A/N 1: Quickly wanted to say thank you to all for your continued love and support of this story. It really does keep me going.
Guys and Darcy
The newsroom is disturbingly quiet save for the comforting noise of fingers on keyboards as Darcy leaves the conference room, her new assignment in hand. It is her first day back, and her asshole boss has given her a real doozy. A New York politician, who was hoping to run for president at the next election, was found yesterday in his hotel room with a lady of the night. Turns out he had been using his funds to keep up his habit of sleeping with women who were not his loving wife. Who, luck would have it, is currently eight months pregnant with their first child.
Claps all around.
Men, Darcy thinks bitterly to herself as she heads for the glass-walled break room. Its windows overlook the street below, and there are dozens of protestors on the sidewalk, chanting something about liberal scum.
She is meant to get phone interviews with those who know the politician. Friends, colleagues. His wife, if she gets lucky and is able to convince the cuckolded woman she is anyone other than a journalist trying to get dirt for a story.
Darcy enters the empty break room and goes over to the counter with all of the tea supplies, past the humming refrigerator and bowl of untouched, bruised fruit. In the office, she is careful with her caffeine intake. She once consumed five cups of coffee in a one hour period and spent the rest of the work day with heart palpitations. She couldn't even type on her keyboard; her hands were shaking too much. Lemon and ginger tea is what she needs at the moment. Something soothing and naturally caffeine-free. She fills the electric kettle with tap water and switches on the machine, skimming writing in the tea packet.
After a second, she drops the packet on the countertop. The florescent lights in the room are giving her headache, and her blatant attempt to distract herself from the pain in her chest—that had nothing to do with an excess of coffee consumption—is not working. Her thoughts keep drifting back to the man with the bionic arm in her apartment. But maybe he isn't in her apartment anymore. They had talked the night before, as the rain clinked against the window in Darcy's room and they lay entwined on the bed, about him leaving. He got to stay through the night, and he was there when she woke up, and there when she kissed him goodbye, unsure if it was the last time she would get to see him. To smell him. To touch him.
Everything had changed once Steve left them. After dancing around each other, getting to know each other, confiding in each other, they finally gave into their foolish impulses. And now she has to say farewell to the Winter Soldier.
In a way, she hopes he has run already. Snuck down the fire escape on her floor, red hood over his tattered baseball cap, and fled. But mostly, selfishly, she hopes he will be there when she arrives home from work.
Darcy's eyes sting. She presses the palms of her hands against them and sucks in a deep, soothing breath. She cannot cry here. Hearing the kettle click off, she drops her hands and grabs her favourite mug—Me? Sarcastic? Never. She rips open the package holding the tea bag and places it in the cup, pouring the boiled water. The scent of ginger and lemon fills her nostrils. It helps relax her a little bit more, and she cleans up the mess she made with her bottom lip trembling only slightly.
Taking the tea bag out after enough time has passed, Darcy tosses it in the trash and turns to leave the break room.
"Darcy!"
The young journalist comes to a startled halt. Her drink splashes out, dousing her dark grey blouse and black, slim trousers in boiling liquid.
Rob stands in the doorway to the break room, eyes wide at Darcy's reaction to his voice. "Sorry," he says, running to the sink. Grabbing some paper towels, he hands them to her. "I've been hoping to talk to you all morning. I didn't mean to scare you."
"It's fine," she sighs. It makes perfect sense that this would happen to her. Taking the towels, Darcy mops up the mess on her clothes and goes back to the counter to grab some more boiled water and another bag. She senses Rob directly behind her as she dumps out the small amount of tea left in her mug. She wishes he would leave her alone. "What do you want, Rob?"
He comes to stand next to her at the counter and reaches for the kettle. "I just wanted to know how your top secret assignment went. I missed you this past week."
In spite of herself, Darcy freezes, tea bag in hand. She looks at Rob out the corner of her eye. His blue eyes are curious. He smiles, showing off crooked teeth.
Relax, Darcy. He's harmless, she tells herself.
Darcy moves her shoulders up and down. She puts the bag in her mug, allowing Rob to douse it in water.
"It wasn't that exciting," she says, hoping to God her voice sounds normal. "Just another article. It was pretty boring, actually."
The kettle clicks back into its holder. Rob, leaning back against the countertop, looks at her skeptically. His blond eyebrows waggle. "What was it on, your article? I didn't see your name in the mockup. And it wasn't online. I mean, there was that one anonymous article, but everyone keeps telling me it was a freelancer that wrote it."
Darcy's throat burns. She can hardly swallow. Chucking the fresh tea bag in the bin, she doesn't dare look at Rob, choosing instead to stare out the window at the protestors.
Since he started working at the Post three months ago, Rob had followed her around like a puppy dog. She had always assumed it was just because this was his first job out of school and Darcy was the person assigned to show him around the office on his first day. Maybe he had imprinted on her or something.
But there is a strange tone to his words. There is something . . . twisted about the way he speaks. Something sinister.
"You didn't write the Winter Soldier article, did you, Darcy?"
Rob's voice is against her ear. She jerks away, smacking him with her hair. Her pulse thrashes in her neck.
Remain calm. Do not reveal yourself.
Darcy splutters out a laugh and swats Rob's clothed arm. "Of course I didn't write that article. Could you imagine me sitting down with a . . . with a murderer? I'm not brave enough for that."
"Yeah, of course," Rob says, laughing as well. "I didn't think you'd written it. Not really. I can't believe someone did, though."
"Can't believe someone did what?"
The blue in Rob's eyes shifts, darkening. "I can't believe someone sat down the Winter Soldier. Like you said, he's a murderer. And a traitor. A murderous traitor. I'd shoot him if I ever got within range."
Darcy bites her tongue until she feels her teeth sink in. Blood coats her tastebuds.
She can't blame Rob for saying those things. She is positive that although her article aimed to reveal the light inside of the former HYDRA weapon, some people will always see him as that guy with the metal Communist arm who almost killed Captain America. But it angers her to hear such bitter, ill-informed words be spoken about Bucky when she is the only person, aside from Steve Rogers, to truly know how good he is. How redeemed and gentle and loving he is. If he took her article at face value, Rob would know too, even if in a diluted form.
"Right," Darcy grits, taking her mug, stuffing her notepad in her back pocket, and turning on her heel. She points over her shoulder with her free hand. "I gotta go start on this article."
Rob's fingers clap against the countertop. "You didn't tell me what your secret article was about."
"Nothing important," she says.
She exits the room and half-runs to her desk. Sitting down, she exhales, her breath falling out in a rush, having held it in the entire way to her wall-less cubicle.
That was a weird conversation. Darcy flips through the notes from her meeting with the boss man, not really paying attention. Her mind is too focused on Rob. She watches the back of his body as he makes his way to his own desk at the end of the hall. Thankfully, they do not face each other, and she doesn't have to worry about him watching her.
Why was he interested in her assignment? And bringing up the Winter Soldier out of the blue like that?
Again . . . weird.
Darcy shakes out her fingers and opens a browser on her computer, choosing to tuck away her strange encounter with Rob and focus on her new article. Researching a scumbag is always oddly therapeutic for her and soon she is too wrapped up in her assignment to worry about her blond-headed coworker.
Her hand is cramping. She scribbles as fast as she can on her notepad, but the woman talking on the phone to her is going a mile a minute. Her brain cannot keep up. The majority of the words she is writing look like endless, illegible loops. Basically, she will be lucky if she understands any of it come tomorrow morning.
It might not matter, though. She is on the phone to her perp's mother-in-law, and she could be telling Darcy a load of rubbish facts about her daughter's soon-to-be ex-husband out of frustration and an underlying need to get back at him for being such a sleaze.
"So, you always had a feeling he would do something like this?" Darcy asks, holding back a yawn. She checks the time on her laptop screen. 2:12 a.m. God, this article is sucking the life out of her. Everyone else has already left.
"Well, yes. From the moment I first met him, he struck me as the unfaithful type."
"Okay. And what about finances."
"What about them?"
Darcy sits up. Dropping her pen, she stretches her fingers and leans back against the head of her chair. The woman's cluelessness does not bode well. "I mean, when he started seeing your daughter, was he good with money? Did he ever ask you for some? Did you ever catch him rummaging through someone else's wallet?"
"Why is this important?"
Great. Darcy grabs her pen and puts the end of it in her mouth. "Look, Mrs. Klein, I know this guy has shattered your daughter's heart, but his crimes go beyond that of sleeping with escorts. He also stole money from his own campaign to fund an assortment of illegal activities. If it turns out this embezzlement stuff is new for him, it could be useful information. You know, maybe he hasn't always been a scumbag."
"But he has. I told you as much."
"Okay, but maybe he hasn't always been a thieving scumbag," Darcy allows.
"Are you on his side?" Mrs. Klein asks, affronted.
"God, no," Darcy hastily replies. "No. I am against him. Completely against him."
"Aren't you supposed to be neutral?"
Darcy wants badly to throw her phone across the room. The pen falls. "What do you want from me, Mrs. Klein? I'm just trying to write a fucking"—The instant the swear word is out of her mouth, the other line goes dead. Darcy hears crackling air from the ear piece. Mrs. Klein has hung up. "Fuck!" Darcy shouts the expletive into the empty office, slamming the phone down.
She could cry. She won't, but she could. She is so wound, like a slinky—she needs someone to roll her down a staircase.
And it has nothing to do with the fucking article about the fucking scumbag.
Bucky is probably gone. He should be, at least. Middle of the night on a Monday. Perfect escape, especially with Steve watching over him. Making sure he gets out of DC without a scratch.
"Darcy, is everything okay?"
Darcy almost falls backwards out of her chair. Rob's blond head pokes out of the archives room at the end of the hall. He steps out and walks towards her, his right hand behind his back.
The brunette nods, though she swears her heart fell out of her chest and is sprawled somewhere on the floor. "Yeah, I'm fine," she lies, looking skeptically at her coworker. "What are you still doing here? I thought you'd have gone home by now."
Rob reaches her. His right hand remains hidden. "I wanted to look through some stuff. Our talk earlier about the Winter Soldier got me curious."
Something is not right with this picture. Darcy senses danger. She straightens, feigning a small smile. "What did you find out?"
Rob's thin lips stretch into an uncomfortable grin. He shrugs. "Oh, nothing too exciting. Stuff you probably already know."
Adrenaline seeps steadily into Darcy's blood. "Try me."
She should not have said it. She should have denied knowing anything about the Winter Soldier. She should have run.
She should have whacked him over the head with her phone, then run.
A glimmer of excitement flashes in Rob's blue eyes, and Darcy instantly knows she has found herself in a bad situation.
Rob's right arm straightens. He lifts his hand. In it, held so comfortably, a gun. Grey and small, the weapon shimmers in the dim office lighting.
He knows. He must.
She cannot stop herself. She gasps. Her pupils expand at the sight of the thing and she frowns at Rob. "Are you going to kill me?" she asks, surprised by how calm and steady her voice is. Internally, she is screaming.
"Not if I can help it," he says.
"Then what's with the gun?"
Rob looks at the revolver. He cocks it, shrugging. "It's supposed to intimidate you. I'm supposed to hold this against your back, and you're supposed to lead me to the Winter Soldier."
"I don't know"—
—"Don't lie to me, Darcy!" he says sharply, deliberately pointing the gun at her. "I'm the one who told our boss about your involvement with SHIElD. I'm the one who saw you follow that . . . that thing up to the Lincoln Memorial. I'm the one who saw you walk away with him! I have all the cards, Darcy Lewis."
The realisation smacks her in the gut. "You're HYDRA," she says, dumbfounded.
"Richtig, Darcy. Gut gemacht." The German words go over Darcy's head, but she knows enough to understand his decision to speak his native language. This man is a Nazi, and he wants her to be frightened. "And you've been very helpful. To think, if you hadn't found the Soldier that day out of pure luck, we would still be searching for him."
"You want me to take you to him?" she asks. Her insides are exploding. She is praying to each and every deity she can think of, hoping Bucky has not been an idiot and stuck around in her apartment.
God, why the fuck did she take him to her apartment? Thinking back, it was not a smart move. She should have brought him somewhere safe. Somewhere hidden and inconspicuous. And he should have known better than to follow her there. She supposes both of their judgements had been impaired that day, though. Hers by the tiredness in Bucky's eyes; his by . . . what exactly? A combination of things. Exhaustion, fear, her outrageous good looks. . . .
Not the time, Darcy.
"I want you to take me to him," Rob affirms, the gun's barrel in Darcy's eye line. He waves the revolver and orders her to get up. There is a distinct accent to his words now he doesn't have to pretend to be American.
"Earlier," Darcy says, getting to her feet and grabbing her bag, "when you called him a murderous traitor?"
Rob gets behind her. The gun digs into Darcy's back. Even through her clothes, she feels its power. Her bones rattle as Rob starts moving them towards the elevator.
"I meant he is a traitor of HYDRA," Rob says, confirming her suspicions.
Darcy tries her hardest to keep her breathing steady as the elevator doors spring open. The gun still burning a hole against her blouse, Rob shoves her inside. Her heels clank on the metal floor as she stumbles, but she rights herself the moment Rob's sickening laughter reaches her.
"You like him, don't you?" he asks. The elevator doors close, and Darcy knows now there is no chance for escape.
And SHEILD even offered her self defence training, but she turned them down, wanting to break her ties with the organisation too badly.
If only she knew then how closely the world of superheroes and super villains would follow her.
"You like the monster," he tries again.
Darcy takes the bait. "He isn't a monster."
Rob chuckles like only the evil can. "You have not seen him transform into the Winter Soldier."
Shit. Fuck!
"Is that what you're going to do when you find him?"
"It will make extraction much easier."
The elevator nears the ground level. Darcy is running out of time.
Not that she had time in the first place.
"Why is it only you?" she asks. "Why don't you have a thousand and one other agents helping?"
The gun presses deeper into her spine. She winces, catching a pained noise just in time before it leaks out of her mouth.
Rob grits his teeth. "They do not think I will succeed in capturing him. They left me to do this on my own."
The elevator dings, announcing their arrival at the ground floor. Rob pushes her out when the doors open. They reach the building's main exit and step outside into the cool DC night. Above them, rare stars peak through misty clouds. The moon casts shadows upon the ground.
"Which way?"
Darcy's skin tightens. She looks both directions, wondering if she should send Rob on a wild goose chase.
It would mean death for her, surely, but safety for Bucky if he has yet to leave.
But he has to have gone by now. He wouldn't risk his life and stick around. Steve wouldn't allow that.
Darcy makes her decision. She starts walking towards her apartment building, the cocked revolver against her back.
Rob's tongue smacks disapprovingly as they reach her floor. "Your apartment, Darcy?" he says, disappointed. "Have you not seen enough crime films to know that hiding the bad guy in your apartment never ends well?"
They are at her door. Darcy's keys are in her hands, and she struggles to find the correct one. Behind her, Rob shoves the revolver further into her spine. "You know," she says, fingers shaking as she locates her door key, "he probably isn't even in here. He likes to roam at night."
"A true predator."
"Yeah, something like that."
Bucky does not roam the DC streets at night. But if he is in there, he will hear her and know there is something amiss. He will be in attack mode.
And if he isn't there, Darcy will most likely die. She concluded that on the walk over here. Rob will shoot her out of anger and she will die, bleeding out on the floor of her shitty apartment.
The key rotates in the locks on her door. She grabs the knob, twisting until she hears it click open. It creaks, and Rob pushes her through, his hot breath brushing the back of her neck. The door slams shut behind them. Darcy flinches at the harsh noise, glancing erratically around the apartment. Her eyes catch a shadow near the DVD shelf. She blinks and the shadow disappears.
Bucky.
He is still here.
Why is he still here?
"Look," she says. She can feel her skin start to prickle. Her tongue dries, taking on the feel of rough wood. Her heart is ready to take flight. "I don't think he's stuck around."
Rob grabs her shoulder and thrusts the gun into her back. "Shut up," he says, "or I'll shoot you right here, right now."
Okay. So he lied.
Darcy had seen that one coming.
Rob turns their bodies around, surveying the quiet apartment. He stops when they face her bedroom and starts guiding Darcy towards the room.
Bide time, Darce. Stall!
"I thought you said you weren't going to do that."
"Turn the light on," he instructs. Darcy does as she is asked. The room comes alive, and there is no visible sign that she has been sharing this space with anyone. It is clean. "Of course I can't let you live, Darcy. You know too much. I was hoping it would be the Winter Soldier who would do the shooting, but if you're right and he isn't here . . . I guess I'll have to pick up the slack."
Rob decides there is nothing suspicious about the bedroom. He bends to look under the bed, straightens, points the gun at Darcy's back once more, and walks them out into the lounge.
This doesn't feel real. It feels like some dream, or some out of body experience. Darcy's entire body is vibrating with fear, and it's as if the sheer force of the buzzing has expelled her soul from its confines. She is watching the scene unfold from a different angle. Watching as Rob—who she never trusted to begin with, but for completely different reasons—moves her towards the window near the television. And to her left, in the bathroom, she hears a noise. A soft noise. She turns her head, only she doesn't turn her head, and knows Bucky is in there. Hiding. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
This is going to end badly. It is going to end in bloodshed. There is a revolver piercing her spine. There is a reformed assassin in her toilet. A not-reformed assassin in possession of key words that can transform her reformed assassin into a not-reformed assassin breathes against her ear.
"I hate this city," Rob says bitterly. Without giving Darcy a chance to defend DC, he speaks again, "I read your article."
Darcy returns to her body, snapping back into place. "I figured," she says. Stupid Darcy. We do not taunt men with fucking guns! She swallows splinters. "What did you think?"
The agent smiles. Darcy sees it in the window's reflection, and it makes her want to gag.
"You reveal too much of yourself in your writing, I'm afraid."
"Do tell." Darcy fights to keep her voice level. She fights to stop herself from peeking behind her left shoulder at the bathroom. Focusing on the blinking red lights, indicating an all-way stop, at the end of the street, she works hard at steadying her breathing.
"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Rob's smile widens. His teeth in the window look jagged like a shark's. "You've fallen for the Winter Soldier. You think he is saved. You think he is on your side. Darcy, my dear, it's pathetic."
It isn't. She knows—really, really knows—it isn't. Bucky is good. He has always been good. It's the Winter Soldier who is bad, and Bucky has been battling against that side of him for longer than anyone else on the planet could have.
And of course she fell for him. The Universe could not put Darcy and a sad, puppy-dog-eyed guy like Bucky Barnes in the same room and expect her not to fall for him. As bad as the idea sounded at the start, she quickly learned to accept it.
"Yeah, well," she says, "you're the one who's on his own for this mission because your bosses don't believe in you. So, who's the pathetic one, really?"
"Bad move," Rob snarls.
The gun is no longer against her back. In the reflection, Darcy sees Rob's right hand lift above his head.
He is going to pistol-whip her. With a revolver.
She prepares for impact—scrunched eyes, balled fists, breath held—but a voice coming from the left forces her eyes open.
"Let her go."
Darcy exhales in a whoosh, her breath fogging the glass. She and Rob turn their heads in unison as a silhouette emerges from the bathroom. Rob is immediately on the defensive. He grabs ahold of Darcy and presses her to him, his arm around her neck. The other, the one holding the gun, presses into her head, and he whirls their bodies around to face the Winter Soldier.
A revolver aligned with her temple, Darcy drinks in the sight of Bucky. He wears the clothes she found him in. His backpack is by his feet. His hair cloaks his stubbled face.
"I knew he was here!" Rob exclaims, ramming the muzzle hard into Darcy's skull. "I just knew it."
"Let her go," he says again, menacing.
Rob laughs, the noise crazed. "No, no, no, no. She's my leverage. One wrong move, and I shoot." He laughs again, shuffling Darcy to the side until they are directly in front of Bucky. "I thought this was going to be so much harder. I got a job working at the Post in the hopes I would be the first to know if you were sighted, but never did I think Miss Lewis here would be the one to find you for me! I mean, one minute we were eating lunch together, the next she was climbing up to see Lincoln. Only she wasn't, and you had better believe I almost shot you right there when I came to get Darcy."
Behind her, Rob sniffs. Sweat from his skin drips on the back of her neck.
"But I couldn't just shoot you. I still can't just shoot you. I'm going to take you in, soldat."
Darcy watches Bucky tense as soon as Rob says the word. Illuminated by the moon and the light from her bedroom, she sees his jaw twitch.
He shakes his head. "No."
"Yes," Rob grits. "The Winter Soldier will be reborn tonight. And do you want to know what your first task is?" When Bucky doesn't make a sound, Rob sighs and grips Darcy tighter. "You're gonna have to shoot your girlfriend. It'll be so much fun."
In her panicked state, Darcy searches desperately for Bucky's eyes. They are hidden partially by his hair, but she continues staring at his face, continues begging him in her mind to look at her, and for one moment, a flash in time, their eyes meet. His look tells her a thousand things. There is pain, distress, a hint of comfort, like he is telling her everything is going to be fine.
She doesn't believe him.
"Zhelaniye." And it begins. Bucky flinches, rolling his neck. "Rzhavvy."
"No," Bucky groans, the veins in his throat bulging. "Stop!"
Rob sways a bit with excitement, causing Darcy to stagger in her heels. She reclaims her footing, an idea bursting inside her head.
"Semnadtsat," Rob says as Bucky's knees start wobbling with the effort of trying to keep the Winter Soldier at bay.
Now, Darcy.
Sucking in a quick breath, Darcy lifts her left foot and slams her spiked heel down. An ear-splitting scream rips out of Rob as her shoe goes through his Sperry and into his foot. He releases her, and she falls forward, her heel still stuck inside of Rob. The gun in his hand drops to the floor, thankfully not going off, as he stumbles backwards.
Bucky is quick. From her spot on the ground near the DVD shelf, she watches him stalk towards Rob. The German—the fucking Nazi—holds up his hands in surrender.
"Don't hurt me. Please," Rob begs.
She cannot see Bucky's face, but she can imagine how disgusted he must look. How angry.
"You coward," he condemns. "You filthy coward."
The last thing Darcy hears out of Rob's mouth: Hail HYDRA.
Then there is a crack, and then there is silence.
She shivers against her DVD collection, looking up at the former assassin as he nears her. He reaches down to her with his proper hand. She removes her other shoe and takes it, revelling in his warmth. They are both quaking. He pulls her up and into his arms. Holding him tight, she buries her face in his chest, breathing his scent in. She cries into his jacket. He cries into her hair.
"I'm sorry," he says, strained. "This is all my fault."
"It's their fault," she insists. "They did this to you. They forced your hand."
"I killed him, Darcy."
She retreats, unravelling herself from his arms. Reaching up, she takes ahold of his rough face. Wetness meets her palms and she splays her fingers in his hair, moving the thick strands out of his eyes.
Finally. Her heart crumbles under his gaze. An old man trapped in the 21st century. There is such weariness to him.
"Hey," she says, her mouth full of tears and saliva, "he was going to make you kill me. You're not Batman. You're allowed to kill the bad guys. Especially when they're threatening someone as hot and irreplaceable as me."
Bucky gives her a look. He is caught between a laugh and a grimace.
"Sorry, dark humour is my response to stressful situations."
"You must never be relaxed."
Darcy smiles carefully. "Look who's cracking jokes now."
She tugs firmly on his neck, bringing his lips to hers.
After a minute spent attempting to regain their composure, they call Steve into the apartment. He had been hiding on the roof in his Cap gear.
He says what Darcy knew he was going to say. Bucky has to leave. Now. He will deal with the dead Nazi and any neighbours with any questions. But Bucky has to run. And he can't come back.
"I'll take him up to the roof for now," Steve says, and Darcy has a feeling he is trying to give them a chance to say goodbye. "I'll get rid of him and any evidence when you've left."
Bucky agrees, and Steve, as quietly as he can manage, removes Darcy's stiletto, lifts the HYDRA agent over his shoulder and exits the apartment. Darcy and Bucky are alone.
She feels empty. Lost. It may have not even been two weeks since she invited this man into her home, but she has grown attached. He shared his life with her, and she shared her (much less bloody) life with him, and they found peace with one another. They found comfort.
She doesn't want to let him go.
She says it, her lips wobbling. "I don't want you to go."
Now it is Bucky's turn to take her face in his hands. She doesn't feel the mechanical fingers. All she feels is him rubbing circles on her hot cheeks. She grabs at his wrists and he smiles a sad sort of smile.
They looked like this the night before up on the roof, rain splashing over them.
They were sad then, too. Only tonight there is a finality in the air that takes ahold of Darcy's throat and forbids her from speaking.
"This isn't the end," he says firmly, bringing their foreheads together.
Darcy breathes in the air from his lungs. She closes her eyes, blocking out everything that isn't Bucky. "Isn't it, though? It seems like such a perfect ending."
"I swore to you I would come back. I meant it." His fingers lace through her hair. "I can't thank you enough, Darcy Lewis, for finding me that day."
Darcy doesn't like this talking. She hates it.
Moving her arms to Bucky's waist, she wraps them around him and blindly searches for his mouth. He is unresponsive for only a second. Once that moment has passed, he is sucking hard on her bottom lip as if he is trying to consume her, pushing her back until her head meets the cool glass of the window. He holds her there, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of her blouse. She feels the metal now. It pinches her skin. Goosebumps burst over her arms and torso, and she shudders in Bucky's embrace.
They separate only when they hear Steve's hand on the doorknob. He looks at them solemnly, ignoring their disheveled appearance. He approaches the pair.
"It's been good seeing you, Buck," Steve says, offering the dark haired man a hand.
Bucky shoves it away. He hugs the Avenger instead. "You too, Steve," he says, breaking away. "And thank you for all of your help."
Turning towards her, Bucky takes her in his arms one last time and kisses her.
This is goodbye, she thinks, desperately trying to memorise the feel of his lips on hers.
He is gone.
Darcy sits on the sofa with Captain America, contemplating whether or not this entire part of her life has been a side effect of a bad acid trip, or perhaps a super realistic VR experience.
"He told me he'd come back," she says, not bothering to hide her tear-stained face. "He was lying, wasn't he? Like you said, he can't ever come back."
Steve looks over at her and offers her a warm smile. "Not for a long time," he says. "You love him, don't you."
She shrugs. "He's not first choice, but yeah. I do."
Why didn't she tell him before he left?
What was stopping her?
"He loves you too," Steve divulges. "And if I know one thing, it is that people who love each other often find their paths crossing when they least expect it."
She collapses after that, and Steve holds her as she cries more than she has ever cried over a boy in her life. Only he isn't just a boy. He is so much more than just a boy. He is the Winter Soldier. He is a warrior. A man among men. He is kind, and he is sad, and he is hers.
He is Bucky Barnes, and he loves her. And she loves him.
A/N 2: The Russian words used to trigger the Winter Soldier are written phonetically. The German words mean (from what I could gather online) "correct" and "good job."
Alright everyone, one more to go.