Getting Myself into the Battle of New York ~Avengers~

27; NO SHAWARMA?

(A/N:  Above is a picture of Stan Lee, who's appearing later in this chapter.)

"Now can we get shawarma?"   Tony asks out impatiently, while Bruce starts changing into normal clothes after he shrunk to being normal again.  I rolled my eyes as I walk over to the bar, removing my hood thats hiding my face and freeze the wound secretly from the team.  Which is more stingy than before, but I'll be more cautious and numb it more.  Steve trails behind me, "patience, Tony.  We're still waiting for Bruce."

Natasha and Clint lounged around, helping Thor on keeping an eye on Loki, tied up.  Of course Tony has these specialized handcuffs, so we used those instead.  "Sorry, cap.  I'm running out of it so he better hurry."  Tony reasons, refering to his draining patience.

Picking up a glass, I grab a bottle of champagne from Stark's refrigerator.  And I'm craving it, I guess since the night in Stuttgart.  Steve rests his huge arms over the counter, while I pour the alcoholic drink. "You know, shawarma, whatever that is, would be much better than champagne."

I softly chuckle, secretly freezing another layer of ice on my wound and bringing the glass to my lips.  "Shawarma's Mediterranean of some sort, Steve."  Looking up at him, a small smile tugs at his lips.  And taking one sip, "and I'm not a fan of Mediterranean."

"Hmph," he remarks quietly, while Tony cries out from behind.  "Hey!  You didn't ask for permission to use my bar!"

Chugging down the rest of the champagne glass, I called back, "I need it like you would need your Mark 7."

Clint chuckles, "since when did you start craving for champagne?"

"Since now," I snap back, making him shrug in his response.  Steve and Thor snicker while Natasha rolls her eyes while smirking.

I gotta admit, this is a view for a penthouse.  And the bar wasn't that shriveled from Loki's madness so, I guess that's nice. 

Bruce finally came out of his dressing room wearing the dark purple button up and slacks Tony offered.  Along with shoes. "Shawarma?"

Natasha and Thor picked up the surrendered Loki in handcuffs, while I abandon the champagne and Steve walks side by me as we approach the team.

"Shawarma."  Tony replies as I teleport all of us two blocks away from the Tower to the shawarma joint. 

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Stan's Shawarma

The words say in bold, orangey and yellowish colors in front of the shawarma joint.  The small building wasn't as destroyed as the others in New York, so hopefully we'll be able to eat 'cause I'm freaking STARVING.

"Is this it?"  Tony asks as I turn to him to sarcastically remark, "No, Sherlock.  Its Falafel Phil's." (A/N: Okay, I usually don't watch Disney TV shows now but, Kickin' It, anybody?)

"Alright enough of you bickering, you two."  Thor interrupts, "as my belly is growling in need of nourishment from this so-called shawarma."

I smiled as Tony, Bruce, Clint, Natasha, Thor and the chain restrained Loki first enter the shawarma joint.  But I couldn't help but be bothered with Steve's silence.  Before we enter, I stop him, "hey.  Why so quiet?"

He sighs as he faces me, opening the door for me like a gentleman, "not really hungry."

My face drops in surprise, "how could you not be starving after hours of battling?"  He shrugs as he gestures, avoiding my mocking question, "ladies first."

I gave him a small smile as I enter the shawarma joint.  He enters behind me, and I see an old man in aviators, unharmed from any previous destruction. He has this ancient mustache and his silver, grey hair is combed backwards. And this old man is so old that he's probably as old as Steve.