Darcy had met a particular agent when she worked for SHIELD. She saw him just about every day she came into the office. He nodded at her curtly as a greeting every time he saw her, which was more than most agents gave her. She had worked there for over a year, nodding to this guy every morning, and yet had never learned his name. She thought to ask one time. But it was three months in to their little acquaintance. It was just too awkward at that point. They were destined to carry on their lives. So close, yet so unknown.
Darcy was facing a similar level of social arrest when it came to confessing to literally anyone that Loki had been visiting her about once a week for six months. It had just been going on too long for it not to be awkward as hell to confess at this point. She talked to Jane once every few weeks. Romanoff usually checked in once a month to see how she was doing, when she wasn't out saving the world and being a badass and stuff. There were at least eleven opportunities to let drop the fact that she had been dangerously close to what most people would consider on a date with Thor's mercurial sibling. Several times. It had been six whole months. Half a year now. Darcy was pretty sure there would be no easy way of telling anyone of her standing weekly get together with the God of Mischief.
They weren't technically anything romantic. They hadn't even kissed. They just met up once a week when Loki would teleport in from New York. Usually went out to dinner or for coffee. After which, he just happen to spend the night at her apartment. In her bed. With two diplomatic layers of clothes between them.
Every week.
For six months.
In a totally, totally platonic manner.
And therefore, nothing to report. Or so she kept telling herself.
Jane had eventually alerted her that Loki was alive and on Earth, but assured her that he really was turning things around for himself. He was practically an honorary Avenger, at this point, from her friend's point of view. Of course, anyone who actually said that might find themselves at the business end of one of his daggers. Or at least one of his more merciless illusions.
Loki had a similar report when he came to see her. Though, his outlook was far less idealized than Jane. He tolerated night outings with Thor and his companions for the sake of his own freedom. They enjoyed the facade of his compliance. He associated with The Man of Iron because he like his scotch. Etcetera, etcetera. Darcy was glad to hear he was making nice with her former associates, no matter how much he would protest the idea.
A swift knock on the door followed by the man himself coming into her apartment as if he owned the place shook Darcy from her thoughts. She looked up from her work on her laptop, offering a warm smile and soft "Hey," as he took off his coat. He was dressed in a suit at the height of Midgardian style, as usual. Turning over a new leaf might have meant refraining from murder and mayhem, but Loki would not be caught dead in jeans.
"Still plodding along on that contraption?" Loki asked, eyeballing her computer.
She grinned: an action that had been easier for a while. "Some of us have to work for a living, your highness. We don't all get to pal around with billionaire superheroes and magic our way through bills." He returned an unapologetic smirk as he placed a bottle of wine on the table. Darcy inclined her head. "Are we celebrating something?"
"You haven't had a need for your medication for a month now, and are no longer prohibited. I thought it might be nice complement this evening."
Darcy nodded appreciatively. "Well, I know zip about wine," she said picking up the bottle to examine it. "But something tells me this usually goes with something fancier than spaghetti and meatballs. Which is what I made, by the way." She watched as he made his way to her small kitchen, quickly locating the closest things to wine glasses she owned. A set of mismatched, highly decorated goblets she had thought were pretty when she found them in a thrift store. If he disapproved of her tacky stemware, he said nothing.
"Instincts are spot on, as usual. Computer away. No working during dinner."
Darcy smiled again as she packed up her temporary workstation. She could hear Loki serving out their meal in the kitchen. As soon as she cleared the table, her thin white plates with their meal appeared, perfectly aligned on her woven placemats. Her smiles persisted. The little twists of magic around her apartment on Friday nights were growing familiar. She wondered if Loki missed the little yelps of surprise he would get from her with his tricks.
When Darcy returned from putting away her laptop back, she frowned at the third plate of spaghetti at her small dining table.
"Are we expecting company?" she asked.
"Yes, as a matter of fact," he replied, bringing out her loudly decorated wine glasses and setting three of them, carefully filling the glasses. Too much of a showman to pour it in the kitchen, of course. "I believe one of our SHIELD associates intends to drop by."
A flood of emotions filled the pit of Darcy's stomach as a firm knock came at the door, right on cue. Loki sat down at the table, unconcerned with whomever was calling. Chewing the inside of her lip for a moment, she answered the door. A flash of red hair and lips caught her eye, and the apprehension immediately fled.
"Nat!" She greeted brightly at the sight of the redhead on the other side of the door. "Just about to sit down to dinner. Got any garlic bread by chance?"
While she wasn't super close with the agent, Darcy liked to think the two of them shared a quiet kinship after a year of working together and the Incident, as she and Loki had begun calling the events of New York. But Darcy wasn't looking at her not-quite friend, Natasha Romanoff. She was looking at the Black Widow, whose eyes narrowed into slits at Darcy's greeting. The programmer shifted uncomfortably, willing herself to not lose bladder control under that assassin's scrutiny. "It's okay if you didn't. I guess there are enough carbs in the pasta." A painful half of a minute passed before the agent spoke.
"Lewis?" Romanoff finally said, softening just slightly.
"It hasn't been that long, has it? Surely you wouldn't forget this face." Darcy put on her smarmiest smile. A quirk at the corner of the Widow's mouth appeared, to the young girl's great relief.
"She's not me, if that's what concerns you," Loki called from inside. The Widow returned as she looked just passed Darcy into her apartment, seeing the sorcerer lounging lazily at the table. His long legs were crossed as he swirled his glass wine, releasing tannins or whatever swirling wine did for people way more sophisticated than her. The giant sunflowers on his wineglass of choice stole away from the elegant display, just a bit. The pieces fell into place, and Darcy suddenly realized why Romanoff looked like she was about to feed her own intestines to her. She thought Darcy might be Loki, and Loki had that effect on people.
"Come on in," Darcy said, moving aside. "We were just about to have dinner. We even have fancy grape juice."
"Thanks," Romanoff said, impassive as ever as she easily strode in, eyes absorbing everything around her. She looked as if she had been anticipating something a little more dangerous that Italian.
"Oops. Forgot the salad," Darcy said, headed to her kitchen. "Need at least something green on the table."
Watching Romanoff and Loki stare each other down in her tiny, tiny apartment through the little window from her kitchen made her really worry that she was going to have to replace her cheap furniture very quickly. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for what was most likely going to be a much more stressful evening than she had planned.
"I wasn't aware you had business in Middle of Nowhere, Minnesota," she heard Romanoff begin as she sat down. Darcy thought the salad could definitely use some more Parmesan. She ducked her head into her small refrigerator, hoping it was somewhere hard to find.
"I don't," Loki replied. "Not everything is about business, Natasha. Some things are about pleasure."
"I've got Creamy Italian and Low-Fat Ranch!" Darcy called as loudly as she could, hoping to derail whatever bullshittery Loki was planning for the agent. "I'll just bring both," she added lamely. "I'd offer this Catalina, but I think it's older than the wine. Throwing that out now." She made her way out of the kitchen in to take her seat in between her two current dinner companions, her hands full of bowls and bottles. The Trickster and the Assassin had yet to end their staring contest, and Darcy had no interest in placing a bet on who would break first.
"Would you care for some wine, Agent Romanoff?" Loki asked with a deceptive degree of politeness. Darcy was always surprised how no matter how villainous Loki was being, he never did forget his manners. He could be stabbing someone while offering and "excuse me" for stepping on their carpet with his boots on. She served salads tensely as the Widow eyed the glass offered to her. She carefully picked it up, also doing the sophisticated swirly move. She got the goblet with fairies painted on it.
"Nice year," she said after a taste. "This is one of Pepper's favorite, I think."
"Unsurprising, as it was her recommendation," Loki replied as Darcy wasted no time digging into her salad. Her eyes nervously shifted around the room, avoiding her two companions who still had not stopped staring at each other.
"So," Romanoff began. "You guys have dinner?"
"Once in a while," Darcy said, hoping that would be the last question.
"You mean every Friday when you disappears for half of the weekend?" he asked, turning to the Asgardian.
"Are we being interrogated?" Loki said evenly. "I wasn't aware my dinner arrangements were under SHIELD's realm of interest."
"They are when you are seen around the apartment of one of our former programmers you've mind-raped."
Darcy coughed a bite of lettuce back into her mouth. "Well I clearly didn't start this early enough," she mumbled, grabbing her glass of wine. Her mouth drew a bit at the dryness. She hadn't had alcohol in over two and a half years. The phrase 'glaring daggers' was normally just that: a phrase. But with the way Loki was staring at Romanoff, Darcy worried it was a real possibility that it could suddenly become very literal. "Loki helped unscramble my brain a few months ago, which is really the least he could do," Darcy said, tossing Loki a wide-eyed look, pleading with him to be civil. "It just became a weekly thing. Cheese?" Darcy moved the small bowl of grated Parmesan. Natasha turned to the younger woman, her expression much kinder than it had been at Loki. She took the offered bowl of cheese, seemingly accepting the peace Darcy was desperately trying to force over the table.
She was a big girl. She wasn't doing anything wrong. Technically. As Loki would say, being technically innocent was the best kind of innocent. But she still felt incredibly guilty for this particular exchange.
Suddenly, a pleasant smile spread across the spy's face. It was utterly terrifying.
"Well, how great to see the two of you getting along," Romanoff said, looking back and forth between her and Loki, still smiling with deceptive warmth. "Sorry to drop by unannounced. Can't blame a girl for getting the wrong idea. I know I don't think I could ever forgive someone who did what he did to you. But thanks for inviting me in, Darce. It smells delicious."
What was normally a pleasant dinner with Loki became a precarious balance of nerves as the three of them sat in relative silence. Natasha was still smiling pleasantly while Darcy quietly ate her food that she cut up into to needlessly small bites. Loki glowered at the Widow, only taking a few bits after a half dozen pleading looks from Darcy.
In spite of the tension, it was actually nice to see an old friendly face. The two of them slowly fell into easy conversation, much as they had before the Incident. It almost felt like she was betraying Loki with being so happy to see her. But he was thankfully keeping his comments to himself. She actually saw him soften a bit when she laughed at something Natasha said.
"So, Darcy," the agent finally said. " Any thought to moving back to New York, yet? Stark said you still hadn't given him an answer yet."
Darcy froze.
The Widow was good.
The Widow was very, very good.
"Um, no, not yet," Darcy said, clearing her throat. "I still have a few months on my lease, so, it's hard to make any plans to move yet."
"Oh, you know Stark could take care of that. Anything holding you back? I know it's hard to get an apartment now in New York, with… well, you know," she said with shrug. "But I bet Stark could set you up at the tower."
"I doubt Stark has room at the tower for a programmer," Darcy said, clearing their plates.
The silence after Natasha said goodbye -with a final withering look at Loki when it was clear he was not leaving- was hard to listen to.
The dishes had disappeared from Darcy's hands as she had started washing them. They reappeared neatly stacked in the dish drainer within seconds. Tricky wizard. There would be no avoiding the conversation they were sure to have with chores. She sighed, drying her hands before pouring the last of the wine into their glasses, taking them back to her bedroom.
Loki sat on her bed, facing away from her. He had shifted out of his Midgardian suit and into the loose-fitted Asgardian-wear he typically wore to bed. It wasn't something she would find comfortable to sleep in. But it was a carefully maintained barrier between them as they slept next to each other.
"Thanks for the wine," she said quietly. "It was really nice." He didn't reply as she approached him, offering him his refilled glass. He looked up at her, shaking his head. Darcy deflated a bit as she put the two glasses on her dresser. "Were you wanting to go to bed already? It's only nine. We could go out, if you like." He finally looked up at her, and she buckled under the hurt expression on his face. The same expression she had learned over the past several months was the most sincere thing about the man. "She just said that stuff to rattle you. We knew no one would like this when they found out. Please don't let it ruin our night."
"When did Stark offer you a job in New York?" he asked.
"Two months ago." She hated that she felt like she needed permission to sit on her own bed next to him. "I mean, most recently. He's kind of been trying to get me to work for him since I hijacked JARVIS back when… you know. But now he has a specific project he wanted an assistant for."
"May I ask why you did not tell me?"
Deciding she should have the right to sit on her own furniture, she sat next to him. The urge to take his hand was powerful, but she instead busied herself with a sudden interest in the health of her cuticles. "I wasn't sure if you'd be happy or upset or indifferent at the idea of me in New York with you," she said. "And I know I wouldn't have been ready for two of those reactions."
"You think I like you being here?" Loki looked around her apartment in disgust. Officially, she should have been offended. It was her own place, and no one else's. But, she knew he had a point. The place was a dump. No amount of throw pillows, pictures, or cleaning could make it appealing. But that's why she had chosen it.
"I know," she said, as sincerely apologetic as she could. His anger seemed to subside at her visible regret. "Every time I tried to think of how to bring it up, I couldn't see the conversation ending without having the 'What Are We?' talk. And I just… didn't want to force it."
"Is it forced if it's long overdue?"
Darcy met his eyes. He didn't seem as upset, for which she was grateful. She shook her head. Loki stood from the bed, turning to kneel in front of her. A small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.
"The irony is not lost on me, I assure you," he said, enveloping her hands in his as her grin widened. She was relieved to see humor twinkling in his eyes. It was sadly short-lived as he sobered. "I have no right to make demands of you, Darcy. And I have no intention of doing so. But what are you doing here? Is this where you want to be?"
"No," she said. "When I moved here I thought-" She paused, not wanting to remember where her head has been when she moved there. "I had every intention of crawling into a hole and dying. This place kind of had that vibe. I didn't want to be in a world with aliens and giant goddamn space whales and Infinity Gems. I didn't ever want to be seen as useful ever again."
"In case any other gods came along to claim your talents?" he said. It wasn't much of a question. And she didn't really have to answer. Her small hands shifted to wrap around his.
"The thought of moving on -or moving back- is overwhelming. Even if I hate this place now. But you. Us. Whatever this is. It feels weird to ask for more. Presumptuous? I think that's the word I'm looking for." She paused, passively toying with the long fingers she had become very fond of.
"Do you want more than this, Darcy?"
She finally brought her eyes to meet his. No matter how gentle or respectful or patient he had shown he could be with her, Loki was a supremely terrifying being. He made no overtures to claim otherwise. No matter how many times she had cuddled on her couch with him or slept in his arms at night, he had the power in their relationship. The idea of being even more physical with him was exhilarating and terrifying. The former was beginning to outweigh the latter as the side-effects of her medication had been wearing off and her desire had begun awakening again. While Loki's physical appeal had never been lost on her, it had been blissfully muted when he first came to visit her. As his spell had cleared her mind and she had been able to slowly discontinue her Midgardian treatments, sleeping next to him without going further was becoming nearly tortuous. But her fear of ruining the balance they had struck had kept her wandering hands corralled.
Darcy would have to make the first move. That was the understanding was clear, though never spoken. Loki had taken away her right to tell him no when they had met. He saw it had been a mistake he would never come close to repeating, especially in regards to their physical relationship. It was on her to initiate, which was why they had formed their strange relationship characterized by intimacy and distance. Darcy had not been sure how long he would deal with lying next to her and no more when they had first spent a night together. But it had been six months of fully clothed spooning and careful shifts to keep his erections from poking her hip. (She may have been vulnerable, but she wasn't stupid.) He had shown no signs of needing more or wanting less.
Her hands reached out to rest on his shoulders. Then his neck. Then his jaw. All looking like it had been carved out of marble, though his skin was warm and soft to the touch. Loki remained perfectly still, his green eyes remaining on hers as she explored touching him in such a new way. She tentatively reached out to run her fingers through the ends of his hair. She saw his eyes drop to her lips for a moment. The muscles of his neck shifted as he swallowed a breath of air.
"Yes," Darcy said, closing the short distance between their lips.
