Chapter Text
"So you're moving tomorrow?"
Mimi's words seemed more a Doomsday announcement than a positive life-change, and Darcy paused before answering. In the last few weeks she had gone back and forth over her situation a dozen times, or more, and yet she always came back to the same conclusion: it just plain made sense, practically, economically, every which way, for her to live in the same place she worked. Did she still have reservations over this decision? Of course she did; but she had made it, and she was sticking to it, come hell or high water...
Please let this not be hell, she thought, and cleared her throat.
"That's right," Darcy nodded, though her mother could not see her on the other side of the phone, and reached behind her for the packing tape. She had only two boxes worth of clothing to put away and then she was done --done!!-- until the movers showed up in the morning. The apartment looked more cluttered than ever, despite the majority of her things being boxed up; she figured it had something to do with her haphazard piling of said boxes. It was like the Leaning Tower of Pisa was being constructed in her living room. It would probably need the stabilization that the real one had needed, but for the moment, Darcy was just relieved that she had been able to pack everything so quickly, and without any help.
It wasn't that she could not have had half of SHIELD helping her out, had she asked. Despite the apparent simplicity of her job, due to her close proximity to the Avengers, she had a relatively high clearance level, and though she hesitated to set a bad example by abusing her authority, she easily recalled once upon a time using her influence to garner dinner reservations at a particularly elegant hotel restaurant when Kurtis came into town a few months prior.
In this instance, however, she found a sort of catharticism in packing up what had been her home these last six months. As crazy and chaotic as her life could sometimes be, painstakingly packing her books, scrubbing the bathroom floor, even wrapping up the projects that Cordi had done in kindergarten and first grade that she just could not bear to get rid of, all these simple domestic tasks helped Darcy to recall how normal she could be. And more than that, there was a simple delight to be found in recalling the origins of the trinkets she was packing.
Like the jewelry music box that plays a selection from Prokofiev's 'Romeo and Juliet;' it had been her first week in New York, and though she had map in hand, she was thoroughly and completely lost. The streets were criss-crossing, the buildings were towering, and though it wasn't Darcy's first time in a big city--she had taken a trip to DC with her eighth grade class, and had been to conferences in Seattle and Denver in her college years--it was her first time doing so alone. After wandering for a few hours, caught between wonder and a fear she refused to admit to aloud, she had passed by an antique shop and been caught by the tarnished bronze harp that sat in the window. She hadn't been able to afford the harp--though SHIELD paid well, she was still paying off school loans, and a seven-hundred-dollar harp she couldn't even play did not figure in to those expenses--but she had discovered a world of magic in that small shop, and the music box was only the first of many treasures she had discovered there these last few months.
Then there was the green and purple mask she wore for Mardi Gras; she had come into work late one day, her hair frizzy, her clothes wrinkled, bemoaning both the marital dispute going on upstairs that had kept her up all night, and the broken dryer in the laundry facilities that kept her clothes looking less than pristine, and then been shocked still as she entered the lab to see gold, purple, and green streamers and beads draped over everything. Dr Banner had only grunted something about "That maniac upstairs," and left her to sift through the glitter on her desk to find the files she had been working on the day before. Hidden beneath the majority of the streamers was a black velvet box with a note that said Happy Mardi Gras, D! inside which was a bejeweled mask which she had told Tony "had better damn well not be real emeralds and amethysts, Mr Stark," but wore cheerfully throughout the rest of the day anyway. Darcy had been the only one to give in to the insanity, leaving a few key members of the team (particularly Clint and Natasha) to worry about her mental health in proximity to Tony's influence, but her frizzy hair and wrinkled clothes had ceased to exist once she put the mask on and turned into the Louisiana debutante she imagined the mask would belong to, in a world less crazy than her own, that is.
Or the small green rubber turtle with big googly eyes that squeaked when squeezed. It was just a silly thing, really, just a child's toy, but it had shown up on her desk after one of the Big Guy's appearances, and she treasured it more than the jewels that she was certain Stark had forced upon her even though he claimed he had picked up the ornate mask at a shop a few blocks over.
As if Tony Stark would dare to set foot in some hokey little party store that sold paper ribbons and hole-punch confetti.
She smiled at the absurd notion, and then blinked as her mother said her name.
"Darcy, are you listening to me?"
She shook her head, taping up the box in front of her, and apologized, "Sorry, yeah. I'm just a little distracted with all this packing."
"Well, goodness, Darcy, you work with a bunch of superheroes, can't you just ask them to help you?"
Darcy shut her eyes, and just barely held back her sigh. Though she loved Mimi, she really wished that the woman had a bit more common courtesy bred in her. How her father had stood her world-on-a-silver-platter attitude for so long, she had no idea, but she gave him props for it anyway.
"Just because I work with them doesn't mean they're at my beck and call, Mom. And I'm sure they have better things to do than to help me pack, like, I don't know, save the world, perhaps?"
"Don't be smart with me, young lady."
"Mom."
"Well, really, Darcy. You do so much for them, they should be able to take some time to help you move in to your new place."
"I'm sure they will, Mom. But for today, I'm on my own."
"Well," she huffed out and Darcy almost laughed. Mimi was more dramatic than most women, and though she got on her nerves sometimes, she liked the change in pace from the scientific calm she dealt with every day. Every day when Tony Stark wasn't intruding, that is. "That's gratitude for you, I suppose."
"It's me who should be grateful to them, Mom. I mean, I'm getting a suite of rooms all to myself, free of charge."
"Well, yes. That reminds me, I'm going to need your new address."
Darcy blinked in confusion before asking, "Why on earth do you need my address, Mom?"
"What if I want to send you something, dear?"
"Like you've been sending me things since I moved out," she replied drily, to which Mimi snapped, "Well, I might. Come on, sweetheart. I'll write in down in my planner so I don't lose it."
Darcy was skeptic that she would use it anyway, but it didn't matter because she had to admit, "I don't know it."
"Don't--Darcy, how are you supposed to get any mail if you don't know your own address?"
"Geez, Mom. Cut me a break." She had known the address long enough to write it down on her change-of-address forms at the post office the week before, only to forget it as soon as she walked out the door. Especially in New York, knowing a specific address wasn't really that useful in the grand scheme of things. "I know the street corner; what more do I need?"
"Really, dear."
"If you want it so bad, just Google it. I mean, it's Stark Tower. I'm sure there's an address listed somewhere online."
"I suppose that will suffice."
"Yeah, Mom," Darcy grinned, knowing the smile would translate over the phone to peak her ire, but not caring. "Now you make sure you send me something fabulous, you hear?"
"I suppose. Now Darcy, sweetheart, I wondered if you--"
Darcy cut her off as her phone beeped at her, signalling another call. She didn't recognize the number, but she knew the tone of voice Mimi used when she was starting a lecture, and Darcy would rather avoid that if she could.
"Sorry, Mom. I have another call coming in. I'll talk to you later?" She didn't even wait for a reply, knowing Mimi would protest, before she switched lines. "This is Darcy, how can I help you?"
"You can tell my math teacher to give me an A for effort, for starters."
The grin nearly split her face it was so wide, and Darcy sat down on the linen-covered sofa, deciding to take a break for her new caller.
"If you're getting anything less than an A on your own merit, Cordelia, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ground you."
"That's a little harsh," the ten-year-old replied, but Darcy knew the pout in her voice was fake, so she answered in turn, "For as much as you love math, hon, I'd be pretty suspicious if you started getting bad grades."
"Well, of course I won't. I do love math," she admitted, the pout still there, and Darcy almost laughed out loud. If she hadn't known better, she might have doubted her words at the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. Numbers had fascinated Cordi, though, since before preschool, even. She would count all her toys, mix them up, and then give each toy the same number, despite being out of order, before she started from one again and changed her sequence. Darcy, who had been taking college algebra courses at the time, had read her math book aloud to the young girl when she was having trouble falling asleep, hoping it would bore the then-four-year-old as much as it bored her, but those turquoise eyes had lit up as she spoke, and after several weeks of Cordi staying up too late to watch her do math homework, Darcy switched to reading her poli-sci books out loud. The result was almost instantaneous; Cordi fell asleep within five minutes, and though Darcy could admit she rather enjoyed the companionship during that god-awful algebra homework, she much preferred a healthy, sleeping child. That child was now trying to make a case against her love of math. "It's really easy, though, since I'm not in the advanced class this term, and I just know that if you talk to the teacher, then I can just relax and work on the great American novel instead."
"Oh, I see," Darcy nodded and grinned. Cordi had recently finished reading The Great Gilly Hopkins, and though she had loved the novel, she was certain that she could do better. She had been bouncing ideas off of her for the last two weeks, and Darcy was almost convinced that she would be better than Ms Paterson. And since she was just in the regular math classes --that had been a source of some contention between Darcy and Mimi, who had insisted that Cordi needed the art class she was taking more than the advanced math that would have conflicted with it since the teacher was only there for two hours a day-- she could probably get away with half-assing it for part of the class and then working on her novel for the remainder of that time. Rather than suggest such an inconsistent practice, however, Darcy had to insist that her regular schooling take precedence, no matter how the young girl was grating under the restriction. She offered instead, "Get an A in your math class, and I'll see about finding a writing program to enroll you in, okay?"
She could almost see the girl bouncing as she asked excitedly, "Really? Really, really?"
"Yes, really," Darcy laughed before she glanced down at her watch and frowned. "What time is it there? Aren't you at school right now? And whose phone is this, by the way?"
The girl sighed before responding matter-of-factly, "It's a quarter past eleven, I'm on my lunch break, and I borrowed Missy's phone."
"Missy," she frowned a moment, trying to place a face with the name. "That would be the girl that likes to draw, yes?"
"That's right."
"And she has a cellphone, at her age?"
"Her parents are divorced. They need to get ahold of her when she's with the other, I guess."
"Ouch," Darcy winced and Cordi hummed a little note of sympathy. Though they were fully grown when things between them had fallen apart, Olive and Darcy had been front and center of their parents' divorce, due to their at-home status. Kurtis had just entered high school, so he felt the worst of it, she knew. She thanked God every day that Cordi had been too young to remember the epic fights Mimi and their dad had had. "Well, you make sure to thank her properly for letting you borrow her phone, okay?"
"Duh, Okaa-san."
Darcy laughed out loud at the term; since the day before her birthday, she had called her by the Japanese title, even when she could get away with a simple 'Mom,' and Darcy was almost starting to think the term better than its English counterpart.
"I'm just trying to remind you of the rules, hon."
"Yeah, yeah. Rule number two, always say thank you. I got it."
"Good. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this mid-lunch call?"
"You're getting ready to move tomorrow, right?"
"That's true," she nodded, and wondered how she was going to sleep tonight since her mattress was already in the hall. "Big day."
"Mimi said I shouldn't talk to you again until you're all moved it, so I don't distract you."
Darcy went cold and then hot as the words reverberated in his brain, before forcing a smile to her voice as she said gently, "Cord, you can call my anytime. Anytime. Day or night, I don't care. I like you as a distraction."
"She's taking away my phone and Skype privileges for the next few days."
"She--"
Count to ten, Darcy told herself as she inhaled sharply.
One.
The woman was absolutely nuts.
Two.
What the hell was she thinking, keeping Cordi from talking to her own mother?
Three.
She was going to get a hell of a talking to after this call, that's for damn sure.
Four.
Cordi, a distraction? Bullshit. She was--
"Are you counting, Okaa-san?"
Her smile was brittle as she replied, "Yes. I'm on five. And it's not working. That woman--"
"How about I steal Aunt Olive's phone? She'll probably be too drunk to notice."
Darcy choked back a laugh; her older sister was not only loose in her relationships, she was rather loose in her social habits, and Darcy recalled the horror that was karaoke with a bunch of tone-deaf drunks, before she had put her foot down and said she would drop her off and pick her up, but she wasn't coming inside the bar again. Still, though she was uncomfortable with her sister's lifestyle, especially with her proximity to Cordi, she didn't want her daughter thinking she could gossip about the woman freely, and so she added a censuring tone to her voice.
"Cordelia. That is no way to talk about your aunt."
"But it's true. And you know it."
"Be that as it may, you still need to show her respect. What's rule number seven?"
The girl sighed over the phone before answering, "Respect your aunt and uncle, no matter how crazy they are."
"That's right."
She smiled at the thought; she rarely had to remind the girl of that rule concerning her Uncle Kurtis --she simply adored the young man who showered her with presents whenever he visited her. The respect she demanded her to show went easily hand in hand with that adoration. Olive, on the other hand...
"But she's getting worse, Okaa-san."
"Well, then, I will try and talk to her. But I don't want to hear about you sassing her."
"Like she would notice," she muttered and Darcy frowned.
"Cord, hon. I know it's tough being surround by that...by our family. But we have these rules for a reason, remember?"
"To protect the peace and harmony of life," she recited monotonously. "We sound like a Disney film."
"And you love Disney."
"Still...so is that a no to stealing Aunt Olive's phone, then?"
Darcy's frown deepened a moment before a sparkle flashed in her sea green eyes, and she suggested slyly, "Steal Mimi's instead. Use up all of her info downloading cartoons or something."
"Really?"
"Sure," Darcy shrugged. "Though I'm sure you'll have your communication privileges back shortly anyway. But still, go ahead and steal hers. Serve her right."
The young girl laughed, and Darcy felt all the tension and worry about her mother and the move float away as the girl started on about the new book they were reading in her English class.
~ + ~ + ~ + ~
Steve had been utterly appalled upon his arrival at Darcy's apartment the next morning when he realized that A, her bed was packed away, B, she had slept in a sleeping bag on the floor, and C, she had done all of the packing by herself.
"You should have called me! I'm strong. I can lift and I can carry and I--"
She had laughed at him, reaching up to pat him lightly on the cheek before assuring him that it hadn't been a problem. She was small, but she was mighty, and really, who needed superpowers to move out of their apartment?
The general consensus was that she did, as Tony, who had surprised her by showing up at all, considering it was before ten and there was nothing scientific involved in the moving process, nor was there the likelihood of him getting himself in the news, had tried to calculate just how precise she would have had to be to get those piles of boxes leaning like that. Assuming, of course, she had done so on purpose, which she had not, so she just rolled her eyes, and started lugging things out and down to the moving van with Steve pestering her about how she shouldn't carry so much, and he could carry it all if she just told him how to arrange things. It had only taken her one trip of indulging him for him to see what she had already figured out: a man carrying five boxes in one go, even one with as fine a figure as Steve's, was unusual, and people would stop and gawk and wonder, and if he wasn't careful, Tony might get his five minutes of fame after all, and then he'd be even more intolerable for at least the next week. Tony, who was apparently only there in a supervisory position --"Someone's gotta keep you kids in line."-- had his customary pair of sunglasses on, but as often as he wore them, they wouldn't do a thing to shield him from recognition, and though she could tell it bothered Steve to only carry one box at a time while she carried one as well, keeping him from lessening her load, he didn't utter a single complaint the rest of the morning.
And now they were just packing up the bedframe, which Tony had decided to help with, since it was the last to go in the van after the saggy old couch and a desk that had probably seen better days as well, and for the first time that morning, Darcy wondered where the rest of the team was.
"Agents Barton and Romanoff are assisting in the final clean-up of your new apartment," Steve said, maneuvering his end of the frame easily into the truck as Tony breathed heavily, slightly winded, though he wouldn't admit it, by the haul down the stairs.
He added a glare to the heavy breathing and rolled his eyes in contempt.
"I told those idiots that everything was in order, but Hawkeye apparently doesn't trust my cleaning robots."
Darcy raised a brow and couldn't help a smile as she asked, "You have cleaning robots?"
"I was bored last night," he shrugged, and grunted as he shoved the last bit of the frame into the truck. "Damn, moving sucks. This is why we hire professionals, D."
"As if you're not perfectly capable," she retorted lightly, before frowning. "You made new robots last night? Just for cleaning?"
"I told you, I was bored. And of course I'm capable. I'm freaking Iron Man."
"You might want to lower your voice, Stark," Steve warned softly as he leapt down from the truck, landing lightly on his feet before turning and pulling down the steel door. Tony and Darcy glanced around to see a couple on the corner staring at the group with considering frowns upon their faces, and Darcy looped her arm through Tony's to pull him around the truck to the driver's side. He and Steve had been dropped off by Happy earlier, and he had demanded to drive the van once he realized that Happy would be working with Pepper the rest of the day. Steve, who despite knowing how to handle any number of vehicles was still more comfortable walking, did not complain, and Darcy was happy to have any excuse to rest before she had to unpack.
"Yeah, yeah, you're freaking Iron Man," she muttered as she opened the door and jumped in, pulling him along with her so she was in the center seat and he was in the driver's. "So you shouldn't complain about a little moving."
"But I had to get up early."
"So I should have hired professionals because what, you didn't get your beauty sleep?"
He scowled at her a minute before a grin crossed his face, and he started the engine as Steve hopped in the passenger side.
"You're feisty this morning, D. I like it."
"Since I'm sure you meant that as a compliment, I'm going to say thank you."
"You're welcome," he nodded, and eased the van smoothly into traffic. Tony Stark may have been pampered, but he drove like a pro, no matter if it was a stock car or a fourteen-foot truck, and Darcy admitted a grudging respect for his prowess. The man wasn't an idiot, as much as he acted like one, and she really was grateful for his help, and so she said so.
"Thanks, too, for coming out here. And for the apartment at the tower. It means a lot."
"Hell, you're practically one of the guys," he shrugged. "You shouldn't have to walk six blocks to hang out with us."
"It's five and a half," she corrected, but she was smiling now and she relaxed back in her seat. "Though now you mention it, I'm probably going to have to buy a treadmill or something to make up for that."
"I can have one brought up to your apartment, no problem."
"Tony..."
There was a warning tone to her voice that wasn't often heard, but both Tony and Steve knew what it meant. Darcy didn't like any favors, had accepted the offer of the apartment after much duress and discussions of the pros and cons --the real ones, not the silly things like her iPod or an endless supply of world-class coffee, when she wasn't out buying Starbucks, that is-- and any more special favors might tip the scales against those who bestowed them upon her. Tony was brave, though, or perhaps foolhardy, and he sent her a censuring look in return.
"D. You've been working here six months. Jane swears by you, the blonde lightning prince calls you his Shield Babe--"
"Shield Sister," she said, but laughed as he went on.
"The twin assassins think you're amazing, and the Big Guy loves you. I think you've earned yourself a couple of bonuses, and a treadmill is nothing in comparison."
She'd stilled at the mention of Dr Banner's alter ego --she was certain he hadn't meant the man himself-- but breathed easy as he finished.
"I'm keeping track of all the nice things you do for me, Tony."
"Nice?" He shot a glare her direction before driving into the underground parking garage beneath the tower. "I'm not nice, D. I just give credit where credit is due. How the hell else do you think the Captain and I get along?"
She and Steve both laughed at that, but Darcy was determined to get her position clear when Tony put the van in park and jumped out, leaving her glaring at the empty space he had just occupied.
"You really should just say thank you, Darcy," Steve said softly from beside her, and she barely managed to mask her surprise as she turned back to him. He rarely, if ever, called her by her first name, and that
he did now made her feel off-balanced and a little confused. "You're more help than you know. Sure, people like Stark and Fury give you a hard time, maybe make you wonder what you're even doing here in the first place," he laughed softly at that, and she wondered if he was talking about her or himself when he went on, "But you have a purpose here. And both SHIELD and the Avengers wouldn't be the same without you, Darcy."
She took a slow breath as she tried to keep her eyes from watering, opening her mouth to say something that would surely come out sentimental and sappy and over-the-top, when her train of thought was jolted by a pounding on the passenger side door.
"You two gonna help unload this thing or should we leave you to your little love fest?"
Darcy blushed and scowled even as Clint grinned through the window at them, and she slid out the open driver's door before he could say anything else that might make her want to slap him. She wasn't sure he was so safe anyway, considering the colors that Steve was turning, and though she might have wanted a bit of a show, she would honestly rather get all the lifting and carrying out of the way before anything else happened. She still had a last meeting with her super back at the old apartment to make sure there weren't any last-minute things she had left behind, or damages that she would have to pay for --she shuddered at the thought-- before turning in her key. The fast this was done, the faster she could get that done.
She reached the back of the moving van to find a rather eclectic collection of workers. Tony was directing Natasha and Jane's assistant Kyle with the bedframe, and Darcy paused a moment, wondering how she could be that strong and still look as thin and lithe as Natasha did before she grabbed a corner beside Kyle and smiled. Clint and Steve came around the corner, bickering good-naturedly, and Jane already had one of the smaller boxes in her arms as she walked to the garage's elevator. A few extra SHIELD agents were pulling her sofa off the truck, long-suffering expressions on their face, and Darcy wondered who had threatened them into helping out.
"Here's to moving day, huh?" she asked Kyle and then laughed out loud.
The biggest pro of all was clear.
She wasn't just surrounded by superheroes and genius scientists.
She was surrounded by friends.