Melinda pressed her lips into a thin line.
The singing continued inside the private room.
Yongye acted as though he hadn't noticed the two newcomers at the door. Eyes closed, he swayed his head and sang with complete abandon.
"Neh neh neh neh neh~"
"You're neh neh neh neh neh~"
Fury stood motionless in the doorway.
His one eye fixed on Yongye, a tangle of emotions churning in it: three parts urge to draw his gun, three parts urge to turn around and leave, and four parts bitter regret that he hadn't canceled today's appointment.
Inside the room, Natasha finally lost the battle to keep a straight face.
A tiny "pfft" escaped over the rim of her glass. She forced it into a cough, producing two strangled, off-key "ahem"s instead.
Behind Fury, the muscles in Melinda's face were drawn taut as wire. But the corner of her eye twitched for an instant before her expression hardened again.
Both women had a strong sense of justice, but neither was blindly loyal. Seeing their director get mocked to his face left them one part angry and nine parts amused.
Fury drew a deep breath and stepped into the room.
He strode to the armchair beside Yongye and dropped into it, the motion smooth and forceful, full of an imperious air.
Then he spoke, his voice low and steady, as if he hadn't heard that string of "neh neh nehs" at all.
"Nice singing."
"Looks like you're in a good mood."
Yongye finally opened his eyes and glanced at Fury, his smile as bright as the disco ball overhead.
"Thanks for the compliment. I prepared this song especially for my Black friends."
"They all said they loved it!"
"It captures the unwavering spirit of cotton-picking robots!"
Fury's eye narrowed. His expression went from