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“Hey, I gotta ask you something.”
John--Anakin glances up from his lecture notes. Darcy knows they’re lecture notes, as opposed to regular notes, because he’s spent an hour bitching about Oxford and fifteen minutes wondering if strangling some guy named Smythe was an option. (Not an option, Darcy’s checked.)
“Yeah?” he asks.
Darcy looks at him, and considers the overly large glasses with their plastic lenses, the old cardigan, the non-artful dishevelment of his hair, the possibly-sentient coffeemaker buzzing away on the table and making coffee. Hard to believe this man was ever a terror to anyone, she thinks.
“Would I make for a great Jedi?” she says.
“What,” says Anakin. He takes the glasses off and squints at her. “I mean, what.”
“I would make for an amazing Jedi,” Darcy argues.
Anakin glances upward at the ceiling, says, “Darce, you’re kind of missing the one thing that’s a requirement for being a Jedi.”
“Emotional detachment?” says Darcy, perching on top of the table. “I have that covered! I would throw my grandma under a bus if it meant passing finals week. Also, I have the compassion thing down, I love dogs.”
“Uh,” says Anakin, giving a slightly hysterical chuckle. “No, no, Darcy--if emotional detachment were really a requirement, the galaxy would’ve been better off. No, uh--”
“Is it the space warrior monk aesthetic?” Darcy guesses. “I could rock it. I have rocked it before. I have the pictures.”
“Not that,” says Anakin, “though that’s helpful, I guess.”
“I took gymnastics one time,” Darcy presses. She doesn’t tell him that she actually got a D in the class, some things he doesn’t have to know about. “I can do a backflip.”
“Also not required, Sinube couldn’t do a backflip to save his life,” says Anakin, before he winces a little bit at his own words. Darcy decides not to press on that subject, the memories might still be too raw for him to really try to look at them right now. “Um. No, Darcy, you’re not Force-sensitive.”
Darcy stares at him. Then: “I could be,” she says, belligerently.
“Nah, I’m pretty sure you aren’t,” says Anakin. “Actually, I know you aren’t.” He waves at her, says, “Chosen One, remember?”
“I call bullshit,” Darcy grumbles.
Anakin huffs out a laugh, says, “Well, if that’s all, I gotta polish off this presentation--”
“Oh, yeah,” says Darcy, “I just remembered, how many cups of coffee is that?” She waves at his shaking hands.
Anakin pauses. “Uh,” he says.
“You lost count, didn’t you.” She reaches over to take the coffee out of his reach, and Anakin swats at her hand. She swears and swats at his face right back, then makes a grab for the cup of coffee.
Unfortunately, she does that at about the same time Anakin tries to Force-push her away, so what happens is that Darcy finds herself upside-down, lukewarm coffee all over her super-expensive shirt, and surrounded by parts and pieces of varying projects that Anakin’s been futzing around with.
“I’m gonna kick your ass,” Darcy informs him. It’s kind of hard to be menacing towards someone while upside-down and with shitty coffee all over her shirt, but damn it, Darcy’s giving it her best shot.
Her best shot falls flat, because Anakin just raises an eyebrow. “Well, now you’ve done it,” he says. “I have to brew another one.”
“You brew another one and I will call Thor,” says Darcy, threateningly.
Anakin does not brew another one.
--
Maybe the weirdest thing that Darcy’s found, in life after the Week That Fucked Up Darcy Lewis’ Perceptions of The World and Her Associates (which is a mouthful, so she calls it Hell Week for short), is that afterwards, there’s actually very little change.
Okay, there’s been a lot of change, but most of that is centered around her and Anakin accommodating a giant, blond, hammer-wielding thunder god roommate, and all the awkwardness that comes along with rooming with your boss and his unfairly hot ex. Other than that, Darcy’s realized that somehow, they’ve managed to return to something that strongly resembles pre-Hell Week routines.
Except, you know.
Now Darcy trudges into the kitchen and Thor and Anakin are comparing Asgardian honey-roasted boar to Lorr-dee-an spiced whatever over breakfast waffles. Or Anakin’s bitching about Reed Richards while a half-eaten piece of toast floats over the table. Or Obi-wan Kenobi’s shown up and is bitching Anakin out for not having any tea as any civilized person should.
You know. Stuff like that.
Four days after the fall of SHIELD(RA), Darcy walks into the kitchen to find Anakin, Thor and Ahsoka clustered around Ahsoka’s laptop, talking with each other.
“Uh,” says Darcy, “guys? Your pancakes are getting cold.”
“Yeah, we can just reheat them later,” says Anakin, absently.
“As Anakin said,” says Thor, eyes fixed on the screen. “This is a far more pressing concern.”
“I’ll say,” says Ahsoka, massaging her temples. Unlike the guys, she’s at least munching on a rolled-up pancake, so Darcy’s judging her slightly less. “Shit. That’s, what, ten percent of the US Senate alone in HYDRA’s pocket? And this businessman who had his own reality show way back.”
“I always knew he was secretly evil,” Anakin mutters.
“Is this about the SHIELDRA leak?” says Darcy. “Guys, it’s like, seven in the morning.” She points at Anakin and says, “Also, he wasn’t secret about it.”
“Weren’t you reading these yesterday?” says Anakin, looking up now from the laptop.
“I read a summary,” says Darcy, quietly thankful for her past self for waking up too late. “I’m not like you guys, I prefer to get my depressing news items in bite-sized chunks in the middle of the day instead of all at once right after waking up.” She pauses, squints at Anakin, and says, “You did just wake up, right?”
Anakin sighs, pushes his hair back with his gloved hand. “I woke up an hour ago,” he says, giving Thor a look. “Because some people like going out for morning runs.”
“And some people,” says Thor, dryly, “could do with a morning run, for certainly some other people will be expecting some improvement over the last sparring match they had.”
“Okay, you lost me,” says Ahsoka, turning away from her laptop to narrow her eyes at Anakin. “Sparring match? Anakin?”
“Yeah, Doc, spill the deets,” Darcy says encouragingly, sliding into the seat across from them and stealing a pancake from the stack, rolling it up like Ahsoka.
“All I did was lose a bet and promise to tour Sif around,” says Anakin.
“Yes, and because you lost that wager, I now have to pay for all her drinks,” says Thor. “And for the Warriors Three as well.” He folds his very sculpted arms across his sadly clothed chest and says, “You have seen Volstagg’s appetite.”
“Yeah,” says Anakin, shuddering. Darcy shudders too, and reflexively glances at the refrigerator, where she’s stashed her Pop-Tarts.
“Multiply that by four,” says Thor, “and you may have an idea of how much mead they consume in a single night.”
“If that’s how much beer they down on a regular night,” says Darcy, “I don’t wanna know what happens at your parties.”
“A little bit of good news,” Ahsoka interjects, and Darcy appreciates her valiant attempt at steering the subject away from the possibilities of Asgardian frat parties, “the Black Widow’s congressional hearing is scheduled for tomorrow evening, Greenwich time.”
“What, nothing on Captain America?” Anakin asks.
“Have you heard from him?” says Thor, brow furrowing in concern. Of course he’d be concerned, Captain America’s an Avenger, and thus his teammate. Thor seems big on teams, Darcy’s noticed.
“Not a peep,” says Darcy. “Sorry. Also, I’ve never even met the guy, so.” She bites down on her pancake, swallows, says, “Oh, man, though--the Black Widow’s hearing sounds like a trainwreck waiting to happen. I so want to see it.”
“I’ve got people to check on, so I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on watching it live,” says Ahsoka, apologetic. It kind of sucks, but Darcy gets it, watching the Black Widow’s hearing on Capitol Hill is not everyone’s idea of a date night. “But you’ll tape it for me?”
“Definitely,” says Darcy.
--
London picks up fairly quickly after a disaster, Darcy finds, because days after the Greenwich Incident, the road leading to Obi-wan Kenobi’s café is mostly fixed.
--Obi-wan Kenobi has a café. She may never get used to that.
“I’m never going to get used to this,” says Anakin, walking beside her. The city is rushing around them, hurrying to lunch and scrambling to get back to work. Not them, thinks Darcy, triumphantly--they’re celebrating Anakin polishing off the presentation he’s been cussing out since last night.
“Yeah, Obi-wan Kenobi has a café,” says Darcy, before she blinks and huffs out a small laugh. “That’s not a sentence I ever thought I’d say.”
“And not one I ever thought I’d hear,” Anakin dryly says. “Though--no, what I meant was. Uh. Being able to remember stuff.”
Darcy squints up at him. He tugs on the brim of his hipster newsboy cap, as if nervous. “What,” she says. “Okay, you lost me, what.”
“I haven’t actually remembered anything about me for more than a decade, Darcy,” Anakin says, and, huh, that makes a little more sense. Now he’s tugging at his medical bracelet, a sure sign that he’s a little nervous. Darcy bumps his side, gives him a thumbs-up, and listens to him continuing, “I got used to that. It’s like--getting used to, I don’t know, a pebble in your shoe you can’t get out, and once it finally falls out you just feel kind of lost.”
“Only you could get so attached to a pebble in your shoe,” says Darcy, amused.
“Hah, funny,” says Anakin. “What I meant was, I went from having no idea who I was to remembering everything in full detail within the span of a few hours, give or take.” He winces. “This is weird for me. Also, traumatic, but also just weird, because there’s all this stuff and I just--I have no idea what to do with all of it.” He shrugs, sighs.
“Deal with it?” Darcy helpfully says, with a wide grin. Anakin rolls his eyes, which she counts as a success. “What?”
“That’s terrible advice,” he says.
“I’ll give you better advice if you give me actual money,” says Darcy. “But you get all my sucky advice for free.”
“Will you stop sassing me if I pay you?” Anakin grumbles, and there he is, the grumpy asshole who hired her so long ago.
“You can’t afford that kinda money, Doc,” says Darcy with a smile, patting his metal arm and pulling her knit hat down to cover the tips of her ears. “But hey, always nice to have a goal, right?”
Anakin huffs out a soft chuckle. “You’re an ass, Darcy,” he says, fondly, bumping her side, before blinking. “Huh.”
“What?” says Darcy.
“Nothing, just,” says Anakin, shaking his gloved hand out. Darcy leans away, narrowly avoiding getting smacked in the face. “Like I said, all these memories are new to me. Sort of. Things keep coming up and it reminds me of something, and that is just so weird now that I can actually think about this sort of thing.”
“I think I kinda get it now,” says Darcy. “Your pebble was in your shoe for ten years and you didn’t even know it was there?”
“Something like that, yeah,” says Anakin, sounding relieved as a car passes by, angrily honking its horn. He glances at it as if he’s seeing it for the first time, then sighs. “We called cars groundcars,” he says. “Speeders could fly, groundcars couldn’t. Also, that I know that now is--it’s confusing, to say the least.”
“Also weird,” says Darcy, as they turn a corner. “Hey, isn’t this our stop?”
“Yeah, but,” Anakin starts, stopping in place near the building where Obi-wan’s café apparently is, not that Darcy can see it between the two stores, “where is it?”
Darcy glances upward. “There it is,” she chirps, pointing up at the sign, then back down at the door between the two stores.
“Kenobi, you goddamn hipster,” Anakin grumbles, yanking the door open. “You couldn’t settle for a fucking café, oh, no, you had to stick it upstairs and make it hard to find. Dick.”
“Respect your elders,” says Darcy, following behind him.
“That’s rich coming from you,” Anakin shoots back.
Darcy puts a hand over her heart, says, “Ouch,” and follows him up. The stairs creak as she steps on them, which makes her kind of worried for the building’s structural integrity, but it seems to be holding up all right even with Anakin’s weight, so she hurries up instead. “Dude, not everybody has your legs,” she says.
“Not my fault you’re tiny,” Anakin says, but stops to let her catch up. They take the last flight together, Anakin slowing his pace down so Darcy can keep up, and squeeze through the door the same way.
Obi-wan Kenobi’s café is tiny and cozy, and not so full that they can’t find a table at all. Darcy slides into a seat and pulls out her phone, says, “Go, go, have your awkward reunion--”
“We already had our awkward reunion,” huffs Anakin, but he goes. Darcy flicks her attention back to her phone, scrolls mindlessly down Tumblr and stops for long enough to read a long but engaging post about Rose Tyler and the Doctor.
The door opens. Darcy doesn’t look up.
She does look up when she hears Anakin’s snarl of, “You!”
“Doc?” she says, looking at the bald woman who’s just come in. “Um--”
“You,” snarls the woman, hand going into her jacket.
Darcy yanks her purse open, rummages for her can of mace, running all the worst-case scenarios through her head before Obi-wan Kenobi says, exasperated, “If either of you start a fight in my café and break anything, I will ban you both for life.”
She looks up. Anakin’s grabbed a stool from the counter and is brandishing it like a weapon, and the woman’s drawn a lightsaber hilt (holy shit holy shit an actual lightsaber hilt how is this her life) from her jacket, and both of them look ready to commit murder.
“Doc,” says Darcy, quietly. “I don’t wanna be banned.”
Anakin’s eyes flick sideways to her, and she could almost swear she sees a flicker of red. Then he breathes out, and they’re a bright blue again, and he sets the stool down at the counter and says, stiffly, “Ventress.”
“So the little amnesiac finally remembered,” says the bald woman--Ventress, apparently. The students around her have backed away slowly, plugged their earphones into their ears, and are very diligently not paying attention to their surroundings. “Here I thought you’d be living in blissful ignorance all your life.”
“I thought I’d be doing that too,” says Anakin, sounding like all the fight’s gone out of him. “That would’ve been nice.What do you want?”
“Nothing out of you,” says Ventress, stepping around Anakin. “The usual.”
“The usual,” starts Anakin.
“Oh my god,” says Darcy, “you have a badass biker lady coming in regularly?” The more she knows about Obi-wan Kenobi and his life as a hipster café owner, the more her own life feels more enhanced just by knowing it. It's the most exciting thing that's ever happened to her since New Mexico, not counting the Aether, which was more terrifying than exciting.
“Oh god,” says Anakin, sounding less than excited, “why is Ventress a regular?”
“Who’s this?” says Ventress, nodding to Darcy. She’s very hot, but also, very dangerous. It makes Darcy slightly uncomfortable, and she squirms in her seat. “Another apprentice for you to abandon?”
“I’m Darcy,” says Darcy, valiantly attempting to defuse the situation, because she can see Anakin bristle and that is not good. “I’m the intern. It’s completely different.”
“I’m not taking apprentices anymore,” says Anakin, before he turns to Kenobi and says, “I’m still stuck on Ventress, what the fuck. How is she your regular?”
“She drops by regularly and orders much the same thing every time,” says Kenobi. “It doesn’t take much to be a regular at a café.”
“I like your jacket!” says Darcy. “It goes great with the badass bald lady vibe.”
“Oh,” says Ventress, taken aback. Score one for Darcy’s methods of defusing time bombs. “Thank you. Your hat is--not bad.”
“Thanks, my aunt knitted it for me,” says Darcy. “You can have it if you want. It gets cold.”
“I have a hat of my own,” says Ventress, before she turns to Anakin and says, “This one’s got better manners. Amnesia did wonders for you, I’m almost sad it didn’t last.”
“Yeah, so’m I,” Anakin says. “Obi-wan, Ventress.”
“She hasn’t started a fight so far,” says Kenobi, already brewing a cup of black coffee. “And I’m certain your intern wants her coffee by now.”
“Latte!” calls Darcy.
“So far,” says Ventress. “Glad to hear you think it’s only a matter of time before that happens.”
“Maybe a matter of minutes,” says Anakin.
Ventress spins on her heel, snarls, “Excuse me?”
Okay, scratch that, time to step in again. “There’s an extra chair over here,” says Darcy, “you can sit down here and I will tell you all about the time Doc sprained his wrist on purpose to talk to a cute guy at a hospital.”
“I did not,” Anakin squawks. “Also, what.”
“What,” Ventress echoes, but she’s smiling, a wicked kind of smile that means she’s interested in whatever Darcy’s got to offer.
“Oh, this’ll be interesting,” says Kenobi.
--
“And then I open the closet to get my cute new shoes, and what do I see but Doc and Dr. Blake making out against Erik’s coat,” Darcy finishes. “I’ve never ever told Erik, but every time he puts the coat on I have flashbacks.”
“That,” says Ventress, stifling a snort of laughter, “is truly enlightening.” She turns to Anakin and says, “Where did you find her? She’s much less annoying than your first apprentice used to be.”
“I’m docking your pay,” Anakin informs her, face still buried in his hands, the tips of his ears a bright red.
“You’d have to pay me first,” Darcy cheerfully says.
“No, but I’m curious now,” says Obi-wan, “how did it end?”
“He was very bad at relationships,” Anakin says, his voice muffled by his hands.
“Doc caught him macking on another patient and dumped him like a hot potato,” Darcy says. “A very hot potato. I mean that both ways.”
“What an illuminating story,” says Ventress, dryly. “Should we ever fight again, perhaps I should just bring along a pretty doctor and watch you drape yourself all over them.”
“Fuck you too, Ventress,” Anakin says, finally looking up at Darcy. “Why’d you have to tell her and Obi-wan about that? Now I’m never going to live it down.”
“Sorry, first thing that came to mind,” says Darcy, reaching over to snatch a chip from Anakin’s plate. He huffs, and bats her hand away. “Hey, come on, I want chips!”
“You’re not getting chips,” Anakin informs her.
“Let her have the chips,” says Obi-wan, with a sigh.
Anakin flicks his middle finger up at him in answer, and tugs the plate closer to himself.
“How mature,” says Ventress, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Darcy hums, says, “Okay, no chips. Anyway, Doc, like five different people called yesterday while you and Thor were in Asgard being all science-y and shit, they wanted you to lecture at their schools?”
Anakin drops his chip. “Five?” he says, voice coming out in a high-pitched squeak.
Darcy takes advantage of his momentary distraction to steal all his chips.
“Thor the Avenger?” says Ventress, equally shocked.
“Also our roommate and Doc’s ex,” says Darcy, casually, and the strangled noise Ventress makes is probably the funniest thing Darcy’s heard since learning about the SHIELD(RA) thing. “Cute guy. Seriously cut.”
“Your ex is an Avenger,” says Ventress, staring at Anakin as if he’s just grown a new head.
Anakin, instead of answering, steals Darcy’s half-sandwich and crams it into his mouth. It’s a classic avoidance tactic, and Darcy is heartened to realize that even former warmongering Sith lords turned astrophysicists engage in exactly the kind of avoidance tactic everyone engages in when talking about exes.
“How are you surprised?” says Kenobi, waving a hand. “This is Anakin, he hardly ever does things halfway.”
Anakin’s eyes narrow.
Darcy says, hurriedly, “Hey, how did you two meet up here anyway?”
“I have a job in, let’s say, protection of interests,” says Ventress, evasively, “and we met up while I was on the clock.”
“She means to say that she was working as a hired bodyguard for a rather unsavory character,” says Kenobi.
“A girl has got to eat,” says Ventress, drawing herself up. “And you were marching to Fury’s drum at the time.” She pauses, then adds, “By the way, a little bird told me--”
“SHIELD and HYDRA, yes, I’ve heard,” says Kenobi, curtly.
Anakin doesn’t say anything. Mostly, he’s just chewing on Darcy’s sandwich. Darcy kicks him in the shin under the table and snatches his chips, just to get back at him for stealing her food.
Ventress holds Kenobi’s gaze for a long moment before she says, “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. About Fury, at least. I know he was important to you.”
Kenobi looks down at his coffee, and breathes out, and suddenly Darcy can see the old hermit that Luke had met on Tattooine. Ben Kenobi’s there, in the tired slump of Kenobi’s shoulders and the downcast gaze. She can’t imagine what it’s like, to lose a friend twice over to betrayal.
Anakin swallows, and manages to cover his burp with a tissue.
“Oh,” says Kenobi, head jerking up from his coffee. “You finally learned.”
“Learned what?” says Anakin.
Kenobi grins. “Basic table manners,” he says.
Anakin throws a chip at him, and there goes the moment. God, everyone Darcy used to either idolize or fear from fiction is apparently an asshole.
Especially Kenobi. Next time someone asks her on Tumblr who she’d fuck, marry or kill amongst the prequel trio, she’s downgrading him from “marry” to “fuck”.
--
Maybe one of the weirdest things Darcy’s had to deal with--and there’s plenty of “weirdest things” in Darcy’s life, these days, what with the travel between realms and the thunder god friend and the ex-Sith boss and the ex-Jedi girlfriend--is the cognitive dissonance, sort of tangentially related to the other weirdest thing.
“Cognitive dissonance” being a fancy term for “my boss does not act like a former Sith lord and sometimes it’s a little weird to square that with Darth Vader Evil Sith, and then he says something freaky and it’s a little weird to square that with Dr. Foster Smartest Dumbass”, in this case.
For example: today’s conference. Darcy’s just finished taking notes of all the questions raised during the Q&A sessions and is packing up her stuff when Anakin says, “Oh, fuck me sideways, it’s goddamn Smythe.”
Darcy looks up at Anakin, then at an old man with hair styled and slicked carefully back in a presumably dignified style and a tailored blue suit that she just knows costs more than her college tuition. “The dude with the surveillance spiders?” she whispers. “Ugh, I know, right? There’s just so many privacy laws being violated--”
“That’s him,” Anakin mutters, tone full of disdain. “God, what an amateur. I’ve used probe droids and bounty hunters subtler than his stupid fucking robot spiders.” He shakes his head, huffs out a disparaging snort of laughter, and says, “Hell, even the Inquisitors were subtler than them and they used their lightsabers as helicopters.”
Darcy’s jaw drops. “Doc.”
Anakin pauses, then he huffs out a breath. “The implicit violations of multiple privacy laws are bad too,” he says hurriedly, as an afterthought, before he takes her forearm. “Come on, Darce, we need to get out of here fast--”
“Dr. Foster!”
“Too late,” Darcy whispers. “Also, dude, seriously. Whaddaya mean too?”
“Just shush,” whispers Anakin right back, “and if I look ready to choke Smythe, I want you to stop me. Erik will kill me if I do that.”
“Your priorities are fucking weird, Doc,” Darcy comments, but they turn around anyway.
Smythe smiles at them. Like a sleazy little wormy dickbag. Wait, judging from his eyes go right to her boobs, he is a sleazy little wormy dickbag, and Darcy’s hand moves closer to her purse, where her taser is. Goddammit, she doesn’t want to keep Anakin from choking this asshat out.
“Such a pleasure to see you again,” says Smythe. “And--who is this lovely creature you’ve brought with you?”
“I’m Darcy,” says Darcy. “Also, if you call me a lovely creature again, I’m gonna file for a harassment suit.”
“She’s my intern,” says Anakin, icy-cold. “Heard the contract with Oscorp fell through. Shame, that.”
“Oh, yes,” tuts Smythe, “quite a shame. I was on the verge of a breakthrough, especially in regards to this--” His lip curls into an ugly sneer. “Vigilante problem. It seems the fallout of SHIELD’s secrets reached even Oscorp, and I was cut loose. To prevent scandal from my boss’s associations.”
“Really,” says Darcy, flatly, because last time she checked Oscorp didn’t give twenty shits. Then again, HYDRA is pretty clearly a Nazi organization, for all that it’s trying to divorce itself from its origins in World War II.
“Really,” says Anakin, just as flatly.
“A tragedy,” sighs Smythe. “But I will find work, soon enough. Securing the safety of America is important work, after all.” He says this while looking right at Anakin with that little sneer, and Darcy doesn’t have to be a genius to pick up on what Smythe’s not saying: my work is better than yours, nya, nya, nya. “Wouldn’t you agree, young woman?”
Anakin clenches his fist.
It takes Darcy a moment to realize what’s happening, but by then Smythe’s hand is already at his throat, pressed to his chest, and he’s gasping for air and goddammit. Goddammit. Why does she have to be responsible for making sure this dirtbag doesn’t die?
She elbows Anakin, hard. His eyes flash a sickly yellow for the briefest of moments.
She elbows him again. His eyes flash blue once more, and he breathes out and unclenches his fist. Smythe gasps once more, sucking in breaths as he falls to his knees. Anakin follows right after, as if to support him, and Darcy waves frantically for an actual medical doctor to come over and look at Smythe.
She looks at Anakin again, finds herself trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes--whether they’re blue or yellow, she can’t say.
--
They’re on their way back to the apartment when Anakin says, “Thanks.”
“I hate you so much right now,” Darcy informs him, keeping her eyes fixed on the road. “Ugh. That asshole. I didn’t wanna be responsible for saving his life, he was a creepy dick.”
“Yeah, sorry,” says Anakin, leaning his head back against the headrest. “I just--for a second there, with the young woman and the insinuation that my research was useless, I kind of. Snapped.” He looks at her and says, “Look. The--The offer’s still open. You can still go.”
“I’m not leaving,” says Darcy. “You dick. I wanted to punch him.” She pauses, then adds, “Also, the choking’s bad too, but mostly I’m mad you made me responsible for making sure you don’t murder a dude. Like, that’s on you, a grown-ass man with a doctorate in particle physics, not me.” She huffs out a breath, and says, “I didn’t want to save his life.”
Anakin nods, says, “Okay. Point.”
“You’re not gonna argue about this?” she says, turning to him at last.
“You raise a valid point,” says Anakin, with a shrug. “You might be my intern, but you’re right--stuff like that’s on me. Even if my moral compass is broken as all hell.”
Darcy breathes out through her nose, and turns a corner. “Okay, we need to draw a baseline here,” she says. “Murder is bad. Don’t choke anyone even a little bit. I can’t believe I have to point that out, it’s so obvious.” She punctuates this by slamming her hand down on the horn, startling Anakin out of his reverie. “I can deal with punching and will in fact encourage a good punch, but don’t Force-choke people.”
“Okay,” says Anakin, simply, fiddling with his medical bracelet. “I won’t. Sorry.”
Darcy sighs, feeling more exhausted than angry now. She’s had her revenge, so all she does now is come to a stop at a red light. “I don’t hate you,” she admits. “I’m angry at you, yeah. A little bit scared, too. But next time we come across Smythe--let me punch him, okay?”
It startles a laugh out of Anakin. Good. “I thought--”
“I told you I can deal with punching,” she says. “He needs a good punch anyway.”
It’s not until they’re back at the apartment that Anakin says, quiet, “Hey, Darce--sorry about scaring you.”
Darcy pauses, then tosses the car keys over to him. “Accepted,” she says. “Now come on, Thor’s gotta be back by now, I wanna see if he’s mastered the art of making fried rice yet.”
--
Thor’s Prince of Asgard and Protector of the Nine Realms, which means that a lot of the time he’s off in some other realm doing princely protector-y things. Most of the time, that means leaving them all behind for a few hours or more.
This time, though, Darcy stumbles onto a golden floor in a golden observatory and says, “Holy shit I wanna do that again.”
“You will have the opportunity to, I promise you,” says Thor, with a grin.
“Camera!” laughs Anakin, giddy off the travel.
“I got it, I got it,” says Darcy, taking pictures. “I got--whoa. Um. Hi.”
“Hi,” says Ahsoka, last to come through. Selvig is holding on to her, slightly greener than usual, which is probably his lunch.
There’s a huge guy in the middle of the observatory, who’s watching them calmly with golden eyes. Something about his gaze makes Darcy feel very, very small and very, very naked. She looks down just to check, then looks back up and gives him his best smile.
Then she glances at Selvig, just to check if he’s wearing pants like he promised he would, and breathes a sigh of relief.
Anakin says, “Um. Hi, Heimdall.”
“Heimdall, these are my friends,” says Thor, the only one in the group not currently intimidated. “This is--”
“Darcy Lewis, Ahsoka Tano, and Dr. Erik Selvig,” says Heimdall, voice a low rumble. “I’m aware.” Then he smiles, warm and kind, and Darcy feels less small, more safe. “Welcome to Asgard. I’m afraid we don’t have sleds here.”
“Why would we need sleds?” Darcy asks, right before she steps out onto the Rainbow Bridge. “We need sleds,” she says, staring at the incredibly smooth surface. She whips around and yells, “You could make a killing on sledding down this bridge! It’s so perfect!”
“Sleds require a downward slope,” says Selvig, stepping out onto the bridge and looking around at his surroundings, wonder in his eyes. “Now, if you attached wheels, on the other hand--”
“Who needs wheels, I can rig up something so you can hover down the bridge,” says Anakin, and it’s casual references like that one that makes Darcy stare after him in shock. “What? I’ve been studying. It’s possible even with the tech back on Earth.”
“Is that why you’ve been staying up late for three days?” Ahsoka says, walking after him. She does stop to admire their surroundings, the multicolored light show just under their feet, the star-spotted black void of space giving way to the blue skies of Asgard, and the slightly phallic golden spires jutting out just up ahead, and says, “Whoa, this place is amazing.”
Darcy hurries to keep up with her, Selvig taking up the rear and grumbling about the younger generation’s treatment of their elders. “It’s bitchin’, I know,” she says. “You ever been anywhere like this before?”
“Yeah, actually,” says Ahsoka. “Coruscant’s the first thing that comes to mind, except this is much cleaner. Also, less levels.”
“Now that you mention it, I can kind of see it,” says Darcy, tilting her head and squinting at the towers.
“Never traveled that way before, though,” says Ahsoka, nodding to the observatory. “It was kind of like going into hyperspace, except without a ship. A lot more pleasant than I was expecting, honestly.”
“I wouldn’t say pleasant,” says Selvig, catching up with both of them. He’s got a camera as well, and a bag full of scientific equipment hanging from his shoulder.
“That’s because you’ve never been through hyperspace,” says Ahsoka. “I was seriously expecting bits of us in five systems.”
“Oh,” says Darcy, faintly.
“Hurry up, you guys!” calls Anakin.
“Okay,” says Darcy, scuffing her shoes along the surface of the Rainbow Bridge, “watch this,” and she breaks into a run and slides her way down the Bifrost, laughing all the while.
--
Anakin and Thor disappear for a few moments while the rest of them get settled in, something about going to visit Thor’s comatose mother in her bedchamber. Darcy feels kind of bad for Thor, honestly, so she doesn’t needle him or Anakin as much about getting her something while they’re out.
There’s going to be plenty of chances to get something anyway. They’re not going to stay in Asgard for very long, just for a few days while Anakin and Selvig do Science, but the moment Darcy flops onto a bed she wants to stay forever.
She has never been on a bed as soft as this before. This is amazing, and Darcy could probably die here and she would not mind it at all.
Okay, she would, slightly.
“They’re so soft,” she moans, rubbing her cheek against a pillow. A soft, soft pillow that she could totally sink into.
“They’re too soft,” says Ahsoka, poking the mattress with a frown.
Darcy, with great reluctance, pulls her head away from the pillow to look at Ahsoka. “Why?” she asks.
Ahsoka shrugs. “I’m a lot more used to sleeping in harder places,” she says, simply, and Darcy’s gut twists into knots. Right, the Clone Wars. Right, Ahsoka was a soldier. “But at least this has pillows,” Ahsoka adds, cheery.
“I had a mattress back in my dorm that was all lumpy,” says Darcy, in a valiant effort to connect with her girlfriend.
Ahsoka stifles a laugh, and says, “That’s really not the same, but I appreciate the effort anyway.”
Darcy turns over, tugs at Ahsoka’s arm to get her to fall back. “Oof,” she says, when Ahsoka falls all over her with a surprised laugh, when Ahsoka turns to look her in the eyes and oh, her eyes are very, very blue. “Come on, come on, ‘Soka, my face is up here--”
“Yeah, yeah,” says Ahsoka, giggling, crawling up until they’re nose to nose, and suddenly Darcy is fully aware of how close they are, of the distance between their lips and the warmth of Ahsoka’s body, the way her blue-and-white braids tickle Darcy’s cheeks, the exact shade of blue and wide shape of Ahsoka’s eyes.
Darcy could probably stare into her eyes forever.
Instead of doing that, she slowly reaches her hand up to place it against Ahsoka’s cheek. Then she levers herself up using her other elbow to close the distance between them. Ahsoka meets her halfway, leaning in, and their noses smash together first.
“Ow!” Darcy shrieks.
“Ow, okay, okay,” says Ahsoka. “Okay, let’s try that again.”
They kiss again. Darcy’s hands go exploring up Ahsoka’s shirt, but that’s fine because Ahsoka’s also doing the same except down her pants--
“Snips, Darce, we have to--what in the fuck.”
Ahsoka rolls off and crashes to the ground with an undignified yelp. Darcy screams, and throws a pillow at Anakin’s face.
She’s vaguely disappointed when it stops just inches from his face.
“Learn to knock, Anakin!” Ahsoka shouts.
“Learn to lock the door, you two,” Anakin says. He’s frowning at both of them as he plucks the pillow out of the air, like a disappointed authority figure, and just for that Darcy throws another pillow at his face while he’s distracted. “Ow, Darcy.”
“Knock next time,” she tells him, buttoning her pants up again. “Seriously. We were just about to test out the mattresses.”
“They’re very sturdy,” says Anakin, with the smug, satisfied tone of someone who knows this from repeated experience. “This isn’t my first time here.”
Ahsoka stares at him and says, “You know what, Skyguy, I don’t even want to know.” She gets to her feet, pulls her shirt down to Darcy’s great sorrow, and says, “What’s going on?”
Anakin’s smile vanishes, and he sighs. “Thor’s father wants a formal audience with us,” he says. “It won’t take too long, but I’d advise looking less like you were just ravished.”
“Nearly ravished,” Darcy corrects.
“Oh, I’m sorry, nearly ravished, then,” Anakin shoots back. “And then after that I think there’s going to be a feast in our honor?”
“A what now,” says Ahsoka.
--
The throne room is probably the most opulent thing that Darcy has ever seen. Or it would be if a significant number of columns weren’t currently being repaired, or if there wasn’t a giant crack in the floor, or if the throne looked kind of like it had been hastily pasted back together using super-glue and prayers.
But they are, and there is, and it does.
“You have been here before,” Ahsoka mutters to Anakin. “There’s nobody else who’d leave this much property damage on their way out.”
“I don’t cause this much damage usually,” Anakin grumbles.
Darcy kind of wants to cry a little at her boss’s utter lack of respect for history and architecture. She knows Selvig wants to, judging from the constipated look on his face, or maybe that’s just the meds.
There’s an old man sitting on the ruined throne of Asgard--or, more accurately, lounging like a cat. He smiles when he sees Thor, the smile of a proud father, but it gets a little more fake when he sees the rest of their merry little band.
They kneel. Or, well, Thor kneels first, as a show of respect. Selvig goes second, then Darcy, though--well, she’s never knelt to a king before, so she’s pretty sure going down on one knee like she’s going to propose is the wrong way of going about it, at least for her.
Ahsoka takes a knee as well, but her head’s held high the whole time.
Anakin kneels, but reluctantly, and he’s first to rise as well the moment Thor’s father says so, as if the very act of kneeling freaks him out a little. Darcy thinks of a black-clad creature, kneeling in front of a hologram, and comes a little closer to understanding.
“Welcome to Asgard,” says the man on the throne. “I am Odin--King of Asgard. And I know very well who all of you are: Dr. Selvig, Ms. Lewis, Lady Tano. And, how could I forget, Dr. Foster? Or is it Skywalker now?”
Selvig makes a tiny little strangled noise.
“Don’t I get a lady before my name?” says Darcy.
“Why is that the first thing you think of?” Anakin hisses. To Odin (a king! Darcy cannot fucking believe the monarchy is still a thing in a different realm), he says, “Your Highness. You missed a Doctor.”
“Dr. Skywalker,” says Odin, as though he’s testing the title out. Darcy glances around, then looks down at the floor, just to make sure there’s no traps and no rancor waiting for its dinner far below. It’s a ridiculous thought to have, but she’s seen Return of the Jedi enough times to be wary of where she steps now. “Welcome back to Asgard.”
He does not sound too enthusiastic about it. Darcy whispers this to Anakin, who whispers back, “We committed a little bit of treason on our way out and wrecked half the place, it’s kind of understandable.”
What a disaster she’s hitched her wagon to.
“Father,” says Thor, voice ringing clear and true, “Anakin and Erik wish only to conduct a few experiments on Asgard in order to finish an important project of theirs.”
“Non-invasive,” Selvig adds helpfully. He’s eyeing Odin like there’s something about him he can’t quite figure out, like Odin is a puzzle with too many pieces missing.
“We’re just going to conduct interviews, honestly,” says Ahsoka. “Sir.”
“Your Highnessness,” says Darcy, because she believes in nothing less than democratic values, no offense to Thor and full offense to Anakin “Stick A Strong Person In Charge, Absolutely Nothing Will Go Horribly Wrong” Skywalker. “We’ll be out of your majestic beard in like, three days. Tops.”
Anakin, beside her, grimaces. Thor looks upward at the ceiling, and Ahsoka mouths why.
Odin--actually smiles, a little, but there’s something about his eyes that makes Darcy look down at her feet again, checking for traps. “You need not worry,” he says. “Thor has vouched for you, and I am willing to accept your words. However, first, you must listen to my terms, before I can allow you to perform any of your experiments upon Asgardian soil.”
Selvig mutters, “Goddammit, I knew there was going to be a catch.”
--
It turns out Odin has a lot of places he doesn’t want them to go with scientific instruments or cameras. Frigga’s bedchamber is obvious, that’s where she’s sleeping, but other reasons are a bit weirder.
“Why can’t we take pictures in the library?” Darcy grumbles, the second they step inside the library. It’s a vast chamber, the shelves reaching so high that she has to crane her neck back just to see the top. “This is the most killer library I’ve ever seen. I wanna Snapchat people about this and make everyone I know jealous.”
“They’ll already be jealous even without the whole library thing,” says Anakin. Their access is pretty restricted, and they can’t take the books out with them, and she can see that it clearly stings him to have so much knowledge just out of their reach. Still, though, he grins at her, eyes a mischievous blue.
After all, the restriction doesn’t technically extend to Thor, as Odin didn’t explicitly say anything about him, and he and Ahsoka have cheerfully gone off to the sections that the rest of them are, technically, not allowed to go in.
They’re also not allowed near the dungeons, or the basement where Asgard keeps all the artifacts claimed in battle, or something called a Room with a Thousand Fountains, or--well, over half of the royal palace and like thirty percent of the city is pretty much barred to them, which severely limits their options. God, Odin the Allfather is such a mood-killer. It’s like he doesn’t actually want them to discover anything but is too polite to outright say it.
They commandeer a table, with a plate full of snacks in the middle of it. Darcy pops one horse-doover thingy into her mouth and almost cries from its sheer deliciousness. Selvig actually discreetly sneaks some into his bag, because respected astrophysicist that he is, some habits you never quite break.
“Not bad,” Anakin pronounces after he picks off one of the desserts, pops it into his mouth, chews, and swallows.
“Not bad,” Darcy echoes, incredulous. “Not--Doc! This is literally the most amazing horse-doo-whatever I’ve ever had!”
“Hors d’oeuvre,” Selvig corrects, with the French accent. “And technically they’re not, they’re served before meals.”
Anakin shrugs. “I knew a pirate who fed me and Obi-wan better right before he knocked us out with gas and dragged us to Dooku’s cell,” he says, with a chuckle, before he pauses, frowning a little. “Oh,” he says. “Huh. That happened.”
“Details!” says Darcy, reaching over to swat at his shoulder. “Details, details, details--”
“You were captured by a what,” says Selvig, disbelieving.
“Quit chanting, Darce,” Anakin huffs, batting her hand away. “And we were captured by pirates. I refuse to say anything more about that, because frankly all of it’s embarrassing.”
“You asked me to bail you out of jail after you got drunk and streaked on campus to impress an exchange student,” says Selvig.
“Stonehenge,” says Anakin, flatly, pointing a pen at Selvig. “Anyway, between the two of us, I’m not the one who got caught on TV, so.”
“I’ve never streaked in my life,” Darcy informs them, “so you should know, I’m judging the shit out of the both of you.”
Anakin sighs, dramatically. “Remember when we used to be respected?” he says.
“You were feared,” says Selvig, “I was respected. There’s a difference.”
“I never respected either of you,” says Darcy, in the most serious tone she can muster. “Okay, maybe for a hot second I did, but when you’ve walked in on someone without pants, there’s just no going back. So, you know.” She opens the book, squints down at the fancy-ass script that quickly resolves itself into actual but still fancy letters. “That was all your fault.”
“You’re an asshole,” says Anakin, but he’s smiling fondly at her, and Darcy kicks his shin lightly. Selvig chuckles and shakes his head, says something about the books and the notes they need to take.
For a long while, the only sound in the library is the sound of pens scratching against paper, broken up by a muttered equation or a smart-ass remark about the contents of the books that go nowhere.
Thor and Ahsoka appear, carrying stacks of books, while Anakin and Selvig are bent over a book, whispering urgently to each other with wide eyes that speak of new discoveries. Darcy cranes her neck up as Ahsoka steps over to her, gets a soft peck on the lips before she whispers, “What’d you find?”
“Something I thought I wouldn’t see ever,” Ahsoka murmurs, as Thor gently sets a book down in front of them. On the cover is a familiar symbol, embossed in gold: stylized wings, and a sword, encased in a circle.
Anakin breaks away from his conference with Selvig, and says, “Is that--”
“I know this is not related to your research,” says Thor, “but I imagined you would want it anyway.”
“Oh,” breathes Selvig, before he reads: “The Path of the Jedi. How’d this get here?”
“There was a time once,” says Thor, his voice slipping into a storyteller’s tone, and Darcy sits up to listen to him better, “when travel between universes was not only possible with the Bifrost, but frequent.” He gives a soft sigh, and says, “That time has long since passed, and all that we knew then of travel between universes has long been lost, but this is an artifact from then. When I saw it, I knew to whom it truly belonged.”
Anakin doesn’t say anything, just tugs the book closer to him. His fingers brush lightly over the golden symbol, reverent, hesitant. Relax, it won’t bite, Darcy doesn’t say, the words sticking in her throat when she sees the sorrowful look in his eyes.
“It’s not our copy,” says Ahsoka. “It doesn’t have our notes in it, and it’s really outdated by about a few thousand years, give or take, but I figured--next best thing, right?”
“And you can take it out, no matter what the Allfather says,” says Thor. “It is rightfully yours. Besides, what my father doesn’t know won’t kill him.”
“This is--” Selvig starts, then he leans back in his chair and whistles. “Just the very fact that this book is even here, that Anakin and Ahsoka are here at all, challenges so many scientific principles, brings up so many new questions, we’d have to establish a whole new scientific paradigm.” His eyes slide to Anakin, and he says, “Not to mention the personal significance to quite a lot of people.”
“It’s not really mine anymore,” says Anakin, regretful, “I broke with the Order. Uh. Really spectacularly.” His fingers, metal and flesh, still trace the outline of the symbol, reverent, penitent. “I don’t have any right to it. Maybe Ahsoka?”
“I walked away from the Order,” says Ahsoka. “By that reasoning, it’s not my right either.”
“It might not be my right but I want it,” says Darcy, raising a hand. “I’ve got a lot of applications to write and I need a paperweight anyway. And a book to read.”
“This isn’t just because you want to be a Jedi, is it,” says Anakin, dryly. “Because, I’ve told you, you aren’t Force-sensitive.”
“Nope,” lies Darcy right through her teeth, smiling all the while. Beside her, Ahsoka sinks into a seat and groans into her hands. “I am totally over it.”
(She’s not.)
--
The palace has a training yard. Of course it does, they have to churn out those guards in golden armor somehow, but the first time Darcy sets foot on it her brain kind of crashes a little from the, uh, training.
There’s a lot of it going on. And a lot of sweaty people. And a lot of tight shirts.
“Damn,” she says.
“Eh,” says Ahsoka, leaning on the railing. They’re on a mezzanine just above the yard, where they can look out at all the sweaty and shirtless Asgardians working out, and Ahsoka’s unimpressed, judging by the raised eyebrow. “That one over there’s telegraphing too much. See her shoulder? I’d come out of that fight barely bruised.”
“It’s a very nice shoulder,” says Darcy. Ahsoka snorts, and punches hers. “Sorry!”
“Where was I?” says Ahsoka. “Right. These guys seem--not new, they’ve definitely gone through swordsmanship training, but nothing beyond that. Look, same girl with the shoulder--she just missed an opening.” She shakes her head, says, quietly, “In a real fight, that would’ve cost her.”
“They have not ever been in a real fight,” comes another voice, and Darcy and Ahsoka turn, nearly in sync, to see a young woman with dark hair and a sword--Sif, Darcy remembers. “Most of our warriors were decimated, in the last attack,” says Sif, stepping closer, wearing a simple tunic that still seems almost to shine in the light. “These recruits have never been in a true fight, before.”
“Sif!” says Darcy, cheerfully. “Hey! Looking good there, I love that hair.”
Sif nods to her, and smiles faintly. “Lady Darcy Lewis,” she says. “It’s been too long a time. Who’s your companion?”
“I’m Ahsoka Tano,” says Ahsoka, drawing herself up to her full height. She’s very tall, and some part of Darcy’s lizard brain sits up and takes notice. “By the way, you might want to tell your recruits not to give away their moves so much. I could still take them, and I’ve been a little too busy in the past few weeks to really keep up with training.”
“Technically, I’m not the one in charge of that,” says Sif, dryly, “but I’ll be sure to pass that on.” She inclines her head and grins, wolfish. “You speak so confidently, I find myself wanting to test your strength. What say you to a match, Lady Tano? Your terms.”
Darcy’s brain might actually crash. She makes a little strangled noise in the back of her throat.
“Best two out of three,” says Ahsoka. “Until one of us lands a hit on the other. You can pick a weapon, I already brought my own.”
Sif raises a perfect brow. “Oh?” she says.
Darcy steps away, as Ahsoka takes her lightsabers off her belt and turns them on. She spins them between her fingers, in a move that strikes Darcy as completely unnecessary, until she’s holding them in a reverse grip, then flicks a switch that dims their bright white glow a little.
“Odin’s beard,” breathes Sif, awed.
“That’s my girlfriend,” says Darcy, proud.
--
Ahsoka wins.
“That was amazing,” says Darcy, once Ahsoka’s spun her around with a laugh.
“Well-fought,” says Sif, with a grin, clapping Ahsoka on her back.
“You too,” says Ahsoka, setting Darcy down. She’s sweaty and covered in dust, braids half-undone, brilliant in the light of the setting sun, and Darcy falls a little more, just then. “You almost had me there--with the feint?”
“Clever of you, to have recognized it in time,” says Sif. “And those--”
“Lightsabers,” Darcy supplies.
“Lightsabers, yes,” says Sif, “is there any way I might perhaps obtain one?”
“Probably not,” says Ahsoka. “You need kyber crystals, first, and sensitivity to the Force. And kyber crystals were hard to find in my galaxy, they’re even rarer here.”
“You could just make one,” calls Anakin from the railing, and Darcy turns to see him going down the steps, deftly avoiding the others still sparring. “I don’t recommend it, but it’s possible, if you have a special furnace, the Force, and also no sense of self-preservation, because the furnace is going to be exceedingly hot.”
“Which is usually the Sith way, unfortunately,” says Ahsoka, crossing her arms. “Hey, Skyguy. You and Selvig done?”
“Hey, Snips, and we’re on break,” says Anakin. “I know Maul went through it, but I didn’t--Sidious just tossed a crystal at me and called it a day.” He nods to Sif, says, “Hi, Sif.”
“And hello to you too, Anakin,” says Sif. “I’ll have to be leaving for Midgard soon--Lorelei the Enchantress is on the loose. Again.” She sighs and massages her forehead, and says, “I keep telling them to stop posting men at her cell, she can charm them.”
“I have no idea what you’re on about,” says Darcy.
“But you’re gonna drop by London for your tour?” says Anakin.
“Of course,” says Sif, narrowing her eyes at him. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“Wait, you promised to tour her around?” says Ahsoka.
“I lost a fight against her when I was first here,” Anakin explains, shoving gloved hands into his pockets. “Good job, by the way.”
“You beat my teacher,” says Ahsoka, awed. Darcy whips her head around to Sif--Sif, who apparently whooped the ass of one of the most iconic villains in cinematic history, which is not a thought Darcy ever thought she’d have.
“I don’t think it counts,” says Sif. “At the time he had no memory of learning how to fight as well as he did.” She turns to Ahsoka and says, “I knew there was something familiar about how you fought. He did a backflip when we sparred as well.”
“A backflip,” says Darcy, turning to Anakin. “Seriously? You’re like, thirty feet tall and you suck at parkour.”
“I’m six foot one and I can parkour with the best of them,” says Anakin, sounding offended, crossing his arms and glaring down at her. Probably years ago it would have terrified her, but she’s seen him trip over his own feet and sprain his ankle to talk to a cute doctor, walked in on him in pajamas watching Ryan Gosling movies while eating ice cream after a break-up.
Now Darcy just smiles brightly up at him and says, “Last week you tripped and fell into a dumpster.”
“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” Anakin mutters, burying his face in his hands.
"Nope," says Darcy, turning her face skyward.
--
Darcy takes the book home. Heimdall gives her a look like he knows she’s hiding it in her bag in a completely unsubtle manner, and for a moment her heart jumps into her throat, like he might bust her for taking something that belongs in the library.
He doesn’t. Instead he simply looks at her, and says, “Take care of that,” with a secret, knowing smile.
Darcy’s grinning stupidly when they land on Earth once more, her bag clutched close to her chest.
--
She writes in it.
She writes in all her books, really, but usually just on the inside cover. She scrawls property of Darcy Lewis, and leaves it on the kitchen table when Ahsoka calls her for their date.
When she comes back, Anakin’s already written something else in it, scrawled if you’re really bent on this, I recommend starting with meditation, page 36, and skip everything irrelevant to you in black ballpoint pen. Darcy snorts out a laugh, but flips to the page.
Anakin’s underlined the words moving meditation, which is a bit weird, and scribbled google meditation techniques first before you start with the underlined, and fuck what Vaunk says, none of it applies to you anyway.
“Real strong feelings there, buddy,” she says, and googles meditation techniques.
--
She spends half her time at Ahsoka’s, these days. It’s not too far from Anakin’s apartment, and it’s only fair, seeing as Ahsoka comes over the other half anyway. Darcy’s just evening the score a little bit.
Fun fact: Ahsoka has nightmares too. Darcy figured it out on her first night, and by now she’s learning how to deal with Ahsoka’s nightmares--a good hug helps. Sometimes she can’t go back to sleep, so Darcy sits with her and rubs circles into her back with her thumbs and bullshits stories about learning how to massage people from her great-aunt Sarah, the most famous masseuse in her family.
She’s never actually met her great-aunt Sarah, the woman died before she was born, and she’s pretty sure Ahsoka can tell she’s never actually massaged anybody in her life.
Still, the stories don’t matter as much as her voice does.
It’s one of those nights, and Ahsoka’s finally relaxed after about ten minutes of Darcy talking about Sarah. It’s good. It’s nice.
Ahsoka says, “I used to have a friend in the Order.”
Darcy stills. “Uh, what?”
Ahsoka shrugs, then turns to face her. “Her name was Barriss,” she says. “We used to be friends, you know. She was--nice. She always wanted to be the best she could be, always wanted to help.” She clasps her hands together. “We teamed up on a few missions during the war, and I--I trusted her. I think I was maybe half in love with her.”
“Oh, this won’t end well,” Darcy says.
“It didn’t,” Ahsoka says, and looks down at her hands. “She blew up a hangar in the Jedi Temple. It killed a lot of good people--Jedi, clones, civilians alike. Even the bomb--it was inside a person, and he didn’t even know.”
Darcy feels sick. She looks down, and reaches across to take Ahsoka’s hand.
“She framed me for it,” says Ahsoka. “It was--really effective, let’s just say. I cleared my name, but after that--I couldn’t get what she said out of my head. The Jedi Order had fallen so far from its purpose, from its mandate, all because of the war.”
And they both know how it turned out. Darcy rubs her thumb along Ahsoka’s right wrist, absently, feeling her pulse. “You dream about her?” she says.
Ahsoka lets out a breath. “Her, Anakin, the younglings in that game, the war, the Empire, the things I saw on Malachor,” she says. “But yeah.”
“Should I be jealous?” Darcy jokes.
It’s a bad joke at a bad time, but it startles a laugh out of Ahsoka anyway. “Nah, most of them aren’t the sexy kind of dreams anyway,” she says. “They’re more terrifying than anything. Like that sharknado dream you told me about.”
“That’s a weird comparison.”
“It’s the best one I have,” says Ahsoka. “I’m sorry. You know, for waking you up, you don’t get enough sleep as it is.”
“Aw, babe,” says Darcy, scooting closer to peck Ahsoka on the forehead, “my sleeping schedule’s all fucked up anyway. Besides, that’s what coffee’s for.”
“You and Anakin drink way too much coffee,” Ahsoka complains.
“I’m a college student and he’s a perfectionist academic,” says Darcy. “Sleep is a myth and we run on--mmm.”
Ahsoka breaks away, tugs her back down onto the bed. “Come on,” she says, tugging the covers back over them, “back to sleep with you.”
“I love you too, honeybunches,” says Darcy.
Ahsoka laughs. She counts that as a win.