Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After Steve was shot with Erskine’s Vita-Rays, he thought he would never experience pain like that again. It was excruciating. In the span of a few minutes, Steve experienced a lifetime’s worth of growing pains, workouts, and torture by rack, all with a dash of being drawn and quartered for good measure. He was only mostly sure he’d been able to feel the scar tissue in his lungs softening, but there had been no mistaking the popping agony when his eardrum healed. Getting shot didn’t compare, the stabbing cold of the arctic didn’t come close, and even the beating he took from Bucky couldn’t hold a candle to it. Steve thought no matter how bad it hurt, he’d been through the worst possible pain.

He was wrong.

Going in the opposite direction felt like dying in every possible way simultaneously.

In fact, it was probably a fucking miracle he didn’t have a heart attack right then and there.

Steve woke up in a hospital bed. His lungs were on fire, his heart beat a distantly familiar irregular rhythm, and he was damn near freezing. The heart monitor sounded oddly distant…of course it did, it was on his fucking left. He ached all over, inside and out. The stick from the massive IV needle wasn’t helping anything, either.

Steve vaguely wondered if he’d molted, considering how much mass he’d shed.

He groaned and sat up, his spine protesting as he tried to fix his posture. He was still in the lab, so it wasn’t too surprising that Bruce appeared next to the monitor almost immediately.

The doc was probably apologizing, but it was all pretty muffled until Steve turned to face him, squinting to bring Bruce’s face into focus.

“—ry, really,” Bruce finished, wringing his hands.

“What the hell happened?” Steve croaked, exhausted for all he’d just woken up. “How long was I out?”

“Misfire on an aerosolized Hulk suppressant turned you back into Tiny Tim about an hour ago,” Tony said as he tossed a water bottle past Bruce and into Steve’s lap. Steve glared at him, but opened the water bottle and took a few sips. “J’s already getting you an inhaler for your asthma, but we’re gonna need to run a few tests so you don’t keel over before this crap wears off. Modern medicine is fantastic. Seriously, how did you not die before the age of twelve?”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to snap, “My mother was a nurse.”

“Hell of a lady, then,” Tony shrugged. Steve’s hackles lowered ever so slightly.

“What all do you need tested?” he sighed. “Can’t you just get my medical records?”

“The army never gave you glasses, though you could use them,” Bruce said gently, “and, honestly, we don’t know how many of your previous conditions you have now. It’s possible something like the stomach ulcers haven’t reemerged, since technically those had the chance to heal, but a family history of diabetes…”

“Means you have to check everything,” Steve groaned. He looked to Tony, a little hopeful, “You said this should wear off?”

“It always did on Bruce’s samples,” Tony shrugged, “but he’ll have to take some from you to see what’s actually going on.”

Steve sighed again and mentally prepared himself to be a lab rat.

Nat brought him some of her clothes. She didn’t even flinch at his withering glare.

“Hey, I could’ve brought you heels,” she told him, handing him the clothing with a pair of bright yellow Vans sitting on top.

“I admire your restraint,” Steve said drily. He hid behind some machinery to change, even though he could practically feel Natasha rolling her eyes at him.

He couldn’t help but laugh when he unfolded the shirt. It was black with glittering gold text over a white whale. ‘Don’t be a dick,’ it said.

“You tryin’ to tell me somethin’?” he joked, tugging on the skinny jeans.

“Would I do that?” she grinned. “I’ve got places to be, see you later.”

Just like that, she left. Steve couldn’t help but appreciate that she didn’t treat him any differently. Bruce handled him like glass—guilt and self-loathing coloring his features. Tony had disappeared to talk to Pepper about “necessary acquisitions,” whatever he meant by that, so past the new and deeply annoying nicknames, Steve wasn’t sure what he thought of the situation.

Hell, Steve wasn’t sure what he thought of the situation.

The inhaler would make things suck less, he supposed, and the pills would keep his anemia under control, so no pureed liver (always a plus). He was still on the fence about the glasses, but Bruce said they’d help keep the headaches at bay, so Steve could adjust. Tony had been making noises about a hearing aid, though, and that was an advancement Steve was sure he could get behind.

Funny to think he’d finally gotten mostly used to the whole new body and the being tall and healthy thing.

Steve zipped up the grey striped hoodie as he said goodbye to Bruce, who waved at him, words muffled as he spoke into his microscope.

Steve walked in the direction of the elevator, past the many restricted access labs on the top floor of R&D. Maybe he’d get some reading done, since he obviously wouldn’t be going on next week’s mission. Maria might let him shadow her running point, though.

His reverie was interrupted by a gorgeous brunette emerging from one of the labs. Her full figure was obscured by an army-green cardigan, but her jeans stuck to her shapely legs like they’d been painted on. Her eyes were glued to her phone, so Steve could only see her delicately pointed profile, but he was already entranced.

She must have sensed him staring (when had he stopped walking?), because she looked up at him.

A predatory grin crossed her features as she said, “Hey there, gorgeous. You going my way?”

Steve blinked at her in confusion. This never happened before the serum. If she wasn’t making direct eye contact with him, he would have looked to see who she was talking to.

It took him a breath too long to remember to respond. “I’m heading to the elevator.”

“What a coincidence,” she beamed, “so am I.”

Steve returned her smile shyly, falling into step with her. Her heeled boots made her taller than him, but she apparently had no problem with that.

“I’m Darcy,” she introduced herself.

“Steve,” he replied, a little more confident. He couldn’t channel Bucky’s charm—and he’d long since stopped trying—but Darcy seemed interested in him, so that had to count for something. “Do you work here?”

“Yup,” she popped the ‘p,’ “I’m not a science person, but I make a great lackey-slash-life-coach. You’d be amazed how geniuses fail at everything other than their work.”

“Oh, I have some idea,” Steve smirked. “Every genius I’ve ever met has been a complete moron.”

“Amen to that,” Darcy said as they arrived at the elevator. She pressed the down button and asked, “Hey, do you want to grab lunch together? The sixty-fifth floor has this café with some pretty ballin’ lasagna.”

Steve wanted to be smooth, but instead he just said, “Yeah, I-I could eat.”

“They have vegetarian and vegan options too, if you’re into that sort of thing,” she told him reassuringly. He must have made a face, because she laughed. “Never mind, then.”

“There’s nothing wrong with not eating meat,” Steve said bashfully, “I just…do.”

“Yeah, I’ve thought about going vegan for the superpowers, but I like cheese too much,” she said conspiratorially.

“Being vegan gives you superpowers?” Steve asked, deeply confused. Someone probably should have mentioned that to him.

“Scott Pilgrim vs. the World?” she tried.

“Oh, it’s a reference,” Steve shifted his weight nervously, “Sorry, I don’t, um, I’m not very internet-savvy. Should I look it up?”

“The movie’s a decent adaptation, but I prefer the comics,” she shrugged, barely batting an eye at his admission. “Whatever floats your boat.”

“I’ll add it to my list,” Steve said, pulling out his ever present notebook. When he noticed Darcy’s surprise, he blushed. “I don’t get out much.”

“I’m more surprised you have a literal list. If you need recommendations, I’m happy to help,” she told him, recovering smoothly as the elevator arrived, letting a few people off. “I’m kind of a pop culture junky.”

They boarded, and Steve reached over to hit the floor button. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

Darcy quizzed him about his media preferences all the way to the café. He liked most media, but genre and topic tended to be what gave him pause. War and gore were right out, though he wasn’t inherently averse to violence. Things that made him righteously indignant could be added to that category, as well (Nat had caught him up on civil rights in the US…that had been infuriating), mostly because Darcy thought media should be ‘entertaining, not enraging.’ Steve enjoyed being challenged and learning new things, though he admitted to being a sucker for a happy ending.

By the time they’d sat down—each having paid for their own food, as much as his chauvinist instinct balked—Darcy had rattled off a list of artists, films, TV shows, books, comics, and podcasts to check out, ordered by cultural relevance (i.e, likelihood of being referenced at any given time).

“And seriously, if anyone gives you shit for watching Steven Universe, send them my way,” she said, gesturing with her fork. “I’ll reeducate them.”

Steve chuckled, “Yes, ma’am.”

“So polite,” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows at him. “Anyway, I feel like I’ve forgotten something…”

“You’ve more than tripled my list,” Steve pointed out, taking a bite of his too-large sandwich. He’d forgotten to account for the lack of appetite.

“Ehhh,” she waved her hand, “It was paltry, especially assuming you actually didn’t know the difference between Star Wars and Star Trek.”

“I was told, even if I hadn’t gotten around to either of them,” Steve protested. “And I know I should either not watch the prequels or I watch four, five, one, two, three, six.”

“Don’t subject yourself to Jar Jar Binks if you don’t have to,” Darcy told him seriously.

“But I want to get people’s references,” Steve pointed out.

“Ask me, then,” she said. She took his list and wrote her number at the top of it. “I’ll let you know if you should experience it for yourself or are better off with an explanation.”

“Th-thanks,” Steve stuttered, making Darcy grin.

“I know,” she said, “I’m smooth as hell.”

They talked until Darcy’s lunch break was over—she lost track of time, so she ran off quickly. Steve was just glad he could use getting a to-go box as a way to avoid why he was heading back to the upper floors. It was best if no one knew Steve was back to normal; even if he highly doubted Darcy would connect him with the Avengers, he couldn’t be too careful.

And if it kept him from having the weirdness that was his life get in the way of a gorgeous woman flirting with him, well, Steve was just going to chalk that up as a bonus.

Being friends with Tony meant Steve had an excuse to text Darcy the very next day.

Hi, it’s Steve from yesterday. I would have called, but I figured you’d be working. Anyway, do I want to know what “heroin chic” means?

Darcy got back to him quickly.

Good call. heroin chic is a fashion trend you fall right into. think skinny, androgynous, & a little rage against the machine-y

She quickly added:

rage against the machine = awesome rock band

Steve thanked her, then looked at his phone, sighed, and pulled out his ever-expanding list. Suddenly, an idea came to him.

“J.A.R.V.I.S?” he called hesitantly.

“Yes, Captain Rogers?” the A.I. replied immediately.

“Do you think you could help me out with this list? I’m honestly not sure where to go to get half of this stuff…” He eyed the podcasts in particular.

“Of course, Captain,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said, “what are your feelings on e-readers?”

“I’d rather just have a regular book.”

“Very well,” J.A.R.V.I.S. intoned, “I’m uploading a playlist to your phone based on the musical recommendations on your list. Your Netflix queue has been duly updated, and I’ve ordered copies of 1984, Game of Thrones, and Sandman.”

Steve blinked, a little overwhelmed at the A.I’s expedience. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure, Captain.”

Steve could have sworn J.A.R.V.I.S. sounded smug.

Over the next few days, Steve texted Darcy about his progress.

So I’ve been listening to Queen. Why has no one told me about Freddie Mercury before now?

Bc ppl forget important stuff til Bohemian Rhapsody comes on and ur the only 1 not singin along

How could you do this to me?

Lol what did u watch?

Brokeback Mountain

Errbody gotta watch the gay cowboy movie dude

Plus, I had to break the kill ur gays trope early

Why is that a thing?! That shouldn’t be a thing!

So did u read it?

I read it.

what did u think?

Can we talk about it over lunch, maybe?

Sho thang, when?

I’ll be at the Tower again tomorrow?

Awesome possum.

Was that a reference?

“So you went on a second date,” Natasha said without preamble, dropping onto the sofa next to Steve. He’d been sketching in the common room, unable to sleep.

Steve resolutely continued sketching Sandman’s helmet. “Not a date.”

“You went to lunch again,” she pointed out.

“We talked about Watchmen the whole time,” Steve half-corrected her, debating how much artistic license he felt like taking with the design.

“Just because you’re nerds doesn’t mean it wasn’t a date.”

“I think the correct term is geek.” He glared at the structure of the vertebrae. It was just a little too fluid…

“Semantics,” Nat interrupted his musing mercilessly.

Steve sighed and looked up at her, stilling his hand. “What are you after, Nat?”

“She called you gorgeous.” There it was.

“How do you even—never mind. I don’t want to know.” Steve ran a hand through his hair in frustration, making it stick out at odd angles.

Nat gave him one of her patented ‘I’ll say it slow for you’ looks, and said gently, “You don’t normally look like this, Steve.”

Steve laughed so hard he thought he might be sick. “Nat, I’ve always looked like this. This is who I am. I’m a skinny kid from Brooklyn with a chip on my shoulder the size of a borough.”

“But you’re also the guy who jumps out of airplanes without a parachute,” she reminded him and leaned to nudge him with her shoulder

“I’m never living that one down, am I?” Steve chuckled, shaking his head.

“No. The point is, Steve, this is going to wear off. What are you going to do when it does?” Her eyes were sometimes uncomfortably perceptive.

Steve shrugged, “I’ll jump out of that plane when I’m in it.”

Chapter Text

Add Rent to ur list.

Done. What is it?

Feelings, Steverino. feelings

Dammit Darcy we talked about this

You left your jacket.

crap can u bring it to me? Jane’s monologuing

Of course.

U da best

Why do I need to know where my towel is?

Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, the books or radio drama

cant believe I forgot to put that on ur list

The day of the Argentina mission arrived. Steve had finally convinced Bruce to go in as back-up, having developed a repertoire with most of the team enough to not purposely hurt them in a fight. The come-down method Bruce had worked out with Clint would be…field tested, if necessary. But first, there was the matter of gear. Tony had made Clint some new trick arrows, and as for Steve, well, Tony looked entirely too chipper when handing over Steve’s new glasses and hearing aid.

“Tony, what are you up to?” Steve asked, squinting at him.

“Nothing,” Tony said like the lying liar he was. “You get new gear before the mission just like everybody else.”

“I’ll show you how his fancyass hearing aids work,” Clint volunteered.

“Thanks,” Steve said gratefully. He opened the glasses case. A pair of wire rimmed spectacles stared up at him. “These are old man glasses, aren’t they?”

“That or hipster,” Clint agreed, peering over his shoulder.

Tony beamed.

“You’re hysterical,” Steve said, pulling them out and putting them on. “Wow, that’s better.”

“Welcome back to the land of twenty-twenty vision,” Clint said as Tony groaned.

“How do you manage to make spectacles look good?” Tony grumped. “They are supposed to be ironic.”

“I live to troll you, Tony.” Steve’s voice was as dry as the Sahara.

“Who taught you to use such foul language?” Tony said like a scandalized old Southern lady, pearl clutching and all.

Clint just grinned and raised his hand. Steve rolled his eyes.

The hearing aid was tricked out to high hell. It was J.A.R.V.I.S.-enabled and had more settings than Steve could keep track of, including a comm function and a stealth mode that allowed the wearer to kill potential location betraying sound without actually turning the device off.

Apparently the most common use of stealth mode was during briefings when Clint was only pretending to pay attention, as Steve observed the moment Maria started talking.

Clint caught his eye and responded to Steve’s disapproval with a wink.

“Coming up on the drop zone.” Tony’s voice crackled over the comms. “I’m suiting up and putting the J-man in charge.”

“Copy that,” Maria responded. She was in front of a wall of screens, information coordinated by J.A.R.V.I.S. arranged around a GPS map of the Quinjet’s location—five miles southeast of a tiny municipality called Gan Gan in the central Argentine desert. 

Steve stood off to one side, itching to help but unable to do anything particularly useful. Running point might be something he could do, but he’d always prefer to be in the field. Shadowing Maria was downright vexing. He wasn’t able to be useful, and it was driving him up a fucking wall.

Onscreen, the team’s various bodycams turned on—Tony’s was in his helmet, but the rest had unobtrusive additions to their outfits, like Natasha’s belt buckle. Thor’s cape pin shorted out almost immediately.

“Thor’s blind again,” Steve pointed out. As Tony swore, Maria smirked and made a quieting gesture at Steve. Technically shadows weren’t supposed to talk.

“Better luck next time, hotshot,” she said to the muttering engineer, “no science chatter on comms.”

“Fear not, Lady Hill,” Thor’s smile could be heard in his voice, “I will report my actions to the best of my ability.”

From Clint’s pin, Steve saw Nat snort and hip check Thor. She said something that made him laugh as they finished gearing up.

“Drop zone entered,” J.A.R.V.I.S. intoned, “Thor and Iron Man should exit within the next thirty seconds.”

Onscreen, the bay could be seen opening from multiple angles. Thor and Tony flew out and ahead of the jet. Their job was to secure the skies so that Nat and Clint could parachute in without being riddled with bullets. The Quinjet might be invisible, but they weren’t.

“All’s quiet on the western front,” Tony said, scanning the base.

“We’re heading East, Man of Iron,” Thor corrected, his comm crackling angrily. It never did last past the first lightning strike, much to Tony’s chagrin.

“Whatever, problem child, we still haven’t got any signs of life,” Tony shot back. “Lights are on, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”

“Land and sweep the area,” Hill instructed, watching Iron Man’s feed like a hawk.

The base was the only bump on the flat landscape. As they approached, though, something seemed off.

“Is that a plane?” Steve asked, just as Thor reported, “There appears to be a craft of some sort lodged in the Southern side of the building.”

As the duo approached, it became evident that there was no movement on the ground. The jet that had crash landed directly into the building wasn’t even smoking. On the rooftops and the ground around the base, bodies came into focus.

“Someone got here first,” Tony said grimly. He and Thor landed near one of the dead furthest from the building. She was Hydra, possibly killed while on patrol. Her tongue stuck out, and she had a bullet hole directly between her eyes. She was bloated and blistered. Steve sighed, disgusted but relieved she hadn’t suffered.

“This body has been here some time.” Thor’s voice was steady. Steve got the feeling he, too, had seen worse over the course of his life.

“I’d put time of death at eight to ten days ago,” added Steve.

“Good to know we don’t have a leak,” Natasha pointed out. “We only found this place last week.”

“Widow, Hawkeye, I want you to drop in and see if any of the computers are still intact,” Maria ordered. “Thor, Iron Man, sweep the building. See if we can find out who did this. Hulk, Q, hold your position.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bruce affirmed. J.A.R.V.I.S. simply kept course.

“I need better air filtration,” Tony said weakly as he and Thor walked toward the base. Steve didn’t doubt the stench of death was only getting worse in the desert sun.

As they passed more and more deteriorating bodies, each with only one or two bullets in them, Steve said quietly to Maria, “This was brutal, but…”

“Efficient,” she confirmed. “Whoever this was, they were on a mission.”

Clint and Natasha landed. Clint’s face was tinged green, but he kept a lid on it. In his feed, Natasha was much better at hiding her queasiness behind a businesslike veneer. Steve supposed they weren’t used to rotting bodies the way they were fresh ones. He wished he wasn’t either.

Suddenly, a body nearby burst open on Tony’s feed, splattering the camera. Clint and Nat turned, startled. As Tony wiped away the gore, Clint said, “So you all are aware, Iron Man shrieked like a little girl just now.”

“It exploded,” mumbled Tony defensively. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

“I, too, was startled,” Thor reassured him.

Not a single Hydra operative had survived whatever hit the base. Further in, the bodies showed signs of blunt force trauma and burns for a short area before they again sported gunshot wounds. The assailants had run out of their own bullets and had to borrow some, apparently.

“Besides any lost in the crash, the computers are fine,” Natasha reported. “Downloading files now.”

 “The usual bolt bags are all missing,” Clint added. “I’ve been checking the Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. standard spots—haven’t found one yet.”

“Good work, Hawkeye,” said Maria. She and Steve shared a quizzical look. What would be the point of only taking the operatives’ emergency stashes?

“Got a vault,” Tony chimed in. His feed showed the torn open remains of a large safe. “No money, but the documents and experimental weapons are still here.”

“This might be illuminating,” Thor said. The camera panned to reveal him holding up the remains of the vault door. There were vaguely fist-shaped indents around the bolting mechanism. Tony whistled, impressed.

“I know a few people who can do that,” Hill muttered. Steve nodded, a little paler than usual.

“So what’re we gonna do about all the bodies?” Clint asked. “Once we’re done looting them, obviously.”

“They are foes,” Thor said, mildly confused. “What more would you do with them?”

“I mean, if you have a chance to bury them, that’s nice to do. If not and it’s cold enough, you let them freeze solid and use them as coffee tables,” answered Steve automatically. It was a dark but joking reference that would have lightened the mood with the Howlies.

Of course, the Avengers weren’t the Howlies.

For a moment, no one said anything, but Tony broke the silence. “Your generation was completely fucked.”

“It made sense at the time,” Steve tried, regretting his slip. Talking about the war rarely set anyone at ease. “There was no furniture. And I haven’t actually thought about it since then. It sounds a lot worse than it was in context.”

“Just keep digging that hole, Cap,” Maria smirked at him.

“I see,” Thor said thoughtfully. “Funerary rites for the fallen enemy. This is a noble pursuit.”

“Something like that,” Natasha replied. “Files copied. I vote we burn the bodies and the facility in one go. It’ll send up smoke, but leaving all this out in the open seems like a recipe for disaster.”

“If we use jet fuel as an accelerant, it’ll get hot enough to destroy most of it,” said Tony. He must’ve been really bothered—his usual chatter was all but absent. Steve wondered if it would be worth it to try to talk to him about it.

“And it’ll counteract whatever weird tundra juju Cap just invoked,” Clint quipped.

“I want any staff-powered weapons out of there before we light it up,” Maria ordered. “We don’t want something like that going off and surprising us.”

“Scanning for energy signatures,” J.A.R.V.I.S. announced, and the team got to work. Thor and Natasha collected the bodies that weren’t already in the building while Clint and Tony combed the base for anything useful or dangerous.

Steve put his hearing aid in stealth mode.

Chapter Text

“Nice glasses,” Darcy said appreciatively. Steve blushed.

“Thanks,” he replied bashfully.

They were at lunch again, this time at a bistro not far from the tower. Despite her usual flirtations, Darcy was a bit…dimmer than her usual bright, sharp self. The turn of her mouth wasn’t so much a secretive smirk as a self-deprecating grimace. Steve waited for her to share, but when it was clear Darcy would rather talk about the weather than her problems, Steve sighed and pried.

“What’s going on?”

Darcy blinked at him, purposely oblivious. “What? Nothing? Why would you say that?”

Steve just raised an eyebrow and waited. It didn’t take long for Darcy to crack.

“I realized something really depressing,” she admitted, biting her lip and staring into her coffee. She took a breath before continuing. “So S.I. has J.A.R.V.I.S, who seems to folks who don’t pay attention like just a really sophisticated interface, but I’m pretty sure he’d pass a Turing test…anyway, he’s been helping me get Jane acclimated to working at the tower. Managing workload, assisting me assisting her, that sort of thing, and I’ve been teaching him how to decipher Jane’s notes, because at first it was something only I could do, but he offered to help and I was really busy at the time because hiring Actual Science Minions was happening. He’d try his best, I’d correct it, he’d get better.” She shrugged, uncomfortable. “Today I realized it’s been two weeks since he’s made a single mistake.”

“And that’s a problem?” Steve prompted.

“Not by itself, but,” she flailed an arm weakly, searching for words, “he’s on top of regulating Jane’s food intake—he knows my methods by now, so all I have to do is prompt him and then physically coax her into actually doing the thing—he’s got making her go home at reasonable times without interrupting a breakthrough down to an art, he takes dictation, he keeps the files in order; Steve, sometimes I wonder if he doesn’t steal an Iron Man suit to clean her desk behind my back.”

Steve let out a huff of laughter at that, making Darcy crack a small smile.

“I know, but I swear I only have to search it for food detritus twice a week now.” She fell back into chair. “It’s like…the only reason I’m still there is Jane doesn’t like change. Like I’m going to end up reaching the end of Candy Crush before I have something only I can do again.”

She felt obsolete. Damn if Steve couldn’t empathize with that.

“I get that,” he started, gathering his thoughts. How honest did he want to be? Darcy levelled a skeptical look at him. “No, really, I do. Growin’ up, I had this friend. He was the best friend a guy could ask for, an’ it was just me an’ him. But then, well…”

“Puberty hit?” Darcy suggested wryly.

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled, a little bitter, “an’ he started goin’ on dates. A lot of them. Real ladies’ man. At first, it felt like more of the same, just sharin’ his time with girlfriends instead of sisters. But time went on, an’ it started to feel like I was just…in the way.”

“What’s the deal with your friend Steve?” Darcy sang off-key, smiling sympathetically. Steve just raised his eyebrows at her, unimpressed, and she waved him off, “I’ll explain later. Go on.”

So he did. “I couldn’t blame him,” he gestured at himself, “wasn’t like he tried to leave me out. Kept settin’ up double dates, and I kept goin’ on them, but it just wasn’t the same. Plus, none of the dames were particularly interested in me. Hard to be when—well, let’s just say my health kept gettin’ in the way.”

Darcy made a noise of sympathy. For a moment, Steve wondered what had happened to the American eugenics movement since he’d been in the ice.

“Anyway, the whole time it just felt like…this would be the dame he’d end up with, and I’d really be on my own. What did he need me for?” Steve shrugged, then grinned, “Course if I ever started talkin’ like that, he’d show me what for. Seemed to see somethin’ in me he liked, can’t imagine what.”

That startled a laugh from Darcy, who nodded along, “Naturally.”

“So maybe talk to Jane about how you’re feeling. Hell, ask J.A.R.V.I.S. if there’s something that needs to be done, sounds like he’d know if there was a lack.” Steve sipped his coffee.

Darcy peered at him, then seemed to come to a decision. “When you’re right, you’re right.”

“Let me know how it goes,” Steve said.

“Obviously,” she nodded. After a moment, she asked, “What ever happened with you and your guy?”

“Um…” Steve avoided her eyes, “he went to war and…never came home.”

Darcy made apologetic noises and changed the subject by pulling up a YouTube video that made Steve laugh so hard he cried. He was pretty sure it was a direct transcription of conversations Buck had been forced to have by every single one of the dolls he’d ever gone out with.

Why do you insist on making me cry

Aw come on! that had a happy ending!

She can’t talk to Gigi anymore Darcy

Hit too close to home, huh artist boy

I s2g ur gonna like it

I don’t trust your movie recommendations anymore.

Dude its not like I told u to watch The Fox & the Hound clam tf down and watch Lilo & Stitch

Is that a reference?

Stfu u kno it was a typo

Guess who completed her Doctor Who collection

Congratulations!

want to join me for a marathon?

Can’t do the whole thing obvs, but I can make a highlight reel

Yeah, that sounds like fun! When and where?

My place, Saturday at noon? I’ll text u my address l8r.

Sounds good.

Darcy answered the door wearing a set of Batman themed pajamas, which made Steve feel slightly better about the Iron Man sweatpants he’d worn. They were the only sweats Steve had, and Darcy had said to dress comfy, but Steve still waffled about it since he’d had to take the subway from Midtown to Harlem.

Darcy seemed to find it funny.

“Yes, excellent,” she said as he came inside, handing her the Doritos he’d brought. “Our superheroes match.”

Steve snorted, taking off his favorite (now too big) leather bomber jacket. The apartment was a one-room—kitchen area to one side of the door, bathroom to the right, creating a hallway that led into the small but cozy living area. The blindingly plaid couch sat across from a shelf that housed a television and a huge collection of DVDs. Between the shelf and couch was a battered wooden coffee table. On the couch’s far side, the bed was bordered by bookshelves packed to bursting with books of all shapes and sizes. Every flat surface was cluttered with knick-knacks and tchotchkes.

“Toss your boyfriend’s jacket wherever, I obviously don’t have a coatrack,” Darcy told him, walking over to the coffee table to grab a DVD from the shelf.

“It’s not—I don’t have—this is my jacket,” Steve stammered, blushing crimson and laying his jacket on the arm of the couch.

“Ah, a comfort purchase,” Darcy nodded knowingly, “Anyway, I decided to go with a quintessential story or bottle episode for each Doctor, but we’ll still probably have to split this bad boy up if you’re not down for an all-nighter.”

“Bottle episode?” Steve asked as he sat down on the surprisingly comfortable couch.

“Self-contained, not too many references to the rest of the series,” Darcy said. She opened the DVD and popped it into her laptop, which sat on the floor near the television, as she spoke, “Most of those are later. Classic Who was a thirty-minute deal, so the stories got split up and took longer because of recaps. Weekly airing and no way to watch missed episodes ended up stretching the run time for some stories and kept the through-lines pretty bare bones.” She flopped down next to Steve as the theme song started.

“Makes sense. I’d be fine with an all-nighter, but I didn’t bring a change of clothes.” He wished he’d thought to, but even if he had he would probably have talked himself out of it as being too forward.

“No worries, you can walk of shame or borrow some of mine if you really want,” Darcy assured him. He would have responded, but the episode started and Darcy shushed him.

He wasn’t sure why he’d been shushed when, not even five minutes in, she started commentating and talking to the characters. Soon enough, he joined in on the one-sided dialogue, razzing the Doctor and his companions and chatting with Darcy about sci-fi trivia. They paused to heat up chili Darcy had made the day before (“It’s always better the second day,” she insisted) between “Inferno” and “City of Death,” then got right back into it. Steve wasn’t actually sure when they started cuddling, but eventually he must have leaned one way and Darcy must have followed, using him as a backrest. At any rate, somehow, some way, Steve had an arm around her shoulders and his back against the armrest while Darcy leaned against him. Their legs were tangled together.

Steve turned bright red.

He needed to pay attention to the show. Or really, anything other than the fact that he was snuggled up with a beautiful brunette. Baseball statistics, maybe. His Catholic grandmother. Okay, that was helping some…

“Steve?” Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Her smile was mischievous. “You doing okay there, buddy?”

Steve covered his face with the hand that wasn’t resting across the back of the couch. “I’m so sorry.”

Darcy’s laugh was low, almost a purr. “It happens.”

“It really doesn’t—not…not often,” Steve stammered, not wanting to look at her as she turned around. “I can just—go—”

“You know, if this doesn’t happen often,” Darcy mused, making Steve peek out at her from between his fingers, “seems a shame to pass up the opportunity.”

Steve was sure he’d reached a shade of red about as vibrant as Darcy’s favorite lipstick.

“That’s not—you don’t have to—” This never happened before he was big. Sure, after, but before? Never.

“I want to,” she assured him. “If you don’t, we don’t have to, but don’t hit the brakes on my account.”

“I just…” if he could blush harder, Steve was sure he did, “we’re really good friends and you’re gorgeous and I’d love to but I don’t want—I mean I do want but I don’t—”

Onscreen, the Doctor and Romana talked with DaVinci. Neither of them noticed.

“Steve,” Darcy pulled his hand away from his face, looking directly at him, “do you know what ‘friends with benefits’ means?”

He gave her a withering look.

“I had to make sure, dude. You didn’t know what ‘bae’ meant.”

“That is not as self-explanatory as everybody thinks it is,” Steve pointed out. Darcy didn’t seem convinced. Instead, she turned over and straddled him.

“Look, dating isn’t in the cards for me at the mo’, but sex with a friend? That I can handle. Can you?”

He couldn’t breathe, but he nodded almost involuntarily.

When she kissed him, it was electric. His hands went to her waist instinctively, and hers went to his hair, pulling him to her. Their glasses clanked together angrily, but he took his off without a thought. Her prescription was stronger, after all.

He wasn’t a poet, but he could recite blasphemies to her tongue and lips as eloquently as any orator.

“Bed?” she smiled devilishly, “it’s not far.”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve agreed, breathless. They scrambled over to the bed, Darcy shedding her top as she went. Steve couldn’t help but let out a small sound of appreciation, which earned him a wink and a tug at his own shirt.

“Off with your clothes,” she commanded imperiously as she sat at the edge of her bed.

“Yes, your majesty,” Steve laughed, quickly moving to obey. He might not be the best soldier, but he could damn well follow this order. And if he went a little slowly untying his sweatpants and pulling them off, well, Darcy seemed to enjoy the show.

Wrapping an arm around his waist and grabbing his ass, she pulled him to stand between her spread legs. He leaned down to kiss her, tangling his fingers in her gorgeous curls. He couldn’t say he particularly minded being manhandled, and if her moans were anything to go by, Darcy felt the same about having her hair pulled. She wrapped a leg around his waist, tugging him down onto the bed and rolling on top of him in one fluid movement.

“Impressive,” he gasped roughly as she kissed her way down his throat and he ran his hands down her sides.

“Two years of wrestling in high school,” she grinned and nipped the shell of his ear, “think it paid off?”

Steve groaned in response as her hands drifted down to ghost over his erection. Her mouth followed their trail, gently kissing and licking her way over his abdomen (that’s why women liked having their nipples played with, Jesus fuck) and on to his hipbone. Steve’s breath hitched when Darcy’s mouth reached its destination. She looked like sin and salvation in one with her lips wrapped around him.

He never thought he was one much for being loud, but Darcy seemed intent on teasing out every last decibel he had in him.

He hadn’t come, but he could still taste himself on her when she moved up to kiss him.

Steve hooked his fingers under the hem of her pants and said, “You’re overdressed.”

“True,” she panted, grinning widely, “what’re you gonna do about it?”

He smirked, “Challenge accepted.”

Her giggle was interrupted by a long, low groan when Steve slipped his fingers under her panties and between her slick folds. Darcy dropped onto her forearms, her head falling to his shoulder as he coaxed shivers and moans from her lips. It wasn’t a great angle for getting inside her, and soon enough she shimmed out of the restricting garments.

Steve was pretty sure the image of Darcy sitting up and grinding onto his fingers was one of the hottest things he’d ever seen.

She pulled his wrist away from her core, pinning it next to his head and breathing.

“Don’t want to end the fun just yet,” she said.

Steve rolled his hips impishly. “I can do this all day.”

“So tempting,” Darcy purred, leaning down to kiss him as she pulled a condom from the shelf above their heads. Steve swore when she rolled it on him with her mouth.

She guided him inside, and he let out a litany of oaths—to her body, her mouth, her fucking gorgeous tits.

It didn’t take long for her to bring Steve’s orgasm crashing down around him, overwhelming and loud. She wrung every ounce of energy from his body, leaving him a puddle of exhausted contentment as she flopped down next to him.

The moment he caught his breath, he rolled on top of her.

“Again?” Darcy teased.

“Haven’t finished with you yet,” Steve replied, kissing her.

As he moved lower, she protested weakly, “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, kissing her neck.

He could hear the smile in her response. “I see what you did there.”

“You’re not the only clever one here,” he said primly before licking a trail down her chest.

Eating a dame out always felt a little like taking communion to Steve. It was a rite of devotion and service, holy by its very nature. Pleasure and gratification (and maybe the euphoria of mild asphyxiation) blended in a sacrament of taste and texture, sound and sensation. It was messy and chaotic, but somehow fulfilling. Even more than his own orgasm, making another person come was divine in a way no ritual could replicate. Creating ecstasy in a world awash with torment.

It was possible, Steve supposed as Darcy shivered through her final aftershocks, he existed in a perpetual state of heresy and blaspheming no amount of confession could absolve him of. There was always his mother’s religion, of course, but getting properly circumcised at this point in his life might prove difficult.

“You think too loud,” Darcy told him, dragging him down for a lazy kiss.

In the background, the Doctor Who theme played on a menu loop.

Steve woke at oh-six-hundred, as per usual. Darcy was curled around him, warm and soft. For a while, he just lay there, enjoying being in someone’s arms again. The last time he'd woken up next to someone had been the day before Buck had shipped out. Steve couldn’t help but miss the ease of intimacy that came with sharing a bed.

Not that he and Buck had been together, or even stepping out like he and Darcy were—beds were expensive, and back then Steve probably would have frozen in the winter, the little apartment had been so drafty. Besides, Bucky always swore he slept better with Steve there—Buck always was a cuddly sleeper. Steve wondered if that was still true.

He needed to get up and move around. Maybe he could make breakfast without waking Darcy.

As it turned out, she slept like the dead, and Steve was able to trip over his own feet and knock into the coffee table, disturbing the stack of DVDs without her so much as stirring. He swore silently at the impressive bruises he could feel forming on his shins while pulling on his ridiculous Iron Man sweatpants.

Fortunately, Darcy seemed to stock actual food, as opposed to the ready-made junk Steve tended to favor, so he was able to throw together some scrambled eggs (that were supposed to be omelets, but whatever, flipping eggs was hard) without too much trouble.

Food smells were apparently a good way to wake Darcy, because she rolled over to watch Steve put the mess of egg, cheese, and veggies in bowls.

“My hero,” she said as he handed her a bowl and fork.

“Always happy to help, ma’am,” he flashed a smile, slipping on his chorus girl face for a moment. Darcy nearly choked.

“Oh my god, your customer service voice is terrifying,” she told him when she’d recovered.

Steve bit down the automatic response to start quoting his war bonds spiel, and instead said, “I’ll just die if I don’t get this recipe.”

Darcy flung egg at him. He caught it in his mouth and Darcy begrudgingly applauded.

“Want to try watching ‘City of Death’ again?” she offered. He agreed, and they spent the day curled up on the couch together watching ridiculous sci-fi adventures.

Natasha knew. Steve didn’t know how, but Natasha knew.

“You have to tell her, Steve.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Steve.”

“Okay I do. But do I have to tell her right now?”

“Steve.”

“I know.”

“She’d much rather hear this from you than from…you.”

“I know.”

“I checked her out. She’s not Hydra; she’s good people. You can trust her.”

“Thanks, I think, but it’s not that I don’t trust her. I just have to find the right time.”

“Good luck with that.”

Of course, the correct moment seemed to elude him. They had gone back to meeting for lunch and texting throughout the day, and there was a vague promise of a movie night that Steve was tempted to just invite her to his apartment for. Then again, explaining his apartment was in the Tower would be…horrifically awkward. There had to be a better way.

He was conveniently distracted by Maria calling him to her office to discuss the data they’d gathered from the Argentine Hydra facility.

“So here’s what we know,” she said by way of greeting, ushering Steve in and closing the door, “Hydra’s having a damn field day experimenting with that staff. They’re mostly doing weapons—in fact, the facility we hit was only doing weapons—but there are heavily encrypted files with references to experiments with human subjects.”

“Always a good sign,” Steve sighed, leaning against her desk and crossing his arms. “Let me guess, those were also classified as experimental weapons?”

Maria nodded grimly. “Got it in one. Fortunately, we’ve got shipping manifests that give us a pretty good idea of where the staff’s been and might be going. We’re going to start hitting those this week.”

“I’ll be on strategy again,” Steve said more than asked, but Maria confirmed anyway.

“You’re good at it, Cap, for all you can’t keep the chatter down.” Steve laughed at her teasing grin, and she continued. “Anyway, we’re starting with another South American base—Peru, this time—then we’re heading to Europe for Poland, Switzerland, and Sokovia, in that order. If we get intel that points us in a different direction, we’ll take it.”

“But until then, we’ll just make our way down the list,” Steve nodded. “We got blueprints?”

“Hydra’s been so very helpful in that regard,” Maria demurred, smiling like a shark.

“Here’s hoping we find that damn thing before it does more harm,” he said.

“I’d drink to that, but it’s before noon,” she snorted. “Oh, and I almost forgot,” that was a total and unabashed lie, “we found a log for that vault—the one that was smashed into?” She watched Steve carefully as she spoke. He met her gaze levelly. “It’s strange, there were only a few things missing: the money, about as much ammo as could possibly be stuffed into a standard tacsuit, and a single cartridge for the staff-powered Tasers they were working on.”

“Maybe they thought they’d have a fight on the way out,” Steve said mildly. He knew what Maria was getting at, but he didn’t actually have anything useful. Even if he did, he’d rather she just ask.

“Possible,” she admitted. “They also might have been working for someone.”

“The loot as pay and the cartridge as product?” He considered it. Didn’t fit Bucky’s current laying-low M.O, but it made sense for a mercenary in general. “I can see it. Do we know of any powered folks who could do that?”

“One for sure, but she works in New York as a P.I. and doesn’t do big hits,” Maria shrugged. “Could be tech, though.”

“Heard Rumlow got his hands on something like that,” Steve pointed out.

Maria raised an eyebrow. “I’ll look into it.”

“Cool,” Steve said, straightening up as best he could. “Keep me posted.”

Maria just shook her head as he walked out.

As soon as he was in his apartment, Steve pulled out his phone and made a call.

Sam answered on the second ring. “What’s up?”

“Last we knew, Buck was in Lithuania, right?”

“’Bout two months back or so, yeah,” Sam said, confused. “No hits since then, according to Big Brother.”

“I’m about ninety percent sure he was in Argentina three weeks ago,” Steve sighed and headed to the kitchen. He needed something to do with his hands.

“How?”

“He held up a Hydra base. Took cash and weapons.” A quick survey of the fridge made it clear a sandwich was the best way to go. He made a note to go shopping soon.

Sam chuckled. “A regular stick-up, huh?”

“That’s my guess,” Steve admitted as he pulled ingredients.

“What I don’t get is why we haven’t clocked him at a border.” The furrowed crease between Sam’s eyebrows was audible.

“He can hop trains,” Steve offered, “at least he used to be able to.”

“Don’t see why he couldn’t still,” Sam replied, “but still, trains get checked.”

They thought for a moment, and Steve took a bite of his sandwich.

“Do you think he got a haircut?” Sam mused. “That can fuck with facial recognition sometimes.”

“Really?” Steve asked.

“Sure,” Sam replied, “changes the shape of the face. Coding that crap his hard, right J?”

“Indeed,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied, through the phone. “I, personally, am programmed to rely more on sonic recognition, though that may be more to do with my primary function as an interface and original programming as a speech recognition software.”

“Huh,” Steve said, still a little unnerved by J.A.R.V.I.S.’s omnipresence, “well damn, maybe he did.”

J’s got me goin thru shitty scans bc he cant read them

See? Knew he’d find something.

If ur gonna go all I told u so, I’m gonna make u watch Big Fish

Guess we know what we’re watching Saturday

What does tap that mean?

Come over and I’ll show you.

What sort of bar scene r u down w? I want 2 go out

I’m okay with a dance floor, but if it looks like a rave, I’m out.

Awesom meet me at mine at 9-10ish?

Look dapper btw it’s a classy joint

Steve stared at the text. Once upon a time, he might have known what dapper meant, but now? He was going to need help.

“Why are you asking me?” Clint asked, perplexed and blinking up at Steve from his spot on the communal couch.

To be completely honest, Steve hadn’t had this problem since 1942, and his first thought had been to ask Bucky. Steve ticked off his options on his fingers. “Bruce is about as useful as I am, Thor would put me in a cape, Tony is right out—and asking J.A.R.V.I.S. would essentially be asking Tony—and Natasha would put me in Vans. I don’t know much about fashion, but I know Vans aren’t dapper.”

Clint snorted, “True. Let me call Phil, though. Do you know the name of the place?”

“Not a clue,” Steve replied as Clint asked J.A.R.V.I.S. to pull up a video call on the television, muting the Dog Cops marathon he’d been watching. Coulson appeared, sitting at his desk and looking for all the world like he was just another office worker.

“Hi, Clint, Steve,” he said, smiling slightly, “what can I do for you?”

“Steve and I are fashion disasters, and he has to dress ‘dapper,’” Clint used air quotes, “to go out with a lady friend, so we need help.”

“You’ll need to go shopping,” Phil said automatically.

“But—” Clint started, but he was quickly cut off.

“Pretend you changed your last name to Kelly and take him to the store. Tony probably didn’t even get him a button-down.”

“He didn’t,” Steve confirmed. “Are those still fashionable? They were on the way out, last I knew.”

“That was because of rationing,” Coulson shrugged.

“Plus, men’s fashion mostly hasn’t changed over the years,” Clint said. “It’s gotten more casual, but dressy looks are still the same basic shapes and cuts.”

“Now the goal is to be more form-fitting,” Coulson added. To Clint, he said, “Skinny or tapered pants, vest, button-down, and a tie. Darker blues, warm greens or emeralds, and charcoal greys would work well, and yellow would make a good accent color. There are darker colors that would work for him, but…”

“Shades make a difference, and neither of us would notice,” Clint nodded. “Thanks. We gonna get to see you anytime soon?”

“I’ll try to stop by if the shit stops hitting the fan,” Coulson smiled. “Good luck. Send pictures if you aren’t sure about something. And no jeans.”

“Roger that,” Clint grinned and disconnected the call, trying not to seem too disappointed.

“I don’t even know my measurements,” Steve sighed.

“Neck thirteen, chest thirty-two, waist twenty-four, inseam twenty-nine, shoe size seven,” J.A.R.V.I.S. rattled off.

Steve would seriously never get used to that.

He was going to tell her tonight for sure.

Really.

Steve knocked on Darcy’s door, dressed in grey trousers and a vest, a light blue button-down and a yellow tie. He felt more nervous about telling Darcy he wasn’t who she thought he was than he was about the outfit, stepping out, and the potential for dancing combined. It wasn’t that he’d lied to her much—mostly just left himself open to her interpretation—but she seemed to like him the way he was.

All of his worry vanished when she opened the door.

Burgundy was a really great color on her.

“Damn, Steve,” she said, eying him, “you clean up nice.”

“I had help,” he admitted.

She smiled, “No shame, I did the same. This place just opened like two weeks ago or something? I’ve been hearing so much about it, I got a bit carried away. Jane talked me down.”

“Carried away?” Steve asked, grinning.

“Oh no,” Darcy waved a hand at him, “only Jane is privy to my Saturday night fever.” She took him by the arm then, leading him out of the building and down the street. “Speaking of, do you dance at all?”

Steve grimaced. “Um.”

Darcy snickered, “No worries, I can backlead pretty okay. I’m not great, but I can fake a slow-dance.”

“I used to be okay at the Charleston,” Steve admitted, “but my asthma made it difficult.”

It was Darcy’s turn to grimace. “That sucks, dude.”

They talked about dancing all the way to Harlem’s Paradise. The line to get in was long, but the conversation was fun and Steve was glad he remembered his notebook. Dancing with the Stars sounded like something he could get Natasha to watch with him.

The inside of the bar made Steve itch to draw. It was gorgeously designed with a heavy art deco inspiration, and reminded him of the movie palace he and Buck would sneak into when they could. The music was smooth and reminiscent of jazz tunes Steve half-remembered.

It was also the second time in his life he’d been forcibly reminded of how extraordinarily Aryan he looked, even though this time he wasn’t big. As Darcy looked around, seemingly for someone, he asked quietly, “Are people still mad about the second world war?”

Darcy turned to look at him, flabbergasted. “What?”

“I just look very…” he blushed, trailing off.

“Oh, honey,” she giggled, “You’ll be fine. More importantly, do you want me to let people hit on you?”

Steve blinked at her. “Is that something that’s likely to happen?”

She nodded in the direction of a guy giving Steve a once over and said, “I’d say so. If nothing else, I can filter them for you.”

“Let them come,” Steve shrugged, “the power of my awkwardness tends to put off most people.”

“If you say so,” she shrugged, looking around again. After a moment, she led him to the bar and ordered something unseasonably fruity. Steve got a beer. They talked and drank, and eventually Darcy convinced Steve to join her on the dance floor, which went about as well as he expected until a lovely tall woman cut in at the beginning of a faster number. She led, he followed, and damn if that wasn’t infinitely easier on everyone’s toes.

After the dance, he thanked her and she just smiled, “Maybe next time we can tango.” Steve grinned and blushed as the woman swanned off to dance with someone else. He got another drink, and looked around to see Darcy leading a nervous looking guy in a rumpled suit onto the dance floor. Trusting her to find him if she wanted, Steve sat at the bar, ordered another beer, and watched the thrum of people.

The crowd felt lively, almost choreographed, as people milled about seemingly to the now upbeat rhythm of the music. There was a man and woman flirting over cocktails nearby, matching rings and adoring smiles. A guy struck out as a third woman turned him down, but his friends cajoled him encouragingly as he set off to try again. A woman down the bar from Steve checked her watch and flirted with the bartender. The musicians switched to a slower song, one that really highlighted the soloist’s low, velvety timbre. Steve pulled out a pencil and started sketching on a napkin.

“What’re you drawing?” a voice asked. Steve looked over to see a gorgeous woman with a large braided updo looking at his scribbles. It was the woman with the watch.

“The music,” he said stupidly, “I mean, the feelin’ of it. Actually, it’s the singer, but I’m tryin’ to capture her…” He flapped his hand.

“Presence?” the woman offered.

Steve nodded. “That’s it.”

“You’re an artist?” she asked.

“Not by trade,” he replied. “Were you waitin’ for someone?” At her surprise, he added, “I saw you checkin’ the time earlier.”

“I was supposed to meet up with a friend,” she sighed, leaning on the bar. “Gave up a while ago.”

“It happens,” Steve said, not sure what to say. “What’re you gonna do now?”

She shrugged. “Depends on if I find anyone that strikes my fancy.”

“I can help you look, if you like,” he offered. She laughed, and made a motion for him to go ahead. “Well, I don’t know if you have a type.”

“Not an asshole,” she told him easily.

“Most guys don’t look like assholes at a distance,” he said, looking out into the crowd, “you gotta get a little closer to tell.”

“Oh, I can usually spot them.” Her toothy smile told a story Steve wasn’t sure she meant to.

“Is that why that guy keeps strikin’ out?” he asked, gesturing to the guy failing to attract yet another woman.

“He could be worse,” she shrugged, “he takes a no gracefully, at least.”

Steve pointed to a guy on the dance floor, dancing slowly with a shorter woman.

“Taken,” she snorted.

Steve scanned the dance floor to see if Darcy was still with the same guy. She wasn’t, so Steve searched for him. He trusted Darcy’s judgement. The rumpled guy was standing near the wall with a drink, watching the musicians. Steve pointed him out. The woman considered him.

“He might do,” she mused, then stood up and straightened her tastefully sequined dress. “Thanks, Wingman.”

“No problem,” Steve laughed. It didn’t occur to him until after the woman had bought a drink for the rumpled guy that she might have been flirting at Steve. Instead, he flipped the napkin over and started sketching one of the guys cheering on the hopeless flirt.

About halfway through his third beer, Steve remembered he could get drunk.

“In for a penny,” he muttered, finishing his drink.

“Steve!” Darcy exclaimed, appearing on his right and startling him, “how you holding up?”

“If I try to stand, I might fall over,” he told her gleefully. “Well, maybe not yet. I think. I’m a lightweight.”

“You seem so happy about that,” she laughed. “I was actually about to ask you for a last dance, ‘cause my heels are starting to hurt and I still gotta get home.”

“I can do that,” he told her, standing only to wobble dangerously.

She snickered, “It’s definitely pumpkin time.”

They made their way back to Darcy’s, Steve stumbling and leaning into her as they traded stories about their adventures that night.

“So you do make a habit of gettin’ shy guys to dance,” Steve accused, leaning against the jamb as Darcy unlocked the door to her apartment.

“I just want everyone to have a good time!” she protested, giggling and fumbling the keys. “And according to you, he stands a good chance of getting laid tonight, so everyone wins.”

Getting undressed was a matter of teamwork, but eventually they were undressed enough to fall into bed.

“Bein’ drunk is fun,” Steve mumbled into Darcy’s shoulder. “Haven’t had fun like this since before the war.”

“Anytime you want,” she promised sleepily, petting his hair.

The next morning, he’d forgotten what he’d said, and Darcy didn’t mention it. Instead, they worked their way through modern hangover remedies and debating the merits of electro-swing. When Steve felt well enough to brave the subway, he made his way back to the Tower.

He took too long.

Steve woke up in screaming agony. He hurt everywhere. For a brief, irrational moment, he thought he was back in his apartment with Bucky, laid up with the flu again. His life probably would make more sense as a fever dream.

Fucking hell, he was hungry.

Steve stumbled out of bed, dizzy and disoriented. He was…taller…but not bigger. Nope, no, he needed food to deal with this.

He caught a glimpse of his emaciated form in the unnecessarily chrome fridge and refused to entertain thoughts of the bodies he’d seen in camps during the war. Steve didn’t really pay attention to what he ate, only that it was actually edible without any prep time. The food helped settle some of the searing pain to a throbbing ache, but he found he was still desperately hungry even when he physically couldn’t eat any more.

Steve dragged himself, a bag of ridiculously sugary doughnuts, and as much water as his strangely thin, stretched limbs could carry to the couch.

“J.A.R.V.I.S, could you pull up something…long but not complicated?” he croaked. As the opening theme of The Great British Bakeoff played, Steve drank about half a gallon of water.

His eyesight promptly got even worse. He couldn’t focus, and trying to gave him a searing headache.

By the time his vision cleared up, he’d finished off the gallon of water and doughnuts and had to go back to the kitchen for more. He barely made it to the couch before his ear started ringing like he was standing inside a goddamned bell tower.

So went Steve’s day—pain, food, and agreeing with Mary Berry on the merits of alcohol.

Can we talk about something?

Sho thang, what’s up

Can we talk about it in person?

Plz tell me u don’t have an STD

What?

No, I don’t have a venereal disease omg Darcy

Had to be sure! Lunch?

Maybe something more private?

Are you dying???

No!

Please can we just talk in person?

Sure, I get off wrk at 5-630ish. Where?

Balcony near that café on the 65th floor?

Can do, I’ll text u when I actually get off. U kno how Thursdays are

Darcy didn’t get away from the lab until almost nine. Steve wasn’t surprised and slowly fended off the apology texts, his awkwardly large fingers making the process infinitely more difficult. Just when he’d finally gotten good at texting…

The floor was quiet, most of the Tower’s activity limited to the day shift. Just one barista manned the café. Steve had mixed feelings about the level of relative privacy Jane had inadvertently afforded him. On the one hand, he didn’t have to confess to not being entirely truthful with Darcy in a crowded room, but on the other, the social pressure that might keep her from shouting at him wasn’t really in place. Steve decided to just hope for the best.

When he got to the balcony, he saw Darcy standing by the edge, headphones in, looking out over the quiet floors below. The atrium was lit more dimly than during the day, and the light gave her the sort of halo effect Steve remembered from films he used to see before the war. He didn’t see that much anymore.

Shaking himself from his reverie, he moved to her side. “Darcy?” When she didn’t react, he touched her arm gently.

Darcy jumped about a foot in the air and before Steve could react, reached in her bag and pulled out her Taser.

Steve fell, twitching in pain.

When she finally let off the trigger, he lay on the floor a moment, just focusing on breathing.

Darcy stood above him, finger still on the trigger.

“Hi, Darcy,” Steve said weakly. “Can I sit up at least?”

“Why do you know my name?” she asked, her eyes narrowed. “I swear to god, if you’re Hydra I will tase you till your balls shrivel up and fall off.”

“Fuck Hydra,” he said easily, sitting up. “I’m Captain America, I can’t be Hydra.”

“Two down,” Darcy muttered, detaching the wires from her stun gun. As she reloaded, she asked, “So why does Captain America know my name?”

Steve sighed and tugged the metal rods from his shirt, “That’s what I needed to talk to you about.”

“Wait,” Darcy squinted at him suspiciously until realization dawned on her. “Fucking shitsticks, Steve!”

“I know,” he said, standing sheepishly.

“I thought you were, like, a bubble boy or Kimmy Schmidt or something, man,” she groaned, “I was full on waiting for you to tell me you were raised by your grandparents in the Amish country and were out on Rumspringa or something.”

“I don’t think I understood any of what you just said,” Steve laughed. “And I’m sorry, I honestly didn’t expect…”

“Right, Cap being…indisposed would be bad for the bad guys to know, so you wouldn’t just go round telling people you just met.” Darcy nodded. She put her hands on her hips. “I forgive you if you tell me whether the YMCA has always—”

“Yes,” Steve said quickly. “The fact the song gets played kids’ parties bothers the hell out of me.”

“Because it’s gay or because it’s sex?” she asked, putting the Taser away at last.

“Because it’s sex,” he replied, leaning on the balcony. He was so not getting into how views of sexuality had changed right now.

“What’s sex?” Clint joined in, popping up behind Darcy.

He was promptly tased.

“That’s Clint,” Steve told her. “Clint, this is Darcy. Don’t sneak up on her.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Clint groaned, tearing the pins off his shirt. “I was wondering what you did to get the Myeh Myeh special.”

Darcy reloaded and muttered, “Three and not counting, no more counting. I got all the blondes, that’s all I need.” At a normal volume, she said, “Hi, Hawkguy.”

“It’s Hawkeye,” he looked to J.A.R.V.I.S. before continuing, “Anyway, I was told by the A.I. in the sky Steve got tased and might need help, which is why I’m here, but why are you here?”

“We’re friends,” Darcy said easily. Steve smiled, glad that was still true. “We met a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, big reveal,” Clint nodded, “so should I leave so Steve can pop his foot or?”

Darcy laughed and said, “Steve, add The Princess Diaries to your list, and no. This was more ‘Oz is a werewolf’ reveal.”

“Oh, so you’ve already kissed and it’s destined for gayer pastures,” Clint laughed. Steve wasn’t sure what to make of that analysis. “I take it you like them pretty?”

“Who doesn’t?” Darcy grinned wolfishly.

“Jane,” Clint quipped.

“Thor is pretty,” Steve told him lightly. “I would have said you.”

Clint snorted, “I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

Steve just smiled, shrugged, and pulled out his notebook.

“Also Fifty Shades,” Clint told him.

“Don’t do it,” Darcy warned. “There’s so much better out there.”

Clint pouted playfully, “Why you gotta ruin my fun?”

“I’ve actually read it already,” Steve said nonchalantly. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“If I didn’t know that was your trolling face, I’d make you wash your brain out with bell hooks and Laura Mulvey,” Darcy told him seriously, “or at the very least, better quality porn.”

“Have you ever heard of Tijuana bibles, Darcy?” Steve smirked at Darcy’s gasp of indignance.

“Have I—why, Steve, I would expect better of you,” she sniffed, “of course I’ve heard of Tijuana bibles. I’ve also heard they were drawn by down-and-out artists who needed to pay the bills.”

Steve blushed, grinning and looking away innocently.

Clint raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Oh. No wonder Natasha’s been so smug.”

“What?” Steve hadn’t noticed her being smug.

“Dude, you’re as subtle as a star spangled shield in a firefight,” Clint told him flatly.

Darcy laughed, “He’s got a point.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve lied.

“Yeah, right,” Clint snorted, “I’m just going to leave the two of you to your awkward.”

“His awkward,” Darcy corrected at his retreating back. She watched him leave for a moment before returning her attention to Steve. “I’m dead on my feet, but we have things to talk about. I assume your place is closer.”

Steve nodded and led the way.

“That Taser sure packs a punch,” he tried as they got on the elevator.

“It’s as strong as I can get it,” she admitted. Taking a steadying breath, she avoided looking at Steve. “Big burly dudes kinda freak me out because of reasons.”

“Ah,” Steve said uneasily, shifting his stance. “Well, it definitely gets the job done.”

The second the door to Steve’s apartment was closed, Darcy asked, “Why didn’t you tell me I was fucking Captain America?”

“We went over—” Steve started, but Darcy cut him off.

“Dude, that was in public, and also specifically regarding the time before we banged. You’re lucky you don’t have super sperm.” She stopped and gave him a suspicious look.

“I don’t have super sperm,” he sighed. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Do you have beer?” she asked, setting down her purse. Steve nodded and led her to the kitchen.

“I’m Steve,” he told her as he opened a bottle for her and handed it to her. “I’m not…Captain America is my chorus girl—my customer service face.”

“Scientifically, that’s probably only sixty percent true,” Darcy pointed out, sipping her beer and hopping up to sit on the counter. “To turn into all of this,” she flailed a hand at him, “you had to be this on a more innate level. According to all Erskine’s available research, he was basically just physically manifesting your psychological state.”

“He did say something to that effect,” Steve blushed, wishing he’d thought to grab himself a drink to hide behind. “I thought his notes were lost.”

“Stark the former worked with him,” she shrugged, setting her beer next to her, “he kept most of it locked down, per the good doctor’s wishes, but you can’t keep stuff like that totally lost once one person knows it. It’s, like, science law. Plus, any military with the resources never stopped trying to recreate it.”

“I’ve noticed,” he said grimly. “I am sorry for not telling you. There was never a good moment.”

“There’s never a good moment, you dork,” Darcy scolded affectionately. “C’mere. I demand a hug. I need to relearn our hugging mechanics.”

He chuckled and walked into her outstretched arms. She squeezed him tightly, wrapping her legs around him as well, koala-like.

“Fair warning,” she mumbled into his chest, “if I tell you not to do something like, say, loom over me…”

“I won’t,” he promised. He wanted to ask, but if Darcy didn’t want to share, he wasn’t going to press.

“Thanks.” After a heavy pause, she leaned back, loosening her arms and looking up at him. “So because impromptu sleepover is happening, do you want to watch The Blues Brothers?”

Steve squinted at her, trying not to smile as he faked suspicion.

“You won’t cry, don’t look at me like that, good god.”