Resilience | ✔

Chapter Thirty-Three

The trial for the murder of Jackson Ackerman didn't start until February, and it lasted eight days. It was the longest eight days of Marley's life—and she'd had some pretty damn long ones. A minute felt like an hour, and an hour felt like six.

She and Tony went to court every single time. They sat in the second row. Pepper and Rhodey came when they could, but Pepper was running Stark Industries, and Rhodey had a compound to take care of, a government to deal with, and a world to keep an eye on, so most of the time it was just Marley and Tony. They sat and watched as people testified, lawyers argued, and Lance Hunter—calling himself Baxter Ridgewell—was cross-examined. Not a detail of his story was out of place, no matter how many times he told it.

His transformation had surprised Marley the first time he walked into the courtroom. It wasn't the orange jumpsuit he wore, or even the scraggly beard he'd grown. It was something about the way he carried himself. She hadn't interacted with him much at the compound, but she could tell he was different. The way he walked, spoke, even looked at people was different. Sharper, angrier, colder. When he was telling his story for the first time, a carefully plotted lie about shooting Jackson and throwing the gun in the Hudson, the malice and bitterness in his voice almost convinced Marley that it had been him who pulled the trigger and not her. She had never really thought about how agents of secret organizations like S.H.I.E.L.D. would have to be good actors, but it was clear he was excellent. He had everyone in the courtroom wrapped around his finger, whether they realized it or not.

Maybe it was some sort of positive karma, the universe trying to apologize for how badly it had fucked her up, that the day of his conviction was her birthday. She had to get up early, and as usual they were hounded by paparazzi as they climbed the courthouse steps, but it was worth it when the judge rapped his gavel and announced, "Baxter Ridgewell is hereby found guilty of the murder of Jackson Ackerman. He is sentenced to ten years and four months in prison."

Tony squeezed her hand.

Marley watched Hunter stand up, hands cuffed in front of him. He didn't look at her, and her stomach lurched with sudden nerves. What if this didn't work out? What if he couldn't accomplish what he wanted to in prison and she'd gotten him locked up for nothing? Words crawled up her throat, and she almost stood to shout that it had been her who did it. But Tony's thumb brushed over her knuckles, and she was reminded of the laws he'd broken. If she confessed, it wouldn't be just her going to jail.

They watched as Hunter was marched out of the courtroom, and then Tony said, "Let's go."

Marley hoped desperately as they gathered their things and headed for the door that this would be the last time she was ever in a courthouse. Even if she one day got married. She never wanted to come in this place again. Her first experience had been a nightmare, and her second would probably leave her with crippling guilt for the rest of her life. Lord only knew what would happen if she wound up in here for a third time.

"We'll have to talk to the paparazzi," Tony said as they headed down the hall to the door. "Answer a few questions. You can go straight to the car if you want."

She kind of did want to, but she shook her head. "I want to stay."

Blinding flashes greeted them as they pushed through the doors. Reporters and cameramen pushed forward, crowding them until a few hired security men pushed them back and forced them to form a semi-circle on the courthouse. Tony pointed at one of the reporters, and—"Marley, how do you feel about someone killing the person who tortured you?"

Marley's first instinct was to say Wish I'd gotten the chance, but she figured that wouldn't go over well. She went for a nonanswer, because pretty much any actual answer could be skewed wrong. "How do you think I feel?"