Work Text:
The London rain is a persistent, miserable drizzle that clings to the windshield of the cramped silver hatchback. Darcy Lewis sits in the driver’s seat, the glow of the dashboard illuminating her face as she keeps a watchful, slightly bored eye on the restaurant entrance. Jane is currently enduring a blind date with a man named Richard—who is nice, sure, but isn't a literal Norse god—and Darcy is the getaway driver for when the inevitable "it's not you, it's the fact that my ex is an alien" moment happens.
The night is quiet until a rhythmic tap-tap-tap hits the glass of the rear driver-side window. Darcy jumps, her hand flying to her chest. Before she can even process the shape in the shadows, the door handle clicks, the lock yields with suspicious ease, and a woman slips into the backseat with the fluid grace of a cat. The stranger is blonde—a soft, honeyed shade that looks expensive—and dressed in a nondescript olive utility jacket.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Darcy spins around, her eyes wide behind her thick-rimmed glasses. "I am not a taxi! I am definitely not an Uber—what even is that, a car service? Whatever! You got into the wrong car, lady! Stranger danger is a thing!"
The woman doesn't flinch. She looks at Darcy with steady, calm eyes, her voice carrying a soft, melodic Southwestern drawl that sounds like warm dust and open roads. "I don't think so. I saw your face on the screen, and it’s the same one as on the website asking for an intern. You’re Darcy Lewis, right? Assistant to Dr. Jane Foster?"
Darcy blinks, her defensive posture deflating into confusion. "I... yeah. Right. How did you—"
"I’m Cal Adriens," the woman says, extending a hand. Her grip is firm, her skin cool. "I saw the posting. I’ve got a background in... data recovery and field logistics. I figured you could use a hand with the heavy lifting."
"Cal Adriens," Darcy repeats, testing the name. "Like the bird? The white bird thing?"
The woman's lips twitch into a ghost of a smile—a secret kept behind a mask of New Mexico sunshine. "Something like that. It’s nice to meet you."
They don’t get any farther. The restaurant doors fly open, and Jane Foster marches toward the car, her heels clicking angrily on the pavement. She tears the passenger door open and collapses into the seat, radiating a palpable aura of romantic frustration.
"I hate you," Jane says flatly, staring straight ahead.
"What?!" Darcy squawks, turning back to the front. "I thought he was cute! He’s a pharmacist, Jane. Stable! No hammers, no capes!"
"He has a five-year plan for his cat, Darcy," Jane groans, rubbing her temples. "Just shut up and drive. Please. Before he comes out here to tell me about the cat's dietary restrictions."
Darcy sighs, throws the car into gear, and peels away from the curb. They navigate the winding, rain-slicked streets of London, the wipers thumping a steady rhythm. Jane is busy staring out the window, brooding in the way only a world-class astrophysicist can, until she catches a glimpse of a silhouette in the rearview mirror.
Jane freezes. She slowly turns her head, her eyes widening as she realizes there is a third person in the car. "Darcy... why is there a person? Who is she?"
"She's my intern," Darcy says brightly, dodging a red double-decker bus with a reckless flick of the wrist.
"You have an intern?" Jane’s voice goes up an octave. "We’re living in a drafty warehouse and eating Thai takeout for every meal, and you hired an intern?"
"Oh, yeah. Professional development, Jane. It’s a thing."
Natasha—or Cal, as the world now knows her—leans forward slightly, her expression perfectly pitched between eager and respectful. "Hello, Dr. Foster. Call me Cal. Honestly, it’s a great honor to be working with you. Your work on the Einstein-Rosen bridge is legendary in certain... circles."
Jane looks at Cal, then at Darcy, then back at Cal. She’s too exhausted to argue. "Right. Okay. Great. I have to call Erik. He’s still not answering, and the readings on the sensors are spiking."
Natasha glances at the GPS navigator mounted on the dash, her eyes flicking over the map with a practiced, tactical speed. "Darcy, take a right here. Shortcut through the industrial district."
Darcy doesn't even question it. She jerks the wheel, sending the car leaning on its suspension. "Whoa! Fast and Furious: London Drift!"
"Left!" Natasha commands a moment later, her voice sharp but steady.
Darcy swerves again, narrowly missing a trash bin. "I have totally mastered driving in London," she shouts over the screech of tires. "The lanes are just suggestions!"
As they roar toward the outskirts, Jane fumbles with her phone, holding it to her ear. "Hi, Erik, it's me again," she says into the voicemail. "Where are you? I came all the way to London because you said you were onto something big, and then you just... vanished. Call me back. Please don't be in jail again."
Shortly after, the car screeches to a halt outside a looming, skeletal structure—an old abandoned factory with broken windows that look like hollow eyes. The air here feels heavy, static-charged. They pile out of the car. The wind whips Natasha’s blonde hair across her face, but she doesn't move to tuck it back. She’s scanning the perimeter—not for science, but for exits, vantage points, and threats.
"Come on, this is exciting!" Darcy cheers, trying to shake off the eerie vibe of the place. She nudges Jane. "Look, the intern is excited. See the look on her face? That’s pure scientific wonder."
Natasha’s face is actually a mask of professional calculation, but she nods. "Thrilling."
"Do you want the phase meter?" Darcy asks Jane.
"No," Jane says, already walking toward the entrance, her mind three steps ahead.
Darcy looks at Natasha. "Intern, bring the phase meter." She tosses the car keys at Natasha. "It's the toaster-looking thing in the—" She stops. Natasha has already caught the keys mid-air, unlocked the trunk, and pulled out the bulky, silver device before Darcy can finish the sentence. "You're fast," Darcy notes, impressed. "I like that."
As Jane nears the factory doors, Darcy’s phone starts blaring an obnoxious, high-pitched pop song. Jane, who is already two yards ahead, winces at the sound.
"How do I change the ring tone on this thing?" Jane calls out over her shoulder, her voice echoing in the gravel yard.
Darcy pulls her own phone out and hits 'call' again just to keep the music playing. "An astrophysicist with three degrees should be able to change her own ring tone, Dr. Foster!"
Jane stops and glares back at her assistant. "Why are you calling me from five feet away?"
"I didn't want to shout," Darcy shrugs. She turns to Natasha, who is walking beside her with the phase meter tucked under one arm. "Intern, the entrance is this way. Try to keep up."
Natasha rolls her eyes—a rare, genuine expression of amusement at the sheer audacity of this "internship" hazing. As they step through the rusted threshold into the cavernous interior, the sound of their footsteps is swallowed by the shadows. Suddenly, a metallic clatter echoes from the darkness above.
"I am not getting stabbed in the name of science," Darcy whispers loudly. She throws her hands up in the air. "It's okay! We're Americans! We have no idea what we're doing!"
Jane sighs. "Is that supposed to make them like us?"
Natasha's muscles lock into a state of high-alert. Her hand instinctively brushes her waistband, then her thigh. She can’t use her Widow’s Bite; she can’t use the Glock. She’s "Cal" now. But she isn't defenseless. She has a high-voltage taser tucked into her belt and two switchblades hidden in her boots. She leans toward Darcy, her voice a low, lethal murmur.
"Do you know how to use this?" she asks, pulling the taser just far enough out of her jacket for Darcy to see.
Darcy’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning. "You bet I do. I tasered a god once. Well, technically a demi-god. He deserved it."
A strange, unwelcome surge of fondness ripples through Natasha—a warmth that feels dangerous and out of place in her current mission. She doesn't like feeling predictable, and she certainly doesn't like feeling vulnerable to a stranger’s charm. Instinctively, she reacts the only way she knows how: by preparing for a fight.
As they move deeper into the gloom, Natasha reaches down, her fingers catching the grips of the twin switchblades hidden in the tops of her boots. With two synchronized clicks that are lost in the hollow echo of the warehouse, the blades snap open. She holds them low against her thighs, hidden by the hem of her jacket, her heart rate finally steadying as she re-establishes a sense of control over her environment.
Then, three children emerge from behind a pile of crates. Natasha’s eyes scan them in a fraction of a second—height, hands, threat level: zero. She immediately depresses the springs on the knives, sliding the cold steel back into their housings before the kids can even blink.
"Are you the police?" a young girl named Maddie asks.
"No, we're scientists," Jane says, her voice softening. "Well, I am."
"Thanks," Darcy mutters.
"We just found it," a boy named Navid says, gesturing toward the back of the warehouse. "The weird spot."
"Can you show us?" Jane asks, her scientific curiosity overriding her fear.
The children lead them to a massive cement-mixing truck parked in the center of the room. Navid walks up to it and, with the casual effort of someone picking up a feather, places two fingers under the bumper. He pushes. The multi-ton truck lifts into the air, rotating slowly as if gravity has simply forgotten it exists.
"That doesn't seem rigged," Darcy says, her voice dry but her eyes wide.
The kids lead them to a concrete stairwell. John, the oldest of the three, holds up a glass bottle and drops it over the railing. It falls for three feet, then hits a shimmer in the air and vanishes. A second later, it reappears ten feet above them, falling again in an infinite, silent loop.
"Where did it go?" Darcy asks, leaning over the rail.
"That's... that's incredible," Jane whispers, her eyes darting between the bottle and her sensor.
Natasha steps forward. She picks up a discarded soda can from the floor. She needs to know if this is a stable portal or a weaponized anomaly. She drops the can. It hits the shimmer and vanishes. They all look up, waiting for the reappearance.
Nothing happens. The can is gone.
"What happened?" Darcy asks, looking at the ceiling.
"Sometimes they come back," Maddie says with a shrug. "Sometimes they don't."
Darcy looks at the empty air, then at Jane. "I want to throw something. Jane, give me your shoe."
"No!" Jane snaps, finally looking at her device. "The thermal readings... the gravitational flux... I haven't seen readings like this since..."
"New Mexico?" Darcy finishes for her.
Jane gives Darcy a sharp, meaningful look. The world is getting weird again. "Don't touch anything," Jane warns, before sprinting off toward a deeper part of the factory.
Darcy watches her go, then turns to Natasha. "So, Cal. Quick question. Why did my new intern come equipped with a taser?"
Natasha shifts her weight, her "Cal" persona sliding back into place. "I had a... situation a few years ago. Someone didn't take 'no' for an answer. Now, I just prefer to be the most dangerous person in the room. It’s a habit I’m not looking to break."
The lie is seasoned with just enough truth to be bitter. Darcy’s expression softens immediately. She’s a sucker for a woman who stands her ground. She nods solemnly, deciding right then and there that she’s never going to ask Cal about her past again.
"Alright," Darcy says, looking at the "Cal" with newfound respect. "Can I ask why the two switchblades?"
"One is for stuff I want to cut," Natasha says, her voice going slightly colder. "The other is for things that want to cut me."
Darcy stares at her for a beat, then cracks a grin. "Huh. So, you're a badass intern. I think we’re going to get along great." She turns back to the shimmering portal in the air and holds her hand out expectantly. "Now, seriously. Give me your shoe. I have to know where that can went."