#;threads

No they weren't, and while Tony wished he could say this was one of his better formulated plans to apologize to Pepper after one of his inventions went haywire he had to admit it wasn't. This wasn't even the first time something like this had happened. Albeit at least this time he didn't accidentally blow up half their pent house.... Whenever she lets him into the bedroom he quickly takes a moment to steal a kiss from her lips, sealing the deal on her apology accepted.

As he breaks away from her, he tosses the blankets onto the bed, quickly trying to sort out of the collection of gifts he has in his hands. "Friday, initiation Movie Night Protocol."

As the words leave Tony's lips the room begins to transform, turning their seemingly ordinary bedroom into a movie theater equipped with a Projector and massive screen that comes slowly drawing down from the ceiling. He places the rather large order of take out down on the nearby dresser, before holding up the movie in his hand. "Now as you well know, I am more of an action guy myself... but I happened to find this copy of Pretty Woman laying around and as penance for destroying the kitchen, I've decided, against my better judgement might I add, to spend the evening watching it with you."

There's no missing the wink as he opens the case and pops the disc into the projector.

"I may or may not have also gone a little overboard on the takeout. I couldn't exactly remember which you liked more so I got a little bit of everything... unfortunately they didn't have any strawberries... so I am sorry about that. "

"Oh and of course, where are my manners..."

There is no missing the mischievous look upon Tony's face as he looks Pepper over in her bathrobe one good time and smirks.

"Would you like for me to take your "coat" Ms. Potts?"

The sun hit just right as Kaila stepped out of the car, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of her nose, enough to showcase a hint of her chocolate eyes and quirked brow ( full of...judgement?? ) Her sundress catches the breeze like it knew it was being watched. She looked every bit the glowing Mexican goddess she was—bronzed, unbothered, and five minutes fashionably late, as any mother of a teen.

The bistro’s patio was bustling, all bright tiles and hanging plants, but her eyes landed on him immediately: The boyfriend.

She smiled—slow, easy, dangerous. "Well," she said, sliding into the seat across from them, "this should be fun."

The motel room is dim, lit only by the flickering neon sign bleeding in through threadbare curtains. Laura sits on the edge of the bed, her elbows on her knees, hands clenched tight. Her knuckles are pale. She can still smell blood...not hers...and it coats the inside of her skull like a film she can’t scrub clean.

She doesn’t flinch when the door creaks open behind her. She knows it’s him. She can feel him. Smell him. The quiet, steady presence she hasn’t decided if she wants close or far away.

“Don’t,” she says before he speaks. Her voice is sharp, quiet. Cracked around the edges. “Whatever you’re gonna say, just...don’t.”

She turns her head just enough to catch him in the corner of her eye. Her posture doesn’t shift. She stays still, rigid, like if she moves too much, she might come apart.

“You don’t get it, Barnes,” she murmurs, the name bitter on her tongue, not out of hatred, but familiarity. “I was made to kill. Not to be held. Not to be looked at like…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. The words taste wrong.

Her jaw clenches.

"YOU are a real piece of work you know that?"

It was a silly way to die, but death has come to them in much stranger and sillier fashions then falling off a fence and breaking their neck. If anything, it was mostly just embarrassing.

But Trent has yet to meet Wrinkle and so they need to see this through.

They hear his voice and turn towards it, still walking slowly on shaky legs, still wishing it was raining so they could turn their mouth to the sky. But it's not raining. They keep walking until the come across Trent, and they stare down at him with those sharp, glowing eyes they have and then they speak again.

LAURA strangely feels...different. She doesn't know why but she had felt compelled to rummage through old memories that morning. Within her fingertips rests Logan's dog tags. Thumb brushes over the metal, pensive gleam lingering... Her eyes rest concentrated outside Tony's old view when Happy rasps on the doorway. She's drawn from her odd daydream, swiftly shoving contents into her front pocket.

"I feel that I should brief you on what's happened..." he starts, but this only causes alarm. She tilts her head, glaring, an infamous gawk at that, and very familiar to Happy. That's when her nostrils flare-- that smell... it--couldn't be...

Laura cannot help but brush right past him, from one room to the next, she zooms about, hunting. Until, she stops in her tracks, her heart practically retracting. Lungs too, was she just punched? It feels like she's been punched - the wind directly knocked right out of her.

He's not her Logan. But he's Logan, just the same.

Once Happy catches up to her, he rests a palm on her shoulder, bad move. She's terribly on edge and thus, Happy ends up being slammed, landing on his back quite harshly as she pins him with a growl. "Geezes, Laura!" he billows. She comes-to, rolling her eyes, helping him up. "I need an explanation." she finally speaks. "Well if you would just let me, I would've given you one." Happy protests, readjusting himself. "The TVA's been in contact with us -he was sent here to preserve the...sacred timeline..." Laura shoots him a leer. "The what?!" eyes narrow before she looks to Logan accusatory. "Who are you?"

"He's your father, Laura. Same blood, same DNA...just. From a different world." Happy continues.

"I got that - shut up." she warns him, pushing Hogan aside and sauntering forward toward the one who looks and well, smells much like her biological dad.

NIGHTMARES become more like visions as of late a plague. Living, walking, breathing, they cannot escape what happened. The fear is residual, every waking moment a new blessing, but also a bewildering anew.

For the first time in weeks, Tate is sleeping. He's smiling. He's thriving. It warms her heart. It feels as though it's possible for them to be a family again. All of them. Not just the stronghold of three - but the many warriors of the Dutton clan.

Monica stands, wrappings of a knitted blanket keeping her petite but fit form warm, coffee in hand as she peers at the rising sun against the bronzed horizon. Footsteps alert her, and she greets her beloved sister-in-law with a bright smile. "Was wonderin' where you were at." Monica muses, pulling the blonde closer and wrapping her within confines of the same blanket.