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Darcy awoke slowly, making a face into her pillow when she smelled something burning. The neighbors must be cooking, she reasoned. Groaning, she rolled over on her mattress. As she twisted around, her earbuds were yanked from her ears, and with her bassy music gone she heard the alarm loud and clear.
“Oh, shit,” she cried, heart thumping as she flailed around in tangled blankets. “That's a fire alarm. It's a real fire. Crap, crap, crap.”
Rolling off her mattress and onto the floor, she slapped her hand on top of the unpacked box serving as her nightstand to grab at her glasses. Shoving them on her face, she kicked the blankets the rest of the way off her legs, and scrambled to her feet. Still not quite awake despite her panic, Darcy stumbled up against the far wall of her mostly empty bedroom, and recoiled.
“Hot! Oh God, the wall's hot. That's bad. Very, very bad. Okay Darcy, think. You're in your PJs, take what you can carry, and get the hell out of dodge...” she babbled. Stomping around frantically she snatched up her purse, shoving whatever registered even vaguely as Really Important inside.
There was a muffled boom that reverberated in her chest, making her flinch in surprise. Deciding then and there she had everything worth grabbing, she hurried to the door to her apartment. Darcy yanked it open when she felt the knob was still cool, and made to dash down the hall. Two steps out her bare foot ran into something solid, and she fell down, smacking her face on the floor.
“Fuck,” she hissed, her hand flying to her nose. It throbbed painfully, and felt wet to the touch. When Darcy pulled her hand away to look down at it she saw blood on her fingers. “Aw, man. That sucks. What did I even—oh.” Twisting around, she saw the thing she'd tripped over was a guy laying in a heap on the floor.
Darcy swung her legs off the dude to kneel over him. “Please don't be dead, please don't be dead,” she muttered, reaching out to turn his head with one hand and pressed her bloody fingers against the side of his neck. It took an anxiously long couple of seconds, but finally she could feel a pulse. She looked him over, trying to find any obvious injuries, but he didn't look like he was hurt anywhere. Based on the smoke flowing out from the apartment next to hers he'd probably passed out from smoke inhalation, she reasoned.
“Crap. I can't just leave you here, but you are some 900 pounds of immovable Grade A beefcake, bro.” Despite wearing a long sleeved shirt under a jacket and loose jeans, she could tell he was built. Shifting her purse behind her, she shoved her hands under his armpits, and heaved. Beefcake slid across the floor a couple of inches, and Darcy was already breaking out into a sweat. She spit some of the blood draining down into her mouth out, and planted her feet firmly on the ground for another pull.
Slowly but surely, and with a lot of groaning and grunting, Darcy dragged the guy all the way down the hall, sweat rolling off her forehead, down her back, and between her breasts. It was getting wicked hot by then, and she could taste black smoke with every panting breath. Her lungs were starting to burn a little, but she'd be damned if she gave up and left him there.
“Just had to be the third floor, didn't it?” she grumbled out loud as she adjusted him as best she could for the trip down the stairs. Turning him around so his front was against her back, she draped his arms over her shoulders so when she went down the stairs he'd be braced against her in a piggy back ride. “Oh my God,” she wheezed as more of his weight rested on her, “what do they feed you?”
Her legs trembling horribly, she made it to the first landing. Not sure if she could keep this up if she stopped, Darcy shuffled her way to the other portion of stairs that lead to the second floor, dragging their sides against the wall to help her stay upright. His boots thudded heavily against every stair they went down, and her grip on him was beginning to slip every other step.
“Almost... there...” Darcy's glasses slid down her nose, sweat dripping into her eyes stinging them, making it damn near impossible to see clearly no matter how much she tried to blink them clear. Her purse swung annoyingly against her stomach with each lurch, and she only vaguely realized the fire alarm had stopped blaring. At the top of the last landing to the ground floor her legs finally buckled, and she cried out as they both fell down the last flight of stairs. The whole way down Darcy took the brunt of the fall, and when everything stopped spinning she felt every bump and bruise that she'd have tomorrow radiate painfully with every beat of her heart.
Darcy looked down to see her heavy rescue attempt sprawled over her, his face planted firmly on her chest. She couldn't help it, she burst out laughing, but it quickly turned into a hacking cough.
“Could have... bought me dinner first...” she rasped, her voice sounding a little like she'd swallowed sandpaper. Darcy gently cradled his head so he didn't crack it against the floor while she shifted them. Pushing her glasses back up, she reached under his arms again to pull him the rest of the way to safety, but she might as well have tried to move a mountain at that point. She was all out of juice. “Don't s'pose you could... wake up now, huh? Would be helpful. Jus' sayin'.”
There was a loud creaking sound coming from upstairs, followed by a squeal, and then a crash. Several moments later a blast of hot air washed over them. Darcy felt a kind of second wind at that, born from a fresh wave of panic.
“Buddy, I think we're totally outta time. Okay. Okay, I got you.” Climbing to her feet on legs made of jelly, it was only when she wrapped her fingers around his wrists that she noticed one of his gloved hands was made of metal. Holy shit, she thought, is that—?
A loud crash interrupted her thoughts and she startled. Looking up she saw smoke billowing along the ceiling.
No time for that right now. Darcy redoubled her grip on his wrists and did her damnedest to get this guy the rest of the way out of the building. Her muscles were straining painfully with every inch she managed to drag him. God, this whole ordeal felt like it was taking an hour, but it was worth it when she hip-checked the door to outside wide open, and the fresh, cool air hit her face.
Of course, there was no way to get him through the doorway without letting it try and close on him as she dragged him that last few meters, but once it swung shut she collapsed to the ground, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.
“Hey, there's someone over there!” a woman's voice cried, and a minute later a fireman's blurry face appeared in her line of sight. He might have said something to her, but her hearing was doing this weird thing where everything sounded like it was really far away and coming at her from the other end of a long tunnel.
Then she kind of passed out.
- - -
Before she even tried opening her eyes, Darcy awoke to the worst aches and pains of her life. God, she hurt all over, even if the bed she was lying in was probably meant to be comfortable. Afraid to move, but absolutely needing to find out what's going on, she squinted her crusty eyes open, slightly blinded by the brightness of the white room she was in. Darcy turned her head to the side, discovering there was some kind of mask on her face when it touched her pillow. Groaning in a gravelly voice she forced her incredibly sore arms to move so she could fumble awkwardly with the mask covering her nose and mouth.
“Miss Lewis?”
Darcy startled violently, making an embarrassing squeaking sound. She looked over to see—no way!
“Holy shit kittens, you're Ca—” she tried to say, but was overtaken with a coughing fit. It didn't last long, but by the time she was done coughing and trying to catch her breath Steve Rogers had moved from his chair to stand over her bedside, an adorably awkward but worried expression on his face. Sighing, she tried again, “Captain America.”
“Please, just Steve is fine,” he smiled ruefully. She gave him a thumbs up, and his smile turned more sincere.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Steve? I'd assume they put me on the good drugs, and I'm dreaming right now, but honestly I hurt way too much for that to be the case.” Wow, her voice sounded so raspy.
She watched as he stood up a little taller, sort of squaring his shoulders. Oh boy, down to business time. “I hate to bother you while you're barely recovering, but time is of the essence. The man you saved earlier today—what can you tell me about him?”
“Uhh,” Darcy drawled, trying to think back. “He's really super heavy?”
Steve huffed a laugh, but he was obviously waiting for something useful.
“He, uh. I think he had a metal hand?” That was clearly important here, and probably exactly what Steve was after. Then she sighed again; no more beating around the bush. “He's your friend, isn't he. The one you're looking for.”
Steve clenched his jaw, looking down at a spot on her hospital bed, a pensive expression on his face. “Yeah,” he said quietly, then lifted his head to look her right in the eyes. “Yeah, he's my friend. I've been looking for him ever since I found out he was still alive. I have to find'em, Miss Lewis, and you're the last person to have significant contact with him. Will you help me bring'em home?”
Oh man, he was really good at that. Steve has the sincere face on, and those blue, blue eyes pleading with her. There couldn't be anybody on the planet that could say no to the Cap asking for help. But...
“I wanna help you, Cap. I really do, but I don't have much I can tell you. I only just moved into that apartment building yesterday. Hadn't even unpacked anything yet, so if he was a regular there or anything, I wouldn't know.” Darcy felt bad for the way his shoulders slumped dejectedly, but he nodded nonetheless. “He didn't seem hurt or anything though, y'know? I mean, it's not like I had a whole lot of time to make sure, but I didn't see anything wrong. I figured he passed out 'cause of the smoke from the fire.”
“Actually, it seems like he was probably conscious the whole time.” Darcy furrowed her brow, confused, and watched as Steve pulled an envelope out of an inside pocket in his leather jacket. With it was also another slip of paper, folded over, and he handed that to her first.
Unfolding it, she saw there was a handwritten note in extra loopy cursive.
Can't thank you enough for saving my life, babydoll.
Buy you that dinner some day to make up for it.
B.B.
“Oh my God,” Darcy groaned, and even though it hurt she lifted a hand to cover her eyes in embarrassment. “I can't believe he was awake for that. We fell down the last flight of stairs, and he sorta landed face first in my boobs. I told him he coulda bought me dinner first.”
Steve chuckled, but then he suddenly looked serious again. “I think he was hit with a nerve gas; it must have paralyzed him, but left him awake. Your apartment building was a front for HYDRA operatives. He must have been there trying to...” he trailed off for a moment, like he was trying to think of a way to put it, “take care of them. Something must have gone wrong, and he was left inside while they set a fire. I talked to the firemen at the scene, they said they were told everyone in the building was accounted for.”
“Guess they weren't concerned with any casualties,” Darcy muttered, fidgeting anxiously with her fingers. It was scary to think she'd come that close to dying. She cleared her throat, coughed a bit, and gestured to the other letter in Steve's hands. “That for me too? From him?”
Steve shook his head and held out the letter for her to take. “No, this one's from me. It's all legal,” he explained as she fumbled with weak hands to flip the envelope flap open and pull several folded pieces of paper out. A key slid out and onto her. “Your hospital bill's been paid for in full, and you have a new place to stay when you're released, if you want. Also paid for for six months.”
Darcy stared down at the paper, speechless. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out, and closed it. She shook her head, letting her hands fall limply to her lap. “Holy shit.”
“No kittens this time?” Steve joked, but Darcy only managed a bemused huff.
“You don't even know me. Why do all this?” she asked, and spied a tiny folded piece of paper peaking out from the envelope. She opened it to see a phone number.
“That's mine. To my personal cellphone. And you're right, Miss Lewis, you don't know me, and I don't know you. But what you did for him means a lot to me. He could have died, and I'd never have seen him again. This is my way of saying thanks.”
“Pretty generous of you, dude...” she muttered, a wave of tiredness washing over her. “And the number?”
“If you see him again, or he contacts you. All I ask is you call me if he does.”
“Not the police?”
She watched him purse his lips, his jaw ticked with clenched teeth. He looked away for a moment, and then back at her. “Please, I just want to bring him home. Call me. Will you do that?” he asked, his gaze never wavering.
Darcy sighed. She liked to think she was a smart girl. Maybe not Jane Foster smart, but she knew this was the condition set for her debt free medical bills, and a roof over her head since hers was just burned to the ground. It wasn't asking so much, after all. She stuffed the papers and the key back in the envelope.
“Sure thing, Steve,” she promised. And then broke into a huge yawn.
“Thank you, Miss Lewis. You don't know how much that means to me. I'll leave you to rest now. Just, thank you. For everything.”
Darcy watched him leave with heavy lidded eyes, and before she drifted off to sleep she had to wonder at her weird life.