In the end, Tony wasn't exactly surprised that Tommy Carter's full-on meltdown took place in the middle of his class. Frustrated a little, sure, but definitely not surprised.
Here's the thing: for some reason that Tony never quite figured out, boy kids—especially the upper-grade boy kids—liked him. They clung to him like spiky-haired, prepubescent barnacles, and sometimes, he needed a crowbar and a whole lot of elbow grease to pry them off. But more than that—worse than that, at least for some values of the word "worse"—his weird powers as boy-child whisperer meant that the kids sometimes opened up to him. They walked into his classroom or into computer club, and they poured out their secrets whether Tony wanted them to or not.
Usually, he just learned about crushes and new siblings, no big deal. Other times, though, he learned about sick grandparents or a mom's new, very shouty boyfriend, and those situations were a lot harder to handle.
In all honesty, Tony'd spotted the warning signs with Tommy a good week before Cage and everybody else started complaining about the kid's behavior, but he'd elected to sit back and watch for a little while. Tommy'd never stuck out as the bubbliest or brightest in the class, but he'd always worked for every grade, his brow furrowing as he fought his way through a particularly complicated assignment or a super hard level of the math game he liked. So when Tommy'd come in with a little black rain cloud hanging over his head and the worst case of the field in which I grow my prepubescent fucks is indeed barren Tony'd ever seen from a fifth-grader, he'd started to suspect trouble in paradise.
Then, Cage and Barton'd started with the e-mails about Tommy's missing assignments. Rogers'd remarked after work that Tommy'd snapped back at a redirection about putting his head down in class. And even Darcy—a master at complimenting girls on their daring hairstyles and patterned leggings—had frowned one morning and commented that Tommy seemed "out of sorts." Really, the only place the kid still bothered giving his all was at their weird kickball sessions at recess, and even then, Tony'd noticed the luster starting to dim.
And so, on the Monday before Halloween, Tony was absolutely not shocked at all to turn away from his PowerPoint to find that Tommy'd pushed his keyboard off to the side, balled up his hoodie, and put his head down on the desk like he was attending nap time down in Bruce's room. He finished up the instructions for the rest of the kids—how to build a fun little webpage in six easy steps (with the content to be composed during another class) and flicked the lights back on before sauntering over to Tommy's table.
"Head up, bud," he said, and knocked lightly on the tabletop.
He'd planned to just loop past Tommy, give him a chance to correct his behavior, but the kid just grumbled and shoved his face further into his crossed arms. "Whatever."
Tony paused and rolled his lips together for a second. A couple nearby kids glanced up at him, and he waved at them to turn back to their computers. "Not whatever," he told Tommy, gently as he knew how. "You know the rules. So unless you're sick and need to see the nurse, head up. Your assignment's waiting."
Tommy snorted. "Your assignment's stupid," he said, but softly, like he wanted a chance to retract the statement in case Tony lost his head.
Which was precisely why Tony blinked owlishly at him. "What was that?"
"Your assignment's stupid," Tommy reiterated, "and I don't want to do it."
The nearest couple kids ooh-ed and aah-ed at that one, and Tony almost redirected the lot of them before he caught sight of Tommy. Tommy, with his bloodshot eyes with the dark bags under them, with the slack face and slumped shoulders, with the messy hair sticking up at the wrong directions. Tony recognized the same exhaustion on the kid's eleven-year-old features as he sometimes saw in the mirror, and his heart dropped into his stomach.
"If you're sick—" he prompted again, an offer for an easy way out.
An easy way Tommy immediately refused by shoving his mouse so hard it dropped off the table. "Why does everybody keep asking if I'm sick or if something's wrong?" he demanded, his voice cracking almost immediately. "I just don't want to do your stupid assignments, I don't want to be in this stupid school, I don't—"
Tony was about ninety-two percent sure that he noticed Tommy's tears before Tommy himself did, big streaks of wet that rolled down his cheeks and onto his chin. "Okay, you know what?" Tony asked. "I think it's hallway time. Hallway time for you, and maybe Mister Coulson can come over and hang out with the rest of your class, because—"
"I'm fine," Tommy said. A valiant attempt at a lie, what with the tears he kept wiping on his shirt.
"Yeah, well, maybe I'm not," Tony retorted, and steered him out of the room before his sniffles turned to sobs (or worse).
And that was how Tony Stark, quite possibly the least touchy-feely teacher in the history of all teachers everywhere, ended up with his back against the hallway wall and a box of tissues while Tommy Carter blew his nose.
"They want a divorce so bad," he said helplessly, his voice shaking, "but my mom can't work because of my little sisters, and my dad's job isn't good, and so nobody can move and they're just both there. And they fight all the time, or he leaves and then comes back in the middle of the night all mad, and I—" Tommy hiccupped a little, the words catching in the back of his throat, and Tony resolutely pretended that his heart did not break a little from that. "They yell at each other instead of talking," he said after a couple seconds, "and it's always one of them saying they'll take all three of us and we'll never see the other one again. And I hate it."
His shoulders shuddered when he said it, this little clench of anger (or worse) that felt like it cut Tony in half, and Tony reached over and gripped his shoulder. He squeezed for a second, just a silent reassurance before he said, "You know there are people here you can talk to, right? Not just me or your other teachers, but any one of the adults here. Miss Lewis, Mister Sitwell, my personal favorite Miss Potts—"
Tommy snorted and dragged the back of his hand across his face. "I'm okay."
"You know, I used to say that a lot too," Tony admitted, and he shrugged a little when the kid blinked up at him with wide, wet eyes. "What, you think my life's been as smooth sailing as a slip-and-slide? Because let me tell you: when I was young and things hurt, I swallowed them down a lot, and in the end? They only ended up hurting more instead of less."
"But you stopped," the kid pointed out.
"Only because I learned how to talk about the hard stuff. With my friends, or my teachers—or Miss Potts."
The corner of Tommy's mouth ticked up into a smile. "You talk about Miss Potts a lot when people have bad days."
Tony grinned. "What can I say? She's a pretty okay lady," he replied, and he felt a lot better when Tommy finally laughed.
Pepper sighed. "You're making me nervous," she said for the fifth time in as many minutes.
Tony snorted, idly swinging the leg that dangled over the arm of his chair. "You don't believe in nervousness," he accused. "You're cool as a cucumber, as easy Sunday morning, while I—"
"Spread your nervousness around this office like sowing wild oats?" Pepper suggested. He huffed at her, and she sighed. "Tony, you need to relax, now."
Tony wrinkled his nose, but at least he returned to his phone.
In truth, Tony'd been a bit of a twitchy wreck for the last forty-eight hours, but now, waiting for Jessica Cage to deliver Tommy Carter to Pepper's office instead of music class, Pepper watched all his worry come to a head. Of course, Tony kept attributing his collection of nervy tics to other things—Steve and Bucky's wedding, an upcoming server update with promises to bring their attendance system to its knees (his words), too much coffee after dinner, their Halloween party—but Pepper knew better.
Because in the last two days, he'd sent more than seven e-mails to various teachers, administrators, and Pepper herself, asking for help with Tommy Carter and attempting, with limited success, to rally the troops into a team meeting with the boy's parents. To at least try and fix this, one e-mail'd read, and Pepper'd pursed her lips together in her office.
Tony rarely worried this loudly about his students.
She wondered exactly how much of himself he saw reflected in Tommy—and how much he thought he could stop Tommy from ending up like him as an adult.
She planned on asking him all those questions and more later. For now, she watched him swing his leg while he typed on his phone, oblivious to the world until someone knocked on her office door.
"Come in," she said as she stood, but Tony barely moved. Tommy Carter was a tall, sandy-haired kid with dark eyes and a wrinkled hoodie, and he forced a tiny smile as Jessica nudged him into the office. His face only brightened for real when he spotted Tony in the chair. "I hope you don't mind," Pepper said, "but Mister Stark wanted to help introduce you to me, since it was apparently his idea that we have a talk."
"I just don't want her taking all the credit for my good ideas," Tony said, and Tommy snorted. Pepper nodded at Jessica to close the door behind her, and Tommy only hesitated for a split second before moving to the other empty chair. "Besides, I wanted to check in on you, and since I don't have you again until Monday—"
"I'm okay," Tommy broke in, but Pepper instantly recognized the bravado in his voice. "Dad stayed at somebody else's house last night. It was kind of nice."
"Means you maybe won't nod off in the middle of English again, right?" Tony said. It was light, almost gentle, and Tommy nodded unevenly. Tony reached out to plant a hand on his shoulder. "Well, listen, my lesson plans aren't going to lesson-plan themselves, so I'm going to go back to the computer lab. I'll see you at recess, right?"
"Your team hasn't beaten my team in two weeks," Tommy boasted.
"We've been saving our strength for today's victory," Tony promised, and they grinned at each other before he slipped out of Pepper's office.
Pepper waited until Tommy stopped staring at the closed door to come around the desk and claim Tony's seat as her own. "Should I ask how much Mister Stark's told you about me?" she asked.
Tommy grinned. "He talks about you all the time."
"You're not the first student to tell me that."
"Yeah, well, he said you're good to talk to. When things are, you know. Not good." Tommy shrunk into himself a little, his hands disappearing into the sleeves of his hoodie. "I guess he told you what I said to him about my mom and dad?"
"Only the basics, but yes," Pepper answered with a nod. "He said your parents are divorcing but still live together, right?"
Tommy mirrored her nod as he shifted around in his chair. "They, uh— It's always been kind of bad," he said haltingly, his voice softening. "Like, they've always fought a lot. But at the end of the summer, my dad . . . I don't know what he did, exactly, but my mom said that she was done and wanted a divorce. And for a while, he tried to be nice to her and change her mind, but we went to my grandma's to visit over fall break, and ever since then . . . "
He trailed off to stare down at his scuffed shoes, and for a few seconds, Pepper just waited. She knew that prodding students sometimes only chased them further into themselves, like backing a scared animal into a corner. When he glanced at her briefly, she smiled, and his mouth twitched slightly in return.
"They fight," he finally said with a tiny shake of his head. "They fight a lot. Sometimes, one of them leaves mad and doesn't come home until really late. My mom locked my dad out the last time. He didn't know she took the house key off his key ring, but she did, so when he came home, he couldn't get in." He shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets. "That's why he stayed away."
Pepper rolled her lips together for a moment and let Tommy's words fill her tiny office. "Have you talked about this with anybody?" she asked gently. His shoulders bunched as he shook his head again. "What about your mom and dad? Have you said anything to—"
"What am I supposed to say?" the boy interrupted, his head jerking up. "My mom's always crying, my dad's always mad, it's not like—" He huffed out a long breath. "My sisters come in my room at night," he said. "They come in, and they want me to make it better, everything's just— It'smessed up, and I can't—"
His words cracked, then, caught somewhere between helplessness, rage, and sorrow, and Pepper leaned in closer to him, her arms resting on her thighs. "It sounds like you're handling a lot at home right now," she told him, and he dragged a sleeve-covered hand across his face before he nodded. "And it sounds like maybe you don't really have anybody to talk to about it. Am I right?"
"I don't know what I'm supposed to say," Tommy replied, peering up at her with big, dark, damp eyes. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do, or how I'm supposed to—"
He cut himself off by pressing his lips together hard, and Pepper offered him a small smile. "You know, I have a trick that I like to do when I know Iwant to say things but I'm not sure what I want them to be or who I want to say them to," she confessed. "And if you don't want to do it, that's okay, but sometimes, it helps."
Tommy sniffed, but his mouth kicked into a quirky little half-smile. "Is this the part where you make me do arts and crafts? Because Mister Stark said you make him buy stock in glue sticks."
Pepper actually rolled her eyes at that. "Mister Stark apparently told you a lot more about me than he told me about you," she retorted, and Tommy actually huffed a little laugh. "But yes, I was going to suggest we do some 'arts and crafts,' as he put it, and make some postcards. Nothing you ever need to send," she added when the boy's eyes widened, "but just something that shows how you're feeling on one side and that you can write your thoughts on. And if you want to give them to people later, that's okay—but if you just want to rip them up and throw them away, that's okay, too."
He worried his lower lip between his teeth. "That helps you feel better when you don't know what you're supposed to say?" he asked carefully.
Pepper smiled. "It's never hurt," she said, and reached for the box of art supplies waiting on the corner of her desk. "And just to be fair," she added, "I'll make one too."
Tommy grinned as she handed him a blank four-by-six notecard. "To Mister Stark?" he asked.
"And covered with glitter," she retorted, and he laughed when she winked.
Clint rested his chin in his hand and tried really, really hard not to scowl.
He supposed that, to the Carters, he looked engaged and interested, but he gave exactly two shits about the conversation. No, actually,conversation felt like too nice a way to put it; Harry Carter kept talking, his hands darting in circles as he explained away all his son's behaviors and all the teachers listened. The meeting'd been thrown together at the last minute thanks to the Carters just randomly showing up at school ready to talk, and here they sat: Clint and Phil, Jessica Cage, Steve, Tony, and Trip, with Sitwell as the afternoon's designated administrator. Down the hall from the conference room, Tommy met with Pepper in her office and the little Carter kids, both of them blonde toddler girls with huge grins, hung out with Darcy at her desk.
Across the table, Harry Carter shrugged and slung an arm over the back of his chair. "My point is, I don't know what to do with the kid," he said, the end of his long line of explanations that never hit at the heart of the matter. "I mean, how do you cope with a kid who won't go to bed on time? I don't want him mouthing back at you all, of course, but there's only so much you can say to him before you've just gotta throw up your hands and let him learn his lesson the hard way."
"We're really very sorry," Amy Carter echoed. She was pretty, with Tommy's same big eyes and sandy hair. "He's trying, I know he is, but—"
"You don't gotta apologize for him," her husband cut her off. "He's old enough that he's got to learn this himself."
Amy nodded unevenly and glanced down at her hands.
Over at the far end of the table, far enough away that he only really counted as a blip in Clint's vision, Tony squared his shoulders hard. Steve apparently caught glimpse of it right away, though, because he smiled at the Carters. "You have to understand that we're just concerned," he said in his usual, too-kind Mister Rogers voice. "Tommy's slowly becoming a different kid. I think everyone at this table's seen some sign of him struggling in the last couple weeks, and that's not like him."
"He missed his first assignment all year three weeks ago, and he's barely turned in anything since," Jessica said.
"He tried sleeping through music last week," Trip volunteered.
Phil nodded. "He's become less willing to participate in any of our activities, including—"
"Yeah, okay, we get it," Harry cut him off with a wave of his hand, and Clint ground his teeth together as a little flicker of anger sparked in his belly. Phil rolled his lips together, but he nodded, too. "I'll talk to him. That's what you want, right? You want to know that we're aware of this problem and that we'll talk to him. And since we already got Mister— What's your name, Mister Bastion?"
Clint forced a tight smile. "Barton."
"Right. Since we already got all Mister Barton and Miss Cage's messages about being worried, we're on top of things." He glanced over at his wife. "Right, honey?"
Amy nodded again. "Right," she said, her eyes darting quickly down the line of faces. "And again, for what it's worth, I'm so sorry. I keep working with him, trying to help him get his homework done and make sure—"
Harry snorted. "Heard you the first time."
"But—"
"Shit, Amy, they don't need a song and dance about how bad you feel about the damn kid. They got it." The edge to Harry's tone—never mind his glare—snapped Clint into sitting so bolt upright that Phil shot him a tense look. At the one end of the table, Tony balled his hands into fists; at the other end, Sitwell rose out of his usual slouch. Harry either missed it or ignored it. "I gotta get back to work. You let us know if he doesn't start getting it together, right? More messages from Mister Bartheon."
"Barton," Clint said again, and Harry flashed him a fake-apologetic grin as he rose back out of his chair.
Sitwell walked them out, presumably to help collect Tommy before they took off, and Jessica Cage actually growled the second the door closed behind them. "I could punch him," she declared, glancing around the room. "I could actually punch him in the face and not feel bad about it."
"You want me to hold him while you do it?" Trip asked with one of his easy grins.
She slugged him lightly on the arm and he laughed, which almost covered Clint muttering, "Guys like that don't learn from being slugged by anyone."
Almost, but not quite, because Phil squeezed his knee before they all stood to shuffle out.
Clint knew he should head back to his classroom to pack up and leave—to get out of the building before he started imagining what Harry'd smell like drunk or whether he wore the same kind of plaid shirts that were popular in Iowa a couple decades back—but he lingered downstairs anyway: checking his mailbox, leafing through some classroom supply catalogues, that kind of shit. He knew from the sound of Phil's voice echoing down the hall that his husband'd once again stopped to geek out over Trip's grandfather, and he at least smiled at that as he browsed new release Scholastic books.
"Men like Harry Carter shouldn't have children," someone said behind him, and Clint jerked his head up to see Tony lingering in the doorway to the copy room, his whole body tight. "Because as much as they seem strong and stalwart, it turns out when the dust clears that they're piss-poor role models trampling on people who're too scared to stand up to them."
Clint snorted and glanced back at his catalogue. "Preaching to the choir, there, Stark."
The room fell quiet then, quiet enough that Clint assumed that his husband's number one professional rival'd slunk off to go caress his computers or his wife (in that order), but when he flipped the catalogue shut and spun back around, Tony still stood in the doorway. Under all the bravado—the crossed arms, the squared shoulders, and set jaw—Clint saw an expression he recognized from his own childhood, an expression he still caught in the mirror sometimes. He rolled his lips together, studying Tony's face and knowing full well that Tony was studying him right back.
Finally, Clint shrugged. "All things considered, I think we turned out okay despite the— How'd you put it? Piss-poor role models?"
Tony's mouth quirked into half a smile. "At least one of us did, maybe," he returned, and ducked out of the room before Clint could even roll his eyes.
Darcy did one last check of her costume before heading out of the house. She'd found a Marge Simpson wig, recolored it into a Bride of Frankenstein masterpiece, and was all dolled up for her favorite holiday. She blew herself a kiss in the mirror and walked over to her next door neighbor's home. When she rang the doorbell, her boyfriend—making an excellent appearance as a vampire —opened the door. "Trick or treat," she greeted with a twirl to show off her outfit.
"Am I allowed to wait until later to answer?" he asked with a glint in his eyes.
"Don't make promises you can't keep," she warned.
"I was expecting a little more… décolletage," Loki commented, not quite able to keep his eyes on her face.
"We're taking your niece and nephews trick-or-treating. It would be inappropriate for the ladies to be out for show." She paused to press herself into his personal space. "But don't worry, there's a sluttier version I'll change into for Stark's party." Darcy walked into the house and made her way to the kitchen where she heard the majority of the Odinson family.
"You sure you're up for this?" Jane asked her while eyeing her practically bouncing children. Henry was dressed as Batman, George as a baseball player, and Alva's costume was Jessie from Toy Story—anything so she could carry around one of her many toy horses.
"We'll be fine," Darcy reassured. She pointed between herself and Loki. "It's two against three; we can take them."
"And if worst comes to worst, we'll just impose a candy tax," Loki threatened.
"What's a tax?" George asked.
"He means that if you act up, we take your stuff," Darcy explained. Before they all started complaining about how disastrously unfair life was, Loki began the process of shuffling the kiddos out the door for trick-or-treating. "You gonna make it?" Darcy asked Jane.
The other woman sighed. "Thor's out of town for a home building convention. I've got a conference in two weeks that I'm never going to feel ready for, and I know I've been ignoring my family because of work. Life's just a little crazy right now."
"Do you want Loki and me to man your front door while you go out with the kids?"
"No," Jane said while shaking her head. "I'm tired and grumpy, and I'd just snap at them. Do you think it would be wrong to greet trick-or-treaters with a glass of wine in your hand?"
"I think if you started selling glasses to other parents you could pull in a pretty penny tonight," Darcy suggested. Jane smiled and shoved her toward the door to join Loki and the kids.
The sidewalks were already cluttered with costumed kiddos. Since the neighborhood was in the district for the elementary school, she knew nearly all of the kids who were out searching for candy. Most recognized her, and nearly all of them were disappointed when she told them she was only handing out high-fives and not chocolate.
Halfway down the street, Darcy heard another round of "Miss Lewis! Miss Lewis!" When she turned around, she spotted two boys shouting for her attention. "What's up, guys?" she greeted. Ganke Lee, ninja, and Miles Morales, a spider complete with an extra trio of appendages dangling from each arm, beamed at her. "Dude," she said to Miles, "I heard you were one of the costume winners today at the school assembly."
The boy smiled shyly at her, and a woman rested her hands on his shoulders. "His teacher, Miss Drew, was kind enough to help him out." She extended a hand for Darcy to shake. "I'm his mother, Rio."
"Very nice to meet you," Darcy said. "I didn't realize you guys lived in this neighborhood."
"We don't!" Ganke exclaimed. "But Miles's mom said we could come over here to the big houses so we get good candy."
Rio ducked her head in embarrassment, but Darcy just laughed. "You'd better give her a huge thank you. Like king size candy bar thank you."
The boys were quickly distracted by mapping out what houses they hadn't hit yet, so Darcy said her goodbyes and caught up with Loki and the Odinsons. "You're very popular," Loki commented.
"You sound surprised," Darcy replied.
"Not in the least," he answered with soft smile that absolutely contradicted not only his makeup but the personality Darcy'd believed he'd possessed for so long.
But the Odinkids quickly ruined that moment. "Stop stealing my candy, Henry!" Alva shouted at the top of her lungs.
"You don't even like that stuff," her oldest brother argued back. George, meanwhile, clutched his own trick-or-treat bucket to his chest while watching his brother and sister fight with each other.
Loki sighed softly beside her. "Candy tax?" he asked.
Darcy nodded. "Candy tax."
Darcy looked around the living room and smiled. The Starks had of course gone all out for their annual Halloween bash. She was a little surprised that the house looked this amazing since Tony (and therefore Pepper, Phil, Natasha, and Bruce) were all consumed with planning a shower and a wedding for Steve and Bucky, but she shouldn't have expected anything less. If there was anyone in the world who loved a good party more than her, it was Tony Stark.
The house was decorated with jack-o-lanterns, bats, bubbling caldrons, and cobwebs as far as the eye could see. There was even a cemetery erected in the front yard with names of all the guests and a sentence-long history of their life inscribed beneath their dates of birth and death. While Phil hadn't been pleased to see that Tony only expected him to live a few more years, Darcy was already planning on stealing hers and hanging it in her room.
All around, her friends were dressed up in costume. There were, of course, those who refused to change it up from year to year—Bruce in his lab coat, Phil as Harry Potter, Clint repeating his ring master get up, Steve in his baseball uniform, and the veterans in the crowd (including Carol's dude ) in fatigues. But there were some new looks among the teachers, too. Tony and Pepper were teaming up as Fred and Wilma Flintstone this year; Pepper had complained about spiky boots for her previous costumes and declared that this Halloween, she was going barefoot. Jessica Drew stood with Carol and her man, dressed in some sparkly dress and holding a microphone. She made a pretty good Katy Perry, but Carol had already begged her ten times not to start singing. Next to her stood a broad-shouldered man wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. Clint's brother was giving off nine kinds of "I feel awkward as hell being here" vibes in his roadie getup.
A glass appeared in front of her face, and Darcy happily accepted. "No pink mystery drink this year?" Natasha asked. She was dressed as a knock-out Hollywood starlet from the forties—sparkly dress with a low cut V in the front, fur wrap, fake beauty mark, and one of those Cruella Deville cigarette holder things—and even Darcy would readily admit to wanting to hit that.
"Nah," Darcy answered. "We were out trick-or-treating with his niece and nephews. Besides, for someone who is a life-long AA disciple, there never seems to be a shortage of booze at a Stark party."
Natasha toasted her with her glass. "You're welcome."
Darcy fought back a groan. "If you made a mixed punch instead of me this year, then we're all screwed in the morning. Even the brothers of sobriety or whatever. The fumes alone will give them hangovers."
"You all are wusses," Natasha commented.
"No, we're just not Soviet bad asses like yourself."
Natasha shrugged and sauntered off as Loki approached. He took the cup from her hand, took a sip, and nearly had an asthma attack after he swallowed. "What is this?" he spat.
"The hammer-and-sickle special. Watch yourself with that."
"That's worse than Thor's so-called cocktails."
"Thor makes cocktails?" Darcy asked, suddenly intrigued at the idea of the mountain of a man tending bar and serving girly drinks with little umbrellas in them.
"They're vile. Please don't ask him to make them."
"Can I do it and just not tell you about it?" she asked.
"You're taking your life into your own hands when you do that."
Darcy shrugged. "If I can handle a cup of Natasha's mixed drink of death, I'm pretty sure I can survive whatever your brother wants to throw at me."
"Suit yourself."
Loki graciously made the rounds with her as she integrated herself into various conversations. When she approached Steve and Bucky, she wormed her way between them and wrapped an arm around each of their waists. "How's it hanging, boys?" Bucky rolled his eyes while Steve tried to avoid looking nervously over at Loki. "Oh, don't worry," Darcy reassured the adorable art teacher. "He knows I'm not going to cheat on him. But if you guys are into foursomes…"
Bucky grinned. "We'll add you to the list of offers."
"Please tell me I at least rank higher than Tony," Darcy said. "I mean, I can understand if you want to invite Pepper into your bed, but Tony…"
"I'm not quite sure," Loki argued. "Someone whose mouth works as much as that one can surely put it to good use in the correct circumstance." Darcy gaped at him, and Loki's eyes slowly drifted down to the drink in his hand. "Maybe you were correct about this Natasha's mixology skills."
That earned a snort from Bucky. "Don't mess with the Soviet," he warned. "Especially when booze is involved. Trust me."
"I think I should sit down for a second," Loki commented while pulling at the collar of his Dracula cape.
Steve looked down at Darcy expectantly. "You going to help him out?"
She looked back and forth between the two oh-so-delectable men. Her brain reminded her about how last Halloween she'd learned that they weren't in fact dating some mystery coffee girl and Jessica Drew, but rather each other. And now, she had to stop being the meat in their man sandwich because her boyfriend couldn't listen to warnings about Natasha's alcohol potency. Steve and Bucky were trying to undermine her favorite day of the year.
With a sigh, she relinquished her spot between the two men and guided Loki to the nearest seat. For the next few hours, she forced glass after glass of water on him. They spent the rest of the night talking with whoever stopped by, but mostly making observations of the people at the party. From time to time, Darcy caught Natasha looking over at Loki's way and smirking a little bit. Darcy flipped her off.
As the party began to break up, Loki stood from the couch, grabbed her hand, and gently tugged her toward the door. "Ready?" he asked.
"You sure you're okay?"
He nodded. "I believe the worst is past, and I'm no longer seeing double. If you would like me to walk along some sort of a line for a sobriety test, I'd be more than willing to reassure you." Once they were in his car, she began the process of extracting the giant wig from her head. "Pity," he commented. "I was looking forward to a little pretend wedding night with the bride of Frankenstein."
"Since you're not Frankenstein yourself, isn't that a little twisted?" Darcy questioned.
Loki shrugged. "Maybe you've been widowed. Or maybe you realized you made a mistake by marrying the giant, muscular man and should've gone with the lither, albeit darker, persona instead."
Darcy side-eyed him. "This isn't your way of confessing that Jane should married you instead of Thor, is it?"
"No," Loki answered emphatically. "I am grateful for my sister-in-law for a number of reasons, but I certainly do not appreciate her in any other way than that. I don't think there is a single viable timeline or alternate universe, if such things are true, where Jane and I would make a suitable couple."
"Just checking," Darcy commented. "And, besides, if I left my wig on, I'd go from being sexy bride of Frankenstein to Quasimodo in a heartbeat. Don't think that really sets the mood you may have planned tonight?"
His face became the picture of innocence, as much as it could anyway while painted to resemble a pale and gaunt vampire. "What makes you think I have but the purest of intentions this evening?"
"You greeted me with disappointment over lack of cleavage, and then once I changed you've been doing nothing but stare at my tits."
"Merely appreciating two of the natural wonders of the world," he commented and then smiled when she slugged him in the shoulder.
"Plus, you're on autopilot for your apartment without any discussion about at least taking me back to my place to pick up a few things before we spend the night at yours."
"I believe you've stockpiled enough clothing and personal beauty items at my apartment that you could stay there for a week without any issue," Loki argued.
"Like you're actually upset by that," she returned, and his small smile was all the answer she needed. She turned her attention to watching the scenery fly past them and grinned. "Thanks for tonight," she said quietly.
His eyebrows rose in surprise. "We haven't removed our clothing and you're already thanking me? This is quite promising."
Darcy slugged him in the shoulder again. "I'm trying to be nice to you for thirty seconds, stop thinking with your dick."
"Sorry," he apologized. "Everything alright?"
"Halloween is like my New Years Day, and my favorite holiday of the year," Darcy said.
"I knew about the latter, but why is it like January for you?"
She played with the skirt of her dress while trying to properly find the words. "You know how I can't always stand my family, especially my mom?"
"I have a heard something along those lines a time or two, yes."
"Well, on Halloween, I got to be whoever I wanted—princess, superhero, random kitchen appliance, whatever. I got to be that thing for a night and not me. This awesome thing with a family that didn't suck, and it was great. It was like shedding my skin for a second and getting to start something new."
"Just like one might do with resolutions?" Loki asked.
Darcy nodded. "And even though I knew deep down that it wouldn't last, because things like the holidays and lots of family time were around the corner to bring me back down to reality and drown me in mundane shit, I had that moment where I was free to accomplish anything I wanted and be whoever I dreamed of."
"And that you're an adult?"
"I'm hyper-aware of the shit lurking around the corner with holidays." She turned to look at him. "Can it stay Halloween for just a little while longer?"
Loki pointed to the clock in the car's dash. "Unfortunately, November began approximately eight minutes ago. But I'm willing to pretend we live in a more western time zone for tonight if you'd like. And, you know, if you need an excuse to avoid your relatives for the holidays, and if you're terribly desperate, there's always my side of the family."
"Are you asking me to stay with your family over the holidays?" Darcy questioned. "Are we that couple now?"
"If you want," Loki offered. "I'm not saying my relatives are any easier to deal with for long periods of time, but I'm sure Mother wouldn't mind, and I know Thor, Jane, and the children wouldn't either."
"And your father?"
Loki tilted his head while composing his answer. "I'm sure you wouldn't be able to follow his five minute limit on showers, but Mother would smooth things over."
"I don't know," Darcy replied. "Wouldn't want to usurp Alva as your holiday roommate."
"Very funny," Loki muttered.