When Friday reminded me that the party was starting in an hour, I started to get ready. I cleaned up my area (space, room, floor?) and then got in the shower after deciding I would wear one of the dresses that had snuck its way into my closet for some reason. After I had gotten out, I brushed wisps of thick, curly hair that had started to grow into something more presentable.
Then I slipped into the dress. It was red, long sleeved, and a little bit too big for me, but I thought I looked fine. If anything I could be given the benefit of the doubt. I have never been to a party before after all.
"Friday, do I look okay?" The AI probably wouldn't be able to give me any worthwhile advice, but it felt nice to ask.
"Yes," she said, "The party starts in 15 minutes. If you would like to change you have time,"
"Are you trying to tell me I should change?"
"It is my understanding that you would be the only person wearing a dress,"
But surely it would be okay. It wasn't like it was that much of a big deal. I would be fine.
"I'll be okay Friday," I said.
"I would suggest a pair of leggings," I nodded, finding that it wasn't that bad of an idea. I put on a pair and made my way to the living room and sat at the counter, reviewing all I knew about the people coming and what normal party etiquette was. Hydra knows I had asked Friday enough questions about that.
As soon as 15 minutes had passed, I got up, grabbed my cookies, and got into the elevator. The cuffs on my hands were still on, but Mr. Stark had downsized them in the past two weeks. Now they were small metal bands, more like a stylish bracelet that clung to my wrist than a bulky cuff.
The elevator started to move and in a few seconds I was at the Penthouse. I took a deep breath before stepping out of the elevator.
The Penthouse had completely changed since I had last seen it a couple days ago. Small golden lights hung from almost every surface that wasn't covered in tinsel or topped with a wreath. Elaborate food trays sat on the counter and the long table, laden with cheeses, meats, fruits, and vegetables.
Even though I had arrived right on time, there were already several people there. There was a dark skinned man with metal around his legs (?) talking to Mr. Stark, Peter was talking to Vision and apparently freaking out over him while Wanda looked on with amusement, and two women who were apparently Pepper and Peter's aunt, I just didn't know which was which.
Peter looked over and waved me over to Wanda and Vision, a look of excitement in his eye. I walked over with a small smile; no doubt Peter was going to re-introduce me to Wanda and Vision.
"Hi Cori! Have you met Ms. Wanda and Mr. Vision," I nodded before handing each of them a bag of cookies. Peter looked down at the bag of cookies in his hands.
"Did you make these?" he said, wide-eyed.
"Yes. It took a little while though," Peter smiled.
"I bet they can't be any worse than what Aunt May makes," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "Her cooking is not the best. She brought a nut cake as a joke. It might be best if you didn't try it," I nodded.
"I'll keep that in mind," I said, whispering as well, "Which one is your Aunt May anyway,"
Peter nodded to Pepper and Aunt May.
"The one with the brown hair and the glasses. She's great," I nodded. The woman he was mentioning was very pretty, with long dark brown hair and a bit of a loud fashion sense that still seemed to suit her.
"She seems great," I said, watching as she chatted animatedly with Pepper, who was apparently the taller one with long strawberry blonde hair.
"But it's still really cool that you have met Wanda and Vision," the people in question had long since walked off after giving their thanks for the cookies, preferring to sample some food rather than listen to our conversation.
"Wanda helped me out, so I had to go say thank you. I just met Vision along the way,"
"Oh yeah," Peter said. He glanced down the still sizely stack of cookies in my arms. "Did you make enough for everyone?"
"Yes. Both you and Friday said that people give gifts for Christmas and I wanted to give everyone a gift. It isn't much, but it was fun to make," I said sheepishly.
Peter began to open the bag of cookies.
"I didn't really know what they tasted like, so I tried my best," Peter glared playfully at me.
"You didn't have to tell me that. I wasn't worried before," he said, before pulling out a cookie and taking a bite. I held my breath while he did, hoping he would like it.
Peter's eyes immediately lit up, and I sincerely hoped that was a good thing. If not, I would have to take back all the cookies. I thought they were pretty okay, but I don't even know what they were supposed to taste like anyway.
"How many times did you make this cookie? It's really good!" Peter said after he finished a bite of the cookie.
"You are eating the seventh batch," I said quietly.
"Practice makes perfect," he said, with a smile, "But what happened to the other six batches?"
"I ruined them,"
"How many times can you mess up a cookie recipe?"
"Five times, at least apparently," Peter looked confused.
"But this is the seventh batch? You didn't-?"
"I ate the sixth batch," Peter laughed.
"I don't blame you. These are really good!"
"Was it a good Christmas gift?" I asked. I was curious. I didn't really know how all of this worked yet, so I wanted to know if I ever did this in the future. I hoped I did. So far, this was pretty fun.
"Um, yeah. It was really good," Peter said, "Now all you have to do is hand the rest of them out," I glanced over the room. I knew about half of the people in here, and I already gave my cookies to three of them. The hard part was knowing which to give next.
Luckily, Peter made the decision for me.
"Can I go introduce you to Aunt May," I nodded. Peter and I started walking over to where his aunt and Pepper were still talking.
We had to stand there for a second while they finished their conversation, but soon Peter was talking.
"Aunt May, this is Cori," Peter said. This was awkward.
"Hi," I said. This was awful.
"Hi Cori," May said with a small smile, "Peter has told me all about you," That was a vaguely creepy thing to say in my opinion, but since when did anyone ever ask my opinion.
"Hello," Pepper said, smiling as well. "I'm Pepper,"
"Hi," I said again before handing both of them a bag of cookies. "Merry Christmas," I said as quietly as I possibly could. I may be a trained assassin, but I was not trained in social skills.
Thankfully, Pepper started a conversation that was a little more than introductions.
"Did you make these by yourself," She said, looking down at the snickerdoodle cookies in her hand, "They look good,"
I nodded, before saying.
"With Friday's help,"
Peter laughed a little before saying.
"You should tell them how many times you had to make them." Peter said.
"Seven," I said, hanging my head. Both May and Pepper started to laugh.
"Should I be worried?" Pepper said after a minute, still laughing slightly.
"No!" Peter said, "They are some of the best cookies I have ever had. Honestly, they are really good. No need to be worried,"
"If you say so Peter," May said, before opening the bag and taking a cookie out. She bit into it and started nodding, hopefully in satisfaction.
"Peter is right," she said, after she had swallowed, "It's far better than anything I could ever make," she said with a laugh.
"I'll eat mine at desert," Pepper said politely, walking over to her place at the table, notified by a small slip of paper folded to stand up and placed the cookies by the plate . I wondered where my place was.
Peter answered my question.
"You're sitting by me," he said. I nodded, before beginning to walk over to Mr. Stark and who I assumed was Mr. Rhodey.
Mr. Stark immediately stopped his conversation to introduce me and Peter rather than let us introduce ourselves.
"And these two youths, Honey Bear, are Cori and Peter," He said with a smile. "Peter is my intern, Cori is a scary assassin,"
"Cori the 'scary assassin' made cookies," Rhodey said. I nodded and gave each man a plastic bag of cookies.
"So, how many times did you need to remake the batch?" Mr. Stark said, taking a bite of the cookie.
"Seven. I ate the sixth batch," I said with a small smile. Mr. Stark barked a laugh.
"I wouldn't have expected anything less. They're good," He said. Mr. Rhodey had also gotten into his cookies and eaten a whole cookie.
"I second that," he said, closing his bag. "If you have any extra, I'll take them," I shook my head.
"Those are for me," I said.
"I thought you ate the entire sixth batch?" Mr. Stark said, munching into another cookie.
"And they were really good," I said, chin up with a smile, "I'll continue to eat them,"
"Good Christmas present," Mr. Stark said, before finishing off the last cookie in his bag, "Speaking of which, I have something for you. Let me go get it,"
With that, Mr. Stark dismissed himself from the conversation and walked off to another part of the Penthouse. I was left to stand there awkwardly with Mr. Rhodey and Peter. That is, before Peter dragged me off to get some food on the trays laid out.
"This," Peter said, pointing to a bowl with pink almost-rings surrounding a red sauce, "Is cocktail shrimp. You dip the shrimp into the sauce and it tastes really good,"
I took one of the shrimp and dunked it into the sauce before tentatively putting it in my mouth. Peter did the same, but he popped the whole thing in his mouth. The shrimp was okay, but the sauce had a whole different flavor that was almost too much for me. I only just managed to swallow the shrimp. Not spitting it out took great effort. The unpleasant taste lingered in my mouth.
"What kind of taste was that," trying to be casual with my question.
"Spicy, kind of," he must have seen my face at the taste, "I'm guessing you didn't like it," I nodded.
"It was too much," I said, trying to justify my behaviour. Peter only shrugged. He must not have minded that much, which was a bit of a surprise.
"Spicy food isn't for everyone. The cheese is really good though," he said, pulling me over to the cheese plate. There were different types of cheeses or all different colors and sizes.
"This is cheddar," Peter said, pointing to an orange cheese, "That's pepper jack. It's spicy, so stay away from it," he said, pointing to a white cheese with green and red bits, "That's colby jack," he pointed to a white and orange cheese, "And this is my personal favourite, gouda," he said, pointing to a white cheese in a large block unlike the others. He looked up at me, saying, "The gouda is very gouda," his face was completely straight. The joke was bad but it still made me laugh.
He pointed to another cheese, which like the gouda, was in a big block.
"Apparently," he said, looking over to the plastic label on the cheese, "this is aged english cheddar," He popped a piece that was frayed off the cheese block into his mouth, before giving a thumbs up, "That might be my new favorite,"
I tried each of the cheeses, except for the pepper jack. I agreed with Peter. The aged english cheddar was the best cheese on that plate.
I was going around again with the cheeses, this time eating them on the small crackers provided when Mr. Stark appeared once again. I turned, stuffing one last cracker in my mouth
Mr. Stark was holding a file folder. I reached my hand to take it, before stopping. Was I even supposed to take the folder?
"It's for you," Mr. Stark said, putting the folder in my hand.
I turned it over. The label on the folder said "For Cori's Eyes Only". I looked up at Mr. Stark, hoping that the need for an explanation was written over my face. Thankfully, he seemed to catch the message.
"Open it," He urged. I looked over my shoulder. Peter was over talking to Rhodey and no one else was near. I opened the folder.
I saw my face. This was my file. It was only a few pages long. The first page read this.
"Name: Corentine Lyndon Stewart
Date of Birth: May 7, 2004
Parents: Damon Stewart (Deceased 2004), Isabeau Stewart née Beaumont(Deceased 2004)
Siblings: Kendra Ara Stewart (Deceased 2013), Tarin Piera Stewart (Deceased 2007), Adara Cadance Stewart (Deceased 2011), Maxim Peter Stewart (Deceased 2016)
Mission Report
Experimentation
Abilities: Air control, enhanced metabolism, enhanced hearing, enhanced strength
Applications: Inhibitor located on nape of neck
Distinguishing features"
It was short, and I was assuming that the underlined names and items were on the pages behind this one. It was strange to see yourself staring back at you from a picture, emotionless, so I turned the page, that was littered with small print.
The top of the page bore the name of my father. I didn't bother reading the rest. I could look at that later.
I looked back at Mr. Stark, who was still standing there.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"You're welcome. I have more if you want them," He said. I nodded.
"But later," I said, glancing at the clock on the oven. It only had a few minutes left for whatever was inside. Mr. Stark followed my gaze, nodding.
"Yeah, dinner is almost ready," he was silent for a second, "Tell me, what would you really want for Christmas?"
I thought for a moment. What did I really want for Christmas? I wanted materials to build things again. I wanted more ingredients to bake some more, and hopefully more successfully. I wanted to go free and not have to worry about glancing over my back. Part of me wanted to forget again. But what I wanted most?
"I want to go outside. Not for long," I amended, "Just for a few minutes,"
Mr. Stark considered it for a moment, before nodding.
"I can arrange that,"
"Really?" I was a bit surprised. I assumed since I was technically a criminal, and an awful one at that I wouldn't be able to.
"Well, I have heard that going outside is good for you. And you are a kid," I must have seemed worried, but he reassured me, "Those cuffs will keep you in certain parameters, so I don't need to worry about you flying away or anything,"
I nodded.
"Thank you,"
"Can't believe I'm getting two thank you's in one night. What happened to the scary assassin?" Mr. Stark said with a laugh.
"You and Peter Parker," I said.
"Peter does have that effect," Mr. Stark agreed just as the timer on the oven started to scream. Mr. Stark walked over and slid on oven mitts, pulling a... something out of the oven.
"Turkey's ready!" He announced. People started to swarm into the kitchen, pulling out dishes from the fridge or other oven set to a lower heat. A feast was laid out on the kitchen counter in under five minutes as Mr. Stark cut up what apparently was the turkey.
Thankfully, they also began to lay out labels for the food. By the time everything was finished being laid out, I doubted that any amount of people could eat this much. There were at least a dozen dishes, if not more.
I was last in line, wanting to read all of the labels on the food before eating. The first dish was sweet bread. I got a slice. I got a bit of everything. Turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy, cornbread (I got a lot of that), salad, yeast rolls, broccoli casserole, green bean casserole, carrots, green beans by themselves, corn by itself, and the two types of stuffing.
Still, my plate didn't look half as impressive as anyone else's. Everyone obviously had their favorite food items. For Peter it was the turkey and yeast rolls. For Wanda (who was on my left), it was the sweet bread and mashed potatoes.
I tried the corn first, one of the safe foods that I could not get out of my head. And then the corn bread. Both were very tasty. I slowly moved onto the other foods, eating until my whole plate was empty. I felt like my stomach had inflated to outrageous amounts to eat all of the food.
I had one of the smallest plates and was full, but others still went back to get more. Peter got at least three plates, I think. After the third plate I stopped counting. Watching the amount of food he ate made me sick.
However, everyone finished relatively quickly, putting their dishes away as they talked cheerfully. People packed up the dishes they brought and put them either in the fridge or on the counter.
Then they brought out more things! I watched in awe and horror as they brought out at least five more dishes and set out more labels for them. They even got smaller plates for them. I noticed that Pepper started to eat the cookies I gave her, and remembered what she had said earlier. This must be dessert.
I only grabbed a small amount of each dish; there were two pies, a plate of cookies, a cake, and some ice cream.. I grabbed a sliver of each pie or cake, a half scoop of ice cream, and then a cookie. The total amounted to at least half of what was on almost everyone else's plates. Pepper didn't get much, and neither did Vision and May.
But the dessert was good. All of it was very sweet, but no sweeter than the cookies I made. I finished in record time, not having much on my plate in the first place.
I was starting to get tired, but Peter dragged me over to the couch for a movie. Everyone piled on, blankets and pillows scattered on top of the various people and chairs. A movie was turned on, called Home Alone I think, but I didn't really pay attention to it. It was safe and warm here and I felt overstuffed from food. Not minutes into the movie, defying years upon years of training, I ended up falling asleep.
I woke up to someone shaking me awake. My hands instinctively grabbed the hand shaking me and twisted. The yelp made me open my eyes.
Mr. Stark was standing over me, cradling his hand.
"Kid, you've got quite a grip," he said, shaking his hand out once more. I was thankful I hadn't broken his hand; that would have left a bad impression.
"Why did you wake me up?" I said, yawning.
"It's officially Christmas," Mr. Stark's eyes had a trace of sadness in them, "I thought it was a good time for your present,"
I nodded and got off the couch, stretching and smoothing out my dress, before following Mr. Stark to the elevator.
"Friday?" Mr. Stark said. The elevator started going up. I had never been up this high before, at least not in the Tower. The elevator kept on going up until I thought it was going to start to fly. But soon the elevator doors opened and we were on the roof.
I looked up at the sky. Cool white flakes fell onto my face and clung to my eyelashes. My breath hung in the air; I could see the vapor particles freeze and dissipate with my every breath. The scene was almost dreamy.
"What's it called?" I asked, breaking the silence. I walked toward the edge of the roof, closer to the skyline of New York. The air was clear, clearer than I ever remembered it being.
"What's what called?" Mr. Stark said slowly, "Have you never seen snow before?"
I ignored both of his questions.
"Snow," I whispered, only to myself. This was called snow. I reached out and let a few flakes fall into my palm, melting as soon as they made contact.
The silence carried on. If I listened close enough, I could hear the snow falling through the air.
"I've seen snow before. I just never knew what it was called," I said. I stepped onto the roof wall, looking over New York city in it's loud, neon glory, lit bright with the joy of Christmas even at night. I breathed in the night air, let it sting my lungs.
"I always thought it was ash falling from the sky. I used to imagine the glory of the sky being on fire, just to rationalize why snow was falling. I always thought that it was odd that the landscape and snow were so cold. Maybe I could have seen that it was water, but I wanted to keep up the charade. The one innocent thing in my life. I wanted to be ignorant,"
I turned back to Mr. Stark. He was staring at me, his face pale. Maybe it was just the light, or the fact that I was on the edge of the roof. I just wanted to be closer to the sky, he had no reason to worry.
"Was I so wrong to want that?" I asked, willing my voice not to tremble.
"Of course not," Mr. Stark said, shaking his head. I nodded and looked out over the city. I hadn't felt so free in months. The only thing missing was a step off the roof, just to feel the wind rush past my face and the glorious feeling of complete free fall, only to catch myself at the last second. If I imagined hard enough, I could almost feel the swooping of my stomach as I willed the air to catch my fall instead of the pavement far below.
I was too content to feel like that now anyway.
"Thank you," I whispered, but Mr. Stark heard me.
"Anytime,"
We were there for a while, caught in the silence of the falling snowflakes. For the first time in my life, I wasn't worried or scared.
I was just there, being. And, for now, that was enough.