And Daddy, I'm alone'Cause this house don't feel like homeIf you love me, don't let go-Unsteady, X Ambassadors
May 29th 2008
Stark Mansion, Malibu
It's been two months now. It's been two months and still, every day is harder than the last. Especially today.
Distractions are good. Distractions are always good- even if you're not in as tough of a crisis as I am. Dad always liked to distract himself from the harsh realities he faced by tinkering away down in the lab or drinking his worries away. My method isn't quite as detrimental as his were... or maybe my method's worse. It all depends on perspective.
I escape. To distract myself, I escape; I run and hide from all my issues and pray that they'll fix themselves. All of my problems have fixed themselves in my past... or rather Dad fixed them or used the excessive resources, influence, and money we have at our fingertips to have them sorted. Either way, dealing with any issues further than Louboutins or Jimmy Choos (the answer was usually both) was a rare occurrence for me.
This is my first time home in a month and walking through the door into a silent house kills me. Don't get me wrong, this place hasn't ever been particularly abuzz with the sounds of a happy family but there was always something going on. Usually, I'd get home to the faint hum of music echoing up from Dad's lab or the clicking of Pepper's keyboard.
Now though, the only sound that echoes around the suddenly far too large house is the quiet tap of my heels against the polished floors. The air is cold and the place looks neat as ever- whoever Dad usually pays to clean the house must be having a heyday with neither me nor my father rioting and creating chaos around here. With neither of us living here currently, the place lacks any sort of soul at all.
Ah, neither of us living here.
For the past month or so, I've been staying at one of S.H.I.E.L.D's bases; as far as Pepper, Rhodey, Obi, the press, or anyone else is concerned, I'm on holiday in some far off, exotic country. Bali was the original excuse but for all they know, I've made my way to Cancun by now.
I haven't left said S.H.I.E.L.D base since they initially kidnapped me over a month ago. At first, I was desperate to get as far away from that organization as physically possible. Now though, it's my distraction of choice.
Every day, I wake up before the sun and train for hours and hours until my muscles are crying out for help and my knuckles are cut up entirely. Though I'm not quite up to mission standard yet, the focus and composure I have to maintain every moment let me forget what I'm actually hiding from.
Today's his birthday though.
Fury told me I should come home. Actually, he didn't tell me, he forced me to come home.
Gradually, I make my way up the steps and past the closed door of Dad's room, slowing my steps slightly as I stare at the tall, dark oak door. With a pained shake of my head, I keep moving down the corridor to the furthest wing of the house, where my bedroom is.
My room used to be right next to Dad's so he could always check up on me and know I was okay. That was when I was a kid though. I haven't been that kid in years.
When I was seven or eight, Dad started bringing his guests home more and more frequently, and, after a long session of screaming at him from Pepper, he decided it would be best if my room was as far away from his as possible.
At the time though, I didn't care, since there were half a dozen spare rooms in the half of the house I was moved to, so I got a bigger playroom and a room just for sleepovers. Nowadays, the 'playroom' is less full of Barbie dreamhouses and stuffed animals and more filled with a fridge for drinks, flat-screen TVs, and a huge stereo system. It's fair to say, I had many memorable high school nights in there.
But that's in there. Out in the hallway and pretty much every other room in the house, there's no trace that this is a family home at all. Maybe it's not a family home really.
As I push open the door of my room, the familiar scent of floral perfume and candles hits me immediately. A small smile meanders its way onto my face at the sight of all the pictures hung on my walls in their white frames. Thirteen-year-old me and Dad's face beam at me from my bedside table, the two of us posing by the turquoise ocean on a private beach at our house in Dubai.
The good old days.
Later that day, I find myself rifling through a few of the drawers and cupboards in my wardrobe that never particularly get any use. After drawers and drawers of shoes and mini skirts, I open up a cupboard and see one of my old stuffed toys: Tom Bear.
Every time Dad went away on business when I was little, he'd bring me home a present. When I was a kid, it gave me a reason to not be upset when he left, and then as I grew older, it just became a tradition. The presents he'd bring shifted from a stuffed toy or odd snacks from whatever country he'd been in, to an expensive necklace or a new handbag.
After a particularly long trip to Kazahkstan, he brought back a little white stuffed bear in a sailor's outfit. When he got back though, an emergency came up with the business so he had to jet off to Singapore a day after he'd got back. I didn't see him again for two weeks and during that time, my only source of comfort was our daily phone calls and the bear he'd just given me. Even once he got back I clung to that bear like our hands were superglued together. So, until I was about nine, Tom Bear and I were inseparable; he's considerably worn down now, after years of wear and tear at the hands of a grotty child but he still has the same glassy eyes and lopsided smile I remember.
As I smile down at the bear, I hear my phone buzz in the main bedroom so I get up and wander over to it, already knowing exactly who's calling. When I check the screen, I'm proven correct: Pepper.
Just like I've done every day for the past month or so, I let it ring out until the buzzing stops. Do I feel horrible? Yes. I mean, the woman's practically my mother. But I need time to heal and reminders of him really haven't been helping so far. I suppose that's why I ran away to S.H.I.E.L.D. Reminders of him hung all around me, not only in Malibu but anywhere in the world.
I didn't think I could run away. I didn't think I could run away until S.H.I.E.L.D.
And now I'm crying. And now I'm standing in his cold, empty bedroom and I'm crying.
I always hated his room. My room has always been my sanctuary, my safe space, and where I go to escape from everything. His room has always served two functions: hookups and the occasional night of sleep. The place is entirely void of personal touch. The only thing in the entire place that holds any trace of nostalgia with me is the familiar scent of his aftershave that still lingers in the air after all these months.
Anything that even slightly hinted that he was a person inside and not solely a cold-hearted businessman was kept in that workshop: pictures, paintings, his little projects, and all of his trinkets he doesn't think any of us know he keeps. The drawings I made when I was seven that he tries to hide in his drawer and my old schoolbooks and whatnot that he thinks nobody knows he still has.
As I reminisce, I hear voices floating up the staircase from downstairs and my eyes widen. Silently, I creep along the landing and peep over the balcony, only to have my heart rate pick up at the sight of Pepper and Happy standing in the living room.
"I'm worried.", Pepper tells him, "It's been two months and...", she runs her hands through her strawberry blonde hair and puffs out air, "I mean, she's always been reckless and she takes after Tony a bit too much but this... She's having a full-blown Stark meltdown and I'm worried about her."
"I'm sure she's fine. She's a smart girl.", Happy tells her.
"Hap, I haven't had a text, a call, or anything! I've phoned her every day and every single one has rung out to voicemail! The closest thing I've had to contact with her is seeing paparazzi pictures of her once a fortnight! Something's not right."
There's a silence, as Pepper breaks down crying, and a pang of sadness surges through my body at the sight. I could go down there. Ten steps and it'd be okay. But I wouldn't be okay. Everything I've done at S.H.I.E.L.D would go to waste. So, as much as I want to cry and yell and wrap my arms around her, I simply turn on my heel and walk back down the hallway, sneaking out of the house silently.
I simply leave my home once again, not sure when I'll return. Not sure if I'll return.
A message from the author:
Kind of a filler chapter but it's still super cute if you ask me! Anyways, hope you all enjoyed! Remember to vote and comment! See you all next chapter! (;
- Hannah xoxo
Word count: 1672
Date published: February 19th 2022