I wake up with a groan and flop over onto my stomach, covering my head with a pillow.

Why does the sun have to rise so early?

"Good morning, ma'am. It is Saturday the 4th, 8:00 am. The temperature outside is 85 degrees Farenhiet, winds of 3 miles per hour-"

"Yeah, morning J." I yawn, still feeling the sore muscles from yesterday's mission.

It was a case of dust mites taking over an area near Maryland, emphasis on the dust. Poor Baltimore looked white with a heavy coating of dust particles, almost like snow.

I know, unrealistic. But realistic isn't really in my vocabulary anymore, not after what I've seen.

So anyways, back to the dust. It clogged the joints of the suits, so I aborted and grabbed my bow and took up a ground position. I really should have worn goggles of some sort, though, because the dust coated my eyes and it burned.

Even after defeating the dust mites, we had to wait for the rest of the dust to clear. That meant we didn't get home until around 12:30 in the morning, and then we had to get out of our combat gear and disarm ourselves. So I didn't get to bed until around 1:30 am.

I roll lazily out of bed and head for the en-suite bathroom, grabbing an old t-shirt and a pair of jeans on my way.

I spend a good amount of time simply letting the hot water rinse off the copious amounts of dust that had gathered in every nook, cranny, and pore of my body, then going back over again with soap.

"Jarvis," I call once I emerge, "remind me to change my sheets later. They are looking rather grey, don't you think?"

"Indeed, Miss Stark. Although, one should probably expect that after the wild night last night."

"When did the sarcasm coding get put in?" I grumble good-naturedly as I pull my t-shirt over my head and head out the door and towards breakfast.

Steve is the only one up, being the naturally early riser that he is, so I don't bother with being quiet as I bound for the pantry."Good morning, Steve."

"I'm surprised to see you awake, Taylor, how'd – hey, you look different."

I frown at him. "Do I still have dust on my face? I would've thought the half-hour shower would have fixed that."

"What? No. Just," he offers me a silver pan, "here. Look for yourself."

I only have to study myself for a second before I realize what he's talking about. I groan, but any of my words were cut off by Bruce stumbling downstairs, still half asleep.

"Mornin', guys...Taylor?" he blinks at me.

"Yes, Bruce?" I sigh wearily, already knowing what he was going to ask about.

"Since when do you wear glasses?"

I close my eyes and slide the frames off my nose, turning them carefully in my hands to look at the light reflecting off the lenses.

My glasses, which I don't wear too often, have thick, black, wire frames, slightly squared lenses, and moderately thick lenses.

I hate them.

"I must have put them on as a reflex this morning." I explain, finally looking up at Bruce. "I normally wear contacts, but after yesterday's mission…"

"The dust got in your eyes and your contacts fell out." Natasha finishes, catching the tail end of the sentence as she strides into the room. "Nice glasses."

"Thanks, glad you like them." I slide them back on, finishing my sentence in a tone so low not even Steve can hear it. "That makes one of us."

My dad is the next into the kitchen; he, unlike the others, just looks at me, raises an eyebrow, and sips his coffee. "You had to break those out, huh?"

"Not by choice." I whine. "My contacts shriveled up because of the dust."

He shrugs, tells me "I'll order extras,", and refills his mug.

"Hey guys, whaaaaaahhhhh…" Clint enters the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He trails off as he sees me, his jaw hitting the floor as he does a double take.

My dad holds up a hand and begins ticking off fingers. "Five, four, three, two…"

SLAM!

Clint misses the archway opening to the hallway by a good six inches, instead walking directly into a wall.

"Clint?" I call, sliding my glasses up my nose as he stands, cupping his nose. "You okay?"

"What? I…ah, yeah, y-yeah…" he blinks at me, stunned.

I blink back at him.

He blinks.

I blink.

He blinks.

"Okay, this is officially weird." Natasha breaks the silence. "It's simple, people, honestly. Clint has a glasses kink, Taylor has glasses. There, problem solved." She claps like all is now well, causing Clint and I to glare.

I slide my glasses back up my nose and peck him on the cheek. "You actually like them?"

He looks at me, shocked. "Like them? Like them?! Currently, I'm pretty sure they're the best thing that's occurred to mankind. Seriously, I really-"

"Keep it PG, Birdbrain!" my dad cuts in, glaring at my boyfriend, who has the decency to look sheepish.

"Why don't you like them, Taylor?" Bruce wonders between bites of toast and sips of tea.

"Because," I whine, "they make me look all dorky. I'm supposed to look like an all-powerful, genius VP that can bend numbers and negotiators to her will, not some acne-infested geek with braces and thick glasses."

"For the record," Clint interrupts, "I'm a gigantic fan of the dorky look."

"You don't need to be all-powerful 100% of the time." Natasha points out. "You can wear the glasses here, at home."

"Glasses aren't anything to be ashamed of." Bruce cuts in. "I wear some. Mainly because contacts make me look old, but still. And beyond that, are you forgetting that before you were a VP of a Fortune 500 company, you were a dorky teenager with acne? In fact, you still are. I mean, not the acne, but you're as dorky and geeky as they come."

"Why, thank you Bruce," I drawl, "raise my confidence a little, why don't you?"

Bruce just blushes and stammers an apology.

"But seriously." Steve adds. "You've got nothing to hide when it comes to appearances. If there should be one place we can all be comfortable it should be here."

"Well, here above the fourth floor. Because those are the business floors, and nobody – I swear, nobody – is comfortable there." I add with a shrug.

The rest of the room hesitantly nods its agreement.

Steve clears his throat. "Anyways, as I was saying…it's okay to wear those here if you want. No pressure."

I run uneasy fingers along the sides of the glasses. They have points, and contacts do get really uncomfortable…

"Fine. I'll leave them on until I get new contacts, okay? And can we find a way for me to never leave the house till then?"

Steve nods as I hop out of my seat, slide my dishes into the sink, and head down to the lab to either work on paperwork or my latest idea or ideas.

Right before I get out of earshot, however, I can hear Clint asking my dad to delay the contact orders.

I suppose that, while I have them on, I can use my glasses to my advantage.