Warning: Violence, Minor Character Death(s)
Chapter Word Count: 6,231
Overall Word Count: 58,680
I Climbed The Tree To See The World (When The Gusts Came Around To Blow Me Down, I Held On As Tightly As You Held On To Me)
-Novel-
X.
"I knew it! I knew things couldn't stay good!" she grunted, her hands under Coulson's armpits as she dragged him out of the line of fire.
"Put it in the report," he told her weakly. "We'll add foresight to your long list of skills."
She snorted, rolled her eyes, and then leaned him back against a wall, covered by stacks upon stacks of crates. "Come out to the country, we'll talk to some arms dealers, have a few laughs…" she mocked.
"If you could focus, John McLane…" Coulson said.
"Gun," she said, waving her hand at him.
"I'm out. The only one I have left is strapped to my ankle."
She bent and pulled his pant leg up and out of the way, unstrapped the smaller gun, and handed it to him.
"I've called it in; we have help coming but it'll be awhile," he warned.
"Right. So this is was one of those dandy situations where the bad guy wants me dead and I have to kill him first…" She let out a huff. "Only nobody trained me for if I had an injured partner on my hands and most of these situations were in offices… Not warehouses filled with gun crates!" She paused. "How long do you think it would take me to open a crate and use their own weapons against them?"
He eyed the stack in front of him, nailed shut. "Too long and you don't have a crowbar."
"Spoilsport," she muttered on a sigh.
"You'll need to take them out yourself. Preferably one-on-one so you're not overwhelmed."
"And what? Leave you here alone?" Her eyes widened. "Uh, how about no?"
"Darcy, I'm a trained agent of the highest order. I can take care of myself."
"That is not a flesh wound," she said, pointing at his stomach. "That is a serious, bleed out and die, kind of wound."
He stared at her, unblinking.
"God, you're a jerk, you know that?" She stood up, stripped off her brand new blouse, tore it into strips, and then bent to wrap them around him. "You don't get to die," she told him decisively, shrugging her jacket back on to cover what little modesty she owned. "They come, you shoot. You run out of bullets, and you throw the empty gun or your shoes or whatever the hell you can reach. But you don't die." She stared up at him, hard. "Understand?"
His lips twitched. "Understood."
"And this is the last time we play nice with gun dealers," she said, standing and checking her own gun. "Shouldn't even be a first time."
"In my defense, their Craigslist ad seemed very friendly," he dead-panned.
She snorted, her defenses cracking, but then she bit her lip. "I'm not forgiving you for this until we're back at SHIELD and you're on medical leave."
"I won't take leave," he disagreed.
"Oh, you'll take leave!" Her brows hiked. "I will shadow you every single second of your day if I have to, but you're going to take time off for the giant bullet hole currently in your abdomen."
"If you get any louder, we won't be leaving here alive to argue this," he told her.
"Fine." She took the safety off her gun. "Just know that I've never actually shot this thing…"
With that, she left.
While Darcy quickly and silently made her way through the maze of crates, she thought about how she'd gotten to this place. Not even in the whole grand scheme of what insane choices she'd made over her life that caused her to become a SHIELD agent, but instead just the last day. The night before, she and Steve had gone on their date; they'd had dinner and went dancing at the jazz club and everything had been peachy keen. She was in a normal, functioning, good relationship with a man who was probably, technically, ninety years old, but he looked great for his age and was probably ranked best out of every man she'd ever dated or had feelings for. 'Probably' was just polite; he was definitely the best. Including his skills in bed; he might've been a ninety year old virgin pre-Darcy, but he was making up for lost time and learning at an accelerated rate. She was still a little sore after the marathon sex and she'd had to sleep on the plane ride over.
Darcy didn't really do country, but she thought since she'd been living it up in NYC and prior to that she was dying of boredom in the desert, in only made sense that they had farm country to the list. What she hadn't expected was that they were meeting with international arms dealers. She would like to point out that keeping AK-47's in a barn seemed tacky somehow.
"Why are we playing nice with them again?" she wondered as they walked from the all-black SUV he'd had waiting at the air strip for them to the tall red barn sitting in a remote part of a small town he drove them to. "And also, can I just say that we've ventured into Texas Chainsaw Massacre territory…?"
"Duly noted," he said. "And we're here because it's important to keep the lines of communication open."
"Uh-huh." She stared at him dubiously. "Are we running a sting or are we telling them to get off American soil? Because, tip? There should be more than just me and you here for that." She frowned. "And also I'm not dressed appropriately for this."
He looked over and took in her new blouse and pencil skirt. "You look nice," he offered.
"I look like someone who was expecting to be introduced to politicians, not farm-folk with a gun collection."
"Technically, they're not from around here…"
"What? You mean we don't deal with rednecks married to their cousins?" she said in faux-shock. "Color me surprised."
His mouth twitched. "They're internationally known," he said. "The last time we'd caught word of them, they'd made it over the Mexican border before we could intervene."
"I didn't think borders mattered to top secret government spies."
"In some cases." He readjusted the cuffs of his jacket. "We all answer to somebody, Miss Lewis. We're not without rules and regulations."
She quirked an eyebrow. "Somehow I'm not sure you'd survive without 'em, Coulson."
"Ready?" he asked as they reached the barn doors.
She sighed. "As ready as I can be," she muttered.
When they walked inside, she wasn't sure what to expect; a room full of wooden crates with an open circle in the center, lit up by too-bright bulbs, and a table where a man sat, three goons at his back, was not it.
"That's Boris Chechnyoff," she said, eyeing the main man before she looked at Coulson. "Nicknamed the Bloody Prince of Russia... Because he drew a crown on all of his kills' foreheads with their own blood," she whispered furiously.
"A little dramatic for my tastes," Coulson replied before taking a step forward and offering a wide smile. "Boris," he said in greeting. "I'm so glad we could meet on such time restraints."
Boris grinned darkly. "You have much balls to contact me and arrange this meeting. Usually it is I who asks for meetings," he said, before his eyes cut to Darcy. "Who is this?" He stood from his chair and circled the table, buttoning his jacket as he went. He held a hand out for her to shake.
Darcy glanced briefly at Coulson before reaching out and taking his hand. She bit her tongue to keep from making a snarky remark.
"You shake, little one. Do you fear me?" he wondered, his eyes flashing as if the idea appealed to him.
"Haven't acclimated to the weather here," she said, tugging her hand back.
He laughed, throwing his head back, a robust, deep noise echoing.
But Darcy couldn't associate it with humor; it was much too dark and sinister for that.
" Он привел этого кролика поиграть с нами? На ужин будет тушенная крольчатина!" (He brings this rabbit to play with us? We will dine on rabbit stew!) he told his friends, who chuckled, nodding.
"Да! Да!" (Yes! Yes!) they said.
Darcy rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to reply, but Coulson put a stilling hand against her wrist.
She folded her lips and shut up.
"So, Agent…" Boris took a seat on the edge of the table. "I have honored your request. I come, I speak to you, what is it you want, hm?"
"World peace is a big one; it's been on my list for years." Coulson nodded. "And global warming." He clicked his tongue. "Unfortunately, I'm not sure you can help me with those." He tipped his head and stared at Boris. "But there is an issue with illegal guns being moved in and out of my country… We've found a number of them marked with your crown." He stood a little straighter. "I'm going to need you to vacate United States soil and… not return."
"Кем он себя возомнил?" (Who does this man think he is?) one of the goons demanded.
Boris raised a hand to tell him to shut up, a ruby ring glittering on his finger. He stared at Coulson. "You asked nicely and so I will reply in kind," Boris told him. "If you promise that we will have enough time to leave, you will not get in our ways, and there will be peace on our leaving, then our materials will be packed and we will leave."
"You won't be stopped," Coulson agreed. "You have six hours." He half-smiled. "Pleasure doing business with you." He turned to leave and directed Darcy to start moving. "When I say duck, you duck."
"What?"
"Oh, but Agent?" Boris called after him.
He turned back to him. "I've changed my mind. I, unlike you, are not so polite." He pulled his gun.
Darcy was shoved unceremoniously out of the way. "That wasn't duck," she muttered, but turned over onto her knees and started crawling as bullets were flying. She took cover behind a stack of crates, covered her ears against the noise, and tried to focus on what was happening.
Dirt was being kicked up as bullets surged into it; she could hear shouting in Russian.
"Где он?" (Where is he?)
"Вы его потеряли?" (You lost him?)
"Убейте его, вы идиоты! И принесите мне кролика!" (Kill him, you morons! And bring me the rabbit!)
Darcy could hear footsteps growing closer and her heart pounded in her chest. She reached for the gun under her jacket and remembered how Tima had shoved it into her hand and wished her good luck before she left. Good luck her ass! This was the worst luck! Tima officially deserved a knock on wood when she talked.
A hand covered her mouth and she let out a squeak, pulling her gun free.
"Shh," she heard.
Her eyes darted to the left and she saw Coulson kneeling next to her, one of his arms banded tight around his waist; she could see blood blooming on his jacket. Her brows furrowed. He released her mouth and grimaced. "Things didn't go quite as planned."
She rolled her eyes. "You think?" She pushed up onto her knees and wrapped an arm around him to help him, "C'mon. Boris said to kill you and bring me and I just got an amazing boyfriend and made up with my mom, I'm so not down for being kidnapped..."
The fact that he didn't even put up a struggle when she had to help him stand said a lot, and none of it was good.
So now here she was, trying to track down a Russian mobster and his two goons, since apparently Coulson had killed one, injured another, and then gotten shot in the process.
Darcy grimaced down at her feet, confined in semi-difficult high heels. She kicked them off and pressed them against a crate, hoping she'd have time to come back and get them before they left. It was one of those idle, ridiculous thoughts, but she held on to it all the same. She cocked her head and listened for noise, but all she could hear was the scurrying of rats, either in the farm house somewhere or inside the crates; she wasn't sure she really wanted to know.
She tried to ignore the fact that it was just her against three men; men who killed for a living. One of whom had 'Bloody' in his nickname, like that wasn't warning enough.
She reached the opening of where the crates made a horseshoe, the table turned off and a man lying dead in the dirt, face down, a puddle of blood underneath him. She considered her options; there wasn't a whole lot to work with in the center. She could break up the desk and go Buffy Summers and stake them, but she didn't think that was the best choice of action. The chair was metal and foldable; if TV wrestling was to be trusted, it could do some damage. But there was a gun; dead dude's gun was just a few inches from his outstretched fingers.
She took a good look around and didn't see anybody, so she made a run for it. She reached the man and bent down, grabbing up his gun and half-expecting him to pull a horror-movie classic and grab her wrist. But he didn't; he was just stone-cold dead. She paused on that and stared down at his pale face and unmoving body.
And then bullets were flying, kicking up dirt and getting closer, and she realized she probably should've looked up and checked for them to take up a sharpshooting position on top of the crates. Darcy skirted the bullets and raced back toward the opening. She raised her head to search out the gunmen and saw the gun more than the man. She raised her newly taken gun and started firing back; she didn't exactly have an idea of what she was aiming for. More of a deterrent than anything, she imagined. It worked when the gun swung away and the man ducked for cover, but as he did, he fell. She heard the shout before his body slammed into the ground.
She stared, unmoving for a second.
And then—
"Схватите ее! Она убила Михаила!" (Get her! She killed Mikhael!)
Bullets. More bullets.
Ugh.
Darcy ran, but this time she was going toward the door. If she could just get to the SUV, she could drive it into the ramshackled, piece of crap farm, load Coulson inside and get the hell out of Dodge.
There was some scrambling, some cursing, and right before she reached the door, a missile flew through it.
She watched in horror as the SUV blew up.
"Are you kidding me?" she screamed. "I knew I should've opened a crate!" she complained, before turning around and racing back inside, making her way along the crates once more.
She could hear Boris shouting to find her, get her, kill her, but Darcy was in a daze.
Her mind was going back and forth between the blaze of the SUV, their chance at salvation, and the sickening thunk of the body. She'd killed somebody. Her! Okay, so it was technically unintentional and she was only trying to get him to stop shooting at her, but still… He wouldn't have fallen if she hadn't shot back…
She was a killer.
It was a cold feeling and it made her insides shake. But she knew she had to make a choice; either she killed the other two men, not unintentionally either, and got Coulson out or she raced around hoping they'd run out of bullets and give up on her. All the while praying they didn't find Coulson or he managed to kill them so she didn't have to.
As she stood, leaning against a barn wall, panting, she tried to wrap her head around her situation. Kill or be killed. Hadn't Tima told her it would come down to that? That eventually, someone would want her dead and if so, then they deserved to die. Maybe it wasn't always that black and white but in the here and now, she thought it was. Taking a deep breath, she bounced side to side on her feet, and started moving, resolve growing with every step.
"Где она?" (Where is she?)
"Мы практически поймали ее!" (I almost had her!)
"Практически - это недостаточно хорошо! Я хочу ее голову. Обратно она отправится в гробу!" (Almost is not good enough. I want her head. We'll send her lucky foot back in a box!)
Darcy followed the voices, searching above. She thought she saw shuffling and then a body, a man, leapt down, landing in a crouch. She had a choice; either follow the man or take out the Bloody Prince of Russia.
Swallowing, she looked up to where Boris was sitting, a large gun in his lap, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He tapped his foot as if there was a song playing in his head.
Maybe it was the cowardly thing to do, but she went after the other man. He was probably closing in on Coulson anyway and she wasn't sure how strong her boss was at the moment.
When she came around the bend, she saw him, pale but breathing, staring up at the man sneering down at him, gun trained.
"Where is the girl?" he demanded.
"What girl?" Coulson replied, furrowing his brow.
"You are a stupid man. You come here, demand that we leave?" He scoffed. "You do not order The Bloody Prince! He—"
"Oh my God, shut up with the pretentious bullshit," Darcy ordered, drawing his attention, her gun already aimed. "Listen, I don't want to kill you, but I will if I have to…"
"Тупая сука!" (Dumb bitch!) he spat, cocking his gun.
Darcy fired in the same moment he did; her shoulder snapped back as a bullet sliced across her bicep. The man she'd shot at was taken off his feet, whether by luck or not, her bullet went straight through his throat.
He clutched at his wound as he laid on the ground, twitching and bleeding out.
"That's no way to speak to a lady," she said, turning her eyes away from the sight.
"Lady? I believe you are mistaken," Boris' voice interrupted as he slipped in behind her. "нет," (No) he discouraged, his hand at the back of her neck as she went to turn. "You are tricky, little one… I underestimated you." He tisked. "I should have expected more of Agent Coulson. He does not trust just anybody."
Darcy's jaw flexed and she glared, turning her head up to look at him. "Вам следовало послушать его совет и уехать!" (You should have taken his advice and left!) she snarled.
He stared at her a long moment before his mouth curved with amusement. "You speak my language well…" His lip curled. "If not for the American twang."
She spat at him.
He managed to avoid it but reared back and glared. "You usually bring the Widow, Coulson…" He raised an eyebrow. "Has your taste in women changed so much?"
He grinned from where he was folded on the ground. "Not as much as you'd think."
"Perhaps it is good then… You will have something pretty to look at when you die," he said, before raising his gun and taking aim.
Darcy's eyes widened and before she gave it much thought, she reacted.
She slammed her foot back down on Boris' and he flinched, yanking his leg back and falling off balance. She turned, used her elbow to against his to force his arm up. She grabbed onto the gun while slamming her knee into Boris' stomach and, with a hand wrapped around his hair, yanked his head up in the same moment so she could head-butt him. She felt his nose crack under her forehead before she twisted, slamming her elbow into his cheek and felt as it fractured under the hit. Throat-punching him, she tripped his feet out from under him. He fell to his back, releasing the gun mid-fall, she took it, and slammed her food down onto his sternum, holding him in place, her gun aimed at his face.
"She's very protective," Coulson said.
"Perhaps…" Boris said, his nose bleeding profusely, his face swelling. "But is she a killer?" he asked.
It happened in a flash, he knocked his arm into her knee and she pitched backwards.
He scrambled for her dropped gun while braced to meet the ground and tried to aim for him.
He got his finger on the trigger and had the shot first, she closed her eyes.
She was still vibrating from hitting the ground when the gun went off, but she didn't feel anything.
There was a grunt and then a body hit the ground and when she opened first one eye and then the other, she spotted Coulson, his ankle gun in hand, still smoking.
Boris was dead on the ground.
Darcy sighed, rolled over onto her stomach, and rested her chin on her stacked hands. "What is your life?" she wondered.
He offered a half-smile.
Shaking her head, she shoved up to her feet and started toward him; her body hurt from head to toe, but she imagined it would be ten times worse when the adrenaline rush wore off. "This was insane, you know that, right?" she asked him.
"Not my worst mission," he admitted.
Rolling her eyes, she bent to help him up from the ground. He winced, but didn't complain. She wrapped her arm around his waist and started walking slowly, destination the door. She paused halfway there to grab her heels; seeing Coulson's exasperated look, she said, "Hey, I paid an arm and a leg for those and I don't know how long we'll be walking!"
He sighed, but didn't comment.
When they finally got outside, the sun seemed too bright. Darcy blinked against the rays, feeling like she'd been stuck inside the barn a lot longer than she was. "Civilization," she muttered, and started toward the dirt road they'd driven in on. "Or, y'know, as close to it as we can get right now."
Coulson snorted.
"Remind me again why we needed to talk to those jackholes? I mean…" She looked up at him. "All we really accomplished was getting shot and killing four people."
"One of whom was a mobster who had a kill list a mile long," he reminded. "I think a bullet wound or two isn't much price to pay in comparison."
"Wow. You are sitting down with a psychologist when we get back," she told him, shaking her head. "Listen to you, all 'oh, it's just a bullet wound!' Don't get self-righteous, save the whole world, on me, Coulson. I'm the one carrying half your body weight because you decided to try and tell the Russian murderer to just politely pack up his guns and leave." She rolled her eyes. "The hell kind of idea even was that?" She scoffed. "I'm seriously doubting your reasoning abilities."
Darcy kept up a steady stream of chatter as they walked down the road, half of it questioning whether Coulson was sane or what SHIELD thought was a good strategy of attack if they only sent the two of them in, one of which was a rookie who wasn't even technically an agent.
When she heard the blades of the incoming chopper, she finally stopped. Her eyes stung with relieved tears, in part because he was leaning on her more and more and she was worried, and also because she wanted to go home and eat ice cream and let Jane tell her she was okay. And maybe cuddle with Steve and let him fuss and be sweet.
"You did good, Darcy," Coulson told her.
She turned her head to look at him. "Save your energy, Bossman. The cavalry is here."
He shook his head. "I'll be fine. This isn't my first rodeo." He offered a faint smile. "I'm serious, you know?" He stared at her searchingly. "You lived up to expectation. Beyond even."
She blinked against the burn in her eyes. "I was scared," she admitted. "I was terrified!"
"We all are the first time…" He squeezed her. "But you stuck in there, you saved my life… You didn't run."
Her brow furrowed. "I didn't run."
He nodded.
She laughed. "People were shooting at me and the one time I don't run away is probably the time I should have."
He snorted.
The helicopter set down and they waited until the agents and medics piled off.
She turned her head to look at Coulson and shouted over the noise. "Thank you!"
He raised an eyebrow.
"You changed my life!"
"Don't thank me yet..." he warned, lips tilted with amusement. "We have another business trip two weeks from now…"
Darcy rolled her eyes. "Don't ruin our moment!"
He chuckled, but winced at the pain.
Moments later, they were surrounded, and Coulson was taken from her grip and helped to the chopper. Another medic started in on her, probing the wound on her arm and checking her pupil response. She batted him away. "I want to go home. Now!"
The agents stayed to clean up the mess, but she, Coulson, and the medics, lifted up and started back toward New York and SHIELD and home.
Darcy didn't look out the window to watch it all pass her eyes, not the smoldering SUV or the barn filled with four dead men and a crapload of guns. She moved over and took Coulson's hand as they started on his wound. He squeezed in thanks and she nodded down at him before wondering how many times in the rest of her life they would be in a situation like this. The idea worried her, but not in the way it had before.
Darcy wasn't scared about being good enough to do the job. She was scared the job might hurt or kill her or someone she considered a close friend.
With that in mind, she decided to take Tima up on the extra training courses and to hit the gun range as soon as she could.
Because next time? Neither of them were getting shot and if somebody wanted to tango, Darcy wanted to know she was going to lead.
"So what are the chances that after you guys organize all the confiscated guns, I might get the missile launcher as a belated birthday gift?" she asked him.
Coulson's lips twitched. "Very low."
"So you're saying there's a chance!"
…
Coulson was taken in for surgery as soon as they arrived back to SHIELD.
Her shoulder wound was bandaged and cleaned up on the chopper, but someone checked it at HQ too before sending her off. She was promised that as soon as Coulson was out of surgery, she'd be informed, before she went down to find Jane, avoiding the suits that would no doubt rush her with armloads of paperwork to fill out.
She looked like a mess and she knew it; there was hay stuck to her hair and her clothes, which were torn and messy. Her jacket was holding it together with one button under her bust. When she walked into the lab, Peter looked up and dropped a handful of slides.
"Darcy!" he shouted. "Are you okay?"
"Huh?" She looked over at him, her brow furrowed. "Oh, uh, yeah, I just… There was a gun fight... in a barn… We won."
He eyed her appearance before wondering skeptically, "Are you sure?"
She burst into hysterical laughter.
"Oh my God, Darcy…" Jane hurried over. "Are—Are you bleeding?"
"What?" She looked at her arm, where the sleeve of her jacket had been torn off for them to work on her bullet graze. "Oh, no, it's cool. They already cleaned that up. Couple stitches and I was good."
"You… You're a mess. I… I don't understand. I thought you were going to meet a politician or—"
"I met a prince," she said, vaguely. "He was a little… hostile."
They blinked at her.
"Can I have a hug?" she wondered, her lips trembling. "I killed two people; I think I deserve a hug."
"Oh, Darcy…" Jane gathered her in close and squeezed.
Peter walked over and rubbed her back. "Your power suit is nice," he told her.
She laughed. "I'm so glad I hired you…" she said, sniffling. "Even if I think you're in a secret fight club."
"I'll explain some time," he told her reassuringly.
"That'd be cool."
"It involves spiders."
Her nose wrinkled. "Ew, keep it to yourself."
He chuckled.
Eventually, Jane pulled back and brushed Darcy's tangled, dirty hair from her face "C'mon, I'll help you get cleaned up," she offered.
Darcy grinned. "Finally, a role reversal!"
Rolling her eyes, Jane hugged an arm around her waist and Darcy leaned into her.
"So guess what?"
"What?"
"I'm not afraid anymore," she shared, smiling.
"Well, I suppose there isn't much to be afraid of after you get into a gun fight and kill two people…" Jane mused.
"Right?!" She held up a hand. "High-five!"
"You're the most bizarre person I've ever known, Darcy…" She hugged her. "I wouldn't have you any other way."
"Good, 'cause you're stuck with me, as is."
For the first time, she didn't feel bad about that. In fact, she thought she was pretty damn kick ass.
…
Later, after she'd showered and changed and received word that Coulson was recovering and she could visit him the next day, during visiting hours (yeah right, she was totally sneaking in at shift change), Darcy curled up in her bed with a stolen bowl of Tima's ice cream. The frantic knocking at her door made her smile; she knew who it was before she opened it.
She got an armful of Steve before the door was completely open. "I heard what happened, I… Are you okay?" He rubbed his hands up and down her body, searching for anything out of place.
She smiled up at him. "Totally fine. Small shoulder wound, barely anything…" She pulled him into her room and closed the door. "C'mon, I was just about to turn on Housewives." She climbed onto her bed and waved the half-eaten bowl of ice cream. "Want some?"
He stared at her, mouth quirked on one side, and just sighed. "You're a whole new breed, Darcy."
With a laugh, she leaned back against her pillows, and scooped up a spoonful of ice cream. Patting the place next to her, she said, "Wanna know all the dirty details?"
Seriously, he said, "Every single one."
He kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket before climbing into bed next to her. He gathered her in close and she rested her head on his chest, her legs tangling with his, and the ice cream bowl balanced on his stomach.
"So there's this totally normal barn, right? And I'm thinking Leatherface is going to leap out and get us any second…"
He brushed his fingers through her hair as she talked, humming and nodding to each detail she gave, some unimportant, others rather critical, and she could feel him tense each time things got difficult. When she shot back at the man and he fell to his death, he stroked her ear. When the missile flew past her head, he rubbed her shoulder. When she was forced to shoot the man who'd found Coulson, he threaded their hands together and squeezed. When she went toe-to-toe with The Bloody Prince of Russia, he kissed her forehead, lingering.
"Remember when you told me I should find a nice, normal woman and date her?" he asked.
She turned her head up and looked at him. "Just realizing how not normal I am?" she joked.
"I don't want normal." He tucked her hair behind her ear. "Darcy, you're amazing. And I'll be worried about you, probably constantly, but… You handled yourself and you're capable and strong and smart…" He stared at her searchingly. "And I love—"
She kissed him. She moved the bowl of ice cream out of the way and dropped it haphazardly onto the bedside table before climbing on top of him. Because she knew what he was going to say, she could read it in his face, but she didn't want to hear those words right now. Not when he'd just freshly learned she could have died. Just like she didn't want to return them in the heat of the moment, of knowing she could be gone and she'd only just found him. So instead, she let her body to do the talking, and it had a lot to say.
If things were a little rougher, a little more desperate with the knowledge of how close death came, then it was all the better.
…
Hours later, with a snoring Steve at her side, Darcy would slip out, get dressed, and take the elevator to the SHIELD medical unit.
She would find Coulson bored with the offered TV and set him up with her laptop and the latest episodes of Supernanny. And as she sat there, curled up in a chair, with her boss and her friend, knowing that she was in love with a good man, that she had three close friends in a physicist, a self-defence trainer and a genius intern, and she had repaired some of the damage between her and her mom, she found peace for the first time in her life.
"When you hired me, did you think we'd become friends?" Darcy wondered.
"I knew you were special," he said, turning to look at her. "This job requires a lot of trust, Darcy. You will be with me, every step of the way, good and bad, for a long time… So you have to be prepared for things like this. Situations like today…" He stared at her searchingly. "But if you're not, say the word, and I'll set you up with a position working under the president tomorrow, if you want."
She picked at a loose thread on the knee of her jeans. "Obama's awesome," she said. "But I think I'll stick with you for a while…" She nodded. "Y'know, just in case you need somebody to save your life or something."
"I think we're even on that front, since I saved your life minutes after," he reminded, smirking.
She rolled her eyes. "I totally had Boris right where I wanted him."
He raised an eyebrow. "He was about to shoot you."
"And then I would've haunted him for the rest of his life… I would've driven him totally nuts; hiding his keys on him, closing doors randomly, changing the channel, making the volume go up and down…" She nodded. "I figured in a few years, he'd be consumed with paranoia and get out of the mobster business."
"That was your big plan?" Coulson pursed his lips to keep from smiling. "In the last seconds before he killed you, that's what you came up with?"
"Well, you probably should've invested in crisis training," she said, shrugging.
He laughed, his head falling back, a hand covering his stomach as he shook with humor.
Sighing, he shook his head, and smiled at the ceiling. "You might be my favorite," he admitted.
"I'm at least your best friend," she agreed.
"Would you like a trophy for that too?"
She nodded. "It'd be appreciated."
…
When she crawled back into bed, Steve turned over and spooned around her. "How's Agent Coulson?" he wondered sleepily.
She smiled, rubbing his arm with her hand. "Good. I think I was promoted to his bestie at some point… Probably when I saved his life… Has that effect."
He hummed and kissed her ear. "I'm sure he appreciates it…" He rubbed his face against her shoulder. "I know from personal experience that you're a good friend to have."
She laughed. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure how conventional our friendship was, especially since I wanted to jump your bones from the second I laid eyes on you."
He chuckled. "I can relate."
"Yeah," she mused. "For a ninety year old soldier who lived a very different life, you get me surprisingly well."
"Probably because loneliness and confusion are universal…"
She turned over. "Gettin' deep, aren't we?"
"I'm half-asleep, I don't think anything I can say can be held against me," he said, smiling tiredly as he brushed her hair back from her face.
She smirked. "I know something that can and wants to be held against you," she said, wiggling her eyebrows.
Laughing under his breath, he leaned her back against the bed and smoothed his hand up under her shirt. "You're insatiable, Miss Lewis."
She slid her hands down his chest and winked at him. "For very good reason, Cap!"
It was a good thing Coulson was so many floors away or he wouldn't have gotten any sleep, not with the noise level on Darcy's.
Although, she thought the note pinned to her door with a dagger was a little much, and on the passive aggressive side since they politely asked her to respect everyone else on the floor.
Since that sounded like too much work, they just decided to start having sleepovers at Steve's place.
Much better plan.