Welcome To The Team.

Coffee Pot

Waking up, my crisp bedsheets covered my face. Steve Rogers, my guardian. Imagine telling myself 10 years ago that. Pulling my bedsheets down, I look at the time. 3:21am. Oliver and Damien finally had beds, and they both lay asleep peacefully. Peter was tucked in to his bed, his brown hair barely visible underneath his duvet. Ashley was sitting asleep in her bed, her brown hair draped on her knees.

Rolling out of bed, I change in to my now miraculously clean bodysuit. Brushing my hair, I do the finishing touches for me to be ready for a day. Silently, I trudge in to the Living Room. Tony, Steve and Bucky lay passed out (probably) on the couch. Groaning quietly, I grab my blankets and drag them in to the living room. Grumbling, I make sure they were all covered by a blanket.

Finally, I tiptoe over to the coffee pot. Filling it to the maximum, I grab a mug and take it with me to the window. Setting them both down, I sit cross legged staring out of the window. New York looked so different from up here. Street-lamps lit up the streets like stars, as huge buildings that I only ever saw from the bottom looked like ants beneath me. Perspective is weird.

Coffee scent tinted the air, and I was taken back to the shared apartment I lived in two years ago. Occasionally doing small jobs, we didn't have to worry about HYDRA, or anything for that matter. Life was simple, but I've never liked simple.

Quietly pouring myself a cup of black coffee, I watch the sunrise. How very cliché. The sun peaked over the opaque white clouds, like a golden drop of honeycomb. Smiling delicately, the warmth suddenly wraps around me. A rosey champagne sky greeted the day, and I scooted back to the kitchen to put back the coffee pot.

Smiling to myself, I got out three pans. Setting them up on the stove, I place 2 slices of bacon on each. Turning on the stove, the sizzling bacon crackles through the tower.
'I am God.' I whisper, proud to have made something other than toast. Surprisingly, my assassin training made me very good at timing and accuracy. This really helps when cooking, but Ashley and Oliver never let me near an oven. Honestly, they were probably right.

Sliding the bacon on to the many plates, I get started on the second batch and the coffee. Pouring the coffee in to designated cups, I finish the bacon. Clapping my hands excitedly, I circle the kitchen island. Oliver trudged in to the Living Room, and I rush over to him, energetically pulling him to the kitchen.
'Look! I did it!' I whisper, pointing to the breakfast. He exhaled happily, and ruffled my hair. He sat down on the stool, his still sleepy voice teasing.
'So, how many tries did this take?'
Passing him a plate and a cup, I respond.
'One try! I'm a God.' He rolls his eyes at my remark, and ate the food. Grinning, I march over to the couches. Peaking over the couches, I ask Oliver.
'How much alcohol did they have?' They were still completely out.
'Well, Steve can't get drunk, so he's probably just asleep still. The other two, only god knows.' Oliver answered, his voice waking up. Blowing a stray piece of hair out of my face, I walk past them to the huge curtains.
'You know, these probably cost more than anything we used to own.' Oliver looks over to me, and nods.
'We weren't exactly Tony Stark, y/n.' I shrug, and push the curtains to the side. The sun bursts in to the room, and groans chorus through the room.
'God, do you remember trying to wake Damien up?' I ask, picking up the empty beer bottles on my way back. Oliver grimaced,
'It was hell, how did he sleep through a gunshot?'
'He never ceases to surprise me.'
I put them on the counter, the small clinks sounding out through the room.
'My head...' Someone grumbles, and I roll my eyes and pour a glass of water.
'Oliver, can you reheat the bacon for me please?'
'Mhm.' He waves his hand over the plates, and they begin to steam again.
'Thanks.' I sing to him, before springing over to the 3 men.
'Which one of you needs water?'
Tony's hand shot in the air, and I thrust the glass of water in to his hand.
'Thanks kid.' His muffled thanks was appreciated.
'No problem, Mr. Stark.' I waited until he was done, and I joked to Oliver as I picked up the cup.
'Oliver, how good is your catching?' He looked up, the determination for a challenge flaring in his eyes.
'It's great, throw it.' Grinning, I threw the glass cup at him. Catching it with one hand, I said sarcastically to him.
'You've still got it, old man.' He raised his hand, pointing to the 3 passed out men lying next to me.
'You're literally standing next to two pretty much 100 year old men.' Sighing in defeat, I admit.
'Fair point.' Hopping back to the kitchen, two more groans signal the other two waking up.
'Oliver, all I wanted to say was, you were probably right for never letting me near an oven, put this is an exception, right?' I ask, hoping that he won't give me another lecture. He pauses before speaking, holding up his hand. Then he explains.
'You're not allowed near ovens because of the time you almost burnt down the apartment we had just moved in to, but yes, this is an exception.' Shrugging, hiding my actual happiness, I poured two glasses of water. Oliver finished up, so I shoved the two glasses in his hands. He rolled his eyes, and I teased.
'Hey, I've been legally dead for the past month!' Oliver exhaled, rubbing his forehead.
'Still need an explanation on why you did that.' He took the glasses to the Living Room, as Tony waddled over to the kitchen.
'Hey kiddo.' He grumbled, holding his head. Pointing to a cabinet, I answered his question before he asked it.
'Painkillers are in there.' He nodded his head, and popped two of them out.
'What was it like to be dead?' He asked, swallowing the two pills.
'Like being the world's most violent babysitter.' I answered, retreating back in to my room to get something. Or more someone.