Chapter 19: Dust to Dust

Summary: Some not so good news.

Notes: So first thing's first: Don't worry, you guys! I'm not just gonna drag all y'all thru the mud to a nasty ending. This one's taking me a little longer to map out, but we're getting there! Just bear with me, I promise it'll be worth it. So that's it, really. I'll keep it short and sweet (and I won't mention that Game of Thrones finale-did you see that?! If I start, we'll be here all week) and let you have at it. Maybe, it being a holiday weekend, I'll post another chapter tomorrow. That being said, if you're in the US, happy Labor Day! Enjoy your day off! And if you're not, thanks for reading, and just have a great day in general! You deserve it! Love you all. As usual, an questions, shoot 'em my way, and keep me posted on how you're enjoying things. Also, as usual, I don't own Marvel or anything mentioned here. The chapter title is taken from the song of the same name by The Civil Wars. Sarah

((()))

Bucky drove for hours, there, on the open road somewhere in Central Pennsylvania. Maybe it was Natasha's suspicious conversation, which almost certainly hadn't been with Steve, but his mind was spinning.

Maybe it was Darcy, asleep and vulnerable in the passenger seat next to him.

At this point, he had to assume there was something strange going on here. He had no idea how they were being tracked with such exactness and finesse—he'd checked her thoroughly for any marks that would give away the large insertion point of a tracker—and it was getting to the point where he just wanted to make a straight shot home to Manhattan and not even bother stopping.

When they stopped, they were like sitting ducks. They'd come close enough already, regardless of his tireless fortitude.

Well. Maybe not so tireless.

He yawned, then leaned over to turn up the radio a little so that Oasis was just loud enough to keep him alert. He didn't want to wake Darcy. She needed to rest.

If he had to put money on it, Bucky was willing to bet that the Widow's mysterious caller had been Tony. And if he was playing poker against the inventor—which he would never be stupid enough to do, even with all his back pay from the Army—he'd raise the stakes under the assumption that he had some sort of lead that he didn't want Bucky to know about. Or Darcy. But Natasha needed the information on their way into Manhattan.

He frowned, thinking as he drove, slotting the pieces together.

Clearly Stark had managed to stumble across some sort of lead that had him scrambling for contact, and Bucky could think of only one instance that would cause a panicked reaction from a man like him—Darcy was the danger.

Clenching his jaw, he let off the accelerator and eased onto the shoulder of the highway.

Darcy—mercifully—continued to sleep.

Natasha jerked upright, glancing around in alert surprise. "What—"

He turned to face her. "I won't ask you to betray your promise," he said, his voice low and hard. He knew who on the team needed which version of himself and he was not above sliding masks on and off to benefit his various circumstances with each of them. Natasha—with her rough past—was tricky, but she was not above intimidation. Unlike Steve, Bucky had a knack, now, for knowing exactly which buttons to press on just about everyone on the team. "I've been there. We practically share the same pair of shoes."

She narrowed her eyes, but he saw the color trickling around on her face.

"But I need to know where I'm going, Natalia. Am I clear for Manhattan?"

She hesitated, then relented, the battle lost to her. "As far as I know."

He nodded, then turned back around and pulled back out onto the lonely stretch of road.

"But, you—you can't possibly be thinking of going straight there," she protested, leaning forward between the two front seats. "We're too far out. Even you need your rest."

Annoyance bubbling in his gut, he just scowled at her in the rearview mirror. "I'm done stopping. It's too tight a finish. Don't worry about me. Go ahead and take a nap. Let me know when you need to call Stark."

He was almost ashamed of the vindication he felt at the telltale blush on her face.

Almost.

((()))

"So. Are you comfortable?" the man asked.

Darcy blinked, looking around, unsure just how she'd gotten there.

'There' being home.

She was back in their Avengers Tower suite, sitting in her favorite chair by the massive windows, New York's vista skyline just a pane of glass away.

She shifted and blinked again, her confusion evaporating in the presence of an unanswered question. "Um. Yes. Very. Although some coffee would be nice." It didn't immediately occur to her that cordiality toward the man seated across from her might not be entirely warranted.

The man gestured toward the small end table that sat beside her chair.

She glanced over to find a cup sitting there, a familiar green logo on the side and steam issuing from the sipping hole. She could've sworn it hadn't been there a moment ago. "Oh." She smiled and picked it up, sipping carefully to avoid scalding her tongue. "Awesome."

"I'm glad you could join me this morning, Miss Lewis," her companion said, looking down at the clipboard in his lap.

She flinched at the name he used, but wasn't quite sure why. An unsettled feeling was sloshing around in her brain, but the reason evaded her. In fact, she felt very strange, almost as if she was having one of those…what were they called? An Out-Of-Body experience? Yeah, one of those. She'd heard them described before, and this sort of…fit the bill. She felt rather…unlike herself. So she nodded, unsure what else to do.

The man smiled, and it wasn't a normal smile, but something rather like dead flowers, sweet on the surface but sickeningly cloying beneath, the earthy scent of something being dragged back to its own ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

"We're all just shadows and dust, Maximus. Shadows and dust." Memory—or something vaguely akin to it—was seeping in around the edges of her consciousness.

The man frowned, that eerie smile faltering in a sour, put-out sort of way, as though, so far, they hadn't particularly followed the script as it was written. "I'm sorry?"

Darcy blinked, then realized she'd spoken aloud. Where had she heard that before? She'd heard it somewhere…somewhere before… "Sorry."

"So how are you this morning, Darcy?"

She thought about it. Was it odd that he was treating this like some sort of attempt at psychological evaluation? Wasn't there supposed to be a couch and a little water fountain burbling away, and a ticking clock on the wall? "Fine. I guess. Um. Where are we?" Annoyance tickled the back of her brain, the peaceful haze around the edges starting to sharpen.

The man blinked. "Well, you're home."

She nodded. "Right. But why am I here? I…I got away from you."

Aldrich Killian smiled, wide and predatory. "Well, I should think that your subconscious mind summoned me here in order to work out some of its lingering…impressions, shall we say? We're in a place you're comfortable, a place you feel safe."

Sensation was beginning to trickle back into her body, setting her tingling. "Right. Because my conscious mind didn't get enough of you while you had me tied up like some S&M kink."

He chuckled. "I assumed, given your relationship with someone like the Winter Soldier, you'd be used to that sort of thing." He sneered, like she'd told him they had a secret sex tape.

She glared. "I didn't marry the Winter Soldier, I married James Barnes," she snapped.

He clucked his tongue and looked out the window. "And I was this close to collecting the both of you—I'd have had a matched set." He shook his head.

She sighed sharply. "How many people do I have to tell? You can't have him. He's mine."

This didn't seem to faze him. "Shame. Although, if I play my cards right, I might still be able to make this work in my favor." He leaned forward. "You are the key."

Ice shivered down her spine and a strange suction began in her belly, locking her to the chair like a suction cup. "Oh?"

He looked so serene. "If I can't have you, no one can. If having my moment of vengeance means sacrificing all my work, then so be it."

The ground shifted beneath her and the angle of light through the windows changed, like something out of Inception, and she swung against the right arm of the chair.

But Killian didn't seem to notice. He hadn't even moved.

Alarmed, she could only glance around in rising panic. "What do you mean?"

"If nothing else, I have an instrument for his destruction. For the destruction of the entire beast. Finally. I'll show him what a handicap can really do. I'll fracture him and watch him crumble as I drag AIM into the fore, even if it's kicking and screaming."

Again, she was thrown back in her chair, a hum starting in her ears that had her heart racing in her chest, threatening to mutiny its way out. Anger and fear coalesced in her. "You so much as touch him and I'll—"

"You'll what? You're helpless right now, Darcy. You're all mine, whether you realize it or not." He stood, then, and approached, and she was powerless, couldn't even move against the thrashing her body was mysteriously undergoing. "And you don't even know it yet, do you?" He placed his hands on the arms of her chair and boxed her in, leaning in close so that their noses nearly bumped.

She swallowed, latching on tight as she could to the arm rests, although they didn't feel as though they matched the chair anymore. Rather than soft plush, they were hard beneath her hands, plastic and foam cushioning, like a—

"Even your precious soldier won't be able to save you. It's tragic, really, that he thinks he has. He revels that you're back in his arms after such a harrowing ordeal. But it won't be enough. You'll sift like ash through his fingers, Darcy Lewis, and he'll be powerless to stop it—in fact, perhaps he won't even be alive to feel the horror. It would be fitting, really, considering HYDRA always considered us a piggyback."

His mouth stretched wider, until he looked like a shark. "They'll see now, won't they? They'll stand in the ruins of their own demise and wonder where they went wrong, how they lost their grip on such a perfect world."

Darcy cringed back, but he only pressed forward, until his mouth was pressed almost tenderly against her cheek, his words like ice against her ear. "All because of one. Single. Woman."

Gasping, she finally managed to pull herself free with a gigantic mental wrench, and she came awake with a raw inhalation, like she'd been silently suffocating in her sleep.

Bucky glanced over at her, his brow creased in concern. "Are you alright?"

"Take the left lane," Natasha spoke from the back seat.

Barely looking, Bucky jerked the wheel and ignored the horn of a passing car on their left as he just barely edged into the fast lane, glancing in the rearview with a scowl. "I only count the red SUV. You?"

Natasha twisted to look behind them. "The G-Wagen," she confirmed with a single nod.

He growled thinly under his breath. "Fucking Mercedes."

Darcy looked wildly around. "What's going on?"

"One last car chase before we hit New York," Bucky answered, his mouth set in a grim line. He reached over and turned up the volume on the radio until it was blasting in the closed cabin, and flicked the air conditioning up a notch, the sharp stream hitting Darcy right along her collar.

She flinched, reaching forward to shut her vent as the car lurched again, pressing her back. Whatever he needed to keep sharp, but she didn't need to freeze her ass off. "We're that close to New York?!"

Natasha was calm and cool in the backseat, head down as she checked the clip on her Glock 26. "You've been asleep for hours and your husband really knows how to bury the accelerator. We're coming up on Philly."

That explained the crush of traffic around them. They were surrounded and careening forward in the pack like a pinball.

Bucky's driving was incredible. The way he weaved in and out of cars, his head constantly moving, his reflexes whip-fast, made Darcy curious what he would be like on a motorcycle, and that sort of thing had never been a particular turn-on for her before.

Shoving the thought aside, she whipped around for a better look at their pursuers. About three cars back, kitty-korner, was a red Mercedes SUV, huge and scary looking, with tinted windows. The only reason it wasn't closer on them was the intense traffic heading into Philadelphia.

If traffic thinned, they were fucked.

Or, at least, they were in for another bumpy ride.

She sighed. God, hadn't they had enough of those lately? "All I wanted was three weeks with my guy. That's all I wanted."

Bucky switched lanes again.

Surprisingly, it was Natasha who responded, her voice low. "I'm sorry, Darce."

"There's no room to get off," Bucky said, his voice tense as he glared in the rearview mirror.

"What do we do?" she asked.

He sighed. "I've really had my fill of collateral damage," he ground out, the sexy muscle in his jaw ticking, once, twice. "But they haven't exactly given us a choice."

The strange dream she'd only just woken from fizzed in her mind, and she chewed on her lip the next few minutes, trying to puzzle it out.

"Darce, the SIG should be right on top," Bucky suddenly cut in, slicing her ragged thoughts off cleanly and snapping her out of it.

Moving mechanically, she tried to get those thoughts into some semblance of order. Hell, it was just a stupid dream, nothing more than her overworked, overtired, over-stimulated subconscious trying to work out all the kinks of the last few weeks.

A month.

Oh, God, they'd been gone a month. A month since they'd seen home, a month since she'd last seen Tony.

Something about that stung, and she yanked at the zipper on the pack and pulled out the SIG, right on top, just like he'd said, and zipped it shut again. "Plan?" she asked, dumping out the magazine to check it. He'd reloaded it at some point. She shoved it back shut again with the heel of her hand and glanced over to find him watching her with burst pupils.

Recalling his comment about her and automatic weapons turning him on, she smirked, reached over to shove his shoulder, and tried to focus.

There was a rare moment of levity between them, and not a word was spoken. If Natasha noticed, she didn't mention anything.

But then, as usual, it broke.

"Right side," the Widow said from the back.

"I know," Bucky replied, eyes sharp on the side mirror. "I can't go anywhere."

The SUV—tinted windows and all—bumped them and jostled traffic around them, right, then left, then right again.

Bucky swore a blue streak in Russian, Natasha echoing him in the backseat, his knuckles white on the wheel as he attempted to keep it steady.

Darcy kept the SIG tight in her grip.

But there were no shots fired.

A gigantic game of bumper cars ensued, with Bucky getting in far fewer hits than the Mercedes, as he didn't want anyone else on the highway caught up in their fight.

After ten minutes and a crushed fender, he managed to squeeze into the center lane in front of the boxy truck—

Which immediately hit the gas and bumped their backend, pressing them forward.

"Fuck," Bucky growled out, standing on the brake pedal.

The tires squealed in violent protest.

A car honked off to their right.

Smoke billowed as their tires started to burn against the black pavement.

The car in front of them rushed to move out of their way.

Bucky gunned it ahead, cutting over into the far right lane as smoothly as possible, ignoring further honks from the surrounding vehicles.

Darcy hung on for dear life. "Would it help if I clicked my heels together and repeated, 'There's no place like home?'?!" she shouted over the road noise.

Bucky glanced wildly at all the mirrors, searching for an out, but the nearest exit was still half a mile ahead. "I hated that movie when I saw it in the theater—don't you dare."

She couldn't help the slightly hysterical laugh that bubbled up out of her. "Careful, babe—your Old Man is showing," she quipped, grabbing for the dash as they were shoved again from behind.

Natasha snorted in the back seat. "Stealing that one."

"This is exactly what I didn't want," he snarled as he hit the gas, urging the car in front of them to get out of their way. "I didn't want them behind us."

The little old man in the old Buick gestured rather rudely and drifted left with no blinker, eliciting further horn honking in the rear. Bucky threw them onto the off-ramp, careening at over ninety, pushing the pick-up hard.

Natasha huffed as they were bumped again and her hair was tossed over her face. "Why?"

As though the universe was taking a written invitation, there was a distinct clanking that came, at that moment, from beneath the car.

"Shit." Bucky swore.

"What was that?" the spy asked, frowning in suspicion.

"You had to ask," Darcy snapped.

"Tasha, get DOWN!" Bucky lunged across the seat and curled himself around Darcy just as the truck was rocked forward off its light, empty trail bed and flipped over itself, just like the last time they'd come across a disc grenade.

Only this time, Darcy was jostled free and as the back of her head smacked against the hard plastic dash, the world went black.

((()))

"Wait, did you say G-Wagen?" a voice asked, as though from some distance away. "As in Mercedes? A Mercedes G-Wagen was chasing you down the highway?"

A familiar voice sighed. "Yes, Tony. A Mercedes G-Wagen—No, I said, I'm fine. Thank you, but I'm fine. Not even bruised anymore. Like I'm fucking Wolverine…"

"But Sergeant B—"

"Don't call him that, kid—he'll rip your face off."

Another sigh. "Tony…"

"It's alright, Hans. I'm just messin' with ya. You can get outta here."

"…He's sure she's alright?"

"Might have a mild concussion, but with her condition, we can't be sure. Said she'll come around."

She squeezed her eyes shut and a tiny groan escaped, a dull ache pounding in her brow.

"Oh, hey—speak of the devil. Here she is."

A very gentle, warm hand wrapped around hers and a shadow overtook the pale light bleeding through her eyelids. "Mm-fuck," she hissed.

"I'm here, dollface," Bucky spoke, his voice low and gentle.

Sharp, intense longing hit her square in the sternum. "Jamie…"

"I'm right here. You're alright." How did he manage to pitch his voice to make it so soothing?

"Move away from the light, Short Stack. Move away from the light and toward the sound of my voice."

She cracked her eyes open and glared up at Tony Stark's impish smirk. "Very funny, Boss Man."

He grinned. "Oh, she's calling me Boss Man—she's fine. All is right with the world."

She was in a Quinjet. The back hangar was open, and sunlight was spilling up the ramp, cutting directly across her, and the blanket beneath her was warm. Tony was crouched at her left and Bucky was kneeling on her right, one leg tucked beneath him.

She managed to turn her head, wincing at the jab of pain that caught the back of her neck. Natasha was a few yards away, being tended to by a SHIELD operative in a white coat. She looked like Darcy felt, a red welt blooming on her brow and a dirty cut sliced diagonally across her cheek was currently being swabbed. She winced and scowled.

Steve was huddled close to her on the ground, sitting cross-legged as near to her as he could get, a worried frown creasing his brow.

The spy looked over and saw her. They shared a moment of mutual suffering, and the redhead smirked.

Grimacing, she got her hands under her and moved to sit up—

"Ah-ah," Bucky stopped her with a vibranium hand to the shoulder. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I—"

"You. Are going to lie back until you don't look like you're two seconds from passing out," he finished for her, giving her a stern look.

She sighed, half glad for the excuse to be lazy. Her body felt like it weighed a ton and the blanket beneath her was throbbing with heat. She let the sun beat down on her and took inventory of her limbs. Hands intact. Some scrapes on her right arm, no big deal. Her clothing looked a little singed, but otherwise whatever. Ugh, she'd have to toss the t-shirt.

Her head, though. Her head felt like it was only attached to her body by a thin, raw thread of flesh and there was an ache behind her eyes that was quickly becoming an intense throb, well on its way to crossing into unbearable territory. "Ugh, shit," she breathed. "I thought I was made of tougher stuff than this…?"

Bucky tightened his grip on her hand.

Tony smirked. "Yeah, well, your blood work is somewhat outdated, now, wouldn't you say?" He gave her a wry look. "We'll have to start all over—safe to say, though, that you and Romanoff are on pretty equal footing. Whatever edge she might have over you with her stronger serum is leveled by whatever you've got of Extremis. Both of you are watered down, though."

She grimaced again. "Yay, us."

Bucky frowned. "I thought I had you. I'm sorry. You cracked your head pretty hard on the dash."

She let her eyes slide shut again. "Not your fault, baby."

"I—"

"Shut up," she said, cutting him off.

She actually heard his jaw snap shut.

Footsteps. "Darcy—are you ready for a statement?"

"Really, Hill?" Tony said, sounding indignant. "Girl's got a concussion."

Darcy gestured left without opening her eyes. "Yeah. What he said."

Maria paused, and Darcy could practically picture the women's face, pinched and annoyed. "It'll only take a second—it might give us a lead on—"

"Oh, suddenly this takes precedence over the weapons trafficker in Cuba?" Tony snarked.

She groaned as a particularly sharp burst of pain lit up her eyelids.

"No." Bucky spoke plainly, but his voice was that certain tone of low that said 'Back off' without him needing to say it. His hand tightened around hers again.

Even Tony fell silent.

Then her footsteps receded and she was gone.

She sighed. "Okay, seriously, I'm sitting up. I won't be carried around on a fucking stretcher—I've gotta do it eventually."

Bucky sighed and she opened her eyes to give him a level stare. "You gonna help or you gonna bitch?"

Rolling his eyes, he settled his metal arm around her back and tugged on her hand.

Tony supported her other side.

"Why on earth did I marry such a stubborn woman?"

She smirked. "Because you think it's sexy," she quipped.

But there was sweet humor in his eyes. "God help me, I do."

Tony laughed, loudly, in her ear, the sound so infectious she couldn't help but grin.

The hangar spun around her and she grabbed on, latching onto Bucky's arm for support as she tilted crookedly into him.

His arm snaked around her waist. "I've gotcha," he murmured in her ear. "You're okay, I've gotcha."

"Head between the knees," Tony reminded her and he tugged at her left knee in an attempt at bending her over. Just like that, she was staring at the black floor of the hangar ramp, breathing deeply through her nose and trying not to tip over.

"Getting major déjà vu, here, Tony."

He chuckled.

"Hey, who have you gotta pay around here to get two nurses?" Natasha shouted, her voice carrying easily in the hollowed out space. "What's the deal? I've only got the one and he's too whiny. I want another one."

Steve made noises of complaint, and Natasha laughed.

"You didn't file the appropriate paperwork, Romanoff. This one here's a whiz at that stuff. She oughta train you," Tony yelled back.

Bucky was too busy rubbing small circles on her back to join in the ribbing, speaking softly to her in Russian.

It took a long time for the dizziness to slacken, and Tony joked quietly at her while Bucky administered the comfort; they were a good team. It was weird, really. The age difference that wasn't an age difference, but sort of really was an age difference. The fact that Tony repelled most people simply because they didn't take the time to understand him. The little detail that Bucky had killed his parents in cold blood.

But they got each other in a strange way.

And their love for her drew them tightly together.

Eventually they got her to standing, and Darcy made a statement with Maria, who needled and provoked until Darcy told her to shut the fuck up. Tony cackled loudly as they made their way down the ramp and out of the Quinjet.

It turned out that after the disc grenade had launched them end over end, Bucky had been the only one conscious and he'd managed to find Natasha's Starkphone, somehow, in the mess. Their pursuers mysteriously didn't pursue them any further—perhaps assuming they were dead.

He'd called Tony, who had flown most of the team out on two Quinjets, and they'd landed right on the grassy shoulder of the highway off-ramp.

And in typical Tony fashion, he was totally ignoring the elephant in the room while going out of his way to make sure every single one of her needs might be catered to, and even with her own husband there.

It was almost like he'd adopted the both of them.

"Tony, really. I'm fine. I mean, I'm a little beat up, but Jami—"

He cut her off as they came onto the grass, forcing her to shut up as he engulfed her in a huge hug, his arms snug around her and his hand cupping the back of her head gently. "Missed you, Darce," he murmured as Bucky drifted off to check on Natasha, pointedly giving them a minute.

She let him hold her up, pressing her face against his shoulder, his soft t-shirt full of his familiar smell—engine grease and motor oil, and a little laundry detergent. "I'm not Short Stack right now, huh?"

"Nope. Not right now."

She could actually hear him swallow.

"Really glad you're okay, kiddo."

It felt exceedingly wonderful, his warmth around her. Truthfully, it made her feel almost foolishly special—she was one of the few who had managed to gain Tony Stark's affection. That was a feat, in itself. "I'm okay, Boss Man."

If Tony was there…she was halfway home.

((()))

"So why are we going upstate?" she asked as she tipped herself into the co-pilot's chair of the Quinjet an hour later. Some extended release SHIELD pill was going to work on her headache and she absolutely had to sit down. Steve was cooing over Natasha in the back and she left them to it, twisting around so she could look at the inventor without straining her neck.

Tony flicked a button on the console and the jet leveled out. "Automatic controls," JARVIS announced. "Some info I stumbled across at an AIM base out near LA," he said, off-handedly.

She blinked. "You found an AIM base?"

"Yep. After a creepy, yet eerily pleasant phone call I had with Aldrich Killian."

She did a double-take. "Killian? Called you? Killian called you?"

He flicked another switch. This one just blinked. "Yep. Traced it too."

"You mean he let you trace it," Bucky countered, pulling a leg up beneath him in the passenger seat between them and a little behind.

Tony pointed to him. "Right."

"And it just happened to put you at his home base? So you just went over there?"

He shrugged. "Of course. Totally abandoned. But he left me a creepy message. And JARVIS uploaded everything. We're still sifting through it, but we found a schematic for an explosive."

"So you wanna go to the base upstate in case there's a bomb in the Tower?" she filled in.

He pointed again. "Right."

"Have they found anything in the Tower?" Bucky asked, glancing back over his shoulder as Natasha laughingly told Steve to knock it off, she was fine, for God's sake, or she was going to smack him.

"The shakedown won't start until absolutely everyone is out. I've called for a complete lockdown. Business is shutting down until further notice. Some suits and admin people are still getting some last minute stuff together, and then the squads are going in."

She folded her arms over her chest and sighed. "This is getting insane."

Bucky was scowling at Stark, outright. "Anything else you wanna share?"

But Tony flicked another button, smooth as silk. "You should'a seen the message he left me. 'Humpty Dumpty'." He gave a melodramatic shudder. "Creepy fuck."

Darcy snorted. "Implying a great fall?"

Tony heaved a sigh and pulled off his glasses, setting them on the console. "I'm assuming, yeah. How about you two? You seem like you're in one piece—and when I say 'one piece', I mean that it looks like you wanna go devour each other in the loading bay in celebration that you're both alive."

Bucky sighed.

Darcy felt her cheeks flame. "Actually, no. Not at the current moment, but thank you for the opportunity to blush. It's much appreciated."

"Hey—I'm happy to serve," he quipped.

"I've never been to the base upstate—I've heard it's huge—and cushy."

"Yeah, it's a non-small space. You two get a huge suite, but the way it's set up there, you'll be sharing a two-bedroom condo with Rogers and the Widow."

Bucky huffed. "Stevie snores loud enough to wake the dead."

"Do not!" Steve called from the back.

"Yeah, you do," both he and Natasha said—at once.

Tony cackled.

"I practically slept on top of you for long enough, I ought to know, Rogers. Had to make sure you didn't freeze to death, since you couldn't manage to keep any meat on those bones."

"Ooh, I'm hearing a scandal—what's this?" Tony snarked, smirking devilishly. "Captain America and His Childhood Friend Become Lovers? It's a headline. I'm calling 20/20.

There was a moment's pause where Steve could be heard breathing deeply.

"You better stop, Stark, he's turning purple back here," Natasha called.

Still chuckling, Tony continued. "Anyway, I packed a bunch of your stuff. Bruce is coming so he can run full diagnostics on both of you—that's right, both. I'm not taking any chances. Just about the whole team's on the way, now, we're just waiting on Barton. He ran home quick to secure the farm and he'll be joining us." He gestured at Darcy. "Unfortunately, kid, that means Foster's coming along, too. Some crap about getting astronomical readings for coordinates she hadn't mapped yet. So…you'll have to…deal with that." He offered a sympathetic look.

She sighed and settled back in the bucket seat. "It says a lot about this whole fiasco that you telling me that just doesn't even register anymore."

It was a smooth ride over the hills of New York, and soon—a light cat nap later, of course—they were coming over a low ridge to see the New Avengers Facility, all in white, like a huge, sprawling car dealership, glass and metal everywhere, sleek and advanced. There was a pad for the jets where Tony set it down with extra care not to jostle his two injured damsels, and they disembarked, carefully, the two old geezers assisting on the uneven ramp.

The grass was green and bright in the summer sun. Darcy felt like it had been forever since she'd seen real grass in more than a small, sidewalk patch with a lamppost and a garbage bin. She longed to explore the rest of the facility, but Bucky steered her through the doors, JARVIS greeted them, and Tony personally shadowed them all to the suite they'd be sharing at the corner of the second floor.

Natasha shut the left-hand bedroom door firmly behind them without a word.

Darcy collapsed across the huge, L-shaped lounger, built-in cup holders, massaging back and everything. "I really want some sex, but I'm not sure I could stay awake long enough," she murmured as Bucky sat down beside her and wrapped a hand around her knee. "How quick could you be?"

He laughed wryly. "Implying I'm nothing more than a means to an end?" he teased.

She giggled lazily, an eyebrow quirking up. "Exactly."

But her hand settled over his on her leg and he could read otherwise. "We've got company."

She snorted. "You think that's stopping them?" She gestured at the closed bedroom door.

He stood. "Good point. But you're gonna let me lead—you're supposed to be taking it easy." He gave her a stern look as he picked her up.

"I was counting on it."

She was tired and her body pliant, and she wove her hands into his hair and clutched at his back, clinging to him, her legs locked around his waist. She responded much too easily and he let his focus relax, his mouth trailing along her collar bones.

Her body felt different beneath him, tighter and worked over by whatever was swimming in her veins. There was more there under his hands and her legs latched around his hips were tighter, her breathing slower.

The sensitivity hadn't changed though.

She came for him twice—hard—clenching her jaw shut as though she tried not to scream, her nails threatening to actually draw blood at his back.

They lay close and talked, then, listening to the birds singing through the open window of the bedroom.

She fell asleep an hour later, sated and warm, and tucked against his shoulder.

For a long time, he watched her sleep, her breathing even and her face relaxed and still, her long lashes dark against her ivory complexion. She had a few freckles dotting her nose from the Hawaiian sun. Her full lips were dark and pink and freshly bitten. There was still high color in her cheeks and the circles under her eyes weren't as dark as they'd been. She sighed, shifting in her sleep and tilting her head away, revealing her bare ears.

Studs, he thought, an idea finally coming to him. He could get her diamond studs for her birthday. Big ones. She'd hate that a little, until she put them on.

Very gently, he eased out of bed, careful not to wake her, and got dressed in a t-shirt and his favorite pair of lounge pants, stupidly pleased that Tony had packed the right ones.

He found Steve in the kitchen making tea, searched the sea of cabinets until he found a mug, plucked the chamomile from the sampler box his friend was sifting through and slapped it all down on the counter without a word.

"I forgot—you're a chamomile guy," Steve said, voice low as he frowned at the box.

Bucky smirked as he leaned a hip on the counter. It had been a long time since he'd seen Steve in a pair of boxers in a kitchen and he had to laugh. "Let me guess—there's no Mint offering in there?"

Captain America let out a grudging grunt and set the box down. "No. Have to go with Lemon."

Bucky chuckled. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Are you kidding?"

The kettle started to whistle and he retrieved it. "Me neither. Darcy knocked right off, though."

Steve started tugging the paper off the tea bags. "Yeah, Tasha too."

They stood in the kitchen for an hour, shooting the breeze and drinking.

"You okay?" Steve finally asked him, giving him his earnest look.

Bucky rolled his eyes, sighing. "Don't gimme that look, Stevie—you've been using it for decades. I'm fine. Worried about Darcy, that's all."

Captain America's eyes narrowed. "You're acting different."

Bucky set his empty mug in the sink. "'Different' how?"

"I dunno. Just different. Tasha noticed it, too. You're stiff. Stiffer than you've been since…well, since you met Darce."

Bucky gave him a look over his shoulder.

"Alright," Steve relented, holding up his hands in surrender. "Alright, I get it. I'm pushing—again. I'm good at that—"

"Yes. You are."

"I know. You don't…tell me things anymore. I guess that's…that's what Darcy's for. And I can't pretend I don't do the same with Nat. But…"

"What?"

Steve looked uncharacteristically vulnerable, and he lowered his eyes. "Things are…things are still the same, right? I mean…I mean, I don't want things to change. Like, between us. I worry that…"

"That I'm not the same Bucky?" Bucky asked, pointedly, raising his brows.

Steve started fussing with his tea bag and didn't look up.

He gave a wry laugh. "I'm not the same Bucky."

Steve nodded. "Things just seem unsteady, that's all."

Bucky cocked his head. "You're forgetting something, Stevie."

He looked up. "What?"

Bucky smirked. "You're not the same Steve." He tried to be gentle. For as strong as Steve was, he had a tiny little squashy pit in him somewhere that Bucky had always tried to protect. He was like steel, his friend, and he always had been. But he was vulnerable in ways that would never go away. Sickly for much of his early life, losing his father and then his mother, living check to check and hanging on by his fingertips had had a bilateral effect on him, making him strong…but sensitive.

He nodded. "I know. But you…you were…" He sighed, pulling a hand through his hair. "We've never really talked about this."

Bucky shrugged. "There's not much to talk about. They…made me…into something they could use. They fundamentally altered me, Stevie. They made me different, so…I'm different. There's no coming back from that. No matter how much time goes by, no matter how many different ways you psychoanalyze it, it still comes back to that. I'm different now. So are you. You went into that ice a different guy. The guy that came out was someone else. You think you're the same Stevie I remember?"

Steve swallowed, determinedly not looking up.

"You're not. Because people change. But they don't. You know?"

Steve nodded, working his jaw nervously.

"I'm still with ya to the end of the line," he said, his voice low, and he reached over to bump his shoulder with his metal arm. "That's not gonna change."

Color rising in his cheeks, Steve smiled. "Glad you're alright."

He smiled back. "That makes two of us."

((()))

The New Avengers Facility was a sprawling base unlike anything Darcy had ever seen before. There were training facilities, and conference rooms, and hangars, and storage units filled with Tony's toys. JARVIS was plugged in here too, of course. He made Darcy jump the next morning when—all of them realizing belatedly that no one had bothered to adapt his settings the day before—he came alert at six am, spouting off with the latest news and weather. Finally, Bucky threw his arm out from beneath the covers, hit a button on the wall, silenced him, and, after a pause, Natasha yelled "Thanks, Buck!"

The suite they shared with Steve and Natasha was truly a condo—a very large condo, all in white and chrome, with a wall of windows overlooking the back of the grounds, the field of grass, and the woods beyond. The kitchen was small but well-stocked, the couch really was gigantic, the wall-mounted TV reminiscent of the one they had at home, and the bed—the bed—was a sea of perfection.

And it seemed the whole place was one of perfect design. It was one huge above-ground bunker, state-of-the-art, technologically advanced and a total maze if you weren't paying attention to where you were going at all times. Darcy got hopelessly turned around that afternoon, glaring down hallways until she finally ran across Tony in his home-away-from-home, a large, open-plan shop.

Three floors of totally Stark-designed paradise.

There was a ridiculous lounge area with squashy pillows, a fully-stocked bar, and a kitchen to kill for—which Darcy quickly utilized, baking three cakes all in one day as a thank-you for the team effort of getting the beach house searched. Tony came immediately upon smelling the cinnamon wafting through the halls and claimed the entire coffeecake for himself, literally absconding with the warm pan. Darcy laughed, staring as she stirred, as he came in, paused in the doorway, narrowed his eyes at her, crossed the room, snatched it up, planted a kiss to the top of her head, and crossed straight back out again without a single word, one giant grease stain running from his cheekbone down his jaw.

The Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie quickly attracted the attention of Natasha, who took a slice far too large for someone so thin, and the Devil's Food had Bucky sniffing around, and he stayed to do the dishes while Barton and Sam forged an alliance to get the coffeecake back from Stark. He licked the spoon before tossing it in the sink and Darcy laughed, feeding him forkfuls while his hands were immersed in soap suds.

Laughing at the romance novel feel of it, she tugged him—still with wet hands—into a nearby supply closet, wedged a stool against the door, and yanked until he'd pinned her against the shelves. Still half dressed as they bucked against each other, it became an unspoken game of eye contact as to who would be the first to fail at keeping silent. Neither of them broke, but Darcy—fumbling for purchase—did manage to knock a glass jar off the shelf behind her, sending it crashing, shattering loudly, to the floor. "Oh, fuck," she whispered, and Bucky wasn't sure what she was reacting to, the intensity of her fading orgasm or the fact that she'd made a small ruckus as a result.

That afternoon, Bruce hugged her and took half a pint of blood from her arm, frowning as the puncture site shut immediately, and let her go quickly with a promise to call them both back for full physicals after they'd had a long-enough period of rest. Darcy wasn't sure how long that was supposed to be, but she wasn't going to complain—and she certainly wasn't going to mention the fact that their scandalous escapade in the kitchen store closet certainly wasn't what most medical professionals would consider 'resting'. If nothing else, while resting, she knew her heart worked just fine.

They explored the grounds, a sprawling hundred-acre clearing, with a path that wound around for working out and into the surrounding woods for perimeter checks and leisurely activity.

She and Natasha went on quiet walks together while the boys sparred, he and Steve against Clint, Sam, and some guy named Scott that Darcy thought was cute but hadn't formally been introduced to yet. Tony explained Hank Pym's work in physics and atomic research, and his suit sounded all sorts of wicked. She stood outside the gym and watched them, Steve and Bucky moving together like a well-oiled machine, the other three laughing as they were repelled again and again, and constantly coming up with new—and sometimes worthwhile—attack strategies.

Finally—and surprisingly—it was Scott that landed her husband on his back, the wind knocked out of him, and he laughed, fist in the air. "Nice job, man. But can you do it again?"

She smiled, but it quickly vanished as Thor appeared to join them and Jane followed in his wake.

There was some good-natured arguing concerning which side Thor would join, but bets were placed and he teamed up with Bucky and Steve, to the sound of much groaning, and the fighting started all over again.

"Hi," Jane said, quietly, crossing her arms over her chest and watching through the glass beside her.

"Hey," Darcy returned.

Jane chuckled, awkwardly, as though reaching for a topic. "If I stand here long enough, will I get to see the Winter Soldier appear?"

Darcy sighed heavily and walked away, straight into Tony, who'd been coming down the stairs that led to the upper floors.

"Hey, Short Stack," he greeted cheerfully. "Whatcha up to?"

She brushed past him. "Taking a nap."

((()))

"I'm not claustrophobic," Darcy declared, mostly to herself, later that evening. "I'm not claustrophobic at all." She took a deep breath, but her chest brushed the interior wall of the MRI machine regardless.

"I'm right here, Darce. You're good," Bucky reassured her distantly.

The machine beeped.

"Would it sound super childish if I said I really, really wanted to hold your hand right now?" she called tremulously.

"Sorry, babe. The set up isn't really designed with comfort in mind."

She tried to breathe deeply again. "Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck."

"Almost done, Darcy," Bruce's voice patched in through the window in the side set up for communication. He was outside, in the little operating booth, working the monstrous contraption. "Can you turn you head to the right for me?"

She did.

"Okay, good. Now try not to move."

"Sure," she muttered breathlessly. "No problem."

"I'm right here. Just breathe," Bucky called again. "Almost done."

While the images were drawn up by the computer, Darcy was poked and prodded, treated to a full physical and had yet more blood drawn. Bucky received the same, making a fist for Bruce, who was extremely appreciative of the huge vein in his muscular right arm. Darcy stared, transfixed even though she saw his bare arms at least once a day.

Then they were shooed so Bruce could study the scans from Darcy.

Still exhausted, she lazed on the couch, reading while Bucky made tea. Steve and Natasha returned from their own activities and the spy joined her on the couch, watching the boys move around the space.

Around four, there was a knock at the door. Frowning in confusion, Bucky answered, pulling it open to reveal Tony, grinning widely and holding numerous pizza boxes in one hand and I,Robot in the other. "So I just realized, now, that we never watched this," he said to Bucky, then peaked over his shoulder at Darcy. "That one morning—remember?" He winked.

Darcy sighed heavily. "Oh, I remember. I also remember Jane asking me what I had in my will in case I died."

Bucky turned to look at her with a protective glare on his face. "What? Why would she ask you that?"

Tony chuckled. "The irony that it's you who's asking is hilarious, even though it shouldn't be."

Natasha snorted, once, and that was it.

Bucky blinked, but took a step back, allowing the inventor into the room. "Do I have to have a talk with Thor, or what? It's been long enough since we met, Darcy—is this seriously still a problem? How old is Jane?"

It was Darcy's turn to snort derisively. "Good question."

Tony came in and set the pizzas down on the kitchen island. "Yeah, Darce gave her a pretty good dressing down."

"What did this 'dressing down' include?" Steve joined in, one eyebrow chinked up knowingly.

Darcy gave him a flat, level look. "The words 'fuck' and 'you'."

Bucky sighed. "How did I know that would be the answer?"

Darcy stood, finally hauling herself off the couch, and offered her hands to Natasha. "Yeah, well, she kept calling me stupid. I snapped."

Natasha took the offered assistance and let herself be pulled off the furniture with an overly dramatic sigh.

"Was I supposed to just stand there and let her talk to me like a small child?"

Tony waved a hand and set the DVD case on the coffee table. "You handled it fine, Short Stack. Don't worry about it. She'll screw her head back on straight eventually."

"She called you stupid?" Bucky asked, quietly, looking confused.

"I was a witness," Stark said. "She did, in fact, use the word 'stupid', yes."

"Why?" Steve asked, coming around the kitchen island with a stack of napkins.

Natasha snorted again, but was otherwise silent.

Tony just stared at him.

Darcy, one hand on her hip, offered Bucky, channeling Vanna White.

Steve blinked. "Oh. She's still on that, huh?"

Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes. "I suppose I'm playing my part wrong, aren't I? Should I start shadowing you down hallways and pulling out Gerber knives behind your back at random? Would that be more appropriate?"

Again, Natasha snorted, just once.

But he was getting into it now, his expression grim. "I could really play it up at the next team meeting! Get my hands around your throat, and everything!"

"If you made the appropriate choking noises, Darce, Hill and Foster would light up!" Tony added, smirking.

"And then Maria will shoot you in the head!" Darcy joined in, grinning falsely. "Great idea, guys! Sounds like fun!"

They all hunkered down with pizza and Darcy put on the movie. Clint showed up, poking his head in an hour later, his brow creased in curiosity, and he promptly devoured five slices of pizza.

Pepper came in quietly after that, stole a single slice while she handled a business call, kissed Tony on the cheek, and walked right back out again.

Tony came up with a drinking game, regardless of the fact that only he and Barton were really capable of getting drunk, and the fact that the only liquor that was on hand was a bottle of cheap vodka Tony had used to christen the place upon completion of construction. Every time Will Smith swore at an NS-5 robot, he and Clint had to take a shot. Fairly soon, the two of them were giggling like little girls, and Darcy made the comment that a drinking game where Will Smith curses out the bad guys was a seriously lukewarm idea.

They just giggled again.

Rolling her eyes, she went into the kitchen.

Bucky followed her. "You didn't mention all that with Jane," he murmured, glancing over his shoulder at a new bout of laughter.

"Yeah, I did. Remember? Nat and I got together, you went to meet with Steve?"

He nodded. "Of course, but you didn't mention that she called you stupid. That's…"

"Over the line?" she supplied.

"Inaccurate."

She blinked. "I don't think she was questioning my overall intelligence, just my intelligence concerning my decision to share a bed with you—"

"I don't care," he hissed lowly, cutting his eyes back again.

She sighed as she pulled open the fridge and studied the contents. "So…what? You're gonna march over to their suite and tattle on her to Thor that I told you Jane was being mean to me?"

He huffed. "No, of course not! It just…it lends a new…angle to all this."

She pursed her lips and stuck her hand in, sifting through various things. "Jamie, I'll admit I was feeling a little like Bella Swan a while back—with the exception of the fact that I would be capable of acting my way out of a paper bag, but that's beside the point—but that's done now."

"Is it?"

She turned and studied him, still bent over. "I didn't choose Jacob, babe. I chose Edward."

He narrowed his eyes. "I'm just barely following this reference, FYI."

She rolled her eyes, finally grabbed a Dr. Pepper, and shut the fridge with her hip. "I'm just saying, nothing's changed. If Jane's outta my life, then she's outta my life. That's it. I can't change her mind for her."

He took a breath. "Are you sure that she is?"

She shrugged and popped the can open with a hiss. "That's up to her. But if she's spontaneously decided to grow the fuck up, she'll have to work it. I'm not meeting her halfway. I've done nothing wrong."

"Here, here!" Tony crowed unexpectedly, raising his shot glass with a grin.

"Yeah!" Clint agreed, much too loudly, and they threw back, not even watching the movie.

"Play nice, children!" Darcy scolded, smirking, and flapped her hand at the screen. "Look—robots going boom! Watch that, let the adults finish their discussion."

Tony giggled. "But—"

"Don't make me say it twice!" she interrupted.

Clint stuck his tongue out at her and the two of them dissolved into yet more laughter.

"Laura's gonna kill me," she declared.

"Don't forget Pepper," Bucky added.

"Nah, she knows how her husband operates."

Just then there was another knock.

"I'll get it—you go back to the movie. Keep an eye on those two, I think Steve's ready to hide the bottle." She pecked him on the mouth and they separated.

She stared as she held the door open, her jaw clenched tight. "Appropriate timing."

"Hey," Jane said, waving awkwardly. "I, um…"

"'Nother shot! The VICKI is fucking crazy!" Clint declared in a non-whisper.

Jane frowned. "You…have company."

Darcy sighed. "Yep. Never watch I,Robot with a genius physicist-slash-engineer."

Jane nodded. "I was hoping…we could—"

"Who's at the door, babe?" Bucky asked, appearing behind her.

She cocked her head, giving him a look. He'd known very well who. But she played along. "Jane."

He wrapped his arms around her and cuddled her from behind. "Oh, okay. Just FYI, you're gonna need to hustle Clint out pretty soon. Stark's drinking him under the table."

"Oh!" Tony yelled. "We should totally play a board game when this is over!"

"Clue!" Clint insisted.

"I can't say I'm surprised at Tony, but I wasn't expecting Clint to be a stupid drunk," she muttered.

Jane stood there, eyes downcast.

"So, sorry, but we're sorta busy," Darcy started.

"Yeah," Bucky added. "Later, the two of us are gonna play a game, where I chase her around with a knife and then try to strangle her in her sleep!"

Darcy sighed.

Jane stared, wide-eyed. "What?"

"Yeah!" he continued, totally natural. "It's great! Sometimes she doesn't wake up for a full minute and I have to revive her so no one finds out I'm still a psycho assassin bent on world domination!"

"Jamie…"

Jane blinked. "Is he…he's not serious?"

"It's a blast, Foster!" Tony said, ambling rather fluidly over, his limbs like noodles. "He caught me with one of his knives last week and I bled like a stuck pig!"

Shockingly, Natasha appeared next. "Don't let them fool you, Foster. The real fun is Threesome Weekend." And she smirked in that 'Natasha' way.

Steve stuck his head around the door, frowning in mock confusion. "Wait, when it's more than three people, isn't it an orgy?"

"Guys…" But Darcy couldn't keep from laughing.

And then, to top it off, Clint came over, wobbling severely. "Yeah, so we're real, real busy, sorry—bye!" And he slammed the door in the astrophysicist's face.

Natasha silently went back to the couch and Steve followed, chuckling.

Tony and Clint—looking decidedly less drunk than they had a moment ago—slapped High-Fives and laughed loudly. "I wasn't expecting Captain Tightpants to get in on it!" Clint said.

"Hey!" Steve called.

Darcy twisted in Bucky's arms. "Did you get them in on that?"

Looking impressed, he shook his head. "Actually, no…They…just piled on. I guess."

"No one insults my girl but me, thank-you-very-much!" Tony declared, throwing himself back onto the couch.

She narrowed her eyes and crossed the room to lean over the back of the gigantic piece of furniture. "You guys aren't even drunk, are you?"

"Oh, totally drunk—"

"Totally drunk—"

"But not that wasted. Jesus, Short Stack, you think we're SHIELD agents who aren't capable of acting a part?"

His words weren't even slurred.

She tipped herself over the couch and curled up. "You are such a faker."

They did end up playing Clue, well into the night, when all the pizza was cold, then eaten and gone, and the alcohol was safely ensconced once more in the freezer, guarded closely by Steve.

Surprisingly, it was Bucky who trounced each and every one of them, with a tiny smirk that belied his satisfaction.

He and Darcy went to bed after Steve and Natasha, around three.

Clint and Tony passed out at opposite ends of the couch.

((()))

They woke around the same time, to filmy dawn light filtering in the windows through gauzy curtains that only Pepper could've furnished. They were likely one of the few things that Tony had let her get her hands on. The facility was every inch a Stark design.

And they were scheduled to meet with him and Bruce in less than an hour. Darcy stared at the clock for a long moment, hard, treading the icy waters of fear and dread in her heart. "I don't wanna go," she murmured across the pillow.

Bucky sighed, running his metal hand up her back. "I know." He ran his hand back down, curled his fingers around her backside, then her thigh, and hitched her knee over his hip. "I'll be with you. You won't be alone."

Her gaze was fleeting and unsteady as she pressed against him. "You do know this isn't going to be good news, whatever it is?"

He reached up to brush her hair back from her face. "I'd be naïve if I didn't suspect."

She started chewing on her lip. "I don't wanna know."

"It doesn't matter," he whispered.

She stared at him, the fear clawing its way up her throat. "What do you mean, 'it doesn't matter'?! Of course it matters, Jamie!"

But he pulled her closer, smoothing his hand down her back again. "Sshhh. Don't panic. Of course it matters, Darcy. But it doesn't matter to me, it doesn't change anything, baby."

She nodded, swallowing thickly and looking away. "I know. I think."

He smirked, crinkles appearing in the corners of his eyes. "Well, you can be sure. You're stuck with me, dollface. You signed your life away on that marriage certificate."

She had to smile at the joke, but she could tell it looked wan and weary. "Mmhmm…"

He reached up to cup her face in a tender gesture that only made her fear sharpen. "I'm not going anywhere. Okay? Don't forget."

She felt her chin wobble, but nodded, latching onto his strength with everything she had and clasping it tightly. She pressed her face to his cool, vibranium shoulder, and when she spoke, voicing a question she figured she already knew the answer to, her voice sounded tinny. "If I try and remember that, will you help me forget everything else for a little while?"

Much to her surprise, he had no argument for her.

And she did forget. For a little while.

Not long enough.

"Darcy, why don't you have a seat?" Bruce said not much later as she hovered in the doorway to his lab. This one was much larger than the one he worked out of in New York, though much less elaborately set up. Much like Tony's shop adjoining, it was all glass and chrome, medical instruments and long tables stretching the length of the bright room. At one end—their end—there was a small office with Bruce's desk, numerous chairs, and up close equipment, including luminary displays for CT Scans, regular X-Rays, and MRI results.

Her heart pounding, she sat gingerly down.

"Is it necessary for Barnes to be here?" a voice called down the long space.

Maria Hill stood at the far end, studying something on one of Stark's patented holographic displays, a blue chart hovering in the air.

"Oh, Hill's still here," Tony snarked. "What a treat." He raised his voice. "Pretty sure I told you we had a meeting."

Maria rolled her eyes.

Darcy stood, her small, compact body coiled tight—

And Bucky pushed her back down again by the shoulders. "Leave it," he said, his voice low.

But, surprisingly, it was Bruce who took up the reins. "If Darcy would like him here, he has every right. Also, funny you should bring it up, but your presence is actually barred." He shrugged, not looking particularly guilty at all. "HIPAA, I'm afraid."

"Get out," Darcy said, her voice flat and cold.

The agent didn't have a rebuttal. She just rolled her eyes again, and stalked out, files rustling as the holographic display winked out.

Bruce continued as though nothing much had happened, smiling, even while Tony stood stiffly, glaring at Hill's retreating form down the hallway, perfectly visible through the glass windows. "You okay today, Darcy? Sleep well?"

She shrugged. "I guess."

He nodded. "Okay. Well. I'm afraid there really isn't much to say, with the exception of a few things." He glanced at Tony.

Tony scowled, but didn't comment.

"You are showing evidence of both the Extremis and the HYDRA Super Soldier formula in your blood. They've both managed to fuse to your DNA, as it were." He hit a button on his keyboard and a slide displayed on the projector dropped from the ceiling. "Here's a slide of one of your samples. You can see what I mean."

Bucky didn't remove his hands from her shoulders, and the heat of his touch steadied her rapid heartbeat. "So…?"

Bruce shrugged. "So, there's really no way to tell how this might affect her, other than the obvious. She clearly has had a strange reaction to the substances being forced into her system, so though it may not seem clear now, it wouldn't surprise me if she exhibited enhanced strength and reflexes in moments of high adrenaline."

"She's done that already," Bucky said, but didn't offer any details on the strange, Matrix-like sensations she'd described to him.

"Okay." Bruce nodded and picked up a clipboard, jotting notes down. "I'll make this as short and sweet as possible for now, but maybe we can elaborate on that later?"

Darcy nodded. "What about my hands? And the Extremis—I'm not going to—"

"It looks like its stabilized," Tony cut in. "However he's altered his original formula, however it's been tempered by Zola's serum, it doesn't look like your adrenaline can cause it to overload." He gave her a wan smile. "So no blowing up. Yay."

She nodded again, silent.

Bucky squeezed her right shoulder. "What about her mysterious healing ability from last spring?"

Bruce hesitated, then shrugged. "I don't see anything in her blood that gives evidence of anymore higher levels of white blood cells. Either it's faded to nothing, or…it's a scientific phenomenon I'll have to study through you, Darce. If it comes up again, then…I really don't know. Your T-cells are leveled out. It's very strange." He flipped to another slide, showing a very empty looking view of her blood sample. "See?"

"Freaky," Tony muttered.

"So why was I getting those episodes, then?" she asked, frowning in confusion at the slide. "If my white blood cells were so high…?"

"You were having a transfusion reaction, Darcy. Essentially an allergic reaction to Bucky's blood."

Bucky's hands tightened on her shoulders. "My blood?"

Bruce nodded. "Mm. The sample Darcy was stuck with was derived from Zola's original formula—which he modeled using antigens from your blood, James. You have opposing blood types."

Tony watched the color drain from Bucky's face.

"That sounds…serious," Darcy murmured.

Bruce nodded. "It was. And I'm sorry. The only reason I missed it was because HYDRA's intake notes on you had the wrong type in your file. I caught it by accident, really."

"So how was I alive?" Darcy spoke up.

"The serum," Tony said. "The thing that was trying to eat away at you was also keeping your body from rejecting it entirely. It kept trying to alter your system, but your system would only let it get so far before rejecting the graft. The way it all shook down is likely responsible for you displaying latent-type traits of the serum, rather than Steve and Bucky's dominant types. Like Natasha. Her dose was watered down so much, it's not immediately recognizable."

"So Darcy was in limbo, as it were?" Bucky asked.

Bruce nodded. "Essentially."

"But…now…?"

A shrug. "I really don't know. I'm sorry, but really, in all honesty, I never graduated from medical school, you guys. Obviously, I was…a little sidetracked." He gave them a sheepish look. "This may just be a wait-and-see sort of operation. She may exhibit other abilities down the line. It is clear, however, that she's adapted in a fashion similar to you, and to Steve and Natasha. Enhanced strength and reflexes, immunity to most diseases, as well as a longer-than-average lifespan, thanks to the regenerative properties of the serum itself."

Darcy blinked, then turned to look over her shoulder at Bucky. "You never mentioned…"

Bucky winced.

She snapped around to look at Bruce. "So I'll…be immortal, or something?"

He shook his head. "No, no, I'd rule that out. Steve has shown signs of aging, just very, very slow signs. Natasha as well. James, I have yet to really put together a comprehensive study on you yet—"

"Well, it's not exactly like we've had time…" he cut in, mumbling.

"—But just think about it as aging slowly, Darcy. You might live twice as long as the average person. Maybe. There's no way to know, there's no precedence for any of this." Bruce shrugged again. "You two understand, of course, that this is all still new science to us average people. Unfortunately, we don't have Erskine or Zola here to question."

Darcy snarled low. "Shame. I'd like to question Zola for a little while…"

Tony smirked.

"Ssshhh…" Bucky hushed her. "He's dead."

"Did he linger?"

"Yes," Tony provided.

"Good."

Bucky gave her a wry look. "So everything's okay…? It's just a waiting game?"

At this, the bubble of relief that was growing steadily in Darcy's chest, popped, as Tony and Bruce gave each other a long look. "What?"

Tony sighed, pulling a hand tiredly down his face.

Bruce hesitated.

"Just say it," Darcy sighed, leaning back in the chair.

Bucky squeezed her shoulders, bracing himself, mentally, for what he suspected was the information that had brought them here, rather than home to Manhattan, the information Natasha had deliberately kept from him on the drive back.

Bruce sighed. "You've been implanted with a tracker," he finally said.

"Not possible," Bucky balked. "I checked her over—thoroughly. And even if she healed over something that fast, you'd have picked up on something during—"

"I did pick up on something," Bruce interrupted. "Just not…what I was expecting."

Darcy blinked. "And…"

Tony took over. "The smallest microchips out there right now are as small as IBM's experimental seven nanometer sample. It's all still in early engineering stages. But, even that seven nanometer chip is smaller than the average width of a strand of human hair. Now, I won't bore you with the math, but there are so many nanometers in a micrometer, and the average red blood cell is approximately eight micrometers in size. And they can be programmed with remarkable accuracy."

Bruce was nodding.

Bucky was silent; he could already feel what was coming.

But Darcy wasn't quite there yet. "So…?!"

"That's how they managed to track us all across the fucking country," he filled in, frustration oxidizing into anger. "I knew I was clean."

Tony nodded. "You could be clean as a whistle, and it wouldn't matter. Even for you."

Darcy huffed, fear edging out the irritation in her voice, thinning it. "Would someone please elaborate for me?!"

Tony hiked himself up on the counter and sat facing her. "A chip that small could be injected into the blood, Darce. It's how Killian kept managing to catch up to you. Even if it would hang up somewhere, with the serum in your blood, there's no possibility of a clot or any other physical complication. Your body would adapt to it."

She pulled a hand through her hair. "Okay. So we got into a few scrapes along the way—"

"No, no, you're hearing me, but you're not focused enough to interpret what I'm saying to you, Short Stack," he interrupted her, shaking his head, his voice trembling. "If he was able to track you, that means you're giving off a signal. You're pinging."

She huffed again. "Yes, I know how trackers work, Tony—"

"And if he can ping you, he can possibly manipulate the information on that tracker—from a distance."

She blinked.

Bucky let his eyes slide shut. "Fuck."

Jerking, she turned to look up at him sharply. "What? What merits a 'fuck' from the Winter Soldier?!"

Bruce sat down at his desk. "Tony?"

Stark sucked in a long, deep breath. "In the AIM facility, I found information. In fact, it was the only information there that wasn't encrypted. Obviously, I can sort out all the stuff that JARVIS got anyway, in time, but it was like Killian left this for me to find. Two designs: one for a small bomb capable of a Semtex level blast with a fraction of the materials. And one for a tiny, tiny chip capable of receiving various signals, signals no known microchip should be capable of receiving." He swallowed, and finally looked her square in the face. "Darcy, he could be clean across the country, hit a key on a keyboard, and use your chip to detonate that bomb."

For a long moment, they all stared at each other.

Finally, Darcy blinked. "…Semtex."

Tony nodded. "Enough Semtex, and you could level Avengers Tower, Darcy." His voice was low and defeated.

She slumped back against the seat, boneless. "Semtex," she repeated.

Bucky finally pulled up a rolling chair and sat heavily down in it.

"I'm a walking detonator," she said into the silence.

Bucky was a step ahead. "Have they found anything?" he asked, looking up at Tony with a grim scowl.

Stark shook his head. "Nothing. They're still looking. This is their second pass through every floor, but they haven't found a thing so far. There's gotta be something there. I mean, Killian left me a note that specifically mentioned Manhattan. There has to be something there."

"What if it was just a ruse, a distraction so he could make a gamble for her—or a feint so you'd know he was capable of lording the technology over your head?" he posited.

Tony shrugged. "He always was a petty bastard. You could be right. There may be nothing there and he wants to make sure that I know he could change that at any time. It wouldn't surprise me."

"How did you even know that this thing was inside me?!" Darcy finally spoke up.

Silently, Tony hopped down off the lab table, crossed the room, picked up a toy that looked like a pricing gun from a local grocery store, came back to them, and held it up to Darcy's body. It emitted a shrill, short beep that made her jump.

Then he pointed it at Bucky, and it emitted a low boop, what sounded like a negative result in comparison.

Darcy sighed.

He returned it to its dock and rejoined them.

Staring down into her lap, Darcy said, her voice small, "…Can't you just find it and remove it?"

Tony reached out to set a hand on her shoulder. "Darcy, that thing was designed to move through your blood and embed itself. It's in deep. We've narrowed down where it's implanted itself, but…"

She looked up at him beseechingly, her eyes wide and fearful, and the amount of 'scared little girl' he saw there tore Tony's heart to little shreds. "Where is it?"

"Your lower, left ventricle."

She flinched, but pushed on, her voice rising, a hysterical edge weaving a thread. "But can't you just…just—I dunno!—turn it off?! Keep it from sending out a signal?!"

They all heard the edge of panic seeping into her voice.

Tony sighed. "Darce, you know my ego hates to admit it, but I know nothing about this technology. I've got no clue what he's been doing these past few years. AIM is—literally—a group of geniuses getting together with world domination on their minds. Frankly, just thinking about what they might be developing while we fight off alien attacks gives me nightmares."

There was another long moment of silence.

Darcy rubbed at the back of her neck and swallowed thickly. When she looked up at them all, her eyes were glassy, but she blinked rapidly, willing them away. "So…what? I'm supposed to just walk around for the rest of my life, waiting for something to blow up just because I'm standing there?"

Tony and Bruce shared another look.

"We're…working on it," Bruce finally said, looking less than confident and just this side of overly sympathetic. "I'm…I'm sorry that that's all I can give you. But…we're working on it."

"Let you know if I come up with anything, okay, Darce?" Tony added. "You'll be the first. Why don't you go upstairs and…lie down, rest a little, hm?" He glanced at Bucky and they shared a knowing look. "You look tired, you're probably still dragging a little after your adventure."

She stood, nodding silently.

"Call me if they find anything in Manhattan, okay?" Bucky asked, his voice pitched low.

Tony nodded.

They got halfway down the hall before she stopped dead in her tracks.

"Darce?" he prompted.

"I can't," she finally said, glancing around, her gaze finally landing on a set of glass doors—one of only a few in the secure facility—that led outside. "I…I just…I can't, right now."

He set a hand at the small of her back. "Can't what, solnishka?"

She turned to look at him. "I've gotta…I've gotta get out of here for a while."

He gestured. "Well, we can take a walk—"

"Alone."

He snapped his mouth shut.

She looked up at him, eyes wide with sadness and guilt. "I'm sorry, I just…I have to…I have to process this." Her expression turned to anxiousness. "Please don't be angry?"

His own frustration and anxiety gave way to something like regret. He reached up to fold her hair behind an ear. "Darcy…" He sighed. "Sweetheart, I haven't been angry at you for a moment since we met, baby…"

She winced.

"I'll be around. Okay?"

She got up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "You're seriously the best. The best. I'm not kidding. I couldn't have made up a better partner if I'd actually tried."

He smiled, ducking.

"I love you," she murmured.

"I know." And he stood there, watching, as she swept out the door, down the steps, and along the path that ran the perimeter of the facility, her hair snapping in the breeze.