Chapter 1: Bad Timing
Notes:
This fic sprang out of some comments I got on Order of Operations about what would have happened if the team hadn’t gotten there in time to stop Darcy and Bucky from going through with their plan to wipe his programming and memories. I liked the idea of exploring the possibility and came up with this. Here are some important things:
- This story picks up immediately after chapter 21 of Order of Operations. You do need to have read up to that point in that story to understand this one.
- I do NOT think you need to reread it before you read this — I did my best to recap important things when needed to prevent that.
- Just like with Order of Operations there is some science in this one that is made up and more than a little wobbly. Just go with it.
- A happy ending is guaranteed - as always. I do love some angst, though, so you have to trust the process.
- We are going to earn that E rating - so watch the tags. I note specifics on chapters as needed.
- This fic is 100% complete, and I’ll be posting every couple of days as my schedule permits.
As always, I want to say a massive thank you to my beta reader and very dear friend, Noxnthea, without whom this fic would not have been written or finished. She reads all my nonsense, half-finished, crazy things, so you all get these stories.
Also, a thank you to Shireness for reading chapter one to help confirm it jogged enough memories from Order of Operations to not need a full reread.
Chapter Text
I pulled you close to me
out of all the questions
the hardest one is why
so we don't even ask
just close your mouth and kiss me
and time will pass us by
and you and I will last
through thick and thin
from dawn to dusk
lose and win
you and me
- The Line Between, Sons of Town Hall
Darcy woke with Bucky wrapped around her like a human blanket. He was already awake; she could feel one of his hands running absent patterns down her back, but his breathing was slow and easy.
“Did you sleep at all?” She asked into her pillow.
“Mmhmm,” he hummed.
“Are you lying?” She croaked.
“Yes.”
She nodded into the soft cotton and snuggled deeper into his embrace. “How long?” She asked.
“We can lay here a little while longer.”
“Okay.”
—
The hatchback Bucky found them was probably as close to an SUV as possible while still technically being a class below. By the time they’d shoved the last of the gear into it, Darcy had to admit she could see his point about the cargo space of an SUV, but she would never admit it.
She put all her weight behind the rear passenger door until it clicked closed on the bags and then turned to face him with a triumphant smile on her face. “See, everything fits,” He just raised an eyebrow and looked down at the backpack still sitting at his feet. “I wanted to keep that one in my lap,” she said unconvincingly.
“Uh-huh. You ready?”
“I feel like we should say goodbye or something.” She turned to stare up at the pitched roof and many chimneys of the big Tudor mansion where they’d spent the last week.
“It’s just a house. Hydra house.” He shrugged.
Darcy looked back at him over her shoulder, scandalized. “We said I love you for the first time in this house. We took our first bath together in this house. You fucked me from behind for the first and second times in this house!”
“I was with you on the first one, sweetheart. Not sure the last two are things people generally commemorate.”
“We should come back and break in every year or something.”
“I was going to blow it up.”
“What!?” She spun on her heel so fast she almost fell; only a quick step and catch of his hand in her coat saved her. “You rigged the place?” she hissed. “When?”
“Last night. I was already worried about it getting raided, and we’re leaving a lot of good toys in that bunker, not to mention intel. Plus, I thought it would be a good distraction.”
“While I don’t disagree with the logic, in the future, I would prefer to be informed if there are active explosive charges in any building where I’m showering.”
“Noted.”
“I can’t believe you’re going to blow up our bathtub sex house.” She looked back up at the impressive roofline.
“Let’s not call it that around strangers, eh love?”
“Well, we can’t tell people the I love you story; it makes me look like an idiot,” she said as she walked around to get in the passenger seat.
“Are you planning to tell people the bathtub sex story?” Bucky asked as he got in the driver’s side, tossing the extra backpack at her feet.
Darcy thought about it. “Maybe the nazi part? How many people can say they’ve fucked in a nazi’s clawfoot bathtub?”
“Probably a lot of other nazis.” He pointed out.
“Hmmm, fair enough.” She thought about it as he adjusted the mirrors and started the engine. “I’ll have to tell you all these stories eventually if this clean slate thing works,” she mused.
“And you’ll be telling them to me the way they happened with no embellishments to make yourself look better,” he warned. “I want them as they happened. Especially the I love you story.”
“Bucky, I cannot tell you that’s how we said I love you the first time,” she whined.
He stopped at the gate and dug in the cup holder for the detonator. “You can and you will—” He held the detonator over her palm as an incentive, and Darcy stared at the mansion in the side mirror, then looked back to him.
“Will you burn out the tires as it explodes like in an action movie?”
He smirked, “Yes.”
“Deal.”
It was, without a doubt, the coolest thing they’d ever done — so far.
—
“So you want to just march in the front door?” Steve asked, looking down at the arrows drawn all over the base schematic in front of him.
“I don’t see why not,” Nat said, “We have the firepower for it, especially with Thor here and Bruce joining in.”
Steve glanced across the hangar where Bruce was bent over a mess of wires and electrical components with Tony, looking pensive. “You want to send him in front?”
“He’d certainly create some shock and awe for us if that’s what we want. We’re not trying to preserve anything here, right?” She asked.
“No,” Steve confirmed. “As far as I’m concerned, if we’re sitting on a pile of rubble when Bucky and Darcy show up, that would be ideal.”
“Rubble, we can definitely do.” Clint wandered over from stocking the quinjet, twirling an arrow between two fingers, and Steve didn’t overlook its bulbous head.
“Hey, Robin Hood, who’s counting the fruit snacks if you’re out here?” Tony called.
“Your AI. What’s wrong, don’t trust him?” Clint shouted back.
“We almost ready?” Steve asked in an effort to stop the argument before it really started.
“Weapons and fuel are loaded. Need Tony and Bruce to finish whatever they’re doing, and then everyone needs to suit up.” Clint shrugged.
“What’s the ETA?”
“Wheels up in two, three hours out, one on the ground. We’ll attack in six.” Clint was always impressively competent on ops.
“Got it.”
“Wheels up in two,” Nat yelled, already stalking toward Tony and Bruce with some intent, and Steve smiled.
It was almost time.
—
“Bananas are different?”
“Yes, it was very upsetting in the 70s. You can save me from the disappointment a second time.”
“Am I really saving you, or am I just becoming the vehicle of disappointment?”
“What?”
“I mean, right now, all your disappointment is aimed at the bananas for tasting different, right?”
“Yes.”
“But if you forget everything and then I announce that they taste different without letting you experience it firsthand, your disappointment in bananas could become misdirected at me.”
“I think that’s a stretch.”
“I don’t think so, and for that matter, I’m already going to have to deliver a lot of bad news. I’m not sure I need bananas being the straw that breaks the camel’s back, so to speak.”
“So you’re going to let that letdown happen organically?”
“Afraid so.”
“Cruel.”
“I’m going to have a lot going on, Bucky. I have to explain 70 years of history to you and convince you to fall in love with me all over again, and this time, we’ll be reliant on my survival skills, so it’s going to be a little rougher.”
“Fair.”
“Rude.”
“You said it first. You’ll be better funded this time than I was when we left the Tower.”
“That’s true, although I can’t believe how heavy a million dollars is.”
“Just make me carry it.”
“Oh, I will.”
“It’s going to be okay, Darcy.”
“I know. How much longer?”
“About five hours.”
“Okay.”
—
“This is disgusting.” Darcy marked her place in the red book with a finger and let it fall to her lap.
“You shouldn’t have procrastinated it.”
“I memorized the important parts last night,” she said, and he raised an eyebrow in question. “I know the primary control words, the handler assignment protocols, and the imprint requirements — ugh, I feel gross for having said that out loud.”
“So then what else—” he trailed off, and Darcy felt her chest tighten.
“There’s key phrases for each set of orders. They’ve got them in here by hierarchy.” She shuddered. She could order him to kill JFK all over again if needed with this book. She could also order an assassination using a fill-in-the-blank template system with the target’s name and location — a feature added in the 50s. It was gross.
“You know the primary control words?” He asked.
“I promise.”
“And the correct handler assignment protocols? You have to be the primary handler. No one can take precedence.”
She flipped open the book to the protocol she’d studied, “Establishing the Chief Principle Asset Handler,” she read, and he nodded.
“Good, good.”
“I know you said — but if this is the outcome, I can take care of him, right?”
Bucky glanced at her, “What do you mean?”
“I don’t have to treat you the way they did? I can order you to sleep and eat and shower and take care of yourself, right? That’s not touching you or—” She turned to look out the window as her voice gave out on her, and his hand came down warm and heavy on her hair. His fingers rubbed at her scalp before sliding down to cradle the back of her head.
“Yes, love. You can take care of him,” he said quietly. “Thank you for wanting to.”
“It’s still you,” she said petulantly, “or it’s going to be. I swear, it’s going to be.”
“I know. If anyone can make that happen, it’s you.”
She looked back at him. “Do I have to read the rest of it?”
“No.”
—
“I’m not putting that on the list.”
“You said you’d do this.”
“I said I would help you remember important things faster.”
“This is important.”
“This is not important.”
“I caved on adding the thing about how I always forget a hair tie and the vascov-blah passing out thing you’re always so worried about.” He glared at her, which she ignored. “I also added your strong opinions on Pixie Sticks being a trash candy and how I cannot be trusted to brew my own coffee, which is a lie —”
“All evidence begs to differ.”
“Hush. I’m not going to add sexual preferences to this list. You’re going to have to figure those out again on your own.”
“You’re only hurting yourself by being stubborn on this, doll. Think about it.”
“Now that’s — that could be a valid point.” Darcy tapped her pen against her chin. “Okay, say I agree, and we expand the important facts for 1948 Bucky list to include a section on sexual preferences in case he decides he ever wants it —”
“When he decides he wants it,” Bucky corrected.”
“Sure,” she agreed, “For when he wants it, why is the left one your favorite though?” She looked down at her chest, trying to figure it out. She was pretty sure the right one was a little bigger, to be honest. She looked over to find Bucky still staring out at the road, his cheeks pink. “Well, if you can’t—”
“You’ve got a—” he mumbled it so low she couldn’t hear.
“What?”
“You’ve got a mark under your nipple shaped like a little heart,” he muttered.
“I’ve got a what?”
“Like a birthmark or something, shaped like a heart.”
“I do not!”
His head whipped to the side, “You do too!”
“You are making that up.”
“Why would I make up a birthmark on your tit?”
“Well, now I’m going to look.” She started to unzip her hoodie, tugging her shirt up.
“Darcy! What are you,” he spluttered, “We’re on a fucking highway —”
“Who’s looking? No one’s looking, and if they are good for them.” She already had her left breast out of the top of her sports bra, pulling the flesh up and tilting her head at an extreme angle to see the rarely seen underside. “Oh my god!”
“See! Now put it away.”
“Oh my god!”
“Darcy, put your boob away.”
“How long has that been there? I have never seen that before.”
“Darcy!”
“Okay, okay, but we’re going to need to figure out how to see a dermatologist here soon because your favorite boob’s feature is a surprise guest and might not be a welcome one. Definitely not going on the list.”
“Jesus, just put your clothes all the way back on.”
She resituated herself in her sports bra and tugged her shirt back down. “Happy?”
His eyes darted over to her, then back to the road, “Thank you. Still goes on the list, and I don’t think you need a dermatologist. It’s not raised, it’s pale, and the edges are uniform and rounded. New freckles can show up into the 20s on people with fair skin.”
“Not going on the list.”
He reached over and tapped the notebook in her lap. “You agreed to write it down for me; this is not a joint editing activity.”
“Stupid secret freckles,” she grumbled as she wrote it out.
“Now, my left hand on your neck.”
“I should never have agreed to this.”
—
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
—
“Forty-five minutes to ground,” Clint yelled back from the cockpit. Steve slapped his thighs and looked around the quinjet. The team was oddly subdued. Tony was typing away on a tablet, Bruce had his headphones in, and Thor was talking quietly with Nat.
Forty-five minutes to ground meant they were a little under two hours from contact. They’d land about an hour away and travel in without the jet to avoid detection on radar for the element of surprise. All their monitoring suggested they were still on track to beat Bucky and Darcy to the base, the goal being to greet them with open arms and good news.
“Nat, need you up here.” Clint’s tone was serious enough that Steve’s head snapped to the front of the jet. His eyes trailed Nat as she stood without a word and walked to the cockpit. He watched her as she hovered in the doorway, his enhanced hearing catching bits of their conversation conveniently held in their rarely used Russian.
She looked back at him and then turned and came back to sit in the jump seat to his left, a tablet in her hand. “There was an explosion in Wisconsin this morning.” She clicked through a web browser until she pulled up a silent news feed, an aerial video of a giant mansion on a lake, or what was left of it burning to the ground. Several craters were still smoldering down by the water where it looked like secondary smaller buildings had been completely destroyed.
“Do we think it’s related somehow?” He asked.
“We didn’t at first, but Clint just got an alert from an old friend. The house was on a list for a raid next week because it was an off-the-books summer home owned by the General who was killed at the base in Indiana last week.” Nat clicked over to a profile on the General, and Steve grabbed the tablet.
“So —”
“We missed it,” she admitted.
“Do you think they were there?” He flipped the screen back to the video of the raging fire. “Was this Hydra getting revenge? Do you think they got out?”
“What?” Nat looked confused, “Oh no, Steve. We think they blew it up. I think they’ve been staying there for the last week. It would have been the perfect place to lay low after what happened in Indiana, and Bucky would have known about it. It was on the Winter Soldier’s mission list. He tested the security system about eight years ago.”
“Hold on,” Tony interrupted from the other side of the jet, “Are you telling me our wayward lovebirds have been living it up in a dead guy’s lakeside mansion for the last week, and now they’ve blown it up as a last hurrah on their way to what — we’re assuming start heading to the Minnesota base?”
“That’s my current hypothesis, yes,” Nat agreed.
“Darcy and I are going to have a long talk about some of these choices she’s making,” Tony muttered.
“We should have known about the house,” Nat muttered.
“It’s an easy miss,” Steve consoled.
“It’s not.”
“But we headed into battle now, my friends,” Thor said. “Darcy and Bucky will have our support very soon!”
“That’s the problem,” Nat continued, “This explosion took place six hours ago. We don’t know their plans, but they could beat us there if they intend to drive straight through and attack.”
Steve’s heart was racing, “Tony—”
“Already on it.” Tony unbuckled his harness and collected what he’d need to fly ahead. “I could get there in half the time, but if we’re wrong, I’ll be there without support for an hour or end up announcing our plans.”
Steve stared at him, tapping his fist on his thigh. “Hold.”
“Are you sure?” Tony looked surprised. “I can do it.”
“I’m sure I’m not going to risk it for an unknown.”
“I’ll let Clint know.” Nat returned to the cockpit, and Tony dropped into the seat at his side.
“I can go now, Steve,” he said quietly.
Steve scanned the open hull of the jet, but Bruce still had his headphones in and eyes closed. Thor had gone back to polishing his hammer, humming under his breath. He grabbed Tony’s hand and stood, pulling the shorter man behind him until they had some privacy standing behind the Humvee strapped to the center of the jet’s floor.
He cupped Tony’s cheeks and watched his eyes go wide and soft in response. “We don’t know if they’re there yet for sure, and I can’t risk you on a hunch.”
“That doesn’t seem very tactically sound.” Tony pointed out.
“It’s not,” Steve agreed, “but I made the mistake of dating a teammate, so here we are.”
“I’m a mistake?” Tony’s bottom lip jutted out, and Steve rolled his eyes.
“Can you not fish for compliments when I’m already trying to be romantic?”
“Yes, sorry.” He straightened up, hands coming to rest on Steve’s hips. “If you want me to go now, I’ll go.”
“You’ll go with the rest of us.” Steve walked them a step back, pressing Tony’s back into the tailgate of the Humvee, enjoying the way it made his eyes widen in surprise.
“I’ll go with the rest of you,” Tony agreed just before they kissed.
—
“Look at me.” It was ten minutes after sunset, and they were standing in the woods just beyond the sensor perimeter of Hydra’s primary midwestern base in Minnesota. Darcy turned to face Bucky, tilting her head up and smiling when he cupped her chin with one hand, “Close your eyes,” he said. She did, then wrinkled her nose in disgust when he smeared something cold and wet on her face with three fingers. “Keep them closed,” he warned.
“What the hell,” she hissed.
“Grease paint, you’re going to be using the Barrett M82 this time with the laser scope. Plus, it’s dark. This will keep the glare out of your aim and make you less visible.” His fingers finished smearing it over her eyelids and the bridge of her nose, then across the tops of her cheeks.
“We’ve been planning this for days, we had seven hours in the car, and it took us 20 minutes to walk to this spot, but you thought ‘ look at me ’ was the right way to announce that face painting was part of the plan?” His hands left her face, and her eyes snapped open to find him grinning at her, his teeth a white line in the fading light.
“You look fucking adorable.”
“I’m going to poke you with that new push knife you gave me,” she warned.
He tugged her close, his arms wrapping around her, “You remember how to get it out of your boot?”
“Yes, dear.”
“And you remember not to lose the —”
“Gerber Mark II because it’s your favorite.” She finished for him, “Yes, and I know how to set up the Barrett, and I have extra rounds, and both the SIGs holstered with extra ammo in easy reach, the laptop and tablet in my backpack, armor on, and explosives and detonators ready to go.” They’d been over all this so many times since the night before it made her head swim.
“And—”
“And the code words,” she whispered into his chest, “just in case.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I love you.”
“I’m going to cry off my grease paint,” she muttered.
He exhaled into her hair, and she could feel his smile. “Thank you for doing this for me, Darcy. I know it’s going to be — No matter which version of me comes out of that chair, you’re going to—”
“Stop,” she said, her voice thick. “We did that last night. I love you. I want to do this for you, for us. It’s going to be okay.” She looped her arms around his waist. “You deserve this, and I’m happy to be able to give it to you.” She leaned back so she could see his face, his eyes bright.
It hit her then that this would be the last quiet moment before the fight alone with this version of him. The version that remembered everything. The one who played quarters and bought her a scarf and thought it would take 50 pounds of potatoes to make her feel better when her friends died. And wasn’t that a tragedy? She bit her lip to hold it in.
“Tell me,” he said even as his eyes scanned their surroundings, and she knew he was keeping time in his head.
“I’ll just miss you, is all.” It was a gross understatement. His eyes snapped back to her face, and he seemed to understand from the way his brows drew up.
“It won’t take long. You’re easy to love.” He kissed her forehead, then her lips. Fast and far too chaste for the moment, but they had to move. “It’s time.”
Darcy squared her shoulders and let him go. “Let’s go.”
The beginning of the plan hadn’t changed. Bucky got them around the sensor perimeter without too much trouble and right up to the fence. Darcy could see the auxiliary building they needed to get to from their location, a cinderblock square with a few outside lights and no windows. It housed the bases’ servers, power supply, and other critical functions. It should really be better guarded, but it was unlabeled and independent from the rest of the facility, which should have made it less of a target.
Not tonight. Bucky cut a hole in the chain link and held the stiff metal netting back for her to carefully step through, then he followed her. She stayed behind him and to the left, padding on silent feet across the hundred yards to the back wall of the building. He pulled a knife and motioned at the guns strapped to her waist. She unholstered one of the SIG P226s he’d outfitted her with, chosen because they could take an extended magazine. He gave her a meaningful look and then, to her surprise, leaned forward and pressed a rough kiss to her forehead before disappearing around the corner of the building.
Darcy stood with her back to the cement wall and strained to hear. Technically, this was the second most dangerous moment of the entire operation. They still didn’t have live comms due to the risk of being overheard on a non-controlled channel, so she was not only exposed but alone while he was taking care of what was supposed to be the single guard on the door. She scanned the open space between her position and the fence, checking her sides as well. She heard him coming before she saw him, the almost imperceptible whirr of his left hand adjusting its grip around his gun, announcing him a millisecond before he turned the corner.
She released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding when he waved her forward. She followed him around to the door and inside. It was loud, exhaust fans for the servers and heat pumps for electrical systems running full blast. Bucky took her hand and pulled her to the right toward an interior door he opened to reveal a small windowless office. “Stay,” he whispered. Then he shut the door and was gone again. Darcy moved herself to the side of the room and waited.
It took longer this time. Long enough that she got anxious, and then the doorknob started to turn. She raised her gun as the door swung out, and she dropped her arm as she recognized Bucky’s familiar shape. There was blood splattered across his face and neck.
“Are you injured?” She asked, motioning to his cheek, and he wiped at it, smearing the red into his grease paint.
“No. There were three.”
“Something we should be worried about?” She was already pulling out the computer and booting it up, getting into the program she’d set up and tested back at the lakehouse.
“No. They were all on the roster. I checked on my way back down. It’s posted outside the office door.”
Darcy nodded absently, typing away. “Okay, I need to get to the right server and hook this in.”
He let her lead the way, following her as she wandered down the rows, checking serial server numbers and setups. She had to try two before she found the one she needed, but when she did, it all worked exactly as planned. Her screen lit up with the schematics, the comms, the tags.
“Bingo.”
“Are you going to cross-check with national?”
It was something they’d agreed to do after Indiana, risk the tap into the national database to make sure there weren’t unaccounted for trackers at the base. “Yep.” She typed in the command. “And the best part is because we’re hardwired, it will look like it’s just a normal API call from the base.” She hit enter, and nothing changed. “All good.”
She dug the new comms out of her backpack and passed one to him, then put on her own, fitting the throat unit around her neck and pushing the earpiece in. She set up the private channel and set up the takeover. She was being a lot more subtle this time. Being careful not to be observed or detected in the system, creating backups to cover their tracks for longer periods of time.
“We’re good,” she said after a minute. “Can you hear me over the comms?”
“Yes,” he confirmed.
“I can hear you, too.”
She started the program she’d written to loop the video feeds and keep the alarms from going off, then tucked the computer between two of the servers to keep running. “It’ll only work as long as it’s plugged in or the building is operational,” she warned him.
“Understood.” He reached out a hand to help her up from the floor where she’d been working and then helped her get her backpack and the Barrett rifle back on. “You ready to get into your spot?”
“I guess so.” She stared up at him.
“Just until I clear the doors and the main halls, Darcy. I’ll come back for you before I go down to the labs.”
She narrowed her eyes. It had been a point of contention the night before; he’d pushed hard to know whether or not he could possibly operate the chair alone, but there was no way. “You can’t do it alone.”
“I know.”
“You have to come back to get me.”
“I can’t clear the halls with you there.”
“We both know that’s a lie. I’ve read the book now. I know you’re trained in subject protection.”
His shoulder sank, “I won’t be as eff—”
“Effective.” She finished for him. “I know.”
“Come.” He used the hand he still held to guide her to a set of metal stairs at the back of the building, leading her up three flights and through a locked door onto the roof. He scanned the area quickly and then pointed to a position between two massive AC units that would give her a clear line of sight at the back and west side of the main facility building. “Set up there. The engineering will provide cover if you need it.”
She nodded. “I love you,” she said, and he smirked.
“Not goodbye just yet, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to her head, “Love you, too.” He squeezed her hand and turned to disappear back down the stairs.
Darcy dropped her backpack and set up the Barrett, stretching out on her stomach to peer through the sight at the main building in the distance. She pulled back and propped the tablet against the roof’s edge, open to the tracking schematics.
“You good?” Bucky’s voice was clear over her comms.
“Yes,” she whispered. “You’re good, no outside patrols. Two on the east side of the roof.”
“Got it.”
She barely heard the door click as he slipped into the dark and then tracked his progress through the shadows between the two buildings through the scope, testing the switch on the side that changed the view from normal to night vision.
“Night vision is so cool.” She told him, and she relished his huffed laugh in response. She checked the tablet. “One on the roof heading your way,” she warned.
“Mmhmm.”
She scanned the roof and found the man in question, pacing along the northwestern corner, not actually looking down. “He’s smoking. I think he’s texting — oh my god, he’s playing bejeweled. Is it 2007 at every Hydra base?”
“So I can move?”
“What? Yes, you’re good. But why bejeweled? We all moved on to Candy Crush in like 2012, so this guy is like years behind.”
“Should you just shoot him?”
“What! I mean, it’s egregious, but it’s not that bad.”
“Then maybe we can unlock the door for me?”
“Oh my god.” She scrambled to hit the button on the tablet, and she heard Bucky snicker.
“Inside. Stay on the tablet for me?”
“Yes, yes.” She kept her eyes locked on the base map, tracking the little red dots compared to Bucky’s green one. “You’ve got one coming in about 50ft at the turn.”
She heard him engage and let her eyes scan the dark horizon as she strained her ears, listening for anything outside a normal fight sound. Bucky grunted, and there was a pop, which Darcy knew was the sound of a neck-snapping.
“All good?” she asked.
“Yes.” There was a long pause, and she could hear him continuing to move, and then the beep of another door. “What next?”
“You’ve got two more lefts and a right. You’ll have one 100 yards down as you go.” She listened to his breathing as he kept going. “Then you come back and get me.”
“I’m coming back, love.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
—
“Not good, not good, not good.” Darcy flipped switches on the control panel like her life depended on it, and honestly, it might. “Work, goddamnit!” She kicked at the panel and nothing. “ Fuck.”
There was a low groan from across the pitch-black room, and Darcy froze. She took a silent step back, her hand going to one of the SIGs strapped to her hips. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Another low shuddering boom shook the room, and Darcy pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp.
“Arrgh.” The moan from the dark had Darcy drawing the SIG and taking another step back to give herself room to maneuver, her mind racing over the Winter Soldier’s command words, and she wondered how things could have gone so wrong so quickly.
Everything had been going to plan. Bucky had cleared the halls of the base without being noticed while she’d tracked his position from the roof of the utility building. He’d come back for her right on time. Leading her into the base hand in hand, following the schematics down to the sublevel where the MSM Chair was kept.
The work she’d done on the security camera looping had done its job, and they hadn’t run into any living staff on the way. The sub-basement control room was something out of a nightmare. Tile walled and tile floored with a large grated drain in the center. Even that was nothing compared to the chair.
Darcy had studied as many images as she’d been able to find, and nothing had prepared her for the stark brutality of it in real life. Made so much worse by her detailed understanding of what it could do to a human brain. She’d expected Bucky to react, but he’d just stalked into the room, closed and locked the door behind them, then looked to her for directions.
So she’d followed his lead and tried to stay strong. She’d run through the settings on the control panel, using all her notes to make sure she got it right. She’d powered everything up, jumping at the electric hum that filled the room. She’d got it all ready, and then she’d stopped and turned to find Bucky staring at her with wide eyes.
“What?”
“Just looking.”
Darcy blinked; her throat was suddenly thick. “We don’t—”
“I do,” he’d said softly.
She’d nodded. “I love you.”
He’d held out a hand, and she’d took it, letting him reel her in. “I love you, too,” he’d said.
“This is the actual goodbye, huh?” she’d asked, and she couldn’t hold back the half sob that came out with the last word.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he’d whispered into her hair. “This is the real goodbye, but not forever. Just for a little while.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
She’d helped him disarm, and then when she’d tried to point him toward the chair, he’d grabbed her, kissing her so hard and so deep Darcy was gasping for breath when he let her go. “I love you so much,” he’d said fiercely, and Darcy’d nodded through her tears.
“I love you, too.”
Then it was in the chair and settings on the console and dials and his crystal blue eyes watching her with so much trust it made Darcy want to throw up. She’d kissed his forehead and helped him put the bite guard in, asking him one more time if he was really sure, then his unhesitating nod. She’d gone back around the control panel, double-checked all her settings, looked back up at him, and —
God help her—
She’d flipped the switch.
He’d screamed. Darcy had screamed with him. And right when she’d thought she couldn’t take it anymore, there’d been a thundering boom, like the entire world was screaming with them. Then, an explosion and the control panel lit up, every dial spinning wildly. Darcy screamed louder; Bucky was straining against his bonds, and it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right. There was another explosion. Every lightbulb in the room shattered, raining down golden sparks, and then it went dark.
So dark.
And so, so quiet.
Until —
Now.
Now, Darcy was trapped in a sealed room with — well, with an unknown version of Bucky because she had no idea how far into the process things had gotten before they were interrupted. She had no idea what interrupted them. She knew nothing except that she was now locked in a pitch-black room with what might be the Winter Soldier but what could also be Bucky Barnes a la 1948.
Her hand holding the SIG was shaking.
“Ugghnn.” This time, the moan was followed by the sound of spitting and something wet hitting the tiled floor. “What the hell?” It was Bucky’s voice but not — so much more Brooklyn than it ever had been before.
So, not the Winter Soldier. Darcy took a shuddering breath.
It’d worked.
Or did it? She reached back to her pack, seeking the flashlight in the front pocket by feel, and carefully slid it out into her free hand. She didn’t turn it on just yet, weighing her options.
She could try to get down there by feel, but there was no way. She could announce herself, but if it was the Winter Soldier and he was trying to draw her out, then that wasn’t a great idea. Pretending to be a guy from Brooklyn really didn’t feel like the Winter Soldier’s opening strategy, though.
She could just say the command words. Get it out of the way up front. If the chair worked, it would do nothing. Although, if it didn’t, she’d suddenly have the Winter Soldier to contend with, so that wouldn’t be great. There was a rattle from the center of the room, like Bucky was pulling at the restraints on the chair.
Fuck it
“Longing.”
“What? Who’s there?”
Darcy paused to lick her dry lips. “Rusted. Furnace. Daybreak.”
“What are you—”
“Seventeen. Benign. Nine. Homecoming. One.”
“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” Bucky sounded panicked now.
She paused and exhaled, “Freight car.”
“Look, lady,” Bucky said, and Darcy let out the breath she’d been holding as he continued, clearly unaffected by the code words, “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but when the rest of my team gets here —” He was cut off by another explosion, and Darcy could feel dust raining down from the ceiling. “That’s probably them now,” Bucky said, sounding smug, “they really don’t like nazis.”
“We have that in common then,” Darcy muttered, and she clicked on the flashlight, filling the room with a bright beam. She pointed it at the floor to guide her steps as she rushed across the room to the chair. “I’m not a nazi,” she said.
Bucky stared at her, eyes wide. “I’ll admit I’ve never seen a nazi dame that looks anything like you,” he said. “Won’t matter; the boys will sort you out when they get here.”
Darcy narrowed her eyes; that was the second reference he’d made to his team. Her research had suggested that Hydra placed the first marker in 1948, three years after he’d fallen off the train. She’d expected to be dealing with a version of Bucky with three years of life as a prisoner of war under his belt, but this version seemed to think the Howling Commandos were going to come barreling through the door any moment.
“What year is it?” Darcy asked slowly, a suspicion starting to form.
“What the hell kind of question is that?” Bucky asked. “Worst interrogation I’ve ever been a part of.”
“Humor me, soldier,” Darcy said.
“1945.”
“Shit,” Darcy muttered. “The power surge—”
“The what?” Bucky asked, “Just wait until — “
Another explosion cut him off, and Darcy shook herself. They didn’t have time for this. She holstered her gun and clipped the flashlight into the strap on her pack. Then she leaned forward over Bucky’s lap; she braced herself on the arms of the chair just like he’d told her to.
“That is not your team. It is not 1945. It is 2016. You are inside a Hydra base. I am your partner, and we need to fight our way out of here.” Darcy cataloged the way the information landed on his familiar face. The drawn-up brows, the half-open mouth, the wide eyes. It was all thrown into stark relief in the shine of the flashlight.
The shock gave way to a smirk and then a full grin. “Doll, you cannot possibly believe that’s going to work? Now, I can promise things will go a lot better for you if you untie me before my men get down here.” Another explosion shook the building, and his smile got wider, “Sounds like you don’t have much time.” He rattled the cuffs, holding him to the chair for emphasis.
Darcy opened and closed her mouth in shock. Did he think this was a joke? “Do you think this is a joke?”
Bucky laughed. “Could be? Is it?”
“No. I am being very serious.”
“Look, I’m not saying you’re not very intimidating with the guns and the knife and the face paint and everything, but —” Another boom cut him off, and Darcy made a noise of frustration. Something was definitely going on upstairs that had nothing to do with them, and they were running out of time.
“I don’t have time for this,” she snapped. “That is not your team. We need to get out of here.”
Bucky’s eyes narrowed, “And why would I possibly believe you? You didn’t exactly start strong with the random words and ‘what year is it’ nonsense.”
Darcy glared at him. “When you were fifteen, your mom made a Chess Pie, and you ate half of it and let your sister Rebecca take the blame.”
Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened. “I have never told anyone that,” he hissed; his eyes were practically slits as he stared at her. “How do you know that?”
“You told me so I could tell you as proof that you could trust me.”
“And that’s what I went with?”
Darcy groaned again. They really didn’t have time for this. “Yes. No. The original thing I refused to repeat.”
Bucky’s eyes widened comically and then narrowed again. “Fine. Say, I believe you. What are we looking at here? And if we’re on the same side, why am I strapped to this chair?”
“Do you believe me?”
“Say I do.” He was still smirking.
Darcy sighed. This was not even remotely how this was supposed to go. There had been a plan, and the plan did not include him not remembering that he’d lost his arm, or falling from the train, or being captured. This was a whole other level of adjustment and bad news Darcy was unequipped to deliver.
She stared at his familiar face, trying to decide what to do, her mind racing through a dozen options. He stared right back, his eyes still narrowed in suspicion, his lips pursed in a way that made him look younger and so wholly different from the man she’d come to know so well it had her feeling queasy. He rattled the restraints again, and Darcy’s heart skipped a beat. She already wanted her Bucky back so badly she could taste it.
Fuck it
“In 1945, you went on a mission with the Howling Commandos to capture Armin Zola. During that mission, you fell from the train and were assumed dead by your friends and the US government. You did not die. You were actually injured and captured by Hydra and held as a prisoner of war. Hydra replaced your damaged left arm with a titanium bionic arm connected to your nervous system and brainwashed you.
“They then used you as an assassin for the next 70 years. We met three months ago when Steve Rogers, who also survived into the twenty-first century and had been in the process of rescuing you, ordered you to protect me seconds before he died in an attack by Hydra. We have been on the run ever since. We are here to remove the Hydra programming from your brain. You are in the chair for that purpose.” Darcy sucked in a huge breath as she finished speaking, her eyes locked on Bucky for a reaction.
He stared at her, his brows drew up in concern, and then the corner of his mouth started to twitch; one of his dimples started to show on the right side. A low noise came from the back of his throat, and then his head dropped back as he let out a full laugh, more carefree than Darcy had ever heard. “Oh my god, doll. Pull the other one,” he got out between ragged breaths as he tried to stop laughing.
“It’s not a joke,” Darcy snapped.
“This is the best prank Dugan’s ever pulled.”
“It’s not a prank. Look at your left arm.” Darcy shifted so the light would shine down on his metal fingers. She watched them flex and then looked back up at his face, expecting horror, but instead found his eyes wide in wonder.
“I have to be dreaming,” he whispered in awe.
“Oh, what the fuck,” Darcy hissed, but another explosion sounded, this one far too close to ignore, and that meant it was time to go. “Okay. Well, we have to go.”
She dropped to her knees and started on the ankle cuffs, keeping her head down to hide the shine of frustrated tears in her eyes. As soon as his ankles were free, she undid the ones on his wrists, forcing herself not to touch him more than necessary. This wasn’t her Bucky anymore. The second he was free, Bucky sprang from the chair and flexed his left arm, cycling it in a wide arc the way she’d seen him do to calibrate it after it took a rough hit. Darcy stood back and watched with her arms crossed.
“Does it do anything cool?” he asked and then scoffed. “Why am I asking you? It’s my dream, isn’t it? I bet it can stop bullets. So neat.”
“It can, in fact, stop bullets,” Darcy confirmed dryly. “Look, we have to get out of this base, and we have to do it being seen by as few people as possible. We have a car parked outside the fence on the western edge past a utility building.”
“Do we have weapons?” he asked.
“Yes.” Darcy led him over to his pack and the weapons she’d helped him take off not more than thirty minutes before. His eyes went wide.
“Now I really know I’m dreaming! Look at these guns!” He was like a kid in a candy store. He let Darcy help him into the armor, only commenting once on his impeccable imagination to have come up with someone as unique as her to help guide him through the story. Darcy just rolled her eyes and pulled the next buckle a notch too tight.
“You ready?” she asked once they were standing at the door, both armed and ready.
“Hell yeah.”
“Please don’t die,” she whispered, and she pulled down on the huge levered lock and opened the door.
—
“Do you still think you’re dreaming?”
“Shut up.”
“Now you want to be quiet?”
“Shhhh.”
“Don’t fucking shhhh me. I’m not the one that tried to fucking walk through an armed guard station because, and I quote, ‘it’s my dream. I can do what I want.’”
“I didn’t know they’d shoot at me!”
“They’re fucking Hydra agents. What did you think was going to happen!?”
“I thought I was fucking dreaming!”
“What part of you are not dreaming did you not understand from before?”
“All of it. I have a fucking metal arm, and you told me it’s been 70 years!”
“Jesus fucking Christ — I am not prepared. You didn’t tell me — I — you were supposed to — “
“What do you mean I didn’t tell you—”
Bucky’s question was cut off by the sound of pounding feet on metal grating. They’d ducked into an alcove to try and catch their breath after the confrontation at the guard station. Darcy would never forget the feeling of her heart in her throat when he’d ignored her warnings to sneak past the guard room door and instead unholstered both his Skorpions, walked right up to the double doors, kicked them open, and walked directly into a crowd of armed Hydra agents.
Time had stood still as every goon in the room had turned as one to look at the now former Winter Soldier suddenly standing in their midst, armed, dangerous, and wildly overconfident. Bucky had just laughed and said, “Let’s go!”
If he’d had his memories, he honestly could have taken out the entire room.
But in his current state, with the belief that he could just wake up when things got bad —
He’d had a five-second advantage created by pure audacity, but once that wore off and the Hydra agents got their wits back, it was chaos, and it took everything Darcy had to get them out of there. As it was, they were in rough shape.
She’d taken a glancing shot to her left side that hadn’t made it through her body armor but had definitely hit hard enough to steal her breath and make her feel weak. Bucky had taken a shallow graze to his temple, which was freely bleeding down the side of his face. Worse than the injuries, they were running low on ammo, and the base was very aware of their presence now.
“We have to go.” Darcy held tight to the tablet with one shaking hand. They’d run from the conflict at the first opportunity and kept running until they’d found a place to stop long enough for her to pull out the tablet and check the map for a clear path out. She double-checked their route back to the car, nodded once, and then tucked the tablet back into her pack before looking back at Bucky.
“You’re my partner, and it’s 2016?” he asked, his face drawn and serious under the gore. Darcy wanted to reach out and wipe the blood from his brow. She clenched her fist instead.
“Yes.”
Another boom shook the building, and a violent roar came from outside. Darcy’s head snapped toward the noise, her heart pounding.
“What is it?” Bucky sounded anxious, and Darcy spared a thought for the amount of trauma he’d been through in the last hour. She needed to get him somewhere safe.
“I don’t—” A shout at the other end of the hallway cut her off.
“Winter Soldier spotted on level 3 blue with the girl.” Three Hydra agents had turned the corner at the end of the corridor.
“Shit! Run!” Darcy grabbed Bucky’s hand and took off in the other direction, dragging him with her, but he was faster. So much faster, and it wasn’t long before he was in the lead.
“Which way?”
“Left!”
He yanked her left, then right, then left again, and then up the stairs, practically carrying her along the hallways of the base. As they ran, Darcy realized how wrong things were. There were far too many bodies in the hallways, far too much damage. This wasn’t the base they’d moved through on silent feet to get to the MSM chair only an hour before. Something else had happened here while they were down in the MSM chamber, and they were caught up in it.
More explosions shook the foundation, and as they got closer to the exit that would spill them out onto the western lawn, it started to sound like they were getting closer to a full-scale battle. Darcy’s feet pounded over the smooth floors, and her chest burned with the exertion of keeping up with Bucky’s faster gait as he set a brutal pace, just barely keeping them ahead of the pursuing agents.
They skidded around the last corner so fast Darcy almost lost her footing. A gunshot from behind them hit the wall so close to her head the plaster it threw up dusted across her cheek. The double doors that should have been at the end of the hallway were gone. In their place was a giant hole, large enough for five men to walk through abreast. The sight of such extreme damage almost drew Darcy up short, but Bucky seemed beyond surprise at this point because he didn’t slow.
Darcy stared at the opening at the end of the hall as a flash of lightning lit the black night beyond. The thunder that followed was anything but natural. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, her breath short from something other than exertion, as she kept running on auto-pilot behind Bucky toward the opening, and then they were there. Bursting through and out onto the western lawn of the base.
An hour before, it had been a large green field, almost peaceful in the twilight of the evening. Now, it was a full-scale battlefield, lit up by the base security lights. A hundred Hydra agents were fighting a ranged battle against the Avengers, and Darcy’s brain stalled.
The Hulk roared from the corner of the building, throwing men across the field like logs.
Thor was raining down lightning with his hammer on lines of men, a thunderstorm of destruction.
Iron Man was flying over the field, the whine of his repulsors a pitch too high to be drowned out by the constant retort of gunfire.
Hawkeye and the Black Widow were back to back, the Black Widow wielding dual guns, and Hawkeye firing arrows one after another into the fray.
And Captain America. Steve Rogers, himself, was throwing his shield like a beacon of freedom from atop a low hill in the middle of the battle.
Darcy stopped.
The whole world stopped.
From somewhere far away, she was aware of Bucky still holding her hand, pulling on her. Shouting.
But Darcy was frozen.
Because.
Because.
Because they were alive.
They were all alive.
And she was watching as Steve Rogers, the man with a plan, the man whose plan set this entire massive revenge world tour in motion, turned on his heel, and in one point two seconds, he was going to see her through a gap in the chaos.
Steve completed his turn, his blue eyes locked on her through the mess of the field across the 100 yards that separated them, and Darcy watched his mouth form her name, clear as day even across the distance. Then she saw his eyes shift to Bucky and go wide.
“Steve?” Bucky’s voice over everything pulled Darcy back to reality. The roar of the battle rushed back into her ears, and she sucked in a massive breath as she regained her equilibrium. She stumbled a step, and only Bucky’s continued grip on her hand kept her upright.
“You said he was dead!” Bucky accused, and Darcy felt tears sting her eyes.
“I thought he was,” she said, “I thought they all were.” She turned to look at Bucky, and her anguish must have been clear even to the stranger he was now because the accusation fell off his face, and something she couldn’t name replaced it, his lips thinning out.
“Ah, I see,” he said darkly. He opened his mouth to say something else, then instead, he lunged forward, his metal arm coming up to clumsily cover her shoulder. Darcy felt the thud as the round hit his arm, and she twisted out of his hold to drop to her knees, giving him the space he needed to pull a gun and fire back at the shooter. He offered her a hand up, tangling their fingers together.
“We need to move.”
“Yes.”
They’d managed to emerge from the main building on the edge of the battlefield and had avoided notice from most of the Hydra combatants, but that wouldn’t last. Especially if—
“BUCKY!” Steve’s battle cry rang over the field like a train horn. “BUCKY!”
“Fucking punk,” Bucky muttered, and he was still holding her hand. Dragging her away from Steve and the heart of the fighting toward the darkness along the edges of the field in the shadow of the main building.
“We need to go toward—”
“The western fence just past the utility building. I remember the map,” Bucky said.
Darcy felt a thrill race through her at the words, and she shook it off. He didn’t remember. Not really. Not the things he needed to. She shook herself and kept her head in the game. They were still in danger.
“Bucky!” Steve’s voice rang out behind them again, and Bucky picked up the pace until they were jogging away from his oldest friend. They stuck close to the building, practically moving along the wall to keep out of the spotlights illuminating the fighting.
They hadn’t been using comms since Bucky came back to get her from the utility building before the wipe, but it was clear the Avengers were. Darcy could tell even from a glance that an effort was being made to keep the Hydra agents occupied and away from them as they kept to the shadows, moving around the edges of the lawn toward the utility building. She was grateful, considering she only had four rounds left between her two SIGs. She clutched the gun tighter in her sweaty palm and trailed behind Bucky.
“BUCKY! DARCY!” Steve was still yelling from across the field.
“Now he remembers me,” she muttered as they kept moving. They hit the edge of the main building, and Darcy squeezed his hand, tugging at his arm to stop him in the shadows before he could enter the gap between buildings. “Stop.”
“What?” He looked back at her in question. “We need to go,” he urged.
“Sniper.” Darcy dropped his hand, pointing at the roof above them where the glint of a rifle could clearly be seen from the building one over. Bucky lurched back and pressed himself flat to the wall next to her.
“You’re well trained. I’ll give you that.”
“You—” She shook her head and wavered. She looked back, her eyes finding Steve where he was fighting his way through the crush of Hydra agents 50 yards back in the middle of the field next to Hawkeye to get to them. She turned back to Bucky and swallowed. “You could—”
The Hydra agent came out of nowhere.
Huge, armored, and waving a wickedly sharp knife, he lunged out of the darkness, blade first, on Darcy’s unprotected side opposite Bucky. Darcy screamed, dropping on instinct and expecting Bucky to be there to catch her attacker, but this Bucky wasn’t that Bucky. He didn’t have the same memories of months of fighting together to tell him what to do.
Instead of lunging over her and raising his left arm to hold off the attack, Bucky shouted in surprise and raised his right arm on instinct. Darcy watched from a crouch as the knife sunk through his forearm and was then ripped back out, a spray of blood raining down on her upturned face.
“Your other arm! Use your other fucking arm!” she screamed as she rolled out from between the two men, trying to find a good angle to fire her gun.
Bucky grunted, his body going tense, and then he raised his left arm. His metal hand wrapped tight around the other man’s neck just as Darcy fired up into the man’s stomach, and she watched Bucky’s fingers squeeze the man’s thick neck like it was nothing. The man made a punched-out noise, one hand scrambling at Bucky’s arm, the other trying to clutch at the quickly spreading blood stain in his torso from her shot.
Darcy could taste bile in the back of her throat. She scrambled to get out of the way, twisting onto her feet to scan the area around them for more threats. She heard Bucky give another grunt and then a low moan and thump of a body hitting the ground. She spun on her heel to find Bucky standing over the body of the Hydra agent, panting and wide-eyed, his injured right arm cradled to his chest.
“You okay?” he asked, his eyes scanning her.
“Yes,” she lied. She looked over her shoulder at the rest of the field. The battle was quickly dying down. If they were going to leave without being brought in by the team, they needed to do it now while everyone was still distracted by the fight.
She had no idea what was going on. She’d thought the team was dead. She’d spent months literally avenging them. She’d spent months building a new life and falling in love. She’d taken the biggest risk of her life tonight because she thought it was the only choice to help the man she loved get what he wanted, and now —
Darcy shook herself.
She didn’t have time for that.
Not now.
She didn’t know what was going on, but she did know she wasn’t ready to face them.
She needed more time.
“BUCKY! DARCY!” Steve’s voice broke over the field. Darcy shook her head and turned back to Bucky.
“You can stay here with Steve, but I’m going. I can’t be around them yet,” she said softly, then waited for the answer most likely to break her heart.
Bucky stared at her. There was blood coating the side of his face, and he had his right arm cradled to his chest. He was holding the knife from the Hydra agent in his left hand, his own blood still on the blade, and Darcy smirked. Some habits, it seemed, couldn’t be removed.
He narrowed his eyes, his lips thinning out. “I’m not dreaming?”
“You’re not dreaming.”
“It’s 2016?”
“It’s 2016.”
“You’re just my partner?”
She hesitated, and his eyes got impossibly narrower.
“That’s what I thought.” He looked smug. “I’ll go where you go, partner.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I just got stabbed saving you.”
“You just got stabbed because you forgot you have a metal arm.”
“Touche.”
“BUCKY!” Steve was closer now, and Darcy turned to scan the field.
“So we’re going?” she asked.
“You’re the boss, doll.”
“You’ll regret that,” she muttered, and then louder. “C’mon then, we’re going to need a small distraction if we’re going to get away without getting caught.”
“A distraction?”
“Yes. Luckily, we planned ahead.”
“Lead on.”
Chapter 2: Balled Up
Summary:
Bucky huffed a dry laugh. “Have I not been feeding you right?”
“You’ve been taking excellent care of me.”
“Doesn’t sound like it if you’re worried about scurvy.”
“I don’t have scurvy.”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. I could check you for loose teeth if you wanted.”
Darcy cocked her head to the side, one eyebrow raised in judgment. “Was that a line?”
Darcy and Bucky get to know each other again.
Chapter Text
They did not get caught. Darcy considered it a minor miracle, although it probably had more to do with the explosion she set off as soon as they hit the perimeter. After making sure the rest of the team was clear, of course.
She watched Bucky’s face in the glow of the blast, his profile lit up by the fire even at the fenceline, and she felt a fierce pride fill her chest that he picked her. With none of his memories of their time together intact and only an hour spent together, he picked her over staying with his oldest friend. She knew it was probably a combination of curiosity and her tits — which she had definitely noticed him noticing, but it was still something.
And she would take anything at this point.
She just needed a sign. Something to suggest that she hadn’t completely fucked up everything by agreeing to this wild plan in the first place.
She got them both in the car. Ignoring Bucky’s wide-eyed, staring at the controls on the dash, the seatbelts, everything. She refused to let him drive, considering his right arm was still dripping blood from a sizeable stab wound, and prayed the team was kept busy by the collapsing base building long enough to let them get a head start.
“Where are we going?” Bucky was stretching his legs out in the wheel well, the fingers of his left hand wrapped tight around the wound on his right arm.
“There’s a first aid kit in the backseat if you want to bandage that up,” she said, ignoring his question. “Although it’ll heal up in the next hour or so.”
“It’ll heal up in the next hour or so?” he repeated back to her. “I hate to break it to you, doll, but that’s not how things work. I don’t care how far in the future you think we are.”
“It’s how things work for you.”
“What do you mean?” His voice was sharp. Suspicious.
She turned the car off the dirt road and onto the two-lane highway they’d taken to get to the base before cutting her eyes over to Bucky. He was watching her with that narrowed look again, suspicion in every line of his face, his shoulders tense. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“I don’t know that I do,” he said archly.
She let out a bark of laughter, sharp and on the verge of hysterical. After everything. She knew more about this man than anyone in the world. She could draw an MRI of his brain from memory at this point, and he had the nerve to tell her she didn’t know — she sucked in a breath.
This version of him didn’t know that. She needed to remember that this version of him didn’t know any of that. This wasn’t her Bucky — no — he was, just not yet. Her throat suddenly felt thick, and her eyes burned with unshed tears. She took a slow breath in through her nose.
“You know what I mean. You’ve known something was different since 1943 at Azzano.” She kept her eyes on the road, but the air in the car went tense.
“Even if I do know that,” he said cautiously. “I certainly don’t know that I can heal from a knife through my arm in 45 minutes.”
“You can now.”
“I can now?”
“You can.”
“What else can I do now?”
“I once saw you jump over a helicopter on the news.”
“Huh.”
She turned to look at him and found him examining his metal hand.
“When did I get this again?”
“1948ish, but I think there have been upgrades.”
“And it’s 2016?”
“Yes.”
“And who are you exactly?”
She turned to look at him in surprise. “What?”
“I mean, I assume you’re Darcy based on what Steve was yelling, and you said you’re not a nazi, and you’re my partner, and I clearly told you that story about the Chess Pie, or I told someone who told you.” He narrowed his eyes again, his lips pursing up.
She took a stuttering breath. “I —” She hadn’t told him her name? She hadn’t told him her name!
How had she managed to fuck this up so badly?
“I— yes, I am Darcy.” She swallowed thickly. “Darcy Lewis. I’m a — I was an astrophysicist lab manager, but for the last few months, I’ve been traveling with you destroying Hydra bases.”
“Destroying Hydra bases? Here?”
“Yes. Here.”
“In the US? We’re in the US?”
“Yes. It’s been a rough 70 years.”
“I’ll say,” he agreed, running his metal hand down his face. Then he winced as he brushed over the quickly healing cut on his temple.
“There was a plan,” she said softly. “But things went wrong.”
“Story of my life, sweetheart.”
She couldn’t catch the choked-off sob before it came out at the familiar nickname in his half-Brooklyn drawl. The sharp inhale made her ribs ache, a reminder of the shot she’d taken to the side over her body armor. They needed to get to a safe place to spend the night. They needed to get patched up, take stock, have a conversation — she needed to figure out how much of the original plan was salvageable.
She needed to deal with the revelation of the team being alive.
“We need to find a place to hole up for the night. Where are we?” Bucky broke the silence.
Great minds, she thought to herself before answering. “Minnesota.”
“I don’t know why I thought that would be helpful,” he muttered.
She sighed. Technically, the route they needed was still mapped out on the tablet she’d used at the base. They’d need to connect it to a network and use the GPS, though, which had not been part of the plan.
The plan had been to get out of the base as quietly as possible. She was supposed to get the new route pulled up on the tablet before she gave up the base’s network access and download the maps she needed to direct her to the safehouse Bucky had picked out. He’d put together a whole file last night while they lay in bed as she curled up beside him, trying to force herself to sleep.
She looked over at the Bucky here in the car with her. The same man but not.
Her Bucky would be touching her by now, sliding his metal palm up the back of her neck or resting his hand on her knee. He’d have already checked her side where she’d taken the bullet to make sure the bruising wasn’t too bad. He’d have told her he loved her. He’d have kissed her before they got in the car at the base; his fingers would have tangled in the hair at the base of her skull just tight enough to make her toes curl.
She felt her breath get tight in her chest, and she sucked in a careful inhale through her nose and let it out through her mouth.
“Hey?” This Bucky’s voice was a soft question in the silence of the car, and she refused to turn and look at him, keeping her eyes firmly on the road. “What’s going on?”
She sniffed. “Just stressed,” she muttered. She rubbed at her nose. “Can you grab that tablet—screen thing we were using as a map at the base out of my bag?”
“Sure. Does it have roadmaps loaded on it, too?” He sounded interested in the idea, and she was reminded of his love of all things sci-fi. She was suddenly excited at the prospect of showing him something of the future that wasn’t just blood and horror.
“Better.”
He dug around one-handed until he came up with the tablet. “Now what?”
“Tap the button on the top edge to turn it on.”
“Okay.”
She glanced over to see the screen light up with the base map program she’d written. It was a really simple app that kept the tablet on a local override. “Now slide your finger down the middle of the —” she trailed off as she realized. “You might need to use your right hand. I don’t actually remember if the screen will respond to your —”
“It worked! Now what.”
She turned her head to find him grinning at the tablet, his metal fingers poised over the screen, now showing the settings menu.
“Tap the icon labeled cellular data. It’s like a stick with parentheses at the top. It should turn green, then swipe the menu up to close it. Then use the X in the top right to close the base map.”
There was a long pause, and she kept glancing from the road over to Bucky and back as he followed her instructions. He made a little noise in the back of his throat as the tablet’s home screen appeared with all the brightly colored app icons.
“What is this?”
“A tablet. A computer, basically.”
“A computer?!” he exclaimed, and he was suddenly holding it up, turning it over as though looking for wires. “I thought it was just a map display.”
“Nope,” she said with a smile. “It’s a whole computer. Find the icon labeled files.”
He hummed to himself for a second, and she heard a soft tap on the glass. “Now what?”
“There should be a file in there called like Post Base Plan for Darcy or —”
“Darcy Don’t be Stupid?”
“Probably not that one, no.”
“Darcy’s Last Resort?”
“That seems extreme.” She frowned. “Are there others?”
“Darcy Do This First?”
“That seems promising. Click that one.”
“Okay, what now?”
“What’s it show?”
“There’s three more. Are these files?”
“Yes. What are they called?”
“Read Me. Map. Darcy’s Plans. Who wrote these?”
“You did. Open the map.”
He put the tablet down with a huff. “What do you mean I did?”
She turned to look at him. “You wrote all these files last night.”
“I wrote ‘Darcy, Don’t be Stupid’?”
“Apparently,” she said dryly, unable to stop the way it pulled up the corners of her mouth. “You think you’re very funny. Did the map load?”
There was a pause, and she glanced back over to see him examining the screen. “What is this?” he asked. He was staring at the map application, one finger hovering over the little blue dot moving down the road that marked their car.
“The blue dot is us. The red flag is where we need to go.”
“What do you mean the blue dot is us?!”
“That’s us. Our car.”
“It’s moving!”
“Yes.”
“But how does it know where we are?”
“Satellites.”
“Satellites?!”
“Yes.”
“Wow!”
“Indeed.” She glanced over at the tablet. “Can you memorize those directions? The difference between where we are and where the red flag is?”
He looked down at the tablet, and she couldn’t stop herself from looking between him and the road as he studied the map, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Got it,” he said after a few minutes.
“You sure?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Pull the top menu down again and turn off the cellular data.”
“The blue dot went away!”
“The cellular data setting controls the satellite connection, but you know the route, right?”
“Yeah. Yes. I can get us there.” He kept his eyes on the tablet. “Where is there?”
“What?”
“Where is it we’re driving to?”
“No idea,” she admitted.
“Oookay.” He set the tablet down in his lap and shifted in his seat to look at her. “I’ve been pretty patient and calm about everything, considering, but I’ve got a long list of questions building up here, and at the top of that list is who are you? Followed closely by why are we following the map you claim I made last night but have no recollection of to an unknown location?”
She glanced at him. “I’m Darcy Lewis.”
“No.”
“I can assure you I am.”
“I don’t doubt that’s your name, but we both know that’s not what I’m asking, and it only answers half my questions.”
“You expected me to answer two questions at once?”
“Now you’re being intentionally evasive.”
She was.
She chewed on her lip. She was supposed to tell him. The plan had always been to tell him, but so many things hadn’t gone according to plan today, and she hadn’t been counting on this version of him. This version didn’t know any of the horrors of Hydra. She’d been hoping to wipe out the 70 years of forced murder, but she’d never dreamed of being able to remove those last three years as a prisoner of war. This Bucky Barnes was only haunted by Azzano, and while that was more than enough for anyone, it was nothing compared to before.
She had no idea where to start with this version of him, and it was throwing so many things she’d be sure of into question. What if this version didn’t want her? What if this new, undamaged version of Bucky realized he could do so much better than Darcy Lewis?
What if? What if? What if?
“I need an answer, doll. I followed you on a gut feeling, but I’d like to hear it from you.”
“Ask more specific questions,” she said, clenching her hands on the wheel. “And don’t forget to pay attention to the map. We can’t get lost. We need to stay off the radar tonight.”
He nodded and seemed to think for a second. “Are you my girl?”
She couldn’t help how her lips quirked up just a bit before she bit it back down. “That’s complicated,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because you’re not exactly the same man you were yesterday.”
“What’s changed?”
“You don’t remember how I like to be kissed.” She glanced over just in time to see his eyes go wide and then crinkle up as he smirked. It was a dangerous thing — that look on his face.
“That’s an easy thing to fix.”
“Let’s put a pin in that.”
He scowled but nodded. “I woke up in that chair, and you said it was to remove some Hydra programming?”
“Neurocognitive programming. Brainwashing.”
“The words you shouted at me in the dark?”
“Were the trigger words. If our plan had failed, they would have been the override to let me control your programming and ensure you didn’t try to kill me.”
“What would I have done instead?”
“Anything I wanted you to.”
“And what would have ordered me to do?”
“Get us out of the base, find us a place to hide, take care of yourself, heal.”
“So I would have been more useful to you like that?”
“No. That was the fail path. You coming out without the programming was ideal.”
“But when we were hiding in the base, you said I didn’t prepare you for this. What did that mean?”
“I—” she paused. How to explain the intricacies of what had gone wrong. She took a deep breath. “I told you that you fell off the train in 1945, right? What’s the last thing you remember?”
“That mission. The train. We were prepping for the train mission to get Zola, and then I woke up in the chair.”
“So nothing about that mission?”
“No. Nothing.”
“It went wrong. You fell. You spent three years as a prisoner of Hydra, being — tortured and brainwashed. They used that chair to remove your memories and mess with your head. They placed these markers in your memory. In your brain. They — the plan was to remove the markers. It should have removed your memories back to the first one in 1948, but there was a power surge —” Her voice gave out on her. “I’m so sorry. I tried to get it all right, and I don’t know what —” She sucked in a deep breath around the tears threatening to fall again.
“Hey, hey. I don’t remember anything, but I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.” His voice was soft, reassuring, and so close to what she needed, and yet so far away it made her chest feel tight.
She clenched her hands on the steering wheel, blinking back tears and focusing on the dark road ahead. “You were so mad,” she said softly.
“About what?” he asked.
“When we were planning this, I figured out that you were going to lose your memories first, and I hid it from you for a day.” She took a shuddering breath, smiling despite herself as she remembered that last day. The planning they’d done at the big lake house. The way she’d teased him as they’d prepared supplies, the way he’d forced her to recite the plan while he’d buried his face between her thighs, the “Bucky Traps,” tricking him into teaching her to throw grenades, the scene she’d engineered in the kitchen. The feeling of his hands on her hips, her neck, her breasts. His voice, low and rough with want while he moved inside her. Had it only been a day ago?
A day ago.
“It can’t have been that bad if it makes you look like that,” he said, his voice teasing, and she felt her cheeks go hot in embarrassment, suddenly wondering what she looked like under all the dirt, tears, and grease paint.
She glanced over to meet his eyes for a moment. She needed to keep the promise she’d made at the lake house to love him enough for both of them. Her voice was thick with tears, and she swiped at her face. “Sorry,” she muttered. “This must be awkward. You don’t really know me.”
“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “You said I got mad about it?”
“When you found out my plan was to let you lose your memories and then wing it when it came to getting out of the base with you having no memories, you were furious. You threw a chair so hard it cracked a brick wall.”
“I did what?! I got violent with you?”
“No, no. Not at me. You’ve never been — never been violent with me. You did redo the entire plan, which brings us to why we’re following a map you have no recollection of and I don’t know a whole lot about. You insisted that I try to sleep and said you’d finish things. Although, I was expecting 1948 POW you, not this.” She waved her hand at all of him.
“What is this?” he asked, mimicking her hand wave with a grimace.
“You know. All confident and 1945 ‘am I dreaming’?”
“What was I supposed to think?”
She shrugged. “Honestly, no idea.”
“Why did you think the team was dead?”
“Woah, sharp left turn.” She jerked her head to the side to stare at him before catching herself and turning back to the road.
“But critical information.”
“Valid.”
She nodded. “Okay, this is going to be a little rough without a lot of context, but big bullet points. I used to work as support staff for a team called the Avengers. All the members are enhanced or very good at what they do. Steve Rogers is basically the team leader. There’s a lot of history I’m skipping here, but four months ago, the building where we all lived in the middle of Manhattan was attacked by Hydra in the middle of the night. The target was to reacquire you.”
“What?” Bucky reared back in shock.
“Listen,” she scolded, and he nodded. “The fight came to a head in the lobby. Things were looking dire. I was the only non-combatant on site. Steve, who currently had control of your programming, ordered you to follow me and protect me to prevent you from being captured. You basically kidnapped me from the fight. We made it out of the building minutes before it collapsed with the rest of the team still inside.” She paused, proud of herself for relaying it all so clinically.
“Jesus,” he whispered.
“We’ve been on the run ever since,” she finished. “We spent the first few weeks trying to get to some friends, but we got there too late, and we watched them get blown up too. Then we decided we were going to fight back. We’ve been blowing up Hydra bases for the last few months.”
“You and me?”
“You and me,” she confirmed. “I do the tech, and you do the muscle.”
“And in between all this, I figured out how to kiss you?” He smirked, the effect mostly ruined by the blood still caked on the side of his face. Mostly.
“Yes, in between all this, you figured out how to kiss me,” she agreed, and she wondered if he thought that was all he’d figured out. She had no idea how experienced this Bucky was. No. There was no way.
“We still have no idea where we’re going,” he pointed out.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “If you planned it, then it’ll be safe. At least for tonight.”
“That’s a lot of faith, considering I don’t remember doing it.”
“Are you still coming with me?” she asked nervously, her eyes darting back over to him. “If you want to go back, I can get you in touch with Steve. Based on his shouting at the base, I have a feeling he’d be thrilled to see you.”
“You don’t want to see him? Any of them?”
She sighed. “I just need a minute to think. I don’t understand why or how they’re alive, and I panicked.”
“Then let’s go think,” he said, and he seemed entirely sincere. “In the secret place future-past me picked out for you? Jesus, is that really what’s going on here?”
“Afraid so,” she confirmed.
“Well then, that’s the plan, I guess,” he muttered, looking back down at the map. “Ten more miles, and you’ll take a right.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
And her heart jumped into her throat when his “Okay” echoed back.
—
“This is not a motel.”
“No, it is not.”
“This is someone’s house.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
“You’re going to break in?”
“We’re going to break in.”
“Do we do this often?”
“Constantly. Under your direct orders. Often at far nicer places.” Darcy unzipped her lock picks and got out the rake as she talked. “One time, you broke into an apology house for me.”
“What’s an apology house?” Bucky asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“It’s a house you break into as an apology for being a dick about something,” she explained as she set the tension in the deadbolt and ran the rake through the tumblers until she felt them all click into place. She turned it over, and the lock clicked open.
“You’re very good at that,” he sounded both impressed and concerned. “I was a big enough dick to require stealing a house to make up for it?”
“You’re better,” she said as she tucked the tools away and stood up. “And yes. You hid mission-critical information and made me panic enough that I threw up.”
“I am? And sorry?”
“You very much are. On both counts.”
“Do you think I still am?”
She let out a noncommittal hum. She honestly didn’t know how that would work. “I don’t know,” she finally said out loud, “About the lockpicking,” she clarified. “You’re definitely still sorry.”
She shouldered her pack and took a step back. Then she froze, realizing she was waiting for him to move in front of her and enter the house first the way he usually did so she could follow behind and to the left. Except, she wasn’t sure he knew how to do that. He wouldn’t even know he was supposed to —
“I’ll take point,” he said, pulling his reloaded SIG from the holster on his hip. “You stay behind me while I clear it?” He was looking to her to agree, and she felt so fucking raw. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and pulled her own gun.
They cleared the small house in record time. Bucky didn’t move with the same predatory grace he had with the Winter Soldier programming in his head, but he still moved like a dangerous man. As soon as he’d nodded at her to acknowledge the last room was empty, she let her shoulders slump and took her first full breath since before they’d entered the base.
They’d driven over five hours following the map from the files and ended up just outside Garden City, South Dakota. It was just past noon the day after the base, and she was so tired she could feel her heartbeat in her eyes, but there was still more to do before she could sleep. She leaned against the couch in the living room and thought about the bags that still needed to be brought in from the car, the security that needed to be set up, the shower she needed to take, first aid, food, and planning.
Bucky appeared in her line of sight. “What do you need?” he asked. “I’m going to bring the bags in from the car. Do we need all of them?”
She stared at him, trying to find the words. “Not the three big duffles,” she finally got out. “Those are just cash.”
“Those are just cash,” he repeated back dumbly.
“Yeah, no point dragging it all in here for the night,” she said, choosing to ignore the obvious question on his face about the money. “The blue duffle with the gray handles has food and supplies in it. Also need the big black one with the red zippers. After you bring them in, do you think you could make me an MRE?”
His eyebrows shot up into his hair, but he nodded. “Sure thing.”
“And drop the black bag outside the bathroom? It has all the clothes and stuff in it.”
“You got it,” he agreed, already half out the door.
She dragged herself to the bathroom at the far end of the hall.
The map Bucky had built led them to a small cabin. It was the last in a row of what seemed to be rentals on a remote stretch of seasonal property. They were a good two miles from the closest neighbor, and the driveway had been locked up with a notice from the township about construction closure. She had no idea how he’d known it was here, but she’d learned not to ask those questions.
It had two bedrooms and one bathroom with a single open living room and kitchen space. Not that it would matter for the night, but she was glad for the option to sleep in separate rooms. She didn’t think she could take the tension of sleeping in the same room and being unable to touch him. She wondered if he’d thought about that when he was making the plans. If he’d laid beside her in bed on that last night and considered that they wouldn’t be able to share a bed for a while if everything went right.
It made her chest ache.
The bathroom was tiny, but the lights over the mirror came on when she tried the switch, and the shower had good pressure when she tested it. She leaned over the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. There was blood splattered across her face; the grease paint Bucky had smeared across her eyes and cheeks the day before had settled into her pores and every line of her skin, making her look gray. Underneath it, her eyes looked too big in her face, bloodshot from crying and the smoke on the battlefield. Her lips were chapped, the bottom one split from a hit she’d taken in one of the many fights. She licked at the cut, tasting blood.
She started to tug at the velcro of her body armor with shaking hands. The first few straps came easy, but the last two, the ones up under her arms and around the sides, were fastened tight. They were the ones he usually helped her with. She tried to twist to get the leverage she needed to pull them loose, but every turn sent pain shooting through the bruising in her side where she’d taken that hit in the guard station fight at the base.
She gasped, sucking in air as she ended up leaning over the basin of the sink. She looked up at herself in the mirror again. There were tears on her cheeks now. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Her lips pale. She tried to take another slow breath, but it got caught in her throat.
If it were two days ago, Bucky would be here behind her. She closed her eyes. He would press up along her back; his warmth and bulk would surround her. He’d undo the straps with gentle hands, his lips on her temple. He’d lift the armor off her body, and he’d run his hands down her sides and over her hips. He’d kiss the side of her neck and tug the tie from her braid. He’d undress them both. He’d hold her close in the shower.
The want was so intense her throat burned. Her eyes snapped open, and she felt so hollow standing there alone; the space behind her in the reflection was so empty. The first sob wasn’t a surprise after that. Neither was the pain it sent shooting through her chest.
“Darcy?” Bucky’s voice from the other side of the door was a shock to the system, and she shuddered. This was so much harder than she’d thought it would be. To have him here but have it not be him. Not really. “Darcy, are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Are you really?”
She hesitated, looking down at the armored vest still hanging off her shoulders. “No,” she admitted. She sniffed and reached for the door handle. She opened it slowly. He was standing on the other side holding the big duffle they used for clothes and toiletries.
“What’s wrong?” He was looking her over with worried eyes. He’d tried to clean up, scrubbed his face mostly clean of blood.
“I— “ She took a beat for courage. “You usually help me out of the body armor.”
His eyes went wide in understanding. “Not a problem, doll.” He edged into the room with her and put the duffle bag down. She turned to face the mirror again.
“Just the last two straps. The ones up under my arms.” She shifted so he’d be able to get to the straps and tried to ignore the feeling of him at her back.
He undid the straps, and the second the armor went loose around her torso, she knew something was wrong. She lurched forward over the sink, catching herself on shaking hands as pain radiated out through her side. The low throb she’d been ignoring for hours transformed into a sharp wave that stole her breath away.
“What?” he asked, and his hands hovered over her uncertainly.
She weighed the pros and cons of lying about it and shook her head. She grasped the unforgiving porcelain of the sink with pain-weak fingers. “I may have gotten a little bit shot at the base,” she admitted quietly. She bit down on her lip and looked up to meet his eyes in the mirror.
He stared at her for a long second. “You’re fucking kidding.”
She shook her head. “Uh uh. No.”
“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, and he was already moving. Familiar hands, no longer shy, slipping under the shoulders of the armor and lifting its weight up and off her body. The loss of the weight felt amazing, and she sucked in air greedily, slowly easing herself to a more upright position. “Where?” His tone and the look in his eyes brooked no argument.
“Right side. I haven’t looked yet.”
He dropped the armor to the floor with a thud, and his hands came down to bracket her sides with gentle pressure, helping to balance her on her feet. “Are you having trouble breathing?”
“No. Don’t think so.”
“Moving?”
“A little.”
“Can you raise your arms?”
She tried and winced as soon as her right one was less than halfway up.
He nodded, one of his hands coming up to soothe her shoulder back down. “Alright. Okay. Body armor like this was brand new for me like a day ago, but they used to lecture us on how taking a hit over it could blow a lung and break your ribs.”
“I think I still have both my lungs.”
“You sure?”
She rolled her eyes, making sure he saw her in the mirror.
“Can I look?” One of his hands was hovering at the hem of the dirty compression shirt she’d been wearing under the vest. “Check your ribs?”
“You’ll have to cut me out of this shirt.”
“Cut you out of — what?”
“I can’t raise my arm. You’ll have to cut my shirt off.”
“I don’t even have a—” He cut off as she reached back with her left hand, groping blindly down his cargo pants. “Hey! Watch the—” She found the pocket she wanted and drew out the familiar weight of his favorite pocket knife before flicking her wrist to snap the blade out from the handle with a soft click. “Woah! What the hell, doll!”
“I knew it was there,” she muttered petulantly.
“Clearly,” he agreed as he carefully took the blade from her hand. “A little warning next time.” He hefted the blade in his hand and then, to her surprise, flipped it over his knuckles with the same dexterity he’d always had before. “Good balance,” he said absently.
“It’s your favorite pocket knife. You like the Gerber for a fixed blade, though. It’s on the front of my vest if you want it back. You loaned it to me for the base.”
He met her eyes in the mirror. “So we’re close, close, then?”
“We’re partners,” she deadpanned. “Cut my shirt off already. I want a shower.”
“I know exactly what I see in you,” he said with a smirk. “You want to sit?”
“No,” she said, but she did lean forward, bracing herself on the sink as he pulled the back of her shirt taut and then, with a quick slice of his very sharp knife, cut up the back of it from hem to collar. She shivered as she felt the fabric come apart over her spine.
He let out a hiss, and she looked up, watching in the mirror as he examined her back. He switched the knife to his left hand, and she braced herself as the calloused pads on the fingers of his right hand ghosted over her right side. He met her eyes in the reflection. “Well, sweetheart, I think it’s probably gonna hurt worse tomorrow.”
“Yeah?”
“Unfortunately, yeah. You want to stand up so I can see the front? Is this thing you got on going to keep you decent?” He motioned to the back of her sports bra, one eyebrow going up in question.
“Decent enough,” she agreed warily, turning carefully in the circle of his arms.
His eyes still widened and then chastely dropped to examine the bruising on her right side, stomach, and flank. He crouched down to put himself at eye level with her navel, and she leaned against the sink, closing her tired eyes before slowly letting them drift back open.
The sight of him on his knees in front of her made her throat constrict, memories assaulting her, Bucky on his knees in the shower after the base in Indiana while she washed his hair. Him on his knees while she laid back on a motel bed, and he buried his face between her thighs. Him on his knees as he demonstrated how to fasten a holster properly. Showing her how to tie her boots the right way. Checking her armor. Burying his face in her stomach. Telling her he loved her.
“I think you might have fractured one, but I’m not sure. I’d need to touch you.” He had both hands wrapped around her hips over her tactical pants. She gave him a pointed look. “Well, touch you more. Where you’re injured.”
“Go for it.”
He probed gently at first and then harder. She refused to look down at the damage, but she could tell he was getting closer to the center of the injury as the pain got more intense until he hit a spot that sent a white-hot bolt through her side so sharp it made her cry out, her knees going weak.
He caught her, rising to his feet to get an arm braced around her waist just in time. “Shhhh. I’m sorry. Sorry. Shit. So sorry.” He held her up as she panted through the pain. “Breathe through it. You’re good.”
“Am I?”
“I’ve seen men three times your size cry for their mamas over a fractured rib. You’re handling it like a champ.”
“Like a champ,” she repeated, panting, and then carefully stepped out of his hold. He let her go, making sure she was leaning on the sink before he completely relinquished his grip. “Fractured, not broken?”
“Definitely. It didn’t shift when I pressed it. Bruising is bad but not terrible. You’ll be stiff tomorrow, but it’ll be feeling better in a few days, I bet.” He picked his knife back up, tucking it away.
“Thank you.”
“Of course, doll. Anything for my girl.” He grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes.
“You barely know me.”
He shook his head, his eyes going dark. “I’ll admit to not remembering you, but I know you.”
She rolled her eyes again. “If you know me, then I’m sure you know what I’m hoping to do next?”
“Take a shower?” he guessed.
“Right in one.”
“Could be dangerous alone. What if your injury flares up and you fall?” He was smirking at her, the dimple on the right side buried deep in his cheek.
“I’ll take my chances.”
“You sure?” he asked, his gloved hand coming up to rub at his mouth. He was watching her with heavy-lidded eyes under the shaggy fringe of his hair, and she felt her resolve waver for just a second before she shook it off.
“Out.”
“I’ll figure out food.”
“Great. Out.”
“You’ve really got a way about you, sweetheart.”
“Out.”
“I’m going. I’m going.”
She shoved the door shut behind him with a firm click.
She missed him as soon as she was alone. Even though he wasn’t the same Bucky, he was still Bucky, and she was very much an idiot in love. She hadn’t been lying about loving all of him. It was going to be hard to walk the line between remembering who he was now and who she wanted him to be.
Wincing as she finished undressing, she started up the shower as hot as it would go and thought about the realities of her situation. They could stay here, at least for tonight. She needed to look through the ‘Read Me’ file on the tablet to confirm what the next move should be. She was honestly a little scared to read it, uncertain of what she’d find.
Would she be disappointed if he’d forgone all romance and just left her a list of operational instructions? Yes.
Was she feeling far too raw to face that very real possibility tonight? Also, yes.
She stepped under the hot spray and smoothed her hands over her curls and down her curves. She looked down, her eyes following the path of her hands to finally examine the mottled purple and green bruising that covered most of the right side of her torso. Starting just under her right breast and extending down and around her flank, the bruising was impressive. She ran a careful hand over it, noticing how it got darker in the center.
The point of impact.
Right there in the center. She could see it. The spot where the bullet would have torn into her middle and — she would have lost everything. He would have been alone and confused in a future he was unprepared for. She would have been — well, she would have been dead for real.
Bucky would have been furious.
The sudden and overwhelming longing for the version of him from two days almost took her to her knees. She wanted her Bucky. She wanted his hands holding her up and his voice in her ear whispering dirty, dirty things to her. She wanted him mouthing promises in languages she didn’t understand into her injured skin.
She wanted the ease that came with being taken care of — the comfort of being his baby. She’d taken for granted all the things he just did for her. The things that she didn’t have to think about because she could trust that he had them handled.
She choked down the sob, desperate not to be heard over the sound of the running water as she cried. She’d underestimated how hard this would be. When she’d made this plan at the lake house, she’d been so arrogant to think that she could do this. She felt like she was almost mourning him in a way, but at the same time, she could dry off, walk into the living room, and talk to him about it.
It made her head spin.
The worst part was she had a feeling this here-and-now version of him would be more than happy to be her shoulder to cry on. If the last thirty minutes had proven anything, it was that taking care of her seemed to be more an ingrained character trait of Bucky Barnes than a learned habit. Not to mention, the only person on earth who could relate to the absolute absurdity of this situation was the only other person trapped in it with her.
She rested her forehead on the cold tile of the shower wall.
She felt weak. Probably from lack of food. It had been a good 20 hours since she’d last eaten and about 36 since she’d slept. She needed to finish washing, get dressed, eat, sleep, and then figure out what came next.
Before the base, she and Bucky had tried to make contingency plans, although the one thing they hadn’t planned for was absolutely the entirety of the Avengers secretly being alive. She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out that pain. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face that one just yet.
The utter betrayal.
Nope.
Get clean. Eat. Sleep.
Tomorrow was a new day.
That was the plan.
—
Bucky was sitting at the small dining room table when she emerged into the main room of the small house. He looked up at the sound of her bare feet sticking to the glossy wood floors. “I’ve got the MREs out, but I didn’t want to make them until you were done. Nothing worse than a cold MRE.” He gave her a tired smile, then froze as he took her in. “You wearing my clothes, doll?”
She shuffled her feet, twisting her hands up in the too-long sleeves of the flannel she’d pulled on over her leggings. “You can’t own things you don’t remember,” she quipped as she crossed the room to the kitchen. Suddenly self-conscious of her choice of shirt. It had been the logical selection: large, warm, and button-front for her ribs. And if it also came with a dose of emotional support — well, no one but her needed to know.
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“That’s exactly how it works.” She started to dig through the supply bag. “There’s better food,” she admitted. “I only suggested the MREs because you’d be familiar with them.”
He pulled a face, “If there’s better food, doll, I’m all ears. MREs are shit.”
She dug out two instant noodle cups. They weren’t gourmet, but they were certainly a step above MREs. “Can you boil water?”
He gave her an incredulous look and pushed up from the table, joining her in the kitchen. “Go sit. I’ll boil the water,” he said with a roll of his eyes.
She padded across the room to sit at the small table and picked at the paper lids on the noodle cups. “I hate these things,” she said softly, thinking of the argument they’d had about how eating nothing but freeze-dried vegetables was going to give them scurvy. God, had it been just last week. She looked up at him standing at the stove with a pan of water. “I lectured you last week about how eating nothing but these was going to give us both scurvy. Insisted you take us to a farmers market to get fresh food.”
He huffed a dry laugh. “Have I not been feeding you right?”
“You’ve been taking excellent care of me.”
“Doesn’t sound like it if you’re worried about scurvy.”
“I don’t have scurvy.”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. I could check you for loose teeth if you wanted.”
She cocked her head to the side, one eyebrow raised in judgment. “Was that a line?”
He shrugged, “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” They lapsed into silence for a few minutes until the kitchen filled with the sound of the water rolling to a boil. He lifted the pot off the burner and carried it over to the table. She ripped the tops off the cups.
“Pour it in up to the lines,” she instructed, then she recovered the cups with the paper lids.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Now we wait three minutes for the noodles to cook. You can put the pan back; we’re done with it.” She slumped down in her chair. “So you wake up in an unknown future with a strange woman, and your plan is to use bad pickup lines on her?” She picked up the conversation.
He came back to the table with two forks and dropped into his chair. “Can’t exactly ask if you’re rationed when I already know you are — by me.” He ran a hand down his face. “That’s so balled up.”
“Rationed? Balled up?”
He blinked at her. “Balled up, confusing, wrong.”
“Ah. Yes, it is. Rationed?”
He smirked and ran two fingers over his mouth again, a move so familiar it made her want to press her thighs together. “Like sugar,” he muttered, his eyes trailing over the drape of his flannel shirt on her chest.
Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes went wide. She let out a bark of laughter. “Am I the sugar?”
His eyes lingered on her lips and neck. “Sweetest thing I’ve seen in a while.”
“Oh my god.”
“What?”
“I am so unprepared,” she moaned, raking a hand through her damp hair.
“What?”
“You should have warned me.”
“About what?”
“I mean, I knew. I read that you were the ladies’ man in the history books, but oh my god. You know that’s terrible, right?”
“I’ll have you know that line has worked dozens of times, and what do you mean, history books?”
Her eyes lit up. “Dozens?” Past romances were something they’d never really talked about before, and she suddenly saw an opportunity to learn about a whole new side of the man in front of her.
“Dozens,” he confirmed. “Dot Stafford couldn’t wait to — hold on.” He cut himself off, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t know any of this already, and you didn’t answer the history book question,” he said suspiciously.
“I know all of this,” she lied, refusing to acknowledge the history book question. He clearly didn’t need the ego boost.
“You’re lying.”
“How would you know? You’ve known me for eight hours.” Technically, he would have known for sure last week, but this version of him without his memories should not be able to read her tells so easily. Not this fast. Not so soon.
He stared at her, his bottom lip caught in his teeth. “No,” he said finally. “You’re definitely lying. You’ve got the same look in your eyes you did when you said you were okay on the field at the base after you shot that man, and you definitely weren’t okay then.”
She reared back. “How could you possibly have known I was lying then?”
“I just did.”
“You just did?”
“Yes.”
She let that sink in for a long second. “The noodles are probably done,” she said finally, lifting the paper lids to check the instant soup. She dumped in the flavor packets and stirred them both before passing him one of the cups. He dug in immediately, and she was reminded of his metabolism. She needed to remember to feed him more often. If for no other reason than it appeared to be a good distraction technique.
“This is good,” he said around a full mouth.
“This is trash, and I will make you real pasta one day.”
“Can’t wait, doll.” He grinned, and his dimples came out.
She looked back down at her noodles. “We’re going to stay here at least tonight and then regroup tomorrow to figure out what to do next. We’ve got enough food for about a week, but I’m not sure if this spot is good for more than a night. I need to check the files in the morning.” She picked at her noodles as she waited for his reaction.
“The files past-future me wrote?” he asked.
She smiled at his phrasing. “Yes, those files. I guess they’re like a form of time travel for you, aren’t they?” she teased.
He grinned at her. “This whole thing is wild. I didn’t see any, but if there are flying cars, you have to show me.”
Darcy laughed. She regretted it instantly as pain shot through her ribs. “Deal,” she choked out.
“We should wrap those. Your ribs,” he clarified around a full mouth.
“It’ll be okay tonight.” She shrugged, and his eyes caught on the movement.
“Is that my shirt, though?”
“How much does the answer matter to you?” she asked, twirling a noodle around her fork and watching him curiously.
He smirked, his eyes flashing, “It’ll have a pretty significant impact on how my shower plans go, to be honest,” he said with a perfectly straight face.
She choked on nothing, coughing loudly in surprise. “Your what?”
“What?” he asked.
“What did you just say to me?”
“I’m done and going to go take a shower?” He put his empty noodle cup down as proof, giving her an innocent smile.
“That is not—”
“What’d you think I said?”
“You—”
“I found a set of trip wires in the blue supply bag while you were in the bathroom and set them up on the front and back doors, but do we usually still do watch rotations?” he asked, a clear deflection from the brewing argument. She narrowed her eyes at him and sighed.
“Those trip wires have laser triggers.”
“I know,” he said, “They’re really neat.”
“Neat,” she whispered. Then louder, “No, we don’t run watch rotations usually.” She didn’t add that it was because he would wake up at the drop of a pin. Or that they usually slept in the same bed, his body curled around hers like a last line of defense. She had a feeling that news would definitely impact his shower plans. “You should keep a gun near the bed,” she added instead.
He nodded. “Got it.” He stood up. “My clothes you’re not wearing are where?”
“ All of your clothes are in the black bag in the bathroom. Your other stuff, too,” she said sternly.
“Sure. Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you say.” He gave her a lazy salute and turned to disappear down the short hallway.
She waited until she heard the bathroom door click shut, the water of the facet running, before she jumped to her feet and made her way to the front door. She carefully inspected every inch of the trip wire setup on the front door, running her fingers over the delicate wires and the placement of the laser sights before stepping back to stare at the door.
It was perfect.
He’d set it up perfectly.
It had taken her six tries to get that system set up properly the first time, and she was familiar with lasers and modern battery-operated technology in the twenty-first century. Bucky, with no memory of the last 70 years, had done it without instructions in the thirty minutes she’d been in the bathroom. He’d asked her if he could still pick locks — she had a feeling he could probably do that and more if this was any indication.
The words procedural memory floated across her very tired brain.
She needed to go to sleep.
She cleaned up the remnants of their meal. Dug another noodle cup and some granola bars out of the food bag and put them on the counter for him with a note so he’d know he should eat more before he slept and dragged her tired body down the hall to the middle bedroom. She left the door cracked just in case and crawled under the covers. Her SIG went on the nightstand within easy reach. She was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Notes:
Our 1945 Bucky is wasting no time before getting down to business with those pickup lines, but poor Darcy might need a minute to catch her breath. We'll have to see how they balance that out in the next chapter. I have a feeling his old-school charm is going to win in the end - lol
Thank you for the epic welcome back on chapter one—you all are incredible! Everyone is amazing, and it is so exciting to see so many familiar names in the comments! I love replying to comments and chatting with readers on AO3.y way I interact with the fandom, It's the primar so I am excited to hear what you all think of this latest part, and I can't wait to keep sharing the rest of the story with you!
Next update is probably on Sat 4/6!
Chapter 3: Jean Harlow
Summary:
“Steel trap,” he said and he tapped his temple with a finger, his smile lopsided and inviting.
Darcy snorted. “Yeah, you’re a regular savant.”
“I’ll have you know I haven’t forgotten a single thing since you wiped my memory.” His grin got wider.
Darcy and Bucky start to talk about what happened and we check in on the team.
Notes:
A correction: The song lyrics at the top of chapter one are from a song called The Line Between by Sons of Town Hall, which did serve as a mood inspiration for this fic. I failed to credit them when originally posted. This has been updated.
Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Darcy slept through the afternoon and the night and woke early the next morning, clutching a pillow to her chest. She knew the minute she opened her eyes that today was going to be rough. Her entire body felt stiff. She shifted, rolling away from the pillow with a groan, pressing a gentle hand to her side; she sucked in a shallow breath. It burned.
Goddamnit .
Sitting up was less about engaging her core and more about rolling to the side and letting momentum force her into a semi-upright slump. She wanted to collapse right back into the mattress, but there wasn’t time for that. They had things to do today — or at least she needed to find out what they needed to do.
It took another ten minutes to convince herself to climb out of bed. Shuffling to the bathroom was an effort. She had to brush her teeth with her left hand because raising her right arm high enough was nearly impossible. She put her toothbrush down and stared at herself.
She didn’t feel any more ready to deal with things today than she had last night. If anything, she just wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep for a week, but she could hear Bucky moving around in the main room of the house, which meant she had a curious supersoldier to contend with, an alive set of Avengers, an unknown path forward, and she felt like the only one with all the information necessary to make decisions on their next move. She spit into the sink and rinsed her mouth out.
It was time to be a big girl and face the day.
Bucky was in the kitchen when Darcy made her way out into the main room. She was still in the leggings and his flannel shirt, her bare feet cold on the hardwood floors. She sank into a chair at the kitchen table and leaned forward on her elbows. He’d been right about her side hurting worse today. She took shallow breaths, trying to breathe through the throbbing pain just walking from the bathroom had caused.
“Darcy?” Bucky’s voice was soft and still sleep-rough. She bit her lip against the hollow feeling it created in her chest—the longing. She wanted him to touch her—just his hand over her head, a kiss on her shoulder. “You want some breakfast? Maybe some aspirin?” he asked. The way his voice tripped up on the words had her raising her head to look at him.
He was close. Much closer than she’d expected. Only a few feet to her left, one hand outstretched an orange prescription bottle that absolutely did not hold aspirin in his palm. “That’s not aspirin,” she said, running a hand down her face.
He rolled his eyes. “I’m aware. They taught me to read in the 30s and everything. But the label says to take for pain, and you, darlin,’ dragged your ass out here like you’ve been four rounds in the ring with a welterweight.”
“I forgot you were a boxing champion.”
“Middleweight champion of the Brooklyn docks three years running,” he said proudly. “How bad is it, really?” He set the pills on the table and crouched down next to her chair.
“At least four rounds,” she admitted, pressing a hand to her side.
“Shame you don’t have the same — what’d you call them? Enhancements as me?”
She smiled. “No, I don’t have the serum. That’s a you and Steve special. I think Nat maybe got some, but she’s tight-lipped about it.”
“What’s the plan today? Could we stay here another day?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know yet. I need to check those files. Do you know how to drive if we need to leave?”
He gave her an offended look. “I’ve been driving since I was eleven.”
“Well, excuse me.”
“You’re excused, but I’m starting to wonder how well you really know me.” He tilted his head, smirk firmly in place, one dimple peeking through. “Are you sure we were dating?” he teased.
“Is your history as a child chauffeur usually first-date material?”
“Always. Did it not come up on ours?”
“No. It did not.”
“What did?”
“You taught me to take out targets at 300 meters with your Johnson rifle.”
“Shit, sweetheart. Did I really?” His eyes were glazed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
“Is that really the most important topic right now?”
He shook himself. “No, probably not, but we’re coming back to that. And to the shooting.” He gave her a once over. “300 meters?”
“To start.”
His eyes went unfocused for another second, and then he shook himself again. “This label says you should take two of these for pain, so I’m thinking four?” He picked up the bottle and reread the label before looking back up at her.
“If I take four of those, I’ll be drooling on your shoulder for the next eight hours.”
“If that’s what you need, I don’t exactly see a problem.” He shrugged and popped the top on the bottle.
“One.”
“Three.”
“Two.”
“Deal.” He shook them out into his palm. “I’ll get you some water,” he said, and he was already on his feet, headed back into the kitchen.
“You wanted me to take two from the beginning,” she accused.
“Doesn’t sound like me,” he said smoothly as he returned with a full glass of water and set it down on the table, holding the pills out for her to take.
“So asshole is a character trait, not something you learned,” she muttered as she took the pills from him and threw them back before washing them down with the water.
“That’s harsh, doll. I thought I was your guy?” He was teasing her again.
“It’s a — I don’t mean it like that,” she backtracked, and his grin got wide enough that both dimples went deep.
“You’re supposed to eat with those pills.” He went back to the kitchen and came back with a breakfast bar and some dried fruit. “We need to find some real food.”
“You have no idea how much I agree.”
—
Thirty minutes later found Darcy curled up on the small couch in the living room, staring down at her reflection in the black screen of the tablet. “You can do this,” she whispered. She traced her finger over the glass, leaving smudges behind, trying to psych herself up to turn it on.
In the end, the clock decided for her. It was almost 10 am, and she still didn’t know if this safehouse was secure for a second day. She had no choice but to dive into the files and find out what Bucky had managed to plan to help her before the wipe. If they needed to move on, she needed to know, and she needed to know soon. She had a responsibility to keep him safe.
She’d made a promise to him. She intended to keep it.
The tablet screen came to life instantly when she tapped the button on the side, lighting up to reveal all the little app icons. She clicked into the file encryption app and snorted when she saw the three new files Bucky had read to her yesterday in the car. She hadn’t thought he was making it up, but it was something else to see them herself.
‘Darcy Don’t be Stupid’
‘Darcy’s Last Resort’
‘Darcy Do This First’
The first two had little lock icons over them, which Bucky hadn’t mentioned yesterday, and that made her eyebrows go up. Clearly, her pre-wipe Bucky hadn’t wanted her digging into the ‘Don’t be Stupid’ and ‘Last Resort’ files until they were needed. She had to assume the passwords would be things she would know or could guess when she needed them. She pushed it away for now and clicked into the ‘Do This First’ file.
Bypassing the ‘Maps’ for now, she considered the ‘Darcy’s Plans’ file and the ‘Read Me.’ The ‘Read Me’ was a text file. She let her finger hover over it, her heart in her throat, then she clicked.
It opened in the notes app, and she let out an involuntary sob as soon as her eyes saw the first line.
Hey Baby,
If you’re reading this, then our plan worked out one way or another, and you’re either on the run with a me who doesn’t remember you or the Winter Soldier.
I’m so sorry, love. This isn’t how I meant for the middle of our story to go. I really meant all those things I said when we stayed up late and dreamed about finding a small place to settle down and just live our lives. I wanted that with you. I STILL want that with you — you just need to remind me of it. Because this is just the middle, Darcy, there’s more to come. I promise.
She had to look away from the screen. Scrubbing at her running nose and tear-soaked cheeks with the sleeves of the flannel shirt. “Bastard,” she whispered wetly.
Remember what I said if you ended up with the Winter Soldier. Don’t do anything to antagonize him, and just wait for the programming to fade. It will. You know it will. Use him to your advantage while you can. Don’t let him touch you until you’re sure he’s got his head on straight. I don’t trust the bastard.
Honestly, that almost goes double if you wound up with past me. We never really talked about it much, but, sweetheart, I was a dog. I’m going to flirt with you until you’re ready to stab me. I won’t apologize for it — you’ve got a body younger me would have died to get under, and no matter how good I thought I was, I never had a chance with a girl like you back then. I shouldn’t have a chance with a girl like you now. If your theories are right and it’s the me from 1948, I’m sure I’ll be a little traumatized, but once it wears off (and it will), I have no doubt I’m going to drive you crazy.
I want to say I’m going to miss you, but I guess I won’t really know what I’m missing. More than anything, as I’m lying here in bed with you one last time, I can say I don’t have any regrets when it comes to you. I loved you as fully and as deeply as I knew how with the time I had. I hope you felt that. I hope you know it. I hope you never forget it.
She stared up at the ceiling, her throat tight. “You absolute asshole,” she gasped around a laugh that was half a sob. “God, I hate you so much.” She wiped her sleeve over her eyes.
I know you’re scared. I’m terrified. I’m more scared for you than for me. I trust you to do whatever needs to be done when it comes to the science of things, but the after is going to be hard. You just need to remember you’re so much stronger than you think you are. So much stronger. You can do anything. You barely needed me after the first few weeks. Hell, you could have taken all those potatoes after Canada and set out on your own and been fine.
She let out a weak laugh.
I set up plans in here to keep you going for a few weeks. The first house after the base should be safe for 2-3 days, but then you have to move on. Make sure you change cars between spots and switch the plates. I know you hate doing it, but don’t get lazy. Force my dumb ass to help.
Don’t open the other two backup plans unless you need them. One of them is if you start feeling antsy and you think you need to do something dumb (you know exactly what I mean - my girl with a quest). The other is if things get dire, you’ll know when you need it.
I wasn’t exaggerating when I told you every version of me would fall in love with you, Darcy. Don’t mourn or pout or hide it. I know you’ve got your science, and you think you know how this memory wipe stuff is going to work, but you’ve said yourself, it’s all unprecedented when it comes to me, and I refuse to believe that some part of me isn’t going to remember loving you. It’s too deep. It’s all tangled up in the mission and your smile and the shape of your hip in my hand.
It’s muscle memory.
So keep your promise, baby. Tell me our story. Just the way it happened. The good and the bad. Help me deal with the future. I might struggle a little bit. And don’t forget that I love you. I love you so much. Even when I’m being an asshole, I love you.
Bucky
She put the tablet down and leaned back, closing her eyes to fight the burn of the tears sliding down her face. That eloquent asshole. She was basically living the plot of the Notebook, and she still wanted to go back in time and stab him.
“Are you okay?”
Bucky’s voice from across the room startled her; the tablet went flying across the couch, and her shriek of surprise cut off into a groan of pain as she doubled over, a hand pressed to her aching ribs.
“Shit!” He was across the room and on his knees in front of her in a second. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Bell,” she hissed.
“What?”
She glared at him through her lashes, “We are getting you a bell,” she gritted out through her teeth.
He winced. “Sorry. I guess I am kind of quiet.”
“You know how to make noise if you want to.”
“I do?”
“You do.”
“I will try to remember that.”
She glared at him.
His gaze darted to the tablet. “You were reading the files. So was the Read Me one bad or—” He waved a hand at her tear-stained face, and she grimaced.
“Sad,” she admitted. “Bittersweet.” She thought for a minute. “Do you want to read it?” she asked her heart in her throat.
His eyes went wide. “No,” he said firmly.
“Offer stands.”
“Was it helpful beyond making you cry?”
“Yes, we can stay here another two days if we want to. I need to go through the other file to see what he —you put in there about ideas for what to do next, but we can stay here and recover if we need to.” They needed to. They definitely needed to.
“That’s good. You need the rest.”
“No arguments here.”
“So then the plan is to camp out?”
“Fow now. Then I think we need to find a secure place to access the internet.”
“The internet?”
She physically recoiled in surprise, her brain whiting out as she realized just how much of the modern world he didn’t understand. “Oh, boy. We should probably make a list.”
—
They spent the afternoon in the living room of the small house. Bucky found a stack of old books in the cabinet under the disconnected TV, and Darcy worked her way through the documents in the ‘Do This First’ file that outlined options for the next few weeks.
Pre-memory-wipe-Bucky had set them up well. He’d outlined several different routes they could take and marked a number of safe house options along the way. Not all of them were guaranteed to be secure, although he noted which ones were question marks using their old system. He’d also written up a list of criteria for motel selection, which was wholly unnecessary as far as she was concerned as it seemed to mostly come down to picking the rattiest locations possible and using fake names.
She rolled her eyes and closed it out, then re-opened it and looked over at the Bucky here and now sitting across the room from her. He was chewing on his bottom lip, his fingers tapping out an absent rhythm on the back cover of his book as he read, his foot bouncing in time to a tune she couldn’t hear.
She put down the tablet and stared.
Nerves, she realized. He had nerves now. Nervous ticks, tells, twitches. He’d had them before, of course, but they’d been so subtle they’d been practically nonexistent. Now, though, with the memories and programming of the Winter Soldier burned so entirely from his brain, this pure version of Bucky Barnes had nerves. He chewed his lips and picked at his nails. She could already see a bright red ridge around the base of his right thumbnail where he’d torn the skin away with his teeth.
He hadn’t turned a page.
“You’re not reading.”
He looked up at her. “I’m trying to.”
“But you’re not.”
“I can’t focus on it.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked, and he made an incredulous face. “Right? It’s been a wild few days.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to ask me questions? We don’t have to just sit here in silence. I didn’t mean to leave you anxious while I was doing this.” She clicked the tablet off. “I’ve got enough info now to know what we’re doing.”
He studied her. “What are we doing?”
“Well, we’re going to stay here another two days and then we can either head back east or we can go west or south.”
“So you don’t actually know what we’re doing.”
“I know what our options are, and I was going to discuss them with you. Do you want to discuss them now?”
“Not really.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“How long have we known each other?”
She blinked in surprise but answered. “Technically, about four months.”
“Technically?”
“I would say for the first few weeks of that, you weren’t yourself. You were shaking off the programming.”
“How well do we really know each other?”
She shrugged. “Well enough.”
“I trusted you to mess with my brain?”
“Yes.”
“I trusted you with that story about the pie? I’ve never told anyone that story.”
“I know. We needed something that would prove you knew me.”
“You said the original thing you refused to repeat.”
She blushed. “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that with everything else going on.”
“Steel trap,” he said and he tapped his temple with a finger, his smile lopsided and inviting.
She snorted. “Yeah, you’re a regular savant.”
“I’ll have you know I haven’t forgotten a single thing since you wiped my memory.” His grin got wider. “What was the original thing?”
“Absolutely not,” she said, her face flushing an even deeper shade of red.
“Come on.”
“Never.”
He hummed. “I may be missing some things, but I know myself. There is no way I told you a secret and didn’t make you promise to repeat it back to me if requested.” He stared her down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and she squirmed in her seat. He was right; he had extracted that promise from her, and it was terribly annoying that he knew it without being told. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Ugh. You are the actual worst.”
“I made you promise?”
“Of course you did, you asshole.” She grabbed a throw pillow and pressed it over her face.
“So what was the original thing?”
“Don’t make me,” she whined into the pillow.
“You’re only making me more curious.”
She peered at him over her pillow and sighed. “I want it on the record that you volunteered this information.”
“Understood.”
“Fine,” she groaned. “You always told Steve your first crush was Jean Harlow after you saw her in Hells Angels, but really it was Mrs. Dillings two floors down because you saw her tits when you were 14, and she was breastfeeding, and it inspired your first masturbatory fantasy.” Darcy rushed the words out and then smacked the pillow back over her burning face.
There was silence for a long moment, and then Bucky started to laugh. The same full, deep-throated laugh from the day before, so much freer than it had ever sounded before. She peeked at him from behind her pillow barrier just in time to see him wiping tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes.
“You should have started with that one, doll,” he finally got out between bursts of laughter. “I would have believed you first thing and never would have threatened you with my team to protect that secret. Holy fuck.”
“I can’t believe you made me repeat that,” she complained.
“Very ungentlemanly of me, you’re right,” he chuckled. “Didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities.”
She snorted. “It’s not my sensibilities that are offended.”
“What’s the problem then?” he teased.
“Well, for one, Jean Harlow is a bleach blonde and — “ she waved a hand at her own dark hair. “Two, why were you perving on poor Mrs. Billings while she was breastfeeding?”
He laughed again. “You didn’t ask these things when I told you the first time?”
“There wasn’t time. It was the night before, and we were — there were other things I wanted to prioritize,” she said quietly.
He picked up on her sober mood. “Of course there were. Night before a battle. Sure.” He nodded. “Well, to answer your first point, Jean Harlow is — was? I guess — was a beautiful woman, and I can like more than one thing.” He threw a lascivious look in Darcy’s direction. “I’d be happy to prove how much I like your dark hair if you’d like.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Your loss.”
“I’m well aware,” she muttered.
“And to your second question. I was not perving on Mrs. Billings. She answered the door with her dress undone when I went down to deliver some mail that had been put in our box by mistake. I was 14 and had never seen a set of bare tits in real life before. She was a young wife with her first baby. Changed my life.” He shrugged.
“Clearly.”
“Speaking of life-changing tits—” He cut his eyes in her direction.
“Absolutely not.”
“Understood.” He smirked at her and fell silent for another few seconds. “How’d we go from —” He cut himself off and shook his head.
“No. Ask,” she encouraged.
“No, you didn’t want to answer earlier, and I pushed, and then you were crying over whatever the old me wrote you, and I don’t understand it, but when you look sad like that, it feels like I can’t breathe.” He ran a heavy hand down his face. “This is so fucked up, you know that right?”
She laughed, her breath catching as it sent pain through her ribs. She pressed a hand to her side. “You used to almost never curse, you know. You once suggested we get a swear jar because I cursed too much. Used to comment on the mouth on me.”
“Really? Well, I’m three days out of a war, doll, not used to watching my language around pretty ladies.”
She blushed despite herself. “I wasn’t criticizing. It’s just — I want you to know I know the difference. I also know it’s fucked up. Everything has been for months, but it’s also been —” she trailed off, looking away for a second before turning back to him. “It’s been incredible, too.”
“Incredible?”
“You’re incredible.”
“Me?”
“You,” she confirmed.
“You mean the version of me you wiped? The one that had you crying with letters from the grave?”
“No,” she said sternly. “I mean you. Bucky Barnes, in all his various forms.”
He let out a weak laugh. “You’re something else.”
“You said you don’t understand why you feel like you can’t breathe when I look sad. The answer is you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t know me at all, but you said you could tell instinctively when I was lying, and you’re having physical reactions to me. Those could just be because you’re attracted to me?”
“I am,” he said without hesitation.
“And maybe that’s just because you think I’m pretty.”
“No offense, sweetheart, but you weren’t winning any awards when we stepped off that battlefield.”
“O-okay, thank you for that.” Her cheeks burned for a whole new reason.
“Christ.” He ran a hand down his face. “You’re gorgeous. I don’t mean you’re not gorgeous.” His cheeks pinked up to match.
“I wasn’t fishing,” she objected.
“I’m trying to say the first impression. It wasn’t just attraction, even though you’re not wrong about that being there. It wasn’t the first thing, though. I thought you were a figment of my imagination for a bit there, so I’m not sure it’s the whole answer—” he trailed off, still looking a little pink.
“So, maybe it’s something latent?” she offered. “Or maybe the power surge messed up more about the memory wipe than I realized.” She sighed. “Everything I thought I knew went out the window the minute those dials went crazy. I have no idea what happened to your brain. We’re in completely uncharted territory again.”
“You don’t believe that,” he said confidently. “There’s more to it.”
“I believe some of it,” she said slowly.
“But there’s more,” he prompted.
“There’s so much more,” she agreed.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
Darcy considered him. He looked agitated, his fingers tapping; it looked like he was chewing on the inside of one of his cheeks, and his foot was bouncing. “This is what you want to know about the most? Out of everything in the future?” It was a dangerous question, but she was worried. He looked on the verge of some kind of explosion, and she’d rather see it coming than be surprised.
“Yes.”
He was hiding something, and he was so much worse at it than he used to be. She could see it written plain as day all over his face. But she could hear his voice in her head reciting the words of the letter to her —
It’s muscle memory.
So keep your promise, baby.
Tell me our story.
“Okay,” she said softly. “It’s a long story.”
“Ain’t got nowhere to be,” he said petulantly.
“Well, then I should get started.” She leaned back on the couch, and she started to talk.
—
Three hundred and twenty-four miles away, Captain Steve Rogers was still sitting on a pile of rubble that used to be a major Hydra base in the Red Lake region of Minnesota.
“Steve, this is really starting to get ridiculous. It was understandable for the first few hours, but we’re headed into day two here, honey.” Tony had changed out of the Iron Man armor and was standing at the base of the pile where Steve had chosen to set up his moping base camp.
“Seriously, Steve, if you stay up there any longer, we’re going to need to re-erect the building around you,” Clint called out from a dozen feet away where he was tightrope walking along the narrow edge of a half-collapsed wall.
“We were so close,” Steve muttered.
“What was that?” Tony was scrambling up the pile of concrete and twisted metal. “Could you have picked a worse place to pout? This is horrible.”
“Have you told him we think he’s being dumb yet?” Nat shouted from the grass at the base of the pile.
“Well, no, Red October, I wasn’t going to lead with that,” Tony shouted back. He finished his climb and collapsed onto the slab next to Steve. “Russian roulette down there thinks you’re being stupid.”
“I heard,” Steve said, turning to look at his boyfriend with red-rimmed eyes. “We were so close.”
“I know, honey. But they got away uninjured, and we took out the base. It’s just a matter of time.”
“They used the chair.” Steve pressed his hands into his eyes. He’d been too late to prevent it. The one thing he’d most wanted to stop. To save them both from having to suffer through it, and he’d failed.
“Well, yes,” Tony admitted. “They did do that. But Bruce is already analyzing the data, and he says it’s looking promising. Not as bad as we’d thought. There was a power surge in the middle of the process that may have been our saving grace.”
“What?” Steve perked up, giving Tony his full attention.
“We think it might have interrupted the process. Disrupted some things. We’re not sure how yet. Still trying to work that out.” Tony shrugged. “Lots of data, and I’m here, watching you, watching rubble, instead of, you know, helping Brucie.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“We can’t leave you alone when you’re pouting, Cap!” Clint shouted. “Team solidari— woah! I’m okay!”
“Did he fall off the wall?” Steve asked, not bothering to look.
“Yes,” Tony said. “I think Nat’s going to—”
“I got him!” Nat called.
“I got myself — no, wait.” There was a scuffle, and the entire pile of rubble shifted, an ominous rumble filling the air. Steve reached out to grab Tony’s arm, ready to make a run for it just in case when —
“All good.” Clint called at the same time Nat’s “Clear” Rang out.
“Those two are going to kill us one day, Steve,” Tony said, turning to look at him. “I don’t know how or when, but they are. I used to think it would be intentional, but after these last few months, I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a comical accident, and I’m too rich and too smart to die in a funny way.”
“I know, Tony,” Steve said tiredly. “I know.”
“We have to go home now, honey,” Tony said, and he reached up to take the hand Steve had wrapped around his bicep, linking their fingers together. “We have to go home, regroup, and figure out what to do next. We’re not calling off the search, but Darcy is a smart girl, and she knows we’re alive now, and she knows how to get in touch. If she wants our help, she knows how to get it.”
“I know,” Steve said, and he hated that Tony was right. He’d failed this mission, and it was time to let it transition into a new one.
“We were so close.”
“I know we were,” Tony agreed. “But let’s go home. The best way to help them now is to go home and let me work with Bruce to figure out this data from the chair so when they do reach out, we’ve got good news for them.”
“Yeah.” Steve heaved himself to his feet, surprised at the way his joints ached after hours spent sitting on the cold concrete. “Yeah, let’s go home.”
“Going home?” Clint shouted.
“Yes,” he yelled back.
“Finally,” Nat called back. “I’ll get the jet.”
“We’ll find them, Steve,” Tony said as he started to lead him down the pile.
“I know,” Steve agreed. “We have to.”
Notes:
1945 Bucky is all swagger and just a little bit of angst. Darcy is figuring it out. Steve is a big pile of mope. And - old Bucky came in hot with that letter - he's got game from all sides.
You all continue to be the absolute best! I am overwhelmed by the response to this fic, and I can't express how much it means to me. Incredible people, every one of you!
There's more good stuff coming soon!
Chapter 4: That's Why
Summary:
“But what do the owls have to do with it?”
“They distracted me and then got in the way when I was sneaking.”
“It sounds like you just ran into a tree.”
“I mean, if you want to be technical about it.”
“You mean if I want to be accurate.”
Darcy tells Bucky the first part of their story.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“You threw me off the roof of a moving car?”
“No. You attempted to jump off of one moving car onto another without communicating the plan, and it didn’t work out.”
“From the sound of things, I’d already been shot and stabbed.”
“Well, I didn’t know about the stabbing at the time.”
“So you wouldn’t have thrown me from a moving car if you had?”
“No, you being thrown from the car was inevitable.”
“Was it, though?”
“Do you want to know what happened next or not?”
“Yes.”
—
“Then, you called me sweetheart for the first time outside of a cover, and then I threw up on your boots.” Darcy picked at a loose thread in the cuff of her flannel. They were at the kitchen table, the remains of lunch still in front of them. She had her knees drawn up to her chest in the seat, and it was making her ribs ache, but this part of the story was too vulnerable for feet on the floor.
“And you thought they were all dead?” Bucky asked.
She looked up at him. “Yes.”
“Everything about this screams Steve Rogers,” Bucky muttered.
Darcy’s eyes widened in surprise. “He’s your best friend.”
“Yes, he is,” Bucky agreed. “He’s also pigheaded, single-minded, and arrogant when he thinks he’s doing what’s best for the greater good.”
“Wow,” she whispered. “What’s that about?”
“Is this not something we’ve talked about before?”
“We’ve talked about Steve, but mostly in the context of me missing him, and well—” she trailed off, remembering a conversation they’d had barely more than a week ago at the lake house.
“There it is. Tell me.”
“You have told me that you never wanted to fight,” she said quietly, almost feeling like she was betraying his confidence. “That you never had big dreams. That you joined the war because you thought it was right, and you stayed in for Steve, but you really just wanted to go home and find a family. Live your life. Have Sunday dinners.” She angled her head to look at Bucky’s face; his eyes were glassy.
He swallowed thickly. “We had a fight right before the train mission,” he admitted. “I wanted a break. To plan better. For him to stop taking so many risks. He said we had to keep pushing. Wouldn’t listen. He never listens. Just does what he thinks is best.” Bucky met her eyes. “Sounds like that’s what he did to you, too. To us. With this whole thing. Just made a choice and threw us into a mess.”
She let that sink in, her mind racing through all the implications until she had the strength to ask the one question that stood out. “So when you decided to come with me instead of staying with Steve back at the base in Minnesota, was that because you were mad at him?”
“No.” His answer was firm, and he rocked in his chair nervously. “No,” he repeated. “I told you. I don’t know what it was, but I trusted you.”
“You threatened me with the Howling Commandos.”
“You had me strapped to a giant metal chair.”
“Fair.” She fiddled with the paper lid of her empty noodle cup, shredding it into strips. “Do you want to hear more?”
“Of the story?”
“Yes.”
“The story of me protecting you until we kiss?”
“Yes, that story,” she said with a smile, thinking about what would happen when he realized it didn’t end with a kiss.
“Yes, I would like to hear more of that story very much.”
—
“The Looney Tunes?”
“They seemed fun.”
“You watched the Looney Tunes while reading about how I was tortured.”
“Well, when you put it like that, Jesus.”
“How would you put it?”
“I picked an innocent cartoon to use as brain bleach while I researched a very emotionally difficult topic— yeah, okay, I hear it.”
“And I almost kissed you?”
“You comforted me.”
“By putting my mouth near yours.”
“I can’t tell if you’re objecting to the Looney Tunes, the reading material, or that you tried to kiss me and failed.”
“All three.”
“Noted. Do you want more noodles?”
“Yes, I’m starving.”
“I’ll make more.”
—
“I took you to a dive bar?”
“It was the only bar you’d approve taking me to.”
“Why? A girl like you deserves a nice place.” They’d moved from the kitchen to the screened-in back porch, and even in the dark, Darcy could feel his gaze heavy on the curves of her body.
“No cameras,” she said quietly, staring out at the dark field behind the house. “Cash only. No one would know us. It was safer there than going to a nice place where we could have been picked up on facial recognition.”
“That’s the thing you explained earlier where they can auto-scan our faces and find us with the security cameras?”
“Yeah,” she whispered.
“So, I took you to a bar. Against my better judgment, it sounds like. In a stolen dress.” The teasing lilt of his voice had her turning to look at him. He was sitting at the other end of the old outdoor couch, just far enough away that all she could make out was the glint of his eyes and teeth as he smirked at her in the dark of the porch.
“You were certainly not thrilled about the dress after you saw it on me,” she agreed. “If I remember correctly, you told me you changed your mind after seeing me in it and didn’t object when I accused you of being sexist.”
Bucky let out a bark of laughter. “You must have been something else. Do you still have the dress?”
She had to think about it for a minute. “Maybe,” she said, “it might be in the bottom of one of the bags.”
“Fashion show?”
“No way, buster. It took me ten minutes to get dressed this morning around these ribs.” She pulled her legs up, trying to tuck her bare toes under a cushion to stave off the cold, only for one of his hands to catch her ankle and pull her foot down to his end of the couch.
“You cold, doll? There’s a blanket down here.” Before she could object, he was dragging the blanket off the back of the couch and leaning into her space to spread it over her lap. His hand settled back onto her covered calf when he was done. “Better?”
She swallowed. “Yes,” she said, then cleared her throat. “Do you want to know what happened next, or do you want to keep talking about the dress?”
“I assume we drank.”
“Well, you can’t get drunk.”
“I what?” He spluttered.
“Your metabolism is too fast now. You’d have to chug almost an entire bottle of vodka to get a buzz. I drank, though. We danced,” she said absently, her hands twisted in the blanket, and she could remember the way his hands had felt on her body that night. The way he’d spun her around the dance floor. His smile under all the fairy lights.
“Was I any good?”
“You were great,” she said fiercely. “Then we played quarters. A drinking game,” she clarified. She stared down at her hands, remembering the way he’d laughed with her, his hand on her cheek, the heat in his eyes right before he’d —
“Darcy?”
“Yeah?”
“What happened next?” His voice had a note of pleading to it, and his hand was heavy on her leg over the blanket.
She looked up, and she could just make him out, the glint of his eyes watching her intently. She rubbed a cold hand on her chest right over her pounding heart.
“You kissed me,” she said into the dark.
The couch springs gave a low groan, then there was a rustle of fabric, a shifting of weight, the dip of a cushion, and he was suddenly hovering over her. He caged her in, his weight held up by his hands braced on the upholstered arm she’d been leaning against. She could feel his knee buried in the cushion between her thigh and the back of the couch. She stared up at him, her mouth going dry.
“Tell me how I did it,” he said roughly, and this close, there was just enough light for her to see the desperate look in his eyes.
A shiver went through her at the demand in his voice and the memory it pulled up. Everything from that first kiss sharpened in her mind and intensified in the present. She blinked, and he was so close. So close.
“Tell me,” he repeated, low and insistent.
She licked her lips, her hands curling into fists in her lap to stop herself from doing something she shouldn’t. She shouldn’t. “You started slow,” she said hesitantly. “Just a peck. We could have ignored it.”
“Did we?”
“No.”
His eyes flashed with the confirmation, and she could see his next move so plainly on his face. He was going to kiss her — here and now — he was going to kiss her. And she was going to let him. Because she was weak, and it was dark, and he looked like he might need it just as much as she did.
“Did you like it?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Did you want me?” he asked, a hint of uncertainty bleeding into his voice.
“I always want you,” she said firmly, feeling safe in the liminal space created by the dark, the porch, his wild, searching eyes, and his own words on the tablet screen, promising he’d love her no matter what.
“I just have to know,” he whispered right before his mouth came down on hers.
It was electric. It was everything it always was, and she surged up into it heedless of the pain it sent skittering along her ribs as she buried one hand in the soft, familiar hair at the base of his skull and slid the other around to fist in the fabric at the back of his shirt.
She moved her mouth against his, angling her head to get his bottom lip between hers, and she sucked, then nipped, refusing to waste what might be her only opportunity for a while to feel his mouth on hers. He groaned, his lips parting as he started to explore, tasting her greedily. There was no testing the waters this time around.
He shifted; one of his hands slid off the arm of the couch. The soft whine of servos, as he got a grip on the back of her neck with his metal hand, sent a jolt of arousal through her body so visceral Darcy thought her heart might have stopped. The gasp it tore from her throat broke her mouth from his, her head dropping back as her back arched, her ribs throbbing.
His forehead pressed to hers, his breath panting hot across her cheek. “That’s why,” he whispered almost to himself. He blinked, and his eyes met hers. She couldn’t breathe.
“What?” she gasped, confused, but he was pulling away. His hands and hovering heat left her body so quickly she was left cold as he rolled to his feet and stood next to the couch.
“That’s why,” he said more firmly, staring down at her in the dark.
Then he turned and fled the porch.
“What, the actual fuck,” she said, covering her mouth with a shaking hand. “What the ACTUAL fuck!”
—
Darcy woke up a little less sore and a lot more confused the next morning. She lay in bed for several long minutes, filtering through the events of the night before trying to make sense of it all.
He’d kissed her. That part she understood, at least in theory. He’d always liked kissing her. He seemed to like it last night.
She replayed it, focusing on new details in the light of day with the sharp sting of unfulfilled arousal hours behind her. His rough voice saying ‘I just have to know’ right before he kissed her now seemed a little suspicious, and she had no idea what to make of the ‘that’s why’ he’d repeated before he’d basically run from her.
Fate did seem to have a sick sense of humor. To have him running from her kiss the same way she’d run from him all those months ago. She swiped a hand down her face. This was fucking twisted. “Twisted, you hear me,” she said to the ceiling. “Completely fucked up.” The ceiling didn’t answer.
One thing was for sure. Something was going on with him. Well, she sighed; that seemed expected considering everything, but something more than having his brain wiped and basically being a mental time traveler. He was hiding something. And that was without sorting through all the instincts he seemed to have — she reached up to run a tentative finger down the side of her neck.
It could have been a coincidence. Maybe that was just his move. Maybe it had been his move since the 1940s, putting a hand around the back of a girl’s neck, and he just hadn’t remembered after all those years of Hydra programming, and it had just bled through. Except. Except, he’d seemed so surprised the first time he’d done it before the wipe, and she’d reacted the way she had. It had been new to both of them.
Could it have been resurfacing then because it was original to him in the 1940s? Or was it coming back now as some kind of procedural memory that survived the wipe?
Did things like that exist in procedural memory? She knew basic skills like driving, riding a bike, brushing his teeth, and how to write would all remain not only because they were most likely pre-Hydra but also because they’d be stored outside the memories impacted by the limbic system parts of the brain impacted, but this? The sexual preferences of your most recent girlfriend — that seemed like a stretch.
She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow with a groan.
What happened last night was only going to make today more awkward. They couldn’t leave the house and risk exposing their location, which meant all they had to do today — all day — was hang around, eat, and talk about the rest of the story. The rest of the story, which included her killing someone, them having a lot of sex, the base in Indiana with the General, and then them having a lot more sex — oh, and the whole falling in love bit.
“No time like the present,” she muttered into her blankets, and she forced herself to get up.
—
Bucky was standing over the stove when she padded into the kitchen. She paused in the doorway, sniffing the air, certain her nose was deceiving her. “Did you make coffee?”
He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder, his eyes trailing over the new flannel she’d pulled on this morning. Still one of his. “Yes,” he said shortly before turning back to whatever he was doing at the burners.
She moved to the coffee maker in the corner of the kitchen and grabbed the mug already set out in front of it, pouring herself a cup. “Where did we get coffee?”
“There was a bag of it in the duffle,” he said absently.
She froze, the mug halfway to her lips, and then grinned. “Was it red and shiny?”
“Yeah, I think it was,” he said absently. “Why?”
“No reason,” she said as she took a sip of the straight espresso in her cup. “This is very good. Thank you.”
“No problem. Figured we don’t have just keep eating noodle cups.”
“Excellent point.” She moved to the other side of the kitchen to sit at the small table. “To that point, what are you cooking? Is that cinnamon I smell? We didn’t have anything cinnamon in that bag.”
“No, we did not,” he agreed, lifting a small pan off the stove. “But we had oatmeal packets, and the house had cinnamon.”
She stared at him open-mouthed as he dished up the oatmeal into two bowls and carried it over to the table. “You made cinnamon oatmeal?”
“Yes.”
“On the stove?”
“Yes.” He shoved a spoon into his bowl and started to eat, blowing on it before putting it in his mouth.
She looked down at her own bowl. It smelled amazing. She spooned some up cautiously, blowing on it the way he had before tasting it with the tip of her tongue. “You added sugar to this,” she accused.
“Of course I did. Plain oatmeal is terrible.”
She dropped her spoon.
“What?” he asked, looking concerned.
“Nothing.”
“No, what’s wrong?”
“You just—” She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“No, you have to tell me.”
“I once convinced you to try a Pixie Stick, and you threw the whole bag out the window.”
“What is a Pixie Stick?”
“Flavored sugar in a paper tube.”
“Well, that sounds terrible for you.”
“I can’t win,” she muttered, snatching up her spoon and shoving a massive bite of oatmeal in her mouth, only to end up gasping when it burned her tongue.
“Careful, doll, it’s hot,” he teased.
“You’re an asshole.”
“You owe me the rest of the story,” he said as he continued to eat. “We left off celebrating after the first base.”
She nodded. It wasn’t like she could have forgotten. She was painfully aware of exactly where in the story they’d left off. She put her spoon down again, chewing her last bite slowly and swallowing around the lump in her throat. Clearly, they weren’t going to talk about what happened last night in the present and were just going to dive right back into the past. Cool, cool. She could deal with that for now.
“The celebrations did not continue.”
“I didn’t figure as much considering our current situation,” he said dryly.
“Well, okay then.” She leaned back in her chair, mug of espresso clutched to her chest. Good thing he didn’t realize what he’d done when he’d made the good-bad coffee. She had a feeling she was going to need it.
—
“But what do the owls have to do with it?”
“They distracted me and then got in the way when I was sneaking.”
“It sounds like you just ran into a tree.”
“I mean, if you want to be technical about it.”
“You mean if I want to be accurate.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down. “And then you tried to save him?”
“Well, I—” She leaned forward and tunneled her hands through her messy curls. The oatmeal in her bowl had congealed while she talked. She looked down at it in disgust. “He was the first person I’d ever had to kill,” she whispered.
“Ahh. That’s rough,” he said softly.
She glanced up to find him staring into the middle distance, and she wondered if he was remembering his own first kill. The one he’d told her about that made him throw up on his boots. It would be so much closer to this version of him.
“You were great,” she said, rubbing her fingernail over the woven placemat. “You cleaned up the site, got us back to the hotel, took care of me when I went into shock and passed out, got me cleaned up.”
“You went into shock?”
She squirmed in her seat. She’d known it was coming, but it was better to tell him now than let it be a surprise like last time. “I have this thing.”
“A thing?”
“I pass out when I get too stressed or there’s a lot of blood or trauma.”
“You pass out when there’s a lot of blood or trauma?” he repeated slowly.
“Do you actually not understand or?”
“I am in disbelief,” he scoffed.
She glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You pass out if there’s a lot of blood or trauma, and we kept going into combat situations?”
“Not all the time,” she said defensively. “And it’s not related to combat anyway.”
“No?”
“No.”
“So what brings it on?”
“Stress and stressful things.”
“Stress and stressful things?” He raised one eyebrow, his lips quirked up in an annoying half-smile. “What are you trying not to tell me?”
“Nothing.”
“Uh-huh.”
“We should move to the living room. This chair is hurting my ribs.”
His smile got wider. “By all means, doll. Lead the way.”
—
“An ice cream flavor graveyard?”
“Where they retire the dead flavors.”
“You’re making that up.”
“I’m not.”
“Huh.”
—
“A giant chair?”
“Yes.”
“Why did I think a giant chair would cheer you up?”
“I have no idea, but it did.”
“It did?”
“It was peaceful. Sitting up there with you.”
“We climbed it?”
“Of course we did. You wouldn’t pick it up, though.”
“My apologies, sweetheart.”
—
“What did you just say to me?”
“Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg.”
“That’s not a word, doll.”
“It’s the longest-named place in the US. You took me there.”
“Why?”
“I think you thought it would make me smile.”
“Did it?”
“You had to buy me french fries to get me to stop saying the name.”
“Sounds about right.”
—
“I stopped a bullet with my hand?”
“I think you’re missing the larger point.”
“What’s that?” He was sprawled out on the floor of the living room, his back pressed to the armchair, while she reclined on the couch under a knitted blanket, a pillow braced up under her side to support her ribs.
“The argument!” she exclaimed. “The argument about you being all sneaky and secretly trying to date me despite us agreeing you weren’t going to do that.”
“Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” He ran his fingers over his mouth as he considered her. “Except, did I agree not to do that?”
“What?”
“I mean, I don’t remember it, but I really doubt I agreed not to try and date you.”
“What?” she repeated.
“Are you suddenly hard of hearing?”
“No. I am having a crisis,” she snapped. And she was. Her mind was racing back, trying to remember conversations from months ago. Dragging up details that were fuzzy at best and forcing them to sharpen. She gasped. “You asshole!”
“See.”
“You asshole.”
“Now that we’ve sorted that out. I stopped a bullet with my hand?”
“Oh my god! It’s not that impressive. You did it again, like two days ago in Minnesota. Do you not remember?” She flung the pillow at him, only to have him catch it and tuck it behind his head with a smirk.
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
“Ugh.”
“I did it again in Minnesota?”
“Yes. Saved my life. On the battlefield. Was it not intentional?”
He seemed to think for a moment, and she saw his eyes light up, focusing on her again, looking serious. “Saving you was absolutely intentional. The method was instinct. I just knew what to do.”
“Huh.”
“What do you think that means?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, pulling up everything she’d considered this morning in bed. “There’s lots of things that get stored outside normal memory. Procedural memory is tricky, and I’m not 100% sure how something ends up in one type of memory over the other. Driving a car, for example, is procedural. Your ability to use all the modern guns seems to have been procedural, and the trip wires —” She trailed off.
“And you didn’t wipe that?” He asked.
She chewed on her lip nervously. “What I meant to wipe and what actually happened are two very different things. The team showed up and caused that power surge in the middle of things. I have no idea how that impacted the settings or what it means for your brain. We’d need a new scan and a neurologist to be sure.”
“And we don’t have those.”
“We do not.”
“Unfortunate,” he said. “Would make things easier.”
“That it would,” she agreed, shifting on the couch with a wince.
“Aw, hell, doll.” He got up on his hands and knees, crawling across the floor to return the pillow to its spot between her side and the back of the couch to support her aching ribs. “So, I saved you from certain death —”
“That’s a stretch,” she muttered, even though it wasn’t, but his ego didn’t need any stroking, especially with what came next.
“I saved you from certain death,” he repeated. “Then I assume I dealt with the rest of the attack? And?”
“And we got away. We found a safe place to stay for the night,” she said softly, hesitating as she figured out how to explain what happened next, how to describe the night they’d spent together.
She let it wash over her. The memory of his body pressed up against hers in that stolen bed, his voice in her ear telling her he loved her without ever using the words. The way her control snapped after so many weeks of being held almost to a breaking point. His mouth on her skin, his hands, the heat in his eyes, his laugh, his body moving over her, in her.
“So, did all the roadside attractions, funnel cakes, and life-saving earn me another kiss then?” he asked cockily, and she blinked in surprise, coming back to the present to find him stretched out on the floor next to the couch, hands behind his head, long legs crossed at the ankle. She looked down at him, a small smile playing at her lips.
She leaned back on the couch, letting her eyes drift closed, the scenes from that night continuing to play out behind her eyes. “More,” she said.
“More?” he asked, and she could hear the surprise in his voice.
“More,” she confirmed.
“How much more?” And now he sounded desperately curious. She opened her eyes, peering over the edge of the couch to look down at him again. He stared up at her, his eyes heated. He licked his bottom lip. “Did you let me take you to bed, doll?” His voice was low and rough.
“Yes,” she said, and her voice sounded just as thick in her own ears.
“Was it —” He trailed off, his eyes drifting to her mouth, her neck, back to her eyes. “Was it any good?”
She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the question. She bit her lip to stop her smile. “It was everything.” She told him, her heart pounding in her chest.
She sat up, leaning on the arm of the couch, and stared at the far wall of the room. It was 10 am, the living room was filled with morning sun, and she felt like she might combust. She rubbed her thighs together under the blanket, grateful he couldn’t see from his position on the floor. There was a rustle of fabric from the floor beside her, and she wondered if it meant she wasn’t alone in her frustration.
—
They took a break.
By mutual agreement, everyone averted their eyes and fled the living room for an hour-long breather. Bucky headed toward the kitchen, she assumed for a snack, and she headed to her room, where she took a round of painkillers for her ribs and reread the ‘Read Me’ letter on the tablet before laying down and trying to get her head screwed on straight.
The next part was going to be hard.
The most immediate next part of the story had a lot of sex. She had no idea how much detail to provide or what to tell him. She clicked the tablet screen back to life and stared down at the words he’d left her.
So keep your promise, baby. Tell me our story. Just the way it happened. The good and the bad.
Easier said than done. He had to know that was easier said than done. Especially after that display last night. Was he going to climb on top of her again when she told him about it all and try to fuck her, only to whisper, ‘That’s why,’ and run away again?
Because what the fuck was that, anyway? And then to not even acknowledge it this morning. Ugh. She was going to have to force the issue. She couldn’t stumble through, wondering what it meant. She’d drive herself crazy trying to figure it out. It didn’t matter if he’d warned her he was a flirt — that hadn’t felt like flirting. It had been something else. Something more. He’d been testing something, and she didn’t like it. It made her even more certain he was hiding something, and she wanted to know what.
And why was all of this more important to him than finding out anything about himself? She’d been avoiding pushing on that question so far, but the further they got, the more important it was going to become. How long could she let that clearly unhealthy behavior go on? Who woke up 70 years in the future and didn’t want to know about their family? Their friends?
He hadn’t even asked her who had won the damn war.
She pressed her face into a pillow and screamed.
She needed to suck it up, relate the facts of the rest of the story, and then push him to deal with the rest of it —
Help me deal with the future. I might struggle a little bit.
No shit. At least he was self-aware.
“Tell the rest of the story. Talk about last night. Get him the info he needs. Figure out the procedural memory thing. Deal with the team,” she whispered.
Those last two were going to require internet access, but they had to be done. She sighed. She and Bucky were both avoiding things if she was honest. Maybe they could deal with it all at once. That was a tomorrow problem, though. Today was about finishing the story.
She rolled off the bed and to her feet, pressing a hand to her aching ribs. “Stick to the facts. It’s only embarrassing if you let it be.”
—
Turned out it was embarrassing, no matter what.
“In the back of the car after blowing up a Hydra base?” he asked. And her face was so hot it could probably fry an egg, but she met his stare head-on.
“We liked it.” she tried to keep a straight face. They were sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch while she told him what happened next.
He leered at her over his peanut butter sandwich. “I don’t doubt that,” he agreed.
“Keep it together,” she scolded. “We kept following the map.”
“And fucking it sounds like.”
“Yes,” she said primly, “and fucking. Until suddenly, we got a hit on the password.”
“The password? From way back at the beginning? The one about my brain?”
“That’s the one. The program I’d set up came through the morning before we were supposed to hit a base in Indiana.”
“Wasn’t it supposed to take a million years?”
“Fifteen billion,” she corrected.
“I feel like this next part isn’t going to go well.” He shoved the last of his sandwich into his mouth and downed the last of his water with a grimace. “You’re stalling. Is this next part a porch part?”
She raised an eyebrow in question. “Do you mean, is it part where you can kiss me again?”
His cheeks went pink, and he ducked his head. “Christ, you don’t pull your punches,” he muttered.
“You tell me why you did that, and I’ll tell you what happened next.”
He fidgeted. He actually fidgeted. She stared at him open-mouthed. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Fine.” He reached under the table and, drew out a folded stack of paper and threw it down on the table.
“I don’t—”
“It’s a letter.”
“A letter,” she repeated, and she felt lightheaded. “From who?” But she already knew. That sneaky fucking bastard.
“Who do you think?” he asked, and he nudged it across the table toward her.
She reached out a shaking hand toward it and then stopped, dropping her hand to clench around the edge of the table. Her eyes stung. “Where — uh — where was it?”
“In my tactical vest.”
“Right. That makes sense.”
“You can read it. It actually says I should let you read it.”
She looked up at him, and her vision was blurring with unshed tears. “Does it?” she asked, her voice cracking. It looked long. Three or four pages, at least.
“Yeah, doll.” She reached out again and ran a trembling finger over the folded pages. Bucky seemed to realize she was struggling. He leaned forward to pick up the letter, sorting through the pages; he extracted one, smoothed the creases, and slid it across the table to her. “This is the part that explains last night.”
Bucky’s lovely 1940s copperplate script filled the page, curving over the words in a way modern styles couldn’t come close to matching. Darcy ran a finger over her name, the way his pen had skipped on the swoop of the D.
…no point when there’s so much waiting for you when you’re ready to reach out and take it.
Darcy is a huge part of that. You’ll realize that eventually. I hope you see it sooner rather than later because she deserves not to wait too long. She’s the type of girl we used to dream about being able to land back in the day, and she deserves better, but for some reason, she’s picked us — me — you.
She saved us.
She more than saved us. She remade me.
You’re going to want her. You’re not going to understand it at first, but you won’t be able to fight it. I don’t care what she says about all this memory-wipe science nonsense. The markers, the limbic system, Hydra, and their damn chair can get fucked — the feel of her, the taste, the curve of her against you — it’s all too deeply ingrained. Nothing is going to tear it out.
It’s going to consume you. There were times when I couldn’t function for how badly I wanted her. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
You may not need a path back to humanity the same way that I did when I met her, but you still need salvation. I remember being you, and I can’t remember a time when I didn’t need it. Even before the war, I was looking for something. I’d never say this was all meant to be because there’s too much blood in our wake for that, but I’m not above thinking a chance with her might be the silver lining of a future hard-earned.
More importantly, you’re going to love…
She looked up from the page to find him watching her warily. “You’ve always had a way with words,” she said weakly.
“Yeah, I’m a real Shakespeare.”
“So you kissed me to what? Prove it wrong? Confirm it?”
“What if I just wanted to?” he asked, his lips twisting up on one side in that charming smile he seemed to have perfected in 1945. Darcy cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest until his shoulders slumped. “No,” he finally said. “It wasn’t to prove him wrong or confirm it. Don’t need to confirm nothing.”
“So?” She rolled a hand in front of her to urge him to continue.
He rolled his eyes. “You think I followed you away from my oldest friend on a battlefield because you knew a childhood story about Chess pie and have a pretty face?”
Well, she had until right now, actually. “Maybe?”
He snorted. “You’re smarter than that. At least, I think you are, apparently.” He nodded to the rest of the letter still on the table between them. “I needed to know why.”
“Why what?”
Bucky licked his bottom lip and sighed, reaching out to take the page from her. “the feel of her, the taste, the curve of her against you —” His voice cracked, but he kept reading. “It’s all too deeply ingrained. Nothing is going to tear it out.” He looked back up at her. “It should have been my first kiss with you, but I knew it wasn’t going to feel like one.”
“No?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’d never heard it before, but I knew exactly how you’d gasp when I put my hand on your neck the second I decided to do it. I also knew if I didn’t touch you right, then I might actually lose my mind. I don’t need to confirm it. I already know it’s true.” He stared at her with heated eyes, and she licked her lips.
She felt breathless. “That’s why,” she whispered.
“Exactly.” He looked away, breaking the tension in the air. “So tell me, is that procedural memory?”
“I don’t know.” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Researching procedural memory is top of my list, but this isn’t my field of study. Almost everything I know about it I learned in the last few months for you, so it’ll have to wait until we have internet access.”
“And until then?”
“What do you want to do?” she asked. “I can keep telling you the story. I can answer questions as long as I know the answer.”
“Let me kiss you again?” His heavy gaze returned to her face, his eyes locked on her lips.
She swallowed. “Is that — something you want?”
He let out a bark of laughter. “Let’s go to the porch, and you tell me what was so bad about this base in Indiana.” She swallowed.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Notes:
Well that happened - hope we all enjoyed the second first kiss - and woah, did Bucky turn up with another letter. Honestly, I think he outdid himself on this second one, even though we only got to read part of it...
Thank you all for being the most amazing community to ever read a fic - truly! I can't wait to find out if we're happy about how things are continuing to develop and if you all think 1945 Bucky is living up to his Lothario reputation after this latest chapter.
more soon!
Chapter 5: 10 Cents
Summary:
“We can’t steal a convertible.”
“It’s so slick, though.”
“Do you see all our bags?”
“We could steal two cars.”
“Look at my face. Does this look like the face of a woman who is going to drive behind you in the luggage car?”
“No.”
Darcy and Bucky figure out what being on the road again looks like.
Chapter Text
The screened-in porch was sunny and bright in the afternoon, making for a stark contrast to the conversation. Darcy was curled up on one end of the outdoor couch, Bucky reclined at the other end, one long leg stretched out along the back cushions, his bare foot tucked into her hip over the blanket she spread over her lap. She stared at the field behind the house, watching a bluejay hop through the grass.
“You came into the base?”
She looked back at him to find him staring at her, something close to anger etched onto his face. “To save you,” she said patiently.
“It sounds like I was pretty clear about how you were supposed to drive away.”
“I had to save you.”
“What did I ask you to do?”
“So, I made it into the base, found you, and shot the General.” She continued, ignoring his pointed question.
“You shot him!?”
“With your rifle.”
“Fuck, doll.” He had the same glazed look as when she’d told him about the target practice.
“Oh, now you’re on board?”
“No.” He shook his head, but he had half a smile on his face, and his dimples were fighting their way out. “I still think you should have run like you said you would. I just like the idea of you with my rifle.” He smirked at her, the innuendo clear in his tone.
“You’re a flirt,” she accused, digging her toes into his thigh.
“Never said I wasn’t. So you shot him, and then what?”
“Well, turns out when you’d wired the base to explode, you’d set them on a timer instead of using the remote, so once you believed I was real — you were drugged,” she explained when he looked confused. “You revealed we only had about two minutes to get out before we got blown up.”
“Shit.”
“Yep.” She sighed. “You practically carried me out. I’ve never run faster in my life. We barely made it to the woods in time.”
“Then what happened?”
She gave him a stern look. “We had a big damn fight.”
“Good,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and giving her a look that made it clear he thought he’d won said fight.
“You ended up on your knees. Literally,” she added, enjoying the way his eyes went half-lidded at the idea. “Admitted you should have listened to me when I told you to hold. Also, admitted you were rushing because you wanted to be done so we could go use the password to find out about your brain and the programming.”
“So we had a fight where you tricked me into losing—”
“No, no,” she warned with a laugh. “No tricks were used. You recognized your wrongness and admitted it.”
“Fine.” He leaned forward to playfully tug at the ends of her curls, and it was so familiar she had to bite her lip to hold in her gasp. “After I admitted to my wrongness. Then what happened?”
“You remembered you’d stolen the keys to the General’s lake house. You’d been there years ago as the Winter Soldier to do a security systems check, so we went to Wisconsin.”
“I like Wisconsin,” he said absently.
“I know.”
“When was all this?”
“Last week?” And that made her throat feel tight as she confirmed the mental math. “Seven days ago, I think.”
“Rough week, doll.”
“Yeah,” she said weakly. She was just about to try and figure out where to pick up the story next when his stomach let out a low rumble. “You’re hungry again already?” she asked with a laugh.
“I’m always hungry,” he said with a groan. “A man cannot live on noodle cups.”
Her forehead wrinkled up in confusion. “You’re not eating extra protein bars? Or the snacks in the bag?”
“What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, even more confused. “Are you only eating when I’m eating?” Her voice went up in pitch, mild panic starting to fill her chest.
“Well, yeah,” he said sheepishly.
“What?! But the first night we were here, I put extra food out for you with a note!”
He laughed. “Wait here.”
“What?”
“Just wait here,” he said again, and he rolled off the couch to pad back into the house. She pulled the too-long sleeves of her flannel down over her hands as she waited, feeling anxiety building up as she waited for him to return. If he hadn’t been eating extra food, he’d been essentially starving himself for the last two days. She should have noticed. The door to the house opened, and he stalked across the porch to shove a piece of paper at her. “Here.”
“What—”
“It’s the note you left me,” he said with a smirk.
She looked down at the scrap of paper. Her writing was almost illegible — Eat the things. “Eat the things,” she whispered out loud. She looked up at him. “That is not what I thought I wrote.”
He was still smirking, looking far too amused for a man who had been apparently drastically undereating for two days. “No?”
“No,” she said firmly. “In my defense, I was very tired.”
“What did you mean to write?”
“Well, probably something explaining that your serum-driven metabolism requires roughly 7,000 calories a day at rest and somewhere close to 12,000 when you’ve done anything strenuous. You should be eating at least 6-8 of those protein bars a day on top of normal meals, and usually, you have an extra peanut butter sandwich with your meals. It’s why we have so much—” she trailed off at his open-mouthed stare. “Clearly, I failed to communicate any of this.”
“Clearly.”
“Would you like a sandwich?” she asked tentatively.
He laughed. “Christ.” He dropped to sit next to her on the couch, leaning forward to bury his head in his hands before turning to look at her. “So this is just my normal?”
“Not the hungry part,” she said hesitantly. “That’s my fault. You shouldn’t be hungry, but the caloric need is normal, yes.”
He exhaled, his shoulders slumping. “I thought I was going crazy.”
“Oh, god. I’m so sorry!” She moved before she thought about it, ignoring the ache in her ribs, to push up on her knees and wrap an arm around his shoulders, draping herself across his back. It was something she wouldn’t have thought twice about a few days ago, but there were new boundaries now. Walls reconstructed. He went tense under her weight, and she froze, realizing what she’d done; she started to pull away. “Shit! Sorry. I’m sorry,” she gasped.
He caught at her wrist, holding her in place, and his shoulders slumped under her. He held firmly to her wrist, his thumb rubbing soft circles on the delicate skin on the inside of her arm. “It’s okay. S’nice.”
“Yeah?” she asked, her panic starting to fade away.
“Yeah,” he confirmed.
“Okay,” she whispered, and she relaxed into it, melting across his shoulders and resting her cheek on top of his head. “Just for a second, then. But I’m going to make you a sandwich.”
“Okay,” he agreed.
—
Two hours and four peanut butter sandwiches for Bucky later, they were back in the living room. She was sprawled out on the couch with the tablet, examining the map and the ‘Darcy’s Plans’ files again, although she kept glancing up from the screen to look at Bucky in the armchair across the room.
It was a small upholstered chair, the kind with curved arms, covered in a chintz fabric. The scale was more appropriate for a grandmother knitting in her cottage than the bulk of a super soldier trying to read a vintage sci-fi novel. He looked terribly uncomfortable with his hips on an angle to fit in the seat and his shoulders hunched up practically around his ears. She’d tried to get him to take the couch, but he’d insisted she needed the space to stretch out for her ribs and continued to force himself into the smaller chair or onto the floor.
She dropped her eyes back to the tablet just in time to avoid being caught staring. There was a tension between them now. Between the kiss from last night and her weird accidental kind-of-a-hug half-tackle move on the porch that afternoon, there was more than enough awkwardness to go around. It was even more incentive to keep her eyes on the map-filled tablet screen and finally decide where they would go next.
The plans Bucky had laid out for them pre-wipe provided options in almost every direction but north. It was clear he’d wanted them to avoid moving back toward the Minnesota base and any risk of retaliation that could be lingering there. He hadn’t been banking on the Avengers showing up in the middle of things, though. She had a feeling there wasn’t a single Hydra operative from that base they needed to worry about being on their trail anymore.
It was just the rest of the fucking operation, not to mention the Avengers themselves that were a problem —
They were obviously alive. By what means and what their plans were was still a mystery. One that she wanted to solve before she made any decisions about reuniting with them. As far she was concerned, they were on her shit list until she knew more.
She would never go so far as to call them enemies. She knew she could count on them if she needed help, but she wasn’t going to go crawling back to them in search of sanctuary. Not after all these months on the run. All the sleepless nights, the panic, the anxiety, and it being just her and Bucky.
She still loved them. All of them. She was so terribly happy they were alive. She was more than willing to admit that she’d been happy to see them all on that field in Minnesota three days ago. The world was a brighter place with them in it. They’d been her found family for far too long for her to be anything but extremely grateful that they’d survived the collapse of the Tower.
But trust had been broken when they let her think they were dead. Whether intentional or not. They’d broken her heart and, with it, her faith in their desire to do what was best for her and Bucky first over the greater good. And Steve Rogers had led the charge.
She looked up from the tablet just in time to catch Bucky trying to use a throw pillow to make the too-small armchair more comfortable, only to end up with his ass half out of the seat, his upper body slumped over the arm in defeat. She smiled to herself and averted her eyes before he could catch her looking.
Yep, there was no one she would trust with his safety except herself at this point. Historical best friend with good intentions or not. She tapped on the tablet screen to bring the maps back up and positioned them on the screen so she could look at them next to the lists of information in the ‘Plans’ file.
The eastern route he’d put together had been designed to take them back to New York City. It looked tailor-made to follow through on a tentative idea they’d discussed last week where she would adjust facial recognition data, and they’d get new identities, then try to pick up where she’d left off in her research in the city. He’d even listed out the account numbers to some offshore bank accounts so they’d have the funds for an apartment in the city. Now, though, it would take them right back to the team.
She scratched it off the list. Not until they had more info.
That left south and west.
South took them down into Texas and then into New Mexico. She had fond memories of New Mexico, at least the parts before all the explosions and screaming. She could be amenable to heading in that direction. West took them all the way out to California. That would make it a full cross-country trip, and she did kind of like the symmetry of ending on the other coast. She sighed. She was going to have to ask Bucky what he wanted to do. This really wasn’t something she could decide on her own.
“Bucky?” she said, looking up just in time to watch him try to swing his legs over the arm of the small armchair so he could sit in it sideways. The chair, objecting to this new distribution of supersoldier weight, rocked back on two legs, and Bucky’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening in a silent objection as it toppled over, landing with a bang on the hardwood floor.
There was silence for several long seconds. She stared in disbelief at the fabric-covered bottom of the chair. The four delicate, spindly wooden legs, all now facing her, almost mocking in their new horizontal positions. “This chair is trying to kill me,” he groaned from the floor.
All she could see were his bare feet, still hanging off the chair arm he’d been trying to get his legs over when he caused the fall. The absurdity of the entire situation hit her, and she laughed. Slow at first, and then picking up speed. A chuckle became a giggle, became a full belly laugh until she had a hand pressed firmly to her bruised ribs, trying to hold off the pain of breathing through it, her eyes watering from the way her eyes were crinkled up so tight.
“This is not funny,” he groused as his head finally appeared over the still overturned seat of the chair, his hair a mess and face red. It only made her laugh harder. She couldn’t breathe.
“You just— I can’t — and then — whoop— there you went—”
“This chair is a torture device.”
That set her off all over again because he knew it wasn’t. It wasn’t even close. He would never. “Oh my god,” she whined as she finally started to get herself under control. “You’re going to make my ribs worse.”
“Yes, that would be entirely my fault,” he agreed dryly as he righted the chair and then kicked it in retribution.
“Come sit next to me,” she offered, scooching over to make more room on the couch. “Stop trying to fit over there. It was stupid to begin with.”
He crossed the room and dropped onto the other end of the small couch with her. “It’s a small couch,” he noted, and she nodded. It was a small couch — more a loveseat than anything else. Half the size of the one out on the porch, but they could make do for another night.
“It’s fine. We need to look at some things together anyway.” She shifted the tablet so he could see the screen with her. “You planned out three different routes we could take. Or, well, I guess we could mix and match, but in theory, it seems you meant for us to go east, south, or west.” She traced them with her finger.
“I see you’ve already crossed out the east.”
“I think that route was based on a conversation we had about going back to New York with new identities and trying to live under the radar so I could eventually finish my research.”
“Your research?”
“Right,” she said weakly, “we haven’t really talked about that much.”
“No, we haven’t. You said you managed a lab and were support staff for the Avengers?”
“I was. I also have a bachelor’s degree in political science and two master’s degrees. One in astrophysics and one in computer science. I was working on a set of research to combine the two fields as part of trying to get started on my doctorate.”
“Oh, so you’re smart, smart.”
“I can read.”
“No, doll,” he said, suddenly serious. “I can read. Lots of people can read. Sounds like you’re brilliant.”
Darcy blushed and turned back to the tablet. “I do alright. So, the eastern route depended on me being able to break into the backends of some of the alphabet agencies and rework their facial recognition data to hide you in plain sight. It was also done before you knew the team was still alive. Going that way takes us right back to them—”
“And you’re still thinking? That’s what you said in Minnesota, right? You needed time to think.”
She sighed. “Right now, I’m thinking I don’t trust anyone to put what’s best for you first except me and you. It makes me wary of turning back to them. At least not without more information.”
“What about what’s best for you?”
“What?”
“You said you don’t trust anyone to put what’s best for me first except you and me, but who’s putting what’s best for you first?” he asked, and she opened her mouth, searching for an answer before snapping it shut with an audible click. He just stared at her, waiting for an answer.
“I reject your premise,” she finally said, tapping the tablet screen to light it back up. “I think we should head south or west—”
“Darcy.”
“—the southern option takes us close to a large Hydra base in Texas, which is a little risky, but we can skirt around it, and I know New Mexico pretty well, so once we get there, we’d be in good —”
“Darcy, come on.”
“—shape. The western route goes all the way to California, which means we’d have gone from coast to coast. There’s some symmet—”
“Darcy!” He tore the tablet from her hands, holding it up and out of reach. “Stop, sweetheart. Stop.” He set the tablet off to the side. “We can take whichever route you want. I don’t care. I just don’t want it to be based entirely on me. That’s all I was saying. I wasn’t trying to send you into some kind of crisis.”
“I’m not in crisis!” she cried, her voice two octaves higher than usual.
“Didn’t say you were,” he said calmly.
“I don’t need to be placated.”
“Not placating you,” he said placatingly. She gave him a skeptical look. “Much,” he amended with a half-grin.
“I vote we go west,” she said weakly.
“Then we’ll go west.”
“Just like that?”
“Is there something I’m missing? A strategy to picking beyond don’t run into the Avengers?”
“No,” she admitted, “there’s not. It just feels like we should talk about it more. Shouldn’t we talk about it more?”
“Did we used to talk about it more?”
“Sometimes. Mostly, we followed where the bases were.”
“But we’re not doing that anymore.”
“We could,” she said with a shrug.
“I think that would require more conversation. But we’re not now.”
“Right.” He was right. It had been dangerous even before; now, it would be ridiculous. “So we probably need to leave tomorrow. We also need to change cars, which is easier to do at night, so I was thinking we could leave before dinner tomorrow instead of staying through the night.”
“Works for me.” He picked up the tablet again, unlocking it and examining the map. He traced it with his finger. “I’ve never been to California before.”
Darcy smiled. “You have, but this time will be more fun. I promise.”
“Can’t wait.”
—
“We can’t steal a convertible.”
“It’s so slick, though.”
“Do you see all our bags?”
“We could steal two cars.”
“Look at my face. Does this look like the face of a woman who is going to drive behind you in the luggage car?”
“No.”
“So?”
“It’s just so pretty.”
—
“No SUVs.”
“I don’t actually know what that means.”
“Sport utility vehicle.”
“You have added nothing to my understanding.”
“That thing you are pointing at. That is a no.”
“It’ll hold all the bags.”
“That is beside the point. We have bad luck with that kind of vehicle. We need a nice hatchback.”
“A what?”
“A station wagon.”
“A family car?”
“Yes, a nice family car.”
“Seems rude to steal a family car.”
“We can leave money behind.”
“What, like a stack of bills in the parking spot?”
“Why not? We’ve never done it before, but I don’t object. We’ve got the money.”
“Huh, okay.”
“Okay.”
—
“But why can’t we stop at a restaurant for food?”
“We can. We just have to pick the right one.”
“Right one, being not the fifteen we’ve already driven past?”
“If you’re hungry, eat a protein bar.”
“I don’t want a protein bar. I’ve eaten so many protein bars.”
“We can’t go to a place with cameras. We need a diner in a small town. Paper receipts. Takes cash.”
“Because of the facial recognition thing?”
“Yes.”
“I want to believe you, but I also really want a cheeseburger.”
“We’ll find one.”
—
“This is not a family car.”
“You’re the one that said family car. I just said hatchback.”
“This is a German car.”
“I know. That means it’ll be fast. Wait — is the German-ness an issue for you?”
“I don’t know? I’m still kind of — I was at war with them four days ago.”
“Well, now they’re our partners in trade. Pop the fucking lock.”
“What? How? Do we have a slim jim?”
“With your super strength! My god.”
—
“This is the best cheeseburger of my life.”
“I’m glad.” Darcy dipped another fry into her milkshake and glanced out the window of the diner. It was almost one in the morning, and they were three hours from their final destination, but they’d finally driven through a town with a diner that met her requirements, so they’d stopped for real food.
“Do you think we left enough money?” Bucky asked absently as he shoved four of the fries into his mouth at once.
“We left $40,000 in cash in a parking spot under a rock,” she said quietly. They were in the very back booth, but there was no need to risk being overheard.
Bucky’s eyes went comically wide, and he choked, reaching for his soda to take a big sip. “I didn’t — you left how much?”
“I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s a two-year-old car. They usually go for about $35,000, I think. So I left them enough for an upgrade.” She shrugged and picked at her chicken tenders.
“That car.” He pointed out the window to where the Audi hatchback was sitting in the lot, “Costs $35,000?”
“It did when it was new.”
He let out a low whistle. “That’s more than the house I grew up in.”
“The magic of 70 years of inflation,” she said with a smile. “How much do you think your cheeseburger costs?” she teased.
“Oh, I saw the prices on the menu,” he grumbled. “$8.99 for a cheeseburger and fries is outrageous. Shouldn’t be more than 10 cents, if that.”
She laughed. “You’ll get used to it.”
“Easy for you to say with bags of cash in the back of the car,” he said low and conspiratorial.
She smiled slyly and leaned forward over the table. “What would you say?” she whispered, waiting until he joined her, leaning down until they were only inches apart over the plate of shared fries. “If I told you that you had offshore bank accounts with millions of dollars in them?”
He reared back in surprise. “I’d tell you to stop making up bad spy stories.”
She laughed again, high and bright. Loud enough that she glanced around to make sure they weren’t attracting any extra attention, but the town had a drive-in theatre that had let out about an hour before, and the diner was half filled with other couples still flirting after dates at the movies. They didn’t stand out.
She shook her head at Bucky with a smirk. “You’re full of it,” he accused.
“I’m not,” she said, dunking another fry in her chocolate shake.
“I’m a millionaire?” he said softly, and his eyes got a faraway look in them. He refocused on her. “Really?”
“Really, really.”
“I thought I — how?” he asked, and her smile faltered.
“You were smart,” she said, hedging around the reality of the situation. Then she stopped herself. “You stole it from Hydra,” she amended.
His grin went feral, his eyes flashing. “Hell yeah, I did. I don’t remember how to —”
“I have all that,” she interrupted. “You left it all in the files. Candidly, it would be better if you reviewed it all, memorized it, and we deleted the notes.”
“What if I forget it again?”
She shrugged. “We’ll steal more.”
“That easy?” he asked.
“You always made it sound that way. But you have near-perfect recall thanks to the serum, and that’s a genetic change in your actual brain function. It wasn’t wiped out by the chair. So if you read the notes, you should be able to recall the details as long as we don’t wipe you again, which we won’t.”
He sighed and looked around the diner, then back to her. “You know I earned $156 a month as a sergeant before I joined the Howling Commandos under Steve. After that, we got special combat pay. It was $258 a month. Sending those checks home to my Ma and sisters made me feel like a king.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw.
“Money is different now,” she said carefully; she felt like she was walking through a minefield of possible topics. He hadn’t asked once about what happened to his family. She knew, and she’d been dreading having to be the one to tell him.
“You don’t have to look so worried, sweetheart,” he said quietly, leaning forward again over the table. “I know I’ve outlived them all. It was in the letter.”
She hated herself just a little for the relief that flooded through her, both that he already knew and the explanation for his lack of curiosity. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“It sounds like they had good lives. Rebecca and Sarah had kids. Caroline lived with a friend,” he chuckled. “Caroline used to play at liking the boys, but she never did. Used to run me ragged all over the block beating up layabout assholes who thought she owed them something because she let them take her out, but she didn’t want a kiss.”
“Oh, that kind of friend.” She smiled to herself. “You’d never told me that part before. Do you know who?”
“Didn’t say. I’d guess Amelia Greene. Ma always worried they were too close for the times.” He shrugged. “Becca went off and married Jimmy Proctor, that lug. She coulda done better.” He went quiet for a few seconds, his smile sad but still there, and then his eyes refocused. “So what next?”
“We already swapped the plates on the car, so we just need to get to the house for tonight. It’s about three hours away.” She took another bite of her chicken.
“I’m still hungry,” he said, his mouth half full as he chewed the last of his cheeseburger.
She rolled her eyes, her smile returning as she looked up and made eye contact with the tired-looking waitress standing at the counter across the diner. “Let’s order you more food then,” she said, and it took everything in her not to lean over and wipe the ketchup off the corner of his mouth.
“Thanks, doll. You’re being so sweet to me; I’ll pick up the tab tonight. I’m a millionaire, in case you haven’t heard.” He winked.
“That’s going to come up a lot, isn’t it?” she groaned.
“Constantly,” he said, grinning at her.
Her stomach flipped at the sight of his dimples; his eyes crinkled up in the corners with the width of his smile. This is how he should always look, she decided, and she was going to do everything in her power to make sure he stayed this way.
Happy. She just wanted him to be happy.
Notes:
I'm not gonna lie; I had way too much fun writing that chair flip scene. We're finally out of the first safe house, and the action is going to pick up a bit. This is also the shortest chapter in the fic - sorry about that. I hope you all enjoyed the banter and the way they're starting to build some trust and rebuild a relationship.
Thank you to everyone who has been reading, leaving kudos, and all the incredible comments! You all make every second of work that goes into writing these fics worth it!
And because I like to build just a little bit of anticipation - coming up next: a good ole fashioned "there's only one bed" trope! So get ready!
Chapter 6: Good Time Girl
Summary:
“I’m an idiot,” she muttered.
“You’re not.”
“You’re an idiot,” she added.
“Well, that seems rude. I’m suffering from a crisis brought on by mental time travel.”
“Shut your mouth!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Darcy and Bucky work out some things and then work out some things.
Notes:
tw: sexual content, mentions of brainwashing
This may not be a lunch break read - so proceed at your own risk.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was 4:30 in the morning, and Darcy was standing in the doorway of the new safe house’s single bedroom, staring at the only bed. “There is no way,” she muttered.
“All clear out here,” Bucky called from the main room of the house, where he was finishing his security sweep. “You still freaking out over there only being one bed?”
“No?” she shouted back. Except she was. She absolutely was.
There was a rustle of fabric behind her, the soft fall of feet, and then Bucky’s warmth at her back. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal, doll. I’ll sleep in the front room.”
“In the front room that only has two recliners in it?” she countered, looking over her shoulder to make sure he could see her eye roll.
“I’ll sleep on the floor then.”
Darcy took a deep breath, ignoring the way it caught in her chest as her healing ribs objected. “No. It’ll be fine. Like you said, it doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
It was a big deal.
That was all she could think as she lay, curled up as small as she could make herself on one side of the bed, waiting for Bucky to join her. The sun was going to come up soon, and they both needed several hours of sleep before they could move on. They’d only brought in one change of clothes each from the car before setting the trip wires on the doors.
She was still uneasy about the security of this place. Bucky had marked this location as moderate risk (yellow in their old ranking system) in his notes, and she hadn’t liked the look of the offline keypad next to the front door when they’d broken in. She wanted to be in and out as quickly as possible.
She’d washed her face and changed into loose drawstring pants and a too-big long-sleeved t-shirt as soon as they’d confirmed it was secure. Then she’d crawled under the covers of the single bed, forcing herself as close to the wall as possible. She’d tucked her gun into the gap between the mattress and the wall for easy reach. She could hear the sink running down the hall as Bucky finished getting ready for bed.
Pressing her face into the pillow, she shuffled her feet under the covers, whether in anticipation or nerves; she wasn’t sure. Her stomach was twisted up in knots. There was a part of her, a huge part of her, that couldn’t wait for Bucky to crawl into the bed behind her. To feel his weight and heat next to her, to have the familiar sound of his breathing in the dark, she’d missed it. Even if he just lay next to her and they didn’t touch, the possibility that they could.
She missed it.
Less than a week since he’d last held her, it felt like longer. Like they really had time-traveled. His memory loss slingshotting him forward and their relationship backward all at once. She missed the press of his firm chest molded to her back, the thick band of his arm around her waist, and the comforting press of his hand between her breasts as he held her close to his body.
And deeper down, in a place she’d been trying so very hard to repress, she missed other things. Things she was scared to think about too much because thinking about them would unlock a need — a want in her she wasn’t sure she’d be able to close off a second time. Things Bucky had unwittingly tapped into two nights ago on the porch when he’d slid his hand around the back of her neck. The sharp rut of his hips against hers, the hard line of his cock under her seeking hand, his breath hot and panting in her ear.
The water shut off, and she went tense as she listened to Bucky move down the hall from the bathroom to the bedroom. He was making noise on purpose, and his memory of her frustration with his silent movement made her grin into the blanket. The door to the bedroom creaked, then it creaked again, and she rolled over to watch him swing the door back and forth a few more times before balancing it just barely open. She chewed on her lip.
He was setting it to make the most noise possible if someone tried to sneak up on them; he used to do that before, too. She added it to the list with saving her, the trip wires, his hand on her neck, and the way he cleared the safe houses as things she needed to figure out. The more examples she gathered, the more anxious she became that there was something beyond procedural memory retention going on. More than she was qualified to deal with, for sure.
All those thoughts blew away as he crossed the room, dropping his dirty clothes next to hers on the floor and setting his gun on the nightstand. “You still okay with this?” he asked, rocking from foot to foot at the edge of the bed.
“It’s only weird if we make it weird,” she said, tugging the covers back and sounding far more confident than she felt.
He didn’t object any further, climbing onto the bed and under the covers. He settled stiffly on his back next to her, hands folded over his chest. “You have enough space?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said quietly, rolling over to face the wall. She tried to make herself as small as possible, but it wasn’t a big bed, and he had broad shoulders. She could feel his arm brushing her back every time he breathed. She closed her tired eyes and let the soft sounds of him fill her ears, the security of his bulk at her back making her feel safe. She was asleep in seconds.
—
She was warm.
That was her first thought on waking. She was warm.
He was molded to her back; his body curled around hers, the familiar weight of his left arm a band around her waist holding her in place. She shifted under the covers and rubbed her feet on his calves. His hand was spread wide on her stomach, and she reached down to tangle their fingers together. His hand clenched in response, curling up around her hold and digging into the cloth of her sleep shirt.
He made a sleepy noise, nuzzling his face into the back of her neck and letting out a rough breath that sent up goosebumps in its wake. His mouth latched onto the delicate skin behind her ear, a sloppy kiss, followed by the tightening of his arms around her. His hips pressed forward, rutting the hard line of his cock against her ass. Her body throbbed. She loved waking up like this. They didn’t get to sleep in like this often, and she was surprised they did today because—
And she remembered.
Because it was not a week ago, and this was no longer what they did by default. Her body went tense. His hand on her stomach clenched again, his metal fingers tightening around hers to keep her from pulling away. She whined, a low, rough noise in the back of her throat.
His lips brushed her ear, and he exhaled. “Not asleep,” he mumbled, his voice thick. He was inching the hem of her t-shirt up with his fingertips, his hand working slowly at its task under her grip. She could stop him. Her hand was right there on top of his. It would be so easy to squeeze his hand, to push her shirt back down, to open her mouth and say no.
She could stop him.
But his fingertips found the bare skin of her stomach, the metal a shade cooler than body temp, and he brushed the lightest of touches just along the waistband of her sleep pants. “Tell me no,” he said, his hand pausing to wait for an answer.
She didn’t want to tell him no. Not if he was awake. Not if he wanted this, too. And even half asleep, she knew — she knew — it probably wasn’t the smartest thing. Not with all the complications and the memories and everything else, but she’d missed his hands on her body. His mouth on her skin. She could already feel her arousal pooling between her legs at the idea.
She dropped her head to his shoulder so she could crack her eyes open, blinking in the late morning sun that filled the room, and see his face. She could just meet his eyes from this angle; they were half-lidded and heated as he stared down at her. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, his gaze dropping to her mouth. “Let me touch you,” he whispered, a note of pleading in his voice.
His right arm snaked under the pillow to wrap around her chest, fitting her more firmly to him. His hand spread out hot and heavy through the thin cotton of her shirt right over her pounding heart. She arched clumsily into his touch, her body feeling heavy, her lips parting on a silent plea, and his eyes went darker at the sight. “Please, doll.”
She nodded, slowly untangling their hands on her stomach, trailing her fingers up the smooth metal of his forearm, rocking her body against his. She forced her hips back, trapping the hard line of his cock between them. His eyes squeezed shut, and he let out a low, punched-out noise. His mouth found the sensitive skin of her neck again, and she gasped, her own eyes dropping shut, as he started to leave a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses leading to the opening of her t-shirt.
The hand on her stomach started a slow slide; his fingers, now free to explore, dipped below the waistband of her sleep pants, and her eyes squeezed shut as fire erupted under her skin. She whined in the back of her throat, rolling her hips as his questing fingers slipped into her underwear and then lower to gently part her slick folds. The brush of blunt metal fingertips against her sensitive clit sent sparks shooting up her spine.
“Fuck,” he breathed into her hair. “Sweetheart, please.”
“Yes,” she gasped, arching her hips forward again, encouraging his fingers to move, to do anything to help her build-up to the release she knew was hiding just out of reach. He took the hint, starting up tight, firm circles on her over-sensitive clit that had her hips rocking into his again and again and again.
She rolled her head on his shoulder, pressing her face into the warm skin of his neck, the scruff he hadn’t shaved since Minnesota scratching at her cheeks. She reached up to bury a hand in the soft hair at the back of his head, fisting her fingers in the tangled strands, pulling until he hissed and his hips rutted forward into hers with enough force to make the bed creak. She was panting into his throat, her mouth pressed to the delicate skin above his adam’s apple as she pushed her chest forward with a soft gasp.
His hand on her chest dropped down to cup one of her breasts through her shirt and sports bra, and even through two layers of fabric, his fingers pinching at her erect nipple had heat spreading out from his touch. It joined the low-level fire that had been burning since he first touched her, and she wanted him to feel this, too. She wanted him to be on fire with her. His fingers were still working at her clit, fanning the flames, sending sparks shooting up her spine.
She worked a hand back, groping blindly between their bodies until she found the hem of his shirt and felt the heat of his skin on her palm. She was getting close, but she refused to go without him, and he was breathing hard, his mouth pressed to her temple. She got her hand inside his loose sleep pants, then inside his practical boxers, around his cock, and he made a strangled noise, gasping something that may have been her name.
It was enough. Her hand clenched in his hair, the hand on his cock clumsily trying to stroke him, even as her body went tight, her mouth opening and closing on a silent cry into his throat while she came.
His hand on her breast clenched, his fingers on her clit kept moving, working her through her orgasm. His hips continued to roll forward, his cock moving through the circle of her fist, his foreskin sliding in her palm until he let out a rough groan, his body curling tighter around her as he spilled his release hot over her hand.
They were both panting in the aftermath. She slowly untangled her fingers from his hair, and he dropped his head to her shoulder, burying his face into her neck, his lips wet and hot on her skin. “So good,” she whispered and was rewarded with a familiar full-body shiver from Bucky, his still half-hard cock, twitching in her hand.
He grunted into her shoulder, shifting behind her, and she eased her hand out of his pants, wiping her palm on them as she went. “Nice,” he muttered with a huff. He slowly worked his own hand free, lifting his head off of her shoulder, and she blinked her eyes open just in time to see him examine his wet fingertips, the metal shining in the late morning sunlight filtering through the bedroom curtains before he put his index finger in his mouth and licked it clean. His eyes met hers, dark and full of intent, pulling a low noise from her throat.
“C’mere,” he said, and she opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but before she could get the words out, his hands were on her, carefully guiding her to roll over and face him.
“Morning,” she said, and her voice was still sleep rough. “Okay?” she asked, suddenly wanting to make sure he didn’t regret it.
Instead of answering, he looped his arm around her waist, ducking his head to catch her lips with his. He sucked her bottom lip between his own, swiping at it with his tongue, his hand tangling in her hair to force her head into a better angle to deepen the kiss. She gasped, and he took the opportunity to sweep his tongue into her mouth just once before nipping at her lip, then breaking away with a final peck.
He didn’t move away, though; he pressed his forehead to hers, and she opened her eyes to find him staring at her, his familiar blue eyes locked on hers. She stared right back. The tension built until she thought she might explode, and she opened her mouth to ask him what was going on when he finally blinked.
“Thanks for the wake-up,” he said roughly, “I’m going to go get cleaned up. We should go in thirty, yeah?” he asked, and she felt like she had whiplash. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. His hands slid from her body, and he rolled from the bed. “I’ll be fast in case you want the shower,” he said, and he grabbed his gun and clothes and padded from the room.
Darcy rolled over onto her back and stared up at the watermarked ceiling. “Thanks for the wake-up,” she whispered, “Well, that’s going to make for an awkward five hours in the car.” She slapped a hand over her face with a groan.
—
“You mentioned wanting to find the internet today?” Bucky broke the silence 45 minutes after they’d gotten into the car as Darcy silently pointed him onto State Road 16 West.
“That is correct,” she said. She was leaning against the passenger door, staring at the naked trees blurring past.
“How does, uh, how does that work?”
“How does what work?” She turned to look at him. He was clenching and unclenching his hands on the steering wheel, his left leg jiggling. Good, he should be nervous after whatever the fuck that was this morning.
“Finding the internet.”
She considered not answering him. If he was any other man, she wouldn’t have. If he was any other man, she wouldn’t be in the car with him right now. She would have collected her clothes, left the house, and not expected her phone to ring, and not bothered to call.
But he was Bucky. And he was confused. And she was supposed to be helping.
That didn’t mean she had to abandon her feelings, though.
It also didn’t mean she had to pretend to be someone else.
She sighed. Might as well face it head-on. “What the hell was that this morning?”
He jerked the wheel so hard they were lucky there wasn’t any oncoming traffic. “Christ, you really do go straight for the throat, don’t you?” he muttered, ducking his head over the wheel.
“Life is short. Why bother with passive aggression?” she quipped, and she reclined her seat to ease the strain on her ribs. She hadn’t done herself any favors with all that straining this morning.
“Not sure what to tell you, doll. Seemed like we were both into it.” He shrugged, but his face was closed off, and he didn’t look at her.
“We were,” she said, carefully picking at imaginary lint on her leggings. She tried to figure out how to express what she was actually upset about. It wasn’t the act or even the after, not exactly. It was the abrupt way he changed gears. The way he made it feel transactional. Even just now — we were both into it — like it was just an itch to be scratched. That was the issue because it had never been like that before. Or at least it was never just like that. He’d absolutely never made her feel used.
“So?” he asked, and his tone was just on the wrong side of flippant. Too casual. Her blood pressure started rising fast and furious.
“What do you mean so?” she snapped, “Do you think I’m one of your good-time girls on leave? Or I’m hanging around waiting to scratch your itches? You can just thank me for the fun time, and what?”
“What? What are you talking about?” His head was whipping back and forth between her and the road, his mouth hanging open.
“Pull over!”
“Doll.”
“Pull over!”
“Darcy—”
“Pull the fuck over!” She kicked the dash, and he whipped the car onto the side of the road. She was out the door before he’d put it in park. “Asshole,” she hissed, pacing through the dead grass and mud on the side of the highway. “Fucking asshole. Goddamnit.” She kicked at nothing in her frustration.
She should have just said no. She should have held off. He told her. He told her. He’d put it in his letter to her that he was a dog, and she was just so desperate to feel his hands again. To have it all back the way it was, she rushed it. “Five days in, and I fucked it up,” she moaned, burying her face in her hands.
“You didn’t.” His voice startled her. She jumped, spinning on her heel; she would have slipped in the mud if he hadn’t lunged forward to catch her with an arm around her waist. “Woah, sweetheart.” He steadied them both.
“Let go of me,” she said petulantly.
“You got it? You good?” he asked, his hands dropping to her hips to make sure she was stable on her feet. He didn’t let her go. He met her eyes. “You didn’t fuck anything up,” he said quietly, his voice almost carried away by the wind.
She narrowed her eyes, scowling at him. “I’m not someone you can use to scratch an itch.”
“I know that,” he said quickly, his eyes flashing.
“That’s not— “ She trailed off and let out a groan of frustration. “I know we don’t know each other well yet, but let me be clear. I cannot have casual sex with you.”
His eyebrows disappeared into his hair, a line appearing between his brows to mark his confusion. “I don’t— What?”
“Why do you keep asking that? Are you broken?” she snapped and then immediately smacked a hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide in regret. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled from behind her palm.
“It’s okay,” he said easily. “You’re mad.”
“That was still in poor taste,” she said, lowering her hand to rest on her chest over her pounding heart. “You hurt my feelings.”
“That was not my intention,” he said carefully. “I think I misunderstood some things, maybe?”
“I don’t understand?”
“I don’t understand either,” he agreed. “But I get the feeling what I do know has combined to give me the wrong idea about some critical parts of our relationship.”
“Say more.”
“Could we get back in the nice warm car?”
“No.”
“It’s got those lovely leather seats with the heaters. Who knew the future would have heated seats?” he asked.
“The Germans,” she said quickly, and he rolled his eyes.
“Fine. We can stay out here in the wind and the cold.”
“Good. Matches my mood.”
“You were plenty warm this morning,” he muttered under his breath.
“Asshole,” she yelped in outrage, kicking him in the shin and ripping away from his hold.
“That hurt,” He said, hopping on one foot, his hand rubbing at his leg.
“Doubtful.”
He scowled at her and dropped his foot to the ground. “Fine,” he admitted. “It didn’t.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot,” she told him, running a hand down her face to hide the smile threatening to emerge at his antics.
“You like me,” he wheedled, taking a step toward her, his lips quirking up, and she took a quick step back.
“You made me feel cheap this morning,” she warned. “That’s not okay.”
He paused, and his brows drew up in concern. “See, that’s where I’m confused. The way you told it, we’ve been running around blowing things up and blowing off steam together for months.”
“Okay?” she prompted, motioning for him to keep going.
“That’s it,” he said with a shrug, his eyes focused on a spot in the distance five feet to the right of her face.
“You’re lying.”
“You’re mean.”
“I’ve put too much into this to stand around and be lied to because you’re scared,” she snapped.
“Can you think about it from my perspective for a second?”
“The guy who got a nice ‘wake-up’ this morning?” she asked, too angry to feel any shame at using air quotes unironically.
His face flushed red, “You didn’t complain at the time.”
“I didn’t know there was anything to complain about yet!” she shouted. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm down, and ran a hand through her hair. “Explain it,” she said.
“What?”
“Explain it,” she repeated. “You said I need to think about it from your perspective. So help me do that.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it with an audible click. “Really?”
“Fuck, yes. Unless that was for show?”
“No, no.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “No. Okay.” He leaned back on the trunk of the car. “So you’re me, right?”
“Right,” she agreed, and she took the few steps necessary to join him, leaning on the car.
“And you wake up strapped to a chair in a weird bunker in the dark, and you’re scared out of your mind.”
“Sure.”
“And then this dame shows up straight out of pretty much every wet dream you’ve had for the last few years. Except she’s armed to the teeth and spouting off some wild story about how you’re in the future, and you have to fight your way to safety.”
“That would be unsettling,” she said quietly.
He glanced over at her. “She tells you that you’re partners, but you can tell it’s more than that. You don’t know how — but you know.” His eyes were locked on hers. “You’ve never seen her before, but you can feel the brush of her hair against your neck. You’ve never touched her, but you know what her body will feel like pressed to yours. You’ve never kissed her, but you know what she’ll taste like.”
Her breath caught in her chest. “Okay?”
“That day in Minnesota at the base, I just knew you. In a way I can’t even explain, I knew you, and it was terrifying. So I went with you because I was honestly helpless to do anything else, and then you were hurt, and you wanted to tell me the story about past-future me, presumably because of what past-future me wrote you in those files.” He ran a hand down his face.
“I offered to let you read those,” she pointed out.
“I know, I know,” he said, “but imagine competing with yourself. Not just with yourself but with a more experienced version of yourself. A version that’s already saved the girl. Already got the girl, and now I’m here—” He waved a hand down his front and gave her a sardonic grin. “The concession prize.”
“You’re not second place,” she said. “You’re not,” she repeated when he gave her a disbelieving look. “You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to, but I didn’t have to risk my life to get you into that base or run the systems that did that memory wipe. You asked me to, and I did it because I wanted to give that to you. I knew what I was getting into.”
“Did you?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Mostly,” she conceded, crossing her arms over her chest. “Finish explaining.”
Bucky smirked at her. “So the smoking hot dame, that’s you.”
“I picked up on that.”
“Just making sure. So the smoking hot dame, who you have some kind of weird pulp sci-fi novel-worthy connection with, starts explaining an absolutely wild story involving nazis, brainwashing, superheroes, and spycraft. Then you find a letter from yourself that explains that your entire immediate family is dead, and you’ve spent the last 70 years a killer for the bad guys, and bananas are different —”
“I was going to—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted her interruption his voice quiet and his eyes understanding. “The news about the bananas would have been hard to hear on top of everything else.” The corner of his mouth quirked up.
“I tried to tell you that,” she whispered. “Before, I mean.”
He let out a dry laugh. “I bet. So all that news is coming your way, and you’re spending time with the dame, and you’re realizing from the story and everything else that she’s brave and selfless and absolutely brilliant and more than a little reckless. Then you kiss her. And that just fucks up your head even more because the sound she makes when you touch her sets you on fire, and it’s exactly what you thought it would be.”
He let out a rough breath. “And then you find out you’ve been playing around with the dame while running around blowing up nazi bases. Better than that, she tells you ‘we both liked it’ and lists out a dozen wild places you would never have dared to imagine messing around before — “ he trailed off and cut his eyes over to look at her, then pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.
“I don’t—” she started.
“Darcy,” he interrupted her, his voice pleading. “Just let me — Because then you realize the letter from future-past-you was probably right about something else, and it terrifies you all over again. You probably are going to end up falling in love with the girl you don’t remember who’s spent two days telling you stories about you fucking her like she’s reading facts for the evening radio broadcast.”
He was staring down at his boots, a hand rubbing at his chest over his heart. “You can’t look away from her, and it’s fucking horrible because the letter says she’s going to fall in love too, but going to implies the future, and the letter doesn’t say anything about now, so it just sounds like the ramblings of a hopeful schmuck, and you know that’s exactly who you were before the war.”
He lifted his head to look at her. “Which means you’re left thinking that you were — are — will be hung up on a dame who’s way too good for you and was — is maybe all too happy to jump in the sack with you but rightly recognizes that she doesn’t need much else and even though you don’t remember it all, that still stings.”
“Bucky, that’s not—”
He sighed. “I’m not him. I don’t have all that — whatever it was.” He motioned to his head. “To make me useful to you, and I can’t even hope to match your three college degrees. Shit, before the war, I was working 12-hour shifts at the docks making $18 a week. I’ll take what I can get. I assumed I was already taking what I could get. I ain’t no blushing virgin — you told me that we were messing around. And if that’s all it is, that’s fine. I’ve been there before; I know that score. You told me we were messing around, and I want to be what you need, but —”
“Just stop.”
“I’m trying to explain.”
“You have more than explained. My fucking god.” Darcy tore a rough hand through her curls. “You have torn my fucking heart out. Just stop talking.”
“Torn your heart out? I’m spilling my guts here, doll.”
“OH MY GOD!” She leaned forward, her ribs giving a twinge of protest as she touched her forehead to her knees. “Oh my fucking god.” She stood up and stared at him wide-eyed. She felt like she was still struggling to process everything he’d just told her. “I’m an idiot,” she muttered.
“You’re not.”
“You’re an idiot,” she added.
“Well, that seems rude. I’m suffering from a crisis brought on by mental time travel.”
“Shut your mouth!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay.” She pushed off the car and started to pace. She’d gotten distracted. She should have finished their story so he knew everything.
“Doll?
But they’d been making some forward progress and they’d needed to leave the safe house. She’d been so focused on everything else the last 48 hours she’d lost sight of the primary objective.
“Darcy.”
And what was she doing? How could she have overlooked that he would be anxious like this? He had feelings, too. He deserved to be reassured. Well, she deserved better than this morning, but that could be mostly forgiven, considering. She really just wished Jane was here. She hadn’t wanted Jane this badly in months. A night of girl talk would really—
“Darcy!”
“What?” She spun on her heel to face him.
“You’re muttering to yourself.”
“I’m trying to figure out what to do.”
“About?”
“Any of this,” she said, and it suddenly felt so overwhelming. She blinked rapidly against the sting of imminent tears. “I do not want what I am about to say to be misunderstood,” she said carefully, trying very hard to modulate her voice and failing miserably. “Shit, sorry,” she said, wiping furiously at her cheeks with the overlong sleeves of her flannel shirt.
“You drive me crazy with these shirts,” he said, and he pushed off the car to get an arm around her before leaning back, pulling her with him until she was pressed to his chest.
“These shirts?” She looked down at the flannel shirt she was wearing over her leggings. It was one of the same too-big button-down flannels she’d been wearing since that first night. His jokes from that very first night bubbled back up in her memory, and she blushed.
“They’re mine, right?” he asked, straightening the collar.
“Yes,” she admitted, and for some reason, that made it easier to say what she needed to say next. Like the physical proof of the claim she was about to make gave her strength. She sucked in a breath and reached up to cup his face. “I want to tell you the end of the story. The short version. I’ll tell you the long version later, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, sounding uneasy.
“Imagine you’re me, a smoking hot dame.” She smirked at him, and he offered her a weak smile in return. “And you’ve been traveling with this amazing man for months, and you’ve watched him find himself and prove to be kind, thoughtful, brave, selfless, protective, intelligent, generous, and beautiful inside and out —”
“Don’t forget funny.”
“And funny,” she added with an eye roll. “And you’ve fought beside him and with him. And you’ve kissed him and taken him to bed. But one of the fights goes wrong in Indiana, and it gives you both a taste of what life could be like without each other, and you don’t like that, so you take a break from the fight. You start talking about life after the quest. About getting a little farm together. Or maybe new identities and moving back to New York together. Or living in Wisconsin full-time. You’ve —” She swallowed. “You’ve fallen in love with him. With each other,” she said, and his breath was coming fast and shallow.
She wiped at her face again and took a steadying breath. “But there’s always going to be a risk you won’t be safe. That bad men could show up any day and, with the right words and just enough luck, order him to kill you and —” Her voice broke, and his hands tightened on her hips. “He’d do it because he wouldn’t be able to stop himself because of the programming in his head. So he asks you to do one last thing for him before you stop fighting. And even after you find out what it’ll cost —” She has to suck in another deep breath, around a half sob. “He says it’s worth it to keep you safe. To have a chance at a life together.”
“So you agreed to wipe the code words,” he whispered.
“And everything else,” she confirmed. “But not before I promised to tell you the story, the good and the bad.” She pulled the sleeves of the flannel down over her hands. “I miss you,” she admitted. “And I miss him, but he is you. I didn’t fall in love with all the programming Hydra shoved in your head. That’s what I removed. That and 70 years of pain and blood and misery. I fell in love with Bucky Barnes. And I’m not saying this entire situation isn’t weird and complicated. I’m also not saying I was completely prepared for it — I wasn’t. But this morning —” she trailed off.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “I played that wrong. For the record, I wanted to stay in bed with you and kiss you until I couldn’t breathe. We never would have left that house if I hadn’t gotten up when I did.”
“For the record,” she said, “I’m not sure I’m ready for things to just be the way they were right away. I want this.” She gestured between them. “To be real. I want it to have a foundation, and for me, that means you having more than a few days and some instincts to go on.”
His hands tightened on her again, pulling her closer. “All I’m hearing is you saying you really are my girl.”
She laughed. “I’m saying that. I’m also saying I think we should take things slow. I can’t do this morning again. Not with you. You’ve never made me feel like that before. I didn’t like it.”
“I’m sorry.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “It’s not an excuse, but I thought I was doing it in self-defense.”
“I understand now,” she said, and she tucked herself further into his warmth. Sheltering from the wind with his body. “And I appreciate the apology.”
“Can we get back in the nice warm car now?”
“Are you sure you want to? You know it’s still German-made.”
“I take back all the nice things I said about you,” he said into her temple, his arms wrapping tight around her. “You’re a terrible woman.”
“I’m the only one who knows where we’re going.”
“You can come along until I learn how to use the tablet without you.”
“How generous,” she said into his chest with a laugh.
Notes:
Whew, this was a big chapter - honestly, one of the ones I have been the most nervous about. We got that first taste of them getting together again but then all that hard vulnerability that comes after. It was so important to me to give this version of Bucky some depth after we saw it in the last one.
AHHH - I just hope it all worked!
Thank you to everyone who's reading, leaving kudos, and commenting - I love how this series has created a little community, and it's just been the bright spot for me to be able to write these characters and then come here and talk to you all about them. It's genuinely surreal to know this many people want to hear the story I want to tell!
Coming soon: The internet! And Bucky meets a librarian.
Chapter 7: 10.7% More
Summary:
“And if it doesn’t go well?”
“We’ll probably die.”
He rolled his eyes. “Be serious.”
“I am being serious. We’re in rural Wyoming. The librarian is probably packing a bigger gun than you.”
Darcy and Bucky find internet access. The team has breakfast for dinner.
Chapter Text
“A library?”
“They’ll have computers free for public use, and they won’t track who’s using them,” Darcy confirmed.
“Even in a town this small?”
“Yep,” she said, although she understood his skepticism. It had been pure chance that she’d seen the sign when they’d gotten off the main road looking for a diner or truck stop where they could find some food.
Edgerton, Wyoming, was a very small town. It boasted a general store, a post office, one bar, a town hall that looked more like a converted barn, and a population of 153, according to the welcome sign. It was actually the kind of town she worried might be too small, but they had a library. A square white building on the corner of Second St and Cottonwood, right across from a bakery that also appeared to be someone’s house.
“You’re sure about this?” Bucky asked.
“We’re here, and there’s a satellite on the roof promising access to the internet. We might as well give it a shot.”
“And if it doesn’t go well?”
“We’ll probably die.”
He rolled his eyes. “Be serious.”
“I am being serious. We’re in rural Wyoming. The librarian is probably packing a bigger gun than you.”
“Should I bring in a rifle?” he asked, suddenly examining the building with renewed interest.
“No! Goddamn. Get out of the car.” She opened her door, climbing from the car and assuming he would do the same. He joined her at the end of the sidewalk leading into the building. “Normally, when we did covers, we played a married couple on a road trip,” she said quietly.
“See, now that seems like an in-the-car conversation.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying,” he muttered as he dutifully followed her up the walk and into the building.
It was painfully small inside. The tiny foyer opened into a main room with a circulation desk to the left surrounded by floor-to-ceiling shelves loaded with books. To the right were two small alcoves sectioned off by plate glass walls with doors; each room had a small desk and a chair. A sign next to the glass doors read ‘Quiet Room Sign Up.’
She felt her heart drop at the total absence of any visible computers. “Shit,” she hissed.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered.
“No computers.”
“I’ll ask.”
“No, don’t—”
But he was already moving toward the circulation desk and the vulture in cat-eye glasses sitting behind it. Darcy watched as he leaned over the counter and smiled. “Excuse me, miss. My wife and I were hoping to use one of the computers. Could you help us?”
“Computers are for library cardholders. Do you have a library card?” The librarian kept her eyes on the open book in front of her, her gray bun bobbing as she turned the page.
“We’re actually just passing through,” Bucky said, “but we were so excited to see the library here. Such great educational resources.” He smiled so big both his dimples sunk deep into his cheeks just as the ancient librarian looked up for the first time, and Darcy watched her eyes go wide behind her cat-eye glasses before she took them off to polish them on her cardigan and put them back on making her eyes look three times bigger on her face.
“They are good resources. And look at you! What a nice young man. Just traveling through, you said?” She blinked up at him, her head moving back and forth like she was trying to put him in focus. “Oh wait! Wrong glasses.” She pulled the first pair off and dropped them to hang by a chain around her neck before pulling up another pair hanging from a different chain and balancing them on her nose, then blinking even more furiously— “That’s better. Even more handsome! Just traveling through?” she asked again.
“On a road trip,” Bucky agreed, his smile going even wider as he brushed the hair from his eyes. “But we really needed a computer, so we were so excited to see the library. Did you say you had one we could use?”
“We?”
“My wife and I.” Bucky reached back and grabbed Darcy’s hand, dragging her to his side to present her like a prize.
The librarian didn’t even glance at Darcy, her eyes glued to Bucky’s face. “We have the computers,” she agreed. “They insisted we put them in a few years ago. I tried to tell them we didn’t need them, but they overruled me. Can’t stop progress, they said. I suppose we could make an exception to the rules for such a nice young couple.” She batted eyelashes caked in mascara at Bucky.
“We’d really appreciate it,” he said, giving Darcy’s shoulders a squeeze and offering the old librarian a wink. “If you could just point us to them, we’ll get out of your way.”
“They’re in the basement.” The librarian pushed back from her desk. “I’ll show you.”
“You don’t have to—” Darcy was cut off by another squeeze from Bucky.
“That would be lovely, Mrs—?” Bucky asked, and it took everything Darcy had not to roll her eyes at all the sugar in his voice.
“Oh, look at you having such old-fashioned manners.” The librarian let out a delighted laugh. “You can call me Dorothy.” She stood and tipped her head back to look up at Bucky. “And look how tall you are.” She finally glanced over at Darcy. “Aren’t you a lucky one, dear.”
“The luckiest,” Darcy said dryly.
“Right this way,” Dorothy said, and she came around the desk to lead them with tottering steps toward the back corner of the room where there was an opening to some stairs and a sign for the basement ‘Technology Center.’
“Oh, please. Allow me.” Bucky leapt forward to offer Dorothy his right arm. Letting her grip his elbow to help her down the steep stairs. The chivalrous move caused the old woman to let out another twitter of laughter.
“Such a gentleman,” Dorothy said as she leaned into him, probably more than was necessary. “Do you mind if I ask what happened to your other arm? I noticed your glove. My nephew lost his hand in the war, and he wears one just like it.”
Darcy’s pulse skyrocketed; they hadn’t talked about a cover story for the arm, but Bucky answered without pause. “Your nephew and I have that in common. I was injured in the service as well. Prefer to keep it covered.”
“Such a brave young man,” Dorothy said, shaking her head in sympathy, her hand squeezing at his right bicep just a little more than necessary in Darcy’s opinion.
“Just doing my duty, ma’am,” Bucky said as they hit the bottom of the stairs, and Darcy was grateful no one was looking at her because she was having trouble controlling her face. He was laying it on so thick.
“The computer room is just through here,” Dorothy said as they got to the bottom of the stairs. She led them through a basement that was twice the size of the building above toward a glassed-off room with four computers. “Here we are. Now I’ll have to sign you in because you don’t have a card. You’re not looking up anything that’ll get me in trouble, right?” Dorothy let out a girlish giggle that made Darcy’s eyes go wide.
“I would never do anything to get you in trouble,” Bucky said, hand on his heart.
Darcy had to turn her snort into a cough. “Sorry,” she said, “I’ve got a bit of a cold.”
“Let me just get you set up here,” Dorothy continued like Darcy hadn’t spoken, leaning over the nearest computer to tap at the keyboard. “Okay, you’re all logged in. I’ll just be upstairs if you need anything?” It was obvious she didn’t want to leave.
“We can’t thank you enough, Dorothy,” Bucky said, taking one of her hands in both of his. “We’ll come right up if we have any issues.”
“Oh, you are just —” Dorothy was sporting a deep blush. “Such a gentleman. I’ll be right upstairs,” she repeated. “Such a sweetheart. And a veteran!” She turned to Darcy. “Lucky girl,” she said again.
Darcy gave her a closed-lipped smile. “Blessed,” she agreed.
“Thank you again, Dorothy,” Bucky called as the librarian walked away.
Darcy waited until she was sure the elderly woman had made it to the top of the stairs and turned to him. “What the fuck?” she whispered.
“What? You said we were married,” he whispered back.
“That is not the part I am referring to,” Darcy said. “Can you hear her?”
He cocked his head to the side, his face scrunched up in concentration. “She’s upstairs; I think she’s making tea or something. She’s humming.”
“Okay. Close the door.” Darcy nodded to the glass door to the computer room and sat down in front of the computer next to the one Dorothy had logged into.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m getting online.”
“That’s not the one she logged us into.”
“I’m not going to look things up on her account. You promised you wouldn’t do anything to get her in trouble,” Darcy mimicked his sugar-sweet tone and winked at him.
“Okay. Okay. Enough of that,” Bucky warned as he dropped into the chair next to her. “I don’t understand. She said you had to be logged in — wait, what are you doing? How did you make it do that?” He was watching her pull hack through the Windows 7 login screen via the command prompt to add a new admin user to the machine. Fortunately for her, the Edergton library was not advanced enough to have evolved past using the default password system.
“I am bypassing the security to get into the computer without using a known account.” She got to the desktop and then downloaded and set up a VPN she liked that bounced their location every few minutes. “And now I am setting it up so that if anyone identifies us online and tries to track our location, they will see it move every few minutes.”
“Is that something we need to be worried about?” His eyes were locked on the ceiling.
Darcy glanced up as well. “We won’t do anything that will put her at risk,” she reassured. “I was considering checking my email, but I can take that off the list. It’s been four months; what’s a few more weeks?”
“So what are we looking up?”
“Well, I want to look up the situation with the team and do some digging on procedural memory, then we need to look up anything you want to. Friends, the old neighborhood, maybe?” She looked up at him in question.
“I’m good,” he said casually.
“No.”
“What do you mean no?” he asked.
“I mean, you’ve been very uncurious, and that’s a direct contradiction to everything I know about your personality, so what’s going on?”
“I’m good.”
Darcy leaned back in the desk chair. “Liar.”
“I don’t — there’s too much —” he cut himself off and ran a hand down his face.
She sighed. “We don’t have to look up the heavy stuff,” she said gently. “But you’re telling me there’s absolutely nothing you’re interested in? Flying cars? That World Series you mentioned? Anything?”
“Sure. But not together. You could set me up on the other one, right?” he asked.
She nodded slowly. It would be more efficient to use separate machines, but she had a bad feeling about it. If it was what he wanted, though. She pushed back from the desk. “Use this one. I’ll set myself up on another. Here, sit down.”
She waited until he was situated in the chair and then leaned over his shoulder to put his hand on the mouse with her hand over his. “This is the mouse. It moves this little thing on the screen, see.” She pointed at the cursor. “It’s how you click things. Or select them. You click like this.” She pressed on his finger with her own. She guided his hand over to open a browser and clicked into the search bar. “This is the search bar. Type what you want to look up here. Try to type words or phrases, but you can use whole questions. You use the keys.” She pointed at the keyboard.
“Will it really know who won the World Series in 1945?” he asked.
“Let’s find out,” she teased, and she pressed her cheek to his temple, leaning more heavily across his shoulders. “Type it in.” She released his hand from the mouse so he could hunt and peck it into the search bar.
“Now what?” he asked.
“You can either hit enter or click the search button.”
He tapped the enter key, and the search results loaded almost instantly with the Detroit Tigers at the top of the page, complete with a picture of the winning team. “Oh wow,” he breathed.
“Was that your team?” she asked.
“No, they were shit, but pictures just like that,” he said, and he reached out to brush a finger over a screen.
“It’s pretty cool, huh?”
“Incredible.”
“You think you’ve got it for a little bit? I’ll be at this one next to you if you need anything.”
“Yeah,” he said softly.
“Okay.” She pressed her forehead to his temple. “Do me a huge favor?”
He turned his head just enough to meet her eyes. “What’s that?”
“Don’t look up any of the Hydra bases I’ve mentioned or the serum? I’d want to add an extra VPN first, just in case. For security,” she added when he looked confused.
“Okay,” he agreed, and then he darted forward to steal a kiss, a quick peck on the lips.
She pulled back with a laugh. “What the hell?”
“Payment for the favor.”
“You’re pushing your luck today,” she told him, but she squeezed his shoulders, letting her hands trail over his neck as she moved to the next computer to get herself online.
She could hear him pecking away on the keyboard as she got the next computer set up with a new login, bypassing the library’s system and setting up a VPN before pulling up a browser. She needed to look up the team, so of course, she typed ‘procedural memory’ into the search bar and hit enter.
It took some work to get to a set of results that were worth reading. She wasn’t a novice at reading about memory at this point. She didn’t need the WebMD entry on procedural memory, and she certainly wasn’t looking for something she’d expect to find on page one of the search results. She skimmed through the first set of results to find keywords, refined her search, and tried again. Then again. Then again. Until she was using a backdoor into an academic library system on Lexus Nexus to review a paper on the impact of damage to the hippocampus and related structures in the medial temporal lobe on the ability to retain and form procedural memory.
She skimmed it as quickly as she could, trying to absorb what she could and then backing out to find another. Then another. Then another. Then another. She didn’t have time to read them with the level of detail she’d prefer. There wasn’t time. It was just skimming for key points, reading abstracts for the highlights, and then moving on. She hated it a little bit. It left her with only a surface-level understanding, and a lot of the subtlety was lost, but she didn’t have any other choice.
A little over forty-five minutes in, she felt like she knew about fifty percent more than she had before and was still a novice. She’d already understood the difference between short-term, long-term, and procedural memory. But now she could clearly see why the procedural memory would have survived the wipe. It was stored in and controlled by parts of the brain completely outside, although sometimes related to the limbic system. She was also starting to build a theory that would explain why his instincts around her might have been retained despite not being traditionally considered procedural.
In the general sense, for something to become procedural it required expertise. The standard was often set at 10,000 hours based on a theory from Malcolm Gladwell. That made perfect sense for skills like fighting, use of certain weapons, driving, and even the tripwires, but it lost credibility in Bucky’s situation when she considered anything he’d retained from the last few months. Except, there were four factors that were generally accepted as alternatives to having 10,000 hours of experience: the complexity of the task, the individual, the quality of practice, and the conditions of learning.
Essentially, a simple task being completed by someone with an innate ability to learn new skills, practicing it with high precision in a positive emotional state, was more likely to convert that skill into procedural memory. Bucky, with his near-perfect memory thanks to the serum, doing everything with the level of effort he always applied to her specifically while basically making heart eyes—well. Darcy had a feeling the odds were high; he’d converted quite a few things to procedural memory over the last few months.
On top of that, she was very interested to learn that while procedural memories were innately neutral and outside the limbic system, they could have emotions and motivations connected to them via the limbic system.
For example, the procedural memory of how to kiss would generally have emotions linked to it from the limbic system. Almost more critically, one paper suggested that procedural memories learned in emotionally charged situations could be stronger and more persistent than others.
It was all coming together in a messy picture in her mind, suggesting that while she may have successfully wiped a bunch of memories and programming out of his mind with the chair, she’d left behind more than she’d thought — far more.
Bucky said he’d known what she’d taste like before he kissed her. That he’d known what noise she’d make when he gripped her neck. He’d remembered how to set up the trip wires, but he’d never seen tech like that before in 1945, and he’d instinctively saved her with his metal arm on the battlefield in Minnesota. None of those things were entirely procedural memories, but they were tied to procedural memories. They were more like traces of long-term memory linked to procedural memories.
So what if the procedural memories were acting as a new set of markers for his brain to heal around?
She leaned away from the computer with the thought, glancing over at him. Bucky was still looking at his own monitor, his eyes glued to the screen, scanning back and forth, reading something she couldn’t see. She pressed a palm to her stomach and tried to control her breathing.
It wouldn’t bring everything back. The original theory had been that the programming placed by Hydra over the last 70 years had been acting almost like markers or waypoints in his mind. Helping his brain heal after every wipe in the MSM chair. Giving his neural pathways something to recover to over and over again— marking his way back to himself each time. When she wiped him back to a blank slate and removed it all, she’d basically removed all those markers and, therefore, any chance of that healing happening.
They’d thought.
But what if his serum-rich brain—his beautiful, enhanced brain was just finding a new way around it? Procedural memory was stored in the Basal Ganglia and Cerebellum, parts of the brain not touched by the MSM chair but linked to the Limbic system. Could his brain be trying to use those procedural memories as a way to heal, referencing them as waypoints?
He would remember. He would remember.
She leaned forward again. Her elbows dropped to the desk as she buried her head in her hands. He would remember. She didn’t think the programming would come back. She was confident of that, but if he was remembering based on procedural memories and most of his procedural skills were based around weapons and violence, then — “Oh no,” she whispered. Was he getting back the memories of her first because of exposure? Was he going to be flooded with 70 years of blood and violence the minute she put a gun back in his hands?
She pressed her palms into her eyes until she saw sparks behind her lids.
She looked up to check the time. They’d been down here for just over an hour. That meant they probably had another fifteen minutes max before Dorothy got nosy, and Darcy still needed to look up the team. She forced herself to compartmentalize all this new information and closed all her browser tabs to open a new one.
Avengers alive — went into the search bar, and she hit return.
“You almost ready?” Bucky’s voice made her jump so high she almost fell out of her chair.
“You scared me. Shit—” She scrambled to find her mouse on the screen as the results of her search started to load.
“What are you looking up now—oh—” He’d gotten up to lean over her shoulder. “They faked their deaths to draw Hydra out. An orchestrated plan, they called it.”
Darcy looked back at him in surprise. “You already looked them up?”
“I looked Steve up,” he admitted. “He looks good in the future.”
“He does,” she agreed carefully, studying Bucky’s face closely. His eyes were red, his face pinched and closed off. He looked drained. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Fine,” he said quickly. He tapped on her screen. “That’s the best article. There’s a video at the top of a press conference they had.”
Darcy turned back to the screen. “They called it an orchestrated plan?” she asked weakly.
“Yeah,” he said, and his hands rubbed at her shoulders like he knew she was going to need his support. “Like I said, punk looks good. I think something is going on with him and Howard’s boy, though.”
Darcy snorted and clicked on the link. The article loaded with a video at the top. She scrolled past the video to skim over the high points of the article quickly. Bucky’s hands stayed heavy and warm on her shoulders.
Avengers announce their survival.
Stayed hidden as part of an orchestrated plot to try and draw Hydra out of hiding in coordination with other government agencies after attack on Stark Tower.
Thor arrives on Earth!
Tony Stark pledges to continue donations to the clean-up efforts and double rebuilding budgets.
The end of Hydra in sight.
Darcy stared at the screen with her mouth open. An orchestrated plot — just like he’d said. She scrolled back up to the video and looked around for speakers, but the library computers didn’t have any.
“I watched it without sound,” Bucky said from behind her, reading her mind. “You can mostly tell what’s going on.”
Darcy hit play and watched as Pepper Potts appeared in full color at a podium in front of the old Stark Mansion on Fifth Avenue, the team in a line behind her.
The camera was focused on Pepper, but Darcy kept looking at the team. Steve was scanning the crowd like he was searching for someone, his eyes darting around anxiously even though his hands were steady in fists on his hips. Tony was standing close to him, almost too close.
“That’s Howard Stark’s son, right?” Bucky asked, pointing at Tony. “Looks a little like him.”
“It is.”
“This next part was really confusing, but I’m guessing it’s that Norse god you mentioned.”
Darcy practically held her breath as the camera suddenly shook and panned rapidly to the side just in time to capture shaky footage of Thor and Jane. She couldn’t hold back her gasp at the sight of Jane, sweet best friend Jane, picking herself up off the pavement and brushing off her jeans as Thor literally hoisted an ABCNews cameraman back onto his feet.
Thor put the cameraman down, and the crowd swarmed, more cameras flashing as he pulled what looked like a gold brick from his pack and handed it to the dazed-looking cameraman before patting him on the head and offering his arm to Jane. Darcy slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggle.
“Does he always just carry gold around like that?” Bucky asked from behind her, and Darcy hit pause on the video to tip her head back and look up at him.
“Yes,” she said. “He does. He’s a prince,” she added like that made it any more logical.
“Hmmm,” Bucky hummed.
She hit play and the camera panned back to the stage, and Darcy slapped the spacebar to pause it again, her eyes locked not on Thor and Jane, who were at the center of the shot, but on Steve and Tony. The camera had caught them on the very edge of the frame. Tony was shouting something, looking annoyed, but it was Steve, who Darcy couldn’t stop staring at. Steve, who had a hand on Tony’s lower back.
“See what I mean?” Bucky asked.
“Yeah,” Darcy said wistfully. “Steve had a crush on him. Well, they had— they liked each other. They were dancing around it before everything happened. Maybe they finally figured it out.” She looked back at Bucky again. “Does that bother you?”
“Does what bother me?”
“Steve being with a guy.”
“What? No.” He looked offended. “Steve’s been with lots fellas.”
Darcy’s eyes went wide. She had not known that. “Oh.”
“Just surprised about Howard’s kid, is all. Cradle robbing. I mean, the punk was chasing Frank Goodson around the neighborhood when the Stark boy wasn’t even a twinkle in his father’s eye.” Bucky shrugged.
Darcy grinned. “You’re older than my dad would be if he were still alive.” She told him.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Bucky hissed, looking around like someone might have overheard.
“I’m just saying,” she laughed and turned back to the screen.
She hit play and watched as Steve ripped his hand away like he’d realized he was in the frame of a live camera shot. Tony turned back to him, and Steve shook his head. Tony rolled his eyes, and then Clint walked in front of them. To anyone else, it would have looked like an accident, but Darcy had spent too much time with the team to mistake the move for anything other than intentional misdirection. Clint and Nat were very good at what they did.
Pepper regained control. There was more talking. Steve stepped up and read a statement. There was waving. Thor said a few words, and the crowd went wild.
“That’s the end of it,” Bucky said.
“So they’re alive and claiming they did it all on purpose.”
“Seems like.”
“Sounds like bullshit,” she said.
“Sounds like a Steve Rogers doing something for the greater good special.”
“Well, obviously.” Darcy leaned back in the desk chair, letting her head rest on his stomach so she could look up at him. “I know he’s your best friend, but they’re all my family, and until five days ago, I thought they were all dea—” her voice failed her as her throat closed up.
“Time to go?”
She nodded, her head bumping against his stomach.
“I’ll go up and deal with Dorothy. You slip out,” he said, and he looked like the last thing he wanted to do was deal with a smitten old woman.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, and he gave her a closed-lipped smile. “See you in the car.” He brushed a hand over her hair and left the room.
“Definitely something wrong,” Darcy muttered to herself as she reset all the computers, wiping any proof of their presence from the hard drives and the memory, and logged everything out before physically wiping them all down to remove fingerprints. She gave everything one last look and then followed him through the basement and up the stairs.
She could hear Bucky talking to Dorothy when she got to the top of the stairs. The old woman let out a high-pitched laugh, and Bucky’s lower voice replied. Darcy emerged into the small main library and thought about following the plan. She could head straight for the car, but she could see Bucky’s back from here. The slumped set of his shoulders and the way his head was hanging low even as he was trying to make Dorothy laugh.
She crossed the room and slipped an arm around his waist, tucking her head into his chest. “Ready to go, baby?” she asked, looking up to give him a smile.
Bucky looked down at her, and he didn’t bother to hide the surprise on his face. “Uh, yeah.” He looked back up at Dorothy. “Looks like we need to hit the road. Thank you again for everything.”
“Oh, well, if you’re sure you don’t need directions.” Dorothy waved her hands and smiled at Bucky.
“Thank you, but we’ve got it,” Darcy said, and she slid her hand down to tangle her fingers with Bucky’s already turning for the door, pulling him along with her, all too happy to play the rude wife to his charming husband cover.
“Drive safe,” Dorothy called after them.
“Will do,” Bucky said as he trailed behind Darcy to the door.
They exited out into the weak Wyoming sunlight, and Darcy didn’t drop his hand as she led him toward the car.
—
Eighteen hundred miles away in Manhattan, Steve Rogers was sitting at the kitchen island in Stark mansion, trying to force himself to enjoy watching Clint make chocolate chip pancakes while he loudly sang an offkey morning opera he claimed was Nat’s favorite.
Steve had doubts.
“Do you think he knows pancake mix doesn’t need added baking soda?” Bruce asked as he refilled Steve’s glass of orange juice.
“No,” Steve said. “It’s best to just let him do it, though. If this goes anything like the Cheer Steve up Reubens of two days ago and the Happy Steve Gyros of yesterday, it’ll all work out.”
“I don’t see how,” Bruce said, watching in horror as Clint gleefully started stirring up the batter with heavy whipping cream.
“Don’t think about it too much. It works in the end.” Steve took a sip of his orange juice and glanced toward the patio where his sometimes neurotic boyfriend was arguing with Pepper about not attending a board meeting now that he was officially alive again.
“Has Tony also been trying to cheer you up?” Bruce asked.
“Endlessly.” Steve rolled his eyes as he watched Clint throw a handful of mixed blueberries and chocolate chips into the batter with a maniacal laugh. “Have you made any progress on the files from the Minnesota base?” Steve asked, looking away from what was surely an imminent culinary disaster.
“Yes, actually,” Bruce said.
“Really?” Steve leaned forward over the table. He’d been trying not to mope, but he’d been failing. “What have you found? Do you know where they are? Or what to do?”
“Not where they are — or, well, Tony is handling that part, and we haven’t checked in today yet. But looking into the files from the MSM chair, I can confirm Darcy managed to set everything up properly based on our early notes and almost certainly managed to remove the programming.”
“And then his memories?” Steve asked his heart in his throat.
Bruce shook his head. “Likely gone, or at least we have nothing to suggest our original hypothesis about that was incorrect. Except for the power surge—”
They were interrupted by a hiss, a woosh, and a startled shout from Clint as flames erupted from the stovetop. The frying pan Clint had been holding went flying, Bruce’s face only saved by Steve’s quick reaction time as he caught it in midair.
“I got it! I got it!” Clint shouted as he rained down baking soda over the burners while simultaneously turning off the gas at the knobs.
“What the hell?” Tony was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, hands on his hips. “I said you could cook Robin Hood, not burn the house down. Did you almost take out Brucie? We cannot lose another superhero hideout to the Hulk. You good?” Tony said the last part to Bruce directly, and it almost sounded sincere.
“I’m fine, Tony,” Bruce said. “Is the gas off?”
“Yes!” Clint said, “And I managed to save the batter. So all is not lost.” Clint pumped his fist in the air.
“Wouldn’t have wanted to lose the batter,” Steve said dryly, and he set the frying pan down on the island. He cocked his head to the side, the distant sound of sirens echoing up Fifth Avenue already. “Tony, does the gas line here have auto fire detection?”
“Yeah, why—”
“On it,” Pepper said, phone to her ear as she moved through the kitchen toward the front of the house.
“Fire department?” Bruce asked.
“I can hear the sirens,” Steve said just as they became audible to everyone else.
“Well, Pep will handle it,” Tony said. “And then probably give herself another raise.” He sat down on Steve’s other side.
“Pancakes! The pancakes will help!” Clint said.
“Pancakes!” Thor’s booming voice announced his arrival seconds before he entered the room, trailed by Jane. “We are having breakfast for dinner? I love breakfast for dinner day!”
“We are!” Clint cried.
“Why does it smell like smoke?” Jane asked as she dumped a stack of papers in front of Bruce. “The data you asked for,” she said absently.
“Oh, thank you,” Bruce started to shuffle through the papers.
“Is that?” Steve peered over.
“Yes.” Bruce didn’t look up from the pages. “Oh, this is interesting. So, this confirms what I was saying before. The power surge didn’t just interrupt the process with the MSM chair in Minnesota; it added power to it.”
“Which means?” Steve asked urgently.
“Well, our original hypothesis and the notes Darcy had access to from Tony’s server would have set her up to wipe Bucky’s programming and memories back to a blank slate. Should have put him back to about 1948. Based on this data and my own calculations, the power surge would have overshot that.”
“Overshot it?”
“Extra power means extra brain manipulation and memory loss,” Jane interjected. “About 10.7% more from what I can tell.”
“Which would mean?”
“He would think it’s about 1945,” Bruce said.
“Holy shit,” Tony said.
“Holy shit,” Steve echoed.
“I am not sure I understand. The pancakes are never crispy at the House of Pancakes,” Thor said from across the room.
“It’s for flavor,” Clint insisted.
“He thinks it’s 1945?” Steve asked.
“I’m sure Darcy disabused him of that notion very quickly,” Jane said with a shrug.
“Right,” Steve said weakly. “He thinks it’s 1945,” he whispered. He would be the Bucky from 1945. The Bucky from before all the terrible things Hydra did. From before everything.
“There’s a lot of data to still be analyzed, but we’re making good progress. I feel really positive about the likelihood we can help him when he comes in. No matter what it is he wants,” Bruce said.
“That’s good. That’s good,” Steve said absently, but he felt like he’d been blindsided. If Bucky didn’t remember any of the bad of the last 70 years, why would he want—
“The fire department is not amused,” Nat breezed into the kitchen, the sound of sirens chasing her into the room and cutting off Steve’s thoughts. “Clint, you should probably go help Pep.”
“Aw, fire, no.” Clint shoved the spatula into Thor’s hand and raced out of the kitchen.
Nat waited until the front door slammed shut and then ducked back out into the hallway and reappeared with four giant bags from a cafe up the street. “Quickly now.”
“What is happening?” Bruce asked.
“Ah, right, you’re usually in the lab for this part,” Tony said. “Just like every other time, team! Go. Go! I’ve got the plates!” He started pulling plates down and setting them up around the island.
Steve jumped to his feet and darted around the island to rip open the hidden cabinet trash can. “I’ve got the finished ones.” He grabbed black pucks masquerading as pancakes, dumping them all into the trash.
“I’ve got the griddle.” Nat took the spatula from Thor and cleared the griddle. Then started unloading to-go boxes from the bags she’d brought in and quickly swapped out Clint’s horror show cooking for stacks of perfect fluffy chocolate chip pancakes onto the plates and the griddle.
“Bacon?” Jane asked, already standing by the oven with a pan.
“Last two boxes,” Nat said.
Jane nodded, grabbing the boxes, and she started dumping bacon onto the pans before shoving them into the oven and hitting start on the reheat setting.
“The trash. The trash!” Nat warned as she started shoving empty to-go boxes into bags and then all of them into the trash can. Steve shoved it all down and then closed the bag, ripping it from the can to hide the evidence. He heard the front door open and the clicking of Pepper’s heels on the foyer floor. Clint’s excited voice getting closer.
“Quick,” he hissed.
“Throw it here,” Tony snapped, already darting toward the patio doors.
Steve tossed the full trash bag across the kitchen to Tony, who caught it and flung it out of sight onto the patio before slamming the door shut.
“You think they’d be more used to this kind of thing,” Clint was saying as he reentered the room with Pepper.
“I think they were very nice until you tripped and pulled an entire hose off the truck,” Pepper said with a tight smile.
“Honest mistake,” Clint shrugged.
“Something smells good in here.” Pepper changed the subject.
“Cheer Steve up chocolate chip pancakes will fix it!” Clint crowed. “Oh good.” He darted over to the griddle. “You didn’t let them burn.” He took the spatula back from Thor and scraped the last few pancakes off the griddle, plating them. “Looks like they’re all done. Is everyone ready to eat? There’s some batter left if we need more.”
“No!”
“Nope!”
“We’re good. There’s plenty.” Steve said.
Everyone grabbed their plates and utensils. Tony got the syrup out. Jane pulled the bacon from the oven, now warm and just the right amount of crispy. They all gathered around the island and started to dig in.
“This is great! Everyone all here together,” Clint said as he dropped into a seat next to Nat, one chair down from Steve.
Conversation picked up, and Steve started to eat, letting the aruging and the laughter wash over him. Tony and Jane were practically shouting at each other about the validity of some new theory published the week before. Thor was trying to convince Bruce to try picking up his hammer as the Hulk. Pepper was attempting to referee Tony while simultaneously convincing him he did, in fact, need to go to his upcoming board meeting.
This was his team. Steve loved his team. They were his family. He just missed the two members who were still not present. He let his eyes trail down to the empty chairs at the far end of the kitchen island on the other side of Nat and Clint. He missed them. And he knew he was the one that sent them — Steve pushed that thought down and looked down at his pancakes. His not made by Clint pancakes, which had him glancing back over at the two spies who were being suspiciously quiet.
Clint was chewing thoughtfully, a piece of bacon between his fingers. He finished it, then, in a rare show of public affection, leaned over to rest his forehead on Nat’s temple and whispered low enough that Steve wouldn’t have been able to hear without his enhanced senses. “You’re slipping паук; I wasn’t making bacon.”
Nat’s expression didn’t change as she turned her head to press a quick kiss to Clint’s lips. “Not slipping,” she whispered back, “I wanted bacon.”
Clint’s laugh in response was loud and contagious, even over the chatter of the rest of the team.
This was Steve’s family. He’d put it back together. No matter what.
Notes:
A note on science: I did a lot of research when writing this fic. A lot of what's described in this chapter about how procedural memory works is accurate to the best of my knowledge. That said, the way I am using procedural memory in this fic and the idea that it can be used as a way to heal from a traumatic brain injury in this way is science fiction. So take from all of this what you will.
Well, Bucky and Darcy finally got to use the internet to learn some things. Bucky seems to be making new friends wherever he goes with his 1945 charms, and we had a fun check-in with the team! I can't resist an opportunity to write about disaster Clint - and I love the idea of the entire team indulging him like this LOL
Thank you all for the incredible reaction to the last chapter! You're all amazing!!! We're a little over halfway through at this point, so there's still a lot of fun left to go.
Coming up next: What else did Bucky look up online?
Chapter 8: Socks
Summary:
“You barely talked to me after we left the library yesterday.”
“I was processing some things.”
“I asked if you wanted more spaghetti at dinner, and you compared me to Mussolini.”
“I was having a bad night.”
“You didn’t have to bring Italian dictators into pasta night.”
“Won’t happen again.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Darcy and Bucky run into some old enemies.
Notes:
tw: canon typical violence, discussions of brainwashing
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The cabin was remote. Very remote. It was set at the top of a foothill with a long private drive. It was bigger than the last few safe houses, with a more traditional layout. A formal front living room that opened via an archway into a dining room and then split off into a bigger den and a galley kitchen that had access to a massive raised back deck. There was a hallway between the kitchen and den at the back of the house that led to the bedrooms.
Darcy was currently staring out the kitchen picture window at the striking mountain view, where a dusting of snow was sticking to the brown grass in the steep backyard. She could just see a stream at the bottom of the hill. It was disgustingly picturesque.
They’d gotten in after dark the night before after five hours of driving from Edgerton through the foothills and up into the peaks just outside Yellowstone National Park. She had not enjoyed the way the main road turned to gravel more than a mile out from the house and then to dirt before the actual driveway.
It had been a long, quiet ride. One made longer by the need to take a second detour to find a store where they could stock up some of their basic supplies, including bottled water and shelf-stable foods. She had tried to engage Bucky, despite her own worries, going so far as to attempt to bribe him by pointing out the entire aisle of modern candy in the general store where they’d stopped, but he remained tight-lipped and moody until he claimed he was tired and disappeared into the bedroom he’d claimed for himself hours earlier than usual.
Now, it was barely an hour after dawn, and Darcy was up with a cup of the instant coffee she’d settled for when the store didn’t have any of the good stuff. She pulled her sweater tighter around herself and blew on her mug, wrapping her fingers more firmly around the warm ceramic. The further up the mountains they went, the colder it was going to get. The snow was pretty, at least.
It was probably starting to warm up back in Manhattan. Spring would be starting to show up. That meant Clint would be getting antsy about going to the park more often, and Nat would have to remind him that he was an adult who couldn’t spend all his afternoons in Sheep Meadow chasing dogs. Bruce would be switching to lighter teas in the afternoon. Steve would start running without his jacket, which meant Page Six would be only a few weeks away from publishing their annual Steve Rogers running in compression shirts photo spread.
Jane would be talking about the new star charts.
Darcy leaned forward over the counter, pushing her mug out in front of her and resting her forehead on the cold butcher block. They were alive. They were alive. They were alive, and they’d been alive the entire time, and they’d let her think they were dead.
She let out a slow exhale.
She wasn’t an idiot. She knew for most of the last few months, she and Bucky had made it almost impossible to find them. She knew the window for the team to tell her they were still alive would have been narrow, but it had existed. They also could not have faked their deaths in the first place. Steve could not have sent her out into the cold with Bucky to begin with.
The sound of soft footfalls down the hall had Darcy pushing herself up off the counter as Bucky entered the kitchen. He was still in his pajamas, low-slung flannel pants, and a loose t-shirt, his hair a mess, pillow creases on his face. His socks didn’t match. He didn’t look armed, the now familiar line of his clip-in hip holster missing from his silhouette. If something happened — if they were attacked right now, he wouldn’t be able to run on these slippery hardwood floors in socked feet.
She watched him stumble to the extra mug she’d set out next to the coffee supplies. This version of Bucky was not a morning person. The pre-wipe one hadn’t really been either, he’d just covered it up with mission parameters, but he’d always looked pissed about it. Cup of instant coffee messily made, he leaned against the counter across from her, eyes firmly focused on the floor. She let the silence in the kitchen build until the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
“You’re making this awkward,” she said, her voice still raspy with sleep.
He scoffed. “I’m not the one who didn’t come to bed last night,” he muttered into his mug, sending a jolt through Darcy that woke her right up.
“What?”
“You didn’t come to bed,” he repeated.
“I definitely went to my bed?” she said, confusion in every word.
His brows drew up in confusion and then flattened out. “Right.”
“No. No.” She put her coffee down and took a step toward him. “We’re done with the not talking. Explain.”
He shook his head, rubbing at his mouth with one hand, the other reaching back to put his coffee on the counter. “It’s nothing. Just thought —” he trailed off, his eyes dropping back to his sock-covered feet.
“You barely talked to me after we left the library yesterday.”
“I was processing some things.”
“I asked if you wanted more spaghetti at dinner, and you compared me to Mussolini.”
“I was having a bad night.”
“You didn’t have to bring Italian dictators into pasta night.”
“Won’t happen again.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
His lip quirked up, and he looked at her through his shaggy hair. “It probably won’t happen again,” he corrected.
“But you thought I was coming to bed?”
“Bad day doesn’t change everything.” He shrugged, and she sighed.
He was right, of course. A bad day didn’t change everything, but she hadn’t thought the one night meant they were back to permanent bed-sharing. At the same time, though, she would love it. She’d missed him in bed. Waking up cold this morning had been such a disappointment. Waking up without him was always a disappointment.
He was watching her with a mix of want and apprehension in his eyes, his bottom lip caught in his teeth, like he wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. It was so different from the confidence that had been present a day before. She felt concern swirl through her chest. She just wanted to —
She pushed off the counter and took the two steps to cross the narrow kitchen and slump into his chest. He caught her with a soft oomph. Her ribs twinged as she stretched up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck and tuck her face into warm skin under his jaw.
“I didn’t know I was supposed to come to bed with you.”
“Doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he said, and his hands on her hips clenched, then gently guided her back a step. “Gave me time to do some thinking, anyway.”
She frowned. That was not the reaction she’d expected. “That was not — Okay. Thinking about what?”
“I — I —” He was staring at her mouth. “Yesterday, you said you fell in love with my character, but I —” His mouth snapped shut, and she took a full step back, out of his reach.
“Okay. So here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to make toast, put extra peanut butter on yours, and then we’re going to go sit outside on the tiny little deck, and you’re going to manage a complete sentence. Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Great.” She clapped her hands together with forced cheer. “Why don’t you go find a blanket or an extra coat for me because not all of us are cold-resistant.”
“Sure.”
She waited until he’d left the kitchen to turn on her heel and collapse forward over the counter again, letting her forehead thump onto the scrubbed wood. What was going on with him? Yesterday, he’d been almost cocky, stealing kisses at the library and then. And then. And then they’d gotten online, and he’d had access to the internet. He’d looked up Steve?
She sucked in a breath.
He’d looked up himself. Of course, he’d looked up himself. Everyone looked themselves up when they got access to a search engine for the first time, and he had more reason than most not to like what he found.
She pushed herself up to hover over the counter, and the position made her chest ache. Almost two weeks ago, she’d been in this exact position in a very different house, except he’d been behind her, and he’d put his hands on her hips, and he’d fucked her until she’d come so hard she’d literally passed out — she squeezed her eyes shut.
Nope.
No time for that. She needed to find out what was going on with Bucky, share what she’d found out about his memory, sort out this latest wrinkle in their relationship, and then deal with her still unresolved feelings about the team. In that order.
It wasn’t as cold as she expected on the deck, but she was still glad for the wool coat Bucky dropped over her shoulders when she backed out of the deck door, a plate of peanut butter toast in one hand and a carafe of instant coffee in the other. He took the plate from her before she made it to the table and then pulled out her chair for her.
“Such a gentleman,” she said, mimicking Dorothy, the librarian’s high-pitched over-the-top tone.
“She was a nice old lady,” he said gruffly, and he dropped into the seat next to her, shuffling his chair around until they were both facing the view. “It’s pretty here. Like the Alps.”
She forced a smile. “I forgot you would have seen so much of Europe in the war.”
“Not so much.” He shrugged and grabbed a piece of toast. “Seen more since, apparently.”
“So you looked yourself up on Google,” she said, and she tugged his coat tight around herself.
“Seemed the right place to start.”
“What’d you find?”
“I’m wanted for war crimes by almost every NATO country.”
“That’s true,” she agreed, pouring herself another cup of coffee.
“I tried to kill Steve.”
“You did.”
“I helped blow up three flying ships over Washington DC.”
“You did.”
“I was an assassin for Hydra.”
“You were.”
“I’ve killed a lot of people.”
“You have.”
“I’m one of the most hated men in the world.”
“I’d reframe that into misunderstood.”
“This isn’t a joke,” he snapped, throwing his half-eaten toast down onto the plate.
“I wasn’t aware I’d said anything funny.” She tried to keep her voice level.
“You just have an answer for everything.”
“You want me to sit here in silence while you whine about it?”
“Whining? You think I’m whining about how I was used to murder people? What the fuck, Darcy!” He stood up so fast that his chair tipped over.
“Sit down.”
“Don’t tell me —”
“Sit. Down,” she snapped, her voice laced with every bit of authority she could manage.
His jaw clenched, but he bent over to pick up his chair and threw himself down into it, looking furious.
“Thank you,” she said, and she poured him a cup of coffee, pushing it in front of him. “So, you looked yourself up and didn’t like what you found.”
“In what universe would I possibly like what I found?”
“You knew you’d been used as an assassin by Hydra five minutes after you woke up in that chair. It was one of the first things I told you.”
“You didn’t tell me the rest.”
“The helicarrier nonsense wasn’t relevant, and honestly, it was kind of cool. I did tell you I saw you jump over a helicopter, and that happened around the same time,” she mused. He gave her an incredulous look. She sighed. “I haven’t had time to tell you everything.”
“You didn’t tell me I was despised by half the world.”
“How would that have helped anyone.”
“I have a right to know.”
“A right to know what? That half the world are morons? It’s not exactly breaking news.” She couldn’t keep the frustration from her voice. She’d expected guilt or some of the self-flagellation from before, but not this blame for her not sharing everything.
“You were supposed to tell me,” he said stubbornly.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “I was supposed to tell you? Says who?”
“Says me,” he snapped, pulling a well-worn envelope from his hoodie pocket. He ripped open the flap and shuffled through the pages. “Darcy will tell you the rest when you’re ready or you ask. Keep Darcy safe. Follow her. That’s the mission. She’ll do the rest,” he read, then folded the pages back up and glared at her.
She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “It says that?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” she whispered, blinking back tears. “I’m sorry I let you down then. I didn’t realize I needed to recount every murder you did for Hydra. I do have a list if you want it. I actually have your entire Hydra file if you want to read it.” She stopped talking before her voice could break.
“I deserve to know what happened to me. Who I am—”
“That’s not who you are,” she hissed, interrupting him, and she could tell the vitriol in her voice surprised him. “The point of this. The entire point of all of this.” She waved a hand around at their remote surroundings. “Is that none of that, is who you are. I thought I’d made that endlessly clear with the story and yesterday, explaining why we did this. Why we risked everything to get that shit out of your head in the first place.”
He had his head cocked to the side, a confused look on his face. “Truck.”
“Are you having a fucking stroke?” she asked, rocking back in her chair.
“No,” he said, sounding distracted, “This is the only house up this road, right?”
“Yes,” she said, and her heart was starting to pound in her chest.
“I can hear a truck on the gravel part of the drive,” he said.
“Go!” She was already out of her chair, lunging for the sliding glass door into the kitchen, Bucky hot on her heels. “Just essentials!” she shouted as she scrambled down the back hall to the room she’d claimed the night before. She could hear his socked feet slipping on the wood floors, followed by the bang of him hitting a wall. Fucking, of course.
Nothing had changed about how she lived on the road despite not sharing a room with him. Her backpack and the heavy armored vest were sitting ready to go by the bedroom door. Still, she wasted precious seconds to race across the room for the tablet on the nightstand, shoving it in her bag.
Bucky was already in the hallway when she rushed out of the bedroom door, wearing her backpack and holding her armor in one hand. He’d pulled on tactical pants and stepped into his boots; his own armor was already on over his hoodie, and he was doing up the last of the buckles. “They’re past the gravel road, on the dirt drive in front. We need to go out the back.” He grabbed her hand and practically took her arm out of the socket as he yanked her down the hall.
“Stop.” She caught him just before he turned them into the kitchen as a shadow dressed in black passed in front of the sliding door to the deck.
“Shit,” he hissed, tucking them back around the corner, his body pressing hers to the wall. She could hear the truck now. “Where did the ones out back come from?” he whispered.
But she could hear it. The low whine you wouldn’t notice unless you knew what it was. Easily mistaken for the sound of an air conditioner or another appliance by someone not used to the twenty-first century. They’d come in on a quinjet. She pointed up and saw his eyes go wide.
“Shit,” he whispered again.
“Plane,” she mouthed.
He nodded. They were between the kitchen and the den, mostly hidden from view at the back of the house, but they’d end up sitting ducks for anyone coming in the front door. If this team had aerial support, they might be sitting ducks anyway, but there was no way they were going down without a fight. Their best bet was to get onto the deck and take the stairs to ground level to get into the trees on foot. They’d be harder to spot that way, although without a car, it would be a long walk back to civilization, and they’d be giving up a lot of supplies.
She took quick stock. Bucky had his bag, which meant he was pretty well-armed. She had two SIGs in her backpack and another pistol. He had one of the automatic rifles over his shoulder. It was something, at least, but half the good stuff was in the car. Along with most of the money. Fuck.
They’d still have to get through anyone who was out there.
He tapped her shoulder and pointed to the deck, clearly having had the same thought. Then he looked her over and did a double take, his eyes going wide then narrowing in frustration. He glanced toward the front of the house again and seemed to make a decision. Reaching down, he ripped her armored vest from her hand, and she suddenly found herself being manhandled out of her backpack and coat before the vest was roughly shoved over her head, and he started to do up the velcro straps.
She could hear heavy boots on the front walkway. He kept going, slapping the last thick piece of velcro into place before picking up her coat and forcing her arms back into it, ignoring her silent struggles to do it herself.
“Get your fucking gun out and stay behind me,” he said as he turned back around; he moved them forward until they were ducked behind the wall that separated the front room and the dining room. He leveled his gun at the front door.
Apparently, the plan had changed. She pulled both SIGs from the front pocket of the backpack, tucking one in each coat pocket; she put the backpack on and hid herself firmly behind Bucky’s bulk.
“You have the car keys?” he asked.
“Yes, but what if they disabled it?”
“Too late to go out the back,” he said. He reached around and took one of her hands, putting it on his body armor, his fingers guiding hers to grip a strap near his waist on the left side. Her brain pinged with memories of reading the Winter Soldier protectee fighting protocols, and her stomach turned over with nerves. “Gun out. Stay right behind me,” he said quietly. She nodded; she got one of the SIGs out and made sure she could reach the spare. Her finger trembled on the trigger.
And then it started.
The two dining room windows to their right shattered. She screamed as silver canisters skittered across the floor, and Bucky dropped his hold on the rifle, letting it hang from the strap on his shoulder to spin on his heel and grab the open sides of her too-big coat, pressing the rough wool over her ears so hard it hurt as he shoved her face into the hard armor covering his chest. “Close your eyes,” he shouted.
The sharp bang of the stun grenades filled the house, shattering the glass in the nearby china hutch, and she screamed again, her body rocking into his as his hands went painfully tight around her head over the layer of her coat.
Then the pressure was gone.
He was moving. Fast. Like he hadn’t just been exposed to two stun grenades without any cover. She was still reeling from even the partial exposure, but he was spinning again, his gun back in his hands.
The front door blew off its hinges, flying across the living room to hit the far wall, and Bucky pressed her more firmly between his body and the dining room wall they were hiding behind. The sound of gunfire filled Darcy’s ears, layered over the muffled ringing that seemed like it would never end. Her hand was still reflexively wrapped around the strap in his armor, so when he moved, so did she. His back became her whole world as she tried to regain her senses.
She blinked rapidly as everything started to move back into focus. Bucky was ducking around their cover to fire on four men at the front door. There was movement from the broken windows to her right, and she raised her arm and fired at it before Bucky could shift his focus. The man in full combat gear trying to come through the dining room window fell back, a bullet in his neck.
A loud bang came from the kitchen, and Darcy could taste bile in the back of her throat. She turned to look behind them, but so far, no one was coming up the hallway. Thank god. They’d be trapped in the middle.
They needed to move.
Another movement from the windows to the right. She fired — a miss. Automatic fire scattered across the top of the dining room table, sending up chips of dark stained wood. Drywall exploded near her face, close enough that she could taste it with her next breath. She fired again. The man at the window fell back with a shout.
There was a scream of pain from the front door, and Bucky dropped the rifle to hang at his side, reaching back to pull one of his smaller guns from a holster on his bag. The gun was in his right hand, and his left arm came back, his hand groping for her hip. He glanced back at her, looking scared but resolute.
She nodded at him, her head whipping to the side just in time to raise her arm and fire toward the dining room windows at their right again. The soldier who’d been trying to sneak through ended up slumped halfway through the broken opening. Bucky looked from the man to her and nodded grimly. Then motioned to the front door. Darcy molded herself to his back, making sure she could aim around him.
They broke cover.
The soldiers at the front door seemed to think he’d made a mistake by coming out into the open, and the two remaining charged forward to meet him in the center of the room. It was a mistake. She had no idea how it all happened. She kept her hand wrapped around the strap on Bucky’s back, her gun aimed to protect his weak side, her head on a swivel, still painfully aware that there was more trouble coming for them from the back of the house.
All she knew was one second, there were two men rushing toward them with guns in hand and murder in their eyes, stupid red octopus logos bright on their chests. Then she was following Bucky’s back through the front door, firing almost reflexively at another soldier sneaking around the corner of the house.
The car was right where they’d left it, as close to the front porch as she could get it the night before. The big problem, of course, was the giant fucking Hydra Humvee now blocking the narrow private road down the mountain. Bucky, however, seemed unconcerned as he ripped the passenger door to their car open, practically threw her in, and then actually slid over the hood, shooting a man trying to snipe them from the roof before he got in the driver’s seat.
“Keys!” Bucky shouted. His voice was muffled over the ringing still sounding in her ears. She had no idea how he was functioning, considering she’d gotten the flashbang muffled through his hands and a layer of wool.
She dug them out of her pocket and handed them over. “What are you going to do?” she screamed, her voice flat sounding over everything.
“I can’t hear shit!” he yelled. “But we’re getting out of here.” He threw the car into reverse. Bullets sprayed over the tailgate from the roof of the house, shattering the back window. His hand was rough on her neck as he shoved her down in her seat. He jerked the car around, jamming it into drive.
“The driveway is blocked,” she shouted, peeking up over the dash.
“Can’t take the driveway! Hold on!” he yelled. He slammed his fist into his window to shatter it and grabbed her SIG from her lap to fire at two men trying to aim a mounted gun from the backseat of the Humvee. Then he hit the gas, steering the car around the Humvee, aiming for the steep hillside next to the road.
“Noooo you don’t!” she screamed as he took the car over the edge of the incline so sharp all she could see was sky through the windshield for one stomach-dropping moment before the hood of the car lurched down, the front wheels bouncing as the hatchback skidded out on the dirt and gravel. “This is not an off-roading vehicle!”
“I don’t think this car was made for this!” Bucky shouted as the car fishtailed, struggling to gain traction, sliding down the literal mountainside next to the road.
Darcy screamed, bracing herself on the dash, one hand reaching back to grope blindly for the seatbelt like it would do anything at this point. Bucky had both hands on the wheel as he fought to steer them through it, careening half out of control around bushes, small trees, and something Darcy felt she could reliably call a boulder.
“Hold on!”
“OH MY GOD!”
He turned the wheel all the way to the left, and they had no traction on the loose dirt under the tires until they hit gravel, and she felt the wheels gain purchase. The engine roared, gravel kicking up as he managed to force them onto the actual drive. Then he was speeding. Going far faster than he should on this road, with these curves.
“Slow down.”
“I can’t hear anything! But we gotta speed up!” He was still shouting, and she took her first good look at him since they’d gotten in the car. He was covered in drywall dust and sweat.
There was blood coming from his ears.
“I think you perforated your eardrums,” she shouted and then yelped as he took a wild turn on the mountain road.
“I fucked up my eardrums!” he yelled back. “Put your seatbelt on!”
“Slow down!” she screamed as he took another out-of-control turn. She was thrown into the passenger door, and her ribs groaned in protest. The angle forced her to look up, though, and her heart almost stopped. “The quinjet!”
“There’s a fucking plane!” he shouted.
The road behind them erupted in heavy artillery fire, and the car’s engine roared as he pushed harder on the gas, whipping it around a curve so fast the back end momentarily slipped out. She refused to look to the right at the thin metal road barrier that was the only thing between them and a long slide down the mountain.
“Fuck!” She scrambled for her backpack. Tearing the tablet out of the main compartment. She swiped down on the screen to turn on the data, her heart plummeting when she only saw one bar of signal, but it would have to be enough. She pulled up the app she used at the Hydra bases to hack their shit and set to work.
“What are you doing?” he shouted.
“Dealing with the plane. We’re not going to outrun them in a fucking hatchback.”
“What?” he yelled, taking another sharp curve.
The signal was shit, but she didn’t need good service for long. Just long enough to find the Hydra quinjet network, and they were definitely broadcasting. They were even on an open channel because it was a live op. That made things even easier.
She tapped away at the screen. She’d never hacked a quinjet before, and she’d certainly never done it while being practically thrown around a car going down a mountain road at 80mph, but there was a first time for everything. It took longer than she would have liked to find the settings she needed, but when she did —
“Holy shit!” Bucky slammed on the brakes.
“Don’t fucking stop,” she shouted. “They could still be behind us in the Humvee!”
He hit the gas. “Did you just blow up a plane with a computer?” he yelled.
She stared up at the fireball in the sky, pieces of flaming debris starting to fall back to earth. “Yes,” she said, and she could finally hear her own voice properly over the ringing in her ears.
“Christ!” He was still yelling.
“Drive!”
“Okay.”
“Okay!”
—
“Hold still.”
“I’m fine.”
“You were bleeding from the ears.”
“And now I’m not. More concerned about you.”
“About me? I’m fine. I was not bleeding from the ears.”
“That’s not the point. Look at me.”
“Why?”
“You are the most stubborn fucking — just look at me.” He gripped her chin with bloody fingertips to keep her still.
“What are you looking for?”
“Gotta make sure your pupils are the same size after a grenade like that.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Never actually seen one of those before. Just know I’m supposed to check your eyes. Your ears, too.” He turned her head to the side, and Darcy heard the click of a mini-light as he examined first one ear and then the other.
“You had that tiny flashlight this whole time I’ve been trying to check your ears and didn’t say anything?” she complained.
“Well, I know my ears are okay,” he said smugly as he clicked the light off and turned her head back to face him. “Serum, remember? I heal from stab wounds in an hour.”
She closed her eyes. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asked, and she didn’t fight her need to touch him. Reaching out to channel her fingers through his hair. She ran her hands along his scalp and down his neck until she hit the collar of the armor he still wore.
“Scrapes.” He shrugged. Then he dropped his hands to grab her waist and tug her deeper into the vee of his legs, his arms wrapping around her as he pressed his face into her vest under her coat. “You?” His hands were sliding up her back. “No more over-the-vest hits?”
“My ribs took a beating in the car,” she admitted, and she draped herself around his shoulders.
“M’sorry,” he said into her chest. “Had to get us out of there.”
“You did,” she agreed. “And we can’t stay here for long.”
Here was a closed campsite bathroom inside Yellowstone National Park. They’d torn down back roads in the mountains aimlessly for hours before smash-and-grab stealing a minivan at a scenic overlook campsite and then taking a closed for the winter back road into the park. They’d stopped 55 miles in at a gated-off campsite to use the bathrooms to try and clean up and take stock.
“Now what?” he asked.
“We could steal pic-a-nic baskets and live off the land.”
He looked up at her in confusion, and she couldn’t help the almost hysterical giggle that bubbled up in her throat.
“You losin’ it, sweetheart?”
“It’s from a cartoon. Yogi Bear? Must have been too late for you. He lives in Yellowstone and steals picnics from tourists,” she laughed, running her hands through his hair again.
She wanted to find a safe place, lay down next to him, and never get up again. She wanted to find out how Hydra tracked them. Because it had definitely been Hydra, Bucky confirmed he’d seen the logo on their gear as well. She wanted to kiss the worry off his face.
And because only one of those was an option right now—
His lips were dry, and he tasted like blood and just a little bit like all the drywall from the gunfight at the house, but he kissed her back instantly. His mouth opened under hers, and he made a low, pleased noise in his throat.
She’d meant for it to be quick. Just enough to make them both feel better, but when she tried to break away, his hands tightened on her waist, and his teeth caught at her bottom lip. He drew her closer until her legs were bumping into the rim of the closed toilet he was sitting on. His tongue swept into her mouth, one of his hands reaching up to fist in her hair, and she groaned.
She ached.
All over, she ached. For him. For what she’d been missing. For the unfairness of everything. This, though, this felt right. His hands were urging her forward. His mouth still moving on hers. His teeth scraped at her bottom lip hard enough to sting, and she gasped, pulling back only long enough to crawl into his lap.
He let out another low, pleased sound, almost a rumble in his chest. His hand in her hair went tight, and the other slipped around her waist, fitting her more firmly against him, forcing her legs wide around his hips. He kissed her again. She dug her nails into the back of his neck, angling his head so she could deepen the kiss even further. His hand on her waist slid down and squeezed her ass, encouraging her to grind forward.
She broke from his mouth with a gasp to kiss his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead. Her hips were moving under the guidance of his hand. She was panting, and she’d lost all track of where they were. His hands were suddenly under her thighs. His mouth was on her neck, sucking at the delicate skin under her ear.
His fingers clenched on her thighs, and then he stood. A smooth transition from sitting to standing. Her yelp of surprise was cut off as he caught her mouth; it morphed into a moan as he took two quick steps to press her into the closest wall, guiding her legs to wrap around his waist over his armored vest. And she wanted that off. She wanted all of it off. She wanted his hands on her body.
It had been too long since she’d felt his skin on hers — his body hovering over her. He was still kissing her, his tongue doing something that had her throbbing. She started to try and undo one of the buckles on his shoulder, and he pulled back from her mouth with a gasp.
“Can’t,” he panted, and she didn’t understand — but she wanted him.
“Please,” she whispered, her eyes focusing on him. He looked as wrecked as she felt. His hair was mussed, lips swollen and wet, his eyes heavy-lidded. There was still dried blood coming out of one of his ears.
He hitched her higher in his hold and pressed his forehead to hers. “Want you so bad.” He said. He stole another kiss, his teeth tugging at her bottom lip. “Not like this, though.”
“I miss you.” And it was like the words were torn from her. Her eyes welled up with tears of frustration and fear as the entirety of the last few hours caught up with her. It’d been close.
So close.
She could have lost so much, and they’d been arguing, and she’d barely managed to get things right. This was supposed to have been their chance. Their chance to go have the quiet life they’d wanted, and instead, they were still living on the run. And—
“Aww, shit, baby, don’t cry.”
And that was the final straw. That nickname on his lips, his eyes looking so concerned. She collapsed forward into his chest as the first sob tore through her. She hid her face in his warm neck and cried.
“You’re okay. We’re okay.” He held her up, one arm under her, the other coming up so he could tangle his fingers in her hair, blunt fingertips massaging at her scalp. “I know. I know.” He shushed her gently. “Gonna move, hold on.” He shifted them two steps to the left, and she felt herself being lowered onto the counter next to the bathroom sink.
She pulled back to look up at him, wiping at her face with her sleeve. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“You should be, that’s my coat.” He smirked at her. “You’re okay. You think I haven’t cried over this mess?”
She had not. “You have?”
“Course I have. This whole thing is fucking crazy. And scary.” He leaned around her to the paper towel dispenser and came back with a handful of rough brown towels. He turned on the sink to dampen them and then ducked down to wipe at her cheeks. “I told you the other day I was moping around thinking I was the concession prize.”
“You’re not,” she said fiercely.
“Well, you keep having emotional outbursts after we kiss—”
“That is not what’s going on here,” she interrupted.
He grinned at her. “Got you mad instead of sad, though, didn’t it?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Asshole who saved your life.”
“I shot several of those men and blew up a plane with a computer,” she pointed out.
“Asshole wiping snot off your face?” he tried again, and his grin was actually infectious. She poked her finger into the dimple on the right side.
“Asshole who owes me a complete conversation.”
“Fair,” he agreed. He cleared his throat. “We can’t stay here much longer, though, and I don’t know where we can go next.”
“We need to find somewhere to hide for the night. Regroup. Then go from there.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
Notes:
The return of Hydra!
And they had the audacity to interrupt what was probably a very important conversation - they tend to do that. I hope you all liked the action! And the little bit of heat there at the end. This 1940s Bucky is definitely not the same as our old Bucky in terms of situational awareness, but he's still good in a fight - eh?
Thank you to everyone for reading and the kudos, bookmarks, comments - just everything!! It's amazing to send these chapters out into the world and then get back a response. I love talking to you all in the comments - love the ones that are just emojis too <3 - love my lurkers as well! The community in this fandom is one of the best. You guys make all the work on these fics 100% worth it.
Coming soon - Bucky gets the non-Google story of the Winter Soldier.
Chapter 9: Okay
Summary:
“Did you mind when Georgia Blake did it in ’37?” Darcy asked dryly.
“Not until she tried to get one of her icebox hands down my pants. Thought my dick was going to shoot back up inside me.”
“An incredible visual.”
“All’s well that ends well?”
“I’ll keep my hands firmly out of your pants.”
“Didn’t say nothin’ about that.
Darcy and Bucky find a safe place to regroup and have some conversations.
Notes:
tw: explicit sexual content, discussions of brainwashing, mentions of Hydra being assholes
Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
A place to hide out for the night ended up being a backcountry cabin that was supposed to still be closed for the winter. They hid the newly stolen van from their terrible smash-and-grab job earlier in the day a few hundred feet off the road under some fallen branches and hiked the eight miles into the brush to get to the off-the-grid structure. Bucky found enough dry wood in the attached shed to get a small fire going in the stone fireplace, and Darcy set up the sleeping bags on the floor.
“So this is how you warmed up cans during the war?” she asked as she watched him heat two cans of soup on a homemade grate over the little fire.
“Yep.” He adjusted the cans, making sure they didn’t tip over. “Should be done soon.” He leaned back on the nest of blanket she’d made in front of the fire. “You warm enough?”
“Yes,” she lied.
“Liar. C’mere.” He held out a hand, and when she hesitated, he leaned forward, his stomach clenching under his shirt to grab her wrist and drag her toward him. “Let me keep you warm,” he said into her hair as he situated her into his side, tucking an extra blanket around her shoulders.
“You know you run about 6 degrees hotter than average due to your increased metabolism?”
“How would I possibly know that?” he asked as he took her trembling, ice-cold hands and rubbed them between his own. “You hadn’t told me yet.”
“Right. Well, your normal temperature is around 104 Fahrenheit.”
“Uh-huh. That’s probably going to make this next part worse than when I let Georgia Blake do it at Coney Island in ’37.”
“What?” she asked.
“Getting your hands warm,” he said, and he was bunching up the bottom of his thick henley shirt with one hand, the other guiding her frigid fingers under the fabric. He hissed. “Way worse,” he groaned as he pressed her palms flat to his hot, smooth skin, rolling his shirt back down over them.
“What are you doing!?” she cried, trying to pull her hands away. She could feel his muscles rippling under her ice-cold touch, but he held her in place, his left hand rubbing soothing circles over his shirt.
“Stop. You’ll warm up faster, and you won’t lose a fucking finger. I don’t mind.” He pressed a kiss to her head.
“Did you mind when Georgia Blake did it in ’37?” she asked dryly.
She could feel him grinning into her hair. “Not until she tried to get one of her icebox hands down my pants.” He laughed. “Thought my dick was going to shoot back up inside me.”
“An incredible visual.” She rolled her eyes.
“All’s well that ends well?” he asked.
“I’ll keep my hands firmly out of your pants.”
“Didn’t say nothin’ about that. Just gotta wait for them to warm up first.”
“You’re a dog.”
“That,” he reached down to tilt her chin up so she was forced to look at him. “Is slang from my day. Which makes me wonder where you heard it?” She blushed. “Thought so. Did I tell you I was a dog in that letter I left you on the tablet? Seems like something I’d do if I really liked a dame.”
She nodded.
“Well, I was — am? Was,” he decided. “I hadn’t been for a while in the war, to be honest. Wasn’t much time for it with everything else. Honestly, one of the best parts of the last few days has been getting to flirt with a pretty girl again.”
“That was a line.”
“That was not a line.”
“You think I don’t know when you’re using lines on me, James Barnes?”
“Full name now?”
“Yes. It’s deserved.” She stared him down, and he cracked.
“It was a little bit of a line.”
“Knew it,” she said, but she flexed her fingers on his stomach anyway, sliding her hands around his waist under his shirt to flatten her palms on his warm back. Her body melted into his. She rested her head on his chest, and she could hear his heart beating rhythmically under her ear. “I know you,” she said quietly.
“You warm now?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said softly. “Before at the house,” he clarified when she made a questioning noise. “I’m mad.” She tilted her head up to meet his eyes. “Not at you,” he continued. “Just at everything. It all feels so unfair, but life isn’t fair, right?” He gave her a weak smile, his eyes tight.
“I’m sorry, too,” she said. “It’s okay to be mad. It’d be okay to be mad at me.” She eased her now warm hands free of his shirt and shifted so she could look at him more easily. “You were dealt a really shitty hand. You tried to do some good with it by destroying what was left of Hydra where you could, but that’s not your job.”
“No? I read a lot of articles where a lot of people think I should be held accountable for a lot of terrible things.” He ran a rough hand through his hair. “I mean, did I kill a president?”
She chewed on her lip. “You did,” she admitted, and her eyes darted over to her backpack in the corner of the cabin where her computer with his Hydra files on it was waiting patiently. “But you didn’t do any of it by choice. Victims don’t have to clean up their abuser’s messes.”
She got up and grabbed her bag, bringing it back to the sleeping bags with her. He watched her curiously as she booted the laptop up, making sure it was off network before she opened the files and her summarized notes on the programming and his memory. “This is your Hydra file. It’s got my notes in it. I have another copy with notes from Tony Stark, too, if you want. It details everything. The other document is my notes on the programming. Why don’t you read it.” She held out the laptop.
“Have I read it before?”
“No.”
“Why do you think I should now?”
“I think you’d lived it before. But now, like you said this morning, you need to understand. You need to not be an uninformed observer of your own history. The people who wrote those things you read — those news articles. They didn’t have this file. They didn’t know this truth. This is your truth, and you need to know it.”
He took the laptop. “You’ll watch the soup? Pull it off when it boils?”
“Yeah, I got the soup,” she said softly.
They ate in silence, Bucky scrolling through pages on the computer. She tried to give him some privacy, sitting only a few feet away, eating from her can with the tablet propped up on her blanket-covered knees. She reread the letter he’d written her and skimmed through the rest of the files on safe houses and routes, but it was all probably a lost cause.
She’d connected to the Hydra quinjet’s network with the Backup Plan files open, and while it wasn’t a sure thing, it meant they hadn’t been encrypted while logged into a Hydra network. It was all potentially compromised. She eyed the still safely encrypted Don’t Be Stupid and Last Resort files and closed out of the program.
Bucky had abandoned his half-eaten can of soup more than an hour ago. He was still hunched over the computer screen, his finger absently tapping on the down arrow key to scroll every few seconds. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, his face pale in the glow of the screen.
He looked up, and she blushed at being caught staring. He blinked, and his lashes caught a few tears that tried to escape. “I wasn’t—” He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t a person to them.”
“No.”
“They froze me between missions?”
“Yes. Using a cryogenic system.”
“Like I was a side of beef,” he muttered.
“I have the Winter Soldier control book if you want it,” she offered gently, but he was already shaking his head.
“It won’t work anymore, right?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t need to see it,” he said, and she nodded. “The other document is your notes?”
“About the programming and the plan to remove it.”
“You were going to look up how that went wrong at the library. The stuff with procedural memory?”
“I did.”
“Tell me.” He closed the computer and leaned back on his elbows.
“Okay. So you saw my notes in your file about how the chair Hydra used and the programming was placed mostly inside the limbic system of your brain?” she asked. He nodded. “Right, so the hypothesis was that the programming was working like markers or waypoints for your brain to heal after every wipe or new order was placed. It’s why you kept getting your memories and yourself back even though you shouldn’t have been able to with the programming. Make sense?”
“Sure.”
“Good. So, procedural memory is created and stored outside the limbic system. If your short-term memory is like a quick note for something you need in the next few minutes, and long-term memory is a library of your life, procedural memory is the how-to guide to living. It’s driving, showering, walking — and for you, it’s also shooting guns, knife work, fighting—”
“And kissing you?”
“Well, so that was the part that was confusing me, but I found some research to explain that. Usually, it takes expertise or at least repetition to create procedural memory. Except skills developed under emotional heights, especially positive ones, can develop faster, be stronger, and more persistent than others.”
“And the last four months were an emotional high for me,” he said, his eyes focused on hers, his face unreadable.
“Were they?”
“If they weren’t, I don’t know what would be. At least based on what you’ve told me and that letter I wrote myself. But that still doesn’t explain the other things. The things that don’t seem like procedural memory. Knowing what you’d sound like when I touched you or the instincts —” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s more than knowing how to drive a car with you.”
“I know,” she said, “I think. I don’t know for sure,” she emphasized. “But I think your brain might be using the procedural memories as new waypoints to heal around. Or trying to, at least.”
“You think I’m going to get my memories back?”
“Not all of them. Not like before, but I think it’s possible you’ll get some of them. The ones tied to skills you have. Things you’ve converted into procedural memory.”
His eyes squeezed shut. “Is that why if I think about wrapping my left hand around the back of your neck, I can hear you — can see you —” He caught his lip in his teeth, chewing on it; his left hand was clenched into a fist on his thigh.
“See me what?” she asked breathlessly. His eyes snapped open, and he shook his head. “Tell me?” she pleaded.
“Going to be terrible if this is a fantasy and not a miracle memory,” he muttered.
She crawled across the blankets until she was kneeling in front of him. “I’ll like it either way,” she admitted, and his eyes went dark.
He licked his lips. “There’s water,” he rasped, and her heart spiked. “And you’re—” His cheeks went pink. “I’m behind you, and you’re wet, and you’re — God, you’re perfect and naked and pink and everything I’ve ever wanted. And the noises you’re making and your voice echoes when you tell me you’re mine.” He swallowed thickly. “Is it real?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“The water?”
“We were in a bathtub.” She cleared her throat. “The General’s bathtub, remember him from the story?”
He laughed. “The one you killed at the Indiana base?”
“That’s the one. You broke us into his lake house, and he had a lovely bathroom with a clawfoot tub.”
“And I fucked you in it?”
“You did. Twice. It was the first time you put me on my knees.”
“And you kept slipping on the rim.”
“I did.”
He leaned forward, telegraphing his movements as he slipped his left hand around the back of her neck under her hair. She shivered as the barely cooler-than-body-temp metal touched her skin. He drew her closer to press their foreheads together.
“You came when I did this,” he said, and he tightened his grip, the plates whirring as his fingers clenched. She couldn’t hold back her gasp.
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Are you still mine?”
“I’ve always been yours.”
He kissed her.
He didn’t just kiss her. He claimed her.
His mouth came down on hers, and he surged up on his knees, the hand around her neck pulling her with him. His mouth stayed fused to hers, and she whined in the back of her throat, her hands fisting in the front of his shirt.
The spark that had been burning low in her gut since the bathroom hours before reignited, and Darcy wanted. She slid her hands up his chest to wrap them around his neck, using the leverage to force herself closer. Twisting her fingers in the collar of his shirt, she started to pull the fabric up his back, gathering it up in her hands. Bucky tore his mouth from hers with a gasp.
“Want you, Darcy,” he said against her lips. She tugged at his shirt, and he helped her, tearing it over his head and tossing it off to the side. His hands shoved the blankets and coat from her shoulders. Then dropped down to twist in the hem of her shirt, slipping under it to grip roughly at her hips and waist. Her shirt pooled around his wrists as he moved his hands higher, his palms massaging over her ribs.
“Need you,” she panted into his chest, and his bare skin was warm under her hands. She inched closer until she was pressed to him, chest to chest. The scarred skin of his left shoulder was familiar under her lips as she kissed the seam where metal met flesh. So was the smooth column of his throat as she kept kissing, nipping at sensitive skin hard enough to make him grunt.
He finally ran out of patience with her shirt, and she gasped as he pulled it up and over her head. The movement forced her to stop her work on his neck as he untangled her messy curls from the collar with gentle hands before he tossed it into a dark corner of the cabin.
“Fuck,” he hissed as her chest was revealed for the first time. Her breasts strained against the cheap sports bra she’d put on that morning, her nipples erect and visible even through the thick stretch fabric.
“You should see them in a real bra,” she quipped, and then she let out a laugh as he moved. A full demonstration of that unnatural strength and speed. One arm went tight around her waist, the other around her shoulders, and she was suddenly on her back in the nest of blankets, Bucky hovering over her.
“I’d love to see them without anything,” he said, his eyes locked on her tits. He ran a finger from her clavicle down the center line of her sternum to bury it in her cleavage. He looked up at her through his lashes and smirked. She bent one leg, arching her back to press her hips up into his, and his eyes squeezed shut. “Killing me, doll. Was trying to be a gentleman.”
“This is gentlemanly?” she asked, waving a hand down to indicate their current position, shirtless, his body over hers.
“There’s a fire. I fed you soup.”
She snaked a hand down between them and boldly cupped his hard length through his pants. “And is this gentlemanly, too?”
“No, ah, that would be the wrinkle in my plans.”
She squeezed him, grinning wickedly as she felt him fattening up in her hand. His head dropped to hang between his shoulders, and he sucked in a rough breath. “Feels like more than a wrinkle,” she teased.
“You’re not helping with the plan to be a gentleman,” he warned.
“Wasn’t trying to help,” she admitted. She trailed her hand up to rest her palm flat on his stomach, and she could feel his breath coming in tightly controlled pants. “I will if you want me to, though.”
“Only if that’s what you’re into.”
“I’d rather get you into me.”
“Line,” he accused. “Terrible line.”
“Yes,” she agreed with a smirk, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and ignored the pull of pain in her ribs as she engaged her core and rolled them. He let her do it. He helped her do it. His hands instantly came up to hold her just under her breasts, his palms wide over her ribs. His thumb rubbed gentle arcs over the bruising on her right side.
Darcy braced her hands to his bare chest to balance herself. She could feel his cock half hard and now pressed right where she wanted it. His pants and her leggings; the only things in the way. It was a repeat of hours earlier in the bathroom. She wanted them gone. She wanted all of it gone. She dug her fingers into his chest, leaning forward to hover over his face, their lips millimeters apart.
“What now?” he asked, and the rough scrape of his voice and his hand clenching on her ribs made it clear what he wanted the answer to be.
“Fuck me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He thrust his hips up on the words, the move forcing her lips to his. She let out a surprised yelp. Then she melted into the kiss, tangling the fingers of one hand in his hair and angling his head to deepen it.
He groaned, tugging at her sports bra. His fingers forced their way under the tight compression material until she felt him get it over her chest. She sat up, and he followed, chasing her mouth until they had to part so he could get the bra over her head.
He rocked her back until she was straddling his lap, one of his hands spread wide at the small of her back, the other flat on her ribs just under her bare breasts. His eyes were locked on her chest as it rose and fell with her heavy breath. “God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, and her laugh cut off into a moan as he ducked his head and wrapped his mouth around a nipple.
She arched into his mouth. He scraped his teeth over the sensitive tip of her breast as he released it from his mouth with a pop. Her hands dropped to his shoulders for balance as a shiver raced down her spine. Her hips drove forward into his, and she was wet enough now that her underwear was an uncomfortable mess between her thighs.
His left hand slid up to brace along her spine, and his right came up to palm one of her tits, calloused fingers rolling her nipple until she gasped. “C’mere,” he said, pulling her down and she felt his stomach tense as he rose up to meet her, catching her mouth with his. She kissed him back. Her teeth caught at his bottom lip.
His hands dropped to her leggings, and she scrambled at the button on his tactical pants even as he tugged at her waistband. Her fingers pushed at his pants and boxers as he lifted his hips. His hands were tight on her hips, forcing her up onto her knees, struggling to get hers off.
She could feel him kicking his feet behind her, and his forehead pressed to hers. “How much do you like these?” he panted against her mouth, his left hand twisted in one side of the stretchy legging material.
“I have more.”
“Good.”
The tearing seam was loud in the quiet of the cabin, and she gasped as chilled air finally hit her thighs, but he was quick to nestle her close, his hands mapping the newly exposed skin as he pushed the ruined fabric of her leggings and underwear off before guiding her back down to straddle his bare stomach.
She was so wet she could feel it smearing over his skin as she ground down, searching for any kind of friction on her over-sensitive clit. Sparks rushed under her skin. She needed him to touch her. To help with the ache building low in her stomach that only he could fix. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into the firm muscle on the right side.
She could feel his cock rubbing along the curve of her ass as she rocked against him, and she reached back, wrapping her fingers around it. God, he was perfect. Thick and heavy in her palm. His mouth dropped open, his eyes going unfocused, and she felt frantic with the touch of worship she saw reflected in his gaze.
She squeezed him, pumping her hand up his length just once. Enough to pull a groan from his chest, his hips jerking off the floor. Both his hands dropped to her hips to steady her. His arms flexed, and Darcy rose up on her knees. He guided her back, and she helped line him up with her hand around the base of his cock.
She spared a thought for how long it had been since he’d last been inside her. That she was wet, but he hadn’t stretched her at all. Her fingers squeezed around the base of him, and they just barely touched. Her cunt throbbed in anticipation of the way he’d fill her up.
Darcy let her knees go wide, and the thick, blunt head of his cock parted her folds, notching into place. Her mouth dropped open, her breath catching in her throat. His eyes were locked on her face. His chest was rising and falling with each rapid breath.
He looked wrecked. Half feral with his wild hair, in need of a cut, and red-bitten lips. Scratch marks from her nails, not yet faded, trailing down his chest.
She bit her lip, a low whine torn from her throat as she let her knees go weak and took him almost to the hilt. Bucky’s eyes slammed shut, his hands squeezing her hips so tight there were sure to be bruises as he rose up to meet her. She dug her nails into his chest and let her weight drop the rest of the way, gasping as the stretch intensified almost to the point of pain.
Bucky made a low noise in his chest.
She was full.
She was so full.
And she’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be spread open around him. To watch his face when he was inside her. The little line he got between his brows. The way his eyes went dark and focused. “You okay?” he asked, and he sounded breathless. His voice was rough and low. His eyes dropped down to stare at the place where he disappeared inside her.
She made a low, needy noise in response, her body clenching around his, and his hips jumped under her. “Fuck, you’re going to kill me,” he panted. “Maybe I’m already dead.”
“Not dead,” she gasped. She lifted herself up; the drag of him inside her was intense, her cunt clenching. Then she dropped her weight back down, and the thrust pulled twin groans from them.
“Not yet,” he agreed. “You feel—” he trailed off. “Fuck.”
“Uh huh,” she agreed. She lifted her hips again, just enough, and rocked back down into his.
“Fuck,” he repeated. Then he moved. His right hand slid around her lower back to brace her, and the left reached up for her neck. The just on this side-of-too-tight grip of his metal fingers under her hair set her blood boiling as he yanked her down to lay flat on his chest.
The change in angle forced a groan from her, and he took full advantage of her parted lips. His mouth latching on to hers in a heated kiss, his teeth nipping at her lip as his hips started to roll up under hers. Darcy ground down to meet every thrust, her body throbbing.
She was on fire.
Aflame as the ache low in her gut started to build into something huge and inevitable. Her injured ribs burned with every ragged breath as she worked her body over his, her sensitive nipples tingling as they brushed his chest.
She mouthed at his jaw, working her way down to bury her face in the sweaty hair sticking to his throat. “Please,” she moaned into his heated skin, nipping at it with sharp teeth.
“Begging, sweetheart?” he panted, his right hand sneaking between their bodies in response, and she whined when his clever fingers nudged her clit before pressing in harder. Her thighs strained, muscles burning, as she continued to ride him, every rise and fall of her hips driving her desperate little clit into his rubbing fingers.
“Please.” She was close. She was so close. She could feel it rising up inside her, molten and slick, bubbling under her skin, shivering out from every place he was touching her. His fingers never stopped. He was making tight circles on her pulsing clit. “So good. So good. So good to me,” she chanted, and she felt the words land in the way his hips sped up.
His body shifted under hers, his hand on her neck tightening as he sat up. The new angle forced his cock even deeper inside her, and she cried out, one hand fisting in his hair. She felt frantic, her hips chasing his, as he thrust up, helping her scramble for her climax that was “—just there —just there. Please, baby. Don’t stop. Don’t stop—”
It rushed through her like an inferno, pulsing out from where he was still fucking up into her in searing waves that made her muscles clench, and her fingers feel numb. She cried out, her body curling into his. He held her tight; his lips pressed to her temple, his breath stuttering as her cunt pulsed rhythmically around him as she came with a soft cry. His hips thrust up once — twice more and then stilled, and she felt the rush of his release as he panted into her hair.
She went limp and pliant in his arms in the aftermath. Neither of them moved to separate, his right hand only shifting as far as her hip to pull her even closer. She gasped as his still half-hard cock slid even deeper into her slick opening with the change.
“Give me five minutes,” she muttered into his sweat-damp neck, and she felt more than heard his laugh rumble through his chest.
The metal fingers on her neck squeezed gently. “I’m going to need longer,” he panted, and his right hand started up slow, soothing strokes down her back, sending out shivers in its wake.
“Mhmm.” She nuzzled deeper into his hold, another shiver, this time from the cold racing through her. She’d been plenty warm during the act, but now that she was coming down from the high of it, the cool air of the cabin was chilling her bare skin, and the dying fire was doing little to help.
“Cold?” he asked, and when she nodded into his neck, he reached for a blanket, tugging it up over her shoulders before rolling them both to the side to put her back to the small fire. The move finally dragged his cock from between her legs, and she let out a low noise of protest at the loss and the resulting rush of wetness on her thighs. “I know, I know,” he said, his voice rough, and he leaned over her to throw another few logs on the fire before gathering her back up in his arms and slotting a thick leg between hers.
She pressed her nose into his chest and looked up at him through her lashes. “You made a mess of me.”
“I know.” He looked smug, and his right hand wriggled down between them to stroke at the mess, and then he froze. “Shit,” he hissed, his body going tense.
“What?” she asked. “Do you hear something?” She was already getting ready to spring up and find their clothes if they had to make a run for it.
He pressed his forehead to her temple, his nose nudging at her cheek. “We didn’t use anything,” he moaned. His arm tightened around her, forcing her even closer. “Shit, doll. I wasn’t fucking thinking.”
“I don’t—” Her brain caught up as his fingers made a second meaningful pass through their combined spend, still leaking onto her thighs. “Oh.” Her body relaxed back into the blankets, and she rubbed a reassuring hand over his shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“Of course I do.” He leaned back to look her in the eye. “I’m not the kind of guy to leave a girl in trouble. I swear I’m not.” He looked so concerned like he thought she wasn’t going to believe him.
“I know. I know.” She rushed to tell him. “I meant you don’t have to worry because I have a type of semi-permanent birth control. I should have said —” She stopped, trying to think of how to explain without bringing up an old memory and risking a comparison. What was the policy on talking about past lovers when they were technically the same person? She sighed. “I forgot in the moment that you wouldn’t already know,” she admitted.
“Semi-permanent birth control?” he asked slowly.
“It’s a thing inside me. I can’t get pregnant until they take it out; 99% effective. No condom needed as long as we’re both clean, which we are.”
“Inside you?”
“I can draw you a — what are you — hey!” She yelped in surprise as he slid two warm, calloused fingers up into her still-sensitive opening. “You can’t feel it like that,” she said in defeat, her head dropping to bury her face into his shoulder. How was this her life?
“What if I just like touching you?” he asked, his eyelids dropping to half-mast as his fingers pulled back to tease at her over-sensitive clit, and she hissed. “Can’t get over the way you feel,” he whispered.
“Didn’t get enough earlier?” she asked breathlessly, her hips jerking involuntarily at his touch.
“No.”
“What about the other day?”
“That was with the other hand. Can’t feel as much with it.” He scratched at her scalp with the metal fingers, and she frowned.
That wasn’t something he’d ever shared with her before, what he could feel with one hand versus the other. She’d always just treated them both the same, and so had he. She hadn’t overlooked that he preferred using the right when getting her off, but she’d never thought much about it. They were just his hands. She liked both of them on her body.
She licked her lips to hide her rising nerves. “What can you feel with it?” she asked.
“New info?” He was surprised. Darcy nodded, her cheeks going pink despite herself. She pressed her face further into his chest.
“I — it’s just your hand,” she said, her voice muffled.
“True, but from what I can tell, it only picks up temperature, pressure, maybe grip strength, and not much else.” His metal thumb rubbed at the side of her throat. “I can’t tell how soft your skin is, for example.” He slid the metal hand down to grip her chin, tilting her head to meet her eyes. “But the other morning, when I slid it between your pretty thighs, I couldn’t feel how wet you got for me or if your clit started to throb when you got close.” He rubbed his metal thumb over her lip, his voice low, and her heart picked up speed.
“Oh.”
His right hand stopped exploring and found a home high on her thigh. “I wonder what else I never told you?” he asked.
“Probably lots of things.”
“We didn’t talk?”
“We talked.”
“But?”
“We skipped the basics.”
“Like my childhood chauffeur skills.”
She grinned, remembering that conversation their first night. “Like your childhood chauffeur skills.”
“Those are the best parts.”
“The details?” She ran her hands up his chest to play with the ends of his hair.
“Yeah. All that first-date shit.”
“All that first-date shit,” she repeated incredulously.
He laughed, “You know you get a line right here.” He kissed between her brows. “When you think I’m being stupid.”
“You still haven’t explained.”
“You know, favorite colors, childhood nicknames, musical preferences.”
“You like swing music.”
He grinned at her. “So we covered some details.”
“Some,” she agreed, but she frowned as she realized he was right. They hadn’t done any of the usual things. They’d had a few things that came close, but nothing normal. She could recite the timeline of his life, but she didn’t know his favorite color. “Does that bother you?” she asked, apprehension filling her chest. What if he felt like it was all built on proximity? What if he wanted normal?
“A little bit,” he said, and her heart rate spiked as anxiety flooded through her. Darcy reared back, instinctively trying to put some distance between them, and Bucky rushed to hold her in place. His hands caught at her, the right one fighting its way out of the blankets to join the left, cupping her cheeks. “Woah, sweetheart. Not a leave the bed moment.”
“We’re not in a bed,” she said illogically.
“Not even remotely the point.” His thumbs soothed across her cheeks.
“Was the point to demonstrate that our relationship isn’t normal?”
“No, but that should be pretty obvious. I’m almost 100, we almost died today, and you blew up a plane from a car.”
She hid her glassy eyes in his chest. They had almost died today. Shit. They’d almost died, and as soon as they were safe, she’d basically thrown herself at him. And now she was crying on him because he pointed out she didn’t know his favorite color. Fucking great.
“Darcy.”
She shook her head, sniffling.
“Doll, c’mon.”
“No.”
“Sweetheart, look at me.” His fingers were rubbing at her scalp, trying to entice her to look back up at him, and she pulled back to meet his eyes through wet, clumped lashes.
“I don’t know your favorite color,” she sniffed.
“That’s my point.”
“That you deserve someone who does?”
“Fucking christ, no. That we deserve details. We deserve first-date shit. We deserve the time and the space to have normal. Don’t you want that?”
She sniffled again. “I cried on you.”
“I’m aware.”
“It’s not very sexy.”
“You’re naked. I can see your nipples. Everything you do right now is sexy.”
She let out a weak, wet laugh. “You don’t mean that.”
Bucky lifted the blanket and looked down between them, one eyebrow going up, his lips quirking until a dimple sunk into his cheek. “I definitely do.” He kissed her forehead. “Look, you want me, right?”
“I always want you.”
“No. Do you want me?”
And her lips parted on her next breath as she realized what he was asking. “Yes,” she breathed, and she shifted, squirming under the blankets until she got a leg over his hip, moving up his body until they were eye to eye.
“Better?” he asked, smirk still in place.
“Wanted to look at you the right way when I said all this.”
“The right way?”
“The right way,” she confirmed, palms on his cheeks, staring into his bright blue eyes. She didn’t even have to think before she started talking. “You are funny. You are resilient. You are optimistic. You are strong.”
“You don’t have to—”
She ignored him, trailing a finger over the seam of his left shoulder. “You saw this for the first time and thought it was a dream, not a nightmare.” She smiled to herself before looking back up to his face, not missing the bob of his throat as he swallowed another objection.“You trust your instincts. You care for people you just met,” she continued.
“Have you given this speech before?” he teased, but his voice was thick.
“Actually, you were usually the one with the speeches before.”
“Was I?”
“Most of the time,” she agreed.
His arm wrapped around her waist, forcing her even closer. “Must have been good ones with you as inspiration.”
“Line,” she accused.
Bucky grinned. “Line,” he agreed.
She kissed him, a gentle peck on the lips. “You don’t need the lines.”
“I think you like them.”
“I do.”
“Didn’t think you’d admit it.”
“We almost died today. What’s the point of hiding how much I like you? What’s the point of hiding it anyway?”
“Excellent points.” He smoothed her hair back from her face. “But we did almost die today,” he said seriously. “And we need a plan because I can’t lose you before I feel like I’ve even really had you.”
“Thought you just had me,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood, but his face remained stoic. His lips pulled down in a slight frown.
“I’m serious, doll.” He ran a hand down her spine. “I want to figure out how many of my memories I’m going to get back. Don’t think I missed how you glossed over that the ones you think will come back are connected to skills, and most of mine are violent.”
She winced. “I didn’t gloss over anything on purpose—”
“I know. I know. I distracted you with the bathtub memory. But I’ve read the file now, so I know what might be coming for me, and I want—” He stopped himself, scraping his bottom lip between his teeth. “I want to keep you safe, like the letter said. And not in an unheated hut in the fucking woods.”
“About that — “
“I had a feeling something was up when we didn’t head for the next stop in your files,” he muttered.
“When I blew up that plane. I did it by connecting the tablet to the plane’s system. A Hydra system. The files with all those plans were open and unprotected at the time. It’s not a sure thing, but it’s possible they were able to get at least part of them.” She dropped her gaze to his chest, her cheeks burning in shame at the mistake.
“And we don’t know which parts?”
“No,” she admitted to his chest.
His arms wrapped tight around her. “Okay,” he said into her hair. “Okay.” He inhaled deeply, pressing a kiss to her head before nudging her face up to catch her lips with another quick kiss. “Not your fault.”
“It is.”
He kissed her again. “Well then, one worth making. You blew up a plane with a computer.”
“I feel like you don’t realize how common that is in 2016.”
“You’ll always be my first.”
“Line.”
“And not even a good one,” he agreed with a wink. She laughed. “So, we don’t have the plans anymore. Where does that leave us?” he asked.
“We can try to keep going on our own, but we’d be mostly risking it in motels.”
“Do you know how they found us?”
“No, and that’s almost more troubling.”
“Do we need to be worried about being tracked here?” He tensed, and she knew he was thinking about how fucked they’d be if Hydra burst through the door right now while they were naked on the floor.
“Highly unlikely,” she reassured. “We switched cars and drove for hours. Nothing has signal up here anyway. We can leave tonight, though, if you’re worried.”
“There were other files, right? Were those compromised?”
She licked her lips. “No. They weren’t.”
“You don’t think we’re in Last Resort territory?” he asked meaningfully.
And the thing was, she did. She did think they were in Last Resort territory, but she was terrified to open that file and see what an unwiped Bucky had thought it meant for her to be in a situation dire enough to need a document called Darcy’s Last Resort.
“Where’s the tablet?” she said finally. “And a shirt? I can’t do this with my tits out.”
“You should do literally everything with your tits out.” He leered at her chest as she finally sat up from the nest of blankets, her nipples pebbling in the chill of the cabin.
She rolled her eyes. “Shirt and tablet,” she repeated firmly.
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am.” He got up from their nest of blankets and stumbled around in the dim cabin for a few seconds, returning in his boxer briefs with his flannel shirt in one hand and the tablet plus a sleeve of crackers in the other. “Bonus snack,” he said as he passed her his prizes.
She pulled on the shirt, doing up two of the buttons, and opened the crackers, shoving one into her mouth before clicking the tablet to life. The glow of the screen burned her eyes after so long with just the small fire for light. She opened the file encryption program and got to the main screen, staring down at the two unopened folders.
Bucky was still moving around, and then she felt his bulk at her back, his thighs bracketing hers as he wrapped himself around her from behind, hooking his chin over her shoulder. “Does that mean they’re protected?” he asked, pointing at the little lock icons over the folders.
“Yeah, it’s why they aren’t compromised. They’re encrypted.”
“Do you know the password?”
“I have a guess.” She clicked on the folder titled Darcy’s Last Resort, and the password prompt and keyboard came up.
“AmericasA**7418?” he asked as he watched her type it in. “That’s Stevie’s birthday. Is that? What?”
She clicked submit and jumped when it immediately came back as incorrect. The red ‘one of five attempts used,’ text making her heart race. “Shit,” she whispered.
“That was your guess?”
“That was the server password we cracked together.”
“I wouldn’t have used a reference to Steve’s ass to protect plans about saving your life. It would be something about us. Something easy for you to remember. Instinctual to you, but almost no one else would know.”
Darcy chewed on her lip. With that criteria, she knew what she would pick, but it would be a terrible password from a technical standpoint. Although, if ease was the point and not actual security — She typed it in.
“Okay?”
“Okay,” she confirmed, and she hit enter. The file unlocked, and she had to blink rapidly to fight the sting of tears.
“I don’t—”
“It was a code or like a check-in, catch-all. You weren’t very verbal at the beginning, and it was kind of way we settled on things, and it morphed into —”
“It was how we said things we couldn’t.” His voice held more understanding than she expected, and Darcy turned her head to find him staring at her from an inch away.
“Yes.”
“Had a lot of those in the war,” he said softly.
“You ready?” she asked.
“Are you?”
“Not even a little bit,” she admitted, but she turned back to the screen anyway. The folder only held one untitled document, and Darcy clicked on it.
Hey Sweetheart,
If you’re reading this, then things are bad.
Don’t be stubborn.
Call Steve.
I’m pretty sure he isn’t actually dead. He never really is. The punk.
If I’m wrong and Steve did finally manage to get himself offed for good, call Sam Wilson. Actually, do it this time, Darcy. I’m serious.
P.S. If I’m still alive when you’re reading this, don’t take it out on me that these aren’t the instructions you wanted. Love you. Be safe.
She read the short note three times, then turned to look at Bucky with an open mouth. “Asshole,” she accused.
“This is not my fault.”
“This is 100% your fault.”
“I don’t even remember writing it.”
“Your — essence wrote it!”
“My essence?”
“I said what I said.”
“Well, my essence wasn’t wrong, was he — I? The punk is alive, and calling him isn’t such a bad idea.”
“We’re not calling him.” She threw the tablet down in the blankets protest.
“Why?”
“Because — he — I — I don’t want to!” she finally cried, slumping forward to bury her head in her hands.
“Not a good reason,” Bucky said, rubbing a hand up and down her back. “If they’re alive, they could help us. Might be able to give us what we were just talking about. Time and safety.”
She fisted her hands in her hair. He was right, of course, but her feelings about all of it were still so conflicted. She wasn’t sure she was ready to dive back into things full steam ahead, which is exactly what would happen if she called in an extraction.
Ugh, and it wasn’t like she could just call them anyway. She didn’t have a phone, and Steve didn’t use any alternate calling apps, which meant — well, that wouldn’t actually be that bad.
She sat up and made a considering noise.
“What are you thinking?” Bucky asked.
“I can’t call Steve. I don’t have a phone, and he doesn’t use internet calling options.”
“I don’t know what that means. Can’t we just go to a phone?”
She turned to look at him. “I don’t know Steve’s phone number without my phone. Remember we talked about cell phones? The ones that you can carry around in your pocket.”
“Right. Right. The mini-computer ones. So then what?”
“I can call JARVIS.”
“Howard’s butler? He’s not dead?”
“Tony turned him into an AI computer program.”
“He did what?”
“He created an intelligent AI computer program and named it after the butler.”
“Sure.” Bucky nodded slowly. “And you can call it, and it will call Steve?”
“Yes. He will call Steve.”
“So let’s do it.”
“Now?” she asked.
“No time like the present, doll. Not like we’re doing great here.” Bucky waved a hand around the tiny, uninsulated cabin for emphasis, and Darcy sighed.
“Fine, but I’m getting all the way dressed. There is no way I’m talking to anything owned by Tony Stark without a bra on.”
“I’m not sure I understand — you know what, I don’t want to. Let’s get dressed.”
“Okay,” she said weakly.
Bucky leaned forward to press his forehead to hers, a comforting hand on the back of her head. “Okay,” he agreed.
Notes:
Conversations!
Fire-side smut! (love-making, if you prefer)
Last resort files from a very snarky past-Bucky! (This was, without a doubt, my favorite of the letters to write)Our heroes may not have everything figured out just yet, but they have a plan, and they have each other.
To the comments! You all are the absolute best!! The reaction to the last chapter was AMAZING - I continue to be overwhelmed at how everyone reacts to my action sequences - some of you just genuinely make me tear up with the nice words. So happy you had fun with it. I hope this chapter is as big a hit! You guys are killing me with the theories about how Hydra found them LOL - no spoilers, but we'll find out for sure in the next chapter ;)
Finally, I want to send out a mid fic thank you to my wonderful beta and very, very dear friend Noxnthea. This fic and most of my work would not exist without her. She is the reason what ends up out in the world is as good as it is. She is also an incredible writer in her own right, so if you want more Marve or love Teen Wolf, go check her out!
Coming up next: Steve Rogers gets the phone call he's been waiting for
Chapter 10: Moose and Squirrel
Summary:
“I hurt you.”
“You were trying to protect me.”
“From your friends.”
“Who you thought were a threat.”
“Because I’m losing my mind.”
“You’re saner than you’ve ever been.”
“I feel crazy.”
“Crazy for me?”
“Are you — was that an attempt at a line?”
Darcy and Bucky connect with some old friends and face the consequences of the recent and distant past.
Notes:
tw: flashbacks, unintentional injuries, canon typical violence (see end notes for more)
Enjoy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“It’s time to come to bed, Steve.”
“In a bit.” Steve traced his finger over the map. They’d turned one of the smaller labs in the basement of the mansion into a base of operations for the continued hunt for Darcy and Bucky, and today had been a big day. Steve moved a stack of satellite photos of the house just outside Yellowstone to the side to expose more of the western details on the map. They had to have kept moving west after the Hydra attack. It was the only thing that made sense.
“Steve,” Tony repeated from the door. “It’s late.”
“This is the first lead we’ve had since Minnesota,” Steve said, looking back at his boyfriend. “I don’t understand why we’re not on the quinjet right now.”
“Moose and Squirrel are on the quinjet on their way there. I couldn’t go because of this board meeting, and it was your idea that you stay with me.” It was the fifth time they’d had this conversation since Clint and Nat left three hours ago.
Steve sighed. “I know. But what if they need us? The surveillance photos of the scene don’t look good.”
“We cleaned up the bodies of five men in a public park for these two, like two months ago. We know they survived today. They’re going to be fine.” Tony stepped out of the doorway and into the room. “They’ll reach out if they want us.”
“That almost makes it worse,” Steve muttered.
“Excuse me, Mr. Stark.”
“Not now, JARVIS. Why does that make it worse? They know how to reach us.”
“What if Darcy hates me.”
“She doesn’t.”
“Mr. Stark. I have a call for—”
“Not now, JARVIS.” Tony waved the AI off. “Bucky doesn’t hate you either. You heard Bruce. He most likely thinks it’s 1945, which means he’s closer to being your best friend than before.”
Steve sighed. “Except he’s not.”
“What?”
“We were fighting. In 1945, not for the entire year but for a lot of it. Before the train mission where he fell. We were fighting.” Steve rubbed a hand over his chest.
“Mr. Stark, I really must insist—”
“JARVIS! Just tell whoever it is to call back. It’s like midnight.” Tony glared up at the ceiling.
“I would, sir, but I have Ms. Lewis on the line for Mr. Rogers, and she’s on his priority call list.”
Steve was not ashamed to admit that the noise he made was closer to a shriek than a manly grunt as he scrambled, almost tripping over his own feet. He spun on his heel and started swiping maps and papers off the table to try and find the phone. “Where’s the phone, Tony!”
“How the hell should I know!” Tony was ripping papers to the floor beside him.
“I could patch the call through the ceiling speakers,” JARVIS offered in his cool voice, and they both froze.
Tony cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“Do that, please,” Steve added. “Immediately.”
There was a crackle of static and then, “Hello?”
“Hello — Darcy? Hello.” Steve tried to lean on the table, missed, and caught himself at the last second.
“Smooth,” Tony mouthed at him. Steve flipped him off.
“Hey, Steve,” Darcy said, and she sounded tinny, like the reception was low quality. She also sounded resigned. There was another crackle of static, muffled whispering, and then, “Hey, Punk.”
“Bucky,” Steve breathed. He cleared his throat. “Hey, Buck.”
“Well, this is great,” Tony interjected, “but to cut to the chase. We saw the results of your shootout this morning. Are you both okay?”
“Hey, Tony,” Darcy said, and Steve forced himself not to feel jealous at the way her voice held a fond note when she addressed his boyfriend. “No one is currently injured.”
“It’s good to hear from you,” Steve blurted out.
“Not exactly a social call, Cap,” Darcy said. “We’re in a tight spot. We’re not sure how Hydra tracked us to that safe house, but we compromised our backup plans in our efforts to get away.”
Steve felt his chest swell. He could help with that. He had answers for both of those problems. “We can — We can help with that,” he rushed out.
“You know how they tracked us?” Darcy’s voice was sharp.
Tony was shuffling through the papers they’d thrown to the floor until he found the right one, and then he was shoving it into Steve’s hands. “Yes. Bucky was ID’d by a retired Hydra agent, and you were tailed.” Steve scanned down the page. “A Dorothy Bach who was in hiding in Wyoming. Sound familiar?”
There was a scuffle and muffled “fuck” from Bucky, followed by a long silence. “Darcy?” Steve asked. “JARVIS, are they still there?”
“They have put the line on mute, Captain Rogers; I can unmute it remotely if you’d like?”
“Yes,” Tony said at the same time Steve said, “No.” But JARVIS listened to Tony above all others, and the line came back to life.
“—she’s a nice old lady Darcy. Don’t worry, Darcy.”
“She was 70 years old in cat eye reading glasses, doll.”
“She was a fucking nazi!”
“Well, we know that now.”
“You helped her down the stairs.”
“Why is that the most scandalous part of this?”
“I don’t know, but it is?”
“You sound crazy.”
“Oh, I’m going to show you crazy.”
“Looking forward to it, sweetheart.”
“You two must have absolutely incredible sex,” Tony interrupted.
“Tony, I swear to God.” Steve ran a hand down his face.
“JARVIS, did you unmute this phone line without my permission? I thought we had a deal. You traitor!” Darcy yelled into the phone.
“I’m afraid, Ms. Lewis, my programming has been updated in the months since our deal for tighter security.”
“I’m going to have to fix that,” Darcy muttered to herself. “Ugh, Tony, you couldn’t have left my stuff alone?”
“You can redo it when you’re home, kid. Could be as soon as tomorrow. Clint and Nat are en route to the house in Wyoming as we speak. If you send us your coordinates, they can pick you up instead.”
Steve’s heart pounded in his chest.
“We had something a little different in mind,” Bucky said.
“Oh?” Tony asked.
“We’d like the ride, but we don’t want to come back to New York,” Darcy said.
“We’ll meet you anywhere you want,” Steve said quickly.
Darcy sighed. There was another muffled conversation. Then louder. “—just let me.”
“Fine,” Darcy said.
“Listen, Stevie,” Bucky said. “Darcy says you all probably know what’s going on. Says you all have enough tech to have figured out that she managed to wipe that programming from my head at the base in Minnesota and that it took a lot of my memories. Probably also know about the power surge?”
“We do,” Steve confirmed.
“So, for me, I woke up still thinking it was 1945. From what she’s told me, you can relate.”
“I can.”
“I want some time.”
“Some time?” Steve repeated.
“A couple weeks to lay low without worrying about getting my head blown off. Figure some things out.”
Steve braced himself on the table, and he felt Tony run a comforting hand up his back. “Sure, Buck,” he said, his voice tight.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Darcy said, and there was another crackle of static and more muffled talking. “This is 90% me, Cap,” Darcy said bluntly. “I am —” She took a ragged breath. “I am figuring out how I feel about this whole mess, and I’m not ready to come in yet, but we need a safe place. We can’t keep up with what we’re doing now. It’s too risky.”
Steve nodded and, realizing they couldn’t see him, cleared his throat. “Yes. Okay. Yes.” He looked at Tony.
“You have any preferences on where you end up?” Tony asked. “Or is the only requirement security?”
“Security is the top priority,” Bucky said.
“No outside agencies, 100% Avenger’s controlled, secure network connection, fully stocked kitchen, access to food delivery via secure routing same as the Tower, cable television, and no staff on site,” Darcy rattled off.
“Seriously?” Bucky asked.
“He asked.” Came Darcy’s exasperated reply.
“Don’t worry, Deep Freeze, I expected nothing less from Lewis,” Tony said.
“A pool would also be nice, Tin Man,” she added.
“You heard her JARVIS, what do we have that would suit the lady?” Tony stared up at the ceiling.
“Multiple Stark properties would fit this description. If I understand the situation, the best option would be based on proximity to Ms. Lewis’s current location, which is unknown.” JARVIS replied.
“Will you tell us where you are?” Steve asked his heart in his throat.
“I will remove my encryption so JARVIS can pull it. I’m not saying it over this line.” Darcy was unapologetic.
Steve looked at Tony, who nodded. “Smart,” Tony agreed.
There was some dead air, and Steve looked at Tony again. “What’s happen—”
“Darcy’s doing something on the tablet,” Bucky’s voice came over the line. “She says we’ve got shit signal, so it’s going to take a minute.”
“I can help with that!” Tony darted to the other side of the room and started tapping away at the computer.
Steve stared up at the ceiling. “It’s good to hear from you, Buck,” he said.
“You too, Stevie. Appreciate you being willing to help us out.”
“Of course. Anything you need.” Steve felt awkward. There were so many things he wanted to say but didn’t know how. “Are you doing okay?” he finally asked.
“I’m okay. Trying to figure all this out. Was a trip waking up in that chair with Darcy telling me it was 2016 and everything else,” Bucky chuckled. “She told me about you and everything. Still leading a team. Being a hero, I hear.”
“Yeah,” Steve agreed weakly, and it was on the tip of his tongue to tell Bucky that the wipe hadn’t been necessary. That he’d failed to get to him in time. Failed him again. But—
“Got it!” Tony returned to the center of the room. “You got it, JARVIS?”
“I do, sir. Based on this location, the best property would be the Malibu house.”
“Ooooh.” Darcy rejoined the conversation. “I’ve never been to the Malibu house, but I’ve always wanted to. Are you going to let me take over your famous douche-mansion, Tony?”
“Douche-mansion?” Bucky repeated slowly.
“It was quite famously where Tony lived during his douchebag phase,” Darcy explained. “I’ll tell you later.”
“You will not,” Tony said.
“This is the guy dating Stevie?”
“Yes! Well, I think so? You two are finally dating, right? It looked like it in the press conference videos we saw, but if not, awkward.” Darcy was halfway to rambling, and Steve couldn’t keep the smile from his face. He’d missed her. He’d missed them both.
“We are dating,” Steve confirmed.
“Excellent! Now, about that mansion?” Darcy asked.
Steve shot a look at Tony, who sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Yes, fine. Malibu house at your disposal. JARVIS can transmit your coordinates to Red Dawn and Legolas so they can pick you up and drop you off.”
“Red Dawn and Legolas?” Bucky asked.
“He means Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff, the members of our team already en route to Wyoming,” Steve clarified.
“She’s Russian, and he’s an archer,” Darcy added. “We’ll watch the movies in Tony’s movie theatre.”
“His movie theatre?”
“There’s one in the house.”
“Where are we going?” Bucky asked.
“To the best house ever,” Tony said.
“To the ultimate bachelor pad,” Darcy said with a laugh. “And where I’m pretty sure JARVIS’s primary servers live.”
“You stay out of those, Lewis.” Tony pointed a threatening finger at the ceiling as if Darcy could see him.
“We’ll see if Bucky can keep me entertained enough,” she said casually, and Tony groaned. “Call you from the jet.”
“Lewis, don’t you dare —”
“She hung up, sir,” JARVIS interrupted.
“Of course she did,” Tony hissed. “Sneaky little —”
Steve’s eyes were locked on the display of Tony’s computer across the room where the phone log was flashing the call duration at 9:44. “It had been almost ten minutes,” he said quietly.
“—brilliant bitch. I taught her everything she knows,” Tony said. “JARVIS, confirm she ended it before we picked up a trace.”
There was a pause. “Confirmed, sir.”
“Thank you. Send them an ETA if you can do it without risking their location,” Tony ordered, then turned to Steve. "She’s being safe. Even with his memories gone, she knows how to keep them safe. It sounds like their being caught out at all was pure luck. Who would have expected the librarian in Edgerton, Wyoming, to be retired Hydra?”
“They’re coming in out of desperation.”
“Better than not coming in at all.” Tony leaned into Steve’s side, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Just give it time, honey. The murder twins will pick them up and get them to the Malibu house. They’ll be safe behind all the security we can offer them, and then they’ll have their time.”
“I was just hoping for —” Steve pressed his face into Tony’s hair, inhaling his familiar scent and letting it ground him.
“It’s really chaffing on me to have to be the emotionally mature one here, but trust me. Darcy loves us. Bucky is your best friend from across annals of history. It’s going to work out.” Tony leaned back to look up at him. “In the meantime, since we’re obviously not going to bed, can we at least go get snacks and let everyone else know before we start watching the quinjet on the map?”
“We can watch the quinjet on a map!?”
“Oh my god,” Tony squeezed his eyes shut. “I feel like the point just, woosh, right over your head there. Impressive considering how high up it is.” Tony shook his head, rubbing at his goatee, and Steve blushed.
“Snacks?” Steve asked.
“There it is.”
Steve ducked his head to kiss Tony’s upturned mouth. “Thank you, Tony,” he said, sincerity bleeding into every line of his face as he maintained eye contact.
Tony squirmed for a second before looking away. “I mean, I love them, too. Let’s just go get snacks, the team, and indulge in your need to obsess.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Steve agreed.
—
“JARVIS says they’ll meet us here in thirty-five minutes. They were already close, and the quinjet is fast.” Darcy swiped down on the tablet’s menu and turned off the cellular data, then handed it off to Bucky, who tucked it into his backpack.
“We can stay up here that long, but it’ll be cold,” he said, glancing around the dark ridge.
They’d had to climb over two miles up the mountain to get a signal strong enough to make the call, but in the dark at this elevation, even the twenty minutes they’d been standing still was enough to have Darcy shaking with cold. Bucky drew her to his chest as soon as he’d put his bag back on, forcing her half into his coat.
“Can you make it that long, or should we hike back down to the cabin to wait?”
She rubbed her cold nose on his sweater. “It’ll be plenty warm in Malibu.”
“Gotta get there first, doll.”
“What if they traced the call?” she asked, her voice muffled in his coat. A shudder ran through her, and she wished she still had her thick white parka from when they were in Canada, but they’d ditched a lot of the heavy winter gear when it was no longer needed.
“You said we couldn’t talk for more than 10 minutes, and we had to do it through an encryption. We took all the precautions you suggested, right?” He was massaging firm hands up and down her back.
“Yes, but it was still risky. And now to hang out around here for another half hour. If Hydra has a team closer than Nat and Clint.” She peered under his arm into the dark trees around them, anxiety rising.
His grip on her tightened. “If that’s the case, then going back to the cabin is the most defensible choice. We set up the trip wire and wait.”
“You want me to hike four additional miles when I could just stand here and feel you up instead?” she asked, slipping her cold hands into the back pockets of his pants and squeezing his ass. “Seems like a bad deal.”
“I want you to have all your fingers and toes when we get picked up.” He kissed her head. “What if I carried you?”
She hid her grin in his chest. “You’d carry me?” she asked, making sure she looked surprised before she glanced up to meet his eyes. It still didn’t work.
He examined her face, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I’m being played.”
“Correction, you’ve been played. You already offered.”
“Offer rescinded.”
“There are no takebacks.”
“There are definitely takebacks. Get walking, sweetheart.”
“You are the worst.”
He dropped his coat, still warm from his body around her shoulders. “You are adorable when you pout, and I am going to fuck you until you can’t walk when we get to this Malibu house.”
“Promises. Promises,” she sing-songed. “We’ll see; maybe you’ll take that one back, too.”
“That one, I’m definitely going to keep.” He eyed the thick trees around the clearing. "How about we get out of the wind and hide in the trees? It took eighteen minutes to get up here. Hiking down now would mean turning around and coming right back.”
“Deal." She smirked to herself, taking his hand and dragging him toward the tree line. “This is good, you know.”
“What is?”
“The wait. It’ll give us time to talk about Dorothy.”
Bucky groaned. “She was a little old lady.”
“A little old nazi lady.”
“How was I supposed to know that?”
Darcy stopped, turning to face him so quickly that he had to grab her coat and slam his hand into the closest tree to stop them both from falling. “You weren’t,” she said seriously. “You know that, right? That I’m just teasing you about it, but in reality, it was just the absolute worst luck.”
“Luck? You don’t think if I’d had my memo—”
“No,” she cut him off. “They just got lucky. It happens that way sometimes.” She smiled, remembering when he’d said those exact words to her after Hydra had found them at the UFO park in Vermont. “You told me that after the last time they got lucky.”
“I’m a smart guy.”
“Very,” she agreed with a roll of her eyes before lunging up on her toes to kiss him, warm and sweet. “How far in do you think we need to go?”
“I can literally feel you shivering.”
“So further?”
“Further.”
The wait was boring and cold.
Even huddled out of the wind in the shelter of the trees, it was frigid. She huddled close to Bucky, fisting her hands in the back of his sweater, her face buried into his chest. She could hear his heart beating under her cheek. He brushed her hair back from her face.
“You doing okay, doll?”
She looked up at him through her lashes. “I’m nervous.”
“I’ll be here.”
She smiled at him. “That helps.”
It was only another few minutes before she felt him tense, and the tops of the trees started to sway as the low hum of the quinjet became audible. His arms tightened around her, and he led her deeper into the shadows of the trees, out of sight of the clearing as the jet touched down. There was a low hiss as the landing gear adjusted, and then the main door opened, and the ramp came down.
Bucky kept one arm tight around her as they crept to the tree line. “How do we—”
He was cut off by a loud whistle, bright and distinct, coming from the jet, followed by Clint’s familiar form as he loped down the ramp, head on a swivel as he peered around the clearing. Darcy grinned despite herself. Pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth, she whistled back.
“Darcy-girl?!” Clint’s head whipped in their direction.
“Friends?” Bucky asked.
“Friends.”
They broke cover, and Clint’s face split in a massive grin. “Darcy-girl!” Clint cried, his arms wide, rushing forward to meet them just as Nat emerged from the door of the quinjet, a gun held low in one hand.
It all happened in slow motion.
Bucky’s eyes locked onto Nat. His feet stopped moving. His face went slack. His left hand holding Darcy’s wrist went tense. And then he was moving, pulling Darcy behind him and drawing his fully loaded SIG from his hip with his other hand in one smooth move. He leveled it at Clint’s head with a steady hand.
“What the fuck?” Darcy yelped, shoving at Bucky’s suddenly tense back.
“Put the gun down, Barnes.” Nat’s voice was calm, but it was followed by the click of a safety being removed.
“What?” Bucky sounded confused. He shook his head, and Darcy saw his right arm holding the gun waver and then steady. “You first.”
“Oh, jesus fucking christ!” Darcy smacked at Bucky’s metal hand and wrist, where he still had a rough grip on her wrist. “Let me go, Bucky! Fucking let me go!”
“She’s got a gun on us,” he whispered.
“You pulled a gun on her husband first!” Darcy snapped, and he shook his head again like he was trying to get the hair out of his eyes or chase away a fly.
“I’m feeling pretty calm, honestly,” Clint said, and Darcy peered around Bucky’s shoulder to find Clint standing in the middle of the Russian standoff, looking unnaturally calm.
“You,” Nat said to Clint, sounding unimpressed. “Are unarmed despite my requests you not be, and look where it got us.”
“He’s not going to shoot me,” Clint said calmly.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Nat said, sounding uneasy.
“He’s not,” Darcy hissed. “You’re not,” she snapped at Bucky, smacking his metal arm again. “Let me go right now, you asshole.”
“I’ll make you shoot me if you don’t let her go,” Clint said, and his voice had taken on a dark quality Darcy had never heard before.
“Not until the redhead drops her gun,” Bucky said, and his right arm wavered again except — Darcy pressed her hand to his back. It wasn’t just his arm. He was trembling, his muscles twitching, his whole body shaking with barely suppressed — something. Her mind raced, replaying the whole thing over again from a completely new perspective, and she let out a slow breath.
“Nat,” she called out. “I need you to lower your gun.”
There was a long silence. “I need Clint to come back to where I am.”
“Not moving паук,” Clint said cheerfully.
“Тупица,” Nat hissed, and Bucky’s whole body went tight.
“No Russian!” Darcy shouted. “No — just no Russian! Nat, just lower your gun, and everyone take a deep breath, and no Russian.” Darcy sucked in her own deep breath; she could hear her heart in her ears. Instead of trying to pull away from Bucky again, she pushed closer, fitting herself tight along his back. “Bucky, baby.” She rose up on her toes, running her free hand up his back and leaning around to try and see his face from the side. “Look at me, baby.”
His eyes darted to hers and then back to Clint and Nat. “I can’t,” he whispered.
“You can,” Darcy said, keeping her voice low and calm. “You’re here with me. Whatever you saw — it’s old. It’s the past.”
“She’ll take you — or she’ll call the people who will. They’ll take you, and they’ll hurt you, and I won’t — I can’t — I tried to.” He shook his head again, his hand tightening on her wrist until she yelped in pain.
“Fuck.” He dropped the gun. Not just lowered it, but actually dropped it to the forest floor and spun on his heel to face her, giving both spies his back.
“Don’t —” Darcy warned when Clint started to move.
“He hurt you!” Clint cried.
“Just don’t,” Darcy said quietly as Bucky pressed his forehead to hers, his breathing going ragged, then his weight sagged into her so heavily Darcy stumbled to the side with a yelp.
“Darcy?” Nat called.
“Don’t fucking move!” Darcy shouted, and her arms strained to hold up 240 pounds of shaking supersoldier before finally giving out as Bucky slid to his knees in front of her, his face buried in her stomach. His hands wrapped weakly around her thighs, his fingers trembling. She carded her fingers through his hair. “You’re okay. You’re okay, baby,” she whispered frantically.
“Sorry. Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry.” He was muttering into her stomach. Darcy looked up and met Nat’s eyes across the clearing, expecting to find judgment, but there was only understanding.
“You’re okay,” Darcy repeated. She held him to her and looked up at Clint helplessly. “Can you stand?” she asked Bucky. He just squeezed her tighter. “We can’t stay here, baby,” she said quietly, and he looked up at her with wet eyes.
“Can I?” Clint had taken a step closer, one hand outstretched.
Darcy petted Bucky’s head, and she looked past Clint to Nat, who had lowered her gun but still had her finger on the trigger. She looked back to Clint. “No,” she said firmly. She dropped to her knees in front of Bucky, cradling his face in her hands. “Hey, hey. Look at me. Look at me.”
His eyes were blown and hazy. He swayed forward into her, his arms loose around her waist. “Doll — I didn’t mean to.”
“I know. I know.” She smoothed his hair out of his face. He was sweating, his forehead slick with it. “Baby,” she repeated, and his eyes focused on her with the endearment. “There you are.” She pulled him closer, her thumbs rubbing at his cheeks. “It was Nat with the gun, right, and the quinjet? You remembered something?”
His eyes squeezed shut, his face scrunching up almost in pain. “Blood.”
“Okay. Okay. Shhh. It’s okay. You’re good.”
“I hurt you.”
“I’m fine.”
He tried to reach for her wrist, and she shook him off. It was a testament to how shaky he was that she managed it. “Stop, stop. We have to get on the plane. We can’t stay here.”
“Can’t stay here,” he repeated.
“It’s not safe.”
“Not safe.” His eyes snapped open, clearer than they’d been since it all started. “Darcy. I—”
“I know. You’re good. We’re all good, but you have to get up, and we have to get on the plane.”
“Yes.”
He was clumsy. Still shaky, he leaned heavily on her as he rose to his feet. Clint hovered within arm's reach on his other side as they stumbled up the ramp and onto the quinjet. Nat walked backward in front of them into the main cabin until Bucky collapsed into one of the jump seats.
Nat paused for a moment, considering him, and then turned to Clint. “You’re armed now?”
“I picked up his gun,” Clint said casually.
“I’m going to get us in the air. Darcy, can you come with me?” Nat asked.
“No.”
Nat’s shoulders slumped. “Please.”
Darcy’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, if you’re going to beg,” she muttered. “Give me two seconds.” She turned back to Bucky, smoothing his hair back from his sweaty brow. “I’m going to be right back,” she whispered.
His hands clutched at her coat. “Where?”
“You’ll be able to see her the whole time,” Clint interjected from across the aisle. He nodded toward the open cockpit door. “Right there.” He pointed with Bucky’s acquired gun. “No funny business. Scout’s honor.”
“You weren’t a boy scout,” Darcy said with a roll of her eyes.
“My arm can stop bullets,” Bucky added.
“I know,” Clint said with a grin. “Why don’t you tell me more about it?” He leaned back in his seat, looking completely at home with the situation.
“If you’re feeling well enough to issue bad threats, then I think I can go for a few minutes,” Darcy said. She pressed a firm kiss to Bucky’s temple, letting her fingers trail over his pale cheek, and joined Nat in the cockpit.
“Do you want a juice box?” She heard Clint ask behind her as she dropped into the co-pilot’s chair next to Nat.
“He’s not dangerous,” Darcy said, keeping her voice pitched low before Nat could open her mouth.
“I know,” Nat agreed as she continued to flip switches on the control panel. Darcy heard the door close, and the engines started to hum as the quinjet took off. “Are you okay? Your wrist?”
Darcy could feel it throbbing now that she was thinking about it. Bucky had grabbed her with his left hand and clutched her to him. He hadn’t used anything near his full strength, or she wouldn’t have a wrist left, but he’d used enough. She rolled it experimentally and winced at the dull pain it caused. It wasn’t broken, though, bruised for sure. “Bruised,” she finally said. “He was scared. Confused.”
“I got that,” Nat said with a nod. “Has it happened before?”
“No, well, I think —” Darcy chewed her lip. This was delicate territory. “I think he’s remembering things related to procedural memories. So far, he’s only really been exposed to things that are related to me, but we knew there might be — other ones.” There, that was mostly diplomatic.
Nat was flipping more switches. “That’s an impressive theory.”
“I had an hour of internet time at a library.”
“In Edgerton,” Nat smirked. “We heard.”
“Fucking nazi bitch.”
“Dorothy Bach was bad luck.”
“We’ve had some of that lately.” Darcy gave Nat a meaningful look, and the other woman sighed.
“I told Steve it was a stupid thing to do.”
“We can agree on that.”
“I set him off, right? You think I set off the flashback?” Nat finally spun her chair to face Darcy instead of the console.
“So we’re not going to talk about the other thing?” Darcy asked. “You know, the part where you were dead.”
“We are,” Nat said with one of those annoying Russian half-shrugs. “But I figured we’d do it later, with vodka and more time.”
“Fair.” Darcy ran a hand down her face. “I don’t think it was you. People aren’t part of procedural memory. That’s not how it works. I think it was the entire situation. The quinjet, the guns, the way you were standing guard. If you look at it from his perspective, it was just close enough to a hostage handoff. I think he might have done enough of those for it to register? It’s a tricky thing.”
“He said something when he wouldn’t lower his gun: That I would take you, make you a weapon.” Nat looked tired. “He used to run acquisition for the Red Room as the Winter Soldier.” She glanced back into the cabin, and Darcy followed her gaze. Clint was balancing a ceramic knife on his chin by the hilt while Bucky watched with unseeing eyes. “It’s likely that’s what he was remembering, what triggered him.”
“I was hoping the bad ones wouldn’t come back,” Darcy whispered. “I know that’s stupid.” She wiped at her face with her sleeve, ashamed at her wet eyes.
“It’s not stupid to hope.”
“I know better.”
“Still not stupid.”
“There will be more.” Darcy pressed her palms to her eyes.
“Yes,” Nat agreed. “And this version of him is not as prepared to regulate when they come.” She paused. “Steve conveyed your desire to be alone, but you should consider what you will do if he has another flashback when you are alone with him.”
“I wasn’t ever in any danger,” Darcy snapped.
“This time,” Nat said calmly.
“I’m going to go check on him. I’m glad you’re not dead,” Darcy said tersely. She stumbled her way back to the cabin just in time to watch Clint start juggling knives. “You’re needed in the cockpit.” She told him as she dropped into the seat next to Bucky.
“I sincerely doubt that,” Clint said cheerfully as he snatched his blades out of the air.
“Make yourself scarce, Clint,” Darcy said bluntly.
“Ouch, Darce.”
“I missed you, but I need a minute.”
Clint’s eyes went soft. “Yeah, okay.” He held the gun out, grip first. “Use protection.”
“Love you, too, Clint,” Darcy said as she took the gun, tucking it into her coat pocket. Clint ruffled her hair as he stood and moved to the front of the jet. The cockpit door slid shut behind him.
The second they were alone, Bucky moved, suddenly ten times more active than he’d been seconds before. He slumped into her side, his nose running up her cheek. “Let me see your wrist, doll.”
Darcy turned her head and caught his mouth with hers. She fisted a hand in the front of his shirt and sucked at his bottom lip, kissing him deeply. He responded, matching her energy, but he didn’t touch her or move to take things any deeper. She broke away first, pressing one, two, three soft closed-mouth kisses to his chapped lips.
“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.
“Show me your wrist.”
She darted forward and pressed another kiss to his lips. “Touch me.”
“Gladly.” He reached for her wrist, and she caught his hand before he could make contact, lifting his warm hand and putting it on her neck. His eyes slammed shut like he was in pain. “Darcy.”
She held his hand in place. “Open your eyes.” He did. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I hurt you.”
“You were trying to protect me.”
“From your friends.”
“Who you thought were a threat.”
“Because I’m losing my mind.”
“You’re saner than you’ve ever been.”
“I feel crazy.”
“Crazy for me?”
“Are you — was that an attempt at a line?”
“No.” But the corner of her mouth quirked up on the lie.
“Doll.”
“Bucky.”
“Not baby anymore?” he asked, and his eyes had gone soft and warm.
“Oh, you noticed that?” Darcy moved in close, turning her body to lean into his heat. “You liked it.”
Bucky’s smile got a little wider. Then it dropped, and his head fell, his face pressing into her neck, his hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin. “I hurt you.”
Darcy sighed. “Okay,” she mumbled. “Plan B.”
Bucky went tense, his head coming up. “This was plan A?”
“Shut up.” She climbed out of her seat and into his lap. His hands went up, palms out in surprise, and she raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to stop?” she asked. Plan B did not involve ignoring his ability to consent.
“No, no. Plan B is just a surprise.” His hands dropped to her hips to steady her when she started to lose her balance.
She straddled his lap, reaching down to grab both his hands; she tangled their fingers together between them. “You had a bad moment,” she said seriously, making sure to look him in the eye. He scoffed, and she shook her head. “Stop, listen to me. You had a bad moment. It happens. We didn’t know what to expect. Now we do. You didn’t mean to grip me that hard, but you did it to try and protect me. To keep me safe. Nothing has changed for me. Has something changed for you?”
She stared at him, waiting, her heart in her throat. He didn’t make her wait long.
“No. Nothing has changed.” He gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “But I can’t—” He hung his head. “I can’t risk hurting you.” He looked back up at her, and his eyes were glassy. “I know it’s technically only been a week for me, but it hasn’t. Not really. You know that. You’re the only one who knows that.”
Darcy nodded. She did. “Tell me,” she said.
“It wasn’t like the other ones.” He licked his lips, his eyes going wide. “The ones with you have had more — order? They flow? This was flashes. Understanding of what would happen, mission parameters, weapon schematics — blood.” He paused. “The fear was me.”
“You?”
“Me. This me —” He tugged a hand free from hers to reach up and cradle her face. “Darcy, you have no idea,” he whispered. “In that moment. Right then. She was going to take you from me. She was going to take you, and she was going to make you into something terrible, and my mission said I couldn’t stop her, but I could stop her because I’m not on a mission, so I was going to.” His eyes went fierce, his brows drawing up until a line appeared between them. “I won’t let anyone take you. I swear I can keep you safe, except —” His eyes darted down to her hands, still holding his metal fingers between them. He pulled his other hand free. “I hurt you.”
“Right back where we started,” Darcy said with an exasperated sigh. She wasn’t going to get out of showing him her wrist; she knew that much now. “If I show you my wrist, will you let this go?”
“No promises.”
“Then no wrist.”
“I could just hold you down and look.”
“That would hurt me worse,” she said seriously, and he swallowed audibly.
“I just — I read it all, but I didn’t realize.” The fingers of his right hand rubbed at the hinge of her jaw as he spoke. “You’d told me, and I even —”
“You even what?”
“This isn’t the first bad memory,” he admitted softly. “Or at least — I think now that I know what they’re like when I’m awake, they explain—”
“You’ve been having nightmares? Oh, baby.” She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, her fingers massaging at the base of his skull. He took the opportunity to slide the hand on her neck down her arm and grip her right wrist with loose fingers.
“Just flashes mixed in with the usual Azzano crap,” he muttered. “But there’s been so much weird stuff going on the last few days.”
“I can feel you pushing my sleeve up.”
His hand went still. “Worth a shot.” He smirked at her. “You can’t hide it forever.”
“Are you really having nightmares, or was that a sympathy ruse?” She asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“I’ve really been having them. I would really like to see how badly I hurt you.”
It was going to be bruised. She could still feel it throbbing under the soft fabric of her flannel shirt. She knew he’d have to see it eventually, but she didn’t want him to see it and refuse to touch her again. She’d just gotten him back, and she wasn’t above admitting that the feeling of his hands on her body, his weight, his warmth, everything about him was keeping her sane right now. She wasn’t sure she could handle it if he went self-righteous on her and tried to back away.
“You’re only letting me build it up worse in my mind,” he said when she continued to hesitate.
She slumped forward, melting into his chest, and to her relief, he caught her, letting her press her cheek to his. “It’s not broken. I do think you bruised it.”
He turned his head and kissed the sensitive spot just below her ear. “Show me.”
“I haven’t even looked at it,” she admitted.
“We can look together.”
“You can’t leave me,” she whispered, and her voice went weak on the words.
“Hey, what?” His hands were gentle as they eased her limp body back from his so he could see her face. “What are you talking about?”
“You can’t —” She sucked in a breath around the tightness in her throat, her eyes suddenly stinging with unshed tears. “You can’t freak out about it and leave. Or refuse to touch me again. Or try to go off and hide. Or —” A sob finally escaped as everything from the last hour crashed down on her. She’d held on as long as she fucking could, but it always caught up with her eventually.
His eyes were wide in his face, his mouth a perfect O of surprise. “Oh, sweetheart. No, no. No, doll.” He practically crushed her to his chest. “Darcy. No,” he said fiercely, and his arms went tight around her. “Fuck,” he said into her hair, rocking them gently, “No. Have I done that before? Did I do that?”
She shook her head into his chest, smearing tears and snot over his shirt. He’d never left her. He’d also never had options before. But now he had Steve he could run to, and other places he could go. He didn’t have the programming. He didn’t have to stay with her, especially if he thought it would put her in danger.
She wouldn’t survive it.
She wouldn’t.
“Oh, no. No. No.” He shushed her. “You’re stuck with me, doll. You were already stuck with me for a million different reasons, but after tonight —”
Heat and shame flushed through her, coursing out so fast it made her fingertips numb. After tonight. After tonight. So he’d stay because he felt bad about hurting her. She let out another weak sob and pushed herself off his chest. “Don’t want you to stay because you feel guilty,” she snapped, tugging at her sleeve. “If you’re only going to stay because you gave me a bruise, you can—”
His right hand caught at her, stopping her frantic efforts. “Stop. Stop.” His left hand gripped the back of her neck, forcing her close to press their foreheads together, and she spared a thought for the fact that she was a mess of tears and snot. “Not that part of tonight,” he said quietly. “Or did you forget that before this whole mess, you also gave me my history back and —” His left hand gave her neck a gentle squeeze, the plates whirring, and her body went hot for a whole different reason.
“The feel of her,” he whispered against her lips, “the taste, the curve of her against you—” he pulled her in even tighter. “It’s all too deeply ingrained. Nothing is going to tear it out. I wrote that about you, and I was right.” He pressed a soft kiss to her mouth, a fast thing, over too quick. “I’m not going anywhere. Can’t. Couldn’t walk away from you when I didn’t even know your name. Not going to now.”
Darcy’s heart was pounding in her chest. “Then why does it matter?” she asked, cradling her injured arm between them.
His eyes widened and then went soft. “Because you hurting hurts me. Because I want to take care of you. Because I need to know.” He leaned back from her, his hands dropping to her wrist. “Can I look now, sweetheart?” She nodded.
There was too much fabric between her coat and her flannel shirt. He ended up helping her shrug out of his oversized wool coat, draping it over the seat next to them, and then his gentle fingers rolled up the sleeve of her flannel shirt to reveal her wrist. He let out a low hiss of sympathy, his thumb brushing over the already darkening skin.
It was about as bad as she'd expected. Maybe a little worse. An almost perfect imprint of his hand wrapped around her forearm in light purples and reds. He probed gently at the bruised flesh, watching her face for signs of pain, but it didn’t hurt to the touch. Only twinged when he asked her to roll it from one side to the other to test her ligaments and for breaks.
“Not broken or fractured,” he agreed. He traced a finger over the darkest of the bruising. “I’m so sorry, doll.”
“Not your fault.”
“Still.”
She yawned. The day was catching up with her. It had to be close to sunrise at this point. She’d been up for almost 24 hours. She tugged her arm free of his grasp, rolling her sleeve down. “I want to sleep.”
His eyes scanned the cabin. “You want to stretch out on the seats? You can put your head in my lap.”
She didn’t want to be that far away from him. “Am I heavy?”
He rolled his eyes. “No.”
“Can I sleep on you?”
“Always.”
It took some shifting. Moving around so she wasn’t straddling him, curling up in his hold, her cheek resting on his shoulder, one of his arms braced along her back. He buried his face into her hair.
She was half asleep, her brain caught in that warm space between awake and dreaming when the thought occurred to her, and she had to force the words out of clumsy lips. “I’m not going anywhere either.”
His arms tightened around her, and he gave a ragged exhale into the top of her head. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
Notes:
Trigger Warning Details Click Here
Bucky has a flashback when he sees Nat at the entrance to the quinjet, and in an effort to protect Darcy he grips her wrist too tight. She is bruised. Everyone comes out of this encounter fine, and Darcy and Bucky talk it out on the jet where he describes what he saw in vague details as a memory of being forced to collect recruits for the Red Room.
So they're headed to Malibu! With Nat and Clint giving them a ride! And Steve is - probably still moping - we'll get an update on him eventually... BUT those memories are picking up and aren't all as happy as the nice bathtub one.
AND OMG IT WAS THE LIBRARIAN - LOL - A pretty good chunk of you guessed this in the comments. You all are too smart for me. I need to work on my plot twists, I guess. A new skill to try and develop for the next fic!!
Thank you to everyone who's reading and leaving such amazing feedback, kudos, and everything else. I think I've said it before in this fic, but hanging out with readers in the comments is the primary way I interact with the fandom, so it's just an absolute blast to get to talk to you all and trade theories and everything else! I love that you're all replying to each other now, too! It's like a whole community in here - you guys are just amazing!!
Coming up next: Some time at the douche-mansion!
Chapter 11: Ballpoint Pens
Summary:
“It’s 70 years in the future."
“Yeah, it is. The pen is really helping that finally sink in, huh?”
“There’s robots in the basement and an AI in the ceiling that didn’t record us having sex.”
“Those are all facts.”
Darcy and Bucky spend some fun time together in Malibu.
Notes:
This one is pretty much just fun.
tw: explicit sexual content
Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Why are you carrying luggage?” They were all standing on the landing pad on top of the Malibu house, and Darcy had her eyes locked on the heavy bags in Nat and Clint’s hands.
“Why aren’t you carrying luggage?” Clint asked unhelpfully.
Darcy’s feet ground to a stop. She and Bucky were only carrying the backpacks they’d had with them when they’d met Nat and Clint at the jet. The duffle bags had been left behind in the car with promises that they would be picked up and delivered later.
“No, seriously, why are you carrying luggage?” Darcy asked again.
“We’ve decided we’re staying,” Nat said, and she didn’t stop walking down the sloped ramp toward the glass doors into the house.
“You’re what!?” Darcy jogged to catch up with the spies, Bucky’s longer legs helping him keep pace. “You’re not staying!”
“You’ll barely know we’re here,” Clint said.
“I will definitely know you’re here.”
“We’re very discreet,” Nat added.
“Clint likes to sing you operas in the morning,” Darcy wailed.
“I will refrain,” Clint said, slapping his hand to a biometric reader by the door.
“Hey!” Darcy grabbed Clint’s elbow, hanging all her weight on his arm to force him to stop and look at her. “The deal was we got to stay here by ourselves.”
“Friends make everything better,” Nat said as the glass doors wooshed open, letting out a blast of cool air over the already warm Malibu spring morning as she strutted inside, followed by an apologetic-looking Clint.
“Doll, leave it,” Bucky said quietly.
“They —”
“Are trying to protect you.”
“From you,” Darcy groaned. “I don’t need protecting from you.”
“I’m not going to complain about extra people wanting to help keep you safe.” Bucky used gentle hands on her shoulders to turn her toward him. “Look where we are.” He spun them both and waved a hand out at the sweeping ocean view, the sun just starting to paint the waves pink as it rose over their shoulder. “This is a massive house. We can stand some company.”
“Can’t fuck you in the kitchen if we have company,” she grumbled.
“Says who?”
She laughed, tipping her head back to look up at him. “You’re trouble.”
“I said I wasn’t going to complain. Didn’t say I was going to make it fun for them.”
“Okay then, Sarge. Let’s go be friends.”
—
“What is in these bags? They weigh a ton.” Clint was lugging the last of the money duffles into the living room hours later while Darcy dozed on the couch, her feet perched in Bucky’s lap under his book.
“Money,” she said absently. Then, cracking open one eye. “That blue one also has some food, ammo, and guns in it.”
“Busy girl,” Clint said cheerfully. “Has to be close to—” He hefted one of the bags. “—a million per bag?”
“Almost exactly.” She rubbed her face into the soft pillow she’d stolen off the chair across the room. “This has to be cashmere,” She told Bucky. She smushed her head into the pillow. “And some kind of magical down from a special bird.”
“Is it better than the last one you made me try?” Bucky asked patiently without looking up from his book, his head currently resting on a mink throw pillow Darcy was pretty sure was stuffed with the highest quality memory foam ever created.
“Are we not going to talk about the three million dollars you all just made me retrieve from a stolen minivan in the middle of Yellowstone National Park?” Clint asked.
“You are being the opposite of discreet,” Nat said as she came into the room, depositing a bowl of popcorn on the table.
“Snacks!” Clint yelped. “Snacks are not discreet!” He waved his arms, the very definition of subtle.
“Is it the —”
“Half cheddar. Half caramel,” Nat said smugly as she dropped into an armchair.
“Oooh.” Darcy rolled over to grab a handful.
“Not fair! I went and got the bags!” Clint threw himself down on one of the other couches.
“You’re technically both doing a terrible job of being discreet,” Bucky pointed out as he turned the page of his book. “She’s just better at bribes.”
“I brought your money.”
“I have more money,” Bucky said casually, and Darcy smiled around her mouthful of popcorn.
“He has more money,” Nat repeated for Clint.
“I heard,” Clint moaned. “Then why did I have to get this money?”
“I have an emotional attachment to that money,” Darcy said, sitting up to grab the entire bowl of popcorn, and lean on Bucky’s shoulder with the bowl balanced in her lap. “We had sex on one-third of it.” She shoved another handful of popcorn in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
“We did?” Bucky finally put his book down.
“Yep.” Darcy popped the P obnoxiously. “It was on my bucket list, and you were kind enough to indulge me.”
“Such a hardship,” Nat commented dryly.
“It wasn’t as much fun as I thought it would be, to be honest.” Darcy turned to Bucky. “You were great,” she reassured. “You always are.” She stretched up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “But money is not comfortable. Like at all.”
“Can confirm,” Nat agreed.
“Can confirm? We have not had sex on a million dollars.” Clint stared at Nat. “Oh, but we’re about to.” He jumped to his feet. “Which of these did you two use?” He was staring down at the matching black duffle bags.
“The one with the red tape on the handle.”
“Got it.” Clint grabbed one of the other bags and then stalked across the room to grab Nat’s arm. “You’re coming with me.” He bent his knees, shoved his shoulder into her stomach, and, in an impressive show of strength, stood back up with Nat slung over his back.
“Yes, this is incredibly dignified,” Nat muttered, trailing off into a foreign language Darcy didn’t recognize.
“The word you’re looking for is discreet,” Bucky offered.
“Shut it,” Clint huffed. “I’m taking this money and my woman, and we’ll see you two in several hours. Possibly tomorrow.”
“No. Don’t. Please stay.” Darcy deadpanned as he stomped from the room.
Bucky waited until a door slammed loudly in the distance before turning to her. “You know Nat is fully aware of how completely you just played him, right?”
“He’s probably aware of it, too,” Darcy said with a shrug, shoving another handful of popcorn in her mouth. “He’s ten times smarter than everyone thinks he is.”
“But he let you do it?”
“They both let me do it. They’re going to check in and push boundaries. Nat’s going to hover like a housecat, bringing me gifts like I can’t hunt for myself. Clint will do anything to make me laugh.” Darcy pressed her face into Bucky’s shoulder. “They’re —”
“Your family,” he finished for her.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “They are.”
“You know it’s okay to be happy to see them even if you’re mad at them.”
She sighed. “Try this popcorn.”
“Cheddar and caramel? Absolutely not.”
“Sweet and salty. It’s good,” she wheedled. “Just try it.” He picked through the bowl for a few orange pieces. “You have to get both flavors, you cheater!” She threw a caramel piece at his face.
“Oh, it’s like that is it?”
“Yeah, it’s like that!” She threw another piece. He caught it in his mouth, chewing loudly.
“Terrible,” he said. “Throw another.” She did, and he caught it. “Another.” She grabbed a handful. “Don’t you — doll — don’t!” She flung the whole handful at him. His book and the mink pillow went flying, the popcorn bowl flipped, she shrieked a laugh and ended up on her back, Bucky hovering over her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Depends on if you’re still tired,” he said, and one of his hands trailed up her side, slipping beneath the baggy shirt she’d put on after the shower she’d taken when they’d arrived.
“I’ve been napping.” She fisted her hands in the sides of his shirt.
“Good.” His mouth came down on hers, hot and already open. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth, and his hand was creeping up her stomach to palm at her tits. His thumb rubbed tight circles over one of her nipples through her bra, and she broke away from his mouth with a gasp.
“Here?” she asked, but she was already tugging his shirt up his torso.
“Here,” he confirmed, his hands mimicking hers to push her shirt up and off.
“And if they come back?” She pulled his shirt over his head, sweeping his messy hair back from his face, letting her nails drag over his scalp.
“You heard Clint,” Bucky gasped as Darcy nipped at the sensitive skin of his neck. “We won’t see them again until probably tomorrow.”
“Yes—” She arched up into him, bending one of her legs up along the jut of his hip.
He dropped his head to kiss and nip and lick at her throat and chest, leaving a trail of red marks and heated skin in his wake as he moved toward the edge of her bra. His clever fingers tugged the stretchy fabric down to give his mouth more room until most of one breast was pulled free, enough that he could get his mouth around her erect nipple. She moaned in response, pulling at his hair, holding him close as he rolled the sensitive nub between his lips.
“Want— “ His teeth scraped at her nipple, and she cut off into a moan. “Want you.” She tried again.
“Yes,” he agreed, around a mouthful of her breast, and his hands were already working on the waistband of her leggings. His fingers started to sweep the stretch of skin between her hip bones, dipping lower and lower.
Darcy rolled up into him, and she could feel his cock, trapped between their bodies in his pants. She dropped her hands down to his belt, getting the buckle undone on the first try and popping his button. Bucky lunged up to catch her mouth with his, a low rumble in his chest as he helped her kick his pants off and push hers down.
Then, they were both mostly bare. His pants got caught around his ankles by the boots he’d never taken off. Her sports bra was still on. But it was enough. It was more than enough because he was thick and hard, leaking sticky fluid on her stomach with every jerk of his hips. And she was so wet her thighs were sliding together when she rolled up to meet him as he kissed her.
Reaching down, she wrapped a hand around his firm length and looped her other arm around his neck to scoot herself up the couch under him. She broke away from his mouth with a gasp as she lined him up, slotting his cock into place right where she needed it most. She blinked, focusing on his eyes, bright blue meeting ocean gray. “Please,” she whispered.
He drove his hips forward, filling her in one long, rough thrust. Her back bowed, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as her body stretched to accommodate his girth, and it was perfect and intense and “too much, too much. So good, so good, so good. Pleasepleaseplease.” She was rambling. She couldn’t breathe. She was. “So full, so full, so full.”
“Fuck,” he hissed, and one of his arms was under her hips, supporting the arch of her back. Then his other hand was at her neck, his fingers closing around her nape, and she was weightless as he shifted. He was sitting them up on the pristine couch in Tony’s Malibu living room, and Darcy was boneless and spread over Bucky’s lap. The new position let her sink even deeper onto his cock, and she whined in the back of her throat, her cunt clenching around his length at the full feeling.
“You are the best thing—,” he whispered, his breath hot in her ear. “The best fucking thing I’ve ever—.” And then his hips were moving. His feet planted on the floor, giving him leverage, and his hands were on her body, helping him pull her down in time to his rolling thrusts. “Tell me what you need, doll. Anything. I’ll do anything.”
“Just you,” Darcy moaned. She dug her fingers into his hair, twisting until his eyes slammed shut. “So good. Just need you. Always need you. So good to me.” She felt the words land as his hands tightened on her, his thrusts getting harder.
“Want to watch you come, sweetheart.” The hand at her neck pulled her forward. “Touch yourself for me.” His voice was rough, and she felt it tug at something low in her gut. Something thick and syrupy that had been building up since he’d tackled her into the cushions.
Bucky didn’t change his rhythm; his hips continued to move under hers. Rising up in a steady tempo that had her chanting a constant “pleasepleaseplease” even as she slipped a hand down between them to rub at her aching clit, her hand moving fast enough to make her forearm burn as she chased her release.
It came out of nowhere. One second, she was gasping for air, curls sticking to her sweaty neck, her eyes locked on his, straining for it as he filled her over and over again — and it was so good — so good. The next, it was there. Cresting through her. Crashing over her so intensely, she couldn’t contain the cry it tore from her throat, her body pulsing around him as she collapsed into his chest.
He caught her, his hands holding her limp body up in his lap like she weighed nothing as he fucked her through her it and then kept going. “Look at me.” His hand squeezed gently at her neck. “Look at me, sweetheart.” She rolled her head back, her eyes drifting open, and she felt hazy and loose. Relaxed. Used in the best way. The feeling of him filling her up over and over again was breathtaking.
He was breathtaking.
She kissed him. Catching his mouth with hers, and it was sloppy and messy, and he kissed her back the same way. She pulled at his hair and pressed her hips down into his, clenching around his cock, a moan tearing from her throat as his hips jerked up hard one last time, and she felt the hot spill of his release.
The couch was soft as he rolled them both sideways to land with her spread over his chest on the cushions. He let out a rough grunt, shifting around to pull the cashmere pillow out from underneath him and toss it to the side. She buried her giggle in his chest.
“Christ.” He smoothed the hair back from her face with gentle hands. “I promised myself the next time we did this, it was going to be in a fucking bed, and I was going to do it right.” His chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths.
“You did it very right.” She nuzzled her face into his neck. “Very right,” she repeated. “But I’m going to have to hack some things to make sure this wasn’t recorded.”
She felt him go stiff underneath her, and then they were moving again as he rolled them to the side. The move was uncharacteristically clumsy, with his pants still trapped around his ankles, but he managed to get her wedged between his body and the back of the couch, his eyes narrowed. “What?” he asked, his voice sharp.
“JARVIS?” Darcy called.
“Yes, Darcy,” JARVIS replied immediately, and Bucky’s eyes went narrow, then relaxed.
“The robot you called.”
“The artificial intelligence,” Darcy corrected gently, rubbing soothing patterns into the seam where metal met flesh along his left shoulder. Her thumb ghosted over a whorl of scar tissue. “He’s installed in all Stark properties.”
“He records things?” Bucky whispered.
“I am well trained not to record intimate moments,” JARVIS interjected, matching Bucky’s whispered volume and tone.
“Not helping J,” Darcy said.
“Apologies,” JARVIS said, back at his usual volume. “I can confirm nothing has been recorded or stored. Shall I return to standby mode?”
“Yes, please.” Darcy smoothed a hand over Bucky’s furrowed brow. “If you need anything, you just say his name. He can answer questions or order food. Anything you’d like. He’s like the internet.”
Bucky looked torn. The line between his brows was deep, and his bottom lip was caught between his teeth.
“What’s wrong?” Darcy asked. “If he says he didn’t record it, he didn’t. He wouldn’t lie about it.”
Bucky shook his head. “I am on a couch, in a mansion, with a mostly naked woman who just let me —” He licked his lips. “—I should not be thinking about how all I want to do is see what else the robot can do.”
Darcy’s laugh was bright and loud. She dropped her face into his warm chest, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat. “You are a fucking treasure,” she giggled. “Help me find my shirt. Let’s show you the future.”
“I’ve been in the future for over a week.”
“You’ve been hiding out in shitty safe houses in the future for over a week,” Darcy corrected as she shoved at him, struggling to sit up, looking around for clothes. “Now, we can do this the right way. Come on. Where did you throw my clothes?”
—
“How are you not impressed by this?”
“I’m not not impressed.”
“JARVIS is currently reading your eye movements with over a hundred hidden high-definition cameras and moving a holographic display around the room based on where your pupils are pointed to create an immersive augmented reality experience.”
“He’s projecting a photo onto nothing.”
“That’s offensive. He can hear you.”
“You know we had moving pictures in the 1940’s, right?”
“Did you actually call them moving pictures then, too, grandpa?”
“No, and you can’t call me grandpa when I haven’t even showered since I fucked you last.”
“So I shouldn’t bring up that you are older than my grandfather would be if he weren’t dead?”
“Tell me more about this holographic display.”
“J-man, let’s take Bucky through all the bells and whistles!”
—
“I know I said I’d fuck you in the kitchen, doll but—”
“We’re not here for that.”
“—well, now I’m a little disappointed.”
“We’re here for this!”
“That’s an icebox pretending to be a cabinet.”
“This is a fridge.”
“Sure.”
“Bucky. This does not have a block of ice in it. This uses electricity to keep ten times more food fresh than any icebox could in 1943.”
“It looks like a cabinet.”
“Oh my god. Open it.”
“That’s — that is a lot of food.”
“Look, it has drawers.”
“Is that a fucking mango? I’ve only ever unloaded those at the docks.”
“Well, now you can eat one. Do you want to eat one?”
“Not at the moment.”
“You are annoyingly unimpressed.”
“I’ll eat the mango if it will make you feel better.”
“It would.”
“Okay.”
“Not with the skin! Jesus— Give it to me. Fucking heathen.”
—
“If this is another television—”
“Better.”
“—or a coffee maker. I told you I know how to make coffee.”
“I get it. You are unimpressed by appliances.”
“Are we in a basement?”
“Technically.”
“Are we supposed to be down here?”
“Absolutely.”
“Darcy, that sign says authorized personnel only.”
“How do you know we’re not authorized personnel?”
“Worse than Steve, I swear to god. What are you doing? Stop that— Did you just strip that lock? — Are those — robots?”
“Yes! Dum-E, U, come meet your Uncle Bucky! — Eww nope, never saying that again.”
“Agreed. But, oh, wow!”
“So we like robots?”
“Robots are very cool — why is it — no don’t touch that — that’s my arm —”
“Bad Dum-E! No.”
—
“And where have you two been?”
“To the future,” Darcy said as she topped the stairs. “I thought you two were going to be hiding until tomorrow.”
“Money sex is gross,” Clint said with a shrug.
“I have strict instructions to keep you out of the labs and the sub-basement server rooms.” Nat was draped over a chair, her legs swinging lazily as she flipped through the book Bucky had been reading earlier.
“Oops.” Darcy was not at all repentant. She threw herself onto the couch as Bucky finally appeared at the top of the stairs.
“And what did you steal from the labs?” Clint asked.
“Don’t ask,” Darcy moaned, snatching up a pillow to cover her embarrassment.
“It can’t be worse than Steve with the electric pencil sharpener.”
“See, doll, I told you it wasn’t weird that I thought it was neat,” Bucky said as he settled on the couch next to her.
Nat sat up in her chair, dropping her book on the coffee table. “What was neat?”
“Don’t,” Darcy said. “They’ll lose all respect for you.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the clicky ballpoint pen he’d taken off Tony’s workbench and held it out to Nat.
“A pen?” Clint asked.
“A ballpoint pen,” Bucky clarified. “And it clicks.” He demonstrated, clicking the top of the pen rapidly to make the tip bounce in and out.
“I cannot.” Darcy pressed the pillow back over her face.
“I don’t get it,” Clint agreed.
“Ballpoint pens weren’t really commercially available until after 1945,” Nat said, and Darcy pulled the pillow away from her face to see the other woman looking smug. “During the war, some pilots got them as part of their kit, but they were very rare, could be hard to get, and were highly sought after.”
“Exactly,” Bucky said, leaning back into the couch and clicking happily at his prize. “I borrowed one once but never managed to get one of my own.”
“You realize that one was probably not even supposed to be there,” Clint said. “Tony runs a pretty strict no-paper lab. I would bet good money Steve or Bruce left it last time we were here.”
Darcy was staring at Bucky, though, and feeling like she’d gone about this future thing all wrong. She’d been so excited to show him the crazy technology and amazing advancements, she hadn’t thought about the little things. The stuff that would just make life easier or more fun or just different. She threw the pillow to the side and lunged across the couch to throw her arms around his neck, pressing her face to the side of his. “I am going to get you so many pens.”
Bucky laughed. “Can’t write with more than one at a time, sweetheart.”
“Doesn’t matter.” She kissed his temple. “What do you want for dinner? More mango?”
“I did not like the mango.”
“Well, you aren’t supposed to eat the skin.”
“Even after the skin was off.”
“Chinese? Sushi? Pizza —”
Clint let out a noise between a whine and a cough.
“You’re not supposed to be here, Barton,” Darcy pointed out, turning to look at him. “If you want pizza, order one, but do it from your suite.”
“Don’t mind if I do. JARVIS!” Clint jumped to his feet.
“Your usual, Mr. Barton?” JARVIS asked.
“And a salad, please,” Nat added. “Be good,” she said to Darcy and Bucky before she followed Clint from the room.
Darcy watched them go, then turned back to Bucky. “So dinner? We can order anything—” She trailed off as she realized he wasn’t paying attention, his eyes locked on his clicky pen, his brows drawn together. “You okay?” she asked.
He turned his head to look at her through a curtain of shaggy hair. “It’s 70 years in the future,” he said quietly.
“Yeah, it is,” she agreed, rubbing a soothing hand down his shoulder. “The pen is really helping that finally sink in, huh?”
He let out a dry laugh. “There’s robots in the basement and an AI in the ceiling that didn’t record us having sex.”
“Those are all facts.”
“I’m older than your grandfather would be?”
“That was 98% a joke.”
He tucked the pen in his pocket and reached for her, guiding her around his body until she was straddling his lap. “Careful, this is how we got into trouble last time,” Darcy said, ducking her head to try and get him to match her teasing smile.
“Are you sure there aren’t any flying cars?” he asked her chest, his hands pressed flat to the small of her back.
“Unfortunately, no,” Darcy said. “Tony might have that old prototype around here somewhere, though. We didn’t go down to the garage yet.” She channeled her fingers in his hair, scratching at his scalp. “Tell me what’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours.”
“It was easy to pretend — or that’s not the right word.” He met her eyes. “It was easy to ignore the bigger implications of all this when it was just us in those shitty safe houses. There were things I didn’t recognize, but there wasn’t anything so unfamiliar I felt displaced—”
“Oh.” She cupped his face as his general lack of amazement all afternoon came into sharp focus. “Is that why you supposedly weren’t that impressed with anything I showed you today?”
“To be honest, doll, I’m fucking terrified of most of it.” And he looked it. His eyes wide and red-rimmed, his face pale the way it had been on the quinjet the night before.
“We kind of rushed things,” she admitted. “We got here at sunrise, cleaned up, took naps, and jumped right into—stuff.” She took a slow breath. She should have known better. She should have taken him straight to bed and made him sleep for hours. She should have eased him into it. But he’d seemed calm, and the color had come back into his cheeks after the flashback in the clearing before they’d even landed, so she’d thought he’d been fine. He’d been making jokes. “I should have taken better care of you.”
“Not your job to take care of me.” He shrugged.
“Of course it is.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.” She pressed her forehead to his. “The whole point of calling them — of coming here was that we’d have somewhere safe to be to have time for anything we wanted. First date shit, remember.”
“I remember,” he said, and this time he did smile. A small weak thing, pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I was impressed by all the things you showed me today.”
“Even the mango?”
“I didn’t like the mango.”
“You ruined mangos for yourself by being impatient.”
“I imagine I’ll survive.”
“I imagine you will.” She leaned back in his arms. “How about this? Let’s get J to order us dinner and find you some paper. Then we’ll eat it in bed and make a list of all the things we want to do now that we don’t have to worry about stealing cars or how to get safe internet access. What do you think?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“J— you heard the man. Dinner, please. Something comforting that can be eaten in bed.” She climbed from his lap as the ceiling dinged in acknowledgment of the request. “Did you notice they showed us to separate bedrooms?” she asked as she led Bucky toward the stairs.
“I did; I was going to ask you about that.”
“We’re obviously not doing that.”
“Obviously,” he agreed. “But which room do you want to stay in?”
“Neither,” she said with a laugh. “We’re breaking into Tony’s room.”
—
There were hands on her hips. Warm lips were kissing down her stomach. Soft hair was tickling the sensitive skin of her thighs. Darcy’s eyes drifted open, and she reached down to tangle her hand in Bucky’s hair.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was still slurred with sleep.
He looked up at her from his position between her legs. They were in the massive bed in the primary suite of the Malibu house. After Darcy sweet-talked JARVIS into unlocking the doors, they’d eaten their comfort food takeout curled up in the sheets and then fallen asleep twisted up together almost before they’d even managed to remember to put the containers on the nightstands.
Now, there was early morning sun coming through the glass wall that overlooked the ocean on one side of the room, and Bucky had somehow managed to pull back the covers and get himself between her thighs without waking her up. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss high on her thigh just below the hem of the pair of his boxers she was wearing as sleep shorts, and she had a feeling he intended to make good on his promise that next time he’d have her entirely bare and in a bed. A shiver ran through her.
He looked up at her through his lashes. “I was going to see if I could lick your cunt until you woke up,” he said casually.
She almost choked on her tongue. “Is that all?”
He shrugged. The movement shifted one of her thighs higher on his shoulder, and he used the opportunity to wrap a hand around it, his fingers digging into the supple flesh. He turned his head to press another hot kiss there, nipping at the sensitive skin. “Why, did you have other plans this morning?” he asked slyly.
“No, no other plans.” Her voice was high and breathy, and her fingers went tight in his hair as he started to inch the boxers down her hips.
“Be a good girl and take your shirt off for me?” His voice had just enough demand in it to send goosebumps spreading over her skin, and he noticed. Of course, he noticed. His free hand pushed her shirt further up her stomach to brush over her pebbled flesh. “You like that?”
“Yes,” she said, taking her shirt the rest of the way off, leaving her in just a sports bra and the boxers. He frowned at the bra, and she smirked.
“So it’s not the actually being a good girl part you liked then,” he deduced, and he rose up onto his hands, crawling up to hover over her, his knees bracketing her hips. His hair was getting long, falling down around his face to tickle her cheeks as he settled over her, braced on his forearms. “Is it the orders?”
She licked her bottom lip nervously. This was new. This was not a discussion they had explicitly had before. They probably should have, but they’d had so much going on that they’d just kind of fumbled through any kinks they found and done their best. “Is this part of the first date shit?” she asked to buy herself some time because, for all that she was a twenty-first-century sex-positive woman, she was also suddenly very nervous.
He laughed. “Yeah, doll. This is part of the first date shit. My favorite color is the same color blue as your eyes, and I want to know if you like to be bossed around in bed.”
“Line,” she accused.
He huffed. “I would never.” But he was grinning at her, his smile so wide his dimples had disappeared into the smile lines on either side of his face.
“What did you do if the girl had brown eyes?”
“Tell them my favorite color was blue-gray, like the ocean on a stormy day. Like Darcy Lewis’s eyes when she thinks I’m trying to feed her a load of crap in bed.”
“And did all the girls want to know who Darcy Lewis was?”
“Oh yeah, they were real curious about you. It was always very difficult to explain.” His own crystal blue eyes lit up in mirth at the joke.
“You’re a dog.”
“But you’ve got me collared.”
“Line!” Darcy shrieked in laughter. “Totally a line!”
Bucky’s head dropped into her shoulder as his whole body shook with laughter. “Yes,” he got out between chuckles. He looked up at her, and the second he met her eyes, his smirk still in place, they both dissolved into giggles again. He was still smiling as he kissed her again, breathing through his nose to regain control.
“I do want an answer to the other question,” he finally said.
“My favorite color is purple,” she told him seriously. “But I think your eyes are very pretty.”
He gave her an exasperated look. “Not the question I meant, doll.” His hands trailed down to skim up her bare sides, making more goosebumps in their wake, and she squirmed under him; she could feel him half-hard pressed to her stomach. “You like being bossed around in bed?” His eyes were locked on hers, and something hot and slick slid down her spine.
She swallowed; all the laughter was gone from his face, replaced by something that looked a lot like a promise. “Yes,” she said.
He blinked slow. “Did we uh — did I know that?”
“Not explicitly. We’ve never had this conversation,” she clarified. “You just picked up on clues.”
He nodded. “What else do you like?”
She hesitated. She could give him the notebook. The little gray notebook where he’d made her write down all the things he hadn’t wanted to forget on the way to Minnesota. She’d been holding on to it, keeping it safe.
“You’ve got your secrets face on,” he said, and he brushed the hair back from her face with one hand.
“My secrets face?”
“Well, now you just look offended,” he teased.
“I am offended.”
“You shouldn’t be. It’s very cute. You chew on the inside of your cheek and get this faraway look in your eyes whenever you’re trying to decide if you should tell me a secret.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “So what is it this time? Do we have a love child? Am I going to grow tentacles? Get a red skull face?”
“Shut your mouth!” she gasped. “Don’t jinx us with children.”
“But the tentacles and skull faces you’d be fine with?”
“We’d figure something out,” she said dismissively. “No, none of those things. I just — there’s — you made me write a bunch of stuff down for you on the way to Minnesota.”
He rolled to the side and sat up. “Go get it.”
She blinked up at the ceiling in surprise, her body still recovering from the sudden loss of his weight and body heat. She turned to look at him. “What the hell?” She clumsily forced herself into an upright position.
“You’ve been holding out on me. I want to see these notes.” His face was carefully blank, and she didn’t move, studying the even slope of his shoulders as he sat cross-legged across from her on the bed.
“Are you — are you mad at me right now?”
“No,” he said, but it was petulant. He wouldn’t look at her.
“You are,” she said in wonder. “You are mad at me. Amazing.”
“I want to see the notes that I asked you to write for me.”
She scoffed. “Okay, no. We’re not going to do that. Look at me.” She felt pretty good about the fact that he did. “These aren’t notes about you or random future things. They aren’t the same as the letter you apparently secretly wrote yourself. These are notes about us, mostly about me, and some of them are very personal. It is reasonable that I wanted to decide when you got to see them.”
His eyebrows shot up at that. “How personal?” he asked, and there was just enough of a smirk back on his face that she had a feeling he knew.
“They include some of the preferences we were just discussing,” she said delicately.
His eyebrows went up, and his shoulders relaxed as his smile went absolutely dangerous. “Did I convince you to write down your sexual preferences for me, doll?” He was suddenly on his hands and knees, crawling back across the bed toward her, and she fell back, scrambling away in the sheets.
“No.”
“You’re lying,” he accused, and he caught at her ankle. “I got you to write down what you like, and I bet you promised to give it to me.”
She kicked at him half-heartedly, letting out a muffled laugh. “You’re a deviant.”
“What’d I get you to write down?”
She was tugging at the sheets, trying to find the far edge of the bed. “Oh my god, this bed is never-ending!” she shrieked, and his hand was trailing up her calf as he crawled over her. His fingers started to tickle behind her knee and up her thigh. “I am warning you, James Barnes, don’t you fucking dare tickle me!”
“Is it in the notes that you don’t like that?” he asked innocently as he managed to get his fingers into her stomach and then the ribs on her left side. “How would I know? I haven’t seen them.” He was grinning down at her, and she gasped in laughter, kicking at him and squirming in his hold. He stopped as soon as his head was level with hers. “Didn’t get your sore side, did I?” he asked, his voice oddly serious, a hand soothing down her still lightly bruised right side.
Her heart almost stopped. That he’d remembered. That he’d been aware of it. That he checked. “No,” she said, and she reached up to cup his face. “Thank you for asking. No tickling.”
“You gotta stop hiding things from me,” he said, his face still serious.
“I was trying not to give you too much too fast. And also, I didn’t want to hand you a notebook with details on which of my tits you like most the first day I met you.”
“We’re past the point of too much too fast. I thought we’d agreed, you and me. Partners in all this weird mental time travel shit. We’re the only people who understand it. Right?” They were right back where they’d started, with him hovering over her, his face only inches above hers.
“Right,” she agreed. “It’s scary for me, too, you know. I don’t want to get it wrong.”
“There’s nothing to get wrong. There’s no question marks here — well.” He rolled his eyes at her incredulous look. “Okay, there’s a lot of question marks in the situation as a whole, smartass. But you and me? There’s no uncertainty with you and me.”
He sat up again, but this time, he got his arms around her first. Darcy let out a surprised breath as she was lifted from the blankets, and she found herself straddling his lap as he settled them back against the headboard. “Here’s some second date shit, you ready?” he asked.
“I was barely ready for that ride you just gave me, what the fuck?”
He laughed. “You think that was a ride? Wait until later.” He winked at her.
“Line.”
“You know it, baby.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“Don’t use your college words on me; it’s rude.” He grinned at her, and it was contagious. “Here.” He pulled her closer, helping her settle more comfortably in his lap. “You good?”
“Yes. I am ready for this second date shit. Wondering when we finished the first date shit, but please, go on.”
“We’ll come back around to it.” He tugged at the ends of her hair to make her smile again, and then his face got serious. “My ma used to get on me about chasing skirt. Wanted me to pick a girl and settle down, but I just never could find the right one. I’d try, but there would always be a reason it wouldn’t work out. One time, I asked Ma how she and Pop made it work so well for so long, and she told me that the key was to find someone who made you feel like your fights were things to be fixed together instead of reasons to leave. Because if you’re not acting like it’s forever, then it’s not going to be.”
He put a rough hand on her cheek, his thumb tugged at her bottom lip. “You and me. I can’t explain why. I don’t really want to. We’re forever, though.”
She kissed his thumb. “Forever, huh?”
“I mean, I’d like to see these notes to make sure I know what I’m signing up for,” he teased, and when her face started to pull into exasperation, he laughed, darting forward to kiss her lips. “Yes, for as long as you’ll have me. I followed you after an hour without understanding why. The urge has only gotten stronger.” He kissed her again.
“Line?” she muttered against his mouth, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Bucky chuckled. “Go get my notes. I want to find out if the left one has always been my favorite.”
She pulled back from him with a gasp. “Now, how could you possibly know that? You haven’t even seen them properly.”
“Agreed,” he said, and his hands were suddenly at the bottom edge of her sports bra, tugging at it. “And we should fix that immediately.”
“Seriously, how do you know that?” she asked again, and she didn’t stop him as he pulled the bra over her head.
“You wiped my memories, doll, not my personality. I saw them at the cabin. The lighting wasn’t great, but supersoldier eyes, remember —” He managed to get her bra all the way off, his hands cupping her now bare breasts, making her gasp as he thumbed her nipples. “Yep,” he said, lifting the left one. “It has a birthmark shaped like a little heart on the underside.”
“You’re a menace.”
His arms went tight, crushing her chest so he could kiss her. “Yes,” he agreed against her lips. “Go get my notes.”
“Now?” She looked down. She was topless. The bag was just across the bedroom, but she’d thought this was headed somewhere else. In fact, she could feel exactly where she’d thought this was headed poking her in the thigh.
“Now,” he agreed. “I’d like to do some reading.” His smile was downright impish.
“You’re going to regret teasing me,” she warned as she climbed from his lap.
“I don’t doubt that, but I’m going to enjoy it first.” He swatted her ass just enough to sting. “I have a feeling you are, too.”
“Trouble,” she muttered as she stumbled over to the bags to find the damn notebook. “You’re fucking trouble.”
Notes:
So many fun things in this chapter!
Our favorite spies have decided to stay - and be very discreet - VERY DISCREET! I love Nat and Clint LOL
A couple of you asked about the bags of money in the comments, and I can assure you all I had so much fun making sure they made it to Malibu! The flirting continues, and the first date shit and Bucky is finally getting a look at the future in a way that isn't just safe houses while on the run - it's a whole new world when they can take a minute to relax.
As always, you all are amazing!! The reaction to the last chapter was incredible, and I am so blown away!! Thank you to everyone who is reading and took the time to leave a comment and kudos! It's been a little surreal to realize how many of you look forward to reading these stories, and I'm so excited to share them with you!
We're winding down now, but coming up next: Darcy gets protective.
Chapter 12: Guys and Dolls
Summary:
“Are you going to be able to carry on a conversation?”
“I don’t remember them being —”
“I got ahold of a real bra.”
“Tell me more?”
Darcy and Bucky start enjoying the perks of not being on the run and make a few discoveries.
Notes:
tw: discussions of brainwashing, explicit sexual content, some light angsting at the end
Enjoy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“She can come more than once if you keep her going.” Bucky read aloud.
The knife in her hand slipped, just missing her thumb.
“Careful, doll,” he said from his perch on the kitchen island. “You want me to cut that up for you?”
She glared at him. “Do you have to be reading that here?” she hissed, her cheeks flaming.
“Well, you didn’t let me read it earlier,” he said, putting the notebook down on the counter beside him.
And that was true. She had retrieved the notebook and put it into his waiting hand as he sat on the edge of the bed; then she’d dropped to her knees, undone his drawstring pants, and sucked him off until he was a panting, mumbling mess. He’d pulled her into his lap afterward, kissing her deeply, and shoved his hand down the front of her shorts to get her off with his fingers.
They’d cleaned up, and now they were in the kitchen to find breakfast. Except Bucky had brought the damn notebook with him and seemed perfectly content to read aloud from it every time he found something he thought was particularly interesting.
She chopped another chunk of melon into bite-size pieces. “You could make the eggs,” she suggested.
“Happy to.” He jumped down and grabbed the carton of eggs. “Where is the stove, a pan, a whisk, a fork, butter, salt, pepper, and a plate?”
She paused her cutting and gave him a stern look. “We have a name for that these days. It’s called weaponized incompetence, and it won’t work. JARVIS, could you help Bucky find what he needs to make eggs?”
“Certainly, Darcy,” JARVIS chimed in from overhead, and suddenly, cabinet fronts and drawers were being illuminated by spotlights. “Sergeant Barnes, if you would kindly check all the locations I have shined lights on, you will find everything you need.”
Bucky smacked a kiss to her temple. “My Ma would have fucking loved you.”
“Probably only if I don’t poke you with this knife,” Darcy muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing. Did you find the pan?”
“Yep. Stove is weird, though.”
“The stove is built into the countertop. I can turn it on for you,” JARVIS offered.
“Thanks, J,” Darcy said, and she dumped the melon into a bowl and started on toast.
They sat down to breakfast a few minutes later. The eggs were only a little burnt. “Sorry about that,” Bucky said as he watched her eat around a particularly crispy ridge on her plate. “Been a while since I’ve had to cook not on a camp stove.”
“They’re great.”
“Liar.” He shoved a bite into his mouth. “At least there’s a lot of them.”
“Agreed.” They’d made the full dozen, and ten of them were on his plate. Along with four slices of toast and probably half a cantaloupe.
“What is this?” he asked, poking at the melon.
“Cantelope. It’s melon.”
He put a piece in his mouth and chewed carefully before nodding and shoving two more pieces in. “Good.”
She grinned. “What do you want to do today?” she asked.
He shrugged. “What can we do?”
“Almost anything, as long as we don’t leave the house. There’s a movie theatre in the basement levels. We can swim, the pool is heated. I think there’s a library up on the second floor and a game room with a billiards table —”
The sound of a fork scraping over ceramic interrupted her, and she looked over to see him scraping the last of his eggs off his plate.
“We could make more food,” she suggested with a laugh.
“It was good,” he said around a full mouth.
“I’m glad.” She took a bite of her toast.
“Do you know what Clint and Nat are doing?” he asked.
“Nope.” She looked around the empty kitchen. “I assume they’re making themselves scarce as promised. They’ll turn up eventually.”
He nodded. “You had some things you wanted to do with your computer, right? And I can use the internet here?”
“Yes.”
“That works for me. I want to read the rest of this,” he said, and he held up the notebook.
She groaned. “It’s not a novel.”
“More interesting than one,” he teased. He tucked the small book into a pocket and stood, reaching for her mostly empty plate. “You done? I’ll do the dishes.”
“Yeah. Just put it all in the dishwasher.”
“The dishwasher?”
She laughed. “JARVIS, can you show Bucky the dishwasher?”
“Certainly,” JARVIS replied.
“You boys have fun,” she said and fled the kitchen.
—
Thirty minutes later found her at the desk in the guest room she’d been originally assigned. She hardwired her laptop into the connection for JARVIS, and after warning him that she’d been connected to some shady internet over the last few months, she asked him nicely for access to his programming.
He said no.
So she tried logging in using the password she and Bucky had used for access two weeks before (AmericasA**7418) and then laughed herself silly when it still worked. Tony really needed to stop getting distracted and deal with that.
“First things first,” she muttered to herself as the holographic display shot up in front of her. She navigated to the section for user settings and found her name in the long list.
Tony had reset all her privacy settings to the defaults, giving himself the ability to override and view her location and vitals on a whim. She adjusted it, changing everything to only in an emergency. She made sure to double-check the definition of emergency. Then, she found Bucky’s profile and did the same. She was about to close out of the settings when something occurred to her, and she scrolled further down the list —
“You assholes.” There, in glowing blue letters, The Winter Soldier was set up as a unique profile separate from Bucky’s. She opened it and froze. It had recently transmitted data back to New York. That wasn’t possible. The Winter Soldier hadn’t been at a Stark property in five months. Darcy waved her hand to expand the file, looking at the time stamps — they were from last night.
“JARVIS.”
“Yes, Darcy.”
“Why was Winter Soldier data transmitted last night?”
There was a long delay. “I am unable to answer that question.”
Darcy’s heart thundered in her chest. “Have you been compromised?”
“No. But despite you being logged in using an admin override as Tony Stark, I am aware you are not Tony Stark, and it is creating quite a problem for me.” He did sound apologetic.
Darcy sighed. “Could you pull up the detailed data logs on screen for an admin on this account?”
Another long pause. “Yes, I could do that.”
The logs appeared on the holo screen, and she flicked her fingers, skimming through them. Time stamps, location data, files, and — “Oh, you assholes.”
She closed out of the logs and went back to the user screen, found the Winter Soldier profile, copied it over to her laptop, and then deleted it from JARVIS’s records. Then she traced it down into his root files and burned it out from there to make sure it couldn’t be recovered.
“This is quite unusual,” JARVIS interrupted. “I am being notified by another admin that your access is going to be revoked.”
Darcy laughed. “So he finally noticed. That’s fine, J. I just need to do one more thing.” She exited out of the profiles and got into the house accounts; she found her expense limits and removed the standard grocery and food ordering limitations. “Done.” She pulled her hardline out of the connection just before her access window closed down.
“Sir is calling for you from New York,” JARVIS said.
“I bet he is,” Darcy muttered. “Tell him the house is going through a tunnel.”
She got up and left the room. She had things to do, and none of them were listening to Tony Stark whine at her about being in his servers.
—
The little red Hydra book was exactly where Darcy had left it, tucked into the very bottom of the backpack she’d been wearing when they’d boarded the quinjet to fly to California. That backpack had been either in a room with her or stashed under the bed in Tony’s bedroom since they’d arrived. She stared down at the stupid notebook.
She should have gotten rid of it before now. She had the code words and control parameters memorized. Holding onto the book only created risk at this point. How much risk was a question mark, one she hadn’t realized was so big until she’d seen that profile in JARVIS’s settings.
That wasn’t even what she’d logged in to look for. Her plan had been to change her own settings so she could get him to order her some new clothes without emailing the receipts to Tony with her cup size listed for posterity. But now that she’d seen what she’d seen. Darcy looked over to the fireplace on the far wall of the bedroom. Modern and sleek, it would still burn the paper and cardboard in her hands.
“What are you— Darcy? I thought you were doing stuff with your computer?” Bucky was hovering in the doorway. “You okay?”
“Come in, close the door.”
He did, turning the lock behind him without being told. He took the four steps necessary to crouch down at her side, “What’s going on?”
“I was doing stuff with my computer, and I found something in some settings on JARVIS. I don’t know —” she trailed off. She trusted her friends. Her family. She just didn’t have the whole story yet. She looked back down at the little red notebook. Even if she did have the whole story, there was no one she’d trust with this. No one.
She thought about the timestamps on the data being sent. About what he’d told her on the jet about having nightmares that were flashes of memory. “Did you have nightmares last night? Dreams like the ones you mentioned on the quinjet.”
Bucky’s face went tense. “Some. Not very bad ones, but they weren’t great,” he said hesitantly. “Why?”
She nodded. “This—” She held up the book. “—is the book I told you about that has the code words in it that can control the Winter Soldier.”
“I told you I don’t want—”
“I want to burn it,” she interrupted.
“You want to burn it?”
“For all we know, it’s the last physical copy. If it is, it shouldn’t be allowed to exist. I memorized the words. The main ones for most protocols. I think we should destroy it.” She flipped it over in her hands, picking at the worn cover.
“Okay.”
She looked up at him. “Just like that?”
“I trust you.”
She threw herself at him so fast he barely caught her in time, burying her face in his neck.
“Woah, doll.” He cupped the back of her head with one hand. “You’re okay. I got you.”
“I know.”
“So how do we burn it?” he asked, as he helped her untangle and settle down half in his lap. She threw a look over her shoulder at the fireplace. “That thing runs on gas,” he said with a shake of his head. “JARVIS, does this house have any outdoor fires? A grill?”
“There is a lovely firepit on the patio by the pool. The wood is by the pool house,” JARVIS said. “Darcy, sir, has continued to call for you, but due to your privacy settings, I am unable to provide him any information on your availability.”
“Thank you, J. Please tell Tony I’m busy getting railed by a centenarian, and I’ll call him later.”
“Of course.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “A centenarian. Really?”
“You’ll be 99 this year, close enough.” She stood up. “Come on. You get the fire going; I’ll find marshmallows.”
“Why do we need marshmallows?”
“Cover story.”
—
Nat and Clint found them seven minutes after Darcy doused the red book in lighter fluid, hid it under the perfect tripod of sticks built by Bucky, and threw a match on the whole thing. The fire was roaring by the time the two spies wandered out onto the patio. Nat had a phone to her ear, her face blank, but her eyes widened as she took in the fire.
“Ooh, smores!” Clint said, dropping onto the outdoor loveseat across from them. “Throw me a mallow!” Darcy chucked the entire spare bag at his head. He caught it, of course.
“It appears she has finished getting railed, and they have moved on to having a fire by the pool,” Nat said into the phone. “Yes, I will remind her that you have a heart condition. And that if she’s going to say things like that to you, she’s supposed to offer to share.”
Darcy made a disgusted face.
“She is making a face that suggests she thinks you are the worst,” Nat calmly conveyed. “No, I’m not going to put you on the phone with her.” There was a pause. “Well, because I’m here and you are not, so you cannot see the look that the centenarian is giving me.”
Darcy’s head whipped in Bucky’s direction to find him staring at Nat, his brows pulled down low, eyes dark. He looked pissed. Darcy leaned into his shoulder with a grin, squeezing his thigh.
“I’m going now, Tony. Yes, Darcy does have terrible taste in men, but that seems to be contagious on our team. Look at who Steve’s dating.” Nat hung up the phone as Tony’s objections became audible across the fire pit. She lowered herself gracefully onto the seat next to Clint. “So you decided to have an afternoon fire?”
“Isn’t it romantic,” Darcy said tartly, “Want a marshmallow?”
“You should, Nat. They’re good.” Clint was pulling one, already melted and gooey, off his roasting stick, “Hot, hot,” he hissed as he shoved the entire thing in his mouth.
Nat picked up a spare metal stake and poked at the logs, collapsing the fire just enough for the still recognizable corner of the red Hydra notebook to peek out from under the logs. She sighed. “Is that what I think it is?”
“A well-built fire?” Darcy asked innocently as she put a new marshmallow on her own metal stick and held it over the flames.
“The Winter Soldier control book.”
“No!” Clint gasped, and he didn’t sound at all surprised. “They burned it. How sad. What a tragedy. We will never recover.” He flopped over into Nat’s lap, one arm thrown over his eyes. “Put another mallow on this for me, паук?” He shoved his stick almost too close to Nat’s face, and she batted it away from her eye at the last second.
“You.” Nat poked him in the stomach. “Are a disaster.”
“You love me more than life itself,” Clint said, and he sat up, jammed another marshmallow on his own stick, and shoved it into the fire. “Stop acting mad; you thought they’d already burned it.”
“If the programming is gone, why does it matter?” Bucky asked.
“Exactly,” Darcy said, tucking herself back into his side and offering him the now-toasted marshmallow at the end of her stick. “Why does it matter?”
“Barnes has been a terrible influence on you, Darcy-girl,” Clint said, pulling his own flaming marshmallow from the fire and blowing on it. He inspected it for a few seconds and shrugged. “Where’s the chocolate and graham crackers?”
“Couldn’t find them,” Darcy said with a shrug. “Figured this was enough since you’d see through it pretty quick.”
“Bummer,” Clint said before he shoved the blackened sugar in his mouth anyway. “Oh, that’s crunchy,” he mumbled. “But seriously,” he continued, talking around his mouthful of burnt marshmallow. “You used to be all squishy and nice. Now you’re kind of sharp.”
“Rude.”
“Oh, no!” Clint sat up. “I like it.” He grinned at her, offering her a wink. “Not that much, though,” he corrected quickly to Bucky.
“The data being sent through JARVIS—” Nat interjected.
“Yes, please explain that,” Darcy interrupted.
“I’m about to,” Nat said. “The data being sent through JARVIS was not set up as a plot. It was part of an old profile. It surprised Tony when he got the alert early this morning that new health data for the Winter Soldier had come in. It was set up when we were at the Tower months ago to monitor brain function as part of the research, and it came back online automatically when the biometric patterns matched up again while Barnes was asleep last night.”
“I was him again in my sleep?” Bucky asked, and Darcy felt him start to shift away from her, so she leaned more heavily into his side, forcing him to stay where he was.
“I don’t know all the details,” Nat said. “Only what Tony told me on the phone, but it sounds like your brain patterns matched those of the Winter Soldier off and on throughout the night during certain parts of sleep.”
“That’s why you asked me about my dreams,” Bucky said to Darcy, his voice low. “You guessed.”
Darcy looked up at him. “I had a very rough theory.”
“And burning the book now?” he asked.
“It was because she saw that we’d tracked the data and didn’t know why or what we were going to do with it,” Nat interrupted. “So she acted immediately just in case. To be sure, no one but her would ever be able to control the Winter Soldier again.” Nat turned to look at Darcy. “You wouldn’t have burned it if you didn’t already know what’s in it.”
“What?” Bucky asked, and he sounded a little confused and a lot hurt.
“She was protecting you,” Nat clarified. “She trusts us, but not with you, it seems.”
Bucky’s arm was slipping around Darcy’s waist, pulling her even more firmly against his side. “You protecting me, doll?”
Darcy looked up at him. “Always.”
“Aww, Nat, look at them,” Clint cooed. “God, I miss when we were that cute. Do you remember that time—”
“I do, and it’s absolutely classified.”
“Yeah,” Clint said wistfully. “That one probably actually is.”
Darcy snorted at his antics. “So, tracking his brain in his sleep was not intentional?”
“No,” Nat said firmly.
“But, there were no plans to shut it down?” Darcy asked. Nat didn’t look away, but she didn’t answer either, and that was answer enough. Darcy nodded. “Thought so. That’s okay. I took the liberty of removing his profile from JARVIS’s servers for Tony, so he doesn’t have to worry about it. Problem solved.”
“It seems the data that came in last night was very helpful in starting to figure out more about what happened during the power surge and the wipe in Minnesota,” Nat said carefully, and Darcy tensed.
“You’re looking into that?” Darcy asked.
“Bruce and Jane have been researching it since it happened.”
“Jane’s been researching this?” Darcy asked. She missed Jane. If Jane had put down her own work to look into this — it meant a lot.
“Your friend?” Bucky asked.
“Yes.” Darcy nodded against his arm.
“Foster is wild,” Clint said. “Thought she was going to eat Tony for lunch after that press conference when he was talking shit about your Snapchat streak.”
“As she should,” Darcy agreed, then shook herself. “That’s not the point. No matter who is doing the research, we don’t do secret experiments on our friends — no. We don’t do secret experiments on anyone. If they want to help look into things, they need to come here and ask permission to do scans like proper scientists and medical personnel.”
Nat sighed. “You said you wanted to be alone.”
“You did say that,” Bucky added unhelpfully, and Darcy poked him in the thigh.
“You’re supposed to be on my side. I am facing off with two deadly spies for you.” She glared up at him.
He looked back over at the spies in question. Clint was currently balancing his marshmallow roasting stick on his chin, flaming marshmallow still stuck to the other end of it.
“I think I could take them?” Bucky said. He narrowed his eyes at Nat. “I think I have fought her before?”
“You have,” Nat said. “You could not now. You are woefully underarmed for the situation.”
“That’s true,” Clint agreed, letting his stick fall, only to catch it before it landed and blowing out the burnt marshmallow. “You’ve only got one gun on you, and you’re wearing socks.”
“No one is fighting anyone,” Darcy said. “Clint, eat that or put it in the fire!”
“Ow!”
“I didn’t mean—” Darcy slapped a hand over her face.
“Burnft my founge,” Clint said.
“He really is quite good when you give him weapons,” Darcy said. “Oh my god. Look. I wanted — UGH. I don’t even know what I wanted. No! That’s not true. I know what I wanted. I want real clothes, which I would like to point out is why I logged into JARVIS in the first place. I want non-freeze-dried food. I want to sleep in. I want to watch TV. I want to spend time with Bucky. If the rest of the team wants to come out here, and they don’t get in the way of that, then fine.”
“You were logging into JARVIS for clothes?” Clint asked.
“Did you get that, JARVIS?” Nat asked at the same time.
“Oh, you raging bitch,” Darcy said, but there was no heat in it.
Nat was grinning at her from the other side of the fire.
“I did, Agent Romanoff; I have started plans for everyone else to join you tomorrow afternoon,” JARVIS said.
“That was the point of this whole conversation?” Darcy asked. “To get me to agree to let them all come out here.”
“And to make sure you knew we didn’t do it on purpose,” Clint said. “Because we didn’t. No one was trying to spy on you. We love you, Darcy-girl. And Barnes. Well, Steve loves Barnes the most, but we were all growing fond of you.”
“Thanks?” Bucky said, sounding confused.
“Don’t thank him for tricking us. They came out here and ate our marshmallows and tricked us.”
Bucky kissed her head. “It sounds like they tricked us to help us. And now they’re going to disappear, and we’re not going to see them again until everyone else gets here.”
“That was not the plan—”
“Exactly,” Nat interrupted Clint as she got to her feet. “We will not be here until tomorrow afternoon when everyone else arrives.” She moved around the fire, and to Darcy’s surprise, she bent over and pulled her away from Bucky and into a tight hug. “You were already sharp. You’ve just been honed into something dangerous,” she whispered before she pressed a kiss to Darcy’s temple and pulled away.
Clint was right behind her, wrapping Darcy and Bucky in a hug so tight their heads almost smashed together. “I am so excited you’re back!”
“Clint, take your hands off that knife.” Bucky’s voice rumbled from the middle of the hug.
“Damn,” Clint said as he stood up. “I thought for sure that would work.” He grinned down at them.
“And the clip?” Bucky said, hand out.
“Wow, Bucky Barnes, on point.” Clint dropped the spare clip into Bucky’s waiting palm. “Be good! See you tomorrow.” He gave them a mock salute and darted after Nat across the patio.
Bucky looked down at the clip in his hand and huffed. “He took the bullets.”
“I took his wallet,” Darcy said, holding up the nylon folding wallet she’d slipped out of Clint’s back pocket. Bucky grinned.
“God, you are so perfect.” He tackled her back onto the couch, and she shrieked in laughter as his mouth came down on hers, warm and ready. “Incredible,” he muttered against her lips. He kissed her once, twice, and then pulled away. “I cannot fuck you on another couch.”
“You can,” she said, arching against him.
He shook his head. “Won’t.” He sat up, pulling her with him. “So we have the rest of today and tonight alone, and then the troops descend.”
“There’s no way Steve doesn’t come, too,” she pointed out. “You going to be okay?”
He shrugged. “It’s only been about a week for me. I’ve gone longer without seeing the punk.”
“True.” She sighed. “He’s going to be a mess, though.” The fire crackled, and she turned her head to see it starting to die down. “It’s going out.” She picked up one of the metal marshmallow sticks and poked at the ashes, making sure there was absolutely nothing left of the red notebook. “Book is gone.”
“You know this made you a target, right?” Bucky said, his voice quiet and out of place in the sunny Malibu afternoon. “I don’t know everything about what’s going on, but I know enough to know that if Hydra wants those words and they find out you’re the only one with them —” he trailed off.
“Only a problem if they find out or —” She stopped. “Tomorrow problem.”
“Tomorrow, problem?”
“I just want to enjoy today.”
He went quiet, his eyes scanning the pool deck. “Okay. You still had things you needed to do, right? You were trying to get JARVIS to order you clothes?”
“Yeah?” she said, a little confused.
“Can he get some here by tonight?”
“Probably, but why—”
“Okay.” Bucky was already getting up. “Meet me back here at 6 pm.” He pressed a kiss to her head and stalked off toward the house.
“What the hell.”
—
Darcy didn’t see Bucky for the rest of the afternoon. She did get JARVIS to order her some real bras, clothes that weren’t from a general store, and toiletries that didn’t have combo in the name.
It was late afternoon, and she was finally starting to sort through her emails, carefully filtering angry final notices from her credit card company and student loans into folders to be dealt with as soon as she was able to reveal where she was. She was also skimming through the almost 400 messages she had from Jane. It was getting her excited to see her best friend again.
The soft ding of JARVIS’s interruption tone sounded overhead, and she looked up from her computer screen. “Your deliveries have arrived, Darcy and Sergeant Barnes has asked me to request that you dress up for this evening.”
“That I dress up?”
“Yes,” JARVIS said, and his tone suggested more information would not be forthcoming.
She leaned back in her desk chair, the words first date shit floating across her mind. “That sneaky asshole,” she hissed. Then she looked at the clock. It had been almost a year since she’d been on a date, and now the man she’d been sleeping with and was head over heels for was taking her on a date.
A surprise date.
Shit.
It took 45 minutes to sneak through the house and retrieve her packages from the front gate without being spotted by Bucky. JARVIS helped, lighting up paths and flashing lights whenever he moved from room to room. There was one close call where Bucky almost caught her. He passed right in front of her carrying his own box from the package pick-up, and she had to duck around a corner and hold her breath as he walked past, whistling to himself.
She made it back to the massive bathroom off Tony’s primary bedroom with the boxes and cut them open with a knife she stole out of Bucky’s backpack. Digging through the haul, she grinned. “JARVIS, you beautiful bastard. I can work with this.”
Two hours later, she was standing next to the bed, staring down at the clothes that had been delivered with a frown. She’d taken a bath, her hair was blow-dried and curled, she’d shaved, she was wearing winged eyeliner for the first time in five months, and her lips were painted red.
She had nothing to wear.
She’d had JARVIS order her clothes, but most of what had been able to arrive on short notice was casual wear and one sundress that didn’t feel right. She looked down at her chest. The bras had definitely come through. The purple lace set she was wearing was pushing her chest up to maximum advantage, and she knew the high-cut boyshorts made her ass look incredible.
Which brought her back to the clothes. None of it was right. Bucky would probably enjoy her in any of the options. He’d only ever seen her in combat gear and leggings, with messy hair and no makeup, or worse, blood on her face. He’d never seen her with her hair done. He’d never seen her — she sat down on the edge of the bed.
He’d never seen her like this. One version of him never would.
She took a careful breath.
The Bucky Barnes she’d originally fallen in love with was gone, and she was quickly falling in love with the one who was here with her now. It was easy — dangerously easy to love him, and not just because he was, at his core, the same man.
He was also different.
He smiled easier. He fidgeted more. He was less sure of himself. He was less protective of her. He was more trusting. He was more hopeful — or no — that was the same. He was just more likely to show it. More likely to admit he was hopeful.
She ran her hand over the sundress. It wasn’t right. She wanted something that would make her feel confident. This all felt too new. She looked over at their bags, still piled in the corner. Bucky’s voice from a few days before drifted through her mind. ‘do you still have that dress?’
She grinned.
—
Stepping out onto the pool deck was a shock. She froze on the threshold, struggling to take in the way the space had been transformed in the hours since she was last out here. The sun was starting to go down, and the patio was lit by bistro lights strung up over the pool. Candles had been clustered on every table and marked a path across the deck to a table set for two at the far end, where Bucky was standing with his back to her, rocking on the balls of his feet as he stared out at the ocean.
She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to rub away the fluttering feeling that was quickly becoming overwhelming. She walked out onto the deck and followed the path, watching him. He’d cut his hair. Not short, but he’d cleaned it up. He was wearing dress pants and an honest-to-god waistcoat over his white shirt.
There must have been some kind of signal because when she got close, music started playing, soft and from everywhere. He spun on his heel, then went still as he took her in. His eyes skimmed from her hair to her eyes, to her chest, and then down to the floor and back up. He licked his lips, his mouth open as he sucked in a slow breath.
“You look—” He rubbed at his mouth with two fingers and shook his head. “Fuck, I am so out of my league.”
She laughed, and his eyes laser-focused on her chest. “You look very handsome,” she said, and she took a step closer to play with a button on his dark gray vest. “Eyes up here.” She motioned to her face, and he shook himself, his gaze locking on hers.
“You really do look gorgeous,” he said, and his arm snaked around her waist. “And I am way out of my league.”
“You set up a date.”
“First date, that was the plan, right?”
“So we’re on our first date?”
“First fancy date?”
She laughed again, and his eyes dropped back to her chest. “Are you going to be able to carry on a conversation?” she asked.
“I don’t remember them being —”
“I got ahold of a real bra.”
One of his eyebrows went up, and she could feel his hand snaking up her back. “Tell me more?”
“You said you got us dinner?” she asked with another laugh.
He looked back at her face, smirk firmly in place. “I did. I asked JARVIS what your favorite food was, and he said dino nuggets.” She wanted to bury her face in her hands. “Once he explained what that was, we had a talk about your favorite fancy food and settled on sushi.”
“You got me sushi? Have you ever had sushi? Do you know what sushi is?”
“Yes. No. I do now.”
“Oh, boy.” She laughed. “This is going to be fun.”
It was fun. It was a stupid amount of fun. Bucky was game to try everything, including way too much wasabi. He figured out chopsticks very quickly, and his metal hand was annoyingly dexterous, picking up single grains of rice in minutes. He hadn’t only gotten sushi. He’d also gotten JARVIS to order dumplings and miso soup and seaweed salad and edamame.
He asked her questions as they ate, and not one of them was about missions or guns. He asked her about her research, growing up, and the first time she ate sushi. They traded childhood nicknames, and favorite foods, drinks, movies, music, and books. He told her stories about running around Brooklyn in the 30s with Steve that almost had sake coming out of her nose.
He told her about his sisters and his mother and father. He told her about working at the docks and about being a boxing champion. He told her about taking art classes with Steve just to keep him company and about using the last of their money to go to Coney Island to ride the rides until they thought they would throw up.
He asked her to dance.
Under the stars and the bistro lights on the pool deck in Malibu, he stood up and offered her his hand, pulling her to her feet and into his arms. It was familiar, and yet, just different enough to make her heart pound out a nervous rhythm in her chest. She stepped into his grip, letting him lead her away from the table as the music got just a little louder, but the beat stayed slow. She tangled their fingers and put her head on his chest, following his lead as he led them in a close sway.
“So is this the dress?” he asked, his voice low, his mouth against her temple.
She blushed, glad he couldn’t see her face. “Yes.”
The hand on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into the dip of her waist. “I understand why I didn’t want you in that bar.” He gave a meaningful nod toward her chest.
“Technically, going to that bar got you kissed.”
“Lucky dress.”
She turned her head to meet his eyes. “Lucky guy.”
“You saying I’m going to get lucky?”
“I don’t know. What are your thoughts on girls who put out on the first date?”
He pulled her even closer, his nose ghosting along her cheek. “What are your thoughts on fellas who do?”
“Big fan,” she said, sliding her hand up his shoulder to wrap around the back of his neck and pull his mouth to hers.
They barely made it to the bedroom. They wouldn’t have if Darcy had her way, but Bucky was insistent. He still made it difficult to get there. They got held up on the stairs at one point when he pressed her against the wall, one big hand hauling her thigh up over his hip as he kissed down her neck until she thought she was going to cry with how badly she needed him to do more.
They did make it, though.
Banging through the door together, her skirt pushed up to her hips to let her legs wrap around his waist. One of his shoes was gone. The waistcoat was somewhere on the stairs. He broke away from her mouth as he lowered her feet to the floor, and he was toeing off his other shoe, shunting it to the far side of the room as he kicked the door closed.
She was already panting, and she was still fully dressed. There was a red mark on his neck from her teeth that hadn’t managed to fade yet; she reached up and pressed her thumb into it. “You wanted me on a bed.”
“I wanted the opportunity to take my time,” he corrected, and his hands smoothed over her waist. “It’s just so damn hard with you.”
She molded herself to him until she could feel his length hard and ready through his pants against her stomach. “Line?”
“Don’t have enough blood flow up north for lines at the moment, sweetheart.” His hands cupped her cheeks. “You make me stupid.”
“Line,” she accused breathlessly, and he shook his head. He was walking them backward, guiding them toward the bed even as one clever hand started to bunch the fabric of her skirt up her thighs.
“No more lines tonight,” he said, his eyes dark. “Just you and me, doll.”
Her calves hit the low mattress, and his arm tightened on her waist to keep her on her feet as he slowly dragged her dress up over her hips, her stomach, her ribs. His fingers brushed sensitive skin as they rose, sending shivers out in their wake. She raised her arms, letting him pull the stretchy maxi dress over her head, leaving her in the lace bra and panty set. She was still wearing her sandals.
Bucky looked down between them, his finger running a teasing line down her sternum, stopping when it reached the band of her bra. He traced the edge of one purple lace cup as it rose and fell with Darcy’s ragged breathing. “Your favorite color,” he said with a smirk, and when he looked up at her, his eyes were at half mast, his pupils blown wide.
She swallowed, nodding. “Yes.” After the frenzy of getting to the bedroom, everything had gone slow and tense. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears; she rubbed her thighs together, her lace underwear creating delicious friction against swollen flesh. She craved.
“You need something, doll?” he asked, and his voice had gone low, rough. He put his other hand on her, spreading it out across her lower back, forcing her to arch into him. She let out a whine at the contact. “I know what you need,” he said.
The hand on her chest dropped down to grip her thigh, lifting it up over his hip, and then she was off her feet. His strength, so terribly impressive, was on full display as he crawled onto the bed with her in his arms, laying her back in the blankets.
“Off,” she whined, twisting her hands in the loose fabric of his dress shirt as he hovered over her. She was already feeling overwhelmed by the sudden softness of everything. The rasp of the sheets on her heated skin, the brush of Bucky’s dress pants against her thighs. She wanted his skin on hers.
He reached back, pulling his shirt over his head without bothering with the buttons, and she sighed in relief as her hands made contact with the hot, firm flesh of his flank, her fingers digging in. “Going to make you beg,” he promised, and he was already moving down her body, skimming his hands along her ribs and her stomach until his fingers hooked into the waistband of her underwear.
It was slow, torturously slow, the way he pulled the lace over her hips and down her thighs, his gaze locked on her face. His hands were soothing as he rolled the damp fabric all the way off and finally looked down at the neatly trimmed curls between her legs. He licked his lips, and Darcy whimpered.
He lay down, hands heavy as he curled them around her hips, his shoulders forcing her legs wide. “You going to be a good girl for me?” he asked, his gaze still locked on her cunt. “Going to tell me what you need?”
She nodded, one of her hands drifting toward his head, desperate to sink her fingers in his hair and force his mouth down. His eyes darted to her hand, and she froze. He chuckled darkly. “Definitely going to make you beg.” His hands clenched, fingers sinking into her yielding flesh as he raised her hips to meet his mouth.
The first swipe of his tongue up her slit made her cry out. The second forced her hand to his head, her fingers twisting in the soft strands of his dark hair. He was relentless, his clever tongue and lips bringing her already needy body to the height of pleasure so fast she was dizzy with it, and then he pushed her over the edge, her cunt clenching around nothing as she bowed up into him with a moan.
He growled into her over-sensitive flesh, his tongue never slowing its assault on her clit as she came, her body writhing against his mouth. Her hands fisted in his hair. She cried out, trying to pull away, but his hands on her hips kept her in place as he slowed his pace, still licking her soft and sweet. She needed — she needed — “Please,” she whined, and he laughed.
“Use your words, doll.”
“Inside me, please.” She bucked her hips, hoping he’d get the message, and was rewarded with two blunt fingers sliding into her wet heat, stretching her just enough. “Yes,” she gasped.
“Such a good girl,” he teased, his teeth nipping at her thigh, his thumb tapping at her clit. “What else do you want?” he asked, and she blinked open eyes she hadn’t even realized she’d closed to find him watching her, his chin on her hip, one strong arm wrapped around her thigh, his eyes at half-mast.
“You,” she said plainly, and she scratched at his scalp.
“No,” he smirked. “Be more specific. You want me to fuck you? You want me to lick you? You want me to wreck you?” he asked. Darcy shuddered and nodded. “That book you gave me said that if I keep going —” He twisted his wrist, and she cried out, her eyes snapping shut. “—you’ll come again for me.” She could hear the grin in his voice. “Look at you. Christ,” he whispered.
Then his mouth was back on her, his lips molded to her clit, his tongue lapping at her insistently as she rode the wave of pleasure. Her thighs trembled, her heels digging into his back as she looked for leverage to try and push herself more firmly into the heat of his mouth. She untangled one hand from his hair, cupping her breast, she pinched her nipple through the lace cup of the bra, and — she was definitely going to come again.
“So close,” she panted. “So close. So good, so good. Bucky, more. Please.” She convulsed as another orgasm tore through her. Crying out, one hand tight in his hair, the other twisting in the sheets as every muscle went tight and then released.
And this time, when he pulled away, she thought she might sob at the empty feeling he left behind. She was wet and well-used, and he was still wearing his fucking pants. She stared at him through hazy, lust-drunk eyes as he crouched between her splayed legs, one of his hands on high on her thigh. He’d unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down just far enough to stroke himself. She licked her lips. His eyes tracked the movement of her tongue.
“Don’t worry,” he said, voice low. “Gonna fuck you, my sweet girl.”
He was kicking off his pants, crawling up her body, his hands mapping her body as he went. Her bra came off. Then they were face to face, and his hands were guiding her legs up and around his hips, and she dug her nails into his sides as she felt the wide, blunt head of his cock at her opening.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice rough, but his hands on her face were so gentle.
“Need you,” she whispered. “Always need you.” His hips jerked forward, and she gasped as he sank into her halfway, stretching her around his hard length. His eyes slid shut, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. She could feel him trembling against her, trying to hold back, and she tilted her hips, hands soothing down his back. “Come on, baby,” she encouraged. He groaned deep in his chest. “Come on,” she repeated, kissing him slow and sweet.
He rolled his hips almost lazily, and she squirmed, already writhing from the languorous pace. Every thrust of his hips dragged his cock in and out of her throbbing cunt. She was stretched out, spread wide, completely open to him, and Bucky seemed perfectly content to bury himself in her almost gently. It was just enough to keep her on the edge, her body craving more, but never enough to pull her closer to another climax. She dug her nails into his back, feeling like she might go mad.
She was whining, panting, straining under him. Her heels digging into his ass. She arched against him, seeking out friction on her pulsing clit as he ground into her. “Fucking please,” she moaned.
“Tell me,” he demanded, and he sounded wrecked.
“Need you,” she said. “Baby, need you to —” She cut off into a groan as his hips gave a brutal thrust. “Yes.”
“Like that?” he asked.
She nodded, mouth open, mind blank. His thrusts sped up, one arm snaking under her back to lift her hips, the new angle letting his cock sink deeper between her thighs. She threw her head back, and his mouth latched onto her throat, sucking at the delicate skin.
She was one giant nerve. She clung to him. She was his. She’d always been his. She panted, a low noise leaving her throat with every roll of his hips as he branded himself even more firmly on her soul. He soothed a bite on her collarbone with his tongue, and she dug furrows into his back with her nails. She could feel her release starting to build again, low and powerful, deep in her stomach.
His left hand braced on her upper back before sliding under her messy curls to grip her neck. And then he was there. His beautiful eyes, pupils blown, brows drawn up, lips bitten red and wet. “There you are,” she whispered, and she gasped as his other hand found her clit, knuckles brushing along the sides of the pulsing nerve with unerring accuracy.
“You’re mine,” she told him. She watched the words land. Felt them as his hips slammed into hers. “Mine,” she repeated and felt almost drunk with pleasure as he surged into her again, and again, and again. Setting a new rhythm that had a thick heat spreading through her body.
Her orgasm rose inside her like a wave, wild and violent. He was close, too. She could see it on his face, in his eyes, feel in it in the ragged hitch of his breath. “Tell me,” he pleaded. And she knew what he needed.
Always knew what he needed.
His fingers were fast on her clit, his hips grinding against hers, his chest slick and sweaty on her own.
“Yours,” she gasped.
His fingers slipped against her clit, his eyes going soft as his hips jerked.
“I’m yours,” she repeated, and his mouth came down on hers as the wave crested, her whole body going tight. She arched up into him, her moan lost in his kiss as she came, her cunt clenching around his thick cock as his hips snapped to hers once, twice more, and then went still.
“Fuck,” Bucky panted, and he buried his face in her throat. “Fuck. You’re—” He clung to her, their bodies still molded together as they caught their breath.
“Yes,” she agreed, and she pushed the sweaty hair back from his face with trembling hands. “Yes. Always yours,” she repeated again, and she felt a shiver run through him. He nodded clumsily, his face still hidden in her neck.
He rolled them to the side, his body curling around hers, and she was heavy and content, safe and warm in the circle of his arms. “Going to take care of you, Darcy,” he whispered into her hair. “I promise.”
She fell asleep with her own three-word promise unspoken on her lips.
—
Date night, combined with what came after, had served as an excellent distraction from the reality of the entire team planning to descend on the Malibu house that afternoon. Now, though, with their arrival only hours away, Darcy’s nerves were starting to rise to the surface.
And they were surfacing in the most annoying way possible.
She and Bucky had finally dragged themselves out of bed and down to the kitchen to make breakfast. So far, Darcy had spilled an entire container of orange juice inside the fridge, accidentally dumped the hashbrowns into the sink instead of the frying pan she’d been heating, and cut herself with a fork. A fork.
“You sure you don’t want more eggs? Thought you would have worked up quite an appetite from the injury.” Bucky grinned at her from behind his literal pile of scrambled eggs.
She pushed her smaller pile of eggs around her plate. “Shut your face.” She hid her bandaid-covered right hand deeper into her lap. Fucking fork.
“Don’t be like that, doll.” He shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth with a smirk. “We’ve still got the morning before they come back, right? Did you want to do anything before they get here?”
“Nope! Just be here in the house with you. It’s a great house. We could check out the media room; haven’t done that yet. Oh, or have you seen the game room? Tony has lots of arcade games. You’d be so good at PacMan.” She shoved a piece of bacon in her mouth to stop the babbling. She had to stop babbling. God, why was she babbling.
“This is new.” He grinned at her. The asshole.
“I regret everything.” She kept her eyes firmly on her plate.
“Uh-huh.” Warm fingers caught her chin, forcing her head up to meet his gaze. “What’s going on? Why does it have you so nervous? I know you weren’t sure about how you felt about it all, but you clearly love them. They’re obviously your family.”
“I don’t know,” she wailed. “They are my family. And I do love them. But for some reason, seeing them all again in one place is terrifying.” She waved her half-eaten piece in his face for emphasis. “And when I get worked up in life or death situations, I get all mad or pass out, but when I get worked up emotionally like this, I babble and get clumsy as fuck, so — Sorry about the hashbrowns,” she apologized for what had to be the tenth time.
“I think you’re worrying too much, sweetheart, and I don’t care about the hashbrowns.”
“I’m just building it up in my head.” She shoved the rest of the bacon in her traitorous mouth. She didn’t think she’d been this nervous since she was 14 and Eric Cagney asked her to the spring dance. She’d babbled all night then, too, until she’d gotten the bright idea to drink punch to keep her mouth busy and ended the night by throwing up bright red Kool-Aid all over him in the back of his mom’s station wagon.
She should not be eating right now.
She choked down the bacon already in her mouth and forced a smile. “Are you done?”
“No?” Bucky said, confused.
“Great.” She jumped up and collected his plate and hers, heading toward the sink. “You know,” she started, and her brain screamed at her to stop, but she couldn’t. “Modern dishwashers have become so efficient that studies show that pre-washing dishes before you put them in the dishwasher can actually increase the water used to clean the dishes by more than three times the amount used if you just put the dishes directly into the dishwasher in the first place and I know that pre-washing is a hard habit to break, but I really feel like —”
He took the plates from her with gentle hands and set them on the counter.
“—it’s worth it to try and stop because it’s better not to waste water,” she finished quietly.
“Darcy,” he said, leaning forward to bracket her against the cabinets, his hands braced on the countertop. His bare chest was so close; it was warm and distracting, and fuck. “Take a deep breath for me, and tell me what’s really going on?”
“I just thought that you might need that information about the modern dishwasher?” She chewed on her lip, staring down at her bare feet, curling her toes on the tile. This was horrible.
“And while that was very interesting, I have a feeling something else is going on. You’ve been jumpy ever since we got up.” He caught her chin between a finger and thumb again, tilting her head up so he could see her face. “You having second thoughts after last night?”
“What?! No! No! Last night was perfect. You were amazing. The candles. There was dancing and then the after part and you —” she trailed off, taking in his concerned face. His brows drawn up, his lips turned down in a frown. She sighed. “I just told you, I babble and get clumsy when I’m nervous.”
“I noticed, but this seems like more than being nervous to see the team. You weren’t like this about seeing Clint and Nat.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Trust me, this could be worse.”
“Worse than you hurting yourself with a fork?”
“I once drank so much punch at a school dance to shut myself up that I threw up on Eric Cagney in his mom’s station wagon when he tried to kiss me good night.”
Bucky’s face twisted in disgust.
“Exactly,” she agreed. “His white Converse were never the same.”
“I bet,” Bucky laughed. “So this is why you stole my breakfast? To stop yourself from trying to eat all my eggs?”
She blushed, eyes darting to the full plates on the counter to her right. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” Bucky smirked. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”
She stared into his eyes. They were the same eyes she’d come to know and love, but somehow just a little softer — or no — lighter. How did she tell him she was more nervous about the news the team would bring than seeing them? How did she explain she was terrified that they were going to tell him that she’d ruined his brain? Or, almost worse, that, they’d show up with the ability to undo it, and it would become an impossible choice — because she loved him. She loved him.
This him.
All of him.
She couldn’t turn it all back and lose this version of him with any less pain than losing the previous version had caused. And how did that work? And what if Bucky blamed her for it all?
“I just —” She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. How did she explain any of it? She was losing her fucking mind.
“Darcy, it’s going to be okay. Just tell me, baby.”
“I just —”
A soft ding sounded overhead, and Bucky went tense.
“Honey, I’m home!” Tony’s voice rang through the house.
“Oh, what the fuck,” Darcy breathed, and she wrapped a tight hand around Bucky’s wrist, already halfway to the gun tucked into the back of his pants. “It’s Tony,” she whispered. “Which means it’s probably also—”
“Tony, I told you we should have waited to come with everyone else.” Steve at least sounded contrite.
“It’s my house, and you were driving me up a fucking wall. No one can run that much, Steve. It’s unhealthy.”
“We told them they had until this afternoon. They aren’t expecting us for hours; they could still be asleep.”
Bucky met Darcy’s gaze and shot a meaningful look down at her legs, bare beneath the hem of his dress shirt from the night before—currently, the only thing she was wearing. He raised an eyebrow in question, and she shook her head. There was no way out of the kitchen that didn’t take them past the approaching voices. Bucky turned to face the doorway to the kitchen, blocking as much of her as possible with his body.
“We’ll just drop the bags and make them breakfast then,” Tony said. “Barnes eats as much as you, so I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”
“I guess. I still think we should have waited. I’m anxious to see them, but Darcy didn’t seem excited about this no matter what Nat managed to get her to agree to, and I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot after everything.”
“It’s going to be fine. They’ve had a few days to have stress-free Malibu sex. Cures all.”
“Tony,” Steve scolded. “We don’t know if they’re still together. Bucky lost all his memories. Stop poking at that. It could be a real sore spot.”
“Uh - I think they’re together.”
“What — “ Steve stopped short as he bumped into Tony’s back and then froze, his eyes locked on them.
There was no way to interpret the situation as anything other than a morning after. Bucky, shirtless with wild hair, one very well-done hickey still healing on his collarbone — Darcy was pretty proud of that one, if she was being honest. And her, in nothing but his white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, her hair a mess, beard burn on her neck, old eyeliner fading off.
“Doing the Malibu house proud, I see,” Tony practically crowed.
Bucky made a noise that could only be called a growl.
“Stand down Barnes, no one is after your girl,” Tony quipped as he stepped into the kitchen and helped himself to a piece of cut-up fruit from the cutting board on the center island. “The growling—” He waved his hand. “—is a nice touch, but I would have thought that was part of what Lewis took out, no?”
Steve slapped his palm over his face. “Tony.”
“It’s more a general reaction to you, Tony, as opposed to something Hydra put in the programming,” Darcy said from around Bucky’s shoulder.
“Fair,” Tony sat down at the kitchen island. “So you all having fun?”
“We should go,” Steve said, “Hey, Buck, really good to — sorry about this.”
“It’s okay, punk. Could use a couple minutes to get decent, though, yeah?” Bucky shifted on his feet like he thought it would offer Darcy more cover.
“Lewis, you particularly indecent?” Tony asked.
“You make the worst first impressions, Tony,” Darcy said. “Why don’t you go to your lab and see what your robot children have been up to while you’ve been away? I turned them all loose when we got here.”
Tony let out a muffled curse and fled the room.
“He’s usually not that bad,” Steve said, watching his boyfriend go. “He’s been anxious since you all called.”
“I know,” Darcy agreed. “I know.” There was an awkward pause.
“You have to leave too, Stevie,” Bucky said with a half laugh, and Steve jumped.
“Right! Yes. Right. I will just go be — not here right now. I will go put our bags in our room.”
“No!” Darcy said.
“No?” Steve asked.
“I may have — definitely broken into Tony’s room. The security is better, and it’s the only one with bulletproof windows,” she admitted.
Bucky spun on his heel to face her. “You told me it was because the bed was bigger.”
“Well, it is,” she muttered.
“And the bulletproof windows were a side perk?”
“If you want to be mad, be mad at yourself. You taught me paranoia.”
He snorted and turned back to face Steve. “We stole your room. Sorry about that, punk. Can you bunk somewhere else for a bit?”
“Tony is going to be insufferable,” Steve muttered.
“Tell him to put it on my tab,” Darcy huffed.
“Yeah, that might help.” Steve nodded. “Okay. I’ll just go check on him in the lab. We’ll stay out of your hair for a bit.”
“Thanks, Steve. Good to see you.” Bucky gave him a nod.
Steve made an aborted move toward him, stopped himself, and then turned on his heel and fled the room.
“He’s going to hug the shit out of you later,” Darcy whispered.
Bucky chuckled. “Fine. Let’s get you some fucking pants and finish our conversation before the rest of them show up early.”
“Right,” she said. “Our conversation. Great. Can’t wait.”
Notes:
Emotions! I hope we're all having emotions - I was having emotions all over the place when I wrote this part. Between the Hydra book burning where Darcy went full protection mode, then the date with what came after, and then the morning after with some memory-based anxieties to untangle - emotions.
Nat and Clint continue to be incredible, though! And who didn't expect Steve and Tony to show up early?
I hope you all enjoyed this next part as much as the last one! You all blew me away with the love and reactions on the last chapter! I am so glad you enjoyed Bucky's reactions to the future and all the fluff and fun. We're only a couple of chapters from the end here, so things are going to wrap up fast. Thank you so much to everyone - I can't express how much you all mean to me. I'll be replying to everyone in the next little bit!
Another big thank you to my beta, and amazing friend, Noxnthea, who is amazing - and genuinely makes all of this possible.
Up next: Steve and Tony cause trouble.
Chapter 13: Hey Asshole,
Summary:
“I’m not going anywhere. Even if I did lose these memories all over again I bet you could cut the time in half. Hell, by version 10, you’d be pulling me out of the chair already head over heels.”
“Not funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” he said with a smirk. “But I’m not going anywhere.”
Everyone catches up after their time apart. Darcy and Bucky figure out some important details.
Notes:
Sorry, this one is a little off schedule!
tw: discussions of brainwashing, minor anxiety attack, explicit sexual content, minor dom/sub (poorly negotiated, but very consensual)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“These windows are bulletproof?” Bucky was standing in the middle of the bedroom, hands on his hips, staring at the wall of glass that faced the ocean.
“They are, Sergeant,” JARVIS confirmed.
“See, I think ahead,” Darcy said, jumping in place to get the new jeans she’d ordered the day before over her hips.
“I like this.”
She looked up to find Bucky leering at her chest. “Put a shirt on,” she said with an exasperated shake of her head.
“You first,” he said, his eyes locked on her chest, now in a black bra.
She rolled her eyes and bent over to grab her shirt. “I can’t believe they showed up early.”
“I can,” he said with a shrug. “I’m amazed it wasn’t Steve’s idea.”
She sighed, shirt halfway up her arms. “He missed you a lot. I mean, I don’t know about the last few months, but before this, he used to miss you. I’m sure this is a huge deal for him.”
“You feeling less nervous then? Now that they’re here.” Bucky pulled a shirt over his head, and then sat down on the edge of the bed, to work on his boots.
“No.”
He looked up, waiting until she put her shirt on, then reached out to pull her into the vee of his legs. “Tell me about it?” he asked, his hands massaging her hips.
“What if it is my fault?” she asked, her voice small.
His forehead wrinkled, his brows drawing up in confusion. “What if what’s your fault?”
“You losing your memories. What if I missed something? Or what if I did it wrong? What if they have data to prove I could have done it better? What if they want to bring your memories back and it was all for nothing? What if now you forget this part and I just can’t —” she trailed off, stopped by the tightness in her throat.
He let out a slow breath. “C’mere.” He scooted back on the bed to make room to pull her into his lap, tucking her into his chest. “You didn’t do it wrong. If you missed something, I really doubt it was your fault. It sounds like you did the best you could with what you had.” He kissed her head, squeezing her. “As to all the memory stuff, I can’t imagine they can bring them back without my permission. So if they can do that, you and I can talk about it. We’ll decide what we want to do.”
She was already shaking her head. “Your memories. Your brain. I’ve done enough.”
He pressed his forehead to her temple. “You and me, we’re in this together, right?”
“Your brain has only known me for like nine days.”
“You know that’s not true.” He ran his nose up her cheek. “You know it’s more than that. It’s you and me.”
She shook her head, turned to face him, and tangled a hand in his hair. “I couldn’t choose between versions of you.”
“I feel like this whole thing has proven it doesn’t matter,” he said with a dark laugh. “You and me, doll.”
“You and me,” she agreed.
“The rest will work itself out.”
“You promise?”
He laughed again, that deep, free laugh that had appeared in Minnesota. “Yes.” He kissed her cheek and then the corner of her mouth. “I promise it’s you and me first. We’ll figure the rest out as it comes.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
—
“Lewis, looking good in pants,” Tony said. He was in the kitchen unboxing a quiche and fruit salad from a bistro up the road. “I got brunch as an apology for ruining your morning after.”
“You weren’t supposed to be here until dinner,” Darcy said as she slid onto a bar stool. “Where’s Steve?”
“He’s trying to be good. Said we should give you space until this afternoon.” Tony put a slice of quiche onto a plate and pushed it across the island to her. “Where’s your cyborg?”
“Bucky,” Darcy emphasized his name. “Is getting dressed. He’ll be out in a minute.”
Tony raised an eyebrow, and then his gaze locked on her wrist — her right wrist — where the outline of Bucky’s metal hand was still bruised into her skin from his flashback at the quinjet two days before. “Is that—” Tony nodded at her arm. “—a fun bruise, or do we need to have a serious talk?” Tony’s tone made it clear he thought he already knew the answer.
Darcy rolled her eyes. “You want to show up after months and play protective friend?”
“We’ve been following you for months, trying to be protective friends.” Tony popped a grape in his mouth. “You and Robocop were too good at staying two steps ahead. Kept breaking Steve’s heart.”
Darcy narrowed her eyes. “Steve’s heart can take it.”
“Yeah, but mine can’t.” Tony tapped on the arc reactor with his fork, and she scoffed.
“We all know that thing has basically been for show since you started research on the nanobot suit last year.” She took a bite of the quiche. “This is good.”
“Only the best for my little fugitives.”
“Only fugitives because Steve sent us out into the night without help.”
“I’ve watched the tapes of that attack at the Tower lobby when Steve sent you off with Barnes. He definitely did not say start a personal crusade against Hydra. You came up with that one all on your own, kiddo.” Tony gave her a stern look.
“Well, that’s rude.”
“Pointing out when you’re wrong?”
“Partially wrong,” she muttered.
“Fair,” Tony said with a nod. “Steve was definitely off the reservation with all the stuff about staying dead. Although you not having a phone, made it super hard to track or text you. Do you know I had JARVIS try to track you using an algorithm based on all your playlists?”
“Aww, really?”
“Yep, and we followed you to all those dumb states and Canada! Nice job stealing that plane, by the way. Was way less impressed by that mess in Virginia.”
“We didn’t make that mess in Virginia on our own. It’s not like we asked them to track us to that park.”
“Sure, but did you have to just leave them all dead everywhere?”
“As opposed to?”
Tony sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t know. You know Steve took it as an opportunity to ask me out, so now I have that memory forever.”
Darcy grinned. “He didn’t?”
“Who didn’t what?” Bucky asked as he walked into the kitchen.
“Steve asked Tony out over a pile of dead Hydra agents in Virginia.”
“Stevie has never been great at the first move.” Bucky dropped onto a stool next to her and stole a piece of fruit off her plate. “Pile of dead Hydra agents, was that us?”
“Yep.” She lunged over the island to grab what was left of the quiche and, instead of cutting a slice, just jammed a fork in it and pushed it in front of Bucky. “Mostly you, really. You said you refused to clean up another one of their messes since they’d inconvenienced us and told me to get in the car.”
Bucky shrugged and took a bite of the quiche. “Makes sense. Dead guys are heavy.”
“Dead guys are heavy,” Tony whispered. “This is the man you want to share ice cream cones with?”
“What do you know about us and ice cream cones?” Darcy asked.
Tony fiddled with his phone and slid it across the granite countertop. “Surveillance photos from the Ben and Jerry’s factory you stopped at.”
“Aww, we look so cute. JARVIS, can you print some of these for me?” Darcy held out the phone so Bucky could see.
“I can, Darcy,” JARVIS replied. “You just need to let me know what size.”
“You’re cute in hats, doll.” Bucky kissed her cheek, leaving quiche crumbs behind.
“This is disgusting,” Tony said. “I’m actually feeling nauseous.”
Darcy brushed the crumbs off her face, unable to stop smiling. “Contain yourself, Tony.”
“So you two have figured all this out again?” Tony asked, waving his fork between them. He seemed genuinely curious.
“Wasn’t much to figure out,” Bucky said with a shrug.
“Now, that’s interesting,” Tony said. “And now that you’re here, Soviet Winter, let’s return to my original question—” Tony pointed to Darcy’s wrist with his fork again. “—explain that.”
“I ah—”
“Bucky was triggered when Nat and Clint picked us up, and in his efforts to protect me, he squeezed too tight.” Darcy rolled her wrist to demonstrate it was working fine. “It doesn’t hurt anymore; everyone is fine, and it’s not something we need to make a big deal out of.” She directed the last part to Bucky, who was staring at her wrist with worried eyes.
“So you’re having flashbacks?” Tony had his phone open to a notes app.
“Ask permission before you start diagnosing, Tinman,” Darcy warned.
Tony sighed. “Fine. JARVIS, please record.” He turned to Bucky. “Sergeant Barnes, would you be willing to allow me to figure out what’s going on with your brain?”
“Ye—” Bucky was cut off as Darcy elbowed him sharply in the stomach.
“What does allow you to figure it out mean? Are you asking questions? Do you intend to have JARVIS start tracking his vitals? Will there be other procedures?” she asked.
“Always the smart one, Lewis.” Tony grinned. “All of the above. I’d also love to get a new brain scan to see what’s changed since you did the wipe.”
She looked at Bucky. “Your call.”
Bucky pulled his fork from his mouth and chewed his bite of quiche. “I’m good with it if you are, doll.”
“Great!” Tony clapped his hands.
“Tony!” The front door slammed shut, and Steve’s voice echoed through the house. “TONY!”
“I thought you said he was off trying to be good?” Darcy asked, confused.
“Trying to be good. I left him at the restaurant when I went to pick up the food as a distraction — to-may-to, to-mah-to.” Tony shrugged.
Bucky chuckled. “You’re in so much trouble.”
“Tony!” Steve appeared at the door to the kitchen, looking furious. “What the hell was— oh — hey Buck. Darcy.” Steve’s shoulders dropped. “Tony, you were supposed to leave them alone.”
“Hey honey, where have you been?” Tony turned to look at Steve. “Darcy and Bucky came to the kitchen of their own volition to have some of this quiche I brought back and — oh my god!” Tony smacked himself in the forehead. “You were with me, I am so—”
“Stop, Tony. I know you left me on purpose. You threw me a peace sign as you rolled up the window before you drove away.” Steve crossed the kitchen to lean on the counter next to Tony.
“So much trouble,” Bucky muttered as he shoved the last of the quiche into his mouth.
“You’re the one who just ate all the quiche, jerk,” Steve pointed out.
Bucky shrugged. “I’ve never left you anywhere. At least not that I remember.”
“This is going somewhere weird,” Darcy said.
“It’s so good to see you,” Steve said, his gaze locked on Bucky’s face. “I’m sorry we showed up early, and I’m sorry about not listening to you in '45. I should have.”
Bucky sighed. “I’m sorry about '45, too, but can’t really hold a grudge when it’s technically been 70 years, punk.” He nudged his head in Darcy’s direction, not at all subtly. “Besides, maybe there's someone else you should apologize to,” he hissed.
“What? Oh! Darcy, yes. I’m so — no, I mean, I can’t even begin to apologize enough for everything. Sending you off like that in the middle of things — And then the plan to let everyone think we were dead. I had no idea — I didn’t think about how that would —”
Darcy narrowed her eyes in suspicion at the way Steve kept adjusting his words; his eyes focused on something just over her right shoulder. She turned her head just in time to catch Bucky’s hands dropping back into his lap. “Did you all used to practice this nonsense in the war?”
“Aw, c’mon, doll. He really is sorry.”
“How would you know? You’re seeing him again for the first time in 70 years.” She glared at Bucky.
“I mean, look at him.” Bucky waved a hand at Steve, and she turned to find the other supersoldier giving her honest-to-god puppy dog eyes. “He’s clearly very sad.”
“Absolutely not. You just made up! We’re not doing the buddy-buddy thing.” She pointed a finger at Bucky, and he batted it away.
“Darcy!” Steve gasped. “What happened to your wrist?”
“Oh my god.” Her head made a thump as it hit the countertop.
“We’ve already gone over that,” Tony said. “Bucky-bear had a flashback. We were just negotiating invasive health tracking so we can figure out what’s going on with his brain.”
“There is nothing wrong with his brain,” Darcy said into the counter. “I’m pretty sure it’s trying to heal around procedural memories and creating flashbacks.”
“The murder twins said something about that,” Tony mused. “It makes a lot of sense. It would also be really helpful with the work Bruce and Jane have been doing.”
“Okay.” Darcy finally picked her head up. “Nope. This is too much for hour one of the reunion. I need a break or at least to be not in the kitchen anymore.”
“She had a fork injury this morning,” Bucky said sympathetically, and he slung an arm over her shoulders.
“A fork injury?” Tony asked incredulously.
Darcy groaned. “I was supposed to have four more Tony Stark free hours.”
“I would prefer if you thought of this as four bonus hours with Tony Stark. Some people would pay big money for that.” Tony grinned at her.
“Begone thot,” she ordered, pointing Tony toward the door.
“Harsh, but not historically inaccurate. I’ll see you later. Missed you, kid,” Tony said as he rose to his feet.
“Missed you, too,” Darcy offered with a grin.
“I’ll just—”
“Don’t you dare move Steven Grant Rogers.” She pinned Steve in place with a glare.
“Full name,” Bucky whispered. “That’s rough, Stevie.”
“I take it you have not gotten the full name?” Steve asked as he sank into Tony’s abandoned seat.
“Oh no, I definitely have.” Bucky started in on Darcy’s abandoned fruit. “I just have far more convincing methods of begging forgiveness.”
“Not helpful,” Steve muttered.
“Now, Steven.” Darcy folded her hands on the counter in front of her. “You recently made some very poor choices.”
“Yes, and I’d like to—”
“Wait,” Darcy interrupted. She turned to Bucky. “You go sit next to him.”
“What did I do?” Bucky asked, looking offended.
“You tried to help him like two minutes ago with your 80 years of bromance hand signals. You can’t be trusted outside of my direct line of sight right now. Go on. Go sit next to him.” She waved toward the empty seat on Steve’s right.
“Don’t see why I’m in trouble,” Bucky grumbled, but he moved around to sit next to Steve. “I’m taking the fruit,” he pouted, dragging the container with him.
“Fine,” Darcy said. “Now, Steven —”
“Do you have to keep calling me Steven? Before all this, we had a weekly movie night where I painted your nails.” Steve’s puppy dog eyes were on full display.
“That’s cute,” Bucky chimed in.
“You sent me off with your best friend with no warning of who he was, his current mental state, or the danger of the paramilitary group that would be trying to kill him, and then maintained the ruse of you and the entire team’s deaths for months leading to me almost being killed at least three times.” She stared them both down.
“That was pretty shitty, Steve,” Bucky said.
Steve looked her in the eye. “I am sorry for all of that. I know it will take some time, but I’d like the opportunity to re-earn your trust. None of it was meant to hurt you. The original plan was just to get you and Bucky out of the building with the best chance of survival. The rest just happened.”
Darcy hadn’t expected to have such a visceral reaction to his apology, but it really did make her feel lighter to hear him say those words so earnestly, to see the truth of it on his face, to hear it in his voice. She found herself having to blink rapidly to fight back the tears stinging her eyes. “It really sucked,” she said.
“We didn’t plan it,” Steve said quietly. “I know we said that to the media, but that was a PR plan. The building really did come down on us. Nat was hurt, Bruce too. It took us a few days to dig ourselves out through some of the tunnels, and by the time we did, you two and Hydra had such a head start on us — we just never caught up.” He picked at a thread on his sleeve. “We’ve been chasing you across the continent for months.”
“Tony was saying,” she agreed. “He showed us the pictures from Ben and Jerry’s. Said you asked him out at that crime scene in Virginia.”
“Terrible move,” Bucky said.
“It made sense,” Steve defended. “There was build up.”
“Sure. Sure. But was there really?” Darcy teased.
“There was, I swear there was.” Steve swiped a hand down his face.
“Don’t worry, whatever you did is way better than some of the plans Tony came up with. I promise.” She smiled to herself, remembering the Top Secret SR files. “I can send you a file if you’re interested.”
“Tony mentioned you got into something of his,” Steve said with a smirk. “I should probably let him keep his secrets.”
“Didn’t say anything about his dignity,” Darcy pointed out. “I’ll email it to you. You know, just in case you need it one day. He was going to buy Brooklyn for you.”
Steve made a concerned face and then shook his head. “That’s— no, later. Can you forgive me?” he asked. “Both of you.” He turned to Bucky. “We — I didn’t get to Minnesota in time. I’m so sorry.”
Darcy’s heart started to pound, dread filling her chest.
“Get to Minnesota in time?” Bucky asked. “Seemed like you got there with plenty of time to cause a big damn fight.”
“Well, yeah, but if we’d gotten there earlier, we could have stopped you. That was the plan. To get there before the wipe and make sure you knew we could remove the programming without you losing your memories. I’m sure Tony told you since he mentioned the work Bruce and Jane are doing, but they’re working hard to figure out how to fix it or put them all back if you want or at least stabi—” Steve stopped talking, his eyes locked on Darcy. “Darcy, are you okay?”
“Never better,” she wheezed, but she was having trouble breathing. All she could hear was Steve’s voice saying fix it on repeat in her head.
“Did Tony not—” Steve started to ask.
“No,” Bucky said shortly, and he was up and around the island, his chest suddenly filling her entire field of view. “Hey, doll. You’re fine. Just take a nice deep breath. No, not like that,” he corrected when her first attempt got caught halfway down her throat, and she made a very unattractive wheezing sound.
“I can’t— I— told you—I can’t—”
“No, I told you.” And both his hands were on her cheeks, his bright blue eyes right there. “Hey, pretty girl,” he whispered. “I told you. You did the best you could with what you had. Need you to breathe for me, though.”
“You did, Darcy. The notes were in the .JARV files, you never could have known,” Steve said from across the island, and she turned to look at him with blurry vision.
“.JARV files,” she gasped.
“See nothing you could have— shit — take a breath!” Bucky ordered as she swayed dangerously in her seat.
Her chest felt heavy and tight, her skin too hot, and all her thoughts were too fast. Her brain was shouting at her, racing far too fast — too fast. She should have known. She should have waited. She should have insisted they triple-check everything. Now, because she hadn’t done it right, they were going to “fix it.” They were going to make them pick between this version of him and the one with all the prior memories and she couldn’t. How could she possibly— how could he ever — it was an impossible choice.
All that pain. All those years of murder and suffering weighed against everything else.
He wouldn’t take it all back, right? He shouldn’t. She’d never want him to.
It shouldn’t even be a question. But now it was. Because she’d messed up. She’d messed up, and now he’d have to choose.
And what if they lost this version of him in the process? She couldn’t. She couldn’t. She couldn’t. Not again.
A heavy metal hand was on her sternum, and Bucky’s forehead pressed against hers. “Can you feel my hand on your chest?” She nodded. “Good girl. Can you take a slow breath, in through your nose and feel it lift up — there it is. And out, slow.” He smiled at her, the smile lines at the corners of his eyes wrinkling up, and she wanted to cry for a whole new reason. “Again for me, sweetheart.” She did it. “So good.” His other hand came up to cup the back of her head, holding her tight to him.
She sucked in another slow deep breath and then another and another. It took several very long minutes before she was breathing evenly; only the lingering tremors running through her muscles were left behind as proof that she’d spiraled because fate thought it was funny to make the team a few minutes late. Tears burned her eyes as they slid out and down her cheeks.
She felt drained. Worn out and stretched too thin by everything that had already happened that morning.
And now a complicated new guilt was settling in her chest as she realized it wasn’t just the breathing exercises that pulled her out of her panic but the appearance of those fanned-out lines at the corners of his eyes. She reached up with a trembling hand to trace them with gentle fingers, and they got deeper as Bucky’s smile grew wider.
She loved him. She’d loved the man she’d traveled with for months, and she loved this man, too. And if the team had shown up on time, she might never have heard that laugh — the one only this version of him — the one free from so much of his pain seemed able to make. Or seen him fidget. Or gotten to watch him trust every new person he met — even when he shouldn’t. Or be amazed by clicky pens.
If she’d fallen in love with him the first time, this time felt more like she’d let her love for him swell until it just absorbed this whole new piece of him. It was comfortable and close and intimate. It was still just as uncontainable as it had always been.
“I love you.” The words fell out of her mouth almost without permission, and she watched them land as his eyes widened and then narrowed almost to slits as his smile stretched into a grin. Those wrinkles around his eyes got even deeper.
“I love you, too, doll,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. She could taste the salt of her own tears on their lips. “Good thing the punk ran off to find help,” Bucky muttered when he pulled back from the kiss. “He’d be a mess if he’d witnessed that. He’s a hopeless romantic.” He winked at her.
Darcy had honestly forgotten other humans existed for a moment there, but her eyes darted to the side to confirm Steve was, in fact, no longer in the room. Her cheeks burned with potential embarrassment. “Yes,” she said, swallowing audibly. Honestly, nothing would top the idiocy of the other time.
Bucky straightened up to his full height, the move putting a few inches between them. “I know that look,” he said, eyes narrowed. “That’s your there’s a story here look.”
“No story.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll get it out of you eventually,” he said. “But for now, I’m going to enjoy this. You meant it, right? Not some post-hysterics reaction?”
“I’m going to let that slide because you look serious,” she said, taking in his concerned expression. “But we’re going to have a talk about why the term hysterics is not appropriate anymore. Yes, of course, I meant it.” She cupped his face in both hands. “I love you.”
The grin returned to his face. “I love you.” He leaned down to kiss her again, nipping at her bottom lip. “You and me. I told you. It’s going to be fine. We’ll figure all this memory stuff out together.”
“Tony gave me his Xanax, but I really don’t think — oh, the breathing worked?” Steve came back into the room full speed, an orange prescription bottle in one giant hand.
“We’ve got it under control,” Bucky confirmed, tucking her into his side, where she promptly wiped her face on his shirt. “That’s gross, doll.”
“You should carry a handkerchief if you don’t want to be used like one,” Darcy said.
Steve laughed. “She’s got you there, Buck. Your Ma would have your hide if she caught you without one.”
“Right, you are. My mistake.” His hand stroked at her hair, and she relaxed into his warmth.
“Tony also said since I jumped the gun and told you the hard part.” Steve used air quotes, and Darcy didn’t bother to hide her smile. She’d taught him those. “I should also be sure to tell you that you wouldn’t have been able to read the .JARV files without getting into one of his private properties, so there was no way you could possibly have known. You really did do everything you could have.” Steve leaned over the counter. “We should have gotten there sooner.”
“Or,” Bucky said. “Everyone could think about how maybe I don’t want 70 years of murder in my brain?”
“Well, I mean — I guess there is — that is definitely— yes.” Steve looked flummoxed. “Then why the panic attack?”
Bucky’s hand smoothed over her hair, brushing it back from her face as he looked down at her. “You and me, right?” he asked. Darcy nodded. He looked back up at Steve. “It wasn’t just the Minnesota piece—”
“You said fix it,” Darcy interrupted.
“But we’re not sure there’s anything to fix,” Bucky picked up the thread again. “I know it’s not what you all wanted to happen, but—”
“Oh, thank god.” Steve half collapsed, slumping forward over the kitchen island.
“What?” Darcy asked, confused.
Steve slid into his barstool. “I kept telling Tony it was ridiculous to come up with a plan to put all those terrible memories back, but he made all these really valid points about how it’s not my head, and a person is the sum of their history and — “ Steve stopped himself and looked at Bucky. “If you want them back, they are figuring out how to do it, but they’re also figuring out how to just stabilize the flashbacks, give you back the ones you’re going to get anyway in a controlled way.” Steve ran a heavy hand down his face. “I just don’t want you to suffer,” he said earnestly.
“I’ll think on it,” Bucky said.
Steve nodded. “I am sorry, Darcy,” he said again. “For everything. If there’s anything I can do.”
“I’ll let you know,” she said. “Right now, I’m just enjoying being safe, to be honest.”
“You are safe here,” Steve said seriously. “Tony and I are going to take one of the spare bedrooms. You all keep the main one with the better windows.”
“You don’t hav—”
She elbowed Bucky in the stomach. “Thank you, Steve. How kind.” She smiled at him. “I think I’m going to go take a bulletproof nap before everyone else gets here.”
“Sounds good.” Steve nodded.
“Love a bullet-free nap,” Bucky agreed before he took her hand and let her lead him from the room.
—
“You okay?” They were curled up in the bed, covers pulled over their heads. The midday sun filtered through the duvet, casting Bucky’s face in soft, diffused light.
“Better now,” Darcy admitted, although she was still shaky. The entire morning felt like one giant build-up to what happened in the kitchen; from her anxiety over the team’s arrival to the conversation with Bucky when they’d come to get dressed, she felt like she’d been on a knife’s edge for hours. It was like the pressure valve had been released, and she was weak but relieved. She snuggled deeper into the blankets, forcing herself tighter against his bare chest, and tangled their legs together. “I’m sorry I cried on you,” she muttered.
“Had worse,” Bucky said into her hair. “Considering how it all ended, I don’t have anything to complain about.”
“You’re happy with this outcome?”
“You’re in bed with me. I get to tell you I love you anytime I’d like. Steve apologized to you. All seems positive to me.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Not sure what I could possibly complain about, except maybe you refusing to tell me whatever story you’re keeping to yourself.”
She sighed.
“I imagine I made you promise to tell me, so I assume you’ll break down and—”
“Oh my god, eventually, that guess isn’t going to work anymore. You know that, right?”
“But it worked this time?”
“Yes, of course, it worked this time. You asshole.” She nipped at the skin of his collarbone, and he tugged at her hair playfully in retaliation.
“C’mon, love. Tell me.”
She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “Fine. The other first time we said I love you —”
“Oh, I was going to ask.” He shifted in the blankets, getting more comfortable.
“—I didn’t notice,” Darcy finished.
“Not where I thought that was going. You didn’t notice?”
“I was talking about something else over dinner, and you just blurted it out while I was talking, and I kind of said it back automatically because it was, still is, pretty much a given, and then I kept talking about what I was talking about.”
“I obviously swept you off your feet.”
“Are you remembering this or just guessing?”
“Guessing.”
“Good guess. You did do that. Had me basically up the stairs and on a bed before I realized what had happened, at which point I got upset that I’d missed it.”
Bucky laughed. “Sounds about right. So the first time you missed it, and the second time you said it mid-panic attack while crying?”
“First time, You dropped it on me while I was distracted —”
“I assume I was so overcome I couldn’t help myself.”
“Line.”
“Yes.”
“Second time, I —” Darcy paused, trying to figure out how to explain. “I already knew, but I just had to tell you. The idea that you need to be fixed or that I could lose another part of you without you knowing.” She shook her head and buried her face back into his throat. “Not okay,” she muttered.
“Aww, love.” His voice was thick. “I’m not going anywhere. Even if I did lose these memories all over again I bet you could cut the time in half. Hell, by version 10, you’d be pulling me out of the chair already head over heels.”
“Not funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” he said with a smirk. “But I’m not going anywhere.”
She swallowed, looking up at him, some of the earlier anxiety rearing back up. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know you’ll say it’s not my fault and that I did my best, but I’m sorry. Not for removing the programming, but that my ignorance means you don’t remember the first time we said it and all the other firsts you lost.”
“Oh, doll.” He smoothed the hair back from her face. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t ask you to do.” He sighed. “Here, hold on.” He crawled out of the warm sheets and padded over to their bags, pulling a familiar battered envelope from his backpack before he came back to the bed. He held the letter out to her. “You should read the whole thing.”
Darcy sat up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He pushed it into her hands. “I think it’ll help.”
She carefully pulled the stack of papers from the torn envelope. It was obvious he’d been reading it over and over again. The folds in the pages were well worn, the corners dog-eared, the paper soft from his touch.
Darcy immediately snorted at the salutation.
Hey Asshole,
If you’re reading this, then you’re probably very confused and being bossed around by a five-foot-three spitfire with a lot to say about your memory and everything else.
девушке нельзя причинить вреда.
She looked up at Bucky as she got to the Russian and he sighed.
“The girl cannot be harmed,” he translated. “I assume it was in case you pulled the soldier from the chair instead.”
Darcy nodded and looked back down at the letter.
Now that that’s out of the way. I’m going to hope that you think it’s 1948 because the other version would have read the last thing and torn this up. The spitfire is Darcy Lewis. There’s an 85% chance she forgot to tell you her name at first; details like that escape her sometimes. Don’t let that fool you, though. She’s brilliant. I’ll get to that later.
First. We won the war. Then they started another one. And another one. They never stopped starting new ones.
Second,
we Iwe didn’t make it to the end of the war. We fell off a train in 1945, helping Steve try to catch Zola, and got captured. We spent the next 70 years a prisoner of Hydra, doing their bidding. It wasn’t pretty. Some days, it’s easier to carry than others. Recently, it’s been easier than it ever was before. Darcy has a lot to do with that.They kept us alive with a mix of something they call the serum and cryogenic freeze. It’s straight out of one of those science fiction books we used to read. It made us capable of some amazing things. And some terrible ones. It made us a weapon.
I don’t want to lay it all out here. You’re about to get a lot of new information, and the last thing you need is a list of terrible things you don’t remember doing. I will say it was all bloody, and it was all done against
yourour will.I could have spent the rest of my life using those skills, trying to make up for it, but instead, I asked Darcy to remove the Hydra programming from my brain to destroy the chance I could ever be used as a weapon like that again. It’s why you’re here.
Eventually, you’re going to find out the full extent of it, and you’re going to be mad. Probably at me, which is yourself, as fucked as that is, for not telling you everything up front, and at the world for how unfair it all is.
Tough shit.
By now, even you know the world ain’t fair. The last 70 years have only confirmed it a hundred times over. You’re going to have to get over it, and fast, because the future is an amazing place. There’s things you can’t even imagine. Things that, if I still had the energy to be amazed, I would marvel at like a child. Try to enjoy those things and let go of the bad stuff.
Do what I couldn’t and forgive yourself . Actually, go live your life . Enjoy the world for the good things that are still here, and put the pain of what happened where it belongs: behind you. It’s not worth it to hold on too tightly. There’s no point when there’s so much waiting for you when you’re ready to reach out and take it.
Darcy is a huge part of that. You’ll realize that eventually. I hope you see it sooner rather than later because she deserves to not wait too long. She’s the type of girl we used to dream about being able to land back in the day, and she deserves better, but for some reason, she’s picked us — me — you.
She saved us.
She more than saved us. She remade me.
You’re going to want her. You’re not going to understand it at first, but you won’t be able to fight it. I don’t care what she says about all this memory-wipe science nonsense. The markers, the limbic system, Hydra, and their damn chair can get fucked — the feel of her, the taste, the curve of her against you — it’s all too deeply ingrained. Nothing is going to tear it out.
It’s going to consume you. There were times when I couldn’t function for how badly I wanted her. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
You may not need a path back to humanity the same way that I did when I met her, but you still need salvation. I remember being you, and I can’t remember a time when I didn’t need it. Even before the war, I was looking for something. I’d never say this was all meant to be because there’s too much blood in our wake for that, but I’m not above thinking a chance with her might be the silver lining of a future hard-earned.
More importantly, you’re going to love her. You will. I promise you will. You’ll be desperate with it. I know because I am, and we’re the same. Loving her will change you. I know because it changed me.
Don’t worry, she’s going to love you, too.
She’s strong. The problem is she’s too strong. She puts everyone else before herself over and over and over again. I worry sometimes she’s going to keep doing it until there’s nothing left of her to give. You have to watch her. Make sure she eats. That she’s taking care of herself. That she’s not trying too hard to take care of you.
She’s promised to tell you the story of how we met and get you up to speed on the future, but for all Darcy’s positive traits, she can be stubborn as hell sometimes, and there’s a list of things about the future she absolutely refused to be responsible for telling you. There’s also a few things I think are best heard from, well, yourself — so:
- Ma died in 1953
- Sarah got married and had 2 kids. She died in 1978.
- Caroline never married, but she lived with her “friend” until she died in 1992
- Rebecca got married to Jimmy from the neighborhood. They had 3 kids. She died in 2003.
- The old apartment is a laundromat now
- There are no flying cars
- Skorpion machine guns look neat, but they jam. Don’t trust them.
- Hydra flourished inside the US government. No officials can be trusted. You are a wanted man.
- You’ve killed 46 people for Hydra against your will. You’ve killed more than double that to keep Darcy safe by choice. You can do the math in your free time.
There’s more to tell. So much more, but Darcy will tell you the rest when you’re ready or you ask.
Keep Darcy safe. Follow her. That’s the mission. She’ll do the rest.
Don’t be stupid. Trust each other. Trust Darcy. Learn to trust yourself.
P.S. Let her read this if she asks. She hates not knowing things, and she’ll just bust your balls for days if you try to hide it.
P.P.S. Bananas taste different. The original ones were wiped out. Darcy insists she can’t be the one to tell you.
Darcy finished reading it and then read it all over again. She finally put the pages down, spreading them out on the bed around her, tracing the deep indent in the page where he’d underlined the words forgive yourself. Actually, go live your life, and she could feel the press of his pen on the paper, the emphasis he’d tried to place on those orders.
She looked up at Bucky. “You’re not sure you want 70 years of murder in your brain,” she whispered, her voice thick with the tears free-flowing down her cheeks.
He shrugged. “I’m thinking on it,” he said. “I’m still working it out.” He sounded casual. “I’m learning to trust myself. Already trust you.”
“Right,” she croaked, and she wiped at her wet eyes. “I can’t believe you — he put in the part about the bananas,” she laughed. “Bastard must have snuck it in at the last minute. We had that fucking conversation in the car.”
“The point is, I asked you — he — we? I asked you to remove the programming. I knew the risks. I knew what was coming. I planned for it. I knew the costs, and I did it to protect you and because it was the best shot I had at never being used as a weapon again.” He gathered up all the pages, carefully folding them up into their envelope and holding them out to her. “No matter what happens next, you need to remember that.”
Darcy stared at the letter in his hand. “That’s yours.”
“You need it more right now. Besides, where you go, I go. So it’s not like it’ll be far away.” He pushed it into her hands. “Hold onto it for me in case you need to read it again while we argue with the team over what to do next.”
“I love you,” she whispered.
“Good.” Bucky grinned. “I love you, too.” He pulled her back down into the sheets with him, bracing her when she stretched to put the letter on her nightstand. He pulled her tight into the curve of his body.
“Everything is going to be fine,” he soothed, his breath hot on her neck. “The rest of the team will show up later today. We’ll spend time with them, you’ll get to ask all your questions, they’ll be invasive and overbearing.” He kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear. “We can figure out some stuff about my brain, and maybe in a week or two this will all be old news.”
He was rubbing her back over her soft shirt, down then back up, and Darcy let herself drift, her face pressed into his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady under her ear. He was warm and safe. Keeping her close. His hands were heavy on her body, keeping her grounded even as he helped her lose all sense of time.
Until his hot, calloused palm slid under her shirt to rub circles on her bare skin. And she was suddenly very aware that she’d shed her jeans and bra before getting in the bed with him. She stretched in his hold to give his hand on her spine better access. Bucky’s thigh shifted along hers, a reminder he was only wearing a pair of boxer briefs.
She felt flushed.
“Close your eyes, love. Take your nap.” His voice was sleep-rough and low, but her body was not on board with that message. It was like the release of the anxiety plus the catharsis of even more tears had kicked off some kind of miniature Maslow’s hierarchy chain reaction. She’d been fed, she had shelter, she felt emotionally safe, and now, she wanted an orgasm.
She tilted her head back to look up at his face, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. “What if I wasn’t tired?” she asked, and Bucky made a noise in the back of his throat but didn’t open his eyes.
“I’m serious,” she said, shifting her hips against his for emphasis. “What if I was wide awake?”
His eyes finally opened, one side of his mouth quirking up. “Well, then I might ask if you wanted me to tire you out.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, and the goofy move was at direct odds with the heat in his eyes.
“Line.”
“Was not.”
“Was, too.”
“No, this would be the line.” He pulled her in closer, channeling a hand into her hair to force her to meet his eyes, ducking his head until she could feel his breath hot across her cheek. “Is that my handprint on your ass? Because it could be.” He winked.
She blinked in surprise and then threw her head back and laughed. Her whole body shook with it; her hands slid up his shoulders and into his hair as she dropped her head onto his chest. “I can’t believe you,” she gasped.
“Heard that one from an Italian on the front,” he chuckled. “Never got to use it.”
“Oh my god.” She leaned back to look at him. “I love you, but you’d be a nightmare on the modern dating scene.”
“I am offended.”
“It would be a fucking bloodbath.”
“Oh,” he smirked. “I am less offended.” Then his arms tightened around her. “I’m also very taken and very in love.” He kissed her forehead and then her lips. “My previous offer stands.”
“Which one,” she asked through her smile. “The one to tire me out or the one to spank me?”
He grinned. “Both.”
A shiver ran down her spine, and his grin got wider. “Oh, does that go with the taking orders in bed, then? Maybe you’d like a spanking sometimes, too?” He looked dangerously interested in the answer.
“What do you like?” she asked, trying to deflect as she shifted to press closer, and he slotted one of his thighs between hers. His hand on her back dragged her in tight until she could feel the effect the conversation was having on him, stiff and heavy against her stomach.
“I like you naked.” He was inching her shirt up her sides. “I like the way you feel around my cock when you come.” His fingers were petting at the sensitive skin of her ribs. “I like the noises you make when I touch you.”
“But you don’t have specific fantasies?” she asked, and she lifted her arms to make it easier for him to drag her shirt over her head, leaving her topless. Her nipples pebbled in the cool air of the room, and the feeling of them rubbing on his chest sent shocks of pleasure racing straight to her core.
“Hundreds of them,” he said easily, his right hand dropping down to knead at one of her breasts, his fingers tweaking at her nipple. She shuddered, pushing her chest into his touch, craving more. He chuckled and gave in, adjusting his grip to cover her whole tit with his palm.
“Like what?” she gasped. She ran her hands down his chest, her nails making his muscles jump as they dragged over his skin.
“You trying to be a good girl for me?” he asked, and the words combined with his tone had her cunt throbbing around nothing.
“What if I was?” She wrapped a hand around his hard length through his boxers and squeezed.
“Then I would tell you I’ve been thinking about making you bend over and hold onto this headboard since I saw you trying to get into those jeans this morning,” He rolled his hips with the words, rocking his cock into her hand, and her mind short-circuited.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Yes, please. That. Please, that.” Her hips twitched forward, and he dropped a hand to her lower back, encouraging her to grind on the muscular thigh he had shoved between her legs.
“You like that idea?” His eyes had gone half-lidded, his voice rough.
“You behind me?” She was already imagining it. His hands on her hips, filling her up from behind, so deep.
“You want that, love?” he asked, and his right hand was slipping down between them, his fingers dipping into her underwear. He made a punched-out noise when he realized how wet she already was. “All this for me, doll? You want me to bend you over?”
Darcy nodded into his chest; her body was aching with it. He pulled his hand free, and his fingers were on her wrists, untangling her grip on him. Then his lips were on hers, a hot, open-mouthed kiss, his teeth biting at her bottom lip until she let him sweep his tongue in and deepen it further. She whined in the back of her throat, arcing into him. Kissing him back with the same fervor until he pulled away.
“Hands and knees,” he growled, and he didn’t wait for her to move on her own. His hands came down on her hips and her sides, manhandling her over onto her stomach in the soft blankets before he pulled her up onto her knees.
A strong arm around her waist moved her a few inches up the bed, and then the warmth of his chest was blanketed over her back, his breath on her cheek as he reached for her hands. He lifted them along with the top half of her body, pressing her palms into the low modern bed frame.
“Those stay there,” he ordered, his voice rough in her ear. It sent a shiver skating down her spine, and he chased it with his hand, his palm sweeping down the length of her back. “God, you look incredible like this.”
Her eyes slammed shut as she felt him press a wet kiss between her shoulder blades and then another below it. His hands dropped to her hips, dragging her underwear down until they were loose around her knees, and he was nudging her legs wide. She felt exposed. The headboard was just the right height to barely let her breasts drag across the soft sheets, and the constant teasing on her pebbled nipples was maddening.
“Just gorgeous,” he muttered. “A fucking dream.” One of his hands gripped her hip, and Darcy had no idea when he’d shed his boxers, but he must have because he was lining himself up, rubbing the blunt head of his cock through her slick folds. “Want you so bad, baby.”
“Yesyesyes. Please.” She was arching her back, practically presenting for him. Christ. And if she could just angle her hips a little more and drop her chest to get more friction on her nipples. If he would just get inside her. She knew how it would feel. So deep from this angle. It would be so deep.
His hand was between her legs, his fingers exploring until he found her swollen, throbbing clit, and she whined, gripping the headboard harder. She wanted — his fingers started up fast, tight circles, and his cock was still right there, but not inside. “Please,” she begged, angling her hips back.
“I got you,” he promised, and his hand picked up speed. She whined again. Her head dropped to hang between her shoulders. He was going to force her orgasm out of her. She’d been so turned on already, and his fingers, his heat, the sound of his panting breath — why wasn’t he inside her?
She rocked back against him, and she could feel the thick, rigid line of his cock slipping in the slick between her legs. She panted as her orgasm started to grow into something uncontainable deep in her gut. “Please.”
“C’mon, doll. Such a good girl. Such a sweet girl. Look at you. Come for me, just like this, and I’m going to fuck you right through it.” She wasn’t sure if it was the praise, the promise, or just the rough tenor of his voice that finally pushed her over the edge, but she came, a gasp torn from her throat as her back arched.
And just as her body went tight and her cunt started to clench, he slammed his hips forward, burying himself inside her in one rough thrust.
Her fingers tightened around the headboard as she let out a hoarse cry. his hands gripped her hips, and just like he promised, he didn’t give her any time to recover or adjust, immediately setting a brutal, rolling pace that kept her cunt pulsing around his cock like it would never stop.
She felt spread open, stretched out, well used. Her body was loose and pliant in his hands. Wholly his. She was drunk with it. She could feel every inch of him as he moved in her, and it was “good. So good. So deep. Deepdeepdeep. Please don’t stop. Pleasepleaseplease.”
His hands clutched at her, slotting into the dip of her waist, dragging her back onto his length over and over again. Then he was leaning forward, his heat along her back, his breath at her neck. “Do you have any idea what it does to me to know I can make you look like this? Sound like this?” He gasped, kissing her hairline. “Could fuck you for hours. Never get tired of it.”
He reached for her hands, pulling them free of the headboard, leaning back, spreading her over his bent legs. He wrapped his right arm low around her stomach, his left sneaking up so he could get his hand around the back of her neck. His hips never lost their rhythm, his thighs straining as he thrust up into her welcoming body. She rolled her head to the side to meet his eyes, her own hazy with lust.
“So good to me,” she said, and his brows drew up in response, his eyes going soft. She reached back to tangle her hand in his hair, burying her face in his sweaty neck. “Please,” she whined. She could feel that primal need building again, the ache heavy and throbbing between her legs. She started to reach down, intent on helping herself along, and he caught her hand, pressing it back to her chest.
“I got you, love,” he panted. “Play with your tits for me; there’s a good girl.” He was staring down the line of her body. His head dropped forward, chin on her shoulder, watching her hand roll her own nipple between her fingers as his cock disappeared in between her thighs. “So good,” he said, as his right hand slipped between her legs to find her clit with that unerring sniper accuracy. She moaned, her teeth scraping at his throat.
The build-up was faster this time. She was so far gone already. She writhed in his lap as he worked her higher and closer, his cock stretching her wide with every surge of his hips. His hand on her neck felt like the only thing keeping her grounded as she raced toward the end.
Sparks ignited under her skin, her body throbbing, and she was right there — right there — and his fingers were rubbing on her clit, and she felt his pace start to falter as her body started to go tight. She could feel him there with her — so close — so close —
Then it exploded.
And her mind went blank.
She gasped, aching into his touch.
And she felt him sheath himself inside her — deep — so deep.
And then things went black.
The world filtered back into focus in moments of soft and warm as she became aware of strong arms around her and the cool sheets rasping against her heated, sticky skin. Bucky’s voice was a constant murmur that became clearer and clearer as she came to, until the words started to make sense —
“—love you. Going to take care of you. Such a sweet girl. So good. Gotta open those pretty eyes now, though, because if you don’t soon, I’m going to go get help, and I know you don’t want Tony in here. C’mon love.” His hand petted down her face, and she felt his fist hover over her sternum, preparing to press down and rub.
She tried to bat clumsily at his hand, her lashes fluttering against the light in the room. “M’fine,” she slurred. She swallowed thickly. “I’m fine,” she tried again, blinking her eyes open to find him hovering over her, his brows drawn up in concern.
“There you are.” He cupped her face with one hand, his thumb rubbing at the delicate skin under her eye. “You know that notebook you gave me said you could pass out from sex. Seemed like one of those myths or an exaggeration.”
She snorted. “You thought I put a myth in a set of handwritten notes specifically about me?”
He sat back on his heels, leaning over to the nightstand to grab a bottle of water. “Maybe I just didn’t think I was that good. Never had a dame actually go faint on me.” He smirked and then reached out to help her sit up with gentle hands. Passing her the open water. “Drink some of that slowly.”
“Clearly, your ego needs the boost.” She rolled her eyes.
“Everything about you is an ego boost, doll.” He settled next to her against the headboard, swiping his sweaty hair out of his face.
“Wore you out?” she asked, passing him the water.
He pushed it back to her. “You drink that. Scared me a little.” He put his chin on her head. “The way you went limp after you came.”
“Thought your ego was boosted.”
“Not saying I’m not flattered, but I was just threatening to go get Tony.”
“And rub at my sternum. That shit hurts.”
“Old army trick.” He was unapologetic. “Woulda woken you up for sure.”
“And ruined the afterglow,” she muttered, melting into his side. “How long until the rest of them get here?”
He glanced over at the nightstand. “Couple of hours still. It’s going to be okay,” he said, practically reading her mind.
“And if it’s not?”
“Then we’ll deal with it together, right?” He smiled at her, pulling her tighter against him. “You and me.”
“You and me,” she agreed, and she could feel her eyelids starting to droop; the water bottle felt heavy in her hand. She snuggled deeper into his side, his even breathing combined with the recent orgasms starting to lull her into a deep state of bonelessness.
“I’ll take that.” His voice rumbled under her cheek as his hand took the water bottle from her. She whined as he shifted under her cheek, disrupting her almost perfect comfort. “Oh, my poor girl,” he teased, but then he was back, dragging her down into soft blankets.
“Love you,” she mumbled, her lips dragging on his skin. “You promise it’s going to be alright?”
“Promise. And if it isn’t, we’ll deal with it.” He carded his hands through her hair. She wanted to object. That wasn’t how that worked, but he tucked her in close, his body curled around hers, and it made her feel safe and warm. Her mind floated in the space right before sleep, content with the idea that he was right, that together, they would figure it out.
“Love you,” he said into her hair. “Sleep now.”
So she did.
Notes:
I can't believe there's only one chapter of this left! I think we're going to wrap up pretty much everything except whether or not Darcy ever gives Clint his wallet back (spoilers, she does not) in the next update.
I hope you all enjoyed this one. I had a lot of fun with Steve and Tony here and the smut. I also hope you finally enjoyed getting to read the full letter from our original O3 Bucky to his 1945 self. There are some words of wisdom in there I wish I could learn to follow sometimes, too. I think we all need to learn to forgive ourselves a little bit sometimes and see the best of the world when we can.
As always, you all blew me away with the reaction to the last chapter!! I was thrilled that you loved the date! I really, really can't believe we're almost at the end. I will be posting the last chapter of this in mid-next week. There is a final part to the series that's in progress, but it probably won't come out until later this year, because I'm working on something unrelated that will most likely come out first. I've also been thinking of doing more one-shots for a bit!
Anyway, see you all with the next one soon!!
Chapter 14: The Line Between
Summary:
“So where does that leave you and me?” Darcy asked quietly.
“Where we’ve always been,” he said easily. “Together. That part has never been a question.”
Darcy and Bucky settle their plans for the future.
Notes:
Well, we're here at the end of this installment in the series.
First and foremost, I want to thank everyone who's read this and who will read this in the future. I write the stories I want to read, and it continues to amaze me that so many of you want to read them too. I also want to thank everyone who has left kudos, sent good thoughts my way, commented, shared the link with their friends, and just generally participated in the community that this fic - this entire series has become. Some of you have been here since the very first chapter of Order of Operations, and I cannot tell you how much it means to see your names every time I post a new chapter. I feel truly honored by all of you.
I would also like to take a moment to acknowledge the invaluable contribution of my beta and very, very dear friend, Noxnthea. She not only read this for me but also listened to me rant, and is generally the most amazing person in the entire world. Her endless encouragement and support continue to be one of the many reasons I keep writing. She is also an incredible writer, so please check her out!
Finally, the moment we've all been waiting for the last chapter. I think I've managed to wrap up everything and to try and satisfy the masses, there's even a very small cameo mention of a fan-favorite alpaca in here. I hope you all are as excited to read it as I am to share it!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was late, or early, maybe. And Darcy was cold.
She was starting to get used to waking up cold.
They’d been in Malibu with the entire team for more than a week now, and like clockwork, she would wake in the dead of night to find Bucky missing from bed. She’d drag herself from the soft sheets and go find him lurking in the kitchen, staring at the too-full fridge, or watching late-night TV with glazed eyes in the lounge and drag him back into the huge primary suite. Then depending on his mood, she’d either curl her body around his until he’d settled, or she’d stroke him and kiss him and ride his cock until he couldn’t get a full sentence out and fell back to sleep.
It was nightmares.
During the day, he would tell her about them. Quiet conversations by the pool or cuddled up on the couch and then relayed to JARVIS to try and figure out what mission Bucky was remembering. He admitted he’d been having them before, but the flashback in the clearing with Nat and Clint seemed to have opened the floodgates, so to speak, and now they were coming in waves. New bloody memories filled his mind every night. Snippets of kills he hadn’t ever wanted to commit.
There had been endless conversations since Bruce and Jane arrived with the rest of the team about how to handle the memory loss. Although, a full-on shouting match two days before between Steve, Bucky, and Tony seemed to have finally put the issue to bed for good. Tony had pushed hard for Bucky to at least consider an option that would put all the memories back. The issue continued to be that Bruce’s research on the topic suggested reconnecting the damaged pathways would likely remove the newly formed memories, and Bucky considered that a non-starter.
He’d bluntly and loudly told Tony he wasn’t interested in adding trauma and removing any of the happiness he’d managed to gain. Tony had thrown his hands up in defeat and retreated to his private workshop. Now, they were working with Bruce and Jane on an option to try to stabilize the flashbacks—something that would encourage what was going to come back due to the procedural memory connections anyway to come back clearer and without as much emotional trauma. Darcy had doubts.
She’d listened to Jane talk about it and paid attention to Bruce’s explanations, but nothing would convince Darcy that it was possible to help someone remember hundreds of murders and violence without emotional trauma. Even if it was possible, she wasn’t sure how it would impact a person. She trusted Jane with a lot of things, but she didn’t trust anyone with Bucky.
She shoved the covers away, cursing the unseasonable cold snap Malibu was suffering. It should be warmer here, even in early March, but a wind was blowing in from the north, and the temperature had dropped into the low 40s overnight. She snagged a sweater from the floor as she moved toward the open balcony doors, the source of the chill.
Bucky was standing at the railing, his back tense, hands on the glass balustrade, staring out at the dark ocean. Whatever was bringing down the cold air had kicked the waves up, and the ocean was louder than usual, a dull roar over everything. There was a gun tucked into the back of his pants. With the memories had come some old habits.
She stopped at the threshold. Her toes curled against the jam, and she braced herself against one of the doors. “Bucky,” she said quietly, and she couldn’t help the spike of adrenaline, her body still remembering the way he sometimes looked when he was more than Bucky. But the man who turned and met her eyes had nothing of the Winter Soldier in him. He was just tired, his face worn, his eyes heavy with memories he didn’t want back.
“The doors,” he said, his voice rough. “I didn’t think.” He turned, taking a step toward her, and she met him halfway.
“It’s okay. Are you alright?” She walked straight into his chest and was rewarded with warm arms coming up around her; his face pressed into her hair.
“Bad dreams again,” he croaked. “I’m sorry, doll.”
“It’s okay,” she emphasized. “Come back to bed?”
“I’m not sure I can sleep.”
“I could help.” She slipped a hand up under his shirt, running her fingers over his firm stomach, and then down to ghost along the waistband of his sweatpants.
He huffed a laugh into the top of her head. “That would definitely work, but not sure I want to connect you moaning under me to this one.” His fingers tugged at the ends of her hair, and he leaned back to look her in the eye. “Was pretty rough.”
She chewed on her lip. So far, she’d mostly relied on touch to pull him back. Touch and sex to ground him physically in the present, then talking the next day to help process it all. It had been working. “What about a better memory?”
“A better memory?”
“I haven’t told you about how I convinced you to take me to an alpaca farm yet.”
“An alpaca farm?” His eyebrows jumped to his hairline, one hand coming up to cup her cheek. “You’re too convincing for your own good, aren’t you?”
“Only with you.” She batted her lashes, and he laughed, looking away.
“Okay, doll, take me to bed and tell me about the time I took you to an alpaca farm.”
“Gladly,” she said, taking his hand to lead him back into the bedroom. “It’s basically a love story between you and an alpaca named Cocoa. She had it bad.”
“I can only imagine.”
—
Bruce and Steve were the early risers, and they were both in the kitchen when Darcy dragged herself out of the bedroom for coffee the next morning.
“You’re up early,” Steve said as he pushed a full mug across the counter to her and got up to get the milk out of the fridge. Darcy just grunted and sat down at the kitchen island, clutching the mug in both hands.
Bruce pushed his notebook toward her. “We think we figured out a new option last night,” he said. “Something that might stop the nightmares and stabilize things.”
Darcy gave the notebook a cursory glance and then pushed it back to Bruce. “Wait for Bucky.”
“You know he lets you ask all the questions,” Steve pointed out as he put the milk and sugar in front of her, and Darcy sighed.
“That’s not the point, Steven.”
“And we’re back to my full name,” Steve moaned. “I thought we were past that.”
“We can always go back,” Darcy said. She finished making her coffee and stood up. “I’m going to see Jane, she at least respects me in the morning.”
“What? I respect you—” Steve spluttered.
“It’s a meme, Steven,” Bruce cut him off with a shake of his head. “Just let her go.”
“Thank you, Bruce,” Darcy said, and she flounced from the room.
Jane was downstairs in the lab Tony set aside for the sole purpose of researching how to handle Bucky’s memory issues. Darcy very intentionally did not look at the mess of metal and wire that slightly resembled a half-constructed Hydra MSM chair on the far side of the room as she made her way to the workstation where Jane was typing away at her laptop, surrounded by papers.
“Have you slept?” Darcy asked as she sat down across from Jane.
“I’m not thirsty,” Jane said without pausing in her typing.
“I’m going to take that as a no,” Darcy muttered, reaching out to push the laptop closed on Jane’s still-moving fingers.
“Hey!” Jane finally looked up from the screen. “I was working.”
“When was the last time you slept?” Darcy repeated.
Jane squinted. “What’s today?”
“Wrong answer. I swear, these labs are like Vegas casinos — no windows and artificial light. We’re done working.”
“It can’t be that late.”
“It’s 8:30.”
“See.”
“In the morning.”
“Oh.” Jane pulled her hands from the laptop and rubbed at her eyes. “Do you know where Thor is?”
“Big Guy is probably in bed. Steve and Bruce are already up doing their morning tea and coffee routine. Bucky will be up soon to get his breakfast, and Nat and Clint won’t be far behind.” Darcy started to stack up Jane’s papers, trying to organize everything for an easier transition out of the lab.
“I guess I should probably go to bed.”
“I guess you should—” Darcy stared at the readouts in her hand. “These are the calculations for your research paper.”
“Yes, I was working on the next section.”
“You stopped working on Bucky’s stuff?”
“Oh, Darcy.” Jane chewed at her lip anxiously. “You know I’m fully committed to helping you both, but you’ve been so vocal about it being his choice, and he’s been so vocal about not wanting to change anything that happened. Bruce really has all the stabilization work handled with Tony, my contributions were only needed if you were going to try to go backward and then only because of the scale of the math. You have to believe me. I never would have—”
“Stop,” Darcy interrupted. She put the papers down on the lab table and took a deep breath, her shoulders slumping. “It’s okay. It’s good,” she reassured.
“Really?” Jane asked, sounding unconvinced. “I don’t want to let you down.”
Darcy shook her head. “You’re not letting me down. No one is letting me down. I let him down when I wiped —” Her throat went tight.
“Oh no!” Jane rushed around the table and almost tackled Darcy with the force of her hug. “You didn’t let him down. You did a great job. I mean, you could have not removed all his memories, I suppose, but given your available information, you really did make the best possible choice.”
Darcy snorted. “Thanks, bestie. Very pragmatic.”
“I try.”
“So you’re back to the stars?”
“I’ve figured out that if I examine the shape of the bridge less as a connective line between realms and more like the realms bending to meet each other at a single point along their plane —”
“Then you can calculate the curve,” Darcy finished with her.
“Exactly!” Jane said excitedly. “It could be a real breakthrough in our understanding of how the Asgardians are controlling the bridge and the recreation of the technology.
“That’s incredible. Your brain is incredible.”
“So you’re definitely not mad I haven’t been working on your boyfriend’s brain?”
“Pssh, enough people are worried about his brain, and he doesn’t even want them to be.” Darcy waved her off. “I do need you to get some sleep, though. I need your help with something later today, and it’s going to take all those sneaking around skills we developed after New Mexico.”
Jane’s eyes lit up. “Do we have a secret mission?”
“Sort of,” Darcy nodded. “Bucky’s birthday is in a few days, and I was thinking we could plan a party.”
“In a house full of spies?”
“Yep.”
“And paranoid people?”
“Yep.”
“You want to plan what I’m assuming is a surprise birthday party?”
“Yep.”
“And since it’s you, I’m guessing you want it to be a surprise for almost everyone else?”
“Yep.” Darcy popped the P obnoxiously, her grin wide.
“Why not,” Jane said with a shrug. “I’ve just had a major breakthrough in my research, so I’ll only want to work 18 to 20 hours a day. I’ll need something to do with the other 4 to 6.”
“That’s the spirit!”
“I can bake a cake!”
“Let’s not get carried away,” Darcy said; Jane was not to be trusted with food, in kitchens, or with selecting good menu items. “We’ll have JARVIS order a cake.”
“Even better,” Jane agreed, yawning. “I should probably get some sleep then. Have I told you today how glad I am that you’re back?”
Darcy’s smile got wider. “Not today, no.”
“Well, I am. I missed you. A lot.”
“I missed you, too, Janie. There were a million times I wanted to text you about things.”
“I know!” Jane said, looping her arm through Darcy’s as they started toward the stairs back up to the main level. “You really can’t die on me again.”
“Me? I was never dead. You were the one that died.”
“I was alive the whole time!” Jane argued.
“We’re going to have to continue to agree to disagree on this, bestie. I stand by my position that you were the one who was dead, and I was very much alive.”
“I’ll never back down,” Jane was firm.
“Same.”
“Are you two having this same argument?” Clint asked as they got to the top of the stairs. “You know you were both technically alive the whole time, right?”
“Clinton.”
“Aww, full name, no.”
“Clinton,” Darcy repeated. “It is too early for this level of disrespect. I demand coffee in apology.”
“You’re holding coffee,” Clint whined, pointing to the half-full mug still in her free hand.
“Irrelevant!” Jane declared on Darcy’s behalf. “It’s the principle. This is a matter of honor.”
“Is someone besmirching your honor, Jane?” Thor emerged from the kitchen looking just the right level of concerned, and Darcy bit the inside of her cheek so hard she almost tasted blood to hold back her laugh.
“Nope! There is no besmirching — I cannot believe you,” Clint hissed the last part just for her, and Darcy finally lost it, dissolving into giggles. “Getting me into trouble,” Clint muttered. “I’ll go get your stupid coffee.”
“Milk and three sugars.” She called after him; Clint raised a middle finger in return.
“What have you done to Barton?” Thor asked.
“Nothing he didn’t deserve,” Darcy said.
“Exactly,” Jane agreed with an emphatic nod.
“You are done in the labs now, my love?” Thor asked, his gaze locked on Jane, and Darcy would never get tired of how into her best friend, the Prince of Asgard was.
“I am, and I am ready for bed.” Jane unlooped their arms and took the three steps needed to cross the room and slump into Thor’s chest.
“Then I will take you there.” He leaned down and whispered something quieter into Jane’s hair, which had the small scientist nodding against his chest. The tenderness of it all gave Darcy the sudden urge to go find Bucky. Thor looked back up at Darcy. “Thank you for retrieving my Jane,” he said. “We will see you at lunch.”
“Sure thing, big guy.” Darcy nodded, sipping at her coffee as she watched Thor lead a quickly fading Jane from the living room toward the guest wing of the house where everyone was staying.
Alone in the living room, Darcy could hear voices in the kitchen as everyone who was up started to congregate for the morning. She walked toward the sunny patio, stepping out onto the deck and padding across the cool tile to the lounge chairs on the far side, where the rolling waves were easy to see.
“I’m not hiding,” Bucky said without looking away from the beach. He was sprawled out on one of the loungers in loose flannel pants and a hoodie. He wasn’t wearing shoes, and Darcy spared a thought for his mostly lost mission readiness standards. It at least looked like he had a gun with him.
“Generally, people who aren’t hiding don’t start conversations by declaring that they’re not hiding.” She pointed out.
He looked up at her through his fringe. “C’mere.” He held out a hand, pulling her down next to him. “Why aren’t you in the kitchen making fun of Stevie’s stupid smoothies?”
She curled herself into his side, burying her nose in the warm skin of his neck. “You were supposed to sleep in.”
“Woke up when you left.”
“You need sleep.”
“I need you.” One of his hands slid under her shirt to skim along her back.
“You’ve got me. Could have had me last night, but you wanted stories instead.”
“Terrible decision.”
“You didn’t think the story of Cocoa was worth it?”
“Oh, Cocoa was definitely worth it, but I should have held out for the story and a suck job.” His hand slipped under the waistband of her yoga pants, and he squeezed her ass.
“You seem very sure of yourself.”
“I had JARVIS show me some of those hottest Howling Commando memes you kept joking about. I’m feeling pret-ty confident.”
She snorted, tipping her head up to look at him, unsurprised to find him smirking down at her. “You’re not kidding?”
“Not even a little bit. Vogue declared me the panty dropper of World War II.”
“I’m not sure if that’s disgusting or incredible.”
“It’s a little of both. I don’t believe I actually got anyone to drop their panties.” He shrugged. “Except Falsworth once, but that’s a long story, and it was not even remotely sexual. He just really needed a fucking bath.”
“And he was wearing panties?”
“You wear what you got.”
“I don’t believe that for a fucking second.”
“Then you and Falsworth probably would have gotten along very well.”
She grinned. “Probably just enough to bother you, eh Sarge?”
“Probably.”
“Jane stopped working on the calculations for your memory,” Darcy said, trying to keep her voice casual. She knew she’d failed when his eyebrows rose.
“That’s a good thing, right? I’ve made it pretty clear I’m okay with my status quo for the most part.”
“Are you, though? Okay with it?” She put her hands on his cheeks, forcing him to hold her gaze. “I need to know, 100% honest.”
He sighed. “I think Tony has a good point about our memories making us who we are,” he said slowly, and Darcy’s heart kicked up in her chest. “But,” he continued. “That cuts both ways. I am who I am now because of what I currently remember, and I was who I was because of what I remembered then. At the end of the day, it feels like an impossible choice. Something only the philosophers and ethics professors could really answer with any confidence.” His arm around her tightened, pulling her closer.
“So where does that leave you and me?” she asked quietly.
“Where we’ve always been,” he said easily. “Together. That part has never been a question.” He moved, using his free arm to shift her until she was sprawled out over his chest, their legs tangled together, his arms around her waist. “From what Steve’s been telling me, I’ve probably got another hundred years in me as long as I don’t do anything stupid, and I don’t plan to; punk can keep all that for himself.”
“He’s definitely doing his best,” she said.
“Some things never change,” Bucky agreed, and then his face went serious, his eyes sliding out of focus for a moment before locking back on her face. “The way I see it, I was fighting a war I didn’t want to be in, and now I’m suddenly in an incredible future, with a beautiful, smart woman who says she loves me, with my best friend still alive, a chance to live the mostly normal life I’d always wanted, and then some. Are there things that aren’t great?” He shrugged. “Sure. But does most of it feel like more than a poor kid from the docks ever deserved? Absolutely.”
“You know you deserve so many good things, right?” She couldn’t help the way her voice went thick on the question. Her eyes burned with unshed tears at the idea that he thought he didn’t deserve a normal life or her. He deserved all of it. He deserved more than that.
“I don’t know about all that,” he sighed. “I do know I’m taking what I’ve got, and I’m not asking why. I’m happy.” He cupped her face with one hand, his thumb brushing at her cheek. “I’m happy when I’m with you. I’m happy I got a chance to work things out with Steve. Hell, I’m even happy Tony exists because he makes Steve happy. I’m happy I can watch two baseball games at once on television.”
“Oh my god! Don’t remind me. I thought I was going to die of boredom.” She buried her face in his chest. “You’d think with two at once, something would be happening at all times. BUT NO! They just stand there for hours.”
“It’s America’s pastime, doll. Greatest sport of all time.”
“Most boring sport ever.”
“Tony said he’d pay to have the Dodgers come back to Brooklyn for me and Stevie.”
Her head snapped up. “You shut your whore mouth.”
“He did.”
“I will murder him.”
“Promised us season tickets in a skybox.”
“I will actually murder him. This is my villain origin story, Bucky. This is it!” She flung herself dramatically off his chest, an arm thrown over her face, knowing he’d catch her, and he did. One strong arm slipped around her waist just before she fell off the side of the lounge chair. She peeked at him from behind her arm.
“You done?” he asked dryly.
“Will you tell Tony you don’t need the Brooklyn Dodgers to be happy?” she asked, and Bucky narrowed his eyes. “There would be fucking riots in Los Angeles, Bucky. People would burn Captain America in effigy when they found out why it was happening.”
“Okay, fine,” he grumbled.
“Thank you!”
He pulled her back onto his chest, one of his hands sinking into her hair to scratch at her scalp. “I’m serious about the rest of it,” he said. “I know things aren’t perfect, but I’m happy. Happier than I’ve been in a long time.” He pulled her close, catching her lips in a soft kiss. “And I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she said against his mouth. “All I want is for you to be happy.”
“Funny coincidence, I would like you to be happy. Which reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” His face went serious again. His free hand dropped down to grip at her hip.
“Uh oh.”
“No, uh oh. I just feel like maybe you’re not telling me some things.”
“I tell you everything.”
“Liar,” he said, but his tone was teasing. “You talk in your sleep.”
“I do not!”
“You do, but more importantly, you left your computer open the other day with your email pulled up, and I saw all the final notices. Why wouldn’t you tell me you need money, doll? You said I’ve got a ton of it. You have to know it’s yours if you want it.”
Darcy blinked in surprise. “That’s your money.”
He shook his head. “Our money.”
“We’re not—”
“Our money,” he interrupted. “Don’t care what we are or aren’t. You and me, remember.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Didn’t say you couldn’t. Doesn’t mean you need to be having nightmares about student loans. Do you know how disturbing it is to wake up drenched in sweat after dreaming about a murder, and I roll over, and you’re muttering about interest rates?” He was grinning at her.
“You’re an asshole.”
“Assole, who’s going to pay off your student loans?”
She stared at him. “Asshole, who’s going to get me up to date on my student loans,” she conceded.
“Good.” His fingers soothed at her scalp.
“We’re going to need that money,” she said after a beat. “We can’t stay here forever.”
He turned to look back up at the house. “Suppose that’s true. We’ll need to figure out a long-term plan. You have any idea what you want to do?”
She glanced to the side where he had the tablet on a table next to the lounge chair. She reached out, picking up the sleek glass device, and dragged it onto his chest, pressing the unlock button to light up the screen.
“What are you up to?” he asked, lifting his head to try and see the screen upside down.
“I have a feeling I know what’s in the last file.”
“The ‘Don’t be Stupid’ one?”
“Yes.” She clicked on the file. It was the only one they hadn’t opened yet and the last one with a password. She stared down at the password entry prompt. “You said the passwords should be easy for me to guess but hard for other people, right?”
“Yeah.”
She typed in her guess and hit enter. The file unlocked, revealing a dozen carefully labeled subfolders. Her eyes flicked from one to the next, trying to take it all in as quickly as she could.
“What was it?” he asked quietly. “The password,” he clarified.
“No grenades.”
“What?”
“Right before we left for Minnesota, you told me not to be stupid and try to throw a grenade. You were very intense about it. The password was no grenades. No space.”
“That’s terrible.”
“I didn’t make it up,” she said, looking up at him with a smirk.
“What is all this.” He was trying to read it all upside down. She took pity on him, sliding off his chest to curl back up against his side, balancing the tablet on his stomach so they could look at the files together. “Identities, Real Estate, Accounts — What?”
“I think these are plans,” she said softly. She scrolled, finding a ‘Read Me’ text file at the bottom of the screen. Her finger hovered over it. “You want to?” she asked. He nodded, and she tapped the screen. The file opened.
Darcy,
If you get the urge to run off and start a new crusade for justice or you ever start thinking you need an escape plan — STOP.
I know you think you can do everything alone, and I’m not saying you can’t, sweetheart, but I am asking you to let me help you this one last time.
I pulled together as many contingency plans as I could on short notice and bundled them up in the folders here.
So instead of starting a new crusade, maybe think about looking at some of the listings in the Real Estate folder instead, yeah? There’s a couple of really nice farmhouses that have all the things we talked about, eat-in kitchens, and porch swings included. I made sure they’re all in areas that would be safe for us to live long-term if that’s what you want.
Or, if you want a city life, I’ve put together what you’d need to get out of the country and into some of the Eastern European cities that are low-tech enough to avoid facial recognition. There’s a folder with the accounts you’d need for an apartment and everything else, and notes on some safe houses along the way. The Identities folder has what you’d need for new passports and IDs.
Here’s the most important part. If you ever start thinking I’m not what you want anymore — and baby, that’s okay — there’s a folder in here just for you. I moved some money around. It’s yours — just yours. I put some notes in there and enough money for you to be able to do whatever it is you want to do on your own.
So, if that’s what you need — go. Take it and go, but be safe. Don’t run off without a plan or some backup. Use the money. Use the safe houses. Use the info. Please, sweetheart. Let me do this one last thing for you.
If I get one wish, it’s that you figure out what you want, and you learn how to be just a little bit selfish and take it. You’ve done so much for me these last few months. You’ve given me myself back, and tomorrow, you’re going to sacrifice even more for me. I know what I’m asking of you is hard, and it’s a little unfair. I love you for letting me ask. I love you for so many things.
I just love you.
If I know you like, I think I do, you’re going to be outraged by at least a dozen parts of this letter. That’s okay. Someone has to take care of you, even when it makes you mad.
Let the mission go, baby. Live your life. Enjoy it. Don’t waste it.
You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Let me try to be the best thing that ever happened to you.
Love, Bucky
“Huh,” Bucky said as he finished reading.
“Huh? Huh, is all you have to say for yourself?” She swiped at her leaking eyes.
“I mean, it seems like I already wrote all the important parts down.”
“You agree with this letter?” she asked, her voice dangerously low. She couldn’t believe the audacity — of the him sitting next to her now, or the one who’d laid in bed next to her weeks ago and put all this together. To put plans together not only to try and protect her from herself but also so she could leave him — what the fuck was he thinking? Did he really think so little of her? She blinked rapidly, trying to control her traitorous tear ducts.
She let her eyes drift back to the screen, trailing over the words — farmhouses that have all the things we talked about, eat-in kitchens and porch swings included — Clearly, he’d been thinking of all those conversations they’d had about the life they wanted together. He’d planned for it, and it made her heart ache.
“Agree?” Bucky asked, pulling her from her thoughts. “Yes? No? Yes?” He ducked his head to look at her face. “Yes,” he repeated. “Final answer.” He pulled her closer and wisely didn’t comment on her wet, red-rimmed eyes.
“Even the part about the account set up so I can leave you?” she confirmed, her voice thick.
“Especially that part.” He leaned forward to kiss her forehead, one hand wiping gently at her wet cheeks. “You’re not to use that for the student loans,” he warned, and she glared at him. “I’m glad I had the foresight to set all this up,” he said.
“Oh yeah, you’re a real stand-up guy.” She rolled her eyes, sniffling. He pretended not to notice when she rubbed her face against the shoulder of his hoodie.
“Hey, you’re telling me you don’t think this is romantic? I set you up with a dozen different lives here.” He reached around her to tap out of the text file and into the one labeled Real Estate, the screen filled with thumbnails of houses and apartment buildings. “Look at all these places I want to live with you.”
She stared at the screen and then turned to meet his eyes open-mouthed. “You actually want to do this?”
“What do you mean? Of course, I do.” He clicked on one of the pictures. A townhouse-looking apartment building with flower boxes and black wrought iron railings on the stairs. “Look at this one. It’s one of the ones overseas, but we could manage that, and I’ve never really been a country boy, not really. Odense, Denmark, I never made it that far north in the war, but I bet we’d like it. Have to learn Danish.”
“You used to know it,” she said before she could stop herself.
“Bet I could pick it up again quickly then.”
“You’re serious.”
“Why not? Doesn’t have to be this one, but why not pick one of these and go? We have the money, we have the time, we have each other. Who says we have to stay here?”
She stared at him. The short answer was nothing. Nothing said they had to stay here. Their friends were here. But they could jump on a quinjet and be anywhere in the world in a few hours, so distance wasn’t really that much of an issue if they had phones. She’d talked to Tony about hacking the alphabet agency databases for the facial recognition data so they could conceivably move about more easily. That didn’t mean they should test their luck.
“What do you say, sweetheart? You want to run away to Europe with me? A whole new adventure?”
She chewed on her lip. “We’re not traveling by cargo plane.”
“I’m sure you can charm Stark into flying us over first class.”
“If one of these identities has a dumb name, we’re changing it. I’m not living as Holly Goodhead because you watched a James Bond movie when I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you can have whatever fake name you want,” he said with a small smile. His fingers twisted gently in her hair, and he tugged her close, pressing his forehead to hers. “Say yes, Darcy. Let me take you on an adventure,” he said, his breath hot against her lips.
“Line,” she accused, and she felt his mouth curl into a smile.
“Is it working?”
“Yes.”
“It’s working?”
She laughed. “Yes. And yes, I’ll run off to Europe with you to live in some weird apartment you picked out for us.”
He kissed her, his tongue teasing at the seam of her lips to deepen the kiss as he dragged her closer, the tablet caught between them. She curled into his chest, kissing him back, her fingers tangled in the soft cotton of his hoodie until her lungs burned, and she had to break away. “I love you,” she whispered in the aftermath when his eyes were still half-lidded and hazy. She relished the way they crinkled up, the lines in the corners appearing as his smile went wide enough to bury his dimples.
“I love you too,” he said. “We’re going to have so much fun.”
—
Bucky’s birthday on March 10th felt like it snuck up on her, which was a little ironic considering the amount of work she had been putting into the day. Jane made good on her promise to help plan a party using all the sneaky skills they’d managed to develop over the years — but it turned out that when sharing a house with three spies, two geniuses, and a god, their human powers of deflection were pretty pathetic. They wouldn’t have pulled anything off at all if it weren’t for JARVIS.
As it was, they’d almost been found out the day before when Darcy was trying to sneak the cake into the house, and Jane had to panic-flash Thor in the foyer to distract him. Thor had, understandably, been adorably but excitedly confused and very focused on his lady-love’s chest, allowing Darcy to sneak past and stash the cake box in the butler’s pantry. Jane had refused to high-five Darcy afterward, moaning about how her dignity would never recover despite JARVIS’s repeated assurances that nothing untoward was caught on camera.
Now, it was the morning of the 10th; Darcy had pre-approved caterers dropping off the rest of the food in a few hours, a present for Bucky hidden inside an AC vent in an unused guest room, and she was tiptoeing into the butler’s pantry to check on the cake before anyone else got up for the day.
She pulled her robe tighter around her body and paid extra attention to her movements, carefully placing her feet on the tile to avoid making any noise as she moved through the quiet house. It would be at least another hour before Steve was up, and she’d left Bucky sleeping peacefully in their bed. She loved how easy it was to sneak away from him these days — the relaxed way he slept now, even with the occasional nightmare, so different from his previous always-on-alert state.
She paused at the swing door to the pantry, glancing over her shoulder to scan her eyes over the dark, empty kitchen one last time to make sure she was alone. She silently pushed the pantry door open, turning her head as she moved into the room, then jumped, barely managing to stifle her scream as she came face to face with Nat.
“Good morning младшая сестра.”
“Jesus christ, Nat!” Darcy bent over almost double, a hand on her chest as she tried to get her breath back. “You are the absolute worst. I swear to god.”
“You’ve been very naughty this week,” Nat said, pulling herself up to sit on the counter, her legs swinging casually.
Darcy stepped fully into the room, letting the swing door shut behind her. “I’m a grown fucking woman. You don’t get to call me naughty unless you’re about to fuck me.”
Nat raised a brow, one side of her mouth quirking up. “I’ll be sure to pass that along to Barnes,” she said teasingly.
“He’s well aware, believe me.”
Nat grinned. “Tony’s right, you are doing the Malibu house proud.”
Darcy rolled her eyes. “Are we here to talk about my sex life?”
“No, I’m trying to figure out why you and Jane have been sneaking around the house hiding cakes in here, knives and books in air vents, and secretly hiring caterers.” Nat paused, head cocked to the side, her expression curious.
Darcy sighed, “Stop playing dumb, it’s not attractive. You know it’s his birthday.”
Nat’s grin got wider. “Surprise party. You never would have pulled it off if he had all his memories.”
“Lucky me,” Darcy deadpanned.
“I apologize,” Nat said in a rare show of genuine contriteness. “That was crass of me. I just meant he would have sniffed it out. I am having —” She bobbed her head in the Russian version of a non-committal shrug — “more trouble with this version of him than I expected. I have my own memories that I have to reconcile, and I didn’t expect it to be so hard.”
Darcy blinked in surprise at the confession. “It’s okay to miss him,” she said softly. “I miss him sometimes, too. But he’s not gone.”
Nat shook her head. “The parts you knew and loved aren’t gone. The part I knew the best — that part is gone, and I think that’s okay. I know it is. I am just getting used to this new reality.” Nat sighed. “I am very happy for you two,” she added. “I think you are making the right choice with the memories.”
“You should tell him that,” Darcy said.
“I did.”
Darcy opened her mouth and then shut it, not sure what to say in her surprise. “Oh,” she finally got out.
“We talked the other night,” Nat clarified. “I told him I thought he was making the right choice. That if I could forget it all, I would. I told him that if I were him, I would find a way to take you and get as far away from all of this as possible. Go live a normal life, but never let his guard down.” She stared at Darcy.
“Oh,” Darcy repeated; she felt trapped by the sudden seriousness of the conversation. “Nat, I—”
“We love you,” Nat said suddenly, and Darcy knew the sentiment was plural only because Nat hated emotional weakness, even in private. “We did everything we could to protect you. Even when you thought we’d abandoned you.”
“I know,” Darcy said, her voice tight. She did know that now. All the details of the last few months had been revealed since the team had arrived. The clean up they’d done at the many bases, the cover-ups with agencies to keep them out of things, Nat’s efforts to contain the recordings from the mess in Indiana with the General. “I love you too, Nat.”
“We want you and him to do what you need to do to be happy.” Nat kicked her legs against the cabinets.
“So you felt the best way to deliver this message was to sneak in here and scare me half to death?”
“What?” Nat looked confused. “Oh, no. I’m here because Clint found out about the cake, and I’m on guard duty until Steve gets up to take over to make sure it gets to the party unmolested and with no pieces missing.”
Darcy pressed a hand over her eyes. “Exactly how many of you know about this party?”
“Everyone but Barnes? Was it supposed to be a surprise for all of us?” she asked casually — the bitch.
“I hate all of you,” Darcy moaned.
“Thor really enjoyed Jane’s distraction techniques,” Nat grinned. “Unnecessary, but very welcome.”
“Assholes,” Darcy hissed, already turning to leave. “All of you. I’m going back to bed. Don’t let Barton touch that cake!”
“We’re on it!” Nat called after her.
“Fucking spies,” Darcy muttered as she padded back to her warm bed and the birthday boy. She eased the door to the primary bedroom open and breathed a sigh of relief when Bucky was right where she’d left him, curled up under the covers, fast asleep. At least one part of the day was going according to plan.
She crawled back into the massive bed Tony had been kind enough — read guilty enough — to let them keep using and tucked herself into the curve of Bucky’s body, relaxing the second he wrapped an arm around her in his sleep, pulling her close.
“Where you been?” he muttered against the back of her neck, his voice slurred with sleep.
“Nowhere,” she said quietly, snuggling into his warmth. She shoved her cold toes in between his calves, and he hissed.
“Lying to a man on his birthday.”
“Go back to sleep.”
“Did Barton eat my cake?”
“Goddamnit!” She sat up, running a frustrated hand through her hair, and turned to find Bucky watching her with a lazy smirk on his face.
“Stevie folded like a fucking house of cards last night, doll. You can’t trust him with shit.”
“I didn’t trust him with anything,” she muttered, letting Bucky pull her back down into the soft bedding so they were lying face to face. “Jane was my only co-conspirator.”
“So you were outsmarted by the spies.” Bucky petted her cheek sympathetically. “My poor girl.”
“How much do you actually know?” she asked.
“There’s chocolate cake, food from that bistro we liked earlier this week, you’ve been hiding presents in the vents? And Steve said you and Jane were suddenly very curious about my favorite baseball games of all time.” His smile was wide.
“So everything.” She hid her face in his chest, and he laughed.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Gonna be honest, had trouble sleeping; I’m so excited.”
She looked up at him in surprise. “Really?”
“Are you kidding? Of course. Last birthday, I remember I spent in a plane taking on flak flying over enemy air space for a mission with the Howlies; even Steve forgot until we were back four days later. One before that was in a muddy foxhole in a field in Europe with three guys freezing my nuts off.” He twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. “Probably going to be my best birthday ever.”
“I’ll have to figure out how to top it next year,” she whispered.
“You decide where we’ll be celebrating by then yet? Last night, it was between the place in Odense and the one in Prague, right?”
“Mmhmm,” she agreed. “I’m leaning toward Odense just because Denmark sounds so cool. We can always move if we don’t like it.”
“We can move even if we do. Try a new place every year.” He kissed her nose. “Steve said Tony will lend us the jet when we need it, and Nat offered to fly us over herself when we get the paperwork ready and we’re all packed up here.”
“Jane is good with me working remotely on the next phase of our project.”
“So, we’ve got what? Maybe a couple weeks worth of loose ends?”
“Tops,” she agreed, the reality of all hitting her. “Wow.”
“What?” he asked.
“We’re really going,” she said, and she could feel excitement building in her chest over the idea. They’d been looking at the plans every night before bed, talking through the details with the team, figuring out how to make it work.
“We are,” Bucky said, and he kissed her again, catching her lips this time in a soft, sweet kiss that ended too soon. “Love you, doll.”
“Love you too, birthday boy,” she replied, her lips still pressed to his.
His eyes crinkled with a smile. “You make me so happy, Darcy,” he said, his tone suddenly serious, his eyes glassy. “I hope you know that.”
She swallowed down the lump in her throat, blinking against the burn in the back of her eyes. “You make me so happy,” she whispered.
“Then it’s a good thing we found each other, huh?”
“I guess so.”
“Gonna stick it out and see if you really can top this birthday next year, you think?”
“And the one after that,” she said, not bothering to hide the thickness in her voice.
“You and me,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers.
“You and me,” she agreed. “Going on an adventure.”
“Going on an adventure.”
I pulled you close to me
out of all the questions
the hardest one is why
so we don't even ask
just close your mouth and kiss me
and time will pass us by
and you and I will last
through thick and thin
from dawn to dusk
lose and win
you and me
- The Line Between, Sons of Town Hall
Notes:
The link at the end there goes to a song I used as inspiration for this fic. Here it is unhidden: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YQ2L9AS4JeM
Order of Operations Darcy and Bucky will return in another installment, date of release to be determined, but it is in progress. This Darcy and Bucky will probably pop back up in a one-shot or two. (*This was edited after original posting for clarity)
I am working on a non-Order of Operations Darcy and Bucky fic that will probably be published sometime this summer. If that's something you might like, consider subscribing to me, not this series or fic, so you get an alert when the first chapter goes up.
Finally, because you might be about to go looking for something else to read (despite the new season of Bridgerton dropping today for those of you who watch it), I want to take a second and point you toward a small selection of awesome fics that are in progress by some names you might recognize from the comment section:
The Egg Experiment by Tonight_At_Noon
So Glad I Found You by LenoreFrost
Southwest Hurricane by oftypewritersandribbons
On that note - until next time. I hope you all enjoyed the read, and stay well!
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