[Thor (2011)] Not Your Mother's Alma Mater 2/? (Darcy/Hawkeye)
Title: Not Your Mother's Alma Mater
Author: smittywing/Smitty
Pairing: Darcy Lewis/Clint Barton (Hawkeye)
Rating: PG for this part, probably R or NC-17 overall. I hope.
Wordcount: ~1500 for this part
Spoilers/Warning: For the end of the movie, I guess? Also WIP and all that carries with it.
Notes: Posting in-progress is always a tradeoff between part size and frequency. This time I'm choosing smaller parts but more frequency. For now, at least. Thanks to reccea for letting me get away with that. :)
Part One
“Agent Darcy Lewis, reporting for duty!” Darcy tosses off what she feels is a snappy salute. It’s better than Hawkeye’s anyway. She’s wearing the one skirt she brought with her with tights and boots and she feels like that should cancel out the hoodie, because Jane had said sand, and jeans, and driving the Science-mobile, and nothing about office work. But those six government credits would be hers.
“You’re not an agent, Miss Lewis,” Agent - damn him - Coulson says mildly, which was pretty much how he says everything, and hands her a file folder. “No need to salute. Your workstation is over here.”
She can think of a lot of terms more accurate than “workstation” - among them “hovel”, “corner”, and “Pit of Shame” - but honestly, it isn’t much worse than Jane’s setup. The chair only swivels to the right, which is interesting, but the computer is brand spanking new and clipped inside the file folder is a card with Darcy’s username and password. She commits them to memory in case the paper disintegrates in 24 hours, and logs on to the SHIELD network.
This is going to look amazing on her resume.
“A trained monkey could do this job,” Darcy complains to whomever will listen - well, Jane, since she’s the only one around but she’s not exactly listening.
“You should be fine, then,” Jane says absently and Darcy rolls her eyes and hands her a Pop-Tart.
“Seriously,” Darcy adds, helping herself to the second Pop-Tart in the package. “Yesterday I did expense reports. And filled out requisition forms for new SUVs.”
“Are you allowed to tell me this?” Jane asks suddenly.
Darcy pauses. “I don’t know,” she admits slowly. “Don’t you have like, all the clearance in the world, now?”
Jane shrugs, lifting her eyebrows. “Maybe? I mean, now that I know how much I didn’t know before...who knows what else is out there?”
“Wow.” Darcy chewed her Pop-Tart thoughtfully. That’s some pretty secret stuff. She bets Fury knows all of it. And probably Coulson.
“What are you still doing here?” Jane asks. “Aren’t you supposed to be at S.H.I.E.L.D. in the mornings?”
“Yeah, three days,” Darcy replies through a mouthful of breakfast pastry. “The other two, I have gym class.”
Jane gives her the sympathetic look of a bookworm nerd who always got picked last for kickball. “Are they going to make you lift weights or something?” she asks.
“Dunno. Coulson said to wait here until someone comes to pick me up.”
“That’s weird,” Jane starts to say, but her next word is drowned out by the beep of a car horn.
“There’s my ride,” Darcy says, picking up her messenger bag and shoving the rest of the Pop-Tart into her mouth.. “Wish me luck.”
“Yeah, definitely,” Jane says, her attention already back on her spreadsheets.
Someone raps on the door of the lab and then the door swings open.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m on my way,” Darcy calls, spinning on her heel.
Clint Barton is standing in the doorway, sunglasses pushed up on his forehead and his arms bare between the shoulders of his vest and his fingerless gloves. The morning sun casts deep golden highlights into his hair and Darcy thinks, Huh. Clint’s hot.
“Hey,” she says, catching the door and following him to where a Jeep is idling. “You’re my ride?”
“Apparently I’m your teacher. Coach. Something.”
He actually gets the door for her. He opens the fucking car door.
Thor set high standards for the dudes on this planet but Clint is definitely giving him a run for his money. “Really?” she asks. “What are you teaching me?”
Clint slides into the driver’s seat, sunglasses back across his eyes. “Archery,” he says, shifting the Jeep into drive and spinning it into a U-turn.
“Archery?” Darcy asks skeptically. “Like with arrows?”
Clint doesn’t turn his head and she can’t really tell because of the shades, but she feels like he’s looking at her. “What else do you shoot with a bow?” he asks.
Darcy shrugs. “Hey, you’re the expert.”
“Just so you know,” Clint says, “I’ve never taught anyone anything.”
“That’s okay,” Darcy assures him. “I’ve never passed a phys ed class, so if I fail this one, it’s totally not your fault.”
Shooting an arrow at a target is a lot harder than Robin Hood makes it look. Not that Darcy thought it was going to be easy or that she’d be even remotely successful at it, but after an hour, her arms are jelly and Clint hasn’t even let her release an arrow.
“It’s all about form,” he says for about the four hundredth time.
Darcy huffs. “Will you just let me shoot something?” she demands. “Also, you are totally keeping me after the bell. A two credit gym class is two hours a week.”
“Fine,” Clint says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Release.”
About goddamn time, Darcy thinks, and lines up her shot, draws the string back, and releases.
The arrow arcs off to the right and nosedives before it even gets to the target. Also the armguard? Doing a totally shitty job of guarding her arm.
Darcy narrows her eyes and glares at the arrow. It’s clearly defective.
“Pissed off, now, aren’t you?” Clint says and yes, yes she is and she kind of wants to punch him in his smug sunglasses.
“All right,” she says, shaking out her spaghetti-like arm and cinching the armguard tighter before she winds up with friction burns. “Let’s go again. But for the record, I am not an Amazon and I am totally not cutting off a breast for this sport.”
“That was just legend,” he tells her.
“I guess you would know,” she shoots back as he wraps one hand and then the other around hers’, pressing up against her back with his great big chest and using his strength to pull the string back. He still smells pretty good even though they’ve been in the middle of the desert for over an hour.
“Besides,” he says, right in her ear, “there’s a shortage of perfect breasts in the world. T’would be a shame to damage yours.”
Darcy turns her head until they’re almost eye-to-eye, his breath on her lips. “You do know I’m still in college, and you’re kind of my professor...” she says and feels him tense behind her.
“You’ve never seen - “ He’s backing away, putting distance between them again, and his face is bright red. “The Princess Bride? As you wish? A nice ML...T? Really?”
Darcy blinks at him, once, and then lets herself grin. “Gotcha,” she says.
“I hate you,” he replies. “Get in the car.”
Fresh off her victory with Clint, Darcy finds that Coulson has shared his calendar and contacts with her.
“To what do I owe this honor?” she asks when he comes to hover around her workstation.
“Our scientists have finished examining the Asgardian metal on the Destroyer unit that attacked Puente Antiguo and we want Tony Stark to come in and give us his take,” Coulson says. “His assistant’s name is Pepper Potts. Her information is in my contacts. Under no circumstances,” he adds before he turns away, “are you to let them con you into sending the metal to them.”
“I hear Malibu’s nice this time of year,” Darcy says to his retreating back and then calls, “Field trip?” but there’s no answer. She shrugs and opens his contacts and finds Potts, just before POTUS, and holy crap, Coulson has the President of the United States’s personal contact info. She makes a brief and silent promise to herself to use it for good and not evil and then memorizes the number. Because seriously, if she has to call the Bat-phone, she’s not going to have time to look it up, and that’s assuming they even have internet when the world’s ending.
Once that’s taken care of, she places the call to Pepper - seriously, Pepper? - Potts. The words INITIALIZING VIDEO LINK appear on Darcy’s screen and hey, she had not been expecting video phone. Which was sort of stupid, now that she thought about it because she was calling Tony Stark’s personal secretary and it’s not like she didn’t have Skype on her computer at home and oh, it was showtime.
“You’re not Coulson,” the red-haired woman on the screen says sharply.
“Yeah, and you’re not Pepper Potts,” Darcy says, because Coulson has a picture of her in the contact file and this woman is younger, darker-haired, and so not smiling.
“I’m her assistant, Natalie Rushman,” the woman replies.
“Well, I’m Coulson’s assistant, Darcy Lewis,” Darcy says, because two can play at this game.
Natalie’s left eyebrow lifts. “Well, then,” she says. “What can Stark Industries do for Agent Coulson and S.H.I.E.L.D.?”
Part Three
Author: smittywing/Smitty
Pairing: Darcy Lewis/Clint Barton (Hawkeye)
Rating: PG for this part, probably R or NC-17 overall. I hope.
Wordcount: ~1500 for this part
Spoilers/Warning: For the end of the movie, I guess? Also WIP and all that carries with it.
Notes: Posting in-progress is always a tradeoff between part size and frequency. This time I'm choosing smaller parts but more frequency. For now, at least. Thanks to reccea for letting me get away with that. :)
Part One
“Agent Darcy Lewis, reporting for duty!” Darcy tosses off what she feels is a snappy salute. It’s better than Hawkeye’s anyway. She’s wearing the one skirt she brought with her with tights and boots and she feels like that should cancel out the hoodie, because Jane had said sand, and jeans, and driving the Science-mobile, and nothing about office work. But those six government credits would be hers.
“You’re not an agent, Miss Lewis,” Agent - damn him - Coulson says mildly, which was pretty much how he says everything, and hands her a file folder. “No need to salute. Your workstation is over here.”
She can think of a lot of terms more accurate than “workstation” - among them “hovel”, “corner”, and “Pit of Shame” - but honestly, it isn’t much worse than Jane’s setup. The chair only swivels to the right, which is interesting, but the computer is brand spanking new and clipped inside the file folder is a card with Darcy’s username and password. She commits them to memory in case the paper disintegrates in 24 hours, and logs on to the SHIELD network.
This is going to look amazing on her resume.
“A trained monkey could do this job,” Darcy complains to whomever will listen - well, Jane, since she’s the only one around but she’s not exactly listening.
“You should be fine, then,” Jane says absently and Darcy rolls her eyes and hands her a Pop-Tart.
“Seriously,” Darcy adds, helping herself to the second Pop-Tart in the package. “Yesterday I did expense reports. And filled out requisition forms for new SUVs.”
“Are you allowed to tell me this?” Jane asks suddenly.
Darcy pauses. “I don’t know,” she admits slowly. “Don’t you have like, all the clearance in the world, now?”
Jane shrugs, lifting her eyebrows. “Maybe? I mean, now that I know how much I didn’t know before...who knows what else is out there?”
“Wow.” Darcy chewed her Pop-Tart thoughtfully. That’s some pretty secret stuff. She bets Fury knows all of it. And probably Coulson.
“What are you still doing here?” Jane asks. “Aren’t you supposed to be at S.H.I.E.L.D. in the mornings?”
“Yeah, three days,” Darcy replies through a mouthful of breakfast pastry. “The other two, I have gym class.”
Jane gives her the sympathetic look of a bookworm nerd who always got picked last for kickball. “Are they going to make you lift weights or something?” she asks.
“Dunno. Coulson said to wait here until someone comes to pick me up.”
“That’s weird,” Jane starts to say, but her next word is drowned out by the beep of a car horn.
“There’s my ride,” Darcy says, picking up her messenger bag and shoving the rest of the Pop-Tart into her mouth.. “Wish me luck.”
“Yeah, definitely,” Jane says, her attention already back on her spreadsheets.
Someone raps on the door of the lab and then the door swings open.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m on my way,” Darcy calls, spinning on her heel.
Clint Barton is standing in the doorway, sunglasses pushed up on his forehead and his arms bare between the shoulders of his vest and his fingerless gloves. The morning sun casts deep golden highlights into his hair and Darcy thinks, Huh. Clint’s hot.
“Hey,” she says, catching the door and following him to where a Jeep is idling. “You’re my ride?”
“Apparently I’m your teacher. Coach. Something.”
He actually gets the door for her. He opens the fucking car door.
Thor set high standards for the dudes on this planet but Clint is definitely giving him a run for his money. “Really?” she asks. “What are you teaching me?”
Clint slides into the driver’s seat, sunglasses back across his eyes. “Archery,” he says, shifting the Jeep into drive and spinning it into a U-turn.
“Archery?” Darcy asks skeptically. “Like with arrows?”
Clint doesn’t turn his head and she can’t really tell because of the shades, but she feels like he’s looking at her. “What else do you shoot with a bow?” he asks.
Darcy shrugs. “Hey, you’re the expert.”
“Just so you know,” Clint says, “I’ve never taught anyone anything.”
“That’s okay,” Darcy assures him. “I’ve never passed a phys ed class, so if I fail this one, it’s totally not your fault.”
Shooting an arrow at a target is a lot harder than Robin Hood makes it look. Not that Darcy thought it was going to be easy or that she’d be even remotely successful at it, but after an hour, her arms are jelly and Clint hasn’t even let her release an arrow.
“It’s all about form,” he says for about the four hundredth time.
Darcy huffs. “Will you just let me shoot something?” she demands. “Also, you are totally keeping me after the bell. A two credit gym class is two hours a week.”
“Fine,” Clint says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Release.”
About goddamn time, Darcy thinks, and lines up her shot, draws the string back, and releases.
The arrow arcs off to the right and nosedives before it even gets to the target. Also the armguard? Doing a totally shitty job of guarding her arm.
Darcy narrows her eyes and glares at the arrow. It’s clearly defective.
“Pissed off, now, aren’t you?” Clint says and yes, yes she is and she kind of wants to punch him in his smug sunglasses.
“All right,” she says, shaking out her spaghetti-like arm and cinching the armguard tighter before she winds up with friction burns. “Let’s go again. But for the record, I am not an Amazon and I am totally not cutting off a breast for this sport.”
“That was just legend,” he tells her.
“I guess you would know,” she shoots back as he wraps one hand and then the other around hers’, pressing up against her back with his great big chest and using his strength to pull the string back. He still smells pretty good even though they’ve been in the middle of the desert for over an hour.
“Besides,” he says, right in her ear, “there’s a shortage of perfect breasts in the world. T’would be a shame to damage yours.”
Darcy turns her head until they’re almost eye-to-eye, his breath on her lips. “You do know I’m still in college, and you’re kind of my professor...” she says and feels him tense behind her.
“You’ve never seen - “ He’s backing away, putting distance between them again, and his face is bright red. “The Princess Bride? As you wish? A nice ML...T? Really?”
Darcy blinks at him, once, and then lets herself grin. “Gotcha,” she says.
“I hate you,” he replies. “Get in the car.”
Fresh off her victory with Clint, Darcy finds that Coulson has shared his calendar and contacts with her.
“To what do I owe this honor?” she asks when he comes to hover around her workstation.
“Our scientists have finished examining the Asgardian metal on the Destroyer unit that attacked Puente Antiguo and we want Tony Stark to come in and give us his take,” Coulson says. “His assistant’s name is Pepper Potts. Her information is in my contacts. Under no circumstances,” he adds before he turns away, “are you to let them con you into sending the metal to them.”
“I hear Malibu’s nice this time of year,” Darcy says to his retreating back and then calls, “Field trip?” but there’s no answer. She shrugs and opens his contacts and finds Potts, just before POTUS, and holy crap, Coulson has the President of the United States’s personal contact info. She makes a brief and silent promise to herself to use it for good and not evil and then memorizes the number. Because seriously, if she has to call the Bat-phone, she’s not going to have time to look it up, and that’s assuming they even have internet when the world’s ending.
Once that’s taken care of, she places the call to Pepper - seriously, Pepper? - Potts. The words INITIALIZING VIDEO LINK appear on Darcy’s screen and hey, she had not been expecting video phone. Which was sort of stupid, now that she thought about it because she was calling Tony Stark’s personal secretary and it’s not like she didn’t have Skype on her computer at home and oh, it was showtime.
“You’re not Coulson,” the red-haired woman on the screen says sharply.
“Yeah, and you’re not Pepper Potts,” Darcy says, because Coulson has a picture of her in the contact file and this woman is younger, darker-haired, and so not smiling.
“I’m her assistant, Natalie Rushman,” the woman replies.
“Well, I’m Coulson’s assistant, Darcy Lewis,” Darcy says, because two can play at this game.
Natalie’s left eyebrow lifts. “Well, then,” she says. “What can Stark Industries do for Agent Coulson and S.H.I.E.L.D.?”
Part Three