Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Darcy Maria! Where are you at?"

Darcy didn't duck behind the counter like she wanted to, she didn't make a run for the front door (it was like five hundred degrees outside and 9 million percent humidity), she stood, frozen like a rabbit really hoping the hawk doesn't notice it. No such luck.

Madame Odette bustled through the door to the back of the shop and pinned Darcy with a look. She was a small woman, almost shockingly thin, a stiff breeze might carry her off, but she had a personality that filled every room she was in, and an aura of authority that nobody ignored.

"What is this?" The woman waved a paper in Darcy's face.

Darcy bent her head to try and read the waving page. "Your invoice."

"This is not what we agreed." Odette narrowed her eyes and shook the paper once more, emphatically, before slapping it down on the aged wood counter.

Darcy squinted at her, uncertain. "Right. It's less than we agreed. So … yay?"

"Are you sassing me?"

"No," Darcy said as quickly and sincerely as she could.

"Umhmm."

Darcy flinched at the skeptical hum and pointed at the computer she was working on. "Your computers were only a few months old. My initial quote included new equipment. And most of it I didn't end up having to buy. And I know a guy who got me a friends and family discount on the other pieces I needed. So …"

"Have you ever heard the saying 'truth, like light, travels only in straight lines'?"

Darcy blinked. "No."

"Umhmm." Odette nodded and stared at Darcy long enough that she shifted, shuffling her feet under the weight of the gaze. "How about 'truth needs no color'?"

Darcy snapped her fingers. "Shakespeare."

"There you go." The older woman nodded and absently tapped at the invoice on the counter. Then she turned to face the door to the back room and called out, "Nicolas, come shut up the front."

Nicolas stuck his head out of the back, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead. "But, maman, it's only one-thirty."

"And it's a hundred degrees out there. Only fools are walking around. We're gonna shut up for a couple hours. I've got something to take care of. Go on then." She turned to Darcy and pointed a finger. "You are coming with me."

Madame Odette strode out of the room to the back, and Darcy gave Nicolas a pleading look, but he only shrugged, winced, and flipped the sign on the shop window to 'closed'.

"You are no help," she hissed at him as he passed her, walked around the counter.

"Go with God," he whispered back, shaking his head and picking up the tablet Darcy'd set up for inventory purposes, and turned his attention to the jars of herbs and powders on the tall, wooden shelf.

"Darcy Maria!"

Darcy took in a deep breath, letting her shoulders rise to her ears, and then she let it out, until she slumped forward and shuffled into the back after Odette.

Darcy'd needed a break from life over the summer. Between the stress of school, the building expectations of her academic choices, the almost smothering uncertainty about her future, and her insane super hero father, she had a powerful need to slip away for a few weeks. Nothing dramatic, just a little traveling. She didn't run, everybody knew where she was, but she pled breathing room, and took it while she could grab it.

Using the time honored method of blindly poking at a map, randomness directed her to Hattiesburg, MS. Unfortunately, and no offense Mississippi, that didn't sound super exciting. However, her wandering eye picked out a more likely spot just to the south — New Orleans, Louisiana.

She'd never been to New Orleans, but it always sounded like one of those places you had to check out at least once. So, she bought a ticket, booked a hotel room, and took off before anybody could get too clingy (Tony). Mostly New Orleans was pretty great, and she'd taken the time to do all the cliched New Orleans things like go to Jazz clubs and eat gumbo and stare out at the Mississippi.

Except she'd calculated poorly, and within half a day of arriving, she felt the truest hell of a deep South summer. A summer the likes of which she, as a Southern California desert girl, had never known. Stepping outside, even early in the morning pre-dawn, was like trying to force her way through a hot, wet, sponge.

On her second day in town, she'd attempted to flee the heat by ducking into a psychic herbalist shop a few blocks from her hotel. The pungent scent of herbs almost knocked her back out into the heat, but the alluringly cool air swirling through the heavy aroma had her taking a step forward.

Her first sight of Madame Odette and her son Nicolas came a couple seconds later, as her attention was pulled from the overwhelming array of crystals, glass jars, tins, curiously carved candles, and cabinets full of mystical doodads Darcy couldn't even begin to identify. They were arguing over their computer and Nicolas even went so far as to whack it with the flat of his palm a couple times. Darcy winced at the tech abuse.

At the blast of heat from the outside, Odette broke off from the argument, waved her son away, and stepped around the counter towards Darcy, grinning. Her first words were a cryptic, "The ways of the gods are full of providence". Twenty minutes later Darcy had a job fixing and updating the shop's computer and inventory systems, and by the end of the day, a small apartment above the store. It was really hard to say 'no' to Madame Odette.

Three weeks later, Darcy'd finished her work, submitted her invoice to Odette, and was just running through everything one last time. She had to go home soon, she'd run away long enough. But not, apparently, before a lecture from the colorful proprietress.

She followed Madame Odette through the back hallway and into the room the woman used for the customers who came for a little psychic guidance.

"Sit yourself down," Odette waved to a chair and sat herself down on the other side of the small, brocade cloth-covered table. Darcy sat warily.
"Now, about this invoice—"

"It's fair," Darcy protested. "The work wasn't much, mostly it was just data entry. And the rest really was for equipment you didn't end up needing."

"I don't take charity," Odette warned.

"It's not charity. It's the truth. Plus, you let me stay in the apartment."

"Well, with my little girl off up north, she hardly needs it right now." Odette waved off her comment. "No good it sitting empty."

"So, I took off for the rent, too," Darcy explained. "It's still cheaper than the hotel. I mean, I could take off more—"

"Don't you dare."

Darcy held her hands up, yielding to Odette. "Okay, okay."

Odette watched her for a time, then turned in her seat and reached over to the sideboard, picking up a small, velvet box. "I've got something for you."

"You don't have to—"

"Shht," she put a finger to her lips, stilling Darcy. "But, first, let me ask you — what have I taught you?"

Darcy sat back and thought for a moment. "That none of the things I wanted to put into that gris-gris for my dad are things that ought to go in a gris-gris? But, seriously, you don't know him. Lug nuts are 100% appropriate."

Odette gave her a fond, slightly exasperated smile. "Oh, darling, I'll be sad to see you go. So will Nicolas. I don't suppose you'd stay on and marry that boy?"

"Uh, he has a girlfriend?"

Odette sighed and waved her hand. "She's a sweet girl, but lord is she dull."

Darcy pursed her lips together, but had to agree. Vivianne was sweet and kind, and the single most boring person Darcy had ever met. She kind of suspected Nicolas liked her because she was the polar opposite of his bold and extremely vivid mother.

"Never mind that," Odette said. "What else?"

"Um, you can tell a person's whole life from their body language?"

"That's right." She nodded her approval. "You'd be a decent psychic yourself, you know. You read people well. You might not have the 'sight', but you see deep anyway.

"I know you're not a believer, and that's okay. Your head is full of numbers and logic. You make the connections in life the way you make them, and that's how it ought to be. The only eyes we can see out of are our own. But, skeptical as you are, I appreciate how you let yourself have questions, how you were respectful, how you never scoffed. You're a good girl."

Darcy nodded. "It's been fun. Really. And fascinating. And, okay, sure, so I don't really believe, but that doesn't mean it's not interesting, how you do what you do."

Odette nodded and crossed her hands on the table. "People come in here for a lot of reasons, you've seen this enough now. Sometimes they come in just for fun, a taste of mystical ol' New Orleans. And that's okay. I'll give them a little show, but tell them the truth, same as I tell anybody. Some people come for guidance; they know what they need to do, but they need an extra nudge.

"And some people come to Madame Odette because they're lost, they feel adrift, cut off from their family or friends or God or whathaveyou, like they're floating alone in the world. They want to know that that's not true, that they're still connected to the pulse of life. And I've never once met somebody who wasn't. Sometimes, people just get lost."

Odette, having made her speech, sat back and looked at Darcy. Darcy wasn't quite sure what to say to that. But, Odette waited. And eventually she got an inkling of what the older woman was after.

"So," Darcy said, dragging the word out, reluctant to hear what Madame Odette had to say, but unable to avoid the question. "Why did I come here?"

"You were as lost as any." Darcy made a face and snorted. "Oh, no, don't laugh. I could see it and I could 'see' it." She touched a hand to her forehead. "See it in the line of your body, and see it in the ache in your heart."

Odette leaned forward and grabbed one of Darcy's hands in her cool, smooth one. "I never pressed, wasn't my never mind, you keep your secrets. But somebody did you a great harm. I saw it when you walked in. And you're still bleeding from it. I'm sorry to say, I think you will be for a while yet." Darcy winced and looked away. Obadiah. A raw, clawing wound of fear and rage.

Giving her hand a comforting squeeze, Odette let go and picked up the box, opening it to reveal a pice of finely polished malachite. "You're gonna take this. Now, some say it's good for healing the spirit and the mind. But others say it's a pretty rock. I don't much care which way you go, but whatever else, let it be a memory of your time here. Hopefully a happy one."

Darcy plucked the stone out of the box and held it in her hand, running a thumb over the smooth surface, tracing the swirling green. Spirit mind healing, meh, but it was beautiful and the depth in the lines of green certainly had a soothing quality to them. "Thank you."

"Umhmm." Madame Odette watched her thumb working over the stone for a long minute. "It occurred to me the other night that you never asked for a reading. Not even for fun. And as curious as you are, I'd have thought you'd want to have your own experience."

Darcy shrugged. "Well, not really a believer."

"Suppose that's true. Well, you've been here nearly a month, I can't say I haven't seen you. You're an interesting girl, and I'll admit, some of what I've seen, I can't make heads or tails of."

Darcy smirked. The larger, skeptic part of her was amused at the challenge Madame Odette set for herself, there was even an edge of cocksure arrogance to it — like a dare, 'sure, try to read me'. But there was a tiny maybe not so skeptical part of her that was just waiting for the woman to toss her biggest secret right on the table. The large part, with a dash of curiosity, won. "Lay it on me."

Odette accepted the challenge with a raised eyebrow and a smirk of her own. "You're gonna touch the stars. But, you won't be among them; no, they're gonna fall right down out of the heavens at your feet, and your whole world will change like that," she snapped her fingers sharply.

"If a star falls down at my feet, I think the whole world's going to turn to ash. I mean, stars being burny and fiery and all."

"Tsk, tsk, no scoffing." Odette waved a finger at her. "Sometimes connections are direct, and sometimes they're more symbolic. The bigger things are too big to see the whole wide scope of, so they come around in more metaphorical shapes. Placeholders, if you like. So, I don't mean a literal star, and you know that."

"Sorry," Darcy muttered, but she was still smiling.

"I know you're a lot more than you seem. And I know that you've spent your whole life hiding that. You tell the truth, but you strip it bare, like a branch. You've pulled off all the fresh new buds, the sweet flowers, the green leaves that turn with the seasons. The truth you offer is gray and winter-brittle." Darcy stiffened at that assessment. It didn't sound particularly complimentary.

Madame Odette reached forward and gave her hand another pat. "You have your reasons. A secret you keep locked up tight and that hurt you try so hard to hide." She frowned and pursed her lips, concerned. "Now, that worries me. Do me a favor, don't let that fester in you. Your heart's too good to let in somebody else's rot."

"Yes, ma'am," Darcy muttered.

"The most confusing thing to me is time," Odette murmured, studying Darcy closely. "There are people you've known your whole life, but you haven't met them yet, but you will."

"Clive Owen?" Darcy guessed with a laugh.

"Don't sass," Odette chided absently. "And somebody you met for the first time when you were young, and they'll meet you for the first time when you're older. You'll be backwards to each other."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"That's what I'm saying." Odette shook her head and puzzled over it for a moment. "Never mind. You're smart enough to figure it out."

"Am I Merlin?"

Odette's dark eyes narrowed. "What did I say about sassing me?"

"Not to do it," Darcy repeated obediently.

"Umhmm," Odette agreed with a sharp look. "Truth can be a prickly thing and a heavy burden. But it can also be joy and beauty. You will be one of truth's keepers. I know you're not afraid of the burden, but I think you're afraid of the joy."

"Why would I be afraid of joy?" Darcy asked with a little laugh and a skeptical twist to her lips. "I like joy. Joy's awesome."

"You're afraid it won't be there." Odette pointed a finger at her. "And that's the thing you want to know most but are most afraid to ask. The secret you keep, the wound you hide, the thin truth you offer — you hold people back. You were betrayed. Now that I don't have to see, I can see it in your face with my body's eyes. But, darling, there will come a day, when you will let the secret free, your wound will heal, you'll let the truth live, and you won't be floating all alone."

"Okay."

"You've got such a big heart, it wants to love and trust and be open. It will be. I promise you. You're not adrift, you're waiting."

"For what?"

Odette laughed, warm and rich. "For the stars to fall."

Darcy gave her a flat look and rolled her eyes. "Sure. I hope you don't mind if I don't hold my breath."

"Doesn't matter one way or the other." She waved her hand. "Truth is truth to the end of reckoning."

Darcy shook her head and muttered, "You really do like Shakespeare."

"Second only to the good book. I got one more for you, 'be just and fear not'. You'll need that most of all."

Forcing a half grin, half grimace, Darcy rolled her eyes and said, "Wonderful. Can't wait."

Chapter Text

Steve frowned at his ringing phone; the ID said ‘blocked’ and nobody who knew how to reach him had any reason to block their number. He almost didn’t answer.

“Rogers.” There was a long beat of dead air. “Hello?”

“… Steve?”

Breath caught in his chest and he stilled. The voice on the other end was low and rough but he’d recognize it anywhere. “Bucky?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you? I’ll get there as quick as—”

“Stop looking for me.”

“Buck—”

“No.”

“But Buck, I can—”

“I said no,” his voice snapped with hard finality.

“Why?”

“I just … not right now. I’m not good.”

“I don’t care.”

“No.”

Steve ran a hand over his face and closed his eyes, trying to stem his disappointment and his worry. “It’s good to hear from you.”

“Darcy always tells me to call you.”

“Darcy? Wait … always?” Damn it, Darcy.

“I saw her today.”

Steve let out a long breath of frustration, one Bucky must have heard, because his tone was sharp when he continued, “We have an agreement. Don’t give her any shit for this.”

“No, I won’t.”

“I mean it.”

“I read you, buddy,” Steve muttered, resigned to the reality that his two best friends would give him an ulcer at some point. But, well, he had them both, somehow Bucky was here, alive. As frustrating and awful as this was, as much as it hurt, Bucky was still here.

“She’ll call you tomorrow, maybe. I gave her some information on Hydra locations.”

“Okay. I’ll look into it.”

“Good.”

“Are you okay?”

Bucky was silent for a long minute and Steve held his breath the whole time.

“I’m sorry about everything,” he said at last.

“Aw, Buck, it wasn’t you.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you — what do you remember?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you remember before the war? How I was always getting into scrapes?”

“I don’t know.”

“You always pulled me out. If you need me, pal, just … just say the word.”

When Bucky didn’t respond at all, Steve felt a spike of fear and desperation, like he was losing his friend all over again. “Bucky?”

“I’ve gotta go. When you talk to Darcy, tell her I took the grenade this time.”

“What’s that mean?”

“She’ll know.”

Chapter Text

“Sgt. Barnes. Come in.” Coulson stood up from his desk and crossed over to greet Bucky, who held out a bundle to him. Coulson took the napkin-wrapped package and lifted a corner. “Thank you. I’m generally more of a Dunkin’ Donuts man, myself, but I’ll never turn down a creme filled. Have a seat.” Bucky continued to stand passively, if tensely. “Or not.”

Coulson retook his seat and gazed at his donuts for a moment before pushing them to one side. This wasn’t a donut sort of conversation, and he really had no idea how it was going to go.

“Thank you for helping Darcy.”

“She shouldn’t have been there,” Bucky growled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“She is a SHIELD agent, Sergeant. She is fully qualified. And despite what she thinks, she’s actually pretty good at it.” Coulson sat back and took a minute to really consider the man in front of him. Darcy was right, your brain could accept that you were looking at Bucky Barnes only so long before everything took on a very surreal tinge.

“I’ve noticed,” Coulson continued, “that she’s had some more self-confidence since she met you. Maybe some of that is just time and experience. Especially the timing, right after SHIELD’s fall. It’s funny, because you’d think she’d just be brimming with self-confidence, but that hasn’t always been the case. A lot of what you see is surface confidence, and, admittedly, she’s got that in spades.”

Bucky let out a long, harsh breath through his nose and his posture relaxed from bone-achingly rigid, to slightly less rigid. “I’ve noticed.”

“She spent a lot of time hiding in her father’s shadow. I think she was always afraid she’d never measure up. The Stark name is a pretty heavy one to carry.”

“Yeah. She thinks the world of her pops, though.”

“I know. Actually makes me like the guy.” Coulson offered him a thin-lipped smile. Bucky didn’t return it. Figured Darcy would bring in a tough nut to crack. She was the same, after all.

“We’re working hard to put SHIELD back together,” he offered, trying to explain the hows and whys of sending Darcy out. “To make it right. I believe SHIELD is important, I believe it was founded for the right reasons, and I will do everything in my power to help it be an agency we can all be proud of. Darcy is a SHIELD agent, and I know that’s important to her. I trust her with sensitive information, and sensitive situations, because I know she can be discrete and I know without a doubt where her loyalties are. With Hydra’s infiltration and their continuing operations against us, it’s hard to know who to trust. I trust her.”

“That’s great. Just great.” Bucky’s jaw clenched and he looked away from Coulson. “You know she doesn’t want to let you down, so she’ll take assignments like this and nearly get herself killed.”

Darcy’d been unsurprisingly vague on the details, Coulson’d learned to tell how harrowing a situation was by how bland and bureaucratically on-point her reports were — the worse the situation the more boring her report — but maybe now he had a new way to get more complete stories from her in the future. “How nearly?”

“Bad enough.”

“Sergeant—”

He let out another snort of breath and ran a hand through is hair. “I don’t know. I guess maybe she could’ve got out. She’s good at keeping her head together. But, it was a six man team, and there were two of them. I got rid of the first before they even got to the air strip, but they slowed me down getting to the second.”

“I see.” Coulson felt the uncomfortable twist of that stubborn knot of tension that kept building behind his left shoulder blade. “I wish I could have sent a team, but I didn’t have anybody else at the time, and Holloway assured me he was secure. But, even beyond that, the case is too important to let Hydra get it.”

“What’s in it?”

“No idea. Haven’t had a chance to open it yet.”

Bucky’s eyes went cold and his voice, when he spoke, was hard and sharp, “Are you kidding me?”

“Sgt. Barnes, SHIELD kept a lot of secrets. Part of that, of course, led to our own destruction. But, some of those secrets were kept to keep the world safe. If they got out …,” he let the thought trail off into the silent suggestion of horrible things that might happen. “Now they’re scattered across the globe. I’m trying to track them down, make sure they’re secure, but I don’t have as many people as I used to.”

Bucky stared him down for another moment. And there was that surreal feeling again. The set of the man’s jaw, the slightly pursed lips, the narrowed eyes. Coulson had seen that picture, a photograph from the war. Barnes and Rogers looking over a map, Bucky looking at his friend with that exact unhappy expression.

“How sincere was your suggestion of partnering with Darcy?”

“You send her out, I’m going, too,” Bucky answered so quickly his words stepped on Coulson’s.

“So, totally sincere.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Bucky’s unhappy expression melted into one more thoughtful. “You don’t have a problem with me?”

“I had my reservations, I won’t lie. A lot of them. Big ones. But, we weren’t in the position to deal with the Winter Soldier — I was really, really hoping that wouldn’t be a thing.” Coulson gave him a wry, self-deprecating smile. SHIELD at full-strength (though admittedly compromised) hadn’t been able to stop him the first time; a decimated SHIELD had no prayer. “When Darcy said she’d met you, that you talked to her, I was hopeful. She said she saw James Barnes still in you, and you know, she’s a pretty good judge. Now it’s been, what? Almost a year since you met? You’ve had some time to get to know each other, you’ve gone on some missions together. Those mostly went okay, and I know you’ve always done your best to make sure she came home. Plus, maybe you’ve noticed, but she’s really stubborn. And really smart. It’ll be good for her to have somebody who can match her stubbornness and who’ll respect her intelligence.”

Bucky dropped his arms and walked over to the window. Coulson drummed his fingers on the desk and continued, “I feel like there are big things coming. Admittedly, there always are. Darcy’s place isn’t here at the base, she’s better where she can be more flexible.”

“More useful to you,” Bucky muttered, tossing Coulson a look over his shoulder.

“Yes. If you think I’m dismissive of her safety, or the safety of any of my agents—”

Bucky cut him off with a wave and a sigh. “No, I know you’re not. Darcy thinks pretty well of you, too.”

“That’s always nice to hear. She’s tough to read, sometimes.”

Bucky huffed a small laugh and turned to lean back against the window sill. “Phil this, Phil that.”

Coulson grimaced. “I’ve never been able to get her to stop calling me ‘Phil’. I even tried to order her once. She laughed. Still, could be worse; Stark likes to pretend I don’t have a name at all.”

Bucky gazed at him for a long moment, and Coulson found it supremely difficult to not squirm under the look. There was that surreal jolt again. Bucky Barnes. Only decades of training held him still.

“I did horrible things,” Bucky said quietly. “I don’t remember all of it, but I know it’s there.”

“Yes. We’re just starting to get a picture.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know if she told you, but Darcy volunteered to put together your file. She’s been digging through SHIELD files in her spare time for months.”

“She didn’t tell me. Guess I’m not surprised. Seems like her. She doesn’t … she doesn’t hide from it, does she?”

“No, she’d rather know.”

Bucky nodded and glanced down at the floor. “I think … I think I can help. I want to help. I want to try and do something right.”

Coulson let out a long breath. “I’m glad to have you, Sergeant.”

“Ok.” Bucky pushed off the wall and crossed the room to sit in the chair opposite Coulson’s desk. “Of course, send her out like that again and I won’t be so nice.”

“I think we understand each other, Sgt. Barnes.” Coulson offered him a small smile. “She told me you asked her out. Should I be asking your intentions?”

“Wouldn’t that be her pop’s job?”

“Both of them.”

“Plus, you.”

“Plus me. Plus Thor. Plus, probably, the others. Maybe even May. Hard to tell.”

“May already had some words for me when I was on your plane.”

“Man, she always gets there first.” Coulson clicked his fingers and shook his head. “What’d she say?”

“Just that Darce is a good kid and I’d regret it if I got her hurt or something.”

“It’s hard to tell under the masks and the scowling and the heavy silences, but May’s really a softy at heart.” Bucky snorted and gave Coulson look of incredulity. “Deep down.”

“Sure.”

“Where’re you going to take her?”

Bucky looked startled and then suspicious. “You didn’t tell her 'no’?”

“Have you noticed at all that trying to take that tack with her doesn’t work particularly well?”

“Yeah.”

“I told her to work on your partnership, figure that out. Same goes for you. But, you know, dancing’s fun. So?”

“There’s a couple clubs in New York that look pretty good.” He shrugged and glanced away, his eyes landing on a print of Captain America on the bureau behind the desk. “Gotta be better in crowds first.”

“Understandable. No rush.” Coulson felt like he’d made it through the worst of the conversation and pulled back over his donuts. “Darcy says you’ve got an angle on Jurgen Bader. Want to go over that?”

Bucky straightened, his eyes sharpening, looking more comfortable, more the soldier he’d been. “Yes, sir.”

“Call me, Phil.”

Chapter Text

The fourth, and most intriguingly mysterious, member of Tony's new superhero boy band, turned up at the Tower about a week and a half after the battle.

It was early, too early, the morning barely more than a rosy blush across the sky. Darcy was in the kitchen, her chin propped on one hand, while she clutched her mug of coffee like a lifeline. Next to her sat Jane, reading off numbers from a dauntingly massive stack of papers, and quizzing Darcy on their research. Across the table, Tony was working on his tablet while simultaneously irritating Jane by interjecting his thoughts, theories, and suggestions into her one-sided conversation with Darcy.

Clint was perched on the counter with a massive bowl of cereal, laughing at her. Narrowing her eyes at him, trying to keep her head upright while Tony and Jane tried to talk over each other, Darcy considered the archer. He'd vanish for a day or two, presumably off to wherever it was he actually lived, and then he'd turn up like he'd never even left, and do his damnedest to eat his way through the fridge before going out to brood on the balcony.

Darcy was still trying to get a read on him. Sometimes he seemed okay. Maybe kind of a mild human disaster with light to moderate jerk tendencies, but overall pretty funny and easy-going. Likable, and able to take, with good humor, what he dished out. Also, lickable — his arms were works of art. But, after a while, he'd go and fall into a silent funk, lurking around the corners and fringes of the building, watching everybody with sharp eyes, before he took off, vanishing silently for a day or two at a time.

She didn't ask him what happened during Manhattan and the Loki madness, they didn't know each other well enough, but Tony mentioned it. So did Bruce. They were both a little concerned. Tony's concern manifested itself by grumpiness at Clint's appearance in the Tower; his way of telling the other man he was noticed. And if he was gone too long, Tony would try to draw him back in with new and lethally explosive toys to play with. Bruce just tried to make awkward conversation with him, and sometimes went out to stand silently on the balcony next to him. It was a toss up as to whose method was working better.

But, Darcy figured, it was kind of the best of both worlds at the Tower. All the benefits of being alone, without actually being alone. Plus an apparently bottomless fridge and nobody to comment on the fact that he was using a mixing bowl for his cereal. Really Barton?

Her view of the agent was cut off by the sudden appearance of a bombshell red-head sliding into the seat just in Darcy's line of sight. Darcy jerked in surprise, her coffee sloshing over her hand, and blinked owlishly at the surprise Russian assassin at their table. Because, who else would it be but the Black Widow. THE Black Widow. Wow, she was … really crazy pretty. And now Darcy just needed to meet Steve Rogers to complete the set. Also, she needed her heart to start beating again, because dad's teammate aside, that was still a surprise Russian assassin at the table. Even Jane's increasingly loud recitation of numbers and formulae had stuttered to a shocked halt. So there was that.

Tony raised his head from his tablet and scowled. "Oh good, you're both here," he said, his tone flat and dry. "Jarvis? How do they keep getting in?"

"Your directive welcoming the Avengers to the Tower is still active, sir," Jarvis responded promptly.

"I did that?"

"You did, sir."

"Was I, maybe, concussed at the time?"

Jarvis took that little moment, that half a second, the brief blip of time that said if he was capable of it he would have sighed, before replying, "I don't believe so, sir."

Natasha just tossed her head and smirked at Tony. "You invited me."

Tony scratched at his mustache with a thumbnail before shrugging. "Oh, right, your evil wrist thingys."

Darcy, having recovered from their new guest's arrival, yawned widely and dropped her chin back onto her hand. "Watch out, ladies and gentlemen, he's really bringing it with the tech speak this morning."

Tony gave her a flat look, while Natasha turned a cool, evaluating gaze on her. Darcy did not dive under the table or attempt to hide behind Jane.

"Natasha Romanoff," the woman introduced herself to Darcy with a nod.

"Uh, yeah, hi. Darcy Lewis," Darcy nodded back, still bravely not hiding behind Jane. "And this is Dr. Jane Foster." She'd hoped the second introduction would take the gaze off of her, but Natasha's eyes only flickered in Jane's direction for a moment.

"A pleasure, Dr. Foster. Thor spoke highly of you," Natasha said courteously.

"Thanks," Jane smile back, a grim little twist of her lips. "I'd like to say the same, but I can't because I didn't get a chance to talk to Thor before he went back to Asgard, because somebody," she turned a flinty gaze on Tony, "couldn't hand him a damned phone."

"Oh my God, Jane," Darcy groaned. "Let it go."

"No." She stood and gathered her papers. "Finish eating, we have work to do." She paused just long enough to nod to Natasha. "Nice to meet you."

Darcy hunched herself over her coffee and hugged it to her, like it could anchor her in place and she could avoid Jane's sixty-fifth rant on the great cell phone failure. Jane ignored her and left Darcy to the surprise Russian assassin (okay, and her father and the sniper).

Natasha watched Jane leave, then turned back to stare at Darcy for a moment, then she glanced at Tony who was back to working on his tablet while absently picking at a bowl of grapes.

"I'm impressed," she said at last. "I did a lot of work on you—"

"I remember," Tony muttered, giving her a dark glare without entirely looking up from his work.

"And I never found any indication you had a daughter."

Darcy winced, Clint cackled, and Tony just pouted, looking disappointed.

"Okay," Clint called on a laugh. "How long did it actually take you?"

Natasha turned sideways in her seat to look back over at him, a small, mysterious smile on her lips. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Clint's face fell into a mope and he shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

Cocking her head, curious, Natasha frowned and asked, "What are you eating?"

"Frosted Flakes," he said around a mouthful.

She made a disgusted face. "How do you eat that processed crap?"

Clint just stared her dead in the eye, and lifted another spoonful to his mouth, and made a point of chewing with a degree of relish that Frosted Flakes had never deserved.

"You're a child," Natasha told him.

Tony snorted and stood. "I'm sure there's yogurt or the blood of an innocent in the fridge. Help yourself. I'll be in my workshop when you want to see your Widow's Bites." He tossed Darcy a smug, haughty look and strode out of the room.

Natasha sighed when Clint grabbed up the box of cereal and poured himself another enormous bowl.

"Does he do this often?" She asked Darcy, who'd somehow found herself trapped in the kitchen with the two highly-trained super spies.

"Eat all our Frosted Flakes?" At Natasha's nod, she shrugged. "No, but that's only because he did eat all the Cap'n Crunch and had to choose between that and Pepper's muesli."

"My jaw doesn't need that much of a workout," Clint said, defending, poorly, his breakfast choice.

"A small child," Natasha said, tossing him a mock glare, but it was spoiled by the corners of her lips tugging up into a small smile.

Clint pointed his spoon at Darcy. "You need to go shopping."

Darcy blinked and then glared. "Uh, no? I am almost certain you have your own place and are fully capable of doing your own shopping." Clint's face fell into a pout and he stared sadly down at his Frosted Flakes. Not even two weeks, and he'd learned her weakness — the pout. "Oh my God, don't do that. Jarvis?"

"I've added Cap'n Crunch to the week's shopping list," the AI answered, anticipating Darcy's need for help and Clint's need for sugar.

"Crunch Berries?" Clint asked hopefully.

"Certainly, Agent Barton."

"I'm going to be sick," Natasha grumbled and stood to pour herself a mug of coffee.

"I have only limited information on your dietary preferences and requirements, Agent Romanoff," Jarvis continued. "If you would care to provide me with a list, I will be certain to have anything you might need on hand."

"That' won't be necessary, Jarvis. But, thank you."

"Of course, Agent Romanoff."

Natasha turned back to the table and caught Darcy staring at her. "Yes?"

"Oh, sorry," Darcy shook her head. "I just forgot you already knew Jarvis. Most people aren't that comfortable with him at first. Jane still gets a little weird."

Natasha took two steps over to lean back against the counter Clint was perched on. "Do you resent my deception?"

Darcy blinked at the question, it never really occurred to her. And, really, she'd honestly and truly forgotten that Natasha'd been the agent who infiltrated the company as Tony and then Pepper's PA. Darcy glanced over at Clint who was watching her closely. It felt, weirdly, like breakfast had turned into a pop quiz. A pop quiz with assassins.

"No," she said finally. "Why would I? You were trying to help him."

"In a way. He was a mission."

"Well, whatever. I know he can be a pain in the ass, and you did help him, so … thank you." Darcy gave her a quick smile, and willed the pair of them to start bickering over breakfast foods again.

Natasha raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her coffee. "Of course. So …" Darcy braced herself and Natasha grinned. "Tell me what it was like growing up with him?"

"Yes," Clint chimed in, waving his spoon emphatically and dripping milk on his knees. "I want blackmail quality goods, Lewis. Spill."

Darcy tsked and gave him a look. "Blackmail costs you, Barton. You don't get gold for free, pal."

"Oh, come on," he whined and started to pout again. But Darcy pointed a finger at him and looked at Natasha.

"Make him stop," she pleaded.

Giving her a shrewd look, Natasha elbowed Clint in the thigh. "But, it will cost you. Just a little something."

"Okay," Darcy laughed and let her shoulders relax. She had plenty of sharable dirt on Tony that wasn't damaging or useful as blackmail for anything more serious than low-level teasing and torment. "So, if you did background on him, did you hear the thing about the Cote d'Azure a few years ago? Like seven or eight? Seven? I was fifteen, I think."

"Cannes?" Natasha said, asking for clarification.

Darcy nodded. "Okay, good story right? Well, let me tell you the real reason we got kicked out of France and, you know, banned from Antibes for like five years. It was his fault. Like 88% his fault."

Chapter Text

Sour beer soaked into old wood, thick, sticky liquors on cracked leather, salt, peanut dust. Hunter, forehead braced on one forearm, nose half an inch from the top of the bar, contemplated the smells. They clogged his nostrils, but they weren’t bad really. Sort of comforting, if you thought about it. Bars all over the world all smelled the same. The one thing you could count on.

God knows a man couldn’t count on his wife. Ex-wife. Whatever. He was stupid in love, always had been, but Bobbi … he fell hard, fell fast, and kept falling. Every bloody time, because he was a bloody idiot. Of course she played him, she always played him. The truth? Perish the thought. She’d cut her own tongue out before she tried that.

He reached out a hand, wrapped it around the warming bottle of his beer, but couldn’t quite work up the strength to raise his head. He drifted in his thoughts, playing their most recent attempt at reconciliation over and over in his head, tormenting himself with it, because he was dumb enough to fall for it again, he deserved to relive it. Maybe next time he’d be smart enough to recognize the signs. He’d spotted some of them, called her out, but fell again anyway.

He felt somebody take the barstool next to his, the shift in the air, the shuffle of cloth, and the groan of the leather padding. The bar was near empty, surely whoever this was could find a barstool elsewhere. Couldn’t he see a man in need of drowning his sorrows alone?

“One of those, and another for my friend here,” the man said and Hunter lifted his head at last, casting a bleary glance to his left.

Then he groaned and dropped his head down again. “Bloody Barton.”

“Phil left you alone?”

“Obviously.”

“Where is he?”

“Dunno.” Hunter waved his free hand towards the door, giving a vague indication that Coulson was ‘out’ somewhere. Prying one eye open he looked at Barton again. “You got the message?”

“Obviously.” Barton smirked at him, and Hunter glowered.

“Where’s your nightmare half?”

Barton shrugged and picked up the bottle the bartender set in front of him. “Around.”

“Waiting to pounce from the shadows?” Hunter lifted his head all the way up, released his grip on the completely warm beer, and grabbed up the fresh one.

“Only when she’s feeling frisky.” Barton bared his teeth in a grin that made Hunter want to deck him, and took a draw from his bottle.

“Sure, rub it in.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes and picked at the beer label.

The other man pulled up the sleeve on his shirt, up to the shoulder, and pointed at a long rope of scar tissue. Knife wound probably. “Belize.”

Hunter gave him an impatient look. “Is that meant to mean something to me?”

“Bobbi. I thought we were running the same op. I was wrong.” Barton narrowed his eyes at his arm, then tugged the sleeve back down.

“It’s always another op with that woman,” Hunter grumbled wearily.

Barton nodded and spent a few moments drinking steadily before asking, “What’s the deal with this other SHIELD?”

“Oh, who the hell knows.” Hunter rolled his eyes and resumed picking at his beer label. “Bunch of pretentious tossers. Coulson’s a menace to hear them talk. And they like to talk.”

“Bobbi’s down with that?”

“She’s on their little council of sanctimony.” Hunter contemplated the other group for a moment, then shot Barton a look and leaned towards him a little. “Best warn your mates. They don’t like what they call 'enhanced’ people very much. They think Coulson’s compromised because he’s got an alien blood transfusion, or whatever the hell it was. Dunno. However it is he’s still alive. And greatest sin of all, he’s hiding an enhanced of his own.” Hunter put as much derision as he could into the word 'enhanced’. It was quite a lot, actually.

Barton looked finally actually disturbed at that. “Is that right?”

“Bloody Bobbi.”

“Bloody Bobbi,” the other man echoed.

Hunter nodded his head firmly and held his bottle up to Barton, who tipped his own back. “Threw my lot in with Coulson, didn’t I? Seems the only sane person around anymore.”

“Good call.”

“How long were you two together? You and Bob, I mean. I never asked before because, and I want to make this very clear,” Hunter pointed a finger at him, “I didn’t bloody care.”

Barton’s lips twisted into a wince. “Six months. Probably five months too long.”

“Ain’t that the truth of it,” Hunter groaned and downed half his beer in one go. “Played me. Played me from the second I met her.” He dropped his head down onto the bar again.

Barton backhanded Hunter’s shoulder, prompting him to look up again. Then the other man pointed to a spot low on his back. “Krakow. I’ve got a few others, but that’s the one that said she was bad for my health.” He shrugged. “I mean, Nat’s given me a few scars, but I earned those, you know?”

Hunter considered him with a skeptical frown. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or if I feel really sorry for you. Bit of a masochist, aren’t you?”

Barton gave him a black look and grunted. “How many times have you gone back to her?”

“Twice,” Hunter admitted, groaning. “I tried the second time, really tried not to. I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, so, welcome to the club, pal.” Barton grinned at him again and drained his beer, then waved over to the bartender for another.

Hunter laughed, rueful and reluctant. “Support group of Bobbi’s exes?”

“Survivors of Bobbi Morse?”

With a genuine laugh this time, Hunter raised his beer again. “That’s more like it.”

Barton looked at his beer and then glanced up to scan the long shelves of alcohol behind the bar. “We might need to move to something stronger.”

“Get a bottle, mate. I’ve got all day.”

Chapter Text

“Theta will be ready when you are.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Just one more thing, sir.”

“Nick.”

“Right, Nick. That’s taking some getting used to.”

“Get to the point, Phil. I’m on the clock here.”

“It’s about Agent Lewis.”

“What about Agent Lewis?”

“She and Sgt. Barnes are partners now.”

“… I’m sorry, what did you say? I’m old, my hearing must be going, ‘cause I could have sworn you just said you partnered Tony Stark’s kid with The Winter Soldier. But, there’s so much damned crazy in that, you couldn’t have actually said that.”

“No, that is pretty much exactly what I said.”

“…”

“In fairness, they sort of partnered themselves. I just gave my approval.”

“The Winter Soldier. And Stark’s kid? Are you out of your damned mind?”

“I don’t think so. And, hey, they’re pretty good. There was this whole thing in Estonia where–”

“He shot me.”

“I’m well aware.”

“It hurt.”

“I’m sure it did.”

“You know there’s a good chance he killed Howard.”

“I know. Darcy knows it, too.”

“And … no, no, what the fuck is this shit? I go off playing dead and this is what happens?”

“Well, I went off playing dead and the agency started to collapse.”

“No, you don’t get to drop this on me and play smartass. How the hell did this even happen? No, wait, you know what? I don’t want to know. You know why? Knowing means I have to know this shit, and this is not shit I want to know, Phil.”

“It’s not so bad. Sort of like when Barton brought Romanoff in.”

“It’s not like that at all. He’s a goddamned brain-washed. Hydra assassin! Who shot me!”

“You’re sort of uncharacteristically taking that personally, Nick.”

“I almost died.”

“I’m really glad you didn’t.”

“I’m starting to wish I was. Can you guess why? Because if I was dead, it would mean I wouldn’t have to know this shit.”

“They met in DC a couple days after the attack at the Triskelion.”

“What did I say? I don’t want to know.”

“She talked to him. You know how she is.”

“A goddamned, loud-mouthed, pushy, aggravating–”

“Really, Nick?”

“Well, she is.”

“And she’s pretty good with people. Other people. Not so much you, obviously, but definitely other people.”

“And goddamned Hydra assassins?”

“Seems like it. They bonded.”

“That I really don’t want to know about.”

“I thought, hey, he’s talking to somebody. So, on the chance he’d reach out to her again, I made her his handler. Better than then having to track him down. You know, we really weren’t in a position to deal with him. Like, I’m pretty sure he would have kicked our asses.”

“I’m about to come on over there and kick you in the ass myself.”

“It’s always a pleasure to have you visit.”

“When did you get so chippy?”

“Maybe it’s the alien blood thing.”

“You ever going to let that go?”

“Probably not.”

“I saved your life.”

“I really appreciate that.”

“So, the Winter Soldier and Stark’s kid.”

“I prefer to think of them as Sgt. Barnes and Agent Lewis.”

“I prefer to think of this conversation as having never happened, because this is fucking insane.”

“They’ve been working together almost a year without incident. I mean, without an incident between them. There were other incidents, but most of them weren’t really their fault. There was Estonia, and then the thing where Darcy was kidnapped by Hydra–”

“Why am I listening to this?”

“And then I got an earful from Barnes about the handoff in Minnesota that didn’t go so well. But I did get the briefcase. They make a good team. They even caught a Hydra agent at the base here.”

“Did they? Did they really? Well, let’s have a parade.”

“You’re really dialing up the sarcasm.”

“Why do I feel like I keep having this conversation with you?”

“We have had some very similar ones, haven’t we?”

“Fine, goddamnit, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking better with us than against us. And that goes for both of them.”

“Better be damned sure this is the right way to go, Director.”

“I’m like 80% sure. Maybe 83% even.”

“Great. That’s just great. Call me when you get a line on the scepter.”

“Will do. What will you be doing?”

“I’m going to spend my days trying to forget that I know this shit. Might go fishing.”

“Well, good luck with that.”

Chapter Text

"Have you talked to your trainee lately?" Clint asked as Natasha entered the apartment.

"No. Have you talked to your trainee lately?"

"I had dinner with the Starks yesterday."

"Okay." Natasha set her bag on the counter and shucked her jacket. "Nobody's scraping you off the street, so I guess it went well."

"Sure, sure, that's a word for it." Clint stared at his TV, a muted baseball game flashing across the screen, but he wasn't really watching. He was lost in his thoughts on the enormity of Darcy's maneuvering.

Natasha dropped down onto the couch next to him and stared at him. "So, what's wrong?"

"She's going to start a war."

Natasha snorted a laugh. "Is that all?"

"Not actually joking," Clint grumped and shot her a wounded look. "Darcy got her armor painted."

"You're going to get the point eventually, right?"

"It's blue and gray. SHIELD colors." He watched her as she pictured the armor in her head. Then she cocked her head and frowned. "Yeah, exactly. It's got a SHIELD logo on one shoulder and an Avengers one on the other."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"That's … quite a statement," Natasha said carefully. "That's very overt. Not usually her style."

"She's pissed as hell about the real SHIELD thing. Like, you know how we joke when she's being like Stark? This is the not-funny time when she's being like Stark when he's getting ready to blow up the world." Clint chewed on his lower lip and watched a batter ground out to second.

Natasha leaned back and crossed her arms, considering. "I see."

"She's going to start a war, and she knows it."

"With that armor, she's already started it," Natasha told him, sounding resigned. "I had an interesting conversation with Phil. Barnes is unofficially officially her partner."

"I knew that. Stark's damned twitchy about it. It's this weird thing between them right now; they're walking on eggshells around each other. I can't figure out which way that's all going to fall," Clint said, then looked away from the TV to study Natasha's face. "How do you feel about it?"

"Terrified," she said with a small shrug. "Maybe I'm just getting old and cynical," Clint huffed a laugh, "but I don't see how that ends well."

He nodded and pursed his lips. "They're building the new New York base."

"The two of them?"

"Apparently."

"I see."

"Yeah."

Natasha thought about that for a time and closed her eyes with a long sigh. "What is she doing?"

"Taking over SHIELD," he said in a flat, emotionless voice, resigned to this, frankly, harrowing turn of events.

"God, does she have any idea?"

Clint nodded wearily. "Yes, she knows exactly what she's doing. I don't think she knows how bad this could be, but she knows she's making a big, loud noise and elbowing her way to the top."

"With Barnes," Natasha said, a cold edge to the words. "This is going to blow up in her face."

"Barnes or SHIELD?"

"Both. He's a wanted terrorist. That will undermine SHIELD again. There were a lot of agents who were at the Triskelion; they won't forget him, either."

"She insists she's not running the base."

Natasha snorted inelegantly. "She's just building it and taking charge of it. Anybody she puts in command — and it will ultimately be her call — will end up under her. No, of course she's not running the base," she said with heavy sarcasm.

"Stark's stupidly proud," he groused sourly. "This is very Fury."

"I wonder what he thinks about this."

"No clue." Clint flopped sideways and groaned. "He may have out-maneuvered himself on this one."

"I'm not sure," Natasha murmured as she considered that. "He always pushed her. He didn't pull her close just to keep an eye on her; he could have done that a hundred other ways. Think about this from his perspective — how long did he know or suspect SHIELD was compromised? A collapse was going to create a power vacuum, whoever he put in charge."

"Phil's doing great," Clint said, stout in his defense.

"I know he is. I think the world of Phil, you know that," she replied patiently. "He's a strong leader and clear in his goals, he's the perfect choice. But, he doesn't have the … I don't know, charisma. Is that the word?"

"I guess," he grumbled back.

"But, you put a Stark next to Phil, and then who's going to stand against them?" Natasha raised her eyebrow at him. "Not just any Stark, either, but one who is completely loyal to SHIELD and Phil. Somebody Nick groomed himself. And Darcy's got enough of that charisma to pull it off. Or pull it off enough to split SHIELD again. Right down the middle."

Clint puffed out his cheeks and pushed out a long breath. "God. This is going to be so bad, Nat."

She raised a hand and pressed it to her forehead. "I know. What can we do?"

Washing his hands over his face, Clint groaned. "I told her I was with her. I said you would be, too, but maybe I shouldn't have."

"Clint—"

"No, no, I mean, it's just big. I know. I shouldn't have spoken for you." He sat up and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I feel responsible. I feel like I armed the warhead, you know. I've got to make sure it stays pointed where it's supposed to."

"Armed the warhead," she echoed quietly.

"I didn't understand who I was training. God, it's so easy to forget who she is. Charisma. Yeah. She's dangerous as hell."

"I don't think I can stand with him," Natasha murmured. "When I was a girl—"

"I know, Nat," he said gently. "I know."

"Have you seen them together?"

"No. Have you?"

"No. Phil says they're good together." Her face turned drawn and unsettled. "I don't know what to think of that."

"He went for her in China."

"I know."

"I'm pretty sure she's falling for him."

"God, Clint, don't say that."

He shrugged. "She's really protective. Even with Stark. And you know she'd throw over anybody for her dad." He forced a thin smile. "She's such a daddy's girl. But, she's really, I don't know, firm, I guess, when it comes to Barnes. Like she's drawn a line."

Natasha swallowed heavily and stared at the TV. "Bozhet moy."

"I know. We armed the warhead and then she found herself an even deadlier weapon. Yay."

Leaning sideways into him, Natasha rested her head on his shoulder and said, "I don't know what to do."

"Me either."

Chapter Text

Coulson: So, about that base you're building.

Darcy: What about it? Please tell me you don't have notes. Because if Fury sends me one more round of revisions--

Coulson: No, no, I like what you're doing. But, you know we've been expanding HQ, opening up new parts of the SSR facility as our operations have grown.

Darcy: I am aware.

Coulson: And you know that abandoned building about, oh, a mile or so away?

Darcy: Sure.

Coulson: Turns out the base runs right under it. And, there are two entrances to the base from the building.

Darcy: Oh! Backup exit. Love it. I feel like I'll have four or five.

Coulson: I'm worried about how paranoid you're becoming.

Darcy: I am rationally cautious.

Coulson: That's a Natasha line.

Darcy: Pretty sure it is.

Coulson: Anyway, back to that abandoned building. There's an elevator in the back, but there's also one in the front. A platform in the floor. Goes straight down.

Darcy: Cool.

Coulson: So, as I said, I like what you're doing with the New York base, and I was thinking, you know what would be great?

Darcy: No, no, oh come on, Phil.

Coulson: It's not far off the highway. It's a great spot for a roadhouse bar.

Darcy: Why do you want to break Bucky's heart?

Coulson: I was thinking, you know what else would be neat? We put a booth on that platform elevator. Then, boom, straight down.

Darcy: Are you watching "Get Smart" again?

Coulson: Do you know how many gadgets from that show are in the CIA museum?

Darcy: A lot?

Coulson: A lot.

Darcy: Okay, well, you get to explain to Bucky why you're BREAKING HIS HEART.

Coulson: Hear me out--

Darcy: He was so proud of that idea. It was the first thing he wanted for himself in like 70 years, Phil.

Coulson: Okay, really, hear me out. I'm naming the bar "Buck's".

Darcy: Great. Well, I'm not naming ours "Phil's".

Coulson: Why not? That's great symmetry.

Darcy: I'm getting Bucky and then I'm handing him the phone and you can tell the Winter Soldier all about your neat idea.

Chapter Text

Heimdall stood outside the Bifrost chamber, his hands resting on the pommel of his great sword Hǫfuð, and his far-seeing gaze traveled down the branches of Yggdrasil to the realms beyond. For centuries beyond counting he stood so, at this post, guarding Asgard. No threat approached today but Yggdrasil trembled. A gentle fluttering, there for his eyes to see.

“You called for me, Heimdall,” Frigga announced as she approached. Her steps were light on the bridge, but he knew all who strode upon it.

Himdall shifted his gaze from the great tree and bowed his head. “Yes, my Queen.”

She stepped to his side and stood with him as he watched. “What troubles you?”

“Of late my gaze has been drawn to Midgard.”

Frigga cast her own eyes across the edge of Asgard, out into the swirling void of the universe. “Long have we been absent from that realm.”

“Indeed,” Heimdall said quietly.

“And what have you seen, Guardian?”

“I have seen a young woman who has fallen backwards through time.”

“By what manner?”

“By the power of the Cube, my lady.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, curious. “It has been found again?”

“No, but its power remains in relics of their recent wars.”

“I see. And how did she come to slip her own time?” she asked, her voice gentle and patient. “I was not aware that was within the Tesseract’s powers.”

“It is not. Though the power did move her across some little distance, that same power caught in itself across time. The event appears to have been a matter of chance.”

“Ah, I understand.” Frigga nodded sagely and clasped her hands in front of her. “And this disturbs you?”

“No, my lady. At present it is neither the Tesseract nor time that concerns me. It is the girl,” Heimdall said again and frowned. “She spoke of Thor.”

She smiled at him and cocked her head to one side. “There are some on Midgard who still call to my son.”

“She spoke of the Prince of Asgard,” he clarified. “She names him friend.”

Frigga let out a long breath and closed her eyes briefly. “Do you know how Thor comes to be on Midgard?”

“He is cast out of Asgard,” Heimdall continued quietly. “I am troubled by the knowledge that friendship may augur war.”

“What you call chance, perhaps we should better call fate,” Frigga told him, raising her chin as she returned to her contemplation of the stars beyond.

“I feared as much,” Heimdall admitted. “My lady, you have the understanding of foreknowledge, and I ask your guidance.”

“We must let fate be as it will. It is not for us to drink from the well,” she said with a small, sad smile. “To see is only to see a part; the whole is shrouded in mists.”

“If this is an omen, if ill-winds blow towards Asgard, shall I inform the Allfather?”

“No.” Frigga shook her head. “What will be, has already happened, even if those events are beyond today.” She reached out a hand to Heimdall and rested her fingers against his. “If it is to be, then Thor will go to Midgard when it is time. We can take comfort in the knowledge that he shall find friends and allies amongst those of that realm.”

“But, my lady—” Heimdall began to protest.

“Is this girl a threat?” Frigga demanded with a tilt of her chin and a hint of a smile.

Heimdall let his all-seeing eyes drift past his Queen and out across the realms. “No. She speaks of Thor with respect and fondness.”

“How far has she slipped from her own day?”

“Sixty-nine years.” Heimdall sighed and bowed his head. “That is but an afternoon on Asgard.”

“And a lifetime on Midgard.” Frigga offered him a light pat on his hand then clasped her own again. “Soon enough my husband will enter the Odinsleep; he has put it off too long already. That may be augury enough. Let us allow friendship to be, instead, a sign of good-fortune, Heimdall.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I do not command this,” she said, “but I ask.”

Heimdall bowed again over his sword and said, “I shall do as you request, my Queen.”

They stood in their quiet observation for a moment before Frigga asked, with a teasing lilt to her tone, “What do you see of the girl? Is she a fit friend for my son?”

“She is young and impetuous,” Heimdall grumbled.

Frigga laughed, the sound a musical note in the wildly swirling winds at the edge of the realm. “As is Thor.”

“He is,” Heimdall agreed. “She is also loyal and kind.”

“And how does she fare out of her own day?” she asked, her voice now tinged with motherly concern.

“She struggles with her own foreknowledge and fights to keep all as it should be. The burden is great.”

“Poor child,” Frigga said with a sigh. She knew that burden too well.

“She is not alone,” Heimdall assured her. “She has found her grandfather, and they work to return her to her time.”

“I am relieved to know that. Keep watch, good Heimdall,” Frigga told him. “If she is friend to my son, then she is friend to Asgard.”

“Yes, my lady.”

She turned to leave, but paused for another moment. “The mists will clear all too soon.”

Heimdall fixed his gaze again on the girl. “They shall, my lady.”

Chapter Text

“Just me, Nat.”

Her hand, the one that was clutching the dagger preparing to throw it across the room, relaxed. And then it tightened again because she’d been asleep and she didn’t appreciate intruders when she slept. Not even Clint.

“I will stab you in the face,” she muttered into her pillow.

“Aww, not my face,” Clint whined and she felt the bed dip as he sat down. “I’m too handsome. You’d be sad if you did that.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” she grumbled softly.

Clint laughed and slid down to lay back on the bed. “How was Krakow?”

“Boring. The cell dried up before Wilson and I got there.”

“Bummer.”

“Hmm…” She rolled over onto her other side to face him. “You weren’t in town when I got back.”

“I had to go to DC.”

“What for?”

“I owed Peggy dinner.”

Her eyebrow shot up and she lifted herself onto one elbow. “Seventeen years?”

He turned his head on the pillow and grinned at her. "Yep. I finally figured it out.“

“Figured out that Peggy was toying with you?”

His face fell into a scowl. “She wouldn’t do that. Also, she wasn’t doing that. So there.”

“So what was she doing?”

“Waiting for me.”

Natasha dropped back and threw one arm over her eyes. “I’m too tired to guess Clint.”

“It was Darcy,” he said quietly in an almost distracted hush.

“What was Darcy?”

“I finally got the story about what happened to her. The whole story.” She felt him shift next to her and then grunted when something dropped onto her stomach. She grabbed the offending object and lifted it. A journal.

Waving it at him, she said, “This is the story?”

“Yeah. Stark was right, she did some time travel shit. Spent three months or so in 1946.”

Natasha opened the journal and flipped through a few pages. “So she reached out to her grandfather? And he brought in Peggy Carter?”

“Sort of.”

Lowering the journal, letting its open pages rest on her stomach, she laughed lightly. “And she told Peggy about you, and Peggy waited all those years?”

“Darcy told her about you, too. Remember how I was sure Fury was going to grind me into paste for not taking you out? And all he did was growl?”

“I remember.” Natasha tapped the spine of the journal, and let her fingers travel over the old, stiff leather.

“Peggy was waiting for you, too. She made sure Fury wouldn’t sink us.” Clint flopped onto his side and curved his body forward until he could rest his chin next to her shoulder. “Our baby agent loves us, Nat.”

Smiling, she rolled her eyes and patted the side of his head. “While that’s always nice to know, how sure are you that this is real?”

“Darcy didn’t lie to me.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. But time travel is a little hard to believe.”

“Aliens, Nat,” he laughed.

“I said ‘a little’.”

“Yeah. Weird, right? That kid has the shittiest luck.”

“Clint.”

“What? I was there when she told Rogers.”

Natasha sucked in a long breath, the ramifications coming clear. “She left him in the ice.”

“Those two, I swear to God,” Clint moaned and shoved his nose into the mattress. “They’re going to end up trying to kill each other one day, and they’ll both feel horrible about it, but, they’ll do it anyway.”

“Bite your tongue,” Natasha hissed. “That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t really joking. I mean, a little bit, but only kind of.” He rolled onto his back again and stared up at the ceiling. “He believed her right away. It broke his heart. And, I read her report. She got a letter from Howard, too. Plus, Peggy confirmed it.” He glanced at her. “She left Barnes with Hydra, you know?”

Natasha let out a long breath. “It must have been tempting to try to fix everything. No wonder she’s been such a mess.”

“I don’t think she was tempted,” Clint mused. “Like, sure, she thought about it, and in her report she lays out all the possibilities and why she decided she couldn’t do anything. And she held fast, I don’t think she was like really deeply tempted. I don’t know if I could have done that.”

“No, me either.”

“I think that’s what tore her up. She made her decision, and she knows it was the right decision, even though it really sucked. She ran into the Winter Soldier, too.”

“What?”

“Shittiest luck.”

“Did he hurt her?”

“No. He hit Peggy pretty hard, but didn’t break anything. She remembered. I guess that’s not something you’d forget. Anyway, Darcy got him to freeze somehow, then shot his handler, grabbed Peggy, and ran like hell.”

“Good girl,” Natasha murmured.

“I know Fury brought her in to keep an eye on her, because she was Stark’s kid, but Coulson hit a home run when he recruited her. He knows it, too. Though, man, I hope I can see his face when he reads her report.”

“She met Peggy Carter, I’m sure he’ll be insanely jealous.”

“Oh, that’s not what’ll make him shit himself.” Clint sat up and grinned down at her, plucking the journal off of her stomach. He flipped through it until he found a page he liked and handed it back. “She’s practically one of SHIELD’s founders.”

Natasha scanned the page — details of an argument between Howard and Darcy over the training and academic structure of the agency, with a side of R&D talk. She looked up at Clint, feeling slightly helpless in the face of this.

“I know, right? Peggy’s report is more specific about that. How she and Howard took Darcy’s thoughts into account. They didn’t always agree with her, but she figured in almost all of those early decisions.” He snorted a laugh. “The Lewis Clause?”

Natasha groaned. “Really?”

“That was Howard. Darcy gets growly when she brings it up, but I noticed she hasn’t tried to change the name in her proposed revisions.”

“Do you realize how complicated she could make life for Phil?”

“Do you realize how little she’d want to do that? Come on, Nat.”

“I’m not saying she’ll try to take over, but she’s not just a legacy now. That’s going to be constantly at the back of Phil’s mind. What about when he gives her an order she doesn’t want to follow?”

“How would that be any different from before all this?”

Natasha pushed herself up and sat with her back against the headboard. “What’s different is now she knows, and Phil knows, that she’s something else. He could try to censure her, and she could yank the agency out from under him.”

“Natasha, hey. I get the thinking ahead thing, but, Darcy’s loyal.”

“Until that loyalty is tested. The day somebody orders Barnes arrested, or worse, eliminated? What do you think will happen?” She pointed at him. “Don’t just kneejerk answer; think about it. This is the agent who left Captain America in the ice for seventy years. On purpose. As much as it broke his heart, I’m sure it broke hers, too, and she still did it.”

He glowered down at the journal. “Have you ever heard the thing about not borrowing trouble?”

“I have. But, I’m also trying to get a picture of what’s coming. That’s how we survive, Clint.”

“Okay, but think of this,” he countered. “The day somebody tries to arrest or eliminate us, what do you think will happen?”

Natasha ran her hands over her face and sighed.

“And,” Clint continued, “she’ll make the sacrifice play before she makes the power play.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I know her, and so do you. And I know because she broke her heart leaving Steve and Barnes in 1946. That wasn’t a cold-blooded decision, Nat. That wasn’t Fury playing the odds and keeping the situation under his control. That was gut-wrenching sacrifice. They might look alike, but really, read her report; it’s not the same thing at all.” He gave her a small, gentle smile. “If it was you, if you had to leave me, I’d hope you’d do what you had to do, but I also kind of hope it would sting a little.”

She reached out and grabbed his hand. “It would.”

“See?”

“I do.”

“I get you’re worried. The kid’s armed and dangerous. But, here’s the thing Peggy told me — Darcy talked about us all the time. Maybe she’s a grown up agent now, but she’ll listen to us. So, let’s not just let her run off and build that SHIELD base all on her own. Let’s not let her think she has to. ‘Cause you know that’s a thing with her. She and her dad are the same like that — they think everything’s on them to fix. So, I propose we bring our trainee close. Get ahead of all that stuff you’re worried about.”

Natasha nodded slowly and thought about that for a moment. “Okay, I can see that.”

“We taught her the basics, but now it’s time for the advanced classes, right?”

She smirked at him. “I guess so.”

“The downside of that is Barnes,” he said carefully.

Natasha let out another gusty sigh. “I don’t know what to do about that.”

“I can deal with him, you don’t have to, but you know he’s gonna be around.”

“You shouldn’t have to do that on your own.”

“Nah, we’re good; he ordered me pie one time.”

She laughed and gave his arm a shove. “That’s not much of a foundation.”

“Hey, it’s the fricking Winter Soldier. He ordered me pie. That’s a damned win. Plus, it was really good pie.”

Natasha pursed her lips and searched his face for any doubts or anxiety. There was nothing for her to see but his genuine openness. “You feel like you have a rapport with him?”

“I don’t know, but he came with me for lunch and we talked.” Clint shrugged and looked thoughtful. “I don’t even think he’s done that with Steve yet. Maybe we’re not best buds, but I feel like he listened to me. Plus, and I know you don’t like to hear this, but that guy is so far gone for Darcy. Like, totally, sappy gone. Damn, Nat, he sat in the lobby for two days. He’s working hard at being Bucky Barnes again, I honestly believe that.”

She was silent for a minute while she chewed on that. “Okay. I can deal with him, then.”

“Yeah, you sure?”

“I’m sure. I trust you, Clint.”

“Always nice to hear.”

“Now, go away, because I’m tired.”

“Me, too.” He laid himself back on the bed and yawned. “Peggy still cheats at cards.”

“How much did she take you for?”

“Fifty bucks.”

“Sucker.”

“Shut up.”

“Go away.”

“No, I’m comfy.”

Natasha sighed and rolled away from him, tossing the journal onto the side table and flopping back onto her stomach. “I’ll kick your ass in training tomorrow.”

“In your dreams.”

“In my dreams I’m stabbing you in the face.”

“Aww, Nat.”

Chapter Text

From The Author Who Brought You Every Other Story In This Series, a big giant super-thrilling multi-part Civil War EVENT:

***

“How do we fix all of this?”

“With time and patience.”

“Do we have enough of either?”

“I surely hope so.”

***

“I’m trying to help you!” she shouted back. “I’m trying to help everybody. This has to stop. I cannot stand watching you guys tear yourselves apart. You think I’m going to sit by and let this happen? And I told you. I told anybody who’d listen that there was a war coming.”

***

Lost in grim thoughts she couldn’t shake, Darcy didn’t hear the beep of the keypad, but the heavy thump of the door locks retracting caught her attention. Reaching for the holster mounted under the desk, she pulled the pistol and rolled her chair back to the wall. Whoever entered wouldn’t have a clean shot on her before she had one on them.

***

Stark grabbed his shoulder, and Bucky threw his arm back, knocking the man away.

“No!”

Hunching his shoulders, braced for the blow, Bucky still wasn't ready for the weight of the armor slamming into his ribs.

***

Bobbi stood and crossed her arms, contemplating the situation. "We could open it."

"What if there's somebody in there? Or, you know, something." Darcy leaned over the sarcophagus and brushed away dust, clearing a patch with faded cyrillic lettering — КШБК-1134-KMИ-51. "We could kill whoever's in there."

***

She turned back to Clint and licked her lips. "I need you to trust me."

"I do trust you, Darce."

"No, Clint, I need you to trust me 100%."

He stiffened and sat up straight. "I do trust you 100%. What do you say?"

***

“SHIELD is a shell of itself, buried deep underground, and still you’ve needed a fallback position from your own agency. Good Christ.”

***

Tony pursed his lips and glanced at Fitz, who’d watched the argument with an expression somewhere between pained and angry. He might look like a little lab geek, but Fitz was made of damned tough stuff and he’d probably been ready to tell her dad off, no matter how much he admired Tony. “Hey.”

“Hullo,” Fitz mumbled back, standing up, getting his leg caught on the chair before catching himself and straightening. He tipped his chin up and said, “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

***

She’d sent Rico off to get some sleep a few hours earlier, and it was disgustingly late — or disgustingly early — when the phone on her desk at the Garage rang. Nobody had that number except Tony, Bucky, and Coulson. And if they wanted to reach her, they could always call her cell. Her stomach clenched; deciding to use a landline over the cell network wouldn’t mean anything good.

Shaking herself out of the funk of confused emotions and heartbreak, she answered, and her world went right straight back to the crazy place.

***

Coulson stopped her next. “Are you ready?”

“I told you that I was. Are you?”

“Yes.” He glanced to Tony before looking back at her and giving her a firm, reassuring nod. “Go see to your asset, Agent Stark.”

***

“It’s true enough. If we hadn’t have been arguing, if I’d just stopped and listened, or … geez, I don’t know. But, we took our eye off the ball, and everything else hit the ground hard.”

***

“Bucky! You gotta go now. Just go!”

Bucky clutched the phone more tightly, and turned his head to shoot a look at Agent Harris, who quirked an eyebrow back at him. For one second they were both frozen in that moment. Then Harris glanced down as his own phone chimed.

“Go!”

***

Clint let out a soft sigh. "Do what you gotta, Nat."

"And what are you going to do?"

"You tell me," he said without hesitation. "I don't give a shit about the Accords. I'll follow your lead on this."

***

The peach-purple glow of the city at evening seeped in around the blinds over the windows, casting moody shadows that suited the glumness in her spirit. The heavy desk lamp, with its green glass shade, was the only other light, and did very little to push away the shadows. The lamp illuminated a patch of floor, the scarred wood of the desk, the files and papers strewn about, then broke at the cut crystal glass by her elbow.

***

“Maybe it’s a fate to learn from the past in a way nobody else can. It’s a kind of painful fate, but here we are. And now, like Clint says, we can only do what we can do. And maybe there’s a lot we can do.”

***

COMING SOON! OR COMING SOONISH! I DON’T KNOW, EVENTUALLY HOPEFULLY, LET’S BE HONEST! I’M SLOW AND THIS IS BIG! SUPER BIG! [CGI EXPLOSIONS!!!!]

Chapter Text

“I’m going to London,” Natasha said, not bothering with a greeting when Clint answered.

“Have fun,” Clint muttered.

“You’re not coming?”

“No.”

“Clint.”

Natasha could picture the stubborn set of his jaw when he told her, “I said goodbye already.”

She was silent for a long moment. “Steve would appreciate the company, I’m sure.”

“He’s got company. You’re going. Probably Wilson, too, right?”

“Yes,” Natasha admitted.

“Stark?”

“No.” She sighed and rubbed at her forehead. Tony was so tense about the accords he was practically vibrating with it. When he got word Peggy was dead, he went absolutely still for one solid minute. “With the introduction of the Accords, he doesn’t want to turn her funeral into a media thing. And he’s giving Steve his space.”

“Okay, well, yeah, have fun,” he told her, trying to sound uninterested, but she could hear the tightness in his tone.

“Clint, she loved you,” she told him gently, trying to reach him through what she was sure was a numbing sadness, “You’re allowed to grieve, too.”

“I know that, Nat,” he snapped back.

“Alright, alright,” she backed down and let out a long breath. “I wish you were here.”

“Why?” He sounded suspicious and she pursed her lips, annoyed.

“So I could see for myself how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.”

Natasha snorted and rolled her eyes. “I know you, Clint. You’re a long way from fine.”

“Yeah, well, whatever.” He cleared his throat and when he spoke again his voice was low and scratchy. “Darcy isn’t going, either. Maybe we’ll throw Peg a wake. She’d like that. Get out the good whiskey, and give the old gal a send off.”

“Wait, Darcy isn’t going?” Natasha felt herself grow tense. She’d been hoping Darcy would help her with Steve. “I thought—”

“I asked, she said no, but she didn’t elaborate.”

Natasha closed her eyes and put a hand on her temple, trying to ward off the tension headache. This was all turning out badly. The Sokovia Accords dropped like a bomb and she had the uncomfortable feeling that Darcy’s long prophesied war might be near. She honestly had no idea how the younger agent felt about the situation. Staying away from Peggy’s funeral was a warning flag, though. But, for what?

“Keep an eye on her,” Natasha said at last.

“I always do.”

“Do you know if she and Tony talked about the Accords?”

“They did. I heard part of the conversation. She didn’t say much.”

“What did she say?” Natasha pressed.

“Seriously, not a lot,” he repeated, sounding irritable. “She told him she understood and to do what he had to do. That was it, really.”

“Did she give any indication what she thought?”

“No. Well, she called Ross a ‘fucker’, snarled about the idiocy of making him Secretary of State, but that was all, just personal venting. Nothing about the Accords.”

Natasha spun on her heel and paced to the windows, looking out over the quiet, bucolic grounds of the Avengers compound. “I have a bad feeling.”

Clint let out a soft sigh. “Do what you gotta, Nat.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“You tell me,” he said without hesitation. “I don’t give a shit about the Accords. I’ll follow your lead on this.”

“Alright. I need to think. Stay out of this for now and lay low for a while, huh?”

“I’m the lowest.”

Natasha laughed again and smiled. “And stay safe.”

“I will. You, too.”

Chapter Text

Peggy woke from a doze and frowned. There was somebody seated next to her bed. Squinting at him, she tried to sort through the sleep-tangled muddle in her head, not sure if he was real or not. Surely not. A dream. A dim, hazy memory floating its way to the surface.

It couldn't be real, because Steve Rogers was looking out the window, and he died, oh so long ago. His profile was as sharp and strong as ever she remembered it, though. If a dream, it was a lovely one. She reached out to touch this vision, this ghost beside her.

"Hi, Peggy," he said, turning and smiling at her.

"Steve," she replied, smiling and drifting in this sweet, distant dream.

"It's really me." He leaned towards her and she got a clearer view of his face. It was worn in a way she didn't recall. Oh, he wasn't aged, he looked as young as her memory, but his eyes seemed sad and tired.

"You're alive?" Did she know that? Had she known that? Surely not. He died so many years ago. "A dream," she said softly.

"No, not a dream. They found me in the ice. They …" He licked his lips and looked down at their hands. "They woke me up."

"You're alive," she said again, but this time there was hesitant wonder.

He gave her his charming crooked smile. She'd forgotten what that looked like — how his eyes were so blue under those long lashes, how he always seemed so bashful unless he was marching on Nazis. How sweet he always was all those moments he wasn't stubborn as any mule.

"I'm alive."

"Oh, Steve. You came home."

"Of course. I promised you—"

"A dance," she murmured. Grasping his hand in hers, feeling him warm and solid, she closed her eyes and let the miracle of his survival surround her. "Steve."

He squeezed her fingers gently. "I'm here."

"Howard looked for you for so long."

Steve pursed his lips for a moment, pain crossing his brow, before letting out a long breath. "I know. I met … I met Tony."

Peggy nodded. "Good."

"I met Darcy, too." His lips lifted up in that crooked, sweet smile. "They're quite a pair, huh?"

"Yes," Peggy agreed. She felt her chin start to quiver. He was there. Steve was there. And he was so, so young. "I'm so glad to see you."

"Me, too, Peggy." He wrapped her hand in both of his much larger ones. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you a good deal longer," she said, laughing just a little. This was all so big, so overwhelming. Oh, Steve. Her breath hitched and she fought back a wave of tears, a mix of joy and grief. "Where were you? Howard looked."

"I was in the sea, in the ice. I was asleep for a long time, Peg."

Lifting her free hand, she reached out to brush a finger down his soft cheek. "I want to know it all. Help me up, there's a button on the bed there."

Steve hunted around the side of the bed until he found the controls to raise the head. "Is that good?"

"Yes, thank you." She shifted a little and settled the pillows behind her back. Then she returned to her study of the man behind her. The miracle. This amazing gift.

"I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Lord, I sleep enough."

Nodding, he sat quietly for a moment, his eyes wandering the room, taking in the photos and trinkets. "You've got a beautiful family."

She tightened her grip on his hand. "I've had a good life."

"I'm really glad." His eyes were sad again, and lost. He spent so many decades lost. Asleep, he said, in the ice. So many years.

Decades passed. A lifetime. A soldier lost. Oh. Oh lord. He wasn't the only one. But, that meant ... no. It meant Darcy must have known. She did, he said as much. All along.

Peggy took a deep shaky breath. Oh Lord.

"Peggy?" Steve asked, leaning forward, concern creasing his brow. He held out a tissue. "I know this is a lot. You … you probably need your rest."

"No, Steve. Stay, please." She took the tissue and clung to his hand.

Three lost travelers. Now, here was one come home. Two more still left to time. Darcy was here, of course, but not the Darcy she'd known all those years ago. She'd be the last of the three to return. That meant the Winter Soldier was soon to reappear. And that meant the most lost of them all would finally come home. "Sgt. Barnes."

Steve grimaced and bowed his head. "He died, Peg. Do you remember?"

"I know that," she corrected herself. She hadn't meant to speak out loud. "I was simply thinking we lost two of you during the war. And here you are. What a gift, what a miracle."

As the joy at Steve's return washed over her, it was tinged with all the sadness of everything he'd missed. And beyond that, there was the new understand of just how much Darcy kept to herself. She'd known. She'd known all along that Steve was alive. She left him to slumber in the sea.

Oh, it hurt. Could they have saved him then? Could they have … could there have been a new future?

Peggy sniffled and pressed the tissue to her eyes. She had no regrets about the life she lived. It was a good one, not lacking in love or joy. But, poor Steve. As he sat there with her, his face drawn down, his blue eyes clouded, her heart hurt so desperately for him. She lived her life, while he slept, and Darcy waited.

What a terrible choice. That girl. That stubborn girl who shouldered the weight of the future until she nearly buckled under it.

Please, Lord, let her come home safely.

The sob broke from Peggy's throat and Steve rose from his chair to sit on the edge of her bed and hold her hand close to his heart. "Hey, it's okay. I'm here now."

"I'm so glad. I'm so very glad." Tapping the back of her hand against his chest, she asked, "You'll do something for me."

"Anything, Peg."

"You'll live your life."

He was silent for a long minute. "I'll do my best."

"Give yourself time, but you'll find you're not alone, Steve." He had friends, friends who would come home soon, who would help. They would help each other. God willing.

He nodded and forced his lips up into a melancholy smile. "'Course not. I've still got my best girl."

"So you do," she laughed a little and leaned back in her pillows, feeling spent by the wild tumult of this unexpected gift. "Lucky fellow."

"The luckiest, Peg. The luckiest."

Chapter Text

Clint was chuckling to himself as he wandered back up to the penthouse. Hill looked ready to commit murder. And for once he wasn't the target. It was awesome.

Actually, she looked totally professional in the interview for Stark Industries, and the polygraph test part was boring. That was such a disappointment. But, once the HR person showed her out the door, she pulled out her phone and started texting somebody while scowling fit to melt the poor device. It was pretty hilarious.

Given everything recently, he'd appreciated the laugh.

And it was all amusing until he stepped onto the penthouse and somebody grabbed him by the shoulder. He spun around, knocking the hand away, and had a knife out, ready to go for the ribs. So, maybe he was still a little on edge. Your agency falls down on your head, you get twitchy. So sue him.

Stark stood back, his hands up, watching Clint with a skeptical eye. "Really? Relax, Tweety."

Clint felt a little chagrined, he hadn't noticed Stark. But he hid it behind a twirl and flourish as he re-sheathed the blade. "Sure. Though, wait … didn't you threaten to throw me off the building like an hour ago?"

Stark's face went a little tight, his eyes narrowing. "Technically, I asked if you wanted to see if you could fly."

"I think the threat was implied."

Letting out a long, impatient breath, Stark waved his hand at Clint and started to walk towards the bar. "I just want to talk to you."

"Will the discussion involve a high-speed encounter with asphalt?" Clint asked, following after the other man, deeply curious at what he might want to talk about.

They'd all been some sort of team thing for couple of years. Ish. Give or take. But, he could count the number of times he'd had a private, solo conversation with Tony on one hand. Using one finger. Maybe the middle one.

Tony ground his teeth and shook his head. "No."

"Is this about Darcy? Because I was joking." He thought about that, wondering if Stark was the kind of guy to be insulted that somebody didn't consider his daughter worth marrying. Though, was that a thing? Was he making that up? Hard to tell. Better make sure. "Not that she's not beautiful and, you know, sexy, and worth getting hitched to. And—"

"Stop talking," Tony said through a jaw clenched so tightly Barton figured that had to hurt.

Clint smirked at him and leaned his elbow against the bar. "Spit it out, Stark."

In most situations that involved or had the potential for some degree of violence, Clint usually felt pretty confident. But, for a minute Stark just stared at him. Stared. Stared hard. But there wasn't any particular expression on his face except tension and it was hard to tell the source or direction of it. It was kind of worrying Clint. Like, for that minute, he could respect the guy was legitimately dangerous. Freaky.

"Stark?" he prompted, hoping to break the weird … weirdness.

"You saved her life," Tony said at last, his voice even, firm, and very clear. There wasn't even a little hint of the arrogance Clint thought must be a default. "Thank you."

It was Clint's turn to stare. He hadn't even thought about it. "Sure. She's my trainee—"

Tony cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. "She told me the range master was right behind her. She never saw him."

Stark was being serious, of course he was. You could always count on him to be serious about his kid. It was one of his redeeming qualities. Clint figured it was only right he got all serious, too.

"It scared us both," he admitted. "He didn't get as far as aiming, but it …" Clint thought about it for a second, running over that moment again. It wasn't really close. Clint saw him move the second the alarm sounded, and then Darcy stepped back in the way, making Carl change his plans. Fortunately for them, while Carl was always a good shot, he was never a fast one.

"She was never in as much danger from that as she thinks," Clint summed up. "It was bad because he was so close behind her. He fell on her mostly."

"I don't care." Stark bent down and pulled out a bottle of scotch he'd hidden behind the counter. He poured himself two fingers and offered the bottle to Clint, who declined. It was a little early for him. But God only knew how long Stark had been up. It was 5 o'clock somewhere, right?

"She's my daughter." Tony swirled the amber liquid in his glass and strolled over to the windows. "I get not everybody understands us. That's fine. I don't give a shit. But, she's my kid."

He took a sip and was quiet for long enough that Clint was scrambling through is head for something to say.

Stark beat him to it again and turned away from the window. "So, thank you."

"You're welcome," Clint responded quickly. This was no time for modesty. Not that he usually had it, but. "I wasn't going to let anything happen to her."

Stark lifted the glass to his lips and drained it with a quick toss back. "Good." He set the glass down on an end table and scratched at his beard. "Darcy says she owes you a six-pack."

"Your damned kid," Clint told him with a dry laugh, trying to break up the heaviness. "Breaking into my place all the time."

"Update security," Stark said with a shrug.

"I do. And then she just does it again."

For the first time in days Stark's mustache twitched with amusement. He damn near almost smiled. "Good for her."

"She's pretty awesome," Clint agreed. "And annoying. Because she drank my beer."

"There's a brewery in Saugerties for sale. Want it?"

"Uh …"

"Say the word," Stark tossed off with a shrug. "Big decision? Sleep on it. Let me know."

"Sure."

"Sure to the brewery or sure to sleeping on it?"

"Sure to sleeping on it. I don't think I want a brewery. I mean," Clint caught himself and titled his head back and forth in consideration. "I do want a brewery, because there would be so much beer. But, I don't think, you know, I have time to run it, or make, like, decisions about it."

"You hire people for that." Stark rolled his eyes and picked up his glass, walking it back over to the bar. "Never mind, think about it. Let me know."

"Sure," Clint said, scratching the back of his neck while he thought about thinking about it. Maybe he should talk to Natasha. This was an unexpected twist. Well, first he had to find Natasha. "So, I'm gonna go … do things other places."

"Finally," Stark muttered and brushed past him, barely acknowledging him.

"Never stop being an asshole, Stark."

The man paused at the door and turned his head, a smirk on his lips. "You either, Barton."

"Are we friends now? I can't tell," Clint yelled after him.

"Free arrows and kevlar for the rest of your probably short life," Stark yelled back.

"So, we're best friends is what you're saying?"

"I thought you were leaving already? Christ, Barton."

"Best friends forever," Clint called one more time. "And I am leaving, jackass."

"Thank God."

Chapter Text

"ABBA cover bands," Darcy said, twirling a white marker in her hand.

"I like ABBA," Bruce admitted.

"Irrelevant. I said cover bands."

"Fine, add it."

Darcy chuckled and wrote 'abba cover bands' on the clear board. Then she stood back and shook her head. "There are not nearly enough things on there."

"We agreed to avoid actual catastrophes and evil. Though, I question the criteria," Bruce muttered with a sigh while he tried to find the saline. "Where is the saline?"

"In the fridge."

"No, the bottles of it." He moved away from his work table. "Never mind." He found it behind the iodine. Because somebody was rearranging his lab. Which was not okay. "People who rearrange my lab."

"Yikes," Darcy said, pulling her lips back in an exaggerated grimace of pain and fear. "That is a bad idea. Who would do that?"

Bruce gave her a flat look. "Guess."

"Not on purpose." She seemed to hear what she was saying and shrugged. "Well, I mean, hiding the saline is more juvenile than usual."

"Please add your father to the board," Bruce told her.

"I feel like there's a conflict of interest there," Darcy protested, crossing her arms mulishly. Everything in her body language said she would not be adding Tony Stark to the list of 'Things That Are/Were A Worse Idea Than the Avengers'.

She continued, still presenting a stubbornly outthrust chin. "I don't think an Avenger can, himself, be a worse idea than the whole Avengers."

"You know your father, right?" Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow at her. She stuck her tongue out at him in return.

The list was her idea. A game, she said, to convince him that the Avengers were not the most epically terrible idea in the whole history of humanity — excepting actual catastrophes and evil, which were not funny and so were off the list. Bruce had a bad feeling the Avengers would eventually fall under 'actual catastrophe', but he held off sharing that with her. She was so proud of her little game.

Bruce bent his head over his journal and made a note. "Fine. But, 'people who rearrange Dr. Banner's lab' should be on there."

"Yep. I will add that. Yikes," she muttered again under her breath.

He couldn't entirely figure out why she kept wandering into his lab. He would figure this would be the one place everybody would avoid. But, no, she would come in, complain about Jane or Tony, and then hand him a slide, or adjust a laser for him, or ask if she could type up his notes.

Bruce couldn't seem to convince Darcy that she was not his assistant. And she kept coming back. Even after a near encounter with the Other Guy the previous week. He got to the safe room in time, nobody was hurt. Nothing was even dented, just a couple broken flasks. But, he was halfway out the door, not bothering with his bags, when Tony and Darcy moved into his lab for the day and stubbornly ignored that he'd almost smashed the place down around them all.

"Orange soda flavored Pop-Tarts," she said. And he heard the squeak of the marker on the board.

"That's not real, is it?"

"Yes. Clint brought a box yesterday. I think he's trying to prove to me that he'll eat anything. I mean, okay, it's his stomach lining, right? Who am I to stop him? Still, why?"

He laughed a little and shook his head. The Starks were … weird and unexpected, but it wasn't too bad being around them. "We could probably do a whole subsection of food, really."

"We could do a whole subsection of Clint," Darcy retorted dryly.

Bruce laughed. Really laughed. God, they were the only two who could do that to him. "If you're not going to add Tony, it's not fair to add Clint."

"I guess," she said with a put-upon sigh. "Your turn."

"Uh … " Bruce clawed through his brain, trying to come up with something funny or whimsical or … irreverent or something. He hadn't encountered whimsy in years. He wasn't sure he even knew what it was any more. Except, maybe it was orange soda-pop flavored pastries and laughing about teammates and … laughing at all, really.

"Bermuda shorts," he blurted.

"Hey, some dudes can work 'em," Darcy protested.

"91% of men cannot. The numbers go up to 97% when you exclude men who are from Bermuda."

"Did you do a study on that? What are those numbers coming from? I demand documentation," Darcy said, pointing the marker at him. "Was this peer reviewed?"

"I didn't. Uh … Betty. She, wasn't fond of men wearing shorts outside of sports."

"Ah," Darcy said quietly. Betty was not a subject he brought up often.

"But, she did a presentation," he pressed on through the regret and awkwardness. "There were slides and a pie chart. Trust me, it was a solid conclusion."

Darcy snickered and added 'Bermuda shorts' to the board. But, Bruce felt like, for just a second, he'd killed the spirit of whimsy. Probably wouldn't be the last time. Whimsy didn't stand a chance against him.  

"I should, uh, I should focus," he said before she could take her turn in the game.

"Oh," she said, looking surprised. But she capped the pen and set it down. "Okay. I'll go see what Jane's up to. You need anything?"

"I'm fine, thank you," he said.

Hunching over his work until Darcy left the room, Bruce silently apologized for being the unsocial jerk he was. He was trying, and he was doing better, but … after a while it was too much. But sometimes the quiet got too much too, and they’d been having fun until he had to go all awkward and it wasn’t really that bad and now he felt bad about chasing her off and --

And then Darcy burst back into the lab and dashed over to the board. "Sorry, sorry, just gotta." She wrote 'cinnamon toothpaste'. "It's just not okay. What is that? Toothpaste flavors should be in the mint family, as God intended."

"Okay?" Bruce said with a little a laugh. "I think cinnamon has anti—"

"I don't care," she said over him, capping and replacing the marker one last time. "I had a boyfriend in college who used it. Kissing him was weird. It was like, are you not sharing your Fire Jolly Ranchers with me? What kind of relationship is this? Of course, he broke up with me when Tony went missing and I turned into an emotionally numb automaton. Couldn’t blame him, but did not miss the cinnamon toothpaste."

"Oh." Bruce licked his lips and looked down at his work. "I'm sorry."

"It happens, Bruce. I got my dad back from the evil terrorists, and every dude I've dated since has used mint toothpaste like a real man should."

He got the point, she was a little more subtle than Tony. Not a whole super lot, but he appreciated it. None of them were alone in their quirks and their failures and their self-doubts and old hurts. He was not alone. Yeah, he got it.

"I like wintergreen," he said with a sly little smile.

She gave him a look of pure consternation. "I don't even ... Is it a mint? Is it a berry? I don't know, Bruce. I just don't know. I have to … consider this."

"Let me know if I have to give back my man card."

"Oh, I will," she said very seriously and headed back for the door. "I will."

Chapter Text

"Pepper!" Rebecca waved, catching the other woman's attention.

"Rebecca, hi," Pepper greeted as she wove through the tables to the one Rebecca claimed at the edge of the cafe's patio. It was November, but the weather was mild, and there was a heat lamp nearby, making the patio plenty comfortable.

Rebecca stood and offered her a quick embrace, before directing her to a chair. "I ordered already, I hope you don't mind. They have a quiche sampler, and I don't care if it's a mom brunch cliche, but I love quiche and I won't apologize for it. Also, mimosas. I won't apologize for those either."

She nudged a glass at Pepper and gave her a close look over. A little tired, maybe, but not exhausted, she decided.

Rebecca and Pepper weren't exactly friends, but they had common interests — namely Darcy and Tony. That made them natural allies. And, truly, Rebecca did like Pepper. They tried to meet every couple months. For Rebecca it was a mission of mercy; the woman deserved a break from Tony from time to time.

Tony's long string of assistants was never a subject of interest to Rebecca, except how they might impact Darcy. But, since he'd always been careful to keep them separate, she'd never worried much. If she considered them at all, it was with the amusement and curiosity of what the story was this time — where they came from and how long they'd last. Until Pepper Potts came into their lives.

One day Pepper walked in on Tony and Darcy, and the cat was out of the bag. Darcy came home and told her all about Tony's pretty assistant who was also pretty cool. Rebecca hemmed and hawed on what to do about that. Should she call Tony? Should she try to vet the woman? And then she felt a twinge of chagrin, remembering how irritating Tony was when she married Paul, with the vetting and the checking him out and the being obnoxiously intrusive. Okay, okay, she got it then. Fine.

Rather than make a big deal about it, not wanting to spook Tony, Rebecca made a plan to see the woman for herself. She waved off Happy's offer to pick Darcy up for a long weekend with Tony, instead she took the day off work and drove Darcy over early. Maybe it was a bit much, but, in Rebecca's opinion when a new person enters your kid's life, you take notice. Their safety was always priority. And when your kid was also Tony Stark's daughter, security and safety took on new, nightmare-inducing aspects. Not that she thought for a second that Tony would allow Darcy to be around somebody who was a threat to her, but, still, Rebecca was her mom and it was her right to meet this woman.

It worked. Tony's house — or AI and that would always weird her out — announced their arrival and she and Darcy entered to find Tony shuffling his feet in the foyer, Ms. Potts standing serenely beside him. He made a quick introduction then watched them both warily while Darcy stood with him and added her own curious gaze. Pepper broke the awkward silence by offering Rebecca coffee and suggesting the two Starks go to the workshop. Tony didn't have to be nudged twice, he picked Darcy up, slung her over his shoulder, and dashed off. When Pepper rolled her eyes and worked her jaw from side to side, Rebecca knew they'd get along just fine.

"So, how are you?" Pepper asked, taking a long sip of her mimosa. "That is excellent."

"It is," Rebecca agreed, enjoying another sip of her own. "I'm doing well. My mother's made her annual demand that I tell her who Darcy's father is. I've issued my annual refusal, so I'm in for a good six months of the silent treatment — or as I call it: heaven." It was a little ritual they had — every year on Darcy's birthday, her mother got snitty about Darcy's mystery father. Why she thought, after sixteen years, that Rebecca would suddenly crack, who knew. Francine would have to wait, just like the rest of the world. Rebecca had no intention of telling her until Darcy was ready.

"Sixteen. I can't believe it," Pepper murmured. "How was the party?"

"Oh, it was good. It got a little wild when Sam broke the ping-pong table, because for some reason he decided to demonstrate his wrestling skills on it. Showing off for all the girls, of course. Only his pride was injured."

Pepper snorted a soft laugh and raised her eyebrow. "Wrestling?"

"He's in a phase; it's all WrestleMania all the time right now. I don't even know. Twelve-year old boys. Paul thinks it's hilarious." Rebecca's eyes went wide when the server brought a plater of mini-quiches. They looked amazing and there were so many. Brunch was the most awesome culinary invention ever. "The rest of the party was good. Darcy didn't punch anybody or set anything on fire. I think Marley has a future as a party planner." Marley was one of Darcy's oldest friends, a pretty girl with a light, bubbly personality that hid a strong core of 'don't put up with none'.

"She must be pretty persuasive. Darcy was firm on not wanting a big party," Pepper observed, helping herself to a few of the pastries. "Tony was disappointed. Sweet sixteen; he thought it should be a big bash."

"Yeah, and what was was he going to do? Rent out the Hollywood Athletic Club and bribe packs of A-listers to attend." Yes, yes, that was exactly his plan. "Darcy would hate that."

Pepper shrugged. "Sometimes I think he suggests things like that just so they can argue about it. Four years and I still don't always understand them."

"Sixteen years and they're still a mystery to me when they're together." Rebecca took a bite of quiche and stared out over the green hills slipping in and out of the southern California haze. "I know my daughter, but there's a whole part of her life that I only get a glimpse into every now and again. She's so much like him sometimes it's almost shocking."

"Except for the times when she's so unlike him — like turning down a big party," Pepper observed.

"She's terrified of being discovered." Rebecca frowned and glanced over at Pepper. "She's not afraid of anything but that."

"She likes her independence," Pepper said. "She sees how people follow Tony around, how they watch him, how they report on him. He's learned to deal with it — either play into it or ignore it as it suits him. And, frankly, he's attention starved. But, I think for her it looks like a cage."

"Do you two talk about it?"

"Sometimes." Pepper drew her napkin through her fingers as she thought. "I think, honestly, there's something of a thrill in it for her, to have these two separate lives. She gets to move between both of them however she likes. Both have their pros and cons."

Rebecca sighed. "It won't last forever."

"No, it won't." Pepper gave her an apologetic look. "You know how careful Tony is."

"Oh, I know," Rebecca assured her. "I have no complaints. And she's getting older, she'll be able to cope with it when the time comes. I just … I see what it does to Tony. I don't want that for her."

"She's not like that. I can't see her getting swallowed by the fame. It won't be an easy adjustment, but she's self-possessed enough that she'll manage. And she's hardly alone."

Rebecca gave her a grateful smile. "Thanks. I'm sorry, I'm getting all," she waved her hand vaguely, trying to explain her feelings of anxiety, "it's just … she's getting older. My baby's growing up. Sixteen! She's got her driver's license. We've set her loose on the world."

Pepper nodded slowly, then her lips tipped up into a little smirk. "I suppose I shouldn't tell you Tony's been letting her drive for years, huh?"

Rebecca clapped her hands over her ears. "No. I don't want to know."

Pepper laughed and took another quiche and a slice of tomato. "The closed tracks, if it makes you feel better. And Tony's an excellent driver. Terrifying, but excellent."

"Not helping," Rebecca said, shaking her head.

"He's having a little meltdown about sixteen, too," Pepper continued. "He won't admit it, of course. But he's been doing safety rating research on cars and trying to install trackers on everything she owns. I say trying because she's caught him at least three times."

Rebecca laughed. "That jerk. God bless him."

"I have to tell you, of all the things I didn't expect when I took the job as his PA, it was bracing myself for his teenaged daughter." Pepper held up a placating hand before Rebecca could fully parse that sentence. "She's a great kid, I really like her, but she told me there's a boy she likes. Tony is emphatically not prepared for that."

Rebecca shuddered a little, she wasn't sure she was ready for that either. "She's had a few little crushes, and a little hand holding, and going to the movies with other kids kind of things. But not a real boyfriend yet. But," she leaned forward over the table, "I cannot wait for Tony's reaction when she finally does. Hilarious."

Letting out a long breath, Pepper shook her head. "Please don't wish this on me. He's difficult enough, now we're adding boys to the equation?"

"It's going to happen," Rebecca told her with a shrug that said she'd accepted this reality. "His name is Josh, he came to the birthday party. I don't know what I think of him. He was perfectly polite, but he got a little mean with his teasing of Sam when the table broke. But, teenagers can be jerks, so I don't know."

With a sigh, Pepper propped her chin on her hand and gazed out over the landscape. "Sixteen. Boys. And then college. That's already started, Tony's pushing hard for MIT, and she's mostly ignoring him, but … that's going to be a thing, I can tell. The math issue was bad enough and that was just one class."

"I'm going to apologize, because I know this is not what you wanted when you took the job."

"No, it's not—"

"No, let me finish," Rebecca cut her off. "But, Tony's his own world of chaos, I know that, and you've got enough on your plate. In this, I think your best bet is to just let them battle it out themselves. Don't try to mediate. There's no reason you should burn yourself out on their dramas. They love each other, they'll get over it."

Pepper blinked at that and was silent for a moment. "If you want me to stay out of it, I will. I just thought—"

"Oh no, oh God no," Rebecca said quickly, reaching out a hand when she realized Pepper took her words the wrong way. "I didn't … I wasn't telling you to back off or anything. I appreciate how much you do for Darcy, and I love that she has another woman she can talk to about things. I'm so grateful. Honestly, it makes me feel better knowing she and Tony have you. I just meant, I think they're them, and some of these things … we just have to let them be them together. They are a mystery only they understand."

Smiling, Pepper took her hand and gave it a brief squeeze before reaching for the carafe of mimosa. Yes, this was a conversation that needed a little alcohol. "Thank you. I try not to get into it, but I want to be there for both of them." Then she laughed and poured them both another glass. "Wait until she gets married."

"Oh boy," Rebecca said dryly and raised her glass. "Though, she'll be a beautiful bride — in, you know, ten years or so."

Pepper grimaced and shook her head. "That's barely enough time to start planning. That's not nearly enough time to even start softening up Tony. Can we say fifteen?"

Rebecca gave her a wicked grin and reached for her purse. "I have a notebook, I have a pen, I have ideas, and an afternoon to kill."

"I have a meeting in two hours."

"Tony has a meeting in two hours," Rebecca corrected. "Call him and tell him something important came up. Now, I know everybody loves the spring wedding, but that's boring. Darcy is not boring. I think autumn. Maybe even winter. Depending on where it is, can you imagine? Magical, am I right?"

Pepper laughed a little and hesitated for a moment, clearly not sure if she should be drawn into an afternoon of fantasy wedding planning. And then she gave in to the allure of the amusement. "Tony has property in upstate New York. The northeast is beautiful in the fall."

"Tony has property everywhere," Rebecca said. "We should go over it, make a list, rank them from best to worst on factors of travel time, expense, seasonal appeal, etc." She clicked the pen three times, grinned again and put pen to paper. "New York — go!"

Chapter Text

"I wasn't sure you'd come."

Bucky turned away from the window and looked over towards Peggy Carter. The room was dark, sunrise was still a ways off, though the sky outside was fading from black to gray. But, Steve told him Peggy woke early, so he thought early morning might be the best time for his visit.

"Agent Carter," he greeted quietly. She couldn't be sure it was him, but maybe she was just used to people turning up in her room at all hours. If she guessed him often enough eventually she'd be right, right? Or she was waiting for somebody else.

"Sergeant. It's been a long time."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Let me see you; come over here."

Bucky hesitated a moment before detaching himself from the comfort of the shadows to approach her. She lifted a hand, pointed to the side table. He reached over to turn on the small table lamp.

"There you are," she said on a sigh.

"Darcy said you wanted to see me."

Peggy nodded and her chin trembled. "I'm so sorry."

With a groan, he grabbed a chair and pulled it closer to her bed. "Come on. You didn't know."

"She said you wouldn't blame anybody, but," her voice broke for a moment and she had to collect herself. "But, you have to know, that I looked for you. I want you to know that we didn't abandon you. I am so sorry, I couldn't find you. I'm so—"

"Agent Carter, please," he said, trying not to sound irritated at the old woman.

This wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to give her the peace of mind of whatever it was she needed to say and then leave it. They'd never known each other very well. They had Steve in common, of course, but aside from work together during the war, maybe six months or so of it, that was it. But, he really didn't want a load of apologies for something that wasn't even her fault, for something she had nothing to do with.

"I wanted you to know," she said, patting the air with one hand, stating her point one last time.

"Okay." He ran a finger along the wood grain in the chair arm. "Thank you."

"It was the least I could do."

"It was dangerous."

"I know."

"I could have killed you."

She gave him an amused look. "Obviously you did not."

"Well … no."

They fell silent, long enough for Bucky to be pretty sure Peggy fell back asleep.

"I looked for you," she said, breaking the silence.

"I know. Darcy said."

"She made it home?"

He wasn't sure what to say. Both Darcy and Steve told him Peggy's memory got a little shaky, particularly when she was tired. "Yeah, she's home safe and sound. She came to see you a couple weeks ago. Do you remember?"

"That's right," Peggy said on a sigh, a warble in her voice. "She was afraid you'd be upset."

"You dames," he grumbled.

Peggy turned her head and settled herself more comfortably under her blankets. "She missed you so terribly."

Bucky let his eyes wander around the room, trying to pretend he hadn't heard her comment. There were private things between him and Darcy and he wasn't quite comfortable airing them with other people just now.

They were both of them, for their own reasons, a little skittish about this thing between them. Maybe Darcy more than him, which might be strange to other people. And maybe he wouldn't mind having somebody to talk to about it, and his only other option was Steve and that wasn't an option. Or maybe Barton, but that also really wasn't an option, because he didn't want it to be one.

"I'm glad she wasn't alone," he said at last.

"No, she had plenty of friends." He jumped a little, startled, when he felt her touch the back of his hand. "Everybody missed you, but her heart was broken for you."

Bucky tried not to pull his hand away, that would have been rude. Geez, this was a weird situation, but she was an old lady now, and still Steve's girl, so he oughta be polite.

But he also wanted to change the subject. "I read your report."

"Did you? What did you think?"

"Do you think I was the sniper? The one who shot at her when she was going in to talk to your chief?"

"I don't know. I don't recall that we ever found any evidence identifying the sniper. It was so long ago." Her fingers curled around his. "Darcy missed you so terribly."

"You said," he muttered. It seemed like she didn't want to get off the subject. "She … uh, sounds like she got into some trouble."

"Nothing horrible, I don't think."

"Except the ending up in 1946 part."

Peggy smiled. "Except that. What a gift. I've thought it over the years. She said she was leaving me with a burden, but I thought it was a gift. To know. To know you'd come home one day. That you and Darcy would find each other. What a gift."

"Guess I'm doomed to find all the people who spend their time finding trouble, huh?"

"Take care of them," she said quietly, then laughed, just a little, "I'm old, I can't help anymore. They need you."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm … I'm here," he grumbled and her fingers squeezed his lightly. "I'll keep an eye on 'em."

"Good."

"'Course they don't listen to me," he said with a shrug. Because, they didn't listen to him and he wasn't sure which of them was worse about it.

"Well, they never listened to me, either."

He finally let himself laugh and he also let himself turn his hand enough to take hers for just a second. "I'll do my best." He let go of her hand and stood. "I should go. Sun's coming up."

"Will I see you again?"

"I don't know."

"I'm glad to see you now, Sergeant."

"Good to see you," he admitted quietly, though his memories of her were thin, distant, not particularly sharp. Still, she was one last link to his past.

"I looked for you," she told him, her voice serious but the tone going soft and reedy. Looked like maybe she was ready to fall back asleep.

"I know."

"Sgt. Barnes?"

He pressed his lips together and stepped away from the bed, finding the fading shadows, and back towards the windows. "Goodbye, Agent Carter."

Chapter Text

Autumn was starting to creep into the city. The weather was still mostly warm and green, but there'd been a couple of blustery, rainy days, and a new little chill in the air in the mornings. Darcy wasn't sure she'd ever quite get used to Fall starting in September, but, it wasn't the worst thing in the world. Because, for real, east coast summers were the worst.

Bucky's apartment was not the best place to spend a summer. There was no cross breeze, it got stuffy as hell, and had no central air or anything. A couple fans by the windows, and mostly they just pushed around the sticky, grimy air from the outside.

Today was one of those slightly blustery days, though, and there was a hint of cool and damp and a definite breeze that rattled his blinds. And the apartment was quiet, nobody constantly demanding her attention for this thing or that. She could maybe get some things done. Maybe. Truthfully, it was just nice to hang out quietly with him.

"I think the bar oughta be a Dodgers bar," Bucky said decisively from his spot on the couch.

On the other side of the couch, curled up, her back to the arm rest, feet braced on his thigh, Darcy was spending her Saturday afternoon reluctantly reading reports from Phil. She didn't even bother glare. "Over my dead body."

"It's my bar."

"That I'm paying for." Darcy glanced up from her work and considered the screen. "How about the Mets? I have no strong feelings, they're local, and they're not the Yankees."

"I don't know," he grumbled. "What the hell's a Met?"

"Metropolitans." She rolled her eyes and nudged his knee with her foot. "Oh my God, don't be like that."

His lips lifted into a little smile and he shrugged. "I'll consider it."

Darcy braced her elbow on the back of the couch and set her chin in her hand, watching the game for a minute. "I know a guy on the Mets."

"Yeah?"

"Well, know." She shrugged. "His mom's my lawyer, and his grandpa was my lawyer before that. We sort of knew each other as kids. Kind of. Like, Memorial Day cookouts at his grandpa's house kind of thing."

Bucky jerked his chin at the tv. "He playing?"

She squinted at the field and counted the numbers. "I don't see him. I think he's mostly a bench guy this year. Second base, some shortstop. Good defense, quick on his feet. So-so hitter. Though, he had a good year in triple-A last year. Rick Carmine."

"I'll look out for him," Bucky said and turned his attention back to the game. "Miami Marlins. Sounds like a double-A team," he grumbled and fell silent for a long moment. "That guy needs a haircut. His hair's longer than yours."

"Says you, Mr. Lucious Locks down to your manly shoulders," Darcy laughed, with a roll of her eyes, turning her own attention back to her tablet. So, okay, it wasn't entirely quiet at Bucky's, especially when he was in a 'kids these days' mood. Hilarious as that usually was. "Besides, baseball — it's a long season, what else are they going to do other than grow weirdass beards and bad mullets? Not that there's a good mullet."

He let out a long breath through his nose. "I don't like the long pants, either."

Darcy stared at him for a second, looked at the screen, then back at him. "Are they playing baseball?"

"More or less."

Exasperated, she waved a hand at him, the tv, the universe. "Then, just, whatever, okay?"

He snorted and slumped down on the couch, kicking up his feet onto his coffee table. "Okay, so if some guys have their pants long, and other guys have their socks high, I'll pretend I don't mind. But, if the socks are high, shouldn't they all be the same? It's a uniform. How come that guy's got stripes on his socks, and that guy's are just black? They're on the same team, it oughta look the same."

Darcy rubbed at her forehead and tried to pretend she was focusing on blackmarket weapon sales in Ukraine, and not her partner's old man griping. "Let me get you the commissioner's email. You can send him a letter."

"Yeah, I'll send him a letter," he said, his tone dark with menace.

Darcy nudged his leg again. "Why are you all grumpy cat? You've been watching games all season."

"Yeah, but by myself mostly." He gave her a sad little look, like she'd abandoned him through the baseball season. "A couple times with Barton."

"But you don't bitch to Barton." Aww, he wanted to save his bitching for when she could hear it. That was both annoying and sweet.

"I don't know. I guess not." Bucky watched the game and then slapped his hand on his thigh. "Where the hell was that pitch, ump? Geez. That was right across the letters. Ball, what a crock."

Darcy laughed at his outrage. It was so normal, and those moments where he was just a regular guy were always such delight. "I'm pretty sure the proper nickname for every baseball umpire is 'bum'. So, like, that was a lousy call, you bum."

"I agree. And he is a bum. Look at that strike zone. Or don't, because I can't tell where the hell it is." He pointed at the TV. "I like the strike zone box they put up on the screen. Bet the umps don't."

"Some people want robo-umps," she informed him. "I'm on the fence. I don't entirely hate that, you know, each ump can have his own sort of unique strike zone, but that's only okay so long as they're consistent, you know."

"Robo-ump?"

"Basically that strike zone box. A computer would call balls and strikes. I don't know. I still like the human element. And you get to yell at the bums, which is part of the fun. Some people, though…"

He kept his face pointed at the TV, but his eyes slid over to her. "Yeah, well some people like the DH."

Darcy scowled at him. "I am not arguing about the DH with you. Again."

"Ruining the game," he said, his voice rising.

"Oh my God, shut up about the DH."

Bucky slapped his metal fist in his palm and glowered at the world. "Glad I was on the ice when it was instituted or I woulda burned the league down."

"For real, stop."

"What a waste of the bench," he snarled, his voice heating and he was waving his hands at the TV. "So, you carry a guy who's only job is to—" Darcy lurched up and lunged at him, clapping her hand across his mouth.

"No," she said, begging, demanding, insisting, pleading. "You're an National League guy, it's fine, I accept it. I like you for who you are, this critical personality flaw included. But, please, no more."

They stared each other down for a long moment before he finally nodded and she let him go. She sat back cautiously, watching him warily like he might start in again.

There'd been a very, very long flight from Argentina where he talked about the Designated Hitter rule the whole time. She'd been tempted to jump out of the quinjet, except her suit's arc reactor was offline and she was having a hard time getting it back. Even then, though, she was still tempted to jump. She worked great under pressure, and nothing beat the pressure of gravity and a quickly approaching planet.

He turned his attention back to the game. "Mets are okay, I guess. For the bar, I mean."

"Good, great," she told him, relieved to have escaped that dangerous, dangerous DH moment.

"But, I don't want a bunch of tvs in the bar," he said, pointing a finger at her. "Most places, they've always got 'em up too loud. I'm not going to the bar to have some sports jock shout at me while I'm trying to drink a beer."

"A couple, just for games, turn them off the rest of the time."

"'Kay."

They were silent for a moment and then she laughed. "You're like a million years old."

"I like what I like," he grumped. "I don't like the DH, though, because it takes away from strategy—"

"NO!" She dropped her tablet listlessly onto her lap, threw her head back, and let her body go limp in utter and complete defeat. "Call Steve. You guys can go do your old fogey thing about it. Rarr, kids these days and their designated hitter. God. Leave me in peace," she groaned, so much pain, so much anguish. Minor anguish, but still, shut up Bucky.

The room fell quiet after her cri de coeur, except for the quiet rumble of traffic, the voice of the play by play man, and Bucky's laughter. The big asshole.

"Jerk," she muttered and petulantly shoved at his leg with her foot.

"I love riling you up."

"Biggest jerk."

He let out an amused sigh and grabbed her foot before she could kick him again. "Okay, so the Dodgers are in LA. The Athletics are in Oakland. The Giants are in San Francisco. Weird."

"The east coast needs to stop hoarding all the teams," she shot back, her tone sour, still annoyed.

"I guess, or California will steal them all." He gave her a look and then returned his attention to the game. "Oh, and the Braves are in Atlanta. And I don't know what happened to the Senators except now they're the Nationals?"

"I think they're the Twins now, and the Nationals moved from Montreal."

His brows drew down in a confused frown. "Montreal. Canada?"

Darcy shrugged and picked up her tablet again. Work was not really getting done, but she could try to pretend. "Toronto Blue Jays."

"I can't keep up with all this."

"Don't try to see the then, live with the now," she advised.

"What?"

"Half the league are teams after your day. Just, you know, embrace the league as it is now."

"Except the DH."

"Mother fu—" Darcy thumped her forehead with the palm of her hand. "I walked into that one."

"Yeah, you did," he told her, sounding almost gleeful.

"See if I let you use the company seats at the ballpark of your choice. Ever," she told him, glaring darkly.

"You've got seats at all the parks?"

"Ok, well, no, not really. The places we have major offices. For, you know, schmoozing clients, or rewarding employees, and like that. I'd have to check where all. But I'm pretty sure I could get really awesome tickets anywhere. Not that I will for you. So, know what you're missing and suffer. Nosebleed seats for you, buddy."

Bucky snickered and rubbed a hand down her shin, squeezing her ankle lightly. "Yeah, 'cause I can't buy my own tickets."

"Boo to you," she whined and huddled over her tablet. "Ruin every scrap of fun I have."

He drew a meep of surprise from her when he pulled on her leg, drawing her down the couch. Flailing a little at the sudden move, she found herself flat on her back under a looming and impressive assassin. He had one hand braced on the back of the couch, and the other on the arm above her head. It was … a breathtaking view.

"Yep," he said, smirking. "Ruining your fun, that's me."

Letting out a long breath, she poked at his chest; not hard, only just enough to appreciate the closeness and solidness of his pecs. He wasn't the biggest guy she knew, but wow, he really knew how to work the upper body. And, she was free to grope at will. In a not creepy way. Hooray for dating.

"You are in an interesting mood today," she murmured, still examining his chest with her fingers. The gray henley was really well fitting. And probably brought out the blue in his eyes, but she was focused elsewhere.

"Nobody's shooting at us," he said, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Nobody is torturing us." Another kiss on the other side of her mouth. "Nobody is trying to blow us up." His lips landed solidly on hers, but before she could make it a real kiss he drew back with a smile. "Nobody is—"

Her phone rang and he turned his head towards the device with a growl. A real, deep, animal growl. Darcy couldn't help it, she laughed.

"Of course." Grabbing his chin, she turned his face back to her and captured his lips with hers. She was getting her kiss, interruptions be damned. But, the phone kept ringing and it was Phil's ringtone and there was only so long they could ignore the Director.

"I hate Coulson," Bucky grumbled against her cheek. "I hate him a lot."

"But, he's such a big fan of yours." She shoved at his chest, but regretfully this time it was less about feeling him up and more about moving him out of the way.

He didn't move far, just slid to the side, squeezing between her and the back of the couch. Shoving his bristly chin against the crook of her neck, he grumbled darkly, swearing in Russian, while she fumbled for the phone.

"This better be a planet-wide emergency, Phil," Darcy greeted with a groan.

"I need you to go to Japan," he greeted. "I'm sending you the file."

"Bucky wants you to know that he hates you."

"That's too bad," Phil said, his voice bland and unbothered by the fact that one of his childhood heroes hated him. "I'd like to do a video brief in half an hour."

"You're interrupting his baseball day," Darcy pressed.

"Baseball lasts for half the year. Did you know I played second base in little league?"

"No."

"I played second base in little league. Read the file, briefing in thirty." Phil hung up and Darcy dropped her phone on the floor and patted the side of Bucky's head.

"I hate him," Bucky muttered.

"Me, too. Briefing in thirty." She squirmed away from her partner and rubbed a hand over her eyes, trying to shake off the haze of 'attractive man and his kissing and attractiveness and such'. "I think we need to sweep your apartment for cameras."

"Why?" Bucky shoved himself up and flopped back over to his side of the couch.

"His timing is too suspicious." She glared up at a likely corner of the room. "I bet he's colluding with my dad."

"I think you're paranoid."

"Is it paranoid when we work for a spy agency? And my dad is a big nosy, nudgnik?"

"Probably still paranoid," he said with a dry chuckle. "So, briefing? Where are we going?"

Darcy glared sourly and pulled her tablet out from where it fell between the couch cushions. "Japan."

"Sounds fun. I like Japan."

Darcy closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. "And now you've cursed it."

So much for a quiet Saturday. Boo.

Chapter Text

Izzy Taveres just wanted to get home. She was having one of those days — her shift at the restaurant ran over with a huge family party that ended in a brawl and a police raid. The train was late, she missed her bus, and now she had to walk because she couldn't justify paying for a cab for five blocks. All of which meant she was going to be even later, and the babysitter was going to charge her extra. And it just … ugh. Her feet hurt, her head hurt, her uniform smelled like sour wine and marinara sauce, and now she was going to have to take down the laundry before she could go to sleep and she really hoped she could find a few quarters in the couch cushions or the junk drawer. God, what a day.

Sighing softly, she trudged down the sidewalk. It was late enough that the streets were relatively quiet. A handful of cars, not many pedestrians. Which is why her heart jumped when she heard the footsteps start up behind her. Closing her eyes briefly, she took a deep breath, and then shook her head. She was being silly. The street was well lit, there may not have been much traffic, but there was some, and the neighborhood was a long way from desolate. Still, she pulled her bag a little closer to her body, and slipped a hand into the outer pocket where she had that can of gel pepper spray her sister gave her.

Her steps picked up, and so did her heart rate, as she crossed the eerie black void of a mid-block alley. The footsteps behind picked up with hers and her mouth went dry.

Izzy most definitely did not need this. She really, really did not need this. She could not afford this, absolutely not. She had just enough to get her and Mia through to the end of the next week, and then she'd get paid. If she lost tonight's tips, it would be so much harder. She'd probably have to ask her sister for another loan.

The footsteps got closer. Oh God, she hoped her tips was all they wanted. She had an eight-year old daughter, and while being a single mom was hard, going home to her kid made everything worth it. That's all she wanted, to go home to her daughter. Oh Lord, help her. Please help her.

She thought she felt fingers brush her back and a sharp tang of adrenaline and terror filled her mouth. Pulling out her pepper spray, she hunched her shoulders, and tried to be brave as she turned around to face her attacker. Except, she couldn't help but squeeze her eyes shut, which probably wouldn't help. However, before she got all the way around, she heard a weird yelp and a thud, and that presence behind her wasn't there anymore.

Prying open one eye, still hesitant, still afraid, she peeked towards the alley as a man in a black leather jacket stepped out dusting off his hands on his jeans. Another, much larger, man turned towards her and held out his hands, trying to show he was harmless. Except he really was huge and she almost straight up hit him with the pepper spray on instinct.

"Our pardon, miss; we didn't mean to alarm you," he said in a deep, accented voice.

Two more men followed behind the first pair, and Izzy backed away and clung, with a shaky hand, more tightly to her pepper spray. Despite the big guy's attempt to appear not threatening, it was late, dark, and she was out-numbered and terrified.

"Hi, I'm Steve," greeted one of the approaching men. The guy next to Steve turned off and murmured something to the man in the jacket and they both stepped into the alley.

"And I'm Thor," greeted the large man.

Wait …

"Thor?" Izzy repeated, feeling dazed from the still swirling churn of fear.

"Yes," the man grinned a broad smile that flashed in the dim light.

"And … Steve? You're not Steve Rogers, are you?"

That couldn't be right. Not even a little bit. But the big guy was both really big and he had long hair and she'd seen plenty of pictures of Thor. And maybe Steve Rogers looked like, you know, Steve Rogers, but it was still kind of dark by the alley and hard to see clearly. Also her eyes were still kind of squinted. The city could really put a freaking light near the alley. Who designed this lighting? That was terrible and dangerous. She was sending somebody a scathing email when she got home; which, thank God, it looked like she actually would.

"I am," he said gently. Then he waved a hand at the other two who had reappeared form the alley. "And this is—"

"Clint," said the guy in the jacket. Then he thumped the back of his hand on the last man's shoulder and said, "Vasily."

"Stop calling me that," the last guy growled. He looked over at Izzy and hesitated a moment before he muttered, "James."

"Okay," Izzy said. She had no idea who Clint and James were supposed to be, but Captain America and Thor were enough to assure her that she was probably safe.

The fear and adrenaline started to drain, leaving her shaky and with a strange, hollow queasiness in the pit of her stomach.

She would NOT throw up in front of Captain America. She wouldn't do it. Mia would never, ever let her live that down. Actually, she wouldn't be telling Mia about 90% of this story, but her daughter would love to hear that Izzy met the Avengers. Or, two of them at least. Or maybe four? One of them could be the guy with the arrows, maybe the blond in the black jacket? Nobody ever got a good look at Hawkeye without his bow, so who could say? And the other guy, long, dark hair to below his chin, didn't look like Tony Stark for sure, and it's not like Tony Stark would introduce himself as James. So … Hulk? What did Hulk look like when he wasn't green? Did anybody know? Except Hulk didn't have long hair. Except, Hulk was also ginormous and green. And if he could turn big and green, maybe his hair changed length, too?

"Ma'am?"

Oh, Steve Rogers was talking to her while she was stuck in her weird post-terror Avengers spiral. "What? Sorry, I was … just trying to get my head together."

"We were wondering if you'd mind if we walked you home?"

"Uh," she hesitated. Yes, she would like four Avengers to walk her home. Duh. But, also, she was a confident woman with a can of pepper spray who wasn't afraid of the streets (except when she was, because somebody had to put a light on that alley and she would make sure it was done if she had to personally shout at every member of the neighborhood council). "It's not far. You don't have to. I appreciate you … uh, doing whatever it was you did? Was there a mugger? Because I thought— well, I thought I heard somebody but then it was just you? But …"

James and Clint cast quick looks into the alley and shrugged. Steve didn't turn around but his smile looked a little tight. Thor just grinned some more. There was totally a mugger. Though, the mugger was probably currently unconscious or tied up or something. Maybe both. Served him right.

"It's no bother," Thor said. "We were on our way home, as well. We can walk together, as friends."

"It's really fine. I'm fine. Thank you. Besides, don't you live in Manhattan?" Yes, yes, please good-looking Avengers, walk her home. Also, stop trying to tell them not to, mouth. God.

"Our friend," Thor gestured to James, "is opening a tavern in the area. We were walking back from … dinner?" He glanced at Steve, who nodded back. "Yes, dinner. We had hotdogs. And ice cream."

"But not together," Clint offered.

Thor nodded. "Because that would be disgusting."

"Right," Clint agreed, then he frowned. "Although…"

"There was the jalapeño ice cream," Thor murmured back at him.

"Mother of God," James muttered and rubbed at his face with a gloved hand.

Why did he have a glove on? It was like 80 degrees out. And only one glove at that. What was he? Michael Jackson? Oh, maybe that wasn't nice. Maybe he had a problem with his hand. And he was embarrassed by scars or something? Or if he was Hulk, maybe one arm was always green? Wow, Izzy, how insensitive.

Wait … he was opening a tavern in the area? Maybe there'd be jobs. It would be amazing to get a decent job closer to home. Actually, she'd love to move out of the area, because it was getting more and more expensive every day, but her apartment was rent controlled and they'd have to cart out her rotting corpse before she gave that up — aside from their daughter, it was the only good thing her ex-husband The Bum ever gave her before he ditched them to go 'find himself' in Jersey. Plus, Mia's school was close and it was a good one. But, anyway …

"Well, thank you again, but I need to get home," Izzy said, and gave them a wave as she turned to head back up the street.

Steve and Thor fell in beside her. She couldn't bring herself to try to shoo them off again. Besides, AVENGERS! The other two walked behind them.

"You know, I think your bar needs a theme," Clint said.

Izzy heard a heavy sigh and then James said, "What do you mean?" 

"Something to get people in the door," Clint explained. "Hey! You know what's due to come back? Tiki bars!"

"What's a tiki bar?" James sounded like he didn't want to ask but couldn't stop himself from asking.

"They're awesome. I'll show you."

Izzy had some big doubts about the long-term appeal of a tiki bar. The novelty would turn to tacky really quick. She'd worked in her fair share of tacky places, she'd know. And were they ever really 'in'? She glanced over her shoulder and saw them both on their phones.

James snorted a laugh and tilted his phone's screen towards Clint so he could read it. "Darcy says, 'tell Clint to shut up.' Shut up, Clint."

Clint glowered and shoved his phone back in his pocket; there would be no tiki bar. "Darcy's no fun. She used to be fun, but then she started hanging out with you and her fun level cratered."

"You could have Thursday specials," Thor suggested brightly. "I'll bring you a few casks of Asgardian ales. There are several I think you'll like, though you'll have to mix them with something else. They're far too strong for you mortals. But there are no finer brews in any realm." Thor looked at Izzy and winked. "Thursday is named after me, you know. Thor's day."

That was so weird. She knew he was Thor, but somehow it didn't hit her that he was THE Thor. Or, she knew that, but it wasn't real until he said that, and that mean that he was like hundreds of years old. Or thousands? So weird. "I … remember that from school, I think."

Thor chuckled, mostly to himself. "Ah, Midgard. I love this place."

"Uh, where is the bar going to be?" Izzy asked, changing the subject to one her brain could actually wrap itself around.

Clint waved a hand towards the other side of the street. "You know that big hole in the ground on Havermayer?"

"By the bridge, yeah. Oh, there?" That was disappointing, it was a hole in the ground, and holes in the ground weren't anywhere near being bars. And if not a bar yet, Izzy also didn't work construction. Well, not yet. If the pay was good, she just might. Also, if they'd hire her without her having any experience. But, she was a hard worker and she'd learn. She could sling concrete. Maybe. She was a hair under 5'1", but that couldn't be disqualifying, could it?

James looked reluctant to talk in general, but he nodded and shrugged at the same time like he was talking and trying to be uninterested at the same time. He wasn't rude or anything, just not very present. "The building on the corner."

"Where the Rosebud Family Restaurant used to be," Izzy said, feeling relieved. Not the hole in the ground! Then she scrunched up her nose and made a 'blah' face. "That place was terrible. I don't know how it lasted so long, it was open thirty years. I think I found cigarette ashes in my hashbrowns once."

"Gross," Cling said with a laugh.

Even James chuckled a little. "We won't serve hashbrowns."

This caught Clint's attention again and he asked, "What will you serve? You know what I miss?"

"I don't care what you miss," James said in a flat voice as he glanced away, his eyes scanning the street restlessly. Looking for trouble? Or looking to escape?

"Bratwurst," Clint said, ignoring him. "The hotdogs tonight reminded me. They were okay, but nobody does good brats here. You'd think maybe somebody would, but no. It's a Goddamned crime."

James pursed his lips and looked up at the sky and Izzy couldn't tell if he was thinking about it, or thinking about strangling Clint. "Maybe."

"I know a place in Iowa," Clint pressed, as if he sensed weakness and was going to take advantage. "They sell all sorts of sausage. German family, they've been making them for like a hundred something years. I worked in their warehouse over one winter when I was a kid. I got paid in liverwurst. Awesome job."

"Remember Mr. Sawicki with the hotdog cart, Buck?" Steve asked with a wistful sort of laugh. "He had the best franks in the city, I haven't found any that taste as good."

"I remember," James said quietly. He glanced at Clint, who gave him a triumphant little smirk.

"My guy does awesome frankfurters," Clint confirmed.

With a sigh, giving in, James nodded. "Give Darcy the number."

"My daughter would eat hotdogs for every meal if I let her," Izzy said, chatting with her new Avengers friends, as one does. Friends who were opening a bar and maybe she'd get a job. No! She wasn't going to try to leverage getting nearly mugged into a job. But, they did bring it up.

Steve's face brightened. "You've got a daughter? How old?"

"Eight," Izzy said smiling back. "And if you stick those hotdogs in a disgusting cornbread mess and fry it, you'll have her loyalty forever."

"I love corndogs," Clint said. Izzy didn't know any of them really, but somehow the idea that Clint — or Hawkeye, if that's who we was — loved corndogs didn't surprise her one bit. "We had some good ones back in the circus. Well, if Cookie remembered to change the oil. Sometimes he didn't for a few days." Clint grimaced and looked away.

The circus?

"It'll be a while," James said, looking thoughtfully across the street. "We just got the place last week. Now we've got to gut it. But Darcy wants to strip the brick off the whole building."

Steve nodded. "It's not that bad, but it doesn't fit."

"Not bad?" Clint echoed, his face twisted in disbelief. "It's horrible. The worst of the 70s. You guys are lucky you missed the 70s. I mostly missed them, but I saw the reruns. That was enough."

Izzy knew the building; it was dingy yellow brick and it looked like a horrible, soulless box. It was big and yellow and definitely didn't fit with some of the older brick in the neighborhood. "How do you strip brick?" She asked. "Sand blast it?"

James shook his head. "I guess they have to take this off all the way down to the framing."

"That's a lot," Izzy murmured. It would be a looooong time before that bar opened.

"We'll start in a couple days," James told her. "But, yeah, there's a lot to do. Probably won't open until the first of next year."

Izzy tried not to pout, and then started thinking about transitioning into construction work again. Being able to walk to work would be a dream come true.

Steve hummed quietly and gave the other man a sympathetic glance. "Kind of rotten timing — starting up just when Darcy's going out of town."

James ran his hand over his face and sighed. "Fur— uh, Nick will be onsite supervising, at least at the start."

"Nick?" Thor asked. "As in …" he covered one eye with his hand and gave James a leading look. "I thought he was dead."

James dropped his head and looked uncomfortable and ashamed, and like he wanted to go back and hide in the alley with the mugger.

Izzy frowned. Except, maybe she didn't want to know. There was drama and then there was probably Godly and Avengers-level drama that she was maybe better off not knowing about. She was curious, it would make for damned fine gossip, but also, might get her black-bagged and tossed in a secret prison somewhere. She had a daughter who needed her. Curiosity wasn't worth the risk.

Clint jumped in and gave them all a sharp look, before quickly sliding his eyes to Izzy and then back to Thor. "You're thinking of our other friend Nick."

"Oh," Thor said and then he seemed to clue into what they were talking about. Good for him; Izzy was lost. "Our other friend Nick. Unlike this Nick, who is not dead. Nick … Hair … son. Yes, Nick Hairson. Harrison. Such a … magnificent head of hair. Not as magnificent as my own, of course, but very nice."

They were crossing under a streetlight, but it was still not exactly day time bright, so Izzy couldn't be sure, but it looked like a little bit of Thor himself died inside when he said all that. The Avengers were horrible liars. Which, she supposed, is what you'd hope for from heroes and role models. And, as a regular person, it was nice to know that even the Avengers could be really bad at something. It balanced the universe.

Izzy saw the lights over her building's front entrance and let out a slow, quiet breath. She made it. With help, but she made it. This long, horrible day that almost went so much worse, but somehow ended up just kind of strange, was almost over. She still had to do laundry, which sucked, and pay the babysitter, which also kind of sucked. But, she made it home safely.

"This is me," she said, waving towards the front doors. "Thank you for walking with me. I appreciate it."

"Of course," Steve said, sticking his hand out for her to shake. "I'm sorry, I don't think we ever asked for your name."

"Izzy Taveres."

"It was nice meeting you, Ms. Taveres."

Steve gave her hand a friendly shake, and then Thor was next, wrapping his giant paw around her little hand. She felt like a toddler next to him. Good lord, he was huge.

"A pleasure, miss."

"Oh, hey," Steve said, as she was now shaking Clint's hand. "What's your daughter's name? I've got something for her." And he pulled a trading card out of his wallet. She saw the Avengers 'A' and his picture in uniform.

James made a sound like a stifled laugh. "You carry around Captain America cards?"

Steve firmed up his jaw and gave the other man a flat look. "Sometimes there's kids."

"Her name's Mia," Izzy said and, okay, today mostly sucked, but the look on Mia's face when she gave her the card would be worth it all. The kid was going to light up like a Christmas tree. It was very thoughtful of him to carry them around, James. Don't be a jerk. Which she, of course, didn't say out loud; she was still hoping for that job.

Steve nodded and took a pen out of his jacket and carefully wrote 'To My Friend Mia' and then his name across the card.

"Now me," said Thor, taking the card and signing his own name. Next he handed it to Clint, who signed it 'Hawkeye' with an arrow as the crossbar on the 'H'.

James waved his hand, "I'm not one of you jokers." Ah, okay, he wasn't the Hulk. James also didn't shake Izzy's hand, and he hung back away from them a bit, part of the group but also still a little uncomfortable about it. He didn't ignore her, though, and he dipped his head at her in a little bow and offered a little smile. "Ma'am."

Izzy carefully took the card from Clint and waved it in the air to dry the ink so it wouldn't smear. "Well, thanks again guys. Mia will love this."

"Sure thing," Steve said. "Have a nice evening."

There were a trio of additional goodbyes and then the four men started back down the street. Thor's laughter echoed against the buildings and at one point James shoved Clint into the street and Steve yanked him back onto the sidewalk.

Taking out her keys, Izzy unlocked the security door, and trudged up the stairs, her exhaustion on hold as she planned out the carefully edited, but still exciting story she'd tell about how Mom Met the Avengers.

Izzy looked down at the card in her hand and laughed. The Avengers. What a crazy night.