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Make the Young Girls Cry

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"Darcy, I need the voltmeter," Jane said from underneath the huge-ass star-something measuring instrument, and waited just a few seconds before telling Darcy to hurry up. "Darcy, NOW!" Where had Jane's patience gone?

"Yeah, yeah, boss lady, coming," Darcy replied, as someone knocked on the door. Well, if it wasn't her least favourite man in black. Couldn't they have gotten Will Smith instead? He was still hot, even if it had all gone downhill from Fresh Prince. Oh, God, she just earwormed herself with the theme tune. She opened the door, and crossed her arms beneath her boobs.

"We come in peace," the guy behind Phil Coulson intoned. I was in Philadelphia born and raised... Shut up, brain. Wow, those were some really nice arms, was he just as cut beneath the armored vest? And was that a bow? For real? She quirked an eyebrow at him, and he grinned back.

"Please disregard Agent Bartons sense of humor, Ms Lewis. May we come in?" She stepped away from the door, letting them in. "We do have a peace offering, of sorts."

"Voltmeter, Darcy!" shouted Jane, and Darcy ran off with the yellow digital thingie to her boss.

"Sorry, we just got company." Jane crawled up, raised a hand in greeting, took the voltmeter, and crawled right back under the instrument she was rebuilding. When Darcy turned around, Coulson was standing right behind her with a box in his hand. Was that a small smile on the stone face? "Oh my God, oh my God, it's my iPod! Finally! Oh em gee!" She turned a suspicious eye to the agent. "I hope you didn't erase it or mess with my music."

"Don't worry, Ms Lewis, I wouldn't dream of compromising your carefully curated music collection."

"You'd better not."

"For full disclosure, I have to tell you that I did examine the music and the metadata for hidden messages."

"That must have been quite a chore. After all, I don't think you've heard of most of the bands I listen to."

"Better than having to listen to that mindless noise Tony Stark calls working music," he shrugged, and Barton snorted from his place by the door.

Did she just make that squeeing noise? Yes, she did. She just squeed in front of a government agent and a totally hot-ass government agent. "I officially have better taste in music than Tony fucking Stark! This so goes on my Tumblr!"

"No, it doesn't. Neither does it go on your blog, your LiveJournal, your Dreamwidth, your AO3, your OKCupid, your LinkedIn resume, your Twitter, your G+, your Diaspora or your Facebook. Although you don't seem to be on MySpace, you're not allowed to post that there either."

"What do you think this is, the middle ages? Of course I'm not on MySpace."

"You still have a LiveJournal?" Barton asked.

"Shut up. It's great to connect with my Russian fans." Barton and Coulson exchanged a significant look. "And I haven't been on Facebook in years, way to ruin my hipster cred there, fed."

"He didn't have to go further down the list of artists than to the B:s to let you ruin your own hipster cred," Barton said.

"No, no, no, I listen to him ironically!" she almost shouted.

Barton just flashed her a drop dead sexy grin and undulated his body, singing "Oh, my music makes you dance" as he left. She looked out the window, devastated at her secret being outed like that. On the other hand, based on the way Barton's hip nudged Coulson's, maybe she wasn't the only one with a secret.