"What did you think you were doing?"
Lucy glances up as Danvers falls into step beside her, her blonde, perfect countenance the picture of earnest disgruntlement. "Hey, Captain."
Danvers slants her a look. "You were ordered to higher ground; Peter had it."
Lucy shrugs, reaching to brush some remaining ash from her arm. "I say the shot and I took it. No thanks necessary." The sooner they save the world, the sooner they can get back to their interrupted poker game, and Lucy can have the pleasure of taking all their money.
"I'm not thanking you." Danvers catches her by the arm, stopping her in her tracks. "This isn't a one woman show, Rutherford," she explains. "This is a team; we work together."
Lucy carefully removes the Kree soldier's hand. "I know my capabilities," she assures Danvers. Which happen to include taking out an engine with a well-placed shot. The hovercraft careening toward her position before crashing to a fiery stop just inches from her boots was an unexpected variable, but Lucy hasn't lived this long without learning how to improvise. She starts uptown again, not entirely surprised when Danvers matches her determined pace.
"You were almost incinerated," Danvers persists.
Lucy's mouth quirks slightly as she scans the surrounding area. "Tuesday already?"
"Don't be flip," Danvers snaps, her fingers curling into her palms as Scott Lang lands a few steps ahead of them, removing the helmet from his dark head and tucking it under his arm as they approach.
"Cap's right, Lucy; it's really unbecoming," Scott mocks, earning him a raised brow from Lucy. Lang might be on friendlier terms with the Captain, but he annoys her twice as much.
"Your skills are an asset, but your attitude's a liability," Danvers tells Lucy, blue eyes glinting in the dusty light.
Lucy shoots her a narrowed glance. "What are you trying to say?" She's tired, dirty, with the beginnings of one hell of a headache, and they still have to chase down the rest of the bad guys.
Danvers' jaw tightens, and then she's striding toward the nearby Quinjet. "We'll regroup at thirteen hundred," she throws over her shoulder to Scott. "Rutherford; you're benched."
Lucy glares after her, her hand absently slipping to the back of her now throbbing skull and finding something wet.
Scott grimaces. "She actually does grow on you, you know. In a really slow, boring, goody-two-shoes kind of way." He looks over to find Lucy glaring at her blood-smeared fingertips. "You should have Strange take a look at that when he's back."
"Yeah," Lucy says, still watching Danvers as she greets their teammates at the Quinjet. "I'll make sure I do that."
# # #
Carol stands in front of the tall wall of windows, gazing out from Avengers Tower's main conference room at the city below. From the distant 93rd floor, the city is quiet and almost peaceful, and Carol can almost forget that this isn't her city anymore, that what she used to know is mostly gone.
"You are troubled again."
T'Challa's voice sounds from behind her, breaking the spell of her reverie. Carol glances up, taking in the Wakandan's knowing expression. Carol's mouth twists ruefully. "That obvious?"
T'Challa shrugs. "You often appear thus after words with Agent Rutherford.
Carol frowns, turning from the window and toward the interior of the conference room. "How do you know we had words?"
T'Challa cocks a skeptical brow and waits for it.
Then, "We might have had a few words," Carol admits, earning a grin from the king. "Combat requires discipline, and Lucy's too used to making her own rules," Carol tells him. The young woman had nearly become another stain upon the city's asphalt this morning, and not for the first time. Carol runs an agitated hand over the back of her neck. "She nearly killed herself taking that shot, and for what? Who's she trying to impress?"
"Agent Rutherford is a skilled fighter, but slow to trust. She has much to learn," T'Challa says, pulling out a chair from the conference table and taking a rather delicate perch upon its streamlined frame.
Carol considers. "You think she doesn't trust me?"
"Nay, Captain," T'Challa replies, with a wry shake of his head. "I think she doesn't trust herself."
Well, that's perfect. What's Carol supposed to do about that? "You'd think one loose cannon would be enough," she mutters.
"You can never have too many cannons, Cap," Scott says, striding into the room in that hurried way that always suggests he has bigger and better places to be. "I mean, for us it's really all about the toys, isn't it? A bow and arrow, a hammer – I'm thinking about a giant water pistol."
T'Challa chuckles as Strange, Wanda and Peter make their own appearances, Strange as unflappable as ever when he's not creating portals, Peter slightly less so.
"Have any of you seen Lucy?" he asks, glancing around the conference room as if Lucy might have escaped even his vigilant notice.
"Not since our return here," T'Challa tells him.
"She didn't stop by Medical?" Scott asks Strange, but the doctor only shoves his hands into his pockets and shakes his head.
"Haven't seen her."
"She's ever late," Peter says, and Carol needs to end this now.
"Phoenix won't be joining us." Carol says it as plainly and clearly as she can, and watches as realization dawns on each of her teammates. There's surprise, and some regret, and no one's really looking at each other as they take their respective seats at the table, or at the empty chair beside Peter's.
"Well, this is awkward," Scott remarks, but internal affairs will have to wait.
"We need a plan of action for eliminating residual threat," Carol tells them. "Scott, will you – do whatever it is you do?" she asks, relieved when Scott uses his fingertips to activate the interface Lucy's built into the conference table. "Factor in remaining enemy numbers, and all prior camps and safe houses within a half-day's travel distance; they'll be close."
Scott's fingers sweep and glide through the screens, until a topographical map appears with a blinking red circle. "Target identified," Scott reports, then frowns, eyes scanning the available data. "That's funny."
"What?" Strange asks, leaning over to take a look.
"This search has already been run."
"By who?" Carol wants to know.
"Our very own birdie," Scott replies, dark eyes narrowed on the screen.
"Why would Lucy run that search and not share the results with the rest of us?" Strange asks.
She wouldn't. Not unless she has plans of her own. But that would be crazy. So Carol benched the woman – from one mission. It doesn't mean... Carol asks anyway. "You don't think she'd try to take them out on her own?"
Scott glances up from the console. "Seriously?"
Carol sighs. "Peter?"
The brunette's lips are tight with displeasure; he waves his hand slightly in concession.
"Gear up," Carol commands, and heads for the hangar. "She's had enough of a head-start.
# # #
Hitting a moving target has never been much of a challenge for Lucy. Ever since she can remember, she's always had a keen sense of where speed, force, and mass will collide, and today is no exception. Gunfire scatters the arid ground around him, spitting up dirt and grit, and Lucy reaches out in front of her for another shot. Even in the hail of bullets, it's strangely quiet without the constant communications of the team playing in her ear, without Danvers' intel and commands. Lucy scowls, brushes off the feeling. She doesn't need the headache, figuratively or literally. If it's a little lonely out here behind her rock, it's only because she's already disposed of the mercenaries' safe guards, silently picking them off one by one until someone happens to notice the bodies littering the cave's perimeter. By Lucy's calculations, about a dozen remain, two of which are starting to irritate the fuck out of her.
She blinks at the sweat stinging her eyes, takes a moment to steady her breathing. If only Danvers could see her now. With a narrowed glance over her shoulder, Lucy turns and leans just enough to fire two more shot, one after the other, then ducks and waits. The gunfire halts abruptly. Lucy smirks, leaning from shelter once more to survey the damage. Two more men lay sprawled in the dust at the entrance to the cave, their weapons beside them. She's considering a frontal assault when there's a sudden growl of an engine, and a large truck roars from the interior, crowded with men and drums of stolen explosives.
"Not today, boys," Lucy warns under her breath. The truck heaves over the uneven terrain, and in a single, fluid motion, Lucy extends her mechanized arm and aims, feeling a grim sense of satisfaction as she releases the blast. The ray hurtles toward the closest drum with uncanny precision, so that Lucy doesn't even mind when the bullet grazes her right bicep, burning as intensely as the hovering sun.
There's a deafening blast, the sky shifting wildly, and then a gust of fierce heat sends her crashing backward.
# # #
"Gotta give the kid credit, Cap," Scott says into the com, as the team wanders the scorched area surrounding the cave. "She outdid herself this time. I don't think she left a single one of 'em."
Carol frowns and keeps walking, her apprehension mounting at each body she passes. The place is desolate, stagnant, except for the flames still engulfing the remains of the truck. They have to find Lucy; this is not how the battle ends.
"Got his sky cycle over here," Strange reports from the west perimeter.
"So where is she?" Carol asks, squinting in the bright light.
"Over here!" Peter calls suddenly, from an outcropping of rocks. Carol runs to join him, stopping just short of stumbling right over the two of them. "Oh, my God," the webslinger breathes, leaning over the slumped form. Lucy's eyes are closed, her visible skin marked by burns and scrapes. Blood covers her right arm from a wound in her bicep.
"Strange, we're going to need you," Carol lets the doctor know, before dropping to one knee for a closer look.
"Lucy?" Peter asks, patting gently at the woman's grimy cheek.
Lucy's eyes crack open slowly, regard them blearily. "Heyyy," she drawls, mouth curving slightly. "What took you so long?"
A relieved smile flits over his worried face. "You asshole. It's her arm, Doc," he tells Strange, suddenly there beside them. The doctor's fingers probe the injury, dark eyes somber in their assessment.
"Ow…" Lucy complains, suddenly sounding like a fractious five year-old.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Carol asks her.
"Yeah; everywhere," she mutters.
"She's lost some blood," Strange says, and there's a sudden rending sound as Strange tears a strip from the hem of his shirt and uses it to tie a gauze pad over the wound.
"I'll buy you a new shirt," Peter promises, his brown eyes still locked on Lucy's face.
"Don't worry about it," Strange responds dryly, gently turning Lucy's arm to check his work. "My clothes don't usually last that long, anyway."
"Hey, Cap," Lucy mumbles, licking her dry lips. "Did you see me?"
The question takes Carol by surprise. Lucy's eyes are glazed, unfocused, and Carol glances at Strange, sees her own concern reflected in the doctor's face. "Yeah, I saw you," Carol assures Lucy, reaching down to brush a comforting hand over the younger woman's forehead.
"How fares Phoenix?" T'Challa asks from behind them. Carol hasn't even heard the Wakandan and Scott approach.
"Better than the other guy," Scott observes, with a nod to the surrounding destruction.
"We need to get her back to base," Carol says, noticing Lucy's eyes have drifted closed. She doesn't want to think about all the other ways this might have ended, the ways it has ended in years before; doesn't want to think about her own part in the day's events. For now, it's enough Lucy's alive.
She swings the young woman into her arms, careful not to jar her injured arm. "Let's go."
# # #
"How's she doing, Doc?" Carol asks, rising to her feet as Strange steps into the lounge built adjacent to Lab and Medical, so that the doctor can nap in the odd hours he doesn't feel like returning to his rooms.
Strange rubs at his forehead, gaze moving over Carol and the rest of the team, who've occupied every flat surface of the space since Lucy's recovery. "Well, I'm pretty sure she's going to make it," he tells them, smiling at the grins the pronouncement wrings from the tired group. "She has a nasty bump on the back of her head, but the few times she's woken she's known where and who she is, so that's a good sign," he assures, glancing at Peter. "I've given her some blood, and some fluids for the dehydration; she should be feeling like herself in a couple of days. Our biggest challenge is going to be keeping her out of the action while her arm heals."
"Don't worry about that; I'll see to it myself," Carol promises. "Did you see me?" Lucy asked. The thing is, Carol always sees her; Lucy kind of makes it impossible not to see her. But Carol should have paid more attention.
"It's not your fault, Cap," Peter tells her. "Lucy's always been hardheaded; she never gave up on me."
Carol shakes her head. "She deserved to be reprimanded, but I should have gone about it differently - "
"There was no other way to answer such defiance," T'Challa contends, clapping a hand on Carol's shoulder. "You could not have known she'd attempt something so foolish."
"No, but I can make sure it doesn't happen again." Carol doesn't have a problem with Lucy's stubbornness; sometimes stubborn is what you need. The woman just has to learn to use it with discretion. Carol expects a few skirmishes along the way, but after today, she's pretty sure the team will back her. She confirms with Peter. "You have any objections?"
"To you clipping Lucy's wings?" He frowns, shaking his brunette head. "No. We committed ourselves to the Initiative, and she messed up. She needs to deal with the consequences." His eyes narrow on Carol. "But you do anything to hurt her, really hurt her," he warns, "and you'll answer to me."
"Yes, sir." Carol expects no less.
"Someone's going to have to debrief Coulson," Scott reminds them, folding his arms as they move on to the trickier side of the equation. A silence falls over the team; none of them want to give the report that's going to result in formal disciplinary action for Lucy, or even dismissal from the Avengers Initiative, depending on Coulson's mood of the hour.
"What do we tell him?" Strange finally asks. But Carol's loyalty to S.H.I.E.L.D. has always bowed before the loyalty to her teammates, anyway.
"The truth," she replies, her gaze circling the room. "Lucy went ahead for recon, we followed. Both the enemy and their munitions were destroyed – everyone on the same page?"
"That's the way I remember it," Scott says, raising his brows at the others, who quickly nod their agreement.
"Good," Carol says, smiling briefly. "Then I'd better go get ready."
"Cap?" Peter asks.
"Yeah?"
"If it's okay with you, I'd like to be the one to report to Coulson," he says. "Whatever you're planning with Lucy, I shouldn't be here for it. Besides," he adds, a hint of amusement entering his voice, "Deception's really more my thing than yours."
Carol considers. He has a point. "Go ahead," she replies at last, glancing up at the ceiling. "Z.O.R.A., can you have them ready the Quinjet?"
# # #
The first thing Lucy notices is that her right arm is tangled in something. She cracks open an eye, recognizes the sling. There's a dull ache at the back of her skull, and a little more pain coming from her bicep, but all in all it's not bad. She goes ahead and opens her eyes, impressed by her own resilience. "I'm alive."
"And observant," Strange remarks, setting down a notebook he's holding and approaching the narrow bed.
"I'm a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent," Lucy boasts, her left hand feeling for a control to raise the bed. Strange beats her to it, punching a button that finally sets the bed in motion.
"A damn lucky one, too," Strange says, as Lucy is slowly eased into a sitting position. "You lost a lot of blood."
"Superficial graze," Lucy tells him, glancing around the small room for any sign of brown hair.
"It'll heal, the abrasions, too. If you follow my instructions," Banner adds, his gaze following Lucy's with curiosity. Then, "Looking for Peter?" he asks.
What? Lucy scowls. "No."
Strange smirks. "Because if you were looking for Peter, I'd tell you he's debriefing Coulson. Left a note for you, though," he says, holding it out to Lucy. Lucy reaches for it, surprised when Strange waves it playfully from reach. Lucy glares, and Strange chuckles. He offers the note again, this time allowing Lucy to snatch it from him.
Lucy spreads the folded paper open with her left hand, eyes scanning Spiderman's scrawl. She tries not to wince at the blunt message. Apparently her web isn't going to see his feather for a very long time.
"Everything okay?" Strange asks, crooking an eyebrow.
Lucy forces a grin before crumpling the paper in her fist and tossing it toward a nearby trash. "He says I'm a princess among women." Strange shakes his head in disbelief. "Why am I here?"
"Because you were dumb enough to believe flying solo was a good idea?" Strange suggests sarcastically.
"No," like drawls. "I mean here in Medical. Why didn't the Captain call S.H.I.E.L.D. to take me out of there?"
Strange huffs, a soft sound of exasperation. "You really don't get it, do you?"
"That's why I asked," Lucy tells him, her own patience wearing thin. No, she's not a king, a god or even a hero; she's just a girl in a suit. Anything outside of that is pretty much a crap shoot.
Strange sighs. "Captain's going to want to talk to you."
"Too bad," Lucy mutters. "No offense, doc, but I don't need another lecture on how there's no 'I' in team."
Strange holds up his hands. "Entirely up to you," he says. He studies Lucy for a moment, his scientist's eyes too perceptive for Lucy's liking. "She sat with you on the Quinjet; you seemed to find her comforting."
Lucy swings her legs over the side of the bed. "As interesting as that is?" she snarks, ignoring the sudden head rush as she gets to her feet, "I think I'm going to be on my way. Where are my clothes?" she asks, fingers fumbling with the sling as she looks for something more to wear than the thin hospital dress she's got on.
"Ah, ah, ah!" Strange tuts, and actually has the balls to smack her hand away. "The sling stays on, doctor's orders. And you really should be resting."
"I can rest when I'm dead," Lucy retorts, stepping around him and pushing through the double doors with every intention of finding some clothes and some privacy, preferably in that order. Unfortunately, the lounge is already occupied. Danvers, Scott, and T'Challa cut short whatever conversation they're having to stare at her in surprise.
"I'm not sure that's our best solution," Strange contends, apparently still on Lucy's heels. "Our patient's a little impatient," he explains to Danvers.
Oddly, the Captain doesn't seem annoyed by Lucy's appearance. "How are you feeling?" Danvers asks, forehead furrowed in what almost appears concern. It doesn't make Lucy nervous, exactly – Lucy never gets nervous – but the focused attention is unsettling in ways she doesn't like to think about.
"I'm fine," Lucy replies cautiously, not entirely certain what tactic the older woman is using now.
"Good," Danvers says, her expression relaxing just a bit.
There's an awkward pause. "Thanks for the ride," Lucy offers, because contrary to popular opinion, she does have some manners. "If I can just get my clothes, I'll get out of your way."
"Not before we talk."
And here it comes. "What do want me to say, Captain?" Lucy wants to know. "That I'm sorry I took that shot, or brought down that hovercraft? Because I'm not," she tells the soldier. "And if you have a problem with that, then you're right, and I don't belong here."
Danvers' brows draw together. "I never said you don't belong here," she replies calmly. "I said you were an asset."
"I shoot darts, and I'm damn proud of it," Lucy snaps. "I'm not some kid you have to humor."
"No, you're a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in desperate need of a spanking," Danvers retorts.
A rush of heat floods Lucy's face; she vaguely registers Scott's raised brows. "Why, Captain, I'm impressed. And here I thought you were so vanilla.
T'Challa frowns. "How does Carol Danvers possess this flavor?"
"Later," Strange assures him, monitoring the situation with a wary eye. But he doesn't have to worry; Lucy has this. She's not about to be intimidated by some overgrown jarhead who thinks she's her mother.
"I don't work for you," Lucy reminds Danvers . "You're not my boss."
"Apart from the fact that I'm your commanding officer, you want me to be," the Captain claims, folding her arms and pinning Lucy with a level gaze.
Huh? Lucy stares at the woman for a moment. Danvers is serious. Lucy shakes her head, offers a short huff of derision. "I didn't realize my ego was contagious."
Danvers drops her arms, stepping into Lucy's personal space. "You want me in control; you want this team – and you've gotten so used to not wanting things that it pisses you off," she tells Lucy. "Well, too bad. You want my trust, my approval?" Danvers demands. "Have the courage to stick around and earn it."
"Fuck you, Captain." Lucy manages to make the last word an insult. Danvers' eyes flash with frustration, and from somewhere to her right, Lucy hears Scott sigh.
"Okay," Strange intervenes in the very conciliatory manner he has when he's not impersonating a spce wizard, "Let's just -" The doctor stops short as Danvers' hand grips the back of Lucy's neck and steers her toward the sofa.
"Get off!" Lucy snarls, attempting to jerk from Danvers' grasp, only the Kree soldier's hold is unshakeable, damn it.
"I'm not sure this is the physical therapy doc had in mind," Scott remarks casually, as Danvers starts to lower them to the couch, and just fuck no. Lucy balks and twists, but she's got one good arm and no superhuman strength, and she finds himself wrestled over Danvers' lap, the woman's muscled arm a heavy band snaring her waist. Unwilling to concede defeat, Lucy grits her teeth and keeps struggling, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out over her skin.
Blood loss and exertion don't exactly go together, and Lucy feels herself tiring. She might not be able to fight the prick – who throws a punch at Captain-fucking-Marvel, anyway? – but she tries every evasive maneuver picked up at S.H.I.E.L.D. Even with the sling, her efforts would have already overcome any ordinary captor, but Danvers isn't ordinary; not anymore. The Captain's simply holding her, like a tantrumming child restrained by a longsuffering parent.
"Enough; you're going to hurt yourself," Danvers warns, managing to sound worried, as if this humiliation isn't just what she's been hoping for.
"Better me than you," Lucy snaps.
"Better me than you."
Carol frowns. Does Lucy really think Carol is going to harm her? The girl reminds her of the feral kittens Carol used to find in the Brooklyn alleyways, the ones that glared at her for weeks until finally succumbing to her coaxing voice and soothing hands. Carol eventually found homes for them with friends and shopkeepers, and if they remained a little aloof, they still had a taste of human kindness, somewhere warm to sleep. Some of them she never could tame, though, and those either starved or froze to death, their emaciated carcasses eventually devoured by rats. Lucy is panting heavily now, and Carol decides she's allowed enough.
"Hold her, Scott. I don't want her tearing stitches."
Scott glances at Wanda, who shrugs. "Might help."
"Might help."
Lucy tries to ignore the flash of betrayal at the exchange. Of course Lang and Wanda are with the Captain. Lucy is the odd woman out here; always has been.
"This is American custom?" T'Challa inquires dubiously, as Scott approaches and sits to Lucy's left. Lucy shoves at him with her good arm, but then Danvers is lifting her, and Scott slides in under her chest anyway.
"No," Lucy snarls, pausing in her struggles to glance up at the king. "This is Danvers and Lang being asshol- shit!" Lucy complains, as an open handed slap scorches the seat of his pants. She glowers over her shoulder at Danvers, only to have Lang push her back against their laps.
"Watch your mouth," Danvers scolds mildly, like she's not even pissed, the bastard.
Lucy flushes again, the fingers of her free hand curling tightly into the sofa cushion. "Am I supposed to beg for mercy now?" she taunts, but the words come out hoarser than she'd like.
"Carol Danvers has promised you shall come to no lasting harm," T'Challa vows.
"That's not what this is about," Danvers tells her.
"Then would you mind getting on with it?" Lucy's no stranger to torture, no stranger to any kind of cruel or unusual punishment the alien soldier might dish out. She sucks in a breath and grits her teeth, eyes screwing shut when the sick fuck tugs the hospital dress up. The first smack to her ass takes her by surprise; then the second and the third. By the time Lucy registers that this is actually the end-game, Danvers has already fallen into rhythm, her arm swinging in careful, measured cadence.
"Is this supposed to be a joke?" Lucy growls, stiffening in their grasp. Because yeah, the Captain's hand is hard and the blows smart, but it's hardly the level of retaliation she's accustomed to. Even as a girl, she knew how to take a beating, could take it without a sound, her body curled to protect her most vulnerable parts.
"Is this supposed to be a joke?"
And Carol thinks that idea might be more injurious to Lucy than any physical consequence she can muster.
"Am I laughing?" Carol asks. Beneath her, Lucy lies tense as her stretched bowstring and twice as dangerous, and Carol knows she has to get this right the first time.
"In the kid's defense, you're not exactly Mr. Chuckles," Scott has to point out.
Carol sighs. "It's not a joke," she says, continuing to brighten Lucy's backside. The sharp crack of palm against skin bounces between the lounge walls for several minutes, the sound causing both T'Challa and Wanda to shift uncomfortably on their feet. Lucy isn't fighting the reprimand, but she isn't showing any signs of accepting it, either. If anything, Lucy seems confused by the proceedings, and Carol wonders how lacking the girl's childhood really was. Frowning, Carol eases up on the strength of her spanks before addressing her errant team member. "Are you listening?"
"Are you listening?"
Lucy's jaw tightens. Her ass is burning like a four alarm blaze, and now she's supposed to invite Danvers' ridicule?
"We have all night," the woman reminds her.
"She has all night," Scott's voice drawls. "I'd rather be doing something else."
The Captain ignores him. "Lucy?" Danvers says. "I asked you a question."
"Of course, I'm listening," Lucy fires back, trying to ignore that the bastard is still doling out her ridiculous vengeance. "Is there anything else to do?"
"You're one of the bravest soldiers I've ever seen."
Lucy blinks. Who is she - What?
"I've never known anyone that has your skill or accuracy with a blaster," Danvers avers.
Lucy swallows around the sudden tightness of her throat. "Shut up," she rasps, closing her eyes against the praise and trying to focus on the heat lighting up her backside. "Just - "
"You're smart, agile, and despite your antisocial tendencies, you care about people, and think they're worth saving."
"You fucking asshole," Lucy chokes, struggling for leverage with her free elbow only to be flattened again by Scott. And if the next few smacks are that much harder, it's worth it.
"But so are you," Danvers states firmly. "And as long as you're part of this team, you'll defend yourself as vigilantly as you do others, or this is where we're going to be. Every time."
It's a goddamn promise, Lucy realizes. Even as a kid with her grandmother and Fury, she knew enough about Captain Marvel to know that she always keeps her promises. But Danvers has it wrong; Lucy's not that scared kid anymore, counts on herself. That's safe, that's what works - why can't that be enough? "When are you going to – I don't need you," Lucy grinds out, ignoring the sudden prickling of her eyes. "Don't you get it?"
"Maybe we need you," Danvers says gently.
Lucy shakes her head, blinking fiercely against her blurring vision. "Don't kid yourself."
"You presume to know our feelings on this?" T'Challa asks, and Lucy doesn't need to see him to sense his disapproval.
"You think I'm reckless, a liability," Lucy repeats, the words bitter on her tongue. "You don't want me on your team."
"You don't want me on your team."
Carol blinks at the unexpected claim, allowing her now aching hand to drop to Lucy's thigh.
"I'm reckless," Scott insists. "You're just annoying."
"Scott," Carol hears Strange say, with his usual forbearance. "Shut up."
"Tough crowd," Scott mutters.
"I never said I didn't want you on this team," Carol maintains, and why does she suddenly feel like every jerk who ever picked her last for kickball?
"Didn't have to," Lucy says, releasing the couch to rub her knuckles across damp eyes. "Everything I do pisses you off."
What? Carol frowns. "I'm not pissed," she says, her cheeks warming slightly, and why do people have to say everything these days? "I, well - "
"This is a safe place, friend," T'Challa encourages, apparently embracing the opportunity for team sharing.
"Oh, for crying out loud," Scott gripes. "Do I have to do everything? She was worried, birdy. In case you didn't notice, you were nearly crushed by an eight-ton hovercraft. And that was before you decided to go all Rambo on the rest of the bad guys."
"We were all worried," Wanda puts in.
"You were – I'm a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent," Lucy repeats numbly, as if they hadn't caught it the first hundred times. "A trained assassin." She blinks again. "A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent."
"Are you sure she doesn't have a concussion?" Scott asks Strange.
"I won't risk members of this team unnecessarily," Carol says sternly. She means it, too. She fights every bit as much for the person beside her as she does for her country; maybe a little more.
"Yeah, because you like me so much," Lucy drawls sarcastically, then stills. The silence is long enough for Carol to wonder if the girl's about to pass out. Then it comes, careful and more than a little suspicious. "You're saying you like me."
Carol rolls her eyes. "I'm saying I like you," she agrees, pleased when some of the tension seems to drain from Lucy's limbs.
"As do I," T'Challa vows.
"Me, too," Wanda admits, grinning at the unexpected turn of events.
"Well, you know I don't like you," Strange quips, leaning back on the sofa. "Or you," he informs Carol. "Any of you, really. So are we just going to sit around and do each other's hair, or can we finally get back to me cleaning you guys out?"
Carol wonders why they play poker at all, when Lucy just finds ways of returning all their money. With interest. "You guys go ahead," she tells them, lifting Lucy just enough for Scott to slide out. "We'll be there in a few."
"Fine, but if Lucy's still not wearing pants, I'm not either." Before Carol can respond, Scott strolls from the room, lips pursed in a carefree whistle. Strange, Wanda and T'Challa follow in short order, and from somewhere down the hall, Carol can just make out T'Challa's puzzled inquiry.
"Who is this Mr. Chuckles?"
Carol shakes her head, a small smile curving her mouth. She turns her attention back to Lucy , giving the younger woman's nape a comforting squeeze. "You okay?" Carol asks. The girls feels like dead weight over her thighs, and Carol knows the events of the day are finally catching up with her.
"You okay?"
"Peachy," Lucy tells him. "Ahh, Captain?"
"Carol ."
"Yeah, sure," Lucy says. "Carol. Are we done here?" Because lying bare-assed over her team leader's lap is getting more than a little awkward.
"You going to be part of the team?"
"As much as I can."
"Then we're done here," Danvers confirms, reaching to draw up Lucy's pants before helping her to her feet. Lucy's surprised at how tired she is; the pain in her bicep is manageable but persistent, and she has a feeling sitting won't be comfortable for a while, either. The room sways slightly, like the bow of a ship, and Danvers reaches to steady her.
"I got it," Lucy says, just before Danvers wraps an arm around her waist.
"Don't be an idiot."
Lucy sighs. "You're not gonna let up, are you?"
Danvers smiles. "Nope." She guides them slowly into the corridor, taking pains not to jostle Lucy's injured arm. "It's kind of my thing."
Yeah, no kidding. But this time, Lucy finds she doesn't really mind. At least the woman's on their side, and besides, Lucy has bigger problems at the moment.
"So… Peter ," Lucy begins.
"What about him?"
Lucy slants the older woman an uneasy glance. "Just how mad was he?"
Danvers considers. "Know how Strange is when someone messes with the medic equipment?"
"Yeah?"
"Little madder than that."
"Oh," Lucy says, and Danvers chuckles.
"Apologize and take him some chocolates."
Lucy frowns, imagining what kind of damage Peter might be able to inflict with a simple box. "You really think that will work?"
"Why not?" Danvers shrugs. "Men can't have changed that much."
Lucy glances at Danvers again, and nope, the woman is perfectly serious. Lucy's mouth twists into a smile. She'd better stick around; at least for a little while.
Carol might need her after all.