Lucy doesn't know how it happens, exactly. She's wiping up from a last round of speed drills, rubbing the training room towel over her arms and the back of her neck, when T'Challa frowns in her direction.
"Lucy; you have injured yourself," the king says, slinging his own towel around his neck.
Lucy blinks. "What?" Her muscles are singing with that familiar burn, but she certainly isn't injured. In fact, this is the best Lucy's felt in weeks. Being shot and nearly blown up she considers a professional liability; even a probability. The pain's been negligible, but the boredom's been excruciating.
T'Challa looks like he wants to roll his eyes. "Your arm," he says, gesturing in that direction.
Her – oh. "Shit," Lucy says, craning her neck to get a look at the back of her right bicep. Sure enough, red seeps slowly through the bandage, and Lucy doesn't have to unwrap it to know she's split her stitches.
"The Captain won't be pleased," T'Challa observes; rather unhelpfully, Lucy thinks.
"Aren't you supposed to be taking it easy?" Scott asks, slanting her a knowing look as he throws his own towel down an automated chute to who the fuck knows.
Lucy glances up from her arm. "Hey, this is me taking it easy," she returns, although she doubts Carol will think much of that excuse. Apparently, the Kree outlook is a lot more black and white.
"Yeah, well, take it any easier and I won't be the only one wearing a cast constantly," Scott warns, then smirks. "Or maybe she'll just put you in a really giant bubble."
Lucy gives him the finger.
T'Challa chuckles, reaching for a bottle of water from the dispenser. "You should not feel embarrassed, Lucy; the Captain honors you with her friendship," he says, twisting the cap from the bottle with his usual delight in all things American. "Though I don't doubt she'll have much to say of your carelessness."
"Who's going to tell her?" Certainly not Lucy. After some initial conflict and insubordination, she and Carol have slipped into a sort of awkward truce. Carol scolds, and worries and sighs, and Lucy tries to be respectful. Because Carol's also quick with a "good work" and a clap on the back, and well, because Carol is nice.
"Ahh, Strange? T'Challa? Me?" Scott ventures. "The handsome spider I'm pretty sure could kick any of our asses?"
"That was a rhetorical question," Lucy mutters. But Scott's right; Strange will feel obligated, and T'Challa can't lie. Scott can, but won't bother. And Peter – well, Peter has his own ways of dealing with things, and all of them scary. No, Carol will find out about this one way or another; Lucy might as well take her medicine and get it over with. Her lack of excitement must show, because Scott slings an affable arm around her shoulders.
"Oh, come on, I'll walk you over to Medical," Scott offers. "I'll even hold your hand when Strange sprays the antiseptic."
Lucy eyes him sourly, damp towel crumpled in her fist. "You just want to see if there's going to be trouble, don't you?"
"Little bit," Scott admits.
As it turns out, Carol is already in the lab with Strange, discussing the hypothetical side effects of Sling B Gone, a sort of temporary remedy for those times it's really inconvenient for portals to appear, like on the Helicarrier, or Costco on a Saturday.
"We don't know what else it might do," Carol is saying, spreading her hands in a familiar appeal to reason. In her civvies, she's just a clean-cut gal from Brooklyn, with a creased bomber jacket you'd think she bought that way and the earnest conviction of a Cub Scout. It really should be annoying.
"Does it matter what else it does?" Strange fires back, but without the heat that would bring on an episode. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "We're talking about something that might save lives – your lives, even -"
Carol shakes her head, brows drawn together. "You don't know that."
Finding Carol's protective instincts already engaged seems like a sign; one that flashes EXIT in large, fluorescent letters. Lucy spins on her heel, fully intending to retreat when Scott's fingers catch her by the wrist.
"Hey, birdy with a broken wing here," the comic announces brightly, causing Carol and Strange to look up in surprise.
"I will hurt you," Lucy swears under her breath, causing Scott to chuckle.
"What happened?" Strange wants to know, immediately approaching Lucy's side and carefully turning her arm for appraisal. Scott steps back and gives them some space, obviously intending to enjoy his handiwork from a distance.
"Not sure; must have busted some stitches during training," Lucy says, shrugging within the doctor's grip.
"I thought you were going to take it easy?" Carol asks, appearing confused as she moves closer to assess the situation.
"I did," Lucy says, and there's a faint arch of the woman's eyebrows. "You know, for me," she adds lamely, and maybe Lucy is off her game. Just a little.
"Well, I'm afraid this is going to be unpleasant – 'for you,' " Strange says, his nimble fingers already unwinding the bandage. He prods experimentally at the damaged flesh.
"Ow," Lucy complains, glaring at the doctor. Strange doesn't even blink.
"Stand still," Carol tells her, watching Strange's examination with some concern, and Lucy decides discretion is the better part of valor here. The team leader has made it pretty clear it doesn't matter that Lucy's perfectly capable of sewing up and treating her own wounds, that she's done so since age eleven. No, as long as Lucy's an Avenger, she's on the medical plan, without option to decline. Lucy thinks she should have negotiated her contract better.
"You might even get a lollipop," Scott puts in, now leaning comfortably against the lab counter.
"I'll be the judge of that," Strange reminds him, peering curiously at the injury. "Exactly what kind of exercises were you doing?"
"Few speed drills, maybe a shot or two," Lucy admits. Disapproving silence follows.
"You know it's too soon for that kind of exertion," Strange says after a moment, glancing up from beneath his dark, rumpled hair. "Do I need to put you back in the sling?
Carol folds her arms, and Lucy bites back the sharp retort she's about to release. "That won't be necessary," she assures Strange tightly.
Scott cocks a brow. "Have you ever considered a really giant bubble?"
"Scott?" Strange asks.
"Yeah."
"Get out of here and quit agitating my patient. And you," he adds to a suddenly smug Lucy, "have a seat in Medical. We have some work to do."
Carol waits with Lucy as she sits in Medical; either because hse has nothing better to do, or because she's afraid Lucy won't stay of her own volition. Maybe a little of both. At any rate, her steady pacing and staring is starting to wear on Lucy's nerves.
"Guess it might have been a little early for shooting," she confides, a little sheepishly.
"You don't say."
But Carol doesn't sound pissed, exactly. Lucy takes that as an encouraging sign. "C'mon, Cap; you can't expect me to just sit around while you guys have all the fun."
"Better than not sitting at all," Carol replies sternly, her expression softening slightly when Lucy flushes with color. Lucy doesn't like to think about that particular disagreement, or how strained things were between her and Cap just weeks before. And she's pretty sure Carol knows it. "Look, I know how hard it is to sit out a fight you believe in," Carol promises, "but sometimes you have to look beyond the battle and focus on the war. This isn't something you can just ignore," the blonde maintains, blue eyes seeking Lucy's. "If you don't start following Strange's instructions, that muscle might never be the same. And I need to know you have our backs."
Lucy frowns. "You know I do." Damn straight she does. Why else would she be up in the rafters?
For some reason, Carol actually smiles. "Then give us all a break, and mind the doc," she says, bumping Lucy's good arm gently with her shoulder.
"Yeah, okay," Lucy agrees, unable to resist the good-natured request. But she guesses she doesn't sound all that enthusiastic, because Carol's giving her that look again.
"Promise?" the woman persists.
"You want a pinky swear? Yeah, I promise," Lucy says quickly, when the team leader's eyes narrow.
Carol nods her approval. "Good," she says. "I have some reading I need to get back to, but I'll check in with you later." Strange is returning with an armful of supplies, and Carol jerks a thumb at Lucy as she makes his way to the doors. "All yours, Doc," she tells the tall doctor.
"Just like I've always dreamed," Strange replies, setting up his loot on the counter. But he tosses Lucy a Blow-Pop, which Lucy catches on reflex. Cherry. Not bad.
"Oh, and Lucy," Carol says, lingering in the open double doors to the lounge.
"Yeah." What's it going to take to convince her Lucy's going to be a good little soldier?
"Saw some of the target analysis you put together for Coulson on the remaining Chitauri; nice work," Carol says with a slow grin, slapping the glass with her palm once for emphasis before disappearing.
Lucy doesn't realize she's smiling until she notices the smirk on Strange's face. "What?" she asks, and Strange shakes his head. "I'm awesome. Ow!" she gripes again, as the doctor injects her near the wound site.
Strange gives her arm a brief pat of sympathy before reaching for the sutures. "Shut up and have your lollipop."
"You're looking awfully pleased with yourself," Peter remarks, just moments after sliding from Lucy's hips. He's propped up on one elbow, all bare limbs and impassive features, but there's a glimmer to his eyes that Lucy recognizes as amusement.
Lucy smiles lazily. "I was pretty fantastic for a girl who just laid there."
Peter snorts. "If you call some dirty talk and five minutes of foreplay fantastic."
"I think we both know the answer to that," Lucy replies, raising her brows when the spider suddenly leans over her, snatching a Rubik's Cube from Lucy's nightstand.
"What are you doing with this?" Peter asks, dropping back to Lucy's side and studying the puzzle with a suspicious eye. He rotates one of the axes, then another, scowling when the colors refuse to line up.
"Dug it out of some old stuff; thought Cap might get a kick out of it," Lucy tells him, her calloused fingers threading absently through his hair.
Peter huffs softly and sets the cube aside. "It'll drive her crazy."
Lucy's smile broadens. "That, too." Lucy's doing the woman a favor, after all; the soldier can't be serious and somber all the time; sooner or later the woman's sense of humor will thaw with the rest of her.
"You like her, don't you?"
What? The candid question has Lucy's brow furrowing. "She's okay. What?" she has to ask. "Are we in high school now? Should we call her on the phone?" Lucy teases, making to roll toward her cell, but Peter puts a stop to it, shoving her back beneath his naked body with an ease that could threaten Lucy's submission if it weren't so hot.
"I didn't realize you knew so much about American high school," he says, making Lucy's arm his pillow and daring her with arched brow to protest. She doesn't. He has Lucy exactly where Lucy wants him; she's hardly going to complain.
"T'Challa watches a lot of CW."
His mouth curves the slightest bit before he rolls to his back, turning his attention to the ceiling. They lie in companionable silence for a while, in that hazy space between wakefulness and sleep. Real sleep doesn't come easily to either of them, so Lucy isn't surprised when Peter eventually speaks again, his voice soft as shadow. Lucy strains to hear him. "It's strange here, isn't it?" His forehead wrinkles. "Like having a family again."
Lucy shrugs at the unexpected confidence. "Wouldn't know." The team isn't like any family she's ever had. Maybe her S.H.I.E.L.D. team. Lucy's not even sure he knows what real family is, outside Peter.
The brunet slants her a knowing look. "Wouldn't hurt you to find out."
Lucy sighs. "Are we talking or sleeping?"
"Sleeping," Peter promises. Then, "You obviously share a connection with these people," he explains, ignoring Lucy's groan as she pulls her pillow over her face. "You should explore that."
"I'd like to explore a good night's sleep," she tells him, wondering when she acquired a web-slinging arachnid as her therapist. She's about to ask as much when her cell phone vibrates against the floating night table. On top of Lucy's dresser, Peter's phone buzzes as well. Lucy tosses off the pillow and grapples for the phone, frowning as she scans the text.
"What is it?" Peter asks, sitting up again in all his threadless glory. Lucy curses the timing of supervillains everywhere and reaches for her pants.
"We've got a mission."
"Per Agent Rutherford's report, the Chitauri are holed up here, in the basement levels of the old Bank of America building," Coulson is saying, as Carol and the rest of the Avengers study the holographic display rotating from the center of the conference table. Outside the conference room, the Helicarrier bustles with activity, the impending mission creating an almost tangible anticipation. Strangely enough, Carol feels more comfortable on-board SHIELD's mobile headquarters than she does on the streets of today's New York City. Despite the advanced technology, SHIELD is military, and military? Carol gets.
"The building's been vacant for a year due to contract disputes," Lucy says. "They've been lying low, but Strange was able to help us track them by their energy emissions."
Strange's mouth twists ruefully. "It's actually a little more complicated than that - "
Fury's good eye levels on the scientist with barely contained annoyance. "Is anyone going to understand the more complicated explanation?"
"Oh! I am," Lucy says, raising her hand with a smirk.
Fury sighs. "Besides Rutherford?"
"Has anyone been able to determine why these Chitauri failed to perish with the others?" T'Challa asks, and Carol throws him a grateful glance for keeping them on track.
"Yeah, because I seem to remember shoving a nuclear warhead up their collective asses," Scott gripes.
"It's possible these remaining Chitauri are drones, and didn't share the neural link with the mother ship," Coulson surmises. "We intended to go after them once we had sufficient Intel, but the situation has become urgent."
Yeah, that doesn't set off any alarms. Carol's eyes narrow. "How urgent?" she wants to know.
"The energy emissions began spiking two hours ago," Fury admits.
"Do we know what's causing the spikes?" Peter asks.
"Not yet," Strange replies, his face reflecting the grave concern of his teammates'.
"We're not waiting to find out," Carol tells them, glancing at Fury and daring him to disagree. The last thing they need is the Chitauri calling home for a ride. Thankfully, the Director doesn't contradict him. "What about the civilians, Lucy?"
Lucy folds her arms. "It's a commercial area with a few scattered residents," she replies. "We're going to need to set up a perimeter and evacuate." Carol glances toward the doors, and Lucy turns to see Agent Hill enter. She reminds her a little of her grandmother, with her crisp, no-nonsense demeanor.
"Agent Hill?" Fury asks.
"We're approaching target, sir."
Carol manages to catch Lucy while the rest of them are filing out of the room. "Rutherford." Carol clasps the younger woman's shoulder, holding her back while the team disperses.
Lucy glances up at her, his brows drawing together in expectation. "Cap?" Her face is absent of any resentment, and Carol releases a soft huff of relief. She'd expected more resistance when she'd told Lucy she'd be working the mission from the command center, but since their discussion in Medical, she's been unusually cooperative.
"We'll see you topside when it's over," Carol promises, knowing that the bird probably won't breathe easy until the team's returned. "Your research should make this an easy-in, easy-out."
"It's never an easy-in, easy-out," Lucy informs her darkly. Then, "I don't like it. You do know my aim with firearms isn't exactly bad, right?"
"I do," Carol assures her, feeling a little guilty about leaving Lucy behind, even if it is part of the strategic plan. She remembers seeing her friends walk away that first time, off to a war Carol seemed destined to never become a part of. How helpless she felt. But Lucy's a force to be reckoned with, even without a functioning arm, and Carol knows the girl won't hesitate to reinjure her arm if it aids the mission's objectives. "We need your eyes and ears here in the air," Carol says, then quirks a grin. "Just think of it as doing your job from a little higher than usual."
"Call it, Cap." Lucy folds her arms at Scott's familiar request coming over the comms, slowly pacing the command center so that she can keep an eye on SHEILD's monitoring systems along with the other agents. Fury, Coulson and Hill stayed on the bridge; plausible deniability, Lucy guesses, but that's just fine with her. SHe doesn't need Fury up her ass right now. Or ever, for that matter.
"Peter will flush them out. T'Challa and I will be there to meet them," Carol says in her Captain Marvel voice, the one Lucy finds always inspires confidence. "Ant Man, Strange; we need a five block perimeter. If you can't take it down, turn it around."
And everything goes according to plan, right up until they realize the Chitauri have more functioning skimmers than predicted, and the battle in the air begins to rival the one on the ground. Carol's clearing the area while Peter and T'Challa contain the situation on the street, and Hulk's swatting skimmers down like flies, so Lucy focuses her attention on Scott.
"Remember, they can't corner for shit, Lang," Lucy advises, watching Ant Man's maneuvers on radar and trying to ignore her growing frustration. She should be down there with her team; they need her and since when does Lucy follow orders, anyway? "Turn sharp and let 'em fly. Where are you, Captain?"
"Half block west of the mark. We've got some civilians here; we're evacuating now," Carol reports above the surrounding mayhem. Some kid is crying in the background, and then there's the distinctly quavering voice of a little old lady.
"But what about Mr. Snickerbuttons? I can't just leave him here!"
"Cap, are you clear?" Scott checks loudly, and Lucy can see him approaching their target location with three skimmers in hot pursuit. His lips press into a tight line as he watches the red blips move across one of the monitors.
"Negative. Gonna be just a minute, Ant Man."
"Do not go back for Mr. Snickerbuttons, Danvers," Scott warns, sounding more than a little annoyed. "Are you listening to me? I will kick your Kree ass. Do not - " Scott sighs. "He went back for Mr. Snickerbuttons."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Lucy mutters, briefly covering her mic. Then, "Captain, get out of there." Lucy's calculating the speed, angles, and potential trajectories, and she's got an antsy feeling things are about to go sideways.
"Got it," Carol says triumphantly. "On my way."
"Hurry up, Cap, we're almost at your door – shit!" Scott exclaims, and Lucy hears the repeat of skimmer fire on armor, and Scott's blip takes a sudden dive to the right. The skimmers follow and there's a sudden roar in the comms, the blips abruptly disappearing. The command center goes eerily silent.
"Scott; sit rep," Lucy requests quietly.
"I'm okay, but the building's down."
"And the Captain? Did anyone have an eye on the Captain?" Lucy asks.
"She didn't come out," Peter says, then grunts as the familiar sound of boot crushing windpipe comes over the comms.
Lucy ignores the weight of other eyes on his skin. "Captain? Come in, Captain." Lucy makes it an order, because Carol is supposed to follow orders, and Carol always does what she's supposed to when it's reasonable.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Scott wants to know.
"I'm seeking the Captain now," T'Challa says, and Lucy hears the king begin tearing through the wreckage.
Lucy glances at the monitors again. "Radar says the air is clear; can you confirm?" she requests.
"Wanda just took down the last two," Scott says.
"All down here, too," Peter reports grimly.
"T'Challa?" Lucy asks.
"I've not found him," T'Challa replies, and Lucy briefly closes her eyes. It's like Coulson all over again, only not, because this time Lucy hasn't been shipped off to a boarding school across the Atlantic, cut off from everything in New York. She rubs a hand over her face, eyes snapping open a moment later when static comes over the comms, followed by a now familiar voice.
"Captain Marvel reporting in," Carol's voice says sheepishly. "Sorry, lost my comms for a minute there."
The command center breaks into applause, and Lucy turns from the noise. "Copy that. We've got her, guys," she says, thankful the words emerge strong and steady.
"Hey, Cap," Scott says cheerfully. "Nice that you could join the party."
"We get invited to the worst parties ever," Peter grumbles, and Lucy releases a short bark of relieved laughter.
"The tiny beast owes you a great debt of gratitude," T'Challa adds.
"Is that a rat?" Scott asks.
"I think it's a Chihuahua," Carol tells him, sounding a little confused about it herself.
"Puny dog," Strange rumbles in the background, and Lucy smirks.
"Phoenix out; see you guys on deck."
The elevator doors are about to close when the other agent steps in – Claussen, if Lucy remembers correctly – Lucy doesn't spend a lot of time at the office at the moment.
"Not in this one, huh?" the guy says, as they wait for the doors to close again. He's standard issue as far as Lucy can tell, probably recruited from the military and hungry to 'get some.'
"Not today," Lucy agrees, wondering if the Quinjet's landed already.
"What? Suddenly you're not good enough for Captain Marvel?" Claussen asks, shaking his head. "Unbelievable. The woman's been gone for thirty years, and she thinks she can just come back and - "
"Twenty-five."
Claussen frowns in Lucy's direction. "What?"
"It was twenty-five years," Lucy tells him, as the elevator doors finally slide closed again.
Claussen scoffs. "Whatever; the girl still fights with her hands."
"You should shut up now," Lucy advises, because the guy doesn't know what he's talking about, and it's starting to piss her off.
"Hey, no one's blaming you; her fan club loves this shit. A real warrior hero," the guy carries on, apparently unable to take a hint. "You know they can't really confirm how many Skrulls she actually killed. All that flag-waving self-righteousness; it's all public relations spin."
Lucy punches the up button again, because an elevator on a goddamn Helicarrier should move faster.
"I mean, come on, Godliness and virtue; this is what's going to save us?" Claussen wants to know. "They should have left her in space where they found her."
Lucy's used to acting on reflex; it's kind of a necessity in her line of work, so when her fist swings on its own accord, Lucy's content to go with it. The tell-tale crack of bone beneath her knuckles and the blood spurting from Claussen's nose is pretty satisfying, too.
"Tell that to Mr. Snickerbuttons," Lucy drawls, shaking out her hand as the other agent groans and holds his face. There's a burn at the back of Lucy's bicep that tells Lucy she'll be getting more stitches, but she's pretty sure this was worth it. Behind her, the elevator finally dings and the doors slide open on the flight deck. Apparently the Quinjet has arrived. Lucy turns and aims a crooked grin at her disheveled teammates, ignoring their stunned expressions. "Hey, guys. Good to have you back."
The injuries turn out to be negligible, at least by their standards. A few scrapes and bruises, a sprained ankle, Lucy's arm. Lucy knows Carol's unhappy about that last one, but the woman follows a protocol even in her censure. There's the usual discussion on the Helicarrier before they agree none of them want to be poked at by SHIELD, and then the usual discussion back at the tower, where Peter laments his loss of web-fluid and Strange tries to minimize their damage. Then there's the discussion where Carol asks Lucy just what she was thinking, and Lucy makes the mistake of replying. That one comes sooner than Lucy would like.
"Two hours," Carol says grimly, and Lucy thinks she looks surprisingly flushed for someone just back from the dead. Again.
"Look, I know I - "
"Two hours, where all you had to do was coordinate from the air," Carol persists, hovering near the exam table where Strange is cutting away Lucy's bandages.
Lucy scowls, taking a sideways glance at the other table, where T'Challa is wrapping Peter's ankle with the same careful respect he affords his suit. Behind him, Wanda rubs arnica onto a blossoming bruise on her side. "Hey, I coordinated the shit out of this mission – ow," she exclaims sharply, eyes swiveling to Strange with accusation, because she just knows some skin ripped off there.
"Sorry," Strange says, without a hint of apology on his scraped-up face. Sadist.
"I am surprised you did not sprain it before now," T'Challa is telling Peter, eyeing his still-booted foot with consternation. "I don't understand how the kids of this country can fight upon such precarious foundations."
"I can show you," Peter offers magnanimously.
"No," reply several voices in unison, and Peter and the king share a grin.
"What happened?" Carol wants to know, undeterred by the familiar banter of their teammates.
Lucy shrugs, then kind of wishes she hadn't when the Captain's eyes narrow.
"Aren't there cameras everywhere these days? Scott, do you think you can - "
"Nothing happened," Lucy snaps, drawing a raised eyebrow from Peter. "Well, okay, something happened," she concedes, committing to only the minimalist explanation as Strange starts in with the needles. "The guy was running his mouth."
"Scott runs his mouth, and you ignore him," Carol contends.
"Scott's easier to ignore."
Scott frowns as he tugs his shirt down. "Thank you; I think," he says, and Lucy hears T'Challa chuckle.
"You're not invincible, you know; your muscle can't keep taking this kind of damage," Strange tells her, for what feels like the hundredth time.
"I know," Lucy says, as respectfully as she can manage. She doesn't do these things on purpose, after all. A reopened wound is just collateral damage.
"How's it looking?" Carol asks, and Strange shakes his head as he reaches for the tape and gauze.
"I've cleaned it up, put in some new stitches, but it's going to be a set back - she'll need massage to break down the scar tissue."
Carol heaves a sigh of resignation. "Carol," Lucy begins, and doesn't get a chance to finish.
"Can you take care of it?" Carol asks Strange, and Lucy guesses she's been escalated to a situation. Terrific.
"I've got this one," Strange assures her.
"I want to see you when he's done," Carol informs Lucy, confirming the conversation isn't over, just being postponed. "Don't let her disappear," she adds to Scott, a touch of humor returning to her voice.
Lucy frowns. "I don't disappear," she mutters in the Captain's wake. Although the idea does have its merits.
"You better not," Scott says, stepping around Strange and heading for the adjoining lounge. "Because if I have to pay someone to crawl the ductwork searching for your ass, you'll be back to firing those Nerf arrows from SHIELD. I'm having a drink – anyone else?"
"Very funny – ow!" Lucy complains, as Wanda's hand smacks the back of her head on the way out.
"Idiot." The single word is rife with disapproval. Lucy rubs at her head and stares after her, vaguely aware that Strange has finished and is now wrapping her injury. A large, warm hand comes to rest between her shoulders.
"You are a great fighter, Lucy Rutherford," T'Challa vows solemnly. "He was not a worthy opponent."
"Yeah, alright," Lucy says glumly, as the big guy follows Wanda into the lounge. Medical's strangely empty now, just her and Strange, who's now eyeing Lucy with something resembling pity.
"All done," Strange says, giving Lucy's forearm a light pat before turning and rustling in the counter drawer. "Here you go," he says finally, setting Lucy's usual cherry Blow-Pop beside her on the exam table.
It sits there long after Lucy is gone.
It takes Lucy a good minute or two to rap on the good Captain's door. Not that she can't take whatever lumps are coming her way, but it doesn't mean she's looking forward to it. She's still wary when Carol opens the door, damp blonde hair falling into her eyes. She's showered and changed into a tee and sweats, and Lucy suddenly wishes she'd taken the time to do the same.
"Hey," Lucy ventures, uncertain of her reception, but as usual, the woman surprises her.
"Hey; come on in," Carol says, offering Lucy a small but genuine smile as she opens the door wider in invitation. The Captain's rooms are as homey as Lucy and Peter's are Spartan, a study in a woman who prefers substance to style. Lucy paid remarkable attention to detail when designing all their spaces.
"What's all this?" Lucy asks, her gaze immediately drawn to the stacks of files piled onto the sturdy oak coffee table. It's less order and more mess than she's come to associate with the woman.
Carol shrugs, closing the door and padding back into the room on her athletic socks. "Just trying to catch up on things; I'm a little behind the times," she admits ruefully, and Lucy frowns.
"What's so great about the times, anyway?" Nothing that Lucy can see; the world's as fucked up as it's ever been, maybe more.
"Plenty, I'm sure," Carol says, gesturing for Lucy to take a seat. "Just haven't figured it all out yet."
"Must be surreal at times," Lucy says, taking perch in what she's come to think of as her favorite chair. The recliner is ugly as hell and soft as a nest, but right now it's the most uncomfortable chair Lucy thinks she's ever sat in, and that includes the one in Bulgaria where the guy tried to pull Lucy's teeth out.
Carol settles on the couch, leaning slightly forward with her forearms on her knees. "Having friends helps."
"I'm sorry," Lucy says, before she can stop himself.
Carol frowns. "Lucy - "
"Let me say it," Lucy snaps, and Carol looks a little surprised. But Lucy's not going to let the woman think she has to be shamed into saying it, because she doesn't. "I'm sorry if I made trouble for you - "
"I don't care about the trouble."
Lucy's brows lift fractionally. "You don't."
"If I cared about trouble, do you think I'd be working and living with Scott?" Carol asks, and Lucy chuffs softly, because, yeah, maybe not. "Well, okay, I care a little," Carol amends, "but we talked about this."
Lucy lets her eyes fall to the carpet, suddenly grateful for the subtle intricacies of Berber. "I know."
"About your arm," Carol clarifies.
"I know." How could Lucy not know? Apparently, Carol's wondering that himself.
"Was there a misunderstanding?" Carol asks, and Lucy curses the woman's unfailing sense of fairness. Because Lucy can say yes, after all; she's been trained to come up with the kind of lies that will literally save her hide. And if the lie is even remotely plausible, Carol will believe her, give Lucy the benefit of the doubt, because that's just the kind of person the Captain is.
Fuck.
"No," Lucy replies, glancing up to meet Carol's gaze. The regret there is unnerving. Lucy hasn't seen this look in years, not since the time her grandmother discovered the cigarette Lucy hadn't hidden well enough in her pocket. It's two times too many. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're disappointed."
"It was your decision, Lucy," Carol reminds her. "You knew what would happen."
Lucy flushes. Yeah, she knew. Son of a bitch.
"I don't like it any more than you do," Carol says quietly.
"Then let's forget it."
"I already promised." Great. Leave it to Captain Marvel to always keep her promises. Only this isn't Captain Marvel, it's Carol, and Lucy is suddenly pretty sure it always has been. Carol Danvers just isn't the kind of person who breaks her word.
Unlike you.
Lucy considers her options, which amount to exactly zero. Lucy may be a fuck-up, but she's always accepted the consequences of her actions, and she's not about to cry off what amounts to some kiddie reprimand.
"Fine," Lucy agrees tightly, standing and walking behind the sofa. "But we're doing it over the couch, and I think it's asinine."
Carol frowns again. "Which part?"
"All of it!"
"Okay," Carol says, rising with a faintly perplexed expression.
"And we're not hugging afterwards," Lucy warns, as the other woman approaches.
"Okaaay," Carol allows carefully, taking a seat on the back of the couch. Before Lucy can issue further mandates, she's taken by the forearm and bent over Carol's thigh. It's only the woman's arm circling her waist that keeps Lucy from planting face-first in the sofa cushion.
"This is not over the couch," Lucy grits, immediately stilling and resisting the urge to punch the upholstery.
"What do you mean?" Carol asks, sounding puzzled.
Lucy closes her eyes, feels himself flushing again. "Never mind." The last thing she wants to explain is that she didn't plan on spending the evening having her intimates pressed up against Carol's thigh, especially when Carol doesn't waste any time, just lights into the seat of Lucy's athletic pants like Lucy's some wayward teen. "You do realize they don't do this anymore, don't you?"
"I haven't made it to that file yet," Carol tells her.
"Well, read faster!" Lucy snaps, because yeah, this stings, in more ways than one.
The arm around her waist tightens, and Lucy tenses, but Carol just keeps on spanking with her typical, steadfast dedication. "You gave me your word, Lucy."
Shit. "I know; I – I lost my temper," Lucy confesses quickly. "It won't happen again." She means it, too; Lucy's been reamed out countless times for insubordination, but it's always been about protocol, never anything personal. But it's pretty damn hard to mistake what's happening now for anything but personal.
"I want to believe that," Carol says sincerely, just loud enough to be heard above the clap of her palm smacking Lucy's ass.
"You can – ow! Come on, man, I said I was sorry!" Lucy says, her hands balled into fists.
"And I forgive you," Carol assures her. "But your arm isn't going to if you keep this up."
"I was going to say the same to you!" Lucy fires back, and Carol chuckles.
"Wise-ass," she says fondly, but she keeps at it until Lucy's ass is blazing and her eyes are hot and wet. By the time Carol tugs her upright, Lucy's red-faced and just fucking spent, her hands still clenched at her sides. She's determined to look everywhere but at Carol, so she's not expecting the arm that wraps around her shoulders and squeezes gently.
Lucy stills. "We agreed no hugging," she growls after a moment.
"You said no hugging," Carol reminds her. "I didn't agree." But she lets go, once more bumping Lucy's shoulder with her own. "Come on, you okay?" Carol asks, and Lucy can hear the thread of concern woven into the words.
"No, I'm not okay," Lucy retorts, trying to uncurl her fingers. "You just beat my ass."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Lucy's eyes flash to Carol's in disbelief. "No!" And Lucy can't believe she's actually pouting about this, but can't exactly bring herself to care, either.
"You know, we'd have a lot more fun if you'd just practice some self-preservation," Carol remarks wryly.
"Really not my thing," Lucy mutters, shifting on her boots to see if it helps alleviate the burn. It doesn't.
"Yeah, I know," Carol says. "Good thing you have me, right?"
"Don't make me answer that," Lucy grouses.
Carol smiles. "Come on," she tries again. "Let me get you a beer, and you can educate me on some of the finer points of 21st century culture," she offers, gesturing at the files on the coffee table.
"That's okay," Lucy says, not really wanting to do anything but find some empty vent or rooftop to nurse her wounded pride. And her ass. That, too.
Carol hesitates. "Sure?" she asks, blue eyes moving over Lucy questioningly, and Lucy shrugs.
"I'm gonna call it a night."
"Okay, then," Carol agrees finally, and if hurt flashes on the woman's face, Lucy must be imagining it. "See you tomorrow?"
Lucy manages another noncommittal shrug and gets the hell out of there.
"Good morning," Carol says, a little surprised to find Lucy in the kitchen, finishing her cereal at the counter. Lucy's usually an early riser, but Carol figured after yesterday's events, the young woman could use a little extra sleep.
"Morning," Lucy says, eyes never lifting from her bowl. She looks okay, Carol thinks, no worse for wear except for the bandage on her upper arm.
"We the only ones up?" Carol asks, taking the eggs out the refrigerator.
Lucy shrugs. "T'Challa's already in the training room, Wanda took Peter to her hot yoga class." No need to mention Scott, who they usually don't see until closer to noon on days following a mission.
Carol shoots her a sideways glance as she pulls out a bowl and whisk. "You should take it easy, sideline it today."
"Okay."
Carol sets the items on the counter and frowns. "Okay," she agrees cautiously, because she's still not fluent in Lucy-speak. Then, "Is everything okay here?"
Lucy glances up, her light eyes unreadable. "Why wouldn't it be?"
"You just agreed to take it easy," Carol points out. "That's it? No arguments, no negotiations?"
"I don't - you're not – of course you are," Lucy mutters, as Carol leans over the island to put a hand to her forehead. "I'm not delirious," she says, batting Carol's hand away.
"Just checking," Carol tells her, amused now that she knows Lucy's not nursing an infection. She turns and pulls an egg from the carton.
"Believe it or not, I can follow instructions," Lucy says from behind her, and it sounds like sarcasm, but it doesn't feel like it, and Carol's brows draw together.
"Yeah," Carol says, turning around again. "I know."
"Right," Lucy says, pushing her cereal bowl forward. "Well, then I'd better get at it. See you later," she adds, slipping from her barstool, and before Carol knows it, right out of the kitchen.
"Hey, wait," Carol starts, moving to go after her when she hears the tell-tale crack of an egg. She looks down. Yellow yolk leaks from between her fingers, drips to the polished concrete floors. Carol sighs and reaches for a dishtowel. One mess at a time.
It takes Carol about a week to notice it, which maybe isn't surprising considering both Lucy and Peter's ability to blend, but Lucy isn't around. Oh, she's there, watching training exercises from her crouch at the top of gym mats, eating her Coco Puffs in the kitchen; but suddenly she's too tired for a beer, or too busy to help Scott in his ploy to get a mic on the necklace so they can scare the bejesus out of T'Challa.
"Hey, Lucy, I need you to help me out." Scott says that evening, as the genius walks by the kitchen.
Lucy frowns, but she does stop, which is more than usual these days. "Yeah?"
"Guess what I made? No, really, guess," he says, as Lucy's frown deepens. "You're not guessing. You're not going to guess, are you? Never mind. It's a mini-AI, complete with mic," Scott brags.
"It's a sticker," Lucy says, giving the tiny object in Scott's hand a token glance.
"I know; it's cool, right?" Scott asks, repocketing his invention with a wide grin. "And if it were, say, attached to a certain Wakandan's necklace, the Wakandan might be convinced it's sentient."
"Do you really think that's nice?" Carol asks, holding back a smile.
"It's funny," Scott tells her. "That's better than nice."
"And you say you're not a people person," Strange says, carefully removing another bag of popcorn from the microwave.
Scott points a finger at the doctor. "Hey, I'm the biggest people person of all you – people. Or I would be, if Carol and T'Challa weren't so freakishly tall," he amends. "So, how about it, buddy?" he asks Lucy, clapping his hands together and rubbing them with enthusiasm. "Think you could slip through the vents?"
"Actually, I'm headed out," Lucy replies, causing Carol to glance up from the napkins she's pulling out. "Have to take a rain check."
Strange's brow furrows. "Headed out?" he repeats. "On movie night?"
Lucy's gaze flicks to Carol, then away again. "I'm not really in the mood for Titanic, but thanks," she says, and claps an apologetic hand to Scott's shoulder on her way out. "Let me know how it ends."
"How what ends?" T'Challa asks a moment later, as he and Peter file into the kitchen.
"What's taking so long? And where's Lucy going now?" Peter adds, glancing after the blonde with more than a little irritation.
"She had plans," Carol says, wondering what she's missed. Lucy's never been a fan of Carol's traditional approaches to team discipline, but Carol thought they'd come to a sort of tenuous understanding. That they might even be, well, friends.
"Phoenix' been most quiet," T'Challa observes, pretty solemnly considering how much the king loves movie night.
"Maybe she's run out of clever and snarky things to say," Scott suggests, snatching a handful of popcorn out of the bowl Strange is filling.
"If only that would happen to you," Strange deadpans, and Scott throws a piece of popcorn at him, hitting him squarely between the eyes.
She say anything to you?" Carol asks Peter.
Peter's brows rise slightly. "I know she was upset when she reinjured her arm," he tells her.
Carol frowns. "It didn't seem to be bothering her."
"Not about – she wasn't upset about her arm – god, don't you guys ever talk?" he wants to know.
"We talk all the time," Carol assures him, although okay, lately it's been mostly small talk. Lucy disappears too quickly for anything else.
"If that were true, you would know that Lucy never breaks a promise; not without a damn good reason," Peter tells her. "Loyalty is everything to her."
An uneasy feeling coils in Carol's stomach. "She said she lost her temper."
"And yet somehow she manages not to take a swing at Scott?" Peter asks dryly. Carol has no response for that, because yeah, sometimes dealing with Scott requires a level of self-control that should preclude walking around punching people in the face.
"Standing right here," Scott reminds them.
"Could you guys go ahead and start the movie?" Carol asks, handing the napkins to T'Challa. "Scott; may I have a word, please?"
Their resident insect glances up with surprise. "What? Come on; what did I do? Is this about your slippers being glued to the floor? Because that wasn't me."
"Stay," Carol tells him, and more than one of the teammates rolls their eyes as they take the popcorn and shuffle their way out of the kitchen.
"Seriously, Cap; gluing your slippers to the floor? Highly unoriginal," Scott informs her. "Who even wears slippers anymore? I mean, besides Hugh Hefner – do you know Hugh? Old guy, young girls, big…?" Scott's hands move to his chest and he gestures meaningfully, carefully watching Carol for signs of recognition.
Carol shakes her head, unwilling to be flustered by the game of charades. "I'm not – I need your help," she says.
A spark of surprise lights Scott's eyes. "I am so glad to hear you say that," he says, throwing an arm around Carol's shoulders. "The first step is always admitting you have a problem," he adds confidentially. "And honestly, if someone hadn't glued those slippers to the floor, I was going to bolt them to the ceiling with that god-awful recliner of yours, because - "
"My recliner?" Carol shifts under Scott's arm, putting her hands on Scott's shoulders and setting him at a distance where Carol can look him directly in the eye. "This isn't about me," she explains patiently.
Scott frowns. "It damn well should be."
Carol can ignore that. "It's about Lucy. Can you help?"
Scott doesn't even blink; just shrugs as if Carol's asked a particularly dim-witted question. "Sure, Cap. Whatever you need."
"How did you get SHIELD to give you these?" Carol asks three hours later, impressed as Scott's fingers glide smoothly over the conference room table's integrated console. On the room's huge, drop down screen, Scott is fast-forwarding the Helicarrier footage from their last mission.
"Yeah, they didn't," Scott replies, eyes narrowed on the screen as he instinctively navigates the controls.
Carol sighs. "Do I want to know?"
Scott grins, entirely unrepentant. "Ready for some reality entertainment, Cap?" he asks, pausing the video where Lucy and Agent Claussen enter the elevator. At a nod from Carol, he flicks a finger. "Here we go, then," he says, as Claussen's mouth begins moving. "What is it with the sleeves on this team, anyway?" Scott asks, peering critically at miniature Lucy. "Why does it have to be this all or nothing thing? Can't we just compromise at a comfortable three quarter length?"
"Focus, Scott," Carol replies automatically, watching the interplay between the two onscreen men. Whatever the guy is saying, Lucy appears to be taking it in stride, even responding once or twice. If you don't notice the tensing of Lucy's shoulders, the change in her posture, everything looks normal. Right up until the time Lucy turns and drives her fist into the guy's nose.
"Oooooh." Scott winces. "That just looks painful.
"Can you get the sound?" Carol asks, still watching the screen.
Scott scoffs. "Could Mozart play chopsticks?"
"Just roll it back," Carol tells him, a reluctant smile pulling at her mouth. Seconds later, the video plays again. The sound of Claussen's voice echoes in the conference room.
"Not in this one, huh?"
"Not today."
"What? Suddenly you're not good enough for Captain Marvel? Unbelievable... The women's been gone for thirty years, and she thinks he can just come back and - "
"Twenty-five."
"What?"
"It was twenty-five years," Lucy points out, and Carol has a sinking feeling she knows where this is going. From Scott's uncharacteristic silence, Carol guesses he does, too.
"Whatever. The girl still fights with her hands."
"You should shut up now." Lucy sounds friendly enough, but the guy isn't watching her body language, something Carol finds incredibly stupid in someone dealing with a trained assassin.
"Hey, no one's blaming you; her fan club loves this shit. A real warrior hero… You know they can't really confirm how many Skrulls she actually killed? All that flag-waving self-righteousness; it's all public relations spin."
Carol grimaces, watching Lucy punch the elevator button with restrained force.
"I mean, come on, Godliness and virtue; this is what's going to save us? They should have left her in space where they found her."
"That's enough," Carol says, as Lucy shatters Claussen's nose, and Scott switches off the sound. He looks as uncomfortable as Carol feels.
Then, "You have your own fan club?" Scott frowns. "Look, you're not upset, are you? The guy's a tool," he says, then frowns even more at Carol's puzzled expression, waves an impatient hand. "Yeah, never mind. You know, you're not obsolete, even if you were a Capsicle. We think of you as a classic."
"Thanks," Carol replies absently, now watching the film cycle silently. It's all there, written clearly in the lines of Lucy's body as the conversation progresses; if only someone had taken the time to read it. Something like guilt settles in Carol's chest. "I should have known."
"She didn't want you to know," Scott reminds her, as Carol turns to leave. "Where are you going?"
"I'm going to talk to her."
"You don't want to do that," Scott says flatly, and Carol holds up, shooting Scott an inquiring glance. "You don't think she's going to be embarrassed that now you know that she knows that you know about the – what were we talking about again?"
Carol is frowning. "Why would she be embarrassed?"
Scott cocks a brow. "She's a grown woman who got caught fighting over her favorite superhero, so I really think the question here is why wouldn't she be?"
Heat creeps into Carol's cheeks, something that seems to be happening quite a lot since she come back in the 21st century. "I'm not her favorite."
"Seriously?" Scott wants to know.
"I'll take all that into consideration," Carol tells him tightly, turning for the doors. She's halfway there when Scott sighs.
"You're going to talk to her anyway, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am."
"Hey," Lucy says, her sleep-roughened voice masking his surprise at finding Carol on her doorstep in the middle of the night.
"Hey," Carol says, shoving her fists into her pockets. Hasn't been to bed yet, then. "Sorry it's so late - am I interrupting anything?" the woman asks, going a little pink in the cheeks. Lucy wonders what it would take to make her swoon.
"Besides my beauty sleep?" Lucy's lip curls slightly. She sees no need to mention that Peter isn't exactly happy with her at the moment. Situation normal, there. "It's just me. Did you want to come in?"
"Yes, please; thank you," Carol adds, accepting the invitation of the open door and striding into Lucy's living space. The Captain's too polite to gape, but her keen eyes still do a quick assessment of the surroundings, Lucy's minimalist furnishings, the cleared surfaces. Carol hasn't been here before – none of them have, except for Peter. The rest of the team thinks it's because Lucy's intensely private, but she really just enjoys keeping them guessing.
"Have a seat," Lucy says, watching Carol take a cautious seat on a Lucite armchair. "Can I get you anything?" She hopes Carol says no; she thinks Carol might be a little appalled to discover Lucy subsists on beer, water, and Hershey bars.
"No, thanks," Carol says, with a small smile. "How's your arm doing?"
Lucy leans on the edge of the sofa, then wishes she hadn't. Carol and Lucy and sofas aren't currently one of Lucy's favorite combinations. "It's fine," she says, a little shortly. "T'Challa's been breaking down the scar tissue for me – hand of King and all that." Lucy frowns as Carol nods. "Something on your mind, Cap?" Lucy wants to know. "I know you didn't stop by in the middle of the night to ask about my arm."
Carol's lips press together briefly. "I know what happened on the Helicarrier."
Lucy's brow furrows. "I know you know; I told you."
"I saw the footage, Lucy. Heard it, too," she adds, before Lucy has a chance to respond.
Lucy stares at her a long moment. Could Fury have – no, the man was a paranoid hoarder when it came to SHIELD security; there was no way he'd risk a breach to satisfy even Captain Marvel's curiosity. Lucy shakes her head. "Scott," she says, a humorless smile twisting her lips. How did Lucy not see this coming?
"I asked him to," Carol tells her, her discerning gaze making Lucy feel like she can see right through the old t-shirt and sweatpants she's got on, like Lucy is standing in her own living room buck-ass naked, and while Lucy doesn't object to the idea per se, Carol is not the company for that.
Lucy's response is terse and to the point. "Why?"
"Because someone reminded me you don't break promises without a reason."
Peter. Of course. Jesus fuck; is everyone conspiring against her now? "Let's just forget it, okay?" Lucy says, rising from the couch and walking over to get a bottle of water from the refrigerator.
"You should have told me," Carol says, and Lucy can't believe she's going to be scolded about this. She untwists the cap, tries to modulate her tone.
"I told you everything you needed to know," Lucy replies, taking a long drink. The cool water feels good against her dry throat, gives her something else to focus on besides her growing sense of panic. Unfortunately, Carol's followed her half-way into the kitchen, her face set in familiar, determined lines.
"I decide what I need to know," Carol tells her, sounding frustrated, and Lucy relents, setting the half-empty bottle on the counter with a resigned thud.
"Look, the guy's a complete moron – he wouldn't know a real hero if one jumped up and bit him in the ass." Not that a real hero bites people in the ass - well, not unless you're Peter posing as a Czech mobster's mistress, and then things get real interesting.
Carol's expression is faintly incredulous. "You think I'm upset about what he said."
"I don't think anything," Lucy says, eyeing Carol warily. She doesn't know where this is going, and maybe Peter's right about Lucy not being smooth outside the field.
"Geez, Lucy; I was a scrawny girl from Brooklyn a lot longer than I've been Captain Marvel – you don't think I heard things a thousand times worse every day?" she asks, then sighs at Lucy's deliberately blank stare, runs a hand through her hair and around to the back of her neck. "The world is full of bullies, but the only power they have over you is the power you're willing to give them. You didn't need to - "
"I didn't," Lucy interjects. The conversation is moot, anyway. "Would it change anything?"
Carol frowns. "What?"
"Would you still have beat my ass?" Lucy clarifies sarcastically.
Carol has the grace to look chagrined. "I wish you'd quit saying that."
"I wish you'd quit doing it," Lucy tells her, but Carol's brows have drawn together in consideration.
"Honestly?" the woman asks.
"Can you do anything else?" Lucy wants to know.
Carol takes a breath. "Yes," she answers frankly, but her eyes are pleading, and Lucy doesn't need this shit. "But I would've - "
"Hey, before you go getting your panties in a twist: don't," Lucy says carelessly. "It wasn't about you."
"It wasn't." Carol is giving her that look, the one that says Lucy is an idiot, but Lucy already knows that.
Lucy shrugs. "I had a headache; the guy wouldn't shut up. So I gave him a hand. End of story."
"I don't think it is," Carol maintains.
"I don't give a rat's ass what you think," Lucy snaps, and Carol holds up her hands in defeat.
"Fine," she concedes. "You weren't defending me; I never should have brought it up. I just thought - I'm sorry I woke you unnecessarily," Carol finishes, before offering Lucy an awkward nod. "I can let myself out."
Lucy watches as the Captain does just that, the door slamming behind her with just a little more force than usual. Lucy releases the breath she doesn't know she's been holding, lets her head drop to her chest.
"Well, fuck," she mutters.
It hits the fan two days later, when Lucy boycotts game night. Or maybe she just boycotts the awkward, because it's pretty obvious her teammates know something has transpired. Carol doesn't approach, just walks around like someone kicked her puppy. Someone – and Lucy knows it's Scott, the bastard – puts a Captain Marvel plushie in Lucy's gym locker. Destroying it just feels wrong, so Lucy stashes her in the freezer, a prank T'Challa informs her is "most unbecoming" before discreetly walking off with the frozen toy tucked under his arm. Strange stays out of it, as usual, but his overtly compassionate gaze is enough to make Lucy long for a portal to Australia. Peter's been quiet, even for him, so Lucy's surprised when she passes the common living area and he stalks after her, not even bothering with stealth.
"Lucy!"
Lucy keeps walking, hoping he'll let it pass.
"Don't you dare walk away from me," Peter growls, and Lucy reluctantly comes to a halt in the middle of the corridor. It's either that or have Peter put her in a sleeper hold, and Lucy's been there, done that.
"What?" Lucy asks, letting her exasperation show as the spider draws closer. He steps into Lucy's personal space, glaring at her with brown eyes.
"You know what - when are you going to stop punishing her?" Peter demands. "She feels terrible."
"Why?" Lucy says, not bothering to pretend they're not talking about Carol.
Peter stares at her a moment, gaze drifting over his face. His expression softens. "Don't be a jackass, Phoenix."
And okay, Lucy is a jackass, but this is Peter, and he knows better than anyone the damage people do when you're vulnerable. "She wasn't supposed to know," she tells him.
"Well, she does," he replies with a simple shrug.
"Yeah, along with everyone else," Lucy grouses, her ears growing warm at the thought.
Peter quirks a brow. "Is it really so bad?"
"Yeah, Peter, it is," Lucy hisses, glancing down the hallway to make sure they're still alone. "You think anyone is going to take me seriously after this?"
"No one is taking you anything but seriously – hey," Peter says, when Lucy looks away, deliberately aloof. "Not everyone is Barney."
Lucy stiffens. "This has nothing to do with him," she says.
"Your almost pathological need to prove yourself has nothing to do with Barney?" Peter snorts. "Yeah, okay."
"My pathological need?" Lucy repeats scathingly. "Is this what we're doing now? Hugging it out?"
"You don't have to do this," Peter insists. He puts a hand to her chest, over her heart, not removing it even when Lucy goes rigid. "Have I ever given you reason not to trust me? After you brought me in?" he adds, his eyes steady on hers.
"No." She doesn't have to think about it. Lucy trusts him implicitly, even when they disagree, which is pretty damn often.
"And the others?" Peter asks quietly. "Cap?" His hand on Lucy's chest is just another way for him to monitor her heart rate; he'll know if she's lying.
Shit. Lucy knows she's not exactly being fair, but she learned early it's not a good idea to make yourself a mark, not for anyone. She has the literal scars to prove it. "I am not this girl," she says thickly.
"But you could be," Peter tells Lucy, just before T'Challa's booming voice shakes the floor, announcing his turn. His hand falls away, but his eyes won't release her. "Don't fuck it up, Rutherford," he cautions, before he turns and heads off to beat their teammates at Monopoly or Jenga or even Twister, if T'Challa had any say.
The spot on Lucy's chest stays warm even after he's gone from sight.
Anyone who does what Lucy does for a living agrees; it's all about the timing. In this particular instance, it's all about waiting for Carol to be alone, so that Lucy doesn't have to be socially awkward in front of an audience. And while being a voyeur comes with the job, it's a little creepy when you're not in Prague and the woman you're stalking happens to be your teammate, and, oh, the Earth's Most Powerful Avenger.
Lucy's opportunities are surprisingly lacking. Breakfast is out when Scott walks in with the results of their latest public relations poll, and Carol spends an hour explaining why they're not going to wear helmet cams on their next mission. Then it's the gym, where Carol surreptitiously watches Lucy while Wanda tries to persuade Scott that an Aesir, a frost giant, and a bilgesnipe walking into a tavern is a great comic tale. There's a minor explosion in Peter's workshop, another disagreement with Strange about the Portal B Gone (wherein Strange portal transfers out and Carol promises to reconsider), and finally the descent of an annoyed but entirely prepared for disaster Hope. No small wonder it's almost eleven when Lucy manages to catch Carol returning to her rooms.
Lucy waits for the door to close behind the woman, then pops the air vent and drops into the hallway. She gives it a minute; enough time for it to not look like Lucy's been hovering in the ducts for the last half hour, then knocks softly on the door, a crumpled brown paper bag balled in her fist. Maybe Carol won't hear it. Maybe she's already gone to bed. Maybe -
The door swings open. "Lucy." Carol looks surprised and even pleased, and Lucy's kind of sorry that she's never going to be a regular kind of girl, that she's always going to have sharp edges, and Carol is always going to be at risk of nicking herself. "Come in," Carol says, tilting her head toward the living area. "What a day, huh?" she says with a tired smile.
"I wasn't sure you'd still be up," Lucy replies easily, stepping inside so that Carol can close the door behind her. "It's kind of…" She trails off. The Captain Marvel plushie sits in the center of Carol's couch, all stern and noble and fuzzy, and Lucy feels her mouth go dry. "Oh, it's – ah - "
Carol winces, waving a hand in dismissal as she walks around the sofa. "Yeah, I know; it's embarrassing, right?" She picks up the plushie and sets it on top of the files scattering the coffee table before taking its seat. "T'Challa said he found it, and it was going to hurt his feelings, so…" The Captain shrugs.
"It's a good likeness," Lucy tells her.
Carol glances at the plushie, then back at Lucy, brows pulled together doubtfully. "You really think so?"
"Sure," Lucy says.
"Even better when she's frozen?"
Shit. "Yeah, about that - "
Carol breaks a smile, and Lucy realizes she's not upset about it. "It's fine. Although not very original, according to some people," Carol adds. "Besides, you have a right to be sore."
"Try embarrassed," Lucy says, opting for the truth. It doesn't hurt as much as she thinks it should.
Carol's mouth twists ruefully. "Yeah, Scott warned me about that."
"How unusually sensitive of him," Lucy remarks dryly.
"He was trying to help."
"I didn't ask for anyone's help," Lucy points out.
Carol frowns. "Why would you have to? Are you going to sit down?"
"I'm better on my feet," Lucy replies, strangely disarmed by the simple questions. Before she thinks better of it, she goes ahead and asks what she came to ask. "So; I was wondering," she says, folding her arms across her chest. "You would've what?" And shit, that comes out a little more defensive than Lucy intends.
Carol blinks. "Huh?"
Lucy tries not to flush. "When I asked you if things would've gone down the same had you known, you said, yes, but you would've – I didn't let you finish," she explains lamely.
"Oh." Carol leans forward, arms resting on her knees. She's got that thoughtful expression Lucy associates more with a scholar than a soldier. "You deserved to be called on the carpet," she maintains, shooting Lucy an exasperated look. "You were injured, and you let that jerk goad you into a fight. But, well…" Carol looks down where her hands are clasped together. "I wasn't kidding when I told you I've known my share of bullies," she says, a half smile curving her lips. "Growing up, I had a pal who saved me from getting my ass kicked nearly every week, whether I wanted her to or not. She was such a hothead," Carol muses affectionately.
"Sounds like a good one to have on your side," Lucy says, still uncertain where the woman's going with this.
Carol nods. "She was a good guy; I would've told you that."
Lucy's forehead crinkles. "That she was good?"
"That it's been a long time since I had a friend like that," Carol replies sincerely.
Oh. Oh... Well; okay, then. That's - nice. Only Lucy's never been all that good with nice. Instead, she clears her throat awkwardly. "Brought you something," she says, raising the brown paper bag she's been holding for proof.
A spark of interest lights the blue eyes. "Really?"
"Yeah," Lucy says, tossing the bag into the Captain's waiting hands. "They call it a Rubik's Cube," she adds, biting back a smile as Carol pulls out the toy, turning it cautiously in her large hands.
Carol throws her a sideways glance. "This isn't like a Tesseract, is it?" she half-kids.
Lucy snorts. "Hardly. It's a puzzle that was big in the eighties – the goal is to get each face just one color. I don't know if you ever got time to joke around the last time you were here."
Carol considers the item in question, a slow grin spreading over her face. "I can do that."
"Don't get cocky, Cap," Lucy teases, watching Carol's hands already spinning the colored axes.
"You want that beer now?" Carol asks.
"Yeah," Lucy says. She's got nowhere to be, and she's pretty sure Hope is still out there looking for blood. Besides, she's thirsty. "I think I do."
"This is a lot of files," Strange says, looking at the color coded folders now strewn over the surfaces of the common area.
"Seriously," Scott says, "couldn't you have Coulson get you an electronic copy?"
"I like having something in my hands," Carol replies from the oversized sectional, where she and Lucy are currently riffling through a heap of files..
Scott opens his mouth to reply, but Peter cuts him short. "No."
Carol sighs. "Who am I kidding?" she asks, using the folder she's holding to wave at the mess in front of him. "None of this makes sense to me; why would anyone want to keep a rock for a pet?"
Lucy frowns. "Is that really in there?" she asks, leaning over to peer at Carol's file. To her credit, Lucy doesn't even flinch when the mighty roar echoes throughout the floor, shaking the walls and rattling the windows in their frames.
"Behold; The necklace speaks!"
Carol takes a long look at Lucy, brows lifting slightly. "Do anything unusual this morning?"
Lucy shrugs. "Not really."
"Who's going to tell him?" Strange asks, scrubbing a hand through his unruly hair.
"I vote for someone who isn't me," Scott says.
Peter sighs. "I'll break the news," he concedes, pushing up from his chair in a single, fluid motion. He starts forward, pausing seconds later when Carol speaks up.
"Hey, Peter?" she says, back to skimming files.
He frowns over his shoulder. "Yeah, Cap?"
The corner of her mouth quirks upward. "Give it an hour."
Lucy grins and opens another file.