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Darcy was sitting in the waiting area of Phil Coulson’s office, idly flipping through a decades old National Geographic. She supposed that when your organization was a secret, you didn’t get all that many visitors. Five minutes later, she was deeply engrossed in a 1987 article on Borneo when Phil cleared his throat. She glanced up, and noted that the normally unflappable Coulson looked thoroughly flapped.
“What?” she asked, following him into his inner sanctum. To the untrained eye, it looked like an accountant’s office. Which, she imagined, described Phil Coulson pretty well. “Did I miss a report deadline?”
Coulson sighed and gestured to a seat. “I am about to give you an assignment. It is a shit assignment. I would normally give it to someone to punish them.” He paused and moved a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Please understand I am not trying to punish you. In this instance, the assignment has political ramifications that I can’t afford to have fucked up. Ergo, I am rewarding you for your ridiculously stunning, if unexpected competence.”
“Thank you…I think.” Darcy leans back and takes the dossier from his hands. Opening it, her eye brows rise. A man, good looking in a slightly polished but rugged way looks out at her, golden brown hair and a smart-assed smirk that reminds her of Tony. The dossier reads like a publisher’s pr style sheet, all book titles and magazine article and friendships with Mayors and Judges. “So, what? He’s some kind of undercover super-genius-villian?”
“I wish,” Coulson says, seriously. “No, apparently, we need some positive PR. He finds us fascinating. So the council has ordered us to show the gentleman some hospitality while he researches an article for Time Magazine on us.”
“You’re shitting me,” Darcy said. “How long?”
“48 hours.” Phil said. “For the next 48 hours, he gets access with an agent to life at S.H.I.E.L.D. You are his handler. Handle him. You manage with six Avengers every day. How hard can this be?”
As Darcy entered hour three thinking that she would rather deal with the Hulk every day of the week, and twice on a Sunday. So far, Richard Castle had broken Clint’s favorite coffee mug (which was admittedly plain white porcelain and looked just like all the others, but Clint always new), knocked over two experiments in the labs, made an unfortunately flirty comment to Natasha, and almost dented a Quinjet.
“Mr. Castle,” she said again, trying to herd him away from the head of avionics.
“Rick,” he said. “Call me Rick.”
“Rick,” she said, taking a deep breathe. “Why don’t we take a walk outside of the tower, and I can show you some of the rebuilding efforts that S.H.I.E.L.D has implemented in Manhattan.”
“Sure!” He said, reminding her of an exuberant puppy. Breathing a sigh of relief, she led him down the elevator and out the door into the early spring sun. They walked for a while, Darcy pointing out new improvements in building technology, provided by a partnership with StarkTech. Fifteen blocks in, his phone rang. He apologized and flicked the slider. “Castle.”
She saw it immediately, the change in his shoulders, the straightening of his spine. She had seen it before, in other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. In the Avengers themselves. In herself, these days. “I have this thing, but I can do it another time. Central Park, west end? I’ll grab a cab and be there in fifteen.”
Hanging up, he turned to Darcy, apologetically. “Something’s come up. Can I rain check, do you think?”
“Sure,” Darcy said. Then she stopped, a little intrigued. She had read his books, after all. They were her favorite college brain candy. “Actually, since you’ve met my team, would you mind if I met yours?”
Castle actually grinned at her, and threw his arm up. A cab immediately made a crazy lane change, screeching to a halt next to them. She followed him in and sped off.
Ten hours, she arrived back at the Tower, and headed up, unsurprised to find Phil still sitting in his office, with the lamp on over the desk, reviewing paperwork.
“So,” he says, looking up. “I said watch him, not disappear him.”
“Hey, he disappeared himself.” Darcy plopped down. “He was…restless…so we took a walk, and then he got a call, and there was a garden variety murder. I met his partner. If we’re in the market for new recruits, we really should look at her. She’d be fantastic.”
“So he wants to come back some other time?” Coulson said.
“He mentioned it, but the case seems to be heading for a long haul,” she said, shrugging. “I may have suggested that his first priority had to be his team. So for the time being, I think he’s otherwise engaged.”
Coulson snorted. “Atta girl. Dismissed, Agent Lewis.”
“Thank you, sir. Good night.”