Chapter Text
It all started when she met Clint.
Darcy Lewis met Clint after the jack-booted government thugs showed up after New Mexico, interrogating everyone, making a mess of things, and stealing her ipod. Darcy was in the middle of an argument with one of the underlings at their oh-so-secret base (which had only taken all of a couple hours for Darcy to find) trying to find out who she needed to talk to to get her stuff back, when she noticed a man who looked unaccountably smug leaning against the wall, watching while she chewed out Mr. Generic Agent.
Darcy didn't spare much attention for the smug guy other than to give him a glare, because she thought she'd found a crack in this agent's logic. She pushed her point harder with Mr. Generic, arguing about how personal property had gotten caught up in the seizure when clearly they had been only tasked with confiscating scientific equipment and data. Then she glanced up and found the smug guy was somehow looking even more smug than before, and had moved closer to where Darcy was arguing with the agent, smirking against the wall with one hand in the pocket of his leather jacket.
Finally, the smirking got to her, and Darcy spun around to address him, stalking up to him with one finger pointing at him accusingly. "Don't even with me—I will rake you over the coals like Generic Agent 5000 here," she said in a low, angry voice, gesturing backwards over her shoulder at the agent.
The smirking man held up both his hands palms outward in a gesture of surrender.
Sounding exceedingly miffed, behind her Generic Agent protested, "It's Agent Trentson."
Glancing back over her shoulder, Darcy could see that Generic Agent—the man would now forever be known that way in Darcy's head—when he wasn't looking at Darcy in irritation, was looking at the new guy with a mixture of hope and relief, like the smug guy could somehow bail Generic out. Darcy narrowed her eyes at the smirking guy and stepped closer to him, starting to get into his personal space.
"Are you who I need to talk to to get my stuff back?" she demanded. And then the smirking guy's scent hit her nose, and Darcy went still. Something smelled incredibly sweet and alluring and she inhaled deeply. It wasn't his scent, this smirking guy's, that smelled good—or well, the man's scent was fine, but it wasn't wow holy shit like this other scent—but he had been around someone who smelled to Darcy like a potential mate. She wanted to know that scent, and Darcy's nostrils flared, leaning her head slightly forward and sniffing the air diligently.
Darcy said suspiciously, voice dropping a register and taking on a little quality of growl, "Who are you?" She stood with the self-confidence of an alpha, and her scent was that of a ticked-off alpha—of course, Darcy wasn't an alpha, she was masking her scent and all her behaviors were learned, but these two thugs didn't know that—so when she started growling, the smirking man in the leather jacket lost his smirk and made himself a little smaller against the wall, his hands still held up in surrender.
"Is this what you're looking for?" he asked, carefully and slowly reaching one hand down into his pocket to withdraw something small—Darcy's ipod.
Darcy stepped forward to take it from him, and then her instincts took over with the increased proximity to the mate-scent, unable to resist sniffing the man intently where he stood hunched against the wall. She rose up on her toes a little so she could get a good sniff at the crook of his shoulders where his scent glands were, just to confirm that he wasn't the source. "It's not you," Darcy said, mostly to herself, and stepped a half pace back, putting her ipod into her own pocket.
The man against the wall, against all expectation, burst into a wide smile, seeming irrationally pleased about something. Before Darcy could do more than raise her eyebrows, he held out his hand to introduce himself.
"I'm Clint," he said with a smile, "and I think we're going to get on just fine."
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Surprisingly enough to Darcy—or maybe not, seeing how cocky Clint had been when they'd first met—he and Darcy ended up getting on like a house on fire. Darcy's sarcastic quips and habit of speaking without filters meshed perfectly with Clint's dry, unexpectedly blunt humor and penchant for mischief. Within the span of a couple weeks, they were fast friends, and although Darcy had heard about the idea of platonic soulmates, she'd never met anyone that fit the bill as seamlessly as Clint did. And if Clint knew someone who smelled like a mate to Darcy well enough that Clint's clothes had smelled like it when they'd first met, then that just meant that it was more likely that he and Darcy would get along smashingly if he was that good of friends with a potential mate.
At first, Clint evaded Darcy's attempts to find out more information about this potential mate, but of course that only made Darcy more determined. That was what originally made Darcy try to hang out with him so much, so she could fish for information on this mystery mate. Then Darcy found out that she and Clint meshed so well together and that gave her another reason to stick around the beta man. Now, after weeks hanging out together, Darcy was no less determined to find out about this potential mate, but she could be patient. Direct questioning wouldn't work, as Clint had proven time and time again that he was very skilled at distracting and evading, so instead she plied Clint for information on other topics, trying to get him to drop hints.
And Clint did drop some hints, but they were just teases, intentionally left like treats to keep Darcy interested. Not that Darcy needed any excuse to keep interested in Clint anymore. No, she thoroughly enjoyed his company—at least when she wasn't feeling frustrated or annoyed with him, although Darcy had to admit that that could also just be his Clint-ness shining through.
Honestly, Darcy knew that she shouldn't be getting involved with potential mates at all—what with Darcy hiding her omega status behind her carefully cultivated alpha persona—but since the mate was still a hypothetical, Darcy found it hard to feel that anxious about it. This mystery person was just an abstract concept, as she'd never met them or even knew their name. She rationalized that she could always back off later, once she'd learned more, but for now, Darcy had no compelling reason to curb her curiosity—and Darcy's curiosity was a powerful thing.
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Clint knew Natasha was coming back today, so he made sure to get back to the Avengers Tower and be sitting in one of his perches near the quinjet landing deck when he got word that they were on their way. He was prepared to wait all day, but it didn't actually take that long for the jet to come in once he was settled. Clint hopped down to the walkway below as soon as the ramp lowered from the quinjet.
A few agents disembarked from the craft, looking tired and worn, some of them nodding to Clint amicably in passing as they went to check in, but Clint waited until a certain shade of red hair finally appeared in the doorway at the top of the ramp. He knew Natasha already had marked him even though she didn't look up, and Clint simply fell in beside her as she walked by to head inside the tower.
"How was the weather in Provost?" he asked gamely after they'd turned down a couple corners.
Natasha snorted and said nothing, but it wasn't an uncomfortable nothing. They'd spent enough time in each other's company that they respected each other's silence. Clint could tell that Natasha was worn out, and probably hungry, and she usually didn't mince words when she was like that. They had been assigned rooms off the same common area, so they simply walked back to their shared living space. Clint had made some lasagna the other night, so he pulled it out of the fridge, and at Nat's nod he cut out a slice and put it in the microwave to heat up.
Natasha went straight into her room and began removing gear, hands going through the motions mechanically but swiftly—the process so routine that she could do this all half-dead, which honestly sometimes happened in her line of work. Her eyes fell immediately on her bed on entering, where Clint had lazily thrown his jacket onto her bed. Natasha narrowed her eyes at the jacket, knowing that the archer always had reasons for doing what he did, so he must have left it there on purpose.
She had half a mind to just ignore it and let it sit there till later, but then Natasha realized that it would be better to take care of it now, while Clint was still close enough for her to strangle if she so chose. The former assassin took a couple measured but swift strides to the edge of the bed, and picked the jacket up, eyes already drawn to all the pockets and inner lining to see what was different or special about it, when the scent of something both sweet and spicy and distinctly alpha hit Natasha's nose.
Completely without her conscious decision, Natasha's hands brought the jacket up to her nose and she inhaled deeply. Mate scent. Clint's scent was all over the jacket, of course, and she'd long known that Clint wasn't a potential mate, but Clint must have been in close physical contact with this person—someone who was Natasha's potential mate—to have their scent on his jacket. The Russian woman took another deep inhale of the scent, and then forced herself to put the jacket down for a moment so she could finish removing her gear. Once done, she grabbed the jacket, sneaking in one more sniff before she left the bedroom, and headed back out to their shared kitchen, where Clint was nonchalantly setting out plates and utensils—but Natasha could read the amusement from the set of his shoulders, could tell from the way he moved that he was pleased about something.
Natasha sat down at the central island without saying a single word and just stared at him, tucking the jacket into her lap. She knew it would be useless to try and question him, but Natasha also knew that when Clint was sitting on something good that he usually couldn't wait to share it, so it wouldn't be that long before whatever it was bubbled up to the surface.
Even with that expectation, Clint surprised her by saying only a few moments later, without looking up from checking the lasagna in the microwave, "Her name is Darcy."
Natasha raised her eyebrows.
"And she's adorable."
Natasha frowned. A potential mate for her was adorable? Natasha, the slightly reformed assassin and spy, had an 'adorable' potential mate? That couldn't be right, from Natasha's perspective—Clint must be just playing with her.
"Clint," she started to say, but the archer continued without waiting.
"And I know you're going to think that someone who could be described as 'adorable' couldn't possibly be a potential mate for you, that there must be some mistake—but she was all over my jacket the first time I met her, which was the day you left on this mission," he said persuasively, plating up the lasagna. "And she swears like a sailor, and has the ability to put her foot in her mouth faster than anybody I've ever met, but trust me—you'll really like her."
"Hmm," Natasha hummed, sounding unconvinced.
Clint set the plates on the counter and gave her a piercing look, leaning against the tiled surface of the island with his hands. "But she's mate scent, isn't she," he said, not asking. He lifted an eyebrow. "Go on, give it a sniff."
Natasha had been refraining from lifting the jacket up to her nose only by sheer force of will, and at the reminder Natasha glared at the archer, who simply waved a hand at her impatiently. Natasha huffed, then acquiesced and lifted the jacket to her face again, inhaling. Natasha had been of at least half a mind to protest Clint's assertion, but the warm frisson that passed through her body at the scent on his jacket was certainly undeniable.
"But that doesn't mean we'll be a match personality-wise," Natasha answered smoothly, as if she had been an active participant in the conversation up to this point and was adding yet another counter argument.
Clint gave her a one-handed shrug as he sat down and grabbed his fork. "And that's why I did some serious reconnaissance for you to find out how well you'd match with her—and considering that I know you pretty well and have had a decent chance to get to know her, I can tell you two will definitely work well together. Trust me, it'll be a good thing."
Natasha hummed again, taking a bite of lasagna. "I'll think about it," she said flatly.
Clint, the smug asshole archer that he was, didn't say anything as he kept eating or change his expression, but his eyes were sparkling in mirth.