It was all Thor’s fault, he was the start of it all, and the bringer of the end.
At one point the conversation had to have gone like this:
“Dearest Jane, what is your opinion of offspring?”
Her answer, muffled and distracted warbled “offspring. You mean kids? They’re cool.”
Thor hummed his approval.
And that was that.
Darcy knew something was off, weird even. She and Jane were synced, had been since New Mexico, and through everything they had a routine. Ice cream, enough candy to upset the most hardened Halloween veteran’s stomachs and the chick flick flavor of the month. The first night found Jane drooling into the cushions next to Darcy well before the opening credit sequence completed. The next with her head in the toilet after bad sushi at lunch. The evening after puts a hold on all period-centric festivities as there is a machinery meltdown in the lab and they spend the better part of the next four days salvaging the radio emitter, scouring for parts to fix the particle accelerator and build a bigger laser while Darcy tries to work a few spare spectrometers into the budget.
The next week Darcy finds Jane’s stash: two empty unfrosted cherry pop tart boxes in the utility closet (when Jane’s flavor is really brown sugar), cheese and peanut butter cracker wrappers overflowing out of her desk drawer, and there’s a positive pregnancy test stashed at the bottom of their tampon supply box under the bathroom sink.
Her reaction is less shock and more awe. Mostly because the receipt crumpled near it was from this morning. Also because this explains everything.
It doesn’t explain why Darcy goes two more periods without Jane saying a god damn word though. She watches her struggle in silence, doesn’t treat her any different and lets her make her excuses for missing ice cream, candy and rom-coms. In fact, Darcy doesn’t bring it up, she refuses to coddle her. If Jane doesn’t want any help (see: refuses to acknowledge that she’s up the duff with an alien baby) then Darcy isn’t about to start volunteering it.
What Darcy really doesn’t like is that Jane has completely shut Thor out. Between his off-planet adventures in the Nine Realms and his complete and blameworthy hand in this, the golden giant mopes around like a kicked puppy. The only time he appears less than melancholy is when he’s sparing with Captain America’s brainwashed Russian friend (she’s told his name is Sargent Barnes, but she’s never met him) and eating, which Darcy can wholly appreciate. So she cooks Thor’s Midgardian favorites, hearty meals that she can make in bulk, and if he happens to share his leftovers with Sgt. Barnes, well Darcy can’t stop him (it is absolutely not thank-you-food, she lies to herself).
Jane starts writing again, which is really Darcy starts writing Jane’s scribbles into intelligible, thought-provoking papers, and she becomes immensely grateful to Ink Equation. While Jane tries diligently to shatter the cosmos, Darcy daydreams of her name on the credit lines of Cosmos (because fuck-yeah space!). But when Jane comes to work for the fourth day in so many weeks in sweat pants, Darcy’s pants actually, loose fitting and soft black with the small bleach stain near the right-side pocket, she about loses her shit.
“Jane, while appreciate your intelligence and burning need to destroy all the haters with your mad skills, if I have to dress like an adult, so do you.”
Jane scoffed and continued checking her readings, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about Darcy.”
“Um, Jane, you haven’t worn actual pants to work in, like, weeks. And those sweat pants you’re wearing are mine, and I would really like them back for my weekend date with Jarvis, we’re highlighting the best of the Doctor and Rose Tyler.”
“Again, I’m not sure what you mean,” Jane mumbled making notations.
Darcy rolled her chair away from her workstation and stood, now beyond annoyed. “Jane, you’re wearing my pants, you could at least have fucking asked-“
“I don’t fit into any of my own pants Darcy!” Jane exploded, rounding on her friend.
Darcy sighed and quietly replied, “really.”
A tick formed in Jane’s jaw. “I’m pregnant.”
“I know, congratulations,” was Darcy’s empty sentiment (for her friend lying or for how hurt Thor had been she wasn’t sure).
Jane sunk on to the nearest desk corner, “how did you find out?”
Darcy rolled her eyes and pulled her chair over to her, “Jane you stashed your pee stick in the tampon box. I saw it the same day you took it.”
“And you never said anything? Th-that was months ago,” she spoke quietly.
“Yeah, I was waiting for you to tell me, it’s your baby-thing-alien,” Darcy chuckled trying for humor.
Jane wasn’t following, “you didn’t say anything to him did you?”
Darcy shook her head, looking puzzled, “no, but didn’t you? He’s been so down.”
Jane looked everywhere but Darcy.
“Jane, no, tell me you didn’t.”
“I told him I needed some time! We’re on a break!”
Darcy scoffed next, “seriously?! A break?! What happens when he finds out Jane? You know he’s a fertility deity, right?”
“I know, this is all his fault, I didn’t even think that cross-species procreation was possible, not realistically anyway, I mean what exactly do I have growing inside of me right now?” Jane worried the skin on the side of her thumb in thought.
“Can’t be any worse than the twilight baby,” Darcy quipped eyeing Jane’s stomach intently.
Jane’s head snapped back forward, confusion marring her features, “what?”
Darcy wave her hand dismissively and looked away, “never mind. But Jane, you need to tell the big guy.”
Jane frowned and bobbed her head, “yeah, I know.”
“But first, we need to get you some new fucking clothes.”