Winter Sunshine

The Tower

Savannah calmly replaced the phone into its handset, and walked calmly towards the kitchen, calmly bandaging her cut and calmly teleporting herself to the SHIELD base. This is a brief account of what would have happened had the world been in any way predictable.

Instead, Savannah disintegrated the phone, by clenching it rather tightly. Did I mention Savannah was far from normal? Never mind, time enough for that later. Back to our heroine (with an 'e', not the drug). Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she picked up a pair of scissors, ran the blade across the cut lightly, and fell asleep, cradling her injured wrist in her hand.

  That was how Nathan found her the next day. Savannah awoke to shouting, and rather unmanly hysterical shrieking. She looked blearily up at her friend and grinned toothily, before mumbling a 'good morning'. Nathan was mid-rant, when he stopped, gifted her with a look of pure relief, then bitchslapped her hard across the face.

  'Wha ...' 

'- never thinking of others. So immature. Blah-de-blah-de-blah ... even listening to me, are you?'

'Nope.'

Nathan Reese sighed and looked resignedly at his friend, his eyes widening fractionally at the sight of the blood soaking through her clothing. Savannah noticed his tailing off, and followed his gaze, mentally preparing herself for mother-hen mode to be switched on full blast. Another sigh. Savannah was being lifted by strong, warm arms that smelt faintly of coconuts, and felt herself being taken to the bathroom. Nathan stopped dead suddenly, and Savannah peered up to see what all the fuss was about.

Oh, oh shit.

In a dangerously low voice, Nathan asked exactly why bits of her toaster were scattered haphazardly across the kitchen.

 So that's what that was... 

Savannah shrugged, slipped out of Nathan's arms and practically sprinted into the bathroom, having just remembered something very important, and highly incriminating. Ripping the plug from the bathtub, she watched apprehensively as the evidence of her 'episode', -the bloody water in the bath- quite literally went down the drain.

Barely in time, for, in the doorway, stood Director Fury, fully living up to his name. There was little time for explanations now, Fury had said gruffly, when Savannah had initially opened her mouth to defend herself. She still looked ready to protest, however, so Fury instructed her to 'save it for the Helicarrier', and, surprisingly enough, she did, nodding dumbly in acquiescence. She had said a brisk adieu to Nathan, and left before he could even blink.

They sat awkwardly in silence, for a few seconds, before Fury had broken the unwelcome silence between them. That was a lie, he had merely nodded at her wrist and raised his eyebrow. 

Lazy unconversational one-eyed bastard.

Savannah then launched into a long and rambling, 'Starkesque' explanation, one that involved missing lucky socks, and scissors hiding under her bed. Scissors which seemed to have a dislike of her wrist.

Fury glanced at her suspiciously, and then asked her if she had 'found them'. 

What?

Found what?

Oh, the socks. 

Savannah glanced down at her bare feet,  why were they bare?  and, rather calmly, lifted a foot up onto the table.

'It appears not.'

Fury glared at her, then her foot alternately.

 How can a person with one eye manage to look so threatening, while glaring?