Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn’t super unusual for Darcy to do lunch in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s cafeteria—New York City was basically an oasis of real food options compared to New Mexico, but Jane often just forgot about food when she was working, and even when she remembered it wasn’t easy to convince her to actually leave the building and go get something. Not that Darcy needed somebody to go out with, had no problem being Darcy, Party of One when she felt like it, but it maybe got a bit lonely when it was every day on her own. And daily delivery was a no-go; on day three, Coulson had shown up in the lab with an alarmingly blank expression to ask if he needed to explain the concept of not drawing attention to the facility more clearly.

So the cafeteria it was. Which, actually, wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d have expected a government run cafeteria in a not-entirely-top-secret-but-we-are-not-releasing-a-press-release-thank-you-Tony facility to be. The food was actually pretty good, considering, although she suspected the quality had more to do with the combined dietary needs of Thor, Captain America, and the Hulk (and the serious need not to piss Bruce off with, for instance, rubbery institutional chicken) than anything else.

Of course, if the upside to lunch in the cafeteria was the opportunity to people watch the ridiculously hot secret ninjas in tight leather, the obvious downside was how easy it was for Certain People to find her.

“Hey, kid!” Case in point. Tony’s tray dropped onto the table opposite her own as her father plopped into the hard plastic chair. “Funny running into you here . . .”

Darcy just rolled her eyes. “Yes, you never could have guessed I’d be at lunch during lunchtime. Particularly not when I’ve had lunch here every day for the last week.”

“Purest coincidence,” Tony swore, picking up his fork and beginning to poke at his plate without looking at it, and if he actually ate anything from the cafeteria she was totally going to have to go find Clint and give him ten dollars for losing the hypothetical bet he certainly would have taken had he known the opportunity existed.

“It’s hysterical that you think you’re subtle, Tony.”

“Subtlety is for ninjas. Speaking of which, what’s this I hear about you and Barton?”

“Smooth segue, real smooth.”

“Everything I do is smooth.” And it looked like she was going to lose the non-bet as he stabbed his fork down viciously, but the motion was aborted before the wobbly green bit actually made it into his mouth. Tony looked down as though he’d only just realized what he was about to do and said, “Holy fuck, what is this?”

“Oh, yeah, real smooth. It’s sautéed asparagus in cheese sauce.”

“No, really, what is it?”

“It’s food. Food that was neither prepared by a three-star Michelin chef, nor blended into horrific, unidentifiable, green goo at three a.m. You should try it.” It would absolutely be worth ten dollars to Clint if Tony actually ate it. Plus there would be the completely flummoxed look of disbelief on Clint’s face when she told him why she was giving him money.

“It’s entirely possible putting this in my mouth would kill me.”

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing you’ve ever put in your mouth, I’m sure.”

Whatever ridiculous retort he’d been about to make was cut off by a discrete cough, and Tony and Darcy’s heads both whipped around to see Steve Rogers standing at their table, awkwardly holding a tray. “Ah . . . do you mind if I join you two?”

Tony blinked for a long moment before taking a breath, and Darcy could just tell that whatever he was about to say would somehow be even worse than Captain America overhearing her making blowjob jokes at her father. “Yeah, sure, of course,” she cut in, waving a hand at the chair closest to Steve. “Who in their right mind turns down a chance to have lunch with Captain America, right? Total honor.”

“Er, it’s, ah, just Steve, outside the armor, really, Miss Lewis.”

Darcy wrinkled her nose at that. “Just Darcy, then, please. Seriously, nobody talks like that. It’s adorable, but also deeply weird. Nobody’s called me ‘miss’ since I stopped working retail.” Oh God, Tony’s word vomit was genetic.

Steve smiled at that, setting his tray down and holding out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to properly meet you at last, Darcy.”

Darcy couldn’t really help grinning as she reached out to shake Captain America’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, too, Steve.”

The sudden scrape of Tony’s chair as he stood up kind of ruined the moment, and Darcy just sort of blinked at him as he flashed Steve what she considered his Smarm Smile Mark Five: the This Is Fascinating, Really, Too Bad I Just Can’t Stay smile. “Sorry to not-eat and run, Darce, but I don’t think I can risk death by sautéed asparagus today—too much shit to do to end up hospitalized by my lunch. But you two enjoy. I’ve got meetings over at S.I. Pep’ll end me if I’m late, you know how it is, and, yeah, not a good day to die. Later, kiddo.” He was already walking away before he’d even finished his excuses, his tray left abandoned on the table, food untouched.

Steve stared after him for a brief moment before switching his attention back to Darcy. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I really didn’t mean to intrude.”

Darcy just shrugged and waved him towards the chair once more. “Eh, no worries. That was stranger than usual for him, but not by much. Seriously, sit, eat,” she insisted as he hesitated. “You chased away my dad before I became tempted to commit patricide, I clearly owe you cookies, and you owe me a replacement lunch companion.”

If anything, Steve looked more awkward at this, but he did sit down, at least, which seemed to be a signal to the half dozen S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in the cafeteria who’d been watching that the show was now over.

“So,” she said, as he picked up his fork, “you missed the last half century. Just how likely is it that Coulson will shoot me if I unload my political science degree and women’s studies minor on you for shock value? Because I am really tempted.”

Steve actually smiled at that, a little. “They’ve given me a pretty thorough grounding to catch me up,” he said. “Doubt you can shock me that much anymore.”

Darcy scoffed. “Sure, right, like you can take the jackbooted thugs at face value. Bet it’s been all party line, like the first Gulf War was totally about protecting Kuwait and we haven’t ratified CEDAW because it’s unnecessary in light of our fabulous domestic women’s rights record.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed slightly at her as he clearly thought about what she‘d said, but he politely finished chewing, swallowing, and even took a small sip of his water before saying, “You know, if you want to put that degree to good use by giving me a bit more information than the ‘party line’, I promise not to tell Coulson.”

Huh. Right. Captain America, master tactician. This was going to be fun.

Chapter Text

The day to day of working for the Avengers was, it turned out, not as exciting as Darcy might have hoped. It was far and away better than just being Jane’s lab monkey in New Mexico, but that had more to do with the fact that New York City was far and away better than Puente Antiguo than any change in the daily work. Still, Darcy didn’t mind. There was something kind of weirdly relaxing about spending four hour stretches with her beloved, battered iPod and a, quite frankly, alarmingly complicated spreadsheet, compiling data she hadn’t the faintest understanding of.

Plus, not to be down on Jane and Eric and the good people of Puente Antiguo, but the general quality of eye candy, lunch companionship, and after-work entertainment had grown exponentially since they’d come to S.H.I.E.L.D.

So for the most part, during the day Darcy just buried herself in her spreadsheets and pie charts, let the absurd science babble in the lab wash over her, and did her job like a boss. That didn’t mean, however, that she was going to pass up the chance for the traditional work place water-cooler break when it presented itself. Not that they had a water cooler. And not that there was anything that traditional about chatting with passing ninjas who’d snuck in to steal the truly terrible but ridiculously caffeinated coffee the science nerds lived on. Passing ninjas? Ninji?

“Hey, Nat, what’s the plural of ninja?” Darcy asked, looking up from where she was doctoring her third cup of high-octane death-coffee. It became almost ambrosia-esque with six packets of sugar and three creamers (two French vanilla and one hazelnut, unless there was enough Irish crème to risk taking some, because it was never a good idea to take the last of Bruce’s favorite anything).

Natasha, who apparently hated her kidneys and drank the death-coffee black, just stared for a long, quite moment.

“I mean,” Darcy forged on, undaunted, “it’s not English, right? How do the Japanese construct their plurals? Is it, like, Ninjen? Do they use pre-fixes? Or, ooh, inter-fixes? Those are a thing, right?” It was possible the combination of enough caffeine to fell an elephant and that intro linguistics course she’d taken as a senior just for the hell of it was about to get her killed.

But apparently gods smiled on her today (admittedly, gods, in the form of Thor, smiled on Darcy a lot, since she was usually in the lab when he came by to flirt with Jane), and Natasha just raised an eyebrow and said, “They are, but you mean infixes, and neither are how you make plurals in Japanese. The plural of ninja,” and maybe Darcy was imagining the Dramatic Pause, but she didn’t think so, “is ninja.”

“Huh. Like sheep.” Oh, shit, there were the flinty eyes. Danger, danger, Will Robinson! Time to deflect like woah. “Well, that certainly suits Clint.”

Natasha’s lips actually twitched with something that was almost a smile, although she lifted her mug fast enough that Darcy wasn’t entirely sure she’d seen it. Still, she was counting it as a win.

“So, what’s up over on the team side of the building? World successfully saved for puppies and apple pie yet?”

Natasha shrugged slightly. “Puppies and apple pie are not my field. I might as well ask you whether you’ve successfully unlocked the mysteries of the universe.”

“Yeah, true, it’s a bit above my pay grade. I have unlocked the mysteries of Excel, for what it’s worth.”

“From the way Bruce goes on, a well formatted spreadsheet seems like it must be worth a lot over here amongst the researchers.”

Darcy grinned. “It’s currency, like cigarettes in prison. Next thing you know, they’ll be swapping keyboard shortcuts for equipment time and a whole economy will form around cell formulas.”

“And you’ll rule over the lab as a benevolent queen?” Natasha asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Are you kidding? I’ll make them worship me like a god. Cater to my every whim, bring me Pringles and diet coke whenever I want.”

“You clearly need to get out of the lab more often.”

Darcy blushed, pulling the coffee cup she’d been making expansive gestures with back in to take a quick sip. “Yeah, probably,” she admitted. “Aside from explaining to Steve at lunch how neoliberal theories and the invisible hand of the market demolished Roosevelt’s progressive movement, I don’t really talk to many people during working hours who aren’t approximately twelve hundred times smarter than me. And, really, I can only stand limited doses of the kicked puppy look Steve gets when I explain what happened to social security.”

“And after hours?”

“Well, sure, after hours. It’s all fun and games until somebody gets so drunk they fall off their shoes. Then it’s fun, games, and mockery.”

Again, there was that faint, almost smile. She was on a roll.

“You should see Jane when she’s plastered. Total lightweight. Normally she’s sensible enough to wear flats, except she’s gotten more self-conscious about the whole being pocket-sized thing since Tall, Blonde, and Godly showed up, and the combination of about two beers and a kitten heel is, quite frankly, one of the greatest forms of entertainment known to mankind. Or, well, Darcy-kind.”

“I would not mind the chance to see that. Perhaps you should arrange a proper outing?”

“Huh . . .” Darcy said, a slow smile breaking across her face. “Oh, oh, yeah! An exclusive, girls’ night out, type thing, cause God knows I’m not going drinking with Tony and if we invite the rest of Team Avengeful he’ll tag along like a bad penny, and Jesus I’ve been spending too much time with Steve.” She screwed up her nose, then shrugged. “I’ll see if tonight works for Jane, maybe ask Betty, too. And Pepper, of course,” she said.

That was definitely a smile. Darcy had honestly gotten a (small) smile out of Natasha. And they were going drinking. She spent a brief moment to wonder if perhaps the redhead had been replaced with a pod person before returning to her planning. “I know a club not too far from here. Not like, around the corner, but walkable.”

“I should get back to the team,” was all Natasha said. “Simply let me know when and where.”

---

Betty was pretty much Darcy’s favorite. If you limited her to the science-arm of the Avengers Initative, and didn’t count Bruce, because he was really in the Avengers arm, and didn’t count Jane, because obviously Jane was her absolute favorite, then Betty was her favorite. Not that Darcy wasn’t a fan of Eric and the Indistinguishable Back-up Nerds (totally the name of a great band, and one of these days she was going to suggest it to them), she was. It was just that Betty was better.

For one thing, she was gorgeous and, unlike Jane, she knew it. She had cute jackets, fabulous shoes, and wore her hair in flattering styles that were still lab-appropriate, and on top of it all she could kick ass and take names with the best of them, scientifically speaking. Grrl power and third-wave feminism, hoorah, be as good as the boys and embrace your femininity while you do, in whatever way you wanted.

For another thing, Betty was practical in a way that almost none of the rest of the science crew were. Not that the others were incapable of dealing with the practicalities of every day life (except Jane. Jane genuinely was incapable at times, and that was why she had Darcy), but when it came to their work they all spent ninety-nine point nine-five percent (plus or minus point oh-four) of their time up in the scientific stratosphere while Betty came down to earth from time to time and actually explained things. It was probably because she was a professor and had had to teach Science for Jocks 101 at least a couple times, but Darcy didn’t care. Darcy would love her forever for the post-it explanations Betty included in all the work she gave Darcy to compile.

Then there was the thing where she and Bruce were almost too cute for words. Not that she’d cop to it where anybody could hear, but Darcy was kind of a sap when it came to a good love story. The whole ‘torn apart by a tragic accident, pined for each other across continents, beauty and true love soothing the savage beast’ thing was like romance novel gold. And where Thor was all about the epic, godly proportioned gestures of love (which was great if you liked that thing, and Jane clearly did, and not like Darcy would turn it down if it was offered), Bruce and Betty were just in sync: small touches, glances across the lab, bringing each other coffee, and generally being adorably in love. Maybe it was a product of her ridiculous lack of healthy relationship examples as a child, maybe it was an overabundance of Disney and romcoms as a teenager, but whatever the reason, in her secret heart of hearts Darcy was all in favor of a good happily ever after.

“Hey Betty,” Darcy said, leaning on the granite-topped counter Betty was working at. “What’re you up to tonight? We’re doing a girls’ night, if you’re free.”

“Hmm?” Betty looked up from the view she’d been peering through to raise a delicate eyebrow at Darcy.

“You know, girls’ night. Dining, dancing, neon colored drinks with little umbrellas in them.” Darcy grinned.

“So far it’s just the two of us and Natasha,” Jane put in, “but we’re going to invite Pepper Potts, and probably Maria and a few others.”

“And once Tony gets wind of a ladies night, he’d undoubtedly insist on manly bonding time, so you won’t have to worry about Bruce.”

“What?” Bruce looked up from his computer at his name.

“I was just saying, fair warning and all, Tony’s likely to try and pull you into a shindig of moderate proportions tonight. Might verge on hootenanny.”

“‘Chock full of hoot, just a little bit of nanny’?” Bruce asked, smiling faintly.

“See, knowing your Joss quotes is why I like hanging out in nerd central,” Darcy said, grinning back. “Hope you’re not just a brie and mellow song stylings kind of guy, Bruce, because Tony does not know how to do mellow.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed. It’s all right,” he added, noticing Betty’s worried look, “Tony doesn't bother me, and Steve will probably be there if it does happen. We can be awkwardly out of place together. You should go tonight. It sounds like it’ll be fun.”

Betty smiled. “I’d like that, then. It’s been a while since I’ve had a girls’ night. It’ll be good to have girl-friends who aren’t doing the academic, tenure back-stabbing bit.”

“Yeah, see, unlooked for advantage of the whole quasi-secret government organization thing. It’s not academia, there’s no push to publish because see again quasi-secret, and if there’s any back-stabbing going on it probably involves actual stabbing. Which, actually, less of an upside, but still . . .” Darcy shrugged. “We’ll leave after work; the bar’s in walking distance from here. Jane,” she added, turning, “I’ll go get the word to Maria and the ladies in admin, you get to call Pepper.”

“Why are you not calling Pepper?” Jane asked. “You’ve known her longer.”

“Yeah, but unexpected mid-day calls from me are usually a trouble sign for her. Don’t want to give her a heart attack thinking I’ve ended up hungover and lost in Fresno again.”

“Again?”

“I’ll tell you tonight.”

---

“So, basically, the moral of this story is that you need to learn to enunciate better when you’re drunk?”

“Did. I did need. I have since learned.” Darcy grinned, twisting the stem of her peartini between her fingers. “To be fair, ‘Fresno’ and ‘Frisco’ are really similar after half a bottle of tequila.”

“And the driver didn’t care that you were clearly drunk out of your mind?” Betty looked torn between being scandalized and finding the whole thing hysterical, which Darcy felt was about right for the sharing of college horror stories.

“Well, you know, wasn’t exactly the first time the S.I. staff were dealing with a plastered Stark. It wouldn’t have been a thing at all except I had a midterm the next afternoon with a prof who was already on my ass in general.”

“Hence why I got a call at ten in the morning,” Pepper put in from where she was lounging half against the back of the booth and half against Natasha. Her smile was closer to indulgent than angry at the memory, so Darcy rolled with it.

“And I once again thank you from the bottom of my heart,” Darcy said. “Now, come on, I can’t be the only one with horrifically embarrassing college stories. Somebody else’s turn. Not you, Jane. I’ve heard the one about the cyclotron still.”

Jane had clearly been about to say something, but she shut her mouth and gave Darcy a proper puppy dog eyes at that. Darcy, however, was three something-tinis in and wasn’t about to cave.

“Well, the rest of us haven’t,” Natasha put in, knocking back another shot of vodka.

Darcy had lost track of how many the woman had had but since they didn’t seem to affect her at all, it didn’t seem to matter. She made a note to herself to always make Natasha be the designated driver. Or, well, designated taxi-flagger. Anybody but Betty, really. The quantity of rage that woman could spew about New York traffic was genuinely alarming. Darcy’d been working on a theory about how Betty held all of Bruce’s angry until he needed it for the Hulk, but that was back during the appletini and she’d since lost the train of thought.

“I’m sure it’s in my file,” Jane said, lifting her chin in the air and wobbling in her seat at the same time, “or haven’t the jack-booted thugs dug in that far.”

“Oh, sure, we’ve got it,” Maria put in, arms crossed against the back of the chair she’d spun around to sit in. “But it’s girls’ night, the point is to share even if some of us have heard the story, or learned it through wily, secret agent methods.”

“Right, well, while Jane is telling that one, Imma go get another. Anybody else need a top up?”

There were enough requests from around the table that Pepper and Natasha ended up sliding out of the booth to help carry the drinks.

“What do you think, strawberry or basil-tini next?” Darcy asked, perusing the cocktail menu as they waited for the bartender to finish making the first few drinks.

“Basil,” Natasha put in at once. “You need to learn to drink drinks that don’t taste like pure sugar.”

“I can do it,” she said, dropping the menu back on the bar top, “I just don’t usually want to.” Still, she ordered the basil-tini when the bartender dropped off the first drinks and shot a grin at the Russian, who simply arched an eyebrow in return.

“You know, this was a good idea, Darcy,” Pepper said, leaning a hip against one of the bar stools. “Thank you for inviting us.”

Darcy was startled for a moment, surprised that Natasha apparently hadn’t mentioned her part in coming up with the idea, but when she glanced at her she had that small, inscrutable little smile going on and Darcy was not about to try and fathom why she might not want Pepper to know about it. “No problem,” she said, tucking her hands into her pockets. “You do so much Tony wrangling and all the S.I. interfacing with S.H.I.E.L.D., you’re basically a part of the initiative, and Nat’s stuck over in the boy’s club all day. Figured we could all use a break.”

“The girls’ night is a good idea in general. Maybe we should make it a regular thing.”

“I’d be up for that. Think we could call it inter-office personnel management and get S.H.I.E.L.D. to pay for it?” Darcy grinned.

“Feel free to ask Maria or Coulson,” Natasha said, her deadpan face back in full force. “See how well that works out for you.”

“. . . Maybe we’ll just buy our own drinks.”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t precisely that they’d gotten off track—her bi-weekly lunch and political history lessons with Steve didn’t have a set plan, they tended to just start talking about a topic and let it go from there. Still, although she knew exactly what path the conversation had taken, Darcy would be hard pressed to say how they’d ended up on this topic.

“Well, no,” she said, shaking her head, “it just doesn’t have the same stigma these days. A lot of people don’t think about what the word means at all, it’s just a kind of generic term for, well, being kind of a jerk.”

“But you told me that a lot of people get really up in arms over derogatory terms, even when somebody says it who doesn’t know where it originally comes from.”

“Yeah, I dunno. It’s different. I mean, maybe it’s because I lived in bigger towns and cities all my life, but nobody ever hassled me about it. The nuclear family’s no longer the center of everything, variation from it is no longer quite so scary, and a kid with just one parent could be for dozens of reasons.”

“Back before you’d get punched in the face for calling somebody that.”

“I imagine it was like the 1940s version of a yo' mama joke.”

“A what?”

Darcy winced. “Pretend I didn’t say that. If you really want you can google it yourself, but be prepared to be disappointed with modern humanity again. Anyways, I just mean, calling somebody a bastard used to be this big thing, because it was a slur on your mother’s honor, or something, and you were kind of screwed because it was totally legal to discriminate and people were generally dicks to you if you were one. These days it’s just different. Single moms still get a lot of grief from our society, and there’s a lot of really nasty, coded language that people use when talking about, you know, welfare queens and absent fathers lead to delinquent kids, it’s a lot of implication about people of color and ‘urban’ environments, which is bull shit. And maybe because it’s all couched in this coded ‘we’re so concerned about the welfare of the children’ language, the idea that just straight out ragging on the kid for being illegitimate has kind of totally fallen by the wayside. At least, in my experience. Mileage may vary.”

“Well,” Steve said, leaning back in his chair and picking up his fork again, “I guess I’m glad you were never hassled about it. Still don’t think I’m going to be using that word any time soon, though.”

“No, I’d imagine not.”

“And, ah, what does your father think of that word?” The hesitation was slight, but definitely there. Darcy figured Steve had pretty well sussed out that her dad and her relationship with him were occasionally sore subjects with her and was being overly cautious. Still, it wasn’t good for her student to be hesitant about asking questions.

“Tony?” she said airily, shrugging slightly. “Well, I don’t know that I’ve ever heard him say it. But, then, his tendency towards crassness is legendarily creative. Bastard is probably just too mundane for him.”

“He is . . . colorful,” Steve admitted, and he ducked his head but Darcy would have sworn she caught a touch of a smile.

“Bit of an education for you, huh?” she asked, needling the Captain a little, and he knew it, if the Look he gave her in return was anything to go by.

“Right. Because soldiers at war are renowned for their gentility and forbearance from swearing.”

“Ah, yeah, point. You don’t, though.”

“There’s a time and a place, Darcy,” he said, and the miracle that was Steve Rogers meant that it didn’t even sound like a lecture. “I’m not above swearing when it’s merited, it just usually isn’t. Particularly if there’s kids about.”

She suspected he’d edited himself from saying ‘kids or ladies,’ but that was progress, so she let it go. “Fair enough.” That seemed to be that, so Darcy started in on her own lunch again. In retrospect, of course, she should have known better. Steve’s curiosity was never satisfied.

“By the way, what on earth is a ‘welfare queen’?” he asked after a moment.

“Oh, Steve . . . Right. We turn once more to your least favorite era, the Reagan presidency . . .”

---

So far lunch with Steve was definitely the high point of Darcy’s day. Not that things in the science wing were bad, per say. Nobody’s experiment had failed catastrophically, and any day that didn’t involve a security lockdown for rogue experimental matter really couldn’t be called bad, but that just went to show that Darcy’s scale had gotten all screwed up by working with the Avengers Initiative. Not being chased through a lab by wayward man-eating science experiments used to be a given.

Still, things had been weird all afternoon—Bruce seemed moody, and Bruce being moody made Betty do the concerned-glance-from-under-the-eyelashes, which a) was unfairly attractive and b) seemed to just be making Bruce twitchier today. Which wasn’t great, because while moody, twitchy Bruce made Betty all sadface, it made everybody else really tense. Because, well, Bruce. And then people being tense around Bruce made Bruce more tense, which made everybody else more tense, which made Bruce even more tense, and you ended up with one of those vicious circles of doom. Big, angry green doom.

When things got really bad, normally Darcy could rely on Jane to be largely oblivious to the tension and she’d strike up a conversation with her boss that was two parts business to five parts absurdist comedy and they would diffuse the situation. This afternoon, however, Jane was doing some work with Thor and Tony, comparing her astronomical readings with Thor’s understanding of the rainbow bridge. So now Darcy was resorting to attentively doing her work trying to set a good example for the rest of the science wing, and musing on how bad things needed to have gotten for Darcy to be the good example.

“Oh how the mighty have fallen,” she muttered to herself, then looked up at the familiar laugh that came echoing down the hall. “Oh, good, Jane’s back.”

“With Thor.” Bruce sounded less than pleased, but he’d seemed less than pleased all afternoon. Darcy suspected one of his experiments had gone awry and was quietly grateful it was not the sort of awry that involved guns, screaming, or the emergency shower.

“Yep,” she agreed cheerfully. “He does have that distinctive, can be recognized from five floors away quality to him, doesn’t he.”

“Quite.” With a sigh, Bruce set his pen down on the note pad that Darcy hadn’t actually seen him writing in all afternoon. “Hardly conducive to a calm working area. I think I am just going to call it a day.”

“Are you sure, Bruce?” Betty asked, shifting in her chair.

“Yes. Don’t worry, I think I just need some air. I’ll find you later.”

Probably for the best, Darcy figured. If Bruce was this tense, adding Thor’s exuberant personality into the confined space of the main lab would not end well for anyone.

---

“Heya, Ducks.”

Darcy didn’t look up for a second, still focused on the data she was entering, because if she lost her place in this stupid string of eight billion numbers, she really would kill someone. One she’d made it to the end, though, and it was safely saved, she swiveled her chair around to give Clint a Look. “’Ducks’?” she asked. “Really?”

“No good?”

She wrinkled her nose. “On the scale, I’d say it ranks only slightly above Dollface, and well below Boobs McGee.”

“I still can’t believe Boobs McGee is your favorite.”

“What can I say, I like the classics.”

Clint shook his head. “The fact that you think Big Daddy is a classic fills me with despair. Dollface—that’s classic.”

“Dollface makes me think you’re a bad 1920’s gangster, and you gonna start wearing pinstripes and fedoras and adding superfluous ‘shhh’ sounds to every word, Schweetheart.”

“I would look killer in a fedora.”

“Yeah, but it’d be way too much cheese for me to be seen with you, and besides, you’d give Steve traumatic flashbacks to his childhood. The search for the perfect nickname must continue.”

“Can it continue over dinner?”

“Duh. You owe me Greek.”

“How do you figure?”

“Last week. I said I wanted dolmades and you said you knew a place, and then you blew me off.”

“Blew you off . . . Darce, there were killer robots in Central Park.”

“Excuses, excuses. Thor made it back in time to go out with Jane.”

“Jane thinks eleven o’clock is not too late for dinner and three a.m. is not too early for breakfast. Jane is not a reliable barometer for healthy relationships, or healthy anything else. Also, Thor is a god. I feel I’m being held to an unreasonable standard, particularly given we’re not actually dating.”

“And yet, you still owe me Greek, particularly given you’re getting laid.”

Clint held his hands out. “Alternatively, there’s an argument to be made that, in fact, Tony owes us both Greek, since the killer robots were his fault.”

“I’m all right with that,” Darcy said, “assuming you’re going to be the one asking him for the cash.”

“I can do that,” he said, shoving up from the desk he’d been leaning against. “I do enjoy the way his whole face twitches every time he has to deal with the fact that we’re sleeping together.”

“Get me pictures, it’ll be worth it for you. Promise.”

Clint snorted. “Well, yeah, of course there will be photos. That’s a given.”

“Eeeeexcellent,” Darcy drawled, steepling her fingers in front of her face Burns-style for a moment before dropping them. “Oh, hey, side note, do you know why Sitwell’s been giving death glares at my fan club?”

“Fan club?”

“Yeah, you know, those three junior agents who always schedule their gym time to coincide with mine and then spend the whole time watching my rack?”

“Oh, them. Sitwell, you said?” Clint furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Yep. I’d have understood if it was Coulson, but Sitwell’s rarely such a hardass at the juniors.”

“Huh.” Clint paused, then scowled. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, he’s probably decided once again that I don’t mean it when I say we’re not dating.”

Darcy gave him a Look. “Really?” she said slowly.

“Yeah. I’ve told him, like, six times now.”

“Ugh.” Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Darcy sighed. “Do I need to have a Discussion with him about how friends with benefits is totally a thing and not every woman wants a man to take care of her and hold open doors and all? Oooh! I could make a powerpoint and put it on at the next joint meeting of the Initiative. It’ll be educational for everyone!”

“Everyone? Has somebody else been making a deal of it?”

Darcy shook her head. “Nah, course not. Sitwell will learn about casual sex and the rest of us will learn how many different colors Tony can turn in five minutes.”

Clint grinned. “Seriously, this is why you’re my favorite.”

Chapter Text

“I’m not sure this will ever get easier,” Jane muttered, frowning up at the screen.

In theory, life in the science wing of the Avengers Initiative was supposed to go on as normal when the Avengers side of the Initiative were called out on the field. In practice, though, it was always at least a little distracting knowing the team was out in the middle of a fight. And then, of course, there were days like this where the fight was big enough to merit the 24-hour “political pundit perpetual panic conflictinator” breaking into normal programming and the science staff just gave up. SHIELD personnel were always too busy during one of these events to give them updates, so trying to make sense out of the mess of blurry phone vids CNN was cycling through became the task of the hour, or of however long it took.

“No,” Betty agreed. “I can’t say it ever has for me.” It was unusual for Betty to look so visibly stressed; still put together, hair up, clothes impeccable, but she’d been chewing at her lips long enough that her lipstick was gone, and she somehow gave off the impression of chewing her nails as well, despite never actually doing it. It was a talent, Darcy mused.

“They’ll be fine,” Eric put in from where he was seated, largely ignoring the tension in the room. “Thor and Bruce are both functionally invulnerable. And with his accelerated healing, Steve might as well be, too.”

“Tony’s not,” Jane put in, glancing Darcy’s way.

Darcy shrugged, aiming for nonchalant and missing by a mile, given that she had been biting her nails. “Tony’s like a cockroach. Nothing ever actually kills him.”

Jane just shifted closer on the desk they were perched on, leaning into Darcy’s side and lacing their fingers together.

“Oh!” Betty’s startled exclamation coincided with the image on the screen shifting to new video taken on someone’s phone. The videographer, whoever they were, was possibly suicidal and definitely an idiot to be that close to where the Hulk was wrecking havoc.

“Hey, the pants are holding up!” Darcy didn’t bother to check which of the Indistinguishable Back Up Nerds had spoken – it was probably Kevin, he was heading up the materials science group that had worked on the new polymer in Bruce’s shorts.

“Did they really have to be purple?” Eric asked. “It’s… pretty lurid.”

“Yes,” answered probably-Kevin, “yes they did. The purple was… oh, shit.”

The cell video had turned sickeningly away from the Hulk to focus on the high perch across the street where Clint, it was clearly Clint, tiny at this distance but the tac vest was distinctive, as was the blond hair, and there was someone on his perch with him, why was someone up there, that wasn’t Nat, that wasn’t any of the Avengers and suddenly Darcy couldn’t breath as the two tiny figures closed, could be seen fighting for just an instant before the Hulk was once again filling the frame.

Clint would be fine. Sure he was better at long range but he was a nasty fighter up close and could handle himself fine, and Darcy’s fingers were aching, she had Jane’s hand and was holding on too tight and she really needed to let go before she hurt Jane, but Jane was just squeezing back, grip almost as tight as the screen switched back to the anchor’s serious face, his voice droning on, over analyzing the all of forty-seconds of video.

“Can I just say that I hate this?” Darcy almost didn’t recognize her own voice, drawn tight with stress.

Betty’s smile was decidedly wry as she said, “Welcome to the worst club in the Initiative.”

“I’m not… we’re not even dating,” Darcy protested.

“Sure, we know,” Jane said.

Betty nodded. “Doesn’t mean it’s not still terrifying.”

“This sucks. This seriously sucks. This right here is why I don’t do relationships.”

“Yes, this is clearly the reason,” Eric said, tone dry. “Because all relationships come with the fear that your partner might get injured while saving the world.”

Darcy almost smiled at that, her death grip on Jane’s hand easing. “Hey, hey, who signed off on your sass? Remember, it was discussed in the meeting last week, all sass must be approved in advance with form 10-B-16.”

“You know I never pay attention in those meetings…”

***

Three hours later, Darcy found herself on the Avengers side of the building, a sheaf of paperwork in her hands that was definitely, really quite critical. Really. The paperwork was absolutely why she was loitering around in the hallway outside the Avenger’s debriefing room; it had nothing whatsoever to do with the team having returned twenty minutes before.

“You know you don’t actually have clearance to sneak in there, right?” Clint’s voice from behind made Darcy startle, although she managed not to drop any of the papers.

“What? Oh, no, Clint, hi, no, what? I wasn’t…” Darcy turned, and there he was; he’d changed out of his tactical gear into jeans and a hoodie, hair wet from a fast shower, and it looked like a substantial bruise might be forming on his cheekbone but he didn’t seem to actually mind. “You’re not in debrief? I thought you’d be…”

“Debrief got delayed,” and how, exactly, had Darcy failed to notice Tony standing right there. “Somebody had to stop by medical and get checked out.”

“You went to medical?”

“I’m fine, Darcy.”

“No, but, I mean, you actually went, voluntarily?”

Tony snorted. “No, not so much. Capsicle had to insist. And then escort.”

“You know, you can head on in to debrief any time, Stark,” Clint said.

“Sure, I can, but I’d much rather…”

“Come on, Tony,” Steve had come up the hall behind them, and now set his hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Let’s go inside. I want to talk about that assist you gave me – worked great, but I bet we could manage it more smoothly if we add it into our training routine. Clint, five minutes. The sooner we get the debrief started, the sooner we’re done.”

“Cap, can’t I just…” Tony started, but when Steve tugged lightly on his shoulder, Tony’s objection died off and he followed Steve inside.

“… Medical?” Darcy asked as the door closed behind them.

“Seriously, I’m fine. Ended up in close quarters and you know Steve, he’s a worrier.”

She eyed him dubiously. “So, you’re saying if I poked you hard in the ribs right now…”

“I’d stop you, because I just got out of the field and that’s not nice, but my ribs aren’t broken, if that’s what you’re getting at. Nothing is. Some bruising, but that’s just life.”

“I hate to break it to you, circus boy, but bruises aren’t actually ‘just life’ for most people.”

“Since when are we most people?” Clint stepped forward, moving into Darcy’s personal space and cutting off her retort. “Seriously, Darce, it’s sweet you’re worried, but I’m fine.”

“Worried, who’s worried?” Darcy started, looking away, but she stopped when he reached over and touched her cheek, guiding her gaze back to him. “I… It… There was a video. A clip. We saw the guy you were fighting on the roof. But it… the video cut out. You were alone up there.”

Clint smiled faintly. “Not for long, and he wasn’t the kind of guy I’d need back up against, anyway. I promise, Darcy. I’m ok.”

“All right. Sure. Yeah, of course you’re fine.”

“But I’d be better if we could do dinner.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And you can double check for yourself I’m ok; count my bruises.”

Darcy smiled, the tightness in her chest easing at last. “You just want an excuse to play Doctor.”

“Never need an excuse,” he said with a wink. “Come on. I’ve got to get into the meeting, but I’ll come find you later.”

“Deal.”

***

It was several hours later when Clint finally made it over to the science wing of the building, and Darcy was more than ready to not be here anymore. While she’d been more productive after the Avengers had returned than before, it was a little like saying that molded plastic was softer than a brick – technically true but still not useful.

“You ready to blow this popsicle stand?” she asked, already saving her spreadsheet and starting to close programs down. “And what’s with the tactical gear? You changed back?”

“Hmmm?” Clint asked, glancing down at himself. “Oh, yes. We were running a few new drills.”

“Testing that move Steve mentioned? Tony’s thing?”

“Yes, that was the one.”

She smiled. “Guess the bruises really can’t be that bad if Steve’s already letting you in training.”

“You should never doubt me, clearly. Now. Dinner. I wanted to know if you have a place in mind?”

Darcy shrugged. “I’m agreeable. Hero’s choice.”

“Wonderful. Then,” Clint paused, just a second, head tilted as he considered, “I shall go change and we can go.”

“I’ll be ready.” Catching his hand, she pulled him down for a quick kiss. “Be fast. I still want to check your bruises…”

“Of course.” Clint’s grin was rakish as he turned to go, and Darcy leaned back in her chair, relaxing as her computer powered down. The bruise on his cheek hadn’t looked as bad as earlier; clearly she’d over reacted.

It was less than five minutes before Clint was back, once again wearing his jeans and hoodie, and Darcy couldn’t help grinning. “That was fast. Guess I’m pretty inspiring…”

Clint cocked his head at her, looking confused for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, the offer to play Doctor definitely got me moving the moment Cap let us go from the meeting. How do you feel about Chinese? Am seriously craving wontons.”

“Sure, works for me.”