[ Silverware, plates and corkscrew it is. He returns to her with all of these things, setting them down on the coffee table before holding out the corkscrew for her to take.
He's learned not to push too hard where he doesn't need to here. Just because he can do something doesn't always mean he has to. ]
Something approximating a healthy work-life balance, imagine.
[ If she takes it, he'll fish out all three bottles and set them on the table too, leave her to make a selection. ]
[ Wine duly accepted with an answering wry smirk. He knows how that goes. ]
No? How about... freeloader. Penniless? Expensive.
[ In that he's everyone else's additional mouth to feed. It's all said lightly enough and with a sip of wine to punctuate: he's at peace with his relative purposelessness this time around. ]
No? Then would you put my success down to sheer likeability?
[ You all keep letting him into your temporary homes and feeding him, Natasha, there's got to be a reason... but it's an obvious tease. He knows as well as she does that it isn't really anything about him that has the crew willing to help one another out.
One day they'll find themselves in a situation where he has the upper hand and he'll pass his own help along to someone the situation leaves on the backfoot, mutual support. In that respect, she could do this just as he has, and maybe one day she'll need to - if he's being honest, he's chafing against the experience about as much as much as he imagines she would. ]
[ With a wry smile, but watch him not getting up to go for the buzzer. He will start to set the plates and cutlery out in preparation for her return with the food though, so he's not entirely without his uses. ]
[It's all right, Natasha has that covered. She lets the delivery driver up and greets them at the door, returning after a short interactions with a bag full of takeout.
Whatever it is, it smells of herbs and spices and citrus—something like Greek food. It's a feature lost on Natasha since her sense of smell was damaged, but it's also warm in her hands.
She takes that as a good sign.]
Thank.
[Unpacking boxes onto the table.]
Getting food on these worlds is always a little bit of a guessing game, but I've had good luck so far.
[ It smells good. Transports him, weirdly, briefly back home - a place a few blocks from the Sanctum on a route he'll take to the deli when his legs need a longer stretch. Puts him in a better mood even than the wine. ]
This time too.
[ Opening up a container of something that isn't chicken but is, by the look of things, adjacent. ]
[ A chance to catch up, like they're old friends or colleagues having dinner and not strangers turned crewmates from either side of the veil given some odd post-humous opportunity to become -
... Mm. Okay. Maybe something like new friends, new colleagues. ]
Yeah. Wish I had more to fill you in on, but as we've already discussed...
[ Pathetic freeloader! A wry little sip of his wine here though before he sets it back down to start dishing some of the food in the box he's just opened onto both of their plates. He knows he's already pulled his weight to some extent on this mission. ]
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He's learned not to push too hard where he doesn't need to here. Just because he can do something doesn't always mean he has to. ]
Something approximating a healthy work-life balance, imagine.
[ If she takes it, he'll fish out all three bottles and set them on the table too, leave her to make a selection. ]
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She laughs, soft and dry.]
Work-life balance? I don't think I've met her.
[The cork comes out with a pop.]
Maybe on the next mission I should try what you're doing this time around. Seems to be working out for you.
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I'm not sure you could pull it off. You have to be believably pathetic for people to take this much pity on you.
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[She offers him a glass of wine, half full. Her comment is about as dry as the wine.]
Though I don't know that pathetic is the word I'd use to describe you.
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No? How about... freeloader. Penniless? Expensive.
[ In that he's everyone else's additional mouth to feed. It's all said lightly enough and with a sip of wine to punctuate: he's at peace with his relative purposelessness this time around. ]
no subject
[She tilts her glass slightly, swirling the wine slightly to watch it move over the glass.]
You don't think I could pull off being a freeloader?
[She'd take that as a challenge, but she's not entirely confident he's not right.]
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You could be a freeloader - I'm pretty sure half the crew would happily pitch in to afford you a mission off - but you'll never be a natural.
[ Some people have the lack of appropriate skillset for inevitably freeloading, but he can't imagine her ever really being one of them. ]
Pull it off? Convincingly? I don't think you'd last a week.
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[She won't argue with him, but she does feign a certain offense on behalf of her skill at undercover work.
On the other hand, he's not really wrong.]
I'm still not sure you're quite as pathetic as you paint.
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[ You all keep letting him into your temporary homes and feeding him, Natasha, there's got to be a reason... but it's an obvious tease. He knows as well as she does that it isn't really anything about him that has the crew willing to help one another out.
One day they'll find themselves in a situation where he has the upper hand and he'll pass his own help along to someone the situation leaves on the backfoot, mutual support. In that respect, she could do this just as he has, and maybe one day she'll need to - if he's being honest, he's chafing against the experience about as much as much as he imagines she would. ]
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I guess it must be that.
[Deadpan. Anything else she might have said is interrupted by the buzzer, though, introducing new distraction.]
And that must be our dinner. I hope you're hungry.
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[ With a wry smile, but watch him not getting up to go for the buzzer. He will start to set the plates and cutlery out in preparation for her return with the food though, so he's not entirely without his uses. ]
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and greets them at the door, returning after a short interactions with a bag full of takeout.
Whatever it is, it smells of herbs and spices and citrus—something like Greek food. It's a feature lost on Natasha since her sense of smell was damaged, but it's also warm in her hands.
She takes that as a good sign.]
Thank.
[Unpacking boxes onto the table.]
Getting food on these worlds is always a little bit of a guessing game, but I've had good luck so far.
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This time too.
[ Opening up a container of something that isn't chicken but is, by the look of things, adjacent. ]
—Thanks for having me tonight.
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[Not that she really thinks it would have come to that, but she keeps it light, softening it when she adds:]
Besides, I haven't got to see that much of you. It's a chance to catch up.
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... Mm. Okay. Maybe something like new friends, new colleagues. ]
Yeah. Wish I had more to fill you in on, but as we've already discussed...
[ Pathetic freeloader! A wry little sip of his wine here though before he sets it back down to start dishing some of the food in the box he's just opened onto both of their plates. He knows he's already pulled his weight to some extent on this mission. ]
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Natasha doesn't exactly pretend it's not an awkward situation, so much as she pretends not to notice how awkward it is.
It's a minor but important distinction.]
The catching up doesn't have to be mission related.
[Does it?]
How are you settling in?