"Darcy, don't argue, just listen. Something big is going to happen in about half an hour. I need you to go get the bag in the wardrobe and set up. You'll know what to do when it happens".
"What…"
"Something to do with work. And your visitor last year. I'm not going to lie – it's going to get weird, but you're going to deal with it just fine. Just stay where you are – if you hit the street there's a good chance you'll get hurt. Or worse. I've got to go. I've already breached protocol in contacting you. I'll see you real soon." With that, Natasha Romanoff hung up. Looking at her phone sadly, she added a whispered "I hope".
Darcy rested her forehead briefly against the heel of her hand. What the hell was Tasha thinking – she'd only done this once! Still, she'd seen that film with Mark Wahlberg in it and figured that she knew how to get this set-up sorted out. Solid surface, comfortable chair and a ready escape route. So that was her work desk then (she rescued her laptop to under her bed in an effort that it would survive this clusterfuck). Her line of sight covered three rooftops opposite her as well as the street below, just like Tasha had… Jesus, had she been trained for this sort of thing?
There was a loud crackle and a sudden smell of ozone. Leaning forwards, she peered out of her living room window to see a bolt of light disturbingly like Thor's Bifrost-wormhole thingy being shot straight up into a swirl of nothing. Seriously, nothing. A hole in the sky, from which little black things were falling before peeling away. Guess this was what Tasha meant.
Darcy sat back and glanced at the armoury of guns laid out on the floor behind her before starting to slam in ammo clips, chambering the first round in each weapon. She spread them out, equal numbers into each room, and one – the lightest handgun (and her favourite) – was made safe before being shoved into the back of her belt, gangster-style.
There was chaos on the street below but Darcy didn't dare shoot – too many people moving way too fast for her not to hit a civilian. She wasn't… Him. Clint. Boy, would he be surprised to see her now; proud too. And probably more than a little turned on, the kinky bastard. She still reminisced about his reaction when she'd spotted his bow when he'd gone to dispose of a condom. When he'd seen her, buck-ass naked and running her hand along the top limb… She'd not been able to walk properly the next day, so he'd brought her breakfast in bed.
She shook herself free of her memories as she noticed a small group of people standing in the street. One was definitely Iron Man – she could see the bling from here – and she was fairly certain that another was Tasha. The group split before she could identify the others, and then one guy turned into freaking massive slab of green muscle and punched a space whale in the face! She shook her head. Who knew that New York could be this weird?
She shrieked as another whale slid past her window, smaller things (aliens? monsters?) leaping from it to slam into and climb buildings. Grabbing a gun from beside her she leant out of her window and - trying not to think too much about what she was doing – shot the creatures either side of her. They fell the seven stories to land with an ignoble clatter upon the battered asphalt below. Darcy was fixated by the distant sprawl of their broken bodies until a flash of scarlet and gold shot past her with a couple of flying chariots (seriously, was all alien tech better than theirs?) in hot pursuit. OK. Two kills to her, but this fight was far from over.
From her pocket her beloved phone rang out with Tasha's tone and she fumbled it as she hit the answer, putting it onto speaker and placing it on her desk next to… let's call it Cecil. Nothing called Cecil could be scary, right? "Hey Tash. How's it going down there?"
"Not going to lie, this is going to be tough. But I have a genetically enhanced super-soldier, Iron Man, a god and a person with some serious anger issues right her beside me, so we should be good. But I can't help everyone on my team, so I need you to keep an eye on someone for me. On the roof opposite your window I've got a guy, but he's going to get overwhelmed because he can't cover all four sides. Can you pick off anything and everything which climbs up your side? Thin the pack, as it were?"
Darcy eyeballed Cecil. "I'll try. Tasha, are you sure you want me to try this? I've only done this once..?"
There were sounds of a fist-fight followed by a crackling sizzle which put Darcy in mind of Valerie. "You're a natural, Darcy. There's no-one I would trust with this more, because I believe that you can do this. I'll see you soon, OK?" The line went dead, and the young woman stared at the sleek black handset, taking a deep breath.
"OK then, Cecil. You and me versus the evil alien menace. We can do this." Tucking the stock of the sniper rifle hard into her shoulder as she'd been taught, she focussed her scope on the building Tasha had asked her to guard. She couldn't see this team member, but the things certainly knew he was there from the way they were swarming. Another deep breath to steady herself, and Darcy set about making sure this faceless SHIELD minion/friend-of-Tasha didn't get pulled down.
After what felt like hours, but was more likely only 15 minutes or so, of aim-fire with regular reloads, Tasha rang back, "Good job Darce. You're back to protecting yourself now. Stand down on the guard dog detail". Darcy rubbed her sore shoulder and let out a long breath of tension. She rolled her head back to loosen up her neck muscles, but when she opened her eyes again it was to stare into the malevolent face of an alien invader who had been drawn to the retort of the heavy-calibre weapon. She screamed and dropped to the floor, rolling away and reaching for the nearest handgun. As it began to crawl through her open window, she rose and fired – her single shot went straight between its eyes and it collapsed across her desk. Darcy pushed at it with all her might, and it slowly slid back out to join its former comrades on the pavement below. With the body no longer obstructing her, she set about shooting what she could.
It felt like a lifetime later when a blinding flash from the direction of Stark Tower (can anyone say Building of Over-Compensation?) and the creatures all seemed to drop down dead at the same time. Darcy started to shake with fear and spiking adrenaline levels – she felt like she could sleep for a week and run a marathon at the same time. With trembling hands she slid the safety on before relaxing her muscles enough to send the small semi-automatic pistol in her grip fall to the rug. She looked around. Guns and spent bullet casings littered the floor. Empty ammo clips were thrown to the perimeters of her rooms. No room in her apartment had been spared, and there was a dead alien slumped against the spare bed – she'd never even heard it break the window and climb in. Tasha was going to be pissed…
Speaking of the red-haired Russian… Darcy hunted down her phone (under the couch) and sent a quick text confirming her survival and asking about her and the status of her team. The reply was almost instantaneous: Dealing with Big Bad. Going for schwama. With you soon. Nxx and she whooped with relief before setting to cleaning and re-packing the guns into the enormous black carry-all.
She was only halfway through the small sidearms (look, she wasn't trained for this, OK? Thank god for YouTube having instructional videos for everything in the world ever) when there was a sharp banging on her apartment door. Slipping the "oh fuck I'm about to die" gun from the back of her belt she sidled to the wall beside the door. Damn, but she was going to demand a spyhole and very soon. She held the gun like in the movies – pointing at the ceiling, shoulder-height. Tasha would call her showy and inefficient, but it made her feel like a badass, so screw it. She needed the boost right now. Her bravery was hiding under the bed, so sue her for putting on an act.
She reached down and unlocked the door, pulling it slightly just as whoever was on the other side pounded upon it again, slamming it open to the wall. Darcy stepped out and levelled the gun, "Give me a reason not to pull the trigger, punk" before stopping in shock.
It was Clint. Dirty, dishevelled, covered in blood, gorgeous Clint. Standing in her hallway clutching an envelope, with an expression on his face that said a massive "WTF?" which no doubt matched her own. He was staring from her face to the gun pointing – surprisingly steadily – at his chest and back again. He swallowed. "Fuck, you're hot."
The gun fell to the floor. "Good enough" Darcy replied before throwing herself forwards. He stumbled backwards into the wall , his hands gripping her waist hard as she dragged his mouth down into a bruising kiss.