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I HAD JUST BEGAN TO REALIZE EXACTLY HOW ARROGANT WE STARKS COULD BE.
The giant sign of our name had just gained the burst of light to make it shine through the city, letting everyone know that the Starks were in town. "How does it look?" I asked Dad, rocking on my heels in excitement as I did so. He was hovering somewhere over the East River gazing at the, frankly obnoxious, structure after just having fixed a pipeline or something (I wasn't really paying attention when he said it).
I could see his face lighting up with pride through my screen. "Like Christmas," he said with a small sigh of contentment. "But with more," he trailed off, trying to find the perfect word to place into the sentence, "us."
I grinned. We had somewhat patched up our strained relationship which had built up when Dad thought he was dying but hearing him refer to us as a pair made me want to burst with joy.
Pepper then rambled about PR for a bit but I was too enchanted with Dad's display to listen. He was zooming towards the city just a bit slower than he usually went. Maybe it was because he knew I loved the view or maybe it was because he loved it too, but as the city lights twinkled, I fell more and more in love with it. I really, really, really wanted to live here someday.
He swiftly landed on the landing pad, a series of mechanical arms disassembling the suit piece by piece. Looking back at it now, the process seems almost comical but I suppose it looked a lot cooler assembling the suit piece by piece than just making it appear with nanotech.
Pepper tapped on my shoulder absentmindedly, a familiar pattern of dat dat dat, pause, dat dat as Dad sauntered over towards us. They were a thing now, I guess, and I really didn't want to be nearby when they got couple-y. I walked to the other side of the room, trying to block out their flirting (?) and settled on staring at the trashy vintage Captain America poster that we had hung up for some odd reason.
My only knowledge of Captain America at that point in time was limited to the news clipping I read about him in my late grandfather's office. After trying, and failing, to conjure up any information about him that could be of any interest, I resorted to counting the dots within the artwork that were placed to give it a comic-book feel.
I counted 398 black dots on his shield before something interesting happened.
A man, whom I recognized as Agent Coulson, stepped out of the elevator talking about something called the Avengers Initiative and trying to persuade Dad to do something relating to it.
It sounded like a mission which meant it probably dangerous which meant that he would probably get hurt. But I didn't hear that. All my little eleven-year-old ears heard was the unfulfilled promise he had made.
