Bygone

It turns out that Asgardian healing is really, really effective. But it’s also intense as fuck. On Asgard she would have been confined to her home to rest.

The wound is healing incredibly quickly, but either the process or the medicine is draining her. Or maybe it’s still the effects of being separated from the energy. It had been rocketing her through time for years, so it makes sense that the side effects might stick around for more than a few hours.

She also gets the idea that this convalescence period is sacred or something, because every time she winces or shifts or sighs, Hogun and Sif look at her like she’s physically hurting them by not curling up in a blanket.

Darcy says as much to Jane, while the others are distracted by sorting through the piles of clothes Polly Dernier had arrived with. They’re going to make a run for an airfield, and that means the Asgardians can’t look so otherworldly.

“On Asgard a wounded warrior’s friends care for them,” Jane whispers as Sif holds up a pale blue sundress. Sif tugs at it, perhaps testing its strength, and it rips at the seam. She stuffs it back into the bag before anyone can notice. “It’s a given, and there is no shame in it. To the point that if you need something from someone who is wounded, you would go directly to one of their friends.”

“So I’m saying they aren’t my friends by trying to do things myself?”

“No. Friendship is different to them. Platonic relationships are as important as romantic ones. They would not expect you to recognize them as your friends that way, but they are my friends, and Thor’s. That means they have a duty to me, and to Thor. And since we are your friends, they will help me, and try to stand in his stead when it comes to you.”

Tim takes a pair of black leggings away from Sten and instead shoves a pair of jeans and a t-shirt into his hands.

“There’s something else.” Jane takes Darcy’s hand. “On Asgard you can give yourself over to your friends’ care. After a terrible injury or a trying time. And you definitely qualify. It would mean that we would stand between you and any trial, we would oversee your care, we would do whatever it took to give you what you need.”

“We can’t do that.” Darcy tells her, even though just stopping for a little while, just a little while, sounds so good.

“No. But it doesn’t mean that they don’t know that’s what should be happening. It bothers them.” Jane’s grip tightens. “It bothers me.”

“Stop. You are helping me.” Darcy looks around her apartment. How many times had she looked out these windows, wishing she had Jane? Wishing for home? The one from the past getting farther and farther from her each day, but the future, her future, still so unreachable. “More than you know.”

“Yeah, well, whatever you need. I know a lot is going on right now, but if you need to get out of here, if you need to get away, I will make it happen. You’ve got a place on Asgard waiting. You’ve got a choice, okay?”

“My choice has always been to help my friends.” Darcy squeezes Jane’s fingers one last time before letting go. “And my family.”

When they take to the streets, Darcy isn’t sure the change in wardrobe is accomplishing much.

Sif is really pulling off the whole boho look, in a long skirt and tank top, her hair in a braid. But she has no chill, and even though you can’t see the weapons she’s got hidden in a canvas Turnip the Beet grocery tote, she looks dangerous.

Sten is better. His beard is what does it. He’s got a whole poet lumberjack look going on, and his solemn, concerned expression fits.

Hogun? Hogun is giant, constantly wary, and looks so out of place in his t-shirt that they might as well give him his sword back. It doesn’t help that his default setting around Jane right now seems to be ‘touch her and I’ll make you regret being born.’ And that’s just what he says with his eyes.

When he gets the rest of his body into it, Darcy thinks she picks up on a little ‘I’ll braid your intestines like I braid my hair’.

Darcy’s hair is shoved up into a hat, and Jane’s wearing a blonde wig. Jane is also wearing boots that give her an extra four inches in height, apparently having learned to walk in heels.

Watching Jane get ready had been eye-opening for Darcy. She’d watched her friend talk quietly with Sif and Hogun while lacing up the side of a thin chainmail shirt. The piece was obviously fitted to Jane and it shined oddly in the light. It’s enchanted, like the Asgardian warriors’ armor.

Because Jane is one of them now. Asgardian. She speaks with a kind of assuredness that Darcy hadn’t heard from her before outside of a science binge. Jane doesn’t blink at the sight of Hogun sharpening a wicked looking blade or at the bag of explosives Polly drags into the room.

Jane has changed.

Walking down New York streets Darcy knows the bones of, it’s only more obvious.

The city is lost. People wander the streets; police and military stationed throughout. . Many businesses are closed, and helicopters pass overhead.

Darcy knows they’re headed to the cars Polly and Sharon had each arrived in. They’re heading south, to an airfield Maggie knows. From there, they’re headed to Andorra, a small country known for it’s skiing and friendly tax laws that have made it a haven since the seventies.
It has no extradition, and that’s where the coordinates on Darcy’s arm cuffs put Tony.

Already feeling exhausted, Darcy is grateful that Tim is sticking close. He helps her navigate the busy sidewalks. People are out, at a loss for what to do with themselves or wanting to bear witness or holding signs.

There are signs in windows, too. Ross is a Threat to Global Security.

Vets Against Ross.

I Stand With Captain America is a popular one. So is The End Is Here.

Down With the Accords!

Earth Needs the Avengers.

Tension is evident as the police try to keep order. They pass a woman yelling about a curfew.

Once, someone gets pushed and crashes into Hogun, who quickly steps in front of Jane to deflect the man. Tim’s hand is on Darcy’s hip as the man examines his scraped palms while still on his knees, then climbs to his feet.

His eyes meet Darcy’s, then flick over to Tim. “Sorry. I didn’t-“

Darcy watches the realization dawn. She sees this stranger recognize her on a street full of people.

She brings a finger to her lips.

He nods dazedly, then his eyes widen and he pats his pockets. Tim shifts, so one shoulder is in front of Darcy.

The stranger holds out his hands. A crinkled map and a small spiral notebook. “Take it. We’ve been mapping the checkpoints. And my buddy has a car, if you need it.”

“Thank you.” Darcy says, spurring Tim into movement. “We have a plan, but we’ll take the information.”

“We’d appreciate if you could keep this to yourself, at least until tomorrow morning.” Tim offers a hand to shake after stuffing the map and notebook into Darcy’s bag.

“Yeah, man. I mean, of course.” The man nods, still mostly looking at Darcy.

Sharon’s car is a blue Volvo wagon. They spread the map over the hood of the car and discuss how reliable it could be. The notebook is filled with phone numbers, most with a name and a location. Greg – South of Knox. There’s also a list of code words, checkpoint is traffic jam, regular patrol is riot.

If anyone is examining the messages people are sending in the New York area, these messages will seem normal.

Darcy leans against the side of the car, over warm and drained from the short walk. The corner mart across the street is open, but has many signs in the window. Out of Ice, Out of Beer, Out of Smokes, Out of Canned Goods. On the door there’s a peace sign. Next to that is a blue iris printed out and taped up.

“We’re ready.” Maggie leans next to Darcy, looking up at a trio of men yelling from a balcony.

“Tim’s going to ride with you, and we’re going to follow. Darcy?”

“She needs to rest.” Sten pushes his hand against the handle of the car door, then tries again when nothing happens.

Maggie yanks the car door open.

“Darcy can sleep in the back.” Jane calls as she climbs into the driver’s seat. Sif takes the passenger seat.

“Middle row.” Maggie corrects. “Someone could come through the back.”

Hogun frowns at that, then climbs into the back seat, peering over it to inspect the trunk area.

With a shrug, he crawls over the seat.

“Works for me.” Tim climbs into the back, and Sten follows, leaving the entire middle row for Darcy.

She doesn’t fight them on it, because it feels really good to stretch her legs out. The seats are plush, the tan fabric soft against her cheek. Maggie shuts the door, nodding at Darcy through the window.

As Jane pulls away, Darcy turns in her seat to look back at the corner shop and the iris.

Traffic crawls. People are pouring out of the city to get away from the riots. Or maybe the possibility of another alien attack. Darcy ends up curled under a jacket Tim had pulled out of a bag, with one of the air conditioning vents pointed at her face.

They keep the radio on, listening to news updates. New York City is under a curfew that starts at nine p.m. General Ross has been ordered to go to DC to explain his actions, but no one knows where he is.

Pepper Potts has scheduled a press conference in LA, with Hope Van Dyne, the CEO of Pym Technologies.

There are now more countries that have removed their names from the Accords than are still backing them. France, and many other nations, have declared the need to apologize to the Avengers along with a duty to provide the team the opportunity to reunite and heal the rifts caused by the international mistake that was the Accords.

Darcy drifts in and out of sleep and watches the view outside her window change.
The map from the stranger is right about a checkpoint at the bridge. The sun is sinking in the sky, bathing them in pink light as a soldier in army green checks their car. He barely blinks at Hogun in the trunk.

Given what Darcy has seen packed in people's cars, from barbecue grills to dressers, she’s guesses there’s not much he hasn’t seen.

They’re waved through without a second glance, maybe because of the commotion being caused by a man refusing to let the soldiers inside his RV.

They aren’t as lucky at the third checkpoint, this one at another bridge. It’s dark, and the soldiers walk down both sides of the car, shining bright flashlights through the windshield.

The light that beams over Darcy’s face, making her squint, doesn’t keep moving.

“Miller?” Darcy hears through Jane’s rolled down window.

The man straightens, looking over his shoulder, the beam of his flashlight dipping to Darcy’s chest.

A woman bends, shining her own flashlight into the car. It moves over Jane and Sif, the front seat floorboards, and then Sten before pausing briefly on Darcy’s face. Darcy squints against the light, trying to read the woman’s expression. Tim’s hand is heavy on her shoulder.

Darcy puts a hand on Tim’s, and the soldier’s eyes follow the movement.

“You good here, ma’am?” The soldier asks.

Darcy nods, words deserting her.

The woman stares at Darcy for a half second, then stands.

“I’d avoid the checkpoint east on Interstate 278.” The woman walks away, the sound of her boots crunching on the gravel of the shoulder audible in the silent car.

The first soldier motions with his arm. “All clear! Please move the vehicle forward, ma’am.”

“Drive, Foster.” Tim instructs, pushing Darcy’s head down with his hand on the back of her neck.

But no one comes after them, and the minivan the others are in is cleared quickly, their headlights catching up.

They drive for another hour before they reach the airfield.

It’s dark, with less than half it’s lights on. Darcy would guess at fifteen or twenty people, but there could be more she can’t see.

They’re Maggie’s people, and immediately fall into line around her. Speed seems to be the name of the game, and a sleek black plane waits on the runway.

Darcy can feel a lot of eyes on her. Most of them don’t look away when she looks around.

Maggie barks a reprimand, and they all find something else to do.

Darcy doesn’t care. People can look. Hell, everyone is looking. From what little she’d seen on TV, her entire life is fodder for the world. Fuck them.

She walks up the ramp of the plane with Jane at her side, and once she’s on board, she tries the arm cuff again. The same coordinates pop up.

While the others prep the jet for flight, Sten motions her over to the back row of seats. She rolls up the bottom of her shirt, and Sten starts pulling her bandages free. He’d been less than impressed at their quality.

To distract herself from the nasty sizzle Sten’s magic goop makes, Darcy looks around the plane. There are outlets everywhere, and besides the bench seats at the back, there are swivel seats. Everything is sleek.

Sure enough, when Sharon opens the door to the cockpit, it’s all smooth screens, blue lights, and a roomy cabin with leather seats. Sten presses against her side firmly, and Darcy winces.

Up in the cockpit, Tim and Sharon are flipping switches and starting the engines.

Beyond the initial thrum, Darcy can’t hear it or feel it.