gotta get down for a mingle

[redactions]

Who: The crew of the SS Heron and visitors.
Broadcast: nope.
Action: Aboard the SS Heron.
When: After returning to the ship.

[ finally back on the right ship, except the corridors are all mysteriously cold and the ship seems smaller. Thanks, Atroma. New crew, visitors, starters in comments ]

Comments

[redactions]

Just follow my lead, you'll be fine.

[mucked]

And how many times have I heart that, I wonder?

[ -- not from jim, necessarily. but from all sorts and in all times. but never with a puff of flour in the air. despite the chill, she begins the precise process of unbuttoning the cuffs of her blouse and rolling the sleeves up to her elbows. ]

[redactions]

One more won't hurt.

[ They work comfortably after that; synchronised, like no time has passed between the War and now. Everything always transmutes: missions then are missions now to make the best damn dessert this side of the Marsiva. The pie assembles: the aroma fills the room as it cooks. ]

We make a good team.

[ The knife gets handed to her, to do the honours. ]

[mucked]

Is that what we are?

[ but the question isn't barbed. rather, she's charmed. the lone wolf has at long last adjusted back into a structure of teamwork. dependency. and when it comes to these men, she knows her trust is in good hands.

the pie crust cracks and snaps in the most delicious of ways as she sinks the knife's tip into the first cut. with precision, she twins that cut with another. ] Be a dear, though, and grab us a plate?

[redactions]

Yes'm.

[ He flashes her a crooked smile, and sets out plates and cutlery for them. ]

[mucked]

[ with a deft hand (and deftness that has nothing to do with culinary capers) she slides first one slice onto one plate, and then a second onto the second. crumbs follow, but she grabs a rag and uses its tented corner to brush them into a pile and collect them into her palm. ]

It does smell damned good. [ she concedes. ] How did you come to be in possession of the recipe, hm?

[redactions]

[ Simply, ]

Remembered it. Just needed the ingredients and facilities.

[mucked]

And a sous-chef. [ she drapes the rag on its peg and returns to the two laid-out plates. ]

[redactions]

And a sous-chef, [ he concedes. ] well? We should eat our own food, shouldn't we?

[mucked]

[ snark harbours itself in the back of her throat -- nothing dire, and nothing hurtful, but only the smallest knee-jerk desire to call into question the use of pastry crust above a crumble. how nationalistic of her; how defensive. she does it only to enforce the bubble around her, but she tamps down the instinct with the firm knowledge that it's a bubble she doesn't need while keeping his company.

so her fork sinks into the narrow point on her slice, and she holds a hand beneath its tines while she eats -- tidy, and appreciative. ]

[redactions]

​[ They eat quietly, content to share the space, and the silence. ]

So? What do you think?

[mucked]

Good. Nice. [ and then, as though recalling a long-learned lesson from some schoolmarm not to use the word 'nice' to describe something. how pedestrian and unhelpful. she spears another bite. ] Delicious, actually.

You missed your true calling. [ she lies; they both know what his better calling remains. ] But how are you with mince pies in place of apple?

[ 'tis almost the season, dear jim. ]

[redactions]

[ Delicious, she says, and by then the smile is stuck on his face, and can't be wiped off for the world. ]

Pretty decent, I'd say. I took up baking in the future. Scones, I need to master, but I can do cupcakes and pies.

[mucked]

Oh, scones. [ she echoes the word -- her voice replete with fresh hunger. wanting. ] You just made a bloody pie crust; scones can't be much more of a challenge by comparison.

[ her particular brand of encouragement isn't exactly encouraging. not by normal standards, at least.

except what the devil is a cupcake. ]

[redactions]

​[ Raising an eyebrow, ]

Is that a request?

[mucked]

Mmhm. [ she cracks the curve of the piece's outermost crust with one decisive motion. ] Verging upon a demand, really.

[redactions]

​[ Bossy, but not more so than a certain Steve Rogers. Jim hums to himself. ]

We'll need jam, won't we? I'll keep an eye out on the next planet.

[mucked]

Marmalade, especially. [ she smiles. ]

[redactions]

​[ Drawling, ]

Why, Agent Carter. I do believe you've just given me an exploitable weakness.

[mucked]

Captain. [ stiff, but playfully so. she waggles her fork in his direction. ] Do outline precisely the sort of situation where a penchant for marmalade becomes at all exploitable.

[redactions]

​[ With gravity, ]

Tea-time.

[mucked]

I will rough it and go bare with my baked goods if I must, you know.

[redactions]

Oh, I've no doubt. Not such a bad idea to call a truce.

[mucked]

[ plate pushed aside, she briskly brushes crumbs off her palms -- and wonders (briefly) how they ever got there to begin with. all for show and friendship, she offers him that hand to shake. ]

My white flag is flying, Captain.

[redactions]

[ It's shaken, warmly, and he's not smirking, just smiling, soft and wistful. ]

The terms are agreeable?