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Clint heard the assistant before he spotted Dr Foster.
"Jane! Jane, wait up!" A dark-haired girl with glasses scurried after the determined scientist, trying not to knock into anybody with the suitcases that she was carrying. Her companion tapped away at her tablet, miraculously not bumping into anyone, despite her diminutive stature.
"Jane, over here," she ordered, lifting one arm to point and thwacking a soccer mom in the stomach with her laptop bag. "Oh, my God. I am so sorry. So, so sorry. I just..." But the woman was already walking away, giving Darcy her best glare.
Clint pressed his lips together to stifle a laugh.
Luckily, Jane interpreted the pointing and lifted her gaze enough to spot Clint, who was holding a piece of paper with FOSTER scrawled across it. "Darcy, hurry up," she called over her shoulder.
Darcy huffed and gave up on being delicate and simply barge her way through. She was in New York, after all.
"How do we know you're from SHIELD?" Darcy asked, narrowing her eyes.
Clint just rolled his eyes behind the mirrored lenses of his sunglasses. He held out his hand to take a bag. "Come on. We've got a car waiting."
The car, a black SUV, was perhaps the least inconspicuous vehicle Clint could have chosen. Neither of the women seemed to mind; Darcy moaned with pleasure as she settled herself into the front passenger seat, a hand stroking the smooth leather. She looked as though she might just fall asleep right there, but Clint put on some music, jerking her out of her drowsiness.
Darcy glanced over her shoulder at Jane in the backseat and out of the corner of his eye, Clint could see her shaking her head. She sat back heavily. "So," she said, "do you have a name?"
"Yeah."
"One that you're going to tell me?"
"Might tell you one of them."
She frowned and reached for the radio. He smacked her hand away. "Driver picks the tunes."
Darcy pulled off her glasses, polishing them on the hem of her shirt. "I'm Darcy, by the way."
"I know."
"And you are..." She gave him a poke in the arm, leaning forward to try and look at his face properly.
"Clint."
Darcy gave a satisfied smile, flopping back. "So do you normally spend your days driving attractive women around New York?"
He smirked. "It's not my normal day job," he admitted.
"Yeah? So what do you normally do?"
He glanced at her. "You don't recognize me?" he asked a little hurt. Was this his own fault for choosing something a little more subtle than a star-spangled suit for missions?
Darcy frowned. "Were you on America's Got Talent?"
"No," he said flatly. "Forget it."
"I will if you change the station."
"Fine."
Peering at his profile, Darcy hummed thoughtfully. "Wait..." she said slowly. "Were you there? Here? In New York when the invasion was going on?"
"Yeah."
"Were you the one with the..." She mimicked shooting a bow.
He nodded.
"So are you just here because Thor asked you to keep an eye on Jane?"
"Thor?" Jane asked bleakly from the backseat.
Spotting that Jane was distracted, Darcy took a chance and stretched her arm back between the seats, grabbing Jane's tablet.
"Darcy!" she whined.
"The equations will still be there in the morning," Darcy informed her shortly. "You need to rest."
***
There was a part of Clint that hoped he was mistaken in spotting the necklace. Maybe because he didn't want to believe what he'd seen. It had been a long time since he'd had any reminder of that part of his life. That way led to monsters.
But since Loki, he wasn't sure which were the real monsters.
Maybe he was just a monster after all.
Hidden in the air vent, Clint watched Darcy from his hiding spot as she scurried around after Dr Foster, collating data and working the sort of magic on spreadsheets that he could only compare to Coulson.
The Son of Coul, Thor had called him. More like Son of Athena. After Clint's debriefing when everything was off the record and a couple of beers had joined their discussion, Coulson had found it hilarious. Or at least as funny as he'd ever found anything. There had even been a smile.
Clint wasn't really any good at sewing, but he could wield a fabric marker like nobody's business. He'd written Son of Coul on Coulson's shroud and burned it with Natasha at his side. She'd never been to Camp Half-Blood -- life had got in the way -- but she'd been a hero long before the Battle of Manhattan, no matter how much she tried to deny it and live her covert life.
He spotted the necklace as Darcy leaned forward to reach for a donut from the half-empty box. He counted nine beads and feels a pang of compassion. Nine summers at camp. Life must have been dangerous for her to have gone to camp so young.
There was a light cough at the door of the lab. Clint adjusted his position to get a better angle through the vent. It was a postman. He had a box under his arm, neatly wrapped in brown paper. When he smiled at Darcy, lines at the edge of his eyes crinkled in amusement. Judging by the salt and pepper appearance of his hair, he looked to be around the same age as Stark or Banner. Objectively, he was fairly attractive.
Darcy seemed to think so, too. "Hi," she said, standing up a little straighter and hurriedly pulling her her earbuds out.
"I have a package," the postman announced.
Darcy allowed her gaze to drop over his shorts. "Yes," she agreed, "you do."
Hidden away as he was, Clint allowed himself a grimace.
He froze, noticing what was clasped in the postman's other hand. A pith helmet. That wasn't, as far as he was aware, standard issue for the US Postal Service.
Also, now that he was thinking about it, how did a postman get up onto this floor of Stark Tower?
Abort, abort! Stop trying to flirt, kid, Clint willed, useless as he knew it would be.
The postman strode across the room, putting the package down in front of her. Darcy smiled, but her expression faltered the moment that she made eye contact with him.
"Sign here."
Darcy nodded jerkily. "Um..." she said finally, finishing her signature. "Nice weather we're having."
He winked at her. "I'll be sure to pass on the compliment."
Clint needed a drink. Yes, he was sure he would pass on how much she was enjoying the weather, because he was pretty damn sure he knew who the postman was. The features that Clint had dismissed as attractive now looked very familiar. That sly grin was a family trait.
Thankfully, he thought, not his family.
A cellphone vibrated and the postman pulled a phone out of his pocket. He glanced at the display and rolled his eyes. "I need to take this. You're good here, right?"
Pulling the parcel closer, Darcy frowned as she read the address label. "Hey, Clint Barton isn't here," she told him, but he'd already started walking towards the door.
He looked back over his shoulder, taking the cellphone from his ear. Clint could just barely hear an echoing voice on the other end of the call, muffled as though it was underwater. "He's up there," he said, pointing straight at Clint's vent.
Darcy whirled around to glare. "Really? You're spying on me?" She put her hands on her hips; even though she couldn't see him, Clint tried to make himself look as small as possible.
"Well," she said shortly, picking up the package, "are you going to come and open this or not?"
Darcy was still toying with the package when Clint strolled into the lab. For his part, Clint was exceptionally glad that Stark and Banner had stolen Foster away for lunch.
"Hand it over," he told her sharply and she tossed it to him.
"Nice catch."
"What can I say? I have good hand-eye coordination." He flashed her a brief grin, turning the parcel over in his hands.
Darcy slipped onto a high stool at the table, leaning forward to watch him. "So who's it from?" She raised her eyebrows pointedly at him. "Mom or dad?"
He exhaled. "Dad. If it's from him, anyway."
"Okay. Let me guess." Darcy pursed her lips together. "Not Mr D. You don't seem the leopard print type."
"Only on Friday nights," he joked with a smirk, tearing off the paper. He easily opened the box, pulling out a cellphone. "Huh."
"Is there a note?" Darcy prompted, trying to peer into the box; Clint swatted her hand away as he had done with the car radio.
Clint switched the phone on, then plucked a yellow notecard from the box. His face crumpled into a look of exasperation and Darcy grinned. "So...?" she wheedled. "Read it."
"I have read it."
"Out loud."
"No."
Darcy sighed and snatched the notecard. Her eyes widened.
A gift for a son,
May all your arrows fly straight:
There's an app for that.
"Is that a haiku?"
"Sadly." Clint pressed an app the touchscreen and the phone instantly morphed into an elegant black bow. It was the perfect weight in his hand, as though it had been made for him.
"Nice," Darcy breathed, face lighting up. "Guess I don't need to play 'who's your daddy?' anymore." She reached to touch it, but once again found herself denied.
Clint twisted the weapon in his hand, examining it. Another touch of his thumb to the right spot and it was a phone once again.
"I showed you mine, now you show me yours."
Darcy sat back, only teetering on the stool a tiny bit. "All right." She shrugged, twisting down to pick up her purse from where she'd stashed it under the table. Pulling out her taser, she brandished it triumphantly. "Ta da!"
"A taser?"
"Sometimes," she agreed, standing up and moving away from the table. Making sure that she had enough room, she tossed it into the air, spinning it. When it landed in her hand, it was a long spear. Darcy twisted the grip and it crackled with electricity. "I call it Sparky," she explained with a proud smile.
Slipping the cellphone into his pocket, Clint was reluctantly impressed. "Cabin five? You?"
Darcy spun the spear like a baton and it shrank down into its taser form. "We're not all awe-wielding maniacs," she said primly. Then, she added, "Though one of my brothers did get a little axe-happy once. We made him sleep on the roof for a week."
"There used to be barbed wire on the roof in my day."
Darcy laughed. "Still is," she said with a sharkish smile. Children of Ares didn't believe in a softly-softly approach. They were the tase first, ask questions later sort.
"Darcy!"
Jane was back from lunch, astonishment on her delicate features as she took in the sight of her assistant brandishing a weapon at a SHIELD agent. "Were you going to tase him?"
"No," Darcy grumbled. "See?" she said. "I'm putting it away now."
Jane visibly relaxed when Darcy stowed the taser in her purse. Then, she rounded on Clint. "What are you doing in my lab? Did you touch anything?"
"No," Darcy informed her patiently. "He didn't touch anything. He was just making a new friend."
Clint arched his brow. "Was I?"
She nodded firmly. "Yep."
***
"You seem to have trouble remembering the speed limit, Tasha," he reminded his partner as they rapidly covered the New York streets. If he had a cent for every time a taxi driver honked at them, he'd be weighed down with coins.
"No, I don't," she said dryly, tires screeching as they blasted into the parking garage beneath Stark Tower.
"Just ignoring it?"
She didn't respond, unclipping her seatbelt and sliding from the car as soon as they were parked. Clint grinned and hopped out. "You're going to get a speeding ticket one of these days," he teased.
Natasha blinked at him, all wide-eyed innocent. "Me? It'll never happen," she said with an enviable degree of confidence. Clint wondered how many cops had pulled her over in the past and become victim to her wiles.
Just a few meters away, a brand new Maserati gleaming under the lights drew Clint's attention. It wasn't one of Stark's -- most of his cars were in Malibu and Clint had drooled appreciatively over them already -- and there was a man leaning casually against it talking to none other than Darcy.
Young guy. Fair hair. Late teens, early twenties. Earbuds plugged firmly in his ears, even as he, presumably, tried to flirt. The hairs rose on the back of Clint's neck.
Maserati Dude gestured enthusiastically, showing off his lean body in an overt sort of way. Jeans, white t-shirt, expensive-looking loafers, equally expensive sunglasses.
"Your smile makes me want to write poetry," said Maserati Dude smiling widely, just as Natasha's cellphone rang. Clint spared her a glance as she held a curt conversation that was over almost as soon as it was begun.
"Fury," she said by way of explanation. "I've got to go. You can handle the meeting with Stark." It wasn't a question.
Clint nodded, still trying to listen in on the other conversation. "Mm hm."
"Clint."
"Mm hm." He forced himself to look at her.
"I'll check in with you later. Behave yourself." Her exit was as speedy as their arrival.
Maserati Dude cleared his throat. "Shining spectacles. A hidden smile in her eyes; Needs coffee badly."
Clint felt his throat constrict, and not simply because of the exceptionally bad haiku. "Damn," he muttered, sure that for a split second Maserati Dude looked straight at him, though it was hard to tell with the sunglasses.
Darcy arched her eyebrows. "Yeah?"
Clint could see her hand resting on top of her bag where he knew she kept her taser. Not the best idea, kid.
"Yeah."
"What the hell was that?" Darcy asked, bemused. Her hand didn't move from the fastening of her bag.
"I just love the simplicity of haiku," said Maserati Dude. That was all that Clint needed to make a move.
Darcy's smile was one of pure relief when she saw him approaching. "Clint! Hi!"
"Darcy." He gave her a curt nod, then turned his attention to the already-smirking Maserati Dude. "Mind if I have a word with your friend?"
"Sure!" she said, the eagerness in her voice unmistakable. "Have several. Maybe even a few sentences." She pursed her lips, gaze slipping between the two of them. Her eyes narrowed in consideration as she took in the sight of the two of them together. "I really need to get back to Jane, anyway. Bye!" Her exit wasn't as slick as Natasha's, nearly bumping into a pedestrian.
For a long moment, the men stared at each other. Then, Maserati Dude grinned.
"Hello, son."
Clint's jaw tightened. "Dad," he said grudgingly. "You're looking... well." And annoyingly young.
"So are you." His smile was pure Apollo, as dazzling as the sun.
Glancing at the Maserati, Clint nodded towards it. "Is that...?"
"Yep." Apollo nodded. "Felt like something a bit sporty today." He gave the hood a pat.
"What are you doing in New York?"
"So blunt," Apollo lamented, shaking his head. "You need some more... poetry in your life. Lyricism." He sighed. "But you're better with a bow, right?" He tapped Clint's bicep with the back of his hand.
"That's not answering my question." Clint really didn't want the headache of explaining to anyone why there was a Greek god hanging around the same place a Norse deity had recently departed. "Darcy - she's not one of your conquests, is she?"
Apollo glanced over his shoulder, then smirked. "Worried you're gonna be getting a little brother or sister?" He shook his head, scoffing. "No. You really think I'd go after one of Ares' kids?"
Clint grimaced. The subject needed to be changed and now. "Why are you in New York?"
"There's a concert later. Lyres. Couldn't miss it." Apollo threw his arm around Clint's shoulders, looking for all the world like his younger brother instead of his father. "But that's not for a few hours. Hey, did you get the parcel I sent you?"
"Yes."
Apollo gave a nod, expression unreadable. "Good," he said finally. Then, "Do you want to take the chariot for a spin?" he suggested, gesturing broadly at the car.
The temptation was there. Meeting with Stark -- which would probably result in them goofing off if Potts wasn't there to supervise -- or a chance to drive something that was literally made from human dreams. "I shouldn't."
"Yeah, but you totally need a break from puny mortals." His grip around Clint's shoulders tightened; Clint hoped it was just in excitement. "I'll let you drive."
Well, being a son of Apollo, Zeus probably wouldn't zap him from the sky, so... Clint shook his head to quickly dispel that notion.
"It would be epic," Apollo continued. His expression lit up. "An epic ballad of father-son bonding. Norse style. We could go to Norway, I'll teach you about kennings."
Clint winced. "Please don't." He wriggled out of Apollo's embrace. "Maybe another time."
"Sure." Fishing his keys from his pocket, Apollo unlocked the Maserati with a beep. "I'll swing by another time."
Sliding effortlessly into the driver's seat, he added, "Stay groovy."
Clint barely had time to shield his eyes before the chariot disappeared in a flash of blinding light.
***
Clint tried to regret being Darcy's friend. He really did. Suddenly, it was as though she was always there, insisting on having lunch with him when he was in the vicinity of Stark Tower or going for a drink where she would regale him with stories from her years at camp. He had a few of his own and even shared a couple of them.
Being friends with Darcy also meant she wheedled him constantly to get her clearance to use the SHIELD shooting range. They'd gone as far as to arm wrestle over it.
Clint's pride had taken a severe bruising when he'd lost.
"So what's the deal?" Darcy asked as she assembled her gun, barely looking at the weapon. Clint kind of wanted to see if she could do it blindfolded.
"The deal?" Clint selected an arrow, one that Tony had 'gifted' to him. Though beautifully made, the weight didn't feel quite right in his hand.
"Yeah. The other Avengers. I mean, I know Thor's backstory." Darcy adjusted her ear protection. "But what about the rest of them. I mean... Tony. He's totally Cabin 9 material, right?"
Clint smirked and let the arrow fly, pleasantly surprised when it hit its target. But was that the result of the arrow or Apollo's bow?
"No. Tony's mortal. But I have a feeling that he's one of Hephaestus favorites." Which roughly meant that if Tony was female there would be a little demigod running around by now.
Darcy hummed thoughtfully, then proceeded to squeeze off a round. Her aim wasn't perfect, Clint noted, but she fully committed to what she was doing; he winced as she took a shot at the paper target's genital area. Clint really didn't want to know what that was about.
"Okay, what about Black Widow?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Now, that's a long story."
***
"It just bugs me when they call Thor a demigod, you know?" Darcy asked, hurrying to keep in step with Clint as they navigated the busy sidewalk to their coffee shop of choice. "I know they don't know any different, but it's just really annoying."
"Yeah," he said off-handedly, spotting someone purposely blocking the door to the shop as they approached. A young man with too-long hair and skinny jeans, he surveyed them through fake glasses with thick black frames. He looked harmless, from the scuffed brogues on his feet to his unbuttoned waistcoat. Subtly, Clint moved into a protective position in front of Darcy.
She poked him in the back. "I can take care of myself," she hissed.
"Hey, gorgeous," said the hipster, holding out his hands in a placating manner. He smiled broadly, showing off perfect white teeth.
"I think he's talking to you," Darcy whispered at his shoulder.
The man winked at Clint. "I need a favor."
"What sort of favor?"
Clint shot Darcy a dark look. She would make a terrible spy.
"I kind of lost a cup."
"A cup?" Darcy repeated. Clint tried giving her the look again, but it seemed to bounce right off her.
"Yeah." He shifted uncomfortably. "It belongs to the boss." He gestured at where the Empire State Building loomed a few blocks away.
Clint immediately felt too old for this. Quests were for young half-bloods who were clamoring to get out of camp and have a taste of the real world. Not him. Not even Darcy. "Ganymede?" he checked.
"You can call me Mede," the immortal supplied.
"Like the cupbearer?" Darcy asked.
Ganymede laughed. "Dude, that is so old school. I haven't been called that for centuries. These days I do the coffee run and tend bar at Olympian parties." He turned his flirtatious look back on Clint. "You should come to the next one. Drinks are on me."
All Clint wanted was a coffee. With two shots. Maybe three. "I'll probably be busy."
Digging into his messenger bag, Ganymede pulled out an iPad. "Look," he said, tapping the touchscreen. "I just need you to find it. I even know where it is."
"If you know where it is, why don't you just get it yourself?" Darcy moved forward to take a better look at the screen.
Ganymede grimaced. "I kind of dropped it during that whole alien invasion thing." He glanced at Clint, who glowered in response. "And someone picked it up. Which would be fine if it wasn't..."
"Wasn't what?" Clint prompted, studying the picture that filled the iPad's screen. Sepia filtered as it was, the cup looked like a stainless steel travel mug with a picture of the Empire State Building etched on the side.
"A cyclops." He looked at the pair of demigods beseechingly. "But only a baby one. And he's only a couple of blocks from here." Ganymede put the iPad to sleep. "It'll be easy."
***
"Why do all the hot ones have to be gay?" asked Darcy with a sigh. Ganymede had promised he'd pay for their coffees when they returned and Darcy had told him she would hold him to that with an obstinate lift of her chin. "Or if they're not gay, they're always taken."
Beside her, Clint was mostly silent as he thought. Shoving his hand into his pocket, he toyed with the phone from his dad.
"But it would be so cool to have someone be my personal coffee-fetcher," Darcy continued.
Clint gave her an amused grin. "I think you are the personal coffee-fetcher."
"I only get Jane's. And sometimes Dr Banner's. But he's just so... polite. And he has that sweet little shy smile."
"Dangerous guy to have a crush on, Sparky."
Darcy rolled her eyes. She had already tried a dozen times to point out that it was her spear that was called Sparky. But even Tony Stark, who was barely aware of her existence, had somehow started calling her that, so Clint definitely wasn't going to stop.
"I don't have a crush on him. He just doesn't treat me like a coffee minion."
Her hand dipped into her purse, presumably to check on her taser.
"So have you ever met a cyclops?" she asked, transparently trying to turn the conversation away from shy smiles and scientists with anger management problems that would put Zeus to shame.
"No. You?"
Darcy plucked at her necklace. One of the beads featured just a large brown eye. "Yeah. Once. Not a baby."
This cyclops didn't seem to be much of a baby, either. Tall and broad, it seemed to dominate the alley. Just behind it, Clint could see a kind of nest. There, gleaming silver, he could just make out Zeus' travel mug.
Darcy's eyes widened and she yanked out her taser, activating it so that Sparky glowed with power. "How do you want to do this?" she asked, curiously eyeing the celestial bronze arrow that Clint was loading into his bow. The app had a few special features.
"You're the war god's kid."
"And you're the professional spy."
By now, the cyclops had spotted the bronze of their weapons and he didn't look happy. Actually, he looked a little hungry, like he wanted demigod on rye for lunch. Or to bash them up in a way that would make a Hulk smash look like a gentle tap.
Darcy exhaled. "Fine. I'll distract him. You get the cup." She twisted Sparky's grip and it crackled ominously.
Clint waved a hand, half-bowing to her. "After you."
Her spear was made for thrusting rather than throwing; Darcy ran towards the cyclops with an angry yell.
What are you trying to do, kid? Deafen it?
He quickly attached the grappling hook attachment to his arrow, finding the perfect target in less than a second. Shooting it towards a fire escape a couple of floors up, he had just enough time to see Darcy jab her spear into the back of the cyclops' knee as he pressed the button on his bow and was pulled into the air by the high-tension wire.
Shifting his bodyweight forward, he swung over the head of the cyclops. It would have been perfect if the cyclops hadn't grabbed his foot during his Darcy-induced flailing. Clint kicked out, trying to free himself, and managed to kick him square in the eye.
"Stupid hero!" the cyclops wailed. He thrashed with a fist, knocking Darcy back against the wall and sending Sparky flying.
Clint released the grappling hook and misjudged his landing on the other side of the cyclops, tumbling to a stop and narrowly avoiding a broken arm. That's gonna leave a mark.
He gave the button on his bow a long squeeze and the celestial bronze arrow appeared once more, notched and ready. When he let it fly this time, it landed squarely on the cyclops' left buttock.
Clint recalled the arrow before the cyclops could sit down heavily on it, crying hard. He grabbed the travel mug and picked up Sparky, tossing it to a dazed-looking Darcy. "Let's get out of here."
***
Clint thought he had come off quite well. He had a bit of bruising to his upper arm, but nothing that he couldn't heal. Darcy, on the other hand, had lost a chunk of hair, ripped her tights and broken her glasses.
So he let her carry Zeus' cup. It was the least he could do. "Oh, my god. I want the biggest chocolate chip muffin ever," she announced.
"You did good back there, Sparky. I'd love to see you go up against Nat sometime." Clint dodged the swipe that she took at him, laughing.
"Perv," she complained. "You're just lucky my spear needs time to recharge."
He slung a friendly arm around her shoulders. "And I am very glad about that."
Ganymede was beaming when he saw them. "Well, don't you look good all roughed up," he purred, hand resting on Clint's bicep. "Yum."
"Here," Darcy thrust the travel mug at him; Ganymede blinked, surprised to have his flirting interrupted.
"Oh, yeah," he said. "That. Thanks."
When she passed it into his hands, it changed momentarily from a stainless steel mug into a gleaming golden goblet. Clint blinked and it was a travel mug once more. Ganymede shoved it into his messenger bag.
"So, I guess I owe you guys a coffee, then?" he asked, pulling out his phone as it chimed. "And... I need to get Aphrodite a half-caff non-fat soy latte with three pumps of hazelnut."
"And muffins," Clint supplied helpfully, grinning.
"Aphrodite doesn't eat muffins."
"But Darcy does." Clint could practically hear her grinding her teeth and he patted her shoulder reassuringly. "Trust me on the muffins."