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A week passed after AIM’s failed attack on the Latverian embassy.
An entire week and Darcy hadn’t seen hide or tail of Doom.
Frankly, she was beginning to worry.
After she and Jane had been rushed off to the Stark Tower by a frantic looking Happy—ha, just thinking that made her snicker, who names their kid Happy—the yellow-suited assholes were taken care of rather quickly. Stark had stopped by to assure them that everyone was fine, and that Bruce was currently across the Hudson tearing those assholes apart.
“Rest in fucking pieces,” Jane had muttered, and then proceeded to throw up all over Darcy’s six-inch Louboutins. (Sorry, Pepper.)
“Hey.”
Darcy failed to dodge the bullet that hit her in the eye.
“Motherfu—“
Tony was sitting on the other side of the commune, looking at her with narrowed eyes and Nerf gun in one hand.
“Get out.”
Darcy’s lips raised in a snarl, ready to unleash hell on the billionaire.
“Stark—“
“I mean it, Boobs. Out,” he stood to his full height—a whopping 5’9”—and pursed his lips. “You’ve been skulking in the common room watching Simon Pegg rom-coms for a week. If you miss Tall, Dark and Dubious Morals so much, go out and do something about it.”
“I do not miss him,” her sneer fell slightly. “I want to bury him alive.”
“Yeah you do,” Clint grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “You want to bury him alive in your—“
A lamp was sailing past his head before he could think to dodge it.
“That is Boca do Lobo!” Tony shrieked, hands flying to his hair.
“Either it was going to almost-hit Barton or it was getting shoved up your ass,” Darcy growled, stalking past a cowering Clint towards the elevators. “And I do not miss him!”
“She totally does,” Steve smirked once the elevator doors were safely closed on the fuming brunette.
“You know, for a master assassin, your reaction skills are fairly sub-par,” Bruce smirked softly at Clint, who was rocking back and forth on the couch with a pillow clutched against his chest.
“Jarvis, can you get Victor von Doom on the line for me?”
“Right away, sir.”
“Tony,” Bruce took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “That is not a good idea.”
“Shut up, Bruce. I’m tired of her breaking my expensive shit,” Tony chewed on his thumb thoughtfully. “The goddamn Boca do Lobo. She couldn’t just go after the Gucci cushions?”
“You’re just saying words,” said Steve. “They mean nothing to me.”