He scoffs as he slides in. Normal. Honestly. "If that's what you think of me, I must be slipping." Padding after her to the kitchen, he dumps the bag on the table with a heavy thud and takes the bottle out from under his arm.
"Both works as well if you're in the mood for it." Charlie peels the foil from the top of the bottle and whips a knife from his pocket, cheerfully working it into the cork so he can pull it free.
Normaler than her, at least. But she keeps that to herself, shrugs. "Maybe you are slipping. You don't seem all that strange to me." She turns and places two glasses down in front of him. They aren't wine glasses, but she doesn't really have those so normal ones will have to do.
"I'm always in the mood for presents. And you did bring it all this way." And it's heavy, and she's becoming increasingly curious now. Why had he brought her anything at all? "What have you been up to tonight?"
"I'll have to work on that - means I'm losing the whole bond mystique thing I had going on." Right? C'mon, he's a bit dapper now and again isn't he?
Alright, maybe not so much. Charlie sets the cork and knife aside, pouring two glasses. He hands the first over to her, righting the bottle on and setting it at the center of the table. "That's right; I worked just terribly hard for it. You'll be shocked when you see what it is." It's at least a little sarcasm. Though he tips his head to the bag as he takes a sip of the wine - eughk, it's a little dryer than expected -, suggesting it's probably within her right to go ahead and open it.
"Yeah, okay, you work on that and I'll let you know how it's going." Dry and amused, and she takes that tilt of his head as the suggestion it is and sets the glass aside to start prying the box open. She can take a drink in a moment, this is a little more immediately pressing to her.
He grins, taking a long easy drink from his glass as she works the box open. The contents are probably less exciting than the weight might've promised, but he likes to think a semi-operable 5-speed gearbox isn't the worst sort of thing he might've brought by.
"I know jack shit about any of this nonsense, but I pried that baby out've a motorbike during the last mission. Thought you might like to poke about it."
It is definitely not the worst sort of thing he could have brought by, judging from the pleased expression on her face as she hefts it up and turns it over in her hands, ease in the gesture despite the weight of it. It's not a particularly obvious look, but there is a shift at the corner of her mouth and her eyes, and when she glances back at him it's almost a smile.
"I'd love to poke about it. What type of wine do you have there?"
"Merlot. I haven't the slightest idea if it's the best or worst sort." If he's being honest, he's not much of a wine connoisseur - never really acquired the taste for it and certainly didn't grow up drinking it like he did beer and shitty liquor. "But don't tell anyone that. Again-- the whole mystique thing."
But he's awfully pleased with himself anyway. A smile, even just the edge of a proper one, out of her is rare enough that he's pretty sure he's done alright.
"I've never really had much wine, so it's not like I'll know the difference either." She turns to pull down glasses from the cupboard, present him one. "It's a miracle you still have a mystique left at all what with how many things you have to hide to keep it."
Amused, and she tilts her head at the bottle and holds the glasses out. "Fill us up?"
"It's an art." He takes the glass from her by the stem, flipping it easily up and over. Tipping the bottle, he pours her a more than generous portion before passing it back. She's not the only one with practice at lying -- though he'd need at least two more glasses in him before he'd think about saying as much.
"So I hear." She takes the glass with a mock start of a salute towards him, raises it and then tips back a fair amount of it before pausing to swallow and consider. "Not bad. Not that I'm a connoisseur or anything, but I like it. Want to sit down?"
Glad to hear it isn't a total bust, Charlie raises his own glass in a return half-asses salute. He gravitates toward the couch without a second invitation, snagging the bottle and taking it with him as he goes. No need to get up and down again the moment he empties his glass -- which, if the swig he takes is any indication, won't be terribly long off.
"Still living with that fussy mechanic bloke, are you?" There's some bizarre collection of machinery left on the coffee table that Charlie can only assume belongs to whatshisface.
She follows him over, tips easily into the seat beside him and sinks back into it with a sigh. Relaxation is always nice, and right now seems like it will be just that. A nice, relaxing evening. She's still not entirely used to that, but it's getting easier to think of without part of her head recoiling in confusion.
"Tony and Pepper, yeah. Though half of that's mine actually. Tony just stuck his own mess on top of it." A light shrug and an eye roll. "Fair enough, I guess."
He clears off enough of the corner to set the bottle down before flopping down beside her. Some of the wine sloshes up over the very edge of the glass and onto his hand. He swears very gently, checks the floor and couch to make sure he hasn't stained anything, and wipes his hand on the leg of his jeans.
"Suppose so, though personally I like to give the bloke I live with a bit of an earful when he shifts my things about." Public coffee table be damned. Charlie's never claimed to be the most considerate of roommates though.
She ducks her head to hide her amusement at that - it would be rude to make it obvious, right - takes a long drink of her own glass and puts her feet up on the table.
"I contract for his company here and there. If I'm leaving it about in public it's probably meant to be seen by him anyways." Amused, more than anything, and she looks over at him. "So what are you getting up to?"
"Eugh, you live with your boss? That's a bit of a buzzkill, isn't it? Have you any habitable living guidelines: 'No work in the home' or any of that?" Seems like a conflict of interest if you ask him -- not that his line of work is exactly known for its ultra professionalism either.
Finishing off his glass, Charlie leans forward and pours himself the start of a second. He shrugs, tipping his head nonchalantly from one side to the other. "Oh you know, this and that. Throwing people about in the training rooms, pub brawls. The usual." Exciting lives they're leading, aren't they?
"We both really like our work, so that's never been necessary." Which is the truth - she's not sure workaholic is the right word for either of them, but they certain can get caught up in easily and happily.
She bites down an amused look at the second glass he's pouring, works on finishing her own. "It's amazing how the downtime stretches when they're not throwing us into active warzones. Almost enough to make me volunteer for the small missions."
"I love my job," he insists, setting the bottle upright. "But you don't see me bunking with the bloke who happens to be paying me."
Well. You know. Mostly. And if there's speaking with a little more innuendo (and when isn't he?), it's happened once or twice -- not blokes, mind, but getting involved with someone running the show? Sure. Nothing like a little danger, a wobbly power dynamic and a few felonies to get him hot under the collar.
"Those missions tend to be a bit more specialized, don't they? Suppose I can understand the appeal if that's the case."
"Didn't really feel like arguing with the new housing arrangements when they came out." Didn't really stop her from drunkenly accusing Tony of causing them, but - she doesn't like to remember that moment. She wasn't doing too hot then.
Whatever, that was a while ago. And it's not like she's really considered sleeping with Tony. Well. Maybe she has, but she dismissed it pretty fast because of that whole Pepper thing. He really likes Pepper. And she doesn't actually need anyone, so it all works out fine.
"They seem like they're more interesting than being perpetually stuck here, really. Something to do at least." She gets restless, sometimes. "Maybe I will volunteer."
Not a hell of a lot, apparently. Worst comes to worst: you get a little scuffed up and the Initiative gives you a patch job on the way back, right? Charlie raises his glass in a sort of faux toast and shakes his head - easy grin. "Maybe it'll earn you points with the Initiative. Though they might fall over dead from shock to have someone looking to work with them."
"I can think of so many things that could go wrong, don't ask that." She's exceptional at thinking about things that could go wrong. But she doesn't actually want to think about that right now, because she's happy and comfortable and that's rare enough that it's worth basking in when it happens.
She raises her own glass, takes a long swallow and blinks as the first feeling of looseness starts to sink in. She probably shouldn't drink much more, but she can't bring herself to worry about that either yet. "You got any plans for the future here?"
"Christ no." He's settling into the couch, letting himself sag into the too-modern couch. The Initiative's aesthetic tends to run too close to the 'elaborate cube' side of things and not enough 'plush cushions' for his taste. "Vastly prefer being footloose and fancy free myself."
Which is a lie, though maybe not one he's entirely aware of. He spends too much time traipsing around in the timeline at the Initiative's behest for that to really be an honest assessment.
"And yet you keep showing up here." She's looking at her glass more than him when she says it, absent minded, not entirely meaning to let that slip.
It's just that footloose and fancy free means no attachments, but he's looked after her more than a few times now. "You've got more than a few friends for someone footloose."
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"Both works as well if you're in the mood for it." Charlie peels the foil from the top of the bottle and whips a knife from his pocket, cheerfully working it into the cork so he can pull it free.
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"I'm always in the mood for presents. And you did bring it all this way." And it's heavy, and she's becoming increasingly curious now. Why had he brought her anything at all? "What have you been up to tonight?"
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Alright, maybe not so much. Charlie sets the cork and knife aside, pouring two glasses. He hands the first over to her, righting the bottle on and setting it at the center of the table. "That's right; I worked just terribly hard for it. You'll be shocked when you see what it is." It's at least a little sarcasm. Though he tips his head to the bag as he takes a sip of the wine - eughk, it's a little dryer than expected -, suggesting it's probably within her right to go ahead and open it.
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"I know jack shit about any of this nonsense, but I pried that baby out've a motorbike during the last mission. Thought you might like to poke about it."
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"I'd love to poke about it. What type of wine do you have there?"
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But he's awfully pleased with himself anyway. A smile, even just the edge of a proper one, out of her is rare enough that he's pretty sure he's done alright.
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Amused, and she tilts her head at the bottle and holds the glasses out. "Fill us up?"
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"Still living with that fussy mechanic bloke, are you?" There's some bizarre collection of machinery left on the coffee table that Charlie can only assume belongs to whatshisface.
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"Tony and Pepper, yeah. Though half of that's mine actually. Tony just stuck his own mess on top of it." A light shrug and an eye roll. "Fair enough, I guess."
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"Suppose so, though personally I like to give the bloke I live with a bit of an earful when he shifts my things about." Public coffee table be damned. Charlie's never claimed to be the most considerate of roommates though.
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"I contract for his company here and there. If I'm leaving it about in public it's probably meant to be seen by him anyways." Amused, more than anything, and she looks over at him. "So what are you getting up to?"
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Finishing off his glass, Charlie leans forward and pours himself the start of a second. He shrugs, tipping his head nonchalantly from one side to the other. "Oh you know, this and that. Throwing people about in the training rooms, pub brawls. The usual." Exciting lives they're leading, aren't they?
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She bites down an amused look at the second glass he's pouring, works on finishing her own. "It's amazing how the downtime stretches when they're not throwing us into active warzones. Almost enough to make me volunteer for the small missions."
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Well. You know. Mostly. And if there's speaking with a little more innuendo (and when isn't he?), it's happened once or twice -- not blokes, mind, but getting involved with someone running the show? Sure. Nothing like a little danger, a wobbly power dynamic and a few felonies to get him hot under the collar.
"Those missions tend to be a bit more specialized, don't they? Suppose I can understand the appeal if that's the case."
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Whatever, that was a while ago. And it's not like she's really considered sleeping with Tony. Well. Maybe she has, but she dismissed it pretty fast because of that whole Pepper thing. He really likes Pepper. And she doesn't actually need anyone, so it all works out fine.
"They seem like they're more interesting than being perpetually stuck here, really. Something to do at least." She gets restless, sometimes. "Maybe I will volunteer."
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Not a hell of a lot, apparently. Worst comes to worst: you get a little scuffed up and the Initiative gives you a patch job on the way back, right? Charlie raises his glass in a sort of faux toast and shakes his head - easy grin. "Maybe it'll earn you points with the Initiative. Though they might fall over dead from shock to have someone looking to work with them."
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She raises her own glass, takes a long swallow and blinks as the first feeling of looseness starts to sink in. She probably shouldn't drink much more, but she can't bring herself to worry about that either yet. "You got any plans for the future here?"
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Which is a lie, though maybe not one he's entirely aware of. He spends too much time traipsing around in the timeline at the Initiative's behest for that to really be an honest assessment.
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It's just that footloose and fancy free means no attachments, but he's looked after her more than a few times now. "You've got more than a few friends for someone footloose."