High Flying Hero

Clay takes a deep, cleansing breath and breathes back out.  Yep.  That did shit: Danvers is still a bitch.

"Well congratulations on making it to the right place," he said.  "Without even needing assistance y’all don’t have since the Air Force’s last GPS satellite exploded three minutes after launch.  Clay Quartermain, hoping you figured that one out on your own."  He doesn’t say at your service.

He isn’t at her service.

"Oh please. This place is only so well labelled so that you can remember how to get back here every time you leave." It was a weak comeback but it would have to do for now. Maybe it was Clay's taste like paper look like shit coffee that was taking her sass away. 

She didn’t care if she could, technically, sink into that to soften the landing to virtually nothing, she didn’t want to test it.

It was just a hypothesis. It would stay that way.

"Of course, Lockie would probably agree with you about that one. It’s all he mutters half the time." By now, she’d pinpointed exactly which air vent he was hiding in, listening to their conversation.

And he’d been trying to play spy.

It was easy work to grab a pillow and launch it at said vent, the throw pillow hitting with a thump and falling to the ground.

She was about to say something when Kitty just throws a pillow at an air vent and shouts at it. Carol stares at her with wide eyes, before she puts the obvious pieces together when she hears the scrapping of metal. 

The last was typically muttered near Fury’s earshot, his rapid hair loss over the course of a year a source of much amusement.  It should also be noted that Fury was the only person to abhor their swill, and also the only one to have suffered massive hair loss.  He’s not saying anything in particular but the evidence does point to certain conclusions.

Clay hitches a hip up on the counter and savors his second cup, comfortable in the fact that there’s no longer anything he can do but mourn the coffee already wasted.  He smiles and, alright it’s very close to a grimace but the file he had gotten on her had included a post it with ‘try not to be an asshole’ in Fury’s angry scrawl.  So there, he’s trying.

He even shared coffee; he deserves a medal.

She's not some coffee snob, you'll never find her trying to order something other than a black coffee, but c'mon, if you're going to drink coffee at least make sure it doesn't taste like paper.

She purses her lips to stop the stupid smirk that would spread if she let it. Annoying Clay was much, much more enjoyable than she could ever have hoped for. 

"Lockie’s not my pet, mind you. He’s my roommate. Admittedly, he doesn’t pay rent and the fact that he doesn’t have thumbs means I have to do more than my fair share of absolutely anything, but still."

"Okay," she concedes after another moment, thinking about the situation. "Yeah, it’s not that different."

Okay, wow. She's now talking about Chewie as if he's human. She needs to get out more. And get laid. She really doesn't want to think about how long it's been. 

There really is no logic to inter-service rivalry, and he can do without trying to analyze it thanks.

Though, it does mean that she has to take another drink of this ... Whatever it is because it's sure as hell not coffee. A quick stare and grit of her teeth, and she's drinking that coffee as fast as she can. And thank god he only left enough for half a cup, it's a favour that she's never going to repay. 

And hard-won it was.  Coffee around here had the dubious reputation of being sludge, water or brewed from golden encrusted coffee beans hand picked from a lone Indonesian mountain by blind monks who have taken a vow of chastity and poverty and who only pick 8 beans a year.

Clay had to take the train to fucking Newark New Jersey and hunt down a gas station Wawa to get himself a bag of basic pre-ground shit and smuggle it back into the tower.  He’s not so sold on sharing.

After she takes the first sip she knows exactly why, and she has to focus on not scrunching her face up. 

What is this shit, and where is the usual shit coffee that they normally have? But it's Clay's, and he's banking on her not liking this stuff so she suffers through it, and takes another drink from it. 

She was actually supposed to be in her room. That was the terms of release when Steve brought her back to SHIELD: she never leaves the tower, she never goes near the lab floors or the hangar, and if she needed to leave Steve had to sign off on her check-in logs. He was basically her babysitter, and as much as she knew it bothered him she kind of enjoyed the vindication it gave her to see his brow rankle with annoyance every time she handed him the clipboard.

(There are easier to work with people in the tower. Tony took one round of desk head to convince she wasn’t crazy; something about her eyes or some bullshit. Whatever. He was at least good to ride off, and he gave her the access override in return. She wasn’t ashamed of it, either.)

Rather, she was someone like her - grounded because of Fury. Besides, the faint Omega scent that lingered around the women told Carol that she could probably manipulate her even if she was. Though, in this place you never did know until it was too late. 

"You too?" She asked, and faintly smiled at the other women. "Fury's got me grounded pending a SHIELD investigation into my new talent. Something about alien tech and not knowing the full extent of what I can do." She shrugged it off as if it didn't mean anything to her. But she was furious about being caged in. She was a fighter and a pilot, she lived for the freedom that the open skies brought. 

"I only asked because I thought you might be some SHIELD agent sent here to remind me about a couple of laws and the deal I signed with SHIELD." All of which she didn't need reminding of. She was well aware that it was illegal to fly without a license, and that her agreement involved being in contact with SHIELD 24/7 in order to be available for testing whenever needed. She just chose to ignore those things. 

"Somehow, a lot of people have said that. You wanna meet him, just say the word. Hell, he’s probably nearby as it is. He likes to hide in the events and act as my body guard." Without showing himself. Even though Kitty didn’t need one.

Thor had sent Loki back to where he’d come from so Kitty had nothing to worry about there, despite her brief run of terror after punching him.

She laughed and shook her head before taking another drink of wine. "No. My childhood was too busy spent trying to prove to my father that I was just as good as my younger brothers. Not like I managed to succeed in that, but all that's in the past." Except she was known to hold grudges for a very long time and this was no one she was likely to forget. Ever. 

"Those other things do not, in any way, include your.. uh.. partner.. or strippers of any kinda, appearing to help you relax, do they? Because if they do, say so now, and I’m gone." Kitty didn’t want to interrupt on that kind of quiet time.

Ever.

Okay, well, may- no. She stops that thought before it can finish.

Now, someone walking in on her and joining in, now that was a completely different story, and something she wished happened more often.

"But I know some people are really picky about that kinda stuff. Don’t spoil the ending and all that."

Or stop saying every damned line in time with actors on the television set. She’d gotten that one before. For… Shaun of the Dead? No, Hot Fuzz. Either way, she’d upset someone - maybe Piotr - by doing it.

It wasn’t that she’d done it on purpose. She’d been working on some assignment at the mansion and it had been playing in the background and she’d done it absentmindedly.

"Kitty, and no, but thanks. I’m not a pretty drunk and I’m a total lightweight." She wasn’t stupid enough to drink with someone she didn’t know. Besides, something told her Quincy would approve of the whole thinking ahead strategy.

And she hadn’t been lying about the not a pretty drunk thing.

"Well, I think this time I can let you off. I'm not really paying attention. What is it we're watching?" Carol asks, picking up the refilled glass. "Other things on my mind, y'know?" 

Didn’t really work out in her favor since Lockheed had caught her on the way to the kitchen and distracted her for a good two hours.

So by the time she gets back, it’s no surprise that the couch has a new person on it - one Kitty hasn’t met - and so she moves into the room with an easy smile and sprawls across an armchair nearby, legs slung over one arm rest.

"Nah, it’s fine. This is close enough to wear I left off anyway." Apparently the DVD had just been restarted, which was fine with Kitty. Either way, she stretched, tilting her herself so that her torso was across the footrest, watching the television upside down.

Okay, so maybe she was watching it for the twentieth time, not the first.

And maybe she had a bet with Lockie that the movie was weirder upside down.

"That depends," she says slowly, pausing for a second to stare. "Are the comments about me, or are they going to explain why you're watching the movie upside down? Because that is something I'd really like to know."