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“Why is there a bottle of tequila on our kitchen counter?”
Darcy walked out of the bathroom to see Steve watching the bottle of tequila like it was a ticking bomb. She went to stand beside him and poked his bicep lightly.
“I brought it,” she said with a smile.
“What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion,” replied Darcy, grabbing the bottle from the counter and waving it in front of Steve’s face tantalizingly. “It’s tequila – yay! Time to get tipsy.”
She tried to sound excited but Steve must have noticed the catch in her voice or maybe he had just grown to know her so well that he could recognize her tells because he frowned. “What’s today?” he asked. “Is it Dr. Foster’s birthday or something?”
“No!” Jane’s birthday had been last month. Darcy had secretly celebrated it in the bathroom, eating a cupcake, all the while hating Jane for leaving and for still not having called.
“Is it because of Dr. Selvig?”
Erik had gone off to Europe without any explanation and Darcy had no idea where in Europe he was. S.H.I.E.L.D. did not know either. Both her scientists had ditched her. Steve had hit close to home but today was not the day she mourned Jane and Erik. Today was something else entirely.
She shook her head.
“Then why do you want to get drunk?” persisted Steve.
Darcy held up a finger. “Nuh-uh. I said tipsy, not drunk.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “If you’re planning to down the entire bottle, then you’re definitely going to be more than tipsy,” he warned.
Darcy took out two shot glasses from the cupboard above the sink and placed them on the counter. “You’re saying you won’t give me company?” she asked, filling both glasses with the alcohol.
“You know I can’t get drunk, Darcy,” Steve reminded her.
“Jeez, Steve, it’s not about getting drunk,” grumbled Darcy, picking up the glass and taking the shot as if trying to prove a point to him. When Steve kept frowning, she sighed, “Never mind, you won’t understand.”
“I won’t until you tell me why you want to get wasted,” said Steve stubbornly.
“I’m not going to get wasted,” countered Darcy defensively. “I’m not a lightweight, Steve. Wait and watch.”
He watched as she downed two more shots, scrunching up her face adorably each time the liquid burned down her throat.
“Was never proud of me… could have at least lied about it,” she mumbled incoherently, attempting to refill her glass.
Steve pursed his lips. “All right, Darcy, that’s enough,” he said, taking the bottle from her and hiding it behind his back.
“Steve, give it back. I need it. I need to forget!”
He held the bottle out of her reach as she fought to get it back. “Need to forget what? What’s wrong, Darcy?”
“No!” she cried, stepping back and glaring at him. “No more questions. Just give me the goddamn bottle! I’ll be fine. I just want a couple more shots. That’s all, I promise.”
Contrary to her promise, Darcy did not stop until the entire bottle had been consumed. Steve had stopped trying to talk her out of it. She was clearly not in the mood for rational thinking. After having downed her last shot, she wobbled over to sit on the bed opposite him. Steve peeked at her over the novel he was reading. Darcy had bought it a few weeks ago to read and Steve borrowed it sometimes, mostly to read a random page or two so that he could make character doodles in the margins.
“Will you tell me now?” he asked her. When she kept staring at him blankly, he sighed. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”
Darcy shook her head. What good would it do to tell him about her mother’s death? He would feel sorry and make Darcy more miserable. Plus, she had so much more to tell him, why start with such a depressing topic?
“Do you know,” she began, her voice awfully slurred, “I lost all of my dresses when our apartment got destroyed.”
“Why do you need a dress, Darce?”
“For going out, for going on dates, Steve,” she sighed, slumping back on the bed, regretting the loss of her dresses and having no idea why. It’s not like she was regularly attending parties or being asked out by men.
“You have a date?”
She could feel him watching her. She could also feel the house going round and round. It made her dizzy, so she flipped onto her stomach, facing Steve. He was looking at her with a question in his eyes and Darcy couldn’t for the life of her seem to remember what he had asked her.
“What big eyes you have,” she told him and then promptly burst into laughter, hiding her face in her hands.
Steve shook his head and went back to reading the book. After a while when he realized that he hadn’t heard a peep out of her in some time, he looked up to see if she had fallen asleep, but found her looking straight at him, her eyes darker than he had ever seen and her lips pulled down in a little frown.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I have to tell you something,” Darcy mumbled seriously.
Steve raised his eyebrows and gave her an encouraging half-smile. Darcy stared at him for a while, her brain warring with her alcohol-affected emotions. She was so accustomed to keeping her feelings to herself, so used to the deep-seated fear of revealing her thoughts to Steve that even her wasted self was aware that she was going to blurt something out that she would regret later.
She turned her face away from him and closed her eyes. She needed to go to sleep. That was the only way to slow everything down. But Steve shifted closer and lay down beside her, his elbow nudging her arm lightly. He was too close for comfort, her addled brain informed her.
“What did you want to tell me?” he asked softly. When she didn’t reply, he said, “I know you’re awake, Darcy.”
She couldn’t stop the loud sigh that escaped her lips. She pushed up a little and rested her weight on her elbows as she looked down at him. “I forgot,” she uttered and she realized she was telling the truth. She couldn’t remember what she wanted to tell him. All she remembered was the fading ache in her heart. “It hurts,” she whispered.
Steve looked concerned, his blue eyes completely focused on her. “What hurts?”
Darcy shifted closer to him and unabashedly laid her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know,” she replied pitifully. “I forgot,” she repeated, trying not to nuzzle into him any more than she already was.
“You’re not a happy drunk, are you?” came his dry voice, his chest rumbling under her palm as he spoke.
Reluctantly, Darcy removed her face from his shoulder and pushed herself in a sitting position, all the while glaring defiantly at him. “I’m a very happy drunk, thank you very much!” she slurred. “I’m happy, I’m happy, you’ve no idea how happy I am.”
She didn’t notice how thick her voice sounded or how raw. Steve did, and he merely pursed his lips and regarded her silently. Seemingly making up his mind, he reached out to touch her, perhaps to comfort her or perhaps to pull her to him again, but Darcy backed away, crawling to the edge of the bed and curling into herself.
“No,” she said trying to sound firm. “No. I can’t.”
Steve, too, sat up but thankfully kept his distance. “Can’t what, Darcy?”
“Let me tell you a story,” she blurted out. He looked surprised but nodded.
Perhaps Steve was right – she shouldn’t have downed the entire bottle of tequila. It was proving more and more difficult to keep track of her thoughts, to sync them how she wanted. Her option now was to either focus on one topic – storytelling seemed like a good idea – or to fall asleep. She would gladly choose the latter but Steve kept asking her questions that she did not have an answer to. So she told him a story. She started with Beauty and the Beast and ended with The Little Mermaid, somehow merging them together in the process and making no sense at all.
“… and as the last petal fell and she told him that she loved him, the crab turned into a prince and the mermaid kept her legs…”
She was sitting with her arms around her bent knees, her eyes unfocused and a tiny wistful smile on her face that did not reach her eyes. She didn’t see Steve watching her, listening to her fractured story with rapt attention.
“… and they lived happily ever after,” finished Darcy with a hiccup. “But we all know that’s bullshit.”
That seemed to break Steve out of his trance. He frowned. “You don’t believe in happily ever afters?” he asked her.
Darcy peered at him. “Do you?” When he did not reply immediately, she looked away, a mirthless laugh falling off her lips. “I thought so.”
She could feel it poking around in her mind like the devil’s whisper, that constant buzz that was trying to make her lose her inhibitions, urging her to look at him, to tell him how she felt, to let her guard down for once. She fought it as best as she could and clamped her mouth tight shut, but then she felt him shifting on the bed and she couldn’t stop her eyes from flickering in his direction. He was leaning against the headboard with his legs stretched out before him.
He was not looking at her and Darcy took the opportunity to hungrily rake her eyes over him, her mouth going dry and heat pooling in her center almost instantly. The urge to kiss him was stronger than ever. Not for the first time, she wondered what would happen if she just told him.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped to hers and Darcy realized she had spoken out loud.
“Tell me what?” His voice was a command, firm and coaxing and if Darcy had been sober, she would have noticed how much he wanted to know what she had to say, and it would have surprised her.
As it turned out, she was still very much under the effects of the alcohol she had gulped down in order to forget whatever it was she had wanted to forget (hey, it worked!) and she unfortunately did not notice Steve’s tone at all. It would have been a boon if she had, because the expression on Steve’s face combined with his desire to know what it was that she wanted to tell him would have been a ray of hope for Darcy. Just a little but still there.
She looked away from him, her throat clogging. “I can’t. It hurts too much,” she whispered, trying and failing to keep her voice steady.
Steve was silent for a long time, watching as her eyes slowly began to droop and she bit back a yawn.
“Come here,” he said and Darcy peered at him through sleepy eyes.
Maybe he was offering to let her sleep on his lap, like a return favor for what she had been doing the past several months for him, but Darcy was so far gone that her brain filters failed her and her body betrayed her. She found herself crawling into his lap, straddling him, winding her arms around his neck and resting her cheek on his shoulder.
“I’m sleepy, Steve,” she mumbled, her words merging together.
Steve chuckled. “I can tell.”
He was hard and soft at the same time, completely relaxed in her embrace, his breaths in sync with hers and his chest moving against hers with a certain rhythm that Darcy could not understand. She was entirely too comfortable for her own good and did not care if her breathing shuttered a couple of times due to his nearness.
She had almost dozed off when she felt a change in the air. She would have ignored it, utterly drowsy that she was, but whatever had changed, it was something powerful, something electric and it was radiating from Steve. His hands that had been resting lightly on her thighs climbed up to grip her waist and his breathing quickened. It was a change that Darcy’s senses could not ignore. Her eyes fluttered open but she stayed very still, unsure of what was happening.
“Darcy,” she heard him say, his voice low and husky. “Are you awake?”
She pulled back slowly and regarded him through hooded eyes. “Steve?” she murmured. “What is it?”
Blinking rapidly, Darcy tried to clear her alcohol-induced blurred vision. Steve was staring at her and he looked scared and conflicted and excited all at once. She had never seen him look like that before. The buzzing came back, the devil on her shoulder egging her on, telling her to go for it, to kiss him like she wanted.
Try as she might, she could not fight it this time. Not when he was looking at her like that. She gave in to her weakness. She kissed him.
Alarm bells started going off in her head the moment her lips touched his. She had no idea why every cell in her body was telling her to pull away, telling her that what she was doing was wrong, that she needed to listen to that small voice and stop immediately. But then she felt his lips move against hers and she realized he was kissing her back. Steve was kissing her back! She felt a shudder go through him and her stomach swooped when he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, his hands on her waist curling into fists, knuckles digging painfully into her skin.
It was easier to ignore the alarm bells and the thudding of her heart when her inhibitions were down and Darcy was content to focus on the tentative flick of his tongue over her bottom lip and the absolutely intoxicating taste of him that she had been craving for so, so long. However, a wave of dizziness washed over her, causing her to pull back and grip his shoulders, trying to steady herself.
She missed the look of complete awe on Steve’s face.
“’M sorry,” she mumbled when her vision cleared. “I feel really dizzy.”
Steve seemed to be attempting to control his breathing. “Darcy, I… I – ” he began.
Darcy yawned. “Shhh,” she whispered. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
He gulped but nodded in understanding. “Uh…okay.”
“Good. Now sleep.” She resumed her position with her head on his shoulder and promptly fell asleep, both of them sitting upright on the bed.
After a while, Steve’s arms tightened around her but Darcy slept on. He turned his face and buried his nose in her hair, breathing her in… and Darcy still slept on.
Waking up in the morning had never been such a terrible feat for her. Granted, she was not a morning person but meditating with Steve had helped her quite a bit and it had been a very long time since she had awoken with a dreadful hangover such as this. Her mouth felt stuffed with cotton and her head felt like it had been clobbered over by a horse and when she peeked her eyes open, a bright flash of light caused her to groan and close them again.
“Holy mother of…” she moaned, slapping a hand to her closed eyes and turning over.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. “Darcy?”
“Steve.” She turned back around but refused to open her eyes in fear of blinding herself. “I’m going to die, aren’t I? Tell me honestly.”
She heard him chuckle. “Die from a hangover? I don’t know anyone who’s been that lucky.”
She wanted to laugh but everything she did hurt her head, even Steve’s voice sounded like he was speaking in a microphone. She felt him grab her arms and heft her into a sitting position. She groaned, swaying a little.
“Open your mouth,” he said gently. When she shook her head, his request turned into a command, “Open your mouth, Darcy.”
She opened up reluctantly and he placed something in her mouth. Aspirin. Oh, Steve. He held a glass of water to her lips which she downed, then cautiously tried to open her eyes again. It took her a few attempts – the room seemed too bright – but eventually she managed, and once her vision adjusted, the first thing she saw was an expectant looking Steve sitting right next to her.
“Hi,” he breathed, shifting closer.
Darcy frowned. His voice sounded different. Maybe it was the hangover.
She grunted, pressing a hand to her aching forehead. “What happened last night?” She didn’t give him a chance to respond, cursing loudly and saying, “I downed the entire bottle, didn’t I?”
Steve looked confused. “You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?” she asked, moaning slightly at the throbbing pain in her head. “That I drank all the tequila?”
“Well, yeah, but… you don’t remember?”
Darcy dropped her hand and looked at him curiously. He looked upset about something. She reckoned maybe it was because she had gotten drunk. She knew how Steve disapproved of drinking in excess.
“What do you remember?” he prodded.
Darcy frowned and wracked her brain. Nothing seemed to come to mind immediately. The more she thought, the more her head hurt. “I don’t… I’m confused,” she said finally, meeting his eyes. “I guess it’s because of the hangover. Once it tamps down a little, I’ll remember getting shitfaced.”
She shot him a smile which he did not return. He told her that he had brought her greasy food and let her go to the bathroom to get cleaned up. Brushing her teeth and splashing water on her face helped. After doing it a few more times, she straightened and regarded herself in the mirror. She looked okay. Her eyes were red-rimmed but otherwise she looked normal. Fine, even.
Steve was waiting for her when she walked out. He had got her burger and fries which she immediately pounced on, suddenly feeling famished.
“Oh God,” she moaned. “This is so good. Seriously, Steve, you’re amazing.”
He did not reply. She noticed he was unusually silent for the whole duration of the meal and kept sneaking glances at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice. She decided it was because he was worried about her and her heart ached. It was so sweet. She couldn’t help placing her hand over his afterward, thanking him for the aspirin and the food. He went pink but she didn’t notice. She was too preoccupied with how much heat his skin exuded and she pulled her hand back immediately.
Much later, after she had downed an entire can of soda and was beginning to feel a bit better, she turned around to find Steve standing right behind her. The empty can fell from her fingers in her surprise. Normally, his proximity would excite her and force her to take a few steps back so that her rational thinking wouldn’t be affected by his closeness. But she took one look at him and her excitement morphed into concern.
“How are you feeling?” he asked her quietly. “Still confused… or um… better?”
She stared at him. “Better.”
He looked oddly flushed and his breathing was uneven. Maybe she should be the one to ask him how he was feeling. He definitely didn’t look fine, not his normal self.
“Steve, are you okay?” she asked. “You look sick. Are you feeling sick?”
When he didn’t reply and kept watching her contemplatively, Darcy got worried. She raised a hand to place her palm on his forehead. To her surprise, he jerked away from her touch as if he had been burned.
“No,” he spoke then, his voice strangely gruff. “I’m fine. I’m going to the gym.”
Before she could argue or ask any more questions, he was out of the door, slamming it shut behind him, and Darcy dropped her hand limply to her side, feeling hurt and confused by his behavior.
“Okay,” she said to the empty house.
Steve acted weirdly for a couple of more days, something Darcy couldn’t understand at all because he never fell sick and he had been so happy for the past few months. She decided that something else must be going through his mind. Maybe he was thinking about Bucky again… or Peggy. Or maybe he was just upset that she had gotten drunk despite his warnings. She didn’t know and she had stopped trying to find out because he wouldn’t reply to her questions and would grow frustrated when she prodded too much.
On the fourth day, he came home with a tiny smile on his face, and when he opened his mouth to speak to her, his voice was back to normal and he sounded rather decisive, as if he had made up his mind about something. He asked her about the book she was reading, about whether Erik had called her or not, what kind of food she liked, whether she wanted to go dress shopping and it was strange at first but she was just so relieved that he was talking to her and acting like himself again that she patiently answered all his questions.
On the seventh day, he asked her about her parents.
The same day, he asked her out to dinner. But, unfortunately for Darcy, she had no clue it was more than a dinner between friends. Perhaps the Indian food would have tasted much better if she had only known his intentions.