"Like it or not, your brother's an adult."
Clint rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because I forgot since the last time you reminded me." Phil stopped reaching for the bulk pack of coffee to raise an eyebrow, and his husband sighed. "I know Barney's an adult. And yeah, okay, I know he's doing better. But I just want to make sure—"
"That you meddle?" Clint scowled and wrinkled his nose. Phil shrugged. "Clint, you're no longer the only person in his life. You need to trust other people to look out for him. Like May and Jessica—"
"I wouldn't trust Jessica to dog-sit without disaster," Clint muttered.
"Only because Birdie would eat her alive." Clint huffed a laugh, and Phil dropped the coffee into the cart before touching his husband's wrist. "If he doesn't call by next Saturday, worry," he suggested. "In the meantime—"
"Well, if it isn't the Barton-Coulsons."
Phil immediately flinched at the familiar dryness of the greeting, and next to him, Clint bristled. For one brief, naïve moment, Phil hoped that the hustle and bustle of Costco on a Saturday had played tricks on his hearing, but when he glanced over his shoulder, he knew he'd lied to himself.
"Felix," he greeted. Even to his own ears, he sounded like a man trudging to his inevitable death.
Felix Blake flashed him a wry smile. "Phil. And Clint, of course."
Clint grit his teeth. "Blake," he said tightly, flicking his gaze toward Phil. "I'm going to go grab ketchup or something."
"Mayonnaise, too," Phil suggested, and he quickly squeezed Clint's wrist as he stormed off.
As far as Phil could tell, just about everyone on the planet had one ex-something who loomed over their life like a lurking, malevolent storm cloud. Tony, for instance, had his former career and all the people associated with it. Jessica Cage had an ex-boyfriend she referred to as the purple bastard and rarely discussed. And Jasper still complained about one of his supposed friends from college a full fifteen years after graduation.
In Phil's case, his storm cloud worked at the district's central office and answered to the name Felix Blake.
And he always turned up like the world's worst penny.
"It's good to see you," Blake said casually. His cart contained a giant bottle of pinot grigio, two bulk-sized boxes of Pop Tarts, and a copy of Bill O'Reilly's latest book. Phil worked hard not to roll his eyes. "I actually planned on calling you later this week. Before you disappeared for spring break like usual."
"Deciding not to answer your calls is not the same as disappearing," Phil pointed out.
Blake snorted and shook his head. "And I worried that age might mellow you." Phil's jaw twitched slightly, but the other man just waved it off. "I'm going to an educational technology conference in Orlando in May," he continued. "I'd originally invited someone else from central office to come along, but we're not really . . . "
He hesitated, and Phil raised an eyebrow. "Sleeping together anymore?" he suggested.
Blake's expression darkened slightly. "We're not on good terms, no."
Phil barely held back his smirk. "A shame."
"You'd say that less sarcastically if you'd met him." Phil huffed at that, but Blake leaned his arms on his shopping cart. "The central office approved the budget for two people. Conference registration, airfare, a hotel room, the whole nine yards." He paused, his eyes sweeping over Phil's face. "I thought you might like to join me."
Phil blinked. "Excuse me?" he blurted.
"Phil, as far as I'm concerned, what happened before my promotion is in the past. Water under the bridge." Blake shrugged. "It might be nice for us to spend some time together. Reconnect—"
"You remember that I'm married, right?" Phil interrupted. Blake rolled his eyes. "You left for the central office, I changed schools, and I—"
"Settled down with another teacher," Blake finished for him. "And I don't plan on interfering with that. There's no harm in spending three days—"
"Reconnecting in a hotel room?" Phil cut in. Blake snapped his mouth shut, scowling. "Sorry, Felix. Ask one of the technology teachers. Or, you know, anyone else in the district. But I'm not interested."
All of Blake's forced politeness suddenly disintegrated into an accusatory glare. "You're making a mistake."
"Same thing you said when I switched schools," Phil replied, "and look how that turned out."
He abandoned a sputtering Blake in the coffee aisle and, unsurprisingly, discovered Clint two aisles away, glaring giant bags of paper plates into submission. He jerked slightly when Phil touched his back, residual frustration from their close encounter of the Blake kind, and Phil stayed still until his husband finally relaxed into him. "For the record," Clint said after a few seconds, "I don't know what you saw in that asshole."
"You know," Phil admitted, "I used to wonder the same thing."
Clint raised an eyebrow. "And now?"
Phil shrugged. "Now, I just comfort myself with the fact that I married way better," he replied, and Clint grinned.
Bucky heard the cell phone chime and on instinct reached for it to read the notification on the screen. It wasn't till he saw his own face as the background that he realized it was Steve's phone making all the fuss. He honestly wasn't snooping on his husband; they just had identical phones and matching text alert notification sounds. Plus, they trusted each other and were fine with answering messages on the other's phones.
Matt: Finally have approval from boss for the week off still good to help you out this week?
Bucky searched his memory for someone named Matt, but nothing was coming to mind. Maybe it was someone in the PTA that Thor had introduced to Steve. Or one of Sarah's friends that could help Steve with one of the endless half-finished restoration projects in the garage.
"My phone or yours?" Steve asked as he walked out of the bathroom, a trail of steam following him.
"Yours," Bucky answered. "Some guy named Matt. Said he was cleared to help you out this week."
"Great," Steve said with a smile. "I'll text Fury and let him know."
"Fury?" Bucky asked.
Steve nodded. "Matt's one of my art buddies from college. He's going to come help teach my class this week."
"Look what the cat dragged in."
Tony rolled his eyes at the familiar voice. "Trish, don't you have some Oklahoma production to practice?" he asked while leaning his shoulder against the doorway leading into Jessica Cage's classroom.
The blonde grinned dangerously. "Actually, the high school is putting on Godspell this year."
Tony faked a shudder. "Scintillating."
"I'm so glad you two didn't work out," Jessica muttered.
"Me, too," Trish replied.
"Me, three," Tony admitted. "You must've been my good luck charm. Next woman I dated after you was Pepper. You were this close to becoming Missus Stark ."
"Dated, or just slept with?" Trish challenged.
Tony ignored the valid comment and turned to Jessica. "Halfway done coding your new knock-off math game. Just wanted to see if there's anything else you want to add in before I finish it up."
"Like what?" Jessica asked.
"I don't know—adventures to the moon if you master long division, blowing up battleships if you can add fractions—"
"Monkeys with his face on them," Trish offered.
Tony glared at her. "I can put some red-headed dogs in there all named Patsy."
Trish smiled as she rose. "I actually have to go chat with your wife. See if she'd be willing to talk to my AP Psych class about art therapy."
"And talk about me, I'm sure," Tony added.
"Not everything is about you, Stark," Jessica grumbled. She turned to Trish. "Thanks for listening to me bitch."
"Anytime," Trish responded. "Let me know when I can steal my goddaughter for a night."
"You can have her for the rest of her nights if you want her," Jessica called after as she walked out of the classroom.
"Why did the two of us ever date?" Tony asked.
"Because you were both trying to relive your glory days and trying to be a still-relevant power couple," Jessica answered. "Thankfully, you both wisened up."
Tony studied Jessica's demeanor for a moment. She'd never be a Miss Congeniality winner, but the ever-present storm cloud over her head seemed to be larger and thicker this afternoon . "Everything okay? Do I need to mess with Barton's computer to punish him for something?"
"Dani's teething. No one's slept in my house for days," Jessica answered. "But still feel free to mess with Clint's laptop."
Tony waved her off. "Too easy."
Jessica stared at him for a moment. "You really just need to talk about knock-off math program?"
Tony ran his hand down the front of his dress shirt to unnecessarily smoothe his expensive tie. "You guys weren't planning on the kid, right?"
"Eventually, sure. Just not conceiving one thirty seconds after we said 'I do.'"
Tony's eyebrow quirked up. "Is that honestly when it happened? Because if so, Danvers owes me money."
"Because you don't have enough as it is," Jessica shot back. "What are you actually trying to ask me?"
"Say you have a friend who's going to be a parent," Tony said.
"Should we call them Nuce and Bratasha?" Jessica asked.
"Nuce is the only one who's my friend," Tony admitted. "Or Bratasha. Whichever one is the dad."
Jessica leaned back in her desk chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "My first recommendation is for both of them to be your friend, or a whole lot of shit is going to hit the fan super fast."
"She hurt him before," Tony pointed out.
"Takes two to tango, and with those two in particular, I don't think we'll ever get the straight story of last summer. Doubt they've even gone over it," Jessica said.
"But isn't that a gigantic land mine waiting to go off?" Tony asked.
Jessica snorted. "Trying to impersonate your wife?"
"My wife tells me to leave it alone."
"That's why she's the smart one in the marriage," Jessica responded. "Look, you think you're scared about all of this? Trying being in their shoes. Luke and I are still terrified, and we were at least together for years when Dani was born. You can't imagine what they're feeling like." Tony opened his mouth to argue, but the look Jessica gave him shut him up instantly. "I wasn't kidding a minute ago when I said everything isn't about you."
"I'm not great at being the supportive friend," Tony admitted.
He expected a response of no shit, but Jessica just did more of that creepy staring thing, and it took all of Tony's self-control not to squirm in his seat. "Be there when they need you—be there for both of them. Don't judge, don't insult, just be there."
It wasn't unusual to hear laughter coming from Steve's room. Bucky just didn't recognize one of the voices. When he walked into the art room, Steve was cleaning up the aftermath of another school day, while an auburn-haired man wearing sunglasses sat at Steve's desk.
"Hey," Steve greeted with a smile. "Thanks for saving me a text to get you down here. Bucky, this is Matt Murdock. Matt, this is my husband."
The stranger smiled politely and held and held out his hand. It was directed slightly to Bucky's right, and he figured out why the man wore his sunglasses inside. "How ya' doin'?" Bucky asked as he gripped Matt's hand.
"Not used to having so many kids in one day," Matt answered.
"Matt teaches art at the School for the Blind downtown," Steve clarified. "We worked it out to start a program where we spend a week in each other's classrooms. I'll be working there for a week at the end of April."
"Nice," Bucky commented.
An electronic voice started to repeat the word foggy. Matt's hand scrambled along the surface of Steve's desk until it landed on a cell phone. "You outside?" he asked as a greeting. "Be there in a few."
"Ride here?" Steve asked as Matt disconnected and stood up.
"Yeah, Foggy's in the front outside the office," Matt answered as he grabbed his cane.
"Want me to walk you out?" Steve asked.
Matt shook his head. "Counted steps on my way in this morning. I should be good. See you tomorrow."
Bucky waited for a hundred beats to make sure Steve's friend was out of earshot and then some. "Foggy?" he asked.
"Bucky?" Steve countered. "Foggy's name is Franklin."
"Not sure Foggy is better," Bucky muttered to himself. "How'd you guys meet? Foggy an artist, too?"
"No," Steve laughed. "Foggy's a lawyer. Matt was going to be one too but decided to help others with education instead of the law."
Bucky grimaced. "Is it terrible of me to ask how blind kids do art class?"
"Yes," Steve answered firmly.
"So, what, you guys roommates? Classmates?"
"Lovers," Steve told him, and Bucky was about to laugh until he realized Steve wasn't joking.
"What?" Bucky asked.
"We were friends with benefits for a while. But then Matt started a relationship with Foggy."
"You've never talked about him before," Bucky pointed out.
Steve shrugged. "We never went through and listed all of our exes. Should we have?"
Bucky wanted to say yes, but he didn't think he had a right to. "It's fine," he replied.
Steve walked over to kiss him on the corner of the mouth. "I didn't invite Matt here to start an affair in the kiln room."
"You'd do it in the tech closet to gross out Tony?"
"Exactly."
"If you're looking for James, you're on the wrong floor."
In many ways, Sam Wilson's grin reminded Natasha of an infectious disease: it spread easily to other people and weakened the knees of the vulnerable and elderly. Today, it nudged the corners of his eyes before overtaking his entire face, and Natasha resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "That stopped working on me years ago," she reminded him.
"Nah, the smile works on everyone. You've just built up a little immunity." She snorted, but Sam—slouching comfortably in one of the lobby chairs—just shrugged. "Besides, maybe I'm not here for Bucky. Maybe I'm just admiring the scenery."
He nodded in her direction, and she planted her hands on her hips. "I have a strict policy about flirting on school property."
"You might be the only one in this whole building, then, 'cause that girl in the office . . . " He released a low whistle, and Natasha bit back a laugh. "You want to sit down and chat with an old friend?" he asked, gesturing to the chair next to him. "You don't look like you're in a hurry."
"And you'll tell me why you're here?" she replied.
Sam heaved a sigh. "Between you and those all-American pretty boys we just married off, it's like a man can't keep a secret."
"James always said you crack easily under pressure," she pointed out.
"James is a liar who neither of us should've ever trusted," he retorted, and Natasha finally smiled.
He gestured to the chair again, and she glanced briefly at the clock. Her planning period ended in about fifteen minutes, more than enough time to catch up with Sam. And, more importantly, to actually sit down. She tried not to sigh as she leaned back against the thick cushions. "And now that I'm sitting—"
"Danvers offered to show me around a little." She raised an eyebrow at that, and Sam shook his head. "Look, I'm not advertising this to anybody, not even our James—"
"Must be serious if you're calling him James," Natasha pointed out.
"—but I'm as sick of the politics at that school as he was. And since he offered to hook me up with Carol . . . " He shrugged. "Guess we'll see where it goes."
"Just be careful using the term 'hook up.' Carol's definitely got a type."
He grinned. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Ex-military guys who fill out their polo shirts. Her boyfriend's a perfect example." She shrugged as Sam's face fell. "Just being honest."
"Yeah, and speaking of honest: how are you doing?" Natasha frowned slightly, and Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "Every time I ask those newlyweds about you, they stop talking marital bliss and dissolve into one-word answers. You got an explanation for that?"
"James and I had a couple difficult months recently," she admitted after a beat.
All of Sam's usual warmth drained from his face. "I need to talk to him about it?"
Natasha rolled her eyes at the absolute sincerity in his tone. "Because you're better equipped to fight with James than I am?" she questioned. He grinned, raising his hands in defense, and she studied him for a moment. "I'm okay," she said. "And before you ask, James shouldn't be grunting his responses anymore."
"Except to questions like 'you treating that guy of yours right,' you mean." She huffed a laugh, but Sam kept staring her down. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I—" She hesitated a moment, her lips pursed, and Sam raised both his eyebrows. She sighed. "I might as well tell you before James spills the beans for me," she decided.
"Tell me what, exactly?"
"That I'm pregnant."
Sam blinked at that, surprise spreading across his face, and Natasha repositioned herself just enough that he could inspect her midsection. Not, of course, that her hoodie didn't cover the swell of her stomach. After a few seconds, Sam grinned. "No kidding," he said.
She cocked her head slightly. "That's your reaction?"
"Well, I mean, give me a second, you kind of dropped this on me." He flopped back in his chair, still watching her. "Yeah, that's definitely my reaction. Because the woman I dated—"
Natasha wrinkled her nose. "Going on three dates is not the same as dating."
"—seemed a little disinterested in settling down." Something in Natasha's stomach twisted at that, but Sam immediately touched her arm. "That's not a judgment on you. Especially since none of us were ready to settle down back then, Bucky included." He paused, his expression softening. "You good with this? Not just the being pregnant part—you wouldn't still be pregnant if you weren't interested. I mean with everything that comes with it."
She smirked. "Like exploding diapers and midnight feedings?" she asked.
"Yeah, sure, and the life change. The eighteen years of being tethered to another person." She snorted a little, and for some reason, he smiled. "Yeah, you've got this."
She raised an eyebrow. "You got that just from looking at me?"
"Nah, I got that from knowing you." Natasha shook her head, and Sam grinned before glancing at his watch. "Danvers told me about twelve minutes ago to meet her upstairs in ten. You mind if I—"
"Go impress your new boss?" He rolled his eyes at that, and she smiled. "Go get the full tour. Just avoid Jessica Drew if you can. She'll pump you for information the second she figures out we're friends."
Sam narrowed his eyes. "Is she—"
"If the next word out of your mouth is 'single,'" Natasha warned, "I will punch you." Sam laughed as he climbed out of his chair, but after bending to kiss her on the cheek, he paused. She frowned at him. "What?"
He shrugged. "I was just thinking that 'Sam' is a really good name for a baby."
Natasha shoved his shoulder. "Never in a million years," she retorted, but when he winked, she smiled.
Bucky sighed and rolled over. His students had come back from art class that morning talking about how their art lesson from Mister Murdock was sculpting simple objects with their eyes covered with blindfolds. They had learned about how people who are visually challenged learn through touch.
Since then, Bucky couldn't help but picture Matt learning Steve's body through touch. He'd dreamt about the blind art teacher's hands on his husband's skin. Yes, it was somewhat hot, but mostly it burned him up with jealousy.
But Bucky couldn't do anything about it. All of it happened years before Bucky and Steve met. He didn't have a right to judge Steve for his previous relationships.
Doesn't mean sleep came back to him easily.
"I never knew you to have such a work ethic."
The rise and fall of a familiar voice caught Thor off guard, but he somehow managed to finish the last line of his spreadsheet despite the smile that immediately bloomed across his face. When he finally glanced up, his expression deliberately neutral, Sif raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize your paperwork is more important than an old friend," she accused.
He bit down on the edge of his smile. "According to her brother, my old friend is meant to be at a conference this week."
She huffed. "I tired of the conference. Too many old men droning on about historic preservation while pretending not to look down my blouse. If I'd wanted to work with fossils, I would have studied geology."
Thor snorted half a laugh. "Clearly, they do not know you curate a collection of historical weapons."
Sif smirked. "They will when I eventually use one on them," she replied, and Thor grinned.
She smiled in response, a hint of that good humor he knew so well, and Thor's heart warmed. Even with many miles and years between them, Sif remained dear to his heart—and, sometimes, counted as one of his deepest regrets. Oh, he loved Jane deeply and truly, his feelings as sure as the ebb and flow of the tides. But some days, he hated the way he'd hurt the first woman he'd ever loved, the one who had helped him find his footing and become the man Jane married.
He owed her far more kindness than he'd shown her at eighteen.
A slightly uncomfortable silence settled over the office, and Thor broke it with a shake of his head. "Heimdall's client meeting ran late," he explained. "You are free to wait for him here. I know he's excited to see you. Even if you don't update him on your life nearly enough."
Sif promptly rolled her eyes. "He acts as though there is something to update him about," she replied. "I'm either at the museum, fundraising forthe museum, or at home in sweatpants and slippers."
"With Netflix, or with ice cream?" Thor asked.
"Why not with both?" He chuckled. This time, when Sif smiled, it faded quickly. "Heimdall told me about your accident last spring. I wanted to call or send flowers, but I didn't know . . . "
"They would have been more than welcome," Thor assured her, and she nodded unevenly. "Sif, I know we parted unpleasantly, but I never—"
"Meant to hurt me," Sif finished automatically. He frowned, and she sighed. "Thor, we have this conversation every time I come to town. You feel guilty for the sins of your eighteen-year-old self, and I try not to feel responsible for your guilt." She shook her head. "Five years ago, I might have still viewed you as the one who got away. Now, you're a man I miss calling my friend."
He pursed his lips. "I suppose that is my fault, too."
"No. If anything, we both bare responsibility." His frown deepened, and she sighed heavily as she drew a chair up next to his. When she sat down, she studied him for a moment with sharp eyes. "Heimdall warned me his meeting would run late," she admitted. "I came because I wanted to see you. To put the past behind us in hopes that you can stop imagining me as a broken-hearted girl chasing your shadow."
Thor snorted quietly. "The first time I visited after we broke up—"
"I cried and pouted like a fool," Sif replied sternly, and he barely bit back a laugh. "No. You will take no pleasure the pain of a stupid teenager who wrote you unsent love poems her first semester of college." His urge to laugh grew, and she smacked him lightly in the arm before settling her hand there. "You are a good man, Thor, and a million miles from the lost boy who got kicked out of his house at seventeen and who ran from everything that reminded him of home—girlfriend included—a year later." He opened his mouth to argue, and she raised a hand. "And I don't blame you. Not for being hurt, and not for accidentally hurting me. I just wish we could be better friends. That I could see the man you've become."
The sincerity in her voice warmed somewhere deep in his chest, and he smiled. "I would like that."
"Enough to join Heimdall and me for lunch?" she challenged.
He frowned. "I wouldn't want to intrude—"
Sif rolled her eyes. "Please. Do you think I can entertain my brother for more than ten minutes at a time? He glazes over whenever I try to explain my work."
Thor bit back a grin. "And you think I will be any more interested in swords and armor?"
"Knowing you as I do? Yes." He huffed a laugh, and she smiled. "And if all else fails, you and my brother can entertain me."
He cocked his head to the side. "And how exactly will we do that?"
She shrugged. "You're very clever. I'm sure you'll think of something."
"To your new job!" Natasha crowed as she led the table's occupants into clinking their glasses together.
"Thanks," Sam said with a slightly embarrassed smile. "Bucky only has good things to say about your school."
"Our school," Bruce corrected. "Your part of the family now."
"The incestuous family," Bucky muttered. Steve may have been the only one who heard him, but his husband definitely gave him a questioning look for it.
"I will wish you good luck on surviving Carol," Steve told Sam.
Natasha patted Sam on the shoulder. "Like I already told you, you're her type. You should be fine."
"You could set him up with someone, Nat," Bucky suggested. "You know what he likes." That earned him a raised, questioning eyebrow from Natasha. Sam, on the other hand, was oblivious due to his good mood.
"You've set me up before; I trust you to work your magic again," Sam said.
"True," Bucky responded. "But I never slept with you. So I'll have to rely on her for help with that," he said while pointing the mouth of his beer bottle in Natasha's direction.
Steve slapped a twenty down on the table and put a hand on Bucky's forearm. "Just remembered we have somewhere to be. Congrats again, Sam. Natasha and Bruce, we'll see you on Monday." With that, he dragged Bucky through Xavier's and out into the parking lot. He pressed Bucky up against the car, but the action didn't have its usual sexy feel to it. "Say it," Steve ordered.
"Say what?"
"Whatever is eating you up. Whatever's been keeping you up at night and making you act like an asshole to our friends."
"It's nothing," Bucky said.
"Bullshit," Steve fired back.
Bucky ran a hand through his hair. "You should've told me up front that Matt and you used to be a thing."
Why does it matter?" Steve asked.
"Because I don't want to think about anyone else touching you," Bucky admitted.
"Not going to happen anymore," Steve said as he brushed his knuckles along Bucky's cheek. "I picked you to marry. Sometimes, I don't know why…"
Bucky snorted and smacked Steve's hand away from his face. "Sorry for being a dick."
Steve looked over his shoulder towards the bar's entrance. "I'm not the only one you should apologize to."
"I'll make Nat some cannoli. She'll forget about everything in ten seconds."
"You know they're closed, right?" Loki asked as Darcy pulled the car into the observatory parking lot. Specifically, the lead researcher's parking space. Loki wasn't sure if his sister-in-law would be mad or thrilled at them usurping her boss's reserved parking spot.
"You know I have connections, right?" Darcy challenged. "C'mon."
The observatory had closed hours ago, but Darcy had persuaded him to join her on an outing. That was a polite way of saying she'd lured him out of his apartment and much-needed thesis writing time with promises of lurid events.
It'd worked. Of course it had. She was Darcy, and he was a heterosexual male.
She took his hand and led him to a side door to the massive building. She smiled up at him while performing an elaborate knock sequence. Despite the doubts he'd been feeling, her smile unabashedly made his stomach turn inside out.
A second later, the door opened to reveal a man their age. Judging by Darcy's face, it wasn't the person she was expecting. "Ian?"
"Hey, Darce," the man greeted with an obvious amount of familiarity.
"Where's Jane?" Darcy asked.
"Said one of the kids was sick and she had to rush home. Don't worry—everything is set up to your specifications. Even made sure the pizza had your favorite toppings."
Darcy glared at him as she stormed inside. "Then it's not set up to my specifications."
"Since when do you like anchovies?" Ian questioned.
"I don't, but I'm not the only one here, now am I?"
Ian looked over Darcy's shoulder at Loki. He gave the man a tight smile and tried not to focus on the fact that Ian looked like could very well be the love child of Peter Parker and Wade Wilson.
"Who's this?" Ian questioned.
"Loki. My boyfriend," Darcy answered tightly. "You think I begged and bartered Jane to let me in here for a private date by myself?"
Ian visibly shrunk at the question and turned his eyes to his shoes. "The movie's set to start in ten minutes. Just text Jane when you're leaving, and she'll call security to lock up behind you."
"Thanks," Darcy said brusquely before once again grabbing Loki's hand and dragging him toward the theater. Loki had been in the room a number of times. The reclining chairs allowed the observatory visitors to watch images of constellations and planets projected along the domed ceiling. There was a dais in the center of the room where observatory employees took turns narrating some of the films. But for tonight, a blanket had been laid out on the floor with a pizza box on it.
"No anchovies?" Loki asked, trying to contain his smile.
Darcy's shoulders slumped. "I tried to accommodate you and your freakish Swedish delights but was thwarted."
"Who is that Ian fellow?"
"A living, breathing example of why Jane shouldn't be allowed to set people up. Ever," Darcy answered.
"You dated?" Loki questioned.
Darcy nodded. "Not for long. He did everything I asked and suggested and made sure every date was exactly what I wanted it to be, which at first was great. But then it just became obnoxious. I'm not the princess type of girl who needs doted on. I want someone to occasionally pick a fight with, not someone who will bow to my every whim."
"I'll keep that in mind," Loki said, and Darcy slugged him in the arm for it.
"C'mon," she said. "Let's eat before the pizza gets cold."
"What's this movie about?" Loki asked.
"I know you're busy with your thesis, so I thought we could have a date that was still somewhat educational. Jane found a film about what the constellations mean to different civilizations, including the Vikings. Didn't know if it could help your research on storytelling and lore or not."
"It might. Thank you," he said genuinely. "And for the parts about other civilizations?"
"Oh, we're totally making out during those scenes."