chapter rating: pg-13
word count: 10,409
summary: Steve just wanted his best friend back. But now that he's found him, there's a complication. Bucky agrees to come home under one condition; his wife comes too. In theory, that's easy; in reality, not so much. Darcy Barnes? Currently a brainwashed killing machine bent on returning her husband to HYDRA's clutches.

VI.

[2007 – Puente Antiguo, New Mexico]

Exercise helped him focus. It kept his mind and body sharp, both of which he needed, constantly. Just because he wasn't going to be their tool, to point at whatever target they deemed fit, didn't meant he shouldn't still keep himself in peak condition. He wasn't sure if it was because he needed to be ready, in case they came for him, or if it was just a routine he was comfortable with, but it worked for him.

Darcy preferred yoga; she dug out Foster's spare mat and set them up on the roof of the building. Her laptop came with her and they went through a basic yoga instruction with music he found a tiny bit grating at first, but slowly became accustomed to. There was a soothing rhythm that came with yoga. Things were slow and calm, but he could feel the strength it required, the patience and the focus. It was also one of the few times Darcy didn't feel the need to interject her inner monologue into things. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Sometimes, when his mind was racing, he liked to have her chatter there to distract him, to draw his attention to her rather than to focus on the uncertainty still running rampant in his own brain. Other times, he enjoyed the quiet, listening to her breathing in between the music and the instructor in the YouTube video telling them what to do next.

Overall, it was one of his favorite parts of his daily routine. He looked forward to when Darcy would announce that it was 'yoga time' and wiggle her eyebrows at him expectantly before she changed into something more flexible and joined him on the roof. He kept his arm covered with a long-sleeved sweater, but she was much freer in stretchy pants and a top that showed off her shoulders and bare arms. She had to coat her skin in sun block before they started, keeping her pale complexion from burning up under the hot, desert sun. But there were still freckles that spattered her shoulders and across her cheeks; sometimes he thought about counting them.

Running was another way he kept himself focused. He'd started doing it in the morning, after he woke up from his nightmares. He'd returned to camp, still wrapped in a blanket, tired but still himself, to find Foster was sitting in a lawn chair, tying up a pair of sneakers. "Here," she said, placing a pair of brand new runners on the table. "Your boots are probably starting to get uncomfortable."

They were, had been for a while, but he'd been trained to ignore anything resembling discomfort or pain. So he hadn't said or done anything. The blisters and torn skin always healed anyway.

Eyeing the shoes, he looked back at her curiously, an eyebrow raised.

"We're going to take a run. I used to run track in high school and a little in college, before I got too busy. I know you don't like it when I'm out of view though, so I figured we'd just go together... If you're not too tired." She started stretching then, raising her arms above her head and twisting at the waist, all the while jogging in place.

He looked back to the shoes and then nodded. Plucking them up by the laces, he went to the van and crawled inside. He changed out of his clothes and into the sweat pants and hoodie Darcy had picked up for him when they'd begun yoga.

("Here."

Darcy dropped a bag onto the desk in front of him; two hoodies and two pairs of sweatpants, all black.

"You can't do yoga in tac gear. Don't make that face. It's a gift. Friends get each other gifts. Are you my friend, Buckster?"

He understood the concept of friendship; he saw it between Darcy and Foster. He just hadn't thought to apply it to himself. Friendship was not something HYDRA had instilled in him. If anything, it was something they took. But he'd been with Darcy and Foster for a while now. They never treated him like HYDRA did. They asked questions, encouraged him to join them for meals and late-night stargazing. They told him he could, and should, say no if he needed to. They asked him how he was doing, and not in a 'what's your status?' way so much as a 'hey, you need anything, you want anything, how can I make you feel more comfortable?' way, which was getting less and less foreign.

In analyzing her question, he tentatively nodded yes.

Darcy grinned. In fact, she smiled for an hour solid; he didn't regret his answer.)

Pushing the van doors open, he hung his legs out over the back as he pulled his shoes on and laced them up. They were white, which seemed incongruent to everything else he owned. He felt a little bad about stepping on the ground and absently decided he would clean them up when he got back. They were his. His shoes. And he would take care of them. Just like he took care of his new clothes and his make-shift bed in the back of the van. His things, what few he had, were precious to him.

Foster finished tying her hair up in a high ponytail and then pulled the zipper up on her grey sweater. "Ready?"

He nodded, hopping off the back of the van, lips pinching when dust kicked up to collect on the tops of his shoes. He shook it off and closed the doors behind him.

Foster kept an even pace with him. While he could go faster, he didn't. They kept to areas that weren't heavily populated, though at this time, that was most of the town. Just to be sure though, she directed them to where she knew there was little chance of anyone seeing them, and then looped back around toward camp once more. There was no talking, just the steady in and out of their breathing, the pounding of their feet hitting ground, and the rustle of arms pumping at their sides, shifting clothing as they went. It was relaxing. He still found his eyes bouncing around, checking for any signs they were being watched or followed, but the farther they ran without anyone to interrupt, the more at ease he felt.

By the time they reached the trailer, she was flushed, her skin mottled with exertion, and her hair clung to her neck. But she looked happy, more relaxed to start her day like this.

When they finally came to a stop back between the van and the trailer, she guzzled down some water and then started doing a few last stretches. He watched her for a moment before doing the same, content with the quiet and the cool morning breeze.

"Same time tomorrow?" she asked him as she moved off toward the trailer for a shower, swiping an arm over her sweaty brow.

He nodded, and when she ducked inside and out of sight, he felt the faint twitch of a smile at his mouth. Making his way back to the van, he grabbed his clothes for the day and then went inside to use the bathroom there. But he found himself looking forward to the next day, to the opportunity for them to find common ground.

…

"I lost my dad when I was eight."

He turned his head, eyeing Darcy beside him, her legs dangling over the edge of the roof. She had a frozen drink in her lap, fingers tapping against the sweating plastic. ("It's a slurpee, Buck-a-roo. Pure sugar and addictive as hell. Here, try some!") Her fingernails were recently painted a pale purple; they were blue with yellow polka dots last week. She didn't look at him as she spoke, instead squinting out over the New Mexico landscape, her lips pinched.

"We weren't super close. He and my mom broke up before I was even born. I'm pretty sure I was one of those 'whoops' moments that they just kind of went with. Anyway, dad was mostly like a weekend dad, you know? Mom used to complain that he got all the cool points because he never had to be the mean parent, but I never really saw it that way. Dad was a good guy. He didn't have a lot of rules or anything. He mostly just wanted us to hang out and have fun. Anyway, he died, it was really sudden, doctors said it an aneurysm. He didn't feel anything. One minute he was there and the next he wasn't. I was pretty young, but I got what it meant. That I'd never see him again and stuff. It was rough for a while. I'd forget and I'd start getting my stuff ready to stay with him for the weekend and then I'd remember that he wasn't there…" She bit her lips, her gaze falling. "Anyway, I know it's not like what you're going through. But, I figure, if you want to talk about it, about missing your family or your friends, or anything really…" She shrugged, and lifted her slurpee for another drag from the straw.

He didn't say anything, he just watched her out of the corner of his eye for a long moment. Eventually, she handed her slurpee over, and he accepted it, taking a sip of his own.

They passed it, back and forth, until there was nothing but colorless, sugarless ice at the bottom, and the sun setting in the distance.

"Thanks," he said, his voice a little rough.

She looked over at him, half-smiled, and nodded. "Sure. Any time."

The empty slurpee cup sat between them, but he was pretty sure a divide had been crossed, and he appreciated it.

…

Every morning when he returned to the site, Jane was waiting for him. Sometimes he showed up a little later, so he'd find her fiddling with her phone or reading a book, various pages marked off with sticky notes. She never asked questions, just climbed from her seat and started to stretch, waiting for him to get changed and join her. Almost three months he'd been with them, but even with the tentative acceptance Foster had offered, he still kept waiting for her to tell him it was time he moved on, went somewhere else. And he knew that would be smarter, for all involved. If he was moving, he had less chance of being caught. He'd thought it over a hundred times, falling asleep each night planning the places he could go, going over the plans he and Foster had put together. But then the next day would come and she would join him on his run and Darcy would ruffle his hair as she passed him a granola bar, and suddenly leaving felt like the worst choice.

So he stayed. He stayed and he told himself it was to make sure Jane and Darcy were safe, that there were no undercover HYDRA agents hiding in the desert somewhere. He did his patrols every day and he caught up on history and he told himself maybe tomorrow and one more week couldn't hurt and I promised Darcy I'd teach her to defend herself, she's not ready yet. Excuse after excuse. Eventually, he knew, he'd run out, time would turn on him and he'd have to pack up his things and sink into the shadows.

He wondered sometimes, what life would be like, away from both HYDRA and Jane and Darcy. What kind of future did he have ahead of him? Would he always be hiding? Would he always be looking over his shoulder? Waiting for the next enemy to strike? Would he ever find anything quite as easy and comfortable as what he had now? He tried to pull his weight around the site, best he could. He thought they settled into a nice rhythm. Maybe this was the calm before the storm. Maybe when he did walk away, everything would crumble.

"Ready?" Jane asked, bouncing between her feet, water bottle dangling from her fingers.

He nodded shortly, and turned to join her as she started to jog.

Not yet, though.

Maybe tomorrow.

What could one more week hurt?

…

"Okay, pass me the oregano."

He blinked down at the clutter of spices in front of him, his lips pursed. "None of these are labeled," he told her.

Darcy looked over, frowning at the spice bottles. "Oh. Yeah. Uh, I just kind of memorized them." She shrugged. "Here, you know what, I'll teach you them." She reached for a bottle and unscrewed the top. "Sniff."

He leaned in and took a whiff, rearing back a bit.

"Oregano," she informed him, half-smiling. "Remind me to tell you the story of how my freshman roommate bought a bag of oregano thinking it was weed and convinced herself she was high for like three days straight…"

He blinked at her, an eyebrow raised.

"Story time later, cooking now," she decided.

He crossed his arms over his chest loosely and watched as she reached for odd bottles, holding them up for him to smell, pouring them into her palm so he could see them and get a feel for the texture, all the while teaching him how to cook as she went. Jane wasn't allowed near the oven, apparently. Not because she was a terrible cook so much as because she was easily distracted and would burn the whole place down around their heads. So the cooking mostly fell to Darcy, and she decided to give him a few lessons as she went. He wasn't complaining.

"We used to boil everything," he informed her, part memory and part something he'd ready online. His brow furrowed as a scent memory hit him, the smell of boiled cabbage making his stomach twist up unpleasantly. "I like your way better."

Darcy laughed lightly. "Yeah, I bet." She reached for the knife block then. "Okay, think you can cut up some tomatoes?"

He put the knife she offered back and grabbed out a different one, taking up a ripe red tomato and placing it on a cutting board. Knives were easy; knives were muscle memory and training. He diced up the tomato into precise cubes.

"All right, show off," she snorted with an eye-roll. "Celery too."

He ducked his head to hide his amusement and took the stocks of celery from her outstretched hand. He could get used to this.

…

"Hold this. Careful, it might spark," Jane told him, pointing out a few wires.

He frowned down at the inside of one of her machines, cracked open for her to get a better look inside. "Getting kinda old, isn't it?"

She scowled at him. "I built this one my freshman year of college," she informed him.

He was pretty sure that proved his point, so he just blinked at her.

"We don't get rid of things just because they've got a little age on them." She paused, mouth twitching. "If we did that, we wouldn't have you around."

He snorted, shaking his head when she looked pleased with her joke.

Jane tore off a piece of duct tape with her teeth and then reached inside, taking the wires from him so she could bind them. "See? She'll be good as new, just you wait."

She shuffled back on her knees and he lifted the machine up, carefully setting it upright so she could push buttons and fiddle with dials until it blinked back to life. She offered him a smug smirk, but he merely shrugged. He was just glad she trusted him enough to let him help.

Jane paused then, her eyes darting away. She took a moment to think something over and then, reaching some conclusion, told him, "Her name's Regina. I named her after my favorite aunt. Dad thought she was a crackpot, but I think she just had bigger ideas than some people could really wrap their heads around, you know?" She tugged at her fingers. "Anyway, I thought she'd like to be a part of this. She's the reason I went into astrophysics, even when everybody told me I shouldn't, that nobody would take me seriously and science 'wasn't a woman's field.'" She scowled at that, her teeth grinding.

He watched for a moment, and then looked back to Regina. "She'd be proud," he decided.

Jane looked over at him, brows raised. "You think?"

He nodded. "Sounds like a smart woman, walks her own path, you're doing the same. What's not to be proud of?"

Jane didn't answer, but he saw her throat bob, and then she nodded jerkily.

It wasn't long before she started mumbling to herself and wandered back to her board, but he lingered, staring at the old machine. It had a lot of patchwork, a ton of tape holding it together, and it would need more repairs in future. Sometimes it glitched or fell apart or stopped working entirely, but they fixed it, kept it, tried again.

He thought about that for a while.

He thought about it a lot.

…

Darcy entered the lab with a plastic bag hanging from her wrist, filled to the brim with junk food. She had a pair of red heart-shaped sunglasses perched on her nose, the price tag still hanging from one of the arms. Her lips were wet and a darker shade than usual; the perpetrator was the red slurpee she held in her left hand. Humming along to the song she was listening to, one of her iPod buds still in her ear while the other hung down her chest, cutting across the writing there.

("Only one," he told her, "you need to be able to hear if someone's coming up on you."

Darcy rolled her eyes. "You know when I invited an assassin along, I thought he'd be more high-action not low-key dadding us."

He frowned after her, but when she took an earbud out as asked, he didn't bother arguing.)

"Janey, I brought empty sustenance… The emptiness probably cancels out the sustenance part though, huh?" She shrugged. "Whatever. I'll make something extra healthy for dinner. Like with real vegetables and everything." She dropped the bag down on the desk he was sitting at and passed him her slurpee.

He took it, flexing his fingers at the chill, and sipped at the straw, his tongue dabbing curiously at the punctures in the plastic from her teeth.

Darcy dug out a chocolate bar and a bag of chips for him to snack on and put them within reach before she dug out Foster's Clif bar, a bottle of vitamin water, and a pack of licorice. Foster would work her way through the licorice over the course of the afternoon, he knew. He'd seen her do it before. She preferred the red to the black; she always made a face when she ate the black licorice.

Plucking a marker from one of Foster's hands, Darcy replaced it with the open Clif bar. "Eat."

"Hm? Oh. Yeah." Foster took a bite and then frowned, lurching forward to wipe out something on her white board with her arm instead of the eraser in reach.

Darcy rolled her eyes, a fond look on her face, and then wandered back to him and took a seat on the edge of his desk while she dug out her own chocolate bar. "So, I talked to Zach, and he said he's in for mocking you up some fake IDs and stuff. We talked about it before, but he's been kind of busy, and you and Jane have been working on your escape plans, so I didn't think we were in too much of a rush. Anyway, it's just an ID, social security number, and a passport, you know? But, I thought we should talk names and then take some pics…" She reached for him then and scrubbed her fingers over his chin. "It's up to you if you want to keep the scuff. Whichever you think will help keep your cover."

He paused, his chin feeling warm and tingly, and then looked down, staring at the slurpee for a moment. "What name will it be under?"

Darcy shrugged. "Up to you, Buckster. I mean, probably shouldn't go with your actual name… Unless you think that's just bold enough to work…" Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I should check how common your name is… It might just blend in. I mean, I know James is pretty common, but if Barnes is too…" She snorted. "How awesome would that be? Would they really expect to see your name on any flight plans? Probably not…"

He watched as her thoughts played across her face, and she smirked, shaking her head.

"Anyway, so we should figure out the name situation and then take your picture for the documents. Sound good?" She hopped off the desk and stole her slurpee, taking a drag before dropping it back into his hands.

She was half-way to her desk, when he cleared his throat. "Should I…?"

She looked back, her eyebrow raised. "Should you what?"

"Shave…" He reached up, tugging at the bristly whiskers that cloaked the lower half of his face. "Cut my hair."

Peering at him a moment, she finally walked back to him. "What do you want to do? You like it long?" Reaching out, she tucked his hair back from his face. "I've seen the pictures, so I already know you got a handsome mug under there. But, it's really what makes you comfortable, y'know? So if you feel better under the forest, keep it."

He nodded, his eyes dropping thoughtfully. And then he said, "Handsome, huh?"

She laughed, grinning widely, and winked at him. "I've got eyes, don't I? Don't pretend you didn't see your picture when I was playing historian. And I know you've peeked on Google. You're a hottie with a capital H, Buck-o."

He hummed, his mouth curving faintly at the corner. "You say so, doll."

"I do. And, as has been established, my word is law." She pointed at the desk then. "Now eat your junk food. I'm making vegetarian lasagna tonight."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Cheeky, Barnes. I like it." Turning on her heel, she returned to her desk, and got back to work, losing herself in data and collating for a while.

He, on the other hand, looked himself up on Google Images, and spent a good five minutes staring at the beard-less version of himself, his hair cut short and styled. The man on the computer had a tilted smirk, all confidence and easy charm. The man staring at him had none of those things. He was uncertain, suspicious, and paranoid. But maybe he didn't have to be him, maybe he didn't have to be exactly who he was, either with or without HYDRA. Maybe he could be someone else, someone in the middle, someone he was still figuring out.

A few hours later, while Darcy had traded in data for the kitchen, putting together a homemade lasagna while Foster mumbled to herself about things he only vaguely understood, he stole away to the bathroom. Darcy had bought him a shaver and cream when they'd first arrived at the new site. She'd loaded him up on all kinds of shower "necessities," but he'd kept to the basics.

He stared at himself in the mirror for a long time, his beard ragged and dark, his hair long, a shroud to hide his face behind. He ran the water hot, until steam crawled up and covered the mirror. Cupping his hands under it, he filled his palms with water and splashed them over his face. He left the razor under the spray to get the blades warm and he lathered his cheeks and chin with thick, white foam. It took him a minute before he picked up the razor, but he did. He wiped the mirror and he slowly shaved away all the grizzle from his face. There were a few nicks, with blood pearling on his skin, but he didn't stop. He kept going and going and going, until all of it was gone. Until some semblance of the man he once was stared back at him. He didn't cut his hair though. That would stay, for now, it made for better cover. But there was something good, something relieving, about seeing his face again, the whole of it, smooth like it once was. There was no tilted smirk hidden underneath it all, but maybe it would come back, one day.

Turning off the sink, he wiped up his mess with the towel and made his way back into the lab.

Darcy had just finished putting the lasagna in the oven and closed the door with a clang, before she turned, dusting her hands, and found him standing there, eyeing her uncertainly. He wasn't sure what he expected; her to make a joke or tease him or something.

Instead, she walked toward him, wiping her hands on her jeans. "What'd I tell you?" She reached up and patted his smooth cheek. "Capital H."

He swallowed and ducked his eyes, but something warm shifted in his chest.

"We gotta plug up those nicks though. C'mon, we'll put toilet paper on them."

"They'll heal," he argued, but he let her take his hand and drag him off toward the bathroom. Maybe he liked it, the way she thought of him.

She sat him down on the lid of the toilet and stood between the part of her knees as she picked off pieces of toilet paper to press against each nick on his cheeks and chin. He stared up at her, glasses sliding down the slope of her nose, lower lip caught between her teeth. She was a pretty little thing; all curves and sass and confidence. And empathy. Couldn't forget that. Couldn't forget how she took an assassin under her wing and offered to give him a new life. And loyal. Getting in between a bullet and her best friend, ready to meet her maker so Foster wouldn't. He swallowed thickly, peering up at her, biting down on the inside of his cheek as her fingers scrubbed under his chin.

"There," she said, and smiled.

He grunted, because words weren't possible at the moment.

She led him back out to the lab then and right over to Foster. "Check it out, our mountain man shed some fur."

Foster looked up. He could see the immediate irritation at being interrupted, but it faded quickly as she paused and blinked at him. Very slowly, her mouth tilted up in a smile. "You clean up well."

He shuffled his feet. "Just shaved," he muttered.

"Yeah, about seventy years off your face," Darcy snorted. "It looks good."

Foster rolled her eyes. "That's not funny," she sighed, and then looked back to him. "You like it?"

He shrugged.

"I'll take that as a yes." Her gaze moved up a few inches. "You ever want any help with your hair, I can cut it for you."

"Maybe later," he murmured.

Nodding, she slowly let her attention bleed back to the white board and Darcy took the hint. "C'mon, we're gonna take some selfies and then I'm gonna send some pics to send Zach for your papers," she told him, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket as she walked away.

"Selfies?" he asked, his brow furrowed as he followed her.

"Yeah. I wanna preserve this moment," she told him, grinning.

Darcy guided him over to the table and then ducked down so her head was next to his. "Smile for the camera."

He stared at her phone.

"Okay, we'll work on it."

He let out a snort, mouth tilted, and she hit the button again. "See? Progress."

…

"I used to call him 'Punk.'"

Darcy looked up from the papers in front of her, a pink highlighter dangling from her fingers and her brow furrowed. "Huh?"

"Rogers. Cap… Captain America," he clarified, frowning. "I called him 'punk' a lot. It… Sometimes I get confused. About what's a memory and what I read on the internet. But… I remember that. I used to call him 'punk' and he'd call me 'jerk.' His ma's name was Sarah. She was a nurse. And Steve, he… He got sick a lot. I know it says that online and in the books you got me. But, I can remember how it sounded… That rattle in his chest when he'd try to breathe. My ma said it was the 'death rattle,' but… Steve never let it take him. He never stopped fighting." He paused then, his eyes falling. "Until he did. I guess."

Putting the highlighter down, she pushed back from her desk and wheeled her chair over, letting it knock against his before she drummed her hands on the top of his desk. "So… What else do you remember?" she wondered.

He glanced at her and then away. "He was small. Real small. Ma used to give him twice as much food as the rest of us, always trying to fatten him up. Didn't work though. Didn't matter how much he ate, never stuck to his bones." A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Didn't stop him from acting like he wasn't bigger though. Always getting into fights. Defending anybody he thought needed it."

"Sounds like a pretty stand-up guy," she mused.

"Yeah." He pursed his lips. "Was always pullin' his ass outta the fire though. Could start a fight no problem, had trouble finishing 'em though. Didn't know when to give up and walk away."

"Some people would call that brave."

"He was stubborn. Reckless." He blinked, then looked at her. "Like you, when we met."

Darcy smiled slowly. "Like I said… Brave."

He snorted, shook his head, but he felt his lips shift up in amusement. "Yeah, maybe."

Knocking her shoulder against his, she said, "Tell me more."

So he did. He told her everything he could think of. Everything that was slowly sifting back, piece by piece. Only the good stuff though. The pre-HYDRA stuff. Because the other stuff was hard, it was dark and dirty and made him feel too open, too vulnerable. Maybe one day. But not now. Now was a good moment. He wanted to keep it that way.

…

Darcy was doing a grocery run, leaving him behind with Foster. She was, as per usual, consumed with her work, while he was doing, what Darcy had dubbed, his "history homework." Avoiding much of his own past, he still managed to make it up to the sixties, getting a feel for what the country was like and how it was interacting with the rest of the world. He liked the pictures the most, they told a story. He could see how fashion and opinion had changed, how social awareness grew on certain topics. The world became more liberal on some points, and more conservative on others. It was an interesting see-saw if nothing else.

Abandoning his homework, however, he stood from his desk and moved toward the whiteboard.

Foster had various print outs of weather patterns pinned to the board with magnets and was squinting at them, tapping her chin with her finger.

He cleared his throat and shifted his weight to his other foot.

It took her a moment, but eventually, she looked over at him, a brow arched. "Hey. Something happen?" She took a look around, blinking owlishly. "Where's Darcy?"

"Grocery run," he murmured.

"Oh." She frowned, eyes turning up like she vaguely remembered being told that, and then shrugged.

"I was… Could we talk?" he asked, pursing his lips, his brow furrowed.

"Uh. Sure." She took a step back from the board and then motioned to the table. "You want coffee?" she wondered as she made her way to the coffee maker.

He shook his head, taking a seat at the table.

"You sure? I know you don't like drinking things unless Darcy's tested them first. Which, if I think about it, is really morbid. I mean… Technically, if they were poisoned, she'd be risking her life, right?"

He blinked. "She makes everything. I don't think she'd drink it."

"True. Unless someone at the gas station is HYDRA and decided to spike the slurpee machine, but that would be a pretty big risk considering how many use it and there's no guarantee she'd pick one up…" Her mouth screwed up thoughtfully. "So, wait, are you expecting her to poison you?"

He paused, and then shook his head.

"So then why…?"

He shrugged. "In the beginning, I wasn't sure…"

"But now you are? You don't think we're going to try and kill you?" She snorted at the idea.

He nodded, tucking his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

"So Darcy…?"

"She wants to make me comfortable." He shrugged. "I let her."

Jane peered at him a long moment, and then her mouth turned up faintly. "Huh." Turning around, she poured her coffee, and then brought it to the table, stirring in cream and sugar. "So? What'd you want to talk about?"

"Darcy's friend, Zach, he sent the papers. They should be here on Wednesday," he informed her.

"Okay…" She stirred her coffee, her eyes turned off. "And you're… You want to talk about which plan to use, or…?"

"I…" He looked down at the table. One of his hands left the pocket to pick at a dent in the table top absently. "In the morning, when you go for your runs…"

She nodded, encouraging him.

"Why'd you invite me?"

She stared at him a moment, gave it some thought, and then said, "I thought it would help."

He raised a brow, the question of 'Help?' was obvious.

"Your nightmares… I can hear you sometimes, from the trailer. And then, when you get up, and you go for your walks… I understand why you do it, why you leave, because you're worried you'll wake up and you won't… have control. And I… I appreciate it, that you go and you try to put distance between us, because I think, in your own way, you're trying to keep us safe…"

She frowned, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. "Ever since Darcy talked to you and this… this thing with HYDRA was revealed, you've been watching out for us. I don't know if that's just a way to apologize or to make up for it or what, but…" She blew out a heavy breath. "I looked you up. Or, well, I looked James Barnes up. I mean, I vaguely remember him from my high school history classes. And, I don't know if I completely believed before, even with all the evidence. I mean, you look remarkably like him, but, still… It was a lot to take in. So, I looked it up and, I don't know. I… I don't want you think that I pity you, because that's not what this is. But when I think about what your life was like, what you had, before all this, and what you have now, what they did to you, it… It makes me sad, yes, but more than that, it makes me angry." Her jaw clenched. "I'm angry about what happened when you were captured the first time. That you were forced to continue with the ARMY and, yes, I know, I know that part of that was just you, deciding to join Captain America's team, and that you're part of the reason that we even won the war. But… When I look at you, I'm not thinking of history or the war, not really. I'm looking at a person. A person who was stolen and used and treated like he wasn't human at all. And that—That is gross and disturbing and just— It's fucked up."

Her mouth was trembling, whether from anger or a flood of other emotion, he wasn't sure. But she banged a fist down on the table and, for such a tiny woman, there was still enough power behind it that rattled the table loudly. "Sorry. I'm sorry." She shook her head. "I just. I hear you at night. I hear the terror and the pain in your voice. And then I hear you, when you get out of the van and you go for your walks. And I wish… I wish there was something more we could do. Someone you could talk to about these things. But I just… I've been thinking about this, you know? And who do we trust? Who do we trust that won't turn you over to HYDRA or put you through even more pain trying to take apart what you went through with them? Because, let's face it, the United States government is full of suspicious, paranoid assholes, and the chances of them getting you real help, like with a psychologist or anything, is close to impossible. It's more likely they'll throw you in a hole at GITMO and interrogate you. So no. No, we're not going to them." She rubbed her fingers over her mouth, her brow furrowed. "But the more I think about it, the less happy I am with sending you out there on your own. And yes, I know, you're an adult and you make your own choices and if you really want to go, I… I won't stop you." She raised her eyes then and met his gaze sincerely. "I'll never stop you from making whatever choice you think is right for you. But… if you need more time. If… If you want to stick around here a little while longer… Then, that's okay too."

He stared at her a long moment, letting her words sink in. Darcy was usually the talker. Jane mumbled when she was thinking, but conversation wise, she only really got this worked up about science and the greater universe. It felt… nice to matter as much.

"I'm dangerous," he reminded her. Just in case she'd forgotten that while, yes, he had been under HYDRA's control, used and broken, he was still a tool, honed to hurt and kill with precision. He was no angel. He was far from it.

"Yes," she agreed, nodding. "You are." She met his eyes. "But what you choose to do with that, how you choose to use it, that's up to you. And I… I trust you to make the right choice."

He swallowed tightly then, his throat burning. It took him a few moments before he could form the words, but eventually he wondered, "What if I don't?"

She reached across the table slowly, and laid her hand on top of his. Jane wasn't often free with her physical affection; she made what few touches she offered count. "Then you fix it, and you start over."

He nodded, a jerk of his head more than anything, and scraped his teeth over his bottom lip. "I'd like to… I wanna stay… For now…"

A slow, gentle smile crossed her lips. "Okay. Then stay."

Throat too tight then, he just nodded, turning his eyes down to the tabletop.

Jane tapped her fingers over the back of his hand and then let go. "I'm going to get some work done. But why don't you see what's playing at the drive-in theatre tonight? We can watch it on the roof. Make some popcorn, relax, that kind of thing."

He rubbed a hand under his nose and sniffed. "Yeah. I'll look." The chair legs scraped on the floor as he moved it back and stood, making his way over to the computer. Technology was getting easier and he was navigating things a lot quicker than he used to.

Jane returned to her white board and let him gather himself. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and folded his fingers into his palm when his hand shook. He hadn't realized how worried he was about going out on his own until that moment. He'd found safety and comfort in Jane and Darcy, but he also knew that it was temporary. Especially when Jane was still suspicious of his motives. But maybe he'd earned her trust more than he thought. Maybe Darcy wasn't his only friend.

…

They were dancing. Jane and Darcy were moving all around the lab, ducking under each other's arms, twirling in every direction, holdings hands and shimmying to and fro. There were off beat, just a little, but they were having fun. The song was upbeat, and Darcy had shouted excitedly, tossing her pen away before pushing back from her desk. She crossed the room, grabbed Jane's hand, and pulled her into a dance. Jane laughed at Darcy's antics and let herself be swept up in it. He watched, hiding a smile behind his hand. They were happy and carefree and laughing. He wondered how often that happened before he'd come into their lives. If dance breaks were just a part of the package.

He could remember dancing. Trying to teach Steve, with his two left feet, a few simple moves. He could remember the rush he'd get, out on the dancefloor, swinging some pretty dame around, losing himself to the quick beat of the music. If he closed his eyes, he was back there. In a smoky lounge, in a dance hall, sweat dotting his skin, making his clothes cling to him, adrenaline rushing through his veins, his lungs burning with exertion, laughing so hard he was wheezing. The music of before was so close, and then it was gone, melting back into the here and now. Where there were no crowds of bodies all around him, no dame under his arm, no Steve trying to blend into the background, uncomfortable with his lack of date, awkwardly nursing a beer.

It all faded away, until he was looking at just Darcy and Jane again. Jane's head thrown back as she laughed and Darcy's lips spread wide in a grin. One song ended and another began and they danced, work forgotten for the time being. He was happy for them, even as something melancholy burrowed into his chest. The past was the past, that was what he tried to tell himself, but it was hard. He wanted to know, he needed to know, even if he could never have it again. Because it was his and it had been taken from him once.

Eventually, the music was turned down and Jane returned to her work, still flushed and riding the high of their dance break.

Darcy wandered over to him, and brushed his hair back from his eyes. "You okay, Buck? You look a little lost."

He nodded, because he couldn't quite answer, wasn't even sure what he'd say if he opened his mouth.

She hummed, and rubbed a knuckle over his temple gently. "C'mon… I've got a chocolate stash we can raid. I need some fresh air too. Join me on the roof?"

He was pushing up from his seat before he gave it much thought. Jane was already deep in science mode, and he'd done a patrol not long ago, so he was sure she'd be fine for now.

Darcy took his hand and towed him through the kitchen, digging out a bag behind a stack of rice cakes. ("Jane hates those things, that's why it's the perfect place to hide the chocolate. She won't even touch them to move them out of the way," she told him proudly.) Chocolate in hand, she made her way up to the roof, grabbing a loose blanket as she went. She dug out her lawn chair from where it was kept, folded up, and dragged it over to where she wanted. He joined her, taking a seat in Jane's chair at her side. Darcy spread the blanket out over both their laps and then poured a few individually wrapped chocolates out for each of them. She dug the Twix out from his pile and traded it for her KitKats, just like she always did.

"You wanna talk about it?" she asked, after a few minutes had passed with nothing but the rustle of wrappers being removed.

He considered it for a moment, but then shook his head. Sometimes he didn't need to put it into words, sometimes he just needed to let it sit, let it sink in, and he was good.

"Okay," she said, "but if you ever want to…"

"I know where to find you."

She smiled slowly. "Good." She reached over and knocked her Oh Henry! against his KitKat. "Cheers."

He stared at her out of the corner of his eyes, and let out a little snort of a laugh. Sinking down in his chair a bit, he turned his gaze up to the night sky, a blanket of stars reaching as far as he could see. "I used to like dancing," he told her.

"Yeah?"

He hummed.

"You're gonna have to break out some of your moves for me some day then," she decided, mimicking his pose and letting her head fall back against the chair.

Lips twitching, he told her, "Might not be able to handle my moves, doll."

She laughed, and turned her head to see him. "Big words, Barnes."

He shrugged with faux modesty, a shadow of something he could remember doing, once upon a time.

Her eyes skittered all over his face, reading things he wasn't trying to broadcast. But she'd been able to do that for a while now, whether he thought he was hiding well or not.

"One day, when you're ready, I'd like to be your first dance," she told him.

He stared back at her, reading the soft sincerity in her gaze, and he nodded. He'd like that, he decided.

She nodded back, and then, together, they returned their attention to the stars. But his mind wandered elsewhere. Not back, not to his past, not to dance halls or lounges or big band songs, no. It went to the future, to an unknown point in time when he would be ready, and he'd reach his hand out, ask for a dance, and she would accept. One day, he'd be ready.

…

He woke abruptly, but not because of a nightmare or a memory. Instead, he felt a shift, something out of place, something moving close by that shouldn't be moving. He pulled a gun from beneath his pillow, flipped the safety off and carefully climbed from the bed he made in the back of the van. Darcy had taken personal offense that he was using a sweatshirt for a pillow, so what was once a very simple set up was now a collection of brightly colored blankets on top of an air mattress, and a few different pillows of varying sizes and shapes. It had taken him a while to get used to, the blankets too soft and the bed too squishy. But he'd adapted, and now the bright colors brought an odd sense of color. HYDRA wouldn't have let him have them before. He was meant to blend, to sink into shadows, to go unseen. He was a tool to be brought out and put away at their convenience. That wasn't the case here. Which was why he was feeling especially protective as he popped the door open and silently slunk his way out.

All of his anger and the instinct to attack and protect evaporated, however, when he found Jane sitting in a lawn chair, bundled up in a pea coat and her pajama pants, her head tilted up to stare at the sky. Every exhale had a white cloud collect in the chilly night air. There was a steaming cup on the table beside her elbow; he would put his money on tea rather than coffee. Darcy preferred hot chocolate, but she always used a recipe she never shared the details of. ("It's a family secret. Which means you'll just have to enjoy it when I make it and miss it when I don't.")

He put his gun away, out of sight, and walked toward Jane slowly, careful not to disturb her quiet, but curious about why she was up so late. Jane was a creature of habit. She either slept exactly seven hours a night, or she went on a science bender for a few days and Darcy had to convince her to fix her sleep schedule before she returned to her lab. He was always the last to go to bed and the first to wake up; in part because sleep was difficult for him, but also because he preferred knowing where they were before he closed his eyes.

"I fell in love with the stars when I was three years old," she said, her voice a little rough.

She reached absently for her mug and sipped from it, burying her nose in the steam. Definitely tea. Her favorite was orange pekoe, but he remembered Darcy mentioning she had to pick some up, so it was likely English Breakfast.

"There was just something fascinating about it… About this huge universe out there that we couldn't even begin to understand…" She shook her head. "I remember sitting in my backyard, trying to count them all. I'd fall asleep like that, right there in the grass, and then I'd try against the next day, and the next… And I'd be proud when the number got higher and higher, like I was doing something worthwhile. Like, one day, I'd be able to tell someone I knew exactly how many stars there were, because I'd counted them all." She smiled slowly, light and thoughtful.

He took a seat in the chair across from her and waited for her to continue.

"When I got older, I remember people telling me that I should pick something different to study. That it would be too hard, too male-dominated, too something. That I wouldn't fit somehow, like I couldn't make it in this world. And, I remember, there was a moment, back in high school, when I really let it get to me. When I was thinking about dropping out of AP Physics and doing something else. Anything else. But then my Aunt, you remember the one I told you about?"

"Regina."

"Yeah. Aunt Regina. Anyway, she called me, just out of the blue. She called me up and she was ranting about this project she was doing. I didn't understand even half of what she was saying. It went completely over my head. But at the end, I remember she said, 'I can always count on you to listen, Janey. You're just like me. You never let anybody tell you what you can or can't do.' And I just knew. I knew that if I dropped Physics, I would regret it. I would spend my whole life letting other people tell me what I should do or who I should be and I didn't want that…" She snorted quietly. "And I know it's not a shining endorsement that we're sitting in the middle of a desert in New Mexico and I have nothing to show for all my work, and there are more than a few people in the science community who probably laugh when they hear my name. But… fuck them." Her lips pursed then and she lifted her head to look at him. "Fuck all of them. Because I'm going to prove all of them wrong. Every one of them."

He read the fire in her eyes like it was a physical thing, like it could burn him if he stared too long.

"I might be crazy. I might be one more crazy theory away from being the crackpot my dad thought my aunt was. But so what? At least I'm out here doing something I love!" She nodded then, looking certain and serious. "That's the part they don't teach you. That it might not pay well, that you might spend your whole life searching and never really finding. But maybe that's the point. Maybe looking is all I'm supposed to do. Maybe my looking leads to someone else finding. I don't know. I don't. But I know that HYDRA thought I was on to something. HYDRA wanted to take me out because they saw something or read something and it made sense. And maybe that should worry me more, but you know what? Fuck them too! Because I'm still here, I'm still alive, and whatever they didn't want me to find? I'm going to find it!"

She sat back in her chair then, shoulders a little slumped and her expression tight with agitation.

He watched a long moment, and then his mouth slowly turned up in a smile.

Jane frowned, raising an eyebrow.

But he just shook his head. Stacking his hands on his stomach, he tipped his head back to admire the stars, and he murmured, "Fuck 'em."

And Jane blew out a faint chuckle and said, "Exactly."

…

"You're getting better," he told her, lips pursed.

Darcy grinned up at him, gun in hand. "Right? Three out of five ain't bad," she said, eyeing the remaining two beer bottles sitting on the fence in the distance. "And I'm like ninety percent sure that I at least winged one of those."

"A 'winged' enemy can still shoot," he reminded, moving behind her. His hand covered hers as he raised the gun and their cheeks pressed together as he lined up the shot. He tapped her hand once, twice, and she took each shot, removing the last two bottles. "You don't stop shooting until they're all down." His breath fanned over her skin.

She shivered, her eyes darting to the right to see him. "Was it like this for you? I guess you learned in the ARMY, huh?"

"Some of it. Some I learned with HYDRA." His lips compressed into a thin line. "Can't say either was too gentle."

"This what you call gentle, Buck-a-roo?" She shifted, leaning back against him, her head falling to his shoulder as she looked at him. "Are you taking it easy on me?"

"I'm teaching you. Fear might be a good motivator for the ARMY and HYDRA, but I don't want you scared. I want you capable."

His hand was on her far hip, he realized, holding her steady, and he was bracing her, the curve of her body cradled against his. His breath stuttered a moment and he found his eyes wandering from her eyes down to her mouth. She was wearing lipstick; a bright, vivid red. Makes me feel like a badass, she'd told him. He thought it made her look more tempting than badass. Temptation wasn't something he'd had to think about much lately. But there it was, spelled out in front of him, just as stunning as ever.

"So what happens when I master the gun?" she wondered, raising an eyebrow. "Hand-to-hand?"

"If that's what you want," he said, his gaze raising to meet hers once more. "You planning on sticking with Foster after I'm gone?"

Darcy shrugged. "You've seen her when she's on a science bender. Someone has to keep her skinny butt safe."

He hummed, and then looked away. "I'm staying. For a little while anyway. Jane said I could."

"I heard. Careful, she'll take you on as another unpaid intern. She'll have you collating data and making her Poptarts in no time," she teased.

His mouth twitched. "Always burn the Poptarts."

Darcy laughed; he could feel her body shake with it and his own warmed at the sensation. "I think you do it on purpose. So you won't have to make them next time."

He bit his lip and she knocked her elbow back against him.

"You do, don't you! Oh, that's smart, Barnes. Seriously sneaky. Well played."

His eyes wandered back to her, amused and a little proud of himself. "She eats too many of those anyway. Sugar's not good for her."

"Says the guy who never passes up on a slurpee," she reminded, rolling her eyes.

"Maybe I just like sharing things with you."

Her eyes brightened and she inhaled a little sharply. "Good thing I like to share then, huh?"

"Mmm."

There was a moment then, when neither of them said anything, just caught up in looking at each other. There was a thread of something potent, thick with tension, that coiled between them. He knew how to break it. He knew that if he just leaned in, if he let him sink into the plush shape of her mouth, she wouldn't reject him. She'd meet him kiss for kiss. But he also knew that here, with her, with Jane, this was his support system. The only one he had. And he couldn't risk that. Not to mention, he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Darcy deserved a lot more than a fractured soldier still putting himself back together.

So he let the moment pass, let it dampen, and then he was letting her go and stepping back. He was putting five new bottles up on the fence and he was putting a little more space between them. "Again," he told her.

And Darcy didn't complain or call attention back to what happened, no. She just smiled at him, like she wasn't upset, wasn't even surprised. She cocked her gun and she raised it up and she squeezed the trigger. Four of five went down. She shot twice more and took the fifth bottle out. She didn't pause. Enemy neutralized.

He nodded, and looked back just in time for her to wink at him. Temptation was a beautiful intern with a heart of gold and lips as red as sin.

…

He liked the older movies; sometimes they were in black and white, other times they were in a muted color compared to the modern movies. Jane liked the oldies too. She mouthed along to every word of Breakfast at Tiffany's and Casablanca looking completely enraptured with every scene. Darcy liked some of them, but she was a picky watcher, scrunching her nose up at things that didn't jive with her modern view of the world. She'd sent him more than a few links on feminism, so he could see where she was coming from. For him, there was a nostalgia rush. He didn't always know why, maybe it was the fashion or the way they talked, but some of it felt so familiar that he was filled with a mix of sadness and joy.

He tuned out sometimes, his mind wandering into spotty memories of a time long-past, of people and faces he didn't quite recognize, voices that sparked something only to slip out of reach. And then, just as soon as it was on him, he would slide back into reality, with Darcy and Jane bickering at his back, sharing a bowl of popcorn that was "too buttery" or "not buttery enough" depending on who'd made it and who was complaining. It amused him more often than not.

He wasn't sitting so close to the edge of the roof anymore. His shoulders were leaned back against Darcy's right and Jane's left knee. When Darcy wasn't into a movie, she'd play with his hair. Sometimes she braided it or put it up in a bun and other times she just let her fingers sift through it. He liked that. Liked how she was always reaching for him and touching him and it never hurt. There was just soothing motion, a reminder that she was there, they were there, and they wouldn't do anything he didn't want. Sometimes he couldn't handle any stimulation and he would lean away. She didn't push; she just gave him his own blanket and a mug of hot chocolate and let him be. But he was seeking it out more lately, the comfort and warmth of her, of them, just in different ways.

Jane tapped his shoulder before she handed him his own bowl of popcorn and a salt shaker to add as much or as little at his discretion.

"Darcy," she sighed, "where did you even get that?"

"Thrift shop. Isn't it awesome?"

"What do you need with a beer hat?"

"Who doesn't need a beer hat?"

Jane didn't answer, but he imagined she was frowning.

"Look, I haven't been to the bar in ages. I have to get my drink on somehow…"

"When did you pick up beer?" Jane wondered.

"Oh, I haven't. Not yet. Didn't have time. This is cherry coke. Here, have a taste."

"No. I don't want a tas—" There was muffled noise.

"Good, right?"

"You can't just shove things in people's mouths. It's unsanitary."

"Lots of things are unsanitary," Darcy dismissed. "You don't want my germs, Janey? Should I be offended?"

Jane sighed, long and suffering. "What'd I ever do to the universe that it brought you into my life?"

"Maybe one of your past lives was an especially good person, deserving of a reward."

He laughed under his breath, and Jane must've heard him because she nudged his leg with her foot. Not so much a 'shut up' as it was an 'I heard that.' He'd been kicked before, he remembered, for not following orders. It was interesting to see how different the same action could be when the person cared. A friendly nudge, careful not to cause real damage.

The movie started up in the distance then, and Jane decided to drop the argument. "It's starting, shh."

"We've already seen this one twice," Darcy pointed out, tossing popcorn in the air and leaning around to catch it in her open mouth.

"So? It's a classic."

"You say that about all of these movies." At Jane's glare, she held up a hand in surrender. "Okay, fine, shutting up."

He smiled to himself and reached for the volume dial on the radio, turning it up a little. Despite her complaints, Darcy hummed along to the songs, and Jane sighed at every romantic moment. While it wasn't one of his favorites, it was still good, and he soaked up every night like this. Eventually, they would be a distant memory, one he planned to hold on to tightly, so for the time being, he'd enjoy every second he had while he had it.

[Next: Chapter Seven.]

author's note: so, there's still one more chapter before a jane/bucky reunion. i just enjoy fleshing out their friendship. there's tentative darcy/bucky romance in this chapter, but things find their groove more in the next chapter. i hope you enjoyed this. i had a lot of fun working on the jane/bucky friendship and the darcy/bucky relationship. more of bucky's personality is coming out now and becoming more vocalized as he finds his footing and considers the van his home and darcy and jane his 'people' of sorts, so it's fun to work more of his voice into things rather than have most of it play out in his head. anyway, i hope to have the next chapter up a lot sooner, and maybe even wrap this up before i start back at university. :)

check out my polyvore (sarcasticfina) for the outfits used (they're in a collection titled "I'm slipping away from myself") and my tumblr (sarcasticfina) for a character page (/slipping) and update news (/tagged/fic-news)!

thank you all for reading! please try to leave a review, if you can!

- lee | fina