There are three things in her life that Darcy can depend on right now.
One: Coulson will always be in the office before she is. No matter how early she gets there. She'd spent three weeks trying to be there before him, and it never fucking worked. So she stopped, and started turning up at 8.50am precisely every morning. Which gave her ten minutes to decide on a playlist to listen to, eat half a sesame bagel and have her best game face on for 9am when the phone starts ringing.
Two: Steve will insist that Tuesday is pizza night. Tony will insist Tuesday is Thai food night. They will arm wrestle over it, and Tony will lose. Because Steve won't let him arm wrestle whilst wearing the suit. Steve will then, every other Tuesday, let Tony have his way and there will be Thai. At this point Darcy thinks the delivery guys know their food intake better than they know their own names.
Three: At exactly 2.15pm on a Friday, Clint will swing by the office, bring her a fancy coffee drink of some description, annoy Coulson for ten minutes and then leave, blowing her a kiss as he walks into the hallway.
Which is why she gets a little bit freaked out when it is 2.20pm on a Friday afternoon and Clint is nowhere to be seen. She hasn't got any texts, from any of the Avengers, so she doesn't think giant robots have attacked New York. Also, she can't see any out of her windows, so she's probably right. Coulson is still in his office, so Clint isn't somewhere with him, and she saw Natasha heading down to the gym after lunch with Hill, so he probably isn't somewhere with Natasha.
She debates sending him a text, asking where the fuck he is, and then realises she has never actually texted him unless it's been an emergency. Surely she can't start now? And how the fuck would that message go? Clint, where are you? I want to know what stupid syrupy concoction you've thought up this week? Yeah, that wouldn't be weird at all. So she sits at her desk, pretends to type up the sitrep from yesterday, flicks through her blogroll and debates getting into an argument via tumblr.
Clint is a no-show, and eventually it's 4.55pm, and Darcy is packing her bag and wondering which bar Thor has chosen for Friday drinks. She has her iPod out, and is looking for something to listen to on the way home, and then Clint pokes his head round the door.
"You!" Darcy says, "You are late!"
"Yeah, sorry about that," Clint says and shrugs. Darcy would start in on a tirade, but she sees his wince as he moves his shoulder, and then clocks the scratch down his cheek.
"You are also hurt," Darcy says, and pulls the first aid kit out of her desk drawer. "Sit down."
"It's just a scratch," Clint says, throwing himself (albeit, gently) into the chair and kicking his heels up on to the desk. "No need to get all Nurse McMahon on me."
"Oh, please," Darcy scoffs as she uncaps the antiseptic and gets a gauze pad out. "As if I would ever wear those shoes. Speaking of shoes, get yours off my desk."
"Yes, ma'am," Clint says, and mock-salutes her. He inhales sharply as she wipes at the cut, and then looks down her top as she tries to work out if it's going to need any butterfly strips. "Nice bra."
"Yes, it is," Darcy smiles. "I'm not going to bother with the strips. You'll only take them off the minute you get out of the office."
Clint tips his head to the side, "Probably. Coulson in?"
Darcy shuts her desk drawer and rolls her eyes. "Of course he is in. You do know he's going to tell you to go to medical to get that shoulder looked at if you go in there? And then you'll have to deal with McMahon."
"Shit," Clint grumbles. "It's just a little strained. I'll have a hot bath and get an ice pack or something."
"I'll make you a deal," Darcy says as she pulls her jacket on. "You buy me a beer, to make up for not getting coffee, and then another beer so I don't rat you out to medical."
"You're on," Clint says and holds his arm out to Darcy. "Come on my lady."
"Also, I want a proper kiss at the end of the night. No more of this blowing them across the room." Darcy grins, taking Clint's arm and flicks her desk-lamp off.
"I should get injured more often," Clint whispers in her ear as they step out of the office.
"Do not even think about it," Darcy warns, and then mentally rewrites her list of things to be counted on, so that it includes Clint sneaking a hand into the back pocket of her skirt. This has to be the end of every Friday.
no subject
One: Coulson will always be in the office before she is. No matter how early she gets there. She'd spent three weeks trying to be there before him, and it never fucking worked. So she stopped, and started turning up at 8.50am precisely every morning. Which gave her ten minutes to decide on a playlist to listen to, eat half a sesame bagel and have her best game face on for 9am when the phone starts ringing.
Two: Steve will insist that Tuesday is pizza night. Tony will insist Tuesday is Thai food night. They will arm wrestle over it, and Tony will lose. Because Steve won't let him arm wrestle whilst wearing the suit. Steve will then, every other Tuesday, let Tony have his way and there will be Thai. At this point Darcy thinks the delivery guys know their food intake better than they know their own names.
Three: At exactly 2.15pm on a Friday, Clint will swing by the office, bring her a fancy coffee drink of some description, annoy Coulson for ten minutes and then leave, blowing her a kiss as he walks into the hallway.
Which is why she gets a little bit freaked out when it is 2.20pm on a Friday afternoon and Clint is nowhere to be seen. She hasn't got any texts, from any of the Avengers, so she doesn't think giant robots have attacked New York. Also, she can't see any out of her windows, so she's probably right. Coulson is still in his office, so Clint isn't somewhere with him, and she saw Natasha heading down to the gym after lunch with Hill, so he probably isn't somewhere with Natasha.
She debates sending him a text, asking where the fuck he is, and then realises she has never actually texted him unless it's been an emergency. Surely she can't start now? And how the fuck would that message go? Clint, where are you? I want to know what stupid syrupy concoction you've thought up this week? Yeah, that wouldn't be weird at all. So she sits at her desk, pretends to type up the sitrep from yesterday, flicks through her blogroll and debates getting into an argument via tumblr.
Clint is a no-show, and eventually it's 4.55pm, and Darcy is packing her bag and wondering which bar Thor has chosen for Friday drinks. She has her iPod out, and is looking for something to listen to on the way home, and then Clint pokes his head round the door.
"You!" Darcy says, "You are late!"
"Yeah, sorry about that," Clint says and shrugs. Darcy would start in on a tirade, but she sees his wince as he moves his shoulder, and then clocks the scratch down his cheek.
"You are also hurt," Darcy says, and pulls the first aid kit out of her desk drawer. "Sit down."
"It's just a scratch," Clint says, throwing himself (albeit, gently) into the chair and kicking his heels up on to the desk. "No need to get all Nurse McMahon on me."
"Oh, please," Darcy scoffs as she uncaps the antiseptic and gets a gauze pad out. "As if I would ever wear those shoes. Speaking of shoes, get yours off my desk."
"Yes, ma'am," Clint says, and mock-salutes her. He inhales sharply as she wipes at the cut, and then looks down her top as she tries to work out if it's going to need any butterfly strips. "Nice bra."
"Yes, it is," Darcy smiles. "I'm not going to bother with the strips. You'll only take them off the minute you get out of the office."
Clint tips his head to the side, "Probably. Coulson in?"
Darcy shuts her desk drawer and rolls her eyes. "Of course he is in. You do know he's going to tell you to go to medical to get that shoulder looked at if you go in there? And then you'll have to deal with McMahon."
"Shit," Clint grumbles. "It's just a little strained. I'll have a hot bath and get an ice pack or something."
"I'll make you a deal," Darcy says as she pulls her jacket on. "You buy me a beer, to make up for not getting coffee, and then another beer so I don't rat you out to medical."
"You're on," Clint says and holds his arm out to Darcy. "Come on my lady."
"Also, I want a proper kiss at the end of the night. No more of this blowing them across the room." Darcy grins, taking Clint's arm and flicks her desk-lamp off.
"I should get injured more often," Clint whispers in her ear as they step out of the office.
"Do not even think about it," Darcy warns, and then mentally rewrites her list of things to be counted on, so that it includes Clint sneaking a hand into the back pocket of her skirt. This has to be the end of every Friday.