[The knock at his room's door is light enough to ignore if the occupants aren't interested in paying attention. If Fitz doesn't answer, no hard feelings. After considering a call or a text, though, she finally decided that seeing him face to face would be best.
She wants to actually see how he's doing, not hear his version.]
[She's caught the room at a quiet moment, later than Jemma's usual visit and earlier than a midnight tantrum from Tony. Fitz is alone for the moment, and he'll open the door slowly, but pull it open wider at the sight of Natasha. Physically, he's better than he was. He's got some color in his cheeks, though the bags under his eyes still carve deep lines into his face. He's recovering.]
[There's no Tony in sight, presently. The common space of the suite is relatively sparse, aside from a project Fitz has been tinkering with. It's small, mostly something to keep his hands busy.]
You do?
[He gestures to his chest, as if there might be someone else to be confused with.]
[That's the sort of thing Bobbi used to say to him when he was prickly with her. His head droops lower, eyes on the floor as he steps back from the door and opens it wider.]
[He'll never understand the fondness people have for life without a bit of sweetness. Not the rubbish cloying nonsense Americans prefer, but something better than dirt. There ought to be a midground.]
It's nice. Not necessarily an every day thing, but nice. But not everyone's okay with finding a warm cherry at the bottom of their tea cup. Still, if you're ever curious...
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She wants to actually see how he's doing, not hear his version.]
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I -- has something happened?
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[Walking in, Natasha spares just a glance for the room. Not that she's avoiding Tony, but he'd be a distraction just now.]
It's been a while. I wanted to see how you're doing.
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You do?
[He gestures to his chest, as if there might be someone else to be confused with.]
I. I'm fine.
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It's. I got down. Can't say it's been the easiest to sleep at night, but there's no harm done in the end.
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Can't blame a girl for checking.
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D'you want to come in for a bit?
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[He shrinks back into the suite, to give her more room.]
You prefer coffee, yeah?
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[He funnels himself into the kitchen and starts to prepare beverages.]
He's certainly not careful about the belongings of others.
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[She doesn't make a comment about not needing to hide the flavor of coffee. Some people take that kind of thing seriously.]
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[He'll never understand the fondness people have for life without a bit of sweetness. Not the rubbish cloying nonsense Americans prefer, but something better than dirt. There ought to be a midground.]
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[Wryly, not taking it too much to heart.]
Just the same, I'm all right with the tar.
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[He'll fuss with kitchenware in the interim.]
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[Not that everyone takes it that way, but in Natasha's experience that's a particular habit that tends to put off Western tea drinkers.]
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Yeah? Not something I've thought to try. Might be shorter than dunking a biscuit in.
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[She actually sounds rather fond.]
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