Tony had never considered himself to be claustrophobic but when you wake up buried alive it would certainly make any reasonable person terrified out of their mind. The Iron Man was no exception, heavy breathing and blind panic sets in as he wakes up underground in a wooden box, survival instincts kicking in as hands pat the suit he'd been wearing to find a cell phone or something to call for help with. Instead he found something else, his hand closes around a small metallic rectangle rectangular object which he identifies immediately. A lighter he'd seen an old friend use during a classic hunter salt and burn one day.
"H-Help...anyone?" As the flame ignites and illuminates the casket he feels his voice give out, hoarse from lack of use as the inventor pushes against the lid of his prison and soil spills onto his face. As dirt begins to fill in the space does he make a mad scramble to the surface pulling and clawing his way out as he gets himself above ground and takes a large breath of fresh air.
Dragging himself out of the dirt and mud does the brunet lie face up on the grass, having to take a moment to calm himself as heavy breathing takes over and Tony has to push the fear and adrenaline down in his chest. Finally getting a moment to think does he settle on two things. One, he has to get out of there before someone spots him, and two, he needs to change out of less conspicuous clothes. He doesn't remember exactly how he ended up buried in the ground (well he can take a guess but he doesn't remember doing anything dumb enough to end up there) but all he knows is a man crawling out of his own grave sounds like the start of a cheesy zombie film and usually people want to kill those. Best not to stick around to find out what people will do with him.
October 25-A fluffy post-Endgame Clintasha HEA, for @backwardsandinhighheels [Note: Clint’s never been married, has no children, and there was nothing between Bruce and Natasha]
Written by @celiaequus
While Steve Rogers was handing over his shield to the next generation Captain America, Clint was slouched on the bench outside the Avengers compound. His eyes were dry; he had no more tears to shed. Bruce kept trying to get him to keep hydrated, but was it really worth it? What was the point in going on without…
Damn, now he was hallucinating her. Walking across the lawn, hips sashaying side to side, red-and-white hair down and blowing around her shoulders in the gentle breeze. Clint’s eyes prickled in that familiar way, but no tears fell.
He heard the door open beside him and looked up, away from the hallucination. It was Scott and his daughter Cassie. Instead of greeting Clint, they stared ahead, jaws collectively dropping.
“Isn’t that the Black Widow?” Scott said. “It… it looks like Natasha.”
“Don’t!” Clint snapped. “I was there when she died. It’s not really her. Unless someone’s playing with us,” he said slowly, looking towards her approaching figure. She was close enough for him to see her eyes. And if Scott and Cassie were seeing her as well, it was either a collective hallucination or a trick. It couldn’t be anything else.
“Isn’t today the day that Cap’s supposed to be returning the Infinity Stones?” Scott said.
“Yeah, I saw him leave this morning,” Cassie said. “With Sam, Bruce… and Bucky.” She blushed. Her crush on the super soldier was obvious. Scott still wasn’t sure what to think about it, and quite frankly, Clint didn’t give a damn. He was more worried about the Natasha-shaped thing moving towards them.
“Hey,” she said, stopping in front of the bench. “Clint?”
“You’re not real,” he said dully.
“I used my legs to push myself off the side of the cliff and out of your grip,” she said. She pulled a chain from under her shirt to reveal the arrow pendant he gave her. Clint squeezed his eyes shut. “You gave this to me after a mission when I’d been at SHIELD for a whole year. It was the first present I ever received.”
“How…” His voice broke. He vaguely noticed that Cassie and Scott went back inside. “How could you be here?”
“Cap returned the Soul Stone, which returned… me,” she said, spreading her hands. “I don’t think either of us was expecting it, but I guess miracles do happen.” She smiled. It was so achingly like her real smile. “Or at least science we can’t understand. I can’t wait to tell Bruce.”
“We thought you were gone forever,” Clint whispered huskily. “How… how do I know you’re really here?”
She squatted in front of him and took his hands. Warm. Mostly soft but with gun callouses in all the right places.
“Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m not here, touching you,” she said.
Clint dared to look at her. His dry eyes burned. It looked like her. There was emotion in her eyes that he saw so rarely, but that was something no one could fake. She cupped his cheek.
“Budapest was definitely easier than Thanos,” she said.
“E-everything was easier than… than losing you,” Clint said. A sob caught in his throat.
“Why have we never kissed?”
That’s what she’d said their last night in Budapest. Clint fell to his knees on the ground and Natasha wrapped her arms around him. He dry-sobbed onto her shoulder while she cradled him close.
“It took dying to see that life’s too short to be scared,” she murmured into his hair. “Can I kiss you now?”
Clint twined his fingers into her hair and pulled their mouths together. It was desperate and his lips were incredibly dry from dehydration. He was starting to feel light-headed, but if this was a dream he didn’t want it to stop.
***
There was a low murmur of voices, and Clint tried to remember when he’d gone to sleep. Or why there was so much light trying to pierce his eyelids. He wanted to go back to sleep, dream about Natasha again, but he decided that he could ream out whoever was talking first.
He opened his eyes and saw Natasha and Bruce talking. About her coming back to life. And there was a drip in Clint’s arm. He cleared his throat. They looked at him.
“You passed out while we were kissing,” Natasha said. “Dehydration, according to Bruce.”
“All cried out,” Clint said, his voice husky with the dryness.
“No more of that,” she said firmly.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Bruce said. “Make sure he doesn’t try to leave. I want to monitor him overnight and make sure he gets enough nutrients. I thought you were taking meals on your own, not skipping them altogether.”
“Haven’t felt like food.”
“I’ll hand-feed him if I have to,” Natasha said.
“Now that I like the sound of,” Clint drawled.
She kissed him again and then climbed onto the bed to curl around him. Bruce dimmed the lights; and aside from the beeping of machines, there wasn’t a sound to disturb them.
“I think it’s time we both retire,” he said quietly. “Get a place of our own and let everyone else keep saving the world. We’ve earned it.”
Natasha nodded, her head moving against his chest.
“We’ve sacrificed enough for humanity time and again,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
Clint smiled, kissed her forehead, and let the warmth of her body lull him to sleep.
December 7-Bucky/Thor, smutt/fluff. After a vigorous round of we are back home sex. They start having the talk about maybe having kids one day for @tygerblaze
Written by @ozhawkauthor
“Are you well, beloved?” Thor’s huge hand stroked slowly down Bucky’s back, a gentle caress down the sweep of his spine.
“Mm hm,” Bucky cracked open an eye, smiled at his beloved. “Just feeling blissfully fucked out.”
Thor looked smug as he settled into bed beside Bucky, leaned over to kiss his shoulder, uncaring that it happened to be the metal one.Bucky hummed with pleasure as the sensors in his shoulder transmitted the pressure; his brain interpreted the gesture as the loving one it was even if the nerves receiving it were only synthetic ones.
“It is good to have you safe here with me in New Asgard,” Thor said quietly, and Bucky opened his eyes fully. He still struggled to comprehend, even now, that he and half the population of the universe had been just gone for five years, but seeing those they’d left behind and how much they’d changed had hammered home the truth. Thor’s devastation had been more visible than most, not that it mattered to Bucky how his soulmate looked, except that the changes had been an unspoken message of just how badly Thor’s soul had been wounded when Bucky was torn away from him.
“It’s good to be here with you,” he told Thor, shifting so he could put his arm around his soulmate. “So good.” The Asgardians had been overjoyed to welcome Bucky into their community; he could envision a place for himself here among them. Wanting to tease away the shadows he saw lurking in Thor’s eyes, he reached up and lightly tugged on his soulmate’s beard. “Your Majesty.”
“Will you stop?” Thor smiled, though. “I told you. You don’t need to call me that.”
“Well, I never expected to be soulmate to a king. Still gettin’ used to it.”
“Get used to being called Your Highness then, future Prince Consort.”
Bucky snickered at the mere thought; a boy from Brooklyn becoming a prince was beyond ridiculous. “Still want to go through with this?” Though the Asgardians didn’t have taboos against non-heterosexual marriage, he’d heard a few quiet mutterings about the line of succession to the throne.
“Can you doubt it?” Thor kissed him, and Bucky lost himself in the kiss for a few moments.
“I don’t doubt how you feel about me, or how I feel about you,” he said when he got his breath back, “but I do worry about what happens if something happens to you.”
“The Valkyrie takes the throne,” Thor said, accurately divining his thoughts. “She would be a far better ruler than I anyway, and I have already named her my heir.”
“And after her? Because she says she’s not going to have children.”
“Hm.” Thor looked thoughtful. “I see what you’re getting at. I suppose humans live such short lives, succession plans have always had much more immediacy for you.”
“Odin had a couple millennia to get that shit sorted and it still almost went sideways,” Bucky pointed out dryly.
“You make a good point. Well.” Thor looked a little tentative. “I had been considering… when Asgard was evacuated, there were a good many children left without parents. New Asgard has welcomed all children to our hearts, but… there are still some who have not found a true family to be absorbed into. What if we were to adopt one, or more?”
“Raise kids?” Bucky leaned up on one elbow, thinking it over. “You and me?”
“Perhaps we wouldn’t be a traditional parental unit, but for the orphans of Asgard, a family is a family.”
“Y’all don’t have to tell me about choosing your own family, Thor.” Bucky smiled wryly. “If you think any of them would choose us… hell yeah, I’m up for that!”
Thor’s delight was plain to see as he leaned in and hugged Bucky close. “We’ll make our own family,” he said, almost fierce in his determination, and Bucky knew he was thinking of those he’d lost too recently. “And they will know from the beginning that neither we, nor anyone else, will ever care that they were adopted.”
The word Loki hung between them, almost tangible even though it was never spoken.
“And maybe, one of them will be king or queen of Asgard,” Bucky said gently.
September 5- Laura/Clint/Natasha Endgame fix-it, maybe with “Who is running this thing?!" (though it's not required), for @kathryn-claire-oconnor
Written by @hotpinklizard
Clint really doesn’t think it will work, but he’s desperate enough that a traitorous part of his brain dares to hope. He should be grateful, he has Laura and his kids back, but he’s selfish and wants more. He sees the pain when Laura’s eyes slide to Natasha’s side of their bed. He sees how she pauses when she comes across Nat’s rings in the jewelry tray in the bathroom. He hears his kids cry at night when they don’t want him to hear. He hears Nathanial not want to hear his own name because it hurts too much.
Steve doesn’t say anything before he leaves to return the stones, just claps him on the shoulder and nods. That’s fine, Clint doesn’t have much left to say. He knows they share the same wild hope; a soul for a soul. It’s a child’s dream that returning the Soul Stone will return Natasha to them, which is why when the platform lights up and Steve reappears with an unconscious Natasha in his arms, well, Clint feels like his heart stops.
She’s bruised and bloody, but alive. The doctors aren’t sure how. They say her injuries are consistent with a great fall, but she’s somehow still alive. The world is still a mess, travel is a nightmare, but Helen Cho is able to make it, bringing with her a newer version of her Regeneration Cradle.
Laura arrives maybe an hour later, joining Clint at Natasha’s bedside. A lot of people come and go, including Maria, Bruce, and Thor. Tony tries but Pepper threatens him back into his own hospital bed. Brunnhilde, the woman Thor had introduced as Valkyrie, arrives when the Cradle is nearly finished. She holds a hand out over Natasha, still unconscious, looking at her intently.
“She’s a true warrior,” she says eventually, pulling her hand back. “But the gates of Valhalla aren’t ready for her yet.”
“She’ll be okay?” Laura asks, her hand tight in Clint’s.
“She won’t die,” Brunnhilde says. “Healing matters aren’t my area of expertise.”
They thank her when she leaves with Thor, leaving them only with Maria, though she too has to leave soon. It’s just Clint and Laura, Clint with Natasha’s hand tight in his, Laura sitting on the edge of her bed, her hand on Natasha’s wrist, right above Clint’s. Helen comes to check on her occasionally, but the Cradle is done, they’re just waiting for Natasha to wake up at this point.
“Sometimes people need time,” Helen says. “The brain processes things differently than the body does. She’ll wake up when she can.”
It’s hours into the night, the hospital lights dimmed, when Clint feels Natasha’s hand twitch in his. He looks up sharply, but her face is still. Laura is asleep where she’s sitting on the bed, her head close to Natasha’s, and Clint doesn’t want to wake her unless he’s sure. It’s a few more minutes of staring at her intently when he feels her squeeze his hand, harder this time. Definitely deliberate.
“Laura,” he says, touching her shoulder to wake her. She sits up quickly, looking between him and Natasha. “I think she’s waking up.”
Laura sits up straighter, turning back to Natasha. She brushes away the stray hairs around Natasha’s face that have escaped her braid, fingertips softly moving over her hair in the way that always makes Natasha melt in her hands. Natasha’s hand squeezes his harder.
“Hey, Natasha,” Laura says softly, fingers still moving through her hair. It’s the voice she uses to coax Natasha out of her nightmares, the voice that makes Natasha instinctively know she’s safe. Natasha lets out a little groan. “We’re here. You can wake up, it’s okay. You’re home.”
It takes a few more minutes, Clint’s heart in his throat, before Natasha’s eyes flutter open. She looks a bit foggy and unfocused for a moment, but then her hand grasps Clint’s tightly, her eyes flitting from him to Laura, then widening as she finally realizes what she’s seeing.
“It worked?” she asks, voice hoarse, as she struggles to sit up. Laura puts her hand on her shoulder, trying to ease her back down, but Natasha yanks her into a hug instead, tears filling her eyes. Clint watches, blinking away wetness when Natasha reaches a hand out for him too. Clint swallows and goes, wrapping his arms around them as well as he can.
“Don’t do that again,” he whispers. “I can’t - why did you do that? Don’t - “
Natasha shushes him and lets herself be held between him and Laura until she eventually relents to exhaustion and sleeps. Laura stays curled next to her, head on her shoulder, with Clint sitting next to the bed. He doesn’t deserve them, he knows he doesn’t. Even before the last few years, with all he’s done, he hadn’t deserved them, but now...he isn’t worth being near them.
“Stop,” Natasha murmurs, patting his hand where it’s resting on her thigh. “I can hear your angst from here.”
“Just thinking,” Clint says just as softly, trying not to wake Laura.
Natasha rolls her eyes and Clint has never been so happy to be on the end of her irritation.
“Stop thinking. You guys did it, you got Laura and the kids back,” she says. “Be happy, dumbass.”
“And you,” Clint says. “I don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t come back. Don’t...don’t do that to me again.”
“It’s not high on my to-do list,” she says and Clint knows that’s as good as he’s gonna get.
“Since Avengers Headquarters is kind of a big pile of rubble,” Clint says, “are you coming home with us?”
“Of course she is,” Laura says sleepily, kicking Clint in the leg. “Shut up and sleep. The kids are gonna be wild tomorrow.”
“Yeah, shut up,” Natasha says with a grin. He’s thrilled to have them here to gang up on him again.
May 5- Darcy Lewis/Bucky Barnes and/or Clint Barton}, something {fluffy and/or hurt/comfort} maybe with {“enemies to friends to lovers" or "friends to lovers”}, please!“ (Poly or pair is good. Feel free to go crazy as all I ask for is a happy ending, for @caitriona3
This is in some happy, post-Endgame AU where everyone is back, and the Avengers and co. are all living together in the Avengers’ Facility. I chose the prompt: “They’re not good enough for you.” I hope you like it!
Written by @kathryn-claire-oconnor
“—which is why we at SI will no longer be speaking to, or of Ian,” Dr. Foster announced, coming to the end of a hurried speech with a ferocity in her tone that Bucky could appreciate.
Stark had been in the middle of fixing a faulty wire in his arm when Dr. Banner had innocently asked where Darcy and Ian – the best of their lab help – were, since neither had come into work today… and Dr. Foster had immediately started in on the sort of tangent that only a true best friend could manage. Apparently, Ian had broken up with Darcy, saying, according to Dr. Foster, that being around the SI people had given him a real taste of the class and brainpower that was out in the world, and Darcy just didn’t cut it anymore. She was, essentially, not good enough for him, so they were through.
“Well, he’s fired – or at least getting a transfer,” Stark promised, setting aside the last of his tools and giving Bucky a nod to let him know he was cleared to go if he wanted to. “I think I may have to go talk to Pep about it as soon as possible.”
As Stark began putting away his tools, Clint spoke up from where he’d been sitting atop a nearby workbench, overseeing Bucky’s repair job. “Fired, I would hope. If nothing else, we know he’s a liar on top of being your garden variety ass.”
Dr. Banner raised an eyebrow, asking Clint, “How so?”
“Do any of us think Darcy’s any version of ‘less than?’” Bucky asked Banner, by way of translating his boyfriend’s remark.
“No, of course not.”
“Then he’s lying, to himself or Darcy, I don’t care what you call it,” Clint said. “As long as it can be used to get him out.”
Bucky couldn’t have agreed more, and, watching the way Clint’s jaw was ticking in otherwise well-disguised anger, he decided that if Darcy really was at home with a broken heart because of this guy, then it was past time for someone to do something about it.
<><>
Clint was in charge of movies and blankets, and Bucky had put himself in charge of all things sugar. An hour later, with surprisingly little conversation between them about what they were doing, they were standing in front of Darcy’s apartment armed with the best comedies, afghans, chocolate, ice cream, and cocoa that the Avengers’ Facility had to offer. Darcy burst into tears for what did not appear to be the first time that day when she saw them in her doorway.
When it came to women, Clint had faster reflexes than Bucky these days, and he quickly and unceremoniously dumped a pile of movies and afghans onto her coffee table in favor of pulling her into his arms. “Aw, come on, Darce, I know it hurts right now, but I promise he’s not worth all of this. This is the part where I can admit that I always thought he was a horrible, snobby, dense person, right?”
Darcy snorted, nodding into Clint’s t-shirt as Bucky slipped by them into Darcy’s kitchen. When he re-emerged, carrying a tray with three mugs of cocoa and as many bowls of ice cream on it, he found Clint and Darcy had already put in a movie and curled up under the biggest of the blankets Clint had bought.
“I wasn’t sure who wanted what,” he said, setting the tray down on the now-cluttered coffee table as he sat down on the couch on Darcy’s other side. He tugged on the blanket to be given his own fair share, but Clint narrowed his eyes at him in a half-hearted glare, unwilling to give any up.
Bucky tugged again, and Darcy, already looking to be in slightly better spirits, said, “Play nice, boys; you love each other, remember?”
“Yeah, we love each other, but that doesn’t mean I want to share my blanket with him when there’s more right there that he can use,” Clint bickered, probably being childish on purpose, just to distract Darcy.
“You’re sharing your blanket with me,” Darcy pointed out.
“Well, that’s because I love you, too, Darce, and you just have the bonus big blue eyes and long, dark hair. How am I not supposed to give you whatever you want when you’re such an amazing person?”
“Excuse me?” Bucky asked, getting in on Clint’s little act as he raised his eyebrows at him. “Your big-blue-eyed, long-dark-haired boyfriend is sitting right here too, and he just wants to snuggle under a blanket.”
“Is that really too much to ask, Clint?” Darcy asked, pouting at Clint on Bucky’s behalf as Bucky gave another tug on the afghan just because.
Except Clint let it go this time, and Bucky nearly fell off the edge of the couch as it unexpectedly gave way. Clint began to laugh – and so did Darcy.
Bucky grinned, wrapping his portion of the blanket around himself and snuggling closer to Darcy on the couch. Content with the beginnings of a mission accomplished – make Darcy happy again – he asked, “What did I miss of the movie so far?”
<><>
Weekly movie nights with Darcy became a thing, almost on accident. To begin with, it was only when either one of the three of them were having a bad day; it helped to end those days on positive, fun notes. Then, even if everyone had a good day, it was decided that Mondays just sucked as often as not, and they needed to go out on a nice note. So, a weekly movie night was established.
Then, as Darcy grew even closer to Clint and Bucky, as Ian became a thing of the past, the movie nights started to become make-out sessions, and then overnights, with the three of them tangled in the ridiculously large king beds that Stark had bought for every bedroom in the Facility.
The three of them moved slowly into a romantic phase of their relationship with Darcy, trying not to worry that they might mess up the friendship they already had while also figuring out how they worked as a romantic trio. But Bucky was okay with moving slowly – he preferred it these days, actually – because no matter what they were still coming together: healing together and fitting the quirky puzzle pieces of their personalities together in a way that worked for them. And it did work, and Bucky absolutely loved it… mostly because he loved Clint and Darcy.
June 5-a Steve/Daisy fluff piece where Steve is jealous of Daisys and Buckys fast friendship and bonding over mind control. Or literally any Steve/Daisy prompt, for @hannahgisatree2267
I chose the line “I’ve been thinking about you all day” to add to your prompt. This is a post-Endgame AU. For the purpose of this story, let’s pretend that Steve didn’t stay in the past/an alternate timeline with Peggy at the end of Endgame.
I hope you like this!
Written by @kathryn-claire-oconnor
Caught up in his own thoughts and staring at the people sparring across the gym, Steve only blinked when Sam threw an empty water bottle at his head. “Man,” Sam demanded wearily as he watched him. “What are you doing?”
“What? Nothing.” Steve snapped his gaze away from Daisy and Bucky’s sparring match to snatch up a water bottle of his own. “I’m not doing anything. Admiring Bucky’s technique, if anything.” Then he drank the water bottle in one go in a bid to end the conversation there.
Sam wasn’t playing along, giving Steve a terrifically unimpressed look as he repeated disbelievingly, “’Technique?’”
“They’re sparring, aren’t they? Am I not allowed to watch and learn?” Steve couldn’t help but hope that his testy tone was only in his own head, but, judging by Sam’s unwavering expression, his friend had heard it too.
“Yeah, you are – if any of us believed for a second that’s what you were actually doing. You’re standing over here giving Daisy thousand-yard puppy eyes when everybody can see that you two are into each other. She’s just giving way for your old-fashioned ego and waiting for you to do something about it. So, do something about it, before Barnes and I get so sick of you we do something about it for you.”
Leaving that odd and somewhat ominous threat dangling over Steve’s head, Sam grabbed his gym bag and headed for the showers. Steve dropped down onto a bench with a stifled sigh, smashing his empty bottle between his hands, and kept right on watching Daisy and Bucky spar.
Which he was doing – at least partially – because it really, really was because it was an interesting match. Daisy was small and agile, and Bucky was definitely bulkier and relying a bit more on brute strength than his sparring partner. Their different fighting styles meant that they were keeping each other on their toes.
They were a good match.
And that was the other half of why Steve was watching them.
There was a spark there, between himself and Daisy; he knew they both felt it and had ever since they’d properly met after bringing people back from the Snap. But Daisy had also developed such a fast bond with Bucky over the experiences that they’d shared – like brainwashing – that it had thrown Steve for a bit of a loop, and now, despite what Sam had said, he was a little unsure where he and Daisy stood. At the same time, Sam was right; he needed to figure it out with her, for his own peace of mind if nothing else.
So, he waited, watching from afar, in a way that he could only hope wasn’t creepy. When Daisy and Bucky were done sparring, Bucky must’ve seen something in his oldest friend’s face, because he gave Steve a smile that might’ve been meant as encouraging, grabbed a Gatorade from the mini fridge, and left to shower and change in his own room.
Daisy took a water bottle from the fridge and sat down beside Steve, catching her breath as she opened her drink. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
She eyed him, taking a long drink before she asked him point-blank, “What’s on your mind?”
“Am I that obvious?” he asked dryly. She nodded with a soft smile, waited for him to continue. He twisted the cap off and onto his crushed bottle, admitting, “I’ve been thinking about you,” with a dry chuckle at himself, he added, “All day, actually. Which sounds really bad, now that I say it aloud, after watching you and Bucky for the past ten minutes.”
Daisy chuckled, grinning as she assured him, “Well, I don’t think Captain American could be anyone’s stalker, so I’ll allow it, for now.”
“Thanks.” He looked at her then, noticing the way the light caught her eyes and turned them almost golden brown.
“What were you thinking – about me, I mean?” she prompted, giving him her full attention.
There was his opening, and she was a smart lady, she knew she was giving it to him. Might as well dive right in. “I was thinking about… us? If you even want there to be an us, that is? I know we’ve been taking it really slowly as the world, you know, rebuilds around us, and I—I didn’t want to misinterpret something, read too much into something if you didn’t even want there to be an ‘us’ at all. Because I see you and Bucky, and I don’t want to hurt either one of you, and I see this great bond between you over things that you need to be able to discuss with someone – and I’m glad you both have that, I really am – but if I need to get out of the way so that can become something more, you’re going to have to tell me, because I’m not just going to walk away from such a great woman without—”
“Hey, hey, whoa,” Daisy raised her hands to stop him, looking like she was starting to get a little lost in his tirade. “Slow down for a second here. Bucky and I? Is that what you’re worried about?” When he nodded, not sure what to say that wouldn’t make him sound even worse right now, she just looked even more puzzled. “Where did that come from?”
“You two… you get along really well together, and you’ve clearly… meshed well. I know that you and I have this… attraction, but we’ve been really slow about exploring it, and if you aren’t interested in me, if you’d rather –”
“No, Steve, I wouldn’t ‘rather’ anything. Bucky and I ‘mesh’ as friends, because there’s things that we both need to talk through, yes, and he gets it better than most, but we are only friends, and that’s all we want from each other. Okay?”
He believed her, but he wasn’t sure where to take the conversation from here, so he only repeated, “Okay,” and waited for her to continue.
Sighing and taking his hand – that was a good sign, right? – she did so. “I thought you understood, Steve. If there’s been a misunderstanding, I’m sorry. Let’s get rid of it, alright?”
“Yes, please,” he said lightly.
“Here’s what I understood, okay? You and I are interested in each other. There’s chemistry there, it’s nice. There’s been a couple dates, a little sex, but we’re not getting serious yet, because there’s still a lot going on in the rest of the world, and we’re all really busy being a part of that. But I want to get to know you, to explore a relationship with you within the confines of what is possible considering our workload right now. Does that sound right to you? Was there anything wrong, or any miscommunication in there?”
Steve gave it the moment of real consideration she seemed to be asking for, then shook his head.
“And do you feel the same way about me?” she asked coaxingly, looking a little like she wasn’t sure if she should be amused or annoyed with him.
He didn’t blame her as he squeezed her hand, promising, “Yes, absolutely. I want that – I want something – with you. As much as you’re willing to have too.”
“Then let’s take a deep breath, chill for a second, and work on that. No drama,” she gave him a pointed look. “No worrying about our best friends who would never, ever steal your girl, no pressure. Let’s talk when we can, and get to know one another, and do a little of this life thing together. Sound good?”
Finally, he relaxed, leaning down until their foreheads were touching as he admitted, “That sounds perfect.”
“Good.” She moved just enough to give him a light peck on the lips.
“Sorry if I was… not great,” he felt the need to say, even if he wasn’t sure how to categorize his own jealousy.
“You’re a worrywart, captain,” she said with a small shrug. “But you don’t have to be with me. Not ever.”
Steve grinned dryly, willing to let the seriousness of the moment pass now as he pointed out, “I guess I should’ve realized some of that when you managed to pin Bucky on the mat.”
“Probably.” She returned his teasing smile with one of her own before standing with her hand still in his. “So. I’m going to go take a shower and wash some of this stink off. You should do the same. In fact, if you were really serious about wanting to get to know one another better, we could kill two birds with one stone and talk together while… I don’t know… in the shower?”
Her casual tone was given away by the sparkle in her eyes, and Steve’s grin widened as he stood up and let her lead him away. “That also sounds perfect.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Terra Firma
Chapters: 2/?
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
Characters: Steve Rogers, Darcy Lewis, Maria Hill, mentions of Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Sarah Wilson (Marvel)
Additional Tags: post-Endgame AU
Summary:
Steve Rogers is....lost. He's passed his shield on to the next Captain America, Sam, and rescued Bucky from that wretched therapist, but that doesn't mean Steve knows what he needs to do with himself.
