Title: The Right Thing
Fandom: Avengers, X-Men
Characters: Carol Danvers, Mystique
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Author's Notes: I don't know where this came from. It takes place wherever, whenever. Just an interlude.
"The problem, of course, was that people did not seem to understand the difference between right and wrong. They needed to be reminded about this, because if you left it to them to work it out themselves, they would never bother. They would just find what was best for them, and then they would call that the right thing. That's how most people thought."
-Alexander McCall Smith, The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency
"Fuck you, Raven." Somehow all their conversations get here eventually. To the fucking.
"Come now, Carol, that's not how ladies talk."
Carol's eyes narrow, a sneer still in place. "I'm not a lady."
"Then, that's no way to talk to a lady."
Now her eyes roll. "I'm not talking to a lady, either."
Mystique smiles, the more agitated Carol is, the more calm she appears. "Maybe. Maybe not."
Carol stands, arms crossed in anger. "I don't have time for your games. What are you doing here?"
"Enjoying the night." There is a quiet laughter in her voice.
"Enjoy it somewhere else."
"Or what?"
"Or I'll make sure it's not enjoyable."
Raven raises an eyebrow and her glass. "Last I knew having a martini in a bar was not a crime. Not even for you."
Carol scoffs. "You're a criminal."
"Maybe. Maybe not." She takes a sip and places the glass back on the counter with deliberate delicacy. "But certainly not tonight. Tonight I'm a lady having a martini in a bar."
Carol blows air out of her nose, seemingly determined to prove herself not-a-lady. "Fine." She turns to storm out.
"Don't go."
Carol doesn't know why she stops. "I don't like bars."
"Anymore."
Carol shrugs.
"I don't have to be a lady. If you'll stay."
"I don't want to stay." She speaks through clenched teeth, wondering why she's answering, why she hasn't left.
"Liar."
Carol stiffens and finally makes to leave again.
Mystique lays a hand to the other woman's arm, staying her. "Carol. One drink. One night. An hour. I'm not here to kill you."
Carol throws off her hand. "You can't." Mystique doesn't answer. She doesn't have to. Maybe. Maybe not. Carol turns around, meets her gaze head on. "Why are you here?"
The easy smile returns. The reminder of when Carol did frequent bars, going home with whoever made her laugh the longest, going home with anyone. All those meaningless encounters with anyone. "I like bars."
"Fuck you, Raven." She's a little too loud, a few heads turn. Prying eyes. The blonde looks familiar, the redhead could be anyone.
"If you want."
Carol pulls back and slaps her, harder than she should, all those eyes on them. But Mystique laughs it off.
"You really aren't a lady." She drops money on the counter and winks to the bartender. "That should cover whatever she wants." She walks away, the prying eyes follow and lose interest.
"What's your poison?" Carol's eyes flicker up at the question. She straightens and walks away.
Fin.
