"We'll work on it," Darcia said, throwing a hopeful smiling at him. Bruce looked up at her, the change in her voice apparent. It seemed as if she had a different personality, to him, one that she hardly showed to other people. Why was she hiding?
"How do you know Clint so well?" Pepper asked.
"That is another story for another time, I think," Clint chimed in, ignoring Natasha's look at him. "Come on, guys, she's been traveling all day. Aren't you tired? You look tired," he nodded his head, as if proving it to Darcia.
She looked at him. "You know when people say someone looks tired, they usually mean they look like hell. Do I look like hell, Barton?"
He grinned sheepishly. "It's just an expression!"
"She does not look like our hell does," Thor piped in. Everyone laughed, causing him to look at them. "What? I do not see her lit with an infernal flame."
"Well she isn't in the ninth circle of hell, she just creates it," Tony teased. Darcia rolled her eyes.
"Including the hotness, Stark?" Natasha said, smiling.
"Actually, according to Dante's Inferno, the ninth-circle of hell is cold," Darcia said, nodding her head. Everyone stared at her. "What? I have a lot of time on my hands. I've read all of the classics."
"You were just complaining about not having enough time to eat!" Tony said accusingly. She shrugged.
"I never said that."
"Uh, yeah, you did. I heard you."
"Where's your evidence, Stark?" she bit back. Then, Tony and Darcia got into a heated (and very non-plausible) argument about god knows what because the rest of the group was torn between watching their very comedic routine of dodge-and-weave and Natasha, who just asked Pepper a question.
"Do you ever get...jealous about them? They're very close." Bruce looked up in curiosity.
Pepper thought a moment before answering. "No, not really. They had a thing once and they may flirt a lot, but they don't mean anything serious. Like I said, she doesn't like men who are full of themselves. So I'm not worried." As an afterthought, she added quietly, "You shouldn't worry, either." Natasha seemed comforted and nodded. Bruce, in the sidelines, smiled slyly, as if comforted by this fact as well. Thor and Steve were watching Tony and Darcia with exasperation.
"Stark, that idea is absolutely ridiculous. I'm serious! How could you ever think something like that? Where has your brilliant mind gone to?"
Tony smirked. "So you think I'm brilliant?" He was rewarded with a smack against the head. "What the hell, Grace!"
"Get over yourself," she rolled her eyes, folding her arms.
"Maybe once you let go of that grudge you hold against me, I will."
"What grudge? Technically, you're the one who should have the grudge."
"I do, in a way. But I'm talking about the second time..." he winked at her, who looked furious.
"We have a signed, written agreement that says we'd never talk about that again!" she whispered furiously, glancing furtively around.
"Oops, it slipped my mind. My bad," he said, a grin of victory on his face. "Pepper!" he said loudly, catching everyone's attention. "Why don't you tell the story about the second encounter between me and Darcia."
"Second encounter?" Half the group inquired, including the said assistant.
"Oh, right. You don't know about this one yet. It's good-" Before he could get any further, Darcia chucked a cup full of luke-warm coffee at him, the glass breaking as it hit his reactor, the liquid splashing all over his face. He blinked.
"I've also got a mean swing, Natasha," Darcia said curtly, before getting up and storming out of the room, down the hallway where she knew her room was.
"I think you've ticked her off," Steve said matter-of-factly.
"Good thing she doesn't have a problem like you, Brucey-boy," Tony said, taking off his shirt to wipe his face. "Otherwise I would've been dead three years ago!" he laughed, walking towards his bedroom. He stopped before he was out of sight, looking at Pepper expectantly. "Aren't you going to join me? I need you to reach my back as I just. can't. do it."
Pepper reddened slightly before excusing herself and following Tony. "I should get back to the lab. Those blood samples aren't going to compare themselves," Bruce laughed softly before hurrying away.
"He works too much," Clint observed. "Needs to let some steam out. Figuratively speaking, of course. You know what? We should find him a lady friend!"
"I need to let some steam out," Natasha said suddenly, standing up. She looked Clint straight in the eye before walking to her room. He coughed and stood up, trying to be very nonchalant about leaving, but failed as he tripped over a fallen pillow in his haste to get out.
"So that's their relationship," Steve said, slapping Thor on the back, who just looked at him.
Darcia laid on her bed, wet hair a burden on her skull, wrapped in nothing but a towel. She didn't care to put on clothes. Clothes were just her sins weighing her down, laughing at her now. She didn't have a hard life, in fact, she had a pretty easy one. It was hot in here. She wished she could take her towel off. Well, she can, technically, but she knew that Tony is always just around the corner from a naked woman and she just didn't want to deal with that now. Where is this mood coming from? She sounds like the theme of this book she read once, The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. It was such a solemn novel. She was nothing like the main character, who was forced to give up everything in a post-apocalyptic, male-dominated world. She was rich and beautiful and could literally have everything she wanted with the snap of her fingers. But why wasn't she happy right now?
She brought her right hand in the air, the bright red nail polish gleaming from the dim light of the candle she lit, her ring casting sparkles as she moved it around. She flipped her hand around so she could see her palm. Studying the grooves of a manicured, polished hand was like studying the creases of a sculpture, in her mind. She looked at her fingers, closing her eyes and opening them again to only see more disappointment. Where there should have been indentures, creases like where Daphne's drapery was falling off in her attempt to escape Apollo in Bernini's breathtaking sculpture (she has been wanting to buy it for a long time, but it would wipe out a bank account, at least, and her father would've been really disappointed in her if she did that), there was nothing. The smoothness of marble; Mary's hands, Teresa's cheek, David's thigh. Bareness. Empty. Like she felt. Her hand fell to the covers and she stared at the ceiling. What am I doing with my life?
(A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out! I actually had previously written it but I just haven't had the time to publish it. I've got so much stuff going on right now, it's insane. The earliest I will be able to write again will be like, Thursday. I know, but I'm sorry. I need to study for a test now, go to class then I'm going to a concert (fun., for those who are curious)...and then tomorrow I have class and work. Not to mention that I need to entertain my cousin and do homework. gahhhhh. And I got red nail polish on my mouse on my Mac! D: Okay. Enough complaining. I hope you liked it, let me know what you think/want to see and your wish is my command. Also, you should really read the Handmaid's Tale. It's good. I'm reading it for my World Lit class (which I guess is where her mega, all of a sudden, out of nowhere depression comes from. Don't worry, it'll tie in somehow. You'll find out when I do, haha). Thanks for reading!)
