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Oh, the mark on Sam's left pectoral read, in a slightly untidy scrawl. Oh, it's - you're - I - um... Hello?
He'd kind of been expecting her to be a little scatterbrained. It... sort of bled through. He hadn't expected her to be to be standing in the common kitchen at Stark Tower, but there she was: almost six inches shorter than him, with tits and ass that wouldn't quit, wearing a big, chunky blue-and-white sweater and a jean skirt on top of black leggings, and staring at him through thick-rimmed glasses from under a silky brunette fringe.
He blinked at her in pure surprise.
Her cheeks and the tips of her ears went bright red. "Sorry," she said. "I, um. No, I haven't seen Captain Rogers. Actually. But if I do, I'll, um. I'll tell him you were looking." She swallowed hard as he continued to stare, and he practically saw her wilt under his gaze. "Okay, I'm... going now." She spun on one bare foot and made a beeline for the door.
"Wait," he finally managed. She stopped, but didn't turn around, her shoulders hunching instinctively as if she expected a blow. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry," he said. "That was rude of me. I'm Sam Wilson, and I'm real pleased to meet you."
Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she turned to face him, a tentative expression on her face. "I'm Darcy," she replied. "Darcy Lewis." She took a step toward him and offered her hand to shake; with her sleeves pushed up around her elbows, he could see the trailing end of his own painfully neat handwriting as it wrapped around her right forearm.
He shook her hand, but didn't release it. Instead, he turned her arm slightly, brushing the fingers of his opposite hand across the mark. "May I?"
"Sure." She reached over and tugged her sleeve up a little farther, and he could see it there: Excuse me, Miss, but have you seen a blond super-soldier anywhere? I seem to have lost mine. "I, um." She swallowed. "I spent a very long time being very confused about this, you know. Then they pulled Steve out of the ice."
Sam nodded. "Made a little more sense after that, I guess."
She smiled. She had a gorgeous smile, a distant part of his brain noted. "Yeah," she said simply.
A noise at the door caught their attention - it was Steve, the tips of his own ears going a little pink. He'd cleared his throat. "Sorry to interrupt," he said. "Sam, I see you've met Darcy."
"Yeah," Sam said, nodding. "I was just asking her if she'd seen you, actually."
"Well, here I am," Steve said, stepping farther into the room. Then he paused, his eyes going wide. His gaze went to Darcy's arm, then her face, then Sam's face. "Oh," he said softly as the light dawned.
"Yeah," Sam replied simply.
Darcy grinned. "I'm telling everyone, Steve. You bring the best presents."
Steve laughed. "Well, Darcy, I try to bring you things I think you'll appreciate."
There was a discreet ping, and JARVIS's voice said, "Miss Lewis, Dr. Foster is requesting your presence in the laboratory, if you are not otherwise occupied."
Darcy's eyes went to a clock on the wall and she gasped. "Oh, crap, I'm so late. Jane's gonna kill me." She looked up at Steve. "Steve, can you give Sam my number, please?"
"Happy to," Steve replied, nodding.
"You're the best." She tiptoed and planted a kiss on Steve's cheek, then turned and grinned up at Sam. "Text me later?"
"You bet," Sam replied, grinning.
She tiptoed and planted a kiss on his cheek, too, and then she was gone in a whirlwind, leaving behind only the faint scent of her perfume.
Sam stared at Steve for a minute. Then he said, "Did that just happen?"
Steve grinned broadly. "Oh, yeah."
~*~
The text, when it came, was simple. Let me take you to dinner, it said. So we can get to know each other.
Darcy considered it for a long time before replying, Something low-key, and we'll go dutch.
His response was almost immediate. Fair enough. Six?
Meet you in the lobby, she sent back. Then she tucked her phone back into her bag. When she looked up, Jane was watching her from across the lab. "What?" she asked, feeling a little defensive.
"Are you going to tell him?"
"Which part?"
Jane shrugged. "Either?"
Darcy sat down at her desk, running a hand through her hair and sighing heavily. "Maybe? I don't know. I..." She paused, thinking about it. "I probably should. Soulmate and all. Plus, if it's going to be an issue, it'd sort of... I wouldn't get invested."
Jane nodded, leaning against the edge of the white board. "What do you think?"
"He seems really nice," Darcy said. "From what I could tell, very briefly. Funny. Friends with Captain America, so he can't be that bad, right?"
"Yeah, but you haven't told him, either."
"No, but he's gay, remember?" Darcy pointed out. "He came out on Rachel Maddow when she asked him about Bucky." Footage of that interview - which had become very emotional when Captain Rogers talked about losing the love of his life and explosive when he revealed that he wasn't talking about Peggy Carter - had dominated the airwaves for weeks afterward. These days, everyone knew that Captain America was queer and even Fox News was learning to be careful with their words.
"He's bisexual," Jane corrected. "But even bi people can be transphobic."
"I know." Darcy slumped over, dropping her head onto the desk and covering it with her arms. "Ugh. I don't want to talk about it any more."
Jane crossed the room and patted Darcy on the back. "Honestly, I'm sure everything will be okay. I just want you to be safe and happy. Okay?"
"Okay," Darcy said, her voice muffled against the desktop. "Now can we do science?"
Jane laughed softly. "Now we can do science," she confirmed.
~*~
At five, Darcy went home to her little apartment on the eightieth floor and stared into her closet. She had to actively force herself not to pull out her baggiest jeans and sweaters, because dressing up in that old armor wasn't going to do anybody any good. Instead, she chose a cute top and matching jacket, her new black circle skirt, and a pair of flat-soled boots that would look adorable with the outfit but were comfortable for walking - or running - in.
She double-checked her hair and makeup, brushed her teeth, and then stared at herself in front of the mirror, taking deep, calming breaths. "You can do this," she said aloud to herself. "You can do this and it will be okay. Regardless of what happens, everything will turn out all right."
Her reflection stared back at her, looking sassy and adorable, and Darcy gave herself a solemn nod. She grabbed her purse on the way out of her apartment and headed down to the lobby.
Sam was already there when she got there, dressed in dark-wash jeans and a yellow button-up shirt. His face split in a genuine smile when he saw her, and he offered his arm when she approached. She took it, and they headed out the front doors onto the streets of New York. "There's a little Italian place right around the corner," Sam said. "How's that sound to you?"
"Perfect," Darcy replied. "I love Italian." She waited a few beats as they walked before saying, "So, um. I heard about Steve's friend. How's that going? Can you say?"
Sam blew out a breath. "It's been rough, I won't lie," he said. "We finally caught up with the guy in Texarkana, of all places, and he's better than he was, but he's not there yet."
"I'm surprised Steve isn't with him," Darcy commented mildly.
Sam nodded. "Me, too, to be honest," he admitted. "But he needed to be here for a few days to do paperwork and things - I don't know, exactly. Stark's got lawyers all over it. So Bucky's in Iowa with Natasha and Clint."
"At the farm?" Darcy asked. She grinned at Sam's surprised expression. "Clint showed me pictures. He's pretty proud of the place."
Sam grinned back at that. "Yeah, he is. And yeah, that's where Bucky is. I think it's good for him, all the quiet. Plus he and Clint's dog have formed some kind of transcendental bond."
Darcy rolled her eyes. "That is the most spoiled dog on the planet."
"You are not wrong about that." Sam held the little restaurant's door open and followed Darcy in, pulled out her chair, and then seated himself. When the waitress came by to ask about their drinks, he looked at her first. "Do you have a wine preference?"
"I, um." Darcy swallowed. "I don't drink," she said. To the waitress, she added, "Just iced tea for me, please."
Sam nodded. "Same for me."
When the waitress had gone, Darcy folded her hands in her lap and said, "You should have wine if you want it. It's not - I don't not drink because, like, I'm anti-alcohol, or an alcoholic or anything. It's just medication."
Sam shrugged. "I'm actually not a big drinker anyway, and wine isn't really my thing. I like a good craft beer." He smiled. "So don't worry."
Darcy nodded. The waitress brought their drinks, took their orders, and vanished again. There was a beat of almost-awkward silence before Sam said, "So, there's... something I need to tell you."
Darcy blinked at him. "That had a sound of doom to it," she said, trying to keep a light tone to her voice. "And I know from doom-filled announcements." Her mind raced, trying to think what it could be - was he sick? Already married? What could it be?
He huffed a soft laugh at that. "Well, it's just that... it's kind of important. And since we're soulmates, you need to know." He took a deep breath, looking down at his fingers for a moment before looking up at her. "I need to tell you this because it has to do with defining the parameters of any possible relationship that we might have, because I know how Disney-esque people can get about their soulmates and thinking they've found The One and all that. So I need you to be aware before we get started - it's nothing to do with you at all, but our relationship can't be sexual."
She blinked again, feeling utterly blindsided. "Sorry - what?"
"It's just... I'm asexual," he continued. "I always have been. And I don't think sex is gross or anything, I just... don't want to have it. I still have romantic impulses, and I can and do have romantic relationships, but I can't and don't have sex." He closed his mouth and watched her warily, almost like she was a snake he was afraid might be ready to strike.
She covered her mouth with both hands, fighting the urge to burst out into hysterical laughter right there in the middle of the restaurant. "Give... Give me a second, please," she managed, her voice strangled. She closed her eyes and took several long, slow, deep breaths, and then she opened her eyes again. "Thank you for telling me that," she said, reaching across the table and offering her hand.
He took it, and she squeezed his fingers gently, giving him a smile. "That actually makes it easier for me to make my doom-filled announcement."
He raised an eyebrow. "The speaker concedes the floor."
She giggled. "Well, first of all, I'm ace, too."
He blinked at her. "You... what?"
"I'm ace, too." She squeezed his fingers. "Sex-repulsed panromantic asexual."
"Which," he said slowly, "I'm pretty sure translates to gorgeously squeezable platonic snuggle-buddy."
She laughed. "I do like snuggling," she admitted. "I get touch-starved really easily." She paused, taking a sip of her tea. "But there's something else you need to know about me, too. I'm trans."
He blinked at her for a moment, and she watched as his eyes involuntarily traveled down her body and back up again, taking her in through the lens of this new information. She braced herself internally for his reaction. He took a long moment before speaking, and when he did, his voice was gentle. "Okay," he said. "I, um. I don't... actually know very much about trans people, or about... about being trans? So, you know, if I say something godawful, please let me know, because I don't want to offend you or hurt your feelings. Okay?"
She smiled. "Okay."
He nodded. "Well. Thank you for telling me that. I appreciate that it's not an easy thing to tell people, especially somebody you just met." He paused, clearly searching for the right words. "My immediate reaction is to say 'I don't care,' but that isn't accurate, because I get that it's probably a big part of your identity and your life, and it's very important to you, and I do care about that. But I don't... I mean, it doesn't..."
"It doesn't change the fact that we're soulmates and potentially squeezable platonic snuggle-buddies?" Darcy offered.
His shoulders relaxed and he gave her a gorgeous smile, squeezing her fingers and then releasing her hand as the waitress arrived with their food. "That's it exactly."
When they left the restaurant it was full dark, and Sam took the risk of putting his left arm around Darcy's shoulders. She grinned broadly and snuggled into his embrace, reaching up with her own left hand to tangle her fingers with his. They strolled casually up the street, talking animatedly about their experiences at college - Darcy had finally gotten her PoliSci degree from Culver (a year or so late, no thanks to the obstructionists at SHIELD who kept trying to classify her internship) , but Sam went to Tulane and got his degree in American history, with a minor in African and African Diaspora Studies.
"I did my senior thesis on African culture and the Mardi Gras krewes," he explained, tugging her into a line beside a Mr. Softee truck that was idling at the curb. "Specifically the Zulu Social Aid and Pleasure Club. And then I sort of took a left turn into speculation, talking about that song Iko Iko, you know, from The Big Easy? Because it's kind of a folk song from down there, you know, and nobody really knows exactly what the lyrics mean, so there's speculation that it might be voodoo-related or Mardi Gras related, or maybe it might be French Creole or Chickasaw or even Yoruba."
He paused in speaking, glancing down at her as they stepped toward the window, and he felt his face go warm. "Sorry," he said. "I get sort of excited talking about it."
"Don't apologize," she replied, her voice a little breathy. "Do you have any idea how excited I am right now?"
He blinked at her. "Uh?"
She paused, ordering a chocolate soft-serve from the man at the window; Sam ordered a twist, and when they had their ice creams, they stepped away again, moving back up the street toward the tower. "Sam," Darcy said, "you're speaking my language. Look, I spend all day in a science lab with ridiculous people who do ridiculous science things. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I had a decent argument with anyone about Marxist theoretical concepts or whether or not Foucault was a bag of hot air?"
Sam took a bite of his ice cream and hazarded, "I'm gonna guess it's been awhile."
"I need to yell about Becker and Beard, Sam. I need it."
"Well, by all means," Sam replied, smirking. "I'm more of a social historian myself."
Darcy was silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke, she said, "This may be a little forward for a first date, but I kinda wanna take your brain out and play with it."
Sam burst out laughing.
~*~
Their second date ended up being a trip to Yankee Stadium in the company of the entire Avengers team and all of the adjacents; Thor had never been to a baseball game and Steve hadn't been to one since anabolic steroids became a thing. So one afternoon a couple of days after their first date, Sam and Darcy found themselves in the company of everyone they knew, being dragged across the Harlem River into the Bronx.
Steve, being Steve, refused to support the Yankees no matter what, but could not in good conscience wear the gear of the Braves, so he chose to wear a reproduction Brooklyn Royal Giants jersey, and ended up delivering an impromptu lecture on the history of Negro League baseball to everyone around them in the stands. "When I was nine years old," he told them, "Bucky and I had a pal called Mike Reese, who sold the Brooklyn Daily News up by the Navy Yard. We were out of school one day, I don't remember why, and we went with Mike up to Dexter Park in Queens and saw the Royal Giants play the Baltimore Black Sox."
Sam leaned forward from his seat behind Steve. "You and Barnes were the only two white boys in the whole damn park, weren't you?"
Steve laughed. "Just about. Not that we cared; we sat way up in the bleachers and ate peanuts and heckled the pitcher just like we were at Ebbetts Field." He paused, his head tilting strangely, and for just a second, it seemed like he was looking at something entirely different than what everyone else was seeing. Then he shook his head. "But when we went to Ebbets Field to see the Dodgers - they were still the Robins then, they didn't become the Dodgers officially until '33 - we couldn't sit with Mike, on account of the segregated seating."
Darcy reached out and gave his shoulder a warm squeeze; he looked back at her and smiled, reaching up and patting her hand. "All's well that ends well, though, right? Mike made it through the war just fine, and his granddaughter is a professional golfer."
The baseball game ended up being a lot of fun; Jane and Thor ended up on the Kiss Cam and Sam bought Darcy a cotton candy as big as her head, and - perhaps most importantly - the Yankees lost.
~*~
The day before their third date, Steve got a call from Natasha. He was needed in Iowa; Bucky'd had a breakthrough. Sam offered to go with him, but Steve waved him off. "I'll be okay," he promised. "Clint and Natasha are there, so I have backup. And if I need you, I can always call you."
Sam was less certain of things, but he let it go, and Steve went off to Iowa by himself.
To take his mind off things, Darcy took Sam to her favorite club. "You're going to either love it or hate it," she told him when she showed up at his door. "I'm honestly not sure which one it's going to be."
He looked her up and down. She was wearing a black leather corset top with black lace edging and black-and-red striped pants that clung sinfully, and she had a wide black leather belt wrapped around her hips.
"Damn, girl," he said finally. "You look good."
She grinned, her cheeks going a little pink. "Thank you."
"I can't show up looking all prep school casual when you're looking like that." He shook his head. "Have folks thinkin' you deserve better."
Darcy laughed. "Skinny jeans, a vest?" she suggested. "Dressy casual?"
"Yeah, I can do that. C'mon inside." He stepped back from the door, letting her into his apartment, and then disappeared down the hall to his bedroom. Darcy unashamedly poked around on the bookshelves in the living room, looking at the few books and knickknacks he had. The place was mostly bare, with just enough decoration to keep it from echoing, because Sam's official residence was still in Washington.
When he came back out of his bedroom, he was dressed in skinny black jeans, a white button-up with a black-backed red vest, and a black-and-red striped tie. He held out his arms and did a quick spin. "Yeah?"
She obliged with a wolf-whistle. "Perfect."
He grinned. "All right, then," he said, and held out a hand. "You ready?"
"I was born ready," she replied. Then she took his hand, and led him out of the apartment.
They spend the train ride up to Harlem playing Would You Rather.
"Would you rather have no one show up to your wedding or your funeral?"
"Hmm. Probably my funeral, because it would mean everyone was out having a good time. Would you rather... live through a nuclear apocalypse or the zombie apocalypse?"
"Neither, if I'm being honest, but if I had to pick one, probably the nuclear apocalypse. Everybody thinks their zombie preparedness plan is foolproof but let's be real: chances are high you're gonna end up a crawler. Would you rather have... a personal chef or a chauffeur?"
"A personal chef, definitely. I don't mind taking the subway but I hate cooking. Would you rather be... stuck on a desert island alone or with two people you hate?"
"Alone. If I hate them, I'm not going to hang out with them anyway. Would you rather start your own successful company or start your own successful religion?"
"Oh, come on, you make way more money at religion. And it's non-taxable."
"You make an excellent point."
Sam didn't start to get nervous until Darcy directed him off the street and down an alley lit by only a dim, blue bulb. "Are you sure about this?"
"A hundred percent. I come here a lot." Darcy paused about five feet from the mouth of the alley and turned, tucking her hands into her pockets and staring at Sam, who was still standing on the sidewalk under a streetlight. "Sam," she said simply, "trust me."
"Yeah, okay." He squared his shoulders and followed her into the alley.
Underneath the blue bulb was an unmarked fire door; Darcy pulled it open, and a riot of light, noise, and music escaped from within. He blinked, and she smirked at him. "See?" Then she took his hand again and tugged him inside.
Sam blinked, squinting as his eyes fought to adjust to the changed light and the smoke. The sound of sensual orchestra music assaulted his ears, and he looked up and to his right just in time to see the woman onstage drop the brilliantly-sequined ballgown she was wearing and leap into a jazzy dance routine.
His jaw dropped. "Holy shit," he exclaimed. "It's burlesque!"
Darcy's grin was brilliant. "It sure is!" she replied, turning away from the short-statured man who was collecting cover charges at the door and grabbing Sam's hand again. "Let's get a drink. My friend Colleen is dancing tonight; she does an Elvira tribute. You're gonna love it."
"You're damn right I'm gonna love it," Sam replied, feeling his own grin stretch in response to hers. He watched the woman on stage finish her dance and disappear behind the curtain, to be replaced by a juggler in an old-fashioned circus costume. "It's like you're inside my head; how do you know all my favorite things?"
Darcy laughed, reaching up to rub at his chest, her fingers tracing over his shirt where the fabric covers her words on his skin. "Soulmate, remember?"
"Oh, right." He wrapped his arms around her and turned her to face the bar, waiting for the bartender - an androgynous individual with a tattooed face - to notice them and come see what they wanted. Darcy ordered a Coke; Sam ordered a beer and slid a ten across the bar before Darcy could try to pay. The bartender nodded appreciatively and went off to help someone else.
They turned toward the center of the bar and wended their way between the tables, finally finding one fairly close to the stage and sitting down. The juggler had been replaced by two tumblers, and Sam shook his head a little bit, watching them in admiration. "Much respect for anybody that can do that kinda stuff," he said, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. "I never could."
"No, but you can fly," Darcy pointed out. "I saw the footage from DC, you know. Some of that stuff you did with those wings shouldn't be possible. Or legal, for that matter."
"You think I'm good, you shoulda seen Riley," Sam said without thinking. He sighed when he realized what he'd said, then sat back. "Riley was my wingman," he explained. "He got shot down."
"I'm so sorry," Darcy said, her voice gentle. Her hand came up to rest on the back of his shoulder. "If you want to talk about him, I'd love to hear it."
"Maybe another time," Sam replied. "If I start tonight, I'm afraid I'll get maudlin, and that's no good for anybody."
"I understand." Darcy's hand slid down his arm and she squeezed his hand. He turned his hand in her grip and laced their fingers together. And then they both turned to face the stage as the lights dimmed once, alerting the audience to a new act about to begin.
It started with a puff of smoke from a fog machine, rolling across the stage. And then the curtain rose, and the performer - Darcy's friend Colleen - stood in the center of the stage on a platform, her body draped in what looked like a black robe, a perfect Elvira wig on her head. The music began, the signature tune recognizable from the 1988 movie, and Colleen spread her arms. What had seemed like a robe opened up wide into huge batwing-like constructions, and she launched into a precise recreation of the dance scene from the movie - though there were only two red-clad backup dancers, as opposed to the six or so that had been in the movie.
Sam shook his head, leaning over to Darcy. "This girl is good," he said, putting his arm around her shoulder and his mouth close to her ear. "How long did it take her to learn this routine?"
"Forever," Darcy assured him, leaning into him. "She worked really hard to make it as much like the movie as she could."
"She did a hell of a job," Sam marveled. He didn't move his arm from around Darcy's shoulders, and Darcy didn't lean away, until the very end - when Colleen proved as adept with tassels as Elvira herself, both Sam and Darcy clapped as loudly as they could. Darcy stuck two fingers in the corners of her mouth and whistled loudly, and Sam cheered along with the rest of the audience.
They stayed for two more performers - a belly dancer and an old-school comic stripper - before making their way back out into the night. Their fingers entwined, they made their way back, catching a nearly-empty train back to Midtown. Sam walked Darcy up to her door and said, "I had a really great time tonight."
She smiled up at him. "Me, too. I'm glad you like burlesque."
He laughed softly. "I'm glad you like me."
"I like you a lot," she confirmed. Then she asked, "How do you feel about kissing?"
"Pretty good, actually," he admitted. "Kissing and cuddling are great, but I draw a line at heavy petting."
"Oh, good," Darcy said. Then she tiptoed and pressed her lips to his in a warm, sweet kiss.
His hand cupped the side of her face, his fingers sliding into her hair, and he deepened the kiss just a little bit before releasing her and smiling down into her eyes. "You know what else I like?" he asked, pressing his lips to her temple. "I like how we match so perfectly. I was always afraid that even though we were soul mates, we wouldn't fit quite right, and it would be weird like it has been in the past. But it's not weird. It's perfect."
"I know it's really soon," Darcy murmured, her hands smoothing restlessly down his chest, "so don't freak out or anything. But I get it. About fitting. And soul mates. And..." She paused, looking up into his eyes anxiously. "I'm not... suggesting anything. Not yet. But I could see... I could see forever with you."
His thumb traced a warm line across her cheek, and he bent down to kiss her again. "I can see forever with you, too," he whispered against her lips. "But you're right: it is soon. So we won't make any ill-advised leaps just yet." He smiled. "We've got time."
She smiled back. "All the time in the world," she agreed. And then she pushed her door open and stepped backward into her apartment. "Good night, Sam," she murmured.
"Good night, Darcy," he replied, his smile shifting into a grin. He pushed his hands into his pockets and turned, sauntering away. And he absolutely did not look back to see if she was watching him leave. But he did listen for the sound of her door closing, which he never heard.
As he started up the stairs toward his own apartment, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to read a text from Steve: Bucky's programming broke. He remembers everything. We'll all be back in New York in a couple of days.
Excellent, Sam texted back. Everything is looking up!