Team Bonding
[Classified Location], SHIELD Helicarrier
April 2011
The story was flawless. She’d dropped off the grid because she was taking a vacation, as they had agreed four years ago as a reward for her flawless record: four weeks of off-the-record solitary a year. He had never promised to not keep an eye on her during that time, although given the pathetic results of the Widow Watch team’s surveillance attempts, he might as well have put the money and manpower into designing healthy Twinkies for all the good it did. And then she’d gotten a tip-off from a friend in SHIELD at a drop point - Barton, probably - and come in just in time to help with the Avengers.
Fury sighed and flipped the report of the Widow’s movements off the screen. He’d requested an itinerary from her, which she’d gladly provided, complete with hotel and restaurant receipts, train tickets, taxi slips, and other evidence. Unfortunately, Fury knew that faking every one of the papers in his office and every one of the files on his screen was well within Romanoff’s capabilities. And they still had no confirmed surveillance of her anywhere.
It didn’t sit right with him.
And now he had Tony Stark’s AI on his ship, even if it was restricted - only Stark could turn a cutting-edge bit of software into an annoying smartass - and Foster and Lewis to deal with. He checked the time on his desk. Eight minutes until their arrival.
The team was already gathering in the bridge, at the table behind him. He could see their reflections in the glass of the screens: Rogers and Stark shooting each other glares, Barton unreadable and apparently at ease as usual, Romanoff on the edges and looking dangerous, Banner and his deceptively mild-mannered expression. As Fury watched, Thor strode in with a heavy tread and stood near the head of the table, glowering at the rest of the team.
Stark and Rogers immediately stopped their staring contest and fixed their attention on Thor. That wasn’t going to end well. Apparently the only thing that could force those two to play nicely was a common enemy. And Fury really couldn’t afford to make an enemy of Thor.
Best to head this off before it began, and before the scientist showed up to complicate things.
Fury put his screens to sleep with a gesture, spun, and marched up the stairs to where they sat.
The door hissed open, and Agent Halley walked in, followed by two brown-haired women.
Fury’s glare intensified.
Foster’s expression did several complicated things when her eyes fell on Thor, finally settling into a decent attempt at a poker face that nevertheless showed her vulnerability and seething anger. Fury filed that away and glanced at her companion, about whom he knew very little. Darcy Lewis, Foster’s longtime assistant and newbie to Stark’s PR team, had a smirk fixed on her face as she swept her eyes over every member of the team. It hardened as she cast a dismissive glance over Thor and turned away, clearly designed to irritate the Asgardian. Fury noted with some annoyance that her tactic worked. Thor tensed and shota vitriolic look Lewis’ way. Meanwhile, sparks were already flying from Romanoff’s eyes as she scanned Lewis, and Tony shifted to face Thor more squarely, protectiveness in every line of his body.
He’d have to make this short. Before this group of very volatile, very powerful people dissolved into a fight that could quite possibly break the helicarrier.
[Classified Location], SHIELD Helicarrier
April 2011
Several of the people in this room dismissed Darcy the second they saw her.
The Captain was one, Banner another, then Barton, and fourth was Director Fury himself. Darcy’d never met the man, but Coulson and Jane had told her plenty, not to mention the scuttlebutt in Stark Tower. (So she was a gossipy kind of girl. It never hurt to pay attention to the rumor mill.)
That was fine. She liked being underestimated.
Stark already knew her well enough to have gotten over his surprise that a brain lurked behind Darcy’s sarcasm and her boobs, and gave her a nod before he returned to smirking at every person in the room in turn. Darcy noted how he glared at Thor every now and then. Awesome, she’d have an ally against the God of Muscles and Assholery.
Darcy’s skin prickled when she felt the Black Widow’s eyes on her.
She deliberately didn’t look in the redhead’s direction. She’d read the files. Natasha Romanoff was as dangerous as they came, and she clearly saw right through Darcy’s carefully constructed facade.
Shit.
“The interrogators are with Loki now,” Fury said, announcing his presence with a snap of that melodramatic jacket.
“Good morning to you too,” Darcy said, and shot the man a sickly sweet smile. His eye twitched and she swallowed a smirk.
Thor stepped closer to the table. “You have no right to interrogate Loki,” he growled.
“Relax, Point Break, they won’t touch him,” Stark said. “Just asking a few questions.”
“He will not answer. Not truthfully.”
“Well, that’s not your problem, is it?” Stark said agreeably. Darcy knew him well enough to know that agreeable usually preceded extremely combative on the Tony Stark mood scale. She fell into a seat two down from him, Jane between them, and settled in to watch the show.
“It is my problem when he is my charge,” Thor snapped.
“Ten pounds of crazy in a five-pound bag? Fun charge.” This was from Barton, who apparently still had a bone to pick about Loki’s brainwashing of Agent Hill. Darcy had heard they were friends. Or something.
Thor turned his glare on the agent. "Have care how you speak. Loki may be mad, but he is my -- he is of Asgard."
Darcy wondered with interest what Thor had been about to say.
Romanoff shifted posture. Darcy was reminded strongly of a cobra she'd once seen in a zoo at feeding time. It looked totally relaxed and calm as it meandered around the enclosure, right before it struck. "He killed eighty people in three days."
"And your hands have no innocent blood on them?" Thor demanded.
Everyone in the room tensed instantly. Barton's head snapped up, relaxed demeanor vanishing, and fixed his eyes on Thor. But Darcy was mostly watching Romanoff. The Russian agent never moved, but something in her face - a tightness around her eyes, perhaps, or tension in her lips? - gave away her disquiet.
Darcy glanced around and realized that Thor had just made an enemy of everyone in this room, with the possible exception of Fury, who was the only one to not react.
The silence lasted several seconds. Darcy's heart thrummed.
Ohhhh-kay. Time for the poly-sci major to earn her keep.
"Look, this is maybe not the best time to be having this discussion," she said. "We're all tired, tense, and short on sleep, and we can't do jack shit until either Loki spills something juicy or Doctor Banner's instruments find the cube thing. Let's all go... sleep, or sharpen our knives, or whatever supersoldiers do in their down time, and reconvene when we actually have something to talk about." She deliberately didn't make it a question.
Barton shot her an assessing look.
"I agree," said Banner, standing. "I would like to find some food. Tony, would you care to join me?"
"As long as it's not that rabbit food you ate this morning," Stark said, rising as well. "If anyone gets into a fight, make sure it's caught on video."
The doctors left. Romanoff followed a second later, and Fury sighed. "Well, this meeting is well and truly over. Odinson, come with me; we have a spare single room..." His voice trailed off as he led Thor away.
Darcy blew out a breath and leaned back. "Well, that was spectacular. Janey, please tell me we have beds somewhere on this flying theater.”
Barton snorted.
“No one’s showed me where they are,” Jane said. “Or my lab…” She trailed off, looking anxious.
Darcy made an irritated noise. “Of course you want the lab. Go chase down Stark, he probably doesn’t even want to eat. Bet you fifty bucks he’s already convinced his new bestie to eat something out of a petri dish so they can go straight there.”
“No bet,” Jane said instantly. “Good idea. Can you…”
Darcy waved a hand. “I promise not to set anything on fire. Go on.”
“I hope they have the readings for me…” Jane mused, half to herself, and dashed out the door.
Darcy found herself alone with Barton and Captain America.
“Steve Rogers,” the Captain said, holding out his hand.
Darcy shook it. “Darcy Lewis. Do I call you Captain, or Steve, or Mr. Rogers, or what?”
“Capsicle works,” Barton said, grinning.
“Capsicle? Who came up with that?”
“Stark, who else?”
Darcy nodded her appreciation. “Good for him. All righty. Capsicle it is.”
The man looked pained. “Can we stick with - first names are common now, yes?”
Darcy smiled cunningly. “That’s true, but I make no promises. Steve.” Inside, she felt like screaming. She was on a first-name basis with Captain America.
“I guess you can call me Clint, then,” the SHIELD agent said, finally tucking his tablet back into his pocket. His words were brusque, but in an exaggerated way that suggested the opposite. “If we’re to be teammates.”
Darcy made a face. “I’m more like… Jane’s handler. Even though I’m not her assistant anymore.”
“What do you do?” Barton asked. He seemed to be reassessing her. Darcy pulled her vapid face back on, not sure that she wanted these people to truly see her.
“Oh, some PR stuff for Stark Industries, mostly,” she said. “I was Jane’s assistant for the college credit, we became friends mostly because she needed someone to remind her to eat, and then once she went to SI I needed a new job. She put in a word for me with Stark, and here I am.” Cue the cheerleader giggle.
Clint - wow, okay, calling them by their first names would take some getting used to - gave her a look that said he wasn’t buying it. “Huh.”
“I think I’m going to go find somewhere to sleep,” Darcy said, standing. “Or eat. Whichever happens first. See you around.”
“Don’t get into trouble,” Clint said, grinning.
“Me? Never.” Darcy gave him her most innocent smile and flounced out with a deliberate swing to her hips and absolutely no intention of keeping that promise.