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Darcy had a few bad and—now that she was sort of involved with a super-secret government agency—potentially dangerous habits.
First: she had almost no respect for authority figures. Well, no special respect. Like, she totally respected them as people and stuff, but she wasn’t going to bow down and worship at their feet because Authority. She got that someone had to be in charge, though, so she did listen (unless they were being particularly stupid), but that was about as far as it went. The good ones usually didn’t mind, but the bad ones… definitely minded. “Blah, blah, professionalism, blah” was the usual lecture.
Second: she was a certified Sass Master. She was also indiscriminate with her sass, which occasionally got her into trouble with the humorless Authority Figures who thought she shouldn’t be treating them like equals.
Third: she had no sense of direction. None. At all. And no, maps were not helpful. Step-by-step directions? Yes. Maps? No.
This was a problem when one was trying to navigate SHIELD headquarters, especially since SHIELD agents were apparently horrible at giving step-by-step directions. Because, seriously? “Follow this hallway for five hundred feet, then turn North.” She wasn’t carrying a compass! And how was she supposed to know how far five hundred feet actually was?
She had found exactly one person who gave directions she actually understood. There were just two problems: he could be kind of a troll, and, well…
“I am never asking Clint for directions again,” Darcy muttered to herself as she crawled through the air ducts. She was so, so lost, and it felt like she’d been up there for hours. Honestly, she was surprised she hadn’t been shot at; she didn’t know how to move around silently.
She nearly cheered when she saw light pouring in through an opening up ahead. Even better, she could hear voices.
...oddly familiar voices…
Was that Clint? She was going to kill him!
She hustled over to the opening; the voices went silent. “Please don’t shoot me,” she called as she worked the cover off the vent. Once she had, she stuck her head into some sort of conference room, which, she now saw, contained Clint, Natasha, Deputy Director Hill, and Director Fury.
They all had guns pointed at her.
She gulped, but made eye-contact with the archer, who was lowering his gun and looking… somewhere between horrified and amused. “Clint, you suck at giving directions. F minus for you. Now, can someone help me get down?”
“What are you doing, Miss Lewis?” asked Hill.
“Trying to find the cafeteria. I got lost.”
“And why are you in the air ducts?”
“I asked Clint for directions.”
A look of understanding crossed their faces, and they all lowered their weapons. Fury picked up a phone, turning his back on the spectacle, and Hill glared at Clint, who winced. “I know, I know. Won’t happen again.” He looked up. “Feet first, Darce.”
“I don’t exactly have a lot of room to maneuver…”
“Crawl to the other side and back up,” he said, as if it should have been obvious. Which… maybe it should have been. She still grumbled while she did it.
Once Darcy was safely on the ground, she looked around and saw a screen filled with maps and blueprints.
“Hey, is that the Library of Congress?” she asked.
Hill pushed her into a chair. “Sit here and be quiet.”
“What?”
“We’re having a mission briefing,” Clint said helpfully. “You’re probably going to spend the rest of your afternoon signing NDAs.”
“What? No! I hate paperwork! There is no way—!”
There was a knock at the door. Fury pushed a button on the wall, which turned off the screens and opened the door, granting entrance to a nondescript man carrying a ridiculous stack of papers.
“What?” Darcy squawked as he handed the papers to Fury and left. “Just for accidentally interrupting a meeting? No. Nope. Non. Nein. Niet. Īe. ‘A’ole. Ingen. Không.”
She would have continued, but Fury slapped the papers on the table before her and growled, "Sign the damned papers, Miss Lewis."
She stared at him, slowly smiled, then started to laugh.
“Would you like to share with the rest of the class?” he asked sarcastically.
She just laughed harder.
When the vein in his temple started to pulse, Clint, sounding incredibly uncomfortable (and a little bit worried), said, “Uh, Darcy?”
She managed to swallow her laughter, but was still grinning impishly up at the feared SHIELD Director when she replied. "Are you going to make me walk the plank if I don't?"
Clint choked, and even Natasha looked mildly shocked.
Fury stared at her for a long moment, then brought up a hand, covering his face and shaking his head. Finally, he sighed. “Miss Lewis—”
“I think you should probably call me Darcy. Can I call you Nick?”
“Darcy, I don’t think—” Clint started.
“Not here,” he said over Clint’s warning. “I don’t think I need to tell you that this will have to be a secret?"
She sighed, but nodded.
“Yeah, I figured,” she said, but then smiled. “You know, between you calling me ‘Miss Lewis’ and asking me to ‘share with the rest of the class,’ I thought you’d probably be a teacher with no sense of humor.”
“Funny,” he said dryly, “I always knew that you’d be a smart aleck who didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.”
She pushed herself to her feet and crossed her arms, unbothered by the fact that she was invading the older man’s personal space. “I prefer ‘Sass Master,’ actually,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
He shifted closer to her. “And I prefer—”
“Nat, are they flirting? ” Clint asked incredulously.
They both turned to look at him, clearly expressing how unimpressed they were, then eyed each other thoughtfully.
After a moment, Darcy smirked. “Yes, Clint, I do believe we are. Do you have a problem with that?”
Clint spluttered. “I—But—Fury! You can’t just—!”
“Sure I can,” she said easily.
“But—Why?”
She raised an eyebrow and looked back at her Soulmate. “Are you insulted by that? I feel like you should probably be insulted by that. I can be insulted on your behalf, if you’d like.”
He didn’t smile, but he did look amused as he shook his head.
She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Natasha, who had been looking carefully between the two of them, spoke. “You’re Soulmates.”
Fury’s face went stony, but Darcy grinned at the woman. “Ding ding ding! We have a winner!”
“Lewis…” he growled in warning.
“These three, Jane, the Avengers, and Pepper Potts,” she said, meeting his gaze squarely. “I think they can be trusted.”
“Stark—”
“Will understand the need for discretion, and would probably find out anyway. If we tell him ourselves, he might be willing to make something that will help to ensure my safety. It’s worth the risk.”
“Definitely Fury’s Soulmate,” Hill said under her breath as they continued to argue about who would and would not be let in on the secret.
Clint and Natasha nodded their agreement.
“Definitely.”