“Babe?” It’s repeated with a wrinkling nose, hand falling from where it’s pinching at a temple to arch up a dangerous eyebrow, “Does this look like a Matthew McConaughey movie to--” But the arching eyebrow is halted, momentarily, by the look of clear concern, muscles clenching reflexively the moment fingers curl around her skin. Tackling her out of the way of an assassin or two was one thing, reaching up with such sincerity--

Eyes calmly follow the jutted finger, settling on the picture for a long, lingering moment before she slowly settles back on the woman next to her. “Oh, that’s cute, Jo.” Eyes roll, still staying calm, quietly untangling herself from sheets, to stand, “Did you teach Blaise photoshop so that he would stop playing with a forge? I figured you for the April Fool’s type, but I expected more along the lines of...” Fingers roll around in the air, moving over to pluck up the frame, “Trying to hide a bucket of water over my door attached to a string, or trying to sneak whole fat milk into my latte type.” 

The boy did a better job photoshopping than half of her staff at CatCo had, if that was the case, managing to hide the wince when her head tips a little too far back, that incessant pounding in the back of her skull--

Eyes take in the time. 

“Alex! Jo just made a wolf-sized hole in the DEO and insulted Streaky.”

YES! THIS! I approve of it very very much! All the Danvers get to spend Christmas together (add Eliza there too!). 

“It’s a long story, Blaise.” Cat settles on, “And while normally I love those-- particularly the art of expertly weaving them into a casual conversation-- I’d rather not get into it, right now.”

While she’s not altogether unaware that she’s just burst into a young boy’s room with little explanation, the exhaustion is slowly tugging her shoulders lower and lower as she sighs, settling in her little corner of the floor, smoothing out her jacket and draping it over thighs.

It’s not like danger is following her—quite the opposite—because if it was, she wouldn’t be here.

Just another conversation she doesn’t feel like having.

Lips purse, asking despite her better judgment:

Cat wordlessly tosses the box of gourmet toffee towards Johanna the moment she poofs into existence by a closed doorway. Unsurprisingly, eyes don’t flick upwards from the lines of a page as a pen swishes along, undisturbed by the change of audience. 

“No chocolate. I didn’t know what it would do to that delicate K-9 stomach of yours.” A card is elegantly taped to the top of the wrapped box but there is one set next to her that she doesn’t throw. Blaise’s. 

A gourmet coffee set, inside. Full grounds. One of which is chocolate. 

She finally looks up a moment later, a hint of a smile on the edge of lips. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Johanna. Hopefully you actually found a way to get some creative energy out on the holiday. For once. Have you ever even been on a date?”

I don’t do hats