5. Difference – ft. Darcy Lewis and Peggy Carter (inspired by Ozhawk's Bionic Battle Granny)
Working in nursing homes sucked. Or at least, cleaning them sucked. Jane was broke, and so Darcy was sent out to make money appear out of thin air. Sometimes, Darcy wondered about her boss – she could be in New York working in Candy Land aka Avengers Tower, living literally within shouting distance of Thor and all buddies. And therefore, so would Darcy, which, obviously, would be awesome, but someone wouldn't accept Tony Stark's invite!
But Darcy was a good friend, and Jane had looked so miserable without electricity – not to mention, Darcy had needed a shower and the water bill needed to be paid the next Thursday. The British water company was actually really nice about giving them the extra week, and for once Darcy's love of paperwork came through as she got a claims benefit from the government about being a private researcher in the big city, without a privately-owned laboratory. The money from that helped pay their electricity bill.
There were still other bills though – internet, 'mobile' phone credit, etcetera – so she got a job cleaning the nursing home nearby. It was easy work for Darcy, who liked to tidy and was well at ease with bleach and carpet-stain removers, and knew how to get tough-to-move people – cough, Jane, cough – out of the spot they weren't supposed to be in, so the pensioners weren't a problem, either.
Rubbing her eyes under her glasses, Darcy sighed before pulling out a pair of disposable gloves and tucking them in her pocket in preparation, knocking on the door.
"Come in," came a strong, irate voice. Darcy perked up as she opened the door – all this lady's neighbours were boring Alzheimer's slash Dementia patients. The woman inside was in her bed, looking pretty grumpy, but that fire… "Well, are you going to just stand there?" And Darcy couldn't help it – her mouth kicked in, sans filter.
"Maybe. You don't look like someone I can quietly convince to go sit with all the other old-timers while I clean your room, but I can't do my job until you've left." Darcy came inside, putting her tray on a table and sitting down at the chair beside her bed, taking out her phone and checking her Facebook quickly, marking off notifications.
"You've got fire," the woman noted, sounding less grumpy than before, and more…Darcy narrowed her eyes at the woman. Mischief, sense I. "You wouldn't happen to be one of those new modern girls who takes big risks, would you?"
"What kind of risks? Because I'm friends with an Avenger, meaning I've faced some pretty crazy folks, but that's a different kind of risk to streaking through Trafalgar Square." The woman beamed at her.
"Oh, you're perfect!" The woman reached for her bedside table, taking a pad and paper out of the drawer. "Now, I'm going to make you a list, and if you can complete it, I promise you, I'll make it worth your while."
Darcy raised an eyebrow, "Without getting caught, I'll assume."
"Of course," the lady brushed off, eyes not leaving her list. "I do hope you understand Russian. There. Done." She tugged the paper off the pad, holding it out, meeting her eyes. "What was your name, again?"
"Darcy," she replied, "Darcy Lewis. And what about you?"
The old woman grinned, eyes glinting.
"Carter. Peggy Carter. Now get going before my watchers take that pretty little list off you."