"Chase Part 2: The (Almost) Debriefing"
*
It took a lot of self-control not to spit my drink across the coffee table and laugh uncontrollably. Instead, I controlled myself and choked a little on my vodka tonic.
Natasha was the only one without a drink, even though the vodka bottle was a short distance away from her. She was rubbing her temples with one hand and white-knuckling the arm of her chair with another.
"Never in my life have I seen a debriefing go this far south with such incredible speed," she said.
"Oh, I have," Bucky pointed out. I could feel him laughing, and his hand gripped my waist a little tighter. I had almost fallen out of his lap once already; he was obviously hoping it wouldn't happen again.
"Do you remember when Morita found that crate of bourbon?" Steve asked. He was one of the lucky few people who wasn't sharing a seat or sitting in the floor. Wanda and Natasha had their own chairs, but Sam, Clint, and Scott were still arguing and begrudgingly sharing a plush loveseat meant for two much smaller people.
"Oh, God. Five of us went through six liters of bourbon in less than twelve hours," Bucky reminisced. He had a wistful look on his face; it matched Steve's. "That after dinner debriefing was pointless."
"I'm just glad I was the only one without a hangover the next morning," Steve said with a shit-eating grin. Everyone in the room booed at him playfully and threw their crumpled up copies of Natasha's 'training report' in his general direction.
"You know what," Sam threatened, "our next training exercise is going to be giving you a hangover. Tic Tac, think you can come up with some good, stiff booze for Cap here?"
"My degree is in electrical engineering," Scott pointed out. "I could shock him, but I don't want to. Look at him. That's America's sweetheart over there."
"America's former sweetheart," Clint jibed. He elbowed Sam in the ribs, and Sam promptly tried to shove Clint over the arm of the narrow couch.
"We'll keep that shocking thing in mind for next time," Sam said while struggling against Clint. Scott tried to ignore them, but they kept bumping into him obliviously.
"Wait, so I get to play next time?" Scott asked excitedly. He immediately perked up, and the room laughed together.
"It was a training exercise," Natasha interjected. "It wasn't play time."
"We were using paintballs and cheesy codenames," I argued. "It was play time."
"Says the woman who shot me in the gut after play time was over," Bucky deadpanned, gently squeezing my side and making me squirm at the ticklish feeling.
"You were bear-hugging me, and I saw a tactical advantage," I said, defending myself.
"Nat already had the flag. You won," Bucky retorted. "No point in shooting me."
"Here they go," Wanda muttered, smirking.
"Someone go get a knife so we can cut this sexual tension," Clint joked. Bucky and I both rolled our eyes, well accustomed to the pokes and prods our newfound relationship had earned us. As if to prove it didn't bother us, Bucky put his hand against my cheek and moved me in for a kiss. My free hand pushed into his hair, and my drink ended up pressed between our bodies. Our respective teammates whooped and hollered at the display.
"At least you two made it through the exercise without sneaking off somewhere," Natasha allowed.
"Cheers to that," Sam agreed. He raised his drink, and everyone else followed suit. Beer bottles and glad tumblers of liquor were lifted around the room, but Bucky and I finally blushed. There was another round of laughter before settled back down.
Natasha gave up on her dreams of a formal debriefing and poured herself a generous glass of straight vodka. Steve, Clint, and Sam stuck to beer, and each other became slightly more vocal and red-in-the-face with each bottle they finished. Scott revealed his talent for mixed drinks, using myself and Wanda as taste-testers. And Bucky, the brave soul, finished most of my half-empty drinks every time Scott came up with something new.
"So, if I get to join in next time, whose team am I on?" Scott asked. "I mean, you guys had the whole battle of the sexes thing going on, but five on three doesn't seem fair."
"Well, you don't have any real tactical training, so go ahead," Natasha said. After finishing her first glass of vodka, she shifted from sitting up, prim and proper, to lounging across both arms of her chair without much of an observable care.
"Hey!"
"She's got a point," I agreed.
"Wanda doesn't have any tactical training," Scott pointed out. Wanda raised her hands defensively, and little bolts of energy began to orbit her fingers.
"She didn't need tactical training," Natasha explained. Scott began to pout, but Nat held a hand up to stop him. "We should just rearrange the teams."
"All in favor?" Cap prompted. Eight glasses and bottles were raised. "Now how do we divide them up?"
That had all of us, in our various states of inebriation and distraction, stumped. Thankfully, a perfectly sober T'Challa walked in a moment later. He was tugging at the tie around his neck and already had a highball glass of whiskey or bourbon or something similar. He stopped in the doorway to the little communal area and observed the chaos inside.
"I bet he knows how," Scott whispered. His words ran together, proving he had been sampling his cocktails as well.
"T'Challa, we need tactical advice," Steve began. He appeared the most sober by a wide margin.
"Is this for another one of the training exercises that left rainbow paintball splatter all over my compound?" T'Challa asked.
"Of course not," I laughed. "The next exercise can be out in the jungle. Now there's a challenge."
"Yeah, jungle training!" Scott agreed. The gin in his glass nearly spilled, but he brought the glass close to his chest to save it.
"I don't exactly want you painting my jungle either," T'Challa grumbled. I swung my legs off the arm of the chair and twisted in Bucky's lap until I could put my feet on the ground. He groaned a little at my sudden movements but kept his hands on my waist.
"I have an idea," I announced. The room tilted slightly, and I sat my latest drink on the coffee table. "How about a bet?"
"A bet?"
"A bet," I repeated. "Us against your security team, out in the jungle."
"That doesn't sound like much of a bet," he said. A corner of his mouth tilted up into an intrigued smile.
"I haven't gotten to the good part," I assured him. Natasha and Steve regarded me nervously. "If our team here wins, then we get to have paintball wars wherever we want, within reason. We'll stay away from electronics and priceless works of art, of course."
"I appreciate that," T'Challa chuckled. "What do you propose I get if I win?"
"Not only will we clean up all the paint we left around the compound, we'll stay in our designated training areas," I offered. "No more capture the flag in the compound. Clint won't shoot apples out of people's hands in the cafeteria. Scott won't mess with computer system anymore. All the guns stay in the armory. We won't even play hide and seek. We will be model citizen-spies."
T'Challa facetiously rubbed at his chin as if he was considering the offer. Clint and Sam were too slack-jawed to oppose my idea; they were grinning too.
"Hey, I'm not agreeing to cleaning up after all of you," Scott interrupted. "I had nothing to do with the paintball war."
"Too late," T'Challa chided. "I accept your terms."
He offered his hand for me to shake, and I nearly jumped off Bucky's lap to meet him halfway.
"Now, run off so we can start strategizing," I told him, pointing at the door.
"You're all drunk," he noticed. I raised one eyebrow at him, silently saying 'duh'.
"You do realize generals have been making decisions while intoxicated for hundreds of years," I deadpanned. "Don't underestimate us."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he said politely. With one more crooked smile, he left the room. I turned around to face my new teammates, most of whom were staring at me in shock.
"What did you just do?" Steve asked. He shook his head gently and grinned. Bucky gazed at me, but his smile was much more prideful. It seemed to say 'look at her. She's all mine, and God I'm glad.'
"It'll be fun!"
*
Author's Note:
Look who just set herself up for part three. Hint: me.