Bygone

In New York, Darcy calls Peggy’s Albany house. The answering machine invites the caller to put in a code. Darcy bites her lip.

The old Peggy wouldn’t have forgotten her. She would have included a code Darcy would know. The new Peggy? The woman’s memory had been iffy, her mind slippery at times. Other times it had still been razor sharp.

The code word they’d used in the fifties is too long. Names of any of their shared acquaintances would be too obvious. Darcy hums to herself in a moment of realization, then types in the street number of her apartment building. Peggy had helped to secure that place for Darcy, to give Darcy a place that would always be safe.

The code works. Darcy feels a rush of affection and admiration for Peggy.

The message relays that Peggy has traveled to her London house, and gives a number she can be reached at. Darcy calls and they talk for almost two hours, Peggy fading for a bit in the middle. Like she had with Falsworth, Darcy rolls with it, and Peggy comes back out again.

A few days later Darcy somehow gets roped in to catching a cab out to Peggy’s house to roost a raccoon out. A window had broken in a storm, and one of Peggy’s less valiant offspring had discovered the intruder.

Peggy didn’t trust a service in her house, and she said her less embarrassing relations are out of the state currently.

Darcy takes a picture of herself in Peggy’s son’s ancient hockey gear with the trapped raccoon and sends it to Jim, asking him if that’s adult enough for him. Bitch.

Of course, when she’d asked the cabbie for a teensy bit of assistance, he’d left.

She texts Tony to see if he’s back in New York yet because she needs a ride, and gives him the address. Going by Tony’s text, he’s obviously not in an improved mood but he is back on the east coast and headed her way.

The job she does closing up the broken window is not half bad, but she does slice the shit out of her arm. She wraps it in a dish towel and goes to wait outside. Animal control meets her at the end of the drive and tells her she shouldn't have trapped the animal herself. Darcy nods along and agrees that she'll contact them if it ever happens again.

Tony's white Bugatti streaks into the drive an hour and a half later. Music spills out of the low-slung car when he leans across the passenger seat to open her door. He says nothing in greeting, and pulls out tires squealing, which isn’t unusual. Darcy grips the door handle as he takes a curve, but doesn’t comment.

She rides in jets with him.

But then his hand flashes over and yanks at her arm. Her blood coats his fingers, a horn blows, and the world flips over.

Or the car does. It’s more likely that the car does.

She and Tony are not as good at flying cars as they are at flying jets.

“Tony?” Darcy asks when they stop. The car is making settling noses around them. There’s a tinny ringing sound in her ears.

It takes her two tries to get her seat belt undone. Tony’s hand is on her arm, tugging on her. She crawls over the center armrest. It’s hard, the roof has been crushed in. There’s more room on his side of the car.

“Tony?” Darcy holds his chin in her hand. His nose is bleeding, his lip is split, and there’s a big cut on his head. But head wounds bleed a lot. She’s more worried about the massive cut across his chest. “You okay?”

“Fuck.”

“Fuck.” Darcy repeats with a stupid smile. Then she frowns. “Are you high? Tony, are you fucking high?”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah fuck.” She slaps his shoulder. Hard. “Never again. Never again, Tony!

“Hey, c’mon. I’m dying here.” His eyes widen. “You’re not dying, are you?”

“Neither of us are dying. From the future, remember? Your dumbass lives through this.” Darcy reaches up to wipe her tears away, but her hand comes away red. She realizes its blood dripping off her face. “Fucking promise me to never, ever do this again. Fucking promise me, right now. A driver. You’re getting a driver. Promise.”

His eyes move over her face and he grimaces. “Promise. Now let’s get out of this tin can before it decides to explode in a ball of flames.”

Darcy tries the door handle but it won’t open, so she goes to kick at it the way Jacques taught her. “Tony? Keep talking to me. You’re not dying.”

Tony fights with the med team that arrives, but lets them be loaded into the ambulance when the press starts pulling up in vans.

Mid-transit they’re shifted to another ambulance.

“You’re taking us to SI, right?” Tony demands. “Someone give me my phone.”

“We’re taking you to Stark Industries.” A woman says, climbing up into the new ambulance and pulling the doors shut behind her. She knocks twice on the roof and they begin to roll forward.

Darcy frowns up at her, feeling dizzy. But she’s afraid to relax against the gurney.

The woman puts a hand on Darcy’s chest and leans over her. Green eyes, brown curls. Maggie Carter bends to speak lowly right next to Darcy’s ear. “We’ve got you Rogers.”

“What? What’s happening?” Tony tries to push himself up into a sitting position. The medic holds him down easily.

The medic sees her looking and pulls his hospital jacket open, revealing his bullet proof vest, and his name sewn across the breast. Jones. He nods at Darcy.

Darcy looks over at the other medic. It’s an Asian woman with black hair pulled back into a pony tail. Instead of working on Tony, she’s got a lap top open and a headset on. Her eyes are focused on the screen. Darcy narrows her eyes, because this one doesn’t look like she should be out of high school yet.

“Meg Morita. Best hacker I know.” Maggie says. “We’ll get you to Stark Industries, she’ll keep you off the news.”

Darcy swallows and nods. “Tony, it’s okay.”