There was a place on Bleecker Street in New York where he’d occasionally stop for a bite while making housecalls to Strange... And while Bruce couldn’t exactly say it was the same place that existed in this world A pie was a pie, wasn’t it?

Enough effort was shown by him traveling a few states away for it? Granted, of course, traveling wasn’t much of an issue in any casebut y’know, a stray thought or two had concluded on where he traveled to. And while he could’ve gone that not-so-extra mile to Italy for their take-out, he had in fact taken into some consideration that a classic NYC serving might be more up Misty Knight’s alley... Bruce occasionally thought about these things. He also got a kick from the fact that the place called it the ‘Boom Pie.’

All he had to do now was decide if he should show up at her door with the pizzas, or drop them off back at the cave first. (Yes, he planned to use the door this time, for formality’s sake.) (Or, was casual something he should’ve been aiming for?) (He hadn’t actually gone out and brought back a bigger bed as had been jokingly[?!?!] suggestedthat said ‘casual’ enough, right? He wasn’t about to furrow his brows into global extinction or anything?) (Was three cold showers a few showers too many for a fella’ to be taking in one day during winter?) (Should he turn back to change out of his hint-of-purple black jeans and stick with the WalMart-smart-casual khakis instead?) (Did he need a tie with his shirt?) (His shirt was really salmon and not pink, right?) (Just kidding, his shirt was green. Brandon’s shirt was green. ...should he not have been borrowing clothes when inviting a girl to dinner on a day that some might consider a special occasion?) He was totally furrowing his brows into global extinction, he was. But he didn’t have time for another cold shower. Not with the doorbell being rung at his fingertip, his feet momentarily shuffling before they were so affixed into position that he may as well have been planning to salute her once the door opened. ...if the door opened. Had he really never used the front door once in all of the past eight collective weeks? ...never mind. Not important. We have to hurry, he planned to open their verbal greetings with, with all of his typical deadpan urgency. Then once he had gotten her scowl of hesitation, he’d crack the faintest smile before adding something to the effect of tealights burning his cave down. Yep. That was the plan. (Badly timed jokes were decent openers at doorways, right?)

Like literally everything else, when the doorbell rang it was rarely intended for her here. On the rare occasion it wasn’t even intended particularly for her host but whomever the current occupant happened to be. Someone campaigning for local office, children selling raffle tickets to benefit some cause, religious types wanting to spread the good word. All of which she opened the door for. Even welcomed it in a strange ironic way as unexpected guests had most certainly been more of an annoyance. Of course back then a random visit almost always meant unpleasant news. A precursor to a fight. A wrench thrown in an already ongoing one. Some sort of unwelcomed blast from her past that had inevitably found her address in spite of specifically not freely handing it out. At one point she was able to see the clear distinction between the two places. Begrudgingly even consider it something of a perk. The absence of immediate and constant danger where opening a door didn’t have to be a foolish act to look back upon with regret...

That had all changed due to the events of the week prior. Knowing that she was no longer as deep undercover as she previous suspected she moved with a bit of paranoiathough if asked she’d call it a ‘healthy’ dose. Looks over her shoulders, eyes always aware of her surroundings and the potential dangers that lurked in the open. People that stood too close. Things that moved too fast out of the corner of her eye. She’d stopped just short of completely rigging the home with trapsbut it wasn’t that far off. That is, if he hadn’t already done it. That is if he and his hulk weren’t already the biggest trap there was.

So when the sound of the bell reached her from her place in the kitchen contemplating the consequences of wine and a small dose of Vicodin it was met with trepidation and not the curiosity that had been there before. Arching a brow as she moved back from the counter, conscious of the route taken to approach as to avoid casting any shadows from nearby windows that might hint of an awareness on the other side. Still in Maya’s least most colorful work attire of a black long sleeved turtleneck and a green pencil skirt she’d nixed the lone glove worn and long ago accepted as an odd fashion quirk or tribute to the prince of pop in this worldand the high heels. The latter done so haphazardly and forgotten that she nearly tripped on them in her sleuth efforts. She was slippin. Fortunately it decidedly didn’t matter after she peeked into the peephole and yanked the door open after undoing a few locks. Confusion, concern, relief and excitement all casting shadows across her features as she blinked. Casting a look over his shoulders to the street behind him as if she’d find her answers there before they returned to him. Her still lone hovering brow and hesitant half smirk asking for an explanation before she remembered she had a voice. Course not using it hadn’t stopped them before. Nano-whatevers.

“We have to hurry,” he said, all still according to plan, a half-moment either before or after the greeting of her...gameface. His chin tilting a slight angle as if to turn for whatever she saw behind him, though his eyes stayed true to its courseperhaps just a little warily shifting across her expression, as if something about it might explain why... “You seem surprised to see me.” Shit. Straying off-course, he was straying off-course. “Am I too early? I” A look fell briefly over her attire, the pizzas back in both hands by then and warmly reminding of its oven-freshness that had apparently refused to wait even the single extra zap of instantaneous that it would’ve taken to be brought back to the cave And so there he was now, at semi-technically his own front door, looking like the pizza delivery guy... Yeah. “I could come back later?”

“Why are you ringing the bell? You live here.” But then .. did he really? Apparently not bound to the same day to day obligations held by host Misty narrowed her eyes in brief thought as she tried to remember the last time they weren’t cave bound. Not that she blamed him. If she had a cavebat style or otherwiseshe might hide out in it too. It beat having to look over your shoulder for both real world assailants and those that stemmed from supernatural origins.

“I guess I just figured you’d just pop out of the sky or something.” Misty shook her arm in a lazy reference to his watch. “Although I wouldn’t recommend it cause I won’t be held responsible for my reaction.”

She took a couple steps back nudging the door with her shoulder. Widening the space for him and the pizza to pass through. Obliging the odd newly developed habit of casting another final observant look out once he was on the other side before the door was shut and locked. Even though she knew that if someone who meant harm was primed to do it a flimsy bit of wood wouldn’t stop them. Wouldn’t stop her. “You’re not early.” Or late for that matter. The details had touched on a bit of everything except an actual time.