Avengers, Thor 1. Build a New Reality

So moving all of the dream sequences over into this piece is probably not going to happen, so the previous story will stay exactly as is. That being said this story picks up directly after the last one - literally, only minutes pass between the ending of that story and the start of this one. Things also may get a little more adult in this story than the previous one as well, just to give you a heads up. Also, this story is still taking place prior to the Avengers movie (which probably will be covered somewhat in a later part).

Hugest of thanks to Meri for helping me beat this part into submission and putting up with a few plotty rambles as I try and nail down the character motivations in this story.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**Build a New Reality**

Steve means to leave the apartment as soon as Darcy passes out. Really, he does, but he finds himself glued to the chair watching the steady rise and fall of her body under the blankets like a metronome. In a way, it helps him avoid his own nightmares, dreams of blood and battlefields where guns are firing everywhere and bullets cut at his skin as he runs through the forest. He's haunted by his best friend falling into a snowy abyss, a grinning Red Skull with his eyes lit by quite possibly the flames of hell. Steve's pretty sure that Darcy hasn't dropped into those dreams of his yet, but it's only a matter of time. Seeing her dream tonight reminds him uncomfortably of those flashbacks, and he's waiting with a nervous tension for them to crop up again to scare the daylights out of both of them. So if he can avoid sleeping it's all the better.

He could get up and take a walk around the streets. It wouldn't be the first time he'd done so, spending hours tromping over cobblestone streets that haven't been updated in decades surrounding by buildings that have been changed so much that he can hardly recognize the factory buildings they used to be. Other times he goes to an all-night diner nearby he discovered on one of his walks and sits there for hours, drinking coffee and sketching in his notebook until he's able to erase the images from his brain.

Definitely time to get moving, Steve thinks, tapping his fingers on the arm rests of the chair. But the movement of her torso beneath the blankets is downright hypnotic, moving up and down as regularly as a metronome. It's this that lulls him back to sleep without much warning, his head rolling against the back of the chair.

* * *

_The sight in front of him could come directly from one of those magazines that were smuggled into camp to keep the soldiers warm on those lonely nights. Peggy's there sitting on the couch in that red dress of hers, with her legs crossed in front of her and her painted lips spread into a knowing smile. Darcy's sitting on the couch next to Peggy, her pale legs stretched out and draped over the other woman's knees. She's more covered up in her floral shirtdress than she is in her sleeping clothes, but there's still something quite exposed and intimate about the entire thing._

_ Peggy's arm is wrapped around Darcy, her red painted nails pressing into her shoulder and tangling amidst her brown hair. Peggy winks at Steve once, a quick flick of eyelashes against pale skin, and twists in her seat to kiss Darcy. Darcy moans softly, lowly, and he can see Peggy's tongue prod at the seam of her lips and then slip further inward._

_ Steve's breath catches in his throat, like he's back in the old days and can't get anywhere near enough oxygen into his lungs. The sight should not be appealing to him; he should be more upset that his girl is there kissing this interloper from the future. He should be bothered by Darcy's presence invading one of his most private fantasies, but he's not. In fact, the view of Peggy and Darcy together makes the blood rush through his veins and his groin tighten. _

_ Darcy's hand makes its way to Peggy's stomach, drawing patterns on the red fabric. Peggy's lips curve upwards and she moves to press a line of kisses to Darcy's cheek, right below her glasses. While Darcy's mouth moves to her neck, Peggy looks up at Steve again. She stretches out her free arm and beckons him over, her fingers curling sinuously in the air._

_ Really, who is he to disobey? Steve reaches out, takes her hand, and settles on the couch next to her. Peggy's palm is slightly rough against his; she's used these hands to cradle guns and conduct battles, and it's a small comfort to him. Their bodies are pressed together from shoulder to ankle, and he can feel Darcy's bare feet nudging up against his calf. She untangles her hand from his and wraps it around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a long, leisurely kiss._

_ Oh, how he's missed this, those lips of hers dancing along his and making the rest of the world fall away. It's all too easy for Steve to pretend that this isn't a dream, that this is real life and he's exactly where he wants to be. His hand reaches out to glide up the leg nearest to him, and he suspects it's Darcy's. The wandering leg returns the favor and stretches to rest her heel on his thigh. It looks like it could be a strain, but given how Darcy's got her face buried in Peggy's neck and her hand is still moving over her stomach, she doesn't seem at all bothered by it._

_ Peggy pulls away from his mouth with a nip and a lick. "You should try our girl," she whispers. "She tastes lovely."_

_ That statement gives Steve pause. He's no naïve choirboy but he's never been in a situation quite like this before. Still, Darcy is an attractive young woman and he's not ashamed to admit that._

_ Bleary-eyed, Darcy pulls her head away from Peggy's neck. "It's all right," she mumbles, pushing her hair off of her face. "You don't have to if you don't want."_

_ "No, that's – " His voice stutters to a halt, trying to find the right words. But really, it's quite simple. Does he want to or not? "I mean, if you want to?"_

_ Darcy rolls her eyes and smirks. "Who am I to turn down such a tempting offer?" she teases._

_ "If you don't want to – "_

_ She cuts him off with a "Shut up," and her hand wrapping around the back of his neck. Before Steve can even hesitate Darcy pulls his mouth to hers. She's surprisingly delicate and hesitant, kissing him like he's some sort of precious treasure that could crack at the slightest pressure._

_ Steve realizes that's the last thing he wants. No delicacy, no national treasure. Here and now he's just a guy. So the hand that's on Darcy's leg slides up under her dress to grab at her hip, pulling her closer. When she gasps at the sudden movement he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. If she was gasping before she's moaning now, her hand grasping at the back of his head._

_ Peggy nips at the shell of his ear and Steve's free hand reaches out to find her shoulder. "Good boy," she whispers in his ear as she begins to unbutton his shirt._

* * *

Steve awakes with a groan, eyes blinking rapidly in the low lighting of Darcy's tiny little room. Breath rattles in his lungs and his pants are uncomfortably tight. He takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself down before Darcy catches him in this state. He's not willing to probe any further into those thoughts lest he see things he's not ready to admit to.

Steve looks over at Darcy to make his excuses and get out of there, but the sight of her makes his mouth go dry. She's kicked her blankets off and his stretched out across the mattress, arms thrown over her head. Darcy's not still, her legs rubbing together and her back arching nearly off the bed. Her nightshirt's pulled tight across her breasts, and her nipples are hard enough to nearly poke through the fabric.

Okay, he really has to go. Steve pushes himself to his feet and makes his way over to the bedroom door. The skylight's still pitch dark; he should be able to slip back to his apartment without being noticed by any of her roommates.

"Hey, Steve?" Darcy calls out, still sounding half drunk and mostly asleep.

He freezes in his tracks, eyes toward the door with his hand on the knob, ready to twist. "Yeah?"

"Two things. One: your girl's hot. Two: if that's how you kiss when you're asleep you must be pretty damn amazing when you're awake."

Steve smiles slightly, if only because he knows that she can't see him. "Good night, Darcy," he says softly.

"'Night, Steve. Sweet dreams."

* * *

A/n: Both the story title and the chapter title are from _Hoodoo,_ by Muse. Wanna drop me a line? Visit my tumblr at aenariasbookshelf dot tumblr dot com!


	2. This Strange and Beautiful Thing

I'll be the first to admit that this chapter kind of got away from me a little bit. Unlike Physical Phenomena, however, I'm reining this one in and the later parts will be more of a return to form. As I really like how this chapter came out, I'm posting it as is. If you have any questions or comments, you can leave them below or stop by my tumblr at .com and let me know there. Thanks for reading!

* * *

**This Strange and Beautiful Thing**

Darcy bangs on the door to Steve's apartment. It's not that he's been avoiding her since _that_ dream (which was admittedly intense and, frankly, pretty damn hot), but he's seemed a bit…distant, for lack of a better word, she thinks. And as Steve isn't exactly mister talks about his emotions to begin with she can only guess at what's been going through his head. So it's time to cut that behavior off at the knees, Darcy knows, which is what leads to her practically pounding down his door a week later.

She can hear Steve's heavy footsteps on the other side, and resists the urge to tap her feet on the tiled hall floor. He's hesitating, she thinks, because he's got to be standing right on the other side of the door and it's not opening, not yet. Eventually Steve opens the door, looking nervous and sheepish and all other sorts of adjectives he has no real reason to look like. He opens his mouth to say something, but Darcy cuts him off with one pointedly upraised finger.

"Just answer me this," she says. "Do you or do you not have any control over what you dream about?"

"Darcy—"

"Yes or no."

Steve's silent for a moment, his arms spread out and gripping either side of the door. "No," he finally admits, not meeting her stare.

"So then why the hell do you think I'd be offended by dreaming something like that?" Darcy questions, which brings his eyes back up to her. She's standing there with her arms crossed over her chest, eyebrows arched above her glasses and hoping like hell that he gets the message. "For the record, I'm flattered," she says.

"And w—if it happens again?" Steve asks, releasing his grip on the doorframe.

Darcy notices the small catch in his voice, but chooses to focus on the question, not the words. She can at least provide an answer to that. "Then we deal with it as it comes."

Now it's Steve's turn to send an eyebrow arching skyward. Darcy quickly rubs a hand over her forehead, hoping like hell it's enough of a distraction from the blush she can feel blooming on her cheeks. "Okay, bad choice of words," she says. "But you know what I mean. So, we're cool?"

Steve just offers a wry grin and nods. "We're good."

Darcy claps her hands together. "Good! Now that that's out of the way, what are your plans for the night?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's not a difficult question."

"No, I know. You just caught me off guard there. What's going on?" he asks.

Darcy resists the urge to smirk at the worried look on Steve's face, knowing that he's not going to see this one coming. "The roommates and I are having a little get-together tonight. Noshes, drinks, couple of movies, real casual sort of thing. I was wondering if you wanted to come over and hang out with us?"

Steve's lips purse briefly, but then he shakes his head. "I don't really think I'd be good company right now. And chances are I won't understand most of the things you're talking about anyway."

"You mean the shadowy government agency that set you up with this cushy place didn't give you a plausible back story in case anyone ever asks you any questions?" Darcy crosses her arms over her chest, preparing to fight him on this one. She's of the firm belief that he needs to get out of his apartment and see the world, at least a little bit. Movie night at her apartment is a pretty tame step in the right direction.

"The backstory's not the problem," Steve says. "It's if someone asks questions that the backstory doesn't quite cover. I'm sure S.H.I.E.L.D. would love to have to run interference because I stepped in it."

"That's what I'll be there for," Darcy fires back, resisting the urge to call Steve out on being one of the most stubborn fuckers she's ever had to deal with. "Okay, I'm going to lay it out as I'm seeing it," she says. "S.H.I.E.L.D. may be doing a good job at catching you up with all of the historical events that have happened since the War, but I'm betting that they haven't given you the slightest hint as to how to interact with people your own age in the 21st century."

He opens his mouth to rebut the claim, but then he pauses, looking off into the distance. "Thought so," Darcy continues. "What I'm offering is a sort of…controlled setting, nothing loud or, well, overly crazy, where you can hang out with people your own age who have no clue about who you are or what you've been through, which is probably a nice change from the people at the shadowy government agency that you normally see. And the best part is you don't have to tell them anything you don't want them to know." She shrugs, tossing her last hat into the ring. "Worse comes to worse you get a free dinner out of it."

Steve looks warily down at her, but Darcy suspects that she's wearing him down a bit. Even though they haven't really known each other all that long technically (though if she includes the time dreaming and sleeping and time spent frozen they've actually known each other for years, which is the strangest sort of thought) she's a bit amazed that she can tell what Steve's face looks like when he's warming up to an idea. "Can I leave whenever I want?" he finally asks.

Darcy nods. "Absolutely. Though I do hope you stick around for at least a little while."

She doesn't breathe until he nods in agreement. Steve disappears for a second, then comes back wearing his coat and locks the door behind him. Before they hit the stairwell Darcy stops mid-stride, then turns around back to him. "Just one last thing," she says.

"What is it?" Instead of speaking, Darcy reaches out and begins to quickly unbutton his shirt. "Hey!"

"You look too tightly wound up for a movie night with a bunch of twenty somethings who will most likely not be sober in the space of an hour," Darcy says, unbuttoning the plaid shirt and then pulling that and the t-shirt underneath out of his pants. "There, that's it." She steps back and raises her hands in supplication. "You can at least fake being relaxed like that."

Steve looks down at himself and frowns. "It looks a bit sloppy."

"You're still better dressed than any of the guys who are going to be there, I promise."

When they arrive back at Darcy's place the night descends into a whirlwind of introductions. This girl's the assistant to a talent agent who herds a bunch of models convinced that celery and Adderall are legitimate food groups, another guy bakes vegan muffins, and someone else is a bike messenger with a perpetually bruised calf. There's the boyfriend and girlfriend duo that Darcy's not quite sure what they do for a living, but they pay their share of the rent so no one asks questions. There are a few other people drifting around who may or may not live there, but Darcy thinks it's likely that they wandered up from the art studio on the first floor. It wouldn't be the first time it's happened, she explains. "Which is why I'm the only one with the key to the lock on my bedroom door," she grumbles under her breath. No one asks Steve any questions that he can't answer in a convincingly modern way, and Darcy can't help but feel relieved for him. Once the introductions are done she grabs two beers out of the creaky old refrigerator in the kitchen, shoves Steve down into a corner of the couch, and settles down next to him.

"So far, so good?" she asks, clinking her beer bottle against his.

"Too early to tell."

Darcy just nods. She hopes that Steve's at least willing to stick it out for a little while and possibly, though it is a bit of a radical thought, enjoy himself just a little bit. She gets that it's hard for him. He's a freakin' modern day Rip van Winkle who woke up in a world that's progressed further than his wildest imaginations and everyone that he knew is long gone. But he's also got this amazing second chance in front of him that's just going to waste (possibly. She doesn't know what he does every single hour of the day, but there's the sneaking suspicion that he's not taking advantage of all the wonderful things the 21st century has to offer and instead spending far too much time with the punching bags at his gym). So if she has to drag Steve kicking and screaming out of his apartment for the night – metaphorically, at least – then that's what she's going to do.

But Darcy also knows that she may be slightly out of her depth in this situation, so she's got to tread somewhat carefully. And if S.H.I.E.L.D. was to find out what she's doing? Aw, hell, they still owe her for the iPod after the New Mexico incident, so fair's fair.

Jess, the modeling agent's assistant and the old college friend who had convinced her to take the room in the apartment, wobbles over to the coffee table on a pair of absurdly high heels and plonks down a giant pot full of something. "Dinner's up," she says as she straightens up and pushes some wayward blond curls out of her eyes.

"What is it?" Darcy asks, leaning forward to sniff at the pot.

"Barrett says it's supposed to be chili."

"_Supposed _to be?"

Jess just shrugs, and totters off to check out the latest face that's wandered into their apartment. Darcy grabs two bowls from the mismatched stack and dishes up some chili for them. "Well, bottoms up," she says, handing one over to Steve.

After about twenty seconds of chewing Steve grimaces, and swallows roughly. "It's…interesting," he says with a wince. "Is that what chili's supposed to taste like?"

"God, no." Darcy makes a disgusted face of her own and chokes her own mouthful down. While she's tempted to throw her bowl across the room and drop the rest of the pot out the window, she can't take the risk of her roommates or any of the other wandering souls getting poisoned. At least the serum would make Steve somewhat immune she thinks with a loopy internal giggle. "Hey, Jess!" she yells instead, waving her back over. When she gets there Darcy pushes the bowl into her hands. "Try this. Now."

Jess takes one small bite and they watch as her eyes go wide and her jaw stops working. She lunges forward, grabbing for a nearby napkin and spitting the rest of the mouthful into there. "What the hell is that?" she gasps.

"No idea." Darcy shakes her head. "Did Barrett flunk out of culinary school again?"

"Whatever that," Jess points her finger sternly at the pot, "is, it is not acceptable at my party." She glances wildly around the room, her eyes landing on Steve. "Do you like Chinese food?" she asks him.

"Uh, sure."

Luckily Jess is predictable and Darcy knows exactly what she's thinking. "I'll start taking up a dinner collection," Darcy says, pushing herself to her feet.

Jess grabs the pot, looking a lot steadier on her heels than she previously did. But Jess always managed to wear the high shoes easily, a talent that Darcy kind of envied. "I will make this disappear. Forever."

"Any preferences for your dinner?" Darcy asks Steve, who's still sitting in the corner of the couch and looking slightly bewildered.

He looks up at her with a wry grin. "I think the last time I had Chinese food was in 1943," he says in a low voice, and Darcy responds with a grin of her own.

"I'll pick out some of the classics for you then," she says, clapping him on the shoulder.

A crashing noise echoes down the hall from the direction of the kitchen, followed up by voices yelling back and forth. Darcy just smirks. "With any luck she's setting the rest of Barrett's experiments on fire."

* * *

After the rough start the rest of the night mellows out into a more relaxed event. Various food containers speared with chopsticks are spread across many of the flat surfaces of the apartment, the lights have been lowered to a dim but comfortable level, and the wandering guests have all settled down onto couches, chairs, and cushions. The first movie was chosen by the boyfriend-girlfriend duo (Steve has a hard time telling which one is which by appearance alone; they look startlingly identical to each other), with the images bright and clear across the large flat screen set up against one wall.

Darcy bites down on her lip and stares hard at the screen, squinting in the darkness. "Do you have any idea what's going on?" she leans over and asks Steve. They've chosen one of those artsy sorts of flicks that feature long, drawn out shots of people walking and discussing deep things that even though it's in English some subtitles wouldn't be a bad idea to understand what exactly is happening on the screen. Not exactly her style; absurd humor's more her speed. She wouldn't mind something that at least has a bit of a plot to it either.

"Not a clue," he replies, and Darcy exhales with relief.

"Thank god, I'm not the only one who can't make heads or tails of this mess."

"It'll be over in twenty minutes," Jess whispers from her position on the overstuffed cushion by Darcy's feet. "I call next pick."

"Aim for something lively," Darcy suggests, levering herself to her feet. "Time for more beer. Steve, you want another?" she asks as she stumbles over his legs to head out of the room.

"That'd be great, thanks. Anything to make the movie go faster," he blurts out.

"Good man," Jess snickers.

Darcy drifts off during the second movie, the only thing keeping her upright being the arm that she's got braced on Steve's shoulder. Steve manages to stick it out a while longer (this movie, while a bit on the silly side, at least has a clear story and he's surprised to find he's actually kind of amused by it) but even he can't hold out as the clock ticks closer to midnight. Soon enough they're both asleep, with the movie still rolling on.

* * *

_It's the smell that hits Darcy first, a combination of salt, heated tar, something a little bit like fish, and cool sea air. She cracks open her eyes to see a dark, glittering sky above her and can feel soft, lapping waves brushing up against the soles of her feet. There's sand beneath her, slightly rough against her bare limbs, and it retains some of the heat left over from the day before. She can feel Steve lying on the sand beside her, tense and still. He's breathing carefully and slowly, but there's really no reason for him to worry._

_ Darcy twists her head to one side, spotting the shadowy posts and piers that stretch out into the wine-dark ocean. She smiles, recognizing the familiar shapes and knowing that this is her territory. With her arms she pushes herself to a sitting position, catching sight of the sand dunes behind her and the endless Atlantic stretching out to the horizon and beyond in front of her. It's peaceful, and she relishes the feeling._

_ "So I'm guessing this is your dream?" Steve asks, propping himself up on his elbows._

_ She smiles and twists back to the sand dunes, waving a hand in their general direction. "Yeah. My parents' house is, hmm, maybe half a mile back that way. We'd spend most of our summers here trying to either avoid the tourists or make money off of them."_

_ There's a thin, lighter grey strip glowing along the horizon, and Darcy's seen that sight enough times to know that the sun will soon be making its way upward, setting the sky aflame. But right now it's darkened and peaceful, with the only lights coming from the pale moon and the twinkling stars. And it's perfect for swimming, she thinks._

_ Darcy scrambles to her feet. "I think it's time for a swim," she says, ready to plunge headfirst into the waves._

_ "I think I'll take a pass on that one, thanks," Steve replies, sitting up straighter but not budging from his position._

_ She looks down at him, watches as his eyes scan the horizon like he's searching for something he can't quite find just yet. "It's only a dream," she says. "If you don't like it, you can just wake up."_

_ Steve shakes his head, mouth twisted into a bitter grin. "Only if I don't open my eyes to find out seventy years have passed again."_

_ "Not in my ocean," Darcy says firmly. "Come on, Steve. The world's yours for the taking. This is only the start of it."_

_ It's not her job to teach him all about the future; she's no professor and, frankly, doesn't have the patience for it. But she can easily encourage him to step out of his comfort zone, to explore what's right at his fingertips and maybe just beyond. That, Darcy knows, is something she's pretty damn good at. Yes, it may have gotten her into trouble in the past, but still, no regrets._

_ Eventually Steve pushes himself to his feet, still staring off into the distance. "Just a dream?" he asks, dropping his eyes to hers._

_ "And a peaceful one at that." Darcy smiles widely and runs for the waves, diving under the water with a splash without any worry for her clothes. She sails forward and twists, kicking her legs behind her until she breaks the surface laughing. She waves once, beckoning Steve forth into the water. _

_ With a shake of his head he jumps in. It's not a graceful move, and the resultant wave crashes over her head, dripping water into her face. Still, she laughs again, because this is home and she's in a good mood and it's absolutely fantastic to see Steve loosen up just a little and relax._

_ They play in the waves like children until the sun comes up, painting the sky in shades of yellow, orange, and gold._

* * *

When Darcy awakes the next morning she finds that she's still on the couch, having slept there the entire night. Not so surprising, all of the roommates have fallen asleep on there at one point or another. What is surprising is that Steve is still there, sitting upright yet fast asleep in the opposite corner of the couch, one of the throw pillows shoved between his head and the armrest. At some point during the night she must have wiggled her toes into the space beneath his thigh. Darcy flexes them quickly to try and get some of the feeling back. They do feel nicely warm, though, she thinks through the early morning mental fog.

It's got to be the wiggling that wakes Steve up, because not long after that he comes to with a jolt. His eyes dart rapidly around the room until he remembers where exactly he is, and a hand comes up to massage wearily at his forehead. "Morning," Darcy croaks, still feeling sleep-dazed herself.

"Hi," he replies, voice a little scratchy.

"Hangover?" she asks, sympathetically. She has to admit that she kind of lost track of just how many beers had been handed out the previous night, and there's a sneaking certainty that they had broken into some locally made rye whiskey sometime during the second movie. Darcy had made sure that Steve had indulged in his fair share as well, thinking that he probably needed the drinks more than the rest of them just because of reasons.

Steve just shakes his head. "No. I wish that was it, but no."

"Okay, that's a story you're going to have to share at some point."

Before she can wrangle any more info about that odd statement out of him Jess comes over, dropping to a crouch in front of them. "Come on," she says. "Barrett's working on the food truck; he owes us breakfast after last night."

"I am always up for free muffins." Darcy stretches out, arching her back to try and ease some of the inevitable stiffness after a night spent curled up on the couch. She prods Steve in the thigh with her toes. "You want breakfast?" she asks, hoping that he's not thinking of running back to the safety of his apartment. She feels like there was progress made throughout the night, between the movie and the dream, and it would be a total step in the wrong direction if he were to wimp out on her now. "I promise he actually knows how to make muffins, unlike dinner last night. You haven't been to the Prospect Park farmer's market yet either, have you?" she continues on, not giving him a chance to answer.

Jess looks over at Steve, curls bobbing as she nods in agreement. "It is a pretty fun way to spend a Saturday morning," she adds.

Steve gives Darcy a shrewd look. "You're not going to let me say no, are you?"

Darcy just prods him in the thigh once more and grins.

The three end up eating breakfast on a bench somewhere in Prospect Park. The air's cold but the sun's up high, and the cups of strong coffee from one of the tents keeps Darcy nicely warmed from the inside. Steve has his first experience with gourmet vegan muffins (the banana nut with maple almond butter-like spread turns out to be his favorite), while Jess tucks into a breakfast cobbled together from various tents.

Steve's impressed with the volume of food she packs away. "I think you're putting some of my army buddies to shame there," he says, waving his cup of coffee at the blue corn pancakes she's just put aside in favor of some cream filled pastries. Darcy reaches over with her fork and stabs one of the pancakes, wanting to try them before they disappear.

Jess just shrugs. "I consist on smoothies most of the week thanks to my crazy boss. The weekends are mine, and I want real, delicious food." She shoves the rest of the pastry in her mouth, cheeks bulging out like a squirrel and chews happily.

"Cheers to you," Darcy says, raising her coffee cup in salute. Steve raises his own in agreement, and with a shared grin they click their paper cups together.

* * *

A/n: Chapter title from 'Sunrise', by The Divine Comedy (a song which, seriously, everyone needs to listen to. It's eerie and breathtaking and manages to go from mournful to amazingly hopeful in the space of a simple bridge. It's one of my favorites from Neil Hannon ever).


	3. Because You're Lonely In Your Nightmare

A/n: I give up; I can't edit this piece any more. It's been finished and I've held onto it for a while, trying to make edits and corrections but now my brain hurts. So I'm releasing it into the world to grow wings and fly out. However, if anyone sees anything that needs to be corrected, please let me know – I'm more than happy to make the corrections!

I know I'm playing a little fast and loose with the timeline of what happens prior to the Avengers movie in regards to Steve. But it should still make sense, so I think we'll be all right. We're still in that period of time prior to the movie, but by the end of this story we'll get there. Somewhat. I know where this story is ending and what's going to happen in the next one in the series at least, which is kind of nice. Normally my stories don't get planned that far ahead. ;) My deepest thanks to everyone who's left comments on the story already; it means so much to hear from you (I'm backlogged in my responses to you, so keep an eye out soon for them in the next few days). Thank you for reading!

* * *

**Because You're Lonely in Your Nightmare, Let Me in**

_The smoke coils through the trees like a snake, winding and twisting as it wreathes the branches in wavering grey clouds. All Steve can hear is the crunch of his boots over the frozen ground, the rasp of his breath in the air. The shield is a solid presence at his back, and his hands cradle the heavy machine gun in his hands as he moves slowly throughout the forest._

_ There are shapes moving in the smoke, nebulous figures without solid form. It's this unknown quality that makes Steve even more nervous. The enemy that you can't see or hear coming poses massive potential for damage. A snapping noise echoes from above, making him look up towards the canopy to figure out what exactly it is._

_ Cradled in the branches of a pine tree is Darcy, crouched on the balls of her feet with one hand propped on the main trunk and the other holding what he thinks is that Taser she's always talking about. Her face is pale, her features dark slashes that stand out in the gloomy light. Steve nods once up at her, and she nods back. He can tell she's petrified, but she's aware and ready to fight if necessary. He can work with that._

_ The smoke creeps in ever closer, and Steve moves until he can feel the tree at his back. He can see his breath in the air now. The smoke is bone-chilling, seeping in through the small gaps in his uniform fabric. It's so cold it burns, little lines of ice weaving through his veins that seem to lock his limbs into place. Steve struggles to move, his limbs jerking and twitching to no avail._

_ He's nearly hyperventilating now, but all that seems to do is encourage the ice crystals to creep down his throat. The smoke's enveloping him now while the cold is coming from the inside out, and it would be so easy at this point just to give up, give in, and go down with the ship. Still, he struggles. Lying down isn't exactly his thing. He grits his teeth and tries to scream, but now his jaw's locked into place too._

_ Up above him Darcy screams, sharp and echoing in across the woods. "Steve! Wake up, dammit!" he can hear her yell, but the crystals are flooding into his ears now and everything's becoming more muffled. It's the growing silence that's more unnerving than anything else, and he hates it. Her screams grow sharper, more shrill and ringing against the ice in his ears…_

Steve awakes with a harsh gasp, rolling to an upright position before he can even think about it. His chest heaves, and he can feel the warm and dry air from his apartment's heating system in his mouth, chasing away the cold. The ability to constantly stay warm is one of the best things about the future, he thinks. He scratches at his chest, feeling heated skin beneath his fingertips.

It hits him that the shrill sound followed him into the waking world, and there's a constant ringing noise coming from the other room. Telephone, Steve thinks, pushing to his feet and scrambling to get there before it stops ringing. It could be S.H.I.E.L.D., maybe, finally giving him something to do. But he's pretty sure it's something else. "I'm awake," he gasps as he puts the receiver to his ear.

"Three times," Steve hears Darcy say on the other side of the phone. "Three times this week you've woken us both up because of a nightmare."

"Yeah. Sorry about that."

"No apologies," she reassures him. "But what did I say would happen the next time this happened?"

"I'd owe you a coffee."

"Right on. Meet you out front in five, soldier."

* * *

They walk in silence to the diner, the air cold enough to bite at their skin and make Steve hunch down inside his coat in an attempt to avoid it as much as possible. It's not until they're seated in the nearly empty diner that Darcy even dares to breach the issue. She looks around warily, making sure that the lone waitress is off in the far corner of the restaurant bobbing along to her headphones as she refills bottles of ketchup and mustard. "So why the nightmares now?" she asks, turning back to where Steve is fiddling around with his cup of coffee. "Why haven't they popped up earlier?"

The coffee's hot and it scalds his tongue as he gulps it down. He knows he's stalling, but at least the pain keeps him in the present. Steve glances quickly at the waitress, double checking that she's not paying any attention to them whatsoever. "S.H.I.E.L.D.," he says eventually.

Darcy snorts derisively. He's heard enough rants from her about S.H.I.E.L.D. and how they treated her and her former boss after the incident out in New Mexico (and isn't 'incident' a positively mild word to describe such an encounter with extraterrestrial beings) and knows there's no love lost there. For the briefest moment he's worried about how she'll react, but he can't think about that. "Three days ago they gave me the dossiers for the men on my team…for Peggy. What's happened to them since I went under."

She nods, the grimace morphing into something more solemn. "Did they have good lives?" Darcy asks.

"For the most part." Steve shrugs, the sturdy handle of the coffee mug feeling smooth against his fingers. "I, uh, didn't exactly read them through all the way. There were some old film reels of the team as well. I got distracted."

"They gave you an actual projector to set up in your apartment?" Darcy's brow scrunches up under her glasses, entirely puzzled.

Steve shakes his head. "No, it was one of those," he makes a gesture with his hands, indicating some sort of squared off shape, "computer things, but a portable version."

"Probably a laptop then. But yeah, I can see how that would spur on the nightmares."

They fall silent for a few moments. Conversations such as this one aren't ever easy, and the words don't flow quite like they should. Eventually Darcy breaks the silence, and it's a relief. The silence has a tendency to weigh heavily on him, and it's almost easier to deal with the loud noise of the 21st century than the jumble of feelings and memories rattling around inside his brain, Steve thinks. "It wasn't that long ago for you, was it? All of these flashbacks and nightmares, they're really freakin' fresh, aren't they?"

He shrugs and fiddles with the coffee cup, not meeting Darcy's eyes. "Two and a half months," he says.

"Shit."

"Yeah." Steve knocks back some of the now lukewarm coffee, letting the bitter and acidic taste roll around his mouth. He chooses his next words carefully, not wanting to risk the waitress overhearing something she shouldn't. "From what I understand they found me a while before that, but it took them some time to…wake me up properly. That was in the beginning of January."

"So when we met in person…?" Darcy trails off, letting Steve fill in the blanks.

"A matter of weeks afterwards." He shakes his head, a rueful grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Do you know what they did when I woke up?"

"I'm not sure I want to know."

"Let's just say it won't help the faith you have in S.H.I.E.L.D. They put me in this room, nice calm sort of a place. Looks like it could have been a bedroom from back in the day. Sun's shining through the window, I can hear cars driving by outside, and they've got a baseball game playing on the radio."

Darcy purses her lips, looking puzzled. "Why does that sound too good to be true?" she asks.

Steve points a finger at her and nods. "Then this woman dressed in an army uniform – a uniform I recognize - comes in, tells me I'm in a recovery room in New York." He pauses, collecting himself. It's not easy to remember, all of those horrible realizations sweeping over him at once with the truth being even stranger than he would have dared to think about. Darcy reaches out and grabs his hand, bringing him back to the future. Steve takes a deep breath and continues on with his story. "But they made a mistake with one detail."

"I'm guessing it was a pretty noticeable detail if it's got you this wound up," Darcy says, tightening her grip on his fingers.

"The baseball game on the radio," he says. "Of all the game recordings I imagine they have access to, they picked a game that was about four years out of date, from 1941. And it was a game I distinctly remember going to at Ebbets Field."

"Oh, shit."

"That's putting it mildly. In any case I confront the woman about it and she calls her armed soldiers in."

Darcy grimaces, her coffee now forgotten on the table. "I'm getting the sense of where this story is going."

"If you mean with me putting the soldiers through the wall of the recovery room which was actually a stage set in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters and running the hell out of there, you'd be correct." Steve shakes his head again, the memories of bursting out onto the street into a whole new world still fresh and sort of horrifying even at this later date. "Fury and his agents finally caught up with me at Times Square. I got kind of distracted."

"I'll bet. Times Square is a whirlwind on a good day, and I grew up with it." She squeezes his hand again.

"Times Square being busy hasn't changed," Steve corrected her. "But when it barely resembles the place you used to know?"

"That's a hell of a way to be introduced to the 21st century. And it sort of explains the nightmares. Well, when combined with everything else. That's a lot for one person to have to take."

Steve sighs heavily, idly wishing that his coffee cup held something stronger that would actually affect him in any sort of measurable way. "I'm sorry you have to deal with them also."

Darcy shrugs and smirks, face bright in the dullness of the early morning diner. "That's what I'm here for. Keeps the nightmares at bay with the finest coffee Brooklyn has to offer."

He can appreciate the offer, but his bad dreams aren't her burden to carry, Steve thinks. "Still, there's got to be a way to at least stop the dreams from being shared, if only so you can get some rest," he says, trying to think of ways to ensure her a full night sleep even though none are coming to mind. "You shouldn't have to deal with my flashbacks." Especially when he can barely handle them himself.

To his surprise Darcy's face grows still, and she looks down at her mug. "I say let's worry about it later," she eventually says. "It's entirely possible that you don't have another nightmare after this bad patch." She looks up at him again and the grin returns, even though her eyes still have a vaguely haunted look that unsettles Steve just a bit. There's no time to dwell on this look however as Darcy looks down at her cell phone and grimaces noticeably. "Ugh, time to get ready for work," she says. "Seven a.m. is a killer starting time. But still, go paycheck."

As they walk back through the streets that are slowly coming to life, Darcy asks in a low voice, "Do you really want to stop this dream sharing, or whatever you want to call it, that we do?"

Steve's footsteps don't pause, though his brain stutters a bit. To be perfectly honest, he's not thought about it too deeply. He tells her as much then continues with, "If my nightmares are disturbing your sleep I'll find a way to break the connection somehow."

Darcy shakes her head, dark curls bobbing around her cheeks in the wind. "No. No, I don't think we should cut the connection."

"Why not? If it's waking you up at nights – "

She shakes her head even harder, cutting Steve's statement off quickly. "A little bit of insomnia is nothing. I've dealt with worse."

"Darcy, you shouldn't have to deal with my problems," he says, shoving his hands awkwardly into his pockets. Because those problems are big and constantly present, and he doesn't want to drag her down into the darkness with him. He needs her lightness, he thinks, the thought hitting him with all the force of a sucker punch.

"Isn't that what friends do?" Darcy chews roughly on her lower lip, to the point where it looks like she's about ready to tear into the skin with her teeth. "And I like having that connection with you," she eventually says. "Sometimes my head can be a really lonely place. It's nice to not always be alone in there."

Steve pauses in the middle of the sidewalk, turning to look at her head on. "Lonely is the last word I'd use to describe you. Not with all of your roommates and your friends."

"Having people around me all the time doesn't mean I'm not lonely," Darcy says, almost walking into him. She looks up at Steve, eyes wide and solemn behind her glasses. "When you've been through that weird shit that no one else has, that no one else can understand because they've got no idea how much is out there that's beyond their comprehension, the world becomes a cold and lonely place." She reaches out and grabs his hand, tangling their fingers together. "Having someone in my head who knows just how strange and fucked up this world is helps me feel…not quite as lonely."

Steve just squeezes her hand. If there's something he can understand more than anything else it's that loneliness, and he's suddenly grateful that he doesn't have to face it alone. Even if he's still not sure what to make of the 21st century. "All right," he says. "We just follow where the dreams go then, I guess?"

"That we will," Darcy says, nodding. "Now come on, time for me to go suffer through another day of boredom."

They walk off, holding hands until they reach home.

* * *

Title from _Lonely in your Nightmare,_ by Duran Duran


	4. Unnatural Selection

**Unnatural Selection**

Author's notes at the end this time…

* * *

A grimace frozen on her face, Darcy holds the phone away from her ear. It doesn't do much good, however, as she can still hear her mother ranting on the other side of it. The long, loud, and winding conversation boils down to Mother doesn't believe that temping is a good long term employment prospect and that she really should look into finding a full time position that is worth her skills. Darcy attempts to point out (yet again, she mentally adds) that the job market sucks balls and her varied experience doesn't always translate well into employable skills, but it seems to flow right over Mother's head. So she just lets her mother have at it, letting the oft-heard conversation flow over her until she cracks.

"Mom, I can't hear you, you're breaking up," Darcy blurts out in a rush before Mother can get other words in edgewise. It's not that she's ungrateful to her parents, but sometimes she gets so overwhelmed that it's safer to back off before she says something she'd end up regretting later. Better safe than sorry, she thinks. "What's that?" she says, holding the phone away for her and crinkling up the page of a nearby magazine for good measure. Works on TV shows, at least.

With a quick flick of her thumb Darcy ends the call and sighs roughly. She swaps out the phone for her iPod and hurries out of the apartment. Chances are good her mother will call back at some point during the evening, but it'll be easier to resume the conversation once she's calmed down. She walks the streets for a bit, wandering aimlessly around Brooklyn until she feels her brain start to settle. A nearby market provides her with dinner and a cheap bottle of wine, and she slogs back to her place.

Darcy stops in the alley way and stares up at her apartment. If she goes back in, then she'll have to answer the phone when it rings (because as much as she'd try not to pick it up, it'd be nearly impossible not to when she sees her parents' names come up on the screen). To hell with that. She spins on her heel and walks over to Steve's building instead.

"Long story, nothing bad, but I can hide out here for a few hours?" she says when he pulls open the door.

"Uh, sure," Steve says, looking puzzled but still moving aside to let her in. "I was planning on heading out to the gym in a few minutes though."

"Oh, don't worry about entertaining me," Darcy replies, hoisting her sack of dinner. "I can take care of myself."

Steve frowns and crosses his arms over his chest, looking an awful lot like a soldier all of a sudden rather than some guy off to go beat the crap out of a punching bag at the gym. "Is everything all right?" he asks.

"Yup," Darcy says, nodding. "Just me being a coward and avoiding my mother." She really doesn't feel like talking about it any further. Really, it's easier to just ignore the matter and pretend that everything is all good. It's the Lewis family way, at least for her and her mother.

Steve relaxes marginally, though he still looks a bit tense. That could be for a multitude of other reasons, Darcy thinks, but it seems like Steve's got his own coping methods just like she's got hers. "All right," he says. "Make yourself comfortable." He waves a hand in the general direction of the couch, and disappears into his bedroom.

Her dinner is spread out across the coffee table and the wine bottle's been cracked into when Steve emerges from his bedroom. He's wearing sweats and a t-shirt that are incredibly flattering on him (Darcy is not ashamed at all to admit that he's a highly attractive man and that he could probably make a burlap sack look good) and is carrying a duffel bag. "You sure you're going to be okay?" Steve asks, shouldering the bag and grabbing his keys.

"Yeah." Darcy waves a dismissive hand at him. "Don't worry about me. Go, work out and be healthy." Someone should be healthy here because it's not going to be her, not with the amount of wine and salted caramel chocolates she's planning to indulge in.

Not long after Steve leaves does it hit her: she's actually spending time alone in _Captain America's_ apartment.

It's surreal and absurd and Darcy can't stop giggling at the thought of it.

* * *

When Steve gets back from the gym (worn out and still tense because no matter how much boxing and punching he does, there are some things that just can't be escaped) he finds Darcy fast asleep on his couch. There's a blanket over her legs and a book she stole from his bookshelf resting on her stomach, one finger still in between the pages to hold her place. He could wake her up and send her home. But she looks far too relaxed and at peace to be disturbed, which is a nice change from the tension earlier that evening. So instead Steve carefully pulls the book out of her hands, setting it on the table where she'll be sure to see it in the morning, and tugs the blanket up a little higher.

Darcy doesn't wake up, just makes a small noise in her sleep and wrinkles her nose slightly. Steve's hand lingers on the blanket for a brief moment before he disappears into his bedroom.

* * *

_It's a brittle, high, and tremulous cry that wakes Darcy up. She cracks open her eyes a slivere, seeing only a darkened bedroom around her with a few shadowy pieces of furniture. Before she can fully process things her hand reaches out and smacks the back of the person lying next to her. "Your turn," she mumbles._

_ Steve shifts fully onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow. Darcy can't understand the mumble that comes out of his mouth, but the shaking of his head is a clear sign. His hand comes up to poke her in the arm, and then wraps around his head to block what little light is filtering in through the windows. Darcy just rolls her eyes at that._

_ "Seventy year nap," she grouses as she tosses back the covers of the bed, swinging her legs out, "and he can't spare half an hour." Darcy stumbles her way through the room, only barely awake but intent on her mission. She doesn't stop until she feels the rail of the crib beneath her hands, and reaches inside to pick up the squalling, furry brown mass. "It's okay, sweet thing," she murmurs as she strokes a hand up and down the stuffed bear's back, button eyes gleaming wetly in the low light. She leans away from a flailing paw, never stopping the calming strokes on his back._

_ Darcy spends the next ten minutes pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed, murmuring and humming to the bear to calm it down and send it back to sleep. Eventually her little tricks work, and the bear is fast asleep in her arms, exhaling warm, snuffling breaths against her neck._

_ "He asleep?" Steve calls softly from across the room. Darcy nods, looking up at him. He's flipped onto his back and is propped up on an unholy amount of pillows, looking rumpled and comfortable. He also still looks mostly asleep, Darcy notes. "Good," he continues, "come back to bed."_

_ Instead of putting the bear back in his crib she brings him with her, crawling back under the covers and settling the bear in between her and Steve. The bear rolls and curls into Steve's t-shirt, burrowing into the warmth. Steve looks down at the bear, then back up at Darcy, arching a wary eyebrow. "Teddy bears? Really?"_

_ Darcy just sighs. "I gotta learn not to drink red wine too close to bedtime."_

* * *

"If you don't mind me asking," Steve says the next day after Darcy's sure she's slept through any potential calls from her agency (watch her leap across the alley to her apartment to get her phone and check it…shyeah, right) and is now blearily standing in his kitchen waiting for coffee. "Is everything all right with you and your mother?"

"Eh, we're fine," she says dismissively, waving a hand about as if to brush the bad vibes away from her.

"You wouldn't be running away from her if everything was fine," Steve points out as he pours her a cup of coffee, putting it in her greedy hands and directing her towards the milk and sugar.

Darcy fiddles with the sugar spoon, focusing on doctoring up her coffee until it's just right. Boy's got a point, though she does loathe admitting it. "We have a…strained relationship," she says. "It's a long, painful story that requires a lot more alcohol and ice cream for me to get through." She stares down into her coffee, watches her fingers twitch on the ceramic. She really should lay off the caffeine a little bit.

Steve just shoots her a look, one eyebrow arched up. "I have a right to know why you decided to use my apartment as your escape plan, don't you think?" His voice is innocent and steady, but she can just about hear the plotting behind it.

"Dirty pool," she mutters under her breath, though she knows he'll hear her perfectly. "So you want to hear the sad, sick tale of Darcy Lewis and her mother?" she says with a bitter, brittle tone in her voice.

"Well, as my ma would say you're on the right side of the dirt so it can't be all that terrible."

"Heh." She shrugs, looking over at where she's standing across from her on the other side of the island. "Your mom wasn't wrong. And I may be getting a little melodramatic."

"You think?"

"Do you want to hear the explanation or not?"

"By all means, continue."

Darcy leans forward on the island, propping her chin on her hand. "I…my mother…" she begins, but her voice can't quite keep up with her. She can feel her eyes begin to burn, and she chews fiercely at the inside of her cheek to stop the tears from spilling over.

"Hey," Steve says, moving a couple of steps closer. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want."

She shakes her head, chuckling wetly and using her fingers to scrub at the delicate skin under her eyes. "Nah, it's all right. Never show weakness. It's how we Lewises navigate the world." She sends him a grin, and picks up her cup of coffee, taking a fortifying sip before she launches into her story. "Have you ever known someone that's so much like you that sometimes it's hard to get along with them, even though you love them to bits?"

* * *

A/n: yes, I'm wimping out and ending the scene there. I'm still sussing out what exactly the issues are between Darcy and her mother are in this universe (why do I always seem to write Darcy with a screwed up family?) and I don't want to write myself into a hole that'll require massive editing to get out of. So for right now, I'll leave this chapter where it is for your imagination to fill in the missing story. Also, note the chapter count above. Yes, for once in my writing career I have a planned amount of chapters in the story, an idea of what happens in each, and the knowledge of where I'm going to end this story in the series. It's an odd feeling, and I'm going to try my hardest to stick with it.

Title from the song by Muse, although honestly the chapter was more inspired by _Uprising_ because have you seen that video? I blame it for horrifying thoughts about teddy bears.


	5. The Gem of Ireland's Crown

A/n: This one's a little bit more serious than the previous chapter, though it definitely ends on a sillier note (Thank you Darcy and your cunning plan). I'm possibly taking a slight bit of artistic liberty with the song that pops in the dream because I can't find an exact publication date of the lyrics – which seems to be par for the course with folk songs and is putting my internet research skills to shame. What I do know is that the guy who wrote (or wrote down) the lyrics as presented here died in the mid-1920s, so it's entirely possible that Steve would have at least heard a version of it in his childhood.

Thanks to everyone who's left kudos and comments on this piece – I love hearing from all of you and it means so much to me to know that you enjoy it!

* * *

**The Gem of Ireland's Crown**

"Almost done," the nurse taking blood from him says. Steve smiles thinly and nods at her. It's never fun to be treated like a piece of sewing equipment by the medical department at S.H.I.E.L.D. However, it's almost comforting to think that even though the equipment has been updated taking blood is still essentially the same.

There's nothing wrong, at least according to what the scientists and doctors are telling him. They tell Steve they want to establish a baseline, see how his serum amplified body reacts during times of rest as compared to reactions during stressful events. Or something like that. He doesn't know most of what they're saying, but it's easily reminiscent of the days right after Project Rebirth when they took enough blood from him to fill a barrel in the attempts to recreate Erskine's serum.

The nurse withdraws the syringe, caps the vial off, and slides it into the rack with the rest. She moves to put a piece of cotton and a bandage over the injection site, but she pauses abruptly when she sees that the spot's already scabbed over and healing. "Well that's convenient," she says, rubbing a well-manicured thumb over the healing puncture. Then she moves to make a few more notes on her charts as Steve rolls down his sleeve and buttons the cuff into place.

"Is that all for today?" Steve asks, sounding calm and polite even though he's sick of being treated as a human pincushion.

"You're all set, Captain," she replies with a professional smile. "We'll give you a call when it's time for the next round of testing."

He runs into Nick Fury on his way out of the building. Steve can't tell if it's just a coincidence or a deliberately planned meeting. He wouldn't put it past Fury to have timed every single step of his day. "How are you doing, Captain?" he asks, hands clutched behind his back.

Fury looks like he's at ease, but at any moment he could strike. Sign of someone who's been through the wars and come out the other side, Steve thinks. It's not a comforting thought, but it's something he can at least respect. "Fine, Sir," he replies. "Just came in for some medical tests." Is it really necessary for him to elaborate? Hell, Fury probably knows what exactly he had for breakfast this morning.

They trade a few more brief pleasantries, talk about what Steve thinks of his new neighborhood and if there's anything he's feeling confused by. It's bland conversation until Steve asks if there's any plan in the works to give him a mission. "Or what about additional training? Get me up to scratch on current military practices?" he suggests. Even going through boot camp again would at least give him the feeling that he's got some use.

"Right now you need to worry about familiarizing yourself with the world," is all Fury says. "When there's a job that requires your specific skills we'll be sure to keep you in the loop." He checks his watch, and then nods at Steve. "I need to be on my way, but it was good speaking with you," he says. "Stop by my office next time you're at headquarters, Captain, and we'll talk more about potential work for you." They shake on their farewell, a quick efficient press of hands, and go their separate ways.

As Steve moves through the building he gets brief, brisk nods from passersby, and a few people occasionally greet him and call him Captain. That's when it hits him. That in the eyes of these people he's nothing more than a military officer, the legendary Captain America more than an actual human being.

Whatever happened to Steve Rogers?

The thought is a horribly sobering one, and he wonders if he would have been better off left in the ice. He's so distracted by this thought that he misses his subway stop and ends up god only knows where. When Steve realizes this he gets off the train anyway and decides to make the long trip back to his apartment on foot. He wanders through the streets until well after dark, trying to find some sign of the Brooklyn he once knew.

He doesn't sleep much that night.

* * *

_The room comes into focus slowly, with shape and form solidifying and moving into sharp clarity. It's a small room but one that's obviously well lived in, full to the walls with all of the tools of life. A stove and sink are in one corner below a line of cabinets and a table with two rough wooden chairs is right in front of that. Crammed under the windows is a low, sway-backed couch covered in sun-faded upholstery. Instead of curtains a rope is strung above the windows, and freshly washed laundry is draped over it to dry. A tall dresser sits next to the front door with any number of decorative items on top of it. There's a skinny hallway that leads off to another room to the left of where Steve sits with his back against the wall, but that's not important right now._

_ To Steve's right is a small, metal-framed bed covered in a multitude of patched blankets. He remembers how lumpy and uncomfortable that mattress was, stuffed full of whatever rags his mother could get his hands on and boil until clean. His breath catches in his throat when he sees his mother there, young and blonde and healthy as she paces a path back and forth down the center of the room. She's still in her grey nurse's uniform, but it's obvious it's the end of the day by the dark night sky outside and the drawn look to her pale face. And in her arms…_

_ Yeah, that's him. Wheezing and coughing and sniffling and struggling to take a proper breath as she rocks him back and forth, trying to get him to breathe deeply. He's pasty and skinny and anemic and all of those things that kept him out of the army the first times he tried to enlist. And tiny. His mother was a small, deceptively delicate looking woman and he'd always favored her build until the serum. Steve looks down at his adult self. He expects that in this dream especially he should see his scrawny former self there, like he has to match that vision that's in front of him. But no, he's in that shining new body that sometimes, on those overwhelming days, still doesn't quite feel like it's properly his. Regardless of those feelings, Steve likes to think that Ma would have been proud of the man he became._

_ "It's all right, my love," Sarah murmurs in a soft, low voice as she rubs a hand up and down his heaving back. Huh. He'd almost forgotten that, how her native accent got thicker and richer the more tired she was._

_ "Is that - ?"_

_ He cuts off Darcy's hushed whisper with a sharp shake of his head. "Just…later," he whispers back, like any word he says out loud is enough to shatter the illusion and let the memory fade back into nothingness. Steve doesn't want to let go of it, not just yet._

_ Darcy just nods. He can feel the warmth of her against his side where they're both squeezed into the small space between the bed and the hallway. But no words. They're really not needed right now._

_ Steve sees his younger self let out a miserable sounding cough, followed up by a few raspy breaths. The slight moan that follows would have been even more pathetic if he isn't fully aware of just how awful all of those colds and coughs made him feel._

_ "Don't you worry," Sarah says again, "we're going to knock this little illness right out of you." She sounds more confident than she feels, Steve knows. Even with all of her experience she's never sure which will be one cold too much for him._

_ It's not worth thinking about what ifs that never were, however. But it's nice to treasure it for what it is: a faded memory that now only exists in his head alone. Sarah starts humming under her breath, one of those tunes that had been old even when she was a baby, or so her story went, at least. The words make their way in eventually, helping to lull the little boy in her arms to sleep._

_ 'One morning in July_

_Down a bóithrín green came a sweet cailín_

_And she smiled as she passed me by._

_Oh she looked so sweet from her two bare feet…'_

_ Steve just closes his eyes and lets himself get lost in her voice, head tilted back against the dingy, painted walls._

_ Somewhere in the middle of the song Darcy leans her head on his shoulder, and he hopes she's listening as intently as he is. Steve reaches with his foot and nudges it against her because he feels like a five year old again. She doesn't say anything, just nudges him right back._

* * *

Steve wakes up far earlier than he would have liked with a song on the tip of his tongue. He scribbles down the scant few lines he remembers, thinking that he'll be able to find out which song it is and maybe, possibly, find a copy of the record still out there. And even if his skills aren't up to par, he knows Darcy'll be able to work her computer magic to find what he's looking for. It's far, far too early to wake her up for more information, however. A nightmare may get a pass but he didn't think that would fly as well because of a song.

The boxing gym is open, and if nothing else that'll help take him out of his head for a little while.

Two destroyed heavy bags later it's not quite out of his system, but he's sweaty and energized, which is a damn sight better than being morose and lost in thought.

"Hey, Steve!"

He spins in place on the stoop of his building to see Darcy and Jess come out of theirs. "Good morning, ladies," he says with a nod.

Darcy says something quick to Jess, then bounds over in his direction. Without much warning she practically tackles him in a hug, arms wrapping tightly around his waist. Before he can react (instead of standing there dumbfounded like some stupid mook) she leans up to whisper at him, "You looked like you could use it after last night."

"Thanks," is all he says, one of his arms falling around her shoulders.

"We're going down to the park again to get breakfast," she says once they pull apart. "You hungry?"

Food may be just the thing, he thinks. "Yeah. Okay."

* * *

Breakfast almost hits a snag when Darcy steps on a particularly damp stair as they head down into the subway, sending her tumbling down the last few feet of the stairway. And while she hopes the only thing damaged is her pride, the sudden inability to put weight on her left ankle says otherwise. "We'll figure it out on the train," she says, waving an arm at the approaching cars.

Jess grimaces and picks at something stuck in Darcy's hair once they're settled into seats. "You probably don't want to know what you landed in," she says.

Darcy just shakes her head with a frozen grin. The grin quickly morphs into a wince as Steve finishes pulling her boot off. Out of the three of them he's the only one who has anything even remotely resembling first aid training. Yes, it may be seventy years out of date, but a broken bone's still a broken bone. "Ow," she says, rather pathetically, as Steve manipulates her now bare foot to see the extent of the damage. His hands are a little rough, but deft, Darcy notices. And they're warm. She can feel the heat bleeding into her skin, and it takes away a little of the pain.

After a few seconds of poking, prodding, and bending he looks back up at Darcy. "It's not broken," he says, cradling the heel in the palm of his hand, "but it's already starting to swell up so you've probably got a pretty nasty sprain going on."

"Just fucking ducky," Darcy groans, letting her head fall back against the seat.

"We can get off at the next stop and head home to get that taken care of," Jess chimes in, but Darcy shakes her head.

"Nope. I want breakfast," she says. "I'll hobble if I have to. It'll become the hot new thing to do in Park Slope, limping everywhere. They'll design uneven heeled shoes to recreate the effect."

Steve just gives her a look. It's a look he's familiar with, having leveled the same one on Bucky after deciding to take a stupider than normal risk. At which point Bucky threw it right back in Steve's face about stupid risks, but Darcy didn't need to know that. "Jess is right. You need to get off that ankle and get some ice on it."

"And then what happens? I sit around all day and do nothing aside from a Tumblr binge?"

"Not exactly a hard thing to do," Jess muses, head tilted in thought. "I like the gifsets."

"No one appreciates a gif full of eye candy more than I do, but that's not what I want right now." She grabs Jess by the arm of her coat and shakes gently. "I need life blood. Without it I'll become a zombie, forced to walk the earth and only depend on brains for food."

Jess rolls her eyes, and Steve scrubs a hand over his face in sympathy. "I really don't think going without coffee for one day will reduce you to that." She glances over at him. "A little help here?" she asks, jerking her head in Darcy's direction.

Before Steve can chime in with backup Darcy interrupts them. "I've got a better idea," she says, turning her gaze over to Steve. "How much can you carry?"

* * *

This is how Steve ends up carrying Darcy piggyback style from the train to the park, with his hands supporting her legs and her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Jess follows behind them, doing a very poor job of muffling her giggles and darting around to snap the occasional picture. Her other contribution to the whole thing is to carry Darcy's boot, which is just a bit too snug to fit over her swollen ankle.

"Do you feel like a pack mule yet?" Darcy asks in his ear as they make their way over to the food trucks.

Steve smirks, shaking his head. They're getting stares from passersby, but Darcy and Jess claim that of all the strange things in Brooklyn these days (and since when did Brooklyn become the home of the weird, anyway?) a woman being carried on someone's back through a park barely rates on the weird scale. Or so she says. Still, he's not going to drop her where he stands to spare a little embarrassment. And he's reminded exactly why he's doing this when her swollen ankle bobs in and out of his view occasionally. If he could survive the USO shows and all those entailed, a simple walk through the park is nothing. "I've carried a lot heavier for a lot longer," he says. "I think I'll be okay."

"Yeah, but most guys I know wouldn't go along with my cunning plan, so props to you." She rests her chin on the back of his head. "But seriously. Thanks, Steve."

"You're welcome."

Barrett's reaction when they arrive at his food truck, however, is exactly how Steve expects most people would react to them. "What the fuck did you do?" he asks, poking his head out of the order window and shoving some lank brown hair off of his sweaty forehead with his arm.

"You know, stairs and me, we just don't always get along," Darcy says, shaking her head in mock sadness.

"Do you have any ice?" Steve asks before Darcy's explanation gets even more outlandish. Because he knows she'd take it as far as possible until Barrett throws a muffin at her. It's actually kind of cute, he thinks.

The food truck doesn't have ice to spare, but a homemade yogurt stall across from them donates some from a mostly empty cooler. The yogurt is pretty good too, especially when enhanced with some granola from another tent. While Jess runs around looking for whatever food she can fill herself up with this week, Steve finds an out of the way bench and sets to work wrapping up Darcy's injury somewhat.

He wraps the scarf around her aching ankle one last time and ties the ends together firmly, making sure both knit wrapper and ice pack aren't going to budge anytime soon. "Thanks," Darcy says as she slumps down against the arm of the bench. Her injured foot stays put in his lap. "I think my whole body is one giant bruise now." She winces and tries to find the most comfortable position possible, without much success.

"You took a pretty nasty spill onto concrete. You're going to hurt for a few days."

She holds up her injured leg, twisting it from side to side to check out the makeshift bandaging. "Still, nice job. Cold as hell but I guess that's the point."

Steve shrugs and checks the knot once more. "It's a quick and easy way to get the swelling down, that's all. You're still going to have to keep it up for a few days."

"Your mom teach you that?" Darcy asks, making Steve look up at her sharply, his face going still. "I recognize the uniform," she continues, hearkening back to the dream from the night before.

Steve relaxes, then nods. The statement catches him a little off guard, he has to admit. He hasn't been expecting Darcy to mention his mother, but he supposes he shouldn't be surprised at this by now. "She did. Between that and the first aid training from the Army I know how to wrap up a sprained ankle pretty well."

"Amongst other things, I'm guessing."

"Yeah." He plays with the knot once more, like it's easier to keep his hands busy than sit there and fidget in his seat. "You know, she died long before I…joined the Army. And I can't help but wonder what she'd think of all this." He waves a hand around, as if he can encompass everything he wants to say with one simple hand gesture.

"This as in the Rip van Winkle stuff or the-" She makes an expansive gesture with her hands, trying to imitate the effects of the serum, and rather badly at that. What's worse is that Steve understands exactly what she's trying to get across without hardly any effort at all. "That thing," she concludes.

"Either. Both. I don't know. Never mind; I'm just thinking out loud."

"Beats me. All I know is from that dream. I don't think I've actually ever heard you say anything about her. Still," she gently knocks the toes of her injured foot against his stomach very carefully so as to keep them from further bruising (because damn, boy's got some serious muscles, she thinks), "you turned out pretty good so she must've done something right."

"I wasn't exactly a perfect son," Steve says. Definitely not a perfect solder either, as he'd once been warned in a statement that sticks with him to this day.

"Who said anything about perfect? I didn't mention the word perfect at all." Darcy shakes her head and stretches up to poke him in the shoulder, which is far less than the thumping he suspects she wants to give him. "I've met you; I know full well you're not perfect. Not the way you get all sulky and broody. You brood worse than a sparkly vampire."

"I don't know what that means." He doesn't say anything about the rest of the statement because, well, she's not exactly wrong.

"There are some things about this era that you are better off not knowing, and sparkly vampires are one of them," Darcy says with an inelegant snort.

Steve readjusts the ice pack on her ankle once more, trying to make sure that it covers as much of the injury as possible. "Never run away," he eventually mutters when he can't find any more adjustments to make to the wrapping.

"Hmm?"

"'Never run away.' It was something my ma used to say to me. She'd say that I would be doing myself and everyone else a disservice if I ran away at the first sign of trouble and didn't stand up for what I believed in, because if you keep running away then you'll never stop. It made a lasting impression."

Darcy shoots him an appraising look, like if she stares at him hard enough she'll be able to see right into the inner workings of his brain and even into his soul if she tries hard enough.

"I can totally see it," she says. "Tell me more."

They trade quick snippets and stories until Jess returns laden with a feast fit for even the hungriest of people and wondering why exactly they're laughing so hard.

* * *

A/n, part two: The song that Sarah sings in the dream is called 'The Star of County Down'. While there are many versions out there, the one that I listened to while writing it is the one by Loreena McKennitt (easily found on YouTube).

Have any questions about the series, or looking for little future tidbits of what's to come in this universe? Hit up my tumblr at aenariasbookshelf dot tumblr dot com. Thanks for reading!


	6. I'm Not the Carefullest of Girls

Chapter Summary: Trying to fill in the blanks for those not in the know about Steve's situation isn't exactly easy. This can lead to stress and some poor word choices, as Darcy learns.

Thanks to Merideath and EyebrowsofJustice for whipping this chapter into shape for me in their own unique ways. It is always appreciated, and I hope you enjoy the results. Thanks for reading!

* * *

**I'm Not the Carefullest of Girls**

"Face it, Darcy, you like this guy." Jess crosses her arms over her chest and stares down at Darcy, sitting on her narrow bed with her back against the wall. Darcy just glares right back at her, not willing to acknowledge any sort of statement on the matter of Steve. Not that there is anything to divulge, and it really isn't anyone's business anyway. "And not in the friendly handshake sort of a way," Jess pushes on, "but in the 'I wanna jump your bones and have your babies' sort of a way."

"Uh, I don't think so," Darcy says, resisting the urge to scoff in her roommate's face. This is an issue that needs to be handled with every ounce of maturity she possesses.

"I don't know about that," Jane chimes in from the laptop. They'd been Skyping when Jess had walked in with late night popcorn, and somehow the conversation had turned to discussing Darcy's love life, which apparently only existed in the heads of Jane and Jess. "The fact that you didn't mention anything about him until now speaks volumes, really. I wouldn't have known a thing until Jess came in here talking about the guy who carried you through the park on Saturday. _Carried._"

"Like a damsel in distress," Jess grins, poking around at some of the trinkets Darcy had set up on the lone set of shelves shoved into one corner. The shelves are rickety and scuffed up, but they were calling out to be rescued from goodwill, Darcy fully believes.

Darcy holds up her leg so that Jane can see her still wrapped ankle. "I fell down a flight of stairs!" The swelling's gone down but the bruising's still fairly intense, and Jane can easily see the purplish greenish marks on her toes.

Jess rolls her eyes. "It was three steps," she fires back. "You just landed badly. In any case he didn't have to carry you throughout the entire park just so you could get your damn coffee."

"He's a gentleman; he'd do it for anybody." She isn't lying about that. She knows Steve is the type of person to give a guy the shirt off his back if he needed it without hesitation – even if the guy didn't deserve it and it embarrassed the hell out of him in the process. He hid it well, but Darcy also knows that he was a little uncomfortable about the people who looked twice at the grown woman getting a piggyback ride.

Jess bends over the bed to look at Jane through the monitor, who just shakes her head sadly. "Gentleman or not, Darcy, that's above and beyond," Jane says.

"And seriously, you can't tell me that you wouldn't want to take that gorgeous piece of ass out for a spin if the chance comes up?" Jess asks, flopping on the bed next to Darcy and dodging the piece of popcorn that's swiftly winged in her direction. Darcy looks over at Jane's earnest face on the screen to the right at her, and then glances back at Jess. Total rock and a hard place here, she thinks. "Besides, when was the last time you got laid?" Jess continues, utterly oblivious to Darcy's discomfort.

"Do you have any pictures?" Jane asks, listing to the side as if she's trying to bypass Darcy and look directly at Jess.

"Culver bitches are always prepared," Jess says with a smirk. "I got some of the piggyback ride. I'll send them over to you in a bit."

"Excellent."

"You're not going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Nope," says Jane.

Jess chimes in with, "No way."

"Okay, that's it. You two are totally out of the will."

Jess frowns and twists so she can look Darcy straight in the eye. "What aren't you saying?" she asks. "Because this hesitancy thing is so not Darcy Lewis. Any other time you'd be all for asking him out on a date. You wouldn't be this fucking cagey unless there was something else going on. Is he married? Does he have a secret family somewhere? Night job as a drag queen?"

_No, but there is that whole Captain thing_, Darcy thinks, resisting the urge to break out in nervous giggles. But there is at least the kernel of an idea brewing. If it works, it'll get them off her ass, at least for a little while. And they definitely won't be bothering Steve with any nosy questions. "This goes no further than the three of us," she says, rapidly flicking her head back and forth between Jane and Jess so fast she's almost dizzy. Tread lightly, she reminds herself. "I was told this in confidence, so don't go blabbing it everywhere. You know Steve used to be in the army. He just got back from overseas only a couple of months ago, and he hasn't exactly had the easiest time of it. He lost a lot of close people over there."

And oh, god, isn't that the understatement of the century? Technically not one word out of her mouth is a lie, so props to her. But there's one final, flourishing touch to add. "He also had a girl. Over there."

_Agent Carter, wherever you are, please forgive me for this_, she thinks desperately. "She died, pretty unexpectedly, right before he came back."

"Wait, he told you all this?" Jane asks, lips parted with slight incredulity.

"He told me enough. It wasn't hard to piece the rest of it together."

"But he never said he wasn't interested in you, did he?"

"Jane!" Darcy howled, grabbing a nearby pillow and burying her face in it. Why are these people her friends again?

Jane just shrugs innocently. "Hey, my love life…well, you know what that's like right now," she says, sparing all details so that technically neither she nor Darcy end up violating the shit-ton of NDAs that were forced on them by S.H.I.E.L.D. in the aftermath of Thor's visit. "I'm due to live vicariously through you."

Darcy pulls the pillow off her face and stares at the opposite wall, her lips pursed and jaw set. "For the last time, I'm not interested in him."

"Bullshit," they chorus. Darcy just lifts a finger in the air, cutting them off.

"Two, even if he was into me like that – which he's not – he's in no way ready or, really, willing to enter into a serious relationship right now."

'Liar, liar, pants on fire," a little voice in her head whispers before Darcy firmly shoves it back in its cage.

"And three," Darcy finishes, trying to wrap the whole matter and stick a pretty little bow on top of it, "while he is attractive – an observation I can make in a totally objective way – he's not exactly the type of guy I usually go for." Offering to do CPR on Thor was an exception because Thor, hello.

The little voice tries to pop up once more, and this time Darcy mentally shuts it down with a padlock as well.

Jane and Jess trade a look that implies a loaded conversation in the space of a second. "She does have a point," Jane says.

Jess nods thoughtfully and gives Darcy a look. "You always did prefer those skinny, artsy sort of guys, didn't you?"

The little voice in her head just cackles evilly at that one.

_Darcy dreams of blackness. Or, rather, her dream starts out as blackness. Then, from the corner of her eye, a glowing streak flies past, a brief shooting star that disappears almost as quickly as it comes._

_ It's all black again, but then another colored line zooms past on her other size. Then another flies by, this one electric blue. Then again, in a yellow so pale it's almost white. The streaks come faster and faster, spreading and branching out into a neon, candy-colored grid that stretches further than her eye can see. The sharp lines bend themselves into long, skinny rectangles, square boxes, hexagon style cubes, and every other shape that can be created with straight lines and angles._

_ When Darcy was a kid back in those innocent days before she knew the science behind how things worked, this is exactly what she imagined the inside of the internet looked like. Informed by cartoons and TV shows that her young self probably shouldn't have been watching, this was the world she'd created in her head. In this world, she could travel around faster than the speed of light and connect herself to absolutely everything that was out there, right at her fingertips._

_ Darcy admits she had an overactive imagination as a child._

_ She holds up her hand and watches as the warm flesh tone of her skin lightens and whitens and cools down until all that's left is a transparent hand shape outlined in a flash purple light. The surface of her hand glitters like the night sky, all aglow with purple stars. Her skin feels like it's got sparks coming from inside it, and she instinctively knows that this is the perfect way to navigate this world of hers._

_ Steve is standing next to her, looking like he did before the Army got its hands on him. He's skinny as all get out and only a scant few inches taller than she is, but there's a fierce, determined set to his jaw that looks an awful lot like the heroic jawline from the comic books back in the day. 'Both versions are pretty damn hot,' that traitorous internal voice pipes up, and she viciously shoves it back in the box, adding a heavy metal chain to the padlock. But the sight does answer the eternal question (at least in certain internet circles) of which came first: the hero or the serum? She now knows the hero was always there; the serum just gave him the body to act on it._

_ She pokes him in the arm with her transparent hand, and waggles starlit fingers at him when he looks her way. "Race you," she says, smirking almost evilly. She reaches up to take hold of the nearest illuminated line. The glittering, transparent effect then takes over the rest of her body, turning her into a cluster of stars with a human shape, the purple sparks gleaming richly amongst the blackness and neon. It's much easier to ride the lines in this shape, and she can feel her body settling into the pathways that will give her access to any place imaginable. "Ready, set, go!" she calls, her voice bursting forth with a shower of sparks and an electronic tinkle._

_ Without waiting, Darcy twists her hand and sets off, flying through the wires. She doesn't tell Steve the trick to ride the lines, but he's smart. He'll figure it out and catch up with her in no time at all. Hell, he'll probably end up beating the pants off of her knowing his skills._

_ The lines are labyrinthine, running in, out, up, and around with no care for physics or the laws of nature. The exhilaration is palpable, making Darcy twist, flip, and tumble as she flies through pathways made of light and electricity. She loves this feeling._

_ On a line running parallel to hers, an even brighter streak of cobalt blue that stands out from the neon shades keeps pace with her, darts a little way forward, and then tumbles back until he's even with her once more. "Cheat!" Darcy hollers at him, knowing instinctively that her voice will carry._

_ "It's not cheating if I'm just better at it than you are!" Steve fires back, the blue streak that his figure's become jumping between different lines. It's like he's deliberately going slow and stalling, just to needle her. Darcy puts on a fresh burst of speed and leaps over into his line, attempting to trip him up._

_ They play tag in the neon lines for what could be hours. When your body is composed of light the restrictions of what you can do with that body seem to be relaxed and more willing to do what you need it to rather than what you expect it to do. It's then that Darcy thinks would be the perfect time to inform Steve of the conversation she'd had earlier – not all of it because he really doesn't need to know some of the things those two idiots were saying about her feelings (which were so untrue anyway). She's got no clue as to why they think she's falling for Steve. Because she's not. Really._

_ There's a trope for that, the internal voice says with a knowing tone. It's called 'suspiciously specific deni-' The voice gets firmly shoved back into its box once more. But he probably should be aware of the backstory she sort of but not really created on the fly for him._

_ Besides, it's the perfect place to do it, here buried in this dream world where they're the only two people in existence. Who on Earth is going to be able to find out what they're saying in here aside from the two of them? The level of safety is a bit of a comfort._

_ "Hey, Steve?" Darcy calls out._

_ "Yeah?"_

_ "So, no shit, true story…"_

_ "You told them Peggy was dead." Steve shakes his head, mouth agape like he can't quite believe what he's hearing. Maybe he can't, Darcy thinks. After everything he's been through it's the one little fairy tale out of her mouth that really pushes him over the edge of sanity, and it's all her fault._

_ After Darcy's bombshell (which, frankly, isn't anywhere near bombshell status. Minor inconvenience, yes, but not bombshell) Steve needs to stop and take a breather. It's more of a psychological thing than anything else, she presumes. They still look like the star creatures, outline and image with only the suggestion of substance. She highly doubts his lungs have suddenly decided to give up on him, but nonetheless he needs to stop, trying to catch his breath as he asks her to repeat herself. So they stop on the nearest platform, made of glossy black material edged in neon and slump down on there, resting their backs against what feels like a wall but probably really isn't._

_ "Why the hell would you say something like that?" Steve barrels on, oblivious to the chagrined look taking over Darcy's outlined face. "She's not dead."_

_ "They were ganging up on me!" Darcy nearly shouts. "You have not seen Jane when she gets fixated on something. She's like a dog with a bone and won't pull her teeth out until she's ripped it to shreds. Why the fuck do you think she's still trying to rebuild the Bifrost bridge? They freaked me out, and when that happens my come-up-with-the-best-story-possible skills fall a little short!"_

_ "But why did you have to say she was dead?" Steve asks, running his hands over his face and making some of the glowing particles scatter._

_ Darcy throws her hands up in the air, resisting the urge to dope slap Steve upside the head. She doesn't quite get where this fierce resistance is coming from. "I didn't exactly have much time to prep, if it isn't obvious. And for short notice, I think I did pretty damn good." One of her arms goes so wide that it should smack Steve in the arm but instead it goes right through, blue and purple particles meshing together like spilled glitter. "Huh. Cool." She pulls her hand back, separating the colors and body parts. Then she thrusts her hand back, watching in undisguised glee as it melds with his arm once more. "Dude, you have to check this out."_

_ Steve turns to her, open-mouthed as if to say something, but is stopped clear in his tracks at the sight of Darcy's hand passing directly through his arm and out the other side. "Is it just me or do these dreams keep getting stranger and stranger?" he blurts out._

_ "Strange or not, this is awesome," Darcy says, kicking out a foot and watching as it sinks into his calf. When Steve attempts to elbow her in the side, she can see the blue particles of his arm coming to rest somewhere in her ribcage._

_ "Your head is a very odd place," Steve comments, watching warily as she grabs his forearm, lifts it, and presses her own arm to it until they merge into one limb, the purple and blue particles combining and merging to form one singular shape._

_ "Computers are my comfort zone," Darcy says, marveling at how seamlessly their arms have managed to fit together. "That or I watched Tron too many times as a kid, which is totally my dad's fault, by the way." She's always been more of her father's daughter anyway._

_ "Your parents seem like interesting people."_

_ "Not really. They're surprisingly normal."_

_ A few more seconds of silence pass before Steve starts speaking again. "So many of them are already dead and buried," he says slowly and carefully, as if he's fishing around in that brain of his for the proper vocabulary._

_ Darcy nods, understanding hitting her all at once. "And you don't want to lose any of them any earlier than you have to, even if it is just to some fake story. I'll go back and tell them something different when I wake up," she starts, but is cut off by Steve's head shaking before she can take the thought any further._

_ "You go changing that story now it'll look even more suspicious." He sighs and slumps further against the wall, pulling Darcy and their still meshed arms along with him. "As much as I hate the story it is a really good way to stop them from asking any more questions."_

_ "Jess is big on comfort food if you can't tell; she'd probably just feed you instead." Darcy looks over at him, sees his profile outlined in the sparks and the way he's gazing resolutely ahead. "For what it's worth, I didn't mean to get you upset like that."_

_ Darcy imagines that she can see Steve's lips curve upward ever so slightly. "It's all right. You didn't know."_

_ "Still…I wonder how the hell you put up with me sometimes." It's an insecure and nervous statement, and it slips past her lips before she can stop it. For all the confidence she has, there's that well of insecurity right below the surface that bubbles up more often than she'd like. And while she knows Steve appreciates the honesty, especially given everything that he's gone through, there is such a thing as being too honest._

_ Steve turns slightly to look at her, lips still curved in that odd smile. The outline of his eyes glow from the blue particles, even more intense in the darkness of this world. "When I have an answer to that," he says, lips forming a smirk as he talks, "I'll let you know."_

_ Steve answers that statement eventually, at a time when Darcy least expects it, and with something far deeper than she'd ever imagined. She's not complaining in the slightest._

* * *

A/n: Title is from _Girl Anachronism_, by the Dresden Dolls.


End file.
