I'm back, and I love you guys, sorry it's been so long.

This chapter was hard to write but I ripped it out after six hours, completly unbetaed so I apologize for any mistakes.

Love you all again, you're amazing.

Until next we meet.

Sincer, D.o.t.B.

My day starts with four words I never thought in a million years I'd hear Coulson say:

"Take off your clothes."

"Excuse me."

(Who needs coffee to wake you up when you have a boss like this?)

"We need to take your measurements for your training suit."

(OH THANK GOD.)

"Oh. Okay. I still demand dinner for this."

"They're serving waffles in the cafeteria, I'll grab you a plate."

(Since when do we have a cafeteria…?)

"Oh, uh thanks bro. Where do I-?"

"Changing room is down the hall and to the right, once you are situated in your undergarments exit through the other door to a room full of mirrors and wait for the people with measuring tapes to arrive; understood?"

"Ayep. Thank ya kindly."

The changing room thankfully isn't as cold as I thought it would be, I just wish I was wearing matching underwear, but I'm not so they're gunna have to deal with it.

And… I don't really like standing in front of a mirror half naked.

Don't get me wrong, I'm basically okay with my body and stuff, I've been told a million times I'm pretty to the point it doesn't really matter, but I don't… like being, what? Exposed…? Like that.

Because honestly, it's not the over the top boobs and the lace and the extra pounds, honey no, I'll wear that stuff to my grave 'cuz I wanna; fuck it if I'm not a stick.

But it's the… scar.

Yea fuck you I'm a bit of scaredy cat of certain things.

I'm not that brave, sometimes.

The scar itself isn't that big of a deal, isn't that long or big or impressive; just a scratch from a knife pressed too close to the skin, sharp enough to leave a dent. A little chip in the paint of an otherwise fully functioning if not 'quirky' car.

(On that note, if I was a car, I'd be a neon green buggy.)

(I fucking love those things.)

I try to calm my tits and wrestle down whatever tendrils of fear I seem to have left, and loud and proud I model walk into the room like I'm here for a page in an underwear magazine, because who are we kidding? I just might be. When S.H.I.E.L.D. finally decides not to be a sneaky little shit about everything I'll trust them not to pull random shenanigans like that, but until then I'll stay paranoid thank-you-very-much.

What I didn't seem to account for were mirrors, which were everywhere, which made me self conscious.

Again.

(There is a secret curse between the female sex and mirrors, for that more often than not when a mirror is placed in front of a said female; she tends to lose any and all sense of true self. Instantly, within mere milliseconds, she will bare witness to the reveal of all her flaws, the smudged eye liner, salad teeth, and fly away hair, oh yes, she is overwhelmed with horror. The curse consists of this as well the females desire to stay inside, preferably on the internet, and never come out. Ever again.)

In short; everything that looked tolerable looks worse.

And there are people here, moderately attractive very pretty people here.

(I don't want to live.)

At least they're both girls and have had days where they don't like how they look, so maybe they can let the imperfections slide.

(Who am I kidding? The only girls who feel like that are still stuck inside.)

NO. NO. NO.

(Open your mind.)

(…)

(Okay, maybe they have.)

(Maaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyybeee.)

It's this train of thought that distracts me from their measurement taking, which is even more personnel invasion that I get to deal with, 'cuz apparently housing the God of Mischief isn't enough for the universe to torture me with, when I spot the all too familiar green printed eyes in front of me.

When a second ticks by I both realize that it is in fact him and that he's not exactly here so I can't exactly act like he's here so I can express both my surprise and embarrassment which means I must summon my ever fail of a poker face.

Which fails and I'm left making the derpiest of all derps.

I hope these people are paid and paid well.

(Paid well not to talk about this or take pictures of my face and put it on the internet because if they do I will cut them.)

(Unless it gets turned into a meme.)

(Then it's okay.)

I refuse to look at Loki.

If I do, he'll do more things to make my already shattered poker face break.

And I can't have that.

(It will be like letting him win.)

…Again…

And that's when he very obviously begins to circle, eyes tick-tocking up and down, up and down and I swear I will slap him once this is all over with.

Darcy, concentrate.

Happy Place.

Happy Place.

Happy Place.

Happy Place-with-Loki-wearing-only-pistachio-ice-cream-to-cover-his-parts-all-hot-and-bothered.

(…)

(…)

(…)

I hate myself.

I really, really do.

I am my own greatest enemy.

I am my own destruction.

DAMMIT.

Somehow five minutes stretches into five hours and then they let me go and I am free, so gloriously free to make as many herp derps in public as I please without judgment.

I must be having an off-day or something, because yet again it takes me a couple seconds to realize who I'm looking at once I'm fully dressed and out the door.

Nice leathered ass.

Bull dog puppy face.

Sand paper eyes.

And a nice little jagged smile.

"What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing." Flirting: initiate.

"People don't smile about nothing."

"Too bad I'm not like most people."

"That's a bit of an understatement." He's walked up from leaning against the wall and stands two feet away, all friendly like. Kinda nice. But he's paused, for a second, before he moves again.

"You're names Darcy, right?"

"Yep, and you're…. Hot guy?" He's still smiling…

"Hawkeye. Clint, Clint Barton."

"Okay, hopefully I will actually remember this time." There's a speck of awkward silence before he cuts in.

"So, its official, your suits gunna be coming in soon."

"Never soon enough to fight off the hordes of evil running around." I sound lame but it earns a laugh, so really, that's all that matters.

"True, but it's a good sign. Means someone up there takes you seriously."

"And that person is Coulson. Who might be getting a transfer if rumors are true, and without him I'm lunch meat for the dogs and Bridge rips me apart where I fall into a pool of forgotten wannabe agents. Awesome." I can't help but let out a cliché sigh, it actually hurts to think about it all.

"Oh come on, you're more than bullies like Bridge are worth, you have a spark sitting in the ashes, and that's what's important. Make them see that. And cheer up, Phil's gunna be kept up flying back and forth from here to New York nonstop, you've got nothing to fear."

"I can't believe I'm going to miss him."

"Me too, you're the only new recruit who is."

"He's just… He's like that grumpy little gnome that sits on your front yard, the one you always trip over running to catch the bus 'cuz he's so caked in mud you never notice him, and it's not until your Dad's uprooted him that realize how much me means to you. Dammit. Imma miss Philly Cheese steak."

(DON'T FUCKING CRY DARCY.)

(DON'TFUCKING CRY.)

"Wait, what did you just say?"

"Um… 'Philly Cheese Steak'?"

"… That's what you call him?"

(Oh please, please don't think I'm a creep, please.)

But then a deep laugh went rumbily-tumbily and erupted and I was saved from being socially ostracized.

(And there was much silent rejoicing, and it was good.)

"Oh my god, that's hilarious! I never would have thought of that!" And then he's laughing again which makes me laugh and it just kind of looped like that and Loki's standing behind me, hating me.

(Pssssht, I'll make it up to him later.)

(In some not-sexual way.)

(Yea.)

(…)

(FUCK DON'T THINK LIKE THAT.)

(.)

(I hope you're happy with yourself.)

('Cuz I know I'm not.)

"Hey Darcy, I have some higher ups I gotta talk to, but I'll see you around." His calloused hand brushes my shoulder in a light squeeze that doesn't last long, but it feels like a promise.

"Evidently so. See ya Clint." I turn in the direct of the entrance/exit, one of the few places I can actually find in this labyrinth of a 'work place'.

I'm barely ten feet when I see Agent Coulson himself, hiding behind a pillar.

And… I don't know… he's got a weird look on his face…

If it was on anyone else's face I'd say they looked…

I dunno, maybe it's 'cuz he's not appreciated enough but-.

He looked…

Happy and sad.

And shit if that's not enough.

Yes, yes I did cry a little.

Only teeny tiny trails of tears.

Enough to be embarrassed about.

"SHUT UP CHEESE STEAK."

(I'm so good with words.)

And then I storm out and pretend it didn't happen.

But it did and it was kinda-sorta cute and that guy is such a gnome.

It's adorkable.

Really adorkable.

It makes me feel proud for some reason, I don't know why; I just remember what me and Clint said:

"I can't believe I'm going to miss him."

"Me too, you're the only new recruit who is."

How can no one else miss him?

I mean, c'mon, he's Coulson!

Super secret badass Coulson!

Fuck people, I don't get them, never have never will.

So I run away to my car and strap in and Loki's nowhere to be found, not that I'm complaining; and with my speed it doesn't take long to get home, where Loki occupies the computer chair, typing away, smug as a bastard.

I go to the kitchen to cut an apple as he immediately closes down whatever he was looking at, which should have made me suspicious, but I was too hungry to really care about anything besides food.

"How fared your social interaction?"

(The hell? He makes it sound like fucking boat…)

"My social interaction fared well… Why?"

"Simply curious, and as always I thought I should provide small talk." Bullshit.

"Well then, can you tell me why you were spying on me while I was getting measurements?"

"I was checking in on you to make sure all was well."

"Which was coincidentally when I was in my underwear?"

"Completely coincidental. Besides, you've seen me in far less before; I don't see what the problem is, Darcy." He drops my name enough to distract me, making my hand slip before a rattling jolt of pain wakes me up.

"Sonofabitch!"

"What did I do this time?"

"Not you, knife sliced my hand, ow ow ow ow." I take my hand over to the sink to wash the cut clean while Loki hangs over the sink like it's the most interesting thing in the world, which is slightly morbid considering that there's a surprisingly large amount of blood.

"Darcy, no, don't-." His voice is strained, taunt, and there's an edge of something gut shaking like fear.

Loki should not be afraid.

Loki has nothing to fear.

But he is and it sets me off faster than a warning when I rip my hand out from under the faucet.

"What is it?" Somehow I sound calm despite the fact that he's eying my hand with a nervous twinge, driving me crazy with worry.

"Loki what is it?"

"Please don't be mad at me." There's a glint of pleading.

(Who is this guy and what has he done to Loki?)

"Loki, I promise."

"Liar." He slinks down onto the couch like the drama queen he is while I look back to my hand.

Okay, it's probably nothing.

There is no reason to freak out.

Nothing's wrong with your hand.

Loki's just looking for attention.

He's like a cat.

Playing with you for attention.

That's it.

Nothing is-THE FUCK.

WHAT THE FUCK.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO.

THAT IS NOT POSSIBLE.

THAT IS NOT HUMANLY POSSIBLE.

Because somehow, someway, my hands healed.

Completely fucking healed.

"LOKI WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?" I've run over and can't keep the scream from my voice while he covers his eyes with his hands, acting all exasperated.

"You said you wouldn't be mad…"

Fuck.

I did.

Didn't I?

"Okay, Loki, I'm sorry. This," I fling my formerly injured hand around, "defies everything I know, so I can't help but react negatively but can you please pretty please tell me what just happened to me? 'Cuz I feel like I'm in the Twilight zone and this is way too weird for me."

Loki raises his hands above his eyes, checking to see if it's safe, noting the fact that I am in fact relatively quiet as compared to my outburst.

"Hm. Well, it's kind of a complement, actually. I wish you could have found out on a later date, but oh well, can't always get what I want. Anyway, I placed a spell on you Darcy Lewis." He stops to make sure I get it, which I do and I just want him to talk this is my life dammit.

"A spell that would cause you to heal from any such injury inflicted upon you. Understood?"

Straight to the facts.

"Why."

"And here's the compliment. You see, you've been deemed… through lack of a better word, worthy, to survive an injury. As in, whatever happens to you, I want you to live through it. What I'm saying is that you've been deemed worthy to stay alive, Darcy."

"So, what? You like my company and you want me to stay around?"

"Well yes, and I don't want you to feel limited while fighting."

"'While fighting'? You haven't even seen me fight, hell, you know I can't fight. I haven't begun training I don't know how to-I don't know, karate chop someone's face, swinging monkey nut kick-I don't know! Why would you do that?"

His eyes have that look, a flecked slate drowned in an intense dark discourse.

"I want you to be more."

"More than what?"

"You're not meant for servant life, I want you to be more than that; widen your horizons and make you a real fighter Darcy, someone to be reckoned with, a force of nature, a warrior, Darcy Lewis.

"You wouldn't have to, of course. But the offer for more is there, if you're tempted." He eases back to let me breathe.

"I don't know. This feels way bigger than becoming a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent… But if I did, would you teach me… You know, how to fight?" His eyes are even and a comfort.

"Yes. Yes I would."

"Oh. Okay."

"Don't sound so damn disappointed."

"I'm not! I swear!" And just like that the serious moment is gone, thank goodness.

"Bullshit."

"So, wait, I just to clarify, so basically, I can't die, right?"

"Correct."

"I guess that makes me… HA." I stand up, voice ready to yell.

"I'M IMMORTAL!"

"Yes yes you are now keep your voice down, the neighbors will hear you."

"PFFFFFFFFFT I DON'T CARE. LET THE WORLD KNOW BRO."

"I'm not your brother, I never wa-."

"Oh shush face, we're getting movies and pop corn and ice cream; not get your ass in the car!"

"Such a lady, are you not?"

"Damn right I am."

…

I'm getting out of my car not even thinking after giving Loki a 'good bye' wave, this being one of the days I get to be near Jane I'm excited for once, not just nervous of failure or disappointment or some other bug stormy cloud above my head. I've walked out next to the side of the building, and I can't see my car anymore, but I can see Jane.

Coulson's out there standing next to her, and I know that he has most definitely not mentioned our Hallmark moment to anyone, and he won't bring it up in front of her in case it makes him look like he has feelings. I ignore it I'm smiling and Jane's waving, when I hear my name being called.

And there he is. There he fucking is.

"Darcy!"

Loki drove the car up, parked it, and has run out, my jacket in hand, trailing after me.

Right in front of S.H.E.I.L.D. head quarters the very God of Mischief, the very God they're looking for, has run forward to one of their most trusted agent and genius astrophysicist, to give me my jacket.

I don't even need a jacket.