((This is slightly longer than usual, but contains, hopefully, plenty of introspection and adorableness, interwoven with delicious supernatural things. Thanks to Tumblr, I now only see The Corinthian as David 8!Michael Fassbender. Goodness gracious. And I had to have Charles at least make a cameo, because honestly, I'm one of those fans who thinks of him EVERY time the tesseract is mentioned in the movies.
I also wrote a little one shot for a challenge, if you're in the mood, do please check it out on my profile! As always, thank you so much for all the love this story is getting. I love all your facemeats.))
.
.
.
.
.
.
Chapter 9
.
.
.
.
.
.
He watches her in the morning. Steve hadn't slept many hours that night, but that wasn't unusual. What was unusual was that his metabolism hadn't burned right through the dreamless sleep herbs Darcy had sprinkled in his tea, and what little rest he'd needed had been as untroubled as hers. Steve decides he can totally get on board with witches. He even wonders, distantly, if there's a way she could get him drunk...cause damnit, after watching Thor, Captain America really wanted the option of getting good and hammered too, now and then. Thor made these things look fun.
But mostly, at the moment, his thoughts are taken up with Darcy. She curls up tight when she sleeps, even if it is peaceful, her hands hidden under the too-long cuffs of her henley, same with her feet in her yoga pants. He'd wrapped a big arm around her waist, after she'd drifted off mid-sentence while murmuring about her mom's farm, and had latched on and curled around it in her sleep. Steve imagines that if they'd been under the blankets, she'd be like he used to be before the serum, a big fan of the blanket-cocoon. He's had his face in her hair for most of the night, but really, really doesn't mind. Steve slips his arm out of her grip carefully now, brushing her hair back from her face, drinking in how calm her face is, before rising.
"Sneakin' off on me, soldier?" She murmurs sleepily, as he sits up on the bed. His shoes are by his coat, sweater and scarf, but he isn't leaving just yet, reaching over and pulling the throw blanket they'd been under back over her.
"Not on your life," Steve grins, bending down to kiss her temple, "...But a man does kinda need to shower, eventually. I'll have 'em send up breakfast in here?" He lofts his brows, hopefully, and Darcy gives him a sleepy smile and a nod.
He ends up taking the shortest shower of his life, calling down to the front desk as he's yanking on his clothes. Steve's not sure why he's rushing, until he actually pauses to think about it. He doesn't want the moment to end, whatever it is, whatever's going on between them. Darcy seems so fleeting, really, and who can blame her, if she seems almost ready to bolt on this front? But no, when he returns to her room she's sitting cross-legged on her bed, the book she'd gotten from an angel open in front of her knees. She looks up, smiling brightly and easily, and Steve feels his heart flop around in his chest a few times. Nope, Darcy wasn't running.
"Breakfast's coming," He clears his throat, as she shuts the book, after carefully marking her page with the frayed ribbon that ran through the spine, like a Bible. Steve tilts his head, eying the worn cover closely for the first time, "I never did ask what exactly is in there."
"Spells, mostly," Darcy shrugs, "Difference is, they're ones that actually work, when used by people who know what the hell they're doing." She smirks, looking him up and down for the first time, apparently taking in his slacks, shirt and belt, because after a drawn-out sigh that makes his throat go dry, she says, "Steve, how do you make old man clothes look so damn -good-?"
"...Well, I'm not an old man, for one?" He answers, without really thinking. When she giggles, though, Steve processes it all, and winces, shaking his head as she pulls him down next to her, "...I just meant, you know, most old men who dress like this...were young men from my era...and they looked uh, just as good once..."
"I got it, don't worry," Darcy murmurs, giving his cheek a kiss. "Was just a compliment, good-lookin'."
"I'm...getting that," He sighs, leaning against her a little, "...I'm kind of a weirdo too, Darcy, in case you haven't noticed."
"I know, it's great," She gives his shoulder a nuzzle, and he can't help smiling again. Darcy's not only letting him in, she's comfortable with him. And not in the way he's used to, not like some grateful person on the street who seems so -sure- that he can save the day, a feeling he still has to work at not being overwhelmed by. Darcy doesn't want someone saving the day right now, that much is clear. She's obviously been taking care of herself, after what she's been through; she's powered right on through on her own. Darcy needs something else, something companionable and close, and Steve's pretty sure he can manage that much.
"So, plan for the day?" He asks, after their breakfast shows up, and Darcy is digging into her bacon and sausages with a relish. "I know you said something about a market last night..."
"Troll Market," She pauses to specify, waggling her eyebrows with devious promise, "I'm actually really, REALLY looking forward to it. If all the stories are true, you'll see why. That's not 'til tonight though, only time you can find it. I'm gonna call Red, see if he wants to come along," Darcy wipes her hands, watching him as he braves the black pudding. It's a lot tastier than the name makes it sound, She'd told him, and Steve is happy to discover that she's right, "...Til then, though, kinda got the day to ourselves. I thought...maybe we could walk around Tralee, you can explore where your dad came from, yeah? Maybe call up your cousin around lunchtime, whadddya think?"
"I think that I like the way you think," He replies around his bacon, grin going wide. The way she smiles back just about makes his day, and it's only nine in the morning.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Darcy's an independent woman, the kind Beyonce would write a song about, if she hadn't already. At least, that's how she sees herself and really, that's halfway to being a Thing, right there. Even after Loki, and having herself taken over, she knows her strength on her own, that needing a little professional help isn't weakness, and 'aint nobody gonna break-a my stride. Fine, good, all wonderful things to know...on one's own.
But when it came to other people, even just friendships, a girl questioned herself. It took her a couple of weeks to accept that everything she was feeling about Jane was all her, her old friendship feelings, boss feelings. Thor and Erik took a little longer. It was weird, trusting her exchange with a stranger making her tea at Starbucks more than her relationship with her best friend, and best friends' boyfriend. But Darcy had pushed through, because it was worth it, and once she had, they were some of the most helpful, supportive people, between Thor being all noble, Jane being all sisterly, Erik being like the second dad she never realized she wanted.
But when it came to the thought of being close to someone again, someone like a guy, that had seemed like a far-off, maybe-someday goal. Like when she was thirty, and Loki had either died or safely settled down with some nice psycho and had a few more eight-legged kids, never again to play merry havoc with her brain meat.
Which is why it amazes her, how easy it was with Steve. Not easy as most people would define the word... today, for example, she falls right back onto staying on the surface, nothing deep, nothing close. But she is near him, and it is steadying. The way he's kind to her, the way he's so damn eager to see every bit of the place his family had come from, show it to her, and the way he so easily slips his hand around hers, makes Darcy feel easy, steady, free inside of her own head. All this is good, she keeps telling herself. Because it is.
"Now, that's adorable," She says presently, as they stand in front of the house Steve's father had grown up in, on a quiet side street in town. It's painted dark green where it isn't exposed brick, trimmed in cream, and Steve has a faint smile on his face, as if trying to imagine a dark-haired, heartier version of his childhood self growing up here.
"It's like he described it," He nods, the hand holding hers squeezing her fingers tight. Darcy looks sideways, tilting her head.
"...How did he meet your mom, anyway? You said she was Austrian..."
"Well, dad and his brother sailed off to the States with their parents, when they were around twelve." Steve begins, squinting as he brings up the story, "My grandparents died not long after comin' over, though, and the boys ended up in an orphanage in Brooklyn. Uncle Paul went back to Ireland as soon as he was eighteen, where the family was. Dad almost went too, but," Here, Steve smirks, "He'd been smitten. Pretty blonde gal at the factory he worked, sixteen." He sighs, "He stayed for her. Her parents didn't speak a word of English, but were happy to have her out of the house, one less mouth to feed in a house fulla boys..." Here, Steve frowns, "...Though, as it went, all four of my uncles on mom's side would die in the first war...anyway," He shakes his head, grinning again, "They were lovebirds. I only have a few memories of 'em together, but...they stayed lovesick teenagers right up until dad died."
"That's something," Darcy tells him, honestly, "I can't...can't remember anything like that with my folks, just fighting. On their own they were happier...And really, I hear mom go on sometimes, about way back when the family came over from France, vaguely, getting details wrong. But you actually know..."
"Well, if I'd done things the normal way, I'd have grand-kids misremembering things too," He reminds her, yet he grins when he says it, shrugging. "But when you put it that way, it's another thing that puts a good spin on being a...capsicle." Darcy giggles, hugging him.
"Let's get ourselves some food, soldier."
They meet up with Michael for lunch, because, as the man puts it, "I'm pretty much jest a house husban', these days. And all the carpets are quite clean." They tuck into a thick spread for lunch; Darcy is swiftly learning that traditional Irish cooking is meant to stick to the ribs all day long. After a bit of Steve and Michael discussing where they'd wandered that day, and a few suggestions of where to go next, Micheal asks of Darcy, "But oi, where ye goin' next for -business-? Or can I even know that?"
"Ah, a market, actually," Darcy admits, grinning, "It's entrance happens to be here this month, so..."
"Troll Market? Excellent," Michael grins, and Steve blinks, and then squints.
"You've been?"
"Hell yes I've been, cuz," The other man chuckles, and they're both learning that laughter is how Michael Ryan responds to most things. Darcy wonders if Steve could ever tap into that gene. "I went all over, trying to understand what I was after I got bit. My feet took me there," He shrugs, "Who're you hopin' to find, though? Population's pretty changeable, Fae folk tend to be gypsies."
"Exactly," Darcy grins, "We're hoping to find -everyone-."
.
.
.
.
.
.
Much to Darcy's delight, Michael isn't the only one who joins them in a shadowed alley at midnight, on the derelict edges of the otherwise picturesque town. "I was hoping you'd gotten my message," She greets Liz Sherman, who steps into the light with a smirk. She's dressed in jeans and a sweater under her coat, but one could still appreciate the stance of someone who'd been an Agent herself once. At her side is a tall, slim figure, in a long coat and hood. Abe Sapien, Darcy correctly guesses, wearing his breathing suit, and holding a birdcage with a very lively canary inside.
"Red's home with the kids, but we couldn't bear the thought of you lambs in there on your own...hey Cap," Liz waves. Steve smiles, returning the gesture amiably. "He hasn't shut up about you since, by the way. And I quote, 'I'm real happy he aint a douche'."
"...Tell him thanks?" Steve blinks, and neither his cousin nor Darcy can keep from laughing a little. Abe steps forward then, pushing back his cowl and making hellos.
"All right little fella," He says to his bird, "Let's go bully a gatekeeper..."
.
.
.
The Troll Market is, visually, everything the book tucked into Darcy's bag had promised. Loud, beautiful, strange. Even after all they've both seen, she and Steve look like complete tourists, gaping at the pressing, huge crowd of beings nowhere near human. Trolls shaped like chunks of a mountain ambling past, tiny buzzing things on the air, stalls watched over by jowly, hairless mutants, Fair Folk leaning idly out of windows. Wares being hocked in languages Darcy's never heard before, shops with windows full of curiosities.
"Try not tae look so...human," Michael grins, nudging Steve, who chuckles in amazement, his eyes going everywhere. Darcy's at least able to keep her head about where they're going, what they're looking at. "Though really, no one pays ye much mind, unless ye start a fuss."
"Fuss is the opposite of what we want," Darcy notes, pressing her lips together, peering through the alien crowd, the ancient buildings hidden from the world outside. "So, where are the best spots to go and feel people out?"
"Well, they are many, really," Abe pipes up, tapping his amphibian chin, "A couple of taverns, food stalls, the Old Library..." There, he sighs, a bit sadly, and Liz rests a hand on his arm, "...Sorry, yes, the Library, and the Inn."
"Hmm, best split up to cover as many places as we can..." Darcy squints.
"Well, I fer one know that most of th' ...relatively... civilized Weres drink at th' Old Hag," Michael shoves his hands in his jean pockets, "Y'lot go on to The Library iffin' ye like, best if I say hullo to 'em first, on m'own. We're a wary lot, when it comes t'humans in the furry sanctum." He winks.
"Let's you and I take the Library first, then," Liz suggests to Darcy, grinning, "Abe, show Cap The Cafe."
"Ahh, excellent plan," If Abe could smile, Darcy imagined now would be when he'd do so. "Meet us there even, when you ladies are done. I can assure you Captain, Agent Lewis, if you're going to find the more amiable crowd of Oddities, it will be while spending an hour or two at the Cafe."
"I trust your aquatic judgment." Steve smiles.
.
.
.
Aside from a few books on spell-craft that Darcy swears to return in a week (signing her crisp new parchment library card with a bloody thumb-print), The Library is fairly quiet. Which, she figures, most libraries are supposed to be, but this one is also pretty empty. Liz doesn't seem too surprised, greeting the grumpy old, cathedral-headed Keeper with a smile.
"It's a weeknight," She shrugs, as they leave, "Wild stuff like reading is something magic folk tend to save for the weekend." Nope, the pyro isn't joking, either. She glances over at the old, worn books Darcy is carefully putting away in her canvas tote, "Those are good! This one especially," Liz taps the cover of the newest-looking one, Anathema Device's How To Detect Angels & Demons (Even Whe They're Not Driving Flaming Cars). "Really funny, and really accurate."
"We'll see if I can get 'em all read before we have to leave Kerry..."
"Are you staying at least until Halloween?" Liz grins, "There's a real smash of a Samhain party out by Fenit, only...special folks show up. Might meet some people...and it's a good time," She waggles her brows, and yes, Darcy really does hope this chick and her big red lug join the Avengers, because more badass lady-snark was needed.
"Weeeell...I guess it'd only take extending the trip a couple of days, I'm sure Coulson won't mind," She grins back, "We've been cheap wayward children so far, SHIELD can fork over some cash for a few more nights."
They wind their way to the Cafe, which seems to be a tavern, and as breezy as a building could ever get in the close, cramped Market. The large windows were open wide to the street, with only sheer blue drapes shielding the patrons within. Perhaps this was why it attracted a nicer crowd, Darcy thinks. It would be hard to hide your doings in a place like this. Indeed, most of the fae and trollish beings inside seem to be of a better demeanor than most of the Market.
They find Abe and Steve at the far end of the room, standing by a large table. Two much smaller figures are seated, or perhaps the superheroes are just really tall...or both, Darcy allows. One is a young man in his early 20's, looking thoroughly human, and yet somehow not at all out of place, unlike Steve, despite them both being in leather and jeans. The other figure is very slight, and cowled, but Darcy's pretty sure it's a girl.
"Ah, and here they are," Abe greets her and Liz warmly, "We were just saying our hellos to Charles here," The young man gave a soft smile from under a mop of light brown hair, and Darcy realized what was so strange about him. He had the eyes of a much older person, despite looking barely old enough to drink. "And...Nuala." There, Abe swallowed, and Liz's brows shot up. The small figure drew back her hood slightly, revealing a sweet, pixie face, and sharply pointed ears under long, unruly brown hair. At Darcy's side now, Steve drew in a short breath as well.
"Please sit," Charles motioned, as Nuala blushed, and drew back under her hood, "I'm always in here, trying to meet new people, I don't bite." Darcy likes this kid already, she thinks, as they all settle into chewed up, ancient wooden chairs. How someone so earnest hasn't been eaten alive by this Market, though, she'd love to know. "Nuala and I just met an hour ago,"
"He's very nice...Mr. Sapien, I'm sorry, but do faerie folk make you uncomfortable...?" The little faerie asks, worriedly. Abe just shakes his head, sighing.
"I'm sorry, I simply...once knew someone with your name." Is all he says, and Liz takes his hand, squeezing it for a moment. At Darcy's left, Steve is frowning now, as if something is bothering him as well. But Darcy knows this look by now. It's the one he gets when he's trying to reconcile what he's seeing, with what he was pretty sure he knew about the world. She's not the only one who notices, as Nuala's huge eyes flicker to his face next. Captain America glances up at her, biting his lip.
"Miss Nuala..." He starts, and then stops, as if thinking he's about to ask something ludicrous. Then gives a to-hell-with-it shrug, "Do you happen to know a um...Lord Shaper?" The faerie's eyes go even wider, nodding jerkily, and Steve shakes his head in disbelief, "...Wow, all right. Well, he wanted me to say that ah...He remembers you."
"...He visited your dreams to tell me that?" She says, in something between a squeak and a whisper, and Steve nods, looking bashful. Darcy looks him up and down, both bemused and curious.
"...You've had strange men visiting your dreams, hun?" She grins, "Might've mentioned that."
"I didn't think he was -real-..." Steve starts, and then, looking around him, at the Market outside, he clearly realizes how ridiculous that sounds. Darcy decides to go easy on the guy, just chuckling and nudging him. Nuala returns to the shadows of her hood, but now with a pleased little smile on her face. Steve clears his throat, "I'm sorry, we were all saying hello?"
"Yes, Charles," Abe finally regains his speech, motioning to the boy, who's been watching them all with a studious expression, "You were telling us, before Darcy and Liz rejoined us, about your studies in physics."
"Well, yes, but I don't think it's anything worth SHIELD's time," He shrugs, "You've got Tony Stark, Dr. Foster and Dr. Banner among the ranks, as I hear it. I'm barely out of graduate school." Darcy blinks, suddenly feeling all kinds of lazy, if this whelp is a graduate student.
"That's not all he does, though," Nuala pipes up, peering out at them again, "Charles Wallace is an Empath. He's seen the strands of the universe..."
"Yeah, but I doubt they need anyone telling them how the Hulk's feeling on a given day," Charles rolls his eyes, and Darcy tilts her head. "...I am in touch with lots of people in the field, though." She smiles.
"Hey, you never know, you could be on the phone tree," She grins, "Careful though, Tony gets wind of a fresh young mind, he might stalk your career." The boy looks as if tha'd be a dream come true, "And...Nuala, so like, are you a faerie FROM Faerie?" The girl sighs then, nodding.
"Exiled though, self-imposed," She sits up a little straighter, her voice steadier, as if they've touched on one of the few subjects Nuala is confidant in, "Abe mentioned you two were scouting for allies. Before you even ask, you'll meet no compatriots there," She says firmly, "My people aren't evil. But...they exist to make merry, to amuse themselves, to be beautiful. Honestly...you should concern yourselves with protection -from- them. They disdain humanity for its lack of belief. And if Loki ever went to their realm for allies himself, well," Nuala smiles sadly, "I'm afraid Tatianna would find The Trickster's propositions far more amusing than your own."
"...Awesome," Darcy winces, but it's Cap this time who's the optimistic one, leaning forward, giving the shy faerie a grin.
"Well then, I guess we'll need someone to call on, when we need to know exactly how to protect ourselves from 'em, won't we?" He turns up the charm, and Darcy's downright proud of the lug. Working what his momma and a bottle of serum gave him. Nuala turns a deep red.
"M-me?!" The confidant voice from before wavers, "I'm, I'm just ….me!"
"We need everyone, though," Darcy assures her, following her studly...boyfriend-type-person's lead, "If the last time we faced Loki...and any bad guy really, proves anything, it's that everyone has a role to play."
"Excuse me," A smooth, quiet voice cuts into their conversation, another male figure in jeans and leather sliding over from another table. He seems human, but from the way Charles cringes back in his seat, Darcy's pretty sure it's safe to bet that he isn't. "I couldn't help but overhear," He runs a hand over light hair, half his face hidden behind dark sunglasses, "Something about facing Loki?" He draws down the shades just slightly, something white behind them glinting in the tavern's low lantern light. The grin he spreads is wide, with white, perfectly even teeth, "Because I happen to have a lot of feelings, about Loki..."
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
