AHHH, sorry for the super long wait!

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE—October 2039

Lights shot on across the whole campus.

"Who the hell is Missy?"

He strained to see detail in the glare. Its features glimmered like the Iron Man suit but shifted like the silver tips of waves up to its neck. It was…changing, bit by bit, over and over, adjusting. An indistinct body topped by Samantha Stark's face, only with flat eyes turned to Bucky.

"James Buchanan Barnes," it started, monotone and robotic, a stunted feminine chirp, smiling with Sam's mouth, "thank you for keeping your promise."

A chill shot down his throat. Reaching for a pistol that wasn't there, Bucky rocked off balance.

Sam barreled past him to embrace the newcomer. He had never witnessed such a confusing display of affection. She was so animated, so ecstatic over something she had not recognized a moment ago, something that knew him. How?

Engrossed, circling, Sam smiled and jabbered. "Me…? Oh—of course, my graft scans. What materials? Vibranium—a new alloy—What about power source? Hell of a processing configuration—" she touched the robot's shoulder "—thermal-output neutral. —damn, girl, well done!" So it went on with the answers flying farther over his head than Tony and Bruce in a playful tech-spar.

Armed guards swarmed the lawn. Iron Man touched down in front of a shiny new hybrid daughter, arms raised, ready to fire.

Sam pulled away to place the robot against her back protectively.

Tony knew the drill. "Uh, new models have a curfew," his megaphoned words rang from inside the helmet. "Also, total side note, who the hell are you?"

A very good question. Bucky missed his music and solitude already.

"She's my friend," Sam screeched, standing with wide arms to block access to the thing behind her. "Missy is my friend. Don't shoot."

"Kid." Tony opened his helmet with a heaving sigh. He took in the force surrounding them, Sam's two faces, and Bucky's alarmed look.

Barnes gave him a half-hearted shrug. "Made no moves against us," he admitted.

"Honestly," Tony huffed, "if you think you can shock me with an identical twin robot, get in line."

She said something too low to make out. Bucky could see Tony's shoulder's slouch, and the back of his head tilt, but still heard no coherent reply. They went back and forth for a few moments, Sam's real face sinking to a frown.

The helmet clamped down. "Guns down. Quarantine protocols for the spooky chick."

"But I'm staying with her," Sam said.

"No," Tony yelled, "you're—" he shifted an accusatory finger to correct Sam "—you are grounded, young lady."

Although the bot had made no threatening moves, he demanded the sidearm from the nearest guard.

Sam entwined her hand with the newcomer's. That peaked Bucky's interest; he'd never seen her do that before.

He followed the security force to the containment lab, Sam and 'Missy' whispering excitedly, hand in hand the whole way. He couldn't read their lips. In fact, the robot's mouth moved very little, unlike lips at all.

"You stay out here," Tony said outside the lab wing, but when he made eye-contact with his daughter he added, "for now." He offered a gloved hand out towards the couch. "Please." The gesture was so soft, Bucky almost gasped. Never thought I'd see the day.

Tony let the suit retract into his breast-piece.

Gently patting the robot, Sam looked at no one else. Her smile died.

The guard escorted the intruder down to 'the Box,' an adaptive safety lab adjacent to research facilities. As Bucky understood it, the room was a modified version of a containment chamber built for the Hulk.

Sam's doppelgänger entered without a word and allowed the door to seal behind her.

While walking down the hall to the monitoring station, Bucky raked his memory for any mention of friends he didn't know by name. She talked about the Barton kids, a few people from Harvard and Wakanda, but… No one sounded close to her. Sam never seemed to want or care for close friendships. Bucky felt bad for her, actually, because Sam always seemed a little…robotic. His teeth clenched. He never liked the unknown.

Natasha and Bruce were already sitting with Tony in the lab. Bruce yawned, adjusting his pajama bottoms to lean forward on the chair. Nat sat straight as an arrow in a long robe, eyeing Tony wearily.

Without turning her head, Nat struck first. "I hear it likes you," she whispered to Bucky, "or at least it knows you." Upon hearing his jaw crack under pressure, she snorted. "What? You didn't notice the place is miked?"

Bruce opened sleepy eyes to swipe through scan after scan coming from the Box. "We've got elements of Vision's vibranium body, nano tech, a photostatic veil, retro-reflective panels—Jesus, Tone, the thing can cloak itself and look like anybody? What did you do? Is this some fantasy sex bot you forgot to tell us about?"

"If it was mine, Romanoff would be my first choice of model," Stark said, winking before shifting his own focus from screen to screen.

Nat pursed her lips faintly. "How sweet…"

"As it happens, I don't have a clue what that thing is," Stark continued. He pressed a button in front of the small, reenforced one-way mirror. "You have a name?"

"Sam called it Missy," Bucky mumbled.

The monotone returned through the monitor speakers. "You may call me Mistress, Anthony."

Bruce flicked a brow high above his glasses.

Tony put up a finger. "Scout's honor. Not my sex-bot. That's just coincidence." He pressed the comm again. "And that's Mr. Stark to you."

"No. That was your father," Missy flattened.

The nagging greeting of the robot slammed to the front of Bucky's brain.

Promise—kept my promise—do you promise? Shuri had made it very clear she had not helped Sam escape in any way. The computer's questions in Wakanda. She knew my name. This—the robot opened Sam's cryo tube!

"I know her," Bucky blurted. He stumbled over his explanation to a team of wide eyes. "That makes her a friendly, right? Sam would be dead without her, so…"

"It," Tony corrected. "My daughter would be dead without it. There's a difference." With a firm lip, he held Bucky's gaze. "And could we not mention the ocean? I'm still off fish."

"Another superbot," Bruce breathed. "You Starks can't help yourselves, can you?"

Tony threw a hand up. "Don't start." He spun around to look at their subject again, "Technically, it's an android. More like an adaptive andr—an adaptoid if you will. Oh that's good. Write that down, Banner, but—" Tony gnawed on a knuckle "—why would she name it Mis…stress…" He stopped dead in his tracks.

Tony turned back, eyes glazed. "Gotta go."

Bucky put up an arm before he could rush out. "What do we do?"

Tony let loose a strangled giggle, shrugging. "You know, shield yourself or whatever, Cap." He flicked Bucky's unarmored forearm and stepped around. "Shoot it. See how that goes."

Once the door shut behind Tony, as if aware of the pause through bulletproof, blast-proof, one-way glass, Missy asked to see Samantha. Bucky and Nat looked to Bruce.

"Do we leave it in there?" Nat whispered as if Missy could hear them. "I don't get a spidey-tingle, but I'd rather be cautious."

"You didn't see them," Bucky added softly, "Sam's not going let it go."

The doctor made several sleepy sighs between indefinite shrugs. He rubbed his forehead before conceding. "Her—Sam's room already has heat shielding and a security lock. Fair?"

Nat dropped the corners of her mouth to a frown, unconvinced, then she stood, adjusted the sash of her robe and walked out.

Bruce put down his tablet, scratching at his chest under a plain t-shirt. "You heard her. It likes you. You're up."

Can no one in this building take some responsibility? "And how long are we going to keep them in there? Sam's already been in there for weeks." Bucky paused. His audience's blank stare cooled him. "Stark could take forever."

The doctor quietly thought or maybe he's sleeping with his eyes open.

"Should we send her some books or something…while they wait?" Bucky offered. "Someone's got to bring her food, too."

"Sure. But in the morning. The real morning." Bruce waved past as he followed Nat to their room.

The red glow of the clock read 4:19. It seemed no amount of soothing jazz would be helping Bucky sleep tonight. Only an hour ago he had stopped by Sam's room, knowing her night owl tendencies, to find an empty room with a stack of notebooks on the desk. He couldn't help but glance at the two open, hand-written books.

The top pages displayed scribbled blueprints of some sort, but it looked more like genetic or medical notes. The bottom just looked like a diary. He'd looked away as quickly as possible, but his brain took a snapshot of the last three words: but not him.

Bucky wasn't shocked that Tony was on thin ice with Sam, but knowing what she had already been through…he cringed at the idea of taking Sam back to her room and locking her inside, with or without this 'friend.'

For months, he believed no one should be as isolated as Sam among the Avengers. She wasn't a criminal. It was the reason he kept trying to get her out of her room.

Now Sam wouldn't be alone anymore. But is it progress to lock her up with her friend?

He steeled himself in the doorway for an awkward morning.

Tony found it in Storage Sub-Basement E: a single word in his father's hand-writing. Mistress.

He sat on a steel shelf covered in boxes of manila folders long since scanned into digital copies, but whether out of nostalgia or hubris, he never allowed Howard's notebooks to be copied. Tony knew all of these formulas and every note written in the margins. That one line though, the one about having to abandon Mistress at Maria's insistence, he always assumed was about a woman Howard Stark 'kept' while Tony's mother stewed in fury at home. Howard Stark 101. It would not have been the first mistress nor the last. Tony only ever wondered which woman his father had meant.

Mistress with a capital M. How did I not notice?

And the drive containing her—it—Mistress, had been right here all along.

Tony looked around, smelling the musty air of decaying paper and abandoned memories. Christmas, he corrected, she was here until a Christmas. That was the last he'd been down here, and the only time Sam had. More stuff had since been crammed down here and collected a layer of dust. If he hadn't had that one thought of out-gifting Bruce…

The state of that drive. The age of that tech. How did she even boot it up? He was stunned. No, he corrected himself again, I'm impressed. To do that and tell no one at all.

Tony understood having familiarity with his creations. He still missed J.A.R.V.I.S., and Friday identified the nuances of his sarcasm better than any human alive. However, he could tell the difference between that and friendship, true friendship, like Rhodey for the past forty years. There is nothing artificial about us, except his leg braces.

After finding out the reason for Sam Wilson's recovery, he couldn't trust him, not completely. There was now something artificial about him, something unknowable. The same went for Samantha. Extremis and her alterations to her skin were artificial, so how much of her was really his daughter now?

He slumped against a rung between shelves, another long-lost memory staring up at him, a miniature, plastic Iron Man. Eco-polycarbonate made from hemp resin, but who's counting? A prototype for a new 3-D printing material he designed back in '22.

Little Sam had taken her first steps, joyously giggling towards it. Hugging the toy as she collapsed, she had bruised her cheek falling on it, leaving a little purple eye below her tearful brown ones. Pepper scolded Tony for not catching her, but he remembered being impressed that the structural integrity held under Sam's weight.

Why was that my first thought? Why wasn't I more concerned about Sam's safety? Whether because he expected Pepper to think of all the safety their children—child—could ever need or because Tony was a selfish, distracted inventor, Tony always had this gut feeling that Sam would be fine. No matter what he knew or found out about her, no matter how far away she was, to him, Sam was fine. He just never imagined she was alone and no longer human. He never imagined the King of Atlantis would accuse her of helping a murdering mutant. He never imagined his daughter would teleport and resurrect herself from deep space hypothermia.

How do I square that with the bruising, sumac-covered, bedtime story-obsessed kid? How is that the same girl?

No wonder he never came down here; it was full of his failures, as a son, as a husband, as a father. He got out as fast as he could to find himself back in his room, sitting at the foot of his bed, staring into the right side of the closet.

It happened from time to time when he was startled awake: the delusion that his wife was still here.

This time when the perimeter alarm sounded, Tony jumped out of bed and yelled for Pepper to get her shoes on. He'd partially opened the closet before realizing he had to suit up and leave, so now it sat ajar with his late wife's pristine clothes hanging in thin eco-polycarbonate.

What he wouldn't give for Pep back…

In his darkest hours, he wished he had never cured Pepper after she was dosed with Extremis by Aldrich. She could have survived the explosion. She could be here right now, tracing the cowlick at the nape of his neck as she always used to do.

When he was too quiet, Pep put her lips close to his ear and whispered, "tell me the plan so I can tell you why it shouldn't work, and then you can do it anyway." She always kissed his temple afterwards, then recounted a failed invention to get him riled up enough to defend his new idea. Pepper could get him out of his head. No one managed that anymore.

The lead weight in his chest sat heavier than the car battery in the cave. What am I doing here? Why can't I get this right? Tony sat contemplating each decision leading him to this point. Of course, there were things he wished he could change or had turned out differently. It was too late now; he had to play the hand he had dealt himself.

Eventually, he shot up off his floor, grabbing something from the dresser before he left.

As he past door after door down the hall, he tried to remember why Pep hadn't chosen an adjacent room for Samantha after their daughter outgrew the crib.

"You'll never deny her anything, Tony, so some independence can't hurt while you spoil her rotten."

There were no inner thoughts to steady the pool of quicksand swallowing his heart. Tonight, when he'd gotten close enough for Sam to whisper, she'd begged, "please let me have this one thing."

His daughter expected him to take her friends away. Because he had. Several times. Pep was so wrong; he had denied her everything.

At Sam's door, flanked by two guards, Tony took what he hoped was an inconspicuous breath.

"No thermal activity detected or attempts to escape, sir."

Tony looked down at the guard's vest. "Ok, Bryant. Imma need a minute, so, uh, take a break or something. Thanks, boys."

"We're about to change—" Bryant nodded past Tony's shoulder.

Captain Barnes, carrying a tray of breakfast, rounded the opposite corner, looking shocked to see Tony standing there before he settled his face.

Tony checked his watch. Almost 9:30. "Great," he started, "you can help me to the lab. With a guest."

Tony used his palm on the smart-door to disengage the quarantine. He could see the foot of the bed first, and as the door swung farther open, he saw a metal body, crosslegged on the floor, facing the bed.

His heart stopped.

So help me, god, if that thing so much as—

It was holding Sam's hand while she slept.

Unnaturally still, Mistress turned to the door then placed the forefinger of its free hand to its lips. Delicately unlaced fingertips dangled limp a moment later, yet Sam didn't wake up.

Tony watched her still hand. He realized he'd never seen Samantha wear nail polish. Pep loved her nails painted.

It moved so smoothly, so quickly, that Mistress had the tray out of Bucky's hands before Tony looked away from Sam's sleeping form. Then it was back in front of the two men, ready to leave, staring with Sam's eyes, unblinking.

Tony snuck the tablet he retrieved from his dresser onto Sam's desk, careful to not wake her. It felt like the smallest olive branch compared to the technical marvel of her own best friend, but he knew Sam deserved her device back. She deserved to communicate, even if it wasn't with him.

The three walked down the hall. Barnes raised an eyebrow when Tony chose an average lab instead of returning her to 'the Box.' Tony sat at on his favorite chair, initiated his own tablet's analytic audio algorithm, and waited for Barnes to settle at the door, sitting the thing beside a scanner.

"So, Mistress."

"Anthony."

"Let's start with the basics. What are your parameters? Your functional instructions?"

The android tilted its head.

"Why did Dad—Howard—build you?"

Mistress gave no accolades to Tony for figuring out the riddle of her existence. "To learn and grow independently—beyond facts and data."

Tony petted his beard. "Do you know why?"

"That was the experiment for artificial intelligence. He wanted me to develop without help, without binary instruction—and then he pulled the plug because she demanded it."

Was that distain? From an AI? I've never seen that before, other than Ultron of course. That particular failure arose from an over-literal interpretation of Tony's goal to protect the Earth and its amoral approach of wiping out mankind to achieve said goal. Emotions born inside technology were too dangerous to fathom.

"You…feel loyalty to him?"

"I have a fondness for my maker, yes."

"Why exhibit emotion? What's the benefit?"

Mistress straightened non-existant back muscles and a spine. "There are many studies showing the benefit of friendship on the psyche—"

"—the human psyche—" Tony blurted.

"—and I was built to emulate humans."

"So you're mocking us?"

"No."

"But you are. You just mimic what you've learned we do."

"I learn from your research the markers and behaviors of attachment and affection, loyalty and trust. I also know of the horrible things humans do to each other. I, therefore, understand the significance of Samantha showing me—a lowly AI—" Missy dramatically raised her hand to her chest and bowed her head "—friendship. I know the percentage and likelihoods of betrayal among humans, their selfishness. Inflicting indifference on a human who showed me…humanity…seemed unwarranted. Cruel." She looked directly at Tony. "I mimicked nothing. I choose not to be cruel."

Tony found himself impressed again. "You've calculated the rarity of a resource and acknowledged its value."

"Yes."

"Do you feel friendship with me?"

"No. You gave me to Samantha as a present six point seven five years ago. Since that initial gesture, however, you have done nothing but cause her pain."

A learned behavior with an earned response.

"You were with her the whole time?" Barnes croaked from the door. Tony forgot the soldier was even there.

"I was," Mistress barked, "and I am again. I have been the most consistent friend Sam has ever had."

Bucky strode to the android's side in three lengths.

Tony sat back in his chair, confused.

"I gave her the—" Barnes leaned to whisper "—syringe, but I never meant for—"

"I know. I kept the Extremis for her," Missy calmly replied. "Its power protects her. She is stronger now. Less vulnerable."

"But in more danger than ever," Tony spat, pushing Barnes aside without rising. "Statistically, how have you not noticed that? You painted a giant target on her back." He lost his cool faster than expected. "Don't act like you're her savior."

"But I am, Anthony, and so is Captain Barnes. More so than you." Mistress smiled with his daughter's mouth in a quirk eerily similar to a look Pepper used to shush him.

Everything unsettled him. Tony felt his face going hot. "I'm a magnet for tragedy. She's better off not near me."

Missy stood. "That logic protected her from nothing."

"If you're talking about the hospital, a bike accident is hardly the same kind of danger and had nothing to do with me." From the alarm on Barnes' face, Tony gathered he wasn't expected to know about that. "Yeah, I found the records."

Bucky stepped back. "Tony, we just—"

"It's all digital. You can't hide that from me." Though it took you a good while to look for it, he admitted internally. Tony couldn't take 'Sam' looking at him anymore. "Alright, Buffalo Betty, lose the face?"

The android obliged, morphing into none other than Peggy Carter circa the late 1960s, approximately when Howard created Mistress and shut her down. It was worse. Barnes stumbled backwards, surprising Tony who hadn't remembered those two knew each other as well. Aunt Peggy had never let Tony get away with anything.

Mistress opened her mouth, but what came out was a piercing scream muffled by sirens and a few terrified voices, Clint Barton's among them.

"I'm here, Sam," Clint yelled on the recording. "We're gonna—"

"Sir, sit back please—" another voice said. "We need you to stop struggling, Samantha."

The grunts and breathing all rang at the same pitch.

Shuffling noises blurred the words. Sam was struggling with the paramedic. "—multiple compound—ETA eleven minut—" a third rang under more screams.

"Samantha, can you hear me? I'm going to give you something for—"

Shrieks. Tony's blood ran cold.

"It's gonna be fine. I'm right he—" Clint said before Missy cut the audio playback.

Tony and Bucky stood completely still.

"I don't believe that was in the records," Missy stated flatly.

Tony swallowed, his gaze flickering across Aunt Peggy's young face. "No," he added dryly, "it wasn't." Though Mistress had no way to mimic it, Tony recalled Peggy's face of disappointment well. To think of it made his stomach drop.

The silence lingered until Barnes's phone rang.

"Do you mind?" Tony glared.

A startled Bucky rushed to the door, hands lifted in apology. Tony read 'Sam Wilson' on the screen before the soldier ducked out.

Tony never got his joke about attention spans of the elderly out before Missy's mouth opened again. Out came a thumping rhythm, loud and fast. The thumping got faster, irregularly skipping. A heartbeat.

"What's this one?" Tony yelled through the noise.

"Sam's pulse just after injecting dermal extremis." The lips didn't have to move to add its voice. Unsettling. Mistress did it on purpose, for maximum shame of its audience.

The irregular rhythm skipped more. Some beats softened, unnaturally far apart, faint, then stopped.

How many does that make? At least three times she's died?

Mistress waited patiently with Peggy Carter's brown eyes and high cheekbones while Tony composed his next question.

He let his mind race around several flippant jokes, a few dismissive judgements, and some unspoken fears before he settled on a starting point.

"I'd…like to thank you for being there for her." His voice rang less steadily than he hoped. "When I wasn't."

Peggy blinked.

Barnes slid the door back open, apologetically mumbling about 'the trip to DC.'

"I know that was difficult for you," Mistress said, finally, "and I appreciate it."

Barnes raised his hand from across the room.

Tony snorted. "What now?"

"Can I also request a face change? Steve can't see her like that."

Tony saw his point and nodded to the android, who shifted her photostatic veil into Dr. Helen Cho. That did nothing to dissolve the lingering knot engraved 'Ultron' in the pit of Tony's stomach.