Toni Stark

I reached out and shook his hand, “Toni.” Another warm smile. Gran was now finishing the third glass of booze since I'd been in the room and was still spouting nonsense about how I needed a boyfriend. The truth was, of course, that I was saving myself for either one of two scientists or a super-soldier, but I wouldn't admit it if my life depended on it.

“Antoinette, really (hic), if you'd stop moping around the house and sulking in the garage with power tools (hic) and get out some (hic) you'd find plenty of cute (hic) boys.” Gran chided as she poured yet another glass. I slumped in a chair.

“There is absolutely nothing of interest to me, out there, on earth, at all.” I said in my best Sherlock Holmes voice. Susan and the Suit named Phil chuckled. Gran glared and stumbled out of the kitchen with,”fine then.”

Now, I of course knew that Aunt Susan had got the reference as she was the one responsible for my current Holmes obsession. But, the Suit's prowess as far as literature and film were concerned, the jury was still out on that. I decided to test it. I grabbed a spatula off the counter and pulled a stool over to where he'd returned to stirring and flipping food; I perched myself nonchalantly on the stool and stuck the spatula out towards Phil the suit's face.

“Get that out of my face.” He said in perfect Watson lilt.

“It's not in your face, it's in my hand,” I quipped back in my Holmes voice.

“Get what's in your hand out of my face.” He ended playfully.

I smiled and Aunt Susan did too. She looked at her boyfriend lovingly and high-fived him. I chuckled. Aunt Susan ran her hand through her hair and walked out of the kitchen, “I have to go make sure Lisa and Roger aren't in a fist fight and my game room isn't on fire.” She said as she left.

That left me and The Suit. He chopped some vegetables and threw them into a pan with a liberal dose of butter. I sat awkwardly on the bar stool spinning left-to-right.

“So, Toni, if you don't mind me asking what is the 'THING' you have in your chest?”

I raised an eyebrow. Great. Just great. Maybe I was wrong, maybe he was like all the other guys. Nosey. Bossy. No-good. But, maybe not. I weighed my options in my head. He must've realised I was having a mental deliberation.

“How much of a Holmes fan are you?” I asked carefully. This plan might work.

Another smile, but with some slightly questioning eyebrows. “I've read all the books, seen all the movies, and I like the BBC series.” He replied. I smiled my plan would work, and I would get out of actually telling him straight up what it was. If he figured it out, then great. But if he didn't at least he'd be moderately embarrassed at his failure, then I could explain.

“Well, Watson, you know my methods,” I returned. He nodded understanding he was meant to deduce the answer.

“You've had an operation, less than two weeks ago. Vascular. Implant. Mechanical. Still sore, most likely bleeding from the trauma it just received. You're self-conscious about it, not because of it's size but because of it's connotations. It's special. But you don't like how it makes you feel. That weird buzzing. You have an arc-reactor.”

I smirked at Phil ( first name acceptable now). I shook my head though, he cheated. I stepped forward. My turn.

“Well done Watson. But all you've done is prove that you have basic post-surgery knowledge and have given your research a thorough looking over as of late. Now, let me.” I stepped around the edge of the counter so I was facing him. He leaned against the back of the counter in an encouraging way.

I continued. “What is really quite special is what I can deduce from you. Worn, black, leather shoes; suggests you wear them everyday. The dirt turned to mud on the soles, a rare mixture with high levels of silica and iron found almost exclusively in New Mexico. Your shirt, a poly-cotton-silk blend, pressed yourself.” I leaned my chin into my fist, crossing my arms as I scrutinized the man in front of me.

“The ink on your hand from where you've been writing, meticulously filing your paperwork, the ink smudged when you sucked the blood out of that paper-cut. Hmm. Your tie, black silk, your favorite. Tied in a Windsor knot, the product of some sort of private education or special training. Which, brings me to the small crinkle on your left belt-loop. From where an id clip has rested every day. It now resides in you pants pocket hidden from sight. After all it's classified.” I took a step back and gestured outwards, “But why is it classified? For whom could you possibly work for? Surely, you're just a business man or accountant. But you're not are you? The scratches on your wrist, under your watch, fresh. Neutralizing an assailant, I see.” I leaned against my side of the counter and looked off in towards the game room as a resounding crash rattled the house.

“Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division. SHIELD, is it?” I crossed my arms again. “Of course you know every move Tony Stark makes, it's your job that's why you knew it was an arc-reactor. But, you still don't know anything about me.”

“I, on the other hand, know that you are a collector, Captain America, vintage trading cards. Original pressing. Slight boxing around the edges, but that's to be expected. You usually keep them in your locker, at least during the day, but as soon as you clock out, they're with you. Conclusion, Agent Philip John Coulson, is that you are much more remarkable than any other of Aunt Susan's boyfriends and I hope she keeps you around.” I finished.

He began a slow clap. A smile broadened his face. “Well done. Spot on, really. How'd you do it?” I smiled in return. He held his out for a high-five, which I immediately reciprocated.

“Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“Dinner time!” Aunt Susan called back as she walked into the kitchen. She looked at us as Phil dumped the finished food into serving bowls and collected plates.

“What I miss?”

“Nothing,” we shrugged in unison. She rolled her eyes and chuckled. Aunt Susan and I set the table. And Phil brought the food out and gave us both high-fives. The rest of the family began to file in slowly; first Uncle Rogers kids, Mical and Gillion, then Uncle Roger and Aunt Jocelyn, then my sisters and my parents, followed by Gran falling all over herself. Dinner sat steaming on the table.

I had to hand it to Phil, dinner was amazing. Just absolutely delicious. The worlds fluffiest, butteriest mashed-potatoes, steak that was better than anything that mom and dad had ever made, and the veggies were pretty awesome too. I sat between Aunt Susan and Phil.

We discussed a myriad of topics from trading recipes to quantum physics to (obviously) Captain America. It was highly enjoyable. Phil was definitely a cool guy. I liked him. And Aunt Susan loved him. And he loved her. So everything seemed to be (for once in too damn long) alright. Even my chest stopped hurting.

Long after we finished dinner and cleared the table, Phil and I sat talking and laughing. Aunt Susan ever the gracious hostess, checked in on us whenever she got a spare moment.

Eventually, Uncle Roger and his family left dragging Gran with them and my family went back to the hotel. Aunt Susan convinced them to leave me there. The night ended in the wee hours of the morning when I finally drifted to sleep on the couch, leaning against Phil.

“Goodnight, Toni.”