Darcy/Matt 3
“I heard that!” Darcy yelled from her side of the office. It was late, it was dark. Technically the office was closed for the day, but since it had sort of become an after-hours meeting place for Clint and Matt when they wanted to, you know, get together and storm the night or whatever the fuck they were calling it. This was also one of the few times (that he wasn’t injured) that Darcy got some time with Matt where he wasn’t trying to hide his identity, so there was some overlap.
“Heard what?” Clint asked, voice full of innocence.
“Don’t even pull that shit with me, I know where you sleep. Someone,” she gave Clint a pointed look, “just said, and I quote, ‘This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.’" Her hands came up to rest on her hips. “Do you want me to tell Wanda what you’re actually doing when you tell her you’re going out for a drink with a friend?”
“We had a drink!” Clint protested.
“And you.” Her attention moved to Matt, she knew he’d be able to hear the slightly different direction of her voice when she spoke. Whispered, actually, just barely audible to her. He’d hear it, of course. “You might want to rethink your plan of attack, too, because it’s hard to suck your dick when you’re broken.”
He smiled at that. “And you worry.”
“Damn straight I worry,” she replied at her normal volume. Which was actually the real reason. “Seriously, the two of you have racked up more concussions than a football team, and that’s just in the time I’ve known you.”
“I’ll be careful,” he promised, and she sighed.
“Yeah. You’re always careful.” Darcy made a face as she walked over stopping just beside his chair. His arm went around her back, he rested his head against her side. “Be more careful. And maybe come up with a plan that doesn’t involve a 50-foot drop and a dubiously-secured rope.”