Margrette awoke to a gentle breeze and a soft, resounding thump right in front of her bunk. Her eyelids fluttered open and quickly found her roommate, Natasha crouching on the floor, her dark red curls sticking out at odd angles, framing her face in a rather humorous way.
"You're up early," Margrette yawned, sitting up and rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Natasha shrugged, heading to one of the two trunks on the far wall of the shared room, tossing it open and squinting at the contents inside. "Uh, Tash? That's my trunk." Natasha shut it quickly.
"Right, sorry. My mistake." She fumbled with the sticky latch on her own trunk until it opened.
"You always say that," Margrette muttered, swinging her legs over the edge of her bottom bunk. "But you make that 'mistake' every morning." She narrowed her eyes at Natasha's back. "I'm beginning to think that you're just a snoop!" Her accusation might have been a bit more convincing had she not giggled.
Natasha whirled around, uniform tucked under her arm, staring at Margrette with a look of mock hurt. "Me, a snoop?" She gasped. "Oh, Meg. Surely you jest!"
"Says the stalker assassin."
"Says the master spy."
"Touché."
Natasha smirked. "C'mon, get dressed. We have that meeting at seven and you know how Fury gets when we're late." Margrette nodded and swung her legs over the edge of her bunk as Natasha disappeared into the small, adjacent bathroom. Margrette heard the shower sputter to life as she dug through her trunk. She pulled a clean S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform out, along with a pair of dark socks. She dressed quickly, slipping into the tight black uniform. She was just pulling her long, chestnut hair into a tight bun on the back of her head as Natasha emerged, showered, dressed, and working a comb through her damp curls. "You about ready?" She asked.
"Just about." Margrette grabbed her boots from their place by the door, lacing them up with deft fingers before pressing her thumb to the control pad on the door frame. The metal door slid open with a hiss as Margrette snatched her I.D. from the hook on the wall. With that, she strode out into the long residential hallway of the helicarrier with Natasha on her heels.
"We have twenty minutes until we need to be up in the conference room," Natasha said, checking her watch.
"Great," Margrette sighed. "Then I'm going to hit the research floor for a cup of tea. The lounge there has the best selection."
"It's not like you're going to get anything different than usual," Natasha snorted, knowing of her friend's affinity for English Breakfast tea.
"Yeah, yeah. Shut up." Margrette waved her hand dismissively as she stopped at the elevator. She jammed her thumb on the UP button.
"Alright, you do that and I'll go get Clint. Somehow I doubt he's up yet."
"Okay. See you at the meeting." She gave her roommate a small wave before stepping into the elevator and taking it up to the research level. She quickly made her way to the level's break room; the one adjacent to the large research lab. She grabbed a pale green mug from the counter and plucked a packet of English Breakfast tea from the basket. She headed to the hot water dispenser and busied herself with her tea, stirring honey and lemon juice into it to finish it off. She took a seat on one of the black leather couches, savoring the heat of the mug against her palms. The research level was always at least ten degrees colder than the other levels of the helicarrier. She heard shuffling behind her and turned to face the man who had just come from the lab.
"Good morning, Dr. Banner," She chirped, much more at ease now that she had her morning tea.
He merely grunted, reaching for a mug of his own and a packet of tea. He had huge, dark circles under his eyes. Margrette stared at him as he poured his water and dropped the tea bag in, ignoring the sugar and honey altogether. She wondered if he had slept at all.
As if in answer, Dr. Banner turned towards her, staring into the yellow mug in his hand. "I was working in the lab all night. Requiem's gamma signatures are harder to track than your cellphone was after Tony set that stupid high pitched keen as your default ringtone." He cringed at the memory of the noise.
Margrette groaned. "Don't remind me. I still need to get back at him for that." She paused. "Wait. You were up all night? You know, Dr. Banner, for someone with a P.H.D., you really don't take very good care of yourself at all."
The corner of his mouth twitched in exhausted amusement. "Margrette, I know I've told you many times to call me Bruce. You're a part of our team. You don't need to use those silly formalities with me."
Margrette smiled mid sip, hiding her blush behind the rim of her mug. "Sorry Bruce. I guess it's just habit. I heard so much about you before we met that you were just set in my mind with all formalities attached."
Bruce nodded. "I see," he mumbled, taking a sip of his tea. Margrette could smell it from where she sat. Earl Grey.
She glanced at her watch idly. "Oh, we have to get going!"
"We?" Bruce looked at her questioningly.
She nodded. "We have a meeting up in the conference room in five."
"Yes, that's right. I guess there's no time to waste then." He held his hand out to her. "Shall we?"
She smiled and took his hand jauntily. She stood, and together they headed to the elevator as fast as they could without spilling their hot tea, holding their hands to the rims of their mugs and laughing at each other's modified movements to avoid splashing it onto the floor. They made it to the main floor conference room just in time, Margrette a few short feet ahead of Bruce. Fury nodded to her curtly, handing her the file she had completed and handed in a short twelve hours ago. She quietly took her seat and glanced around the long table.
Director Fury and Steve Rogers sat at opposite ends with Natasha at Fury's right. She was desperately trying to keep Clint awake as he periodically slumped downward toward the surface of the table. Margrette could see his internal struggle for consciousness from her seat directly across from him. I guess he's just not an early bird, she thought, quietly laughing at her own joke.
"Something funny, Agent Jinks?" Director Fury stared her down with his one good eye. As usual, he was in no mood to be trifled with.
She deadpanned immediately, shrinking down between Bruce and Thor. "No, sir." She mumbled, averting her eyes. Thor raised an eyebrow at her as he crammed two Pop-Tarts in his mouth at once. She shook her head and looked away from him, suddenly taking notice of the empty space at the table.
Bruce sat in his place on Steve's right, but on the Captain's left sat a single empty chair. Fury pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Where is Stark?" he asked, annoyed.
Suddenly the large doors slid open and in strolled the billionaire in question, looking very relaxed in a rumpled t-shirt and jeans. "Sorry I'm late," he called to Fury. "I had a... thing." Steve sighed and shook his head as Tony walked to his seat.
"Oh! Almost forgot. Hey, Mags. heads up!" He pulled an apple from somewhere on his person-conjured it really- and tossed it to her. She caught it with ease, admiring the pink and yellow skin. "Thanks, Tony!"
Everyone on the team knew that Margrette's intense love for apples was greater than anything she felt for English Breakfast tea, however Tony and Bruce were the only ones who gave them to her. Tony winked as he sat down and Fury dropped a messy looking file in front of him. "Alright. Now that everyone is here," Fury announced, glaring at Tony. "We can begin. We have a lot to discuss."