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Darcy is bored.
She knows she shouldn’t be, but after the excitement of the previous hours, being stuck in a lab doing normal intern stuff is way uncool.
Rewind to last night: Jane and her were enjoying leftover pizza in their van, halfway through a re-run of Pride and Prejudice, when Phil had simply appeared to their doorstep. Oddly enough, the agent was alone, and didn’t seem about to steal all of their material (what a change, really).
He had explained the situation to Jane, while Darcy was trying really hard to not eavesdrop – which she had miserably failed to do. Basically, Erik had disappeared, an Asgardian – Thor’s brother – had taken the Tesseract (the what?), and all hell was breaking loose. S.H.I.E.L.D. needed Jane’s assistance on this, and couldn’t let her out of their sight with a murderous, violent alien on the hunt for their scientists anyway.
So, of course, Darcy had tagged alone; what else was she to do, really? Jane still needed her anyways, and she needed the credits from this crazy internship.
So Darcy was currently on the Helicarrier, behind her laptop screen, glancing towards Jane, Bruce Banner and motherfucking Tony Stark having a discussion about God knows what (involving lots of science, surely).
Things had started to heat up a bit once Steve had walked in – Captain America, for God’s sake! However, things were back to boring, now, and Darcy couldn’t take it anymore. She and Jane hadn’t even had time to talk properly to Thor – although Jane did have time to smooch him properly, which was good news for her. Darcy really couldn’t blame her; that was one fine piece of man and, being in Jane’s place, she would probably do more than kiss.
“I’m getting us coffee. Who wants some?” she asks, suddenly leaving her desk.
Jane raises a finger, Tony agrees, too, and Bruce asks for chamomile instead (only if there’s some – keeps him calm). Darcy, too happy to move around, leaves in a hurry. She knows there’s a room dedicated to coffee breaks – Phil had shown it to her, earlier – but she’s not sure she can remember where it is. Seriously, this place needs maps – or portable GPS.
However, Darcy recognizes a hallway and follows a couple of agents before being left alone at an intersection; left or right? Doesn’t matter, really; she’ll just have to turn around if it’s the wrong path.
So Darcy takes the left, and has just the time to sneak into the room before the door closes. The agent that just exited it hasn’t seen her, his eyes down on some short of portable device that produces holograms (how cool is that?).
But of course, this is not the coffee room; of all places, she had to end up where they keep Loki, the murderous, crazy brother of Thor. How lucky was she, today, really?
It’s all cool, Darce. Just leave, like you said you would. It’s fine, really, he probably hasn’t even seen you.
“And what have we got here?”
Darcy looks behind her shoulder, but there’s no one here, except for her and the prisoner. Okay, he’s talking to her – that’s not good. Fury insisted that everyone stayed the hell away from Loki (which Thor had demanded as well) for now, and Darcy hadn’t been planning on walking here in the first place. So the best thing to do would be to simply turn around, go back to the hallway, and ask someone for the directions before –
“Ignoring me won’t help you, mortal.”
That’s it; Darcy’s pissed. He wants to be a douche, alright; she can play that game, too. So the intern comes back towards the cell, hands on her hips, and smiles to the prisoner.
“When Thor said he had a brother, I must admit I imagined you… differently”, she says.
A low chuckle starts from his throat. “Oh, I’m adopted.”
Loki stands and approaches the glass. He stops a foot or so from the barrier between him and Darcy, puts his arms behind his back, and looks her all over once or twice. The young intern arches a brow, and crosses her arms on her chest, trying to steady her ground.
“Thor never had conventional taste in women, but I must say you exceed all my expectations, miss Foster”, he finally says.
Darcy opens her mouth to correct him, but stops herself at the last moment. If he thinks she’s Jane, he might tell her something interesting, right? There’s no one around anyways; she could play a little game with the demi-god for a while. Wouldn’t hurt, right?
“Ever seen ‘The Silence of the Lambs’?” she asks, taking the seat in front of Loki.
When he doesn’t answer, she assumes he is not familiar with Hannibal Lecter – which is good news, really. Loki may not be eating people (not that she knows of, really), but he is not less terrifying than Anthony Hopkins, behind this glass prison.
“Okay, then, are you familiar with the term quid pro quo? Or tit for tat, maybe? Or –”
“I know what quid pro quo means, mortal. I am not a complete idiot”, he says, harsh.
Darcy shivers. Okay, that was clearly a bad idea. She should stand, turn around, go back from where she came, and get coffee like she intended to in the first place, and –
“And what exactly would you like to trade with me, miss Foster? Enlighten me, would you?”
She’s got his attention, now. Good. Darcy feels courage blossoming in her chest, and with it, her confidence gains some strength. And, before she can change her mind, she offers to trade questions – he’s probably bored out of his mind, alone in this cell, so she thinks he might be interested about the whole thing. If not, well, she’d have lost about five minutes of her coffee run.
But the smiles that grows on his lips reassures her; he is, after all, interested by the idea. Darcy swallows hard, hoping she will learn some valuable things, but still completely terrified. What is wrong with her, offering personal information about her life to a complete psychopath?
Still, Darcy takes a deep breath to ground herself, and tries to think about what Jane would ask the demi-god if it was her friend, the scientist, who was in her position. However, all she can think of is trivial facts completely irrelevant to their current situation, so she nods towards Loki, letting him start. Who knows, maybe she will get inspiration from his own questions?
“You must be truly stupid to place yourself in such a position, miss Foster. Are you really that oblivious to what is happening around you?”
“Maybe more curious than stupid, but thanks – never heard that before, really. And by the way, that counts as a question. My turn: how did you survive your fall?”
Loki turns around and goes back to his initial position, further into his cell, seating down to be at Darcy’s level. His smile never falters.
“And how would you know about that, mortal? Did Thor –”
Darcy raises her hand up, interrupting him.
“Wait for your turn, now. Answer first, I’ll answer after.”
And, surprisingly enough, he lets her know about it. The words don’t mean anything to Darcy, and she suspects that is the reason why Loki is not afraid to explain everything to her. She knows she won’t be able to remember all of it, but wills herself to at least grasps some words to let Thor know about them later on – such as Sanctuary, Chitauri, and someone named The Other.
Their exchange keeps on going for several minutes. They talk about The Destroyer, space, and Jane’s work on the Einstein-Rosen bridge – well, what Darcy can say about it. Luckily enough, she doesn’t understand the whole theory so much, which means she is not able to provide Loki with too much intel on the matter.
“What are you doing here?”
Darcy jumps from her seat once she hears Phil’s voice. The agent looks absolutely, utterly, completely pissed at her, and she knows she’s in deep trouble.
“Hey, Phil, I was, I was looking for coffee, and –”
“Save it. Come on, now, before Fury sees you entertaining the dangerous criminal.”
Darcy scoffs, following Phil.
“I was not –”
“One last thing, miss Foster”, says Loki.
Darcy spins around, refusing to move, even when Phil pulls her in his direction.
“Once I get out of this cell, would you prefer I rip your heart out or I snap your neck?”
Phil pulls her to him again, but Darcy stands her ground, despite the terror that crawls under her skin. Although she is shaking, her voice is steady when she speaks.
“That’s Doctor Foster for you. Jane worked hard enough for that PhD, you will use her title correctly, douche.”
And with that, she storms out of the room, Phil chasing behind her, as she tries to block the maniacal laugh that comes from the cell from her ears.
*
“Okay, to my defense, you guys really should put maps on the walls. No wonder I got lost, this place is a freaking labyrinth!” explains Darcy, holding a tray with the four warms drinks.
Phil still looks like he’s about to lose his shit, which is quite funny, actually.
“I don’t even want to know how you got there in the first place. Just… Let me handle this for now, alright? We’ll have to watch the security tape, to see if he gave you any good intel.”
Darcy stops in front of the door leading to the lab, a smirk on her face.
“You’re not going to snitch on me, agent Coulson?”
He brushes a hand against his face. “No, Darcy, I’m not, unless you’re giving me a good reason to. We’re sending Romanoff right now; she’ll probably know if you said something you shouldn’t have to the prisoner. Can I trust you to stay here, now, or do I have to assign an agent to watch you?”
“All good, Phil. Thanks.”
She leaves the agent there, distributing the drinks to everyone – Banner really looks like a chamomile could help with his nerves. Jane barely notices Darcy is back, but she takes a big gulp of coffee, eyes still on her screen.
“You’re welcome”, says Darcy, loud enough for her friend to nod in reply. She’s use to it, really, but a ‘thanks’ wouldn’t hurt from time to time.
And, at the moment where she sits down, ready to enjoy her much deserved coffee, Fury storms in, looking rather past the ‘pissed’ level. And then, there’s Steve, and Thor, and Natasha – and everyone’s screaming at one another, talking about war, weapons, manipulations, and Darcy doesn’t need a degree in astrophysics to know that shit’s about to go down. And she’s right; however, the place doesn’t blow from the inside like Darcy thought it would, but from outside. There’s an explosion, and suddenly, the world is on fire.
Darcy gets on her feet quickly, looks for Jane, but can only see smoke. There’s a pounding in her head, and an agent is suddenly near her, trying to get her away from all the ruckus. But Jane’s not with her, Jane has disappeared, and Darcy cannot leave without her. So when the agent turns around the corner, Darcy gets back on her tracks, and sprints towards the way where she thinks her best friend could be.
*
Darcy stumbles – yet again – into the wrong room. Before she has a chance to turn around, she witnesses the glass cage falling, with Thor trapped in it, and Phil, sitting on the floor, with what looks like a weapon on his lap. The whole thing is quite strange – why would Phil just stay down, facing a powerful demi-god who – holy fuck Loki is out of his cage.
Darcy should run away as fast as she could, but instead runs to the agent, kneels beside him, and gasps. There’s a red stain of the side of his shirt, and he’s breathing hard.
“Oh, God, Phil…” she mumbles, before pressing her hands on his wound to try to stop the bleeding.
The blood is thick, viscous, and runs between her fingers. Darcy panics, presses harder, half scared that she’ll do more damage, but Phil’s voice is gentle as ever. Hair in front of her eyes, Darcy realizes the agent is not talking to her, but to Loki, still standing beside the control panel, his scepter in hands.
“You lack conviction.”
And before the demi-god can reply, Phil presses the trigger of his ginormous gun; Darcy shrieks, Loki disappears into the wall, and Phil looks rather pleased with himself.
“You should go before he stands again”, the agent suggests.
Darcy doesn’t want to, but the blood (there’s so much blood, how can there be so much blood) is still running freely, its odour making her gag on her breath, and she understands Phil is past any kind of help. Still, she wants to stay – someone should, Phil is such a good guy, once you get to know him – even though she’s terrified that she’ll be next on Loki’s hit list – he did threaten to kill her, after all. And, because no one is coming this way to take care of Loki (not surprising, after how he disposed of Thor), Darcy takes it upon herself to act fast. Or, at least, faster than it takes for her brain to realize she is acting in a way that will get her killed.
Darcy runs to where Loki disappeared, grabs the scepter she discerns half hidden by the wreckage Phil caused, and spins around on her heels. She doesn’t look behind her shoulder once she hears the low growling coming from the demi-god, nor once she runs past Phil. Moving her hair out of her face, Darcy smears some of the agent’s blood on her forehead and cheek without meaning to – at this point, she’s probably covered with the poor man’s blood anyway. Trying to catch her breath, Darcy focuses her thoughts on the task on hands (she has to distracts herself from the smell, oh God, it’s like Phil is following her, and something’s burning, and the mix of leather and sweat is unbearable in her nostrils, but she can’t throw up, not now, not until all of this is over).
The next hallway is a dead-end; turning around, Darcy cannot escape, as Loki is blocking the only exit. He followed her, and surely, got her alone, away from any possible help. He smiles, face dirty, small cuts on his alabaster skin; his teeth are sharp, and Darcy can’t help but compare him to a shark, excited by the scent of blood.
“Silly little girl, stealing my toy once I look away”, he says, voice low, yet terribly menacing.
He takes a step in her direction, and Darcy points the staff in his direction, sees the tip still red (Phil), feels the power coming from the glowing part of it, aims, ready to fire –
There’s an explosion on her left, and Darcy is hit by something – or someone, she can’t say – and rolls on the floor. She grunts, spits blood (hers, now, not Phil’s), and tastes the copper on her tongue; her stomach is ready to quit, now, but it can’t, she can’t. The scepter is right there, she can feel her fingertips on it, so she rolls, tries to grab it, and then screams, because a boot is stepping on her hand, crushing her bones beneath it.
It’s only for a second, though. The boot moves, just like the scepter, and the pain travels from her hand to her scalp, when a hand grabs a fistful of Darcy’s hair, yanking her head up. Darcy screams, her neck is going to snap, she can feel it. But instead, she’s put back on her feet, although her relief is short-lived: Darcy’s back hit a wall hard enough for her to see stars. Nails dig in her skin. His hand at her throat, Loki leans in, close enough for his breath to tickle Darcy’s nose.
“Struggle and you die”, he warns.
Next thing she knows, Darcy is dragged by an arm around the Helicarrier. Her heart beats so hard in her chest, she is sure Loki can hear it. A million things go through her head at the same time, but she can’t keep focus. Loki fires his scepter in the general direction of some agents, and the demi-god and her make it outside without any difficulty.
Because Darcy is scared out of her mind, she doesn’t ask question, doesn’t struggle, doesn’t run; she does as she’s told. Once she’s seated in a plane, next to Loki, she screams internally – that’s all she can do, really, to avoid drawing attention on herself.
Oh, and also waiting – to see what Loki’s plan is regarding her.
*
They’re at Stark Tower. In any other circumstance, Darcy would be pleased with the whole thing – she read a lot about the tower, what it could mean regarding energy sources, and the benefits it could create. However, given that she’s currently hostage to a crazy demi-god waiting for his army of aliens, Darcy has higher priorities for now. At least, Erik is fine from what she’s heard (brainwashed, but alive, so let’s count that on the ‘pro’ side).
Loki left her inside, near the bay windows facing the city. She doesn’t know what to do, and Loki hasn’t told her anything either. Darcy doesn’t know where he is or if he’s coming back at all; she tried to take the elevator, but couldn’t make the freaking door open, having been provided with no access code to the thing. So, for now, Darcy is sitting on a couch, waiting for the painkillers she thankfully found in the room to kick in; she doubts any of her fingers are broken, but her hand still hurts like a bitch.
She supposes she’s lucky in a way: after all, Loki did say he was going to kill her once he was out. The fact that she’s alive (hurt, but alive) makes her think that the demi-god needs her in a way. That’s good, really; as long as he does, she has a chance to live, right?
Darcy is trying to get the blood that didn’t wash out in the sink out of under her fingernails (oh God Phil) when Loki storms into the room. She is on her feet a second later, warry of what he is going to do to her. Seriously, she couldn’t just run like Phil had told her to, right? She had to play the freaking hero and try to get away from the killer on the plane? Serves her right.
“You lied to me, mortal. You are not Foster”, he says, walking towards her.
“Technically”, she starts, “I omitted to correct you. I don’t think that qualifies as a lie.”
Darcy can’t believe the words that are coming out of her mouth. It’s not the time nor the place to act all witty, really! Can’t she shut up for once in her life? But Loki doesn’t seem to mind. He stops once he’s in front of her, too close to her liking, but not crowding her space.
“What is your name, mortal?” Loki asks, his head slightly tilted to his side, like he’s observing a curious creature.
“Da-Darcy Lewis.”
He seems content of her answer.
“You do know Doctor Selvig,” he says.
She nods once. Loki smiles. That doesn’t reassure her at all; all Darcy can think of is what her fate will be at the demi-god’s hands. She doubts she will make it out alive, and even though she would prefer not to die, Darcy must admit she’d prefer it if Loki were to snap her neck. A quick, easy death seems preferable to the other one he had described to her.
“It is your lucky day, then. I will show you things your mortal mind could never have imagined, and you will help me in my quest”, he whispers, trusting his scepter towards her chest. “Quid pro quo.”
Darcy can’t move; she only thinks of the previously red tip of the staff, the way Phil’s wound wouldn’t stop bleeding, how she is going to be impaled just like him in a matter of seconds and –
But instead, the cold tip of the scepter brushes her lightly, and Darcy feels her fear disappearing as something – she couldn’t describe what exactly – takes hold of her mind. Loki is not the enemy; Loki is the leader, the king, the god; she would die for him if he wanted her to. Loki seems pleased, as he takes another step forward, and brushes his fingertips on her cheek.
“Perfect. Go help the dear doctor, then. He will need it.”
*
Darcy reaches Erik, but he is already unconscious. Quickly, she tries to wake him up, but he won’t move; it doesn’t matter, however, because the Tesseract finally reacts and the portal opens in the sky. Now, she only needs to guard it.
‘Only’ appears to be the wrong word, as Natasha lands next to her and to Selvig, who finally opens his eyes. Natasha seems prone on asking the intern questions about her recent abduction, but the situation is more urgent than that; they all glance towards the scepter, down below, and Darcy leaps down before the Black Widow can get the weapon herself.
There’s a tiny voice in her head that screams how bad an idea this is, but Darcy can’t bother to listen to it; the impact, however, has her howling in pain. The jump was way too high for her mortal body, but she had to get to the scepter first. For her king. For Loki. She may have broken her ankle (or leg, she isn’t sure, yet) but, at least, her action will help him.
Darcy holds the scepter in her arms, blinking away tears of pain. Her vision is blurry, but she is starting to detect a red spot walking towards her. Then, the scepter is abruptly taken from her.
“Sorry for that,” says Natasha.
Something hits her really hard on the head, and the world turns to black.
*
The beeping is the first thing Darcy is aware of when she regains consciousness. The annoying noise is closely followed by an incredible, hangover-like headache that threatens to crush her skull. Slowly, carefully, as if afraid to see where she is and what is going on, Darcy opens her eyes.
Darcy sees someone seated next to her. She tries to ask who it is, what day it is, anything, really, but her throat is like sandpaper, and her lips feels like they have been stitched together. A weird sound erupts from her, but it is still muffled by her inability to open her mouth. After a moment, the light stops blinding her and, after blinking a couple of times, Darcy realizes it is not Jane who’s currently smiling at her.
It’s Loki.
“You’re awake. Good.”
One swift motion and he’s on her, both hands going for her throat, grabbing it and crushing the air out of her. Darcy struggles, wiggles, to no avail; the demi-god jumps on the bed, knees on each side of her, and he uses his body to press hard on her ribcage. Everything burns, shatters in her, as Darcy tries to move, to scratch her way out of this, to survive.
But it’s no use: tears run down her cheeks, her face heat up, she can’t breathe. Darcy’s being turned to dust by Loki’s hands, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it. Her arms are too weak, and her legs – her legs, goddammit. She forgot she had legs.
So Darcy kicks with her left leg, the only one who’s responding, twists, tries to break free; suddenly, she can breathe again. She takes in a big gulp of air, coughs, and starts to get on her good foot. Surely, he will attack again, it’s only a matter of seconds, she has to move fast, she has to –
“DARCY! Calm down, Darcy! It’s me! It’s us! You’re okay!”
Darcy stops squirming: Jane is above her, brows furrowed, a deep, red split across her bottom lip and chin. There’s a nurse on the other side of the bed, who appears to be checking the monitors.
“Hush, it’s alright”, whispers Jane, brushing Darcy’s hair to the side.
She takes a glass of water on the nightstand, and helps Darcy take little sips from it. With just a little bit of water, Darcy’s world stops burning and she can speak again.
“Where is he?” her voice is but a whisper.
She is terrified; any moment, now, Loki will reappear to finish the job, she can feel it. Jane has to run – she has to warn her; is Thor near? He should be! Where is he? Why can’t he take care of his brother when there is a need for him to do so?
Jane is so overwhelmingly calm that Darcy can just feel everything about to explode. She tries to get out of bed again, but this time, the nurse put a firm hand on her shoulder.
“Thor left with Loki. They’re back on Asgard. Everything is okay, Darce”, explains Jane.
That is not possible, Darcy knows it can’t be; Loki was there a second ago, trying to kill her, and –
He’s there, right behind Jane, his wicked smile painted on his face, like he’s about to do something crazy, and Darcy can’t stay down. Not anymore.
The nurse tries to immobilize her, but backs away once Darcy’s elbow hits her square on the nose. Jane is oblivious to the danger, her back to the demi-god, as she tries to reason her friend. More people storm in the room – nurses, doctors, agents – and they all look at her, not at him, like she’s the threat. If the whole thing wasn’t so dangerous, Darcy would laugh.
Arms grab her everywhere, and she screams at the top of her lungs, but they don’t look, Jane doesn’t even turn, they don’t run; there’s a needle in her arm, and she suddenly feels weak and overly tired. There’s a fog in her head that clouds her thoughts, but Darcy still realizes her friend is crying, and she prays the demi-god hasn’t touched her as she falls back into unconsciousness.
*
The next time Darcy opens her eyes, she cannot move: her arms and legs are strapped to the hospital bed. There’s a doctor looking at her charts, and once he sees she’s awake, he calls a nurse to the room. While she helps Darcy to some water, the doctor lists her the list of her injuries: concussion, fractured leg, sprain wrist, plus some minor cuts and bruises. He insists she is quite lucky, after the jump she decided to make from the Stark tower, but she brushes most of his remarks aside: Loki is lurking beside her again, and no one is doing anything.
“We hope you understand the restraints”, the doctor pursues, taking off his glasses, “you were quite aggressive with the staff.”
Loki’s finger traces the length of her arm, and Darcy has to squeeze her eyes shut to refrain from screaming. Why aren’t they doing anything? He’s right there!
“Please, get him out”, she whispers, tears behind her close eyelids.
The doctor nods and exits the room, followed by the nurse; she is left alone with Loki, again, and this time, she can’t move from the bed.
He’s not real, Darce. That’s why others can’t see him; you’re hallucinating. You’re fine. It’s okay, everything’s okay, just breathe, just –
But the renewed pressure on her throat feels so real, she can’t be imagining all of this, now, can she? And the ticklish caress of his breath on her ear has to be real, too, right?
“They can’t see me. It’s just you and I, miss Lewis.”
And Darcy screams, as much as her lungs would let her, until she’s shaking from her sobs and her fright, until the sedative is injected into her veins, until she falls into another deep, peaceful, Loki-free slumber.
This time, Darcy sincerely hopes she won’t wake up.
*
She keeps her mouth shut, now. She doesn’t know if Loki being here is a trick of the demi-god or of her own mind, but she doesn’t care. What counts is that no one, except herself, appears to see him. And she’s tired of being tied up all day long.
Loki’s always lurking in the shadows of her room, but he stopped attacking her – at least, he’s not physically violent with her anymore (quite the improvement, really).
Jane visits her every day, but as Darcy’s condition improves, her scientist best friend stays not as long as she used to. Apparently, the whole thing (aliens, Avengers, Loki, etc.) created quite the buzz, and she’s been working with S.H.I.E.L.D. ever since. She also warns Darcy that Erik is not exactly the same man he used to be. Loki’s scepter messed with his brain, and they don’t exactly understand how or what happened. It doesn’t seem too bad, really; the doctor only appears to have gained a deep hatred towards pants.
After two weeks, they let Darcy go. She still has another two weeks left before they finally remove her cast, which reassures her a bit: her leg is okay. Well, it’s slightly smaller than the other one, but there’s nothing physio can’t fix.
Two months following the Battle of New York, Darcy starts to get the nightmares.
Surprisingly enough, they don’t involve Loki. No, the demi-god appears to be keeping her company only when she’s awake. She thought she would be left alone when she was dreaming, but again, her brain apparently tricked her.
Phil. It’s Phil. Every night, there’s a dying Phil in her head that won’t let her relax.
It’s probably because she overheard some agent talking about her deceased friend that the thought of him dying (the blood) sprung to her unconscious mind (really, Freud would be pleased with her).
Every night, she sees Phil Coulson – bloody, beaten, dying Phil Coulson. He screams at her, or chases her, or dies in her arms over and over again. At first, Darcy wakes up crying, clutching her blankets tightly to her chest. But then, dream-Phil starts to talk to her: he accuses her, twists the events, laments that he died because of her. So Darcy can’t keep quiet; she screams in her sleep until Jane has to shake her awake.
Darcy can’t take it anymore, so she tries sleeping pills, but they make her groggy in the morning, and she misses her alarm-clock a couple of times. Plus, the nightmares don’t stop. So she finally decides to simply stop sleeping.
Loki following her, watching her every move, Darcy embarks on a pure caffeine diet. She skips meals, eating only when her stupid stomach won’t shut the hell up, and she drinks coffee after coffee. She usually crashes on her bed after two or three days, barely able to walk, when Loki is starting to feel a little bit touchier with her (hand at her throat, fingers in her hair, mouth to her ear).
But her rest is not as blissful as she hopes, and Phil is there to great her with his bloody face when she finally succumbs to her fatigue.
Darcy switches to booze. She keeps it hidden in her desk (the one she’s got at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility where Jane, Erik, and herself now work), always a lot, spending much of her salary on it (always the cheapest, hardest liquor she can find), mixing it with her numerous coffees throughout the day. At night, Darcy usually get blacked-out drunk with whatever is left at her apartment, and she manages to sleep for a couple of hours (three or four, if she’s lucky) before the whole thing has to start again.
Jane doesn’t notice anything; she’s too engrossed in her research to understand that the mistakes Darcy keeps making on the charts are due to the booze, and not to her incompetency on the matter.
It goes on for another six months, Darcy drinking higher and higher amounts of alcohol to get the pleasant, out of her mind drunkenness she craves. And then, her body gives in; one morning, she vomits blood, and she realizes she can’t keep going much longer. Darcy tries to switch her routine, but the nightmares come back, and Loki keeps whispering dangerous, psychotic things to her during the day.
Darcy tries everything she can get her hands on – pot, cocaine, ecstasy, and these weird pills she found in one of the agents’ personal bathroom cabinet. Nothing works.
Jane makes a joke about her new figure; Darcy fakes a laugh. She’s lost twenty (or twenty-five, she can’t say) pounds and looks like shit, but she’s not hungry.
Loki talks to her even when she cannot see him. He’s now in her nightmares, and he’s the one to kill Phil – or worst, he’s guiding her hand into Phil’s chest. She wakes up and pukes all over her floor.
Another month. Darcy sees Loki everywhere, and Phil is there when she’s awake, now. There’s blood on the walls, but Jane can’t see it, no one can, no one will. She’s all alone in this. Everything feels surreal, like she’s not even awake most of the time.
One night, Darcy’s had enough. She’s in her bathroom, fresh off the shower, her hair wet and falling in front of her eyes. She tries to steady her breathing, hands on each side of the sink, but she’s shaking, God why does everything hurt so much?
Loki’s seating on the counter, chuckling, about to hit her again – that’s what he does, now. Not hard, no; he’s never leaving a trace on her body for others to see. No, Loki slaps her hard enough for the hit to sting. He stills chokes her until she cries, pulls on her hair until her neck is bent and hurts and burns and gosh she can’t take it anymore.
So she grabs her razor – she’s just shaved her legs, how did she even managed to, she can’t tell – and, after a moment, gets the blade (well, one of them) out. Darcy’s finger is bleeding, but she can stomach the sight of blood – it’s hers, after all, and she’s the one in control, right now.
The chuckle comes back as Loki steps down of the counter, moving towards her. Darcy hurries, in a panic, before he gets to her, and get the blade in her skin, drawing it in a long, deep cut that –
And the door opens, and Jane walks in, and the world stops for a moment.
*
Everything’s like a tornado around her. Darcy can’t keep up with what is happening; it does way too fast, and she’s kept in a state that doesn’t really allow her to move, anyway.
She doesn’t know where she is, but she’s guessing it’s another of those S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hospitals, like the one where she was kept following the Battle of New York. No one visits her, and she doesn’t want to see people anyways. Darcy thinks she remembers a man talking to her about her current state, but all the words he used were gibberish to her. It doesn’t matter, really; they’re keeping her high enough on those meds that she doesn’t care for anything in the world.
After a week, they cut back on the medicine, and Darcy wished they hadn’t, for now, she can feel; she feels her shame, her confusion, her pain, and Loki’s back.
But Darcy can’t let them know, because once she opens her mouth, they just sedate her. They keep doing it, now, even when she’s shaking and begging them to keep her awake so she can’t explain. They just don’t listen.
So Darcy tries very hard to be compliant, to do as the good doctor asks, and they let her out of suicide’s watch after another two weeks. She tells them the meds are working, that she doesn’t see him anymore (a big lie), and they finally send her back to her apartment, after Jane signs a discharge and Darcy promises to come back weekly to see her designated psychiatrist.
Except Darcy has no desire to come back to that clinic, nor does she plan to be locked up like an animal ever again. She gets it, really: the pain will never go away, so she has to make it stop. And this time, no one will walk on her doing what she’s about to do.
But her plan is cut-off short once a hand grips her arm and stops her from walking out the facility. Looking up, Darcy meets the gaze of the Black Widow, and she freezes right on the spot.
Because Natasha Romanoff can see right through her and knows. However, the spy acts as if nothing happened when she turns to Jane.
“Mind if I borrow this one for a bit?”
Jane can’t really say no to the Black Widow, so the spy drags Darcy back into the S.H.I.E.L.D. building, heading for a different wing then the one where she was kept for so long.
Once they stop in a room that looks like a simple, open apartment, Darcy explodes.
*
They part ways a couple of hours later; Romanoff, to a mission, and Darcy, back to the place she refers to as “home”. When Jane asks about what happened, Darcy refuses to answer; she reassures her friend, but keeps her mouth shut about the whole ordeal.
The next day, they are moved to a private floor in the Avengers tower (previously, the Stark one). Jane is a bit confused – she hates to have to do what others tell her to –, but quite glad once she sees the lab Stark has provided her.
Darcy starts her new routine immediately after the last box is emptied in her new room. Her alarm-clock ringing at 5 A.M. must be the most painful sound she’s ever heard, but she forces her ass out of the bed anyways. She changes into her newly acquired workout clothes, sets the coffee for 7 A.M., and leaves for the gym – because, of course, there’s five different gyms in the whole tower.
Getting herself back into shape is not an easy task, really, but after her long, heartfelt talk with Natasha, Darcy feels like she can take back the control of her life. Ignoring the look Loki is giving her from the bench where he decided to observe her, she gets on the treadmill and presses ‘shuffle’ on her iPod.
Two hours after waking up, Darcy takes a big, hot gulp of coffee and swallows her pills, before serving Jane and herself their freshly cooked breakfast. Her friend seems too tired to realize what is happening, but Darcy doesn’t concern herself with the fact.
*
Natasha appears on their doorstep three months later, like she said she would. Darcy holds back a yawn as she follows the spy, heading towards the gym. Even if she’s done this for the past weeks, waking up at 5 A.M. is still a torture for Darcy.
Her regular workout is modified to fit the difficult hand-to-hand combat training Natasha provides her. Darcy has a hard time to follow it and ends up with lots of bruises, but she feels positively powerful – and alive. Plus, the following hour of meditation with Banner helps her to refocus her mind on something else.
Natasha is not always there, of course; after all, she is an active spy working for S.H.I.E.L.D., and an Avenger. However, she comes back often to the tower, and Darcy can always count on her to train.
Days become weeks that become months. Darcy still sees Loki every day, but he doesn’t touch her anymore; he can’t. Switching back her routine to a healthy one has proved to helped her a lot: she’s exercising (well, more like learning how to kill people with her thighs, thanks to Natasha), eating well, meditating, seeing her shrink, and taking her medication. It has taken time, but Darcy doesn’t want to die anymore; she wants to fight.
Phil comes to visit her at night, from time to time. She can’t prevent his visits, so she learns to reorient her thoughts once she wakes up from another bloody nightmare. And, when nights are especially bad, when Darcy cannot go back to sleep or cannot shake the stickiness of Phil’s blood off her fingers, she speaks directly to Loki. He proves himself to be of good company when she’s the one leading the conversation – which is always, now. He’s not real, after all; and, because he’s a product of her own brain, Darcy learns to manipulate him in the way she wants him to act. No more choking, no more death threats; only peace, reassuring smiles, and distracting words without profound meanings.
Darcy has bad days, too. Even though Tasha and Bruce have helped her a lot, she can’t miraculously become herself again – no, not after everything that happened in such a short period of time. Darcy realizes there’s a darkness in herself, now, which will never truly go away. And she’s fine with that. When the pain is too strong, Darcy leaves the lab for the rest of the day and does something aggressive: she’ll run until she can’t breathe, she’ll empty as many mags she needs into practice targets with different guns (Natasha is a great teacher, really), or she’ll carve her thoughts into the wall of her bedroom (Stark usually has the wall freshly repainted by the next day, and he never says anything about it). Darcy doesn’t turn against her own body like she used to, and he doesn’t even want to. That’s the biggest step she’s ever taken.
*
Jane’s scream is loud enough for Darcy to hear her, despite the rap song blasting into her earphones – it helps her focus on her job, which is still impossibly boring. It takes her only a second to get on her feet, and she storms into Jane’s room, all senses on high alert. Her friend is on the floor, her back against the wall, eyes wide. On her right, Darcy notices Loki, but blocks him from her thoughts. She brushes past him (think of Jane only of Jane forget the rest Jane Jane Jane) and kneels next to her friend.
“What is wrong?” she asks. Jane looks alright – no injuries, no pain on her face, nothing – and Darcy doesn’t understand what exactly is going on. Jane’s eyes are even wider, now, but she still doesn’t say anything. So Darcy stands up, hand at Jane’s level to help her back on her feet, when a low chuckle starts near Darcy’s ear. She ignores is, just as she ignores the shiver (of fear? Of disgust? She can’t tell anymore) that runs down her spine.
“Come on, Jane, I ain’t got all day, here!”
A finger brushes her cheek, just below the frame of her glasses. The chuckle persists. Okay, today appears to be one of those days; she’ll deal with it later. Her concentration might be fading if Loki’s managed to touch her. She might need a second cup of coffee today.
Don’t think about it. Ignore it. It’s all in your head.
Being held directly in front of two glowing, sparkling green eyes proved to be quite difficult to ignore. Darcy closes her eyes, swallows hard. It’s all about the breathing, right? That’s what Banner keeps telling her, and he’s quite the expert, after all.
A loud noise and a scoff make Darcy open her eyes: Jane apparently just smashed a chair on Loki’s back, and the demi-god is lying on the ground, slightly moving his arms.
“What were you doing?” asks her best friend.
But Jane doesn’t wait for an answer: she grabs Darcy by her hand and runs towards the door. Darcy follows, realizing settling in: that wasn’t an hallucination. That was the real Loki. So Darcy reacts in the only way she thinks she can: she stops right on her tracks and turns back to Jane’s room.
“Darcy!”
But the young girl ignores her friend. All she can hear is her own heartbeat – steady, hard in her chest – and her breathing: slow, deep. Darcy’s in control, and she has one thought: to kill.
She hits him as he’s standing again, sending him to the floor once more. Darcy uses the element of surprise to her advantage, because she knows Loki is way stronger than she is; if he gets up, she’ll lose. She has to stop that from happening. So she punches and kicks through, but her fight is only short lived: two strong arms are holding her back, and by the time Thor finally puts her back, Loki is gone and Darcy is crying from anger.
*
Natasha sneaks her in the next day – technically, the Black Widow is not even supposed to be there, but no one can refuse her anything in this goddamn building, and she knows how to use this advantage.
Loki is back behind glass, looking positively defeated, this time. Apparently, he couldn’t be kept in Asgard any longer – and probably won’t stay long on Earth either (something to do with someone with a weird name; Darcy didn’t ask for clarifications).
Natasha gives her a look before she leaves, and Darcy simply nods. She knows it would be a bad idea to kill the prisoner – not that she could even if she wanted to, really. Loki’s a demi-god, after all (or Frost Giant, whatever that means). No, she wants some alone time with him and Tasha has gladly provided her with the opportunity.
Darcy steps in Loki’s cell, and he doesn’t get up – he doesn’t even look at her. He looks worn out, paler that she remembers him, although a little bit friendlier (when he’s not smiling with his pointy teeth, the guy does seem nice enough).
“Remember me?” she asks, her voice not even shaking.
Darcy’s had months, more than a year, to prepare herself for this. She hoped she would meet Loki again, but never thought it would happen so fast – and in these conditions. She feels strangely in control, and she likes it.
Loki still won’t look at her, but he deigns to answer her. “Darcy Lewis”, he whispers.
It’s all that Darcy needs: she kicks him square in the jaw, and sends him flying against the wall. Right then, she’s on him, landing punch after punch after punch in his stupid face that haunts her ever since the Battle of New York (why won’t you go away I want you to leave me disappear-disappear-disappear). But Loki doesn’t fight back, doesn’t even try to block her: he takes every hit without dodging them, and Darcy screams in frustration. She doesn’t want this; if she did, she’d be downstairs, in the gym, hitting a punching bag until her hands hurt too much. No, Darcy wants Loki to stand up, she wants him to hit her back, she wants to feel as much pain as she’s inflicting him.
“DO SOMETHING!” she screams, her knuckles bloody (it’s his blood, his goddamn blood, there Phil, he deserves it for what he did to you). And Loki laughs.
Darcy gets up and leaves.
*
After two days, she can’t help it: she needs to see him again. Apparently, hitting the crap out of Loki didn’t do anything for her, but she’s decided to visit him again. For what exactly, she’s not sure. Darcy only knows that there’s something unfinished, here, something missing, and she desperately wants closure.
This time, Loki looks her in the eye when she walks in. Either he’s in such a bad shape he didn’t heal in two days, or he has the decency to wear the bruises and cuts she created on his face with her fists. Either ways, Darcy is glad to see his wounds, albeit small.
Darcy’s face is red, and she’s glowing from sweat; she came in his cell straight from her training session with Natasha. She’s still regaining her breath, but she finds the air she needs to speak once she opens her mouth.
“Do you have any idea what you did?”
His answer is a scoff and a smile. He doesn’t care. Darcy gets on her knees in front of him and grabs his chin, hard, until her knuckles turn white.
“Killing me wouldn’t have been nearly as cruel as what you did”, she articulates between clutched teeth.
She’s not afraid, because she has nothing to lose anymore. Darcy’s been at her lowest point and has seen the darkness buried deep inside of herself; nothing that Loki does can be worse than what she endured, than how she lived for so long. So when his hand shots to grab her neck, Darcy doesn’t even flinch. Why would she? In her mind, Loki’s done it a hundred times, already.
“And you came here”, he snarls, “so that I could finish the job? Is that it?”
She gets his hand off of her (thanks to Natasha and her fighting lessons), then gets back on her feet.
“You can always try.”
He’s fast – way faster than the illusion-Loki that follows her since last year. But Black Widow has earned her reputation for a reason, and has passed some of her skills to Darcy. Both Natasha and her know that Darcy’s strength is in her arms (she’s got a mean hook), so that is what she uses on the demi-god (again). His head snaps back, but he’s on her a moment later.
His punch takes her by surprise, and Darcy spits blood from the cut on her lip. She’s used to the metallic smell and taste, now; it doesn’t make her gag, doesn’t make her squirm. She’s almost comforted by it.
He grabs her, and she bites him, like Natasha told her. After all, the Black Widow insisted she didn’t stay alive for that long without fighting dirty. Loki apparently wasn’t expecting that move, because he gasps and takes the smallest step back. That is all Darcy needs to use his own strength, his own body, to make him fall.
She’s holding him with her legs, a hand in his hair to keep his head from moving, when she sees it: Loki’s pretty hurt – and not because of the beating she gave him earlier this week. No, Loki’s been shaken to the core, deeper than her mere mortal body could even think of, and he’s trying hard not to show it – but fails.
And right there, behind his green eyes, she sees it: it’s the exact same thing she’s seen (and still sometimes sees) when she looked in the mirror for so long, following the Battle of New York, following her nightmares, her hallucinations, her desire to die.
Darcy sees ugly, naked, real despair. It takes her only a moment to understand him, to forgive everything.
And Loki sees hers, too.
Then, she’s on his mouth, all teeth and blood, as if she’s trying to crawl under his skin. His hands are everywhere: in her hair, on each side of her face (where her tears have fallen), grazing her arms, slipping under her shirt and tracing the skin of her back. There’s too many barriers between their skins, and they take each other’s clothes off fast, clumsily, like they’re burning. Loki’s hands are shaking on her breasts, but hers are steady once she guides him into her warmth. And it feels good, it feels so damn good, she can’t get enough of it.
And Darcy feels like she’s found the missing piece that has been eluding her since last year, right here, in her tormentor’s arms.
*
She leaves without a word, without a glance towards Loki, but they both know she will come back. And she does later that night, and the following morning, and at least once a day for a week. They never talk, but they don’t need too; both of them were craving more than words anyways.
Darcy never stays the night, and Loki doesn’t ask her too. Once they’re both satisfied, left panting on the floor, she puts her clothes back on and leaves him. She doesn’t want to think about what this whole thing means; all she knows is that she feels awfully peaceful after the mind-blowing orgasm Loki gives her (it can be with his cock, with his mouth or with his fingers, anything works and he’s painfully good at it).
But for his last night on Earth – God knows where he’s going, really, she doesn’t care –, he whispers things to her ear as she’s coming down from peak. His voice is burning something inside of her – like his hands do on her skin – and Darcy gets closer to him, her head on his chest, unlike she’s ever done before. His voice grows stronger, and she loves the sound it makes. Like a lullaby, it helps her to drift off to sleep, and she dreams of the Chitauri, of the splendors of space, and of the wrath of one named Thanos.
When she opens her eyes, he’s still asleep, looking nothing like the crazy murderer that attacked the planet a year and a half ago. Darcy moves slowly, gathering her things silently to avoid waking him up, but stops before leaving his cell.
“Thank you”, she murmurs, before kissing him lightly one last time and turning away, getting back to her bedroom, to Jane, to her life there.
Away from him.
*
Darcy doesn’t see illusion-Loki anymore.
She graduates, gets an official job for Stark (S.H.I.E.L.D. blew up from this inside), and gets a payroll so ridiculous that she immediately books a flight to Hawaii. She comes back to work with the reddest sunburn you’ve ever seen, souvenirs for Jane and Erik, and millions of pictures of the most beautiful place in the world.
But Hawaii hasn’t done anything to the ache she feels in her chest. She cries herself to sleep at night, but not for the same reasons she used to. No, Darcy feels positively, completely alive; her pain is of the good kind.
Still, sometimes, Darcy wished her brain could trick her one last time into seeing two glowing green eyes and a smirk.