Chapter 7: Get Your Stinkin' Paws Off Me, You Damn Dirty Ape!

Summary:

Darcy is (un)successful in moving on, and other growing pains.

Notes:

Somebody just watched Eraser and was amused all over again by the girl who greets Ah-nuld after he fell from the sky and landed in a junkyard. Cinema gold, people! I have a weakness for 90's action flicks, which are basically just ridiculous plots, explosions and one-liners.

Earth. Welcome!

Iteration 3, June 30th, 2012, 7:40am, Central Park, New York

So that happened.

Those were the first words she clearly remembered thinking after she'd walked away from Loki. The incoherent mess that was her memory of the time after, well, her sordid hours of passion wasn't very enlightening, but Director fucking Fury, who was probably even more imposing than Natasha when she had her War Face on, had made sure to fill in some of the gaps with helpful footage from the many, many SHIELD agents with built-in cameras, who had witnessed it. So kind of him.

What Fury's footage hadn't shown, was her waking up - at an ungodly hour, mind - and seeing the sheets smoothed over her naked body. There wasn't a record of her prompt freak out; where she'd pressed a pillow to her face and mouthed Oh My God fifteen times in a row.

She'd smelled coffee, and since she could still feel his warmth in the sheets, she'd wanted to show him how much she had appreciated his thoughtfulness. One minute she'd been brushing out her hair, almost drooling for a cup of coffee, strolling into the kitchen naked - all casual-like - and the next it was like she'd been possessed by the ghost of the craziest girlfriend ever.

How else could she explain how irrational she became when she'd finally realized Loki had left without saying goodbye? She couldn't, no matter how much Director Fury glared and yelled. For a guy in an eyepatch, he definitely had the frightening glower down pat.

For the love of Thor, she'd stepped out of her apartment wearing the circus-tent-like men's XXL Batman sweatshirt her Grandpa Lewis had pawned off to her as a twelfth birthday present. She hadn't even put on a bra, a decision she was regretting. That and the bunny slippers should have been proof enough that she'd been impaired at the time of the incident, butno.

Sick of her face, apparently, Fury handed her over to a stone-faced SHIELD agent who'd been mute as he had escorted her deeper into the bowels of the SHIELD offices. The tiny room with the two-way mirror he'd stuck her in, the one that came with the dark suited interrogators who'd questioned her for hours, was so straight out of any cop procedural, that it almost made her laugh, except nothing about the situation she found herself in was humorous.

Thing 1 and Thing 2, that pair of SHIELD's finest, subjected her to a barrage of questions that, in all honesty, left her wondering if her next stop in life wasn't Gitmo or an interview with Ken Starr. I did not have sexual relations with that alien. But she had, and she wasn't the smoothest of liars, so she just kept her mouth shut.

Some people picked up skeevy strangers in bars to blow off steam. Darcy's version of questionable life choices took a similar turn, except that her one-night stand involved a guy/god who very much wanted to take over the world.

Which, in hindsight, she should have bribed J-Man into keeping on the DL. But no, she'd completely humiliated herself in front of God and Country by attacking him with her mouth in front of every single superhero she was aware of, and dozens upon dozens of government agents. And now she was afraid that they were going to charge her as a traitor.

At the very moment when terror was starting to overcome her reluctance to speak, and her belief in the Fifth Amendment, a reprieve came in the form of a loud banging at the door. Darcy blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes and calm her breathing. If she could get a handle on her emotions she might not cry, and suddenly that seemed more important than anything else. She didn't even look up when the door opened with a hermetic hiss.

"I'll take it from here," Darcy heard, and wasn't sure if the sound of Natasha's voice was her salvation or doom.

She waited to look up from that intriguing divot in the otherwise pristine stainless steel table until after the argument that ensued was over. She wasn't even sure why anyone would want to have a dick-measuring contest with the Black Widow, but the SHIELD stooges left in a few moments, having apparently realized how out-matched they really were. Darcy glanced up.

Natasha looked like she'd just come back from a relaxing, tropical vacation, all tousled hair and sun-kissed skin. Her eyes twinkled, just a bit as she sat in the chair opposite Darcy. Trying not to shit bricks, she made an effort to uncross her arms and say in a totally normal voice, "What's up?"

It wasn't her best effort. Her voice was hoarse and it sounded like her words were covered in snot. "I'm not the greatest at enclosed spaces," she tried again after swallowing, and was pleased to note that this attempt had come out sounding much more like her usual self. She gave a smile a shot, and was shocked when the muscles in her face actually seemed to cooperate.

Natasha's lip curled up ever so slightly, and she said, as she tapped a perfectly manicured forefinger on a manila folder, "I've been aware of that, and besides, it's in your file. 'Subject displays classic signs of claustrophobia'. It really didn't take a genius to figure it out... you were always so tense when we took the elevator together, all tapping feet and picking the cuffs on your sleeves.

So, anyway, I'm here to ask you some questions, and I would've been here sooner, but there were some small leaks that needed plugging. This would've been easier if they'd heeded my recommendations, but we play the hand we're dealt, right?"

Darcy found herself nodding for no particular reason. Recommendations?

The red head leaned forward, placed her forearms on the table and clasped her hands in front of her. It was both business-like and terrifying. As if she smelled Darcy's sudden fear, Natasha grinned fully at her, "No worries, Doper, I am not here to kill or maim you, geez. Relax."

Darcy felt her shoulders sag as she finally realized that the Black freaking Widow, hero of New York, was there as her ally, "Doper? Really? What, are you eighty?" and then she had a disturbing thought, "You're not. Right?"

Nat rolled her eyes, "No. This is what's going to happen. I'm, as mentioned, going to ask you a few questions, and don't worry this conversation will be restricted to Level 10 access. Answer the questions honestly, and we can go home."

It was such a relief to hear, that she wasn't going to be imprisoned for the rest of her life, she almost slid off her chair.

Iteration 3, May 30th, 2013, 7:30am, Greenwich, England

Before all of the stuff had happened, Darcy had been planning on leaving England; she'd go home, visit the folks, graduate, maybe see if a real world existed outside of the sphere of weirdness she'd been sucked into. She wasn't quitting Jane- she was just finishing something she'd been putting off. Jane had, well she hadn't begged, per se, but Darcy had been promised a raise and a new laptop, so she'd been planning on coming back to London in the fall- or meeting up with Jane wherever she happened to be. But all of those plans had been made before.

Before she'd helped save the universe. Before she'd killed. Before Loki had died.

Now it was like she was in some sort of fugue. She did what she was supposed to. There were piles of data to collate, charts to create, general crap to organize and file. Jane still needed her for, well, everything, even though she was trying to be more self-sufficient.

Darcy forgot about her departure for a while.

She was focused on the activities that encompassed each day, a routine that she followed. She never really slept for very long anymore, so she got up early, sometimes before dawn. She'd come to an agreement with Liz, after months of building trust, but it involved going down to the basement to get her fix. She could do it, no problem, when Jane or Erik were there, but the basement, alone, before day-break tended to freak her right out. Darcy had been even more uncomfortable with tight, enclosed spaces, ever since those hours in the SHIELD holding cell, but with coffee as a motivator, she sucked it up.

There was a park, right next to the old church around the corner. She liked to go there, sometimes. It was quiet- at least as quiet as it ever really got in a city.

She went there now, clutching her novelty Thor travel mug full of coffee, real sugar and whole cows milk.

The bench she always sat in was, as usual, empty, but something in the air was different. There was no other way to describe it. She looked around, but the only thing out of the ordinary was some graffiti on the church. Darcy remembered seeing a similar design in New York outside of the bakery with the incredible Maple Bacon donuts.

Just a bit of coincidence. Nothing to be alarmed by. Maybe it warranted a place in her "Weird Shit" folder, but then again, maybe it didn't.

She took a quick picture on her phone and shot it off to JARVIS. She wasn't even sure why she did. And apparently he wasn't either, because his response was a simple ?.

Darcy tapped out a quick:

I dunno. I'm just a mere carbon unit, J-Man. Does it meansomething?

J-Man:

Much as I appreciate your dedication to communicating in movie quotes and pop culture references, you could occasionally provide better directions. Or any at all.

Darcy could almost hear his voice, and realized she missed him. She missed a computer program, the world's first artificial intelligence. There was nothing artificial about him, though. He was JARVIS, just as much a part of her life as Jane or Erik. Her life was uber strange.

The phone went into sleep mode as she looked at it. There was a temptation to let the message go unanswered, because it, that brief moment of recognition, was probably nothing.

Just let me know if, and where you've come across this image. Nothing important, just random curiosity, so take your time. Thanks, bro.

She was putting the phone back into her purse when someone sat on the bench, next to her. She resisted, barely, the urge to roll her eyes and huff at the audacity of this person to sit on her bench. An urge which made her smile against the rim of her travel mug, since the bench was very much in a public park, and it was time for her to get going, anyway.

Darcy got up, and was startled when she felt a hand on her arm as she was turning away. She had a taser, a pretty great one at that, but it was in her purse, along with about half of her life. She stuck her hand in the purse, panicked, rooted around in the detritus, as she whirled around to face the threat.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It wasn't possible. Her hand stilled in her purse and she pulled it out. Since he still had a hold on her other arm, she reached over with the one she'd just freed, to touch his face. It wasn't supposed to be, but it definitely turned into her poking his cheek.

"Was that absolutely necessary? I mean rea-," and she interrupted him by smacking him across the face with as much force as she could muster.

Maybe she'd been spending too much time with Jane.

Loki dropped her arm like it was on fire, and looked shocked for the half second it took Darcy to launch herself at him.

"I thought you were dead, you motherfucker. I'm so, so glad you're not. How are you not dead? Oh my god, Thor's gonna flip," she whispered into his ear, and her voice wasn't quite even.

For a second she remembered running her tongue around the very curve her lips were practically pressed against, but she fought against that recollection, against the weepy feeling that was tightening her throat.

Darcy let him out of her death grip, but she still stood too close. It took a concerted effort, but Darcy took a few steps back. As his face changed and morphed into something, someone unfamiliar and forgettable, she felt something like rage.

"Why would you do this to us? I mean, that's some seriously fucked up shit. You asshole."

Natasha had given her some pointers, over the years. Generally, it had consisted of Natasha swinging Darcy over her shoulder and attempting, mostly unsuccessfully, to show her how to do the same. And when Darcy was too bruised to move more than a foot or two, Natasha'd have her draw a taser from a bag over and over again and call it good practice, which in hindsight, maybe it was. She probably should have kept up with that.

Loki, and it was Loki, no matter that he had changed his face and hair, and looked at her with muddy brown eyes, that he wore a nondescript trench coat, instead of a bright green cape. The taser was in her grip before she had a second to think clearly.

He still smelled the same, and like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, she realized something, "You've been following me around this whole time, haven't you? Stalker! What kinda twisted, repugnant bullsh-."

It is the oldest trick in the book for a reason.

And it worked. She shut up and kissed him back, her hand snaking around his neck and up into unfamiliar short, brown hair.

For a few minutes, it worked, anyway. But by the time she got her metaphorical feet under her, he was gone.

"Son of a motherless goat!"

She started a text to Jane, but it was like her fingers wouldn't cooperate. The fourth time she tried, and failed, she heaved the phone as far as she could and heard a distinct plop and then startled quacking. Probably not her best idea.

When Darcy got back to the house, she was simmering with impotent rage. Jane was tooling around the basement, checking her equipment, and getting in Darcy's way as she tried to locate her rain boots.

"Anything wrong?" Jane asked, as if she couldn't tell.

"Dropped my mother-effing phone in the mother-effing lake," Darcy muttered, as she rooted around behind some boxes in the corner.

Jane stifled laughter, and was thankfully smart enough to know better than to ask how it had happened, because, honestly, Darcy really didn't even know. One minute she'd been drinking coffee, and then the next thing she knew, she'd tossed her phone away like it had Ebola.

So, Darcy ignored her and kept searching.

A few minutes later, with a triumphant "Eureka!" she raised the boots over her head. "I'll be back," she said in a vague German accent, and darted back up the squeaky stairs. A few seconds later, she stuck her head back through the doorway, "Eat something."

Jane waved a half-eaten Pop-Tart in Darcy's general direction while she examined the paper copies of the charts Darcy had just put away. Annoyed, but resigned to a new mess to put to rights later, she sighed.

"Something with an actual nutritional value. Some of that yogurt your mom makes. I want to see an empty bowl when I get back."

Darcy was pissed off, not evil, which was why she hadn't suggested that awful gluten-free bread Liz claimed to like.

The lake wasn't deep, but she'd been hoping that it would have been even less so. Exactly 35 steps in, two things happened: The dark water lapped up over her boots and she remembered she was supposed to have borrowed Jane's phone so she could call hers and hopefully locate it. She stomped her foot; a mistake, as even more dank water slipped into her boots.

She struggled back to shore, muttering and cursing the entire way. Someone was standing next to her bag, and she was ready to go off on anyone who presumed to try to get one over on her. Except he just stood there. When she got a little closer, he spoke up, "Ahoy? Is everything alright?"

Ducks squawked as she disturbed their placid floating and finally stepped onto dry land.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but you seemed like you could use a little help out there," the blond said, his hands held out in front of him in the universal gesture of "I'm harmless."

He was British, of some sort, and blond. He was wearing a backpack, and he hooked his thumbs under the straps and fidgeted as he watched her step up to dry land.

"I'm Ian, Ian Boothby. Not anyone weird, swear. Just, you know, someone who likes walking by the lake. Thought you, I dunno, needed some assistance?"

His question ended on a quavery note, as she came to a stop directly in front of him. Yeah, be scared, she thought, "Can I borrow your phone?"

Iteration 2, May 31st, 2013, 8:30am, Greenwich, England

Darcy was doing what she always did first thing in the morning. She was making coffee. There was comfort in routine, and of course, coffee. She was doing better now, seeing a therapist a few times a week to talk about stuff. At first, she'd tried to find a non-SHIELD therapist, but with someone unconnected to the terminal events, well, that came with an entire 2 page list of stuff she couldn't talk about. Which was basically everything she was in therapy for.

So her shrink was a SHIELD agent. Darcy tried not to think about that too often. And, it helped. Talking about it, about all the different things she really wanted to forget, somehow made them less scary. She still wasn't sleeping great, but there were less nightmares to contend with.

She'd also been seeing Ian.

It was sort of worked. He loved Jane, adored Erik, and spoke fluent Rocket Science, so in a way, he was perfect. The only problem was that he didn't seem to notice her at all when he was faced with gravimetric equations.

Frankly, he hadn't even managed to touch her boob, even with all of her overt and shameless hints that he could totally give them a jiggle.

Darcy left him in the basement with Jane, and went up to the room Liz had given her all those months ago. Thanks to a repeater JARVIS had sent after she'd bitched once too often about signal strength and her inability to properly game, she had an excellent WiFi connection.

It seemed like a shame that she was using it to check prices for tickets home.

One thing about her therapy; it strongly recommended that tasks be completed. She'd been putting off graduating. It seemed like a thing she could complete, something that was totally within reach.

She'd just put in her credit card number when Ian knocked on her door. A few keystrokes and she had entered the expiration date and security code. The laptop was closed and tickets for the day after tomorrow purchased before she opened door.

Iteration 2, June 1st, 2013, 8:45am, Greenwich, London

Ian slept the sleep of the exhausted, and his soft snores were really quite adorable. What it really was, was an early warning system. Most of her crap fit in two suitcases, and all that was left was the stuff she'd have to put in her carry-on.

After her last paperback had been nestled safely in her rolley-bag, she slipped back between the cheerful, ethically sourced, organic cotton sheets Liz provided.

For a skinny guy, Ian put off a lot of heat, and it wasn't long till she was lulled back to sleep. There was something comforting about the sound of another person's breath, scent, warmth. It dawned on her that maybe she'd been too focused on things that didn't really fulfill any of her dreams or goals. She fell asleep wondering if it was selfish to want more.

"Going somewhere?" and suddenly she was blinking to wakefulness. His voice wasn't like anything she'd ever heard from him before. Gravelly and sexy. She felt her lips turn up into a smile.

It was a few hours later, and the sun shone hot through the skinny window that had been painted shut generations ago. She'd ended up on the edge of the narrow mattress, trying to escape the furnace that Ian became when he slept. He looked at her from across the few inches between them.

The suitcases were right there.

"Yeah, I've sort of been putting off some stuff, like graduating and seeing my family. I mean, I was right there in New York right after it happened, for like 3 months, and I didn't even venture over to Jersey."

He had a wonderfully expressive face, and she hoped they'd be able to play poker sometime. Right then, his face revealed that same sympathetic look she remembered from the first time they met, and she had the same urge to spill all of her beans. There were a whole slew of NDA's to consider, and she'd probably already said too much.

"We'll Skype," she said, instead of trying to explain further. "You know. If you want."

There was a hopeful note in her voice, and he took pity on her. His palm was warm against her cheek. But it was only there for a second before he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. He sat with his back to her for a moment.

"If Jane's still here during the fall-," she started to say, but he was already speaking.

"Is there anything you want to do before you head off?" He got up, and searched for his clothes. "When is your flight, anyway?" Ian asked as he looked over his shoulder. He wiggled into his skinny jeans.

"Seems like we should party, properly, if you're leaving."

Iteration 3, June 1st, 2013, 7:35am, Greenwich, England

She didn't remember taking that picture.

JARVIS had given her every instance the graphic had appeared, and thankfully it wasn't an ancient symbol of something or other, because even though the only results came from the last five years, the list was still rather extensive.

Darcy looked at the church, at the graffiti, and knew she'd seen it before.

That bakery, the one in New York, with the donuts. She sat on her bench, and tried to figure out what had happened that day. She'd thrown her phone into the lake, so it shouldn't be that hard to figure out. But it was. Every time she tried to think about that morning, her mind would skitter off into different directions and it wasn't helpful in the slightest.

Darcy knew that she was living in a city of surveillance- and that her dear friend could absolutely gain access to that footage, without problem. Her StarkPhone, having been rescued from the depths of the lake, was exactly as water-proof as advertised, so it still worked perfectly. The case, however, had been a bedazzled leather-ish deal and hadn't faired nearly as well. The phone felt unfamiliar and new under fingers as she typed out the odd and illegal request to J-Man, and she found herself concentrating on the task more than it warranted.

Which was why she was so startled when she noticed a man suddenly sharing her bench. The newcomer was painfully nondescript, and with the sunglasses and the bland coat he wore, she had the odd thought that she'd never be able to accurately describe him. "Sorta creepy" wasn't something that a sketch artist would be able to draw, she imagined.

Despite that, there was something about this man that reminded her of someone specific, and the sensation wasn't dissimilar to having a word stuck on the tip of her tongue. He seemed engrossed in a newspaper, but why would he choose an occupied bench when there was at least six empty in eyesight?

He snapped the paper after turning the page, and she almost blushed at the interruption of her staring. He glanced up from behind his unflattering glasses and she saw his eyes. They were a shifting greenish-blue that reminded her of the the color of the ocean near beaches in the Caribbean; crystal clear until the light hit the water the right way.

Darcy knew those eyes better than she would ever admit to anyone. They'd stared at her sullenly countless times, she'd peered at them over food and drink, and tried to decipher them over reports and coffee while they worked. It absolutely had nothing to do with the fact that he had asked her to look at him as they'd fucked. Because who did that? Who gazed into the eyes of a man so drenched in daddy issues that he'd nearly committed genocide, and had invaded what for all intents and purposes was her hometown? Those hours meant nothing, because there was no other choice. It had been a simple release of tension and hormones.

"How are you here?" she asked, sure even when his eyes were suddenly brown, that the stranger to the left was Loki.

"Excuse me?"

Quickly, before she lost the bone-deep certainty, "Loki."

"It's quite inconvenient that you keep recognizing me, you know," he said nonchalantly, "And likely not great for your mind."

His hand was lightly touching hers, and she knew, instinctively, her time with him was short. There was so much to say, and she quite desperately wanted to ream him a new one. Darcy jerked her fingers out of his grasp.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," was somehow what she said, instead of 'Hands off, dick-face', like she'd intended to.

His new face looked at the sky, and a shaft of light fell across it momentarily. For a second he was as she remembered: Black hair in an eighties hair band coiffure, pale skin and cheek bones that could cut glass. His smirk killed her.

"I know."

"Can't you just take it all, this time?" she asked, and even to her ears, she sounded pathetic. She asked the question because she knew suddenly that she'd seen him before, that he had taken those memories like he would take these. "I don't -."

His palm on her cheek was warm, soothing, "I'm sorry."

"- want it anymore."

Her phone, which, by the way, she would never actually put up to her face ever again, was in her hand. She'd been texting JARVIS and spaced out, apparently, she thought as she looked at her sleeping phone.

There was something about the way her heart was hammering that made her wake the phone back up and send another text JARVIS. The time stamp revealed that it had been 7 minutes since she'd sent the last text. A nice, tight, easily managed timeframe to review. It was probably nothing, but if it wasn't... What could account for that?

Best not to borrow trouble.

Iteration 3, Text Message Received, From: J-Man: 06/03/13, 3:05am

Sorry to disappoint, but the cameras in that area have been intermittently shorting out since the recent events. It's been scheduled to be fixed, which isn't much help, at this point.

Any other international laws you need me to break on a whim, please do let me know. /s

Iteration 2, June 24th, 2013, 11:30pm, Somerdale, New Jersey

There was an unmistakable scent of burnt meat in the air, still, hours after the last family reunion dinner, and suddenly Darcy was home again. Sneaking out after her parents went to bed was really just part and parcel to an authentic experience. If mom really expected her at the breakfast table in the morning, she'd gone delusional in her old age.

Darcy suppressed the giggle and quietly, gently removed the keys to her mom's Camry from the hook by the garage door. Mom always parked outside the garage, mostly because dad had refused to buy or fix another garage door after she'd taken out the fourth one. In two years.

The thrill wasn't gone, even though this time she had permission to take the car. She stuck the mix CD she'd made in Senior year into the CD player, and waited, just like she used to, till she got to the stop sign at the end of the block to turn the music up.

Unfortunately, most of her old friends didn't live in the old neighborhood anymore, but it was nice going solo for a change, especially after the entire family had been visiting for the last week. She loved her aunts and uncle, her cousins, her grandparents. Just, maybe not all at once.

It was always great getting back together, the first few days, but at a certain point Darcy would look across the dinner table at her cousin Hunter talking with his mouth full, remember all those times her grandparents had berated her table manners, and all she wanted to do start stabbing people.

So, she was finally free, ready to hit the open road for a few weeks and blow through all of her hard-earned money. The first thing that she wanted to do was go to the beach. At an hour and a half away, it was quite a trek, but it was something that she'd really missed in her years away from home. Cape May.

The beach was somewhat less than she remembered; of course she was seeing it in the middle of the night, but it was like the sand wasn't as fine as it had been in her childhood, like the rocks were sharper, like there was more garbage laying around and more seaweed rotting. The lights from encroaching civilization dimmed the stars she remembered seeing so clearly when she was still a kid.

No matter. The air was still briney and tangy with salt, the breeze off the water was still refreshing.

She shrugged out of her hoodie, laid it on the sand and sat on it, just like she used to those first months of having her drivers license. She wound her arms around her legs and pressed her chin against her knees. Waves crashed into the rocks a few yards away, coating her with salty spray every so often. It was a warm night, though, so it was nice.

Puente Antiguo, Tromso, London, Miami and all the places in between had been fun, enlightening, had changed her perspective in so many different ways.

She missed Jane, even though they texted all the time and had talked on the phone several times a week. Now, though, in these few weeks since graduation, she wasn't sure where she was going. She had put so much effort into Political Science, and then taking care of Jane - learning more about the stars than the names of constellations, that somewhere along the line she'd lost some part of herself.

Darcy watched the water, the endless retreat and advance, and wondered what would make her happy.

Maybe she'd make some calls tomorrow, get in touch with Pepper and see what else someone with her particular skill set could do. A corporate gig had never really appealed before, all those pant-suits and sensible heels were not really her idea of a good time, but surely there was something between that and caring for absent-minded geniuses that she was qualified for. Maybe even something her degree would be useful for.

Iteration 3, June 25th, 2013, 1:40am, Cape May, New Jersey

She missed the simple old days. When she could IM a few people and suddenly, there would be a bon-fire on the beach, and tunes, some obscure college radio shit that everyone would lose their minds over trying to decipher and interpret. These days, her old friends had graduated years ago, gotten married, had kids. Built a pleasant, instagram ready, perfectly filtered life with cars, houses and vacations.

Hanging out at the beach at the drop of a hat, in the middle of the night didn't really appeal or was even remotely feasible anymore for the kids who'd used to chug beer upside down or swear that they'd demolish the corporate slugs who sucked the world dry.

Darcy sat in the sand, and wondered where her life was going. She liked working for Jane, and after her little stint in detention, she had lost what little faith she had in government. When she'd started her academic path in college, she'd thought that Political Science would give her the platform she'd need to change the system from within. It sounded hilariously naive, looking back, but even considering all of that, she still believed in the power of history, which had been a particular focus of hers once upon a time.

Could she leave Jane? Was there any other profession that would allow her to sit on the internet for hours at a time, without repercussion? Would that make her "happy"?

There was an itchy feeling in the back of her neck, like someone was watching her, but as far as she could see, the beach was abandoned. Still, there was something that told her to get away, and so far her instincts hadn't led her astray.

Her hoodie was covered in damp sand, but the sense of urgency she felt negated the need to take care of it. She'd throw it in a bag, and then in the trunk and take care of it tomorrow. Her shoes slipped in the sand as she haphazardly rushed to the brightly lit parking lot just over the dunes. When had she last worked out?

She felt a distinct shortness of breath and burn in the muscles in her legs. Darcy really didn't want to die because she hated sweating and taking the stairs. If she was fit enough to walk for miles, a couple hundred yards at a quick clip should have been nothing, but sand, it seemed, required real effort. If she survived the night, she would definitely start going to the gym.

When she was finally, finally, safe and sound and out of breath in her mom's car, Darcy locked the doors, stabbed the key into the ignition and grabbed hold of the steering wheel. She let her head drop and accidentally made the horn bleet cheerfully. Sobbing a laugh, she unclenched her fingers and put the car in gear. And promptly almost hit a tree when a voice piped up from the backseat, "Can we stop for something to eat?"

When she stopped shrieking for long enough to snatch her taser out of her purse, she slammed the car into park, threw the door open and tumbled gracelessly from the vehicle.

Oh, God, she was going to die, and her mom would be able to say 'I told you so' for the rest of all eternity. Rule 2 of Rhonda Lewis's Guide to Road Safety™ was always, ALWAYS check the backseat before entering a vehicle.

Darcy wished she'd come to the beach during the day, like a normal person, but no, she'd come after dark when no one else was around. She ran with no particular plan or destination in mind, hoping that she'd find somewhere safe to hide, but aware that she was totally screwed.

Her feet had just hit the sand, and she was wondering why she had chosen this direction, since it had already been made clear that she was woefully out of shape, when she started doing an excellent imitation of the roadrunner; legs pumping frantically, but going nowhere.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Mortal," a far too familiar voice said.

She felt the freedom to move return, and let her legs go weak. She knelt in the sand, head hanging low, and resisted the urge to wrap her arms around herself. Darcy reached trembling fingers under her glasses and pressed them painfully against her eyelids. This was not real, not real.

His hand a heavy, solid weight on her shoulder, his feet in her field of view when she finally removed her hands from her face felt like something that was real. The touch of his skin against her neck, as he shifted his hand had to be deliberate, because suddenly she remembered knowing that he was alive. Several times.

"Stop. Fucking. Touching. Me," she hissed between clenched teeth, and writhed trying to get away from his fingers on her neck.

"Oh, come now. Don't be like that."

"Don't be like what, you despicable jerk-wad, piss-breath, farting ass-munch... Aaaargh! Do you see what you do to me? Do you? I really hate you, oh my god, so much," and the pure, visceral rage was enough to get her past the aftermath of terror and back on her feet. Her hand flew out, but he caught it easily this time, more's the pity.

She was shaking, she was so angry.

He still held her wrist, and looked so smug, she would have given anything to flatten him, to squash him like a bug.

"Are you going to try to hit me again if I let you go?"

"Duh!"

"Please don't. You have to know you'll only end up hurting yourself in the process. Besides, I, I am almost sorry. I mean, it's really very close-,"

She nearly smiled at him despite herself, because it dispelled any remote doubt that it wasn't really him. He gave her a very pointed look when she tugged her arm free.

"Why are you doing this to me? Scratch that. Why do you keep doing this to me?"

He didn't immediately respond. Darcy was still furious, but hurt was quickly overwhelming that, and she really didn't want to stick around for more of whatever game Loki was playing. She muttered, "My phone," as she bent to pick up the thing she'd dropped in the sand.

With a move that would have made both Natasha and Reese Witherspoon proud, she snapped up, and somehow, improbably, nailed him right in his prominent five-head with the electrified projectiles. Normally, she'd yank them out, so she could reload, but this time, she flung the taser back in the sand.

Darcy suspected that there wasn't enough time for a victory fist-pump, much less a full-blown dance, but she did allow herself a triumphant "Ha!" as she darted away.

The Camry was pretty close, and thankfully she'd forgotten to close it, so the interior was lit, beckoning her forward as the car dinged manically. Actually, the motor was still running. Which, yay! What a happy coincidence that her previous panic might make her current getaway more expeditious.

She peeled out, the tires squealing as she took the ramp to the highway at 38 mph. The car bottomed out and she saw sparks when she reflexively checked the rearview mirror. Which was probably why she totally ran right over someone without even touching the brake pedal.

At least the windshield didn't crack.

Iteration 2, June 28th, 2013, 5:37pm, Newark International Airport

Darcy had been super excited to get the first message from Ian the day before yesterday, and sort of nervous when they had Skyped later. Turned out, he could get a cheap flight to Newark, and so, there she was. About to pick up the man she'd be vacationing with.

Sure, she had a job interview at the Stark offices in DC in a few days, but other than that, they could pretty much do what they liked. Personally, she was gleefully anticipating a trip to the Smithsonian.

Ian waved enthusiastically once he exited the doors from Customs and spotted her standing there. He ran over and kissed her, deeply, before she had a moment to welcome him onto American soil.

"Hi. Er, hope that wasn't awkward," he greeted her sheepishly when they were no longer attached at the lips.

Darcy grinned and grabbed his hand, "No, not at all."

Iteration 00, June 25th, 2023, Dawn, NNY Headquarters, Observation Room 3

Darcy wasn't much of an exhibitionist, but even she conceded that the Pod was a much more pleasant experience in skivvies. It wasn't like Sam was even interested in her that way, in the first place. She completely understood, by the way, since he went home to the most prime of human specimens.

It just - it sucked, because she was only ever this undressed around the one person who wouldn't possibly care. Sam gave her a thumbs up from behind the glass, and she stepped into the Pod. The seat was already in her preferred position, but she took a few minutes to make sure the straps of the harness sat correctly.

Sam knew her, and was absolutely the best of all of the Operators, so he let her futz around as much as she liked before he started the cool-down process. He talked her into a steady trance, guided her into living a certain day, and they were off.

Today, she'd be remembering Saturday, December 26th, 2009.

Notes:

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