The Darcy Lewis Story
Pairing: Loki/Darcy, Tony/Pepper, Thor/Jane
Genre: Drama, Humor, Romance
Warnings: Non-Explicit Sexual Content
Summary: We've heard the stories of superheroes and assassins, but no one really knows Darcy's story… until now.
A/N: I blame this story entirely on my internet wife "sunny_serenity" who actually inspired me with this story while answering a meme. So Sunny, I guess this one's all for you! :D
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, but I enjoy borrowing them.
Part One "Prelude"
I was born in New Mexico on a Monday. How lame is that? The worst day of the week! Garfield the cat probably hates me by association. I was abandoned about five seconds later by my mother. She was just barely eighteen and I was the accident that almost ruined her life, but no worries, I'm not one to hold a grudge. I was adopted by this super awesome suburban family who couldn't have kids of their own. They'd come with the plan to adopt a little boy and fell in love with me instead. My father's name is Jonathan Lewis and my mother's name is Helen. They were the best parents I could ever have asked for, so maybe I owe my birth mom a 'thank you' for giving me up. It all started out so normal, so it was pretty crazy when one day I found myself in the middle of freakin' nowhere with Jane Foster who I was assisting for a couple college credits. I tasered Thor, the god of thunder, and almost died because Thor's brother has major issues, like seriously… somebody get that man a therapist quick! I got hired for a job along with Jane working for S.H.I.E.L.D. because of what I'd seen. It wasn't my dream job, but if I was ever going to be the first woman president I figured it was a step in the right direction… maybe? So there I was, a girl from suburbia living in Manhattan, New York with these amazing people and who was I? Just a simple girl born on a Monday? I had no idea… but my story was just beginning. This story started on a Monday too… the day I got the call that my mother had died. As you can imagine, I'm really not a fan of Mondays anymore.
"Lady Darcy… I came to express my deepest sorrow for the passing of your mother." The big lug was the only one who'd come to see me when my dad called. I'd spent most of the day on my couch trying to wrap my head around it. One minute she was calling me complaining about burned turkeys and how I didn't call often enough and then just like that… she was gone. Dad said it was a massive stroke. They'd never even seen it coming. I didn't speak when Thor moved to sit beside me. Jane was keeping busy heating up some dinner she'd brought me and trying desperately to be helpful.
I didn't cry. It hadn't really hit me yet. Instead I let my head fall to Thor's shoulder and closed my eyes as my temple pressed into the metal armor he wore. Somehow it made me feel better, and Thor was more than willing to let me borrow his shoulder for an hour or two. I hadn't realized I'd fallen asleep until Thor shook me gently and I could smell a pleasant mix of Pine Sol and bleach in the air. Jane Foster had spent three hours cleaning my apartment and getting out my bags for my flight back to New Mexico. I don't know why, but that's when I decided to break down and cry. I never realized they cared so much.
"Jeez," I couldn't stop coughing as I choked on all the dust that had collected over the years. "I feel like I should be wearing a mask right now!"
My father could only smile, handing me a dust rag, before he finished pulling down more boxes of my old stuff. I'd been home for over a month now, but it was getting to be time for me to return to New York and my work. I'd offered to take a few things with me and help my Dad clean out the basement of my junk. We'd gone through boxes for most of the day. After thoroughly cleaning off the box I was holding I set it down and took a look inside. I smiled at my mother's scribble on the top 'Darcy Lewis Baby Years'. Dad and I were the only ones who could ever read her chicken scratch!
"I can't believe mom saved all this stuff."
"Are you kidding me? Our only baby girl… hell, I'm surprised your mother didn't keep your damn baby teeth," muttered dad, and I had to laugh. I could only image that conversation. 'Dammit Helen, we are not keeping old teeth in this house!' Then her mom would huff and walk away, probably refusing to talk to him for at least a week. She'd always had a quick temper, and mules probably envied the stubbornness Helen Lewis possessed!
The box mostly contained pictures of me and baby clothes. I found an old doll I remember sleeping with at night, and when I held it close somehow it felt like traveling back in time when life was carefree. I remembered I'd named her Annie after the movie because she was an orphan too once, adopted just like me. Tons more pictures, but one stood out over the rest… a young blonde with giant boobs and full lips. "Who's this?" I asked, cause I'd never seen the picture before.
My dad paused for a moment, staring at the photo with this weird look in his eye. It was the same look he gave me the night he told me Santa Claus wasn't real. "That would be your mother… your birth mother. Linda Sykes, I believe, was her name."
I was five when my parents first talked to me about my true parentage. I didn't fully understand, but they'd wanted me to know as early as possible, which was probably a good thing. I'd never really had that mental breakdown other adopted kids had when they were told the truth. I mean, I still had my rebellious teen years with screams of 'you're not my real parents' and 'why do you even care about me anyway'… but that was about it. I never even knew my birth mother's name. I never asked. It seemed wrong to be curious about a person who never even cared enough to raise me herself; like maybe I was being disrespectful to John and Helen (the parents who taught me how to tie my shoes and gave me hugs on my first day of school) to search for her. "I don't look like her." Her hair was so blonde, and she had these bright green eyes. The boobs were probably the only thing we had in common... and maybe the lips. I wasn't sure why it bothered me.
Dad seemed to understand, and dropped an arm around me for a moment as he looked at the photo. "Guess you took after your father more."
I glanced over at him, trying not to ask the question on the tip of my tongue. Eventually I just couldn't help myself. The dam was broken. I had to know. "What do you know of him?"
"Not much. I'm told he was some playboy, rich guy. It was just some one night stand. Two young idiots in way over their head. I don't even think he knew she was pregnant. His name is probably in there somewhere… she had it put on the birth certificate."
I shoved the picture of my birth mother in my pocket and kept digging in the box with a little more drive than before. Curiosity could be a dangerous thing, and it didn't help that my dad was more than willing to help me find it. Why did I even care? Why did it matter? My mom died a month ago, and John Lewis was the greatest guy I'd ever known… so why did I care about a stupid name on my birth certificate? Dad found it first, eyebrows knitted together as he tried to read without his glasses. Finally I rolled my eyes and snatched it from him. "God, you are so blind!" I teased him, and he gave me a playful shove.
"That's what happens when you start to get old!" he complained.
I let my eyes drift to the paper searching for the name I was looking for. My eyes widened the moment I found what I was looking for and suddenly (I'm ashamed to admit) everything went black. Later I would recall my dad shouting my name, because I probably scared him half to death. Everything was different now, and I couldn't breathe. Anthony Stark. Jesus Christ… Tony Stark was my friggin' father!
To Be Continued