Thor: Darcy And Thunder

Cancer.

The word perched on Darcy’s mind like a big-ass bird above her freshly washed Corvette. The first problem on her quiz, which she should knock out easily and start on the others, but which refused to make sense.

It was so ginormous and so mundane. She was so… normal. She kept it real. Something this big shouldn’t happen to her. And her life was crazy. Science fiction. She shouldn’t get sick from secondhand smoke or whatever. It should be some alien pathogen, released from an ancient tomb, turning her to crystal until Jane saved her in the nick of time.

She was so meaningless. How could God pencil her in for something so mean?

It was only when Jane cleared her throat that Darcy realized she’d driven back from the hospital. Darcy looked around, wondering if she had a tumor pushing out of her face already. She caught herself in the mirror. Nope. Still cute little Darcy. She hadn’t even shaved her head yet.

“What’s up, boss?”

Thank God, Jane was already staring at her tablet. More work. No wonder she’d broken things off with Thor—even that bod couldn’t compare to how much she loved science. And with a new project to be worked on, Jane was in no state to notice that her best friend suddenly had an expiration date.

“Have you seen Peter?”

“Uh, no, but he’s our intern, so I think if you ring the little bell…”

“No, I mean, have you seen him?” Jane absently tapped her left cheek. “Someone left a shiner right here.”

“Peter’s got a bruise?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Another one?”

Darcy shook her head even as Jane nodded.

Peter Parker was a contradiction in terms. After Ian had bailed from all the alien invasions and things trying to eat them—which, personally, Darcy thought was worth all the SHIELD consultant weirdness if it meant making out with her every so often—Thor had wanted someone like Coulson with them.

Of course, by that point, SHIELD had turned out to be full of Nazis, so Jane was not having it. Tony had suggested Peter; Darcy still couldn’t believe she’d heard two words from Tony Stark or that for some reason he’d arranged college credit for their new intern.

Peter was actually pretty cool. Knew almost as much science as Jane, had a wicked sense of humor, literally never got tired of carrying Darcy’s stuff (because God knew she had enough to lug around already, what with The Girls). And he could throw a hell of a punch when a vengeful Dark Elf was getting in Darcy’s face.

But for all the guy was Jonny Quest when they were out checking wormholes, dude was a klutz when he was off the clock. Always coming in with cuts and bruises. It was like he was dating Ike Turner, but Darcy was pretty sure he was straight. Pretty sure because, as much as he snuck looks at her rack, Darcy knew that even gay guys were into her tits.

Hell, even Cancer’s into my boobs. Bet the Big C just can’t wait to spread into that portion of my bod…

She shook it off. Process later, with lots of booze. For now, she so needed to bury herself in the job. It worked for Jane—who, if she cried herself to sleep, did it too quietly for Darcy to hear in the next room over.

“You want me to talk to him?” she asked Jane.

“Would you? I’d get sidetracked. We’d nerd out over something nerdy and by the time I remembered the bruise, it’d be all healed. You have a one-track mind.”

“Thanks,” Darcy said, her sarcasm set to minimum.

She worried about the kid too, though. What if he was mixed up in something shady? You didn’t get a personal recommendation for Team Science from Tony Stark just by doing well on the essay portion of the test—did you?

But, yeah, she didn’t want to give him the third degree for something that wasn’t his fault. And it couldn’t be his fault, could it? He’d probably been friendly with some local girl and some asshole had gotten in his face and Peter had caught a punch. He was a sweet boy. He probably hadn’t even gotten a hit in himself. Not like if Darcy were there. She would’ve broken a chair over someone’s head.

You didn’t fuck with Team Science.

Unless you were Cancer, of course. Then you got to fuck with anyone you wanted, even if they had big tits and had helped save the world once or twice.

Darcy’s eyes flitted to Jane. No notice of her face journey—Jane was all about her tablet again.

Fuck it, Darcy mouthed. She was not going to lose the rest of her abbreviated life going through the five stages of grief. She’d go bug Peter and have adventures with Jane. Jane squared her shoulders and straightened her jacket.

I hope I die before I get old, she thought, the lyric earworming its way into her head. Talkin’ ‘bout my generation.

Peter was in his room, sitting on the bed, staring out the window and not taking in any of the nice French scenery. He was kinda hot, really. Especially when he got all broody. Darcy wouldn’t say she was into guys who had The Secret Pain. It was just that they fucked better than well-adjusted men.

“Hey, you get the number of the car that hit you?” she asked.

Peter made no indication that he’d heard her. He stayed a million miles away, in some place where he didn’t have to put up with what was troubling him here.

Darcy plopped herself down beside him. She put an arm around his surprisingly beefy shoulders. “Hey, what’s fucking with you, little man? If you were just trying to get me alone in your bedroom, it worked. Show me your etchings already.”

Peter broke his icy silence with a small smile. “Nothing. Missing my aunt. Wondering how she’s doing without me.”

“May Parker? Yeah, she’s da bomb. Can you get her to make more cookies for me, because I scarfed down all the ones she made for me in like ten minutes, even the raisin ones—”

“Da bomb?” Peter asked her, glancing at Darcy to see how serious she was being.

“Yeah, you know… she’s fire. She keeps it one hundred.”

Peter looked ahead again. “Go back to calling her da bomb.”

“Okay, man, I’m not young and cool. But you’re young and not cool. So we even out.” Darcy shook his shoulder. “What’s with your face, Pete? Jane’s worried. And I’m worried in a really cool way where I don’t really care too much…”

“Just tripped going down the stairs.”

“Yeah. I don’t get you. One minute you’re catching Jane’s phone after it drops three stories down a stairwell, the next you’re braining yourself on a doorknob or you have a seven-inch scar from cutting yourself shaving.”

Peter shrugged her arm aside. “I’m sure even Olympic athletes run into a door now and then.”

“But it’s kinda weird you’re an Olympic athlete occasionally. I mean, when you first got here, I thought you were some kind of undercover SHIELD… shielder. But that can’t be it, because you’d have started training when you were twelve. And I don’t think even Nick Fury would disrespect child labor laws.”

“What do you think now?”

Darcy took a deep breath and looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap. Introspection: that was what she needed right now. “I think Jane’s lucky to have you. She is crap at taking care of herself. Thor would like the job, but he’d have to take care of himself to take care of her.”

“Good thing she’s got you then.”

“Yeah. The Jane Whisperer. That’s me. Selvig might’ve retired, but we’re still around, young and hot-blooded, kicking the ass of mysteries the world over.” Dampness stung Darcy’s eyes. “And you, you’re great. You’ve got this, like, masculine energy on the downlow. Yeah, I’d probably make fun of you normally, but you really are more of a man than most men I’ve ever met. It’s like Thor, you, Coulson… ‘cept Coulson died… everyone dies, sooner or later, and it’s always sooner than you think.”

Darcy got up and went to the window, like she could see what Peter had been looking at so peacefully. It was quiet out there. Despite the cliches, the French didn’t seem to have much use for car horns. Their roads were just headlights snailing politely through the evening. How could it be so calm out there and inside—inside, anguish was taking over her emotions the same way the cancer was slowly killing her.

Peter was beside her. She hadn’t noticed him walk up. He put his hand supportively between her shoulder blades.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice not as squeaky as she remembered. It hadn’t been for a while. When was the last time he’d called Jane ‘Dr. Foster’?

“Nothing! I’m just super-concerned with you, ya goon. Look at that bruise! The next time you walk into a door that hard, it’s going to knock your head off!”

There was no response from Peter. Had she overwhelmed his sociability or had he decided that keeping his hand on her back where she could feel it was more important than anything he could say?

Darcy wrapped herself up in her own arms and held herself against the chill that swept through her like the vanguard of… “I have cancer. I have fucking cancer. Even though I diet and jog and don’t fucking smoke and I even did that fucking vegan diet where you’re still allowed to eat seafood! For a whole eight months! And I’m dying and all I want is for the doctor to call me back and say he switched the test results and it’s someone else. I don’t even care who. Mom with four kids, priest that doesn’t molest children, anyone. I wasted so much time and there isn’t time to do anything and I don’t think I’ll even be able to enjoy fucking around for however many months I get until I’m dead, I’m fucking dead, we’re going to have another talk like this one but it’ll be the last one ever and I’ll never see you again—"