Resilience | ✔

Chapter Five

Marley felt like she was about to throw up.

Her boots clomped nicely on the tiled floor as she walked down the sterile hall of the upstate New York Avengers facility. The fact that she was in the Avengers facility was enough to make her nauseous with nerves. But she was here to meet her father, and her father was Tony motherfucking Stark. It was a wonder she hadn't spewed chunks all over the furniture waiting for Steve to talk to Tony—her father. Her father.

It had taken a good fifteen minutes for her and Beck to calm down enough to go through the rest of the pile after reading those five words. Most of that had been Marley crying, on the verge of a massive panic attack, thinking it was a huge joke while Beck paced furiously shouting "NO FUCKING WAY." When they had at last calmed down enough, they went through the rest of the paper, and it became very clear it was not a joke. It was all technical stuff, DNA tests and ultrasound photos and whatnot, except for a few pages of recipes at the bottom—recipes she recognized as her childhood favorites.

They'd spent the night there, and when Steve came back they ambushed him, presenting him with the evidence, asking what to do. He'd instantly said they needed to tell Tony, so things were arranged with Jackson and now here they were, less than 24 hours after the initial revelation, in the Avengers compound in upstate New York.

Wow.

The manila envelope was clutched in her hands now, everything but the necklace back in it, and she didn't want to let go as she approached the door to Tony's—her FATHER'S—lab. She pried her fingers off and took a deep breath. No nerves—fear is an illusion. It was what she always told herself before meeting a new foster family. It didn't help much now.
She rapped twice on the frosted glass door and pushed it open.

The lab was enormous, a white cavern about the size of a school gym with an open balcony wrapping around three walls above her. The fourth wall was made entirely of glass, floor-to-ceiling windows that flooded the room with natural light. The lower floor, the one she'd entered on, was filled with computers and tables and machines and pretty much every technological advancement under the sun. In the center of it all, the hub of the glowing blue chaos, was a desk, and at that desk sat Tony Stark.

Her father.

He wasn't dressed for visitors, or how she assumed he dressed for visitors. He wore an open blue hoodie over a black T-shirt and, of all things, Cookie Monster pajamas. His socked feet were propped up on his desk and he was chewing somewhat aggressively on a pen.

"Hello," he said, calling across the expanse of tables piled with project in varying degrees of completion. "Come in. I'd like to say up front that anyone who can bruise Steve Rogers has my immediate respect." He frowned. "Okay, not the bad guys, but . . ."

At this point the rushing in Marley's ears drowned him out, her chest tightening so rapidly that she had to lean on the nearest table. Her feet were glued to the floor. She did not want to move and did not want to tell him. His whole life would be over—imagine being legally obligated to deal with her for three years. (she was not breathing) Most people could barely stand three weeks. It was so long, so much worse than any foster family had ever been able to stand. (her lungs hurt) What was she thinking? There was something fundamentally wrong with her, it was obvious, why else did no one want her? (her vision was clouding over) He'd probably just sweep her under the rug or something—she should never have let Steve and Beck talk her into this, never—

Breathe, idiot, she snarled at herself, and she did. It did nothing to help her panic, nothing to fight the thundering waves of self-loathing and panic and anxiety, but she took another breath and forced herself to move, walking against the weight crushing her chest.