Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a simple enough day; Coulson had an early-morning meeting, which meant she had to be at work before the birds woke up, which was a pain in the ass, but thankfully there were more than a few Starbucks around Stark Tower that were open 24/7 and could accommodate her early morning caffeine supplement. Otherwise she’d be a zombie all day and that wouldn’t be helping the foreign relations situation.

When she first arrived, she found a very angry Russian at her desk. Sitting on her desk, to be more precise. At first Darcy froze, thinking maybe Natasha—clearly as ferocious as a T-rex—wouldn’t be able to see her if she didn’t move, but when Natasha tersely explained what happened yesterday and handed her paperwork over, Darcy realized the redhead was much more angry at Hawkeye than anyone else. Darcy didn’t bother telling her she had figured that much out; Natasha always handed in Hawkeye’s paperwork with her own. This was the first time since Darcy started working that her papers were just her own.

Hawkeye was in the doghouse then. Funny, but frightening, considering Natasha.

She spends the rest of the morning fielding calls, picking little pieces of lint off her skirt absent-mindedly while feeding herself three cups of coffee to stay awake. Hey, she actually dressed up a bit today, trading out her favorite jeans for a pencil skirt and blouse. There was an afternoon meeting with a few UN ambassadors (due to the same mission that went awry yesterday) that she had to sit in on to take notes, so her jeans just weren’t going to fly this time, and she wanted to keep the ‘looking professional and hot’ trend going.

During long holding times on the phone, she tried not to get herself too psyched about lunch. Not the actual food, or the eating of lunch—but the company she would have. She kept giving her purse side-long glances, remembering a book she had packed for a certain Avenger. An Avenger that most certainly had not yet read the book, even though everyone she knew had been forced to read it for eight-grade English. But, in all fairness to this Avenger, he had been frozen in the North Pole when To Kill A Mockingbird was published. The reason why she couldn’t get too psyched about lunch was...

Well, it hit her the other day that her and Steve Rogers wouldn’t be a right fit.

She was a bit too... harsh. Inappropriate, at the best of times. Before they began spending their lunch breaks together she had simply been fangirling over his brilliant blue eyes and those lips and his gorgeous frame. But she got to know the guy behind the Adonis features, his smarts and his opinions and the things about the modern world he marvelled at and the things he wished wouldn’t exist. The crush she had turned into full-blown love because it became very obvious that he was an amazing human being.

Darcy wasn’t quite suited for Steve.  He needed a woman in power, someone strong and full of brass who didn’t go on rants about how TLC used to be The Learning Channel before it turned into a Reality-TV-Land with horrors like Toddlers and Tiaras and all that crap.

He didn’t need a girl like her. He needed a lady.

And a lady, Darcy was not.

So the focus was telling her crush to get over itself and continue being Steve’s friend. That’s what the super-soldier needed most in this new world: someone he can easily confide in when a reference slips over his head (he certainly can’t ask Tony Stark any questions like that). Someone he can relax with. Someone he doesn’t have to wear the mask for. She’d get the hang of it, but it will take some time.

There was a brief lull when one of the Avengers—her favorite—stopped by her cubicle. She was just finishing up a phone call (again, the UN thing) when she felt his presence before seeing him. With a quick spin she saw Thor, big, blonde and grinning. She smiled back in reply and wrapped up her phone call, before turning to give him her full attention. “And how is my favorite Thunder God this morning?”

“The day is fair; one can’t complain,” Thor replied. He was like this so often, talking like he’s Shakespearian. Sometimes she was sure he could narrate the most boring day in history, and it would sound like poetry. Darcy had considered writing some of his quotes down and selling them to Hallmark.

Not that S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t pay her well; a little extra money would still be nice.

She looked at the papers in his hand and grinned, wiggling her eyebrows at the same time. “Heard you got in trouble yesterday?” She took the documents from him—he was, as usual, one of the first to get his homework handed in, but he didn’t look happy about her teasing.

“I wasn’t trying to aim for the boat.”

“So I hear,” she replied, but eventually cut it out and smiled sympathetically at him. “Don’t worry, big guy—we’re fixing it this afternoon.”

Thor sighed, the weight of the world heavy on his shoulder. Dedication was obviously not something he joked around with. “I am very thankful for the work Son of Coul does for our faction.”

Darcy laughed dryly. “You and everyone else in this building, buddy.”

As she set his work aside, she spun back to find Thor eyeing the pile of reports that his own had joined. Before she could ask, he spoke, “Not everyone has done their work, have they?”

Darcy huffed comically, running her thumb through the pile of papers like a flipbook. “You and Tasha are first; Steve is usually done by lunch,” she hoped she had said that calmly. “I usually have to hunt down Stark and Bruce in their labs to get theirs, but I give them till the afternoon. Clint is the only straggler.” She looked up at Thor and lowered her voice, hissing in her best gossip tone, “Natasha is pissed.”

Thor laughed. “Well, warriors take their victory kills very seriously—Lady Natasha had called hers, but Brother Clint took it.”

Darcy’s eyes widened and her mouth formed an ‘o’ in awe. Oh, shit. She knew not to mess around with Natasha calling ‘dibs.’ That’s a man’s death wish.

But Thor wasn’t playing into her exaggeration, for once. Instead, he looked her dead in the eye. “So you are waiting for Brother Clint?” When she nodded, he simply wrung his hands together, murmured, “Excellent,” and wandered off.

She already had to deal with an Angry Russian, she’s guaranteed to deal with Slacking Stark and Shy Banner this afternoon. She did not have the time or effort to analyze Conniving Thor. So with a sigh she spun back to her computer, and tried to sink back into her work, even when her purse and the book inside seemed to call to her over and over again.

Things have been looking up for Clint Barton, even in spite of the accidental-blowing-up-of-a-foreign-naval-ship incident yesterday.

The paperwork was the downside (besides the ship thing). Clint hated paperwork with a passion. Paperwork is just grown-up homework; no one wants to do it, but the consequences of skipping out are worse than school, because if he doesn’t complete his homework, he doesn’t get paid.

Either way, he struggled and whined and finished his official statement and was on his way to hand it in to the teach-... to Agent Phil before lunch. He timed it perfectly, so if Phil decided to chew him out (and history has shown Phil loves to chew Clint out) he’d still have time to beat the rush of scientists and office help in the lunch line twenty floors below.

As Clint walked amongst the cubicles on Coulson’s floor, in Stark Tower, he tried remembering the name of Coulson’s assistant. Daisy? Dani? It had been the same girl for a while, but considering he never submitted his own paperwork before, he hadn’t had much time to get acquainted with her. Mentally, he reviewed what he could remember as he neared the cubicle. Dark hair, glasses, baggy sweaters when she didn’t feel like dressing up--

And damn. Boobs.

That fact came barrelling into his review when he reached the cubicle labelled Darcy Lewis and found that same girl, in the slick black skirt and deep red blouse that did nothing to calm her rack. He suddenly remembered his first day in the sixth grade when one of his classmates, a girl, came back from summer vacation with boobs. Every boy in class was starstruck, awe and awkward, all at once, and suddenly he was feeling that allover again. And Hawkeye did not like that feeling.

Thankfully Darcy was the type to not get scary after a little leer; she simply narrowed her eyes and said pointedly, “Eyes up here, Barton.”  While her tone was threatening, her expression was mostly amusement.

Clint cleared his throat and managed to grin. “Sorry,” he lied, and held the papers out.

Darcy’s eyes lit up at the sight of it, which should be strange. Then again, anyone who was assistant to Agent Phil had to love paperwork; Clint was pretty sure his boss got a hard-on from filing systems. But that was another story.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of getting this in person?” Darcy asked, clearly mocking him with her tone. She pulled it from his hands and began reading it over, as if she was used to mistakes.

Suddenly he felt like a kid in school trying to explain a late assignment. See? Adult homework. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, avoiding eye-contact. “Tasha refused to hand it in for me today,” he mumbled.

“Because you took the kill shot that she called dibs on yesterday.”

The archer started at this. Darcy didn’t meet his gaze but she grinned mischievously and wiggled her eyebrows, all while looking over his work. Obviously she was enjoying having the power of knowledge over him. “Natasha handed her debrief in first thing this morning.” All laughter fell from her eyes and she met his gaze, deadpan. “You know what it’s like to have an angry Russian sitting at your desk before you’ve had your morning coffee?”

“... yes, actually.”

That earned him another grin, one that pulled at her deep red lips.

Suddenly he found those much more appealing than the cut of her shirt.

He was brought back from the perplexing thought when she went off on a tangent about how the whole thing will blow over, how Phil had a meeting after lunch with some military officials and some ambassador from somewhere or other. Phil would have to kiss a little ass, and Director Fury would have to call a few favors, but everything should be fine.

“So don’t worry your pretty blonde head, Barton,” she turned back in her chair to set his files with the rest, next to her computer. “The world still ticks.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Damn his mouth.

Thankfully she took the obvious ego-brushing in stride. “I’ve seen prettier. Actually, I take it back—it’s impossible to call any Avenger pretty when Thor is present. And Natasha agrees with me, FYI.”

“Sheesh, throw a guy a bone here.” That’s right—Darcy joined S.H.I.E.L.D. after the whole Puento Antigua incident, the same one he had been involved with. She had been invited onto the force (the administrative force, anyway) when the scientist, Jane Foster, had been asked to stay on as well. She was actually pretty good friends with Thor; that was when Barton saw her most often. She would be joking around with the big guy, his booming voice competing with her full-blown laughter, most of the time.

He would notice them when she laughed. Her laugh always caught his ear, now that he thought about it.

Suddenly he was in no rush to get to lunch, or to leave, really—he glanced around her cubicle. Little knick-knacks were scattered here and there. There was a small cactus beside her monitor, probably an homage to her time in New Mexico. Beside her purse was a book. He read the title.

“To Kill A Mockingbird?”

Instantly her head snapped towards the book, as if she had been thinking about it all day and by leaving it out, she had been hoping someone would ask about it. She managed to keep her cool though and replied, “An American classic.”

“Never read it,” Clint said. “But I saw the movie. I don’t usually like old movies, but Gregory Peck did me in.”

He was rewarded with her eyes lighting up. “I know, right?!”

And suddenly she went on this... well, rant is probably the wrong word, but she was passionate and enthusiastic about the book, and the movie. It was refreshing for someone her age. Sometimes he saw S.H.I.E.L.D. interns, or sometimes there were college kids at the coffee shops, who would sit around and pretentiously speak about how pedestrian something was. All he wanted to do to those kids was send an arrow through their eye-sockets. But Darcy? Darcy was genuinely excited about some things. It was nice.

While she spoke Darcy’s eyes shifted. Just a fraction of a second, but he still caught the movement. A subtle shift to the right—his right—and the almost imperceptible quirk of her lips. Something behind him was very amusing.

He only had the chance to tilt his head out of the way as something whizzed by and stuck to Darcy’s computer monitor.

The archer and the assistant stared at the green foam dart in silence, but only for a split second.

“Did you plan that?”

Darcy started, wrinkling her nose. “What?”

Her confusion wasn’t what he focused on first—all the watching, everything he had just reminded himself of, it all clicked now. Slowly, calculating, he nodded, suddenly understanding. “You’re on their side. Of course.”

Darcy blinked repeatedly. “What are you talking about?”

Clint let out a barking laugh. “Ha! Thor’s your pal, of course you’re going to help him win. Well, we’ll see about that.”

“Wha—Barton—AH!”

And suddenly she was a Prisoner of War in the biggest Nerf battle the tower had ever seen.

Suddenly all the waiting and pacing seems like a horrible idea and he’s beating himself up for taking too long.

It's a simple enough day; there were no early-morning missions which meant no running around or skipping lunch, which Steve was happy about. The paperwork in his hands had to be taken to Agent Coulson's assistant before lunch, which he was also happy about, because the chance of walking with said assistant down to lunch had improved. Meaning he'd spend a bit more time watching her play with her hair, chew on her deep red lipstick, maybe get a smile or a giggle. If he was lucky, that is; maybe she was going out to buy lunch today. If so, he wouldn't stop her. He enjoyed their lunchtime together but they’ve only been talking for the last two weeks; he didn't have the right to monopolize her time (nor would Darcy Lewis stand for such a thing). This plan of walking her to lunch was a very small scheme and if it failed, he tried to convince himself that he wouldn't have his heart broken... but for how high his hopes were, he was starting to doubt that.

With ten minutes to lunch he left the elevator, stepping out onto the S.H.I.E.L.D. administration floor at Stark Tower, perfectly filled-out paperwork in hand and he followed the memorized path through the cubicles. It's an easy walk, one that got him to Darcy's desk without walking past Coulson's office. Not that he didn't like Coulson; he just didn't want his chances ruined by his supervisor calling him in for a chat.

Only when Steve turned into Darcy's cubicle, there was only an empty chair. He paused, biting his lower lip in thought. Maybe she ran to the photo-copier. Either way, he ignored the small part of him that suggested he just leave the file on her desk and be on his way--because there was a good chance she left for lunch already, dipping out as a small defiance to her boss (hey, she took any break for rebellion that she could get) and leaned against her cubicle to wait.

His eyes trailed over her desk like it had before. Nothing out of place. Except for a Nerf dart, bright green, stuck to her computer monitor.

When lunchtime came he ended up feeling worse than if he had just brushed it off. And he continued to brush it off, that niggling feeling of doubt and disappointment that followed him around, and insisted that she hadn't known he was coming, so there was nothing to be done. The situation of his ever-growing attraction of Darcy Lewis is no better or worse than it had been when they parted ways yesterday after lunch was over. Things were fine; stop worrying.

But as he approached the elevators he heard the laugh, and this time it was much stronger than any Darcy had emitted before. This was a constant, full from her belly, having-trouble-breathing laugh, and it became louder and louder. She kept insisting someone let her go, but it was broken with the constant giggling. Steve had a feeling she wasn't in imminent danger. But he might be.

Through the elevator foyer Clint stalked into view, holding one of those garish, neon-colored Nerf machine-guns at the ready, pumping the release to build up pressure. He had the shit-eating grin on his face that Steve accepted as Happy Clint, even though this Nerf war he had been in with Black Widow and Thor for the last two weeks was starting to annoy pretty much everyone else in the damn building. Well, everyone but the executive assistant looped in the archer’s arms, doubling over with laughter.

Darcy continued to playfully slap at the steel grip around her waist as Clint dragged her around--literally dragged when her feet slipped here and there, but his grip was so solid that she didn't slip an inch--and the archer was completely impassive of her struggles, which only made her giggle harder.

But when she caught sight of Steve, she opened her tearing-eyes wide and held out her hand, feigning desperation. "Steve! Steve, help!"

Before he could respond Clint spoke over her. "Don't you dare, Cap-- she's a prisoner of war now. Caught her helping Thor out and I am not losing this round." The way he growled in the end only made Darcy laugh harder, and, to her delight, the grip around her waist tightened in response and he growled again, "C'mon, you."

As if forgetting they interacted with him at all, Steve watched him stalk down the hallway, giggling prisoner in tow. The archer paused at a corner leading off to Accounting before storming it and firing rapidly down the hall; Darcy screeched in 'terror' as she covered her ears to the gunfire and was dragged out of sight. Apparently she was enjoying being the spoils of war.

The worst was that the captain knew Clint certainly did enjoy the spoils of war. Why would he not take the time to enjoy Darcy's company? After this round was over there was no doubt that Clint wouldn't pass the chance to ask her on a date, or at the very least continue to flirt with her, make her blush, make her grin, bite her bottom lip. Steve doesn't know why he didn't make the connection before, but Darcy's inappropriate, lewd quips were very similar to Clint's; they could probably carry on a whole conversation based on "that's what she said" and neither would be irked by it.

Suddenly all the waiting and pacing seems like a horrible idea and he’s beating himself up for taking too long to ask her on a proper date.

The rain had stopped when Steve decided to hop out of the tower for a walk. He had to remind himself to not get so cooped up in that building, but it was hard; his apartment was inside, the training gym, all of the S.H.I.E.L.D. resources he would ever need, were in that building. All of New York was outside his door; he just had to remind himself to go see it. And especially after the day he’s had, he needed fresh hair to clear his thoughts.

The sky was still cloudy, so he was glad he had grabbed his jacket. He zipped it up, about to make the trek to the park for a while—

“Steve!”

Darcy ran across the slick pavement, a move he wished she wouldn’t do, especially when she was in heels today, but managed to get to him in one piece. She was smiling, and holding something. For a moment he was caught in her expression, breathless, happy, her hair blown back—

“I meant to give you this at lunch,” she interrupted his thoughts, holding out her hands to him. The book she had mentioned yesterday, To Kill A Mockingbird. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

This was the first time she had gone to the trouble to give him something. He smiled and gripped the book, looking over the cover. “Thanks,” he said.

“And thank you for leaving your paperwork,” she said. “I already have to chase Stark down for his stuff, and I know I was stuck running around during lunch—“ she rolled her eyes like it was a big annoyance, and her reaction to it lifted his spirits a bit. Obviously the whole thing had been an annoyance to her. Maybe he hadn’t lost his chance—

Until he heard an all-familiar whistle.

Both turned towards the doors of the Tower. Steve’s spirits froze where they were. Barton was there, looking at the pair, grinning and waiting with his hands in his pockets.

“Oh,” Darcy faltered, her voice catching. “I have to go—Clint’s taking me for dinner.” A blush crept on her cheeks. “To apologize for using me as a human shield once or twice today.”

Steve frowned at this, sending his best un-amused glare to Barton, as if to say ‘really?’ in his deadpan/disappointed voice. And Clint, used to being a disappointment, shrugged without any real sign of apology. This was only a distraction though; what was Steve supposed to say to Darcy? Have fun? He didn’t want her going with Clint to a restaurant. Not when she’s happy and glowing like this. He wanted this.

Well, he waited a bit too long for that luxury, didn’t he?

When he realized he hadn’t said anything, he looked back to Darcy, knowing he probably wasn’t hiding his emotions very well. Then again, she looked a little uncomfortable herself. She bit her bottom lip, still red from her lipstick choice of the day, and she could barely look at his eyes. If he didn’t know any better, she looked reluctant to go.

Yeah, he wished.

“Have fun,” he eventually said, defeated.

A small smile graced her lips. “Thanks.” She pushed the book closer to him. “Enjoy. We’ll talk about it at lunch, okay?”

With forced smiles and awkward glances back over their shoulders, the soldier and the assistant went their separate ways. Steve kept the book tucked under his arm, while Clint threaded Darcy’s through his, insisting he would try to keep her warm.

And the date was nice, and Steve finished the book in one night, and Clint didn’t force a kiss but Darcy allowed the press of his lips to her cheek, thinking how funny and charming and wonderfully inappropriate Clint was for her, and maybe this was a better fit for everyone.

Maybe.