It's a Slow Fire of Sorts: Part I

Burnt Chicken

The first thing Kamala says when Carol and Brunnhilde portal into the laundry room, isn't something along the lines of, "I missed you guys so much," or "Carol. Carol where have you been?" or even a simplistic, "Hey Val, nice sweatshirt. Love the bunnies."

No.

Little Marv- in all her Little Marv loveliness- hears the whoosh of the Bifrost, sets her sights on double layer chocolate cake, and immediately makes her priorities known.

"Gimme gimme gimme," she says, shoving her arms into Carol's personal space and abandoning Brunnhilde to a pile of dirty clothes. "I thought I was gonna die." Carol gently releases her hold, carefully easing the dark chocolate into Little Marv's demanding hands. "We're gonna crash so hard tonight. It's gonna be great! This is great- so great- ohmygosh," and then she's gone, high-tailing it to the kitchen with infectious glee.

"Guys, the cake is HERE! Agent Hill is a beacon of light in a dark, dark world."

Brunnhilde just stands there. "Uh, what was that?" she asks, the maroon of Kamala's shirt fading out of sight.

Carol shrugs.

"Don't ask me. Thought I'd at least get a hug before the cake beat me out. Guess I was wrong."

"Apparently there's a scale. You, me." Brunnhilde flattens her palm to mimic a balance. She tips it in the cake's favor. "We're no match for Hill's god-like status."

"Ouch," Carol deadpans. "My pride," and Brunnhilde rubs her shoulder.

"You ready?" she asks. Carol nods.

"Born that way."

"You lying?"

Carol swats her on the chest. "I'll steal the Rainbow bridge and leave you stranded," she jokes. "No false accusations," but she gives Brunnhilde a peck on the cheek anyway, and when Brunnhilde skillfully turns her head, resulting in a full-on kiss, a soft giggle fills the space.

"You," Carol whispers, pulling Brunnhilde close. "Are a menace. Monica's going to kill you for all of the PDA."

"It takes two to tango."

"... I literally have no idea what that means."

"It means you're at fault, too," Brunnhilde reminds. "Which is why I'm getting it out now; to save us both from the wrath that is Maria Rambeau's child."

Carol just smiles. She removes a stray hair from Brunnhilde's shoulder (Chewie's, probably) and kisses her once more.

"I guess I'll allow it."

***

When they enter the living room- a mere ten seconds later, because Brunnhilde isn't that obnoxious- Monica immediately puts them to work. "You're on veggie duty," she says, waving Carol forward. "And you're on chicken and rice." She points to Brunnhilde and then to the stovetop, where Chavez is busy jumping back and forth between two pans and trying not to cook herself.

"I don't trust her not to burn it."

Carol gives her a mock salute. "Ma'am yes, ma'am," she says, easily settling on the far side of the island and Brunnhilde is quick to follow. With a yawn, she's nudging America out of the way and peering into a pot of golden yellow.

"Chavez agreeing to vegetables?" she asks. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Yeah, well. She goaded me with Cholula."

Smacking her lips, America slumps against the counter, allowing Brunnhilde to steal the wooden spoon from her fingers. "It's like 'what would you do for a Klondike bar,' except with hot sauce."