The smell of eggs burning fills the tiny kitchen and Logan curses. He flips the omelette twice before delivering it to a clean plate. He places two slices of toast on top and puts the meal in front of Laura, who is sullenly sitting at the small island. She definitely isn't pouting (she isn't one to do that) but she's mad. He knows from the way she's looking at him. Not even angry glaring. Just blank staring. He wondered why their mornings always started with fights. Was it because Laura was constantly trying to be a pain in the ass, or was it because he was a bad father?
Shut up, brain. Now wasn't the time to mull over every mistake he's ever made. At the moment, he was intent on being early to work while simultaneously dropping his daughter off to school in quick succession. He made an omelette, a slightly burnt one, but an omelette alright and he thinks that deserves recognition as a success in his journey as a parent. A barely coping one.
The sound of fork scraping against plate brings him out of his thoughts. He would've asked her if his cooking had improved but knowing her, she would've said it tastes like horse shit. He takes the plate and empty juice glass from her with a stern "Go get your backpack," and she stares at him before disappearing to wherever she put it. Logan internally winces. He could tell he's hurt her feelings. He didn't know how, but he did. Maybe his voice was too harsh? He wipes the counter.
Five minutes later he's driving them away from their lone cabin with 'Brandy You're a Fine Girl' playing over the radio. Aside from that, the car ride is silent. Multiple times he opens his mouth to comment on either the weather, the trees or anything he sees, but every time he catches himself. Laura is playing with her denim jacket's sleeve. She turned her attention to the window where water was starting to slide down. A drizzle of rain had already started. 'Carry on, Wayward Son' took over the radio. Logan didn't speak. Half an hour later, he dropped her off at school with a gruff "See you later, kid." She doesn't wave goodbye. He wasn't expecting her to.
When he pulls up to the outpost, Clint Barton is already there, hands on his waist. He's talking to Nebula, his face scrunched up in either worry or plain annoyance. He turns to Logan who loudly shuts his car's door, as if to announce his presence. Barton was half deaf but that wasn't the point Logan was trying to make.
"What's up?" He asks.
"Morning to you too, Howlett." Clint sniffed. Logan turns to look at Nebula. She is an average sized woman and a force to be reckoned with. The right side of her pale face — under her eye and her cheek trailing down to her jawline are horizontal claw scars. They do not make her ugly. Nebula won't be Nebula without them. She's had them for twenty years and they hadn't hindered her progress as Pleasant Hill's fiercest woman in ranger uniform. He would've asked about her left prosthetic foot, or her somewhat bad right arm but she would shoot him and dump his body in a ravine. She didn't like pity. Nevertheless, Logan supposed that bear attack must've been damaging to her nine year old self both physically and emotionally.
"What's given Clint such a long face?" He eventually asks after that three second staring.
She shrugs. "Taserface."
Logan curses. "Why the fuck can't Nova keep an eye on their men?"
"Language," Barton admonishes. "They're lazy asses, alright. Taserface is even a bigger douche. But we get to arrest him this time. And the screw-ups who go along with false testimony in bad faith."
"You got evidence?"
"Remember that time he bragged about possessing a hunter rifle, MSG?" Nebula's mouth was formed into a ghost of a smile. "Those are only available in Angel Grove. Castle's Ammo. I was running something over there and it came up. He wasn't lying."
"The catch?" Logan drew circles in the dirt with his foot. Nebula's fiery red hair was cut short again, he observes.
"The bullet parts we found were those used with the rifle. I did profiling yesterday. Castle says Taser was the only customer who has ever requested specifically that weapon."
"I have a warrant ready. Its on my desk. I got a patrol west, so I better go on. I'll see you fellas later at the Valkyrie before seven, sharp." Barton waves his goodbye and set off.
"Shall we?" Nebula asked.
"Oh, yes."
-Line Break-
Natasha drew back the curtain and let light flood in the office. She shaded her eyes against the sudden brightness and put her briefcase down beside her chair. Taking a couple of tissues, she wiped the table free of dust. She was early today. Like all other days. She sniffed and sat down, looking at her timetable.
Several appointments till noon. Short lunch break. A court in session after that. Will likely last until four in the evening. She was crossing all her fingers for this. The accused stood no chance between her and Matt. Domestically abusive men deserved a special place in hell. The door opened and Natasha looked up. It was Foggy, holding a coffee cup holder and a brown paper bag she strongly suspected had donuts. She could smell it from here.
"Good morning to our fiercest resident lawyer," he greeted cheerily and placed a coffee in front of her.
"You flatter me too much, Franklin." She took a donut from the bag. Chocolate glazed. Her favorite. Perfect.
"How are the notes coming up?" Foggy asks with his mouth full.
Natasha grimaces in disgust. "Fine. I called René this morning. She's doing okay. Until court starts, anyway."
"Poor woman," says Foggy in a sad tone. Renne Marshall was their client. Natasha wonders how she survived eight years of torture. She still remembers the terrible burn wounds on the woman's back. The case had already made heavy ripples in the community and it must be especially hard for her and her children to deal with all the publicity. Any man who would've done that to her would be living without a dick by now.
"But hey, your crush is gonna be there!" Foggy, in an attempt to lighten up the mood, observed happily.
"Steven isn't my crush." She fought off every attempt her face made to turn tomato red.
"I didn't mention Steve's name, did I?" The blond man grinned in mischief. Natasha threw the paper cup at him.
"Foggy, this was funny the first billion times that you did it!" An angry voice said one floor down.
"This isn't happening again," A woman moaned and the sound of knuckles rapping against wood rose to a crescendo.
Natasha looked at her partner in disapproval.
"You didn't bar the door again, did you?"
"Come one! Its funny to see Matt and Bobbi try to open it!" Foggy protested.
"Open this door at once! I'm going to kill you!" Bobbi hollered.
"Okay, okay, I'm coming!" Foggy yelled back, muttering a 'jeez' under his breath as he walked out of their shared office.
Natasha scooted her rollie chair closer to the window. The town had already woken up. Most faces she recognized. Robbie the firefighter walking out of Baking Heaven. Her friend Wanda opening up shop. Quill's blue Mustang slowly driving by. She could tell by the open window showing the horrendous orange coloured seats that no one would be caught dead with except him. Kraglin the barber arguing with Taser whats-his-name. The Chinese place beside the laundromat opening up. This was her favourite vista every morning. Sitting quietly and admiring her home.
The phone rang. She deftly picked it up, "Nelson and Murdock. How can I help you?"
Time to get to work.