“Oh yeah? Were there specifics? Did you leave him with plenty of caffeine?” Summer glances up from her laptop, grinning. “Or is this him doing that thing where he’s afraid he’ll screw it up if he tries to … make his friends be friends?”
“It’s the wind,” she replies. It is, and the way the towering highrises of downtown New York channel it into cutting edges doesn’t help. No coat she owns proof against that. She takes in a deep breath and holds it for a moment, then breathes it out in a puff of condensation and laughs. “Dragon’s breath.”
“The wind is quite sharp and nearly chilling. Here, let’s hope it protects you at least a little.” the hawk says and places his coat on your shoulders.
You puffing your breath brings a small smile to his face and your words cause a quiet chuckle to emerge. “Come on then my little dragon, let’s get you some hot chocolate to warm you up.”
Summer growls quietly. She doesn’t need to be protected, but she doesn’t jerk the coat off her shoulders. It would destroy the fragile bond they’re crafting here. Clint will come to see her independence soon enough. She grabs his hand, instead, and pulls him at a faster speed toward the park.
Summer looks up from her book and freezes. “You … aren’t Flyte.” To that self-evident remark, eyebrows high on her face, she adds, “Who are you?”
She starts to laugh. He sounds so … familiar, with those words. Just a frustrated sibling, jealous of his older brother. “You sound like me,” she manages, knowing he’ll be offended at the comparion, but unable to help herself.
His brow twitches as she laughs though he can’t help but smirk a little at her. “Or is it that you sound just like me,” he counters back as he finally sits on a chair opposite to her.
“Either. Both. It’s a sibling thing, what you said.” A few more giggles erupt from her mouth. “A family thing. The people who’ve known you the longest … ” She stops, for a second, and gulps in a breath, and begins again, slower. “They can’t see it. Change. It’s so small, in front of them, so they can’t see it. Like watching grass grow.”
“That /would/ be a mild heart attack. How’d it get stuck in the armor, then? Aren’t you wearing it under the bodysuit?” She reached up and fingered the medallion.
“Nah; I was working on the Mark VIII, not actually wearing VII. The chain got caught on the gauntlet and the clasp snapped.” He reached back to hook one finger in the back of the chain, tugging lightly. “Haven’t actually replaced the chain yet; it’s just held on with a paperclip right now.”
“I’ve got lots of chains, I’ll go get you one.” Summer didn’t really wait for his answer, just turned on a heel and bounced off toward the elevator. “What colour?”
Folding her arms, Summer watched him twitch over the table. “That’s good … there a reason why you aren’t telling me the whole truth?” She tilted her head to the side. “Would you rather talk about it somewhere else?” One hand indicated the lab. “I’m not asking about it just for gossip’s sake.”
He balked at that, narrowing his eyes. There was something about her tone that sounded accusatory. “I am telling you the whole truth, thank you very much,” he snapped back. He caught his tone and then softened it to be businesslike. “Things are going well. We’ve go’ a lo’ of unique agens’ with unique talens’. There a reason SHIELD’s come asking after Agen’ Coulson?”
Reaching out, she put her hands over his wrists. “Someone has to watch out for people who go through traumatic situations. That’s me. I don’t think you can deny that Phil Coulson went through a traumatic situation. He died. I’ll be talking to him, too, don’t worry.” Summer squeezed slightly and let go, folding her hands behind her back. “Can we try this again, please? I want to know how things are going with /you/.”
Summer squeals at the basket, turning it around and around in her hands before she even starts to unpack it. Each item is laid out to be examined intently and sparkled at, before she puts them all away and flings herself at Clint with a passionate kiss.
Clint thought Summer looked somewhat cute with her cheek puffed out but he didn’t day say it aloud. He wasn’t willing to receive another glare anytime soon.
“You’ll be home soon.” He holds you and brushes your hair as you lean on him. “Are you thirsty, can you drink?” the hawk asks little concerned and reaches for the juice bottle and straw from the back seat afterwards.
Summer took the bottle, but lifted the straw out. She held the little page of care instructions to Clint, sipping carefully. It would be really embarrassing to drool right now. One of the top lines on the page read, “No suction (straws, etc.) for 48 hours”. Putting the juice bottle down, she gingerly prodded at the numb area, feeling for the place where the numbness stopped. The skin tingled under her fingertips. Every swallow felt strange.
Reaching out, she patted the steering wheel, meaning that he should drive, and then patted his hand, trying to smile. She would be fine, but she wanted to be home.
Clint takes the instructions from you and looks through them. He smiles apologetically at you. “Sorry , I didn’t know, just thought you might want to drink something.”
He looks after you for moment longer and turns to start the car when you pat the wheel as a sign to get moving. “Let’s get going now ,so that we actually get you home today. Just tell me if there’s anything I can do when we get there.” After saying that he concentrates on driving safely back home. He’s not speeding but tries to get there fast.
She makes a sound that is supposed to mean assent, and leans her head back against the headrest, trying to keep her hands away from her mouth. It’s hard, because the lack of feeling feels so strange. Of course, the painkiller they gave her before she left might also have something to do with that — it’s hard to tell. She feels drifty.
Well, Doc was small, but she was definitely not shiny. She was sleek and dark, with a few pale spots turning her coat calico. Green-gold eyes peered up at Jarvis, occasionally flicking over to check on Boris. She tipped her chin up, eyes slitting almost closed, and began to purr loudly.
“Hm.” The hum was brief, and quietly amused. He gave Doc a few final scritches under her chin, before he reached up to steady Boris, and then levered himself to his feet (up and up and uuuupppp good grief he’s tall). He made his way back out into the corridor. After all, he still had chores to do (well, not really, Mr. Stark likely wouldn’t care what he did, but he preferred to keep himself occupied).
Doc darted off when Jarvis got up, crouching with feet tucked under by the couch as he left. She gave an impudent lash of her tail toward Boris, then laid her chin down and went to sleep.
“Your halo is crooked. You were trying to provoke him, as usual.” Summer shook her head. “You’re lucky he likes you, I think. /What/ did you say?”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Yes, I wanted to provoke him in the middle of the workshop. God forbid I interact in ways that aren’t all based around a single trope.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “My necklace got stuck in the armor. He asked why I had it, so I explained Loki.”
“That /would/ be a mild heart attack. How’d it get stuck in the armor, then? Aren’t you wearing it under the bodysuit?” She reached up and fingered the medallion.
[text] (2:01 AM) Jemma, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Come on back to bed.
Send ✘ for a text that should never have been sent
[text] (10:25 AM) Tell Stark the next time he wants one of his damn bots rebuilt, the least he could do is give me the proper supplies.
Send ☢ for a desperate text
[text] (7:26 PM) I know it’s a lot to ask…but could you take Jemma on a girls night or…whatever tonight? I need to…do something. She’s good company. I promise.
[text to: Leo Fitz] it was my bot, not his, and I don’t know what the supplies are. sorry. I brought it to the secondbest roboticist I knew of.