CHAPTER FOUR—December 2033
Sam sat quietly with Nathaniel at the far end of the table while the adults chatted. She pushed the last bites of her meal around the plate, bored, but still said nothing to Nate.
At the head of the table, replacing her silverware in excitement, Laura Barton chirped, "Cooper and Lila will come home for Christmas next week."
"Wonderful! How is college treating them?" Natasha asked. Bruce sat beside her, seeming doubly excited to focus on his food.
"Coop might be too busy trying his hand at dating," Clint replied, rolling his eyes above a cheeky smile, "but Lila is kind of a wiz at poli-sci, which, of course, I don't understand a word of."
"Ever the diplomat," Laura mocked, laying a hand over his.
"Mom," Nate whined, "please let me go upstairs." He dropped his fork dramatically on an empty plate.
Laura pursed her lips but nodded. Nate shot up the stairs in his best Quicksilver impression. Laura turned back to Natasha. "They haven't been getting along lately. There's been some…issues at school."
Samantha watched him the whole way up the stairs.
Natasha shaded her face towards Laura and very quietly asked "how is she doing?"
Laura's eyes flicked across the table.
"She can hear you," Sam replied, turning back to her food.
"Those idiots are bullies," Clint cut in, "and I would ask Tony about it but—it's delicate."
Sam sat staring across the table. "They call me Iron Orphan because my father doesn't give a shit about me."
"Sam!" Laura snapped. "Language."
Natasha snorted. Bruce nudged her but cracked a smile.
"I shouldn't be going there anyway," Sam continued. "My teachers made six mistakes last week—that I told them about—and I'm bored."
"We discussed this, Sam," Clint turned. "You already take classes above Nate, and he's five years older. You can't just show up at a college."
Lil'Sam dropped her own fork. "I can if I tell them my last name—"
Laura slammed her hand down on the table, but, ashamed of her outburst, made it as if she were cleaning up the plates.
Natasha blushed very, very slightly.
Bruce perked up at Sam's gumption. "What are you interested in learning about?"
Sam looked at him, a tiny Tony with softer features. "I enjoy biology and chemistry, but they won't let me take the real classes for microbiology and organic chemistry yet. They've kept me in a lower math class deliberately, just so they can refuse me the next grade level."
Clint rubbed his face with one hand, landing with his chin in his palm. Laura's smile was strained as she took some dishes to the kitchen.
"I'm fascinated by mechanics, but Uncle Clint is afraid the mower will eat my hand. I've finished all the books in the house, even Lila's college textbooks she left." Sam became agitated, quickly saying, "now they won't let me research equations my dad and grandpa worked on in, like, the eighties, just for something to do!"
"Yeah," Clint said to Bruce, "that was four months ago, and I haven't heard the end of it."
Bruce's interest remained peaked. "What were you looking up?"
"Isn't most of their work still classified," Nat mumbled.
"I'm twelve," Sam croaked, "and you make me go to school—fine. But do I have to be bored stupid?! What if it takes them so long to teach me something new that my whole life is wasted waiting for them to learn something I didn't already figure out?"
The ferocity with which Lil'Sam argued had the adults leaning away in their chairs. Silence fell over the table, interrupted only by the tapping sound of dishes in the sink. Nat went to the kitchen with another few plates.
Laura gave an exasperated look.
Moments later Clint and Bruce joined them.
"It's fine," Bruce whispered, "I'm letting her look at some stuff on my tablet."
"Now, I love that girl, but…" Laura said, hushed, "what do we do? She is basically smarter than everyone in this house already."
Clint snorted at the understatement.
"She's almost a teenager." The mother of three made a strangling gesture in mid-air and half-growled. "We can't treat her like an adult, can we?! That's not fair." She looked to her husband for an answer he did not have.
Clint shrugged. "Look, enhanced humans are popping up out of the sea now. We're talking about Atlantis—didn't see that coming—and new threats Star Lord asks us about. It's a mess. I can't get Tony to sit still to ask him about it."
"He hasn't asked?" Nat's face dropped, though she would never fain surprise at the obvious response.
Laura looked desperately at Bruce. "This is us slowing her down. This," she waved towards the other room. "Everyday."
Clint shook his head. "If I mention her even at all, Tony says 'that's great' and changes the subject."
Sam appeared in the doorway, handing Bruce's tablet back. "I'm sorry I was rude at dinner, Auntie," she said to Laura.
"S'more," Clint sighed, rubbing his forehead again, "we are doing our best here."
"Oh, honey," Laura added, "I know you're upset about school and those kids, but it will get better."
The girl shrugged. "Uncle Bruce," Sam said turning to the surprised guest, "if possible, I'd like this—" she motioned towards his tablet "—I mean, one of my own for Christmas. I think it would be easier to learn than classes at school."
Bruce looked at this young girl's glassy brown eyes. It was Howard, Anthony, and Samantha asking all at once, and if he knew anything about the personality behind those eyes, she needed a problem to solve, data to swim in, and a pile of extraneous detail to sort through. She'd come up with something impossible and make it happen, but she needed to be given some free rein and probably a smoothie.
"I'll go to bed now. Goodnight." Sam left without waiting for another reply. Also some social skills, Bruce thought.
There was silence in the kitchen.
"When was the last time a Stark made anything easy," Nat finally muttered.
It was clear that Natasha attempted to decorate Sam's room at Headquarters. There were three strings of colored lights, one around the door frame, one woven between photos across the dresser, and one carefully framing the faux window above the bed. It was a projection; most of the living quarters at HQ were inner rooms for safety, and in a few years, Sam might have seen the irony in that. For now, staring at the mimicked outdoors was just as entertaining as the real thing. She was always at the safe house with the Bartons, always watching fallow fields and wildflowers, watching Laura raise her kids.
It wasn't that Samantha envied them as much as she felt empty, blank, and plain. Learning made sense. Learning filled space with knowledge, time with history, mind with purpose. What Sam didn't know was her family, where she came from.
Regular internet searches revealed a plethora of dramatic stories about her playboy father and almost nothing about her mother except a copious number of references to her clothing. Pepper Potts wore power suits, lots of blue, and high heels, and the daughter of Pepper Potts looked nothing like Pepper Potts.
Samantha Stark didn't look particularly nice in blue. She did not have bright features, or light eyes, or golden hair. She did not seem to be sprouting tall and shapely. She wasn't in hundreds of pictures with Tony Stark. She did not have Tony Stark's love.
Sam looked over at the photos on the dresser, all of which were at least eight years old when there came a knock on the door.
There he was: Tony Stark, shoulders squared and stone-faced.
"Ok, kid, time for presents and dinner. Ready?"
Sam nodded. His voice wasn't even familiar to her. By phone alone, she could distinguish between Nat, Wanda, Sharon, Steve, Big Sam, Bruce, and Peter Parker. Turned out Sam had one time actually spoken to Nick Fury, but he simply and quickly said "give me Clint." Not a particularly fun or friendly man, it seemed.
Sam slid off the bed and walked to the hall as requested. Her father kept in front of her, looking down and to the side to ensure she was following.
"Are you tired from the drive?"
"Not really. Nat let me watch some old funny movies on the way," Sam replied, trying to smile.
"Really? What'd you watch? Airplane? Tommy Boy? Happy Gilmore?" It was the first time he turned his face towards her in full. Sam side-stepped into the elevator just as the doors closed.
"Finding Nemo and the singing animals one," she mumbled.
Tony's head hung a little lower. "Right," he said, grinding his teeth. The elevator stopped, and the two walked out into the warmer light of a decorated tree. "You gonna be a singer, then?"
"No, sir, I don't sing—"
"Don't call me that. Why would you call me that, huh?" He bristled and turned. "I barely called my father that, or 'dad,' but he definitely deserved being irritated by formality. Or so I thought…" He trailed off, shoving his hands in his pockets. Tony resumed walking faster, and narrowly missed running directly into Dr. Banner.
He asked Bruce if the room was ready before disappearing inside.
Bruce smiled. "You're gonna like this, I promise."
The large room was filled with falling snow, or what looked like snow was falling, and it was pure magic. Unable to help herself, Sam beamed and jumped a little. The Parker children, seven and four years old, ran around excitedly, but Sam barely noticed. She stared up at the grey ceiling, fascinated that the illusion held, looking for projectors. Briefly, the giant, ear-to-ear smile was back, a breathy laugh escaped Sam as she spun in the flurries. As if affected by the wind her movement generated, the bits scattered. She clasped her hands over her chest. It was perfect Christmas, as promised.
Tony stood behind the small wet bar in the corner, pouring himself a whiskey, watching. Her coloring was all him, that was obvious, but the laugh… that, the smile, and the way she put up her hands in happiness was all Pepper. It was all precise, genuine, and feminine, simultaneously precious and terrifying. He couldn't stand to look at her, not for too long. Bits, flashes kept creeping in. He wanted to just keep going. Next project, next problem, next fight. He'd seen too many narrowly-missed, world's-end scenarios rip apart his bubble of existence. What separated him from the abyss? It used to be Pepper, but nothing was safe near him. It hurt too much for Samantha to be around anyway.
"Any takers?" Tony looked around, shaking the bottle gently. Bruce, ever sober, did not even glance over. Natasha mouthed 'later' while shaking her head and settling onto the couch. Peter raised a finger which Tony completely ignored, pouring himself an additional two fingers. "More for me," he toasted.
"It's a shame more of the team couldn't make it," Wanda said as she entered, floating presents she brought to hover just out of reach of the Parkers' hands. "This," she gestured to the snow, "is a nice touch."
"I thought the kids would like it," Tony replied. He met Sam's eyes but found her inscrutable.
"Present time," Natasha declared, queuing Wanda to release the packages. Maximoff found herself in a seat next to Samantha.
"I can't wait!" Bruce jumped up, alarming the pair seated beside him.
Nat unclenched quickly, a small lift in the corner of her red lips. "Chill out, Bruce. I got you the same as last year anyway."
"Shucks," Tony exclaimed, "I got him wet wipes, too."
"Tone, not again," Bruce whined. He handed a slim silver package to Sam, then went back under the tree for more presents for the Parkers.
"Gotta keep big guy calm, happy, and squeaky clean," Tony added, breaking his grin to take another swig.
Sam searched the edges, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth—just like how Tony concentrated—and slid a nail along the edge until she heard a click. The outside vanished, deconstructing itself to reveal a Next-Gen Stark tablet.
"Fully loaded with texts on basically every science," Bruce blurted, giddy as a schoolboy.
The joy blossomed over her whole face as Sam lunged to hug Bruce on the opposite couch. "It's perfect," she squealed, among other unintelligible things, "thank you!"
The Parkers continued to shred paper and boxes as if they were dinosaurs feasting on their prey. Tony thought back to previous Christmases, ones where Sam sat just as patiently, entertaining the younger kids, sipping hot chocolate, and quietly watching movies. Tony thought proudly of Samantha's comfort with silence and stillness. He'd never tripped over her or her things, never had to help with homework, never been interrupted during a project. Tony had never given Howard that kind of space and satisfaction, yet Tony felt as though without those memories, there weren't many memories at all. The speed at which she ran over to show gratitude…she had never done that for Tony either.
"Well then I have a surprise for you, kiddo," Tony jealously yelled without prompt. He almost shocked himself with the force of his declaration. "Follow me!"
As he got to his feet, he realized everyone in the room was staring at him, so he added, "carry on. Just me and Sam."
Storage Sub-Basement E was the farthest point into HQ that Sam had ever seen and Tony ever really walked. It took two separate elevators and a scaffold-like staircase to get down to its entrance. It was so hard to get to that there wasn't even a security code to open the door, which instead required zero electricity and sported a spinning wheel as if in a bank or submarine. No one else made the trek down with them, and Sam was almost positive from the darkness and dust that no one ever had before. Tony still had no real clue what the surprise was.
They made it to the door. "Inside here," he started, "is all old tech from me and my father." Tony spun the handle and gave it a heavy tug. "You can pick out one thing to…play with."
Despite the obvious misunderstanding of how old Sam was and how to speak to someone that age, she was excited. Her eyes went comically wide, and her mouth slacked open.
"Really?" Sam held her breath.
Tony flung open the door with great drama and flicked the lights on inside. He covered his ears too late to smother the piercing scream Sam let loose. When he recovered his hearing, he called in after the blur who zipped past him. "One thing!"
It wasn't the storage for any Iron Man or viable tech from his father; this stuff was so old that the real-life, human Jarvis boxed it up with Howard none the wiser. If Samantha could only pick one thing from inside, odds were she would pick the most advanced paperweight known to man—and still be overjoyed. However, Howard Stark historians and enthusiasts would have died to place even one piece of it in a glass case above a gold plaque. Tony figured the same joy may apply to a kid with a vested interest in the family.
Genius, Tony repeated in his head, as he often did.
He pulled up his retractable screen and flipped through his email and messages. He took several minutes to zip through threat assessments and dossiers, highlighting parts for Nat and Captain Barnes, approving an updated schematic for Banner, and then it occurred to Tony that there might be some dangerous stuff inside.
When he walked in to see what Sam had come up with, he was slightly offended that his daughter was not knee-deep in deconstructing some machine to see its inner workings. Sam, hands clasped behind her back, stood bent over, carefully and methodically inspecting each item.
"Have you even…touched anything?" Tony asked confused.
"Of course not," Sam chirped, snapping upright.
Tony squinted suspiciously. "Are we even related," he mumbled, the rebutted, "never mind. You haven't found anything you're interested in?" He surveilled the room, finding at least six items he wanted to refurbish in that cursory glance.
Sam indecisively opened and closed her mouth. "Yes," she said hesitantly.
"But you haven't even touched anything? Not a tinkerer, are you?" After no immediate reply, he made to leave. "Fine. Pick your present, and let's get back for hot chocolate and dinner."
Sam plucked a small, metal-encased drive from a few feet away. It was so heavy for its size and rattled as if something fell loose inside. Before going back to the staircase, Tony took a moment to flip the drive over in his hands and admire the perfectly useless piece of junk she'd chosen. He hadn't seen a power cord that fit this technology in his lifetime. He was pleased with himself for thinking of such a quick solution to ensuring he'd made the best impression with this gift with the least effort. It had only cost him the time and energy to walk from one end of the facility to the other.
Genius.