AUTHOR'S NOTE: Welcome readers. I had this story sitting on my laptop since 2016.

After Infinity War last year and the hype building around Endgame (which broke my heart but was so goddamn beautiful), I've been drawn back to MCU stories. Not sure if I'll have time to break out a new story at any point soon, but after revising this one, felt ready to publish it.

This is a Fem!Tony, and will have some minor character gender-bending too.

I hope y'all like this. Please leave a review. Flames are not permitted.

Cheers,

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters; all belong to Marvel Comics and the MCU.


Plan the Escape

A thunderstorm rages outside.
It's the first sound of rain I'd heard in days. Once upon a time I'd sneak down into my father's study, pull back the blood red velvet drapes and stare out into the rain. The garden would be awash, soaking, drenching in the freak-weather downpours. I'd sit mesmerised, caught up in the sight. I'd never hear dear old dad's footsteps by the door. It wasn't until he was dragging me out by the shoulder that I'd taken notice of him. Funny that. How a little thing like water droplets can enthral someone so.

Now the sound makes me squirm.

Only a little.

I'm not one for sentiment but those lonely memories offer some comfort. Of course, in a dark corner of my mind I can't help but think that this is when they'll take stock of more water to use on me.

"It's your move."

I call him Doc. Why? Could be the glasses. Could be the wisdom. Could be that he operated on me. I'm witty, I know.

I feel the sheepish smile before I can stop it. It isn't unnatural that I'd retreat into my mind every so often. He'd gotten used to me zoning out at all hours of the day and night. According to Doc, it's worse when we work. I'm like a ghost, a foot in each door. He says I'm like a machine then; inhuman, almost, if it weren't for my repertoire of snark. There was nothing emotional about them, I'd argue, not sure why. He'd counter that no Artificial Intelligence could ever have the aptitude for a sense of humour. I made a mental note to introduce him to J.A.R.V.I.S.

Yinsen's cheap glasses glint in the dull light. White's losing. He's throwing the game. I decide to sacrifice my rook. Yinsen barely suppresses an eye roll. "Good move." White queen takes the black rook. I feel accomplished that my sarcasm has rubbed off on him; Or maybe it had always been there and either I hadn't noticed or he's been too polite. It's both.

Asides from our breaths and the shuffle of tokens, no other sound can be heard against the rain. You'd think we were utterly abandoned in our dingy little cave. But we know better. Less than a twenty yards outside our prison door is an armada of terrorists. I don't doubt the threat they pose. They carry my weapons after all...

"You know, you still haven't told me where you're from." It's random, but the mind needs a distraction.

He tells me he's from a village, Gulmira. It's a name I don't plan on forgetting, ever.

He waits patiently. "Got a family?"

The smile that crosses his faces is enviable but… pitiful. "Yes. And I will see them when I leave here. And you, Stark?" It's my turn to play.

Silence speaks for itself. It's a philosophy I've always believed in. Not necessarily one I follow judiciously. A life like mine doesn't afford silence. Not to a woman. Not to a war profiteer. It's laughable. A billionaire who can't afford something. Hard to believe? It's true.

"So you're the woman who has everything and nothing at all?" The silence is deafening. Mocking. His hand on my shoulder is comforting. His sympathetic smile tells me to have hope. But I've already lost it. All that exists is a sense of self-preservation and a drive to wipe my ledger clean.

Sometimes I'd think maybe that isn't true. Not entirely, at least. Rhodey, Pepper, Happy… their faces haunt my dreams.


"They told me if I'd present you with the award, you'd be deeply honoured."

Rhodey had looked extremely uncomfortable at the time. Out of place in his uniform, surrounded by hundreds of halfway intoxicated gamblers and whoremongers. At the centre of it all I stood, teetering on the edge if losing myself in the worrying amounts of vodka burning through me. The two of us together always made for an odd sight. To anyone but ourselves that is.

But he noticed. He wouldn't be Rhodey if he didn't; let alone leaving it alone. He'd sum that up for me the next day. "You don't respect yourself, so I don't expect you to respect me."

"I respect you!" My actions don't often reflect how I feel. That was something no one quite grasped. Because who would understand? Or better yet, who would want to understand?

"I'm just your babysitter. So when you need your diapers changed, let me know and I'll get you a bottle, okay?"

The flight attendant saw to my drink request.

Rhodes saw it as dodging. I see it as drowning.

His judgement...His accusation… it always burned. Not that I cared… much. It reminded me of dad. Chastising. Telling me I'm wrong before I can even answer. I learned quickly to not argue my point when it would never be heard. Why waste your breath? Conceal. Don't feel. Don't let them know they've got to you.

What I'd admired in Rhodey was that he wanted to believe I could be better. Keyword: wanted. He says he believes in me, but I'm not naive to miss the doubt that plays behind each word of his.

"You don't have to be like me. But you're more than what you are."

What am I?

Everyone else seemed to have an idea.

"You've been called the Da Vinci of our time? What do you say to that?"

"Absolutely ridiculous. I don't paint." Sketch sure. Mechanics do that a lot.

"And what do you say to your other name… The Merchant of Death?"

Everhart was another up and coming reporter. He'd landed the honoured job of casing me. His inexperience was made up for in his charm, looks and no doubt outstanding academic background. Why else would he be hired? My father humiliated reporters; they tried to make him out to be lesser than the genius he was. A trait - one of the only I am truly thankful for - that passed to me. No one sane would send in a glass-eyed rookie; He'd be turned away without a single scrap of intelligent drabble to exaggerate and exacerbate for another scandalous and no doubt scathing dollar in their pocket..

"That's not bad… Let me guess. Berkeley?"

"Brown, actually." He'd flashed a smug grin, as if to say he'd beaten me.

"Well, Mr Brown. It's an imperfect world, but it's the only one we've got. I guarantee you, the day weapons are no longer needed to keep the peace, I'll start making bricks and beams for baby hospitals." Did I believe that...no.

"Rehearse that much?"

No.

"Every night in front of the mirror before bedtime."

"I can see that."

"I'd like to show you first-hand." It was a defense. Show them what they want to see. Nothing more. Nothing less.

"All I want is a serious answer."

No. It isn't.

I'd flashed an irritated look at Happy. He seemed to appreciate the irony. "Okay, here's serious. My old man had a philosophy, ''Peace means having a bigger stick than the other guy.''"

"That's a great line coming from the guy selling the sticks."

"My father helped defeat the Nazis. He worked on the Manhattan Project. A lot of people, including your professors at Brown, would call that being a hero."

And there it was. Kristeva may have had a point. People can't run from what's in their blood. It didn't mean they had to like it. I never quite understood why I'd defended Howard's name. Because it was my own? Because it would be hypocritical of me too? Because he was someone else to the world? I didn't have the heart to do it. Not because I cared. I just didn't see the point.

Everhart's still talking though, "A lot of people would also call that war profiteering."

"Tell me, do you plan to report on the millions we've saved by advancing medical technology or kept from starvation with our intelli-crops? All those breakthroughs, military funding, honey."

It's rhetorical.

"You ever lose an hour of sleep your whole life?"

"I'd be prepared to lose a few with you."


Water dripped in the corner. The rain stopped days ago, yet water still found its way down the mountains, through the cracks and crevices. I told Yinsen it was mocking us, penetrating our prison so easily. The Doc would shake his head, suppress a laugh at my "antics" and tease at my paranoia.

Fingers brush over the face plate. I'm not sure at what point I stopped working. Yinsen's drawing up a chair next to me. I don't see him, just hear the screech of the legs against the concrete. We sit in silence. I put the object out of my hands, it's hollow eyes boring into mine. I think briefly what if none of this works. We'd be killed. I remind myself, we'd be killed anyway.

This isn't hope.

I don't believe in hope.

Yinsen thinks I should. I think maybe he's right, but maybe I'm too far gone for it.

"Stark."

"Hmm?"

"You've already done the impossible."

His hand is on my chest. His fingers trace the arc reactor. They shut off the power and we're consumed in shadows, save for a battery operated lamp in the corner and the reactor in my chest. Doc's face is illuminated in faint blue. "You can't give up," he says.

Is this what it's like to have a father? I wouldn't know. Jarvis was the closest thing, and even then he was more of a mentor, a council. I remember Doc saying he has a family. They're waiting for him. I don't know how many kids; I didn't think to ask. Meeting his gaze a feel a spark, somewhere beneath my dead surface. Just like the day we began, when I built the battery in my body.

I can't see my face, but I like to think I'm carrying my old smirk. "I'm not giving up." I'm getting him home.

It's roughly around the three month mark that they get fed up. Metal colliding against metal, the screech of iron door, the heavy footfalls of worn combat boots. These things are little nuances to the ugly truth glaring at me. Stark. The name tastes bitter, seeing it in the hands of these monsters. I put it there. Somehow.

Bald, clean shaven. Bleak contrast to his entourage. Yinsen would later tell me his name is Raza. A commander within the Ten Rings. My official buyer too. Muddy irises burn mine. They're heated, angry. "Relax," he says.

Within moments he's in my face. His hands slither over the arc reactor. They're cold, ironically. I catch Yinsen flinch at this invasion of my privacy.

A deep accented voice, "The bow and arrow, once was the pinnacle of weapons technology." I released a breath as he moved away towards my desk. The pages shuffle. Incoherent blueprints, strangely marked. Nothing like the Jericho. I'm afraid he's realised. But there's the slightest smug air about me, that Doc shakes his head to silence my smirk. They don't know what I'm really doing.

"It allowed the great Genghis Khan to rule from the Pacific to the Ukraine. An empire twice the size of Alexander the Great and four times the size of the Roman Empire. But today, whoever holds the latest Stark weapons rules these lands. And soon, it will be my turn."

I didn't anticipate what came next. The language is foreign, not their mother tongue that I've grown used to hearing. Yinsen seemed distressed but I made no motion of moving nearer. As the seconds ticked by, the tension grew exponentially and Raza becomes more volatile.

It's not until Doc's on his knees and a guard approaches with a hot iron, that I'm forced to say something. "What does he want?"

I've been ignored before, but this isn't a moment that warrants ndifference. Yinsen's head is aligned with the anvil. The red glow of the iron is taunting. Rough hands try to pull me back. The barrel of gun - my gun - prods my neck, pushing me away.

"What do you want? A delivery date? I need him! Good assistant!"

The hot iron drops. The clang of metal on concrete silences.

"You have 'til tomorrow, to assemble my missile."

In my three months, I'd become accustomed to shadows. My fingers would absent-mindedly draw puppets against the light of the arc reactor.

"Are you sure you are ready, Toni?"

Don't ask me when he'd started calling me by my first name. All the days melded into a blurred existence down in the cave. Oddly, I liked it, not being a Stark. I felt… human.

"I'm ready."

"Then I suggest you get a good night's rest."

I turn in my cot, pulling my blanket above my chest. Yinsen's looking over at me. His wrinkled face is worn, weary. Exhaustion is evident. I'd once asked him how long he's been here. He never gave me an answer. I never asked again.

"Did you hear me?"

His worry is endearing. I don't know if he'll see it, but I send him a genuine smile. The one he returns shows me he did.

"Good night Yinsen."

"Tomorrow we go home."


"...home…"

It's a funny word. A particular place doesn't come to mind. Just the faces I want to see again.

It's what keeps me going. Rhodey, Happy, Pepper. I repeat their faces like the mantra Yinsen drills into me. 41 steps straight ahead. Then 16 steps, that's from the door, fork right, then 33 steps, turn right.

"They're coming," he tells me.

"Make sure the checkpoints are clear before you follow me out, okay?"

He's blocking the computer screen, but from the look on his face, I can tell it's not good. I just hope he's not thinking what I think he's thinking.

He is.

"We need more time. Hey, I'm gonna go buy you some time."

"Stick to the plan! Stick to the plan!" He ignores me. It's a first. His older hands salvage a gun - lacking the Stark name - from a dead guard. He offers one last look my way. His eyes convey so much emotion it's suffocating. He runs. "Yinsen!"

It would be only minutes before I'd see him again and then never again.

I'm frozen inside a shell of my own creation. His frail figure lies limp on a pile of my explosives. Bile burns in the back of my throat.

"Toni."

I lower myself next to him. His worn hand take my armoured one.

"Come on. We got to go. Move for me, come on. We got a plan. We're gonna stick to it."

"This was always the plan, Stark."

I'd killed. Only moments earlier, I'd killed. But this scene with Yinsen, wroughts nothing but guilt. I made a promise to myself. "Come on, you're gonna go see your family. Get up."

His smile haunts me. I connect the dots. I know what he's about to say. "My family is dead. I'm going to see them now, Stark. It's okay. I want this. I want this."

A lone tear drop touches his cheek. He removes his hand from mine. Painfully slowly. It's rough but soft all the same on my dirt-riddled cheek. The pad of his thumb brushes the tear stains. My face curves into his palm.

"Thank you for saving me." Because it's all I can say.

"Don't waste it. Don't waste your life."

He raises my chin. His eyes, pointedly bore into mine. He smiles sadly. "You have such beautiful eyes. Like my daughter."

I close my eyes. I feel the warmth drain from his hand. It falls limp from my face. A moment of silence. A prayer.

The mask is on again.

Soldiers wait for me outside. They fire everything they've got. Guilt turns to anger.

"My turn."

I don't walk away completely unscathed. The armour took some damage. Scratch that, a lot of damage. I pulled off the last pieces that remained intact with my body. The armour's scattered in the sand, spread over what must be a quarter of mile radius. Within hours it would be buried.

The face plate is the last. "Not bad."

The sun's high. By my estimate it must have been around one or two in the afternoon. Then again I've never been much of an astronomer. The flannel comes off and I tie it to my head. I figure I should keep walking in the direction I flew. First priority is to get as much distance between myself and the Ten Rings. I could then figure my way back to American soil.

After about three hours this seems a little under planned. Throat burns with thirst, skin blisters under the intense sun. I'd tried taking off my shoes, but heat reflected by the sand near-scorched my feet.

Thith-thith-thith-thith…. At this point I've either lost my mind or stumbled upon an extreme stroke of luck. The two choppers fly pass me. I collapse to my knees when I see USAF painted on the side.

"Hey! Hey!"

They circle back. I throw up a peace sign, of all things.

I don't know how to feel when I see Rhodey depart with airmen in lieu.

"How was the fun-vee?"

I laugh. The first time in three months, I laughed. It felt strange, foreign. My throat burned, hoarse, choking out the breathless sounds. But I don't care. My face feels pained, tired. Rhodey's worried expression fades slightly. His smiles is broad but his eyes are still sad. I feel his arms tug me toward him. Sunburnt skin hisses at the touch. I ignore it.

Laughter dies to wracked sobs. His hand strokes my hair. Tears burn tracks into my cheeks. The Airmen watch us, caught between amused and relieved. His lips press a chaste kiss to my head. "Next time you ride with me."

It must look incredibly childish. Me wide-eyed, dumb cheshire smile, nodding my head vigorously. His hands still the motion, and an arm wraps itself around my shoulders.

"Come on, let's get you home."

The ride to the base isn't as silent as I assume it would be.

Caught like a deer in headlights, between two cars. Between Rhodey's brotherly interrogation and the Paratrooper's medical quiz, I might just lose my mind. I hadn't spoken so much in so long. Yinsen and I often worked in comfortable silence, saving most of our conversation for the little downtime we could afford.

"Toni? Toni?"

Fingers click in my face.

"I'm sorry?"

My best friend crouches before me. He doesn't say anything for some time. Just… studies me. I don't flinch like I used to. His forehead touches mine and our heads tilt towards our chests. We'd do this back in college, right before any game of Bball or drag race. "Rhodey and Tones, buds for life," is what we used to tell ourselves.

"I'm here for you, you know that?"

I nod.