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It is a truth universally acknowledged that Darcy wanted to slap a bitch. Not all the time, obviously. Just right now when she had to do more paperwork because Reed Richards and Johnny Storm were not be mixed with Tony Stark in small, confined labs for any extended period of time. Lab equipment and cross-team warm fuzzies never fared well.
So now, there she was, once again filling out a requisition form for another scientific doo-dad (totally a legit scientific name there). But there’s only so many ways to explain in the Expenditure Justification column a new doo-dad was needed because Storm couldn’t be more like Bruce (apparently fireboy’s response to unexpected electric shocks in the solar plexus is to burst into flames—not so good in a lab). Darcy’s life was so much easier before accounting decreed “Tony was bored” and “Richards is a tool” are not acceptable notes for their spreadsheets.
“Jane! What’s another word for douchebaggery? I don’t want to use it a third time.”
A sigh was the only response she got as Jane was buried shoulder-deep in another doo-dad that’s acting up, yet again. It at least wasn’t charred and melty like the other one.
“Hey, I’m just trying to be entirely accurate and forthcoming with information so that accounting doesn’t reject another batch of paperwork.”
There was another sigh, but this time Jane’s head popped up.
“I don’t know if you’re being serious or just quoting another movie at me.”
“Why does it have to be either/or?”
The scientist simply narrowed her eyes.
“Fine, don’t appreciate my cinematic depths.”
Jane snorted and put her head back into the machine.
A half-hour and a couple more creative adjectives later, Darcy sent the paperwork off. She figured Jan in accounting could ask her for any clarification but douchenozzle seemed pretty self-explanatory.
“It’s almost time for your midday feeding, boss lady. And no pop-tarts. Your colon wants some variety today.”
Darcy had begun to spin in her chair in front of the computer, but stilled when a muffle that sounded like “bowl ash” came from the machine.
“Jaaaane. You know that Tony doesn’t let us get Polish food delivered to the tower anymore.”
Silence, well, not really silence but more fumbling and clanging from inside the machine was Jane’s answer.
“You’d think he’d get over it but I guess eating a pierogi while drunk makes it a lying-liarson of a potsticker and all Polish food untrustworthy afterwards.”
“Darce, you wanted input. I gave input.”
Darcy looked over as couple of violent thunks sounded, followed Jane’s head popping out of the machine.
“Now if only that stupid hunk of metal would accept the input I’m trying to give it before I…”
The mumbling continued under her breath and Jane’s now-hunched shoulders signaled the switch to angry Science! mode. A field trip to the deli down the street would probably be the best for the safety of everyone involved.
“Fine, Hangry McBosserson.” She clambered out of her chair and continued talking as she walked backwards out of the lab. “Just know it’s gonna take like an extra 20 minutes because I’ve gotta go up and get my wallet from upstairs. You know, because certain Polish-food naysayers have prevented us from charging our ‘deceitful potstickers’ to his account ‘based on principle.’”
Jane’s angry muttering and clanking continued as Darcy turned and made her way to the elevator, but Darcy figured she had done her duty to warn Jane of any delays.
However, after a full two minutes, the elevator still hadn't arrived. And this was Stark Tower. Or Avengers Tower, but still. All the elevators were super streamlined and fast, not to mention there was a special Avengers elevator. But what was the point of a special Avengers elevator forbidden from peon use if it took just as long as the regular one?
“Hey, Jarvis, what’s taking so long?”
“My apologies, Ms. Lewis. The elevator was delayed at Master Stark’s lab, but should be here presently.”
“Okay, once it gets here, though, can you make sure it just goes straight up to the residential floor?”
“I believe I should be able to, Ms. Lewis.”
“Thanks, J. I’d rather not deprive Jane of her gulasz any longer than necessary.”
Another thirty seconds passed, but before Darcy could mentally disparage whoever was separating her and the soon to be Dr. Hyde in the lab from sustenance, the elevator beeped. And the doors opened to reveal one uniformed Clint Barton.
Trying not to swallow her tongue at the sight of the delicious arms on display in the sleeveless vest he was sporting, Darcy stepped into the elevator. Giving the biceps that were so prominently displayed an obvious once-over, of course.
“Isabeau! Were you reason the elevator took freaking for-ev-er?” She was proud of herself for getting her greeting out in an only slightly higher pitch than her usual tone.
It wasn’t like she’d never been around Clint before, far from it. Their flirty banter had been increasing over the last few weeks since she and Jane had officially moved into the tower. Witty wordplay had progressed to inside jokes and mild cuddling during their somewhat regular movie nights.
Not to mention, she’d pretty much fantasized about getting him inside a supply closet for at least a make-out from the day she’d met him.
But this was different. This was Clint in his uniform; not quite Hawkeye, but still far more serious than the dork she fought with over the last bite of ice cream. This was him in an enclosed space where she began to discover just how much a kink she’d developed for the scent leather and gunpowder. And her throat felt a little tight. Her pulse a little fast.
“Yeah, yeah, Darce. Blame Stark. Wait. Isa—“ His usual smirk had given way to a bemused smile until he looked down and sighed. “Aw, Darcy, no. You’ve been watching Ladyhawke again, haven’t you?”
“Hey, don’t mock it. It’s a classic. Besides, if you wanted me to be quoting something else at you right now, you shouldn’t have missed movie night,” she teased as she leaned as casually against the railing as possible while trying to keep the ogling lighthearted and not porny.
“Not my fault Doom decided to turn central park into a robot zoo.” He paused and then turned to her. “Besides, I always pictured myself more as Navarre,” he added with his usual smug grin.
The mix of the long morning, the uniform, the smell, and that stupid beautiful grin directed right at her had Darcy’s brain trying to play catch up. Navarre? Right. Ladyhawke. Navarre. The wolf.
“Nope. Nuh uh. No way. You’re totally Isabeau. She’s way more subtle. And hot. And turns into a hawk. You can’t argue with the hawk factor.”
Clint didn’t say anything, but his raised eyebrow let her know she certainly hadn’t been subtle. Darcy tried to keep any red from her cheeks and just closed her eyes. Weren’t they at the residential floor yet?
She usually wasn’t easily embarrassed, but Clint seemed to be throwing her way off her game today. So much for flirty banter; more like bashing him over the head with her lust. She couldn’t even think of one witty pun to save her.
“Besides, you totally squawk like a hawk whenever you’re indignant,” she finally got out.
“I do n—“ he began in a high-pitch before he realized he was proving her point. There was a moment of silence when Darcy hoped she had distracted him enough from her little slip.
“So, you think I’m hot?”
So much for having distracted him.
There was no going back, so she just looked up at the ceiling, smiled ruefully, and forged ahead trying to make it another round of their usual back-and-forth.
“Eh, debatable. Michelle Pfeiffer is definitely hotter, though”
“I don’t know,” he murmured, suddenly sounding very close. When had he moved? Darcy hurriedly looked down from the ceiling and noticed him right in front of her. If she took her hand off the railing it wouldn’t take much to touch him. Her fingers twitched and she tried not to stare at his stubble. Or his mouth. Or the way the uniform left this spot on his neck open that she wanted to nibble on.
“I have it on very good authority that I’m…what was it?” He leaned in, his breath ghosting over her lips. “Oh, yes, quite the Hawt-guy,” he chuckled as he straightened and proceeded to lean against the elevator wall with one shoulder, a thoroughly pronounced shit-eating grin in place now.
“Shut up, I only said that one time when I was drunk, which I haven’t forgotten is your fault, by the way, most especially that hangover after.”
“Yes, but you said with great emphasis that tumblr said I was hot, and tumblr doesn’t lie, Darce.”
Darcy huffed out a breath and focused her eyes on the stitching of Clint’s vest for a second before looking back up at him.
“Fine, I’ll admit it, you’ve got what might be considered an agreeable aesthetic going on with all this,” she said waving, or more flailing, a hand to encompass all of him as well as she could in the little space still between them.
“Mmhmm. But I think you want to do more than just admit with all this,” he said, smug grin still in place.
And that was it. That playful smile was there as it always had been, but there was sudden stillness to Clint, a slowing of his breathing, an intensity to his eyes that was new. It suddenly clicked. Darcy realized she wasn’t the only one harboring a bit of a crush through all the flirting. Maybe there was more than just a make-out in her future. But now it was her move.
“I don’t know Isabeau,” she said quietly while standing up from the railing, her chest brushing against his. “Depends on if all of this can back up all the talk.”
Darcy couldn’t hold in her own smug grin when Clint suddenly swallowed at the contact.
“Well I think there’s only one way to find out,” he practically whispered, staring at her mouth.
Clint’s hand had found its way to her jaw and then trailed back to cup her neck as he moved away from the elevator wall and leaned forward. Meeting her eye one last time as if to ask permission before his head dipped the final scant inches.
All the times Darcy had pictured their fantasy supply closet run-in she’d never come close to this. Clint knew what he was doing. And what had started fairly chaste quickly turned hotter, dirtier, and so, so much better.
Next thing she knew her hands were in his hair, nails scraping along his scalp making him groan. One of his hands on her waist, the other one on her hip somehow pulling her even closer and making her shoulders press against the wall behind her.
“Ahem. Mr. Barton, Ms. Lewis. If you would pardon the intrusion. The elevator has been called for below and if you would not like to ride back down, I would advise that you exit now.”
Darcy and Clint broke apart breathing heavily and stared at each other for a second before Darcy buried her face in his neck laughing at the affronted tone in Jarvis's voice.
“Oh, don’t be like that Jarvis,” Clint coaxed, “I know you’ve seen worse with Stark.”
“Be that as it may, Mr. Barton, the elevator has now reached your destination and is needed elsewhere.”
Darcy’s laughter faded to chuckles as she untangled herself from Clint and pulled him from the elevator.
“Come on, Clint. Don’t pick on Jarvis, he has seen far more than any entity, living or artificial, should. But don’t think I’m going to forget about your sass, J!”
“Of course, Ms. Lewis. I would never presume otherwise.”
With that the elevator doors closed and Darcy found herself in a hallway, Clint holding one of her hands in his as he smiled goofily down at her. He was starting to tug he closer with their entwined hands when her stomach growled and she remembered her original mission.
She put her free hand on his chest to stop her forward progression and tried not to begin stroking the smooth leather.
“Okay, hold that thought, loverboy. I’ve got to feed the beast known as Hangry Jane and all this,” she removed her hand from his quite lovely sculpted pectoral to once again wave awkwardly between them, “is going to take sooo much more than we have before Jane goes all Audrey II and I will not be held liable for what she does in that situation.”
“A Little Shop of Horrors reference right now, really?”
“Shut it, Isabeau,” Darcy teased as she pulled back to start making her way to her suite.
“Hold on,” Clint said pulling her back to face him and sliding both hands along her waist until they settled low on her back. “Let me take you dinner tonight. Then maybe we can see just where all this will go.”
Darcy felt like every cliché, but she couldn’t help it: she bit her lip and shivered at the feeling of his hands on her back, fingers lightly stroking. She took a moment to watch his eyes dilate while they focused on her mouth.
“Hmm. I’ll have to think about that,” she teased as she leaned back.
He looked back up to her eyes quickly and she couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face.
“Pick me up at 7:30,” she said as she rolled to balls of her feat to plant an exaggerated kiss to his lips. As she pulled away she smiled slyly at him. “And afterwards we’re totally watching Ladyhawke!”
He chuckled and watched her walk away but called out when she was halfway down the hall.
“So wait, if I’m Isabeau, does that make you Navarre?”
Darcy snorted before calling over her should, “Nah, I’m totally the Mouse!”