It Ain't Taco Tuesday in Genosha

February 28, 2018:

Darcy Lewis' crimes have been discovered. Phil Coulson and Sharon Carter arrest her.


It would be pretty if it weren't such a raging political powderkeg.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Lorna Dane, Magneto

Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Genosha. In the center tower that houses the political dignitaries that are acting as the 'royal' family. Magneto and his daughter Lorna Dane. Not one of the family, Darcy Lewis is the only human in the group and she's staying in Lorna's suite.

She's just walking out of the bathroom, hair up in a towel. Barefoot, Darcy's in nothing more than an oversized tee and boy shorts too short to be seen if she doesn't have her arms over her head fussing with the towel. One hand is, the other is holding a file from the council. Studiously, the Went-Way-Too-Far-Off-The-Reservation SHIELD Agent reads the file, seeking to disgest the information before writing up a summary for Lorna. Up next, supply updates from the forward lines.


Way, way too far.

It would not be to Phil Coulson's preference to have to drag the agent out of the center tower. That seems politically messy.

Her phone rings, Phil Coulson's number is the one that comes up.

The man himself stands outside, leaning against an unmarked black SUV with tinted windows, sunglasses on his face and his phone in hand. His expression is mild and unreadable. Just being Phil, with nothing out of the ordinary, he waits to see if his agent is so far gone that she won't even answer his calls.

It will inform a lot, to know, one way or the other. From how complicated this is about to be to how hot the water she's standing in really is.


Deep breaths. Sharon will go where her XO goes, where he sends her. This is never the easy part of being in SHIELD. The cheerful, smartmouthed Darcy has been off the reservation for a long time, and whether she's just been deeply undercover or whether… well, Agent 13 doesn't want to think about the other alternatives. Suffice it to say this trip overseas is going to need a lot more than Biscoff to make her enjoy it.

She also can't say she isn't tense as hell in Genosha, for myriad reasons. In and out and as fast as possible is the name of this game. She observes Phil through her scope. She also observes Darcy and whispers to herself: "Come home, Darce. There's no good side in this fight. I know you see that. Please see that."


Her phone rings, which in and of itself is a small miracle. Cell service out here is fucking stupid as hell. So, Darcy stares dumbly at her phone as it plays through the chorus of a 1966 diddy by Johnny Rivers before she plops the file down on the nearest flat surface and all but drives for her phone. A quick fumble and Darcy answers.

"Hey! You're alive! That's awesome. What's up, man?" Like nothing whatsoever is going on. Like she's not breaking SO many rules right now. Like she's not clueless that something is going on and that she's in SO much trouble.

Well, it was a thing while it lasted? Unless he's brought the calva… the um… reinforcements to this crazy party of mutants. Through the curtains, she's visible, having seemed startled about the phone call before the smile took over as her mouth just moved. The hand in the towel is tussling it about, getting it untwisted and rubbing the unruly locks a bit dryer than they were. She doesn't seem tense, nor does she move to the windows to look out. Nope, she just plops herself to the bed, pulling her legs up underherself as if she were settling in to chat with a bestie.


Well, points for cool under pressure.

Phil marks it. And he says, with equal ease and even equinamity, "Oh, not much. Came to put my own boots on the ground here in Genosha. Why don't you come and update me, Darce? I'm right outside."

The agent could just be asking for a routine debrief, as if he'd sent her here, as if he'd personally come to make sure that she did all the things she did. Or like he's the clueless uncle, who knows only that she's here, and nothing more, and is choosing to take advantage of that fact to build some sort of operation. Either could be true.

"For one thing I can't figure out where to get a decent cup of coffee in this place."

His eyes never flick to Sharon from her position, but she already has her orders.


She does. Orders she doesn't love. Orders she'll carry out.

Sharon is nowhere to be seen, meanwhile, and nearly nowhere to be detected. Suffice it to say, the scope picks everyone up.

She can hear the compassion in Phil's voice through her comm. Darcy's voice is fainter. Sharon's breathing slows, deepens. There are counting exercises she can do while she waits. Square breathing. Calculating distances. Speeds. Wind speed and direction. Breathe in for a count of ten. Hold for a count of ten. Release for a count of ten. So on.


"Fuck, really? Like for reals, really?" Darcy chirps, sounding completely ecstatic that Phil's actually here. She goes from starting to ponder the worst of the possibilities that had been dancing through her head for months to fan-girl-floored in a heartbeat. His offer has her smiling, mind working through all the crap she's got to hand over to ANYONE from HQ in an effort to get something going for these poor innocent souls caught in the crossfire of two superpowered political factions that she's been thus far unable to make any sort of headway into figuring out how to mediate between. Darcy's laugh is as carefree as always, flavored with a heavy release of tension and nerves and anxiety that's been building for far too long.

"That's because there IS no good coffee in this hell-hole," Darcy replies, pulling the towel from her hair as she pushes up from the bed.

"But that's okay. There's this pretty decent little old gramma that makes the best… well, I have no idea what the fuck they are, but they are grilled and in something that look like tortillas so I'm going with Genosha Tacos. The pink sauce she has to dip them in is almost to die for, I swear to Jesus. And they have soda. In glass bottles. Mind if I put on some pants? Maybe a bra or something first? I'm kinda mostly naked right now." The last is said as she's starting to work the over sized tee off herself.


Leave it to Darcy to get distracted by the local Genoshan food scene.

"Yes, pants and a bra would be fine," Phil says, gently, but with the very real embarrassment of a 54-year old man confronted by a bouncy very young co-worker, a direct report, no less, who has just seen fit to inform him that she's bouncing around in a state of dishabille as they speak. What else he might be thinking or feeling, about either Darcy or Genosha, remains utterly inscrutable.

Sharon might get to see the way his mouth flattens into a thin 'I did not need to know that' line, just the world's most pained of all pained faces. But there's some reality in that too.

Because he's not just pained about pants. He's pained about having given this woman his trust. He's pained, because he knows her actions were not even malicious. He knows she meant them for the best. He's willing to bet she doesn't know about all the SHIELD weapons the terrorist cell helped themselves to on her Intel, for example.

This is not a day he's really happy about in the slightest.


They're going to get Darcy out of here safe and secure, one way or the other. It's a thing that happens when you go undercover. Sharon knows it all too well: the arguments of the other side start to make sense, especially when you're convincing everyone you agree with them. Especially when they're coming from someone as charismatic as some of the people here. Not to mention names.

Deep breaths, still. And with enough holding of breath that she doesn't get lightheaded. Thieves, snipers, and undercover agents: they all have to be incredibly patient. It's just a matter of time.


"Awesome. Did you wanna chat while I get dressed? Cell reception's been a pain in my ass, so that I've got a stable connection is a God-send for me right now. Checking Facebook's been a hassle I can only manage the few times I get to pop back to New York," Darcy adds, tugging off the shirt and tossing it aside. In nothing but boy shorts, Darcy finds her bra. It's this rich royal blue number, mostly lace, with a tiny rhinestone on the center of it's underwire supports. She taps the phone to speaker so she can don her over the shoulder boulder holder. It's a two handed job!

Back to the window, she shimmies into undergarments, trades the boyshorts for hipster undies and pulls on some old jeans that fit her a tad too snugly, as if she's had then since high school. A light-weight top is tugged on and a light jacket grabbed. She glances about the room, sets a pen in teh file to mark her place before closing it, then collects her tablet that old SHIELD one that was scheduled for the trash compactor before Darcy 'resurrected it and gave it a new life, I am fucking heroic!'

If Phil opted to chat, Darcy would have. Just rambling about everything, nothing, mindless. Filling the air around her with the joy of being able to talk on the phone to ANYONE. Out the door of her suite, she's a bit quieter, sounding more businesslike. It's clear there are guards here, for she's asked where she's going. Silly human, stupid Princess's Pet; Darcy says she's going out for food and offers to bring them things. It's clear they decline (for whatever reason): "Your loss!" and she's out the door with still damp hair.


He lets her chat. The old saying being 'whatever you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.'

Though of course, what she is facing is a court martial, not a public court. For an International organization. It's not going to be pretty.

Phil just listens patiently. To Facebook. About tacos. He waves hand in greeting to her and opens the car door in gentlemanly fashion.

Sharon knows exactly when to shoot, after all, and because she is cheerfully waving and bouncing out the door to people who are related to Magneto, he's not going to risk a struggle, a shout, or a production. It's going to be neat and clean, and then the discussion about the severity of her situation can happen stateside, where she'll be in a Riker's Island cell awaiting her courtmartial. And only there because SHIELD has ponied up half the funding for that place for five years now. It is marginally more convienient and humane than any of the black sites he could stuff her in. The best he can do for her really, under the circumstances.


It's better than the alternatives. And there are a lot of alternatives. It's better, if you ask Sharon, than being the precious lapdog to a princess. Or whatever else they have in store for her here. There's some chance, of course, that this can all get cleared up. That's what a court martial's for, after all. And maybe she won't be in SHIELD after that, and maybe that's a good thing.

Sharon's finger rests over the trigger. One squeeze and the sniper rifle will let that ICER go. It doesn't look like that's going to be required, though, and she allows herself one relieved sigh at the knowledge. Darcy just wants to come home, and Sharon's all over that idea.


The topic of going home had already come up with Lorna. Darcy wondering how much more good she could manage back Stateside, all while optimistically refusing to consider the coinsequences already in place. Just as now. She smiles at Phil, indeed giving him a bright wave. She disconnects the call as she draws near and it's painfully obvious that in this den of mutants and monsters, Darcy is unarmed. It's also more than clear for any trained agent that she's been wondering around unarmed the entire time.

"Hullo, Phil," she says to him. She slides into the seat when he opens the door; like a gentleman!

"Thanks. God, have I got so much to tell you," she says, buckling up and settling in.


"Me too," Phil says, buckling up and closing the door. "Starting with…"

And this is where the handcuff closes around her wrist, the one that's cuffed to him, for the moment, till they get to the plane.

Regretfully: "Darcy Lewis, you are under arrest. You are being charged with treason. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do will be held against you at your court martial. You will be provided by an attorney per Section 72 of the Uniform Code of SHIELD Justice. We're returning to the United States, where you will be imprisoned pending your court martial. We will have ourselves a long chat later, Darcy."

Regretful, disappointed.

"I hope by the time we get to that point you'll be feeling as cooperative as may be, because I may be the only person too interested in what you have to say."

Touching his earbud: "Agent 13, rendesvous at the airstrip in Carrion Cove," he orders. "We're heading home."


There's an audible sigh of relief over the comms when Sharon pulls up her rifle. "Say hi to Darcy for me, would you?" Agent 13 is dismantling her weapon as she speaks, sliding its bits into the case with careful, quick precision. "Let's make this no worse than it already is. Tell her the espresso machine will be up and running by the time you guys get to the airstrip."

Now, to get there without any Genoshan forces getting in between. Someone around here might not be too entertained that they're absconding with an adorable pet human.


Everything was fine, roses, right until that handcuff clasps over her wrist. She looks down at it, blinking as Phil 'reads' her her rights. Whoa! Those are exactly like in the movies. Her mind takes a moment to fangirl over just how fucking awesome that is. The next moment she's looking up at Phil. Her green eyes studying him for several seconds of deadpan silence before her lips suddenly split into a grin.

"Wow. I didn't imagine yo uinto bondage, but fuck it: I'm game," are the words out of her mouth. And the last words out of her mouth, which were delivered with a wink before she settled back to sit next to Phil for the long plane ride home.

If one of the X-Men stationed here didn't realize she was 'abducted' and this gets messy fast. She'll have plenty to say then… the question is, who will she be telling to fuck off?


Phil knocks on the window and the car starts driving, pulling away, the most non-descript SUV ever. She got into the car willingly, not even a shot, he doubts there will be any interception whatsoever.

Darcy makes her quip. He looks at her very dryly and says, "Sharon says she'll have some espresso for you on the plane." Like Darcy needs to be more hyper.

And then, with even more desert-brittleness, "I'll tell you what I've told everyone else who tries to make that joke to me. I've been in the business for over thirty years."

In other words, you do the math on what a person might get up to in 30 years in the business. Or, if one is squeamish, do not do the math, because one might not like the answer to that equation. He leans back, looking tired. She had a lot to say, and he is tempted to delve into it now, but he prefers to get that done when they're in an interrogation room making the recording, and not before.

Even to express his thoughts on the matter, of which, there are many.

A long plane ride home, indeed.


Darcy, of the expresso: "That's why I love her."

Darcy, of Phil's 'experience': "Kinky."

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