Sadly, I do not own Marvel or anything affiliated with The Avengers.

I only own Gabby.

Read on, I say!

She was so ordinary. Her ordinary straight hair brushed lamely past her shoulders, mousy brown in color, Her face was relatively ordinary and clear, save one or two red spots on the left side of her chin. Her eyes were an ordinary shade of , which flickered around the large, plain room and at the people seated around her at the long conference table. She did not have a model's body; her stomach was not flat, she had a slight muffin-top, her thighs were a bit large, though she had rather skinny ankles. She was wearing an ordinary grey pullover, with the words "Disneyland, Est. 1955" on the front with a whitewash picture of Mickey Mouse. Ordinary straight-legged jeans were on her bottom half, followed by an ordinary pair of black high tops. She was worrying her bottom lip as her hands rested on the mahogany, fingertips pressed together. Her sleeve had exposed her wrist, revealing two pink hair bands.
Yes, she was ordinary. Extremely ordinary. Extraordinarily ordinary.

"Team, this is Gabriella McNeeson," Agent Fury, a man I had met earlier, informed the people sitting around me as he handed them each a manilla folder. Agent Fury was a tall, brooding man with an eye patch and an eternal scowl. He wore all black, and had a look on his face that suggested that he knew something you didn't, and he wasn't going to tell you what it was. "She'll be staying with us on the hellicarrier for a while, so try to make her welcome." He walked to a wall and leaned against it, crossing his arms in front of his torso and looking on at the group of people like a father closely watching his rambunctious children.

I looked all around at the people reading the folders they had been handed, which were probably about me, considering we were on some top secret government ship slash airplane thingy. After realizing everyone was reading through the folders and wouldn't be speaking for a while, I then resorted to pulling one of my hair-ties off of my wrist and twisting it and pulling it and wrapping it around my fingers. A nervous twitch, some might call it.

I knew why I was here, though it still hadn't hit me full force yet. I half expected my mom and dad to come through the door any moment, explaining that it was a training exercise or a testing unit, like they always did, and take me back to our normal house and to my normal room where I would normally read and listen to the normal Gershwin and the normal Beatles, and then normally go to school and sit in a normal boring classroom and listen about how the earth revolves around the sun and blah, blah, blah.

But I knew that moment of normality would never come.

I was pulled back to reality by someone speaking. Quickly, I looked up to find a man with mused black hair that matched his eyes, which seemed to be x-raying me, and a light smirk etched into his tan features.

Crap. That man was Anthony Stark.

Of course I knew who he was. From the second I walked into the room I noticed. He was a freaking billionaire, and one of the most famous men on earth. I didn't hyperventilate like I thought I would, or break down sobbing at his feet (not that I really felt like doing those things right then - well - considering.) I had kept my mouth shut and my eyes on my shoelaces. But now he had spoken to me and I hadn't heard him and how are you supposed to come back from that? "Umm, sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

"Do you wanna be called Gabriella or Gabby?" he questioned, thick black eyebrow raised. "Even though you look more like a Margo to me. Gabriella. Really? If I had to choose, based on your facial structure and your introverted-ness, I'd go with Gabby. It makes you seem more welcoming and - ouch!" He looked wide-eyed across the hardwood at a slightly older and more gray-haired man with kind eyes who was glaring at him. "Oh, right," he mumbled scratching the back of his neck, "be respectful and kind the the kid who just lost her parents." He cleared his throat, which distracted me from staring at the circle of light glowing mutedly under his black fitted t-shirt. Our eyes met yet again. "So," he started, lightly smirking, "Gabby or Gabriella?"

I was slightly taken aback by his bluntness, and sat there in my seat, mouth slightly agape. But then I though, I had seen him tell a whole room of reporters and camera men and column-writers to sit down on the floor while he ate a cheeseburger. Then he went on to say that yes, he was Iron Man. On live television.

No, this was nothing.

I hesitated. "Oh, uhh, emm, - G-Gabby is fine, I-I guess," I finally stuttered out.

"Coolio," he said, nodding his head. "I can work with that."

Some time passed before a very skinny and fit redheaded woman (to whom I was already jealous of) asked me, "How old are you, Gabby?"

I don't know why she would ask me this, considering all my information is probably in the stupid manilla folder, but I answered her anyway. "Fifteen."

She subtly nodded, her red curls bouncing, and looked back at the folder.

Everything was quiet for a few minutes and I adjusted my glasses, glancing at the people around me. Tony Stark, the billionaire. A guy with small, thin rimmed glasses and slightly graying hair, but with kind brown eyes and worry lines. Some dude with a military haircut and a weird black vest-thing on who looked like he could kick my ass with a spoon. A man who's biceps rivalled trees trunks and was in desperate need of a haircut. Another guy that looked like he stepped out of an old Disney movie, and was also incredibly buff and highly attractive. Finally, the only woman in the group, who had a perfect model's body and, no less, a ginger. Let's not forget creepy Agent Fury and the dude who was short and balding dressed in an expensive looking suit. I think his name was Coulson.

Everyone in the room looked up as Tony Stark stood up from his seat and stretched his arms over his head. "Well, its been great, its been fun," he snatched up his manilla folder, "but I gotta blow this crack joint. I'm starving." With that, he walked through the stainless steel double doors and left us all.

The guy with the black vest looked over at Agent Fury, who waved his hand to signal the meeting was as good as over. Vest-Dude and Ginger Barbie stood and walked out, followed by Bad Hair Day, who was carrying this gavel-looking thing. Then, Specs quietly snuck out, clinging the folder to his crest. The last to stand was Mr. Blonde And Perfect, who, when he reached the doors, looked back at me for a second. But I had already been following him with my eyes. I quickly looked away, pretending to not notice the pity in his eyes when he looked at me. I quickly reasoned that people can't have freaking emotions in their eyes because eyes are just a bunch of blood vessels and a retna and a pupil and we actually see things upside-down until our brain transfers the image right-side up. I finally heard the door open and swing closed, leaving me to try and clear my thoughts.

I sat at the long table for a while, not really thinking about anything. Trying not the think about anything. I didn't want to think about Tony Stark or classified government information or that my parents were never coming back. So I just sat there, staring at the grain of the dark wood.

Soon, my stomach made a loud and audible sound, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since seven that morning. And, considering it was 8:32 in the evening, according to the clock above the doors, I should probably eat.

I then allowed myself to think. I thought about how really hungry I was, and hoping that there would be a food court or something on this god-forsaken ship, and praying that they would have something with a lot of carbs and fat and calories that I knew I would regret eating, and how every time I ate something like that I regretted it, but, just, I like food.

A hand on my shoulder made me startle out of my thought. I looked around the dull room to notice that Agent Fury had left, and that the balding man was standing next to my chair, kind of smiling, which looked like he didn't do often. "Come on," he said, holding out his hand to help me to my feet, which I took. "I'll show you to the cafeteria."

"Do they have pizza?" I blurted suddenly as we reached the door.

He fully smiled this time and held open the door for me. "Yes, I believe they do."

"Thank God." I said, exasperated.

Ta-Da! Okay, I'm not sure if I should continue, so please, if you wish for more chapters, please please PLEASE REVIEW! I most likely won't put another chapter up if I don't get any reviews or any feedback.. But I sincerely hope you liked it!

~Z