Pound of Flesh

“What’s that?”

“Nothing!” DJ nearly squeaks as she whips around, hiding the flower behind her back. She crumples it up and tosses it blindly into the trash, flashing Steve a disarming smile. “Just garbage. You know how I am- leaving a mess everywhere I go.” In more ways than one.

Steve gives a lopsided smile and pulls her into an embrace. “I hardly think that you’re the worst out of all of us. Thor and Tony definitely have you beat. You and Clint are at least tied.”

“Natasha threated to strangle me with a noose constructed out of shoelaces the next time I leave my sneakers in the hallway.”

He gives a shrug like it’s nothing. “Bruce tripped over them last time and Hulk almost threw Tony through the wall.”

“Fair enough.” She tips her head back to give Steve a quick peck. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah. Tony asked me to find you. He has something to show you in his workshop.”

Odd considering last time she checked she wasn’t in need of a suit of armor or explosive arrows, but if she’s been summoned she might as well go before Tony sends someone a lot more obnoxious than Steve to retrieve her. Like Clint. Clint who is actually also in the workshop when she gets there.

“If there were any two people in the entire world that I would not like to see conspiring against me, it would be you.” DJ plops down on a stool a cautious distance away. “What’re you up to?”

Tony only halfway acknowledges her presence, not turning around to show her what he’s fiddling with, but explaining it to her in a way she actually understands. “I’ve been working on something in case you turn psychotic and go on a spree of mass destruction. An atom stabilizer. Just don’t tell Rogers. I’ve been punched by him before- not really an experience I’d like to repeat.”

“Alright.” She hesitates for a brief second. “I’m all for it, but what does Clint have to do with this?”

“Er, yeah. This is the less exciting part of this for you. It has to make skin contact to work, and you’re not exactly the easiest person to get close to when you’re kicking ass. So we’d probably have to shoot you.”

Ah. Well that makes a lot more sense. Steve probably wouldn’t be able to shoot her even if the world were at stake. Tony couldn’t do it either, if not because of their fast blooming friendship, it’s because he has a strangely optimistic compulsion to go on self-sacrificing fix-it binges that end up with everyone alive even if it’d be easier not to. But… “Natasha?”

“Already asked. She wouldn’t do it.” Tony gives her an odd look. “Listen, I thought you and Barton were okay. Ultimately, it’s up to you. As long as no one squeals to Fury, then this is just between us. You can say no.”

Her and Clint are okay. For the most part, at least. They like each other well enough as people, even if they mostly bond over their mutual antagonism. She knows that in battle they’d have each other’s backs. But he wouldn’t give her the benefit of the doubt, because he’s the sort of guy that thinks in terms of the big picture.

She’s used to people having faith in her, even if she doesn’t have faith in herself. Captain America would try and talk her down off the ledge. Iron Man would fly in circles around her taking every ounce of abuse until she gets a handle on herself. But Hawkeye is a man of action over faith. She doesn’t kid herself that one day she won’t end up with an arrow in her chest.

“No. I mean yes.” They both arch a brow. “I mean give it to him.”

“Are you sure?”

DJ rolls her eyes because really, of all times for Tony to act considerate. Now? It’s annoying. “Sure that it’s what’s best for me? It probably isn’t. But I’m sure that it’s what’s best for everyone else.”

Clint grins and gives her a slap of camaraderie on the back. “You’re starting to sound like an Avenger already.”

“Joy,” she deadpans. “Now all I need is a flamboyant costume and we’re good to go.”

“I’ve actually got some prototypes for that, too.”

She groans and cards her fingers through her hair. “That concerns me more than an arrow with my name on it.” Tony jerks a tarp away from the closest table and all she can do is stare. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“What do you mean the rest of it?” Tony huffs indignantly. “This is all of it.”

“This is practically lingerie, Tony. Unless you plan on modeling me after Stripperella, you’re going to have to make me some pants.”

He scoffs. “You would watch trashy cartoons. Just try it on.”

“No. Just looking at it makes me feel dirty.”

“I like it,” Clint shrugged.

“Of course you do!” Tony exclaims. “Because it’s a work of genius. It’s the same amount of coverage Wonder Woman gets.”

She scowls and throws the tarp back over the table. “She’s fictional. And an Amazon. I’m relatively human, and I don’t think it’s particularly safe to have my ass hanging out when evil-doers get a hankering to blast us halfway across town.”

“Fury said the Avengers need to start getting good PR. Sex appeal is always good PR,” Tony reasoned with an edge to his voice, like a belligerent child who wasn’t getting his way. He’d be stomping his feet and throwing things soon.

“Half of you prance around in skin-tight outfits, and Bruce is naked. I think you have enough sex appeal.” DJ hops down off the stool and calls over her shoulder as she stalks off. “Fix it and get back to me.”
_________________________________________

“Have you thought of a name?” Steve grunts as he takes a swing and goes right through her.

DJ tries to aim a kick at the back of his knees, but she’s quickly grabbed and tossed over his shoulder onto the floor. “Um…” She’s panting, out of breath upon impact. “I was under the impression I already had a name.”

She flicks her wrist and Steve is sprawled out on the mat beside her. “I meant for field work.” He rolls on top of her and pins her wrists over her head with one hand. “It’s a necessity.”

“Ugh. I don’t know. It’s not like there are any obvious ones staring me in the face, Captain America. You can’t exactly call me I’m-Going-To-Incapacitate-You-With-A-Punching-Bag Girl.”

“What-“ The punching bag flies off its hook and slams against Steve’s side hard enough to have him skidding a few good feet across the room. “Ow. But I’m hardly incapacitated.”

She grins. “Yet.”

The punching bag slowly rises in the air, but before it can hit anything it falls back to the ground with a thump as a kick to the back of the head makes DJ pitch forward. “Not fair,” she grumbles, turning to see Natasha standing there with a smirk.

“Because bad guys have a tendency to play fair.” She dodges the elbow that DJ jabs her way. “They’re not going to take turns.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Steve adds as his arm locks around DJ’s neck. “And I came to the same conclusion as you. There aren’t any obvious choices.” DJ atomizes as Natasha swings at her, and Steve takes the blow to his stomach. “Oof. But I remembered when you were talking to Fury-“

“Can you at least pretend I’m making you break a sweat?” She complains as she sags against the wall in exhaustion.

Steve gives Natasha a boost, hurling her across the room towards DJ, and when her feet meet the wall where the blonde used to be she pushes off and collides with her where she’s rematerialized. “You’re too predictable.”

“Not every baddie is going to be a badass brilliant Russian, either. We’re occasionally going to fight some dumbasses, so I think I’m okay.” She rests her face in the crook of her elbow, going limp against the mat. “And I give. You win. Now let me ache and sob in peace.”

Helping both women to their feet- whether they want to stand or not- Steve continues his conversation as if there was never any interruption. “I remembered you saying to Fury that it was like you were in Poltergeist. I didn’t really get the reference, but JARVIS helped me when I asked and I thought that made a lot of sense.”

“That name’s already taken,” Natasha says offhandedly as she stretches out her muscles.

“Yeah, JARVIS told me that, too. A lot of names are taken, actually. So it took a lot of thinking.”

DJ leans her weight against Steve’s side as they make their way towards the elevator, feeling a little boneless. “And I appreciate the effort. I love you endlessly and whatnot, but you’re not exactly the hippest hero around. I don’t need a 1940’s kicker of a name like Moxie or something.”

“Miss America?” Natasha’s not even smiling but DJ can totally tell she’s silently pissing her pants in laughter.

“Um, A) You’re a bitch, and B) Tony makes better jokes than that.”

The doors open with a ping and Steve ushers them inside. “Revenant.”

_________________________________________

DJ’s stopped sleeping in her room. She woke up too many mornings with the balcony door open.

One day she wakes up in Steve’s bed with his strong, warm arms wrapped around her. His face is buried against her chest and his breaths are deep and even with sleep. She smiles until she turns to the alarm clock to check the time. It’s only six thirty-seven so she has a while left to sleep. But there’s a daisy on the nightstand and she can’t bring herself to shut her eyes.

The images still creep in through the tiny walls she’s built in her brain. It feels like a phantom fist has clenched around her heart. And she remembers.

She remembers the way he said her name. Daisy. Like it was a joke and a curse.

She remembers crying at his feet and begging with a desperation that filled her every pore. How he didn’t even have the cold decency to laugh at her pathetic plea, but watched with silent apathy as if she were nothing.

And she remembers a night consumed by a drug-induced haze. Being strapped to a table. A sharp concentrated pain somewhere, and then the bloom of agony everywhere. Making deals with the devil. A devil with a terrifyingly sharp mind and a way with machinery.

Bile rises in her throat and she knows: she had never escaped for even one second.

She starts shaking even as her skin burns hot. It’s a struggle to slip on one of Steve’s shirts over her trembling shoulders, even leaving it unbuttoned. She staggers forward and the sheen of sweat beading all over her body makes it difficult to grab on to something when her knees buckle. But she’s halfway to the kitchen, so she’s alright with dragging herself across the floor on her stomach.

The tile is freezing against her mostly bare skin. She rolls over onto her back and claws at her neck, arms, and thighs, scratching at a fabricated itch. It’s with the last bit of energy that she possesses that she hauls herself up to sit on the counter. She fumbles around blindly, grasping a butcher knife.

Tony chooses then to amble into the scene.

“What the fuck?”

“Help,” she gasps, barely audible. Her skin is clammy and gray, like she’s just pulled herself from the brink of death. Or she’s fast approaching.

Tony stalks forward, gripping the wrist of the quivering hand holding the knife. “What… What do I- I don’t even- I can’t- You have to-“

“Shut… Up…” She fights for every breath and slumps forward against his chest. “There’s… In… body… Tracker… Don’t know… Where…”

“It’s making you sick? Hurting you?”

She drops the knife and it clatters to the floor as her weight thumps back against the cabinets. “Fucking… Obviously…”

“How can someone so close to death be so sassy?” he grumbles checking her pulse with one hand as his other roams across her skin looking for an inconsistency.

She laughs deliriously. “Talent…”

His hands ghost across her collar bone, down her sides, over the inside of her arms. The crook of her elbow, her stomach, around her hips. His fingers fumble over a tiny scar on her inner thigh, perfectly parallel to the tattoo on her other leg. “Ah, yes, right there.”

Steve leans against the doorway, confused.

Tony absorbs what the scene must look like. DJ in her underwear, Tony between her legs, fingers rubbing over private places. “Um, this is entirely different to what you’re probably thinking.”

“I know.” The total trust on his face makes DJ want to break down in sobs. “What can I do?”

“Hand me a clean knife and hold her down.”

DJ screams and bows her back as Tony makes a shallow cut. She feels him digging around. She feels Steve’s fingers bruising as he tries to keep her from flailing out and hurting herself. She feels an invisible poison leaking through her veins. She feels it swimming through her even as Tony yanks out the small metal chip.

She leans over the sink and vomits violently. Her body convulses and Steve is scooping her up in his arms and there’s a whole lot of people screaming until Steve’s solid voice cuts through. “Hospital! Hospital!”