((As I'm not really into Tasertricks (unless it's a gloriously-written salad of angst that makes me want to curl up and die!), and there's so little Fancy-fic out there, I haven't really experienced many 'Darcy Goes To Asgard' cliches, if there are any. So if any sneaked in, my deepest apologies!

Also, as a couple of readers seem unaware, Fandral in the comics is indeed very, very much a ladies man. He fights in battles, he cracks jokes, he gets laid. It's wut he do. So this characterization is no invention of mine ;) I haven't read as many Thor comics as other heroes', but I do recall that some of my favorite bits for him were when this lifestyle finally comes up and bites him in the ass, and he realizes how many people he's hurt. So there's that!))

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Chapter 3

I Think I Need A New Heart

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She's the first thing he sees, when he opens his eyes. She'd been the last as well, when his vision was failing and she and Sif had dragged him away from the fighting. It had been Darcy's hands on his face, calling his name as he drifted away. And now Fandral wakes to her, the light seeping into his eyes all golden and hazy. He thinks for a moment that he must be in Valhalla, but no, the view from the windows is Asgard. In fact, it's his usual view from the Tower of the Healers. Fandral knows this room well.

Her hair is long and loose around her shoulders, as she reads the book in her lap at his bedside, not yet aware that he's awake. It is strange, seeing her outside of the often (in his opinion) unflattering clothes of Midgard, and garbed simply in a long, gray-blue tunic and leggings, in a style slightly above a commoner. Perhaps quite fitting though, for a soldier visiting from a very different realm. The color suits her, matching her eyes as she's back-lit by a rising sun, and she's still wearing the small compass pendant she always wears. He's noticed, flippant as he comes across. She's fiddling with it nervously now, biting her lip, eyes fixed unseeing upon the open page.

"Concerned, my lady?" He's surprised at how rough his own voice sounds. How long has it been since he's used it? Darcy looks up sharply, those large blue eyes of hers gone wide, just before her lips part in a smile. Oh, this stirs something in him, Fandral notes...he also notes that just about every inch of him hurts like all the legends of hell combined. "...Gods, what manner of beastly weapons did they possess?"

"Hi to you too," Darcy murmurs, reaching for his hand. Her face is schooled and calm again, but the grip on his fingers is telling and tight. "That particular lance was both barbed and poisoned," She smirks, "Only one in their arsenal that was, far as we can tell. You're one lucky Asgardian, you got the hidden prize in the box."

"I always did possess singular luck!" He tries, and fails to sit up, pins and needles everywhere, "...How long have I been abed?"

"Three days," Darcy clears her throat, looking down. "Your armor took a big chunk of the damage, and your healers are awesome here, but it still took them...and us, a while to figure out where the poison came from. And, yanno," She smirks, looking back at him from under her lashes, "...The barbs that did get through kinda tore up your insides."

"More scars well-earned..." Fandral winces when he tries to shrug. Perhaps moving is overrated, at this juncture, "Were you injured?"

"Nope, thanks to you," Her grip on his hand tightens again, even as her tone is light and airy, "Your armor did bruise me up a little," She smirks, "But we saved the day..." Her voice matches her grip and her eyes, then, when she licks her lips and tells him, "...Thank you." Fandral finds himself waving a hand.

"It is what any knight would do...for a brother in arms." He clears his throat, noting that she smiles wide and happily at the title. Normally, he'd be milking this situation for all it's worth. And he's certainly been here before, recovering from battle while some pretty maid wept at his bedside. But Darcy is nothing like those who'd fawned before. She's no Lady Sif, but she is brave in battle, and grateful, and he cannot quite imagine her ever fawning. Fandral is finding it a far lovelier thing to waken to. And that's scaring him a little.

Though, nowhere near as scary as what's waiting for him outside the doors to his healing room, apparently. He notes a scuffle and cacophony of voices, all female, and pales a little. Darcy smirks, "Oh, yeah, so I guess this is worse than you've been hurt for a while now?" She bites her lip around a grin, "You uh, have some fangirls outside. Who are kind of pissed that I'm the only gal, 'sides Sif, who's been allowed in." Fandral lets out a long groan.

"How delightful..." He winces. The ruckus goes quiet for a moment, dissolving into murmurs of 'My Prince', just before the door opens to first admit Jane Foster, and then Thor, who closes it firmly behind him.

"You're awake!" He booms, grinning broadly, and Fandral barely manages a proper salute to his Prince, "I'm gladder than I can express, my friend. As ever, we are in your debt, for saving my Lady's companion, and my dear friend as well."

"Hell yes we are," Lady Jane Foster, dressed far nicer than her former assistant (though she -is- the consort of the Prince, and as such -should- be garbed in silks and gems, Fandral surmises), wraps up Darcy in a tight embrace, "I should have pitched a fit at SHIELD, back when you graduated, until they let me keep you safe in my labs..."

"You mean the same labs we defended at gun-point, a year ago?" Darcy chuckles, letting go of Fandral's hand to hug her back, much to his dismay, "I love my job. But I appreciate the concern, bosslady."

"We'd come to gather you for the negotiations, Darcy," Thor says, after giving poor Fandral a crushing hug himself. Ahh, his Prince, ever oblivious, for all his cunning in battle. "Now that Jane has arrived in Asgard."

"Negotiations?" Fandral lofts a brow, interested. Darcy grins at him, and good gods, when she wasn't looking at him as if he were the incorrigible lout he knows he is, it made his heart twist.

"Yeah, apparently it's about time to make Earth's sexy relationship with Asgard a bit more official," She says, leaving her book and smoothing her skirts, shaking out all that long, wavy hair as she stands straight, "I'm observing and transcribing. Fury and your King, it's gonna be an epic standoff of impaired vision!"

"Darcy!" Jane hisses, but Thor just laughs, long and loud.

"I'd not thought of that! Eye-patches all around!"

"You'll return, though?" Fandral finds himself asking, perhaps a bit too earnestly. Thor's laughing tapers off, and his eyes narrow sharply at the warrior. Oh dear. Darcy, however, just smiles again, touching his hand, her wide, long sleeves brushing his skin.

"Sure thing, Robin Hood. And I'll ah..." She nods to the door, where the chattering has started up again, "...See if your healer can give you something to induce sleep for a little longer."

"...It would be appreciated..."

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Darcy knows that it's a wretchedly tired cliché, but she really does feel more at home than she has in months, even if she is in an alien realm. Jane and Erik are here too, and Thor obviously, and instead of her usual feeling back on the carrier (of worrying that, despite how well she's done, she's still kind of a Red-Shirt), she's actually helping to change the world in a manner closer to what she'd intended back at school, toying with journalism, and then law. Though honestly, Darcy does still really enjoy the shooting-bad-guys-part, guilty as charged.

The stage might be staggeringly beautiful and the implications mind-boggling, but once she gets accustomed to how gorgeous everything in Asgard is, she's Darcy again, doing important busywork for her pals Jane and Erik. Jane's not only present in the Throne Room of Asgard as Odin's potential daughter-in-law either, she and Erik are here to fully explain the pathway she's opened to the stars, and what it means to the rebuilding of the Bifrost. Fury and Agent Hill are present as the obvious envoys of SHIELD. Cause when you're treating with the All-Father, you don't send anyone but the boss.

Darcy, meanwhile, is off to the side as soon as the formal greetings are done, opening her laptop as the important people begin talks at the lengthy, golden table set for them. It isn't long before she's got ten files open at any given time, bringing up facts for Jane about her generator, or Asgardian protocol for Fury and Hill. They're then scribbled on notes that she slides to them discreetly, so they needn't appear rude or unprepared under Odin's steady gaze.

It's Darcy's favorite kind of work, and it requires all her attention, though she does note how Maria Hill looks near mutinous now and then, picking fretfully at her dress. Her tunic is shorter and darker than Darcy's and she's been permitted to carry her gun, but apparently it's still too much 'dress' for the lifer Agent. Darcy grins to herself, wondering how long it'll take for the woman to crack and ask for ceremonial armor to wear when she visits, like Sif's, which Darcy's seen her eying enviously.

Talks go well, and also manage to keep Darcy's hands and mind busy enough that she doesn't dwell too much on the handsome rake who saved her life. She's definitely not thinking about how he'd looked at her when he woke up, how his smiles had changed, shifted, softened...it was probably the drugs, she maintains stubbornly in her head. Darcy forces herself to recall the groupies hanging by his door, and finds she's able to focus on work again.

...He had taken a lance in the side for her, though. That didn't mean -nothing-...

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"Everything go well?" Fandral asks of his friend, when Thor returns to his bedside long before Darcy does.

"Excellent," Thor assures him, crossing the room in great strides, and Fandral becomes aware of the harshness in his Prince's eyes, drawing back against the pillows when he does, "Cease using your wiles on Lady Darcy, friend." Thor tells him, not unkindly, but certainly firmly. "I've humored your pursuits before, as it is often a fine spectacle of watching your merry chases backfire on you," Thor smirks, humorlessly, "But Darcy is dear to Jane, and to me. She is human, a fighter, and different than your scheming, flighty court followers. Treat her as you would Sif, Jane, or my Lady cousins."

Wincing, Fandral shoves himself up to sit, doubling over slightly as his muscles protest. The stinging traces of venom linger, though they are processing out of his system, just slowly. Thor frowns, resting a hand on his shoulder, but Fandral shakes his head, "I know that she is different, friend." He sighs, looking the Prince in the eye, "Which makes her far lovelier, here...and she is quite immune to my merry chase, I assure you. Have no fear."

"Perhaps not entirely immune," Thor lets slip, sternly, "She is grateful to you, as she surely should be, we all are, you acted most nobly. But should you -use- that, as I've so often seen you do..." That smile Fandral knows so well is on Thor's face then, the one that usually comes right before something ends up dead, or at least maimed, "...I shall personally break both of your legs." Fandral narrows his eyes.

"Well-said." A beat, the two men eying each other, "...I do like her though, Thor." Another beat. And then he's getting his shoulder clasped, more gently.

"Prove to me that it is more than a passing fancy, and perhaps I shall spare those limbs."

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Darcy has to hand it to the guy, he hasn't been feeding her his usual lines since the incident. Her more airy humor wants to chock it all up to the poison, but it's seeping out of him by the hour, leaving a Fandral who just wants her to crack jokes or read to him, when she does get a break from negotiations. On her last day in Asgard, he's well enough to walk and to return to his own chambers, though the healers expressly forbid him from donning his armor yet. He grumbles, but as soon as he's dressed and stands, he finds himself having to lean heavily on Darcy's shoulder. She's all right with this, she finds.

"Volstagg threw out a red herring, don't worry," She grins as they leave the tower, and he casts a skittish look left and right, "He bellowed after negotiations today, that he was off to throw you a welcome-back feast." Fandral grins wide.

"Yes that should keep the courtiers busy long enough to see me home, at least." He sighs, hand still on her shoulder, as he steers her over the bridges and byways of the palace. Down below, the roads are peppered with the traffic of immortals, but up here it's mostly just the two of them, and the occasional healer or page. It's all lit up by the sunset too, which makes it all the more beautiful, and Darcy sighs almost longingly. It'll be hard to go back to the City after this.

"Why would you ever want to leave?" She grins. On top of the beauty of the place, it's a realm that, for the most part, had reached a kind of social enlightenment centuries ago. Sure bad things still happened, as Loki could attest. But on the whole, it had been a long, long time since the Asgardians had been unhappy with their home, their king.

"Mmm, peace can be a bore to a true warrior, I suppose," Fandral admits, even as he breathes deep and gratefully of the evening air, "Always seeking out conflict. I am glad of the fact though, that my home is at peace with itself, that I might come back to its comforts and more quiet diversions..." He snorts, "Though, I'll be more than ready for a bout as soon as they let me back into my armor." Darcy laughs.

"Eh, I get that, I like being busy too..." She nods, "...And I've kinda become a junkie for a firefight, guilty. Dad'll be so proud, finally I'm the son he never had." This time he's the one who laughs, the sound loud and pleasantly echoing off of the gleaming walls. It's a warm sound, and Darcy really does like it.

"Ahh, you'll be Sif's favorite yet," He sighs, as they approach his terrace. Forgoing the indoors, he leads her toward the wide balcony over-looking the city, the ruins of the Bifrost, and the swirling universe beyond. Darcy makes sure he settles on one of the lounges, tossing a blanket over those fine Asgard threads of his.

"I'd love to be Sif's favorite, in fact I kind of want to -be- her, when I grow up," She admits, grinning and taking a seat on the very opposite edge of the lounge, sighing as she looks out on the view. It's gorgeous, and no mistake.

"...My Lady," Fandral starts, reaching for her hand, and Darcy shuts her eyes tight, steeling herself. It was too much to hope, that he'd given up on his pursuit and had decided to just be buddies. "You depart for Midgard tomorrow, and though this position with your SHIELD might have you traveling here often, I'd still not have you leave without telling you..."

"Don't," She holds up her free hand, "You don't...you can't -mean- it, Fandral..." She tries to tell him, but that only makes him frown.

"You doubt my affections?" He quirks a long, blonde brow, "I...I mightn't have thought over the action much, before throwing myself in harm's way for you, but it wasn't simply to impress and then bed you," He clears his throat, and Darcy has to bite her lip hard, because seriously, this guy and his Shakespeare in The Park. "...No, the thought of you being harmed was simply far more than I could bear."

"...And you'll always be way more than a friend to me, because of that," Darcy finds herself reaching out with a tentative hand, then, touching the place over the healing wound in his side, "But...to be something even more than that..."

"You are -singular-, Darcy," He tells her, almost urgently, meeting her gaze steadily, and she's almost done in, "Neither simpering maid nor hardened warrior, you are kind and sharp and beautiful..."

"...And can you promise me that your nature wouldn't still get bored, after a while?" She forces herself to ask, despite knowing that, for all her emotional armor, the answer would probably smart a little. And it does, as he presses his lips together, obviously wanting to protest, and knowing he can't. Darcy forces a smile, "...You're restless that way, all your friends say it. And if you'd met me a couple of years ago, I'd be all about a few fun weeks with a hot god I could laugh with, and maybe we'd even stay buddies after, but now..."

"...Now?" He prompts, and Darcy winces, blushing a little. But she's here, in this magical place, and with someone who's risked death for her. And if you can't be honest then, well...

"...It would've sounded stupid to me, a while back," She gives him a rueful grin, "...But then my universe kinda expanded, and I met all these people, and..." Darcy swallows, shutting her eyes, "...Now I want a love that would destroy the Bifrost to keep me safe," She licks her lips, and the god at her side lets out a long breath, nodding slowly, and she pushes on, "A love that would still dance with me, even if I were -suddenly- 70 years older than the last time he'd seen me. Who'd trust me to hold his heart in my hands, literally, the only one who really knew how he ticks...a love who'd trust that I could be something more than what I'd been told my whole life to be..." Darcy smirks, scuffing at her eyes with her sleeve, "...I want a love that would soothe a giant green rage monster."

"...That is a tall order indeed, my Lady," Fandral tells her, softly. Darcy nods, yet keeps her chin up, smiling a little.

"Maybe. But experience has taught me that fuckin' stranger things exist, man," That, at least, earns her a slow, appreciative grin in reply.

"True..." He's quiet, for a time, and Darcy plays with her cuffs, self-consciously, until he speaks again, "...While I am not yet sure if I can guarantee all that, I would, at least, enjoy one last night of your reading aloud to me." Darcy smirks.

"...Yet?"

"I am -very- persistent, Darcy." And oh, that smile. She shakes her head, grinning.

"All right, from my library or yours?"

"Mmmm, let's play for it, shall we?"

Paper ends up covering rock, and Darcy draws Harry Potter & The Sorcerers' Stone from her satchel, reading aloud, quietly, as a meteor shower decides to start falling over their heads.

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