September 20th, 2016
Well I'm shameless when it comes to loving you
I'd do anything you want me to
I'd do anything at all
September 20, 2016
“Is that for Darcy?”
“Guys, c’mon.” Bucky says, looking past the camera. He rolls his eyes and a second later Sam and Clint’s big heads are blocking Darcy’s view.
“Darcy! Come to New York, I found the best Lebanese place.” Clint says, way too close to the camera so that for a second she only sees one gray-blue eye. There are groans in the background as Clint steps back, waggling his brows at her, then Sam pushes him out of the way.
“Get out of here, fool.” Sam looks back at the camera and does a slow, seductive smile. When he speaks again, his voice is much lower. “Hello, Darcy.”
“Alright, alright.” Bucky’s voice comes from behind Sam.
“Ow! You fucking kicked me!” Sam wobbles out of view, one hand clamped to his thigh, but Darcy can still hear him. “I’m telling Steve, he said no more Avenger on Avenger violence this trip! Steve!”
Bucky lifts a supremely unimpressed brow. Then he looks back to the camera and he smiles. “Hey doll. Figured you missed seeing my face as much as I’m missing seein’ yours.”
“Anyway, we’re going dark again pretty soon, and Tweedledee and Tweedledum wasted most of my time. Just wanted to check in, leave you a message while I could.”
“Are you talking to Darcy?” Thor’s voice comes from off screen and Bucky drops his head back in annoyance.
“And we’re going dark in five, four...” Bucky trails off as Thor steps in front of the camera, his chest plate taking up the entire screen.
“Darcy, tell Jane-“
The screen goes black.
“Well, they seem okay.” Jane says, holding her giant mug of coffee.
“Yeah. Hey, Jane, Thor says he loves you and is counting the days until his eyes rest upon your beautiful visage again, or something like that.”
Jane sighs, her eyes going a little gooey. Because that totally is something that Thor would say.
Darcy goes back to her inbox and clicks the other message, this one having been sent four hours after the video message. It’s an email.
Hey doll, we’ve got another few minutes of airtime here. Didn’t get to say much on that last message. Wanted you to know that we’ll be done here sometime late tomorrow. Won’t be able to talk before then. Can’t wait to get out of here – sand feels like it’s part of me. Plus I can only take so much Tony. Piet would be going nuts.
Sunsets aren’t bad though. Would be better next to the ocean, with you and a cooler of beer. Nat let me fly us most of the way here, and I landed the jet. Pretty soon, I’ll be able to take it out on my own. Clint wants to run me through a few more combat sims first.
Oh, and don’t go to the Lebanese place with Clint. Four out of five Avengers agree that it’s an effective laxative.
Gotta go now, wish I’d been able to catch you awake but I’m glad you two are getting some sleep. Talk to you soon, dollface.
Darcy reads back over the message, finishing her coffee. Jane is getting started in the lab, turning machines on, checking the readings from the night before. It gives Darcy a few more minutes, and she watches the video again.
She hasn’t seen him since Colorado. They’d parted ways after brunch, exchanging a friendly hug in a line of friendly hugs as everyone set off. Boarding a small plane with Jane, she’d been convinced this little experiment would be over in weeks.
Leaving Denver she had absolutely no plans to be in the same zip code as him any time in the near future – it was straight up self preservation. She had a talk with the UN coming up, she’d been invited mainly as a ploy to get Thor to attend, but she'd planned to grab that microphone with both hands. Simultaneously blowing their socks off and making them regret the day they ever heard the name Darcy Lewis. She’d finishing her degree in mechanical engineering (and she was done, so done with school after that, hand to mew-mew). She and Jane had to meet an October 3rd publishing deadline. She planned to be so busy, she wouldn't even have time to think about him.
Only, she’d gotten her first text from him within the hour, a picture of Steve sleeping on Tony’s jet, tipped over so his head rested in Natasha’s lap. Natasha is turned, looking out the window, her fingers curled into Steve’s hair.
In the following months, it was rare a day passed without at least a text. She got pictures of his daily life, everything from the morning fog hanging over his running path in the park to Clint’s booby-trapped cereal. She got phone calls where he filled in any awkward lags on her end with chat about what was going on with everyone, what he thought about a new movie, what music he was listening to. He sent her playlists, GIFs, and clips from late night TV.
She gets flowers every few weeks, and then she has to look up the meanings because he knows that shit and sends her messages. But different sources assign different meanings, and he’ll never tell her which of her guesses is right. She always picks the most outlandish. Most of the time, the flowers come with a little note.
Bucky knows how to woo. Most of the notes are sweet and honest and make Darcy smile and feel good. Some of them are just a touch naughty, and damn did those make her feel good too.
But he knows how to walk the line. He never pushes, never pressures her. He’s flirtatious and charming and witty. He makes her feel wanted and special, without ever trying to get her to agree to more. Even if she can tell sometimes, when they’re getting ready to hang up, that there’s more he’d like to say.
And he always holds back. He drops hints about missions that would make it easy to swing by Baja, but lets it go when she lets those hints fly right over her head.
There’s a ping from her phone, her sleek, shiny new phone, an early graduation present from Tony, and she reaches for it wondering if he’d really sent her something else. He must be bored as shit.
It’s a reminder about the photographers from California Conservation coming at one to take pictures of Jane and Darcy. It supposed to be all about the desert flats, but the magazine is totally wanting to cash in on Darcy and Jane’s steadily increasing notoriety following Jane being awarded a Nobel Prize.
Filled with dread, Darcy checks the time.
“Jane! Find pants!”