usavatar | I WAS MADE TO HIT IN AMERICAAAA

I WAS MADE TO HIT IN AMERICAAAA

He should know not to go out at night by himself. Not because he's in any danger - Captain America in New York City on a less-than-average day doesn't have much to worry about. But because, almost without exception, he gets lost. Steve tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans and squints up at the buildings around him, ignoring the college student who staggers by, stops to stare at him, and bursts out laughing before moving on.

He's used to that, too, by now. Apparently dressing conservatively these days isn't a reflection of care for the resources of the country, or a side-effect of living life as a soldier for two years - it's just "dorky." At least he doesn't feel like someone's taped a sign to his back, not since he asked Darcy - Agent Lewis - why he kept getting that reaction.

Of course the fact that she had to explain what 'Because you're a dork' meant didn't really help his... street cred. He chuckles to himself, only a little ironic, at managing to use both terms in one train of thought.

A few streets later he's getting very confused. Usually he's able to find at least one familiar street or landmark to point him in the general right direction, at least until he finds a cab to get him the rest of the way back to the mansion. He's done this enough in the months he's been here that his assigned SHIELD shadows don't pop a vein unless he's not back by morning - in this case, though, that's probably working against him.

Finally Steve sighs and digs into his pocket to pull out his cellular phone. He looks at it for a moment, smiling to himself and wondering what Howard would make of all this. Tiny phones with tinier batteries and communicators and jets that don't need runways to take off.

Well, for all Steve knows, Howard invented most of it. He still hasn't been able to bring himself to look at history texts to see how his friends lived out their lives. There's something too much like admitting he's never going to see them again in doing that.

He flips the phone open gingerly, poking the tiny buttons with his pinky because he's not sure how else to manage the thing, and dials in what he's fairly sure is Darcy's number. Agent Lewis's number. He could try calling someone else, but she's friendly, in her own way. She doesn't treat him like a loaded gun waiting to be pointed at the next Big Bad Guy.

Steve lifts the phone to his ear with a frown. "Uh. Hello?"

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Even pumping blood from one shoulder and bruised from Loki's spearhaft, he's too solid to go down, but the impact makes him wobble. When Darcy dives for him all Steve can do is yell "No!" with all the panic and hopeless desperation of someone convinced they're about to see another friend die inches away.

And then Loki... stops.

Steve has his hand on Darcy's shoulder arm and it half-way to throwing her out of the way when Loki does, and he just sort of... leaves his hand there as she points that arm at Loki and talks like her accusation means something.

Steve is so, so confused. "Darcy..."

He sways and drops down on one knee, his hand still on her arm. He has to get her out of here. First, though, that means getting her to listen to him.

Loki levels a look at Darcy that if a teenage girl were to employ, would be accompanied with a disdainful duh. Yes, he's well aware of the effects a spear through the torso of a mortal man. He does not require education on that particular point.

"Yes, it is, in fact, blood," he says casually, dropping his hand to properly display how his eyes roll as he does so. "What, pray tell, did you assume I was going to do with him? Invite him to luncheon?"

He casts an appraising eye over Steve distractedly before ignoring him in favor of Darcy. "Are you quite all right? You're breathing is rather labored." Yes, he is more concerned with her being out of breath than him bleeding out on the pavement.

For once in her life, Darcy is just going to ignore Steve. Now that she has time to think again she realizes that she's going to have to answer at least his questions. But that can come later.

"I don't know, maybe injure or at worst, seriously maim. Not kill." Another deep breath, though she casts a worried look at Steve at his movement onto his knee. Darcy doesn't shake his grip on her arm - it's kind of a comforting weight in that she's not trying to face down Loki on her own.

Even though she kinda is.

"I ran all the way here from my apartment." Darcy waves her other hand in dismissal, because he should know how far away that is. "I'm fine just... need to catch my breath."

"Darcy." There's a warning and a reprimand in her name, though it mostly comes out dazed. There's something he should remember about the way he's feeling right now, but it takes a while to filter through the fog sinking in around him. He's bleeding out.

"Darcy, where's..." He tightens his grip briefly and uses her to lever himself back to his feet. "Sorry.... Where are the others? Go to the... Get out of here."

"Perhaps you should have a seat, then." Loki sounds only vaguely concerned, but real worry lurks in the back of his eyes. He's perfectly aware of the distance, and for her to have run all that way - agent-in-training or no, it was still a sizable jog, and Darcy is only human. ...Mostly, anyway.

Steve's vague mumblings are dismissed out of hand until he pulls himself up; Loki glances at his efforts, barely more than the time it takes to blink, and assesses him in about as much time.

"If you're that terribly concerned for your friend's health, perhaps you'd best see to him. Unless you'd prefer to call in for your... 'Healers'." The amount of disdain with that last word is more than evident. Compared to Eir's ministrations, the medical practices on Midgard are practically barbaric. "His wound was much less dire when I first stabbed him," he says in a tone that says just how much this isn't his fault, "but he insisted on thrashing about. Careless."

Darcy leans into Steve, offering to take some of his weight in order to make this work out a little bit better. Even if she's not the tallest person around. "There isn't anyone else. I'm it - a one woman rescue act," which is directed to Cap though she wouldn't be surprised if Loki was listening in and totally disregarding proper rescue rules. Or something.

"Yeah, he kind of does the whole 'not giving up, not giving in' thing really well. Probably one of the reasons people like having him as Captain America." But he's got a point and she sighs melodramatically. "Right. We'll just be going now but." A pause and she levels Loki with a look. "We're having a talk later."

She shuffles a bit, trying to reposition Steve's arm so it doesn't become pure dead weight against her shoulders. "I don't suppose you could send us to my place?" A long shot, but never let it be said that Darcy doesn't try her luck in everything. "People will stare."

...He must be hallucinating from blood loss. This conversation is too surreal to be real. But he's leaning on Darcy, who is surprisingly solid, and in fact feels a bit like a tree.

"How do you say that tree name again?" It's vacant and he's looking slightly to the left of Loki's head.

Loki frowns disapprovingly. Running off without a single person to back you up is Thor-level planning, and he knows Darcy is leagues smarter than that. "Perhaps you would do better to ride in with some cavalry next time," he says, delicately scolding. As for the promise of a chat a later date, he merely looks resigned to the fact. "You know how to reach me. We'll see where we've a mutual opening."

They're overdue for a lunch anyway.

Arching an eyebrow at the request, Loki lets it hang in the air long enough for one to assume the answer to be such a resounding no that it hardly needs to be said. But then he nods, and his free hand sketches symbols in the air. "As you wish," he says amenably. "Try not to let him bleed on the carpet too much. Cleaning up after such things is an ordeal I trust you'd like to avoid."

"I was in a bit of a panic, okay. But if it means that much to you, I'll call for the Avengers." Or at least one of them. Maybe Clint. But she takes the scolding in stride, and nods in agreement - she'll call him tomorrow after she's passed out for a few hours and managed to get Steve some help.

At his agreement Darcy lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding, shifting to get a better hold on Cap. "I don't even know what'll take blood out of the upholstery anyway." And then, just as she can feel the magic starting to work "Thanks. For not killing me or him."

There's the rather unnerving sensation of suddenly being somewhere else - she's never going to get used to that - but the comfort of her own place is overwhelming. Okay, deposit one Captain America somewhere, stanch the blood, call Coulson. She can do this.

"He likes you," Steve says as he finds himself sprawled rather bonelessly across her upholstery. "Loki. Does. He likes you. He hates his brother, but he likes... you."

He squints at her, pawing weakly at his shoulder in an attempt to put pressure on it again. "That's... Where did we get here?"

There are two questions in there, somewhere.

"Maybe. It's best not to think about it too much." Because Darcy doesn't even know if Loki likes anyone, let alone her. All signs would point to some sort of familial affection if he was a normal, well adjusted individual. But it's Loki and he's anything but normal and well adjusted.

She's gone for a second before returning with a clean rag - pressing it down on his shoulder with one hand before fumbling for her phone. "Loki teleported us to my apartment." And Darcy hopes to hell he's not going to ask how Loki knows where she lives.

"Okay, try not to die and I'm going to call Coulson."

"Yes ma'am," he says. "Agent. Peggy was Agent. Was an Agent, I mean."

He closes his eyes. "Probably should let Coulson know I've got about five minutes until..."

Steve trails off for a second. "Conscien... Consh... I pass out."

"Kay. Who's Peggy?" Keep him talking, keep him talking...

Keeping pressure on the wound, Darcy thanks whatever gods actually exist that she has Coulson on speed dial. She doesn't even wait to tell if she's got his voice mail or him before she starts talking as soon as the dial tone ends.

"Coulson. It's Darcy. Steve's hurt, really hurt. Five minutes to passing out hurt and he's bleeding all over my couch and I need you or someone to get over here as soon as you can and. Don't ask questions."

A breath, and she hopes that she's actually got him on the line as she pauses to see if he responds.

"Peggy Carter," Steve says, sounding briefly lucid even if he doesn't look it. "I had her picture. They said they didn't find it, when they pulled me out, but in my compass. I had her picture."

There's a pause on the other end of the phone before Coulson says "Once he's taken care of, you're debriefing me on what category of 'don't ask' this falls under."

He hangs up.

Steve closes his eyes and tries for a deep breath. It rattles and feels a little wet and tastes like a mouthful of pennies. "That's bad," he thinks, and realizes he said it too. "She was with me. The radio, on the radio, in the plane. Peggy."

All the bad categories, but she breathes a little easier knowing he's on his way. Okay, on thing down now just to deal with the super soldier on her couch.

"Wait, you had a girlfriend." Steve Rogers. Having a girlfriend. Darcy needs to adjust her world view for a moment. But as it's something he sounds pretty lucid when he talks about her, she's going to go with it. As well as to make a mental note to find a picture of her for him, kind of as an apology for almost getting killed by her father.

"What was she like? Peggy?"

Darcy knows all about Captain America, it's kind of hard not to. But knowing about Captain America and knowing about Steve Rogers are two completely different things as she's coming to find out.

"I don't know if she..." Girlfriend. Peggy Carter, his girlfriend? "We were going to go dancing. After. After Hydra, after the... everything. She was..."

He lets his eyes close and smiles a bit, picturing her face as clearly as the photo. Clearer. "Smart. Braver than... anybody. Stronger. She..." Steve forces his eyes half open. "Believed. Believed in me, before I did. Could stop a room full of fellas in their tracks just walking in."

Steve sounds broken when he says, "I love her."

The front door to Darcy's apartment explodes inwards, and in a breath the space is full of black suits and people with medical equipment.

Coulson comes in last.

Whatever Darcy is going to say in response to his confession is interrupted by the arrival of SHIELD and never before has she been so happy to see them before in her life.

Well, at least until she realizes she's covered in blood and Steve looks like he's gone through hell and back and she forgot to wash the dishes or actually make an attempt to clean up. But she lets the suits and the medics do their job and, after a comforting squeeze to Cap's uninjured shoulder, tries to slip away as best as she can to Coulson's side.

"That was quick." Darcy doesn't even bother to hide her relief.

"We were in the area." Coulson manages a look that says We were in the area, hunting for the national icon currently bleeding out on your couch.

Steve lifts his good arm to salute. "Sir," he says, and gives a lopsided little grin. "Sorry if I don't. You know. Get up."

One of the medics forces his arm down with an exasperated reprimand. Coulson nods to the captain, then turns his full monotone focus on Darcy. "Is there somewhere we can talk."

Translation: We are going to talk. Right now.

Better on her couch than in the middle of a street, right? She shuffles under his glare and nods, gesturing him to follow her. Okay, so the only real place to talk is her bedroom or the bathroom and she seriously doubts Coulson cares about the mess in the bedroom.

Once she's in and made sure the door is shut so none of the other agents or medics will overhear and Darcy can't seem to actually shut her mouth.

"I was on the phone with him and then I suddenly got disconnected and that's not good news right and like everyone knows Loki's got this thing for coming after the Avengers though he hasn't like made it this personal in a long while and I called him and he didn't answer and I knew that there totally wasn't going to be enough time so I went after him myself."

She takes a deep breath and waits for the inevitable followup questions even if meeting Coulson's eyes is more than a little uncomfortable.

Coulson waits until the silence is uncomfortable - for her - before he says anything.

"And you didn't call to inform me or your colleagues because you were afraid for the well-being of the extraterrestrial you certainly do not have more than a passing relation to because?"

Eventually, Darcy, you will tell him the truth he already knows. And on that day he will stare at you and tell you he's recorded every outgoing conversation on your phone and is well aware of your relationship with Public Enemy Number One. Regardless of whether or not the majority of those recordings are simple static or Darcy's voice repeating "COULSON IS A DIMWITTED BOOBY" for a half hour straight.

He's very, very good at his job. Darcy definitely can't meet his eyes now and would be scuffing her shoe against the floor if she was that sort person.

Actually, she is that sort of person.

She opens her mouth to say something, to lie. But this is Coulson, who keeps an eye out for her and sticks his neck out for her more than nearly everyone she's ever met.

"Because. Because I thought that I could get Loki to stop while he'd probably enjoy killing Captain America in front of everyone else." A deep breath and she looks back at Couslon again.

She's going to put that day off for at least a few more minutes if he doesn't mind, thanks.

Silence. Again he waits, long enough for her to know that he knows that is at least half bullshit.

"It must have been difficult." A breath, enough time for her to start forming a question of what he means. "For you to get him back here by yourself."

"I--" She snaps her mouth shut and at least has the decency to look ashamed. Another moment or so passes and she looks back up to him. She knows he knows that there's something that she's not saying and Darcy also knows that she's not going to get away from this easily.

And hey, if she's going to get fired or arrested, she'd at least like it to be for something she's actually done.

"Loki sent us back here. I asked him to do it." The unspoken and it saved his life hangs, though Darcy doesn't doubt he's going to ignore that for now.

"I'm going to ignore the fact that you trusted a trickster, relative or not, in favor of pointing out you trusted SHIELD's number-one adversary to transport one of its most important assets. He could have sent the Captain into the sun and you wouldn't have been able to stop it or known until it was too late."

Coulson crosses his arms. "We got here as quickly as we did because believe it or not, Agent Lewis, the rest of your colleagues can do their jobs at least as well as you. You should have contacted me as soon as you knew something was off, regardless of your feelings for your... relative. Eventually someone is going to get killed, him or one of our own. If you want the choice of whom to fall on your shoulders, continue to behave the way you have in the past hour." Another pause as he lets that sink in. "If you would like to continue having a job and colleagues and a planet. I suggest you call us before calling him next time."

There's chastised, and then there's absolutely gutted with a side of heaping guilt. Darcy looks away, down somewhere around her feet as she just lets his words sink in. Coulson is right, of course, because he's got that annoying habit that no one can shake him out of.

And she very much doesn't want anyone to die, which is entirely the problem and one that she doesn't want to think about how he knows. Loki, by all rights, deserves death for attempted genocide among other things including a hefty collateral damage toll. She's not stupid, nor blind to that - except for when she apparently is.

"I'm sorry. I don't..." Darcy takes a deep breath and looks back up at him, her brain finally understanding the last sentence. "So I'm still... you're not firing me?"

God, she doesn't want to leave this job. She loves it, loves the people she works with and the excitement and being able to help in a way she didn't think she'd ever be able to. It's better than politics and Darcy never thought she'd say that about anything.

I WAS MADE TO HIT IN AMERICAAAA

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