Just Like the Movies
Darcy really hopes, for once, that this is just like the movies.
"Put down the weapon, or the girl gets it," the thug holding a gun to her head snaps.
Natasha Romanova, A.K.A. the Black Widow A.K.A. the most badass bitch Darcy has ever met, hesitates.
Darcy trembles, but the thug with a gun is shaking even harder. They're in a dark alley off the main streets of Manhattan. It doesn't stop Darcy, even with her shitty eyesight, from seeing the blood gleaming on Natasha's hands.
If Natasha decides that Darcy is expendable, both Darcy and the thug will be dead.
In Darcy's mind, Darcy is the least thing from expendable ever.
Which is why Darcy hopes that this is just like the movies.
She sags in the thug's grip and begins to sniffle. Her heart is racing so fast it might jump right out of her chest.
"Shut it!" the thug growls, but otherwise ignores her. Darcy clasps her hands together before her, left fingers wrapped around her right fist. She grits her teeth.
"Why don't you put the gun down and we'll talk about this," Natasha says, tilting her head to the side.
In the movies, Natasha would be intentionally distracting the thug. Whether intentional or not, the thug is distracted, and Darcy's grateful for that. She slumps a bit further, putting her weight on her left foot.
She takes a deep breath.
Then she simultaneously stamps with her right foot on the thug's instep and jabs her elbow as hard as she can into his ribs.
The thug howls, outraged and in pain. All that matters is that he loosens his grip. Darcy drops her weight, falling to the floor and rolling away. The gravel burns her exposed forearms and she can't seem to get air into her lungs fast enough.
BANG. BANG.
The gunshots will bring the cops running, even if Darcy's screams don't. Tears stream down her face and she scrabbles at the tarmac, flopping onto her back.
"Shush, shush, calm now," someone whispers, brushing Darcy's hair from her face. Her vision is blurry, but she's certain it's Natasha crouching over her, with pale skin and red hair.
"Oh god," Darcy sobs. "Oh god, he had a gun."
"I know," Natasha says. "He's dead now."
Darcy sucks in a breath, forcing herself to sit up. The thug is dead, his brains splattered over the wall behind him. She doesn't know if she should feel bad that she's glad. Her hands are still shaking.
"He's dead and you're fine," Natasha says. "Don't look at him. Look at me."
Darcy is finally able to focus on her face. Natasha is frowning and there are streaks of blood running across her jaw. One eye is darkened and her lip is cut. Darcy suddenly remembers that there were two gunshots.
"Are you okay?" Darcy says. "Oh god, are you okay? Are you injured?"
After a long moment, when Natasha stares at her with dark green eyes that have unfathomable depths, she chuckles.
"I'm fine, Darcy. These wounds are superficial. Nice moves, by the way."
Darcy snorts. She pushes herself to her feet, still unsteady. Natasha hovers close by.
"Saw it in a movie," Darcy says, forcing herself to meet Natasha's gaze and smirk a little. Her lip quivers. She doesn't think she'll be watching any more action movies for a while after this.
She's dumbfounded when Natasha pulls her into a hug. "Well done. Couldn't have done it without you," Natasha whispers.
Something warm settles inside Darcy and she squeezes Natasha back.
"I'm glad you're okay," Darcy says. "Next time, let's just try to avoid getting mugged."
Natasha's eyes shine when she pulls back. "Next time," she agrees.
Word Count: 623
Boot Camp 1. (character) Natasha Romanova