Chapter Text

Jane Foster was having a breakdown and there was absolutely nothing Darcy could do to stop it.

Her boss slash bestie had been hunched over her workbench for far too long. She hadn’t left the lab in days, the careful system Darcy had spent weeks putting together when they’d first moved to Stark Towers now a distant memory amongst the chaos.

Every surface was piled with stuff, gizmos and gadgets fighting for space with coffee-stained screeds of paper and notes on napkins. Every machine in the lab it seemed had been dragged into a haphazard circle around the desk of the lone scientist in the eye of the storm. Jane’s face was drawn and pallid, her eyes bruised purple from lack of sleep to the point she looked like she’d been punched in the face. Twice. 

“Jesus,” Darcy muttered as she watched Jane stab another pen into the bird's nest on top of her head, half the stationery in the lab now snarled up in her hair, “I love you Jane, but this is so not a good look on you.”

“I’m gonna figure it out,” Jane nodded, her eyes never leaving her work, distant and cloudy as her hands shook. Her ink-stained fingers slipped as she tried to fix a little L-shaped converter into place on the broken machine in front of her and failed, “damn.”

A thin line of blood welled on the pad of Jane’s thumb, Darcy watching in quiet horror as the scatterbrain scientist sucked it absently into her mouth. It was about the only iron she’d gotten in weeks by Darcy’s reckoning.

“You can’t keep this up,” she sighed when the silence dragged, hovering over Jane’s shoulders like an anxious bumble bee, “just take a break, please, five minutes, clean up, get some sleep.”

It was pointless, she knew it was pointless, but her heart jumped anyway when Jane slumped back in her chair. Shoulders falling like someone had cut her strings, like she’d just finally realised how untenable her current course of action was in the long run.

Sighing, Jane reached for a discarded box of tissues, pulling one loose and wrapping it around her thumb as she stared at the cluttered desk like she was suddenly seeing it for the cry for help it was.

Maybe… maybe ...

Exhaling sharply Jane shook herself, forcing her spine straight as she reached for the converter again and started over. 

“I’m gonna figure it out, Darce,” she promised quietly, clicking the device into place at last, “I’ll fix it, I promise.”

Bile rose in Darcy’s throat, sour on her tongue as she turned away from the mess. 

“I know Janey,” she whispered back as she headed for the door, “I know, I just can’t watch you do it anymore.”

It was late, the corridors almost empty as she made her way towards the emergency stairs. One of the lab monkey’s from R&D was getting into an elevator as she passed but she didn’t join him, she didn’t know what floor he was heading to and she didn’t want to wind up down in the lobby again at this time of night, it would take forever to get back up again.

According to the novelty desk calendar in the reception area only two weeks had passed since the incident, but it felt like forever.

Being dead was like that.

Well, being maybe -dead. She was still fifty fifty on that one, the jury out on whether she was the worst ghost ever or if she was just dimensionally… displaced.

The world at large seemed to have settled on dead, but Jane, wonderful human disaster Jane, still believed in her. There was no body after all, nothing to bury or burn or sit Shiva over, no reason for a funeral. Jane had made it clear she believed that Darcy was still out there somewhere, maybe even on Asgard, just waiting to be rescued.

She had no idea.

She couldn’t hear Darcy, or feel her as she swiped helplessly at her, no one could. Not people or animals or kids - all that stuff the movies peddled about children being more sensitive to restless spirits was bullshit. Darcy had jumped up and down in front of a school group in the lobby shouting obscenities for a full hour that first week before she’d given up.

Hayley Joel Osmet could kiss her ass.

They all could.

Bruce Willis, Patrick Swayze, Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis, Nicole Kidman - even Reese Witherspoon in that one movie with the guy from the thing. Ghost movies lied. There was no one who could hear her, no one who could see her, she couldn’t even slam doors or scrawl messages on walls or any of that Amityville shit.

There weren’t even any other dead people to talk too - despite the fact she’d shuffled her mortal coil in the most populated city in the country, in the same building a terrifying space battle had happened only a few years before. The tower should have been crawling with ghosts, shield agents, civilians, aliens - if aliens even had ghosts. 

But no, she was alone and useless and - worst of all - it was her own damn fault.

She’d done this to herself. She was the idiot, the stupid stupid stupid dumb-ass idiot who’d gotten herself vapourized like a freaking moron. It only took a moment, her gaze on her phone instead of her feet as she mosied straight into the path of their latest experiment. She remembered Jane shouting a warning, too late, and the feeling of her phone slipping from her fingers, a burst of light blinding her and then… nothing.

No more Darcy.

At least not that anyone else could see.

Phantom tears burnt behind her eyes but she blinked them away, there was no use crying - she’d done that already and it hadn’t fixed a thing. Better to cling to what was left of her life with both hands before she faded away entirely. 

To that end she stepped through a gazillion dollars worth of Stark Security like it wasn’t there and straight into the highly guarded Avengers Area of the Tower. There was no way she’d be allowed up here before she went bye-bye so that was a small silver lining at least - especially since she’d heard Captain America was due to make an appearance later that day. 

If that didn’t distract her, nothing would. 

—-

They were talking about him.

The name - his name, he reminded himself - being passed back and forth like a football as they shuffled down the corridor.

Bucky. 

It still sounded wrong in his mind, like it belonged to someone else. Someone… cleaner. Happier. Whole. Bucky sounded like a person and he wasn’t sure if he still counted.

“If you’ll look to your left and right we have the emergency exits, stairwell and elevator - both requiring level 9 access and biometric scans for entry, just basic security y’know, only like twelve people in the world have that clearance,” the man giving the tour gestured to the heavy doors, an air of smug satisfaction infusing every word.

He reminded Bucky of someone, the face and the name, Stark. He felt like maybe he’d met a Stark at some point or another, maybe he’d killed one. 

“This is the Time Out Corner, there’s a couple of them spread throughout the building but this is the nicest,” Stark rapped his knuckles against the plexiglass window of a large observation room, “They were designed with Banner in mind, for when he’s feeling a little green around the gills y'know, so of course there’s a top of the line selection of meditation music installed, great fengshui, a privacy mode for the windows, and hey - walls that could stop a Mac truck.”

It wasn’t at all like he’d expected. Big, plush, no damp concrete walls or cramped metal cots. This was built for comfort, which made no sense. Comfort was not a priority. 

“No way,” Steve’s voice cut through him, anger burning in half-familiar eyes as he glared at the room like an insult.

Bucky almost wanted to laugh. It was nicer than anywhere he’d ever stayed before, even before Hydra, warm and light with almost comically oversized furniture in it. Sure that furniture was bolted to the floor but it was discreetly done at least, there was even an en-suite bathroom instead of the usual bucket.

Steve snarled at their tour guide, “He doesn’t need another cage.”

“Yeah, I do.”

He wasn’t sure who was more surprised he’d spoken, him or the others.

“So it does speak,” Stark raised an eyebrow, his expression was nonchalant but Bucky could read the tension in him. Tightly held shoulders, wary eyes, hands curling and uncurling as if he was seconds away from reaching for a weapon.

Bucky didn’t blame him, he seemed to understand the situation at least. Unlike...

“Bucky, no,” Steve hesitated, hands half-outstretched like he was reaching for Bucky’s shoulders and had stopped himself, the anger wiped clean from his face as his eyes filled with concern instead, “you don’t want this.”

“Yeah, I do,” he repeated, the rough scrape of his voice still foreign to him. The thoughts in his head were still tangled between languages, Russian and English fighting for control like his own personal Cold War, “y’dont know what I’m capable of,” he turned his gaze back to the empty white room, not understanding how Steve could see a cell when all he saw was salvation, “I don’t know what’m capable of.”

“Damn, this is intense.”

He tried not to flinch as Stark’s assistant spoke up, the quiet comment cutting through the tension. She’d been following them for a while but kept out of the way, her presence so incidental that Stark hadn’t even bothered to introduce her. It didn’t surprise him, Stark seemed like that kind of person.

“Like seriously, the tension!” Her gaze roamed over them with undisguised curiosity, like she was front and centre at the latest picture show. 

She was summarily ignored, Stark waving a hand vaguely in her direction even as he kept his attention on Steve.

“Alright alright, don’t get your red-white-and-blues in a bunch, Captain,” he sighed theatrically, “the TOC is just for special occasions, human rooms have been set up right next door, nice and close in case Robocop here gets twitchy. Okay?”

“Fine.”

The moment held, seeming to stretch and shrink without respect to the known passage of time, then with a final flippant shrug it was over. Stark breezed ahead of them, already detailing the layout of the floor and the included services as he pulled open another door. 

Steve shot a glance at Bucky when he didn’t immediately follow them, “Buck?”

“‘m fine.” He mumbled, looking back at the girl for a half second before following Steve inside. 

She didn’t join them.

—-

“So I saw Captain America today,” Darcy whispered, perched on the sideboard of the science labs. Jane had passed out on the sofa in the corner, finally, leaving the chaos of the day in her wake. The pile of machine parts and half finished calculations scattered over the bench so complex that even Darcy, with her years of experience, couldn’t make sense of it.

“He’s like… ridiculously good looking,” she said to the air, it was easier to talk to her like this, less painful somehow. Part of her secretly hoped that Jane might hear her subconsciously, “almost too good looking if I’m honest, like just absolutely square jawed and clean cut and buff .”

Swinging her spectral legs, Darcy tried not to think too much about the physics-based nightmare of her new world. A world in which she could sit quite comfortably on the sideboard but every now and then her feet would clip through the cupboard below like a badly made video game. 

Better to focus on non-headache inducing things. Like the Captain and his broody man friend.

“He was with this guy though - damn Jane, you should have seen him. Exactly my type. Still totally handsome, obviously, but not as - air quotes - ‘ perfect’ you know. He looked a bit like that guy from that movie we watched a few weeks back? Remember, the sci-fi thing you got mad at?”

Jeez, Jane had gotten so indignant, waving her pizza slice so wildly at the screen that the cheese had slid right off as she explained the known laws of space and how the film had just about ignored all of them. Darcy had laughed so hard she’d snorted tequila out of her nose and had to lie down.

Sucking in a breath she wasn’t even sure she needed any more,  Darcy forced herself to keep talking, hoping the noise would distract her from the fact her heart was suffocating itself in her chest. What she wouldn’t give for another stupid movie night now, tequila nose burn and all.

“Anyway yeah, totally my type. Did I say that? Tall, long hair, kinda scruffy but in a hot way. The sorta guy who looks like he could kill a man with his bare hands but would also start crying if he saw a puppy? And I mean hey, I might not even be that far off on the whole bare hand murder thing - Tony Stark was showing him the Hulk room like he might need it. Weird, huh?”

And then there was that thing that the Captain had said, Darcy’s brow scrunched as she tried to remember it, something about not needing another cage? What did that even mean? He’d looked pretty normal apart from the fact he was wearing gloves inside, just tired… sad even. Even if he was apparently capable of terrible, Hulk-level things.

“It’s strange, there was something kinda familiar about him, but he wasn’t like a superhero or anything I don’t think, or one of those Shield types. The Captain called him Bucky,” she looked down at her hands in her lap, twisting the ring around her index finger where it had followed her into the afterlife. She wondered if it would disappear if she took it off, “I thought for a moment there that he… that he saw me.” 

Which was ridiculous. She’d tried over and over and over and no one could see her.

… could they?

Chapter Text

They’d given him a bed. Soft and warm with feather pillows and a mattress that threatened to swallow him whole when he had tentatively climbed into it that first night.

He’d slept on the floor every night since.

The carpeting was too plush, but it was better at least, firmer, safer. He wasn’t designed for feather beds and heavy comforters. He slept where he was told to, when he was told to. His cot, if he had one, would be no bigger than the width of his shoulders and the length of his body; arms at his sides, legs straight, boots on. Weapons within reach. Ready to be activated at a moment's notice. 

This place was too big, too soft, too warm - it threw him off his rhythm. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t hear her enter. He was on the threshold of sleep, the liminal space between conscious and unconscious where he found most of his rest, when he noticed her sat like a shadow on the floor at the foot of his bed, back braced against it.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she whispered into the hush of the room, the only sound apart from the air whirring through the vents, “I just hate being alone at night and Jane… I can’t be with Jane right now. I was gonna stop by the Captain’s place but - well - he decided to hit the showers and I’m actively trying not to be a creep - just in case anyone up there is watching.”

He felt frozen, instincts at war with themselves. Attack. Submit. Run. How had he not heard her enter? Even without the alarms going off how was it possible? How was this real?

“I know, weird time to find religion. I mean technically I’m Jewish, and we don’t even do the whole hell thing, but I’m not exactly practicing, you know? Even before the whole Norse-god-alien-on-Earth-incident I was hardly kosher, much to my bubby’s dismay - kinda thought she’d be here honestly, waiting for me.”

The girl, the one who talked and no one listened, was in his bedroom. She was a strange fixture in the tower, her clearance obviously high enough to give her access to the top floors but her position low enough that she was inconsequential to everyone around her.

He hadn’t looked at her when they passed in the corridors, he didn’t look at anyone anymore. He couldn’t stand the fear and pity that inevitably met his gaze. But he had listened, his head down and ears alert as she hummed or sang or spoke to herself as she went about her day. Her voice had washed over him and filled up some of the awful silence in his head, until she left and he was alone again. 

He wasn’t alone now.

Every muscle in his body twitched as adrenaline warred with lethargy, half convinced this was a softer dream than he deserved as he watched her draw her knees up to her chin through near-closed eyes. Her hair spilled over her shoulder, glasses reflecting the moonlight as she sighed.

“Anyway, long story short I’m terrified if I’m on my own for too long I’ll just… fade away. Poof. Like I never existed at all. Hence why I hang out in random rooms at night with strangers like an absolute weirdo. Being dead sucks like that, y’know?”

Dead.

So she wasn’t a dream, she was a hallucination. It made more sense, she wasn’t the first of his kills to come back to haunt him. He’d become accustomed to the flashes of unknown faces that haunted his peripheral vision and lingered behind his eyelids when he closed them. People he didn’t remember. People he couldn’t forget. All dead at his hands.

This was the first time one had followed him quite so assiduously though, the first time they’d spoken to him too. 

“How did I kill you?” He muttered, the first words he’d said in hours, maybe days even. They felt raw and small in his throat, inconsequential in the face of her endless, incomprehensible stream of consciousness. She seemed to voice more thoughts in a minute than he’d held in his head for a year.

A reminder of the fuller lives than his he’d stolen.

Her whole demeanour changed, her mouth falling open, wide eyes locking onto his for the first time as she turned to stare at him in abject disbelief. They were blue.

When she spoke she sounded like an entirely different person.

“You… you can hear me?”

He wasn't sure whether to sit up or hunch in closer on himself, fighting the urge to press his hands to his ears and shut his eyes until she went away. He couldn’t. He deserved this.

He sat up instead.

“‘Course,” he mumbled, looking back at her in the half-dark and seeing tears glinting on her cheeks, “you’re my hallucination.”

“I… you…” her endless stream of words dried up at last, jaw slack as she stuttered over her own tongue. 

No obvious bullet holes, he thought dimly to himself, no blood. Usually there was blood. Maybe he’d snapped her neck, it would be easy enough. His left hand clenched, the plates whirring as he felt the phantom weight of her throat beneath his fingers. 

“Wait… can you see me too?”

She moved then, scrabbling across the carpet towards him, one pale hand waving desperately as he flinched away. His back was to the wall, heart in his throat, stomach tensing as she hesitated in front of him, biting her lip.

“Uh,” he rasped uncertainly, “yeah?”

Surely she’d know that, she was his hallucination after all. His own instability personified before him with dark hair and a too-tight sweater.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, blinking bright blue eyes at him, then louder, “oh my god!”

Then she laughed. Her face breaking into a look of such ecstatic joy, such heartfelt relief, that his own chest seemed to ache with it. Beaming at him like he was the sun, the cure to her every ailment.

Like he wasn’t her cold-blooded killer.

“Why… aren’t you angry at me?” The words seemed to surprise him as much as her, coming loose from his throat without permission as sat dumb struck by the force of her emotions. Her joy.

“Why would I be angry at you?” Her hair was longer than he had initially noticed, falling around a surprisingly un-bruised neck as she tilted her head at him in dazzling confusion. “You’re my Hayley-Joel Osmet, my Winona Ryder, you’re my… you’re my Whoopi Goldberg!”

She looked at him expectantly, like the random tangle of names and words was supposed to mean anything to him.

It didn’t.

“Seriously dude?” She rolled her eyes in disbelief, still grinning so widely he could have counted all of her teeth if he wanted to, “You have got to familiarise yourself with the ghost movie genre, I’d make you a watchlist on Netflix but y’know… incorporeal and all.”

“I…” God, talking was hard, had it always been this hard? He had the dim thought he’d been good at it once upon a time but that was before… everything. “Didn’t I kill you?”

“What?” She looked horrified at the thought, hands clasping over her heart against the soft-looking knit of her sweater, “No! What? No one killed me - it was an accident. Besides I might not even technically be dead, just dimensionally displaced, I need to talk to Jane to be sure, we just have to go down to the science lab and speak to her - come on - we can finally fix this!”

“Buck? Who are you talking too?”

His heart seized at the almost familiar voice, turning to find Steve peering around his open door. Another intrusion he’d been too ignorant to see coming, if this had been a mission he’d be dead by now.

If this had been a mission he would have been grateful.

“Oh great, Captain Square-Jaw’s here,” the hallucination groused as they both got to their feet, him rapidly, her awkwardly, her figure gilded in the yellow light spilling in from the hallway as Steve stepped carefully inside, “we don’t have time for him right now. Let’s go, handsome.”

She held out her hand to him expectantly, wiggling her fingers when he only stared at her. She hadn’t disappeared yet, they had always disappeared before when someone else was there.

“Bucky?” Steve tried again, eyes flicking between him and a little to the left of where the woman stood, waiting.

He swallowed hard, throat drying up like the desert as he kept his gaze fixed on the walking talking proof of his own insanity, “You can’t see her can you?”

“See who, Buck?” Steve’s forehead creased, his expression unbearably concerned. It triggered some deep rooted urge in him to run again, to escape all this confusion and anxiety and just hide away somewhere. He wanted to bury himself deep down in the darkness until he was long forgotten.

“He can’t see me,” the girl shrugged, noticeably more subdued as she looked towards Steve, “that’s what I’m trying to say, no one can see me. No one but you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t - Jeez, how the hell am I supposed to know?” There were tears in her eyes even as she faked a half-smile, “‘cos you’re my Whoopi Goldberg.”

“Buck - Bucky - look at me,” Steve was suddenly in front of him, hands spread out towards him but not quite touching. He flinched anyway. “This… hallucination… what is it saying?”

“It,” the girl scoffed quietly, “real nice.”

“She says,” he forced himself to inhale, counting to three silently before letting it out, “I’m her… ‘Whoopi Goldberg?’”

“Her…” Steve blinked, “What’s a ‘woopy goalbird’?”

“Hell if I know.”

The girl let out a snort, forcing a hand back through already tousled hair as she shook her head at them.

“I’m surrounded by culturally illiterate beefcakes everywhere I go,” she waved a hand at them, it passed through the bed frame but she didn’t seem to notice. “Jesus, just ask Stark, or Jane, or anyone born in the last thirty years with a TV. This is Thor all over again.”

Thor. He’d heard that name, seen it in a paper or a headline or a mission briefing. It meant something. 

“Who’s Thor?” He asked, headache swelling in his temples and making him wish aspirin still worked on him worth a damn.

“Did you say Thor?” Steve’s brows shot up, surprised in a way that made him seem almost real to Bucky. A man as opposed to a mission statement or a memory.

Shrugging his shoulders, Bucky gestured with his chin at the figment of his imagination, “technically she said Thor.”

“My name is Darcy, assholes,” she muttered darkly, folding her arms just as Steve asked- 

“How does she know Thor?”

Fighting the urge to lash out at the pointlessness of the question he turned to his figment instead. She didn’t seem to be going anywhere so maybe it was better to be direct and temporarily give into the madness - the only way out being through, or something like that.

“How do you know Thor?”

“I can hear him, y’know,” she rolled her eyes, “he just can’t hear me. Thor and I are totally friends, I’m like his lightning sister, and anyway this is what I’ve been trying to tell you if you’ll just listen! I work with his, Thor’s, girlfriend Jane Foster downstairs in the science labs - at least I did before, y’know, this…”

“She says,” he ran through the information in his head, trying to parse out the important bits from the filler that packed her every sentence, “she says they’re friends, she works for his girl in the lab downstairs.”

“Doctor Foster?”

The blood left his face, how did Steve know that? How did the hallucination know that? Had he heard it from Steve before, or Stark? He hadn’t spoken to anyone else since he arrived… unless they’d put the information there. Stored it away for future use, for a  trigger event that he was somehow manifesting in the form of this strange woman.

Would Jane Foster become another name on his list? Another face behind his eyes? 

He felt sick.

“Bucky?” Steve pressed, even as the figment reached a hand towards him-

“Hey - Are you okay?”

“This could be them,” the glass was cold as his back hit the window, registering dimly that he’d retreated again even as his eyes searched for an escape, “Foster could be a target, this… this could be a trap.”

“Buck, no-” Steve started at the same time the girl said, “what?”

“They could have planted this in my head,” he dug his fingers into his temples, trying to claw the truth from the lies as an all too familiar panic seized hold of his lungs, “I’m endangering you. Them.”

“No - Bucky no, you’re not.”

“No one put me anywhere!” 

They spoke over each other, his ribs wrenching tighter and tighter as he pounded his metal fist against his skull in an effort to drive it out. He thought he was safe, but no - no they had to have put her there. A fail safe. A new torture. Made her beautiful, intriguing, and unreal - she’d lure him in with her sweet smiles, keep him confused, beguiled, then point him like a gun.

It was too much.

—-

This was too much.

He could see her - actually see her - and hear her too, it was like some sort of glorious fever dream. Sure he had the pop-cultural knowledge of a technophobic field mouse but what did she care? She’d buy him a subscription to every streaming service she could find when this was over, and it was finally, finally so close to being over.

Then Captain America had shown up, which was bad, but he seemed to know Jane, which was good, but now…

Now bad didn’t even begin to cover it.

Her brand-new hero, the ridiculously named Bucky of the handsome hobo looks, had gone batshit insane and she didn’t know how to help him. Panic threatened to overwhelm her, a crippling wave of helplessness crashing over her as she watched her one hope in the whole world look at her like she was a brain tumour he could remove if he just dug his fingers in hard enough. 

And he was digging hard .

Blood welled at his temple. He was hurting himself, and it was her fault.

“Wait - no! Stop! Stop, please -” her heart thundered in her throat, threatening to choke her as she held her hands out to him, “Bucky, right? That’s your name?   What - what if I could prove it, Bucky? Prove that nobody put me anywhere, that I’m - I’m real. This is real. Right here, right now.”

“How?” His voice was a ragged whimper, eyes shining with something that looked far too much like despair for Darcy to deal with.

She needed a plan. Fast. Her brain buzzed with white noise as she struggled to remember every ghost cliche she’d ever seen on TV or read in a book. There had to be something, something he didn’t know, couldn’t know, something right here and now that…

She froze, wild eyes fixing on the Captain and exhaling hard. It was a long shot, but she had to try.

“Okay - okay, I know how. But I’m gonna need his help,” she gestured to Captain America, too freaked out to be properly awed or even annoyed any more, “if you tell him to hold his fingers up behind his back, a random number of fingers, is there anyway you could see it from where you’re standing?” 

She looked around for reflections, mirrors or shiny surfaces that might need moving, but found nothing. His apartment was depressingly sparse.

“I… I don’t think so,” his eyes followed the same track hers had, still so unbearably wary, “no, I wouldn’t know.”

“Bucky?” Steve asked softly, hands held in front of him, palms raised, as he tried to make sense of it himself, “What’s it saying? What’s going on?”

“She says she can prove it,” Bucky murmured, one hand still gripped tightly against his temple, his dark hair wild and matted as his eyes flicked between them, “she wants you to hold your fingers up behind your back, a random number she says.”

The Captain frowned, “I don’t understand, Buck?”

“Just do it, forchrissake!” Darcy screeched, not caring that he couldn’t hear her as the desperation in her chest got harder to breathe through with every second. She had tasted hope at last and the thought of losing it now, after everything… she didn’t know if she could survive it.

She didn’t want to die twice.

“Steve,” Bucky whispered, “please.”

“I… sure,” he nodded, rolling his shoulders as Darcy straight up yipped with relief, “if it will prove this isn’t real, fine.”

“Jokes on your buddy,” she growled to herself, backing up slightly until she was behind him. The fact she didn’t care a bit that she had a close up view of America’s Tightest Buns proved how dire the situation was as she looked up at Bucky, “alright,” she nodded, “ready.”

She saw the muscles in his throat work, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he nodded to the Captain in return, “ready.”

“Four,” she said as soon as the Captain had his hand behind him, her fingers mirroring him on instinct.

“Four,” Bucky repeated, making the other man’s hand tense and change.

“Now two,”

“Two.”

“Five,” she shouted, trying to keep up as he tried to disprove her existence.

“Five,” came the dutiful echo.

“Four again and-“ she broke off, eyebrows skyrocketing as he moved his fingers into a familiar gesture, “holy shit, is Captain America seriously giving me a one fingered salute?”

Bucky’s forehead creased, a deep vee forming between his eyes as his gaze shot away from her, “Are you… Steve, are you flipping her the bird right now?”

“Holy shit.” Captain America swore, his hand going slack behind him.

All at once the moment broke for her, going from drama to tragedy to farce in such a dizzying rush that Darcy couldn’t keep from laughing. The sound bubbled up in her chest - borderline hysterical and sure to end in tears but unstoppable nevertheless. Bucky just shook his head, his disbelief echoed on his friends face as they all individually came to terms with what was going on.

Which was a lot.

“Is she… is she really… real?” Steve asked, turning his head to stare in Darcy’s direction. Big blue eyes flickering back and forth like if he just tried hard enough she might magically appear. 

“Damned if I know,” Bucky shrugged, looking at least a couple of steps further from a complete breakdown than he had five minutes ago. It still wasn’t that far though.

“I’m real, really real,” Darcy promised, the whole thing leaving her feeling tired and a little nauseous now the laughter had died out, “so can we please, please, go and see Jane Foster already? If there’s anyone alive who can figure this shit out, it’s her.”

The room was silent for a moment, Bucky meeting her gaze again with a ragged exhale before his shoulders slumped and he nodded, “she wants to go see this Jane Foster, now.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Steve shook his head, still looking vaguely shell shocked by the whole thing, “she’ll be asleep.”

“Oh she’s awake,” Darcy muttered grimly, “trust me on that one.”

Chapter Text

There was a man in the doorway, blurry through the crust of sleep clinging to her eyes and the harsh fluorescents as she looked up at him. And up and up and up. Tall, broad, blonde hair shining. Thor… Thor had come back early for her, come to make it all better with space magic… he’d save them like he saved the world. She was so happy.

“Doctor Foster?” The man cleared his throat, shuffling his feet awkwardly as he stepped further into the lab, “I’m sorry for the intrusion ma’am, especially so late at night.”

Jane shot up from her desk so fast her head spun, not Thor, definitely not Thor. He was still off saving the day across the universe somewhere and wouldn’t be back for weeks at least, probably months.

She scrubbed one hand over her eyes, digging at the grit and blinking until the bleariness cleared and she could see half straight again.The stranger was familiar but she couldn’t place him, not a scientist if his t-shirt and sweatpants combo were anything to go by, but someone with access obviously. Looking again she noticed a second man behind him, this one dark haired and vaguely scruffy looking, his eyes darting back of forth worriedly before coming to fix on a spot just to the right of her.

Darcy would know who they were, she was always better at dealing with people than Jane was. Taking care of the ‘human’ part of the job as she called it and letting Jane focus on the important stuff.

Darcy wasn’t there though. 

“Cahgn-” the word came out as an incomprehensible croak, forcing her to swallow hard before she tried again, “can I help you?”

“I’m Steve Rogers, ma’am, and this is my friend, Bucky Barnes, and we’re here because… well… we were hoping you might… could be able to help us with something.”

Steve Rogers. It took a second for her neurons to start firing, realising at last where she recognised him from. 

“You’re Captain America,” she heard herself say, trying to run a hand through her hair only for her fingers to get stuck in the tangles, “and.. Barnes… Barnes…” she snapped her fingers, “from the Winter Solider project.”

The other man, Barnes, flinched. His eyes going back to the empty spot again as Jane frowned. She’d heard Thor speak of the Captain of course, and skimmed the files about the various super soldier programs while digging through the Shield dump looking for anything that might further her research, but what these two could want from her now though, she couldn’t fathom.

“I’m an astrophysicist, Captain Rogers,” she said at last, wrinkling her nose at them in confusion, “I’m not sure what help I can be to you.”

“Well, you see,” Rogers started before shutting his mouth again, seemingly unable to complete a sentence, “that is, ma’am, this might seem a bit strange.”

“Yes?”

Barnes was looking to the left again, at the same spot as before, a distracted frown forming between his eyebrows before he turned his head to the man he’d come in with.

“Steve, she’s…” he gestured with his head quietly. 

“I dunno, Buck,” Steve muttered back, the whole thing absolutely surreal as they seemed to have an entire conversation in harried looks and meaningful silences.

“Can we just?” Barnes pressed, eyes darting back and forth, “she’s really…”

“What?” Jane interrupted, the headache she’d been fighting off for days threatening to break in the confusion, “can one of you please tell me what’s going on here?”

Steve started to say something but Barnes got their first.

“I’ve been seeing some girl claiming to be your dead assistant and she won’t stop yelling at me til I tell you about it, are you happy now?” The words came out in a rush, fists clenched hard as he directed the last bit vehemently into empty space, “quantum-what? I don’t even know what that means.”

Jane couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear through the sudden ringing in her ears as she watched the man scowl at empty space. Dead assistant. He didn’t mean. He couldn’t mean…

“Darcy?”

—-

The further down the elevator went the more excited the girl had become and the more anxious Bucky felt.

The labs.

His skin grew clammy, sweat beading on the back of his neck as Steve stood silently and the girl chatted on about stuff he didn’t understand. It had been soothing once but now it felt claustrophobic, like it could be a trap still.

Only maybe Jane Foster wasn’t the target, maybe he was, maybe they were luring him back in to be taken apart again and put together clean. His jaw tensed at the memory of the pain, the memories bleeding together into one horrifying mess of too-bright lights and screaming.

Foster’s space wasn’t exactly what he expected, more cluttered, less… clinical. There were heart shaped notes stuck to the piles of junk, a half dead plant in the corner and, above a row of computer monitors, someone had taped a calendar with a suggestively posed painting of Steve in his uniform on it.

The fear didn’t leave him though, traps never looked like traps. The smell of cleaning fluids and stale coffee burnt into the back of his brain, making his legs tense with the urge to run even as he catalogued every potential threat and plotted every exit strategy.

Steve introduced them, the girl - he really should know her name by now, he swore she’d said it before - still talking almost too fast to hear. Instructing him over and over again on what to say and how to say it, getting louder with every awkward second. His stomach lurched when Foster mentioned the Winter Soldier project. His dirty secrets discarded with a clinical disinterest that made his chest seize, pulse stuttering as the phantom girl tilted her head at him.

“What’s the Winter Soldier project?” She asked curiously before shaking her head, long hair flying around her, “no, never mind. No time for it now. Better to tell her what’s going on first - now would be good by the why. Any time. Go on.”

He prodded Steve to explain, desperation rising like the tide as the walls seemed to get closer. The uncertainty and awkwardness mixing with the ever increasing volume of her voice and the hideous chemical smell of the lab. It was getting too much, too loud, Steve stuttering over himself until Bucky found himself half-yelling as the moment broke over him. 

“I’ve been seeing some girl claiming to be your dead assistant and she won’t stop yelling at me til I tell you about it, are you happy now?” 

The girl stood silent, mouth parted in a silent ‘oh’ as she blinked at him from behind her glasses.

“I - yes,” she said at last, quieter than he expected as she folded her arms over her stomach, “but I don’t know if I’m for sure dead, I could just be quantumly displaced.” 

“Quantum-what?” He scowled, “I don’t even know what that means.”

“Darcy?”

The girl froze, whatever she was going to say lost at the ragged exhale from Foster. Her pale throat working hard as she turned to look at the other woman, her eyes far too wide in her face.

“Hey, Janey,” she whispered, “been a while.”

“Is it…” Foster fixed her eyes on him, “are you telling the truth?”

He hadn’t noticed how frail Doctor Foster looked before, too caught up in his own panic to notice the scientist's bruised eyes and stained clothes. She was gaunt and haggered beneath the bright lights, looking at him so desperately he was convinced one wrong word might break her completely.

“Yes, ma’am,” his voice lowered, matching the unnatural hush the room found itself in as the silence crept in, “I believe so. Five three, brown hair, blue eyes, glasses.”

“Five four,” the girl, Darcy, murmured in a weak attempt at a joke, “on a good day.”

“She says five four on a good day.”

“Oh my god,” Foster was trembling, a thin hand pressed to her mouth, “I don’t…” 

She looked like she might start crying at any moment, Darcy hovering next to her anxiously. 

“Doctor Foster?” Steve asked kindly, moving closer and almost walking right through Darcy who had to jump aside, “I know this is a lot to take in.”

“I just -” inhaling deeply the scientist rubbed at her eyes, and straightened her shoulders, “I need proof. I need to know it’s her, really her. Ask her… ask her to say something only she could know.”

Bucky found himself squirming under Foster’s gaze as he turned to where Darcy had stepped away, her hands twisting together so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

“D’y’get that?” He checked, uncertain what to do with himself with so much emotion going on around him. It wasn’t what he’d been trained for, not even before…

Darcy inhaled sharply and nodded, pacing the short distance between where they stood and the desk before turning back again.

“That’s my science sister, always evidence first, party later” she joked weakly, almost as shaken looking as the doctor, “Okay, I think I’ve got something. Repeat after me - it was London, after Thor’s last visit, there were a few days where you were acting really weird but you wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.” She paused, letting him echo her words to their rapt audience, before she continued, “it was like you couldn’t sit still, couldn’t concentrate, you were always fidgeting and snapping at me.”

Jane Foster was defying belief by somehow growing even paler than before, her lips held in a tight line as Bucky repeated the words. Watching the fragile hope rise in her eyes with every syllable.

“And then finally, the Friday after he left, I think it was, we drank all that schnapps together and at like two am, blitzed, you finally told me…”

He paused when she did, chest tight as he repeated every bright word in his rough tone, voice scratchy from sudden use. 

“You told me that, after the last nightly swing of Thor’s Hammer, you thought he’d given you some kind of alien space chlamydia but it turned out just to be a really bad UTI.”

“-Nightly swing of Thor’s-” Bucky broke off with a start, something in him rebelling unconsciously as he turned to whisper harshly to Darcy, “I can’t say that to a lady.”

After seventy long cold years he had been certain he wasn’t capable of blushing any more. He was wrong.

“She wanted proof!” Darcy protested, “It’s the only thing I could think of to properly convince her - it’s one of our top tier secrets.”

“I’m still not saying… that,” he muttered back, “space chlamydia? Are you kidding me right now?”

“Don’t be such a prude!”

“Excu- woah…”

The noise cut through the room, a desperate high-pitched keening sound that sliced through him like a blade. Jane had fallen to her knees, a frail hand shoved against her mouth that did nothing to stop the sound escaping her.

Steve was beside her in a second, solid and sturdy as he tried to comfort her, Darcy hovering behind him uselessly and Bucky…

Bucky didn’t know where to look. He hadn’t seen emotion like that in so long, not with his own eyes. He had flashes of sounds, the raw, unbridled scream that came with the realisation that unfeeling, immovable death had come for them. This wasn’t that though, the pain was different - a realisation of life instead.

“Oh god it’s her -” Foster managed at last, the desperate wounded animal sound turning into broken sobs instead, “Darcy, Darcy… I’m so sorry! I’m so…”

“Please,” Bucky turned to find Darcy at his side, blue eyes shining like headlights through the fog in his head, “tell her it’s not her fault. Tell her to get some sleep, that I’m… I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay,” Bucky nodded, and he did. Head buzzing as he parlayed the words.

“No - no I have to, she’s here - I have to get her back,” Jane sobbed, swiping almost angrily at her red eyes, “I have to fix it.”

“Tell her she will, in the morning,” Darcy pressed softly, holding onto her forearms tightly as if she was keeping herself from reaching out again, “tell her she needs at least eight hours sleep to be at peak cognitive functionality - in a bed preferably - and she’s no good to anyone like this. Also to eat something that didn’t come from the vending machine outside, we both know those crackers were out of date.”

“She saw that, huh?” Jane replied after he translated for her, still rubbing her face as she stared at the empty space beside him, “I can’t - I can’t believe she’s really here.”

“She is,” he said uncomfortably, “she says she’s gonna stay close and make sure you do as she says.”

“But you’ll come back tomorrow?” Blood-shot eyes met his, pleading and looking almost as awkward as he felt, “and you’ll tell me everything she says, you swear?”

“Uh,” for all its clutter he still hated the lab, the lights, the whir of machines and the smell of it all. He cringed at the idea of coming back, still wanting to run and hide and bury himself from the world until everyone and everything in it had moved on without him, “yeah, I will.”

He couldn’t turn her down. This was the first good thing he’d been a part of since… well, longer than he cared to think about, a life he could help save instead of end.

No matter how much he hated it, he’d do what she asked.

Jane’s body seemed to wilt, the tiredness catching up with her as she accepted Steve’s arm out of the room and up the two floors to her apartment.  Darcy looked back as they left Jane at her door, hesitating on the threshold for a long moment.

“Thank you, Bucky,” she whispered, his enhanced hearing only just picking up the sound as the elevator chimed, “thank you.”

Chapter Text

Darcy got the feeling her knight in fraying hoodies didn’t like the lab.

She’d waited the appropriate amount of time before seeking him out again, following Jane to make sure she actually got to sleep before riding the elevators up and down for a while and then crashing in her old room. All the while terrified it had all been some wonderful dream and he wouldn’t be able to see her when they met again.

She was wrong. He could still see her, Jane now knew, the world was finally moving forward again and yet… yet still she somehow felt like she was one wrong move from disappearing entirely. Like she’d wake up and realise it was all a fever dream conjured by her lonely, undead mind.

Even now, sat behind her translator and looking up at her best friend, she felt unreal somehow. Anxiety rose up in her stomach, threatening to swallow her whole as she monitored every movement of the people around her like they held the secrets of the universe.

For his part Bucky Barnes, of the ridiculous name, seemed to want to be anywhere but where he was. He was sat tense in his seat in the late morning sunshine, the light seeping weakly through the clouds as he hunched in on himself. Ears scrunched down around his shoulders and gloved hands fisted tight at his sides as his eyes made the rounds of the lab - exit door to window to exit door to window, a constant rotation.

“Hey, are you okay?” She asked hesitantly, wanting to reach out and squeeze his arm but knowing it was futile. Even if she didn’t phase right through him, she doubted he’d appreciate the touch.

“Mmhmm,” Bucky confirmed unconvincingly, sinking even lower in his chair.

She wished the Captain was there but a stupid important mission had called him away already. The fallout from the burning of Shield was still a present concern even now, one that meant he was away as often as he was there. 

“We can take a break if you want,” she said, hating herself even as she said it. She needed this, desperately, but she couldn’t stand the sad, wet-cat look on Bucky’s face, “we can do this another day.”

“Really?” his head jerked up, eyes widening as they met her. Blue, she realised distantly, she didn’t know why but she’d thought they were brown. Dark eyes to go with his dark hair and dark gloom. 

But no, they were a deep, pretty shade of blue framed by lashes wasted on any man.

“Sure,” she nodded despite everything inside her telling her not to, “I’ve been dead for ages, what's another day or two.”

He looked at her for a long moment, truly looked at her, like a through the skin into all the ugly red parts underneath sort of look, then his jaw clenched. She watched the muscle tick in his throat as he swallowed, chin snapping up as he faced Jane’s workbench once more.

“S’fine.”

With that eloquent exclamation he focused all his intention on the scatter-brained scientist currently fluttering over her work. 

“Alright Mr Barnes,” Jane seemed to notice the attention, looking more alive than she had in a fortnight now she was fuelled by eight solid hours of sleep and the inner glow of a genius at work, “can we go over a few questions?”

“Sure.”

Grabbing a remote from the clutter on her desk Jane clicked it excitedly, filling the widescreen behind her with a large photo.

“Could you please confirm for me that this is who you’re seeing?”

Darcy cringed. It wasn’t her best picture by half, her mouth slack and eyes half closed as she had complained about something as the photo was snapped.

Jeez - why couldn’t have Jane used her Facebook profile picture like anyone else? She’d photoshopped that one to perfection.

“Uh… yeah.” Bucky said, head jerking in a brief nod even as Darcy scowled.

“She could have chosen a better photo,” she muttered to the one person who could hear her, “unflattering much?”

Bucky didn’t respond, shifting awkwardly in his seat as Jane clicked over to another slide. And another unflattering photo.

“And she looks the same?” Jane asked eagerly, “No discolouration of the eyes, skin, or hair? If you could check carefully please, it would be of great help.”

“This is so awkward,” Darcy grumbled as his eyes fixed almost unwillingly on her. 

She froze under the weight of his gaze, suddenly unbearably self conscious as he looked at her again. Somehow all seeing as he traced the planes of her face.

“She looks-” he began in that rough voice of his, pausing to swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing before he responded again, “she looks the same.”

Harsh.

“Excellent,” another photo was clicked onto the screen, a full body shot this time taken from a security camera placed at the most unflattering angle known to man or woman kind, “and does she appear to have maintained the same weight? She’s not lost a significant amount of fat or muscle tissue?”

Jesus take the wheel. Darcy wanted the chair she’d perched in to swallow her, muscle tissue and all, half wishing she had faded out as he assessed her.

“She looks… yea, same. Ma’am.”

—-

Jesus, what kinda questions were these?

Bucky felt a lump wedging itself uncomfortably in his throat as he was forced to assess the girl. His eyes raking over dark hair and wide eyes, slipping down a pale throat to… well. The rest of her.

He had thought himself neutered after his time in hell, a stone eunuch cut off from even the shadow of desire. 

Perhaps he was wrong.

His eyes lingered, throat tightening uncomfortably as he watched her sweater - a half-size too tight - cling to her breasts as she breathed, the hint of skin above flushing an enticing shade of pink as she wiggled in her seat. He couldn’t remember much of his more carnal inclinations but he’d bet right then and there that his teenage fantasies had been a tribute to broads like her.

Hourglass shaped dames, buxom with whip-smart mouths and soft hair. Not that he’d touched her hair, of course, no one could, which was why he was there in the first place. 

Clearing his throat he diverted his gaze to a safe patch of floor and prayed he wasn’t blushing again as the doctor moved on to the next set of questions, this time for Darcy herself. He let time pass over him as he repeated everything she said as best as he was able, her last moments, the sound, the light, the emptiness of wherever she was now.

The loneliness.

Her answers were delivered in her usual style, the upbeat eccentricity he was rapidly growing used to framing each one, but she couldn’t hide the shifting of her emotions. His eyes strayed back to her as she spoke, cataloging the way her voice hitched and her hands squeezed as she tried to play off her situation as ‘no big deal.’

He was deciphering the strange vernacular she used when the door to the lab was kicked open and Stark strode in, the room shrinking in his presence and reminding him again where he was. It had been easy to forget his fears when he was focused only on her.

“I hear we have a haunting,” Stark said with no preamble, immediately walking into Dr Foster's space and waving her out of it as he examined her notes.

“Darcy isn’t dead,” she replied sharply, “She’s displaced, a quantum misalignment. Luckily, Mr Barnes has been able to help me communicate with her so I can pin down the where and how and begin reversing the process.”

“So I see,” he flicked through the pad, blue light reflecting off his glasses, “so how come white boy Whoopi here can see her?”

That name again. The reference he didn’t get, but this man apparently did. 

“I suspect it’s the super soldier serum Hydra used on him when he was captured,” Dr Foster said, the words plunging him into ice water, “I believe it was formulated in the same laboratory the tesseract was being tested in during the war. The serum's exposure to the gamma radiation along with its altered formula made it significantly different to the one that Captain Rogers was exposed to, allowing a certain level of quantum malleability that wasn’t inherent in the first tests. I’ll have to do some blood work to be sure but-”

Every muscle in him had clenched, stomach dropping as she laid out his past like so much data. His body shook, small, shallow tremors he tried to suppress as he became the subject of discussion. They didn’t like it when he shook, he had to be still, frozen, ready to comply.

“You think the irradiated DNA is what allows Winona Ryder here to see the strange and unusual. A cross dimension mash up, like a 24 FPS film being played on a 12 FPS set up, the serum lets him see the extra frames.”

“Not how I’d put it but essentially.”

“Well, if we-”

The tremors worsened, his hands clenching so hard he heard the servos in his arm start to whir and creak. He pulled his attention from the scientists only to meet Darcy’s gaze instead.

Her face jolted him back into himself, she had grown pale, her blue eyes impossibly large behind her glasses as she looked at him with horror.

“You… you’re a super soldier?” She whispered, the inevitable arriving at last and leaving him cringing in his seat, “who was experimented on by Hydra?”

He didn’t know how to reply, shrinking in on himself as the lights seemed to grow brighter around him, pulsing with an electric hum as the cold Siberian air sent gooseflesh running along his arms. Arm.

“I was.”

“God.”

He had had nothing to do with it, the devil either. Bucky had written off higher powers the same time he’d written off salvation. He dropped his head to escape her gaze, hair tangling in front of his face as his teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached.

The pain was good. The pain was real.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” her deep exhale had him looking up again, she was shaking her head with sympathy in her eyes. Sympathy. She was dead, or as good as, dragged from everything she knew and cast into a purgatory place where no one could see or hear her and she felt bad for him?

“I don’t-” he cleared his throat roughly, “don’t feel sorry for me.”

“Woah-” a voice interrupted them, Stark interjecting himself in their conversation as he came round from the other side of the desk, “Living dead girl didn’t know she’s been communing with the former most fearsome brainwashed assassin in the world, huh? Where is she by the way?”

Stark waved his hand wildly, clipping through Darcy who ducked out of the way with a startled yelp. If Bucky had still been prone to violence he would have put his fist through the man. As it was he turned his head and looked away, wishing he was anywhere but there as his ugly history was exposed to her.

Dead or not, she’d run at any second, oblivion was better than him.

“Is that why you thought you’d killed me?” She asked instead, the empathy in her only growing as she reached out a spectral hand. She hovered it awkwardly over his arm as if she wanted to touch him before sighing and pulling back, “I’m sorry you went through that.”

“You wouldn’t be if you saw…” he trailed off, feeling the phantom heat of a touch that never made contact. It burned, skimming through his veins beneath his skin as his ribs tightened and the lights blurred. Looking up he met Stark’s overly curious gaze, “she’s there - you, you should show her the files. My files. She deserves to know what she’s getting into.”

“Bucky?” She called after him as he jolted to his feet. 

“Just look at them,” he muttered, not looking back as he strode out of the room. It took everything in him not to run, to run from the lab, the floor, the tower - her. Most of all to run from her.

It didn’t matter, once she’d learnt the truth she’d be the one running. Her friend knew what had happened now, they didn’t need him anymore.

—-

Stark left Bucky’s history open across a bank of screens, a five minute page turner on the longer files. He complained the whole time, muttering about moody asssassains and ghost girls who he didn’t even know were there or not. For all he knew she could have gone for a ghost nap.

She hadn’t.

Darcy stayed in the lab. His conversation with Jane passing by her as she sat in front of the first screen, the quiet buzz of scientific jargon turning into white noise as she took it all in.

A life stretched out over the monitors, each one a jigsaw piece of a person subjected to horrors she couldn’t begin to imagine, an incomplete puzzle made up of jagged edges. She followed him through it one piece at a time, the war, his capture, the fall, and everything after. Well, not everything, Hydra had been meticulous in their medical records, every procedure documented and dissected like he had been, but the rest was more piece meal. There weren’t official records of every assassination, or even half of them if his speculated body count was to be believed. But it was enough.

She must have read his name before, in a stuffy history class a lifetime ago with the scent of dust and axe body spray heavy in the air. James Buchan Barnes. She tried to remember him from her textbooks, an also-there, an extra credit question on a pop quiz, a pretty face to look at during a boring lecture. Her conjurations failed, slipping away to be replaced by a slouching figure in an oversized hoodie.

A person. A human that was increasingly starting to make sense to her. 

It clicked for her now, the Hulk room, the panic, the way he moved even - shoulders hunched up around his ears and eyes always searching for an exit, a threat. A hunted animal who flinched any time someone got too close. 

His aversion to the lab was obvious now, and the reason for the leather gloves he wore day and night - although ‘hiding a super powered metal arm’ hadn’t been on her guess list for that. Steve made sense too, his protectiveness, his worry. He’d had to wait decades for his best friend to return from the dead, Jane only suffered a few weeks. 

The lump in her throat was threatening to choke her as she reached the final screen, sitting in the silence of what she learnt as she swallowed down her tears and scrubbed furiously at her eyes. It wasn’t her place to cry, she wasn’t the one who’d suffered. 

Straightening up, she reached out to turn off the monitors only for her hand to phase straight through the plastic.

Right. She was still dead.

And Jane, still working across the room long after Stark had wandered off, couldn’t hear so there was no point asking her to do it. It felt wrong leaving them lit up like that, Bucky’s life story still plastered across it for anyone to see. It was the worst kind of personal invasion, but there was almost fuck all she could do about it.

Almost.

Waving goodbye to Jane out of habit, Darcy headed out of the lab and towards the staircase that would take her up to the Avengers Apartments. 

She just hoped he wouldn’t mind seeing her again so soon.

“Knock knock?” Darcy called softly as she stepped through the closed apartment door, her hand raised awkwardly in greeting, “you doing okay, Bucky?”

The apartment was unlit, the late afternoon sun reminding her of how much time had passed as she looked around the place. It was still Ikea showroom perfect, decorated in Stark monochrome and almost aggressively unlived in.

Bucky was sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, ramrod straight in a chair that looked too small for him. He turned when she spoke but with the light behind him and the dark hair falling into his face she couldn’t make out his expression. She hoped he wasn’t too pissed at her for invading his privacy so soon after - well, massively invading his privacy. 

And to think some people said she had a problem with boundaries.

“What’re y’doing here?” He asked in that rumbly, unused voice of his. It wasn’t an accusation at least, just a question. 

“I was wondering if, could you, um… text Jane for me? If it’s not too much trouble? Let her know she can shut down the lab when she’s ready.”

And close all the files and those awful pictures, she added silently, shuddering at the memory of medical photos she’d never unsee even as she fought fiercely not to overlay them on him. He was more than the sum of his parts, no matter what some asshole hydra scientist had written to the contrary.

“Uh… sure,” he said, hunching in on himself again as he stood up and shuffled over to the table. The Starkphone was in the centre of it and, judging by the silhouette it left in the thin layer of dust, it was the first time he’d used it, “I… don’t have her number.” 

“I know it by heart,” she offered, approaching him slowly, uncertain of her welcome yet loath to move away just yet, “it’s 0918-”

He plugged the numbers in dutifully as she rattled them off, the message too, the blue light of the phone lighting up his eyes as he typed with one hand. She wanted to know if the metal one was touch-screen compatible but it seemed rude to ask. 

She watched him instead. There was a heavy furrow in his brow and a bow to his spine, like the weight of whatever he was feeling was physically forcing him down. Looking at him now she tried to see traces of the features of the man he was before, the line of his nose, the shape of his mouth but it was hard. This Bucky Barnes didn’t smile like the other one had.

“Done.” He mumbled, the woosh of the message sending snapping her back into herself. If he’d caught her staring he didn’t say anything, but then he wouldn’t, would he.

“Thanks.” 

The silence bore down on them, the sound of the city blocked out by five inch thick plexiglass and a half mile high distance. Up here it was easy to forget they were in the busiest city in the country.

“You saw.” He said after the longest minute of her life, not really a question but she answered anyway.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

His head snapped up, eyes widening beneath his frown as he looked at her properly for the first time since she’d entered, “for what?”

She shrugged, “that you had to go through that.”

“I killed people.”

“I know.”

“Murdered them.”

“Not unless I read the wrong files.”

His frown turned into a glare, mouth set in a stubborn line she might have called a pout if it had been on somebody else and the mood wasn’t quite so heavy.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she took a deep breath, hands shoved in her pockets as she lifted her chin up to face him, “it didn’t seem to me like you had much choice in the matter. I don’t know anything really, only what I read so you can tell me to shut up if you want, but… but it seemed pretty obvious that they forced you to do those things, they… they took everything away from you and replaced it with what they wanted. They treated you like a weapon, to be pointed and fired. Not like a person at all.”

“I still did it.” He mumbled.

“I know,” she repeated, “and I’m still sorry.”

The silence came back, even heavier this time, stealing all the air from the room as they stood there not speaking.  

“Do you want me to go?” She asked after a few minutes, not wanting to re-traumatise him any more than she had despite her desperation for company. 

He looked at her, mouth slack, on the verge of speaking but not. Instead he just shook his head.

“Thanks,” she muttered, keeping her distance even as every fiber in her body demanded she go to him and squeeze him like a tube of toothpaste, hugging him so tightly nothing else could touch him. Instead she looked around the small living space, “have you discovered what TV is yet?”

He levelled a squint at her that was almost a glare, “I know what TV is.”

“Hey, you’d never heard of Whoopi Goldberg before, how was I supposed to know?” she put her hands up, testing out a smile.

“Stark said something about that before, who are they?”

“Fantastic actress,” she replied, “in loads of stuff, Star Trek, Sister Act, but she was also in this ghost movie called - well - ‘Ghost,’ playing a fake psychic who suddenly gets real powers. She was the only one who could see the titular… y’know… ghost, she helps him solve the mysterious circumstances around his death and move on. Hence the reference - you’re my Whoopi Goldberg. Although I’m not looking to go toward the light anytime soon.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “wise.”

“So… um, do you mind putting something on the TV for me then?” She asked hopefully, still bracing for rejection, “Not gonna lie, I’m in desperate need of distraction and Jane only ever watches documentaries about space in her down time, when she has down time… which hasn’t been a lot lately.”

“Sure,” He agreed as he fumbled for the remote, removing it from another dust silhouette and squinting again as he turned on the untouched incredibly-smart TV installed on the wall, “But… don’t you want me to go back down there? Do more tests and stuff?”

Her heart twisted. He said it like he’d rather be run over with a semi-truck but he’d do it anyway. 

“Nah, Jane’s so deep in research now she wouldn’t even notice we were there,” she waved the idea away, clearing her throat when her voice threatened to crack again. Instead she made herself comfortable on his couch, curling her legs under her in the corner furthest from him - so he had plenty of space if he wanted to join her, “if you want to go back with me tomorrow that’d be great though, and super useful, but it’s up to you. Either way, I think we could all do with a break right now.”

Chapter Text

Almost a century of brutal experimentation and training had made Bucky Barnes capable of assessing and surviving almost any situation.
Any situation that didn’t involve Darcy Lewis.

Since that day on the hellicarrier when Steve had broken through his programming, Bucky had gone out of his way to read everything ever written about himself; first in museums and history books, then Shield files. Hydra files. Leaked documents from the KGB. He’d absorbed everything that had ever been written about his former life and none of it, not one page, could account for her behavior.

She’d seen it hadn’t she? His crimes were committed to history in black and white, not all of them perhaps but enough, enough accounts of cold blooded murder, unstoppable death and destruction, to send anyone running for the hills.

Anyone but her.

Perhaps it was the fact she was already dead or quantumly displaced or whatever the scientists said, but the girl seemed to have the self-preservation instincts of a deer in the headlights. She hadn’t run even when the weight of his sins threatened to crush her whole.

Instead she haunted him, showing up at regular intervals and injecting herself into his life little by little. It turned out he wasn’t needed much for the science side of things after all, something he was grateful for since it meant minimizing his time in the lab. Doctor Foster had gotten all the information she could about Darcy’s situation from him and now there wasn’t much they could do but watch as she tried to reverse-engineer the accident.

He still went down with Darcy in the mornings when she asked though, more to set her friend’s mind at ease than anything else he figured, and sent the text messages she dictated. And suddenly, sooner than he expected, they’d fallen into a strange routine together. He hit the gym early before meeting her at his apartment door to assure Doctor Foster she was alive, she’d stick around downstairs to watch over her friend for a few hours before showing up on his doorstep again to ask if he wanted to hang out for a while.

Hang out.

With him.

Logic told him it was because he was the only one who could see her, but it was becoming harder and harder to properly bury himself in self loathing when there was beautiful woman laughing on his couch about something on the TV and asking him to turn it up for her since she couldn’t use the remote.

He couldn’t remember exactly when he’d sat down next to her, maintaining as much distance as the couch would allow, or even when he’d started to watch with her. Only that somehow, suddenly, he was viscerally involved in something called ‘Real Pawn’ and there wasn’t much he could do about it.

It was one of her favourite shows, airing on some channel called Historical plus, which, as far as he could tell, had nothing to do with history whatsoever, and followed a random pawn shop somewhere across the country as they bought and sold stuff.

It was also incredibly addictive.

“Don’t do it, Chet,” Darcy whined from the opposite end of the couch as the guy on the tv tried to negotiate a deal on an old tin car, “it’s a fake, it’s gotta be.”

“You don’t know that,” he replied, unable to pull his eyes away from the screen as the price counter went up and down with each offer and refusal, “it could be real.” 

“Wanna put money on it, big guy? It’s Chet, he’s gonna over pay, he always overpays,” Darcy shot back, burying her face in her knees as the music swelled, “I can’t watch!”

“Hey Buck, I heard the TV was on and-”

“Shh!”

Two heads whipped around to stare at Steve as he opened the door. Although, in retrospect, Bucky realized he could only see the one.

“What are you - uh - watching?” 

“Chet get corn-holed again ,” Darcy muttered darkly at the same time Bucky said, “Some show about people selling things, Darcy likes it.”

“Like you don’t,” she grinned at him and he was hard pressed to deny it.

“Is she here?” Steve asked, his eyes passing over her entirely as he looked around.

“Yeah,” he gestured to the end of the couch and what must appear to Steve to be an empty cushion. It still felt strange that others couldn’t see her when she was so clear to him, almost more real than anyone else. She didn’t have any half-buried memories attached to her after all, nothing about their relationship had been parsed through history books or informed by someone else’s eyes. It was entirely new and entirely his.  

“Hi, uh, Darcy,” Steve offered, giving an awkward little half wave to the couch, “I hope you’re well.”

“Aww,” she replied, leaning forward in her seat, “I’m good thanks, Cap’n. Ask him if he’s alright for me, would you please?”

“She’s good, asks how y’are.”

“I’m… good too, thank you, ma’am,” he rubbed the back of his neck and Bucky was struck by the image of him two foot shorter and a damn sight less heavy trying and failing to talk to a dame. Apparently time and muscle mass hadn’t helped him on that one, even when the girls were invisible,  “it’s been a strange week.”

“Y’re telling me,” Bucky agreed with a roll of his shoulders.

“And yet nothing is as strange as a thirty year old man calling me ma’am,” Darcy snorted before letting out a loud screech.

“What the-”

“I knew it!” She cackled, not seeming to notice his flinch, or the fact his heart had passed its usual resting rate for the first time in a long time at her sudden scream. Following her gaze he turned to the screen just in time to see a long-bearded expert deliver the news the tin car was fake. The price counter dropped from four figures down to two with a whomp-whomp noise. 

“Damnit,” he grumbled, “you were right.”

“Is that a tinplate Alfa Romeo?” Steve asked, noticing the screen properly for the first time. His eyes widened at the close up of the green clockwork toy, the paintwork suspiciously shiny for its age.

“Not a real one,” he shrugged.

“It looks just like it, they used to have a couple on display in Sanderson’s,” Steve moved further into the room, “I used to beg my ma for one as a kid.”

Bucky snorted, “you had a full set of jacks, what’re you complaining about.”

“I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t stopped Billy Horne from stealing them from me,” Steve laughed, “that guy was such a jerk.”

A flash of a wiry kid with pock-marked skin and mean grey eyes overtook him, the smell of hot asphalt and garbage left too long in the sun. Billy had a mean right hook but his was meaner. 

“Shit,” Bucky swore, catching his head in his hand as pain jolted through him. It was like electricity ripping through his skull, threatening to split him at the seams as it pulsed and buzzed. 

Block it out, some repressed part of him screamed, blackness blurring the edges of his vision, block it out before they cut it out.

“Bucky? Buck?”

He came back to himself with a gasp, two pairs of worried eyes staring at him as he shook his head clear of the memories. The fragments were there, a thousand different pieces that didn’t quite fit, if he was lucky they came back to him with blunt edges, slipping in easy like they’d always been there. He wasn’t lucky today, too many memories in short succession always hurt.

“M’fine,” he muttered, surprising himself when, instead of taking himself away to wallow, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat instead, “sometimes memories come back a little… sharp, that’s all.”

Steve looked at him with that pained expression that Bucky never knew what to do with, the guilt wiping away the familiarity of his features. It made Bucky’s insides ache, his position on running away up for reconsideration as Steve looked set to say something he didn’t want to hear. 

“Well that sucks,” Darcy spoke first, drawing his attention with a shrug and a sympathetic smile, “y’wanna call it a day or watch another episode?”

He hesitated, swallowing hard around his indecision as the credits rolled in the background. He was used to being told what to do, where to be, who to be - before by the Army, after by the enemy, even now Steve and the others structured his life for him. Go to the lab. Get some exercise. Eat something. Don’t forget to sleep.

Darcy didn’t. She asked, always - do you want me to go? Can I come in? Are you okay to come downstairs?

Do you want to call it a day?

He didn’t want to call it a day, not yet. He wanted to spend more time with her here, like this, with nothing expected of him and nowhere to be. He wanted to just… exist for a while.

“Another episode,” he said, giving Steve a firm look when he seemed on the edge of saying something that might undo his decision. 

“Excellent,” she grinned, “now tell your buddy to sit down or ship out, he’s giving me neck strain. If I knew I was gonna be surrounded by freakishly tall men in my afterlife I’d have put on heels before I croaked.”

Bucky couldn’t help himself, he smiled. 

—-

Darcy Lewis had worked hard for her degree and harder for her Masters. She’d helped save lives in two separate alien attacks and, through no small amount of effort, gotten on the House of Meats wall of fame for eating a Hulk Burger in one sitting.

Still, if asked about her proudest achievement to date, she would be hard pressed not to choose the three whole smiles she’d gotten out of Bucky Barnes in the last week.

It didn’t come easy to him, his face obviously unused to the action, but that just made them all the more satisfying. It had started with an occasional twitch at the corner of his mouth, maybe a half-smirk that seemed more chagrined than cheerful, but in the last few days she swore she’d seen the real thing. Although… he still had yet to give a full grin, that was her next challenge.

That and coming back to life of course.

Still, compared to getting a laugh out of the Winter Soldier, resurrection seemed like a fairly easy gig. 

Jane was hard at work, surprising no one. Darcy made her way down to the lab every day at a little past eight with her intrepid interpreter for the usual round of questions.

No, she hadn’t changed physically.

Yes, she felt the same as she had before.

No, she wasn’t experiencing any new symptoms.

And yes, Bucky could still see and hear her as if she was really there.

Darcy didn’t mind the repetition despite her increasingly inventive sarcastic answers, it proved to her she was still there, still real - or at least real enough for the moment. She still existed. 

There were sometimes little experiments too, could Bucky see her through a camera or hear her on a phone (no,) did it register electronically when she phased through something (also no,) if she sat on a chair with her eyes closed and someone moved it unexpectedly would she feel it and fall or stay sitting where she was (stay sitting, incredibly freakily.)

But then Jane changed the game, she turned her attention to Bucky instead.

“So Mr Barnes - sorry, do you prefer Sargent Barnes? I never asked,” she said, clicking off her daily spreadsheet with a beautiful if somewhat absent smile as she turned her gaze onto him.

“Mister is fine,” he murmured, he had never raised his voice above a quiet hum in the laboratory, looking distinctly uncomfortable whenever the questions were aimed at him and not his ghostly sidekick.

“Mister - great - so Mr Barnes, are you okay to do the blood tests today? I’ve been working with Doctor Harris from the med lab, confidentially of course, and we’re ready to begin collecting data to help in the re-alignment process.”

Shit. Bucky seemed to shrink in on himself, too much white in his eyes even as he dropped his head, a familiar movement that sent his hair in front of his face.

“You can say no,” Darcy said firmly as she watched Bucky turn paler than usual, the sleepless bruises beneath his eyes becoming more obvious than ever as he searched for an escape.

“W-what?” He asked her, voice cracking as his blue eyes fixed on her, Jane momentarily forgotten in the background, “Don’t you want me to…”

“No.” She wanted to reach for him but knew it was useless, she couldn’t comfort him physically even if he’d allow it, she had to settle for words instead, “no I really don’t, I’ve been dead for like a month and it seems I’m not going anywhere, Jane can figure this out without… y’know… getting all up in your business, there’s enough on file for that. Besides, you’ve been through enough already.”

Jeez, the things he’d been through, she could barely wrap her head around it. And yet still he looked at her with pained eyes, his mouth stretched thin and gaze beseeching. 

Almost as if he thought he still deserved more, more pain, more suffering. Darcy couldn’t bear it.

“But-”

“But nothing, Bucky B, you tell her you're not comfortable with it or we walk right out of here. This place is full of the best minds in the world, like the most super of super geniuses, they can figure it out.” Her fingers flexed, the urge to touch him still burning beneath her skin as she held his gaze, “my come back doesn’t have to be at the expense of your well being.”

She had been selfish about so much in her life, gleefully so sometimes, but not about this. She trusted in Jane’s abilities, Bucky didn’t need to be hurt again over her.

“Thank you,” he said in that low rumble of a voice of his, looking at her for so long she forgot how to breathe before he turned back to Jane, “I’ll do it, the blood tests or whatever. I’ll… if you need them. I’ll do it.”

“What?” Darcy cried, jumping to her feet and putting herself between them, “Bucky, you don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” He replied with a heavy look, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he hefted himself out of his chair, “I want to.”

“I-” for the first time in a long time words failed her, her heart squeezing painfully in her chest as she watched Jane clap her hands together happily, speaking a mile a minute as she gestured for Bucky to follow her to the medical lab.

Bucky ducked around Darcy, squeezing behind a chair to get by her, the action only making her guilt worse with its unconscious sweetness. He could have walked through her after all, everyone else did, yet he went out of his way to walk around her.

Stupid, thoughtful bastard.

The med lab wasn’t far, a short journey down one corridor and then left along another, but it felt like forever as she flailed behind her knight in frayed hoodies. She knew how much he hated even the main lab and this would be worse. So much worse.

She saw his pupils contract the moment they stepped into the white-washed room, the bright overhead lights buzzing almost angrily in the silence as she watched Bucky make a scan of the room. His gaze flicked from machine to machine, seeming to shrink further into himself with every moment. She wanted to tell him to turn around again but Jane was already speaking, directing him to a chair by a bunch of machines and introducing a stylish woman in a white blazer.

“This is Doctor Harris,” Jane smiled, so pleased at being useful at last she was oblivious to Bucky’s discomfort, “she’ll be taking your vitals today along with the samples we need.”

The conversation faded, drowned out by the sound of her pulse in her ears as Darcy fought the urge to yell at Jane. It wasn’t her fault, she knew that, that was just the way Jane was, when science got involved everything else went out the window. She’d never been good at the ‘human stuff’ - that was what Darcy was for.

And Darcy couldn’t do anything about it.

She watched in slow motion as the panic crept over Bucky, his back rod-straight against the chair as he sat. He held himself like a statue, arms clamped against the arms of the chair like he was waiting for someone to tie him to it. Only his eyes gave him away, he was terrified and lost and so completely stubborn. 

Darcy’s heart broke all over again for him.

“We can go at any time,” she said to him, dropping her voice to what she hoped was a comforting hush as she crouched down next to his chair, “any time you want, you just say the word and we’re out of here, no questions asked.”

He didn’t move but his eyes flickered over to her as the doctor lady talked her way through what she was doing as she plucked a needle from a tray.  

“Could you roll up your sleeve please, Mr Barnes?”

His hands clenched around the arm’s chairs, metal creaking ominously, but then he was moving. Every movement was painfully slow, like his whole body was trapped in molasses as he mechanically unzipped his oversized grey hoodie, shrugging it off before rolling up the sleeve of the equally colourless Henley he had on underneath. There was a short sleeved t-shirt under that too she noticed, more layers than the climate-controlled tower necessitated.

Her stomach squeezed painfully as she watched him face forward again, a robot on reset as he waited for his next instruction. She couldn’t let him go on like that, not when the only thing her guidance counselors had ever agreed on was that she was good at distracting others. 

It was time to put it to good use at last.

“Hey, you never told me you were such a stud-ly Dudley,” she joked as his eyes grew more and more distant, “you ever thought about modelling, B? With biceps like that you could make a fortune, we could replace the Sexy Avenger calendar. Have you seen it in the lab? I bought it for Jane cos it has Thor in it, y’know her boyfriend, but she forgets to turn the pages so we’re stuck on Steve still in his patriotic posing pouch.”

“I… saw it.” He murmured, barely opening his mouth to speak his jaw was so tense. Still. It was a start, a cracked door she was gonna do her best to wiggle through.

She reached out despite herself, placing her hand on his arm even though she knew he wouldn’t be able to tell. The metal surface felt the same as everything else did, an idea of an object, a static surface she could either rest on or push through, no real texture or temperature to it.

God what she wouldn’t have done to be able to touch him properly, to squeeze his arm and prove he wasn’t alone. 

“You did, huh?” She beamed, pleased when his eyes moved down to her hand and not to the doctor moving about on the other side of him, “it’s hilarious right? Oh but Steve - do you think he noticed when he was in there? Jeez, we gotta tell Jane to change the page before he gets back from his thing just in case. That could be hella awkward.”

“M’sure he’s… flattered.”

“You got the inside scoop right - are his buns really that tight? Cos I gotta tell you I think some artistic liberties were taken in the buttock region, you know what I’m saying?”

“Never really looked.”

“Suuure, like you two haven’t compared, you could bounce a nickel back and forth like a tennis match. Just so you know, my moneys still on you though, and - look! All done!”

“Thank you Mr Barnes,” the doctor was saying, standing back on her sensible kitten heels, “I think that’s all we need today - Jane?”

Jane looked up from the terminal she’d found her way too, eyes glassy with science as she clicked back into reality, “oh yes, that’s all thank you. We can’t do anything else until this is analysed so - see you tomorrow for the usual check in?”

Bucky remained frozen so Darcy stood up, waving a hand at him gently, “come on buddy, time for us to leave. Grab your jacket and let’s get out of here, I think there’s a Real Pawn slash Locker Up marathon on our channel soon if you’re game for it - let’s go.”

He rose slowly, like he was breaking out of ice. She could almost hear the snap and crack of joints as he found his feet, picking his hoodie up like it was a foreign object as he nodded once to Jane before following Darcy as she walked backwards from the room. It was another time where corporeal form would have been useful, she’d been in too many situations recently where she wanted to hold his hand.

“Thanks” he muttered, staggering just a little as they cleared the lab corridor and entered the elevator. He waited until the doors were closed before pressing his back to the wall, head tilted backwards as he drew in a ragged breath like he had forgotten how to breathe properly.

“Thanks? For what, talking about your besties butt? Weird but I’ll take it,” she said, still in levity mode as she monitored him as the floors went by. Hoping she hadn’t done permanent damage.

“No,” his eyes dropped downward, catching her like a net she had no wish to escape from, “for distracting me, reminding me I wasn’t… there.”

The blush was immediate, spreading from her chest up to her ears as she tried to ignore the silly little dance her heart was doing in her chest. 

“No big deal,” she shrugged, suddenly fascinated by the shiny buttons behind him, “it was the least I could do. I need to thank you, honestly, you didn’t have to do that, or any if this really, hell I still don’t fully understand why…”

“Why what?” He asked when she trailed off, clutching his hoodie closer to his chest.

Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, tied up in insecurities she couldn’t name as the elevator slowed its ascent.

“Why you’re helping me so much,” she admitted, shrugging her shoulders as her eyes dipped to the pristine lineoleom of the floor, “it’s not your fault you’re the only one who can see me and, hey, I know I’m not the easiest person to be around sometimes.”

She never had been. An acquired taste some people said, freaking annoying said others. She’d always been too strange, too loud, too awkward, too much, why should this be any different? 

“You think you’re the problem here?” He asked, astonished.

“Aren’t I?” She looked up again as their floor dinged, his eyes so blue she could swim in them.

“Helping you is the best thing I’ve done in a lifetime, you… you deserve more than me.”

“Bucky-“

The door opened, cutting off her.

“Buck, there you are - I was just about to come looking for you,” Steve Rogers, of the much discussed butt, appeared in the door, “I got back from the thing earlier than expected and thought I’d check in.”

Stepping back, Darcy swallowed whatever tangled, undoubtedly inelegant thought she was trying to say and switched to a smile instead. She was doing her best not to stomp through his boundaries like a bull in a china shop after all.

“Darcy?” He asked, turning back to look at her with a question in his eyes.

“I need to get back to Jane quickly, make sure she’s got lunch sorted. Check in later?”

He looked at her for a long moment before jerking his head in a nod.

“Here,” he said, reaching in to press the button for her so she wouldn’t have to hit the stairs, “still want to catch that Historical Plus marathon later?”

“I’ll be there,” she promised as the doors closed again, her spectral body heading down even as her heart stayed determinedly on his floor.

Chapter Text

They assumed he didn’t feel the cold. How could he still be susceptible to such a human thing when they had made him so inhuman, shunting him in and out of cryosleep. Stripping him off and strapping him down in their base hidden deep in the icy tundras of Siberia. He was not a man, he was a machine - machines did not feel cold.

Only he did.

He felt it deep, a cold that sank past tissue and muscle and made its home in his bones. It spread like frost over a window pane, claiming every joint and seam of him until he was certain he’d never be warm again. Not that he deserved warmth, he deserved nothing. 

He was the soldier. He was ready to comply.

No. That wasn’t right. He was Bucky Barnes now, or at least something closer to him, he had escaped this. He wasn’t always cold anymore. 

He stood up, feeling the world spin around him as he looked for the exit. The concrete walls blurred, strip lights and metal railings tilted at the wrong angle. The machinery was old and gray, signs in Cyrillic flickering warnings in the corner of his eyes.

He didn’t belong here, not anymore.

“Soldat,” a familiar voice barked as unseen hands closed around him, “do not fight it.”

Bile choked him, confusion catching his breath as he tried to push them away. To get back to where he was supposed to be. The hands turned to claws as he fought, tearing through flesh and muscle as they forced him back, down down down into the chair. 

His chair.

No.

Not this, not now.

His back arched away from the cold cold metal, mouth open to scream only to have the mouthguard shoved between his teeth like a horse with a bit. The restraints closed, shutting with a noise like gunshots as they sealed him to the chair. 

“Reset him.”

No. Please. 

He thrashed helplessly against their bonds, pleading through the plastic between his teeth as the machine hummed to life. He couldn’t lose it, not now. Not when he finally had memories worth holding onto again. 

He thought of Steve and how he’d brought him out of the darkness, shown him a world beyond it. He saw the punk kid in his broken memories and the tired man who was trying his best to help him make new ones.  

Steve and his stubbornness, his easy laughter and awkward moments. How, against all odds they’d found something between the old and the new to rebuild their friendship upon piece by fragile piece. 

Steve who had been with him long after the line had ended.

He thought of her too. Darcy. Her name caught in his throat, stuck there as tears streamed from the corners of his eyes.

They were going to put him in the machine and he’d forget her too. Forget her laugh and her face and the way she always said too much when she didn’t mean to. How she smiled at him and how much he wanted to smile back.

She’d become a broken memory like the rest of them, a blurry picture he’d barely remember even if someone told him about it. Washed away, like everything and everyone else, until he was alone again.

“Bucky?”

He was losing himself, pain lancing through his skull with the static-white burn of electricity as the machine roared to life. They were taking it away from him again, all of it, they couldn’t - he couldn’t - 

“Bucky, wake up!”

He jolted upright, blankets tangled around his legs as he fought his way up into the waking world. He had to stop them, whoever had come to take him back, he couldn’t let it happen. His teeth ground together, metal hand reaching out to catch and crush and kill his enemy.

“Woah boy,” a familiar voice snatched his attention, a girl kneeling on the carpet next to him with her hands raised palms out, “it’s okay, you’re in the tower, you’re safe. I’m here.”

“You…” he gasped, a fish drowning on land as he struggled to make his lungs work as he stared at her. She was here. She was real. 

This was real.

“I’m here,” she nodded, blue eyes wide with worry as she crouched next to him on the floor, “right here. Just breathe.”

He inhaled.

Her name was Darcy Lewis, he’d known her a month now. She had brown hair and blue eyes and liked watching stupid reality tv shows with him and walking around the tower when they had nothing else to do. 

He exhaled.

Her nose crinkled when she laughed and for some reason he always imagined she smelt like cotton candy. Something sweet anyway. Cherries or vanilla or the first day of summer.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said as his breathing regulated, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he braced his hands against his knees, “I could have hurt you.”

He could have killed her. He’d been so out of it when he’d come too it was a miracle he hadn’t, his brain screamed threat and his body reacted. Destroyed.

He could have snapped her neck before she ever had a chance to scream. 

“No, you really couldn’t have,” she said, a furrow forming between her brows as she reached back to wave her hand through the bedpost behind her, “still super ghostly here, my dude.”

“But what if you weren’t?” He snapped, the image haunting him. Her body lying rag-doll limp, vibrant blue eyes dull and lifeless behind her glasses as blood seeped into the too-soft carpet. He didn’t think he could survive it, “what if you weren’t like that?”

“Well,” she considered, “then you’d at least had to have bought me dinner first”

“Darcy,” her name cracked in his throat, a plea for seriousness even as her teasing suggestion lit up parts of his brain he hadn’t looked at in a long time.

Sitting back on her heels, Darcy sighed. She looked almost unbearably young to him then, not in age exactly but naivety. An innocent trapped in his hellscape as her hair spilled over her shoulder and her hands twisted nervously in her lap. 

“Well,” she said to the floor before her eyes flickered up to his, the moonlight making them impossibly blue behind her glasses, “if I had been really real - and lucky enough to be your bedroom buddy - I would have been more careful. Tried to wake you from a safe distance, maybe with a stick or something, called Steve maybe,” she gave him a half smile before her gaze faltered again, “I’d never want to put you in a position you weren’t comfortable with, I just couldn’t… I couldn’t leave you like that.”

He didn’t know what to say, chest unbearably tight as he collected another memory he didn’t want to lose. He tried to tattoo it into his mind, the way she sat and the fall of her hair, the expression of concern she wore as she looked at him from beneath her lashes.

Like he was someone worth the trouble.

“Speaking of making you uncomfortable,” she said with a false laugh as the silence hung, her hands slapping her thighs as she went to stand up, “I should go. I was hanging out in the living room when I heard… but yeah, personal space. I- I can find someplace else to loiter for the night.”

“No!” He was up before he’d registered moving, scrambling after her as she stood, for all his protests he really didn’t want to be alone again, “don’t, please… stay.”

He would have grabbed her hand if he could have, arm half stretched towards her as she turned back to him. He drew it back quickly, squeezing his hand by his thigh as he waited for her response.

“Well then,” she said, her smile calming his racing heart as she tilted her head back towards the living room, “Wanna find out what our channel airs at 3am?”

“Sure,” he nodded, almost too eagerly, his nightmares fading away in her presence like some kind of human dream catcher. He was safe, she was safe, they were here.

“Awesome, bring the blanket would you, B?”

He didn’t think to question her, grabbing his comforter and following her like a shepherd with a star. Right then he thought he’d follow her anywhere if she asked, he might follow her even if she didn’t. Fumbling with the remote he took a seat next to her on the couch in the places he’d rapidly begun to think of as ‘theirs’, the blanket held awkwardly in front of him as he turned his head.

“Why did you want this? You can’t…” 

“Yeah but you can,” she shrugged, settling back into cushions that wouldn’t move for her, “the tower gets kinda chilly at night.”

—-

Darcy had been napping on his couch when she’d heard it, pained little gasps that grew into terrified pleas in something that sounded kinda like Russian to her untrained ear. It took her a moment to put it together, he was usually so still when he slept - freakishly still really, she was convinced she could draw a line around him on the floor at the start of the night and find him in the same place come morning. 

But not anymore. 

She was up as soon as the realisation hit, charging through the door and skidding to a halt in Bucky’s bedroom to find him thrashing against the carpet. He was sweat-soaked and shaking as his face contorted in pain, head rocking back and forth as he fought off nightmares she couldn’t begin to imagine.

Her knees hit the ground, hands trembling as she called out to him, unable to do anything more than that as tears seeped from the corners of his eyes. She’d never felt more useless in her life, unable to shake him awake or call for Steve or anything but beg him to wake up until at last, after an eternity, he had.

It was becoming easier to forget what he’d been through when they spent so long goofing off wandering around the tower and arguing about the dumb tv shows they watched. 

“Do you still dream?” 

The question startled her, she was half convinced Bucky had fallen asleep at his end of the couch as they watched reruns and infomercials, her mind wandering as she waited for the sunrise and better programming.

“Not really,” she sighed, trying to bury herself in cushions that wouldn’t budge as she craned her head towards him, “to be honest sleep is kinda… hard. My brain still gets tired even if my body doesn’t really feel it the same way any more, but it’s different. Sometimes it feels like… like if I sleep for too long I’ll just disappear.”

The thought terrified her, keeping her awake long past any reasonable hour even as her brain sometimes begged for relief.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the lights of the tv washing over his face and bathing it in color.

“It’s okay,” she shrugged, watching his eyes turn from green to red to blue in the reflected glare, “it kinda sucks, but hey - it meant we met after all, so silver lining.”

She’d been kicking around the tower looking for company, it was easier to nap when she wasn’t alone but Jane was stressing her out with her slow spiral into science madness. She’d nearly ended up chilling on Steve’s couch until he’d started stripping off for a shower and she’d done a quick exit, no matter how strong the temptation had been to see America’s most famous jewels she wasn’t a complete pervert. Besides, she’d hate to think of someone else in her position doing it to her. Ick.

So she’d ended up venturing into rooms unknown instead and hunkering down a respectable distance from one Bucky Barnes. He’d always seemed nice to her, quiet, she thought she’d just talk to him for a while until she was ready to rest but instead….

Instead here they were.

“You can try and sleep now if you want,” he offered, smoothing his hand over the edge of the blanket, “I’ll wake you up if you start fading.”

“Really?” She blinked, tilting her head at him in surprise, “Don’t you wanna go back to sleep?”

“Nah, I’ll be up til sunrise either way,” he shrugged, glancing out the window at the still dark night, “it’s not like I’m not used to it by now.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we could both sleep like normal people,” she sighed, plucking at a piece of loose thread on the back of the couch and watching as her fingers slid right through it.

“There’s a dream.”

Quiet washed over them, the hushed mumble of the tv mixing with the sound of the air-con as they sat there. She wanted to move closer, to press herself into his side and breathe him in. Her sense of smell wasn’t great anymore but it was enough to know he always smelt clean, like laundry detergent and white soap. She wanted to bury her head in his neck and tell him everything would be okay, that one day they’d get to sleep like normal people again and until then the world would keep on turning.

Instead she just hummed, slipping her glasses into the pocket of her cardigan and closing her eyes. 

“Maybe just a little nap then, wake me up if I start snoring.”

She didn’t know if she’d sleep, not deep enough to dream anyway, but for the first time since her unlife began she felt safe enough to try. 

Chapter Text

“It’s almost one,” Steve said, glancing at the clock.

Darcy was third-wheeling the boys again, she tried not to do it too much when Steve was back from his missions, the two had a long ass history after all and she didn’t want to get in the way of the serious amount of manly bonding they needed to catch up on, but she still enjoyed it when she got the chance. 

“You want anything in particular for lunch, Buck?”

He asked it like he already knew the answer but couldn’t help himself anyway. In all the time she’d spent around them she’d never heard Bucky answer with anything other than ‘not hungry,’ he seemed to live off of protein bars and packet food when no one was looking. 

Almost like he didn’t believe he deserved anything better. 

The thought made her chest ache, he’d been so good to her lately. Enduring the lab, keeping her company, he even encouraged her to sleep when she could, always there to make sure she woke up after a nap. If ever there was a guy who deserved nice things, it was James B Barnes.

“Oooh, you guys should order in,” she interjected brightly, resting her head in her hands as she stuck her oar firmly into the conversation, “I would kill for a pizza right now - seriously.”

“I thought you didn’t get hungry?” Bucky asked, tilting his head her way as she swung her legs back and forth on the kitchen stool she’d claimed.

“I don’t,” she pouted dramatically, “which somehow makes it worse - I feel like I’m forgetting what it’s like, y’know? Hunger, food, taste. God I want to taste something, well not just any something - I wanna taste Gino’s extra cheesy cheese pizza.”

“It’s… that good?”

“Are you kidding me?” She gasped, “There’s nothing like that first slice of Gino’s straight outta the box, the tang of the sauce as the cheese goes all gooey and stringy… You’ve been back in New York for how long and you haven’t tried it? You have got to get it.”

“I dunno,” he mumbled, kicking a toe gently against the legs of the stool next to her.

“Dude, do it for the dead girl,” she pressed, not above a little guilt trip considering the circumstances, “If I can’t eat it myself at least I can watch someone else enjoy it. I tell you when I’m human again I am gonna eat everything, I am ordering every take out in a five mile radius and having a feast. You are invited, Steve too. And Jane if we can get her out of the lab.”

Steve, who’d very politely kept quiet during their exchange, looked over to Bucky for a translation. He was a good guy like that, letting her talk even when he couldn’t hear her, she hoped they’d be real friends one day.

“Darcy’s invited us to a feast when she gets her body back,”  Bucky said, ruffling his hair with his hand. Which was way too adorable a gesture for a man of six foot.

Steve laughed, “she hasn’t seen how much we eat yet.”

“Well now we have too,” she grinned, leaning forward, “I’m fascinated. I didn’t think anyone could take down a Gino’s faster than me, you better get your practice in big guy.”

She winked at him and for a moment she swore he blushed before he turned his head back to Steve.

“D’you… want to get pizza?” He asked, making her heart squeeze like a badly played accordion. He was still so uncertain, even now, but almost hopeful too. 

“Hell yeah,” Steve grinned, very un-Captainly, his perfectly square face lighting up in a smile, “I’ll be glad to see you eating something other than protein rations, Buck. You think Lombardi’s is still around?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged, looking off at the window as if he’s was suddenly fascinated by the view beyond, she wondered sometimes if he still recognised it, “but I hear Gino’s is good these days.”

“Gino’s it is, then.”

Steve kept his eyes on Bucky’s back for a minute before his gaze turned towards her, eyes flickering, never quite making contact but obviously searching. As she watched his smile softened, shrugging his shoulders and mouthing the words ‘thank you’ to her before Bucky could turn back again.

Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, Darcy hopped off the stool, “alright boys,” she grinned, “I’m off to check on Jane. Could you text her for me B and let her know I’m incoming? I’ll make sure she takes a break then be back in time for the pizza party.”

“I’ll let her know,” Bucky nodded, pulling the phone from his pocket and shooting off a message, “Darcy’s just checking in on Doctor Foster while we order.”

“Call her Jane, weirdo,” Darcy laughed as she headed for the door, Steve opening it for her like a proper gentleman despite her not needing him too, “she’s not your boss!”

—-

“Is she…?” Steve asked, head tilting at the door he was still holding open.

“Gone,” Bucky nodded, sitting awkwardly on the stool she’d just left and hoisting his phone closer to him, “I’ll search the number.” 

“Y’know,” Steve said as he pulled two glasses down from a cupboard Bucky hadn’t touched before, “I feel awful saying this after all she’s been through but… I’m glad Darcy’s been around for you like this. You guys… you seem good together.”

The glasses clinked as he set them down on the table with a stack of serviettes and an unbearably earnest expression.

“We’re not…” Bucky said, rolling his shoulders as he tried to look at anything but Steve, “together.”

Sure, they were together most of the time but that didn’t mean they were together together. They just hung out and watched tv, and went for walks around the tower, and talked late at night before she would stay with him until dawn - her legs a weight he couldn’t feel in his lap as she hypnotised him with the soft hush of her breathing and the peace of her expression. Like he was a protector instead of a predator, like she truly felt safe with him.

Sure, he never had nightmares when she was next to him, but that didn’t mean anything though.

“I know,” Steve said with a sigh and a good natured shrug, “but she’s been good for you, buddy.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, unable to even think of denying it, “she gets me out of my head, hard not to when she talks so much.”

He huffed a laugh, remembering a few of her more colourful monologues on modern life, not to mention the speculator rants she could go on when someone on Locker Up overpaid for a basic unit. She was a firecracker alright, whip smart and funny as hell to boot, nothing at all like anyone he’d ever expected to meet again.

“Gift of the gab, huh?” Steve raised an eyebrow at him with a smirk, “never had a friend like that before.”

“Yeah,” he said, able to look back on their shared past better now, the knowns and unknowns of it all not as terrifying as they’d once been, “not any more though, huh?”

“You are who you are,” Steve said with a shrug, “wouldn’t want you to be anyone else, Buck. God knows I’m not the same.”

“You’re like three feet taller for a start,” he snorted.

“Twelve inches.”

“So that’s why you’re so popular with the ladies these days.”

Steve choked on a laugh, looking almost as surprised as Bucky felt when he joined in. It wasn’t the funniest joke he’d ever made, he was pretty sure of that, but it was the first one in a long time and it felt good. Every day it seemed like a little bit more of the fog lifted.

“Damn,” Steve swore, “what a way to talk to the guy buying you lunch. You got that number?”

“Here, thanks,” he handed the phone over, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment as he looked at his old-new friend.

His late nights with Darcy had given him a chance to think, to put words to things he’d left unspoken for too long, things it was about time he said aloud. 

“Seriously,” he added, “thank you, Steve… for all of this. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t gotten through to me, you saved me.”

“Hey - no,” Steve said, stepping around the counter, “I just, God, Buck, I’m just so sorry I didn’t get to you earlier. I should have-”

Steve scraped his hand through his hair, suddenly looking very much like the boy he’d been a thousand years ago before time and war had changed them both. 

“You didn’t know,” Bucky said, slapping a hand awkwardly on his shoulder, “no one could have known. That’s how they wanted it. You’re here now and- and I don’t know if I would have made it if you hadn’t been.”

Exhaling, Bucky felt another weight rise from him. A resentment held so long he didn’t know it still lived in him. The awful truth was that he had expected Steve to save him, Captain America and his Howling Commandos, he’d expected them all to come busting down the door for another daring rescue. They’d get him out of there and defeat Hydra together, he had believed it for longer than he believed his own name.

He still believed it. It might have taken a while, but Steve had saved him after all.

“Anyway,” Bucky continued, rolling his shoulder to ease the tension the weight of the metal sometimes put on it, “about that pizza? Darcy recommended it so it’s probably worth a try.”

“Yeah she’s got good taste, I can’t wait to meet her properly,” Steve chuckled, shaking his head ruefully as he picked up the phone, “you know if you two were…”

Bucky shot him a look.

“Never mind, never mind - I’m calling the place. You still like ground beef and onions?”

Bucky shrugged, “only one way to find out.”

—-

Darcy perched on the table behind Jane as she finished up her work, her favorite scatterbrained scientist promising the air distractedly that she would be done ‘any second now.’

Darcy didn’t press it, content to kick her legs and hum that song from the phone advert that kept getting stuck in her head. Things were starting to look up, Jane was eating and sleeping again, progress was being made, and even being undead wasn’t so bad with Bucky around to hang out with. In fact it was kind of wonderful being able to see him come out of himself little by little every day. 

With the circumstances what they were, how could it possibly get any better?

The lights flickered, Darcy thinking for one terrible moment she’d brought murphy’s law down upon her own head as a mighty crash shook the tower. The furniture rattled, the clouds turning black beyond the windows as lightning split the sky and thunder rolled over the tower.

Jane startled upright from her seat, eyes almost comically wide as she stared upwards towards the ceiling.

“You don’t think?” She asked aloud, her voice suspiciously tight and high as another vein of lightning made the electricity flicker.

“I do,” Darcy replied, not caring Jane couldn’t hear her as they both regarded the white ceiling tiles for a very long moment, “y’know what, let’s find out.”

They moved in tandem, Jane struggling to put her work aside as Darcy hopped off the side and started running. She didn’t wait for the elevator, footsteps echoing weirdly as she legged it up the stairs instead. The helipad was six stories up, giving her a ghost-stitch as she doubled her cardio for the week and bust through the emergency doors.

“Darcy!” Bucky skidded to a halt, looking manly as hell as he strode through the lobby with Steve at his side, “there was an alert, you shouldn’t-”

“Don’t worry,” she flailed a hand at him, huffing for breath despite no longer really needing air, “I think Jane’s boyfriend might finally be coming to visit.”

“Thor?” Bucky asked, still on high alert as his gaze scanned the area with military precision. It was easy to see the solider in him now, the way he held himself like a coiled spring, every movement perfectly sharp but bristling with potential energy. 

“That makes sense,” Steve nodded as he advanced towards the double doors, every inch Captain America even without the uniform on, “The thunder.”

Another crash rolled over them, seeming to bear down on them as lightning licked through the air, scorching the edges of the landing pad like it was looking for somewhere to land. 

“Definitely Asgardian,” Darcy said, eyes straying over the scene as a less pleasant thought hit her, remembering belatedly that Thor wasn’t the only Asgardian in the universe, “let’s just hope it’s a nice one, Jane’s heading this way and I don’t want her walking into anything hinky.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky reassured her, the corners of his mouth turned down in a grim expression as he fell in behind Steve, “We’ll take care of it if it’s not.”

The world turned white, thunder rattling the glass doors in their panes as lightning struck the centre of the helipad at last. Rainbow spots danced in-front of her eyes, leaving her squinting through her glasses as silence rolled back in and a figure crouched alone in the darkness beyond the doors.

Smoke rose from the asphalt, wafting from the burnt ridges of a runic circle etched deep into the ground as the figure straightened in slow motion. A crimson cape rippling from his broad shoulders as the wind caught in his golden hair. 

—-

“Jane is gonna swoon.”

Darcy was grinning, the expression on her face making it clear that the man in the weird circle was a friend and not foe as she clapped her hands together. 

Steve seemed to relax too but Bucky kept his guard up, head down, shoulders tight, ready to strike if he had too.

The guy was big, broad and blonde with a hefty looking hammer braced in one hand. Bucky assessed him as a threat, looking past the silly costume to the sturdiness of his armour and the ease with which he wielded his choice of weapon. There was a trunk behind him too, brown leather and big enough for a body, or a bomb.

“Steven!” The stranger boomed as they made their way out onto the landing strip high above the city at last, “well met old friend, you look in fine form!”

“Thor,” Steve replied with an easy smile, moving ahead to accept a bracing hug from the burly stranger, “good to have you back, Stark is out and about at the minute but I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear you’re back.”

“I look forward to our reunion,” Thor laughed, everything about his posture and manners open and easy as he slapped Steve on the back like they’d known each other for years, “but I must admit my visit is not purely social; tell me how goes the plight of the fair Lady Darcy? I have come in hopes of assisting her rescue, bringing with me the work of the finest minds from all of the realms.” 

Bucky felt like the invisible one as Thor’s eyes swept over the scene, looking like something from one of his ma’s old romance novels as he pressed one hand to his heart and gestured to the trunk he’d brought with the other.

Darcy had said he was Jane’s boyfriend right? 

The word hadn’t changed had it? He knew things were different in the dating game now but surely not that different, not if he was giving her boss Space Chlamydia when no one was looking.

“Aww, I’ve missed that giant space lunk,” Darcy said next to him, beaming with happiness as the clouds parted above them at last. The sunlight shone through, bouncing off the warm chestnut of her hair and making her seem almost radiant as she smiled, “he’s a sweetie, really.”

“Sure,” he muttered back, slouching back further now he knew they weren’t in any danger. If they were it seemed this Thor guy was more than ready and willing to protect them all with his booming voice and bulging golden muscles.

“But who is this?” Blue eyes landed on him, Thor’s face breaking into a wide smile as he moved towards them, “a brother in arms, Steven?”

“This is Bucky,” Steve offered, looking a little sheepish as he strode back to stand next to him, “he’s a friend of mine, and the only one who can actually see Darcy. He’s been acting as her interpreter.”

“Is she here?” He seemed to get even brighter at the prospect, even as Bucky found himself darkening by the second, “will you tell her how deeply I grieved the mere thought of her passing, and how I shall do everything in my power to bring the bright light of her wit and vivacity back into our realm, where it rightfully belongs.”

”I’ll pass it along,” he offered shortly, jamming his hands into his pockets now it was clear he wouldn’t need them to save anyone - unless it was from being complimented to death by a walking dime store novel.

He was spared further comment by the door behind them opening, the slight figure of Doctor Foster rushing out only to stop open mouthed a few feet from the burly space viking.

“Thor,” she said, her voice so quiet it was almost stolen by the wind, “you’re back.”

“Jane, my love, I have missed you so,” he softened all at once, looking like a love struck fool as they fell into each other’s arms.

Steve cleared this throat uncomfortably, Bucky looking away from the reunion to offer him a shrug. 

“Aww,” Darcy sighed happily, “I do so love love. And I am so freaking glad I no longer share a bedroom wall with her.”

Bucky coughed, covering his mouth as she grinned wickedly at him.

“Stop,” he murmured back as quietly as he could, “all I can think about is the space clap.”

She threw her head back, laughing wildly and he suddenly felt like an idiot for his bad mood. It was almost like he was jealous, not that he had any reason to be. 

He had no claim to her even if Thor was tryna charm her into some kinda space group sex cult.

Which… actually was a highly worrying and altogether too likely thought, who knew what kinda kinky bullshit aliens got up too after all? He frowned, the flowery compliments buzzing in his head even as Thor reunited with his supposed girl right in front of them.

He should keep an eye out for Darcy, just in case. It was the least he could do.

“Sorry my friends,” Thor called over to them in a booming voice, still clutching Jane Foster to his side, “let us inside. Heimdell informed me of Lady Darcy’s plight when I was done with the battles on Vanaheim, I… I asked him to keep watch over you Jane, lest you had need of me. Believe me, if I had known of this trouble sooner I would not have tarried so long on the field.”

“Not a problem,” Jane replied, face flushing as she looked up with a beautific smile, clearly already a card carrying member of the cult, “you’re here now. I’ve been working on reversing the calculations of the Einstein-Rosen generator to try and pinpoint what caused the shift but I’m having difficulty pinning down the exact dimensional frequencies-"

Darcy shook her head as they trailed after them, tilting her head up to look at Bucky with an easy smile, “I think we’re gonna need more pizza.”

And knives. He added silently to himself, he needed his knives back… just in case. 

Chapter Text

Darcy took the stairs two at a time to see if Bucky was about, she didn’t normally bother him so early in the evening but Thor’s arrival and Jane’s subsequent breakthroughs changed everything. In fact it was Jane’s distracted comment in the lab about texting him when she was finished that had her moving, Darcy wanted to get there first and speak to him in case he wasn’t up for it. 

The mood in the tower had been practically giddy for a fortnight, Thor had been as good as his word as he delivered screeds of useful information and pieces of space tech for Jane to play with. Then Stark, who returned not long after, had ended up been just as handy- grumbling something being some guy named Hank and ‘quantum-bullshit’ before slapping down an armful of classified documents stamped ‘Pym Tech confidential’ he definitely should not have had access too.

Progress was being made, engineering, quantum physics, astrophysics and space magic had been mixed and mashed over two long weeks and tonight  - hopefully - she would take her first step towards visibility.

When it came to resurrection she figured she was in exactly the right place - after all Bucky had come back from the dead, and so had Steve. She was pretty sure Thor had technically died in New Mexico before he’d gotten his Thunder-Mojo back, and hadn’t Stark’s heart stopped like multiple times? Avengers tower was a rotating door of life and she was feeling damn good about it.

“Hey Bucky B, you about my dude?” She called as she stepped into his apartment, making a quick scan of the living room before heading for the bedroom, “I know I’m early today but Jane’s finally cracked that mirror thing she’s been working on and I wanted to-”

It took her a shamefully long time for her to realize what she was looking at, her brain short-circuiting entirely as she phased through the door to the sight of a very, very naked Bucky Barnes.

Okay, not entirely naked, he was wearing trousers, loooow slung trousers that fit snug to his hips and revealed a tantalizing glimpse of treasure trail. And the rest… the rest was buff and bare and glistening in the late sunlight. His hair was scraped back from his face, it was still wet from the shower making him look down right obscene as a droplet of water fell from its ends to run in a long rivulet between all those tightly packed muscles.

“Holy shit,” she yelped, spinning on her heel at last and slapping her hands over her eyes even as the image burned behind her eyelids like she’d been caught staring at a sexy sun, “I am so sorry - I should have knocked. Bad Darcy, Bad.”

She should have looked an extra few seconds too, just to make exactly sure she got all the details right. Her smutty thoughts about her knight in shining armor suddenly becoming imax worthy.

There was a shuffling noise behind her, the kind she could imagine as fabric being pulled over all those rippling muscles and hiding them from view. A war crime as far as she was concerned. 

“It’s fine,” he mumbled from behind her,  “I’m just sorry you had to… see that.”

“Huh?” She asked stupidly, her brain power taking a dive as her hormones fought for control of her,  “See what? How ridiculously hot you are?”

Smooth.

“Ha,” he laughed humorlessly, “no, the arm… I know it’s off putting.”

She couldn’t help but turn, watching a thin sliver of stomach disappear beneath his t-shirt as she gawped at him. It was black cotton and just a little too tight, sticking to his still damp skin in a way that made her throat dry up.

“Are you on drugs?” She squeaked, her voice helium-high as she felt her heart beating in her face, “you think that changes anything? I am actively trying not to be a massive perv here, Bucky Barnes, but my god you are obscenely good looking.”

“You don’t find it… ugly?” He asked hesitantly, a dent in his brow as he pressed his fingers to his left shoulder, his metal arm flexing as he moved his hand. 

“You are way too handsome to be this modest,” she waved a hand descriptively at him, “you are objectively, subjectively and effectively the most good looking man I’ve ever met, and I hang out with demi-gods, dude. You are a babe, both arms and everything between them included.”

It killed her that his self confidence was so battered; even if he hadn’t been a playgirl centerfold made flesh, he was still an absolute stone cold sweetheart who had a sarcastic sense of humor she couldn’t get enough of when he let it through. The guy was funny, caring, loyal, and so freaking good even after everything he’d been through.

With or without the washboard abs and model looks it would be hard not to fall completely in love with him.

Not that she was in love with him of course, that would be ridiculous. They’d only known each other for a few weeks after all and she was basically a ghost in that time, not to mention the fact he was still healing from everything and no way did she want to mess that up for him. 

She didn’t, couldn’t, possibly be feeling anything other than friendly gratitude for him and maybe some totally understandable lust. She was not in love.

Nope.

No way.

“I swear,” she said brightly, trying to switch over to humor, her first line of defense when things got too real for her, “you guys are gonna give me a complex, I thought I was hot stuff before I moved in with you folks. It’s like living in a village of male models.”

 “You’re kidding, right?” He asked, the furrow between his brow deepening as he looked at her seriously, “you're gorgeous.”

The words echoed in her head, vibrating at a different frequency than the rest of the world and making her feel like she was about to take off. Gorgeous, gorgeous, you’re gorgeous.

“Aw you have to say that,” she covered before she could do anything monumentally stupid like ask him to marry her, “we’re friends now.”

Friends. Friends. Central Perk, clapping theme tune, globally syndicated F-R-I-E-N-D-S. That’s what he needed right now, someone on his side with no ulterior motives or baggage of their own. Someone to help him clear his head, not tangle him up with their own stupid definitely not-love feelings.

“Anyway,” she continued loudly before he could say anything and potentially crush one of the best moments of her life, “I just came up to tell you…” wait what had she come to tell him? There had been a reason she was sure, something that had nothing to do with nudity and feelings and other complicated issues, “uhhh… yeah! The experiment, downstairs - it’s nearly ready so Jane will probably text or call or something, I just wanted to make sure you were up for it. Up for the experiment. No worries if not it can wait, I’m sure. That’s all, just asking, and now I’ve asked so… see you there maybe?”

She didn’t wait for a response, skipping out of his bedroom with her face burning and her heart still beating like King Kong banging his chest after climbing the Empire State Building.

—-

Bucky rubbed his shoulder through his shirt, eyes fixed on the door long after she’d run through it.

Did she really think he was that good looking? 

He knew he’d been considered handsome once, a long time ago, hell he’d taken a lot of pride in back then. But that was before everything, before they’d taken him apart and put him back together as something more machine than man. The line between flesh and metal was raised and twisted under his palm, ugly red with scars stretching like a starburst where they’d pulled at the muscles and skin to make it fit.

After that looks meant nothing, he meant nothing. There was no vanity like there was no guilt, no pain, no pleasure, just the thing they’d made and the deeds it did for them.

But… she thought he was handsome, ugly scars and metal and all. And she…

Goddamn.

He had a dim parade of beautiful dames fog-like in his memory but she outshone them all. His personal poltergeist with her bombshell figure and sultry eyes, every soldier’s pin up dream with those lips and that wicked wicked smile of hers.

Ever since her space friend had arrived he felt like his temper had gotten worse, a heated possessiveness rolling over him every time Thor of the stupid cape twinkled too hard at her. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t actually see her, Bucky hated him every time he looked at her too long anyway. 

His temper wasn’t the only thing getting the better of him either, eighty years in and out of the ice and his body finally seemed to have decided it was time to wake up. It was a good thing she hadn’t walked in ten minutes earlier when he’d been in the shower, hand braced so hard against the tiles they’d cracked as he buried himself deep in a soapy washcloth and grunted her name.

He’d tried not to, tried to think of baseball, soccer, literally any other faceless, nameless girl he could imagine but it didn’t work, his mind always ended up back on her. Imagining how soft her skin would be, how warm her lips, how she’d laugh at inappropriate moments and moan when he…

Damnit.

It was like his hormones were trying to make up for lost time, getting his engine revving whenever she was around despite his active attempts to stop being such a fuckin’ degenerate about her. She’d done so much for him already and he felt like an asshole for wanting more.

It wasn’t just sex either, it was a thousand stupid things he suddenly found himself desperate to do. He wanted to push her hair out of her eyes for her when it fell forward, pull her chair out when she sat down, he wanted to put his arm around her on the couch and - god help him - take her out dancing. If people even did that anymore.

He couldn’t be in a room with more than four people in it without having a panic attack and yet there he was longing to sweep Darcy away to some non-existent crowded dance hall and spend the whole night spinning her about until they were both dizzy.

He was well and truly fucked.

“Hey Buck?”

He just had time to straighten up as the front door to the apartment opened, a moment passing before there was a rap at his bedroom door.

“You in? I heard a rumour the viewing thing they’re working on downstairs is nearly ready to go.”

Grabbing a long sleeved shirt he shrugged it on over the t-shirt as he opened the door, nearly ripping the seam with his stupid metal arm as he gave Steve a tired smile.

“So I heard.”

“Darcy beat me up here, huh? She around?” He looked over his shoulder as if she might somehow magically appear to him.

“Just left,” just ran his brain supplied, blushing the prettiest pink he’d ever damn seen. 

Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

She’d brushed him off when he’d called her gorgeous but she’d also admitted to finding him obscenely good looking. His chest puffed up a bit at that, even as her ‘we’re friends’ comment circled him, threatening to deflate him at any second. 

They were friends, his first proper friend in almost a century, but was there the possibility there for more or was he just projecting? Fooling himself into thinking he could ever be more to someone than the broken parts of what he used to be.

“You alright there, Buck?” Steve nudged him with his elbow, “you’re kinda staring into space.”

“You’ve been back in the real world longer than me, Steve,” he said, snapping back to himself with a frown, “tell me - with all this new technology, have they invented anything to help understand dames?”

“Not a damn thing,” he grinned, “so is there someone I don’t know about or you finally ready to admit you’re crushing on Darcy?”

“Crushing? Jesus man,” Bucky scoffed, kicking the door stop as he folded his arms, “I just… she confuses me sometimes is all.”

“She is a girl, Buck,” Steve sighed, “they do that.” There was a long pause before he added, “So are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Crushing on Darcy?”

“I’m not crushing on anyone,” he huffed, his back hitting the wall as he stared up at the ceiling, “firstly because I’m not twelve, and secondly because Darcy’s gonna be back to her old self again soon and out of my life.”

“Why would that change anything?”

He looked at Steve like he was insane, “Steve - this girl, she’s something else. She could have her pick of them and I’m…”

“So much older than her?” Steve teased, making Bucky snort despite himself.

“That,” he agreed before slumping further back against the wall, “and a mess. I mean, come on Steve, who’m I tryna kid? All that stuff Hydra put in my head is still in there somewhere, I’m a ticking time bomb. I’d destroy her in the end, like everything else.”

“Woah there, buddy,” Steve grabbed his shoulder, “you’re doing better every day, Buck. I don’t think you realize how far you’ve come, you might not be the guy from back in our day any more, but you’re not the one Hydra made you either.”

“Either way I’m definitely not the right guy for her.”

“How would you know if you don’t try?” He asked seriously, squeezing his shoulder tight.

“Trust me,” Bucky kicked off from the wall, shrugging Steve’s concern off with his hand as he headed for the door, “I know.”

Chapter Text

“It will be joyous indeed to see you again, Lady Darcy!”

Out of all of the people who couldn’t see her, Thor was the least awkward about it. He boomed at her with all his usual Space-Viking charm whether he knew she was there or not, waving his arms wildly in her general direction as they gathered in a specially set up engineering lab.

It was comforting in a very uncomfy situation.

Darcy had been sat in the middle of a technological nightmare for an hour already. The machines surrounded her on three sides, a collection of ERB generators, flux arrays and screens cobbled together with copper wire and jumper cables, a few jumbled pieces of what looked like Ironman tech and Viking relics sandwiched between it all. It was like a Best Buy stock room had mated with a yard sale and had one hell of a baby.

The showpiece of the weird ass setup was an ornate looking empty picture frame. Thor had called it the ‘synsramme ,’ a magic space device that could be used for seeing into other realms that the team had hopefully jerry-rigged into crossing dimensions too. 

The frame was copper coloured and four feet square with runes engraved into the sides and little sculpted beasts at the corners. It had been placed in front of an ordinary looking fold down chair that served as Darcy’s seat in the middle of it all.

She felt like she was stuck in some sort of nightmare high-school picture day time loop, only without the braces. 

Bucky had slouched in half an hour after she had gotten there with Steve, mercifully dressed and unsurprisingly glare-y at the lab conditions. She didn’t blame him, she was guilty of tensing up herself at every sudden noise, Jane working through the different settings as they tried and failed to tap into her dimension over and over and over again.

“I have missed your wit and vivacity,” Thor boomed as the gap between tests grew, grinning heartily as he looked at what she knew must seem to be an empty chair, “it is what struck me first about you, you know!”

“Lies,” she said, trying to cover her nervousness with snark as she tapped her feet against the floor, “the first thing he was struck by was my taser.”

“Really?” Bucky replied in a low voice from where he  was holding up the wall to her left, keeping himself away from everyone else even now, “you tased him?

“For all I knew he was a creeper,” she turned her head towards him, trying to distract herself from the ominous mechanical clicking noise the generator to her left kept making, “you can’t be too safe these days.”

The corner of his mouth turned up, head nodding approvingly as he met her gaze, “good girl.”

Holy shit.  

She jerked her head away, feeling her pulse in her face as the words spawned an influx of visions of him saying it in very different, very sexy situations. His recent nudity perfecting the image and making her wheeze. 

God damnit, Darcy, she yelled silently at herself, now is not the time for another thirst induced panic attack. 

“Does she tell you of how she struck me with her handheld lightning?” Thor chuckled loudly, a big blond blessing in disguise as he broke in on the moment, “it was an irony indeed - me, the god of thunder!”

“He’s also the god of agriculture, according to Google,” Darcy said, her voice only a little bit strangled as she kept her eyes locked safely ahead of her, “but he doesn’t ever talk about that.”

“Something actually useful,” Bucky muttered drily, making her snicker despite herself.

“Yes we shall once more quaff mead and laugh at battles past,” Thor continued obliviously, “Steven, Bucket, I shall gather the strongest ales and wines in all the realms so that we may all share in raucous intoxication together, as friends should!” 

“Bucky,” he corrected tightly as Darcy choked on a laugh, “not bucket.”

If looks could kill not even Thor’s Asgardian strength could have saved him from Bucky’s glare, his mouth drawing down as he glowered at the alien.

“Yes of course, that makes much more sense, Bucky ,” Thor laughed, waving a hand before turning towards Jane at the control panel, “how go the configurations, my love?”

Jane murmured something unintelligible, her hands dancing over the buttons and screens in front of her like some evil maestro at her space organ. Darcy risked another look at Bucky, biting her lip as a new wave of anxiety crept in with the whirr of the machines. 

“To be fair, I’m not sure how many Bucky’s there are in space,” she offered, distracting herself with his pouty expression. He was such a wet cat sometimes, she just wanted to give him kibble and head scratches.

“Goddamn aliens,” he muttered quietly, his eyebrows twitching as he kicked the heel of his sneaker against the wall, “wasn’t a problem in my day.”

“Didn’t you live through Roswell, dude?” She asked, voice hitching up a notch as she saw Jane’s movements becoming more frantic from the corner of her eye. The soft hum of electricity growing in her ears as the next dimensional frequency was loaded into place and the warning light lit up.

“What’s Roswell?”

“Oh I know this,” Steve interjected, rushing to pull a beaten leather notebook from his pocket and flipping through the pages, “here it is - Roswell New Mexico, 1947, suspected alien crash that the government later claimed was a weather balloon.”

“I don’t think I was around for that bit,” Bucky shrugged and she felt a little pinch of guilt as she tried to remember the dates, 1947 was post war right? Which meant he was…

“My bad,” she conceded, not wanting to linger on the topic in case it triggered any more bad memories for him, “I’ll let you off, Bucket.”

She swore he growled at her for that, awakening a whole other set of sins for her to consider as she waited for Jane to unleash her mad science genius again.

—

The layout of the room set off sirens in Bucky’s head, the empty space with the machinery in its center, the control panel and its screen, the chair. It wasn’t the same as his, a fold down thing with a black plastic seat, but it still felt eerily familiar to him - only this time he wasn’t the one sitting in it.

Unused adrenaline pumped through his veins, circulating uselessly as he fought against everything trying to send him back there. This  wasn’t about him it was about her and it was different. They weren’t going to wipe her, or cut her, or solder her back into shape. They were trying to help her.

His jaw ached from clenching it, fingers curling and uncurling at his side as he fought the urge to run in and scoop her up even now, throw her over his shoulder and get as far away from there as he could. It was futile, he knew, even if he tried his hands would slip right through her.

Darcy for her part kept up her usual high energy chatter, just as flippant and sarcastic as she usually was, but he saw the way she tensed every time the generators sparked and the wires hummed. Her posture had changed, shoulders held tight and teeth pressed together; despite the front she was putting on it was the most nervous he’d ever seen her - a sentiment he felt echoed deep in his bones.

All he could do was hunch against the wall to her left, ready to shut the whole thing down if she asked, and try and keep her talking when she didn’t. He was dog shit at it, especially considering how fantastic she’d always been at distracting him when he was going through something. His tongue still sticking to the roof of his mouth more often than not with so many others around them.

Especially Thor.

He still hadn’t worked out if the guy was a threat or not, torn between gratitude when he filled the silence and kept her mind off the moment and annoyance at the very same thing. He spoke so warmly about her, was it really just a friend thing? 

The space group sex cult loomed at the back of his mind and he found himself shooting another glare at the self proclaimed god.

“This kinda feels like the start of a joke y’know,” Darcy said, breaking into his gloom as all his attention fixed on her again and reminded him what a shit job he was doing, “a god, an astrophysicist, two super soldiers and a ghost walk into a bar.”

“Yeah?” He asked, monitoring the way her leg bounced and her eyes darted back and forth to the heavy machinery as the whirr picked up, “how’s that go then?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” the tension in her shoulders worsened, fingers clenching at the edges of her seat as the lights on the frame started flickering, “if I survive today I’ll figure it out and tell you.”

“You’ll survive,” he promised tightly, “I need a good laugh.”

He needed her , alive and well and happy.

“Okay-” Jane called from behind the control panel, “we’re going again, in three… two… one…”

Fuck fuck fuck.

Blue light sparked, racing over wires and metal and flooding the frame with a pallid blue glow, like the surface of a body of water had been trapped within its edges. His whole body shook with the urge to stop it but he held himself back, watching tensely as Darcy raised her head. 

“Well?” She asked through gritted teeth, her hands white knuckled on the chair as the generators hissed and whirred, “ground control to Jane Foster, anyone home?”

“Lady Darcy - can it be?”

“Thor? Can you see me?” She unclenched a hand and lifted it slowly, waving it hesitantly at the frame, “is this thing on?”

“You are visible in all your glory, my lady,” Thor cried triumphantly, rushing forward to peer at her through the weird energy field, “Jane - look beloved, you have done it!” 

It had worked. It had actually worked.

The tension in his body left him in a rush, whooshing out like he’d been kicked in the gut as he braced his hands against his knees to catch his breath. They could see her now, hear her even, her voice echoing in the room like she was speaking through a shoddy wireless.

“Darcy,” the manic look he’d come to associate with Doctor Foster took on new ferver, her face alight as she locked the switches into place before scurrying out from behind the control panel and right up to the taped line on the floor that separated them from the machine, “is it really you?”

“Last time I checked,” Darcy grinned, “do you want me to tell the London story about Thor’s hammer again just to make sure?”

Jane’s expression seemed to tense then break; melting away into a look of such heartfelt relief he had to turn away from it.

It was the same look that Steve had given him not so very long ago, the same one he still wore sometimes when he thought Bucky wasn’t looking. 

“N-no, thank you Darce,” he heard her say, having to stifle a smile at the reference despite himself. A guy didn’t forget something like a story about space clap on a first meeting, and apparently Jane hadn’t either.

“Mjolnir?” Thor cut in, “What has he to do with this?”

“Long story big guy,” Darcy said and he could hear the laugh in her voice, unable to keep from looking back as she scooted her chair closer to the frame. There were tears beading on her lashes and she was smiling so brightly it almost hurt to look at her, “Hi, by the way! Thor, looking beefy as usual, I hope space is good, and Steve - I mean Captain - I mean, can I call you Steve? Would it be weird?”

“Not weird at all, Darcy,” Steve replied with a wry grin and a bow of his head, “I feel like we’re friends already.”

“Samesies! Any friend of my knight in baggy hoodies is a friend of mine, for sure!”

“Knight in…?”

“That guy,” she beamed, jerking her thumb back at him, “my hero.”

Shit, him? Her hero, Bucky almost looked behind him to make sure there wasn’t someone else she could be talking about. His mind stuck on the word and the softness in her eyes when she’d looked over at him, caught on it long after she’d been drawn back into conversation by the others.

My hero.

It had been so so long since he’d done anything that even remotely deserved the word heroic, hell - he didn’t even think he’d done anything now. What was heroic about spending time with a beautiful dame? No, the truth was she’d done more to save him in the last few weeks then he could have ever done for her. 

She’d made him feel human again long after he’d given up on humanity.

Still the words echoed, making the hollow places in his chest ache, a painful thawing of forgotten feelings as he found himself wanting it. Wanting to be a hero. Her hero.

He wanted to try at least.

—-

By Jane’s reckoning the ‘sassafrass’… ‘synonym’… Darcy couldn’t remember what the frame thing was called but that, had about three hours of life in it before it would need to be cooled down and recharged. Three hours of catching up and doing science just like the old days.

Darcy really was in heaven.

Thor stayed for the first hour and a half before he almost overturned one of the machines in his excitement whilst telling a particularly grand story and had to be taken out by Steve whilst Jane recovered from her near-heart attack. She was still side-eying the machines in case they suddenly tumbled over long after the door shut behind them.

Bucky lasted longer, only slouching out after the others so that she and Jane could ‘catch up properly’ without him hanging around, and only then with the assurance he’d be close by. He said it so intensely it almost came off as a threat, which she found stupidly adorable.  

The lab was quieter without them, smaller somehow too, the blue light from the frame flickering over everything like they were underwater as Darcy finally got to talk to Jane alone again. The awkward science stuff went first, because of course it did, but even that was wonderful - settling something in Darcy’s chest she didn’t realize was off kilter. 

She’d missed Jane. So so so much. Whatever her incredibly complicated and overly affectionate feelings were for Bucky, they couldn’t make up for the loss of her long time bestie. She had missed the work, the injokes, the effortless conversations spoken only in short hand and shrugs that they’d developed over the years (and multiple averted space crisis.)

She just wished Jane could shake off her guilt.

“You’ll never know how sorry I am,” Jane’s voice dropped, the chair she’d set up on the other side of the frame pulled as close as was safe as they passed fully from science into social, “it’s my fault you’ve had to go through all this.”

“Jane, it was an accident,” Darcy said, wishing she could reach through and hug her, squeeze her fragile little bird bones until they creaked and she understood just how little Darcy blamed her, “I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was nothing anyone could have done about it.” 

“But-”

“No buts,” Darcy shushed her before adding more softly, “ I need you to know whatever happens next, however it goes, none of this is your fault. Please don’t let it eat you up if something goes hinky, please.” 

There was no denying Jane’s genius - if anyone could get her back to normal it would be her, but there was also no guarantee in life. If something went wrong, if she stayed like she was or disappeared entirely, Darcy needed Jane to go on. She couldn’t bear to let it kill them both.

“I- I’ll try,” Jane promised, voice cracking as she glanced away.

“That’s my girl, and look - you have Thor back in all his buff goodness to help distract you if shit hits the fan!”

Jane laughed, swiping at her eyes again before looking back at her with a smile that almost broke her.

“God I’ve missed you, Darce,” she admitted, “there’s been so many times I wanted to talk to you and you weren’t there. It’s not just the science stuff either - it was the life stuff too, where we go to eat, what we do on the weekends. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had Darcy and… and you were gone before I had the chance to tell you how much you mean to me.”

“Hey - we’re science sisters, remember? Our friendship was forged by way too much shit to let a little thing like death get in the way of it. I love you from here until Valhalla, girlfriend.”

“I love you too,” Jane replied, eyes turning upwards as she patted her cheeks dry, “The science sisters will always persevere.”

“That’s the spirit!” Darcy cheered, “And y’know, it’s not all been bad, we’ve made new friends, including Captain America so that’s another stamp on our Avengers bingo card, three down three to go.” 

It had been a gag of Darcy’s since they moved into the tower, joking that living in superhero central was sure to make them BFF’s with the whole team in no time. It wasn’t true of course, their work stayed on their floors and the only Avenger who knew their names (excepting Thor of course) was Tony, who’s rare appearances came with bad jokes about funding and little else.

Now she was dead though everything had changed, they had more super hero friends than ever.

“I met Doctor Banner at a conference once, remember? So I’m technically four out of six,” Jane joked, looking more like herself than she had in weeks, “But you’ve met other heroes too… a certain Bucky Barnes?”

“My unexpected savior,” her eyes went to the door automatically, mouth stuck in a smile, “I don’t know what I would have done without him, Janey.”

“He’s been instrumental in getting you back,” Jane nodded, propping her chin onto her hand in thought “if I hadn’t been able to isolate the gamma variance in his blood work I’m not sure how long it would have taken to recalibrate the settings on the ERB generator system. Not to mention his facilitation of communication and accurate reporting- he really has been invaluable.”

“Of course,” Darcy agreed with a fond chuckle, “but I was talking more on the human level, babe, the science stuff is important but that guy has kept me safe, sane and well… yeah, happy as a ghost can be. It’s so cliche but I can’t really imagine not knowing him now, he’s…”

“Important to you?” Jane prompted her gently when she trailed off.

“Yeah,” she admitted, looking down at her hands with a stupid little smile.

“And you’re a little bit in love with him?”

“What? I - no, I never- I didn’t…”

“ Darcy .”

“ Jane.”

“Fine,” Jane shrugged, lifting her hands up innocently, “it’s totally one sided then, it’s okay if you don’t reciprocate his feelings.”

“Recipro- wait, you think he… ?” Darcy’s eyes widened, threatening to pop out of her skull as she stared at her best friend like she’d never seen her before.

“I know I’ve been distracted Darcy, but I’m not entirely blind,” she said frankly, raising an eyebrow at her, “he’s either really lit up by empty spaces approximately your height, or he’s got a crush on you.”

“A crush? What are we twelve?” She scoffed even as her heart did a dolphin flip in her chest, “do you… do you really think so?”

“I really do,” Jane smiled, “and it doesn’t hurt that he looks a bit like that actor from that movie you made me watch - the awful one about the people in space?”

“Hey you remembered,” Darcy laughed, “I can’t believe you noticed that. Movie night when I’m human again?”

“A hundred movie nights,” Jane promised, “with tequila and tacos and everything.”

Darcy sighed happily, kicking her feet back and forth as her spirit lifted, “you know this whole ‘stuck in stasis in an alternate dimension’ thing is trippy as hell. I haven’t had a drink in weeks, hell - I haven’t even peed in over a month, how messed up is that?”

Jane laughed, “I promise I’ll get you back and peeing again in no time, I figure with the frequency set now it shouldn’t take more than a week or two to finish reversing the generator waves - we’ll have you back in no time.

“I never doubted you Janey.”

Chapter Text

“I figured out that joke, y’know.”

The words were soft, almost drowned out by the fierce fight going on on screen over who had gotten the last bid in on a storage locker full of antiques. Darcy had been quiet for so long Bucky had thought she was asleep.

“Joke?” He repeated, turning his head to look at her. It was late, somewhere in the stupid hours of the morning and they were still on his couch, the blanket she insisted he bring half-over him and half-under her. It was where they ended up most nights now, taking it in turns to sleep when they could and share the silence when they couldn’t.

“The one about the god, the astrophysicist, the super soldiers and the ghost going into a bar.”

He remembered it, remembered how nervous she had been waiting for Jane’s setup to start. He wondered if she ever had flashbacks to the first machine, the one that misfired and trapped her like this, like he still had flashbacks of the fall.

He hoped not, she deserved a kinder memory.

“I remember,” He said with a nod, settling back deeper into the cushions and angling his body to face her. He was careful with his movements, not wanting to disturb the legs in his lap he couldn’t feel, “how’s it go then?”

The light of the TV flickered off her smile as she mirrored his position, her glasses tucked away somewhere and her blue eyes unguarded as she perked up. Her knees would be pressed into his side, he thought, her feet tucked between his thigh and the arm of the sofa. It would be so natural to rest his hand against her ankle, pressed to the strip of pale skin that showed between her leggings and her mis-matched socks. She kept her boots by the other side of the sofa, sometimes reaching a hand out to check they were still there, like she was anxious they might fade away without her.

Jane had told her that wasn’t how it worked but he knew it worried her anyway. 

“Okay so -” Darcy began, making him focus again on the moment, “a god, an astrophysicist, two super soldiers and a ghost walk into a bar just before closing, only for the barman to tell them there’s only one drink left in the place. A really delicious alcoholic beverage that any one of them could enjoy equally. The barman then says he’ll give it to whoever offers him the best deal for it.”

Bucky nodded, watching her hands as they started to move when she spoke, an easy dance as she narrated her story with her fingers as much as her words. 

“So the god goes first, he offers the barman the power over storms and lightning,”

“Typical,” Bucky interjected in an undertone, Darcy shooting him a mock-glare before she continued unswayed.

“The astrophysicist is next and she offers him knowledge of the cosmos and the stars. The super soldiers talk to each other for a minute before offering-”

“Not to beat the shit out of him?”

Darcy snorted, reaching out to flick her fingers at him uselessly, “no, they offer to train him up so he can be as strong as they are and never have to worry about a bar fight again.”

“Fair enough.”

“The barman considers all of this and then looks at the ghost, ‘what about you?’ He asks, ‘what will you offer me for my lovely beverage?’ The ghost shrugs, ‘nothing,’ she says, ‘I bring my own ‘boos’.’”

Bucky was silent for a long moment as the punchline sat between them with her eager expression. Then he laughed. Truly, properly, head back, stomach hurting laughed until his eyes watered and his sides ached.

“‘Boos’” he repeated, wheezing slightly as he managed to catch his breath, “like booze… because she’s a ghost.”

“Exactly,” Darcy grinned, practically vibrating with pride as she wiggled in her seat, “not too bad right?” 

Jesus, when was the last time he’d laughed like that? His ribs were twinging, the muscles in his face aching at the sudden use. It felt amazing.

“You’re a hell of a dame, Darcy Lewis.”

It was an understatement but it had to be said, she had to know how incredible he found her - even if only by a fraction. He’d been on active duty with the bobby sock brigade long before he’d ever signed up for the army but he’d never met anyone like her before.

“Aww, and you’re a hell of a… what’s the male equivalent of a dame? Fella? Guy? You’re a hell of whatever the correct term is, Bucky Barnes.” She beamed at him, knocking him for six with every smile, “hey - I never asked you, are you coming to Stark’s thing tomorrow?”

“What has he planned now?” 

Since returning from wherever he’d been this time Stark had taken a renewed interest in the science of resurrection, hanging around the lab more and more. Not that he ever really ‘hung around,’ he was too busy making jibes or suggestions for improvements or straight up arguing with Jane on how to do whatever it was she was doing.

Something about him still made Bucky uncomfortable, not in same way as Thor with his loud voice and shiny hair, but uncomfortable anyway. Like a reminder of something he couldn’t, and didn’t want to, remember.

“With my comeback day now on the horizon he’s bringing in a bunch of mediums while he has the chance. Should be interesting, I haven’t played with an ouija board since I was fifteen.”

Something about the idea stirred him, the image of chintz curtains pulled closed against the late afternoon sun, a front room too small for the people in, incense, a lamp with a moth-eaten velveteen shade, a dish of candy for special occasions moved from the table to the hall where he could get access to it more easily.

“My aunt…” he said slowly, tasting the words for their truth as he unravelled the strings of memory, “she was into all that spiritualism stuff. Used to invite a medium over every year in September.”

She’d always buy in the good stuff beforehand, not wanting her spread to appear lacking to whatever quack was at her kitchen table. Steve would come over with him and they’d filch what they could before they were caught and kicked out.

“Really?” 

“Yeah, she bought into the whole thing hook, line and sinker,” he nodded, a tired face with kind eyes fading into existence as he rubbed his head, “her name was Anna, she… she lost her husband in the war. First war, even, dirt poor as the rest of us but she always kept enough back for that on the anniversary of his death.”

Darcy looked at him with an uncharacteristic seriousness as he let the memories drift back beneath the surface of his mind, he found it hurt less that way then trying to cling onto them.

“You must miss them.”

“Truth is I don’t remember enough to miss them properly,” it felt worse in a way, grieving the idea of people rather than the actuality. The memories were too faded now, a photograph of a moment he recognised but no longer remembered first hand, “How about you - how come your family isn’t here?”

He’d wondered about it before but it had seemed impolite to ask. You couldn’t go up to a girl you just met and demand to know why her family didn’t seem to care that she was dead, even he had enough social skills left to know that. 

Now though things were different, now they knew each other.

“It’s just me these days,” she looked away for a long moment, as if going through memories of her own before she shook her head, “my dad left when I was a toddler, I don’t have anything left from him but his last name, and my ma… she had her own problems. It got really bad about the time I started middle school so I moved in with my grandma. My ma died a few years after, then my grandma passed when I started college. It was pretty sudden, car accident.”

No amount of shrugs and smiles could disguise her loss, the pain evident in the way she quieted her voice and stared at her suddenly still hands as she spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, inadequate but all he could say.

“Hey, when it comes to tragic backstories in this place I’m not even top 10 material,” she hitched her shoulder, playing it off with another smile and a soft laugh.

She reminded him of Steve, sweeping her suffering away so no one else was bothered by it. She had that same stubbornness to her that he had, the same strength too. They’d both suffered so much and yet faced the world openly with kindness instead of resentment.

“It ain’t a competition, doll,” he reminded her, his fingers flexing uselessly with the urge to reach over and comfort her, “your grief isn’t any less real just because it didn’t come with supervillains or secret agencies.”

“Thanks,” her smile softened, fading into a wry quirk at the corner of her mouth as her gaze drifted over him again, “so, you wanna help bust some ghostbusters tomorrow? 

“It’s a date.”

Shit, why had he said that? Would she think he meant it like a date date? Would she be offended that he might find a seance romantic? Or anything romantic after just revealing her deep and personal grief to him?

Would she be so awkwardly horrified at the boundary he’d just crossed that she up and left entirely? He tensed, waiting for her to get up and leave as his heart beat guiltily in his throat.

“Awesome,” Darcy chuckled, “it shouldn’t be too many people, Stark’s already roped in Steve but Jane and Thor are busy working I think.”

“I’m not sure about that guy,” Bucky admitted in a grumble, his relief at not destroying their relationship with a single sentence dampened almost immediately at the mention of the celestial Viking’s name, even as he seized onto it with both hands to change the subject.

“Who, Steve?”

“No, Thor.”

“Aww really? And here’s me hoping you’d plus one me to the wedding whenever he decides to pop the question to Janey.”

“You’d want me to-” he cut himself off, aware of the sudden rush of eagerness in his voice as he cleared his throat and tried again, “you really think they’d tie the knot?”

“Sure,” she nodded, sighing sweetly as she rested her head in her hand, “I’ve never seen anyone so stupidly in love, or so perfectly imperfect for each other. It’s like fate.”

“You don’t think he’s too… I dunno, the way he talks about you sometimes…” he shot her a sidelong glance, “You sure he ain’t in love with you?”

“Me?” She gaped at him long enough for him to start feeling uncomfortable before she broke out in a peel of laughter, “god, no! There’s an idea - damn, Thor is my brother from another mother. I think they’re just a lot more comfortable with their friendships in space, or at least he is. You should hear him talking about his Warrior Boys sometimes, it’s down right poetic.”

“Would you… would you have liked it to be you?” He almost wished someone would muzzle him again just to stop him asking stupid questions whose answers would probably only end up hurting him. Picking at it like a scab he couldn’t let heal.

“Ugh, no,” she immediately pulled a face, “don’t get me wrong, he’s a very nice man but he’s not really my type. He’s cute, sure, but he also doesn’t really get sarcasm or hyperbole. One time I told him I was shitting kittens over an exam at school and he nearly fainted. Still, he’ll make for an excellent adopted brother in law one day,” she shrugged, “even if he doesn’t get my jokes.”

Bucky got her jokes.

Bucky loved her jokes.

Catching his tongue between his teeth he fought back the urge to ask her more, to get exact details of her preferred partner so he might shape himself into its image. She thought he was attractive, which was a good start, but did she like the long hair? Should he cut it or start shaving more regularly? He’d avoided it since his return, afraid of who he’d see in the mirror if he did. 

But for her…

“He does have fantastic hair though,” she added suddenly into the pause, leaving him momentarily terrified she’d developed telepathy before he noticed the shampoo advert playing on screen, “I don’t know what conditioner they use in space but I want some for Christmas.”

Okay, the hair could stay, but he’d have to get some of that… what did she say? Conditioner? Yeah, he’d get some of that and figure out the beard later when she wasn’t stifling a yawn, the late hour getting to her at last.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, scrubbing his fingers across his chin self-consciously, “now get some rest, got a big day tomorrow from the sounds of it.”

“Okay,” she caved, yawning for real this time as she rested her head on the nearest cushion, “night B.”

“Sweet dreams, Darcy,” he replied softly, hearing her breathe even almost immediately as she slipped easily into sleep. 

—-

The seance was to be held in Stark’s penthouse which had a whole ass formal dining room he’d refitted for the occasion, he’d first suggested Darcy’s unused apartment but she vetoed that right away. Last time she checked there was still underwear on the floor and a Chinese takeaway in the fridge she was sure had developed sentience by now.

Equally the boy’s floor upstairs was off limits, Steve putting his foot down at the idea of non-vetted strangers in Avenger territory, same with Jane and her lab. So Stark’s place it was. He’d grumbled but from the look of the room now he’d had fun decorating for the occasion at least.

The difference between spaces was undeniable, one moment she was in a world of (pun unintended) stark clean lines, chrome surfaces and ultra-modern fixtures, the next she was standing in a scene from a movie. The room was an early twentieth century masterpiece from the large oak-stained circular table with its burgundy upholstered chairs to the velvet wall hangings and chinese cabinets topped with Tiffany lamps. There were large, dripping wax candles and ornate side tables packed with burning incense, braziers, and every kind of spiritual knickknack she could conceive. Tarot cards, oracle cards, planchettes, spirit boards, upturned glasses, bells, books, candles and more.

It was an antique dealers wet dream, it also obviously cost a fortune.

Billionaire, Darcy reminded herself as she moved about the room taking it all in in awe, with a b, he can do this kinda thing and not break a sweat.

She’d once spent thirty dollars too much at an antique store as an undergrad and had to eat cup noodles for a month. She had been mostly living off them anyway, but the point stood. Still, her kitsch 1950s hula girl lamp more than made up for it.

“This looks… suitable.”

Darcy looked up at the words, immediately grinning as Bucky warily entered the room with Steve behind him. 

It turned out the room wasn’t the only thing that looked good, like, really really good. The boys had ditched their usual casual clothes for nice shirts and jackets, Bucky’s ever lengthening beard trimmed back to a stubble that made her feel like she was swallowing an egg every time she looked at him.

Even his hair looked extra soft and shiny, just itching for someone to run their fingers through and…

And she was wearing the same thing she’d been wearing for two solid months. Gross.

“Damn boys,” she whistled, tossing aside her self consciousness with a shake of her head, “look at you two all dressed up with no place to go, the ghosts will be knocking each other over to get a seat at this table.”

“Thanks,” she swore Bucky almost blushed, ducking behind that lovely silky hair of his as he turned to Steve, “Darcy thinks we look nice.”

“Thank you, Darcy” Steve beamed, “I thought we should be wearing ties but I was vetoed.”

“It’s a seance not a wedding,” Bucky groused, tugging awkwardly at his lapels and making Darcy want to smack his hands away.

“Hey, a seance is an upmarket event,” Steve shot back, “All the guys at your Aunt Anna’s place used to wear ties.”

“You remember that huh?” 

“Of course,” Steve shrugged with a half smile, “she always got the good stuff during seance season, even before Prohi’ ended.”

“Could do with some candy and medicinal rum now,” Bucky looked around the room, “any rum, really.”

“There there,” Darcy laughed, slipping around the wide table to their side, “we’re all members of the involuntarily teetotal club here.”

“Maybe Thor’s got some of his wine stashed somewhere around here,” Steve said just after, their sentences crossing as Bucky smirked at her before glaring at him.

“He’s busy with Jane,” Darcy waved the comment away, “she said she had real science to do, and I’m hoping he’ll really distract her from it. Poor gal needs a break.”

“Darcy says to leave him out of it,” Bucky translated brusquely, something almost smug coming across his face as he settled more firmly at her side, “he’s busy with his girl.”

“Alright, point taken,” Steve shot him a quizzical look, one blonde brow raised as he glanced somewhere into the distance where she assumed he thought she was, “so when’s this thing kicking off then? I heard Tony has a roster of modern day mediums to try out.”

“He’ll be right in,” came an unfamiliar voice, Darcy turning to find a figure leaning in the open doorway with her arms folded and her red-hair shining like a halo, “he sent me up first with reinforcements.”

“Nat,” Steve’s face lit up, moving immediately to greet her, “it’s good to see you.”

“Old men,” she replied, thinning her lips as if trying to repress a smile as she looked between them, “Steven, James.”

All Darcy could do was gape, mouth hanging open as she looked up at Bucky with wide eyes, “You know Black Widow?”

She figured Steve would know her, being an Avenger at all, but Bucky knew her too - apparently well enough that she used his proper name and everything. And he’d never even told her!

“Kinda,” Bucky shrugged awkwardly, not quite meeting her eyes, “I tried to kill her a couple of times, before.”

Ah… maybe that was why then. Darcy smiled apologetically even as the Widow turned her gaze, her eyes following his path and landing as near to Darcy as anyone who couldn’t see her got.

“And hello… James’ imaginary friend? Am I in the presence of Stark Tower’s infamous haunting?”

Damn she was observant, but of course she was - she was the Black Widow. The coolest Avenger by a thousand yards and she didn’t even have super powers or a billion dollars behind her. Darcy was star struck.

“That’s Darcy, Nat” Steve explained quickly, “she was displaced between realms from a lab accident and currently Buck’s the only one who can see her.”

“Darcy…” Nat rolled the name on her tongue and Darcy tried not to squeal, “like Darcy Lewis? The girl who tasered Thor?” 

“Holy shit,” she wheezed, going past star struck and into star destroyed territory, “Black Widow knows who I am, I am going to faint.”

“I think she’s a fan,” Bucky grumbled to the others, folding his arms across his chest even as Darcy glared at him.

“Oh my god don’t tell her that,” she squeaked, blushing furiously at being called out in front of her avenging idol, “I’m trying to be cool here!”

“You’re invisible to her.”

“Ouch, buddy,” Darcy winced, knowing he didn’t mean it like it sounded but deflating a little anyway. Even if she was alive it would probably be true after all.

“Well it’s nice to meet you.” Natasha smiled, impossibly beautiful as she winked in her direction, “Good luck with the whole visibility thing, I look forward to actually seeing you soon - until then, Darcy, Geriatrics, enjoy your evening.”

“You’re not staying?” Steve asked at the same time Darcy said, “she’s not staying?”

“I’m just dropping off Sam on the way upstate, whenever he finds his way out of the bathroom,” she grinned, giving an effortless shrug as she turned away, “I’m afraid my ghosts wouldn’t be nearly as charming as yours.”

—-

Bucky, like the idiot he was, had figured Thor was his only current competition to Darcy’s affections. It was too good to be true, it didn’t matter that Darcy didn’t think of the space Viking that way, not when there was now a freshly minted era-appropriate Avenger sitting on one side of the table and the memory of the Black Widow still lingering on the other.

Was she… playing on a different field? He knew they were more open about it all in this day and age, coming leaps and bounds since his time. He had half a memory of being worried that Steve was swinging for the home team when they were kids, not incase he tried to make a move on him or anything - but because he didn’t want the bullies to have another excuse to try and beat him down. The poor kid had enough of that as it was.

Still, if he had - what did they call it these days? ‘Come out?’ That would have been fine and dandy with him, but Darcy… well he selfishly hoped they were in the same game at least. 

“She looks amazing in real life, her hair is fantastic,” Darcy was sighing, bringing him back to himself as they waited for the next medium to come in, the first a total bust - not that Bucky had really noticed with all the brooding he was managing to get in, “I heard she can kill a man with just her thighs, you know, total goals.”

He could kill a guy with his thighs too, didn’t see him bragging about it.

“I’m still not buying it,” Sam said to Steve as the table was cleared off and reset, his voice drifting over into their space as he jerked a thumb at them, “The Terminator here’s got an invisible girlfriend only he can see? Sounds like a likely story.”

“Darcy’s real, Sam,” Steve assured him as Bucky slunk back further in his seat, the words ‘she’s not my girlfriend’ stuck petulantly in his throat, “stick around and maybe Jane’ll fire up the - what do you guys call it, Darcy?”

“The SpaceTime machine,” she provided, Bucky echoing the words faithfully even as he glared down the table.

“That’s right, ‘SpaceTime’ like FaceTime, it’s a call between dimensions I guess, not sure on the science stuff but it lets us all talk to her face to face at least.” 

“I’m kinda impressed Steve knows what Facetime is,” Darcy admitted quietly to Bucky, leaning closer to his side.

“What’s facetime?” He replied in the same hushed tone, earning a laugh from her that made his ribs ache.

“You need to get your boy a notebook,” Sam said, a frustratingly kind look in his eyes despite his jibes, “maybe a couple of Star Wars films and the running man soundtrack will cool him out too - you seen Star Wars, yet?”

“The originals, yeah,” Steve nodded, “haven’t gotten around to the prequels yet though. Maybe next time I’m upstate.”

“Eh, they’re not as good,” he shrugged before turning to look Bucky dead in the eye, “nothing beats the plot twist of finding out Darth Vader is Luke Skywalker’s father.”

Darcy gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth as she stared wide eyed up at him like Sam had just fired a gut shot at him.

“Are you okay?” He asked her, worry flushing through him and making his leg bounce as he bent closer to her, “does that mean something?”

“He just… man,” she shook her head sympathetically, “that was stone cold.”

“I like the dead girl already,” Sam said across the table, grinning widely, “I think she gets it.”

Bucky was confused but so long as she wasn’t hurt he figured he’d survive, the importance of two fictional characters he didn’t know being related was lost on him.

“She cute?” He heard Sam whisper to Steve behind his hand, Steve replying with an equally quiet affirmative too low for Darcy to hear. “Okay, interesting, interesting.”

“Anyway,” Steve said at a more audible tone, clearing his throat awkwardly, “you’re heading up to the compound then, putting more hours in?”

“Yeah, I wrapped up the thing in Washington and figured it was time for some proper Avengering - you gonna be there? You roped me into this y’know, Cap.”

“I’m in and out,” Steve shrugged, “theres a lot going on at the minute.”

Guilt caught at Bucky, knowing he was one of the main reasons Steve was stuck at the tower and not upstate where he was meant to be.

“I’ll say, dead girls, mediums, this guy,” Sam shook his head, “I’ll take avenger training and free cable any day, you guys got HBO right? I gotta catch up on Game of Thrones.”

“I’m sure we do,” Steve chuckled as Bucky sank deeper into his depression, “not started that one yet though.”

“I think it might be a bit blue for you, Cap,” Sam grinned, “it’d shock your delicate sensibilities.”

“Hilarious.”

They were so easy together, no awkward moments or traumatic memories. It was what a friendship should be, what theirs could never be again. 

“Hey,” Darcy waved a hand at Bucky, pulling his attention back to her as she gave him a searching look, “so how come Steve’s friend doesn’t like you then? You don’t spoil Star Wars for just anyone, that’s a major dick move.”

Damn. She noticed.

Bucky sighed, tilting his head towards her and muttering guiltily, “I, uh, tried to kill him too.”

“Oh babe,” she said, reaching out and patting his arm. He couldn’t feel her touch but he appreciated the gesture anyway.

Truth was he didn’t deserve Sam liking him, he didn’t deserve anyone liking him. Why should he forgive him? Bucky had tried to murder him, several times. He had been merciless and he deserved no mercy in return - not from Sam or Natasha or Steve or anyone. He certainly didn’t deserve their friendship or affection either.

Or hers for that matter. 

The darkness pulled at him, a familiar whirlpool of guilt and grief opening up underneath him as he ducked his gaze. Unworthy of looking at her after all he’d done, she’d be so much better with a guy like Sam. Someone who’d always get her references and understand her experiences, a natural hero with a conscience and drive to help others. Or Natasha with her easy wit and impressive thighs, or Steve, with his fighting spirit and stubborn righteousness. Hell, even Thor and his intergalactic sex cult was probably a better alternative to him these days.

“Woah there mister, turn that frown upside down,” Darcy wiggled closer in her seat, poking a spectral finger at him as he threatened to sink, “no getting in your head, just because you used to be a murder robot doesn’t mean you are anymore. You are a good guy, and better still - my favorite guy. The others’ll come round eventually, and if they don’t - hey, more Bucky for me.”

How did she do it? Always knowing exactly what to say to pull him back from the brink before the darkness could swallow him whole. It was still there, his constant shadow, but it was so much easier to bear when she exuded so much light. 

“Thanks, doll.”

“So - do you think we can get the next one to play with the ouija board?” She asked, a wicked glint in her eye as she changed the subject, “I’m ready to push that planchette just as hard as I did at Sarah Willis’s fifteenth birthday party, convincing that bitch there were demons in her house was the best thing I did that year.”

“Holy shit,” he muttered, unable to cover a shocked smile at her sudden gleefully vicious turn.

“Hey, she totally deserved it,” Darcy promised him, patting his arm again, “She spread a rumor about me that - well, doesn’t matter now. What matters is you being my hands for me, B - what’s the point of being a ghost if you can’t freak people out?”

“I’d dunno,” He shrugged a shoulder, mouth quirking in a tired smile as he slung his arm over the back of her chair, “the free boo’s maybe?”

Chapter Text

Darcy’s resurrection had been scheduled for a Tuesday.

Which was weird as hell.

Nothing in the least bit important or momentous ever happened on Tuesdays as far as she could tell. They were the forgotten red-headed step child of the week, the empty space between Monday’s complaints and Wednesday's hump-day spirit. The fact that one of the two most (literally) life changing experiences of her existence was to happen on one was just… bizarre.

At least she’d died on a Friday like a sensible person.

“Y’okay, doll?” Bucky asked as she met him at his apartment door for the long walk down to the engineering lab, a worried line forming between his eyebrows as he peered down at her.

She could have gone straight for the lab but she didn’t want to. She wanted to hold his hand and maybe sob a bit on his shoulder but she settled for walking next to him as they headed for the elevator. 

She’d been expecting a few more weeks of science and well… stuff before the machine was ready, but nope. It was time already. Jane had figured the basics of interdimensional travel in less time than it took Darcy to put together a piece of furniture from IKEA. Hell, she still had a BRIMNES in her bedroom downstairs that wasn’t fully assembled yet, its construction abandoned long before Darcy had ducked out on reality.

If I get my body back I’m gonna fix that, she told herself sternly, no more unfinished projects.

“Darcy?” Bucky prompted her, making her realize she’d never actually replied to him. The corners of his mouth turned down a worried frown as they stepped into the elevator and he pushed the button for the engineering floor for them. 

“Sorry - I’m just kinda nervous,” she admitted, unable to keep from bouncing on the balls of her feet as they descended, “okay, no, more than nervous. Absolutely freaking terrified.”

It still felt like an understatement. She was ready for this, so ready, but at the same time she was so completely and utterly not ready at all.  A thousand and one ‘what if’ s going through her head like some nightmare clip show, all punctuated by the memory of that flash of bright light that had taken her out in the first place.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Bucky said, the picture of handsome understanding as he leant against the wall closest to her, “this is… pretty major, after all.”

“I just hope it’s more successful than seance night was,” she grumbled, shoving her hands into her pockets and staring at her shoes, “none of them had a clue.”

Not one of the mediums had come close to sensing her. Instead they relied on the usual mix of hot and cold readings, focusing on speculative older relatives who had passed beyond; some were generalities - like guys named John or girls named Mary, some were specific - like everyone Steve had ever met and Stark’s dead parents. That had been supremely uncomfortable, even Bucky had looked a bit green before Stark shut the medium down and bussed in the next one.

At least they’d had fun with the Ouija board, the medium had been in ecstasy over the portentous messages and Sam had looked genuinely worried until she’d gotten Bucky to spell out a couple of major Game of Thrones spoilers and he caught on.

The look on his face when he realized it wasn’t ‘Jons Nowdies,’ was priceless. Darcy had laughed so hard she almost busted a spectral rib as Sam swore a blue streak at her, much to the medium's mounting confusion. It was his own fault, attempted murder was no excuse to spoil Star Wars.

“I’m sure the rocket scientists downstairs have got a better plan than the kooks Stark brought in,” Bucky soothed her as the elevator doors opened and let them out at last, “a few more fancy degrees for sure.”

“I mean, you’d hope, right?” 

“Your friend seems pretty smart.”

“She’s a genius,” Darcy sighed theatrically as they stepped out, “if anyone’s gonna save me it’s her, I’m just…”

“Naturally concerned about being zapped by a massive laser machine?” He finished drily, hitching an eyebrow at her as they headed down one of a dozen identical corridors in the engineering wing. 

“Thanks, B.”

“Darcy, you can do this,” he said, the seriousness returning to his features as he stopped beside her, making her stop too as he looked at her from far too close, “and if it turns out you can’t, well, that’s not a problem either. If anything happens or you start feeling weird or just want to shut it down you say the word, okay? I’ll be right there beside you.”

He said it with absolute conviction, leaning his head down to look her straight in the eye, so certain she couldn’t help but believe him. 

“Okay,” she said, exhaling the tension that had been gathering in her chest as she swayed towards him, trapped like a moon in an incredibly reassuring tidal orbit. 

They were close enough now that if she had been real she’d be able to feel his warmth. 

“Okay,” she repeated with more conviction when he didn’t seem convinced, feeling the corner of her mouth twitch up in a bittersweet smile. God she’d miss him if she did croak, “hey - promise me we’ll still hang out when I’m human again, yeah B? I know I’ll be a lowly science assistant instead of a cool ghost lady but… but you mean a lot to me.”

Darcy had had a lot of time recently to think about the importance of last words, or, even more importantly, everyday words -  since sometimes you just tripped over your own feet and died apparently. 

She’d already had her moment with Jane, spending more than a few hours on FaceTime reminiscing about their adventures together before - much to Jane’s distress - Darcy got into planning what she wanted done if everything went tits up this time. Jane had hated every minute of it but helped her anyway, knowing how important it was for Darcy to die right this time if it came to that. 

A little funeral, some very inappropriate song choices, a party afterwards with a promise of getting the boys drunk and remembering her in the good times. A life after for all of them, unbroken by grief.

And Bucky… she didn’t want to blink out into the great unknown without saying anything to him about how she felt, even if she couldn’t find the words to say everything she felt. How did you tell a guy you were glad you died just so you got to meet him without sounding like a total head case? That the moments they’d spent watching dumb reality tv and cracking jokes about informercials had been some of the best of her life?

How did you tell a guy you were sort of in love with him without ever having so much as touched his hand?

“I promise,” he said, blue-gray eyes as solemn as she’d ever seen them, “dead or alive, I’m not going anywhere.”

God she hoped she survived, she hoped she got her body back if only to hug him and squeeze his hand and - if the fates were kind - one day kiss the absolute face off him.

“Whatever happens next,” she said, committing his face to memory just in case, “I’m really glad I got to meet you, Bucky Barnes.”

—-

Bucky had been dreading this day, and dreaming of it too. Caught between elation that Darcy was finally getting her body back and terror that it wouldn’t work as he trailed after her. He felt like a shadow, unable to do anything but follow her as she faced her worst fears.

Two months, two months and she’d fitted herself into his life like she’d always been there. As much of a part of him as his skin and his bones and his ugly metal arm. The idea of losing her now… it was almost more than he could bear.

Even the lab didn’t frighten him like the idea of losing her did. Not the clean white walls or the too bright lights, not even the bulky silver-grey machines with their pulsing LEDs and ominous hum. Today, here, his past was forgotten, it was his future that was in danger. The girl he had never dared to dream of walking into a situation that could kill her as easily as save her.

And he couldn’t even squeeze her hand to let her know she wasn’t alone. 

“Okay, Bucky if you could stand behind here please? And put these on? And Darcy - stand on the red cross please, facing the machine.” 

Jane waved him over, his legs weighed down like he was walking underwater as he followed her commands on a five second delay. His eyes never left Darcy even as his body did, stepping behind the plexiglass shield that had been set up around the control panel. 

The doctor handed him a pair of tinted goggles, an almost nostalgic pang of fear thumping somewhere inside of him as he slipped them on. Even that couldn’t truly touch him now, not even as the world took on the dark tint that had colored so much of his life before. 

He’d seen a word without them now, and he wouldn’t forget it, even for a moment.

“Only you could pull those off, B,” Darcy called through the glass, “looking fierce, babe.”

Goddamn her, she was still comforting him even now, even stood on a fucking bullseye with a great big laser pointing straight at her face she was pulling him out of his bleak introspection. 

“They’d look better on you kid,” he shot back, focusing the whole weight of his attention on her, “you can try them on yourself in five minutes.”

“Love the optimism,” she bounced on the balls of her feet on the duct-taped cross, a sure sign of her nervousness as her eyes flickered from him to the laser and back again.

Every muscle in his body screamed at him to go to her, adrenaline bitter on his tongue as he locked himself in place to keep himself from doing anything rash. Like ruining all Jane and the others' hard work by throwing himself at Darcy mid-fire.

“Alright if Robocop here will stop flirting with the dead girl I think it’s time to go,” Stark said blithely, rubbing his hands together as he joined Jane at the controls, “As the actress once said to the college of cardinals, is everyone in position?”

Bucky watched as she settled herself more firmly on the red mark, her chest rising as she took a deep breath in. She was pale, too much white in her eyes as she took her glasses off and slipped them into her pocket before patting herself down - as if making sure she was all there. Her hands were shaking as she straightened up again.

Her gaze flicked up, meeting his as she exhaled slowly, and finally, finally, nodded.

“Yes,” Bucky rasped, stomach dropping like a lead weight, “she’s ready.”

“Stay right there Darcy,” Jane called, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple as the controls lit up and the warning lights started flashing, “try not to move, okay? Just keep calm and keep steady.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered even as she did exactly as she was told, her hands balled up into fists at her side and her feet firmly planted as Bucky watched helplessly through the glass. 

I’m really glad I got to meet you, Bucky Barnes.

Would she ever know how hard those words hit him? How much they meant to him?

Sinking deep beneath the surface of him until they’d wrapped themselves around his core. 

His tongue had become stuck when she’d said it, glued to the roof of his mouth as he’d tried to reply to her. To tell her in words exactly what she meant to him, what she’d done for him, how she’d come into his life and showed him how to live again. She’d laugh, he knew, make a crack about it ‘not being bad for a dead girl,’ and then smile at him with her deep blue eyes until his heart lodged in his throat and his brain turned to mush. 

Was it too late? Could he tell her now - just scream out in front of God and science that she’d changed his life and made him feel warm after so long in the cold?

Tell her that he… that he…

The light flashed, burning his retinas even through his tinted lenses as a loud mechanical whine tore through his skull.

—-

Blinking out of reality had been nothing at all, a rush of light, a momentary feeling of pressure, then boom - invisible and incorporeal to the masses. Being reborn was… a different experience.

The light hit her like the fist of an angry god, closing around her stomach and yanking. Her vision was lost to star-bursts and impossible colors as she was pulled bodily through a hole five times too small for her, five hundred times too fast. She could feel her heart beating in her mouth as she fought the urge to throw up at the sudden, spinning rush.

She was blinded, wobbling, her ears popping and bones aching as pain wormed its way through the cracks in her consciousness. Pain in her back, her head, her stomach, a sudden rushing awareness of all her limbs and the sticky taste of bile in the back of her mouth as she shuddered and shook.

She could feel the floor pressing up into her palms as she fell, cold tile that bit sharply into her skin as she dry heaved. The white light filling her vision slowly faded, leaving her blinking heavily against the blur it left.

“D-did it work?” She stuttered, feeling wrung out as her fingers swam into view, pale even against the white tiles beneath them - her nails bitten down and red at the edges, “J-Jane?”

Knees trembling, Darcy tried to stand, crying out as pain lanced through her legs. Every muscle was tensed and uncooperative as she flailed, almost falling before someone grabbed her. Strong arms, warm, the sensation was foreign to her after so long in her climate controlled purgatory and yet deeply addictive. She leant greedily into the touch, her first in months, clinging tightly to her helper as she was raised gently to her feet.

Someone tall was holding her up, dark hair pushed back by the goggles perched on top of his head. Someone with the most beautiful blue eyes she’d ever seen.

“Bucky,” she hated how weak her voice sounded, breaking on his name as she clung on to his arms. Metal or flesh, she didn’t give a damn when they were so real and present and there, “can you…? Am I…?”

He nodded, Adam’s apple bobbing as he met her eyes from closer than she’d ever been before. There was something wonderfully solid about him, a weight and presence that soothed her even as she tensed for the dropping of the other shoe.

This was when she woke up, this was when she always woke up.  

“Darcy- Darcy, thank god!” Jane’s voice pulled her out of the moment, a clatter sounding behind her before thin arms engulfed her. Bucky backed off as she was enveloped instead in the familiar scent of mango body wash and printer toner, “it worked, I can’t believe - but it did! You’re here, you’re back, Darce…”

Darcy was crying, it came as something of a surprise given that she hadn’t meant to cry at all but there she was with wet cheeks and screwed up eyes and a lump in her throat that was actively trying to choke her as she hung on to her best friend.

“Jane,” she sobbed, not caring how stupid she looked as she squeezed the scientist, feeling up her arms and back and hair in an attempt to prove she was real to herself, “holy shit Jane, you did it. You did it, babe. Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you.”

Oh god she was getting snotty now, wiping her nose with her sleeve as her ugly crying only got worse and worse with her reentery into reality. She thought she was going to be so cool about it too but nope, gross, dripping face and squeaky voice it was as she felt up her best friend in an attempt to make herself believe this was true.

“I’m so sorry,” Janey was saying, holding on just as tightly with her strange boney strength, “I’m so sorry I put you through this.”

“Not your fault,” Darcy managed to choke out back to her, “saved me. You saved me. You’re a genius, Janey, you’re the best .”

As much as Darcy wished her emotional scene ended there it didn’t, there was more crying and hugging and crying until Jane calmed down enough to even think of releasing her, looking up at Doctor Harris hovering over them with sudden realization. 

“Oh - yeah, we better-” Jane hiccuped, wiping her eyes before trying again, “we have to get you to medical, we still don’t know the effects of dimensional travel and - and we need to know you’re okay.”

“Mmhmm,” Darcy agreed, unsure if she was still capable of speech as Jane wrapped an arm around her waist and Doctor Harris started leading them away. 

She was still half-blind from crying, at some point she’d started shaking and now she couldn’t seem to stop. Adrenaline rushing uselessly through her veins and making her shiver as she was overwhelmed with feelings.

It was cold, she hadn’t felt that in months, or warm or hot. Everything had the same texture, the same weight and feeling, now… now she could feel the scratchy cotton of Jane’s lab coat against her skin and the warm press of her arm beneath it. She could feel the air from the vents raising the hairs on the back of her arms and…

And Bucky’s hand.

She grabbed it as they passed him, it was cool and hard and she squeezed it as tightly as she could as Doctor Harris opened the door for them. His eyes were still so very blue, so worried, meeting hers as she mumbled a broken string of ‘thank you’ s through her raw throat, holding onto him for as long as she could before the Doctors took over and took her away.

She made it all the way to the medlab before she passed out.

Chapter Text

Bucky was used to the arm, used to the strange, muted sensations that never quite matched up to the real thing. It was strong and dexterous and could feel pressure and temperature in an abstract, distant sort of way. It didn’t feel pain exactly, or understand texture like human skin could, but he was used to the messages it sent.

And yet, in all the years he’d had it, he’d never once known it to tingle. Itch sometimes sure, or pang with a phantom pain that couldn’t possibly exist. But not tingle like this, the metal sheeting holding the memory of her hand in his for hours after she’d been pulled away. The shape of her fingers and the warmth of her touch, his hand seemed to cling to the memory of her like he did.

All he had was the memory at the moment. More than forty eight painfully long hours had passed and he hadn’t seen her once, she had been quarantined by the docs, undergoing all manner of tests and trials and selfishly all he could think about was seeing her for himself.

He did everything he could to distract himself, he paced and paced and ran himself ragged at the gym, punched the bag til it broke then punched it again. Hell, he’d even ventured down to the lobby to buy a pack of smokes, prompted by some half-memory of damp cigarettes in a damper trench. How the snick of a lighter and the drag of smoke into his lungs had calmed him once.

The noise had hit him before the elevator doors even opened, the lobby a crushing sea of people moving back and forth like some giant, writhing mass. There were tours of school kids with brightly coloured backpacks and tourists with flags and flashing cameras. It made his palms sweat and hands clench as he slouched into the shadows, seeing threats in every corner.

The guy with the too-warm coat for the weather, the woman with the bulky duffel bag, a half familiar face in the masses. Hydra was crawling out of the vents as he marched his ass over to the newsagent and bought a cheap lighter and the first pack of cigarettes with a label he vaguely recognised.

Camels, they sounded about right, handing over a fist full of bills he’d swiped from Steve’s place he grabbed the pack and retreated back upstairs. He couldn’t go outside, not with all that noise and weight, not on his own. The idea of it made him dizzy as he got off the elevator early at the landing deck level, you couldn’t smoke inside any more, most people didn’t smoke at all since the health risks had come out.

He wondered if Darcy smoked, probably not, she’d never mentioned it. Would she judge him for it now?

Fuck, he wished he could ask her. It was the longest they’d been apart in weeks, the split made worse by the uncertainty. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his phone, checking for messages and, seeing none, typing out another quick plea for information from Jane. The third in as many hours. He’d call Darcy herself but he didn’t have her number.

If she didn’t want to speak to him that was fine, if she never wanted to see him again he’d understand, but not knowing if she was alive or dead was too damn much for him.

Tucking the phone into the crook of his arm he fumbled for a cigarette, putting it between his lips and sparking the lighter.

“That’s a filthy habit you know.”

“Dunno if it’s a habit,” he shrugged as Steve stepped up next to him, his gaze fixed on the runes still embedded in the concrete. It didn’t taste like he almost-remembered, bitter and harsh as it burnt his throat.

Steve held a hand out and Bucky passed it over, expecting him to stamp it out and watching instead as he took a drag. 

“That’s not very Captain American of you.”

“Sure isn’t,” he muttered, pulling a face as he handed back with a cough, “Nope, don’t get it.”

“You always used to beg me to share,” Bucky said distantly as the skyline became the view from an old apartment building, his body shoved half out of a fire escape so he didn’t get the smell on his ma’s curtains, “the one time I let you, you choked so hard I thought I’d killed you.”

“Yeah turns out asthma and cigarettes weren’t a great mix,” he agreed, “you tried to convince me you’d quit after that, but you just switched to smoking when I wasn’t around.”

“I didn’t think you knew.”

“You were never that great at subtle, Buck.”

Bucky took another drag, inhaling the burn until he felt like his lungs would burst from it. It was disgusting and painful and after he finally exhaled he did it again.

“She’s gonna be okay, you know,” Steve said, voice lowering as they watched the sun start creeping down towards the horizon, “they’re just being cautious.”

“Y’know she passed out on the way to medical?” He said to the sky, “just keeled right over, took both of them to get her in the medbay, I shoulda been there.”

“They’re just keeping her in isolation until they know everything’s okay,” Steve rested a hand on his shoulder, “it won’t be long now I’m sure.”

“Love the optimism,” he quoted her easily, exhaling a long plume of smoke and watching it curl up into the sky and disappear.

“Stop being so maudlin,” Steve chastised him, squeezing his shoulder once before turning away, “and go take a shower, you stink of cheap tobacco. Not exactly inspiring for when you see her next.”

Bucky shrugged the comment off, flicking his ashes to the ground as he heard the door open and shut behind him. He had a full two minutes with his own thoughts before Steve returned, making him groan as he glared at the horizon.

“What now Steve,” he asked tersely, “gonna lecture me about not using an ashtray, too?”

“I dunno what they told you in the forties,” a quiet voice that definitely didn’t belong to Steve said behind him, “but these days smokes are for jokes, babe.”

—-

By the time Darcy came back to her senses she wasn’t fully sure where she was or what day it was only that she was incredibly, incredibly tired. Gravity felt like it had been turned up to eleven as she was poked and prodded and poked again.

Blood was taken, and skin and hair and saliva and other bodily secretions she did not think needed studying that freaking badly. Lights were flashed in her eyes at regular intervals to make sure she could still see straight. She was fed plain food and given a drip of vitamins and her poop was stolen away in a little jar.

It. Was. Weird.

And tiring, did she mention that? How tired she was? Jane and Doc Harris had gone back and forth over it, engaging in a deep scientific conversation before they gave her their  opinion.

Extended travel in the Darcy Dimension, they said, was tough on the body. If she’d been there for a few minutes, a few hours even, she likely wouldn’t have felt a thing, but more than two months out of sync with reality and well… the world was likely to be something of a shock to her.

If that wasn’t the understatement of the century Darcy didn’t know what was. When she wasn’t snoring her head off or being tested like a particularly plump lab rat she was touching everything. Running her fingers over the smooth cotton bed sheets and the glassy finish of the bedside table, she felt up the metal body of the lamp and it’s paper shade and rubbed her face against the cool tiles of the wall like a total weirdo.

Two months without feeling the texture of the world, without its smells and tastes and temperature, and she’d gone a little bit batty in the interim. 

Batty and maybe just a tad codependent. It couldn’t have been more than two days but she missed Bucky something fierce already. She wasn’t allowed visitors and her phone was banned lest it interfere with their machines, leaving her stranded in post-dimensional quarantine with nothing to do but sleep and answer the same questions she’d answered when she was dead only louder now; and with more feeling.

By the time she was deemed safe to release back into her natural habitat she was getting ready to riot. Jane offered to walk her back to her apartment but she’d waved her off, Jane was still bright eyed with the science of it all and Darcy had no desire to hear her theories about the other dimension’s ability to put bodily functions into stasis for the next hour. 

Safe in the knowledge she probably wasn’t about to suddenly keel over from the dimensional bends she had other priorities. Stepping carefully into the elevator, she took great pleasure in finally pressing the buttons herself as she selected the number for a floor that wasn’t hers. 

“I’m sorry Ms Lewis,” the jaunty mechanical voice of Stark’s current AI said from the speaker above her, “you don’t have the required access to visit the selected floor. Please choose another.”

“What?” Darcy said, squinting hard at the ceiling, “I’ve been going up there for weeks, what’s the big idea?” 

“I have no records of you accessing the Avengers Area, Ms Lewis,” the robot lady replied.

Right. Yeah. There wouldn’t be because she’d been technically dead and invisible and all…

“I see the problem,” Darcy sighed, “yeah so I’ve been kind of dead recently, it’s been a whole deal, but I really need to talk to someone up there so if you could just ask your boss man to bump up my credentials, that would be a real help.”

“You want me to go to Mr Stark about increasing your access due to your previous experience… haunting the tower?” She asked, Darcy hearing a digitally raised eyebrow in the tone.

“Yes, lady Hal, yes I do. Tell him Living Dead Girl wants to visit Robocop and Red White and Blue and she’ll cause a scene if she has to to get there. I’ve only been alive again for two days and I’m ready for some drama.”

The machine sighed at her, legitimately sighed, before saying, “Just a moment then please, Ms Lewis.”

Darcy didn’t know an AI could sound chagrined but she sure did. Darcy tapped her foot as she waited, pressing her back against the elevator wall as another wave of tiredness washed over her, stupid dimensional travel giving her jet lag.

“Alright Ms Lewis, your clearance has been approved,” the voice said at last, “for future reference your username is Casper and your passphrase is ‘boo.’ Robocop and Red White and Blue are currently on the landing deck, Mr Stark advises you be gentle with them during your reunion, they’re old and might break a hip. Have a nice day, now.”

“Rat bastard,” Darcy muttered, aiming a terse smile at the ceiling as the elevator rumbled to life, “Thank you disembodied voice lady, tell your boss he’s an asshole for me!”

“Consider it done.”

The elevator binged, doors opening at last only to reveal Steve walking straight towards her.

“Darcy?” He asked, stumbling back as he noticed her, a little wrinkle forming between his brows as he scanned her. Like he was trying to overlay her with the blue-tinted reflection from the SpaceTime screen,  “is that you?”

“In the flesh,” she grinned, sticking out her hand, “nice to finally meet -meet you Steve.”

Batting her hand away he pulled her into a hug instead, all six foot something of prime American beef squeezing her like they’d been friends for years. She didn’t want to get weird already but he smelt delicious, like clean soap and manly body wash and America. She didn’t know if he’d ever been offered a cologne deal but he should definitely consider it.

“God, it’s good to see you,” he chuckled as he released her at last, “Buck’s been freaking out since he came back from the lab, guys a mess - annnnd… I shouldn’t have said that should I? Don’t tell him, would you?”

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as her heart did a double beat, squeezing with an unbearable warmth at the admission. She’d been worried about him too.

“Your secret is safe with me,” she promised, “you know I tried to convince Jane to let me have my phone in the medlab so I could text him but she said it would mess with the machines,” her gaze traveled past Steve to the dark silhouette outside the window, “wasn't until I was allowed out that I realized I don’t even have his number, funny huh?”

“I’ll get your number from Thor and text you Bucky’s, and mine of course,” he grinned, squeezing her arms with a smile she could absolutely believe could win a war, “you promised you’d help me set up Facebook, remember?”

“I’m looking forward to it,” she grinned, his easy camaraderie warming her even as her eyes traveled back to the window, “but first I gotta talk to a guy about a thing.”

Steve followed her gaze, giving her arm one last gentle squeeze before he released her

“He’ll be pleased to see you,” he chuckled quietly, “go on, we’ll catch up later.”

Waving goodbye to him, Darcy snuck up to the heavy doors. Pulling it open as quietly as possible, she was struck again by his presence. He was hunching his shoulders again, the wind catching the ends of his hair as he took a long drag on a cigarette.

She didn’t even know that he smoked.

Nerves bubbled up inside her, a thousand overactive butterflies starting a rave in her stomach as she made her way out into the open air. 

“What now, Steve,” Bucky groaned, not looking around as he flicked ash onto the floor, “gonna lecture me about not using an ashtray, too?”

“I dunno what they told you in the forties,” she said softly as she approached, feeling her voice catching stupidly in her throat as her bravado left her, “but these days smokes are for jokes, babe.”

He spun around so fast his hair hit him in the face, eyes almost comically wide as he gaped at her like she really was a ghost. The last of his cigarette was burning down unnoticed in his fingers.

“Hey, B,” she tugged at the ends of her hair self-consciously, “miss me?”

Maybe she should have taken the extra time to change into a better outfit from her apartment instead of throwing on whatever Jane had bought her. The burgundy skater dress was alright but the green cardigan clashed with it and there were a couple of holes in her leggings she’d never bothered to sew up. She could have sorted her face out too, she’d been in such a rush to see him she hadn’t done more than scrape a brush through her still-damp hair, slap on some eyeliner and lip balm and head straight for the stairs.

Shit, was it too late to go back and do this again?

“Darcy,” his voice cracked, baby blue eyes meeting hers and immediately making her forget all her insecurities, “Are you… are you here here?”

“God I hope so,” she said way too honestly before awkwardly opening her arms, “wanna find out?”

She expected him to laugh at her and shake his head, instead he flicked his cigarette clean off the side of the building and swept her up in his arms, spinning her around like something straight out of a movie.

“Bucky!” She gasped, dizzy from the sudden movement but unable to keep from laughing, “if you start a fire on Park Avenue I’m not taking the blame!”

“Let ‘em burn,” he growled, lips brushing her hair and making her heart yoyo wildly. The butterflies in her stomach now had glow sticks and whistles and copious amounts of MDMA, partying wildly as she clung onto his neck for support.

“Sweet talker,” she laughed, burying her face into his shoulder, he smelt like cheap cigarette smoke and bad choices but she inhaled him by the lungful anyway, committing everything about the moment to her memory.

She didn’t let go of him until her feet touched the floor again, blushing as she realized she was probably choking the poor guy.

“How are you?” He asked, not seeming to care as he ran his fingers along the sides of her face, peering down at her seriously, “how do you feel?”

The words ‘like I could burst from happiness and/or sexual desire right now’ sprung to her mind but she swapped them out for a less provocative truth.

“Still a bit shaky from the reentry,” she admitted, trying to remember how to breathe as he tucked her hair behind her ear in a move so effortlessly tender she thought she’d explode from it, “but very very happy to be alive.”

Her hands had ended up on his chest somehow, the worn black hoodie he was wearing soft beneath her palms. She couldn’t stop herself from rubbing the fabric beneath her fingers, feeling the solid weight of him underneath it, firm and warm.

“Good,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth quirking in that lopsided smile of his as his hands came to rest on her shoulders, “I was worried about you, doll.”

God, she loved it when he called her that, it would’ve probably sounded hokey from anyone else but from him, in his voice with his smooth delivery? It was music to her. She couldn’t remember when he’d started it, only that she never wanted him to stop.

“Really?” She breathed, face flushing as her gaze stuck on that smile, fixated by the perfect arch of his lips and the dimple at the corner of his mouth. He was so warm and close and real, if she reached up on her tiptoes she could… they could…

“Lady Darcy!” The door rebounded off its hinges as a familiar boom of a voice filled the air, “I have just been informed of your release from the healers chambers!”

—-

Fuck. Shit. Damn. 

There was no curse strong enough in any language Bucky knew to cover the surge of rage and disappointment he felt as Darcy was pulled away from him.

One moment he was lost in a fantasy, feeling the silken strands of her hair slipping through his fingers as he held her close. So goddamn close. Close enough he could feel her chest rise with each inhale, warmth seeping into him every place they touched as he cataloged the color of her eyes and the texture of her skin. The exact flush of pink in her cheeks and the way her mouth parted, lips full and flushed and…

And then she was swept away by another man, heavy-lidded eyes widening in surprise as she was spun away like a top and Bucky’s fingers flexed around the butt of a gun he didn’t carry anymore.

“Dear friend, I came as fast as I could,” Thor cried, blonde hair flowing in the breeze as he clamped her against his chest, “it is good to see you so flushed with life once more!” 

“Breathe -” she squeaked out, making Bucky step forward automatically at the distress in her tone, “need to- breathe-”

“Apologies, my lady,” Thor laughed, looking sheepish as he set her carefully back on her feet before Bucky could force him too, “but truly, it is a miraculous day.”

He was right about that at least. 

“No arguments here,” she replied even as her head turned, eyes darting back as if seeking his. She took a step towards him then faltered, blinking as she wobbled on her feet, “woah, head rush.”

He was next to her before Thor could move, slapping the space Viking’s hand away as he steadied her as gently as he could.

“Breathe, Darcy,” he instructed her, noting the sudden pallor of her face and feeling a familiar surge of panic well up within him, “do I need to call Jane?”

“N-no,” she said shakily, holding on to his arms as she took a long, steadying breath, “she’d just say I told you so. I’m not supposed to over exert myself, apparently prolonged dimensional travel is kind of a bitch.”

“Lady Darcy, my apologies again,” Thor interjected, Bucky’s teeth grinding as he was reminded of his presence, “I shall escort you back inside at once.”

“That’s okay, big guy,” she replied kindly before Bucky could tell him where to shove it, her hand slipping through his arm as she leant easily into his side, “I’ve already got an escort, right B?”

She looked up at him hopefully and his jaw unclenched all at once, leaving him swallowing awkwardly as he nodded at her, “sure do, doll.”

“But… ah, ah!” the space man looked between them with wide eyes before his entire face lit up, arms spread wide as he grinned, “in which case I shall surrender you to more capable hands, Lady Darcy, I shall go now and… check on Jane, yes, indeed.”

He gave them an exaggerated wink, chuckling to himself as he walked away. It took him a while but it seemed he had finally gotten the message that Darcy was off limits for his cult.

“Big lunk,” Darcy said, shaking her head fondly as she held onto him just a little tighter than her calm demeanor gave away, “they still air that Bigfoot hunting show on Fridays right?”

“Should start any minute,” he murmured, looking her over again as indecision tugged at him - knowing she needed rest but unwilling to let her go so soon after getting her back, “sure you don’t want to go down and rest first?”

“I can nap on your sofa as easily as mine,” she shrugged, “so long as you don’t mind the company?”

“Never could,” he promised, “never would.”

He could live another hundred years and never regret a single moment he spent with her. 

Chapter Text

Darcy Lewis refused to take living for granted ever again. 

Every snack was a celebration, every coffee a triumph, every door she opened and object she moved a careful dance, like it was part of a Japanese tea ceremony or something. Even work, when Jane finally let her back, felt like the best thing in the world. 

She was only allowed to do administrative stuff - for now at least - but it was plenty. It turned out their adventures with life, death and the dimensions in between meant there was paperwork out the wazoo waiting for her - screeds of blueprints, readouts and datasets that all needed to be properly digitized, analyzed and archived, something she never thought she’d be so damn happy to do.

Jane had mother-henned her for a while - a role she was ill-suited for but absolutely adorable at, presenting Darcy with soggy sandwiches and water bottles at random intervals and fussing over her if she was on her feet too long. But she was starting to chill out at last too, the bruises under her eyes fading as Darcy got a little bit stronger every day. 

Humming to herself, Darcy sorted through mess, the calm of the lab washing over her as tried to coral the results of the last two months into shape. There was an extra flourish in her pen as she carefully labeled a new folder before placing three coffee stained print outs and a napkin covered in complex formulas into it.

She never thought she’d get sappy over office work, but there she was smiling like an idiot at the manila folders and biros and feeling like the luckiest girl alive.

Wonderfully, wonderfully alive.

A surge of gratitude bubbled up inside her as she thought about just how much she’d gained since she’d made the last minute decision to apply to Jane’s internship. If she hadn’t skipped those 8am Monday chemistry classes in her second year she might never have ended up here, with a life and a job and a best friend who would literally bring her back from the dead if she had to.

Then there were the other perks of course, medical, dental, a free apartment and the opportunity to befriend space gods and superheroes. There was no way the Darcy of the past would believe she would one day be brunching with an alien in a billionaire's penthouse before helping a national icon set up his social media page. Or that she would fall helplessly in love with a hunky World War 2 vet with a tragic past who always laughed at her jokes and called her Doll.

Yup. She was in love with him. She couldn’t deny it to herself any longer. 

She loved him when she woke up on his couch at 4am to find him with his head tipped back, drooling into the cushions with one hand still clinging to her ankle like it was the only thing anchoring him in place.

She loved him when she went to sit down and he’d already pulled out her chair, leaving his arm slung across the back of it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She even loved him when she found him smoking on the landing deck at sunset, cigarette smoke curling up into the clouds as he confided to her in a quiet voice that the only he reason he still did it was because he knew it was something the Winter Solider would never be allowed to.

She love, love, loved James Buchanan Barnes and there was jackshit anyone could do about it. 

The only real question was - should she tell him or not?

“I brought coffee,” Jane announced, the other three little words a girl loved to hear, as she entered the lab from her break.

“Thanks Janey,” she beamed, rearranging the stacks of papers and folders to make room for the cup, “you and Thor are coming to the thing later, right? We’re ordering in from everywhere, including that Mexican place you like.”

Tonight was the night of the big resurrection feast, she’d commandeered the common area on the Avenger floor and invited everyone who’d helped Frankenstein her back to life for an all expenses paid food-a-thon. Stark had hmmed and hawed over it, refusing to make a commitment, but one of his credit cards had turned up on her doormat with a handful of take out menus and a request for Kung Pow chicken to be added to the buffet.

Jane’s eyes lit up as she placed the take out cup carefully in front of Darcy, “the one that does the tacos al pastor I like?”

“The very same,” she laughed, knowing that when all else failed a good taco was the only thing capable of getting Jane away from her lab, “not to mention pizza from Gino’s, Chinese from Ming-Na’s, Indian from the Manhattan Tandoori annnd a whole bunch of other stuff, if you can name it it’s gonna be there. And booze. Lots of booze.”

“Sounds like you’ll need Thor if you want to finish it all,” she teased.

“I figure between him and the two super soldiers it’ll all get eaten eventually, if not it’s left overs for a month. Either way, I’m alllllliiivvveee” Darcy beamed, waving her arms in her best monster impression, “it’s only right and proper we celebrate that fact, and your god-like skills, with a night of tequila and poor digestive choices.”

“Does this mean you’re going to get drunk and finally tell your young man how you feel about him?”

“He’s like 90,” Darcy stuck her tongue out, no longer denying the possessive in Jane’s sentence,  “aaaand I don’t know.”

“Darcy -”

“Don’t give me that look!” She flapped her hand at Jane, pausing to sample the delicious sugary caffeinated goodness Jane had brought her before continuing, “not all of us can hit a guy with our car and get a date out of it.”

“That was an accident, and Darcy if you like him you should tell him,” Jane sighed, “if only to stop the pair of you making moon eyes at each other whenever you’re in the same room together, I’ve had to stop Thor three times now from trying to set you two up together in the traditional Asgardian fashion - whatever that means.”

“I bet you any money it involves two horns of ale and a fist fight.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Yes, and look how good at it I am,” Darcy laughed, picking up her take out cup, “now, if you’ll excuse me there’s a packet of animal crackers in the vending machine that’s been teasing me for weeks - want anything?” 

“No thanks, I’ll stick to the coffee,” Jane shook her head, raising her cup with a fond look. 

“Lame,” Darcy laughed, “back in a sec.”

Taking a long swallow of the sweet sweet coffee she promised to never take for granted again, Darcy headed for the door. The question of her feelings for Bucky plagued her, she hadn’t wanted to say anything before due to the whole awkwardness of the thing, not wanting to tangle him up with a dead girl he couldn’t escape from… or even touch. Then there was the fact she didn’t want to get in the way of his healing process, but now…

Now maybe things were different? 

She was here, alive, and he was doing better every day. They’d had that moment on the landing deck when she’d first gotten out of the medlab and like a dozen other smaller moments since. He always stood next to her when they were together, close enough their arms touched, and he shared his blanket when they watched TV at his, he opened doors for her even though he didn’t have to anymore, and sometimes… sometimes he looked at her like he was about to kiss her - even if he never actually did.

Ack, okay, so maybe she didn’t confess the whole head-over-heels in love thing straight off the bat, that was a bit extra, but she could invite him for coffee maybe? 

Or she could just get drunk and try and make out with him, that had worked for her before…

She peered down at her coffee cup thoughtfully as she walked through the door, the world flickering into darkness for a split second before the lights in the hallway hit her.

She froze, her paper cup slipping from her fingers and bouncing off the tiles. Her breath caught up in her lungs, her stomach heaving as she pressed a hand to her mouth, threatening to choke her on bile and coffee she stood shaking.

She hadn’t gone out of the door.

She’d gone through it. Straight through it. She hadn’t even thought to open it first, just walked right through like it wasn’t there at all.

Oh god. Oh no. Not again. Please, please, please not again.

“Darcy!” Jane cried behind her, the door swinging open and bouncing off the wall as the brighter lights of the lab spilled out into the corridor.

“Jane?” She couldn’t seem to speak in more than a whisper, voice tight and shaking as she struggled not to lose control of herself, “Jane can you… can you still… ?”

She didn’t want to turn around, didn’t want to see the vacant look in Jane’s eyes as she stared at a spot a foot to the left of her. She didn’t want it to be real.

A hand caught her arm, fingers digging is as Jane turned her around and held on tight, “I see you,” she promised, “you disappeared for a moment but you’re back now; I see you Darcy, you’re here:”

“I didn’t mean to… I just…”

“I know, we’ll figure this out too.”

—

The paper chains were uneven, a long line of different sized loops made from printer paper and sticky tape. Bucky had been the one to make them, Steve spending his time on a much more professional looking set of paper ghosts that they’d stuck to the walls as well.

The decorations on a whole were a haphazard bunch, fashioned together from Steve’s artistic skills, Bucky’s stubbornness and whatever they could find in the gift shop in the lobby. Mostly it was brightly coloured Avengers balloons and paper party supplies.

It was stupid but Bucky wanted it to look special for Darcy’s big comeback feast. He hadn’t seen her as much as he was used to recently, because of course he hadn’t, she had a life and responsibilities now and she didn’t need him to go down to the lab with her every morning. Although sometimes he found himself heading down there anyway, feet taking him automatically towards her only for him to remember at the last minute and turn away.

He didn’t think she’d appreciate him bothering her at work when she was only days back on the job, even if she did still text him constantly. It was a relief, the messages with their hieroglyphic levels of ‘emojis’ reminding him she was safe even as they made him laugh more often than not. His phone was now never more than a few feet from him at any time.

“They’re still wonky, aren’t they?” Steve sighed as he stepped back to admire his handiwork, “damn.”

“They’re fine,” Bucky replied, “they’re ghosts, they’re not supposed to be perfectly aligned. She’ll love ‘em, Steve, especially that Italian one with the pizza.”

“You think?” He asked, face lighting up at the praise. It was strange to think he could still be so unsure of himself when he’d made such a name for himself in the world.

Captain America wasn’t insecure about anything, Steve Rogers the underweight, overlooked, unappreciated artist still most definitely was.

“They’re fantastic,” Bucky assured him, squeezing his shoulder before going to straighten out the tablecloth and the glasses, “and the trio of Real Pawn ghosts are gonna crack her up too, you got Chet’s goatee just right.”

“Thanks, Buck,” he beamed, “I’m just happy to help, you did most of it.”

“You think we should start a party business?” Bucky joked as he looked around the slightly lopsided chains, paper ghosts and ‘Welcome Back Darcy’ banner they’d had to work together to print out from Microsoft word one letter at a time.

“I like it, ‘Rogers and Barnes: Professional Party Planners.’”

“Barnes and Rogers,” Bucky shot him a side look, “gotta be alphabetical.”

“Sure it does,” Steve scoffed, propping his hands against his hips as he took in the room with a practiced eye. It wasn’t much but Bucky got the feeling Darcy would appreciate it anyway.

“Y’know I’ve been thinking about that…” Bucky said, seeing an opening in the conversation he’d been looking for for a while now, even if he didn’t fully realize it until just then.

“What, becoming a party planner?” Steve hitched an eyebrow at him and Bucky laughed despite himself.

“No, punk, what I do next,” the truth was he’d spent so long in the past that he hardly knew what to do with the present, he didn’t have a birth certificate or a list of references or a skill set outside of murder and espionage. He was only good for one thing really, one thing that maybe Steve needed help with too, “you’re still dealing with the off-shoot Hydra cells and rogue soviet agencies right?”

They’d never really talked about his work before, only that sometimes Steve went out to train the recruits at the compound upstate, and sometimes he went out to film PSAs, and sometimes… sometimes he didn’t say where he was going, only that when he came back it was with bruises and bullet holes in his uniform.

“Yeah,” Steve replied cautiously, eyeing him up as Bucky tried not to fidget under his gaze, “there’s still a good number of weapons caches unaccounted for, not to mention the sleeper cells and the groups forming in Hydra’s wake. But you don’t have to…”

“I know,” he cut him off before he could say more, already knowing the argument Steve would make before he made it, “but I want to, I want to help.”

Hydra and their kind buried themselves deep, twisting their roots so deep into the earth it sometimes felt impossible to pull them out without tearing up the world with them. If he could do anything to make that process easier, safer, he’d do it.

“Bucky… after all you’ve been through, are you sure you wanna go there?”

“Pretty sure,” he sighed, rubbing a hand across his mouth as he tried to figure out how best to phrase his reasoning for throwing himself back into the deep end, “the thing is I’ve been thinking alot about the future recently and, I dunno… I did so much bad when I wasn’t myself, I want to do some good now I’m more… me… to balance it out. Besides,” he shrugged self-deprecatingly, “I know a bit about how these guys operate, could be useful.”

“We can talk about it,” Steve said, not a refusal which was a start, but not quite an acceptance either. Bucky couldn’t blame him, he didn’t know himself if he’d be a liability in the field or any use in strategy yet, but hopefully soon he’d get to try, “hey that reminds me, here-“

Steve reached into his pocket, rummaging around for a moment before pulling out something metallic and holding it out to him.

“I’ve been meaning to give these back to you for a while now but I didn’t know if it was the right time or if you even… I dunno, just, here,” Steve continued, pressing something cold into Bucky’s outstretched hand, “they belong to you.”

Frowning in confusion, Bucky looked down at the offering. A pair of familiar metal tags on a silver ball chain sat in his palm, worn with age and bearing his name, number, and the address for his sister’s old apartment in Stockton.

“Shit,” he swore, thumb tracing the raised metal letters, “where did you get this?”

“They were supposed to go to Rebecca,” Steve admitted, “but I… I kept them.” He patted his pocket where Bucky knew he still carried a broken compass and a faded picture, “You and Peg, you were with me to the end.”

Clutching the tags in his hand, Bucky heaved a deep sigh before reaching up to loop the chain around his neck. The tags were an unfamiliar familiarity as he tucked them beneath his shirt, the press of metal strange and yet oddly soothing as he met his oldest friend's gaze.

“Thanks, Steve,” he said and meant it, chest aching at the pain Steve still wore even now, he always had been easy to read, “and I’m sorry - I don’t think I ever said it, not since but… God, I’m so sorry about Peggy, Steve. I know what she meant to you, what you meant to each other.”

“Y’know sometimes,” Steve’s voice shook, his hands clenched at his side as he stared at the ground between them, “sometimes when I remember how things went I can’t breathe, Buck.” He looked up helplessly, “I’d do anything to go back there, no matter how it ended.”

Bucky didn’t think twice, grabbing Steve and hugging him tightly. He’d been through so much, lost so much, just as much as Bucky had only with the weight of so much expectation weighing down on him beside. He’d been fighting for so long, wasn’t it time he deserved a rest too?

“Promise me something?” Steve asked as he pulled back, scrubbing the heel of his hand into his eyes, “this thing you’ve got with Darcy, whatever it is, don’t let it go to waste. If I’ve learnt anything it’s that there’s no right time in this mess, if you feel something for her and she feels something for you, don’t let the fear stop you from going for it. Don’t,” he hesitated, swallowing hard before continuing in a rough voice, “don’t end up living with the regret of not knowing.”

“I promise,” he said, clearing the lump in his throat with a cough before turning back to the set up, “I just hope your space friend is bringing some of his magic beer, no way can I do this sober.”

“That’s the spirit,” Steve laughed weakly, looking down at his wrist watch, “He better hurry up though, Darcy’s supposed to be here… ten minutes ago… has she texted? The food will start showing up soon.”

Bucky pulled out his phone, a sudden knot of anxiety catching him in the stomach as he shook his head. Her last message was five hours ago, too long for her, especially considering how excited she’d been for tonight.

Bucky felt his stomach tense as he hit the call button, “I’ll call her.”

The phone rang off, then it did it again. Then again when he tried to call Jane.

The knot tightened, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as he looked up, “something isn’t right, Steve.”

“Go,” Steve jerked his head to the door, “find her.”

—-

The Medlab was quiet, cold, and all too familiar to her.

Darcy sat curled up in a chair by ‘her’ bed, legs drawn up to her chin and arms wrapped around them. Like she could physically hold herself together if she just tried hard enough.

Jane had told her so could go back to her apartment and rest up but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bring herself to move at all, terrified to confirm her worst fears and jinx her chances by leaving the medbay early. What if she faded out again and Jane couldn’t find her? What if she had to send Bucky out looking?

What if he couldn’t see her anymore either?

There was no guarantee she would end up back in the Darcy Dimension after all, maybe- maybe she’d just flicker out for good this time, just… fade away entirely.

No, it was better that she stayed put, sitting right there in the chair until Jane came back. It was stupid, like something from a kids game, but she’d convinced herself if she just sat there, as still as she could, maybe it would all go away. If she just stayed still enough she couldn’t phase through anything and break the spell.

It could all just be a bad dream.

“Darcy?”

Her head shot up, spine cracking from misuse as her name was called across the blank white room.

Bucky.

Bucky was there in the doorway, looking at her, right at her. He could still see her but… but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still gone. 

“Bucky?” His name came out strangled, her voice choked up in her throat with the remnants of the absolutely useless crying session she’d indulged in when she was alone, “what are you doing here?”

She coughed behind her hand, trying to dislodge the lump of emotion so she could sound like a rational human being again. She was getting pretty tired of people seeing her breaking down all the time, it didn’t fit her image at all.

She was the cool one, the wise-cracking side-kick who faced the unknown with a smile and a one-liner. The one you didn’t need to worry about when you were busy saving the world.

She wasn’t weak like this.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said quietly, crossing the room in three strides to her, “the lady in the ceiling said you’d be here, you weren’t answering your phone and…” The sentence trailed off meaningfully as he crouched down in front of her chair, close enough to touch now if she dared. “What happened?”

He looked anxious, his mouth turned down at the corners and a sharp crease between his brows as his eyes traveled over her, taking in far too much - as usual.

“Why were you looking for me?” She asked, trying to think through the cotton wool stuffing her cranium. Turning away from him, she squinted at the sleek digital clock on the wall next to her, “shit it’s almost seven - We were supposed to meet at six, right? I’m sorry, I got caught up and-”

“Darcy,” he cut her off before she could start babbling, “what’s wrong?”

Was there anything more embarrassing on Earth than being known? He saw through her bullshit like a plate glass window, leaving her struggling to fake a smile as she looked determinedly at his shoulder instead of his face.

“It’s nothing,” she lied unconvincingly, shrugging off his concerns with a hitch of her shoulder, “I just had a little wobble, that’s all, y’know, phased out a little. No big deal.”

“Phased…” he repeated, processing her words slowly before he hit her with the full weight of his concerned stare, “you mean…?”

“I ran straight through a door, I didn’t mean to, obviously, but - it happened, Jane couldn’t see me when I - but then she could after, and now she’s running the tests with Doctor Harris and I’m…”

God, why was she incapable of finishing a sentence? Had the dimension hopping killed off her brain cells along with her emotional stability? 

“Are you here now?” He asked far too gently from far too close.

The urge to push him away itched at her palms, needing to knock the compassion from his face before she did something stupid like start crying again. 

He held his hand out to her and she knew it was a losing battle. Heat burnt behind her eyes, prickling at the back of her nose and throat as the tears welled. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted in a stupid watery voice, dashing her hands against her eyes behind her glasses to stop the tears from falling, “I think I am, they’re running the tests now but - but I don’t want to disappear again.”

“Hey, here,” he reached his hand closer, palm up as he kept it steady between them. 

If she took it, if she touched him now… it could confirm all her worst fears. One touch and her nightmares would be real, she’d hover above him unfelt or worse slip right through.

A ghost.

Her fingers cramped as she unfurled them, joints cracking and palms clammy as she hesitated. She imagined she could feel the warmth of him, imagined everything would be okay.

But what if it wasn’t?

He didn’t press her, staying perfectly still and trusting, like he was coaxing a wild animal. Shit, maybe he was. The urge to laugh battled with the tears still threatening her, coming out in a hysterical little chirrup as she closed her eyes and thrust her hand forward at last.

Skin met skin, warm and solid and very much there as his fingers tightened around her hand. She was here. She was real.

The sob escaped her then as she crashed forward. She fell like a dam breaking into him, anchoring her arms around his neck as the storm swelled and burst inside her. He held strong, voice soft against her hair as her tears soaked into his shoulder.

“I’m here,” he murmured, “I’m here and you’re here. It’s okay, Darcy, you’re safe now.”

“It’s so freaking scary,” she croaked into the fabric of his hoodie, feeling herself shaking and hating herself for it, “I don’t know if I can do it again, I really don’t.”

She wasn’t even strong enough to stop herself crying, how could she survive unseen again? Now she’d touched reality, how could she go back to nothingness?

“You don’t have to,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear as he rocked her gently in his arms, “you don’t have to face anything alone. Jane brought you back before, she can do it again and again if she has to.”

“But what if she can’t,” Darcy pulled back, rubbing at her eyes behind her glasses as they threatened to fog, “what if… what if I’m just gone?”

“I don’t believe that,” he told her firmly, catching her face in his hands and making her look at him. It was strange, the soft warmth of one hand against the cool metal of the other, but safe. He made her feel safe and she almost couldn’t bear it. “Whatever’s going on, we’re going to fix it. You understand? I’m not losing you.”

“But-”

He silenced her protests, his mouth clumsy against hers as he kissed her - right then and there with her eyes still red from crying and her skin salty with tears. 

There was no room for thought, her mind empty of everything but him as she kissed him back. He tasted like mint and tobacco, his hair unbearably soft as she curled her fingers in it. She slipped forward, needing to be closer, close enough to crawl inside him if she could.

She kissed him like it was her last kiss in this world.

For all she knew it was.

Chapter Text

Bucky was kissing her.

He hadn’t meant to, one minute he was trying to convince her everything was okay and the next he was… she was…

She’d just looked so lost, small and scared and so very alone. He couldn’t stand it, some vital, unnamed part of him surging up and bypassing his brain entirely as he pressed his mouth to hers and tried to convince her without words that she was here. She was safe.

It felt blasphemous to even think of it, the idea that he could be safe around anyone after all the evil he’d done, but it was also true. He’d tear his other arm off before hurting Darcy and he needed her to know it, even if he couldn’t find a way to say it aloud.

So he kissed her. And kissed her. And kissed her.

It was clumsy at first, the frantic, desperate press of his mouth against hers, he was sorely out of practice and terrified of fucking everything up. A low level panic thudded in the back of his brain even as he pulled her closer, she filled his head with the scent of vanilla and antiseptic and when his tongue touched her lips they tasted like salt.

And then she was kissing him too.

The fear left him in a hard rush, washed away by the way her lips parted beneath his, hands tangling almost desperately in his hair as she sighed into his mouth. The feeling caught beneath his skin, sparking like a live wire from every place they touched, lips to hands to chests to hips. He could feel her breathing, her breasts pressed tight against him, her thighs caging his as she leant deeper into the kiss.

She sank like heat beneath his skin, warming places he didn’t realize were still frozen as she clung to him like a lifeline. He felt half-mad as she licked into his mouth, the velvet heat of her tongue fuelling the familiar ache building low against his spine - threatening to prove just how much he needed her without saying a word.

A groan tore from his throat as she finally pulled away, a pathetic desperate sound as he followed her on instinct, his fingers curled tight into her hips. Unwilling to give her up even as they both struggled for air, he didn’t need to breathe. He just needed her.

It wasn’t until he felt Darcy tense against him, her head snapping up as someone cleared their throat behind them, that he realized they were no longer alone. 

“Should we come back later?”

Damnit, one kiss and he’d lost every survival instinct he’d ever had. He’d been trained to be constantly aware, part of him always focused on the outside, looking for potential threats in every moment of every day. It had been beaten into him, burnt into him, but not even that could compete to the sensation of having her in his arms at last. 

Jane Foster stood over them, a tablet computer clutched in her hands and a red-stain to her cheeks as she kept her gaze firmly fixed away from them as they rose unsteadily to their feet. Doctor Harris was behind her,  her clipboard pressed to her mouth to hide a smile as she too averted her eyes.

“No - it’s fine,” Darcy said awkwardly, brushing her skirt off as she straightened up, “did the results come back?”

Jesus, what a fucking degenerate he was. Darcy was facing her worst fears and all he could think about was manhandling her, barely able to keep himself from snatching her back to him even now and burying his face in her hair. Holding her so tightly she couldn’t fade away if she tried.

Turning his eyes up to the ceiling he tried to swallow back his selfishness, his heart thudding unsteadily as Darcy slipped her hand into his instead of moving away like he thought she would. That single link of contact doing more to steady him than seventy years of training ever could.

“The preliminary scans yes,” Harris said, lips pursed in an attempt to hide her smile as she looked at Jane who nodded, “it’s not everything but we think it’s enough to give us a pretty good idea of what’s going on here.”

Darcy in all her bravery took one deep breath, straightened her spine and faced her fears directly, “tell me.”

“Okay, so, it seems from the data we’ve collected that your recent dimensional travels have affected you more than we initially thought,” Jane said, turning the screen she was holding around to show two strands of DNA lit up in blue and utterly incomprehensible to him, “this is your genetic code before and after; as you can see it’s changed on a molecular level.”

“Yes,” Harris picked up the thread from her, “The same gamma variations we isolated in Mr Barnes’ genetic makeup are now present in much higher levels in your baseline DNA too.”

“Okay, but what does that mean exactly?” Darcy said, her voice tight and high and her hand squeezing his. He squeezed back, willing some of his strength into her silently as the science jargon flowed.

“We believe that being caught in the proto-ERB generator, and subsequently the anti-proto-ERB generator, has changed your genetic makeup,” Jane looked to Harris who nodded encouragingly, “allowing you to not only exist but shift freely between the two dimensions.”

“But…” Darcy took a second, frowning behind her glasses as she absorbed it all, “but what if I get stuck?”

“Then we’ll bring you back again, everything indicates the anti-proto-ERB generator should have the same effect again - we really need to rename that by the way,” Jane said, biting her fingernail thoughtfully, “and from this it looks like we could even potentially construct some sort of portable inhibitor to stop you phasing if you wanted.”

“Definitely,” Harris agreed, “most of the technology already exists so we’d just need to modify it for you, although honestly from these results… we both think the best long term solution is simply to train your phasing ability.”

“I don’t understand,” Darcy’s frustration was obvious, her hand tightening in his as she waved the other as she spoke, “if I can do this phasing thing willy-nilly, why haven’t I done it before today? I’ve been back for like two weeks.”

She raised a good point but the doctors, it seemed, had an answer for everything. 

“We believe that’s a mixture of energy drain from the prolonged time you spent over there before, and also the ‘belief’ factor,” Harris tilted her head, eyes moving away from them as she thought, “Jane mentioned how how’ve been very conscious of your surroundings, taking care when you opened and closed doors and such, I noticed it too, today however you reacted on instinct.”

“That’s what I think too,” Jane nodded eagerly, “You didn’t think when you phased, you knew you could walk through the door - so you just did, Darce. With time, training and the right headspace we can’t see any reason why you shouldn’t control your new abilities perfectly well without mechanical intervention.”

“Abilities…” Darcy hesitated, her hand going slack in his as she blinked uncertainly at her friends, “You guys are making it sound like I have… super powers or something.”

Harris and Jane shared a look, seconds ticking by as they seemed to have a silent conversation before coming to the same conclusion.

“Fundamentally, Darcy, you have,” Harris said, lowering her clipboard with a furrow between her brows, “by all accounts you now have the genetic capability for functional invisibility, Mr Barnes excluded, the ability to phase through solid objects. I also speculate your ability to believe ‘surfaces’ into being makes for interesting further study - potentially allowing you to move and climb through empty space. You could be an incredible asset.”

“I… you mean… Jane gave me superpowers ?” 

“I didn’t mean to,” Jane offered with a helpless little shrug, “if that makes it any better.”

“Well fuck.”

Bucky couldn’t help but agree, his relief that she was alright was overwhelming, crashing back and forth in his chest like a wave as he anchored himself with her hand. She was here. She wasn’t going to fade away again. But… it wasn’t all he felt either.

Beneath the relief there was something else, a new fear awakening inside his gut. A memory of the men who’d captured him came swimming to the surface, reminding him of all the things they would do to get hold of someone like her.

Her new abilities would help keep her safe, but they would make her a target too.

—-

To say Darcy Lewis had a lot going on in her mind would be to bring new meaning to the term ‘understatement.’

She felt like a rabbit standing in the middle of a crossroads with a truck called ‘Accidental Superpowers’ coming at her from one direction and another called ‘Making Out With Bucky Barnes’ from the other; she didn’t know which one was blinding her more only that she was going under something’s wheels before the night was out.

The good doctors had explained the situation to her as best as they could with the information available, managing the worst of Darcy’s fear that she was disappearing whilst adding a whole new layer of anxiety about her conscious-unconscious space hopping skills. There were plans made, tests scheduled, lights flashed in her eyes just to make sure she wasn’t in shock, and then - just like that - they were done and Darcy was once more released to reality, dazed and confused as she let Bucky lead her through the corridors. 

Words like abilities, and training, and superpowers kept buzzing in her skull until she wanted to smash her head into a wall just to get them to shut up. She wasn’t the one stuff like this was meant to happen too, Jane was the hero of her story, she’d known that from the moment she met her. Jane was the one with the brilliant mind and space prince boyfriend, the one meant to win medals and change the world and make history.

Darcy was an ‘also there,’ she’d always been an ‘also there’ and she was absolutely fine with it, she was meant to support those around her through their preternatural struggles. Her dimensional accident was only supposed to drive the heroes onto bigger, better things - bigger scientific breakthroughs and greater deeds of heroism.

She wasn’t supposed to come out of it with super powers. Hell, she wasn’t sure she was supposed to come out of it at all…

“You think any louder you're gonna give yourself a headache,” Bucky said, jolting her back into herself and reminding her of the other, much nicer truck, “you doing okay, doll?”

“I am… not sure actually,” she replied truthfully as they found themselves once more in the elevator heading upwards, “glad I’m not fading out again, for sure, but having a bit of an existential crisis anyway.”

“Be strange if you weren’t,” he nodded, “you’ve had a helluva week.”

“That's for damn sure,” she snorted, tilting her head back against the wall of the elevator, “So…” 

She glanced down, noticing her hand still tangled in his and feeling a blush creep over her face. It was ridiculous, she’d been seconds away from trying to ride him like a mechanical bull on the medlab floor and now she was blushing because they were holding hands? 

Did she mention it? The kissing thing, not the riding thing… was it too soon?

He’d made the first move but the situation had been all emotional and extra, it might have been a spur of the moment thing. It might not have meant anything.

But… but he was still holding her hand.

“Yeah?” He asked when her sentence trailed off, making her blink herself back to the moment again as the elevator dinged.

“Wanna get drunk?” She finished lamely, losing her nerve as the door opened.

“Funny you should say that…” he sighed, stepping into the hallway only to be confronted by an incredibly anxious looking Steve and Thor - the latter of whom was wearing a brightly coloured paper hat with the Avengers ‘A’ on it.

“Lady Darcy at last!” He cried as the doors shut behind them, her heart dropping as Bucky’s hand slipped from hers before the others could notice it was there at all, “we feared for your safety when you did not arrive. Is everything well?”

She stared at him in confusion, fingers flexing as the warmth faded from her skin. When she didn’t arrive for what? And what was with the party hat?

Oh damn.

“The feast,” she slapped her hand to her mouth, cringing at herself for forgetting her own party, again, “I’m so sorry, I got caught up with something with Jane. I hope you guys didn’t wait for me to eat, I know you beefcake types need your calories.”

“Beefcake?” Thor repeated with a quizzical frown, “there were no cakes of beef ordered, ah - unless you mean the hamburgers? Yes they are quite delicious, although your naming conventions continue to astound me.”

“We made sure it didn’t go cold,” Steve said, giving her an understanding look that made her think maybe he already knew where she’d been, “if you’re still up for it, that is? No pressure.”

“Of course,” she lied, swallowing down the queasiness that followed the emotional tornado she’d been through, “let us feast and toast and do all that other good stuff too! There is alcohol, right - like human stuff? I took a swig of Thor’s mead once and blacked out on the table, not designed for earth girls.”

Although now that she thought about it, blacking out didn’t seem like such a bad idea…

“You lasted an admirable length of time for a mortal,” Thor laughed, already heading back to the common room, “but fear not, there is a rainbow of libations to rival the Bifröst itself!”

“Rainbow booze is always a good sign,” Darcy said, letting herself fall into step with the others. Bucky at the rear as they entered the space she’d claimed for the party a lifetime ago, “oh!”

There were strings of white paper chains festooning the ceiling, brightly coloured clusters of balloons in every corner and a banner with her name on it above a table groaning with food and drink.

“You guys,” she squeaked, those stupid tears threatening again as she clutched her hands to her chest. Her heart squeezed almost painfully at how sweet it was, “you decorated!”

“Bucky did most of it,” Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy smile, “I just helped.”

“He’s being modest,” Bucky said quietly from behind her, “he did all the artistic stuff - the ghosts were all drawn by him.”

“You drew these?” Her eyes widened, moving closer to look at the carefully sketched features on each one. There were ghosts of Chet, Hog and Rich from Real Pawn, Larrie and Derk from Locker Up, not to mention a whole bunch of ghosts from various countries eating different food - like the Italian ghost with the silly mustache and the pizza, “holy shit Steve, you are so talented!”

“They’re nothing,” he shrugged bashfully, “really.”

“No, seriously, these are incredible - you have a real skill.”

“Thanks Darcy,” he beamed and she swore he blushed as he looked away, the big awkward sweetheart.

“I should be thanking you guys, I can’t believe you did all this for me,” she turned around, catching Bucky’s eyes as he stood a few feet back. His hands in his pockets as he watched her with those intense blue eyes of his, “thank you.”

“Anytime,” Bucky murmured, almost too quiet to hear as Thor started up her party playlist for her before popping the cork on a bottle of fancy looking space wine.

The party was on.

Chapter Text

Bucky watched her over the rim of his plastic cup, fixated by every smile and laugh even as he hung back from the rest of the group. What had happened in the lab had shaken him to his core, an intoxication so pure he still felt drunk on the memory of it.

Well… that and the stuff Thor had brought down. 

The space wine made his head pleasantly fuzzy as he drank it by the plastic cup full. It was velvet smooth against his tongue, the flavor caught in some indefinable place between cherries, cinnamon and gasoline that shouldn’t taste as good as it did as he let the novel experience of inebriation wash over him.

He hadn’t gotten sauced in nearly a century, he still wasn’t all that drunk really, more tipsy, but it felt good anyway. The light buzz of alcohol ruffling over his nerves as he watched the way Darcy’s hands moved when she spoke, her hair shifting and shining in the light as she leant forward to make some point or another.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't let himself assume that what had happened before was anything more than it was, a single, spur of the moment kiss. An anomaly she’d only allowed with her emotions running high. 

It didn’t matter how much he wanted to repeat it or how often his thoughts and eyes fixated on her lips, he couldn’t press her for more - and he sure as shit didn’t want to embarrass her in front of her friends. That was why he’d dropped her hand before they could see - so she didn’t have to do it instead, saving her from having to explain him away in front of the others.

Just a friend. Nothing more. 

Like she wasn’t gonna be the death of him.

She laughed and his chest ached, a hollow pang of feeling rippling outwards from his ribs as he hung on her every word even from a distance. 

No one would ever guess the trials she’d been through or the fears she’d faced from the way she spoke now, her face animated as she engaged Thor and Steve in their war stories and matched them beat for beat. She was incredible like that, slipping easily into her usual outgoing persona as they drank and laughed, her face lighting up like an electric bulb when Jane appeared a few hours into the party with a tired smile on her face.

“You made it,” She jumped up from her seat, smile so bright it could blind a man as she waved Jane over, “come in come in, I’ll get you a drink!”

“I had to come if only to get you to stop texting,” Jane teased, an exasperated look of fondness on her face as she entered the fray, “some food, a drink, and then I’m going back to work - I asked Doc Harris if she wanted to join us but she’s trying to get a head start on the data analysis. She already has some interesting ideas about the biological considerations of the inhibitor - at this rate she’ll probably have the prototype ready before breakfast.”

“The inhibitor for what, my love?” Thor asked, leaping to his feet as soon as he saw her and leading her to the buffet table like he was escorting her to the finest royal banquet, “here try some of these, they are excellent.”

He carefully helped her arrange her plate, uncharacteristically gentle as he placed a spoonful of fried rice on one side before delicately arranging a  taco beside it. An ugly spike of jealousy went through Bucky as he took another swig of space wine, they were so easy together. 

“Thank you,” Jane murmured quietly, her gaze soft as she touched Thor’s arm before turning her attention to Darcy, “You didn’t tell them?” 

She hadn’t. He hadn’t either, it wasn’t his place after all. It was happening to her. His eyes fell on her again, swallowing hard as he watched her expression freeze in place.

“Didn’t come up,” she shrugged, tucking her hair behind her ear as she smiled brightly. Bucky could see through it now, noticing the tension she held in her jaw as she faked a laugh, “so yeah, hey guys! Looks like Jane might have given me superpowers.”

Steve caught Bucky’s gaze over the side of the sofa, shooting him a questioning look. Bucky nodded and a look of pained understanding crossed Steve’s face as he let out a quiet sigh. Bucky didn’t blame him, after his own experience with ‘enhanced abilities’ he knew first hand it wouldn’t all be sunshine and spandex for her. 

These things always came with a price.

“Accidentally,” Jane stressed as Darcy turned away to fill up a solo cup with something brightly coloured and alcoholic, “and there’s no ‘might’ about it, really Darcy, the first step to mastering your new abilities will be acceptance.”

“I thought that only worked with alcoholism,” she shot back, staring down at the cup in her hand for a second before handing it over to Jane with a shrug, “I still don’t know about this power thing anyway, see?” She smacked her hand against the table a few times as if to prove a point, “Nada.”

“Because you don’t want to phase through it, your abilities operate on a much more primal level at the moment, it will take discipline to get them to work on command.”

“Sure,” Darcy snorted, filling a cup for herself even though he was sure she hadn’t finished the last one yet, “if you say so.”

“Have you yet spoken to Erik of this change?” Thor asked, rubbing his beard thoughtfully as he looked between them, “his experience with both the mental and scientific disciplines may give him a unique perspective on the situation.”

“Oh my god, Erik!” Darcy’s eyes widened, her drink sloshing as she set it aside untouched, “I haven’t told him I’m back yet! He probably still thinks I’m dead - I’m such an idiot, I gotta text him-”

Thrusting her plate at Thor, Jane lurched forward, hand outstretched, “no - don’t!”

“Huh?” Darcy looked up, brows drawing together in confusion as she paused over her screen, “Why?”

“I uh… I didn’t tell him… about, y’know, the accident…”

Jane dropped her gaze, hand drawing back at the admission as she stared down at the carpet.

“You didn’t tell Erik I died? Jane.”

Darcy’s disappointment made Bucky’s heart sink. He shifted in his seat, wanting to offer her comfort but not knowing how. She’d told him about Dr Selvig before, the third part of their world saving science trio, and how she thought of him as - if not quite a father figure - perhaps a favorite mad uncle.

All space science people are mad, she’d told him, feet tucked up under her and a wistful smile on her face, Erik, Jane, me. I warn you it’s contagious.

He’d willingly let himself be infected if it meant spending even one night with her beneath the stars.

“I was scared he’d try and talk me out of trying to bring you back,” Jane admitted, wrapping her arms around her waist with a sigh, “and then when we found out Bucky could see you and Thor brought the Synsaramme down there was just so much to do I…”

Darcy reached out, patting Jane on the arm with a weary exhale.

“I gettit, Jane, I really do,” she said, “but the next time I die you are telling Erik.”

Darcy turned away, Steve reaching out to squeeze her hand as she passed. She offered him a silent smile, squeezing back for a split second before she returned to the couch. To him. She flopped down onto the cushion next to Bucky like there was no place else she could possibly sit.

The next time I die.

The words rattled like machine gun fire in his head as his stomach clenched, the pleasant fizz of intoxication turning sour as he leant forward without meaning too. A quick glance behind her showed that Thor had engaged Jane in conversation and Steve had turned to join them, leaving him and Darcy in their own little bit of silence. 

“No next times,” he told her in a low voice, her perfume mixing with the artificially sweet scent of whatever she’d been drinking and making his head spin, “never again.”

She blinked, her hair spilling over the arm he’d stretched behind her on the couch as she turned to eye him up.

“Oh, you are still talking to me,” she said in mock-surprise, “I wasn’t sure, y’know.”

“I… I didn’t want to intrude on the party,” he half-lied, feeling a muscle in his jaw tick as she got closer still, peering at him from far too close and making him feel absolutely transparent to her. Like she could see every selfish desire and desperately jealous instinct he’d ever had about her.

“Really? The party you set up for me?” She arched an eyebrow at him, her voice as quiet as his as a bubble formed around them on the couch, trapping them together as the rest of the world moved on without them, “You, James Buckaroo Barnes, are the king of mixed signals - you know that?”

He could see the slight glaze of intoxication in her eyes as she looked at him, her pupils wide behind her glasses as she pursed her lips. Soft lips. Full and warm and... 

“How d’you figure that?” He replied gruffly, clearly further gone on the space-wine than he thought as he found himself sliding closer. Needing to be closer to her even now, needing another word from her, a look… 

Another taste of salt and cherry lip balm. 

“For realsies? You organize this for me, you decorate and order all my favorite food, you come looking for me when you think I’m in trouble and hold my hand when I’m scared and you… and you y’know… in the lab,” she lowered her voice even further, poking him accusatorially in the chest before her fingers slipped away to toy with the strings of his hoodie, her face flushing rose pink as she sighed deeply, “and then we come up here and it’s like I really have turned invisible.”

“I didn’t want to assume anything,” he said, catching her hand as she moved to pull it away and trapping it in his.

“You wouldn’t have been,” she murmured back, the blush spreading up to her ears as her eyes dropped from his, suddenly unsure even as she tried to joke, “I don’t let just anyone kiss my face off, you know.”

He swallowed hard, shifting in his seat as his gaze flickered down to her mouth again, plump and pink and still slick with whatever ridiculous coloured drink she’d had in her cup.

“Yeah?” He wasn’t sure whose voice came out of him but it didn’t sound like his, too low and scratchy as he pulled her hand closer to his chest. He wondered if she could feel his heart beat like he could as it thrashed beneath his skin like a rabbit in a trap, trying desperately to break free from his ribs even now and lodge itself in her chest. She was it’s rightful owner after all.

“Mmhmm, only very special people have that honor…” she nodded, looking even more uncertain as she added, “and only if they want to, of course… if they don’t want to then that’s understable, and I fully respect their choices not to. If they don’t want to go there, that’s, well-”

“They do,” he cut her off, the words coming out in a heated rush as he nodded stupidly, like one of those dogs on a dashboard people had these days, “they most definitely want to go there. They can’t stop thinking about going there.”

Her eyes shot up, bright again as he cringed at his own honesty, not wanting to scare her away with just how much he wanted any scrap she’d give him. Then her lips parted, falling open in a shocked little ‘o’ it took every inch of his restraint not to immediately dive at. The memory of her velvet soft mouth short circuiting him as he re-lived their kiss again. And again. She was so close he could reenact it right here and now if he only-

“That… that’s good to hear,” she said breathlessly, her lips stretching into a slow smile and knocking what was left of his senses out of him, “and very much reciprocated by the other party. But only on one super important condition…”

She leant closer still, her legs pressed against his thigh and her shoulder nudging his. So close that he could feel her breath as she exhaled, warm and sweet as it fanned over him.

“Yeah?” He half-begged, knowing whatever her terms were he’d accept them. She could ask him to dress up like Santa Claus and dance in the middle of Times Square and he’d do it. With a goddamn smile.

“Only,” she teased, her lips brushing the shell of his ear when she spoke and setting his whole body on fire, “if they’re not too ashamed of me to hold my hand in public - ah! Antonio, you made it!”

She was gone in an instant, jumping up to meet Stark as he sauntered in with a bottle under his arm and his sunglasses still on. Bucky groaned quietly in his throat, the press of her body lingering against his, tattooed into every nerve and sinew and leaving him unable to do anything but flop his head back against the cushions weakly. 

Steve caught his gaze over the back of the couch as he got up to get another drink, a shit-eating grin on his face as he subtly tossed a cushion to him with a knowing look. Bucky caught it, heat burning in his face as he adjusted it over his lap with a huff.

She was going to be the death of him alright, but Jesus Christ what a way to go.

—-

Bucky Barnes had taken the hint.

Not that it had really been a hint, it was more of a brazen invitation to get close to her if he wanted to, which - Darcy was pleased to discover - apparently he did. 

She had been worried at first that he’d changed his mind about her after the whole make-out-session-in-the-medbay-thing - he’d drawn back from her first after all. Slipping into silence as the rest of them drank and ate and talked and drank some more. A shadow at the edge of the party until Jane appeared and outted her secret to the rest of them, along with the knowledge she’d kept Darcy’s death from one of her very few friends.

That had stung, but Darcy understood Jane’s reasons. She knew she should feel grateful for it too, if Erik had convinced her to drop the resurrection stint and Bucky had never turned up then… well, it wasn’t worth thinking about. Especially not at her re-birthday party.

Better to think of happier things. Like the way Bucky had murmured ‘they do, they most definitely want to go there’ when she’d asked him in her round about rambly sort of way if he was still interested in her after enough Dutch courage.

They can’t stop thinking about going there.

She’d just about slid off the goddamn couch when he’d said that, not to mention the sound of him outright groaning right there in the middle of the common room when she’d teased him with her comment about hand holding.

She’d been simmering on a low boil ever since, every touch and murmured whisper adding fuel to the flame as they danced around each other throughout the night. It was all innocent little things really, the press of his thigh against hers when she fell onto the couch, his arm around her shoulders, his fingers toying lightly with her hair as he joined in Steve’s stories at last and Thor’s drinking games 

His fingers lacing in hers where they rested against his leg, not ashamed to hold her hand in public after all.

At one point she’d convinced Steve to let them play with his shield, setting up a stack of plastic cups as a target and taking turns whizzing the thing about. When it was her turn Bucky had put his arms around her and she’d nearly combusted on the spot, every inch of her fizzing with awareness as she leant into his sturdy frame. A shaken up champagne bottle about to bust.

Of course when she’d actually made the throw she’d missed so badly she’d taken out a lamp. Stark threatened to bill her for it before he’d destroyed a picture frame and they called it all fair game.

The party went on like that into the early hours, becoming more and more unhinged until Steve passed out on the couch still giggling about some joke she didn’t understand but was apparently hilarious in the 40s. Tony went down shortly after, claiming to be the only unenhanced human man who could handle Asgardian Ale and ending up slumped on the floor beside him. Two down, Jane had taken it upon herself to drag Thor away mid song with a wink, having stayed long past her one drink promise.

Then it was just Darcy, the leftovers, and Bucky. 

"Are you going to take that one back to his room?" she asked softly, nodding her head towards a gently snoring Steve as she gathered up a handful of empty boxes. The alcohol made her bold, adding a little extra sway to her hips as she headed into the kitchenette, "Or should we let them be?"

“Leave ‘em,” he said as he followed her, dropping a handful of sticky cups next to the boxes on the counter. 

When she turned to look at him she found him much closer than was strictly necessary, the world narrowing down to the scant few inches between their bodies as she tilted her head up to look at him. 

“How about you, handsome?” She asked, breath hitching and betraying her cool facade as she reached up to brush his hair back from his face, “you heading to bed too?”

“Not tired,” his voice rumbled through her, more felt than heard as he braced his hands on either side of her, trapping her as she leant back against the counter, “you?”

“Hmmm,” she considered, fingers tracing along his cheekbone and down to the cleft in his chin, “I should be, it’s nearly 3am. Did you know it has a special name, 3am?”

“What’s that then?” He asked, breath warm and sweet with Asgardian wine as he exhaled the words against her skin.

“The devil’s hour,” she murmured, her hands dropping to his chest without her permission, “it’s the time that demons and devils… and ghosts… come out to play.”

“Ghosts, huh?” He was so close she could feel the heat from his body, his arms wrapping slowly around her waist and making her heart flutter, “and here’s me thinking you were back in the land of living.”

“Maybe I still need someone to convince me of it,” She said, the alcohol fueling her bravado as she leant up on her tiptoes, “got any ideas?”

His smirk made her toes curl in her shoes, his hand pressed flat to her spine as he closed the final few inches between them and kissed her again. The simmer finally coming to a boil.

—-

There could be no better feeling than this, to have her like everything soft and warm in his arms, the antidote to a world of sharp edges and cold steel as she met him in a kiss that had him groaning low in his throat, bent double just to taste her sweetness.

And God was it sweet. 

Cherry lip balm and the clashing flavors of whatever drink she’d last had flooded his senses, drowning him with the scent of vanilla and sweat and her. Even if he could remember being kissed before, surely the memories would vanish now, banished into insignificance by the press of her body against his and the way she moaned when his palms found her hips.

He’d been fantasizing about this moment from the second she’d left him high and dry on the couch, doing everything he could - in his own messed up way - to convince her he was as into it as she said she was.

Only if they’re not too ashamed of me to hold my hand in public.

That’s what she’d said, the words coming back to him in the wake of his lust as she went to greet Tony. How could she think it? How could anyone be ashamed of a girl like her? It'd be like winning the lottery and complaining about the cash.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pleasure lancing through his head and fracturing his thoughts as she drew his bottom lip gently between her teeth, “Darcy - I-”

It didn’t matter how good he felt, he couldn’t shake the thought off, his own inadequacy rising to the surface as he broke the kiss at last. Gasping for air as the edges of reality threatened him even now

“You sure… you sure you wanna be doing this with me?” He asked, breathing heavily as he drew back just far enough to see her face. Desperate for her to agree even as he knew he didn’t deserve it, not for a second. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” She replied, brow creasing as her fingers worked in his hair, pushing the loose strands back from his face with a tenderness that nearly broke him.

“Because…” he shook his head, the words tangling up in his throat as he tried to make sense, “you’re… you’re everything Darcy and I -”

“Am a very handsome man with a fantastic personality and great taste in TV shows?”

He pressed his forehead to hers, bent almost double as they shared air and he huffed out a laugh despite himself, “I’m a mess, doll, and God only knows I got nothing to offer you. No job, no life, a past not worth thinking about and no real future lined up either.”

Darcy could have her pick of the litter, why the hell would she want to waste her time with a broken soldier like him?

She sighed, the sound echoing through his chest as she pulled back, her hands falling to his shoulders and squeezing them gently. Her eyes were so dark he could barely see the blue in them as she tilted her head at him.

“Come on now, B,” she murmured, rocking back on her heels, “it’s not 1942 anymore, I have my own life and my own problems and the only thing I want from you is you. Besides… I don’t know if you’ve noticed but my plans have kinda been shot to hell recently.”

“Still-” he tried but she shushed him, reaching up to press a finger to his lips.

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen next, Bucky, I just… I know I’d prefer to be next to you when it does. If, and only if, that’s what you want too?”

“More than you’ll ever know,” he promised, grabbing her hand and kissing her palm. He’d stitch himself into her shadow if he could, orbit her until he broke apart or burst into flames - the bright star at the center of his new universe. 

He didn’t deserve her but she was here anyway. With him. And he was far too selfish to push her away, even if he knew deep down it would probably be better for her if he did. Instead he leant down, catching her face between his hands and watching her carefully as he leant back in to kiss her again. 

Her eyes fluttered closed as their lips met, it was softer this time, an act of reverence, of gratitude for all she’d done for him.

The sound she made almost undid him, a fluttering little sigh as her lips parted beneath his, her tongue sliding along the seam of his mouth in invitation. He couldn’t refuse, deepening the kiss as she stretched her body up against his, pulling him as close as their heights would allow. 

It wasn’t enough. Groaning low in his throat he felt himself moving before he could think better of it, scooping her up and setting her on the counter top.

“Mmm, better,” she grinned against his mouth before sinking back in for more as she twisted her hands in the neck of his shirt. 

The new angle made his blood sing in his veins, her thighs warm as he settled between them. His tender pace was lost, swallowed by his desperation as she pulled him closer still. She was everywhere, her body wrapped around his, her taste on his lips and her breath in his ears, driving him to distraction as he nipped at the full swell of her lip. Soothing it with a flick of his tongue when she gasped before sliding deeper into her mouth, thrusting hot and wet against her tongue as the ache inside him grew.

The part of his brain that would usually be protesting had been muted at last, letting him enjoy it like any other man might. Greedily. Desperately. His hands slid over the soft jersey of her leggings as he molded himself against her.

“Damn, I love being real again,” she laughed between kisses, the sound reverberating through him in a way he didn’t think was possible. It shivered inside of him, coiling low against his spine and forcing him to lock his hips lest he do something really embarrassing like start humping her leg like a goddamn dog. His jeans were already uncomfortably tight and growing tighter by the second. 

“So, you’re convinced you’re back then?” He asked against her jaw, kissing the softness just beneath her ear before leaning closer to taste the salt of her throat. He imprinted every sensation into his skull, burying it so deep even Hydra and all their machines couldn’t reach it if they tried.

“If I say yes will you stop?” She asked breathlessly, her nails scraping gently at his scalp as she ran her fingers through his hair and making something inside him purr.

“We don’t stop soon we might not stop at all,” he panted, drawing back at last so he could look at her again. Her hair was mussed, lips swollen and red as she ran her tongue over them. She was without question the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his entire worthless life.

“And that’s a bad thing... Why?” She asked coyly, her touch setting off fireworks beneath his skin as she walked her fingers down his chest to rest just above his hip bones. She smirked as she hooked her thumbs through his belt loops, tugging him closer and making him almost embarrass himself then and there.

Baseball. Soccer. He tried to think of anything but how warm she felt through his jeans, the friction of their bodies making stars burst behind his eyes every time she moved. He almost snorted at the thought, the feared Winter Soldier ready to blow his load from two kisses and a particularly wicked smile. 

“Because,” he huffed, “in my day you took a dame out on a date before you started getting fresh with her,” he hated himself even as he said it, every inch of him begging him to get closer to her even as he forced himself to draw back, “And you’re a gal who deserves to be wooed properly.”

“For real?” Her eyebrows shot up, face flushed pink as she let out a surprised laugh. 

“For real,” He nodded, voice low in his throat as he fought the urge to kiss her again. He’d waited almost a century for the girl, he could go another few days to make sure he did things right this time. To make sure she knew it wasn’t just physical, it was… she was… 

“Are you sure?” She teased him as he blinked at her stupidly, her hands slipping around his waist and squeezing his ass encouragingly.

“No?” He said, more question than answer as she drew him back into her, reaching up to press a deceptively chaste kiss to his lips. He groaned against her mouth, her warmth threatening to swallow the last of his self control, “No - I’m sure. God damn it, why am I sure? Fuck - no, you deserve a proper date, Darcy Lewis, at the very very least.”

She laughed for real then, kissing him quickly once more before she drew back to butt her forehead gently against his shoulder. 

“You are a real gentleman, you know that Bucky Barnes?” She said to his chest before looking up again with a hesitant grin, “so… is this your way of asking me out, then?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, licking his lips nervously and tasting her again, “please say you’ll go out with me.”

He’d never wanted anything more, he’d thought he was too far gone to hope after everything that had happened - but he was wrong. Hope had grown in him anyway, a fragile, fluttering thing that seemed to get stronger every day he spent with her. 

“I will,” she beamed, “of course I will - although…”

It was her turn to pull back, some of the pink fading from her cheeks as she looked away, biting at her kiss-swollen lip.

“What is it?” He pressed, hating the way her smile faltered. He wanted to smooth away the expression, to kiss it into a bad dream, but he held back, letting her speak instead as he ran his fingers gently through her hair.

“I, uh, I haven’t actually left the tower since all this happened,” she admitted to his shoulder, her hands dropping from his chest into her lap, “kinda been scared to… just in case, y’know .”

“Hey,” he said, gently lifting her chin so he could look her in the eye, “you’re not the only one. I haven’t gotten beyond the lobby since I got here.”

For better or worse they’d both become trapped in their safe little bubble. The idea of breaking it alone terrified him, but if he was with her… well, anything seemed possible.

“So we’ll start small, then?” She asked, “There’s a coffee shop on level five overlooking Park Avenue or… or Bryant Park is about two blocks from here, if you wanna see if we can make it that far?”

“Friday?” He replied, catching her hands and slipping his fingers between hers again. Their fingers fitting together like puzzle pieces.

“Eager beaver,” she grinned, squeezing his hand and smiling at him far too innocently for a girl who’d kissed him like she had, “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Not as much as I am,” He heard himself growl, literally growl, the sound rumbling through him as he swept down in one final kiss that made her squeak. The feeling of it seared into him before he pulled away completely, stepping back to a safe distance.

If he didn’t stop now he wouldn’t stop at all, for all his bright ideas and good intentions.  

Chapter Text

Darcy wanted to announce her presence to the world loudly and with feeling, overwhelmed with the urge to sing out:

‘ Hello all, I made out with Bucky Barnes’ face last night and would have ridden him like the Matterhorn at Disneyland if he hadn’t been a gentleman about things. Still, we’re going on a date tomorrow and everyone should knooooow!”

However, well aware her audience might still be a little hungover from the night before, she bit her tongue instead, going for the much more sedate, “What’s up, Janey?” As she moseyed into the lab just after lunch time.

It was supposed to be her day off but she knew Jane would want to get a head start on the ‘ super ’ stuff. Something that was confirmed by the slew of messages she’d started receiving a little after ten am. Jane wheedling at her with potential ideas and theories and the plans she was already putting in place until Darcy caved and offered to head down to the lab.

“Darcy,” Jane greeted her, smiling over the rim of a very black cup of coffee, “You look cheerful today, I take it you weren’t too hungover?”

“Pah!” She waved the comment away with the gameshow host worthy smile she hadn’t been able to shake since she woke up, “hangovers are for babies, a couple of aspirin and a bottle of lukewarm lemonade will work every time. How about you, Thor’s Hammer knock the headache from ya?”

“Why,” Jane asked with a knowing smirk, “did you finally finish thawing out your soldier after the incident in the medlab?”

Woo doggy, what an incident that had been! One of the scariest moments of her life morphing into something beautiful and special and delicious. Like a very horny caterpillar transforming into an equally horny butterfly.

“Alas no, as much as I tried,” she sighed airily, dropping her bag on the side, “he wants to take me on a date first. Speaking of which, I’m gonna need to clock off early tomorrow boss, I need to have a crisis over the contents of my wardrobe.”

“Really?” Jane blinked, giving her a surprised grin, “he wants to take you out first? That’s so sweet.”

“It’s a whole ass diabetic coma worth of sweet,” Darcy agreed, surprised her feet were still on the ground when she felt so much like floating, “but still - if I had balls they’d be so blue right now I could stand on my head and camouflage them as the sky.”

“And there goes the sweetness,” Jane snorted, closing down whatever she’d been working on on the monitor, “with that vivid image let’s get started, shall we?”

“Already?” Darcy protested, pulling off her scarf and beanie and piling them on the side, “no foreplay, Janey?”

“Please get him into bed soon,” she groaned, setting her keyboard aside, “I can’t take more than an afternoon of Darcy sex jokes.”

“Excuse me for being happy,” she grinned, “speaking of! I was thinking right - so I am making progress with a guy, and you already have a guy, and Tony has Pepper - who, let's be honest, is better than most guys. Do you think we should try and set Steve up with someone, go for the full team?”

“Like who?” Jane asked as she rose from her chair, taking a final sip of her coffee before setting the cup aside, “we don’t know anyone.”

“I dunno,” she shrugged, mentally going through her very short list of acquaintances in the area, “Oh - what about Doc Harris, is she single?”

With her sleek auburn bob and effortlessly chic doctoral fashion she was smart and pretty, plus she’d been a total sweetheart when it came to helping Darcy with not only getting her body back but readjusting after it too. Excellent bedside manners, nice smile, whole ass MD, she made for a first class candidate. 

“Selena?” Jane frowned, apparently first in the know that ‘Doctor’ wasn’t actually Doc Harris’s first name, “no idea, she could be married for all I know.”

“Wait, you’ve spent a massive part of the last two months working with this woman day and night, and you don’t even know if she’s married or not?” 

“It never came up,” Jane shrugged, “we mostly just talk about work.”

“Jeez, if Thor hadn’t locked you down already I’d be trying to set you up with her,” Darcy laughed, “you sound like nerdy soulmates.”

“She is a very competent doctor with a fine scientific mind,” Jane said primly, “now, if we could focus please? I’d like to get a start on figuring out how to control your abilities before you phase out on Bucky in the middle of a make out session.”

“Well that’s going to haunt me,” Darcy replied a little too honestly, the visual threatening to send her into a panic spiral even as she stuck her smile back on, “but, I can’t argue with the logic - let’s do this!”

Whether she fully believed Jane’s assessment about her ‘abilities’ or not, she was determined to do this training thing anyway. If she could control it she could stop it, if she could stop it she could get back to her life before. She could be normal again.

“Right, if you could stand over there please,” Jane pointed a finger to the other corner of the lab where a space had already been cleared and another ‘x’ duct taped to the floor, “that’s right, I just need a sec-”

Darcy, well versed in the art of standing on marks, took her place - exceptionally glad there were no lasers, machines or other high tech nightmares pointed at her this time. As far as she could see it was just an empty corner. Nudging the lighter spot of the floor where the desk usually sat with the toe of her shoe, she waited for Jane to join her, her favorite brainiac apparently having lost whatever it is she needed already.

“Hang on-“ she huffed, digging around under a desk for a moment, “I just got this this morning where did I - aha here it is!”

“If it’s a laser I’m out of here,” Darcy told her straight as Jane dragged a large black duffel bag across the lab to the table set up two feet from where she was standing, “I have been zapped more times than a braindead moth with a porch light.”

“No lasers, I promise,” Jane chuckled, digging around inside the bag, “ready?”

“For what exactly? I mean what are you going to- AH WHAT THE HELL! ” Darcy squealed, darting out of the way as Jane pulled out a massive blue plastic gun-thing and started firing tennis balls at her indiscriminately.

“Stay on the X please Darcy,” Jane said with a mischievous grin, reloading the thing and cocking it loudly, “and remember - this is for science.”

—-

Friday came around way too fast for Bucky, and then all of a sudden, not fast enough at all. 

There were a full two hours left until he was supposed to meet Darcy for their date and he had officially run out of things to distract himself with.

He’d hit the gym, taken a shower, remembered making out with Darcy on the kitchen counter, taken a colder shower, done some digital reconnaissance on the local area including exits, entries and possible sniper nests, hit the gym again, and taken a third shower. 

He was as clean as he was gonna get, using the blow dryer in the bathroom for the first time in an effort to get his hair in a more presentable condition. The over-expensive conditioner from the first floor drug store seemed to make it shinier at least, and the even more expensive aftershave smelt better than the free soap he’d been using recently. He had like twenty bucks left in his supplies, hopefully it was enough to take a girl out in the twenty-first century, but if he wanted to keep it up he’d have to figure something else out soon.

With his skill set and resume it would be bank robbery or mob enforcement most likely, but he’d happily settle for a job at a fast food joint if he got lucky and they didn’t ask for ID. 

Stepping into the common room in search of Steve, he smiled when he saw one of the ghosts still taped up. Someone had drawn an eyepatch and glasses on it, but it was still hovering regardless. He was admiring the handiwork when the elevator pinged and heavy footsteps headed towards him.

Not Darcy from the weight of them, which meant either Steve or… 

“Ah Bucky, a fine day to you! I was hoping to find you here, my friend.”

Thor. 

“What’s up?” He asked, nodding his head as he turned. He’d warmed up to the Space Viking a little when he hadn’t made any further moves on his girl, seeming content with the current members of his cult after all.

“Might I trouble you for a word?” Thor tossed his hair, the sun shining off the gold of it and nearly blinding him. Maybe he should have gone for a more expensive over-expensive conditioner after all.

“Uh… sure?” He agreed, tucking his hair behind his ear self consciously before shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Wonderful,” Thor clapped him on the back, making Bucky stumble as he shovelled him further into the room, “by the window perhaps? A little more private, and such a charming view of your city.”

“Okay.” He let himself be led, confusion rising as he tried to figure out what he’d done to necessitate a private chat with the guy.

“So,” Thor began, peering down at him with uncharacteristic seriousness, “am I to understand that you intend to, or indeed have started to, court the Lady Darcy?”  

Ah. That then.

Straightening up sharply at the question, Bucky regarded the other man suspiciously, “you understand right.”

He felt himself bristling immediately, hands fisting in readiness to defend the budding relationship. Whatever Thor had to say it couldn’t be any worse than the things Bucky had already said to himself, and anyway - it was none of his goddamn business. Darcy was a grown woman and he was a grown man, the alien could butt the hell out of it.

“Then it is a joyous day indeed, surely you make a most auspicious match,” the furrow between Thor’s eyes vanished, face breaking into an impossibly white toothed smile as he beamed at Bucky like it was the best news he’d ever heard, “let me be the first to wish you every luck and felicitation for the success of your relationship.”

Bucky’s fight response wobbled, blasted by the force of Thor’s smile and twinkling blue eyes as the space man held his hand out to him.

“Thanks?” He said, pulling his hand from his pocket only for it to be immediately engulfed by two of Thor’s. Thor clasping it close and shaking it like he was trying to uproot a tree.

“Not at all, Darcy has been like a sister to me in my time on Earth, and I shall be pleased to call you brother” he cheered, “although - as a brother - I must say, and only with the best of intentions you understand,” Thor’s grip tightened, eyes turning razor sharp as he leant in close, “if you were ever to bring harm to her, in any way, I would be forced to cut off your manhood, crush it beneath the full weight of Mjolnir’s fury, and feed what remained to the mighty goats of the Valharden plains.”

Bucky winced, bones creaking under the sudden pressure as he found himself wishing he’d used his other hand instead. He saw a flash of another life where he was the one on the threatening side, his sister’s new beau on the other side of the cramped kitchen table and his daddy’s old shotgun between them - where he’d just so happened to be ‘cleaning’ it when the punk showed up.

Karma might have been late but it never missed him entirely.

“I-” gripping Thor’s wrist with his left hand, he felt the servos whine as he pried his right hand loose at last, “-have no intention of harming her.”

“Of course not,” Thor said with a telling gleam in his eye, “or else our conversations should not be so pleasant, and the goats… well, they would be much better fed. Anyway!”

Just like that the threatening look vanished, his expression breaking like the sun from between the clouds into a look of enthusiastic cheer.

“Now that we have spoken as men I must away,” Thor chuckled, giving Bucky another tremendous slap on the back before turning away, “if you’ll excuse me, I have errands to run for Jane. Safe travels, my brother!”

Bucky glared after him, rubbing the throbbing space between his shoulder blades as he noticed Steve for the first time. Thor gave him a cheerful greeting as they passed, the aura of menace gone like it had never been there at all.

“What was that about?” Steve asked, looking after Thor quizzically as he hefted the plastic bag he was carrying further up his arm, “looked intense.”

“I’m pretty sure I just got the big brother talk from Thor,” Bucky said, still staring into the middle distance, “he threatened to feed my balls to a goat if I hurt Darcy.”

“Huh,” Steve followed his gaze for a moment before nodding, “makes for a nice twist on the classic. You always just used a shotgun and the threat of the river.”

“Hey- whose side are you on here?” Bucky turned back, shooting Steve a disgruntled look as he straightened himself up. 

“Yours obviously, why else would I come bearing gifts?” Steve waved the bag he was carrying, thunking it down on the side table before starting to rummage through it, “first up some civilian wear, I am sure you won’t get recognised but I thought, y’know, it might make you feel more comfortable just in case.”

He pulled out a dark ball cap and a pair of sunglasses, setting them on the side in front of him. Bucky hadn’t been in the news much since Washington, his pardon coming in under the radar before they’d moved to the tower - thanks, he knew, to Steve’s intervention. The powers that be had wanted to make a song and dance about the ‘rescued war hero held captive by Hydra’s evil ’ but he’d been spared it, Steve had spent too much time as the government’s poster boy to wish the same on anyone else.

Especially when Bucky hadn’t felt much like a human, never mind a hero. 

“Thanks, man,” Bucky said, reaching for the cap and pulling it on. He couldn’t help but glance at his reflection in the glass of the nearest picture frame, checking it didn’t ruffle his hair.

“Secondly,” Steve pulled out a black case, cracking it open to reveal six knives of various sizes with matching sheaves, “ a little something for self defense - as requested.”

“Shit, perfect,” Bucky swore quietly, slipping one from the foam and weighing it in his hand. The blades were blackened to prevent unnecessary shine, the polycarbonate grips fitting perfectly into his palm. It had been months since he’d last held one and yet it felt like seconds, the blade becoming a natural extension of himself as he flipped it easily into the air, “thanks again, Steve.”

He swung it a few times just to prove he still could before replacing it in the case, already mentally fitting each of the blades beneath his clothes for the best reach. The bubble of anxiety in his stomach eased a little with their presence, at least now if something did go wrong he’d be able to do something about it. 

Darcy was a little safer with him.

“And last but not least here,” Steve kept going, Bucky looking up in surprise as he reached into the very bottom of the bag and produced a brown leather wallet, handing it over with a shrug, “you can’t take a girl out on buttons and goodwill alone, you taught me that.”

“Steve…” he flipped the wallet open, finding two crisp fifty dollar bills and a debit card and driver's license with his name on it, if not the right birth year, “are these…?”

“Real enough,” Steve grinned, “the license is a little…  creative, although Stark insists it’ll pass, but the bank’s kosher. Consider it long overdue payback for the years you let me live rent free on your couch, along with some army backpay, of course.”

“I can’t…” Bucky looked down at the little plastic cards, the first proof he existed outside of history books and mission reports for decades.

“Sure, you can,” Steve said, slugging him in the arm, “it’s not much but it’ll tide you over until you get on the Avenger payroll - that is, if you still want to help with the Hydra hunts and all?”

“I do,” he nodded firmly, the thought had stuck with him since he’d first brought it up, just waiting for the right time to approach it again with Steve, “I want to help, pay or no.”

“Good,” Steve said, crumpling the bag up, “we start tomorrow at noon, that is if you’ve got the stamina left come morning. Now go buy your girl some flowers or something, gotta show up correct.”

“That’s still a thing, right?” Bucky asked with a weary smile, “flowers?”

“The world hasn’t changed that much, Buck,” Steve laughed.

Bucky just raised an eyebrow at his old friend, “A space viking just threatened to feed my junk to goats , Steve, the world has changed plenty.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Steve grinned, slapping him on the back and making him wince again, “now go get yourself gussied up already, can’t leave a lady waiting.”

“This isn’t gussied?” He asked self consciously, looking down at his date outfit with a wince, “damnit, be right back.”

Steve’s laughter followed him down the hall, making him scowl and smile at the same time. Space Vikings and goats aside, worrying about looking good for his girl and not screwing up on a date felt good. It felt… normal.  

—-

Defying every known experience in her life, Darcy was ready a full twenty minutes earlier than Bucky was due to pick her up.

She had scrubbed, buffed, shaved, plucked, trimmed, quaffed, moisturized and perfumed every spare inch of herself in preparation.  A full forty five minutes had been spent curling her hair alone, and that was before the make up, the make up removal, the make up reapplication and a full seven different outfit changes.

Even the apartment was as close to spotless as she’d ever gotten it, everything even slightly embarrassing hidden away in her closet or under the bed. The sheets had been changed, the pillows plumped, and the emergency box of Trojans in the nightstand checked for use by date - she hadn’t needed them since she’d gotten her implant (and her love life had dried up in favor of science) but it never hurt to have some extra protection on hand - just in case.

Bucky Barnes was a gentleman, he had proved that already in spades, if she did get lucky enough to woo him back into her apartment for the night there was no way in hell she was losing out on it because of any old fashioned ideas he might have about birth control. 

Adjusting the brightly coloured crochet quilt on the end of the bed in an effort to make it look more like something she’d seen on pintrest once, Darcy scanned the apartment again before checking the clock. Five minutes.

Damn it. 

Heading back to the bathroom she had a last minute pee she didn’t need and spent as long as possible checking her teeth and lipstick in the mirror. She was in the midst of giving her armpits a just-in-case sniff test when the doorbell went at last.

How was it she could feel so relieved and overwhelmed at the same time? She’d been waiting for ages and yet it all suddenly felt far too soon as she slung her jacket over her arm and headed for the door.

“Right on time,” she said as she swung the door open, praying her hands weren’t as sweaty as they felt, “hey!”

Jesus Christ on a bicycle he was good looking. She almost couldn’t believe her luck as she drew her gaze over him, the broad shoulders and strong thighs, the perfect jaw line and pouty mouth and those eyes. He was effortlessly casual in his black leather jacket with the burgundy hoodie underneath, his hair enticingly soft beneath the ball cap he wore and a look of surprise on his face.

“ Wow .”

She waited, biting at her lip whilst his mouth moved but nothing else came out.

“Good wow or bad wow?” She asked as the silence held, toying nervously with her ends of her hair as she waited for his assessment.

She’d gone for the button up dress in the end, the deep red color matching her favorite lipstick and showing off a hopefully enticing-without-being-scandalous amount of cleavage. Three rounds with her accessory drawer had seen it cinched at the waist with a black belt that matched her leggings and finished with the boots with the low heels and a slouchy beanie she’d had to pin carefully in place so as not to disrupt her curls.

Should she have gone for the dressy gray top instead with the pencil skirt? Or the blue skate dress with the-

“Good wow,” he interrupted her silent panicking, his adam's apple bobbing as he looked up and met her gaze again, “Very good wow, you look...”

Shit, she was blushing already and they hadn’t even gotten off her doorstep. The urge to jump him was almost physical forcing her to clench her hands and purse her lips so she didn’t start grinning like a psychotic Cheshire Cat. 

“I’m going to take that dangling sentence as a compliment,” she said as normally as she was able to, hefting her jacket higher up her arm, “and say you look very handsome yourself, I do so love me a man in a leather jacket.”

Especially that one. Especially on him.

“You do?” He looked down at himself in surprise like he’d forgotten he was wearing clothes at all, which was a thought she was not pursuing. Not if she wanted to get out of the tower without completely embarrassing herself by drooling on him.

“Very sexy,” she assured him before noticing the bundle of flowers he was carrying, the stems half-crushed in his hand but the blooms beautiful and bright anyway, “Are those for me or are you meeting someone else I don’t know about?” 

“Huh?” He held them up, looking adorably confused for a second before he thrust them towards her, “oh, yeah they’re for you, I’ve been reliably informed it’s still the done thing when taking a beautiful girl out.”

The blush worsened, so much blood in her face she was scared she’d get a nosebleed and kill the night before it even started. She could feel her heartbeat in her cheeks, his awkwardness somehow calming her and ruining her all at once. 

How one person could be so panty-droppingly gorgeous and heart-rendingly cute was beyond her. 

“You were told right,” she managed without wheezing, taking them from him carefully and inhaling the sweet scent. There were red roses mixed with pink carnations and falls of sweet yellow honeysuckle, alongside a load of other flowers she didn’t know the names of but smelt just as good, “I love them, thank you.”

Reaching up on her toes she kissed him chastely on the cheek, the subtle friction of his neatly trimmed stubble against her lips almost making her brain fritz out entirely. Excusing herself quickly on the excuse of putting them inside, she took several deep breaths, made a mental note to put them in water when she got back, and stepped back into the hall with her knees only shaking a little.

“So - you ready to go, handsome?”

“I think I am,” the corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided smile as he held his arm out for her, “shall we?”

Tucking her hand through the crook of his elbow she couldn’t keep but grinning, a bright, hopeful feeling she never wanted to lose bubbling up inside her as she nodded, “let’s.”

Chapter Text

The air outside the tower was surprisingly fresh for the center of the city, or maybe it was its novelness that felt so good. The conflicting scents and sounds of street vendors and pedestrians washed over Darcy as she breathed it all in, making her almost dizzy beneath the late afternoon sky.

Bucky was tense beside her, his arm tight around around her shoulders, only half his attention on the here and now as his eyes kept a watchful gaze on their surroundings. She couldn’t blame him, she wasn’t entirely immune to it either. He looked for his enemies in the shadows, but hers felt like they were wrapped around her ribs. An invisible elastic band stretched from her chest to the tower that grew tauter and tauter with every step she took. 

I’m not gonna fade, she reminded herself, not unless someone throws a tennis ball at me again. I’m here. I’m real. I’m with him.

She leant into Bucky’s side, his presence grounding her as they passed by groups of tourists and busy busy business people heading home from work. He was solid and real against the uncertainty inside of her, keeping her feet on the ground as they approached the steps up to the park.

Passing beyond the wrought iron railings, Darcy felt her heart catch in her throat as their footsteps slowed. It was leafy and quiet and the air smelt like flowers when she finally breathed it in.

Bryant park wasn’t the biggest in New York City by a long shot but it was still lush and green in the low sun, the trees blocking out most of the sound of the city as people relaxed beneath them. Dog walkers and joggers made their lazy rotations around the wide lawn, its surface only broken by a few picnicking families and wandering couples enjoying the view. 

Like them.

The tension in her chest finally broke, the elastic band falling slack between her ribs as she let herself exist outside of the tower once more.

They were here. They had made it.

“Look at us getting the whole way here without having a breakdown or anything, good job team” she said, breaking the silence they’d shared since they left the lobby as she looked up at him, “how’re you doing up there, B?”

He looked better at least, not quite as clenched up. The deep crease that had formed between his brows had smoothed out and the muscle in his jaw no longer twitching as he met her gaze. 

 “Good,” he said on an exhale, the corner of his mouth quirking up just a fraction in a self-conscious little smile as he reached up with his free hand to tuck his hair behind his ear, “nice to be out.”

“I’m certainly not complaining,” she winked, nudging him with her shoulder, “especially not about the company.”

“Sweet talker,” he murmured, expression lightening even further as his arm lost its death-grip around her shoulders, slipping away to hold her hand instead. He was wearing gloves despite the pleasant autumn weather, the leather buttery soft and warm against her skin. 

She’d noticed recently that he preferred holding her hand with his right side, the non-prosthetic one, not that she said anything. If it made him more comfortable she was all for it, she just hoped he didn’t think she saw a difference. She’d happily take any hand he offered her. Any time, anywhere.

“So,” she said, shaking off the thought and hitting him with her brightest smile, “you wanna do a lap of the park and maybe grab some coffee or…?” 

She let the sentence dangle, content to do as much or as little as he liked. If they turned around right then and there she’d still count it as a triumph, both of them facing their fears together like grown up adult people. 

“Sounds good to me,” Bucky nodded, adjusting his ball cap and rolling out his shoulders as the last of the tension seemed to leave him, “you’re the expert - y’know, I don’t think I ever even made it this far up town in my day.”

He looked around curiously. The low sun bounced off the skyscrapers and turned the skyline gold, making his eyes bluer than ever in contrast as he tilted his head and took in the view.

“You’re from Brooklyn right?” She asked, trying not to lose her thinking ability to his jawline as she looked up at him. He was what the word ‘jawgasmic’ had been invented for after all, “like Steve?”

“Born and raised, to my knowledge anyway,” he shrugged, glancing down at her with an easy smile that made her heart stutter like a speed boat engine starting up, “how about you?”

“Philly,” she said, her turn to shrug as she did her best to look like a normal casual human being who didn’t blush like a schoolgirl at a single smile, “well, a small town like an hour away from it that no one’s ever heard of. It’s a one Walmart kinda place - got nothing on here that’s for sure.”

The truth was most people couldn’t find it on a map even if they’d been there before. It was absolute suburbia, so perfectly forgettable that even she sometimes forgot she’d been raised there.

So much of her life had been spent on the move it was easy to forget she’d ever stayed in one place longer than a year or two. First it had been West Virginia for Culver, then New Mexico with Jane, then Norway, London, New York… she’d seen more of the world than any girl from a town like hers could reasonably hope to. 

“You ever go back there?” He asked, squeezing her hand and making her blush all over again.

“Only to check on my Grandma’s house - well, my house now I suppose, although I don’t think I’ll ever think of it like that. I rent it out these days mostly, although I’m pretty sure the last guy’s lease ended whilst I was RIP,” damn it, there was something else she’d forgotten in the recent chaos, still she wouldn’t let it ruin the night, turning the conversation back to him instead, “How about you, ever feel like checking out your old stomping ground?”

“I don’t think so,” he looked to the skyline again for a long moment, “I don’t know if I’ll ever get all the memories of it back, I don’t even know if I really want to anymore. I’ve seen how it gets to Steve - how the world has changed I mean. I think maybe right now it’s better just to look forward instead.”

Well that put her problems in perspective. It was all too easy sometimes to forget the unbearable amount of suffering he’d gone through, Steve too. The fact they were both still here, still friends, still going astounded her. She hoped one day she’d have even a shred of that strength.

“Wise and handsome,” she said aloud, tucking her feelings away as she swung their hands between them and smiled at him, “I did get lucky.”

“Y’know, saying that,” he said, pulling her closer as a jogger passed them on the path, “I wouldn’t mind seeing Coney Island again, had some good times there.”

“I’ve never been,” she replied, unable to look away from him even with the threat of close passing runners, “I always wanted to see it but never quite got round to it what with work and all.”

“Second date maybe?” He offered, “or third or fourth…?”

“When we haven’t even finished the first?” She said with a dramatic gasp, pressing her free hand to her chest with a grin, “Why Bucky Barnes, presumptuous much?”

“I live in hope,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up in a self-conscious little smile, “that is if I don’t screw this up too bad and scare you off for good.”

“Impossible,” she promised with absolute sincerity, “you couldn’t scare me off if you tried. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now, B.” 

“So I am on track to get another date then?” He grinned, thumb rubbing over the back of her hand and making her stomach flip like a trained dolphin.

“And another and another…” she agreed breathlessly, an idea forming as she spotted the carousel ahead, its lights twinkling invitingly beneath the darkening sky, “although… if you want to get a head start on the fairground fun…”

Checking his expression and finding it open, she tugged on his hand, pulling him towards the sound of old fashioned organ music.

“Really?” He asked, a surprised smile catching at his mouth as he saw where she was headed, letting himself be led towards the carousel as it spun lazily beneath the trees.

“It’ll be fun,” she beamed, butterflies dancing in her stomach as he laughed at her enthusiasm. He was so handsome like this it almost hurt to look at him, the tension gone from his face as his eye teeth caught on his lip as he smiled.

“Come on then, doll,” he agreed with a shake of his head, lengthening his stride to catch up with her, “let’s make some memories.”

—-

By the time they made it back to the tower Bucky could barely believe his feet were still on the ground.

The darkness hadn’t overwhelmed him, like he feared it would, present but not all consuming as they ventured beyond the walls of their tower and into the unexpected greenery in the heart of Manhattan. 

She’d paid for the carousel ride before he could stop her, dragging him up the steps laughing and pushing him towards an intricately painted white horse 

‘There,’ she’d said, the coloured bulbs turning her into something from a dream, ‘my knight in shining armor has his white charger at last.”

He’d smiled like an idiot, his heart looping in time with the ride as she perched on the horse next to him, their arms stretched across the gap, fingers still linked as the music washed over them.

Afterwards they’d watched the sun set behind the skyscrapers, his head still spinning from carousel rides and quick kisses under trees lit with fairy lights. He’d never thought he’d be capable of feeling such joy again, he still almost couldn’t believe it now, but the proof was right there. Her hand still warm in his.

“So we went on a date,” she said as they headed down the identikit corridor of the science apartments, her hand swinging in his. 

“We did,” he agreed, unable to look away from her as the fluorescents danced over her. Her hat was askew, the cascade of curls rumpled and her cheeks flushed from the night air.

God, she was beautiful.

“A pretty great one, I have to say, the carousel, the coffee, watching you fight a pigeon to protect my dinner…”

“He started it,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up at the memory, “swoopin’ in out of nowhere and trying to ruin the night.”

They’d sat at one of the cafe tables, his back to a wall and his eyes aware of everything even as he tangled himself up in her laughter. She told him about her childhood, her time at college, her adventures with Jane, and her battles with aliens. He told her everything he could remember and some things he almost couldn’t. Falling in and out of happy arguments about books and music and anything else they could think of until long after the coffee ran out and they decided to stay for dinner as well.

The cost of a slice in the twenty-first century made his head spin but it was worth it to see her licking sauce from her fingers with her cat-like smile. So worth it he’d punted a pigeon straight across the park when it tried to swoop them, reacting on instinct at the incoming threat. 

He’d been so fucking embarrassed when he’d realized what he’d done, freezing in his seat as she stared at him silently - convinced it would change her mind about him at last. Prove he was too unstable. Too violent. Instead she’d started laughing so hard she almost choked, reaching over and kissing him then and there while she was still gasping for air.

“You are a brave and valiant protector,” she grinned, pulling him out of his daze as she stopped in front of her door, “so, good date, great pigeon victory, and now look… you’ve walked me all the way back to my apartment.”

Her back was to the door, eyes looking up through her lashes at him as her hand slipped out of his to trace up the inside of his forearm. He wondered if she could feel his pulse through the layers of fabric, his heart thundering like a faulty machine as he leant into her. A hunger that had nothing to do with dinner surged through him at the colour in her cheeks and the coy expression on her face.

“Of course,” he said, voice low and rough as he braced his left arm against the door and brushed a knuckle under her chin, “I’m a gentleman, remember?”

“The very best gentleman,” she agreed, coiling her fingers in his collar and pulling him closer. Her lips brushed his for a painfully fleeting moment, sweet and chaste before she released him again with a teasing look, “and now you’ve kissed me goodnight.”

“Not yet I haven’t,” He growled, fingers firming against her face as he pulled her back to him and kissed her again. Properly. Like he’d been imagining kissing her all night.

He took his time, drawing out every breath and brush of his lips against hers, needing it to last forever as he tasted her. His hand dropped to her waist, slipping beneath her jacket to pull her closer until she was flush against him, moulding against his body like she was made for him. She moaned, the sound spreading like wildfire through his veins as he explored the soft heat of her mouth.

“Oh,” she gasped as he drew back at last to breathe, her cats-eye glasses at an angle and her pupils blown wide, “okay, now you’ve kissed me goodnight. So, uh… I was thinking…”

Her chest rose as she inhaled, the strip of bare skin flushed pink and absolutely enticing above the buttons of her dress.

“Yes?” He pressed when the sentence dangled, hanging desperately on her every word as she licked her lips and killed off whatever brain cells were still functioning in his head.

“Can I invite you in now?” Her hand hesitated against the collar of his jacket, toying with the fabric nervously as she looked up at him, “if you want to? No pressure at all if not, tonight has been perfect either way, so if you-”

“Yes.” 

Her face brightened, a quick exhale of relief leaving her parted lips as she stroked her fingers up the side of his neck.

“Yes I can invite you in?” She asked more confidently now, her eyes flickering to his mouth and back again and making him want to groan, “or yes you want to come in?”

“Yes,” he couldn’t keep from kissing her again, not when she was so close. Hungry, desperate kisses that made him forget how to breathe as he grabbed at her hips, slipping his hands back to palm her ass through the ridiculously silky fabric of her dress.

“Bucky,” she was breathing hard as they broke apart, his name never sounding more right than when she said it, “do you want to come in?”

“Yes.”

—-

Oh god it was happening. it was happening. it was happening!

Bucky Barnes was kissing her like she had the antidote to everything that ailed him hidden beneath her tongue. She’d managed to kick her boots off at the door, nearly tearing a chunk of her own hair out as she cast aside her hat with her bag and scarf. Her jacket was next, his hands already warm beneath it, electrifying her through the thin silk of her dress as she tossed it to the side. 

Skin or metal, her body didn’t seem to care, a fire catching every place he touched and threatening to burn her alive before she’d even gotten his shirt off.

“Too many layers,” she managed to whine between kisses, making him laugh into her skin as his hoodie hit the floor along with his leather jacket.

Her fingers caught on his shoulders, tangled in some kind of strap that made her draw back in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Shit,” he swore, pulling away from her and reaching for whatever it was, “just a sec.”

She followed him, curiosity and lust mingling low in her belly as she watched him unhook some sort of harness thing from his broad shoulders. It clinked as he set it down on the top of her dresser, too small to be a gun holster but… 

“Knives?” She asked, eyes widening as she caught sight of the two large blades in their sheathes. 

“I wanted to keep you safe,” he murmured, dark hair spilling into his face as he unclipped three more blades from his belt. Butterflies dancing inside of her as he bent to pull one final knife from his boot before adding it to the neat little row.

“Six knives?” She teased, ducking under his arm and pulling his attention back to her as she pressed up to kiss the spot just beneath his jawline.

The fact he was so prepared to protect her made her heart sing, even as the last part of her mind not entirely lost to lust realized just how lucky that pigeon had been, all things considered. Pulling her glasses off she laughed as she placed them carefully next to his little line up of weaponry. 

“Very safe,” he said, arms slipping around her and guiding her away from the dresser as he nipped at her mouth, “can’t be too careful these days.”

“Speaking of being careful,” she said, running her hands up his chest and stopping over his heart as she let a moment of seriousness break through the all consuming fantasy that was seducing Bucky Barnes, “I meant it when I said tonight was perfect, B, I don’t want to ruin that by pushing you into going further than you’re comfortable with. However much or little you want out of this is exactly what I want, babe.”

Despite the absolutely panty-destroying kisses she still had enough sense left in her to give him an out, she’d give him a thousand outs if he wanted them. With all he’d been through in his life the last thing she wanted was to become another selfish bastard using his body without regard for his say in the matter. His agency was everything to her - when they did anything, if they did anything, she wanted it to be because he wanted to do it as much as she did… not because he felt like he had to. 

“I want this, doll, way too much,” he said, chucking her under the chin with his knuckle as he met her gaze with those intense blue-gray eyes of his, “although I can’t promise I’ll be much good at it, I’m not even sure how much I remember.”

“It’s like falling off a log,” she promised, looking up at him almost shyly as her face flushed, “do the stuff that feels nice, skip the stuff that feels bad, if you decide you wanna call a halt at any point you just say the word.”

“You’d really be okay with me just running out on you like that?” He crooked an eyebrow at her, arms winding tighter around her waist as he leant into her.

“Sure,” she shrugged, toying with the neckline of his shirt, “I mean I’ll have to take like twelve cold showers or something to keep from spontaneously combusting, but for you - it’s worth it.”

“Damn I got lucky finding you, Darcy Lewis,” he said, sweeping down to kiss her again and leaving her dizzy.

“Ditto,” she half gasped, half laughed, the fabric of his shirt bunched in her hand, “now… would you feel comfortable taking your shirt off? If I said pretty, pretty pretty please?”

She’d been thinking, scratch that - fantasizing - about it for an embarrassingly long time. The image still stuck behind her eyelids every time she was falling asleep with all his buff, beautiful manliness. 

“Whatever the lady wants,” He grinned, eyes sparkling with a distinctly wicked look as he grabbed the hem of his shirt and undershirt at the same time and pulled them off in one go, “the lady gets.”

“The lady is gonna pass out,” she managed to squeak, eyes threatening to bug right out of her head as she stared at the absolutely solid unit of man flesh than was Bucky shirtless, “would it be inappropriate to say hubba hubba right now?”

“You do wonderful things to a man’s ego, doll,” he chuckled as she pressed her hands to all that glorious firm skin.

“Just wait, handsome,” she promised, flicking her gaze up with a wicked smile of her own “I’ll do much more than that if you let me.”

Chapter Text

It took every combined inch of Bucky’s willpower not to shoot his load before he’d even gotten Darcy’s dress off as she pressed her mouth to his chest, leaving a trail of burning kisses from his heart to his neck, her hands exploring him with an enthusiasm he’d done nothing to deserve and would do nothing to dissuade.

“Play fair,” he groaned, having to bite the inside of his cheek to temper the delicious ache she was fuelling in him as stretched up on her tiptoes and licked lightly at his pulse, “you got me feeling underdressed here, sweetheart.”

Her eyes lit on his as she pulled away, cherry red lips quirking in a mischievous smile as she took a step back, her hands reaching for the buttons of her dress.

“We can’t have that,” she said, her voice husky as she slipped the buttons loose one by one, “you know I want you to feel as… comfortable as possible.”

The dress slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet in a puddle of silk. And goddamnit if her tits weren’t the most glorious thing he’d ever seen, the kind of thing a man might write poetry about if he could. Her ivory skin was flushed as it pressed tight against the red lace of her bra, making his throat dry and his dick ache as he stared openly at her.

It was nothing like the underwear he’d seen in his day, the lace dipping dangerously low even as it perfectly hugged her every curve, held up by two itty bit straps in a way that seemed closer to divinity than science. As he watched she drew her fingers teasingly over the edge of the fabric, reaching between her breasts and opening a tiny metal snap that held the whole thing together.

It fell to the floor and the last of his thinking power went with it. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re beautiful,” he heard himself say through the sound of his heart thundering in his ears, his pulse beating against his skin like it was trying to get out.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she smirked, down to her stockings as she stepped out of the puddle of her dress and back into his arms, her skin unbearably soft against his. Warm, raw silk he wanted to bury his face in and never leave.

“I really, really don’t,” he couldn’t have remembered another girl if he tried, not that he wanted to. He didn’t want anyone or anything but her, here, now… and God willing, for hopefully more than two minutes.

Biting his cheek again he gave himself permission to touch her, skimming his hands up along the sides of her waist before getting to touch that incredible rack at last. Her head tipped back, curls spilling over her shoulders as she melted into his hands.

He couldn’t help himself, leaning down to taste the smooth column of her throat. He nipped at her, mapping every gasp and moan he got from her as if they were mission critical as he palmed her breasts in his hand, feeling her nipples pebbled hard against his fingertips as he felt her up like it was his first time.

It kind of was in a way, he’d been someone else for so long it was like he was losing his cherry all over again. A punk kid with his hand up a girls blouse for the first time and a growing damp spot in his shorts proving his eagerness to go further still.

Speaking of, her hands had slipped down, catching on the loops of his jeans before settling on his belt buckle. His dick strained against the tight denim of his pants, hips jerking up to meet her as heat simmered low in his belly, every nerve over sensitive as she fiddled with the buckle.

“Can I?” She asked breathlessly, as he finally pulled himself away from the sweetness of her skin to kiss her again. Her eyes were so dark he could barely see the blue in them, teeth worrying at her lip as she looked up at him from beneath her lashes.

“Please,” he almost begged, close to whimpering as she unlatched his belt, her clever fingers popping the button on his flies and dragging down the zipper painfully slowly, “fuck.”

“That was the hope,” she snickered, he could hear her smile even with his eyes closed as she pulled at his waistband. 

“Don’t know if I’m gonna last that long,” he admitted as he struggled to help her, almost tripping over his jeans as he shucked them off with his boxers and boots. Throat working convulsively, he watched her slide her stockings off with far more grace than he had, only a tiny scrap of red lace left between them. 

One more of her cat-like smiles and that was gone too.

“So long it feels good, B,” she murmured, sliding her hand down the plain of his stomach and making his dick twitch in anticipation , “that’s all that matters.”

There was nothing between them anymore and thinking about baseball seemed impossible. He struggled to swallow. Cold showers. Army barracks. Fuckin’ Sunday school. The stint he’d done as an altar boy before they caught him and Ricky Paulson drinking the communion wine. 

Jesus, this would be a confession and a half if he still believed, 50 Hail Marys and a - fuck - she had hold of him, the slow coaxing motion of her hand making stars burst behind his eyes as pleasure built almost painfully fast at the base of his spine.

If he didn’t stop her now he wasn’t going to, the evening ending with a bang before he’d even got her into bed. 

“If we’re going the way I really hope we’re going,” he grunted catching her wrists and pulling her arms up over his shoulders, dipping his head to kiss her even as his body groaned at the lose of sensation, “I’m gonna need to dress for the occasion”

“There’s a box in the nightstand,” she grinned against his mouth, feathering a quick kiss across the tip of his nose, “but only if you want too. It's not a necessity since I got the implant.”

“The what now?” He asked, indulging himself by palming a handful of her glorious ass and squeezing as his body strained towards her. Every brush of her skin against his making his balls ache like they were gonna burst.

“Lil thing in my arm,” she snickered, stretching up on her toes and turning her upper arm so he could see the faint outline of something tiny beneath her skin, “it makes sure there’s no unexpected complications from grown up fun time. Twenty-first century birth control is the tits.”

Turning his head into her arm he kissed it firmly, unable to keep from grinning as he said, “I fuckin’ love technology.”

She laughed at that, the sound turning into a squeal as he took advantage of her closeness and swung her up in his arms. 

“Bucky!” She gasped, the perfect weight as he carried her over to the bed, still giggling as he laid her in the sheets.

The sight of her stunned him all over again.

She was something out of a fantasy alright, better than any Hollywood pin up with her dark eyes and her hair spilling over the pillows. Her body soft and flushed and bare to him. 

“Have I mentioned how incredibly gorgeous you are?” he asked huskily, leaning forward so he could run his fingers through her wild curls. He was hypnotized by her in a way he never wanted to break, willing to stay there forever just watching her if she let him. 

No matter what his dick had to say about the matter.

“Once or twice,” she said with a breathless laugh, face pink and eyes sparkling as she licked her lips, “but I suppose I could bear to hear it again.”

“You’re a goddess,” he murmured, bracing his left arm beside her head as he leant down slowly to kiss her again, her forehead, her cheek, her mouth, “I’ve never seen anyone so goddamn beautiful in my entire life.”

“Really?” She asked, her hands moving restlessly over his chest as she looked at him, so confident and yet still so unsure. Like she didn’t know what she’d done to him, how she’d stolen away every dream and nightmare he’d ever had and filled his head with her alone .

“Darlin’ you’re enough to make a good dog break his leash,” he swore, his right hand tracing the curves of her, the swell of her breast, her waist, her hip, he encouraged her leg as she bent her knee upwards, “and send a holy man straight to sinning.”

Damn she was lovely when she blushed, the sweet pink of it painting her cheeks and tits and shoulders as she wiggled beneath him, welcoming him between her thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world. Bending his head he let himself taste her flushed skin, lathing his tongue over the magnificent curve of her breast before drawing one tight nipple between his teeth and worshipping it like he should. She whimpered as he teased it with his tongue, the sound making his hips stutter and stomach squeeze. Like he could come from the noises she made alone. Hell, he probably could.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” she gasped, voice breaking as he switched to show his proper appreciation for her other breast as well, his hand dipping between her thighs at last, “but I am so glad I did.”

“You and me both, kid,” He groaned against her skin, lost at how wet she was, hot and slick beneath his questing fingers as her hands tangled in his hair.

It felt so good, so so fucking good, everything bad he’d ever done washed clean as her hips rose up beneath his touch. Her fingers tugged desperately at his hair as he found her clit and began working easy little circles, mimicking the motion with his tongue on her breast before sliding a finger inside of her and finding her so perfectly ready for him.

Despite the seeming inevitability of it, he was trying his best not to be two pump chump. Her whimpering moans burning like fire beneath his skin as he kept his pace, fighting the urge to drive himself into her then and there. To take her deep and full like he’d been fantasizing about for almost as long as he’d known her. She’d feel so good beneath him, he knew, so tight and wet and warm as he lost himself inside her - as he -

“Fuck, Bucky!” She gasped, nails catching at his scalp and making something in him purr at the sensation. So much better than any fantasy as she arched her back beneath him. 

“That was the hope,” he quoted her as he broke away from her glorious rack to kiss her again, earning a huff of laughter that was swallowed by another desperate little moan as he kept up the steady motion of his fingers in her slick heat. 

He’d never felt more himself, more in his own skin, his heart singing as she turned her head on the pillow, clutching tight to the metal of his forearm as she rose and fell beneath his other hand. Kissing the plating and making him shudder.

“Please,” she whimpered, “please- I need-”

“Tell me, doll,” he whispered into her hair, desperate to please her in any way he could, to keep her in any way he could, “tell me what you need an’ it’s yours.”

He’d move the world for her. Burn cities. Break bones. Snuff the life from her enemies or beg for her favor on his knees. He would do anything she asked. Always.

Darcy gasped raggedly, chin raised as she met his gaze straight on, “I need you to fuck me, Bucky Barnes.”

He didn’t need telling twice.

—-

Darcy had sex before, good sex, bad sex, great sex even. But never, not once in her life, had she ever felt so perfectly and completely desired by someone. The way Bucky looked at her made her heart flip and her knees quiver even as he absolutely railed her.

Her IQ had taken a dive the same time he’d taken his shirt off and only gotten lower since he’d started touching her.

And what a fucking touch.

For all his protestations this man knew what he was doing, the sweet, steady swipe of his thumb against her clit coupled with the deep, pounding thrusts of his body into hers making her see more stars than a clear night in the New Mexico desert. God he was big, her body stretching and clenching with each delicious thrust as he hit every sweet spot she had like the sexiest game of whack-a-mole that had ever been played. 

He kept pace even as his hips began to stutter and start, the hot, hard weight of him pushing deeper, harder as he grunted into her neck. Murmuring into her skin about how gorgeous she was and how fucking good she felt around him. Words she knew she’d be getting herself off to for years to come.

Pleasure like nothing she’d felt was building low and steady inside of her, liquid fire coming to a boil as she canted her hips up and he hit deeper still. Bucky whined, his words breaking into desperate, pleading sounds as she gripped onto him for dear life. 

She heard her own voice, husky between her ragged gasps, telling him how perfect he felt, how deep he was fucking her, how fucking hot he was, his thrusts growing more frenzied with each inelegant if absolutely honest word. He growled into her throat when she told him how much she needed him, just him, his teeth scraping against her pulse as he slammed into her, burying himself so completely inside of her aching body that for a moment they felt like one person.

His body shook, straining inside her as he came calling her name. She rode him through it, feeling the heated weight of him pressed into every intimate inch of her as he spilled himself into her.

“Fuck,” he gasped into her skin, clutching onto her so tight she thought he might leave bruises and she might like it, “you’re so good, doll. Didn’t even know I could feel that good.”

The words made her insides clench, still teetering on the edge of oblivion as she felt him pull out of her. A desperate little sound caught between her teeth as instead of rolling himself off her he drew himself up over her instead, his hand slipping back between her thighs. Sweat dripping off his skin as he picked up right where he’d left off with his fingers. 

“Please don’t stop,” she whimpered, locking her legs around his hips as he worked at her, their mixed pleasure making her slicker than ever as he fucked it back into her with his fingers, his thumb finding her clit again and making her body arch, “god, Bucky, please.”

“Wasn’t gonna, sweetheart,” he panted, dark hair falling in his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, unbearably intense as he watched her like he never wanted to look at anything else again, “not when you treated me so good. I wanna see you come f’me, Darcy, please I need to see you-”

It was too much, his low voice and urgent fingers snapping the tight coil of pleasure inside of her at last. She heard his name, scraped high pitched from her throat with a fractured cry as she broke like a mirror beneath him. A thousand thousand fragments shattering into starlight, shiny and sharp and glorious as her back arched and her eyes closed and the world moved.

And kept moving.

She was falling into the sensation, weightless and gasping and falling falling falling - 

Wait, was she was actually falling? 

Darcy squealed, the light flickering before she hit something hard. Sheets billowed around her as she landed on a mattress, someone else’s mattress, the world spinning as she lay splayed stupidly in a bed that was not her own. 

Her thighs were still twitching, the fall barely taking the edge off the pleasure still coursing through her like blood in her veins as their mingled spend cooled against her skin. She could feel her pulse beating in her neck, her thighs, the soles of her freaking feet . Wrung out and strung out and utterly and completely fucked with pleasure as she tried to wrap her head around what had happened. 

The ceiling was the same smooth white plaster as her own, the room dark and - when she was finally able to turn her head to look - blissfully empty. Thank God for the same layout of the science floor apartments, and the apparent understaffing. Little pangs of pain echoed through her back and hips from the landing, making her groan to herself as the cold caught up with her at last.

She’d been so warm before, sweating and gasping and burning alive. Now the air was chilled and silent and she was all by herself again. She’d phased, she must have done, the overload of sensation making her glitch straight through the ceiling and into the apartment below, which was hella embarrassing. She’d gone through walls before but never a whole ass ceiling.

It also meant that Bucky was still somewhere upstairs naked and wondering what the hell had just happened to her.

“Goddamnit,” she swore, dragging herself to her feet at last and grabbing the sheet from the bed. She wrapped it around herself with shaky hands, legs still more than a little wobbly as she ran to open the apartment door.

This would be a great time to phase, she shouted at herself as she skidded along the hallway, before anyone sees you running naked through the Avengers freaking tower.

She tried to remember what Jane had said, the particular feeling she was supposed to tug on to switch between realms. It was difficult enough to find when someone was shooting tennis balls at you, and apparently even trickier when you were wearing nothing but a stolen sheet and hauling ass along a public corridor with your thighs still dripping sex.

The corridor twisted, her face beat red as she turned the corner just in time for the door to the stairwell to burst open. She was about to try and dive out of view when she heard her name being shouted, a very rumpled, very concerned Bucky Barnes barrelling towards her so fast it was a miracle they didn’t knock each other flying.

“Are you okay?” He demanded, his metal arm shining where he’d punched right through the armhole of his Henley, the left sleeve dangling uselessly at his side as he caught her up in his arms.

She wanted to grab hold of him but she had to keep her hands on the blanket instead, the cool cotton fabric held in a death grip lest Stark’s CCTV picked up more than it should. 

“Startled, achy, thoroughly ravished,” she half groaned half laughed as she buried her face into his shoulder, “embarrassed as hell to be naked in public.”

“You had me worried there, doll,” he murmured into her hair, holding her so tightly she felt like she could melt into him at any moment.

“Not as much as I was, promise,” she snorted, wiggling closer to him in her sheet, “I was enjoying the best night of my life and then bam, lying naked on a stranger's bed.”

“Best?” He repeated, the worry temporarily clearing from his face to be replaced with a look of surprise. Something far too adorable for a man who could have probably gotten her off with a look and few choice words alone.

“Absolutely no competition,” she snickered, “I mean, I’ve heard about sex so good the world moves but really Bucky. Uncalled for.”

“Ha,” his breath was warm as he huffed out a laugh, pulling her close into his side as he held the door open for them “I’m just glad you’re okay, sweetheart.”

Her heart squeezed at the easy endearment, fluttering stupidly in her chest as she nodded. Fall or not, she was so much better than okay.

—-

Panic hadn’t been the word.

He wasn’t sure there was a word for it, not in any language he knew at least.

One minute he’d been on top of the world, spent and satisfied and smug as hell as he watched his girl coming apart beneath him in glorious technicolor, then he was alone, hips smacking into the bed as he fell forward. 

The cold startled him, her heat replaced with his rapidly cooling skin as he’d struggled back on his knees to stare at the empty bed. If she’d shifted universes he’d still be able to see her, unless - he rewound the moment, playing it again behind his eyes, her heat, her ecstasy, the way she’d slipped down into the sheets and down and…

She’d phased right through the fucking bed.

He was on his knees beside the bed frame in a second, the carpet scratching at his bare skin as he looked beneath and found only dust and junk. Which meant she’d gone through the floor - oh hell, what if she was hurt? What if-?

He couldn’t let himself lose control, even as anxiety crested high in his chest. His pulse thundered for a much less pleasant reason as he hauled his jeans on so fast he nearly trapped his dick in the zipper, his left arm tearing through his shirt as he hightailed it out into the corridor and prayed she hadn’t fallen too far.

One floor she could survive, two even, but if she kept on falling? He couldn’t stand to think about it.

She didn’t fall that far, he reminded himself, pulling her closer into his side as he led them back towards her apartment, she’s safe, she’s here. With me.

I need you, she’d whimpered as he took her, her velvet heat clenching around him with each desperate thrust, need you so bad Bucky, just you.

He clenched his jaw, heat reigniting beneath his skin as he wrapped his arm more firmly around her waist. Only a thin cotton sheet between them, something he was trying his best not to focus on. A task that proved easier than he thought as they turned onto her floor, the door to the science corridor was still hanging open. Unfortunately so was the door to the apartment next to hers.

“Darcy? Bucky? Are you guys okay - we heard…”

Jane and Thor. Fantastic . They were standing in the doorway to their apartment, wide eyed and worried as they walked past, barefoot and distinctly rumpled. Feeling Thor’s confused gaze on Darcy he pulled her as close as he could get, trying to cover as much of her as he could with his body as well as the blanket as he glared at the intruder.

“We’re fine,” Darcy spoke for them, a good thing since his voice seemed to have lodged itself in his throat, trapped in some kind of possessive growl he couldn’t seem to swallow, “unfortunately timed phasing incident.”

“I don’t underst- oh!” Jane’s eyes widened, her face reddening a clear three shades as the look of confusion disappeared all at once. Turning her head she pushed Thor back into the apartment, and half closed the door, “but you’re okay, right?”

“Yup, but we are having a serious conversation about that inhibitor tomorrow,” Darcy said, peering around his chest with a laugh, “and doubling down on training. Good night kids!”

She didn’t wait for Jane to answer, plugging the code in for her apartment door and dragging him in after her instead.

“So,” she said almost sheepishly as they stepped into a mess of strewn clothes and rumpled sheets, the hesitance back as she looked up at him, “have I ruined the moment completely with my free fall, or can I convince you to stay the night anyway?”

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me, no convincing needed there, doll,” he promised, adjusting the sheet around her shoulders with a sigh as he heeded the voices of his better angels, “but maybe we should leave off knocking boots again until you’re… y’know, back to yourself again.”

“It was, like, really good boot knocking though,” she grumbled, leaning into his touch as her face flushed pink again, “like the best boot knocking a girl could dream of.”

She wasn’t the only one. He didn’t think he’d ever felt anything so glorious in his entire miserable life. He’d certainly never felt so wanted. Desire still laced his blood like a drug he couldn’t kick, seventy years of cold vanishing in one perfect moment of warmth.

It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, put her in danger, especially not for his own selfish desires. They’d gotten lucky this time, she hadn’t been badly hurt, but next time?

Bucky shuddered, holding her close and kissing her rumpled hair, “it was unbelievable, sweetheart, but not worth risking you for.”

Nothing ever would be.

Chapter Text

Darcy was getting better at controlling her phasing.

She’d had to.

Bucky, whilst still every inch her dream lover, had become hesitant to go too far with the actual loving part since ‘The Bedtime Incident.’

She understood his hesitation, having someone literally drop out from under you during the sexiest of sexy times was nothing if not a mood killer - not to mention the fact he was far too protective to do something he thought might endanger her again.

No matter how much she desperately wanted him too.

Still, she respected his wishes more than her own stupid lustful hormones, which to be fair she cared about more than her safety. So whilst there was plenty of macking going on in their alone times they’d had to put a temporary moratorium on much past second base. Occasionally he let her slide into third for him but he was a gentleman and couldn’t stand not being able to return the favor, she told him she could get by quite happily with an IOU and the memories but she knew he felt guilty about it anyway.

Trust her to come back from the dead, meet the man of her dreams, find themselves fully sexually compatible, and then spoil the party with her stupid new ‘abilities.’ 

The world owed her a break already.

“Darcy you’re not concentrating,” Jane called from the sidelines of the engineering lab as Darcy worked through The Murder Course for the third time that hour, “you’re supposed to be phasing through the doors not walking around them.

“You jinxed it you know,” Darcy shot back, still too much in her own thoughts to concentrate properly as she stepped out of the way of a swinging foam stick, “with that comment about fading out on him mid make-out session.”

“I can’t believe you’re still on that, I just theorized on a likely scientific possibility,” Jane shrugged, putting down her tablet and looking up at last, “Besides, it’s been two weeks now, and you’ve made incredible progress already. Now phase.”

Tell that to him, Darcy whined mentally, forcing herself to step up and phase through the next object instead of ducking around it. The Murder Course was a work of evil genius involving swinging doors, steps, drops, random projectiles, and surprise trap doors. 

She didn’t know what it was about a PHD in Astrophysics that had also made Jane a Bond villain, but this was some next level Ninja Warrior level shit.

“Phase back,” Jane called from the sidelines, keeping track of it all with a high-tech camera set up and a series of ever more complicated notes on her tablet. Even Darcy with her unrivaled skills in ‘Jane’s Weird Handwriting,’ - a language understood by very few people in the world - could only make out about half of it.

“You sure we shouldn’t be doing proper science stuff?” She complained the moment Jane could see her again.

It was a weird sensation, like a split-second, faster-than-sound type of moment where her ears popped and the world got more heavy but in like a fourth dimensional sort of way. 

Doctor Harris had been the one to help her get it working on command, spending a stupid amount of time walking her through the mental side of it all. She’d taught Darcy how to isolate the sensation and link it to a real-world act she could imagine. 

Picture it as a button you can press or a lever you can pull, she’d said in one of their sessions, or a cloak even, something you put on and cast off entirely at your will.

That’s when it had all really clicked for Darcy. She saw it like one of the Fire Alarms at her old high school. She’d pulled it once in Senior year as a dare and never forgotten the feeling, the smooth plastic beneath her fingers and the split-second of resistance before it flipped down. It had made the most satisfying click she’d ever heard before the alarm started blaring.

“I’m not having this conversation again, this is proper science, Darce. Now phase through the next door and try to conjure a bridge between the two steps after it.”

“We could be looking at space,” Darcy continued undeterred as she squared up with the next obstacle, “not watching me fall on my ass.”

Flip. She charged through the door, hopping up onto the first step before turning her head skyward. It was easier to imagine the floor was there when she couldn’t see it most definitely wasn’t. 

First step. Second. How big was the distance? Like two feet? Okay so three, four, hop, look down.

Darcy squeaked as she stared at the empty space beneath her feet, phasing back on instinct as her arms pinwheeled in the air and she fell, as predicted, straight on her ass.

“Nice, you made it much further than last time,” Jane nodded encouragingly, “what was the trigger for the phase back?”

“I looked down,” Darcy admitted, dragging herself up from the gym-mat covered floor. You’d think with the amount of money rolling around the place they’d be able to afford something more fancy, and less ass-bruising.

“Darcy, I told you not to look up in the first place, you need to be aware of your surroundings and manifest the surface consciously.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one walking over empty air!”

“Remember what Selena said,” Jane sighed, not replying to Darcy’s petulant little outburst as she waved a hand at her, “it’s all about connecting imagery with physicality and practicing until it becomes second nature to you.”

“We could be looking at stars right now,” Darcy huffed, “or mapping the most effective way to calculate gravitational biometrics in an astrological singularity, or - or sorting out the absolute chaos you made of my filing cabinets.”

“Instead we’re delving into a real life parallel dimension that only you seem to have access to, the scientific effect of this is incalculable. I could get another book out of this easy…”

“No, stop right there,” Darcy warned her as science glittered in her eyes, “I am not featuring in any book - no matter how high up the bestseller list it gets.”

“I mentioned you in the last one.”

“Sure, as a member of the team - as a friend, and vital scientific companion, not as the freakshow at the center of it!”

She’d already sworn Jane to absolute secrecy on pain of death about ‘The Bedtime Incident,’ refusing to tell her anything until Jane had double pinky sworn it wouldn’t feature in any research, reports, files or folders. The idea any of it might end up being reviewed in the New York Times was out of the question.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Jane waved her away, “now back to the beginning with you, let’s run this course again.”

“Yay,” Darcy snarked, “again.”

“Think of your boyfriend,” Jane teased, “the sooner you master this the sooner you can get your blue balls out of my face.”

“And you say I’m the one with the disturbing visuals,” Darcy cackled even as she headed for the start of the course again with renewed vigour.

Jane made a damn good point after all.

—-

The Avengers war room was located at the very center of the tower. The walls were lead lined, thick and windowless; everything from the air to the light pumped in artificially to ensure it was absolutely secure from the world around it.

In some ways it reminded Bucky of Siberia, it had the same empty, echoing quality as the underground base he had once called his home. Or at least as close to a home as he had known then. The dim, chilled chamber was somehow comforting and unsettling at the same time as he tried to focus himself wholly on the task at hand.

“You sure this is the place?” Steve asked, his voice reverberating strangely as he squinted down at the map laid out in front of them.

The oversized paper was held down at the edges with odds and ends, a coffee mug, a stapler, its surface already thick with scrawled ink. They’d been pouring over it for hours, marking every possibility in sharpie before cross referencing their finds with the other map.

Blue light flooded the room with an ominous glow, Stark’s high-tech creation was able to focus in on the buildings they isolated, the blueprints becoming three-dimensional light shows that twisted and turned in a way that made Bucky’s head spin. He preferred the paper, it was stabler, solid, an air of realness to it that was missing in all the lights and technology. 

“It has all the right bearings,” Bucky confirmed, dragging his finger between one point and another on the map and smearing the ink, “this open route here, the exits on different levels. Not to mention the subterranean vault, it has all classic hallmarks of a  Hydra weapons storage facility.”

“Is it…” Steve hesitated, an old awkwardness coming over him as he seemed to try and balance his words in the unnatural silence of the room, “do you recognise it as somewhere you’ve been before?” 

Bucky didn’t brush off the comment like he might once have done, back when he’d been more desperate to avoid any memory that might tie him to the place - and the inevitable atrocities he would have committed there - then to face it head on. Instead he let his mind still, keeping his thoughts open yet vague as he scanned the warehouse and the surrounding area and tried to ignore the hammering of his heart. 

Green Street, Right Avenue, the ramp down to the parking lot and the access point on the roof. He let it all filter through his thoughts, like magnets on a fishing line waiting to pick up the metal of his memories.

Nothing came.

“No,” he said with a heavy exhale, relieved his mind came up blank, “I don’t think so. I did some muscle work when they were setting up their weapons caches in the 70s, but this… I don’t think I’ve been here before.”

“Damn,” Steve muttered before immediately wincing, guilt washing over his features as he immediately opened his mouth to take it back, “I mean-”

“It’s okay, Steve,” Bucky said, slapping his shoulder absentmindedly, “I know what you meant. Still, I’m pretty sure this is the spot -  They kept me in a base one time before extraction in New Jersey… or maybe West Virginia? I dunno, but it was just like this, an old bootleggers place, it’s textbook.”

“Y’think it’s still there?”

“Doubtful,” Bucky sighed, “it was an old KGB place in the 60s, Hydra ditched most of them in the 80s but - well, they still share the same hallmarks. From Petersburg to Pittsburg, Hydra always did love it’s conformity.”

There had been a blueprint for everything. Weapons caches. Sleeper cells. Him. A place for everything and everything firmly in its place.

“A fatal flaw if ever there was one,” Steve said, transferring the details from the paper to the futuristic set up across the room so they could get a better look at the terrain, “y’think this one will still be manned?”

“It’s a crapshoot,” Bucky shrugged, keeping his eyes on the table until the lights had stopped spinning, “before the fall they’d definitely have a two man team working the front, three or four in the control room, and a rotating security detail of another two - maybe three guys? Now though… who knows. They used to shift change mid-week, that's when security was at its laxest, but that might have changed too.”

“It’s still our best bet,” Steve nodded, manipulating the 3d projection with a skill that surprised Bucky as he drew up one of the entrances, “we’ll go in through here? Next Wednesday maybe?”

“Yeah the basement level is the best shot in my opinion, but a secondary team at the front wouldn’t hurt, gotta get in fast and clean. If it is manned they might trigger the self-destruct, which could take out half the city, if it’s not they might have left it rigged up anyway…”

“Which could do the same,” Steve sighed, dragging his hand through his hair, “jeez, we could do with Monty on this.”

“He was always the smart one,” Bucky agreed, “except when women were involved.”

“We were all idiots then,” Steve laughed, his head tilting as he rubbed his hand over his mouth, “remember that place in - God, where was it, Lyon?”

“Vichy,” Bucky corrected, the memory bubbling up inside of him with the smell of cheap whiskey, sweat and the sound of laughter, “He and Dum Dum tried it on-”

“With the wife?”

“And then Jim got involved and she -”

“Before they-”

“Yeah, and then - then-”

“The farmer shouted for ‘James' and all of you answered!”

They broke into laughter, the memory rising to the surface before popping and leaving his mind still again. Only the reflections remained. Dum Dum, Jim, Monty, Jones, Dernier. He saw their faces, heard their voices, almost able to recognise himself in the memories even through the taint of Hydra’s hand.

It was like a heavy wash of dirty water, smearing the details and leaving everything stained in its wake, but it was enough - more than he’d ever thought he’d get back by a long shot. He remembered a life well lived now, camaraderie, friends in impossible circumstances. Guys he’d take a bullet for if he could only stop them taking one for him first. 

There was blood and mud but laughter too, bootleg whiskey and complaints about clean socks. A battered copy of some Jane Austen novel that passed from hand to hand across a hundred nights camped beneath the stars of Europe.

Those memories didn’t frighten him any more, they were as welcome as his old friends. Slipping back to him in half-forgotten songs and patches of sunlight through dusty windows. It was the others he still tried to avoid.

The ones after. He did his best for Steve when it came to names and places of hide-outs and storage spaces but the rest… the missions… those he still ducked from every time even as they found him in his sleep. He had a list of his own now, names, descriptions, places and dates. Lives he’d taken, families he’d destroyed. He didn’t know what to do about them so he kept them locked in a drawer, waiting for the day the list was complete and his sins were finally revealed in full.

He knew there were more deaths to come, more eyes he’d shut for the last time, they sat like some cold inevitable thing at the back of his mind just waiting to strike. He just hoped he could hold them off a little bit longer, no matter how selfish it was, he still wasn’t ready to go back there yet.

He would rather remember his friends, their triumphs, and that unfamiliar night sky.

“You ever see them again?” Bucky asked, shaking himself back into the moment, as he set aside the markers they’d been using, “After I mean…”

“Gabe,” Steve nodded, “just before he passed in Georgia, he was still just the same. I looked for the rest but they were already…” he sighed deeply, bracing his hand against the wall for a moment before his mouth turned up in a half-smile, “well, apart from Dugan of course, never could find out what happened to him.”

“Probably still running from that farmer,” Bucky said, feeling a wave of remorse for his fallen comrades even as he comforted himself with the lives they’d lived. Full lives, with family and friends and hope. And whatever the hell Duggan had ended up doing.

It felt right, he wouldn’t want anything else for them. Especially not the life he’d lead instead.

“That was Dum Dum alright,” Steve chuckled, “didn’t get the name for nothing. Alright hand over the map, I’ll get it digitized properly and set a speculative go time for 8pm Wednesday. I wonder why they chose State College, Pennsylvania.”

“Solid location between New York and Ontario, I’d guess,” Bucky shrugged, rolling up the map and passing it over to Steve, “makes for a good supply line. Other than that I don’t know much about it, ‘cept… Darcy grew up in Pennsylvania.”

“Did she?”

“Yeah, outside Philly, she still has a house there - her grandma left it to her but she rents it out.” 

He smiled as he remembered the pictures she’d shown him on her phone, her ten years younger in her ‘goth phase,’ as she called it, with black dyed hair and heavily made up eyes outside a pleasant red-brick house with flowers lining the drive. The mailbox had been painted green with daisies detailed along the side.

“Maybe you guys could head out there for a while, take a break,” Steve suggested with a coy smile as he tucked the map away.

“I know I’ve been out of the game for a while,” Bucky replied with a wry look, “but don’t think a Hydra bust makes for the ideal romantic getaway, Steve.”

“Not in the same trip, ya numbskull,” Steve smacked him upside the back of the head, shaking his head in dismay, “how you got a girl like that remains beyond me.”

“Me too,” Bucky grinned, rubbing the back of his head, “but I’m not complaining, so -  does this mean I actually get to come on the mission this time?”

It was something they’d been dancing around since Steve had let him start to help out. Steve was quite obviously loath to let him go on active duty no matter how many locations he helped weed through or Hydra hot spots he pointed out.

Bucky understood the hesitation, after everything that had happened he wasn’t sure he’d trust himself in the field either, but it didn’t stop the frustration. Despite Steve’s uncertainty Bucky felt ready , the urge to help sitting hot and vital beneath his skin. He wanted to do more than mark maps and discuss shift rotations, he wanted to get his hands dirty, to serve, to fight, to claw back even a fraction of what Hydra had stolen from him with his fingers and teeth.

“Yeah, I think it might be time, kid,” Steve said wearily, in complete disregard for the fact that Bucky was a year older than him, “if you’re sure you’re ready for it. You can duck out at any time before we get there, no judgment.”

“You sound like Darcy,” he snorted despite himself, “she’s always giving me outs too.”

It’s one of the things he loved most about her, she was so easy with him. She’d check he was okay with something and then believe his answer. Making sure it was okay first before she curled herself in his lap and then refusing to move for hours, or asking him if he could stay in her bed and then wrapping herself around him like a blanket.

Like he’d ever need convincing to hold her.

It was all he wanted, all he could think about.

Well… not all he could think about. There were other things he very much wanted to do with her too, but until he was sure they were safe it was cold showers and kissing only. 

“When she’s not dropping out on you completely?” Steve teased, making the blood rush to Bucky’s face despite how often he’d been hit with the same taunt over the last two weeks.

“I’m really gonna kill Thor one of these days.”

The silken haired bastard had rumbled him without a second thought. Darcy had only given the full low down to Jane, who already knew the jist of it, and only then so she could help her learn to control it - on the condition of absolute secrecy. It was Thor who’d let slip what he’d seen that night at the first possible opportunity.

God he hated aliens. 

“I would pay to see that fight,” Steve laughed, turning off the spectral map and gesturing for Bucky to start unlocking the door, “you seeing her later?”

For all his bad temper Bucky couldn’t help but grin, lighting up as he nodded, “we got a Real Pawn special lined up once she’s done with work, it’s the 100th episode celebration on our channel.”

“Enjoy it,” Steve said, slapping him on the back as they headed back out into the tower proper, “every second.”

—-

“What was it this time?” Doctor Harris greeted Darcy as she knocked tiredly at her door, “walking into something or falling off of something?”

Darcy had gotten lucky with her team, not only had the good doctor been helping her get a handle on the mental aspect of her abilities, but she’d also managed to keep her from dying from head trauma during her training. 

Like now. 

Her afternoon run of the course had ended with a bang she hadn’t seen coming, literally.

“Tennis ball to the head,” Darcy grumbled, pressing an ice pack to a spot just above her eye, she could already feel it starting to swell up like an egg, “Jane has been upgrading the murder course again.”

“Of course she has, you’ve been doing so well recently,” Doctor Harris said, gesturing for her to take her usual seat as she passed by to get her supplies, “your control over the phased state is growing every day, you should be very proud of yourself, Darcy.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Darcy sighed, taking her seat in the familiar black leather chair and resting her head back against the padding, “I’d be more proud if I didn’t keep getting knocked out by sports equipment, I’m supposed to be meeting Bucky tonight.”

She’d been doing so well and then bam, tennis ball straight to the skull. Jane had handed Darcy the ice pack and ushered her straight out to the Doc’s office as cartoon birdies circled her head.

“You’ll be fine,” Harris chided her, plunking down the tools of her trade on the sideboard next to the chair with a warm smile, “now, let’s check there’s no concussion shall we?”

“My very favorite hobby,” Darcy snarked, lowering the ice pack with a sigh as she offered herself up once more to the power of medicine, “alright, have at it, Doc.”

“How are you feeling?” Doc Harris asked as she gently probed the swelling, “Headache, confusion, nausea, lethargy?”

“More of a throb than an ache in the head department,” Darcy admitted with a wince as the Doc’s cold fingers prodded at her, despite her excellent bedside manners Doc Harris always seemed to have cold hands. Maybe it was a circulation thing, “no nausea, regular amount of lethargy after spending like two and half hours on the course and… I’m not feeling confused, I think?”

“That’s a comfortingly certain answer,” Harris said drily, feeling the center of the swelling and making Darcy flinch back at the sharp stab of pain, “best to keep you talking for a while anyway.”

“Tricky,” she joked weakly, “since I’m known for my shyness and reserve.”

The Doc just gave her a fond, old fashioned look, “What was the last topic we did?”

“London, I think, Aliens, my bad kissing decisions at the time,” Darcy replied, frowning and regretting it as she tried to remember how the conversation had gone before shaking it off with a sigh, “ boring , anyway - we always talk about me. Tell me about you instead, Doc, how did a nice girl like you wind up in a place like this?”

“I almost didn’t,” she replied with a laugh, clicking on a pen light and shining it into Darcy’s eyes, “look left for me, great, and right. I was about to give up practicing actually, I lost a lot of good friends when Shield fell and I figured I’d just go back home and call it a day. Then I got the offer to work here and well… I figured maybe I had some purpose left after all.”

“You worked for Shield?” She asked, not knowing why she was so surprised when everything about the woman said ‘cool, calm, and in control.’ She’d taken ghost powers and super soldiers in her stride - of course she was a super cool secret agent in a past life.

Darcy had worked for Shield herself for a while, or - well - technically she’d worked for Jane who’d worked for Shield, but either way it came with a shiny ID badge and a quiet feeling of badassery whenever she got the chance to flash it. 

“I did,” Doc Harris confirmed, “for a while at least, fixing up agents, working on new research, it was satisfying work until it all went wrong,” she sighed heavily as she moved her focus to Darcy’s other eye, “when Stark offered me the position here and the funding to continue working on what I wanted to when not patching up Avengers, I couldn’t say no.”

“And now you’re stuck babysitting the worlds worst ghost,” Darcy joked, heart squeezing at her story. A lot of people had lost a lot of things when the true nature of Shield had been revealed to the world. It was for the best, she knew, corruption like that couldn’t go on unchecked, but the toll…

It had been alot.

“I like helping,” the Doc shushed her. “Besides I could be shaping a future superhero here.”

“Okay now we need to check your head.”

“I’m serious,” she said, “your abilities have such incredible potential. You could go places no one else could reach, get information that could save lives. No, I believe you’ll be an incredible asset one day, Darcy Lewis.”

“Stop,” Darcy waved a hand at her, feeling entirely unworthy of the honesty in the Doc’s voice as she squirmed in her seat, “you're making me blush!”

“Good,” she laughed, “now be still so I can finish this exam will you?”

“Yes Doc,” Darcy said immediately, dropping back into the cushions as Harris checked her eyes once more, making her keep her gaze fixed forward as she flickered the light on and off almost hypnotically to test her pupils reaction time or something, it was a favorite test of the Docs, “happy to comply.”

“That’s what I like to hear, that’s right, be still,” the Doc murmured again, focused now on her task as she strobed Darcy for another moment or two, “oh! I made some progress on the inhibitor by the way, it should be finished very soon. Do you think you and your Mr Barnes could swing by my office to see if it works? Say Friday after work, about six?”

“Sure,” Darcy agreed, always feeling a little like a stunned mullet after the pen light went away, but then again - that could be the concussion talking, “but why does Bucky need to come?” 

“Just incase it doesn’t work,” the Doc chuckled, pulling out some kind of cold healing paste that did wonders for Darcy’s head injuries, “it is very unlikely to phase you out again, but just in case I’d rather have your seeing eye soldier there, I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Darcy agreed, blushing slightly at the mention of Bucky, and the fact he was the reason she wanted the inhibitor in the first place, “we’ll be there, Doc.”

“Wonderful,” the doctor smiled beautifically, “I can talk to Jane about coming too if you want.”

“No - don’t,” Darcy protested as the gel was put away, her head feeling better already as she leant forward in her seat, “Thor’s taking her out on Friday for a fancy meal, you don’t really need her for the test, right?”

“I think we can get by without mentioning it then,” Harris smiled, shaking her head in bemusement, “dinner with Thor huh? Lucky girl.”

Darcy’s eyes lit up mischievously as she pulled herself up, “so… you gotta thing for muscle-y blond guys, huh Doc?”

It looked like she might have a chance to get Steve that date after all.

Chapter Text

“Y’want the red stuff or the blue stuff?” Bucky asked, peering into his fridge at the strange collection of food that had somehow accumulated over the weeks. It had gone from empty and unused to overstocked, there were the basics, sure, but a whole bunch of other stuff too. Fruits and vegetables, random jars, sauces and spices and four different types of cheese. Brightly coloured cans of soda shared space with different kinds of milk - which was apparently a thing now. Beer, wine and whiskey piled up next to enough candy to open a sweet shop.

“Blue, please!” Darcy called from the couch, busy arranging the cushions and brightly coloured knitted blanket that had turned up in his apartment at some point for their night in.

It wasn’t just the blanket, or the fridge, the whole place looked… different. There were a handful of take out menus on the counter, dishes by the sink, the Real Pawn ghosts Steve had drawn for the party were stuck up next to the TV - Darcy had rescued them from the common room and entrusted those three to him, keeping the Locker Up guys for herself along with the pizza ghost.

His shelves were starting to fill up with the history books he’d brought with him and some battered fantasy novels he’d picked up since. The backpack he’d carried with him like a safety blanket finally emptied of its contents, a few of the photos he’d accumulated over his time on the run now sitting on his dresser. 

There was a shot of him and Steve before the war and a group picture of the Commandos he’d clipped from a history book - Darcy had helped him pick out frames for them at a flea market they went to on their third date. 

He’d worried the market would be overwhelming before they left but it turned out there was something oddly soothing about picking their way between boxes and tables of other people's junk on a lazy Sunday morning. Being surrounded by the dusty remnants of a hundred other lives somehow made him feel more in tune with his own even as he got infected by Darcy’s enthusiasm. Her eyes were bright as she hunted through stall after stall looking for things that caught her interest, the stranger the better. 

“Ah yes,” she’d said seriously a half hour in as they paused in front of a particularly crowded table, holding up a bug-eyed ceramic wolf ornament inexplicably dressed in a leather jacket for him to look at as she put on her best Real Pawn expert impression, “a mid century classic sculpture, the googley eyes added later by renowned artist Jefferson F. Balboa, famed for his series of found object art. In this condition… well, I don’t know how much the seller is asking for it but… it’s easily worth five thousand dollars.”

He’d bought it on the spot for two bucks fifty, putting it next to the frames on his dresser. It wasn’t much but it was starting to look like a life, his life. And he wouldn’t have had any of it without her.

“You get lost in there, handsome?” Darcy called, making him realize he’d been smiling like an idiot at the contents of his fridge for way too long.

“Gettin’ nystagmus from looking at these cans,” he covered with a shake of his head, pulling out a blue soda with an indecipherable rainbow coloured logo, “What flavor is this even meant to be? Blueberry?”

“Don’t be silly,” Darcy laughed, skipping over and taking it from him, pausing to reach up and kiss his cheek in thanks before she danced off again, “it’s blue raspberry.” 

“Raspberries ain’t blue, doll,” he chuckled, grabbing a red can of indistinguishable flavor and following her back across the room, “at least they weren’t in my day.”

“We are no longer bound by such fruitless concerns, grandpa,” she grinned, popping the top of the can and slurping down the unnaturally coloured soda, “delish! You tried this yet?”

“Nope,” he accepted the can from her, taking his seat on the couch and trying it. The first thing he tasted was her lip balm on the rim, sweet, waxy cherries that had rapidly become his favorite flavor of all. The soda afterwards was… an experience. 

It was obnoxiously fizzy, all sodas were these days, with a flavor somewhere between incredibly sweet and weirdly sour. It tasted nothing like raspberries, that was for damn sure, but he went back for a second sip anyway, his brow creasing as he tried to figure out whether he liked it or not.

“This is bizarre,” he said, pulling the can back to stare at it in confusion.

“But in a good way, right? It’s the E numbers,” reaching out she grabbed the remote from the side before gesturing to his lap, “room for one more?”

“Always,” he laughed, setting the cans aside where she could reach them before scooping her up into his lap, “what are we watching today, doll?”

“We have choices,” she grinned as she made herself comfortable in his arms, curling into him like she’d been made to fit there, “You want the Real Pawn rerun ooooor should we give Movers not Shakers a try?”

God, she made him feel so at home in himself, the alien sensation of his own flesh and metal fading more with every day he spent with her. She touched him easily, freely, a squeeze of the arm, a pat on the butt. The kisses. Making absolutely no distinction between the man and machine when she dragged his arms tighter around her and leant her head against his heart. 

“That’s the group of truckers fighting to ship oversized loads, right?” he asked, voice husky despite himself as he held her even closer.

“Yeah from the advert they keep playing? The two-storey tall plastic gorilla and the-”

“Giant lady playing the piano,” he nodded, “sure let’s give it a try.”

“How’d the thing go with Steve earlier, by the way?” she asked as she switched the channel, “he still okay with you going out and all?”

He’d told her about the meeting on Wednesday, not the details of course but as much he could, and about the follow up they’d scheduled for that morning. Steve had taken him down to the weapons range in the sub-basement, because that was something the tower had apparently, and Bucky had fired a gun for the first time in months.

It came back easy, too easy for his liking. His muscles hadn’t had time to forget - he doubted they ever would. 

It was like riding a very loud, very violent bicycle.

“I think so,” he nodded, stroking her hair back from her face as she turned in his lap so she could look at him better, “we did a few rounds of prep, tried on some Kevlar. I think he’s onboard now.”

“Ooh Kevlar, sexy,” she smiled, even as a flicker of worry passed over her face. A little furrow forming between her brows as she worried at her lip.

“What’s up?” He asked, smoothing his thumb over her lip to stop her from biting it.

Closing her eyes, she bumped her head gently into his shoulder, taking a deep breath before she looked up at him again, “I’m so freaking proud of you B, you know that, I just… I wish wasn’t so scared as well. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I’ll be careful,” he promised, knowing he couldn’t guarantee any more than that no matter how much he wanted too. He’d learnt that lesson the hard way already, “I’ve got a reason to come back now.”

“The blue raspberry soda?” She joked weakly.

“Yeah, that,” he chuckled, leaning down to kiss her forehead firmly, “I’m sure it's got nothing at all to do with the dynamite dame currently sitting in my lap.”

“Dynamite Dame, huh? That’d be a great superhero name,” she grinned softly, “although not exactly thematically appropriate unless someone lets me near the grenades, which is - yeah - probably a bad idea.”

“You’re explosive enough already, doll,” he grinned.

“So when is your big adventure then, hero boy?” She sighed, pressing her face into his neck and making his heart stutter like a badly tuned engine. 

“Next week, Wednesday probably.”

“Gotta make the most of the weekend then,” she said, fiddling with the chain of his dog tags, “maybe we can finally make it to Coney Island, huh?”

They were getting further and further every time they went out, the world opening up to them again. Bucky went running in the park almost every morning now and they’d regularly head out to the bodega on the corner to pick up stuff for the fridge. Including her ridiculous sodas. 

“Friday?” He asked.

“Yee- oh, no, we can’t, Doc Harris wants to see us Friday,” the disappointment on her face flickered into a coy smile as she turned her eyes up to him, “she thinks she’d finally got the inhibitor sorted and wants us to swing by her office to check if it’s working properly... If you want to?”

Did he want to? It was all he could do to keep from marching down to her office right then and there and demanding she hand it over. He’d take a life with Darcy with no sex over any other life he was offered but well… that didn’t mean the thought hadn’t been haunting him for two whole weeks.

For all his hazy memories that one remained in glorious technicolor, keeping him up every night she wasn’t beside him. He’d gone through three boxes of kleenex and had to call the maintenance people to replace the tiles in his showers after one too many solo replays.

Fuck it had been good. Her velvet heat and husky moans, the way she whimpered when he praised her and how perfectly she’d come apart beneath him when he’d told her to…

He cleared his throat, voice coming out in a rough scrape as she wiggled in his lap, “of course I do, she really think it’s gonna work?”

Please, please, if there is a God let it work.

“She does,” Darcy leant up, her fingers tracing the side of his face before she kissed him with a lazy sigh, “although… she and Jane both agree I’m doing better than ever at controlling this thing even without it.”

“Do they now?” His voice dropped even further, a familiar strain tugging at his jeans as she smirked at him with a fake-innocence that made him wild. Already half hard as she stroked her fingers along the line of his neck.

“They do,” Darcy confirmed, her tongue snaking out to wet her lips, “And I’ve been doing some experiments of my own… in my free time of course.”

Her other hand was toying with the ends of her hair, her shirt dipping dangerously low as she leant forward.

He wondered if she was wearing the red bra again, he didn’t think he could stand it if she was. His self control hanging by a thread as he tried not to start panting like a dog in her ear.

Or worse start humping her leg.

“Wha-“ he coughed, clearing the sudden wave of  dryness in his throat as he shifted his hips awkwardly beneath her to hide his growing excitement, “what kind of experiments?”

Did she mean…? Had she been…?

“Oh, y’know, one’s where I’m alone… late at night… in my bed… thinking about you and the way it felt when you...” her fingers were skirting the edge of the neckline now, featherlight touches that hypnotized him further with every stroke, “mmm, it’s kind of hard to explain.”

Fuck she had. The visual of her splayed out in her sheets, hand between those perfect soft thighs as she gasped his name into the empty room. He couldn’t help himself, pulling her around until she was straddling him where he sat. His hands heavy against her hips as he pressed up into her through the denim and fabric.

“Hard, huh?” He exhaled, his eyes rolling back as she ground against him eagerly.

“How about I show you?” She purred against his lips, breasts pressed tight to his chest as she arched against him, “if I promise to be extra, extra careful…”

He shouldn’t, they shouldn’t, what if…

“Downstairs,” he heard himself growl, nearly knocking her soda flying as he picked her up with him as he stood, unwilling to have even an inch extra space between them more than they needed, “just in case.”

There was an empty bed in the room underneath hers after all, who knew what was beneath his. If this evening was going the way he hoped, they’d need a soft landing.

—-

Darcy sighed happily into her pillow, sweat-soaked and sated and blissfully blissfully corporeal.

Her practice sessions had paid off. The first time, with his eyes hot and hungry against her skin as she put on a show for him, she’d barely needed to touch herself to come, the second and third when he’d actively joined in…

She couldn’t remember ever feeling so perfectly fucked. He took her down like it was an honor and a privilege and the only thing he’d ever want to do, not getting huffy when she laughed, like one ex had, or being awkward about how vocal she could be, like another. He’d taken her just as she was…

And taken her. And taken her.

“I think we missed our show,” she said with a breathless laugh, too spent to move yet as she flopped against him like a dead mackerel.

“Mm maybe,” he murmured into her hair, his arm heavy around her waist, the metal wonderfully cool against her sweaty skin, “but there was plenty of moving and shaking anyway.”

“There was that,” She snorted, patting him on the chest, “you are an excellent sex doer, Bucky Barnes, ten gold medals. No, a dozen.”

“It’s a two player sport, doll,” he said and she swore she could hear him smiling, “couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Teamwork makes the dream work,” she agreed, letting her fingers rest against the blissful firmness of his pecs as she hmmed happily to herself, “remind me to send a fruit basket to Janey and Doc Harris next time I see them.”

“Same,” he huffed, complaining low in his throat as she finally worked up the energy to start wiggling out from under his arm, “hey-”

“Shh,” she shushed him, bopping a finger against his nose as she leant over him, “I’m going to the bathroom not the north pole - you stay right there, handsome, I’ll be back before you know it.”

“You better be,” he grumbled, making her laugh all over again with all his gorgeous, rumbly nakedness. She thought about asking Steve for drawing lessons just so she could try and capture this moment one day.

Then again it might get awkward if anyone asked to look in her sketchbook.

Still, there was a song in her heart and skip in her step as she cleaned up in the bathroom, humming the chorus to some nineties bop about sunshine she didn’t really know the words too as she flushed the toilet and washed her hands. 

The girl in the mirror was humming too, bright eyed and messy haired as she wiped her hands on the hem of the shirt she’d stolen from the floor. She took a moment to inhale the smell of his cologne still lingering on the fabric before she grinned at her reflection. 

It was strange, but she almost didn’t recognise herself, she looked so… happy.

It wasn’t like she wasn’t normally a happy person, she was, but this was different. And not just post-sex-endorphin-rush different… although, there was most definitely that too. It was everything, after all the ups and downs of the last few months everything finally felt like it was clicking into place.

She had friends who were closer to family, a job she loved, secret super powers she was finally getting the hang of, and she had him too.  

Darcy felt good. She felt… whole.

And it didn’t dampen her mood one bit when she entered the bedroom again to find him in nothing but his boxers and dog tags looking like a whole damn meal as he browsed through her knickknacks. 

She was seriously considering whether she had the stamina for round four when he turned to look at her, holding a very familiar bear she’d completely forgotten was still on display. 

“Ah,” her face heated immediately, stomach squeezing as she tugged at the hem of her stolen shirt and tried to sound nonchalant, “I see you’ve met Bucky Bear.”

She’d really meant to hide that before he came round but in the rush…

“Bucky bear?”

“Don’t laugh,” she begged, rushing across the room and squeezing her hands together, “I, uh, went to the mall with Jane after work on Monday to pick up some stuff for the lab and when we were walking past Stuff-A-Plush we saw they had the Avengers bears in stock and… well, Jane wanted to make a Thor Bear and while I was waiting for her I saw the lil dog tags and the shirt…”

It had been a momentary distraction at first, window shopping as she picked out all the little bits she would put on a Bucky Bear theoretically. The mini plastic dogtags like the ones he never took off, the tiny Henley shirt in the same burgundy color he always wore. She found a faux-leather jacket with a grey jersey hood sewn in and dark jeans and it might have ended there if she hadn’t seen it… the grumpiest goddamn bear she’d ever seen. It was in the very last bin, ignored by the other shoppers who were cooing over the candy colored plushies and vibrant super hero bears. 

It’s little downturned mouth and frown sold her, following her up to the counter before she could think about how potentially creepy it was to make a stuffed bear effigy of a guy you’d been officially dating for less than a month. 

“So… yeah, I kinda ended up with a Bucky Bear,” she finished lamely, staring at a spot on the carpet she’d missed last time she vacuumed as she waited for his response, “Is it totally creepy? I know we’ve only been dating for a few weeks and all…”

“It might just be the most adorable thing I ever heard or saw,” he said, relief catching in her chest as she looked up to find him grinning at her, “God, I love you, Darcy.”

Her heart stopped dead in her chest, lips parting as she felt her soul lifting up out of her body to flutter somewhere above her head.

“You do?” 

It was his turn to panic, his eyes widening as if he’d suddenly realized what he’d said. 

Please don’t take it back, she begged silently, please.

He looked so vulnerable, Adam's apple bobbing as, after an endless moment, he nodded his head.

“I do,” he said again, “I love you, Darce, have done since before I believed I still could.”

“Oh thank God,” Darcy wheezed, all the air leaving her in a rush as she hurled herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck, “I love you too, B.”

“Wait… You do?” He pulled his head back to look at her, wide eyed and adorably stunned. 

“Of course, you idiot!” She laughed, unable to stop smiling as she stretched up to kiss him smack on the mouth, “I’ve loved you for ages, I just didn’t want to freak you out by saying it too soon and ruining everything.”

It would have been such a classicly Darcy thing to do, the truth was she’d been fighting it back for days. She’d already swallowed at least three ‘I love yous’ that night alone when he’d done that thing with his tongue and she’d seen actual stars.

“You love… me?” He said again, his hands resting hesitantly at her waist like he couldn’t believe she was really there.

“No dumbass I’m talking to the bear” she huffed, grabbing his face between her hands and pinching his cheeks, “of course I love you! I am head over heels for you, you ridiculous man.”

“You love me,” he repeated more firmly now, his mouth stretching into a grin as his arms tightened around her. He kissed her deeply, making her gasp and laugh as he spun her in a circle, “holy shit, do you have the worst taste in men, doll.”

“I have the best taste in men,” she argued happily.

“And bears,” he smirked.

“Hey, he’s promised to keep me company whilst you're off saving the world and shit.”

“Good on you, soldier,” he said seriously to bear as he put it back in its spot and patted its head, “although I’m kinda bummed I didn’t get a Darcy Bear, who's gonna keep me company when your saving the world with your science?”

She blushed even deeper, leaning into his side, “I think there’s a Stuff-a-Plush near Coney Island, we could always pick you one up on Saturday.”

“Perfect,” he said, kissing her hair.

And damnit he was right. It was perfect.

Chapter Text

Friday at six came around sooner than Darcy expected, Bucky accompanying her down to the Doctor's office with an easy smile and an arm around her shoulders. 

Jeez she was proud of him, for the super hero stuff sure, but for this too. She wondered if he even realized how far he’d come, no longer flinching or shrinking into himself as they waited for Doc Harris to get her things together. He held up the wall next to her like it was just another day in just another room, not watching the door with a haunted stare or looking at the EKG machine like it might at any moment gain sentience and try and kill them.  

“Sorry it’s a bit ugly,” Doctor Harris said from her desk, opening up a plastic case with a self-deprecating sigh and revealing the inhibitor, “it’s still in its alpha phase. I’m hoping to eventually turn it into something more like a wristwatch maybe, or a necklace, something that can be manually controlled, but until then…”

Darcy couldn't help but agree at the ‘ugly’ assessment as the Doc held up a thick, black collar. It seemed to be made out of some kind of heavy plastic-y webbing with metal joints and a big blinking box sat slap bang in the center of it.

Needless to say it was not something that went with Darcy’s usual wardrobe.

“I wear a lot of scarfs,” Darcy joked as Doc Harris fiddled with the settings, using a tiny screwdriver to make a minute adjustment before she set it aside.

“Ha - well, let’s just make sure it works first before we start worrying about the aesthetics. Would you mind a quick phase before we try it on, as a base level? Phasing out and running your hand through the table should do it, and Mr Barnes - if you could witness it?”

“Of course,” Darcy laughed, winking at Bucky as she reached for her invisible fire alarm, pulling down on the plastic lever and feeling the familiar tingle of the phase as it moved through her, “you watching, handsome?”

There was the tiniest little fraction of an uptick at the corner of his mouth, his gaze intense as he watched her like a sexy hawk, “I’ve got eyes on you.”

She waved her hand through the table easily before pulling back to consider the situation.

“Y’know,” she said in a low voice, feeling decidedly wicked as she bit her lip, “I could do anything right now and only you’d know about it…”

She shot him a teasing look, seeing a familiar hunger in his eyes as she sauntered towards him with an extra little wiggle in her walk.

“Darcy’s completed the objective,” he said, his voice just a shade deeper than it had been before. Not taking his eyes off of her as she tugged at the collar of her shirt like she was hot.

“Anything at all…”

“And if you could phase back, Darcy?” the Doc asked sweetly, utterly oblivious to the utterly depraved turn Darcy’s mind had taken recently. She blamed Bucky, the guy was too damn sexy for his own good.

“But of course I won’t,” Darcy sighed, giving him a final wink as she turned to walk back to the Doc, “I’ll save that for later, cowboy.” She flipped the switch back up, ears popping as the floor became more solid beneath her, “and I’m back again!”

“Perfect,” Doctor Harris clapped her hands before reaching for the collar again, “now let’s try this on for size, shall we?”

“Sure,” Darcy laughed in agreement, pulling her hair up out of the way as Doctor Harris lowered it over her head. 

It was not the most comfortable thing in the world by a long shot, the collar weighing heavily against her throat before, with a loud click, Doctor Harris fastened it in place. It drew tighter as she adjusted it, sitting right next to the skin. It felt strange, like the plastic of those big blue bags they had at IKEA only twice as thick. The metal sat cold and heavy against Darcy’s throat as she reached up to run her finger over it curiosly.

“How does that feel?” Doc Harris asked, adjusting the back of the collar once more before skirting around Darcy to peer critically at the front, “I’m afraid it has to be right next to the skin to work, but it’s not too tight is it? You can breathe okay?”

“Just about,” Darcy said as tactfully as she could as she poked at it, “I don’t think they’ll be selling them at Claire’s any time soon but it’s bearable.”

“Looks like something from your goth phase,” Bucky said, soothing her sudden wave of nerves as he leant forward to grab her other hand, “just needs some spikes.”

“Don’t mock the goth phase,” she snarked back with a smile at him, “I’ve seen photos of you in your guyliner days.”

“Camouflage paint,” he grumped.

“Eh, potayto-potahto.”

“Well, I think you look great,” the Doc chuckled, fumbling inside the case for the remote, “but either way for now our main concern is just ensuring the technology works right. I’m going to switch it on in just a moment, it’s going to make a beeping sound and might feel a little strange, okay?”

“Okay,” Darcy nodded, pulling her fingers away from the plastic. Even holding tight to Bucky’s hand, the anxiety crept back over her, a deep sense of foreboding she was doing everything she could to ignore. 

It was perfectly natural, she told herself, given her recent history with technological doodads going wrong. And besides, it wasn’t like she even needed the inhibitor anymore, not after her very successful experiments with Bucky, but…

But it was for the best.

If some day something did go wrong, she wanted to know it was there, that it worked. That they wouldn’t have to struggle around looking for an answer and risk her fading out completely in the meantime. 

This needed to happen. 

“It’s okay,” Bucky murmured beside her, her expression giving her away as he squeezed her hand, “if you change your mind or if anything feels wrong you can take it off.”

He looked so perfectly sure she couldn’t help but be soothed by him, better than a thousand calming pills as he nodded confidently at her.

“Exactly,” Harris agreed, shooting them a warm smile as she fiddled with the little machine that acted as the collar’s remote, “if you’re not ready all you have to do is say the word.”

“Thanks Doc, Thanks B,” Darcy smiled, feeling grateful all over again for the people she’d ended up surrounded with, “but I can do this.”

Bucky’s hand tightened in hers one last time before letting her go, stepping back as the Doc looked over, waiting for her go ahead.

Taking a deep breath, Darcy nodded. 

“Here we go then,” Harris said, a high-pitched beep cutting through the room as a strange, almost claustrophobic feeling washed over her.

It was like someone shutting a door she didn’t know was open, a weirdly heavy feeling settling over her like a new layer of skin. Tight and constrictive and… not right.  

“Woah,” she heard herself say, head spinning for just a moment as gravity seemed to squeeze her up and spit her back out again in the space between seconds.

“Are you okay?” Harris asked at the same time Bucky said, “what is it, doll?”

“I’m okay -” Darcy said, waving them both off, “just felt a bit tingly when it fired up was all, it’s got a kick to it.”

“I’ll try and fix that too,” Harris sighed self-deprecatingly, “but until then, do you feel up to trying to phase again? See if this thing really works?”

“Yup,” Darcy nodded, a half-lie with all the fuzziness still hanging over her, “here we go again. Three, two, one…”

She closed her eyes, having to dig deep to get past the feeling to the quiet place in her mind. The alarm was still there, red plastic with the white switch still set in the up position. Taking deep, even breaths she pulled on it, feeling the tension, hearing the click and…

Nothing.

She felt the same - the minute differences in the texture of reality unchanged around her. The ground felt solid, the air still blowing cold over the exposed skin of her forearms and - when she reached to try and phase her hand through the table again, it just bounced off the wood with a hollow thunk.

“Doc?” She asked, looking up uncertainly, “am I…?”

“Still visible,” Harris said with a relieved smile, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder, “it seems to be working at least.”

“Yay,” Darcy cheered, pumping her fist in the air, “you did it Doc - I never doubted ya!”

She reached for the collar again, almost unconsciously, tugging at the webbing as it sat heavily against her skin. It really was the weirdest feeling, like she was wearing a full body catsuit a size too small for her - only much less kinky.

“I gotta say though, it’s not the most comfortable thing,” Darcy continued, feeling sweat start to bead against her spine as she dug her nails into the edge of it, “can I take it off now?”

“Just be still a second longer,” Harris said, moving forward to gently pry Darcy’s hands away from the collar, “it’ll take a moment to cool down, we don’t want to risk damaging your system by removing it too soon.”

“Makes sense,” she said, letting her hands be moved away even as the panic crept higher and higher up the back of her neck. A lizard brain feeling she couldn’t quite connect too, “although you gotta work on these side effects Doc, it’s… kinda awful.”

It really was, the feeling drawing tighter as a shudder traced the length of her spine, she wanted it off already.

“Here, this will help,” Harris said, her hands moving too fast for Darcy to follow as she lifted Darcy’s hair and pressed something cold and sharp to the back of her neck.

“Wha-?” Darcy gasped, trying to pull away as it stung , a wasp strike in the back of her neck followed by the spreading of a cold, jello-like wrongness through her veins. 

“Be still, Darcy, still like water,” Harris soothed her, holding her by the arms to stop her from jerking away, “it’s just something to help with the side effects, we’ll have the collar off in no time.”

Of course it was, of course she was just trying to help. That’s what Doc Harris did, she helped her. Darcy relaxed, swaying slightly on her feet as she leant back into the Doctor’s supporting arms. 

“Sure Doc,” she nodded, feeling weirdly light headed but not enough to care, “I’m always happy to comply.”

“Take it off her.”

The words startled her, reminding her Bucky was still in the room. How had she forgotten that? He was right there, but he looked angry.

What had happened to make him angry? 

She wanted to say something, to reach out and touch him and tell him it was all okay, but her hands didn’t seem to be working properly anymore. Fingers tingling like she had pins and needles as she blinked stupidly down at them.

“Take it off her, right now.”

“Please Mr Barnes, just a moment,” The Doc said, her breath warm against Darcy’s cheek as she helped her stand, she was so helpful like that, “ah I know - this might help. Zhelaniye , rzhaviy, semnadtsat-”

“No- no don’t - please -” The look on Bucky’s face turned from anger to panic, a raw, painful feeling in his eyes as he stared between the doctor and Darcy’s neck, “don’t hurt her.”

Hurt who? What was going on? Why was he staring at her neck, she tried to focus her eyes, something silver glinted just below the collar. Something she could now feel cold and sharp against her skin.

“Rasvet, pech, devyat-”

Did Doc Harris have a scalpel pressed against her throat? Why ? Did she need to cut the collar off or something? And why was everyone suddenly speaking in Russian?

She didn’t know much, just the bits she’d picked up from her grandma and the class she’d taken for her language credit at Culver but…  devyat? That was like… the number nine wasn’t it? 

Nine what?

“Dobroserdechniy, Vozvrasheniye na rodinu, adin-”

Why… why did Bucky look like he was about to cry? And why was the room spinning, tilting up underneath her feet as her lungs seemed to shrink inside her chest. Too small for a proper breath. Her knees went out from under her, something warm and wet trickling over her collarbone as she almost fell, only to be caught by Doctor Harris.

She tried to speak, to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t form. Slipping away in thought bubbles as she watched the scene from outside herself.

“Tovarniy vagon.”

Bucky’s eyes were the last thing she saw, pale blue and utterly foreign to her as he replied, “ya gotov otvechat .”

Then the world went black.

—-

“I’m always happy to comply.”

The words jarred him, foreign in Darcy’s voice and utterly bone chilling. It could be a coincidence but… 

“Take it off her,” Bucky demanded, adrenaline rushing hard and fast through his veins as the small unsettled feeling he’d pushed to the back of his mind clawed its way forward at last. 

He had never seen Doctor Harris as a threat, not after everything she’d done to help Darcy during and after her resurrection, but he was wrong. There was a ferver in her eyes he’d missed, the edge of madness he recognised all too well.

“Take it off her, right now.”

If she didn’t he would, he’d break the thing with his bare hands if it came to it. He wasn’t armed, a goddamn foolish thing he realized now, but he still had the upper hand. Harris was shorter, slighter, and didn’t display the muscle mass or stance he would expect from a fighter, if it came to it he would snap her fucking neck if he had too.

Darcy was too vulnerable, the very ability that would have protected her from this situation shut off from her, leaving her unable to escape. Her gaze was growing more distant by the second as whatever Harris had injected into her started to take effect.

“Please Mr Barnes, just a moment,” Harris said with a sickly sweet smile, holding Darcy more securely against her before lifting her other hand, something silver shining in it as she met his gaze, “ah I know - this might help… Longing, rusted, seventeen-»

“No- no don’t - please- ” the words echoed inside of him with the sound of sirens, his body surging forward only to freeze when his eyes fixed on the scalpel pressed to Darcy’s throat. Too close to the jugular for him to risk another step, another breath. All he could do was beg, “don’t hurt her .”

«Daybreak, furnace, nine-»

He raised his hands to his ears to try and stop the sound, the pressure growing in his skull like a storm.

He couldn’t go back, not to the monster, he had to stay himself - he had to protect Darcy.

Harris only pressed the scalpel tighter to Darcy’s neck, shaking her head at him as red began to bead at the surface. To drip. A jerk of her chin and he was lowering his hands, absolutely helpless to do anything but stand there as the ground opened up beneath him. 

«Benign, homecoming, one.»

It was too late, he’d failed everyone. 

Steve and Jane and Thor and Darcy - his Darcy - who knew every word to the Bigfoot Hunter theme song and drank weird flavored sodas, who collected cushions like a dragon with a hoard and stroked his hair when she thought he was asleep.

She looked so confused, her pupils blown wide behind her glasses and her mouth parted. He focused all of himself on her, on the two little beauty marks on her right cheek, the two high on her left, the little smudge in her cats-eye eyeliner and the color of her hair. He tried to keep it all, every memory, every moment, tattooing it behind his eyeballs.

The sound of her singing off-key in the bathroom, the way her nose crinkled when she laughed, the color of her eyes, the-

«Freight car.»

The Soldier blinked.

He was ready to comply.

—-

Jane hesitated in front of the pale grey door, her hand half raised to knock as she shifted anxiously from foot to foot. She was being ridiculous, she was sure of it, there was an obvious explanation she was overlooking but…

Inhaling sharply she rapped at the door, if she was being stupid she was being stupid - it was better to know than to keep worrying. 

“Jane?” Steve opened the door in his sweats, blinking at her awkwardly as she tried not to fidget, “what’s up?”

“Hi Steve,” she said with a stupid little wave, “sorry to bother you but I… I was looking for Darcy. We were supposed to meet for breakfast but she didn’t show up, and, well, you know Darcy - she’s never late for waffles…”

His expression went immediately from confused to concerned, a sharp line forming between his brows as he reached automatically into his pocket, “She not answering her phone?”

“No,” Jane said, hearing her voice get higher as she watched Steve dial only to be met with the same beep of the answer phone, “it’s going straight to voicemail, Bucky’s too. I called him because I thought maybe they were together but nothing. I, um, I have the code for her apartment and it’s empty, so I came to check his apartment and…”

For a nobel-prize winning scientist renowned for her ability to dissect and explain complex theorems and hypothesis, she certainly did sound like a complete and total idiot. Luckily Steve didn’t seem to notice.

“He’s not answering either?”

“Exactly,” she twisted her fingers together in front of her, her anxiety growing as the concern on Steve’s face turned into something closer to fear, “so yeah… have you seen them?”

“Not since yesterday, he went to meet Darcy just after five and didn’t come back up,” the corners of his mouth tightened, cheeks drawing in as he cast his eyes past her down the corridor, “I figured they were staying at her place - hang on-” 

He half-shut the door for a moment, returning with his sneakers on and a determined look on his face as he marched down to the next door, Jane following awkwardly in his wake. He knocked loudly before punching in the code and opening it up.

“If you’re in here Buck you better sound off,” he called leaving Jane hovering awkwardly in the doorway as he checked the apartment, “cos I’m coming in.”

She couldn’t help but lean in, looking around the empty room. She could see the signs of life, the empty cans of soda on the side table and the blanket still lying creased on the sofa, one of Darcy’s cardigans was slung over the back of a chair but there was no Darcy.

No Bucky either.

“Steve?” She called, “anything?”

“They’re not here,” he replied, coming out of the door with a grim expression, “and Buck’s phone is ringing off for me too.”

“Do you think they’ve gone out somewhere? I mean, Darcy’s been flakey before, sure, but with everything going on at the minute…”

“Bucky wouldn’t go radio silent like this, I don’t think Darcy would either - not after everything that’s happened,” Steve said, confirming her worst fears even as he gave her a half-smile, “besides, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without her phone on her.”

“That’s true enough,” she tried to smile back but faltered, “but if they’ve not eloped then…”

“Then let’s put this Stark tech to use,” he said, striding back down the hall towards the common room before pressing a little button she hadn’t noticed before, “uh, Ms Friday, Ma’am? Are you there?”

“Good morning, Captain Rogers, how can I be of assistance today?” A cheerful Irish voice piped through the speakers over head.

“I need eyes on Bucky Barnes,” he said, throat working as he hesitated before adding in a harsh voice, “Initiate Where's Waldo protocol.”

“Initiating,” the voice confirmed as Jane shot him a look.

“What’s…?”

“Something Stark set up,” Steve said with a harsh exhale through his nose, “just in case Bucky ever went…”

“Ah,” Jane nodded, understanding at last. It was easy to forget Bucky’s history when he’d become such a normal part of their lives, “I understand.”

“No live footage found, playing the last known recording of Bucky Barnes in A level instead, fifteen hundred fifty six yesterday.” the voice said, “please wait just a moment whilst I search the rest of the building's security systems for further sightings.”

As she spoke the screen across the room lit up, black and white security footage rolling of Bucky and Darcy in the elevator. Jane felt her heart squeeze as the sound of their laughter spilled tinnily from the speakers, hope thundering painfully in her chest even as they waited for the other shoe to drop.

“What’s that? Your lab’s floor?” Steve asked, squinting at the number on the screen as the doors opened. Darcy was tugging at Bucky’s hand, both of them grinning as he grabbed her, pulling her close and swinging his arm around her shoulder before ruffling her hair.

“The floor below,” Jane corrected with a stuttering shake of her head, “there are a few other labs and engineering bays but it’s mostly offices.”

“Footage found,” the voice above said, “eighteen hundred and thirty hours.”

The image on screen flickered and changed, replaced with grainy footage from another elevator, the service one from the look of it. In it two figures stood silently, a woman in a pale coat with her back turned to the camera and the unmistakable figure of Bucky carrying something in his arms. No - someone. Darcy’s familiar dark curls were just visible spilling over his shoulder as he held her in a bridal carry.

Jane’s stomach dropped, what was he doing? Why was she slumped like that? Was she hurt? If so why hadn’t he taken her to the medbay instead of in the service elevator of all places. She was about to open her mouth to say as much when the footage changed again.

“Last confirmed sighting, eighteen thirty five, parking bay D.”

The silence threatened to choke her, sitting like water in her lungs as she watched Bucky trail the stranger across the asphalt. Darcy still motionless in his arms. It took a second, and a closer angle, for Jane to recognise the woman at last.

“Selena?” She heard herself say, head aching as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing, “why would Doctor Harris be taking them out of the tower? And why is Bucky carrying Darcy like that? Did something happen - are - is she ill? Why didn’t they tell us…”

There was a black sedan, Selena opening the door and gesturing for Bucky to place Darcy inside and get in himself. Selena turned, giving a last smile back at the camera before she joined them, the car peeling smoothly from its spot as soon as the door closed like it had never been there at all.

There had to be a reason, there had to be logic. Jane’s stomach twisting as she tried desperately to find it. To make sense of everything she was seeing.

“That’s not Bucky.”

The tightness in Steve’s voice shocked her even more than the footage had, turning to find him staring at the screen in abject despair.

“Steve?”

He swallowed, eyes shining as they turned to hers, as scared as she’d ever seen him, “that was the Winter Soldier.”

Chapter Text

Bruckston, New Jersey was a place where dreams went to die. A city wracked with poverty and drugs and all the things they’d one day fix but for now made for the perfect cover. It was an inauspicious place for rebirth, but wasn’t that always the way?

The old Hydra had died, its awesome power squandered by lesser men, but from its ashes Project Hades had found its life’s breath. A newer, better version of Hydra, the end of all things to bring about the beginnings of a new Elysiam.

This was the Hydra she loved.

Svetlana Harrison looked over her personal kingdom with satisfaction. She’d shed the alias of Selena Harris as easily as a coat, names mattered about as much as individual places in the greater scheme of things, one day soon they would control the whole world and with it do away with such petty distinctions. Everywhere and everyone would be equal in their multitude of eyes, raised to perfection by the wisdom only they could enforce.

Despite only being a few hours drive from the Avengers Tower, it had been more than two years since she’d last stepped foot in Hades Base, her base. The pinnacle of her career with its abundance of laboratories, engineering spaces and training rooms. 

The potential for greatness echoed off of every damp concrete wall, returning back to her ten fold. A space prepped for miracles in an unpropitious landscape.  

Running her fingers along the control panel in the observation room she was pleased to find cleaning standards had been maintained in her absence. The plastic switches and metal dials polished to a high shine as they awaited her return, a return she always knew she would make.

She had been careful, so careful, cutting all ties with her life before as soon as the Stark job became a shadow of a possibility. It didn’t matter that Hades was within driving distance of the Tower, Svetlana - Selena - would have never once stepped foot there. It would be a foolish thing indeed to survive the digital fall of Hydra only to out herself with her own hubris before her mission was complete. One wrong step would be all it took to destroy her lifetime of hard work.

Her care had been worth it, she had initially only intended to get access to the Avenger records and keep an eye on their plans to eradicate the last of her kind, but then the asset had arrived at the tower and retrieval had become her goal. A goal she had even then set aside as an even greater prize became available to her.

Darcy Lewis had a potential that even their great Winter Soldier could not match, her abilities enabling her to go and see and hear things that not one of their greatest spies could hope to. Once she was stronger, once she was trained, she would be their new hope.

Their new beginning.

She was the reward for all of Svetlana’s patience, a gift from fate itself for her dedication to the cause.

“So you have returned to us at last,” Her second in command and the interim head of the base greeted her as he entered the room. A small man with thinning hair meticulously slicked back against his skull and comically round glasses.

“And I’ve brought gifts,” Svetlana smiled benevolently as she took his hand, “it is good to see you again, Heinrich.”

“You too, Svetlana,” he replied, his palm clammy in hers but dropped soon enough. Clearing his throat, Heinrich gestured his head towards one of the many screens lit up above her desk, “I see you are resetting our Soldier already.” 

The history of the base had been an unexpected boon when the asset appeared, he had been stored here once before after all and - despite all the years the base had been left abandoned in between - it was still perfectly configured to contain him. The last time he had been in this place it had been before she was born, the machinery they used to control him rusted and half forgotten in his absence, it’s timely restoration however had proved exactly what they were capable of if they worked together.

She let her gaze land on the green-tinted footage, lingering on the rigid figure of the Soldier as he sat strapped into the machine, stripped down and silent as the scientists did their work. They were capable of great things indeed. 

“Since you went to all the trouble of getting the machine fixed up it would be a shame not to use it,” she chuckled as she watched, “still, I hope we will be able to replace it soon with a more modern method of control - after we have reconditioned him of course. He has been too long in the wild.”

“And your new project?”

The question contained the first needle of doubt, but Svetlana wouldn’t be goaded. Not on such a wonderfully auspicious day. Rising from her seat she fixed her subordinate with a bright smile, “I was just going to see her, will you join me?” 

She didn’t wait for his response, already locking down her station and heading for the door, leaving Heinrich to catch up with his shorter legs.

The layout had not changed, Hades had once been a jail, many years ago, before being taken over as a stash house for a bootlegging operation in the twenties. Now it was her temple. 

She had selected the very best of their medical suites for Miss Lewis, clean and white with fresh crisp linens and the best equipment they had on hand. She waved the doctors back to work when they stopped at her entry, not requiring their appraisal or adulation when their attention was needed elsewhere. 

The hum of the ventilation system blended with the beep of the machines, a soothing background of sounds as her team worked to check over their new asset. They had hooked her up to the monitors and IVs and diodes, tracking and controlling every step of her progress.

“You will be keeping them seperate now, I suppose?” Heinrich asked, the faintest sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead as he peered at the sleeping girl with apparent disinterest, “sending the Soldier off to new ground? Or taking her to another facility, perhaps?”

He thought himself so subtle, but Svetlana could hear the clicking of the wheels in his head. The same desperation for any scrap of control that all the little men around her seemed afflicted by, a need to claw out more for themselves no matter the cost.

She could never be so selfish.

“Indeed not, I have no intention of separating them at all.”

He gaped openly at that, a smugness curling inside her chest as his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“But Svetlana,” he began when he finally found his voice, his tone far too superior for a man of his rank, “it has always been the practice of our organization to separate new assets from familiar persons and places to ensure the… smoothest induction into their new existence.”

“Commander Harrison,” she corrected him primly in front of their subordinates, reaching forward to brush her fingers gently through Darcy’s tangled hair where it lay against her pillow. It felt like silk beneath her fingers, “Miss Lewis is a special case. I have been working with a new model - a blend of the Faustus and Zola methods which far exceeds the sum of its parts. The Persefona method feeds upon the emotions of the individual, realigning their beliefs to the correct way of thinking without having to remove all of their previous identity. Because of this, keeping them together will only aid us.”

“How do you mean?” Heinrich asked, his squint worsening as he turned it on her. Normally Svetlana wouldn’t allow such disrespect in her own sanctum, but she was feeling generous today - willing to share her methods with her less creatively-gifted colleague even as he began to vex her. 

“Her feelings for him will make it easier to convert her to our cause,” she informed him softly, not wishing to trouble her sleeping patient despite the heavy dose of sedation she was under, “they will serve as a strong base for the memories we will give her, she already loves him so making her love Hydra will be an easy thing. And besides, with their abilities combined?” Her eyes gleamed, shining with bright visions of the future, “they will be unstoppable. The Adam and Eve of our new world.”

“You were always optimistic, Commander,” Heinrich scoffed, shaking his head at the hospital bed.

“And also right, Heinrich,” she reminded him, letting the edge of a razor blade into her tone, her generosity was not without its limits, “that is why I was put in charge of this base, and all its resources. Do not forget that Hades is mine, and it has found a new face for Hydra at last. One that will be as beautiful as she is feared.”

—-

The Soldier waited, he was good at that. He knew intrinsically how to be still, stillness was compliance, compliance was rewarded.

His head was quiet, thoughts shocked out by the lance of the machine. Even if he forgot everything else he would remember the reset, the feeling of his blood boiling in his temples as the electricity ripped every thought from him. It left him clean, a fresh skinned kill ready to be jointed. 

He took stock of himself in the silence. The tactical clothing they’d put him in felt too loose, his uniform had always been designed to compress, to hold him together in any situation. This didn’t band across his chest like it should or dig into his ribs, and his holsters were empty. It was an eerie unfamiliarity, even if the room he’d been stored in seemed known to him. The cell was comprised of empty concrete walls and floors, a cot, a sink, and a small metal desk and chair where he could examine mission materials. 

Comfort had never been the priority, there was reassurance in that.

«Soldat?» A warm voice called from the other side of the bars they’d shut him behind, «if you could come with me, please?»

He rose immediately at the appearance of his new Komandir. She was unfamiliar to him, a woman of mid-height and stature, forty to forty five years old with auburn hair, dark eyes, and no obvious tattoos or scars. Her white coat denoted her as a doctor, but he made no assumptions.

The handlers might change over the years but the need to comply remained the same, no matter who held his words. He was the fist of Hydra. He obeyed.

«This way,» she gestured ahead of them as he trailed her through the compound, his eyes fixed straight ahead even as he memorized its layout. Exits, entrances, weapons, storing it all away like his instincts demanded. The flight of stairs on the left, the elevator they took on the right. An underground structure, expansive.

They were on a higher floor, but not above ground, no windows here. He internalized the signs on the walls, English, as the base changed around him. Warmer. Cleaner. His master opened a door at the end of a corridor, ushering him into a bright, white-washed room with a single bed inside. There was a woman asleep in it, pale even against the stark white linen. She was surrounded by machines and the scent of antiseptic, and utterly alone.  

He glanced at her just long enough to assess her as a threat before turning his gaze up again, keeping it fixed in the middle distance as he stood waiting for his orders. 

«Please - have a good look at her, Soldat,» his master gestured towards the woman, her smile making no difference to him. An order was an order. Compliance was expected.

He stepped forward jerkily, his body on a split-second second delay as he looked down again. He didn’t need to do it, he knew enough from the first glance - female, 5’3, mid twenties, unarmed, unconscious. Even if she had been awake it was clear from her uncalloused hands and soft figure she wasn’t a fighter. Threat level minimum. 

He had already calculated several ways to kill her before she could wake.

Still, he had been told to look, so he looked. He looked at her hair, long, dark, unbound and spilling over the pillows. Her face, a pale complexion with a smattering of beauty marks - two close to her mouth on the right side, two high on her cheekbone on the left, another on her chin. 

Her arms lay on top of the sheets, an IV in her wrist and a few faded bruises marring her skin. The black collar she wore around her neck was the only thing that stood out from the scene, a heavy thing fashioned from thick black material and metal fittings, a plastic box sitting at its center. 

He didn’t know the purpose of the collar and had not been told to speculate, so he didn’t. 

«Well,» his master prompted, «what do you think?»

He opened his mouth to offer a threat assessment, his thoughts caught between the Russian she spoke and a strange flush of English as he processed how best to explain himself in the fewest possible words. His masters always preferred brevity.  

Instead what came out was, «Who is she?»

The words startled him, cringing away from them as he blinked at his own audacity. He wasn’t supposed to question. Not ever. To question was to doubt, to doubt was to suffer. 

It didn’t matter who she was, or he was, or anyone else. All that mattered was the mission. The orders. 

«You don’t recognise her?» His master asked, a sickly sweetness to her voice that made him sweat. He had heard that tone before, usually before a beating or worse a reset. It was the voice of a trap, the honey used to kill flies.

«No,» he said, desperate to pull his eyes away from her even with his master's command still fresh in his head. There was something about her, a feeling that grew stronger with every second, a familiarity about the shape of her face and the curve of her mouth but…

But nothing. He knew nothing. His mind was a patchwork of ingrained truths, half-forgotten whispers, muscle memories and pain. It recognised only the cause. It functioned only to obey. 

«It’s okay,» his master laid a hand on his arm, making him flinch as she looked from him down to the woman again,  «this is our newest asset, the most important we may have ever had. Tell me Soldat, do you think she’s pretty?»

She smiled as she said it, the corner of her mouth curling up cruelly as panic tightened in his throat.

This was a new test. He had no framework for it - he didn’t make judgments about anything other than how best to execute a mission or a man. There was no beauty in his world, no lust, no want -  the human body was nothing but a series of targets, a calculation of soft spots and arteries beneath the surface of the skin. 

To him all a smooth forehead should represent was a better bullseye, a slender neck was only appealing because it was easier to break.

What did his new master want him to say? How was he supposed to answer when it had been beaten into him not to think like that . Not to care about the dark smudge of her eyelashes against her cheeks or the soft pink color of her mouth.

«I…» his voice scratched in his throat, a rough rasp of barely concealed panic as he tried to avoid the pitfall set before him, «I want to comply.»

«And compliance will be rewarded,» his master reached up and squeezed his arm twice as she spoke, her hand thin and gentle, pausing for a moment before she did it again, «honesty will be rewarded too. Tell me honestly, Soldat, do you find her pretty?»

He could not refuse the question, forcing himself to confront it instead. To analyze the shape of her lips and the curve of her eyebrows in a way that had nothing to do with death or destruction. Guilt washed hot through his chest, a ghoulish sort of voyeurism overtaking him as he weighed her with his eyes in the pretence that he was a man instead of an animal.

Killing her would have been easier than this.

«Yes,» he said at last, teeth clenching with the urge to swallow back the words, «she is pretty.»

«And do you want to protect her?»

A breath of air hissed between his teeth at the question, something sharp pulling at him, a desperate surge of emotions that didn’t fit inside his body. He had guarded people before, handlers, assets, convoys of weapons and cargo and things. He had done it because he was told to, his opinion on the matter was irrelevant.

This wasn’t the same, something about this woman, about her face…

It didn’t feel like just another duty.

«Yes,» he nodded stiffly, shamefully. 

He wanted to protect her, and he deserved whatever punishment he got for it. He only hoped he hadn’t signed her death warrant by admitting it aloud.

«Wonderful,» his master smiled, her teeth sharp and white as squeezed his arm once more before she stepped away, «then, if you continue to train hard and prove your loyalty remains with our great cause, I will entrust her to you when she’s ready.»

«To… me?» He answered back, he shouldn’t but he did. Jaw aching with a tension he couldn’t shake as he met his master's eye.

He wasn’t supposed to make eye contact with his Komandirs but he couldn’t help it, frozen by the force of her gaze, dark and bright and gleaming.

«To you,» she confirmed with a nod, «you will be her protector, Soldat, you must watch over her, keep her safe, care for her even, if you can.»

«Understood,» he said, something low in his stomach tugging at him still, as if it was being pulled towards the sleeping woman even now. He wanted to know her name but didn’t know how to ask, he had pushed his luck so far already, he tried to frame it as a matter of respect instead, «is she a Komandir too?»

«Not exactly,» his master sighed, reaching out to stroke her fingers over the woman’s arm, her touch gentle and almost reverent as she settled the sheets around her more carefully.

«If you are our winter then she will be our spring. Our new ‘Persephone.’ With her we will create our own Elysiam on Earth. But…  you may call her Darcy, if you wish, or Miss Lewis perhaps, I think she’d like that.»

He nodded tightly, ready to comply.

—-

Darcy woke up like some people fell in love, slowly, painfully and with a great deal of confusion. It was like a Sunday afternoon nap gone wrong on a nuclear level, leaving her with a dry mouth and crusty eyes and absolutely no sense of space, time or reality.

The pillow felt unfamiliar under her cheek, the fabric stiff against her skin as she blinked against the brightness of wherever she was. There was the whirr and beep of something in the background and the sharp smell of antiseptic in the air.

“Darcy - at last, you’re awake!”

She knew that voice, it itched at her brain as a half-familiar face swam into view through the brightness. Dark eyes, auburn hair, a worried frown, pale hands reaching out and helping her sit, a glass of water with a purple straw pressed infront her. 

“Doc?” She rasped with a voice like sandpaper, tilting forward to suck a few grateful mouthfuls of the cool water before coughing her throat clear, “what happened? Where…?”

The question trailed off, her stomach clenching as the room lost some of its fuzz. A plain, white space with hospital machines and hospital sheets and, as she looked down, a hospital gown to match.

A hospital bed then, go figure.

“There was an incident in the labs,” Doctor Harris said, setting the water on a side table before reaching up to steady her, “you’re okay, Darcy, you’re safe, but you’re going to need a little time and help to get better.”

The labs? That sounded right, she spent most of her time in the labs after all. She’d been there before when something had happened, something with someone… god, what was her name? 

She struggled with the black space in her head, a tar pit that seemed only capable of spitting out bones of memory. The smell of stale coffee and mango scented body wash, dry desert heat and air conditioned coolness, someone snorting when they laughed and drinking the last of the tequila.

J…

Jess… Jenny…

Jane.

Damn, how could she have forgotten that? Mousy haired strong willed Jane Foster, a genius and human disaster in equal parts and her absolute best friend in the world. Her science sister. Her savior.

“Where’s Jane?” She managed, hating how heavy her tongue felt in her mouth as she craned her head to look around the empty room, “is she okay?” 

“Be still now, like water,” Doctor Harris soothed, Darcy’s muscles relaxing instinctively as she gently touched her shoulder, “Jane is busy at the moment, she’s working hard downstairs to find a fix for all this. In the meantime though she’s asked me to take care of you, is that okay?”

That sounded like Jane, she worked so hard, always ready to save the day come hell or high water. The smartest person she ever met, and one of the most caring too.

“Make sure she eats?” Darcy begged tiredly, trying to scrub the sleep from her eyes even as her head spun, aching with the urge to lie back down again, “and sleeps - you saw her last time when… when everything happened.”

What was everything again?

It was all so fuzzy, whatever had happened in the lab had done a number on her, leaving her feeling unbearably stupid as she reached up to push her hair behind her shoulders. Her fingers caught on something heavy, brushing past a plastic box on a thickly webbed collar around her neck.

“Huh?” She mumbled, finding the edges and trying to dig her nails underneath the weird choker she was wearing, “what is this? How do I get it off?”

It felt too tight, the awareness suddenly cutting into her skin as she tugged at it. She’d been in the Doc’s office hadn’t she? With… with Bucky? They’d been joking about something but then… then he’d looked angry? Or scared? There had been a problem with the inhibitor, oh - that’s what it was, the thing on her neck, it was the inhibitor. But why was she still wearing it?

Why couldn’t she just think?

“Shhhh, your powers have been flaring up outside of your control, this is to stop you from disappearing, it’s important,” Doctor Harris’s hands were over hers, pulling her away as she dug her nails into the skin of her throat, scratching desperately at the collar, “just be still. Like water. Let twilight fall.”

Another wave of calm hit her, knocking the air from her lungs as Doctor Harris laid a hand over her shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. It sounded right, her powers… she’d been so scared about her powers… that she’d fade out. This kept her safe. The doctor kept her safe.

“Twenty five deep breaths,” the doctor soothed her, Darcy following her words instinctively like a moth to a porch light, “still, water, twilight, twenty-five. Still, water, twilight, twenty-five.”

She could do it. She could comply. 

She just wished…

“Bucky?” Her voice came out quiet, pathetic even to herself as the needle sharp desperation in her chest softened at the edges. Blurred like a view through a frosted window as she tried to follow her orders.

“He’s here, he’s right outside,” the doctor chuckled, patting her shoulder again, “and just as worried about you as any man I’ve ever seen, you got lucky there, sunshine. Let me just run a few tests, make sure you’re okay, then I can bring him in, alright?”

Yes, yes she’d like that. It would be okay, Doctor Harris was helping her. Jane was helping her. Bucky would be with her soon.

Darcy slumped against the headboard, the fight leaving her as she let the calm take hold of her completely.

“Okay,” she agreed, swallowing roughly, “sure doc, always happy… happy to comply.”

“That’s my girl,” Harris praised her, pulling out her pen light, “now if you could look straight ahead please.”

The lights flashed, the doctor’s quiet voice filling her head like water in a jug, calm and smooth and still even if she couldn’t quite remember the words.

Even if she couldn’t quite remember anything at all.

—

“Let’s see what’s on this thing then, shall we?” Stark said, his hands moving over a series of controls Steve had yet to figure out as he loaded up the screen.

They’d found the USB device in Doctor Harris’s office with a note addressed to Stark claiming it was to thank him for his hospitality. Steve doubted it would hold any real clues, not given the cleanliness of the getaway they’d made, but they had to know for sure. 

His stomach knotted as he waited impatiently for the file to load. He had failed Bucky, let him be taken right out from under his nose again, and worse he’d endangered Darcy this time too. If Bucky hurt her on their orders… Steve knew there was no coming back from it. For any of them.  

“Thanks Tony,” Steve said to the floor as he tried to ground himself, hands clenched tight against the back of the chair he was leaning on, “for helping out with this.”

“Hey, I’m doing this for Girl Casper,” he shrugged, hitting a few keys distractedly, “she still hasn’t paid me back for that lamp she broke. Although - when we do get them back we’re going to have a conversation about getting that pal of yours a tracker. Or a collar with a little bell on it.”

“Sure,” the corner of his mouth ticked up despite himself, trust Stark to know how to lighten the mood even in the most dire of circumstances. It was a gift Steve wished he could share.

“Okay, now let’s see what Dr Caligari has left us shall we,” Stark hit another key, a dark video file appearing on the screen in front of them, “and… play.”

It was a CCTV feed of an empty road, the numbers in the corner showing its age. December 16th 1991. Steve squinted at the screen, a furrow forming between his brow at the disparate nature of the file - not understanding how something so old could have anything to do with their current situation.

A car crashed into frame, engine smoking as it sat for a handful of seconds before a motorcycle followed, sliding into view and stopping just behind the wreck. A figure stepped down, calm, controlled, his arm shining even in the black and white footage.

Bucky. No. Not Bucky. The Winter Soldier.

“Wait… I know that road,” Stark murmured, the words hitting Steve at the same time as the relevancy of the date did. 

His throat closed, breath trapped in his chest as he watched Howard Stark being dragged from the car and dropped onto the asphalt by the shell of his best friend. He watched in horror at the recognition in Howard’s eyes, even after all the years that had passed. They’d worked together, fought together, and now…

Steve turned his head, swallowing down bile as his gaze fixed on Tony instead, the sound of metal meeting flesh echoing grainily from the speakers as the color drained from his face.

Tony’s eyes were unnaturally wide, the light from the screen reflecting off their wet sheen as he stared on unblinking as the past unfolded in front of them. His fathers death. His mothers. The accident that never was.

“Did you know?” He asked, not looking away from the screen as his mother took her last breath.

Steve’s mouth was painfully dry as he swallowed, stomach swooping as he tried to find his voice in the stranglehold of his throat.

“I suspected Hydra was involved but couldn’t prove it, I…” he shook his head, eyes darting back to the screen as he watched Bucky walk further into frame. His face fully visible and utterly unfamiliar as he raised a gun to the security camera, “I didn’t know it was him.” 

“You didn’t say a word.”

How could he? How the hell could he bring that up with absolutely nothing to back it up but a flash of an image from a madman’s reconstituted brain and a hunch.

Stark would have tortured himself with it, and for what?

“I had no evidence, Tony, I couldn’t find any either,” he bowed his head, mouth held tight, “and if I could spare you that pain…”

The screen went black, silence echoing through the room as they stood in the wake of what they’d witnessed. 

“That wasn’t your call to make,” Tony said, hollow eyes meeting his in the reflection of the now dark screen.

“I thought it was for the best.”

“You were wrong,” Tony whispered, turning on his heel. 

The echo of his footsteps was the only sound in the room, Steve’s throat catching as Tony stopped just before the door, his voice so low that even with his enhanced hearing Steve had to strain to hear it.

“I hope they kill him before you find him,” he whispered, “otherwise I will.”

“Tony - no-” the words were a fist in the gut, Steve reaching out on instinct after him, “it wasn’t him, Hydra had control of him.”

“I don’t care,” Tony turned, animal hurt in his eyes as he roared, “he killed my mom.”

“Hydra killed your mom,” Steve said, stretching for his shoulder only for him to flinch away, “you deserve justice for that, Tony, you do. But you won’t find it by killing another victim.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, “maybe not. Either way - you’re on your own with this, Cap.”

“And Darcy?” Steve called after him as Stark strode away, “does she deserve this too?”

Stark didn’t answer. He was already gone.

Chapter Text

The view from the bifröst had not changed in a millennium, the stars performing their ancient dance, uncaring of who watched from below, if anyone watched at all.

Tonight their audience was at odds with each other, Thor staring into the darkness in an attempt to reign in his temper. He had left Earth as soon as the truth became known, calling to Heimdall from the Tower the moment it became apparent they could not follow Darcy and her beloved through mortal means alone - although now it seemed they would not find them by Asgardian means either. Frustration simmered like coals in his chest as he looked to the stars for answers that Heimdall was unwilling to give. 

“I don’t understand it,” he said through gritted teeth, hands fisted at his side to fight the tremble that threatened even now, “You see everything, Heimdall.”

“Not everything, my prince,” Heimdall replied, his golden eyes distant as he too turned them to the endless sky above them, seeing even now the things Thor could only dream of, “there are things that escape even my eyes, close and far, no one being can know it all.”

“But you do know this,” Thor pressed, turning back at last when his exasperation grew too much to bear, gesturing to the distant star around which he knew his second home spun, “the Midgardian’s cannot hide themselves from your gaze, they do not have the skill, you could see the Lady Darcy and her beloved now if you chose.”

“I could,” Heimdall sighed, hands folded on the sword before him as he weighed Thor up with an ancient gaze, “but I won’t. I have interfered too much with the ways of Midgard already, the Allfather allowed your last request, believing it to be in aid of your chosen mate, but to weigh in again so soon on a situation that is of no concern to us? You know as well as I, it is forbidden.”

“It concerns me,” Thor growled, banging his hand to his chest. He had taken Darcy as a sister and he did not mean to make light of such a vow, she was owed his protection. She was owed safety.

“Then you must face it,” Heimdall said, shaking his head with an unbearable gentleness, “Asgard has done all it can for you, it must face the problems of its own now. I must turn my gaze inward, once more.”

“But Heimdall-”

A calloused palm was held towards him, silencing him before he could begin his complaints. He had the power, the ability, he could find Darcy in the work of a moment and Thor could save her and Bucky Barnes both before the sun had risen again on Midgard.

It wasn’t fair.

“I have said all I can say,” the guardian said, his tone brokering no reply, “you should return to your place and your own beloved, she grows anxious in your absence and your comrades… they fracture even now.”

Thor wanted to rail and rally, to march back to the palace and demand his father make this right, but he couldn’t. His father had changed since the death of Frigga and Loki, softened at the edges perhaps just enough to allow Thor his own journey, but he was still the Allfather. If Thor went now and made his demands… he might not be allowed back to Earth at all, it was a risk he could not take.

“I understand,” he rumbled, chest aching with his failings and the disappointment he knew it would bring to his friends below. Their grief tangled with his own, twisting with the knowledge that the fates could be so cruel to a pair who had already suffered so much, “I will return now.”

“Thor -” Heimdall caught his arm before he could turn away, something mercurial in his golden eyes as he looked past him into a world Thor could not see, “do not lose hope, remember how often we find our troubles are closer than we think.”

His heart stuttered, the small consolation bouying him as he gripped Heimdall’s forearm in return. Squeezing it as he looked at him with all the things he could not say.

“I will heed your wisdom, old friend,” he said with a determined nod, “and do what I must to seek the truth myself.”

—-

The Soldier had grown rusty in his storage. His handlers couldn’t see it, they never did, but he knew it. He could feel it viscerally.

It was every blade that landed a tenth of an inch off dead center, every bullet that fired just a fraction of a second too late. It was in his muscles when they tensed and shook, and his metal when it glitched and whirred.

He could do better. He could be better. He had to be if he ever wanted to see her again.

The girl in the hospital wing.

He couldn’t bring himself to think her name, it felt like a familiarity he shouldn’t be allowed. A guard dog didn’t need to know his master's name after all, only the sound of their voice.

He tried to picture hers. She would be American, he thought, most of the base was with the exception of his Komandir and a few of the scientists. Her age suggested she would be less formal in her speech, but her voice itself… Would the box that sat on her neck change it? Make it tinny or strained? 

The thought stirred something in him, a feeling that tightened his ribs and burnt in his throat. He tried to turn away from it, from her, to go back to the emptiness but her face haunted him. They’d made him look at her and now he couldn’t seem to escape the image - not even when they set him in front of a screen and latched his eyes open to make sure he watched their twisted picture show. 

His head was so empty he had nothing else to imagine. She lived behind his eyelids, inexplicably smiling at him, her eyes bright blue and sparking with emotions he had no reason to believe she possessed. Sometimes when he slept he swore he could hear her laughter, a sound he’d never heard before but somehow knew better than his own. It rang through him like the sound of bells and made him forget who he was.

When he woke up, cold and sweating with panic crushing his lungs in his chest, he found himself reaching for her. Arms clenched around empty air as reality crept back in through the cracks, reminding him where he was. What he was.

Why he would never deserve a fraction of her attention, never mind her warmth.

—-

The images on the screen swirled and changed, running together like water as they flashed light and dark. Cities falling. The ocean waves. A sun set. A gunshot to the head. A kiss.

Darcy couldn’t remember why she had to watch it, but she knew it was important that she did. It had something to do with the incident. 

Her memory of it was fuzzy, her memory of everything was fuzzy. The shock of whatever had happened had messed with her head, mixing up her memories and making it hard to remember anything at all.

Even now she could feel the scratching at the back of her brain, a desperate clawing feeling telling her that something or someone wasn’t there that should be. A face she couldn’t conjure no matter how hard she tried or a place she didn’t quite remember. She did her best to fight it down, knowing instinctively there was nothing good to be found there. 

Looking back hurt and she didn’t need to hurt. Not anymore.

Not when she was safe here.

Besides, it wasn’t like she’d forgotten everything, she still knew the important things after all. Her name was Darcy Lewis, her favorite color was purple, she hated hospital food, and Doctor Harrison was doing everything in her power to make her better. More than that, the Doc was making the world better, and - before her injury - Darcy had helped her with it too.

How she’d helped was still beyond her, a mixed up cocktail of half-memories and flashing images. She thought maybe it might have something to do with coffee and deciphering notes and analyzing… something ? She had flashes of sticky keyboards and post-it notes and stars, tiny fragments of the few years she’d spent as Dr Harrison’s assistant before she got caught in one of her experiments by accident and ended up with enhancements.

Dr Harrison had been the one to stabilize her after that as well, working night and day to repair the damage the blast had done to Darcy’s memories and help teach her how to use her new abilities for the good of everyone, not just herself. 

The image in front of her switched, white noise playing before it flashed to the face of a child, an adult, an old man, a skull.

It reminded her how short life was, and how much of hers she owed to Svetlana. She knew she couldn’t repay her for it but she still wanted to try. She wanted to be useful again, no matter how long it took.

Another picture change. Static. Screams. A freezer full of food and a deer walking between sunbeams. People starving in the streets. A helping hand. 

Her eyes ached from the glasses she had to wear, they helped keep her eyes from closing automatically during the scenes of havoc. They had to be watched too, the Doc said, you had to take the bad with the good to properly stimulate the brain's synapses or it wouldn’t work. She agreed at once, just happy to comply.

A throat being cut. A flag waving. A bright red star.

A logo of a skull with tentacles against a beautiful clear blue sky.

A word.

Hydra.

—-

Almost fourteen days had passed since the Soldier’s last reset, twelve since he’d been brought to her bedside and made to look at her. Their New Persephone. Every day since had been spent with training and tests and images and lights and words whispered deep into his skull.

Now, in the neutrality of a conference room, he almost couldn’t stand the silence. It sat heavy against his skin as he waited to meet her at last, face to face. Eye to open eye.

Blue, he imagined. Dark and deep, like ocean waters too far from shore to swim.

The room they’d left him in was the picture of mundanity in a labyrinth of dangerous science and weaponry. The same beige upholstered chairs and laminate tables he had seen in a dozen other bases were arranged in the middle of the room, the smell of stale coffee lingering in the air with the remnants of the aftershave of self important men. 

Keeping his feet locked against the dull taupe carpet he measured his breaths in and out, aware of the eyes the guards kept on him. They were never far, shock batons close to their palms as they waited for him to break.

He wouldn’t. Not now. Instead he felt… awkward, the sensation so strange he almost didn’t recognise it. There had never been room in his head before for awkwardness, there was action and inaction and the gray wait of everything in between.

Now it was all he could feel, disjointed beneath his skin, like someone had put him back together wrong .

The door opened, his jaw clenching silently as he held his place. Head down, hands tense as the Komandir breezed into the room with the girl at her heels. 

“You can go, Woods, Holland,” the Komandir said without preamble, waving the guards away and waiting until the door clicked shut behind them before turning to him, “Soldat, so good to see you again. There is someone I would like you to meet-“ He couldn’t look at her directly, eyes fixed on the floor as he watched the girl’s feet move towards him, she was wearing dark jeans and black boots, sensible but civilian, “this is my protégé, Darcy. Darcy, this is the famous Winter Soldier I was telling you about, he will help train you alongside Marla, and, if you work hard, I will allow you to accompany him on missions one day.”

His eyes ached with the urge to look up, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he felt her gaze sweep over him like a physical touch. Light, curious.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you, sir, I’m Darcy,” he flinched, the sound of her voice sparking through his head. A misfire of electricity so painfully familiar it made his knees lock and his chest squeeze as she looked up at him, “Should I call you Soldier or Winter ooor…?”

He couldn’t look up. He couldn’t.

He had too.

Raising his chin he felt an invisible wire wrapping around his throat, trapping the words inside with his breath as his nostrils flared and he met her eye at last. Blue. Drowning blue. 

“Soldat,” his Komandir prompted him when he didn’t reply, “Miss Lewis asked you a question.”

He swallowed, throat working hard against its invisible garotte as he jerked his head in a tight nod, “ da, Soldat… Soldier.”

He couldn’t seem to get enough air, his lungs screaming in his chest as he found himself trapped in her gaze, unable to break away even as everything inside him begged him too. Looking at her hurt, sharp spikes driving between his ribs with every ragged inhale he managed.

“Oookay,” she nodded, drawing the word out as her brows furrowed. She’d been holding her hand out to him he realized belatedly, already pulling it away with a casual shrug, “Soldier it is then.”

This was wrong. It felt like two worlds were colliding in his head, spitting out shards of images he couldn’t make sense of as the world tilted beneath his feet.

Her smile. Her laugh. Her eyes.  She shouldn’t be here, he felt in his bones, she didn’t belong here. Panic thundered in his veins even as he kept his feet rooted to the floor, muscle memory alone keeping him from throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her up to the surface world.

“So…” she prompted him, confusion coloring her gaze as her eyes flickered uncertainly between him and the Komandir, “do we start today then?”

“Forgive our Soldier his taciturn nature,” his master said with a soft laugh, her hand cold and clawing as it landed on his arm. Reminding him once more of his place, “he is a man of few words. Well, Soldat, are you ready to begin my charges training? Or do you need more time to reset ?”

The words were honey sweet, soft and understanding, but her eyes were razor sharp. His choice was clear, obey or go back into the machine.

«Ready to comply,» he replied in terse Russian before switching to English, voice rough and foreign as he forced himself to nod at her, “we begin in the armory.”

He had been informed of what was expected of him today, he thought he had prepared for it. He was a fool. 

«With your permission, Komandir?» He checked, looking back to his master, a safer target for his eyes even as something that felt dangerously like betrayal coursed through him.

“Of course,” she nodded, waving them away with a fondness that twisted like maggots beneath his skin, “you kids go have fun. Safe fun, no going straight for the grenades, Darce.”

“You worry too much,” the girl laughed at her like it was the most natural thing in the world, another knife blade of dissonance going through him at the sound he swore he knew, “besides, they don’t call me the Dynamite Dame for nothing!”

Her smile was like something from his dreams, making his spine tense and his brain ache. He could feel the darkness in his head moving, something stirring beneath the heavy blackness and brushing at the edges of his mind.

It felt like a warm body curled against his chest, someone’s breath on his neck, a name whispered in a still room, the scent of vanilla. It felt like if he just looked at it for long enough everything he knew would fall apart around him.

“No one calls you that,” the Komandir chuckled, the sound bouncing off the inside of his skull as he turned away from himself and to the present.

“Maybe I’ll get them to start,” the girl smirked, “see you later Doc, Soldier, after you”

“This way,” he said, a true coward as he shoved his thoughts aside, pushing them down and down until they stopped thrashing. Stopped breathing. He was not meant to think. He was not meant to remember.

He was not meant to care.

—-

Darcy felt like a tiny planet caught in orbit of a black hole, like Pluto - her celestial status unknown even as she was dragged bodily in the wake of something so much bigger than she was.

The man eclipsed everything around him, his shoulders broad and his gait heavy, the guards stationed throughout the base drew back as he approached. Shooting furtive looks at each other beneath their caps as they cut a wide path for him and his little follower.

The Winter Soldier.

Doc Harrison had mentioned him before, in an abstract way, he was their best asset - she’d said, the only one she trusted to keep Darcy safe in the field she was so desperate to get out into.

He also… well, he didn’t seem to like her much.

She didn’t know why it disappointed her so much, only that it did. She could still feel his eyes boring into her even with his back to her, the memory of it imprinted in her brain like a cookie cutter in soft dough. His gaze was so intense, his eyes a grey-blue color that made her freeze every time she met them.

Did he know her? Had she done something in the past to piss him off that she couldn’t remember?

Shit, she hoped not. She’d already spent too long locked down in the hospital wing with her brain feeling like it had been put through a blender, she didn’t want to end up back doing nothing just because she’d pissed off the wrong guy in a past life.

She wanted to be useful again. To repay even a fraction of the debt she owed to Svetlana for saving her over and over.

“Through here,” the man grunted.

She jumped to attention, unable to keep her eyes from landing on his face again as he held open a door for her, “yessir.”

A shadow passed over him and she snatched her eyes away, she had to have met this guy before. His features were so familiar it made her brain itch, it was the first thing she’d noticed about him. Okay, no, not the first thing. The first thing she noticed was how big and broad and manly he was with his wide shoulders and metal freaking arm. The second thing was how intensely he was glaring at her. But the third thing was definitely the familiarity.

It was almost like recognising a bit-part actor in a tv show and not remembering where you’d seen them before. Only this time she couldn’t just whip out her phone and IMDB him.

“Not a sir,” he mumbled, the words quiet and rough in his throat like he wasn’t used to speaking as his gaze followed her, hot against her skin for such a cold color.

“Yes… Soldier?” She corrected herself uncertainly, he just shrugged a shoulder at her and gestured for her to keep walking.

Maybe it was just English he wasn’t used to? She’d heard him speaking easily in Russian after all, way too smoothly for her to understand it all. She’d picked up lessons again when the Doc told her how much it would help the elasticity of her mind, like the sudoku she did during breakfast, but she still wasn’t great at it yet.

“You have experience?” He asked, making her realize she’d zoned out again. Damnit. 

Blood rushed to her face, pounding in her ears as she turned to look at the room properly. She was supposed to be getting better at being aware of her surroundings damnit, and - from the insanity she found herself in the middle of - she was doing a piss poor job of it.

“Woah,” she murmured, sweeping her gaze around the Armory and finding it more than lived up to its name. Even with the giant empty spaces in her memories she was pretty certain she’d never seen so many weapons in one place before.

The entire back wall was dedicated to guns of every kind, big ones, small ones, some with fancy knobs, grenade launchers next to assault rifles next to a whole table full of handguns. It wasn’t just firearms either, there were knives and batons and honest to goodness axes, grenades hanging like giant bunches of metal grapes from one side and a big stack of crates on the other.

“I… have no idea?” She offered weakly, hovering her hand over the racks of handguns in a bid to keep herself from staring at him again and annoying him further, “maybe I did a course once, somewhere…”

There were too many somewheres, sometimes and somethings in her head these days. So much of her was still missing, huge chunks of time wiped out entirely, other parts vague and foggy - like they were someone else's memories she’d stolen somehow. But it was okay, she’d be okay, so long as she could get moving again.

“This looks familiar though,” she added as she reached  the taser at the end of the row. She knew instinctively the feel of the vibration when it fired, the crackle of blue electricity, like lightning in her hand… “I think maybe I used to taze people, on occasion.”

She shot him a half smile but he didn’t laugh, which wasn’t exactly surprising really given what she’d seen from him so far.

“You’ll need something stronger this time,” He said, gesturing her back towards the guns and away from the cracked edges of her own memories, “we’ll practice.”

Stronger, that was code for deadlier. The thought made her stomach clench even as she nodded, he was right. What they did was dangerous, necessary but dangerous.

She reached automatically for one of the big shiny guns in the middle of the table, like something she might see in an action movie, but he stopped her.

His hand was on hers, warm and calloused and surprisingly gentle for someone so huge and scary. Her pulse was suddenly racing, thundering beneath her skin as her entire consciousness narrowed down to the place his hand met hers.

“Not that one,” he murmured, so low and quiet she had to strain to hear him, “something smaller.”

She didn’t reply, didn’t move - she didn’t even know if she still could. Her breath was caught tight in her throat and when she finally remembered how to inhale she could smell him. Gunpowder, cheap soap, tobacco - no, no he didn’t smell like tobacco it was just the leather of his uniform. Where had she gotten tobacco from?

Why did she suddenly want to cry?

She couldn’t help but look up, her heart beating embarrassingly loud in her chest as she met his gaze from far closer than she’d ever thought she’d dare.

He didn’t look like a Soldier at all.

“What’s your real name?” She heard herself say, it was a really stupid question to ask but felt very in character for her anyway. Their organization thrived on discretion, she knew that, if someone didn’t tell you something it was for a reason. She didn’t have to know his identity, it wasn’t important to the mission, she just… wanted to.

Desperately, desperately wanted too. A grasping, unbearable weight in her chest as she looked to him  for all the answers she couldn’t find in her own head anymore.

“I-” he hesitated, the glower gone from his features as his eyes flickered over her. The perfect arch of his lips falling open in something that might have been panic, but was more likely disbelief at her audacity.  

Svetlana would be so disappointed in her.

“Sorry,” she squeaked, eyes squeezing closed as she pulled herself away from him. The touch broke but the heat of him remained, burning into her as she hauled her ass over to the small guns and tried pretend she was the professional operative the Doc expected her to be, “that was totally inappropriate, I way overstepped my bounds there. It’s a problem I’m working on, head trauma, but I’ll try and… not do that again. Anyway - which of these do you think is best, Soldier?”

She talked when she was nervous, filling what little air was left in the room with apologies and inanities. Letting them linger, cloying and echoing as she waited for his response, praying she hadn’t fucked things up beyond repair right out of the gate.

“That one,” he nodded his chin towards the tray in front of her, his fingers flexing at his side as she reached stupidly towards the first one she saw, “no, the black one beside it, da, we will try that first.”

She picked it up, trying to focus on the feel of the grip and the heaviness of the metal in her palm. Grounding herself with the weight of it before letting out a deep exhale.

What was that mantra Svetlana used when she was freaking out? 

Still… water… twilight… twenty-five…

—-

Svetlana watched the feed from her office, fingers tapping absently on her desk and a smile playing about her features as the morning faded into the afternoon and everything began to fall into place. The initial teething problems had been long smoothed away as the assets conditioning took over.

She was not above admitting she had been worried at the start of the day, first by the Soldier’s reticence to do his duty - an unfortunate side effect of his previous programming she thought. And then again when Darcy’s natural curiosity had welled up.

That had been inevitable, it was an intrinsic part of Darcy’s personality after all, but - having realized her error at asking him a personal question - she had quickly self corrected. Just as Svetlana had taught her to in their sessions.

“You are still monitoring them, then,” Heinrich sniffed, striding into her room without knocking and setting a stack of files down on her desk. He eyed the screen with a barely concealed sneer, “this experiment of yours will only make the Soldier sloppy you know, sooner or later we will have to reset him again.”

“It will make him dedicated,” Svetlana replied with a sigh, wondering if she would have to go through the trouble of replacing him so soon after her return. It was clear he had been infected with self-importance in her absence.

It would be a shame when she felt so optimistic. Darcy was progressing nicely, her aim had been rapidly improving with the Soldier’s guidance all afternoon. 

The retraining really was working wonders. In a few short weeks she had almost entirely rearranged Darcy’s memories, blocking out some and altering others. Weaving a new story for her, where all her natural inclinations towards loyalty and heroism were redirected to the proper cause.

In those memories Svetlana had replaced Jane Foster with herself, making a life as it should have been. Darcy had been her assistant, her protégée. Her dearest friend.

Almost family really.

“The protocol has been in place for almost a century,” Heinrich continued his complaining as he scowled at the screen, “you do not let assets associate with their former acquaintances, you certainly don’t encourage an… attachment between them.”

“Almost a century, yes,” she agreed, looking away at last to fix him with a weary gaze, “for seventy years the Winter Soldier has been controlled by the stick, and for seventy years he has broken his programming over and over again. I think it a little short sighted, don’t you Heinrich, to not once in all that time consider using a carrot?”

His mouth twisted downwards, displeased but unable to disagree with her. All her predecessors were the same, short sighted little men with their short sighted little preoccupations. So obsessed with eradicating emotion they couldn’t see the potential it held to empower, to control.

“I still don’t like it,” he said, an ugly purple flush to his cheeks as he gestured to them, “and even if that is the case I don’t see why we must rely on this… girl anyway. Why can we not simply replicate the process on a more suitable candidate instead? One already trained to be of service.”

She knew the codes, knew the real problem. An old man like Heinrich couldn’t stand to see a young woman as their new future, especially one from her background. His old-fashioned intolerances really were tiresome; it was easy to forget, with so much of her staff coming from the Russian experimental branches of the organization, how much of the old Hydra still remained these days. 

And anyway - he acted as if she hadn’t already considered everything, seen everything. Tracing every potential path like veins through a body, seeing every clot and cut and charting the cleanest course through. Straight to the heart. It was frankly insulting.

“Because, Heinrich, even if we had the technology to recreate the accident, the process would kill any of your trained candidates. Ms Lewis is special in that regard,” she shook her head, clicking the feed off and turning in her chair to look at him properly when it became clear this was going to be a conversation.

“What do you mean?” He asked, beady eyes turning suspicious.

“You haven’t looked over the reports? I’m surprised Heinrich, you used to be so diligent,” she flicked her gaze over him with a dismissive smile, “if you had you would have seen that our new Persephone has an incredibly small, incredibly rare mutation in her genetic make up, one that might have served no purpose at all if she hadn’t been exposed to the Gamma-radiation of the ERB. She is one in a billion that could have survived that accident, let alone emerge with such incredible enhancements. Tell me - does that not sound even a little like fate to you?”

“Fate? Is that the reason you have been drip-feeding her super soldier serum, then?” It was her turn to flush, trying to conceal her reaction as he looked at her with an insufferable smugness. “It seems I have read some of the files after all.”

“It is not the same serum at all,” she sniffed imperiously, putting on her boldest facade, “not like that which made our fine Soldier. It’s a much weaker dose I extracted from his blood, enough to give a little… boost to her. Nothing more. It only works to improve her reflexes and hasten the training you are so fearful she does not have. And no - before you ask - it will not work on your pet mercenaries, not unless they share her genetic abnormalities.”

“Abnormalities indeed,” he said, eyes heavy and cold as he turned to walk away, “we shall see how this ends, Svetlana, we shall see.”

Yes, they would. They would all see.

Chapter Text

The office was silent, the clock ticking towards midnight as Jane sat at the trio of desks she’d commandeered, pushed together in a haphazard ’c’ shape in the corner of the room.

She’d have to leave soon if she wanted to keep her promise. 

Despite the time that had passed since, Jane couldn’t stop thinking about her last conversation with Darcy before they’d fired up the anti-ERB generator and brought her back to reality. She could still see the blue-glow of the SpaceTime machine on the back of her eyelids and hear the woosh of the motors as Darcy made her promise that no matter what happened next she wouldn’t spiral again.

Of course they’d been talking about the stability of Jane’s inventions and not a sudden and unexpected kidnapping by a trusted coworker who turned out to be a Hydra agent - but Jane knew that, no matter the circumstances, Darcy would hold her to her oath anyway.

She had sworn on the sacred sisterhood of Science that no matter what happened to Darcy she would eat at least two proper meals a day, get six hours of sleep a night, shower and brush her teeth regularly, and check her emails like a functioning adult.

So she did.

She even kept working in the science labs at the tower from eight til three, five days a week, ensuring Darcy would have a job to come back to. She digitised and theorised by rout, hard pressed to remember anything she’d done that day by the time her alarm finally rang and it was time to get to her real work.

They’d had to rent a place to run the operation out of after Steve had been booted from the tower, Jane offering up her underused car to help cart the handful of cardboard boxes that contained his and Bucky’s life out of the premises and into the unknown. 

Jane hated Tony for it.

For kicking out Steve and abandoning Darcy over whatever sins Bucky had committed in his past life. She hated that they had to rent some shitty floor of a building that hadn’t been updated since the seventies just to work out of. There was no Stark tech here, no sci-fi gadgets, just paper maps, slow wifi, and bitter coffee from the place on the corner. 

She hated the stacks of files they’d already checked and the scribbled out words on the whiteboard that denoted every failure. She hated that the more time that passed the more often she found herself alone among it all.

The others still had lives too. Crime didn’t stop because their world had, neither did the training at the compound upstate. The multitudes of Hydra’s offshoots hadn’t all coalesced into one neat organisation they could bust in a single swoop - no matter how much Jane wished it had.

Each mission Steve and the others undertook was a crap shoot, each location they scouted as a potential base for Darcy and Bucky’s confinement a shot in the dark.

Jane chewed at her fingers as she stared down at yet another map, searching the shoreline for abandoned warehouses or factories that might double as super secret lairs. Catching a hangnail in her teeth she winced as she ripped it out, the pain throbbing through her in direct disproportion to the size of the injury as blood welled at the corner of her nail. Well… what was left of her nail at least. 

She could hide it everywhere else, keep her head above water as she smiled and ate and slept and did everything else Darcy had made her promise she would, but her hands gave her away. The skin around the remnants of her nails was red raw, bitten down and crusted with blood, ink stains blotching her fingers and palms with smudges of black and blue and green. 

Clever hands, she thought dimly to herself as she looked at them. 

She’d always prided herself on them, on how her fingers could create the things her mind came up with like magic. She was so smart, so so smart, complicated and brilliant and strange. She’d learnt young that her mind didn’t work like other people’s but that was okay, it was still wonderful, breaking away from her to chase scientific problems like a child chased butterflies - darting back and forth until she’d finally caught them in her net and understood them up close.

Her brain was a marvellous oddity even to herself, and, if she occasionally forgot to eat or sleep or shower in the pursuit of her genius that was okay too because she wasn’t alone. She had friends, real friends, she had Thor and Darcy and Erik, people who opened her up to other experiences and whole flocks of creatures besides butterflies she’d never even noticed before and made her even smarter somehow just by being near her.

Perhaps it was egotistical but Jane had always known, always, that she could do just about anything if she set her mind to it. College courses, doctorates, space boyfriends and world saving. She could create things from nothing with her clever brain and her clever hands. Make machines to move worlds, to cross space, to change lives or even bring them back. With enough time and elbow grease she could fix anything.

Anything except this.

All the IQ in the world didn’t do a damn thing as she stared down at the map with blurry eyes, a tear splashing onto midtown and drowning the Empire State Building. She couldn’t fix this. She couldn’t think her way out of it or invent some incredible device to make it right. 

“Jane, my love, are you ready to go?” a soft voice called from the doorway, Thor looming large and out of place in the messy office space even in his civilian wear.

“I can’t fix this,” she said, looking up hopelessly as Thor approached her with a gentleness that made her chest ache, “I don’t know how to get her back this time.”

There was no machine to bring Darcy back now, no equation to pin point her location. All of Jane’s cleverness had amounted to exactly fuck all and she couldn’t bear it.

—-

The Soldier was getting better at being around her. Miss Lewis. 

Darcy.

He still avoided using her name out loud, it felt too heavy in his mouth. Like something holy he wasn’t supposed to speak with a human tongue. The words ‘catholic guilt’ floated like clouds through his head but he shook them away, he didn’t have a religion, he had orders.

His life was ruled by routine. Every morning he was awoken, the Komandir speaking his words before he was sent to wash up and then given to the scientists. They made him watch their picture shows and ran their experiments, working on his arm or his head or both at once. Then he was shuffled through to the room set aside for his own training, working himself until his muscles ached as he tried to make up for the softness his missing time had left in him.

The rest of his time though… the rest of his time was dedicated to her.

Their new Persephone was soft. It wasn’t a judgment but a fact, she hadn’t been bred to fight like he had been. There was too much hope in her, and far too much she had yet to learn; stealth, evasion, evidence retrieval, languages, weapon and combat training. Not to mention the particularities of managing her enhanced abilities. The Komandir had laid out her schedule, and their duties, clearly, taking point when it came to the girl’s abilities, as well as her language tutoring and technical skills.

Comrade Karstova had been instructed on dealing with her hand-to-hand combat and strength training - focusing on improvisation and escape if she could not immediately phase out of the situation.

He couldn’t help but be grateful for it, the assets he had trained before had been brutal and mindless. They had been thrown into a cage and left to see if they could survive, forced to claw for their place in some cold hell he longed to forget. They had had to fight to stay alive, to stay fed, to stay warm.

It was not a role he wanted to play again, not to anyone, and especially not her, the Komandir taking mercy on him and assigning him as her master at arms instead.

He taught her how to hold a gun, how to shoot it, how to disassemble and reload the weapons he’d picked out for her. A small Sig Sauer P365, a Glock 26, a taser like the one she already had experience with, and a selection of easily concealed stiletto blades just in case.

He showed her how to wear them, carry them, clean them, and shoot them.

It made sense, she could never hope to best him in physical combat, so he would make sure she’d never have to. On a real mission the fighting would be his responsibility, he was her protector after all, one of the few people who could see her when she was phased - and that was only thanks to the Komandir’s intervention.

He was a means to an end, one that would come sooner rather than later if he didn’t remember his place - something that was becoming harder and harder to do with every passing day.

“Focus,” he murmured, although whether it was to her or himself he didn’t know as he steadied her hand. He had given her a larger model Glock this time. It was akin to guns favored by police and private security guards, the kick-back was stronger, the weight heavier, but if she was ever in a situation where she had to use someone else’s weapon against them she would have to know how to account for it, “keep your stance firm but your shoulders relaxed, lean into the weight.”

There was a burning in his chest he knew shouldn’t be there as he watched her, pride perhaps, possessiveness. The feeling curled around his ribs as she leant into him instead, her body warm against his chest as she adjusted her footing. 

“Sir, yes sir,” she replied under her breath.

Despite his protests he wasn’t a sir she’d taken to using it anyway, to… teasing him with the title. The cautious distance she’d initially treated him with had long since worn away, her curiosity and fright morphing into an easy acceptance of his presence that worried him.

There were cracks forming in the walls he had to keep himself behind, the walls that kept him safe, all of them somehow appearing in the exact shape and size of her fingers.

“Are you ready?” He asked roughly, sweat beading against the back of his neck as her hair brushed against his skin. Inhaling through his mouth, he tried to avoid the phantom hint of vanilla in her shampoo. Not that it would help, the scent chased him every night into his sleep anyway.

“As I’ll ever be,” she muttered to herself, only the slightest tremor left in her trigger finger as she rested it against the guard. Her spine straightened as she took up the stance he’d trained into her before she spoke louder, “yes, Soldier. I’m ready to comply.”

He stepped back, the cold seeping in in her absence as he nodded. Swallowing thickly, he pressed the button and released the first target, the white paper fluttering in like a ghost. 

“Then we begin.”

—-

Darcy never saw the Soldier in the canteen, or the rec room, or anywhere really other than the training room and the firing range. She knew because she looked for him, everywhere, her eyes scanning every room she entered or exited for the hulking dark shadow that everyone else seemed to avoid.

She wasn’t sure what it was about him but she couldn’t get him out of her head. For all his dark brooding appearance there was something about him that stuck, a half-forgotten song she couldn’t help humming along too even though she no longer knew the words.

Maybe if she stuck around him long enough she’d remember them again.

Of course the fact he no longer glared at her like he wanted to bite her head off was a bonus, his open hostility at their first meeting hadn’t lasted long. Instead he had taken to treating her with the same guarded distance he treated everyone with, respectful but… removed. Like he wasn’t quite in the same universe as they were.

It only made her more curious.

She knew so little about him. It wasn’t like she was on the base’s party line or anything but you couldn’t live in close quarters with other people for weeks at a time and not learn about them - no matter how discrete their organization was. 

She knew her other trainer, Marla, had once spent a year in deep cover, cage-fighting in the Moscow underbelly, and that she drank a cocktail of raw eggs, tomato juice, hot sauce and vodka when she’d been up late drinking.  She knew Greg in IT had worked in a radio shack before joining the cause, and Jade had been recruited from high school when she’d successfully hacked into the pentagon at 17. They both had their dinner breaks at the same time as her, along with Debbie from the assistant pool - who had a massive crush on John from maintenance but wouldn’t tell him. 

Then there was Svetlana of course, who she knew better than herself. The Doc was practically family. 

Not everyone was great though, there were a couple of guards she did her best to avoid. Jacked up, lunk-head types who compensated for their lack of personality with big guns and harassed the female staff when they thought no one was looking. Pitt was the worst, though his buddy Hall was a close second. She sometimes thought about telling Svetlana about them but she didn’t want to stir shit up, the Doc had more important things to think about and Darcy could avoid them herself.

The only person she knew absolutely nothing about was him, the Soldier. As far as she could tell all he did was train and sleep, if he even did that. 

She would have started suspecting he was secretly a robot if it wasn’t for his eyes - there was something desperately human in his eyes. He looked almost haunted, like a cursed creature in an old fairy story, it made her want to throw apples or slippers at him just to see if she could break the curse. Or kiss him maybe.

Not that she’d thought about kissing him, of course not that would be so inappropriate. He was her tutor, she was his pupil, their relationship was strictly business casual, even if he did have incredibly shapely cupid’s bow lips set in a permanent frown and glossy dark hair begging to be stroked.

It didn’t matter that he was six foot something and so deliciously beefy he’d make even the staunchest vegetarian question their diet. It was inconsequential. He was him and she was her and, as far she knew, he didn’t even like her that much anyway, he just didn’t seem to openly want to murder her anymore. 

Her interest in him was purely intellectual. He was a mystery and she was, how did her middle school bestie once put it? A frickin’ nosy ass bitch. 

She kept all of this in mind as she watched him from across the training room, an anthropologist at work as she propped herself against a crate and unzipped her bag. It was break time, the hour-long stretch when she’d usually head off for the canteen for a quick snack between rounds and a catch up on the daily drama, only this week she’d stuck around instead.

Unpacking her sandwiches from their little baggie she tried not to be obvious about staring at him as he ripped open a silver-foil protein ration with his teeth. He ate it in three saw-dust flavored bites and chugged half a bottle of water. Three days she’d been watching him, and three days she’d seen him eat nothing but protein bricks, it was too depressing for words.

“Hey,” she said as casually as she could, doing her best to appear nonchalant as she decided to try and do something about it, “I accidentally picked up too many sandwiches and Marla says I need to cut my carb intake, you want the spare?”

“I have my rations,” he said, holding another foil wrapped block up like she might not have noticed. The word unappetising didn’t come close, it looked like it was made of gravel and newspaper - maybe with some dog chow mixed in for flavoring. Blech . 

“Sure,” she agreed slowly, tilting her head as if she was considering his predicament, “but this has chicken and lettuce and mayo, and you’d really be helping me out...”

It was a bit like coaxing a cat, a huge, half-feral stray cat that might turn around and bite her at any minute. She remained where she was perched as she lifted up one of her sandwiches, holding it to him with a determinedly casual smile. 

It’s no big deal, she thought loudly at him even as she kept her gaze non confrontational, it’s just a lil’ sandwich. You can have it. Here kitty kitty.

He definitely had sad wet cat energy, or maybe like…  particularly grumpy bear energy. She didn’t know where the visual came from but she suddenly imagined him as a teddy bear with a pouty expression and… dog tags? What was that about? Something from her childhood maybe?

“Okay,” he nodded, saving her from the weird flash of memory as he slowly approached her and took the proffered sandwich, “if… it will help.”

There was something so hesitant about him when he wasn’t in training mode, shoulders hunched in like he was trying to make himself smaller. Everyone seemed so afraid of him, the guards drew back when he approached and the assistants turned their gaze, she knew he cut an imposing figure with his black tactical uniform and his shiny metal arm, but beneath it…

Beneath it he was just a man looking at the sandwich like he’d never seen one before. Hell, maybe he hadn’t, maybe he had sprung fully grown from the armory department one day.

“So,” Darcy said brightly, determined to find out as she picked up her own sandwich, “what do you do in your time off then, Soldier?”

They’d never got very far with small talk before, there was too much training to be done for that kind of shenaniganry. Now though - now she had him trapped in a sandwich situation during official break hours, shared food made for the perfect excuse for a little chit chat.

“Time off?” His brow creased, cheeks hollowing as he took a wary bite from the sandwich.

“Y’know, what you do when you’re not showing me how to shoot guns and be sneaky, or working on whatever the Organization has you working on.”

Everyone had a project, everyone had a goal, but everyone had alone time too. Even him, surely.

He tilted his head, hair falling in his eyes and making her hands itch with the urge to push it back as he considered it with far more seriousness than the question deserved, “I don’t… do anything.”

“Really?” She blinked, “I mean, I know we don’t get a lot of down time but you gotta do something.”

“What do you do?” He asked stiltedly, taking another cautious bite and chewing carefully.

“My Russian homework, brain teasers,” she shrugged, nibbling on the crust,  “the Doc got me a TV for my room too, it only gets like 2 channels and one of them is in Russian, but the other is TLP which is exactly the kinda brain rot I need of an evening.”

“TLP?” He repeated blankly, not only ignorant to sandwiches but good-bad TV too. Maybe he had come out of one of their labs after all.

“Yeah, The Learning Place? I don’t know why it’s called that, it airs nothing but bad reality shows,” she smiled, ticking them off on her fingers, “Brother Husbands, Kids in Crowns, Thirty Three Children and Keeping On. Just really, really amazingly awful stuff.”

“And you… enjoy it?”

“Sure,” she nodded, kicking her legs against the side of the crate thoughtfully, “it’s not my favorite though, I used to love this channel - I can’t remember the name - but it had this show called - called-”

The memory was right there, her fingertips scraping against it as she reached and reached and reached. Her insides stretching and breaking as she struggled for it, lightning carving furrows through her head as she saw flashes of herself in another life. Lying on a couch with her legs in someone’s lap, no - her whole body, curled into a warm, strong chest as a familiar patter of voices played behind her on the screen. She was looking up at someone she… someone she…

“Don’t chase it.”

The words made her gasp, exhaling in a hard rush as she realized belatedly her sandwich was on the floor and her hands were curled into her temples. Fingernails scratching into her skull like she could pry the memories free through brute force.

“W-what?” She panted, confusion crashing over her as she looked up at him. He was right in front of her, his hands over hers as he gently pried them away from her temples. One warm and calloused, one cool and smooth. Safe. These hands, she knew in her soul, were safe.

“Don’t chase the memories,” he murmured seriously, guiding her hands down between them gently as he searched her gaze, “s’better to forget. Hurts less.”

Did he… did he have memories like that too? The sharp flashes of someone else’s life that made her heart pound and her throat dry.

Tears burned behind her eyes, longing for something she didn’t have words for, something she couldn’t even remember.

“You… you have this too?” She asked pathetically as his thumbs rubbed circles over the back of her hands. Grounding her back in her body with the easy, familiar touch. 

So, so familiar.

The Soldier nodded tightly, his eyes dipping from hers in something that looked almost like shame. Her heart squeezed as she tightened her hands in his, holding on firmly.

“Was it an accident like mine?”

Was that it? The reason he was so distant from the others? The reason she felt like she knew him without him having to say a word? 

If it was a shared trauma it could explain why he was one of the only ones who could see her when she was phased too, if it had been the same machine that struck them…

“No,” he whispered, silencing the thought as his eyes fixed on their joined hands. The corners of his mouth twisted downwards as he took an unsteady breath, “memory is - not a priority, it’s a hindrance to the work I must do.”

“They take it from you?” She couldn’t believe it, she knew the Organisation had to do things that went outside the usual confines of morality, it was the only way to achieve their aims, but this… this felt wrong to her.

“It’s necessary.”

—-

He never let himself think about the memory gaps, he’d learnt not too. Self preservation won out as he tried to keep as much of his mind together as he could. Whatever they took from him they took for a reason, to make him better, cleaner, cutting any unnecessary fat from his thoughts until he was the thing they needed him to be. 

But this… he didn’t want to forget this. He didn’t want to forget her. 

“I’m still sorry you went through that,” she whispered, her hand slipping from his only to press against his cheek, warm and close as she looked at him far too intimately, like she really could see something other than a machine.

The urge to lean into her almost consumed him, his bones aching with the need for it. To press his face into her shoulder, her throat, to snatch her up into his arms and never let her go - no matter what the guards did to him.

Instead he pulled away, face stinging like she’d slapped him as he hauled himself to his feet and away from her. Her humanity made him feel vulnerable, like he might catch it even now, the warmth of it slipping beneath his skin and blurring the hard lines that ruled his existence.

Pressing his shoulder into the wall, he kept himself in his corner, opening his water bottle and looking at anything but her as he drank unsteadily from it. 

“Bu-” the syllable tripped off her tongue, her eyebrows drawing together as she shook her head, whatever it was she was going to say lost to another sharp frown, another fragmented sigh, “ Soldier, even, sorry. I- thank you… for helping me.”

“Thanky’f’the sandwich,” he shrugged, it had been the first real food he could remember eating since… he didn’t know. The rations they gave him had been specifically designed to have everything he’d need in them. A perfect balance of calories and protein, anything else was unnecessary.

Like his memories.

“I uh… I have cookies too,” she said with a half-shrug, “don’t tell Marla.”

“Sure,” he agreed, pretty sure he’d eat rat poison like it was caviar if she asked him with that hesitant smile.

“You know,” she said, considering the cookie with far more concentration than it deserved as she split it carefully in two and set the bigger half aside for him, “you can always come and hang out with me if you want to, in your down time I mean - if you get any. You could… I dunno, help quiz me with my Russian, or just watch tv or get a coffee or something.”

«I’d like that,» he agreed quietly, his throat constricting as he realized he could never take her up on it, “if I have time.”

He wouldn’t. She was his mission.

He couldn’t let her be anything more than that.

—-

“You can check the place on Spencer Street off your list,” Nat said in way of a greeting as she returned to their half-formed head quarters, “and the abandoned warehouses on the river. Pretty sure there’s a drug ring operating out of one of them but it’s not Hydra, we called it in.”

Steve looked up from his desk, weariness pulling at him as he nodded to the new arrival.

“You cleared them all already?” He asked, moving over to the whiteboard they were currently using to keep track of potential Hydra locations and crossing out another handful of possibilities.

“We had help,” Sam grinned, coming in behind her with Red Wing cradled in his arms, “didn’t we buddy.”

“It’s a drone not a pet, Sam,” Nat sighed, an old argument that made Steve shake his head even now, fighting back a tired smile.

“Don’t listen to her,” Sam whispered loudly, setting the little robot back into its place on the metal shelves they’d been using as super hero storage.

A division had formed in the Avengers, a void that seemed to grow by the day. First when Sam had left the compound to come and help, then Nat, the two of them ducking in and out when it became clear this wasn’t a problem that could be solved in a matter of days. Or weeks even. Steve himself tried to go back and help with the missions that still needed running and the work that needed doing but his head was never far from the office and the maps and the ever growing list of places they had to cross off their lists.

Thor was a constant figure at the HQ - never more than a few feet from Jane when she was there. But Rhodey never joined, or Wanda, or Vision, staying behind to continue their training in case a world crisis occurred. And Tony…

Steve squeezed his hand into a fist, jaw working as he turned away from the whiteboard. They hadn’t spoken since that day in the war room, his chest aching even now at his inability to get through to the other man. 

It wasn’t Bucky’s fault, not any more than a gun could be blamed for shooting someone, it was the person who aimed it. Same with the bomb that had destroyed Wanda’s home as a child, just because Stark’s name was on it didn’t mean he was the one at fault.

He just wished Tony could see that.

“You sure your space friend said it was close?” Sam asked as he dropped down in front of the mess of coordinates Steve had been compiling, “we’ve been looking for two months now, Steve...”

“Heimdall intimated so,” Thor answered for him, one giant hand dwarfing Jane’s shoulder as he touched her gently on the way past, his pain reflected in her eyes as she grew paler by the day, “although as I have said before by what means he measures the distance I know not, the city, the state, the country even.”

“And you can’t just,” Sam jerked a thumb upwards with a whistle, “back up to check?”

“It would not be wise,” Thor sighed, adding a fresh page of suggestions to the pile, “Heimdall has problems of his own. Here are the places on your Eastern Side we have yet to check.”

“There can’t be this many potential sites in one state,” Steve groaned as he fell into an uncomfortable metal office chair, pulling the list towards him with a frown, “we can scrap the old factories, too many potential exits. Bucky said they were big on conformity when we were looking at the weapons cache in Philly… wait where’s the layout for that?”

He turned to get up again only to find Nat already flicking through the filing cabinet next to him,  her fingers flying over the mess of papers for the places they’d already hit as she pulled it from the bottom of a file.

“This one?” She asked, laying it in front of him and patting his arm softly, an easy gesture of comfort as he nodded.

“Yeah, see the layout?” He turned it towards Thor, “it’ll be more like this most likely, one exit up here, one down here, hidden from sight. They prefer pre-war buildings, they built them deeper back then, but Cold War era is a possibility too. He said… fuck.”

“Captain!” Sam gasped, clutching a hand to his chest as Steve stared down at the blueprints like it was the first time he’d seen them. Blood pounding in his ears as he was rocked by his own abject stupidity.

“Bucky mentioned a place - in New Jersey or West Virginia,” he said between gritted teeth, feeling like the worst sort of idiot for not remembering it before, “he thought it was decommissioned but he could be wrong. Either way, if he’d been there before there’s a chance it would already be set up to… deal with the Soldier.”

“Which means there’s a good chance they’d use it as a base of operations now they’ve taken him back, we need to refocus the search area, start in Jersey and move outwards,” Nat finished for him, exhaling a long breath before looking at Sam, “ fuck.”

Sam nodded wisely, “fuck.”

Chapter Text

The sound Darcy made when the collar finally came off was down right pornagraphic, an embarrassingly vocal groan of relief as Svetlana peeled the plastic webbing away. The skin beneath was white and shiny, a waxy, corpse-y strip of flesh like a wound that had been under a band aid for too long and forgotten how to breathe.

“Frickin’ hell, that feels incredible,” Darcy groaned, feeling the air prickle against the pallid, sweaty skin as she scratched at her neck with impunity. She hadn’t realized how heavy the collar was until it was off, craning her neck as she dug her nails into all the itchy spots she hadn’t been able to reach in forever.

“Stop that, Darcy,” Svetlana chided her with a laugh, smacking her hands away gently, “you’ll give yourself a rash.”

“The collar did that already,” Darcy shrugged happily, unwilling to be discouraged as she scritched away at it again, “let me enjoy my moment of freedom.”

It wasn’t just the weight of the damn thing either, or the tightness, it was the constant low level claustrophobic hum of the inhibitor as it washed over her as well. It wasn’t like it was always turned on, Svetlana switched it off when she trained obviously, but it was the best for her powers - and the stability of the organization - that it was kept on the rest of the time. She didn’t want to accidentally phase into a meeting she wasn’t supposed to be in and upset anything, so she’d learned how to get used to the press of it. 

Now with it off completely she felt downright light headed.

Their world survived on a delicate balance, everything compartmentalized so that no one person knew all their secrets at once, except for the Commander of course. Out there in the halls of the base Svetlana ran their project like an expert general, making sure every piece fit with the next and everyone was doing what they were supposed to. She was a boss ass bitch and Darcy had nothing but respect for her.

In here though, with no one else around and nothing else to worry about, she was just Svetlana. Her best friend and boss and the closest thing to family Darcy could remember having since her Grandma died.

The only one she could truly trust.

“Here, rub some of this into it,” a small tube of ointment was tossed her way, Darcy uncapping it immediately and squeezing it into her palm, “I promise this next inhibitor is much better designed.”

“Can’t be worse, no offense Doc,” she snickered as she rubbed the cream over her itching skin, “that was an industrial goth nightmare, didn’t go with any of my outfits.”

“Well hopefully this one is more to your sartorial tastes, sólnyshka,” Svetlana teased, the endearment rolling easily off her tongue as she turned to present her with a slim black case, “drum roll please.”

Darcy pretended to drum as Svetlana carefully clicked open the case, opening the lid to reveal the sleek new inhibitor collar within.

“Ooooh pretty,” Darcy cooed, leaning over to look at it closer.

The foam bed inside held something closer to a necklace than a dog collar, two thin rings of silver metal ran parallel to each other, joined together in the middle by a circular piece of metal no bigger than a fifty cent piece. The pendant was lit up from within with a blue glow, looking both super gorgeous and seriously sci-fi at the same time.

“You ready to try it on?” Svetlana asked, slipping the collar from its place and unlatching the back of it. Darcy was still scratching at her neck, earning a raised eyebrow from her, “if you think you can be still for long enough?”

“Sorry, Doc,” she grinned, immediately pulling her hand away from her neck and gathering her hair up out of the way instead, “you know I’m always happy to comply.”

“That’s what makes you my favorite asset,” the Doc teased, fitting the collar around her neck and humming as she adjusted the fit from the back, “does that feel okay?”

Darcy danced her fingers over the metal, so much finer than the last collar. It sat easily against her throat, moving with her as she stretched her neck and moved her head, “fits like a glove.”

“Great, let me fasten it up then,” Svetlana reached for one of her tools, the whir of it humming through Darcy as the collar was screwed closed, “how’s your training going by the way? Everything okay with the Soldier?”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy replied, glad Svetlana was behind her where she couldn’t see the immediate flush that threatened her when that particular gentleman was mentioned, “it’s going great, I’m hitting four out of six dead center now with my marksmanship, marks-woman-ship? Whatever. He says I’m improving.”

When he spoke that was, he wasn’t a big talker, which was fine since she always seemed to have enough to say for three people. He listened though, he listened better than anyone she could remember - never shushing her or getting annoyed when she babbled after class. There was something incredibly… soothing about that. 

“That’s great, Darce. What do you think about him, anyway?” She asked, poking at her shoulder when Darcy began to fidget again at the squishy turn her thoughts were taking, “be still, Darcy, calm like the water.”

She relaxed into the familiar words, they were part of a mantra the Doc used at the beginning of every session. Carefully chosen words to evoke calmness and control, letting her concentrate on the important things and ignore the mess in her head.

“He’s very skilled, a great teacher. A bit brooding I guess,” she said, beginning tactfully before losing the battle with her inner honesty demon, Svetlana always drew the truth out of her whether she liked it or not, “but like… so ridiculously good looking.”

“You think?” The Doc laughed, pulling back at last and smoothing Darcy’s hair back into place over the new collar.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” she said, pressing her hands to her burning face as she turned to meet Svetlana’s twinkling eyes, “strong, silent, tall, dark and handsome.” 

“Well there’s an unexpected perk of the job,” Svetlana chuckled, squeezing Darcy’s shoulder as she put her tools away and swept the old collar into a drawer.

“He mentioned something though,” Darcy started hesitantly, knowing it wasn’t her place to question how the Organization ran but unable to help herself anyway. Not with Svetlana at least, “can I… can I ask you about it?”

“You can ask me anything, sólnyshka, ” Svetlana said, clicking her tongue at her, “you know that.”

“Thanks,” Darcy breathed a sigh of relief, fingers tapping at her new collar as she tried to phrase her question properly. It was a delicate thing, a misunderstanding most likely, but she didn’t want to say the wrong thing and fuck up. Or worse get him into trouble.

“It’s just, he said something once about his memories not being a priority? I thought he’d been in an accident, like me, but he said it wasn’t like that, that they were just… taken from him. I know it had to be for a reason but - for the life of me - I can’t figure out why.”

“Ahh I see,” the Doc exhaled heavily, the corner of her mouth turning up in a tired smile as she nodded, “yes, I’m afraid that was a method put in place by one of my predecessors. The volunteers for the Winter Soldier program agreed to have their minds kept clear so they could focus only on their missions, ensuring they could never be compromised during their work. It was not something I always agreed with but it served its purpose I suppose, I hope now we have come to a place where we no longer need to ask those sacrifices of our bravest few, no matter how willingly they agree to it.”

Relief settled over her, stilling the churn of her stomach as the words sank in. Logical, comforting words that made perfect sense to her. He was so dedicated, of course he would sign up for something like that, he’d always do the best for their cause - who wouldn’t? 

Still, he’d sacrificed so much for them, she hoped Svetlana was right and that maybe they wouldn’t need to do that to him anymore. The idea of him forgetting about her… she couldn’t explain it but it made the back of her eyes burn.

“That makes sense,” Darcy said when she found her voice again, giving the Doc a relieved smile, “Thanks, Svetlana, I knew there had to be a reason for it.”

“There always is. Let’s just hope things are better now, and who knows,” she winked at Darcy cheekily as she wiped down the table, “maybe you can help him make some new memories of his own - as long of course as they don’t come in the way of the mission. Our goal has always been-”

“To reshape the world for the better, however we have to,” she nodded, the righteousness of the words sitting proudly in her chest, “I would never compromise on our dreams, no matter how cute a guy was.”

“Still, he’s pretty cute huh?”

“Soooo cute,” Darcy whined, covering her face with her hands completely, “and so solid, like damn, he’s a sexy brick man.”

“Hopefully you won’t find his sexy brickishness too distracting on your first mission.”

“My first - you mean?”

“I think you’re ready, if you continue to hit your goals and Marla doesn’t catch you knocking over the vending machine for sugar snacks again after six pm that is.”

“Guilty,” she admitted with a laugh, “That one was on me, I’ll stick to the protein next time.”

“That’s my girl, now - let’s see if this thing works shall we?” Svetlana laughed, opening the door to the office and gesturing her ahead, “to the training course.”

“Ready when you are, boss lady!”

—-

The corridors of the base echoed eerily with the silence of his own movements. There had always been at least two sets of footsteps accompanying him whenever he left his dungeon, until now.

The Soldier was used to the escort, the rotating shift of guards who watched his every move with various degrees of wariness and disgust. Some were nervous, their shock batons never far from their palms as they marched him from one place to another, others sneered, talking about him as if he wasn’t there as they guarded his cell. 

The emptiness at either side of him weighed uncomfortably on his shoulders, his gaze constantly moving as he waited for guards to leap out and bar his path, shoulders braced to be dragged back to his cell at any moment. 

Only no one did. 

The few patrolling guards he passed didn’t even look at him.

The walls seemed to draw closer the higher up in the base he got, the concrete floors replaced with laminate and the metal bars with wooden doors as he neared his destination. A voice drifted out to him as he turned a corner, so sudden and familiar he thought he’d imagined it.

“Give me my bag back.”

Darcy. His footsteps faltered at the annoyance in her tone, her breathing uneven. She must have just finished her session in the upstairs training room, he could picture her now - flushed and tired on her feet, a crease between her brows as she scowled. 

“I’m helping, sunshine,” someone replied, his spine tensing at the voice - male and arrogant and leering, “it’s too heavy for a little girl like you.”

The snap of his teeth closing together echoed through his head as his jaw clenched tight, a whiplash of feeling breaking from his chest into every joint and bone. It burnt beneath his skin, hands fisted at his side to keep them steady as the words stabbed into him. 

He didn’t like the tone. He didn’t like the man who would dare use it infront of her.

“It's fine,” Darcy bit back, obviously impatient, her voice devoid of the soft teasing he had become so used to in his time with her, “and I am not a little girl, Pitt.”

Pitt. Guard on the third shift rotation. 5’10. Dark hair, dark eyes. A high proportion of muscle mass but in the wrong places, built for show instead of strength. Armed with a shock baton and a pistol at least. 

“I’ll say,” the guard oozed, oil dripping off his tone and spreading the fire in the Soldier’s chest as he heard the shuffling of movement, “how ‘bout you show me just how grown up you are then.”

“Dude, no means no. Were you dropped on your head as a child?”

There was a scuffle, a sound like a gasp and the man spitting out a rough, “goddamn bitch.”

The Soldier didn’t register moving until his knuckles met flesh, horrified brown eyes staring up at him as metal struck meat and he drove his fist into the man's stomach. The guard buckled beneath the force of the blow with a pathetic yelp, his body folding inwards, but the Soldier didn’t stop. Driving his knee up into the man’s chin he used the momentum to seize his arm, wrenching it behind his back and shoving him face-first into the concrete wall with a wet thump. 

The guard tried to reach for his weapon with his free hand but the Soldier was faster, snapping his wrist like a twig. 

“Did he hurt you?” He asked, voice scraping like broken glass in his throat as the man gurgled out in pain, “Darcy, did he hurt you?”

“I- no-” she stuttered behind him. He couldn’t look at her, not yet, if he looked and she was hurt he would kill the guard in front of him in direct contradiction to every order they’d ever put in his head.

He would tear him apart limb from limb alongside anyone else who dared to come close to her.

“Stand- stand down Soldier,” Pitt groaned, his voice hitching as the Soldier pushed his face harder into the wall. He could feel the bones of his skull creak beneath the force .

“She told you to give it back,” he twisted the man’s arm higher, wrenching it up against his spine until the joints popped one by one, “you didn’t.”

The guard's screams were white noise to him, drowned out by the vicious thunder of blood in his ears as he tightened his grip. The metal plates whirred and shifted, drawing tighter as he doubled the pressure, then tripled it, crushing the man’s wrist until he felt the bones splintering into pulp.

Pitt would never touch her with such disrespect again. 

He would never touch anyone again.

She was the Soldier’s to protect, his mission, his. The word reverberated in his head, a chant he couldn’t control as it beat savagely in time with the pounding of his heart. 

His his his.

“Soldier,” her voice was a whisper but it cut through him like a shout, his whole body stilling as a soft hand touched his arm, “you can let go now.”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to keep squeezing and squeezing until the man was nothing but a red smear at his feet. Instead he unclenched his hands, the guard slipping from his grasp to pool on the floor in front of him. Silent now. Unconscious.

“That’s it,” she coaxed him, drawing his arm away and encouraging him to turn towards her.

He was shaking, every muscle trembling as his orders fought in his head. He wasn’t supposed to attack the guards, he wasn’t supposed to hurt his superiors but… but he had to protect her. The Komandir had entrusted her to him and he… he had to…

She was light in front of him, blue eyes creased in concern as she looked up at him. Soft and real.

“Did he do that?” He nodded brusquely, brushing a metal thumb over the bruise blossoming on her forehead and smearing her skin with red. He would kill him if he had, even now he would kill him.

“What? Oh - no,” she touched the spot with an embarrassed half-smile, “Marla was teaching me how to get out of a headlock this morning and I got cocky.”

He’d kill Marla too. Every guard. Every trainer. Everyone. Anything to keep her safe.

The feeling grew inside him, swelling against his ribs and threatening to shred him from within as he pressed closer to her. His breath came hard and heavy, uneven in his throat as he slipped metal fingers into her hair, combing it away from her face as he pressed his forehead to hers. 

She smelt like floral deodorant, sweat and pomegranate body wash. He searched for the phantom notes of vanilla he associated with her but couldn’t find them, no matter how deep he breathed. It was wrong but still right, she was still here, sharing his air as he struggled against the desperate, sharp edged violence that pounded inside of him.

She was here. She was safe.

She was his.

—-

The Soldier had just destroyed a man for speaking to her wrong, utterly annihilated him right in front of her, and all Darcy wanted to do was kiss him.

It was an insane desire, no matter what she’d told Svetlana about finding him ridiculously good looking, he’d just… destroyed a man. She’d heard the snap and pop of bones and joints, seen the blood well between his metal fingers as he’d squeezed Pitt’s wrist into molasses. She should be horrified by it, the act was raw and savage and brutal, the guard’s screams still ringing in her ears.

And yet…

And yet all she wanted to do was cling to him, right there in the corridor. To wrap her arms around her neck and bury her face against his heart until she forgot where she ended and he began. 

The base of her throat ached beneath the weight of her new collar, squeezing tight as she fought the urge to close the scant few inches left between them. His hand was cool and solid as it tangled in her hair, his forehead pressed to hers as he drank in her every exhale like he was starved of air.

One push was all it would take, one lift of her toes and her mouth would be on his, his chapped lips scraping against hers as she lost whatever was left of her to his pull.

She squeezed her eyes closed, the urge sitting hot and guilty in the pit of her stomach as she leant into his touch instead. Everything had happened so quickly. She’d been heading out from her session with Svetlana when Pitt had accosted her, she’d gotten so good at avoiding him and his buddies it had thrown her off guard, almost like he was waiting in the hallway to intercept her. 

It had gone downhill fast from there, her first mistake had been stopping when Pitt spoke to her. She knew better, she knew to keep walking, eyes forward, mouth shut so she could lose him ASAP. Instead her feet had stuck as he’d grabbed for her bag, his fingers clammy as they pulled the strap from her shoulder before she could even think to stop him.

Pitt was the worst of the guards. It was like someone had bottled toxic-masculinity and made it into an awful, Axe body spray soaked caricature of a man. Despite her stupid feet her temper had flared up quick enough at his offer of ‘help.’ She didn’t want his goddamn help, not when the way he always looked at her made her skin crawl. It was like he was stripping her off with his eyes, clothes, underwear, skin, undressing her down until she was nothing more than a piece of meat ready for consumption.

The moves that Marla had drilled into her played behind her eyes as she demanded her bag back, her knives sitting heavy at her hips as she calculated how best to drop him. A knee to the groin, her palm slammed into his nose. Fast, hard, unexpected movements that would ground him and let her escape.

But she didn’t.

She just stood there arguing. She wasn’t supposed to use her abilities or her training on anyone within the Organization, Svetlana had made that clear to her, the directive stalling her as she’d been forced to settle for snarking at him instead.

Not that that had been any better.

He hadn’t liked her talking back, breaking out his big boy words as he called her a bitch and threw her bag back at her. Hard . The weight of her textbooks and homework folders had punched her right in the sternum, sucking the air from her lungs as she stumbled back from the blow. 

For a minute all she could do was panic, breathless and bent in half as she realized that her momentary lapse had given Pitt the upper hand as he loomed over her - then, out of nowhere, he was there.

The Soldier.

It was like he’d manifested straight from the shadows, huge and dark and every inch the legendary beast the workers in the canteen liked to tell stories about. The Ghost of Prague. The Monster of Moscow. The True Fist of Hydra. 

The Dark Avenger of Darcy.

She could still hear the whimpers in her head, Pitt’s ragged cry to stand down and the fractured scream that followed. And yet… yet she didn’t feel bad for him. Pitt was a bastard, he’d deserved what he’d gotten no matter what the powers that be might say. He skeeved and slimed and harassed his way around the base and now… now he’d think twice before cornering a woman again.

“Are you okay?” She tried to say his name but it faltered on her tongue. Soldier, it felt wrong again. He was a man with a name, one that she doubted was written as ‘Soldier, Winter’ on his birth certificate.

He was a Ben or a Jack or a James or…

It didn’t matter. Nothing did when he was this close, closer than he’d ever been - even in training, trembling beneath her hands as she smoothed them over his arms without conscious thought, dragging her palms over his shoulders, his neck. Touching any part of him she could reach in an effort to calm him, to ground him back into the moment. Here, with her.

“Hey - are you okay?” She prompted when he didn’t answer, stroking the short hair at the back of his neck as she watched his still-closed eyes.

“Always, so long you are,” he rumbled, voice deep in his chest as his other hand found her waist, wrapping tightly around her and drawing her closer, “I must keep you safe, zizhn’ moya.”

Her heart fluttered strangely in her chest, unbearably light as she breathed him in, inhaling the scent of leather and gunpowder as she pressed her forehead tighter against his. There was a rightness to the moment, like two puzzle pieces clicking together in a mess of unformed edges.

“I’m safe,” she whispered, closing her eyes too and letting herself just exist, if only for a moment, “I’m okay, Soldier. I’m with you.”

God, why did she suddenly feel so protective over him when he was so obviously capable of looking after himself? Why did she still want to kick Pitt right in his unconscious gonads for making the Soldier shake like this?

The feeling caught her like a noose, squeezing tighter and tighter as she buried her hands deeper into his hair, no longer anchoring him but herself now.

He was here. He was hers.

“Darcy? I heard a commotion, are you okay?”

Darcy cringed backwards as the voice crashed over like a bucket of ice water, her whole body shuddering as she came back to reality. She broke away from her Soldier, stepping in front of him with a deep breath as she turned her eyes towards her best friend and commander.

“I’m fine, Doc,” she made herself smile, the twist of her lips feeling more like a grimace, or a snarl, “Pitt was being… inappropriate and the Soldier stepped in to protect me.”

Just like she had to protect him now. He had acted to safeguard her and she couldn’t bear to see him punished for it. Not if she could save him 

“I see,” Svetlana’s brow creased, lines bracketing her mouth as her gaze went from Darcy to the Soldier to the guard still lying unconscious on the floor, “you were lucky then that he was here. But, sólnyshka, why didn’t you stop Pitt yourself if he made you uncomfortable?”

“I-” she hesitated, tongue suddenly heavy in her mouth as she blinked stupidly at her Commander, “I didn’t think I was allowed? He’s a guard and I…”

That was the rule wasn’t it? She wasn’t allowed to act up, not here, everyone had a purpose here, and hers was to obey. To deal . Just because a guard was being gross didn’t mean her orders had changed, she was to submit. Her mission was to comply. 

“You are the most precious thing in this facility, Darcy, you need to know that,” Svetlana said with a soft shake of her head, hands twisting in front of her as she sighed, “we haven’t been teaching you these skills for no reason, you must protect yourself. From our enemies yes, but also from little men like that too.”

The disappointment in her eyes was almost too much for Darcy to bear, stomach churning as she lowered her head. She had let Svetlana down, after all she’d done for her.

Darcy was meant to be strong. She was meant to be better. And she had failed.

“Yes, Doc,” she murmured guiltily, eyes fixed on the floor as she realized the depths of her own mistakes, her own thoughtlessness , “I’ll do better next time.”

“It’s alright, Darcy, as long as you’re safe now,” Svetlana said, stepping forward and squeezing her arm with a warmth Darcy didn’t deserve, “I think you should return to your rooms though, my dear, and think about what I’ve said. I’ll see that Private Pitt gets taken care of, Soldier, you will help me.”

«Of course, Komandir.»

She knew enough Russian now to understand his reply, her heart squeezing as they took their orders like they were supposed to. 

She didn’t want to leave, bile stinging the back of her tongue as she retrieved her bag, looking up at the Soldier from under her lashes as she turned away. She wanted to stay here with him, to fix her mistakes and… and hold his hand. It was stupid and childish but she couldn’t help it, her insides twisting as he met her gaze as she hesitated beside him. 

«Thank you, Soldat,» she told him in her stuttering Russian, not even good enough at that despite all the time they'd spent teaching her, «for everything.»

He only nodded to her, eyes dark and unreadable once more, before she had to walk away. Shamed and small and drowning in her own stupidity.

—-

The Soldier carried the body to the med-bay on his masters orders, dropping the guard roughly on the bed he was pointed to and fixing his eyes on the wall as he awaited his next orders.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Once the Komandir had given the doctors their instructions she beckoned him out again, the Soldier falling into step two paces behind her as she led him down into the belly of the base without once looking back. Paint and posters were quickly replaced with blank concrete and the cloying scent of damp and metal as she took him down to the scientists.

To the machine.

“Sit, please.”

The niceties didn’t change the order, or the hard press of her eyes as his body acted on instincts. Muscles screaming as they folded automatically into the black chair in the middle of the machine. The one that took and took and took from him.

The paddles sat above him, hooked up to the metal crown they’d ring around his head when they needed to boil the memories out of him. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want to forget again. He could still feel Darcy’s warmth, her forehead pressed against his, her breath fanning over his cheek. Her waist beneath his palm and her hair tangled between his fingers.

If he closed his eyes now he knew he would see her face, her eyes turned up to him with something almost like longing in them as she walked away.

He didn’t want to forget it but he couldn’t disobey his orders either. So he sat, the memories clinging to his skin as he watched the Komandir wave away the scientists as they moved automatically towards their stations. She sent them out, leaving them alone in his personal hell, his hands clenched tight to the metal arm rests as he waited for the familiar snap of the restraints to trap him in place.

“Now, let us talk,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she stood beside the control panel, fingers just brushing over the buttons, “tell me what happened, Soldat.”

His throat felt too tight for speech, mouth twisting as he jerked his head away. The words trapped beneath his tongue even as he tried desperately to work them free.

“He was a threat,” He managed after a hard swallow, “I heard him… accost her. Called her bitch. I stepped in.”

His tongue caught on the invective, hating that he had to repeat it even now as the anger reignited in his bones at the memory.

It was his first directive, he had to protect her. It was his mission. He tried to cling to the words even as all his other orders echoed in his head. He couldn’t attack the guards, he couldn’t hurt the scientists, he must not harm Hydra. He must obey. Always, obey.

“Did you see him attack her, Soldat?”

“No,” he admitted in a harsh exhale, desperation pulling at him as he stared at the floor so hard his vision blurred, “I heard… I reacted to...”

“You almost killed one of my guards because you heard something you didn’t like?”

“Yes,” he choked, the panic squeezing inside of him as he nodded, tears burning hot behind his eyes as he lowered his head. He had wanted to kill him, to kill anyone who came between them, all his superiors, even… “I will take my punishment, Komandir, I - I will comply.”

A hand landed on his shoulder, making him flinch as he squeezed his eyes shut. The restraints would close any second, the mouthguard forced between his teeth like a horse with a bit as they shoved him backwards into the abyss.

“You wanted to protect her, didn’t you?” His Komandir whispered, nails digging into his shoulder as he cringed beneath the touch, “you went against your training for her knowing you’d be put back in the machine, that you would be wiped for it?”

“Yes.”

The hand tensed, nails biting deeper into the leather of his uniform until he could feel them in his skin, tight enough to draw blood. Then all at once the pressure eased.

“You have done well, Soldat, you have followed your orders perfectly.”

His eyes opened automatically, breath shaky as his head jerked up. She was too close for comfort, dark eyes gleaming as she petted his shoulder gently. Smoothing the crescent shaped divots she’d made in his uniform. 

“But - but I-” he struggled against the sudden shift in tone. He’d disobeyed. He’d hurt the cause. He should be punished, his body already braced for the pain he knew in his bones was coming. The pain he deserved.

“You protected our Persephone,” she told him softly, still stroking his shoulder and making his skin crawl beneath his clothing, “that is your first priority. Always. You must ensure she is safe from all threats.”

He tried to swallow the thickness in his throat, sweat dripping into his eyes as he tilted his head up at her,  “he was a guard.”

“It doesn’t matter where the threat comes from,” something hard passed behind her eyes as they turned away from him, seeing something he couldn’t as her mouth thinned into a sharp line. She shook her head and looked back at him, absolute stone as she stared through his eyes and into his skill, “I entrusted her safety to you, Soldat, only you. You must keep her safe for me when I cannot, you understand? You must protect the new hope of Hydra.”

“I will,” he promised, “I want to.”

“Good boy,” she ruffled his hair, making him flinch in his seat as she whispered her poisonous promises to him, “she is my gift to the world, Soldat, and you… well, you are my gift to her.”

He would be anything for Darcy. Orders or not.

—-

“The asset nearly killed one of our guards, he should be reset at once.”

Heinrich charged into her office red faced and spitting, two hours late to the party as always and waving a folder wildly. Svetlana sighed, sitting back in her chair, she’d been having such a lovely day too. Darcy had a new collar that worked a treat, the Soldier had done as he was told - she’d even treated herself to an extra coffee and a pastry as she set about a pleasant evening of plan making. 

“Why would we do that, Heinrich,” she asked, swivelling in her chair to look at him with an exasperated frown, “when it all went just as it should have?”

“You knew about this?” His bloodshot eyes narrowed before widening as understanding washed over him at last, “you set it up?”

“Of course I did, nothing happens in this facility without my say so, you should know that by now.”

Really, she had been back for months now and he still hadn’t seemed to be able to wrap his head around it.

“But why? Why push him to attack one of our own?”

“I had to make sure he would protect my Persephone outside of specific mission parameters. His first priority should always be her safety, and I’m pleased to say he performed flawlessly.”

“He dislocated three joints, broke one wrist and destroyed the other. We had to amputate Pitt’s hand, Svetlana!”

“Yes, it was rather spectacular wasn't it,” she smiled, lips pursing as she remembered the sight of him standing over her charge on the monitor, ready to protect her from everything and every one, “they are finally ready for the field, be a dear and make sure the base in Eberbach is made ready for them in the next few weeks, would you Heinrich?”

“Eberbach? What is so important in Germany now?”

“Nothing at all,” she shrugged, “but it is closest stronghold we still have to Zurich and a good place, I think, for them to regroup after their first mission.”

“Zurich?” He repeated, forehead creasing as he worked it over before realization brightened his features, “you mean to strike the G20 summit?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “they have severed so many of our heads, it is past time we return the favor.”

His eyes darkened, a grim smile stretching at his thin lips as he met her gaze in perfect understanding at last. All his petty concerns set aside as the true power of her plan finally made sense to him, of exactly what they would be capable of with her new creation.

“Hail Hydra,” he murmured with vicious satisfaction.

“Hail Hydra,” she repeated happily, returning to her plans and pastry, “let the old world burn and be made anew at last.”

Chapter Text

“That’s it, lisichka,” Marla cheered, her voice cutting through the blood pounding in Darcy’s ears as she swung at the bag, “one more, that’s it, right in the middle, good job.”

Darcy didn’t stop, sweat dripping into her eyes as she hit the bag again and again, the impact jolting through her with every strike. She had to keep going, she had to be better.

The Commander’s disappointment was still ringing in her ears, the weary sigh as Darcy failed at the first hurdle she’d come to. She had to try harder to make up for it, to prove Svetlana was right for trusting her with this in the first place.

“Darcy, that’s enough.”

The words were blurred, drowned out by each gasping breath that left her and the satisfying thud of flesh on leather. The pain in her hands was good, it grounded her with every jarring smack of her knuckles into the swaying bag. 

Every strike was an attack on her own weakness, every hit proof she wasn’t the let down she felt like. She was strong. She was worthy. She had to be worthy. They had a mission now, right there on the horizon, she couldn’t fail again.

Her muscles were screaming, throbbing beneath her skin as her body threatened to betray her. Weak. She was weak. She couldn’t stop, not yet, she couldn’t-

“Be still, Persephone.”

The words hit her like a truck, her arms dropping so sharply she felt like someone had cut her strings. Her heart kept kicking like a mule against her ribs, adrenaline flooding every vein and muscle as she waited for her orders.

“Better,” Marla said, catching the bag before it could swing back, her face creased with concern, “are you alright, lisichka?”

«Yes, ma’am,» she replied in her awkward Russian, spine rod-straight even as panic shuddered through her. 

“I understand your drive," Marla said understandingly, her voice hushed as she took Darcy’s hands in her own and checked the wraps, they were already beginning to stain red. "But you need to take care of yourself now more than ever, how can you accomplish your mission if you're injured?”

Fuck. She’d done it again. She’d disappointed them again. She knew they’d be going out soon and yet she’d hurt herself anyway, she was an idiot.

«Sorry, ma’am,» she apologized quickly, face burning beneath the sweat as she dropped her gaze to the floor, «I can do better.»

“You are doing just fine, Darcy,” Marla promised, leading her over to the bench and beginning the process of unwrapping her knuckles with a gentleness that belied her stature, “you are more determined than ever. I am proud of you for that, but you must know when to strike and when to rest.”

Shoulders slumping, Darcy nodded, taking a deep breath in and out as she accepted the words of her superior, «understood.»

“Your Russian is improving too, little one,” Marla smiled, unfolding herself to her full height as she took the soiled bandages away. She was six foot if she was an inch and built like a brick shit house, her strength was unquestionable.

Unlike Darcy’s.

“It’s all the homework you give me,” Darcy said in a weak attempt at humor, wincing as she pulled the band from her ponytail and raked her stinging fingers through her hair, “oh - that reminds me…”

“What is it?” Marla asked when the sentence trailed off, Darcy biting her tongue as she realized what she’d been about to say. 

The exhaustion had made her weaker than ever, the words slipping out unheeded as she looked down at the split skin between her fingers. She couldn’t lie to her trainer, or wave it away. Clenching her jaw, she tried to casually voice the question that had been playing at the back of her mind for days now.

“It’s just a phrase I don’t know, what… what does zhizn’ moya mean?”

That’s what the Soldier had said wasn’t it? When he’d been holding her like he was never going to let her go, blood smearing his fingers and his breath coming fast and hard in his chest.

Zhizn’ moya. 

My something, but what?

She’d repeated it to herself after, whispering it in the quiet of her room before she went to sleep, remembering the shape of the words and the rough, cracked voice he’d said them with.

Marla laughed and Darcy’s stomach dropped, it wasn’t exactly a great sign considering how stupidly fluttery it had made her feel.

“Oh dear, you have been watching the romances again, girl.”

Or… maybe it was? Blood rushed to her face, her toes curling awkwardly in her boots at the look Marla sent her. Fond and dismissive all at once as she shook her head and sent her short white-blonde hair bouncing like dandelion fluff. 

“Why do you say that?” Darcy asked, trying to remember everything she’d ever been taught about concealing her emotions as she hefted herself to her feet and pulled her bag from the cubby hole. Digging through it for her water bottle and chugging half the contents.

“It is a term of endearment, lisichka, literally translated it means ‘my life .’” Marla rolled her eyes with another huffing laugh as Darcy tried not to do a spit-take, “Svetlana must stop letting you watch such nonsense, it is not a substitute for real learning you know.”

“Hey, it helps me with my pronunciation,” Darcy joked weakly even as the words rooted themselves in her chest. She’d never been more grateful for the stack of popular Russian movies Svetlana let her keep in her room to ‘study.’ God knows how she would have explained knowing that term otherwise. Replacing the cap on her bottle she added with a wink, «I dream of you, darling!»

“Pah, sweet words,” Marla scoffed, waving her away, “go on with you, shower up - you don’t want to keep your next teacher waiting.” 

Her next teacher. Him.

“Yes ma’am,” Darcy nodded, stomach squeezing tightly as she ducked into the shower room and cleaned up as quickly as she could.

The water was always cold when it came through the groaning pipes but today Darcy wanted it icy. She turned the handle until it squeaked, letting it hit her hard and fast and freezing. She hoped it would snatch the heat from under her skin, the burn of guilt and embarrassment, failure and frustration, longing.

Zhizn’ moya. 

The water washed pink down the drain as it sluiced over her knuckles, bringing her back to herself as she turned off the shower with a hiss. Clean as she was going to get she got dressed in double time, rubbing neosporin into her hands harder than she had to before taping them up. Hefting her bag up onto her shoulder, she gave a final wave to Marla as she passed through the training room on her way out.  

The Soldier was already waiting, leaning against the wall in the shadows beyond the doorway. He blended perfectly into the darkness with his black uniform and dark hair, body angled so the shine of his metal arm wouldn’t give him away as he hung out in the shadows like he’d grown from them. 

He was perfectly silent and perfectly still and Darcy knew if she hadn’t been looking for him she probably wouldn’t have seen him at all. But then again, she was always looking for him.

My life.

Fuck, she really wished she hadn’t just asked Marla that. The heat rushed back to her face as he fell into step beside her like clock work.

Had she remembered it wrong? 

Yeah that was it, she’d probably gotten it wrong. It was days ago after all, he probably said like shishee moya or something. It just meant student. Or protégée. Or good buddy.

Damnit.

“May I ?” He asked, holding his hand out for her bag and making her jump. She’d said no the first few times and he hadn’t pushed her, just nodded and kept pace with her instead. 

He’d taken to escorting her around the base since the thing with Pitt, something that should have been overbearing but felt sweet instead. Even the painful reminder that she wasn’t fit to be trusted on her own wasn’t enough to make her regret his presence.

“Thanks,” she said, arms aching as she handed over the bag this time. He took it easily, slinging it over his shoulder as she avoided his eyes entirely - trapped somewhere between giddiness at his closeness and the feeling of inadequacy she still couldn’t shake.

“Your knuckles are bruised,” he said tightly, eyes sweeping left and right, perfectly aware of everything around them as he led her down towards the range. 

The inadequacy won out.

“You should see the other guy,” she shrugged with a hollow smile, swallowing the sudden knot in her throat as she watched the markings on the floor go by, “and by guy I mean the punching bag, who was very sorry he messed with me lemme tell you.”

“You should be more careful.” 

Her heart dropped, squeezing painfully in her chest as she nodded, “I know.”

It seemed like she’d disappointed just about everyone this week. She was astounded that the Commander hadn’t canceled the mission over her ineptitude already.

—-

The new set of orders sank uneasily into the Soldier’s internal hierarchy, structuring themselves around the one directive he knew now he could never break - even if they told him too.

The mission itself wasn’t anything he hadn’t faced before, a retrieve and destroy play with maximum casualties in a very public, highly secure setting. The blueprints were already embedded in the empty spaces of his brain alongside the mission parameters and the planned execution. He knew what weapons he’d be provided with and the vantage point he was to work from, he also knew that for once his presence was ancillary. 

He was the back up, the perimeter guard, the real weight of the mission rested on Darcy’s shoulders alone.

The New Persephone.

She didn’t seem to realize her importance in it all even as she strived harder than ever at every task set before her. 

He blamed the Komandir, her words had changed Darcy. By disappointing her mistress all the confidence that had grown in the girl had been lost - the gentle reproach hitting her harder than any fist could. 

He watched the edges of her softness harden in the wake of it, Darcy driving herself harder and harder every day as a distance grew within her that made him feel sick. It hadn’t been her fault, she believed herself to be obeying her orders. That’s what they did, that’s all they were. To change the rules on her like that without informing her… it didn’t seem fair to him.

“You didn’t fail the Komandir,” he heard himself say as they rounded the corner to the range, unable to keep his thoughts to himself any longer. She had been silent too long.

“I-“ her footsteps faltered, eyes turning up to him. Big and blue and hurting even now.

“By not attacking the guard first on Monday,” he clarified, firming his resolve to say his piece even when he knew it wasn’t his place to. He shouldn’t have opinions but, in this at least, he did, “your mission parameters were changed without your knowledge. That isn’t a failure.”

He should know, he had failed many times in his endless years of service. Some he remembered, most he didn’t, all - he knew deep in his bones - entirely his own fault. There were times he did not want to comply, when the threat of pain and emptiness wasn’t enough to control the monster leashed beneath his skin as he struck out at everyone and everything around him. That was failure.

Not this.

The slender arch of her throat worked beneath her new metal collar as she swallowed. It was a broken glass reminder that, for all her importance, she was not a master. She was leashed as much as he was, an asset to the cause.

“Thank you,” she whispered, taking her jacket off as she entered the room ahead of him and slipping it into her locker. Her arms showed the strain she’d been putting herself under, bruises blossoming against her soft skin, mottled purple and yellow against her natural pallor

“It’s the truth,” he murmured, placing her bag gently beside her. 

Piece spoken and duty discharged he should have moved away, begun preparing for their training as he was supposed to. As he was ordered to. Instead he  kept his place beside her.

This close he could smell the harsh white soap the base favored on her still-damp skin. He wanted to touch her again, the feeling moving uselessly beneath his skin as he breathed her in. The moment they’d shared in the hallway had haunted him, breaking through the structure they’d put in his head and contaminating his thoughts.

He was possessed by it, by her, knowing he should tell the scientists so they could clear it from him but unwilling to do so. He guarded the memory instead, the warmth of her skin against his, the feeling of her waist beneath his palm. It was his memory, his feeling, and he wanted to keep it - her - all to himself, clinging to it even as he watched her draw further into herself with every passing day.

“I don’t want to fail again,” she admitted suddenly into the silence, looking up at him and threatening to drown him in her eyes, “I want to do this, Soldier, I want to… I want to be good at this.”

If he had a heart it might have broken for her, seeing the same desperation to please that had been beaten into him. The need to obey the masters, to follow their orders and avoid their pain. She was a good dog still, not like him - he was half-feral with time and misuse and ready for the business end of the shotgun.

“You are,” he promised. His hands were on her shoulders, he didn’t register putting them there only that he had and she was warm, “you will be. We’ll do this together.”

The corner of her mouth twitched up in an unwilling smile, her muscles relaxing under his palms as she took a deep breath in.

“Thank you, Sol,” she mumbled, her forehead suddenly butting against his chest as she exhaled, burning him even through the layers they’d bound him in, “I don’t think I could do this without you, you know.”

He didn’t have time to act, to clutch her closer and tell her everything he wanted to say - that he dreamt about her every night, a thousand lives they’d never lived, that he couldn’t get warm when she wasn’t there anymore, that he’d rip the throats out of anyone, anyone, who made her feel less than ever again - it was too late… she was already pulling away. 

Rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly, Darcy turned away from him, her face flushed pink under the fluorescents as she moved towards the work bench, “sorry about that, got a bit emotional there. We’re doing a dry run with the explosives today, right? It’s not long now until we leave.”

She never had to apologize, not to him. It reminded him of the first time they’d met, when she’d asked his name and he’d found himself swallowing around his own tongue - desperately wanting to give her an answer he didn’t have. She’d shrugged it off then with a self-conscious laugh and a smile and she was doing the same thing again.

“Right,” he nodded, mouth dry as he followed in her footsteps, caught in her tide, “the blueprints.”

“Here,” she pulled the rolled up building plans from their space on the wall, spreading them open on the workbench and fixing them in place, “we’re still going for the bottom of the table in the main conference room?”

“Mm,” he confirmed, “get in phased, unphase here to plant them, then phase out again. These three locations f’best results.”

The table was long and would be crowded with chairs and important people, they would need all three explosives to be planted with absolute accuracy to minimize the risk of discovery and to maximize the damage.

“Okay, I can do that,” she nodded, tracing the locations he’d mapped out for her with a determined furrow in her brow, “you’ll have the detonator?”

“I won’t trigger it until you’re clear,” he promised, “phased or not.”

“You’re sweet,” she murmured, almost too quiet for him to hear as she tapped at the paper. 

He wasn’t. He’d never been sweet. He was cold and hard and broken. He was a rabid dog on a choke chain. He… he…

“Shall we give it a test run then?” She asked, a flicker of her old brightness returning to her voice as she looked at the plans set out before them, “Sol?”

There was a genuine smile on her face when she looked back at him, making the tight band dragging at his ribs ease. His breath came easier as he nodded. She would be okay, he’d make sure of it. Whatever the cost.

—-

“I found the base.”

“Sam?” Steve jammed the talk button in his ear piece immediately, heart stuttering in his chest at the sudden message.

He turned away from the building he’d been casing, heading deeper into the alley as he waited impatiently for the response, needing confirmation he wasn’t hallucinating the words. They were all in the field now, the new possibilities divided up between them as Jane kept tabs on the operation from Head Quarters.

“Downtown Bruckston,” Sam confirmed, a grim satisfaction in his voice, “sending coordinates. Want us to hit it?”

“Hold position,” Steve grunted, already running towards the place he’d left his motorcycle, pedestrians scattering as he turned into the street and shouldered his way through the lunchtime crowd, “call it in to Jane and the others. We’ll rendezvous at a safe distance in thirty minutes.”

His hand was shaking as he pulled his phone from his pocket, almost dropping the damn thing as he opened Sam’s message. Thirty five minutes out, clear path, he’d be there in twenty five if he pushed it. Which he would.

“Got it, Cap,” Sam replied as Steve shoved his phone away again, the map already memorized, “Redwing’s got aerial watch, Nat’s close so we should have ground cover in ten. We’ll keep it locked down until you get here.”

Fumbling the keys to his bike, Steve grabbed his helmet from the saddle bag and straddled the seat, pausing just long enough to take one deep breath as adrenaline threatened to flood him entirely.

“Acknowledged,” he sent back, “over and out.”

They’d found them. The words echoed in his skull as he gunned the engine, drowning out everything else as he tore down the street, pushing the edge of the speed limit as he headed for the base. They’d finally found them. 

Chapter Text

It had been a perfect entry, a by-the-book success by every standard. Steve had taken the top entrance with Nat, Thor the secondary level, and Sam had kept watch over head to catch the stragglers and secure the perimeter.

The four of them worked like cogs in a well oiled machine, each perfectly focused on their task as they took the base and neutralized the threats within. It hadn’t been a long fight, the base under staffed and out gunned even against just the four of them.

In retrospect that should have been the first warning, but Steve couldn’t see it. He was blinded by optimism as the Hydra Agents went down easy, dropping like flies as they split up within the corridors to lock down any remaining staff and find their missing comrades.

It wasn’t the Winter Soldier level fight he had been expecting but that was a good sign, surely, it meant that in all the long months they’d had to break Bucky they hadn’t managed it. He was probably still down in whatever god awful cell they kept him in, fighting to get out even now. He was strong. Too strong for them to break again, not for good.

Steve found the dungeon first, a hideous mix of laboratory and prison, there was a space behind bars with a dingy little cot in it and a cabinet full of elephant-strength sedatives outside its door. Bucky’s x-rays were on the walls of the lab space, the blueprints to his arm still on the screens and in the middle of it all… the machine.

It was instantly recognisable from the Hydra files he’d read and the stories Bucky had eventually managed to tell him, weeks after he’d gotten back. Hushed memories of horrors he barely had the strength to talk about, even to Steve.

Those memories would be gone now, all of them would, shocked clear from his skull by the hideous metal torture device they strapped him to to keep him in line when the words weren’t enough. Six months and it might as well have been a lifetime.

Bucky wasn’t there. 

“Any - any sign of them?” Steve forced himself to ask, pressing his earpiece as he looked around the remnants of his best friend’s worst nightmares. Tearing open the drawers and cabinets, he felt his heart sink to his feet as a gleam of silver caught his eye.

Buried in the bottom of the drawer were a pair of silver dog tags, tags he’d carried to his death and through his rebirth, tags Bucky would never have willingly taken off.

“I have found some items I believe belong to Lady Darcy,” Thor’s voice came back first from the upper level, as lost as he’d ever heard the spaceman sound, “her spectacles and some other items but… but there is no sign of her otherwise.”

“No sign of the Soldier either,” Nat added, “although I think I have someone here you might want to talk too, Steve, he was hiding with the scientists but he’s clearly high rank. Meet me in the outer office of the control room, level 2B.”

“On my way,” Steve confirmed, taking the stairs two at a time as he headed for her location. Mouth held in a grim line as he barged into the room.

Nat was propped against a desk, a dark expression on her face as she nodded to him from over the stack of slightly charred papers she was looking through. She wasn’t alone, an older man with thinning hair and pallid grey skin tied to a chair in front of her, his rimless glasses askew where they’d been knocked off his nose. 

“Nat,” he nodded, hefting his shield onto his back and wiping his hands on his sides to keep them from sweating as he looked between them, waiting for her report.

“As far as I can tell this is Heinrich Klein, second in command of this lovely base,” Nat greeted him, holding up the papers for him to take, “I found him trying to destroy these,” 

Steve flicked through them with a heavy frown, his Russian not nearly good enough to decipher them, “what are they?”

“Plans, expenses,” she reached over, peeling back a few pages to reveal a worn red leather book with a black star in the center of the cover, “an instruction manual for controlling the Winter Soldier.”

Bile filled Steve’s mouth, stomach threatening to repeat on him as he lifted it with shaking fingers only for a second book to slip from beneath. He caught it automatically, noting it was smaller, newer, lacking the yellowing pages and beaten cover of the Winter Soldier’s book. The cover was black instead of red, a green sun embossed where the star was on the other. 

“And this one?” He asked despite his absolute certainty that he didn’t want to know the answer. 

“Another control manual,” Nat sighed, a furrow forming between her brows as she looked down at the book, “for something called The Persephone Project, here” reaching out she flipped a few pages, revealing a photo of Darcy unconscious in an unfamiliar hospital bed, “it seems your friend isn’t the only one they’ve reconditioned.”

“Good god,” he murmured, horror breaking like cold sweat against his skin as he took in the words he couldn’t read and the diagrams he’d never forget, “they’ve brainwashed her too?”

“Yes,” Nat confirmed, suddenly sounding a hundred years old as she took the books and papers back from him and packed them away in her satchel, “it’s a different methodology but it seems to have been… effective .” 

Steve’s throat tightened, guilt threatening to choke him as he was forced to face the fact he had lost not one friend to their madness, but two now.

“Heh.”

The snickering little laugh was out of place in the heavy silence, scraping over Steve’s nerves like a rusty knife as he turned his head towards its source. The man, the officer pretending to be a scientist - he sat relaxed in his chair despite the bindings. Yellow teeth exposed in a hideous smile.

“Talk,” Steve demanded, rage coalescing into a knot in his stomach as he met the man’s cold, milky-blue eyes, “where are they?”

The man only laughed again, a king on his throne as he rocked back against the headrest. Steve couldn’t keep his composure, needing to knock that self-satisfied smirk off his face as he whipped around and punched him square in the jaw.

“So courageous,” the man groaned as his head snapped back, the remnants of his sneering German accent making Steve’s spine tense as he spat blood at his feet, “the good Captain striking a tied up man.”

He sounded like all of Steve’s worst memories, like Red Skull, like Zola, like bullets flying and bodies falling and the cold. The bone-deep ice he still hadn’t fully escaped, no matter how many layers he wore.

“You’re not a man, you’re a snake,” Steve said through gritted teeth, “and I’ll do whatever it takes to make you talk, hell - after what you’ve done I’ll enjoy it.”

The heavy weight of Nat’s eyes rested between his shoulder blades, her worry palpable even as he pushed it aside. She knew better than most what it took to get answers. There were lines he wouldn’t cross - not ever - but today he felt like getting pretty damned close to the edge.

“Where are Bucky and Darcy?” He demanded, pulling his shield from his back and raising it threateningly. Just about ready to beat the red white and blue off it to get them back.

“W-who?” The officer asked, wavering a little in the chair even as his expression remained unchanged. Utterly imperious even with blood dripping from his nose. A self-proclaimed master of the universe.

“The people you took, Bucky Barnes and Darcy Lewis. The Winter Soldier and- and the Persephone Project or whatever you lunatics have called her.”

As if a new name might change who either of them really were, no matter what they forced them to do they were good people. Kind and giving and so much better than any one of the bottom feeding scumbags that had taken them.

“Oh,” a sly expression stole over the man’s face, his eyes turning madder than ever as the fire of his fanaticism lit his gaze, “You mean Svetlana’s little pets. I was skeptical at first I must admit, I mean the Winter Solider has always been useful, that much is true, but I could not see much point in the little girl she brought back with him. Your Darcy, I told her as much, you know. I must say… I have never been so pleased to be wrong, Svetlana was right, our Persephone has become a true asset to the cause, despite her flawed breeding.”

Steve felt his jaw tighten, his shield shaking as he fought the urge to bring it down again. For all of Hydra’s talk it was the same, once a goddamn Nazi always a goddamn Nazi. 

“Svetlana? You mean Selena Harris?” He forced himself to press, following the questions instead of his rage. He had to control himself, he couldn’t risk knocking the sonuvabitch out before he’d gotten the information he needed - no matter how satisfying it would feel.

“Was that what she called herself when she slipped in right under your nose and took our treasures?” The man sneered, “do not worry Captain, you will see her soon - or her work at least… You have cut off so many of our heads, it seems only right that she now take some of yours.”

“Nat?” He asked over his shoulder, chest taut as he struggled to keep his breathing steady. He felt like he was being crushed from within, the pressure of everything he didn’t know squeezing and squeezing him as he tried to make sense of the nebulous threat.

“There was something in the papers, blueprints of a building in Zurich, possible flight plans…”

“Zurich?”

“Damn,” Nat swore, her green eyes widening in understanding, “the G20 summit, it’s taking place in Zurich. Tomorrow.”

“Wrap it up,” Steve said grimly into his ear piece, heart thundering painfully in his chest as he nodded to Nat, “we have to get moving.”

“You’re too late, Captain,” the man in the chair called mockingly, wheezing out another laugh as he tilted his head back, “you cannot catch our ghosts.”

Turning, Steve raised his shield high.

“Watch me,” he snarled, bringing it down sharply on the man’s skull and knocking him out before turning away. Shoulders squared, he let his mind raced ahead of him, already planning their next move.

He was going to bring them home. Both of them.

—-

Darcy’s body told her it was still early in the evening but the sky quite clearly said midnight. The moon was brilliant, painting the unfamiliar landscape silver.

The airstrip, if it was even big enough to count, was in the middle of nowhere. A short stretch of asphalt in the midst of a dark forest. She hadn’t been able to look out of the window when they’d landed but now… now she was taking it all in, turning her gaze away from the headlights of the cars waiting on the tarmac to the sky overhead.

The number of stars was dizzying. She traced the patterns of familiar constellations, breath pluming in front of her in the cold night as she waited for the cases to finish being unloaded from the jet and the rest of the team to appear. It was the first time she’d been outside in the open air in what felt like years but the sky hadn’t changed.

There was Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Orion’s Belt and brilliant Venus. She knew all the names, even the little ones in the distance, and found herself suddenly wondering why? Why did she know that Delta-X17A, two stars away from the constellation of Scorpio, was a red dwarf that had gone nova thousands of years ago? Or that Alpano-108 was theorized to have a planet in orbit capable of supporting human life?

Her head ached, jetlag making the sky spin above her as she struggled for breath. She felt small, lost, like her feet might pop loose from the tarmac at any moment and send her spinning out into the abyss.

“Darcy, are you alright there?” Svetlana’s voice woke her from her trance, snapping her back to earth with a start as she turned her head towards her mentor.

“Just trying to get used to the time zone,” she smiled, hefting her bag further up her arm, “brain says dinner, sky says sleep.”

“It’s a bit of a shock isn’t it?” Svetlana agreed with an easy laugh, “especially after being in the base so long, I never think I’ll get used to the fresh air again.”

“So true,” Darcy agreed, inhaling a deep, cold lungful of it. It tasted like pine trees and jet fumes and freedom.

Her guilt had eased since her talk with the Soldier, his words reassuring her almost as much as his lessons did. Endlessly patient as they went through the plan over and over again until she felt like she could run it with her eyes closed.

She could do this, she could prove herself to all of them.

The Commander, Marla, him.

It was going to be okay.

“Did you get any sleep in the end?” Svetlana asked distractedly as her phone beeped, digging it out from her pocket and shooting out a quick message in Cyrillic too fast for Darcy to translate.

“A bit,” she half-lied, not wanting to admit she’d lost most of the nine hour flight to deep breathing exercises and bad in-flight entertainment. 

Svetlana had counseled rest but - well - that was easier said than done. She’d felt wired, uneasy, trapped in the liminal space of the jet as anticipation crawled under her skin like fire ants. It might have been easier if she’d seen Sol, if she could talk to him, but they’d been separated on the plane, her in the front cabin with Svetlana and Marla, him in the back with… well, everyone else she supposed. It wasn’t like she’d been allowed back there to check.

“Ah, about time,” Svetlana grumbled to herself, eyes flicking up as footsteps sounded on the stairway.

Darcy followed her gaze, heart flipping over entirely as the Soldier appeared like she’d summoned him. He was coming down with a couple of agents, his shoulders hunched and his steps heavy as they led them down onto the asphalt.

He cut a dark figure, head down, hair snarled in front of his face. His eyes were black when they met hers, just for a fraction of a second, before one of the men gestured ahead to the waiting van. The guard next to it jumped to attention, hurrying to get the door for him as he was ushered inside and away from her.

“Um… I meant to ask,” Darcy said, unable to look away as the door was shut behind him, blocking him from view, “could I ride with the Soldier today? I wanna go over the plan again before we get to the rendezvous location.”

It was half an excuse, she did want to go over the plans again but she also just wanted to see him too. It had been almost a day since they’d talked properly and she missed him already.

“Again?” Svetlana looked up in surprise, “You must know it backwards and forwards by now, sólnyshka.”

“I see it in my dreams,” she laughed before her expression turned serious, letting some of her real feelings out as she met her mentor’s eyes, “but I want to be extra sure. This… this is everything to me, Commander, I don’t want to make any stupid mistakes.”

Suddenly it wasn’t about seeing Sol at all, it was about not letting Svetlana down again. She had to prove all the hard work she’d put in to Darcy was worth it, that she hadn’t made a mistake in saving her. 

“You won’t, Darcy,” Svetlana soothed, instantly reaching out to comfort her as she looked at Darcy with such confidence it made her throat ache, “you are going to be amazing, I know you will. I am so proud of you.”

“Thank you, Doc,” she murmured back, tears suddenly stinging at the back of her eyes at the absolute trust Svetlana had in her. She didn’t believe she deserved it but holy crap she’d do everything she could to live up to it now.

She would follow her orders, she would make them all proud.

“Well, go on then,” Svetlana gave her arm one final squeeze before nodding her head away, “you may as well ride with your Soldier if it will help - just don’t distract him too much, okay? I am sure he has his own preparations to make.” 

“I’ll be good, I promise,” Darcy swore, heart skipping at the permission. 

“That’s my girl, remember -  it will be a long ride,” Svetlana called as she shooed her away towards the vans, “try and get some rest, too.”

“I will,” Darcy promised, waving back to her as she crossed the asphalt. 

The guard at the door looked at her like she was crazy when she stopped in front of him, his hands tightening on his assault rifle as she smiled up at him.

“Hi, could you open the door for me? I’m riding with the Soldier.”

“You want to…” he trailed off uncertainly, gaze flicking from her to the Commander before he shook his head and reached for the fastening, “sure, whatever you say, ma’am.”

“Thanks muchly,” she beamed, having to hoist herself awkwardly up the back step and into the van. It had been designed for taller men than her.

The Soldier didn’t immediately look up as she entered, sitting hunched over a fold-out desk far too small for him. The whole van felt that way as she cast her eyes around it. It was shut off from the cabin in the front; a cot shoved up against one wall, and a tiny counter space and cupboards opposite. There were two half-open doors at the back, one offering a glimpse of the world's smallest bathroom, the other a closet of almost identical black outfits.

She’d put her own uniform on in the plane, the same one she’d trained in. It was all black, obviously, with fancy tactical pants tucked into sensible boots, her long-sleeved compression shirt worn beneath a longer length button up that hid her belt with all its holsters and pockets still waiting to be filled. She wouldn’t get her weapons until they pulled into the first location.

“Hey,” she called, waving a hand stupidly at the Soldier where he sat, still staring ahead of him.

“Darcy?” He turned his head slowly, a confused furrow in his brow as the van doors clicked shut behind her, sealing them in together.

“Do you mind if I join you?” She asked, suddenly unaccountably self-conscious as she shuffled deeper into the van, her bag held awkwardly on her shoulder as she tried not to bump into the cupboards, “I thought we could go over the mission again on the ride, but if you prefer I can go…”

God that would be embarrassing, having to try and pry open the doors and run back to the Commander with her tail between her legs having entirely misjudged the situation. Again. She’d do it though if he asked, not wanting to push her company on him if he - 

“Stay,” he cut her off before she could start to panic in earnest, his voice rough as he jerked up from his seat so fast he overturned the chair. 

“Hey… are you okay?” She asked, concern raising the hairs on the back of her arms as she squinted at him again. There was definitely something off about him, his shoulders hunched and his steps unsteady as he dragged his hand through his hair. Not at all the controlled creature she was used to - well, that one day in the hallway aside.

“M’fine,” he grunted even as he sat back heavily on the cot, the sheets crinkling as he scrubbed his hands over his face, “just need a minute t- t’get back t’myself.”

“What happened?” She asked, dropping her bag on the side and crossing the short space that separated them in two steps, “Sol?”

Crouching in front of him when he didn’t reply, she reached out with careful fingers and coaxed his face up to hers, checking for any head injuries that might explain his sudden strangeness. His eyes were black when they finally met hers, the gray-blue of his irises a thin ring around his blown out pupils as he looked at her without really seeing her. 

“Sedated f’th flight,” he mumbled with the barest shadow of a smile, leaning his head into her touch and closing his eyes again, “just’n’case. Be fine n’a few.”

There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and a looseness about his mouth when he spoke that made her heart squeeze, breaking in her chest as she rubbed her thumb over his cheek bone.

“Sol,” she murmured, not sure what to say as she looked up at him. No wonder she hadn’t seen him on the jet if he was knocked out in the back, “I didn’t know.”

Jeez, she didn’t realize he had such a problem with flying. It was hard to imagine him being afraid of anything, he was so strong, so absolutely capable. The idea of him needing to be doped up just to get through something as ordinary as an airplane flight made her feel almost desperately protective of him, his expression so open and vulnerable she wanted to gather him up in her arms and never let go.

“S’kay,” he nodded against her hand, breathing deep and heavy as his lips brushed against the skin of her palm, “I’ll be okay.”

—-

The drugs always made him sluggish, even with his enhanced metabolism. They’d taken the restraints off him when they plane landed but he still felt chained down, gravel behind his eyes as he tried to stay in the moment.

That was how they wanted him when they were in the air, docile and drugged. They didn’t have the machine to hold over him up there, not that they needed it, he wouldn’t have lashed out no matter how loud his head got - not with Darcy on the plane. 

His own life was one thing but hers… that was something he’d never risk. 

Inhaling deep into his groggy lungs he tried to force the sedation out of his system by sheer strength of will. The bruises on his wrists and throat had already faded, the wound from the drip they’d kept in his arm scabbed over. He’d be fine in fifteen minutes, a half hour maybe, he just needed… needed…

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go?” Darcy murmured, her touch gentle as thumb stroked over the line of his cheek.

Her. He needed her.

She was the humanity he no longer possessed, the kindness that had been cut out of him. She was every good thing he’d never deserve again. He stared up at her, awe struck and stupid and too high to even think about fighting the pull of her anymore.

“Stay,” he begged, a creature without pride as he pressed into her touch hungrily, “w’can go over the… the plans.”

Her skin was soft against his mouth as he spoke, the faintest trace of salt on his lips as he tasted them with the tip of his tongue. Craven and craving and drunk on her worried little smile.

She was worried for him, not of him. It made his stomach hurt in the best way, somehow exhausted and restless all at once as she frowned at him. 

“We’ll do it later,” she said softly, her fingers combing through the strands of his hair with a gentleness he hadn’t earned, “you should rest first, you look like you’re about to keel over.”

“Please,” he grabbed her wrist when she rose, threatening to pull away entirely, “don’t go.”

“I’m right here,” she promised breathlessly, “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

The engine chose that moment to rumble to life, the van lurching beneath them and almost knocking her off her feet entirely. Even with the sedatives his instincts were faster than his thoughts, catching her up in his arms and pulling her onto his lap.

She gasped as she fell against him, arms anchoring around his neck as the van pulled out of the airfield and onto the bumpy forest road. He held tighter, keeping her close to his chest even when he knew he should let her go.

Warm, his animal instincts growled in the back of his mind. Right. Safe.

“Please,” he mumbled again into her hair like he wasn’t holding her captive in his arms, his strength finally giving up on him as he flopped backwards onto the bed with her and let the last of the sedatives have their way with him, “jus’a while.”

“I’m here, Sol,” she murmured, her heart beating unsteadily beneath his fingertips as he curled his right hand around the back of her neck, tripping an uneven rhythm beneath her skin. He kept his other arm wrapped tightly around her waist to keep her close, “I’m staying right here.”

“Th’you,” The pillow crinkled beneath his head as he pressed a kiss to her head, his boots flat against the foot of the bed that was barely big enough for him alone.

Just half an hour, that’s all he needed. Half an hour so he could be the Soldier again, not sure who he was as his breathing evened in his chest. Her weight on top of him soothed him, the scent of her flooding his senses with the feeling of home. 

Impossible, his thoughts scratched at him from the edges of the softness, no home. He didn’t live, he was stored. Packed up and put away until he was useful again.

His rational mind was overruled, shushed by the feel of her curled against him as he sank into a thousand perfect lives he’d never lived. The cot was a couch with brown cushions and a rainbow colored quilt. Her face was nestled in his neck, vanilla shampoo filling his mind with sweetness as something mindless played behind them. Soothing white noise as she curled her fingers against his heart and whispered a name that he didn’t know.

Not Sol. Not Soldier. 

She called him… she called him… 

The blackness floated up, embracing him even as he tried to cling to the never-memory. To squeeze every drop of humanity he could from it as his eyes fluttered shut and the remnants of the sedatives took him down. By the time he woke up he’d forgotten he had remembered anything at all.

It was still night when his senses returned to him, the digital clock mounted at the foot of the bed showing that more than two of the four hours they were to spend in travel had passed without him. An oversight he would never normally have allowed only… only she was still with him. 

She hadn’t left. Curled into his side, fast asleep where she’d somehow managed to tuck herself between his body and the wall. He’d wrapped himself around her like a blanket, a shield, like he could protect her from the world with his skin and bone alone. 

The urge crept over him, he wanted to keep her right here, where she could never come to harm. When the van stopped…

The Soldier shuddered, clutching her closer to his chest as if he could press them into one body. What was waiting for them when the van stopped wasn’t like their work on the base, there were no paper targets or dummy explosions here. It wasn’t a training exercise they could rerun if it went wrong.

Death was inevitable. 

It had never bothered him before, whether he took a life or lost his own. The names, the faces, they were fleeting things, boiled out by the machine between missions and frozen in the cold. He didn’t remember his dead…

Would she?

Would it change her? Seeing the things she was capable of? She had trained and trained and trained but she hadn’t killed yet, not like he had. Her hands were still clean…

“Hmph,” she grumbled sleepily, fingers tightening in the straps of his jacket as she pressed her face closer into his neck, “Be…”

“Shh,” he murmured into her hair, easing his hold on her lest he wake her further, she didn’t need his nightmares, “it’s not time yet zhizn’ moya, rest.”

It was as if the closer they got the more his brain unraveled itself, spaces that had been shut off opening again as the orders that bound him loosened their hold. Even as she tightened hers.

“Zhizn’ moya,” she repeated on a sigh, her breathing steady and even as she nestled into him, more asleep than awake even now, “y’call m’that before.”

“Because it’s true,” he admitted in a quiet rumble, words that could only be spoken here like this, with her still mostly asleep and him lost between his boundaries, “you’re my life.”

He’d been waiting for a bullet to take him out for so long he’d forgotten what it was like to want to live, until he’d seen her. 

“Orders,” she mumbled, hand thumping softly at his chest, “cos of orders.”

He could feel her scowl against his shoulder, running his fingers through her hair as he clenched his teeth against her sleepy accusation. Once upon a time she would have been right, there would have only been the orders, but that had changed.

It seemed that everything had changed.

“You are my priority,” he said and meant it, “orders or not.”

They could pull every thought from his head, strip the skin from his body, it wouldn’t change.

“Really?” She asked, her breathing losing its steady depth as she pulled back at last, craning her head back so she could meet his gaze with sleep-softened eyes, “you… you mean that?”

Color bloomed in her cheeks, awake at last and uncertain as she looked at him like she was waiting for him to pull away from her, even now.

“I’m yours,” he told her in the hush, unable to phrase it better with his tongue so heavy in his mouth, “I have always been yours.”

She had taken the place his soul had once been, before they’d beaten it out of him.

“Y’know, I can’t explain it,” she whispered, fingers toying with one of the buttons on his jacket as if it was mission critical as she hesitated over the words,  “but I think I’m yours too. I think… I think I was before I ever met you - is that completely insane?”

He could feel his heart in his throat, beating so hard he could barely get the words past it.

“I don’t know,” he caught her face between his hands, every unknown tugging at him as he tried to read his future in her eyes, “I don’t know anything they haven’t told me, but… I know you.”

The quiet hitch of her breath made something in him splinter, he pulled her face closer, pressing his mouth roughly to hers. It was a desperate, frantic thing, the madness in him taking hold. He didn’t know what he was doing, only that he needed to do it, needed more, to roll her beneath his body and claim her like an animal might.

There were cameras, there had to be, eyes burning into them even now. The knowledge that at any moment the van would swerve to a halt and hands would grab for him, dragging him off her and beating him until he didn’t dare reach for her again was the only thing keeping him in check as he kissed her.

Then she sighed against his mouth, breathless and keening as her fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him closer still as her tongue traced his and he didn’t care who tried to stop him. He groaned low in his throat as he hauled her against him. Right, the primal feeling in the hollows of his chest roared, the part they couldn’t kill, this was right.

The mattress dipped as he rolled her beneath him, trapping her beneath his weight. He swallowed her gasp, body settling between her thighs as she arched beneath him. His hand was on her hip, the other in her hair, a whimper caught in his throat as he chased the unbearable pleasure she awoke in him. 

He couldn’t name it. Couldn’t understand it. His skin on fire, burning up as he ground himself into her as they kissed, the friction making his spine ache. She was so pliant, submitting to his hunger as he nipped at her mouth, her neck. 

“Sol,” she whimpered when he closed his teeth over her pulse, his name a benediction on her lips as he sucked his mark into her skin. Right right right. “Sol.”

No. Not his name. He wasn’t Sol. He was Soldier. He was not a man he was… 

He wrenched himself away, almost swallowing his own tongue as pressed himself back against the foot of the bed. His knees were still bracketing hers, the springs squeaking as he drew himself as far back as the small bed would let him.

«I’m sorry,» he gasped, the Russian falling from his mouth on instinct as his brain struggled to function, «I’m sorry, I’m sorry.»

Darcy scrambled up after him, a crease forming between her brows as she reached one hand out towards him before pulling it back, hesitant as she pushed her rumpled hair behind her ear instead.

“Sol?” She asked, her voice an octave too high as she bit at her swollen lip and nearly undid him entirely, “why… why are you sorry? I…”

The sheets crinkled, the mattress unsteady beneath them as she drew her legs up under her. Her hands fell into her lap as she looked at him with absolute confusion, face flushed pink with exertion and her breathing unsteady in his ears.

“I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have pressed,” he said to his knees, hiding behind his hair even as he felt his heart thump beneath his skin, his pulse throbbing at his throat and between his shaking thighs. His need for her was unnamed and all consuming even as he forced it away from him.

They were supposed to take this from him, damn them, blunt the sharp edge of his desire with their chemicals and cudgels. Waking occasionally from unsettled dreams to shamefully sticky sheets was one thing, trying to take Darcy like a dog in heat at the first chance he got was another. 

He was disgusting.

“You weren’t,” she whispered into his self loathing, reaching out for him again and making him flinch when she touched his face with a gentleness he didn’t deserve, “you weren’t pressing, Sol, I… I didn’t want you to stop. I would have told you if -”

The words burnt inside of him, delicious and terrifying as he turned his head from her, unable to look up even as his fingers ghosted over the back of her hand. Hovering over her skin, afraid he was going to break her even now.

“S’nearly time…” he said instead, his breath heavy in his chest as he finally met her gaze, “the mission.”

“The…” she blinked at him in confusion, her tongue tracing her lips as they fell open in surprise, “damn, the mission, I almost forgot…”

A sound caught in his throat, something between a whimper and a laugh as she thumped back against the headboard and pressed her hands over her face.

“Me too,” he murmured, amazed even now that he could forget, “you… you wanted to go over the plans once more?

“Yeah,” she agreed through her fingers, “yes please. Although… could we catch up? After the mission, I mean? We don’t have to… that is… jeez, why am I so freaking bad at this? I just…” she took a deep breath as she looked up at him from above her hands, “I know this is a terrible time to do this, and like -  please ignore me if it’s unwelcome or distracting or anything but… but I like you, Sol. A lot. You should know that before we get out there and whatever happens… happens. I’m glad I got to meet you.”

His heart caught, breath hitching in his throat as he met her gaze. He wanted her like a suffocating man wanted air, to see her, touch her, taste her. Ready to settle for anything she’d allow even as he cringed at his own behavior, the savage desperation he couldn’t seem to quell no matter how he tried.

“We’ll be together again,” he promised, barely trusting his own voice never mind his thoughts, “but after, this… this must come first.”

“You’re right,” she murmured, dropping her hands at last, her chest rising on a deep inhale before she sighed, “let’s look at these plans then, shall we?”

Chapter Text

The parking structure they pulled into in the stupid hours of the morning was like something from a movie scene. An empty, concrete edifice lit only by the headlights of the assembled vehicles. It’s walls, at least the ones that weren’t actively falling apart, had been taken over by sprawling swiss graffiti and the whole place stank of damp and urine in a way the cinema screen never did justice too.

Darcy accepted the Soldier’s hand down from their van, her whole body narrowing down to the exact breadth and width of the contact as her nerves sparked. Despite desperately play-acting at strategy and planning in the last stretch of the journey, she hadn’t forgotten what came before it. Not for second.

It was like he’d pulled her right out of one dream and into another with his sleepy eyes and heart-stopping confessions. Telling her he was hers, that he… that she… 

Then he’d kissed her and dream just got better, taking her apart at every stitch and seam as he claimed her mouth with a rough kind of desperation. It made her blood heat, her head spin, her heart tumble like a goddamn dryer set to max. Every rough scrape of his lips against hers stoked a fire inside of her she couldn’t control, desire building dangerously fast in her belly as she arched up against him. His hands grabbing at her hips as his teeth closed around her pulse in a way that made her moan.

It was everything she’d ever needed, wanted, desired and dreamed of and… and he’d stopped. Beautiful, sensible, hauntingly damaged bastard he’d gone and freaking stopped.

“Spasiba,” she thanked him, swallowing down the lump in her throat as she tried to cast her mind ahead to the mission to come instead. There would be time to think of what had happened between them after the life and death serious stuff, to confront it and… if the gods were willing and he was okay with it… maybe finish it too?

Her face heated up as her hand lingered in his for just a moment longer than necessary, suddenly feeling pretty damn sure that if the mission didn’t kill her then the unresolved sexual tension just might finish her off. 

The Soldier only nodded silently as her hand finally slipped from his. The operatives were already waiting to part them, taking him away to be fitted with his weapons and communications devices in one area, her in another.  

The Commander rose to greet her as Darcy was ushered inside the second van. It felt very different from the Soldier’s, not as stark or white or utilitarian. There was a long black leather bench seat against one wall, wide enough to sleep comfortably on, and a desk opposite with a plush seat and a dozen monitors above it, the desk busy with surveillance equipment. 

The cupboards had chrome handles and the fridge was sleek and black. There was even a picture on one of the walls, some modern art type thing in red and black that looked kinda tentacle-y if you squinted.

The place had the looks of a swanky green room crossed with a control center. Obviously mission control from the looks of the monitoring hardware and Svetlana’s presence. 

Wait… had they been monitoring them before? Had they seen…

“How are you feeling, Persephone?” Svetlana asked cheerfully, her expression betraying no hint that she’d witnessed anything she shouldn’t have as she reached out to help Darcy out of her coat, “prepared?”

The code name made it realer somehow, twanging between her ribs and helping her clear her tangled thoughts as she nodded. It was a badge of honor, proof of how much faith they had in her to grant her such a title.

It was also proof that Svetlana hadn’t seen anything she shouldn’t have, otherwise she’d be getting a lecture on distracting the Soldier with her feminine wiles rather than the warmth she was currently being offered. 

“I think so,” Darcy nodded, taking a deep breath as her path cleared in front of her, “I can do this.”

“I know you can,” Svetlana beamed, folding her coat onto the chair before reaching into a cupboard and pulling out a tray, “be still a moment, sólnyshka .”

Darcy complied immediately, remaining stationary as the tray's cover was removed to reveal the items she would need for her mission. Svetlana helped her fit everything into place, the guns sliding into their holsters, the knives their sheaves, the pouch of explosives was clipped firmly to her belt and her tracking device fitted to her wrist. 

Each piece was another fragment of stability, their weight a comforting familiarity as she felt herself shift from woman to asset under her Commander’s hands.

“There,” Svetlana fussed for a moment with the hem of Darcy’s shirt, making sure it sat exactly right before pulling away, “now you are ready.”

Holding Darcy’s coat open for her, Svetlana smiled as Darcy stepped forward, allowing her to help her into it before tying the belt at the waist.

“I am so proud of you, my dear,” Svetlana whispered as she smoothed the thick wool into place, adjusting the lapels, “come - look at me.”

Darcy did as she was told, breath stilling as she met Svetlana’s dark gaze. Her slender hands found Darcy’s shoulders, squeezing gently as she looked past the surface of her eyes and into everything Darcy was. Everything she could be.

“Still,” Svetlana said, “ Water, Twilight, Twenty five- ”

The familiar words washed over Darcy, calming and steadying as she sank into the touch. The pattern of them falling like marbles into place inside her head.

“Kiss, Freezer,”

No wait, that wasn’t right, was it? After Twenty Five it was supposed to be…

“Pleasant, Return-”

Her head was fuzzy, confusion rolling through her like a cotton wool cloud as the words blanketed her, wrapping so tightly she couldn’t breathe. Losing parts of herself in the suffocation as Svetlana kept speaking.

“Anew-”

She was - she felt -

“Generator.”

Persephone took a deep breath, shoulders relaxing as she raised her head. “Always happy to comply.”

“I know you are,” the Commander said, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the center of her forehead, gentle but firm, “you will complete your mission, Persephone, and return home to us.”

“Objective understood” she nodded, every step of the plan clicking to place in her head, every move accounted for and parameter underscored. It was simple and clean and perfect.

“You will leave with the Soldier in just a moment, wait there.” 

Persephone did as she was told, not moving until she was fetched out by the Commander. 

She was happy to comply.

—-

The rocking of the Quinjet turned Jane’s stomach, her pulse picking up with every high-pitched whirr from the engines as they rocketed through the night sky much faster than any passenger plane could travel and yet - as far as Jane was concerned - not nearly fast enough.

Even with the added speed the flight still seemed unbearably long. Oceans passed beneath them, time dragging even as she tried to focus herself on the task at hand. She’d found a work bench set into the corner of the jet, ostensively set up for emergency equipment repairs, and claimed it as her own. Anchoring herself with the technology in front of her.

The first anti-inhibitor collar device had been made in the two weeks after Darcy was taken, Jane gathering up the files and blueprints Doctor Harris had left behind as a guide as she figured out the best ways to disable it. 

She believed Darcy would still be wearing it in the weeks after her capture, or something like it, they wouldn’t be able to keep hold of her otherwise. She would have phased out at the first chance and come back to them. To Jane.

That was before she’d learned about the brainwashing.

Now she was facing the opposite problem - instead of destroying the collar she might need to enable it instead, or at least bypass it to keep Darcy physical. If she phased now she might return to her captors willingly, she wouldn’t know any better.

“Here,” Natasha said from beside her, reaching out to hold the device steady as the plane shook. 

She had joined her as soon as they’d taken off, the book with the green sun they’d recovered from the base sitting open in front of them. In amongst the rest of its horrors were pages upon pages of cold clinical research on how to control Darcy’s powers. Like she was a badly made generator instead of a person. 

Natasha was willing to translate when Jane needed her too, and acted as an extra pair of hands when the jet moved too fast or banked too quickly and threatened her work.

“Thanks,” Jane nodded, switching from the soldering iron to the pliers, “I just need to change the frequency.”

Out of all the Avengers she’d had cause to meet in her lifetime Natasha Romanoff came as the biggest surprise. She was the one who had stayed behind at HQ to help when the others were busy, creating computer programs to narrow down their searches and stealing satellites when it wouldn’t be noticed by their owners.

At first Jane had thought it was just Avenger Behaviour, she was a hero after all, it was what they did. But it didn’t explain her other actions, how she always brought Jane coffee when she was working, or started staying late just to help her out by double checking her finds. Little tasks she’d once relied on Darcy for and had found herself floundering with in the interim.

Eventually she’d straight out asked her why, exhausted to her bones from the search and too confused to keep the question in anymore. 

“Why are you helping me like this?” She’d said, hands clenched tight around the black coffee Natasha had brought her and her eyes bleary from staring at her screen, “you didn’t even know Darcy.”

“No,” she agreed softly, tilting her head as she considered her words, “but I have some experience with the type of people who took her. I… I was in a situation like hers once, a long time ago, and someone saved me. Someone who didn’t know me either. I promised if I ever got the chance to pay it forward I would.” She took a deep breath, flicking a crumpled up napkin from the table into the wastepaper basket with absolute precision as she shrugged, “besides, Darcy seems cool. Any woman who tazes gods and tames assassins is one I want to get to know.”

“You were always her favorite Avenger, you know,” Jane admitted softly, heart squeezing at the honesty in the Widow’s voice as she was confronted with the reality of the situation all over again, “she’d kill me for telling you but she thought you were a total badass. I understand why now.”

“When this is all over we’ll have a girls night, the three of us,” Natasha promised quietly, squeezing her arm, “and laugh about our adventures.”

“We’re still on for girls night with Darcy right?” Jane asked as she adjusted the radio transmitter, the engines of the quinjet whining as they banked left, “after this is all over? 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Nat smiled, handing her the soldering iron as she reached for it again, already anticipating her need, “no boys, all booze, and war stories.”

Jane let herself believe the words, let herself imagine the stained wooden table in some shitty overpriced Manhattan bar. Darcy starry-eyed at the famous Black Widow even as she complained to Jane about her completing her Avengers bingo card before she got the chance too.

It would be normal again, it would be safe again.

It just had to be.

—-

The woman the Soldier watched through the scope of his rifle was not the same one who’d slept beside him only hours before. She wasn’t the one who arched into his kisses and blushed behind her hands as she stuttered out her hopes to him. 

This was their Persephone in all her glory.

Her activation had always been a subtle thing at the base, the words the Komandir used had steadied her without changing her nature. This… this seemed to make her something else entirely.

The red light on her collar showed her state of un-reality, the phase held tight as she moved towards the target. The entrance to the building was blocked off by a checkpoint, armed police men behind steel safety barriers lining the street on either side in anticipation of the day to come.

Even out of reality she moved like a shadow, her hair swung gently with every step, braided down her spine, the hem of her black coat swishing against her knees as she approached the blockade with absolute confidence. Stepping through the barriers and into the courtyard, unseen by everyone but him.  

“You're nearly there,” he murmured into the radio next to him, lying belly-down on the unfinished floor of the under-construction office block he’d commandeered.

He couldn’t touch the radio, not physically at least, Darcy had phased it into her world before she’d set off, making sure the channel was open to send and receive before she took its twin with her.

It was a trick they’d worked out back in the training rooms of the base, a way to keep in contact when she was phased. It only lasted as long as he was stationary but it was the best they’d come up with, the in-ear pieces given by the commanders only working when she was in their world, which - if this went to plan - would only be for a few minutes before her return.

“You want the second building,” he continued, the few blocks separating them feeling like a thousand miles as he was forced to wait and watch, “yes - that’s the one.”

He knew she didn’t need his words, she’d studied their plans so closely she could repeat them backwards if she was asked too. Word perfect with every move she was to make from start to finish. Still, he spoke anyway, if not to ground her than to ground himself at least.

His own reactivation hadn’t been as clean as hers, the words were familiar to him now. Expected even. They burnt through his skull as they always did, a cold fire that temporarily scorched away everything but the mission, sharpening his focus and compelling him to obey, but they did not blind him like they once had.

The thoughts he shouldn’t have sat behind his mission parameters even now, nerves creeping in around the edges of the orders and threatening to unsettle him as he kept watch over her. Dedicating himself to his task first for her, then for his masters. 

He couldn’t let her falter now.

“I’m inside,” she called softly, her voice hushed through the radio despite her phased state, “I’m taking the east stairwell up, as planned.”

“Confirmed,” he nodded, turning his scope up as he tried to follow her progress through the window panes. Dawn had yet to break in earnest but the sun was already making its presence known as light shone off the glass, marring his sight as he tried to keep pace with her, “it’s the fourth floor landing.”

“Got it,” she replied, “approaching conference room 3B.”

—-

Persephone’s breath was even and measured, drawing deep even as her heart pounded, kicking at her ribs like an angry horse. She could taste the familiar copper-penny edge of adrenaline in her mouth as she approached the door.

3B.

She was both in her body and out of it, watching herself move as she passed briskly through the heavy oak door and made a three-sixty scan of the room beyond. Its familiarity was astounding, she was so used to the layout she might have already been there a hundred times before.

The long table, the fancy leather chairs that surrounded it waiting for their equally fancy occupants, the less impressive chairs that crowded the walls, for the less impressive people to sit. Her jaw clenched, it was the kind of thinking they would cure. The inequality they would remedy.

No longer would the top kick down, no longer would the world be seperated by arbitrary distinctions into the have and have nots.

Project Hades would change that. Hydra would save them all.

So long as she did her duty right.

Swallowing around a suddenly dry mouth Persephone moved forward, keeping her phase up as she ducked between the gaps in the chairs and beneath the table. Retrieving the pouch from her belt she lowered herself onto her back, positioning herself carefully so she would not be seen by any sudden intruders.

“In position, Soldier,” she murmured to her radio, even though she didn’t technically have to keep her voice down when she was phased. It just made her feel better, “about to go radio silent whilst I phase back in to deliver the packages, copy?”

“Copy,” came the crackling response, his voice soothing her as she stared up at the knots in the wood of the underside of the table, “you’re almost there, Persephone. Out.”

Drawing a breath deep into her lungs, she closed her eyes and phased back to reality. Ready to save the world.

—-

“We need to check the area,” Steve said into his earpiece, uniform hidden beneath a badly fitted overcoat and his shield in a bag at his side, “we don’t know how they’re planning to strike.”

“My moneys on planting explosives,” Nat replied, “Darcy on the ground, the Soldier in a sniper nest nearby, Sam - can you scan the area?”

“No I can not, but you know who you should ask…”

“I am not asking that thing.”

“Natashaaaa.”

“Redwing,” Nat growled down the line, “can you scan the area?”

“A please woulda been nice but yes, yes he can, deploying now.”

“Thor, coordinate with Sam,” Steve replied, skirting around the building to an unmarked back door he’d isolated on the plans and breaking the handle, “check out potential sniper locations. Nat, we need to sweep the building.”

“On it, Captain,” Nat confirmed, “I’ll work top down, if you’ll give me a lift Sam?”

“Ain’t no thing but a falcon wing,” Sam said, Steve hearing his smile even through the comms as the familiar whirr of his wings punctuated the line.

“Keep it subtle guys, we don’t want to spook them,” Steve cautioned, focusing on the layout he’d studied in the jet as he broke into the building, “let’s do this.”

—-

Half an hour after planting the packages and extracting some data the Commander wanted from one of the terminals in the security office, Persephone was ready to retreat and regroup with the Soldier. She called as much over the radio, the switch inside her set firmly to phase as she headed down stairs towards her exit point.

She’d done it. 

The first stretch of her mission was complete, everything she’d learned, everything she’d been trained for taking over as she had followed her orders to the letter and done exactly what she’d been supposed to.

Warmth flooded her system, a dopamine rush of satisfaction as she let herself imagine how proud her Commander would be of her. The image playing happily behind her eyes as she rounded the corner and almost ran straight through someone.

It wouldn’t have mattered, the moment coming and going in the blip of her elevated pulse, but there was something about them, something… familiar?

She stumbled backwards, breath caught between her teeth as her brain took in the hazy impression of the man, trying to dissect it logically even as something underneath it surged. Tall, broad, blonde, an ill-fitting overcoat and the most worried cornflower blue eyes she’d ever seen.

Her head rushed, bombarded with snatches of conversations she couldn’t remember having, rainbow alcohol, jokes and… paper ghosts? 

She barely even registered the fact she’d phased back until his voice cut through her, warm and familiar as he stared at her with wide eyes. 

“Darcy?”

Damn it. Her stomach squeezed guiltily even as she forced herself to straighten under his shocked gaze, praying he wasn’t getting ready to tell the Commander about her misstep.

He was an operative, he had to be, he wouldn’t know that name otherwise. She wasn’t Darcy, not during a mission, but he has obviously missed the memo.

That must be the reason she recognised him, he was someone she’d worked with before the accident, someone she’d temporarily forgotten. The Commander had told her there would be agents in the area making sure everything went smoothly. 

Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Persephone nodded at the man.

“You should get out of here,” she warned him briskly, trying again to find his name in the blank spaces in her head again only to come up frustratingly short. Agent Roberts maybe? Something like that? “The building needs to be clear by oh-eight-hundred hours, agent.”

Something about him made her head ache, it was his eyes maybe, or the worried creases around them. There was something… something… 

“Is Bucky with you?” The agent asked quickly, snatching her attention back as a calloused palm landed on her arm. His eyes were urgent as he stared into her.

“Who?” She asked as the ache turned into a painful throb at the base of her skull, digging into her even as she struggled to rise above it, to stay in the mission, “doesn’t matter, anyone left in the building when the meeting starts is gonna regret it. Get back to the rendezvous point. The Commander will be waiting.”

Don’t chase it, she heard the Soldier’s voice in her head, the words grounding her as she released the half-formed memories to the darkness and focused on her objectives instead. Shaking off his hand she grasped for the switch inside her, flipping it down and phasing back to safety. 

She had to complete the mission, had to return to base camp. The agent had his own orders to follow. 

“Darcy - wait-” he called after her in a voice that pierced through her like nails. She didn’t stop. Not now. 

The mission was too important.

Compliance would be rewarded

—-

“I lost her,” Steve swore, taking the stairs down as he  squinted at the empty air like he might see her if he just tried hard enough, “damnit. I had her and I lost her. No glasses, black coat, black pants, hair tied back. Compromised, for sure, she phased out but she was heading down - she thought I was an operative, warned me to get clear by the time the meeting started.”

“Explosives, called it,” Nat muttered down the line, “I’m still up on the fifth floor, get out Steve and I’ll clear the building. She’ll be rendezvousing with the Soldier, find him and you’ll find her again.”

“Acknowledged.” Steve nodded, finding the side door he’d come through and following it out again, “Sam, any luck?”

“I think… yeah, yeah I’ve got something. Heat signal in a building that should be empty, two blocks away, eighth floor. Orders?”

“Get in position, but hold back, if they see us coming before Darcy has a chance to return...”

“We could lose her,” Sam finished for him, “alright I’ll hold here, Cap, Thor there’s a position out of his sight line, I’ll send the coords. As soon as I get eyes on Darcy I’ll call in.”

“Everyone stay on comms,” Steve advised, eyes scanning the street and finding it deserted of familiar faces, “we can do this.”

—-

Every minute that passed could have been a thousand as far as the Soldier was concerned, ice ages coming and going as he searched through the scope of his rifle. 

He’d lost her on the way down from the conference room, only finding her again when she reappeared on the street. The sidewalk in front of the building was growing busy, crowded with tired-looking journalists clutching their coffees and an increasing number of onlookers behind the cordoned off area. Even beyond that the traffic had picked up, the city waking in earnest as people began their commutes to work and businesses opened their shutters.

There could have been a thousand people but he only saw her, focused in on the dark shape of her as she hurried through the streets. There was something off about her, he could tell even at this distance, an uncertainty in her expression that had him reaching for the radio he couldn’t touch as he lost her again close to his vantage point. 

“Persephone, report?” He called through his teeth, trying to ignore the way his hand clenched against his rifle as he scanned the sidewalk below him only to come up empty.

His stomach churned, fighting the urge to run down and find her even as he kept his belly to the concrete. If he left his position it would mean leaving the radio, which was their only solid link. 

Still… if she didn’t answer soon…

“Returning to you now, Sol,” her voice crackled through the machine beside him, making his breathing ease as he swept the street again, “I’m in the building, coming up.”

“Enemy operatives in the area,” his earpiece stuttered to life, the message coming through on the emergency line, “trigger now and get out. Soldat, safe guard Persephone’s return.” 

He was moving before the order was finished, unsnapping his rifle from its tripod and clipping it onto his back, pulling the detonator from his belt he called in his compliance before leaning towards the radio next to him. 

“I’m coming to you,” he barked, heart pounding in his throat, “we’ve been compromised.”

He needed eyes on her. Now. 

“Sol -” her voice reached him first, her body appearing a second later as she phased through the door to the staircase right in front of him, “update.”

The sight of her blunted the ragged edge of his panic, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he ran his gaze over her. Worry sharpened her gaze, her breath tight and cheeks flushed from the exertion of climbing eight flights of stairs - even whilst phased.

Enemies he could deal with, changes to the plan were expected, so long as she was safe. 

“Unexpected combatants, immediate extraction,” he managed brusquely when he found his tongue, flipping the cap off the detonator and turning the key, “cover your ears, we’re going now.”

“Yes sir,” she nodded, hands going immediately to her ears as he thumbed the switch, giving her a final look before he flipped it and detonated the explosives.

The shockwave hit them first, the building shaking as the roar of the explosion followed fast on its heels. The Soldier kept his stance, jaw clenching as it rolled through him, his eyes fixed on Darcy as the light on her collar flickered. The plaster falling from the ceiling gathered like snow in her hair as she stumbled over her feet from the impact, the shock of it breaking her phase and knocking her off balance.  

“Are you alright, zhizn' moya?” He asked, locking his metal arm around her waist before she could fall. The detonator pushed back into place before he raised his other hand to her face, pushing back her hair so he could check her for injuries.

“I will be,” she shuddered, hands pressed tight to his chest as she steadied herself. There was an uncertainty in her gaze, as if the blast had knocked the iron hold the orders had from her, “as - as soon as we’re clear.”

“Good,” he murmured, his own orders pushing at his thoughts even as he anchored himself with her presence, “phase and stay close, we will return to base.”

“I’m with you,” she promised even as she faded in his arms, his hands pulling back from the nothingness as she nodded to him, “to the end.”

The words cut inside him, an echo of something he’d heard before in another life. They bounced between his ribs, making his mouth dry and his throat close even as he fell into position in front of her. He pulled his gun. The Glock-19, he needed close range cover and mobility, his first concern being protection rather than assassination.

“I hope the other operative got out,” Darcy said quietly behind him as he swept the landing before gesturing them forward, “he was heading for the same floor.”

“Other operative?” Sol asked, holding his arm out to slow her as he approached a blind corner. Keeping her behind him despite her phased state.

“The guy inside the conference building,” she said, breath falling into an even pattern as they moved downwards. Eighth floor to seventh, “I know the Commander said they would be in the area but I didn’t realize they’d infiltrated the target already. He asked if I’d seen someone… Bucky ? Do you know an agent called Bucky ?”

“No,” he muttered tightly even as the name rattled inside his brain like a stray bullet. Something about the way she said it made him twitch, suddenly hearing it echoing a dozen different ways all in her voice.

A shout, a laugh, a sigh, a moan. Her face flushed and eyes burning as…

“Me neither, I don’t even know if it’s a first name or last name,” she murmured, her voice hushed even in the stillness, “something about it though…it made my head hurt.”

There was a furrow in her brow, her expression wholy Darcy once more as she followed him down. As if Persephone had been knocked out of her by the shock of the explosion, or the unknown operative she spoke of.

“Don’t think about it,” he counseled, trying to take his own advice as they went from the seventh floor slowly to the sixth, “you completed your task. You complied.”

“I complied,” she repeated softly, “we’ll return now, finish the mission.”

“That’s right,” he nodded, “we get the bike, we get out.”

They were turning the corner to the fifth floor when the window beside them exploded inwards, an enemy agent barrelling through the glass and rolling to a halt in front of them, blocking their path.

The Soldier was ready in an instant, teeth bared as he fired on the intruder. He was big, a clear fighter from his stance and weight with some sort of blue uniform on and a round shield held in front of him that deflected his shots. 

He recalculated their position, the enemy was blocking their exit route. The only clear way out was up, away from their goal, they’d have to go through instead.

«Stay phased,» he growled at Darcy, slipping easily into the Russian they’d practiced as he aimed a kick at his enemy when the guns didn’t work, «I will take care of this.»

“Wait - that’s the agent,” she called as he booted the man backwards before firing again, “the one I met at the conference center.”

«He’s not one of us.»

“Then who the hell is he?”

It didn’t matter, one way or another the man was dead and Sol was getting her out of there. 

Chapter Text

Steve hated how familiar it felt, like a recurring nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. Each blow came just a split-second too slow, stilted from looking at his best friend and finding no recognition in his eyes.

He’d gone in alone after Sam had reported the sighting of Darcy in the under-construction office block a few streets over from the conference building, the Falcon sounding downright astounded as he described the scene. 

“Yeah he’s uh… he’s holding her pretty tight there guys,” he’d said over the comms, “I can’t believe it, even as a murder robot that guy has an unexpected amount of game.”

Steve’s chest tightened, a bittersweet rush pulling at him as he realised the connection was still there. That even after everything they’d been through, everything that Hydra had taken from them, they hadn’t been able to break that.

It turned out it also made the Winter Soldier deadlier than ever. 

Before the Soldier had been strong but single minded, ruled only by his orders and the parameters they locked him in, this version… he was brutal in a way Steve had never seen before. A feral glint in his eyes as he addressed brusque comments in Russian to the empty air and fought like he finally had something worth dying for.

“Bucky - don’t,” Steve dodged a blow from the butt of his gun, teeth clenched hard with the effort of fighting him off without actually hurting him, “we’re here to help you.”

Bucky didn’t answer, mouth sealed in a tight line, but his eyes flickered again, moving to the empty space to the side of him like they’d done a hundred times before. They could have been back in Buck’s apartment, Steve waiting patiently for him to translate whatever Darcy was saying as they kicked about after a training session or before getting dinner. Only there was no translation coming this time - whatever she said was for his ears only and his reply wasn’t meant to be shared.

“Eto ulovka,” he growled to the empty air a moment later, another shot going wide before Steve managed to jam his shield into Bucky’s wrist, sending the gun clattering to the floor.

 “Darcy?” Steve called to the empty space, deciding to change tactic and plead his case with her directly instead. She’d always brought out the best in him, maybe she could do it again - even now, “Darcy please, I need to talk to you, it’s Steve - Jane and Thor are waiting for you, they-”

Metal fingers closed around his throat, shoving him backwards as he was charged into the wall. Plaster dust filled his lungs, choking him as he felt the wall dent around his spine.

“How do you know her?” The Soldier growled, knocking the shield from his grasp with one violent blow before pressing him harder into the wall. 

“I know both of you.” He struggled out even as his mouth filled with copper and dust, the whir of the Soldier’s arm loud in his ears, “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, you were born March Tenth Nineteen-seventeen, you’ve been my best friend since we were six years old. You were taken by Hydra during the war but you broke free, you escaped them. You met Darcy at the tower and you were in love with her before you believed you were still capable of love,” he spoke as fast as he could through the crushing pressure at his throat, trying to distill decades of existence into seconds, into the moments that might reach him even now, “she works with Jane Foster in the science labs, she got her powers in an accident and you helped bring her back. You - you saved each other.”

“Lies,” he spat, the fingers around Steve’s neck tightening as his other hand drew back in a fist, “you won’t trick us.”

Steve pulled his legs up, kicking out hard and breaking the hold a split second before the blow landed. Bucky’s fist going straight through the wall instead. 

“I’m not tryna trick you, Buck,” he shouted, “I’m trying to help you, please, I really don’t want to have to do this again,” Bucky pulled his hand free, turning and charging him with a roar, “ofcourse, if I have to…”

The blows came thick and fast, a shadow dance he felt they’d been playing at for far too long. Bucky had the advantage, he always did in these situations, he was going for the kill shot - Steve was just trying to get them all out alive. His hope rising as he swore he saw conflict in Bucky’s eyes as they fought. His machine-like precision wavered, turning savage as he struck out over and over. 

"Bucky, you're stronger than this," Steve panted, ducking a punch that threatened to take his head clean off his shoulders, "you fought so hard to regain control, don’t let Hydra do this to you. Not again. Don’t let them do this to Darcy - she deserves better.”

The Soldier faltered, a momentary lapse of control as the words found their mark. Steve grabbed the opportunity, using the sudden momentum to shove Bucky into the wall, his arm pinned between them as he kicked his shield back into his free hand and shoved it into Bucky’s chest to keep him from breaking free.  

“Listen to me, Bucky, you have to-”

Bang.

The shot made Steve grunt, knocking him off axis as he felt it hit hard and true, deep into the meat of his shoulder.

“Let him go,” a sharp voice behind him said, he barely had time to register it, to register the intensity in Bucky’s eyes before he was being kicked away. Falling to the floor with a gasp.

—-

Her hands didn’t tremble, even when she fired on the man.

Steve. He said his name was Steve. She wanted to say it, to hear it in her mouth. And Jane - he’d said Jane and her whole body had flinched. Teeth sinking into her tongue even as she kept her sight locked, just as she’d been taught to.

It was a stupid reaction to such a common name. There were hundreds of Jane’s. Thousands. Austen and Eyre and Seymour and Goodall and Fonda and and and…

Jane Foster.

For some reason her mind flashed to Svetlana and the years she’d spent as her intern after college. She saw the bright night sky and tasted burnt pop tarts and cheap tequila. Felt her legs swinging off the top of a… a giant doughnut? In the desert?

The splinters of memories stung at her even as she pushed them down, sticking under her skin as she tried to focus all her attention on the moment. On Sol.

«Come on,» he murmured to her, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her with him as she stared down at the man bleeding on the ground. The one she’d shot, «we have to go.»

Go… yes, they had to go. They had to complete the mission.

She found her legs again, the mission drumming in her head with the beat of her heart as she fell into step with her Soldier. It was the work of seconds for him to secure a bungee cord to the frame of the building, locking it in place before stepping towards the window the enemy had kicked out on entry.

The man she shot.

She’d never shot anyone before, not a human person. Targets didn’t bleed, the stain on their uniform growing with each ragged heartbeat as they slumped on the ground.

«Here,» Sol said, deceptively gentle as he lifted her up. Her body moved on muscle memory as she locked her arms around his neck, eyes still fixed over his shoulder at the fallen man as Sol jumped from the window.

The sound of gunfire and grunting spilled out of the ground floor of the building, reaching them before the sidewalk did. Sol absorbed the impact of the landing, setting her on her feet and pulling her away before she could turn to help the other operatives still fighting inside. The Commander must have sent them to help when they were compromised, she cared so much for them.

“Not our fight,” Sol told her firmly, only letting go of her long enough to pull the bike from where he’d hidden it in the alleyway behind the building before he pressed her helmet into her hand, “we’re leaving.”

—-

“They’re on the move, Redwing is tracking and Thor is close behind,” Sam called as he barrelled through the broken window, “Need an extraction Cap - Jesus, or a medic?”

Steve groaned, hauling himself up on his elbows before getting his knees under him with a wheeze.

“I’m fine,” he huffed, dragging himself off the ground with a wince. The shock of it had been worse than the reality, he wasn’t expecting it. Not from her. “I’ve taken worse.”

Hell, last time he’d faced the Soldier they’d been picking lead out of himself for days.

“Fine? The bastard shot you, Steve, again,” Sam glared, turning him around and eyeing up the wound in full medic mode as Steve tried to marshal the pain with his breathing, “the uniform seems to have taken the brunt of it - better patch this up though before we go any further.”

“Wasn’t Bucky this time,” Steve said between gritted teeth as Sam grabbed the med kit from his belt and sprayed something cold and stinging against the wound, “Darcy’s a good - ah - a good shot.”

“Okay those two really are made for each other,” Sam snorted, slapping a temporary dressing over the injury before clicking his med kit back into place, “a’ight, let’s go, Cap.”

“Got room for one more on this ride?” A voice called from the stairs, Nat appearing tired and soot smudged, “I got the conference building cleared, there are a few casualties from the fallout but all things considered…”

“We got lucky this time,” Steve said, throwing an arm over Sam’s shoulder as Nat grabbed hold of his waist on the other side, “let’s see if we can make it two for two.”

“I’m gonna start charging air fare,” Sam grumbled, wrapping his arms around them both before he charged towards the window, “alright, Birdman Airline taking off, hold on kids.” 

—-

The streets whipped past them in a blur of green and gray, the sky darkening overhead as Darcy held tight to the Soldier’s waist as he took corners like they were being chased by the devil.

Maybe they were.

She knew there were people out there who wanted to stop the work they did, who couldn’t stand to see society taken from the undeserving few and made better. She just hadn’t expected them to come for them so soon, or to look so…

No she wouldn’t think about how they looked or what they said, clearing the thoughts from her head as she gripped tighter to her Soldier. Thunder rumbled through the air and made her stomach twist for no discernible reason as she tried to focus her attention on the way his chest rose and fell steadily beneath her palms, fighting back the sudden surge of anticipation that seemed to follow the storm.

Lightning veined the sky, shooting down from the heavens and splitting their path in two. The bike skidded, Darcy unable to keep from crying out as Sol twisted in his seat, his arms catching her as he pulled them both from the bike before it crashed in a move that wasn’t even close to human. 

He rolled them over the rough asphalt, her head tucked against his chest as he kept her locked against him, slowing their speed with his metal arm. Shielding her between his body and the concrete barrier at the edge of the road as they came to a stop at last.  

“Sol,” she gasped, lungs still spinning as she yanked her helmet off. Her stomach threatened to repeat on her, leaving her swallowing bile as she tried to get a good look at him.  

“Are you okay?” He asked at once, blood seeping from his hairline as he hauled himself up on his elbows. She knew the injury was because of her, because he had cushioned her landing instead of worrying about his own. 

“Fine,” she nodded dizzily, scratched and bruised but unbroken as she let him check her over in the dim light of the storm, “you?”

“Go, phase and get back to base,” Sol said in reply, not the answer she was looking for as he pulled himself to his feet, taking her with him and setting her down beside him. He was already looking away, head turning as he searched for the source of their trouble like it was an enemy agent who’d struck them with lightning as opposed to an act of God.

Which… shit. It seemed like it was 

Electricity crackled over the ground, the overpass they were on empty apart from a man in the middle of the road blocking their path. There was a dent in the tarmac where he stood, his yellow hair dancing in the wind as he rose to his feet.

He was tall, wore a cape, and carried a big ass hammer. One that made her think of cat noises for reasons beyond her understanding - damnit, maybe she’d landed harder than she thought after all.

«You must go,» the Soldier repeated grimly, pulling the sub-machine gun from its clip on his back and hefting it upwards.

«Not without you,» she shot back, shaking off her confusion and pulling her own, much smaller, gun from its holster, «we leave together or not at all.»

«Stubborn girl,» he growled at her, the corner of his mouth twitching and making her stomach flip even as they fell into step and fired.

Clouds of dust and gunsmoke marked their path, bullets smacking into the asphalt in puffs of dust that stung at Darcy’s eyes even as their enemy remained unmoved. The bullets seemed to glance from him, deflected by his hammer and his lightning and his strange, gleaming chain mail. It was all impossible but somehow didn’t surprise her at all, of course he was dressed like a Viking God, of course he could wield lightning, it all made perfect sense. 

He was like something from a story she’d once read. Like.. like…

“Lady Darcy,” the stranger called through the useless bark of their guns, his voice deep and rich as it wrapped around her brain, “my sister in lightning, you must stop this and return to us. Jane is awaiting you, she-”

Jane. That name again, the way he said it disturbed her even more than the way he’d said her own, making her flinch as it buried its way into her skull.

She saw Svetlana behind her eyes, only it wasn’t really her, like a dream where something was two things at once. A Walmart and a pirate ship. Her boss and…she didn’t know. Only that not-Svetlana had mousy hair and baby bird bones and forgot to eat, and that she’d regularly wake Darcy up at 3 am to look at the stars only… only the Commander always remembered to eat. She took care of herself impeccably, her hair was never wild, never snarled up with pens and ink, and she’d certainly never cared about the stars…

“She kept her promise,” the Viking said, ducking a blow as the Soldier reached him first, slinging his gun back into place before attacking with his fists and feet and knives, “she didn’t spiral, Darcy, she ate and slept just like she - she swore to you she would if something happened. Brother Bucky, really now-”

The pressure in her head was overwhelming, she stumbled back from the fight even as her bones screamed at her to help Sol. She was supposed to help him, to fight, but all she could think about was… was…

A diner in a desert, the Viking grinning as she snapped a picture for her Facebook. Operatives don’t have Facebook. A giant metal robot in empty streets. You’ve never left Svetlana’s side. Her favorite uncle naked on TV? You certainly don’t have an uncle.

The butt of her gun was hot and heavy against her temple, sweat sticking her hair to her skin as she ground it into her skull in an effort to stem the tide. To keep the pain out and the memories in even as they seemed to bleed from her.

It was a trick. It had to be. They were trying to distract her, that was all.

Boots hit the asphalt behind her, the sudden whir of sound catching her breath as she turned to watch enemy agents falling from the sky and cutting off their exits. A man with metal wings, a woman with red hair, the man with the shield. The one she’d shot.

“Sol, it’s raining enemy agents,” she called to her partner, trying to kickstart herself back into action as she dropped her empty clip and reloaded from her belt, “Halle-fucking-lujah. ”

If she was focused on them she wasn’t focused on her head. If she was fighting she wasn’t thinking.

«You have to get out, love,» he shouted back over the sound of flesh and metal striking off each other, the new endearment making her heart stutter stupidly even in the chaos, «I can hold them off.»

«I told you I’m not leaving without you,» she yelled back with renewed determination firing a covering round as she prepared to phase out and charge them from behind like she’d been taught to. It was harder to find the switch with her adrenaline running but she knew she could do it, she could put a bullet in at least a few of their heads before they even realized she was moving.

She could save them both.

Electricity burst through her, a sharp blue burn that knocked her off balance as she reached for the switch in her head. The gun fell from her hand, eyes threatening to roll back into her head as every inch of her tensed and spasmed, her vision going white.

“So this is Darcy,” a smooth voice said from behind her, arms locking her slack-limbs in place as she dragged herself back from the brink of unconsciousness, “nice to meet you in the flesh, your Russian is really good y’know, great accent.”

The woman with the red hair had gotten to her, moving like a snake in the split second of confusion and hitting her with some kind of tasing device. Her arms locked Darcy in place as she tried to reboot her brain.  

One of her guns was on the ground but she had another. And knives. She swallowed hard, muscles tensing as she prepared to phase out and knock the intruder out from behind. She could do this - she could still get them out of this - 

It didn’t work. 

The heavy weight of her collar dragged at her, the static-closeness of it holding close to her skin. The switch inside of her flicking uselessly as she tried and failed to phase. The arms holding her solid.

“Sol-” she managed between gritted teeth, «I can’t phase.» 

Turning her body she drove her elbow into the woman’s stomach and stamped hard on her foot instead. The enemy backed up an inch but didn’t falter, deflecting the palm Darcy aimed at her nose and dragging her arm behind her in one smooth motion.

It was like fighting Marla’s younger, bendier sister. She seemed to anticipate Darcy’s every move, blocking her legs before she could even try and sweep them. Darcy adapted, letting the enemy smack the second gun from her hand as she drew it only to curl in with her knife instead, catching her hard in the thigh and making her curse as she twisted.

“Someone’s been giving her Widow training,” her enemy called to her fellow agents as she spun out of Darcy’s reach before driving back in again, “not enough though.”

The second bolt of electricity took Darcy’s knees out from her, her arms wrenched up behind her back in a split second as she fell heavily to the floor. The woman kept her upright on her knees, something cold pressed to her throat as she was immobilized.

She’d failed her first mission, failed her commander, failed her Soldier.

He was fighting for his life too, his eyes pained as they met hers between blows. She hoped he’d win, that he’d escape. 

“Jane told me to tell you something,” the woman waiting to kill her said, the flash of red hair at the corner of her vision making her head swim as she felt the prick of a needle in her neck, “I don’t get it but - Space Chlamydia.”

They seemed like strange last words, echoing weirdly in her head as the world went black.

Chapter Text

“What did you do to her?” The Soldier roared, hurling his enemy away before charging at the woman who had taken Darcy down.

The knife was in his hand before he registered pulling it, chest burning as he rushed the woman. Darcy had gone still, eyes shut as she lay slumped in the agent’s arms - as if she was dead - if she was…

The woman ducked as he hurled the blade, a lock of red hair sheared away as the knife missed its target by a matter of inches. He’d been aiming between her eyes but she was faster than he anticipated. 

He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

“Not another step, Soldier,” the woman warned, holding her electric gauntlet to Darcy’s throat, the weapon buzzing angrily in the sudden heaving silence as she shoved it tight against her jugular, “don’t make me hurt an unconscious woman.”

He froze, suddenly helpless, adrift in his skin as he watched the scene through someone else’s eyes.

He’d been here before, rocking on his heels as the sharp edges of memory ripped through him. A doctor's office high in a tower, the Komandir holding Darcy to her chest in the late afternoon sunlight, a scalpel to her throat as he pleaded for her to release her.

It was impossible, the memories would mean he had known Darcy before they’d met at the base. It would mean he was something more than an asset, and she…

For a moment he saw her as someone else, drinking blue soda and singing along with the theme tune of every show they watched. He saw her laughing so hard she snorted and felt her fingers in his as they walked through a mess of crowded tables. Glasses, she wore glasses, and always smudged her eyeliner by the end of the day. 

“What-” he stuttered, cheeks hollowing as he swallowed around his dry mouth, “what did you…”

He tried to focus himself, fixating in on the flutter of Darcy’s pulse in her throat and the small, steady movement of her chest. She was breathing. For now. He had to act, his hand creeping behind his back towards his gun, one fast headshot and it would be done. He could take the woman out before she touched Darcy - he could get them back to normal - to compliance - he could - 

“You can stop now,” a soft voice commanded in his ear, red light bursting behind his eyes as the world fell out from under him.

Red turned to white, painful, blinding, icy white. His mouth opened on a silent cry as the cold stabbed into his bones, falling down into the emptiness endlessly, down and down and - no he wasn’t the one falling, someone else was. The world was gray and he stood watching from a helicarrier as a man fell away amongst rubble and fire, something inside of him falling with him as he closed his eyes and leapt only - only he wasn’t falling again. It was sunset and he was sitting on a fire escape. The metal hot against his bare shins where he’d rolled up his trousers, sweat sticking his shirt to his spine as he laughed at something someone else said, reaching for a bottle and - it was night, cold, a circle of tents and the taste of cheap whiskey on his tongue as battle plans were drawn up around him.

It was an endless golden afternoon and he could smell vanilla shampoo, a familiar someone’s weight in his lap as she combed her fingers through his hair and kissed him through a smile. He heard easy laughter, booming from all sides, tasted strange cherry-gasoline wine.

Someone had stuck paper ghosts on the wall.

—-

“Wanda?” Steve fought to swallow; she’d come out of nowhere, descending in a cloud of red light behind the Soldier when his attention was fixed on Nat and Darcy, “what… how?”

He couldn’t better articulate the question, tongue tied as he watched her trap Bucky between her hands. Light danced from her fingers to his temples and back, his mouth slack and eyes unseeing as crimson lit his pupils from within.

“I thought you might need some help,” she said between gritted teeth, her face scrunched in concentration as she twisted her fingers in an intricate dance he couldn’t follow, “he’s so close to remembering, the walls are already half down I just - I need to - there.”

She pulled back with a gasp, Bucky slumping away from her like someone had cut his strings. His knees hit the ground first, seeming to fall in slow motion as he doubled over onto the asphalt.

“I had a conversation with Stark,” Wanda murmured as Steve stumbled towards them, dropping to his knees in front of Bucky as Wanda drew back, “a long conversation, we came as soon as we could. He and Vision are… attending to the operatives left behind. I came straight here to help.”

He darted  a glance over his shoulder towards the city where smoke was still pluming on the horizon before turning back to the man in front of him, Stark and Hydra and everything else could wait.

“Did it… did it work?” He asked helplessly as Bucky shuddered, hands braced against the uneven ground. He was pale, as pale as Steve had ever seen him, his eyes wild and haunted as he stared down at the bullet-pocked surface of the road like he couldn’t see it, “Bucky?”

Adrenaline threatened to choke him as Steve reached out, wanting to help him but afraid to push even now. He didn’t know who was in front of him, the soldier or his friend, his hand hovering uselessly between them as Bucky finally lifted his head. His dark hair was snarled in front of his face, brows drawn together in a sharp frown as he met his gaze at last.

“S-Steve?” Bucky rasped, making his stomach squeeze almost painfully tight as he looked at him with a halting recognition, “what…?”

“I told you before, Buck,” he managed to say through the lump in his throat, throwing his arms around his neck and hugging him tightly, “I’m with you to the end of the line, we all are.”

“I can’t- I don’t know if I can hold it back-” Bucky gasped, shaking as he pulled away. He yanked something from his ear, crushing the small metal device in his hand as he looked up at Steve with terrified eyes, “You gotta put me out, Steve. You gotta save Darcy - Darcy-” 

Bucky’s head turned, jaw clenched tight as he looked past Steve, searching for his girl amongst the mess.

“No way, Buck, I’m bringing you both back,” Steve swore, pulling something from his uniform he’d been carrying since New Jersey and pushing it into Bucky’s palm, “you’re gonna stay strong, stay you, for her. I know you are. You only ever wanted to keep her safe.”

—-

The words landed like shots between his ribs, finding every soft place left to him and leaving him bleeding as he looked down at what he’d been given. The rusted dog tags with their silver chain, James Buchanan Barnes. 

The Soldier felt like his head was splitting from the inside. Memories crashed over him in a thousand sharp shards, pieces of a dozen different lives all at odds at each other as he met the eyes of a man he somehow knew better than himself. 

Best friend, said the voice in the back of his head, brother, drowning out the other part of him that still whispered, stranger, enemy. It was Steve. He trusted Steve. And he was right… the Soldier, Bucky, whoever he was, he’d keep Darcy safe. He had to.

Jerking his head up he felt himself snarl as he caught sight of an enemy agent lifting Darcy into his arms, the taller man with the long hair. 

Thor , his brain provided even as he pulled himself upwards, spine cracking and mouth twisted in a wordless snarl as he charged towards the man. Darcy’s friend. Thor. Strangely the knowledge didn’t make him want to lower his guard, the pulse of a threat still throbbing in his chest as the shards of memory dug deeper.

Danger. Cult. Goats?

“Here, brother,” Thor said, holding her out to him with a gentleness that belied his size, “Steven is right, you will keep her safe, I believe it wholly.”

The Soldier pulled her close to his chest, jaw still clenched as he stepped warily back. She was warm in his arms, her head tilted against his shoulder as he scrambled to check her pulse just to be sure.

“It’s only a mild sedative,” the female agent, Natasha, said into the hush,  “I… I never would have really hurt her. She’ll be fine in a few hours.”

Fine but still lost in the lies, wrapped up in Hydra and their half-truths.

“You,” he looked up, searching for the woman with the red light. Wanda, he thought her name was Wanda, “you made me remember.”

She’d somehow gotten in his head, through all the bullshit and the broken memories, and knocked the scales right off his eyes. And if she could do it for him…

“You were already remembering,” Wanda replied softly, standing beside Steve with an expression that looked decades older than she did, “I just removed the last few walls.”

“Can you do it again?” He demanded, already crossing the asphalt towards her, Darcy cradled close to his chest, “For… for her?”

“I can try,” she said uncertainly, “it is not an exact science - my powers-”

“Then try,” he cut her off, heart kicking against his ribs as he swallowed the taste of metal, “ please, try.”

He didn’t want to remember at all if she didn’t, he didn’t want any kind of life he couldn’t share with her.

The red light flared again, Bucky turning his head from the sudden burst as it sank from the woman’s fingers into Darcy’s temples. 

Let it be enough, he begged silently, although he wasn’t sure who to, holding onto his girl as best he could as red threads of magic spun beneath her skin. 

“I cannot clear this completely,” Wanda murmured, eyes closed as she worked and a furrow in her brow, “not all at once. They have… they have gone too deep for that. But I can start.”

“Then start,” Bucky begged, chest aching as he watched the light spark off her hair, bathing her features in a bloody light.

Time dragged as her fingers danced and wove their spells into her skin.

“There - there is not much more I can do for her now except ensure she sleeps,” Wanda said, pulling away with a start as the light flickered and died, “her mind… it has suffered a lot already, she needs rest.”

“It’s alright Wanda,” Steve said from behind them, “we can deal with the rest when we get out of this place - come on.”

“The Komandir,” Bucky said sharply, jerking his chin up as the thought hit him, “we have to stop her. She won’t… she won’t give up on Darcy.”

“Our first priority is getting you two to safety,” Steve said firmly, “besides, if she’s anything like the other we’ve tracked she’ll be in the wind by now.”

He was right and Bucky hated it, the Komandir would retreat to a safe location as soon as she discovered her assets were compromised to regroup. Logically he knew they would have to do the same, “But-”

“I’ll stay behind,” the man with the wings said, Sam, his name was Sam, “rendezvous with Stark and Vis and try and find her trail.”

“I will join you, my friend,” Thor nodded, “we will undertake this quest in your steed.”

“Come on,” Steve said, nodding his thanks to them before prodding Bucky away, “the longer we stay here the more danger you’re in, you and Darcy both.”

Goddamn him he was right again. The Komandir wouldn’t give up on Darcy easily, and for all his thoughts of revenge Bucky knew he wouldn’t do a damn thing if it meant putting Darcy in harm's way.

There was a woman waiting on the ramp of the jet when they reached it, pale with worried eyes, she started at their appearance and rushed to help them in.

Jane, he remembered as she moved immediately to help him settle Darcy onto the cot made up in the corner of the jet for the flight, Darcy’s best friend. Astrophysicist. Loves her like family.

“It’s so good to see you, Bucky,” she told him with a genuineness that shocked him after double and triple checking Darcy’s vitals, reaching out and squeezing his hand with thin fingers, “I knew you’d both come back to us.”

He nodded, throat too tight to speak as he took his seat on one side of the cot and she took hers on the other, both of them guarding Darcy as the Quinjet took off.

They weren’t going back to the Tower.

It was a bittersweet realization. For the longest time home had a nebulous thing to him, it hadn’t been a place since before the war. Not a room or a house, not a cold cell or a set of coordinates burned into his brain. 

The Tower, and the people who lived there, was the closest he’d come to it in seventy years. If he hadn’t stayed there he’d have never met Darcy, never learned to live again. But it wasn’t safe - something they’d discovered far, far too late.

There were other considerations as well, something Steve explained to him on the endless flight back across the ocean. The Komandir had left a recording for them, evidence of the Winter Soldier’s sins. A mission in the 90s, a brilliant man and his wife killed in a car accident that hadn’t been an accident at all.

The barest mention of it and the memory returned, something pulling loose in his head, like he’d broken too far out of his programming as the parts he hadn’t remembered before came for him like piranhas to the scent of blood. 

He’d killed Howard Stark. 

He’d looked him dead in the eye as he stared up, confused and disorientated from the floor, “Sergeant Barnes?” falling from his lips in puzzled recognition, and then he’d caved his skull in and strangled his wife. 

He had orphaned Tony Stark with his bare hands.

“Fuck,” was what he managed to say, scraping his hands through his hair as the guilt overwhelmed him, “I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t enough to say it to Steve though, he knew soon he’d have to say it to Stark himself. He’d have to face accountability for his actions, the shame rising even as some part of him perversely anticipated it - he knew whatever Stark said or did to him would be justified. He deserved his rage, he deserved to face justice for his crimes. To make amends for them, all of them.

But first… first he had to see Darcy out of the woods.

The girl, Wanda, was being shown their books by Natasha, her brow furrowed as she looked through the inner workings of their minds. The fact they existed at all made his blood boil and his hands shake, terrified at the knowledge they contained - the shortcuts to subvert their free will. 

He’d had to clench his hands at his side to stop himself from snatching them away, fighting the urge to tear the pages apart and scatter them out of the jet into the ocean so no one could do that to them again. He knew he couldn’t do it, if the instructions for controlling them were written down perhaps so was the way to undo it, only after he was sure would he let himself burn the damn things to ash. 

“This will help,” Wanda assured him quietly when he slanted his eyes towards the pages again, mouth thinning into a tight line at the careful scribbles and intricate diagrams, “if these words are your trigger I think… I think I should be able to take the association away with my abilities, to unlink them from the compulsive state so they are just… words.”

It sounded too good to be true, like something from a dream. A fairy story. But then again he was a century old super soldier with a girlfriend who could turn invisible and walk through walls - maybe fairy stories were possible now. He didn’t understand Wanda’s abilities, or how she got them, but Steve trusted her and he trusted Steve - more than he trusted himself by a long shot.

“Do… do you really think y’can do that?” He asked roughly, a dangerous spark of hope lighting off his ribs as he looked down at Darcy and let himself imagine it. A world where they didn’t have to be scared about what was in their heads, a chance to take that brief, perfect normalcy they’d once shared and make it permanent.

He didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything more. 

“I have some experience,” she smiled self-deprecatingly, a painfully familiar look in her eyes as she glanced away, “before… well, I was the one putting the suggestions in, making people see what they shouldn’t see and feel what they shouldn’t feel. It will be a relief to undo some of the damage I have caused in my life.”

He knew that feeling intimately, nodding tightly as he squeezed Darcy’s hand in his, letting his breathing ease at last, “and you can do it for Darcy too?”

Wanda’s face fell, gaze darting back to the second book, the one that never should have existed, “I do not know, they did not record as much, only the induction sequence… I don’t know what words to look for after that.”

Of course.

The fairytale faded, breaking over his shoulders as he slumped further into his chair. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, he’d give up the chance to be free of his words a thousand times to free her and it still wasn’t enough. 

“The Komandir was not like the men who made me,” he said quietly, whether for others' benefit or his own he didn’t know, “there was no way she would trust the control of Persephone to anyone but herself.”

She was too single minded for that, a ferver in her that had been missing from so many of his masters. She was a true believer, not in powerful men but in change, she had seen Darcy as the new future of Hydra and she wouldn’t give that up - not to anyone else. Not ever.

If he ever met her again he would pull the words out of her with his fingernails and teeth and then wipe her off the face of the planet for good. There would be no weapon, no army, that could stop him after what she’d done to them.

“Persephone… That’s what they called her, in the book,” Jane said from the otherside of the cot, sounding almost as tired as he felt as she blinked over at them with red-rimmed eyes, “why?”

“An asset needs a designation,” he made himself say, the words bitter even as he shrugged, “I was there winter, she… she was supposed to be their new spring.”

Jane shook her head as if she still couldn’t believe it, Bucky couldn’t blame her. Darcy wasn’t a soldier or a weapon, she wasn’t a witch or a god from space. She was Darcy. A creature so full of humanity that even Hydra, the orchestrator of so much of history’s darkness and evil, had looked at her and seen life.

“This is my fault,” Jane whispered into the hush, her hands clenched in her lap as she looked away, “if I hadn’t gotten her caught up with my experiments none of this would have ever happened, if I-”

“Don’t.” He stopped her with a sharp look, the guilt in her voice cutting into him as he shook his head, “don’t blame yourself. This is their fault , don’t let them off the hook. Not for any of it.”

They were the ones who’d done this, to her and to him.

And sooner or later they were the ones who were going to pay for it. In spades.

—-

The keyboard flew across the van, splintering as it hit the wall.

“I want her back, now,” Svetlana screamed at the agent manning the surveillance desk, blood pounding in her ears as she paced the small confines of the van, “ where is she ?”

“The collar is offline, ma’am, the tracking device too - we can’t,” the agent winced, ducking like a coward as she threw another piece of tech at him, “we need more time to reboot it.”

“Work faster, damnit,” she hissed, fighting the urge to shove him aside and do it herself. She needed to know where Persephone was, she needed her back. They’d moved to a secondary location when it became clear the plan had been compromised but with no connection to Persephone she had no way to convey the message, having to trust her agents to bring her in. Something they were failing abysmally at thanks to them.

The Avengers.  

Bile threatened to choke her even now as her gaze caught on a frozen image on one of the screens. Captain America and his crew swooping in and ruining everything, so superior even frozen in action.

The fucking Avengers.

They had seemed so useless to her when she worked for them, rag-tag and idealistic and weak. She knew they’d taken out other Hydra bases, lesser bases, Strucker and the like. But she hadn’t thought they’d interfer with her plans, not when she knew their flaws so well, the narrowness of their vision.

They shouldn’t have known about the mission, about Darcy - even when Tiamat fell she had trusted Heinrich to destroy the evidence. He should have blown it clean like he was supposed to the moment it seemed like it would be compromised, as any true believer would have.

Cowardly little piss ant. She hoped he’d died in the take down so she didn’t have to trouble herself with finding him and doing it herself.

“I want her back,” she barked at the comms agent, nails digging divots into the palms of her hands, “we are going to bring her back.”

“Yes ma’am, and the Soldier…”

“We will bring him too if we can, or kill him, if he gets in the way,” she shrugged, waving off the question, “we can always make more soldiers, our priority is her. It is always her.”

She was the one who would change things, the one who would fix everything. Fate had delivered her to Svetlana, had opened every door for her.

It had been Svetlana’s own hubris that had fucked them over, Heinrich was right in that much at least, as much as she loathed to admit it. She should have started smaller, tested her out slower. An easier mission. A quieter one. She needed more time to shape her into the asset she knew she could be.

This was all her fault, her mistake, one she wouldn’t make again.

She would get her Persephone back whatever the cost.

For Hydra. For Hades. For everything.

Chapter Text

Darcy was getting pretty sick and tired of waking up in strange rooms with no idea where she was or how she’d gotten there. 

Her body felt like one big ache, head pounding like she’d been hit by a truck. A possibility that the dim memories of asphalt roads and concrete barriers fizzing at the edge of her consciousness did little to dispel as she lay dazed and confused in someone else’s sheets.

She wanted to groan into the pillow but instinct kept the noise in her throat, her situation becoming clearer even as her memory remained unhelpfully vague.

What had happened? 

Where the hell was she?

She tried to find the memories, to place herself in space and time but came up blank. Her brain hurt, it was like someone had lined her skull with thumb tacks and then shaken her head. She smelt gunpowder, saw lightning, felt a body in a warm leather jacket under her palms, a trigger beneath her finger. The flashes of memory crashed and coalesced inside her like a raging sea and she was shit out of boats to sail through it.

Assess for threats, a cool voice said in her head, forcing her to open her eyes to slits even as her brain rebelled at the sudden onslaught of light, gather intel.

She wasn’t restrained, her arms and legs moving freely when she twitched them beneath the covers, that was a bonus, and there was a familiar sound in the background. A TV playing some program that rattled her brain even as she struggled to identify it.

As she swallowed she felt her skin move against the thin metal of her collar, which said Base. But the sunlight coming through the window put her firmly above ground. Which said… Tower?

There was a woman next to her, boney, pale, brown haired and worried. She was holding Darcy’s hand in a vice grip that belied her baby-bird exterior and when Darcy looked at her she felt her tension ease.

Safe, her brain said as she allowed her eyes to open fully and the pained groan still caught in her throat to slip loose at last, she’s safe.

“Darcy?” The woman said immediately, eyes almost impossibly wide as she clutched tighter to her hand, “oh thank God, are you okay Darce?”

“Hi,” Darcy replied, voice stiff and spine stiffer as she struggled to sit up. Whatever had happened had bruised her up something rotten, feeling like the last apple in the barrel as she made herself move, “I’m… okay. I think?”

It was more question than answer, she was used to people telling her how she was and was surprised when the woman didn’t. Instead she just helped her sit up against the cushioned headboard and pressed a cup into her hand, helping her suck in a mouthful of water before drawing back almost awkwardly. 

“Do you… do you remember me?” She asked gently, tucking a wild strand of her hair behind her ear with fluttering hands.

“You’re Jane,” she said, tasting the truth of the words as she said them. Yes. That was Jane. She couldn’t remember exactly who Jane was but that was definitely her.

She had a flash of starry skies and unhinged laughter, cheap food and late nights. A feeling of safety, protectiveness, sisterhood.

“I think you might be my friend?” She hoped so, otherwise this could get really awkward really fast. She felt like her best friend, her closest confidant, and something more too… something important. Keyboards, coffee, orders and instructions, “and my Commander?”

Yes, that felt right. She’d been here before, in a bed with a mushy-memory and someone helping her sit and drink. Someone who always helped her, her Commander, Jane.

Jane’s smile faltered, a worried crease forming between her brows as she shook her head.

“I am your friend, Darce, best friends, always,” she said, biting at her chapped lip nervously, “but I’m not… I was your boss I guess, technically, but it never really felt like it. We worked together.”

Was that it? She felt like it was something more, not just work but a mission. They were going to save the world, reshape it into something better, they were going to…

“Look-” an almost manic expression crossed Jane’s face, ducking away from her to pull something from the bedside table and holding it out to her like a present, “see? This is us.”

It was a scrapbook, printer-paper pictures stuck haphazardly to the pages without much sense of rhyme or reason as Darcy took it onto her lap and frowned down at it. Black sugar paper and badly stuck images, dates and names scrawled here and there along with non-sequiturs in brightly colored gel pen.

She saw herself looking back from the pages, laughing and smiling and, in one case, flipping the person holding the camera the bird. There were pictures of her outside of a van, in the middle of a desert, fallen on her ass somewhere snowy. Memories that rang true even as she struggled to connect to them, like stills from a movie she hadn’t seen in years.

“This is us in New Mexico, and in Norway,” Jane said, shifting between Friend, Commander and Boss in Darcy’s head as she tried to piece herself back together, “we work together, sure, but first and foremost we’re... we’re science sisters.”

Science Sisters.

The words echoed inside her head with a cheer and the taste of tequila and tacos. Plastic cups clacking together on a hot night, alcohol burning her nose when she laughed too hard. A promise made through a screen of blue light. They felt easy, right.

They’ll try and trick you, sólnyshka, a voice whispered in her head, you have to return to your Commander.

Copper flooded her mouth, teeth sinking into her cheek as the voice rocked through her, sweeping the memories into the corner of her mind as a single question manifested itself. 

“So you’re not my Commander?” She said carefully as she pushed the book away.

“No - I - you don’t-” Jane stuttered but Darcy didn’t hear the end of her sentence, blood rushing loudly in her ears as her stomach twisted.

If Jane wasn’t her Commander then who was?

She was supposed to go back to her Commander, she had to complete the mission and return home. It was imperative.

“I have to go,” she said, anxiety clawing under her skin as she kicked off the sheets and swung her legs over the side of the bed, “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

The Commander would be so worried, so disappointed. Darcy saw it clearly behind her eyes, the slight, sad shake of her head when Darcy failed a test she was supposed to pass. She couldn’t let her down again, she had to go back.

She could see her now, sensible auburn hair, dark eyes, a name… Svetlana. She had to get back to Svetlana 

“Darcy, it’s okay,” Jane caught her arm as she stood, the scrapbook falling to the floor with a papery thud as she looked around the room for the exit, “you don’t have to go anywhere. You’re home now.”

No. No this wasn’t home. Home was… home was…

“Sol,” she whispered, looking up in panic as the world threatened to cave in on her from within, “Where is he? The Winter Soldier? He should be here.”

He was the constant. The link between the pieces of memory currently spackled at random in front of her inner eye. She saw him with her when she was with Jane and Svetlana both. Tower and Base, sunlit park and gun-smoke hazy road, hand in hers and shoulder to shoulder. 

“You mean Bucky?” Jane asked, “He’s been here for hours, he’s just gone to clean up, he’ll be back any moment.”

Bucky… yes. She called him Bucky. She felt the name sitting silently on her tongue, familiar, like she’d said it a thousand times before even if she couldn’t quite force it past her lips. He was Bucky but he was her Soldier too, he would know what to do - how to get back to base.

“I have to find him,” she said, pushing Jane aside and shoving her feet into a pair of worn looking Keds. Mine, her brain told her helpfully as if the sharpie doodles on the side didn't make that obvious. She’d drawn stars on them, bored out of her mind during a midnight stargazing trip, a specific constellation...

Shaking her head to clear the sudden rush of memory she focused on her goal, narrowing down to the mission mindset. 

Still, she told herself silently, water, twilight, twenty five.

First priority was finding Sol and getting back to base, everything else was ancillary. Her heartbeat picked up as adrenaline coursed through her, muscles tensing as she headed for the door driven by a single minded focus. Her words echoing inside her like a drum. 

Compliance was rewarded.

“No - Darcy wait-“

A hand caught her wrist as she reached for the door handle, jerking her back.

Threat. 

Her instincts took over, muscle memory burning through her as she turned on her attacker, hearing a yelp as she twisted their arm and kicked their knees out from under them. 

“Darcy please!” The pained cry cut through the thundering in her head, wide brown eyes looking up at her in startled horror from the ground.

Fuck. 

“Oh my god,” Darcy was on her knees beside Jane in an instant, the gut punch of guilt knocking her from her trance. What had she done? She’d never hurt Jane, even thinking it felt wrong, they were best friends, Science Sisters she’d never be capable of…

“It’s okay,” Jane said, trying to smile through a grimace as she sat back on her heels, cradling her wrist to her body.

She’d hurt her.

“I’m so sorry, oh my god - I’m so so sorry,” She reached towards her before snatching her hands back, scared to touch her in case she did any more damage.

She couldn’t trust herself, everything was jumbled up and wrong inside her head as she stared stupidly at what she’d done.

“It’s okay, Darcy,” Jane said, blinking the tears out of her eyes as she waved her fingers at her, “no permanent damage, see? It was my fault, I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Her fault?

Darcy choked, something between a sob and a laugh caught in her throat as she shook her head.

“No - it’s not your fault - I can’t believe I…” she babbled, heart in her mouth as she struggled to think through the confusion. Part of her brain was still begging her to go, to find the Commander, return to base, even as the other part screamed at her for what she’d just done to her best friend.

“Hey, Darce, it’s okay, really,” Jane reached out slowly, like she was approaching a wild animal as she settled her hand gently on Darcy’s shoulder. The touch comforting her, even though she didn’t deserve it, “you’re confused right now, 

The click of the door opening had her flinching, pressing closer to Jane as she stared wild-eyed at the intruder, tensed to attack as the whiplash of her emotions caught her off guard again.

“Darcy?”

“Sol.”

He was next to them between one breath and another, reaching to help them both stand before his arms found her, dragging her into his side with a shuddering exhale.

“What happened?” He asked against her hair as he clutched her close.

She anchored herself against his body, inhaling him into her lungs. His hands were tight against her, warm and cool. Safe. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, she realized distantly; a plain, long sleeved gray t-shirt, no tactical wear, no uniform, just a shirt under a beaten leather jacket. She’d told him once she’d a thing for guys in leather jackets, hadn’t she?

She’d told Bucky.

“Everything’s mixed up…” she whispered as she tried to shake the sudden sharp-edged thought away, sick to her stomach as the words spilled out, “the Commander, I knew I had to return to her and… I… I hurt Jane.”

She pulled back, not deserving his comfort either after her actions as she turned back to Jane instead, guilt pounding in her throat and threatening her stomach. She deserved her punishment for disobeying, for hurting someone she was supposed to love.

“I’m fine,” Jane murmured gently, bending to retrieve the photo album and putting it aside, “honestly. I just startled her. We’re okay.”

“I shouldn’t… I’m so sorry,” Darcy said again, shaking her head as she reached up to tug at the collar at her throat awkwardly, “I’ll answer for it, I swear, as soon I complete my mission,” She turned to look up at Sol, “we have to return to the Commander, right? It’s mission critical.”

“No,” he caught her face between his fingers, looking right through her eyes and into the whirling mess of her thoughts, “this is where we need to be.”

“But our orders?” she pressed, looking up into true blue eyes that were somehow different than she remembered, even if they were exactly the same.

“No more orders.”

“What?” she jerked away, stumbling over her feet as the words hit her like a slap across the face, “of course there are - we have a mission, Sol. We have to… we have to comply.”

She had fucked up by hurting Jane but that didn’t change anything, not really, they all still had to complete their goals and return to base. It was - it was expected. She looked over at Jane for back up, she might not be the Commander but she’d understand, Darcy was sure. They were best friends, she got her like no one else did, she’d know.

“No, Darce,” Jane said, shaking her head softly as she reached out to touch her arm, “you never have to comply again. Listen to Bucky.”

“I don’t - I don’t understand,” she heard herself say, pulling back from both of them, her hands inching up towards her temples as the ache inside her skull grew, pounding at her as she looked between them, “I don’t - what are you saying?”

—-

Bucky felt a muscle in his jaw pop as he clenched his teeth, hopelessness swirling inside of him as he tried to coax her back to reality. He’d wanted to be there when she woke up, choosing the exact wrong moment to wash up as he came back to find her wild eyed and confused next to Jane on the floor.

Whatever Wanda had done hadn’t been enough, the thoughts they’d put in her still swirling beneath the surface. Making her lash out at people she would never willingly hurt in a hundred years.

He knew the feeling far too well. The muscle memory. The whiplash of anger that came with uncertainty. The hopeless, helpless rage of not knowing exactly who you were or who you weren’t.

He saw himself in her gaze, the memories crashing down like an avalanche as he remembered the last time he’d come back from the brink, when he’d dragged Steve from the water without knowing why. He’d moved from city to city to country to country after, trying to outrun the uncertainty even as it begged him to return, to submit. Compliance was easy, it was rewarded, remembering… it was a hell all of its own.

“Sol?” Darcy whispered, so uncertain in the hush he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He wanted to hold her, to drag her into his body and curl himself around her, a barrier against everything they’d been through and everything yet to come. He wanted to kiss every question out of her head until they could just exist once more.

Instead he found himself breathing harshly between his teeth as his hands found her shoulders, squeezing gently as he made her look at him and prayed Wanda had done more than dislodge just the surface memories of her life before.

“Listen to me, zizhn’ moya,” he told her seriously, “you have to look past what the Komandir said, you have to chase the memories, all of them.”

It was so much easier to say it than do it. Darcy flinched at the suggestion, pale and startled as her mouth fell open and her brow scrunched up in concern. 

“But… but you said not to before…” she whispered, unbearably small and uncertain as she swayed on her feet.

“I know, I was wrong. You have to try, sweetheart, try and remember before the mission,” he coaxed her, “before the base, focus on your life before, with Jane.”

Steve had been his anchor the first time round and he was pretty sure Jane would be hers, they had a bond too strong for Hydra to ever fully break. Darcy had told him about it all, the ties forged through years of adversity and adventured and tempered by humor, a family made from something so much thicker than blood.

“We were at the tower,” she said distantly, a deep v forming between her brows as her eyes chased something he couldn’t see, “in the labs, it was after my accident. Jane… Jane brought me back? But no - it was Svetlana, wasn’t it? I don’t…”

Wanda had warned him about this after looking at their books; Hydra might have tried to boil his memories right out of his skull but they had twisted hers instead, letting her keep her past with their additions and substitutions. It felt worse to him somehow, his memories might have been locked away from him but at least when he did find them again they were untainted, untouched by Hydra. His and only his.

Hers had been rewritten, fact and fiction running side by side as she tried to pick them apart in front of him. Tears rolling hot and wet over her cheeks as she cringed from her own thoughts.

“What else do you remember,” he pressed, guiding her to sit down on the edge of the bed before kneeling in front of her, “about Jane?”

He shot a glance at the other woman, seeing the concern on her face as she stayed by the chair. Close enough to be comforting but not so close as to crowd her as she watched through worried eyes.

“She hit a guy with a car,” Darcy scoffed automatically even through the tears, rolling her eyes, “and got a date out of it.”

She faltered, like the words had come out without her input and she didn’t quite believe them. Her eyes darted past him to Jane for confirmation.

“Thor,” Jane nodded, moving a little closer with a warm smile, “that was in New Mexico after you first became my intern.”

“I… tased him?” She asked, her right hand curling as if she was holding an invisible taser as she looked down at it. 

“You did,” Jane confirmed, “knocked him out flat and became his lightning sister in the process.”

“But I was Svetlana’s intern too,” she said with a shake of her head, reaching up to press her fingers into her temples like she could physically pry the memories free, “I remember - I was her assistant straight after university, we’ve been together for years.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured, pulling her hands away as gently as he could before she hurt herself, “don’t worry about that, just let yourself think, what did you do as Jane’s intern?”

“I… I got coffee, entered data, translated her hand writing, watched the stars and hit the machines when they were acting up,” she stared into the middle distance with a shadow of a smile, “I think I drove the van sometimes too.”

“And as Svetlana’s?” He asked gently, the name bitter on his tongue even as he kept his expression calm for her. 

“The… same? No that’s not right, she didn’t care about the stars so why would I…” she frowned harder, “I… I don’t remember.”

“That’s good, that’s right,” he murmured, pushing her hair back from her face, “the real memories will be stronger, more detailed, I know things are confusing now but it will all start making sense soon. I… I’ve been here before. Let me help you, let us help you.”

“Please, Darce,” Jane added, stepping forward and squeezing her shoulder gently at last, “we’ll figure this out together, like we always do.”

She looked between them, torn and dazed before nodding, so uncertain it made his bones ache. 

“Okay,” she nodded, unbearably unsure as she twisted her fingers together, “okay - I - I’ll stay. For now.”

It was a start, hopefully with the help of Wanda and the others it could become an end too. They could remake their lives, together.

Chapter Text

“I thought it would come easier,” Jane admitted, a tired sigh caught in her throat as she stirred creamer into her coffee, “like we’d just flip a switch and - boom, memories.”

“I know,” Steve sat back in his chair, mussed blonde hair falling across his forehead as he stared down at the mug between his hands, “the reality is never as clean. It was like that the first time with Buck, the mind needs time to… well, figure it all out.”

The kitchenette in the common area was empty other than them in the dim grey light of dawn. Winter was enjoying its last hurrah, a still, gray quality to the light as snow piled up outside the compound. 

It was strange to think how the world still turned, time passing without concern for their troubles.

“He seems to have come back to himself well,” Jane offered, taking a drink of the too-sweet coffee with another sigh.

They’d been meeting like this for a while, their shared life experiences matching up and creating a certain bond the others couldn’t share. A club of people who had lost their best friends to evil only to bring them back to find them… different.

Darcy was different. There was so much she didn’t remember, or if she did it was mixed up with something else that hadn’t happened at all. Her mind had been unraveled like a cheap sweater and knitted into something Jane couldn’t always recognise, no matter how much she wanted to. 

It was hard. Hard to watch, hard to stomach, especially when she could go so quickly between the familiar lovably dorky figure Jane knew almost as well as herself to a guarded, dangerous woman she’d never met.

It didn’t help that Selena - Svetlana - hadn’t been found yet, Tony and the others had lost her trail the day of the rescue and they had yet to pick it up again. The doctor’s face and information had been sent out to interpol, the FBI, and every other functioning agency in the known world. She topped the most wanted list of two dozen nations as the mastermind behind the G20 bombing that had almost killed so many, but nothing had come from it yet. They still hadn’t found her.

Jane wasn’t surprised, worms were good at burrowing down in the dirt.

At least they’d somehow managed to keep Darcy and Bucky’s names out of the furore, for obvious reasons, their participation in the near tragedy swept away by the news a Hydra head was still at large and very much dangerous.

Through it all Steve had become something of a savior to Jane, sitting with her in the early mornings before anyone else was awake and talking about it - really talking. Thor, for all his support and wonderfulness, could be too enthusiastic sometimes. He was always so willing to believe blindly in the best outcome, the Norns - he said - would take care of it all. Jane loved him for it but sometimes she just needed to exist in reality instead, to discuss the problem as it was instead of how she wanted it to be.

“Bucky’s had experience,” Steve snorted, shaking his head, “it wasn’t like this the first time. It took weeks, months even before he was even a fraction of himself back then and well - the real changes only seemed to happen after he met Darcy.”

“Really?” She couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow at that, Steve had always seemed so good with Bucky. So supportive. Jane was doing her best to emulate him in every way even as her chest burned with the unfairness of it all, every time Darcy’s eyes turned glassy or her brow creased with confusion felt like a loss to her. A personal failure that she couldn’t bring her back properly, that she wasn’t enough.

“Yeah, after we got to the tower she had this way with him. Even when I couldn’t see her I couldn’t see it,” his mouth curved in a tired smile, “I was pretty awful when I first got him back to be honest, kept pushing, wanting more than he could give - expecting more. I felt awful about it too, like I wasn’t enough.”

Jane swallowed the lump in her throat, nodding her head as she swirled the spoon in her cup unnecessarily, “I know exactly what you mean. I feel so helpless sometimes, I want to help her but… I don’t know, sometimes she can’t even look at me. She’s still so guilty over what happened when she woke up - even though it wasn’t her fault.”

The attack had been instinctive and instantaneous, Jane seeing her mistake as soon as she’d made it. Darcy had still been so caught up with the memories, the orders, Jane had ignored what she’d been through in the starry-eyed joy of getting her bestie back and had paid the price for it.

“Yeah, that’s always a tough one,” Steve agreed, looking old beyond his years as he fiddled with a sugar packet, “she hasn’t been able to properly meet my eye since she shot me, no matter what I say.”

“She shot you?”

It was almost impossible to imagine. Darcy tased people, sure, she was damn good at that, at protecting them, she had been even before she was taken. But to shoot Steve? With a gun? Jane couldn’t imagine it. 

“It was when we were trying to bring them in,” he explained, “she could have killed me, you know, straight out. I wouldn’t have stood a chance if she’d taken a different shot, but she didn’t. Even then… I think she knew. No matter how hard Hydra tried to take away their humanity it never fully worked.”

“Do you think…” the question came uneasily, one she was loath to ask but too tired to resist anymore, “do you think she’ll ever be the same? Was Bucky?”

“No,” he sighed, casting the sugar packet aside unopened as he met her gaze with frank blue eyes, “but then none of us are. I’m not the man I was before I went into the ice, or the man I was before I fought in the war. We all change, Jane, Darcy and Buck… they’ve just changed a little more quickly. Doesn’t mean we can’t still love them.”

“I just wish she’d let me help her,” she sighed, letting her shoulders slump as she shook her head, “she tries to seem so strong all the time. Jeez, she’s still so stubborn.”

“Maybe that’s why they’re so perfect for each other,” Steve snorted, picking up his mug.

“You’re not wrong there.”

—-

Darcy had lost weight during her missing months, something every magazine she’d ever read and infomercial she’d even seen told her she should be happy about. 

She wasn’t. 

She hated how her bras no longer fit right and the fact she had to wear a belt with her jeans. It was all some hideous metaphor for trying to fit into a life that wasn’t her size anymore, no matter how much she wanted it to be.

She had changed. Undeniably. She’d lost parts of herself, physically and mentally to her missing months, leaving her feeling more like a ghost than ever, something that hadn’t been helped when Jane had dropped another bombshell on her. The facility, the Commander, hadn’t just been training her, they’d been changing her too. Experimenting with low doses of a super serum adjacent enhancement drug, drip feeding it to her to improve her reflexes and reaction time and boost her immune system. 

They’d tried to make her a more perfect product.

“You get lost in there, Doll?” Bucky called from the bedroom, their bedroom. 

It had been hers at first, a room with a wide window and a private bathroom, the remnants of her life boxed up around the edges. They’d given him a room too right next door but he’d taken one look at it and moved all his stuff straight in with hers. 

She hadn’t been able to find the words to tell him how much it meant to her, she’d been terrified that he’d pull back from her. He got his memories back so much easier than her, memories of a girl she still didn’t fully recognise. Hell - even as a Hydra operative she’d felt more like herself than she did now, she’d been confident and happy and quick to laugh, now… now she just felt hollow.

She’d become something foreign, a stranger to herself.

“Darcy?” He appeared at the door, finding her still staring into the mirror, a mess of clothing abandoned on the side and a grim expression on her face as she pulled at her sweatshirt.

“Sorry, couldn’t decide what to wear,” she forced herself to smile, picking up her glasses from the sink and slipping them on as she turned away from her reflection. They didn’t have lenses anymore, whatever they’d done to her had fixed her eyesight, like evil lasik, but she still wore the frames anyway,  “how long before we have to meet Wanda?”

“We still have a few hours,” he looped his arms around her, enveloping her in the scent of him, warm leather and tobacco and the cologne he used. He smelt like Bucky, but his arms still felt like Sol - clutching her tight against his chest like he could hold them both together with his strength alone.

“True or false,” she said into his neck, holding tight to his waist as she let herself lean into him, “the first time we met was in Conference room B at the base, but it was also in your bedroom… at the Tower. I’d seen you before but that was the first time we actually, y’know, talked.”

“True,” Bucky confirmed, pressing a kiss into her hair, “I thought you were an assistant at first, couldn’t figure out why everyone was ignoring you. You brought me down to the labs and made me tell Jane you were still there.”

“She didn’t believe you?” Darcy asked questioningly as she followed the train of thought, the memories stinging like angry jellyfish as they wobbled into place, “I had to tell a story about… about… oh. Space Chlamydia - that’s what that agent said…”

“Not something I could forget,” he said with a huff of a laugh. 

“I did.”

That was the reason they kept playing this game, filling in the gaps in their memory with the stories they remembered, well - her memory mostly. Bucky had previous experience, becoming her guide in the mine-field of her own memories. 

He showed her how to get what she could from the stuff she left behind, and how to write down all the things she remembered even if they didn’t make sense. Comparing the disparate timelines she came up with and cross referencing them with the physical evidence in the hopes she could tell the real from the fake. 

They had been gone for just over six months, half a year, nothing really in the grander scheme of a life, and yet it had changed everything. Svetlana hadn’t left a single part of her mind untouched, twisting all her memories until they were about her or they were blocked off entirely. The Commander had made herself Darcy’s best friend, her family, her ultimate authority. She was the person she trusted more than anyone, a figure of love and devotion.

And the sickest part, the real gut punching horror of it, was that sometimes… sometimes she still missed her. The monster who’d stolen her life. The spectre of her lurked in every shadow with her chagrined smile and forgiving eyes, ready to snatch it all away again.

“Hey, they made you forget,” Bucky reminded her, catching her face between his hands and making her look at him when she threatened to spiral again, “they made both of us.”

He drew her back into her body even as she shuddered at her own memory. Still sick with guilt over the fact she couldn’t spend more than thirty minutes in the lab with Jane at a time without having to leave, it was too difficult - as soon as she let her mind wander she’d slip back into Hydra mode, looking to Jane as her commander. A role she’d never had and never wanted.

It wasn’t fair, not to any of them. Everything was wrong and fuzzy and faded, and sometimes she just wanted to curl up in herself and fade with it, to disappear into the darkness until everyone else had forgotten her entirely. If it wasn’t for Bucky she might have done just that.

He reminded her it was okay to present, that there were things worth sticking around for.

“Hmm,” she murmured, pressing her hands over his and taking a deep breath as she grounded herself with his touch, “and yet even when I forgot you, I knew you.”

“Some things they can’t kill, some things always break through,” he whispered, closing the gap between them and kissing her. His mouth was warm and perfectly familiar as it slanted over hers, certain in all the uncertainty.

“We’re like a pair of sexy goldfish,” she half-joked against his lips, “forgetting everything but each other.”

“Exactly,” he said and she could feel his smile, there were still so many frozen places inside of her but he thawed them out a little more every day. 

“I could never do anything to deserve you, goldfish boy,” she told him honestly, sinking her hands into the hair at the nape of his neck as she dropped her head against his shoulder.

The things she had been through paled in comparision to his experience, she’d been brainwashed with pretty words and mildly uncomfortable picture shows - treated like a prized pet by their masters. He’d been caged up, beaten and drugged and abused. They put him through the machine, used him up and locked up in a cell when he was done being useful.

She’d slept on cotton sheets in a private suite.

She had no right to the overwhelming amount of angst threatening to crush her and she knew it.

“False,” Bucky said with a chuckle that made her heart flutter even now, “Anyway, it’s supposed to be my turn. True or false, the first time you let me kiss you was on the floor of the medlab.”

“I would have let you kiss me about a thousand times before then,” she said wistfully, pulling back to look at him as she wished she was back there again, “but technically true. Although our first kiss was also… it was in the van? On the way to the mission?”

There was a symmetry in it she’d never noticed before. Both times she’d felt like she was breaking, like a dam had burst loose in her chest and no matter how hard she tried she’d never get the feelings back in. Not that she wanted too. She savored the memories, both of them.

Whether he was Bucky or Sol didn’t matter when he kissed her like that.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he admitted with a rough exhale, a look of contrition passing over his features as he pressed his forehead against hers, “but even with the orders in my head I couldn’t keep away from you. I needed you too much.” 

“I didn’t want you to keep away,” she promised, tugging at his hair until he bent his head, letting her kiss him again, “I don’t ever want you to keep away.”

“Good,” he murmured against her lips, “because there’s no getting rid of me now, zhizn’ moya.”

“Good,” she laughed, letting the warmth of it sink into her, making her feel almost normal again. For a moment at least, before reality returned and brought with it the one question she hadn’t asked yet - no matter how many rounds they’d played.

It sat like a lump in her throat, threatening to choke her whenever she began to feel like she was making progress. Whenever she started to feel like herself again. 

“Come on, let’s get something to eat before our memory magic session,” she sighed, grabbing his hand and pulling him along in her wake, “one should never get mind-fucked on an empty stomach. 

—-

Bucky watched her from the corner of his eye as she set the table with a reheated pizza still in its box and paper plates - not that he was complaining. He’d take anything over his rations, dog food probably tasted better.

“You want a soda, doll?” He asked as he opened the shared refrigerator, suddenly very much in a different time. It had been months but it felt like moments as he scanned the brightly colored cans in the fridge. It was just like the fridge in his apartment at the tower, the labels rainbow and strange and comforting.

“I’m not supposed to drink refined sugar on a…” she started, the words coming out on autopilot before she seemed to realize what she was saying, “y’know what, yeah - I would love a soda, thanks babe.”

That was Comrade Karstova in her head even now, the lessons worked into her so deep she didn’t know she was still following them half of the time. Still, even back then she’d broken the rules for him - bringing him things they weren’t allowed as they trained. 

She had treated him like a man even when everyone and everything around her told her he was a weapon. A thing. For all she said, he was the one who could never deserve her, although he sure as hell was going to keep trying.

“Blue?” He asked, holding the can up, its rainbow logo bright in the dim gray light of the afternoon. 

The corner of her mouth flickered up, gaze distant as if she was remembering the time before too as she nodded, “blue.”

Plunking it down in front of her he claimed the seat next to her at the table, his leg pressed to hers and his arm resting behind her on the back of her chair as he watched her pick at her food.

There was something eating at her, something she hadn’t told him. It was like looking into a mirror sometimes, so much of his own pain reflected back at him - the crushing guilt he’d felt before he met her evident in her eyes every time she went into autopilot. 

He also knew until she was ready to voice it herself there was fuck all he could do but be there for her. She was getting close he knew, the words coming closer and closer to the surface every time she bit her lip. That’s why he tried to keep cool when she spoke again, to remain open and casual even as his heart threatened to beat right out of him and onto the table. 

“So…” she said as she tore pieces off her crust, her eyes fixed on her hands, “my turn right?”

“Yup,” he agreed, breath coming hard in his throat as he nodded, “if you want to. It’s up to you, sweetheart.”

“Mmhmm,” she agreed, the pieces getting smaller and smaller until she was breaking crumbs apart as something flickered in her eyes, “true or false… I… I killed people during the mission.”

All the air left him in a rush, whooshing out of his lungs as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

“False, Darcy, completely false,” he promised, it had come close but her hands were still clean, there was still that, “there were no fatalities, there were some casualties from the fall out of the explosion but that was it. Steve and the others cleared the building before we blew it up.”

“I nearly killed though,” she said, still unable to look at him as her eyes shone with unshed tears, “l shot Steve.”

“It was a non-fatal shot, Darcy, it wouldn’t have taken him out even if he wasn’t, well, him - besides,” he shook his head with a chagrined huff, “we’ve all shot Steve, he bounces back fast.”

“I would have blown up that building,” she said, looking up at last with a desperation he couldn’t stomach, “I would have killed all those people, I wanted to.”

“They made you do that, you were following your orders, Darcy,” he squeezed her shoulder, drawing her closer as he captured her chin between his fingers, making her see the truth in his eyes, “just like I was. We didn’t have a choice.”

“It’s different, B,” she whispered, breaking away from his touch with a shiver. She pulled back in her seat, any pretense at eating gone as she wrapped her arms around herself like she was trying to hold herself together, “they… they tortured you. They took your memories, your life, they beat you and broke you and I… I didn’t go through any of that. I was still me .”

His heart broke inside him, heat burning high in his throat and prickling the back of his eyes as he shook his head, “Darcy, no-”

“Yes. The memories were different but I wasn’t, I believed what they told me, I agreed with it, I wanted… I wanted to help them. Part of me feels like it still does.” She took a deep shuddering breath, staring at him with such despair he couldn’t breathe as she murmured, “it took them decades to break you, B, and even then they could only keep you under control with machines and manacles and literal torture. Me… all they had to do was pat my head and I rolled over and begged to help them.”

“Yeah, sounds about right.”

Bucky’s eyes shot up as the unfamiliar voice interrupted them, his chest still aching like he’d been shot himself as they both turned towards the interloper. A worn looking man in a dark purple t-shirt slunk into the kitchen. Clint Barton, his memory supplied as it mentally pulled up his file, Avenger, Steve’s friend. 

After everything that had happened Bucky had made it his first priority to find and read every file on every person they would be sharing space with from Avengers to agents to the guy who did the goddamn gardening. He’d dug through every bit of information available when Darcy was asleep, memorizing every line of it in an effort to keep history from repeating itself. 

“What? If you guys want a private conversation then don’t have it in the kitchen,” the man shrugged, kicking out a seat on the opposite side of the table and sitting down. He nodded to them as he made himself comfortable, “Darcy, Darcy’s scary boyfriend. So, for me -  when Loki took over my mind, it was like…” he tilted his head up to the ceiling as he considered his words, “like he’d found all the good things about me, the things I prided myself on, hard work, loyalty, willingness to do anything for what I believe in, and twisted them to serve his cause.”

“That was different,” Darcy said, voice tight with unshed tears, Bucky’s hands clenching with the urge to reach for her again even as she kept her distance from him, “it was the stone controlling you, no magic here.”

She tapped her head with a pale imitation of a smile.

“Not really. The things I did, and they were pretty terrible things lemme tell you, they were all me - All he had to do was convince me I was doing them for the greater good, for his good. And I believed him. I wanted to do them.” Clint shrugged, reaching forward and snagging a lukewarm slice of pizza from the box, “S’probably the same for Erik too, he thought he was doing magnificent science that would change the world for the better. Huh.”

Clint chewed in silence for a moment, Darcy looking at him uncertainly, her knuckles still clenched white as she regarded him.

“How’dya get past it?” Bucky asked in to the quiet, his voice rough and his gaze still lingering on his girl through every word. 

He wasn’t a proud man where Darcy’s happiness was concerned, if Clint could help her in a way he couldn’t he’d get down on his knees and beg him too. Same with Wanda. Same with anyone. He just wanted her to feel okay again, to realize that all the things she’d judged herself for were the things he loved her for.

Her kindness, her strength, her willingness to do whatever it took for the people she loved. Hydra might have twisted it but they could never change it. That was all Darcy.

“Honestly, wasn’t sure I would for a while there,” Clint said, snagging Darcy’s untouched soda and cracking the top, “sometimes I’d wake up and my first thought would still be to further that mission, to help Loki’s cause, ate me up for a while. But well - I got good friends. I just had to let them help me. Speaking of - Nat - I can hear you lurking in the hallway-” he raised his voice, turning his head to yell at the doorway, “C’mere we’re swapping brainwashing stories.”

Natasha appeared seconds later, shaking her head with a snort and a mumble about super-sonic hearing aids as Clint kicked out the chair next to him for her to sit in.

“I wasn’t brainwashed,” she said firmly as she sat, “I was indoctrinated from a young age.”

“Y’really gonna split hairs?”

“Nat… you’re Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow -” Darcy’s eyes widened, reminding him of her reaction at the seance they’d gone to a hundred years before. She’d been so starstruck then, in awe of her favorite Avenger even as he’d brooded jealously over her attention, “I… I stabbed you. I stabbed the Black Widow. Oh my god I’m so sorry.”

—-

Darcy was babbling, a sure sign of a freak out as she stared into the perfect, poised face of Natasha Romanoff. The woman she’d stabbed. 

It was too much to believe, she’d finally met the Black Widow, like properly face to face met her, her very favorite Avenger of all time ever, and she’d… she’d fricking knifed her. 

What a goddamn mess.

Was this her life now? Regaining her memories only to find she’d messed them up with extreme violence and goddamn mass-murder-y tendencies. Was it really who she was?

“Darcy stabbed you?” Clint asked Natasha, not helping matters in the slightest as his eyebrows shot up towards his hairline, leaving Darcy cringing in her seat at the shock on his face, “first she tased Thor, now you.”

“She shot Steve as well,” Natasha grinned, looking almost proud as she twinkled at Darcy.

“Please don’t remind me,” Darcy looked down at the table, shame washing through her. She still hadn’t been able to properly meet his eye since.

“Hey the first time I met Clint I put a knife through his shoulder, and the first time your boyfriend over there met me he put a bullet through my side,” Natasha shrugged airily, “it’s really not a big deal.”

“I still have the scar,” Clint added with a grin, “I get it out at parties.”

“He does, it’s tragic,” Natasha shook her head with a badly repressed smile, “anyway, who taught you that move, the distract and twist? It was textbook old widow training, caught me completely off guard.”

“I - uh-” Darcy didn’t know what to say, floundering helplessly as she found herself caught in the smirking Widow’s web. She sounded so impressed, like it was a badge of honor instead of a terrible fuck up Darcy had made. Natasha should hate her, or at the least be kinda miffed about the whole - y’know - stabby stab thing, instead she was practically glowing, “ Marla,” Darcy managed after a moment’s inelegant gaping, “that is Comrade Karastova, she worked at the base.”

The months of training replayed behind her eyes, making it strange even now to think of Marla as bad, as evil, she hadn’t always been an easy mentor but she had been a good one. 

She’d taught Darcy so much, how to attack and move and defend herself - even against the Black frickin’ Widow. Knowing she’d done it all for such a shitty cause made Darcy’s stomach twist, grateful she hadn’t eaten anything after all as bile crept up the back of her throat.

It was like her friends in the canteen, they’d seemed like good people. Hard working, weary, normal people. Had they all been brainwashed or did they really think… did they truly believe they were in the right?

It was a kind of horror she’d never had to face before, her life before Hydra had always been divided firmly into good and bad -  now everything was weird and shitty and gray.

“Really?” Natasha Romanoff asked, kicking her chair back onto two legs as she shook her head, “Marla Karstova? I didn’t know she was still alive. No wonder you fight so well.”

Shock wasn’t even the word, Darcy’s eyes widening as she looked up with a start, “you know her?”

Marla was a then, the only string tying her to the present was Darcy and Bucky - or so she thought. Knowing that Natasha knew her too… it felt different somehow. 

“She did some training at the Red Room before it was dismantled,” Natasha nodded with an easy grin, “after that she disappeared. Last rumor I heard she was cage fighting in St Petersburg.”

“Moscow,” Darcy corrected her automatically, her former mentor’s history rising the top of her thoughts even as she tried to shake her head clear, “at least… that’s what she said.”

“Yes that was it! Moscow - God, she used to do this thing - She’d come in hungover twice a week at least with this hideous concoction, raw eggs, tomato juice, vodka, honey and,” Natasha snapped her fingers, mouth pursing as she seemed to search for the end of her sentence.

“Black pepper?” Darcy offered, feeling the wash of heat in her cheeks only getting worse at the hesitant offering.

“Yes! Black pepper!” Natasha pulled a face, “She let me try it once - I nearly barfed.”

“It did smell pretty gross,” Darcy admitted, still unsure of exactly where she was or what was going on as Natasha laughed. 

“Still, good to know some things never change,” Natasha chuckled easily, before her eyes brightened, pinning Darcy in place like a bug in a frame, “But hey -  if you ever need a sparring partner you let me know, I’d love to train with you.”

“You want to train… with me?” Darcy said, feeling like nothing so much as a stunned mullet as the Black Widow herself continued to twinkle at her, a conspiratorial smile on her face like they’d been besties for life. 

It was wonderful and strange and made her head hurt even more as she tried to make sense of it.

“Of course,” Natasha replied, shooting a teasing look at Clint as she added, “I am dying for a gym buddy who isn’t afraid of cardio, besides, I’m sure I’ve got some techniques you’d love.”

Darcy didn’t know what to say, which had to be a first for her. Her tongue tangled helplessly behind her teeth as she tried to figure out how she felt about the offer.

Spending time with the Natasha Romanoff, actually learning and training with her - it was like something for a dream wasn’t it? Especially with her brain still itching at the loss of the constant instructions she’d grown so used too. But did that mean it would be a step backwards or forwards? By continuing to hone her abilities was she playing into the Commander's wishes or her own?

Did it even matter? 

“I… yeah, sure?” Darcy said at last, making herself nod as she pushed the thoughts away from her, trying to say what felt right instead of what she’d run through seventeen filters, “that would be great.”

She wanted to learn what Natasha was offering, whether it was part of the plan or not - it was enough for her, for now. 

“That’s the spirit, I’m in the training room from six thirty to eight thirty most mornings, come find me,” Natasha grinned, pushing her chair further back from the table, “we’ll do breakfast after.”

Her certainty was so appealing, something so perfectly steady about her that Darcy couldn’t help but gravitate towards her as she nodded, “okay, yeah. You’re on.”

“Awesome,” rising from her seat, Natasha grabbed Clint’s slice of pizza, taking a bite from it as she turned away, “get my number from this guy - oh! I promised Jane I’d organize a girls night too when you were back, I’ll rope in Wanda and make a thing of it. All booze, no boys - I promise. Talk soon, Darcy!”

With that she was gone.

“Woah,” Darcy heard herself say, still caught in the wake of Natasha’s exit as she looked down the hallway after her.

Natasha Romanoff wanted to train with her, spend time with her. Her. It was absolutely insane. Almost as insane as her getting on first name terms with Jane in the interim, her genius bestie had been making friends without her and she felt so weirdly… proud?

“See, kid,” Clint said, leaning forward and pulling her attention back to the table as he tilted his head at her, “we’ve all been on the wrong side of history. You, Me, Nat, him,” he nodded his head at Bucky with a lopsided smile, “Wanda signed up to work for Hydra before she joined the good fight, and I mean - hell - Tony was selling bombs to bad guys years before he ever made the suit, and Steve was running missions for Shield-Hydra before anyone knew that was a thing.”

“So what, we get a discount on group therapy around here?” She joked weakly in response, “maybe get jackets too?”

“Maybe,” Clint said with a huff of laughter and a shake of his head, “maybe, now that you’re back on the right side, it’s time to decide what to do with what you’ve got.”

“What do you mean?” Darcy asked, suddenly feeling very much like she was at the pointy end of an emotional intervention. Only instead of a heart to heart about a drug addiction or a hoarding problem, it was her super powers and problematic recent past. 

“I mean you’ve been given an incredible gift,” Clint shrugged, regarding his pizza crust with deep concentration before turning his gaze to her, “an accidental one sure, and one they tried to use for ill, but a gift nonetheless. You wanna forget about it and go back to your old life, that’s completely understandable,” he nodded seriously, “but you got choices now. If you really want to get back at them - really want to rebalance the books? Think about using it for good, I think I know some people who wouldn’t mind a girl with your talents on the team.”

The check engine light in Darcy’s brain was flashing wildly as she tried to make sense of what he’d just said, running it back and forth through her mind for what felt like ice ages before she finally managed to convince her mouth to move. 

“You want me…” she said slowly, swimming through molasses as she tried to get to the point of his little speech, “to work with… the Avengers?”

Even saying it aloud felt ludicrous, sure she had been dosed on the Diet Coke of Super Soldier Serum - all the same great flavor with just one calorie worth of the strength and stamina, and yeah - there was the invisibility thing, but she was still a massive liability.

She was a former intern with a streak of bad luck and a ticking time bomb courtesy of Hydra in her head. What about that said ‘Avenger’ to anyone?

“Well there’s a thought,” Clint grinned, “maybe you could bring your Scary Boyfriend, we could really fill out the new roster.”

Her eyes felt about ready to pop out of her head, looking from him to Bucky and back again stupidly.

“Just something to think about,” Clint shrugged when she didn’t reply, her mouth still stuck on empty as he kicked out of his chair and turned away, “see you kids around.”

Just like that he was gone, disappearing as quickly as he’d arrived and leaving only his words in his wake. 

Chapter Text

“This is nice,” Darcy murmured against her boyfriend’s chest, perfectly content in the little bubble she’d found herself in.

There was no place in the world she’d rather be than in Bucky’s arms in their bed in their room during the hours closest to midnight, the tv playing their favorite channel as they left their responsibilities in the daylight.  

“You’re nice,” he grumbled back sleepily, notching his arms tighter around her.

She could feel his heartbeat steady against her cheek, the best remedy she’d found for the nightmares that still occasionally plagued her. Stupid dreams where someone would say something random to her in the most innocuous setting and she’d lose it and go on a murder rampage with whatever she was holding at the time. One time it had been a fork. Another time a small mountain goat. 

Four weeks had passed, four weeks of losing and finding herself over and over again as she sorted out the facts and fictions of her own life with the help of a bunch of board certified superheroes and super geniuses and the best man she’d ever met. People who were willing to take time out from saving the literal world just to help her through it, good people. People who for some mad reason thought she might one day be one of them…

“So, I’m thinking…” she started softly as the obnoxiously bearded men on the TV got into a familiar argument about the pricing of a guitar supposedly once played by a member of the Beatles.

“That Chet’s gonna overpay again? No shit, doll, the guys an idiot,” Bucky snorted, shaking his head at the unfolding drama as the price counter pinged up and down.

God she loved him. Her heart swelling up like a balloon and threatening to pop as she slanted her gaze up to him. He looked so relaxed, the corner of his mouth hitched up in a lazy half-smile as he lounged back against the cushions of their bed. 

He looked truly comfortable and secure in his surroundings, the harrowed, darting expression she associated with the Soldier wiped clean as he watched the phony drama play out on screen.

He looked like home to her. 

He also hadn’t come close to what she was actually going to say. 

“Not that,” she chuckled, running her fingers absently over the smooth metal lines of her collar. The twin strands of silver still sitting as close to her skin as the day she’d been welded into it, “although yeah, for sure, he’s high if he thinks he’s getting over two grand for that thing. But - no - I was actually thinking… thinking about what Clint said, before, about doing something with, y’know, my abilities.”

It was a gremlin of a thought, one she had been doing her best not to feed after midnight as it prodded at her. It poked about in the back of her head when she was training with Natasha or digging through her old social media accounts, or even when Jane was checking up on her during her ever so frequent med exams.

It trilled it’s little gremlin song, deceptively fuzzy even as it dug its sharp little claws into her, telling her that maybe she should find out what they saw in her that she didn’t. Maybe if she focused on moving forward, on what she could do with what she had instead of what might be done to her, she might finally get some peace from the nightmares.

She was different now.

The thought of it had terrified her at first, it was every shirt that didn’t fit right, every time she entered a room with her eyes on a swivel, every joke she missed and panic attack she fought down in the lab. But it was also her reality and she was getting used to it.

She was more observant than she used to be and that was okay. She was stronger and that was okay too. She was different…

She was different and maybe that could be okay as well. Eventually, at least. 

The collar was the last hurdle, the physical manifestation of all her insecurity. A metal safety blanket she clung to even now, if she had the collar she didn’t have to worry about being fully in control - she could be stopped. It didn’t matter that Wanda couldn’t fully remove her code when Jane or Steve or Bucky had the remote to switch her phasing on and off in case Svetlana ever did appear again - not that anyone had seen hide or hair of the woman since Zurich.

Maybe she was dead - an accident, or a rival Hydra agent taking her out, or… or maybe she had just decided to give up her evil ways and moved to the mountains to herd sheep. She could have given up on Darcy and moved on with her life for good.

Or maybe, as much as Darcy hated to think about it, she’d just gone to ground while the heat died down and would pop up when Darcy least expected it. She’d spent years undercover at Stark Tower after all, it was clear she didn’t mind waiting to enact her evil plans.

Still, whatever had become of her didn’t change the fact that the collar was a crutch Darcy couldn’t keep relying on, not forever, sooner or later she’d have to start trusting herself again - especially if she wanted to take Clint up on his offer. Which… Which maybe she did? 

“You know you don’t have to do that, right?” Bucky said, straightening up as the TV went to commercial so he could look at her better with his ever so understanding eyes, “you’re allowed to leave it behind. You’re allowed a normal life.”

“So are you, B,” she pointed out softly, “but you’ve gone back to the Hydra Hunts.”

She knew why he’d gone back, even if he didn’t actively join in the missions he was helping Steve with everything they’d learned in the interim, anything to track down the Komandir and her kind. And now that Wanda had picked the trigger words from his head like rotten apples from a barrel… well, the opportunity was there again when he wanted it, which she figured by the way he talked would most likely be sooner rather than later. Bucky had never been one to sit on the sidelines when someone was in trouble after all, he was good people. Like the rest of them.

“That’s me, doll,” he carded his fingers through her hair, peering at her seriously in the flickering blue light of the screen, “and I’ve never been a particularly good role model.”

“You’re like the best role model,” she argued, “you’re my hero, B. But Clint was right about me, what he said about rebalancing the books…”

“Hey,” Bucky murmured, pulling her closer into him until they were sharing air, “whatever anyone says doesn’t change the fact you deserve the life you want, sweetheart, nothing less.”

God how she missed this at the base, the way they shared oxygen, so close she could count his eyelashes as he called her sweetheart and told her she mattered. She wanted to live in this moment, to fold under his words and magically become the girl she was before.

But she couldn’t, it didn’t work like that in reality. 

“What sort of life do you want?” She heard herself ask instead, distancing herself from his statement, no matter how sweet it had been, as she looked up at him from under her lashes, “I mean, if you don’t mind sharing, obviously - I know it’s been a lot recently. I just-”

“You,” he cut her off firmly, tilting her chin up with two cool metal fingers and searching her eyes seriously, “I want a life with you, whatever way I can have it, one where we get to make our own decisions.”

“Is that all?” She asked breathlessly, a teasing edge to her voice as his words warmed her up like bread in a toaster. Ready to pop even now as he swept away her insecurities with a brush of his fingers and a quirk of his lips. 

“It’s everything,” he told her with a pursed smile, “but sure, I want to spend time catching up with Steve, too, getting used to this century. I want to make up for the shit I did even if I wasn’t fully me when I did it, make amends, get a life. And - I dunno - maybe finally get to a place where I’m stable enough to keep a houseplant alive one day. Maybe a cat.”

She smiled as he shrugged, reaching up and stroking her thumb along his jawline as she considered him, “y’know, you would make an amazing cat dad.”

“What about you?” He asked, tilting his head. 

“Sure, I’d love a cat.”

“Darcy,” he gave her an old fashioned look that had another laugh bubbling up inside her, easy and free even as the weight of his question caught at her.

What did she want?

“I want this,” she said truthfully, leaning her head against his shoulder,  “I want you, I want us . I want to keep learning what Nat’s teaching me, and having stupid pop culture nights with you and Steve, I want to double date with Jane and Thor and take ridiculous photos of it all to save in an album somewhere. But…”

“But?” He prompted gently when she trailed off.

“But I don’t think I can go back to the lab,” she admitted guiltily, the weight of the words catching her as she finally voiced them aloud, “I don’t think I can work for Jane like I used to.”

She’d tried, really she had, but it was too… different, Jane just didn’t need her like she used to. Darcy didn’t blame her, she’d been out of commission for most of the previous year after all, first by being a ghost, then by recovering from being a ghost, then - just when things were going back to normal - she’d been abducted by an evil scientist and now, months and months later, Jane had adapted. She’d moved forward.

Darcy was proud and a little sad at the same time, a bittersweet feeling that was muddied further by her own reaction to the lab these days. She still sometimes found herself caught in her fake memories, it didn’t matter that she knew they were fake, they felt real. Svetlana had taken so much from her, and changed so much more, the lab… it wasn’t home the way it used to be. 

“You don’t have to,” Bucky comforted her easily, his large hand stroking her arm, “you have all kinds of options.”

“I know,” she sighed, “and I’ve thought about them. About traveling more, getting my PHD even, but all I can really think about is… is stopping them. Hydra I mean. I want to make sure they can’t do this to anyone else. Not ever. I...”

She took a deep breath, the thoughts she’d been turning over in her head finally finding their way into her throat as Bucky nodded encouragingly and murmured, “go on, sweetheart.”

“Okay so it… it’s like… when all this first happened to me - the powers thing I mean - all I wanted was to control it so I could be normal again,” she said, pressing her hand to her chest as if she could keep the mess inside her from spilling out with physical force alone, the ache of it cutting through her even now, “but for better or worse Svetla-  Hydra showed me differently. I’m not normal, I’ll never be normal. This… ability, this gift, I think I have to use it. Not for their idea of good - but my own . I want to do it on my own terms, B, I want to… I want to change things.”

“If it’s what you want, what you truly want, then you know I’ll stand by you,” Bucky said, entirely genuine as he brushed a lock of hair from her face, “I mean… you saved me after all, Darcy Lewis, I don’t see why you shouldn’t save the world too.”

“Wanna come along?” She asked hesitantly even as she leant into his touch, “you don’t have too, I’d never want to pressure you into it if you didn’t want to but I thought maybe since you’re already-”

“Doll,” he chuckled, cutting her off again with a look of such devotion it made her heart stop, drop and roll in her chest, “nothin’ could stop me. I told you already, I want to make things right - I can’t think of any way I’d rather do it than next to you. Whatever happens next, we face it together, you got that?”

“I got that,” she nodded, reaching up and kissing him, only to startle back as someone knocked firmly on the door.

“I know you’re awake, I can hear the tv,” a loud voice called through the wood, “and you two.. y’know talking or whatever.”

“Damn-“ Darcy swore, checking the time and finding it past midnight as she rolled out of bed and threw one of Bucky’s hoodies on over her PJ’s even as Bucky strode shirtless to the door and unlocked it before he yanked it open, a sharp frown between his brows.

“It’s late,” he said, the air thickening as Darcy realized it was Stark hanging around in the hallway outside their door. 

She hadn’t really seen him since they’d gotten back but she knew Bucky had. They had… talked . Darcy wasn’t entirely sure of all the details but she remembered vividly the way Bucky had felt in her arms after, shaking and sobbing over all he’d done on someone else’s orders.

It had been tense and hideous and strangely… cathartic for him it seemed. Something in him had eased after, a weight she didn’t realize he’d been carrying. Even now, despite the tension crackling in the air, there was no real sense of danger, just regret and uncertainty until finally Stark shrugged. 

“Yeah well we’re all insomniacs here, Barnes,” he snorted, his eyes making a circuit of the room before landing on Darcy, “can I have a word with your girlfriend? It won’t take long.”

“It’s up to her,” Bucky shrugged, his jaw still held tight as he glanced back at her with a question in his eyes. Even now he made it clear she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to, bless him.

She licked her lips nervously as she looked between the two men before nodding.

“Sure,” Darcy said, zipping up her stolen hoodie as she added below her breath, “although I’m pretty sure you have your own girlfriend to bother.”

If Stark heard the quip he ignored it, shifting impatiently on his feet as she crossed the room, beckoning her out when she didn’t move fast enough.

Shaking her head, Darcy picked up the pace, squeezing Bucky's arm as she passed him on her way out into the hallway.  It felt like they could all do with some space.

“So, what can I do for you at this totally appropriate nighttime hour, Mister Stark?” She asked as she stepped into the artificially lit hall, following him automatically as he headed for the common area. 

“It’s morning technically,” he replied flippantly as he charged ahead, “here.”

He didn’t give her time to react, tossing a small black case back towards her without looking.

“What the-” She snatched it out of the air with reflexes  she definitely didn’t have the last time they spoke, trailing him into the common room with a frown.

 “Open it,” he shrugged, one hand wedged deep in his pocket as he cracked open the fridge with the other, peering into it like it held all the secrets of the world. 

She did as he asked, opening the case with a frown, “it’s a… watch?”

A nice watch, sure, a delicate rose gold and black thing with a little ghost emblazoned on its face and a couple of fancy sci-fi buttons on the side.

“It’s a portable power inhibitor, you can take it on and off unlike that thing,” he jerked his head at her neck where the collar still sat as he pulled a beer from the back of the fridge, “there’s a timed lock system too so you can trigger it if you think someone’s gonna mess with your head and it can only be undone by one of us, it’ll keep you from phasing out and following orders. How old are you again?”

“Uh… twenty five?” She offered, so taken aback by the sudden switch in conversation that she almost forgot her own age, “yeah, twenty five, twenty six in April.”

Shit, that wasn’t so far away now, it was already March which meant… damn, Bucky’s birthday was in less than a fortnight and she hadn’t even thought about it. She knew he’d forgive her given the circumstances but still, she loved birthdays and wanted to make up for the ones he’d missed.

“Happy future birthday,” Stark said, cracking the cap off the top of the bottle and handing it to her before pulling out another beer for himself.

“I… thanks?” she looked between the beer and the super shiny watch-inhibitor-thing he’d handed over like a menu at a cheap diner, “you didn’t have to do this - the watch I mean, well or the beer technically but the watch is more fancy.”

“Yeah, I did,” he looked away, pausing to take a long drink as he stared at the cabinets before continuing, “I owe you a - y’know - apology. After what happened… happened I should have helped more and I didn’t, I wanted your boyfriend to suffer and…” the muscle in his jaw clenched, eyes darting around everything but her as he ground the words out, “and I didn’t care if you got caught in the crossfire.”

“That’s pretty shitty, Tony,” she said honestly, taking a swig from her bottle before sighing, “but I understand. You’d just been forced to relive the worst moment of your life, to literally watch it happen and at the hands of someone you knew - I don’t think you’d be human if it didn’t fuck you up for a while.”

“It’s not good enough,” he snapped, meeting her gaze at last. For all his bravado and casual snark he was hurting and he couldn’t hide it, something deep and real and wounded in his gaze, “heroes aren’t supposed to think like that. They’re supposed to be better, the fact I hated him so much I gave up on you… it’s unforgivable.”

“Well I forgive you, anyway,” she shrugged, “everyone should be allowed to be fallible, especially heroes, otherwise you’re just robocops with better facial hair.”

“Huh,” he scoffed, picking at the label of his beer as his mouth twitched into an almost smile, “still, I’m sorry, kid. I’m sorry about your boytoy too, I know… I know it wasn’t his fault, it took Sabrina the Teenage Witch hexing some sense into me and a deep dive into the Hydra files to figure that out but I got there in the end. I’m just sorry you both ended up in the Borg cube in the interim.”

“Y’know,” she tilted her head consideringly, thinking about Svetlana and the way she controlled the base like a queen bee controlling a hive, they were all drones to her, working towards the same goal with absolutely no room in their heads for their own thoughts, “it really was a Borg cube. I went from Ghost to Star Trek in a year, go figure.”

“How’s that working out for you?” He hitched an eyebrow sarcastically and she almost laughed.

“Mostly fine,” she shot back, the late hour and beer loosening her tongue as she answered more truthfully than she expected herself too, “except for the authority thing. Before if someone told me to jump I’d tell them to go fuck themselves, now my brain is geared up to say ‘how high’ before I can even think if I want to or not,” she stared down at the neck of the bottle with a grimace, “really not a fan of that.”

“Lemme help,” he said, leaning forward seriously, “hey Darcy, jump.”

She hesitated, taking in a deep breath before meeting his gaze squarely, “go fuck yourself.”

“That’s the spirit,” he smiled, reaching out to clink his bottle against hers, “resistance is never futile.”

“Damn right,” she agreed sagely, downing another mouthful.

“Well good, now we’ve got that sorted,” he nodded, stepping away from her with a roll of his shoulders and a short laugh, “you better get back before your boy comes looking for you. The inhibitor instructions are in the box, stop by my workshop tomorrow if you want and I can take that thing off for you too.”

He gestured to her collar with the neck of his bottle, gaze glancing from it to her eyes to the door as he turned away.

“Gottit,” she nodded, stuffing the box into the pocket of her stolen hoodie as she accepted his dismissal easily, “thanks Chief, see ya tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, Seven of Nine.”

“I’m taking that as a step up from Casper,” she shot back, “night, Stark.”

“Whatever.”

Grabbing a second bottle from the fridge for Bucky, she mooched back towards their bedroom, the inhibitor a solid weight in her pocket as it thudded gently against her thigh with every step. It’s presence, and Tony’s words, felt like a sign that she was on the right path again. That it was time to start moving forward properly.

Tomorrow the collar would come off and a new chapter would begin. One where her mind would be her own and resistance really would never be futile again.

—-

Bucky hauled the last few plastic bags onto the sideboard, letting the normalacy of the afternoon wash over him as he set them down. They’d been out of the compound to the town a few miles down the road, there was a grocery service that delivered but he and Darcy had both agreed that a little bit of normal would do them a whole lot of good.

Every time they made it there and back again with no panic attacks, enemy attacks, or international incidents felt like a hell of a win to him.

It was late in the day, the sun warm with the first rays of spring as it came through the window. Darcy talking half to him, half to herself as she dug through the bags and started putting everything away, the sound soothing him as he took a second to lean against the side and just take stock of himself.

It felt blasphemous to admit it, even to himself, but his second go around with Hydra seemed to have healed something inside his head. After he’d gotten back the first time everything had been so messed up inside of him, three men trying to live in the same skin as he lurched from post-fall Soldier to pre-fall Bucky to whoever was left at the end of it. Now it was like he could see the lines more clearly.

He saw in himself the man he’d been before Hydra, but he could also acknowledge the elements of him that had always been the Soldier as well - long before he was taken. There had always been the capability for violence in him, the need to protect, to kill even for what he believed in. They hadn’t put that into him, they’d just burnt everything else away around it until it was all he was. 

Now he saw the bigger picture, he was all of it and he was none of it. His time at the Base had finally let him merge his disparate pieces into one admittedly still messed up whole. And, thanks to Wanda and her strange powers, he no longer had to worry about being filed down to just one element of himself again. He still did of course, because how could he not, but they’d tested it and… and the words no longer worked.

He was here. He was free. He was himself.

And he wouldn’t have had a second of it if it wasn’t for her. Darcy. His unwitting savior, from the moment she’d started haunting him his life had been turned upside down and backwards and he wouldn’t give up a second of it when it meant having her beside him.

“Babe you’re doing the staring thing,” she called over at him with a laugh, “do you really hate chocolate cake that much?”

“Cake?” He repeated like an absolute idiot, unable to keep from grinning as he reached over to put the cereal they’d bought up onto a shelf she could barely reach. Something had changed in her since her talk with Clint, and Stark, as if she was growing more confident in being herself again. 

He knew she’d never be the same as the girl he met but he could never love her less for it, on the contrary, his love for her seemed to grow at an alarming rate. One that had the old fashioned parts of him demanding he drop to one knee at inconvenient times even as the modern man he’d become hushed it up, he’d take her however he could get her, no rings required (unless she wanted one, of course, in which case he’d be at the jewelers in a heartbeat.)

“Yeah, for your birthday? The big 9-8? I know you said you didn’t want anything big, which, fair enough, but you never said anything about cake,” she laughed,  reaching up to poke the end of his nose with her fingertip, “why do we think we spent so long in the baking aisle?”

“I, uh,” he swallowed sheepishly as realised he’d spent that particular part of the trip with his neck on a swivel incase Hydra agents tried to jump from the shadows and snatch her away from him whilst she was looking at frosting. It did explain why she kept asking his opinion on the great ‘sprinkles vs chocolate shavings’ debate though, “I guess I didn’t notice.”

“It was the guy in the blue overcoat right?” She asked, her smile softening as she shook her head, “two sizes too big for him and-”

“The way he kept fidgeting with his pockets,” he finished for her with a sigh, “yeah, he uh, had the look.”

“For me it was between him and the blonde lady with the sunglasses on inside,” she admitted, bumping her hip against the counter as she abandoned the groceries entirely, “and the Bluetooth headset thing.”

It was a reminder that their idea of normal still wasn’t entirely, well, normal . They were still the creatures they had been made to be, but it hadn’t stopped them.

“Definitely suspicious, zizhn’ moya ,” he agreed, leaning down to kiss the top of her head as he shifted between the elements of himself, “what were you saying about cake?”

“I was saying I got the stuff to make regular cake or chocolate cake, depending on which you wanted,” she smiled, looping her thumbs through his belt loops and tilting her head back to look at him, “or I could make both.”

“Wouldn’t that be too much effort?”

“For you? Never,” she grinned, “also, I know you said you didn’t want a party, but is there anything you do want to do for your big day? ‘Nothing’ is a perfectly acceptable answer by the way, we can do as much or as little as you want.”

“We never got our trip to Coney Island,”  he said off the top of his head before cringing as he heard himself, “that is, if you think you’d be up for it? No pressure, doll, we got all the time in the world now.”

Fuck, he probably shouldn’t have said that. They hadn’t gone further than the local town and he was already pushing for more. He knew it wasn’t fair, not with the unknown weight of trigger words still pressing in on her and her memories of capture still so fresh.

“Y’know what, I kind of love that idea,” she said, cutting his thoughts dead as she tugged him closer, “I am fully over being locked up inside, even by myself. I think it’s time we start doing what we want to do, all of it, saving the world, having fun, looking at cat adoption pages on Craigslist.” 

“You sure?” He asked, it had been over a month since their return but was that enough? 

“If you are,” she said, “I never want to rush you, babe, but for me… I think I’m done sitting on the sidelines. I’ve got a life and I want to live it.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” he murmured, heart swelling as he ducked in and kissed her again.

“So - you want it to be just us on the trip to the city or do you want to invite the others along and make a day of it?” She asked when she got her breath back, grinning up at him like the first day of spring, “I know you have memories with Steve there, might be nice to revisit them, and y’know I could listen to you old guys reminisce for days.”

“You’d be okay with that?” His brain whirred, anticipation sparking in his chest even as he acknowledged the logical benefit of a bigger group. If someone did come for Darcy the more Avengers he had on hand the better, “maybe Steve, Jane and Thor, I don’t mind - whoever wants to come really.”

He owed Wanda a debt, and Darcy was convinced the witch was in love with the strange sentient Android Vision so he should invite him too. And Natasha was a friend of Darcy’s now, and Sam… Clint too. 

It seemed that even whilst recovering from her captivity and with only half her mind to herself at any given time she’d still managed to befriend the entire compound and somehow wind him up in it too. She was the best sort of mystery to him, one he knew in his bones he’d never solve and never want to.

“I could get a hell of a photo album out of it,” Darcy grinned, holding her hands up like she framing a shot, “of course that’s so long as you still promise to ride the ferris wheel with me and kiss me at the top. It’s good luck, y’know.”

“I think I can arrange that,” he chuckled, brushing a lock of hair from her face and kissing her forehead, “god knows we could do with some good luck.”

She leant into his touch, a happy little sigh escaping her lips, "hey, we could win the lottery next week for all you know, stranger things have happened.”

He intertwined their fingers, his grip steady and warm. "Life's full of surprises, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she said softly, gazing up at him. "And you, Bucky Barnes, are my favorite surprise."

“Even after everything?” He asked, a flicker of uncertainty pulling at him as he met her eyes. Willingly or not he’d exposed her to so much horror, so much darkness he never wanted her to go through again.

“Especially after everything,” she said seriously as she lifted up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his in a feather-light kiss, “I love you, Bucky Barnes. In every way and every form.” 

His arms wound around her waist, holding her steady as he leant in and whispered against her mouth, “I love you too, Darcy Lewis, y’the best thing that's ever happened to me, in any lifetime.”

They’d been through so much already, life and death and the numbing pain of forgetting. They’d fallen in love twice at least and he knew he’d fall a thousand more times in a thousand more lives if he got the chance. 

The future wasn’t perfect, not with Hydra still out there and so much uncertainty in the air, but for the first time in a long time it felt like he had a place in it anyway. She was the happy ending he never thought he’d deserve and would never give up on.

“You two,” Steve strode into the kitchen, a tension in his shoulders and a straightness to his spine that made him all Captain America even without the uniform as he nodded to them, “we’ve got a new lead. Hydra.”

“The Commander?” Darcy asked, her head jerking up so fast she almost headbutted his chin. 

“Not yet, but hopefully one snake will lead to another,” Steve shook his head, gaze darting to Bucky with a grim look as he added, “this time we’re going after Rumlow. Pack up, we’re heading for Lagos.”

“Looks like Coney Island might have to wait,” Darcy said quietly, squeezing his hand.

“It’s okay,” he sighed, kissing her hair, “we’ve got time.”

THE END

…?

The Cafè was anonymous, an overpriced little thing lost somewhere between the place du Concorde and the statue of Jeanna D’arc on the Rue de Rivoli in Paris. The throngs of people passing by the wrought iron tables providing an ever changing bounty of people watching if the occupant was so inclined.

The woman on the table closest to the wall was not. Her gaze was fixed firmly, and for all outward indication, placidly on the tablet computer infront of her. The patrons around her had no idea her face was at the top of interpol’s most wanted list, why would they? It wasn’t even her face any more. Her hair was freshly dyed a natural chestnut brown and styled long with extensions, her lips and cheeks plump and pink with filler and make up and the eyes behind her sunglasses a shade of blue that had never been her own. 

Toying with the half-drunk espresso at her elbow, the woman flicked leisurely through the news articles on the device. 

The Avengers and their mission in Lagos. The disaster that had only just been averted, leaving a few too many people shaken that it had nearly happened at all. The Captain with his grim face, the Widow ducking her head from the camera and in the background… them. 

Persephone and the Soldier.

Svetlana tightened her hand around the tablet, knuckles whitening even as her expression remained serene and her shoulders relaxed.

Let them have their fun, it wouldn’t be long until she got her creation back. And this time she had no intention of letting them go.

“Ah, Mme Harrison,” a smooth voice interrupted her, a man sliding into the seat next to her as he addressed her with a name she hadn’t used in weeks, “I was hoping to find you here.”

She regarded the stranger leisurely, her weapons within reach as she took in the fur collar on his expensive coat (real) and the sharp smile on his face (fake.)

“Really?” Was all she offered in return, making a show of eyeing him from his neatly combed hair to his impeccably fitted leather gloves. He was understated but no less impressive, to have found her like he had was no mean feat. Whether it meant he was friend or foe however remained to be seen.

“I believe you were in possession of something I was hoping to acquire,” he offered with a slightly uneven smile, “a certain red book pertaining to a young man of… a cold and militaristic nature. Rather like this weather.”

He tilted his head at the frost still clinging to the windows in the morning light, winter holding fast even as March rolled towards April.

“You want control of the Soldier,” she said, intrigued by his blunt yet charming approach, his knowledge impressing her further as she sized him up again, “but I am afraid I am no longer in possession of these things.”

“But you wish to be again, I think,” he offered, signalling the waiter to bring him an espresso of his own when he approached, “or of something… similarly lost?”

Her chest tightened, the loss of Persephone cutting at her still as she swallowed. He wasn’t police, that was clear, or some off-shoot of the Avengers. His bearing said Hydra, his knowledge too. With so many of her bridges burned and her bases blown perhaps fate was offering her a new chance at success…

“I have little interest in him,” she admitted cooly, risking a little more than she was comfortable with as she leant forward, “but you are not wrong, there is something of more value to me that was taken at the same time. Perhaps we may be of use to each other, Monsieur…?”

“Forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself,” he laughed, stretching out a hand towards her, “Zemo, Helmut Zemo.”