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“Sorry I’m late, babe,” ‘Drea calls as Lindsay hears the door open and shut from the other room. She wanders out to see ‘Drea kicking off her boots and pulling her braids out of the bun on top of her head as she heads to the fridge for a beer.

She gives Lindsay an absentminded kiss on the cheek on her way. “Got blocked on the way through Times Square. It was weird,” she adds. It’s obviously a story she wants to tell, and Lindsay takes the hint. “How so?”

“You know that SHIELD guy, What’s-his-face, on the news a few months back over that thing at the Stark Expo? Fury something? With the eyepatch?”

“Yeah. Looked like something out a comicbook.” Director Nicholas Fury was kind of difficult to forget.

“Yeah, him. So like, there was this big blocked off chunk of the street, black sedans and black suits, and Fury was talking to some guy. Just talking, but it seemed like, end-of-the-world super important. It was like some government conspiracy shit, you know?” She pulls out a Michelob from the very back of the fridge and makes a face.

“This is the only alcoholic beverage in the entire apartment, isn’t it?” she asks, and groans when Lindsay nods.

“Fuck, sorry,” she says. “Meant to hit Costco Tuesday, but then Daniella called in sick, remember? I texted you? There’s not any meat left either. Sorry.” ‘Drea rolls her eyes.

“Whatever. I’ll go with you tonight if you want, just let me sit here for a bit.” She pads back out of the tiny kitchen and tips her whole body over one arm of the couch, dangling the unopened bottle from the ends of her fingers. Lindsay doesn’t think she’s going to drink it. ‘Drea scoots over on her side and pulls her feet up, pats the cushion beside her.

“So anyway,” she continues like there hadn’t been a break in conversation, as Lindsay comes to lean on her on the couch and steal her shitty beer, “I’m like a block away from the subway entrance, about to cross the street, when three,” and here she holds up her hands to emphasize her mock seriousness, “Top Secret Vans filled with Top Secret Agents pull up and they all just converge on this guy. Really tall white guy, that’s about all I could see because then the suits all get out of their cars exactly like the movies and then What’s-his-fuck gets out, as all these agents are like, threatening to fucking confiscate phones if people take pictures, and he talks to the guy for like maybe five minutes and then he disappears him into a car and the rest of them all get back in their own dark sedans and leave.”

Lindsay was sort of hoping there’d be more to the story than that, but her girlfriend’s pretty excited so she tries to sound interested.

“Woah. That’s totally weird,” she murmurs, playing with the fingers of one of ‘Drea’s hands. ‘Drea nods. The Michelob is slowly warming on the floor beside the couch.

“Yeah, I know it sounds way less cool when I say it, but it was almost creepy at the time.” She snorts, and tips her head back onto the arm of the couch. “I was just thinking on the way back, ‘he’s probably some alien SHIELD’s been keeping locked up since the Forties’. The whole thing reminds me of that tin-hatter site Gilbert trolls with stupid stories about SHIELD agents staging 9/11 or something.”

Lindsay smirks. “And they’re gene-splicing babies with spider DNA and putting hallucinogens in Lake Eerie.”

“Exactly, and doing medical experiments on political prisoners and shit,” ‘Drea combs the fingers of her other hand through Lindsay’s hair, and she settles happily in response. “I think that one’s probably true though,” she yawns.

‘Drea makes an irritated noise. “Yeah, probably.”

“Least they’re better than the CIA,” Lindsay says, and they both laugh, a little.
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