Terror at the bake sale
When we saw her approach, all the moms drew back slightly from Helen King, the object of her fury.
She was stalking towards us, not fast, not overtly angry, but with a sinuous grace that telegraphed absolute control. She stopped in front of Helen, the previously undisputed dictator of all the moms gathering daily at the school gates to pick up their offspring. She stood just a hair's breadth too close to Helen, invading her personal space without seeming rude.
We drew back even further, not willing to get between her and her chosen prey. Besides, we'd all been the victim of Helen's razor-sharp tongue at one point or another, so we weren't inclined to help her. She always behaved as if we were beneath her and thought our children weren't fit company for her precious angel, the always immaculately groomed eight-year-old Grace. Some of us privately thought the girl might lead a happier life if she were occasionally allowed to get muddy, but it wasn't our place to tell Helen how to raise her daughter.
Until the beginning of this year, Helen had ruled the PTA meetings, the bake sales and the school-gate pick-up with an iron fist. Then a new little girl had joined our children's class and everything had changed.
Little Maggie was often picked up by people other than her parents, people who sometimes looked or dressed slightly strange and who, more importantly, weren't cowed by Helen's disdain.
Most frequently, a woman appeared. She had very red hair and had introduced herself as Natasha, Maggie's godmother, but she hadn't said much else, giving vague, non-committal answers to any questions from us.
She had dared to disagree with Helen, though, when she had expounded on her belief that immigrant children were ruining the school system for "decent folks' children" one time our children were late in leaving the school. Natasha had simply said a few quiet words to Helen, then hugged Maggie hello and bundled her into their waiting car before Helen could react. All of us other moms were incredibly curious as to what she had said, of course, but Helen hadn't told us.
From then on, Helen had always turned up her nose when she saw Natasha, while Natasha merely ignored her.
Now, three months later, Natasha was bearing down on Helen, who still held the pan of brownies she had been about to cut before setting them down on the table with all the other things we'd made for the school-wide bake sale.
"Hello, Helen," she said, loud enough for the rest of us to hear, "I have been hearing troubling things about you. Apparently you told Grace not to play with Maggie anymore because her parents are freaks. Maggie was quite upset, because for some reason she likes your darling daughter. What you must understand is that when my beloved goddaughter is upset, so am I. And I do not appreciate having to dry Margaret's tears because someone put narrow-minded, bigoted notions into her friend's head."
She still wasn't overtly angry, but she projected her voice so that all of us moms could hear her, and her control laced with ice-cold fury seemed somehow more dangerous than any screaming could have been. Helen had started to sputter when Natasha had called her bigoted, but the red-head simply talked over her until she was quiet. Helen seemed almost hypnotized by Natasha's face so close to her own, not moving, just staring her opponent's green eyes as though she couldn't believe that this was actually happening.
"I will tell you everything you need to know about Maggie's parents. They love her very much and take good care of her. That is all you should need to know, but obviously you have some misconceptions about them, so I will disabuse you of your prejudiced notions.
Margaret's parents are heroes. Real-life world-saving, self-sacrificing heroes. They work hard to keep this city, this country, this entire planet safe from those who would destroy it. On top of that, they run one of the world's leading innovative technology companies and have a loving marriage. They are more than worthy role models for any child.
They are my friends and I would do anything to protect them. But they don't need me to protect them from mean-spirited bigots; these sorts of comments just bounce right off them. But Maggie is just eight years old. She hasn't developed a thick skin yet and she shouldn't have to.
Luckily, she has many devoted aunts and uncles. Thank your lucky stars I came here today instead of Auntie Wanda or Uncle Bucky, they would not have been so kind. But make no mistake. Although I work with heroes, I am not a hero. I have no problem using my very specific skillset on you should you ever again upset the little girl we all love so very much by making any insensitive remarks."
Here she placed her hand on Helen's shoulder. All of us were still watching quietly with gaping eyes, trying to catch every possible detail in order to relay it to our husbands and friends later. We didn't see Natasha do anything overt, but Helen jumped and her body became even more rigid.
Then Natasha took the knife out of Helen's unresisting hands and flung it at the wall without even looking. Then she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.
We all turned to look at the wall, where Helen's big kitchen knife stood quivering in the eye of a poster of Abraham Lincoln. Helen still stood as if paralyzed, an island of stillness among the moms now milling around and discussing what had just happened. We all kept our distance from her as if she were contagious.
Slowly, the pieces fell into place for all of us. We had always known that Maggie's parents must be important n some way, but Natasha had just all but confirmed them to be Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, superhero power-couple extraordinaire.
No wonder Maggie had been distraught. We'd all heard Helen call them freaks and bad parents and "probably criminals, I hear they're connected to the Italian Mafia", among other things. Now all of us were satisfied that she'd gotten what was coming to her. After we'd told simply everyone we knew about today's display, Helen's dominion of the school gates would be over for good.
Because Helen King had just been threatened by the Black Widow.
Coda
Bucky waited for Natasha in the car. After a lifetime of being forced to deal out death, he was only too happy that their current mission was nothing worse than making sure that little Margaret Stark-Potts would not be upset again by anyone making snide comments about her parents. Non-lethally, of course. These days, that was an option for them.
He tapped the steering wheel of their "getaway vehicle" impatiently. Intimidating one stay-at-home mom should not be taking this long. But if he knew Natasha, and he did, she was making a spectacle out of it to prevent anyone else from even thinking about saying anything in future. She would probably throw a knife, and old classic and her favorite trick when impressing civilians. It was flashy and seeing the knife stick in the wall never failed to intimidate her audience.
But she wouldn't go too too far, because they were doing this for Maggie. The Avengers and their extended families and friends adored Maggie, the first baby born in the superhero group. Had her mother Pepper not kept them under control, her various honorary aunts and uncles would have spoiled her to death.
Ah, there she was. He spotted a flash of red hair as Natasha was leaving the school building, an air of smugness about her. So she had been successful. Bucky had never doubted it.
She got into the car and he smoothly pulled out into the traffic of the afternoon school run.
"Mission accomplished?" he asked.
She smirked. "Mission accomplished."