Chapter Text
It was dark. Darcy Lewis hated the dark. For as long as she could remember, darkness held the No. 1 spot on her short list of great fears. No. 2 was running out of coffee.
She didn’t know why she hated the dark or how the fear started in the first place. All she knew was she started screaming in her bedroom one night, having thrown away her rocket ship-shaped nightlight that afternoon after Stacey Adams told her only babies had nightlights in kindergarten. Her dad didn’t make fun of her. He loved to tease, but he always stayed away from anything he knew was important to his daughter. So rather than laugh at her tears, he took her to the living room where they built a fort out of blankets and pillows, popped popcorn and watched cartoons until the sun rose, school night be damned. (She also had her first cappuccino the next morning, but that’s another story.) That evening, at dinner, he presented her with a teddy bear that worked as a night light, starting out bright when the lights turned off, growing dimmer as Darcy drifted to sleep. If she woke up in the middle of the night for any reason, the bear’s sensors would note the change and illuminate once more.
Darcy loved Beary. (Don’t give her grief about the name; she was five!) She took him to college and New Mexico and Norway and London – not that she remembered any of that. He now had a place of honor on her nightstand in Brooklyn – not that she remembered that, either.
She remembered darkness. The dark and the cold. She had no idea where she was, how long she was there or why she was there. They didn’t tell her. They talked about her. They talked over her. They didn’t talk to her. Sometimes they whispered. They argued a lot. Sometimes they yelled; fought. She preferred that over the whispers. She knew something was going to happen when the voices argued. She could prepare herself for it. She had no idea what to expect from the whispers.
“Darcy? We’re here, doll.”
The voice was so close and yet it wasn’t. She tried to turn her head towards it. She felt like she should know it, but she wasn’t sure. Even so, her instincts told her to go to the voice, to follow it. It was strong. Safe. Warm. The voice wouldn’t hurt her. Not like them.
She sniffed. She wouldn’t cry. Darcy Lewis didn’t cry – even when the urge to do so practically choked her.
“Sweetheart,” a voice said. It was different than the other one, but just as comforting.
She didn’t want the voice to stop talking. She needed something to hold on to, an anchor in the sea of darkness. She wanted to shout, to scream for the voice to keep talking, but all she could get out was a small whimper.
“We’re here, Darcy; you’re safe now. We’ve got you.”
Safe. How much time had passed since she allowed herself to think of that word? Safe meant warmth and comfort, home and her father. Her father. She strained to hear him, to pick out his voice from those swimming inside her head; the voices she didn’t know and wanted to forget and the two she knew, knew, were important.
“Open your eyes, baby; just for a minute. Can you do that for us?”
She wanted to, but what if it was a trick? What if she opened her eyes and the voices weren’t there? What if she was still in the room – alone, cold and in the dark?
“I promise you, Darcy; you’re safe.”
The first voice was cajoling, the second almost commanding. It was difficult to resist either one. She blinked, her heavy eyelids barely peeking before she slammed them shut once more. She felt a hand grip one of hers, the touch strong and comforting. This wasn’t a hand that would hurt her. She knew that.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Nice and slow.”
She tried again, the brief glimpse of light she got the first time enough of an incentive to force her eyes open once more. This time, she kept them open, blinking quickly to adjust to the bright light in the stark white room, so grateful for the fluorescent light overhead and the sunlight streaming through the large window on her right that it took her a minute to realize to acknowledge the two men watching her. Two extremely handsome men. Like romance book cover handsome.
Darcy squeezed her eyes shut and counted to three in her head. Opening one eye cautiously, she watched as the dark haired one of the two smiled, his blue eyes getting lighter as she focused on his ridiculously handsome face. Who knew there were actual people with a chin like that walking around the world? He had a dimple. In. His. Chin. She wanted to poke it. She wanted to kiss it. Darcy closed her eyes once more and took a deep breath before she did something to embarrass herself. She was safe. Maybe she was dead. That sucked, but death was far better than where she was before. It had to be.
“Sweetheart, can you look at me?”
She opened her eyes, this time focusing on the blond who looked like a Greek god. He had blue eyes, too. They were lighter than Chinny McChinerson, but just as focused as they narrowed on her as if drinking up every single feature before he allowed himself to relax and smile. Holy fucking shit, that smile was killer! If she was dead, heaven rocked. Oops! She should probably cool it on the holy fucking shit talk. Darcy wasn’t religious, but she was pretty sure that kind of language wasn’t kosher.
“Um …” She cleared her throat, wincing at the scratchiness of her voice. How long had it been since she tried to do more than scream? Why would she scream? She had a memory of shouting, yelling. Pain. She pushed it aside. It hurt to remember. She didn’t want to. She wouldn’t.
“I’m going to get the doctor,” Blondie said, giving Darcy one more brilliant smile before he left the room. Chinny didn’t follow, his focus entirely on Darcy. He lifted something to her cracked lips. Oh. A straw. She must have hesitated because he smiled. It was a sad smile, a pained smile, but also a comforting one.
“It’s only water, Darcy,” he promised. Something in his voice and the pained expression on his face made her believe him. She sipped slowly, cautiously, moaning when the tepid liquid soothed her abused vocal chords. She drank deeper, faster until the tiny cup was empty. She whimpered when he took the cup away. She wanted more! “I know, doll. Let’s have the doctor look you over first, OK?”
Doctor. That was the second time she heard that word, first from Blondie, now Chinny. She looked around the room. It looked like a hospital room. She had no idea why she knew that, but now wasn't the time to focus on such thoughts. She was in a bed, plain white sheets and a heavy white blanket pulled to her chest. She used her right arm to lift the covers and peek – yes that was a generic hospital gown. Hospital. She was in a hospital. If the plain white room, and faint scent of medicine and bleach didn’t make that clear, the IV attached to the back of her left hand sealed the deal. Chinny’s eyes tracked her movements.
“It’s to keep you hydrated,” he said, answering the question she couldn’t make herself voice.
“How long …”
“You’ve been here for four days – nearly five,” he answered, carefully lifting her left hand to his lips so he could place a gentle kiss over her knuckles. The gesture was so old timey, she wanted to swoon – and Darcy Lewis didn’t swoon.
“You’re up!” a cheerful voice chirped seconds before a tall blond woman wearing dark blue scrubs under a white lab coat walked into the room, Blondie on her heels. Darcy watched the woman – she introduced herself as Dr. Felicia Waters – as she checked consulted the clipboard in her hand before setting it down at the foot of Darcy’s bed to check her vitals, all the while keeping a running commentary that Darcy felt she should find annoying, yet it wasn’t. “It’s amazing what sleep does for the body,” Dr. Waters remarked after taking Darcy’s blood pressure, writing something down on the clipboard with an encouraging smile. “You are above and beyond where I hoped you would be, but that isn’t surprising; not from the stories I’ve heard.”
“We’ve met before?” Darcy whispered, giving Chinny a grateful smile for the second cup of water he brought to her lips, water she drank slowly, practically reverently, through the plastic straw.
“Not personally,” Dr. Waters trilled as she checked Darcy’s IV, “but there's been talk, usually from these two,” she continued with a nod to Blondie and Chinny at the foot of Darcy’s bed. They were tall. Holy crap, they were tall! And broad-shouldered. Is this what doctors looked like these days? If so, she definitely should have given more thought to medical school even if her father was against it.
Her father! Darcy tried to push herself up. Where was he? Something must be wrong. He would never let her wake up in a hospital alone.
“Darcy, baby, what it is?” Blondie asked, rushing to her side.
“My dad,” she gasped. “I want my dad.”
Blondie exchanged a look with Chinny. The dark-haired man shrugged. Blondie turned back to Darcy. “Sweetheart, maybe you better –“
“I want my dad!” Darcy shouted – or tried to shout.
“Easy,” Dr. Waters soothed, tapping a button to raise the upper part of Darcy’s bed so she was sitting up. “I’ll have your father notified that you’re awake and want to see him. In the meantime, keep drinking water. It will help your voice more than anything.” She started walking out the door.
“Wait!” Darcy cried, again her voice sounding louder on her head. “Why are you leaving me with them?” she asked, gesturing to the two men. The doctor looked confused, her brown eyes narrowing as she made her way back to Darcy’s bed. The two men glanced at each other, equally flabbergasted.
“You don’t recognize them?” the doctor asked.
Darcy considered the question carefully as she studied the two men. Tall. Built. Hot. She wished she knew them, but life wasn’t that kind. “No,” she answered, not missing the pained look that crossed Blondie’s face. Chinny looked pissed, but that didn’t scare her. Somehow she knew he wasn’t mad at her. “Should I?”
“I’d say so,” Chinny answered before Dr. Waters could. “We’re your -- "
"Boyfriends," Blondie finished quickly with a sharp look at the other man. "We're your boyfriends.”
Darcy wanted to laugh at his announcement, but instinct told her that would make the situation worse. Instead, she turned to Dr. Waters, who was watching Darcy carefully. The doctor didn’t look surprised by either man's claim. Chinny crossed his arms – Whoa! Was that one made of metal? – over his massive chest defiantly, almost as if he expected her to challenge him.
“I’m Steve,” Blondie said helpfully before pointing at Chinny. “This is James.”
“Okay …” Darcy said slowly, still waiting for someone to yell “Gotcha!” “And you say we’re dating? The three of us?” Darcy sat back in the bed. She had a million questions. How did they meet? How did it work? Were they with her, or with each other, too? People were OK with it? Her father was OK with it?
“Miss Lewis?” the doctor asked. “Do you know what year it is?”
Darcy groaned at the question. She was a fucking hospital cliché. How embarrassing. Still, she’d rather answer the question now before her father arrived. This was the type of situation he would not be able to ignore. “2007,” she answered with a heavy sigh. She felt the beginnings of a headache behind her eyes. “Look, I know I told you I want my dad, so can we hold off on 20 Questions until after he leaves? I don’t want him to worry.”
“Miss Lewis –“
“Fine, fine; you can tell him I’m a little hazy on some details – namely Hot and Hotter over there – but I’m sure he’s still coming to terms with the whole threesome idea, not that he has any room to judge, given his dating history. I’m 18 – totally legal and all, but still.” She cocked her heads as she studied the two men. “You know I’m 18, right? You two look like you’re in your late 20s – not to judge, but that’s a pretty big age difference. Has he met you guys? Background checks? Shovel talk?”
“Oh God,” the one called Steve groaned.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Darcy rushed to continue because, duh, they were hot and she didn’t want them to go just yet. This was probably another one of her rebellious acts, like when she threatened to go to culinary school, so short-term was definitely the name of the game. Damn it! It was so like her to remember throwing up on the Tilt-A-Whirl at Debbie Clark’s 11th birthday party, but not remember banging two of the hottest men she ever had to pleasure of getting into bed.
Remember.
Her mind suddenly flooded with images.
Fire. Buildings crumbling. A man in the sky. Falling. Cold. Dark.
“Darcy?” Steve picked up her hand. “Darcy, baby, open your eyes. We’re here, sweetheart. We’ve got you.”
“I want my dad,” she whimpered, her eyes squeezed tight as she fought to keep the tears from falling. “Please get my dad!” She’d barely choked out the words before her hospital door burst open, a dark-haired man with crazed eyes rushing to Darcy’s bed, pushing aside Steve with barely a glance at the bigger man.
“Baby girl?” Tony Stark asked, his voice wrecked with worry as he took in the sight of his daughter in the oversized hospital bed, her skin as pale as the sheets that covered her, her large blue eyes filling with tears as she shakily raised her arms.
“Dad!”