Chapter Text
Darcy’s been settled at the tower for three peaceful months when the intruder alert goes off at two in the morning.
It’s a series of deafening blares that seem unholy at the ungodly hour, and Darcy rises from her bed like Nosferatu from his coffin, with infinitely more speed.
The somewhat soothing sound of Jarvis gives her a second to wake up and focus. “There is an intruder on Level 1. Please make your way calmly and quickly to your previously designated safe rooms. Once you’ve reached your safe room, identify yourself and your location, along with your security clearance level. Thank you.”
The most she manages after calming her racing heart is feeling for her glasses beside her bed while letting loose a series of colorful words that would’ve made Grandma Lewis blush.
The lights in her room have steadily started to rise by this point, so she stops for a second to make sure she’s wearing enough clothing after scrambling out of bed.
Yummy Sushi PJ’s, check. Somewhat indecent tank top, check.
The alarm has now quieted to a less deafening tone, though no less jarring after only being awake for two minutes. She’s slipping on her cow slippers that were from Jane the Christmas before, and grabbing up her key card and ID as she makes her way out of her bedroom and towards her front door.
Letting her door swing shut behind her, she estimates that’s the fastest she’s ever been able to evacuate anywhere, under the circumstances. The noise of the alarm seems to be significantly louder out in the hall.
I swear to Thor, the practice drills for this situation were a lot less high school fire alarm.
Picking up a brisk pace, she makes her way down the deserted hallway. Though the level she lives on contains quite a few apartments, currently the only people who live in any of them more than half the time are herself in one, and Jane and Thor in the one adjacent.
Luckily, her boss-slash-best friend and her soulmate were off world at the moment, and therefore missing the action.
Or maybe they aren’t missing anything at all?
Looking up at the ceiling, she asks, “Jarvis, is there really action? Or is this some kind of prank that Barton or Tony cooked up? Because I gotta tell you, I was having some stellar dreams of the hot and muscular variety, and I’m really not happy about the cut off.”
His reply is quick and prompt, lacking any trace of humor.
“Unfortunately, Miss Lewis, this is not in fact a “prank”. My alarm systems were entirely bypassed in a manner that I was not in fact prepared for. I did not recognize a foreign presence until approximately thirty-two seconds had passed upon their entry. Security at the ground floor are...unreachable at the moment.”
At this Darcy stumbles a bit in her trek. Unreachable implies something bad. Or at least something not good. She picks up her pace.
“Should’ve worn a sports bra,” she mutters to herself as she nears the common area on the right side of the building. “Where’s everyone else?” she directs to the A.I. while attempting to jog in the cow slippers that are now more of a nuisance than anything.
“As you know, Dr. Foster and Thor are on diplomatic visits off-world. Sergeant Barnes is in the gym on the 52nd floor. Captain Rogers is out of the city on mission, though I am not aware of his exact location. Miss Potts and Mr. Stark are in their safe room. Both Ms. Romanov and Mr. Barton are heading to their floor’s safe room. Dr. Banner has locked himself in his containment unit.”
Kicking off her slippers with only a small amount of regret, she’s reached the bookshelf in the corner of the living area in no time.
At least seven foot tall, and four feet wide, the bookshelf has any number of books, from fiction to non-fiction, an entire set of Encyclopaedias, and a surprising number of the Nancy Drew series she’d used to stay up all night reading as a kid. It’s an impressive collection, and one Darcy hadn’t had a chance to appreciate enough yet.
After a quick scan of each shelf, “Shit, goddamn it!” spills from her mouth. Which book do I pull?? I can’t remember if it was third from the left on the fifth shelf, or fifth from the left on the third shelf!
Resisting the urge to tear her hair out in frustration and a little bit in fear, she tries both. Neither magically slide the shelf to the right where the entrance to that floor’s panic room waits.
“Fuck Tony and his stupid fucking spy movies!” she yells out.
Jarvis’s voice sounds above her and she’s so tense that she jumps a little.
“Miss Lewis, I’m sorry but I must urge you to hurry. The intruders seem to be entirely bypassing my lock on the lift systems and are moving up very quickly. Their destination seems to be residential floors.”
And of course I live on the first residential floor!
“J-man, it’s ass-crack in the morning. I can’t remember which book to pull to get the stupid secret door to open, so I can hide in my stupid secret room! Can’t you override this and let me in?!”
There’s a pause then, that coming from a human would probably indicate someone trying to find the best way to answer.
“The electrical systems for those doors are run on a closed circuit, Miss Lewis. This is in order to prevent any outside sources who may be able to hack into the building from also being able to access those rooms. I do not have the ability to open any safe room, or know how.”
She can’t help but feel an overwhelming feeling of dread at the words. Whoever had broken into Avengers Tower seemingly had the power and ability to hack through what was potentially the safest and most secure building in New York. They were heading straight for her. And they probably weren’t there to sell Girl Scout Cookies.
In a fit of fear, Darcy begins pulling every book she can get her hands on, frustration and urgency leaving her with little care for the rapidly growing pile of novels at her feet.
“Should’ve grabbed my damn taser,” she growls. “Should’ve tattooed the right book to pull on my arm. Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
By this time she’s cleared two shelves and is making her way through a third when Jarvis’s voice interrupts.
“Miss Lewis, the elevator has stopped on your floor. There seems to be a team of four people preparing to exit. I’ve alerted all the other residents in the tower who’ve made it to their safe rooms. Unfortunately, Mr. Stark can’t remember the name of the book he chose for your floor. Only that the author’s last name began with either a C or a G.”
By this time, Darcy’s hands are shaking as she furiously tries to push the entire shelf out of the way, having long given up hope of finding the book.
It’s a lost cause. The weight of the shelf by itself wouldn't have been an issue alone, but the bookshelf is attached to some type of mechanism that allows it to roll along the wall when the right book is pulled. Otherwise it remains locked in its position. It’s like trying to push a train out of the way.
She can’t help but wish for one of the superheroes that live in the building, and then gives herself a second to scream in defeat. The sound mixes in with the still blaring alarm. She slumps to the floor.
“Sergeant Barnes is trying to make his way down to you now.”
Darcy can’t help but smile a little at the thought, reminded of her wish for a superhero. That it’s the only one she hasn’t met yet is even better. And the fact that she maybe has a tiny crush from afar doesn’t hurt.
“I’m sorry, Miss Lewis,” chimes Jarvis, pulling her out of her thoughts. “They’re prying open the doors. I can’t fight them manually opening the lift.”
She shoots to her feet. The elevator is directly in front of the entrance to the common room, just beyond her line of sight. Any chance of making it past them now to the emergency stairwell would be pointless.
“Where can I hide Jarvis?! You can’t hide in minimalist furniture!”
“I would suggest perhaps the pantry closet to your left, though I must warn you, the door-." His voice and the alarm cut off the same second the lights in the room go out.
The sudden darkness leaves Darcy even more blind than usual, and the silence after so much loud noise is unnerving. The squeak that leaves her mouth comes without warning.
Then the sounds of what can only be the elevator doors being forced open echo through the room.
Mind-frightening fear slides down her throat into the pit of her stomach. She crouches down into a crawl almost instinctively.
Only the emergency lights on the far wall remain, lit by solar power panels for emergency back-up systems. They’re just enough for her to see the pantry that Jarvis had mentioned just a few seconds earlier, and she wastes no time crawling to it.
Reaching up with surprisingly still hands given the circumstances, she turns the knob to what may be her only hope and slides into the somewhat cramped space. The door clicks shut just as the screeching beyond the room stops.
A stern voice carries through the silent floor. “Brava team on sight. Beginning search for Target Zlatovski.”
The name throws Darcy. As far as she can remember, no one she’s ever met at SI had the Russian-sounding last name. Maybe Steve would know? But she doesn’t give it much thought for long, because at least one of the team of men has entered the common room.
Though otherwise mostly quiet, she can tell he’s there because the swing of a flashlight is unmistakable in the darkness, even through the slats of the door in the pantry.
The man (or woman) is covered head-to-toe in black, or what she assumes is black, in the dim light. In their hands is what can’t be mistaken for anything other than what it is: a gun.
More to the point, a big fucking gun.
Attached to the top of the scope, of what she’s guessing is a rifle of some sort, is the flashlight that now sweeps over the pile of books in the corner.
Holding her breath, she begins praying to Thor and any other god she can think of that the scary guy with the even scarier gun will move on. She can’t close her eyes however. Blame it on her obsession with scary movies and never being able to look away for long.
Absent-mindedly stroking the words curved around her shoulder, she tries to take comfort in the thought that she still hasn’t met her soul mate - so surely I can’t die yet?
The soldier (and that’s what he is, she realizes) turns his back to her, and for a brief moment she can’t help but hope. His left hand moves off of his weapon and up to his face for a brief moment. He moves a step further from her, and Darcy has to take a breath, in what she hopes is the quietest manner possible.
The soldier freezes. He whips around and has his weapon immediately trained right at her door; the only thing separating her from him. A few tense moments pass.
Shit! Time to channel my inner motto. WWTD? (What Would Thor Do?)
She feels around in the darkness and grips a possible broom handle. Thor would fight. Come and get me, you son of a bitch.
His hand rises slowly to a small object attached to his shoulder. The static of a radio fills the air.
“This is Bravo 6, come in Bravo 1.”
"Go ahead Bravo 6.”
...
“Target acquired.”
Faster than Darcy can even process the words, the man slips something from his side and tosses it directly at the door. It hits the wooden slats a few feet above her head and falls to the floor with a heavy thud.
Darcy’s gasp and sudden scramble to get into a standing position and away from whatever he just threw at her is instinctual.
A tense second beats, where both occupants of the room are hyper aware of the other.
If you can’t beat ‘em, surprise ‘em. The voice sounds a little like Steve in her head.
She throws open the door without much thought and proceeds to haphazardly kick the tiny glowing sphere out of her way with a yell worthy of a warrior.
Thor would definitely be proud.
The soldier's weapon is now pointed directly on her and the flashlight makes for an easy guess as to his intended target. The light is blinding in her eyes, but that doesn’t stop her from raising the broom above her head and crossing the few feet between them with a scream. She’s not sure what her intent is at this point. Maybe just to freak the dude out.
Then the small sphere now a few yards away begins to beep loudly and simultaneously release a puff of strangely glowing smoke. It’s just enough of a distraction that Darcy almost trips in the dark.
She recovers quickly though and makes herself continue forward.
Swinging the broom like some kind of crazed swordsman, she yells, “Acquire this, Bravo Bitch!” It’s not her best, but there’s really not a lot of time for witty repertoire when your life’s on the line.
The soldier actually seems taken aback and makes to move away a step, pulling the light out of her eyes.
She does her best to whip the broom as hard as she can on one of the hands holding the gun. It’s just enough of a surprise that his hand drops and he loses his grip.
But the hand that now doesn’t hold his gun comes up and pulls her forward a foot, and down by her hair.
The slamming of his knee into her face is so quick that it doesn’t seem real. Her glasses shatter into her nose on impact. Her mouth goes numb. She crumples to the ground.
“Bravo 1, Target in hand. Decontamination of room almost complete.”
The words again don’t make sense, but nothing really does at this point. Her head is entirely too heavy and her hands clawing at the ground around her for anything to hold onto is useless. The darkness of the room grows, and something itches in her throat.
She blacks out for a few seconds or minutes, she can’t be sure. She pushes her eyes open and traces his pacing boots a few feet from her head. She lost the broom a few feet away, or he kicked it just of her reach.
The radio static sounds. “Alpa has set locator. Bravo, prepare team to move.”
Darcy manages to swallow the blood that seems to have gathered in her mouth, and tries to open her eyes as wide as they can go now.
She’s past panic at this point. Hell, she’s three exits past panic and well on her way back to calm.
WWJD? (What Would Jane Do?) I just need to distract him. Surely Stark or the team or somebody is on their way to help me by now? Clearing her throat, she tries for snark, true to the soul mark that had been with her all her life.
“They can’t even send the A-Team after me, huh? Figures. I always was a B girl back in high school.”
He ignores her and continues pacing, and seems to even be checking his watch.
Rude.
"Yeah, they said I never applied myself enough. Well, the guidance counselor said that. ‘Course that was before I calmly explained to her that I was also working full time and taking care of my Granny, to which she shut up real quick. Didn’t have a leg to stand on anyway. My SAT scores were actually in the top of the whole school.”
She has to stop to cough, which suddenly seems to take over. It’s uncontrollable, and burns up through her throat.
“What…” she gags, “the. fuck-” wheeze, “-did you-” cough, “-put in the air?!”
Bastard Number 6 finally gives her a response in the form of a short bark of a laugh, but doesn’t deign himself to answer her question. Or seem to care that she’s now caught in a fit of full body coughing reminiscent of a 20-year smoker.
Suddenly the lights switch back on in the room and it’s like walking out of a movie theatre when it’s still day.
That stops the soldier in his tracks, and he even jumps a little when Jarvis’s voice comes through.
“Miss Lewis, try not to panic. Tony and a few of the others are making their way down to you now. My systems are back online and I’ve trapped the intruders on your floor. Sir says, and I quote, ‘Don’t go anywhere yet Lewis, I still need brownies. As long as Captain Dorito doesn’t get any even though he makes heart eyes at you. P.S. it was The Wife of Bath. Sorry I didn’t remember ‘til just a few minutes ago.’”
She doesn’t pay much attention to his ramblings, but the most important part of his message is clear. It comes to her immediately. The Wife of Bath. Canterbury Tales. Chaucer. Fifth shelf, third from the right. Thank you Ms. Miller from 11th grade!
In the first stroke of good luck she’s had yet, she realizes that he had moved her while unconscious closer to the pile of books and therefore the shelf.
“What the hell does he mean, wife of bath's?” the solider seems to ask himself, but he’s entirely too preoccupied with his new task of drawing a huge fucking circle on the windows that take up one of the walls of the common room. Whatever he’s using on the glass starts to smoke, and she realizes he’s going to attempt to escape out the window.
Nu-uh, you’re not taking me anywhere buddy. Even if your apparent method to make a quick get-away is cool as fuck. Mission Impossible- who knew?
With as small of movements as she can manage, she starts to turn onto her back to get the shelf in her line of sight. The fifth shelf is within reach from where she is, and if she can just slide forward a little bit more, she can pull the book she needs. Rolling her eyes up and over, she checks to make sure the man is still turned away.
He’s still carefully drawing a circle that starts at a height significantly taller than himself.
By now whatever gas had come out of the sphere has seemingly filled the room, and her urge to cough grows. Her eyes and nose hurt like hell, and she can feel blood all over her face. And she’d like nothing more than to groan out in pain when she shifts her leg and realizes she probably broke something, without realizing it, when he forced her down to the floor.
But none of that matters as much as getting the heck out of dodge.
So she scoots as stealthily as she can manage, and finally gets her hand on Canterbury Tales. Before she can pull the book forward though, the sound of a gun cocking rings out.
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” the soldier grounds out, and if possible, his voice is filled with curiosity more than anger.
She doesn’t have time to think of a clever answer before Jarvis’s smooth voice interrupts.
“Miss Lewis, after consulting with Master Stark, Sergeant Barnes would like to know if you remember the number of companions in the Fellowship?”
She wracks her brain for a moment, and tunes out soldier guy’s rude muttering about crazy computers and crazier chicks to answer. “Sure, J-man. Why’s that?”
“That’s how many seconds he needs before a distraction would be perfect. ”
Oh, I’ve got to meet this giant nerd.
“Yo, Bozo number whatever! Do you know who James Barnes is? Better known as Bucky? Sometimes known as the Winter Soldier?”
The goon stops muttering and starts to answer her, but doesn’t get to finish before she pulls the heavy copy of the famous literary book.
There’s a whooshing sound, and then the door that had been such a hassle for her earlier starts to move along the unseen track. Soldier boy jumps to make his way towards the lights of the new room almost involuntarily. He even manages to avoid kicking her as he gets closer, though just barely. She hopes the distraction pays off.
It’s enough.
She doesn’t hear the shot, but she sees it hit its mark.
The soldier's heavy tactical gear might’ve been enough, if it were anyone else shooting.
But the Winter Soldier doesn’t miss. The new light in the room allows Darcy to see what are likely night vision goggles on the man’s face. And what they look like when a bullet slams through them into the skull of the person wearing them.
She doesn’t really have time to react then because the man’s body is falling across her chest and taking the already hard to come by breath right out of her lungs.
It’s all too much. The splitting headache, the weird gas that’s now burning in her lungs, the fucking dead body on top of her. She chokes out some form of a laugh and it hurts just as much as she’d expected it would. As the blackness around the edges of her vision start to creep in, she can barely make out the sounds of fighting in the corridor. A different pair of boots are now in her line of sight, and both human and metal hands reach down and pull the dead weight off her. She feels them settle on her shoulders gently.
“Should’ve known you’d use words as a distraction,” comes a gruff voice.
There’s little time for shock at this point to hear her Words come out of his mouth. But humor? There’s always time for humor.
Her eyes are long-closed at this point, but Darcy stops giggling long enough to manage, “Good shot, Bucky. Thank goodness you’re a nerd.”
And promptly passes out.