(no subject)

[takingthechance]

The front door opens, and a young woman in uniform steps briskly through. The neat olive dress uniform doesn't do much to hide the coltishness of her frame, accentuated by how she stutter-steps to a stop when the room she walks into isn't the Hastings police department, her pack with the heavy helmet tied over the top banging against her hip at the sudden stop.

Comments

[clevermonkeyhands]

"Well," says a man (dressed in a soft red-checked collared shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, blue tie hanging crooked, face in a file folder) as shoves the door open with his shoulder. "That's the problem, isn-- excuse me."

Military--

-- that's not a recent uniform. What's WWII military doing in --

-- this isn't the break room.

Fitz closes his file folder over his finger and gapes at the bar.

Behind him, his door softly thunks closed.

[takingthechance]

"I'm dreadfully sorry, but.. shouldn't this be the police office?" Sam is determined to put a brave face on things - clearly there's been a miscommunication somewhere along the line. "I'm supposed to report to a DCS Foyle?"

[clevermonkeyhands]

"Uh," Fitz says, not looking at her. "Maybe? I--"

He falls silent, right hand going up to hovers by his right temple as his shoulders hunch slightly. He needs to think, he can't panic, he can't --

"You were in England?"

Walked through an instability in the fabric of reality and he's in a bar with a, a English woman or at least a very clever copy of o--

She's getting seriously considered for the first time.

[takingthechance]

"I... am in England. Hastings, actually, but I think I've taken a wrong turning somewhere. Not a good thing for a police driver, or a potential one, I suppose." She allows cheerfully, unrelenting.

[clevermonkeyhands]

"Does this look like Hastings?" Fitz's hand waves out at the crowd and then, once he notices it's out, pulls it quickly back in.

He glances around, nervously. Quieter: "I was in America, anyway, so at least one of us can't be at home."

[takingthechance]

Her expression is sympathetic - he's the right age, and in civilian clothing (odd civilian clothing, but maybe it's a new style).

"Oh, I am sorry - I'll find someone else to ask." It isn't terribly polite to point out to the poor boy who's probably had his wits scattered by the Germans that there's precious little chance he was in America any time recently.

[clevermonkeyhands]

"I'm not -- I'm not crazy," Fitz says. "Does this -- that Window doesn't exactly look like anywhere in Britain! After what happened in New York, you have to realize--"

Does she? He doesn't talk to that many civilians, and she's some sort of WWII re-enactor which might mean she has weird ideas about aliens.

He sighs. "Never mind. I'm just going to go and see-- oh," he lowers his folder, and runs over to check his door.

It opens onto the SHIELD hallway. He relaxes against the door jam somewhat theatrically.

[takingthechance]

She's not looking at him.

She's looking out the window, pale as a ghost.

Sam Stewart just doesn't have any basis to even begin understanding that, the whole thing terribly overwhelming.

[clevermonkeyhands]

"See," Fitz says, happily staring out his door. "Not Hastings."

He turns around, triumphant, to catch how she's holding herself.

"... Are you all right?"

[takingthechance]

"Is that... oh God, it's the Germans, isn't it? They've crossed the Channel." She asks, staring at the window in horror. Any second now, she's sure, the explosions will come closer. They've been caught completely flat-footed - she can't hear a single siren. "We should... we should get to shelter. Try and... and hold out."

[clevermonkeyhands]

Oh.

Either she's crazy, or -- well -- well, he can figure that out later. Fitz stares at her for a long moment, stuck between gripping tight to his door and going to her.

He breaks loose, shutting the door behind him. "Look, they can't get us in here," he says, as calmly as he can. For one: those are galaxies exploding, not bombs. He'd know. He's glancing warily to the side, and almost whispering: "See how calm everyone is about it? Let's sit down a moment, all right?"

He touches her elbow lightly; if she lets him, he's going to steer her to the nearest booth.

[takingthechance]

She nods, tearing her gaze away from the terrible sight. This must be one of the newer shelters, or something like - something to withstand the wrath of the German air force. Her motions are rote as she sits - smoothing her skirt, taking off her hat and trying not to crumple it along with her heavy driving gauntlets, setting her pack to one side.

"I suppose it's a good thing I have my ration book with me."

[clevermonkeyhands]

"Yeah," Fitz says, staring at the waiters. He's pretty sure the rats are waiters.

Can he mention this without drawing her attention to it -- no.

"I'll, um, go ask at the bar."

He gets up again, and squares his shoulders before walking to the bar, folder tucked under his left elbow. He dribbles his fingers on the bar surface.

Between one drum-beat and the next, what's under his fingers is no longer wood but paper.

Fitz blinks down. It's a package of notes, with Jemma's writing, all on top of a notebook.

He clears his throat, on scanning the first note. "Uh, some tea and brandy, thanks," he says, and picks it up from the bar as it arrives.

He sets it down in front of the woman, but abruptly goes back to reading the pile of notes he's accumulated.

[takingthechance]

She drinks most of the brandy neat, before adding what's left to her tea - her nerves need the steadying effect. All she can think about is her mum and dad - mum will probably be too ill to move to shelter, and her dad... well, as the vicar, there's always the chance he won't look to his own safety first.

Silent tears roll down her cheeks as she sips her tea.

Almost silent, anyway. There's some sniffling.

[clevermonkeyhands]

Fitz is in the middle of one of his notes when the noise finally breaks through his attention.

(It takes... awhile.)

"Why are you -- oh, god, sorry, I was going to explain -- I know you think I'm crazy, but hear me out, okay?"

[takingthechance]

There's a mixture of affront and consternation in her expression, but she settles for nodding, both hands wrapped around her cup of tea.

[clevermonkeyhands]

"I'm Dr. Leo Fitz," he starts with, because credentials show authority, right? Right. "I work with a brilliant scientist named Dr. Simmons, who's been here already, since she left me all these notes at the counter -- anyway, this isn't Hastings, it's a place called Milliways, which is kind of -- so you know how you can get an oxbow lake, where it's separate from the river it used to be a part of, but sitting right next to it? It's like that, except with reality.

So that's not your home being bombed, it's just--" ummm "-- a stellar phenomenon."

[takingthechance]

She blinks at him, bemusedly.

"Those are stars? Stars have never looked like that." She protests, but she'll freely admit she likes the idea of being somewhere inexplicable to the idea of being in an invaded England.

[clevermonkeyhands]

"Collections of stars. You know about galaxies, right? Like, ... if stars could have cities, they'd live in galaxies, and usually we can't see them really well but it's very dark outside the window so -- so we can," he ends, sort of unwound.

He wishes he was into astronomy. This would probably be really cool.

As it is, he can't seem to get his mind around what has happened enough to actually get excited.

[takingthechance]

Stars in cities? It's clear that particular concept doesn't translate, as she frowns at him in confusion. All she got out of that was the mental image of a little vicar star in his little star church, maybe a little star pub with a star barman serving up star beer...

It's a little ridiculous.