Resilience | ✔

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Steve was on the landing deck of the tower when Tony landed beside the Quinjet. He had his shield on his arm and an awful expression on his face.

Tony's helmet slid down into his suit. "Give me some good news, Rogers."

Steve's expression darkened. "Come inside."

Tony followed him into the sit room off the outer hall. Steve pulled a holographic image into the air above the table. It was a photo of Marley holding a packing slip, a wry twist to her lips.

"She went to investigate. That's the packing slip from the bomb's package." Steve rested a hand on his belt.

Tony's stomach dropped out through his feet. "Are you serious?" He knew Steve was, knew he wouldn't joke about this, but—still—

"She said it was 'personal' and that if she didn't come back in three hours, come look for her," Steve said.

Personal.

He could see that in her eyes, even through the photo. God, she was too much like him. He should have known—he'd have the same reaction. She looked pissed—so ready to exact revenge.

Tony downloaded the photo to his suit. "Get your motorcycle. We're going to the post office."

There were about five UPS stores in walking distance. They went to the closest, 43rd and Lexington. The clerk looked incredibly intimidated upon seeing Iron Man and Captain America walk into the store, but she handled things well. Steve told her they were helping the 18th precinct with some cases and she gave them the address. Tony was pretty sure he thanked her, but things were kind of blurring together.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.?" he said as soon as they were on the street.

"The address she gave you is owned by Ellis Rydacker," F.R.I.D.A.Y. reported. "Rydacker lives in Lewistown Heights Montana and rents the building out. He hasn't rented it out in six years."

Tony, stomach sinking, reported this to Steve. He could tell the super soldier was thinking the same thing as him: Trap. Not for them, for Marley, on off chance that she came after the bomber.

"Go," Steve said. "I'll notify the police and meet you there. Be careful."

Tony's helmet closed over his feet, and he took to the sky. He shot straight up, narrowly avoiding several pigeons, and banked south.

It felt like it took him years to get to the house. It probably only took three minutes. He slammed to the pavement outside the house and stormed up the stairs, leaving dents in the wood. He was raising his hand to blow the door down when F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, "Hang on, boss—your sunglasses are in range."

He stopped, leaving his repulsor powered up. "What do you mean? My sunglasses?"

"Yes, sir. A pair of your bulletproof sunglasses is in range."

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., you have about two seconds to explain what the hell you mean," Tony snapped.

"Lay off, boss," F.R.I.D.A.Y. snapped back. "A pair of sunglasses from your stash in the tower is in range. My guess is that Marley took it. Why don't we go investigate?"

"Give me some directions then." Tony hopped off the porch.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. guided him to a parking garage a little ways away. Tony stared at the entrance with a big old ball of dread forming in his stomach. Nothing good ever happened in parking garages. Especially not when defenseless teenage girls were involved.

She's not defenseless, he reminded himself, starting down the ramp. She's got years of kickboxing under her belt and your sunglasses and she's trained with the Avengers.

He turned a corner, flew down the stretch of cars, and turned the next.

The sunglasses sat on the cement in the middle of the lane, upside down. Alone. "F.R.I.D.A.Y.," Tony said weakly, "scan for life signs."

He crept toward the sunglasses. There was blood sprinkled on the ground near them. Some had gotten on the lenses.

"None, sir," F.R.I.D.A.Y. said gently.

Tony didn't breathe, and didn't breathe, and didn't breathe.

Marley was gone.