Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Captain America is not in New York, so the Winter Soldier is. Recently the Winter Soldier has spent a lot of time in places Captain America is not, mostly because a little less recently he spent entirely too much time in places Captain America was.

That, and the World War II exhibit from DC is at the Brooklyn Museum for the next three months.

The Winter Soldier is on reconnaissance. It’s not his fault if his sources keep moving on him. And the exhibit, unlike the captain, doesn’t give a damn if he’s there or not. He can disappear whenever he wants and it won’t even notice, much less care.

That’s what he’s doing today--disappearing. Or at least, not being there for a while. He doesn’t want to go often enough to be recognized. Being recognized is a very different problem than it used to be, but no less a problem. Getting shot by an enemy agent is a hell of a lot easier than talking to Captain America.

. . . there’s something wrong with that sentence, the Winter Soldier thinks, stopping in his tracks.

“Screw you, tough guy, you don’t even have superpowers!” a voice yells on the edge of the Winter Soldier’s hearing; his head cocks, because . . . because his head cocks. “Agh, dammit, let go!”

The Winter Soldier follows the sound of shouting past the sidewalk traffic, down an alley, and around a corner, and finds a woman and man struggling over a messenger bag. He pauses, and watches. The woman is smaller and the strap of the bag is hooked around her elbow. The man is bigger and has a fist closed around the strap. The bag’s design is gender neutral and they’re both angry.

The woman is more creative about it, though.

“I’LL SEND YOU STRAIGHT TO FREAKING NASTROND, YOU BALLESS BILGESNIPE, THE VALKYRIE WON’T LOOK TWICE AT YOUR SORRY ASS!”

Much more creative.

The Winter Soldier watches the woman repeatedly kick the man in the shin and wonders if Captain America would expect him to intervene. Bucky Barnes would, according to his reconnaissance, so presumably.

The Winter Soldier really doesn’t want to do the things Captain America would expect.

So it’s Bucky Barnes, probably, who picks up the trash can lid and nails the guy in the small of the back with it. The man yells and staggers, and the woman yanks the bag out of his grip and jams the taser she’s suddenly holding into his neck. He hits the ground twitching, and she steps back and groans in annoyance.

“I have to do that to more guys,” she sighs, blowing her hair out of her face as she lets the taser drop. “And boyfriends. And a god, that one time, but okay so I’m just taking the chance to brag about that. You’d brag about tazing a god, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” the Winter Soldier says, because he really doesn’t. He’s never bragged about anything before, except maybe Bucky Barnes did. Or would.

But he’s still conducting research.

“Please, look at you, Mister Tall Dark and Leather, you would totally,” the woman snorts, bending over to rescue her dropped bag from the puddle it landed in and shuffling through its half-soaked contents. “Ugh. Okay, so the paperwork’s a lost cause, but good news, the iPod’s dry as a bone. Whatever, I didn’t really wanna work for those losers anyway. Hey, wanna blow off my job interview together?”

“What,” the Winter Soldier says blankly. The woman cocks an eyebrow at him, then gives him an entirely unsubtle once-over that he thinks is supposed to read as sexually inviting but is really more like a statement of fact. She has dark curly hair and is wearing a striking red lipstick, a slightly too tight suit, and cheap sneakers. There is a pair of high, spindly heels in her waterlogged bag and she is still holding the taser in her other hand.

She reminds him of absolutely no one, but he feels like there is someone to be reminded of anyway.

“I thought that was a pretty straightforward statement, personally,” the woman says, pulling a pair of thick-rimmed glasses out of her pocket and slipping them on. “Oh, wow,you are a looker. No offense, I thought maybe the blurred vision and adrenaline were being a little on the optimistic side about the local hobos. Actually the hobos I meet are a lot more cut than my mother ever implied they would be, go figure. Here, hold on--can I get a picture?”

“What,” the Winter Soldier tries again, which the woman apparently translates as permission because she pulls out her phone and holds it up. The Winter Soldier balks, but--

“Smile, handsome!” the woman chirps, and Bucky Barnes does. “Ohhh man. I’m totally sticking with the ‘look at you’ plan,” she says, fanning herself with the taser. The Winter Soldier can’t decide what to think of the fact she’s still holding it. The man on the ground groans and twitches again, and the woman hops over him--on him, actually, the Winter Soldier corrects his initial assumption as she lands. The man whimpers, and the woman hops off him and struts over to the Winter Soldier with a wide, brash smile. Bucky Barnes would smile like that, the Winter Soldier tells himself, although he can’t think of any particular photograph or newsreel that showed Bucky Barnes doing anything of the sort. Grinning and smirking and cocking an eyebrow and laughing and gritting his teeth, but never smiling like that.

He smiled at Captain America, once, but that was a very different smile.

“So! Nice to meet you, I’m Darcy Lewis,” the woman says, still holding her phone and taser and wearing the wide smile. “Thanks for the backup with the trash can lid move, I appreciate a supportive dude.”

“Bucky Barnes,” the Winter Soldier says, offering his arm. “Anything for a pretty dame.”

“Ooooo,” Darcy Lewis says, her eyes going wide and smile splitting into a grin as she hooks the hand with the taser around his arm. “We are going to have the best day.”

Chapter Text

“Darcy,” the voice on the phone says carefully, “who’s the man whose picture you posted on Facebook this morning?”

“Name’s Bucky,” Darcy replies, popping her lips around the name. “Rhymes with ‘get lucky’, on a totally unrelated note, and coincidentally is also pretty close to ‘fu’--”

“Darcy!” the voice hisses, and the Winter Soldier glances up from the bottom of the bed. Darcy’s legs are knock-kneed and bare against the motel room blankets and he wants to touch them again but isn’t sure he’s allowed yet. When she’s done with the phone, maybe.

Then she wiggles her eyebrows at him invitingly and slides one of those legs towards him, and he supposes that means he doesn’t have to wait after all.

“Whaaat, don’t be a mood-killer, Jane,” Darcy huffs, eyes lighting up bright and sweet as the Winter Soldier crawls towards her. He does not remember anyone ever reacting like that to his approach, although maybe Captain America would have, once. Some part of him thinks so, anyway. It’s a very strange part of him.

But it’s a part of him.

“Mood-killer--Darcy, do you not look at the Internet?!” the voice hisses again. Jane is the voice, the Winter Soldier notes, dropping his mouth to the inside of Darcy’s calf. She bites her lip and wriggles underneath him, resettling against the pillows piled at the head of the bed and bringing her free hand up to drag his hair back out of his face. He likes how it feels.

“Mmmm, please, the Internet is my bitch,” Darcy purrs, dragging her fingers through the Winter Soldier’s hair again and letting her knees fall apart. He pushes his mouth up to the curve of her thigh and she grins at him and hooks the leg over his shoulder--his metal one, because once she’d gotten over exclaiming over it she’d wanted to see everything it could do in bed, and when he’d told her he didn’t know, well--

She’d had a lot of ideas, and they had all been very, very good ones.

“But have you looked at it lately?!” Jane-the-voice demands shrilly; Darcy shrugs carelessly and the Winter Soldier licks the inside of her thigh in the hopes she will pet his hair again. She does; mission success. He licks again and she digs her heel into his back and tangles her fingers in his hair and he does not know who Jane-the-voice is but deeply appreciates the fact that Darcy has not been distracted from him by her communications.

“Well yeah, duh, it’s been full of crazy SHIELDRA files for like two months now, of course I’m looking,” Darcy snorts, tugging at the Winter Soldier’s hair so he knows where to put his mouth and making his spine feel like liquid. “And also I updated Facebook, like, thirty times today, did you miss that? Actually I’m pretty sure you already said that’s why you called, sooooo . . .”

“Darcy,” Jane-the-voice says, clearly struggling to control herself. The Winter Soldier licks Darcy’s thigh again and Bucky Barnes bites it, and Darcy’s leg jerks in obvious approval, her expression turning bitten-lip blissful. “You posted a picture of--of--you captioned it “look, Ma, sexy hobo!”, Darcy, for God’s sake, I don’t even--and then all the other pictures! The pizza place! And Times Square, and Central Park! Jesus, you went to Coney Island with him!”

“What? He wanted to go,” Darcy says as the Winter Soldier kisses the line of her hip, his hands smoothing up the backs of her thighs and her fingers tightening on the phone and in his hair. “Mmm, please, don’t tell me if Thor wanted to bump your cars at Eldorado you wouldn’t be on that like iron on man. Black on widow. Hawk on--mmmm. Also we got churros and went to the Met, you missed those,” she adds distractedly, squirming under the Winter Soldier again in a way that makes Bucky Barnes want to--preen? He’s not sure.

The Winter Soldier wants to preen too, he thinks, because he remembers all of the events of Jane-the-voice’s report. He takes the moment to bask in the occasion as he nuzzles into the crease of Darcy’s hip again, shifting in closer against her. It feels good, although not as good as her hand in his hair or as making her feel good. He doesn’t remember ever touching someone to make them feel good before.

He likes it.

It feels good to like something, too.

“He wanted to--Darcy!” Jane yells in disbelief. The Winter Soldier assumes that whoever Thor is, he’s not bumping her cars. Whatever that means. “You asked off for a job interview at Stark Industries and then you spent the day eating cotton candy with the Winter Soldier!”

“Who the hell is the Winter Soldier?” Darcy asks doubtfully, cocking her head.

“Nobody,” Bucky Barnes says, leaning up to kiss her.

Chapter Text

“That one’s us,” the Winter Soldier says, pointing at the blown-up photo of James Buchanan Barnes on the museum wall in front of them, then pauses and rephrases: “Me.”

“Okay then,” Darcy says, eyeing the display. She’s holding his metal hand. It’s cold and she was complaining about the muggy summer weather on the walk from the taxi, and also he likes her holding his hand. “Well, never let it be said you’re a boring date, dude. Like, I can definitely say no guy has ever brought me to his super-historical national hero posthumous museum exhibit before, good job, four for you.”

“I like the pictures,” the Winter Soldier says. Darcy squints at him.

“Does Captain America know you’re in Brooklyn?” she asks, looking doubtful.

“Do you see him around?” he asks.

“Point,” Darcy says, tapping the side of her jaw and still looking up at the display. The picture of Bucky Barnes looks strong and confident and like someone Captain America would light up to see; the Winter Soldier is strong, but has never needed confidence, and Captain America looked at him like it hurt to.

He preferred the first time, before the mask came off, although he doesn’t remember exactly when the first time was or exactly when the mask came off. He woke up in the chair before the last mission, which is presumably why. But better to be a worthy opponent than a fallen friend, he thinks.

He wonders if Captain America would think the New York summer was too hot too. He only has the one metal hand.

“We could probably, like, mention it to him,” Darcy says eventually as they move on to the next part of the exhibit, the screen on the wall where Captain America and Bucky Barnes are laughing. There’s more to the recording, but that’s the part the Winter Soldier always times his walkthroughs to see again.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because . . . he might wanna know?” Darcy suggests, raising her eyebrows at him. The Winter Soldier considers this.

“Probably,” he decides eventually. “But he’s busy.”

“Busy doing what?” Darcy asks.

“Looking for me,” the Winter Soldier says. Darcy pauses, then gives him a long look, and Bucky Barnes smirks back at her.

“Oh, real funny, hotshot,” she snorts. “Did they teach you that lousy sense of humor in the evil mindwipe chair the Internet’s freaking out about, is that a thing they did?”

“They used to electrocute me when I made jokes,” the Winter Soldier says. Darcy gives him a horrified look for a second, then shoves him.

“You’re an asshole!” she exclaims. “Oh my god, are you serious?!”

“They weren’t very funny jokes,” the Winter Soldier says, and she shoves him again.

“Asshole!” she repeats in disbelief, shaking her head with an incredulous expression. “Look, Thor’s on Earth now, just tell me where to point him. He’s gone like a whole six months without something to hammer into oblivion, he needs the exercise anyway.”

“Shouldn’t he be bumping Jane’s cars?” the Winter Soldier asks, frowning questioningly. Darcy makes a strangled noise and then grabs his cheeks and peppers his face with kisses, and he’s not sure why the question provoked that reaction but isn’t going to dissuade her.

“You are a gift,” she informs him between kisses, grinning wide, and something in his chest heats up and goes tight. The effect does not physically compromise him, so he allows himself to enjoy it and returns one of the kisses carefully, pressing his lips to the bridge of her nose. She bites her lip again and grins around it, and he bites it too. Darcy makes a pleased noise and wraps her arms around his neck and they both shift in tight against each other and he kisses her again and she kisses back and her hands push into his hair and his hands push into her--

“Ahem,” the security guard behind them says, and they both freeze. The Winter Soldier is fairly certain that neutralizing the guard would not actually gain them that much more time to kiss, but still weighs the option. Time spent escaping police pursuit would be time spent not kissing Darcy, though, so he steps back from her.

Then she makes a disappointed sound and pouts up at him.

On second thought, the Winter Soldier thinks, he could just blow the entire museum.

“C’mere,” Darcy says, catching both his hands this time and sparing the security guard a winning smile as she drags the Winter Soldier after her and out of eyeshot, and then into a supply closet. He is immediately pleased by her foresight; he didn’t pack enough explosive for the whole place, but with the right cleaning chemicals--

Darcy takes his pants off. The Winter Soldier pauses, reconsidering his previous mission plan.

Bucky Barnes thinks he is an idiot, and kisses Darcy again.

Chapter Text

“That is like the fifth time this month!” Darcy yells at the man twitching on the ground--not the same man she had twitching on the ground last time. Although technically, the Winter Soldier remembers, he was the last man she had twitching on the ground, admittedly by very different methods.

“You weren’t kidding about how many fellas you gotta taze, huh,” Bucky Barnes observes, helpfully sliding over to give the guy a little kick. There’s some gurgling but the Winter Soldier manages to avoid the vomit.

“This city is awful,” Darcy seethes, pocketing her taser and stalking away. Bucky Barnes swaggers after her, clearly appreciative. The Winter Soldier understands the opinion.

“I dunno, I think you fit in real nice, sweetheart,” Bucky Barnes tells her with a smirk, slinging the metal arm over her shoulders, and the Winter Soldier understands this opinion as well. Darcy is clearly not a trained operative, but she uses that fact to her advantage--the pair of Hydra operatives attempting to activate his backup programming ignored her entirely and were both violently electrocuted for the mistake.

The Winter Soldier was not previously aware of how much he would enjoy seeing Hydra operatives electrocuted, but appreciates the new knowledge.

“Whatever, you owe me coffee,” Darcy says, shooting him a look. “You owe me so much coffee. Thank Thor I’ve always got, like, ten extra charges in this thing. Literally thank Thor, he got Iron Man to upgrade it.”

“Thank you, Thor,” the Winter Soldier responds automatically, then reports: “There was a coffee machine in the motel room.” Darcy gives him an annoyed look.

“Oh my god, how am I even supposed to stay mad when you say things like that,” she says disbelievingly, shaking her head as she reaches up to hook their fingers together. The Winter Soldier is pleased. “Fine, then you owe me a motel room, I hope you’re happy, dude.”

“I am happy,” he confirms, although yesterday he couldn’t even have identified the feeling to complete a mission. Darcy pauses, then gives him a crooked little smile and pushes up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

“Ugh,” she says, “you’re awful, it’s so great, I am totally putting you in my cover photo. I am putting you in my profile picture. I might just Photoshop you over my ex-intern in all his photos while I’m at it.”

“Ex-intern?” The Winter Soldier tilts his head questioningly, and Darcy waves him off.

“We dated for a while after the time-before-last the world almost got destroyed, it didn’t really work out,” she says. “Well, I guess SHIELDRA wasn’t gonna destroy the world so much as just murder large chunks of it but still. Anyway the dude was a pretty good kisser but he wanted to go to Berkeley for grad school and I just, I can’t, I am just not that kind of girl. And plus I still need an intern, you know? How do you keep dating your ex-intern, that’s just not how that works. At Berkeley!”

“I don’t understand the reference,” the Winter Soldier says, then frowns in concern. Darcy doesn’t have an asset that she needs to operate at full efficiency. Darcy should absolutely have the assets that she needs to operate at full efficiency. “What do interns do?”

“That one in particular? Honestly, just made out with me and did the heavy lifting,” Darcy replies frankly as she shrugs underneath his arm, but not with any intent to dislodge it. “Oh, and he saved my life the one time but that was sort of bonus.”

“Mission accepted,” the Winter Soldier confirms immediately, giving her a sharp nod. He has already done at least two and a half of those things; achieving the third will not be difficult.

“Wait, what,” Darcy says blankly, but then the HYDRA reinforcements jump them and the rest of the conversation has to be delayed. Darcy yells a lot and uses up the rest of her taser charges, and the Winter Soldier does the heavy lifting.

Being an intern is already much better than being an asset, he decides with no small amount of satisfaction.

Chapter Text

“Good news, I got us a new Ian! Like, an actually East Coast-based one, you’re welcome,” Darcy announces smugly into her phone. She is petting the Winter Soldier’s back as she speaks, and he makes a content noise and resettles more comfortably underneath her, rubbing the side of his face against the new motel room’s sheets. Jane-the-voice does not make a content noise, so the Winter Soldier can only assume her cars remain unbumped.

“The Avengers called me,” Jane-the-voice says. “They’ve seen Facebook.”

“Holy shit, did Tony Stark finally friend me back?” Darcy asks, sounding delighted. “Wait, why didn’t they call me, now I’m offended. No way my phone number is that hard to track down, I’m not even on any no-call lists.”

“Because you’re wandering around New York with the most prolific assassin in recorded history and they’re trying not to get you killed, Darcy!” Jane-the-voice hisses shrilly. Something fragile-sounding breaks in the background, but Darcy does not seem concerned and so neither is the Winter Soldier. “And how would I know?! It’s probably a complicated tracking algorithm or another AI or something, Tony Stark probably hacked the Internet for this, or wait, no, maybe it’s just because you actually went ahead and tagged Bucky Barnes!”

“Yeah, I was surprised they let me do that too, I guess he’s got a fan page or something,” Darcy muses distractedly, digging the heel of a hand into the Winter Soldier’s back in a place that he has previously had hurt very badly when the heel of a hand dug into it. Somehow, though, the way Darcy does it makes his toes curl. “But I figured they’d notice that one if nothing else. Although come to think of it, is Captain America even on Facebook?”

“Why would I know that?!” Jane demands, voice going a little shrill again.

“Good point,” Darcy agrees, curling her nails in against the bottom of the Winter Soldier’s spine. The gesture makes him want to liquefy.

“You’re a fucking peach, sweetheart,” Bucky Barnes sighs, going limp against the blankets.

“. . . are you. Are you talking to me in front of him,” Jane-the-voice asks flatly, sounding strangled. “Is that a thing that you are doing.”

“Nope!” Darcy chirps, running both hands up the Winter Soldier’s spine. He assumes the phone is tucked into the curve of her shoulder now and the thought that she would go to the effort of freeing up both hands to touch him is very, very pleasant. “Definitely not, right, sweetheart?”

“Affirmative,” the Winter Soldier confirms at the question. “Darcy is behind me.”

Jane-the-voice makes an incomprehensible noise, and Darcy laughs and sets the phone down on the mattress next to them before switching it to speaker. The Winter Soldier wants to kiss her, but also not to dislodge her hands ever again.

“Isn’t he great?” she asks gleefully, and both Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier preen this time. “He just says that shit, it’s the best. Seriously, dude, you’re totally the best.”

“Any other assassin would be inferior,” the Winter Soldier agrees, eyes drifting shut contentedly as Darcy does something very nice to his lower back. Jane-the-voice makes more incomprehensible noises, some of which sound violent, but Darcy just snorts and rubs a little harder at his back, carefully feeling out the tight knots of muscle up by his shoulder and underneath all the scar tissue.

Bucky Barnes purrs.

“So anyway,” Darcy says, sounding smug and a little breathless. “Jane, this is Bucky. Bucky, this is Jane. She’s your new boss. Like, I’m your boss but she’s my boss. Don’t sweat it, though, you can just report to me.”

“Affirmative. Mission parameters accepted,” the Winter Soldier confirms blissfully as Jane-the-voice chokes incoherently and Darcy pets the back of his neck. He’s fairly certain his legs have stopped working and is not even remotely concerned to be compromised.

“Good man,” Darcy approves, and the Winter Soldier’s eyes snap back open. Good . . .

“Asset,” he corrects uncertainly, fingers curling against the sheets and tone just barely wavering, and Jane-the-voice inhales sharply on the other end of the line. Darcy does not stop petting his neck.

“Man,” she repeats firmly, and doesn’t say anything when he buries his face in the mattress.

The word doesn’t fit, but it . . . it sounds good, when she says it.

Chapter Text

“Oh god,” Jane-the-voice says, staring up at the Winter Soldier, who stares down in return. Jane-the-voice is small and thin and endlessly energetic; level two physical threat, level seventeen psychological. She is a doctor. A scientist, one with a lab which is surprisingly free of guards and tasers--aside from Darcy’s, obviously--although the Winter Soldier has yet to find her chair. There are chairs, just not the kind he’s used to.

Maybe she’ll program him off-site, he thinks, still staring at her. A chair would take up too much space in a lab this small anyway, probably.

“Isn’t he great?” Darcy enthuses. Jane-the-voice makes a nervous noise, cringing a little. The Winter Soldier drops his head and breaks eye contact to display obedience, and Bucky Barnes almost immediately flicks his eyes back up to look at her through his lashes, mouth going crooked.

Jane-the-voice makes a very nervous noise and turns bright red.

“Darcy, you’re fired,” she says, breathlessly and with great feeling.

“I know, right?” Darcy says triumphantly, gesturing expansively to the Winter Soldier. “Dude’s amazing. And super-hot. And a cyborg assassin, like, literally my dream man from junior high. Literally, I have some pretty embarrassing diary entries I can excavate from that particular time period if you want proof. And you should see him with his clothes off--”

The Winter Soldier automatically goes for the zipper of his jeans, and Jane-the-voice shrieks and throws her hands up over her eyes.

“Darcy!”

“Watching my mouth, yuuuup, got it,” Darcy says with a wince, grabbing the Winter Soldier’s hands before he can shove his pants down and peering up at him with a flash of concern. “Hey, you know that wasn’t like, an order, right?”

“Yes,” the Winter Soldier confirms. Darcy cocks her head, squinting curiously at him as she zips him back up and gives him an absent-minded little grope in the process. The contact makes him feel warm and content and like he wants to kiss her, and he starts to lean towards her automatically.

“Why’d you do it, then?” she asks, unfortunately derailing that particular plan. He doesn’t bother to straighten up, though, because at least they’re closer like this.

“You were describing the qualifications of your asset,” he replies. “I was being supportive. You appreciate a supportive dude.”

“You’re wonderful,” Darcy says fervently, clasping his hands in her own and then pulling them to her chest. The Winter Soldier is mostly certain that is not an instruction to return the groping, but Bucky Barnes is leaning towards doing it anyway. “Crazy wonderful. Like, best intern I’ve ever had, including biblically.”

Bucky Barnes grins, and the Winter Soldier is pleased. He returns the groping because she has not let go of his hands yet and kisses her after all for good measure, and Jane-the-voice buries her face in her hands despondently.

“This is going to do terrible things for our insurance,” she says.

“Worse than Erik’s last five breakdowns and Thor and his buddies being Thor and his buddies? Really?” Darcy asks distractedly, mostly occupied with kissing the Winter Soldier back.

“. . . point,” Jane-the-voice admits, then sighs. “Here, Bucky, why don’t you just . . . come over here and take a seat, we’ll get you settled. Whenever you’re . . . done with that, I mean. Um.”

“I don’t understand,” the Winter Soldier says, breaking off the kiss to look around in confusion, even though kissing Darcy is far superior to looking around Jane-the-voice’s lab. Jane-the-voice appears to be indicating a stool with no trace of equipment attached, and he cannot imagine how he could be effectively wiped and reprogrammed on it.

“Sit here,” Jane-the-voice says, pulling out the stool a little and gesturing at it. “You still, uh, do that, right, HYDRA let you sit and . . . sit.”

“Oh he sits alright,” Darcy says, waggling her eyebrows pointedly before planting another kiss on the Winter Soldier’s cheek. He remembers what she felt like in his lap and immediately drops down on the stool. The Winter Soldier isn’t sure where to put his arms once he’s sat down--the stool has no restraints--so he just grips the sides of the seat and promises himself he will not move. He will prove to Darcy that he is superior to her previous asset. She does not sit on his lap again, unfortunately, but she does lean against his side, so he counts that as a successfully completed objective.

“Okay, this is how the toaster works,” Jane-the-voice begins patiently, grabbing a silvery package out of a cupboard and lugging an odd boxy machine closer across the counter, and the Winter Soldier pauses. That . . . is definitely not part of a chair. That’s not even part of a field wipe.

“What,” he says, watching blankly as Jane-the-voice tears the silvery package open and reveals two bizarre-looking rations, then drops both into the machine and depresses a lever. There are sprinkles. The Winter Soldier has no idea what purpose sprinkles serve, but is fairly certain he isn’t supposed to be able to recognize them on sight either. Bucky Barnes disavows all knowledge of their existence, and also recommends the rainbow-colored kind.

“No, no, Jane’s on the right track, this is definitely the place to start,” Darcy says with a grin, clapping her hands together. “And after this, the microwave.”

“I don’t understand,” the Winter Soldier says, frowning at the boxy machine.

“Pop-Tarts are a vital responsibility of an intern,” Jane-the-voice explains as she hits the lever again and the machine spits the rations back out, then gives him one of them. Bucky Barnes bites into it and groans.

“Oh my god, I’m never going back to government work,” he says feelingly. The Winter Soldier takes the next bite, sneaking a glimpse at Darcy as she beams over at him, and agrees very definitely with the sentiment.

“Good,” Darcy says, patting his back. “Unpaid internships are a serious commitment.”

“Will there be rainbow-colored sprinkles?” the Winter Soldier asks hopefully, holding up the remains of his ration as Bucky Barnes puts on a winning smile. Darcy and Jane-the-voice both look at him for a long, long moment, then at each other.

“Remember how I teased you for, like, six months after Thor?” Darcy asks Jane-the-voice.

“I have some recollection of that, yes,” she agrees dryly.

“I was wrong. You were a bastion of self-restraint,” Darcy sighs, then takes the other ration from Jane-the-voice and passes it to the Winter Soldier, who makes a pleased noise and starts eating it too. “Also, I’m going to need to know where you keep getting those 72-packs of Pop-Tarts like, yesterday. And more taser cartridges, come to think of it, which should really not be a related concern.”

“Sweetheart, you are the most fun I’ve ever had without shooting somebody,” Bucky Barnes says admiringly. The Winter Soldier is not a hundred percent certain what having fun actually feels like, but suspects the other is right anyway.

“Says the guy who goes around hitting dumbass muggers with trash can lids,” Darcy snorts, but she’s smirking.

“That was fun too,” the Winter Soldier agrees, and leans in to kiss her again.

Chapter Text

Thor does not have a car.

“Holy shit,” Bucky Barnes says, staring wide-eyed at the tall blond wall of visibly sparking muscle that just breezed into the middle of Jane-the-voice’s lab wearing strange armor and carrying an intimidating warhammer. The Winter Soldier stares too: physical threat twenty, he thinks. Psychological threat . . .

“Hello,” Thor greets with a warm, inviting smile, setting aside his crackling hammer. His cape and armor disappear and are immediately replaced with worn-in jeans and a warm and soft looking T-shirt and flannel button-down. He looks like he could pick the Winter Soldier up with one arm and Darcy and Jane-the-voice with the other.

Psychological threat also twenty, the Winter Soldier decides immediately, his heart rate unreasonably elevated. Or at least very close to it. At least an eighteen or nineteen.

Is twenty-one an option?

He wants to bite him.

“Pop-Tarts are a vital responsibility of an intern,” he says abruptly, holding out the plate of them he’d made himself while Darcy and Jane-the-voice went to the store, and Thor’s face lights up. Twenty-one is definitely an option, the Winter Soldier decides at the sight, and he and Bucky Barnes both agree to sacrifice a meal for the first time since sometime in the late 1940s.

Thor eats both rations and the Winter Soldier could be making more, probably, but is more occupied sitting at the other end of the table, watching him chew and inspecting the very soft-looking T-shirt. It clings. To . . . places.

“You are staring, Intern Bucky. Is something the matter?” Thor asks, tucking the last bite of ration into his mouth.

“I like your shirt,” the Winter Soldier replies dreamily, chin in his hands.

“Thank you!” Thor says with a pleased grin. “My Jane obtained it for me. She was most insistent I should be properly equipped in Midgardian garb for my time here.”

“Uh-huh,” the Winter Soldier answers in the same dreamy tone, paying very close attention as Thor brushes crumbs off his chest. He has very capable hands; the Winter Soldier is eighty-seven percent certain that they are capable of killing him without any assistance from a weapon. Bucky Barnes has several alternative suggestions, however, and the Winter Soldier decides to follow up on one of those. “Do you know what a massage is?”

“I do indeed,” Thor says with another level twenty-one smile, and five minutes later the Winter Soldier is moaning happily into the couch cushions as Thor gets out the deep tissue knots in his back that Darcy didn’t have the super-strength to deal with. Through the body armor.

Maybe twenty-one wasn’t high enough.

“I’ve never felt this good with my pants on,” Bucky Barnes sighs blissfully.

“Would it be better without them?” Thor asks, pausing. Bucky Barnes mentally shorts out and completely ceases being helpful, so the Winter Soldier just shrugs.

“When Darcy did it neither of us wore clothing,” he supplies, lacking further data.

“Well, when on Midgard!” Thor says with good-natured cheer, taking off his flannel overshirt and moving to do the same with his soft and clingy T-shirt. The Winter Soldier would protest, except Thor is taking off his shirt.

“Ngh,” Bucky Barnes says, and immediately gets up to help him. Bucky Barnes is much more helpful than the Winter Soldier, generally speaking, but for once the Winter Soldier can understand the desire.

“My thanks,” Thor says as Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier help him drag his shirt over his head. His miles of long blond hair are left rumpled and disheveled by the effort and he is still smiling, and Bucky Barnes proceeds to go on the fritz again almost immediately.

The Winter Soldier is somewhat concerned by Bucky Barnes’s sudden rush of unanticipated malfunctions, but not enough to dissuade Thor from helping him take off his own shirt and the leather and kevlar body armor underneath. Thor makes an impressed noise when he sees where the arm and scar tissue connect.

“A fine weapon,” he admires. “May I?”

“Absolutely,” Bucky Barnes agrees immediately, and Thor touches the Winter Soldier’s arm, pulling it between them to examine. He could pull it apart, the Winter Soldier thinks, watching how carefully he handles it. He could, but he won’t.

Twenty-two it is.

“It is very impressive,” Thor says approvingly, lacing their fingers together and squeezing testingly. The Winter Soldier’s arm whirrs loudly as his coolant systems come online with a vengeance, and Thor looks intrigued. “Is it often so loud?”

“Once I completed a mission in a desert,” the Winter Soldier says. “And also when Darcy Lewis pins me.”

“Where is Darcy?” Thor asks, glancing around the lab curiously as he lets go of the arm. The Winter Soldier tries not to be disappointed; Bucky Barnes is downright mournful. “I had expected her and Jane to be in this afternoon.”

“They went to resupply the lab’s supply of Pop-Tarts and waffles. But not ammunition. This lab does not have a supply of ammunition,” the Winter Soldier says, unable to keep the slight disappointment out of his voice at that. Although--“Darcy promised she’d buy me Pop-Tarts with rainbow-colored sprinkles.”

“An excellent choice!” Thor says, beaming. The Winter Soldier thinks about that.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to do that,” he says eventually.

“Do what?” Thor asks, expression turning curious.

“Choose things,” the Winter Soldier says. Thor looks surprised.

“Whyever not?” he asks. “Rainbow-colored sprinkles are one of the finest delicacies of your world.”

“I am an asset,” the Winter Soldier replies automatically, then hesitates because that is not an accurate classification any longer. Because if he is something else, then he is no longer the thing he was previously--right? He is the Winter Soldier and he is an asset. He is not Bucky Barnes anymore. Bucky Barnes is just . . . something that happens to him, sometimes. But not him.

He is Darcy’s intern and he corrected her when she called him a man instead of an asset, but he let Bucky Barnes tell her there was no such person as the Winter Soldier and has not once corrected her for calling him “Bucky”.

“An asset to what?” Thor asks, frowning questioningly, and the Winter Soldier stiffens.

“Darcy,” he says. “I am Darcy’s asset. She requires an intern, and support, and someone to make out with her and do the heavy lifting and--and save her life.” That’s the way Darcy said it. It’s not quite the words the Winter Soldier wants to say, but it’s a facet of them.

Protect her, he wants to say, like he was ever used for anything like that in his life. Like he would have any idea how to do it.

Bucky Barnes did, once.

“Then I assure you, my friend, Darcy will most certainly expect you to choose things,” Thor tells him, and Bucky Barnes’ gut twists up tight and painful. “She would not expect mindless obedience from her vassal.”

“I do not have friends,” the Winter Soldier says, staring at nothing. Captain America does not light up to see him anymore. Captain America will never look at him without pain in his eyes again.

He is only good at mindless obedience.

“You also told me that you do not make choices,” Thor says, gentle and terrible. “But you chose, did you not? No one told you to swear allegiance to Darcy. You decided you would.”

“That’s--” The Winter Soldier blinks, and shakes his head. He didn’t decide, he just . . . Bucky Barnes happened a few times, and Darcy happened a few more, and . . .

And Darcy did not order him to be her intern. Did not even order him to come with her in the first place--hey, wanna blow off my job interview together? That was what she’d said. Not an order.

But he’d done it, hadn’t he. And he’d asked her what interns did, and he’d kissed her back in the museum and kissed her first in the lab. He’d decided to eat Pop-Tarts while she was grocery shopping with Jane, and decided to give them to Thor, and decided . . .

“Oh,” the Winter Soldier says helplessly as Thor squeezes his shoulder. The metal plates shift under his hand and again the Winter Soldier thinks Thor could tear it apart and again Thor does not tear it apart. Then his vision is compromised and blurring and Thor is letting him shove in close and holding him hard, grip strong and hard enough to hold him up.

. . . and still not wearing a shirt anymore, which is belatedly very distracting.

“You’re not wearing a shirt,” the Winter Soldier mentions exclusively because he cannot keep himself from saying it. Bucky Barnes mentally curses him for drawing attention to the fact. Thor will put one on now.

“Ah, yes,” Thor realizes, looking down between them. “We still need to take our pants off, of course.”

Level twenty-five, the Winter Soldier thinks, feeling unexpectedly light-headed.

“Oh my god,” Darcy says from the doorway, she and Jane-the-voice both staring at them with their arms full of groceries. Thor beams. Bucky Barnes panics, and also swoons, and is generally useless again.

“Thor approves of rainbow-colored sprinkles,” the Winter Soldier informs Darcy, because it is his vital responsibility as the intern he chose to be.

“And knows what a massage is,” Bucky Barnes adds with a leer, which is again not helpful.

“Marry me,” Darcy says fervently, clutching the groceries to her chest. The Winter Soldier immediately re-assesses Bucky Barnes’ helpfulness.

“Mission accepted,” he agrees.

Chapter Text

“What,” Captain America says the next day.

“I’m an intern,” the Winter Soldier informs him again, holding out the drink carrier full of coffee in his hands as proof. Interns retrieve coffee. It is not Starbucks coffee, although Starbucks was more efficiently placed in comparison. Darcy had disparaging things to say about Starbucks. “It’s my new mission.” Which is useful, because now he doesn’t feel an overwhelming urge to strangle Captain America and can relay information to him without doing it between punches.

“What,” the Falcon says.

“I’m an intern,” the Winter Soldier repeats one more time for clarification. Neither of them looks any less baffled, which is strange. It’s not a complicated report.

“I have no idea how this happened,” Jane-the-voice says apologetically, sweeping in between them to claim her coffee. “Thank you, Bucky--ohhhh, you went to a real coffee place, oh, oh, we’re definitely keeping you.”

“Dr. Foster!” Captain America protests, looking appalled. She blushes in embarrassment, but the Winter Soldier is pleased; he wants Jane-the-voice to keep him. Jane-the-voice has no requirement that he be wiped and has in fact already requested that he memorize multiple pieces of information and learn and retain several new skills, Thor approves of his operation of the toaster and microwave, and Darcy has informed him that he will not be required for fieldwork outside of basic retrieval missions and pick-up/drop-offs.

The Winter Soldier does not dislike fieldwork (cannot, could never, they burned that capacity out of him long, long ago--), but something in him that is not quite him but not just Bucky Barnes either . . .

There’s something in him that responded to not being required to do it, even if he doesn’t know what that something is.

Darcy has also informed him that they can only make out during their lunch breaks, which she was huffy about. The Winter Soldier understood, but had already decided that being allowed to remember things and make out with Darcy during lunch breaks is the ideal position.

. . . well, no, the ideal position is technically the rooftop on their six with the exemplary cover and perfect line of sight to--

“Bucky,” Captain America says, gripping the Winter Soldier’s shoulders and looking very sincerely worried. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? What happened?”

“She tazed a HYDRA goon for me, Stevie,” Bucky Barnes tells him gleefully, grinning up at him. Captain America blinks. “She tazed multiple HYDRA goons and then stepped on them while they was still twitchin’. I’m thinkin’ a spring wedding, how’s that sound to you?”

“Uh,” Captain America says.

“Actually, in a hilarious twist of fate, I’ve secretly always wanted to be a winter bride,” Darcy mentions to the room at large, leaning back in her chair to peer over at them. “Like, everybody does June, you know? Although everyone I’ve told that to gave me shit for it but still.”

“I will remove anyone who questions your authority,” the Winter Soldier informs her, holding out the remaining coffee to her, and Darcy takes her cup and grins up at him.

“Man, the history books weren’t kidding about you, dude,” she says. “You really know how to treat a girl right.”

“I’m going to be honest, I did not come fully prepared for this situation,” Captain America says, very obviously concerned. The Winter Soldier wonders why.

“It is summer,” he says. “Mission parameters leave sufficient time to obtain necessary equipment.”

“. . . and what necessary equipment is that, exactly?” the Falcon asks, expression morbidly curious.

“Traditional American weddings require the best man to wear a tuxedo and plan the bachelor party,” the Winter Soldier reports, nodding to Captain America to make the point. “Suitable weapons and tactical gear will be required.”

“And strippers, dude, don’t forget the strippers!” Darcy pipes in helpfully, then pauses with a thoughtful expression. “. . . are Asgardian strippers a thing, do you think Thor would hire us some of those? What am I saying, he’d probably volunteer. In one way or the other.”

“I love you,” Bucky Barnes replies immediately.

“I’m going to sit down now,” Captain America decides, doing just that on the nearest stool. His face is very red. The Winter Soldier thinks about holding his hand to help him regulate his temperature, but Jane-the-voice’s lab is climate-controlled and that is likely unnecessary. He is disappointed.

“Don’t be like that, pal,” Bucky Barnes coaxes, draping himself over Captain America and patting the side of his face affectionately with the metal hand anyway. Captain America does not appear to be any less red--if anything he is even more so--but Darcy looks delighted.

“I’ve died and gone to Heaven and it’s Christmas every day here,” she says, snapping a photo with her phone. Bucky Barnes makes sure to smile for it. “Bucky, baby, you are a national treasure. Seriously, somebody tell me what I did to deserve this and/or whose altar I have to give thanks at. Do I owe Thor for this, is this a Thor thing? Sif?”

“I actually don’t even want to know, they might make us give him back,” Jane-the-voice says, sipping her coffee with a happy little noise.

“That is such a good point,” Darcy muses as she tucks her phone away again. “Oh hey, speaking of giving thanks, did you guys bring the new taser cartridges?”

“Stark said to tell you that you had to come by in person for them. Something about skipping a very important interview for cotton candy with a hot hobo in distress?” the Falcon says with a mild expression. Darcy does not look remotely guilty.

“To be fair, literally no one in this room would not skip one measly job interview for a hot hobo in distress, to say nothing of, like, breaking federal law and committing semi-treason,” she points out, raising her eyebrows. “Except maybe the actual hot hobo, like, I don’t know his feelings on patriotism.”

“The real sad thing is, I can’t even argue with that,” the Falcon says, eyeing Captain America pointedly as he and Jane-the-voice both glance away not-very-guiltily either.

“I’m an international criminal,” the Winter Soldier informs Darcy helpfully. Patriotism will not be a concern.

“You are not!” Captain America snaps, jerking to his feet again and clenching his fists. It is startling but not an unfamiliar sight, even to someone with as few memories as the Winter Soldier. Bucky Barnes it makes outright homesick. “You’re not a criminal or a traitor, you’re a war hero. You didn’t have a choice about anything they made you do.”

“I don’t think that’s right,” the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes both say, wearing one simultaneously doubtful expression, and the lab is silent for a moment as a truly wretched look crosses Captain America’s face.

Unsurprising. The Winter Soldier is not capable of making Captain America’s face look many other ways.

“You’re my friend,” Captain America says, shoulders tense and jaw tight. The Winter Soldier doubts the accuracy of this statement too, no matter what Thor says, but Bucky Barnes does not.

“I know that, Rogers,” he says. “Everybody knows that. It’s just the rest of what you said that’s gonna go over like a lead balloon.”

“If it does, that’s not on you,” Captain America replies, strong and steady, his eyes as piercing and pinning as any handler that the Winter Soldier has ever had, except nothing like any handler that the Winter Soldier has ever had. The only handler the Winter Soldier ever should have had, he thinks. “It’s nothing you deserve.”

“I don’t think that’s right,” the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes say again, neither of them doubtful this time but their shared heartbeat irrationally accelerated.

“That’s . . . that’s fine,” Captain America says, visibly struggling for a moment before his face resolves itself, jaw clenched and eyes stubbornly fixed. The Winter Soldier has a vague memory of those eyes in a smaller, thinner face, but that’s probably something that belongs to Bucky Barnes. “They’ll still have to get through me first.”

“That’s not . . .” the Winter Soldier starts unsteadily, but Bucky Barnes is on fire inside him and bristling all over, drawing their body up and pushing into Captain America’s space with it. “You fucking idiot, hell if I’d give them the chance.”

“Fine,” Captain America says again, not backing down an inch, not wavering in the slightest. Something clutches up inside either the Winter Soldier or Bucky Barnes and neither of them can tell what it is.

“You will compromise the mission,” the Winter Soldier says, not even knowing what he’s talking about.

“I don’t care,” Captain America says, and the Winter Soldier wonders if he knows. He sounds like he does. He looks like he does.

And he’s Captain America.

He’s . . .

The Winter Soldier pauses. He looks at Captain America, standing in front of him in rumpled civilian clothes and full certainty of the mission, of what the mission is, of countless things that are barely a flashed jumble in both sides of the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes’ shared mind. Captain America is trying to keep promises that Steve Rogers made, seventy years and a two lifetimes ago, or three, or eight. When he was Captain America’s asset, when the woman in the red dress and dark uniform and punch-mouthed lipstick was there, speaking short and sharp and like she would spit blood at any moment. When he was not deployed with handlers but with other assets, ones who--no. Not assets. Those men he sat with in warm and smoky dim-lit circles were something different from assets.

And Captain America . . . he was something different from a handler. The Winter Soldier is certain of this. He remembers just enough of what belongs to Bucky Barnes to be.

“Understood,” the Winter Soldier starts, and, “You stupid punk,” Bucky Barnes finishes. Captain America looks like he is in terrible, terrible pain, but also very happy to be there. Neither of them understand it.

“You are perfect, you know that?” Darcy sighs, scooting her chair back and reaching out. The Winter Soldier takes the hands she offers and grips them tight, and she tips her head back and gives him a crooked little grin. She looks like she could be hurt too, though, although not as much.

“Status report,” the Winter Soldier says anyway, concerned.

“Pretty swoony and a little heartbroken. Also, we haven’t made time in like ten hours,” Darcy replies, her little grin widening as she squeezes his hands. “It’s a serious problem.”

“There are definitely explosive chemicals available,” the Winter Soldier says, immediately looking towards the supply closet with an instinctively calculating expression.

“No blowing up the lab, we like the lab,” Darcy scolds, then pauses and amends, “Well, we like Jane, and Jane’s usually in the lab. Or important things that belong to Jane. Jane-related things in general. Wait, what does that even have to do with making time anyway.”

“Don’t ask me,” Bucky Barnes snorts, and she laughs and kisses the back of his hand, and the Winter Soldier’s hand too. Her lipstick leaves red marks on both and looks nothing like blood. Jane-the-voice is already back to her projects and the Falcon is watching them not half as warily as he was fifteen minutes ago, and Captain America . . . Captain America looks hurt and cracked apart, like always, but it’s only Steve Rogers underneath anyway.

He also looks lit up, where the cracks let it show.

“Yeah, you pass that buck, Bucky Barnes,” Darcy teases, grin widening again as she gives their hands another squeeze. “That’s my man.”

Asset, they do not correct her, and squeeze back.