For all intents and purposes, Darcy expected everything to go back to normal.
Well, as normal as you could get knowing there were different realms and guys wielding giant hammers that made fucking lightening and holy shit with brothers that were homicidal maniacs.
So maybe not so normal.
But she was back to, you know, looking for jobs because you can only go so far as someones assistant when they work for a top secret organization and you're not allowed to even know about let alone work in. Her resume is pathetic, barely taking up half a page; she's been putting off getting her food handlers card, partly because she's poor as hell and she does not want to work at a fast food place, since there's only one of two ways that could end up(either she continually snatches bits of food from the customers orders, or slowly goes insane from refraining herself from eating everything. She is fired in both scenerios).
However, she's now living on instant ramen and packaged peanuts from a vending machine in the lobby of her less than respectable apartment building, and she's not sure how much loose change is left lying around inbetween the cushions of her couch. She's also down to her last twenty four pack package of beef ramen that's diminishing fast.
So yeah she's kind of screwed but at least everything has gotten back under the pretense of being normal. Bosslady is acting a bit different lately(meaning: moping around like a teenage girl dumped before prom), but Erik is doing a pretty good job of keeping her distracted. She would like to help, really, but Darcy knows Darcy, and she would probably just make it worse.
Scratch that: she would definitely make it worse.
So, she has a lot more days off than she actually knows what to do with since Jane is more often than not called S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters to do things she only occasionally understood anyway, though she'll still get texts on Tuesdays and Fridays to head over with the RV to the desert and watch their 'Spot' for the night.
It doesn't make much sense, since most of the equipment has wound up over at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s... wherever they had their sleepovers, and even if they still had it, she wouldn't know what the hell was going on anyway. She kinda suspects though that Jane only wants someone to check up on the infamous little patch of desert and make sure there are no surprises.
And if there are, to drag them immediately to her. Tasing if necessary.
...She kind of added that last part, but she's sure Bosslady wouldn't object too much over it. Secretly, of course.
Sometimes Erik comes with her. Usually though, she's solo; just the mention of a desert makes Janes face grow dark and stormy, and Darcy has no doubt that should she actually get it into her head to go, things would not end well. Probably because Darcy would be there.
So, there she is, driving a little motor home that held more space than her apartment in the middle of the desert in the dead of night. Now, when it's so quiet that even the hum of the blues-station she managed to find on the radio sounds loud. Her eyes are gritty, blurrying behind her glasses, and she's getting into the habit of rubbing them every few minutes. She really wishes she gave into temptation earlier and took a nap, but she had to wait for Bosslady's text; and of course she knew it would come, but she just couldn't risk not waking up. Even with Bruno Mars blaring his horrible, angst ridden music whenever Bosslady texted her, she could never really wake up from a nap. Blink blearily, sure. Maybe become coherent enough to adjust herself from whatever uncomfortable position she happened to fall asleep in. Actually become functional, like with thinking and moving around voluntarily and things?
She didn't even try anymore. Fighting the tentacles of sleep required a will of steel that she just didn't have; she just let Bruno boast about catching grenades for her and squeezed her eyes tighter.
The point of the matter was, Darcy was tired, and she was rambling inside of her head, which was beginning to nod off. And her eyes were still gritty.
In the next instant her forehead meets the steering wheel, and she has a split second of absolute, overwhelming, thoughtless panic where she instinictively jerks the RV to the left. Sand and dirt fly up and she's blinded for long, terrifying moments in which she's jerked the wheel back to the right, as if she could magically straighten out the vehicle by will alone. Her elbow somehow(impossibly, stupidly, stupid stupid stupid) hits the blinker as she's forcefully turning the wheel. The methodic, unaltered ticking combined with her jackhammering heart and the crooning blues station was not doing anything for her nerves.
Which were currently being fucking fried alive as each second passed and she was still unable to get the RV back under control. Her left foot was currently pressing hard ontop of her right to stop the instinctual urge to slam them on the breaks.
Without the gas pedal being stepped on, the van is ever so slowly losing momentum, although the feel of hundreds of pounds of steel and metal lurching back and forth is going to surely make her lose her stomachs contents all over the dashboard. She gains enough sense through her animalistic panic to very cautiously, very slowly inch her foot over to the break and gently press down.
She sits there, mouth and eyes wide open while her heart pounds an uncomfortable but kind of catchy rhythm on the inside of her ribs. The engine is still on, roaring it's displeasure at its recent abuse while the blues station croons of broken homes and broken souls; she can hear absolutely none of this over the blood rushing in her ears. It takes her awhile, she doesn't know how long, to realize that yes, she has come to an absolute stop and yes, she is still alive, praise Mary, Mother and Joseph and Buddha and whoever else is up there, she loves you please and thank you.
And that's around when she realizes she needs to get out of the RV and onto-relatively-solid ground. Now.
She struggles with the seatbelt, irrationally starting to feel claustrophobic until she finally unclicks it and manages to stumble out into the cool night, grabbing her taser only by reflex and silently thanking Mary, Mother and Joseph and Buddha that she'd wedged it in the middle console before leaving her apartment. She's breathing in great gasps of air that burn her lungs and make her eyes water, and she's still a little ways from the 'crash site', but she can't make herself get back into the RV. Instead Darcy takes a few steps forward and lets out a little shuddering breath before she straightens up her spine and continues.
It's chilly. The wind that whips her hair in her face is biting through her pitiful brown sweater and she mentally counts the ways she could kill herself with all of this sand for not having the forethought to grab a chair or an extra coat; by the time she's reached her usual Look Out spot(marked by a delightfully festive Christmas Coke Cola Santa flagpole she's had to relocate and replace about twelve times respectively), she's reached three and can think of no more.
Darcy half wonders if she should be disappointed in her lack of creativity.
Then reflects that maybe, concerning this, that's a good thing.
She's standing there next to a bent and pitiful looking flagpole with her arms hugging her middle, taser cradled like a small child in her arms when she realizes that something just doesn't feel right. There's an electricity in the air that's making her hair stand on end and, warily, she glances around the deserted landscape. Obviously no one is there, but there's something about being here that has her feeling uneasy; like she's being watched.
...Was Thor watching her right now?
Or any other Asgardian-dudes?
Her gaze immediately snapped up to the sky, eyes narrowed behind thick-rimmed glasses as she opened her mouth to let loose a stream of language she'd once overheard at a shady 7/11 she'd been visitting for a sugar-boost at midnight that had made even her blush. It's about then that she notices the sky is glowing.
"Well, fuck me sideways," She murmurs.
The next thing she knows, she's blasted back and is rolling around in the sand like a friggin' dog. For a split second, she's airborn; limbs spread eagle as she soars through the air before landing harshly in the sand. Her hair is in her mouth, sand is in her mouth, sand is in her goddamn pants; she's trying not to breathe in too much, but her mouth is wide open and she's gasping and can't seem to stop. A small, almost indistinct voice in the back of her head whines that she's lost her beloved Shocky.
Even with her eyes squeezed shut, the light is blinding and piercing and damn, she's going to have one hell of a migraine.
It feels like an eternity before the light clears. Spots are dancing before her eyes, her body is aching and her limbs are trembling as she painstakingly pushes herself up to her hands and knees. Sand's falling from her hair and clothes(and, oh, ew, her mouth), and it takes her a moment to realize that yes, yes there is a body now inhabiting the once clear space she had just been watching.
A very tall, very lanky, very much not Thor body.
In fact, she couldn't recall ever seeing someone with that physique come from that place.
Or that colored robes.
So would that mean...?
The body twitched. Horrorstruck, she couldn't help but watch as slowly, a head that she had not noticed was attached to said body raised.
A mouth attached to the head attached to the body then proceeded to spit out a mouthful of dirt. Everything after that happened very fast.
Their eyes locked. Coincidentally, that's when she decided to scream, scrambling back on her ass as she tried to scoot as far away from the very sandy, very pissed looking god. Her hand knocked into something hard and smooth just as he finally got to his feet, albeit swaying gently; without giving it any conscious thought, she gripped the taser and fired.
He went down like a sack of writhing, magical potatoes.
"Oh shit!" She had to stay calm. She couldn't panic. Panicking would send her over the edge into bubbling hysteria, and then she wouldn't be able to think clearly to figure out what she needed to do. But she had just tased(another) god, and she was so sure that he was not going to be as forgiving as Thor had been.
Maybe she could leave him there...?
No, shit. What was that quote? 'The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Or the one.' She couldn't leave him there; the last thing the world needed was a very pissed off mage-god-magic-wielder-guy on the rampage, probably more than likely searching for the starved little college student that had tased him into unconsciousness. Darcy didn't think he'd be merciful to those who got in his way.
So, that left option two: take him with her. That way, if he woke up grumpy(and she so knew he would), then she'd be within easy reach. Innocent lives could be saved! Hundreds! Maybe even thousands!
Though she'd die. That would suck.
No! Think of Spock, think of Spock!
She had to get him to the RV.
She had to get him to S.H.I.E.L.D.
...Well, she had to try, at least.
Darcy shook herself, hesitantly raising to her knees as she peeked over to the still unmoving body. Looking around briefly, she was disappointed there were no rocks or sticks nearby. Nothing like inquiring about the life status of an unknown body than a good hard jab with a stick.
Hesitantly, she inched forward on her hands and knees toward the prone body. All the sand that had been stirred up was starting to settle in extremely uncomfortable places, but she had to be sure he was still alive. It would really suck if she was the one responsible to kill Thor's brother.
Then again, he was an evil bastard who had tried to kill them, so.
When she was close enough to make out the bits of sand settled into his cape, she carefully crouched down on all fours and, turning her body, cautiously poked the armor above his shoulder with the toe of her shoe.
Resolve boldened by this uneventful outcome, she scooted closer and nudged the side of his head. It tilted face-first into the sand.
Okay, so the guy was obviously out cold. Now what? She couldn't leave him, and she certainly couldn't take him, except... Well, what other choice did she have?
She risked a peek at him from under her lashes, and withheld a groan. This was going to suck.
Fifteen minutes later, and she had her arms full of unconscious god and was still about twenty five feet from the RV. The sand had definitely settled in uncomfortable places now, and was starting to turn out to be one of those annoying little details that really shouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things but still managed to bug the ever living hell out of you.
As it also turned out, crazy ass homocidal dudes that fell from the sky(even when they appear lanky as all hell, even decked out in armor) are heavy. Darcy was pretty sure that she was going to break her goddamn back going at this pace; hands fisted in his stupid bunched up cape, only managing to gain ground by dragging the god across the sand in short, backwrenching bursts of strength that left her panting and red in the face. Judging by the smooth indent in the sand, she'd only dragged him about four, five feet.
Huffing, she let go(cringing internally when he fell with a soft pooft back into the sand face first) and stepped back to fully admire her handiwork. There was no way that she was going to be able to drag him all the way back to the RV before the sun rose; a quick glance at her dingy little Mickey Mouse watch confirmed sunrise in a little less than three hours.
So, okay. New plan.
Crouching next to the prone body, she scowled. "You're heavy," She began, spreading her hands as if to say 'Well what can you do?' "And, believe me, I love back problems as much as the next girl. No one's arguing that. But this," She thumped her knuckle against his shoulder plate. "has got to go if we want to make any time at all."
She paused. Nodded into the silence.
"Yes, I agree completely. I promise I'll be extra, extra careful."
She shoves aside the green cape type deal to get a better look at the armor beneath, but for the life of her couldn't find a latch or tie or anything to suggest there may be a way to take the armor plating off. She sat there, fingers tapping impatient rythms on her knees as she studied the platings, bottom lip caught firmly between her teeth.
This was fucking ridiculous.
"Help would be really, really appreciated right now." Darcy muttered, peeking between her hair hopefully. Nope, still unconscious. Damn.
Wait, no. That was a good thing.
"God damn it!" She exploded, falling to her knees so she could plant both hands on his side and roll him over harshly, grunting. "What is with you guys and your need to fall from the sky and give girls heart attacks? Huh? Do you enjoy being tased? Kinky bastards!"
She thinks about kicking some sand onto him, but his face is already covered in it, and she was sure that if she had uncomfortable-sandy spots on her person, then he definitely did. And hell, she's already tasered him.
"You're so lucky." She informs him darkly.
It strikes her in that moment how absolutely odd it is for her to be kneeling in the middle of the desert next to an unconscious god that had just hurdled from another freaking dimension only-what? Twenty minutes ago?
She kind of wants to giggle, but doesn't know if she'll be able to stop once she starts. Instead, she studies him in the moonlight(holy christ, how corny is that?), and noticed that he looks tired, even asleep. Despite the dirt smudging his face, the bruises under his eyes were vivid, giving him a distinct vulnerable look.
Darcy knows looks are decieving, knows that honestly he could snap her neck without putting forth any real effort and stay guilty-feeling free afterwards. He is a god, a god that will not be very happy with her once he wakes up, a god that probably isn't very happy with anyone in general whether conscious or not, and most likely would not change his decidedly gloomy outlook just because a college student with a mild sugar addiction gives him a great big hug while softly humming Journey's Don't Stop Believin'.
But she still kind of wants to, though.
She settles for brushing the sand from his face, feeling incredibly giving(oh ho ho she is merciful and kind, bow to Queen Darcy) and not a little dorky and self conscious as she reaches forward to brush and definitely not poke-kinda-punch the sand from his cheek.
As soon as her knuckles come into contact with his skin, his eyes flutter open and find hers, wide and glazed and sort of dizzy to look at while his eyebrows try to touch his hairline.
Her expressions morphs to that of surpreme surprise(mouth forming a little "o" as her eyes widen to saucer like proportions), and that's when all hell breaks loose.
Let's just get this out of the way, shall we?:
I am horrible and weird and can't help myself when plotbunnies attack me with their little gnawing teefs and big green eyes and slicked back black hair in green cloaks and mmm.
I mean. -bows head, properly chastised-
If I've eff'd anything up, please do not hesitate to inform me of this. I'm new to the Thor-ness, you guys. Any and all pointers and advice is so welcome.
(also would someone like to beta read me? That would be nice. I'd love you forever. I'd even let you get first dibs on a honey-covered Loki. No, really)
And, well, third: I'm off to update Delayed. Once again, no, really.