Going To DEF CON One | closed
@itsdaisynow continued from here.
Red’s expression was one of undisguised angry resentment but she also didn’t look like she wanted to muck about with Daisy. Instead of direct confrontation, she scoffed, rolling her eyes and muttered, “If he were interested? If?” before stomping down the cargo ramp, her combat boots clanging against the metal unpleasantly.
At the bottom, she snatched her laptop from Doug, their lone security detail, and then gave them a sour look over her shoulder before storming toward the waiting car with Doug trailing behind her carrying her other bags.
Fitz couldn’t understand why Red was so intent on him. He noted that Doug looked plenty interested in her arse as he followed in her wake.
“Thanks for that,” Fitz said, glancing over at Daisy and giving her a small smile. “I didn’t want to upset her and bollocks up the mission already. She likely took it better comin’ from you, rather than me, anyway. So...thanks.”
Not that Fitz was convinced Red had really given up, if the determined set of her jaw was any indicator, but he’d take the reprieve for now.
Stepping forward onto the ramp, Fitz finally felt the incredible heat outside hit him square in the face like a physical slap—the air was bloody scorching and utterly bone dry.
“Sweet lord, where have we landed? Hell on Earth? It’s hot as blazes out there,” Fitz complained, hooking a finger into his collar and trying to loosen it just a skosh.
Fitz was decidedly a northerly creature, made for the damp cold of rain and fog, and definitely not the searing dryness of the desert. He already felt his skin beginning to prickle as sweat broke out on his skin and he hadn’t even left the damned jet just yet. He considered what devils he might have to pray to for enough air con to fend off his fainting dead away with heatstroke over the next two days.
Of course, his suit didn’t help. He’d dressed for a conference, not for a holiday. He was used to scientific conferences, where professional people gathered to discuss intellectual ideas and network with their peers. Red’s leather harness of buckles over (very) cutoff jeans and a t-shirt had tipped him off that he might not have worn the right thing.
“I’m not sure that I’m cut out for this diabolical climate,” Fitz lamented.
