Resilience | ✔

Chapter Thirty-One

Keeping her composure with her father in the car was a challenge. Especially what with how stone-faced Tony had been when he came out of the interrogation room. He'd smiled at her, but she could read him better than he thought. He wasn't distressed, but . . . the set of his shoulders implied that not everything had gone to plan in the interview. She didn't bother to ask about it in the station. She watched as he signed some stuff, zoned out of a few conversations with other detectives that happened to be milling around, and followed him out of the station. Almost all the reporters were still there, outside the station, waiting patiently, and as soon as the two Starks stepped out, they exploded into motion. Microphones were shoved into their space, cameras flashing, people shouting. Marley tried not to let it rattle her, but she could only take so much noise, so much sudden movement, so much chaos, and maybe she would have been able to on a good day but today had not been such a good day. She grabbed Tony's hand and ducked her head and clung to her father, letting him do the heavy lifting of the image they had to present to the press.

Once they were safely in the car, after they'd buckled and pulled away from the curb, she asked, "So how'd it go?"

"Fine," Tony said, and refused to say anything else, even after more prodding. This did nothing to help her own mood. She sank into silence, found herself repeating her words from to Detective Carlsen. Every single sentence about her experience in captivity had been true. Had come from the heart. But—then she'd used it. She'd used her mental illness, her PTSD, her trauma, as a weapon to deflect the blame. To convince Carlsen that she'd have been incapable of killing Jackson. Which was obviously a lie, because she'd looked at him and shot him in the chest with no problem, no qualms at all.

She thought suddenly of her mother, of how she'd react to all this. To her own daughter killing someone. Taking another human being's life—no matter how awful he was. God, Marley was such a disappointment. She tipped her head back against the headrest and tried to keep herself from crying. If her mother was alive she'd be so disappointed. So upset. And she'd be disappointed with Marley for crying right now. You don't cry over your mistakes, she used to say, there's no use. You fix them.

They were trying to. That was better than nothing, she supposed.

The ride back to the compound was incredibly long.

Somebody had cooked—she could smell it when they walked in. She wasn't particularly hungry, but she followed Tony to the kitchen. Rhodey stood at the island, spooning mac and cheese into bowls.

"You didn't have to do that," Tony said, sounding tired and grateful.

"Comfort food," Rhodey said. He handed the bowl to Marley and pointed at the dining room table, which had been set for five. Marley made her way over, feeling like a zombie, and sat in one of the chairs. She folded her hands in her lap. She could escape and cry after lunch.

But now here was Tony, popping into the room to gather up place settings and napkins. Only three of them. "Kiddo, me and Rhodey and Pep are going to go talk about today. I'll come find you when we're done, okay?"

Marley nodded, too grateful to be hurt. Now she could cry into her mac and cheese as pathetically as she wanted without facing judgement. "Okay," she said, because her dad was still standing there, "sounds like a plan."

He kissed her on the top of the head and left the room. Marley stabbed some pasta and stared at it. in the months since escaping Jackson, no matter how emotionally wrecked she was, she had not once been so mixed up that she had no appetite. Her stomach growled a little. She put the bite of mac in her mouth and started crying. Not the explosive waterfall of tears she got sometimes. Her eyes welled with tears, she put her head down on the table, and she chewed her mac and cheese as tears slid down her face.