“Come on, guys, she must have some sort of flaw,” Tony Stark quipped, leaning back on the sofa and lounging about in a manner that accurately reflected what a cocky asshole he was. It was amazing how he could do that, really.
“I’m sure she doesn’t,” Steve Rogers said politely, because he was a gentleman. And because he was a gentleman, he didn’t leap on Tony and fuck him on the sofa, right there in front of the other Avengers – although he did have a certain glint in his eye.
“It’s impossible that she could be that perfect without having some sort of evil masterplan,” Tony pronounced. “Jarvis?”
“There is no indication that the lady in question is plotting anything heinous, sir,” the AI said politely. And, because it seemed to have a strangely pervy interest in its master’s sex life, it added: “There are clean sheets in the master bedroom as you ordered, sir, and a fresh supply of lub—”
“That’s fine!” Tony interrupted, because the appalled look the modest captain’s face suggested that his preparations would be in vain if he didn’t shut Jarvis up right now.
“Really, Tony,” Pepper said in a judgemental way, although she could hardly talk, given the amount of sex she’d had with Natasha in that very room, recorded by Jarvis. And given that she knew Tony, she’d definitely done it on purpose, and it was definitely Not Creepy or an invasion of privacy that he watched it sometimes.
All the Avengers were in the communal living room in Stark Towers right then. Well, all of them except for Loki. (He’d been invited, but he hadn’t shown up. This was probably a good thing, because of him being an evil master villain and all that.)
“The Lady Stacy is the finest woman in all of Midgard!” Thor pronounced in that way of talking that was hard to get exactly right. “Except for the Lady Jane, of course,” he added, prompted by a sarcastic cough from Darcy. Darcy was the queen of sarcasm. Everything she did was sarcastic, but in a witty way, rather than an exceptionally annoying way. (Stacy would probably have been better at sarcasm than her, except that Stacy was a nice girl and so rarely honed her sarcasm skills.)
Happily, Jarvis interrupted before Darcy get going – once she’d started making witty, sarcastic remarks it could be hard to stop her. “There is a Stacy Flawless at the door, sir,” it said.
The Avengers paused to take in her surname – so appropriate for her character.
“Well, let her in,” Tony said expansively, and slid up from his seat and over to the mini cocktail bar to mix her a cocktail.
“I already have, sir,” Jarvis replied. “We are firm friends all ready, and she knows all my access codes.”
“Oh,” Tony said, and mixed himself a very strong drink as well, wondering how he could get in her pants. There was a good chance that Pepper and/or Natasha had already given her The Talk about Tony Stark.
“Hello everyone!” said Stacy when she entered, with the perfect mix of shyness and friendliness that made all the men fall in love with her and all the women also fall in love with her. Her exceptional, perfect looks may have helped.
“My heart rate,” Bruce said in some alarm, but this didn’t seem to faze Stacy, even though she’d seen him Hulk-Up earlier that day, before she’d basically won the unwinnable fight for them by using her dazzling brains.
“Hello, Bruce,” she said, shimmying over to him and putting her hand on his arm. This seemed to have a calming effect.
“That’s amazing,” Bruce said in amazement. “Your physical touch stops me from Hulking out. We should experiment with this further some time in private.” Implied was the implication that this experiment would be done naked; poor Bruce’s sex life had been sadly curtailed since the Hulk had entered his life.
Stacy smiled at him warmly; she was a kind girl and not anti the idea of mercy sex with such a handsome man. Plus, it would be for Science! And she liked Science. Sleeping with Bruce would practically be like sleeping with Science. Maybe she should sleep with Jane too, because she’d heard that Jane/Science was a thing, and it was a thing she liked the sound of.
“Thanks for helping us win that unwinnable fight, ma’am,” Agent Coulson said. (Stacy knew it was Agent Coulson because she had an amazing memory; many other people had trouble recalling exactly who the bland man in the bland suit was.)
“You are so welcome!” Stacy said modestly, because she was that sort of girl. “How’s Clint?” she asked, because she couldn’t see the archer with the great arms and she knew it was polite to ask about someone else’s significant other.
Clint slid down a rope from the rafters and nodded at her in a silent but sexy way. She didn’t jump, because she was practically unstartleable.
They made some small talk for a while, and Stacy dazzled everyone with her good humour and all-round general knowledge. It was so impressive that a girl from another time and place (although whether that was the future or the past, no one was exactly sure) fitted in so well and knew how to operate all the different types of machinery. She was not going to be defeated by everyday things like pop tarts or washing machines, and cultural faux pas were unknown to her. She was just That Good. It was never going to be necessary to tell tales about Stacy vs the twenty-first century, because there was nothing to tell other than Stacy’s epic victory.
But after an hour, she looked very sad all of a sudden, and everyone felt moved to comfort her. Tony Stark wanted to comfort her with his penis, and possibly he wasn’t the only penis-owner in the room to feel the same way.
“What’s wrong?” Pepper asked solicitously, stroking Stacy’s arm in an entirely friendly and comforting way that didn’t indicate she’d like to sleep with her.
“I’m having such a good time,” Stacy said sadly, “but I’m afraid I have to go now.”
“Don’t go,” Natasha said, in a rare display of emotion and passion. She started stroking Stacy’s other arm.
“Why do you have to go?” Tony whined. He would have stroked Stacy’s arm too, but she was fully human so only had the two, and both were currently occupied.
“I have a date,” Stacy said, blushing.
“Who with?” Tony asked rudely, but that was okay because it was the question everyone wanted to know the answer to.
Stacy smiled. “With Mr Loki Laufeyson,” she said.
Thor blinked and fingered his hammer. “Thou art walking out with Loki?” he said, old-fashionedly.
“Is that wise, ma’am?” Agent Coulson said.
“He is a supervillain,” Pepper said.
“Though not a very good one,” Tony sniffed.
“No? He did throw you out of that window,” Bruce reminded him helpfully.
“Geez, will you never let that go?”
“He’s entirely reformed,” Stacy said – she was interrupting, really, but she was so lovely that no one minded. In fact, little did she know that Fury was already putting together the recruitment paperwork so she could be an official Avenger, even though she didn’t technically have a superpower. Hawkeye and the Black Widow didn’t seem to technically have superpowers either, but that hadn’t stopped them, and Stacy would look TERRIBLY good in skin-tight leather.
Loki suddenly shimmered into the room, getting past Jarvis’s defences easily. But instead of attacking everyone, or making sarcastic remarks in his divine English/Asgardian accent, he merely offered his arm to Stacy. “Shall we, my lady?” he said politely.
“It’s polite to knock before you come in,” Tony said sarcastically and sardonically.
“My apologies, Stark,” Loki said. Tony noticed that his hair looked like it had been carefully straightened. “Shall I leave the room and knock? And,” he continued before Tony could reply, “I never did apologise for pushing you out of that window, did I?”
“No,” Tony muttered, and then realised that Loki hadn’t exactly apologised for it now.
“Let us depart,” Loki said to Stacy, before Tony could speak again.
“Are you sure you’ll be safe with him?” Captain Rogers said to Stacy, because he was an old-fashioned gentleman who didn’t believe that nice girls should date supervillains.
“Absolutely fine,” Stacy said, because it was the truth – they’d only had a brief chat earlier that day, but she had put a compelling argument to Loki about why he should reform his ways and he had been immediately convinced.
Loki led the way out of the room, and as she followed, Stacy admired his backside – it truly did look good in those tight trousers – and considered that duty was its own reward, more or less, and being better than everyone else had its own peculiar charms.
She’d admit she had a flaw though: she was possibly – very possibly – too modest for her own good.
Even the best pilots could get into trouble occasionally, and sudden engine trouble had Stacy’s small spaceship spiralling out of control. The closest planet was Earth, and despite the difficulty involved in it, she managed to pilot it to a safe landing which left the ship intact and ready for repairs that probably wouldn’t take that long. Stacy was pretty good at mechanics.
Since Stacy spoke forty languages, she knew that she wouldn’t be in any trouble when a car drew up by her spaceship. She slid out from under it, her face streaked with engine oil in a way that she suspected was fetching rather than dirty, and prepared to talk her way out of this situation.
Two gorgeous men, who didn’t really look like brothers but who she instantly knew were, stepped out of the car – an Impala. She knew also, from looking from them, that these were rugged men who lived on the road, and they both had glints in their eyes that told her that they were used to the unusual happening.
The fact that they didn’t seem to be shocked by the spaceship also gave that away.
“I’m Dean,” the shorter of the pair said.
“I’m Sam,” the other – taller – one said.
Stacy smiled. “Stacy,” she said.
“What do you think, Sam?” Dean asked, turning to his brother. The sexual tension between them was unreal, and possibly the dictionary definition of UST, depending on who you asked.
Sam appeared to experience some sort of vision. “She’s safe,” he said. “Just a lost traveller.”
Stacy decided that although she was an awesome woman and could do everything herself, there was nothing unfeminist about getting two sexy guys to do all the work. So she smiled and said, “Can I get a little help?”
It took the boys several hours longer than it would have taken her to fix the problem, and she had to direct the work herself, but she was adequately compensated by the sight of the boys with their tops off, sweating in the sunshine.
At one point, a really cute female dog walked past, but that didn’t distract the guys, and just meant that Stacy got to stroke it while she watched them work. They really were quite intense, although she could tell from their interactions that Dean was more of a reckless type with a good sense of humour, while Sam was a reluctant hero and probably more intense with it. She didn’t know; she’d only just met them, but it seemed likely that they would be opposites in some ways to spice things up.
Stacy waved the guys goodbye some time later, after they’d bought her dinner, with their phone numbers safe in her pocket. It had been a good day: she might have crashed landed, but she was content that it wasn’t her fault, and she’d bent two sexy guys to her will.
“I can’t control it!” the Doctor yelled, spinning around the console and pressing lots of buttons and pulling lots of levers. This didn’t do any good – the TARDIS continued to make a sound like it was dying and it kept shuddering and juddering, so much so that the Doctor fell over and landed on his bum. (It was a good bum, Stacy thought, but not as good a bum as the one attached to the Earth actor Tom Hiddleston, who she'd been hoping to have dinner with later that evening.)
Stacy kept her balance; she had a good centre of gravity and did a lot of yoga to keep supple. Her Downward Dog had to be seen to be believed. “Hold on, Doctor!” she said, and made her way unerringly to the console and pressed a complicated sequence of buttons. “There, there, girl,” she said soothingly to the TARDIS.
The TARDIS made a soothed sound and the high-pitched screeching sound turned into more of a mechanical purr. The floor became the floor again, and the juddering calmed to nothing.
“How? What?” the Doctor said, appearing startled and running his hands through his messy hair, and then straightening the lapels of his blue pinstriped suit. His brown overcoat flapped out behind him in an invisible breeze; he really was quite dishy, Stacy thought, even though brown didn’t go well with blue, and a nice dress shoe would have suited the outfit better than some beaten-up Converse.
“It’s not hard to fly the TARDIS once you know how,” Stacy said modestly, stroking the console with soothing fingers. The mechanical purring noise got louder.
The Doctor looked at her admiringly. “I sometimes forget that you speak Gallifreyan so fluently and don’t need the TARDIS translation circuits half the time,” he said in a non-sequitur.
Stacy made a modest noise, being the modest sort. She was a time traveller too and good at languages, despite being a regular human – well, she was human, but many people would have quibbled with the ‘regular’ part, no matter how much she quibbled.
“Are Mel, Peri and Martha around?” Stacy asked. “I hope they weren’t too alarmed just now.”
She knew that Mel, Peri and Martha weren’t this Doctor’s traditional set of companions, but they were hot, and so she was pleased that they’d decided to have a hot companion reunion just in time for her to join them.
“I think they said they were turning the TARDIS swimming pool into a giant bubble bath,” the Doctor said. “You should go and check on them.”
Stacy thought that would be a kind thing to do. If she had been having a giant, naked bubble bath with a couple of close girl friends and the TARDIS had jolted about like that, she would have wanted reassurance. Preferably naked reassurance. And she was just the girl to give it.
She set off at once, confident of a warm, bubbly welcome, and feeling quite pleased that she’d been around to show the Doctor exactly how to calm the TARDIS down when they encountered just a teeny tiny bit of timey-wimey-based flying trouble.
“And in conclusion, my dear Watson, that is how it was done,” Stacy said modestly. She didn’t like to have to show off in that way – proving that she was so clever, to an assorted room of detectives and police who hadn’t worked out how the crime had been committed – but it was her civic duty, so explain it all she had.
Sherlock Holmes’ jaw dropped, and from this, Stacy concluded that he hadn’t worked it out. His eyes blazed with arrogance and shock.
“I usually disdain sexual relations,” he said.
There was a small cough from his best friend, John Watson, who was wearing a very unfortunate moustache.
“Well, apart from some intense but unresolved flirting with my flatmate,” Sherlock explained, “but I find myself suddenly burning with lust. Can I tempt you into bed? I would have thought it was impossible I’d ever meet anyone more intelligent than myself, but you have outfoxed me. I must know you – inside and out.”
Stacy considered this. He was wearing a scarf in a very sexy and arrogant way, and his cheekbones were terribly sharp. As long as she didn’t look at him from the side, when his chin did a strange thing that disturbed her, she did find him terribly compelling, in an alien fashion.
“Very well,” she said, and Sherlock dragged her back to 221B Baker Street where she demonstrated some of the skills that she’d picked up on her travels, to both their satisfaction, and claimed the title of ‘best ride of Sherlock’s life’ as well as ‘greatest brain in the universe’.
All in all, it had been a most satisfactory day.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Stacy said, although in truth the Master hadn’t been that hard to find. She’d just gone to Mr Wines and asked for his address; he’d given it to her just to get rid of her, although he’d also invited her to come back and work for him, so she hadn’t been offended.
Mr Eaten smiled at her; it was a poor attempt at a smile, as if he hadn’t smiled for a long time, but it was a smile nonetheless.
“I’m Stacy Flawless,” Stacy said and waited a moment. Mr Eaten didn’t respond, which was strange – almost as if he’d forgotten his manners! Maybe it was living on the Winking Isle at the bottom of a well that had done it; it couldn’t be good for the morale. “What’s your name?”
Mr Eaten leaned close and whispered his real name in her ear.
It tickled a bit, but she had a strong constitution so the words didn’t send her mad, or scramble or brains or anything, as she’d been warned they might. The whole experience reminded her a little of the Doctor telling her his real name – and finding out that it was perfectly prosaic, and she didn’t quite understand why he’d kept it secret at all. Perhaps he thought it lent him an air of mystery? Not needing an air of mystery herself, she didn’t know.
All in all, it was a bit of an anti-climax, and since he didn’t seem inclined to chat, she decided she might as well go home as not.
Stacy was so pleased to be back on her home planet with her very best friend, Annie. Some people knew her as Angela’s clone, but Stacy thought that was a bit of an insulting way of referring to her – she had her own identity, and she was much better than Angela in so many ways. She often thought that since Angela had had her clone, Angela had turned lazy, leaving all the work to Annie – who was much better at it, all in all.
Of course, Stacy herself was much superior to Annie in many ways, but Annie didn’t mind and Stacy was so modest that it just wasn’t an issue between them.
Of all the places Stacy had been, home was the nicest, particularly with her best friend beside her on her large, comfy sofa. It was relaxing knowing that her home was entirely secure – her home security system, designed by Stacy herself, was so much better in every way than Jarvis – and that her best friend Annie loved her, but wasn’t going to hit on her. It was tiring being hit on by absolutely everybody, and although Stacy enjoyed sex, and was fantastic at it, sometimes she just wanted to snuggle with someone who really understood her and who wouldn’t make a move. She looked forward, as she always did, to having long, long conversations with Annie about many issues that were nothing to do with boys or romance.
Stacy sighed happily, and Annie passed her a glass of delicious wine before leaning in close with a matching happy sigh. Although Stacy knew that she could kick Annie’s ass, and be better than her, she didn’t have to be right now, or ever – it was the definition of perfect contentment.