Darcy Lewis and the Terrible, Awful, No Good Day
Darcy’s prepared for a lot of things.
What to do if someone goes down and doesn’t answer their com.
How to politely, but firmly, decline any comment about being The Avenger Girlfriend.
Where she needs to go on the off chance the Tower is compromised.
She is not, however, prepared for a group of masked people to fucking kidnap her.
Given who she’s in love with, it probably should have been at the top of her list.
___
Her head fucking hurts.
She’s thankful, in a sick way, for the blindfold they had put on her because she probably has a concussion based off the way her skull’s throbbing and she does not want to deal with the lights right now.
She’s also scared out of her fucking mind, can feel the rough rope they used to bind her hands behind her back digging in to her spine because they took her damned clothes.
She’s barefoot and naked with what feels like a thin blanket draped over her and she’s scared.
She hears someone walking towards her, footsteps muffled by what might be a carpet, and she tries to keep her body loose; wants them to think she’s still knocked out.
She practices the breathing technique Bruce taught her when the blanket is pulled off of her shoulders and she’s left bare from the waist up.
Fingertips ghost over her collarbone and she’s about to mentally say fuck it and flop like fish out of water to keep those fingers from sliding down any further when a door slams and the blanket is hastily tucked back around her.
“She’s not a toy.”
Darcy barely keeps a bubble of hysterical laughter from escaping.
“She’s pretty, like a doll. We could make her a toy while we wait.”
The voice that belongs to the fingertips that were just touching her sounds wrong. Deep and gravely like it took effort for him to even get the words out.
She’s never heard it before.
Harsh sounding Russian fills the air around them and Darcy’s heart plummets straight to her asshole.
They’re using her as bait for Bucky or Natasha, then. Maybe both.
She really wishes she had learned some fucking Russian right about now.
___
Darcy was sixteen when she learned a party trick purely to gross her friends out.
It was stupid and dangerous and she could have seriously hurt herself, but teenagers are stupid at the best of times.
It’s almost muscle memory for her to dislocate the thumb on her left hand.
She’s not Natasha or Bucky, can’t handle the pain and slip into a separate part of her head to get away from it, and she bites her lip so hard she can feel the skin split to keep from whimpering.
She wiggles her wrist until the rope slides up the side of her hand. It gets caught on her thumb for a few seconds and she thinks she’s hurt herself for nothing, but then it rolls up.
Her hand feels raw and she’s sure she’s probably skinned it it all to hell, but her hands are free and whatever goon they had left with her hasn’t noticed.
She shudders when she pops her thumb back in place and eases her arms forward, goes as slow as she can to keep the blanket from falling down.
She has no idea what’s she’s doing, but she’ll be damned if she goes down without a fight.
___
Luck is on Darcy’s side for once.
The goon they left to guard her is snoring softly and she uses the opportunity to shove the blindfold up, blinks rapidly to get her eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness.
The lights make her stomach roll and she definitely has a concussion.
She takes in her surroundings slowly and she’s baffled when she realizes she’s been locked up in someone’s kitchen.
She’s sitting on an old ratty couch that’s been pushed against the wall, three windows in front of her.
She’s not a sniper, but even she knows you’re supposed to stay out of sight lines if you don’t want a bullet to blow your brains out.
Whatever organization has taken her is apparently run by fucking idiots.
The guard is still snoring away and Darcy holds her breath when she eases herself up off the couch, lets it out slowly when he doesn’t even twitch.
He doesn’t look like he has a weapon on him, but she’s not taking any chances.
Living with Natasha and Bucky means that she knows just because someone looks unarmed doesn’t mean they are.
She slides her way across the dirty linoleum floor and stands up on her tiptoes to grab the rusted cast iron skillet hanging on the wall.
She has to tuck the blanket under her arms like a towel and prays that it stays up. She has absolutely zero desire to be even more naked in front of these people than she has to be.
___
Darcy swings the cast iron skillet at the guards head until he stops breathing.
She dry-heaves when the sudden movement makes her stomach roll in waves.
She’s distantly aware that she’s crying, can vaguely feel the tears rolling down her face. She’s not sure if the warmth she feels on her neck is blood or saltwater.
She sets the cast iron skillet down gently on the table the guard has been sitting at and tucks her blanket around herself tighter, takes a deep breath before searching the body for a weapon.
She finds a gun similar to the one Bucky had made her steal all those months ago holstered under his jacket.
She also finds a phone in his pocket. Her hands don’t shake when she presses his thumb to the screen to get it unlocked.
She dials the number that puts her directly through to JARVIS.
“I want to go home, J,” Darcy says softly, has to swallow thickly a few times for the words to even come out when the line clicks open.
JARVIS doesn’t say anything, but it’s okay.
Darcy takes her gun and stolen phone and settles underneath the table, keeps an eye on the door that’s separating her from the rest of the goons.
She waits.
___
Darcy’s spent enough time hanging around mission debriefs that she knows they’ll come in quietly. They won’t want to spook the goons bad enough to make them panic, because when people panic things gets messy.
Darcy’s also spent enough time post mission that she knows she’s very firmly in the ‘Thing’ category right now.
It still surprises her when the kitchen door swings open.
She pulls the trigger on the gun before she’s even aware that it’s Steve, aims for his chest like Bucky had taught her.
(“Center mass is easier to hit than the head. Nobody short of a super-soldier is gonna be up and walkin’ around after that.”)
His shield blocks the bullet and Darcy lets herself fall the fuck apart.
___
“You’re okay,” Sam soothes, brushing her hair back from her face. He has her bundled up in his lap and she can’t stop crying.
She’s still got blood on her neck and the blanket wrapped around her body.
Natasha’s barking at Bucky in Russian and Clint’s digging around in dead men’s pockets for their wallets.
Tony’s running his mouth a mile a minute, keeps spraying Pepper with the hose from the sink when she starts steaming.
Bruce has been banned to the hallway. He can’t quite keep the green from creeping in to his eyes and nobody wants to deal with Hulk in close quarters right now.
Steve’s wiping blood off of his shield with a dirty rag he found in one of the cabinet drawers.
They came to get her and she’s safe and she wants to nap for the next hundred years.
___
“I’m sorry I shot at you,” Darcy mumbles against Steve’s shoulder.
They’re rotating every fifteen minutes to reassure themselves that she’s all right since they all can’t fit on the couch at once.
“You did exactly what you should have, doll,” Steve answers, presses a kiss to the top of her head.
She’s out light a light thirty seconds later, doesn’t feel Steve pick her up or carry her all the way back to the jet.
___
Darcy accepts the cuddles as her due over the next few days, soaks up all the attention and affection until it makes her feel smothered.
“I love you all, but I’m about ten seconds away from kicking’ your asses,” Darcy growls, stabs her fork through one of the strawberries on her plate in emphasis.
“You were kidnapped,” Clint reminds her.
She throws her napkin at his head and glares at everyone seated around the table.
“I know that. But I’m not fragile! I appropriately freaked out, got an emergency therapy session, and I moved on. Am I itchin’ to do it again? No. But being in this relationship with all of you means that there are risks I’m willing to take,” Darcy explains.
Sam wisely sees things her way.
“Okay, so we prepare for the worst and you get enough training to take care of yourself.”
Darcy nods her head in agreement, and that settles that.