ArchivedLogs:Plenty of Reasons
| Plenty of Reasons | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2016-12-19 "You've got quite a long queue of people to punch if that's your solution." (followed by talking to jax.) |
| Location
<NYC> S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters - Cafeteria | |
The dining hall is capacious and bright, furnished with round tables and comfortable chairs for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s agents and other employees. Floor to ceiling windows along one wall look out over the architecture and bustle of midtown Manhattan, and opposite that, a long gleaming counter with glass serves up a vast variety of food, with sections set aside for special dietary considerations -- some with their own color-coded plates and utensils. The quality of the food is decent, for the most part, if a bit on the bland side. Steve has just deposited his emptied trays in the bussing area, but lingers there for a few moments longer, until he catches the eye of one of the kitchen staff with an apologetic smile. He's wearing a forest green button-up shirt, no tie, top button undone, camel slacks, and brown dress shoes. The shield slung across his back has been given a Christmas makeover: red and green concentric bands around an eight-pointed Star of Bethlehem. The small woman emerges from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. "{Hello, Sir -- ah, Steve. I hope you enjoyed the meal.}" She speaks Spanish with an Argentine accent and returns his smile, equally apologetic. "{I'm afraid it might not be up to usual standards, but can I get you anything?}" "{So sorry to bother you Magda,}" says Steve. "{The food was fine, but have you seen Jax back there?}" Magda's brows furrow deeply. "{Ah, no! He has not been in today at all, and usually someone tells us in advance if he's not coming. I hope he is not sick, but it's the season for it, God help us all.}" She crosses herself. Steve nods. "{I'll...ask around and find out, then. If he's sick, then it's just as well he rest -- and you're right about the season.}" His smile is only a little forced. "{Take care, Magda, and merry Christmas!}" "{Merry Christmas,}" Magda's smile is somewhat less reserved. "{And you tell Jackson to get better, if you see him!}" Steve makes a beeline for the exit and straight to the elevator, punching in his floor selection with entirely more force than necessary. Just before the doors slide shut, however, Clint catches up at a jog and shoves his foot in the closing gap. "You left in an awful hurry," he comments dryly, studying Steve sidelong. His eyes flick to the control panel as the elevator begins to move. "Going to see Jax and Ryan?" He makes his own selection, which would take them to their own team's suite. Steve's mouth presses into a thin line. "Jax wasn't at lunch. I'm just worried about him." Clint presses his thumb firmly to the menu key in the corner of the elevator's touchscreen control panel. It offers him a great many more options than the default menu gives, but he only uses one of the normal functions and cancels out Steve's floor selection. "You won't find him there." He holds up a hand to forestall questions. "I'll explain. C'mon." Steve follows Clint out of the elevator and into the STRIKE team's training suite. Sharon is sitting alone at a workstation in the main control room, and, looking up at the two men as they enter, gives a curt nod by way of greeting before returning her attention to the screen. Clint waves at Sharon but does not tarry there, heading into the break room instead. As Trip is still at lunch, the room is deserted, and he waves Steve toward the couch while heading to the coffee machine. "You want anything?" Steve does not sit. "I want to know what's going on." His voice is quiet and calm, but with a subtle edge that suggests it might get a lot less calm awfully fast. Unfazed, Clint taps in his selection on the space-age coffee machine and steps back to lean against the edge of the table. "Jackson tried to kill himself on Saturday. He's alive, and in the infirmary." Steve sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes going wide. "Oh, God," he whispers, dropping abruptly down onto the couch. "I knew he was down, and certainly he has plenty of reasons, but..." Clint picks up the two black coffees from the machine's dispensing alcove and sits down on the couch beside Steve, handing him one of the glass mugs. "Man's indefinitely detained, held back from the fight that has been the work of his life, away from his family and friends and faith community for the holidays, an obligate photosynthetic with limited access to light..." He eyes Steve significantly. "...among other things. Frankly, it's only surprising this hasn't happened earlier." Steve accepts the mug somewhat automatically, but does not drink from it. "Fury wants it kept under wraps?" The lift of Clint's eyebrow is fractional. "Obviously, but it's also a matter of Jackson's own privacy." He takes an experimental sip of his coffee, then drinks more deeply. "He should get the final say on who finds out...though I took a liberty here to keep you from making a scene." "Don't be so sure you've prevented that." Steve grits his teeth, hand tightening on the handle of the mug and then, very deliberately, relaxing. "I'd like to march up there and give Fury a piece of my mind." "Which is such an unusual occurrence." The corner of Clint's mouth twitches up in a somewhat humorless smirk. "Well, I won't stop you, but it's not Nick Fury keeping Jax imprisoned, not really. You've got quite a long queue of people to punch if that's your solution." "No." Steve looks down into the black depths of his coffee, then finally lifts it for a sip. "I'm going to go see him. Then I'm going to...ask for some advice, before I get to the punching." Pale blue eyes skid up and fix on Clint. "{Thank you.} For telling me." Clint studies Steve, brown eyes steady and calm. "Good." Then, a little hesitant, "Take good care of him, will you?" Steve drains the rest of his coffee in several long gulps. "I don't think it's within my power to promise that, but I'll try." | |
