Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Avengers Clubhouse
12:08 AM
“You’re brooding.”
Bucky takes a chug from his new best friend, Jack Daniels, because fuck Steve Rogers if he’s going to nag him in the middle of a crazy biker rager.
Steve drops next to him on the bench, bumping his shoulder into his. “Gonna share any of that?”
Bucky’s fingers tighten around the bottle. “No.”
“He speaks.” Steve waits expectedly, like the floodgates are opening and he’s about to be hit with all of James Buchanan Barnes’ ‘feels.’
He swallows down the tightness in his throat, drinking away Darcy Lewis’s ridiculous slang lessons.
Like he needed to know what all those stupid <3 symbols she texted him meant. He didn’t care that she loved emailing him dumb cat videos, and constantly bugged him about who he ‘shipped.’ He was just fine with filling his phone with work mail and hospital bills, he didn’t need her cluttering it up with Sherlock memes.
And she was fucking ridiculous anyway for thinking Sherlock belonged with Molly and not John. He didn’t go around pointing out Steve’s excellent cheekbones. It was so obvious, it was painful Darcy couldn't see it. It’s just as well he’s pissed at her. She has the worst headcanons ever.
He guzzles another swig of alcohol. Fuck Darcy Lewis’s bad fandom opinions.
Steve sighs. “You’re alone, scowling at a bonfire, and hoarding alcohol. If Darcy were here, she’d probably make a crack about you taking notes from her pouting vampires on MTV.”
The burning in his stomach hurts less than the gnawing frustration in his gut so he drains the rest of the bottle. He might destroy his liver after tonight, but fuckever. “CW.”
“What?”
“The vampire show she likes. It’s on the CW.”
Steve stretches his legs out next to him to settle back against the edge, elbows on the table like he’s planning on staying awhile. “And now I’m even more confused why you’re brooding at the pig roast instead of dancing your girl around at that fancy party. Isn’t it tonight?”
He drank that damn booze too soon. “Not my girl.” And he doesn’t care anymore that he bailed on her and left her alone at the wedding she’d been dreading.
Not. One. Damn. Bit.
Steve just fucking hums, like he knows something special because he’s the fucking club president and is wiser than all these peasants and Jesus Christ, does Bucky want to fucking punch him right now. “That’s not the way it looked to the rest of us. Tony’s been taking bets on when you snap from all the sexual tension.”
He nudges Bucky with his elbow, leaning in a bit. “My wager doesn’t come up for another two days, so you scowling here like a chump with no Darcy in sight is very encouraging. Clint was thinking you wouldn’t man up for another month.”
Fuck it, president or not, Bucky is annihilating him if he keeps pushing. And he’s kicking Tony just on principle.
Clint...he’s got plans for Clint now. “All of you looked wrong. It was a job and now it’s done. End of story.”
Steve twists the neck of his beer bottle between his fingers, staring at the giant bonfire in the center of their compound. The garage and the shop is closed for the night, so everyone’s gathered in the courtyard or making sides in the kitchen and arranging picnic tables around the perimeter of the fence.
A few girls dance around the flames to the rock music coming out of the speakers, distracting the new prospect who’s roasting the pig. The rest of the Avengers are giving them a wide berth, most surrounded by their own little court of admirers. Nat and Clint are off by themselves, whispering like two gossipy high schoolers. Thor is with Jane in his room, probably stroking her tonsils with his tongue, and Tony’s managed to convince some of their groupies to wash his bike while wearing nothing but white t-shirts. Maria is very happily judging a shirtless push up contest from civilians hoping to get an invite to the club, and who the hell knows where Sam is after Bucky snarled at him. The few others who tried to approach him earlier didn’t seem to want to be bitched at again. Just Steve.
And only because Darcy isn’t here to poke him out of his bad mood.
He’s ignoring that pang in his heart, swear to Christ. It’s not really there.
Steve takes a long, slow sip. Probably pausing for effect, the over dramatic bastard. “Is that really how you want the story to end?”
“Fucking hell, Rogers, stop watching Lifetime.” Bucky stands up, dropping his empty bottle on the table. “I’m getting shitfaced if you’re going to force me to listen to this all night.”
“I’ll listen instead if you want to talk,” Steve says, sounding more hopeful than any biker leader decked out in leather and weapons has a right to be.
“Go get your dick back from Carter.” He’ll feel bad about that later, because he likes Carter and hopes she’ll keep Steve’s dick for awhile, but right now the last thing he wants is ‘talk.’
Because if he’s talking, that means he’s remembering every godawful, terrible word he threw at a girl that really didn’t deserve it. He’s feeling that pounding regret tearing apart his heart; that he let down someone who could’ve mattered.
Holy Christ, did he fuck up tonight with Darcy. And he doesn’t want to deal with it yet.
Steve has every right to punch him, but God bless the man, he just tries again. “If you’re really upset, we got a few new warrants in this afternoon. We can go beat the Nazi out of some Hydra assholes until you feel better.”
Normally, he’d be all for that. But since their rival biker gang is half the reason he’s in this mess with Darcy?
“Just fuck off, Steve. I don’t want to hear it tonight.” Tomorrow, he might be willing. Tomorrow, maybe he’ll put out an assemble order and drag the Avengers to church so they could help him write a forgiveness-text using Darcy’s silly pop culture words. He might even throw money into Tony’s pool, because he’s not going to take a month to man up, fuck you very much, Clint.
Maybe. If he wakes up, and isn’t a chickenshit coward again. But that’s for tomorrow, not tonight.
Steve frowns, “You know, Buck—”
He never finds out what Steve ‘knows,’ because the gates to the compound crash open, a strangely familiar white Ferrari roaring through. It’s covered in flowers, a piece of cardboard flopping behind the trunk. But he knows who it is.
Steve’s got his hand on his gun before Bucky shoves his chest. “Wait. Stand down!” The music abruptly cuts off when one of the girls trips over the cord, panic echoing off the gated walls. He ignores the screaming from the civilians, waving his arms at the other Avengers. “Stand the fuck down!”
They ease away from their weapons when the door pops open, red fabric spilling out onto the pavement. Gold high heels follow, clicking lightly on the concrete as Darcy steps out of the car.
Bucky’s heart twists. Darcy’s not beautiful, she’s fucking magnificent. That frothy, elaborate red dress she was so excited about fits her pin-up body to perfection, clinging to every curve jealously. Expensive gemstones glitter at her neck, drip from her ears, and dot her upswept hair. And he’d bet his bike that those straps of gold leather wrapped around her feet are worth well over a thousand, and turns her ass into a million.
She looks like the dream he’d never admit to having.
But the flames flicker light over the bruise swelling her eye, the split in her lip. That was never part of the fantasy.
His heart splatters across the concrete. “Darcy—”
She holds a palm out, dirt smeared across her skin. “Don’t.”
He wants to step forward. He should step forward, but his feet don’t move. She’s scaring him, with that look in her eyes. The light that used to sparkle when she laughed or gave him stupid nicknames, or just breathed, is gone.
Bucky flinches when she passes him, her arm dropping back down. Not even a glance in his direction.
That ache in his gut thickens into dread.
The click-clack of her heels is the only noise in the compound’s courtyard. Darcy doesn’t seem to notice the party’s stopped, everyone frozen in place. Her eyes are fixed on the bonfire.
Steve takes a careful step forward. “Darcy?”
She snatches a bottle of whiskey from the liquor table, twisting the cap off instead of acknowledging Steve. She wraps her ruby lips around the neck and chugs, tilting the bottle back.
Darcy stops dangerously close to the flames. Her hands are balled into fists at her side, shoulders tense.
Bucky’s pulse pounds in his throat. It’s been a very long time since he’s been afraid. But right now? He’s fucking terrified. Their fight wasn’t good, but he never should have left her alone tonight, no matter what was said. “Doll—”
Darcy drops the bottle. He jumps at the shattering glass, but she doesn’t notice, yanking her side zipper down. Her dream dress slips off her shoulders, pools at her feet. She wads it up into a ball and throws it into the flames.
The bonfire eats at the fabric greedily, the fire reaching over her head. She doesn’t hesitate before she’s ripping her glittering necklace off her neck, little stones pinging on the ground, her earrings and every single jeweled hairpin following into the flames. The gems smoulder in their settings, turning smoky around the edges.
Her dark hair falls down her back in a crazed mess of curls and waves, brushing the top of the black lace corset and barely-there panty set he’d hoped to see under different circumstances. Like maybe when she was under him and screaming; not discovering her pyro-side and burning a $30,000 outfit.
She kicks her golden shoes into the fire, the leather molting into a tainted brown and twisting in on itself. Bruises cover more of her skin than what’s left of her clothing, a small trickle of blood dripping down her back from a jagged cut on her shoulder.
She’s almost naked, staring into the flames. Like she’s considering throwing herself in next.
His vest is on the ground and he’s unbuttoning his shirt before he realizes all he wants is to wrap her up nice and tight, tuck her away somewhere safe and ride out to slaughter her demons. Screw what he’d said about being done with her. He would have gone crawling back to her tomorrow anyway.
Darcy’s shoulders hunch up, like she knows what he’s thinking “Don’t come near me, Barnes,” She’s colder than he’s ever heard before. Contempt dripping from every word.
His fingers fist in his flannel. Not only did he fuck up, but something horribly wrong happened tonight. After he stormed off like a brat, leaving her to the tender mercies of her family.
He’s killing every single one of them and leaving their bones for coyotes to gnaw on for destroying whatever hope Darcy had left.
“Darcy Lewis!”
She breaks away from the fire finally to face Ray Lewis, furious and pushing his way through a crowd of bikers, very much out of place even if he wasn’t still in his tuxedo.
Somehow, she only looks angrier, her chin tilting up stubbornly. She screws her lips up into a fake smile, practically baring her teeth. “Dad! You made it!” She twirls around like a demented ballerina, her hands outstretched in ‘welcome’. “Thanks so much for finding time to come down to the club on your wedding night,” She nods toward the phone he clutches in his hand. “Especially considering what your wife might get up to without you.”
She’s got that snotty tone of voice that sets his teeth on edge and makes him yearn to put her over his knee. Her armor’s up, and there’s no reaching her now even if he hadn’t pushed her away.
Like she knows he’s about to throw her behind him, fight or not, Darcy glares at him. Eyebrow slightly raised, head tilted to the side. He’s seen that ‘play-along’ look. For some reason she’s orchestrated this little scene, and if she wants it, she’s getting it.
He shakes his head at Steve, taking a step back. Let her handle this without club involvement.
Her father’s trembling, his hair a ragged mess and his pants are covered in mud. Bucky’s never even seen him with a hair out of place or away from his country club world. But here he is in a biker den looking like he’s about to choke from rage.
A small burst of pride unfurls in his chest underneath all the worry. Whatever happened, Darcy is clearly done taking her family’s shit.
“Goddamn you, Darcy!” Ray hurls his iPhone at the fire and rakes his hands through his hair again, clutching at the ends. Darcy doesn’t even blink at the snapping pop the fire makes as it eats away at the plastic. “What do you think you’re doing to us?”
Darcy shrugs, all false-innocence. “What you taught me. I stopped valuing what had no appreciation.”
“This is not a business lesson, goddamn it, this is my life!” Her father moans, pressing his hand over his heart, “Darcy, this’ll ruin me.”
“Oh, don’t be so overdramatic, Dad. The pictures will just embarrass you. And only because you’ve insisted on maintaining such a family-friendly image.” Her smile turns cruel, and it sends chills down his spine. “But that’s not what I did to ruin you.”
All the color drains from his face, sweat beading on his temples. “What did you do?”
Darcy sways a bit on her toes, narrowly avoiding the glass shards on her bare feet. She fidgets like a little girl with a secret. “Did you think I was just pushing papers around for you?”
Blood rushes back into Ray’s face, filling him with rage. “You stupid girl, what did you find?”
Darcy giggles. Drunk on booze, or drunk on cold fury, Bucky’s not sure. It’s not a charming sound. “There’s going to be a lot of people upset at you, Daddy.” She waves her hand towards Steve. “Present company included. I thought I’d give you one chance to say sorry before it’s too late.”
Ray meets Darcy’s eyes dead-on. “Everything Michael ever said about you was right.”
Darcy flinches like he hit her, her arms reflexively crossing over her stomach. “You deserve everything that’s coming.”
“You listen to me, Darcy Lewis,” Ray pulls at his bowtie, leaving it hanging haphazardly around his neck, “Whatever you did, you undo it unless you want to be cut off. And put some damn clothes on!”
“Jesus Christ man, that’s what you’re worried about?” Tony finally blurts out, in what was probably the longest he’d ever gone without speaking. “Not the bruises she’s covered in?”
Ray glares at Tony, nose tilted up. “This is a private family matter. Stay out of it.”
“It’s alright, Tony.” Darcy is too calm now. “He’s not worried about them because he knows where they came from.”
Steve grips Bucky’s shoulder. Hard. It’s probably the only thing holding him back from strangling her father then and there.
But this is her showdown. He couldn’t ruin this for her too.
Her father shuts his eyes, breathing deeply. “I’m sure we can work something out, Darcy. Let’s go back to the hotel and discuss this as a family.”
Something flashes in her eyes, “That’s not what I want anymore. You made sure of that tonight.”
“Will you please stop being so sensitive?” Ray spits out the word like it’s a curse. “This overdramatic need for attention has gone on long enough.”
She steps closer to her father, Bucky wincing when her bare feet come too close to the glass shards again. Her attention gets caught by something in the sea of bikers, a slow smile threatening the cut on her lip. “Dad, I’m just getting started.”
“Mr. Lewis?” Peggy Carter pushes through the crowd, two uniformed cops following behind her. Civilians scatter out of their wake, instantly finding better things to do in the presence of law enforcement. “I’m Agent Carter, and I need you to come with me.”
Ray puffs up, eyes wide with outrage. “On what grounds? What agency are you with?”
“We’ll discuss that at the station.” Peggy nods at her officers, and cuffs are slapped on Darcy’s father. “Please come quietly.” Peggy looks around, hands tucked in her pockets. “And I suggest the rest of you clear out before we take a closer look at you, too.”
“This is an outrage! I demand to know what the charges are!” Ray roars, fighting the officer’s grip on him, Bucky losing sight of him in the sea of people rushing out the gate. “If you have anything to do with this, Darcy…”
“With the charges already stacked against you, I wouldn’t court more by making threats, Mr. Lewis.” Peggy nods at her officers. “Take him away, boys.”
When the crowd clears, Carter’s cops are assisting Ray inside a police car, his own dented Ferrari still parked beside the busted gate.
Darcy’s gone. He doesn’t know how one half naked girl can just disappear surrounded by bikers and police, but she’s done it.
Bucky’s heart drops to his stomach. She didn’t come to him. She just left.
Steve squeezes his shoulder before letting go. He can be his best friend again, because he knows not to say a word.
The Avengers stand in their empty courtyard, silence and burnt pork filling the air as the police drive out. The only thing left of Darcy is the leather shoes and gems smoldering in the bonfire.
Tony looks around, mouth gaping like the ‘mouth breather creeper’ Darcy had called him once. “What the hell just happened?”
Bucky has no idea. But he’s going to find out.