Darcy lives uninterrupted for months on end in New Mexico. It doesn't last.

Jane is called away suddenly and Darcy moves back home, once again under the thumb of her father, even though she moved out to her own crappy cereal box-worth of space in the Upper West Side.

She's struggling to pull on a skirt that she knew was perfectly baggy around her hips while she was in college. She chugs her coffee, frowning at her watch and stuffing her satchel with a copy of her resume and her keys.

Finally finding her glasses case, her cell phone rings and she groans. She knows who is calling without having to check.

"Hey, Dad," she attempts a bright voice while searching for her patent black pumps amongst the mess of empty noodle boxes on the kitchen counter. The kitchen is also the living room, and her office combined.

"So I'm thinking about your options, Darcy. I've been the one to bail you out every time -"

"Which I appreciate."

Each time she'd changed her major, her father would fight with her and then relent. When she became ill six months ago, her father paid for that, too.

"I don't want you mooching around the city any more. If you don't change things within a month, you'll get nothing from me."

Darcy froze, gripping her phone so hard she was sure it would crack. Without her father's tiny contribution, she'd never be able to afford her own place. She'd have to move back home.

Darcy couldn't think of anything worse when she'd been living away from her parents for years.

"Dad," she said, edging on desperate, "I have a job interview in...twenty minutes and I'm running late. Please. Can we talk about this later?"

Darcy hung up, knowing her father would make her pay for that later. He had been scathing when she suggested changing to an English Literature major two years ago. He was horrified that she'd completed her degree in Political Science. He didn't see it as useful at all.

Darcy's grandfather had worked in a coal mine after being in the Marines. Darcy's own father had clawed his way through law school, and her mother's family lost everything during The Depression. Darcy's parents were extremely self-conscious of their socio-economic status, and how far they'd both come.

According to Darcy's father, she was an ungrateful, lazy daughter by comparison alone. She'd been born well-off because her parents had worked so hard for her.

Darcy bit her lip before hurrying out of her apartment.

-

The job interview was her birthday present, Jane said in an email. Jane convinced Tony Stark to consider Darcy as a new assistant for the Avengers Tower. Jane added she'd probably buy her a Norwegian snowglobe, if they had those there.

Darcy missed knowing anyone around her any more. At least at the hospital there were all the other sick girls who always looked out for her, even if it just meant patting her on the back for having finished a blueberry muffin.

Darcy vaguely knew what Tony Stark was like. She read Perez Hilton and other stuff like that. Not too long ago magazines served as examples of her ideal body shape. The women whose thighs she wanted were usually spotted by Stark's side, one way or another.

It made her nervous to think that his time was spent with people who looked like that.

-

She got the job. By some miracle.

"Can you start tomorrow?"

That's what Tony had said – he insisted Mr. Stark felt too much like SHIELD to him, and Darcy wasn't from SHIELD. She just knew Jane and Thor. She'd stumbled into this little superhero mess.

Darcy hadn't had a cigarette in six months, but the pent up anxiety from the interview had taken its toll. The second she was in the street again outside Avengers Tower, she spotted a group of young men huddled together near a basketball court, smoking.

She approach the friendliest-looking one and gestured holding a cigarette.

"You got a smoke? And a light?"

His own light dangled from his lips. Darcy could hear the house music screeching in his headphones that hung around his neck. He smirked a little at her and Darcy felt uneasy.

"Thank you," she said as he handed her the prize, and held a Zippo alight for her.

"Thank you," Darcy said again, and he smirked.

"'Thank you, thank you'?" he sneered. Darcy stared at him and gave a nervous chuckled.

"I'm just being polite."

It was probably the sheer number of eyes on her that were making her uncomfortable. She couldn't help feel like she was being compared to a piece of meat by the sheer amount of collective leering.

Darcy took a single drag before turning away, exhaling roughly through her nostrils. Her eyes began to water from the smoke.

"Who was that fat chick you were talking to?"

Darcy played it over again in her head as she crossed the street, not looking back at the men.

Fat. FAT.

You're back where you started.

Too fucking fat.

Darcy had to cover her mouth with her free hand to muffle her wailing as she jogged towards the subway, and home.