Work Text:
The labs go into lockdown fifteen minutes before home time. It's not the first time and Darcy sort of wonders why they can't have the decency to try locking down the place before she gets to work. As far as lockdowns go, it's routine: zero information and a lot of waiting. Jane had left for a guest lecture just after lunch, so Darcy was left unsupervised and alone.
Prior experience had taught her that the lockdowns could be anything from unannounced drills, over in less that fifteen minutes, right through to epic and unnerving debacles that ran for hours. Two hours later she sourly concedes that it is the latter and starts digging around in her backpack for something to eat. She's SOL. What she does have is a little over six dollars in loose change and a clear view of the vending machine in the hallway. Technically, lockdown mandates that she should keep her arse bunkered down in the lab. But, given that the building locks down in sections, it's not completely out of the realm of possibility that she could throw the lock to the lab, grab a snack to go and sit out the rest of this organisationally imposed 'quiet time' with a few sugary treats.
Darcy makes up her mind and listens at the door for a full five minutes, a peek through the glass panel proves that her path is clear. Beyond that it's a simple matter of wedging the door open with her bag and dashing madly to the machine. She wildly smashes the buttons, collecting an odd assortment of foodstuffs, as she peers nervously over her shoulder. She's not sure if she'd more afraid of encountering a rogue Doombot or being busted testing the limits of the lockdown, but she wastes very little time in darting back into the lab, toeing her backpack out of the way as she moves and quickly turning back to relock the door.
It would have been the perfect crime had she not found herself holding a pack of Junior Mints some M&Ms and four snack size bags of trail mix (presumably placed in the machine to placate the more health conscious employees). At least she's got the Junior Mints, she sighs as she tosses aside the trail mix and slips to the floor.
She's tearing strips off the empty box when she hears the first noises. It's nothing too alarming, just an innocuous sort of scratching. Unfortunately, she's spent enough time in the lab to know what sounds out of place and the scratching is very much not normal. There are a few beats of silence and Darcy tries to tell herself that she's imagining things as she starts on the pack of M&Ms.
When the noise returns, it's no longer scratching sounds but a peculiar sort of drumming noise. Either she's going stir crazy, or something snuck into the lab during her candy raid. Darcy pushes herself to her feet and creeps forward. How bad could it be?
She's actually a little relieved when she clears the bank of desks and spots it. It's not a rat or a gun-toting maniac, so that's a plus. It is damn weird though. The disembodied metal arm is scratching persistently at a low air vent, it doesn't seem overly threatening, but then time spent around Tony Stark has given her a healthy fear of unaccompanied mechanical limbs.
"Uh, hey there little guy..." she says, more for herself than it. It's a little alarming when it actually seems to stop and respond to her voice. She's startled by that, but uses the pause in activity to creep closer for a better look. The polished metal doesn't totally seem like Tony's style and while the star high on the shoulder is red, it doesn't scream 'Stark'. It bristles as she approaches, the fine little plates that form it tighten and shift noisily as it wriggles a little closer to the vent, almost like a small wounded animal.
It returns to scratching at the vent then, as if thinking better of it, and taps two fingers on the floor, points at her then jams a finger up against the vent.
"Open it?" Okay, it's possible Stark is behind it all. He'd get a kick out of watching her converse with a limb. "No can do, little buddy, there's bars inside the vent. Put 'em in there after that thing with Clint... not that you care. Being an arm and all."
She's not sure how much, if any, of what she has said is understood but it does move a little away from the vent and begins to slowly drum its fingertips on the floor, as if trying to think... or something.
Darcy doesn't sense an imminent threat, so she just shifts a few bits of kit and perches herself up on a bench as she continues to watch her bionic guest shuffle dejectedly around the lab. Eventually the little guy makes his way over to her bench. It flops around for a while like a fat silver snake begging to be pet (so not happening), when she makes no move toward the arm it whirs with agitation and she can hear it prime and coil. She watches on, deeply impressed, as it launches itself up toward the edge of the bench. Fingertips bite into the wood, grapple for a decent hold, then haul the rest of the arm up beside her.
She's not sure who out of the two of them is more impressed by the move, but the arm seems stunned into a couple of minutes of inactivity. Darcy returns to eating her M&Ms, only looking back down when she feels a hard jab to the side of the thigh. Her mechanic companion is jabbing her in a bid for attention and she swats at the back of the hand. It recoils a little and she feels bad for a second, right up until it slowly rolls over and flips her the bird.
"Jerk!" she cries, then leans in a little closer to search for any sort of audio or visual recorders. Surely someone has to be controlling this thing? Only, she can't spot a single gap in the plated make-up of the arm. She reaches down to poke it, then traces her finger up over the ridged forearm. The mechanics hum happily under her touch. "Where are you trying to go, dude?" she whispers to it and it points at yet another air vent. "No dice," she says gently, "Sorry, but they're all barred."
Her new lab partner seems to have a flair for the dramatic as it flops over once more, palm up, fingers lolling out to express displeasure.
They stay like that for a while, not doing much. Occasionally, the hand will stir and the fingers will tap a little. Nearly an hour later she looks down to notice that the arm has completely closed the gap between her thigh and it. It might have been creepy, watching the hand move itself about by digging its fingertips into the desk, but something about it is really quite cute. "C'mon," she says with an exaggerated sigh as she helps heave the arm half-up onto her lap. It's heavier than she thought, but not uncomfortably so. "Want to do... uh... hand stuff?"
It gives her an honest-to-God-thumbs up.
By the time anyone bothers to check on her lab, they've mastered Scissors, Paper, Rock (after some stern words about how the game was not otherwise known as 'Scissors, Paper, Rock and pound the desktop when you lose'), nixed the possibility of ever playing Thumb Wars again, no matter how gently the little guy had pet her bruises afterward, and were well into act three of their shadow puppet masterpiece.
The response team all sort of stop short when they bundle into the lab and come upon Darcy trying to manipulate the metallic fingers as she mutters, "No, no. T-rex looks like this."
"Have eyes on the objective," on of the agents speaks into his sleeve and the arm huddles into her lap, wrapping half around her hip. Darcy places both her hands protectively over it, even as the absurdity of the scene strikes her. She feels oddly protective of the nervously whining and whirring machine in her lap.
"Hey guys," she begins cautiously, "Looking for my buddy here? We've just been chilling."
"Your buddy," the agent says as he advances, "Is behind this entire lockdown."
It's hard to see how a single bionic arm can cause such an uproar, but she gently strokes at the wrist as she unwinds it and hands it over to the agent. There's a pause as someone darts forward and plants a small device just off from the red star. As the arm begins to seize up, a stocky agent heaves it up and over his shoulder. Darcy could swear it gives her a tiny two-fingered wave just seconds before it goes limp.
~*~
Two weeks later Darcy meets Bucky Barnes in the flesh. There's a stilted introduction then a gentle whirring and clicking as his prosthetic arm lifts and shares a slick reflexive fist bump with her.
Bucky blinks down at his arm, opening and shutting his hand in confusion. "I'm sorry, it must... must be a glitch."
Darcy smiles and shrugs.
"Must be."