One Republic - If I Lose Myself
Florence & The Machine - Hunger
Vance Joy - Riptide
Chapter 11, If I Lose Myself:
In 1991, Holly was eight years old. Her mother Rosie Harper, stood in the kitchen of her parent's home listening as her daughter read out loud. For a Monday, it was turning out to be an eventful week.
This morning Holly's principal had asked that Rosie join him and her teachers for a parent teacher conference. Rosie walked in with trepidation and out with a sense of bewilderment and no small amount of pride.
Her daughter was reading at a high school level and had been given progressively more difficult math and science problems/projects in class since the beginning of the year. The principal and the teachers asked for Rosie's permission to test Holly's IQ this morning in their meeting. They suspected, as had Rosie for a while, that Holly might be able to skip a few grades.
Holly paused in reading Moby Dick (it was the most advanced book Rosie or her parents owned). "I don't like Ahab."
Rosie turned a bit and leaned against the counter. "Why sweetie?"
Her small daughter, who had begun to look more and more like her father, frowned. She looked down at the open pages, put one hand under the front cover and closed the book. "He lied to everyone."
The statement was so matter of fact, Rosie took a minute to marvel at her daughter's comprehension. "Okay, well, why don't we go pick a book from the bookcase?"
Holly nodded, twitched her small nose and lifted the hardcover book in her arms. It took a few minutes for Holly to choose. Rosie stood back after she took Moby Dick from her daughter and put it back on the top shelf (where Holly could not reach yet). The bookcase, as arranged by Rosie's mother, had all the children's books at the very bottom for Holly to reach.
Behind them, Dale Harper and Claudia Harper watched the news. It was part of their nightly ritual after returning home from work. Dinner with their daughter and granddaughter, then watching the news to see what was happening in the world, afterward bed.
Holly pushed up on the tips of her small toes and took a worn book from the shelf Rosie's books were on. Most were paperbacks, and picked up from second hand bookstores. Rosie, if nothing else, enjoyed being thrifty. Granted it started because she was a teenage mother, but it wasn't anything to be ashamed of. Picking up a book for ten cents when her peers were paying six or seven dollars made her smart, not poor.
The book Holly removed from the shelf was one of Rosie's favorites. Dune. "I love that book." Rosie told her daughter. "I don't know if you will."
Holly smiled up at her mother. "If you like it, I will like it mom."
Rosie tapped her daughter's nose. "Smarty pants."
Holly wrinkled her nose in response. "Can we read it now? I finished my homework." Her sixth grade homework. They gave her work for a sixth grader and she finished it in under thirty minutes.
"Of course we can." Rosie held out one hand to her daughter. Holly put her hand in Rosie's bigger one and they began the short walk back to the kitchen.
"Breaking News," one of the reporters on screen said ominously, "this just in, Howard and Maria Stark were found earlier this evening having died in an apparent car accident."
Holly looked up at her mother who had stopped walking with her and turned toward the tv screen. Her grandparents who usually talked while they watched the news were silent too. The man on the screen talked more about the people that died, about the boy they left behind and their money. They were rich people.
When her mother breathed out a shaky breath, and knelt down in front of Holly, Holly was confused. "Mom?"
"You don't have to tell her now." Grandpa said. "It can wait."
Holly's mother shook her head. "She deserves to know."
"Holly," Rosie began, her voice a little unsteady. "Do you remember when I told you about your father?"
Holly nodded. Her dad met her mom one summer at the beach in California. They fell in love and made her. They were very young when it happened so they couldn't be together. His name was Anthony Stark.
Oh. Her young mind put her mom's serious face together with the names of the people that died. Her lower lip jutted out and her eyes began to burn.
"It's okay baby." Rosie hugged her daughter. "It will be okay. I promise." It took a minute or two for the sobbing to stop. Rosie held her daughter the entire time. She cleaned away tears gently with her thumbs. "Do you want to write your dad a letter with me? We can tell him we're sorry about his parents."
Holly nodded silently. She took her mother's hand again when Rosie stood up. They went back into the kitchen. Rosie retrieved a notepad and a pen from her room and brought them into the kitchen. Holly had already opened Dune and was reading the third page.
Rosie wondered, sometimes, what Tony would have thought of their daughter. Their tiny, amazing, brilliant daughter. Her heart ached as she put the pad down on the table. Every letter Rosie ever sent had gone unanswered. Every single one.
"Do you want to start the letter sweetie? You can call him dad or Tony."
Holly thought about it for a moment. "Dad."
"Okay, why don't you," Holly had already picked up the pen and begun writing.
Unlike all the others, this letter was returned about two weeks later. The word REFUSED stamped across the front. Not even hand written. It was stamped in bright red, capital letters. She stood in the living room next to the bookcase just staring at the returned letter as if it held some kind of answer. Why was this one returned and not any of the others? Did Tony not want to know about his daughter? Did he know and not care?
He'd seemed so freaked out when the condom broke. After they both calmed down he'd given her his address, his phone number, and promised if something happened he would be there. He took her address and her phone number too. Tony had awkwardly joked that if they did end up with a kid, at least they were both good looking and smart.
Rosie looked up when she heard a key in the front door. Oh no. She grabbed the largest book off the bookshelf (which ironically was Moby Dick) and stuffed the letter into the pages. If her father or mother saw the returned letter they'd lose their minds. If her daughter did it would break her little heart.
Later, after Rosie died her parents took most of her books, including the copy of Moby Dick, and donated them. They didn't look through the pages before the books were donated or they might have found the refused letter. The couple accepting the books at the second hand bookstore also didn't look through the pages. The donations from the Harper family were sorted, shelved and forgotten about.
Until, that is, Monday January 23rd 2012 when Jacob Gould was in a second hand bookstore on Long Island. While he is not exactly a person of consequence to the story, he is a catalyst. He liked thrift stores and second hand bookstores. He always felt more at home reading a book than he did spending time with people.
Which is why he was wandering through stacks instead of going to class like he should have been. He didn't much like going to community college. It was his parent's idea. If he didn't go, he was going to get kicked out of his parent's house but then again, they'd never know if he skipped one class. He was looking to read while he was in the store. It wasn't as if he was allowed to come home with a new book.
His parents. He rolled his eyes heavenward. Which is how he caught sight of an old copy of Moby Dick. It looked like the copy his brother's dog ruined when they were younger. He loved the story. He reached up, plucking it from the shelf and opening it. To a letter.
A letter addressed to Tony Stark stamped with the word REFUSED in a fading, dull red shade. Huh. Cool.
Jacob looked up and around, seeing no one else. He set the book aside to open the envelope and read a few lines. What!
Holy. Shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.
Who did you call when you uncovered a secret this big about one of the richest, most powerful men in the world?
There were a lot of things Holly was expecting Tuesday night for dinner. Making Boca burgers with avocado and spicy mayo was one of those things. Seasoned curly fries sat on a tray on top of the stove while the oven warmed up to 425 degrees. Her father and soon to be step-mother were once again taking the boys so she could have some fun with friends.
"I feel like I see them less than when you lived upstate." Her father griped when he came down stairs.
"Excuses." Holly replied with just as much snark. "You work too much."
He lifted Jamie into his arms while Holly put Tommy in the stroller with some of his toys. "I've cut back."
"Uh huh. And that suit you've been working on downstairs, that's Mark 101? 102?" One hand on her hip, head cocked, Tony wasn't ready to see her like that.
If her hair had been blonde, that might have been Rosie looking at him. His grandson leaned on his shoulder as if the boy could sense how that image struck him. Tony kissed Jamie's forehead. "Where'd your mom learn to sass her old man like she does? Huh?" Tommy made a snorting-laughing sound and kicked his legs in the stroller. "Oh," Tony crouched to put Jamie in the stroller next to his brother, "From you, huh?" He tapped Tommy's nose. "That's my boy. Now learn to be sarcastic and witty at the same time. Then we can start talking about world domination."
Holly crossed both arms over her chest, eyebrows raised, "World domination? Doesn't the Avenger Initiative have some sort of rule against one or more members rising to power and taking over the world?"
"See, you are my daughter, you know it would work."
"Of course it would." She shrugged off the diaper bag and handed it to him. "We're Starks."
Tony paused, regarding his daughter while taking the bag. Gloves off, she trusted him. "Kid."
"Yeah dad?"
His thirty year old daughter. She called him dad. "If it doesn't work out with," the neanderthal, "Logan, I…" He hung the diaper bag across the handles of the stroller. "I wanted to tell you something. You don't have to. It's your choice, your life, but I want you to know you have the option."
Confused, Holly asked, "What option?"
"You are a Stark." He told her. "It's your name, you're my daughter. If you decide to go through with a divorce and change your last name, you can hyphenate and be Harper-Stark or-" He was cut off by Holly throwing her arms around him, hugging him. He hugged her back, squeezing her a little. This isn't their first hug, but he can count how many there have been. His daughter spent a lifetime learning how not to touch people.
He's happy to be part of her unlearning those habits.
Apologies, as they go, were easier with alcohol and chocolate. Albeit, Remy brought a book with him, though not the kind he told Logan he was going to give as a peace offering. He knew Holly better than to give her a book from one of her favorite authors before taking a look at her bookshelf. In the Barnes & Noble paper bag was a dense paperback, by a new fantasy author. Holly was always shopping for something fun to read.
Where a mother of two got some time to read, he'd never figure out. Still that Tuesday around five (as he'd requested the afternoon the Friday before), he headed into the garage with the book, and an overnight bag since he was also bringing a bottle of wine. No one could say Remy wasn't responsible when he drank.
He would have delivered the book and the wine too, if the guard at the underground parking area for Stark Tower hadn't stopped him. Had the guard been of the feminine persuasion, he might have sweetly talked his way past her with a smile, a little flirting and no small amount of charm. The man in the booth was nearly two hundred pounds of solid muscle and at least six foot four. Remy let out a string of colorful French-adjacent curse words while the guard contacted whomever he needed to contact.
Around thirty seconds after the guard spoiled the surprise, Remy's was waved through. He was in the middle of parking when Pete, chewing bright blue bubblegum and bouncing on limited edition silver and blue converse grinned at him. Remy rolled down the passenger side window to say, "You were coming here and you did not tell Remy?"
Pete shrugged, "What's for dinner. Tell me something good. Ivy can't make it, Kurt has a migraine...a book, wine and an 80's Greatest Hits cd? You messed up bad." Pete drew out the word bad with a number of elongated a's. Like a kid about to tattle.
Remy rolled his eyes. "What are you doing down here anyway?" He asked after he rolled the window back up and got out of the car with the gift bag in tow. "Shouldn't you be upstairs feeding your metabolism already?"
Peter pointed upward. "The AI hates me. If I try to do more than get past a guard," He tipped his head toward the guard post, "the whole tower goes into lockdown."
"I am incapable of hating anyone Mister Maximoff." Jarvis interjected from speakers somewhere above their heads. "Miss Harper has asked me to remind you both, there is a strict no power use rule at dinner tonight."
Peter frowned. "Hey."
Remy snorted lightly. "Come on." The two got on the elevator. When they reached the lobby another man got on. Remy found him vaguely familiar looking.
Dark hair, slight salt and pepper stubble, brown eyes. He held a plain brown bag in his arms.
"Dinner with Holly?" Peter said.
The man's brow creased. "I...yes? You are?"
"Peter," he knocked Remy with an elbow, "Remy. We're teachers at-"
"Xavier's." The man finished for him. He juggled the bag, holding out one hand. "Bruce Banner."
The Hulk? No.
Remy almost tilted his head. How could...well it was always the quiet, unassuming ones wasn't it? He punched Thor through a wall. If Remy hadn't been blasting cards in the face of some nasty aliens, he might have had time to laugh at it. He was formulating something to say when Pete went right ahead and;
"You're The Hulk?"
Steve was stalling, he knew it the way he knows summers in New York were long and humid. He knew it like he knew the sun would rise and set tomorrow. He also knew somewhere in the last two weeks, something changed. Something in him changed.
He watched Holly and Remy talk animatedly over the merits of someone named Elton John versus someone named Billy Joel. They're both singers, they both play piano and from what he understood, the only differences were age and audience. They're almost a comedy act, Holly and Remy. Yesterday, when Holly invited Natalie and Steve to dinner, she did say one of her friends from the school was going to be there.
"Remy's making it up to me for meddling." Holly said with a small laugh. It is clear to him, probably to everyone, Remy and Holly are close.
Remy, whom Steve met not more than thirty minutes ago took Elton John's side, while the southern man pointed out to Steve;
"Holly only likes Billy Joel because he's also from Long Island." He added a roll of his eyes for effect.
"Oi, Le Beau," Holly pointed at him with a gloved finger, "I will punch you. Don't think I won't. You left those cards at home." Instantly her face fell.
Pete's arm went around her shoulder. "Hey, Holly, so…"
And just like that he distracts her from whatever thought crossed her mind.
Her friends, her co-workers, they're good people. They genuinely care about Holly and her well being. And, he took a sip of the white wine - it didn't do anything for him but Holly promised it would taste like summer (it reminded him of peaches and strawberries and the summer heat and the beach) - watching them he realized he too, genuinely cared about her. Probably more than he should care about a married woman.
Which brought him back to stalling. He was stalling in answering Fury. He was avoiding direct questions from Natasha. He wasn't, at least until this moment, acknowledging the reason behind the stalling. She smiled at Pete, green eyes not quite as sad and leaned into Pete to hug him. The silver haired man hugged her back with a small smile.
Steve could almost hear Bucky's voice in his head, his friend's hand on his shoulder. Married women, they're fun to look at, but, Bucky would have whistled, squeezed Steve's shoulder and shook his head, they're one hell of a lot of trouble. Green eyes caught his from across the small table.
Having fun? Holly mouthed to him.
He nodded, returning her smile with one of his own.
That was the problem.
This married woman was worth the trouble.
"Remy can dance to nearly every Elton John song." It was still a little odd Remy talked about himself in the third person.
"Billy Joel has done, count them, a record number of Madison Square Garden tours and all of them sold out!"
"Ah, ah, stop, no more. I can't take it." Pete groaned. "We're going to let the impartial parties pick the winner."
Next to Steve, Natasha laughed, shook her head and said, "I am not an impartial party. I like Billy Joel and Elton John."
The absolute devastation Holly managed to pull off, holding her chest over her heart with two hands and making a wounded sound. "Ouch, Nat." Her gaze immediately turned toward Bruce.
Banner on Steve's other side wryly responded, both hands up in surrender. "I've always been a fan of both."
Holly threw her napkin down, exclaiming, "oh my god!"
Remy, grinning from ear to ear, both elbows planted on the table, leaned over his plate toward Steve. "Mon ami."
Holly, her dark green eyes pleading, "Please don't say Elton."
Steve, shaking his head, stated as diplomatically as possible, "They're both on the list."
That is how dinner somehow turned into listening to both Billy Joel and Elton John and a handful of other bands from the seventies and eighties. Holly had shared a brief moment with Remy and a silent conversation right after Steve admitted having both singers on the list.
Steve believed it went:
Truce?
Truce.
He was close. It went more like:
SHIELD sucks.
Oui.
Like teenagers at a house party pieces of furniture were cleared and moved. There's a space now where the couch and table were a few minutes ago.
Natasha dancing with Peter and Remy pouting over Holly's abysmal lack of digital music, Doctor Banner looking through Holly's records with no small amount of appreciation. Steve stood off to the side, enjoying having friends. Meeting new people.
A shoulder bumped his arm.
Bright green eyes met his. "Still having fun?" She held a cup of water out to him.
He took it, "thank you. Yeah. Your friends are swell."
She snorted, snickering. "You're showing your age, old man."
Holly's phone cut through the laughter and chatter with a sharpness only Ke$ha could achieve. Who was calling her this late in the evening? It was almost seven thirty.
Pete grabbed her phone first, looking at the display. "The New York Times?"
The water lowered in her hand. The New York Times? The New York Times called her? For what? Warily Holly took the phone, letting it go to voicemail before navigating to the number for voicemail and calling. It picked up and an electronic voice let her know she had one new message.
"Good evening Miss Harper, my name is Andrea Ginsberg, I'm with the New York Times. I am a fact checker. This is in regard to a letter that was presented to us earlier today. A man claims to have found a letter from one Rose Harper and you, Holly Harper to your father, Tony Stark. We would like to-"
Holly yanked the phone away from her head, stabbing the red button a few more times than she needed to to end the call. Calmly, without giving way to the panic forming in her chest, she texted her father the code word they'd agreed upon a long time ago.
Cat's out of the bag.
She found herself texting the same to Logan, then stopping. He didn't know what it meant. Or would he?
She stayed frozen for so long Remy said, "Holly?"
The panic finally rose into her throat. Her vocal cords caught on the words. "The New York Times got a hold of one of my mom's letters to my dad."
"Oh shit." Pete said softly.
Truth and Chaos, where have you been!
I moved to California about two years ago now. And, dear readers, I'm happy.
I was absolutely miserable back in NY. I went to work, came home and never got to switch my brain off. I had to take drugs to sleep. I was responsible for other people (which is not a me thing. I can be responsible for for my cats and my pupper [who passed this January] but humans, no.) and a house I didn't own, and bills that weren't entirely mine. Depression is the reason I had so much time to write.
I'm not going to stop writing. I will finish this story. It may be a while longer than originally planned though. Sorry about that! I found that I wrote more when I was depressed and sad.
Regardless, it looks like the way things are going in the Marvel universe is to multi-universe. Which spawns a whole bunch of plot bunnies (who may or may not see the light of day) in my brain pan
