decorate your soul (don't wait)

It’s with practiced ease that she checks the clip, counting the bullets and checking the mechanics. Three shots, and in need of a good oiling – part of her burns at the neglect, but it can’t be helped.

She returns it to its hiding place, settling into the sheets when the water shuts off and the bathroom door opens. The wave of steam hits her face dead on, and she feigns a moan when a warm hand presses itself against her stomach, water droplets seeping through the cotton and sliding across her skin.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” he murmurs.

“S’okay.” She tilts her head up, and he leans down to plant a lazy kiss on her mouth, warm and wet and slow. When he pulls back, she hates herself for already missing him.

“I’ll start breakfast,” he says with a soft smile, and stroking the skin of her abdomen one more time before wandering towards the kitchen in nothing more than a towel. She keeps the smile on her face until she’s locked in the bathroom, and her face goes cold and slack. A hand settles on her stomach, flat and unremarkable at first glance, but her memory makes her see something else.

“Mother Russia needs a new asset.” Stanislav’s eyes mocked her, burned into her memory. “Who better than the child of our newest Vdova and the Soldat himself?” 

“Darcy?” The knock on the bathroom door makes her flinch, hands rising in defense, before James – before the Soldat asks, “You alright? Is it the baby again?”

“I hate you,” she croaks, and all of the misery in her voice is real, even if it’s for the wrong reasons. “This is all your fault.”

“It takes two, sweetheart,” he chuckled, and her chest burned in guilt at the affectionate name. “Well, I’ll take the fall for the broken condom.”

“I still hate you.” She doesn’t say how she purposefully ripped all the condoms they used with her nails when opening the packages.

“Well, when you decide you don’t hate me anymore, I’ve got bacon and waffles and that tea you like.” She can hear the smile in his voice, and it’s full of love – for her.

He wanders away, and she stares at herself in the mirror one more time. It should be something to be proud of, fooling a world-class assassin – her trainers would be ecstatic.

He felt her rise from the bed, shuffling as she collected her clothes and redressed. When she slipped out of his bedroom and the door clicked shut behind her, he opened his eyes and reached around his back to touch where she’d drawn that tiny little heart.

Love is for children, the innocent and the weak, a dark voice in his heart whispered. He was none of those things, old and jaded and broken – there was no place for love in his life, especially not with a girl like Darcy Lewis.

He withdrew his hand, rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling contemplatively. He considered his past history; Steve had told stories of his ladykiller days back before HYDRA, and as the Winter Soldier he had carried out his fair share of seduction missions.

In comparison, breaking the heart of a soft, civilian girl was going to be easy.

And it was – or at least he thought it would be.

When she knocked on his door a few days later, the first thing he said as he opened the door was, “This isn’t working any more.”

She had gone still, eyes wide as she looked up at him. “What?”

“Love is for children, Lewis,” he said simply, and when he looked at her she flinched.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied. He fixed her with a stare, before reaching out and using a metal finger to draw a heart on the inside of her forearm, before slashing across the middle of it. The harsh gesture made her breath catch.

“Oh,” she breathed, staring emptily down at her arm as he drew his hand away. “Oh.”

“We agreed in the beginning,” he reminded her, and he watched as she closed in on herself, the initial flickers of hurt burrowing under a veneer of cool blankness that had him impressed. “No strings, no commitment, no love.”

“No love,” she echoed, and gave him an empty smile that had his heart flipping oddly. “So that’s it?”

He shrugged. “That’s it.”

"Okay.” She inhaled slowly, closing her eyes, and when she breathed out her expression had shifted back into a casual cheerfulness that had him blinking in surprise. “I guess I should grab my stuff before you throw it out, huh?”

She pushed past him, and he watched mutedly as she scurried around his apartment collecting odds and ends, pieces that he hadn’t realized were hers and ones that she’d left over the course of their six-month arrangement. He let her talk as she moved, the stream of chatter washing over him as he watched her slowly strip his apartment of all signs of life.

She left with two boxes less than twenty minutes later. He had looked around, caught unaware and off-guard by how cold the living room seemed without her plants on the coffee table or her favorite red afghan tossed over the back of his couch.

He went to sleep that night, and woke up drenched in sweat less than two hours later. He went to the kitchen, intent on making himself a cup of chamomile tea, only to find that his favorite mug was gone, as were the tealeaves – Darcy had taken them with her.

The weight of what he had done hadn’t fully settled in yet, but he ignored the twinge in his chest as he dug out a chipped green cup and a sad mint teabag from the back of his cupboard. He told himself it was just adrenaline, and willed the feeling to go away.

It didn’t.

When the mild feeling of discomfort first settled in his chest, he’d ignored it with a long-practiced ease. He believed that whatever it was, it would heal on its own in due time.

When it persisted in the same spot after weeks, the discomfort evolving into an ache and then into something that was becoming dangerously distracting, he'd gone to Doctor Cho and requested a full diagnostic.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” the woman declared, and he frowned because there was something wrong – and he could feel it. “Perhaps it is a phantom pain, from a past injury?”

“No.” It didn’t feel like anything he’d ever felt before – not at all like the sharp, brittle cold of cryofreeze settling into his bones, nor the choked off feeling of drowning, nor the piercing burn of a bullet or a knife. It was something else, something that felt like a combination of things – as if his lungs didn’t have enough air, as if his skin was too tight for his body, as if his ribcage on the verge of cracking itself open from the pressure of his muscles pushing against the bone. It was all those things, and most often, it felt like his heart was being clamped in a vice, suffocating him slowly from the inside out.

When he told her those things, he hadn’t realized he had placed a hand over his chest. The doctor’s face was gentle when she asked, “Does it happen when you think of someone in particular?”

He stiffened. He couldn't stop himself as he let out a soft huff, feeling like his tongue was too heavy to speak.

Love is for children, his heart whispered. But even as he reminded himself, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking of her.

"I think I'm in love with you." She had said it so quietly, so gently, and remembering it made his chest do all those odd things again.

The doctor's gentle voice pulled him back to the present. "... Mr. Barnes?"

He looked up at her, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. It didn't matter that she probably wouldn't notice the trembling, so minute that only someone enhanced could see it. "Does it matter?"

Doctor Cho made a small noise, a hum that spoke of revelation and understanding, and he asked, “So you know what’s wrong with me?”

“Yes, but there isn’t anything I can do.”

He bristled, when he caught the flash of pity in her eyes. “That machine of yours is supposed to be able to fix people,” he snarled. “Are you saying that you can’t, or you won’t?”

She gave him a look – not one that was angry or stern, but instead, one that was so kind and patient that he felt ashamed.

And then one day, after years of fighting memory-myths, of living a life she wanted to forget in her slumbering dreams, she fell asleep and woke to something very, very different. She saw ships and sails and endless skin, felt the firm fingers plucking at her body like a fine-tuned lyre – she let herself submit to the sensation of two sets of lips pressed to each of her breasts. She let herself fall into the fantasy – dark and light on either side, staring down at her with eyes that reminded her of a clear Spartan sky and the churning, stormy sea.

Orpheus. Ganymede. The names she moaned were etched into her bones and body, written in her veins and buried in her blood like a memory left forgotten, only just brought back to the surface.  She woke to the feelings of hands on her hips, her waist and her chest; the phantom feeling of two bodies, pressed firm and strong against hers – she woke up longing for gold-spun hair and dark brown locks, bodies so entwined together that she couldn’t see where one ended and another began.

She woke, and the once-cold marks on her left arm were dark, dark black, warm to the touch and singing in her blood. And then, staring down at her matching forearms, she’d thought that maybe her life was finally realigning itself and working out. And then, SHIELD erupted from the inside out, HYDRA emerged from the shadows, and Darcy found her heartmatches in the ravages of the data dump released into the world.

Captain America and the Winter Soldier – matching marks, one on Steve Rogers’s hand, the other at the base of James Barnes’s spine. Soulmates, the news stories said – divine intervention, two halves of a whole. Someone helpfully pointed out that the marks were a dead ringer for Cygnus, the swan constellation, and the world went crazy because it had to be a sign.

Swans mated for life, one of the few species that did – and Darcy didn’t know whether she was supposed to laugh or cry, because she wanted to ask, “so where do I fit in?” She asked herself the question for nearly a year, Steve gone from the tower and James on the run – and when James was arrested, she followed the trial of the Winter Soldier with baited breath, curled up on the sofa in Stark Tower as she prayed to every deity she could think of.

When the ruling was decided not guilty on all accounts, she watched, alongside the rest of the world, as Steve jumped the gate and kissed James for the entire world to see. It was the happy ending to what was the most tragic love story of the century, and the acquittal of the Winter Soldier was splashed across headlines for the following two weeks. She was happy, but the doubt that tugged at her heart felt like a battering ram that wouldn’t go away – and it took just one instance to know that all her dreams and expectations would never become a reality.

They met by coincidence, by accident just a few weeks after the trial ended. She’d tried to give them space – tried to ignore the calling, the singing in her blood, the ever-present feeling of weightlessness threatening to take her away – until she’d literally run into them in an empty lab one morning, falling face first into a broad, muscled chest.

“Careful, sweetheart,” a husky, low voice said softly, and she’d been so surprised to hear his voice that she stumbled backward. A hand caught her by the arm, too firm and cool to be flesh and blood, but the warmth that shot up from the touch felt like fireworks exploding under her skin.

The name slipped out in a breathless gasp. “Orpheus?” And Steve’s eyes widened before turning stony and hard, but James looked absolutely terrified as he ripped his hand away from her. He froze, eyes darting between his metal hand and the glowing mark on the inside of her wrist before literally sprinting out of the lab, and when she looked to Steve she couldn’t hide her flinch at the dark glower he gave her as he went after James.

The animosity confused her. Over the course of the next weeks, she’d tried to be friendly, tried to be polite, but only James had slowly warmed to her – Steve seemed only to increase in hostility with ever smile and laugh she managed to wring out of James’s tired, pale face.

The worst happened nearly two months after their first meeting. She ran into them in the common room while she was snacking on honeyed walnuts, and both of them had stilled at the sight of her. She knew what they were thinking as they stared – she’d had enough dreams about wandering hands and twisted limbs, pale skin glossy and wet with sugar and syrup, and she’d be lying if she hadn’t thought of those moments as she touched herself. James looked like he wanted to eat her alive, his eyes dark and blown wide as he stared at her honey-stained lips, but Steve’s face was carefully blank. It was only when she pressed a sticky kiss to James’s cheek did he let his anger boil over.

“What in Zeus’s name do you think you’re doing?” he’d hissed, pulling James back and behind him – as if he was protecting him from her, she realized. He ignored the other man’s protests, fierce and furious as he stared down at her, and she shrunk under his gaze as he and James argued, hissing at each other in a mixture of what she recognized as French and German, interspersed with a little Greek. She picked up the words “life-mark” and “Helen” and “love,” but when Steve hissed, clear and low and sharp like a knife, “I don’t want her,” it felt like her heart was breaking.

It was James’s turn to be furious, and it wasn’t until he pulled Steve away and out of the room that Darcy realized she was crying. That night, James came to her rooms, and Darcy let herself fall into bed with him despite the rational part of her heart telling her no. He whispered that Steve was going to come around, and rather than dwell on the heartache growing in her chest she pretended to believe him.

She told herself it didn’t matter that he kept calling her Helen even when she told him her name.  

In the weeks that followed, she ignored Steve. She had hoped that James could talk sense into him, that maybe he just needed time, but it didn’t change. When she tried to apologize, to talk things out, he only brushed her off and left her on the verge of tears. James came to her afterwards, each time kissing her tears away and apologizing for Steve’s words – sometimes, he’d stay the night, whispering into her ear about memories of starlight and sunshine and the Aegean sea after a storm, and she’d bite her lip to hold back the words that he kept refusing to hear, even as she repeated them over and over.

“It’s Darcy – not Helen.”

He clung to a past that didn’t exist, while Steve refused to let go of the one that didn’t include her. She saw the wince that flickered over his face every time Steve slipped, calling him Bucky instead of James. She thought it was ironic, how he was trying to run from a past he felt he didn’t belong to – and despite the sympathy she felt, she could tell her her heart was hardening every time the name “Helen” left James’s lips.

“Sorry, I’ll get it right next time,” James murmured, squeezing her hands in apology. Always next time, never the present – and after what felt like the hundredth time, Darcy knew what she had to do.

Days later, when she stepped out of the elevator into Tony’s garage, he was waiting for her.

“Don’t go,” James said quietly, and when he reached out to hold her she let him. “He’ll come around.”

She breathed in slowly, letting herself sink into the warmth of his arms, burrowing her face into the soft cotton of his shirt and just holding herself there. He felt like home and heaven, wrapped up and around her, and she let herself tuck away the memory of the moment into her head and heart.

“Maybe he will,” she murmured, and he’d tightened his arms around her and pressed his lips to her temple. “But I can’t wait around for him forever.”

“Please,” he begged. “Just one more chance, Helen.”

She wanted to cry and scream and yell that she wasn’t Helen, she wasn’t the woman who started a war, she wasn’t the queen or the princess who fell for a cupbearer and a musician. She wasn’t the woman loved two men and was loved in return – she was Darcy, and there was no place in the happily ever after of two people who’d already gone through so much without her.

“You’re the love story of the century,” she said, and looked away when his eyes begged her. “You don’t need me to be happy.”

“We do,” he said, and at the look on his face she wanted nothing more than to hold him in her arms and make him smile. “We did.”

“Orpheus and Ganymede loved Helen,” she whispered. “You and Steve been plenty happy without me.”

And at that, he looked like she had punched him, the fight leaving his lungs in a single, slow sigh that made him curl in on himself, and even though she promised herself that she wouldn’t she reached up to his face. He didn’t flinch, he didn’t move; he just watched her cup his cheeks with her hands, stubble stinging her palms, and when she pressed a quiet kiss to his mouth he let out a shuddering, ragged breath that sounded more like a sob.

“I think I could’ve fallen in love with you,” she whispered, and she didn’t have to say more than that for him to understand. He stroked the skin of her face with his metal hand, cold and smooth and feather-light, and she turned to press her lips to the mechanized fingers.

“I already did.” He stared down at her, and she wanted to cry because she knew was thinking of Helen. “And someday, so will Steve.”

Darcy Lewis had been born on a cool September evening, wailing at the top of her lungs, with a smattering of marks etched across the skin of her arms, crawling up from her wrists like specks of ink, washed and faded. As a baby, she had cried endlessly, too young to understand that the difference between coldness and pain, and no doctor could tell her parents why.

When she was six, her babysitter had stared at the hard lines that wound up and around her forearms, and pursed her lips in thought. “How long have you had those, Darcy-doll?”

“I dunno.” She scrunched her face, glaring at the faded marks. “I don’t want them.”

“Oh darling, no.” And Miss Stacy scooped her up, pressing kisses to the cold skin. “Those mean you’re a lucky girl, Darcy-doll – that you’re special, and you’ll always have two people who will love you forever and ever.”

“I have you and daddy.” Darcy looked up at the elder woman, her blue eyes filled with stubbornness. “I don’t need anyone else.”

Twenty years later, she walked away from the two men meant to be her forever – one who loved a long gone memory, and another, who didn’t want her at all. Her dad and Miss Stacy were long gone, and the part of her that was Helen whispered, “liar.”  

It takes years before they’re allowed in a Conn-Pod, stonewalled by their father and too immersed in finding vengeance to pass the psych evaluations, but they manage it, somehow. Their first drift test together is like nothing either of them have ever known, and to the brothers, it’s like coming home.

It’s easy after that. They quickly climb up the ranks to claim the title of Australia’s best Jaeger co-pilots, working in tandem with two other Aussie Ranger teams. Breaker Wildfire is a heavyweight wrestling type, driven by Hogun Grim and Volstagg Valiant, and Striker Iris is Breaker’s counterpart – lithe, agile, and built to use their opponent’s strength against them – piloted by Fandral Dashing and Sif Sylvan. The Odinson brothers sit somewhere between the two with their Mark-III Jaeger, Golden Aesir – equipped with a hammer-arm on its right side and a series of exploding projectile launchers on its left, it has all the heavy artillery expected from a front line fighter, but its surprising agility lends itself for unexpected maneuvers. It’s just the cherry on top when they’re given Stark tech immune to the EMP attacks the higher category kaiju are beginning to develop, and they develop a reputation for being the front lines of attack – the first to arrive and the last to leave.

Things go to disaster when they fail to defeat a Category-IV kaiju named Bilgesnipe. The monster emerges not more than five miles from the New Zealand coast, and by the time Thor and Loki get suited up and are deployed in Aesir, the kaiju has already made its rampage through Auckland, heading inland and ripping the landscape apart.

Never mind that it is a solo deployment, or that they had mobilized as quickly as possible. Millions are dead, the city is now a ruin, and everyone wants someone to blame – so all eyes turn to Thor and Loki, and they go from national heroes to the most hated people in Australia in the matter of a few hours.

When they receive the summons from the PPDC Council in Hong Kong, it comes with the cruel, bitter realization that their own father, now in charge of the Sydney Shatterdome, has called for their dismissal. Thor storms into Odin’s office in a fit of rage, shouting and screaming and punching through the walls, but Loki just watches in silence, his face cold and furious. Odin is impersonal, gruff and stern and everything a father shouldn’t be, and when Loki prods and pokes at him enough to incite a response, the older man spits out the truth.

He’s still bitter over the death of his wife, irrationally placing the blame on his sons for surviving when she didn’t. The property damage will cost the Shatterdome billions, billions that they do not have and money that they need to spend on Jaeger upkeep – only, what is one less Jaeger in a fleet? And last of all, the administrators want them gone – there had been whispers of nepotism when Thor and Loki were given Aesir, whispers and dirty looks following them around the Shatterdome, and as the opportunity presents itself, they pounce on the opportunity to remove the brothers from the equation.

Thor and Loki go to the hearing in Hong Kong, stoic and emotionless as they are ordered to return to base to be dismissed from the Jaeger program. They return to Sydney, silent and subdued, but when Thor voices the craziest idea he’s ever had, Loki is just desperate enough to go along with it.

It takes the help of Hogun, Volstagg, Fandral, and Sif to help them carry out the plan. They’re distractions, mostly – meant to keep Odin and the bigwig administrators busy, but it’s Sif who has the stroke of genius. She manages to hack the Shatterdome servers, make it look like a kaiju attack was heading towards Melbourne, and from there it’s easy to coerce and charms and wheedle their way to where Aesir sits in the docking bay. Somehow they manage to talk their way back into the Conn-Pod, drivesuits prepped and Aesir ready, and when they’re launched for deployment they cut the cables and head north, heedless of the calls coming from Sydney.

They were different in every possible way. She taught herself to reign in emotion, suppressing it beneath focus and drive, where he was fueled by his frustration and rage despite his outward blank mask. She preferred hand-to-hand fighting, using stealth and speed to weave around her opponents to confuse and elude, where he dove in head first, using powerful moves to overwhelm his opponents until they submitted to his strength. She didn’t like using weapons, but he was willing to use anything he could get his hands on, the bigger the better.

Yet, outside the Conn-Pod and the drive suits, away from monsters and Jaegers and the Red Room, they worked. It had been the sex, finding comfort in each other when they didn’t know how else to express themselves, and she wonders now if that was how they had held on for so long when they were clearly never meant to drift together.

Looking back, Natasha knows that the way they operated as co-pilots had been nothing short of a miracle. Chernaya had gone back and forth between their fighting styles, switching between her and Yasha throughout battle. It put a mental strain on them both – dominating a Jaeger’s combat style means taking on more of the neural load – and Chernaya only managed to kill two kaiju before Yasha’s mind broke in the middle of fighting a Category-III near Dalnegorsk. He chased the RABIT, bringing Natasha into the memory of another Jaeger battle, only it was Yasha with a blonde man instead of her. And then there was black, and Natasha woke up to a white hospital ceiling.

Chernaya had been dumped quickly and quietly, the two of them brought back to the Red Room for a second neural wipe, but it failed on her again. This time, they decided to eliminate her, but she fought her way out of the Vladivostok Shatterdome, pausing only once to think back to Yasha before running. She had made her way through Europe and across the Atlantic, dodging Red Room operatives for years until she landed in Toronto. There was where she met Clint, who had the same look Yasha did, lost and broken, and it was only then that she finally let herself feel regret for leaving her lover in the hands of the Red Room.

They travelled together up and down the Atlantic coast and away from the Pacific, using darts and a map to choose their next location. After a few years, it landed on Anchorage, and although she knew she wasn’t ready, she followed Clint back.

And now, standing in front of Yasha, she doesn’t know what to do.

“It’s James,” he says, and he looks softer than he ever has, the same as she remembers but without the blankness masking his face. “I got out.”

In the days that follow, Clint only manages to give her a quick explanation and a goodbye before he’s whisked away to Los Angeles, and suddenly she’s alone. It’s hard to keep the pretense up when she’s fighting against other cadets, cadets who look at her bright red hair and her curves and her breasts. She can see the lust in their eyes, the smirks that follow her now that Clint is gone, and she breaks character in the middle of a sparring session with a leering cadet called Hodgins when he has the audacity to pin her to the mats, hands above her head as he whispers into her ear.

Dimly, Natasha can hear the stern bark of someone over the tittering of the men surrounding the mats, and from her peripheral vision she sees the slight stature of a woman with dark hair tied back into a severe bun – she ignores all this in favor of the blood rushing in her ears, the way the man on top of her is crassly grinding his hips into her stomach, and the feeling of his damp panting against the skin of her neck as he mutters all the lewd things he wants to do to her.

She hasn’t fallen into battle-lust in years, but when the red haze fills her vision she’s too furious to pull it back.

She doesn’t remember much of what happened after. She only has her split knuckles; the rest of her is unmarked and uninjured, but from the way the other cadets stare and move out of her way in the mess hall, she figures she’s blown her cover. She sits alone at a table, steadfastly ignoring the gazes of the rest of the room, and only looks up when someone slides into the seat across from her. It’s the dark-haired woman from the sparring room, and when the woman smiles, it’s all teeth.

The woman’s name is Maria Hill, and Natasha recognizes the name as one of Director Fury’s personally trained cadets. Maria comments between bites of her stew that Hodgins is in medical, with matching sets of broken femurs and tibias, a torn ACL, torn rotator cuffs at his shoulders, fractured wrists, and seven broken ribs. Natasha is silent as Maria says that the man will never be a Ranger, and Natasha refuses to look contrite as she simply says, “good.”

Maria smiles again, and this time, it’s genuine.

Natasha drops her act after. To the astonishment of her peers, she shoots to the top of her class and graduates within two months, partnered with Maria and sent to Los Angeles to be assigned a Jaeger. When they arrive, Natasha discovers that there’s talk amongst the personnel of the Los Angeles Shatterdome, rumors that she was once one of Russia’s Red Room trainees. Whispers follow her though the corridors, the most common story being that she failed the mental reconstruction process necessary for the Russian pilots, but to Natasha’s surprise, Maria doesn’t say a word about it.

During their first drive test, Natasha deliberately chases the RABIT, stepping back to let Maria watch. Their subsequent tests are flawless, but when Maria doesn’t mention anything, Natasha is too curious to not ask. And when she does, Maria just gives her an odd little smile, and says, “we have better things to worry about.”

They’re given leave to pilot a Mark-3 Jaeger that was built up from the salvaged parts of Mark-2s like Iron Monger. Clint is furious when he first hears, but Stark’s reconstructions are eons beyond the disaster that was Sagitta – their Jaeger is a hybrid of new and old, and Stark refuses to reuse old weapons and tech, outfitting the Jaeger with upgrades specially tailored to Maria and Natasha’s requests. It is, for all intents and purposes, an entirely new Jaeger, even if it takes Clint time to see it that way.

They dub it Scylla Charybdis, and the name could not be more apt – the finesse and grace of Natasha and Maria’s personal fighting styles lend themselves towards speed and agility, but they attack with the precision of a strategist and the strength of a hurricane. They have few weapons – electroshock missiles that launch from Scylla’s wrists and a nuclear plasma launcher as a finishing card – because they prefer to get the job done with their bodies alone.

On their first deployment, they help Apollo capture a kaiju – alive. Phil and Clint refuse to be in the spotlight, and while neither Maria nor Natasha like the attention, they take the credit because Fury insists on it. They’re a mystery to the media, new to the Jaeger-kaiju scene, and when they unmask themselves in front of the media during the post-attack press conference, a hush falls over the crowd as the two women stand side by side, stoic and proud. Then, everyone explodes into chaos.

It takes little time before Scylla holds the record for the most kaiju kills in the whole West Pacific. In the male-dominated world of Rangers, it brings the two of them an unprecedented amount of hate, misogyny, and scrutiny. It’s easy to ignore it though – they take out their frustrations on the Academy trainees, filled with type-A jocks and assholes that are shut down as quickly when Maria pins them to the training mats. And if they manage to last against Maria, Natasha is all too happy to put them back in their places.

It goes like this for a while, until a dark-haired, lean man takes down Maria faster than anyone before, and matches Natasha move for move. Natasha holds a hand up, and the man stops, and her heart drops to her stomach when the man looks more closely at Natasha’s face and his eyes fill with recognition.

“Is that you, Talia?”

Six years later, Phil gets a call from Fury as he’s on a recruiting mission in Mexico, and flies back to Anchorage in a hurry. When he gets there, he finds Clint in Academy fatigues, looking older but so much younger at the same time, sparring with a beautiful redheaded woman. Phil is furious and angry and so, so relieved, that he storms into the practice rooms and interrupts the spar, grabbing the woman’s staff and attacking when Clint tries to placate him with half-assed apologies. They trade blows as Phil channels his relief and frustration and six years worry into his hits – and when he comes out of his daze, Clint’s on the floor below him, eyes wide. The whole room is silent, save for Fury, who is laughing hysterically behind them.

They’re drift compatible – more than Clint and Barney ever were – and Phil pulls Clint out of the Academy that very day, bringing him back to Los Angeles with him.

When they arrive, Stark is there, waiting for them and greeting them with a smug smirk. When he leads them over to the back of the hangar, the Jaegers they pass getting newer and newer as they go on, Phil can see Clint’s eyes widen when they stop in front of a behemoth that is all sleek lines and sharp edges, lacking the familiar patchwork of welding and mismatched colors that Phil remembered from Sagitta.

Stark’s new Mark-4 Jaegers are better than any of his Mark-3s, with better strength, speed, and armor than anything anyone else is making at that moment. Sagitta looks like a bucket of junk next to Apollo Victory, painted a little too purple for Phil’s tastes and a tad too glossy for Clint, is designed to be a support and retrieval Jaeger, more lithe and emphasizing its armor and speed over strength. Meant to be used mainly for defense instead of offensive combat, Phil finds that he doesn’t mind that there aren’t any instant kill weapons like what he remembers from Jupiter. He’s a strategist at heart and doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, and Clint, even though he’s happy to be in a Conn-Pod again, avoids the violence if he’s able – the memories of Barney are still vivid.

Above all, Apollo is unique because of its task in helping collect kaiju parts for examination. Its weapons are mostly non-lethal, K-stunners and electroshock missiles meant to permanently paralyze and disable kaiju nervous systems instead of outright killing them, and on their first deployment, Phil and Clint are the first Ranger team to successfully capture a live kaiju and bring it to Hong Kong.

2. Clint

“So, you and Cap?” Clint smirked, sliding into the seat beside her, and Darcy near choked on her coffee. 

“Ugh, what?” She wiped at her mouth with a paper towel, glaring at the archer as she then started to dab at her stained sweater. “Did Nat put you up to this?”

“Put me up to what?” Clint’s expression was all innocence, but the mischievous glint in his eye betrayed him.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Darcy scowled. “I told her, I’ve said all of maybe ten words to him; we don’t even talk to each other, for God’s sake.”

“Dunno, kid,” Clint said, ad he gave her a knowing smirk that sent a warning tingle down her spine. “Cap likes ‘em brunette and mouthy.”

“Isn’t that what Barnes is for?” Darcy shot back, and Clint laughed.

“He’s kinda lacking the appropriate hardware,” Cline said, leering a little at her breasts. “If you catch my drift.”

She threw the paper towel at him, scowling when it fell short. “Go annoy someone else, Clint.”

“Just think about it,” he winked. “When’s the last time you had sex?” 

Darcy screeched and reached for her taser, but he had already disappeared into the vents by the time she turned around, his laughter echoing above her.

3. Maria

She was having lunch with Maria when it happened again. “I hear there’s something going on between you and Steve,” she said casually, and Darcy froze with her spoonful of soup halfway to her mouth.

“Tower gossip mill,” she said quickly, then sticking the spoon in her mouth in what felt like an admirable recovery. “Clint and Tasha are going around with some crazy idea that we should date or something.”

Darcy waited with baited breath as Maria considered this. “Well, there are worse things.”

“Oh c’mon, Maria,” Darcy rolled her eyes. “I’m not exactly girlfriend material, let alone for a man who’s the paragon of American patriotism and justice.”   

“Give yourself a little more credit, Darcy.” Something in Maria’s face said she didn’t exactly say that as jokingly as she might’ve intended. “And besides, Rogers isn’t exactly the good little angel everyone thinks he is.” 

“Seems pretty damn angelic to me,” Darcy muttered, thinking not so much of all the charity work Steve did and more about tight t-shirts and fitted spandex uniforms. Maria’s smirk said that the other woman was thinking of the same things.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d be good together,” she said lightly, delicately cutting into her roast chicken with a slim throwing knife – the wooden decomposable ones from the cafeteria couldn’t cut through paper, let alone meat. “Now, tell me about this Dr. Jordan in R&D – you said he’s been acting suspicious?”

4. Bruce

“Raspberry chocolate fudge, just for you, Doc,” Darcy sang as she placed the plate of sweets next to Bruce.

“Thanks, Darcy,” he said, looking so happy and sincere as he bit into a piece, smiling blissfully. “Any plans for Christmas this year?”

“Just staying here this year.” Darcy shrugged. “I’ve got a Star Wars marathon calling my name. You?”

“Going to see Betty,” he admitted, and Darcy grinned when his smile turned a little goofy. “Although… Steve’s going to be around too; maybe you guys could watch Star Wars together. It’s on his list.”

Even though she knew the mention of Steve wasn’t intentional, Darcy grimaced. She didn’t want to say that he’d probably avoid her completely, and so she said, “I’m sure he has better things to do.” Her stomach twisted when Bruce looked curious, and she said hurriedly, “I gotta get going, but enjoy the fudge!”

She near-ran out of the lab, and Bruce scratched his head a little as he stared after her. “Was it something I said?”

5. Vision

She was in the common rooms fixing a snack when Vision floated into the kitchen, phasing through the full range stove and nearly giving her a heart attack.

“Miss Lewis,” he nodded regally. “How are you today?”

“Oh, you know, feeding and watering the scientists, that’s all,” she said, smiling back at him hesitantly. After the whole Ultron fiasco, she wasn’t quite sure how to address Vision, especially given her previous closeness with JARVIS. “Nothing new.”

Vision cocked his head to one side, studying her. Darcy fidgeted under his assessing gaze, but froze when he said calmly, “Speaking with the Captain would mitigate many of your incorrect assumptions, Miss Lewis – and I think the Captain would suit you quite well. I do hope you’ll reconsider.” 

And cool as a cucumber, he floated across the room before phasing through the opposite wall, leaving Darcy staring after him, gaping silently.

6. Pietro

Pietro slumped onto the couch next to her, and Darcy glanced over from her knitting to see him rumpled and sweaty, looking more than a little worse for wear.

“Clint?” she prodded, knowing that as much as Clint liked the Maximoff twins, he liked to give Pietro a hard time for being so mouthy.

“Not this time,” Pietro winced. “The illustrious Captain today – your peţitor hits hard.”

“My petty-what?” Darcy raised her eyebrows.

“Peţitor,” Pietro repeated, frowning as he tried to find the right words. “It is like… a suitor? A lover?”

“A lover?!” Darcy stared. “What in Thor’s name gave you that idea?”

“You are not?” Pietro looked puzzled. “The old man said – ”

“Clint is a fucking troll,” Darcy interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Don’t listen to what he says.”

“… I see.” Pietro blinked, his brows furrowed still. “I suppose… well, he looks like – ”

“Seriously, dude,” Darcy held up a hand. “Just let it go, okay?”

And maybe it was because she sounded less than chipper, but he just nodded as he looked at her. “Alright. It is none of my business, I think.”

“Damn right, it’s not,” Darcy replied, and before he could say anything more, she handed him the TV remote. “So your choice tonight, Speedy: America’s Got Talent rerun, or Dog Cops?”

7. Tony

“Do me a favor and wait until New Year’s if you make a move,” Tony threw out as he guzzled his cup of morning coffee, and it took Darcy a second to realize what he was talking about.

“Seriously?” Darcy asked, and Tony snorted when she said, “It’s not going to happen, you know.”

“It’s not a question of if it will happen, but when,” Tony drawled. “Don’t pretend like you don’t want to climb that man like a tree.”

“Just because I want to, doesn’t mean I should.” She blushed furiously, but she was surprised Tony didn’t poke fun at her reaction. “Seriously, you think Captain America would ever go for a girl like me?”

Tony stopped to look at her, frowning. “Can I just say something, Lewis?” He put down his cup, looking entirely too serious for a man who was about to go on vacation in Tahiti wearing an Iron Man onesie. “If anything, you’re the one who could do better than Grandpa Rogers – but regardless of my own problems with Capsicle, he could do a pretty good job of taking care of you.”

Darcy blinked as Tony emptied his cup, placing it in the sink and heading to the elevators.

“And when I say ‘take care of you,’ what I really mean is fucking you,” Tony added baldly, ignoring Darcy’s startled squawk. “Both of you need to get laid before my Tower spontaneously combusts from all that sexual tension floating around.”

“I hope you choke on caviar!” Darcy sputtered back at him, and Tony rolled his eyes.

“You know I’m right!” he shot back, stepping into the elevator car. “Merry Christmas and all that good stuff, kid. Don’t let the Tower burn down while I’m gone.” 

“I’m Jewish!” she called after him, and he just gave her a two-fingered salute as the doors closed on him

8. Sam

“When are you heading out?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Sam grinned around the rim of his coffee cup. “There’s still time, you know; Ma would love if you came.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Darcy said, shaking her head. “Christmas is family time, and besides – I’m Jewish.”

“That’s weak, Lewis,” Sam protested. “You eat bacon every morning!”

“Still.” She shrugged. “I have FRIDAY to keep me company, so it won’t be all bad.”

“Doesn’t count,” Sam grumbled, before brightening. “Hey, I hear Steve might swing by? I told him about the Star Wars marathon you’re doing.”

“Don’t think so.” Darcy shook her head. “Bucky said something about how Steve might go with him to his niece’s place or something.”

“Damn it,” Sam muttered a little too disappointed to be casual, and she narrowed her eyes.

“What was that, flyboy?”

Sam scratched his head a little sheepishly. “Erm… well, since we’re bros and all, I guess I should say something,” he said slowly, and Darcy frowned at the apologetic look on his face. “There’s a betting pool. About you and Steve.”

“What?” She felt the color drain out of her face. “Who – don’t tell me you’re in on it?” At his wince, she cried, “Sam!”

“He was supposed to be in the Tower on Christmas!” Sam said defensively, dodging the piece of toast thrown in his direction as she out a scream of frustration. “I figured it was a done deal!”

Darcy froze with a second piece of toast in hand, looking at him incredulously. “What do you mean, done deal?!”

He raised his eyebrows. “You stare at him every time he’s in the room,” Sam said bemusedly, and Darcy wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Did everyone know about her crush? “I mean, don’t get me wrong – he’s definitely – ” 

“Sam,” Darcy said tiredly, and Sam looked at her in confusion. “Don’t, please.”  

“He is a nice guy, Darce – ”

“Sam!” He stopped, blinking. “Stop trying to make it happen,” Darcy said firmly, her lips drawn into a line. “It’s not going to happen.”

“… Darce, I’m just messing with you.” Sam looked surprised at her vehemence, and she flushed a little in embarrassment. “… You’re really not interested?”

“It’s not that,” she muttered. “I just… I’m sure he’s not comfortable with being lumped together with someone like me.”  

Sam stared at her with what Darcy called his ‘therapy eyes,’ but to her relief, he only said, “Noted.” 

And then: “… Did you just quote Mean Girls to me?”

Darcy couldn’t help but smile. “My inner Regina George emerges once in a blue moon,” she said, and when Sam laughed she felt like she had just dodged a bullet. “You’re lucky to be around to see it.”

9. Thor

“The Lady Natasha has share some joyful news with me, dear sister,” Thor boomed, and Darcy looked up from her computer. “I have heard that you are being courted by the Captain.” 

Darcy pursed her lips. “I’m going to kill her.”

Thor looked troubled by this. “I merely inquired due to the rumors I have heard,” he said quickly. “It is by no fault of Lady Natasha.”

“It’s an expression, big guy,” Darcy sighed, and rubbed at her eyes. “Don’t listen to her; we’re not courting. He barely knows I exist.”

“I assure you, he knows,” Thor said earnestly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “And I have spoken of you favorably to him, in hopes that he would consider you. He would make a fine suitor.”

“Probably,” she said, swallowing. “But he’s not courting me, and probably never will – so end of story.”

“Never?” Thor stared down at her, and then asked, “Do you think yourself unworthy of his affections, Lady Darcy?”

“I mean, duh.” She smiled a little shakily. “I know I’m pretty awesome, but he’s kinda out of my league.”

He shook his head. “Any man would be honored if you so chose them,” Thor said softly, firmly. “The Captain would be no different.”

“Tell that to all my exes,” Darcy muttered, but Thor looked un-amused.

“You are worth more than you believe, Lady Darcy.” He leant down, grasping her chin with his hand and tilting her face up to look him in the eye. “One day, I hope there will be a man who can prove this to you.”

10. Wanda

“He’s not so bad, you know,” Wanda said quietly. “He’s a wonderful man.”

“Not you too,” Darcy groaned. “If he’s so wonderful, why don’t you go for him, then?”

She bit back the rolling ache in her heart at the idea of it, and scolded herself for letting things get so far. For all that she argued against the idea, she secretly wondered what it’d be like, to be with Steve Rogers. She’d thought about it enough to carve a space into her heart for the fantasy, a dream that was close enough to reality to hurt but far enough that she knew it’d never happen.

“I would.” Wanda tilted her head to the side, watching. “But he does not have feelings for me.”

“That implies that he likes someone,” Darcy muttered, a pulse of hurt thrumming through her chest at Wanda’s answering nod. “… who?”

But Wanda shook her head. “It is not my place to say,” she murmured. “But may I give you some advice?”

Darcy shrugged. “Sure.”

“You are too hard on yourself.” She paused, studying Darcy’s stricken expression, and her eyes softened. “You deserve to be happy too.”

11. Jane

“You don’t see the way he looks at you.” Jane shook her head. “You don’t notice, but it’s there.”

“What’s there?” Darcy asked, frustrated.

“Like he’s scared that you’re going to disappear on him or something.” Jane stopped, then frowned, shaking her head. “No, that’s not right. It’s like… it’s like he’s trying to muster up the courage to talk to you but he’s chickening out every time.”

Darcy snorted. “That’s ridiculous.” 

“You might say that,” Jane shrugged. “His actions say otherwise.”

“I assure you, Jane,” Darcy said exasperatedly. “Steve Rogers avoids me like I’m the transmitter of some kind of airborne virus.”

“Steve Rogers stares at you like a starving man,” Jane replied bluntly. “And I’m ninety-nine percent positive he avoids you because you make a point to avoid him too.”

“I do not!” Darcy protested. “And how would you know?”

Jane looked entirely unrepentant as she said, “I’m a genius.”

Darcy only gave her a flat look in return, one that Jane ignored admirably. 

“Your immediate reaction to liking someone is to avoid them.” Jane pinned her with a level look. “He probably thinks you hate him.”

“I don’t hate him,” Darcy sputtered. “I just… it’s weird, okay?”

Jane raised a single, slim brow. “Uh huh.”

“Look, I know that it’s never going to happen,” Darcy said, shooting the other woman a glare. “I just need the space to get over him.” 

Jane just hummed. “And how’s that working out for you?”

Darcy grumbled. “Perfectly,” she said, lying through her teeth. “Now stop worrying about me and go get ready for your trip to Asgard.” 

“Yes, mother,” Jane grumbled. She let it go and didn’t say anything more after that, but her look said that she didn’t believe it.

Darcy tried to convince herself that she did.

12. Bucky

Darcy jumped when a voice murmured into her ear, “Now, what is this nonsense Natalia is saying? You think Steve’s too good for you?”

“Jesus, Bucky, warn a girl!” Bucky just chuckled a little, settling next to her at the dining table where she was working on distributing cookies into separate tins. “Wear a fucking bell, or something, please!”

“Give me one and I will,” Bucky said cheekily, and Darcy rolled her eyes, knowing that even a bell wouldn’t help – Tony had tried that when Bucky first moved into the Tower, but the bell just never rang. “Now, stop avoiding the question.”

“I didn’t hear a question,” Darcy deflected, looking down.

“Uh huh.” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Let’s try again: You think Steve’s too good for you?” 

“We don’t mesh, Bucky, simple as that.” Darcy busied herself with carefully packing the box of cookies in front of her. “Nat’s just trying to play matchmaker again.”

“While I’d normally be sympathetic, I actually agree with her on this one,” Bucky said lightly. “You know, he’s gonna be around tomorrow; you should talk to him instead of running away all the time.”

“I do not run away,” Darcy protested. “And I thought he was going with you to your niece’s place?”

“Nah, he wanted something quiet this year,” Bucky said. “Becca’s girl has five little sprogs runnin’ around the house – not exactly all peace and quiet. 

Darcy shrugged. “We’ll see, I guess.”

“C’mon, Darce,” Bucky nudge at her arm, smirking. “Admit it – you and Stevie would be pretty good for each other.” 

“I’m surprised you think that.” Darcy couldn’t hold back the snort. “You know what he’s like.”

“ ‘What he’s like?’ ” Bucky stopped, drawing back and bristling a little at that. “What exactly are you gettin’ at, Lewis?”

Darcy swallowed at the foreboding use of her last name. “That’s not what I… that isn’t what I mean, Bucky.”

“Then what do you mean?” he challenged, a spark of anger in his eyes. She looked into his face, jaw set into a defensive jut and mouth a tight line, and saw all the protectiveness and admiration for the man he called best friend. In that moment, she felt her doubts just swallow her up again.

“… I’m just not good enough for him,” Darcy said honestly, and Bucky stared at her as his expression melted into one of confusion. “I’m not the kind of girl who gets the guy, Bucky. I never was.”

Bucky said nothing as he sat there, watching her pack up the rest of the baked treats, and then said, “Bullshit.”

Darcy’s head snapped up to look at him.

“I dunno who put that idea in your head, Darce, but screw ‘em,” Barnes said, fierce enough that she didn’t know what to say. “You deserve someone to make you happy, and you’re plenty good enough – for Stevie and anyone else.”

“I could say the same to you,” Darcy murmured, and to his credit Barnes didn’t flinch when she said, “You think you don’t deserve to be happy because of what you’ve done – so how can you sit here and lecture me on self-worth?”

“It’s different with me,” he said, shaking his head. “And you know that.” The slight scolding tone made her duck her head in shame, but when he reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear, she looked up in surprise.

“Just… trust me on this, Darcy – any guy who turns you down is a clueless schmuck.” Bucky looked at her, entirely serious, and gave her an odd little smile that was half wistful, half tender. “And if the punk doesn’t take his chance… well, don’t worry. Someone else will.”

+1. Steve

When she opened the door to her quarters, he could see the surprise splashed across her face at the sight of him standing at her front door with Thai food and beers. “Ca – Steve?”

“Someone told me you were going to be alone for Christmas.” He held up his offerings. “So I thought I’d come keep you company.”

He willed himself not to blush as she looked at him, and internally, he sighed in relief when she let him inside. She was in stockings and an oversized sweater, hair loose around her face, and he swallowed when he saw the seams crawling up the backs of her legs and disappearing under the hem of her top.

“How serendipitous, I was just getting hungry,” she teased, smiling as he placed the paper takeout bag on the table. “What’ve you got, Cap?”

“Pad Thai and Tom Yum Soup for the lady?” He pulled two containers out of the bag, smiling a little when her mouth dropped open in surprise. “I asked FRIDAY what your favorites were,” he confessed.

He was happy to see her face flush red as she ducked her head. Bucky had cornered him the day before, warning him not to fuck up – Steve had his doubts when Bucky mentioned how Darcy felt the same, thinking it was too good to be true. Seeing her now, where neither of them could hide behind other people… it gave him hope.

“You didn’t have to,” she said, but he could tell she was pleased by the slight smile on her lips. “Thanks, Steve. How much – ?” 

“My treat,” he said firmly, shaking his head when she protested. “It’s the least I could do – you made Christmas cookies and I basically ate them all.” 

“I’m actually Jewish,” she admitted, looking down at the food in her hands. “And they were meant to be eaten.”

Steve shook his head again. “Let me watch Star Wars with you and we’ll call it even,” he said, and he smiled. “Gotta see if it measures up to Star Trek.”

He laughed when she gasped dramatically, grabbing his arm and hauling him to the couch as she chattered on about the love epic of Han Solo and Leia Organa. And as she did, a plan started to form in his head.

She woke up to an arm banded tight across her waist, her face pressed into a warm chest as even breathing made the stray hairs on her head flutter softly in a soothing rhythm.

“You’re awake.” She tensed when Steve spoke, his voice thick and low, and she quickly pulled back, berating herself for mourning the loss when his arm slipped from her waist.

“Sorry,” she apologized quickly, averting her eyes when she saw that Steve was watching her, his hands nearly touching her thighs. To her mortification, she realized that he had been spooning her, and her face turned bright red.

She made to scramble off the couch, but a gentle touch on her elbow stopped her. “You always run away from me,” he said, quiet and patient and entirely un-expectant. “Why?”

“I could ask the same of you,” she shot back, struggling to regain control of her body and the situation, but not managing to do either as her legs just refused to move.

When she said nothing more, he took it upon himself to fill the silence. “I figured you didn’t like me much,” he said ruefully. “You were always making excuses to leave the room when I was around… I was trying to give you space.”

“I don’t, though,” she blurted out, something in her heart falling at his words. “Dislike you, that is.”

She bit her lip, trying to think of what to say next, and the little voice in her head that said ‘I told you so,’ sounded a whole lot like Jane. She didn’t get a chance to speak as he slowly sat up so he could look into her face. It took a lot to force herself to look into his eyes, but when she did he smiled at her, sending a jolt of self-consciousness running down her spine.

“What?” She touched her cheek self-consciously. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No.” Steve watched her, and said, “I’m just trying to think of the right thing to say.”

Something twisted in her gut, her mind going to the worst-case scenario – rejection, regret, disgust, pity – and all her self-doubt must’ve shown on her face because he cupped her chin with his hand in such an intimate gesture that it made her breath stop.

“Don’t do that,” he said firmly, his gaze intent. “Don’t put yourself down like that.”

She pulled back, twisting so his hand fell away, and something burned in her stomach as she tried to hold onto anger that felt empty and unfounded. “You don’t know – ”

“I have an idea,” he said simply, and her breath caught when he said, “You think you’re not good enough for me. Why?”

She tried to avoid the question, and asked, “Bucky told you, didn’t he?”

“Thor, actually,” Steve corrected, and Darcy cursed. “But Buck and Tasha mentioned a few things.”

“They don’t know what they’re talking about,” she said, getting to her feet and trying to put as much distance as she could between him and herself. It didn’t work though – he just got up and followed after her, catching her wrist and stepping in front of her. Before she could turn away, he caught her face in his hands, bent down, and kissed her.

She tried to pull back at first – she tried to ignore the way he cupped her cheeks and stroked her skin with his thumbs; the way he stepped closer even as she tried to step back, gently seeking permission with his tongue. Her hands came up to his wrists, intent on pulling his hands away, but he pressed closer, crowding her up against the wall and sighing into her mouth once before drawing back.

“Stop thinking,” he murmured, and leant his forehead against hers as she caught her breath. When he bent down again, though, she shook her head.

“I’m not good enough for you,” she said, and he stopped. He pulled back, staring into her eyes, and her heart hurt as she mumbled, “You could have anyone you want – ”

“And if I said I wanted you?”

“Then you’re lying.” She shrugged, and said softly, “Girls like me don’t get the guy and the happily ever after. It doesn’t really happen.”

She chanced a look at his face, surprised when he looked furious and sad in the same breath. “Whoever told you that is wrong,” he said, and let one hand fall to rest on her hip. He laughed a little, self-deprecating and wry, and said, “If anything, I thought I was the one who wasn’t good enough for you.”

At that, she stopped, and Darcy looked up at him, wide-eyed in surprise.

“The first time we met I thought you were a dream,” he confessed, smiling a little at how Darcy turned red at the comment. “Every fantasy I’ve ever had as a kid, but better – you looked so beautiful when you smiled, and when you laughed, you just never did those things around me. And in the beginning, I tried to get your attention, but you never looked at me twice.” 

“I couldn’t look at you without staring,” Darcy murmured. “I didn’t want you to think I was some creepy stalker.”  

“Would’ve been flattering, coming from you,” Steve said, smiling slightly. “Figured I didn’t have much of a chance, after that. I told myself that a girl like you deserved more than an old-fashioned guy who wasn’t around for a lot of the time... It hurt a little too much, I guess – my pride got knocked down a bit – so I put some space between us. Just wish I would’ve known earlier.“

She couldn’t resist. “Known what?”

“That you liked me too.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead back against hers, and Darcy inhaled sharply. “So, let’s try this again – I’m Steve, and I’d really like to kiss you. Properly, this time.”

“I’m Darcy,” she murmured. “And I’d really like that too.”

And then Bucky crooked his fingers, sucking at her clit, and she came with a low moan of his name, hips jerking weakly against his face as she tightened her hold on his hair. Bucky lapped at her until her legs stopped quivering, pressing a gentle kiss to her thigh before pulling back, his chin wet and his smile smug and satisfied.

“Better get to that meeting, sweetheart,” he said, licking his fingers lewdly, and the low pulse of want that flickered through her at the sight of him was pushed away by a single glance at the clock.

“Fuck!” she gasped, pulling down the skirt bunched around her hips and struggling to comb through her hair. “I’m so late, the director’s gonna kill me.” 

“I’d apologize, but can’t say I’m all that sorry,” Bucky said, lying boneless against the sofa and watching her scramble around her apartment with hooded eyes. His jeans were undone, and he had his hand in his boxer briefs – he looked thoroughly debauched and entirely too tempting, and she had to tear her eyes away when he flashed her a wicked grin. “Sure you don’t wanna just call in sick?”

“Can’t, I have lunch plans with Steve.” Darcy rolled her eyes, missing the way Bucky stiffened at the name. She leaned down to press a kiss to his mouth, the taste of herself mixing with something that she could only describe as Bucky. “I’ll see you later,” she called, giving her cat a scratch behind the ears as she stopped to put on her shoes. “Can you feed Darla before you go?” 

“Don’t worry, your pussy is safe with me,” he winked, and she couldn’t help but laugh as she left, the ball of shame in her stomach growing.

As she walked out of the meeting room, she felt him walk up next to her. “ ’S not like you to be late to a meeting,” he said, and Darcy steeled herself as she turned to face him.

Steve looked down at her in concern, his longer hair falling messily across his forehead as he scratched at his beard. She couldn’t help but follow the movement, her mind wondering what it’d be like to have beard-burn on her skin, between her thighs, on her face –

“Just lost track of time, that’s all,” she said quickly, and he raised his eyebrows.

“Punctual, perfect Darcy, losing track of time?” he teased. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

She rolled her eyes, gesturing to him as she held out her arms. “C’mere, you giant Dorito.”

He laughed, loud and deep and genuine, and her stomach flipped as he pulled her into his chest, arms banding around her waist in a way that made her feel tiny and safe. She curled her fingers into his shirt, inhaling the smell of him as he nosed the hair at the crown of her head. “Missed you, Steve.”

“Missed you too, doll,” he said, and as she pulled back she noticed his nose wrinkled, a look on his face as if he was trying to figure something out, and Darcy realized in mortification that she still faintly smelt of sex after Bucky ambushed her earlier that morning. She could tell the moment he realized it, his eyes widening a little, and his gaze fell to her neck where a hickey was half-hidden by her blouse. Something in his expression darkened a little. “Bucky?”

She smiled weakly, hurriedly, pulling the sides of the blouse collar closed. “Yeah,” she said, and his responding smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“You guys finally steppin’ out together then?” he asked, less casual than he might’ve intended, but Darcy didn’t notice as she bit her lip.

“We’re just having fun,” she answered quietly, “It gets lonely sometimes, that’s all.”

Steve looked down at her, hesitating as if he wanted to say something, but instead he just nodded. “You know you can always call me, right?” He placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning down to meet her gaze. His lips quirked up. “I don’t take the title of ‘best friend’ lightly.”

“I know.” She reached up to one of his hands, squeezing it gratefully as she closed her eyes and leant into his touch. “It’s just… it’s complicated. Love is hard,” she said softly, and when she opened her eyes again he looked stricken, the expression lingering despite how he tried to mask it with an understanding smile. Combined, it looked like he was slightly hurt  – possibly even a little heartbroken.

“Yeah,” he murmured, and he let his hand fall away. “It is.”

Darcy shrugged, shuffling at her feet and wishing that she’d never fallen in love with her best friend in the first place. “That’s life, I guess,” she said flippantly, and changed the subject as she asked, “Wanna grab lunch at Judy’s before the afternoon meetings?”

“I’d love to,” Steve said, and while the response was no less honest and earnest than any other time she’d invited him to lunch, it was different as he reached down and wrapped his hand in hers. “Let’s go.”

They held hands the entire walk there, even as the paparazzi caught up to them, even when she tugged at her hand and he refused to let go. She knew the tabloids would make it something more than it was, but for those brief fifteen minutes, Darcy pretended like it meant more than it really did.

“You’re back.” Steve remarked casually as his roommate entered their shared apartment. “How was dinner?”

Bucky gave him an unamused look. “How was lunch?” he retorted, and Steve pursed his lips, refusing to say a word.

Bucky rolled his eyes, helping himself to a beer and settling onto the couch next to Steve. “If you must know, it was delicious,” he said, eyes glazing over in memory of the past few hours. “She made roast, we ate, and then I ate her out. Multiple times.”

“Jesus, Buck, I don’t need to hear all the details,” Steve snapped sharply, his ears burning from embarrassment and his cheeks flushed from the anger he was trying desperately to suppress. “Give her some goddamn respect, will you?”

“I do respect her – worship her, in fact.” Bucky leered at him. “You gonna join us anytime soon?”

Steve sent him a dirty look. “You don’t need to rub it in,” he bit out. “It’s hard enough seeing hickeys on her neck, but I had to sit through lunch trying to pretend like I couldn’t smell the sex coming from her like fucking deodorant.”  

The words were biting, bitter and resentful as Steve couldn’t hold himself back, and although Bucky looked half smug there was a larger part of him that let himself fall into the guilt of hurting his closest friend. Sighing heavily, he took a swig, leaning back to stare at the ceiling with a sigh. Steve was still and quiet beside him, and Bucky murmured, “What the hell are we doing, punk?”

“You’re fucking my best friend,” Steve said bluntly, and Bucky scowled.

“Who you’re in love with,” he muttered, laughing shortly as he shook his head. “Who I’m in love with. Christ, we’re a couple o’ fools.”

“At least you get to talk to her on a regular basis... You’re not the one she’s tryin’ to avoid,” Steve muttered, knocking back the remainder of his beer and playing with the empty bottle. “And you get to touch her – you’ve got no idea how many times… ”

“Anything you’re imagining, she’s better,” Bucky said. “Trust me.”

Steve nodded, then laughed a little incredulously. “I can’t believe we’re talkin’ ‘bout a dame like this,” he confessed a little ashamedly, but Bucky shrugged.

“This whole thing is fucked up, don’t feel bad.” He toyed with his lighter, flicking the flame on and off to busy hid hands. “Like something out of a bad rom-com.”

Steve shrugged. “Who’s to say she’ll want what we’re proposin’?” he mused, and Bucky winced. “If we’re shoved to the side, we’re gonna have to watch her date someone else.”

“You think she’ll be up for it?” Bucky’s nervousness was only betrayed by the way he fumbled with his lighter, nearly dropping it as he flicked the cap open and closed.

“Worth a shot, right?” Steve murmured, the hollow feeling of fear and anxiety gnawing at his stomach. “It’s all up to her.”

“What makes you think she’ll say yes?”

“I have a feeling,” Steve said, refusing to elaborate further, but Bucky wasn’t satisfied.

“What kind of feeling?” he pressed.

“Just…” Steve shrugged helplessly. “I dunno. Sometimes she looks like she wants something more when she’s around the two of us, but she’s holdin’ herself back. Maybe because she thinks it’s one-sided on her end or something.”

Bucky laughed at that. “Everyone and their mother knows we’re gone on her,” he said. “Everyone except her.”

“She’s grown up thinkin’ that she’s someone who’s gotta be worth something to deserve love.” Steve paused, then said, “ ‘s hard on her – she’s got a couple of cheating exes, couple o’ assholes who told her she wasn’t good enough.”

“Fucking idiots,” Bucky scoffed, and Steve hummed in agreement.

“Bottom line, she has a hard time accepting good things in her life,” he continued. “She seems to think that she’s gotta earn it, otherwise she doesn’t deserve to be happy.”

“So then we just hafta show that she deserves us both,” Bucky mused, and then sighed. “Easier said than done.”

“But it’ll be worth it,” Steve murmured, and Bucky nodded.

2014

Seven years later, Darcy Lewis walked into his Tower, and Tony had to stop himself from running to her. 

He locked himself up in his private lab, his heart stuttering and his hands shaking as he tried to not think of her, walking around in the apartment he’d chosen for her, in the apartment he’d painstakingly decorated with her in mind. None of the other Avengers knew why he was so invested in Dr. Foster’s intern, and the most common perception was that she was his secret daughter or something, but while Rhodey had just sniggered at his panic, and Pepper told him to not try so hard.

“She’ll love it, Tony,” she said, as Tony obsessively re-straightened the throw pillows on the sofa. “Just tell her how you feel this time.”

“You say that like it’s so easy,” he had grumbled, pouting as Pepper laughed.

She had laughed, but for Tony the fear in his heart was real and deep and expansive, his doubts fueling his growing apprehension. He was older, scarred and jaded with a mechanical heart, and she had her whole life ahead of her. She didn’t need someone who might not come back to her one day, but he was selfish enough that he was willing to try. He just didn’t know if he could take it if she rejected him.

After close to thirty-six hours locked up in his labs, Pepper initiated the override protocol, scowling at him in disapproval as FRIDAY cut off his music. “Stop being a goddamn coward and go see her,” she said fiercely, yanking him down the hall and towards the elevators. “FRIDAY, take him to the 63rd floor common room.”

“Yes, Ms. Potts,” the cool voice chimed. The doors slid closed and the elevator car started descending, and Tony glared balefully at the ceiling when none of his commands worked.

When the doors reopened, he stepped out slowly, hesitant and quiet. She had her back to him, white cords trailing from her ears as she sat on the sofa, and Tony swallowed.

“You going to stand there all day, old man?” she called out, and he froze as she looked over her shoulder, her eyes bright and blue as she grinned at him. Hot rod red was slicked across her lips, the same color as his Iron Man suit, and he itched to bury his hands into the mass of twisting, tumbling curls and kiss her.

“That depends,” he said quietly, and he felt naked and exposed when she turned to face him fully, studying him. He exhaled softly, letting all his buried feelings rise to the surface, and her eyes softened. “Don’t have much of a heart to give away anymore, but if you want it, it’s yours.”

And she stood, walking around the sofa to stop in front of him, and reached for his trembling hands. “I missed you,” she said quietly, the words she didn’t say lingering in the air between them, and his heart glowed.