Notes: I can't pretend this story is original. Most of the ideas have been done many times by many better writers. But I hope you'll still come on the ride.
She was sitting beside him. Thor's friend from New Mexico. What was the name? Darcy. Darcy Lewis. Clint recalled the details from the mission briefing. Recent graduate. Former astrophysicist intern. Check her for concealed weapons.
"So when do we get the 411 about why we were brought here tonight?" Darcy asked before yawing. Her glasses were sitting crookedly upon her nose and her hair was a mess. Considering she was still in her pyjamas, it was a safe bet she'd been dragged from her bed.
"Some political strife on Asgard," Dr Jane Foster replied from across the room. "Thor's worried the rebels are looking for potential hostages on Earth."
Clint wasn't sure what he'd been expecting from the young woman. Fear? Hysterics? Instead Darcy just yawned again and turned to face him. "So what does a girl need to do to get a Red Bull around here?"
She was standing behind him. Pressed back against a wall, Clint could only shield Darcy while the rebel and loyalist Asgardian forces battled through the floors of Stark tower.
"I'm telling you," Darcy said over his shoulder. "I can take one of them. You don't have to babysit me." She brandished her taser defiantly.
Clint had to restrain the urge to shake her. "You do know that these guys are fully powered, right?"
Darcy's breath skittered over his ear as she lowered her voice. "And do you know that Stark already upgraded my taser so it has a 'god' setting."
How the fuck did Darcy Lewis talking about electrocuting someone suddenly become sexy? Clint wanted to sigh as he drew back an arrow. Of course he had to realise he liked a girl in the middle of a battle. Perfect timing.
She was waiting by his door. "Just came to say goodbye," Darcy told him while staring at the floor. Clint felt a kind of tightness in his chest as he realised she wasn't staying.
"Not interested in Stark's job offer?" Clint forced himself to sound casual.
Darcy shrugged her shoulders. "Who wouldn't want to work for the Avengers? The job sounds great. But I think it might kind of suck working with a guy you're totally into who is freaked out about some stupid age gap."
Yeah, that had been a conversation Clint could maybe have handled better. "Darce..." And then she finally looked up at him. The reality of not seeing those blue eyes again hit Clint hard. "Screw it," he thought as he lowered his head to capture Darcy's mouth with his.
She was staring up at him. "I don't understand." Darcy held the present in her hands. Clint was pretty sure he hadn't screwed up wrapping the thing that badly.
"Happy anniversary," he said. And he could see the realisation dawn on Darcy's face before she winced.
"Oh crap. That's today? Not tomorrow." Darcy groaned and threw herself back on the bed. "I'm the worst girlfriend ever."
Clint knew she wasn't. "Just open your gift Darce." Buying jewellery was nerve wracking. There was so much sparkling crap to choose from and so many ways to get it wrong. But as Darcy squealed in delight at the pendant with a cheesy cupid's heart hanging from the leather cord, Clint was fairly sure he'd chosen ok this time.
And when Darcy's impromptu gift involved her straddling him with just the necklace dangling over her chest, Clint could only hope their next anniversary went this well.
She was waiting beside him. Darcy was the first thing Clint saw as he slowly blinked awake. The glare of the hospital lights was bright against his eyes, even as dimmed as they were. He must have been out for a good while.
"Hey there," Darcy's voice was soft but sounded tired. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles. Clint didn't want to think about how long she'd been there, waiting in the uncomfortable hospital chair to see if he would wake up. Especially as after that fall, Clint was well aware of just how beaten up he'd look.
But Darcy just smiled at him. All Clint saw was relief in her face. She didn't seem to care about the re-broken nose and swollen right eye. And as much as Clint knew this would hurt his dried out throat, there was something he had to tell Darcy.
"I love you."
She was lying next to him. Curled up on her side, brown curls falling over bare shoulders. Clint knew he should let Darcy sleep. It had been a long day for both of them. Every hour Clint had clocked in the field, Darcy had been working in the command centre. She'd joined him in the shower, helping to wash away the lingering remnants of the mission. But she was dead on her feet and they'd barely managed one long, soapy kiss beneath the pounding of the water.
So Clint simply spooned himself behind her. Darcy's skin was soft against him; her soft curves a comforting relief after the hard press of armour upon his body. The scent of shampoo a relief after smelling explosives and breathing in dirt during the fight. He could curve an arm around her waist and feel warmth instead of the cold press of a bow and arrow. And the steady rise and fall of her chest against him was a reminder about what he was fighting for. Whatever horrors the world could produce, it was always worth it to have Darcy safe in his arms.
She was standing beside him. There were others to their left and right. Rows of people behind them. But all Clint could see was Darcy. All that schmaltzy crap about the groom not seeing the bride on the day finally made sense. Because when Darcy had finally appeared, walking down the aisle with Thor escorting her, Clint had been pretty sure his heart had stopped.
Beneath the veil, Darcy was grinning as the minister talked about marriage and some other stuff. Clint wasn't listening. Not exactly, at least. He already knew what he was agreeing to. He didn't need a ceremony to know this was it. Forever and ever. Him and Darcy against the world. So he didn't need some guy telling Clint what he already knew. He just wanted to watch his beautiful, perfect bride.
She was writhing under him. Clint's lips searched for Darcy's neck and when he found it, he kissed and nipped and grazed his tongue over her skin. The way it made his wife squirm with her naked body arching against his and the moan it brought from her lips tugged at Clint's self control. He didn't want to wait any longer. Sliding his fingers out of her, Clint buried himself in Darcy with one deep thrust. She was wet and warm and he shuddered with the relief of being inside her again.
And when Darcy came, Clint didn't have a choice about coming with her. The cries she made, the way she shuddered around him; it ripped the orgasm from him and forced the control away. He could only shudder as the pressure released and he could finally empty himself with the sound of Darcy moaning his name.
She was sitting beside him. Their fingers intertwined tightly, holding on for dear life as the doctor sat down and sighed softly.
"I'm sorry Mrs Barton. But the tumour is inoperable."
No. Everything could be stopped. It didn't matter how many diplomas this bastard had on his wall. He was wrong. He didn't know who he was talking to. Hawkeye had stopped alien invasions, for fuck's sake. This was just a bunch of cells growing the wrong way on his wife's brain. He could stop a bunch of fucking cells.
As if from a distance, Clint heard Darcy ask the next question. "How much longer do I have?"
When the answer was in terms of weeks, it was only the grip of Darcy's hand that kept Clint from punching a hole in the wall.
She was only fucking thirty five years old.
She was resting beside him. They were stretched out together on their bed, the sunlight streaming in through the window. The weight of Darcy's head on his chest was comforting. The feel of her leg wrapped between his was reassuring. She was still here. She was still his Darcy.
"Should we try the chemo?" Darcy asked softly. "It could give us a few more months?"
Part of Clint raged for it. For every minute he could get. For the remote chance that something would change. That there would be good news instead of the endless sad faces and failed tests. That some miracle would save them. But he couldn't stand the thought of Darcy suffering as chemicals poured through her body. And Clint knew Darcy wanted to make the most of the time they had left. Like he could deny her that.
"Let's go to Paris instead," Clint said while he kissed his wife on the forehead.
She was beneath him. Several feet of earth now separated them. It still didn't feel real to Clint. It had happened so fast. Darcy had been there in the morning; she had smiled and laughed and kissed him. Then she was falling into his arms and not moving, no matter how much Clint begged. By the evening, she was gone. No magic or last minute cures or alien technology to save them.
His wife was buried beneath his feet.
Darcy Barton was gone.
A bunch of stupid fucking cells had won.
What was the point of being a superhero when you couldn't fucking save the woman you loved?