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There were times when Darcy Lewis knew what was going to happen.
She knew when her grandma Jean died. She’d woken up with the familiar weight of grief hot in her belly and as she was brushing her teeth, caught the old woman’s reflection in the corner of her bathroom mirror, dressed in her favorite pajamas, the blue ones—decorated with tiny Tardises—that Darcy had sent her five Christmases ago. When the call came from her mother, Darcy picked up the phone, said “I know, mom. I’ll be home soon.”
The day she saw the posting for an astrophysics internship, she’d been walking past the pegboard in the student center on and off all day, making her late for a lecture. But she knew that was where she needed to be.
On her fourth stroll past, there was a new flyer stuck in amongst the advertisements for tutors and scam marketing jobs, and Darcy snatched it off the wall like a prize, went back to her dorm and submitted the application immediately. She was accepted two days later. And, okay, it helped that she was the only one who’d applied (as Dr. Jane Foster had later told her). But Darcy had nothing to do with that. Really.
The evening she, Jane and Jane’s mentor, Dr. Erik Selvig, were supposed to head out into the desert to gather some data, Darcy had taken one look at the eastern horizon and firmly announced they weren’t going anywhere until the storm had passed.
Jane had taken one look the clear blue sky and pronounced Darcy crazy, proceeding to load equipment into the truck until Darcy stopped put a hand on her wrist and said “Just trust me, boss lady.” Something in her voice or her face must’ve been on point because Jane cast one more look over her shoulder, frowning at the great expanse of dirt, scrubby plants, and blue sky, and nodded.
Less than an hour later a tremendous dust storm blew up, obscuring the landscape. If they’d been caught in it, not only would they have spent hours stuck inside a vehicle, they’ve have spent the next few weeks un-building Jane’s equipment to get the dust and rocks out of it.
But all in all, there were more times that Darcy knew something was going to happen, but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what that something was.
And that was just frustrating as hell and led her to do things she wouldn’t otherwise do. Like trying to divine the future from the coffee grounds in her mug, one late spring morning. Darcy had never been much of a diviner.
“Why are you staring at that coffee cup like it’s personally offended you?” Jane mumbled, stumbling in from the trailer’s bedroom, one shirt sleeve half off, her hair swept up and held into place by a mechanical pencil, half a pop-tart in her mouth.
“Trying to pinpoint this gut feeling I have that today – or tomorrow, or sometime in the very near future – things are going to go….tits up.” She turned the cup. “But it’s not giving me anything clear. Grandma Jean always told me I never had the knack for this. I hate it when she’s right.”
Pulling on her sleeve and grabbing her pop-tart just as it fell from her mouth, Jane came to the little fold down table and peered over Darcy’s shoulder. “Looks like a hammer. Maybe that means one of the machines’ll break. S’okay, I’ve stocked up on duct tape.”
That evening, they met Thor.