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storiesfromplanetjane · 6 years

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Chapter I - A Daicon Romance

This is a joke.

That was her first thought. That this was a joke. Someone upstairs, someone at APE had gotten fed up with the casualties, or had just had a bad day and decided to be a dick, and assigned her here as some kind of stupid joke. That was the only explanation.

Right?

She looked down at him again, a full head shorter than her, with an unkempt mop of black hair and sparkly blue eyes that made this boy, allegedly the same age as her, look like a little kid from the right (wrong?) angle. Begrudgingly, she admitted to herself that he was a little bit cute, but more in like, a puppy way, than in the way boys usually were. She permitted herself a slight grin, at which he shifted on his feet, visibly nervous.

Then, to her surprise, he stuck out his hand. “I-I’m Hiro.”

Hmm. Surprisingly deep voice for a kid that looked like this. Almost sexy! Not quite, though.

“Zero Two.” She did not shake his hand. Or stop grinning. He, for his part, swallowed the lump of condensed nervousness in his throat and continued on.

“I’m the second-in-command of Squad 13. I’m, uh, pleased to meet you.”

Oh god now he was trying to sound leaderly. “Right.” Was all she offered back.

“You’re, um, going to be with us starting today, so I thought it made sense to come out and give you a warm welcome. So you’d, ah, feel at home.”

By now the grin was gone, replaced with a thin, flat line of annoyance. “At home, huh?”

Well, she couldn’t blame the kid for trying. She could blame him for being fucking annoying, though, and with that thought, gently batted his hand away, making the war medals affixed to her coat clink against each other like chain links.

“I’ve never been much for that kinda thing, sorry darling.”

She blinked. She really hadn’t meant that to sound quite so condescending and sarcastic, but, hiding how she felt wasn’t really one of her strong suits.

“Oh, ah” The kid pretended to stifle a cough--pretty convincing too, but, that kind of thing didn’t get by her. He ran his hand through his hair awkwardly. “S-sorry about that.”

“Now, Zero Two.” She felt a hand on her shoulder, and jumped. Just enough to turn her medals into windchimes again, but she felt a dim flushing heat rise to her cheeks regardless. Dr. Franques stepped out from behind her, rubbing his stainless steel chin in thought, the old cyborg’s voice permanently affected with a slight metallic echo as he spoke. “There’s no reason to be rude to the boy. Code 15, was it?”

“16 sir.” He gave a small salute to the doctor. Zero Two spent enough time around Franques that it was easy for her to forget that he was The High Doctor of Mechanics of the entirety of APE--and, apparently, to occasionally forget that he was there at all, if just a moment ago was any indication. Seeing someone respect him enough to snap a salute at him was just weird.

“Code 16! I do apologize, Zero Two is not one for socializing.” He patted her on the back, just enough to not quite qualify as “gently”. “Come come now, decorated you may be, but you’re not above basic manners.”

“S-sorry.” She muttered. She was sure her face was as red as the highlights on her jacket at this point. Embarrassment was not something that came easily to Zero Two but, something about the way Franques scolded you without quite actually seeming upset, yeah, that kinda did it. She adjusted her cap, pulling the brim down a bit, making her own hair--black like Hiro’s, but long, and straight--rustle around a bit, maybe hoping that all the motion would draw Hiro’s eyes somewhere else so he wouldn’t look right at her face.

“So this is Plantation 13!” The Doctor looked around the docking bay. It was sparse, with not much to it but two other airdocks like the one their craft had flown down to, the odd APE personnel bustling some supplies to or from one of the other ships, and a whole lot of supply crates, containing everything from food to fresh clothes to books and cassette tapes. “Why.” Franques began, staring down a nearby crate like it was the most fascinating object on the planet. “I was imagining a bit more, to be quite honest!”

Zero Two turned to look at the Doctor.

Hiro also turned to look at the Doctor.

They blinked--in unison, in fact.

“Hmmm. You know, Father did always say I was a terrible comedian.”

“Eh...heheh.” Hiro had managed to coax an awkward half-laugh out of himself, hand back to ruffling through his hair--did he always do that when he was nervous?--Zero Two couldn’t muster even that much.

“Well well, enough of my so-called humor. 16 my boy, why don’t you lead us to the Franxen Bay? I imagine it’s…” Franques tapped his finger to his chin. “Right next door, perhaps?”

Hiro, seeming quite impressed, nodded enthusiastically. “It is!”

“And the new Flowers have arrived?”

“They have, sir!”

“Excellent! Lead the way! Zero Two--” “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Code 002, illustration by Ryden.

Boys and girls could be cute, but Zero Two was always taken aback at how drop-dead sexy 30 tons of nanosteel and advanced botanotech could look. Craning her neck enough that it was starting to ache, she examined the white-crimson titan. It barely looked it should be able to stand, really, but magma energy-infusion could do miraculous things. It was definitely top-heavy, with huge, round domes on its shoulders, and a head with a broad “panel” on the front that turned into “hair” the farther back along the helmet one went. Some kind of energy converter, if she’d read the schematics right a few days ago.

The real treat of course was its weapon. A hulking thing, bright orange from being infused with magma energy, in the shape of a massive, heavy lance. The Queen’s Pike, it was called.

“The Strelizia, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Shaking the crick out of her neck, Zero Two glanced around to make sure that Dr. Franques actually had wandered off somewhere this time. She rolled her eyes over to Hiro, that slight grin resurfacing. “We’re gonna get to pilot that, y’know?”

“Ah. Yeah, pretty crazy huh?” Speaking of grins, the kid was smiling like an idiot. On the subject of giant bio-robots being the sickest thing of all time at least, she seemed to see eye to eye--if only figuratively--with this “Hiro” kid.

“Wanna take it out for a test drive?”

“Huh?!” Okay, maybe not quite as cool as she’d momentarily thought he was.

“C’mon.” Her grin widened, and she walked her fingers up the boy’s side, planting them on the shoulder opposite to her, and pulling him a bit closer. “It’s ours anyway, right?”

“And I mean, it’s good to get some practice in, right? After all you’ve never done it before….right?” She moved her hand up his cheek, brushing it gently. He blushed.

“W...well.” God, boys were so easy.

“See, you get it.” She took a step forward. All they had to do was hop onto the loading lift, the small platform lead directly up to the Strelizia’s cockpit.

“I. I guess it can’t hurt.”

And just like that, a few steps forward, a moment on the elevator, and into the brains of the machine.

The inside was dimly lit, and quite cramped despite consisting mostly of a flat, black circle for the two pilots to stand on.

“Have you been inside a Franxx before?”

“No. Only the virtual testing cockpit.”

“Then you should know what to do. Come on-” She hurried him into the cockpit, closing the door, and the two of them stood on the platform inside the Strelizia, face to face, more or less.

“I..um. Only the cockpit for the...older models.”

“Ahhh. I see. The single pilots.” She wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe just the close quarters inside the mecha and the lack of light, maybe she was starting to warm up to him despite her better judgment. Maybe she was just feeling a little mischievous, but here, now, like this, he was kinda, just a bit cute.

More importantly, he was at her mercy.

She put a hand on his back and pulled him toward her. “It’s like waltzing. You know how to waltz, don’t you?”

“Uh-”

“Put your hand on my hip.”

“U...umm!!” Oh this was precious. Even in the dim light she could tell he was blushing again. It probably didn’t say anything good about her, did it? That this was when she felt closest to another….well, to a human being.

“You ready?”

Silently, Hiro nodded. Zero Two pulled him closer, and The Strelizia’s cockpit hummed to life.

“I! Uh!”

“Quiet, quiet. Shhhhhh.” They were close enough now that she could feel him start to calm down. He really was kind of a ball of nerves, wasn’t he?

“Alright. Hiro?”

“Yeah?”

“Close your eyes, and concentrate. On me.”

And he did.

She did the same.

And when they next opened their eyes, they saw out of the same pair. A different pair, 30 feet above the ground, and bigger than anything, as the blank facescreen on the Strelizia flickered to life, rendering a pair of great green eyes that made the inside of the docking bay look tiny.

The Strelizia’s shackles came off with ease, and the mech studied its hand. Closing and opening, wiggling its fingers.

“Cool feeling, right?” Zero Two let a giggle slip out.

“Yeah…” Hiro was awed. It was obvious, being in a Flower did that, it let you feel what your co-pilot was thinking.

“So, we just gonna stand here, darling? Or do you wanna get out and see the big blue sky?” Of course, that connection worked both ways. The second the question left her mouth, she regretted the tone. She hadn’t meant that to sound so….cheerful, but it did, and Hiro seized on it.

“I do!”

“Hey. C...careful. You’ll throw off our balance.”

The Strelizia took a step forward, then two. The docking bay doors opened.

“You ever skydive?”

“Um. No, I haven’t.”

“Well you’re about to!”

Wind rushed into the docking bay. By this point, APE staff were already scrambling and running about, trying to stop the Strelizia from leaving. The whipping wind blowing in from the opening doors did not help matters, and more than one technician lost their favorite coat or hat as it blew out the open doors. With a running start, the Strelizia jumped, flying into the wild blue.

The ground was mere moments away. She could feel Hiro starting to panic, and pulled him closer. They were squeezed up against each other now, as the Strelizia rocketed through the sky, ground-bound like a white and red bolt of lightning. She could feel him calming down, his breathing slowing and becoming more regular while outside, in sharp contrast, the ring of thrusters that made up the “skirt” of the mecha around its waist kicked to life, spitting out white-hot flames that blasted against the ground, the cracked earth tossing out huge clouds of dust and grit.

The Strelizia landed with an unsteady thump, down on one knee, then standing back up and shaking off the aftershock. She could feel him now. This was...strange, Hiro was very, very far from the first pilot she’d had. He was her 21st, actually, by her count. But somehow this was….different, their thoughts seemed to mix so easily. She couldn’t place it, it made her nervous, and not much made Zero Two nervous.

....Certainly not the small, four-legged black and blue creature now scurrying among the dried mud at the Strelizia’s feet.

A klaxosaur. A small one. By itself? That seemed wrong.

It was wrong.

The creature opened its mouth and let out a long braying howl, its jaw flapping open and the blue lines along its body going from sapphire to neon. More crawled out. They were hiding, either underground or among the nearby rocks. It didn’t take more than a few moments for there to be dozens of them.

Inside the Strelizia, Zero Two ran a hand through Hiro’s hair. He seemed-

“Are you scared?” She asked.

“A little.” He replied, maybe figuring that this close to each other, there was no reason to lie.

“I’ll fight them.”

“By yourself? How?”

With both of their eyes closed, Hiro couldn’t see Zero Two crack a sly smile. “Just watch, darling.”

Something moved. The cockpit felt like it was rearranging, getting smaller and more cramped. There was a sound like an electric pulse, a tsche-chu-chu-chu-tsche. Collapsing in on itself and rearranging like a Rubik’s Cube, the Strelizia shrunk from a titanic humanoid into the form of a lean mechanical lion. It growled. Zero Two growled. The mech’s tail extended, flicking to and fro like that of a cat about to pounce on its prey, but weighed with the heavy tip of the lance. She pounced, leaping into the air just long enough for the unlucky wolflike klaxosaur to watch the 30 tons of metal go from having its back against the sun to being directly on top of it.

She dug her claws into the now-helpless creature, raking it across its flank. Klaxosaur flesh was a strange substance, Zero Two’d always thought it kind of felt like rubber. Not that she had much time to ponder the thought. The rest of the klaxo-wolf pack was on her near-instantly, two came from her left side, one from the front, three from the right, two from behind. Now things were getting fun.

That last problem was solved in seconds by a quick swipe of the tail, the lance was heavy and the magma energy infusion rendered it red hot, the pair of klaxo-wolves behind her were bashed aside and burnt by the impact. Next, dropping to the ground and rolling under made the two from the left side smack dead into the three from the right, giving her enough time to come at the one gunning from her head from below. She stretched the jaws of the Strelizia wide, and took a bite out of the front klaxo-wolf. Her mouth filled with a taste like lighter fluid and burnt rubber as the creature keeled over, letting out a pathetic whimper of pain.

She didn’t have time to kill the other five. The dull bree-yew sound of magma energy cannons rang out from behind her. A trio of Franxen mechs, steely black, and, really, utterly plain, stood with their weapons raised. Slowly, methodically, they shot up enough of the klaxo-wolves for the creatures to start falling back. No viscerality, no thrill, just clean, sustained fire.

There was a small burst of static, and then, open comms.

“Strelizia, this is Units 4-6 of Squad 311, do you copy?”

Tch.

“We copy.” She replied, trying to quench the agitation rising in her throat.

“We’ve been sent to retrieve you and take you back to Plan--”

“Yeah, I’m sure you have.” The Strelizia shifted back into its humanoid mode, reconfiguring in an instant. “Take us back, but we’re off-com.” Zero Two couldn’t actually turn off the comms in the Strelizia--no Franxx used by the APE army could without authorization from its associated base, in fact--but she knew her reputation well enough to know that if she told a bunch of grunts to piss off, they probably would.

“We’re gonna get a talking-to, aren’t we?” Hiro spoke for the first time in what felt like hours.

“Probably. They won’t actually do anything, though.”

“How do you know that?”

She scoffed. “Trust me, if they won’t do anything to me, they won’t do anything to anybody.”

The bodies of the klaxo-wolves painted the grey-brown dirt a neon blue as the Strelizia and its three escorts activated their thrusters to return to the plantation. The smell of charred plastic filled the air.

Author’s Section

I don’t intend to make these a running thing for this story, but, including one here is worthwhile. If you like what you’re reading, take a look at the preface & dedications (aka “Chapter 0″) from the story index, from which you will eventually be able to find links to all the chapters as I post them.

All writing & editing by me. Big thanks to Ryden for the illustration, and for some words of encouragement.

#fanfic #Darling in the Franxx #AU #OOC #(Deliberately OOC hehehehe)

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bloomsoftly · 7 years

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all this and heaven too

a thank you fic for @sarastark. ❤️❤️❤️

pairing: darcy/tony (ironshock) rating: g word count: 4871

(a million thanks to @ragwitch for her mad beta skills. xoxo)

“Please don't be an axe murderer,” Darcy muttered to herself as she flicked on her emergency flashers and eased onto the shoulder of the two-lane highway. “Please, please, please. Please don't make me regret this.”

The figure in her side mirror hesitated, standing so still she could hardly see them in the flickering of her brake light—the rain was coming down in heavy sheets, so heavily that she'd been worried about making it home safely even without the added danger of picking up a stranger from the side of the road. After a moment she considered driving away, but then the figure started to move.

As the person’s reflection grew bigger and more distinct in her rainy side mirror, Darcy was reminded of the terror she'd felt watching Jurassic Park for the first time. A human was a lot different than a giant T-Rex, of course, but her brain wouldn't let go of the comparison. The ominous click and slide of her windshield wipers didn't help.

Her mind flitted through all the possibilities—running the gamut from an assassin fleeing the scene of a crime to an escaped convict—but then the person was knocking on her window and she had no more time to think. It was either let him in or drive off and leave him to drown in rainwater and mud. After hesitating for a split second longer, she went with option C and rolled her window down halfway.

“What the hell are you doing out here, dude?”

“Seriously? We can't have this conversation in the car?”

For all that the rain had soaked through his clothes and plastered his hair to his head, the man’s look was as dry as the New Mexico desert. He was spectacularly attractive, with a face so handsome she couldn’t even fault him for his goatee. She didn’t even like goatees, but somehow he pulled it off a little too well.

He tapped an impatient finger against the half-open window, reminding Darcy why option C hadn't actually been a real…option. With a slight huff, she rolled her car window up. It was impossible not to grin at the look of indignant rage on the man’s face; he clearly thought she was going to abandon him to the elements.

Instead, she reached over and popped the door open. He slid in immediately, and she mourned the fabric of her passenger seat as he immediately drenched it.

“You're not gonna kill me, are you?” Her tone was blunt—better to get it out of the way immediately.

The man was clearly a fan of incredulous stares. His gazed bored into the side of her face as she pulled out onto the highway, his jaw slack with bemused horror. Her unease from picking up a stranger immediately abated, replaced with an unholy glee from getting under his skin.

“You're joking, right? Please tell me you're joking.”

“Dude, how often do you pick up strangers who are hitchhiking in the middle of the night, in a rainstorm no less? Of course I'm not joking.”

The silence following that statement was pronounced, and stretched for so long she glanced over to make sure he was still conscious. He was, though clearly befuddled. His mouth worked a couple of times before he found his words.

“You're serious. You really don't know who I am.” That statement was ominous, and her head shot over to stare at him.

“Oh my god, and I supposed to? Are you an escaped convict or something?” Her eyes darted back to the road—convict or not, she did not want to kill both of them by wrapping her car around a tree—and she desperately tried to remember where she'd put her taser. Was it in her purse?

“What? No. No, no, look—nevermind. And I'm not going to kill you, okay? Sheesh, relax. Although…it's not like I'd tell you if I was planning on it. I'd be a stupid murderer, don't you think?” She snorted at that, and he grinned.

“Alright, axe murderer. Where are you headed? And how the hell did you end up walking down this road, anyway?”

(read more link here)

“I was headed to Willowdale. Car accident.” At her worried glance, he grinned disarmingly. “I'm not injured. Not gonna bleed out in your car, I promise.”

“I wasn't thinking of that,” she scoffed. “Do you have a room booked at the motel?” He must be rich, she thought, based on the way his nose wrinkled at the word.

“Nah.” He waved a nonchalant hand through the air. “I was acting on a more spur-of-the-moment kind of thing.”

“Uh huh.” His apparent ease with the entire loss of a car and general lack of plans or care for where he was staying the night was driving her crazy, so she added, “And how's that worked out for you so far?”

He ignored her, turning his face to the window, and she pushed away the immediate stab of regret at her harsh words. “Alright, we'll try the motel first then.”

The rest of the drive was silent save for the thudding of the rain on her roof and the squeak-slide of the wipers. A few minutes in, she realized that his wet clothing must be making him cold and uncomfortable even if he refused to complain. When her hands reached to turn on the heat, his eyes tracked her movements. He didn't verbalize his thanks, but she thought she caught him relaxing slightly out of the corner of her eye.

As they pulled into the motel parking lot, they stared up at the neon sign with twin looks of dismay. No matter how many times she blinked up at it, the bright orange NO VACANCY glared stubbornly down at her. With a sigh, she threw the car into park and leaned back against her seat. She was out of ideas—Willowdale wasn't exactly big enough for anything more than a crappy motel, so there was nowhere else she could take him. The nearest city was an hour away, and there was only so much she was willing to do for a (charming, handsome, funny) stranger.

“I'm going to check inside,” he declared. “Maybe I can grease a palm or two.”

She stifled a laugh, but settled for, “That's not really how things work around here, man.” She could see from the tension in his jaw that he wasn't going to give up, and she sighed.

“Do you want me to wait for you?”

He turned at that, staring openly at her. “What?”

“Do you want me to wait for you, in case it doesn't work out?” When it didn't work out, she amended silently.

He blinked rapidly, as if her offer was entirely unexpected, then shook it off. “No. Thanks. I'm sure it’ll work out fine. Thanks for the lift.” The words were rusty, and she got the sense that not many people knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of his gratitude. Especially not twice in one statement.

Without another word, he opened the door and slid out into the rain, taking the heat with him. She bit her lip in indecision.

When he trudged out of the motel ten minutes later, dejection evident in every line of his body, she started the engine. His head shot up at the sound, and this time he didn't hesitate to sprint for the passenger door. They were both grinning as he slid into the still-drenched seat.

“So,” he drawled, ignoring the rivulets of water that were making their way down his forehead and the bridge of his nose, as if he wasn't having the worst night ever, “where to?”

-:-

“This,” she proclaimed with an expansive gesture that was altogether too grand for her tiny apartment, “is my humble abode.”

Tony—just Tony, he’d said with a devilish grin—opened his mouth, but she cut him off with an accusatory finger. His mouth clicked shut so rapidly it was almost audible.

“I don’t want to hear a single word about the depths of its humility, dude.” When he rolled his eyes and opened his mouth again, she pulled out the big guns. “One word, and I’m kicking you back out into the rain to drown.”

The man pulled out his best innocent expression.

“Who, me?” He leaned in to whisper it against her ear as he skirted around her to explore the living space, so close that her hair shifted with his breath. She had to close her eyes and count to five before she could turn to follow him, willing her blush to subside. Bringing a stranger home to sleep on her couch out of the goodness of her heart was quite enough; she didn’t need to add attraction to the mix. Speaking of which, she should probably at least text Jane—on the off chance that he really was an axe murderer or something.

When she finally turned, still texting her friend, he was eyeing her couch with extreme dubiousness.

“Yep,” she confirmed, popping the ‘p’, “that’s where you’ll be staying.”

He turned around, and she was utterly unprepared for the charm that he effortlessly exuded through every pore. “Are you sure?” His tone was low and seductive, and the intimacy of it sent chills down her spine. The blush was back in full force, and then she realized—

“Nice try, dude. But you’re still on the couch.” At least her tone was even; no one needed to know how much that attempt had actually affected her, least of all him.

“Well, it was worth a shot.” His pout made her laugh.

“Mhmm. Let me grab you a blanket, Casanova. And some sweatpants and a t-shirt. I think I still have some of my ex’s clothing around. Hmm.”

“I prefer Don Juan, actually—” he called after her. She cut him off with a pillow to the face.

“Cool. Good night, Magic Mike.” His surprised laughter followed her into dreams.

It was surprisingly easy to sleep with him in the next room, for all that he was a stranger. She still locked her bedroom door, though. When Jane called, she answered the phone with a sigh.

“Hey, Janie.”

“What the hell are you doing, Darce?”

-:-

When Darcy woke up the next morning, she almost convinced herself that it was all a dream. Nothing more than a bored woman’s fantasy, adding a little spice to her otherwise routine existence.

Just as she was about to roll over and lose herself in fantasies of that smile, those mischievous eyes, that beard she’d love to rub herself all over, there was a muttered curse from the kitchen. Immediately afterward came the smell of something burning. It mixed with the smell of freshly-brewed coffee, turning the tantalizing smell into something acrid and smoky. Clearly, her dream man was not a dream. And he was up to no good.

She barely had the presence of mind to throw on a sports bra and finger comb her hair before leaving her bedroom, making a quick pitstop in the bathroom to pee and brush her teeth. As she rounded the corner to the kitchen, she caught her unexpected guest dumping something black and crispy into the trashcan.

“Sheesh, what did those pancakes ever do to you?” Tony’s eyes widened at her words—he hadn’t seen her come in. He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off with an exclamation of horror. “What on earth did you do to my coffee maker?”

His answering smile was smug. “I made a few improvements.” Without elaborating, he handed her a mug full of the steaming liquid. She took a cautious sip, fighting the urge to close her eyes in bliss. Even though she’d known him less than twenty-four hours, she knew better than to give him the satisfaction. He caught it anyway. “Good, huh?”

“But—why? It was fine the way it was.”

“It moved slower than a car in New York traffic and it smelled like burning rubber when you turned it on.” She fought a smile, recognizing that same dry tone from when she’d dared to leave him out in the rain the evening before.

“It had character.” He scoffed, and she changed the topic rapidly, not wanting him to go on a home improvement spree because he felt like he had something to prove. “So, what happened to breakfast?”

“Not my strong suit.” The smell of charred batter lingered in the air, belying his casual shrug. He gulped down his own cup of coffee—straight black, how boring—he said, “But I am very good at buying breakfast.”

That made her laugh. “Alright, let’s hit up Willowdale’s only diner.”

“But first, do you have a phone I can borrow? Mine garbled its swan song in the rain.”

Grateful for the breather, she handed him her phone and headed for the shower. There was only so much of his eyes and that smolder and the general intensity of him she could take before feeling like she was going to either scream or push him up against the wall and have her wicked way with him. Hence, the need for a break.

Fifteen minutes later, she was clean and feeling much better equipped to deal with her silver-tongued guest. He was still on the phone as she rounded the corner.

“C’mon, Pep. This is not the worst thing I’ve done over the years. No—yes, there’s a reason I drove down here in the middle of the night. No, I can’t talk about it right now, this isn’t a secure line—what?”

Darcy hovered in the doorway at his back, torn between the desire to honor his privacy and a morbid curiosity over who was managing to keep him so off-kilter. Then again, he was talking loud enough to rouse the entire building, so he clearly wasn’t worried about keeping things secret.

“No, I do not have a new girlfriend. A Good Samaritan picked me up off the side of the road last night and—no, I did not sleep with her. Jesus, Pep, I haven’t been like that in years.” She stifled a snort of amusement; considering his half-assed attempt at seducing his way into her bed the night before, that was only half true. She really didn’t need to listen in on his conversation with his friend (girlfriend? Colleague? Who knew), so she turned around and went back the way she’d come. He’d find her when he was ready to go, she had no doubt.

-:-

“What’s that face?” As soon as she pointed it out, his expression smoothed out into an unassuming mask. All that was left to show his disdain was a soft arch of one eyebrow.

“What? What face? I don’t know what you’re talking about—no seriously. This is the only diner in town?” His eyes bored into hers, as if he thought she was pulling one over on him.

“Yes, it is. And since they don’t scorch their pancakes, we’re staying. And besides, Willowdale isn’t exactly the pinnacle of high society, Tony. We have one crappy motel and one dingy diner—”

“Say that five times fast,” he cut in, snickering.

Ignoring him, she continued on,” So really, I’m wondering what the hell you’re really doing here.”

He stared her down—after all his flirting, it was disconcerting to suddenly be facing a serious Tony. His eyes leveled out as he searched her gaze; she had no idea what he was suspicious of or what he was searching for, but she could tell when he didn’t find it. All of a sudden, his eyebrows smoothed out and the tension in his jaw was gone, and he went back to tapping his fingers against the plastic tabletop.

“I’m headhunting, actually.” At her startled flinch, he rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Darce, you’ve gotta get rid of your axe murderer worries. I meant it in the business sense. I’m here to recruit a scientist for a technology company.”

A niggling suspicion started at the back of her brain, and she couldn’t help but wonder, “Which scientist? You’re talking about one of the faculty at Culver, I assume.”

He hummed in agreement. “Doctor Jane Foster. You probably haven’t heard about her. A relatively new up-and-comer, I’ll grant, but I can spot genius right away and—”

“What does a technology company want with an astrophysicist?”

Stunned into silence, Tony blinked at her for a solid minute. Then he grinned wolfishly.

“You know her?”

“Oh, sure. I’ve only been working with her for the past five years or so.” She shoveled a bite of pancake in her mouth and tried not to moan. Tony could say what he wanted about the aesthetic—Stanley knew how to make damn good breakfast.

When she glanced up, Tony was staring at her. Whether it was from the blissful look on her face or her casual admission, it wasn’t clear. She was halfway through her pancake before he found the words he wanted to say.

“You work with Jane Foster. And you’re not—”

“A doctor? No. Not even a science-y type, actually. And yet Janie and I work perfectly together. Which is why you should heed my warning—she’s not gonna be an easy one to win over. Jane likes her comfort, her plaid shirts and her routine, as crazy as that routine might seem to everyone else. But you didn’t answer my question—what does a technology company want with Jane Foster?”

“Her theories would be very…useful in some of the research they’re currently developing,” he said, eyes bright and grin shark-like. She felt as though she was being expertly boxed into a corner, and didn’t know what she could do about it. With a sigh, she signaled for the check.

“Alright, then. Might as well get this over with.”

-:-

“No.”

Darcy stifled a laugh—it was the fifth refusal in as many minutes, and Jane hadn’t even bothered to look up from her database for this one. Tony shot her a desperate look for support, but she shook her head and laughed.

“Don’t look at me, hotshot. I warned you. Janie, I’m gonna go grab us all some coffee. Let y’all get your little song and dance out of the way.” Patting her best friend and boss on the shoulder, she leaned in to whisper, “I’m not just saying this because he’s hot, but try to go a little easy on him? The man got in a car accident last night and still insisted on coming to our little town to woo you. He’s determined, if nothing else.”

Jane didn’t say anything in reply, but a faint smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. On her way out the door, Darcy pointed at Tony.

“You. Behave.”

“I feel like you know me too well already, Short Stack. Go, get your caffeine fix. Mighty Mouse and I will be fine.”

“If you want to win her over, you might want to stop making fun of her size. Just a friendly warning.” As she left, Jane was nodding emphatically while Tony stifled a smirk.

Right as the door slid shut behind her, she heard Tony say, “So. Tell me about Darcy.”

It was almost enough to make her turn right back around.

-:-

“We probably should've called ahead, after the debacle last night,” Darcy remarked as she pulled into the motel’s parking lot. “Luckily, it looks like they have still have rooms available for tonight.” The NO of the vacancy sign was conspicuously unlit.

The relief she'd expected to feel at getting rid of him never came. Instead, anxiety sat heavy in her gut. It wasn't until he was unbuckling his seatbelt that she was able to identify it: the sense of an opportunity lost.

He turned to her, as composed as ever with a little twinkle in his eye. “You gonna wait for me? Just in case?”

Casting a dubious glance up at the clearly-lit vacancy sign, she sighed. It was better to save her breath rather than to argue, she'd learned in the twenty-four hours or so that she'd known him. “Sure, Tony. I'll wait.”

With a grin, he disappeared.

Less than two minutes later, he was striding back toward the passenger side of her car. “Oh no,” he said, aiming for a deadpan tone but unable to completely mask his mischief, “they were all booked.”

She stared at him. As they sat in silence, the neon orange above them flickered to life. NO VACANCY. With another gusty sigh, she put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space.

“You bought out the entire motel, didn't you?”

“Yep,” he replied with zero remorse.

“Alright. If you like sleeping on my couch that much, who am I to stop you.”

“You sure I can't convince you to revisit the bed discussion? I'm a master snuggler, I'll have you know.” Interestingly, he didn't lean into her space or drop his eyes to her chest as he spoke, as so many other men would. Tony, it seemed, enjoyed the verbal sparring as much as he wanted to see her naked. It improved her opinion of him by a mile.

“I'm sure you are.” Her glance at his well-defined arms wasn't subtle.

“But I'm pretty sure that Jane is going to accept the offer of employment—for both of us—at Stark Industries. And I'm not about to screw it all up by sleeping with the man whose name is on the side of the building before we even get a chance to see New York.”

“So you did know who I was!” he crowed in triumph. The pull of his grin was too strong, and she couldn't help but return it. Her heart thudded in her chest, and that was the moment she knew she was in serious trouble.

Darcy laughed. “No, I really didn't. But Jane made sure to tell me. She reamed me out for bringing the Tony Stark to the lab without any advance warning.”

“Oops.”

“Uh-huh.” She wasn't buying his innocent act—really, she wondered if anyone ever did. There was something about him that screamed cunning and mayhem.

“So the sleeping arrangements—”

“Not happening, Tony.”

“I wouldn't really be your boss, you know. Or Foster’s, really.”

“So you wouldn't be able to make my life hell if we slept together and it crashed and burned? Whisper some words in the right ears, and suddenly Jane and I are both out of a job?” He blinked at her, as if he'd never thought of it that way. “Exactly.”

He hesitated, then quietly stated, “I know you don't know me well enough to know that I'm telling the truth, but I would never do that.”

“I can't take that chance.” She shrugged one shoulder and stared straight ahead. The sense of loss was back, churning in her gut and telling her that she was making a mistake. But she wouldn't stake Jane’s career on the outcome of a one-night stand, no matter how hard her ovaries cried.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him nod and turn to look out the window. He wouldn't bring it up again. Softly, he said to the window, “It would've been really good, though.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it would've.”

-:-

There was a car waiting for Tony the following afternoon, after he'd coaxed an official ‘yes’ from Jane.

“I don't do hugs,” he said to Darcy, who wasn't even standing near him.

“Cool.”

“But—if you ever change your mind, Short Stack, my bed is always open.” He slid his sunglasses partway down his nose to show off the bawdy wink he tossed in her direction.

“Cool. But you need to work on your game, Tony. If you really wanted a shot with me, you wouldn't call me Short Stack. Because that wouldn't get you anywhere. Ever.”

“Double D?” She wrinkled her nose. “No? That's too bad. See you around, Darce.”

He stepped in close, enough to brush his lips softly against the side of her head. It was so soft she barely felt any pressure at all, and she had to keep her hands fisted at her sides. No hugs.

“By the way,” he added on his way out the door, “I bought you a new couch. Yours is atrocious—doesn't even deserve the name.” And then he was breezing out of her life with the same abruptness that he'd arrived.

He had bought her a new couch—it was delivered the next day. Movers came for her and Jane’s stuff the day after that. A week later, she was informed that her student loans had been paid in full. Yet, she didn't see Tony himself until three months after they moved to New York.

-:-

“So you're Darcy.”

Those three words were ominous in any employment scenario, but they were especially intimidating when spoken by Pepper Potts herself.

“Tony’s told me a lot about you.” Somehow, that was even worse. Seeing the look on her face, Pepper laughed.

“Don't worry. I'm a fan. Tony told me you refused to sleep with him, that you were worried about your career. And Doctor Foster’s.”

Darcy blinked. This was not what she was expecting on her first day.

“I'm sorry. Are the two of you…?”

Pepper laughed.

“Oh, no. We tried, once, years ago. It crashed and burned immediately. He really likes you, though.”

It was as much a shovel talk as she'd ever received.

-:-

The first time she saw Tony after they started working for SI, Darcy half-expected him to pour on the seduction techniques. He didn't. Oh, he was casually flirty with her, and considerately asked about how they were settling into life in the city, in his own way (“But did you bring the couch?”). Most of his focus was on the research, Jane's theories, and how it all related to the projects the companies had coming down the pipeline—as it should be.

She told herself she wasn't disappointed.

The second time was similar, as were the third and fourth. Eventually she got used to the idea that their flirty will-they-won't-they dynamic was a thing of the past, a fond memory of a rainy night or two in nowhere, Virginia. She let it go, and happily formed a friendship with him instead.

He started coming around more, almost every day—he and Jane were working on a project, something that required daily collaboration—and Darcy started including him in their morning coffee and lunch orders. They settled into a rhythm of jokes and teasing and light flirting, but nothing beyond what she'd seen him do with practically every woman who worked in the building.

He never called her ‘Short Stack’ again, a rebellious little part of her was happy to note.

Jane never said anything about it, though she did manage a couple of spectacular eyerolls at Darcy when Tony’s back was turned. Still, the three of them settled into a comfortable, if odd, routine.

Until the day that Pepper asked to take Darcy to lunch.

-:-

Wiping her hands on her skirt, Darcy rapped on the door frame that led into Tony’s lab. There wasn't a response, so she tiptoed her way through all the half-finished projects and random salvage that littered the workshop.

He was in the middle of a haphazard mess of parts, as usual, with music playing so loud in his headphones she could hear the guitar riffs from across the room.

Just as she was trying to figure out how to signal him without breaking anything, he noticed her. Jumping in his seat, he pulled the headphones out of his ear, swiped an oil-covered hand through his hair, and sent half the tools on the workbench tumbling to the floor.

Yeah, she'd been an idiot.

“Darcy! Darce. Um, what are you doing here?” He cringed at the accusation. “I mean, not that you aren't welcome. It's just—you just—throw me a bone here, would you?” His pleading tone finally coaxed her into action.

“I've been an idiot.” It was her turn to cringe—not the best lead-in to a love confession. Or a whatever this was confession.

“What?” His hands dropped from his hair at her words. There was a streak of gummy oil tracked through it, but she didn't even think he'd noticed. She really liked that about him.

“I've been an idiot, Tony. I’d—would you—?” She stopped, frustrated.

“Woah, easy there, girl.” He crossed the room in three strides to take her hands in his. The oil made them sticky, and their fingers clung together. “Whatever it is, we can fix it. Okay? No matter what it is. I've got you. You don't need to worry—”

Gripping his hands tightly, she rose to her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his firmly. She lingered, allowing her lips to cling to his for a moment before falling back to earth.

“Tony, would you like to go on a date with me?”

For a moment, she thought she'd made a terrible mistake. His eyes stared straight into hers, his lips pressed into a thin white line.

Then, his mouth was on hers, his tongue seeking entrance to her mouth, his hands buried in her hair. He kissed her like a man dying of thirst, like he'd been dreaming of it for months.

In the end, it was only fitting that they'd both end up with oil in their hair.

#ironshock #darcy x tony #darcyland #No Powers AU #thank you fic

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emerygoat26-blog · 5 years

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Author Nathan Englander Gets His Syrup in New Hampshire - Grub Street

At Mike’s Coffee Shop in Clinton Hill. Photo: Christian Rodriguez

At 30, Nathan Englander was the youngest ever recipient of the PEN award for “excellence in the art of the short story,” and this week he published his fifth book, the comically probing kaddish.com. His writing has been called “genre-hopping” and several variations on “playful,” descriptions that might also apply to his relationship with eating. Like many food lovers, Englander can appreciate a great restaurant as much as he can a well-written recipe — but he also isn’t above eating his daughter’s leftovers. “My wife can’t believe it,” he says. “I’m like, ‘Oh, yeah, I am definitely more than happy to find myself eating the kid food.’” Over the past week, he also had time to eat stoop pizza, consider the qualities that make a neighborhood diner great, and think, wistfully, about bagels. Read all about it in this week’s Grub Street Diet.

Thursday, March 21 I wish this had started Wednesday night. My wife and I actually got a babysitter, and went to a grown-up restaurant with another couple. One half of that couple was our friend JJ, who writes cookbooks, and when you go to restaurants with him, things you didn’t order just appear — “lamb chops, compliments of the food mafia!” — and I think that would have been a fun meal to share. But my Grub Street Diet started this morning! And I was doing drop-off, and was late getting our 4-year-old daughter to preschool — as I am every day.

While I packed her lunch, I ate a piece of wheat toast and drank a gallon of Kitten Coffee’s Tandem blend. I don’t like that super-black, melt-your-tongue coffee. I drink way too much coffee for that, and Kitten’s is just the perfect live-on-it-all-day roast. Also, I was once leaving the coffee shop on our corner, and the Kitten guy was delivering, and I screamed, “Hey, I love your coffee.” And he said, “Try this, I think you’ll like it,” and he threw me a pound of something new they were making, and I swooned with neighborhood good cheer.

So, my book was coming out on Tuesday and I was in prelaunch madness. I was stuck in the house, doing assignments, like 500 words on fingernails for Fingernail Digest, and I had a half-hour phone interview that somehow ran to an hour and a half and I was going to miss eating lunch. But JJ checked in, as he does about a million times a day. He was over on Henry Street, and he texted me a picture of the sandwiches chalked up on the board at Lillo, and offered to deliver. And, as with the Kitten coffee, it’s that kind of neighborly niceness that just kills me. He brought me the Mediterraneo, as ordered. It’s Italian tuna, arugula, sweet marinated onions, and tomato. It was delicious. (He also brought a couple of desserts, which I put aside.) And we both worked on our laptops at the table for a while.

Also, while I was waiting for JJ to show up, I ate the cold tortellini from Olivia’s dinner the night before. I’m all about the cold kid noodles from yesterday’s dinners. I enjoy that stuff. It’s not just that I’m eating it, I actually love it. I am definitely more than happy to find myself eating the properly aged fish sticks, and the apples with bites missing. I think that’s a big parent thing, to be like, “Now I’m going to have a second meal that I found on the counter.”

A friend I hadn’t seen in years was in town visiting, and she was coming by for dinner. So, at the end of the workday, I ran over to Mekelburg’s for a loaf of She Wolf sourdough (which we’re crazy for). I also got Firehook sea salt crackers, and some cheddar and manchego and our favorite cheese, Délice de Bourgogne, which is about one inch away from just eating butter with a spoon. I got olives and radishes, and I also got all the fixings for my red lentil soup. I served it over brown rice, and finished it off with wilted spinach and some Greek yogurt, as the recipe recommends. My wife, Rachel, made a butter lettuce, endive, and grapefruit salad.

Also, it was Purim, and Rach got some hamantaschen that we served along with the desserts that JJ had brought. One was a kind of Italian version of a Boston cream doughnut, and there was a blueberry tart with a lattice top.

Friday, March 22 I made Olivia French toast, which was not at all a weekday thing, but she asked for it, and getting to school on time, as I’ve said, is not my strong suit. I had Greek yogurt, banana, and honey. And coffee. And Rach had a version of the same.

It was Friday, which was a gym day. So we do speed things up as best we can. We’ve been working out at CrossFit South Brooklyn for years, even though it’s over in Gowanus. But we love it, and it feels like family now. And we’re pretty religious about our Monday-Wednesday-Friday class, which is a kind of body-weight-centric thing that we love.

When I need to do busywork before writing, I often head to Three’s Brewing, one street over from the gym. It’s not for a post-workout beer. The brewery is closed during the day, but they have a cozy little outpost of Ninth Street Espresso inside that uses the space during the daytime. I headed over and got a coffee and, to ruin any gym-related gains, a cheddar and chive scone (which is just to say, I should have had the French toast).

Let’s sing the praises of leftovers. I cook so much more lately,, and the more complicated or ridiculous, the better. That, is I like to make the things where people say, “Ummm, you know, they sell that at the grocery store. You can buy that a lot more easily than you can make that.” I was recently cooking Middle Eastern food and I was like, “Well, I should also make the pita,” and there were a million steps, and I was really proud, but, man, that dinner would have been a lot easier if I’d just run to Damascus Bakery, or, you know, any supermarket in the whole city. I think it ties in to the writer brain. If I need to fix something I’m writing, I will stay up all night, and I will do it again and again until it’s where it needs to be.

Anyway, there was the leftover lentil soup and the cheese and that giant loaf from She Wolf waiting. And I had plans to meet my publicist, Jordan. We were both swamped, and so she swung by, and we set up shop at our dining room table (by which I mean, our only table), and we had a super nice lunch, but with screens out, typing away.

Rach and I are nutty for Ethiopian food. It’s a favorite. And, luckily, there’s a fantastic restaurant over on Fulton, across from Greenlight Bookstore, my local. It’s a big corner for me: books and Ethiopian food. The restaurant is called Bati. And the owner, Hibist, is an old friend. Back when I started writing and lived on the Upper West Side, I used to go do my work at the Hungarian Pastry Shop. I mean, I sat there all day, every day, and often closed the place down. And Hibist used to work behind the counter. And I love when a person’s dreams come true. That is, I remember Hibist pouring coffees in the ’90s and now she owns her own restaurant — and it’s the best. Also, they’re really nice to our daughter, who has gone from eating everything to a very beige-focused food phase (possibly inherited from my suburban, white-bread roots).

Anyway, we packed her a little dinner of her own as an emergency backup, which they were really nice about. And as for ordering at Bati, Rach and I haven’t touched a menu there in years. We always, always get a vegetarian combo for two — which had a bunch of things on it, gomen, and buticha, and key sir, and — what really matters to us — always lots of shiro. And, at Bati, I don’t even need JJ for special treatment. They always keep an eye on us and make sure there’s shiro on the tray.

Also, they were out of St. George beer that night, so I had a Walia, which was equally great.

Saturday, March 23 If I’m being honest here, this was a record amount of time for me not to have eaten a bagel. This diary should have already had five dozen or so in it. Anyway, I ate the She Wolf Sourdough toast, day 400 on that bread. If you amortize the initial investment, I was pretty much making money on that loaf.

After dance class (my daughter’s, not mine), we headed over to Tacombi with friends. It’s a great Mexican place with locations in Manhattan, but now we’ve got one across from BAM. I spotted one grown-up couple having beers in the main room when we got there, but otherwise there were lots of kids, and lots in tutus — it seemed to be the new post-dance hangout. We had a big order of kid-friendly plain versions of things, which the staff was really nice about (that is, quesadilla with nothing, rice and beans with nothing). As for this grown-up, I had the seared fish tacos and their Naranja, which is a papaya, carrot, pineapple, and orange juice.

So, it was the Montclair Literary Festival — go NJ! My event was near the end of the day, and, after it was over, I went straight into Joyce Carol Oates’s. Then there was a cocktail party for the festival, and I ate I don’t know what, some hummus and pita, and had a glass of white wine. And Joyce had invited me to dinner with friends, and we headed to a place called Scala del Nonna. The joint was jumping, it was packed out and loud and Saturday night-ish, and one table kept knocking over the wine bucket.

As for wine, apparently Montclair has some ancient liquor law thing, and the restaurant was dry. So my friend Julie ran out to the store next-door and bought a bottle of Gavi, and Joyce’s friend ordered porcini risotto with peas for the table. I got the branzino alla griglia, which was marinated sea bass lightly grilled with scarola Siciliana. And, well, if you replaced all the fish I ate this week with candy and bagels, once again, it would better represent my normal diet.

Sunday, March 24 The day was packed with playdates, which was lovely. My daughter and I headed over to a friend’s who has twins and lives right next to the bagel store — my chance to make a move. But when we got into their house, Melissa had already made a mountain of whole-grain silver dollar pancakes, and a fruit plate with strawberries, watermelon, and pear. And, as always, she put a cup of coffee right into my hand.

We all headed to the park. As the twins headed off, another friend of my daughter’s showed up with her dad. After another couple of hours of wildness, we took the girls for a slice of Luigi’s Pizza and sat on the stoop outside. My slice turns into two, and they keep their seltzers properly freezing in their fridge. Slices on a stoop make me extraordinarily happy in a New York way: I was being nostalgic while it was happening, like, “This is the life.”

For our third and final playdate of the day, we had another of our daughter’s friends over to the house, with her folks. I’d been wanting to make chili, and offered to do so, but — if I’m allowed to break the fourth wall — Oriana, the visiting mom, is a huge fan of this column. She said chili is boring. So we ordered in Vietnamese from Mekong Delta. The restaurant is in one of those neighborhood locations that never works out and keeps changing hands. But Mekong Delta seems to be doing great. We all shared a papaya salad, and I got chicken pho and shrimp summer rolls.

Monday, March 25 It felt like maybe it was one of the last cold mornings before spring kicked in, and even with the pancakes yesterday, I always need to make sure I’m getting enough maple syrup in my diet. Point is, I made oatmeal, and ate it with bananas and blueberries and maple syrup that we buy by the jug when we’re up at our friend’s farm in Sandwich, New Hampshire. So, yes, for the best maple syrup in the world, I’d head straight for the sugar shack at Booty Farm on Mt. Israel Road.

I really want to state again that my body mass is probably about 80 percent bagel. If you cut me in half, I imagine mostly sesame seeds would pour out — as that’s my bagel of choice. So I really can’t believe I haven’t had one since this diet started — it’s the longest stretch since we got back from a year in Malawi (where I broke down and made bagels from scratch).

It was the day before launch. I owed everybody a million things, and was sure I’d be working until the middle of the night. At 2 p.m., I ran over to Mike’s Coffee Shop to grab something. Mike’s has been our home diner since we moved to Brooklyn from Manhattan around a decade ago. And we love it. It’s super homey, and they’re super nice, and it has a proper diner-y, pressed-tin ceiling, and a proper neon sign in the window. You always bump into friends there, and the kids are often given lollipops when you pay, whether they need a lollipop or not. Also, the owners are really good about calmly managing the weekend waiting list when it’s chaos and the throngs of folks are roaming outside waiting on tables.

I sat in the last booth and I ordered a coffee and a tuna sandwich on wheat toast, with lettuce, tomato, and onion. And a pickle spear! If there’s a picture of me up above with a sandwich in front of me, that’s the one. If there’s a picture of me without it, it’s because it’s already in my belly.

The last supper. So, a friend was having a dinner party, and I did not go to that dinner party — though, again, I’d be killing it with the food over there. But, the next day was the launch event at Greenlight Bookstore, and I’d start traveling the morning after that, and except for a night here and there, well, I’ll be hawking books on the road like a brush salesman for the next few weeks. This was basically the last night I got to be home with my wife and daughter and Calli the dog until tour slows down. Also, I usually come home from tour looking like I’ve eaten a bag of salt. That is, I’m so thankful to get to do readings and meet readers and shepherd the novel out into the world, but I will be eating a lot from after-hours menus, and CIBO Express airport food, and the day was gray and cold and some comfort food at home sounded nice.

So Rachel started kid dinner, and my daughter and I ran out to the supermarket around the block. We love going to the supermarket, me and her. We were getting ingredients for my friend Kitty’s chili recipe. When my wife was in grad school (she’s a professor), we lived in Madison, Wisconsin for three years, and our friend Kitty gave us a little book of her very Wisconsin-style dishes, which are great for this kind of weather. At the store, we also got the stuff for a green salad, because it sounded nice and I also wanted to keep my heart from exploding on the road.

At home, while my daughter ate, I got the chili into a giant pot and let it simmer until — as happens in our building — the whole floor smelled like cayenne peppers and onion. For the salad, I just used lemon and olive oil and salt, which is my single favorite dressing. And after our daughter fell asleep, Rach emerged and served up the chili. I chopped up some cilantro and chives for toppings, and we sat down at the table and dug in, with the dog underneath the table at our feet, which is my kind of dinner.

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Source: http://www.grubstreet.com/2019/03/nathan-englander-grub-street-diet.html

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