Hill glanced backwards with furrowed brows - and then kept walking, trying to find an answer that was both honest and not rude. She had a sharp tongue on her at the best of times, and she'd taken every knock for it, every slap down the ladder that had come her way because of it. God knew she'd made an effort to grow up, put up, shut up, but some people weren't meant for change. Fury was the first boss she'd had that hadn't slammed her ass back to basic training for a shred of sarcasm. Weirdly, that was helping to cure the problem. Helping.
Because you're still alive, she wanted to say, palm squeezing reflexively behind her back. Because I didn't shoot you when you walked through the door. Because fucking Dumbledore. Because. Because.
"Because you're one of the good guys, Dixon." She swiped a card before a double door and shoved through it in one movement, like it didn't occur to her that either of them would hold back. Beyond the doors were more halls, more doors, and she turned on her heel, propping one open. Long panels of glass stretched out behind her to reveal fitness rooms, rooms filled with locks and weapons and climbing gear, simulations, what looked like a kitchen. "And so are we." A sigh. "If I wanted you dead I would've shot you before you got through the door. You're no good to us dead."
"Professor, I'd appreciate it if you could. Apparate --" that word still felt strange in her mouth. "-- into one of those rooms beyond. Preferably not number six, eight, twelve, or thirteen." A glance. "Or four."