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Darcy watched the pair of legs poking out from under the car. “Tony, cut the shit and get dressed.” The clang of tinkering tools got louder. “Look. Pepper does not have time for you to be this big of a baby. It starts in forty-five minutes and you need to look actually put together for it.”
Tony slid out from under the car to glare at her. “It’s my mother’s award.”
She gestured exaggeratedly at the drycleaner’s bag she hung from the top shelf of whatever gizmo case she was standing next to. “A-K-A the thing you’re supposed to be presenting in–”
“It’s Justin Hammer.” Disgust was painted all over Tony’s face.
Darcy fidgeted with her tennis bracelet impatiently. “Oh, I am well aware. I fucking hate him, too. He sniffs around Pepper–”
“He what?”
“–and he’s a massive dickwad generally, but Connie told me specifically that he cut that check to mess with your head. So you need to get your act together, put on the tux, and glue a smile to your face because you can’t let him win.”
Tony raised an eyebrow at her. “How do you know Hammer’s secretary?”
“We do lunch once a month,” Darcy shrugged as she handed him the garment bag.
He accepted the tux skeptically. “You know she’s using you to spy on the company for him, right?”
“Duh. It’s mutual espionage. But it’s got its perks. We take turns expensing the tab at Masa.”
“Why did I hire you again?” he asked as he started doing up the studs on the dress shirt.
“You didn’t. Pepper did,” Darcy stated flatly. “And if you take off your pants in front of me, I’ll be demanding a raise and also I’ll be sending you to the next twelve sexual harassment seminars.”
Tony rolled his eyes at her, but pointedly waited until she was out the door before continuing to dress.
“Car’s leaving in 10 minutes!” she called over her shoulder as she walked away.
***
Darcy loved the Maria Stark Foundation’s annual gala. She loved getting dolled up in black tie (this year’s gown was a slightly A-line, strapless number in a gorgeous taffeta somewhere between a slate gray and moss green). The food? Phenomenal, every year. She even loved schmoozing with guests– thank you, original urge to go into political science. And she always loved an opportunity to party at the Temple of Dendur. After-hours at the Met always felt like being in a Bond film.
What she hated? Justin Hammer.
“Ah, Darcy!”
This is my job and I’m being paid for it. This is my job and I’m being paid for it. This is my–
“Mr. Hammer,” she turned around to the sound of his voice and extended her hand. “So good to see you! Thank you for coming.”
“Well, of course I had to be here to accept my award,” he shook her hand with a grin that she, frankly, felt could almost be called shit-eating.
“Yes,” she acknowledged, “the Maria Stark Foundation is very grateful for your generous donation.”
“Well,” he gestured with his head, “I should be making my way…”
“I won’t keep you then,” Darcy finished for him.
He gave her a look that made her want to dump her proverbial drink on him and walked away towards backstage.
Darcy mentally shook herself. Gross. Five more hours. She scanned the room and caught eyes with Connie, who saluted her with a champagne glass. A drink sounded good. Deciding that Pepper didn’t look like she needed an escape from the brunette she was talking to, Darcy made her way to the bar.
“The Glenfiddich, neat,” she requested after scanning the display.
“Make that two,” said a voice to her left. The man was possibly in his late forties or early fifties, and his tux was ill-fitting in a way that made her think he didn’t care for fancy clothes. He dropped enough money in the tip jar to cover both their drinks.
She nodded in thanks. “Your accent… it’s something Scandinavian, right?” It was something anyway, certainly sounding more like an affectation than genuine.
“Ah! You have a good ear!” praised the man who was raising some red flags. “I am from Norway! Bjarne Solberg,” he introduced, holding his hand out.
Darcy blinked as the flags became alarm bells. She mentally shook herself and hoped that her pause wasn’t too long. “Well, gosh, we appreciate you coming all this way to support the Maria Stark Foundation, Mr. Solberg.” She shook his hand.
The fake Mr. Solberg leaned in as if sharing a secret. “Truthfully, I’ve been an admirer of many of Mr. Hammer’s products. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to hear him speak, though your foundation does such good work that of course it was no hardship to buy the ticket.”
Tickets were $10,000 a piece, so Darcy hoped her skepticism didn’t show on her face. Natasha was working with her on her poker face and she prayed the lessons were paying off. “Again,” she said with a smile, “the foundation appreciates your generosity. If you’ll excuse me,” she gestured with her head back towards the mingling crowd, “I need to make some rounds before the salad course.”
She was several yards away before she brushed her hair back to disguise the tap of her ear. “J, we’ve got a bogey. Patch me through to Happy?”
“Right away, Ms. Lewis.”
Darcy maneuvered through the crowd, swiping across her phone to hide her intent.
“Darcy,” Happy greeted in her ear. “What have you got?”
She found an empty corner on the far side of the temple and continued pretending to text. “I need you to go over the guest list with a fine-tooth comb. Catering staff, too.”
“What are we looking for?” That was what she loved best about Happy Hogan. Always straight to business.
She had a partially obstructed view of her target, which was good enough. “New attendees, or faces that don’t quite match known images. The man I just spoke to was not Bjarne Solberg.”
“How sure are you?”
“I know Bjarne from Tromsø. We watched New York happen on the TV in the staff room together. That man had no idea who I was.”
“Got it.” Happy sounded tense. “I’ll update you through Jarvis. Hopefully we can nip this before involving Mr. Stark.”
Darcy let out a gusty breath. “Your lips to God’s ears, buddy. I don’t want to deal with either the PR mess or the bill if Iron Man wrecks the Met.” She could practically hear Happy wince.
***
It was twenty minutes into Hammer’s keynote, and Darcy couldn’t stand it anymore. She whispered Pepper and escaped towards the bathroom. She was out of the Temple area, making her way to her destination when a faint sound from a different corridor caught her attention.
She detoured.
“Hey! You’re not supposed to be there!” Darcy called out as she pressed the button hidden in her bracelet.
The blonde dressed as catering staff scrambled to hide the lockpicks. “What? Who’s where? Not me! Nate, I’ve been made.” The last bit she hissed to the empty space next to her.
Comms. Fake-Bjarne was part of a team. Darcy calmed her racing thoughts. Of all the places they were breaking into, it was the gala speakers’ green room, not any of the exhibits. Why the green room?
“Parker, go.” The gruff voice came from the end of the hallway. He was stocky– built like Clint. Darcy took half a step backwards, wondering how fast she could get out of her heels to run, because he was clearly the muscle and she obviously interrupted something.
The woman, Parker, nodded and slipped away as he made his way slowly towards her. He froze at the sound of footsteps behind her and she thought the color just about drained from his face as she felt a presence settle at her back.
He didn’t bother hiding his communication. “Everybody get out. Get the fuck out of here. Har– don’t even.”
Darcy felt herself relax. “Nice to see you still scare the shit out of people.”
Bucky’s laugh was tense but genuine. “Kind of my job, doll. Eliot Spencer, right?” he asked the man.
Eliot slowly raised his hands in a placating gesture. “We don’t want any trouble.”
Bucky shifted and Eliot glanced between Darcy and him. Darcy held her breath as Eliot seemed to come to a decision. “We’re here for Hammer,” he said. “Not Stark, not anyone else.”
“You guys are shit assassins,” Bucky snorted. “You had about seven opportunities you didn’t take.”
Spencer shook his head, face in a scrunch of disgust. “We’re– we’re not assassins. We… look. Hammer’s hurt a lot of people, but he’s too powerful to face any sort of real justice. That’s what we do. We provide leverage for the ordinary people who can’t afford the kind of lawyers who can take on his.”
Bucky tapped Darcy’s elbow, letting her know that the call was hers. She studied him for a long moment. “Do what you need to do,” she told him, “but keep us out of it.”
Eliot nodded and started backing away, clearly grateful the Winter Soldier was letting him go.
Darcy contemplated something else. “Spencer!” she called out as he was near the end of the hallway. He paused. “He’s got a secret property in Canarsie. It’s buried under like twelve LLCs, but it exists.”
He gave her a nod of acknowledgement and disappeared.
“How do you know that?” Bucky eventually asked.
Darcy crossed her arms to ward off a phantom chill. “Connie. Hammer’s secretary. She told me after he attacked her.” She could hear his jaw clench. “But she can’t leave because he’s the one who got her kid into this great special needs school and he could just as easily yank the enrollment away.”
“I’ll take care of him. No one would ever know.”
“Cool it,” Darcy warned. “Besides, I get the feeling that these guys have a harder punishment planned than death.”
***
A few weeks later…
Tony howled with laughter as he tossed the newspaper at her. Darcy caught it and unfolded it. She saw the headline accompanied by an unflattering photo of Hammer and laughed.
They did it.