Work Header

electricity hitting metal

Chapter Text

“I don’t mean to interrupt your pulverising of innocent punching bags, Captain Rogers, but I need your palm-print and a retinal scan, so you can accept this file,” Darcy says as she stands leaning against the open door of the gym. She wrinkles at the smell of old sweat, mildew and deep heat fills her lungs. Nice.

“Excuse me, Agent,” Steve asks as he places his hands on the punching bag to stop it swinging.

“Probationary Agent Lewis, sir,” Darcy replies with a half assed salute, with the wrong hand and a twisting of her mouth into a too sharp smile.

“Aren’t you a little to be an agent?”

Darcy’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits, “Aren’t you a little bit of an ass to be an American Treasure?”

“Probably,” Captain Rogers says with a careless shrug of his broad shoulders.

“What can I say? I sacrifice the blood of the lab interns in the light of the silvery moon. It’s pretty much all in the word probationary. I get the glory of running around to dingy gyms in search of elusive superheroes to hand over paperwork. I’m Sitwell’s dancing monkey.”

“I’ll try to find a better hiding spot next time,” he says the corner of his mouth quirks up into the ghost of a smile.

“You do that,” Darcy says lifting up the tablet in her hands. “Hand and eye scan please, Captain Rogers, and I will be out of your sweaty hair in a jiffy. I have scientists to put to bed and it’s getting rather late for story time.”

“If you say so, ma’am,” Steve says. His smile widens and reaches his eyes.

“I do.”

“What happened to Agent Winslow,” Captain Rogers asks as he unravels the tape from his hands.

“Remember that thing last week with the googly eyed monster with acne,” Darcy asks holding out the tablet in her hands.

“It ate him?”

“Not so much ate him, as gummed him a little bit,” Darcy says as Rogers places his palm across the tablet’s screen. “Turns out Agent Winslow is allergic to monsters that are in need of a heavy dose of Clearasil. The saliva gave him hives and some wicked bad hallucinations. He’s gone to the farm.”

Steve’s eyes bore into hers, “He died?”

“What? Oh God no, he went to visit his folks, they own a farm. You know with cows and chickens, and little baby ducks.”

“That’s a relief, Winslow's a good agent,” Steve nods after a pause.

“Winslow's a good shot, can bullshit on a level with Coulson but he has a black thumb when it comes to tech, and he can't fill out a form to save his bacon. Eyeball now,” Darcy says lifting the tablet. Steve held still while the small camera scanned his eye and let out a cheerful beep. “File’s all yours now. Have fun beating the crap out of your bag, Captain,” Darcy says with a wink.

“Thanks I think, and please call me Steve.”

“Like I said, have fun beating the crap out of your bag, Captain,” she says spinning round on her heel. Steve lets out a slow breath behind her. She reaches the door, glances back over her shoulder.

Captain Rogers’ eyes meet hers a bemused smirk on his lips, “Nice meeting you, Agent Lewis.”