Iron Beta: Life as Tony Stark's Daughter

Chapter 8

A/N

500+ views! You guys, thank you! My story has literally been up a week, and over 500 of you have already read it.

I just wanted to let you guys know that no matter how good Taylor is at archery, she is Iron Beta first, which means the suit is her default combat setting.

Chapter 8

After dinner (Thor ordered pizza via phone- I was told it was quite funny, and the audio tapes do not disagree), everyone was regaled with tales of my archery lesson (Natasha was shocked to the point of actually showing it.)

My dad looked every bit the proud father, the same look when I built a circuit board at five and built – yes, built – a puppy at six, and then donated said puppy to the local children’s hospital.

I never get tired of seeing that look.

Anyways, the rest of the team offered their congratulations, but seeing as they didn’t really know the significance behind me being as good a shot as Hawkeye, I could see their hearts weren’t in it.

But they did gather in the living room with the promise of a movie and ice cream, which never happens anymore, for a – what I like to call – celebratory movie night. There was a small debate between archer and soldier over what movie to watch (Saving Private Ryan vs. Die Hard), but then the spider stepped in, and Grownups was put on with no complaint.

I curled up against my dad as the title graced the screen, intent on doing nothing but join my fellow teammates – dare I say friends? – for a funny movie and digging into a huge bowl of Cookies n’ cream ice cream.

A~A~A

And that is exactly what happened.

No missiles this time.

Once the ending credits came, I untangled myself from my dad – who had fallen asleep about an hour into the movie - substituting myself for a pillow as I walked to the kitchen to put my bowl in the sink.

On my way back, I was met with a scene so peaceful, I had stop and stare.

And snap a few pictures.

The living room was ninety percent covered in sleeping superhero.

Steve had sprawled on one on the recliners, spread eagle style. His head was tipped back, mouth slightly open, and he was making sounds like a dreaming puppy.

Captain America in all his glory.

Bruce was spread on the other recliner, face down in a pillow, one leg and arm hanging off in odd directions, glasses pressed against his face in a way that will leave a mark in the morning.

Thor was standing – er, lying – in for our rug, lying on his back and snoring like a freight train. Someone had obviously given the god pop tarts, because wrappers littered his chest and the floor around him.

Natasha was curled into one of the couches, her knees tucked into her chest and her head resting on her arms. She looked as peaceful as a Black Widow can get.

Clint was draped across the top of the same couch, one leg hanging off the back, fingers brushing Natasha’s spine. He looked so adorable when he slept, hair mussed up and so soft looking, I just…

Cue mental slap.

Thanks, subconscious.

My dad was curled up on the last couch, still hugging the pillow I had slipped in after I got up. His head was at an odd angle on one of the armrests, and I mentally checked for Advil because he’d have a cricked neck in the morning.