“All right, everybody, listen up! I know next week is Homecoming, and at least half of you are going to spend all weekend hunting for the perfect dress or a decent tux that your girlfriend will approve of, but I need you guys to get through the fourth and fifth chapters by Monday. Got it?” Clint waited for some sign that his students were listening. “Good. You’re free to go. Have a nice weekend!”

            Clint sat down behind his desk, pulling a stack of essays in front of him. He snagged a purple pen from the jar on his desk. It had been a gift from Natasha. She’d had a friend from her Russian exchange program paint it for him, and he fell in love with it. It was a miniature recreation of one of his favorite paintings. Natasha had given it to him back when they were dating. Every time he looked at the jar, Clint wondered what it would have been like, to marry Natasha. To raise a family with her. The thoughts usually retreated as quickly as they appeared, but for nearly a year after they’d mutually decided to call it quits, Clint wondered. They loved each other, but they weren’t in love with each other. Still, Clint thought he wouldn’t mind raising a kid with her.

            “Focus, Barton. You’ve got to get through half of these things before tonight,” Clint chided himself.

            “You talk to yourself, often?” A voice asked from the doorway.

            Clint looked up. “Oh. Darcy. Hey. Come in.”

            Darcy glanced around his room appraisingly. “Not a bad set up. Much more welcoming than Loki’s room.”

            “Hell is more welcoming than Loki’s room,” Clint muttered.

            This brought a laugh from Darcy. “True. Whatcha working on?”

            “Grading essays,” Clint responded. “I have a little over two hundred of them to grade this weekend, and they’re all at least two pages long.”

            Darcy made a sour face. “I’m glad I’m not you. However, I am a kind and generous Darcy, and I offer you my grading services.”

            Clint looked at her uncertainly. “Oh, honey, you really don’t want to do that.”

            Darcy leaned over his desk and swept up a good chunk of the pile, dropping them on a student desk in the front row. “Don’t question it. Just roll with it, Barton.”

            Clint shook his head at the pushy brunette. She had no idea what she was getting herself into, but he wasn’t about to save her from the hell that was the beginning of the year senior essay. They fell into a comfortable routine, marking up their separate essays, stopping every now and then to share pieces that were either genius or so incredibly ridiculous that it left Darcy in stitches. After about half an hour, Darcy gasped.

            “Oh! Looks like we have a contender,” she announced.

            Clint glanced up from his paper about some girl’s horse named Cinnamon. “A contender for what?”

            “Most disturbing paper ever written. Just to give you a taste, the title is ‘Ben Dover: The Story Of How I Took Her Virginity.’ Is this kid serious?” Darcy gaped.

            “Oh, dear god,” Clint groaned. “Who wrote it?”

            Darcy scanned the top of the page. “Danny Hall.”

            Clint held his hand out for the paper. “Hand it over. We’re saving that one for the bar. It definitely requires alcohol.”

            Darcy agreed and moved on to the next essay. By the time they wrapped up for the day, they had a stack of four essays to take to the bar with them. Clint was surprised that he really only had a handful of essays left to grade, not including the ones for the bar. Darcy waited while Clint tucked the essays in his bag and they walked to the parking lot together. Darcy paused at the front door.

            “Ah, shit,” she swore.

            “What’s up?” Clint asked, looking up from his keys.

            Darcy gestured outside. “It’s raining. Good thing I brought the messenger bag instead of the clutch today.”

            She positioned her bag over her head and pulled open the door, ready to make a run for her car.

            Clint grabbed her arm. “Hold on, I’ll grab an umbrella from the office.”

            He disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a hot pink umbrella. “For you.”

            Darcy dropped a curtsy. “Why thank you, kind sir.”

            Clint chuckled. “I’ll see you at the bar.”

            Darcy waved, pushing through the front door and running for her car, shrieking as she splashed through the puddles in the lot. Clint grinned and watched her until she made it to her car. She threw herself in the front seat and carefully folded the umbrella before shutting her door. It wasn’t until she honked her horn that he realized he was standing next to his car door, the rain soaking through his light jacket. He shook himself mentally and dropped into the front seat. Focus.

            O’Reilly’s wasn’t really anything special. It was on the smaller side, with plain, polished wood tables, simple steel light fixtures, and matte black material covering the benches and stools. Its reputation was based on the owners. Jack and Bridget O’Reilly were born and bred in the bar business. They’re father had started the bar sixty years ago and it gained favor with the locals quickly. O’Reilly’s was a landmark for them, something that everyone knew. So when the high school teachers, who for the most part had been called in from all over to work there, had discovered it, it became their hangout almost instantly. Jack and Bridget had helped Clint move into his house last summer. Natasha had been a bridesmaid when Bridget was married two springs before, and Bruce had pitched it a few years ago when Jack tried to come up with his very own brew to sell at the bar. The O’Reilly’s were like family, and they accepted their newest members the way siblings do.

            “Och, look at this one, Jack. So young! Can you really drink?” Bridget teased, holding Peter’s face in her hands.

            Jack winked. “Let the poor lad go. You’re making him blush.”

            Bridget surveyed the group clustered together at the bar. “I thought you told me there was a new lass, too. You haven’t scared her off, have you?”

            Her sharp green eyes landed on Clint, who gulped his beer guiltily. “Don’t look at me like it’s my fault, Bee.”

            “If it isn’t your fault, why d’you look so guilty?” Bridget demanded, taking his beer from him.

            “Hey! Sorry I’m late. My shoot ran late,” Darcy explained breathlessly, falling onto a stool next to Natasha.

            Everyone stared at her, most of them with their mouths dropped open.

            “What?” She looked down at herself. “Oh. Right. Tits. Forgot about those.”

            Darcy had on a black leather bustier that fit every curve of her torso like a glove. Her jeans were electric blue, and made her legs look a mile long. She wore a pair of short, black leather motorcycle boots and her make up had been done dark and dramatic. Darcy pulled a loose sweater out of her bag and over her head, covering up the bustier. She reached back and pulled her hair up into a high ponytail, making her winged eyeliner look just a bit more severe.

            “Sorry about that. Like I said, my shoot ran late and I didn’t have time to change. I’m sorry you had to see that, Peter. Your virgin eyes should recover shortly,” Darcy smirked.

            Bridget grinned. “I like her already. What can I get you?”

            “Whiskey on the rocks, please,” Darcy answered.

            “What were you doing at a photo shoot?” Tony asked.

            Darcy took a long drink from her glass before answering. “My roommate’s a photographer. Her female model canceled on her last minute, and I told her I’d stand in. I owed her one.”

            Peter took a sip of his beer. “What was the shoot for?”

            “She’s working for some band with a new album coming out,” Darcy told him.

            “What did you? Lay on the hood of a car?” Peter raised an eyebrow teasingly.

            Darcy smirked at him. “I got to play with guns.”

            Peter paused. “Touché.”

            Darcy turned to Clint. “Did you bring the papers?”

            “Mm,” Clint swallowed a mouthful of beer. “I almost forgot.”

            He pulled them out and dropped them on the bar, spreading them out.

            “Okay, we have four wonderfully awful essays to choose from. We have one from Danny Hall entitled ‘Ben Dover: The Story Of How I Took Her Virginity,’ one from Lana Harris called ‘Daddy’s Princess,’ one from Joe Roberts called ‘I Swear I Didn’t Know You Weren’t Supposed To Open That,’ and Linn Abbott’s ‘Like Really?’ Who wants what?” Clint offered.

            Bruce held out his hand. “I’ll take Harris. I’m the only one who doesn’t have her.”

            “I call Roberts!” Tony’s hand shot up in the air.

            “I’ll take Abbott off your hands. She isn’t a bad writer, but she usually chooses shitty subject matter,” Natasha said, reaching for the paper.

            “Last call for ‘Ben Dover’ before I take it!” Clint called.

            Darcy grinned. “I’ll fight you for it.”

            “Arm wrestling?” Clint suggested.

            Darcy shook her head. “Thumb war.”

            “No wars,” Steve cut in. “Share.”

            “Yes, Mom,” Clint muttered.

            Clint pushed the paper closer to Darcy. They leaned in at the same time, bumping shoulders. Clint bit the inside of his cheek. It took all of his restraint not to wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her closer. He didn’t know what it was, but Darcy drove him crazy. He knew he was in for it from that first day in Loki’s room. He hadn’t fallen for anyone like this since Natasha, and he knew how well that had ended. Clint had to force himself to swallow a few times before he could focus on the paper in front of him. Just as he turned back to the essay. Darcy sucked in a breath and slapped her hand over the paper.

            “Whoa! What’s wrong?” Clint jumped back.

            Darcy’s eyes raced across the page that she held right in front of her face. Clint reached for it and she slapped his hand away.

            “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” she snarled.

            “Uh, Darcy…” Clint prodded.

            She slapped the paper face down on the bar, keeping a tight hold on it. “Who the hell is this kid? What the fuck is wrong with him? I’m going to kick his ass!”

            Clint grabbed her shoulders. “Okay, you wanna calm down and tell me what’s going on?”

            Darcy glanced up, noting the eyes of Natasha. Steve, and Loki on her. “Come outside with me.”

            Clint slid off his stool and followed her out to the sidewalk.