Because Tuesday ended up being a bust, with Dr. Doom effectively ruining Darcy's plans for more fun, the Avengers had high-tailed it out of New York in pursuit of the evil doctor, with help from the family Richards-Storm and the lovely Mr. Grimm. And by Thursday they still weren't back. And Darcy hadn't slept a wink.
Not that it had affected her work, and not that Coulson had said anything after the awesomely accurate reports that had been turned early on Monday morning, and the accompanying coffee that she had gifted him on his desk, despite how much he had pissed her off Friday. By Wednesday afternoon Darcy was practically hooked to a coffee IV-drip and had a steady supply of energy shots she forced down with every Pop-Tart break with Jane.
When Thursday morning had rolled around and Darcy was still sitting at her desk in yesterdays clothes with a preliminary after-action report completed and ready for Coulson's approval as well as an updated threat assessment file on Dr. Doom and damage and expenses report from the fight that had occurred in SoHo, Coulson raised one groomed eyebrow at Darcy and said, "Ms. Lewis, am I going to need to have any agents escort you to the medical bay and make sure that you get some rest?"
Darcy figured that it was the only way that Agent Coulson knew how to show concern. "Hold the phone on calling in any more of your jack-booted thugs, I'll head out after this." Even though she wasn't going to sleep when she got back to her apartment, by this point her head was swimming and she was approaching a Jane-level of concentration in SHIELD paperwork and form-filing.
Coulson doesn't blink, but merely looks down at the energy shots and discarded gum and Styrofoam cups that are starting to overflow in her waste basket. "Forget it, I'm taking you myself."
And Darcy has seen that viral video, she knows Coulson is secretly a ninja just like, oh god- her heart flutters, Clint, and she very nearly vomits all over her keyboard.
Coulson's got a hand wrapped around her arm and is surprisingly gentle when he tugs her out of her desk chair and turns off her monitor after one-handedly locking her computer, and ushers her to the elevators in the early morning light of the office.
Darcy mumbles her protests and whines that she's fine and that she promises that she'll sleep, but Coulson says nothing, and looks entirely too sympathetic for just being her boss, and moves her quietly and without fuss or flare to the medical bay where he calmly informs the staff doctor that she hasn't been sleeping, and for what he can attest to at least 48 hours this week, but he has noted that she regularly receives less-than the recommended on a weekly basis.
The attending tisks and flurries around her, checking vitals and suggesting a sleep study and medication, but notes nothing not-normal other than slightly elevated blood pressure, which Darcy can fix with more sleep and physical activity( but everyone in the building is a little high-strung so it's not all that uncommon). But she swears off the medication and promises not to take it and does not consent to being prodded like a lab rat and glares at Phil who frowns disapproving and shuffles off to her living quarters with him at her elbow, and makes her promise at the door to not come back to the office until she's had at least 10 hours of restful sleep. And he was not above making sure that JARVIS monitors her to assure that she does, in fact, sleep. She assured him that she would try, and quietly closed the door.
A hour later, after a too warm shower, a change into more comfortable sweats and halfway through the first of her favorite vampire movies, Darcy is sprawled in her bed, and had the itching desire to just go to sleep, to give up the quiet anger at being stood up, through no fault of his, and seething at Dr. Doom for wrecking her happy thoughts when it came to SHIELDS favorite archer-assassin. And as her fingers inched down to the band of her sweats, and Lestat seduced Jessie, she closed her eyes and relaxed into her own touch as the violin music of the film tugged and pulled at her until before her mind's eye the image of dirty, dirty blonde hair and storm-blue eyes that peak longing from between her legs makes her heart stutter and wetness cloud her vision. She tugs her hand from her panties and curls on to her side, staring sightlessly at the wall as the movie climaxes and credits role and the DVD menu loops forever.
She finally drags herself from her bed, nine hours later, as it is well past the afternoon and settling into dusk when Jane knocks quietly and persistently at her door, pleading with her to open up. Jane looks worried, and Darcy knows that her haggard appearance and red, puffy (I have not been crying) eyes turn Jane into the proverbial mother hen; disregarding her own concern over the safe return of her own boyfriend, over her best friend's obvious distress over she doesn't-even-know-what.
"I come bearing gifts," Jane says and pushes Darcy toward the couch with several large bags in tow.
Gifts turned out to be JARVIS being awesome, and politely asking Jane to pick up these items from the common room and hand delivering them to Darcy. Neither knows where they come from, and they both have their guesses (Pepper topping Jane's, while Darcy wouldn't put it past Coulson, not after this morning), and both quietly gush over the contents of the bags. Loose tea, the good exotic kind that Darcy used to pine over but never had the nerve to purchase, with a rather expensive looking tea kettle that Darcy swore could double as a bludgeoning object. Two new fluffy feather pillows, which reels Darcy because her flat ones do tend to make her neck sore, a giant soft fleece blanket, which Darcy can't seem to stop petting, and a shirt box with a neatly folded and perfectly wrapped tee shirt inside that smelt familiar and oddly masculine.
Jane blushed and bristled at that deciding instantly that the gift package wasn't from Pepper, and Darcy moved JARVIS to the top of her list over Phil as Jane moved to make her a pot of new tea and set her off to put pillow cases on her new pillows.
Darcy had settled down under the new blanket back on her couch, this time with Jon Bon Jovi vampire film whose title makes Jane squeamish.
Darcy awakens with the need to pee, and immediately curses herself for all of that tea she drank. She stumbles to her bathroom and sleepily notes the darkness that is still looming outside. As she shuffles to her bed she notes that her blanket is on her bed, and her sheets are warm. Also, there's someone who is not-Jane-shaped lying on the opposite side. Disregarding the fact that she's only in the flimsy tee shirt that was in that gift box from earlier, she lays back down and squints to see muscles, and scars on the sexist biceps that she's ever seen and she rests a hand on his chest and just feels him breathe as the heat from his core spreads across her sink-water-chilled fingers.
He flinches slightly and moves a hand over hers, turning his head to face her. "Hey," he says, a lazy draw accompanying his sleep leaden voice.
"Hey yourself," she whispers back.
He smiles over to her and rolls on her bed to face her, and she notes to herself pleasantly that he's only wearing dark boxer briefs.
"I know that you said, that you'd lend me a hand, but," she gestured with her eyes to the pillows, blanket and tee shirt that she held to her noise during the last film and gave him a tiny yet grateful smile.
He nodded, "I thought you might need this more, at least until I got back."
"When did you-?"
"I didn't know how long it was going to take. I should have called JARVIS sooner, but when Phil texted me that he had to physically escort you to the med bay, well," he frowned at her and traced lazy circles on her wrist with his thumb.
"Is everyone?" she asked now, happily satisfied that he seemed safe and relatively unharmed.
"Yeah, five by five," he sighed, and looked at her heatedly. "You should have slept Darce."
"I couldn't," she frowned, "I was too worried-I," she sighed heavily and tried to pull away but he held her firmly in place with his hand and his gaze. "I wanted to wait up for you to get back."
He smiled, understandably, and tucked her under his chin, stroking the small of her back and she pressed against him and inhaled the smell that was slowly seeping itself into her skin.
When Darcy jolts up from her dream, now tangled in her new blanket with Jane, she stifles a whimper of self-defeat and shuffles into her slippers and out of her door, calling softly to JARVIS who silently opens the door to the still empty apartment next door. It's cold within, and kinda smelly from the stack of dirty coffee cups in the sink and a pile of questionable gym clothes on the floor by the closet, but it still smells like him, and she slips into the bed and under the covers and JARVIS is awesome and queues up Queen of the Damned again from the tower's DVD network, and she gets through it three more times before the outer door slides open, and she's practically comatose and unmoving, but still awake when Clint comes around the corner with tired eyes and frowns down at her pathetic form curled up in his sheets. "Jesus, Darce."
Before she can even give him the sad eyes and grabby hands, he's halfway up the bed and toeing his boots off, flipping her over not to gently and pulling her snug against his uniform clad body and growling softly, "go to the fuck to sleep," in her ear.
She doesn't need to be told twice.