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you need a rock not a rolling stone, 4/4
“Okay, Barton,” Darcy says as she comes out to where he’s waiting with the the car. “Let’s do this thing.”
Clint looks her over with a slow smile, one that she returns in kind as she spins around so he can get the full effect of her dress: short and flippy, with cocktail-party-appropriate cleavage, the basic black totally amped with the attitude from her cleaned and shined and still fabulous knee-high Docs. Darcy hadn’t ever doubted that a personal shopper/stylist recommended by Pepper Potts would be anything other than outstanding at his job, but they’d been a little short on time, not to mention that Darcy’s clothing budget is anemic compared to what he usually works with. The look in Clint’s eyes as he takes it all in--hot, bothered, and downright dirty--says it’d been worth every single second of the mad scramble it had taken to get everything pulled together in less than a day.
“I like the boots,” Clint says, with a smirk that clearly communicates how much of an understatement it is. He opens the passenger-side door on one of Tony’s sleeker sports cars, offered up for their use, Darcy’s sure, at Pepper’s insistence. “And not to be an asshole about it, but I’m pretty sure the deal was for a private modeling session. And I know I held up my end of it.”
“I have two words for you,” Darcy says, sliding into the car. “After. Party.”
“Good to know,” Clint says, in an ever-so-slightly-strangled tone. Darcy smiles up at him innocently, as though she has no idea how the neckline on her dress combines with the angle he’s getting as he looks down at her. “How long do we have to stay again?”
“I don’t know,” Darcy says, a little breathless at how successful the outfit is ending up being. There’s a second or two where she thinks they might not make it, Coulson’s edicts be damned, but Clint gets a grip and manages to get himself behind the steering wheel. “But I’ll bet you can hassle Coulson enough that he’ll throw us out early,” she adds.
“I can do that,” Clint says, pulling her across the gearshift and kissing her hard enough that there’s emergency hair and makeup repair required on the drive. It’s an excellent distraction, enough that she barely has time to stress before they’re there and walking in. The ripple effect of people pretending not to look sucks about as much as she expected, but Coulson, of all people, rescues them from the general awkwardness of finding an unclaimed table and takes them to meet his wife, who is gorgeous and tiny and has an even better deadpan than Coulson does. Darcy’s world might be a little askew.
“Holy shit, you could have warned me,” Darcy hisses when it’s clear Clint’s met her before, thus proving he knew of her existence and could have saved Darcy the small stress headache induced by the effort it takes to not make a complete idiot of herself. Clint just laughs at her and goes off to get them drinks.
The night settles down after that. Darcy’s surprised at how many people she recognizes; she hasn’t spent a ton of time at SHIELD, with school and everything, but it’s not just the agents who’ve been on her detail who look familiar. She and Clint even lose the Most Gossip-worthy title when Agent Carter walks in with Steve. People don’t even try to be subtle; Darcy feels for her, enough that she sends Clint over to tell them they can have custody of the table while she gets Clint out on the dance floor.
Unlike Coulson and his wife, who have moves that are blowing Darcy’s mind, dancing is mostly theoretical with Clint. Darcy’s fine with that; it’s not like it’s a hardship to basically get some low-key cuddles and make him laugh when she sings made-up lyrics to the sappy love songs. Darcy’s about to suggest they go find something to eat, as she’s planning on a lengthy and involved after-party for which carb-loading would not be unwise, when there’s another swirl of not-subtle gawking as Carter and Steve join them on the dance floor. Darcy is not going to be a part of the sudden trajectory-changes, so she wraps her arms around Clint’s neck and settles in for a couple more songs.
“You should talk to him,” Clint says unexpectedly. “Cap. I appreciate the two of you keeping me out of the middle of whatever it was that went down, so I’m just making the observation that it’s probably been long enough that you can stop pretending everything’s fine and make a decision one way or another and get on with it.”
Darcy thinks about it for a little bit and admits Clint probably has a point. She misses hanging out with Steve, a lot. “Okay,” she sighs. “Dance us over and cut in on him and Sharon.”
“Now?” Clint says, sounding only a little alarmed. He’s clearly getting used to how Darcy’s mind works, which can only be a good thing.
“Carpe diem,” Darcy says resolutely. Clint shakes his head and might be laughing at her, but he does as she asks and manages to get them across the small dance floor without too much trauma to her feet. Of course, she’s wearing boots that might as well have steel toes, so that helps.
They make the switch with a minimum of fuss, and Darcy’s quiet for the first few minutes. Steve’s wearing his Class A’s, and her eyes are on a level with all the ribbons he’s won, each tiny bar of color marking another impossible situation he’s made it through. She finally looks up (way up, because even with her heels, he’s still a bazillion times taller than she is) and realizes he’s counting steps off under his breath, and he’s not Captain America any more, or even Captain Rogers; he’s Steve and he’s her friend that she needs to fix things with if she can.
“Don’t worry,” Darcy says as he looks down at her. “If Barton's moves on the dance floor couldn’t kill my feet, I think you’re in the clear.”
“Those are some pretty impressive boots,” Steve says with a smile and they both relax and dance a little more.
“So,” Darcy finally says. “That day, if I’d told you I could be bait instead of just running off and doing it, what would you have said?”
Steve’s quiet for a few more bars of the song, then sighs and says, “I honestly don’t know. I--it’s not in me to like sending someone like you out, but I don’t know that we would have had much of a choice.” He looks down at Darcy and there’s a lot of really deep, untouchable sadness in his eyes. “But,” he adds, “we would have taken the time to set things up as much as we could, and I would have known you had an idea of what mitigating actions you could have taken.”
“Okay,” Darcy says. “I promise that the next time we’re stuck with a crazy mad scientist and I think I can help, I’ll tell you first.”
“Thank you,” Steve says with more dryness than Darcy is used to hearing from him. He must be hanging out with Coulson a lot these days.
Darcy’s about to suggest they go find their dates--she still has carb-loading to accomplish--when there’s an even bigger ripple, one that actually ends in a split second of utter silence, and they look up to see Colonel Fury and Natasha cutting through the crowd like one of Natasha’s better knives.
“Wow,” Darcy says as she gets a good look at Natasha’s dress. What with the strapless and the cut-outs and the slits, she has no idea how it’s staying on, but, yeah, wow. People are practically breaking their necks trying to look without looking like they’re looking, because nobody wants to be caught out by either of them, but all attention is now firmly not on Darcy or Steve or their dates. Darcy could practically kiss Natasha.
Steve has them dancing along the fringes, avoiding the worst of the craziness; Darcy catches sight of Joe, and she has to stop. His nice-guy factor goes way up, because he actually looks at Darcy and tells her it’s nice to see her, though it’s ridiculously clear he’s about to die of joy at being introduced to Steve.
“Oh, tell him about your granddad,” Darcy tells Joe, and Steve, bless him, is almost as excited to hear that Joe the First served in one of the units the Howling Commandos fought alongside as Darcy’s Joe is to tell him. She leaves them working out a time for Steve to meet Joe’s family (if Joe doesn’t stroke out right there in the corner of the room) and goes to find Clint so they can start Operation We’re Officially Done With This. He’s not by the bar, which is her first guess, but as she spins around, she sees him off talking to Fury, serious and intent, and if there’s a “situation” that he has to go deal with, Darcy doesn’t care how bad of a person it makes her, she is going to root for utter annihilation of whatever jerk is messing with SHIELD, and the faster the better. Clint sees her coming and smiles, though, and comes to meet her.
“Free and clear, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his hand settling low on her back and steering her toward the door.
“Wow, you didn’t just piss Coulson off, you went right for Fury?”
“Oh, I did,” Clint says with a laugh. “I don’t think anyone’s going to argue with that assessment.”
“I think I’m touched,” Darcy says. The plan is to keep up with the banter, because what are they without a snappy comeback or two, but his hand is right at the top of her ass, warm and solid, and his fingers are stroking lightly along an invisible line, everything perfectly appropriate, not even remotely groping, and Darcy can’t breathe for how much more she wants.
Maybe Clint’s in the same place; he doesn’t say anything as they wait for the car or once they’re in it and moving. Darcy makes up for losing his touch on her back by tangling their fingers together on the gear shift, absently stroking the tips of her fingers over his, making patterns that skim along and over his calluses. It’s quiet and... not dreamy, but like they’re in their own private world.
He leans over and kisses her at the first light, and at the second, and by the third she’s whispering all the things she wants, everything she wants him to do to her, all the ways she wants him. By the fourth, he’s sliding his hand over her mouth because he says he can’t listen and drive. She smiles against his palm, and when he lets his hand slip down to trace along the edge of her neckline, she says, “Okay, but I’m still thinking it.”
He swears at her then, and for the rest of the (thankfully, almost finished) trip back to the Mansion, blowing through security with barely a nod for the agents on duty and not bothering to wait for the elevator. Her dress is off almost before his bedroom door closes behind them, but it’s nearly dawn before she loses the boots.
* * *
Clint has the most godawful ringtone, a loud, blaring klaxon that Darcy’s sure can wake the dead, which is basically the point, as it makes it impossible to accidentally sleep through an emergency call of the Avengers Assemble type. She almost levitates off the mattress when it goes off the next morning (or really, later that same morning, because as far as she can tell, they’ve been asleep for maybe two hours). Clint claws for it, slapping it on and snarling into it. Darcy hopes it’s Coulson or, well, anybody but Steve, because, wow, there’s some impressive vocabulary being employed. She knows Steve has to have heard it all before no matter that he still blushes sometimes, but honestly, she had no idea it was possible to work seven variations on ‘fuck’ into a two-second greeting. She pulls a pillow over her head. Clint will fill her in if he can; otherwise, she’ll get her ass up and get to a SHIELD network and read about it there. Either way, she might get another three minutes of sleep and that’s not something she’s prepared to give up this morning.
“Hell.” Clint drops back down next to her with a thud.
“Go-fight-team?” Darcy mumbles.
“Jesus, I wish,” Clint groans. Darcy peers out from under the pillow at him, waving at him impatiently because Godalmighty, he needs to get on with it so she can either go back to sleep or drag her ass into a shower. He finally takes the hint and says, “You know how I pissed Fury off last night and we got to leave early?”
Darcy mmms in agreement, because yes, she does indeed remember. She might have to ask Tony what kind of advances they’ve made on transferring memories to an AI because she’d like to keep this one forever.
“Yeah,” Clint says. “I might have managed that by asking him what his intentions were toward Natasha.”
“Oh, you did not,” Darcy says, sitting up and staring at him.
“Oh, I did,” Clint answers.
“So, are you transferred to Alaska? Or, no--”
“Nah, actually, Fury just told me he appreciated my concern for my teammate but to get the fuck out of his face, which is as good as telling us we could go--”
“Oh, god,” Darcy says, laughing so hard she has to lie back down. “That was Natasha, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Clint sighs. “Actually, that was my new hand-to-hand training coordinator. Who’s waiting for me in the gym. Now.” Darcy tries really hard to get herself under control but it’s pretty much hopeless. “I am so fucked.”
“Wow, so, good move going for Round Three before we quit,” Darcy says. “You’re going to be lucky if you can walk by tonight. I can’t believe she let you get away this long.”
“I told you she likes you.” Clint sighs again and rolls out of bed. This, happily enough, puts his ass at eye level, so Darcy gets (very, very, very) nice scenery while he hunts down some clothes.
“No, you idiot, she likes you.” Darcy reaches out and snags his arm, tugging him until he sits down on the edge of the bed. “Why’d you go have The Talk with Fury?” She knows why but she thinks maybe he needs to say it out loud.
“What?” Clint says. “Just because it’s Fury I’m supposed to lay low and not have her back?” He sits there in nothing but his boxers and righteous indignation, hair mashed up in fifteen different directions, and Darcy is in so far over her head she doesn’t have a prayer of finding her way back to anything that’s not tangled up with him. She is completely okay with that, though.
“No,” Darcy says, yawning. “Just tell her that, and y’know, try not to be a jerk about it and maybe she won’t cripple you too bad.”
“The level of sympathy and compassion in this room is overwhelming,” Clint mutters.
Darcy sits up and cups his jaw with one hand, drawing him in so she can kiss his mouth, until he relaxes and kisses her back. “I promise to kiss all your owies better,” she says. “Okay?”
“Swear?” Clint says, his eyes serious for all the ridiculousness of the conversation.
“Pinkie swear,” Darcy says, looping her little finger through his and dropping a kiss on them both. She’s just as serious, and after a couple of seconds, he nods and brushes a kiss of his own on the same spot. “You’re a good guy, Barton.”
Clint kisses her again, a proper one with enough teeth and tongue to make her shiver. He still looks at her like he’s expecting her to bail at any second, though.
“Go,” Darcy says, rolling over and getting comfortable. If she’s flashing a little--okay, a lot--of skin in the process, it’s entirely incidental. Kinda. “Go let Natasha kick your ass so she knows you love her. We can spend the whole day in bed after that if you want, and I promise not to laugh at you even once.”
“I’m holding you to that,” Clint says, and Darcy smiles, because win-win scenarios are the best.
1| 2a | 2b | 3 | 4
I don't even know, y'all, except it's been a really long couple of weeks and this kept me from completely losing it. My Avengers (especially Black Widow) come from a really long time ago (who knew skipping lunch so I could buy comic books in the 70s would turn out to be the gift that keeps giving?), with heavy shades from the current crop of movies, but it's impossible to tease out what I knew from the current canon, so I hope it all works for you, too.
Title from Bonnie Raitt's Rock Steady, at which Darcy rolls her eyes. Clint thinks she's awesome, though, so Darcy soldiers on.
Thanks to withdiamonds for reading along even though I probably should have given her visual aids to keep everyone straight and to without_me for wading into comic book het and fixing all my grammar/spelling/brain spaz issues. Seriously. Both of them deserve Best Fandom Friend awards for this one. :D
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The biggest thing for me though was how you developed the relationships between ALL of the characters. I loved the interaction and Thor's 'little sister' comment had me sighing in happiness. I am a dork, yes. But really, the reason I like these movies so much is the relationships between the characters and you created an extension of that with this fic. Although I want to read more about Steve and Natasha because although Nick Fury is a badass and all that, the dichotomy of Natasha and Steve is really just ridiculously charming. Also? LOVED the spanking comment. Because Darcy's response was going through my head before I read it. DAMN.
Not to be greedy but MORE please!? :)
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I never say never when it comes to sequels, and, like you, I can see the attraction of Steve/Natasha, so we'll have to see what bubbles up through my subconscious over the next few weeks.
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