It's a Slow Fire of Sorts: Part I

Domesticity

"And that's how we escaped a crappy murder planet," Brunnhilde finishes. She crosses her legs and reaches for what's left of her and Carol's water.

"How'd I do?"

"I hated that, actually. Thanks for asking."

"Yeah. That freaking sucked. Monica is evil," Chavez seconds. She pauses, looks at Monica, then raises her empty soda can with an intrigued nod.

"Respect."

"No," Kamala says firmly. "Mm-mm, not respect. Thanks to you, I'm going to be freaking out over this for the next twenty-seven days." She tosses her head back and collapses against the couch, glaring at Brunnhilde from the corner of her eyes. "The found family trope, Carol's collapse, memory loss times one thousand! I don't think my heart can take the suspense... I might die from it, actually, because that's a thing. I read about it once."

"You've read Flerken conspiracy theories, too. So, I think you'll live."

Kamala ignores the jab. Instead, she purses her lips, looks off to the side, and immediately widens her eyes. "Oooh! OOOH!" she yells, raising a hand. "Wait, can I ask a question? A few questions like maybe," she counts on her fingers. "Two... four... maybe- maybe seven questions?"

"I'm not going to answer seven questions," Brunnhilde says.

"Three?"

"Zero."

Kamala whines, "C'mon. You left me on a horrible cliff-hanger. I may not survive this," and at her pouting lips, Carol nudges Brunnhilde's arm. Her hair brushes over Brunnhilde's shoulder as she leans in.

"Let her ask a question," she orders in a soft, fond tone, one that Brunnhilde can't argue with. "Think she'll explode if she has to keep it inside."

"Yes. I'll explode. Just one, okay. I'll settle for just one. Just a little teensy- weensy question, and I'll let the rest slide."

"Wait, I have a question, too," Chavez pipes up, raising her hand. "If she gets one, I get one."

"Hate to be that person," Monica adds. "But if the kids get one, I get one."

At this point, the room is full of raised hands and eager grins. Brunnhilde shakes her head. "Look at what you've done," she wants to joke. "Got 'em all riled up," but Little Marv pokes Carol with her finger, and Carol snorts, falling somewhat into Brunnhilde's arms to avoid the attack. Her laugh gives way to a squeal as she pokes Kamala back and every single intelligent dismissal in Brunnhilde's brain kind of just... falls away.

She takes it in stride.

Glancing at Chavez, she taps Carol's thumb, a resigned smile stretching out onto her face. "Fine," she concedes, ignoring the disgustingly excited faces beaming back at her.

"One question each, but Marv and I have veto power and one-word answers are acceptable. Alright?"

Carol nods. Little Marv shoots her a thumbs up. Chavez gives her a salute, completely discredited by a growing smirk, and Monica- seeing said smirk and subsequently putting the pieces together- palms her face.

"Don't even think about it," she warns, scrounging around for something to throw. "America Chavez, don't you dare do it. Kamala, arm me."

Little Marv comes to the rescue. She tosses Monica a package of milk duds as Chavez wisely slides herself out of range. Raising her hands to shield her face from the oncoming violence, Chavez looks at Brunnhilde with a cocky grin. "So," she starts, as the candy throwing commences.

"About that hate sex."

***

They take the Bifrost back to New Asgard, leaving the ship at Monica's because Carol is far too tired to do anything other than collapse into bed. Little Marv's question, as it turns out, was less about the story, and more about the movie, because, in her words, "If I can't have another first-hand account of the most romantic kiss of the 90s, I'll settle for Val's hatred of Edward."