Resilience | ✔

Chapter Thirty

The morning after Marley killed Jackson was hectic.

It was about five in the morning by the time she got to sleep. Five restless hours later, Tony woke her up to go over her alibi: I went to bed at around midnight. True. I woke up at around three am because Peter Parker was calling me. Also true. He'd had a nightmare and wanted to talk to someone. False. I fell back asleep at around five. True. I didn't leave my room. False. The compound cameras can confirm that. True—but only because Tony had done some serious doctoring. Undetectable doctoring, but doctoring nonetheless. Peter's nightmare, Tony had said to both her and Peter, was about Peter's apartment building burning down. Marley, you don't remember anything else, because you were still half-asleep. Peter, you can embellish if they ask. ONLY if they ask.

Jackson's body had been discovered by the owner of the store, who had gotten the hell out of dodge as soon as Spider-Man had distracted Jackson from robbing the store. The man had returned at seven the next morning and found Jackson attracting flies. It didn't take the police long at all to ID him—his face was everywhere. Marley and Tony were being asked to come to New York as soon as they could for questioning.

Peter looked pretty much fine, in the brief time Marley got to spend with him. A little pale, a little tired, but otherwise okay. The machine Rhodey had set him up under had done its job in removing the bullet and generating tissue, so he didn't even have a scar. Tony had already explained to him what had happened by the time Marley got to see him, and she'd been worried about what he would say—Peter had a heart of gold, he was so good, he wouldn't approve of something as questionable as killing Jackson, even if he had kidnapped and tortured her. But when she walked in, Peter's smile lit up the room, even though he looked wan and tired. He said without a moment's hesitation, I'm glad you're okay, and held out his hands from the bed for her to come sit with him.

After their rotary conversation of I'm sorry I got you shot and You didn't get me shot I got me shot, they lapsed into silence. Marley wanted to talk, wanted to get some of the awful turmoil of emotion off her chest, but she didn't know where to begin. When she looked over at him to ask if it was okay if she tried talking about it, he was asleep, chin drooping on his chest, dead to the world. She got up and tugged his blankets up a little higher and pressed a kiss to his hair and left. She was closing the door as quietly as she could when Tony found her and told her it was time to go into NYC.

She got a text on the car ride down (Pepper decided a Quinjet would look pretentious). She recognized the number. It had texted her one other time, six months ago, after Pepper had released the statement saying that Marley was okay and home safe.

I'm glad you're safe. I love you. Please at least think about forgiving me—that's all I ask.

-B

Marley hadn't responded.

She opened her phone to the conversation. Beck had sent her four words.

Did you do it?

She pictured Beck on the other end, holding the phone—a burner, probably—and waiting for Marley's reply. The news on in the background: MARLEY STARK'S CAPTOR FOUND DEAD IN NEW YORK CORNER STORE. Maybe Steve looking over her shoulder.

She pictured the airport fight—not hard, since she'd had F.R.I.D.A.Y. get her the footage from every camera at the airport and Tony's suit to boot. Beck standing firmly with Steve, shoulders straight, eyes set. Beck fighting side by side with him, despite not having powers, despite the fact that any one of the people they were fighting could kill her. Despite knowing how much it would hurt Marley that she was fighting her dad.