Ｒｅｔｒｏｕｖａｉｌｌｅｓ

。⓪❼

"They used to play music." Gabrielle lowers the volume of the device that bumps a lewd beat – what was once a radio, now a random playlist picked from YouTube.

"Isn't it?" counters Rogers. He is not at all in favour of the artist in question but then again nude statues found in museums are still considered art.

"What that?" She points to the small screen and speakers that are 'now playing' Miley Cyrus.

"Well she is singing."

"No that- that is noise. A very obnoxious very annoying noise."

Dissatisfied, she proceeds to further browse the selection in hopes of softening the mood with a gentler tone and perhaps finding a rhythm belonging to Frank Sinatra. When unable she turns off the music entirely.

As Steve is pulled into the allure of her home he takes into account the unsettling air that rests within. Judging by the brightly painted flower pots planted on the threshold and summery garland that graces her door, he'd've thought that earthy, homely touch would exist just the same on the inside. Such is not so.

They say the state of a habitat reflects the state of the inhabitant. If this is true our Gabrielle hasn't appeared to lead a very happy life so long or so far. Forget any convincing smile she can wear. It is empty and sterile on the other side of the wall, the outer aura of light serving as a fine but false façade for the darkness that dwells within.

Wishing to shake off his uneasiness Steve pops a question. "Did you know it was me on the taxi?"

Gabrielle pours her guest a cup of chilled chamomile before settling down on the single settee and answering. "I did not, too engrossed in my game it would seem."

He smiles, taking his beverage with a nod of thanks. "Yes I saw that. Mind explaining why you were firing at Captain America?" It is a detail he thinks worth mentioning.

"Apparently my automated skill level wasn't good enough to be an Avenger, so I was made an enemy of yours."

"You shot me didn't you."

"I did. Now, I'm not saying I dislike you and this is not to sound mean or anything, but, if you were ever on fire, I might consider roasting marshmallows."

Steve feigns his pain with a mock agape that causes an eruption of giggles to escape Gabrielle. "Well that's just hurtful."

The chatter commences to go on like this but before long the banter is washed down with the last sip of Roger's drink. It has gotten dense with humidity and he is beginning to feel like a hot and sticky mess. Saying so he thinks would be rude so he remains (verbally) silent on the subject.

"Are you alright?" she asks, noticing how he squirms in discomfort.

"Yeah yeah I'm okay. It's just... really warm in here."

"Is it? I hadn't noticed." Gabrielle rises from her seat. "Let me go fix that for you." She does so then in a matter of minutes returns to sit back down.

"Better?" she asks.

Steve meets her gaze and becomes aware that all the hot air around him has in fact dissipated or rather felt as if it had somehow been sucked out. Whatever air conditioner or fan the woman uses must be extremely efficient. "Yes much, thank you."