“Do you wish to be seen as a warrior, or a lady?” Thor asks, brow furrowed and looking seriously awkward and pretty much like he'd prefer to be anywhere but where he is.

Darcy really doesn't blame him.

They're in a painfully elegant but generic lounge somewhere in the Tower – Thor, Darcy, Pepper, and Coulson – and outside the doors waits a force more terrifying than any alien invasion.

There are tailors out there. People who are going to poke and prod and measure her, and drape her with things. Darcy even heard a passing mention of a hair stylist.

Darcy had a roommate in sophomore year who loved What Not to Wear. Darcy, on the other hand, felt that show was pretty much the embodiment of everything wrong with the human race. She consistently ended up hugging her pillow because she couldn't reach into the TV and hug the poor brainwashed former human who'd been “made over”, and wanting to punch something. A smart person would have learned to just leave the room if it bothered her so much – but Darcy couldn't look away. It was like a car crash.

And here she is, headed for the median at eighty miles an hour - for the good of the world, maybe, but still. They are not cutting her hair, though – the world can suck it, it took her years to grow it back out after the last time she'd gone insane and cut it off.

Pepper is watching her expectantly, stylus poised over her tablet.

Darcy turns toward the corner, and Coulson, who is reading one of Pepper's fashion magazines with way too much intensity.

“If you cannot answer that question on your own, I'm revoking this assignment and resigning in shame at how I've misjudged you,” Coulson replies, never looking up from the glossy pages. He flips one, and makes an interested expression that suggests the article or advertisement or whatever has way more of his attention than Darcy does.

She knows better, but still. She rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out.

“And giving the ambassadorship to Stark.” Coulson flips another page.

“ . . you are jesting, are you not?” Thor rumbles, sounding honestly concerned. Darcy and Pepper sigh almost simultaneously. That makes Darcy feel a little itty bitty bit better, because Pepper is awesome and could probably rule the world if only she'd wear flats some of the time. As it is, they're saved from the Peppertatorship only by her impeded mobility and the distraction of aching arches. Or at least that's Darcy's theory.

“Okay,” Darcy sighs explosively. “So, I tased you.” She points at Thor.

“Verily,” he agrees, and grins.

“Which presumably everybody knows, because that's why I'm all already known and respected and such – because I laid your ass out flat.”

“My mother and father, as well as most of the court, will also be aware that you are handmaiden to my Lady Jane,” Thor says.

“Handmaiden.” Darcy blinks. “Okay. Wow. So, moving on before my head explodes – I need to be at least a little warrior-ish, don't I? Or it'll look bad for you.”

“It . . . yes,” Thor concedes.

“But not too warrior-ish, or people will want to duel me, which will result in my swift and gory death.”

“That . . is also likely.” Thor is starting to look seriously worried.

“Okay, so . . taser. Taser is the key here, isn't it? I took you down with a weapon of my world that is the special province of, gah, gag me, maidens. And guards? I was guarding Jane, as her, fuck me, handmaiden. Which gave me special ferocity and speed and all that good stuff, and so fate gave me a smiley thumbs-up, even though I could never really take you in a fair fight. I'm all brave and shit on account of having stepped up in defense of my lady, despite totally not being a warrior. Can we spin that?”

Pepper makes a little hrmm sound. She's taking notes. “Thor? Could something like that be introduced into the rumor mill?”

“I . . could tell Fandral to spread the tale?” Thor is looking at Darcy like he's never seen her before.

“In which case, I want to be all lady. So lady. As lady-like a lady as is humanly and Asguardianly possible. Not like, prissy? But way female.”

“Hrmm, yes, we'll want long skirts, some flowing pants, perhaps? Jewel tones will go well with your skin, maybe some embroidery, we want to stay away from any harsh geometry or anything too structured or suggestive of armor, though we also don't want to suggest sages' robes, either, so perhaps some tucked waists?” Pepper looks up, expecting Darcy's opinion on that.

Coulson clears his throat, just softly, barely even qualifies as a noise, but Darcy knows damned well he's laughing at her.

“Sounds great,” Darcy replies, with maybe a touch too much feeling.

“Tell me about standards of modesty, Thor,” Pepper commands.

Thor sends Darcy a pleading look.

“What bits of me shouldn't be hanging out if I don't want to get offered a pouch of gold in exchange for my company?” Darcy translates.

Thor, unbelievably, turns red. It's far too adorable, and Darcy makes a mental note to tease him about it for, oh, approximately forever. But later, when she doesn't need his dubious expertise to avoid making an ass of herself in front of royalty.

Other royalty. Maybe this won't be so bad? After all, Thor isn't so bad and he's -

“None would dare show you such disrespect,” Thor chokes out.

- an idiot. An idiot who sounds so uncomfortable that for a moment Darcy considers the possibility that he's swapped bodies with Steve.

“Pretend they would,” Pepper suggests dryly. “Pretend she was someone other than your guest. How should she dress to be considered respectable?”

“You should not bare your legs the way you do,” Thor tells Darcy miserably; he has the look of a little boy who expects his mother to pop out of the woodwork and smack him upside the head for talking to a woman about women's legs. “A woman may wear breeches, but unless she is a warrior, they should not . . . display.”

“Long skirts, loose and flowing pants.” Pepper is nodding.

“If she is a warrior, then it is fitting that she should be proud to display the strength of her body – you have seen the Lady Sif, and how she attires herself, of course,” Thor hastens to add; he's apparently spent enough time around Jane and her incendiary feminism to realize that what he's saying is possibly offensive by Midguardian standards.

“But since I don't have wicked thigh muscles to show off, the assumption is if I'm dangling my legs out there, it's to draw attention to what's -”

“Yes, we all understood that,” Pepper interrupts, while Thor turns purple, and Darcy just raises a brow at him. “What about arms?”

“Arms?” Thor all but whimpers.

“Are bare arms or tightly fitted sleeves acceptable?”

“ . . yes?” Thor says, clearly utterly confused as to why they wouldn't be.

Pepper nods and keeps on with her electronic note-taking. “And necklines?”

Thor looks like he wants to jump out the window.

“How about high necklines, but a bit of emphasis on the girls, cut-wise?” Darcy suggests, which saves Thor from having to answer but doesn't really do much to make him stop looking nigh-suicidal. “Point out the womanly-ness, but keep it non-trashy. Good?”

“I think so, yes,” Pepper nods, and looks at Thor for approval.

“I will defer to the good Lady Pepper's wisdom,” Thor says carefully, at which Pepper looks annoyed, and Coulson has to clear his throat again.

“After this, you get to tell me about political history and genealogy and who wants to kill who and all that,” Darcy promises Thor, who looks only marginally relieved – well, that'd make her day. “What I've got to offer, dude,” she apologizes, shrugging. “You wanted somebody to bash heads with, you should have put in a good word for Steve. So, is it time to throw me to the wolves yet?” she asks Pepper.

“You know, many people would enjoy this,” Pepper points out, half scolding and half fond.

“But they wouldn't be the right person for the job,” Coulson says, standing and folding his magazine. He puts a reassuring hand on Darcy's shoulder as he passes by – leaving, because this is the part where she gets naked with half a dozen strangers with tape-measures. “You are.”

“The Son of Coul speaks truth,” Thor seconds – giving her the sort of look she suspects he'd give troops about to go into battle. “You will bring great honor to Midguard.”

In flowing jewel tones with tucked waists. At least, Darcy thinks, she's probably made it possible, if not necessary, that she gets to bring her taser.

***