CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO—October 2039
Sam didn't turn around when the door opened that afternoon.
She lay slumped on her bed, gnawing at her thumb nail, with her returned tablet propped on bent legs.
Sam remained intent on the photo of Ty and Dee at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, a selfie taken with a dozen other students in the background, all smiling.
She was daydreaming about their adventures without her when a hand grasped her shoulder.
A beautiful, slender-faced woman with jet-black hair stood over her. Sam bolted upright, backing into the corner of her bed and the wall.
"Relax, Sam," the foreign face cooed, "it's me." The shoulders retracted and sank submissively. Missy was learning human physicality quickly.
Sam's throat constricted. Nothing about Missy's polished metal body changed other than the face. Each face sat framed by the same dark curls of Okoye's wig.
"You should probably find your own…look soon," she mumbled to her friend, crawling forward.
"So I have been told." Sam's face returned to Missy's form, metal shoulder twitching up in a shrug. "Doctor Cho created the regeneration cradle," Missy said, smiling with the new mouth. "It was a little joke."
Missy extended her other arm. "An offering." She handed Sam a metallic mug of coffee, one of Tony's personal cups, the ones that remained in his suites.
Sam settled on the edge of the bed. Missy sat beside her, stiff.
"They're not even here anymore." Sam sipped, pouting.
She had no idea they were gone before now. She'd thought Cloak and Dagger were on HQ grounds the whole time, plotting to help her, alone in solidarity, but instead she found weeks worth of messages describing all the fun they were having somewhere else.
At least, Sam comforted herself, the mansion was in the same county. Aunt Wanda had been teaching there for years, though Sam had never been herself.
"They moved on weeks ago," she sighed, handing Missy the tablet.
The glow of the screen flickered through the weeks of messages and photos rapidly. The android stared in silence for a moment then chucked the tablet over her shoulder into the wall.
Sam startled.
Missy turned calmly. "Then they are dead to us," she offered.
"No, no. It's just…" How can I explain?
All night, little things Sam would say were misinterpreted by Missy. The time Sam spent with kids her own age, and her own father, changed her speech and body language significantly. Her old friend had a lot to learn about her now.
But Missy learned quickly too. She sank her metal shoulders back. "Right. They are…not worthy of your concern then. Better?" One eyebrow raised on the opposite side of a tentative lip curl.
She was waiting for Sam's approval, but Sam went back to her coffee.
Sam found the evolution of her AI's nonverbal communication cute, if awkward. It reminded her of standing in the mirror at the Barton's house. All her gestures and smiles had seemed so forced. Laura encouraged her to try—"practice makes perfect"—but it never got easier.
She used to practice small talk with classmates about things they liked, or talking to a certain boy, a good-looking boy she had been friends with for years. At 11 years old, it suddenly became difficult to be friends without acting like a clingy doll, and Sam couldn't help but follow him around…until he sold out her identity and ruined everything—
STOP. She couldn't think about that now. Like Missy said: he is not worthy of my concern.
But the mirror kept reflecting Sam's worst fears of herself: boring brown hair, boring brown eyes, and an unfortunately recognizable face surrounding imperfect teeth.
The hint of white in Missy's mouth was straight and perfect.
Jeez. Sam ran her tongue along the top row in her mouth. When was the last time I brushed my teeth?
She jumped up, stacking the mirror-like mug atop her breakfast tray before heading to the bathroom.
"'Suppose you'll have to tell Barnes you broke his present," Sam joked absently. Her mind snapped back as a taut rubber band. After so much time, Sam questioned what was worth hiding, but Missy wouldn't understand her affection for Bucky.
"Though not a significant detail," Missy started, "that was Anthony. Captain Barnes merely attained your food."
Sam kicked herself internally. Jeez, and here you thought he meant something by it.
She lowered her head in the sink. The blush in her cheeks would give her away, so she splashed cold water on her face. How would Bucky have even gotten hold of the tablet? Took one damn look at that carafe of coffee and thought…Idiot.
Sam squeezed paste onto her toothbrush. "So I guess I have Tony to thank for my tech…again."
"And mine," Missy added quietly in the bathroom doorway.
Sam squinted. Something was off about that. Not once since Mistress was rebooted had she credited the son of her creator with anything directly.
"Oo 'een 'is 'esearck filez?" Sam garbled out.
Missy nailed a casual lean on the doorframe. In less than a day, she improved exponentially in body language. "You could attribute all of that to him. Most Avengers research is done on Stark Industries authority, but he had a much more direct involvement." The bot methodically tilted her face away from the bathroom mirror and quietly added, "albeit inadvertent."
Baiting me in conversation? That's new.
Sam spat. "How'd he manage that? Everything he does is overt."
The answer came slow and deliberate. "Doctor Lemuel Dorcas."
Sam shoved the brush too far back on her tongue and choked. "What?"
Missy let the right corner of her mouth twitch ever so slightly. "I ran a tracking program on his activities since 'Lem' gave you Extremis at Harvard. He seemed an important connection to follow." A hand popped up to the doorframe to prop herself up. "Useful. When I was forced to abandon you, I knew where he was, and I monitored his work more closely. I was there as a sort of ghost program just as you taught me."
Sam's heart swelled with pride and fear. In all her months of searching, she'd always hoped her friend was safe, never imagining Missy would be with the scientist who pointed a gun at Sam.
"Curious," Missy continued, "the doctor has excessive resources. Far more than—" Missy cut herself off. "Then Anthony shooting Lemuel in the gut gave me leverage to trade expertise. Save his life. Build this body."
"Tony shot Lem? When…" Sam recalled Tony screaming at her in the Atrium. He blamed Dr. Dorcas for everything he hated about Sam. Doctor Lem Dorcas. Of course he shot him.
Sam didn't know whether to be horrified or appreciative.
"I believe it was in retaliation for something Todd Arliss did." Missy glossed over the gritty details with another waving hand. "I had no investment in that part. I needed machinery and raw material, not an alliance."
The gag in Sam's throat returned.
"You can't ever tell him." Sam's head ached. "Tony can never know. He'll kill me."
"No," Missy observed, "he cannot. No one can kill you. That is the point."
"That's—" Unhelpful, she wanted to say, considering I'll live an invincible life, alone, in this single room for all eternity. Sam's thoughts raced. "What did you trade?"
"I assisted the doctor in splicing his DNA with asteroidea."
"And he survived?" Hearing that Todd Arliss had survived, Sam couldn't be too surprised the doctor would try again.
"Yes, it was close, but starfish have excellent regenerative capabilities. He is, however, significantly altered anatomically as a result." Missy straightened. "From what was mentioned in his presence, I gather the smell is awful."
That's it. I'm doomed. Tony is gonna shoot us into space and never look back. Sam pressed her hands to her head. She knew it was bad. Why did it all have to be so bad? No one could know.
"And he's the one that built you?"
The responding smile was cocky. "No. I had all the blueprints and base instructions from the Iron Man suits and Vision's body. I only needed equipment to assemble my components. Dorcas could only facilitate as I do not possess his specialty—" Missy used a fist to knock on her chest, making a sound like a gong "—genes."
"Yeah." Sam tried and failed to relax her wide eyes. "You can't ever say any of that. Just say it was abandoned factories or something. Better yet, say nothing, or we are toast."
"Again, Sam." Missy put a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder. "He possesses no technology that could burn either of us."
Sam sighed, bouncing gently on her heels in frustration. "I meant—look, don't ruin this—just say nothing. Please."
Missy looked straight into the middle of Sam's face. The digitally projected eyes did not dilate or shift back and forth, but Sam knew Missy was scanning her. It took a long, harrowing second for Missy to nod in agreement.
The android released her and walked across to Sam's desk, flipping open the first notebook on the table. "In that case, may I now ask how you have developed since the injection?"
Sorting through what order she remembered the notebooks were in on her desk, Sam scrambled to think which incriminating, emotional entries lay on which pages.
Her panic overflowed when there came a knock at the door.
"Shit," she snarled.
Tony poked his head in with closed eyes. "Everybody decent?"
"What do you want?" Her voice cracked at the end. Sam hadn't meant to sound so snippy, but her heart out-paced her thoughts.
He looked around, wounded for an instant. "Right, I—" he pushed the door open all the way "—thought you both could use some air." His gaze rolled over Missy. "Metaphorically speaking."
The awkward walk dragged through echoing halls. Sam felt as nervous as her Christmas visits in childhood. She had so much that she could not say, it was impossible to think of a safe topic.
Tony said hello to each employee who glanced up in shock or suspicion at the little assembly heading for the lawn. The looks were different than the pity Sam had grown accustomed to over the years. Not only was Samantha walking behind her father, but two Samantha's were.
Sam could almost hear their desperate thoughts: Secret twin? Clone? Agent genetically modified to portray her? New holographic program?
The gawking agents and employees peeled away and snapped into hushed chatter in their wake.
"Sir, that senator," a meek, bespectacled assistant started to say to Tony, "he's here threatening legal—"
"Talk to Hill. She'll handle that potty-trained, shit-eater—see what you made me say? Ladies are present."
The young man's lip quivered, but he acquiesced and folded into the wave of people.
Just before the three made it to the sliding doors down the west steps, Sam spotted Bucky on the second balcony above them. He was with Natasha, deep in conversation, and didn't look down.
"Go ahead," Tony prompted when the overhang of the building receded overhead, "stretch your legs."
The sun sat low above the trees, the corner of the outer fence in the distance past the building. The massive glass windows reflected the sunset, but the colors were warmer than the air.
"I was out here yesterday. You were there." Sam failed to remove the acid from her tone.
"Am I going to be shot out of the sky?" Missy turned to scan the roof and tree line.
Tony glared at Missy. "Hey, Not-Sam, didn't we have a chat about the face?"
Without further comment, Missy changed her visage into Peggy Carter's likeness, smirking at the deep sigh it elicited from Tony, and settled again as Helen Cho. Her height never changed, nor her physique, only the face.
That's either the most disturbing part of this skill, Sam considered, or the greatest weakness.
"And no," Tony added, "the system won't shoot at you for now." He tapped his thick-rimmed glasses. "You got that, Friday?" He whispered with a quick smile.
Sam tried to keep the subject as far away from her as possible. "Why is a senator threatening you?"
"He wants my muffin recipe." Tony blinked but saw his audience was unsatisfied and unamused. "No, I…I may have strained a few international markets by blocking our tech footprint from reaching those ships Ty saw, the ones you—"
Crap, I haven't told Missy that I froze to death in space, kinda.
"Anthony," Missy interjected, saving Sam's panic. "At least two countries were crippled when I left to come here."
"It's working, isn't it? Earth is still here. Stocks don't feed or heal people so never mind. The enemy hasn't moved—why am I…? This is so far above you two's pay grade—"
Sam smirked. "Are you paying me now?"
"Sass," Tony warned.
"Just an observation," Sam mumbled.
"Well, we can't blow them out of the sky—could if I had developed the—besides the point. It's another galactic waiting game. We hope they don't know we are here or think we are not advanced until backup arrives. We're playing dead. We need time."
He saw another exchange of looks. "Why are we even—off the ground, Tinkerbell. Let's see what those gams can do."
"I'll save you some time," Missy said flatly. "I am modeled after all of your innovations. We have, more or less, the same capabilities."
"Who's freaky twin are you now, huh?"
"Perhaps 'freaky sister' is most accurate. I am, in fact, older than you."
"Nope. A thousand times, nope," Tony muttered, shaking his head.
"I would be more interested in seeing what Samantha can do," Missy said, stepping towards her friend.
Sam cocked her head in surprise. "Do? I'm not going to blow anything up right n—"
"Combustion is also used for propulsion," Missy quoted.
Sam's whole body clenched.
Tony considered, slowly looking at his daughter with a devious smile. His curiosity piqued, and he pivoted to close the gap of grass between them. He waved a hand over Sam's head, wiggling his fingers.
"What are you doing?" Sam swallowed.
"I'm sprinkling fairy dust on you. Since that's Tink—and we're sticking with that—so you're 'the kid.' Like Peter Pan—Sam Stark—right? Let's go. Blastoff."
"You want me to be a Lost Boy?"
"If she's a green fairy," he mused, waving a flippant arm. Tony's cadence opened up.
"Right. Okay. Flying," Sam trailed off. Objections slammed forward in Sam's head as if she needed to sneeze. The stress of her predicament watered her eyes, and if she could sweat anymore, her palms would have been clammy instantly.
The gleam of intrigue in his eye sparked an urge to comply in Sam, and since she did want to remain interesting to her father, she had to try.
Aside from not thinking of this theory herself, one she could have tested without an audience before now, Sam blocked thinking about how all those dozens of people inside the building, Bucky included, might see her fail.
Why is the whole thing windows…
She focused before kicking off her flammable shoes. Her toes wiggled in the dry grass, chilled by the shortening days. She worried about setting the crisp blades on fire, but her charred footprints would be significantly smaller than Thor's bifrost stamp.
Years of watching Tony's first flight records over and over were about to pay off. Maybe.
Sam swallowed hard, bent her knees, spread her hands and fingers out parallel to the ground, and thought 'push.'
If Sam thought the most embarrassing outcome would be to fail at getting off the ground, her imagination was what truly failed her.
She jettisoned in a sharp angle to her right, smashing into the ground nearly twenty feet away.
"An excellent start," Missy encouraged, unmoving.
Sam brushed off her shoulder, watching Tony cover his mouth to stop from laughing. She understood the phrase 'nothing hurt but my pride' more than ever.
"About as graceful as my own first flight," he snorted.
"Yes," Sam huffed, "should have known not to start with ten percent thrust. Better two point five…"
Tony's smile blossomed freely. As it always does when we talk about him, Sam noticed, but if it kept him from being mad at her, she'd complete an entire Chaplin routine.
Sam smiled back.
Sam considered her unfortunate flight path while picking crushed green sod from the dark blue fabric of Johnny Storm's old outfit. The night before, after almost igniting in Bucky's rescuing arms, she vowed to wear the ugly unitard always, just in case, hoping someone would soon take pity on her and find a method to tailor the unique material. It fit like a lumpy sack of potatoes, but at least Sam never ended up buck-naked.
"I think," she started, returning to her scorched starting mark, "without the concentrating force of vibranium in my left arm, this side burns hotter and faster, making for a lopsided launch."
Tony excitedly wrapped his arms across his chest and brought a thoughtful thumb to his lips. "Ok, so how can we account for the difference?"
The three shot out numerical theories, tunneling down the rabbit-hole of physics for a few glorious minutes before a short, sweaty little man barreled up the front path to them. He was followed by two very young men in suits who distracted guards from catching their real target.
"Senator," Tony bellowed, "nobody welcomes you."
"I have a cease and desist order," the man spat through his red face and blond bangs, "as well as the authorization of the CSAE to force compliance. You will, Mr. Stark, immediately remove all malware from international satellites or be detained."
Tony clicked his tongue. "Did you not get my memo?"
The man snorted in rage.
"Yes, I've already explained to the Council of Sokovian Accords Enforcement—" Tony pronounced with loathing "—that I will remove the program once the galactic armada of an alien psychopath is removed from our solar system. Sound good? It does to humanity, too." Tony glared at the security guards flanking the portly Senator Cushing, nodding for them to take over.
As the flushed drained from his cheeks, Sam recognized him from his campaign appearances for the '38 elections. She thought he would be taller in person.
"I liked your father better," Tony laughed hollowly. "Nepotism can only get you so far, I guess."
The senator's expression darkened instantly, and the shift in his intensity shot a chill down Sam's spine.
Cushing waived a hand towards her. "How's your daughter?" His voice dropped an octave. "The Council would be interested to ask her about Wakanda."
Missy took three wide strides to press her palm against the fat man's temple.
"You touch her, you die."
The senator hardly flinched. "Call off your suit, or I'll have you shut down."
Tony blinked innocently. "Not my suit," he dismissed.
"I am neither the creation nor the property of Anthony Stark, the Avengers, or any subsidiary thereof." Missy's expression remained flat. "I am also not the only being who would derive satisfaction from—" the cocking noise inside her arm snapped distinctly "—this today."
"Missy, don't," Sam whispered.
"The only rational one left after her mother," Cushing grumbled.
"Shoot him," Tony joked, but Missy stepped back in between Sam and the group. "See, if it were mine, it would obey me—" he shrugged "—but it's almost dinner time and you really should be getting the hell off of my property."
"This isn't over." Cushing slammed papers into one of the guard's chest, and escorted himself and two frightened assistants back to the gates.
Tony nibbled at a thumbnail in the muted light of dusk.
"Are we gonna be arrested?" Sam felt her head spin. Ty and Dee at Xavier's, Doctor Dorcas saving Missy, Tony being nice, flying (sort of), and now an international security organization wanting to question her.
Tony made no reply to Sam and stomped his way back to the gleaming lights of HQ, not before breathing "should have shot him."
In a desperate hope for comfort, Sam scanned the second balcony inside, unable to see a particular backlit figure. What little stability she had found in the past months here had just been overturned within one day, and although grateful to have Missy back, Sam missed Bucky.