Chapter 2
I wake up so fast my head smashes into the headboard on the way up.
As I blink the stars from my eyes and shake my head a few times, I realize that the shadows around me are those of my bedroom, I'm the only one in the room, and I can be a very active dreamer.
It must've been something in the cake…
I groan and fall back onto the pillow as I realize I am still single, and sigh as I fall still and try to let sleep overcome me once more.
Fifteen minutes pass.
Thirty minutes pass.
And then I realize that, thanks to my hyper brain, I'm not going back to sleep any time soon.
This is when I hate being a genius. This, and board meetings.
I sit up and glance at my alarm clock as I hunt for my slippers. It's six in the morning, I might not be the only one up.
I silently pad down the familiar path to the kitchen, to find that, no, I'm not the only one awake, but the house is still silent, bar for the coffee machine, and the lights are dim but not off.
I watch as Natasha pauses her movement at the stove as she hears me enter, and I trudge towards a stool by the bar as she silently begins to ready a second cup of coffee.
"You will never believe the dream I just had." I begin as I accept the steaming mug of caffeine shoved my way. Natasha grabs her own mug and settles across from me.
"Try me." She motions for me to continue.
I sigh as I recount what I really wanted to be real. "Well, it was about last night. We sang and ate cake, and as we were sitting in the living room, Clint left suddenly. I followed him and found him in his office, and I found out he had asked you out." I watch as her back stiffens. "Yeah. So I comfort him, and we get in a discussion about dating, and then he starts naming all these good things about me, and…" I trail off, blushing.
"And…?"
"And…hekissedme."
"Wow, girl! What was in that cake?"
"I don't know. But then I was his girlfriend. And my dad walked in and there were presents."
She laughs quietly at the last part, before shaking her head sadly. "Too bad that was a dream."
"Right?"
"So your options now are to either go confront Clint about it or go hide in your workshop with your suit for the next two days."
"Hm, I wonder which one I'll choose." My tone is dripping scathing sarcasm because we both know exactly what I'll be doing for the next two days.
Or longer. However long it takes for me to forget about this.
I sigh as I catch the last drop of coffee on my tongue and set my mug in the sink.
"See you into two days!" I call over my shoulder as I head towards the elevator.
Natasha just makes shooing motions.
I'm whispering orders to Jarvis before the lab doors even open.
"Jarvis, get Beta II onto the Launchpad, I'm going for a spin. If I'm not back by the time Dad gets up, tell him where I am and that he should call me."
Jarvis beeps his consent as I head out to the launch pad to where one set of the assembly bots is waiting with Beta II.
Beta II was built about five months after I lost its predecessor, Beta I, in London three years ago. Given that, at the time, we weren't under imminent threat (minus the fact that we still don't know where Loki ran off to), we had time to experiment with new technologies without putting ourselves in danger.
As the holoscreen clicks over my head, I fire up my boosters and pick a random direction.
"Jarvis, activate the cloak screens."
"Yes ma'am."
All radio and satellite signals now deflect off the suit and my radio signal isn't detectable to anyone, not even my dad.
I roll and fire up my thrusters.
"Jarvis, let's go supersonic!"
My command is lost to the wind as I rocket through the skies of New York at over Mach 2.
I laugh to myself as I dart between buildings, flipping and rolling and diving to my hearts' content.
This is why I love what I do. (The saving people thing too, I guess.)
This is where I can forget my problems because I left them on the ground. I can forget embarrassing dreams about my crush. I can kind of forget that we have a psychopathic magical Norse maniac god running free.
Kind of.
I eventually slow down to about fifty miles per hour and turn back towards the tower, ready to face most of my problems head on.
Just not the Clint one. Not yet.
I land and wait as Beta II gets pulled off my body before strolling inside, just barely missing my dad rolling across the room on a chair.
"Morning. Why didn't you call?"
"Just got down here. How was your three hour long flight?"
I glance at a nearby holoscreen to see that it's almost ten a.m. and that my flight did, in fact, last just about three hours. Well, time flies when you're having fun. At supersonic speeds.
I shrug as I fall into my own chair and let my momentum roll me towards my workstation, where holograms await.
A~A~A
Two hours later, our steady working rhythm is disrupted by someone – my dad – turning off the music.
I slide out from under the motorcycle I'm currently almost finished with to stare at him, wide-eyed because you don't just do that.
Offense number 1 of the lab: You don't turn off the music unless the world is ending, someone is dying, or it's been a week.
"I know, I know, don't look at me like that. I needed to ask you something."
I raise an eyebrow in question and nod for him to proceed.
"Since you're eighteen now, your room might be getting a little too small."
Please don't be kicking me out, please do not be kicking me out…
"So you might need a bigger room."
Cue sigh of relief.
"What would you say about getting your own suite? Bedroom, bathroom, kitchenette, the whole nine yards?"
"I'd say yes!"
"Alright then! I'll have Jarvis deliver boxes to your room for your stuff. You'll probably be moving onto floor sixty seven, room twenty three, if you want to check it out."
I nod as I stand, cover the almost-finished custom bike, and wipe my hands on my jeans.
I grab my gloves off where I has set them on a nearby table and walk over to the vent cover in the cover and jump in.
I take the well-rehearsed path back to my room – old room, now – before dropping onto a well-placed rug.
I sigh as I begin to sift through the eighteen years' worth of accumulated stuff.
I wrinkle my nose at what I think is an old robot costume before tossing it in the corner.
I smooth out my first blue science fair ribbon before tossing that in the corner, too. (I help run a science company now.)
I don't even attempt to untangle a mysterious ball of wires, they look dangerous.
The first item in a box is my first dagger, the one Coulson gave me when we first met. He said something about me 'having potential' and being 'a heck of a lot more agreeable than my dad'.
I shake my head and wipe my eyes before the memories of Coulson overtake me.
Three years doesn't make it any easier.
I find a prototype Iron Beta sweater I got after Afghanistan and toss it in the box.
I find a picture of Obie and impale it on a bedpost, being careful to avoid the shattered glass.
I find a picture of my dad and I standing in front of a race car – the day Vanko attacked – and flinch slightly but toss it in the box anyways.
I find a S.H.I.E.L.D. visitor's pass, back from when we actually liked them, and toss it in the corner with a mental note to burn it later.
I toss an old post-battle report in the corner.
I wince as I gingerly pick up half of a bow – the one Clint gave me three years ago – as I remember the mutant bunny/termite attack, two years ago, that decommissioned it.
Soon after the mutant bunny-mite attack, he replaced it with a bow that was bigger, stronger, and made of adamantium-laced aluminum.
I toss the remnants of the bow into the corner as I uncover a frayed quiver with a hole rusted in the bottom. A lead in Greenland two years ago was cold. And wet. And rusted my quiver.
Clint replaced that too, with my help – oxidation-resistant steel laced aluminum quiver that has interchangeable arrow heads, not unlike Clint's.
I put the paper work for my black Aston-Martin 1-77, gifted to me last year, into the box.
I check one of my old pistols that had found its way under my nightstand and put it gently into the box and toss the rusted bullets.
A rattle causes me to look up from the blueprints of Beta II and III that I was currently examining, and I roll them up and set them in a box before telling Clint he can come down.
He lands – perfect as always – on my rug, looking around at the boxes and clutter.
I quickly glance at him before busying myself with the underside of the bed.
Don't think about the dream…
Don't think about the dream…
"Are you busy tonight?"
This makes me pause and actually pay attention to where Clint is sitting, cross-legged, on my bed.
"I don't think so…not unless the Loki alarms go off, no, I shouldn't be. Why?"
"Well," he begins, "there's this new pizza parlor that opened up on 4th street that I think you'd like, and that one movie about the genius, Terminator-apes is showing. Wanna go for pizza and catch the next showing?"
I blink at him a few times and discreetly bit my tongue so I know that what he just said was not a dream before realizing he's still waiting for an answer.
"What? Oh…I, uh….yeah, sure, sounds cool. Time?"
"Meet me in the lobby at six."
"Got it."
He stands and looks at the decreasing piles of clutter in my room. "Need any help in here?"
"Nope. I got it covered, thanks."
He nods and jumps back in the vents, latching the cover behind him.
I wait until I'm sure he can't hear or see me before jumping on my bed and doing a happy dance.
A/N
Please, please, please do not kill me for the dream thing. I just felt that they were moving too fast.
Claylor WILL happen eventually, I promise.
Keep reading and reviewing and enjoying!
