Chapter Fifteen
Tony sat at the kitchen table with a piece of bacon frozen halfway between his plate and his mouth. He was staring at Bruce with a mixture of fear and wonder in his eyes. Bruce, of course, was oblivious, fixing himself a cup of tea with a smile on his face, humming as he worked. Steve wandered into the kitchen a few minutes later, his hair damp from the shower. He caught sight of Tony and leaned down to whisper in his ear.
“Why are you staring at Bruce like that?” he asked.
Tony touched his ear. “Steve, listen. He’s humming. Have you ever heard him hum before, because I’ve known him for a decade and I cannot remember a single time that I heard him humming. I think he’s sick.”
Steve smiled and glanced over at Bruce. “Oh, he’s sick all right.”
Tony’s brow furrowed as Steve swiped a piece of bacon from his plate. “What is it? The flu? Malaria? Why didn’t he tell us?”
“Tony, he’s fine,” Steve assured him. “He’s in love. Or, at the very least, he’s in lust.”
Tony made a face. “Ew.”
“Hey!” Steve knocked him in the shoulder. “Do you have something you need to tell me, husband?”
“What are you two scheming over there?” Bruce asked.
Steve and Tony muttered muddled responses quickly. Bruce sipped his tea quietly and nearly floated out of the room.
Tony elbowed Steve in the side. “See? He’s sick.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “Oh, Tony. You’re so clueless.”
“MIT begs to differ,” he grumbled.
Steve reached over to muss his hair. “Your liver doesn’t.”
“That was a phase that I grew out of,” Tony protested.
Steve arched an eyebrow. “You and I remember Thanksgiving very differently.”
“That was a holiday, Steve. Holidays don’t count,” Tony insisted.
“Peter, I swear to every god that if I wake up to find you passed out with your cell phone pressed to your ear one more time, I’m blocking Wade’s number from your phone,” Darcy threatened.
Peter reddened. “He likes it when I read Dr. Seuss.”
Darcy stared at him. “No.”
He started to respond but she slapped her hand over his mouth. “No, Peter! I don’t want to know about Wade’s Dr. Seuss fetish.”
“That’s not what I meant, Darcy!” Peter squawked. “I meant bedtime stories. Jesus. I don’t even want to know what in your sex life made you think it was a kinky thing.”
Darcy grinned fondly. “Oh, Jeff. You will be missed.”
Peter made gagging noises.
Behind them, someone cleared their throat delicately. “Excuse me?”
Darcy spun around. “Hi, sorry about that. How can I help you? Wait…Betty?”
The woman blushed and let her brown hair fall forward. “Good morning, Darcy. How are you?”
“I’m well, thanks. You look nice. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out from behind that green smock. Wow, you have incredible calves,” Darcy admired.
Betty smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thank you. Actually, I have a lunch date.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “Really? Good for you! Who is it?”
“Bruce,” she answered simply.
The bakery went silent.
“What?” Darcy choked out finally.
The door from the kitchen swung open.
“Betty!” Bruce grinned. “You look lovely. Are you ready?”
She nodded and took the arm he offered, the two of them waltzing out of the bakery with smiles a mile wide. Darcy looked at Peter, who shook his head.
“I didn’t even know Bruce was interested in her!” Darcy gasped.
Peter gazed at the door. “They did make a cute couple.”
“Of course they did. It’s like a lamb falling in love with a bunny on a cloud of cotton candy where the air is made of sunshine and every time someone smiles a million puppies appear,” Darcy grimaced. “It makes me sick.”
“Hey, Bitter Barbie? You okay?” Peter nudged her shoulder.
Darcy shook herself. “Yeah, I’m good. Moment over.”
“So,” Peter said, pulling a stack of unfolded boxes from under the counter. “Your birthday is coming up. What do you want?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. The will to live? A life purpose, maybe? Clear skin?”
Peter dropped the boxes on the counter. “Seriously, Darcy, what’s up? You’ve never exactly been Suzy Sunshine but you’re especially dark today. Talk to me. I’m worried about you.”
Darcy waved him away. “No, no, nothing’s wrong! I’m just being an asshole. I think I need some caffeine. We’re really slow, do you think you can hold down the fort while I run out for coffee? I’ll be fast, I promise. Do you want something?”
“No, I don’t want anything. Are you sure you’re okay?” Peter asked again.
Darcy flashed him the brightest smile she could muster and retreated to the sidewalk as fast as she could.
“Lunch was very nice, Bruce,” Betty smiled sweetly. “We should do it again sometime.”
Bruce nodded. “I’d like that very much. Maybe we could get dinner next time. Or go to a movie. Do you like movies?”
“I do!” Betty bobbed her head. “You know, the show some of the classics every weekend at that little theatre a few blocks from here. This week is a Greta Garbo double feature. Would you like to go? With me?”
“I’d love to, Betty. Maybe we could talk about it at lunch tomorrow?” Bruce suggested timidly.
Her face brightened. “Of course! Oh, shoot! I’m late for a consultation. I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow!”
Betty hurried toward the flower shop, shouting an apology before she was halfway through the door. Bruce nearly swooned right there on the sidewalk. He cut through the alley between the shop and the bakery. If he went through the back door, he wouldn’t have to see the shocked looks on his coworkers’ faces and they wouldn’t see the blush he was sure was coloring his cheeks. He turned the corner and nearly tripped over Darcy, who was huddled on the back stoop.
Bruce was instantly on red alert. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”
Darcy sniffled. “I’m fine. Peachy keen and all that.”
Bruce sat down next to her on the cold cement. “You don’t look fine. You look like you’ve been crying.”
“I haven’t been crying. I’ve been…tearing up slightly,” Darcy mumbled lamely.
“What’s this about?” Bruce urged her.
Darcy looked up at him, her eyes red. “You don’t want to hear about this. You’re happy and smiley and floating on a freaking cloud and I’m mopey and dark. I’ll bring you down.”
Bruce shook his head. “Not possible. I’m feeling invincible right now.”
Darcy smiled faintly. “Good for you. I’m glad you have someone who makes you feel that way.”
Instantly, Bruce got it. “That’s what this is about.”
Sure, Darcy had put on a brave face after the incident with Jack. It had been a week since all hell had broken loose, and the entire time, Darcy had made jabs about it, acting aloof for the most part. Even he, the master of disguising your feelings, hadn’t realized what was going on. True, he had been preoccupied with his budding feelings for Betty, but he couldn’t help a pang of guilt. She was hurting and she had every right to be. What Jack had done was terrible and a lot of people- Bruce included- would still be hiding under the covers if it had happened to them. Bruce was overcome by a wave of pride in Darcy’s strength and grief at the realization that she was strong because she put through things like this frequently.
“Oh!” Bruce hugged her tightly.
Darcy let out a noise of surprise. “Um…Bruce? Too tight. I can’t breathe.”
Bruce pulled back. “Sorry, I got a little carried away. Now answer me honestly, Darcy. Are you okay?”
She was quiet for a moment, looking away. “No. Not right now, I’m not. I will be, though. I always am.”
Before he could reach out and stop her she was on her feet, walking into the kitchen. He stood and followed her, but the kitchen was empty save for Steve and a few dozen batches of cupcakes.
“Did Darcy come through here?” Bruce asked.
Steve nodded, not looking up from his task. “Yeah, just a second ago. How was lunch?”
Bruce flushed. “Good. Very good.”
Steve turned his head to flash Bruce a smile. “Glad to hear it. Betty’s a nice girl.”
“Yeah,” Bruce sighed wistfully. “She is, isn’t she?”
After the conversation with Bruce, Darcy had retreated to Clint’s balcony. He was with Natasha meeting a high profile client for a consultation so she had the area to herself. She pulled out a brick of gumpaste and kneaded it on the table, working it until it was easier to mold. She pulled out the flower cutter and set to work making sugar poinsettias for the upcoming Christmas rush. Just as she always did, she lost herself in the work, loving the way the flowers formed out of shapeless blobs. She didn’t hear Peter come up to check on her twice, nor did she hear Steve ask Peter if she was okay. She noticed Clint’s arrival on the balcony only because he sat down across from her and took the texture tool out of her hand. She looked up in surprise.
“So,” Clint said casually. “Do you want to tell me why you’re hiding up here making hundreds of flowers or do I have to guess?”
She reached for another chunk of gumpaste and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m just trying to get ahead of the Christmas rush. You and Natasha were saying how you always ended up working extra hours around Christmas just to keep up with the number of flowers you needed.”
Clint reached across the table and put his hands on top of hers. “Darcy.”
“You’re crushing the petals,” she muttered.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
Darcy raised her head, shooting one hell of a glare in his direction. “Let go. Your hands are cold.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“What is with you and Peter and Bruce today?” She snapped. “I’m perfectly fine. This is normal Darcy behavior. I get snippy, I have an attitude, I have a dark outlook on life, and sometimes I want to be alone with my work.”
Clint narrowed his eyes. “Not like this. I haven’t seen you smile all week.”
Darcy forced a cheesy smile. “There, now leave me alone.
He opened his mouth to speak but he was cut off by a shout from Natasha.
“Darcy! Get down here fast!” she yelled.
Alarmed, Darcy rushed down the ladder, skipping a few rungs along the way. “What is it? What happened?”
Natasha grabbed her by the arm and hauled her behind the counter. “Stand here and act natural.”
She stared at Natasha like she’d starting speaking Latin. “What the hell?”
The door to the bakery opened and a grin spread across Natasha’s face. She elbowed Darcy sharply. Darcy turned to look at the customer and gasped.
“Oh my god! What the hell are you wearing?” she slapped a hand over her mouth.
In the middle of the store, Jack shifted his weight awkwardly, something he had a bit of trouble with in his six-inch stilettos. The very short, low-cut strappy dress he wore stretched across his broad chest. His face was smeared with make up, red lipstick swiped on from ear to ear. Even his hair had been done up, with a bright blue streak on the right side.
“Oh…holy hell,” Darcy choked.
Jack wrung his hands nervously. “I-I came to apologize for what I did to you. I’m…I’m sorry. It was mean, and it was wrong, and you deserve better than that. I was an ass to presume that just because I talked to you you’d want to have sex with me, and because I did I’m…I’m going to spend a day walking in your shoes. I hope you forgive me, but I understand if you don’t. I’m going to leave now, and I’ll never bother you again.”
He turned and tottered out of the store, nearly busting his ass when he caught his heel on the threshold. Darcy stared at his retreating figure, her jaw hanging open in shock. Natasha walked over to the door and flipped the lock.
“What the fuck was that?” Darcy gasped out.
“That,” Natasha grinned, “was your revenge. I was going to wait and do it the day before your birthday, but Peter called and said you were having a rough day. Feel any better?”
Darcy nodded numbly. “Yes, actually.”
“If it helps, Wade promised to follow him and shout crude things,” Peter said. “He offered to try to proposition him, too, if you’re interested in that.”
Darcy stared at the door silently, dropping onto a stool. Natasha, Peter, and Clint watched her anxiously, waiting for her to burst into tears or something. She covered her face with her hands and Peter stiffened, reaching out to pat her on the shoulder. A second later she dropped her hands and burst into laughter, holding her sides. The others flinched in surprise. Darcy lost her balance and slipped off the stool, landing hard on the floor. She stayed where she was, dying laughing.
Peter looked up at Natasha. “I think we fixed her.”
Natasha nodded in agreement.
Darcy started to gain control of herself and wiped her eyes. “Oh, god, he made the ugliest girl I’ve ever seen!”