Once a year, something big happens.
It's not a birthday, or the anniversary of someone's death.
(Well, technically it is, a whole bunch of people died).
But anyways, it's not focused on death, not for me.
It's the anniversary of a battle.
The Battle.
When the world gained six – later seven – of the best of the best, better than any police force and most militias.
Manhattan also gave me more people to like, to trust, and truly gave me my first friends that weren't on my dad's payroll. It's sad, I know.
But at the same time, I had to watch from the Hellicarrier as my dad flew into a wormhole with a missile. I had to answer his call. I had to watch him as he thought he would die.
And I had to deal with that.
But back to the anniversary.
The seven of us see it in different ways, each one of us. Steve sees all the people that died, my dad remembers the wormhole, Clint and Thor remember Loki very differently, Natasha remembers getting the news about Clint, and Bruce remembers finally meeting people that aren't afraid of accepting him and the Other Guy.
Me? I remember the unsung heroes, like myself. People like Coulson, Hill, and a hell of a lot of police officers.
We all visit the memorial each year, and the fifth anniversary was a rainy Tuesday.
.
"Steve! Dad says we're leaving in ten, with or without you!" I shout at the ceiling.
"Captain Rogers says he will be ready in five minutes, ma'am." Jarvis politely relays back.
"Okay." I shrug and lean back against the counter, playing with the edge of my purple hoodie. I'm dressed casually today in an old zippered hoodie, worn jeans, and a pair of black Nikes.
"Taylor!" Clint pokes his head into the room. "Is Cap almost ready?"
"Yeah, he said he'd be ready in five."
"I'm here!" Clint and I turn to see Steve barrel out of the stairwell, panting just slightly. "Sorry."
"It's okay, let's just go." Clint urges, motioning us out the door. "Tony's getting impatient."
"Why? It's not like the memorial is going anywhere."
Clint shrugs. "How should I know? He's your dad."
I just roll my eyes and lead the way to the elevator, pressing the button for the garage. Once the elevator doors open again, the three of us walk out to wait by our respective vehicles.
I'm riding my motorcycle, my dad and Bruce are in one car, Clint is with Natasha in a second car, Steve is on his motorcycle, and Thor promises to fly above the clouds.
As I'm unlocking the storage area/elevator to the lab where I keep my speedster, I have time to reflect that we'll be arriving at the memorial in almost the same way as we did five years ago, except for the fact that I'm in person this time.
I slip on my helmet, activating the holoscreen visor as I follow Steve out of the garage at a reasonable speed, nowhere near my top speed.
"Jarvis, what's my ETA?"
"Ten minutes, ma'am, with according for traffic."
"Right. Keep an eye on Steve." I command as I follow the route each us of know by heart, Steve in front of me, Thor above my head, and two cars lined up behind me. "Not that you need to, of course."
True to Jarvis' word, I arrive at the memorial in about ten minutes, pulling up and parking next to Steve as the cars find various parking spaces.
The memorial is located in Central Park, in the big circle area where we saw Loki and Thor off after everything was said and done.
I hop off my bike and tuck my helmet under the seat, shoving my hands in my pockets as I approach the metal monstrosity, once shining bronze but now slightly tarnished.
It depicts the six main Avengers standing back to back in a circle. Captain America faces north, looking up slightly with shield on his arm and ready to strike. To his right, Iron Man stands at full height, chest puffed out and looking more Merchant of Death than Tony Stark.
I can do that to, use my words to threaten, but that's another story involving a certain General.
Anyways, next in the circle is a snarling Hulk, slightly crouched with his fists clenched. Hawkeye is next, and you can see his focus even as a statue. He stands with his bow drawn, and arrow notched and aimed at an unseen enemy. Thor stands to his right, hammer poised and a dead serious look on his face. Black Widow completes the circle, both her guns loaded and a sly, narrow-eyed look on her face.
The empty space in the middle of the circle contains a base for a six-foot spire, topped by a cube resting on a corner. The intricate engravings on the cube are meant to represent the energy inside the Tesseract, the fine lines on its surface.
A quote rings the pedestal the heroes are on, and it's the more PG version of our unofficial motto – 'If we can't save the earth, you can be sure we'll avenge it' – in fancy script. Several figures are at the base of the pedestal, including a kneeling, shackled, and muffled Loki beneath Cap, a Coulson statue I made facing south, and even an Iron Beta facing east.
I'm in a crouch with one fist on the ground, in what some call an 'Iron Man pose'. There's a quiver on my back to differentiate me from my dad, and I appreciate the thought even if I still haven't found a realistic solution to wearing my quiver with my suit. My chest is raised slightly to show my femininity, though, although not majorly.
The builders told me they would have put me in the main circle, but they didn't know I even existed until after that part was built, so they added me to the base.
The memorial is surrounded by about two feet of manicured lawn and a velvet rope, but the six of us quickly duck under the rope and head to our usual spots of reflection.
Steve stares up at the Tesseract, my dad cocks his head at his big bronze double, Clint stands over Loki in triumph, Bruce traces the quote with his fingers, Natasha leans against the base and people watches, and Thor just watches quietly.
I head over to the statue of Coulson, the one it took me a week to make after I went MIA for a week and a half at hearing the news of his 'death'. I run a hand along his folded arms, finger his tie knot, and smirk at the ever present cards barely sticking out of his back pocket.
I remember the easy likeableness and support he gave during Stane's mess.
I finger the slim dagger he gave me while calling me a more likeable version of my dad, being one of the few people to recognize my potential.
I remember the grief when my dad told me he was gone, a martyr, and the thirst for revenge that kept me cheering as I watched the battle.
I remember the fuming anger directed towards Fury when I discovered the lies, the fake martyrdom Coulson was unknowingly and unwillingly forced into.
Yes, I know he returned seemingly from the dead.
No, that does not make the emotions any easier. I never does.
"Taylor?"
I startle and spin to face my dad, who standing casually behind me, his hands in the pockets of his own jacket.
"Are you ready to head home? Phil, the real, live, breathing version is getting a dinner ready as we speak. I hear he's cooking pork chops."
I raise an eyebrow. "Are you sure? He never does that. What's next, letting you ride in his precious car?"
"Not in a million years," Dad laughs, slinging an arm around my shoulders as we make our way back to my bike.
I laugh along with him, threading one arm around his back and stuffing the other hand back into my pocket. "Five years, huh."
It's a statement, not a question, but my dad still responds with a heavy sigh. "Yeah. Five long, battle filled years."
"Feeling old yet?"
"Not until the day you marry Clint will I feel a day over thirty."
"That's rich, Mr. Mid-Forties."
"Middle aged!"
I laugh as he ruffles my hair and kisses my forehead, stepping back to let me get on my bike. "See you at home."
"Yeah you will. I'm not missing Coulson's pork chops if Chitauri attack again. Let Spiderman deal with them."
"He needs the experience anyways."
"I was doing so much more at his age. See you in ten."
"Bye."
