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Darcy Lewis Coulson-Barton squinted down at the notes she’d copied out onto her wrist. She probably should have just memorized the speech, but she really didn’t give a shit about this whole matchmaker thing. Honestly, what was the point? To find a “suitable” match, which really just meant “arranged marriage that is socially beneficial only if you paid the matchmaker enough money.” Screw that noise, Darcy was positive that anyone who was considered a catch would be two things: unspeakably boring and not at all appreciative of her many virtues. Such as stubbornness, proficiency with a bow (thanks to Clint, best dad ever), proficiency in self-defense (thanks to Phil, also best dad ever. Darcy was a lucky girl, okay?), and attitude.
Sighing, she tugged her sleeve over the notes. She shouldn’t complain; her dads were very proud their baby girl was finally going to find her match. It was the Done Thing, here, and Clint especially was always worried that they caused her a disadvantage by being, well, them.
Why he thought being the daughter of two war heroes was a disadvantage, Darcy had never really figured out.
Still, it wasn’t fair. Clint and Phil hadn’t met through a matchmaker; they’d caused a huge scandal, gotten kicked out of the army, and proceeded to save the country, instead. They were more than happy together, was the thing. And Darcy didn’t feel like she could live up to that. She wanted... well, she wanted to live her life, first of all. Go on adventures, kiss a few boys. Then maybe decide on where to go from there.
But she’d try. She owed her dads that much, she thought.
Although speaking of…
“Shit!” Darcy grabbed the teapot (which had finally boiled) and sprinted out of the house. Phil would be up at the shrine, she could make sure he got the tea that the doctor had prescribed and hopefully she wouldn’t be too unspeakably late.
The smell of incense drifted out from the family shrine. It was a peaceful scene, at least until Darcy skidded in, nearly dropping the teapot and definitely dropping the cup she’d brought.
Phil caught the delicate porcelain before it could smash on the ground and raised an eyebrow at his wayward daughter. “Shouldn’t you have left by now?”
“Fifteen minutes ago.” Agreed Darcy cheerfully, setting down the teapot (thankfully with some care) and dropping a kiss onto Phil’s receding hairline. “Love you, wish me luck, I’m taking Steve.”
“Good luck.” Phil called after Darcy’s retreating figure. Shaking his head, he poured the (disgusting) medicinal tea and drank a cup, making a face at the gravestones. “See? She’s going to need all the help you can give her…”
Steve, wonderful, reliable, Steve, who always listened when Darcy needed to sneak out and complain to him and required only grooming, affection, and the occasional sugar lump in return, did not complain or shy away during Darcy’s very rushed application of the bridle and also didn’t dump her on the fast ride into town (hey, saddles took a while, okay? She was already late). This was generous of Steve, as the horse was not above landing her on her ass if he thought she deserved it.
Darcy reached the compound Clint and Jane were standing outside of in record time. Jane looked distracted and a little like she was up to something she shouldn’t be, but that was more or less completely normal so Darcy ignored it. Clint, on the other hand, was fidgeting, which was something he never, ever did. Darcy felt bad for being late immediately, so she swung off of Steve’s broad back and landed neatly, shoving the reigns at him and babbling excuses.
Seeing her, Clint relaxed. “It’s fine, Darce, I know you’re not exactly thrilled about this. Jane agreed to go through the process with you, since they don’t let men in, so I’m going to wait here with Steve.”
“Sure,” Darcy said, nodding and walking towards the door, “just leave me to the mercies of middle-aged women with nothing better to do with their lives than live vicariously through the torture of young ladies, such as myself, through cruel and unusual hairstyles.”
Steve whickered as if in agreement, but shut up as Clint slipped him a sugar cube and leaned against his bulk to wait.
Traitors, the both of them, Darcy decided, and walked in.
It was, in point of fact, horrible. The water for the bath was cold, not that she could complain with how late she was. Countless hands rapidly scrubbed her skin and hair, practically spinning her through a frankly-uncomfortable whirlwind of strangers and soaps and towels and layers of formal robes. Bad touch, Darcy thought giddily, and then made herself concentrate on the spot of air three inches in front of her nose instead of what was happening, because otherwise she was likely to accidentally ninja-throw someone. Caked on cosmetics, some last-minute accessories, and one hairstyle that had to be against the Geneva convention later, Darcy was declared finished.
Jane, apparently not paying attention to Darcy’s shell-shocked expression, descended immediately. “I brought you something, for luck!”
“I don’t think I want luck,” Darcy said faintly. “I’ll settle for surviving this experience, not getting any matches, and convincing my parents to let me go adventuring before settling down instead, thanks.”
Jane just shrugged at her, reaching over to adjust the sash that was currently preventing Darcy from breathing. Her adjustment didn’t do anything visually, but Darcy got a little bit more air with every shallow breath, so it was appreciated anyway. “That’s a kind of luck.”
“Since when do you believe in luck, anyway?” Darcy started to ask, but cut off as a small cage containing a cricket was thrust into her face.
She shot Jane a disbelieving look. “Seriously?”
“His name is Bruce,” said Jane calmly, shaking the cage gently to convince Darcy to take it. Which she did, but only because she was kind of concerned for what would happen to the cricket if Jane kept shaking but forgot to be gentle. Jane was great, but absent-minded and especially prone to forgetting the needs of the living. “He helps me with my equations, sometimes.”
“The cricket does advanced physics.” Darcy said, flatly.
Jane just nodded serenely, and – apparently satisfied because Darcy had accepted the stupid cricket – took her arm to lead her out to the line of other young ladies in town who had come of age this year. “He has solid theories.”
Darcy’s final thought before she walked through the matchmaker’s door was that her life was a special brand of crazy. She was right, of course, about the crazy. She was just a little bit wrong about the particular brand.
“Explain to me again,” said Phil in his reasonable-parent voice. Darcy winces. The reasonable parent voice was the worst. It meant that Darcy was in worlds of trouble, was responsible for getting herself there, and worst of all: that Phil was Disappointed. “How you managed to set the room on fire with a pot of tea.”
Clint’s holding back laughter, though, so clearly while they’re disappointed in her disastrous performance, they at least find it funny and/or impressive that she managed to cause such a ridiculous amount of damage in such little time.
“I didn’t,” she tells Phil, because it’s true. “He set the room on fire by knocking over the brazier over. I just tried to put it out with the tea that was in the teapot, because obviously fanning at it wasn’t going to do any good.”
“He knocked over the brazier because you threw him into it.”
“He was being a sleaze!” Darcy defended. She was so not ashamed of her actions, because fuck that, she was a person and she demanded to be treated as such. Generally, Phil and Clint were in agreement with her. It was entirely probable that Phil was just mad because a) he hadn’t heard the whole story yet (and upon hearing it, he was likely to try and limp his way back into town to bludgeon the matchmaker to death with his cane, which was why Darcy hadn’t told him yet) and b) he was more disappointed that she’d been so careless as to throw someone at the brazier without planning out the exact consequences of the move and nearly getting caught in the burning building.
It was actually thanks to Bruce that she’d gotten out, not that she was about to mention that to her dads, who probably didn’t need to know that Jane had seen fit to bestow upon her a cricket who actually did have a very good grasp of physics – fortunately including the parts that told you which part of the building was not going to collapse and therefore was safe to drag the unconscious form of the matchmaker out through.
Darcy crossed her arm over her chest and scowled at her Phil, both of them valiantly ignoring Clint’s attempts to not laugh. “He said, and I quote, that my chest was ‘suitable for raising sons,’ but my hips ‘left something to be desired.’ You’re damn right I threw him into the brazier.”
Phil’s eyes narrowed at the new information, and Clint immediately stopped laughing, tensing up.
“He said that.” said Phil in the dangerously flat tone that Darcy would, actual-facts, kill a man to learn. It wasn’t a question, but Darcy nodded anyway.
Clint sputtered something incoherent and made to rise from the table, but Phil reached out and grabbed his sleeve, lightning-fast. Then he winced at the movement, and Darcy could actually see the moment that most of the fight left Clint, replaced with concern for his husband. It was actually nauseatingly sweet, and if she weren’t used to this she might be concerned.
As it was, she took advantage of the distraction to slip a couple grains of rice to Bruce, who was sitting in the pocket of her robes. The little cricket had saved her life, feeding him seemed like the least she could do.
Clint and Phil had a silent conversation using only eye contact and tiny, tiny twitches. Darcy had grown up with these conversations being carried on over her head, so she definitely knew when one was happening, but she wasn’t fluent in Clint-and-Phil by any means. They came to an agreement, and turned to face her again.
“Darcy,” Clint began, “I’m really sorry if you feel like we’ve pushed you into this…”
There was probably more, but Clint didn’t get to finish, because someone was banging at the door to their compound. Loudly.
Darcy glanced out the window at the pouring rain, considered how wet the person at the door probably was by now, and got up to answer the door.
“Phil, you know Darcy’s just concerned about us…”
“Yeah, Clint, I know. But she doesn’t need to worry – the emperor will put me in a command position, or middle management, or something else. Not the front lines, not after the last war. He didn’t call for you at all, so it can’t be that bad, right?”
“… It’s possible you don’t remember how much trouble we got into the last time.”
“No, no, I remember exactly how much trouble we got into the last time. That’s why I think it’s not that bad if he’s not calling you in.”
“Phil…”
Darcy leaned back on her heels (very, very quietly, because her dads were both freaky ninjas who had always been able to tell when she was sneaking around) outside of the door, listening.
It wasn’t that she didn’t understand that the emperor’s summons – a conscription, really – and she knew that Phil, representing the Coulson family, wouldn’t be sent into the field with his injury. She also knew that Clint hadn’t been summoned (presumably due to a combination of his family name never actually being in any imperial records in the first place), so both of her parents were safe.
Well, as safe as anyone was, with the Huns invading.
So yeah, it really wasn’t that she didn’t get that there was minimal danger in letting her dad go. He’d be fine, and the war could probably use his help. But dammit, Darcy had his last name – both their last names, actually – and she wanted… she wanted adventure. She wanted to make something of herself. It wasn’t like she couldn’t hold her own in a fight, joining the army illicitly as a man on Phil’s behalf was actually probably going to be cake, compared to some of the trouble she’d gotten into with Jane over the years. At least this way she’d understand all of the words.
Darcy nodded to herself, newly determined in her goal, and crept silently away from the door.
Bruce chirped at her disapprovingly in the mirror.
“Hush, you.” Darcy told him, attempting to even the ends of her hair. Chopping most of it off with a knife? Not as easy as the bards would have you think. “I know you think it’s a terrible plan doomed to failure, but it’s my terrible plan doomed to failure.”
She paused, considered the craziness of talking to the cricket, realized that the cricket had saved her life earlier and also was one of the more intelligent beings in the town, all things considered, and decided, fuck it all. Go big or go home. She and this cricket? They were gonna be great friends.
“Does this look okay in the back?” She asked, and smiled when the cricket very clearly heaved a sigh and nodded.
“Great. Next step, figure out how to fit Phil’s old armor over my boobs. Actually, next step, figure out how to hide the boobs, okay, one crying shame coming right up.”
Clint and Phil woke up the next morning to a light drizzle, the hairpin Clint had given Darcy for her birthday where Phil’s conscription order had been the night before, no trace of Phil’s armor or Clint’s second-favorite bow, and a missing horse.
“Dammit.” Said Clint, with feeling, and Phil could only nod in agreement, suddenly exhausted and leaning heavily on his cane.
Pepper woke up with a headache. This was, unfortunately, normal. The afterlife, as they say, is kind of a bitch. She peered down, her ethereal form invisible to her descendent, praying for the second day in a row for his daughter.
Darcy wasn’t a descendent of the Coulson line, not by blood, so Pepper wasn’t automatically as attached to the girl as she tended to be about everyone else she was related to. She was the First Ancestor, and she had had a lot of descendants to keep an eye on over the centuries. Still, Phil had stood out more or less since birth, and as Darcy had grown up Pepper had started to become genuinely fond of her.
Phil had broken out the good incense, though, so something was up. She paid attention, and when Phil finally left, she reached out and smacked Tony off of his perch and into wakefulness.
“Whoa! Geez, hey, okay, I’m up, shit, did you really have to do that? Again?”
Pepper glared at him. “Just ring the damn gong, okay? Family meeting time.”
“Sure thing, Mizz Bossy Pants, I will get right on that. Cover your delicate ears because WAKE UP PEOPLE IT IS NO LONGER SLEEPY TIME, C’MON, C’MON, THINGS TO DO PEOPLE TO SEE ARE YOU AWAKE YET?”
Had any of them been corporeal any longer, Pepper was positive Tony would have gotten pegged with something that hurt in the process of waking the other ancestors. It was a satisfying thought, actually.
Pepper had ruled the ancestors of the Coulson line for many, many more decades than she cared to count with an iron fist and delicate smile, so the meeting went fairly smoothly, barring a few disruptions. But hey, when you were dead, you took your kicks where you could.
“So it’s settled,” Pepper said primly, sitting on her tombstone with her hands folded in her lap. “We’ll send a Guardian after her and hope it all works out.”
“Oh hey,” said Tony, letting off a few sparks in his excitement. “I could totally-“
“No, Tony.” Pepper said at the same time that Rhodey lobbed his head at Tony, muttering something about not repeating mistakes. “Go wake the Great Stone Dragon. We need the big guns on this one, if Darcy’s childhood adventures are anything to go by.”
“Great Stone Dragon, really, I mean, what’s so great about it? Bet he’s a boring old dragon with fire, I mean, that was fine and dandy for the stone age, but we want the bigger guns here, right, and that’s gonna start with some electric energy up in this mess, so really, just, just fuck the Great Stone fucking Dragon and I- oh, um, whoops. Shit.”
Darcy finally managed to light her fire, after twenty six tries and no small amount of incredulous looks from Bruce. Pleased with her success, she sat back on her heels and put the small pot of soup on her jury-rigged grill to warm up.
Five minutes later, with nothing to do except watch Bruce draw out equations in the dirt, Darcy found herself reconsidering her life plans. She couldn’t do this, oh god, what was she thinking? Her dads were the war heroes (or they would be, if it wasn’t for the whole massive scandal thing), she was just a girl who could boss people around and more or less reliably defend herself.
Just as she was spiraling into a really excellent bout of self-doubt and pity, she was interrupted.
“Ancestors above, girl, are you seriously planning to go to war armed like this? This armor has fucking holes in it, oh my god I’ve just met you and I already know that you’re going to die and I’ll never get my job back and…”
The voice was coming from Steve, which was stupid because Steve was many wonderful things, but a talking horse? Not one of them. Darcy was also pretty sure that Steve would be more polite if he could talk. He was a nice horse.
She crept over and peeked around Steve’s legs to see a small, red and gold lizard-creature sorting through her equipment. It was throwing off crackling blue energy at random intervals, Darcy assumed out of agitation.
“Uh.” Said Darcy, which is an appropriate response when faced with a tiny dragon ranting about your sub-par equipment.
“And these arrows, oh no no noooooo, we’ll have to do better than that. We can make them do much more damage than a boring old stick, yes we can. I am going to kit you out properly before you go to war.” The dragon looked up and shook an arrow at Darcy emphatically. “Where’s the nearest blacksmith?”
“It’s a day’s ride in the wrong direction.” Darcy replied, still too shocked to do more than numbly accept what was happening. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Who the fuck am I?” The dragon’s voice rose an octave, indignant, but it was at least distracted from messing around with her stuff. “I am your guardian, the great and powerful… Tony!”
He struck a pose.
Darcy, Steve, and Bruce stared.
Tony sighed, waved a claw dismissively, and explained. “Your- well, Phil’s – ancestors sent me to keep an eye on you, Pepper – she’s the First Ancestor – didn’t want you out of your depth and she’s always liked Phil, so. Here I am. Ta-da. Now, introduce me to your… what is this, your cow?”
Steve was a very patient horse, but apparently Tony pushed all of his buttons wrong, because he kicked dirt at the dragon’s face with unerring accuracy.
“That’s Steve.” Darcy provided, and then added helpfully: “He’s a horse.”
Bruce chirped something, and Tony swung quickly to look down at him, a toothy, delighted grin splitting his features. “A cow and a physicist cricket who is just about the least lucky cricket you will ever meet? I can’t decide if you suck at choosing true companions or if you’re secretly very good at it.”
“Big words, coming from a lizard.”
“Excuse you, I am a dragon. DRA-GON. Company the likes of which you never dreamed of keeping, puny mortal!”
Darcy gave up. All of Phil’s lessons in diplomacy were shriveling up and dying in the face of Tony. All that remained was Clint’s cheerful sarcasm and, okay, at least some of the manners that Phil had ingrained in her from the time she could talk.
Clearly, she just had to accept that her guardian… dragon was here to stay, and deal with it as best she could.
“Would you like some soup?”
Tony spent the next day’s ride alternating between being irritating (which at least distracted Darcy from her growing dread about arriving at the army camp) and quietly messing around with her stuff. Bruce seemed to be helping, and every so often Tony’s voice would rise excitedly and Bruce would chirp and a small explosion would occur. Steve was surprisingly placid about this, not even flinching when a part of his tail was singed off except to snap irritably at Tony’s tail in revenge. Darcy supposed this meant that Steve was going to be a very good horse to have in the heat of battle.
Darcy, for her part, mostly ignored the explosions in favor of trying not to psych herself out about how she was going to fit in with the other recruits, who would be, you know, actually men. She’d been raised by two of them, so she knew how men acted, but that didn’t mean she was looking forward to living with so many of them.
Finally, a few hours before sunset, they crested a hill and reached the sprawling training camp. Darcy dismounted, made sure Tony and Bruce were stashed away in her armor in a way that was least likely to end up with Tony’s claws sunk into her skin if she moved wrong, and led Steve through the camp.
“Remember,” Tony’s voice hissed from her shirt. “You’re a man. Burp loudly, make rude jokes, comment on women’s breasts, and whatever you do, do not get hit in the crotch and forget to fall over writhing in pain for at least the next six minutes.”
Darcy rolled her eyes, but she also widened her stance and swung her shoulders more as she walked to the line of soldiers waiting to sign in. Hopefully, she’d manage to fool everyone for the entirety of the war, because if she didn’t… well, her dads might have gotten kicked out of the army over their scandal, but she was pretty sure she was going to get executed over hers.
Unfortunately, Darcy was so busy concentrating on perfecting her man-walk that she stepped on another soldier’s foot. Who promptly turned around and punched her in the face.
Or, well, he tried to, but Darcy had a lifetime of Phil patiently folding her fingers into proper fists and Clint sneak-attacking her until she could flip him over her shoulder without spilling the bucket of water she was carrying on her side, so she acted without thinking. The soldier went flying, landed in the mud, and stared at her.
Darcy stared back, hoping she hadn’t just fucked up her chance at, well, everything. At last, the soldier’s face creased into a smile and he burst out laughing. Darcy grinned as well, and walked forward a couple steps to offer her hand.
The solider accepted Darcy’s hand up, still grinning at her. The smile was only a little bit terrifying.
“I like you, newbie.” He said, keeping her hand to give it a firm shake. “I’m Marius.”
“I’m-“ started Darcy, and received a claw to the shoulder for her trouble while Tony frantically hissed in her ear middle name, middle name! She cleared her throat and tried again, an octave lower this time. “I’m Lewis. Hey, could you teach me that punch? I mostly know defensive stuff, and that looked like it would hurt if it had connected.”
Marius slung an arm over her shoulder. “If you teach me that throw, sure. Here, let’s go get you introduced to the boss-man, and then I’ll introduce you to the guys.”
Darcy grinned, and surreptitiously smacked Tony for his muttered comments about this being too easy.
Darcy’s commanding officer was named Thor. He was very tall, very blond, very muscular, and very loud.
“Lewis Coulson.” She introduced herself, forging Clint’s handwriting (much sloppier than her own, or Phil’s) for her signature.
The advisor in charge of paperwork, a slim, dark haired man named Loki, frowned at her signature.
“The summons was for Phillip Coulson.” He said, sounding disapproving.
“Yes, well, I’m his son.” Darcy said, wondering where this was going. Probably nowhere good, unfortunately.
“I see,” said Loki, voice giving nothing away but eyes full of poison. “I apologize, I was not aware that he had a son, given his… unfortunate situation.”
Darcy ground her teeth and managed to keep her voice steady against her anger when she replied. “I’m adopted.”
Fortunately, this was where Thor’s extraordinarily large voice came in handy.
“You are a Son of Coul?” He boomed. “That is most fortuitous! My father has a great many tales of the exploits of yours! Welcome, Friend Lewis!”
He beamed at her, not unlike a puppy, and Darcy found herself smiling back.
Marius grabbed her again as soon as her registration was done.
“Phil Coulson is your father and you ‘mostly know defensive stuff’?” he hissed as he dragged her through the rows of tents, expertly cutting through the scattered clumps of men playing cards, practicing fighting and – ew – cleaning their toes. “Lewis, your father taught my father that punch!”
Darcy shrugged and hoped her lie was convincing as she said, “I think he just hoped there wouldn’t be another war, you know? He wanted me to be an accountant.”
Marius looked like maybe he wanted to say something to that, but theyd’a pparently reached their destination. Two stone-faced men sat across a make-shift table from each other, playing cards. They were both built on small and trim lines, and matching looks of frightfully practiced blankness covered their faces. The difference lay first in their hair – dark and straight on one, brilliantly red and curling on the other. A third man, with wavy brown hair slouched on the far side of the table from Darcy, apparently out for this round of the game.
“Hey guys,” Marius said, interrupting the staring contest masquerading as a car game. “This is Lewis. Coulson’s kid.”
That earned her a set of calculating looks, before the redhead smiled, sharp and terrifying, and – strangely – welcoming. “Hi Lewis. I’m Nathanial – call me Nat.”
Darcy shook the offered hand, making sure to do the stupid I’m-squeezing-harder-than-you thing thanks to Tony’s annoying hissing in her ear.
Marius pointed first to the guy with the brown hair, whose smile was significantly less terrifying than Nat’s, and then to the dark haired one, who didn’t smile at all. “That’s Patrick, and August – Gus.”
“Hey,” said Darcy, and then she swallowed down all her nerves and broke out her best shit eating grin (which was pretty excellent, due in part to growing up with Clint was an authority figure), “so, what are we playing?”
Several weeks passed. Odin – Thor and Loki’s father, and the general of Darcy’s company – left to answer an urgent alert of enemy activity and took most of the army with him, leaving the recruits in Thor’s capable (and very large) hands.
Training under Thor was brutal, but not impossible. Every day was running with weights, sparing with hands and swords and staves, throwing knives into targets and shooting arrows through apples and then into targets. It was hard work, and there was a lot of it, but it wasn’t like Darcy was starting from scratch.
Not that she ever managed to the best at, well, anything, in any case. Nat routinely scored the highest in throwing knives and tied with Patrick for arrows (Darcy consistently coming in third by practically hairlengths). Gus had, by the second week, kicked literally everyone’s (including Thor’s) asses in hand-to-hand and staff fighting, although Marius and the crazy guy who outran everyone on the marathons with the weights both managed to flip him with swords.
The crazy guy who outran everyone on the marathons and the weights turned out to be named Sif. He was closer to Thor than to the rest of what Darcy was starting to think of as “her” group, but he was still amazingly fun to drink with (particularly because Nat and Gus seemed to be incapable of getting drunk) so he was definitely welcome.
The other soldiers seemed intimidated by their group, but that was clearly because they’d never seen Marius burst out laughing when Nat actually feel one day and landed in mud up to his elbows, or actually listened to Gus’s deadpan sense of humor (Darcy couldn’t help but think he’d get along with Phil), or convinced Patrick to teach them to pick pockets and then try out the new skill on Loki (contents of his pockets: three pens, four crumpled sheets of paper, some sealing wax, eight daggers, an ominous-looking vial of bright green liquid, and finally a note that said “stop and give it back”).
In fact, the only other solider out of the recruits who seemed willing to talk to them was a totally inept trainee named Ian, who was terrible at everything that had to do with fighting but was at least trying to learn. That was actually why he approached them in the first place – he’d seen Gus teaching Darcy the throw he’d used to take her down (again) in training that day, and wanted to learn.
After a couple of weeks, Darcy was pretty sure that he probably wouldn’t die in a real battle, which was good, because he was cute and it’d be a shame if those eyes ended up with an arrow sticking out of one of them.
But, the point was, Darcy was having enormous amounts of fun, despite all the hard work. She finally had friends (plural! Who didn’t talk her ear off about physics all the time!) and she was pretty competent at the whole ‘being in the army’ thing, if not as amazing as the aforementioned friends.
She also had some extra help. Bruce and Tony had quickly become frighteningly close accomplices, which fortunately meant that Darcy didn’t get as many claws dug into her shoulders – but unfortunately meant that more of her weapons were suddenly super-charged. You wouldn’t have thought that this would be a problem, but when you weren’t expecting it, a bolt of lightning coming out of your sword would do you more damage than it did your opponent.
(The time she accidentally knocked Thor out cold was particularly memorable, though. Darcy was going to treasure that mental picture in her old age, she just knew it.)
So life went on. Training happened, she and her friends steadily became more badass, Ian got maybe a tiny bit badass in the first place, Thor was loud and cheerful, Loki was snide and kind of a douche, and every few days Darcy would hatch a plot with Tony or Nat (or once, Sif. That had been a good day.) to bring him down a couple of pegs.
It was going really well, until…
Well, until.
“This marching thing?” Darcy muttered bitterly out of the corner of her mouth to Nat, “Is not at all what I pictured when I hitched up. This is boring.”
Nathanial was wearing his carefully blank face that meant he was actually sniggering meanly on the inside, so Darcy felt justified in glaring at him.
“Oh, hey, it’s not that I’m not happy to being going off to do something useful rather than climbing poles with weights attached to my limbs – still not sure how you managed to get up there that fast, by the way, since I know for a fact that Loki greased the damn thing – I just really hate the ‘getting there’ part.”
Steve, who was the strongest of the horses who had come with the recruits (there weren’t that many – most families preferred to keep their animals to work the farms when their sons had to go to war) and was therefore tasked with pulling the cart of explosives, snorted expressively into her hair.
Darcy was pretty sure that Tony was somewhere in there, which was worrying, but at least she was also pretty sure that Bruce was with him. Bruce did pretty good Tony-damage-control.
Patrick, who was driving the cart (which really just meant occasionally slipping Steve sugar cubes and scratching him behind the ears and watching while Steve then proceeded to do everything perfectly – seriously, Steve was Darcy’s horse, why was he so infatuated with Patrick?), echoed Steve’s snort, with less grace. “C’mon, Lewis, man up. It’s hundreds of miles, we’re gonna be marching for a while.”
“I’ll play ‘I spy’ with you,” offered Marius, jostling Darcy’s shoulder with a grin. “I spy something white.”
“Oh gee, is it the snow?” Darcy snarked back, but found herself smiling anyway.
“If only we could travel by montage…” Darcy said wistfully, not looking up at the sky because if she did, she was guaranteed to trip over a rock and fall in the mud.
Gus punched her in the shoulder – gently, by his standards – and threatened bodily harm if Darcy started singing.
Odin’s message had been fairly short, to the effect of, ‘if you think the recruits are ready we could use the help,’ with no real sense of urgency. So no one had really been expecting the utter devastation they found.
The village they were supposed to reach lay in smoldering ruin, a thick layer of ash already settled over the snow. There was no sign or sound of life, but Thor grimly ordered them to search anyway.
They went in pairs, just in case whoever had caused the destruction had stuck around. Darcy didn’t think they had – the burned shells of buildings suggested that the enemy had bigger things to conquer, further within their borders – but she didn’t argue. She didn’t really want to look around alone, that was for damn sure.
Gus knelt suddenly, scooping up a tiny scrap of color that had managed to escape the fires. Darcy recognized the object cradled in his hands as a child’s rag doll, and instantly felt sick. Gus just tucked the doll into a pocket, rubbed at his face (Darcy would deny ever seeing tears, because that’s what bros were for), and twisted his expression into something that featured a whole lot more blatant hatred and hardened anger than Darcy was used to seeing on a poker face that rivaled Phil’s.
She clasped a hand to Gus’s shoulder, anyway, because she needed the contact and knew Gus would at least accept it.
There was a shout from further along the mountain, and they both sprinted towards it, moment broken.
Odin was gone. The army had been annihilated. Darcy was pretty sure she was in shock. She suspected everyone else was, too, because Tony was poking his fool head out of her collar and no one was commenting on it. For once, her guardian was mercifully silent. Bruce chirped sadly, and Darcy absently stroked his antennae.
Thor knelt before the sword someone had shoved in the ground and placed his father’s helm on. Loki stood a bit further away, and did not look nearly as broken apart at the seams as Thor did.
No one else, except Sif, was anywhere close. Instead, they clumped together a respectful distance away and tried to comprehend the loss. Patrick squeezed Darcy’s arm when he and Nat returned, and Marius bumped their shoulders together gently. Nat just stood nearby and looked threatening, which was to be expected and more or less on par with outright offering a hug, for him.
Finally, Thor rose and turned away, signaling the army to fall in. Darcy ended up next to Sif on the next march and leaned in to ask him, “Any idea where we’re going?”
Sif just looked down at Darcy with eyes full of fire and said, “To find the ones who did this.”
“I think we fucking found them!” Darcy was yelling at Sif several hours later, when they were ambushed. Sif just gave a battle cry and chopped another guy’s head off, so Darcy decided to follow his example and grabbed for the sword she had grown competent at using in close combat.
There weren’t that many enemies, but they didn’t go down easy, and by the time it was over half the recruits were dead or injured. Darcy was guiltily relieved to see that her group had made it out relatively unscathed, though Ian had gotten an arm broken and Gus was limping from where he’d been stabbed in the leg.
Nat and Patrick fished Marius out of a snow drift, and they all turned to look expectantly at Thor. Darcy wasn’t sure what she had been expecting – maybe for him to look tired, or sad, or a little bit beaten at the number of people they had lost – but in retrospect she probably should have been expecting what she got: a steely look in his eyes and an expression that read nothing but anger and determination.
He didn’t actually give a rousing speech, which offended Tony’s sense of a proper narrative (a viewpoint the little dragon made perfectly clear with viciously muttered comments in Darcy’s ear), because he didn’t need to. Everyone was already the same kind of ready to go: exhausted but unwilling to stop now. They did what they could for the wounded, and continued up the mountain.
It was probably because they were expecting another sneak attack that they didn’t get one. Instead, they got Malekith himself standing on top of a ridge, taunting them, leading a huge army that Darcy knew they couldn’t hope to defeat. They had barely a dozen soldiers on their feet (plus Loki, Steve, Bruce, and Tony, but Darcy was pretty sure no one else was counting them) and able to hold a weapon, and everyone, even Nat, was starting to sag.
Still, there wasn’t anything to do but try, and at Thor’s echoing command they all took their positions.
Well, they almost all took their positions. Darcy was a good soldier, she tried hard, she followed orders, but she was also the daughter of Clint Barton and Phil Coulson and she knew exactly when it was time to say “fuck it” to orders and do what was actually going to help.
She broke ranks, sprinting for the one rocket she knew was left with Steve. She grabbed it, turned, and sprinted back, passing her friends and dodging Marius’s attempt to stop her. Twenty yards ahead, she dropped and aimed the rocket, lining up the shot carefully like Clint had taught her.
“Remember, baby girl, sometimes not hitting them can do you more good.”
Her fire kit was soaked from the snow and refused to light so much as a spark.
“Why are you aiming at the mountain, they are right there in front of you, they are getting closer every second, there is literally no way you could miss them so why are you not aiming for them?” Tony demanded in her ear, and she grinned suddenly, grabbing him and yanking, causing him to spark in indignation.
The fuse caught. Darcy made her finally check, and ducked down, peeking out from behind her fingers to watch the path of the rocket (listening to Tony’s shrieking – “How could you miss him he was three feet from yooouuuuuuu?” – as he was carried away by the rocket was just a bonus). She grinned.
A large hand landed on her shoulder and she registered Thor glaring down at her before there was the echoing boom of an explosion. Everyone, even the enemy, turned to look as the booming didn’t stop, just got louder and turned into an ominous rumble.
The mountain started to fall. Darcy didn’t think, just grabbed Thor by the hand on her shoulder and yanked him around, sprinting all-out towards the cover she could see the rest of the men (and thank the ancestors they had some sense) already scrambling for. An arrow caught her in the side, and she stumbled, but fortunately Thor had caught on and just continued dragging her down the side of the mountain.
They were only a few feet away from cover when the avalanche caught up. Fortunately, it was also the point where Steve reached them, having gotten free of whoever was holding him. The big horse scooped Darcy up onto his back and kept galloping, trying to reach Thor before he disappeared into the snow.
They didn’t quite make it, and were also swept away by the avalanche, Steve frantically attempting to keep his balance in the churning snow. Reaching Thor, Darcy somehow managed to haul him up with her (how, she was not exactly sure, because he was easily three times her size), but there was no way they were going to get to the overhang the rest of the unit was using for shelter before they went over the cliff.
‘Well,’ Darcy found herself thinking as she clung to Steve’s mane, ‘at least I tried. Also, I’m pretty sure Malekith is dead, that must count for something, Dads’ll be proud…’
Her mental voice was cut off as an arrow landed in her arms, a sturdy line of rope attached. She grabbed onto it frantically, and then noticed that the rope wasn’t taught. Whoever had shot the arrow hadn’t managed to keep ahold of the other end. Fuck.
But Clint’s second-favorite bow was still miraculously attached to Steve’s saddle, so she notched the arrow and sent it back, making sure to nab the end of the rope and tie it as securely to Steve and Thor as she could before hanging on for dear life.
They went over the cliff and then just – stopped. The avalanche thundered down around them, gradually ending. When everything was silent, Darcy risked looking up. Nat’s triumphant face grinned down at her, holding the rope. Someone else was holding Nat, and Darcy was pretty sure that it totaled to everyone holding on, because there was no way two people (one of them, well, Thor-sized) and a horse were being suspended from the cliff otherwise. Frankly, she was impressed with the rope, and her hasty job of knotting it.
Still, they were alive. Darcy grinned back, and tried not to move too much as they were slowly dragged back to the top.
Patrick patched up her arrow wound. Darcy had really been hoping that it wasn’t anything to worry about, as there was no good excuse for keeping her shirt on to treat an injury to her side, but the red soaking through her shirt was immediately noticeable, and a cause for worry. Darcy, of course, was worried for a whole slew of reasons that started with “fuck, an arrow went through my side I hope it didn’t hit anything vital” and went right on up to “fuck, they’re going to know I’m a chick oh god I’m going to get executed.”
But Patrick had just gently cut her shirt away, cleaned everything up, and stitched her skin back together (which was kind of gross but also kind of super cool). There was still no way he could have missed the fact that Darcy had boobs, though, so she took a breath to start explaining and was preemptively interrupted by Patrick saying quietly, in a voice higher than Darcy was used to hearing, “So, I’m assuming it’s safe to tell you that my name is actually Peggy.”
Darcy blinked. She squinted at Patrick – Peggy? – and tilted her head at a couple different angles.
“Wow.” She said at last, “I so did not see that coming.”
Peggy snorted at her, and then added, “You shouldn’t really be twisting around much, so I should also offer to do your binding for you for the next while.”
“Sure,” Darcy shrugged and immediately regretted it. “The more the merrier, right?”
“If only you knew…” said Peggy, and that was unfortunately when Thor burst into the tent.
He only blinked at the two of them, Peggy attempting to shield Darcy’s torso from view and not actually succeeding very well due to the angle.
At a much lower volume than Darcy was used to from Thor, he said, “Thank you for what you did today, Lewis. I am sorry I nearly yelled at you when I thought you had missed the shot.”
Darcy grinned recklessly up at him. If he hadn’t commented yet, she wasn’t gonna bring it up. “Hey, I never miss. Take after my dad.”
Thor smiled down at her. “I suppose you do. Get some rest, and put a shirt on before you join the others.”
Then he left, and Darcy and Peggy stared at each other incredulously.
“Did that just happen, or a I still high on adrenaline?” Darcy asked seriously, and Peggy shook her head, suddenly trying to hide a smile.
“You know, I’ve just realized that Thor and Sif spend an awful lot of time together and Loki gives them dirty looks, like he knows something but they’ve got something over him.”
“You mean, you think Sif is…?”
“Yep.” Peggy nodded. She got to work on Darcy’s shirt before anyone else could barge in. “In fact, I think we might outnumber the ones who are actually, you know.”
Darcy laughed so hard that Peggy had to check and make sure she hadn’t pulled any stitches.
Loki must have found out somehow, because when Darcy and Peggy emerged from the tent he was waiting, and did something complicated with a knife that ended in Darcy’s shirt on the ground in pieces. Her bandages were thankfully intact, but she’s still pretty clearly got boobs and there was no denying it when the advisor smirked nastily and starts in on what sounds like a prepared speech on how he had suspected all along, what with her father…s… being the way they were.
Peggy looked horrified, but quickly covered it with a slightly different expression of horror more befitting Patrick. Darcy was starting to be able to tell the difference, to see the seams like she had between herself and ‘Lewis.’
Thor was stuck, though, with the public reveal. He couldn’t pretend that he didn’t know, but he could avoid executing her, thank the ancestors, citing the excuse that she saved his life. He looked angry, but it was for show – she could see that it didn’t reach his eyes, and Darcy was kind of startled to realize that she considered him a friend.
Speaking of friends, she’d somehow wound up with the best set ever, because no sooner had Thor established that he wouldn’t execute any of the soldiers because they’ve all collectively saved each other’s asses like five times today and he can’t be bothered to keep track than Patrick stepped forward and said, clearly and in Peggy’s sweet, confident voice, “You’ll have to banish both of us, then.”
Loki’s eyes bugged out and he made an awkward squawking noise that Darcy was going to treasure into her old age. Thor looked surprised. Then he shook his head.
“At least tell us your names? Your real names, so that I may know who, precisely, should go down in history for bravery today.”
“Darcy Coulson-Barton.” Darcy said, and then added impulsively to Loki, with a smirk that’s probably mean but she can’t resist, “Living up to the names of both of my Dads, I hope.”
Peggy almost laughed at that, lips twisting up at the corners but pressed together in the middle in a clear attempt to keep her composure. “I’m Peggy Carter.”
“Natasha Romanov.” Said Nathanial, and everyone got whiplash turning to look at him. He shrugged, and in the movement shifted something in his face. Suddenly, Natasha was there instead, glaring out at the world and seeming a lot more deadly than Nathanial ever was.
Marius, standing next to Nat, rolled his eyes, and stepped forward into parade rest. “Maria Hill.”
There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Maria stepped on Gus’s foot. He glared at her, but his usual cool, blank poker-face returned back quickly, spoiled by a hint of a smirk. “Melinda May.”
“I kept my name.” Sif said evenly, glaring at Loki, “it just seemed like less of a hassle.”
“Oh my god,” Ian managed, sounding strangled in ways that probably had little to do with his broken arm. “Am I the only one here who’s not secretly a girl?”
“Steve’s actually a stallion,” Darcy provided helpfully, and was rewarded with Peggy’s peal of laughter and smiles and smirks from the rest of her friends, depending on temperament.
Because policy says Thor can’t bring them back with him (policy actually says he’s supposed to behead them all, but Darcy’s pretty on-board with is different interpretation of events), they all get abandoned on the mountain as Thor, Ian, Loki, and the handful of remaining men who did not turn out to be secretly girls make their way to the capital to report their success to the emperor, and conveniently leave out the part where the half of the recruits who were the best at everything all turned out to be secretly girls. The capital is actually weirdly close to the mountains that Darcy had been pretty sure were at the border, but whatever, she sucks at navigation, that’s Gus’s job – er, May’s job.
Nat starts a fire and they all sit around it, a little bit awkward and starting to shiver. Darcy tucks herself up into Steve’s side, leaning on the horse and taking comfort in his warmth. Peggy joins her, because Steve really does like her and she seems fond of him as well.
“So,” says Darcy after a long, awkward silence, “I feel like that could have gone worse.”
She startles a laugh out of Natasha, which is novel and kind of awe-inspiring. It turns out they all look and sound a little different when they’re not playing pretend, higher voices and less guarded expressions (except for May, who never gives away anything she didn’t already want you to know, and Natasha, who seems to give away a lot but is really just hiding behind your expectations). They move differently, shoulders held at different angles, hips moving more, centers of balance kept lower. Darcy likes the change, she likes that her friends turned out to be so on her side that they’d all sacrifice their own charades.
She doesn’t know why they decided to go to war, but she decides that she doesn’t care. They kicked ass, that’s all that matters.
Tony, of course, chose this moment to appear, clambering up on Steve’s back and muttering darkly about getting flung at mountains to cause avalanches and no one even comes looking for him. Bruce crept out of Darcy’s pocket to chirp contentedly at Tony, who waved at him and continued passive-agressively chewing Darcy out.
There was a stunned silence from the rest of the group, and then May, of all people, started laughing. She fished in her armor and pulled out two dragons, each half Tony’s (already tiny) size. They were literally attached at the tail, and they moved together perfectly, giving identical nervous waves.
May got herself under control and managed to introduce them as FitzSimmons, not indicating which one was Fitz and which was Simmons. Tony introduced himself, in his usual obnoxious style, and then things got a little bit weird.
Sif, it turns out, was the only one without a Guardian, but that’s because she had the help of the ghost of Thor and Loki’s dead mother (which was less creepy than it sounds, because Frigga was awesome).
Maria introduced Sitwell, who quickly ended up in conversation with Tony and FitzSimmons regarding the best ways to trick people into blowing themselves up.
Chester, Peggy’s Guardian, projected grumpy-old-man who was used to being in charge, but seemed grudgingly fond of both Steve and Natahsa’s Guardian, James (who was immediately smitten with Steve, a thing both glorious and creepy to watch).
Darcy looked over her friends and the chaos they collectively had brought with them, and felt weirdly content, like she’d finally settled into her own life’s special brand of crazy.
Feeling content was probably a mistake, though, because that was when they noticed several survivors headed for the capital, Malekith in the lead.
Peering over the roof of a building overlooking the spectacular celebration of their victory, Darcy sighed. There was no way she was going to be able to make her way over to Thor to warn him about the danger, even if he did listen to her in the first place.
“There,” Natasha said, scaring the crap out of Darcy, who hadn’t noticed her arrival. She pointed at one of the paper dragons. “They’re sneaking in under that one.”
Darcy squinted. She couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. “How-?”
“There’s two more men under that dragon than the others, and they’re slightly out of step with everyone else. It’s that dragon.”
Darcy squinted again. “Okay,” she said, “so what’s our plan? Jump down into the crowd and attack that dragon?”
“That’s a terrible plan,” hissed Tony from underneath her simple robes, “and if I’m saying that, you’ve got a problem.”
“No,” Maria said, from Darcy’s other side, scaring the crap out of Darcy yet again. “They’re here to take over the palace. To do that, they’re going to have to kidnap the emperor. Once they’ve got him, there’s no way they’re going to be able to break through all of the spectators, so they’ll take the palace instead. It’s perfectly capable of standing up to months of siege, so we just have to sneak in after them, kick their asses, and save the day. Again. But this time maybe with credit.”
Darcy grinned at Maria. “I like your plans. Let’s get started.”
They tried to warn Thor anyway. It just seemed polite. So they sent Sif off, with Steve to help her get through the crowd, and then positioned themselves in the crowd, moving steadily closer to the stairs the parade would end halfway up.
It was amazing how easy it was to move through a crowd in a dress. No one paid any attention to you. (What was even more amazing was how efficiently May had obtained the dresses, and how Peggy had pulled a few stitches here and there until suddenly the dresses were easy to move in and able to be torn away if they were caught in something.)
As Maria had predicted, the dragon Natasha had pointed out exploded into movement. Two hulking figures grabbed the emperor, who managed to stab one of them but still got dragged into the palace, successfully kidnapped. The doors were barricaded shut: by the time Darcy and her crew reached the entrance, Thor’s remaining men had already started attempting to knock them down with a battering ram, but Maria had been right on all counts: the palace was built to withstand an invasion. They would have to be sneaky.
Ian noticed the women scaling the columns that lead to the roof, and nudged Thor’s shoulder, pointing with his non-broken arm. Thor just grinned at them, and waved at his men to continue attempting to break the door down. Even if it was pointless, it’d be a distraction while his best soldiers got in.
Sif gently (for her) shifted Ian out of his place at the battering ram next to Thor. Thor grinned over at her. “Thank you, shield-sister.”
She grinned back, “You’re welcome.”
It was kind of an anticlimactic fight. There were only a few enemies, scattered throughout the main wing of the palace, against five of them. Natasha and May took out most of them, and Maria managed to break Malekith’s hand before he could use it to publicly behead the emperor on the balcony overlooking the crowded square. He sent her crashing back into the wall, but turned when Darcy whistled loudly at him.
She grinned, the same triumphant expression she had worn when she buried most of his men on the mountain firmly pasted on her face. His eyes narrowed in hate and recognition.
“The soldier from the mountain.”
“Damn right.” Darcy responded, and threw her knife at his shoulder before scrambling up on the roof, hoping he would take the bait and follow.
He did, just as May broke the door down and she and Natasha scooped up Maria and the emperor and looped scarves around the strings that held up hundreds of paper lanterns to make their escape to ground level.
Darcy realized, belatedly, that she didn’t have a sword with her. Fortunately, she did have Tony, so she grabbed him and took careful aim.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, claws digging into her hand.
“Just go with it and give him all the electricity you’ve got, okay?” Darcy said, trying to cover up her panic with fake cheerfulness as Malekith stalked towards her. “Okay.”
She didn’t wait for an answer, just flung Tony as hard as she could at Malekith’s stupid face. Thankfully, he did manage to deliver a reasonably powerful shock, but then Malekith flung him off the roof and Darcy was alone with him, unarmed.
Almost alone, Bruce chirped in her ear frantically, and she started to smile. Almost unarmed.
She unfurled her fan, bright red and sparkling, just enough to distract him into stopping when he stabbed at her, hitting the fan instead. He froze, then smiled cruelly.
“You think some paper will stop me, little one?” he asked, making the duel mistakes of underestimating him and not moving his sword.
“No,” Darcy smiled sweetly up at him, and then snapped the fan shut and twisted with both hands, knocking Malekith’s grip loose and flinging him halfway down the roof. “But I think I can.”
He snarled at her, scrambling back up the roof, and she just barely managed to get the sword between them as he attacked. Gradually, he forced her to the far edge of the roof, and she braced herself as well as she could, leaning to the side to see around his bulk.
She was rewarded by a flashing light at the far tower, which held all of the fireworks for the celebration. She smiled up at Malekith, and then shoved, knocking him back just enough that she could use his sword to slash the lantern string closest to her and grab on, leaping off the roof just as Peggy lit the bundle of the strongest fireworks she could find, aimed straight at Malekith.
It was a beautiful display. Darcy was sorry to have missed it, because she was too busy screaming as the ground rushed up at her.
Thor caught her improbably neatly, and set her down on her feet next to her friends. Peggy was weaving her way through the crowd, and Natasha was pulling pieces of ornately-carved wall out of Maria’s back.
The emperor glared at everyone, and it only intensified when Peggy finally reached them. Darcy winced, and knelt along with everyone else in the courtyard, in the presence of Emperor Fury and his really intimidating, one-eyed glare.
“Darcy Coulson-Barton.” He said frostily, and she risked a glance up, because seriously how did he know her name? “When your fathers wrote me-“ ah, that was why “-a strongly-worded letter full of vague threats if you were not returned home safely, I could not believe that the sweet child Phil usually wrote about could have done such a thing. You have stolen your father’s armor, and your other father’s second-favorite bow, impersonated a soldier, deceived your commanding officers-“ (“To be fair,” Sif muttered, “Thor totally knew.”) “dishonored the entire Army with your presence, destroyed my motherfucking palace and done far better than either of your fathers ever managed to do. Congratulations, you’ve saved all of us, the entire country, and caused significantly less property damage doing it. Also, no civilian deaths. Well done.”
Darcy gradually became aware that she was staring. But she was in good company, because everyone was staring. (Well, May and Natasha were doing a much better job at hiding it than everyone else.)
“Um, your highness,” she started, but he interrupted her with “Now, who wants a position on the council?”
There was dead silence, and then Maria hesitantly raised her hand.
“Sire,” said Loki, popping up from who-knew-where, “there are currently no positions open on the grand council…”
Fury glared. “You want his job?” He asked, jerking a thumb at the advisor.
Loki, wisely, shut up, but Maria was already nodding, looking exhausted and viciously gleeful.
“Anyone else?” Fury asked, and when no one else raised their hands he rolled his eye and expanded the question: “Okay, then, what can I reward you with for saving the country?”
Darcy was starting to realize how her father’s had gotten to keep most of their dignity (nation-wide gossip aside) and Phil’s family home when they were dishonorably discharged at the center of a huge scandal.
Gradually, they all worked up the courage to ask for, and receive, rewards, although Darcy’s demand of “equality for all women, no seriously, this thing where no one listens to me because I have boobs is goddamn stupid” was met with a cool look and a “we’ll try our best.”
And then it was over. She could go home.
Oh, man, her dads were going to be so pissed.
Her dads weren’t that pissed, as it turned out. Mostly, they were just happy to see her, alive and mostly unscathed (kick-ass arrow scar notwithstanding). She’d wound up bringing basically her entire unit home, as it turned out that Darcy’s parents were the only ones who were weird enough to accept that their daughter had gone off to war and returned home famous and alive, and Phil and Clint were mostly okay with this.
Darcy suspected it was because they hadn’t gotten to stay in touch with their army buddies, but she wasn’t complaining when it meant she could sit down to a victory feast full of badass ladies, her badass parents, and also Jane, who was very proud of her for realizing how to set off the avalanche. (“A beautiful application of physics!” “I’m pretty sure it was mostly just dumb luck, sorry Jane.” “Shhh. Physics.”)
Halfway through, there was a knock at the door, and she opened it to find Thor, Sif, and (weirdly, but still welcome) Ian. “Hey,” she said, a little bit awkwardly.
“Hail, Friend Darcy.” Said Thor in his booming voice, and all awkwardness evaporated. She grinned at them, making sure to direct most of it to Ian when she offered, “would you like to come in and stay for dinner?”
Jane rounded the corner, eyes wide, and muttered, “Would you like to stay forever?” after a look at Thor’s arms. Darcy didn’t exactly blame her, but also elected to try to ignore it in favor of trying to get Ian to blush.
She’d had her adventure, after all. Now it was time to try kissing a few boys.
(“So, Pep, did I do awesomely enough to be a Guardian again? Of course I did, my baby saved the entire country, she’s so great. All grown up and killing people.”
“Yes, fine, Tony, whatever. You can be a Guardian, good job getting her home safe, now hush they’re about to kiss.”
In the garden, under the cherry tree, Darcy swung Ian into a dip, their laughter muffled by each other’s lips.
All of the ancestors chorused awwww, collectively ignoring Tony’s victory dance. Bruce noticed, though, and chirped happily for him.)