From the Frying Pan ….

My day was starting pleasantly enough - I was finally about to have a chat with Dragon Lady, whom I believe to be one of the few who share my love for a good tea. I was running through the options indecisively in my head when my train of thought drove off the bridge and landed in a fiery wreck when I turned around. Sandcrab was less than a foot from me, obviously having perfected the art of the “Reverse Batman” - he wasn’t there a moment ago. If he simply wanted me to take a survey that would be one thing, but he, again, wants to stick machines in my brain. Dragon Lady is polite and listens to his explanation, but I’m looking for any exit I can, even the smallest opening to excuse myself would be a blessing.
 
I don’t believe in coincidences, but some days when you throw thoughts out into the universe, it answers, sometimes with a sense of humour. Today, I will have to be careful with my thoughts, because at the height of my panic, Li’l Rocket wanders in looking for the kitchen. I call out to him to see if he can help me with “that problem I was having” …. Uh… with… my phone! It wasn’t an Emmy-winning performance by any stretch, but Rocket knew enough about what I was asking to go along with it. I rambled a quick apology about how his immediate help was needed as I led him out of there by the shoulder. I think in that instant, I was running faster than Rocket. Who’s the team speedster now boys?
 
Actually, that was, unfortunately, true, and turned out to be no small problem. Rocket certainly didn’t look well, his hair was disheveled and unkempt and he appeared small. Well, even more than is to be expected. He explained he had been working on upgrades to the danger room for the last twelve hours and sure, that’s a long day, but I don’t think lab work is quite that strenuous. I may not be Hercule Poirot, but after a few moments, I sussed out the connection: Rocket is always eating, had been looking for the kitchen, hadn’t eaten in the last twelve hours, and was looking like a sad balloon two weeks after my nieces last birthday party. His metabolism was eating him the same way he devours a meatball hoagie – not pretty! I rushed us to the kitchen and got him enough to eat that he wasn’t going to shrink down to Wonderland proportions, but our kitchen selection, and my own cooking leave a lot to be desired. We decide it best to take the afternoon to ourselves and have a lunch outside the base.
 
Having been a part of the rescue mission to Russia, he knows enough about who I am that I turn back into Victoria and explain that I don’t want to attract undue attention while enjoying an afternoon off. We agree to leave the super-tights on the back-burner, and “Jerry Vahn” suggests a restaurant in Millennium City – apparently he knows the owners. That’s always a good sign – I expect we’ll have a peaceful afternoon meal on a fine sunny day.