"Here you stand with a title you could not hope to own up to! A team in which you cannot win their blessing of approval. What kind of a hero are you?"
"The kind that is willing to sacrifice everything they have in order to sustain peace on their pla...
My first impression definitely made an impression... but not in the way I expected.
I had followed Coulson's instructions promptly to the detail: park my bike in lot three, walk north down the docks until I reach dock six, present the secret phrase and I would be escorted from there to a quinjet.
It was there the greetings began.
"Miss Stark," came a voice in the dark.
"Yes," I answered with caution.
A figure emerged into the dock light, matching the voice with the face of Agent Coulson. "Glad you could make it."
"Glad to be here."
He gestured me to follow and lead the way down to the edge of the dock. There I spotted a large, black ship hovering over the soft waters. Otherwise known as the Quinjet.
"Is that my ride?" I asked.
"Affirmative."
It was certainly big enough, for SHIELD transportation and technology, but I was not yet impressed.
"By the way," he began just before opening the doors, "I hope you don't mind sharing a ride."
Sharing? "I don't share. With whom?"
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It wasn't the question itself that stirred a sense of curiosity, but the way Coulson said it. He seemed a little too happy to pass on this news, which gave me a newfound concern, recalling how shaken he was back at Stark Tower.
But there was no need for an answer. Within seconds of my question, the doors opened to reveal a passenger already on board. Out of instinct I was able to depict a number of features merely from a glance. His height and upper body strength were the first things I took notice of. Although his muscles appeared in a more subtle manner. When he turned a name immediately took to the face.
No wonder Coulson is so excited.
Not only that, but this was my chance at a first impression.
However I was already able to depict a strong sense of judgement.
Coulson shut the doors behind and strolled past me in a suggestive stride of jubilation. "Miss Stark, Steve Rogers," he introduced me. "But you may know him as-"
"Captain America," I interrupted, showing my perception of fascination. "The man of ice himself. It's an honor."
"Ma'am."
Old fashioned, I laughed inwardly.
"Who is she?" Steve asked quickly.
"Jackie Stark, at your service."
I stuck out my hand in greeting, finding his hesitation at first, but eventually his acceptance of my gesture.
Knowing from the start he would have no recollection of my name, other than Stark being a hint of relation to the man of iron. However, I did not expect an expression showing a clear sign of judgement.
