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Darcy’s actually been kind of expecting this.
She hangs out with the Avengers, for Christ’s sake. It’s a pretty dangerous gig just being the barista who gets them coffee every morning, if there was a barista and they didn’t all make their coffee in the Tower like a bunch of weird coffee-possessive losers. Except for Buchanan, who still does Starbucks with her.
The point is, their vicinity is not the safest place to be all the time. So when two guys lunge out of an alley and slap a sickly sweet smelling rag over her face when she’s on the way back from Forbidden Planet (Buchanan’s got a new action figure out and she really wants it, okay?) the last two thoughts she has before she blacks out are “finally” and “that’s not unhealthy at all”.
When Darcy wakes up, she’s pretty groggy. Everything around her is dark and it’s still spinning. She creaks her eyes open and waits for her eyes to adjust.
The two thugs who bagged her are standing with some well dressed youngish prick (she doesn’t actually know the guy but considering he’s probably the one who had her kidnapped she feels well within her rights to call him a prick) who’s surveying her wallet. It looks like she’s in a dark room that wasn’t actually meant to hide kidnapped young women. She’s fully aware that most rooms aren’t, but the guy looks rich, for all she knows all the rooms in his house are meant to hide kidnapped young women. But there’s a small window in the room so she’s going to guess this isn’t actually supposed to be for her. It looks like it’s snowing outside. She files that away for later.
The well dressed youngish prick looks down at Darcy from where she’s lying on the slightly dirty floor. They didn’t bind her hands or gag her. She feels a little insulted.
“You,” he says irritably. “Are not Jane Foster.”
Darcy blinks. Out of all the things she thought he might say, that was not on the list.
“That is true,” she answers slowly.
The Prick looks at his two goons. “You idiots,” he says contemptuously. “I specifically wanted Dr. Jane Foster. Not a lackey.”
Lackey. Wow.
He returns his attention to her. “Are you anyone the Avengers might find valuable to them?”
If she answers yes, they’re probably going to ransom her. If she says no, they’re probably going to kill her. Ransom > murder.
“You bet.”
“Hm. Useful for something.”
“Unlike your dick. Whaaaaaaat.” Okay, Darcy’s never said that her response to danger was an intelligent one.
The Prick raises his eyebrows. “Miss-“ he checks her wallet again even though she’s confident that he remembered her name exactly. “Lewis, I don’t think you’re in the position to be making jokes.”
“Well, if you adjust me slightly, I could be in the right one.” She wrinkles her nose. “Ew. That sounded dirty. I don’t go for pasty rich white boys who can only get dates by chloroforming girls in alleys.”
The Prick smirks slightly and looks at one of his henchmen. He steps forwards and kicks Darcy in the ribs. She does yell a little cause owwwwwwww fuck.
“Like I said,” the Prick says smoothly. “I don’t think you’re in the position to be making jokes.” He gestures to one of his thugs and they exit, leaving the other to sit on a wooden chair, the only furniture in the room, and wait.
God. What a prick.
They leave her in there for what she thinks might be about twelve hours even though she’s not sure cause the assholes took her phone. She has to pee in a corner of the room. It smells awful. She misses Buchanan.
She’s asleep huddled up against the wall when she’s jerked into consciousness by the thug that was in the room hauling her to her feet and practically dragging her up a flight of stairs. She’s hurled into a room that’s still pretty sparse but nicer than the one they’re keeping her in, staggering a little as she walks in.
“Ah, Ms. Lewis.”
Darcy looks up a little blearily to see the Prick in a new white suit with some kind of earpiece thing going on standing across from her.
“Do look straight at the camera and say something to prove that you are in fact alive and well.”
Alive and well. The sharp ache in her ribs disagrees with that particular analysis.
Camera?
She looks to her left. There’s a camera on a tripod with a steady red light gazing at her. There’s no screen or anything, but she abruptly realizes it must be streaming to the Tower.
She straightens her back and tries to muster up a grin, pushing her dirt-clumped hair out of her face.
“No towels folded like swans and no bathrooms,” she says weakly. “I will not be leaving a good Yelp review.”
The Prick looks at the camera. “As healthy and obnoxious as ever, as you can see.”
Darcy leans in a little conspiratorially. “He’s just mad cause I said he’s a pasty dick with erectile dysfunction who can’t get a date.”
“That will be enough, Miss Lewis.” His tone is identical to the way it was when her ribs got slammed and it’s enough to make her shrink back into the wall slightly. “Now, back to our arrangement. I will return Miss Lewis alive to you if Dr. Foster provides me with the technology necessary to attain transport to other realms.”
“No,” Darcy says immediately. She doesn’t even know if Jane has that technology yet but she can’t risk it. “Jane, listen to me, don’t do it, I’ll be fine, do not give anything to this prick-“
A fist slams into her face and she drops to the ground with a grunt of pain, tasting blood and dirt.
“I said I would return her alive,” she hears the Prick say from above her. “I said nothing about unharmed.”
She’s dragged to her feet and pulled down the stairs back to her cell where the other one of the thugs takes the position on the chair. She sits with her back to the wall, thinking.
She can see everyone’s faces in her mind when she got hit. Thor’s face would be contorted in fury, possibly with one of those wordless exclamations he makes when angry. Jane would gasp, hand flying over her mouth. Natasha’s face would go icy cold in assassin rage. Clint, Sam, and Steve would all swear. Bruce’s eyes would flash emerald. Tony’s face would have that kind of gritted teeth faux-flippant anger etched in it.
Buchanan…
She doesn’t know what Buchanan’s face would look like. She doesn’t like the idea of imagining it.
Darcy doesn’t think Jane actually has any technology that can get anybody to other realms. They’ve generally relied on Thor for that. And if she doesn’t, the Prick isn’t going to believe her, and he’s going to kill Darcy. And if she does, she’s going to get that technology to him. The Avengers may try to stop her (which she doesn’t think they will but they might), but this is a woman who drove into a god damn tornado just in case there was spacey shit. Jane will find a way. And that is not an okay option.
She’s got to figure out a way to get out of here.
Darcy curls up into the wall again under the pretense of sleeping while she thinks. Natasha and Buchanan have both taught her good self-defense tactics. Buchanan’s tend to be “use your opponent’s weight against them and then punch them until they fall asleep”. Natasha’s are a little slyer. She’ll have to use both.
After about an hour she stretches slightly like she’s waking up. Not too much, because her ribs are fucking killing her. She walks up to the guard hesitantly. He gives her an unimpressed look, probably cause the idea of a skinny tiny young woman going up against a human mountain is fucking lunacy.
“I have diabetes,” she lies in a whisper. “If I don’t get insulin, I’m in real trouble. Can you help me, please?”
The guard hesitates.
“I’m no good to him dead, dude.”
The guard sighs and stands up. The second he’s upright, Darcy puts all of her energy into slamming him into the wall. While he’s still thrown off, she jumps on the chair and drives his head into the wall. He passes out instantly, slumping to the ground.
She takes a deep breath and takes his gun. She runs up to the door.
“Help!” she yells. “Help!”
She hears footsteps come up to the door. “What?” the second thug asks.
“He just started shaking and fell to the ground! I don’t know what happened!”
The thug opens the door. When he sees the other guy on the ground he turns around, and Darcy pistol-whips him. He goes to the floor unconscious. She grabs his gun too.
Darcy creeps up the stairs. It looks like a hunting lodge of some kind. She peers into a side room and sees the Prick on the couch with his back to her, sipping wine and watching Tosh.O. Fucking entitled white boys. She manages to slip out the door to the building and corrects her assessment. Fucking entitled incompetent white boys.
It’s pretty snowy out and the hunting lodge is in the middle of the woods. It’s still snowing, so her tracks should be covered at a reasonable rate. She’s guessing she’s got about half an hour before those guys wake up. She grits her teeth, tugs her thin purple sweater tight, and starts moving.
Darcy doesn’t run. Running’s going to tire her out. She just walks as fast as she can. She’s not sure how long she stumbles through snow and trees until she sees lights. Finally, she staggers out from the woods and into a plowed road, leading into what looks like a main street of a town. She thinks it might be the middle of the night. The only place open is an empty diner. Darcy’s never been so thankful for twenty-four hour establishments in her life, not even during finals.
She hustles into the diner and the waitress at the counter gapes at her. Darcy’s not surprised. Her hair was already dirty and is now wet from the snow, and she can feel the muddy splatters on her face. She’s got blood on her lips from where the asshole punched her and she’s awkwardly clutching her side in an attempt to make her disgruntled ribs feel better. She is not at her most attractive right now.
“Hi,” she says desperately. “I’m so sorry, but I was just- there were these two guys, and they-“
The girl, who can’t be much more than fifteen, interrupts her. “Wait, two dudes hurt you?”
“Yeah, they kidnapped me and-“
“They kidnapped you?” Her jaw suddenly sets, eyes blazing. “What assholes.”
Darcy chokes on a laugh. “Yeah, pretty much.” She hears the sound of an engine and freezes in terror.
“Do you think that’s them?”
She nods.
The waitress grabs Darcy by the elbow and drags her into the back through the kitchen. The cook looks up, blinking vaguely. “Amelia?”
“I’ll explain in a minute, Winston.” Amelia takes her to the walk-in cooler. “I know it’s cold, but just hide in here until I say it’s okay.”
“Okay.”
Darcy sits on the floor of the cooler and shivers, watching her breath puff out in front of her, for about five minutes until the door opens again, and Winston is looking down at her and holding a hot chocolate with whipped cream on it.
“They’re gone,” he says. “Amelia says you can come out now. I thought you could use this.”
Darcy takes it gratefully. “Thank you.”
Amelia is sitting on the floor in the kitchen on top of an apron. She’s lain one out for Darcy too, which she sits on. “They tried to tell me that they were cops. What kind of morons claims they’re cops in a small town where I know everybody?”
“Thank you for helping me.”
“My pleasure. I’m sorry they fucked you up like that.”
“Where am I?”
“Bakerston, Maine.”
“Why did they kidnap you?” Winston asks. Darcy hesitates.
“I… might be friends with the Avengers.”
Winston blinks. “The Avengers Avengers.”
“Yeah.”
Amelia leans in a little. “Are Thor’s arms even more awesome up close?”
Darcy laughs. “Yes.”
“Good. Well, I was trying to figure out how to get you back to where you’re supposed to go, but if you’ve got the Avengers on your side, well.” Amelia hands over her phone. “They should be here pretty quick.”
“Thanks.” Darcy dials the Tower number. Everyone has their individual phones, but she has no idea if they’re all scrambling around, and the general Tower personal number is kind of like the Bat Phone, so if it’s ringing, they’ll know something’s up.
“Hello?” Tony sounds tired and brisk.
“Tony?”
“Holy shit, Darcy? What the fuck, what the shit, what-“
“I’m at a diner in Bakerston, Maine,” she interrupts him. “They were holding me in a hunting lodge about half an hour outside of town. It won’t be hard to find.”
“Would everyone shut the hell up I’m trying to listen to what she’s saying, how the hell did you get out?”
“Nat and Buchanan taught me some stuff.”
“We’re on our way. We’re taking the Quinjet so we should be there in like 25 minutes. Can you hide out there till then?”
“I think so.”
“Okay, we’re comin- ow-“
“Darcy.”
Darcy’s entire body sags in relief when she hears Buchanan’s voice. “Hey, Buckaroo.”
“Are you hurt?”
“A little.”
“I’m coming to get you.”
“I know.”
He hesitates. “Stay safe.”
“I promise.”
He hangs up and Darcy hands the phone back to Amelia. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Darcy knows she should probably sleep, but she can’t. She’s too wired. She ends up huddling in the corner of the kitchen wolfing down blueberry pancakes Winston makes for her while curled up in Amelia’s sweater that just barely fits her.
“You didn’t have to do any of this,” she says at one point. “Either of you. Thank you.”
“A bleeding woman who said she’d been kidnapped staggered into the building, dude,” Winston answers. “What the hell we were supposed to do?” Darcy resolves that the Avengers are going to have to give Amelia and Winston some kind of reward. A huge one. The size of the entire Tower. Maybe just give them the Tower.
After about twenty minutes, Amelia pokes her head into the kitchen.
“There’s a giant aircraft parked in the road and Iron Man just walked out of it,” she tell Darcy. “I think it’s for you.”
She hauls herself to her feet and shuffles through the doorway of the diner. She shields her eyes from the bright lights of the Quinjet. Tony is standing there, in flashy armor and all. He pops his mask up at the sight of her.
“Sup, Pipsqueak,” he says, far too casually. “You look like shit.”
To her own surprise, Darcy launches herself at Tony and hugs him tightly, pressing her face into his chest. The armor isn’t cold but gently warm, and she can almost feel it humming softly. After a moment of shock, Tony wraps his arms around her carefully, resting his chin on the top of her head.
“Scared the crap out of us, kid.”
“Thank you for not letting Jane give potentially dangerous science to a rich prick,” she mumbles into Tony’s suit. Tony snorts.
“You got it.”
She pulls away, wiping her eyes. Tony gently takes her chin in his hand, turning her face slightly.
“Hell of a bruise on your face.”
“Dude packs a heavy wallop. Is it just you?”
“No. Bruce is in the jet with Sam. Clint, Bucky, Nat, and Steve all went to take those assholes down.”
“Isn’t that slightly overkill?”
“Not to us, kiddo. Besides, you should have seen Thor. We had to make him stay at the Tower in case he pulverized the entire wooded area.”
Darcy is abruptly tired, all the adrenaline keeping her going disappearing in a flash. “Can we go home, please?”
“Not until we get the other assholes back, kiddo. Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Makes sense.”
“We can head into the Quinjet, though. It’s warm.”
“Okay.”
Darcy turns back to Winston and Amelia, who are standing in the doorway of the diner. She starts to tug the sweater off but Amelia shakes her head.
“Keep it.”
She hugs both of them as tightly as her ribs will allow. “Thank you both. We won’t forget this.”
“You’re welcome.”
She turns back and lets Tony guide her into the jet. There’s a nice long thing that looks like a cross between a hospital bed and a stretcher, but it’s horizontal and that’s really all she’s looking for. She stumbles onto it and curls up.
“Gotta let me look at you, sweetheart.”
Darcy blearily looks up at Sam, who’s smiling gently at her.
“Oh hey. You have basic medical shit.”
He chuckles. “It’s true. I do.”
Bruce gently holds her head. She can’t explain why it’s so comforting, but it is. “You were so brave, Darcy. You did so well.”
“Aw, thanks, big guy. That’s nice.” She lets her eyes drift shut.
In her exhausted haze, she hears Natasha say “okay, we’re all in, cleared for takeoff”. The jet shudders barely underneath her. She feels a hand in hers that is always warmer than she expects and she sleepily opens her eyes.
Buchanan is staring at her, hair hanging loose around his face the way it does after he’s been fighting, and his face is so laid bare with emotion that she can’t even begin to describe it.
She smiles wearily. “Hey,” she murmurs. “I’m okay.”
He still has that frown creasing his face that she doesn’t like so she reaches out a little weakly and puts her index finger on his nose.
“I’m okay,” she repeats. “Don’t be upset.”
The creased look fades into something soft and fond. Darcy smiles at her victory and lets her hand drop and her eyes slide shut. She passes out fairly quickly, but not before she feels Buchanan’s hand in hers again.
When Darcy opens her eyes again, she’s in a proper hospital bed this time, with a couple IVs hooked in. She turns her head slightly to see Buchanan, slumped unconscious in an armchair, fingers linked with hers. She doesn’t move in an effort not to wake him, but his Darcy senses must be tingling or something, because he wakes up and gazes at her.
“If some bullshit is about to come out of your mouth about how you were supposed to protect me and you’re going on a guilt trip,” she rasps. “I will actually sock you once I’m able.”
Buchanan’s lips twitch into a smirk and Darcy waits to see if he’s going to choose the serious route or the dry one.
“Nice work back there,” he tells her. “I’m impressed.”
Somewhere in between. She grins a little. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Some serious ass kickery.”
“Hell yeah it was. I am incredible.”
His smirk fades into something almost adoring. “You are.”
There’s a hesitant charge in the room until Buchanan stands slightly, leans in, and presses his lips very carefully to Darcy’s, as though frightened she will break. Darcy lets him set the pace, only softly pressing back as well.
When he pulls away, he gently leans his forehead into hers.
“Surprise,” he murmurs. Darcy’s grin widens.
“Buckaroo, if you thought that was a surprise to anyone, I don’t know who you’re kidding.”
He laughs, the kind of short and sharp bark she hears from him sometimes that always sounds too abrupt and so full of delight at the same kind. He sits back down in the armchair. “Don’t be a little shit, Darce.”
“Ah, but what else am I good at?”
Buchanan grins at her. “I got you a present.”
“I like presents.”
Buchanan reaches into his pocket and gently places a Winter Soldier action figure on her stomach. Darcy stares at it, then bursts out laughing, toppling the already preciously positioned action figure over. Buchanan laughs, too, a full bellied sound that warms her down to the tip of her toes. She looks at his joyful face and smiles before lifting their hands up and kissing their tangled fingers.
Yeah, she thinks. Yeah, we’re gonna be just fine.