It’d all come together perfectly. What’d started as an innocent text exchange earlier in the day had flowered, winding roots down into both flirtation and challenge as it’d progressed.. A very particular kind of evolution that’d pricked Cara’s sense of adventure to taut attention. She’d done this well, if she’d had to rate it. Proposing dinner was a low-key, normal thing; it was something that would’ve gone without too much fanfare.. But with a roll of scotch tape held between her teeth and a hand-written note taped to the front door? This idea had taken another form entirely.
Dinner would happen, of course, it just remained to be seen who would be responsible for it.
She’d carefully selected their weaponry -- two lime-green guns the length of her entire arm -- and had taken the time after her final lecture to both click and load the rifles into functionality once she’d gotten them back to her tiny, Noe Valley home. The note was the second part; written neatly and folded into a square that she’d taped to the front door. There was a simple W written on its front, a blunt call to pick up the (plastic) gauntlet that she’d thrown.
Welcome home. I am hiding in the house with a Nerf gun, here is the other one..
The loser cooks dinner tonight.
May the odds be ever in your favor.
Once she’d leaned the gun on the front stoop and shut the door behind her, it’d taken approximately ten seconds for Cara to let Noodles bound into the back yard for some quality squirrel-chasing time; the affectionate, clumsy dog would be a dead giveaway, and this tactician was no fool. Cara Davies, Marvel-mind aside, had very specific intentions with this battle: all of them wound back to a certain smile, a certain partner, and a certain relationship. He was the sole person that’d enjoy this just as much as she would.
Cara had crouched herself just inside the bedroom doorway, plastic gun held upright like she were running a Special Ops mission -- some Danvers muscle-memory just wouldn’t die, but she wasn’t about to overthink it now. Instead, she’d craned her neck to listen for the twisting of the doorknob, or the click of a spring-loaded trigger.. Waiting for Wyatt with bated breath and a faint, mischievous smile.
“Come on..” Came the impatient exhale, and within a few more minutes, the noise of shoe-on-floor was the thing to make her press her lips into an embattled line. The closer he got (and she gave him credit for moving quietly), the more she fought the grin-to-laugh that would've given her away. Despite her most valiant effort, however, it'd been for naught: a foam dart hit her square in the neck, and there was instant retaliation.
The laughs finally poured out -- and not just from the mission's mastermind -- while she scrambled for cover, sock-skidding out of the bedroom and out into the kitchen. Upon hearing the ruckus of plastic pops, laughs, and (eventual) murmurs of the two adults inside, Noodles herself'd started barking, trying to get in on the action. This, Cara would maintain, was one round of fifteen-to-twenty minutes that was reserved for a specific person. The dog would understand eventually.
With that same mentality in mind, the darts would eventually run out, and the guns would eventually click their own surrender, per Nerf's expert design. Cara, too, would eventually have to figure out a way to escape from being body-blocked into a corner by a six-foot-seven former athlete, but she was slower to take to that idea. Similarly, they'd eventually have to stop with the sly, competition-laden necking between shots.. But those were all things that'd come in time. There wasn't exactly a rush.
Certain things happened when you got a physicist and an engineer tangled up in a situation like theirs, and when Cara'd nipped down on his bottom lip and clicked another foam dart against Wyatt's chest, she laughed, thanking her lucky stars for every single one of them.