Summary, Continued:
My days consist of parenting emotionally unstable superheroes and assisting them when dangerous situations or surprise missions arise. Of late, my duties have somehow extended to include assisting Stark in throwing his lavish parties and babysitting Thor and his God friends when they visit Earth, often leaving many smashed beer jugs in their wake.
At times like these, I often wonder why on God's Green Earth Nick Fury decided to choose me of all people to become a liaison between SHIELD and The Avengers.
I may be well adjusted to the sound of gunfire ripping through the air, but I am yet to discover the appeal of dozens of scantly dressed women and overzealous men crowded into a single room just to get drunk and dance to obnoxiously loud music.
Well, I may understand a little.
As I escort the remaining guests from the tower, I glance over at the group of heroes draped over couches laughing and exchanging friendly banter as they crack open more beers.
"Did you enjoy yourself, tonight?" A hand gently touches my back as I look over to see Tony wearing a warm smile, his usual cocky persona disappearing momentarily as he's surrounded only by friends.
I roll my eyes, slapping his hand away. "Maybe I would have if you hadn't insisted on me personally greeting your guests and acting like your bloody assistant, Stark."
He smirks, and the cocky persona is back. "Careful… your English-ness only comes out when you're mad."
Before I can retort, he has moved off to rejoin the group.
"Bloody hell," I mutter, but unable to help my small smile.
Even though he may be a dick, Tony is the main reason Fury reassigned me to the Avengers tower. He thought it would be good to have another person on board to keep Stark and his "projects" in line after Coulson's death.
"Alice!" Maria beckons me over to join the team as they observe Clint straining to move the Mjölnir - or "The Hammer", as it is fondly referred to as - even an inch.
As I plop down beside her, she nudges me pointedly. "Go on, then."
Laughing, I shake my head. "I'm good. Wouldn't want to steal Thor's thunder."
Everyone lets out an "ooooh!", and Tony cracks his knuckles eagerly as he walks up to the table brimming with self-confidence.
Soon, we're laughing as we watch him and Rhodey using the full force of the Iron Man suits to try to lift the bloody thing.
"Are you even pulling?"
"Are you on my team?"
"Just represent, pull!"
Even Banner has a go at attempting to lift the seemingly unliftable hammer, all heaving and yelling.
Maria hands me a beer, and I click the bottle against her own as we lean back and enjoy the show.
Even Nat seems to be enjoying observing the boys struggling.
When Steve steps up to the challenge, I smile to myself. We both know he won't lift it, regardless of whether he physically can or not.
So when it lets out a squeak as it shifts position slightly, I snort loudly.
Thor looks pained, and it doesn't surprise me when Steve pretends to struggle for a few moments before admitting defeat.
Softie.
I let myself relax, just leaning back and watching the group joke around as Tony insists the hammer is rigged.
"You bet your ass," Clint agrees, and Maria chimes in with a "Steve, he said a bad language word!"
Clint and I giggle as Steve drops his head in defeat.
At times like these, I forget the real reason I ended up here; pulled from a life of proudly serving my country to one where I'm banished to superhero-sitting duty, relegated to the sidelines for the rest of my life.
I'm going to change that.