cushioned surface and Jane wondered if Bucky was cold all the time as a result of his conditioning. Was it psychosomatic?

Darcy shut the door behind her with a soft snap. "Do we have any Chamomile left?" she asked.

Bucky sighed, pulling out a teabag. "Last one."

"Were you gonna have it?"

A single brow went up and he gave her that playful, flirtatious smirk again. "Mm…wasn't sure. Whatcha gonna gimme if I letcha have it?"

Darcy laughed, crossing the entryway to lean across the counter and peck him on the cheek.

He narrowed his eyes as the kettle started whistling behind him on the stovetop. "Hm. Not sure if I accept the payment…What else ya got?"

She rolled her eyes, swatting him softly on the chest. "How 'bout an IOU for later, Soldier Boy?"

He grinned—the full, megawatt one—and the cheerful effect of it nearly set Jane back on her heels. She'd never seen him do that before, not like that… "I suppose that should suffice."

Darcy snorted, skirting around him—God, Jane had forgotten how big he seemed, even though he was of relatively average height—and shut off the stovetop. "Don't go getting any crazy ideas, Sergeant Barnes."

He huffed another falsely aggrieved sigh. "I suppose I could have Egyptian Mint." Then he looked up at her. "Tea, Jane?"

She jumped. "Uh…no."

Darcy shook her head, chuckling. "God, Jane, relax. You don't get much more boring than making tea. Christ."

Swallowing her nerves, she perched on the edge of the lounger, watching as the menu for the fourth season of Game of Thrones played on repeat on the TV.

"So what can we do ya for, doc?" Darcy finally offered, pouring the steaming water into two mugs.

"Ah!" Bucky hissed, yanking his hand back and shaking it out.

Horrified, Darcy gasped, staring at him. "Did I burn you?!"

But he laughed, shaking his head. "Nah, I'm just messing with you."

Now it was Darcy's turn to huff. Hands occupied with the kettle, she shoved her hip against him, pushing him over on one leg, where he rebalanced. "You jerkface!" But she was laughing. "Careful—your fiancé's got a kettle full of boiling water. You wouldn't wanna piss her off, would you?"

But Bucky was incorrigible. "But she's so cute when she's flustered!"

Darcy rolled her eyes, smirking as she looked up at Jane. "He's in a good mood. You can tell by the way he teases me relentlessly."

Bucky snickered.

She set the kettle back on the stove. "Quick, Jane—say your piece before Mr. Hyde returns."

Bucky rolled his eyes, but took both mugs and crossed the room toward the couch. "Darcy, for God's sake."

Darcy flopped down next to him, settling against his side, and tucking her bare legs up under her. "Seriously—what's up? You look like you swallowed a cat."

Bucky made a show of setting the mugs down on the coffee table on two coasters, but Jane could tell he was giving her a minute.

Still, she hesitated, watching him.

He pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and shook it out over Darcy's legs, then retrieved the remote from the lower shelf of the coffee table.

Darcy blinked. "Jane?"

She jerked, finally meeting her former intern's eyes. "Um…"

When her gaze wandered back to Bucky, he finally gave her a small smile. "Why don't I go for a wa—"

"No," Darcy said, and her tone had finally settled into one of commanding as she set her hand on his knee. "Whatever she came here to say she's going to have to say to both of us." She looked over at Jane again, her expression carefully neutral, but with a slightly challenging glint in her eyes.

Like she'd known all along.

"Right, Jane? Go ahead."

Jane indeed felt rather like she'd swallowed a cat. "Um…I just…wanted to…apologize."

Darcy nodded, but said nothing.

Bucky hit a button on the remote, studiously giving them a moment.

"Yeah. An apology."

Darcy frowned, reaching up with one hand to press at the brow bone over her right eye. "Okay, Jane. Anything else?"

Bucky got up.

Darcy slumped over against the arm rest.

"Um." Jane shifted, unfamiliar with these sorts of conversations and feeling entirely lost. "No. That was…it."

Darcy snorted.

Bucky shut a kitchen drawer and crossed the room to them again, holding something out for Darcy.

She frowned in confusion and blinked at him. "What's this for?"

"Your headache," he replied matter-of-factly, taking her hips and moving her back over again so he could reclaim his place on the couch.

She blinked again, perplexed. "How did you…? You know what—never mind. Of course you knew." Shaking her head, she unscrewed the lid and popped an Advil into her mouth, taking a sip of her tea as Bucky offered it up without question.

"You are always two steps ahead of me," she muttered after she swallowed.

Bucky flushed a bit. "Does that drive you nuts?"

She smiled and leaned her head back against his shoulder. "No."

Jane watched them, feeling increasingly awkward.

"You take good care of me," Darcy murmured.

Bucky settled his hand on her thigh and squeezed.

Jane tried not to flush. "Should I go?"

Darcy sighed. "I dunno, Jane. Is that the only reason you stopped by?"

Jane hesitated—again—looking around at the space.

There was a shelf against one wall, wide and long, and one half was taken up by DVD's, the other books. There were two lonely spaces on that side, and her eyes searched out the culprits for only a moment before she found them on the kitchen island: a tattered copy of the fourth Harry Potter book and To Kill A Mockingbird. She wondered which one of them was reading which. Of course, Darcy had always been a huge Harry Potter fan, if Jane recalled her rambling clearly enough.

She had a hard time picturing Bucky reading—then again, she had a hard time picturing Bucky doing anything other than sighting along a high-powered rifle.

"Jane."

She jumped again, and scurried for the door. "Okay. Um. Night."

"I shut the door behind me and I didn't look back," she muttered now, staring into the flickering flames. "Why didn't I go back?"

"What was that, my love?" Thor asked, looking up with a frown as he poured something into a mug.

She watched his reflection in the polished stone of the fireplace. "What are you doing?"

"Making tea. Would you like some of your chamomile?"

And he looked so sweet and unassuming and earnest, that she flinched, reminded of Bucky, teasing her best friend. "Tony was right."

Thor crossed the room with his mug—likely full of his favorite Lemon Zinger—and perched on the arm of her chair. "About what? Stark is usually right about many things. For all of what Steven considers his faults, the man is a genius." He smirked. "Sometimes he reminds me a bit of Loki."

Jane scowled.

"For all of his particular faults, Loki was highly intelligent. He asked for vindication and nothing more, and it was something none of us was ever able to grant him." He frowned into the flames himself then, drifting in thought.

"I lost Darcy," Jane muttered, only half hearing him.

Thor surprised her, offering neither comfort nor excuse. "Yes, Jane. You may have."

She jerked, looking up at him. "I'm not okay with that."

Thor shrugged. "I should not expect you to be. If it be the case, however, it was over a noble reason."

"Me hating Bucky is noble?"

He finally turned his head and looked at her, then, and his expression was even, unforgiving, and honest. "No. What is noble is Darcy having the courage to stand up to her friends and let her heart do the choosing for her."

Jane slumped deeper into the chair. "Was I total bitch?"

He slid his hand over her shoulder and squeezed. "I would not use that particular Midgardian term. However, I believe Darcy might."

"Ugh." She huffed irritably at his riddles. "Just talk straight for once!"

Thor sighed. "Jane, my love, you attempted to protect your friend. And while that is noble in itself, you attempted to do so when she had no need of protection. And you did it so vigilantly, that the very person you sought to protect her from turned out to be the one she ran to protection for—from you."

"I just don't understand why everyone is so comfortable with him! The only time I'm okay around him is when I'm drunk! And that's saying something after all the stuff I've gone through with you!"

Thor smirked.

"You're all so ready to accept him!"

"You all accepted an alien from another planet into your midst—you welcomed him into your bed, as well."

She rolled her eyes. "That's totally different!"

"How, Jane?" he asked, standing. "There are those out there who might call it worse."

"Worse than sleeping with a sniper assassin?!" she snapped.

Thor smiled. "You forget, Jane, the purpose of a sniper in war."

She clenched her jaw shut. "What?"

"To seek high ground in order to better protect his men from unseen threats. Steven will tell you he was quite good at it in their war. He would certainly not have been kept alive by the enemy and honed if he were not. Now he is nearly infallible."

She waved her hands. "That's what scares me!"

"It should not," he insisted.

"Why the hell not?!"

"Because he is not your enemy, Jane!"

"It feels like he is!"

Thor pressed his free palm to his forehead in a rare show of frustration. "Why? Can you not trust the judgment of your lover? I should think myself able of determining our enemies after centuries of life, Jane."

She chewed on her lip, wanting to argue about Loki, but thought it best not to bring it up. "I just…I just…" She sighed. "Darcy and I…when the Triskelion fell…we were there."

"I know, Jane. I worried for you."

"And Darcy wouldn't leave Steve's side. She was so…And Steve, he…" She picked at a stray bit of string on her blanket. "Steve was half dead when they brought him in. Said he'd have died, if someone hadn't pulled him out of the Potomac."

Thor's expression changed, softening only slightly as he looked down at her with his jaw clenched. "Do you know who pulled him from the water, Jane?"

She scowled into the fire again. "No. Sam?"

"James."

Her head snapped toward him and she stared at him, face slack in surprise. "Bucky?"

Thor nodded. "Indeed. They traded blows until Steven was able to break him free of his manipulation. He has not said how he did it. But his words have implied enough of James' horror to convince me of his clear-headedness. If some foul conditioning remains, it is not of his choosing, and it certainly is not something that can be easily removed, Jane. But he was conscious enough to pull his brother from the water that day, even when injured himself."

"He was hurt?"

"Steven broke his human arm."

"And they're not brothers, Thor."

The Norseman cocked his head and studied her with those keen eyes of his. "Are they not?"

For a long moment, they stared at each other.

"But he's…he's okay? I mean, for just random, civilian life? He's been cleared? And he's over there with Darcy all alone, and she's—"

"Darcy is perfectly capable of making her own choices, Jane. She's a level-headed and intelligent woman, much deserving a good man, from what I've observed. And James is such."

She implored him, finally standing and gesturing wildly. "But how can you be sure?"

Thor sighed. "Have you not observed them?"

"Yes."

But Thor shook his head. "If you truly had, you would cease this questioning."

She snorted, but in her mind, she saw them again, all cuddled up the way they'd been that day, looking cozy and affectionate. And he'd gotten her something for her headache when she hadn't said a word about it. "That's practically what Stark said."

"Because Stark is no fool. Only a fool would miss the devotion in his eyes when he looks at Darcy. Should any of us have the right to tell him he has not suffered enough to earn a bit of happiness, Jane?"

Stung, she snapped her mouth shut. "So I'm a fool?"

He sighed again. "Jane, you are…so very intelligent. But sometimes you…what's the Midgardian phrase? You miss the forest for the trees, my love. You fail to see what is right in front of you. This time it may have cost you Darcy."