So…I realized this wasn't quite finished with one short chapter. There was more that had to be shared. Fair warning that there are some sad feelings in this chapter.

A year hadn't changed Darcy's opinion of Valentine's Day.

Maybe the last one hadn't sucked, with a sudden surprise semi-romantic dinner with formerly creepy S.H.I.E.L.D agent Phil Coulson. And maybe that one dinner had led to others that had led to Darcy having a sort of thing with the secret agent man.

He'd warned her though, when it seemed like there were too many emotions being shared between them. "I can't give you all of me," he'd told her. "Because of the job. I have to keep part of me clear for the job."

Darcy had meant it when she told him that she'd take what he was able to give. Phil was a good man, and she'd only previously dated boys. Were they an odd couple? Definitely. Did it work anyhow? Sure.

And then a disgraced alien prince found his way to Earth, nursing a grudge so big that nothing could stand against it.

Later, after the dust cleared and the dead were carted out of the streets of New York, after Darcy returned from the emergency trip to Norway that she'd been forced into, someone had finally told her what happened to Phil. He'd tried to get in Loki's way, tried to stop the mad retribution against Thor. It hadn't ended well for him.

No one knew about her, of course. Phil hadn't been in the upper echelon of S.H.I.E.L.D for nothing. He had created a cover for her, so that no one knew who and what she really was. Phil's cellist was widely known in S.H.I.E.L.D, but no one had ever met her. Darcy thought it was funny. She wouldn't have a clue what to do with a cello, but that was the cover Phil had created.

Tony Stark, a changed man after New York, immediately made irresistible offers to Jane Foster and Erik Selvig to move into Stark Tower. One – because they were the best chance of getting a connection reopened to Asgard. Two – because they were Thor's friends, and Tony didn't want them to become a target again.

Darcy was sort of a packaged deal with the two scientists, and moved into Stark Tower without complaint or regret. She didn't really feel much of anything. Phil's death had left a giant numb spot inside of her. Was it love? Had she reached that level of emotional intensity? She didn't know. But she did know that the idea of him being dead, of dying at the hands of Thor's psychotic brother, left her heart feeling like it had been ripped in two.

Jane only knew that Darcy and her elusive boyfriend (that Jane had never met), were no longer together. When the astrophysicist could separate herself from the science, she watched her strangely quiet assistant with worried eyes.

Not even being around the Avengers on occasion could lighten Darcy's spirit. Not when they occasionally spoke of Phil. The two assassins, Clint and Natasha, had worked very closely with him. The unspoken grief, from Natasha, was hard to handle. But it was Clint's soul-eating guilt that nearly undid Darcy. She couldn't be around the archer. It was too painful. He held himself semi-responsible for Coulson's death, and a part of her deep inside, still hurting from grief, agreed with him. So she just stayed away.

Steve Rogers was always quietly regretful whenever anyone mentioned Phil. It made Darcy angry. She knew of Phil's fanboy obsession with Captain America, and it just seemed like the star-spangled man should feel more about Phil's death. Or maybe she just secretly thought that she should feel more, and Steve made a convenient target instead.

Tony Stark, surprisingly, had deep feelings about Phil's death. Darcy desperately wanted to talk to the billionaire, because him knowing Phil was a part of Phil's life she hadn't shared, but she didn't want anyone's pity, and who would believe her after the fact? All they knew about was the cellist. Stark was still trying to track her down, because he believed that she should know what happened to Coulson. He didn't have any idea that 'the cellist' was living in his tower.

Banner was the easiest to be around, since he'd barely spoken to Phil, and knew nothing about him. He was also usually lost in his science, so he didn't notice that Darcy was alternating between hidden grief and numbness.

Still, she was functional. Sort of. That didn't mean that the annual day from hell (for single people) didn't get her down. It totally destroyed her. The night before, Darcy was a weepy mess. The morning of…she hated everything. The world, herself, anyone else who had someone…she hated it all. She wanted to bite people and shred the damn white, pink, and red flowers that were everywhere. She wanted to go all supervillain and blow up romantic dinner liaisons.

Jane wisely did not say a word to her. Her friend/boss took one look at Darcy's expression in the morning, and kept every single discussion related to work and work only. Selvig made one attempt, and then said nothing more when all he got was a glare in return. Banner, working with Selvig and Foster on the Einstein-Rosen bridge project, spared Darcy an incredulous look when she snapped at him. He still wasn't used to people that didn't walk on eggshells around him, and for someone to actually snap at him…

And then there was Stark. He was helping on Jane's project too, and he irritated the hell out of Darcy when he breezed into the lab. Maybe she could have dealt with it if he hadn't made some kind of flippant comment about Valentine's Day. Still, the anguished scream and the laptop hurled at the billionaire's head might have been an overreaction.

Everything in the lab came to a halt when the laptop shattered against a wall. Stark, having jerked his head out of the way, stared at the busted laptop, and then swung around to look at Darcy.

"Problem, Lewis?"

"I can't do today, Jane," Darcy said, ignoring Stark. "I'm sorry. I thought I could, but I can't." Anger, from the previously numb place inside of her, was welling up and threatened to destroy her and everything in her way.

Jane swallowed hard and waved dismissively. "It's okay, Darcy. Go ahead and get out of here."

Darcy grabbed her bag, swept by the very quiet Drs Banner and Selvig, past the annoying Tony Stark, and out of the lab. She headed for the gym level of the Tower, since she had had to do something to get rid of the anger.

Tony Stark was stupid enough to follow her.

"You're usually pretty quiet, Lewis," he said, falling in beside her.

Darcy clenched both hands into fists. Punching him would probably result in an eviction. "Please don't talk to me right now."

"Usually I know why people are throwing things at my head. I mean, I'm an ass, so I usually deserve it. But this time…honestly…no clue. What did I do to become a target?"

He really shouldn't have asked. "I'm having like the worst PMS episode ever, and the one man who I knew would not disappoint me on Valentine's Day is dead, and I hate everything. So please just don't talk to me and get away from me before I bite you."

It would've been cool to have a picture of the expression on Stark's face. "Oh. Uh…sorry? Maybe I'll just let you alone, okay?"

Maybe he had some genius to him after all.

The only thing in the gym that might help alleviate Darcy's fury was the punching bag. It drew her eye as soon as she walked in. She didn't really remember how she got from the door of the gym to the punching bag, but she was at it moments later, attacking it with savage cries. Anything to take away the black rage of grief and despair.

Her brain checked out. There was only the purging of all the emotions she'd tried to keep herself from feeling. She had to get rid of the anger and despair, or it was going to destroy her.

Later, how long she wasn't sure, but later, Darcy collapsed on the floor. She was drenched in sweat and her hands and arms were streaked with blood from her abused knuckles. Pulling on gloves hadn't ever occurred to her. She was a mess and her head felt five times larger than it was because of all the crying. She felt wrung out, drained, and empty. That was better than nursing the black beast of rage and despair, but the emptiness would eventually consume her too. At least there was less of a chance to take anyone with her though. The rage had demanded that her pain be inflicted on others. This emptiness would make her pull away from everyone else.

She sat on the floor, hands braced flat to hold up her exhausted body, and took stock of herself. Everything would hurt later. Some of it hurt now. She could feel pulls and tears in her shoulders, arms, and obliques from the wild flailing. Her hair was a wet snarled mess plastered to her head and neck. It would be an absolute bitch to untangle. Maybe she'd just cut it all off. Her clothing was ruined, sleeves torn to shreds, and blood specks everywhere. Her hands felt like pulverized lumps of meat, and she wasn't sure if there was any skin at all left on her knuckles. She wouldn't be able to type for days.

"Miss Lewis?"

Darcy heaved a shuddering sigh at the polite tone of Jarvis, Tony Stark's AI. Only Stark would create a digital butler. "Yes Jarvis?" she answered in a voice gone hoarse from weeping and screaming.

"Shall I call for someone to help you?"

No one could. "No thank you, Jarvis. I'll be…okay."

She sat on the floor for a long time before dragging herself to her feet. If she remembered correctly, there was a shower room on this level. She didn't really want to walk through the tower looking like she looked now. Too many questions could arise and she didn't want to answer or avoid them.

There was a shower room just off the gym, and it was stocked with towels, soap and shampoo, along with new gym clothes. Seriously? Stark's excessiveness knew no bounds, apparently, but Darcy wasn't complaining. It worked to her advantage. She showered, letting hot water pound down on her for a long time, and tried to work the snarls out of her hair, but that was a no go. So she finished showering, and wrapped her hair in a towel. She dried off and pulled on a tee shirt and a pair of loose pants. The tee was a little tight across the chest, and she had no clean underthings, but Darcy didn't really care.

She dragged herself through the tower and rode the elevator to her level. There was a bottle of vodka in her suite of rooms that was calling her name, and after that…bed. Or maybe vodka in bed. Couldn't hurt, right? It wasn't like anyone was around to judge her.

The smell of food when she opened her door created such a powerful feeling of déjà vu that Darcy rocked to a halt, tears springing immediately to her eyes. Her throat closed on a cry, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe she'd ask the assassins if there was anything they could get their hands on that would make her memories go away.

It took a few seconds for thoughts to win past the grief, but when they did, Darcy's eyes popped open.

She was hallucinating. She had finally plummeted over the edge into madness, and her mind was seeing what it wanted to see. She realized that. She knew that what she was seeing was not real, but it didn't stop her from wanting it so bad it hurt.

"Ph…Phil?"

He turned, and she realized instantly that he wasn't a ghost produced by her mind. In her mind, she always saw him as hearty and hale, slightly playful, with soft eyes. This Phil was thin and shrunken, with dark circles under his eyes, and sallow skin. He stood carefully, as if the slightest wrong move would topple him.

"Darcy," he greeted softly.

She took a half step toward him. "Are you…real?"

"As ever," he assured, then coughed harshly. It was too much for his wasted frame, and he had to catch himself on a counter in the kitchen.

Darcy took another half step toward him. "You…you died."

"Several times, yes. But they were able to bring me back." He leaned heavily on the counter and looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry, Darcy. I was under for a long time, and only surfaced recently. Director Fury didn't tell anyone, because they weren't sure I would make it."

Her feet kept her moving, even though Darcy herself felt stuck. "You're…you're alive."

He nodded, and gestured around the kitchenette. "I owed you a romantic Valentine's Day dinner, but the body is weak. I don't think I'll be able to finish it."

That was typical of the Phil she'd come to know. Practical to the end. A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled out of her mouth. "I don't give a shit about dinner, Phil! You're alive!" She was close enough to touch him now, but something held her back. Fear maybe? Fear that he was only a figment?

He offered a tremulous smile and reached out to ghost his fingers over her flayed knuckles. "I'm so sorry, Darcy. I wanted to wait until I was in better shape to see you, but I couldn't let you spend another Valentine's Day alone."

She took the necessary step to put herself into his space, and leaned her head forward until it rested against his chest. She could feel the beating of his heart and it seemed to fill that empty space inside of her.

A low, keening sound came from her throat as her arms slipped around his waist carefully. Phil looked and felt very fragile yet, but he was here and he was real and…wow. She was angry with him.

"I am going to yell at you later," she warned him, face pressed into the material of his shirt. He didn't quite smell like Phil. There was a lingering hospital scent on him, and she had to wonder just how recently he had 'surfaced'.

She felt his chin come down on top of the towel wrapped around her head, and realized how ridiculous she must look, but he'd seen worse from her. It didn't matter. He was here.

"You're allowed," he told her softly. "So…how about that dinner?"

Darcy chuffed out a small laugh, feeling tears slip from her eyes. "There's an awesome Chinese restaurant that delivers."

"That sounds perfect."