Babysat by Uncle Tony: Chapter Eight

Summary: You permitted your parents to have a two-week vacation in L.A; even though you're seventeen, they want you babysat, and there's no one else to take care of you, but, your least favourite uncle. What silly or maybe even risky adventures will await you at his grand, mahogany doors?

"Dismissed."

You're the first to exit the room and the air outside of that damn cramped room is the best gift nature has ever given you.

You silently breathe it all in greedily, as you decide to stand beside Agent Hill's desk, a hand on it, waiting for your uncle.

Tapping your fingers on the table softly, you glance at your hand and notice that it is actually trembling, though not easily detectable, but, it could be perceived once it is seen. And you remember Director Fury's gaze on you. You shiver, feeling a chilling sensation sliding down your spine. You wonder if you looked like you just shit your pants. Or if you've shit your pants already.

Then, you sense a presence beside you. You look up to see your uncle, who seems rather jittery and very, very alert – until he shifts his gaze at you and suddenly grins. Now, he appears to be his usual jerk self.

"You okay, kid?" he asks, "Because you looked like you just dumped on your pants."

Well, your wondering has been confirmed. Though, you're much certain now that you didn't shit your pants, and very sure that he only asked that to insult you. He wouldn't care anyway. You glare at him, "I'm fine. That just wasn't my best experience."

He shrugs a shoulder, slipping a hand in his pocket, "Well, I could only agree with that. He stares at you like he's the tiger and you're the deer."

You could merely nod in agreement. Then, suddenly, there's a sudden growl in your stomach that almost makes you think a tiger has appeared. You frown, placing a hand on your belly, "What time is it?"

He glances at his expensive wristwatch, "Half past twelve."

You look up at him, surprised, "We've been in there for three hours?"

Tony heaves a sigh through his nostrils, "Time's fast when you're shitting your pants."

You ignore most of his statement. You look up at him, "I'm hungry, Edward."

He looks down at you with a raised brow, "And what am I supposed to do?"

"You're the babysitter-turned-mother here," you tell him. "Feed me."

Before Tony could reply, someone else seemingly cheery does, "Join us, then!"

You shift your gaze to the source of the sound to see Agent Barton sitting on the railing of the pavilion, beaming. You wonder how he got there without your notice – and how he could balance himself to sit that way.

Tony frowns at him, "What?"

"Rogers was inviting us all for lunch," states Agent Natasha, who has come into your vision as she stands beside Agent Barton, arms folded. "Wanting to catch up; A could come."

Tony frowns deeper, "Why the hell would you let the kid come?"

"Well, why not?" Captain America appears, leaning on the railing near Agent Barton.

God, why do these people keep appearing suddenly?

"Yeah," chimes in Dr. Banner, who suddenly emerges beside your uncle. "I'm cooking anyway. No explosions or large infernos involved."

You tilt your head at the side, why would there by explosions and large infernos?

Tony merely sighs.

"Come on, Stark. We all need to catch up," speaks Captain America, standing straight, tucking a hand in his bomber jacket. "And I think we don't mind getting to know A in the process."

Everyone actually nods in agreement.

Well, aren't you flattered?

You look up at your uncle and smile at him, almost like you're asking for his permission. Almost.

Tony rubs the back of his neck, exasperated. Then, he drops his shoulders, sighing in defeat. He looks like he's glaring at all of you, though, you're pretty sure he isn't, especially when you note a smile trying to fight with his frown. You have a feeling he actually wants to have a lunch with his teammates, "As long as you keep quiet, 'kay, kid?"

You nod immediately and you're about to smile when all of a sudden, a heavy hand drops on your head. You actually feel yourself shrinking with all its pressure and weight. You assume it is Thor's.

"Today, we shall feast!" his booming voice merrily announces.

And you could almost do the same thing, unable to believe the fact that you're going to eat lunch with the Avengers, and they even want to get to know you and you could actually get to know them.

Feeling the excited adrenaline pumping your veins, you smile, uncaring of what the other agents, even Agent Hill and Director Fury, are thinking about how stupid all of you probably look like right now, forgetting the current situation that can harm the Earth, the people, the team and, especially, you.

Together, all of you approach the elevator, once hurriedly exiting that place.

Being a child (you won't admit you are), you press the up button immediately, while behind you, the team is chatting and laughing already.

You step aside and watch the scene before you – Captain America, whose surname you've realized is Rogers, is talking to the whole group, seemingly sharing a short story, and everyone's actually listening, even your uncle. In between some parts, Barton would laugh, Tony would insert a sarcastic comment, Dr. Banner would say something factual, and Thor would share something short. Natasha would simply say nothing, only wearing a tiny hint of a smile.

Though they don't show it much, you know, inside, they're jumping in excitement and delight, glad to be together again. Well, you suppose, after everything they've been through and the years that has passed, they certainly would feel this way, being friends and all. Even if they won't admit they are.

You let yourself smile at that thought. It's a nice feeling to simply watch good things happen.

Suddenly, the elevator beside you dingsopen, and the doors separated as the team and you step aside to let whoever inside through.

You look up to see a bald man, with white hair growing only at the side of his head, creases of exhaustion on his forehead, eyes slightly red seemingly from lack of sleep, wearing a chequered button-down, tucked inside his black pants with matching brown belt and shoes, carrying a hazel folder filled with unorganized pieces of paper.

He glances at the team and you, a kind smile appearing on his features. "Well, it's nice to see you all together again," he says, his voice rough. As he hears it, he clears his throat.

Captain America nods at him with a small smile, "It's good to see you too, Dr. Selvig. Been working?"

You look at him curiously, as you realize his real name. He seems to be a foreigner, not exactly born in America, but, certainly raised here. You spot his I.D., and see that he works in one of Stark's laboratories a few floors down. You assume he's a scientist.

He nods in reply as he steps out of the elevator, the doors still open, "And not talking all night. The director got me busy." His voice isn't that rough now, only slightly.

Thor suddenly appears beside him, grinning, and takes his hand, shaking it vigorously, "Erik, my good friend! How are you?"

At this, Dr. Selvig's face brightens slightly, although a bit shaken with the handshake, "Ah, Thor, I'm good; I'm good, thanks. You?"

"I am well, my friend, especially at present, as I am surrounded by my close, Midgardian comrades," he gestures at the team, as he lets go of Dr. Selvig's hand.

You look at him, frowning, Midgardian?

"However, my dear companion," gulps Thor, "a lot has been . . . occurring."

The scientist sighs, "That must be why Fury called me. Speaking of which, I need to go." He nods politely at all, smiling courteously. However, his gaze falls on you and he stops. Confused, he asks, "Did Fury allow [her/him]?"

"With my skills of persuasion, he did," Tony nods proudly.

Along with Agents Barton and Natasha, you snort at your uncle's statement before introducing yourself, stating your surname quietly. "A for short," you add.

Dr. Selvig appears quite appalled, "Wow, another Stark." (You see the others nod in agreement.) He looks at Tony with an inquisitive brow, "Your child?"

Your uncle heaves a sigh of exasperation as he shakes his head, "No. The kid's my [niece/nephew]. It's a long story," he waves his hand dismissively.

The scientist nods slowly, "Whatever you say, Stark." He doesn't seem to trust him that much, "But, dang, [she/he] looks a lot like you."

You scoff at the same time your uncles does.

Dr. Selvig grins at the synchronized action and fixes his gaze on you, "Well, I'm Dr. Erik Selvig," he reaches his hand out for you to shake, which you do, "Nice to meet you."

You nod in agreement as both of you let go, "Same here."

"Anyway," he begins to walk away, "it's wonderful to see you all again, but, unfortunately, I have to go," he waves a small wave of goodbye, as everyone starts to enter the elevator. (You wonder how the elevator has stayed open for such a lengthy period of time.)

However, before he does, Tony pats him on the shoulder, "Lower down the coffee, professor."

But he only shakes his head.

Then the door closes, as Agent Barton presses the highest level of the building. And, with the Avengers, you begin to rise, as you wonder what Dr. Selvig's job is exactly.

Finally, the elevator halts and the chatter within it pauses as everyone watches its doors slowly open to reveal an interior very different from Fury's floor and, one by one, everybody leaves the elevator, approaching the lounge, as you follow the team, scanning your surroundings, the lights turning on instantly as they step into the level.

"Welcome back, team," you hear JARVIS say, as they reply back cheerfully.

While the others seem to be either metal or some sort of strong wood, the walls facing the city are all tinted glass, not allowing the sunlight's warmth to get inside, exposing a beautiful sight of central New York – tall buildings standing beside the tallest of all, specks of people bustling hastily below, boxes that are vehicles driving about hurriedly – as well as a pleasant view of nature – the sky cloudless and a bright cerulean, the sun high, its gaze sparkling New York Harbor, and the Statue of Liberty, a standing stick with a spiky hand holding a tinier stick several miles from the Tower. The ceiling is slightly low, its appearance the same as your uncle's mansion; the floor is mostly a dark blue carpet, but, at some parts, it turns into slick marble.

The whole level is air-conditioned, spacious and wide, like a one-story home, with the friendly living room to welcome you from the elevator, and after a wide hallway at the left, the kitchen and the dining room, separated by an opaque glass barrier, where there is a long, polished, wooden table and eight matching chairs, a chandelier above, brightly illuminating the area. (You manage to take a peek as Dr. Banner makes his way there to cook.) There are more hallways, probably leading to the team's quarters, training areas, bathrooms and other probably not-so-necessary rooms.

However, most of the furniture still appears to be newly bought – some even have plastic wrapping around them. Although they don't seem to be that dusty, you could tell it's not been used for some time.

All in all, it's rather simple but contemporary, with a touch of Stark. It's the kind of place where you'll easily warm up to, but, unfortunately, its habitants are famous people with extraordinary abilities, who have a desire to become acquainted with you – perhaps even befriend you, and this makes you quite uncomfortable and anxious and, at the same time, thrilled and eager.

You slowly walk behind the team, as they choose their spots on the couches in the living room, the enormous, flat-screen television hanging onto a glass wall switched on, with a low coffee table at the center of it all, where your uncle has placed his feet, as he sits at center of the couch, with Thor at his right, leaving a space at the left. Captain America sits on a one-person couch at the right, while the agents sit at a lovers' couch opposite him. You subconsciously decide to sit on the couch's armrest, some space from your uncle.

As they chatter, Thor's booming laughter surprising you at times, you look up at the television, where a game of football is on. You aren't really aware of the battling teams and you aren't that interested, but, you watch it anyway, out of curiosity. You glance at Agent Barton, who seems to be the only viewer of it, while speaking to Agent Natasha.

Growing bored, you slip your hand at your pocket – only to feel a thin, light box that is your iPod, with its earphones. Glad to find some entertainment, you take it out, wear the earphones, press play and realize your favourite song is playing before slipping it back into your pocket, the music blocking the sounds of the team's merry prattle.

You look around the walls to see some paintings, artwork you don't understand much, though, you appreciate its beauty, and several interesting sculptures at some parts of the area, which you assume Tony, himself, has chosen, seeing that they have some R-rated humour behind them. And there's actually a fireplace just beside the television, though, not the classic, homey kind; the expensive kind made from Stark technology – where it converts the smoke into oxygen, making it eco-friendly, the one being sold in most furniture and equipment stores. How it could do that exactly, you aren't sure (although you've been trying to figure it out for months; sometimes, you wonder who's smarter in inventing between you and your uncle).

Then, your gaze stops at a photo hanging on the wall next to the hallway leading to the kitchen, taken two years ago, as stated by the date at the side. It appears to be in the middle of central park, with the fountain at the background. To examine it more closely, you subliminally stand and walk towards it.

And there, in all their normal attires with their own styles, smiling like normal people and fooling around like normal friends, are the Avengers.

Starting at the left side is Thor, head thrown back, mouth opened and eyes closed in mid-laugh, an arm on an uncomfortable yet smiling Captain America, without his uniform, staring at the team like a proud father, eyes twinkling in amusement and joy, as he has an arm on an arrogant and sarcastic Tony Stark, who seemed to be in the middle of making a joke with eyebrows raised and sunglasses on, the edge of his lips twitched upward, his arm on a contented Dr. Banner, eyes squinted due to the sunlight, but with evident elation (and as your mind works the reason behind this, you realize that Dr. Banner could be the kind of person who doesn't have much friends and is mostly alone, and, now, in the picture, was extremely delighted at the fact that he actually and finally has some people he could trust, being surrounded by them), as he placed one arm on Agent Barton, who was looking at Tony, mouth opened and smirking like he was replying mockingly at whatever was your uncle's remark, wearing a pair of sunglasses as well, with a secured arm on Agent Natasha's waist, a genuine smile on her features, eyes sparkling in slightly concealed glee, an arm on her fellow agent. You could clearly imagine the scene.

You don't know if it's the photo, or if it's you, but, it seems that the picture is rather colourful, filled with vibrant, jolly hues that suited its exultant atmosphere, and the natural background emphasized this greatly: the clear sky, emerald grasses and leaves, bronzed trees, its shades cool and soothing, the blooming, gaudy flowers, a pair of ravens on the pavement, eating some bread crumbs, the water gracefully sliding down the fountain – all of it beautifully lively and just so . . . alive.

It just seems such a personal image that you feel like you're intruding by simply examining it, much less notice it.

And then, you realize that One Republic's Life in Color is playing and it greatly fits the picture: I do my best / to find some kind of glow / I'm giving it some heart and soul / and now, from the darkest grays / the sun bursts, clouds break, yeah, / we see that fire from the streets of Babylon / to the road that we've been on now / the kaleidoscope claims another . . . then, the chorus: well, this is life in color / today feels like no other / from the darkest grays – the sun bursts, clouds break–

You don't realize you're bobbing your head to the music and tapping your foot, 'til you hear someone shout your name. Puzzled, you turn around, searching for its source, to see your uncle staring at you from the couch, without his sunglasses, leaning forward, in amusement and slight exasperation.

He seems to be saying something, but you couldn't hear it, as you continue to listen to the song: well, this is life in motion / and just when I could run this race no more . . .

When he appears to be done, you open your mouth, like what? This causes some laughter among the others.

Sun bursts, clouds break / this is life in color–

He stands, walks towards you, and rudely removes one of your earphones, causing you to alter your stare into a glower.

He glances at your earphones with a bored expression, "Nice contraption. Windows?"

"It's an iPod, stupid," you take the earpiece from him, glowering, "It's Apple."

He snorts, "I know. Do I look like I was serious?"

Deciding not to reply, you roll your eyes as he returns to his seat.

"You know," speaks up Agent Barton as he fixes his position on the lovers' couch to look at you, the others doing the same thing on their seats, "for a Stark, you're actually a bit . . . old-fashioned." For some reason, this perks up the captain.

You frown at him, ignoring your nodding uncle, "The iPod isn't old."

Agent Barton raises a hand, as if saying relax man, although you aren't angry or anything (just, maybe, a bit defensive). "Yeah, but, I mean, for a Stark. You know your uncle's technology. It's the most advanced today."

"The most advanced," you agree, "and the most expensive; who in the world has the money to buy his stuff?"

Agent Barton shrugs a shoulder, except your uncle replies this time, arms spread open, "Uh, me?"

"You can't buy your own things. You made them," you look at him incredulously, "the money will just return to you."

He grins, "Exactly."

"You're a greedy man."

"Agreed," concurs Captain America, with the others nodding as well.

Well, aren't you thrilled?

"What – you're taking [her/his] side?" Tony stares at them in disbelief, his expression hurt.

"Well," the Captain shrugs a shoulder, "sometimes, you are."

"And it was a joke, man," adds Agent Barton, grinning.

"Wasn't for me," you say and Agent Natasha gives you a tiny smile, as the others laugh, your uncle glaring at you.

"You're an old kid," Tony says.

"Those are contradictory elements," you reply, "and I prefer the term mature."

"Ha!" Tony fakes a laugh. "Funny," he deadpans.

"See the immaturity?" you gesture at him, as the others snigger, Thor's laughter bouncing about the room.

Your uncle only sighs, but, when you look at him, surprisingly, he isn't mad or even annoyed. He's amused, like he's actually . . . having fun. Strange. Was there an alien abduction while you were inspecting the photograph?

"I thought you were a mother, Stark; where's the . . . ripeness?"

"That is a horrible choice of a synonym, Barton."

"I believe it's quite an accurate synonym, Iron Brother. Well chosen, Eye of the Hawk."

"How is that accurate?" your uncle frowns.

He is, gladly, ignored.

"Thank you. At least a prince of Asgard actually appreciates me, rather than the asshole beside him."

You frown thoughtfully, Asgard?

"There are two people beside Thor," counters Tony.

"Cap is on a separated seat, asshole."

"Says the asshole."

"From now on, I'm calling you asshole."

"Game on, asshole."

"Please, stop with the profanities," frowns the Captain.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot there are children in here."

A throw of a pillow is considered a response. Unfortunately, it is dodged.

"You missed!" merrily announced Tony.

"No shit?" Agent Barton raises a brow. "You should have aimed more to the left."

"Thank you for the advice, Bird."

"Whoa," exclaims Tony. "Cap just went sarcastic on ya, Little Birdie."

Agent Barton playfully glowers at your uncle, "Shut up, asshole."

"Yeah, that's what Cap's calling you: asshole," says Tony, "and that your birdie is little."

Agent Natasha conceals a wide smile.

"What – no!" disagrees the Captain, his face reddening, which you find quite amusing.

"The Eye of the Hawk's . . . birdie is . . . little?" a confused Thor innocently asks.

"You have no idea," Tony shakes his head.

"Shut up, asshole."

You start to wonder if you should even be listening to this.

"Asshole?" frowns Thor.

"The swearing!" the Captain scowls.

He is, sadly, disregarded.

"Yes, Thor," nods Tony, "Asshole. It means Clint-has-a-little-birdie-and-a-big-stick-up-in-hi s-ass."

"Why the hell can't you shut up?"

"Or it just means that you have a hole in the ass?" suggests Agent Natasha, intentionally confusing Thor, who, indeed, is perplexed.

Thor frowns in puzzlement, "I cannot understand. Do we not all have assholes, then?"

"Unless you don't shit, yes, Thor, we do," sighs Agent Barton.

"And thus, are we not all assholes?"

"Thor, just . . . stop, please, with the cursing," the Captain shakes his head.

"Asshole is a curse?" a bewildered Thor bawls in horror.

"Nice job, Cap," Tony sarcastically says, to which the Captain responds by opening and closing his mouth, an action that holds quite a large resemblance to a goldfish. Your uncle looks at Thor, "Not a magical curse, don't worry."

"Yeah, I mean, it's just . . . ," Agent Barton trails off. "God, why do I even bother?"

"The better question is: how the hell did we get here?" Agent Natasha corrects.

"Easy. It all started with the asshole beside Thor."

"There is an asshole beside me?!"

Despite the entertainment they're providing you, you tune off their conversation as you look at the picture once more.

Cutting off their conversation, you turn to them and curiously ask, "Who photographed this?" you gesture to the picture.

Apparently, you have cut off an argument between your uncle and Agent Barton, a scene among a panicking Thor, an awkward Captain America who is desperately trying to calm down the demigod, and an entertained, observant Agent Natasha.

Their gazes brush on you before landing on the photograph, silence seeping into the room, their expressions turning into a thoughtful one.

Breaking the silence, your uncle clears his throat as he shifts on his seat, "Yeah, uh, it was by some passerby that we asked."

The captain nods in acknowledgement, "Yeah. It was, I think, the fifth photo. Right?" he raises an uncertain and inquiring brow at the others.

Agent Barton frowns, "No, I think it was the seventh one."

"Didn't we last until twelve photos?" Agent Natasha asks, a reflective and amused face on her features.

Thor grins, "Indeed, we did. Iron Brother, your remarkable kinsman, right here," he pats Tony's back, causing your uncle to wince slightly, "was greatly humorous, we could not stop laughing!" Thor chuckles loudly, the others grinning, at the memory, "We could not stand still! As well as the female Midgardian, who was guffawing uncontrollably!"

You raise a brow, "Female . . . Midgardian?"

He nods, "Certainly; your species, the female sex."

You know what he's talking about, of course; you're merely confused of his choice of word. You are about to ask another question, when your uncle raises a hand, like I'll tell you later. And, surprisingly, you obey, as you simply nod.

Tony flexes his back slightly, Thor's pat still raw and throbbing, as he sighs heavily through his nostrils, "Yeah, well . . ." his voice suddenly lowers into a lower volume, "I didn't want it to last."

Such a touching comment from an ego-centric uncle. A miraculous event has arrived, and, for the team (including your uncle), the shock is immense, but, quick, turning into appreciation. However, for you, it's a real bombshell. Such a statement doesn't seem to be applicable to your uncle, especially since it's filled with tender sentiments. You don't even know he has emotions, let alone these kinds of feelings . . .

You stare at your uncle and perceive his thoughtful expression, as he recalls the reminiscence behind the photograph.

Then, it dawns on you that you don't really know him, and that there could actually be a possibility that he's human, a man with sensitivity and not with indifference, not numb with power and greed. This thing he's doing, you realize, is a facade – an act! There is certainly something beneath it and he only lets those close to him have the ability to see it. Though, you cannot help, but, wonder why he needs to put up such a performance. To keep everything normal? For no one to worry? For the press not to get involved? You shift your weight slightly, your mind racing with possibilities. But, there doesn't seem to be anything that feels . . . right.

Goodness, you haven't felt this curious to know someone, not a something, for some years now. And you never would have guessed it would be the man you've detested for a long time.

You observe him, his loquacious mouth starting to move again, giving Captain America a headache, Thor a "fact," Agent Barton an argument, and Agent Natasha something to observe.

Suddenly, the music of your iPod takes your attention and, for a moment, you listen to it, only to realize a different song is playing, a song you've grown tired of. You take out your iPod and press the rewind button, going back to Life in Color, wanting to listen to it again.

"Hey," you suddenly hear, and you whip your head to the speaker, only to realize it's actually the Captain. "What are you listening to?"

"A song."

"No shit, Sherlock," Tony scoffs. You resist the urge to flip him the finger.

"What song?" the Captain asks patiently.

"Uh, it's called Life in Color by One Republic," you reply.

He nods, "Haven't heard of it."

"Shocker," Tony rolls his eyes. You cast a quick glower at him.

"Yeah, me too," agrees Barton, ignoring your uncle. "And I'm not that outdated."

"Would you like to listen to it?" you ask them.

Captain America shrugs, "Sure. Do I have to wear those . . . earplugs?" he actually looks nervous.

You laugh; a sound that surprises everyone as they haven't heard of it. It's actually quite a pleasant thing to listen to, the kind that makes them want to joke around more to hear it again. You shake your head, "It's called earphones, but, don't worry, you don't need to."

With your iPod in hand, you unplug the earphones, loudening the music, just in time for them to listen to the chorus: well, this is Life in Color / today feels like no other / the darkest grays – the sun bursts, clouds break . . .

You look at them, the air in the room paused. Their expressions are unreadable, but, with their silence, you're certain they're listening.

Well, this is Life in Motion / and just when I could run this race no more / sun bursts, clouds break / this is Life in Color. . .

You soften the music, plugging back the earphones, total silence wrapping the room, as you raise a brow, "What do you think?"

For some reason, their response to your question is quite long. Despite the chilly air within the room, you feel sweat slide down the back of your neck, going into your shirt, probably creating a disgusting patch at some part of it. You exhale and you catch a certain scent that almost makes you gag, as you realize it's actually your breath. You notice some crumbs of ash around the ground of the fireplace. You gulp and taste a sour flavour, its source unknown. You hear your laboured breathing, so loud and clear that you wonder if they hear it all too. Although you didn't make the song or it doesn't belong to you in any way, you're actually a bit protective of it, as you fear to hear of their opinions.

The Captain is first to speak as he nods in approval. "Finally, something I can call music," he flashes that lady-fainting smile and you feel yourself relax slightly.

"It implicates an excellent message. An interesting Midgardian tune. I commend its makers," grins Thor.

"It's catchy," Agent Barton says. "I like it."

Agent Natasha looks at you with a faintly impressed expression, "It's pretty good."

You are really relaxed now, but, your guard is still high; because your uncle hasn't spoken. You stare at him, a look of anticipation on your face, your senses intensifying much, much more, feeling more self-conscious and nervous.

He looks at you and shrugs a shoulder, "Not bad."

You calm down completely as you let yourself smile, "But not good enough?" you say, a small, knowing smile on your lips.

"Precisely," he nods.

You expected that, of course.

"I enjoyed it," says a voice and everyone turns to the speaker to see Dr. Banner, leaning against the wall of the hallway leading to the kitchen, hands in his pockets.

"Thanks," you say to all of them, although you're looking at him.

He shrugs a shoulder as a response, then, turns to the group, "You people left me out."

"Aw, is Banner . . . y? Banny?" Tony looks at no one in particular, his features contorting into a confused expression.

You snort, "Epic fail," making everyone chuckle, even Captain America, who actually understood it.

Tony shakes his head and waves a dismissive hand, a soft tint of pink on his cheeks, which you notice and decide not to announce. "Is lunch ready yet?" Obviously, he's changing the subject.

Dr. Banner nods, "Yep. Everything's set."

All of them, except you and Dr. Banner, start to stand, as you switch off your iPod, pocketing it, alongside its earphones.

"Oh, wait, hold on," Captain America suddenly says, halting everyone. He raises a brow.

Everybody, except you, returns the same action, slightly puzzled.

"Has everyone properly introduced themselves to our guest?" he gestures to you and you feel yourself heat up at the forthcoming attention.

"[She/he] already knows me," Tony replies with a bored face.

"I wish I don't," you counter, causing the others to smile or chortle in agreement. Even though you meant it a little.

Your uncle sighs and looks at you with such a sad look; it almost touches you – almost, "Me too, kiddo, me too."

You roll your eyes at him. Though, you can't help wonder if he meant that.

The Captain gazes at the others, waiting for their response.

Agent Barton sighs as he approaches you. "Okay, okay, Dad, stop nagging," he mutters and you chuckle.

He extends a hand, "The name's Agent Clint Barton, also known as Hawkeye."

"Wow," begins Tony's comment, "I didn't know Agent was part of your name."

He is ignored.

You take and shake it; you're about to introduce yourself when you recall that you already have several hours ago, "Nice to meet you. Do I have to call you Agent Barton or something?"

He shakes his head, letting go of your hand, "Because I like you, you can just call me Clint."

You grin, "I think we'll get along well. Do you mind if I add an Uncle before your name?"

Clint lets out a hearty laugh and shakes his head, beaming, "It fits my name, so, why not?" He pats your shoulder before stepping aside, as Agent Natasha makes her way towards you.

"Agent Natasha Romanoff," she says, lifting a hand, which you take and shake, "Also, Black Widow."

Surprisingly, Tony doesn't make a remark (which only proves that, indeed, it is not a good idea to mess with her).

"Wow," you softly exclaim, eyes widening, "that's acool name." Recalling some study of genealogy you did years ago, you realize her surname doesn't seem American. "Russian origin?" you ask, raising a brow.

She nods.

"Well, pleasure to meet you," you smile.

"Thanks. Same here," she nods. "Since I trust you much more than your uncle," you grin at that, as Uncle Clint comments, "Which uncle?" which both of you ignore, "I'm fine with whatever you call me." This seems to have shocked everyone, with you as an exception. You notice the boys' reaction and realize that Agent Natasha must not be the kind of person who lets others give her pet names.

"Aunt Nat?"

"Glad to be part of the family," she says, gently hitting your bicep, before going with Uncle Clint, who's staring at her in disbelief.

You don't notice Thor is beside you, until you feel his painful pat on the back. You almost fall, headfirst, on the floor, and it's because of your well-trained reflexes you're still standing. Now, you know what your uncle and Captain America feels.

You look up at the mammoth-sized demigod (compared to you, honestly, you're pretty much an ant) and grin sheepishly, "Hello, Thor."

He beams, exposing his blindingly white teeth that conflicts with those of Captain America's, "I need not of an introduction. I am quite well-known, even in your own planet, as the Lord of Thunder and the Prince of Asgard."

The others playfully roll their eyes, including you (although you're thinking where in the world Asgard is [though it's most likely not in this world]). Being a prince, he's certainly proud. Nonetheless, your uncle's condition is much worse.

"Yeah," you agree. "I guess not." You sense his fairly heavy hand resting on your shoulder.

"But I would take pleasure of what you are calling Eye of the Hawk and the Dark Queen of the Arachnids," if it's possible, his grin widens.

You raise a brow, "You want me to call you uncle?"

"Certainly, child," he nods, "Why not?"

Hearing the word child, you frown. "I don't know. I mean, you're . . . a prince and a lord," as you say, "and I don't think such a title would be worthy of your rank."

He chuckles, "A, be glad that you are worthy of labelling me as a part of your kin and, even better, I am delighted to be included."

Although you're flattered, you aren't exactly sure about this, as he is showing more and more of his self-importance.

And then you recall your uncle.

Never mind.

You shrug a shoulder, "Well, sure."

He grins and pats your back again (you almost fall; but luckily, you immediately catch your balance), before walking away towards the hallway leading to the kitchen and the dining room.

You begin to follow, when you feel a presence beside you. You look up at the tall, blond figure that is Captain America, who you catch cast a sideway glance at you.

"You probably know me already . . ." he says, shrugging modestly.

You smile at his humility, "Being the famous captain of the United States of America, it's hard not to."

"Yeah, well," he clears his throat a bit diffidently; "I'm Steve Rogers." He extends his hand, which you take.

You lift your eyebrows in surprise, "Seriously?" You shake his hand.

A bashful smile stretches on his lips, "Too plain?" Both of you let go.

"What?" you stare at him, slightly taken aback. "No," you shake your head. "I mean, it just fits you a lot."

He licks his bottom lip involuntarily, his timid smile turning into a confident one, "Thank you, A."

You shrug a shoulder, "No prob."

"Are you going to call me uncle?" he asks, raising a brow.

You chuckle, "If you wouldn't mind, sure."

He nods, "I don't, honestly, and, actually, I'd like to."

You lift your own brow inquisitively, "Why's that?"

"I guess, it's just been a long time," he says, looking down at his shoes, "since I've been in a family, you know. I mean, these guys–" he gestures at the people before you: your uncle and Uncle Clint arguing about something, Dr. Banner trying to stop them as the tension between them starts to heighten, Uncle Thor laughing, and Aunt Nat rolling her eyes at their immaturity, yet, continues to watch in amusement, "–they're all I have today."

You gaze at his face. Although he's wearing a smile, his lips stretch sadly into one, as his cerulean eyes twinkle in sorrow and nostalgia. You frown at him sympathetically; being frozen in ice for a long time, waking up in a completely different era from his own, and especially finding out that everyone he's known is dead – god, you can't imagine how painful that is. The only thing he could do now, you realize, is to continue doing his job, serving his country and, maybe, even his planet, and to get use to this period. For some reason, you suddenly have the urge to hug the guy. He just looks like he needs it badly.

But, since that would be incredibly awkward, you just look up at him and beam, "And me?" you raise a brow teasingly.

He shifts his gaze to look at you and grins. He ruffles your hair playfully, "And now, yeah, you too."

Once he places his hand down, you start to fix your hair immediately. "You know, for a hero who has herculean capabilities, a gorgeous exterior and is admired by millions, you're pretty humble," you comment. "No, actually, even if you're not a hero; you're naturally humble, probably even a bit shy."

He couldn't stop the smile as he raises a brow at you, "Gorgeous exterior?"

You shrug, ignoring the heat rising up your neck.

He chuckles, despite his flushing self, "Well, if that was a compliment, then, thank you."

You smile, "It was, Uncle Steve. And it's never a problem."

You resume walking, Uncle Steve's attention moving onto the arguing agent and billionaire. He sighs, "Hold on." He steps forward between them, trying to calm them down – when you sense someone beside you. You look up at the lean figure of Dr. Banner, who stands beside you, a few feet away from the group, not wanting to go even closer, "When those two start to argue, sometimes, you just can't do anything about it."

You nod, "Tony is a stubborn boy."

Dr. Banner stares at you in amusement, "You don't call Tony uncle, don't you?"

You shake your head, "Probably never will."

He nods slowly, as he stretches a hand for you to shake, "I'm Dr. Bruce Banner and the green guy is Hulk."

You smile, as you recall the memory of Hulk, his alternative, smashing and splitting things (and aliens) on some large and long, floating creature the aliens used as their ship a couple of years ago, alongside Uncle Thor, since you've been several blocks away from it – when you feel something familiar with his name. Then, (your eyes widen) you remember his works, his books and some notes specializing in gamma radiation, most of which you've read and are a fan of. You can't believe you've actually missed one of your favourite scientists! Instead of taking his hand, you cover your mouth in surprise, "Oh my god, you mean the Dr. Bruce Banner?"

He lowers his hand gradually at his side as he rubs the back of his neck, "Uh, yeah, the one and only."

"Holy crap, I can't believe – oh god – seriously?" you look up at him, unable to believe it.

He nods modestly.

You feel yourself grin so widely, "I can't believe it!" You take his hand and shake it rather hard, "I am a fan of your work! Your account and rationalization of gamma radiation is much clearer than most of those I've read, yet, you've only been studying it for several years! Good god, you're practically a genius – and a natural writer!"

You don't even notice his cheeks reddening slightly in embarrassment (as he has glanced at the others who are smiling at him proudly [though, they're looking at you a bit strangely], despite their situation just a few minutes ago). He places a hand on top of yours to stop you and, once you do (realizing you've been rambling, flushing in humiliation), he drops said hand. He shakes it courteously, smiling shyly, "Well, thanks."

You beam, "It's my pleasure," you speak in a more civil volume, "And I'm glad to meet you."

He nods, "Glad to meet you to."

Both of you let go, but, you stay by his side as you walk, asking him questions about his work, to which he answers patiently and honestly. Once your hunger for answers about gamma radiation has been fed, you say your thanks, to which he nods.

Then you shift your gaze at the dinner table.

Your eyes widen, "Wow."

Yes, you call Clint, Thor and Steve uncle.

Yes, you remain to call Bruce, Dr. Banner, in respect, him being one of your favourite scientists (admit it).

Yes, surprisingly, you can call Natasha aunt.

Yes, Tony/Edward will forever (or maybe not?) be Tony/Edward to you.

Yes, I recommend you to listen to One Republic's Life in Color. (If you already know it and have listened to it, you are awesome.)

Yes, everyone likes you (and, if you prefer, wants you [in whatever manner you desire]) except your uncle, as usual.

Yes, they're probably out of character. (But, don't you like being pleased? [Take that in any way you want.])

Yes, I'm thinking of a short story spin-off from that photograph. Except it would only be for girls, sorry. ):

And no, I'm not suggesting you should curse. (Thor is not amused.)

[There is a continuation after this scene, of course. I had to stop because it was getting unnecessarily long (twenty-three pages). The next chapter will be having your magnificent dinner with the Avengers! With an appearance of a certain character . . . (:]

Thanks for reading, enjoying and reviewing!