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The apartment was quiet when Darcy opened the door, but that was normal. Marrying an assassin might have made them both happy, but it didn’t make that assassin less stealth-conscious or paranoid.
He was home, though. She could hear soft footsteps. Darcy dropped her laptop bag on the couch, kicked off her only pair of lab-appropriate Doc Martens, and meandered towards the kitchen.
The assassin in question, one James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, was at the sink. He glanced up, flashed Darcy a brief smile, and then went back to work. He was doing the dishes by hand, of course: ever since Tony Stark added AI to all of the dishwashers on the residential floors, Bucky had refused to use them. He didn’t like being addressed as “sir” by the appliances. Darcy didn’t get it, but she was working around it.
(This must’ve been what Mom meant when she said “Relationships take compromise.”)
She smiled and waved at him, but didn’t say anything. He had his earbuds in, and Darcy Lewis does not interrupt someone’s tunes for no good reason. Besides, if he was going to do the dishes (by whatever means necessary), she definitely wasn’t stopping him. In the hierarchy of chores, dishes ranked right down there with pulling hair out of the shower drain.
Instead, she leaned against the doorframe and blatantly admired the view.
Two and a half years after the helicarriers fell, Bucky Barnes couldn’t be more different. He’d been terrified and lost, running on pure adrenaline, when Steve caught him less than a week out of DC and brought “the Asset” in from the cold. Things had almost gone wrong right from the start: the dump of SHIELDRA files revealed the Winter Soldier’s role in the death of Howard and Maria Stark, and Tony had stormed into the Tower infirmary with full intent to murder.
But he hadn’t been able to do it. Pepper was right behind him, clutching his shoulder. Just look at him, she’d said. And Tony Stark, who has a heart, couldn’t kill the beaten and brainwashed prisoner that was the Winter Soldier.
It took time, and intensive therapy, to begin to heal those wounds. But with Pepper propping up Tony and Sam acting as counselor for the whole team, some of the hurt began to scar over. The Winter Soldier began answering to a name again, and started appearing—cautious, ghostlike—around the Tower.
Then Darcy, who never met an ageless beefcake that she didn’t immediately try to boss around, grabbed him as the first set of available muscles and demanded that he help her move Jane’s thingamajig.
It was the start of something good. Weird, but good.
Her life in a nutshell, honestly.
Now Bucky—in post-mission gear of sweats and a wifebeater, because apparently that was a New York stereotype that transcended centuries—was doing dishes in their apartment. The flex of his broad shoulders, flesh and metal, was one of her favorite sights in the world. She was shallow, OK? They’d been married for four months and Darcy was pretty sure it was illegal to be this happy.
“You’re staring,” Bucky said without turning around. He wiped off one hand and tapped an earbud to pause whatever he was listening to.
“Excuse you, I’m not staring,” Darcy retorted. “I’m ogling. Possibly leering. There’s a nuance to it.”
Bucky turned again and flashed a criminally unfair smile at her. His hair was starting to fall loose from the low knot at the back of his neck, and strands were sticking to forehead and cheeks. She wanted to brush them away gently … and, OK, sink her fingers into his scalp and ride him like a rollercoaster, but shush, libido, don’t disturb the man when he’s doing chores you hate!
“Yeah,” he drawled, “’cause you’re all about the nuance, doll.”
“Hey!”
“Subtle and discreet, that’s you.”
“I want a divorce.”
He finished wiping his hands on the Iron Man dish towel (seriously, Tony, what the hell?) and sauntered towards her.
“No, you don’t,” he said. Broad, strong hands settled on her waist and began to gently slide upwards, pressing lightly into the muscles of her sides and core. Darcy’s skin prickled, and she let out a soft breath. That felt so damn good.
“Yeah?” she said. “Why not?” She let her hands come to rest on his chest, lightly stroking her thumb over the dip of his collarbone. His pupils dilated. “Will you make me change my mind?”
“Nah.” He slipped one hand down again, lightly cupping her ass. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “You just won’t find anyone else to put up with you.”
“ … You say you’re not an assassin any more, but dude, you just killed the mood.”
Bucky snorted a laugh. Darcy, reluctantly, began to wiggle free.
“Hey, c’mon.” Bucky reeled her back in. “C’mon, sweetheart. You don’t have anywhere to be.”
“It’s my turn to make dinner. And if you distract me, we’re gonna end up defiling the kitchen table again and eating takeout at ten PM.”
“I like takeout.”
“Me too, but as the only person in this relationship without a super-metabolism, I don’t wanna die of beri-beri.”
“What the hell is beri-beri?”
“It’s like scurvy. C’mon, let me go.”
“All right, all right.” Bucky kissed her quickly. “To be continued.” He let her go, and Darcy (reluctantly) headed to the fridge. Bucky restarted whatever his earbuds were playing and went back to the dishes.
Neither of them were great cooks, but Darcy had at least been born in an era that had the Food Network, and she had almost a decade’s worth of experience sourcing calories for a Norse god. She’d prepped easy chicken cacciatore before work and left it in the slow cooker; now all they needed were greens and pasta to bulk it out.
(Noodles were a godsend for feeding superhumans. Concentrated calories, cheap. True, they both made pretty damn good money these days, but Darcy grew up on food stamps and like hell was she wasting a dime on name-brand shit.)
Living in Stark Tower did mean some pretty good groceries available, at least. Daily fresh vegetables, yay! Darcy took out some cucumbers and carrots and scrubbed them at the other side of the double sink. She grabbed the cutting board, fished through the knife drawer until she found a kitchen knife under Bucky’s collection of ka-bars, and got to work.
The phone dock was sitting next to the stove. Bucky’s phone was plugged in, charging while it played. Darcy glanced over at the lit-up screen to see what he was listening to. Would it be ‘30s music? ‘40s? Possibly (if he was feeling daring) ‘50s? His musical education was definitely a work in progress.
Then she smiled. Apparently, Old Man Barnes was in a different mood tonight. The screen displayed a four-color image labeled Classics of Radio, with a creepy-looking guy as the album cover. The track title was “The House of Death.”
“Nerd,” she said fondly.
“Huh?” Bucky looked up.
“You. Nerd.” Darcy grinned at him and nodded to the phone. “Has the bad guy tied up the girl and twirled his mustache yet?”
To her surprise, Bucky’s shoulders tensed. He pulled his earbuds out and dropped them on the counter. “’S nothing,” he said, reaching across to grab the phone. “You want some music?”
“No, it’s fine. I was just wondering what you were listening to.”
“Just some old junk.” He turned off the phone and dropped it on the counter. “We’ll put on something better.”
“I’m sure it’s not junk. I was just wondering—“
“Never mind.” He turned back to the sink.
“Bucky—“ Darcy began. But her darling, oh-so-wonderful husband began to scrub a plate like he had a personal vendetta against it.
“Oh-kay.” So this was A Thing. Dammit, she hated it when it was A Thing.
Bucky wasn’t the kind of guy to lash out when he had a bad day. Original-flavor James Barnes, who constituted about 65% of his total personality most of the time, was a smart-mouthed brawler with a deeply ingrained moral code—albeit one partially concealed by a Vaseline slick of charm. He would never take his frustrations out on a woman, let alone his wife. (Forties chauvinism, maybe, but Darcy was in favor of anything that encouraged the superhumans to be careful with squishy mortals like her.)
The rest of him was the Winter Soldier. The wounded man who’d been tortured and reduced to a machine. Taught to do nothing but obey and kill. On the bad days, when the memories were biting deep and he answered her in raspy Russian, Darcy would find herself married to the Soldier instead of the sergeant.
But the Soldier didn’t lash out either. He barely understood what had changed since HYDRA had him. The Soldier didn’t have relationship issues; he had deeply scarred trauma and a desperate need to avoid pain.
All of this meant that when Bucky was sensitive or angry about a subject—when there was, Thor-dammit, A Thing happening—he tended to bottle it up. He’d take his frustrations to the gym and destroy a lot of supposedly-reinforced punching bags, or he’d find an out-of-the-way place and brood in silence until the dark mood passed and he was ready to be sociable again. Or, apparently, take it out on household chores. That plate was in serious danger of having its glaze scrubbed off.
Darcy hated it when there was A Thing. She didn’t blame him, and she didn’t stop loving him. But she hated that she couldn’t always get through to him or find a way to ease his pain.
(Again. Marriage. Compromise. Fuck, being a mature adult sucked donkey balls sometimes.)
Whatever this particular Thing was, it was connected to what he’d been listening to. Darcy picked up his phone and turned it back on, taking shameless advantage of knowing his passwords. It was a matter of seconds to find his browser history: he’d been listening to his audio on YouTube instead of an actual streaming service, the ancient dork. He probably didn’t even have an adblocker installed.
The playlist was also called Classics of Radio. It listed programs like Lights Out, Suspense, and Doc Savage. But most of them were simply labeled The Shadow. The thumbnail showed that same spooky-looking guy in a trenchcoat and wide-brimmed hat, with a red scarf wrapped around the bottom of his face. His eyes were glowing menacingly.
Darcy disconnected the Bluetooth and picked an episode at random. Eerie organ music filled the kitchen, followed by a low, guttural laugh.
“Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? Hahahaha … The Shadow knows!”
The music rose and fell, sending a totally unexpected shiver down Darcy’s spine. It sounded like it was being played on a not-quite-tuned instrument, conjuring up images of moldering houses and cobwebby darkness. Real, old, analog creepy.
“Nice,” she said appreciatively.
“You can turn it off.” Bucky’s voice was low. “It’s fine, Darce.”
“No, this sounds like fun. What’s the problem?”
“Darcy. Please.”
Reluctantly, she hit the pause button just as the announcer started to segue into the introductory ad pitch. Bucky had put the plate down, but the set of his shoulders was still tense.
What was the problem? He’d been happily listening to this stuff while she was out. Was he embarrassed? Impossible: she’d seen him buck-naked, drunk, concussed, covered in alien goop, and sniffling suspiciously over the end of Casablanca. (Not all at the same time, fortunately.) Listening to an old radio program was hardly something to be shy about.
But there was A Thing happening here, definitely. She put the phone down and stepped up next to him.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Hey. Bucky.”
He turned a little, trying not to look at her, but she wouldn’t let him skitter away. She cupped his jaw, thumbs stroking over the scratch of his stubble.
“It’s me. Darcy. I’m on your side, OK?”
She felt the muscles flex and roll under her fingertips as he swallowed. His eyes were wary, but he wasn’t breaking for the door or anything.
“I’m not going to judge your or laugh at you. I’m definitely not going to tell you you can’t do something. And I won’t tell anyone else if you don’t want me to. Promise.”
As those words left her mouth, she could feel him begin to relax a fraction. The tension started to bleed out of his muscles.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Bucky said, low-voiced. “It’s … it’s stupid.”
“You are the least stupid person I know, James Buchanan Barnes. And I married you, so I get final say.”
A half-smile crossed his face. “’Zat so, doll?”
“It is.”
“Don’t remember that in the vows.”
“Only because you had to get all serious and Catholic about it. I was all for putting in final stupidity veto and strict backrub guarantees.”
He lowered his head to kiss her lightly. He lingered close, and she could feel the flutter of his lashes against her skin. For such a hard, scarred man, his lips were always so soft.
“Just …” He groaned and dropped his head a little. “I had a fight with Steve.”
Darcy’s first, instinctive response was I’m gonna taze him. But Bucky was already having trouble getting his words out; interrupting with threats of assault and battery to his BFF, no matter how heartfelt, would derail Bucky’s train of thought. So she bit her lip (with effort) and listened.
“We were flyin’ back from the mission and talkin’ about what we’ve been doing. Stuff we like about the future. Steve, he’s … He’s adjusting, y’know?”
His eyes were closed. His voice had dropped to a murmur. Darcy wrapped her arms around him, held him close, and kept listening.
“All the new stuff, the new tech, the new culture. He misses our—our time, I guess—and the people. He misses Peggy real bad. But he spent so much of our time sick, or in the war. He never got to enjoy it the way I did. Here he can live, have fun, make new friends. Meanwhile, I’m just … stuck in the past.”
Darcy kissed the cleft in his chin. Soft as possible, trying to reassure him without words. He let out a gentle breath.
“I told him I was listenin’ to all this old stuff—forties music, the old radio programs—and he started lecturin’ a bit. Tellin’ me I hadda find new stuff. Can’t live in the old days. ‘S bad for my recovery.” The words came out bitter. “Told him I had you for the new stuff, and he got that sad look and said ‘You can’t put that all on Darcy. She deserves someone who’ll be with her in the present.’”
Darcy tightened her hug on him. Her heart ached.
“So I called him an asshole and came home to clean up. Promised myself I’d only listen to the old stuff when no one was around, so I wouldn’t worry you. But I got into the show, forgot …” He sighed. “And now I’m pissed at myself and I’m pissed at Steve. And I feel like a heel for being so out of step with the real world. With your time.”
Goddammit. Her heart was breaking.
Darcy let the words hang in the air for a few moments. Let him breathe with her, slow and steady. Then she kissed his chin again and pulled back just enough to look him in the eye.
“Bucky,” she said. “Look at me and listen very carefully. I am only going to say this once. Steve was definitely being an asshole.”
A surprised huff of laughter broke from him, and Darcy smiled. She flicked a stray strand of hair out of Bucky’s face.
“I get it, OK? I get where he’s coming from. Steve is trying to be a good friend, and he wants you to be happy. But he’s not married to you. He isn’t the one who sees you every single morning and night—good and bad days. He doesn’t get to say what your recovery looks like.
“And in my authority as your better half, I hereby make it known to the world—are you listening, JARVIS?”
“Indeed, Ms. Lewis,” came the dry voice of the AI. Bucky flinched.
“All right.” Darcy ran her fingers up through the soft dark hair, loosening Bucky’s bun a little more, soothing him. “You are working hard to recover and you’ve come so damn far. If you want to listen to forties music and radio programs, these are things that make you happy and literally hurt nobody. You are very much in the present, with me, every day. And if Steve wants to start a fight about it, I will taze him until his balls are red, white, and blue. JARVIS, witness me!”
“Witnessed,” the AI pronounced solemnly.
Bucky let out another soft laugh and rested his forehead against hers. “Guess I was bein’ a little dumb, huh,” he said.
“You were worrying that you weren’t treating someone else right. That’s what a good man does, Bucky.”
“You promise if … If I’m hurtin’ you … Makin’ you feel alone …”
“Oh, you’re definitely gonna hear about it.” Darcy poked him in the nose. “That’s the better half’s job.”
He pulled her close again, wrapping his arms tightly around her. His metal hand pressed between her shoulder blades, heavy and strong and so familiar. She could feel the minute flickers as his plates shifted, the low hum of gears and servos that most people wouldn’t even notice. Every part of him felt like it was written on her heart now: all the little details, all the Bucky things that made her happy.
For a few moments, they held each other.
Then:
“My better half, huh?”
The wry amusement in his voice made Darcy’s heart lift. She grinned up at him.
“Damn straight. Signed and certified.”
“Ya mean certifiable.”
“Hey! I’m supposed to be the snarky one in this relationship.”
“I’m just sayin’ … I got a few halves in here, and bein’ the best of ‘em isn’t exactly an accomplishment.”
“Too bad, because I love them all and they’re all stuck with me.” She gave him a peck on the lips. “James …” Another kiss. “Bucky …” One more. “And even that grumpy asshole, the Soldier.”
“Doll …”
“I’m still the best, though.”
“I think all of ‘em agree on that.” He lowered his head and gently drew her into another kiss, a full and deep one. Warmth rolled through her, soothing her aching heart, and she sighed into his mouth and let herself relax against him.
“Thank you,” he added quietly. “For … everything, sweetheart.”
There didn’t really seem to be anything she could say to that. She felt the same way.
Finally, reluctantly, Bucky let her go. “I gotta finish these dishes,” he said. “You gonna need help with dinner, doll?”
“Nah. I’ll boil some pasta and dump the chicken and veggies on top.” One-pot meals all mixed together. Darcy’s favorite kind of cooking.
They worked in comfortable silence. Darcy started the pasta water boiling and finished chopping the vegetables. With the top of the slow cooker ajar, the kitchen began to smell like chicken, tomato sauce, and garlic, which were second only to coffee and red velvet cupcakes as some of the best smells in the world.
But Darcy Lewis had never been a fan of quiet. She grabbed Bucky’s phone and restarted The Shadow. Eerie organ music wound through the kitchen, followed by the announcer’s voice.
“The Shadow, Lamont Cranston … A man of wealth, a student of science, and a master of other people’s minds …”
“Sounds like Tony,” Darcy muttered. Bucky chuckled.
“ … devotes his life to righting wrongs, protecting the innocent, and punishing the guilty.”
“Never mind.”
“Ah, don’t be petty, doll.”
“Cranston is known to the underworld as … The Shadow. Never seen, only heard.”
“Yeah, definitely not Tony.”
Bucky stifled a laugh and almost dropped the water glass he was rinsing.
“His true identity is known only to his constant friend and aide … Margo Lane.”
Darcy clapped. “I knew it!” she said triumphantly. “There’s always a girl. She does get tied to the train tracks, right?”
Bucky wiped his hands and reached over to pull the phone out of her hands. “Jeez, calm down!” He paused the audio again with a flick of his thumb. “You gonna yap all the way through the program?”
Darcy made a face. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she informed him. “The last time someone talked to me like that, I shoved his ass out of the window.” Ahh, HYDRA-Ian. He was lucky it was just two stories. “And come on, I’ve seen the movies. There’s always a girl, she’s helpless, he has to rescue her all the time …”
“Nah, not Margo,” Bucky said quickly. “She’s a pretty smart cookie. Helps him out a lot with his secret work.”
“Ohhhh?” Darcy grinned. “Did baby Bucky have a crush?”
He snorted. “I was in my twenties, thanks.”
“You’re not denying the crush.”
“Jealous?” he teased.
Darcy laughed. “Hell no! I want in on that action. I like the idea of being a dangerous lady spy in the old days. What do you think—couple’s Halloween costume?”
“Aw, doll, not the damn costumes again.”
“Come on! Thor and Jane totally raised the bar last year.”
Bucky made a face, but even he couldn’t disagree. For the annual Avengers Halloween charity carnival—a fundraiser and party for the Steve Rogers Memorial Children’s Hospital in Brooklyn—even the superheroes and support personnel dressed up, and Thor and Jane had completely blown everyone away as “Thorzan and Jane.” Darcy’s inflatable T-Rex costume hadn’t been able to compete, and she was a tiny bit bitter about it. Bucky had heretofore refused to participate in any kind of theme costume, but Darcy was trying to wear him down.
“Picture it,” she purred, winding her fingers into his shirt. “You in those classy Thirties duds … Me with seamed silk stockings …”
His pupils dilated.
“Somethin’ else on top of 'em, I hope,” he said hoarsely. “For the party.”
“Sure. We can talk about what the Shadow’s girl would wear. But the stuff underneath? That’s all for you and me, sarge. Our party.”
He snorted a laugh, and Darcy giggled. “Too much?” she teased.
“Just a little bit. You’ll have to work on your seduction technique, sweetheart.”
“Well, I’m willing to practice.”
* * *
Much to Darcy’s disappointment, she and Bucky did not have the best couple’s costume at the Halloween charity carnival. While she looked sleek and snazzy in her 1930s tailored skirt suit (and seamed stockings) and Bucky was absolutely devastating in the Shadow’s sweeping dark coat, broad-brimmed hat, and red scarf, the reference was just too damn obscure for most people to get.
And Jane, the heinous genius bitch, had talked Thor into being Wesley to her Buttercup. She looked so stupidly good in the dress, too, that Darcy couldn’t even be mad.
Steve got the Shadow references, at least. He gave Bucky and Darcy a rueful smile but didn’t say anything. Good. The taser was still an option.
But who cared about a costume contest, really? It was a good time, and it was all for charity. And when Bucky stripped her down to her silk and satin that night, Darcy was definitely the real winner.
END