Iron Beta: Life as Tony Stark's Daughter

Chapter 6

I'm baaaacccckkkk! And with over 300 views! Do you guys know how happy that makes me? Really happy! Like Thor + endless pop tarts happy!

I have decided to make this a ClintxOC story, but it's just a little one-sided schoolgirl crush, because I made Clint 20, and he can't date Taylor-who is 15-without it being illegal. I might make a time skip sequel, though.

 

Disclaimer: I only own Taylor, I'm borrowing the rest.

 

Look, it's Chapter 6!

Chapter 6

“Come on, Taylor!”

“But dad, it’s the Eifel Tower!”

“Yes, I can see that, and-“

“-And we’ll get plenty of time to see it,” Steve interjects from the driver’s seat of our S.H.I.E.L.D. issued van, “when we aren’t too busy, you know, saving the world.”

I push my bottom lip out. No, I don’t care how childish it is at the moment.

“Don’t give me that lip.” my dad says sternly with a look in his eyes he rarely uses on me – his ‘don’t push me right now’ look.

I resign myself to gazing out the window in silence, my brain either computing mission details or complaining about the fact that I’m in freaking Paris and I could be seeing so many monuments right now and there isn’t an alien in sight.

BOOM.

I might have spoken too soon.

Our left front tire explodes, and Steve fights for some amount of control of the van as Natasha, in the passenger seat, braces against the dashboard and loads her gun, ready to make a quick exit and unload some led on whoever just caused this calamity.

Directly next to me, my dad shoves my pack at me before somewhat curling himself around me, his foot primed to deploy the Mark V.

Behind me, I can feel my seat shift as Clint curls into what I can only assume is brace position, and I can see glimpses of Bruce and Thor – who had met us at the airport – doing the same behind my dad.

Someone calls out a last hold on! And then –

SMASH ! BANG! CRASH!

Generally? Chaos.

My head slams against the window where I had previously pouted, and my vision lightens with stars and darkens at the same time. I swear if feels like my dad’s elbow – or knee, maybe, I can’t tell – is about to crush some of my ribs, but luckily the rest of me gets shoved into my pack, cushioning the rest of my bones and other important organs.

Once the van stills, I shake my vision clear of the stars and black spots and my dad starts to slowly untangle himself from me.

The first thing I reach for is my pack. “Jarvis,” I cough out as I try and regain the wind that was knocked out of me, “deploy!”

I shift my arms and legs – I don’t think anything is broken – into a position my suit can fold around.

I try and stay as still as possible as it encompasses me, but the second my face plate is secure, I’m moving, fighting my way out of the wreckage.

As soon as I’m free, I take stock of my surroundings.

The fact that my dad is standing scratched (nothing a paint job can’t fix) but unharmed, a few feet away send relief crashing over me in waves, relief I know he shares as he spots me safe.