Sol 15
It was … weird, being back in Chicago without Mark, Darcy decided as she walked around the farmer’s market with Bert.
It was strange to be here without Mark, without his arm to hang onto, without him pointing out flowers with interesting Latin names, or strange stories about the domestication of this vegetable or that.
It was strange to be here. But as long as she didn’t think of the fact that every farmer’s market from now on was going to be strange, Darcy was fine.
Totally fine.
“I was going to throw a couple steaks on the grill, Darcy-girl,” Bert said. “That okay with you?” Darcy nodded. Bert looked to his right, at the vegetable stand Darcy had been avoiding. “I wish Caroline had come with us today.”
Darcy didn’t say anything.
“You know - getting out of the house. It’s the only time-“ He broke off, and Darcy put a hand on his arm in sympathy. Too many conversations had ended that way already among the three of them. Sentences that became too difficult halfway through. Subjects that brought up memories and suddenly all they could think about was the person who was missing, never to return.
They kept walking in silence, Darcy’s hand slipping from Bert’s arm as they moved. This is insane, Darcy thought, looking at a particularly colourful flower stand. How did we think this was a good idea? Not just the farmer’s market, but coming to Chicago. How can this be good for us? When every other sentence someone says something that makes the others think of Mark.
Not that I don’t want to think of Mark.
Not when that’s what I have left of him.
But it hurts.
“So,” Darcy said, shaking off her black mood as much as she could and forcing cheer into her voice. “What green stuff are we bringing back for dinner?”
“I thought we’d just hit the bakery down this aisle,” Bert said blithely, a bit of the joker that was so prominent in his son shining to the fore, just for an instant.
“Vegetables first,” Darcy said, her inner scientist wrangler taking over. “Then baked goods.”
“If you insist,” Bert said, and allowed her to drag him over to one of the farm stalls that had a variety of all things green.
..................................
“Honey, we’re home,” Bert called as he pushed the door open with a hip, and Darcy’s throat grew suddenly tight. I’ll never say that to Mark again. He’ll never say it to me.
“I’m in the kitchen,” Caroline called back. “And we’ve got company!”
“Company?” Darcy asked as she and Bert made their way into the kitchen, both laden with bags full of produce.
“Hey, kiddo,” a familiar voice said, and Darcy quickly swung her bags onto the kitchen counter, getting her arms free.
“You didn’t say you were coming!” she said, walking straight into Clint Barton’s waiting arms.
“Laura’s sister’s at the farm helping watch the kids,” he said. “And Tony figured you could use some moral support.” Darcy didn’t say anything, burying her face into Clint’s shoulder and wrapping her arms more firmly around his middle.
“We’ll leave you to catch up,” Darcy heard Caroline say in the background as footsteps retreated to the back porch.
“When did you get here?” Darcy asked finally, letting Clint go. And if his black shirt was a bit damp where her face had rested, neither of them mentioned it.
Clint glanced at the clock. “About an hour ago.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Mrs. Watney seems nice.”
“She is,” Darcy said. “Bert too.” She swallowed hard, then continued with what she’d been about to say. “Would have made great in-laws.”
On the table, her phone buzzed, and Darcy glanced at it, grateful for the distraction.
Robert Lewis.
She made a face, then turned back to Clint, ignoring the phone.
“You aren’t gonna get that?” Clint asked neutrally.
Darcy’s frown deepened. “I wouldn’t know what to say,” she said, sounding whiny and judging herself even as she vented. “I mean, what could I say - good job on not losing your other half, because I just did, and hey, congrats on actually having married Melissa before she shipped out, because we opted to wait until Ares 3 was home, and look how that’s working out for us? I’m glad she’s not dead, but I’d swap with you in a heartbeat? Because we both know that I’d rather be the Lewis with the guilt about still having a partner rather than the Lewis that lost one.” She looked at the phone, silent once more, sitting on the table. “He’s been calling a few times a day. I haven’t picked up yet.”
“Darce.” She kept looking at the phone. “He’s family. You’ll regret shutting him out, I promise.”
Darcy had a retort on the tip of her tongue, but actually bit it to stop herself from speaking. No matter what, Clint didn’t need her bringing Barney into it. Barney Barton was bad enough news all on his own.
“Next time he calls, at least think about answering?” Clint asked, and Darcy glanced at his face.
Mistake.
“Ugh. Fine.” She picked up her phone and pocketed it. “You and your damned puppy dog eyes, Barton.” Clint patted her on the shoulder.
“You’ll be okay, Darcy.”
Darcy froze for a second, then sighed. “I hope so.” Suddenly the room was too small, Clint too close, and the entire world too big without Mark in it. So she did what she did best - deflected. “Are you flying me back to the tower tomorrow?” she asked hopefully. Not that she was spoiled, riding on Quinjets and Pepper’s Lear, or anything. Flying commercial just sucked.
“Yep.” Clint smirked. “Tony’s been bitching about having to update his own Instagram the last couple of days, and he and Cap have been bitching about proper social media etiquette. Again.”
“Do you even have an Instagram?” Darcy asked rhetorically, fishing in her pocket for her phone and opening the relevant app. “See, look at this.” She’d pulled up the picture Tony had posted yesterday. It was a selfie - his face in the lower right hand corner. Behind him, though, were Steve and Bucky standing in front of the giant TV in the common room, faces concentrated, playing DDR. Steve’s arm was out, hips to one side in the classic disco move, Bucky half a beat behind him, metal arm still pointed somewhere near his shoulder. Below the picture, the text read:
“While the cat’s away, the mice will play - and we’ve got some scary mice! Missing our fave PR manager, who’d better get her butt back here soon, otherwise her DDR record is going DOWN!!”
Clint, reading over her shoulder, started cackling. “Is that the Pride shirt Steve is wearing?”
Darcy squinted at the screen. “No - I think it’s the ‘My Favourite Avenger is Poptarts’ shirt.” That one had been Thor’s idea. Obviously. When the god had discovered that not only were mental illnesses badly treated, misdiagnosed, but also stigmatised, he’d been… angry. Almost throwing Mjolnir out of the Tower angry.
It had taken all of Jane and Darcy’s persuasive powers to get him to switch his efforts into a more useful form. Public statements, new hashtags, and the t-shirt, which, for all of Darcy’s efforts, still had absolutely nothing to do with mental illness. And Thor had gone back to Asgard for a month in hopes of finding medical research to aid Earth’s doctors.
Of course, while he was there, Odin had corralled him into saving the universe. But that was a separate issue.
I’m not going to be the asshole that calls Thor back from saving the universe just so that I can get Mark’s body back from Mars, Darcy reminded herself for the umpteenth time. Assuming Odin, Asshole of Asgard, would let me contact Thor in the first place.
Darcy frowned as she put away the green beans.
“So, you all set to get back to the big city tomorrow?” Clint asked, sliding soundlessly next to her to put an eggplant next to the green beans.
Darcy considered that, closing the fridge as she did so. Finally, she nodded. “I love Caroline and Bert,” she said. “But New York is home.” She looked around the kitchen. “And besides. Everything here reminds me of Mark - and seeing me reminds them of him too, which, I know, I can’t help,” she continued as Clint looked set to interrupt. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but Tony was right to send me away - I needed the time, needed to see them. But,” Darcy glanced out of the kitchen window at where Caroline and Bert were talking, heads together. “It’s time for me to head back to New York. The funeral will be in a week or so. I’ll see them then.”
“And,” she said, swallowing hard before making herself say the last sentence, “Mark wouldn’t have wanted me to wallow.”
“Let’s get you back home, then,” Clint said, fishing out the steak. “But first - these look delicious!”
Darcy just chuckled and started looking for the charcoal.