A soft hum of classical music filled the lounge area in Stark Towers, the residents taking this opportunity to catch up on hobbies, training, or sleeping. Their newest addition, (Y/n), reclined on a corner of the sleek, modern sofa with a notepad and pen in her busy hand. Passionate thoughts and creative ideas spilled onto the pages through the ink as she intently organized, prioritized, and reviewed her work. The majority of members belonging to her team were in their designated rooms, or elsewhere in the building, however, a member that she had yet to even converse with was sitting at an opposite angle to her, busy with his own work. Occasionally, his metal appendage would whine softly over the music, or the couch would rustle as she adjusted her position when her legs fell asleep, but that was the extent of their auditory exchanges.
Once they made a passing glance during a fight a few months ago, but there was no purpose of it, or reason. There was simply never time to talk amongst the chaos nowadays. The noise of pen scribbling almost violently across paper stopped abruptly, and was replaced with the crushing sound of the pen itself. (Y/n)'s pupils contracted and she was brought out of a trance. With a sigh, she took the remains of the pen into her hands, thankfully having not broken the ink cartridge, and placed it on the glass coffee table beside her head. James glanced up at her from the absence of the familiar sound, but quickly ignored it once more after she pulled an extra one out of her pocket.
After coming to terms with how new her powers were, and how little she could control her grip strength, she started preparing for mundane mishaps such as these. The atmosphere soon fell back to a comfortable symphony of typing, writing, and quiet music once more. She continued her writing and regained her inspiration, relentlessly attacking the paper with her mind, all too quickly becoming invested and locked in. This passion returned a more aggressive outcome, similar to the first. This time, a wave of ink took her work away just as fast as she had turned them out, earning a groan of well-earned frustration.
She stood quickly and salvaged as much as she could of the pens, and made her short trek to the kitchen, where the trash bin was located. With one hand occupied with pen remains, both covered completely in ink that was sure to be a pain to get off, she reached for the drawer handle, and took a quiet moment of processing as she held the steel handle up to her torso. At the sudden, almost insulting, commotion over James' favorite jam, he turned his head in her direction, only to furrow his brows in just as much confusion as her face read. Her nostrils flared in silent rage, setting the bar down on the marble counter top with a crACK.
She took a deep breath, and reached for the sink handle just before he exclaimed, "Wait!" In a hoarse, previously unused voice. He cleared his throat and made his way to the other side of the island, in front of her, and turned the warm water on for her, "That would've been Hell to fix." Her defeated expression gave way to amusement as she chuckled softly and allowed him to pour the soap into her hands. He reached over and picked up the bar, inspecting it carefully before finding that an imprint was left on the counter, in the shape of the handle. "So, this is why you live here?"
The rhetorical question was left as more of an observation, and he waited as she dried her now stained hands to ask any more questions. "I'm guessing this happens often?" She nodded. "Too often." He returned her expression with an empathetic one, and walked around to try and find a way to repair the drawer, "We could train you, you know. I was afraid of my strength for a while, and still am sometimes, but I've gotten it under control with all of Stark's wacky gadgets and whatnot." She'd never seen him smile before, but she wasn't complaining. The left side of his mouth perked up as he recalled earlier memories of being the newest member and constantly breaking things.
He was usually so one-note and didn't have much life in his eyes, aside from when he was with Steve, but she'd either never cared enough to notice, or he genuinely never felt comfortable enough to laugh and smile like this. Jesus, he was attractive.
" - Right?"
She looked down from his eyes and back to his mouth, then studied the rest of his face quickly before remembering to nod. "Yeah, totally." He kept his smile, but his eyes narrowed in playful suspicion before bringing his attention to the noise coming from down the hallway. It was Barton with a carton of orange juice, seemingly empty from the ease at which he was carrying it. He nodded to both you and James in acknowledgement, before reaching to the drawer for the trash bin. At the lack of a handle, he looked over at James, who was still wielding it, and simply shook his head, using only the stubbed tips of his fingers to slide open the cubby with almost too much difficulty.
"Sorry, Barton. I'll replace it." You called as he walked back in the direction of his room, still shaking his head.
