There’s a bright red door in a Brooklyn alley. Bucky heard about it from the Romani family that lives on the second floor of his building.
“Think it’s gonna bite you, doll?” a warm voice comes from the shadows to his left.
He’s not too proud to admit he jumps.
A short, curvy brunette fades out of the shadows.
“Maybe,” Bucky admits.
“Why?”
“Family in my building says a witch lives here,” Bucky says, surprising himself with his own honesty.
“And what would you need a witch for, handsome?”
Bucky scuffs his boots against the ground, absently kicking a bottle cap toward the brick wall the red door is set in. He closes his eyes. Thinks about Stevie. “My best pal… he’s real sick. Has been before, but this time…”
“You don’t think he’s gonna make it.”
Bucky shakes his head without opening his eyes. “I don’t. Not this time.”
“And you’re desperate enough to seek out a Romani witch.” It’s not a question. Bucky opens his eyes and lifts his head, meeting blue-green eyes that shine back at him, inhumanely bright. Red lips curl into a smile. “And what are you willing to give for your friend’s life, James Buchannan Barnes?”
—
Steve elbows Bucky in the ribs. Hard. “Quit glarin’.”
Bucky rubs his side ruefully. “I ain’t glarin’.”
“Sure looks like it.”
Bucky rubs a hand over his face. When his hand falls, he just looks tired. “I ain’t glarin’, punk. I just… I know her.”
“Buck… buddy, you know I, uh, don’t wanna question your uh-”
“I ain’t crazy punk. Who is she?”
“Darcy Lewis. Jane Foster’s intern. Thor brought them into SHIELD.”
Bucky frowns. “Darcy…”
As if her name falling from his lips is a summons, her eyes meet his across the room. The spark in them sends memories crashing through his mind, tumbling, cascading, one after another like a waterfall. “Oh, fuck.”
“Language,” Steve chides.
“Fuck off. These idiots might forget you’re just a little punk from Brooklyn, but I sure as hell don’t.” Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off Darcy as she strides across the room and gracefully drops onto the coffee table in front of him, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, revealing ample cleavage. Bucky’s eyes stay locked on hers.
Red lips curl into a smile. “Long time no see, doll.”
Bucky tilts his head. “Here to collect?” It’s a miracle his voice stays steady.
—
“And what are you willing to give for your friend’s life, James Buchannan Barnes?”
Bucky holds her eyes. “What do you want?”
The witch raises a hand and runs a nail from his temple to his jaw. Milky white clouds her inhumanly bright blue-green eyes. “Memories.”
Bucky swallows hard. “What memories?”
Her eyes clear. “Ones you don’t have yet.”
“So, what? I have to come back for you to collect?”
She smiles. “No, doll. I’ll find you.”
“Sword of Damocles.”
She laughs delightedly. “Nothing so sinister. Do we have a deal?”
Bucky nods once, decisively. “Deal.” He shuffles his feet. “Do we, uh, shake on it?”
Her nose wrinkles in amusement and she raises her other hand so she’s cupping his face. She leans in until their noses are brushing. “Not exactly.”
—
Darcy grins. “Remember how this works?”
Bucky mirrors her position, leaning toward her, feigning confidence he doesn’t feel.
Darcy raises one hand to his cheek. “Ain’t the Sword of Damocles, doll, remember?”
Bucky’s lips twitch.
“Do you trust me?”
Bucky’s eyes flick, just for the briefest moment, to Steve sitting next to him, hale and whole. He nods.
Darcy leans forward, brushing her lips over his, firm, but chaste and brief. When she pulls back, Bucky practically collapses in relief. He opens his eyes when he feels like he can breathe right again.
He frowns. “What… what did you take?”
Darcy smiles sadly. “Guilt. The memories of feelings invoked by actions over which you had no control.”
“Why?” he whispers, half reverent, half disbelieving. “What… what do you gain from that?”
Darcy smiles again, this time soft and genuine. “A world of potential.”