all rights reserved.
reproduction, distribution, or plagiarism of this story will not be tolerated. the characters in this story who have not originally created by the author or this story belong to marvel. please, no rude comments, this is a place for reading.
thank you.
authors note : the cover for this story was made by @Bluedolphin2212 , all the credit goes to their creative and talented photo editing. go check out their page for more. :)
currently rewriting.
***
2008
Blood trickled down her nose. Scarlet blood dripped onto the icy pavement beneath her shattered frame. Blurred figures emerged from the chilled blur that engulfed her vision. Boot steps vibrated against the ground, growing closer and closer by the second. She turned her head to the side, fighting with the little strength she had remaining to catch a glimpse of the over-turned vehicle with a body trapped helplessly on the inside, visible through the shattered passenger window "Co-" she coughed, digging her bloodied and bruised fingers into the asphalt "C-"
A pair of thick, grey boots appeared on her other side, coming to a halt mere inches away from her face. Snow flakes danced across the sky, swirling around the blurred figures head and broad, armored shoulders. A shadow consumed the figure.
Her blue eyes quivered as tears emerged, helpless against the shadow that extended the handgun towards her exposed forehead "m-my baby-" her voice trembled in a ghostly manner, her mind only able to process one thing.
A single shot exploded out, engulfing the quiet, snowy city street with the harsh sting of the weapon before returning to tranquility.
Across town, there was a sharp knock on a classroom door. A short haired principal poked her head through, interrupting a science lesson. The teacher met the principal at the door, then motioned for one student in particular to come forward "bring your stuff" he advised.
I, without thinking to much about the summons, stuffed my yellow water bottle, spiral earth science notebook and dull pencil away into my book bag, then slung both the back pack and my soccer draw-string bag over my shoulders. It contained a freshly washed soccer jersey in preparation for the days afternoon practice. This coming Friday was our game against the West End Wombats.
However, I would not be attending practice that afternoon, nor the game later in the week. In fact, I would never step foot inside of my small Washington D.C Elementary School ever again after that day.
Eyes were on me as I followed the principal to her office. Two people, one male and one female, stood waiting for me by her large desk. They dawned black suits. I glanced back and forth between them, fiddling with the slim straps of my soccer bag.
My mother had been at work. She was a florist in the heart of the city. Owned her own self-made business. Apparently, many politicians and well-established businesswoman and men paid visits to her place quite frequently. Our apartment near Penn Quarter and Chinatown was filled with exotic flowers from all over the world, most prominently, Asian flowers which are my favorite.
I would have probably gone into the floral business myself, if not for the incident. Nothing would ever be the same after that winter morning.
It was after I had left for school. Someone had come into the store with a gun, and demanded money. Of all the places in D.C. that he could have entered, he decided to rob a flower shop. Even after my Mom had given him the entirety of the money in the register, he proceeded to shoot her. She was dead. Just like that.
One of the agents in the black dress suits had told me everything in that principals office, he bent down in front of my chair to meet me at my height. He sounded sad.
I don't remember much about that day, aside from that. A lot of it, the pain, the heartache, I've tried to block out. Everything was from that point on. My only family was gone, at the snap of a finger. I said goodbye to my mom, went to school and came back an orphan.
I'll use the term "orphan" loosely because that wasn't entirely true.
"You've been called the Da Vinci of our time, what do you have to say about that?"
I sat across from that same balding, middle aged government worker dressed in a black suit. A grey tape recorder with two distinct voices coming out from the speakers laid in front of me on a steel table.
The two of us were in a small, metal room which had a long mirror on the left side. I knew it was one of those one way mirrors. Mom and I had a custom of watching spy movies on the weekends once my homework was done. That's how I know these things. There were for sure more government workers on the other side of that mirror, watching me carefully. What I didn't understand was why.
The agent in the the room with me watched my facial expressions as the recorder played.
"Absolutely outrageous, I don't paint"
The man on the tape recorder answered quickly with a ridiculous response. It's like he didn't seem to care that he was speaking to a professional reporter. I glanced up to the agent who goes by the name Coulson. A confused looked crossed my face "why are we listening to this-?" I asked. Agent Coulson shook his head and motioned for me to keep listening. I leaned my elbows on the table and waited for the tape to finish.
"And what about your other nickname? 'The Merchant of Death?" The woman reporter on the tape asked the billionaire playboy.
"That's not bad"
If you ask me, that's a pretty bad nickname to have. Well, that would be my father for you. The man who is supposed to teach me right from wrong, the one who's supposed to raise me to be a strong and smart woman, the same one who just told a reporter that he approves of a nickname that promotes him as a murderer.
He was different back then, coarse and careless. Only had eyes out for himself. He was a completely different person before he became Iron Man.
I rubbed my temple with my fingers, pressing my lips into a thin line. The scented strawberry chapstick on my lips was rubbing off. I remember being utterly terrified to meet this man.
Despite it all, despite the death of my mother, the simplicity of this time is one that I long for, even to this day.
It had only been a few months since my mothers death. I don't remember crying upon hearing the news of her homicide in the flower shop. My brain would not allow me to believe it, not until I saw her body laying in the flowery coffin.
Agent Coulson had been with me every step of the way. He was kind about everything, and obviously cared for me. Agent Coulson was, at that point, my favorite person in the world.
He had brown hair that was thinning at the top, a stern face that he keeps hidden with black, spy-like sunglasses, and he wears a black suit most of the time. He and another man named Rhodey flew me from my Fostor home in Washington D.C to Malibu California, where I've been for the past few weeks. Rhodey is a Lieutenant Colonel in the Air Force. He is friends with the Tony Stark, my father. The Tony Stark that is always in the news for dumb reasons. The same man from the recording.
It was a reality that felt like it was ripped straight out of a movie and thrusted into my world.
While in Malibu, I had then been living with a lady named Pepper Potts until my fathers return. Pepper is Tony's assistant. She follows him around everywhere, taking care of his every need and buying him coffee or whatever. The hope was that when Tony returned, he would take over the parental responsibility of me. Of course, we had no idea if he would ever return.
Agent Coulson explained to me that my father went missing months ago. He was kidnapped by terrorists in a foreign country, that's all I know. If he never returned, then I would go back into the foster system. That or take over as his prodigy... whatever that means. Tony worked with weapons, machines, things like that. The only machine I've ever used is the washing machine, and I still screw things up with that.
***
2009
I sat in the back of a black Luxury car, it was parked in the center of an Air Force base in California. Planes were taking off and landing around me, creating a lot of loud noises that penetrated the vehicle walls.
Pepper stood outside, talking to a handful of military officials wearing uniforms. They were having a stern conversation, but I couldn't hear a thing. She would steal glances over to me every once in awhile. I leaned my head against my purple book bag which sat next to me in the seat. It held all the things that were most important to me.
A toothbrush, change of clothes, and a DS. A soccer ball rested at my feet. Of course, there were other, more sentimental things as well. An old photograph of my mother and I when we went to Niagara Falls for her birthday a few years ago. Photo albums chocked full of pictures from my childhood. Most of them were of my mother and I. We had been like best friends. I was practically a spitting image of her, besides the hair.
She had bleach blonde hair, I have brunette hair. My eyes are blue, like hers. My hair, and distinct cheek features belong to a parent that I had never laid eyes on in person. Entertainment Tonight specials on his rowdy shenanigans in Hollywood do not count.
In one of the photos, my mother and I sat side by side, her arms around me, and I was smiling in the camera. Niagara Falls roared behind us, I could still hear the sound of the Falls in the depths of my memory.
I missed her. Too bad she had to go and leave me behind so soon. There are so many questions that I would love to ask her, questions that I need answers to. The person who raised me, the person who loved me. Gone forever. I'll never be able to get that back.
Buried in my book bag was a gift from her, a white tiger stuffed animal with a lily sewn into its paw. It's emerald eyes stared into my gaze every time I held it up. It makes me think of her, and our trip to the D.C. Zoo when I was seven. I slept with it every single night, it smells like her. Mom use to love lilies, my room was full of them. Her middle name was Lily, I guess that's why she loved them so much.
I hugged the stuffed animal to my chest, scrunching my nose up to swallow back the sadness that held a grip on my heart.
A slightly tubby man with brunette hair opened up the driver side door and hopped into the front seat of the car. His sudden appearance startled me. My heart was pounding at the thought of meeting my father for the first time.
I placed my tiger stuffed animal back into my book bag and zipped it up "Alright, kiddo" he slammed the door, glancing back to me in the rear view mirror "need anything? It won't take long now" he turned to look at me, his hands on the steering wheel. He smiled.
"Okay" I nodded, my voice shaky "H- how long, though, will it take for him to get here, Mr. Happy?" I asked cautiously, twirling my thumbs together in my lap. Could he tell that I was sweating like Niagara Falls?
"Not long, any time now. When you see a plane coming from over head through the clouds-" he lifted his finger up towards the roof of the car, gesturing to the sky outside. I titled my head to the side and peered up towards the clouds "Oh, and... by the way" Mr. Hogan hesitated "When you meet Mr. Stark. I just want to say... he's a whole different ball game" I raised an eyebrow, not sure what to do with that information "Just be yourself, and everything will go smoothly, yeah?" Happy assured me, reaching to pat my skinny knee.
It wasn't very assuring, my heart still beat a mile a minute. I don't know how to be myself, what does that even mean? Is this Tony guy going to kill me if I make a bad first impression or something? I wondered what he's like. Happy's phone buzzed and he whipped it out from his pants pocket. I watched as his face perked up from the message on his phone.
He tilted his head out the window towards the sky. A plane was approaching. Then I heard the roar of an engine growing closer in the blue sky. I followed Happy's eyes until I saw the plane for myself. It was starting to descend from the sky above me. The grey plane cast a dark shadow over the car. My gut told me that it was him. A whole different ballgame, huh? Well, it's good thing I'm good a soccer and not baseball.