Playing With Fire (EDITING)

Misbehaving

I woke up sometime before dawn and rolled up my blankets with my pillow to head inside. I drank the water quickly and carried the bottle in on my finger. I showered and pulled on plain skinny jeans, my brown boots, my belts and included sheath and sword, tank, and pulled my hair into a ponytail.

I loosened my sword in its sheath for comfort and slid the blade out, enjoying the scrape of metal on metal. I held the blade in front of me and took a deep breath before starting a series of moves, flowing smoothly from one to the next as if there was no break in between. The blade became an extension of my arm and it carved the air to smithereens. I jabbed low, faked high, took out an opponent's knees, turned to the side to finish them off with a swipe to the head and used my momentum. I subconsciously set one hand over the other for leverage and a smoother thrust and followed through the move, setting my feet in a sort of one-knee-down position. I bent ever so slightly backward to offset my balance and twisted the blade in my now shredded opponent's gut.

Then Banner walked in. Still in battle mode, I had the blade to his clavicle in an instant, eyes widened and surprise clearly shown. His expression was a mix of surprise, terror, amusement, and absolute, pure confusion. "Uhhhhhhhhh....." he said lamely.

I lowered my blade, heat rushing to my face. I slid it back into its sheath and turned away from him. But he was staring at my sword sheath. "Can I see that?" he asked.

"Uh, sure?" I unclipped it, sheath and all, from my belt and handed it to him. He sat on a bunk that I assumed was his and unsheathed my sword. "Tell me about it," he said, running a finger down the smooth blood groove in the center.

"I made it. Spatha style, calvary use mostly but I shortened it to fit foot work better; two and a half feet, alloyed steel, tungsten, lead for balance, gallium and nickel for flexibility, buckminsterfullerene for strength, and Damascene steel sharpened edges."

He looked impressed but turned the blade in the light and furrowed his brow. "What causes it to be irridescent?"

I smiled. "Secret ingredient used for this sword alone. Meteorite ore. There wasn't even enough left to do what I wanted with it." He set the sheath on the bunk to his right (since I had sat on his left) and gripped the handle. "Full tang." I continued. "Simple fitted handle and molded fingerguard as well as pommel."

He seemed to understand what I was saying. "Wow," he said finally. "This a good weapon. And you say you made it?" I nodded. "Hm..." He flipped it over in his hands and examined the opposite side carefully. "Here," he said, sliding the sword carefully into its sheath and passing it to me.

I stood and strapped it to my belt; it felt far more natural with the weight by my side than without it. I left the room with a respectful nod to Banner and walked to the cafeteria where I rummaged around to find food. An entire box of poptarts was missing. An entire box!!!!! Who (besides Thor) could eat all that and not go into hyper-lets-kill-everything-with-my-super-deadly-weapons mode. Banner would probably Hulk out if he consumed that much sugar. I felt the bare insides of the box in a desperate hope that there was a single survivor but to no avail.

As I left the mess room, I ran smack into Fury. "Good morning, Director," I mumbled, moving to dodge around him. He caught my arm and pulled me into a nearby office that I assumed was either his or Hill's. "Is this about me staying outside last night?" He shook his head. "Oh. Then what? I have stuff to do."

He stood by the door so I couldn't leave and steepled his fingers, looking above them at me. I sank into a chair and crossed my arms over my chest. "Barton, huh?" I nodded. "And you're sure you've never seen Hawk before in your life?" I nodded again. "We've done a background check on the both of you and you know what we found?" I rolled my eyes, not bothering to answer. "Nothing."