Eyes Open
Natasha hadn’t paid much attention to Darcy Lewis beyond her usual background check on anyone and everyone associated with the Avengers. She seemed to be unusually skilled at keeping Dr Foster (and by extension, Thor) well fed and moderately rested, but that had hardly seemed cause for concern.
When she was awoken during a rare night off with the news of an averted kidnapping and potential soulmating, she was more annoyed than intrigued. Recognising the Winter Soldier in the meeting had effectively distracted her from the other unknown in the room; the debacle with Rogers, even more so.
Long after everyone else had gone to bed, something about the incident had nagged at her, enough that she left a note for Clint and had gone to investigate. She borrowed one of Stark’s motorbikes: he only bought the things to one-up Rogers. If he didn’t want them ridden, he shouldn’t leave the keys lying about where anyone could grab them.
Darcy Lewis lived in one of the newer apartment complexes on the outskirts of New York City. The inconvenience of distance was outweighed by the parking available; there was evidence that Darcy regularly used her boss’s assigned parking spot in Manhattan, but as Dr Foster didn’t actually own a car, no one complained.
The apartment’s security was solid, but nothing like the Tower, which Natasha had broken into twice already. The first time had been at Stark’s request, to test the security; the second, to play a prank on Rogers. He blamed Clint for it, which was hilarious.
Natasha had picked the lock with ease and stepped inside, still not sure what she was looking for. The bullet hole in the wall was a good start, though. If they wanted her as leverage, why aim to kill? Certain then that something was off, Natasha had then walked through the apartment. A large broken window letting in the cold night air, shattered glass squashed into the carpet. Signs of a struggle in the corridor, a handgun on the floor.
Natasha had studied the Glock carefully. Not one of the Soldier’s weapons of choice, from all accounts, but nothing conclusive yet. Still uncertain, she had backtracked to the bedroom. Gaps in the wardrobe showed where clothes had been taken. A chair heaped with even more clothes sat next to the bed, some spilling over onto the floor. Apart from that, the apartment was both scrupulously tidy and surprisingly sp- Ah.
The bed was neatly made, not with a fitted sheet as was so common, but with a flat sheet, the corners meticulously pleated to the exacting standards of the Red Room.
Discipline in all things, they had been told. In appearance, in conduct, in one’s personal belongings. A girl who could not maintain her things properly was not fit for service .
In all her years since her training, Natasha had never seen a bed made like that, except her own. Armed with new eyes, smaller details began to make sense. The position of the kitchen knives, no doubt wickedly sharp and perfectly balanced. The arrangement of the furniture. An odd choice of spices on hand and two bowls of sugar.
That was what had nagged at her, from Darcy’s conduct last night to her apartment now. It was exactly what Natasha would’ve done.
She needed to have a talk with this so-called intern.
The moment that Darcy and Natasha lock eyes, she knows. Her own training is reflected back to her in every line in Darcy's body. Although Darcy doesn't reply at once to Natasha's question, she certainly understands it. There’s a sudden stiffness in her shoulders and Natasha itches to go for a knife.
All at once, the Winter Soldier is looming behind Darcy and it is all Natasha can do to stay relaxed and not rub at her scar. She is moderately certain she could have handled Darcy; the Winter Soldier tilts the odds far from Natasha’s favour. Where was Clint, anyway?
Her soulmate's presence seems to make Darcy's mind up, and when she speaks, her tone is nearly conversational. "You were a legend in the Red Room. We studied you, you know. Before you defected, of course. "
"What about after?" Natasha asks, curious despite herself about a glimpse of the life she left behind.
A smile tugs at Darcy's lips. "Oh, we studied you even more, then. After all, you got out." The smile disappears. "Imagine how upset I was to learn that you got out only to jump back in for the other side."
Natasha raises an eyebrow, oddly defensive. "What else would I do? People like us can't do anything else."
"Did you ever try?"
Natasha thinks back and doesn’t answer. Purposeless and fresh from killing her handler, she’d lunged for the redemption SHIELD had offered her, hadn’t considered any other way to clean her ledger.
"I just want to be left alone,” Darcy tells her, apparently taking her silence as an answer in itself. “Let Bucky be the big story."
At his flinch, she reconsiders. “Okay, scratch that. Poor choice of words. No big story. Just… don’t tell anyone? Please?”
Natasha is seriously considering her request when Friday chimes discreetly and Tony’s voice comes over the intercom.
“Hey Lewis, we’re going to need you up here. The lift should bring you straight up. Bring the Tin Man while you’re – ow, Rogers, that -”
In the resulting silence, Darcy and Bucky trade glances. Finally, Darcy shrugs and goes to summon the elevator, which opens immediately.
Darcy gestures for Natasha to precede them into the elevator and gives her a sardonic smile when Natasha makes no effort to move.
“I’ll take the next one up.” She might not want to fight them, but the thought of being in an enclosed area with the Winter Soldier makes her distinctly uneasy.
When Natasha does get to the meeting room, Darcy is settled into a chair and Bucky stands at her back. Dr Foster sits beside her, but Thor left early this morning on some Asgardian diplomatic business.
“Oh good, you’re here,” Tony says. “I was just telling Lewis how we did a security audit of her staff email.”
“I have a staff email?” Darcy asks, very much an intern again.
“Of course you do!” Tony replies, affronted. “Everyone at Stark Industries has one. There was a memo sent out. Why didn’t you read it?”
“Probably because you sent it by email,” Clint quips from his seat in the corner. His hair is dusted with black and a bruise seems to be forming on his cheekbone, and Natasha resolves to have a talk with him after Tony gets to his point.
“Be nice,” Pepper chides. “Besides, Tony only found out about the staff emails yesterday.”
Tony pouts, but quickly perks up. “Anyway, we found this. It arrived some weeks ago but was swept into spam because this photo was the only content in the email.”
The screen on the wall turns on, revealing the face of a young woman, somewhere around Darcy’s age. Short blonde hair hangs limply around her thin face and she holds a newspaper, the date clearly visible.
Tony’s voice turns hard. “The subject line was ‘Darcy, come home’. Care to explain?”
All eyes turn to Darcy, who has frozen in her seat, face ashen.
“Darcy, who is she?” Dr Foster asks.
“That’s Anna,” Darcy whispers.
“Your sister? She doesn’t look much like you.”
Natasha clears her throat. “You have a sister?”
Dr Foster looks over at her, confused. “Yeah, Darcy has four, right? Only I think one’s…” Her voice trails off at the look on Natasha’s face. “What’d I miss?”
Natasha is asking herself the same question, only now she’s starting to understand. Darcy had slipped earlier, but she hadn’t noticed at the time, blinded as she was by her own blood-soaked training. Now her eyes are open, she has a very bad feeling about what Dr Foster has brought into their midst. “She’s not your sister, is she?” she demands. “None of them are.”
Darcy finally turns to face her, mouth in a bitter line. “Yes, they are, in everything but blood.” She raises an eyebrow. “What, you didn’t think I got out alone, did you?”