Natasha Stark: SHIELD

Chapter 8:

Tasha: I landed on the ground in a cool pose in front of the open flight door. The metal of my suit clanged. “Two minutes late,” Coulson said.

“Sorry,” I said, walking toward him as my suit refolded into me, and I pulled a sweatshirt on, “I got caught up at home.”

I looked behind Coulson to see a boy with mousy brown, curly hair, a girl with light brown hair and a smiled on her face, a woman with a perpetual frown with black hair and dressed in all black, a boy with a steal jaw and a similar expression the woman next to him, his biceps flexed while his arms crossed, and a girl with a smile on her face and long brown hair. “My team,” Coulson said, “Fitz,” he pointed to the curly haired boy, who waved dazely, “Simmons,” the girl next to him who waved all to happily.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, in a British accent that sounded all too much like AVIS.

“May,” Coulson pointed to the woman with the frown. I smiled at her. She didn't say anything back. “Ward,” Coulson pointed to the guy, who smiled toward me and nodded. “And Skye,” Coulson pointed to the girl on the end.

“Hey,” she said, as though she were pretending to be awesome.

“Hey,” I said, “I'm Tasha Stark.”

“Welcome aboard,” Coulson said with a smile, “Let's go. May, wheels up.”

I walked in, looking at a red car that looked the exact same as the one I had rode in all week. “Don't touch Lola,” Coulson said.

“I wasn't going to,” I said, “Sorry, its just a beautiful car.”

“Thanks,” Coulson said.

“So what am I here for exactly?” I asked, getting to business.

“You're going to help us catch a guy called the Clairvoyant. He's been a vigilante we've been fighting for a while, active followers, toys, tricks. You name it he's got it,” Coulson explained, “It's in your packet in your room.”

“Thanks,” I said, “Where would that be exactly?”

“I'll show you to it,” Fitz said. The girl called Simmons tagged along.

“So you're Natasha Stark, daughter of Tony Stark, Iron Woman,” Fitz said in a Scottish accent.

“That's me,” I said.

“Your suit's incredible,” Fitz said, “I've never seen anything like it. The way it forms is fantastic.”

“Thanks,” I said, “It's something I've worked pretty hard on. But if I do say so myself, it turned out pretty cool.”

“You aren't kidding,” Simmons chimed in, “Does the metal interfere with your skin or cells at all.”

“Nope,” I said, “Although repair is a bit of a booger.”

Simmons nodded and so did Fitz. We came upstairs, and I realized just how insanely huge the plane was. Fitz and Simmons continued to babble about my genius. Skye came up to me, suppressing a smiled.

“Come on guys, no need to scare her so soon,” she said.

“We were showing her to her room,” Fitz piped up.

“I can handle that. You guys go figure out what we're hunting,” she said. Both of them we about to protest, but Skye raised an eyebrow at both of them. Then slunked away.

“Sorry about them,” Skye said.

“Hey, if I couldn't handle hearing how awesome I am and how much a genius I am, I wouldn't be outside, let alone here,” I said, laughing.

“We don't normally get Avengers on here,” she said, “Although we did have two Asguardians a few weeks ago.”

"Thor?” I asked, trying to decide whether or not to be bummed he didn't say hi while he was here.

“No, two others,” Skye said, “But I wish, Thor is hot.”

“Oh yeah,” I said. Skye pointed to a room with an open door.

“That's you,” she said, “What's it like being an Avenger?”

“Crazy,” I said.

“I'm sure,” she said, “So where were you the other 16 years of your life when you weren't with Tony.”

“I was with my mom. Whitney Pells. She died of Stage 4 Leukemia,” I said.

“I'm sorry,” Skye said.

“It's alright,” I said, “It's not your fault.”

“I never knew my parents,” Skye said, “It's kind of a long confusing story.”

“Agent Hand, Agent Sitwell, and Agent Garrett are boarding,” Ward said. Skye nodded, and I noticed a look in her eyes when she did. Intensity, but something soft too. The way she didn't drop his gaze. I smirked, then Ward stalked away. I got up off my bed and walked out, still smirking.

“What are you smiling about?” Skye asked.

“Nothing,” I said, still smirking.