It's a Slow Fire of Sorts: Part I

How I met your Mother

Brunnhilde just hands her the entire container, gulping down the rest of her piece and preparing for the inevitable.

"I really thought they knew... I- I thought you knew," Carol continues, taking a bite of chocolate and looking back at the three idiots staring at them both, mouths agape. "When!? How!? What!? And this never came up? The audacity!" Their voices are grating, practically sandpaper in Brunnhilde's ears, so she waves her arms, quieting everyone down.

"Okay, okay! Inside voices, please. Odin's beard, can't believe I'm the one having to say that."

"I thought you two met when Carol kicked Thanos' butt!" Kamala accuses, voice still loud. Carol motions for her to decrease the volume, and she complies, practically whispering the next part. "All my fanfics are now canon non-compliant, how could you do this to me?"

"I thought you met at Val's Coronation," Monica murmurs.

"And I thought you guys just U-Hauled it like every other gay couple known to man," Chavez finishes. "But now you're telling me I was wrong by at least three decades!?"

Brunnhilde snorts. "I'm sorry, back up, you thought that Carol Danvers- a woman who once pondered the strength of sunscreen brands for twenty minutes in the middle of Walmart- just jumped into this relationship?" Carol elbows Brunnhilde in the arm.

"It's not my fault there are so many kinds, now. You can't always trust the numbers-"

"Marv, you physically cannot burn. You've flown into the Sun before- multiple suns, actually... Hala, Krylor, and a few stars, too-"

"Yes, and I wear sunscreen every time," Carol says seriously, looking at her skin. "Maybe I should be the one in all the commercials... Neutrogena would probably love me." She's glowing; practically lighting up the world with the gentleness of her words and the ridiculousness of her habits. Sunscreen, pineapples, her inability to recognize sarcasm...

Brunnhilde has to physically restrain herself from committing atrocious acts of PDA.

"Okay, rewind time," Monica demands. She's in the process of cleaning up the mess in the living room. Carol tries to help- starts to stand up and everything- but Monica points to Carol's chest and then the couch. "Nu-uh, Princess. You- sit," she demands, and then she points to Brunnhilde.

"You- start talking."

"About what, exactly? There's really not much to say."

Monica glares- again- and Brunnhilde sighs, "It's... kind of a long story."

"Well, good thing three of us are effectively immortal and two of us live for the slow fire."

"Burn," Kamala quips, another Twizzler in hand. She's bursting at the seams with excitement. "It's called a slow burn. Now tell me everything," and Brunnhilde groans.

"Alright, fine," she says, loudly. "Long story short, we met in the 90s, became friends, dated, got married, and now we're here; sitting on Rambeau's couch and trying to watch a creepy vampire movie in peace." She motions for Carol to give her another brownie- sugar rush and possible high be damned.

"That good enough for you?"

"No!" Little Marv squeals. She stands, tossing the Twizzler to the side as she begins to pace across the floor like a madwoman.

Too much sugar. Far too much sugar.

"Long story short? Absolutely not, I need more! I need- I need substance. I need backstory-" Her arms are waving all over the place. This is the most animated Brunnhilde has ever seen her, and that's including the time she convinced Carol to cosplay as Captain Marvel at AvengerCon...