Chapter Text
On Friday Darcy inherited a secret lair, on Monday she made an offer on the property to build another. Who didn't need two secret bases?
When she took Tony to the site in Williamsburg, he walked around the block once, scratched at his chin, looked at Manhattan, looked at the hole in the ground, shrugged and said "buy it". Gloria, the real estate agent, who hadn't stopped gawping at Tony since they pulled up, was on her phone faster than Darcy had ever seen another human being move.
On Tuesday they brought Pepper down for a more thorough evaluation, but in the end she said the same thing. Or, actually, she said "it looks like a sound real estate investment". Gloria laughed and cried and hugged them all. And DL Holdings, LLP was born (the name wasn't her choice; Pepper got fed up with waiting for her to come up with something, and apparently Pew Pew Pew Property wasn't an acceptable option).
On Wednesday morning she told Bucky he had a bar. He looked like he wanted to kiss her. Honestly, she wouldn't have stopped him. But, then he'd just smirked and pulled a notepad from his pocket and started sketching plans. Well, somebody was happy, at least. Because Wednesday afternoon didn't do her any favors.
"It's funny how when Bucky started talking to me again, you stopped."
Darcy scrunched her nose and didn't look up as Steve walked through the common room. So, maybe it wasn't an ideal place to work, but the walls of her office were starting to close in and the suits kept staring at her; plus, she was tired of hiding. Maybe she wasn't actively seeking out Steve, but she wasn't going to avoid him anymore. Her head was clear enough to face it now. Mostly.
She did, however, keep her eyes focused on the laptop balanced on her knees while she attempted to write a 'real' report. One of the many boxes in the garage contained her journal from 1946, and while she'd love to just hand it to Phil, he was still irked enough that she thought she'd probably better properly format it and crap. A Captain America comic signed by Peggy Carter was only going to buy her so much grace.
"I take it you don't mean funny 'ha ha'," she muttered.
"Not really," Steve said, dropping onto the couch across from her.
"I don't think the two are related."
"No?" He sounded doubtful with his tone just edging into annoyed.
"No." She glanced at him and pasted on a smile. "I'm glad you're talking, though. Finally, huh?"
Steve pursed his lips. "Yeah. It's good to have him back."
"I'm happy for you."
"Thanks."
Darcy shifted uncomfortably on the loveseat. It seemed like now was the time for the Conversation. Time to stop putting it off. So, of course, she put it off a little longer. "Did he show you were he wants to put his bar?"
Steve was silent for a second or two. "No, not yet."
"We made an offer Monday. Dad and Pepper and I went down there. It's good. But, he was way over the moon about the place for the bar," she said, trying for conversational, trying to ease her way into this. "Was that always a thing with him? Like, back in the day, did he talk about getting a bar?"
"No," Steve said, still short and clipped with his answers.
With a sigh, she pressed her lips together, and stared at the screen for another minute before shutting the laptop and sliding it onto the coffee table next to a pair of journals. Her eyes lingered on the pair. Steve deserved an explanation, he deserved the truth, he did not deserve to have her talk him in circles. Peggy said be honest. "Okay, let's do this."
With a sharp nod, Steve sat forward on the couch, his forearms braced across his knees. "If I've pushed, Darcy, it's only because I'm worried. You've been through a lot recently. I want to make sure you're okay."
She smiled at him and said, "I'm grateful. Really."
"If it was me, you'd have been all over me about it."
"That is actually true," she said with a small laugh.
"So …" Steve glanced up at her from under his lashes. "You talked to Tony? About everything?"
"Everything."
"Did it help?" he asked, his brow furrowing with curiosity.
"It did, actually. It helped both of us, I think," she assured him. Tony actually laughed about his dad, and for a little while Howard wasn't as painful and awkward a subject as he usually was. It felt healing, and she hoped it actually was.
Steve let out a long breath and offered her a small smile. "Good."
Chewing on her upper lip, Darcy thought about how best to bring this up and follow Peggy's advice to look him in the eye. Picking up the journals, she stood and circled the coffee table to perch on the end nearest him. It was hard to stand up straight when they were both sitting, but she could adapt, and it wasn't right to leave even the small table between them.
"The attack," she started after a deep breath. "The device Hydra used was part of a larger machine; the thing Red Skull used to funnel the Tesseract energy into his weapons."
Steve frowned at that. She supposed he wasn't expecting to have that part of his history brought up. "Schmidt."
"The SSR took possession of a lot of that stuff after the war. They kept some of it housed in a secure bunker at Ft. Drum, including that box."
His spine straightened and his eyes narrowed. "They broke into Ft. Drum?"
She gave him a thin smile. "Not recently. Which I will explain. I need you to hear me all the way through, okay?"
"Of course," he said without hesitation.
"I was gone for 8 seconds, but for me it was longer. We haven't entirely figured out what happened. My dad has theories. Jane has theories. Dad and Jane together are driving me nuts with their theories. But the how doesn't matter, I guess," she said with a shrug.
"What seems to have happened is that the idiots messed with the box in a very particular way, and it caused a containment breach releasing some of the concentrated, stored energy that was left over from the machine's operation. I'm sure they were really hoping for an explosion. And in 1946 a group of Hydra idiots screwed with the box in the exact same way, and the energy release connected with itself at two different points in time. I got caught up in the connection. It's a pretty suck trip, and while once was bad, twice was f'ing brutal. It took about a week for my head to stop ringing."
"1946?" he echoed, bewildered.
Raising her eyes to his, she explained, "In those eight seconds, I spent three and a half months in 1946. I was with Peggy and Howard."
His nostrils flared a little and his expression took on aggravated edge, one that suggested he thought she was lying. "That's not exactly funny, Darcy."
"It's not funny at all," she agreed. "It's the truth, though. At first I didn't believe it. Who would? I thought it was some sick Hydra trick. See, they broke into Pine Camp — Ft. Drum — and into that SSR bunker. They messed with the box as they were stealing it, and that's where I landed. I spent two days in the camp hospital, unconscious, and when I woke up, the SSR sent Peggy and Daniel Sousa to question me. I didn't believe it, until I saw Peggy. Did I ever tell you I met her when I was a kid?"
"No," Steve said in a low, strained voice.
"She waited for a me for a long, long time," Darcy said, half to herself. Oh Peggy. "Anyway, eventually Howard turned up. I convinced him he was my grandfather. Somehow. Peggy, you won't be shocked to know, was harder to convince." She laughed a little and gave him a conspiratorial smile, but he didn't respond, just stared back at her still bewildered and a little irritated.
Darcy cleared her throat and nodded; none of that was relevant, not to what she needed to say to him. "I didn't tell them about you, Steve. I left you in the ice."
Bewilderment faded and something that looked horribly like betrayal was growing in his eyes. The muscles on the side of his jaw bunched and twitched. "Why?"
"When I realized where I really was, when I got past the craziness of it, I had to think about everything from there to here. Every step. Every event that I knew about. And I had to think about all the ones I didn't know about. And then I had to make the best decision I could."
Peggy told her to be honest with him, but also with herself. And that second part was probably the one that was the most difficult. Because, while she hated that she had to hurt him, at no point did she truly doubt the need. Nothing and nobody forced her to make that choice, she made it all on her own. Accepting, really accepting that and not just being defensive about the choice she made, yes, that was difficult.
"I lived with Peggy for three weeks, and then we both moved in with Howard. I saw her every day. I let her believe you were dead. And for one hundred and eleven days, I woke up every morning and made the same choice all over again."
She leaned towards him and started to reach for one of his hands, but he pulled back. "I am so very sorry, Steve. I am so truly, deeply sorry that the decision I felt I had to make was the one where I left you. Every single day I tried to think of a way around it. Every single day I tried to think through all the things that might happen if I just said where you were. And every single day I couldn't find a way out."
Steve's jaw had gone rock hard, and he looked away from her.
Licking her lips, she glanced down at the books still in her hands — records of that insane story, of its reality, when it would be so much easier just to pretend it was all a weird fever dream — and continued. "When I joined SHIELD, Phil and Fury, and even Natasha, they all talked about sacrifice. The need for sacrifice. I thought for a long time that sacrifice meant giving something up, but it turns out it can mean letting something happen, no matter how much you wish things could be different. Because, I left you, and I left Bucky, and I left Howard to be murdered by Hydra. And I lived with those things for each one of those one hundred and eleven days."
Steve rocketed to his feet, the suddenness of the move startling her enough that she almost fell backwards off the coffee table. He took a handful of long steps away then spun around to face her again.
"I don't understand this," he said through clenched teeth, his breath speeding up with his agitation.
Darcy set the journals down and stood with him. "I didn't do it to be cruel, Steve. I did it because it was the kindest thing I could think to do."
His face darkened and his voice rose, "How the hell is that kind?"
"Because of all the things I couldn't know and all the things I did know. It wasn't just about you. It was about Bucky, too, and Howard, and my dad," she tried to explain. "And, I thought today needed you more."
"That wasn't your decision to make," he shot back. "That was mine."
"And you made that decision when you put the bomber in the ocean," she pointed out gently. "How do I have the right to change this present? That wasn't my decision to make, either. I could only do the best I could to preserve what I knew."
"What you knew," he repeated with a heated growl. And there was Captain America, and boy, he was pissed. "Does Bucky know you left him with Hydra?"
That sent a sharp, prickling wash of pain over her skin. Bucky might have forgiven her, but it still made her sick to think that she couldn't spare him any of that. For some idiotic reason, she wasn't expecting him to bring up Bucky. But that was dumb; of course he would. Of course that ate at him, too. His best friend in Hydra's hands while he slept in the ice.
"Does he know?" Steve demanded again, when she didn't respond.
"I know you're upset, Steve—"
"You're damned right I am."
"But, that's between me and Bucky," she continued past his outburst.
He ran a hand over his hair and gaped at her. "I can't believe you."
"I can't believe you'd think I'd want to leave either of you," she said wearily. His pain hurt, but so did that. Could he think she was so cold-blooded or callous that it wouldn't bother her to leave them? "I got a letter from Howard a few days ago. I couldn't get through it all. Bucky read it."
"Do you have any idea what they did to him?"
"Come on, Steve," she sighed. "You know that I do. Tell me you don't believe I didn't think about that every day. Tell me you don't think I didn't hate that."
"I could have saved him before …" he trailed off and looked ill, his jaw starting to quake.
"And he could have killed you," Darcy pointed out, trying to give him a taste, a hint of the scope of the problem she wrangled with day by day in 1946. "He could have killed Peggy. He could have killed Howard before Tony was even born. And then what? I didn't know. I couldn't know. Can you understand?"
"You just … just left him," Steve muttered quietly. He looked shocked and horribly betrayed. "Left us."
Her voice cracked and quavered when she spoke, "I know what I took from you, but you were safe, Steve. You were safe and asleep. And that was the best I could do."
"You have no idea what you took," he told her, his voice shaking, almost cracking, and his eyes too shiny for her to meet them anymore. "You have no idea," he trailed off and took a deep, stuttering breath.
"I went to see Peggy last week. She's my friend, Steve. Two weeks before that I was at a Christmas party with her in 1946. And she was laughing at Howard. And we were drinking wine and telling stories and we were …" Darcy bit her lip. "And then all those decades vanished in 8 seconds. She kept my secrets for so many years."
A slow pallor washed down over his cheeks. "Did she know?"
"No, Steve. God, no," she hurried to assure him. He didn't need to believe he was twice betrayed. "She didn't know you were alive. But, she kept other secrets. We had a run in with the Winter Soldier. I couldn't … I couldn't save him."
Darcy rolled her head on her shoulders, the queasy dread of that night twisting in her stomach again, and dropped her eyes to the floor. "Peggy knew about Bucky, and she looked for him. All that time she looked for him, and she kept his name out of the files. He was just the Winter Soldier. She kept Bucky as safe as she could, so he could come home one day. I promised her he'd come home one day."
Steve ran the back of one hand across his mouth and shook his head. "I need to think about this."
"Sure," Darcy said, swallowing heavily but trying to smile her understanding. "It's a lot."
"A lot. Yeah, it sure is," he choked on a grim laugh. "I don't know what to say, Darcy. I need time."
Bending down, she picked up the two journals again and turned them in her hands. "Would it help to read Peggy's report?"
"She wrote a report?"
"Of course she did. She's Peggy Carter." Darcy held the journals out to him. "The other one is mine. I've already scanned them both, so you can have them. I'm working on my report for Phil now. A real one."
Steve's jaw started to tremble again and his chin dimpled as he tried to keep hold of an insane swirl of emotions. God, she hated she had to do that to him. After a moment's hesitation, he plucked the journals from her hand, then met her eyes briefly and nodded once before he turned and walked out.
Darcy threw herself back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. While she felt lighter, having finally faced a confrontation she'd tormented herself with for months, she also felt sick to her stomach. She reached for her phone.
Bucky picked up on the third ring. "Hey, doll. What's up?"
"I told him," she said quietly, laying back on the couch and closing her eyes.
"How'd it go?"
"I … uh." Rubbing at her forehead, she grimaced. "I think I made Captain America cry."
"You had to tell him," Bucky said firmly. He'd already had one round of her guilt, it sounded like he was determined to nip a second in the bud.
"I know, I know," she admitted. "And it was good to get it out there. But, still. I never wanted to hurt him, but I keep doing it."
"No, you don't," he said with a sigh.
"I really kind of do." Darcy drew in a long breath and rubbed her nose. "I think he could probably use some time with you now."
Bucky was silent for a moment. "Okay. Does he have a fancy phone like yours I can track?"
"He's got an iPhone. Just to annoy my dad, I'm pretty sure. But, you can call him, you know. Or, you do have Jarvis."
Darcy moved the receiver away from her mouth and called out. "Jarvis, can you find Steve for Bucky if he needs to? Cap needs a friend right now." Steve was very clear about not wanting to be tracked by his phone. For emergencies only. This might not be a big emergency, but it was a mission of compassion.
Jarvis accepted that implied reasoning and said, "Of course. I'll send the information to your phone, Sergeant."
"Thanks," Bucky muttered. He hadn't really got the hang of talking to Jarvis.
"I gave him my report. And Peggy's," Darcy continued. "Maybe give him an hour to read them then call?"
"I've got him, Darce," he said patiently.
Despite the heavy air still lingering in the room, she found herself smiling. "You're a real stand-up guy, you know that, Barnes?"
"Sure," he said with an amused snort. "Hey, can I ask a question?"
"Go for it."
"When you ran into me in 1946, what were you wearing?"
Darcy frowned and wondered if maybe he was remembering, or trying to. Maybe he shouldn't? Well, except he could take comfort in knowing he didn't seriously hurt anybody on that mission, at least. "Some black tactical jumpsuit thing. Why?"
"Good," he muttered. "I've been thinking it was a crying shame I don't remember 1946, because I've been picturing you dolled up like Rosalind Russel. I'd hate to miss that."
Clapping her hand over her mouth, Darcy laughed until she couldn't breath. "Are you kidding me?" she forced past her stupid breathless chortling.
"No," he said with a laugh of his own. "I'll talk to you later, Darce."
She chuckled for a few more minutes, she would not admit it was a giggle. No way, no how. But, she did take the time to let the day wash over her, and even with everything with Steve, the dopey smile still pulled at her lips. Oh, God, she probably looked like an idiot.
It had been a long time since she'd really fallen for a guy. A really long time. Not since freshman year in college when she started seeing Jesse Mazur. She and Jesse dated almost a year; it was as serious a relationship as you could have when you were nineteen and not entirely serious. That kind of relationship where it was just nice to have somebody and they'd had fun. Until Tony was kidnapped and Darcy's grief and fear crippled her to such a degree that she shut everything and everybody out.
Those three months were such a weird, hazy spot in her memory. Fear was sharp in her mind, but everything else was shrouded in gauze, leaving only vague impressions. Even the day Jesse broke up with her — after a Halloween party she'd been cajoled into attending, but she'd been as much a ghost as any specter stirring that evening — was only a brief blip in that haze, and all she felt afterwards was a sense of relief. Like the end of the relationship was one less burden on her shoulders.
Wincing at the memory of Jesse, she admitted that that was not a time in her life when she was her best self. Still, somehow she didn't think she'd feel anything like relief if Bucky bailed. But, Bucky wasn't Jesse, and she wasn't nineteen anymore. Hard to tell, though, because she still couldn't make the stupid grin on her face go away. Steve told her once that Bucky was good at pulling him out of a funk. It seemed, despite the heavier, darker weight to him now, he hadn't lost that.
After allowing herself another minute to smile like a moron, she forced her thoughts back to her report. Which turned out to be a really freaking good buzzkill. Sighing, she sat up and picked up the computer again.
Which is when the man perched above the room finally spoke up. "1946?"
Startled, her whole body jerked, and with flailing arms, she only just managed to catch the laptop before it flew off her knees. Hugging it to her chest, she glared up at the catwalk that circled the common room. "Christ, Barton. What the hell?"
"I thought you knew I was here," he said from his perch, his legs dangling over the edge of the platform, a bottle of beer next to him.
"Honestly, had no idea," she admitted, steadying her breathing. "I would have spared you, if I'd known."
"I wondered why," he muttered thoughtfully and drained his beer.
She squinted up at a him. "What are you doing up there?"
"Just watching the city."
"Is it looking shifty?"
He chuckled and stood up. "Always."
"Were you up there before I got here?" That would be super embarrassing. He might not be her SO anymore, but she probably should have checked if there were other people around. Like, that was Day One of training — being mindful of your surroundings.
"No," he said with a shrug. "I came in about an hour ago. You were saying mean things to your computer; it seemed personal. I didn't want to interrupt." He crossed the catwalk and clambered down the stairs. Pausing at the bar, he tossed her a look over his shoulder, "You want a beer? I think you could probably use one." Clint didn't wait for her response before grabbing two more.
Darcy sighed and shoved the computer back on the coffee table. Phil would have to wait a little longer. "How lucky are you that you're always around when I argue with Steve?"
"The luckiest," Clint said, popping the caps off on the counter. "Truthfully, I didn't really want to overhear that, but also didn't want to interrupt that, either." He walked over to drop onto the couch next to her and handed her a beer. "That was crazy awkward, though. Like it went bad before I could move. And then, I was just stuck all 'shit, what do I do?' Wave? Say 'hey guys?'. I couldn't sneak out, you'd have seen me on the stairs." He paused and scratched at his chin. "I could have rappelled down a different part of the catwalk, I guess. I don't know. Crazy awkward."
"I'm sorry," Darcy said, brushing back her hair and leaning back against the cushions, cradling the bottle.
"Yeah, don't worry about it." He brushed off her apology and tipped the neck of his bottle towards her, waiting until she clinked it back with her own. "You want to talk about it?"
She groaned and took a sip of her beer. "I'm talked out."
"You? Talked out?" He opened his eyes wide in faux shock. "Damn. That's it, the world's ending. Better kiss our asses good-bye."
"Shut up," she muttered, but couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. Speaking of people who were good at pulling her out of a funk.
He was quiet for a moment, taking another pull off his bottle, before finally speaking, "1946."
Darcy puffed up her cheeks and blew out a tired breath. She might be talked out, but it looked like Clint wasn't. "1946. You want to read the reports?"
"Sure," Clint said with a shrug, like he didn't really care one way or the other. "Coulson's fried, but that's just because he's worried."
Darcy winced. "You talked to him, too?"
"He's been on the horn with all of us. He even called Thor."
"Really?" Her eyebrows shot up. That seemed unexpected. Though, they liked each other so she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised. "Thor hasn't said anything to me."
"I guess he didn't like the request," Clint said with a shrug. "He rumbled about it; like, that thunderstorm last week? Totally Thor. Something about keeping confidences and respecting you. I don't know."
"Huh."
"No clue." Clint took a long pull of his beer and then set the bottle on his knee, turning it slowly in his long fingers. "You hung out with Peggy Carter."
"I did."
"You talk about me at all?"
Darcy snorted a laugh and nudged his thigh with her knee. "It's all about you, Barton."
"I'm serious." And he was. Her laugh faded and she considered him. "Did you?"
Tilting her head, studying him, she told him, "I didn't give last names or anything, but sure, I talked about you. I talked about Rico. Thor."
"Natasha?"
"Yeah," Darcy admitted. "I learned about the program. The one Natasha was put in when she was a kid."
"The Red Room," Clint said with a clipped nod.
"Is that what it was called?" Darcy grimaced. That sounded benign, yet horrible. "That part I didn't know. The Howling Commandos ran into one of their training sites earlier in the year. And there was an assassin Peggy'd tangled with a few times. Dottie Underwood."
"I've heard of her," he said, but his tone was bland, not giving anything away.
"Peggy and I figured it out at the same time, I guess. It was funny. Howard wanted to test the mansion's security, so we played a little infiltration game. You'd be proud of me, I totally kicked Commando ass. I killed Morita, Dernier, Howard, and Jarvis. And totally dodged Peggy and Dugan."
He gave her a small smile, but there was something going on behind his eyes. "Good work, trainee."
"Dugan said I reminded him of a little girl at the training site, then Underwood came up. I put it together. And I'd mentioned how one of my SOs was an assassin, so Peggy had all the pieces, too." She sighed and dropped her head to the back of the couch. "I tried not to change anything, you know. But, I needed to talk to somebody."
"Hey, you couldn't do better than Peggy Carter," Clint said with a pat on her shoulder. "I know Peggy."
"I figured," Darcy murmured. "I went to see her last week."
"I heard. I heard it all," he said, tossing her a smirk. He still looked thoughtful, but unlike Steve, he didn't look even sort of traumatized. Which was really nice.
"She wants you to go see her."
Clint pressed his lips tightly together and drummed his fingers on his bottle, and then he laughed. "God, I bet she does. Peggy Carter, man."
"Yeah, okay, so what is that about?" Darcy demanded. In the haze of emotional exhaustion, she'd forgotten about Peggy's instruction to tell Clint.
"Sure, sure, but first I need you to stand up." He stood himself and put his beer bottle down, then he waved for her to do the same.
"Why?" she asked, narrowing her eyes with suspicion. Clint huffed and pulled the bottle out of her hand and set it down next to his. Then he reached for her arms, tugging her to stand. "Clint," she said his name with a low, warning growl.
"Shut up, I have to hug you." And he did, wrapping her in a tight bear hug before she could do more than squawk in surprise.
"Okay, why are we hugging?" Darcy asked into his shirt, he was really holding on, it was a little tough to breathe, but she put her arms around him and patted his back.
"Because you're awesome," he mumbled.
"That's true, but that's true every day of the week," Darcy muttered, trying to get some space in the crushing hug. She appreciated the hug, Clint was great with hugging, but he was kind of clinging now, and that was a little weird. "Why today?"
"Because seventeen years ago next month I joined SHIELD."
Which was a random bit of nothing, a weird non-answer. It sure as hell didn't explain the sloth-like grip he had on her. "Um, happy anniversary?"
"Yeah, thanks."
The hug was moving past weird into actually concerning. Darcy gave him a light poke in the side. "You're really old."
He laughed and finally let go of her. "Smart ass. You are my favorite smart ass ever."
"Sure, thanks."
Clint put his hands on her shoulders and stared at her, a smile growing on his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. His expression was one of fondness and delight.
"Seventeen years ago, I met Peggy Carter." He took a deep breath and hugged her again, but he didn't cling so much this time. When he let her go he picked up their beers, handed her hers, then clinked them together again.
"You know I was recruited by Coulson," he said and she nodded. She did know that. It was kind of an adorable point of pride and/or exasperation for both of them. "But on the day I signed my SHIELD paperwork, I signed because of Peggy Carter. She came all the way out to Iowa and spent the day with me, just talking. I asked her why me, why did they want me? I was a screw up, I was in jail, on the hook for a whole shit ton of stupid stuff. And she said," he paused and took a breath, his smile growing even more broad. "She said she'd seen my heart, and I'd know the answer to 'why' in seventeen years."
Darcy stared back at him for a long moment, letting that story settle in her head, letting herself play through it. And then she huffed. Damn it, Peggy. Darcy had been very, very particular about her not changing anything. But, when she looked at Clint she couldn't be irritated; the smile on his face was amazing. She'd never seen anything quite like that mix of wonder and joy.
"Oh," was all she could think to say.
His expression softened and he cupped her face in his rough, archer's hands. "You recommended me to SHIELD before there was even a SHIELD."
"Before you were born, even," Darcy pointed out, her head spinning with this strange line of causality she hadn't expected.
Clint drew her into another hug. "Thank you, Darce. You don't know what you did for me," he murmured into her hair.
"You're welcome." She patted his back again.
He let her go once more and drained his beer in one long swallow. "My trainee recruited me. How awesome is that? I mean and how awesome am I? Like, I know you told Peggy I was awesome. You must have. Because she waited fifty-something years to meet me. Who does that, right? You only do that for awesome people."
"Lies," Darcy said with a sniff, but she was sure she hadn't managed to hide her amusement. "I think I mostly told her you were a disaster."
He let out a guffaw, snatched her beer from her, and then grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the door. "Jerk."
"Totally. Where are you dragging me?"
"I'm starving. Tacos?" He pointed a finger gun at her and gave her an enticing eyebrow waggle. "Tacos, right?"
Darcy let herself be pulled along but sighed. "Are tacos the antidote to weird time paradoxes?"
"They are the antidote to almost everything," he told her with certainty. "And the margaritas take care of anything else."
With a smirk, she reclaimed her hand, but tucked her arm into his. "Yeah, okay, that'll do it."
He stopped abruptly at the door and slapped a hand on his head. "Shit. I owe Peggy dinner. And whiskey."
"She's not allowed to have whiskey," Darcy pointed out. "Like the people at the nursing home had that on their list. Near the top of the list."
"Screw them," Clint shrugged and started them walking again. "She's 94, what're they going to do? Besides, what the hell's the point of getting to 94 if you can't do what you want? If I have to smuggle it in, I'll smuggle it in."
He had a good point. "Why do you owe her whiskey, anyway?"
"Okay, so, never make a bet with that woman. She's a shark." Clint pointed a finger at her face and shook his head. "Preying on innocent teenagers, that's what she was doing."
With a skeptical snort, Darcy rolled her eyes. "For whiskey?"
"Yes! For free whiskey." Clint moved his pointing finger to jab at the ceiling. "She knew I'd never guess I'd have a trainee who went back in time and told her how amazing I was and who, clearly, begged her to recruit me as soon as I was old enough."
"I didn't beg," Darcy protested, but she was laughing again. "I didn't do anything like that. You are high, Barton."
"Whatever." He said, nudging her into the elevator. "No, okay, so there I am, sitting in the county jail, growling at Coulson because I was nineteen and a moron, right? Then Phil says somebody wants to meet me. They drag me out and there's this old woman, looking at me like I'm yesterday's catch. She tells them to put me in her car, and, she's all proper and British, so I'm thinking she's going to take me to a warehouse or something to drink tea and watch while her driver cuts me to pieces."
Darcy leaned against the elevator wall, laughing too hard to stand up straight. "So you're saying you thought she was a Bond villain?"
"I'd considered the possibility."
"You're right, you were a moron."
"I'm saying." Clint threw an arm around her shoulders. "Joking aside, Steve will come around. He'll see what you had to do. And, if he doesn't, I'll shove an arrow up his ass."
She gave him a small, grateful smile. Hopefully things wouldn't come to arrow shoving, but it was nice of him to say. "Thanks, Barton."
"No problem. Nobody puts Strike Team Delta's baby agent in a corner," he said with a decisive nod of his chin.
With a deep breath and a shrug of her shoulders, she was ready to put aside the heavy stuff for some happier stories. "So, tell me about this bet you had with Peggy."
"A shark," Clint growled darkly. "The woman is a shark."
"She's been a spy longer than both of us have been alive put together," Darcy said.
"Well, I know that now."