whenindoubt | (no subject)

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"Oh, I don't know," Jemma said over her shoulder as she and Clint walked through the grocery store. "There's quite a bit to be said for a proper fry-up, although some people do think of them as bland." She's got a basket full of food already since she's decided that she's cooking dinner for them, and she's been justifying some British food to him this whole time even though he's not protested.

"Alright, I think this is enough." It was a normal day, normal dinner plans- until... Well.

"Isn't that sweet?" Jemma looked up at the old woman who was running the register.

"Hm? Pardon?"

"Oh, what I was saying, dear, is that it's so sweet that you're making dinner for your boyfriend."

Oh.

Oh dear.

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"If it has enough meat and grease, I can probably overlook the bland." I stop and pick up a Hershey bar from the register display. They remind me of being a kid, but in my case, those are the greatest memories. So, I re-shelve the candy and now I'm thinking about it by trying not to think about, so I almost miss the little old lady.

It probably would've been better for everyone involved if I'd missed it. In fact, I only catch bits and pieces of what she says, but that, along with Jemma's expression, is more than enough.

"I, huh? Her, w-- I."

Edited 2016-12-01 04:14 (UTC)

"The tomato's not bland! And besides, if you salt and pepper it, then it's not--" She rolls her eyes as she stops trying to explain, loading her groceries on the belt, blinking in surprise at the tiny old woman.

"I..." Looking back at Clint, Jemma pauses, and then smiles sweetly at the cashier. "I would like to pay for my purchases, thank you very much." She'd already pulled out her pocketbook, and it's exceptionally difficult for Jemma to keep that four and a half syllables from replaying in her mind. Were they dating? Weren't they? After all, she's making him dinner and it's hardly the first time it's happened.

And then there's the issue of them never talking about what this is, the mess where they just sort of skirt around it and almost-but-never-exactly figure out what their problem is, and.... well.

"Dear, you need to take my advice, and just--"

"I think I'm doing very well, thank you. And I'm not your dear." The sharpness in her voice is something that Jemma can't exactly do much about, given how perturbed she is at this moment.

Uh oh.

This is a disaster. Maybe I'm overreacting. I'm probably overreacting, but this feels a heck of a lot like that time I fell out of a tenth story window.

That's actually happened more than once, now that I think about it, and it was equally terrible each time. You never really get used to free-falling.

"Um, and this, too?" I say, awkwardly putting a candy bar on the conveyor belt.

Good one, Barton.

It's the snippiness that gets the old woman to leave Jemma behind and start talking to Clint, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Jemma is about five steps from exploding any moment now.

"Sometimes women just get like this, dear. It's good that you're buying her chocolate." She nods knowingly, ignoring the way that Jemma is fuming.

"I said I would like to pay for my purchase." The words were stiff and final in a way that she'd never talked to Clint -- honestly, he's never seen her this annoyed in the year and some that they'd known each other.

"That would be thirty-seven fourteen," says the sweet old lady who Jemma personally now thinks is one of the most terrible people that she's had the misfortune to meet, and even as she swipes her card she's gathering up the bags.

Out of here. She just wants to get out of here, sooner than later. Clint -- and his reactions and Jemma's own responses to them-- were definitely tertiary at this point.

Crap. Crap, crap, crap.

Helping to gather up the bags, I give her a wide birth until we're far away from the checkout counter. If I make things worse, I'm kind of afraid for this lady's safety. I already knew that Jemma's mind was scary as hell, but right now, she's also kind of physically terrifying.

"Take a breath, Jem," I say, as we near the door.

"Take a breath?!" It tips her over whatever precipice she'd been teetering on. "What in the world- Why don't you take a breath? It's not any of her business what we do with our lives, and for her to act like she knows anything better-- and to act like you just needed to feed me chocolate like I'm some sort of irate toddler--"

She's fuming while walking because she's not going to change her plans because of some old biddy, no matter what's been said, but even she doesn't know precisely what to think of it, just that she's furious.

"I'm breathing, Jemma. You're freaking out, and yeah, I'm kind of freaking out because you're freaking out, but--" I shrug helplessly. "She was old. Isn't that kind of the consolation prize for getting to a certain age? You get to say really uncomfortable stuff and everyone else knows they're supposed to give you a free pass?"

I hurry to keep up with her, happy to be a step or two behind so she can't see me fidget, even though it's making it kind of hard for me to know exactly what she's saying.

"She was wrong, so what? I'm... I'm not sure why you're so upset? Sorry, but... I don't know, you've got to help me out here."

"I'm also breathing, as I'm sure you're aware." The words were snapped, before she actually pulled herself up short as she listened to what he was actually saying. "You're.... correct." Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, she turned around and looked up at him. "I'm sorry, you're right. She's old, she clearly didn't know what she was talking about. Obviously." Jemma nodded once to herself, like this abruptly meant that the case was closed, although it clearly was not.

The why of her upset is something she staunchly wished to avoid, so she was doing the very British way of dealing with it -- to firmly and promptly ignore that there was ever an issue in the first place.

"Also, no. Being old, as you put it, doesn't give anyone a pass to be rude."

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