Heathens
"The Avengers?" the Winter Soldier shakes his head. "The Avengers must be avoided. Contact will seriously jeopardise the mission."
"And what's the mission?" Darcy asks, throat still raw.
"Eliminate the former Asset," he says, fists clenching and unclenching.
"I don't think the mission is valid anymore," she says, deliberately keeping her voice light. "At least, I hope not."
Slowly, he nods. "What do I do if there's no mission?"
Darcy sighs. "I guess you find a new one. That's what I did."
He turns to her, his gaze intense behind his mask. "You. You're my mission now."
Darcy lays a hand on the side of his face. "And you're mine."
The moment is broken when the Soldier jerks, yanks an earpiece from his ear and crushes it between metal fingers. "We need to leave. Now."
He stands in one smooth movement and Darcy follows suit. "So, you still against asking the Avengers?"
He shakes his head. "Former mission parameters are no longer valid. The Avengers are protectors. They will keep you safe."
"They'll keep you safe too, buddy," Darcy says. "Hopefully."
Darcy throws some clothes into her duffel bag over some money and her current passport, hides the rest in a secret pocket. The Glock she leaves where the Soldier dropped it. She doesn’t want to give the Avengers a reason to give her bag any more than a cursory examination.
Before she can second guess herself too much, she calls Jane, gives her a quick rundown of the situation – met her soulmate, fears for her life, can they stay at the Tower? Within five minutes of her hanging up, Pepper Potts calls, invites them to a meeting. She doesn’t even sound surprised, which is probably a testament to the sheer volume of weirdness that surrounds Tony Stark on a regular basis.
She drives to the Tower as her soulmate keeps a wary eye out from the passenger side. He hasn’t said a word since agreeing to approach the Avengers, and Darcy hasn’t pushed. It’s a relief to drop the chatty façade for once and she needs to time to process and plan.
They are met in the parking garage by a security team, who put her soulmate through an extensive disarmament. Once the last knife is out, they are led to a meeting room where the Avengers are gathered. Jane's eyes bug out and Thor's jaw goes hard at the bruises forming on Darcy's neck.
Romanoff's gaze goes straight to her soulmate's metal arm. "Is that who I think it is?"
The woman who Darcy used to be might have answered more directly, but Darcy Lewis merely shrugs. "Dunno," she answers. “Depends who you think it is. He's my soulmate, though," she adds, pulling her neckline down again as proof. Jane studies her words and nods, slowly. "And he was sent to capture me, possibly for leverage on Jane."
The hand in hers tightens in warning, but she's mixed enough truth in with the lie to make it believable.
Romanoff studies her suspiciously. "There have been several security breaches recently. Could this be connected?"
Darcy shrugs again and breathes a sigh of relief when Romanoff turns away, frustration written across her face.
"How do we know he's not here to kill us?" Barton demands.
Darcy opens her mouth to protest but her soulmate beats her to it.
"If I was sent to kill you, you'd be dead."
Captain America sucks in a breath, eyes wide. "Take off your mask," he orders.
After a moment, the Winter Soldier does so, and Rogers stumbles back, looking as if he's seen a ghost. At his reaction, the rest of the room take up defensive positions. Turning to look at her soulmate’s face for the first time, Darcy finds herself confronted with bright blue eyes and cheekbones that could cut steel. Certainly good looking, but nothing that could fell a supersoldier with looks alone.
“Bucky?” Rogers asks from behind her, sounding lost and a little angry.
“Who the hell is Bucky?”
Dredging through her file on Captain America, Darcy realises her initial description of Rogers may be more accurate than she thought. Only now, he looks like he’s seen a ghost and been slapped.
"How is that even possible?" Jane asks, peering out from behind Thor. "Didn't he die 70 years ago?"
Everyone looks to the Soldier, who looks about ready to bolt. Darcy squeezes his hand and his shoulders relax marginally. "They froze me," he answers, and Rogers shivers reflexively.
Stark, uncharacteristically quiet, perks up. "Cryogenics? What did they use? How did they stabilise you? Is the arm insulated against the cold?"
This is more complicated than she expected. The plan was to beg sanctuary from the Avengers, not – this, whatever this is. Darcy sways and her soulmate drops her hand to steady her. "Can this wait until tomorrow?" she asks plaintively, leaning into his arms. "Please?"
Rogers looks mutinous, but nods. For his part, Stark actually looks contrite, which is more than she was expecting. Pepper Potts must be a good influence on him; her old training file had him earmarked as being distinctly amoral. "Fine, fine. We are so talking about this later, though."
The Soldier gives a terse nod, his eyes still on Darcy, who is starting to feel the exhaustion she is feigning.
Pepper Potts has already organised a suite for them, for which Darcy is deeply grateful. It’s the floor below Jane and Thor and used to be Bruce Banner’s before he ran off with Betty Ross. She’s pretty sure there are some tight security protocols on the elevator, but she’s hardly complaining.
Jane kindly offers to fetch some more of Darcy’s things. Darcy remembers the Glock lying in her hallway and carefully declines.
Once they are alone, Darcy activates Friday’s security protocols. Despite her fatigue, she and soulmate silently check the entire apartment, drawing the blinds to make themselves less of a target and booby-trapping the balcony doors. Remembering Barton’s love of air vents, Darcy booby-traps them too.
Finally, when both are satisfied the apartment is secure, Darcy seats herself on the bed and pats the coverlet beside her in invitation. He shakes his head, takes a position opposite her.
“So what do I call you?” she asks, voice still raspy.
He shrugs. “Bucky is as good a name as any. Are you still Daria?”
“Darcy, now. Darcy Lewis, born and raised in Pennsylvania, and no one here knows anything to the contrary.”
Bucky raises his eyebrows. “How long is that going to last?”
Darcy sighs and lets herself flop backwards in clear violation of every poise and posture lesson she’s ever had. “I am going to think about that tomorrow. How much sleep do you need?”
“About 3 or 4 hours a night,” he admits grudgingly.
“Yeah, I need way more than that. And just saying, but I sleep better if no one is moving around my apartment so you can stay up and keep watch or sleep next to me, but choose now.” She doesn’t give him a chance to protest; simply shimmies out of her jeans and under the covers.
“Lights off, please,” she says, and the room is plunged into darkness. Tired as she is, she doesn’t hear his answer.
When she awakens, it’s to an empty bed. Hearing something in the living area, Darcy edges to the doorway. Her soulmate is sitting at the table, scribbling away on a notepad that Bruce must have left behind. As she watches, he tears off the current sheet and shuffles the line of papers in front of him to make room.
Backing away, Darcy goes to take a shower. When she comes out, the papers are in a neat pile that Bucky is steadfastly ignoring. "There's no food," he notes.
"There's a common room Jane has let me use in the past," Darcy tells him. "I'm sure we can grab something there. They might even let us eat before starting the interrogation."
Darcy opens the door to the foyer and freezes. The Black Widow leans next to the elevator, Glock dangling from long fingers.
“Would you care to explain further?” she asks silkily, and it takes Darcy a moment to realise she’s speaking in Russian.
Well, crap.