FIC! Five Things Darcy Loves About Working for SHEILD, 3/6
Although, technically, it's 2b/6 since this only just finishes dealing with the second thing Darcy loves about working for SHIELD.
chapter one
chapter two
3. How to Advance From the Mailroom
Sprawled half off the mattress, Darcy rummaged on the floor for her purse then rummaged through her purse for her phone then swore at the battery level.
"Darcy?"
"Sorry. Not swearing at you. Stupid phone..."
"Okay." Steve sounded like he was smiling. She decided to count that as a win. "Listen, I'm very sorry but I can't make lunch today. Something has come up at... work and I can't get away. I really did want to spend more time with you and... and you have no idea how much I hate delaying this."
The smile had been wiped from his voice. Sounded like the boy had some issues with delayed gratification.
"S'cool. It's just lunch." She flipped over and fumbled her glasses on. Ten forty-five. "My revised plans include laundry and naps. Drop by when you get home and we'll hang."
"I don't know when..."
She could hear a siren in the background. Actually, she could hear two sirens in the background - one from the phone and one from the street outside. She'd come to suspect that the NYPD turned on their sirens just to get to work on time. She sure as shit would.
"I have to..."
"Go," Darcy finished as the call cut off. She tossed her phone in the general direction of the charger and stumbled for the shower.
By the time she turned on the TV, the Avengers were battling a street gang who'd gotten their hands on Chitauri weapons and had actually taken the time to learn how to use them. The weapons themselves tended to take care of the stupidly opportunistic. Rumour had it, SHIELD R&D had been trying to reverse engineer Chitauri tech since the invasion with no success. Darcy wondered how Stark's R&D was doing; no way Tony Stark hadn't grabbed a few bits and pieces after the fight. She made a mental note to call Jane. Again.
This wasn't a fun fight, not like the squidish had been. Whole new bits of Manhattan were being blown to ratshit and Darcy wasn't naive enough to think no one had been hurt. She wondered if her training group would be getting another "we can't save everyone" lesson. And she thought of the sadness lingering behind the laughter in Clint's eyes and wondered if anyone had thought to say the same thing to the Avengers. Or if it would help.
At least she knew what Steve was doing. With new damage to rebuild, the old rebuilding needed to be finished PDQ.
She'd have missed him more but her boxes came just after lunch and by the time she finished tetres-ing her past into her tiny apartment, the sun was long down. And her phone was dead. Fortunately, Steve lived downstairs...
Steve wasn't home. He'd probably stayed with his friend in Manhattan.
Lori called at ten the next morning. The training group was heading out to Deno's Wonder Wheel Amusement Park at Coney Island. As Lori tried to sell her on the trip, Darcy raced down to the third floor.
Steve still wasn't home.
Darcy'd never waited around for a guy to call and she wasn't about to start now. Even if this particular guy might be worth waiting for. "I'm in."
She sent Steve a text on her way to the subway.
Four hours and five hotdogs and Kevin puking in a trashcan later, she finally got a reply. ::Wish I was there.::
She had no idea how he made a text look wistful.
***
"You said stop him." Darcy stood, folded her arms around the five foot long piece of PVC pipe, and looked Agent Sitwell in the eye. "You didn't say shoot him."
Sitwell glared down at her. Behind him, the rest of her training group cradled their paint pistols and watched, expressions all a variation on you're going to get it now.
"Probationary Agent Lewis..."
Darcy only barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. It wasn't like she couldn't figure out who he was talking to.
"...you know very well that you were intended to stop Agent Chew with the weapon you were issued."
"We don't deal in intentions here, Agent Sitwell." Sitwell scrambled back, her training group froze, and Darcy looked up at Director Fury in full bad-ass regalia. "Probationary Agent Lewis is correct, you said stop him. You didn't say shoot him. And I would say that Agent Chew has been stopped. What would you say Agent Chew?"
"I'd say I've been stopped, sir," Agent Chew said, still gasping for air.
"You want to tell me why you came down onto the course and thrust a pipe between Agent Chew's legs before rather emphatically sitting on him instead of using your weapon, Lewis?"
Darcy shrugged and offered Agent Chew a hand up. "It was something my Uncle Stan always said about city boys coming out to hunt, sir. If you can't hit it when it's standing still, you sure as hell can't hit it when it's moving."
One corner of Director Fury's mouth twitched. "He's not wrong."
"Sir, the point of the exercise was to prove that."
"Seems to have been proven, Agent." The director's gaze swept over Agent Chew's unmarked padding. "And then some. Ms. Lewis."
She mirrored his nod. "Director Fury."
***
"I met my boss today. He's not as scary as everyone says." Just to prove time spent dodging Nerf at SHEILD was having some effect, Darcy nearly managed to get out of the way of the beer Steve spewed all over the kitchen. She waited until he finished coughing then said, "Drinking problem?"
"Sorry." And he did look sorry; that was the thing about Steve, if he said he was sorry, he meant it. He didn't use the word as a place holder. "I guess I breathed in at the wrong time."
"You guess," Darcy snorted. She grabbed a roll of paper towels from the counter - because they were at Steve's place, at hers they'd have had to use toilet paper, or dirty laundry - and began wiping up the splatter. "Anyway, I'm not saying he's a teddy bear, I'm just saying he's actually pretty reasonable. Reasonable, but bad-ass," she amended after a moment. "Everyone's afraid of him but that's stupid. It's like being afraid of a volcano. The volcano doesn't give a crap what you think of it, so you respect it's destructive powers and get the hell out of the way when it blows." She looked up to find Steve staring at her and was suddenly afraid she'd said too much. Would someone who did office stuff have that kind of reaction to their boss? "What?"
He smiled. The smile hit her in the chest and rapidly travelled south. "You're remarkable."
"Thank you." Although this was only officially their second date and Darcy had promised herself she'd keep to the three dates before sex rule if it killed her, she gave a moment's consideration to kicking his feet out from under him and beating him to the floor. Then her stomach growled. "Weren't you making mac and cheese?"
"I was..."
"Gourmet mac and cheese, you promised. With wienie bits cut into it."
"I remember."
"So." She clapped her hands. "Get to it. Oh, and I almost forgot..." While he set the pot of water on the stove to boil, she ran over and grabbed the afghan from where she'd dropped it on the floor. In her own defence, she'd been distracted by the narrow line of skin above the worn denim barely hanging onto Steve's hips when he'd answered the door and then they'd both been distracted by the hello again kiss which had nearly broken the three dates rule all on its own. "...my stuff came on the weekend and I brought you an afghan for your sofa. It looks all beige and naked."
To her relief, because Darcy was well aware some guys didn't appreciate homemade knitware, he wore his pinked-up and pleased expression. "Did you make it?"
"Seriously? No." She draped it so that it covered most of the sofa-back. "I tried once but got bored at about scarf size. On the other hand, properly motivated, I've got mad skills with fingerless mittens." Something significantly bigger than a pigeon buzzed by the window and Darcy leaned over Steve's drawing board for a better look. "Didn't seem bright enough for the Human Torch. Maybe it was Iron Man. As if," she added before Steve could respond. "I somehow doubt Tony Stark even knows where Brooklyn is. Oh hey!" Glancing down, she picked up a sketch from the board. "This is me. No, wait, these are me."
She flipped through the half dozen sketches and stopped at the last. He'd drawn her on the nose of an old plane, sitting back on her heels, spine arched, hands up behind her head. It was cartoony but definitely her. Only more her. The girl on that plane was confident and sexy and had probably never fallen off a climbing wall. Even her glasses looked sexy.
"Darcy, I'm..."
"Stupidly, amazingly talented. Yeah, you are."
"But I shouldn't..."
"Hide your light under a bushel? No, you shouldn't."
"Darcy." His hands closed on her shoulders and she looked up. "I'm trying to apologize."
"For?"
"Objectifying you." He said the word almost as though he were sounding it out. Like he'd seen it written but had never said it. "I know I shouldn't have but..."
"I like it. I know..." She raised a hand before he got his mouth open. "...hard core feminists would have my balls..."
"Uh..."
"...ova, but it took me a long time to see myself as anything but short and dumpy, too round, too much boob, too much ass. Girls shaped like pre-teen boys were in so I hid behind enormous sweaters and hair and sarcasm all through high-school and it wasn't until my Spanish professor took an interest - calm down..." Not hard to read Steve's expression. "...he wasn't that much older and I was acing his course anyway - that I realized I can be sex on wheels if I want to be. I like you saw that right away." She held up the sketch of her sprawled on his sofa in her New Mexico sweater, making a point with an emphatic chopstick. "But that's not all you saw. You saw me, that's pretty spe..."
The next few moments involved keeping the sketches from getting crushed while returning Steve's kisses with matching enthusiasm. SHIELD should be thrilled with her ability to multi-task while her brain dribbled out her ears. Hands finally free of paper she stroked her thumbs along the line of warm skin above his jeans, around his hips, fingers curving to...
"The water's boiling over." He murmured, pulling back. "And as much as I made myself a promise to stop putting things off, I promised you mac and cheese."
She pouted, finger hooked in his belt loops.
"With wienie bits."
"I am hungry." Grinning, she let him go. "And I kind of love that you can say wienie bits with a straight face."
Next morning at work, busy making plans for the world's shortest third date and then a reward for waiting the socially acceptable time, Darcy spotted a familiar suit heading the other way down the hall.
"Hey! Man in Black!" Waving the universal sign for yeah, yeah, I'll be there in a minute, don't get your panties in a bunch at her training group, Darcy hurried after Agent I-Wasn't-Paying-Attention-to-Your-Name who she'd met - okay, fine, bitched out - in New Mexico. "You took a song off my iPod."
When he turned, he seemed thinner, tired, and he was leaning on a cane. His skin had that kind of pasty grey tinge to it that said he'd spent too long under the artificial light of a hospital room. It wasn't hard to do the math and figure he'd been one of the agents hurt during the invasion. She hesitated for a heartbeat, but his back was straight and his shoulders were squared and if there was one thing she'd learned visiting her cousin Hank after that time he rode his ATV off the side of the quarry, it was that strong men hated pity. So she folded her arms and glared.
"I assure you, Ms. Lewis, while we had to wipe your iPod for security reasons, all the songs were replaced and your playlists rebuilt."
"All the songs are there, yes, but Sinatra's New York, New York is a lifeless, digital travesty."
He shifted his weight, moving the cane into more of a tripod position. "Tell me."
"Mine was recorded off vinyl, played on my grandmother's stereo."
His eyes widened slightly. If she hadn't been glaring so intently at his face, she'd have missed it. "Cheap microphone up against the speaker?"
"That's right."
"I see. I apologize for the oversight. I'll deal with it."
Something in the calm confidence of the statement made her believe him. "Thank you." She smiled. To her surprise, the corner of his mouth twitched in response.
"Do you know who that is?" Kevin asked, eyes wide, when she rejoined the group.
Darcy shrugged. "Dude I met when I was working for Dr. Foster." Thor wasn't exactly a secret now, but he wasn't her not secret to talk about either. "He took my iPod."
"That is Agent Coulson."
"He never leaves the office," Lori added.
"There's a theory, he's a cyborg."
"He died and came back from the dead."
"He once killed a man with a bag of gummy bears."
"How?" Darcy demanded.
Kevin frowned. "How what?"
"Well, duh." Darcy flipped up the first finger of her left hand. "Guys at his level always work longer hours than guys at yours, that's how they get to that level." Second finger. "Cyborgs are cool, my Uncle Stan has an artificial hip." Third finger. "EMTs bring people back from the dead all the time." That explained why Agent MiB looked like death warmed over. Baby finger. "How did he kill a man with a bag of gummy bears?"
No one knew.
"Stuffed the bag down his throat and held his nose while he suffocated is my guess. Maybe stuffed a few bears up the nose... What?" Darcy rolled her eyes. "You people have no imagination."
She was on the phone with her grandmother when Steve came by that evening. She gave him the universal gesture for I have to take this and waved him in.
"...kneeling on my living room floor recording Frank Sinatra off the stereo. They said you sent them."
When Agent MiB said he'd deal, he dealt. "Sort of Nana, but..."
"Don't but me Darcy Evangeline Lewis. When you send agents from a secret government..."
"Kickass," Darcy interrupted.
"What?"
"Secret kick-ass government organization."
"Well, it's not as secret as it used to be," Darcy's grandmother snorted. "And fine. When you send agents from a secret kick-ass government organization to your poor, aged..."
Darcy snorted in return.
"...grandmother's house, would it kill you to give a little warning? I had the Williamson's potbellied pig in the kitchen to give it a break from the twins."
"Two highly trained agents can cope with one extremely spoiled pig."
"You think that, wouldn't you?"
Darcy spent five more minutes gathering blackmail material on Agents Harris and Lankowski -- neither of whom had ever met a pig before - promised she'd call more often, and hung up to find Steve running his fingers over the edge of her portable record player.
"This is..."
"More than retro. I know." It was turquoise and cream, the speakers were in the lid that detached, and it was four inches smaller than the diameter of a 33. "You wouldn't believe how hard it is to get needles for it."
"Actually, yeah, I would. I almost... recognize it."
He sounded kind of weird but happy about it so Darcy leaned into his side and said, "It belonged to my grandmother, from when she was a teenager in the sixties."
"The sixties..."
Okay, that didn't sound so happy so Darcy tucked herself under Steve's arm, pressing her breasts against his side, and changed the subject. "That was my grandmother on the phone. You think it's safe to tell her about you yet? Or would I jinx us?"
He turned so she was pressed against his chest and wrapped his arms around her, his voice solemn as he said, "I think maybe you shouldn't tell her yet."
"S'Cool. The first trimester thing, right?"
"Uh..."
"When you get pregnant - calm down..." She patted his arms as he stiffened. "...never been pregnant - you don't tell people until after three months. Just in case. This is like that."
"It really isn't." He backed away, looking a little freaked. "Darcy, I really like you but..."
"Dude, chill." She waved a hand to get him to blink. "Totally not suggesting you knock me up. It was an analogy. You know, where one thing is like another? But one of these things is not like the others and one of these things isn't the same? Sesame Street," she added when he shook his head. He looked so uncomfortable, she sighed and stepped away herself. "Look, why don't we just rewind and dub over this whole conversation, and pretend it didn't happen. I know," she said to the wrinkles on his forehead, "record players and video tape, it's like I don't know what decade I live him." Smiling broadly, she pointed toward the sofa - currently and for the first time since she'd moved in, not a bed. "Oh, look, you brought your sketch book." When he looked confused, she stepped forward and punched him in the arm. "It only works if we both play!"
Unless he didn't want it to work. Steve seemed like the sort of guy she could emotionally blackmail by saying that out loud so she bit her tongue and waited.
After a long moment, he ran his hand back through his hair, and managed most of a smile. "I... uh... I've been sketching you from memory, but I wondered if... if I could draw you..."
"Like one of your French girls?" When he blinked at her, she shook her head. "You haven't seen Titanic have you? Of course you haven't. It came out in 1997 and you'd have been what... twelve? No twelve year old boy would be caught dead at that kind of a tearjerker. Sit. I'll see if NetFlix has it. It's a great date film; you can comfort me when Celine Dione starts to sing. And then after..." She wet her lips. Steve's eyes locked on the path of her tongue. "...we'll talk about you drawing me."
Netflix had it. Darcy turned out the lights and they got comfortable on the couch under one of the afghans - it wasn't chilly but experience had taught her that shy boys were more likely to try something if they thought they wouldn't be seen. With any luck that would extrapolate to shy men. As the music came up, she dug a plastic bag out from between the sofa cushions and offered it to Steve.
"Gummy bear?"
She woke to the shrieking of her alarm with a vague memory of Irish music, lying on the sofa, covered in an afghan, with a note tucked under her hand. Apparently she'd looked so sweet Steve hadn't wanted to wake her.
"Oh sure," she muttered stumbling for the bathroom. "In a just world, I'd have looked so hot he wouldn't have been able to resist waking me. Does he not know the third date rule?" Her reflection peered blearily back at her, a glistening line down the side of her jaw suggesting she'd been drooling in her sleep.
***
"Oh for..." Darcy took a deep breath and set the french fry down. Stupid made her lose her appetite. "Look, SHIELD deals in covert and the Avengers are about as overt as you can get. You can't bury what they do."
"Sweetie this is SHIELD," Hannah said in a superior tone Darcy wanted to feed to her. "They can bury whatever they want."
"Sweetie," Darcy mocked, "I'm betting there's fake Avenger accounts all over social media and for everyone that SHIELD stamps out, another two will rise to take their place in fine super-villian fashion. Do you know how much You-Tube coverage there is of the whole giant space eels thing? You can't get rid of it without shutting down the entire internet." She pointed across the table before Hannah could speak. "No they can't shut down the entire internet. Even if they can, they can't. You can't put this tiger back in the tank; all you can do is hang on and steer."
"You could shoot the tiger." Kevin offered.
Darcy moved her tray to one side and banged her head against the table.
"And do you think you could steer that tiger, Probationary Agent Lewis?"
What was it with Assistant Director Hill and lurking in the background of other people's conversations? Oh, right. Spy. "Hell no. But I think Shield should take a few lessons from Tony Stark."
"In alcoholism and irresponsible behaviour?"
Darcy rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. "In how to make the media his bitch. Sir. Ma'am."
Assistant Director Hill stared at her for a long moment - Darcy stared back, lips pressed into thin line - then nodded toward the clock and said, "Don't you people have somewhere to be?"
***
"...and drives me so crazy. Like anyone with half a brain can't see it's an act." Darcy shoved both hands up through her hair and paced the width of her apartment. Unfortunately, it wasn't far enough to help so she pivoted and did it again. And again. "He uses that public personae like Captain America uses his shield - the whole a strong offence is a good defence thing and no one gets close enough to touch his heart."
"What wrong with letting people touch your heart?" Steve asked, from where he was leaning against the wall by the door, safely out of the way.
"Well, speaking metaphorically because physical hearts, remarkably gross." Body thrown to one side by the blast, chest cavity cracked open, bones like shattered ivory, shreds of clothing still smoking slightly... Darcy shook the memory off and flashed a worried looking Steve a what she hoped whas close enough to a reassuring smile to do. "That depends on how bruised your heart is, doesn't it? No one likes having bruises fondled."
"If he's hurting, why doesn't he just ask for help, instead of..." Steve waved a hand, clearly searching for polite enough words, finally settling on, "...acting like a jackass."
Darcy felt her brows go up. "Okay, first, because he's a guy. If you were carrying a really shitty past around with you - like not even at the level of being tortured in a cave for months and that was just the part in the papers - but like a crappy childhood or something, would you ask for help? You're a guy. You've got issues." She raised a hand as Steve opened his mouth. "Not asking. Someday, maybe, hopefully, you'll be able to tell me. You're toughing through, strong and silent. Not criticizing," she added when he opened his mouth again. "Stark's way of coping is a little showier than yours. Than most. Than most everyone. Put together. And I imagine he's pretty fucking tired of having poor, little rich boy thrown at his pain."
"Why do you care so much about Tony Stark?"
She couldn't quite parse Steve's tone. Anger, confusion, disbelief, guilt... "Because..." She stopped pacing. Took a deep breath. Walked over to Steve and laid her hand on his chest, his heart strong and sure under her palm. "Look, I don't know him, have never met him, but no one is that perfect a jackass without effort and no one puts that much effort in without cause. He's too good at the whole making you look away from the man behind the curtain thing."
Unexpectedly, Steve smiled. "I get that. The man behind the curtain thing."
"Yeah, well, that was a real jackass, not a faking it one. Bring the me the witch's broom." She laid her head against Steve's chest by her hand and nudged him until he put his arms around her. "Because it's so hard you'll run away and not bother me or because she'll kill you and hey, you're not bothering me." He smelled like fabric softener and soap and he was so warm that sharing a bed with him over the winter would raise her chance of survival because one little baseboard heater was going to do squat to keep her from freezing. "I'm sorry I went off at you. Work was... a day."
"They were mouthing off about Tony at work?"
Darcy snickered. "So he's Tony now?" Patted his chest as he tensed. "Never mind. It was just same old, same old. Let's forget he flew a nuke through a magic hole in the sky saving everyone in Manhattan and stopped two-headed calves and three-eyed babies being born for miles and miles downwind, and focus on the drinking and the dancing girls. But, letting it go. I'm done talking about him. You stopped by to collect on your prize for lasting three dates, right?"
Because right now, the only thing that would make the day better was some serious horizontal time with a blond studmuffin.
"That's...uh..."
Oh crap. "I said that last bit out loud."
"Yes, you did."
She could feel Steve's chest shake as he tried not to laugh. "Fine. Embarrassing, but I'm owning it." Tilting up her face, she snaked an arm behind his head and pushed his mouth toward hers. "Let's do this."
The next few minutes became the first time all day she hadn't wanted to smack someone. Then Steve pulled back, lips slick and a little swollen, and said, "I have to go."
And that smacking feeling returned.
"Go?"
"Away. For a couple of days. It's... work."
"Rebuilding..."
"Politics of rebuilding," he growled. "Pencil pushers making decisions about people's lives too far away from the action to have any idea of what the hell is going on." His fingers tightened on her shoulders, his gaze focused on something only he could see. "I thought I was done with all that. I guess some things never change."
"Hey." Darcy kissed the dimple in his chin. When he refocused on her face, she smiled. "Old anger won't win new fights. Use your anger as a weapon, but forge it new every time." When he frowned, she shrugged. "I think my therapist was dating a blacksmith in the SCA."
"I don't know what that means."
"Not important. Point is, fierce looks hot on you. Actually, that's not the point, I got distracted." He was smiling again so she added another plus in the win column.
"I have to go."
"Now?"
"Now."
"Seriously? Now? And I wasted time we could have spent making out, ranting about Tony Stark?"
He cupped her face with both hands, holding her so he could stare into her eyes with an intensity that sent shivers down her back. Heated shivers. Weird. "I'm glad you did."
"Really? That's a little weird too."
"Too?"
"Never mind."
"I have to go."
"You said."
"Um... my shirt?"
She didn't remember having grabbed double handfuls of his shirt. "Oh no, wrinkles..." Using her thumb, she smoothed the thin fabric over the nubs of his nipples. Personal research - begun during a regrettable purple nurple incident with Jimmy Vazi in grade eight - had proven that male nipples were often a lot more sensitive than men suspected - given as how they were usually focused on the nipples they faced rather than the nipples they had.
Steve's gasp added another data point.
"Darcy!" Reaching back, he got her apartment door open and backed out into the hall. "Two days. Three tops. And then..." He swallowed. "...we have to talk."
"Fine. As long as it's after. Or during. If pressed, I could cope with during although I'll warn you now, I won't be paying much attention."
He stared at her for a long moment and she could tell when he got what she was talking about by the sudden pink on his cheeks. "Definitely before!" He was wearing his determined expression again. "You don't just.... I mean, not with girls you..."
He definitely wasn't a virgin. No virgin kissed like Steve kissed. But maybe...
"Were you Amish?"
"Was I...? No!" He cocked his head, reminding her a little of her neighbour's Golden Retriever when he heard the ice cream truck. Darcy hadn't heard anything. "We can't talk about this now, I really have to go. But when I get back..." Grabbing her shoulders, he dragged her up against his chest and kissed her like a promise.
But not like a promise of conversation, Darcy noted as Steve ran for the stairs. "Mixed messages," she sighed, "that's what's wrong with the world."
"Oh sweetie..."
No surprise to look up and find Mark standing in his doorway across the hall.
"...I can't believe you haven't managed to tap that yet. Margarita?"
What she wanted was Steve. And not in a carnal way. Fine. Not exclusively in a carnal way. But if she couldn't have Steve, tequila sounded like a good second choice. "Oh hell, yes."
The next morning came with a slight hangover plus a middle-aged man wearing green body paint, Captain America underwear, and a plastic Iron Man helmet on the subway. He was also carrying a bow. Darcy couldn't see anything representing the Black Widow and decided she was actually okay with that.
The day's classes introduced the SHIELD rogue's gallery; from HYRDRA and AIM through a variety of less well organized organizations to Dr. Doom...
"Usually, we leave him to the Fantastic Four. Unfortunately, they have a disturbing tendency to be elsewhere when Doom starts throwing his weight around. Over the years, we've found that a television crew will ensure that the Torch, at least, is at the scene.
Darcy remembered Steve's response to the Torch and hid a snicker.
...right up to Loki.
Darcy remembered the Destroyer and lost the urge to laugh.
In the afternoon, they were shown some of the things that happened to SHIELD agents in enemy hands.
"If you're a SHIELD agent, you wear a target. Whether you're in the labs or the control center or the field, that..." Agent Sitwell nodded at the display. "...could be you. You want out, this is your last chance before it becomes very, very complicated. Anyone?"
Not even Kevin, puking into a waste basket, took him up on the offer.
Blandly pleased -- or pleased to be bland, Darcy wasn't entirely sure - Sitwell nodded. "We will, of course, train you in how to survive torture until your fellow agents can find you. Probationary Agent Lewis?"
Darcy lowered her hand and leaned forward. "But that's after you train us how to avoid being tortured in the first place, right?"
"There are times when you can't..."
"But there are times when you can and, personally, I'm all about avoidance before endurance. You know what they say, an ounce of prevention is worth a quart of blood loss. A stitch in time saves a forty-two stitches across the upper back. A spleen in the hand is worth..." She frowned. "Actually, I think my point is that I'd like to avoid having anyone holding my spleen.
Sitwell sighed. "Yes, Probationary Agent Lewis, we train you to survive torture after we train you how to avoid being tortured in the first place."
Darcy spread her hands. "All I wanted to know."
That evening, Sam darted between her legs just as she reached the top of the stairs. Darcy twisted and scooped in one motion, straightening with Sam tucked under one arm to see a gorgeous redhead watching her.
Everyone experiments in college. Darcy might have done a little more experimentation had there been anyone who looked like this woman on her campus. Or in her city. Or state. It wasn't just the curves or the creamy skin or the the plush mouth, it was the was the certain knowledge that in her hands a set of false eyelashes were a deadly weapon. Darcy wondered what she could do with gummy bears. And flushed.
Behind her, Sylvia said something in Russian and the gorgeous redhead replied at length in the same language. Darcy caught two words and a phrase: surprise, adorable, and where will it never be found and hoped they were about the cat.
"You have good reflexes," the redhead told her in unaccented English.
"Thanks." Darcy handed Sam over to Sylvia. "It's all in zigging when they zag."
"As in so much of life."
"Word." Darcy held out a fist.
The vaguely familiar redhead bumped it. "Thank you for keeping him off the street. It's more dangerous out there than he imagines."
"Sam?"
"Who else?"
It sounded as much like a threat as a question so Darcy tried a vacant smile. "Happy to help." By the time she got to her door, Sam, Sylvia, and the redhead were back in Sylvia's apartment.
By the time she got her door open, Rob was standing in his, arms crossed over a bare, paint-flecked chest. At least Darcy hoped it was paint. "She's out of your league, kitten." Apparently sharing margaritas meant pet names and skin.
"Okay, first, how do you even know? I mean we were all the way down the other end of the hall. And second, never mind, I don't care. And third..." She flipped her hair and blew him a kiss. "...I'm in a league of my own and every day's the all star game." When Rob raised an exquisitely scornful brow, Darcy shrugged. "It sounded better in my head."
The next morning, their last morning of assessment, was all about forms. Darcy thought she'd already filled out every possible type of form back while waiting for the keys to her apartment.
She was wrong.
"In case of sex pollen to whom do I give reactive consent? Seriously? Sex pollen? That happens?"
"More often than you'd think," Sitwell admitted. "Not as often as some people claim."
"Some people... some agents believe I've been doused with sex pollen is a valid pickup line?" When Sitwell nodded, Darcy shook her head. "Welcome to SHIELD, she muttered, bending back over her form. "Some of us didn't date much in high-school. Or college. Or..."
"Probationary Agent Lewis?"
Darcy looked up to see a junior agent she hadn't met, standing in the doorway of the small conference room.
"You're wanted in Agent Coulson's office. Now."
"Darcy's gonna get it," Kevin sing-songed quietly.
"Is she in trouble?" Lori asked as Darcy shuffled her completed forms into a pile.
"Not your concern," Sitwell told her. "Your concern is filling in a preferred name in case of accidental gender reassignment. Her concern is remembering the definition of the word now."
"I'm going!"
The agent sent to get her seemed about to speak all the way to Agent Coulson's office. She opened and closed her mouth in the corridor outside the conference rooms, in the elevator and as they crossed the big office filled with junior agents in cubicles disguising a more or less secret government kick-ass organization as any cubicle farm in America. When they reached an empty desk set up in a short hall outside a perfectly normal wooden door, P. Coulson on the discrete brass plaque, the agent cleared her throat and said, "They say he demanded a tie in ICU."
Darcy frowned. "How much coffee have you had today?" she asked as she stepped past and knocked on the door.
A familiar gorgeous redhead opened it. "Probationary Agent Lewis."
She wore a black pencil skirt and a royal blue blouse and heels Darcy would've killed herself on. Off. Because she couldn't have stayed on. Still, anyone who could flip off Captain America's shield and onto an alien hover-bike could handle Jimmy Choos.
"I should have recognized you from YouTube."
"Not if I didn't want you to."
"There's that."
Agent Coulson's office looked... lived in. It had a window, and wooden floors, and a huge leather sofa, and a wooden desk, and a terrifying number of filing cabinets. Agent Coulson was sitting behind the desk looking tired. Clint sat on a corner of the desk looking smug.
"Darcy," he said as the Black Widow indicated where she should stand.
"Clint." Darcy put her feet exactly where the assassin/spy/Avenger told her to. She might be inclined to question authority, but she wasn't stupid.
When the Widow muttered something in Russian, Clint laughed. "She says, I'm too fond of women who can beat me up."
"Technically, I didn't beat you up."
"He went down," the Widow snorted, settling on the opposite corner of the desk. "I'm counting it."
"I got kicked in the nuts," Clint pointed out. "And she's wearing nut kicker boots." All three of them looked down at Darcy's Docs. "Fortunately," he added, "we were able to work around it."
The smirk went straight to Darcy, but he directed the brief flash of wonder and joy and love at...
...Agent Coulson.
Interesting. Given his reaction to her boobs, Hawkeye was definitely a switch-hitter. Agent Coulson, however, was...
...looking only marginally better than the last time she'd seen him. Darcy frowned and wondered why the hell he was even at work.
As though he knew what she was thinking, Agent Coulson sighed and said, "As you may have heard, Ms. Lewis, I recently rose from the dead. It was more tiring than I expected. I've been informed I require an assistant and both Director Fury and Assistant Director Hill, as well as Agents Sitwell, Barton and Romanoff, think you're right for the job."
Clint snorted. "He remained unconvinced until Captain America weighed in."
Darcy thought Agent Coulson's pale cheeks may have flushed slightly. "I gave the captain's opinion no more credence than anyone else's. Assistant Director Hill seemed to think I deserved you. Agent Sitwell seems to think you deserve me."
Leaving who deserved what aside, for now, there was one thing Darcy needed to know before she could decide about taking the job. Provided SHIELD gave her a choice. Which, on reflection, was unlikely. "What exactly do you do? I mean, besides kill bad guys with gummy bears."
"Once," Coulson muttered as the two agents snickered. "I am," he continued, loudly enough to cut the snickering off, "for my sins, the SHIELD liaison to the Avengers."
Darcy's mouth kicked in before her brain engaged. "And Supernanny needs a hand?"
Clint cackled with laughter and leaned in so he and the Widow - Agent Romanoff - could bump fists over the desk. Clearly, this was something she'd need to check on later when she...
"Hang on, I don't remember meeting Captain America."
***
Steve was home. Darcy could see the light on over his drawing table from the street. Holding onto her dignity for as long as possible, she climbed the stairs slowly to the third floor, took a deep breath, and knocked.
And waited.
He was standing on the other side of the door girding his loins again. She could feel it. Keeping her expression as neutral as possible in case he lowered himself to peer through the spyhole, she started counting backwards from one hundred. In Spanish. Slowly. She gotten to seventy-two before he finally opened the damned door.
A raised hand shut his mouth and she walked past him into the apartment, still counting. At sixty-seven, she heard the door close and lock, pivoted on one heel, looked him right in the baby blues and snapped, "Why didn't you tell me?"
To his credit, he didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I wanted a chance to be Steve Rogers not Captain America. To be a person, not an icon." His mouth twisted into something not quite a smile and he looked as though his heart was breaking. "I didn't expect it would last, but while it did, I wanted it."
The huge head of mad Darcy'd been building up since leaving Agent Coulson's office deflated, the sudden absence leaving her feeling a little light-headed. "Okay. I get that."
Steve blinked. "But..."
"No buts." He looked so confused, she grinned. "Come on, it's not like you lied about who you are, you just left out some details about your job. Are you horked off I didn't tell you I'm with SHIELD?"
"Darcy..." Shaking his head, he walked over the window, turned, and tried again. "Darcy, I didn't tell you that I'm Captain America. That's kind of huge."
"Think highly of yourself there, Red-White-and-Blue Dude." When his mouth opened and closed a few times but no sound came out, she took pity on him. "Look, if I found out you had a wife and three kids in Long Island and I was your piece on the side, that would be huge. If you were a serial killer and softening me up before dicing me and storing me in your... well, you don't have a trunk the bike so lets say dropping the pieces in the sewer for the alligators, that would be huge."
"Darcy..."
She cut him off and crossed the apartment to stand in front of him. "I knew you were fucked up about your military service. So I assumed the wrong war; no big. Fucked up about war is fucked up about war and given the whole aliens invade Manhattan thing, there's enough PTSD to go around. The age difference doesn't matter because everyone knows time spent on ice doesn't count and I'm going to have so much fun helping you catch up."
"Darcy..."
His heart pounded under her palm. "I found out you're a hero. That's cool. Maybe even cooler that you didn't tell me. Your ass looks better in tights than mine; okay, I'm not thrilled about that but I like you, Steve. I like you a lot."
"Darcy..."
"Unless I'm not good enough for Captain America..."
So easy, she thought as he switched from confused to determined and captured her mouth. He tucked one hand under her ass and lifted so she wrapped her legs around his waist and let him carry her to the sofa.
"You are," he said between kisses, "amazing. And smart. And funny. And gorgeous. And wise. And did I say gorgeous?"
"You did." She settled on his lap and sucked his earlobe into her mouth. He made a strangled noise and his hips bucked up and Darcy made a mental note about earlobes for later. "Say it again."
"You're gorgeous. I want to..." He shuddered. Gently pushed her mouth away from where she was nibbling along the line of his jaw. And took a deep breath.
Darcy sighed and let her head fall forward until her forehead rested against his. "But you're not going to, are you?"
"I don't think now is the right time, do you?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
She could convince him. Except... "No. You're right. Too much information, too fast. We need to gain a little equilibrium before we do anything we can't step back from." Too much risk right now he'd regret it in the morning and she was too smart to chance that no matter how much she wanted to strip him naked and ride him like a pony.
"There were times I thought you knew," Steve told her, lifting her off his lap and onto the sofa beside him.
"I swear the red, white and blue afghan was a coincidence."
"Darcy, you never asked me for my last name."
"You never asked for mine."
"Because then you'd ask for mine."
Okay, she'd give him that. And maybe he wasn't entirely wrong. "You want to order a pizza?" she asked, snuggling into his shoulder. When he peered down at her, she shrugged. "Emotional content makes me hungry. And I had a huge day at work... which I can now tell you about because clearly..." Pulling away, she drove an elbow into his ribs. "...you know all about it what goes on at my job and oh my Thor, I just realized! You decided to date me because I kicked Hawkeye in the nuts?"
Steve blushed. "No... not only... It was more because..."
"Because I flashed my boobs at him?" When Steve blushed deeper, rubbing one hand over the back of his neck, Darcy shook her head. "Babe, that's so never..." Except maybe the whole Agent Barton and Agent Coulson doing the horizontal mamba thing wasn't common knowledge around SHEILD. It certainly wasn't a part of the rumour mill that had trickled down to probationary agent levels. Kills people with gummy bears, yes. Boning the best biceps in the triState area, no. Maybe Steve didn't know. If not, Darcy certainly wasn't going to out her new boss.
"Babe?"
She matched his grin. "You got promoted up from dude. And speaking of promotions, this morning I was a probationary agent seeing a nice guy in construction and this afternoon, I'm the assistant liaison - in training - to the Avengers dating Captain America. One thing I can say for SHIELD, I love the opportunities for advancement."
"Should I warn Director Fury to watch his back?
Darcy?"
chapter one
chapter two
3. How to Advance From the Mailroom
Sprawled half off the mattress, Darcy rummaged on the floor for her purse then rummaged through her purse for her phone then swore at the battery level.
"Darcy?"
"Sorry. Not swearing at you. Stupid phone..."
"Okay." Steve sounded like he was smiling. She decided to count that as a win. "Listen, I'm very sorry but I can't make lunch today. Something has come up at... work and I can't get away. I really did want to spend more time with you and... and you have no idea how much I hate delaying this."
The smile had been wiped from his voice. Sounded like the boy had some issues with delayed gratification.
"S'cool. It's just lunch." She flipped over and fumbled her glasses on. Ten forty-five. "My revised plans include laundry and naps. Drop by when you get home and we'll hang."
"I don't know when..."
She could hear a siren in the background. Actually, she could hear two sirens in the background - one from the phone and one from the street outside. She'd come to suspect that the NYPD turned on their sirens just to get to work on time. She sure as shit would.
"I have to..."
"Go," Darcy finished as the call cut off. She tossed her phone in the general direction of the charger and stumbled for the shower.
By the time she turned on the TV, the Avengers were battling a street gang who'd gotten their hands on Chitauri weapons and had actually taken the time to learn how to use them. The weapons themselves tended to take care of the stupidly opportunistic. Rumour had it, SHIELD R&D had been trying to reverse engineer Chitauri tech since the invasion with no success. Darcy wondered how Stark's R&D was doing; no way Tony Stark hadn't grabbed a few bits and pieces after the fight. She made a mental note to call Jane. Again.
This wasn't a fun fight, not like the squidish had been. Whole new bits of Manhattan were being blown to ratshit and Darcy wasn't naive enough to think no one had been hurt. She wondered if her training group would be getting another "we can't save everyone" lesson. And she thought of the sadness lingering behind the laughter in Clint's eyes and wondered if anyone had thought to say the same thing to the Avengers. Or if it would help.
At least she knew what Steve was doing. With new damage to rebuild, the old rebuilding needed to be finished PDQ.
She'd have missed him more but her boxes came just after lunch and by the time she finished tetres-ing her past into her tiny apartment, the sun was long down. And her phone was dead. Fortunately, Steve lived downstairs...
Steve wasn't home. He'd probably stayed with his friend in Manhattan.
Lori called at ten the next morning. The training group was heading out to Deno's Wonder Wheel Amusement Park at Coney Island. As Lori tried to sell her on the trip, Darcy raced down to the third floor.
Steve still wasn't home.
Darcy'd never waited around for a guy to call and she wasn't about to start now. Even if this particular guy might be worth waiting for. "I'm in."
She sent Steve a text on her way to the subway.
Four hours and five hotdogs and Kevin puking in a trashcan later, she finally got a reply. ::Wish I was there.::
She had no idea how he made a text look wistful.
***
"You said stop him." Darcy stood, folded her arms around the five foot long piece of PVC pipe, and looked Agent Sitwell in the eye. "You didn't say shoot him."
Sitwell glared down at her. Behind him, the rest of her training group cradled their paint pistols and watched, expressions all a variation on you're going to get it now.
"Probationary Agent Lewis..."
Darcy only barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. It wasn't like she couldn't figure out who he was talking to.
"...you know very well that you were intended to stop Agent Chew with the weapon you were issued."
"We don't deal in intentions here, Agent Sitwell." Sitwell scrambled back, her training group froze, and Darcy looked up at Director Fury in full bad-ass regalia. "Probationary Agent Lewis is correct, you said stop him. You didn't say shoot him. And I would say that Agent Chew has been stopped. What would you say Agent Chew?"
"I'd say I've been stopped, sir," Agent Chew said, still gasping for air.
"You want to tell me why you came down onto the course and thrust a pipe between Agent Chew's legs before rather emphatically sitting on him instead of using your weapon, Lewis?"
Darcy shrugged and offered Agent Chew a hand up. "It was something my Uncle Stan always said about city boys coming out to hunt, sir. If you can't hit it when it's standing still, you sure as hell can't hit it when it's moving."
One corner of Director Fury's mouth twitched. "He's not wrong."
"Sir, the point of the exercise was to prove that."
"Seems to have been proven, Agent." The director's gaze swept over Agent Chew's unmarked padding. "And then some. Ms. Lewis."
She mirrored his nod. "Director Fury."
***
"I met my boss today. He's not as scary as everyone says." Just to prove time spent dodging Nerf at SHEILD was having some effect, Darcy nearly managed to get out of the way of the beer Steve spewed all over the kitchen. She waited until he finished coughing then said, "Drinking problem?"
"Sorry." And he did look sorry; that was the thing about Steve, if he said he was sorry, he meant it. He didn't use the word as a place holder. "I guess I breathed in at the wrong time."
"You guess," Darcy snorted. She grabbed a roll of paper towels from the counter - because they were at Steve's place, at hers they'd have had to use toilet paper, or dirty laundry - and began wiping up the splatter. "Anyway, I'm not saying he's a teddy bear, I'm just saying he's actually pretty reasonable. Reasonable, but bad-ass," she amended after a moment. "Everyone's afraid of him but that's stupid. It's like being afraid of a volcano. The volcano doesn't give a crap what you think of it, so you respect it's destructive powers and get the hell out of the way when it blows." She looked up to find Steve staring at her and was suddenly afraid she'd said too much. Would someone who did office stuff have that kind of reaction to their boss? "What?"
He smiled. The smile hit her in the chest and rapidly travelled south. "You're remarkable."
"Thank you." Although this was only officially their second date and Darcy had promised herself she'd keep to the three dates before sex rule if it killed her, she gave a moment's consideration to kicking his feet out from under him and beating him to the floor. Then her stomach growled. "Weren't you making mac and cheese?"
"I was..."
"Gourmet mac and cheese, you promised. With wienie bits cut into it."
"I remember."
"So." She clapped her hands. "Get to it. Oh, and I almost forgot..." While he set the pot of water on the stove to boil, she ran over and grabbed the afghan from where she'd dropped it on the floor. In her own defence, she'd been distracted by the narrow line of skin above the worn denim barely hanging onto Steve's hips when he'd answered the door and then they'd both been distracted by the hello again kiss which had nearly broken the three dates rule all on its own. "...my stuff came on the weekend and I brought you an afghan for your sofa. It looks all beige and naked."
To her relief, because Darcy was well aware some guys didn't appreciate homemade knitware, he wore his pinked-up and pleased expression. "Did you make it?"
"Seriously? No." She draped it so that it covered most of the sofa-back. "I tried once but got bored at about scarf size. On the other hand, properly motivated, I've got mad skills with fingerless mittens." Something significantly bigger than a pigeon buzzed by the window and Darcy leaned over Steve's drawing board for a better look. "Didn't seem bright enough for the Human Torch. Maybe it was Iron Man. As if," she added before Steve could respond. "I somehow doubt Tony Stark even knows where Brooklyn is. Oh hey!" Glancing down, she picked up a sketch from the board. "This is me. No, wait, these are me."
She flipped through the half dozen sketches and stopped at the last. He'd drawn her on the nose of an old plane, sitting back on her heels, spine arched, hands up behind her head. It was cartoony but definitely her. Only more her. The girl on that plane was confident and sexy and had probably never fallen off a climbing wall. Even her glasses looked sexy.
"Darcy, I'm..."
"Stupidly, amazingly talented. Yeah, you are."
"But I shouldn't..."
"Hide your light under a bushel? No, you shouldn't."
"Darcy." His hands closed on her shoulders and she looked up. "I'm trying to apologize."
"For?"
"Objectifying you." He said the word almost as though he were sounding it out. Like he'd seen it written but had never said it. "I know I shouldn't have but..."
"I like it. I know..." She raised a hand before he got his mouth open. "...hard core feminists would have my balls..."
"Uh..."
"...ova, but it took me a long time to see myself as anything but short and dumpy, too round, too much boob, too much ass. Girls shaped like pre-teen boys were in so I hid behind enormous sweaters and hair and sarcasm all through high-school and it wasn't until my Spanish professor took an interest - calm down..." Not hard to read Steve's expression. "...he wasn't that much older and I was acing his course anyway - that I realized I can be sex on wheels if I want to be. I like you saw that right away." She held up the sketch of her sprawled on his sofa in her New Mexico sweater, making a point with an emphatic chopstick. "But that's not all you saw. You saw me, that's pretty spe..."
The next few moments involved keeping the sketches from getting crushed while returning Steve's kisses with matching enthusiasm. SHIELD should be thrilled with her ability to multi-task while her brain dribbled out her ears. Hands finally free of paper she stroked her thumbs along the line of warm skin above his jeans, around his hips, fingers curving to...
"The water's boiling over." He murmured, pulling back. "And as much as I made myself a promise to stop putting things off, I promised you mac and cheese."
She pouted, finger hooked in his belt loops.
"With wienie bits."
"I am hungry." Grinning, she let him go. "And I kind of love that you can say wienie bits with a straight face."
Next morning at work, busy making plans for the world's shortest third date and then a reward for waiting the socially acceptable time, Darcy spotted a familiar suit heading the other way down the hall.
"Hey! Man in Black!" Waving the universal sign for yeah, yeah, I'll be there in a minute, don't get your panties in a bunch at her training group, Darcy hurried after Agent I-Wasn't-Paying-Attention-to-Your-Name who she'd met - okay, fine, bitched out - in New Mexico. "You took a song off my iPod."
When he turned, he seemed thinner, tired, and he was leaning on a cane. His skin had that kind of pasty grey tinge to it that said he'd spent too long under the artificial light of a hospital room. It wasn't hard to do the math and figure he'd been one of the agents hurt during the invasion. She hesitated for a heartbeat, but his back was straight and his shoulders were squared and if there was one thing she'd learned visiting her cousin Hank after that time he rode his ATV off the side of the quarry, it was that strong men hated pity. So she folded her arms and glared.
"I assure you, Ms. Lewis, while we had to wipe your iPod for security reasons, all the songs were replaced and your playlists rebuilt."
"All the songs are there, yes, but Sinatra's New York, New York is a lifeless, digital travesty."
He shifted his weight, moving the cane into more of a tripod position. "Tell me."
"Mine was recorded off vinyl, played on my grandmother's stereo."
His eyes widened slightly. If she hadn't been glaring so intently at his face, she'd have missed it. "Cheap microphone up against the speaker?"
"That's right."
"I see. I apologize for the oversight. I'll deal with it."
Something in the calm confidence of the statement made her believe him. "Thank you." She smiled. To her surprise, the corner of his mouth twitched in response.
"Do you know who that is?" Kevin asked, eyes wide, when she rejoined the group.
Darcy shrugged. "Dude I met when I was working for Dr. Foster." Thor wasn't exactly a secret now, but he wasn't her not secret to talk about either. "He took my iPod."
"That is Agent Coulson."
"He never leaves the office," Lori added.
"There's a theory, he's a cyborg."
"He died and came back from the dead."
"He once killed a man with a bag of gummy bears."
"How?" Darcy demanded.
Kevin frowned. "How what?"
"Well, duh." Darcy flipped up the first finger of her left hand. "Guys at his level always work longer hours than guys at yours, that's how they get to that level." Second finger. "Cyborgs are cool, my Uncle Stan has an artificial hip." Third finger. "EMTs bring people back from the dead all the time." That explained why Agent MiB looked like death warmed over. Baby finger. "How did he kill a man with a bag of gummy bears?"
No one knew.
"Stuffed the bag down his throat and held his nose while he suffocated is my guess. Maybe stuffed a few bears up the nose... What?" Darcy rolled her eyes. "You people have no imagination."
She was on the phone with her grandmother when Steve came by that evening. She gave him the universal gesture for I have to take this and waved him in.
"...kneeling on my living room floor recording Frank Sinatra off the stereo. They said you sent them."
When Agent MiB said he'd deal, he dealt. "Sort of Nana, but..."
"Don't but me Darcy Evangeline Lewis. When you send agents from a secret government..."
"Kickass," Darcy interrupted.
"What?"
"Secret kick-ass government organization."
"Well, it's not as secret as it used to be," Darcy's grandmother snorted. "And fine. When you send agents from a secret kick-ass government organization to your poor, aged..."
Darcy snorted in return.
"...grandmother's house, would it kill you to give a little warning? I had the Williamson's potbellied pig in the kitchen to give it a break from the twins."
"Two highly trained agents can cope with one extremely spoiled pig."
"You think that, wouldn't you?"
Darcy spent five more minutes gathering blackmail material on Agents Harris and Lankowski -- neither of whom had ever met a pig before - promised she'd call more often, and hung up to find Steve running his fingers over the edge of her portable record player.
"This is..."
"More than retro. I know." It was turquoise and cream, the speakers were in the lid that detached, and it was four inches smaller than the diameter of a 33. "You wouldn't believe how hard it is to get needles for it."
"Actually, yeah, I would. I almost... recognize it."
He sounded kind of weird but happy about it so Darcy leaned into his side and said, "It belonged to my grandmother, from when she was a teenager in the sixties."
"The sixties..."
Okay, that didn't sound so happy so Darcy tucked herself under Steve's arm, pressing her breasts against his side, and changed the subject. "That was my grandmother on the phone. You think it's safe to tell her about you yet? Or would I jinx us?"
He turned so she was pressed against his chest and wrapped his arms around her, his voice solemn as he said, "I think maybe you shouldn't tell her yet."
"S'Cool. The first trimester thing, right?"
"Uh..."
"When you get pregnant - calm down..." She patted his arms as he stiffened. "...never been pregnant - you don't tell people until after three months. Just in case. This is like that."
"It really isn't." He backed away, looking a little freaked. "Darcy, I really like you but..."
"Dude, chill." She waved a hand to get him to blink. "Totally not suggesting you knock me up. It was an analogy. You know, where one thing is like another? But one of these things is not like the others and one of these things isn't the same? Sesame Street," she added when he shook his head. He looked so uncomfortable, she sighed and stepped away herself. "Look, why don't we just rewind and dub over this whole conversation, and pretend it didn't happen. I know," she said to the wrinkles on his forehead, "record players and video tape, it's like I don't know what decade I live him." Smiling broadly, she pointed toward the sofa - currently and for the first time since she'd moved in, not a bed. "Oh, look, you brought your sketch book." When he looked confused, she stepped forward and punched him in the arm. "It only works if we both play!"
Unless he didn't want it to work. Steve seemed like the sort of guy she could emotionally blackmail by saying that out loud so she bit her tongue and waited.
After a long moment, he ran his hand back through his hair, and managed most of a smile. "I... uh... I've been sketching you from memory, but I wondered if... if I could draw you..."
"Like one of your French girls?" When he blinked at her, she shook her head. "You haven't seen Titanic have you? Of course you haven't. It came out in 1997 and you'd have been what... twelve? No twelve year old boy would be caught dead at that kind of a tearjerker. Sit. I'll see if NetFlix has it. It's a great date film; you can comfort me when Celine Dione starts to sing. And then after..." She wet her lips. Steve's eyes locked on the path of her tongue. "...we'll talk about you drawing me."
Netflix had it. Darcy turned out the lights and they got comfortable on the couch under one of the afghans - it wasn't chilly but experience had taught her that shy boys were more likely to try something if they thought they wouldn't be seen. With any luck that would extrapolate to shy men. As the music came up, she dug a plastic bag out from between the sofa cushions and offered it to Steve.
"Gummy bear?"
She woke to the shrieking of her alarm with a vague memory of Irish music, lying on the sofa, covered in an afghan, with a note tucked under her hand. Apparently she'd looked so sweet Steve hadn't wanted to wake her.
"Oh sure," she muttered stumbling for the bathroom. "In a just world, I'd have looked so hot he wouldn't have been able to resist waking me. Does he not know the third date rule?" Her reflection peered blearily back at her, a glistening line down the side of her jaw suggesting she'd been drooling in her sleep.
***
"Oh for..." Darcy took a deep breath and set the french fry down. Stupid made her lose her appetite. "Look, SHIELD deals in covert and the Avengers are about as overt as you can get. You can't bury what they do."
"Sweetie this is SHIELD," Hannah said in a superior tone Darcy wanted to feed to her. "They can bury whatever they want."
"Sweetie," Darcy mocked, "I'm betting there's fake Avenger accounts all over social media and for everyone that SHIELD stamps out, another two will rise to take their place in fine super-villian fashion. Do you know how much You-Tube coverage there is of the whole giant space eels thing? You can't get rid of it without shutting down the entire internet." She pointed across the table before Hannah could speak. "No they can't shut down the entire internet. Even if they can, they can't. You can't put this tiger back in the tank; all you can do is hang on and steer."
"You could shoot the tiger." Kevin offered.
Darcy moved her tray to one side and banged her head against the table.
"And do you think you could steer that tiger, Probationary Agent Lewis?"
What was it with Assistant Director Hill and lurking in the background of other people's conversations? Oh, right. Spy. "Hell no. But I think Shield should take a few lessons from Tony Stark."
"In alcoholism and irresponsible behaviour?"
Darcy rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. "In how to make the media his bitch. Sir. Ma'am."
Assistant Director Hill stared at her for a long moment - Darcy stared back, lips pressed into thin line - then nodded toward the clock and said, "Don't you people have somewhere to be?"
***
"...and drives me so crazy. Like anyone with half a brain can't see it's an act." Darcy shoved both hands up through her hair and paced the width of her apartment. Unfortunately, it wasn't far enough to help so she pivoted and did it again. And again. "He uses that public personae like Captain America uses his shield - the whole a strong offence is a good defence thing and no one gets close enough to touch his heart."
"What wrong with letting people touch your heart?" Steve asked, from where he was leaning against the wall by the door, safely out of the way.
"Well, speaking metaphorically because physical hearts, remarkably gross." Body thrown to one side by the blast, chest cavity cracked open, bones like shattered ivory, shreds of clothing still smoking slightly... Darcy shook the memory off and flashed a worried looking Steve a what she hoped whas close enough to a reassuring smile to do. "That depends on how bruised your heart is, doesn't it? No one likes having bruises fondled."
"If he's hurting, why doesn't he just ask for help, instead of..." Steve waved a hand, clearly searching for polite enough words, finally settling on, "...acting like a jackass."
Darcy felt her brows go up. "Okay, first, because he's a guy. If you were carrying a really shitty past around with you - like not even at the level of being tortured in a cave for months and that was just the part in the papers - but like a crappy childhood or something, would you ask for help? You're a guy. You've got issues." She raised a hand as Steve opened his mouth. "Not asking. Someday, maybe, hopefully, you'll be able to tell me. You're toughing through, strong and silent. Not criticizing," she added when he opened his mouth again. "Stark's way of coping is a little showier than yours. Than most. Than most everyone. Put together. And I imagine he's pretty fucking tired of having poor, little rich boy thrown at his pain."
"Why do you care so much about Tony Stark?"
She couldn't quite parse Steve's tone. Anger, confusion, disbelief, guilt... "Because..." She stopped pacing. Took a deep breath. Walked over to Steve and laid her hand on his chest, his heart strong and sure under her palm. "Look, I don't know him, have never met him, but no one is that perfect a jackass without effort and no one puts that much effort in without cause. He's too good at the whole making you look away from the man behind the curtain thing."
Unexpectedly, Steve smiled. "I get that. The man behind the curtain thing."
"Yeah, well, that was a real jackass, not a faking it one. Bring the me the witch's broom." She laid her head against Steve's chest by her hand and nudged him until he put his arms around her. "Because it's so hard you'll run away and not bother me or because she'll kill you and hey, you're not bothering me." He smelled like fabric softener and soap and he was so warm that sharing a bed with him over the winter would raise her chance of survival because one little baseboard heater was going to do squat to keep her from freezing. "I'm sorry I went off at you. Work was... a day."
"They were mouthing off about Tony at work?"
Darcy snickered. "So he's Tony now?" Patted his chest as he tensed. "Never mind. It was just same old, same old. Let's forget he flew a nuke through a magic hole in the sky saving everyone in Manhattan and stopped two-headed calves and three-eyed babies being born for miles and miles downwind, and focus on the drinking and the dancing girls. But, letting it go. I'm done talking about him. You stopped by to collect on your prize for lasting three dates, right?"
Because right now, the only thing that would make the day better was some serious horizontal time with a blond studmuffin.
"That's...uh..."
Oh crap. "I said that last bit out loud."
"Yes, you did."
She could feel Steve's chest shake as he tried not to laugh. "Fine. Embarrassing, but I'm owning it." Tilting up her face, she snaked an arm behind his head and pushed his mouth toward hers. "Let's do this."
The next few minutes became the first time all day she hadn't wanted to smack someone. Then Steve pulled back, lips slick and a little swollen, and said, "I have to go."
And that smacking feeling returned.
"Go?"
"Away. For a couple of days. It's... work."
"Rebuilding..."
"Politics of rebuilding," he growled. "Pencil pushers making decisions about people's lives too far away from the action to have any idea of what the hell is going on." His fingers tightened on her shoulders, his gaze focused on something only he could see. "I thought I was done with all that. I guess some things never change."
"Hey." Darcy kissed the dimple in his chin. When he refocused on her face, she smiled. "Old anger won't win new fights. Use your anger as a weapon, but forge it new every time." When he frowned, she shrugged. "I think my therapist was dating a blacksmith in the SCA."
"I don't know what that means."
"Not important. Point is, fierce looks hot on you. Actually, that's not the point, I got distracted." He was smiling again so she added another plus in the win column.
"I have to go."
"Now?"
"Now."
"Seriously? Now? And I wasted time we could have spent making out, ranting about Tony Stark?"
He cupped her face with both hands, holding her so he could stare into her eyes with an intensity that sent shivers down her back. Heated shivers. Weird. "I'm glad you did."
"Really? That's a little weird too."
"Too?"
"Never mind."
"I have to go."
"You said."
"Um... my shirt?"
She didn't remember having grabbed double handfuls of his shirt. "Oh no, wrinkles..." Using her thumb, she smoothed the thin fabric over the nubs of his nipples. Personal research - begun during a regrettable purple nurple incident with Jimmy Vazi in grade eight - had proven that male nipples were often a lot more sensitive than men suspected - given as how they were usually focused on the nipples they faced rather than the nipples they had.
Steve's gasp added another data point.
"Darcy!" Reaching back, he got her apartment door open and backed out into the hall. "Two days. Three tops. And then..." He swallowed. "...we have to talk."
"Fine. As long as it's after. Or during. If pressed, I could cope with during although I'll warn you now, I won't be paying much attention."
He stared at her for a long moment and she could tell when he got what she was talking about by the sudden pink on his cheeks. "Definitely before!" He was wearing his determined expression again. "You don't just.... I mean, not with girls you..."
He definitely wasn't a virgin. No virgin kissed like Steve kissed. But maybe...
"Were you Amish?"
"Was I...? No!" He cocked his head, reminding her a little of her neighbour's Golden Retriever when he heard the ice cream truck. Darcy hadn't heard anything. "We can't talk about this now, I really have to go. But when I get back..." Grabbing her shoulders, he dragged her up against his chest and kissed her like a promise.
But not like a promise of conversation, Darcy noted as Steve ran for the stairs. "Mixed messages," she sighed, "that's what's wrong with the world."
"Oh sweetie..."
No surprise to look up and find Mark standing in his doorway across the hall.
"...I can't believe you haven't managed to tap that yet. Margarita?"
What she wanted was Steve. And not in a carnal way. Fine. Not exclusively in a carnal way. But if she couldn't have Steve, tequila sounded like a good second choice. "Oh hell, yes."
The next morning came with a slight hangover plus a middle-aged man wearing green body paint, Captain America underwear, and a plastic Iron Man helmet on the subway. He was also carrying a bow. Darcy couldn't see anything representing the Black Widow and decided she was actually okay with that.
The day's classes introduced the SHIELD rogue's gallery; from HYRDRA and AIM through a variety of less well organized organizations to Dr. Doom...
"Usually, we leave him to the Fantastic Four. Unfortunately, they have a disturbing tendency to be elsewhere when Doom starts throwing his weight around. Over the years, we've found that a television crew will ensure that the Torch, at least, is at the scene.
Darcy remembered Steve's response to the Torch and hid a snicker.
...right up to Loki.
Darcy remembered the Destroyer and lost the urge to laugh.
In the afternoon, they were shown some of the things that happened to SHIELD agents in enemy hands.
"If you're a SHIELD agent, you wear a target. Whether you're in the labs or the control center or the field, that..." Agent Sitwell nodded at the display. "...could be you. You want out, this is your last chance before it becomes very, very complicated. Anyone?"
Not even Kevin, puking into a waste basket, took him up on the offer.
Blandly pleased -- or pleased to be bland, Darcy wasn't entirely sure - Sitwell nodded. "We will, of course, train you in how to survive torture until your fellow agents can find you. Probationary Agent Lewis?"
Darcy lowered her hand and leaned forward. "But that's after you train us how to avoid being tortured in the first place, right?"
"There are times when you can't..."
"But there are times when you can and, personally, I'm all about avoidance before endurance. You know what they say, an ounce of prevention is worth a quart of blood loss. A stitch in time saves a forty-two stitches across the upper back. A spleen in the hand is worth..." She frowned. "Actually, I think my point is that I'd like to avoid having anyone holding my spleen.
Sitwell sighed. "Yes, Probationary Agent Lewis, we train you to survive torture after we train you how to avoid being tortured in the first place."
Darcy spread her hands. "All I wanted to know."
That evening, Sam darted between her legs just as she reached the top of the stairs. Darcy twisted and scooped in one motion, straightening with Sam tucked under one arm to see a gorgeous redhead watching her.
Everyone experiments in college. Darcy might have done a little more experimentation had there been anyone who looked like this woman on her campus. Or in her city. Or state. It wasn't just the curves or the creamy skin or the the plush mouth, it was the was the certain knowledge that in her hands a set of false eyelashes were a deadly weapon. Darcy wondered what she could do with gummy bears. And flushed.
Behind her, Sylvia said something in Russian and the gorgeous redhead replied at length in the same language. Darcy caught two words and a phrase: surprise, adorable, and where will it never be found and hoped they were about the cat.
"You have good reflexes," the redhead told her in unaccented English.
"Thanks." Darcy handed Sam over to Sylvia. "It's all in zigging when they zag."
"As in so much of life."
"Word." Darcy held out a fist.
The vaguely familiar redhead bumped it. "Thank you for keeping him off the street. It's more dangerous out there than he imagines."
"Sam?"
"Who else?"
It sounded as much like a threat as a question so Darcy tried a vacant smile. "Happy to help." By the time she got to her door, Sam, Sylvia, and the redhead were back in Sylvia's apartment.
By the time she got her door open, Rob was standing in his, arms crossed over a bare, paint-flecked chest. At least Darcy hoped it was paint. "She's out of your league, kitten." Apparently sharing margaritas meant pet names and skin.
"Okay, first, how do you even know? I mean we were all the way down the other end of the hall. And second, never mind, I don't care. And third..." She flipped her hair and blew him a kiss. "...I'm in a league of my own and every day's the all star game." When Rob raised an exquisitely scornful brow, Darcy shrugged. "It sounded better in my head."
The next morning, their last morning of assessment, was all about forms. Darcy thought she'd already filled out every possible type of form back while waiting for the keys to her apartment.
She was wrong.
"In case of sex pollen to whom do I give reactive consent? Seriously? Sex pollen? That happens?"
"More often than you'd think," Sitwell admitted. "Not as often as some people claim."
"Some people... some agents believe I've been doused with sex pollen is a valid pickup line?" When Sitwell nodded, Darcy shook her head. "Welcome to SHIELD, she muttered, bending back over her form. "Some of us didn't date much in high-school. Or college. Or..."
"Probationary Agent Lewis?"
Darcy looked up to see a junior agent she hadn't met, standing in the doorway of the small conference room.
"You're wanted in Agent Coulson's office. Now."
"Darcy's gonna get it," Kevin sing-songed quietly.
"Is she in trouble?" Lori asked as Darcy shuffled her completed forms into a pile.
"Not your concern," Sitwell told her. "Your concern is filling in a preferred name in case of accidental gender reassignment. Her concern is remembering the definition of the word now."
"I'm going!"
The agent sent to get her seemed about to speak all the way to Agent Coulson's office. She opened and closed her mouth in the corridor outside the conference rooms, in the elevator and as they crossed the big office filled with junior agents in cubicles disguising a more or less secret government kick-ass organization as any cubicle farm in America. When they reached an empty desk set up in a short hall outside a perfectly normal wooden door, P. Coulson on the discrete brass plaque, the agent cleared her throat and said, "They say he demanded a tie in ICU."
Darcy frowned. "How much coffee have you had today?" she asked as she stepped past and knocked on the door.
A familiar gorgeous redhead opened it. "Probationary Agent Lewis."
She wore a black pencil skirt and a royal blue blouse and heels Darcy would've killed herself on. Off. Because she couldn't have stayed on. Still, anyone who could flip off Captain America's shield and onto an alien hover-bike could handle Jimmy Choos.
"I should have recognized you from YouTube."
"Not if I didn't want you to."
"There's that."
Agent Coulson's office looked... lived in. It had a window, and wooden floors, and a huge leather sofa, and a wooden desk, and a terrifying number of filing cabinets. Agent Coulson was sitting behind the desk looking tired. Clint sat on a corner of the desk looking smug.
"Darcy," he said as the Black Widow indicated where she should stand.
"Clint." Darcy put her feet exactly where the assassin/spy/Avenger told her to. She might be inclined to question authority, but she wasn't stupid.
When the Widow muttered something in Russian, Clint laughed. "She says, I'm too fond of women who can beat me up."
"Technically, I didn't beat you up."
"He went down," the Widow snorted, settling on the opposite corner of the desk. "I'm counting it."
"I got kicked in the nuts," Clint pointed out. "And she's wearing nut kicker boots." All three of them looked down at Darcy's Docs. "Fortunately," he added, "we were able to work around it."
The smirk went straight to Darcy, but he directed the brief flash of wonder and joy and love at...
...Agent Coulson.
Interesting. Given his reaction to her boobs, Hawkeye was definitely a switch-hitter. Agent Coulson, however, was...
...looking only marginally better than the last time she'd seen him. Darcy frowned and wondered why the hell he was even at work.
As though he knew what she was thinking, Agent Coulson sighed and said, "As you may have heard, Ms. Lewis, I recently rose from the dead. It was more tiring than I expected. I've been informed I require an assistant and both Director Fury and Assistant Director Hill, as well as Agents Sitwell, Barton and Romanoff, think you're right for the job."
Clint snorted. "He remained unconvinced until Captain America weighed in."
Darcy thought Agent Coulson's pale cheeks may have flushed slightly. "I gave the captain's opinion no more credence than anyone else's. Assistant Director Hill seemed to think I deserved you. Agent Sitwell seems to think you deserve me."
Leaving who deserved what aside, for now, there was one thing Darcy needed to know before she could decide about taking the job. Provided SHIELD gave her a choice. Which, on reflection, was unlikely. "What exactly do you do? I mean, besides kill bad guys with gummy bears."
"Once," Coulson muttered as the two agents snickered. "I am," he continued, loudly enough to cut the snickering off, "for my sins, the SHIELD liaison to the Avengers."
Darcy's mouth kicked in before her brain engaged. "And Supernanny needs a hand?"
Clint cackled with laughter and leaned in so he and the Widow - Agent Romanoff - could bump fists over the desk. Clearly, this was something she'd need to check on later when she...
"Hang on, I don't remember meeting Captain America."
***
Steve was home. Darcy could see the light on over his drawing table from the street. Holding onto her dignity for as long as possible, she climbed the stairs slowly to the third floor, took a deep breath, and knocked.
And waited.
He was standing on the other side of the door girding his loins again. She could feel it. Keeping her expression as neutral as possible in case he lowered himself to peer through the spyhole, she started counting backwards from one hundred. In Spanish. Slowly. She gotten to seventy-two before he finally opened the damned door.
A raised hand shut his mouth and she walked past him into the apartment, still counting. At sixty-seven, she heard the door close and lock, pivoted on one heel, looked him right in the baby blues and snapped, "Why didn't you tell me?"
To his credit, he didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I wanted a chance to be Steve Rogers not Captain America. To be a person, not an icon." His mouth twisted into something not quite a smile and he looked as though his heart was breaking. "I didn't expect it would last, but while it did, I wanted it."
The huge head of mad Darcy'd been building up since leaving Agent Coulson's office deflated, the sudden absence leaving her feeling a little light-headed. "Okay. I get that."
Steve blinked. "But..."
"No buts." He looked so confused, she grinned. "Come on, it's not like you lied about who you are, you just left out some details about your job. Are you horked off I didn't tell you I'm with SHIELD?"
"Darcy..." Shaking his head, he walked over the window, turned, and tried again. "Darcy, I didn't tell you that I'm Captain America. That's kind of huge."
"Think highly of yourself there, Red-White-and-Blue Dude." When his mouth opened and closed a few times but no sound came out, she took pity on him. "Look, if I found out you had a wife and three kids in Long Island and I was your piece on the side, that would be huge. If you were a serial killer and softening me up before dicing me and storing me in your... well, you don't have a trunk the bike so lets say dropping the pieces in the sewer for the alligators, that would be huge."
"Darcy..."
She cut him off and crossed the apartment to stand in front of him. "I knew you were fucked up about your military service. So I assumed the wrong war; no big. Fucked up about war is fucked up about war and given the whole aliens invade Manhattan thing, there's enough PTSD to go around. The age difference doesn't matter because everyone knows time spent on ice doesn't count and I'm going to have so much fun helping you catch up."
"Darcy..."
His heart pounded under her palm. "I found out you're a hero. That's cool. Maybe even cooler that you didn't tell me. Your ass looks better in tights than mine; okay, I'm not thrilled about that but I like you, Steve. I like you a lot."
"Darcy..."
"Unless I'm not good enough for Captain America..."
So easy, she thought as he switched from confused to determined and captured her mouth. He tucked one hand under her ass and lifted so she wrapped her legs around his waist and let him carry her to the sofa.
"You are," he said between kisses, "amazing. And smart. And funny. And gorgeous. And wise. And did I say gorgeous?"
"You did." She settled on his lap and sucked his earlobe into her mouth. He made a strangled noise and his hips bucked up and Darcy made a mental note about earlobes for later. "Say it again."
"You're gorgeous. I want to..." He shuddered. Gently pushed her mouth away from where she was nibbling along the line of his jaw. And took a deep breath.
Darcy sighed and let her head fall forward until her forehead rested against his. "But you're not going to, are you?"
"I don't think now is the right time, do you?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
She could convince him. Except... "No. You're right. Too much information, too fast. We need to gain a little equilibrium before we do anything we can't step back from." Too much risk right now he'd regret it in the morning and she was too smart to chance that no matter how much she wanted to strip him naked and ride him like a pony.
"There were times I thought you knew," Steve told her, lifting her off his lap and onto the sofa beside him.
"I swear the red, white and blue afghan was a coincidence."
"Darcy, you never asked me for my last name."
"You never asked for mine."
"Because then you'd ask for mine."
Okay, she'd give him that. And maybe he wasn't entirely wrong. "You want to order a pizza?" she asked, snuggling into his shoulder. When he peered down at her, she shrugged. "Emotional content makes me hungry. And I had a huge day at work... which I can now tell you about because clearly..." Pulling away, she drove an elbow into his ribs. "...you know all about it what goes on at my job and oh my Thor, I just realized! You decided to date me because I kicked Hawkeye in the nuts?"
Steve blushed. "No... not only... It was more because..."
"Because I flashed my boobs at him?" When Steve blushed deeper, rubbing one hand over the back of his neck, Darcy shook her head. "Babe, that's so never..." Except maybe the whole Agent Barton and Agent Coulson doing the horizontal mamba thing wasn't common knowledge around SHEILD. It certainly wasn't a part of the rumour mill that had trickled down to probationary agent levels. Kills people with gummy bears, yes. Boning the best biceps in the triState area, no. Maybe Steve didn't know. If not, Darcy certainly wasn't going to out her new boss.
"Babe?"
She matched his grin. "You got promoted up from dude. And speaking of promotions, this morning I was a probationary agent seeing a nice guy in construction and this afternoon, I'm the assistant liaison - in training - to the Avengers dating Captain America. One thing I can say for SHIELD, I love the opportunities for advancement."
"Should I warn Director Fury to watch his back?
Darcy?"