"Do you now?" I hear someone say next to me.
Steve was staring at me curiously as I replied.
"Yes, I do," I reply, annoyed, looking at my brother's prideful expression with a mix of disgust and annoyance.
"Somehow...you don't — you don't seem like the type of girl who has extensive knowledge and skill, about fighting and firearms." He mutters, shrugging nonchalantly.
I looked at him with disgust. "You don't even know me," I state offended.
'How dare he?' I seethed, clenching my fists.
I can feel someone's gaze on me as I seethed silently in my seat.
'Should I punch him? Can I punch him?' I think, imagining different scenarios where I do punch him in the face.
"Rogers, you might not want to be challenging her right now." Clint cautions.
So, it is my brother staring at me. That doesn't surprise me at all. He is always keeping a watchful eye on me even though I've hardly moved in the past five minutes.
"Same goes for you, brother." I exhale, trying to keep my anger at bay as I look at him..
'Do I look so fragile that everyone thinks so little of me?' I think, angrily.
"Eyas, look at me. You need to calm down. You're starting to shake." He tells me, kneeling before me.
"Alright. That's enough. We're here." Nat says as the doors were pulled open.
This place seems familiar, we're in a private airport. A military base from what I can tell by the soldiers and men littered around the base, I'd say my guess isn't that far off from the truth.
"Come on, Bitsy. The plane is this way." Tony says, calling my attention.
It looks like some sort of jet. Nothing like I've ever seen before, even on military informational books or websites. So, what type of aircraft is this?
Once we're all on, Nat and my brother go to sit in the cockpit, quickly placing headsets on, before clicking and moving the controls of this craft. Again, this doesn't surprise me. Not really. Since my brother has had training for this type of thing.
What does surprise me is when Tony clicks something on his wrist and some type of metallic red and a mustard yellow metal encases every limb on his body but his head, like a cocoon.
I recognized it, from all the comics and collection cards I had of them.
Geek. I know, but what are you gonna do? My brother sent them to me along with a little stuffed bear dressed in their attires.
Wait a moment. Finally, I could ask the question plaguing my mind since I read my first comic book.
My excitement suddenly appeared along with my inner geek and fangirl.
"Why do they call you Iron Man? Your suit doesn't seem to be made of iron?" I ask, trying to contain my excitement.
"It sounds cooler." He says, deadpan.
"Makes sense, I guess." I respond in the same deadpanned tone, shrugging.
I curiously peek over at the other two to see what they're doing before I turn back to Tony.
"So, Mr. Stark, what is your suit made of?" I ask.
"Oh, it's actually made of nickel-titanium alloy, well mostly." He says, shrugging.
"So, no iron then?" I ask, amused.
I knew it had to be something like that! How else would he take the air for long periods of time? Other metals would weigh him down in flight!
I bit my lip trying to contain my excitement once more.
"Nope, not one bit." He says, smiling at my enthusiasm.
"How is it you know all of this?" He asks, curiously, staring at me as if I'd grown another head. What's his deal? Isn't knowing types of metal common knowledge?
"Well, I've always been ahead of everyone in my age group. I went to high school in three different states, meaning three different curriculums. Also, I went to summer school, most summers." I say shrugging.
Well, most summers.
The truth of it is. I'm not even entirely sure how I know half the things I know. Learning has always come easy to me. Why? I don't know.
"What else do you know?" He asks but is interrupted by my brother.
I smile at him, dryly, before sighing. "I know a lot of things," I reply, cryptically.
"We're almost there," Clint says.
"Welcome to your new home, Bitsy," Tony says, giving me a wide smile.
"Yeah, well, thank you, I guess," I comment dryly.
"So, Barton. Where exactly will you two be staying?" Steve asks, curiously.
"With me," Nat says, as she pushes a green button, and slips off the headset before walking off.
"Does anyone know where a gym is? I really need to blow off some steam." I say as I pull up one of the duffle bags, as I roll my neck slowly, as I try to ease some of the tension I feel off.
"It's in the building," Nat replied as we all began making our way out of the aircraft.
"We'll go with you," Clint says, picking up the rest of my things.
I nod, following them off the plane.
The gym is in a weird massive building that strangely looks industrial with an eerie mix of modern chic.
Nat led me away to the changing rooms. She and I slip into a pair of yoga pants and a skin-tight t-shirt. Leading me back into the gym, once inside it wasn't what I expected at all.
Everything had padding on it, including the walls.
Interesting.
"Hawk, spar with me," I say, after warming up.
He only nods in response is a nod, before swallowing the water in his mouth.
"Careful now, you may be out of practice." He taunts, as he nabs my ribs.
Oh no, he did not just say I am out of practice.
"Barton. Let Steve do it." Nat says as she sits down to watch us on the bench on the side of the room.
He nods and goes to sit beside her.
"Me?" Steve says, pointing at himself.
I notice he has changed too, into a pair of sweats.
We both step towards the middle of the mat.
He starts by throwing a jab and hitting me in the ribs, on the exact stop my brother hit before Nat called him back over.
They're now throbbing. Assholes.
I step back shaking it off, before cartwheeling onto his shoulders, only to cartwheel backward, knocking him onto his back.
I follow by climbing onto his chest and pinning his arms with my legs. Then quickly smacking him upside the head.
"Eyas." My brother calls, chastising.
"Yes, brother, dearest?" I ask, batting my lashes at him.
Before he can answer I'm thrown off, landing a few feet away in a heap with a groan.
"I thought men from 1918 were supposed to be gentlemen?" I mutter, rubbing the shoulder I landed on as I tried to sit up.
" Oh, we are, but this is, different," Steve says, standing above me, offering me his hand.
"Right, and my hair is unicorn pink." I snip, with an eye roll.
He's about to reply when the door opens, and into the room walks a familiar tall, bald guy with an eyepatch.
"Barton. Swan. I need to speak to the two of you. Now." He barks, before turning around and walking back out of the room.
My brother nods his head before standing up and following the man out, with me hot on his heels.