Darcy Lewis/Lancelot, Ahkmenrah/Larry Daley
I love Darcy Lewis, the Marvel fandom bicycle. I think I can confidently say that I've never seen her in this pairing (which is saying something, because I've seen a LOT of Darcy ships.) It was almost a Darcy/Ahkmenrah story, but I have two Ahkmenrah stories in progress and when I started to write him in this one he sort of put his royal foot down, and… here we are.
Takes place post NatM3.
Some Damselling, Very Little Distress
She isn't sure how she's going to pull this off, but that's never stopped Darcy before. If Jane says she needs readings from inside the museum, readings Jane will get. Even if it gets Darcy arrested. (It wouldn't be the first time; she'd been a hell raiser in high school. Her parents still haven't recovered.) This isn't about six science credits anymore. This is about sisterhood, solidarity… and maybe just the tiniest bit because SHIELD had flat-out told her 'no' when she'd called and asked for some secret agent-y access to the building after hours.
Darcy doesn't like being told no.
This hadn't started out as a mission to break into the city's natural history museum. Darcy, after traipsing around Central Park for several hours with an energy-reading doohickey (Jane had rattled off the real name earlier, but she has to know by now that Darcy refers to all science equipment by its function, not its multisyllabic, scientist-approved moniker), discovered that the signal was definitely not located among the winding paths and was, in fact, coming from the large building on the western edge of the park.
"Jane, the signal is coming from inside a building and I can't feel my toes anymore." She'd been walking the trails since sundown, when the energy spikes coming from this side of town always began to disrupt Jane's readings.
"Can you get inside?" Jane sounds distracted. "I can't do anything when the power surges over there. My equipment is going haywire."
"Uhh," Darcy has walked around the building and is staring at the bold 'American Museum of Natural History' sign. Thoughts of felonies and federal prison are at the forefront of her mind. "…maybe?"
Mama Lewis didn't raise no quitters, but she's having flashbacks to National Treasure and she really doesn't think she has those kinds of skills. Also, hadn't there been shooting in those movies? She isn't dressed for action movie shenanigans.
"Call SHIELD. They'll get you in." Things in scienceland must really be dire if Jane's asking for SHIELD's help. The scientist, despite being funded by them, has a deep grudge against the organization. Darcy really can't blame her; the biography she'd been planning on writing one day is basically one big block of redacted information at this point.
She calls SHIELD.
"Miss Lewis." The agent on the other end is curt.
"Yeah, hi, I have a request from Jane. I need to get into the American Museum of Natural History. Now-ish."
"That's above your pay grade, Lewis."
"But Jane needs—" The agent has already ended the call. Bastard.
She would also like to mention that SHIELD is not actually paying her, so really everything is above her pay grade.
And now here she stands, contemplating security systems and orange jumpsuits.
She really doesn't look good in orange.
Larry hadn't meant to come here tonight. Hell, he hadn't meant to come here last night, or the night before that, either. The banner for the visiting exhibits mocks him for it, but the windows to the museum itself have been dark since the disco lights on the first night.
Larry isn't sure if he's relieved or concerned.
On paper, sure, he's moved on. He'd gone back to school, gotten a teaching degree, and put his first-hand knowledge of history to good use. His job is fulfilling—if, at times, thankless—in a way that being a CEO never was. He doesn't like to think about the other fulfilling job, the one that left him bruised and exhausted and the happiest he's ever been. He's moved on.
He can't even convince himself anymore.
It's past nine, and the chill in the air is really starting to get to him. He's had a long day, and he knows if he's not going to make a move, he really needs to go home and take a hot shower. He stands.
He'd let you in. Any of them would let him in, he knows. Even Dexter, if he was big enough to operate the doors. But you know he'd be the first in line. Larry's heart clenches painfully at the thought.
He decided to leave me, not the other way around. This time, at least. Not that there had been anything between them—nothing tangible, at least. There had been suggestions of something more: glances that turned into lingering stares, excuses to touch, to clasp shoulders or brush hands. He'd had the chance to up the ante so many times, but there'd always been an excuse—the monkey was loose, the cavemen were using paper towels as kindling—and he'd been a coward.
Do you really think things would be any different now?
On one hand, he'd had ample time to think about it, the logistics of such a relationship (his nights are free now, and he hardly sleeps anyway), how strong his feelings really are on the subject (very), and the effect it would have on Nick (initially scarring, but he'd come around.)
On the other hand, he's also had time to talk himself out of it.
He's too young, will always be too young. You have nothing to offer someone of his status. You're Jewish—and okay, that's unfair, he's never been anything close to prejudiced, despite his upbringing. In fact, Ahkmenrah is one of the most open-minded, compassionate beings that Larry has ever met.
But none of that matters now, because Larry has moved on, and he's going home to grade papers and start his weekend and—
A shadow creeping along the edge of the building shatters his self-delusions and evening plans.
If nothing else, the encroaching cold has spurred Darcy into getting into the building as fast as possible. She's looking for a side entrance or a back door, anything that will get her into the warmth and out of public view.
"Hey, you!" Shit. She hadn't exactly dressed for espionage earlier, layering bright knits into an ensemble any college student or hobo (the two not necessarily mutually exclusive) would be proud of. She kind of regrets not having more black in her wardrobe, now.
She also regrets not taking SHIELD up on that free fitness training—which, at the time, had been offensive because what were they insinuating?—because the guy behind her was gaining ground, and fast.
There's a clatter as the energy reader slips from her clammy fingers. Aw, come on! She swipes for it, grazing her knuckles on the concrete. She slams her shoulder into the corner as she rounds it, taking as tight a turn as possible to put some distance between them.
It's not enough.
There's a back entrance, meant for cars, and it's gated. He reaches her at the gate.
"Ow—hey!—that was unnecessary!" She can feel the chain-link digging holes into her spine where he's slammed bodily into her. The last time I ran this hard was my middle school beep test, she thinks, chest heaving.
"What—do you think—you're doing?" The guy is obviously affected by the chase as well. Darcy can't exactly count that as a point in her favor, though, as he also has her thoroughly trapped.
"Sightseeing?" she asks hopefully.
"You're—trespassing—on federal property. God, I need to work out."
"So are you, dude."
"I'm the night guard." She looks him over skeptically.
"They have plainclothes night guards, now?"
"…I was the night guard."
"Oh my god. You're not, like, one of those angry ex-employees that decide to shoot the place up, are you?" It seems unlikely, as it's after hours, but stranger things have happened. He could be waiting to ambush his replacement. She may have faced two alien invasions—she totally counts New Mexico, even if it wasn't an invasion, per say—but crazy humans still top her chart of things-not-to-meet-in-dark-alleys. Or museums.
"What? God, no! Why would you even thi—"
"Larry?"
Player three has entered the game, Darcy thinks wildly. She's kind of forgotten about her original mission, the energy reader hanging slack in her slightly bloody hand. The man—Larry—removes his arm from where it'd been pressing into her clavicle.
"Uh, hi Ahk. I was just, um—" Larry is rapidly paling. Darcy hopes he'll pass out. She wonders if this makes her a bad person.
"You've come back." There is a lot of emotion behind those words and Darcy turns to see—well hello. Other than the get-up, which Darcy assumes has everything to do with the museum and nothing to do with a preference for costume-y bling, this Ahk (and she's not sure if she heard that right, that sounds more like a grunt than a name) is a tall glass of Egyptian water.
"Well, really I was just, uh, apprehending someone." Her musings are cut short by Larry, the nervous babbler. Not that she has any room to talk.
"Apprehending…?" Her head is ping-ponging between the two, taking in the furrow between Ahk's brows and the nervous tightening of Larry's lips. She feels like she's missing something. It's not a new feeling, considering how and with whom she spends her time.
Ahk opens the gate.
Larry wonders how this is his life. Am I being punished? he asks of God, or the gods, or whoever is laughingly tugging at the strings of fate.
Ahkmenrah stands on the other side of the fence, looking as beautiful and untouchable as ever. His lips are parted slightly in surprise, his long fingers wrapped in the chain-link.
"You've come back." His voice is just above a whisper, and Larry wonders if he's imagining the slight sheen to his eyes. (He might just be projecting because he feels like he's breathing around a thick wad of emotion, like three years of repressed anxiety and hurt have all wrapped around his throat and are intent on choking any words before they leave his mouth. Which is probably for the best, because Larry has a knack for fucking things up with words.)
He hears himself say something—probably something stupid—about the girl who is probably just a tourist, Larry, what is wrong with you? and Ahk just looks adorably bewildered and starts to open the gate, which sends Larry into a fit of panic.
"No, don't bother, it's fine, we should probably be leaving—"
"Uh, actually, I have a request." The girl cuts across what is probably the most awkward attempted exit of Larry's life. And that's saying something, because he'd once walked in on his ex-wife and her fiancé in flagrante delicto when he'd gotten the days mixed up and come to pick up Nicky. That had been awkward. This is painfully uncomfortable in other ways, though, and he only has his own cowardice to blame.
"Yes…?" Ahkmenrah, ever the diplomat, looks at the girl kindly, although his eyes cut back to Larry. Stay.
Larry stays.
Somewhere in the distance, a whip cracks.
"I'd really like to come inside, if that's okay?"
"I'm sorry, miss, the museum is closed. If you'd like to come back tomorrow, I'm sure—"
"Look, I'm actually with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. I was just asking to be polite." She straightens posture and adjusts her loud purple beanie. Larry and Ahk share a look of disbelief.
"Would you mind showing us a badge?" Ahk phrases the question much more politely than Larry would have.
The girl deflates.
"See, this is what I keep telling them. 'No one's going to believe me,' I say, and they're all like, 'We're a secret organization, Darcy, we don't have badges, that defeats the point.'" She's waving what looks like a walkie-talkie with a mini satellite dish attached in there air as she gesticulates. "I'm gonna be straight with you: I don't want to be here. But my friend slash boss really needs you to turn off whatever energy-intense, possibly-magical thing is wreaking havoc with her science! readings so that she can continue her very important work of recreating an interdiminsional rainbow bridge." Larry isn't sure which he's more impressed by: the sheer absurdity of her statement, or the fact that she managed it in one breath.
"Larry, isn't there a number you can call for the mentally disturbed?" Ahk is subtly leaning away from the girl (what had she called herself? Danny?) as if her crazy is contagious. He'd looked alarmed at first, when she'd mentioned magic, but the rainbow bridge thing had sort of discredited her.
"Hey! I'm not cra—"
"Larry!" They are interrupted yet again, and if possible, Larry is even less enthused about their newest visitor.
"Lancelot. It's been a while." Not long enough. They may have parted on good terms, but Larry can still see Ahkmenrah's face as the knight played keep-away with the corroded tablet. He remembers the pharaoh's body withering before his eyes, the stiffness in his movements that spoke of great pain even during his lucid moments.
Larry can forgive a slight to himself, but to the people he loves…
Loves?
"…wondered where you had wandered off to. Your mother was enquiring." Larry shakes off his stupor to see a long-suffering look cross the Egyptian's face.
"You may tell her that I am fine. Now if you would excuse us—"
"And who is this beauteous maiden?" Ahk closes his eyes as though asking for strength. Larry knows the feeling.
"Er, I'm Darcy. I'm here to see the museum…?" She looks like she doesn't know what to make of the blond knight.
"Lady Darcy, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Her eyes widen as he bows, kissing her hand. Larry sighs. "I am Lancelot, former knight of the round table and current guard to the Pharaoh Merenkahre and his kin." At this, he straightens and claps Ahk on the back.
Darcy looks dumbstruck and a little pink. Ahk looks pained.
Larry wonders if it's too late to bow out of this little reunion.
"Come friends, my lady, the night is young and the museum awaits."
"Lance, I don't think Darcy should—"
"—be out in the cold any longer. You're absolutely right, Larry." Darcy may be crazy, but she's remarkably quick, linking her arm through Lancelot's and shivering theatrically. "I'm so glad you rescued me, I thought they were going to keep me out here all night." The knight looks delighted at having a damsel to save.
As they walk away, Larry realizes that he will be left alone with the young pharaoh and panics.
"So, I should—"
"Larry." Gray eyes bore into his own.
"Ahkmenrah." He winces, feeling so incredibly awkward, like he's fifteen and realizing he likes Garret from the basketball team even more than he likes Tanya, Garrets sister, and trying to find the words to say when Garret asks him if he wants to go out sometime. "…It's good to see you again. Great, actually. How've you been?"
"Larry," Ahkmenrah repeats. Larry swallows nervously. "I was wrong to stay in London. I was escaping my duties as keeper of the tablet, and most importantly, I was avoiding facing my feelings for you." Wait, what? Ahk steps in closer, until Larry imagines he can feel the heat of his body, even through his layers. "I was unsure then—and I find myself unsure even now—whether or not what I felt, what I continue to feel, is reciprocated. I stayed behind, forsaking even our friendship in my cowardice. I owe an apology both to you and to the residents of this museum for my actions. I am truly sorry, Larry Daley." His words are formal, but his actions are not. He places a hand on Larry's chest, just over his wildly beating heart. His face is excruciatingly close, close enough that Larry would barely have to lean to close the gap. Close enough that he can feel the puffs of air as Ahk continues. "However, I have had much time to think—about life, about death, about you—and have come to the conclusion that opportunities such as this are few and precious and should not be squandered. So if you are amenable, and I dearly hope you are, I would like to court you, Larry Daley, guardian of Brooklyn." He says the last bit like some people say, 'I love you.' His lips curl, and Larry is trying very hard to look at his eyes, but his mouth is right there and it's been three years and—
"I, uh, I'm amenable." He doesn't remember giving the command for his mouth to say those words, but boy, he's glad he did.
Ahk is on him like some kind of metaphor that Larry is just not in the state of mind to find right now. His mouth is blisteringly hot compared to the temperature outside, soft against his own slightly chapped skin, and so right. He makes an embarrassing noise, and Ahk responds by biting his lower lip (none too gently, not that he's complaining) and swallowing Larry's moan when he opens his mouth.
And Christ, they should call it Egyptian kissing, because there's no way that little move originated in France.
Larry can't figure out what to touch first; he cups Ahk's jaw, curls and hand around his neck, shifts to draw his thumbs down his sides—and that was the right choice, because the sound Ahk makes when Larry skims his fingers over the exposed tan skin is sinful.
"Larry!" And he wants to hear that again (and again and again), so Larry scrapes his short nails along the pharaoh's back as he drags him the scant centimeters forward it takes for them to be flush against each other. Ahkmenrah retaliates by nipping at him again, lowering one hand between them to—oh. God.
"We should probably take this inside if we're doing that." His voice is wrecked. He feels like without Ahk there to anchor him, he would simply float away. It's a feeling he'd very much care to repeat.
"Yes, I noticed your hands are like ice."
"You weren't complaining."
"Nor do I intend to, I assure you." Ahk is towing him toward the museum, his hand warm and strong in Larry's own.
"Is all Egyptian courting like this?" Larry muses aloud.
"Not all of it, no. But don't worry; I intend to court you very thoroughly."
Larry grins like a love-struck fool as the door bangs shut behind them.
Darcy is not sure how this is her life, but somehow she has a very hot knight in shining armor pinned between her and the wall. As a teenager, she had imagined the positions reversed, but she's certainly not complaining now.
"You're gonna have to help me with the armor, dude." The fastenings are more elusive than the so-called 'hidden clasps' on her favorite dress.
"Uhn—Guinevere."
"Nope, wrong name. It's Darcy. Dar-see." He doesn't look like he's listening to her, and she wonders for a moment if she really cares. His blue eyes open, mouth quirking up. Nope, not that important.
"I know your name, sweet Darcy." He cups a hand around her jaw—she'd been able to tug the gloves off, at least—and reels her in for another soul-searing kiss. "But like the true Lancelot's Guinevere, I find you intoxicating." And okay, that was a smooth save.
"And if this Guinevere says she'd like to move somewhere less open so that she can properly divest her knight of his armor?" She mouths at what exposed skin she can reach, nipping at his pulse point.
"This Lancelot would most assuredly oblige his lady."
"Lead the way then, sir."
Instead, he literally sweeps her off her feet—and ha! Jane isn't the only one who can snag a guy who treats a lady like royalty—and marches off, presumably in search of a room.
They pass the hallway they came from originally and Darcy sees they're not the only ones getting spectacularly lucky tonight. She sees tan hip bones and grasping fingers and way more security guard than she ever wanted to see. But hey, go Larry. Darcy is too high on endorphins to really care about the free show, other than vague internal cheering. You tap that Egyptian ass, Larry.
Somewhere behind them a strange, walkie-talkie looking contraption is beeping wildly while being carried off by a capuchin.