“You know, we never used to have Official SHIELD Women’s Cocktail Nights,” Jemma says, somewhat fuzzily.
Skye is asleep on the table, absinthe soaking into her hair. Jemma should fix that, really, but her fingers don’t feel quite like they belong to her. May refused to join them, which was sad, but maybe for the best: she would be frowning at them right now.
“Oh, neither did we,” Bobbi says easily, teeth white in her grin. “I mean, once you’ve played Truth or Dare with Romanov and Hill and Carter, you never want to drink with them again. I think we’re still paying off the damages.”
“But you said-” Jemma begins, and then looks down at the half-drunk gin cocktail in her hand. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” Bobbi’s mouth pulls sheepish, while her nose screws up in amusement. “Bit of a white lie, there.”
“Just a bit,” Jemma agrees, but she’s grinning back anyway.
“And hey,” Bobbi adds, clinking her Chrysanthemum against Jemma’s glass, “girls who survived undercover in HYDRA should definitely drink together.”
“They’re so mean there,” Jemma hears herself spilling; she tries not to talk about it, it’s not like they locked her up or made her vivisect anyone, but: mean.
“They are,” Bobbi agrees, something flitting across her face, and Jemma doesn’t want it there; instead, she blurts: “so, Truth or Dare?”
“That’s a terrible idea,” Bobbi tells her, but her expression is bright, and she settles their knees together, comfortable and almost too familiar. “You can pick first.”