Chapter Text
Saturday, February 17th 2018, circa 11 PM
I can’t process a thing; not that I care to. Every sense is dull as the lights on are only those of party lights, it’s too hot as the dancing bodies of strangers engulf me, the only smell is of sweat and sin, and the only thing I can hear is music. I’ve heard this song before, it’s unreleased but it played at a charli xcx afterparty I once attended. The lyrics repeat constantly and it fills my head. I’d rather it be my only thought rather than the news I found out.
-
Friday, February 16th 2018, circa 9 AM
I sneak into my father’s office to snoop for details on my birthday party. The press has interviewed me multiple times and I’ve told them everything I know about it. Who can blame them? Everyone wants to know how Tony Stark’s illegitimate nepo-daughter would be spending her 17th. Unfortunately, it’s lost after lost so far. Every drawer I’ve checked is full of either jelly beans, dehydrated blueberries, or Stark Industries pens and pins. I’m losing hope as I sink to the floor, leaning my back on the wall. I sigh in defeat, turning my head to mope until I spot a cabinet. Hooray, one more area to check and be disappointed. I open every drawer of the cabinet–which is still full of snacks and random files– until the last one refuses to open; it’s a locked cabinet with no key. From the power of a bobby pin and Stark genetic knowledge, I managed to open it.
The first paper of the stack is my birth certificate, not an original copy of course. My original birth certificate burned a long time ago, along with my mother in the Old Fire of San Bernardino. I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently, with my birthday coming up and all. What things would be like if she was still here. It was maybe 15 years ago so I don’t have many memories of her. I pick up the document, grazing my mother’s name with my index finger before putting it down. The papers below are an assortment of magazines my father has collected over time concerning me. Finally, something. I sigh as I pick up a receipt in the pile. A private jet, just for me. Oh. My. God. I was used to the nicer things in life and never having to fly coach but one just for me? Of course, it wasn’t enough. It was enough of a gift but not enough information. I notice the People’s magazine from last year about my birthday gift– a Honda S2000 replica of Suki’s from 2 Fast 2 Furious– and a paper about how I came into my father’s hands. I was too young to know but I only remember being told that my mother had given me to the firefighters with a backpack that contained my favorite book, a Clifford plush, and a letter about who she claimed I am, more specifically who my father is. The media’s pity for a freshly orphaned little girl pressured a paternity test that came back positive. I put the magazines to the side as I keep digging. I come across a document I’ve never seen before in my life.
11082003 STARK INDUSTRIES MINUTES (CLASSIFIED)
I curiously skim the pages, reading here and there between dialogue and exhibits.
“We need the press to focus on something else.”
“There’s really nothing else? They’d rather focus on some orphan Annie than Will Ferrell in Elf? Is dessert-spaghetti not more interesting than another California fire?”
“They’re blaming a hiker for the fire, which is good. For now.”
“Nobody even knows that we were doing tests, why do we have to cover up when there’s no coverage on us?”
“There is an easy way out.”
“Out of what? There is no heat in Malibu, who cares about Santa Bernardo and 2-year old Harry Potter? It's just another chick claiming their kin is mine for a check.”
“The 2-year old girl had a letter with her that her late mother wrote, Mr. Stark. It doesn't hurt to take a paternity test. The media cares more about the possibility of you having a kid than you starting a fire.”
-
Spring of 2016
It’s been four years since we moved to New York. It’s not too different because of the private schools and penthouses but it does snow here and the occasional drop-by of Avengers. Not right now though, it’s nowhere near snowing in spring. I wait up a few levels in my room as dad discusses the game plan for fighting his non-friend coworker friend with his other coworker friends. I don’t really get what’s going on because I’m too busy listening to Beyonce’s new album and figured it couldn’t be as dangerous as their other missions. After a while, I decide to go down stairs because it doesn’t hurt to say hi to them. The elevator ride down is slow and agonizing, I start to wonder if I should’ve just stayed in my room to avoid the awkward small talk. Ping. Too late. I exit the elevator, entering a room of uncomfortable silence. “Hey guys… how’s it going…” I say. “Hello.” Vision says. I recognize the faces in the room; Nat, Wanda, dad, Pepper, Sam, and Rhodey. I grab myself a glass of water as they resume their conversation.
“He is here.” FRIDAY announces. “Let him in.” Tony replies. “This is the new recruit I’ve added, my plan from Queens.” he chuckles. There’s a knock at the door. Nobody responds. Another knock. “Uh, Mr. Stark, can I come in now?” a voice asks. “Yeah, come on in.” he replies. A boy around my age stumbles through the door, wearing an open flannel, white tee, and jeans. “I’m Peter. Peter Parker and I- oh my god, you’re the Black Widow. And you’re War Mach-” “This is Spiderling who will be our Robin.” Tony cuts him off.
I snark to myself mentally, thinking about what an awkward fool this guy is. We make eye contact as he enters, coming closer to the mutual space. “Water?” I offer. “Yes please, thanks,” he responds with a smile. I grab another glass and fill it for him. I tell him my name. “Welcome to the compound,” I say. As I hand him the glass, he unconfidently takes it, fumbling a little as our fingers touch but ultimately grasping the cup. He takes a sip and lifts the glass, smiling fiddly in gratitude as he walks closer to the meeting space. I chuckle to myself quietly, flattered by his quirkiness. I take another sip before heading up.
Fall of 2016
I don’t see him again for awhile but dad talks about him like he’s the son he never had. The next time I do hear about him, it’s dad cursing out loud and rushing off in a hurry. Turns out, Peter exploded a ferry. You know, just another day in New York. I ask FRIDAY for Peter’s contact information and invite him over to the compound. I pity the guy, getting a huge lash out from Tony Stark is never fun and I’d be the first to understand. Hours seemed to have passed on the rooftop. The sun and the ice cream I brought us is long gone and the only taste on our tongues is laughter.
“I can’t imagine swinging every day through New York, I can barely stomach the speed of my car,” I laugh. “If you did have a superpower what would it be?” he asked. I think for a second. “I’ve never thought about that. Maybe Wanda’s but in purple?” I say. We both burst out laughing. The Manhattan wind blows, a chill overcoming me as goosebumps rise on my arms. I wrap my hands around myself and rub my arms to warm them up a bit. “Are you getting cold?” he asks. I nod. “Do you wanna go back down?” I ask. He nods. By the time we head back, it’s late in the evening. The elevator opens and I quietly walk to the living space. Pepper is there with Tony, consoling him as he debriefs everything to her. I turn to look at Peter. “I can go home,” he says. “I don’t want you to yet,” I respond. We look into each other's eyes for a second before I guide him to my room. I swiftly open my door as silently as I can. I cover my mouth laughing as I turn around and shut it, Peter leaning his back onto the door. We calm down and let out a deep sigh. I look at him in his eyes, not knowing what to say but feeling delighted in the moment. He stares back at me with a small smile and comfort. I walk towards him slowly but he attempts to take a step closer to the door. I stop and stand still until he makes a step closer to me. As he approaches, I maintain eye contact with him. Before I know it, he’s directly in front of me, there’s barely any space between us. I slowly lean my head in closer and our lips connect. The kiss is soft and sentimental, it feels pure and not rushed. I bring my hands up to hold the sides of his face. When it ends, We catch a breath at the same time, sighing in relief as we look at each other.