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Chapter Text

"I don't know, Tony," Pepper said, keeping her eyes on the contract she was reviewing.

"Could you maybe try to know?" Tony requested with a lift of his eyebrows.

Pursing her lips, she let out a little sigh, and carefully set her tablet down on the desk. Then she gave Tony a long look. "You're asking me to spy on your daughter."

He started to say something, paused and held up his hand, nodded once, and tried again. "No, okay, no. I'm asking you to spend some time with her and tell me what you think."

"I do spend time with her," she told him, keeping her voice steady.

With everything Darcy'd been through lately, everybody got tense when her name came up. Worry gnawed away at each of them, but Tony watched his daughter tumble into the paths of the bad guys, oh God, probably a half-dozen times over the last year. He wasn't dealing with it very well. Pepper, who'd known Darcy since she was a child, wasn't dealing a whole lot better.

Tony squinted a little and scratched at his beard. "Lately, though?"

"What are you saying?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "If you're suggesting—"

"Whoa, no, not suggesting. Never, or … I mean. No, what do you think I'm suggesting? Well, no, whatever it is, I'm not doing that." He took a breath, and turned his head, grimacing and watching her out of the corner of his eye. "Since she started talking again. I mean, more than mumbling 'I'm fine'. I'm just … I don't know. She yelled at me for hovering. I wasn't hovering, I don't hover. Unless I'm in the suit, and that's a thing I'm doing for reasons."

Pepper bowed her head and laughed. "Oh, Tony."

Tony shoved up out of the chair, an explosion of anxiety and nervous energy, and paced to the window, then back to the chair, where he fidgeted and ran his hand through his hair. "No, okay. You are a better judge of this sort of thing than I am. I'm not asking you to spy. Come on. You're Aunt Pep. You know her. I'm … before she goes to London. Just, check in, I guess. Like, I don't know, go to dinner or something."

"I was already planning to take her out before she left."

Letting out a relieved sigh, he grinned back at her. "Perfect. Then … I wasn't here. We didn't talk about … this stuff. And … " He floundered and sucked in his cheeks. "I'm terrible at this."

"A little bit," she agreed, but gave him a fond smile. "But, not as bad as you think. And you always try. I love you for it." No, he wasn't dealing well, but Lord, he was trying so hard.

"Good, excellent. Thank you." He lifted his chin and cleared his throat. "Love you, too."

"Just out of curiosity, how do you think she's doing?" Pepper asked, cocking her head and studying his face. He licked his lips and tapped his fingers on the back of the chair as he thought.

"I don't know. She's …" he groaned and leaned forward, bracing his hands and dropping his head down. "She's too much like me."

"Self-awareness, Mr. Stark? That's new."

He gave her a wounded pout. "Hey, okay, you know what?"

"I'm teasing you, Tony," she told him gently, offering a contrite smile. "But, really, what do you think? She is your daughter."

"I think she's shoving it aside, and being the poster boy for avoidance, I recognize it. Sure, okay, I know she's talked to everybody about 1946, but it's like she's marking off a checklist, giving everybody a report. And now she's going to go off to London for a few months, and then she's got that damned base, and she's burying herself under all that." He took a deep breath and gave her a pleading look. "There are ways I don't want her to be like me, you know?"

Pepper considered him for a long moment, considered the tightness of his jaw, the lines around his mouth, and the jittery look in his eyes. Standing, she circled her desk and stood next to him, reaching out to brush at the hair on his temples. "We'll go out," she promised him. "I won't take no for an answer."

Closing his eyes, he leaned into her hand. "You are, honestly, the best."

"I am," she agreed and gave him a quick peck on the lips. "Okay, I have a meeting in five, and you have work to get back to."

"And now you're off the list of the best," he told her, sighing regretfully and shaking his head.

She laughed and gave him a little shove toward the door. "Go away, Tony."

***

It was true that Pepper hadn't spent a great deal of time with Darcy recently. They were busy; all of them.

When Tony destroyed his suits two Christmases ago, Pepper didn't let herself truly believe that was the end of Iron Man. Sure enough, he built another suit three months later when aliens invaded London and Darcy was in the line of fire. He didn't get to use it; Dr. Foster and Thor neutralized the threat before he could move, and Darcy escaped the incident unharmed. Thank God. But, then a cache of Stark weapons turned up in Indonesia. And not long after that, SHIELD fell and Hydra revealed themselves for the first time in decades. There was no putting Iron Man back in the box after that.

For her part, Pepper did what she could to make sure the Avengers had everything they needed. From coordinating the retrofit of sections of the Tower for their use, to making sure they maintained rights to their names and likenesses in the sudden surge of Avengers interest and market demands for branded items. All while trying to run a Fortune 100 company as it continued to transition from a weapons manufacturer to a technology research and development company with a new network of consumer divisions.

And when SHIELD fell, the legal battles that followed consumed more than a few months of her life. There was nothing clean and easy about the revelations of a terrorist organization using your technology under the guise of a federal intelligence agency. She had her hands full with Tony, too, whose sense of betrayal and outrage at Hydra's move had him on the edge of war himself.

It was almost too easy to take Darcy for granted in all of that. She was not nearly as demanding as her father, far more low maintenance. A steady and unassuming presence. Not quiet, by any means, but she could slide around the edge of the major issues. It was, Pepper thought, a pretty neat trick, considering how in the middle of everything she actually was. In London with Thor. In the New York SHIELD office when the agency fell.

And, of course, Darcy's brand of unassuming was an excellent way to cover God only knew what. She was no less a Stark just because she didn't seek attention. Her gaze could be just as focused, her ambitions just as bold. In fact, Pepper was beginning to realize she didn't fully understand exactly how many pies Darcy had her fingers in.

Frankly, it all terrified her. Oh, she was desperately proud of Darcy, but she was terrified. Both Starks, two people she loved with everything she had, were determined to put themselves in harm's way to save the world. It made Pepper's hands shake if she thought about it for too long.

Darcy didn't come home with the fractures and bruises Tony did, but twice now she'd come home worn and broken in other ways. The first time, after Hydra's kidnapping, she'd been shaken and reserved, but she let everybody help, let them all pull her back together. But, this time, after the attack on the Tower, she didn't bounce back, she didn't seek help, she didn't accept it when it was offered. For more than two weeks she'd locked herself in her rooms or in her office. Shutting out the world, pouring herself into whatever it was she needed to do to regain control. It reminded Pepper far too strongly of Tony coming back from Afghanistan.

At least Darcy didn't go off and make herself a weaponized suit of armor. But, of course, she didn't have to; she had one already. Another thing that terrified Pepper. She understood why Tony did it; he wanted to keep Darcy as safe as he could, in all the ways that he could. But, there was a part of Pepper, a part she hid away because this wasn't the time, not right now, that was furious with him for it.

God, Darcy with armor? What was that going to do? Was he really going to let his daughter go out and throw herself at terrorists and tanks and whatever the hell else? It was one thing for Tony to put on the suit, it was bad enough, but did he not realize how much Darcy admired him, how much she looked up to him? How quick she was to emulate him, as she strove to live up to the family name? Darcy could deny that she did that all she liked, but Pepper had known her for a very long time.

Darcy always believed she was the underachiever of the family of geniuses. She hid that insecurity behind sarcasm and snark, she adopted the insouciant attitude, she played the aimless wanderer. And with every step, she wanted desperately to reach the impossible bar her father set, forever certain she was falling short. Oh, Lord, she was so much like Tony it hurt. The circumstances, the relationships, might be kinder this time, but it was almost tragic to watch Stark history repeat like this.

But, no, Darcy did not come home and build herself a weaponized suit of armor. Instead, her attention was focused on a far more dangerous weapon — a covert base of operations for a disgraced intelligence agency. Well, nobody would ever say either father or daughter did things by halves. Darcy finally found something on which to focus that Stark genius and intensity she'd inherited from her father. She went from a nominal agent, only serving to help her father and the other Avengers, to a full agent who was determined to pull SHIELD back together by sheer force of will.

The little girl who liked motorcycles and silly, messy pranks, and who would giggle until she hiccuped and her face was cherry red, grew up. Pepper was very proud, but her heart broke, too. That little girl was rarely visible in Darcy anymore. Her life was fractured into a dozen parts, and these days Pepper only saw the edges of a few of them.

There was the lab assistant, flittering from floor to floor, from Jane to Bruce to Tony and back again. Director Coulson's trusted agent out in the world, the one who'd sit with Pepper and beg and wheedle for the equipment Phil needed. The Avengers' former handler who was still close to all of them, and when she was home, was frequently in the company of one or the other of them. Clint and Natasha's trainee, who still hid in Pepper's office when Natasha wanted her in the gym. Those Pepper knew. But, Darcy was tight-lipped when it came to other parts.

The day Darcy met Bucky Barnes, for example, was something she never talked about. Pepper knew they met at a museum, and there'd been an argument with Steve, but that was all she knew. What was Darcy thinking when she met him? How did she respond? Well, enough, apparently, because she became his handler. And who was that person? Who was the woman who handled a damaged, brain-washed Hydra assassin? And what, exactly, did handling somebody that dangerous entail? Again, she knew there was more than one argument with Tony, but his ire was directed at Barnes and the horrible suspicion the man killed Howard and Maria Stark.

And how did Darcy do that? How did she work with the man who may very well have murdered her grandparents? What did she see that made her fight for him? How did Darcy, with all her trust issues, come to trust this man with her life? They were partners now, and if Clint was right, possibly something more. It stung a little that she had to learn this from Barton; Darcy always used to tell her about the boys she was seeing. And now Pepper knew next to nothing about James Barnes and that relationship. What did they look like together?

Who was Darcy Lewis the SHIELD agent? Pepper knew she must be a pretty good one. That didn't surprise her. Darcy was clever, observant, and exceptional with people. But, how did the little girl with her pumpkin trebuchet turn into a field agent with a 9mm? What did she look like when she stared down a hostile faction of her own agency and dared them to hold her? Pepper could make a guess, and if she was right, Darcy looked a lot like Tony at a Senate hearing. No wonder he was so proud; Darcy undoubtedly scared the hell out of real SHIELD. They wouldn't know who she was, or they wouldn't have taken her, all they would know was that suddenly there was an agent they couldn't intimidate, one they couldn't handle, and one who wasn't afraid to let them know how powerful she really was. Honestly, Pepper was sorry she missed that.

But, now there was a new facet to Darcy, one that was a concerning mystery to them all. Who was the woman lost in time? What did she look like in 1946, with her grandfather at her side? What did she struggle with as she fought to come home and keep the world spinning in the way she knew it was meant to? Who was the woman who left behind her friend and her partner, forced to trust them to time itself? And who could only hope she'd see them on the other side?

Tony was right when he said Darcy told everybody about her time in 1946 like she was giving a report. Pepper heard about the truth of Darcy's 8 second disappearance from him first. He was twitchy about it, scared no doubt by all the ways she could have been lost to them for longer than a few seconds. But, he seemed a little less burdened, some weight lifted. He and Darcy had a good day together, exploring a bequest Howard left to his granddaughter. And they talked about her experience. He even laughed about Howard, which in Pepper's experience had never happened. Not once. Or at least not ever without a bitter, hard edge. That was nice, and she was so happy for both of them to have that moment together. They deserved it so, so much.

But, he was still right. When Pepper finally managed to snatch a moment of Darcy's time, she talked openly and lightly about the experience, but Pepper could tell she'd scraped the recitation bare of anything too heavy. "It was the weirdest thing", she laughed. Or "Oh my God, I had such a headache", or "Howard was a jerk, but, you know, not that bad." She talked about Edwin Jarvis, a lot; he was, it seemed, a safe subject, and he was family. Pepper did like knowing more about the man, and Darcy adored him as much as Tony had.

In the end, Darcy managed to make the whole thing seem like a strange lark; an odd adventure full of Commandos, secret agents, and the family butler. There was clearly much she was glossing over. The emotional component of leaving her friend to slumber in the ice, for example. And her partner in the hands of the enemy. God.

Pepper gently steered the conversation around to Steve, and Darcy sighed. It hurt, she said; it wasn't fun, she promised; she did the best she could. And then she laughed about the Captain America radio show and made a note to download it to torment Steve and Bucky. So much like her father. But, she was even better at avoidance than he was. If she didn't want to talk about something she wouldn't. Her reluctance to open up might have hurt more if, at the end, she hadn't looked Pepper in the eyes and offered a copy of her journal. The one she kept as she struggled through life in 1946. It would, no doubt, hold all the things she didn't want to talk about.

"Only if you want to give it to me," Pepper told her. Darcy shrugged, but later that day Pepper found a copy in her email.

Pepper wasn't very far into the journal, a quarter of the way, perhaps. Each page was a trial for her, every word a window into Darcy's frustration, bewilderment, and beneath it all, pain and fear. It was hard to get through.

There were lighter moments, details about the realities of daily life in the 40s, including a long and somewhat profane digression into undergarments and hair-styling. That sounded like the Darcy she knew. However, there were also long passages about time itself, and how little she could change, how the foreknowledge she had weighed down every thought, and how terrified she was that she would make changes anyway. Pepper had to pause frequently.

Darcy was so closely tied to that year, even if it was so far before her own. Howard, Peggy Carter, Edwin Jarvis, Steve Rogers, and Bucky Barnes. People whose names had been a fixture in her life since she was a little girl. And there in 1946 she was surrounded by them or their memory, her own knowledge, and a different sort of battle. Darcy had such a big heart, and Pepper was sure it shattered under the weight of time. Who would she let help her put it back together? Would she let anybody help now?

Yes, it was time to reconnect.

After her meeting, Pepper tracked Darcy down to Dr. Foster's lab. She paused at the door when she heard voices, Darcy's raised.

"Stop apologizing, Steve."

"I'm not apologizing," Steve replied. "I'm just saying that I realize what you had to do and how hard that was. I overreacted, and I regret it, and I understand if you're upset with me."

"That's a super, super long way of avoiding the words 'I'm sorry' while still totally being an apology," she pointed out with a sniff, but Pepper heard the laugh underneath.

"Well, I am sorry."

"Okay, apology accepted. For the sixth time."

Pepper raised her hand, about to tap on the door and announce herself, when Darcy continued and her hand stilled.

"Look, this is important," Darcy said, her tone as serious as Pepper had ever heard it, "so I want you to listen to me."

"Yes, ma'am," Steve said, sounding amused.

"You are allowed to be a human being."

"I know that."

"Sometimes I don't think you do. But, whatever. I hit you with something out of nowhere and it threw you for a loop. It happens, Steve. That's not something you have to apologize for."

"I could have handled it better," he muttered.

"Yeah?" Pepper heard Darcy's wry snort, and she could imagine the dry, half self-deprecating, half impatient look she'd give Steve. It was such a Tony look, Pepper knew it well. "I could have, too."

"You were under a lot of stress and—"

"And you're not? Come on, Steve," she said with a whine. "Why do you think I dodged you for weeks? I knew it would hurt. It hurt me. And I got to come home. You didn't."

"It's not like that."

"It's exactly like that." There was a beat of silence and a shuffle of papers. Pepper felt like a horrible eavesdropper, but she didn't want to interrupt a conversation she thought needed to happen. She should probably leave and come back. But, she wanted to know, she needed to know, if Darcy was dealing with this, talking to somebody.

"I'm sorry, too. I could have led up to it better. Or something. I don't know. I had no clue how to have that conversation with you."

They were quiet for another moment, then Pepper heard the squeak of a chair and Steve's voice dropped low, "For just a second I could have had everything I ever wanted. Except," he paused, taking a breath, "maybe I couldn't have. There was no way to know. That's what I understand, Darcy. Peggy … Peggy, I think she clarified it for me. She said she could only work with what she knew, and that's what you were doing. I, honestly, can't imagine how difficult that was for you."

"Well, it wasn't fun," she admitted. "But, I wasn't alone. I did have Peggy. Especially once she figured out Bucky was my partner. I didn't expect that. It scared me, honestly. Like, I'd been keeping these huge secrets and then one night everything just clicked for her. I thought, for a second, that I'd screwed up everything."

Oh, Darcy. Pepper closed her eyes, and considered walking away again, but couldn't get her feet to move. "But, well, she's Peggy. She promised she wouldn't say anything, and, you know, she didn't."

"Peggy's the best," he said quietly.

"Yeah, she is," Darcy agreed easily.

"I'm really glad you two got to know each other. I know you met her when you were a kid, but, you know, grown up. You were pretty close to the same age, then."

"Pretty close. But, she won at elegant, competent, maturity." Darcy laughed. "Geez, sometimes I felt like a scruffy, little street-rat around her."

"You could never be scruffy," Steve said, chastising her lightly. Pepper had to hold her own laugh. The Starks could be elegant, and the Starks could be as scruffy and covered in grease as anybody.

"Compared to Peggy? I don't know."

"Darcy, you're a beautiful, competent woman, and you know it."

"Yeah, well …"

"And Bucky knows it, too."

She barked a laugh. "Smooth, Rogers. Real smooth."

Pepper smiled and took a breath. Now seemed like a good time to break into their conversation, it sounded like they said the things they needed to. She tapped once at the door and stepped in. "Hello, Darcy, Steve. Am I interrupting?"

Darcy glanced up from the box she was cramming files into and rolled her eyes. "Nope. Just Captain Dumbass refusing to accept me accepting his apology for the time I sucker punched him."

"Darcy," Steve grumbled and stood to nod over to Pepper. "Ms. Potts."

"Someday, Steve, you'll call me Pepper."

Darcy snorted. "Fat chance."

Steve's eyes narrowed and his back straightened. He was in uniform, having just returned from a scouting mission on a Hydra location. He was impressive, and how Darcy managed not to be impressed was, frankly, amazing. It was no secret Darcy crushed on him when they first met, but clearly she'd grown past it. Somehow.

"How are you today, Pepper?" he asked with a cordial smile. "You look very nice, by the way."

Darcy laughed loudly and slapped a lid on the banker's box, then pulled up an empty box onto the desk.

Pepper smiled warmly at Steve. "I'm doing well. And thank you very much, Steve. How are you?" She nodded at his uniform. "Any luck?"

"Yeah, actually. They weren't ready for us. Didn't even give us a little fight," he told her, looking pleased and a little bemused.

"What a lovely change of pace," Pepper laughed.

"They put up their hands as soon as they saw us. For a minute there, we weren't sure what to do," he said with a wry smile. "Thor was kinda disappointed."

"He's working out his aggression by recreating some battle on Vanaheim for Bruce," Darcy put in with a chuckle. "Ten bucks says Bruce dozed off five minutes in."

Pepper grimaced and listened to the quiet around them. She didn't hear a battle, at least. "How much will this cost to repair?"

"Computer simulation," Darcy assured her. "He was marshaling his virtual forces last I saw, and Bruce was trying to come up with an excuse to get out of it."

"Did you just leave him?" Steve asked, frowning.

"He's a big boy, he can rescue himself. Plus, Thor was so excited to show him. Like I'm going to break the Prince of Asgard's heart."

"How did you get out of it?" Pepper asked, genuinely curious.

Thor and Darcy had an interesting relationship. Thor seemed to recognize her not only as Jane's friend, but also as somebody who would someday inherit a kingdom of her own. He didn't quite treat her like a peer, maybe more like an odd, very young cousin of whom he was fond, but Pepper often overheard conversations that included thoughts on ruling he'd learned from his father, or experiences he'd had as a leader. And for all she liked to tease him, in those conversations she was always — well, almost always — serious and thoughtful in return. And Darcy truly didn't like disappointing him in anything.

"I said the magic words — 'Jane needs me'." Darcy gave them both a cocky smile and started dumping files into the new box.

"Where is Dr. Foster?" Steve asked.

Darcy gave a half shrug and kept cramming papers into the box. "Talking to her mom. I guess she's picking us up when we get in. I was all, hey not necessary, but she got pushy about it." She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Never wonder where Jane gets it from."

Steve nodded and glanced between Darcy and Pepper. "Okay, well, I'll leave you guys alone."

"You don't have to—" Pepper began to protest. Darcy laughing and teasing Steve was the best sound she'd heard in weeks. It wasn't something she wanted to break up.

"Nah, it's okay," Steve said. "Maybe Bruce isn't interested but I'm kind of curious about Asgardian battle tactics. Think Thor will start over?"

Darcy looked amused. "Better question: could you stop him?"

Steve laughed and waved at them both as he left.

Darcy watched him go, a smile on her lips, then turned her head to Pepper. "Did you need something, Pep?"

"I wondered if you wanted to go out to dinner tonight."

Darcy, eyes narrowed with suspicion, asked, "Did dad ask you to ask me?"

Pepper raised an eyebrow and crossed over to stand next to the desk. "I can't want to go to dinner with you on my own?"

"No, sorry, that's not what I meant." Darcy made a face at herself and blew out a breath. "He was getting clingy, I maybe yelled. Then he moped off. I figured he probably went to whine to you about it."

"He's just worried."

"I know and I love him for it."

"But?" Pepper pressed.

"Nothing," Darcy said with a sincere smile. "I get it. I'd be worried and clingy, too. And then, you know, I'd go whine to you about it. So … " She raised her eyebrows at Pepper with that exasperating Stark smirk and laughed at herself. Her eyes drifted past Pepper and she jerked her chin in greeting. "Hey, Nat."

Pepper turned her head and watched Natasha enter the room, the woman's gaze making a survey of the mid-packing mess. "You're busy. I didn't mean to interrupt."

Waving a hand at the agent, Pepper encouraged her over. "It's fine. Actually," she glanced at Darcy and had an idea, "I was just asking Darcy out to dinner. You should come, too. And Dr. Foster? Call it a girl's night out."

While she'd like to spend time with Darcy, she'd like to spend time with Darcy when she wasn't feeling like she was being watched, smothered, or interrogated. She wanted to know how Darcy was handling things, but she also wanted to help Darcy where she could. Having a night where they relaxed with friends would be nice for both of them.

"Yes," Darcy exclaimed. "Rescue me from packing for the crazy person who wants to tote a million reams of paper across the ocean. Also, rescue me from the lecture about the benefits of hard copies when I inevitably complain where she can hear me."

Natasha cocked her head to one side, a tiny, amused smile tugging up one corner of her mouth, and she was about to say something when Darcy pointed a finger at her and scowled. "Don't say it," she warned.

The little smile broadened to a full grin. "You're so much like your father."

Darcy clenched her fists and shook them at the sky. "Argh! I told you not to say it!"

Natasha laughed, delighted, and nodded to Pepper. "I'd love to go out."

"Wonderful." Pepper pushed off the desk and headed for the door. "I'll go pick a spot. And, maybe invite Maria, too. Darcy?"

"Sure, sure, she and Nat can spend the night laughing about Starks." Darcy wrinkled her nose in a petulant frown. "Good fun. Many laughing. Please do."

"Oh stop," Natasha huffed. "You're not that sensitive."

"I could be all of a sudden," Darcy said with a pout. "You don't know."

"I do know." Natasha took Pepper's place leaning against the desk. "So, I talked to Clint."

"I figure you talk to him a lot," Darcy grumbled. "On account of you being besties and partners and all."

"Oh, you're in a mood." She called out to Pepper, stopping her at the door, "Wherever we go, we'll need vodka."

Pepper laughed. "Got it."

***

Pepper wrangled Jane, Natasha corralled Maria Hill, and the four of them met a happily bright-eyed Darcy in the lobby. If Darcy worried she might be questioned about the events in 1946, she didn't show it. Pepper gave her a smile and called the car, leading them off to the first stop of the night. The stop, Pepper hoped, would set a nice, easy tone for the rest of the evening.

The bar wasn't the nicest Pepper'd ever visited, but it was far from the worst. It was dim but not dark, there was music but it wasn't loud, there wasn't a VIP area, but there were high-sided booths. There were the usual American beer standards on tap, but they also had a nice collection of craft beers and a surprisingly impressive collection of liquors. Very much a Darcy kind of place. Good lord, she'd loved that ridiculous, peanut-shells-on-the-floor roadhouse near her college.

Settled into a booth, drinks in hand, a spread of nachos in front of them, Jane didn't wait long before demanding a story of Darcy's younger days. Pepper had just the one.

"Oh, please, don't tell that one," Darcy groaned, but she was laughing.

Pepper smiled serenely back at her then addressed the other women at the table. "It was the last time I let them leave the country alone together."

"It's a good story," Natasha put in with a laugh of her own.

Jane tapped the neck of her beer bottle and grinned wickedly at Darcy. "How come I've never heard this story?"

"You know I got kicked out of France," Darcy said.

"But, I don't know how," Jane protested, putting on a sad expression she certainly knew would get Darcy to crack.

"It was Tony's fault."

Pepper scoffed into her mojito. When they put their heads together, Tony and Darcy were far too creatively troublesome. There was a sort of horrifyingly fascinating performance art to it all. "Oh, no, it was both of you."

Darcy just shrugged, accepting that easily, and said, "Justin Hammer is a slime and a sleaze and a scum-sucking snake."

"Excellent alliteration," Jane praised and raised her bottle in salute.

Maria nodded and took a sip of her vodka martini. "All true. What did Hammer do?"

"He saw me and Tony together and made some insinuations. Then asked if Tony would share." Darcy grimaced and shuddered. "I was fifteen. So gross. So, so gross."

"I would have double-tapped him," Maria said with a considered frown. "Maybe twice."

Darcy chortled. "Quadruple-tapped?"

"I've got fifteen rounds," Maria said with an easy, unbothered roll of her shoulders. "I'm sure I could have found a place for each of them."

Natasha nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't take the opportunity to break his arm now."

"Having him arrested was one of the most satisfying things I've ever done," Pepper put in. And, while yes, she never let Tony and Darcy leave the country together alone, she was also never particularly upset about this adventure. Because Justin Hammer was a slime and a sleaze and a scum-sucking snake.

"That was wonderful," Natasha agreed with a feral smile.

Jane's hand tightened on her beer. "Where's he being held?"

"You're not staging a break-in just to slug him, Jane," Darcy snickered. "Besides, we did get him back."

"Yes, you did," Pepper agreed with a resigned head shake. "But, was the speed boat chase really necessary?"

"Yes, Pepper," Darcy replied seriously. "Yes, it was. The most necessary thing."

"Speed boat chase?" Jane's eyes lit with hungry curiosity and she leaned over the table to demand, "Tell me more."

Darcy snorted into her vodka tonic. "It's how we convinced him he'd accidentally pissed off a super scary smuggling ring. It was awesome."

Natasha laughed out loud. "I'd only just met her when I heard this story; it's how I knew she'd make a good spy."

Maria set down her martini and gave Darcy a considering look over. "Alright, Lewis, let's hear it."

Pepper sat back, satisfied. Darcy was laughing, a touch embarrassed but proud, too. It was one of the more ridiculous things she and Tony had ever done together, but it was harmless. Mostly. And it was a good reminder of lighter days. The perfect thing to start off the evening in the right mood.

***

Chapter Text

Bucky stood casually against the wall, watching the street, his hat tugged low over his face. Pedestrians went the long way around him and a cop car rolled by at a slow crawl, one of the officers staring him down as they passed. He really didn't care; if they stopped, he'd be gone before they could get out of the car.

He sighed and stared down at his boots. Damn Lewis. She did this to him. For almost seventy years he'd been alone — not by choice, of course — but now people kept calling him. On the phone he had in his pocket, the one that followed him everywhere he went. Sure, sure, it was useful, but he also sort of resented it, too.

"Hey, Barnes!"

Bucky's shoulders stiffened and he had to force himself to take a deep breath and relax before raising his head. Barton was walking up the block towards him. And, damn it, Steve was tagging along beside him.

'Hey, man, let me see your bar,' Barton said when he called. 'I just want to look,' he claimed. 'I want to dream,' he damn near whined.

"What happened to your face?" Bucky asked as Barton got closer. There was a bruise on the left side of his jaw and a butterfly bandage on his cheekbone.

"Nothing."

"Really?"

Barton stopped in front of him and scowled. "There was a thing with a guy and an old lady and an espresso machine. And I'm probably going to need to move. I don't want to talk about it," he grunted and scowled some more.

Steve gave Bucky a flat look, one that said there was nothing he could do about Barton and the guy wasn't his fault. Then he shook his head slowly, and turned to take in the building. "Nice place."

"It's a shithole, as Darcy likes to say," Bucky told him with a soft huff of amusement.

It wasn't as horrible as she thought it was, but, the yellow brick was kind of bad. Of course, Darcy looked like she might faint when the contractor told her how they'd have to strip the whole building down to the framing to get rid of it. But, she toughed it out, and told the guy to do it, even while she was turning green. And gripping his forearm so tightly he was glad it was his metal one.

Honestly, he thought if she had been given a choice between talking to the contractor and facing a squad of Hydra goons, she would've chosen the goons. He already knew she was nuts, but sometimes …

Steve shrugged. "It's not so bad."

"Nah. You just ignore the ugly brick, and it's pretty good," Bucky agreed and pushed off the wall. "So, if you wanna look …"

"I want to," Barton spoke up and pushed past Bucky to peer into the grime-crusted window. "Looks big."

"Decent," he told him, pulling out the keys to the grate over the door.

"Room for a pool table?"

"A couple, I figure."

Barton put one hand on the glass and closed his eyes, whispering, "This is the best thing."

Steve chuckled. "You know, you're pretty easy, Clint."

"Am I ever," he muttered and moved away from the window to follow Bucky into the building. "I've never had my own bar before."

"It's not yours," Bucky grumbled back, shoving the protesting, shrieking grate aside.

"No, not like that." Barton rolled his eyes. "Like a hangout. I mean, there were a couple places I liked here and there, but no place that was … I don't know."

"Where you belonged?" Steve guessed.

"Maybe," Barton said absently. But, then he smiled a smile that looked both fake and genuine, and said brightly, "Plus, hangout that's not Stark's. Score!"

Steve gave him a nudge in the shoulder. "Darcy's a Stark."

"I like to pretend I don't know that," Barton told him sagely. "Besides, she's a lot less work than her dad."

"Tony's not that bad," Steve said, but when Barton raised an eyebrow at him he shrugged. "But, yeah, that's kind of true."

Bucky stood back from the door and let the pair wander in and around. He watched them both. A year ago he'd been adrift. And now he had a partner, a future bar, his best friend standing right there, and whatever the hell Barton was. People. He had people again. It was … weird.

He wasn't going to claim it wasn't nice, but Bucky honestly didn't know what to do or how to be around them. Words didn't come to him as easily as maybe they did before. But, Steve was Steve, that wouldn't change, and no matter who Bucky was now, Steve was there. And Barton didn't flinch away from him, or even look at him like he was anything other than any other agent. And Darcy … well, she just kept folding people into his world. Somehow that didn't bother him. It was pretty obvious she was careful about how she did it and who she chose — the Director first, Agent May, Simmons, Koenig, Tripplet. Her friend Skye didn't seem sure about him, but that was sort of an unavoidable meeting, what with him getting a little dinged up and all. But, then it was Banner and Thor and Foster. Barton, he supposed, introduced himself, but probably only because Darcy didn't get to it first.

And now they all pushed in on his bubble of isolation. Though, what with Darcy never being very far for most of the last year, it wasn't that impenetrable a bubble.

He didn't know what prompted Barton's call today, but, while it was a reflex action to say 'no', somehow he ended up agreeing to meet. He absolutely blamed Darcy.

"Where are you going to put the actual bar part of the bar?" Barton called to him as he poked around the mouldering booths and tables.

"Over there," Bucky said, pointing to a spot about half-way in middle of the long room. "Figure a sorta quiet place behind, right side connects to the back storage and kitchen."

Barton scratched at his chin and looked at the area Bucky was pointing, then looked towards the door, then stepped forward to better examine the area towards the back.

"This'll be a great place, Buck," Steve offered quietly.

"Yeah." It was still so damned hard to talk to Steve. He was trying, they both were, but it wasn't easy. There was that shivery, spidery crawl over his brain when he saw Steve or heard his voice. It wasn't a lie when he told Darcy it was getting better, but it wasn't gone entirely and it still left him jittery.

He changed the subject. "So, nothing doing tonight?"

Barton circled around to them, his scowl back in place. "Pepper and Nat were planning a going-away girl's night with Darcy, or something. We're absolutely not invited. Which is not fair. Darcy's not just her trainee. What if I wanted to send her off with a night of booze and bad karaoke, too?"

Staring at him for a long moment, Bucky wondered if Darcy set the archer to keeping an eye on him while she was away. It wouldn't surprise him, but on the other hand, she didn't get too overbearing. She was good about letting him have his space. Which meant, maybe Barton decided to do this all on his own. But, why?

He kept staring and Barton just stared back. Bucky was impressed once again that the man never flinched away. Sniper, though. Watching his target. So what sort of target did that make him?

Bucky almost smiled. "Is that why you called?"

Barton rocked on his heels and shrugged before drawling a slow, hesitant, "Maybe."

"Clint," Steve sighed.

"What? So, did you two have hot plans tonight?" he shot back.

"Well, no. I didn't," Steve allowed with a tilt of his head. Barton looked at Bucky, who just shrugged.

He got himself a tv a few weeks ago, and despite grumbling about him still being a Dodgers fan, Darcy showed him how to order a thing where he could watch all the baseball he wanted. If somebody told him when he was a kid there would come a day when he would be able to watch every, single ballgame played on any particular day, he would've thought they were talking about heaven. Actual heaven, with angels and stuff, looking down on the fields from a fluffy cloud, because how else could you do it?

He enjoyed the novelty of it, even when it meant watching teams he'd never heard of slug it out for last place, and most nights that was as exciting as his plans got. Well, the nights that didn't involve Hydra or something. He was starting to appreciate the boring days where he could sit around and watch the Rockies and Brewers play lousy ball.

"So, okay," Barton said with a firm lift of his chin and narrow-eyed look at both of them.

A sudden gust of wind rattled the grate and slammed the door back against the wall. Bucky tensed at the noise and dropped his hand to the small of his back and the pistol tucked away there.

It's just the wind, he reminded himself. Just the damned wind.

"Thor's here," Barton announced and headed for the door.

Or maybe not the wind. "Thor?"

Steve cleared his throat. "It was the best I could do."

That was a weird thing to say. Watching him out of the corner of his eyes, Bucky thought Steve looked abashed and a little annoyed. "What's that mean?"

With a sigh, Steve kicked at a warped floorboard. "Every time I think I've got Barton and Romanoff figured out, they prove I don't have a damn clue. They got in some sort of thing." He shook his head and kept shaking it. Bucky didn't remember Romanoff, but he could see where Barton was tough to pin down.

"Doesn't matter, I guess," Steve continued. "But, so, she was going to do that big thing with all the gals, right? So, Clint decided that he oughta do a big thing with all the guys. And he wanted to invite Bruce, and Colonel Rhodes, and Sam. Uh, Sam Wilson, not Darcy's brother."

"Okay."

"I talked him down to Thor. Who … well, you guys have met. And you got along."

"Sure."

"So, yeah. Thor."

"You could've all gone without me."

Barton returned, the large Asgardian behind him. "Darcy woulda been grumpy that we didn't invite you."

"I doubt it," Bucky said with a frown. She actually probably wouldn't. Again, she didn't get pushy about that sort of thing. It was one of the many things he appreciated about her.

"Sgt. Barnes," Thor boomed and held out his hand. Bucky let him grab his in a companionable forearm clasp. "You look well, my friend."

"Good to see you," Bucky murmured back, surprised to find it was good to see Thor. Well, maybe not good exactly, but he wasn't unhappy about it, anyway.

Thor grinned and looked around the dim, decaying restaurant. "And this shall be your tavern?"

"Eventually. Lot of work."

"Indeed. It is small — " Steve shook his head sharply and Thor cleared his throat. "Cozy, even. Sure to become a fine establishment. A warm place for friends to gather."

"Hope so," Bucky muttered. He could feel a smile pull at his lips. It was a decent save.

"I'm certain it will be so."

"And," Steve put in, "it's not just this building, but the whole block." Assuring Thor that it was all bigger than he thought. It seemed to work, Thor grinned and nodded.

"Ah, excellent. For SHIELD, yes?"

"Yeah, but, that'll be underground," Steve continued.

"That makes more sense," Thor said and started his own wandering investigation of the room. "I know Jane has had her concerns about Darcy joining SHIELD, but I always thought more highly of Director Coulson." He paused and frowned. "Though, he did steal her equipment."

Barton laughed quietly. "He gave it back."

"He did." Thor dipped his chin at Barton and walked across the room to stick his head in the kitchen. "You appear to have something living in here."

"A possum, if you can believe it," Bucky grumbled and shook his head. "I've grabbed the damn thing twice now. Keeps coming back."

Steve snorted. "Guess it likes you. Maybe you oughta keep it for a pet."

"Sure, I'll call it Steve," he shot back. "It's already enough of a pain in my ass." He wasn't sure where that retort came from, but there it was, without thought. Steve looked startled, but a hesitant smile appeared on his face. Bucky wasn't ready to face that, and turned back to the other two men.

Barton snickered at Bucky's comment and stuck his head around Thor's shoulder to try and spot the creature. "Probably coming in through a vent. Trap it, take it to a park, fix up the vent. Aww, it's cute."

"It's hissing," Thor muttered.

"They do that. Leave it alone."

"Very well." Thor let the door to the kitchen swing shut and turned back to face Steve and Bucky. "As I was saying, though Jane worried when Darcy began her work with SHIELD, I am pleased. I don't always understand your institutions; of course, I don't always understand Darcy, but I do trust her. Better to have a friend there, particularly as we've discovered how wicked it became."

"Uh," Barton said, raising one hand. "Technically Natasha and I are still agents, so, you know Darcy's not the only one."

"Yes, but Darcy shall lead the agency," Thor told him, absolute and unbothered in his certainty.

"Not for a while yet," Steve put in, looking doubtful or like maybe he didn't like that idea all that much. Probably didn't like the idea of a Director who wouldn't ever hesitate to call him on the carpet. Bucky'd heard the details of a few of Darcy and Steve's arguments.

Bucky snorted softly, amused at the probable reason behind Steve's hesitance. Thor laughed back, acknowledging the reality they both knew, even if others might be slow to catch on. "It will happen; it is her duty, to her family and to this realm. I admire that she has embraced it."

"Alrighty, then," Barton said slowly, seeming uncomfortable with that pronouncement. He changed the subject. "So, I realize I'm the only kind of normal guy here--"

"You're not that normal," Steve said then caught himself and grimaced. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Thanks, Cap," Barton replied in a dusty dry tone, giving him a flat look. "Anyway, I'm thirsty. Beer?"

"Yes," Thor agreed. "Midgardian ales are not strong, but some taste excellent. Jane introduced me to microbrews."

"I looked up places around here," Barton said, pulling his phone and opening the map, showing it to the rest of them. For proof? Bucky frowned. There were plenty of bars in this city, it wasn't like it was a shock he'd found one. Prohibition had been over for a really, really long time now. People were damned weird about their phones. "There's a pub a couple blocks away."

Bucky hesitated and let out a slow, hopefully quiet breath. He could feel the tension crawling up his spine. It was one thing when Barton just wanted to see the place, but now it was Steve and Thor and going out somewhere.

"Come on, Buck," Steve murmured. "It's just the four of us. We'll find a good place."

"With karaoke," Barton said, grinning.

"I like karaoke," Thor said, looking pleased at the idea, too.

Bucky stared at both of them. "So, what the hell is karaoke?"

Thor held his hands up and made a gesture, like a large box. "It's where there is a machine that plays music and displays lyrics, and we stand and sing songs for others. It's entertaining."

"No."

Thor' face fell and Barton shook his head. "You don't have to do it."

"There is no force on earth that could make me," Bucky assured him. That sounded like a level of hell. And he knew from levels of hell.

Steve laughed quietly. "Yeah, I don't do it, either. But Clint sings pretty well."

"I have a lovely singing voice," Barton corrected with a hint of arrogant pride.

"As do I," Thor hurried to add, apparently afraid somebody might be better at something than the God of Thunder.

"You do," Barton said. "A surprisingly smooth baritone."

"Yes, thank you."

Barton turned to Bucky and pointed a finger. "You need to have a karaoke machine in this place. Do a karaoke night."

Bucky regarded him for a long moment, long enough that most people got uncomfortable. But, as usual, Barton didn't so much as shift his weight. He let the gaze linger for another moment before telling the other sniper, "Over my dead body."

"You don't even know what it is," Barton exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "Give it a chance."

***

Karaoke was obnoxious, he decided.

Bucky took a long draw of his beer, wishing the alcohol had a chance against his metabolism, and leaned back in his chair. Thor and Barton were singing at each other, and the handful of other patrons in the bar. And, yeah, okay, they both sang pretty well, but he didn't know the song and it was loud and irritating.

"I apologized to Darcy," Steve said, picking at the bowl of corn chips.

Bucky picked at the label on his beer bottle. "Good."

"Yeah."

Goddamn it, it was so hard to talk to Steve. He wanted to leave the conversation there, but forced himself to ask, "What'd she say?"

Steve laughed quietly and shot him a look, "'Stop apologizing, Steve.'"

He nodded. Figured. If Steve felt he was in the wrong, he would fall over himself to try and make amends. Darcy would accept it, and then Steve would keep doing it. Until she yelled. And even then probably he'd apologize a few more times for good measure. He remembered Steve well enough to know that.

"She was real worried about how you'd take it. I think that was eating at her as much as anything else."

Grimacing, Steve shoved the bowl of chips away. "Yeah."

"It's done now, you both need to ease up about it," he said firmly. Darcy was too torn up about it, and now so was Steve. It was time for both of them to get past it. There was no undoing anything.

"I guess," Steve muttered.

Bucky rolled his eyes and sat forward towards him. "Look at it this way, right? You're not the only one who remembers anymore."

"You remember."

"On a good day, I've got maybe four bits out of a buck," he said with a shrug. "But, she met all the fellows. Knew your girl. And her granddad, your friend. Right?" Bucky quirked a smile. "Bet it looked good on her. She says there's pictures, but I haven't seen 'em yet."

Steve gave him a reluctant smile. "I haven't seen them, either."

"So, ask her."

"Maybe."

With a laugh, Bucky drained his beer. "Christ, Steve. You never did get the hang of talking to a dame, did you?"

"It's not like that," he shot back. "She's a friend."

"Yeah, so?"

"So … it's not like that. It never was."

Setting his jaw, Bucky lowered his voice into a low growl. "I'm not telling you to make a pass at her; I'd have to feed you a knuckle sandwich if you did." Steve choked on a laugh and Bucky glared. "I'm just saying, talk to your friend who remembers, too. Bet she'd like to tell you about it, and I don't mean the facts, but just regular stuff. Stuff only you two can understand. I don't remember enough. Though, I remember Morita; liked her story about getting one up on him. You hear that one?"

"No. Just how Peggy said in her report that Darcy infiltrated and took everybody out."

"Got Frenchie, too." He laughed again. What he wouldn't give to have seen that. Watching his girl mow over those guys. Yeah, that woulda been something else. His girl and his team. And she was his girl. Well, he wanted her to be. It'd been a long time since he'd wanted something like that, he was rusty, so he wasn't always sure he was doing it right. But, she seemed to like him, too. Well, maybe more than liked, he hoped. And, okay, he hadn't taken her dancing yet, but he was ready for that now. Jesus, if he could stomach Barton, Thor, and Steve for an evening, he could take Darcy out dancing. That'd be a hell of a lot more fun.

"Did she really?" Steve asked with a chuckle. "Good for her."

"Stole his pistol, and kept it," he said, proud as hell. "She says she found it in some old box her granddad left her, along with some other Howlie shit, too. Gear and stuff; nothing personal."

Looking thoughtful, Steve scratched at his jaw and let his eyes run over the people in the bar. "He left her a whole load of crates in a building in Queens. She and Tony have been out there a few times; they always come back grimy, head to toe. I'm afraid to ask what they're up to."

"Chicken."

Steve gave him a baleful look. "Yeah, see if you want to call me that after you've met Tony."

With a grimace, Bucky tapped at his empty bottle and watched Barton and Thor bow to their audience of a dozen noisy drunks and what looked like maybe some sort of bachelorette party. The two of them were a hit. The whole thing was obnoxious and loud.

"Buck?"

"Yeah. Anyway, talk to Darcy." He didn't want to talk about Stark. There was a hazy spot in his head that said he killed the guy's parents, Darcy's grandparents. He didn't exactly remember, but there was a strange certainty in that haze. Stark probably didn't want to see him either. "And quit apologizing. She took it; let it go."

As Barton and Thor walked back to the table, patting each other on the back for their rousing duet, a guy who'd had two or three too many, was trying to get by. He hit Thor hard, bouncing off the Asgardian and bumping the edge of their table, sending bottles spinning, before he finally tumbled to the floor in a spill of beer and glass.

"My apologies," Thor said and held a hand out to help the man up. "Let me assist you, friend."

The man slapped Thor's hand away. "What the hell do you think you're doing, buddy?"

"I beg your pardon?" Thor took his hand back and stared down as the man clambered unsteadily to his feet.

Two more guys got up from a table nearby, coming to the aid of their friend. Bucky sighed. He could see where this was going.

One of the other men tried to get into Thor's face, but he probably only came to Thor's chin. "What's your deal?"

"Your friend ran into me, I was trying to help him up."

"Hey now," Steve said, standing, ready to keep the peace. Bucky groaned and got up with him. "We're all friends here."

"I ain't your friend," the man who fell slurred. Then he swung a fist at Steve. It would have been funny if it wasn't so damned irritating. He missed, his swing spinning his alcohol-soaked body around towards Bucky. He grabbed the drunk by the front of his shirt and shoved him down into a chair. Hard enough they could all hear a chair leg crack.

The third friend took that as an affront and rounded on Bucky. "You think you're a tough guy, tough guy?"

"I do."

The guy didn't like that answer, not at all, and balled up one fist, ready to let fly. Bucky sighed again. Time slowed down, sped up, and chaos erupted around them. People were yelling, scrambling out of their chairs, a girl screamed, the bartender shouted. Annoying music continued to blare. Another table of men stood up, and suddenly it was the most goddamned stupid melee Bucky'd been in for 70 years.

"I hate you, Steve," he muttered, ducking a pathetic haymaker aimed at his face.

"No you don't," Steve laughed back, holding the first man down in the chair, while he batted at Steve's arm. Looking down at the guy, Steve shook his head, "Son, quit fighting."

"What are you, my grandpa?" The man spat back, and continued ineffectually struggling.

Barton was grinning gleefully and he grabbed another guy in a headlock, but really he was protecting the ass from trying to go at the increasingly annoyed God of Thunder. But then, damn it to hell, Thor laughed, a loud, booming sound, and opened his arms wide, inviting attack. Two idiots were dumb enough to try it.

The bartender ended it a few seconds later by pulling a baseball bat and slapping it loudly in his palm while threatening to call the cops. The drunks stumbled out of the bar, spitting curses and blood from split lips. Bucky ground his teeth and pulled his wallet, shoving bills at the bartender to pay for the broken table and three chairs, while Steve apologized. Thor and Barton offered to make up for the fight with another duet, but Bucky'd had enough. Once he'd paid off the bartender, he grabbed Barton by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the bar.

"No karaoke machine," he grumbled.

"What? Why?" Barton said, shaking him off. "That was fun. You know you had fun."

"That was not fun."

"I think you got freezer burn after 70 years. In Steve's stories you're way more fun," Barton grumped.

"A fine start to the evening my friends," Thor pronounced as he and Steve joined them. "Where shall we go next?"

"Sweet Jesus," Bucky muttered.

"Uh," Steve said, not looking like he was quite up for another round. "Maybe we oughta—"

"I'm hungry," Thor said, ignoring both of them.

"Me, too," Barton put in. "Hot dogs? Hot dogs. There's a place not far."

"How do you know this part of town so well?" Steve asked. "I thought you lived in the Bronx?"

"I googled. I always like to know where I am." He clapped his hands together and started off down the street. "Come on."

Bucky closed his eyes and drew in a steadying breath.

"I think …" Steve said quietly next to him. "We should probably keep an eye on them."

He opened his eyes and glared. "Damn it, Steve."

"It wasn't much of a bar fight. We got in worse during the war. Those guys just had a little too much to drink and got surly. But, come on, how bad could going for hot dogs be? It's just food. It'll be fine."

"If it's just hot dogs, why do we need to go with them?" Bucky grumbled, but he started walking, anyway, following Thor and Barton.

"Well, I mean, I'm kind of hungry, too."

Bucky sighed, yet again. "Fine."

Whatever happened next, he was absolutely blaming Darcy. He could be at home right now watching some team he'd never heard of play baseball. There was always a baseball game. But, no, here he was with people. Yeah, it was her fault. He was still going to take her dancing, though.

Chapter Text

Relaxed and just shy of tipsy, the girl's night party made their way to dinner at a local tapas bar. Jane and Pepper had their doubts about chasing beer and vodka with sangria, but Darcy simply laughed at them while Maria decided all the carbs from the food would blunt the alcohol.

Natasha was relatively new to this sort of socializing. Of course, she had gone out to dinner or lunch or for drinks with each of the other women — admittedly with Foster only once, and that was largely an attempt to get a status update on their long-ago attempt to reach Thor on Asgard. The woman had been distracted, and shoveled salad into her mouth with disturbing intensity. They certainly didn't laugh at in-jokes — they hadn't had any then — and linger over their drinks, discussing the mundane, the exasperating, or the amusing.

When she went out — the times it wasn't an op — it was most often with Clint or Maria, and every now and then another agent or two might join them. Or they'd be part of a much larger party, and it was quite easy to be in a smaller group at those gatherings. Even undercover, she'd never had this sort of female-centric outing with multiple companions.

It didn't take long to realize this really wasn't unlike hanging out with the other Avengers or a group of male agents, only minus the undercurrent of testosterone and posturing. In fact, it may have been even more bawdy and profane — a realization that prompted Natasha to wonder if the boys cleaned up their conversations for her. Unnecessary but adorable if true. She'd have to ask Clint.

But, it was nice that nobody at the table cared whose was bigger or felt the driving need to one-up each other on every damned thing. Though, Darcy did declare her breasts were larger, but then complained about it, while the rest of them nodded in sympathy. That was followed by a heated, fifteen minute discussion on bras that may have ended with Stark Industries branching out into the women's lingerie business. Natasha lost track of where Darcy and Pepper landed on that.

After dinner they moved on to a moderately upscale club — an escalation of festivities, Jane said with a dry laugh. After a round of drinks, the other women hit the dance floor, while Natasha volunteered to sit out the first set and watch their belongings and drinks. And answer a text from Clint. It was too early for him to get into much trouble. Wasn't it?

'bucky's a jerk'

She frowned and narrowed her eyes. Barnes? Natasha wasn't certain anything about Sgt. Barnes would ever be okay with her, despite her agreement with Clint that she would find a way to work with him.

When Natasha told him she was going out with the other women, Clint turned petulant. And, once informed he wasn't invited, he even went so far as to stick out his lower lip. Then he'd pointed at Steve, who'd been caught trying to pass them in a hallway, and told him to round up 'the boys'. Last she'd heard, only Thor was available, his own girlfriend abandoning him for the evening. At the time that hadn't seemed too bad, but now she had doubts. Barnes. Damn it.

'Why?', she typed back, not certain she wanted the answer.

'he says he's not getting a karaoke machine for the bar and i can't have my own barstool'

Natasha rolled her eyes and laughed a little at herself for being so tense about this. 'Poor baby.'

'you're a jerk too'

'I know. Stay out of trouble.'

'bucky's got a possum'

Natasha blinked, frowned some more, and hesitated a moment before asking, 'What?'

'nothing bye'

"Barton?" Maria asked, sliding into a seat next to Natasha. "What's he up to tonight?"

"He's out with Steve, Thor, and Barnes." Natasha pursed her lips and clicked her nails against the phone's case. "And a possum."

"A what?"

"I feel like sometimes there are things I don't want to know."

Maria took a sip of her scotch then frowned. "Watery. Rogers will keep them out of trouble."

Natasha felt her face twist with disbelief. "Rogers? Please. He's more trouble then the rest of them together." With a sigh she shoved her phone into her clutch. "I'm terrified that the Winter Soldier is the most adult of the four."

"Maybe the possum."

Natasha laughed and tipped her margarita at Maria. "To the possum. God help it."

"The possum," Maria saluted back, clinking the rims of their glasses together. "Barnes, huh?"

"Yes." Her eyes drifted out to the dance floor, where she watched Darcy dancing near Jane. A man approached and tried to dance with her, but she brushed him away with a smile and a laugh. Natasha waited for his reaction, but whatever Darcy said was enough to simply earn a smile and shrug from him, before he moved on. It wasn't that she worried, Darcy knew how to handle people above and beyond her training from Natasha, but it was always interesting to watch her work. She had a relaxed, unstudied way about it, one Natasha rather admired.

It was early yet, the room not quite packed, but the floor was filled, dancers swayed and swirled, and eventually Darcy was washed away from her sight. But, as she pulled her eyes away they caught on something else, someone else. There was one man, on the edge of the dance floor, in an ill-fitting suit, who did not move with the tide. He bobbed to the music, trying to look as though he was dancing, but doing a poor job at it as he was too intensely focused on the dancers.

"How's that?" Maria asked.

Natasha shifted her gaze from the man and let her eyes run over the rest of the club. "Hmm?"

"Barnes."

She didn't spot anybody else who looked immediately suspicious, so she turned to Maria and shrugged. "I don't know. I've only seen him once since DC, and that was for about two minutes. Not enough to get much of a read, and May kept any discussion on point. For the best," she admitted with a rueful tilt of her head. "Clint's talked to him, obviously. He insists they bonded. But, who knows. Barnes bought him dessert; that might as well be an eternal vow of brotherhood as far as Clint is concerned."

Maria snorted and pushed aside her scotch and swiped Pepper's margarita. "Christ, how much trouble could I have saved myself over the years if I just bought the jerk a sandwich?"

"So much." Natasha gave her a chastising head shake. "How did you never notice that?"

"No clue."

"Clint's not that complicated. This is top secret, but, you'll win his undying devotion with a club sandwich. It's got bacon, you know."

Laughing, Maria finished Pepper's drink and found the waitress for another round. Natasha found Darcy in the crowd again, she'd wandered over to a table full of men and women about her age. She pointed at a waitress and then gestured for drinks for the table; they cheered and offered her their hands to slap or fists to bump.

Darcy seemed happy tonight. The alcohol surely helped, but she wasn't out of control, she'd been pacing herself, making a point to drink water between each round. But she'd even seemed happy before they hit the first bar. It was a nice change. The past three weeks had been a trial for everybody, but Darcy's mood dropped to the lowest point Natasha'd ever experienced. It was always a bad sign when the younger woman opted for silence as a coping mechanism. And it went on for days and days. A terrible, horrible sign. Even Clint seemed at a loss, and he was always better than her at cajoling a better mood or a needed conversation out of people.

Without a doubt, 1946 left a mark on Darcy. How that would shake itself out, Natasha couldn't even begin to guess. Because, how absolutely bizarre. She wasn't sure she entirely believed it. Not because she thought Darcy was lying; simply because it was so incomprehensible a thing. Of course, she and Darcy talked about it, but only briefly. And Natasha read the report Clint gave her, and Peggy Carter's. As hard as it was to comprehend, it seemed to have truly happened.

Damnedest luck, Clint called it. But, if so, it was even more damnable for one fact alone. Darcy could genuinely, and in Natasha's opinion, unfortunately, say she met the Winter Soldier twice. The parts in both reports about Darcy and Peggy's encounter with him left Natasha cold in a way she hadn't felt in years. What would that meeting do to Darcy's fledgling partnership? What would that do to Barnes? Had they dealt with it? How stable was he really? It was a series of questions that made Natasha uneasy. Potential disaster aside, it was good Clint was out with him tonight; he'd get a read on the other man.

It was time for her to put the Winter Soldier aside. For now, at least. Clint would watch him, Darcy trusted him, and hopefully Steve could stop him if he had to. Besides, despite the trials of 1946, Natasha could admit something good did come out of it all. Clint himself.

Peggy Carter convinced Clint to join SHIELD and promised him one day he'd understand why. For almost a decade he'd pestered his partner with increasingly wild speculation on what Peggy's cryptic "seventeen years" tease meant. And here it was, seventeen years after he joined, and finally, as promised, they knew the answer. Darcy Lewis, back in the past, talked enough about her SOs that Peggy Carter, the woman who would help found SHIELD, waited for him for decades. And, Clint insisted, waited for Natasha, as well. By recruiting Clint, Peggy set up the day he would be sent to kill her and the day he refused to take the shot.

Thinking about it now, Natasha had always felt something strange in Peggy's demeanor when they met. Watchful, which was unsurprising; evaluating, also expected; but also pleased, almost satisfied. At the time she attributed that to the satisfaction of removing a threat from the board, but … maybe that wasn't what it was at all. Maybe Peggy had been waiting for her, too. Maybe it wasn't calculation, or another move in the game, maybe it was a softer, more personal sense of relief.

For herself, Natasha was touched that Darcy thought enough of her to mention their training to Peggy. But, for Clint … it was hard to put into words exactly what she felt. It was something more than gratitude. Clint wasn't just her partner, or her friend; he was the first person who ever told her she had a choice in her own life. He was her more irritating and immature half. He was, unquestionably, the most important person in her life. There was nothing and nobody for whom she cared more.

To know that Darcy talked about him so frequently and so warmly that Peggy Carter herself waited for him; yes, it was hard to put into words what that meant to her. Natasha was not used to devotion, for anybody or from anybody other than Clint. And yet, now she felt like Darcy had done something so profound and important for Natasha's life, for the person who mattered most to her, that all she could give in return was her devotion. Something Darcy most assuredly would never ask for. But, it was the only thing of comparable value Natasha could offer.

"I used to give her so much shit," Maria murmured, then chuckled to herself.

"Used to?" Natasha smirked and glanced over at the other woman, whose eyes were on the younger agent. The music paused for a DJ break, shifting to something not so ear-splitting but tinnier from the house stereo, and Darcy was circling the floor like a shark. The men looked terrified. Including the man in the bad suit on the edge of the floor. Natasha was so proud. "She was sure you were plotting her murder."

"Probably not actual murder," Maria said with a shrug and continued to watch Darcy. The younger agent was moving from group to group, like she was hosting the party, dancing to the tinned music, gesturing broadly to the people around her, and buying drinks. In short, she was acting loud and brash and more drunk than Natasha thought she was. Interesting.

"She looks so much like Stark. How did everybody miss that?" Setting down her glass, Maria shot Natasha a wry look. "Except you. Barton says you clocked her in about ten seconds."

"It was maybe more like thirty," Natasha said modestly, but she grinned back, feeling a little mischievous about it — Tony had looked so crestfallen that he couldn't spring it on her. "She and Tony were sitting at a table together. That made it more obvious. Plus, the body language. Stark gets tense around people he doesn't know well; at least half the obnoxious arrogance is to cover up awkwardness. But, he wasn't arrogant or awkward around her, even after she teased him. If she was just Foster's intern, a girl he'd known for a week at most, there would have been bluster, lots of pointing or arm waving, he would have put on a show. But, he just gave her a dirty look and kept working."

"Huh. I don't think I've ever seen them together. Even working in the Tower."

"You'd know it if you had." Natasha's phone chimed and she sighed and pulled it back out of the clutch. Clint sent her a picture; a terrible, fuzzy, flash-washed picture of an alarmed possum. Rolling her eyes, she tucked it away again, resolved to ignore the phone for now. Nothing good was going to come of whatever Clint was up to. She was fully expecting a plea for bail money before morning. Actually, if she was honest, she was hoping that was as bad as it would get.

"You know," Maria continued, musing on the Starks, "it's not so much that she looks like him looks like him. She's not a carbon copy or anything. But somehow she looks just like him. It's weird."

"She looks a little more like her mother, I think; though, she has Tony's coloring — and chin, or so I've heard. But, it's all the mannerisms. When they're together, they get looks, they say things with the same tone, or move their hands in a certain way, and it's eerie." And right now, on the dance floor, she was every inch a Stark.

Maria shuddered. "Maybe I don't ever want to see them together."

"I think you'd enjoy it. She makes him, hmm … very human, I guess. In the better ways."

Natasha let her eyes scan the room once more, the habit of a lifetime and one she wasn't going to give up even for a simple girl's night. She checked on the man still standing awkwardly on the edge of the crowd, then moved on to picking out each of their companions. Pepper was talking to a woman in a questionable, gold dress, but they seemed like perhaps they knew each other. They were laughing. Next she found Jane talking to a pair of college aged girls, probably trying to convince them to go into the sciences. Darcy broke from her circling and pulled Jane away from the girls. They had a whispered conversation, then Jane laughed a terrible fake-looking laugh and Darcy rolled her eyes and bowed her head to hide her face behind tendrils of loose hair.

Narrowing her eyes, she glanced over towards the man again, saw him trying not to look at Darcy. Next to her Maria's posture straightened just a hint; not enough that anybody but Natasha would notice.

"What's Stark think of Barnes?" Maria asked, but it was an absent sort of question as she was now watching Darcy and Jane, too.

"Nothing good."

"Coulson has good things to say. They caught a couple Hydra agents at HQ."

"I did hear that," Natasha murmured. Something was going on, she pulled her eyes away from Darcy, hiding her observation of the woman in case somebody was watching. "May was furious and happy. In her way."

Maria snorted and played with the stem of her glass. "I don't see anybody."

"Black suit, bad fit, red tie, edge of the floor nearest the door." Natasha turned and faced her, smiling. "I think one of us needs to use the ladies'." They needed a better vantage point, one to move and one to see who watched the move.

"Wait, Foster's on her way."

Jane got to the table and caught herself breathlessly against it, as though tipsy, laughing that horrible fake laugh again. Natasha hid her grimace behind a smile.

Keeping up with the faux happiness, Jane grabbed a glass and pretended to take a long drink. It was as terrible an act as the laughter. Then she set the drink down, giggled and leaned towards them. "Darcy says there are three SHIELD agents in here, and she doesn't mean you guys."

"Where are they?" Maria asked brightly.

"Darcy said she was going to be near one, he's wearing a red tie and a jacket with sleeves that are too short."

Natasha found Darcy dancing with a boy a few years younger, and sure enough, over her shoulder was the man she'd spotted. If he was a SHIELD agent, he didn't look familiar to her. "How does she know they're SHIELD?"

"She recognized them."

"Are they watching her?"

"She thinks so."

"Just her or us as well?" Natasha pressed.

"How should I know?" Jane brushed at a piece of flyaway hair and scowled. "I'm not a spy."

Maria grinned and made a show of standing unsteadily; an infinitely better act than Foster managed. "Okay. Stay here, I'm going to the restroom."

"Darcy says if they're those real SHIELD idiots there will be blood," Jane warned, though she didn't seem that bothered by the idea. Not for the first time Natasha considered that Jane might have a blood-thirsty, vicious side. It was intriguing; something to explore later, perhaps. "She thinks one of you should try to reach May or Coulson."

"On it," Maria assured her with a boozy giggle. As disturbing a sound as Natasha had ever heard.

"So, what do we do?" Jane asked, tapping the table, her irritation and impatience obvious. Darcy mentioned, more than once, Foster's dislike of the espionage world her former intern embraced. The idea of it breaking in on their bubble of fun and happiness for one evening was irritating.

"We watch and see."

"Watch and see what?"

"What they do." Taking her own fake sip of her drink, Natasha let her eyes drift across the club once again.

Jane could observe a single point of light in the sky for months, but apparently she was not made for this sort of patience. She continued to frown, unhappy and irritated. "Why would the Director have people watching Darcy?"

"I can't think of a single reason," Natasha admitted. "Unless he felt there was a threat to her, but he also would have told her. And I hope he would have told us, as well. This is a good way to get on the Starks' bad side, I have to think he knows better than that."

This would explain Darcy's wild circling of the dance floor; she spotted the man Natasha did, and was counting spies. Well, now Natasha was even more proud of her. The tactics Darcy historically favored were of the understated, unnoticed sort, but this time she made a point of being noticed. She acted the brash, open, confident woman who knew what she wanted and what she wanted was fun — in short, for the first time that Natasha could recall, she played at being her father's daughter. It was nice to know she was still growing as an agent, still adapting, learning new tricks.

"Do me a favor," Natasha said, as she pulled her clutch closer, checking the pistol inside, more to reassure herself than concern it had moved. "Go get Pepper. Try and make it look casual."

"I can do casual," Jane said, and stalked off. Not casual in the least.

Maria returned before Jane could pull Pepper back to them. Natasha smiled her greeting and checked the exits one more time.

"Woman in the blue pantsuit by the bar, black scarf," Maria reported as she retook her seat. Natasha turned her head to catch the woman out of the corner of her eye. She was watching both of them.

"She missed somebody, there's a couple near the rail in the upstairs lounge, red flower print dress and her date in the green suit," she replied with her own observation. So, did Darcy miss the woman by the bar? Or did she miss the couple, and if so, who was the other agent then?

"Can't get hold of Coulson or May," Maria said with a sigh. "If it was a takeover, nobody's responding from HQ."

"When was the last time you had contact?"

"A week ago. It was brief. Phil gave me the line on the scepter."

Natasha hummed. "I heard Gonzales was killed."

"I heard that. Darcy mentioned it," Maria said.

"She was my source, too."

"So who's her source?"

With a shrug, Natasha thought and tapped her nails on the table. "I assumed Coulson."

"Can't have been. She hasn't talked to Coulson since the attack on the Tower. You read her report?"

"Yes, and Carter's. You?"

Maria frowned sourly and nodded. "What do you think? Do you buy it?"

"I think so. Clint was convinced, he even went to DC to talk to Peggy Carter herself. She remembered."

"Think it got out and maybe …?" Maria trailed off and tipped her head towards the woman at the bar.

"How?"

"I got the report in an email. Hacked?"

That earned a disbelieving look from Natasha. "It's always amazing to me how so many people can both know who her father is and forget it at the same time."

"She's not him."

"No, but she's as careful about information as he is. Maybe more," Natasha said with a considering tilt of her chin. "She actually takes protecting SHIELD intel seriously."

Maria pursed her lips and worked through the problem.

Chewing on the conundrum as well, Natasha continued, "And if it did get out, somehow, why trail Darcy? And so obviously, too."

"They're not being obvious, they're just bad," Maria told her with a snort.

"This is not Phil," Natasha said with certainty.

"No," Maria agreed.

"Fury?"

"No. That's what I'm for," she said with a wry smile. "Looks like whatever's left of Real SHIELD, I guess. Maybe pissed Darcy got out from under them. Looking for her partner? Or, I guess could be Hydra for the same reasons." Maria made a face, a sort of sad considering frown. "It's lousy company, but I guess it's comforting to know I wasn't the only person she drove up the wall."

"Don't take it personally. I think Tony's the only one who's never been bothered," Natasha laughed and pulled out her phone. "I'll text Clint to keep an eye open on his end."

'Made some new friends.' she sent.

Clint's response was almost immediate. 'sounds fun'

'I don't think so.'

'you're so unsocial, not everybody's a fake or a snake'

She smiled and laughed quietly. 'Too soon to tell'

'copy, try and play nice'

'Please. Me?'

'never change, nat'

'Speaking of, how's your new friend?'

'i'm gonna rename him buzzkill'

'Bet he'll love that.'

'he shot down the hot dog eating contest with thor'

'That monster.'

Jane finally succeeded in drawing Pepper away from her acquaintance and the two women were on their back to the table. Next she made a quick check of the dance floor; Darcy had detached from her dance partner and was, oh God, actually talking with the spying agent. His discomfort was obvious, and he was, comically, trying to edge away from her. It was awkward when a mark you were surveilling spotted you and decided to chat — for the record, that happened more often to Clint than to her. But, did this mean that while Darcy knew who he was, he didn't know she knew? Interesting. Where did she know him from, then?

'Going now. Stay safe,' she sent. Nothing about this felt good. Though, it also didn't feel like sudden, insane violence. It was all very odd.

'if you need bail money, my ass is broke'

'Your ass is always broke.'

':( i've got a mortgage'

'Bye, Clint.'

"What is she doing?" Maria hissed.

"I don't know."

"You trained her."

"She was her own creation long before I got to her. There's only so much I can do." The move was a little concerning, but Natasha liked this bolder side. It wasn't exactly new, Darcy could and would use loud obnoxiousness to distract, though she did it rarely. This felt refined, maybe. Filed down to a sharper edge. How much of an impact did 1946 make on her? After all, she worked with Peggy Carter for more than three months, and 'bold' was one of the more frequent descriptions of Carter.

"What's going on?" Pepper demanded as she finally made it back to the table. "Are we in danger?"

"There are four agents in here that aren't ours," Maria replied, her lip twisted in frustration and annoyance. "Darcy has decided she should chat one of them up."

"She's doing what?" Jane's face darkened, and she would have spun around and gone for Darcy if Maria hadn't caught her by the shirt sleeve. They stared each other down. Jane's refusal to flinch away from Maria was impressive. It was no wonder Darcy was so fond of the woman. Of course, Natasha did hear the story of her slapping Loki, and while she'd like to do more than that to him, it was enough to earn plenty of her respect, too.

Natasha sighed. She needed to get everybody focused. "If it was Tony and he spotted somebody surveilling him, what would he do?"

Pepper frowned and tapped her fingers on the table. Turning her head, looking out at the floor, she glanced over at Darcy who was still glued to the outed agent. It was a admirably subtle glance, though. "He'd try to make them uncomfortable."

"Okay," Jane said, shaking her arm free of Maria's grip. "So, how do we get her away from the guy?"

"She'll leave when she's got what she wants," Natasha told her.

"Okay, again," Jane said with a roll of her eyes, "that's great and all, but look, they're here, they want something, is Darcy giving it to them? You know what I mean? Like, at this point we all have to know they must know she knows." She paused and glanced up at the ceiling, running the last sentence and its pronouns through her head to make sure they made sense, then she nodded and looked back at the other women. "So, do we wait until they try to kidnap her? Again? Because, I won't do that, okay."

"We're assuming they're here for her," Pepper pointed out. "Not to sound immodest, but we're all pretty high-value targets. And, objectively, on the surface, at least, Darcy would appear to be the least high value. CEO," she pointed to herself then moved her finger to Jane, "world-renowned astrophysicist," her finger went on to Maria, "former Deputy Direct of SHIELD, and an Avenger." She finished on Natasha and gave her a short nod. "Darcy is, as far as anybody knows, a former low-level SHIELD agent and intern."

"Assistant," Jane corrected.

Natasha drummed her fingers on the table. What she said next probably wouldn't be much of a comfort to Pepper, but it had to figure into her calculus. "It depends on what they might want. Low-level isn't necessarily bad. Low-level, boots on the ground, can give away a lot. And, they might figure low-level is easier to crack. That's why Hydra took her the first time. Now, that's assuming they don't know who she is. I mean, who she is within the structure of SHIELD. Hydra and Real SHIELD know, or know some of it."

"But, again," Pepper countered, "we're still assuming she's the target."

"You're right," Maria said with a sigh. "It could be any or all of us. Though, they're idiots if they think I'll go down easy," she finished with dark, deadly promise.

"Back to my point," Jane interrupted, "so, we're just going to sit here? If they're, what's the word? Hostile? Should we really be in a crowded place with all these people around?"

"Let's see what Darcy brings us," Natasha said.

They each waited with varying degrees of impatience and twitches and ticks of tension. Jane was the worst, fidgeting with anything she could reach, but there was something brittle in Pepper's serenity. Natasha felt for her — Darcy was family, an almost step-daughter, one she'd known from childhood. All Pepper wanted was to take her out for a night, to relax, to have fun, to let the pressures and pains of the past six months lift for a while.

"Wow," Darcy said with a smirk as she finally forced her way through the crowd to the table. "Who died?"

"Darcy," Pepper said with a bit of frost in her tone. "What did he want?"

Blinking at the chilly edge, Darcy eyed Pepper warily for a moment and then put on a bright smile and leaned over the table to scan for a mostly full drink. Finding a margarita, she sipped at it delicately and announced, "Good news, guys, they're not Hydra. I'm mostly sure. Possibly not Real SHIELD assholes, either. And I'm 98% sure they're not here for us."

"What did you get out of him?" Natasha asked, indicating the man in the bad suit with a flick of her eyes. He was slowly working his way to the door; having been identified he was no use now.

Darcy grinned and magicked a leather badge holder out of the sleeve of her shirt and held it out. "It says CIA, but I'm pretty sure they're not allowed to run ops on US soil. I mean, my national security and intelligence seminar was interrupted by my father's miraculous reappearance in Afghanistan and then how he went all lunatic superhero, but I think I remember that part."

"Hmm," Maria hummed and took the badge. "Looks real. Could be the agency. You're right about not operating here."

"Dude did not want to talk to me. I'm all, 'hey! Did we go to school together? You look soooo familiar.'" She snickered and took another drink. "Good times, good times. He wouldn't say anything, really, but he kept trying to not look over here. I think he spotted you guys and was trying to place the rest of us. He might have remembered me, but I'm not sure."

"How do you know they were SHIELD?" Maria asked. "I didn't recognize them."

"Well, you wouldn't, Miss Deputy Director," she shot back in a haughty, teasing tone; one to which Maria did not respond with amusement. Darcy ignored the dark look. "But the few times I was in DC, before Fury banned me, I hung with the grunts. Dude was ground crew for the ready quinjets." She jerked her chin at the woman by the bar. Or rather, the woman who had been by the bar, but was now gone. "She was in requisitions, I think."

"The couple?" Maria prompted.

"Oh, did I miss somebody?"

"They were by the lounge. Who was your third?"

"Black leather jacket, sunglasses indoors, the cliche. He was trying to hide in a group who were giving him funny 'who the hell are you?' looks, but he kept ordering them drinks, so they didn't want to make him go away. I didn't actually recognize him, but he had a g-man haircut, and what with the other two hanging around I assumed they were a matched set." Biting at the inside of her cheek as she thought, Darcy propped an elbow on the table and let her eyes wander. "And they're gone now. Boo."

Pepper's lips parted with a sigh, inaudible over the driving music. Jane looked relieved, and Maria looked even more annoyed, if possible — sloppy agents going out and committing sloppy operations was offensive to her. Natasha felt intrigued, slightly bothered that they didn't have the answer, a nagging question, but overall not terribly put out by it. It was a few minutes of a cheap thrill; better then wondering when she'd get Clint's one phone call from jail. She supposed she could let it go for an evening.

"You know … they could be up to shenanigans," Darcy said slowly, and set down the drink. There was a light in her eyes warning of trouble to come. "I'm super curious what the CIA is doing in a club in Manhattan. Aren't you guys?"

"No," Pepper said quickly and Jane shook her head vigerously.

Maria pursed her lips, tempted if only for an instant, but sanity asserted itself and she let her shoulders drop. "I could make some calls, get somebody on it."

"But that's boring and rational and crap," Darcy protested. "We're here, we're badasses. Come on, it'll be fun."

"Darcy, no," Pepper said in the voice she usually saved for Tony's bad ideas.

"This will totally take my mind off of all my trauma and shit." Darcy kept smiling, and the scheming, troublesome gleam in her eye didn't fade.

"Darcy, please," Pepper tried again.

"Fifteen minutes," she cajoled back, leaning towards Pepper and tugging on the woman's jacket sleeve like a little girl begging for sweets. "Please?"

"Darcy," Jane tried, "this is supposed to be a relaxing night out."

"And I will be entertained as all hell by this," Darcy assured her. "You know what won't be relaxing? Wondering if some sort of horrible trouble is afoot fifty feet away from us here."

"Damn Starks," Maria grumbled quietly, but she was wavering where the other two women weren't.

Natasha pursed her lips and felt her own curiosity getting the better of her. The CIA really weren't meant to operate domestically. It could be a joint operation with somebody else, but who? And if Darcy was right about their SHIELD positions, field agent was a strange transition for both of those agents. Not unheard of, but unusual.

"Natasha," Darcy pounced, spotting that she was interested. Natasha was usually better at hiding her thoughts, but, well, beer, then sangria, then a rum and coke … even her Russian blood didn't spare her entirely. "Come on. You're curious. You've got questions. You're wondering. You're thinking of thwarting bad guys and other such heroical things."

Darcy was right. Something was up. She couldn't walk away, however much Pepper and Jane might want them to. "Maria, make your calls. Darcy and I will—"

That's when the shouting started.

Chapter Text

"So, guys?" Clint returned to the table with a frown. "I maybe have to apologize."

Bucky was tapping his pool cue on the floor while Thor lined up his shot.

Steve, leaning against the high bar table next to the wall, frowned over at Clint. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing …" He jerked his chin at Thor. "Thor, knock his four out of play. Do it right, you can sink your six."

"Hey," Bucky snarled.

Clint crossed his arms. "You wouldn't let me play."

"Why would anybody play pool with you?" Bucky shot back with a snort of disbelief.

"Because they don't actually want to play and just want to watch me run the table," Clint admitted, scowling back at him.

Thor followed Barton's suggestion, clearing Bucky's four ball out of position and sinking his own.

"Thank you, friend." Thor tipped his head at Clint.

Bucky turned a dark, threatening look on Barton, and Steve had to laugh.

This was nice, Steve decided, going out with friends. Heck, it was nice to have friends he felt like he wanted to go out with. Natasha tried while they were in DC; she'd invite him out, or try to get him invited to events with other SHIELD agents, and find him dates. Sometimes he'd go, but he never felt like he quite fit.

But this, this felt right, even with the bar fight earlier — though, that practically took him back to the days with the Commandos. He was glad Clint talked him into it, and he was really glad Clint managed to talk Bucky into it. Getting Bucky to even look at him was still a little difficult, but his friend hadn't left yet, he hadn't disappeared into the night again, and they were talking. And it was also pretty nice to be out with teammates in a more relaxed way. It didn't even feel like a team thing, which always felt a little forced; the evening was just them taking it easy, drinking beer, eating hotdogs, playing pool, being friends. Yeah, it was nice.

He kind of wished Tony and Bucky were at a place where Tony could have joined them, too. There was a little something missing, to not have Tony here. Steve thought the other man could use a night like this. He was tense, wound up after Darcy's trip to the past. Steve didn't blame him, he felt pretty wound up about it himself. Steve wasn't mad about what she'd done, he meant his apologies, but the more he thought about the whole situation, the more it scared him. She could have been truly lost for a long, long time.

"So, anyway," Barton said again while he watched Thor miss sinking his next shot.

"What's wrong, Clint?" Steve asked for a second time. The archer's body language was relaxed, but in a studied way. He was trying to look relaxed.

"Oh nothing." He smiled brightly and shrugged. "I just think this place might be a front for the Russian mob. Or like a hangout."

The pool cue cracked in Bucky's hand. He growled at it and threw the pieces on the table, followed by a twenty dollar bill. "Where?"

"See the shifty guys by the door to the back?"

Bucky didn't move but after a second he nodded. "I see 'em. Muscle. Hitters."

Steve straightened from his lean. "You sure?"

"Tattoos," he replied simply, but his tone was clipped, hard.

"I overhead them plotting evilly when I walked by to go to the bathroom," Clint said. "They were talking about hitting some score, discussing their murdery options."

"I see," Steve said and set his jaw. "Do they know you overhead?"

Clint didn't seem concerned by the thought. He reached for his beer and took a long sip. "They were speaking po-ruskie, I talked to the bartender all loud-like in drunk yokel. I'm sure they're sure I didn't understand."

Steve pressed his lips together and thought. They could deal with it, or they could call the cops. They should probably stay out of it and call the cops. His eyes slid over to Bucky, whose face was cold and blank. Bucky didn't need to be on anybody's radar.

"We can leave it to the police, call in a tip," he said quietly, for Bucky's ears alone.

"Why? We're here." Bucky straightened his shoulders and took a quick look around the pool hall, checking other customers, exits, windows, and options. "I think maybe they should get a visit from—"

"The Winter Soldier will spook the hell out of them," Clint put in, shaking his head firmly.

Bucky gave him a flat look. "Yakov from Moscow."

"Oh." Clint pursed his lips and thought. "They might have clocked you already."

"So what if they did? They don't know me." Bucky grabbed a glass of water and poured some in his hand, then set to work slicking back his hair and straightening his clothes, ready to become Yakov.

"Buck," Steve protested and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "You don't have to do this."

Bucky looked at him for a long second and then laughed, it was a little low and quiet but genuine. "May as well get some use out of this crap in my head. Make it something good."

The quartet were silent for a moment, dwelling on the things that made Bucky the one most qualified to talk to Russian mobsters. Maybe Steve was the one dwelling on it, but Clint was squinting up at the ceiling like he was uncomfortable. And Bucky was staring at the pieces of his broken pool cue like it had betrayed him.

Thor broke the silence, offering the practical next step to get them moving and to end the awkward contemplation of the past. "The three of us will leave you," he said, "to make sure they don't feel threatened or more suspicious. We can wait for you in the alley. Bring one to us and we might question him."

"That good by you, Cap?" Bucky asked, raising his eyebrows.

Steve ran though his own list of options. They weren't in the worst position in the world. If Bucky could separate one of them from the group, they could figure out their target, and stop the hit, maybe save some lives. While the Avengers tended to operate on a more global scale, that didn't mean they shouldn't help at the street level. Especially not when it was something happening right in front of them. There was no way in hell Steve wanted to walk away.

"Alright, do it," he said after his considerations. "If it doesn't work, if they don't buy it, just leave. Too many civilians for a fight. We'll figure something else out."

With a dry smile, Bucky tipped his head. "Yes, sir."

***

"Barton, would you stop?"

"I'm just looking for ID. You can't knock him out just for like a second?" Clint dodged a kick aimed at his groin, and yanked on their captive's jacket.

"I knock him out, he'll be down for a while. Besides, I don't want to accidentally give him brain damage or something."

The man in Bucky's arms started struggling more fiercely, grasping and clawing at Bucky's forearm. But, held in a rigid headlock by a metal arm, the man wasn't going anywhere.

It took Bucky about fifteen minutes to lure out one of the mob hitters. Steve had no idea what he said to the man, or how the scene in the pool hall played out, but whatever Bucky did must have been convincing. There wasn't even any shouting or fighting. Well, not until the man got to the alley and realized he was surrounded.

"You knock it off, too," Bucky growled, giving him a hard shake. "I'm not gonna hurt you, unless you keep this up. Idiot."

The man's eyes rolled like a spooked horse's and he tried to look up at Bucky. Wisely, at the expression on the Winter Soldier's face, he went very still and passive. Clint succeeded in pulling two guns and a wallet out of his jacket.

Steve squinted out at the street and tried to calculate how much time they had and what they'd have to do next. The alley was lit by one bulb over the delivery entrance to the pool hall. It was all dim enough that nobody walking by would be able to see clearly. Hopefully.

"John Smirnov. Oh, hey look, you live in Prospect Heights." Barton read off the man's ID. "John, or is it Ivan? Do you have a preference?"

Smirnov clenched his jaw and shook his head.

"Johnny it is, then." Clint slipped the wallet into his own pocket and hefted the two pistols. "These are super illegal in New York City."

"Screw you, bro," Smirnov spat, his accent almost too thick to make out. Or, maybe his speech was garbled by the fact he was slowly choking to death. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Steve thought the man's face might be turning purple. He almost asked Bucky to loosen up, but this guy had been openly discussing murder not five minutes previously. So, he couldn't bring himself to feel too bad.

"What are you hitting tonight?" Clint demanded.

"Screw you," Smirnov said again.

Bucky tightened his arm and Smirnov started to choke and gasp. "Play nice."

"Screw you, too."

Bucky sighed and yanked the man around to face him, holding him up by his shirtfront. "Do you know who I am?"

"You are not Yakov from Moscow," Smirnov said with a haughty sneer.

"Zeemneeye Soldat. Do you know me?"

Smirnov's face went slack and his eyes went wide with terror. "Nyet."

"Da." Bucky grinned, fierce and feral. "Tell me your target."

The man lasted only a couple of seconds under that look, and then he spilled. "There's … it's a company. They import from Russia. They bring in caviar, candies, chai."

Clint stepped up next to Bucky and looked at Smirnov, narrowing his eyes as he studied the man. "Legit?"

"Yes," Smirnov confirmed, nodding his head enthusiastically, trying to convey his sudden and vast helpfulness. "Yes, they are some little time importers, they come from St. Petersburg. Move here a few years ago, start up. Mom and pop, like you say. They wouldn't work with us. Bosses are tired of them saying no."

"And you're going to hit them and take over?" Clint concluded.

"We just give them more encouragement to work with us. Maybe they all live."

"Definitely they live," Bucky growled. "And you're going to stay hands off."

"Screw you," he said, yet again, but it seemed less sure, less confident, and significantly more terrified. He was trying to be tough, but the toughness was fading in the face of sheer, absolute terror.

"I will burn you all to the ground," Bucky promised him in a low, cold voice. The man tried to fight again, but Bucky had him back in the chokehold a heartbeat later.

"We will need to detain his comrades, as well," Thor said. His look of distaste at the man was almost as frightening as the Winter Soldier's. Smirnov choked and whimpered.

"Can't go in there." Steve shook his head and thought. "Too many civilians."

Thor tugged at his beard as he thought. "A diversion to draw them out?"

"I don't know," Steve said, still thinking through this all. They needed to take this group completely out of play, or they'd just be back at it when the Avengers weren't looking.

Thor stepped forward, approaching the man, considering him like he was a rancid piece of meat. "We can use him as bait."

"How loud can you scream?" Clint asked, smiling at Smirnov with disturbing friendliness.

"Wait a second, guys," Steve interrupted. "It's no good knocking them all down just to have them carry out the hit later."

"They can't hit if they can't walk," Bucky responded evenly, like that was any other rational suggestion.

Clint laughed. "You and …," he caught himself before saying her name, "your partner have to be awesomely terrifying together. That's 100 percent something she'd say."

Bucky was quiet for a second, watching Clint's face, but then he chuckled. "Yeah, she would, huh?"

"Right," Steve said, interrupting. Because, yeah, he could hear Darcy saying that, too. Kinda unsettling. She wouldn't mean it, but she'd sell it. Oh boy, would she sell it. "So, I say we get the details, then we ambush them before they can hit. That'll get them away from the civilians here. We can tip the cops, too. Make sure they go down hard for this."

Bucky sighed and shook Smirnov. "So what do we do with this guy?"

It was Steve's turn to smile at the man. "He's going to help us. Aren't you, Mr. Smirnov?"

"Screw you?"

***

The Kuznetsov family warehouse was a low, small building in a modern industrial park, indistinguishable from its neighbors — the print shop and the bicycle repair shop — but it was a lively locale tonight.

Based on Smirnov's sudden helpfulness and willingness to share, Steve knew they received a cargo shipment earlier in the evening. The shipping container was parked out front, and family members were loading out boxes of goods to other family members. They'd spend the evening unloading, doing inventory, and preparing for shipments to their store front and others shops. They'd be there late, and they'd all be there, making it a perfect time for Smirnov and his buddies to do the most damage.

From what Steve could see from his spot in the shadows of a building on the other side of the yard, they had a pretty good sized family. The owners, a husband and wife in their forties, the wife's sister and her husband, another man in his 30s who was probably somebody's brother, and seven or eight kids with the oldest being in her late teens and the youngest a boy about ten. The loading bay rolling door was open, the lights were bright, there was music playing, a table set up with food, and everybody seemed to have a busy job. They looked like a nice family, hard working, but he could hear laughter and teasing, too. Good people.

Steve turned his gaze on Smirnov and glared. "You were going to hit these people?"

Smirnov shrank back, almost trying to hide in his place wedged securely between Bucky and Clint.

Thor, who was surveilling from the roof, jumped down and added his own glare at Smirnov. "You are a vile, wretched excuse for a man. And were we not on Midgard, I would level upon you the full weight of Asgardian justice."

"I … I will not do that thing," Smirnov offered with a stammer. "I will not hit."

Bucky snorted but didn't look up from his phone. He was sending a message to somebody. Well, no, Steve knew he was sending a message to Darcy. On the other side of Smirnov, Clint was doing the same, but probably to Natasha. And there was Steve feeling a little left out again. He didn't have anybody to message. He supposed he could send one to Tony, maybe ask for back up, but that still seemed like a bad mix with Bucky. He could message Sam, but he was visiting his family in Louisiana. Natasha? Clint had that covered, though.

Steve sighed, that was an idiotic thing to feel stung about. He had his best friend standing right there, literally five feet away.

Shaking his head at himself, he returned to his surveillance of the park. They were staged on the end closest to the main entrance, the hitters would have to pass them to get to the Kuznetsov's. Thor did a sweep when they arrived, checking the perimeter, just to make sure there was no other easy entrance. There was an alley entrance on the other side of the property, but Smirnov didn't think they'd use that one. They were confident, they were arrogant, they were not afraid to roll straight in, bold and violent.

"Why Yakov?" Clint asked suddenly. "Why not Boris, or Ilya?"

Shoving his phone in his pocket, Bucky leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. "It's the closest equivalent to James."

"Why not use James?"

"It's not a Russian name."

"Is not," Smirnov agreed.

"How is Yakov—"

Bucky growled quietly and glared over at Clint. "James is a variant of Jacob, which in Russian is Yakov."

Clint thought about that while he finished whatever he was typing on his phone and then looked up with a skeptical, stubborn look on his face. "You don't look like a Yakov, though. That's all I'm saying. I could see you as, like, a Vasily."

"I think you look like Yakov," Smirnov said, quiet but hopeful, clearly thinking maybe if he made friends then the Winter Soldier wouldn't throw him into the river with a car engine tied around his ankles.

Bucky was silent for a moment as he took his phone out of his pocket again, read whatever the message was, frowned a bit, then nodded over at Smirnov. "Thanks, John."

Steve chuckled, unable to really help himself after that absurd conversation, and returned to his appraisal of their situation. "Okay, I don't like the kids out in the open like that. We'll need to cut off Smirnov's friends before they get anywhere close." He turned away and looked down the parking lot. "Hawkeye, you get the family inside, once you're locked down, tip the police and hold the building. Thor, you're on contain, don't let them get out of our perimeter. Bucky and I will pin them down."

"Excellent," Thor replied promptly, hefting Mjölnir and looking eager for the fight. He'd called for his hammer when they were plotting this move in the alley. Smirnov almost fainted when it appeared, slapping into Thor's hand. Steve didn't laugh, but Clint and Bucky did.

"You have girlfriend?" Smirnov asked Bucky, trying to strike up friendly conversation. Bucky stared at him, his face expressionless, and Steve thought the odds of Smirnov ending up in the river were still pretty high. "I have a sister. She is beautiful, broke up with her boyfriend few weeks ago. Maybe you—"

"He's got a girlfriend," Clint interrupted, actually seeming offended now by Smirnov. "And she was trained by me and the Black Widow." Smirnov's head visibly jerked and his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard in his alarm. "Yeah, that Black Widow. Don't go getting ideas."

"No ideas," Smirnov shook his head vigorously.

"She is my friend," Thor contributed. "And the Captain's."

"I … I don't know this girl. I was only making conversation," Smirnov protested. "I would not hurt her. I don't hit anymore. New man. Time to make change in life."

Bucky grabbed Smirnov by the shoulder and jerked him forward shaking him at Steve. "Okay, and now what are we going to do with him this time?"

"I'll be good. Not move at all," Smirnov said in a rush, holding up his hands.

Steve scratched at his chin and looked up. "Thor, can you stick him on the roof there? He won't be able to get down too easily."

"I will stay in place," Smirnov promised. "I am helpful."

"Yeah," Clint agreed, cuffing him on the shoulder roughly and grinning, "you're calling your buddies and telling them you and Yakov came to scout ahead, and now the family's all here and they're a nice fat target."

Heaving a heavy, dramatic sigh, Smirnov bowed his head, "I am also a dead man."

"You keep helping and we'll make sure the authorities put you somewhere safe," Steve assured him. He didn't like the idea of letting Smirnov off the hook for whatever crimes he might be wanted for, and he damn sure wasn't going to ignore that the man had been plotting to attack a family tonight. But clearing out a whole knot of violent jerks would be worth it.

"I got a couple lawyers who might help you out," Bucky offered, though it sounded reluctant. "But if you turn on us—"

With a panicked groan, Smirnov clasped his hands together, pleading. "You will burn all things. I understand. I'll not move, I'll only help."

"Good."

Clint grabbed Smirnov by the collar. "We've come a long way from 'screw you', haven't we, pal?"

Smirnov tried to smile and nod. "Yes, we're friends."

"No, we're really not." Clint shoved him to Thor who was not any more gentle.

"He will be fine where I set him," Thor said with a nod, and grasped the man more firmly by the scruff of his neck.

Smirnov tried to shake him off, but it didn't work. "I don't like tall places."

"How unfortunate for you."

Steve watched as Thor spun his hammer and lifted Smirnov off into the air. The man squeezed his eyes shut and seemed to be praying, loudly, in Russian. Steve didn't speak much Russian, but it sounded like praying, anyway.

Off to his right, he heard Bucky say quietly, "You know, she's not my girlfriend."

"Because you're taking your sweet f'in time," Clint muttered back.

"This isn't any of of your damned business, Barton."

"Okay, guys," Steve broke in before it could turn into another argument between the pair. "Focus. Hawkeye, the family. Buck, let's set up closer to the street."

***

Everything went according to plan. Clint got the family inside and the loading bay shut as the mobsters, in an old van, rolled into the yard, Thor disabled them with a lightening strike straight at the engine block, and then Bucky and Steve moved in to engage and neutralize. They couldn't have scripted it better.

But, of course, it was never going to be that easy. Without warning, as usually happens, things went very pear-shaped, very quickly, in a way that could have been tragic.

An unsuspecting vehicle, entering the yard just after the fight started, got caught in the crossfire. While Bucky and Steve were able to handle most of the mobsters, one slipped their grasp. He ran to the car, pulled open the driver's door, pulled out the driver, and got in, turning the car and sending it careening down the street.

The old man who'd been driving picked himself up and limped off after the car, yelling hysterically in Russian.

"Shit," Bucky spat. "His wife's in the car."

Steve felt a cold chill shoot down his spine and glanced up to see Thor readying to go in pursuit. "Thor, there's an innocent in the car. Bucky and I will take it. You and Hawkeye hold these guys until the cops show."

Thor landed heavily and glared a mobster down to the ground even as he reached out to comfort the old man. "Understood."

Steve turned to call out to Bucky, but his friend was already halfway down the street. Taking a deep breath, Steve lowered his head and took off at a charge, putting every bit of super soldier speed into his burst.

They chased the car for three blocks. The vehicle wove wildly down the streets, clipping curbs and parked cars, and a light pole once. Just as Bucky reached the back bumper, the car spun to one side, the brakes locked sending up a cloud of acrid smoke, and finally the car came to rest, the back half popped up over the sidewalk.

The driver's side door flew open and the carjacker lurched out, fell to his knees and scrambled backwards. Bucky was closest to the passenger side and he moved to force open the dented door, while Steve caught up with the mobster, who was bloody and shaking his head like he'd got his bell rung.

As he stooped to pick up the man, Steve heard a string of shrill chatter coming from the car, followed by Bucky's quieter murmuring. They were speaking Russian, though, and Steve wasn't catching most of it. An elderly woman climbed out of the car, ignoring Bucky's hand, and started shouting over the roof at the man on the ground.

"K chyortoo! K chyortoo!"

"What's she saying?" Steve asked.

"Go to hell," Bucky replied. At Steve's raised eyebrows he waved a hand at the woman. "That's what she's saying. She beat the crap out of that guy while he was driving. Got his gun and everything." He held up the weapon to show him. Then he stepped back from the woman as she turned on him and seemed to reach for something. "Nyet."

She responded in a string of furious Russian.

"No, you can't have my knife," he protested again and stepped back once more.

Giving up on Bucky, she hefted her bag and stalked around the car, shaking it threateningly at the thug while continuing to yell. Bucky scrambled after her and grabbed her gently. He started talking to her again, trying to calm her.

Steve looked down at the mobster, took in his swollen shut right eye, the cut over his right eyebrow, the blood dripping off his lower lip, and the wild look in his eye. Then he chuckled and pulled the guy to his feet, marching him back over to the car, where he pushed him face first onto the hood and searched him for more weapons. There were quite a few.

"She got him good, for sure," Steve said. "Nice work, ma'am."

"Thank you," the woman replied and lifted her chin with a sniff.

"Are you injured? We can get you to the hospital."

She frowned and Bucky translated. Rubbing at her left shoulder she nodded and winced a little. Then she talked to Bucky some more, and he shrugged after a moment.

"She wants to go back to the warehouse, check on her husband and her family."

"Sure," Steve agreed. "We'll wait for the cops. They can drive her back and secure this—"

"Hey guys," Clint dropped down out of the sky, from about three feet, and Thor landed next to him. "Cops showed. They've got … wow." He cocked his head and looked down at the bloodied bad guy. "That looks like it hurts. Got a little rough on him, huh, Cap?"

"Credit to Mrs. Kuznetsov," Steve said, giving the woman a respectful nod. He hoped her name was Kuznetsov, though she'd probably correct him if he was wrong.

Clint grinned at her and said, "Prevoskhodno."

"Spacebo," she accepted with a thin smile and then waved a hand at Bucky and said something to Clint that had him laughing.

"She's a little ticked Vasily took the gun and wouldn't give her his knife."

"It's Yakov," Bucky growled back.

"Vasily Yakovich," Barton countered. "Yakov Vasilovich? No, I was right the first time."

"Would you stop making up names for me?"

"Guys," Steve interrupted. Boy, they could argue about anything at the drop of a hat. "What were you saying about the cops?"

Clint grumped for a second then shrugged. "The cops showed. They've got those guys on so many felony weapons charges it's not funny. Except it is. And if our new buddy John helps like he promises, they'll probably get them on a load of different intent charges and racketeering. They're going way far away for a way long time."

"There should be a car along soon," Thor informed them. "We were guiding them to you. Perhaps the Sergeant should absent himself?"

"Right. I'll make my way back to the warehouse, meet you around the corner," Bucky agreed and started to step back, but Mrs. Kuznetsov, who was looking puzzled and concerned, grabbed his arm. They talked for a minute or so, but the sound of sirens cut through their talk and Bucky gave her a reassuring pat and stepped away, vanishing into the darkness. Thor took his place and began to help Mrs. Kuznetsov gather her things from the car.

Steve glanced at Clint who was counting the mob guys guns and knives. "What were they saying?"

"She was thanking him, telling him not to go, he should get credit," he reported and flicked open a knife, balancing it in his hand. He considered the blade for a moment, then set it back down on the hood. "He asked her not to tell the cops about him, that he wasn't always a good guy, but that he'd see her again and he'd get her car fixed up. Then she offered him homemade pirozhki and told him she had a granddaughter she wanted him to meet."

"I'm going to have to learn Russian, aren't I?" Steve asked with a tired laugh.

He shrugged. "I'm surprised Nat hasn't taught you any."

"A few things, mostly swear words. I think she was trying to make me blush, or something." With an aggrieved look, he waved the approaching police towards them. "It's like you guys forget I was in the army, and at war. There's plenty of swearing in the army and a whole lot of swearing in a foxhole."

With a broad, amused grin, Thor walked over to them, clapped his hands once, as though finishing a satisfying task, and said, "This has been a most productive and enjoyable evening."

Mrs. Kuznetsov trotted up to them with a big container and opened the lid, offering them a snack.

Clint smiled at her and happily picked up a treat. "I love pirozhki."

***

Bucky leaned against the parked car and growled at his boots. "I am never going out with you guys again."

Steve didn't blame him. He was starting to feel the same way. Sure, there'd been fun moments, but now this was getting a little ridiculous. "Yeah, this is a little more exciting than usual."

They watched through the windows of the small corner market as Clint and Thor took down a pair of armed robbers. They might have missed it, but the two of them had a sudden need for ice cream, and they picked the one market getting robbed at the right moment. Of course.

"So, what did Mrs. Kuznetsov have to say?" Steve asked, stretching out his legs as he adopted his own lean against the car.

The family embraced the Avengers, both literally and figuratively, when they returned with their grandmother. There was a lot of hugging, a lot of crying, a lot of Russian food and tea and beer. It was a heck of an impromptu party. The police lingered for an hour, taking reports, towing the van, bagging evidence, but once they cleared off, Bucky finally reemerged and the elder Kuznetsov woman tugged him over to show him off. They were all very appreciative. And Bucky appreciated that they ignored Clint's efforts to get them to call him Vasily.

"I've been adopted, apparently."

Steve smiled and ignored the masked robber flying across the front of the store. "Good. You deserve it."

Bucky looked skeptical and a little amused. "I deserve to be adopted at the age of … how the hell old am I anyway?"

"98?"

"Great."

No, he didn't deserve to get adopted, but he deserved to have people appreciate him again. He deserved to have people see the hero and good man he was. "So, maybe it wasn't what we were all hoping when we went out, but we did good tonight, Buck."

"Yeah, I know." He straightened up and pulled out his phone. Then he shook his head.

Steve nodded at the phone. "What are the gals up to?"

"I don't know, but Darcy keeps asking me weird questions." He chewed at his lower lip and appeared both concerned and baffled. Steve figured that was a pretty usual look when it came to dealing with Darcy. He was sure he'd worn it a dozen times at least in the last year alone.

"Like what?"

"Do I know any Turkish spies in the city off the top of my head. I wouldn't happen to know the layout of the Latverian embassy, would I. Do I like Guinness. Weird stuff."

Steve chewed on that and tried to decide if those things had anything to do with anything. He couldn't put it together. "Huh. Well, she's out with Natasha and Pepper, they'll keep her out of trouble."

Bucky snorted and returned his phone to his pocket. "Good luck to them. I don't think there's anybody who could keep her out of trouble if she wanted to get into it."

Steve wanted to protest immediately, come to the defense of his friend, but, he had to face the truth. Bucky was right. "Yeah."

Thor and Clint finished up their work in the shop and came out with cartons of ice cream.

"The owner says they'll talk to the cops for us," Clint announced, sticking an ice cream-laden plastic spoon in his mouth. "We don't have to hang around. We'll give our reports tomorrow."

Thor held up his carton and offered a bag with still more ice cream to Steve. "The owner gifted us this treat."

"Great," Steve said, taking the bag. "That was nice of him."

The four men started back down the street, back to where they started. Clint and Steve left their car at Bucky's bar, and presumably Bucky's was there, too. It was getting a little late, and, frankly, Steve was almost afraid to tempt fate by staying out any longer. God knew the next bar they might stop at would probably be a Hydra front, or something.

"Thank you, my friends," Thor said as they approached Darcy and Bucky's lot. "I've had a fine time this evening. I admit, there are days where I dearly miss my old friends, the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, but tonight, I felt that same camaraderie with you. I am grateful for it."

It was hard to be too annoyed about an evening when Thor topped it off like that.

Steve held out his hand to Thor. "I'm glad. I've missed having friends like that around, too. It was a good night. Kinda nuts, but good."

"Aww," Clint said, tossing his empty carton of ice cream into a trash can. "I love you guys, too."

"I don't love you," Bucky grumbled, but he held his hand out to Thor next. "It was fun and—" He stopped and stared down the street and his shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh. "You've got to be kidding me."

Steve looked around and saw the lone woman walking down the sidewalk, across the street and halfway down the block. And then he saw the dark shadow following her.

"I've got him." Clint bounced up on his toes and took off at a run.

Steve ran a hand through his hair. Yeah, it'd be forever before he could talk Bucky out again. "Maybe we could … see if she'd mind if we walked her home?"

Thor nodded and began following the woman. "It would be polite."

"Christ almighty," Bucky muttered under his breath, but it was less profane and more a fervent prayer, and he trudged along with them.

***

Chapter Text

People in a crowded club could start shouting for a whole host of stupid reasons. Reasons that might not have anything to do with alien invasions, or fist fights, or super drunk people who think it's a good idea to strip naked while yelling 'wooooo' (it isn't).

Say, for example, a server drops a tray, and a nearby patron who is far too high-strung might be startled and scream like a little girl. Then, maybe, that startles another person who screams like a little boy, and then you've got a chain reaction and a whole preschool of screaming. If you've got a real panicker in the bunch, it could also lead to pushing and shoving and a moment of chaos. That sort of hubbub usually passes pretty quickly, the only damage a few broken glasses, some embarrassment, maybe some extra dry cleaning bills.

Of course, it's also true that people might shout if they were, say, Turkish diplomats who were in the process of being kidnapped by nefarious mercenaries or something. That's probably worth hollering about. And when such a person is panicking and shouting they might start shoving, like really hard shoving, knocking people down in their panic to escape. And then it was all screaming, plus angry shouting, and a lot of it. This chain reaction would burn hotter and longer than the preschool shoving match.

Add to that, if the diplomat's protection detail got outed by a trio of spies who just happened to be out for the night. Maybe the details' sudden movements might make the mercenaries move. Then, the protection detail would want to get to their protectee and get him out, but there would be club goers and mercenaries in the way, so they're all shoving, too. Eventually it's more than a moment of chaos.

And then, say, one of the mercenaries pulls a gun.

In Darcy's opinion the whole thing could have been avoided if the protection detail weren't idiots. By the look on her face, Maria obviously agreed. She also obviously regretted that she was agreeing with a Stark on any matter. It was a complicated look.

Once the shouting started, Natasha had Darcy get Pepper and Jane out safely, while she and Maria tried to make sure nobody got shot. Pepper and Jane didn't really need Darcy's particular help, but the trio were able to not only get themselves out, but also get most everybody else to chill. Darcy whistled shrilly, piercing through the fracas, while Jane raised her voice and gave very clear instructions to settle the hell down and stop pushing. Pepper stood by the door, elegant, yet intimidating, directing traffic with calming level-headedness.

The mercenaries, probably recognizing Natasha or Maria, wisely fled, disappearing out the back. The protection detail were scattered through the room, looking for their protectee. And somewhere along the way a hyperventilating Turkish diplomat attached himself to Pepper.

"We can't just leave him on the street," Darcy protested as they stood down the block from the club, watching as the police rolled up and tried to talk down the flustered and tipsy mob.

Waving a hand at the man, Darcy made her plea to Natasha and Maria, who did not want to adopt the Turkish diplomat. "Look at him! He looks so sad."

The diplomat — Demir Yavuz according to the passport and Turkish diplomatic ID Jane picked from his pocket — was sitting with his back against a wall, breathing heavily into the palms of hands, his shoulders hunched up around his ears, as he struggled through a panic attack. Jane patted him awkwardly on the shoulder and tried to stealthily put his ID back, while Pepper tried to get him to drink some water.

"Uh, yeah, we're his protection." The man in the ill-fitting suit Darcy'd spotted thirty minutes or forever ago, waved a hand to get their attention. He and the rest of their little detail jogged over to them, looking relieved to see their diplomat. "We'll take him—"

"No!" Demir shook himself out of his attempts to calm down for a fresh burst of panic, and returned to his shouting. "You left me and they attacked!"

"We were moving to get you out," Bad Suit protested.

"I don't care. It was terrible." He shuddered and put his face in his hands again, muttering, "I could have been captured. Again. It's horrible. "

Pepper set the bottle of water on the sidewalk and cocked her head. "What is it you do, Mr. Yavuz?"

The woman in the blue pantsuit spoke up next. "That's none of your business, Ms. Potts."

"Hey, Agent Marshall, isn't it?" Darcy piped up.

"Officer Mitchell," Mitchell corrected, gritting her teeth.

"Oh, right, officer," Darcy laughed a little, "the CIA thing. For real, you're CIA?"

Mitchell frowned, puzzling over Darcy. "Do we know each other?"

"Sure. I remember you fondly from one of my handful of visits to the Triskelion before I was banned. I think I requisitioned a snazzy SHIELD sweatshirt from you."

"You weren't technically banned," Maria grumbled.

"Yes, I was. Fury said, and I quote, 'You are banned from this building. Get the hell out of my damned office,'" Darcy mimicked, her voice creaking as she tried to force it deep enough to do her best Fury impression. "Does it get more banned than that?"

"He never put in an order barring you from the building."

Darcy squinted at Maria, skeptical. "I could have come back?"

"Nobody would have stopped you at the door."

It was tempting to say something harsh about Fury, to call him a jackass or worse. It was a lot of drama and, frankly, embarrassing to be escorted out of the building, but she knew why he'd done it. He suspected something was wrong at SHIELD and he was getting her out of the way. Thinking about it, Darcy supposed that putting in an actual order barring her, but not otherwise disciplining her, would have drawn attention to her, so he just yelled a lot and …

Darcy settled for rolling her eyes and saying, "For real? Cripes, that man could give me such a migraine."

Maria offered her a tight, slightly mocking smile. "I'm pretty sure that was mutual."

Mitchell and Bad Suit exchanged a look, then Bad Suit gave Darcy his most skeptical look and said, "You're SHIELD?"

"No. SHIELD doesn't exist anymore," Darcy recited dutifully.

G-man, the unfamiliar agent who'd been wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses indoors, 'cause he was so very super stealth, snorted and shook his head. "Yeah, right. Well, we'll all plausibly deny you were here. Just clear out. We've got this."

"NO!" Demir yelped again and got to his feet, his legs shaky and he needed the help of both Jane and the wall to steady himself. "I won't go with you. And I'll be sure the embassy does not request help from you again."

"Wait," Maria interrupted. "Are you CIA or DSS?"

"Well … technically …," Bad Suit started.

"Shut up," G-man grunted. "None of your business, Hill."

"Oh, so you know me," Maria said with a pleased smile, one that showed a lot of teeth and a scary amount of edge. "Great. Get lost then, and I'll plausibly deny I had to put up with your bullshit for more than five seconds."

"Our protectee—" Mitchell started to protest.

Pepper sighed and handed the bottle of water to Demir again. "I think you've been fired."

"Yes, absolutely fired," Demir agreed before draining the bottle and shaking himself, trying to cast off the remnants of his earlier panic. It didn't work very well, even in the pale light from the street lamps he looked a little green.

G-man scowled. "They're going to come back for you."

"I will stay with the SHIELD agents." He looked at the women around him and then back to the officer and nodded firmly, his chin up, confident in his decision. Who wouldn't feel safe with the Avenger, the Deputy Director, the Intern, the Astrophysicist, and the CEO? Honestly, that was a heck of a personal guard.

"SHIELD doesn't exist," Darcy offered again, her tone probably as insincere as the statement, but she didn't care if they believed her.

And nobody seemed to be listening anyway. The maybe-CIA officers were looking around like they weren't sure what to do now, and Maria was giving them an epic, epic raised eyebrow of deep and vicious judgement. Natasha was texting somebody, probably Clint. While Jane and Pepper were still trying to get Demir through his panic attack.

And Darcy grinned brightly at everybody, because, yes, this was exactly the night out she needed. Why dwell on 1946 when you can dodge shifty mercenaries and blow off dodgy security? Plus, diplomatic intrigue of some sort — score.

***

"So, do we just, like, drop you off at the embassy?" Darcy asked Demir. Pepper called a car for them, so they'd moved another block away from the club, blending in with the people outside a trendy restaurant while they waited. So far there'd been no sign of shifty mercenaries or cops responding to the club panic. Or even Demir's security detail.

"I don't know," Demir said and licked his lips, his eyes shifting over the street, looking up at the buildings, down at the pavement. He jumped at every passing car, and given that they were in Manhattan, he jumped a lot.

"Okay. Who was that after you?" Darcy tried again. "Guns in a fancy club are a pretty instant attention-getter."

Demir licked his lips and his head jerked back and forth like a big, middle-aged hummingbird. "Well, there is a man who doesn't like me very much."

"Clearly."

"Yes." Demir did not elaborate further.

Darcy bit her upper lip and looked at Natasha. "Little help here?"

"You're doing fine," Natasha said, smiling, her teeth flashing in the warm yellow light from the sparkling string of bulbs the outside of the restaurant. She seemed both distracted and amused.

Jane let a long breath out through her nose and stepped up next to Darcy. "Mr. Yavuz, let us help you."

He nodded and agreed. "I want that."

"Then we need a clue, some information. What are we dealing with here? Lay it out." She slapped the back of her hand in the palm of the other, getting his attention and trying to get his focus. And that was Jane; get to the heart of the thing, get the facts, get the details. Data, data, data.

"Okay, okay, okay. I don't know for sure all the reasons, okay? But, okay, three months ago, there was a student —" He stopped and waved at himself. "I'm a minister for education. I help Turkish students come to the US and American students go to Turkey."

"That sounds very rewarding," Darcy offered, trying to encourage him, make him feel better, more relaxed.

Encouragement was a mistake, however, because he obviously really loved his job, and it was enough to pull him off the subject of who tried to kidnap and/or murder him.

Eyes lighting up, Demir leaned towards Darcy, hands out, gesturing. "It is! I love it. To see those students, to hear their experiences. I believe there are many ways to learn, but travel is very enriching, and I think that—"

"Mr. Yavuz," Maria interrupted, not in the mood. "This student?"

"What?"

"You started to tell us about a student. Three months ago?"

"Oh, yes." He let out a slow breath and twisted his hands together. "He said he was from Edirne."

Darcy frowned and checked her mental map of eastern Europe, but wasn't pulling up Edirne. "Where is that?"

Natasha answered. "Northwest. Near the borders with Greece and Bulgaria."

"Oh!" Demir's eyes lit up again. "You know my country."

"Yeah," Natasha agreed, drawing out the word and smiling. By the look on the Russian's face, Darcy was sure there was a story centering around Edirne, and it was probably an awesome one. She'd have to remember to ask, and then eventually pry the whole story out of Clint. "It's lovely."

"In summer, the sunflower fields are the most—"

"Mr. Yavuz," Maria broke in again. "The student?"

He stared blankly at her for a second and then nodded, blinking his eyes a lot. "He was older than my usual students, but he said his family were farmers, he delayed school. And he had an unusual name, not Turkish; but on the border, that's not entirely unusual."

"Do you remember his name?" Maria prompted.

"Dragomir Ionescu."

She exchanged a look with Natasha. "Bulgarian, or Romanian, maybe?"

"It could be." Demir shrugged.

Natasha shrugged and was next to ask a question. "So, what was it about this student that makes you think he's related to the events this evening?"

"Oh, I saw him. He was one of them tonight. The men who tried to take me."

Darcy opened her mouth and then closed it. Ten minutes to get to that? Maria looked even more aggravated and Natasha just sighed. Pepper and Jane were both very done with this caper, and were looking down the street, begging for the car to show up.

"Why would he want to hurt you, Mr. Yavuz?" Natasha asked.

"Because I caught him smuggling computer chips."

"Into the US?"

"No, I believe out of the US." He rubbed a hand over his head. "They were in his computer bag, it fell at the embassy one day. I saw them and alerted my people and the local authorities. He cursed at me, threatened me, and grabbed his bag and ran."

"And that's why you had the escort," Darcy guessed.

"Yes."

"Okay, so why come after you three months later?"

"We took his phone and several of the chips; the ones that spilled out. The American authorities have all that. I don't know what he wants from me." Demir shook himself and squeezed his eyes shut. "He almost got me two weeks ago. I go to the coffee shop, and when I was coming out, a man grabbed me and tried to pull me into a truck. But there was a policeman there, thank God."

"I would have been nice to know all this a half hour ago before we kicked the DSS-CIA idiots loose," Maria grumbled.

Darcy silently agreed. "So, why did you come out tonight?"

"I wanted a night out." He looked at her and frowned, his eyes wide and a little shiny as he pleaded with her, "Was that wrong?"

"No, I'm sure it wasn't?" Darcy couldn't quite keep the doubt out of her voice. It was probably a bad idea, and it was probably the idea of the agents who wanted to draw out the evil student. Which … shitty way to use poor Demir. Also, big fail on the club clusterfuck all the way around. "It's all good. Nobody's been hurt or anything, right? I'm sure—"

"So far," Hill muttered.

Darcy gave her a black look. "Not helping."

"The car's here," Pepper called.

"We'll take him to the embassy," Natasha said, and started to shepherd the skittish diplomat along.

"That doesn't really solve the problem, though," Darcy pointed out.

"Not actually our problem," Maria shot back.

"They're international computer chip smugglers or some crap," Darcy argued back. "I'd really like to see what computer chip is worth this much trouble. Like, for three months they're after him? Really? Got to be military-grade. Part of a set, otherwise they should have cut their losses forever ago."

She turned a wide-eyed look back on Maria. "Oh, look! I bet that falls under 'things that are our problem' now."

"Dashyenka," Natasha called. "Don't antagonize."

Spinning on her heel, Darcy gestured broadly and complained, "Why's it always me? Nobody worries about antagonizing me. I'm just pointing out the federal crime here. We should call Phil."

"I tried already," Maria said. "Nobody's picking up."

Darcy stopped and blinked over at her. "What? It's an intelligence organization, and somebody can't pick up the freaking phone?"

Maria bared her teeth in a forced grin. "I'm sure they're just busy."

"Are you kidding me? That is—"

"What are you going to do? Storm the base and what? Get yourself arrested or killed? God, Lewis, use your head."

"I wasn't about to run off all—"

Jane groaned and snapped out a terse, "Guys, really."

Darcy and Hill gave each other dark side-eyed glances and then Darcy tipped towards the former deputy director and flicked a finger on the thin, silvery bracelet on her wrist. "I've got a suit."

"Oh please. That has to be in the running for 'worst idea Stark's ever had'."

"Hey!"

"Can you even fly it?"

"Of course I can. Also, I totally have my pilot's license. And I've stolen a quinjet, so, yes, I can fly."

"You are fifty federal lawsuits waiting to happen."

"You know what—"

Jane intervened again, grabbing Darcy and pulling her away from Maria. "Okay, that's enough. We're all a little tipsy here still. How about we get the nice diplomat back to his embassy safe and sound?"

"I think there is a mole in the embassy," Demir spoke up, sticking his head out the open car door. "I don't know if I should—"

"For real, Demir?" Darcy asked, throwing her hands up.

This sounded like a fun idea an hour ago, but this guy was starting to get on her very last nerve. First it was like pulling teeth to get him to give them info, and now every time he opened his mouth it was some new twist. Stop being difficult, Demir.

"I'm sorry," he told her, looking chastened. "But, why would he bring the chips to the embassy if not—"

"Yeah, I got it," she cut him off.

They needed to hand Demir off to somebody who wouldn't kill him. Or kidnap him, or whatever Dragomir Ionescu had planned for him. This was all turning out a little bit bigger than fun, light, diplomatic intrigue. They needed somebody on the Turkish end who could watch out for Demir. And they needed to make sure that there was actually an investigation going on. Hard to tell from Demir or his ex-security detail. But, they were a little limited themselves, since, you know, technically SHIELD didn't exist. And, also, since SHIELD couldn't answer their phones or something.

"So, who has a Turkish spy they trust who can get Demir safe?" She looked at Maria and Natasha.

Natasha pursed her lips into a tight bunch and shrugged. "Trust?"

Yeah, okay, fair point to the assassin. "I can see where trust is probably a big ask," Darcy admitted, "but how about one who is good and probably a good guy even if maybe we're sometimes on opposite sides of an espionage situation?"

"I don't know. Well, there was one." Natasha tilted her head back and forth as she thought, and muttered, "I don't know if he's in town. Eh, Clint might know."

"I got nothing," Hill said with an uninterested shrug.

"Fine. I'll text Bucky, maybe he's—"

"Got Hydra pals?" Hill snorted and tugged on her jacket. "Probably."

Darcy pouted but sent her text anyway. "That was hurtful."

"Not Hydra," Demir exclaimed, looking as alarmed as any rational person should look at the prospect of being turned over to Hydra.

"I'm not going to give you to Hydra," Darcy assured him, and shot a wicked glare at Maria — who was unsurprisingly unfazed. But, really, they didn't need Demir any more keyed up. "We hate those guys. Don't worry."

***

Bucky didn't know a Turkish spy, or even a spy of any sort who wasn't evil, and why was she asking? Did she need help? He'd ditch the idiots if she needed him. Please say she needed him. Darcy was sorry to break the news that she didn't immediately need him.

Well, she needed him in a broader sort of way, like, yeah, of course, he was her partner, and her friend, and her something else. Though … need? She wasn't needy was she? Like, she didn't cling, right? She didn't think she did. She could go days, or weeks, or whatever without seeing him. Sure, she missed him while she was in 1946, but that's not surprising and not unhealthy or anything. She missed lots of people while she was in 1946. And, okay, it was doubly suck with him because she knew he was there and being tortured and all.

But, anyway, it wasn't like they were some weird, worryingly co-dependent thing, was it? They could need and rely on each other and yet still function independently perfectly well and happily. It's just that it's nice to have somebody to count on, somebody you knew was there for you, even if it was just to listen to you gripe about stuff. Somebody to just hang quietly with or, when things weren't quiet, who'd shoot at the bad guys with you. Somebody who wouldn't look at you weird when you put corn chips on your pb&j, or if they did, at least you knew that was a secret that would stay between the two of you.

Partnership was awesome, and whatever else they were was still sort of undefined, but it could end up being awesome. And maybe it felt kind of big, and maybe she was a little overwhelmed by everything, but God knew, Bucky wasn't going to push. So, yeah, they were okay. Probably. And she didn't need him or need him right this second.

That was all a little too much to get into in a text message, so she just told him to keep Barton out of trouble.

It was, however, a train of thought that led her to blurt, "Am I emotionally stunted?"

Jane gave her a dubious, slightly concerned look, and Pepper put her arm around her shoulders and said "Oh, honey, you're not, I promise. Remember, I live with your father, so I'm an expert."

But, anyway, it turned out Natasha did have an old Turkish colleague who was, in fact, still in town — well, maybe colleague was a generous word. He was a colleague of that spy type, which in that world means an agent from a competing agency that you've probably shot at at some point and they've shot back, but for whom you have a mutual respect and you know they're not a corrupt, evil, dirtbag. No hard feelings, it's just the job. That sort of thing.

They met him on a busy street corner near a parking lot. His name was Earl.

Actually, no, it wasn't, but he insisted it was—implausible as it seemed—and refused to tell Darcy his real name, only grinning when she asked. Natasha was mum; probably a mutual respect payment. Also, he said he was a respectable banker who didn't do spy stuff. Natasha stayed mum, but squinted at him and dipped her chin in a very eloquent manner.

Earl didn't want to adopt a Turkish diplomat anymore than anybody else did. He stared at Demir who was giving him a rigid, forced sort of smile in return. But, importantly, Demir wasn't panicking. That felt like a big positive and Darcy was willing to go with it. To a point.

"Does the name Dragomir Ionescu ring a bell?"

Earl's nose wrinkled as he thought. "I can't say that it does. Romanian? Or Latverian, perhaps?"

"Son of a—" For decades there'd been weird simmering tension between most of Europe and the tiny nation of Latveria. It was a strange place, shut off from the world, allowing few foreign visitors, and trapped in the secretive Cold War that passed them by twenty years earlier. It was easy to forget it existed, until the moments when it started making noise, or doing obnoxious things to its neighbors.

The country was ruled by an hereditary president for life who liked to call himself God, but his real name was Victor von Doom, which was, of course, eye-rollingly hilarious. And also for real his real name. Go figure. He styled himself as a super, über genius scientist, and when he wasn't calling himself God, he liked Doctor Doom, and drove her father up the freaking wall with endless journal critiques about projects Tony was working on or notes on presentations he gave. Man, her dad loathed Doom; he was like the most irritating fanboy ever.

Darcy snapped her fingers and pointed at Demir. "I need to see those computer chips. Demir, take us to your embassy!"

The diplomat held up his phone, offering it. "I have pictures in my cloud."

Maria made a choking noise, spun on her heel, and paced over to street and looked like she might want to step out into traffic. Jane looked like she wanted to shove Demir into traffic, but instead took the phone and said, "You put sensitive information in cloud storage?"

"The password is very long."

She shook her head at Demir and handed the phone to Darcy. He didn't even have a lock screen. She felt her forehead pinch in something like horror or consternation or frustration or exasperation or … other things like that. For real, Demir?

Earl said something in Turkish, low and quiet, to Demir, who gave him a sad puppy look and nodded reluctantly. Somebody was going to get a lecture on how to keep secrets.

"Well, hard to tell what it's for from just a picture," Darcy murmured, swiping through the photos, "but it's not a single computer chip, it's a motherboard. Could be something as straight forward as a graphics processor. Or, if it's military shady, maybe an artillery fire direction module, or even counter-fire targeting or tracking. No way to know."

"Is it ours?" Pepper asked, leaning over to look.

"No, I don't think so. Tony slaps Stark on every millimeter of everything. "

"For good reason," Pepper murmured back.

"I'm not complaining, I'm just saying." There was no maker's mark on the board that she could see, just some serial numbers on various components.

"Expensive?" Natasha asked.

"Really, no way to know," Darcy told her with a shrug. "A graphics card can look impressive, but could be like two hundred bucks. Or a single processor could go for several grand. Just depends on what it actually is."

"There's value if they're smuggling. Even if it's not monetary."

Darcy nodded absently and was flipping through more of the pictures. Something caught Natasha's eye and she grabbed the phone. Ignoring Darcy's surprised yelp, she zoomed in on the picture, part of a man's face, blurry, but he had his arm out, pointing, his jacket opening up. It looked like surveillance footage.

"The mysterious Dragomir Ionescu?" There wasn't enough of him to really make out his face. Dark hair, dark beard, thin face, that was about it.

"Mmm," Natasha hummed, mostly ignoring her. She got as close as she could on the man's jacket before the picture started to pixelate beyond recognition. Tapping a fingernail on the image, she tilted the phone towards Darcy. "What does that look like to you?"

There was a square of paper, or a booklet or something, poking out of an inner pocket. "Um … is this a pop quiz? Like a brochure or something. Maybe he's a theater nerd. Likes to take in Cats between heists."

"No, it's embossed."

"It's the back of something … like a folder, folded. A folded folder with folds."

Natasha let out a long breath and poked her in the side. "Do you see it?"

Darcy squinted at the grainy image until pixels started to blur and then she picked out the edge of a shape, and then another edge, and she huffed out a long breath. "By Jove, Natasha, the embossing looks like the state seal of Latveria."

The seal was an ugly, brutal, blocky looking thing. There was little about Latveria that anybody would describe as elegant. Well, actually, she'd heard the landscape was pretty and the people were friendly, if a little distant. Not that she'd know first hand or anything, on account of the closed to foreigners thing. Charming place, really.

"I believe so." She gave the image a disgusted look then handed the phone back to Demir. "Sloppy to carry that with him."

Earl clapped his hands once and smiled at them. Frankly, he looked relieved; not his problem. He and Maria should go for drinks. A fleeting, amusing thought occurred to Darcy, as she had a quick daydream of making a spy dating app. She could totally match them up. Could be a hoot. "And that is where I will leave you."

Darcy came out of her little side project and offered an amused smirk. "You don't want to help?"

"No, I really don't," he said, his tone flat and on his face an expression of extreme reluctance. Nope, he really didn't want to help. "This is well outside my expertise as a banker. I will, however, be glad to escort Mr. Yavuz back to the embassy. One Turkish citizen to another, you understand, as a simple courtesy after his fraught evening."

"I don't suppose you'd make sure somebody on the Turkish end is looking into this, would you?"

Earl gave her a considering look and smiled. "I can ask. But, I will not get involved. However, if you were to, perhaps, gather more information on this, or if you were to come across the whereabouts of Mr. Ionescu, I could pass that information along."

"A favor?" Natasha asked with a smirk.

"Not at all. A friendly exchange. If you had a photograph of him, by chance, or you discovered he went by another name, maybe? Just information sharing. To, of course, assist the authorities in getting to the heart of this malfeasance and to protect poor Mr. Yavuz." He glanced at Darcy and then back to Natasha. "She's yours? It's good to make new friends. For everybody."

Natasha watched him for a moment, the smirk fading into something colder, but then she nodded and the smallest of smiles touched her lips. "Of course. Remember that, too."

"I won't forget," Earl assured her. "My lady Romanoff," he tipped his head at Natasha and then held his hand out for both Pepper and Jane. "Ms. Potts, though the circumstances were unusual, it's been an honor and a true pleasure to meet you. And Dr. Foster, an honor, as well. What an interesting collection of friends."

He turned to Darcy last and stared for just a moment; not long enough to be rude, but long enough to evaluate and puzzle over. "Intriguing to meet you, Ms. Lewis."

"Super intriguing to meet you, Earl."

"Goodbye, Deputy Director," he called at Maria, who was still staring into traffic. She flapped a hand back at him, but didn't otherwise respond.

Demir spent a few minutes profusely thanking each of them and offering the help of the Turkish Ministry of Education if they ever needed anything. Darcy wasn't sure what she could ever need from the Ministry of Education, but she gladly took the marker anyway. You just never knew what might come in useful when. Earl was right, it was always good to make new friends.

Once Earl and Demir were gone, the five women stood for another moment, considering their options.

"I'll try Phil again," Maria offered, reluctant but still determined computer parts smuggling by somebody possibly associated with the Latverian government wasn't her problem.

"Do you think the CIA was using Demir to try and out this smuggling thing?" Darcy asked Natasha.

"I would," Jane offered.

"She looks like your typical academic nerd, but inside she is stone cold," Darcy commented to Pepper and Natasha. "Though, also totally a sap."

"I am not."

"Yes, you are."

"I …" Jane paused, looking flustered for a moment, before the heat of irritation rose in her cheeks and she gave Darcy a defiant glare. "Okay, is wanting people to be happy a crime? Is enjoying that a character flaw? Fine, then I am characterly flawed. I accept it."

Darcy was sure she was wearing an expression of the most sappy affection herself. Jane was frequently awesome in unexpected ways. "You're my favorite person, Jane."

"I thought that was Bruce," she grumped back.

"He's my favorite guy," Darcy corrected. "You're my favorite person. See?"

"I can't be your favorite woman?"

"No, that's Pepper."

"Hey," Natasha protested, a small smile teasing the corner of her lips. "What about me?"

"I love you, Nat, but you made me run for miles before coffee. Plus, I will never forget or forgive 'lie to me'."

'Lie to me' was a horrible game of Natasha's own invention. Back when Darcy was still Strike Team: Delta's trainee, during the course of a day, she would have to tell Natasha a lie. If the super agent caught the lie, it meant an extra hour of training torture in the gym. It was the worst game ever, because despite Darcy's skills as a liar, Natasha was an unreal genius at intelligence research. The game was a lesson not in lying, but in being aware of what truths somebody else might know, and in the value of digging deep for intel.

It was also a lesson in never playing a game with Natasha.

"That's fair," Natasha admitted with a simple, unconcerned shrug.

Maria returned to them and ran her eyes over them with a tight smile. "Are we painting each other's nails next? Hair braiding? Gossip?"

"You're not my favorite anything," Darcy told her with a petulant scowl. This was supposed to be a night out, forgive her for having two minutes of fun. Jeez.

"Did you reach Coulson?" Natasha asked.

Pursing her lips, Maria took a deep breath and stared up at the thin sliver of purple sky. "No. I'm prepared to admit something's not quite right there." Before Darcy could say anything, she held up a hand. "We'll deal with it."

"But, I'm going to London in a couple days."

Out of the corner of her eye she caught Natasha exchanging a look with Pepper, and she turned her head to narrow her eyes in suspicion at both women.

"Coulson has a team, Lewis," Hill reminded her, but without the usual bite in her tone. "Worse comes to worse, we'll send your wrecking-ball of a father. He likes Coulson; you know he'll go."

Darcy thought about that for a second and then nodded. There was a weird lack of concern in Maria's responses, more curiosity and maybe a tiny dash of worry; like she knew something was happening but wasn't saying. But, Darcy knew Tony would tell her if something bad was going down with Phil. So, it seemed a decent compromise for the moment. "Yeah, alright."

"Now," Natasha said, putting her arm around Darcy's shoulders and leading her back to the waiting car, "Let's go find Dragomir Ionescu."

"I thought you were with Maria on this; not into the smuggling thing?"

"Well, we have a name and he interrupted our night. I think that deserves some response."

"Yay!"

***

"I have so much secondhand embarrassment right now," Jane muttered. "My whole body is cringing."

"It's hilarious," Darcy agreed.

"How is she doing this?"

"She was Tony's personal assistant for a dozen years, I don't think she can be embarrassed anymore."

Latveria did not have official diplomatic relations with the United States, and so didn't have an embassy exactly. But, they had an ambassador to the UN and therefore a mission in New York, which was located in a very large, 19th-century, four story, corner brownstone; one that was also a front for their spy organization. Though, honestly embassies were fronts for everybody's spy organizations. But that was beside the point. It was an awfully big building for a UN rep and some consular services, that was the point.

None of them wanted to stake out the building for longer than maybe an hour. Suspicious smuggling shenanigans aside, it was really just a night out, and while they stopped for some comms and other gear on the way, this was a pretty fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants operation. And maybe a hit-and-run one, too. If they didn't find anything interesting by the time they sobered up, Darcy figured they'd probably call it a night and leave this to the CIA and/or DSS idiots — whoever was in charge of the nightclub clusterfuck.

But, they weren't quite sober yet, and they had a mystery to solve, and a big building to infiltrate.

It was Pepper who suggested their means of entry into the building. Victor von Doom had tried at least twice, as far as Darcy knew, to lure Pepper away from Tony. Obviously it didn't work, but Pepper suggested she go in through the front door, pretending to be more drunk than she was, and make a scene, demanding the consulate staff reach Doom for her. Natasha went in as her Natalie Rushman cover, playing the assistant trying, and failing, to keep the soused CEO out of trouble. Jane, Darcy, and Maria were monitoring on comms, while Jane and Darcy also tried to get past the computers, electronic locks, and scanners on the heavily secured back service entrance.

"Do you know what he— do you know what he did? I'll tell you! I'll just tell you what Tony—"

"Miss Potts, please." Darcy thought she could hear humor under Natasha's stiff, slightly nasally Natalie voice.

Pepper's response climbed into a shrill register Darcy'd never heard before, "Don't you Miss Spots me, Natalie!"

Darcy pressed a fist to her mouth and braced her other hand on the rough brick of the doorway, trying to fight back the undignified giggle-snorts. Jane elbowed her in the side and hissed, "Pay attention. You're going to electrocute us both."

"Whose idea was drinking and electrician-ing anyway?"

"Yours," Jane told her with a firm nod, but she gave Darcy a side-eyed look and snorted softly. The snort turned into a giggle and it was Jane's turn to brace herself.

"Oh God, I should have gone pee when we stopped for gear," Darcy whispered, wiping the tears of mirth away from her eyes.

"Me, too."

"Ladies," Maria cut in over the comms. "Get a move on; we're on the clock here and that last margarita is starting to wear off."

"I would like to speech … speak … to Victor." Pepper's voice was loud, firm, and slurred.

The unfortunate attendant stammered and tried to calm the agitated woman, "I understand, Miss Potts, but the President, he's not here."

"I know that. There are phones. But, I don't have his. I don't steal phones."

"Of course not. I could not imagine —"

"Unlike Tony, who never asks. He just assssssumes! I want to speak to Victor."

"Miss Potts, maybe we should go and get you something to eat. How about—" Natasha tried again, the amusement more obvious in her voice now. She wasn't really trying to be undercover, she was just playing along, and seemed to be having fun with it. And wasn't that the point of everything anyway? Good for her. Good for them all. Darcy grinned and sparked two wires together while she continued to listen to the show over the comms.

"Hush, Natalie. Hush."

Between the two of them, tipsy as they were, Darcy and Jane got the door open before the poor Latverian at the front desk could pick up the phone to call whoever ended up being the unlucky schmuck who'd have to call Dr. Freaking Doom at 5 a.m. Latveria time. Wait, did Latveria do daylight savings? So was it 5 or 4? Or 6? Darcy was losing track of the night.

Shaking it off and she and Jane clattered into a short entrance vestibule, more of a mud room really, and giggled as they tried to hush each other. It took them a moment to catch their breath and move on.

"What will she do if they do actually call President von Doom?" Jane asked as they snuck up a short flight of stairs and peaked around a corner.

"I have no clue. Hey, Hill. Are you recording this? Please be recording this."

"It's your setup, running through your laptop, you tell me," Maria responded in a dry tone that said, yes, that margarita was totally wearing off. They should have swung by the rec room for beverages when they stopped for gear.

"Oh, yeah, then totally recording," Darcy snickered and gave Jane a nudge, who then nudged her back, and they both bounced gently, but unsteadily off the walls of a narrow hallway as they proceeded in their infiltration. Or hunt. Or whatever it was they were doing there. The details were vague. Oh, wait, find Dragomir Ionescu, and then … do something. Confirm he existed? Give him a stern talking to? This was probably the reason Maria insisted on monitoring from a SUV down the block — somebody had to be outside for when they all got themselves arrested. Dang it, Maria was smart, and nefarious about her smartness. But, also, totally missing out on the fun.

"And then … and then he asks me, can you believe this? I am in a meeting with- with the board and he asks me what I'm wearing. CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS? Victor would never—"

"Certainly not, madam."

"He actually did do that," Darcy told Jane in a too loud whisper. "He'd just bought her a bracelet, so he meant it as a joke to make her laugh on account of the board meeting. Nobody likes board meetings. But the timing was super awful."

Maria laughed. "I feel like that sums up a lot about Tony."

"I regretfully agree," Darcy said. Sometimes her dad's most well-meaning gestures weren't always his most well-thought-out. But he tried, damn it, and it was from a good place in his heart, which was more than you could say about a lot of people in this world. Still, he probably should have saved that joke for a time when Pepper wasn't fighting with obstreperous board members about expansion in South Carolina.

Anyway … what were they doing again?

***

In her report to Coulson, Hill would describe the next forty-five minutes as being the most painful of her life, including that time she was captured and tortured in a dank prison in [REDACTED]. Darcy didn't think it was that bad. Hill was totally exaggerating.

Pepper occupied the staff as long as she could, but at a certain point making a scene stops being helpful and people start thinking about calling the police. Natasha smoothly extricated them both, while Pepper tossed the harassed and shell-shocked desk attendant about twenty of her business cards; you know, so Victor could call her.

It sucked that Darcy was sure she and Jane would be out of the country when that call happened - there was, roughly, a zero percent chance Jane would agree to delay their trip to wait for it. Because, that was going to be a hilarious call, oh yes it was. Though, if she had to bet on it, she was sure Pepper probably already wrote the script in her head on how to deal with it.

Darcy and Jane found the security office, which was staffed by a thick-necked man who looked very skeptical of Darcy's drunk act. She was trying to pretend that another Latverian brought her to the embassy, you know for heavy-drinking sexy times, and that they were playing a game and she lost him. Only she mentioned the name Dragomir Ionescu and the security officer's skepticism turned into anger and alarm. And then Jane hit him in the head with a fire extinguisher.

"Nobody's supposed to know Dragomir isn't Turkish," Jane chastised, sounding flustered and exasperated.

"Oh. Oops." Darcy grimaced at herself and shook her head before going for the security monitors and computers. Wow, they had really crappy camera coverage. Good bet that would change tomorrow.

"We are so getting arrested," Jane moaned.

"Nah, the Latverians don't want the cops in here." Darcy gave her a big grin. "They'll come for us themselves."

"Great."

Maria chimed in. "We'll confirm Ionescu is here, turn it over to the Turks, and the Latverians will have bigger problems than you two."

"That was almost supportive, Maria," Darcy said.

"Thanks for using my name in what's probably a heavily monitored building."

"Um … It's a common name? Hey, it's even my-" Jane slapped a hand over Darcy's mouth.

"Find Ionescu," Hill reiterated, sounding tired. "Get confirmation, and then, for God's sake, I need the greasiest damn diner food this city will dish up."

Darcy and Jane tied up and gagged the security guy, then made a quick scan of security logs, looking for anything that might tip them off to the smuggling deal. They did see several beefy fellows in suspiciously bulging jackets go into a room, and then return about ten minutes later without their jackets. Locker room maybe? Armory? Worth checking out. Before they left, Darcy wiped any logs that might have contained her and Jane and shut down the system. Thick-neck would get out of his bonds in probably two minutes once he woke up, so, buying a little bit more time was good.

After the adventure in the security office, she and Jane made their way through the halls, checking rooms for anything suspicious. It was a very big building but most of it seemed pretty empty. There was a residential floor, meeting rooms, offices, a ballroom, and assorted storage spaces. She and Jane met more than a few vacuums and boxes of paper towels as they dodged in and out of the closets avoiding the few people they spotted.

The two of them weren't exactly stealthy; in her report Maria said she just assumed the Latverians assumed nobody would be stupid enough to break into their building so they attributed the Darcy and Jane clatter to the staff. Darcy agreed with Hill on all points, painful as they were, with the addendum that she was sort of drunk. Not falling down, Phil, just kinda weave-y. It was Pepper's fault.

They found Dragomir Ionescu. Eventually. The duo stumbled into a room with five men watching a soccer match and arguing over a crate of what looked like motherboards. Jane and Darcy stared at the men, the men stared back, and there was a long, heavy breathless moment of confusion and shock.

And then Darcy pointed at the one who kind of maybe looked like the blurry security footage and shouted "Dragomir Ionescu!"

Dragomir jumped from his seat, Jane took a picture with her phone, and then she and Darcy exchanged a look, and ran like hell. They barreled inelegantly down to the first floor, and through the broad, marble entry hall, and burst out of the front door like a pair of human cannon balls. Natasha was leaning against a nearby car and she shook her head, as though in disbelief, but come on, she couldn't really not believe, right? She did know Darcy. And also Clint. This whole pseudo-mission felt Clinty. Darcy wasn't sure if she was proud of that or not.

"So?" Natasha prompted as she waved them into the car.

"Where's Pepper?"

"She and Maria took the SUV back. Did you get evidence?" She prompted again.

"I hope so. I didn't really linger to look," Jane muttered and pulled out her phone. And yes, she got a picture, and it was a good one. It even had one edge of the crate with computer bits visible, and part of a Latverian flag that was hanging on the wall. Hat-trick. Presumably the Turks could match the picture up with the one in his passport, or whatever other documents they had. And then … whatever. It was up to the CIA. Oh! She still had that dude's badge. Ha! Maybe she'd mail it back with the picture of Dragomir. That'd be funny. She should totally do that tomorrow. When she wasn't maybe so tipsy anymore.

"Home, Jeeves," Darcy said, waving at Natasha. Natasha glowered back and Darcy sighed. "Or maybe the diner. Maria said she wanted diner food, I've got a craving for zucchini sticks, like oh my god. Jane?"

Jane shook her head and slumped down in the seat, propping herself into a boneless heap in a corner. "Home. Sleepy."

"Natasha?"

"I'll make sure Earl gets the photo and then I'm going home, too."

"Boo."

"It's been a long night, Darcy."

Darcy sighed and looked out the window. "Yeah. But, I had fun tonight. Thanks, guys."

Jane lifted her hand and flopped it over to smack Darcy companionably on the thigh. "I did, too. Even the part at the end."

"So did I," Natasha said. "Be sure to thank Pepper."

"Totally, totally."

Natasha was silent for a moment then let her eyes drift up and meet Darcy's in the rearview mirror. "I'll record the conversation with von Doom for you."

"I love you so hard right now, Nat. It's indecent."

Jane giggled and rested her head on the window. "Keep it in your pants, Darcy."

"I"m wearing a skirt."

"Keep it in your skirt, Darcy."

Chapter Text

"How was everything?"

Tony ambushed Pepper in the foyer when she returned home around midnight. From the looks of him, his hair awry and his face set in deep, tense lines, he'd been haunting, fidgeting, and anxiously waiting for some time.

Passing him on the way to the couch, Pepper brushed a kiss across his cheek and squeezed his shoulder. Then sighed and laughed at the same time and said, "Your daughter is a lunatic."

"That probably goes without saying," Tony admitted, but her amused statement was enough to lift some of his worried energy. "But, out of paternal loyalty, allow me to say: Hey! My child is a beautiful, perfect angel."

Pepper lowered herself to the couch, kicking off her heels and raising her hand to rest on her forehead. "I'm exhausted. And maybe a little drunk. But, only a little, because the adrenaline from the embassy infiltration did a fabulous job sobering me up."

"You did … what?" Tony watched her, hesitance and uncertainty on his face, and drifted closer, but he was still too anxious to sit.

"Your daughter."

"No, I need details." He crossed his arms and stared imperiously down at her. She put the back of her hand on her mouth to muffle a yawn, unimpressed as ever by his imperiousness. Actually, and she'd never admit it out loud, but it was kind of cute. "Darcy doesn't just willy-nilly decide to infiltrate an embassy. And whose embassy was it?"

"The Latverian."

Tony tried not to laugh, but it escaped through his nose in a snort anyway.

Pepper gave him a tired smile and shook her head. "I know, I know. My first thought was how ridiculously proud you'd be."

"Insanely proud," he agreed. "And … uh … how was everything else?"

Reaching out a hand, tired of the hovering, Pepper grabbed his arm and pulled him down next to her. "She's been through an ordeal, but I think she's okay, Tony. I really do. She was happy tonight."

He went still for a moment before letting out a long breath, though he seemed uncertain. "Are you worried about her?"

"I've been worried about her since she was twelve."

"Pepper—"

"Yes, Tony, but not because of anything I saw tonight. She's just … she's a SHIELD agent. Of course I'm worried. And I don't like that she has a suit." She held her hand up to forestall any argument from Tony. And by the opening of his mouth, she knew it was coming, but now wasn't the time for that fight — she was too tired and he was too keyed up. "I know why you did it, but I worry. I worry about you, too. So … I guess it's something that I have to deal with."

He chewed on that for a moment. "I don't know what to say about it, Pepper. I really don't. If my kid is going out there—"

"I understand," she cut him off. Because she did understand. Though understanding and accepting were not always the same thing. "We've all been through a lot."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess." He brushed a finger over his mustache and trailed his hand down along his jaw to tug at his chin.

"I'm really exhausted now that I've sat down for a minute. I'm going to turn in." She leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth.

"You'll tell me about the embassy thing tomorrow?"

"Of course," she promised. "Also, don't be surprised when Victor von Doom calls."

Brows lowering into a suspicious frown, he was clearly weighing how seriously he should take that statement. "Calls … here?"

Pepper winced and laughed and, my God, what a strange night. "Yes. I'll take care of it."

"I need so many details."

***

"And then we were served some soup of cabbage that was unlike anything I've had before. But, it was very nice."

"So you ate your way through Brooklyn, between getting into fights?" Jane asked with a snort as she shoved a sweater into a tiny gap in her suitcase. It nearly fit.

"Yes, and then we had ice cream. And foiled a robbery."

"Good for you." Jane laughed and shoved the sweater down, wadding it into a ball, making it fit damnit, then closed the suitcase and threw her weight down on the top, trying to fasten it. Thor delicately nudged her aside and braced his much larger, much meatier hand on the top to finish zipping the bag. "Well, we rescued a Turkish diplomat from a team of mercenaries."

"Did you indeed?" Thor grinned and gave her an approving smile.

"We did. And we busted a smuggling ring."

"You are magnificent."

She nodded thoughtfully then gave him a sad, forlorn look. "You sure you don't want to go to London? Erik's there, he'd love to see you. And he's wearing pants again, so that's really good."

"I'm pleased to hear he's doing well. I will come visit, but we're trying to remove the rest of Hydra from this realm and find Loki's scepter. I think it best I stay to train with my new comrades for now."

"Blah." Jane huffed and threw herself back on the bed. "I'll miss you."

"You'll have Darcy and Erik to entertain you," he told her, sitting gently on the bed next to her. One time he wasn't so gentle, dropping onto the bed like a boulder, and Jane ended up launched off the side. He learned from his mistakes. "And you'll be surrounded by scores of adoring students and colleagues admiring the quickness of your mind. You won't have time to miss me."

"Well, I mean, that's kind of true," she admitted, taking his hand and giving it a light squeeze. "But I will also kind of miss you. So … there is that."

"I'll miss you, as well."

***

Maria ran into Steve near the elevator bank on the ground floor of the Tower. She'd just said goodnight to Pepper and was on her way out, he was on his way in.

"Rogers," she greeted with a jerk of her chin.

"Hill," he said with a small, polite smile.

They stared at each other for a long minute. Maria was content to see how long the silence could stretch into awkwardness, but Steve, unsurprisingly, cracked first.

"Have fun?"

She sucked on her cheeks and shrugged. "Sure. You?"

"Russian mobsters," he said with a shrug of his own, and she laughed a little.

"I understood there was a possum?"

Steve held up one finger to make the point, "The possum was not involved in the mob situation."

"That's a relief."

He agreed with a nod and asked, "You?"

"Latverian smugglers."

"Stop 'em?"

"Define 'stop'."

That drew a concerned and slightly confused frown from him. "Well, the usual—"

She cut him off with a snort, "We passed on information to the relevant authorities."

"Great. Glad to hear it."

"Yep." She tapped her toe on the marble tile and looked out towards the exit doors. Then she looked back at the still awkwardly lingering Rogers. "I'm going for corned beef hash. You in?"

He seemed surprised by her invitation. "I could … yeah, I could do that."

"Have you talked to Coulson lately?"

"No. Why?" His surprise faded into suspicion.

"No reason. There's just this thing about a scepter." She turned and walked off towards the door.

"Loki's?"

"Who's to say?"

"You?" he pressed, following her out of the lobby.

"Not right now. I need grease or I'm going to have a hangover tomorrow and nobody wants that. Especially not Stark, when I murder him with my bare hands because I have a hangover."

Rogers chuckled. "Well, if corned beef hash can save a man's life, who am I to interrupt you."

***

It was a little after 1 a.m. when Clint stumbled through Natasha's door, and it was only because she was curious about who'd break in at that hour that she didn't preemptively shoot the door. And she was tired of replacing her door and fixing the drywall in the hallway.

Clint had a duffle in one hand, a foil-covered plate in the other, and his bowcase and quiver slung across his back. Oh, yes, now she remembered. The 'thing' that made him vacate his apartment, the one he wouldn't tell her about. In the entertainment of the evening it slipped her mind. Something to do with an espresso machine? He'd begged to stay with her until he got it sorted out, or until he found a new place to live.

It was curious that he didn't choose to stay at the Tower — Stark had designed and provided space for each of them. But, then, he probably also didn't want to be laughed at by the Starks for an espresso machine-related disaster that left him homeless. Because they would laugh. Certainly Natasha planned on laughing once she knew the details, but eventually she'd let it go; there was no guarantee Tony and Darcy would do the same.

"I brought you pirozhki. They're good, too. Homemade by a real, live babushka." Clint offered Natasha the plate. "Half are beef and mushroom, and half are potato and onion."

Natasha took the plate and peeled back the foil, breathing in the warm, savory scent of the buns. "How many did you eat?"

"Like, so many." Clint flopped face-first onto the couch and groaned. "And then there was ice cream."

Rolling her eyes, she set the plate on the coffee table and relaxed back in her reading chair. "And was this after the hotdog eating contest?"

"Yeah." His voice was muffled by the cushions, but he didn't lift his head. "I'd worked off the hotdogs by then."

"How sick are you going to be tomorrow?"

"I don't know, but I do know I won't regret it even a little bit."

She eyed him skeptically, because if she knew her partner — and she did — in about two hours he'd be looking for the Pepto and whining.

"And how was he?"

Clint rolled over onto his back and yawned. "Fine. Low-key. Not prone to violence."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Grumpy, though, about everything."

"How much were you poking at him for a reaction?"

Clint stared at the ceiling and considered for a moment before holding out one hand and tipping it side to side. "Maybe a little bit. But, I'm standing my ground here — he looks more like a Vasily than a Yakov."

"Yasha," Natasha said and sighed. "I knew him as Yasha."

"See why Vasily is better?" He gave her a crooked smile. "I'm not going to excuse anything, Nat, but I am going to say that if I didn't know better, I'd think he's an okay guy who's come out of a bad place and is a little overwhelmed by stuff."

She considered that for a long moment before shrugging. They had an agreement; Clint would monitor him, and she would, and did, trust Clint's judgement. "Understood."

"And how was she?" Clint asked.

"Interesting. More confident about her abilities and instincts. That was nice to see. Reserved about what happened; she deflected all night. But, she was in a good mood. She enjoyed infiltrating the Latverian embassy entirely too much." She tossed him a little smirk. "Though, I did, too, if I'm being honest."

Clint laughed and gave her a knowing look before returning to his contemplation of the ceiling and Nat's analysis of Darcy. "So, the key was always to send her to spend three months with Peggy Carter. Why didn't we think of that earlier?"

"That's still almost too much for me to accept."

"Aliens!" Clint threw his arms up in the air, then let them fall back down across his face, like he just couldn't take her stubbornness on the issue anymore.

Natasha tossed her own irritation at his stubbornness back at him. "You can say that as much as you want, but aliens are something tangible, something I can hit. Bizarre time travel … I don't know what to do with that."

"It's twisty," Clint admitted.

"It doesn't seem to bother you."

"I guess …" He frowned and sat up, swinging his legs around and leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "I guess it's easier to believe when you really, really want to."

Natasha let the statement stand in silence for a moment before reaching out and grabbing one of the pirozhki. They smelled delicious. "But, I guess you have evidence. Peggy did wait. She said seventeen years and here it is."

She took a bite of the bun and hummed her approval. It was as authentic as it got, seasoned with the better memories of her childhood. They didn't often get food as rich as this, but if you did particularly well, or there was some occasion to mark, you might find a treasured savory bun next to your shchi instead of coarse rye bread.

And in those cold, harsh memories of her childhood, with this warm spot, she understood Clint so well. While she trained and fought and learned her deadly craft, somebody in the world was waiting for her. Somebody in the world believed in a better future for her, too. For both of them.

Yes, it was hard to really comprehend, but it wasn't such a bad thing anyway.

She smiled at Clint. "This is good."

"I'll introduce you to Mrs. Kuznetsov. But, watch out, she's got like twenty grandkids and she's on the hunt for more. Bucky and I are in, on account of we speak Russian. She'll love you, and stuff you full of borscht."

"You know I don't like borscht."

"Well, whatever." He scrubbed a hand across his face, weary lines carved deep — it was a long night for everybody — and then started eyeing the plate of pirozhki again. "How do you not like borscht? I will never understand."

Natasha stood, rewrapped the plate and put it in the fridge, closing the door with pointed firmness. "I'm going to bed. You know where the Pepto is."

***

Bucky shook off a yawn and downed his second cup of coffee. He might not get drunk anymore (of course, coffee didn't do an awful lot for him much either), and he might not need as much sleep, but after they walked Ms. Taveres home, he went back to his apartment and spent most of the night thinking about things. Life things, stirred up by bar fights and Russian mobsters. Too many confused memories tried to trip him up, but he forced his thoughts other, better directions.

Better thoughts included having plans for a bar, having some friends again, having a job and a partner, not being a monster (he hoped), and helping save some family last night. Things were … things were okay. He could admit that to himself. Only everything was a little jumbled as he tried to sort out who and what he was now. It wasn't quite as easy as 'not being Hydra's assassin anymore'.

Anyway, sleep didn't come easily. But, Darcy was leaving day after tomorrow, and when she asked if he wanted to meet for breakfast, he wasn't going to pass it up. He probably wouldn't get a chance to see her again until he went to London himself. Fury wanted one of them onsite at their property when he started sending over engineers and construction workers, the first of the bunch due to show up the day Darcy left.

Still, it wasn't exactly early — Darcy was allergic to anything before 8 a.m. Oh, you could get her there, but she'd be surly as hell for about an hour.

"You ready to order, hon?"

Bucky slid his cup over to Louise the diner lady for a refill and shook his head. "Waiting for Darce to get here."

She gave him a narrow-eyed look as she poured. "You two gonna actually eat this time?"

He chuckled and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"I don't like my food going to waste."

"No, ma'am."

"If you don't like something, you've got to let me know."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm not a mind-reader."

"No, ma'am."

"You're a polite young man, I like that. But there's such a thing as too polite. I think you might be sassing me."

He glanced up at her as she hovered next to him, watching him for any sign of sass. "Never, ma'am."

"Uh-huh."

"Wouldn't want to end up like Barton."

"That boy," Louise sighed and flapped a hand towards the windows, as if flapping it at Barton being annoying. "He gives me such agita. You see him on those rooftops? Half falling off? For Lord's sake."

Bucky smirked but tried to hide it in his coffee cup.

"Here's your girl now." Louise nodded towards the door and started to step away but paused to give Bucky a little warning look. "Don't go telling Mr. Barton what I said."

"I won't, ma'am."

Darcy wandered into the diner and over to the table, smirking at him when he stood to wait for her to sit. She was walking a little slowly, as if each step was painful, but she was smiling, so he figured it wasn't anything horrible. He didn't entirely know what she got up to the previous night, but he knew there was alcohol, so he could make a fair guess what was hurting.

"Good morning, Louise," she greeted the other woman who was heading back their way, another mug in her hands. "Coffee, oh, thank you God."

Louise poured her a cup, set down the carafe and tapped her order book. "You want your waffles?"

She grimaced and her face went a little pale. "Too sweet. I maybe have a teeny, tiny hangover."

With a nod and a pursed pair of lips, Louise wrote down an order. "Milk, a banana, steak and eggs, home fries. You'll eat the banana first; it'll help."

"I place my pounding head into your capable hands." Darcy grimaced again, her nose wrinkling as she made the face. "That sounded grosser than I meant."

"Mm-hmm. James?"

"Same."

Louise's eyebrow rose. "Hangover, too?"

"No, ma'am, I like your steak and eggs."

Louise looked almost pleased, flattered even, as she tapped the table, grabbed the coffee carafe, and wandered away to put in their orders.

Bucky turned back to his partner and sipped his coffee while he watched Darcy doctor hers and grip the mug like it might be the only thing holding her up.

"Hungover, huh?"

"Tiny bit," she said with a sigh. "Not actually horrible, but I slept crummy, too, for some reason."

"Probably just excited to go to London, right?"

Darcy thought about that for a second and then gave him a thoughtful frown. "Oh, yeah, huh?" She took a sip of her coffee and closed her eyes for a moment. "I don't think it's excitement so much as it's a thousand last minute things. So … stress. It's not a vacation, Jane's going to be there for the whole year. We've shipped most of her stuff, but we'll both be neurotic until we get to London and figure out what we forgot."

"Maybe you won't forget anything."

"Bucky," she said his name slowly, like he was a poor, horribly mistaken child who didn't understand the way the world worked, "we always forget something."

Shaking his head, he chuckled and tapped a finger on the rim of his coffee mug. "Okay. Whatever you forget, I can bring it with me when I visit."

She was quiet for a moment, staring into her coffee. "So, you're really going to visit?"

"Yeah. Unless you've changed your mind, we're going dancing, doll." He tried to give her his most charming smile, but he wasn't entirely sure if he had a charming smile anymore. Last time he practiced it in the mirror, he'd been about 18, and that was a hell of a long time ago. It seemed to work though, because when she looked up at him, her cheeks turned a little pink.

He liked that about her, liked that she was this funny mix of bravado, moxie, and reticence. And maybe not everybody'd like the reticence, but in his eyes it made her genuine. Moxie and bravado were easy to fake for a bit, but mix in that thinking brain, that reserve, and suddenly the moxie had teeth, it was real. He liked it. Speaking of moxie —

"What was the deal with the embassy?"

"Smuggling of some kind," she told him, looking perturbed she didn't have more information. "I'm not sure I totally get what was going on, but, whatever. It was fun."

"Yeah? What's the story?"

Darcy told him her tale of drunken intrigue. All things considered, she didn't get into the most trouble he could imagine her getting into — that list included being kidnapped by Hydra, being arrested by her own agency, being blown back in time, and probably other things before he met her that he didn't want to know about. Director Coulson sighed a lot and looked resigned a lot when he talked about Darcy.

"They were using the Turks as a third party," Bucky said after she'd finished regaling him with her adventures. "If a shipment gets picked up, it doesn't point towards the Latverians. But, yeah, there's got to be somebody on the Turkish side who's in on it, too. Wonder what it was they were smuggling."

"Demir turned over the motherboards to the Diplomatic Services or the CIA or whoever. So, I never got a look at them. Given Latveria's general paranoia and shadiness, I'll guess targeting or even imaging. They've put up some sneaky satellites over the last couple years."

Louise brought their breakfast and then tried to look busy a table over, wiping the clean formica with a damp towel until she was sure they were actually eating. Once satisfied that Darcy was well into her banana, she left them to their meal.

"My question," Darcy said as she finished the banana and dropped the peel on a side plate and eyed her glass of milk warily. "Why were they after Demir for so long?"

"He was probably the one who could put all the pieces together. He knew Ionescu, he had his documents, had his phone, had the parts he was smuggling. I bet Ionescu didn't mix with too many other people at the Turkish embassy, just Demir. Take out Demir, maybe it's harder to connect the smuggling to Latveria."

"Poor Demir. Looking at it that way, I bet he was totally the patsy they were using to do the smuggling," Darcy said and downed her milk in one long gulp. Then she shuddered and took a swig of her coffee, as if to wash away the taste. Like milk was some awful medicine she had to choke down. Weirdo. "Anyway, that was my night. How was yours? I heard the possum was a big hit."

"That damned thing," Bucky grumbled and huffed and blew out a long breath. "Yeah, it was alright. Barton's a menace."

"Well, yes," Darcy agreed with a laugh.

"He wants his own barstool."

"Of course he does. Does he want a little brass plate on it, and the cushion custom molded to his butt cheeks?"

Bucky made a sour face, he wanted to spend zero time thinking of Barton's butt cheeks. "I didn't get into that much detail with him."

"I'll assume he does." Darcy smirked and cut her steak in half, sliding one part onto his plate. He'd finished his before she even started hers. But, she was a slow eater and she took her damn time working up the courage to drink that milk. I've still got table manners, ma, he said silently to the heavens.

"He's your friend," he grunted, cutting into the steak.

"He likes you, too." She grinned brightly at him and ate the decorative orange slice on the edge of her plate. "Hey, he can be our friend."

"I don't want him," Bucky replied immediately. Yeah, okay, he liked Barton fine, when he wasn't being irritating, but something about the man said he was watching Bucky as close as his nickname suggested. It made him itchy.

"We'll wear you down. So, how's he being a menace? I haven't seen him today, I don't know what you guys got up to. Spill, Barnes."

It seemed it was his turn to tell his own story of adventure. During the recitation of his transformation into Yakov from Moscow, Louise brought him another plate of steak and eggs, and brought Darcy a slice of key lime pie she was suddenly craving. When he was done, wrapping up the tale at Ms. Taveres's door, and their dishes were cleared away, Darcy clasped her hands together and leaned towards him over the table. Her hangover was long gone and her eyes were bright with mirth.

"You've got a tiny, little babushka!" she declared loudly and gleefully.

"I wasn't really looking to pick one up," he said, trying to pretend he wasn't pouting. Mrs. Kuznetsov was perfectly nice, sweet even, but he wasn't interested in having a whole lot of people suddenly interested in his business. No offense to her or her family. He could endure Darcy's attention, and even to a degree Steve's — though Steve needed to stop looking at him so wounded — but beyond that, the concern of others made him feel tense and panicky and claustrophobic. He wasn't sure why that was, and he wasn't ready to try and figure it out yet.

Still, he'd made Mrs. Kuznetsov a promise. "But, uh, their car got kind of smashed up. I told her I'd get it fixed. Do you know—"

"Yeah, we'll get it fixed up no problem," she waved off his question and picked up the check Louise dropped on the table.

He watched her drop her credit card on the little tray and said, "I don't know how much it'll cost, but I want to get the bill, not them."

"Geez, what bill?" Darcy rolled her eyes at him and shook her head.

"I don't need you to pay for stuff for me anymore." It's not that he didn't appreciate her, but she was tossing a lot of money around already. He didn't need it. He had a job now, he could take care of himself, and he could afford some damn body work on an old car.

Darcy opened her mouth to say something back, something probably snappy or sarcastic or something, but she closed it again and took a breath. Then she smiled and nodded. "We have a garage we use. That is absolutely not the first vehicle to be damaged in the course of an Avengers funtime operation. Guy's name is, no joke, Buddy. He's good, I'll give you his number."

"Thanks," he mumbled and pushed his coffee mug aside.

"And we can take turns picking up the check when we eat out," she suggested, jerking her chin at the slip of paper.

"Yeah, alright." It rankled him a little, but she was right, this, eating together, was the kind of thing they were going to have to work out a compromise on. They did it often enough and it couldn't be an argument each time. Partners, right?

"I'm not trying to buy you off or make it seem like you can't manage."

He sighed. "I know, Darce. Sorry, I'm just—"

"You don't have to apologize. I get that I don't always think about it. Rich people, am I right?" She laughed, a quiet self-deprecating chuckle. "If I start getting bad, you've got to put your foot down or whatever. That's how we deal with my dad."

"Does it work?" he asked curiously. He was, truly, curious about Tony Stark, but he was also wary. Nobody could confirm it, but some part of Bucky just knew — there was an ugly, ugly wound between them and it was going to go even uglier before everything was said and done. But that wasn't a fight he wanted — for his sake and for Darcy's. He was aiming to avoid it turning bad for as long as he could, and staying far away from the man seemed the best way to do that. Still, he did want to know the guy, the father Darcy thought hung the moon.

"Mostly, unless he's really dug in on something," she explained easily, "but you've got to explain why to him, too, because otherwise he feels like he's being rejected. He pouted for months when I wouldn't let him buy me a car when I turned 16. I was trying to make a point to myself, it felt important at the time. Anyway, I'm not that bad, you just need to tell me to dial it back."

"Got it," he said, touching a finger to his forehead and then tipping it back at her.

They talked for a little while longer, mostly about his plans for the bar and their plans for the base and Fury's plans for driving both of them nuts. Bucky liked to conveniently forget this whole base thing was his idea, and Darcy liked reminding him it was all on him. It made for some fun conversations where she got exasperated and started waving her arms around like an agitated octopus. It was cute and made him laugh, which was usually when she'd kick him in the foot or the shins or something.

Unfortunately, the morning had to end eventually, that's just how the day flows. After Jane's fifth text asking where something was, Darcy gave up ignoring her boss and friend. Bucky walked her back to the Tower and they lingered outside for a moment.

"Okay," Darcy groaned, "Back to the Jane Foster Crazy Place for me. What are you doing today?"

"I'll call your pal, Buddy," he said and chuckled while she snickered. "Maybe go board up the vents so that damned possum will stop getting in."

"Mmm, sounds like a hoot and a half." She looked over her shoulder and up at the building. "I guess I should go then. I probably won't see you before I leave."

"Probably not," he agreed, trying not to sound depressed about that. In addition to just straight up liking her, she also made him feel like a person; it was harder to remember that when he was on his own.

"When do you think you'll come visit?"

"Couple weeks maybe. Fury's got engineers or something coming in a couple days. I've got to get them doing whatever it is they're doing."

She thought about it for a moment, checking her memory, and then she made a face but nodded. "Soil engineers, I think. They need to make sure we can dig down deep and not have the neighborhood collapse into a giant sinkhole."

"Right. Sure." It was his turn to glance up at the sleek, ugly building. He could almost feel Tony glaring down at him from somewhere near the clouds. "Call me when you get to London, yeah?"

"I will." She put a hand on his arm to steady herself and went up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Stay mostly out of trouble, play nice with Clint."

"Like hell I will," he muttered, but he couldn't help but smile down at her. That was the third time she'd kissed him. On the cheek every time, but they were going on a date and he'd get a proper kiss if it was the last thing he did.

Darcy's phone chimed again and she glared down at her pocket. "I've got to go."

"Yeah, go take care of Dr. Foster," he said, giving her hand on his arm a little squeeze. "I'll see you soon."

He stood on the sidewalk until she waved at him from the door, and then he turned his steps back down the street. He'd take care of Mrs. Kuznetsov's car first and then, maybe he'd go home and watch some baseball and not think of anything else at all. It had been a long, damned night.