Captain America, Thor 1. Prologue

**title**: so you think you can tell (heaven from hell)  
**category**: thor/captain america  
**genre**: romance/tragedy  
**ship**: darcy/bucky  
**rating**: nc-17/explicit  
prompt: Darcy/Bucky feels - and I'm mean serious feels. Like your Darcy/Bruce fic (Here Among The Clouds, We Are Safe and Sound (You Lift Me Up)) type feels. I don't know why I torture myself like this. Btw I think you are an awesome writer! 3  
**word count**: 1,752  
**summary**: As far as happy stories go, this was that. The beginning, the middle, they were the happiest times either of them ever knew. It's the endings that are sad, and every story has one. Some are just sadder than others.

**_so you think you can tell (heaven from hell)_**  
-1/4-

"No, I'm serious..." Darcy laughed, tilting her head back to see him from where she laid at his side, her leg hooked around his beneath the bed sheet and her hair pulled up and over the pillow after she complained she was too warm. The soft blue glow of light coming through the curtains was all that lit her up, making shadows play over her skin. She smiled at him, his fingers tracing hers as she held her hand up for that exact purpose. Sweat was still cooling on their skin, the sheet pulled up to their waists. "What would you do?"

"If it was my last day..." Bucky shook his head. "How would I even know?"

"Just say you did." She shook her head dismissively. "Say you figured it out somehow. What would you do?"

He frowned faintly, staring down at her. "This is what you wanna talk about? That's depressing as shit."

"It's only depressing if you do sad things," she argued. "You could do anything. You could go to Coney Island, take Steve with you, ride the roller coasters all day long. You could get dressed up, take your favorite gal dancing…" She wiggled her eyebrows at him meaningfully.

His mouth twitched. "My favourite gal, huh?"

"Mmhmm." She nodded, folding their fingers together and bringing his hand down so she could press a kiss to his thumb. "You could... see your favorite movies or read your favorite books or listen to your favourite songs. _Anything_. Even if it's totally off the wall and you'd never be able to afford it. Like, take a random trip to anywhere in the world, spend the whole day touring around, like you had all the time in the world. You could just get in your car and drive, try to see everything you possibly could." She lit up, turning to face him. "You could go surfing! You said you wanted to do that. Or swim with dolphins or visit Disneyland or swim in a sea of chocolate."

"Chocolate?" he laughed.

"It's late and I have the munchies," she explained, shrugging.

Bucky stared at her, watching her face light up and her eyebrows wiggle around as she continued listing off things he could do on his last day on earth. She was so beautiful… Flushed and excited and smiling.

He leaned over and kissed her temple and her cheek and her chin. Hell, he didn't need it to be his last day to want to spend as much time as he could just kissing her, every part of her he could reach, until his lips were chapped and every inch of her skin was loved.

She looked up at him, her eyes soft, and she reached across, brushing her fingers through his hair, tucking it behind his ear. "Do you know what I'd do?"

"Swim in a sea of chocolate?"

"Maybe for a little while," she admitted, biting her lip.

He chuckled lowly. "What would you do?"

"I'd tell everybody I care about that I love them…" she murmured. "But I'd do it in that totally normal way, right? So nobody would know anything big was going on. Like I'd just call up my mom on one of our scheduled talk times, because let's face it, I love the woman, but she drives me _nuts_. Anyway, I'd let her ramble about her day and how much work sucked and how Aunt Lisa is _such _a gossip for like an hour and then I'd just tell her, 'hey, mom, I really love you.' And she'd just think it was one of those regular 'I love you's,' right, but _I _would know… And I'd bug Jane to eat and she'd complain that she had '_real_ work to do, Darcy; food can wait,' but I wouldn't let her talk me out of it and finally she'd do that exasperated sigh thing she does…" Darcy mimicked it for him, smiling when he laughed. "And then I'd just be like 'you know I only do it 'cause I love you' and she'd be like 'yeah, I know, love you too,' and then she'd get distracted with science again and totally wouldn't think anything of it. I'd just do that all morning, the whole team, and I'd get Sif to visit so I could tell her, too. I'd have to be sneaky about it with Natasha though, or she'd catch on, but I'd find a way…" She nodded, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Maybe I'd let her train me and when I was all beat up, I'd throw out a 'why do you hate me when I love you so much,' and she'd just shake her head and tell me to stop complaining and bleeding all over the training mats."

"Sounds like a solid plan," he agreed, resting his head on his hand and looking down at her.

"I think so." She nodded. "And when I was done with all the 'I love you's,' I'd take the day off from work, leave Tony in DUM-E's robotic hands and ask Pepper to bring Bruce tea, and set Thor on Jane. And then I'd take you and Steve and we'd hit up Coney Island, and I'd just spend the whole afternoon laughing and having fun. And I'd make Steve dance with me, because he has two left feet even with the super-serum and it's probably just nerves, but it's the most adorable thing ever. And then I'd take you home."

"Just me?" he teased.

She hummed. "Yup. Just you. And we'd spend the rest of the night right here… Just us."

"Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow. "What would we do?"

"I'm sure we could find something to do…" She skimmed her fingers down his neck and over his shoulder, sliding her palm down the metal bicep of his arm. "It'd be a good last day, full of everybody I care about and all the fun I could pack into it."

"It's good, in theory…" He frowned then. "But you know it's not like that… We don't get a head's up on when it's over. It just happens. No warning."

Darcy blew out a sigh. "Yeah. What a gyp. You'd think by now technology would find a way to tell us."

"You don't think that would take the fun out of it?" He raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Some people wouldn't wanna know they were going. They'd just wanna have their fun, live their lives, and never see the end comin'."

"Maybe. But if I had a choice, I'd want to know. I'd totally plan for it."

He looked her face over and traced a finger around her cheek. "So you could say your 'I love you's'?"

"Mmhmm." She leaned up and nuzzled his nose with hers. "Do you know how I'd tell you?"

"Darcy, you tell me you love me all the time," he reminded, grinning. "I walked by the lab yesterday and you yelled it so loudly, you freaked one of the new guys out. He pulled his gun and everything."

Rolling her eyes, she scoffed, "Well, now you know he scares easy, so… _You're welcome_."

Bucky snorted. "Thanks." Sliding his hand down her side, he squeezed her hip. "So? How would you tell me?"

"I wouldn't."

He raised an eyebrow. "No?"

She shook her head, biting her lip as she smiled. "_Nope_. I wouldn't say it all day. I'd just wake you up in the morning, give you your coffee the way you like it, totally black, _heathen_, and then I'd go to work and do my thing. Later, I'd show up while you and Steve were beating up some defenseless punching bag and tell you we were going somewhere. We'd get lunch at that vendor you like, hotdogs piled high with everything, and I'd make fun of you for being such a messy eater, because seriously, you always get mustard on your shirt. And then you and Steve would have an eating contest, and you'd lose, because you always do, and then I'd drag you guys off to Coney Island. And you'd be so distracted with Steve trying to ride all the roller coasters, you wouldn't even notice. Then I'd take you back here and we'd dance in the living room to that awesome playlist I made, you know that one, it always makes you smile that funny, dreamy smile of yours—" She mimicked it for him, but he was sure he didn't look half as dopey or as pretty as she did. "—and we'd spend hours doing just that. Just order in take-out, probably pizza, and I'd even let you get peppers even though I hate them. And then I'd take you to bed and make you see stars…"

The smile he gave her was soft. "Stars, huh?"

"Thousands of them. And we'd lay here, all sweaty and satisfied and I'd make you stay up and talk to me until the sun came up. And I wouldn't say it, not once." She reached up, her thumb on his chin, and she brushed the tip under the curve of his mouth. "But you'd say it. 'Cause you always say it more when I don't. Like you think I might forget, which is stupid, because how would I even forget that…?" She shook her head. "But you wouldn't mind that I didn't say it."

"No?"

"No."

"'Cause you showed me?"

She smiled, nodding. "Yup."

"And you spent your last night with me."

"'Til the sun came up."

"And that'd be enough, huh?"

"Well, that's the catch isn't it…?" She stared up at him. "It's never really enough, but it's all you get."

He hummed thoughtfully, and then he shifted, sliding on top of her, smoothing a hand down to hitch her leg up and around him. "It's a good thing it's not all we get then, right?" He bent down, pressing his forehead to hers and searching her eyes. "We got all the time we want, right here…" His hand cupped her cheek, thumb skimming under her eye. "So you tell me you love me until I'm deaf with it, all right?"

Darcy grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck. "For how long?"

He kissed her, teeth tugging on her bottom lip lightly. "How's forever?"

"Mmm…" She turned her eyes up. "That's a lot of 'I love you's."

He nodded. "You love me a lot."

She laughed under her breath and threaded her fingers through his hair. "Yeah, I do."

"Yeah?"

She grinned. "Yeah."

"I love you, too."

"I know."

* * *

**Author's Note**: _I'm posting all four chapters in one go because this was originally written as a oneshot, but it ballooned into this giant piece that I've been working on for like, three weeks. And I don't think it has quite the same emotional impact if you don't read it completely in one go, but posting it all in one chapter felt like it'd be difficult to read, so there ya go. I hope you enjoy it and please let me know what you think when you're finished. I kind of tore my own heart out and repeatedly stepped on it in the process of making this, so I'd love to get some feedback._

_Thank you for reading. Please leave review; they're my lifeblood!_

\- **Lee | Fina**


	2. The Beginning

**title**: so you think you can tell (heaven from hell)  
**category**: thor/captain america  
**genre**: romance/tragedy  
**ship**: darcy/bucky  
**rating**: nc-17/explicit  
**word count**: 10,239  
**summary**: As far as happy stories go, this was that. The beginning, the middle, they were the happiest times either of them ever knew. It's the endings that are sad, and every story has one. Some are just sadder than others.

**_so you think you can tell (heaven from hell)_**  
-2/4-

**I.**

Bucky met her in the summer; it was a Monday, late-July, almost two years after he showed up on Steve's doorstep, asking for help.

He collided with her in the middle of a hallway as she came around a corner sharply and slammed right into his body, ricocheting off of his chest, her coffee dumped down his front.

"Oh, fuck, sorry, shit."

Those were her first words. Rushed and awkward.

And then, in between apologizing, she tried to clean him up with a napkin. She rambled the whole time: "I'm not usually this klutzy, I swear. This is just my first coffee because I've got three scientists that act more like toddlers than adults sometimes. Actually, no, only two, Bruce is pretty good. I mean, if we're comparing them to children, Stark's the shit disturber, Bruce goes along with it because 'science bros,' and Jane's yelling at them for interrupting her playtime. Anyway, the point is, I have not had enough caffeine this morning, and now you're wearing most of it, which, you know, not your fault, but wow, shitty timing or what, right?"

He stared at her like a putz. She was the first person besides Steve that talked to him like just a normal, average person and not like he was the deadly assassin everybody knew him to be, and he couldn't even form words. She looked up then, meeting his eyes, pressing a napkin flat against his chest, and he waited for recognition and horror to dawn on her face. Her very pretty face, with flushed cheeks and big, bright blue eyes, full pink lips, and the kind of smile that made his stomach twist up in knots.

But she didn't recoil in fear, she just quirked her head and said, "Hey, I know you… You're Steve's friend."

So he nodded, silent and curious. Did nobody inform her of who he _really _was? That 'Steve's friend' was a former HYDRA asset better known for killing people? Shouldn't a memo have gone out on that?

"You took out Eye-Patch, didn't you?" Her lips pursed. "Didn't know him, personally. But I hear you're the reason Coulson came out of fake dead-dom, so, y'know, props, I guess. Not on the killing part, that's a no-no, I hear. But it's kind of nice to see a familiar face around here, even if he pretends he doesn't have any other expression except 'exasperated.'"

Bucky's lips twitched, partly in confusion, partly in sincere amusement.

"Anyway, sorry for the first-degree burns." She tapped his chest with her finger, a wet napkin balled up in her palm. "I'll make it up to you sometime." She nodded her chin in farewell then and walked off, hips sashaying distractingly.

Bucky watched her go, his brow furrowed, and then he cleared his throat. "I, uh, didn't catch your name…" he said, his fingers curling into his palms as a flood of awkwardness hit him. Jesus Christ, he swore Steve said he used to be good with people, women especially, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out how.

She turned, her long, dark hair swinging at her back, and she looked at him over her shoulder, all bright colors and a sunny grin. "Darcy Lewis; scientist wrangler extraordinaire. Try not to forget me; you'll probably be running into me a lot and that'd be awkward."

He nodded faintly.

She offered a wink farewell before she left.

When she was out of sight, he started down the hall in the opposite direction. He said her name, quietly and to himself, rolling it around on his tongue, until it was familiar.

Making his way to the gym, he found Steve waiting, and wondered if his friend had any insight on Darcy Lewis that he'd be willing to share.

* * *

Darcy's favorite food was of the diner variety, cheeseburgers and milkshakes. And not just any kind of cheeseburger, but the messy kind, with the relish and ketchup squeezing out to plop onto the plate with every bite. Watching her eat wasn't pretty, but it was honest. She took bites too big for her mouth and stuffed whatever she wasn't chewing into the hollowed inside of her cheek like a chipmunk. She picked her teeth with her fingernails and put ketchup on _everything_, and she always drank half of whatever he was drinking. She could get as many refills as she wanted, free of charge, but she preferred to just steal his drink, leaving her lipstick imprint behind on the straw or the lip of the cup. And he found it endearing, in that way people do when they're so in love that nothing that person did could ever be a turn off.

Their first date started off as shit. They went to the pictures, but the one they wanted to see was sold out, so they saw something else, only it was terrible and they walked out half-way through in protest. But even though she complained and he couldn't get over just how much movies cost nowadays, she reached for his hand as they were walking down the street, so he knew it couldn't be a total bust. He offered up dinner instead and she shrugged. "Sure. Lead the way, Champ."

The first place they hit up was brimming with people and it was loud. He tensed up while they were waiting to be seated, flinching when people walked too close, squeezing past him, talking too loudly. He didn't have a good line of sight to the door and everybody was sitting so close together – _too_ close together – that it was unnerving. His fingers twitched, his attention constantly elsewhere, his eyes scanning the room. He had to ask Darcy to repeat herself three different times because he couldn't focus just on her. She closed her menu, sighed, and stood up from the table.

He frowned, looking up at her, trying to block out the noise around him. And he knew he fucked up. He felt regret and shame well up in the pit of his stomach, because he knew she was going to tell him that it wasn't working and she'd find her own way back to the tower. It took him three months to ask her out on this date and he was screwing it all up. He was already trying to find a way to apologize, to ask her to give him another chance – "Please, doll, I'm just trying to get used to this; I can do better" – to explain that it was just the crowd and the noise and it was hitting all of his triggers.

But before he could get any of it out, she held a hand out for him to take. "C'mon. I know a diner a few blocks over. Best burgers you'll ever eat and it's almost definitely empty."

His brows hiked in surprise, mouth gaping a little.

She grinned, wiggling her fingers. "I don't have all night, Soldier. And I'm really craving a strawberry shake."

He nodded then, half-smiling, and took her hand, letting her lead him through the mess of people and too-close chairs, past the clattering of plates, scraping of cutlery, and the collection of noise, voices all clamoring to talk over each other.

When they stepped outside, he took a deep breath, trying to shake off the cloying, claustrophobic feeling of before. He watched his breath turn grey, like smoke, curling in front of him, coming out in a puff of relief as the noise became something more bearable.

"You all right?" she asked, squeezing his hand gently. "It's probably not easy… I forget sometimes, what it might feel like for you guys. I'm just a civilian, totally used to crowded… well, everything, so it doesn't bother me, really. But I bet it messes with you guys, always on the lookout. Can't really have an escape plan in a place like that."

He stared at her searchingly. "No, not really. I could probably just go out the giant window at the front, but I'd probably trip over half the chairs in there just trying to get to it."

She smiled then. "You could run across the tables. But chances are high that you'd step on somebody's pasta and trip, fall right on your ass, blow your BAMF cred right out the window…" She clucked her tongue disappointedly.

His mouth twitched, but his brow furrowed quickly after. "BAMF?"

"Badass motherfucker," she explained. "Do you carry one of those little 'Google this later' books, like Steve does?"

He reached behind him and dug the small notebook out of the back pocket of his jeans, waving it at her. "Comes in handy."

"I bet." She snatched it from his hand and released his so she could flip through it, nodding her head to tell him to walk with her as she started down the sidewalk. "Have you watched any of these movies?" she wondered.

He looked at the list over her shoulder, briefly distracted by the light scent of her perfume. Shaking his head, he refocused his attention on the pages full of his scribbled writing. "I don't even know where to start on half of it. Steve said it's better to watch it in chronological order, see how much everything's changed, but…" He shrugged.

"I could help you with it. Chronological order work for some things, but sometimes you just wanna watch something good." She tapped the notebook against her chin thoughtfully. "Why don't we get some dinner and then we'll pick a movie, watch it at your place?"

"Yeah?" he asked, wondering if he sounded half as hopeful as he felt right then. He cleared his throat. "That'd, uh, be nice, sure."

She grinned then. "A+ for effort; you sounded very laid back there. I almost believe you're not secretly pining away for me."

He chuckled under his breath and skimmed a hand through his hair as he arched an eyebrow at her. "Secretly? Thought I was being pretty obvious…"

"Only when you stare at me and think I don't notice…" She looked up at him, half-smirking. "Which you do a lot. And I notice, a _lot_. You might have to turn in your super-spy badge with Coulson."

"Yeah?" He stared down at her. "Maybe I wanted you to catch me."

"All part of your plan, huh?"

His mouth turned up on one side. "Worked, didn't it?"

"Night's not over yet, Sergeant…" She reached down for his hand and folded their fingers together.

"Good." He licked his lips and smiled when her eyes dropped to watch the progress of his tongue. "Got a little more time to impress you then."

Darcy raised her eyes up to meet his. "Impress away."

If asked later, he couldn't say what exactly he did that convinced her to take him up on a second date, or a third, or the many more that followed. But he was really glad she did.

* * *

Darcy was a naturally passionate person and sex was no different. She was unashamed, proud of her body, happy to share it with him, to laugh when things didn't go perfectly, to talk and communicate and make sure they were riding the same wave length. She was beautiful, all tousled hair and flushed cheeks and fingers folding with his, pulling him in close. Her favorite part was the build-up, it was pushing him back on the bed and stripping off every piece of clothing and layering every inch of skin with kisses, her fingers reaching and kneading and touching every part of him. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty, only a mutual drive for completion.

She was easy to get lost in. Every light touch, like he was delicate, something to be treasured, something she needed to take her time with. Darcy could do quick and fast, but he liked it better when it was slow and lingering.

They sat in the living room, on his couch, with her in his lap. Her fingers slowly pulled at his shirt, tugging it up and over his head, dragging it down his arms, her fingers stretched out to drag down each, tripping over the interlocking strips of metal that made up one. Shirt tossed away, she pressed her hands to his back, palms pressed flat to his skin, while she ducked her face down to his neck, letting her eyelashes brush against his skin, followed by her lips, just as soft, faint enough that he could have imagined her phantom kiss.

His hands skimmed up her thighs, under the fabric of her dress, fingers pausing over the thin straps of her underwear at her hips, and higher still, shuffling her dress up. He reached one hand up and undid the belt at her waist, unwrapping it from around her and tossing it toward the shoes she'd kicked off earlier. He skimmed a finger over one strap of her dress before curling it under and pulling it down her shoulder. Leaning back, slid her arms out from each strap and he tugged the front of her dress so the pink fabric all pooled at her stomach. Her bra was all black lace and hiding nothing. He cupped his hands over her breasts, thumbs rubbing circles over the pale, rosy nipples pebbled beneath. She arched into his hands before reaching up to pull the straps of her bra down her arms and around to undo the clasp at her back. The flimsy fabric fell loose, tossed away as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in closer, his mouth skimming over her shoulder and down her chest, pressing sucking kisses across her skin. She shivered, biting down on her lip as his chin, raspy with stubble, dragged over the tops of her breasts.

Her hands slid down between them at worked at the button and fly of his jeans, pushing the fabric down and out of the way as he lifted up. She cupped one behind his neck while her other wrapped around his shaft, pumping slowly, twisting her wrist, rubbing her thumb over the head of his cock. He buried his fingers in her hair, reaching in long waves down her back, and gripped it tight. He arched his hips up into her fingers, reaching down to tighten her grip on him the way he liked it. His knuckles dragged against her inner thigh as he slid his hand up to cup her, the fabric of her underwear damp. He pressed it to the side so he touch her, feel her wet and warm on his fingers. She let out a little breathless noise as he teased her open, his thumb rubbing circles around her clit. Darcy rocked her hips for friction, her breath stuttering as his finger curled up and slid inside her.

He brought her down for a kiss, their mouths slanting together, as his finger picked up speed. She squeezed his neck, nipping at his lips, and pressed her forehead to his as she spread her legs a little more. She panted his name against his mouth as he pressed his thumb to her clit, his hand dragging down her back and palming her ass, kneading and arching her hips for him. He kissed down her chin and scraped his teeth down her neck, sucking kisses at her collar bones before he ducked lower, his tongue swirling around one nipple, teeth gently digging in to her skin. She tightened around his finger, mumbling that she was close, so close, and he slid a second in beside it. It didn't take her long to come after that, her nails biting into his neck, and then she slumped against him, trying to catch her breath.

He rubbed one hand up and down her back soothingly, the other resting on her still trembling thigh.

"You remember when Stark kept bringing up how lethal your metal arm was?"

He brushed her hair back from her face to see her and nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"I can personally attest to the fact that those fingers are _killer_… Just not in the way he thinks."

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss her. She held him close, nuzzling his nose with hers, before finally leaning back and climbing off of him.

Grumbling disagreeably, he reached for her, tugging her back in by her hips. Laughing, Darcy pushed his hands down a little and brought her dress up and over her head, tossing it toward the coffee table. Curling his fingers around the sides of her underwear, he dragged them down her legs for her to step out of. Naked, she reached over and grabbed up her purse, taking out a condom while he shuffled the rest of the way out of his jeans and briefs.

She was all soft skin and curves as she climbed back onto him, her hair falling over her shoulder again, the ends brushing against the tops of her breasts. She grinned at him, dropping the condom on his chest. He tore the wrapper open with his teeth and rolled it on before reaching for her, one hand fitting around her thigh while the other found her fingers and knit them together with his own. She kissed him as she sunk down onto his cock, her breath hitching against his lips. She pressed her palm to his stomach and rocked her hips forward and back and around. He pressed up into her, his fingers digging into her skin as she clenched around him.

The way she said his name when she was riding him always made his gut tighten. The way she looked at him, her eyes half-lidded, the pleasure crashing over her face, the way her teeth dug into her lip, it sent waves of warmth through him. She was so fucking beautiful, her skin flushed and her head back. She slid her hand up his chest, her nails scraping against his skin. Her fingers wove into his hair and pulled him forward. He pressed a kiss to her chin and nuzzled his nose down her neck, breathing her in, sweat and perfume and the faint scent of her body wash. He licked a strip down her neck and buried his face in the crook as his hand wrapped around her hip and pulled her down harder, rising up to meet her, quicker and deeper.

Coherent thought spiraled out of reach. It was just fragments of pleasure and smells and sounds. It was Darcy and the taste of her skin, the feel of her pressed to him, around him, squeezing and fluttering, and so fucking good. It built and built until it reached its pinnacle and crashed over him, a wave of intensity that stole the breath from his lungs. He could hear her crying out against his ear, her body tensing up and then relaxing completely, and then they were just leaning against the couch, panting, sweaty, wrapped around each other tightly.

She pressed sloppy kisses down the slope of his neck and across his shoulder, never pausing as she met metal instead of skin. Somehow that, more than anything else, felt so much more intimate. It was acceptance, fully and completely, and she gave it to him without reservation. It was moments like those when he knew he could fall in love with her and never regret it.

* * *

Darcy loved dancing. With or without music, she always seemed to find a good reason to start dancing. Sometimes he walked by the labs and caught her mid-dance, usually on her own but occasionally pulling Stark or Jane or Bruce into an impromptu dance with her. And they balked sometimes —more Stark than the others, and usually just for show— but they always gave in. The music varied depending on which scientist she was with, but she always danced with the same kind of enthusiasm.

Whenever they went to galas, the only place she wanted to be was the dance floor. And if his feet got sore or he just needed a break, she waved him off to go sit somewhere while she searched out a new partner to keep up. She would take anybody, but her favorite was Steve. Not because he was good; in fact, it was probably because he was terrible. Steve, for all of his coordination, for some reason just could not tackle dancing. Slow dancing, sure, he mostly just swayed. But anything with complicated steps and it resulted in a lot of stepped on toes. Darcy never complained, though.

"Never ceases to amaze me how terrible his footwork is when music's involved," Sam said, taking a seat beside him at the bar, waving a finger for a drink as he put his empty glass down.

Bucky shrugged, absently swirling the ice in his drink. "Probably a good trade-off. Shitty dancing for everything else."

"Darcy seems to be enjoying it. She laughs every time he steps on her toes. Which is a lot."

His mouth turned up, amused. "Helps take the edge off. She's pretty sure he's only bad at dancing because he worries about it too much."

"Makes sense."

"Darcy's smart like that. About people." His gaze stayed on his best friend and his girl, moving around the dance floor, Steve's eyes stuck perpetually downward while Darcy told him where to move his feet, grinning at him knowingly, reaching up to raise his chin each time it dropped to concentrate. As per usual, focusing too much made Steve step on her toes, and while she smiled and shook her head as he apologized, Bucky knew he'd be rubbing her feet for her later.

Pushing off his stool, he clapped a hand to Sam's shoulder before he left, crossing the floor to his two favorite people.

Steve grinned when he saw him. "Come to save Darcy's toes?"

"That and your reputation. You keep stumbling around out here and somebody's gonna start wondering how you manage to stay upright in the field."

Steve snorted, rolling his eyes as he handed Darcy over to him. "Show me how it's done?" he joked.

"Gladly." Bucky took Darcy's hand and twirled her, bringing her in close so they were chest to chest. "Whattya say, Doll? You up for a spin on the floor with me?"

"Be still my heart, two superheroes in one night. I'll have to write home about this later." Wrapping an arm around his neck, she dragged her fingers down his neck lightly. "Save me another for later, Cap?"

"Sure," he agreed. "Maybe I'll get you to stand on my feet so I don't crush yours."

She winked at him. "Man with a plan; I like it."

He chuckled at her, shaking his head as he left.

Turning her attention back to Bucky, she smiled up at him. "You having fun?"

"More now." He rubbed a hand over the opening of her dress across her back. "You?"

"You know me, a little dancing and I'm golden." She tipped her head back and looked up at him from under her lashes. "You wanna duck out early?"

"Thought you wanted one more spin with Steve?"

"So we stay another hour, then we sneak out, get some real food, see what your to-watch list has to offer."

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Sold."

Bucky liked dancing; it was one of his favorite pastimes. But more than dancing, he just liked holding her.

* * *

Darcy was the most impatient person he'd ever met in his life. Bucky wasn't sure if it was because she used up all her patience between Stark and Jane, but she complained anytime she had to wait on anything. When they went on dates, if there was a line, she only lasted five minutes, tops. She was no longer allowed to order out for food _or _ask how long it'd be because she always argued that there was no way it should take that long. When she wanted something, she wanted it immediately.

"Instant gratification; it's what I live for," she told him, standing in the living room, a glass of wine in one hand while she scrolled through one of her playlists on her iPod until she found something she liked. Kicking off her heels, she placed her iPod in the dock and turned the volume up a little.

He watched her foot, dressed in black stockings, slowly rub up the back of her calf. He licked his lips and raised an eyebrow. "How instant?"

She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, her dark hair spilling down her back and a smirk turning up the corners of her red, red lips. "The only time waiting is good is when the pay-off is an orgasm or chocolate… or a chocolate-flavored orgasm."

He shook his head, grinning at her, and crossed the room to stand at her back. "Should I ask?"

She hummed, turning her eyes up thoughtfully. "The short explanation is me eating chocolate while you eat me."

Sliding his hands up her sides, he drew her hair to one side and laid it over her shoulder as he reached for the clasp on her necklace. "What's the long explanation?"

She watched her necklace drop, caught in his silver fingers and placed on the cabinet in front of her. "I'd tell you, but it'll take time and probably a demonstration…" She bit her lip as he pulled the zipper of her dress slowly down her back, his knuckle dragging softly against her skin "Interested?"

He laughed under his breath and drew her dress down her arms as he dropped his head down to press a kiss to her bare shoulder. "Always."

"Yeah?" She turned to face him, curling her finger into one of the belt loops on his jeans and giving it a tug. Raising up onto her tip toes, she bumped his nose with hers before she kissed him, just a quick peck, full of temptation and promise. "Fair warning, I probably won't share my chocolate with you."

He leaned in close, one hand buried in her hand and the other teasing up her thigh. "I think my mouth'll be busy anyway," he said, his voice husky.

Darcy nodded, leaning into him, her arm sliding around his neck. "_So_ busy."

* * *

For all that Darcy was impatient, there were some things, really important things, that she could be patient about. Things she didn't push on, things she understood were a lot bigger than her, that she couldn't make better with complaining or wishing it so. And when Darcy needed patience, she had it in spades. Enough that he wondered when she'd get sick of it, when she'd finally just toss her hands up and step back, away, and forfeit. But she didn't.

The nightmares still hit him hard. Two years after leaving the muzzle behind and he still woke up in a cold sweat, panting, eyes wide, every muscle tensed.

Darcy stirred next to him, blinking sleepily, and stretched her body out beside him. "You want me to call Steve?" she asked, her voice thick.

He shook his head, short and sharp, hands balled up in the blanket.

Darcy's hand was soft and cool as it ran up his back gently; she rubbed in soothing circles for a few minutes before kicking her legs out from the covers and shuffling off the bed.

He'd been leaning into her touch, letting it calm him down, but having her pull away set a pang of panic up his spine. He bit back the words, the worried 'where are you going?' that climbed up his throat, and instead watched her progress.

She was wearing one of his shirts, the end reaching half-way down her thighs, and nothing else. Her hair was tangled and frizzy on one side. She reached up and pulled it off her neck, using the elastic around her wrist to tie it in a messy bun. Yawning, she walked out of the bedroom, stealing his slippers as she went, and he listened to the shuffle of them moving down the hall before he heard the clatter of a cupboard door and the rushing water of the kitchen tap. His shoulders relaxed minutely and he blew out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

It wasn't that he thought she'd leave him, not really. In the last nine months, she'd seen more than her share of night terrors from him, a few of them a lot worse than this, but she'd stuck with him. Whether it was just keeping him company as he came down from it or calling in reinforcements to help him, she didn't complain. It didn't stop him from feeling like a burden, like he was interrupting her life with his issues. But Darcy always gave him a look when he brought it up, her 'don't give me that bullshit' look, and he figured if Darcy wanted out, she would've walked already.

She came back from the kitchen with a glass of cold water and handed it to him as she crawled across the bed to sit beside him again.

He guzzled the whole glass, panting a little when he finished, and put the empty glass on the end table before he fell back against the pillows, rubbing a hand down his face.

Darcy shuffled over, resting her chin on his shoulder, and looked up at him. "We can talk about it if you want to."

He considered it. It wouldn't be the first time he told her what his head came up with; scenarios, real and made up, that felt so real that they left him shaken and confused. And she listened without judgement. Sometimes she knew what to say and sometimes there just wasn't anything that could be said. But he didn't feel up to talking tonight, so instead he turned over, rubbing a hand over her tummy, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "'m good," he said.

She stared up at him, considering his words, and then nodded. She turned over so her back was to his chest, and reached for her iPod on the bedside table. She flipped through it and found one of the playlists she'd made for him months ago. It was a mix of loud, angry, pulsing music that he could feel right down to his bones and other, more soothing songs that helped him come down. He wrapped himself around her, kissing her shoulder and her neck, and buried his face against her hair. He closed his eyes as the music began and let it consume him, let it take him away and reach inside him and piece back together all the fractured parts that couldn't be helped with superglue.

Her fingers stroked up and down his forearm lightly, a soothing repetition he could focus on. She would fall asleep long before he did, and when he followed, the nightmares would skip him that time, letting him find peace again. For a while.

* * *

Darcy said "I love you" like it was a war cry. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, no shame. She didn't care who heard her as long as she got to say it as loud and as often as she wanted to. Which was always. She said it when she woke up, eyes still crusty with sleep. While brushing her teeth, toothpaste dripping down her chin. She said it over coffee-flavored kisses before she ran out the door for work; _always_ five minutes late. She said it when he was passing by for lunch or when he dropped in to bring her coffee on her break. She said it while she laughed at her own 'old man jokes,' kissing him to make him feel better, even if he found some of them amusing. She said it while they danced in the living room, to old records or her iPod playlists. She said it every opportunity she got, like every silence had to be filled with something, and the best thing she could give was that. And he loved it. He loved her for it.

The first time she told him she loved him, it was quiet.

They were curled up on the couch together, arms and legs tangled so completely he couldn't tell which was his and which was hers. She whispered it against his neck, her eyelashes brushing his skin, her voice more like a breath, an exhalation of feeling that sunk into his heart, tied itself around it in a knot that wouldn't give, and promised never to let go.

And he knew, as she said it again and again and again, whispering those three little words that never seemed so big, that loving her would be the best thing he ever did.

* * *

Darcy loved knitting. She had a big basket of wool that she kept by her favorite arm chair and a scraggly green bag she brought with her when she was going to be anywhere for an extended period of time. Sometimes she brought it over to his apartment and she'd hang out on one end of the couch knitting while he sat on the other end, reading a book or going through files for an upcoming mission. It was nice, comfortable; he looked forward to nights like those. He mentioned once, that he didn't like getting cold, that it triggered him sometimes. She made him three beanies and a scarf and always kept an extra in her purse when they were out. That was just the first time he realized he loved her.

"My nana taught me," she told him, army green wool in her lap. "She used to say that the uglier it was, the better. That it wasn't about making it look nice, but about making something warm. Pops said she only said it because she was a shitty knitter, but I liked her logic… Who cares what it looks like if it keeps someone you love warm."

His eyes washed over her face, the gentle, nostalgic smile on her lips and the soft, sad look in her eyes. He squeezed her foot, laying in his lap. "You miss her?"

She looked over, her brows raised a little. "Yeah, sometimes. She was… one of my favorite people. She taught me a lot."

Putting his folders aside, he crawled up the couch to her, dropping his head in her lap. "You wanna talk about her?"

She stared down at him a moment, putting aside her needles and scrubbing her fingers through his hair. "Yeah, maybe."

He nodded, staying quiet as he waited.

It took her a few false starts, like she wasn't sure where to begin, but then she smiled. "She was a shit-disturber in her time. Protests and rallies and always trying to stand up to 'the man'… That's how she met pops. He was a police officer; he'd arrested her a few times. He said when he used to get called in to break some big protest up, he knew he'd see her there… He fell in love with her fire. Said she was the strongest, smartest woman he'd ever met. Made him want to be a better man. Someone who questioned things instead of just going along with the norm… They were a good couple. They fought a lot, but they made it a rule to always end a fight with a kiss. It was the silliest thing when I was kid. They'd be shouting at each other one second, they'd still look pissed and everything, and then they'd just walk over to each other and kiss. And pops would grumble an 'I love you' at her and walk off for some peace and quiet… It was weird, but awesome too. They were married fifty-six years and I don't think they ever went a day without saying 'I love you.'" Humming, she dragged her knuckles down his cheek. "Something to aspire to, right?"

"Yeah." He stared up at her searchingly. "I could love you for fifty-six years."

"Me and my ugly knitting?" she joked, but her voice was soft and affectionate.

"All of it," he agreed seriously.

"Just for that I'm gonna make you some gloves; the kind with fingers… To prove your loyalty, obviously."

He chuckled under his breath. "Obviously."

Darcy ducked down to kiss him, lingering at his lips and pecking his chin before she leaned back up.

She ended up making him those gloves; he wore them every day until she told him she believed him, laughing as she kissed him.

* * *

Darcy made friends easier than anybody Bucky had ever known. She just had a way with people, drawing them in and keeping them close without even trying. She accepted people at face value, was careful not to jump to conclusions, and didn't put any expectations or demands on her friendship. Sometimes, when he looked at the hodgepodge of people she surrounded herself with, he wondered how she kept as relatively grounded as she was. Her best friends were an astrophysicist and a warrior of Asgard; of course, girls' nights with Jane and Sif almost always ended in them losing articles of clothing and calling him, Hill or Natasha to pick them up because "the fuzz are coming and we need a quick exit." She had a weekly poker game with Stark, Barton, and Natasha. She and Banner frequently went out for taste-testing sprees at the local restaurants and tea shops. She hung out in Director Coulson's office when she was bored and texted him pictures of cats for shits and giggles. She was a 'shield sister' to the Prince of Asgard and a dance partner to Captain America. Darcy surrounded herself with the biggest personalities she could find and still managed to stand out.

"So listen, I know you're probably still pissed about that time I called you to come bail me out of fake-jail, but that was drunk-Darcy," she told him as she put a hoop earring in while she walked into the living room, her heels clicking. "And drunk-Darcy can't be trusted. Seriously, she's a shit-disturber."

"And sober-Darcy isn't?" he snorted, raising an eyebrow at her, his beer balanced on his knee as he muted the television. "Darce, I wasn't pissed that you drunk dialed me to get you outta the drunk tank you weren't even in."

"No?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Because you looked pretty pissed when you had to drive us all home from the bar after. I mean, my memory's a little hazy, but I'm pretty sure you got the eye-tick when we started singing Asgardian ballads."

"Yeah, well, I love you, but you can't sing for shit."

Darcy scoffed. "Uh, excuse me, you can't hold my drunk-singing against me. That's a foul." Circling the couch, she knelt on the cushion beside him, pushing her hair back for him to see her earrings.

"They're nice," he told her dutifully, tugging her into his lap. "What about your shower singing? Can I hold that against you?"

"No, and not my car singing or my lab singing either. Only my I-think-I-sound-pretty-good-right-now-and-I'm-almost-definitely-on-key singing. _That _you can praise me for, let's be real." Her brows hiked.

He shook his head, lips twitching up in a smile. "You lemme know when that happens, I'll pay extra close attention."

"Ha. Ha." She rolled her eyes and leaned in for a kiss, puckering her lips expectantly.

He kissed her, rubbing his thumb under her mouth when he smudged her lipstick a little.

"You sure you don't want to come?" she asked, shifting off his lap and grabbing up her purse. "Sif says she owes you a rematch on that last drinking contest."

"Nah, think I'll get some shut-eye."

"Old man," she said affectionately, grinning at him.

He rolled his eyes, shrugging. "It was a long mission."

"Yeah, I know. You were out there kicking ass and saving the world. I think you can take a night off from keeping an eye on three drunk chicks with loose lips and looser morals."

Bucky arched an eyebrow. "I'm not too worried. You'll call if you need help. Bail money or a ride, whichever."

"Yes," she agreed, nodding shortly. "I'll call Steve."

"Darcy…"

"Hey, you were the one who said you were tired…" She pulled on her jacket, shaking the collar back and pulling her hair free. "Besides, Steve won't mind. I mean, is it just me or does he seem to have a thing for Sif? Strong brunettes are kind of his type, right?"

Bucky grinned. "Yeah. I don't know, he hasn't said anything, but I don't think he'd turn her down."

Smirking, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "That could be interesting."

"No matchmaking," he sighed, dropping his head back onto the couch.

"No promises." Pressing a kiss to his forehead and then the tip of his nose, she smiled. "Okay, I'm going. Be good, sleep lots, feel free to stay over if you want me to wake you up for sloppy, drunk sex later."

He raised his beer in farewell and Darcy blew him one last kiss before she walked out the door.

As it closed behind her, he smiled to himself and then sunk a little more into her couch, grabbing up the remote to see what TV had to offer.

It felt good, normal, like coming home. Sure, she wasn't there, but her apartment was so _her, _and while he wished he had her curled up next to him, he knew how important it was for her to blow off some steam with her best friends. Kicking his feet up onto the table, he took a drag from his beer and pulled his phone from his pocket, turning the volume up high. Chances were, she would call him, and either ask him to come get her or leave long, rambling messages about whatever funny thing Jane or Sif were doing and how she missed him and loved him and wished he was there. And, because drunk-Darcy really was a troublemaker, she'd probably call and leave incriminating evidence on his voicemail, too.

God, he loved that woman.

* * *

Darcy loved Steve like a brother. A brother that frequently ran headfirst into danger and whom she would give the silent treatment to if she felt said danger was not worth running headfirst into. Or if she didn't like his methods after that danger passed.

"Is she still not talking to me?" Steve asked, tracking Darcy as she crossed the living room with a giant bowl of popcorn.

Bucky looked over from the TV screen he'd been scrolling through. "Huh?"

Steve frowned. "I wasn't even in medical an hour before they let me out. Usually it takes more than that to piss her off."

"I think it was the part where you were mid-conversation with her and left her hanging on the phone so she had to hear the gunshots with no explanation."

"And didn't even call to tell me he was okay," she put in, still refusing to look at him.

"And that," Bucky said, pointing his thumb at her.

Sighing, Steve sat forward, arms resting on his knees. "Darcy, it's movie night. You're not going to talk to me all of movie night? Your favorite part is asking me if I expected the plot twist…"

She pursed her lips and glared at the television.

"Look, I'm sorry that I didn't call you back. I wasn't expecting to get in the middle of a bank robbery. It all happened very quickly. I didn't have time to explain." When she still didn't budge, Steve pointed out, "I saved three people. One was a little kid; he had a Hulk t-shirt on. Looked just like the one I got you for Christmas last year."

Still nothing. He turned to Bucky, who shrugged at him. "She can do this for days."

"_Weeks_," Darcy warned.

Steve dragged a hand over his face. "Okay. You're right. I know you worry, not just about me, but the whole team. And it's gotta be hard, always being home when we're out on missions. I know you care and I made a mistake, not calling you back to let you know I was okay. I wasn't thinking about anybody but those people and the fact that they needed help."

Apparently reaching her limit, she huffed at him. "Of course they did, and I'm not even mad that you stuck your neck out and saved them. That's what you do, it's who you are. But when you're done with all the heroic bullshit, you need to call, because yeah, that kid totally deserved being saved, and now he can go home to his family and talk about how cool it was that Captain America saved the day. But you have a family to come home to too, so don't… Don't _forget_ that." She crossed her arms over her chest and slunk down in her chair, her leg hanging over the arm.

Steve stared at her a long moment, his brow furrowed. It took him a few seconds to process it before he pushed up from the couch and circled around Bucky to kneel beside her. He dropped a kiss to the top of her hair and said, "You're right. I do. I'm sorry."

Darcy tipped her head back to see him, her brows raised. "Good. You're forgiven. But I'm not sharing my popcorn with you. Consider it punishment."

Chuckling under his breath, he held his hands up in surrender. "Deal," he said, walking back to the couch and flopping down in the corner.

Bucky smiled to himself before changing the subject to which movie they wanted to watch.

Darcy lasted a half hour before she took over the middle seat on the couch and shared her popcorn with them. She never was good at staying angry.

* * *

Darcy's ladies' nights were well-deserved. She worked a lot and if she wanted to spend one night of the week getting shit-faced, he didn't see anything wrong with that. Depending on who was working and who was on earth, there was no guarantee of who would be joining her, but she always managed to talk someone into coming along. How each night ended was pretty much the same, with her calling either him or Steve to come pick her up from whatever bar she and the girls had wound up at, because it was never the one they originally intended to go to.

"Listen, I need you to come pick us up. We're at the Thirsty Chihuahua. Wait, no we're not. I just saw a chihuahua on the street, and _I'm _thirsty. We're at the… Jane, where are we?"

"The bar!" she yelled back.

"Oh my god, you're a useless genius. I know we're at the bar. _What _bar are we at?"

There was some mumbling in the background before Darcy sighed. "Okay, you picked us up from here like last month. You know the one, it has those yellow stripes on the wall out front and the pink lights."

He nodded, scrubbing his fingers over his eyes. "Yeah, I know the one," he said, shoving off the bed. "I can be there in fifteen minutes."

"Okay good. But also, just a head's up, I might've called Steve and asked him to come pick us up too. So it's first come, first wins."

The click of her hanging up followed and he rolled his eyes to himself before dialing Steve, who answered with a, "She called you too, huh?"

"Yeah, I'll go grab them. Don't worry about it."

"I was up anyway," Steve dismissed. "You want company on the drive?"

"Sure."

After hanging up, Bucky left his bedroom, grabbing his jacket off the back of his couch and shoving his feet into his shoes. He was yawning as he walked down the hallway to the elevator, nodding at Steve as he left his own apartment, locking up and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"Sif with them tonight?" he wondered, walking at his side.

Bucky shook his head. "No, she was going to come in but something came up. They invited Hill out, but last time Darcy texted, she said Hill had to cut out early, so it's just her and Jane."

Nodding, Steve leaned against the back wall of the elevator as it descended to the garage below. "You ever feel old?" he wondered. "The girl's go out every weekend. Half the time I feel like napping is a better option."

Bucky snorted, mouth turned up at the corners. "It's a little different for them. Darcy and Jane spend most of their time in the labs. They're not exactly chasing down bad guys and getting beaten and bruised for the effort."

"True," he agreed, brows hiked. "Just makes me think sometimes… I know we have movie night, but maybe we should do something else, too. Doesn't have to be going out to the bar, but I know Barton and Natasha have a poker game whenever they're in-house. We could drop in on theirs or have one of our own, invite Sam, Coulson, a few others."

Bucky nodded. "Sure. Wouldn't mind that."

As the doors opened on the garage, Bucky pulled out the keys from his pocket and crossed to one of the SUV's the team was allowed to use at their discretion. The drive to the bar was spent mostly in quiet, listening to oldies, which weren't all that old in comparison to the men listening to them, on the radio, with Bucky occasionally yawning. He'd been sleeping when Darcy called and would be happy to get back home and get a few more hours before he had to be up tomorrow.

He spotted the bar up ahead and shook his head as he spotted Darcy and Jane doing the can-can, sloppily, arms around each other's shoulders.

"Is that them?" Steve asked.

"Last week it was the Macarena." Pulling the truck over to the curb, he reached for his seatbelt and climbed out. For a moment, he just watched, they weren't just dancing, but singing too.

"_Can you, can you do the can-can_—" Darcy paused suddenly. "Jane, I told you, we're not doing the dress flash!"

"But that's the best part," Jane complained, leaning back abruptly, forcing Darcy to catch her before she fell.

"Not on a dark, public street it isn't."

Steve snorted.

Attention immediately diverted, the girls spotted them and lit up happily. Bucky pushed off the hood of the truck and circled toward them, but they were already moving, and not in the direction he expected. Darcy, being Darcy, hopped over to Steve. "You're a godsend, Steve Rogers, my feet are killing me and nobody else gives me piggyback rides."

Steve blinked at her. "Darcy, we're five feet from the truck."

Pouting up at him, she dropped her head back and held her arms out expectantly.

Sighing, Steve obediently turned around. "All right, hop on."

"Yes!" Leaping onto his back, she wrapped her arms around his neck and said, "Take a lap, Rogers!"

Bucky was chuckling at them when he realized Jane was standing in front of him, swaying a little.

"Hey," she said, reaching over and slapping a hand against his chest.

He raised an eyebrow down at her. "You have a good night, Doc?"

She blew out a raspberry, but nodded. "So listen… I think… we need to _talk_. Me and you, man to astrophysicist."

Resting an elbow on the hood, he nodded at her, offering her a serious expression. "I'm listening."

Behind them, Darcy demanded, "Another!" And Steve simply walked them around the truck again.

"You and Darcy, you two are getting really serious…" She mimicked him, leaning on the hood, and put a hand to her head to keep it up, wincing when her bracelet snagged in her hair. "Like, shmoopy, fall in love, maybe get married one day, serious."

He stared at her. "Okay."

Jane's eyes narrowed up at him. "So you're saying you want to marry her?"

His brows hiked. "What?"

A scowl pulled at her mouth. "Are you saying you _don't _want to marry her? Because she's awesome. She's loud and sometimes lazy and she never takes science serious enough, but she is _awesome_." Reaching forward, she poked him in the chest. "You'd be lucky to marry Darcy!"

Bucky shook his head. "I'm too sober for this conversation," he muttered to himself before catching Jane's hand. "Listen, I'm not saying I do or don't want to marry Darcy. We haven't talked about that yet. We're serious and I love her and you're right, I would be lucky. But we're not there yet."

"Yet," she said. "You said yet. As in 'eventually.'"

He sighed. "Yeah, I did."

"Oh." She blinked up at him and then suddenly pushed off the truck and hugged him. Bucky stood completely still for a moment. He liked Jane. She was smart and stubborn and she loved Darcy. But they'd never been all that close. He considered her a friend, just not the type of friend he hugged. Actually, the number of people he would hug was pretty small. Darcy liked hugs. She liked long hugs that usually turned into cuddling or dancing. Jane's hug was purely platonic. She rested her head against her own arm and looked up at him, her eyes a little glazed.

"I'm happy she found you," she told him. "She deserves so much and she's really happy with you. And you might be really intimidating and kind of grumpy sometimes—"

"Am I?" he asked, amused. "You wouldn't know it right now."

"—but I get what she means, when she says that you fit her and she fits you. So just… keep making her happy and we'll be good." With that, she let him go, clapping her hands down on his shoulders before she turned on her heel and walked around to the back door of the truck. "Darcy, it's late, and I want to eat crackers and cry on my bathroom floor. Let's go."

"Party-pooper," Darcy called back. "All right, Steve, turn this muscle-mobile around."

Bucky rolled his eyes, grinning as he climbed into the driver's seat while Steve stuffed Darcy into her seat and fought with her to put her seatbelt on.

Just another average girl's night.

* * *

Darcy described her mother as "a pill and a half. Made of cyanide. But the fake tooth you're hiding it in won't come loose, so you just suffer in silence."

He thought she was joking. Darcy had a unique way with words and it wouldn't be the first time she exaggerated something. But then Gina Lewis came to visit her only daughter for her 26th birthday. Never mind that it was a month too late and a year older than she really was…

"Don't they usually age you down? You know, you _forget_ a year, you don't tack one on. I'm being forcibly aged!" Darcy complained, pacing from one end of the kitchen to the other.

"Steve would tell you it was the gesture that counts," he replied, eyeing the balloon Gina had arrived with, a bright, gold 26 written on it in bubble font.

"Yeah?" She tapped her foot, hands on her hips. "Well, Steve's not here. So, what do _you_ have to say about it?"

"I say…" He hopped down from the counter and reached for her, pulling her in close and resting his chin atop her head. "That it sucks, but, if you think about it, you get presents… You know how you love presents."

"That's true… I do love free things…" She sighed, turning her head to rest her cheek against his chest. "Just… stay close. I don't really wanna deal with her on my own. Okay?"

He nodded, brushing a hand down her hair, and kissed her forehead. "Promise."

Of course, when he made that promise, he hadn't expected Gina to be quite so… agitating.

Gina complained about everything. The Avengers, the city, Darcy's apartment, Darcy's career, Darcy's taste in men, _Darcy_, etcetera, etcetera. It seemed like Gina never shut up, and as long as her mouth was moving, she was putting something or someone down. It was driving him up the wall. He knew he didn't have any right to get in the middle of things or tell Gina that she needed to stop ragging on Darcy. It was Darcy's family, her business, and she needed to figure it out on her own, but that didn't stop him from wanting to step in. As soon as Gina started on one of her rants, he could feel the anger prickling under his skin and had to leave. He joined Steve in the gym to work off his frustration, but even just knowing she was in the building was bugging him.

"Maybe you should talk to Darcy about it. I mean, her mother's been here a few days… How long is she planning on staying?"

Bucky shook his head. "She skirts the question whenever Darcy asks. Wouldn't be surprised if I turned around and she'd moved right in."

Steve frowned. "Would Darcy let her do that?"

"She's different around her mother. She clams up. It's like she's a little kid and she knows she shouldn't back-talk. It's weird." He scowled, shaking his head. "I've seen her tear into guys three times her size without even flinching, but her mother shows up and she's never been quieter…" Bucky scowled. "I don't like it."

"More reason to talk to her. If she's really having trouble with her mom, maybe she needs to vent about it, a little encouragement to get her to stand up to her."

"Yeah?" Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. "And what happens if it backfires and she tells me to butt out?"

Steve shrugged. "Then butt out, but let her know you're still there if she needs you."

He sighed, nodding. "Yeah, all right, I'll try it."

As it turned out, Darcy didn't need him to butt in. By the time he let himself back into her apartment, she was in the middle of ranting at her mother.

"—I'm not a teenager. You don't get to dictate my life. _Especially _when you can't even remember when my birthday is _or _how old I am. Twenty-_five_, FYI."

"Oh, you're being dramatic," Gina sniffed.

"Hah! That's rich, coming from you," Darcy exclaimed. "You are the _queen _of drama. If they were handing out crowns for how much shit one person could stir, yours would be custom made to fit your ginormous ego." Tossing her hands up, she shook her head. "I don't even know why you're still here. All you've done is put down my friends and my home and my boyfriend since the minute you walked in the door!"

"Is it a crime to want the best for your daughter? Hm? You could have been so much _more_, but you wasted it all. You should be in _law_ school, not trailing behind Tony Stark, cleaning up after him."

"I didn't want to be a lawyer. I _never _wanted to," Darcy declared loudly. "I didn't know what I wanted, but I _did _know that much."

"Darcy, listen to me—"

"No, _you_ listen… This is _my_ home. This so-called crappy apartment that doesn't fit your standard of living. These are my people, the scientists and the assassins and the aliens and the 1940's soldiers; they're all mine. This is _my _life, not yours, and you don't get to come into it and tell me everything you find wrong with it. Because it's not yours and it never will be. I love it just the way it is. I love my absent-minded geniuses and my complicated, issue-ridden friends, and my smart and funny and incredibly patient boyfriend. So no more complaining, no more putting down anybody, no more 'Darcy, if you just did it this way…' None of it! If you want to visit, fine, but you need to respect me and my life and the people in it… or you won't be invited back."

There was a long, tense silence then, before her mother finally said, "Is that what you want?"

Darcy sighed. "I want you to realize that I'm happy where I am and _who _I am."

"All right then… I'll get my things and go. I think enough's been said here."

As Gina walked down the hallway to get her stuff from Darcy's room, where she'd been staying while Darcy either camped out on the couch or stole away up to his apartment, Bucky stepped into view.

Darcy's face was buried in her hands as she let out a long, heavy breath, her shoulders slumped. He crossed the room to her and rubbed a hand down her back. "Hey, you okay?"

She shook her head and leaned over, resting against him. "Not really."

Hugging his arms around her, he asked, "What can I do?"

Darcy snuggled a little closer. "Just this."

So he did. He held her while Gina rolled her luggage out of the room and walked to the door, taking her sweet time, waiting on Darcy to change her mind or call her back. But she didn't, she just held onto Bucky and let her mom leave, let her words resonate, and then, when all was quiet and Gina Lewis had finally left the building, Darcy raised her head and said, "What'd I tell you?"

He half-smiled down at her. "Pill and a half."

She nodded. "Pill and a half."


	3. The Middle

**title**: so you think you can tell (heaven from hell)  
**category**: thor/captain america  
**genre**: romance/tragedy  
**ship**: darcy/bucky  
**rating**: nc-17/explicit  
**word count**: 9,830  
**summary**: As far as happy stories go, this was that. The beginning, the middle, they were the happiest times either of them ever knew. It's the endings that are sad, and every story has one. Some are just sadder than others.

**_so you think you can tell (heaven from hell)_**  
-3/4-

**II.**

Darcy's way of telling him she wanted to move in was a short conversation. After two and a half years of dating, she said, "I'm lazy and I don't want to take the elevator home anymore."

So, they made home his apartment, which was a little bigger, with an extra bedroom and a larger kitchen and living room. Plus, the view on this side of the tower was better than hers, or so she told him. Moving was a lot easier than he thought it'd be, and it didn't come with all of the uncertainty he thought it would. They were solid; he didn't see himself backing out of the deal anytime soon. She spent most of her time at his place anyway, and half of her stuff was already mixed with his. So it just made sense. Plus, he liked it. He liked knowing that he would go to sleep each night and wake up every morning with her right there beside him. Not that he didn't already, but now there was a guarantee he would.

"We need to get rid of one of these toasters," she told him, an open box in front of her, half full of stuff of his she was getting rid of to make room for her own things. He wasn't complaining, exactly. Darcy liked color; all of her dishes matched. His were old, generic, plain white, with chips here or there. Simple. She had a real set; four dinner plates, small plates, bowls, and mugs, all of which were a chocolate brown color on the outside, with the inside painted blue, red, yellow, or green. She had a matching mixing bowl and a whole fleet of baking gear. His kitchen was going from basic to Martha Stewart, or so she told him. He had no idea who Stewart was, but apparently she would applaud how good his kitchen was about to look.

"I like toast," he said, sitting at the island, a bottle of beer in front of him. She'd been off work for an hour, but was still dressed up, and her new point of focus was emptying the boxes in the kitchen.

"So we'll keep the four-slice toaster and you can stuff your face with as much toast as you want. But we're getting rid of the extra toaster. When are you going to need six slices of toast at one time?"

He shrugged. "When Steve visits."

"Steve can bring his own damn toaster over when he visits then. Or you guys could make four, have two each, and while you're eating that, put on another four," she told him.

Bucky sighed, more than a little dramatically. "I don't know. That sounds like more work than just making it all at once."

Darcy rolled her eyes. "Are you purposely trying to piss me off?"

He half-grinned. "I wouldn't turn down angry sex."

"Really?" She turned to him, her head cocked and her hands on her hips. "Because I was more on board with 'happy we're living together' sex."

"Yeah, but you get rough when you're angry…" He smirked. "I like it when you're rough."

Darcy snorted. "You keep it up and 'rough' will be me throwing this extra toaster at your head."

Chuckling under his breath, he hopped off his stool and circled around the island to join her. "All right, I can live with four slices." He scooped the extra toaster off the counter and dropped it in the box with the other things of his she was donating.

"Thank you. Your sacrifice has been noted and filed away for future compensation."

He raised an eyebrow and reached for her, hands fitting into the dip of her waist and squeezing. "Yeah? How far into the future?"

"Mmm…" She hummed thoughtfully, her mouth twitching as he backed her up toward the island and lifted her onto it. "How busy is your morning?"

"I could move a few things around…" He reached for the flimsy fabric of her blouse and pulled it up from where it was tucked into her skirt. "Make some time for you."

"Yeah?" She grabbed up the end of his shirt and pulled it up and over his head, dragging it down his arms and tossing it away. Her legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him in close as her hands skimmed down his chest, fingers sliding under the waist of his low-slung sweatpants. "Wouldn't wanna put you out, though. I'm sure we could always make it up later. I hear patience is a virtue. Some people enjoy the anticipation."

"What happened to instant gratification, huh?"

He ducked his head down and kissed her neck, nuzzling his face against her as he undid the button at the nape of her neck and drew her top up and off her. He pressed lingering kisses down the slope of her shoulder, nipping at the strap of her bra as he reached around to undo the clasp. She reached behind her to undo the button and zipper of her skirt and shrugged her bra down her arms to toss out of the way. His lips trailed down her chest, nipping the top of one breast as he pulled her skirt and underwear down her hips, licking a stripe across her skin as she wiggled her hips to help.

Nodding, Darcy threaded her fingers in his hair and held him close, arching up into the scrape of his stubble against her skin. "Instant's good, too."

His hands dragged down her sides, squeezing and kneading, scooping under her thighs and spreading them further apart as he pulled her close to the edge of the counter.

Bucky kissed down her stomach, hitching one of her legs over his shoulder before he turned his head and kissed from her knee down her thigh. "You happy you moved in?" he asked, scraping his teeth over her skin.

She bit her lip and stared down at him before she leaned back on her elbows. "You know, I could use a little more selling on it. What are the upsides to this arrangement again?"

His mouth curled up in a smirk. "Your roommate's a good guy."

"Is he?" She licked her lips, letting out a shuddery breath as he rubbed his chin against the soft skin of her thigh, his hand skimming down the other, stopping only to frame itself around her pussy.

"Generous. A real giver." He looked up at her, enjoying the flush that bloomed on her cheeks and spread down her chest. "And focused."

As he buried his mouth against her, she let out a cracked moan. "Oh, I like focused," she agreed, arching her back up and tangling her fingers in his hair. He had a feeling this 'living together' thing was going to work out just fine.

* * *

Darcy was always loud when they argued. Well, she was loud when she was doing most things; that was just her personality. But in arguments, she stomped instead of walked and banged things around and raised her voice. It was a sight to see; sometimes he thought her hair frizzed up, like the fur on a cat raising when it was faced with an opponent. He was used to it. They fought sometimes, they talked it out, made up, had sex until one or both of them couldn't move, and that was that. It got easier over time, realizing that a fight wouldn't be the end of it all. In the beginning, sure, he got a little skittish, worried she might walk out and just not come back. But after three years together, he knew that sometimes she needed space, sometimes she needed to go out with the girls, get shitfaced, and talk about what an ass he was. But he was still _her _ass, so she came home and they figured their shit out, and they moved on.

But damn, if that woman couldn't make every fight feel like it was a production. And it wasn't just her, he knew it was him too. Where Darcy got loud, he got quiet. He brooded and shut down and refused to answer each grating noise she made. In part, because he knew it pissed her off, but also because that was just how he'd learned to deal with what he didn't like. Take a step back, show no emotion, analyze, consider options of survival, search out an escape plan, act. Only there was no escape, and Darcy wasn't aiming to kill him, just make him suffer a little bit.

Steve told him fighting was normal; that they wouldn't agree on everything and sometimes things built up. Darcy got upset when he got injured on missions; not because she didn't think he could handle himself, but because she knew he took risks. He maintained that they were calculated to give him the best chances of survival, but 'best chances' weren't good enough for her. And he got what she was saying; she didn't want to leave it up to chance, she wanted a definite. He couldn't give her that, so it was a sore spot.

On the flip side, he worried about her, too. She worked with three of the smartest people alive, sure, but things happened. Lab accidents, explosions, attempts on their lives, giant green rage monsters, etcetera, and he didn't want her in the crossfire of that. But, much like him, she argued that precautions were taken. Banner had his containment area, JARVIS was always on alert for problems, and the Tower was a veritable fortress. Only 'veritable' to him sounded like 'just about' and 'just about' wasn't 'complete and total.' So they fought about that sometimes, and it was a stupid thing to fight about, in his opinion. It made no sense to yell and argue and then walk away from each other when the whole reason they were fighting was that they were worried they might lose each other. But the fear was there and it was real and it had its way of hanging onto them, especially after a bad mission or a lab mishap. And they learned to cope.

But all of that was a given, considering their lives. It was the little things that really drove him nuts. Like her mother calling every week and Darcy avoiding it, making him answer and give some shitty excuse, because she only wanted to deal with Gina once a month, if that, and weekly was just too much for her. There wasn't much love between him and Gina, not after her visit made it pretty clear that she didn't have much respect for Darcy, so the phone calls were a struggle, to say the least. It was like pulling teeth on his part, trying to be polite while she complained to him that her daughter never had time for her and what was she even _doing _that she couldn't answer her phone at seven o'clock at night? Question and jab, repeat, and no pause for breath, or for Bucky to answer. Sometimes he left the phone on the arm of the chair and muted his side, watching TV while she ranted and raved. He'd only pick it up when her voice finally started to peter out, and then he'd offered a half-hearted, 'I'll let her know you called,' before hanging up. But it had reached a point of cringing whenever the phone rang and Darcy slinked as far away as she could get.

"If that's your mother, I'm not getting it," he called after her as she tried to sneak down the hall, a bowl of Cheerios in hand, her go-to snack when she was bored.

Sighing, she looked back at him, brows hiked. "C'mon, please…? I don't want to deal with her tonight."

"Yeah, well, neither do I. She's called every damn night, Darcy. Just put her out of her misery already. I'm sick and tired of listening to her complain about your aunt and how she's pretty sure you always have time to email _her_." He shook his head. "Tell her you're tired, it was a long day, you'll call her tomorrow. But Jesus Christ, _talk_ to the woman."

She glowered at him, stomping toward the phone. "Fine. But if you think that's getting you out of hearing a Lewis complain, you're sorely mistaken. 'Cause as soon as I finish listening to her rant about how shitty a daughter I am, I'm coming out her to complain to _you_." She shoved her spoon in his direction meaningfully. "So you decide which one's worse." With that, she grabbed up her phone and grunted, "Yeah, hi, mom, sorry it's taken so long to talk…"

Darcy crossed her eyes and started toward their bedroom, hugging her bowl of cereal to her chest while still managing to give him the finger as she went. He was mildly impressed, and not really all that worried about her complaining later. She was pissed, sure, but she always felt guilty when she didn't talk to her mother, anyway. She might not like it, but Gina was still her family, and having Bucky deal with her for her was only a temporary solution. They'd talked before about how she needed to stand up to her, but actually doing it came and went. That first time Gina visited and Darcy dressed her down for her behaviour wasn't how she usually dealt with Gina, and since Darcy didn't see her every day or hear all of her many complaints regularly, it took a lot longer for her to finally lose it and tell her mother to back off. Maybe getting her to answer her own phone calls would help, or maybe it wouldn't. But at least he didn't have to listen to Gina for the next hour. And when it came to Darcy, he knew how to cheer her up.

So, despite the fact that he knew she was mad at him, unjustly in his opinion, he still made sure that when she wrapped up her phone call with her mom, she had her favorite cookie dough ice cream to dig into after. And when she curled up next to him, head on his shoulder, with her ice cream and two spoons, he knew it was a peace offering.

"I still might flake and make you deal with her in the future," she admitted, licking her spoon.

His mouth twitched as he dug a large bite out. "Yeah, I know."

"Still love me?" she asked, puckering her lips up to him expectantly.

He laughed under his breath and kissed her, licking melted ice cream from her mouth. "Still love you."

All in all, he could take a few fights; he'd fought worse.

* * *

Darcy always stole the blankets. It was basically an expectation at this point. He had no reason to think anything else would happen. As soon as she fell asleep, she automatically started twisting and turning until she was a lump, blankets wrapped all around her. He'd gotten smart about it early on and just started storing an extra blanket on the chair, in close reach for him to grab when he got cold. In the beginning, she used to tell him he didn't need it, that she shared just fine. Arguing with her accomplished nothing and she did share until she fell asleep, so he would wait until she was snoring in his ear and then reach for the blanket.

Of course, in the morning, she always argued. "I don't like it. Separate blankets now, sure, but what if it's a gateway blanket and next we'll have separate beds." She turned to him, her eyes wide, brows hiked high. "And then separate bedrooms and apartments and before you know it, separate lives entirely."

He bit the inside of his lip to keep from smiling, but she caught on and slapped his chest.

"It's not funny!"

He snorted, grabbing her hand and laying back on the bed. "Darcy, we're not getting separate beds. Or rooms, or apartments, or anything."

"Except blankets," she muttered grumpily.

"Yeah, well, it's either that or turn the heat up and then you'd complain you were too warm…" He shrugged. "This seemed like a smarter plan."

Sighing, more than a little dramatically, she plopped down beside him, her head on his shoulder. "It's just weird, isn't it? I don't know why I do it. I like being close to you when I go to sleep."

"You're still close to me, there's just an extra blanket."

"A blanket I'm not under," she reminded, tipping her head back to look up at him.

He smiled down at her, stroking a hand over her curly, sleep-tangled hair. "It's just a blanket, Darce. It doesn't change anything."

She pursed her lips, turning her face down and rubbing her nose against his chest. "Fine. But if we get separate beds, I vote bunk beds."

Bucky laughed and ducked down to press a kiss to her forehead. "Whatever you want."

Separate blankets or not, there was no chance they were getting separate beds, or lives, as far as he was concerned.

* * *

"This is an engagement ring."

Bucky blinked at him. "Yeah, I figured that out all on my own, punk. If this was a pop quiz, you'd be acing it. I'm not asking what it is, I'm asking you if you think she'd like it."

Steve stared down at the velvet box in front of him, his mouth gaping a little. "I just…" He blew out a long breath. "I know we talked about it before, about you and Darcy, long term, but… I didn't think it'd be this soon."

"We've been together four years… It's not that soon."

"Yeah, well, I spend so much time on undercover missions, the years get a little hard to keep track of." Steve sat back a moment, taking a long breath. "Four years. Really?"

Bucky half-grinned at him. "Yeah. Together four, living together a year and a half. You sure you didn't take a hit to the head on that last mission. You looked a little dazed after we took out that last wave."

"No, head's fine, just…" He laughed, a smile breaking out across his face. "I… I'm happy for you. It… It's weird, I guess. Half our lives feel like they're been lived in a warzone, waiting on the next shoe to drop, but you… You carved out a life for yourself. A _good _life. And you _should _be happy. You should be ecstatic. I mean… You and Darcy…" He shook his head. "She's perfect for you, Buck. And you're a lucky man."

"Yeah. Yeah, I am." He licked his lips, looking down at the box, and furrowed his brow. "So? You think she'll say yes?"

"You kidding?" Steve grinned at him, pushing the ring box back over for him to take. "Darcy'll probably talk Stark into hiring a sky-writer and have 'em write 'yes' outside your damn window." He laughed to himself, rubbing a hand over his chin. "Can't believe you're getting married before me."

"Never had any problem getting women, just had trouble keepin' 'em."

"I don't think you worried too much about that until you met Darcy…" Steve's smile softened then. "I mean it, I'm really happy for you. You deserve this."

Bucky shrugged, dropping his gaze to the table.

"You know I'm right, don't you?" Steve stared at him searchingly. "You've had a tough time… Life wasn't easy on you. A lot of things happened, things I'd change if I could, but… Where you are now, who you are, who you're with, who you've become, that… that's not anything I'd change."

"No?" Bucky raised his eyes to meet his searchingly. "I still think about it, the things I did, the people that I…" He ground his teeth and looked away, his brow furrowed tightly. "I think about that, who I was before, and I wonder what the hell she's doing with a guy like me." He picked up the velvet box and rolled it around in his hand. "And then she looks at me and she tells me I'm an idiot. Hand to God, that woman's got telepathy or something, 'cause she always knows when I get weird and start doubting myself."

"She doesn't need telepathy… She just knows you. You said it yourself. Four years." Steve grinned then. "She stuck with your sorry ass this long, what makes you think she doesn't know you?"

Bucky snorted, his mouth ticking up on one side, and he nodded, scrubbing his fingers over his chin. "Yeah."

Steve stared at him a long moment. "You love her?"

He didn't hesitate. "More than anything."

Nodding, Steve grinned. "Then marry her."

"Simple as that?"

Steve let out a faint laugh. "Yeah, Buck. Simple as that."

* * *

He had it all planned out to a T. It was going to be elaborate, involving all of their friends. He spent a couple weeks going over details with everybody, making sure Sif would be planet-side, that everybody Darcy loved would be around for it. It was going to be something they could tell their kids and their grandkids. Jane and Sif were going to take her out for brunch at her favorite restaurant and talk her into going for manicures and pedicures. Pepper was going to invite her out for an impromptu shopping spree and get her a new outfit for the occasion. Steve would be the one to get her upstairs to the ballroom; there she would find all of her friends, her favorite aunt and cousins, maybe even her mother, depending on how Gina was treating her lately. He had all of her favorites picked out; flowers, music, food. But he should have guessed things wouldn't go exactly to plan.

The night before he had everything planned out, they went for a walk. Darcy wore her rattiest jeans and one of his sweaters, pulling her favorite beanie on over her hair, which he was half-sure she hadn't even bothered to brush that day. They weren't going anywhere in particular. Sometimes she just got tired of being in Stark Tower and wanted to get some fresh air, so they walked aimlessly around New York, picking up a coffee or a hot chocolate on the way. They were a few blocks from the tower and stopped at a corner, waiting for the light to change, when she stepped in front of him, pulling out a grey beanie from her bag and fitting it over his head, pulling it down the way he liked it and brushing his hair back.

"Warmer?" she asked, tucking it over the tops of his ears.

The grin he gave her was lopsided. He took her hands down from his face and kissed her palms before he pulled her in, hugging her and rubbing a hand up and down her back. Darcy rested her face against his chest, her arms loose around his waist. With his chin on top of her head, he watched the lights, waiting for them to give the go-ahead to cross.

"Hey?" she said, plucking at the back of his sweater to get his attention.

He rubbed his chin over her head. "Hm?"

"So I've been thinking…"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, and I think we should get married."

He went still, his eyes wide and his brows raised. The light changed, telling them they could walk, but he didn't move an inch. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. This wasn't the first time they'd discussed marriage before. There was a reason he had a ring at home and a proposal all planned out. They'd talked about it a few times, in that 'one day, we'll get married and have kids' way. But 'one day' was always attached, and it was only recently that he'd realized he wanted that day to be now. Hence why he'd spent the last few weeks planning out his proposal.

"We've been together four years and I like what we have. Okay, 'like' is an understatement. I wouldn't be asking you if I didn't think this was something I really wanted. That _you're _what I want. As in, always, and forever, and all of those cheesy words people throw out when they look at someone and think 'hey, I think I could spend my life with you and wouldn't mind calling you husband,' you know? Which is what I think when I look at you. That I could spend the next fifty or sixty years with you. Or however many we've got. And that'd be cool. If you want." She sighed. "I think I'm screwing this up, because it made a lot more sense when I was thinking it and now my mouth is being a betraying betrayer and it's not coming out the way I want it to, and you're not saying anything, and that's freaking me out. So just… say something. Okay?"

His mouth opened and closed before he finally asked, "Are you… proposing right now?"

"I'm not… _not _proposing…" she hedged. "It depends on your answer."

Turning his eyes up, he let out a huffing laugh and shook his head. "You just… couldn't wait one more day?"

Frowning, she looked up at him. "I'm confused. The question is more of a 'yes or no' kind of thing…"

He bit his lip as he smiled and reached a hand up, brushing her hair back from her face. "You know, just for the record, I had a plan. I had a huge proposal figured out. As in, your aunt is flying in tomorrow with your mom and your cousins. And Sif and Jane are gonna wake you up and take you out all morning so we can set up the ballroom. So just, _later_, when we're telling our grandkids about how you proposed to me on a street corner, just remember that my original proposal had a chocolate fountain, all right?"

Darcy's eyes widened before she slapped his chest. "You got me a chocolate fountain!?"

He laughed. "I did."

"Okay, okay…" She bounced back onto her heels. "Okay, pretend I didn't say anything. We're gonna do it your way." Grinning excitedly, she turned, her arm still looped around his waist. "C'mon, I'm buying you dinner at your favorite hot dog vendor."

He chuckled, pressing his face down against her beanie. "This mean you're gonna say 'yes'?"

"Shush, I don't know anything about what you're talking about, no proposals have been made on street corners," she told him, bouncing a little, her fingers flexing against his side.

He couldn't stop grinning the rest of their walk, and neither could she. She pretended she was completely surprised when Sif and Jane turned up the next morning, even if she was a little over the top, and she went along with everything, feigning complete shock. And when he got down on one knee and finally asked her to marry him, for real this time, she accepted his ring and, in between kisses, said, "No take-backs." As if he'd ever want to.

* * *

Darcy wore red heels with her wedding dress. The brightest red he'd ever seen in his life. They peeked out from beneath her dress when she walked, and they were so _her_ that it made something twist up in his chest.

It was Thor that walked her up the aisle, grinning proudly, his head held high, arm wrapped in Darcy's. He stood beside her like it was the highest of honors, like she was a treasure and he was filled with gratitude that she would allow him to stand at her side.

Bucky imagined that was what he looked like every day since he met her.

Thor paused before Bucky, saying sincerely, "It is with great joy that I would see you, my brother in arms, wed my friend and my shield sister. I put my trust in you to honor her as she is due, and to love her as she so loves you." He raised Darcy's hand and pressed a kiss to the top before he placed it in Bucky's outstretched palm. With a bow of his head, Thor stepped back, moving to take his seat at the front beside Banner.

Darcy grinned back at Thor, winking at him, before she let Bucky lead her up to stand in front of him. She turned to pass her flowers off to Jane, who stood, beaming, beside Sif, and tangled her fingers with Bucky's, wrinkling her nose up at him as she smiled.

He squeezed her hands, grinning down at her.

He would be hard-pressed to tell anyone what the minister said, his attention staying solely on Darcy. Her hair was down, falling in curls, looking delicate and soft. She was beautiful. She always had been, from the moment he met her. It wasn't any one thing but a collection of everything. How stubborn and loud and excited she was. How she would happily break into a dance at any given moment, off-beat and ridiculous, but so enthusiastic. It was that gleam in her eye when she got to rant about something she'd studied and knew like the back of her hand. It was the way she laughed; and there were so many different ways she did. Just like her smiles; they were all shades of happiness, levels of amused, and she saved the biggest and the loudest for him. It was how she reached for him at night, how her fingers slipped between his, metal or fresh, and never seemed to find any difference in them. She was beautiful when she just woke up and she had crust in her eyes and drool dry at the corner of her lips. She was beautiful when she was angry and when she was sad and when she cried at Disney movies or cheered during sports games.

She was beautiful.

He remembered saying, "I do." He remembered even more how her lips shaped the words in return. He remembered taking the wedding band from Steve and sliding it on her finger while she did the same to him. He remembered it, but it didn't feel real; it felt like a dream too good to be true. He'd had dreams like those; they were almost as bitter as the nightmares. Hope used to leave an ashy taste in his mouth, but that was Before_._ Before Steve. Before he got his memories back. Before Darcy. _Before_. And it was over now. Now he woke up next to Darcy every morning. He had his best friend back and a team he could trust. He had a life; a _good _life. And he deserved this.

Finally, the minister was saying, "By the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you, husband and wife. You may kiss your bride." And Darcy, being Darcy, reached her hand up around Bucky's neck and brought him down to her, slanting her mouth over his laughing lips. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tight, squeezing hard enough to prove to himself that it was happening, she was real and solid and not a figment of a fractured, desperate mind. And she didn't complain.

Instead, she nuzzled his nose with hers, clicked her ruby red heels, and whispered, "There's no place like home."

And he laughed, even as a tear tripped down his cheek. He buried his face against her neck and smiled. Because he'd never been happier, and she was right. She was home. _They _were home.

* * *

Darcy spent most of the reception dancing. She went out onto the floor and traded partners every other song, until she'd taken everyone out for a swing. There was the goofy dancing that she did with Tony, Sam, and Clint, who had no shame, and Banner, who laughed and looked a little awkward, but went along with it anyway. There was the weird, not really dancing, but flailing a lot, that she did with Jane, the both of them laughing as they tried to outdo the other with the most absurd dance move. There was the structured dancing, formal with Thor and Sif, easy and practiced with Coulson, and elegant with Natasha. And then there was the really terrible dancing, where toes were stepped on and the beat was always off, which was Steve and his two left feet.

Bucky spent most of it watching her, still a little dazed and possibly (probably) grinning at her like a dope.

When he finally went out to meet her, Steve twirled her right into his arms. She let out an 'oof' as she collided with him and, for just a second, he flashed back to that first moment they met. The coffee and the swearing and his shitty social skills. But here they were, four and a half years later, and she was in a wedding dress, wearing a ring that matched his own.

Her hands curled around his shoulders as she tipped her head back to look up at him. "Hey, husband," she greeted, looking flushed and excited.

"Hey, wife." He wrapped his arms low around her waist and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You having fun?"

"I'm a little dizzy and a lot hungry, but yes, definitely having fun." She tucked her head under his chin and let out a long sigh. "How about you? How does married life feel?"

"It's only been a couple hours, but I'm feeling pretty good about it." He rubbed his hands up and down her back.

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm." He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the soft scent of her shampoo and perfume. They weren't doing much dancing, so much as vaguely swaying side to side, wrapped tight around each other. "Darcy?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you," he breathed, his voice a little raspy and his eyes stinging more than he would like to admit.

Darcy loosened her arms from him so she could lean back a little and looked up at him with that gentle, knowing smile of hers. "That better be for dancing with you, hobo. Because marrying you is a mutual benefit, all right?"

Nodding, he drew her in again, dropping his forehead to her. "What about for loving me? Can I thank you for that?"

She shook her head faintly, careful not to dislodge him. "No, I only take thanks in the form of equal love in return… and chocolate."

He chuckled, dipping down for a kiss. "Cake's chocolate."

Darcy's eyes lit up. "It _is!_ Oh my God, we need to cut the cake ASAP! Seriously, what are we even waiting for?" Darcy grabbed his hand and turned on her heel, marching them directly toward the elegant wedding cake waiting for them. "Hey, remember when you said I wasn't allowed to brandish knives in crowds?"

"I was reading off one of Coulson's memos," he reminded, rolling his eyes upward. "But he made a good point."

Darcy waved a hand dismissively. "The point is…" She stopped at the table and happily took up a very large, very sharp knife. "I _love _breaking rules."

Shaking his head, Bucky circled around to stand behind her, his hand covering hers on the knife. "How about we do it together?"

"Fine. But only because it's tradition."

Kissing her temple, he led her to the cake, smiling as she yelled for everybody to gather in close.

The fact that cake was served out to everybody and Darcy didn't lose a finger was a tick in the win column, in his opinion. He couldn't ask for much more.

* * *

For weeks after the wedding, he still found her staring at her wedding band, a funny little smile on her face each time. It made his heart thud in his chest; heavy and warm and fulfilled.

He'd been worried at first, the silver blended right in with the metal of his bionic finger.

"Maybe we should've gotten gold," he said, turning to look at her beside him in bed.

Darcy shook her head, turning her hand up and rubbing her thumb over her ring. "I like it. It's like I have a part of you with me, all the time." She smiled as she rolled over and into him, resting her cheek on his arm before she let her fingers run down the jagged, red, raised flesh of where skin met metal. He'd gotten used to that a long time ago. He used to flinch, tense up, but Darcy insisted it didn't bother her. She kissed it sometimes, even when it was hidden under a shirt, she always pressed her lips exactly there, as if to remind him, to make sure he never forgot. Loving him meant loving _all_ of him.

"I don't need to see it on your finger to know it's there," she murmured. "Besides, it's probably better that it blends. Now you won't have to take it off for missions. So you'll always have me with you, too."

He buried his fingers in her hair as he kissed her, his thumb rubbing over the arch of her cheek as he pressed her back against the mattress and slid between her legs, hitching them up over his hips. He kissed her neck and her shoulder as she wrapped her arm around him. "'Always' is a long time," he said, his lips smoothing down her chest, nuzzling the top of her breasts with his nose, the ends of his hair falling to drag against her skin, making her shiver and bite her lip.

"You have anything better to do?" she asked, a little breathless.

He grinned as he looked up at her and shook his head slowly.

"Then 'always' it is."

He brought her hand down from his neck and kissed the silver ring on her finger. "Sounds good to me."

* * *

Darcy loved selfies. Well, she liked pictures in general. He was pretty sure half of her Instagram was her sneak-attacking him for with her camera phone. He could be doing anything; cooking, doing push-ups, reading, working out with Steve, and suddenly she would pop up, yell 'cheese!' and take a picture of him, often looking confused or exasperated while she grinned for the camera.

He had the newspaper raised in one hand and a forkful of scrambled eggs lifted toward his mouth when she hopped up behind him and snapped a shot of them. The result was him glaring at the camera, mouth ajar, eggs falling from his fork, while she looked excited, her nose scrunched up and her glasses a little lopsided.

While he wasn't a fan of being caught off guard, he'd gotten so used to her presence that he could usually tell it was her coming just from the sound of her shoes or the shuffle of her slippers. If anything, Darcy and her camera-love was a lesson in patience. The rest of the team were more indulgent, though. She had various pictures of her and Stark duck-facing in the shop. Her and '_sciencing'_. Her and Banner drinking tea at their favorite shops or doing yoga together. Her struggling, and sadly failing, to pick up Mjolnir while Thor laughed happily off to the side. Her and Clint having Nerf wars and Guitar Hero battles. Her, Sif and Jane posing as the Charlie's Angels with a sword, sonic screwdriver, and iPod, appropriately. Her and Steve dancing, horribly. Shopping trips with Pepper. Pre- and post-work out shots that often resulted in Darcy lying face down on the mats while Natasha smirked as she took the picture. Darcy and Coulson having staring contests. Poptart breaks with Jane and Thor, resulting in a crumb-filled and frosted blond beard. Her, Steve and Sam jogging in the park; well, her piggybacking on Steve's back as he repeatedly outran Sam. Girls' nights with Jane, Sif, Maria, Pepper, and Natasha. If something was happening, Darcy was quick to take out her phone and capture the moment.

Their post-wedding snapshots though, were his favorite. Mostly she took as many shots as she could showing off her wedding band. She was proud of it, of them, and that always made him happy. But there was also the 'wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey #husband' shots, which generally involved him just waking up, blinking sleepily at the flash of the camera, his brow furrowed; and the 'what's cookin', good lookin' #kissthecook' pictures of him making her dinner, usually when he was in the middle of taste-testing something; and the 'any reason's a good reason #5evr' snapshots that were really just Darcy kissing him at any given opportunity.

"Good shot?" he asked her as he scooped up another bite of eggs.

Darcy grinned at him, turning her phone for him to see. "It's an art and I am the master," she declared, before popping a kiss on his cheek and taking a seat at the table beside him, stealing his coffee for a drink.

Half-smiling, he shook his head to himself and offered her a piece of bacon.

Happily, she took it from him and munched on it, holding a hand out for her section of the newspaper, which he handed over dutifully. He could handle a few pictures for this kind of happiness.

* * *

Darcy's favorite late-night snack was cereal. The more sugar, the better. He found half-eaten boxes of it taking up a good portion of their pantry. When she was having a tough time sleeping, he would find her out in the living room, watching shitty late-night TV, her hand buried in a box of Lucky Charms or Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

"Shit'll rot your teeth," he muttered, sleepily rubbing at his face as he joined her on the couch, dropping his head into her lap and rubbing a hand down her leg.

"Good, my teeth'll go with my brain," she said, flipping the channel. "There's never anything good on. Stark's got every channel ever made and it's all crap."

"Probably because people shouldn't be up at this hour." He stole her cereal from her, popping a few Fruit Loops into his mouth before he put the box on the coffee table and looked up at her. "What's goin' on?"

Shaking her head, she absently reached down to skim her fingers through his hair. "Nothing. Just bad dreams."

He frowned. "Nightmare?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I can't really remember it. I just remember waking up, feeling panicked. Stupid."

Drawing her hand down his face, he pressed a kiss to her wrist. "It's not stupid if it's buggin' you."

Smiling down at him lightly, she rubbed her thumb over his cheek. "Not like I can talk about it. It's just a weird feeling."

Nodding, he rolled off the couch.

Brow furrowed, she tracked him as he crossed the living room. "What're you doing?"

"What you do for me when I'm havin' a bad night."

She arched an eyebrow. "Call Steve?"

He snorted. "No." He reached for the iPod still plugged into the dock and thumbed through her playlists until he found one that always helped her relax. As the music started, he walked back to her, grabbing up the remote to turn off the television and then holding a hand out for her to take.

Half-smiling, she took his hand, letting him pull her up and around the couch to the open space of floor. He folded their fingers together on one hand while his other slid around to the small of her back and pulled her in close. Dancing was just a fancy way of saying they swayed around in circles, wrapped around each other, his face pressed down against her neck, his hand rubbing soothing circles over her back, beneath her shirt, cool metal on her skin.

When it was his nightmares and he couldn't get back to sleep, but he didn't want to call Steve in, they danced to music from his time period. Stuff that always felt familiar, that his toe tapped the beat to automatically. On those nights, their dancing was a little more swing-y, with dips and twirls and her laughter helping to take the edge off. This song wasn't like those; it was slow and melancholy and it made him want to close his eyes and bury himself in her arms and her smell and the way her fingers stretched over his shoulder. The whole of it was only five minutes, but it felt like a short lifetime spent just there, with her, in her too big Nirvana t-shirt and her boxer shorts with the polar bears on them. She was relaxed and leaning into him when the song ended; he wrapped his arm around her, fingers lightly skimming up and down her side. Another song and another played and they swayed to each of them, until he could feel her fingers loosen on his shoulder, her breathing evening out.

"You ready to go back to bed?" he asked her, his voice low and quiet.

"Just one more song, okay?" she breathed, sliding her hand up and behind his neck, fingers tangled in his hair. "Hold me a little tighter."

He released her hand, putting it on his shoulder, and dropped his other arm around her waist too. Pressing a kiss to her temple, he hugged her close and moved them in a small circle. She hummed contently, resting against him, and by the time the song was done, she was practically asleep on her feet. He smiled to himself as he swept her up in his arms, careful not to jar her, and carried her back to their room, putting her in on her side of the bed and tucking her blanket in around her before he laid down beside her.

As far as their history with nightmares went, he thought this one ended nicely.

* * *

Darcy wanted children. They talked about it sometimes, often as an eventuality. Their lives were still pretty hectic, full of chaos and missions and _science_, but they wanted kids, one day, to complete the family they made. They were married three years before she brought it up as more than just a 'some day' thing.

"Okay, but think about it, a little boy with messy brown hair and your eyes. Cute, right?"

He looked over at her, head hanging over the back of the couch. "You need to tell me something? Are you pregnant?"

"No," she said simply, looking over at him from where she stood in the kitchen, pouring a mug of coffee. "But I think I want to be."

He blinked at her before rolling off the couch and crossing the room to her. "Okay."

She stared up at him. "That's it? Just 'okay.'"

He shrugged. "We've talked about it before. Our biggest hang-up was how busy work is. Things are slowing down right now, but they might pick up in a few months, I don't know. The point is, this is always how our life's gonna be. If you're ready, if you wanna do this, then I'm in. Sign me up for one of each."

Darcy smiled at him. "Now it's two kids? Boy, when you go in, you're all in, huh?"

Sliding in behind her, he skimmed his hands up her legs. "Absolutely, and I'm willing to get started immediately." He nuzzled his chin against her shoulder and nipped at her ear.

Laughing lightly, she dropped her head back to his shoulder. "Well, I can hardly turn down that offer."

Grinning, he pressed a kiss to her neck and twisted her around by her hips before hauling her up and over his shoulder, walking them down the hall to their bedroom.

As much as he was hoping they did have kids, and soon, he wouldn't mind it taking a little while, just to enjoy the whole 'making of' part.

* * *

As all good things do, the end came too soon.

* * *

Darcy was in a rush. Any morning she had work, she was in a rush. Just as he was coming in from a morning jog with Sam and Steve, she was getting ready to leave.

"Coffee," she said, handing him a mug, just the way he liked it, before she pecked him on the lips. "Don't forget to eat something. I gotta go. I'm late."

"You're always late," he reminded, watching her run around while he blew away the curling steam from his mug.

"True, but now I'm _late_-late." She shrugged, grabbing up a few things before she backed up toward the door. "I'll see you at lunch. I love you!"

"Love you, too," he called back before grabbing up his newspaper and walking to the kitchen island, the door clicking closed behind her.

* * *

He got her text just as he walking toward the labs to pick her up for their lunch date.

[Dropping off lunch with Steve. 10 minutes. Meet you in the lobby?]

With some time to waste, he detoured, making his way to Stark's shop to see what he was working on as he fired of a reply text: [Sounds good. See you there. Tell Steve I said hi.]

[Will do, Buckaroo. Love you. xox]

Bucky shook his head to himself and wondered how, after all these years, that still made him smile.

* * *

The alarm went up while he was still in the elevator. It blared, long and loud and ripe with the promise of death. Panic drove down his spine and set him on edge. He had his gun unholstered and ready as soon as the doors opened. He was greeted with the sound of heavy gunfire coming from the front lobby, intermixed with terrified screaming. He broke out into a run, passing by various agents while various unarmed employees rushed down the hallway, bumping into him as they struggled to get to safety.

When he finally breached the inner lobby, he counted eleven bodies on the floor and six shooters dressed in bulletproof gear. The marble floor was covered in bullet spray, leaving gaping holes in some places and chunks of debris lying around. The windows at the front were blown out, glass spread out in all directions. Two potted plants were in pieces, dirt and branches collected in corners.

He felt the men at his back, guns raised, and lurched forward, ready to attack, to decimate the opponent, to put these six, obvious, amateurs in their place. What kind of idiots shot up a building full of the Avengers and SHIELD? It had to be a suicide mission; there weren't enough of them to make much of a dent. There was no way they had a chance unless—

There was one in the middle of the group, surrounded by the other five; he was sweating profusely. His hand reached down for his hip and Bucky spotted it just before his fingers could curl around the detonator. Three bullets hit the man square in the forehead; he dropped to the ground, the detonator rolling out of his fingers. One of the others grabbed it up, took a bullet to the shoulder and the chest, but grinned as he pressed his thumb down on the button.

Yelling at the other agents to pull back, Bucky dived toward the front desk, rolling behind it just as a blast of heat and fire exploded outwards, shattering what was left of the glass windows, scorching the floors, and blowing up the remaining intruders in the process. The explosion itself wasn't as big as it could have been, which he filed away to mean it was only a message. A warning. A sign that they could be attacked. That they weren't impenetrable in their ivory tower.

As if to prove the opposite, Jarvis' emergency protocol was activated, causing steel walls to come down in every direction, blocking off the hall leading into the building and the exit leading to the street in an effort to keep the explosion contained and minimalize casualties.

"You know I wasn't expecting a show with lunch."

Bucky's shoulders tensed as her voice reached through the fog of noise. His head swiveled abruptly and found a red shoe peeking out from under the desk. He followed the familiar leg up to find Darcy smiling at him, her smile shaky and a hand pressed to her stomach.

"Darce…" He scrambled toward her, his eyes wide. "_Darcy_," he said a little louder.

He was careful not to jar her as he pulled her out from under the desk, moving them so he was sitting with his back against the wall with her cradled against his front.

"Medic! I need a medic!" he yelled.

His eyes darted around the room, but the steel walls were still in place; smoke and fire still rolling in the distance. He wasn't even sure they could hear him through the walls, or the alarm still ringing above. How long until Jarvis brought the walls up? If there was a secondary device, he might not risk it until he'd been given the o-k by Stark. Bucky's mind was all over the place, struggling to focus.

"Jarvis?" he shouted, but there was no answer. His eyes darted over the ceiling desperately.

He was panting, staring down at her as her head lolled against his chest, her eyes at half-mast and a vague smile pulling at her lips.

"You remember when we talked about what we'd do on our last days…?"

"Hey, shut up, that's not today, all right." He fumbled in his pocket for his phone and cursed when he found it shattered; he must have landed on it when he'd been getting out of the way. _Chrissakes_. His hands were shaking as he tossed his phone away. "Darcy, where's your phone?"

"I was holding it when they started shooting. I dropped it somewhere."

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep steadying breath. "Okay, just…" He moved them around and leaned her back against the wall. "I'm gonna see if I can find it, all right?"

She nodded, wincing as she sat back.

Kneeling in front of her, he ran a hand down her hair soothingly before he reached for her hand against her stomach. "Lemme see," he said, tugging her fingers free.

As soon as her hand came loose, blood gushed. Three bullets. Given the positioning of them, she had ten minutes tops before she bled out. How long had it been? Was she one of the first people shot or the last? How long had she been bleeding already? He cursed under his breath and stripped off his jacket, pulling his long-sleeved shirt off and balling it up to press against her stomach, applying pressure. She grunted, her mouth set in a grimace.

"How long has it been, can you remember?"

She stared up at him. "Kind of a blur. I was just… I was talking to Kenny, the front desk guy. Nice guy. Funny. He's over there…" She pointed to a man lying face down on the ground. "A bullet caught him in the throat. It was… He made these awful choking noises…" Her breath hitched then as she started to cry.

"It's okay, it's okay." He caught her face, cupping her cheeks, and kissed her forehead. "It's gonna be okay."

She stared up at him, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Just keep pressure on it, okay?" He rubbed a thumb over her cheek, swiping away a tear, and stood. He went to Kenny first, digging around his body for a phone, but couldn't find one. What kind of asshole didn't have a phone these days? Cursing under his breath, he turned, looking at the mess around him. Instead of going for the bodies, he crossed the floor to the steel wall covering the mouth of the hallway. Gritting his teeth, he reared his bionic arm back and brought it forward, slamming it down as hard as he could. The wall dented under impact, but not enough. The time it would take to keep hitting it until he broke through would probably take too long. That didn't stop him from hitting it again and again, letting out an angry wail when he didn't get the result he wanted.

"Bucky."

He stopped, his eyes closed, and pressed his hands to the wall, shaking his head.

"I'm not talking to myself here, husband. Wasn't there something about obeying your wife in your vows?"

He let out a faint laugh. "I know yours didn't." He took in a deep breath and turned to face her.

She smiled up at him, but her lips were trembling. She raised a hand, wiggling her fingers to invite him over. He tried not to focus on how red they were and crossed the room, sliding down the wall and drawing her back in against him, her back to his front, head tipped onto his shoulder.

She reached up for him, her hand tucked behind his neck. "I lied."

"What?" His brow furrowed as he stared down at her.

"I said I wouldn't tell you I love you because you'd know, but I'm gonna say it anyway. I'm gonna say it a lot. I want it to be my last words, okay? I want that to be what you remember. Not—" She shook her head. "Not the crying or the blood or any of that really inconvenient shit, okay? I want you to remember I loved you. I really, really loved you, every single day that I knew you. And I was happy, I was so h-happy, Bucky. I had amazing friends and a job I loved and a kickass home with the most incredible husband I could've ever asked for."

"Shhh, shhh, don't…" His voice cracked. "Don't say goodbye. Please, Darcy, please don't."

"I don't regret it." She stared up at him, pale, her breathing off. She licked her dry lips and curled her fingers behind his neck. "It was so worth it. All of it." Her brow furrowed and she shifted against him, her hand squeezing over the one he had pressed to her stomach. Smiling suddenly, she whispered, "Hey."

"Hey," he rasped, rubbing his thumb over her cheek.

She clicked her heels three times, her fingers squeezing behind his neck. Smiling radiantly, she whispered, "I love you."

Letting out a shuddering breath, he pressed a kiss to her cheek as a tear slipped down it. "I love you, too. I love you so much. And you're gonna be okay. All right? You're gonna be okay and we're gonna have a little boy with brown hair and my eyes and your laugh… And a little girl. God, she's gonna look just like you, Darcy. She's gonna be so beautiful and smart and funny. We're gonna have a whole family. Me and you, Doll." He squeezed her tighter. "Me an' you."

When she didn't answer, he closed his eyes tighter and buried his face against her neck, trying to breathe in her perfume instead of the smell of smoke and blood. "Darcy?" But he was only met with the shrieking alarm. "_Darce_?"

[**continue**]


	4. The End

**title**: so you think you can tell (heaven from hell)  
**category**: thor/captain america  
**genre**: romance/tragedy  
**ship**: darcy/bucky  
**rating**: nc-17/explicit  
**word count**: 2,533  
**summary**: As far as happy stories go, this was that. The beginning, the middle, they were the happiest times either of them ever knew. It's the endings that are sad, and every story has one. Some are just sadder than others.

**_so you think you can tell (heaven from hell)_**  
-4/4-

"Bucky?"

The apartment was a mess. He'd broken everything in it. The furniture, the dishes, the pictures on the walls, the walls themselves. The couch was turned over, the coffee table in pieces, the arm chair tangled with the cabinet. The bookshelf was toppled, shelves bent and broken, tossed in various directions, books spread out all over the floor, pages torn, ripped out, crumbled and added to the wreckage. The kitchen floor was a collection of color; fragments of plates, bowls, and cups. He'd even put a crack in the so-called unbreakable windows in the living room when he took his bionic fist to it after one of the kitchen chairs finally splintered in his hands, nothing but pieces now, splinters and shards of wood.

The door shoved debris out of the way as Steve pushed it open, taking in the chaos as he carefully made his way inside, searching for him, quiet, uncertain about what he'd find.

Bucky was sitting in the hallway, a bottle of vodka on one side and a Glock on the other. He was rolling a bullet between his fingers, staring at the tip like it had the answer to all of life's questions written on it.

Steve found him, keys jangling in his hand, the one used to unlock the door still pinched between his fingers. He paused at the mouth of the hallway, with the light bulb shattered, glass across the floor, pictures ripped from the walls and spread out over the ground, sideways and upside down and leaving bits of glass for unprotected feet to cut themselves on. To imbed in unblemished skin, dig in and leave a mark, leave a sting, an ache that was slow to fade.

Tension was thick in the air. Steve stared at him, hunched over where he sat, head bowed, hair hanging limply around his face. Silently, Steve walked forward, tucking his keys away in his coat pocket before he slid down the opposite wall to take a seat facing Bucky, his knees up, arms resting on them. But he didn't say anything, not for a while, he just tugged on his fingers and let the quiet sink in, let it relax them both.

If things were different, Steve would have made a joke – "Not sure I like the redecorating job" – but things weren't different, so he didn't. Bucky wasn't sure if he appreciated that or not. Probably. Maybe. He was pretty sure if Steve had made light of the situation, he would've snapped. He was already holding on by only a thread. A thin one, so tenuous he could almost feel it slipping from his trembling fingers.

As a point of focus, Bucky flipped the bullet over, let it roll down his knuckles, and caught it at the bottom, turning his hand just in time to pinch it between his thumb and forefinger.

There were a few rough starts, of Steve opening his mouth, ready to say something, second guessing himself, and pausing, sighing, deciding to start over.

But what could he say, really?

What was there to say?

Grabbing up the bottle of vodka, Bucky knocked back a long swig, closing his eyes against the burn down his throat, a tear slipping out the corner of his eye.

Nothing.

As far as he was concerned, there was nothing to say.

It was a long few minutes, heavy and thick with grief, but Steve finally broke the silence.

"I ever tell you what her first words to me were?" Steve asked, half-smiling as he looked at the floor. His smile faded quickly, replaced with a furrow at his brows and a trembling of his lips. "She, uh… She caught up with me just outside of Tony's shop, she was bringing him lunch, and she just looks up, doesn't even pause and says, 'So you're the asshole who let the whole world know I tasered Thor.'" He snorted, shaking his head. "I guess she got a lot of messages and phone calls after everything was exposed. Her mom was pretty upset that she hadn't told her, started calling every day, asking her if she'd met any alien gods that day… Passive aggressive stuff." He swallowed, dragging a hand over his mouth. "It was just funny… No fear, no hesitation, just walks up to the guy who took down SHIELD and calls him an asshole… She even gave me Tony's Jell-O cup after. Said she might've been a little harsh and that Jell-O would take the edge off." He laughed, quiet and full of misery.

Bucky looked over at him, an eyebrow raised. "So, that's what we're gonna do? Share stories about her, reminisce like she was someone I knew back in the war, like she's just another face you need to jog in my memory, add her to the pile, move on…"

"_No_." Steve shook his head, staring at his hands. "No, I… I don't know. I don't know what you want me to say. I don't… I want to _help_ you, I just…"

"Don't know how."

He nodded then, a jerky motion, full of defeat. "Yeah," Steve rasped. "I lost people. Same as you. But… it was different. It feels different."

Bucky pulled his eyes off him and tipped his head back against the wall. He could still feel the bullet between his fingers, solid, light but heavy.

"What were her last words?" he asked.

"What?" Steve replied. "I wasn't… I didn't…"

"You told me her first words to you… What were her last?"

"Oh." Steve licked his lips, his brow furrowing. "I, uh… She brought me lunch. I was… I had all this paperwork to fill out from the last mission. She was taking pity on me because she has to fill out papers every time Tony blows something up, which is often, I guess…" He went quiet for a moment. "It was just a club sandwich, bag of chips. I offered to pay for it, I got my wallet out and everything, and she just… She laughed, y'know? That… That 'don't be dumb' laugh of hers. 'Don't worry about it, Steve-o,' she said. 'Can't let my favorite captain go hungry…' And then she left, waved at me over her shoulder. That was it. That… That was the last time I saw her until…"

"'Til the walls came up."

There was a pause, a sniffle, and then, "_Yeah_."

Bucky nodded, his eyes burning. "Fifteen minutes," he said. "She was dead for fifteen minutes before you got there."

Steve winced, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"I don't… I remember when you came in. I remember yelling, fighting with you when you tried to take her away." He remembered screaming at them, blaming them, shoving Steve off and away when he reached for Darcy's hand, bloody and limp in her lap. He remembered the weight of her being pulled from his arms as he struggled to keep his eyes open, cursing at them in Russian, threatening to kill them, begging them to give her back. "But it gets fuzzy after that..."

"Bruce sedated you."

He nodded. "I woke up in the hospital later…"

"You snuck out when I was getting a coffee. Only left for a minute and when I got back, the bed was empty… You were gone for six days. I tried looking for you."

Bucky's free hand clenched into a fist on the floor, so tight that his knuckles ached. "I just... couldn't be here. I couldn't…" He cast his eyes around the hall, gaze never quite landing on anything. "I see her, everywhere. I hear her. Singing and laughing and dancing. And it _hurts_. It physically hurts that I can't… I can't touch her or talk to her. I'm just… _empty_."

Steve reached up, scrubbing at his eyes. "I know. I get it."

Bucky turned to look at him, his gaze pinning him where he sat. "Do you?"

Steve stared at him a long moment. "I know what it feels like to lose someone you love. To think you'll never see them again. I know how empty that feels. Like you're just a… a ghost, moving around, going through the same old motions. Maybe it's not the same, maybe it feels different for you. I… I loved her too." He shook his head. "Not the same way, and I'm not comparing it. I just… I wake up every morning expecting to see her in the hallways or get one of her texts and when I don't, I _feel _it. I feel how wrong that is. And I wish, God I wish I could change it somehow, but I can't… I _can't _and it kills me that you lost her. It kills me to see you like this."

Bucky tore his eyes off him and tipped his head back, trying to force the tears to drain back into his eyes instead of out. He pinched his fingers around the bullet a little tighter and wondered if he could do it. If he could get the gun loaded before Steve stopped him. Chances were high that Steve would intervene, stay his hand, just like always. But it was a bittersweet acknowledgement, that he could stop this bullet and not the three that took Darcy. It was cruel and wrong to think of it that way. It wasn't Steve's fault, not even close. But he wanted to be angry, he wanted to lash out and hurt somebody. He wanted to be hurt himself, to take the edge off in the only way he had left.

It was a few minutes before Steve talked again, the weight of his previous words still hanging heavy in the air.

"There's, uh… a funeral, tomorrow. I didn't know if you wanted to go, or…" Steve trailed off, frowning again, rubbing at one of his eyebrows as he struggled to find the right words. "We don't have to stay. Or talk, if you don't want to. But… I don't know. I thought you might want to go. Her mom's been calling, asking about you. I… I don't know what to tell her."

Bucky hummed.

"I'll be there with you, if you want to."

"You think I wanna see her in a pine box?" He snorted, grabbing up the vodka bottle again. "Darcy hated small spaces. Freaked her out. She had a panic attack on the elevator once. Started crying, couldn't stop. We took the stairs for a week after… They don't tell those stories, though. They don't talk about how people are fucked up. That they get scared sometimes, say stupid shit, do dumb, fucking things… Soon as they die, they talk about them like they were so good and perfect and it's so _unfair_…"

Bucky licked his lips, glaring up at the ceiling as tears fell silently. "And she _was_… She was funny and smart and so goddamn beautiful. But she had fears and she did some dumb shit in her life. She wasn't perfect. She always fell asleep on the toilet when she drank too much. I ever tell you that? And she hated doing the dishes; she always let them pile up when I went away on missions." He scoffed. "We have a dishwasher for Chrissakes, but she didn't like using it. So she'd just wait for me to get home and then she'd smile at me, and I caved. Every time, I caved… And she snored. Loudly. God, it was so fucking loud. And her feet were always cold and she always stole the blankets and… and she had the worst morning breath and—" His voice cracked and he shook his head.

He swiped angrily at the tears that cut down his cheeks and tripped over his lips, hanging off his chin. His face crumbled and he covered it with his hand, struggling to suck in air as a sob worked its way up his throat.

Steve shifted, moving across the hallway to sit beside him. He didn't say anything, he just sat, waiting, and Bucky leaned over, dropping his head to Steve's shoulder. And Steve wrapped an arm around him, holding him as he cried and shook and fell apart.

It was a while before he finally stopped. Leaning against Steve, he was quiet, staring sightlessly at the floor, his face damp and his breathing shallow. "It's not fair. She was innocent. She didn't deserve any of this. _I'm_ the killer. I'm the one with blood on my hands… Should've been me."

Steve shook his head. "I don't think it works like that, Buck. They don't weigh it out on scales beforehand. They were part of a small-time radical anarchist group; they wanted to make a name for themselves. Darcy was just… She was a bystander, caught in the crossfire."

"Is that supposed to make it better?" Bucky wondered angrily. "That she wasn't the intended target."

"Maybe." Steve sighed, long and low. "It's not your fault. That's what I'm trying to say."

"She was meeting me for lunch. She—"

"You guys went out for lunch all the time; you had no reason to think it would be different this time."

"But it _was_…" His voice gave out on him for a moment, his mouth trembling. "I lost her. And I don't... I don't know what to do without her." He squeezed his eyes closed as a sob trapped itself halfway between his throat and his chest. "I _need _her. I miss her so goddamn much and I don't… I don't know how to do this anymore, without her. She was… _everything_."

Steve nodded jerkily, his arm squeezing around Bucky. He took a deep breath, swallowing tightly. "You want the truth or you want me to sugar coat it?"

He took a second, swallowing tightly, and said, "Truth."

Steve dragged a hand down his mouth, blinking quickly against the sting of tears. "It's gonna hurt. For a long time, it's gonna tear you up. Everything's gonna remind you of her and you're gonna wanna end it. You already do. That's what the bullet's for, isn't it?" He didn't wait for a reply, already knowing the answer. "Morning's are going to be hard and nights even harder. And it'll take a long time for that to change, but eventually, one day, that feeling is going to dull. One day you're going to wake up and the first thing you think isn't going to be that you wish she was beside you… I don't know when that'll be. I wish I did. I wish I could tell you when this wasn't going to be so raw. But I can't. I can't make this better and I wish I could. I'd give anything to change this. Because I know you loved her, Bucky. I know how much she meant to you. She was… Darcy. She was just _Darcy_. And I—" A choked noise left him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Steve tightened his arms around him and held on tight. And Bucky, despite wanting to fight him off, sunk into his embrace instead. Their combined shaking didn't do much to calm them down, but they didn't let go. They _couldn't_.

Once again, they were all each other had.

[**End**.]

* * *

**Author's Note:** _I should probably apologize now. Personally, I cried numerous times writing and revising this. At this point, I have to post it just to stop torturing myself. If it hurt to read it, trust me it hurt to write it even more. I loved delving into their lives and creating this very happy life for them, and there were numerous times I just wanted to leave it happy. But I was originally prompted to write a story that ended in angst and tragedy and so that's what I did. I have another part involving the funeral, but I didn't feel like it fit with the rest of the story. So I'm ending it here, where it's raw and open. _

_Thanks so much for reading. I'd love to hear what you think. I know character death doesn't draw in a lot of readers, it actually tends to turn them away, so those few of you who do read, it really would be appreciated if you could leave a review. _

\- **Lee | Fina**


End file.

Captain America, Thor, Romance, Tragedy