During the next few days, Darcy encouraged Coulson to walk around a bit more, helping him reach the living room couch to watch TV with the others. She pushed him to eat with the rest of them. Coulson grumbled and winced, but did as she told. She was always careful, watching for signs of fatigue, but Coulson did well. When it would get to be too much, he would nod at her and they would go back to his room, and she would tuck him for the night.

After a week of this, at nine in the evening, Darcy was in the kitchen, staring at the counter top and attempting to will herself to do something more than stand there. She did her best not to show it, but the new regime was tiring her as well. She didn't notice someone else was in the room until he spoke.

"You look good."

Barton's voice was so dripping with sarcasm, Darcy actually fought the impulse to check if the floor was wet. She turned around. Ever since their last 'discussion' she and Barton fell into a polite mutual ignorance. They would nod their welcome and that was about it, especially if Coulson was in the room as well. Neither of them wanted to upset Coulson by shouting at each other again. And Captain America wasn't around anymore to interrupt them this time. So, basically acting like the other didn't exist was the best solution. Coulson didn't really like it, but they both felt it was the best option.

But that didn't explain why Barton was suddenly attempting to be social with her.

"Thanks, Bow Boy."

He sputtered, glaring at her.

"Bow Boy?"

She arched an eyebrow at him, daring him to protest. He rolled his eyes, but let it go.

"Alright, alright. I just wanted to- thank you I guess."

Darcy's eyebrows shot up, and she was pretty sure her mouth was hanging open. She forced herself to utter something a bit more dignified than a squeak.

"What?"

He sighed.

"Thank you, for taking my opinion into account."

Darcy sighed, and attempted to find something to say that wouldn't be insulting. Willing her brain to work, and stop spinning in mud.

"Just because you're a jerk doesn't mean you're always wrong. And I probably mothered him too much."

Darcy turned back to the fridge, to get herself a glass of milk. Barton still stood in the kitchen.

"You've taken good care of him."

She took a deep breath, and focused on her task.

"You would have done the same thing."

"Yeah, because I worked with him for years. You didn't."

Darcy set the glass on the counter, and turned to face him.

"Look, Barton, as much as I appreciate having a civilized conversation with you for once, I'd really like to know if there is a point to this. Because I really, really need to sleep at the moment."

Barton opened his mouth, closed it, then opened and closed it again. Pinching his lips, he let out a sigh before speaking again.

"I think Coulson could use getting out of here. Get some fresh air."

Darcy took a gulp of milk, shooting him a calculating look over the brim of the glass. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, before pointing him.

"You want to take Coulson out? Why, Barton, I had no idea you swung that way."

He looked thoroughly unimpressed, gazing at her.

"I was thinking more about an evening with Natasha and you."

She nearly choked on her milk.

"You want me to come along?"

Barton snorted.

"Yeah, well you're kinda a bitch as far as I'm concerned, though Banner, JARVIS, Pepper and Phil seem to believe the contrary. But I thought it'd satisfy your mother hen tendencies if we allowed you to tag along."

She pursed her lips.

"You're too good for me."

Barton cocked his head to the side.

"Is that a yes?"

Darcy smiled tightly.

"That's a 'I'm going to sleep, and we're going to talk about it when I'm not about to drop'."

She walked past him.

"That wasn't a no."

"Bravo Barton, you can officially understand basic English."

She heard him huff behind her, before he called out.

"You're a bitch, Lewis."

She waved at him over her shoulder.

OOOOOOOOO

The day after, while Phil was talking to Pepper in the living room, Darcy dropped beside Clint who was cleaning a couple of his knives in the kitchen. He kept his head down, but cut her a glance through his eyelashes, arching an inquisitive eyebrow at her.

"Where do you want to take him?"

His second eyebrow shot up to catch up with its twin, and the archer finally raised his head, apparently surprised.

"You agree with me?"

Darcy frowned, leaning back in her chair, opening her arms.

"I did say we'd talk about it later, didn't I?"

He deposited the blades on the table, and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Yeah, but I didn't think..."

Darcy snorted when she understood where this was going.

"You didn't think I'd agree, so you decided to ask me when I was dead tired, so that I would be more inclined to bend."

He didn't answer, looking defensive. She snorted again.

"Smooth, Barton. Abusing a helpless young woman like that."

He seemed surprised at her reaction, and Darcy kept herself from rolling her eyes at him. She wasn't going to blow up in his face. Not for something like that, anyway.

"So, I'm asking my question again, since you've yet to answer it. Where do you want to take him?"

Barton opened his mouth, still uncomfortable.

"Lewis, I-"

She sighed.

"Look, I get it. I'm a nagging bitch, and you're an opportunistic git. Can we move on?"

Barton's jaw clenched, and he looked about to protest the terms, but thought against it in the end. He grumbled, shrugging slightly, like it was no big deal.

"Just a little place we used to go sometimes."

Darcy arched an eyebrow, cocking her head.

"Define little place?"

He sighed, exasperated.

"A little Italian restaurant. I assure you no one will try to stab him with a bread knife and I'm pretty sure there's a ramp for wheelchairs, so he won't be too tired before entering it."

Darcy nodded, but didn't answer, pondering the risks. Fury would probably want her head if she did that, but she was pretty sure if she threw Stark in his way, the billionaire would be able to occupy the Big Boss long enough for her to run away. Barton seemed to think he was losing the point.

"Look Lewis. With the lives we have, we all need to have recurring habits. Rituals, if you want. It keeps us grounded. Makes everything feel real. Phil needs that, to feel his life is as normal as it ever was. And that restaurant was one of our things. It'll help him."

Darcy nodded, and she felt weary. She could never fully understand this world, and she felt she was walking in a mine field. She also blew a couple of them up on the way. Two of them being make nice with Romanov and Barton, Coulson's closest friends. She finally spoke.

"Okay. It's fine. When are you going?"

Barton grinned, eyes lighting up.

"I was thinking the day after tomorrow."

Darcy nodded again, and seriously, it was getting old. She felt like a bobble head. She got to her feet.

"Perfect. I hope you have fun."

The archer automatically frowned. Darcy frowned at such a quick change of mood. The man had always been mercurial but not to this point.

"You're coming too, right?"

Darcy shrugged.

"I don't think it'd be a good thing."

Barton's eyes darted around, as if he was trying to find someone who told Darcy so.

"Why?"

"You've said it yourself. It needs to be like old times. And that's you, Natasha, and Phil."

Barton shot this his feet, walked to her.

"You were always included in the plan, Lewis."

She snorted humorlessly.

"Yeah, because you thought I'd be less trouble if you dragged me along. Don't worry, I won't bother you. Go and have fun."

Barton looked slightly annoyed now.

"Lewis-"

She cried, thankful that the kitchen was far enough from the living room that Coulson wouldn't hear them.

"For God's sake, Barton, is it that hard to understand? Just go, and make sure Phil has fun. I'm just asking you to let me know when you come back."

Scratch annoyed, Barton was pissed now.

"You know what's your biggest problem, Lewis? You never listen to anyone. You just do whatever you think to be the right thing."

Darcy ignored the stabbing pain the words brought up. How was Barton able to get to her that much? No one ever did. She felt completely raw when she talked to him.

"And why are you trying so hard to pretend you want me there? You hate me!"

He reddened.

"You have no right to tell me how I feel!"

Darcy had had enough, and turned around, walking away briskly. Barton let her and didn't call after her, for which she was thankful. She wasn't sure how much more she could have taken without hitting him.

She nodded to Coulson and went to her room to be alone for a while. She needed to get herself in check.

She needed to understand herself, if she ever wanted to understand Barton.

OOOOOOOO

The day after, Darcy was in her room again, reading, while Phil went through some new tests. He didn't care whether she was there or not, she'd end up knowing what was up anyway, but the medical staff wasn't really comfortable with her around. When told, Tony shrugged and said they made their business by treating rich and important people who wanted tight-lipped and competent doctors. Having a non-related civilian with them in the room wasn't something they were used to. So Darcy usually chose to let them work in peace, and occupied herself otherwise.

She turned her page, and looked up to throw a look outside to realize she wasn't alone anymore. Natasha was once more curled up in her chair, looking at Darcy. The brunette started, pushing herself sitting and plastered against her bed headboard. The red head didn't move, looking at her, waiting for the younger woman to calm down.

Darcy pressed a hand to her chest, willing her heart beat to slow down. A few moments later, she decided she could trust her voice. It was still breathy, but that was much better than high pitched and shrill.

"You know, if you keep sneaking into my room to watch me, I may start to think you have impure thoughts about my innocent body."

Which she already knew, because she was pretty sure murder intentions counted as impure thoughts. Natasha cocked her head to the side, pondering yet again on Darcy. You'd think that after all that time, the master spy would have known the other girl through and through. But apparently no. Or she was once again reconsidering how she was going to dispose of her.

Darcy grimaced.

"I'm pretty sure I didn't hurt Barton this time."

Still no answer, and Darcy was pretty sure the Widow was attempting to scare her into an early heart attack. If so, the brunette would be more than willing to go get her razor and end this now. It'd save everyone time.

"Agent Romanov?"

Finally she talked.

"Call me Natasha."

Uh. Not how she expected this discussion to go. The Widow and Hawkeye were the only two who hadn't been given free reign over her first name, and the only ones who didn't use hers. Except JARVIS, but she was pretty sure the AI couldn't call her by her first name. He didn't use anyone's, despite Bruce's instances.

Darcy had never been really picky over who called her Darcy and who called her Miss Lewis, but she also pretty sure she was really, really far away from knowing the two agents well enough to call them by their first names. She still managed to croak out an answer.

"Well, call me Darcy, I guess."

The Widow-Natasha's lips twitched slightly downward. She seemed displeased with something, which Darcy deemed an improvement from mad and murderous. Natasha sighed, and leaned forward.

"I am sorry, Darcy."

Darcy's eyes widened and darted around the room, looking for the cameras. Well, for the cameras that weren't usually there. Because, honestly, this had to be some kind of prank. Tony must have found some way to coerce Natasha- may God bless his soul- into fooling her like that. She swallowed again.

"I think I have entered the twilight zone."

Natasha pursed her lips at this. She pushed herself upright from the chair, and walked to the bed, and she seated herself at the edge of it.

"Clint told me you didn't want to come with us tomorrow."

The Widow's voice was still emotionless and Darcy didn't understand anything anymore. So she decided to simply answer the question, and hope she wouldn't blew up another mine on the way.

"I just don't think you would want me to come."

Natasha pinched her lips.

"Do you want to come?"

Darcy frowned.

"I told you, I-"

Natasha spoke harshly.

"Answer."

Darcy swallowed.

"Yes, I'd like to come, to keep an eye on Phil."

The red head cocked her head to the side, weighing the answer until she was sure she understood it, and the possible sub-text, perfectly. Darcy did her best not to twitch under the cold blue stare.

"I don't hate you. Clint doesn't either."

Darcy's eyes widened and she was once again at a loss for words. It was so unfair that with Barton she couldn't stop herself from talking, while she could barely utter three coherent words with Romanov. So she waited for the other woman to continue, since it wasn't a question, but a statement. People state things when they have a purpose, a point to make. Romanov more than anyone. Darcy had seen her argue with Stark once, it was artistic the way she twisted her words around like snares to trap her preys. Like a spider on a web, just waiting for her victim to realize it was doomed.

"We are sorry you were lead to believe we do."

Darcy couldn't help it this time.

"Yeah. Threatening to kill people leaves that impression."

Natasha's lips twitched once more, translating far more than Darcy could ever dream to comprehend. The intern went back to staring wordlessly, waiting for the Widow. Natasha nodded.

"We would like you to come tomorrow. Because you take good care of Phil."

Darcy sighed. Yeah, she was the baby sitter. Only brought when convenient.

"Thank you Natasha, I am grateful for the invitation, but I'm sure you and Barton are able to take care of him perfectly well for an evening."

The Widow pursed her lips, frustrated. Maybe Darcy should stop talking altogether, it wasn't doing any good.

"We aren't inviting you so that you can take care of him while we are there. He is not an infant who needs to be supervised. We are inviting you because you took care of him."

Darcy frowned, trying desperately to make sense of what was happening, but she felt she was failing miserably.

"I don't understand."

Natasha cocked her head to the side and stood up. Darcy frowned, not aware the discussion was over.

"One who takes care of one of us as good as you did becomes one of us, Darcy."

The young woman felt her heart squeeze. Pepper, Bruce, Steve, and Jarvis all said similar things to her, but somehow it seemed to mean so much more coming from Natasha. Darcy ignored the way her eyes filled up, because she wasn't going to cry in front of one of the world's deadliest assassins. She wasn't even sure why she was on the brink of crying. Probably a mix of being accepted by Natasha, and knowing the woman wasn't going to kill her anytime soon.

Darcy willed her voice to remain steady and was surprised it obeyed.

"I don't think Barton agrees."

Natasha's lips twitched again, but thankfully upward this time.

"Clint is an idiot, but he'll come around. Don't worry."

Darcy nodded once more and Natasha turned around to exit the room, as silently as she had entered it. Darcy let herself slid down the headboard in a relieved pile of jelly, content with lying silently in bed.

'Clint is an idiot.'

'I don't hate you. Clint doesn't either.'

What did that mean? The archer didn't like her at all, and they had yet to have a conversation, full conversation that went further than a greeting, where they didn't yell at each other or call each other names. The archer always seemed so tense, so angry around her, that she never even considered that he didn't hate her. As far as she was concerned, she had always been the innocent, naïve, slightly spoiled girl who arrived out of nowhere, and stepped on his hard earned territory.

Keeping him away from one of his closest friends, making herself the first and only judge of what Phil could and couldn't do, pushing him away when he had had more of a right to see Phil than she did. She knew it was the right thing, Barton's self-pity and self-hatred wouldn't have helped Coulson in any way, but that didn't change the fact that had earned the place beside Phil's bed.

Darcy didn't even want to know how she would have reacted if someone did to her what she did to Barton. Kept her from seeing Jane if the scientist had been grievously harmed. She would have resented the other person. Deeply. Resented them for being right. When she was wrong. For taking care of her friend better than she could.

But she would have grateful that that other person had been there, had done what she couldn't have. What she would have liked to do, but couldn't. And that was where Natasha stood. Why wasn't Barton with her? Was he so emotionally immature that he couldn't get over the dislike of someone who denied him something? Or was something else weighing on him?

Darcy groaned and turned around, stuffing her face into the pillow to muffle her frustrated scream. And men dared to say women were complicated. She had no idea how to approach things with Barton and they would have to deal with each other for an entire evening tomorrow. Because she was definitely going now. She was pretty sure Natasha would have no qualms putting Phil on her case if it took that to make her bend.

After a few minutes, she sighed in the fabric, and pulled herself upright once more. She had just realized that the alarm that informed her that Phil was done with his tests was lit.

She calmly walked to the Agent's room. When she got there, Phil was sitting in his chair, working on something on his pad.

"What are you working on? Everyone thinks you're dead."

He didn't even look up to answer.

"I'm looking over Sitwell's and Hill's reports. You are welcome to join me."

She chuckled. Since she would become his assistant once he was declared alive once more, he had taken to introducing her to the inner workings of S.H.I.E.L.D. bit by bit. She smiled, and dropped down on the chair beside him.

"Sure thing, boss. Oh, just so you know, me, you, Natasha and Barton are going out tomorrow night."

There was a slight pause, and Phil took his eyes from his tablet to look at her.

"I beg your pardon?"

OOOOOOOOO

The day after, Darcy was fidgeting in her room, two steps away from climbing in the drapes. This was a bad idea. It was an horrible idea. She really shouldn't go. Really, she upset Barton enough, she should let him have time alone with his old buddies. He didn't want her there. This would end badly, she could feel it from here.

"Natasha told me if you don't come by yourself, she will come get you herself."

She turned around and smiled at Phil. He was wearing a suit for the first time since he was hospitalized, looking crisp and sharp.

"Hey boss!"

He cocked his head, frowning slightly at her jumpy state.

"Darcy-"

She cut him off, her mouth running away from her. Out of her control as usual.

"Don't worry, Phil, I'll play nice with Barton. I'll be nice, and I'll look mature. I won't shame you, or the others. You can pretend I'm Natasha's younger, annoying sister-"

"Darcy."

She stopped, hanging on Phil's word.

"I was simply going to tell you to relax. We're not going to bite you."

She nodded, wringing her hands. She realized she was still nodding, and she forced herself to stop. She gave the agent a slightly manic look.

"Are you sure-"

Coulson sighed, and rolled his eyes. He put a light hand on her shoulder, leading her away from her room.

"Yes, Darcy. We are all sure we want you to come along. Now quit stalling."

Darcy opened her mouth, and Coulson cut her a stern glance from the corner of his eye.

"Don't mention Barton. You are both adults and I trust you to act accordingly."

Darcy started nodding again, and had to forcefully stop herself. It was getting ridiculous, but really, before yesterday, she thought one of the people attending the dinner was out for her skin. So sue her for being a bit anxious about it all.

And she still wasn't sure where she stood with Barton. They were both adults. Even Coulson said so.

Barton and Natasha were waiting in the living room. She was wearing black skinny pants and a pretty salmon top, and she made Darcy feel way under dressed, despite wearing a pretty black skirt and a simple red blouse herself. Barton was wearing dark, clean blue jeans and a light green button down shirt. Darcy did her best not to stare, because he looked good. It was the first time she'd seen him out of his usual sweat pants/old jeans look and it definitely suited him. Denim shouldn't be allowed to hug a backside like that. It just wasn't fair. The only compromise the attire did for her sanity was to hide Barton's arms.

It just wasn't fair they had to meet like they had. She would have pounced him long ago otherwise. She caught Natasha's eyes, and was pretty sure the slight twitch of her lips was an amused one.

She forced herself to look away and lug her mind out of the gutter. She was adult, professional and mature. She could go through one evening without acting like a bitch or a slut.

They all climbed into the car, Clint driving and Natasha in the passenger seat. Phil gave Darcy a bemused look, and the young woman didn't kid herself that her boss didn't notice her slip earlier. Really, couldn't she appreciate the aesthetic quality of a man who clearly put a lot of work on bringing his body to the very best?

It was a very pure and innocent appreciation... Really. Sigh. Who was she trying to fool?

The restaurant was small, a little more than a hole in the wall, and the cook smiled and bustled around, clearly relieved to see three of his most faithful clients again. He did shoot a few curious glances at Darcy, but never enquired about her, taking it in stride. Darcy was infinitely grateful for that. She already felt out of place as it was.

Coulson kept shooting her reassuring glances. Both Clint and Natasha were silent, but the servers considered that normal, making jokes about stoic agents who saved the world by staring wordlessly at bad guys.

Darcy giggled happily and thawed slowly, letting herself relax. At some point Coulson squeezed her knee with a proud crinkle around his eyes and Darcy couldn't help but beam back. Barton broke the moment by choking on his bite.

She smiled sweetly at him.

"Are you alright, fledgling? Do you need to a burping?"

Coulson's eyes crinkled again. Barton mock glared at her.

"Hilarious, Cayenne."

She smirked at him, and took another bite. He looked away, elbowing Natasha and whispering something to her. Darcy looked at Phil.

"It's nice."

He nodded, and smiled at her.

"I'm glad you're here. They do that pretty often."

He gestured to Natasha and Clint. Darcy dropped her voice to a whisper and leaned over.

"And you're sure they're not together."

He smiled at her, and she was pretty sure there was something hidden in his eyes this time.

"No, thank God. I would pity the poor soul who would have to babysit that little monster."

Darcy giggled, and Barton's attention snapped back to her. She ignored that, and went back to her meal.

She felt everyone's eyes on her, and she did her best to ignore it.

"Hey, Lewis?"

She looked up to give an answering arched eyebrow to Barton.

"Why did you accept this job?"

She shrugged an answer, even though she knew both Phil and Natasha's interest had definitely been spiked by the question.

"I was bored, I always had great times with Phil, and it was a better job than I ever thought I could get."

Barton gave her a smirk.

"Even if you were clearly under qualified?"

Darcy bristled, but forced herself to stay down. Phil trusted her to act like an adult and be mature. So she took a big breathe.

"I don't think any with a degree in Political Science is too under qualified to read books to a coma patient."

Phil was giving a stern look to Barton, hoping to stop the next remark. Unfortunately, apparently not even Coulson's stare could keep Barton from being Barton.

"Under qualified to be dealing with the Avengers."

She clenched her fists, and Coulson put a calming hand on her's. She was pretty sure it would turn into a restraining hold if it needed to.

"I think you've already made your opinion about my presence here known."

Barton went to reply, but Natasha elbowed him so hard in the ribs he bent in two, chocking. Darcy sent her a grateful look, before cleaning up her plate.

The rest of the evening passed pretty uneventfully. Barton stayed mostly quiet, throwing resentful looks at Natasha.

Phil followed her until they reached his room.

"I'm sorry Darcy. I'd hope Barton had aged over pigtail-pulling."

He slipped into his room before Darcy had the time to puzzle what the statement meant.

"What does that even mean?"

But the closed door gave her no answer. She sighed, starting hitting her head against it.

She would never understand men.