What Could Go Wrong

Characters: Daisy Johnson Darcy Lewis
Rated: R (Language, innuendo, Darcy bein' Darcy)
Summary: Daisy finally meets the agent working in requisitions that has been keeping her sane all these years. A potentially disastrous plan is hatched.
OOC Date: Fri Dec 22 22:32:11 2017
IC Date: Fri Dec 22 11:30 2017
Where: The Triskelion

New York. The Triskelion. Lunch time.

Darcy is queued into the food line, pushing her tray along and chatting with the cafeteria workers about silly things. She's almost statuesque at five foot eight, pencil skirt clinging to curves and five inch stiletto heels.

"…fuck me, Joe. That was you? Holy hell. Fuck yes I want more. Hook me up, hotstuff," she's saying to the food server, smiling as he grins and puts a bit more food on her plate.

'Statuesque' is not how anyone in their right mind would describe Daisy. Sure, she's fit — field agents kinda have to be — but she's all of 5'5". As SHIELD agents go, she is smol, not tol.

She is also hungry, which is why she's just a few agents behind Darcy in the queue. *Just* close enough to overhear without meaning to eavesdrop. Daisy's brow furrows and she leans to one side in order to peer Darcy's way, an amused, thoughtful smile on her face.

This is something she's going to have to investigate. Just as soon as she gets her food. It'll wait a second.

Food acquired, Darcy blows Joe a kiss.

"You are an angel! I swear that I will remember this next time you order a thing," Darcy says, collecting her tray of foodstuffs and making her way to find a table. Her table. By the window. Because sunlight is a thing she needs. Also a thing she needs: to get out of these shoes.

Once her table has been located, Darcy steps out of the platform heels, revealing that she is NOT five foot eight, but rather just over five foot even. SHORT, Darcy settles herself to the chair, ready to tuck into her meal.

That is just enough time for Daisy to make it through the line and wander her way over to Darcy's table, her own tray of food in hand. She does *not* invite herself to a seat, though. She is a civilized, polite human being. She would never.

"Sorry, but — requisitions, right?" Daisy guesses, flashing Darcy a hopeful smile. "Your voice is just *super* familiar. …well. Voice. If you write like you talk, I mean." Okay. We are less socially graceful when we're hungry.

Behind the horn-rimmed glasses, green eyes slide up as Daisy moves up and starts talking. Darcy's bright red lips were open and a fork hovering in wait.

Daisy had waitress timing.

"Yeah? So?" Darcy asks. And then the food is shoved into mouth. The words could be rude, but the expression in her eyes is open and friendly and curious. Across from her, the chair seems to move of it's own accord, jumping back in a jerky 'i got push kicked, yo!!!' sort of way; tacit invitation.

Daisy's expression brightens further and, without hesitation, she takes a quick pair of steps around to claim the offered seat. "Thanks — I *thought* so! You are the *best*," she states firmly, and as soon as she's set her tray down, she offers a hand across the table.

"If I didn't have somebody to bitch with in the margins, I'd have gone nuts ages ago," Daisy muses. "Daisy Johnson. It is awesome to finally meet you."

"Darcy Lewis. You can IM me, ya know?" Darcy says, head tilting and lips grinning as Daisy sits. She takes the hand for a shake.

"But you've almost hit the right level of fawning. I will accept flattering comment about my ass or my tits as recompense."

"Both are phenomenal," Daisy replies without a missed beat, placing her free hand over her heart. "And those heels look killer on you." One more felt appropriate, for good measure.

Darcy seems to preen, smiling and accepting the complements as her due. When it's done,s he chuckles, and tucks into her food again.

"So. How's that desk organizer workign for you?"

"Really well, thank you. I'm still getting used to having this much physical *stuff* to keep track of," Daisy admits. "I don't know why I didn't think to just treat it like my digital system, only… low-fi."

Daisy pauses for a moment and squints in thought. "…I don't know why this reminds me, but. Have you met Captain Rogers yet?"

"There's an art to organizing a desk. did you want me to make a house call? Make sure your shit's kept straight?" Darcy offers around a mouth of mexican food. The rice is the fucking shit.

"Hmm… In passing. Not like.. a real conversation or anything. Honetly, I think May's trying NOT to let us in the same room without adult supervision. I might try to climb him."

"You are welcome by my desk anytime." Daisy is pretty sure that came out flirtier than she probably intended for it to. Oh well! Too bad, so sad.

The note about trying to climb Cap gets a wide-eyed nod of agreement from Daisy. "*Right*? Dude, seriously, though — he is the sweetest guy. But tech does not like him. I have never seen a computer break so hard just from someone trying to send an email."

Too bad? Not sad! Darcy smiles, winking faintly.

"Ooh baby. Show me your stapler," she flirts back. Of course, then the talk is of their Dear Captain and Darcy moans in a very inappropriate way.

"Fuck, I'd love a ride on that sweet mass of.. OH, yeah. I've heard. Poor baby. It makes me want to sit in his lap and show him how to double click."

Daisy is trying not to crack up and having a hard time doing it. "I think you might break *him*. I'm trying to figure out some way to help him learn this stuff without driving him crazy with handholding." She makes a bit of a face, dropping her chin into a hand. "But I think I might be *too* comfortable with it all. Kind of like how people who are really, really good at math make lousy math tutors, you know?"

"Fuck. I better not, or else Uncle Sam should get a fucking refund on their super juice," Darcy quips around her drink.

"If you are asking me to help tutor Captain Fucking American on using a computer to email and facebook and text, I will get on my knees here right, right now, and kiss your knees.

"I don't know… May might be right on this one," Daisy says thoughtfully, but that twinkle in her eye suggests she's only teasing.

"I don't think I count as adult supervision… *but*. If you think you could be good. He really could use the help." Daisy shrugs helplessly, grabbing her drink. "Plus? It's almost Christmas. His first one without… you know…" She gestures awkwardly before looking down into her drink. "Literally everyone he knew. He could use some friends."

"Oh. I will be his friend, so happily I will be his friend," Darcy says, head nodding. "And Daisy..>I can be the fucking goodest little girl you ever did good." what? Darcy doen't know ether. Just roll with it, cause she is!

Daisy thinks she can work with this.

"If you promise not to scar Steve Rogers for life, you and me? We will go shopping," Daisy decides, with a slow and solemn nod of her head. "And it will be fun. I desperately need to spend a little less time in Agent Mode."

"Scar? For life?" Darcy pauses to ponder, then she holds up her right hand, putting her left on her phone.

"I, Darcy Lewis, do here by promise not to try to scar Captain Steve Rogers for life with my over the top 21st Century Knows When She wants to go a climbing flirtaous ways." Long pause… "But if I end up doing it anyway, Sorry and My Bad.. preemptively."

Swearing on her phone. This is legit. Daisy nods seriously: "Fair.
"I'm hoping to at least show him how a BluRay player works — I was thinking he might like a copy of Cosmos," Daisy says thoughtfully. "Sagan seems like his kind of dude."

Oath given, Darcy returns to her meal, chewing quickly.

"If I can get him to think of it as a fancier recordplayer, should be okay. I think. Maybe. I'm totally calling Conzilla tomorrow. Bitch needs to remind me how to do pin curls," darcy says. Because these topics are related. in her head.

It's okay. Daisy completely understands how the thoughts connect.

"Fingers crossed. We'll have him writing emails and binging Netflix like a pro in no time," Daisy says with what is almost certainly misplaced confidence. "How hard could it be?"

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