#the interns

“It’s barely autumn,” Darcy said, setting the table.   When everything was laid out, she pulled the towel off of her head, giving her damp curls a quick shake.  “You barely need a jacket.”

“I always need a jacket.”  Harris checked the heat.  “Except when I’m here.  With my cat and a nice blanket.”

“We can do that tomorrow,” Darcy said.  “For once, we’re up early, and we have no plans and I want to put on something cute and go outside and walk around.”  She opened the fridge, grabbing the orange juice.  “Okay if I make toast?”

“Yeah, there should be some cinnamon swirl bread in there.  Grab the butter?”

“As if I would forget the butter,” Darcy said, her nose firmly in the air.  She shook the orange juice in hs direction.  “There’s not much time to take advantage of autumn, Harris, I have to take advantage of it when I can.”

“It’s three months, just like the other seasons, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I can only be fashionable in autumn.  Thus, I’d like to leave your apartment.”  

Harris stopped in place, the spatula hanging in mid air.  He took a deep breath.  Released it.  “Explain.”

“Okay.” She dropped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster and pushed down the lever with a little too much enthusiasm.  “Winter.  Great.  Love winter.”

“No, you don’t,” Harris said, arms folded over his chest.  “If you had a choice, you would retreat into a literal pile of pillows and blankets and not come out for three months.”

“Yeah, fuck SHIELD for turning down my work from home proposal last November.”  She broke a banana off from the bunch and tossed it on the cutting board.  “But fashionably, winter is fine.  I look good in a soft sweater and a dumb knit hat with a pompom on top, you know?”  

She slid a knife from the block and cut the banana in half with one firm strike.  Harris tried not to wince.  “I do know,” he said, resisting the urge to mess with his eggs.  “No one can work a dumb hat with half your confidence.”

Darcy grinned.  “I”m choosing to take that as a compliment, just so you know.”

“Exactly as intended.”  Harris reached for the handle of the air fryer basket.  “So what does that-”

“So winter is good, but when you’re already someone a bit on the zaftig side-”  Darcy, gave a little bump and grind with her hips and Harris lost track of what he was doing with the air fryer for a second.  “You really don’t need three additional layers and a puffer jacket on top of everything, and it’s hard to be cute when there’s about three square inches of your face showing between your scarf and your hat.”

“Don’t know what you mean, does wonders for me,” Harris said.  He gave the potatoes a shake and put the basket back.  A couple more minutes.  “Boots?”

“Clompy boots with waffle soles,” Darcy said, and she sounded properly morose.  “So it’s not great.  Then you’ve got spring, and spring, you can ditch the thick jacket sometimes, and wear floral prints and pastels and all that shit because it might not look good on you but you’re so sick of gray, dirty, half-melted snowbanks that slapping a crocus pattern across your tits is a coping mechanism.”

Harris grinned at his eggs.  “Are you sure this is a universal problem, because it sounds kind of like were’ getting into some real particulars here and-”

“I swear to god I will make a twitter poll next March and you can eat those words, MacIntyre.  The women of this city are about ready to chew through the drywall long before the first sixty degree day.  Sometime in mid February, everyone thinks they can wear pastel yellow and let me tell you-”  She paused, pointing the knife at him.  “They cannot.”

“Right,” Harris said.  He pointed at the fruit bowl.  “Apples?”  She reached for one, and Harris went back to the eggs.  “But other than that-”

“Spring.  Rain.” Darcy sliced the apple with a couple of quick passes of the knife.  “You can be in the cutest outfit in the world and once it starts pouring, you’re just going to look like a pastel drowned rat, runny mascara and all.”

Harris nodded.  “So spring is, what, cute but ill-advised?”

“Harsh, but true,” Darcy said with a grin as the toaster popped.  She reached for the toast and the butter..  “And that gets us to Summer.”

“Right.  Short skirts and a lot of plunging necklines,” Harris mused, his voice dreamy.  “Little strappy sandals.”

Darcy grinned at him.  “Are you done?”

“Crop tops,” he rushed out.  “Okay.  I’m-  Wait, no, no, bikinis.”  He slapped a hand on the counter.  “Okay.  Now I’m done.”

“Bitch, when have you seen me in a bikini?” Darcy asked, and she was laughing.

“Every night.  In my dreams.”  Harris ducked when she threw a tea towel at him.  Laughing, he grabbed a pot lid, holding it up in front of him like a shield.   “Ha! Do your worst!”

“Pretty sure my ‘worst’ actually involves a bikini,” Darcy mused.  “I’ll consider a tankini.”

“I will give you my credit card right now.”  Harris flipped the eggs.  “Don’t tempt me.”

“You’re good for my ego,” Darcy said, sliding the sliced apples onto a plate.  “So summer’s good because all the cute clothes, all the designer sunglasses and big, floppy hats.”

“I am seeing exactly zero down sides here,” Harris agreed.

“Humidity that’s like trying to breathe through a wet sock and temperatures so high that it’s like being baked alive when you expose any part of your skin to direct sunlight,” Darcy said, her voice dire.

“Okay, so that’s not the-”

She leaned over the kitchen island, her mouth set in a scowl.  “Boob sweat.”

The snort of laughter caught him so off guard that he nearly dropped the pan.  Struggling to pull himself together, he made the mistake of looking at Darcy, who stared at him, stone faced, and cupped her boobs in her hands.

Harris lost it. 

He managed to get the pan back on the burner before he doubled over, laughing hysterically as me made a futile grab for the counter.  He missed and toppled over, laughing all the way down.  His ass hit the tile, and he just sat there, laughing so hard that his stomach hurt..

Darcy looked around the end of the kitchen island.  “Has anyone told you that you have the exact sens of humor of a twelve year old boy?” she asked, and despite the question, there was a certain smugness to her smile. 

“Fuck you,” Harris managed, between little eruptions of giggles.  “You’re hysterical.”

Darcy flipped her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her hand.  “Yes, thank you, I know,” she said, stepping over Harris’s legs to collect the eggs.  She smiled down at him.  “So summer has its pros and cons.”

“Right,” Harris said, resting his head on the cabinet door.  “And that leaves-”

“Autumn.”  Darcy gave a firm nod.  “Autumn, the time of cute little ankle boots and super soft leggings and the kind of plaid wool skirts that fall just right.”  She posed for a moment with the frying pan, one foot tucked behind the other, a hip popped, her head back.  “The softest sweaters, and little crop top jackets and tartan scarves that frame your face and make your neck seem long and elegant.”

Harris smiled up at her, one knee drawn up so he could rest an arm on it.  “I see you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

She did a little spinning step, setting the pan on the island.  “Let’s go apple picking.”

Harris pretended to consider that.  “Does Central Park offer that now?”

“We can leave this city, you now.”  She leaned over.  “Let’s go.  We can pick apples and choose a pumpkin straight from the fields and eat apple cider donuts and go to arts festivals and take pictures of the fall foliage.”

“We’re taking pictures of dead leaves now?” Harris asked, rolling to his feet.  “Why?”

“Instaaaaaaaaagram,” Darcy sing-songed.  She folded her arms on the island and leaned her chin on them, peering up at him from under fluttering lashes.  “Let’s go.  Fall is calling.”

He gave up, and he’d never felt better about giving up in his life.  “Breakfast first.  Then we’ll brave Autumn in New York.”

Darcy smiled at him.  “I always loved that song.”