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It’s really hilarious. Seriously, Darcy has been laughing for about a half hour, going between a quiet sustained mirth and a guffaw. Because she’s seen the intricate and involved planning that Clint can do, and this is not it. This is a legal pad with a dozen or so entries, all marked off either with a date and a check mark or furiously scratched off.
It’s a comfort to know that Clint can’t plan an actual surprise for shit, but appreciates the attempt. Also, that he remembers her preference for pie rather than cake. Clint had argued with her about that one once, and only once, because cheesecake is a pie, damn it.
“But it’s right in the name, sweetheart, cheesecake. Cheese and cake. Are you calling the cheesecake a lie?”
“If it were a cake, it would be a lie. But it’s a pie. Crust and filling, no flour, not bread-like in anyway. It’s a pie.” Darcy is sure of this, as sure as she knows everything good and holy in this world, “And pie is best.”
And apparently he took that to memory, because yep, looking in the fridge, there’s an absolutely gorgeous and delicious looking cheesecake, lemon with a raspberry glaze which means he has really been paying attention. Either that or he’s hacked her Pinterest again. And since there’s not suddenly a board that’s made entirely to look like she’s planning an airsoft retreat or the end of the world, she’s pretty sure it was just from watching Food Network late at night, waiting up for him.
But you’d think, super spy/assassin type, he wouldn’t leave all the shit out for the surprise party. You are supposed to stage in someone else’s place, not their own. Really, he couldn’t have staged up in the penthouse. But it’s warm in her heart and the same time her stomach flips over the idea of an actual surprise party.
She hasn’t liked those since she was twelve and her father had given the surprise party his best shot, but so totally failed. She preferred planning her own, less chance of clowns and balloon animals and her family just not getting her.
“Hey babe,” Clint says, closing the door to the suite behind him.
“Hey you,” she says, and points to the legal pad, “You know I hate surprises, right?”
Clint doesn’t even look phased at all, “Well, yeah.” He wraps his arms around her, kisses her cheek, “Why do you think I left it all out? Everyone else thinks it’s a surprise party, though. You and I? We’ll know better.”
She considers this and the list, and the way everything is laid out in places where she would see it, “There’s no clowns right?”
“I had enough of those growing up, Darce, and I haven’t found any yet that are worth actually paying for. Besides, we have Stark and alcohol. That’s way better than any clown.”
“Well then…”she draws out the short syllables as long as she can, “I guess I better go practice my surprised face.” She contorts her face, raising her eyebrows, dropping her jaw and she falls apart laughing at Clint’s expression and he struggles to hold in his own amusement.