Work Text:
Bucky was off doing Bucky things — hunting Hydra, dodging Steve, terrifying villagers — and Darcy knew how to pick a lock.
Looking around Bucky's shithole apartment, empty now of his old, gross, found-in-a-dumpster furniture, Darcy surveyed her work with satisfaction. There were new cabinets along the wall that made up the kitchen, a new adorably studio-sized refrigerator, new equally adorable stove, and on the other side of the room a real door to the bathroom, hiding the new, not skin-crawlingly vile shower, sink, and toilet. She grinned at the stained, yellowing, putty-colored walls. Her next conquest.
Despite her best efforts, Bucky refused to move until they found a place in Brooklyn for their bar; his plan was that the building should be multi-story, with apartments on the upper floors. Bucky was really big into dreaming, and she didn't have the heart to tell him he was high, God knew it was probably the first dream he'd let himself have in more than seventy years. Phil, wrapped up in a million other things going wrong, gave them his sort of blessing (he'd sighed and said "you're going to do it anyway, aren't you? Just try and be subtle. At least a little bit?") and access to a portion of the funds they'd stolen from Hydra.
Still, even with the shaky bar/base plan given a go, they hadn't gotten very far in the search for a building yet, and God only knew when they'd find it, because Bucky also got mopey if she went and looked at buildings without him. That left her stuck in this whole useless, treading water thing while he was gone. But, as she'd warned him once, she'd been to Home Depot a time or twelve, and if she couldn't hunt real estate, she could make a move on the real estate she did have access to.
A little extra cash to the manager of Bucky's building, who assured her the landlord would be plenty grateful to have somebody fix the place up on their own dime, kept him out of her hair. A phone call to a local construction company brought some men out for a couple days to refinish the floors, and tear out the old cabinets, appliances, and scary bathroom fixtures and replace them with new. Then, with an SUV purloined from the SI/Avengers motorpool, Darcy went out and hit a half dozen furniture stores and the Home Depot.
Taking into consideration Bucky's obvious preference for an ascetic life, she'd gone easy on the furnishings. A murphy bed with a narrow wardrobe on one side (his clothes, the few he had, were currently packed into a pair of plastic milk crates he'd probably picked up in an alley somewhere — he was killing her with this), a couch that didn't smell like feet and stale cigarette smoke, a small coffee table (just the right size for him to stash his weapons trunk underneath — she'd measured), and a small dining table with a pair of simple chairs. It was all in dark woods and brushed nickel so he wouldn't have his brooding interrupted by any bright, cheery colors.
The biggest challenge was restraining herself and not picking up any actual décor items beyond a couple floor lamps and blinds for the windows, though she did get him new sheets and towels and, frankly, he was just going to have to learn to live with some tiny creature comforts. It truly hurt her deep inside, that after everything he'd been through, Bucky chose to live in a dark, dingy hole.
The apartment space itself really wasn't bad. It was a small studio, but it had a simple plan that could be nice enough — hell, just a little closer to midtown and this place would go for three grand a month easy. And while it wasn't the best in the world, the building was hardly a slum. From the people she'd seen going in and out, a lot them were her age or a little younger — college students or young professionals just starting out. The place was half dorm. And, sure, overall the building could use some work, better lighting in the halls, new linoleum on the floors, but it wasn't horrible. Which is really what made his apartment so very extra depressing.
Slapping her palms together, she rubbed her hands, pleased with her planning and with the thought of the look of shock and irritation on Bucky's face when he walked in. Was she over-stepping? Maybe a tiny bit. But, she really had warned him, and if he was going to badger her about the bar, she was going to go to town on his place.
Now, she had a day to paint before the furniture was delivered. She'd thought about hiring somebody, but for part of this little makeover it somehow felt important that she use her own hands, her own effort (beyond shopping). It would be all the more satisfying when Bucky asked, "what the hell did you do to my place?" and she could legitimately claim that she, yes she, had an actual hand in it.
Once she'd cleaned, scrubbed, and sanded down the walls, she clomped back down to the SUV to get the paint supplies. Tarp and roller tucked under one arm, and in the other hand a bag with brushes and other supplies, she stepped back up onto the sidewalk and turned towards the building, where she slammed into a man walking the other way. The tarp fluttered out of her grasp and the roller made an acrobatic flip out from under her arm. The man lunged forward and caught the roller then looked shocked at his own reflexes.
"Oh, dude, I'm sorry," she said with a breathless laugh. "Are you okay?"
"Oh, yeah, yeah, fine." He offered her a smile and stared back down at the roller. "Did you see that?"
"Hella impressive," Darcy agreed.
He tossed the roller in the air and caught it again. "Quick-Reflexes Nelson, that's what they call me."
"Really?"
"No, not at all. Never. Not even once." He grinned at her and she laughed again. He had that genuine nice-guy look about him, reddish hair down to the collar of his well cut but bargain-store suit, and a round, cheerful face. "Foggy Nelson."
Darcy set down the bag and shook his free hand. "Darcy Lewis. Foggy, though?"
"Franklin," he admitted with a grimace. "But, please, don't call me that."
"You got it."
He stared at her for a moment, then shook himself and glanced up at the building, waving the roller towards it. "Do you live here?"
"No, a friend of mine."
"Oh, helping her paint?"
"Him," she said, his not-so-sly interrogation earning him a smirk. "And he's out of town, so I thought I'd surprise him with a little redecorating."
"Oh," he said again. "Good friend."
"Him or me?"
"Well, both I guess," he shrugged. "If he wasn't a good friend you wouldn't bother, and you must be a good friend to go paint his place."
"Well figured," she praised. And then she started looking for an out, because she was on the clock here, and wasn't really looking to be chatted up on the sidewalk. "So, it was nice to meet you, Foggy—"
"Oh, hey, can I … uh, can I help you carry that? Um, assuming he's not on the top floor, and then, you know, I just got this suit back from the dry cleaners and it's June."
Darcy stifled a laugh and gave him a closer look over. He still had the nice-guy vibe going, didn't seem like a creeper, just somebody offering to lend somebody else a hand. Kind of rare in New York from her experience. "What are you avoiding?"
Foggy blinked in surprise, then looked down with a bashful, reluctant smile. "Research."
"Oh, I'm big on avoiding research." She nodded sagely, stepped back, and popped open the back of the SUV again. "Grab a couple cans, Nelson, and you can be my new bestie."
"Sixth floor?" He asked as he handed her back the roller and picked up the whole box of cans, wincing at the weight. Shaking her head, she smiled patiently. Trying to impress her, check. Still a nice guy? Sure. But, even if he turned jackhole, she was pretty sure she could handle him. Plus, if he wanted to impress her by schlepping cans of paint three stories, who was she to turn that down.
"Third."
"Thank God," he whispered, shutting the tailgate with his elbow. "I might look spry and ripped, but —" He told her with a modest, self-deprecating dip of his chin, squaring his shoulders and trying to suck in the slight paunch around his middle.
She laughed and picked up the tarp and the other supplies again. "Clean suit, June muggy, bad combo, gotcha."
He followed her to the building and up the front steps. "So what is it you do, Darcy Lewis?"
"Lab assistant to a pair of astrophysicists."
"Uh, wow," he breathed out, seeming genuinely impressed. "So your whole life is basically research."
"Why do you think I got a sudden yen to paint?" She asked over her shoulder and he chuckled.
"Geez, I just went for a long lunch and a walk. I'm clearly an amateur. Significant respect for your mastery at avoidance."
"I've put in years of practice." She pulled open the door and stepped back to let him through first. "And what do you do, Foggy Nelson?"
"Attorney, actually. My best friend and I have a practice together just a couple blocks over."
"Really? That's super awesome." She nudged him to the stairs. "The best friend part. Well, I mean, congrats on the law degree, too."
"Thanks." He looked up the narrow flight and hefted the box of paint cans. "Third, you said?"
"Just the third. You can do it," she said encouragingly.
"Oh, yeah, absolutely, can do." He took a deep breath and started up.
"What sort of law do you practice?" Darcy asked, trying to distract him from his grueling hike.
"We specialize in criminal defense. But, we'll do lawsuits, contracts, dispute mediation and resolution. You know, whatever pays the bills."
Darcy nodded. "Contracts, huh? Like, say, if I was to think of buying property, you could make sure it was all square?"
"Oh, yeah, no problem," he agreed without hesitation.
"How about things like liquor licenses and zoning stuff?"
"Sure. Opening a restaurant?"
"My buddy wants to buy a bar. I think he's dreaming, but, hey, why not dream a little, huh?" It might be nice to have a lawyer or two that weren't on the Stark payroll. With her position in SHIELD, with SHIELD's position in the world, with her partnership with Bucky, and their weird free-agent thing with Fury … somebody outside it all would probably come in useful at some point. Even if just to keep little things, like property deeds and licensing crap, from pointing anywhere near SHIELD or the Avengers.
"Your buddy who lives here?" They made the third floor landing, Foggy was wheezing but trying not to sound like he was. He straightened his back with a groan and jostled the box in his arms again.
"That's the one." Darcy led him over to the door to Bucky's apartment and hip-checked it open. "Just drop that by the wall."
Foggy lowered the box carefully, then stood up with a whimper. "I shouldn't have let my gym membership lapse."
Darcy smirked and dropped her own supplies. "There's water in the fridge, help yourself."
"Your friend won't mind?"
"Nah. Besides, I bought it anyway."
Foggy pulled open the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, then downed half of it. When he'd caught his breath, he looked around the empty apartment with a frown. "What's your friend do?"
"He got out of the army about a year ago. He's been doing some security stuff, but he's got his heart set on the bar." Darcy said absently. She cooked this story up months ago, and knew it as well as she knew her own name. Keep it simple, tell the truth, just not all of it — from chapter one of her book, How To Lie Like a Boss and Obfuscate Like a Champ. Maybe she should actually like write a pamphlet or something for baby SHIELD agents. Assuming they were ever able to recruit new agents again.
Shaking out the tarp, she started spreading it across the floor under the windows.
"Liquor licenses can be tough," Foggy said, finishing his water and walking over to grab a corner of the tarp, helping her drag it up against the wall.
"I've heard. And property prices are nuts." She rolled her eyes and gave him a look that spoke of her long-suffering patience. "He says it has to be in Brooklyn. I told him he'd have better luck in the Bronx, but, geez, the look he gave me, you'd think I told him to pick a corner of hell instead. He's a Brooklyn boy. I totally don't get it, but what do I know, I'm from California."
"People get attached to their neighborhoods. You don't?"
"Not so much. I mean, I like where I grew up, but, if I tell people I'm a San Dimas girl, they'll just ask if that's really a real place."
"Like from 'Bill and Ted'?"
Darcy laughed and grabbed the tape out of the bag. "Yes, and it is a real place."
"Huh. Is it nice there?"
"Sure. It's a suburb, you know. But, I miss having the mountains right there. It's really flat here. Kind of gives me the creeps sometimes."
"Okay," Foggy said with a slow nod, clearly not quite sure how to address the flatness of the area. "So, then you left home and went to study astrophysics—"
She handed him the end of the tape and pointed to a spot on the baseboard. He dutifully knelt down and placed the tape while she rolled it out along the board. "Oh, no, I'm a poli-sci grad."
"Uh." His mouth fell open, his brow furrowed, and he looked up at her in confusion.
Darcy laughed. "I love that look. I get it every time. It's so good." She tore off the end of the tape and stood back up.
"How, though?" Foggy asked, still crouched down, looking like he was trying to work out the problem but couldn't quite manage it.
"It was in college, I interned for an astrophysicist, then after I graduated, she asked for my help again. She was moving her lab here, and I figured, why not? Plus, my dad relocated here, so it was nice to be close to him. And, he had a spare room." She threw her fists up in the air and cheered, "Rent-free for the win."
Foggy finally stood, wincing again when his knee popped. "You live with your dad?"
"And his girlfriend." She laughed and taped off the windows. "At least for now. If my friend gets his dream bar, I might move closer to it to help him out. I bartended for part of college."
He let his jaw drop again, but this time in mock surprise. "You'd give up a thrilling life of astrophysics?"
"Eh, who knows," Darcy said with a shrug. "Admittedly, it is super-duper thrilling sometimes. But, hey, you've got a practice with your bestie, I wouldn't mind going into business with one of mine, you know?"
"It's a pretty sweet deal," Foggy agreed. "And how'd you and your friend meet?" He shook his head at himself. "It totally sounded like I was cross-examining you, didn't it? Strike that, your honor."
Darcy chuckled at him and handed him the end of the tape again and pointed at the top of the windowsill. He was taller than her and she didn't want to go back downstairs for the stepladder. "No big. We met at the Smithsonian. History buffs of a feather."
"Well, that's damned cool." He finished taping off the top of the windows and surveyed his work. "So, hey, if I can help your friend get his dream bar, give me a call." He fumbled in his coat pocket for a moment, then drew out a tattered business card and handed it over. "Sorry, we need new cards. A printing place gave us a sample box. We're kind of running low."
Darcy looked at the card — Nelson and Murdock. God knew they'd probably need a defense attorney before they needed anything else, so she tucked the card carefully away in her pocket. "Murdock's your buddy?"
"Yep. Matt's great. You'd probably like him. He always has a nose for the beautiful women, I'm surprised he didn't run into you first, and I cannot believe that just came out of my mouth." Foggy ran a hand over his hair and looked disgusted with himself. "Please, pretend I didn't speak at all for the last twenty seconds or so."
"Well it was a nice sort of compliment, but if you insist, consider it forgotten."
Letting out a relieved breath, Foggy smiled. "Thank you."
Darcy watched him for a moment before grinning. Many hands make light work, her grandma used to say. And, Foggy was pretty entertaining. This would go more smoothly with a new pal, right? "So, how much longer were you planning on avoiding for? Because, I'm thinking you could tell your friend that you got kidnapped by a forgettably pretty brunette who made you paint her guy friend's apartment."
He pursed his lips and looked at the wall, scratching thoughtfully at his chin. "I should probably not. Kidnapping's a serious offense. Matt gets all … touchy about that sort of thing."
Darcy snorted in amusement. "How about buttering up a potential client who will also buy pizza at some point?" She tried again.
"That, yes, that makes sense." Foggy pointed a finger at her. "I could do that. Have you heard about our pro bono legal advice program?"
"I have not." Darcy popped the top off a can of paint and poured it into a tray. "Maybe you could pick up that brush and tell me all about it."
Foggy shucked his jacket and nodded. "I would be delighted to."
"So, my buddy, wants a bar, but he's also thinking maybe if it's the right building, some other retail establishments. You do leases?"
"How big a building does he want?"
"Let's just say he's really sad he didn't get in on the Navy Yards redevelopment sooner."
Foggy gave her an incredulous look. "Did he loot a bank or something while he was in the army?"
Darcy chuckled. "Nothing like that. Somebody came from money," she whispered the last with a conspiratorial grin.
"Well, really property law isn't our specialty, but yeah, we can look over leases," Foggy said with a nod, casting a skeptical look around the painfully bare apartment. She hadn't said 'who' came from money, it was his own fault for assuming. Still, she smiled at him encouragingly and he continued, "We offer a wide variety of legal services."
Darcy tipped the roller at him. "Fantastic. I've got a feeling we'll need all of them."
He tapped the roller with his brush. "Screw Matt, you can officially be my new best friend."
***
When Bucky returned home three days later, the smell of paint was almost gone, thanks to wide open windows and a pair of strategically placed fans. Darcy was laying on the new, not at all disgusting couch, reading on her phone when she heard the door. Being a scary super assassin he realized something wasn't right, and threw the door open with a bang, entering with weapon drawn. Darcy set her phone down on her stomach and grinned at him.
"Hey, pal."
Bucky frowned, stared around the room, made the gun disappear, but took a step back towards the door.
"Come on, it's not that bad." Darcy swung her legs around and sat up. "Look, I painted the walls gray. A manly, brooding color." She waved a hand. "Okay, it's a warm gray, because you can be manly and brooding without pretending you're living in a concrete block."
"Shto za chyort," he mumbled.
She pointed a finger at him. "Hey, I warned you."
He finally stepped away from the door, shutting it and throwing the deadbolts, before turning and stalking slowly through the room like he thought something might jump out and bite him. For a guy who'd been through what he had, sudden change might not be the best, however, living in a depressing hole was not going to help, either. Sometimes a person needs a gentle nudge. And Darcy had been vary careful to make sure things stayed as subdued as possible.
"I kept it simple. Notice the lack of decor." She turned sideways on the couch and watched him circle.
Bucky shot her a look over his shoulder, and pointed an accusing finger at a potted fern on the kitchen table.
"Oh, that's not from me. It's from our new lawyers." Foggy brought it by the day before with their retainer agreement. He was so thrilled to have a steady client, she half expected him to start crying when she handed him the retainer fee. She was going out to dinner with him and the rest of the firm (all two of them) next week. Bucky was invited, but … well, she hadn't made anybody any promises.
Bucky stared at her for a long moment, closed his eyes for another, and then chuckled. "You are something else." He ran a hand over his face and crossed the room to sit next to her on the couch. "You did all this?"
"I painted. And I hired people to do the other things. And I shopped for the furniture and appliances."
"You didn't have to."
"I kinda did, but, you're right, I also didn't." Darcy pointed to the coffee table. "Totes the perfect fit for your weapons trunk."
He leaned his head to one side to look under the table, and shook his head with a smile. "Thoughtful, that's you."
"It is," she said, beaming at him. "You're my partner, and as my partner, there are certain things that you're just going to have to get used to. Like living someplace that's not actually depressing."
"Well, but if we get the bar, I'll just move anyway," he pointed out mildly. "Then you went to all this trouble for nothing."
"Not for nothing. Because, I am not holding my breath on us finding space right away. It's got to be big enough to hide the SHIELD base underneath and with space left over so that the SHIELD base underneath will actually be subtle and unnoticeable, and that was part of our agreement with Phil. So, we're kind of bound by a size, location issue."
"Yeah," he admitted with only a small pout.
"So, it's gonna be a while. And, so what, anyway?" She raised her arms, spread wide to take in the place in a gesture of pleasure and victory. "So the next people that live here get fresh paint and a fridge that doesn't smell like death. Lucky them."
He looked over his shoulder. "Murphy bed?"
"Yeah."
"Big enough for two?"
Darcy threw her head back with a laugh. "Who're you having sleepovers with?"
"Just thinking ahead," he said with a look of pure innocence.
"Uh-huh." He raised an eyebrow at her and bit his lip. She bowed her head and laughed again. "You've got to stop doing that."
"You're easy." He stood up and walked over to the door to the bathroom. "A door."
"Crazy, I know."
He stuck his head in the room and pulled back, giving her a flat look that was spoiled by the hint of a smile on his lips. The smile fell off after a second, though. "Wait, how come we have lawyers now?"
"Why not? Useful."
"Don't you have a million already?"
"Stark Industries has a million. And Stark lawyers are a) very expensive, and b) very noticeable. We don't need to go to them for little stuff, and it would only draw attention. Nelson and Murdock. They're a couple blocks over. Nice guys. Well, Foggy's nice; I haven't met Murdock yet."
"Foggy?"
"I know, right? Bucky."
"Sure, Darcy." He narrowed his eyes at her and circled the apartment one more time.
"We should have a club, oh my God!" Darcy clapped her hands together in fake glee, then gave him a narrow-eyed glare in return.
He smirked and waved a hand at the room. "How come I don't have a TV?"
"Oh, now you're getting all pushy and demanding." She laughed and shrugged. "I wasn't sure if you wanted one. There's a dock for your phone, though." She pointed to the shelf on the wardrobe. "You can listen to the radio or whatever."
"'Kay." He looked out the windows, played with the blinds for a second, then crossed over to the fridge. Opening it, he stared at the contents for a long minute. "You went grocery shopping, too?"
"I used an app, people brought food. The twenty-first century is amazing." He grabbed a beer and waved a second bottle at her. "Sure. Also, one of those cabinets is full of chalky, extra gross protein bars. You're welcome."
Popping the tops off with his cybernetic hand, he handed her a bottle, then dropped back onto the couch. "Thanks."
"Yep."
They sat quietly together for a moment, listening to the soft whir of the fans and the street noise outside.
"I like it," Bucky said finally.
"Good, I do, too."
"It's a nice gray," he said with a nod.
"Yeah, didn't remind me of a Hydra base." Darcy pursed her lips and pondered the wall for a minute. "Kind of soothing, actually."
"Yeah. Nice."
"Yep."
"When are we going dancing?"
"I don't know, when are we?"
"Dunno." He took a long pull of his beer bottle. "Soon."
"Just let me know, and I'll put on my dancing shoes."
He smiled at her and laughed. "Can't wait. Like the door, too."
"Crazy."