𝑯𝑬𝒀 𝑨𝑴𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑪𝑨 | in which a normal, dreary, woman has greatness thrust upon her, and with it an instructor who is not a perfect soldier but a good man.
Join Quinn, a lowly I.T. at S.H.I.E.L.D., as her already chaotic domestic life gets throw...
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THE CLOCK ON the wooden desk flips it's large ivory numbers to read a quarter past nine. The clicking of a pen is the only abrupt sound that can be heard in the office, aside from the soft hum of music. Quinn sits at her desk with the lamp on, tapping her foot against the linoleum floor to the beat of the music playing. She skims over the sheet of paper in her hands, not a single comprehensible word on the page, just codes for the stitch in the upgrade she said she'd look over for Jack.
She clicks the pen top down as soon as she finds something that could lead to a possible error in the system and circles it in red ink before returning to tapping her foot to the beat. There's a knocking on the door that takes her off guard for a moment, then her heart settles into a steady beat as she realizes what - who - it is. Tonight she's actually expecting company. She crosses the office to open the door to the department and is greeted by the appetizing smell of takeout food wafting into her face. Her stomach gurgles as she smells the air.
"I'm glad you're here," she chirps. "I thought you weren't going to show up at first." Her mouth starts watering as the scent of takeout makes it's way into her nostrils again. She props open the door to let Steve through, taking the warmth of the food away from her. "I asked you what you wanted, you said Chinese," he points out. "There's no Chinese in the canteen."
"I appreciate it," she grins, directing him to her desk, placing the plastic bags they were in with a crinkle on the top of the pale wood. She hadn't eaten since one, she was famished. It didn't dawn on her that she hadn't eaten that much until he asked her what she wanted via text (she was proud). Since then she's been craving for her food to arrive, even chomping on the base of her red pen to send away the hunger in her gut.
"Can we eat before the lesson, or can I at least eat during? I don't want to seem rude or anything. I just haven't eaten in a while," she asks him for his opinion as she opens up the bag of takeout, letting a humid puff of air out of the bag. She waves her hand in front of it, pushing away the steam. She looks over to see his hands stuffed in his pockets, slightly smiling. It makes her chest feel tight but at the same time, she feels flustered. "I don't care," he simply states. "Eat before if you haven't eaten in a while," She pulls out Dustin's chair from his desk and pats the grey cushion, indicating that he can sit down. He carefully sits down, pulling the chair closer to her desk as she divvies out the food.
"Chopsticks or fork?" she questions, holding up the crimson packet of chopsticks and a fork with a napkin in a plastic film. He studies the two for a split second and then confidently says, "Chopsticks."
Quinn tosses him the package with a scoff. "Show off," she says under her breath with a playful eye roll. "What do I owe you?" she asks as she hands him the white folding container of sweet and sour chicken. His brows furrow as he takes the container in his hands, he meets her gaze as she begins pulling out her wallet from her purse. "Don't worry about it." he shrugs off, unwrapping the chopsticks and digging into his food.
