A/N: I feel terrible that this is a recurring warning, but don't underage drink!
2003
Maggie turned seventeen back home in Malibu in her summer break, which she spent in the workshop with Tony customising the three cars he had bought while she was away, and careening down the Pacific Coast Highway on her motorcycle.
When she got back to MIT, she drove up to her flight school and her brand new Private Pilot's license was waiting for her. She couldn't legally fly for hire yet, but she didn't care about getting paid so she started flying some odd jobs for the community of pilots at the flight school: flying planes to different airfields as demand required, flying short charter flights, and even instructing from time to time. She didn't tell Tony or Rhodey.
This was the year that Maggie figured out how to fit partying into her schedule. Now she was as old as the other freshmen, everyone stopped babying her. Maggie threw herself into MIT's party scene with wholehearted delight, and made herself a pretty convincing fake ID to sneak into the Cambridge bars. Occasionally a bouncer would realise that she was Margaret Stark, and remember that Margaret Stark was probably not 21, but Maggie had learned that a bit of makeup and a change of her hairstyle was often enough to make her unrecognizable.
She wasn't as bad as Tony had been in MIT (his shenanigans were legendary at the college), but she was no wallflower. She partied, and made mistakes, and even got busted for underage drinking once. It was bad luck really, since she'd gotten cornered while running from a house party. She learned to plan her escape routes beforehand.
November, 2003
Manhattan
Tony awoke at two in the morning in his New York hotel room to an insistent beep on his phone. He'd travelled down for a 'Pioneers in Weapons Technology' conference that Pepper had bullied him into attending. When the phone reached a truly annoying pitch he cracked an eye open.
"What?"
The beeping cut out and J.A.R.V.I.S.'s smooth voice took over. "Sir, Ms Stark has just been arrested by the Cambridge Police Department."
Both eyes cracked open. "Uh, why?"
"The prosecutor has decided to charge her with assault."
"O… kay," Tony mumbled, and swung his legs out of bed. "Can you, um - Happy? The car?"
"You wish to drive to Massacheussets, sir?"
"My sister's in jail, J.A.R.V.I.S."
"Very well, sir."
Three and a half hours later (Happy had really stepped on it), Tony stood in the Cambridge Police Department front lobby with a paper cup of coffee in his hand and bags under his eyes. He checked his watch, then the door to the back. There were only two sleepy officers manning the front desk.
Finally, the door he'd been staring at swung open to reveal Maggie, in a rumpled denim skirt and a shiny top, with eyeliner drawn around her eyes and her hair all mussed up. The officer beside her gestured at the lobby door almost sarcastically, then shut the door behind her.
Maggie turned, spotted Tony, and instantly looked sheepish.
"Hey," Tony said, then jerked his head. "Let's get out of here."
They walked wordlessly out of the police department and both winced at the pale dawn light outside. Maggie wore heels which clicked with every step she took, and wrapped her arms around herself in the chill. Tony wished he'd brought a jacket.
"Thanks for bailing me out," Maggie said at the same time as Tony said: "What happened?"
"Sorry," Maggie winced. Her arms tightened around herself and she sniffed. She smelled like booze. "Really, I mean… this is a mess."
Tony shook his head. "I mean, I can hardly talk. So what happened?"
She swallowed and looked down. "I… I was in a club."
"Shocker. The police told me that."
"And I was with my friends, they're not, um, old enough either, but then I was coming back from the bathroom and I saw this guy" - a shadow crossed her face - "put something in my friend Priya's drink while she was fixing her shoe."
There was a long silence, filled only by her noisy heels as they walked down the pavement to where Happy had parked the car. Their breaths came as puffs of condensation.
"And?" Tony prompted.
"And I punched him," Maggie said, her eyes fixed downward.
He eyed her. "Did he fight back? Are you okay?"
Her mouth twitched. "Knocked his lights out."
Tony made a face and glanced back at the Police Department. "So did you tell them that?"
"Yes."
"And they still charged you?"
She shrugged, but seemed less stiff. "It's still a crime to punch people, apparently."
His sharp, annoyed breath came out as another burst of condensation. "Did they arrest the guy?"
"No," she bit out.
Tony drew in a long breath. "Is your friend okay?"
"Yeah, the others got her out of there." Maggie reached up to push back her tangled hair, and he eyed her fist.
"Did you hurt your hand?"
"Nah, Happy taught me how to punch people."
"Of course he did." They'd reached the car, and Tony paused for a moment on the pavement. He eyed his sister: taller than him, especially in her heels, her skin prickled with goosebumps from the cold dawn air and her eyes tired and surrounded by black smudges. Finally, finally, she met his gaze. He grinned at her. "Let's go get some food."
The assault charge did end up going on Maggie's record, but since she was still technically a juvenile it'd get sealed anyway. The prosecutor had heard the name Stark and wanted to make a point.
Tony framed the arrest report and put it up in the mansion. Pepper didn't like it, she was worried he was making fun of Maggie, but when Maggie came home for Christmas and grinned at the sight of it, Pepper sighed and decided it was there to stay.
2004
For some months, Maggie and Hiroki had been discussing the idea of firsts. They'd been each other's first friend at college after all, and though they'd both found other friends and had gone down different academic paths (Hiroki was set to become a Chemical Engineer), they each appreciated the other's straightforwardness, familiarity, and brilliance.
So after some discussion, and agreeing on some ground rules, they became each other's first. As good friends, they slept together in Maggie's dorm room out of trust and mutual curiosity. Hiroki was sweet, if inexperienced, and Maggie the same, but they each knew how to listen to each other and that turned out some excellent results. They stood together in the shower afterwards, discussing it, and Maggie thought yes, I like this very much.
Thus began a very determined period of experimentation for Maggie, which she approached with the same enthusiasm and drive as any of her research projects. She figured out what she liked, and who she liked. She was hardly the playboy that her brother was, though she was no nun. She didn't like one night stands so much, since she preferred to know the person and have some measure of their character. But she wouldn't really call it dating. She asked out fellow students in lectures, tried out pickup lines at her extracurriculars, and worked her way through frat houses and sororities to her heart's content.
Once she'd figured sex out she tried her hand at romance, but nothing stuck. Her longest relationship, with a girl in her Bioengineering class, lasted only four months. She'd tried, but she didn't have a lot in common with most people. And she couldn't stand the vulnerability of romance. She had so many parts of her mind and her heart she didn't like to visit.
But Maggie was great at making friends. She and Hiroki never slept with each other again, as he met a lovely girl in his swimming team, but they stayed fast friends. And Maggie had formed friendships across the college and beyond, never deep, but friendly. She'd learned long ago how to weed out the fame seekers from those who actually wanted to know her.
Maggie watched her friends grow close, forming couples and then breaking up and then finding someone new, with curiosity and some confusion. She didn't understand how someone could bind themselves to another so completely, tell them all their secrets and open every part of themselves. Maggie enjoyed her freedom, and her secrets, too much.
But dating - if that's what you wanted to call it - was fun.
February, 2004
"Sir, you have an incoming call from Ms Stark." J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice roused Tony from sleep with a flinch.
He smacked his bedside table, winced, then felt around for his phone. The screen was lit up and he blurrily noticed the time: 1:14 AM.
He gave up on trying to navigate the blinding screen. "J.A.R.V.I.S., accept the call." The ringtone finally stopped, and Tony brought the phone to his ear.
"Maggie, what is it? What's wrong?"
"HEY," she shouted down the line, and he winced away from the receiver.
"Hey," he said in a more reasonable tone. "You wouldn't be drinking again, would you?"
"No, that's illegal," she said. He couldn't hear music, so he supposed she'd left whatever party she'd been at. He audibly heard her swallow. "Hey." Her voice had gone soft.
Tony scrambled to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes. "What's up, Maggot?"
"I'm bisexual." There was no fear or worry in her soft voice. It sounded as if she was just… informing him. After a moment she added: "Which means I like boys and-"
"I know what it means," he chuckled, still coming down from his initial panic. "Thanks for telling me. You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm not super comfortable with the labelling thing, like who's to say I'm not pansexual?" she wondered aloud. "But it's as good a word as any. And I've known for a while now but I realized I forgot to tell you, just now, so I thought I'd tell you. People tell their families these things."
Tony smiled. "Thank you, Mags." He thought about it. "So does this mean… is there anyone…?"
"Oh, no," she said offhandedly. "Well there was this girl Alicia, but not anymore. What time is it there?" she asked, as if she'd just realized.
"One in the morning," he yawned. "Which means it's three am over there."
"Are you sleeping?"
"No." Not anymore.
"Oh. You should go to sleep."
"So should you."
"I think I will now. Sorry I forgot to tell you."
"That's okay. Love you, kid." He rubbed his eyes again. "And hey, just so we're on the same page - bisexual means you're really into bicycles, right?"
He smiled at the sound of her laugh over the line.
"You're an idiot," she said, and hung up on him.
Tony rolled over and went to sleep smiling.
Since Maggie was already at the stage of running her own original research, MIT encouraged her to connect with other young researchers around the globe in a newly-set-up correspondence program. She quite enjoyed the discussions, and kept up correspondence with a few of the other researchers. One of these was a girl around her age called Jane Foster, who studied Astrophysics at Culver University and was already making ripples for her theoretical work and for making her own equipment. Her work was a bit out of Maggie's wheelhouse, but Maggie enjoyed the sheer magnitude of their discussions: galaxies and cosmos and universes.
Jane and Maggie exchanged emails every few months for many years.
The dreams (she still refused to call them nightmares) never left.
One morning, as Maggie sat on the roof of her dorm watching the sun come up after a sleepless night, she buried her face in her hands and whispered: "What if he was real?"
Instantly, guilt slammed over her like a stack of concrete. Because if this dead-faced, metal-armed ghoul in her mind was real then he had gotten away with it. And Maggie had let her parents go unavenged.
The thought frightened her so much that she ran down to her room, drank herself asleep and avoided thinking about any of it for months.
June, 2004
In the summer break before her third year, Maggie mostly snoozed through the hot Malibu days in Tony's house. Her course convenor was right that her course load was a little much, but the break was a good time to reset. Though she was still doing some distance coursework for a few summer session classes.
Sleep came easier at the Malibu mansion. The dreams seemed to be kept at bay by the warmth and the company.
Tony threw a massive party at the mansion for Maggie's eighteenth birthday, and only slightly embarrassed her by giving a long speech and then jumping in the pool fully clothed. Mostly, though, her time back home was quiet. She also got a front row seat to his and Pepper's well-established rhythm: Pepper ushering out his hookups and handling every facet of his life, the both of them talking at and around each other. Somehow, it worked.
One morning Maggie watched, slumped on the couch, as Pepper chased Tony from room to room with an armful of folders.
"I know you want to spend the day with Maggie but I really need your final decision on this gala-"
"What gala?" Tony flung open the balcony door and walked out, drawing in the sea breeze. Pepper squeezed through after him.
"The SI Diversity gala which you suggested. Yes? No?"
Tony squeezed back inside and circled behind the couch Maggie lay on. "I really don't see why we need so many galas, I thought this was a weapons manufacturing company-"
Pepper cornered him at the other end of the couch, surprisingly fast on her heels. "Again I remind you, this was your idea."
"I don't remember that."
"Well you wouldn't, you were about fifteen drinks in, but you did suggest it at a staff party so that's on you-"
"You know, that shade of blue really goes with your eyes," Tony said, stepping into Pepper's slow advance and gesturing at her pale blue blouse. "Stunning, really, are you trying to impress me?" He stepped even closer, eyes glinting, and Pepper stopped him by pointing the corner of her clipboard into the centre of his chest.
Maggie rolled over to see them better, her eyebrows lifting, and stilled when she realized the corner of Pepper's mouth was twitching.
Pepper arched an eyebrow. "Gala, Tony. You don't have to plan it, all you have to do is be there, and give a very short speech which I will write for you, and which you will no doubt improvise in the end anyway." She tapped the clipboard against his chest. "Yes. Or. No."
Tony whirled and threw up his hands. "Yes, fine, stop bothering me about it. But when this turns out to be another one of your buttoned-up non-parties, I swear-" the rest of his sentence trailed off as he walked out of the room.
Pepper, still standing behind the couch, let out a small sigh.
"You don't have to let him treat you like that, y'know," Maggie said, still lying on the couch.
Pepper blinked, as if she'd forgotten Maggie there, and looked down at her. "Oh, trust me, he's leaving that encounter far more frustrated than me."
"I know," Maggie smiled. "Tony's got a high tolerance for frustration though."
"So do I." Pepper had a steely-eyed look about her, and Maggie wanted to laugh. Pepper liked this: Tony's obfuscations and snarky remarks, the way he presented unique problems.
"Well then," Maggie said. "Want a raise?"
Pepper circled the couch. "You don't have the authority to give me a raise, Ms Stark."
"J.A.R.V.I.S., give Pepper a raise."
J.A.R.V.I.S.'s tone was apologetic: "I'm afraid-"
"Neither does J.A.R.V.I.S., Pepper cut in, almost smiling now.
Maggie sat up. "Pepper, give yourself a raise."
Pepper just smiled at that.
Maggie chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment, then grinned. "J.A.R.V.I.S., tell Tony to give Pepper a raise."
The smile fell off Pepper's face.
A few moments passed, then:
"Congratulations, Ms Potts," J.A.R.V.I.S. said smoothly. "You've been given a raise."
Maggie cocked her head. "Don't I have the authority?"
Pepper smiled, and didn't thank her, and that's why Maggie liked her.
August, 2004
Maggie finally earned her commercial pilot's license, and started flying odd jobs for hire. She never showed any of her charter passengers her face, which was easy enough if she wore sunglasses or a helmet, and kept an aloof demeanor. She quite liked being incognito, if only for a few hours.
November, 2004
"Thanks for coming in for an interview, Ms Stark."
Maggie smiled at the panel of interviewers - three men in sleek suits sitting along a table a few feet away - and then made herself comfortable in the seat provided. She didn't normally interview for things, but one of her professors had wanted her involved in a miniaturised engine project (he'd even been honest enough to admit that he wanted her insight while she was still working for free as an undergrad) and the school required all associates to go through a formal application process. She wore the navy blue suit Pepper had bought her for her birthday, and had handed copies of her CV to each of the interviewers when she walked in.
Maggie took a moment to gather her thoughts, then folded her hands together in her lap and looked up.
The man on the right ran an eye over her CV. "So, what experience do you have that qualifies you to work on this project?"
For the next ten minutes Maggie answered a series of questions she'd expected about her experience, professionalism, and what she could offer the project. She mentioned that she saw a possibility of manufacturing a jet engine the size of her fist, and all three of the interviewers raised their eyebrows. She also slipped in the fact that she was on track to graduate a year early, in the coming May.
When each of the men on the ends of the table had exhausted their questions, the man in the middle (the oldest, with silver hair and wire frame glasses) leaned forward.
"Miss Stark," he began, one hand resting on a manila folder, "you're aware of the PR element to this project?"
"Yes, I know there are eyes on the partnership with Boeing in particular. And I prefer Ms Stark."
He nodded, eyes fixed on her face. "So you realize everyone working on this project will be subject to intense scrutiny."
Maggie almost frowned. "Yes?" Where is this going?
The interviewer's mouth quirked. "And you're not concerned about how your image might impact the credibility of this project?"
She did frown at that. "My image? Has someone been saying I'm a bad engineer?"
"If only it were a matter of engineering," he replied, and then opened the manila folder his hand had been resting on. His fellow interviewers peered over. "For starters," he said as he sifted through the stack of paper within, "there's the matter of your criminality." He lifted a page and slid it forward on his desk so Maggie could see it: it was a newspaper clipping from last year, titled Stark Justice: Howard Stark's daughter arrested in boozy brawl, accompanied by a blown-up copy of her mugshot from the Cambridge Police Department. Maggie remembered them taking that photo after her arrest: they'd told her not to smile.
The other two interviewers glanced at the clipping and then up at Maggie, discomforted. The one in the middle just eyed her face.
Maggie shrugged. "That's all true, but I don't actually have any criminal record since I was a minor when that happened."
The middle interviewer gave her a thin-lipped smile as if he'd been expecting that. "But you are somewhat of a brawler, aren't you Miss Stark?" He slid forward several more pages, this time printed newspaper stories, mostly from gossip papers. Maggie leaned forward to read them.
They were the sort of articles she normally didn't bother with: 'Margaret Stark's 'wild-child' violent night out on the town', others with 'insider sources' who claimed to know all about Maggie's anger management and drug addiction issues. There was one titled '"Margaret Stark attacked me at a Cambridge bar": Tell All', which made her lips quirk. The guy in the accompanying photograph, looking very sorry for himself, had groped her friend on the dance floor so she had kicked him between the legs. Another story had a grainy picture of her pouring a drink on someone, another of her mid shout, looming over a sitting man. Maggie nodded to herself as she read through the headlines.
The interviewer steepled his fingers. "You might see why a history of violence like this might concern us as overseers of a professional scientific project." Maggie opened her mouth, but he held up a hand and reached for more papers. "There's also the matter of your more general social activities," he said with a tone of distaste.
He slid forward the new clippings, sliding the others aside. The interviewers sitting on either side of him stared at the headlines.
Maggie put a hand over her mouth as she was confronted with the new headlines:
'Three boyfriends in three weeks! Maggie's wild semester.'
'"She's clearly got a serious attention-seeking problem": Margaret Stark's concerned friend speaks out'
'See Maggie Stark and "gal pal" student cuddling up at Cambridge diner.'
There were quite a few articles speculating wildly about her sexuality, actually. Maggie smiled behind her hand as she read. Honestly, she didn't understand what her sexuality had to do with her academics. Even Obie had tried to gently suggest that she keep her same-sex flings quiet, saying it might not be a good look for the company. She'd laughed at him then, and she'd laugh at him now if he brought it up again.
The interviewer kept sliding forward more articles and photographs, a look of gravity on his face. Maggie remained still, reading with her hand over her mouth. When he'd finally presented the final one, Maggie leaned back in her chair and looked up.
"And?" she asked.
The interviewer let out a short laugh. "And? Miss Stark, this kind of publicity could ruin the project-"
"Ms," Maggie cut in evenly. "And it won't."
"Oh?" he sat back, matching her pose. "What has you so confident?"
Maggie took a moment to meet the eyes of each interviewer at the table, taking her time, then stood up. Slowly, she approached their desk and laid a hand on the papers strewn in front of them. "This is my social life. The only reason it's in the papers at all is because photographers like to follow me around. And take what you will from this" - she tapped the mess of articles accusing her of violence - "but I don't go around willy nilly hitting people I work with. This guy" - she gestured to the 'tell all' image - "Is an actual rapist. Three counts of sexual assault from the past five years, look him up. It's all public record. I'm not sorry for kicking him." The interviewer on the left glanced down at the article again and his lip curled.
Maggie returned to her seat and crossed her ankles. "You're right, though. I have a reputation." The middle interviewer still wouldn't take his eyes off her, his brow heavy and his jaw clenched. Maggie stared straight back at him. The other two glanced uncertainly at their colleague. "My brother has the same reputation. Worse, even. And the US Government buys their weapons from him. Why is it different with me?"
She cocked her head politely, eyeballing the three of them. Finally, the man in the middle dropped his gaze from her. He glanced at each of his colleagues, then looked back. He couldn't quite meet her eye.
Finally, the interviewer on the right leaned forward. "Thank you for coming, Ms Stark. We'll be in touch with our decision soon."
She smiled. "Thank you for your consideration." She stood, turned to leave, then hesitated. She turned back and stepped over to prod a finger down on the piles of papers on their desk. "Did you intend to give these to me, or should I leave them here?" she asked the middle interviewer, her eyebrows raised politely.
He grinded his teeth and finally met her eyes. "You can leave them."
"Great," Maggie smiled again. This time when she turned to leave, she didn't look back.
The next day, her professor called her at lunch. "You're in!" he exclaimed. "We'll see you in the lab next week, bright and early."
Maggie grinned. "Can't wait."
March, 2005
"Why are you doing this?"
All movement ceases. The man stops, his hair obscuring his face, then his head swivels until he is looking down at her, face as blank as a sheet of ice.
But then a furrow between his brows, a shift behind those sea grey eyes.
"You are my mission."
He lets her go.
Maggie woke up on an inhaled scream, the feeling of weightlessness surging through her making her jerk bolt upright. She grabbed her arm, reached for her knees, which had just been biting into gravel- but no. She blinked and looked around. Just her dorm room. No crackling fire, no road. No man.
Again. The dreams were getting worse.
For a few moments she just sat there, shivering. But then she rolled out of bed, pulled on her leg, and got dressed.
It took three and a half hours to drive to New York. Maggie left Cambridge at 3AM, her fingers white around the steering wheel and her pale skin concealed by a dark hoodie, so she got there just before dawn. Normally she listened to the radio, but she made the entire drive in silence.
She rolled up outside the Woodlawn Cemetery in darkness, killed the engine, and sat in silence for a few long moments. It was a quiet neighborhood of the Bronx: hers was the only car on the road, and the only sound she could hear was the distant trilling of waking birds. She eyed the sandstone buildings of the cemetery, behind the black gates.
Maggie climbed out of the car, shut the door quietly behind her, and strolled along the fence a ways. Then she glanced around, seized the iron rungs of the fence, and climbed over. Wasn't difficult - she supposed no one tried very hard to lock up a cemetery.
Her feet landed on the dewy lawn on the other side, and she set off through the darkness. The cemetery was more park than mausoleum, with unobtrusive gravel paths running between the lawns and trees. Maggie's footsteps made no sound, and if it weren't for the soft inhale and exhale of her breath she would have almost thought herself a ghost, moving soundlessly through the predawn darkness.
It took her only a few minutes to find them: two simple gravestones, side by side. She'd been here a couple of times before, so she didn't need the light to read their names. She crouched before them and reached out to trace the engravings in the stone.
The stone felt almost frozen to the touch.
Maggie let out a long, foggy breath, then sat down cross legged on the grass before the gravestones. She closed her eyes, shivering in the cool air. Do you remember, too?
She wasn't sure how long she sat there, eyes closed, palms on her knees and her mind in another decade. She only recognised dawn from the gentle wash of prickling warmth over her skin.
When she opened her eyes again, sunlight had filtered through the trees, illuminating the two gravestones.
Howard.
Maria.
Maggie rubbed her arms. Was I supposed to be buried here, too? She wondered. Am I here on borrowed time?
She swallowed. "I remember you," she told the stones. "I remember everything. What… what am I supposed to do with these memories?"
The graves were silent.
Minutes later, footsteps crunching on a path brought Maggie out of her silent staring.
"Hey!" called a man's voice. "Hey, you're not supposed to be… here."
Maggie looked over her shoulder. The man stood a few yards away, frowning, wearing a blue uniform shirt and holding a rake. A groundskeeper. He glanced from the Stark graves to Maggie, zeroing in on her face. His frown softened and he sighed.
"You stay as long as you like," he eventually murmured. "But just for future reference, we open at 8:30."
Maggie nodded silently, and the groundskeeper turned to leave.
Maggie turned back to the graves. She ran her hands along her cold, damp legs and breathed in the sharp morning air. "I don't know what to do with the memories," she confessed, her mind caught on the image of mom and dad buried beneath all this dirt. "But… I won't forget. I promise. I won't forget."
June 3, 2005
The day after Maggie's nineteenth birthday, over two thousand students gathered in robes on the sunny lawns of MIT for their graduation ceremony. Maggie sweated under her mortarboard cap, her knee bouncing as she glanced around for glimpses of her friends.
Then Tony took the stage. Maggie sank as low in her chair as she could, avoiding the eyes of everyone glancing her way, and hoping that Tony wouldn't embarrass her. He wore a flashy suit and bright red sunglasses, his style growing more and more eclectic as he got older.
But to Maggie's surprise, Tony did not talk about her. Instead he paused a few moments, looking around at them all, before setting his hands on the lectern.
"I'm going to go a little off-book here, and talk about failure."
He spoke like Maggie had rarely heard him speak: honestly, openly, describing the highs and lows of his own achievement and the fickle nature of innovation. He was just as charming as ever, though, and even Maggie chuckled at his description of a rocket engineering project that had quite literally blown up in his face, though she'd heard the story countless times before. Slowly, she rose to a seated position again.
Everyone in the crowd of students hung on his every word, and Maggie hid her smile.
After a few moments, Tony cleared his throat. "So congratulations, class of 2005, you have a whole lot of failures to look forward to. I only hope you learn from them." He smiled at their laughter. "Oh, and I believe I also have a congratulations to give to a" - he made a show of picking up his notes and scrutinising them - "Margaret Stark," he read slowly, and they all laughed again. Everyone in her radius turned to stare at Maggie and she went bright red.
Tony continued: "For graduating at the terrifyingly young age of eighteen - well, nineteen as of yesterday. Knew you could do it, kid." He winked in her direction, though surely there was no way he could actually see her in amongst the crowd of students. Maggie flushed even redder and reached up to tip her mortarboard over her face.
Tony clapped his hands together. "Thanks for having me, graduates, you've been grand."
He walked off the stage to thunderous applause. Everyone shot to their feet, clapping and shouting, and Maggie suddenly found herself, blessedly, in the shade.
When Maggie's turn came to walk across the stage to receive her diploma, a piercing whistle emanated from the crowd. This was followed by more laughter, and smiling and blushing Maggie made her way off the stage again (she had to go back up again later to receive a few awards, but Tony thankfully didn't whistle again).
When the ceremony broke up, Maggie slipped through the crowds toward the guest area and practically ran into Happy. He'd been muscling his way through the throng of recent graduates. Behind him, Maggie spotted Tony, Pepper, Rhodey, and Obie. They looked sweaty and crowded, but the minute they spotted her in her black robe and hat they each grinned.
Maggie, her arms full of her diploma and awards, beamed back at them. "Thank you for coming, guys."
June, 2005
Maggie wasn't done with learning. She'd arranged months ago to go straight on to a Masters degree in September, focusing on her specific engineering interests. But she wanted more.
Soon after her graduation she moved back to LA and started work at Stark Industries, in an entry level job in the R&D Department. Maggie didn't remember ever having made the decision to take the job, it had just… happened. Like summer fading into fall.
Maggie didn't move back into the mansion, though. She rented her own apartment in LA, closer to SI, and split her time between there and the mansion. Tony had scowled when he found out.
I need my own space, Maggie had told him.
And my 8000 square foot mansion doesn't have enough space for you?
She had smiled at him. You know I'll still come over, Tony. But… you have to let me figure myself out.
He'd sighed at her. Trust you to be the one with the identity crisis.
Her apartment was nice - not Tony levels of nice, but nicer than her tiny first year dorm. It had plenty of workspace for her grad work, though she usually ended up in Tony's workshop or the SI labs for her practical projects.
At SI she flourished in the R&D workshop. Tony and Pepper tried to train Maggie in the business side of things, and though Maggie sat through the seminars and meetings she knew early on that she wasn't interested. Still, it was a business, so she worked on projects assigned to her by the board and helped sell their products to investors. She couldn't work on whatever she wanted.
She'd always loved the SI headquarters. She loved the sleek metal and glass walls, the brilliance surrounding her, the exciting tests and projects one could find if they only poked their head through a door, the thrill of a shockwave rippling over her in the demolitions lab. Pepper occasionally had to admonish her for unprofessionalism (calling a board member a rude word) and professional dress (Maggie had forgotten to do laundry, and worn a hoodie instead of her usual blazer), but on the whole Maggie knew she was far less of a pain than her brother. Though she wasn't the CEO.
She and Tony were a potent mix in the SI workshops. If any of the engineers and scientists had hoped she would be a sensible influence on Tony's wild inventive tangents, they were soon disappointed. Maggie might be quieter than Tony, but she never said stop. She just came along for the ride. Within three weeks of Maggie being hired, there was a small incident in the demolitions bay and she and Tony had to sit through a safety seminar. Maggie figured out how to say stop after that, but she used it sparingly. She and Tony usually had their own projects and designs, but collaborated for the bigger stuff. One of their best projects, in Maggie's opinion, was the synthetic farming they'd designed in a lull between Armed Forces projects.
Tony's specialty was computer systems and sleek, fast, destructive weaponry. Maggie found herself drawn toward cybernetics and the biological link to the mechanical. She boosted their prosthetics line. Machines are great, Tony, she reminded him one day as they sat sipping cold coffee in the empty R&D workshop. But you have to remember there are people in the world as well.
Soon enough, word got back to Maggie about a joke circulating in the engineering community: The Starks blow people up and then replace the missing parts with metal.
The articles about Maggie only got more numerous and more dramatic now she'd moved back to LA. It seemed she got photographed at every single party she went to, and they always used the least flattering photo. Once she even got caught by a couple of bored paparazzos on a walk of shame; smudged makeup, yesterday's clothes and heels dangling from her hand. She'd frozen for a moment when they spotted her, panicked, before she decided to hell with it. The photos hit the magazines the next day, of her swanning down the street like a model on a runway.
She got some odd looks at work after that. But they'd all seen Tony in far worse condition on national news, so they were happy to go back to discussing engine manufacturing.
And Tony's own wild behaviour didn't leave Maggie untouched. He'd ramped up parties in the mansion since she'd left for college, and had really hit his stride as Stark Industries's eccentric CEO. Occasionally, journalists would corner Maggie to either ask her nosy questions about SI, or about Tony. She never quite had Tony's flair for the dramatic in her answers. A reporter from E! cornered her once after her 20th birthday and shoved a microphone in her face:
"Tony Stark reportedly spent a booze-soaked weekend at Senator Markus's wife's apartment two weeks ago, what's your comment on that?" he'd demanded, eyes glinting.
"Sounds like a quiet weekend," Maggie shrugged, and strode past him.
Pepper had later yelled at her for that.
August, 2006
Tony rarely visited Maggie's apartment, on principle. He was mildly irritated by the idea of her needing to rent a whole other house in a city where he already had plenty of room for her, and also sensitive to the fact that she was a twenty year old woman who needed her own space (though he'd never admit it). Besides, they saw each other every day at SI. Even he had to admit that two fully grown Starks in one room was a lot.
When he did come over, he snooped. On this particular occasion, Maggie stood in her kitchen fixing a pair of drinks and pretending she couldn't hear Tony rifling through her bookshelf in the living room.
"Lord of the Rings?" he called as he gave up and strode back into the kitchen. "You're an even bigger nerd than I thought."
"Says the man who read me The Hobbit when I was six," she fired back, not turning around. She dropped a few ice cubes in each glass.
When she heard paper moving on her kitchen counter, she turned. Tony was now making his way through the stack of paperwork on her counter: mostly college work, project forms, and…
"What's this?" Tony asked, looking down at the manila folder with the NYPD logo stamped on the front.
Maggie grabbed his drink and slid it toward him, hoping he wouldn't notice her sliding the folder away in the same movement. But he just narrowed his eyes at her.
"What is it?"
Maggie slid the folder under a stack of her assignment drafts. "Oh, it's…" she couldn't say nothing, because that would just make it worse. But how to explain?
How to explain that she'd been casually looking into what had happened on the evening of the 16th of December 1991? How she'd tracked down the police report, which had told her so much and so little: the CCTV camera she remembered was noted as 'defective' in the file, and also included were photographs of the crumpled, charred car. How to explain that she'd read through the whole morgue report for their parents?
There was no mention of her 'metal-armed man' in the file, not even in the notes about her own interview. Maggie had looked up the two main detectives, but they'd both died in a train accident a few years later. How to explain that she'd looked into what Dad had been working on at the time - after remembering they'd been on their way to the Pentagon that night - only to hit a dead end? Maggie couldn't explain any of that. She hadn't even really properly admitted to herself that she was… investigating. It had just been something she was doing, something she wasn't ready to confront. Like an addict in denial.
Maggie swallowed, and turned around to pick up her own drink. She shrugged one shoulder. "It's the police report from the car crash."
She felt Tony's shock radiate across the counter. "Why do you have that?"
She shrugged again. "I guess I was curious. It's different, remembering it as an adult." She turned, still avoiding Tony's eyes, and sipped her drink.
He eyed her. "How did you get it?"
Not particularly legally. "Called in a favor. It's okay, I promise." She finally met his eyes, and was surprised at the depth there. She always forgot this part of Tony; the part that was serious, and felt things deeply. She'd seen less of it as she'd gotten older and could look after herself.
Tony didn't break eye contact. "Are you? Okay?"
"Yeah," she said, and looked away to sip her drink again. "I'm fine."
He frowned. "Are you sure?"
She nodded again. "I'd tell you if I wasn't." She turned to cut a few lime wedges, and both of them stewed in the knowledge of her lie.
November, 2006
"Good morning, gentlemen," Maggie smiled, as the Stark Industries Head of Government Operations led five uniformed men into the gleaming Engineering bay.
She stood in her best suit with her hands clasped in front of her, dwarfed by the model missile propped on a stand beside her. She saw the men run their eyes over it as the SI head ushered them in and made sure they were comfortable. Maggie shook each of their hands, and made sure to exert more pressure than they did. She'd learned that from Pepper. The men smiled politely at her - she knew most of them already - and glanced back at the missile appraisingly.
Maggie knew the missile looked impressive: it was a smooth, gunmetal grey with Stark Industries stamped on the side, every surfaced polished to a gleam. This missile was smaller than the last model they'd sold the armed forces though, and she could already see two of the men (one in an Army uniform and the other Navy) giving it dubious looks.
The SI head gave his part of the sales presentation first, so Maggie took her chance to really focus on the men she was about to sell to. Each of them was military, and each of them had been buying Stark weaponry for the armed forces for years, but that didn't mean they'd buy just anything: Stark Industries still had its competitors. Maggie glanced over her shoulder at the few of the other engineers who'd been on the project with her and smiled encouragingly.
The SI head ended his sales pitch with: "So you'll see, gentlemen, we've specifically designed the Dart missile for the new and unique needs of all our armed forces. Now I'll hand you over to our star engineer to talk specifics." He smiled at Maggie, straightened his tie, then stepped back.
For a few moments, Maggie didn't speak. She stood beside her missile with her hands clasped and her eyes roving over the five men standing before her. They didn't fidget - they were military men. Though she did see a glimmer of surprise in the eyes of the Army buyer, General Rowes; he'd been dealing with Stark Industries the longest, and he was probably more used to the way Tony did things.
Maggie looked at the missile propped beside her. "The Dart," she began. "You've heard the brief, but I know you all know your way around a weapon by now." She began pacing, circling slowly behind the missile. "I know you'll have noticed that we've adapted the wings from what you'd normally see on a standard missile." She ran a finger over one of the curved wing plates at the base of the missile. "I designed these myself, and as you'll read in the packs we gave you, this new design generates much less wind resistance, making this missile at least 20% faster in the air than the previous model."
She kept circling. "The targeting system has been completely rewritten to avoid the bugs of former models. The Palladium lining on the computer chip can power it for extended flight. This missile can be launched, guided, and detonated completely remotely, from a naval vessel, aircraft, or even a computer on the other side of the world." She saw a few eyebrows twitch and hid her smile. "But you don't want me talking at you, you want to see what it can do."
The Air Force representative shot an uneasy look at the missile and Maggie smiled. "Don't worry, this one's been deactivated. But I prepared this for you earlier-" she clicked her fingers, and with her other hand touched the remote control in her pocket.
A screen slid down from the ceiling behind her, whirring smoothly. Maggie stepped aside and hit the remote again. A video appeared:
A desert landscape, hot and brown, with patches of brittle scrub. Maggie knew the site well - this was Stark Industries' detonation field in the Californian desert, and she'd been there the day this video was filmed. Maggie's audience leaned forward. A level voice came through the speakers:
"Three. Two. One-"
Half a second later a flicker of a shadow lanced through the air, followed by a bloom of scorching white light that burned into raging scarlet flames and then into black, roiling smoke that curled in on itself and rose into the air. Another half second later a boom that had been earsplitting in person crackled through the speakers. Sand erupted from the blast zone, radiating outwards, and the camera frame shuddered from the blast.
Maggie knew that she'd let out a whoop at that point, but the PR team had edited it out of the video.
"Impressive," said General Rowes, the violence of the explosion flickering in his eyes as he watched the screen. "But that's a controlled test. What kind of blast range are we talking about with this smaller model?"
Maggie kept her back to the video, so they would see the inferno as she spoke. "An advantage of the Dart is that your aim doesn't need to be precise to the square metre. You can reasonably expect a blast radius of 500 yards, and that's a conservative estimate. And as you've seen with the shockwave, the warhead is packed with enough explosives to not only effectively destroy whatever you drop it on, but ensures a blast radius of shrapnel with destruction efficiency three times greater than the last missile we designed." She turned back to the video to point at it. "In fact-"
She stopped mid sentence. A ball of hellfire still raging on the desert sand looked back at her, raining down ash and scraps of metal. The fire flickered behind her eyes, and with a flinch she turned away, only to find herself faced with the missile. Sleek. Clean. Sterile.
What am I doing?
Her hand dropped. A wave of ice washed over her, freezing her in place and chilling her bones. She stared at the warhead, which one day she would pack full of explosives and wrap it up in a box to be shipped off to one of these men. She'd been so proud of this missile when she finished it, after all the time and effort she'd poured into it. She'd popped a bottle of champagne over it with the other engineers and laughed.
What am I doing?
Maggie had done all the math on the destructive capabilities of this machine. This weapon. But… she hadn't really thought about it. And she should have, because she knew how it felt to be torn apart, to live with the aftereffects of damage and trauma.
The Starks blow people up and then replace the missing parts with metal.
Someone was speaking to her, but instead she looked down, at where a metal limb peeked out from between her slacks and her shoe. She drew in a breath and felt the metal plates and wires lodged in her spine.
"... Ms Stark?" prompted General Rowes.
Maggie took a step back, and the feeling of her prosthetic leg propping her up made her stomach flip over. She could still hear the explosion roaring behind her. She sucked in a breath and looked up.
"I… have to go."
She heard half the people in the room draw in a breath to speak. But Maggie was gone before they could: she practically ran to the door and burst through, not looking back. Her shoes seemed loud against the gleaming floor as she dashed down the corridor and to the stairs. Her heart beat filled her ears, and her own sharp breathing seemed to tear at her throat.
She yanked her employee tag off her jacket and practically threw it at the receptionist at the front desk, then ran out into the cool air. Running through the carpark felt good - her heart thundering, the wind in her ears, her feet pounding along the concrete. She didn't stop running until she found her bike, kicked the engine in gear and took off out of the car park like she was being chased.
Maggie wasn't sure if she blinked during the whole ride back to her apartment. When she got home she parked haphazardly and hurried to her door. As she unlocked it she felt her phone buzzing in her pocket. Pepper, she guessed. She ignored it.
She spilled through the door and for a few moments just stood there in the threshold of her apartment. Clean, sleek, home. Her heart beat faster, and for a few moments she was sure it would beat right out of her chest.
Her phone rang again. Instead of answering it she went to her bedroom, grabbed the rucksack she used to use in college, and started stuffing clothes in. She packed an extra prosthetic leg, her emergency cash supply, the knife under her mattress, and a pair of sturdy boots. As she packed with one hand, she worked on her phone with the other.
First she booked a flight: not a private charter, but an economy ticket for the first plane she spotted on the Los Angeles International Airport departures homepage. Qatar. It didn't really matter where, though.
Then she sent Pepper an email.
Two hours later Maggie sat stiffly in the airport departures lounge, wearing jeans, sunglasses and a hoodie, with her rucksack propped against her chair. No one had recognised her so far except for the TSA guy who'd read her passport and shot her a funny look. Maggie hardly even recognised herself.
Her eyes were fixed out the window to her left, at the planes rolling down the runway and soaring up into the sky. Her knee bounced.
A buzzing in her pocket had her glancing away. She pulled her phone out of her pocket: Tony calling. She'd let his other fifteen calls go to voicemail, as well as the ten from Pepper, the eight from Obie, and the six each from Rhodey and Happy.
Maggie drew in a deep breath, swallowed, and accepted the call. "Hey Tony," she said in a low voice.
"Maggie," he said all in a rush, sounding as if he'd expected her to ignore this call too. "Maggie, what's going on? You ran out of the building, and Pepper's got this email saying you're quitting? I went to your apartment but you weren't there… where are you?"
She swallowed again. "I'm at the airport."
He paused for a beat, absorbing that. "Uh, why?"
"I'm… catching a flight."
"To where?"
"Overseas." a flicker of guilt faded through her numbness. "Qatar."
"Qatar?" She could practically hear him pacing. "Maggie, please, explain this to me."
She drew in a breath and opened her mouth to explain, to try to describe the explosion in her chest. But then she recalled a memory:
Dad. White haired and sharp eyed, he'd carried her into his workshop on his hip and set her on his workbench so she could see everything, his hands rough and warm. He'd smiled at her rush of questions and hadn't answered any of them. Maggie remembered him putting a hand on her shoulder, and sweeping the other around at the contraptions and inventions and engines and missiles and firearms in the room. This is the Stark legacy, Maggie, he'd told her, and it had the air of constant repetition. And one day it'll be yours.
Maggie shut her mouth. She bowed over in her chair and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Flight QR503 to Doha is now boarding," came a smooth voice over the airport speakers.
Maggie rubbed her forehead. She couldn't speak her doubts aloud. So instead, she said: "I needed a change of scene."
"What does that even mean?" Tony asked, his voice strained. "Did something happen?'
"Nothing happened," she said softly. "I'll let you know when I figure it out. I love you, Tony."
"Hang on-"
Maggie hung up the phone. She stood, drawing her shoulders straight, picked up her rucksack and headed to the line for boarding.
Half an hour later Maggie's nose pressed against her plastic window as the airplane raced along the runway, faster and faster until a swoop of weightlessness lurched in her gut and they soared into the sky.
Reviews
DBZfan45 (from Chapter 4): Pepper's arrived! I'm glad you enjoyed this chapter, Maggie was well and truly due some female influence. We are indeed drawing near (ish) to Iron Man 1 as well. Excited to show you that :) Hope you enjoyed this one!
MyCelestialFury (from Chapter 4): I am so stoked for TFATWS, I feel like it's going to be very meme worthy. But back to this story, I'm so glad you enjoyed the chapter! I'm glad you don't mind the prequel stuff haha. Thank you :)
Wolf (from Chapter 4): Thanks so much! I'm excited to show you what Maggie gets up to ;)
Guest (from Chapter 4): I could have it wrong, I was just going off what the Marvel wiki said. I can definitely see Pepper carrying around pepper spray!
Guest: Thank you for reading!
DBZFAN45: I really enjoy your summaries! The Wyvern is indeed coming ;)
MyCelestialFury: Haha no, Maggie and Bucky's first interaction is not going to go well ;) I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter!