H is for Harvest (Clint/Darcy)
Life these days, in Clint's not at all humble opinion, was great.
The team was working well together—Tony and Steve hadn't gotten into any knock down, drag-outs in the last couple weeks—which made everyone happy.
There hadn't been a peep from the unmanned aerial incursion of Lateverian construction—and really, von Doom needed to man the hell up and admit they were his—in three weeks.
And, most importantly, he'd had a wonderful morning with Darcy before Jane dragged his girlfriend to the lap.
Perched on the back of the couch in the living room, Clint was fast-forwarding through commercials in a DVR'd episode of Dog Cops when he heard the echo of the elevator chime.
He looked up, brows flying to his hairline when he spied Darcy carrying a massive bag from Petco.
And, the hell?
No one in the building owned a pet.
"Darce?"
Eeping, she shoved the bag behind her back, "Hi babe, what's going on?" She looked beyond him to the television. "Is that a new Dog Cops? Are you seriously watching without me? Not cool."
He rolled his eyes, "It's a rerun."
"Oh good!"
"You going to tell me what's in the bag?"
Darcy's free hand flew behind her back and he could hear the crinkle of plastic as she fisted the object in question in both hands, "A couple things. Nothing important Hawkman."
"And you lie just was well as you hack."
Mock gasping, she crossed the room and put a hand on his cheek, "It's a good thing you're cute," she smacked a kiss to his mouth and tapped his cheekbone just under the cut he had to superglue together when he was on assignment in Uruguay the week before.
Smirking, he put his hands on her cheeks, "And then there's that thing I can do with my tongue."
He kissed her again, running his tongue against the seam of her lips and coaxing her mouth open, and distantly he heard the bag fall from her hands with a rattle before she settled them on his shoulders, moving closer with a quiet moan.
She pulled back reluctantly, and Clint knew her head was spinning as he chased her lips, "Stop it, you," she murmured as her eyes fluttered open.
"Don't see why," he tried for her lips again, but grazed her cheek as she tilted her head. "Nothing going on this afternoon."
"I have to do a thing."
Clint favored her with a pointed look before he glanced down at the bag lying at her feet, "A thing."
Before he could peak inside, she swept off the floor, "I'll catch you later hot shot."
Darcy dashed out of the room, and he watched her go with an absolutely stupid look on her face.
It had taken them a long time to get to where they were now, going their separate ways after the incident in New Mexico, and then falling back into one another's circles years later.
These days, everyone living in the Tower on top of each other, he was beginning to have some serious feelings starting with the letter L.
And then there was the fact that he wasn't scared shitless.
But never once had she been evasive before.
Shaking his head, he slid down on the cushions, flipped the remote from hand to hand, and went back to the episode.
It was probably nothing.
"That's why you didn't want to come with me tonight?" Natasha kicked Clint under the table. "You need to get your priorities straight Barton."
"Ow! Tasha!" He yelped, but thankfully the noises in the new Polynesian-fusion restaurant they were eating at muffled the sound. "And my priorities are fine thank you very much. It was weird."
He relayed the Petco Bag Mystery to his partner while they did recon—also known as trying every single thing on the menu to see what they liked best, a tradition that persisted since before Budapest.
It was probably the best part of their constantly evolving friendship.
With long red hair like she had back when she was evaluating Stark, Natasha smirked around a bite of red curry chicken samosa, "I hate to break it to you, Barton, but Darcy is weird."
He narrowed his eyes as he stuffed another bite of macadamia crusted Mahi-Mahi in his mouth to keep from saying something that would get him kicked again, and Natasha rolled hers back, "Not that it's a bad thing," she went on. "But her entire friendship with Thor is based on the fact that she hit him with a car and tased him when they first met."
"So what? I shot you."
She flicked her manicured fingers—blood color, how appropriate—in his direction as she sipped her Mai Tai, "Details darling. The real question is what you're going to do with this mystery of hers."
"Well, I figured I'd start by asking her."
"You mean you're not going to creep in the air ducts above her apartment, again?"
"Damn it that was once! Let it go."
She grabbed her phone off the table and snapped a picture of him before he could react, "Not when you keep making those faces."
"I hate you."
"Agent Barton, I believe it would behoove you to knock."
He arched a brow and actually looked at the security camera at the end of the hall, "On my girlfriend's door? What, is she plotting world domination and doesn't want my help?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Is the planning that surprise birthday party she and Stark think I don't know about? And if she is, please tell them I'd love a vodka fountain."
"Not at the moment, but I will keep your request under advisement."
He rolled his eyes, "Is she having a threesome with Stark and Banner? Steve and Hill? Hill and Foster?"
"No," the best part was how JARVIS sounded like he was ten thousand percent done right now, and Clint's chest puffed out a bit with pride that he was one of the few people who could ruffle the AI's feathers. "She is not, Agent Barton."
"Then why do I need to knock?"
JARVIS actually sighed, "Oh just don't say I didn't warn you."
"Sure man," he rolled his eyes as he placed his hand on the scanner next to the door, and it read the lines on his palm before allowing him access with a quiet click.
He pushed the door all the way open.
And then he froze.
Darcy was sitting on the couch, and he watched as she threw a piece of something small in an arc toward the coffee table, and Clint gaped as a pile of bones laughed off the small square bed, snatching it out of the air before it resettled with an echoing rattle.
A noise clawed its way out of his throat, and Darcy looked over to the door, "Hi babe. How was dinner? Tasha texted me that picture of your face. What did she say to you this time?"
His jaw dropped as he narrowed his focus to the bones as they resettled on the pile of plush white fabric with blue and purple polka dots scattered across the surface.
It was moving.
"Please tell me you're not making a ritual sacrifice to a cat demon."
"Well that answers that," she murmured with a smirk before she stood and gestured to the creature on the table. "No Clint, I am not making a ritual sacrifice. This is cat death. She likes to crash with me from time to time."
The creature's tiny claws peaked over the side of the bed as it moved, whipping the links of its bone tail around its body, and beyond it, Clint could see the blade of a tiny scythe lying on top of a neatly folded pile of black fabric.
"You're friends with cat death?"
She nodded like he asked if she liked PopTarts, "Yes. Her name is Fluffy."
All he could do was gape.
"Fluffy?"
"Yep."
He narrowed his eyes and looked around, "Is this a prank? Where's Stark hiding."
The creature let out a quiet yowl, and Clint jumped as Darcy looked down at it with a quiet chuckle, "Yes Fluffy, this is the genius with whom I have chosen to attempt a mature, adult relationship with."
"Darcy."
"What? You take crazy space aliens falling from a portal right above this building, but it's a no to one of the shepherds of the underworld?"
"It's just, uh," he made a defenseless gesture with his hands. "It has whiskers, Darcy, but no skin."
She shrugged and walked over to him, hesitating before she curled her fingers around his arm, "That's kind of how it works."
"But-"
He broke off, and Darcy put a hand on his cheek and drew his attention away fro the table, "You with me?"
"But how?"
She gently tugged him over to the couch, "Well," she drawled. "It all started when I was eight, and our family cat, aptly named Kitty, because contrary to how I am, my parents had no imagination, was dying."
"Come on Kitty," an eight-year-old Darcy's tiny hand shook as she pushed the small green treat at the black and gray tabby's mouth. "Have a treat Kitty."
Kitty's whiskers twitched, and its eyes were half closed, but she didn't take the bait, and Darcy huffed, her lower lip stuck out in a pout as she slipped the treat back in the bag.
Wrinkling her nose, Darcy ran her hand down the old cat's side, her other elbow propped on her knee and her chin on her palm as she sat cross-legged on the center of her bed.
It had taken her pitching a fit to convince her parents to let Kitty sleep in her room before they took her to the vet to put the cancer-ridden feline to sleep, but Kitty had been with her since she was born.
Darcy sniffled, and then narrowed her eyes when she spied movement in the shadows to the right of her bed.
It was small enough that it probably wasn't the monster hiding behind the creepy door in the back of her closet that Mommy said led to the attic, but-
Then, a cat, the same size as Kitty, jumped out of the shadows and onto Darcy's pillow with a rattle, and she watched as one of Kitty's big green eyes opened, blinked once, and then slipped shut.
Gasping, Darcy looked at the bones, a scythe between its teeth half shrouded by its tattered robe, "What are you?"
The other cat's whiskers twitched, and then she dropped the scythe from is tiny mouth, and when it looked up, Darcy could see that it didn't have eyes, just fathomless holes with tiny white sparks glowing in the center.
And just like that, she knew.
"So Fluffy just," Clint spared another skeptical look back at the cat. "Stayed with you?"
"For a while," she shrugged. "Mom and Dad didn't see Kitty die, so they couldn't see Fluffy, apparently that's a rule or something. They thought I made up an imaginary friend to cope. They humored me and kept giving me the treats Fluffy liked so much for a while, but when they stopped, she left."
The tiny sparks in Fluffy's eyes were definitely boring into him, and Clint shifted closer to Darcy and looked away, "And she's been in and out of your life ever since? Doesn't she have, harvesting to do or something?"
Fluffy let out a yowl that sounded, pointed?
Darcy laughed, grabbing another treat and tossing it on the table, "Fluffy is just like Cap, she does what she wants. Last time she came around was when we were still in London."
He watched as Fluffy's paw scraped against the table, and she grabbed the treat in her claws and put it in her mouth.
"How does that even work?"
Chuckling again, Darcy curled an arm around his and moved closer, "Jane's been trying to convince Fluffy to explain it to her. You know how she gets with a mystery, but thankfully she's got the Bifrost and Tony to keep her occupied."
"Jane knows?"
Darcy leaned up and kissed his cheek, trying to sooth the affronted look on his face, "Fluffy felt the disturbance in the force when we figured out my Intern was less mediocre boyfriend and more psycho Nazi terrorist.
Shaking his head, Clint continued to gape, "I just don't-"
She ran her hand down his cheek, "Apparently she and Thor go way back, like way, way back. He tried to explain it to me, but could only do it in the form of epic poem, so I accidentally passed out on him."
Clint took a deep breath, and Darcy could see the cogs working in his mind as he tried to find something to say, but fell very, very short.
"I know it's a lot to take in."
He sighed, "You know," he finally managed with a weak laugh. "I'm kind of a dog person."
Swinging her leg over his lap, Darcy straddled him and touched her forehead to his, "Well at least she doesn't shed or anything," she laughed and kissed him, soft and quick. "Thanks for sort of being okay with this."
"Were you ever going to tell me?" He arched a brow, his hands settling on her hips and pulled her closer.
She kissed him again, "Yes, I would have, you sill man," she rolled off him and stood up, holding out a hand. "Come on. Let's go to bed."
"Darce, it's not even ten."
Rolling her eyes, she tugged him up, and he willingly rolled to his feet, "I didn't say to sleep," she smirked and tossed the bag of treats onto the coffee table. "Night Fluffy."
They were halfway down the hall when Clint tugged her against him and pushed her up against the wall, mouthing down the side of her neck.
"Oh, and by the way," her voice was breathy as she tugged the hair at the nape of his neck, urging him to look up at her. "If I was going to have a threesome with any two people in the building, it's Pepper and Tasha or bust. Not that I ever will, so you can drag your brain right back to reality, baby."
"There's a skeleton cat in your living room."
"I know, baby," she kissed him again, jumping up and wrapping her legs around his hips, and he caught her, because being with a former circus performer had serious perks. "Come on."
"Darce, I swear it's staring at me."
With an exaggerated sigh, Darcy pushed him off her, rolling them over and straddling his bare hips, "First, Fluffy is a she, and second, she doesn't even have eyes. Also, she's in the other room and down the hall."
His eyes crossed in the dimness with her breasts shifted, but a poke to his nose sent him back to reality, "But she's definitely judging me."
"No worse than Thor when you asked his permission to date me."
"But-"
She rolled her eyes, "How about I do that thing with my tongue and take your mind off things?"
Clint's eyes lit up, and Darcy rolled hers right back as she shifted down the bed, "You are so lucky you're cute."