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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?"
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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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.
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"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.
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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.
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"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."
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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.
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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."
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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.
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He eyes her, privately wishing she would act more like an agent being censured and less like a kid about to be grounded for life. "He'll be fine," Coulson says after a moment. It's the closest to comfort he's going to get.
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Well, she'll try at least. Darcy isn't anyone's model for best SHIELD agent and probably will never be. It's just a side effect of being Darcy Lewis than anything conscious on her part.
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"Agent Lewis," he says. "Agent L-" Coulson cuts himself off with his own exasperation. "Don't make me reconsider."
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Even if he's probably never been hugged before in his life.
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When it's clear she's not going to let go until he gives some kind of response, Coulson puts one arm around her and pats her on the back. "You are one of the few people who files reports in triplicate."
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Though if she's being honest, she should probably admit to. Other things. At least she's got his word that she'll have her job. Hopefully.
"Now that we've gotten through this rough patch I figure that you should know that my father and I have been. Doing things. Together. Family things! Sort of, I mean if family things are possible between evil aliens and half-breeds." It speaks volumes on how many things that she refers to Loki as her father instead of relative, as Couslon and Fury have done in every memo related to the matter.
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Seriously, Darcy, even if he can't keep exact track of you as far as Loki is concerned he can take the signs and inconsistencies and add them into a pretty comparable picture of what's going on.
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Because she could have sworn that she was at least halfway decent at making sure that didn't get out. Like sometimes maybe there'd appear a Starbucks coffee cup on her desk because Loki came and stopped by for a visit and blocked everyone from detecting it but no one had ever said anything about it.
That she knew of.