I feel like shit
My suggestion is to keep your distance
Cos right now I'm dangerous
We've all felt like shit, been treated like shit
All these motherfuckers that want to step up
I hope you know I pack a chainsaw
I'll skin your ass raw
And if my day keeps goin' this way I just might...
Break your fuckin' face tonight
Limp Bizkit, "Break Stuff"
oOoOoOo
Stark Industries, New York City
October 24, 2004
Toni stands at the window, leaning against the wall with her arms folded, and stares out over the city. It's cold and drizzly, and very far below, a sea of open umbrellas swims along the sidewalk. By all appearances, an utterly shitty day. But Toni doesn't care, because this is the day that she gets to go home at a reasonable time, eat food that isn't takeout strewn around a mountain of paperwork, actually remember she has a boyfriend that isn't named "Pepper".
Today is the day she gets to tell the board of directors to go fuck themselves, because she doesn't have to whine and beg and plead with them to stop obstructing her. To look at the fucking designs, the market projections, the goddamn numbers. Today is the day that she doesn't have to be hard and ruthless and ball-breaking to a bunch of white, rich old fucks who take her bust size, multiply it by her age, and subtract that number it from her IQ.
Today is the day that Stark Industries, quiet and dark for six months, hemorrhaging money left and right with all the retrofits and staff turnover and new hires, opens the doors on their brand spanking new domination of the telecommunications market.
She presses her fingers on either side of her nose, squeezing her sinuses gently. Christ, her head hurts. It's the kind of mammoth migraine that laughs in the face of pain relief, will only be cured by sleep and food and more sleep. Almost there. C'mon, Stark. Almost there. "J, time check?"
"11:04am, ma'am. Your press conference begins in 56 minutes. Miss Potts has scheduled a note that she will arrive in approximately 6 minutes to begin your preparations." A beat. "Shall I send your assistant for coffee, ma'am?"
"You're a good kid, J. Please." She sits in her chair, kicks her feet up on the desk and slouches back, closing her eyes. "Wake me when she gets here." Six minutes is a perfectly reasonable timeframe in which to catch a micro-nap.
"Miss Potts is here, ma'am," JARVIS says, jolting her from her doze. "With your clothes and your coffee."
She doesn't open her eyes, just stays sprawled in the chair as her door opens and the rapid clicking of Pepper's heels cross the floor. "Pep, I'm breaking up with you," she calls out. "These last six months together have been absolute misery, and we're just not working out. I'm going back to Clint, who doesn't make me sign endless amounts of paperwork."
"I appreciate the honesty," Pepper says, amused. "And I'm glad we're on the same page. I'm afraid, Toni, that you're just too high maintenance for my tastes, and trying to keep you caffeinated has given me premature grey hairs." Toni opens her eyes as Pepper's heels click closer. Pepper, damn her, looks like she's fresh out of bed, alert and so put together Toni's actually a little jealous. She's got a garment bag over her shoulder and a toiletries case under her arm. Her free hand pushes Toni's feet off the corner of her desk. "On your feet. We're already behind schedule."
"You and your goddamn schedules," Toni grumbles, oofing when her feet hit the floor. She stands with a groan, stretches and snarls when her spine pops in several places. "Jesus, I'm getting too old for this."
"My schedules run the world." Pepper hangs the garment bag on a hook on the coatrack behind Toni's desk. "And yes, you're hideously ancient," she agrees, and shoves the toiletries bag into Toni's chest. "Twenty-four, tsk, one foot in the grave already. We should pick out a casket before you just up and die. Shower, that way. Move it."
Pepper is merciless, maneuvering Toni across the office and into the private bathroom with little pushes and nudges, ignoring with frightening efficiency all of Toni's protesting whines. "You have five minutes," she says, shoving Toni into the bathroom and standing in the door with crossed arms. "Shower fast. Wash your hair. We don't have time for your malingering ass-dragging today."
"Jeez, yes mom," Toni mutters. "You gonna watch me strip, or can I have some privacy? I mean, I literally just broke up with you, so you should totally give me my space now."
Pepper smirks. "Toni, I hate to tell you this, but I am way out of your league. I'll be right outside the door, and if you're not out and clean in five minutes, I will scrub you myself and you will not enjoy it." The click of the door as she shuts it is firm and authoritative and scarier than the sound of a shotgun shell chambering.
Toni hustles her ass out of her clothes, and showers in record time.
ooooooo
Toni isn't allowed to approach the podium without an earpiece in her ear, because Pepper's just that kind of control freak. If Toni's being honest, she's grateful to have Pepper's directions to guide her, because she's been in sleep debt for so long, she'd probably just lay down on the stage and go to sleep if left to her own devices.
The presentation goes surprisingly well, mostly because she doesn't have the brain power to deviate from the cards Pepper handed her. She talks about the exciting new direction for Stark Industries, speaks glowingly about the vision and support of the board of directors, manages that without gagging on the utterly filthy lie, talks about honoring current military contracts for offensive technology, talks about the complete end of the Stark era of arsenal assembly by 2008. Moves into talking about their new satellite program, the plans to have the next-gen StarkPhone and the new first-gen StarkPad in the hands of consumers by Christmas. Speaks about the rebrand of Star Solutions to Stark Solutions, the merging under the umbrella of the Stark name.
Toni's pretty tired of talking by the time she finishes her speech, but the vultures have been promised a Q&A session, so she takes questions as Pepper directs her to take them. Most of them are fucking stupid, like is her soulmate going to take a more public role in the company. Who made her dress. Does she have any sex tips, since she spent a lot of time in the European tabloids with a wide variety of partners. Toni answers these mostly by rote, since she's been asked a hundred variants a million times. But the question that she finds the most interesting and fun to answer comes just as the 30-minute question-and-answer period is winding down.
("Tricia Nelson," Pepper's voice murmurs in her ear. "New York Woman Magazine. Third row, blonde hair, purple jacket.")
Toni points where Pepper wants her to point. "Tricia."
Tricia stands up. "What do you have to say to your critics who say that your gender played a critical role in your decision to halt Stark Industries' weapons manufacturing? To clarify…" She glances at her hand, sounds like she's quoting, "'Stark's phones are cute, but she shouldn't be sitting behind the big boy desk. She should leave the business to someone who can handle defending this country, and focus on her family… she'd be much happier.'"
Thankfully, Toni's seen that quote a thousand times, and the only thing that twitches when she hears it now is her eyebrow, upwards. "Isn't Trump just adorable?" she asks, leaning casually forward on her elbows, and a laugh ripples through the crowd. "To address the comment in general, Tricia, I am still defending this country. Stark Industries and Stark Solutions both contract with various arms of the US military and US government to supply a wide variety of supportive and defensive equipment. The last six months have been difficult, as we've made the changeover, but projections for the first quarter of next year show an estimated 10% increase in profits over my father's best quarter as CEO, adjusted for inflation." She grins, all teeth and attitude and kiss-my-ass. "I assume that's good. I mean, I am but a woman, and need finances explained to me in little words."
Tricia is smiling herself. "A follow-up, if you'll allow?"
Toni nods, gesturing at her to continue.
"Do you have anything to say to Mr. Trump?"
("Careful," Pepper says in her ear.)
"I try not to dignify rich old farts with my attention, Trish, but you asked nicely, so just for you, yeah?" She makes a show of clearing her throat, until Pepper is hissing at her to get on with it. "I just have to say that it's okay if you're jealous that a hot, young, multiple-doctorate female CEO with, if I can be conceited here for just a moment, an amazing rack, is richer than you. But it hurts, Donnie, it really hurts that you didn't contract Stark Solutions to help with your unfortunate follicle condition. We have hair replacement treatments that are so thorough, no one will ever know the difference. Lesson learned, folks: never settle for second best."
"Thank you," Tricia says, and sits back down. Toni honestly can't wait to read that article, makes a mental note to buy a dozen copies as soon as the magazine goes to print. Doesn't even care that Pepper's threatening violent dismemberment in her ear, as she selects a reporter at random and takes the last question of the day
oOoOoOo
Stark Industries, New York City
April 24, 2012
In another life, Toni might like Sharon Carter. Under the bullshit SHIELD agent persona, she seems friendly and fun. In another life, Toni might even invite her out for drinks, get to know her, probably even take her to bed, because she's got that sense about her, the one Toni's practically attuned to, the one that says come play with me, you'll walk funny in the morning. In another life, they might even have grown up together, because this is Aunt Peggy's niece, and they're roughly the same age.
In another life, maybe.
In this life, Toni has a hard time restraining herself from punching Agent Sharon Carter in the fucking teeth.
She neither wants nor needs a SHIELD liaison reporting directly to her, but even if she did, she'd want literally anyone else. Anyone else who hasn't labeled her a textbook narcissist, a compulsive personality, and a self-destructive asshole. Anyone else who hasn't infiltrated her company to spy on her, to try and control her technology on behalf of SHIELD, to keep her effectively out of whatever pop group one-hit wonder Fury had been putting together.
Anyone else who hasn't kept her tied up for four fucking days straight with contract negotiations that should have been handled by SI's legal department. She doesn't care how much money SHIELD is effectively dropping into her coffers. This is why she has lawyers.
"...if the terms of the budget and estimated dates by which we need the projects completed are acceptable," Carter is saying, and hands over a sheaf of papers, "sign and initial where the tabs indicate."
Toni stares pointedly at the outstretched document until Carter drops it on the desk. Toni picks it up, and a surge of irritation rises. There are a lot of tabs sticking out of the side, indicating many pages, all of which no doubt have this tiny, tiny text. Just for a moment, she debates just signing blindly, just to get it over with, trust that Carter's been forthcoming in what the contract entails. Then again, she can count the number of times SHIELD's been forthcoming on one hand, and still have five fingers left over.
She wouldn't be surprised if their end game with this bullshit dance isn't precisely that: bore her into complacency and impatience, so she'll sign over her arc reactor plans or the tech specs for the Iron Maiden suits without knowing.
She leans back in her chair, holding the contract. Frustration surges again, deep suspicion right behind it. "So what's the goal here, Carter?" she says, skimming the text on the first page. "Why are you and One Eye Winky so hellbent on making me go through every line of these things when there's a perfectly good department full of shark-toothed lawyers three floors down doing absolutely nothing to earn their ridiculously overpriced salaries?"
Carter doesn't start, or jump, or look guilty, or look surprised. Her face is utterly schooled. Toni snorts to herself; a schooled expression is a tell all on its own. Carter's good, but Toni lives full-time with the reigning empress of microexpressions. Carter's nowhere near Tash's league. "There's no hidden agenda here, Stark," she says. "They're sensitive contracts. Top-clearance, eyes-only."
"I have three lawyers read to Level 5 clearance," Toni points out. "That's a level higher than my official clearance."
Carter just shrugs. "That may be, Stark," she says, "but they don't own the company or design the tech. You do. As far as the relationship between SHIELD and Stark Industries goes, you are effectively Level 8."
The legal document crumples between Toni's fingers as her hands ball into fists. God, it would be so fucking gratifying to just reach out and slap her. She scratches at the itch on her chest, sullen and irritable, and forces herself to focus on the contract. Or tries to, anyway. Her eyes keep glazing over, skidding right past the inasmuches and the parties-of-the-first-parties and the rest of the dry, stiff, formal language.
She glances at the clock, and grinds her teeth when she realizes it's almost four o'clock. Long past the time she wanted to be wrapping up and heading home. Carter's got a whole fucking pile of folders, though, and seems prepared to keep going until midnight.
For the fourth time, she attempts to get through the first paragraph, but her brain keeps losing track of the words, can't keep them from sliding away from her comprehension.
She slaps it back down on the desk, slightly gleeful to see Carter jump at the bang, and scrubs her face. "We're not doing this," she announces. "I am officially off the clock as of right now. Come back tomorrow, Carter. I'll deal with the rest of your bullshit then."
Of course, Carter has to protest. Of fucking course she does. "These are time-sensitive arrangements, Stark, and you can't just-"
Toni slams her hands on the desk again, on her feet without being really conscious of standing. "If I hear the words 'time-sensitive' come out of your fucking mouth one more time, Carter, I will shove them back down your throat with a repulsor blast."
Carter looks shocked, uncertain, then indignant. "If this is how you treat your working relationship with SHIELD, Stark," she says coldly, "then perhaps we should revisit the nature of the relationship."
"Go right the fuck ahead," Toni snarls. "You think I need Fury's floating fortress of feds to keep SI going? Newsflash, sweetheart. My life would be a lot less fucking stressful without all the secret agents I have constantly crawling into my ass. I am the top name of my fucking industries, Carter. I don't need SHIELD, I don't need Fury, I don't need your goddamn business. I have clients falling all over themselves to contract for arc reactors, satellites, phones, and skinweave gel. If I never design anything else ever again, I am set to live in the most decadent lap of luxury I feel like for about a thousand years. So there's the door, off you fuck, and enjoy trying to debug Hammertech operating systems every time you want to check the goddamn weather."
Carter's mouth opens and closes, her expression off-balance and uncertain. Toni laughs harshly, reckless with anger. "I'm sorry, did I go off-script? Was this not covered in the SHIELD agent's guide to manipulating Toni Stark? Do you not have a snazzy, multi-point plan for dealing with your top consultant telling you to go fuck yourself? Can't think of a comeback? C'mon, Carter, I don't have all day."
Something's wrong. She recognizes that in a dark, dim corner of her mind. She doesn't act like this, not this out-of-control. Her pulse is pounding in her temples, her heart is clawing at her throat, her eyes are not focusing properly, her vision is hazing over with red and silver. Something's wrong.
"Stark, what is it?" Carter looms in front of her, is suddenly all concern and worry and human emotions. "Is it the palladium poisoning? What did you have for lunch? Did you brush up against anyone you didn't know?"
"No. But-" Her eyes go to the padded envelope on the corner of her desk, and shivers. She hasn't opened it, wanted to wait until she brought it home so they could open it together. The courier company she used is her usual, the highest rated security firm in the city. But life has taught her that everyone can be infiltrated, with enough time, money and determination.
"JARVIS," she gets out, slapping away Carter's grab for her, and reels back into her chair, banging her hip off the corner of the desk on the way down. "JARVIS, call James. I need… Something's wrong. Get me James."
"Right away, ma'am," JARVIS responds.
Carter follows her gaze, whips out a pair of latex gloves, and is slicing the package open. "This is Agent Carter," she says, after tapping at her ear. "Stark's behaving strangely, possible biological contaminant or mood-affecting technology in a package that was delivered here this…" She stops talking mid-sentence, staring at the two cards that spill from the envelope into her hand. "Oh, fuck," she says. "Patch me to Fury, now. … Sir, this is Carter. Abort the op at the Manor. He's Stark's soulmate."
Toni's eyes blink wide, latching onto those words. Manor. Soulmate. She's always been good at making leaps of intuition and logic that others can't follow. This one isn't exactly hard to connect. SHIELD's been keeping her busy, keeping her distracted, so they can go after James.
"Ma'am," JARVIS cuts in. "I've lost connection to the Manor servers, and sir's phone is ringing through to his voicemail."
Her thoughts go smooth and icy. Her head stops pounding. The shivering in her hands stills.
Deliberately, she stands up.
Carter's not looking at her, staring at the pair of DSMR cards in her gloved palm. "Sir, what do you mean, you never authorized an op? Sitwell had the paperw-" Her mouth snaps shut, and she goes sheet-white. "Yes, sir," she says, very quietly. "Yes, si- aaak."
Lightning-quick, Toni has her by the throat, slams her onto the desk, and bends over her until their noses are almost touching. "You tell Fury," she says, soft and calm, "that if what I think happened has actually happened, I will turn all of my extensive resources, genius brain, and limitless fucking imagination to bringing about an Armageddon on his little organization that future generations will use as an object lesson to teach their kids why they shouldn't touch shit that isn't theirs."
"Stark… Toni…" Carter chokes out. "This is… symptoms of… soulbond psychosis... You can't…You're not..."
"I am not psychotic, Sharon. I am unbelievably pissed off. If you think this is psychosis, you better pray to God you never see me really snap. Tell Coulson to extract Hawkeye and Black Widow from whatever ass-end of creation Fury's got them squirreled out of the way, or I'll come get them myself." Toni releases Carter and steps away as Carter curls in on herself, coughing harshly. "JARVIS, get me the Mark VI. I'm going home. Now."
"Mark VI will be at the balcony in thirty seconds, ma'am."
Toni reaches out and plucks the two cards out of Carter's hand, runs her fingers over them, tucks them into the inner pocket of her suit jacket. "And you can also tell Fury that I want a new liaison. The one he sent me is broken."
ooooooo
Stark Manor
"Manor systems rebooted, ma'am," JARVIS says from the speakers embedded in the ceiling. "Performing diagnostics now. Estimated completion of diagnostics, twelve minutes."
Toni nods. "Just figure out how they shut you down, J. I'd really like to know the answer to that question."
"As would I, ma'am." Anyone else would read the AI's tones as his usual bland, slightly-pleasant manner of speaking, but Toni knows him almost better than she knows herself. Knows he is just as thoroughly upset at she is. "The Mark VII's fabrication process will finish at approximately the same time as the diagnostic."
"Good, good," she says, and turns back to the single holoscreen floating above the workbench. "I'm going to spend my time productively and finish the House Party protocol." She sucks in a shaky breath, squeezes her eyes closed, crushes down on the utter fury and sheer murderous intentions throbbing at the base of her skull. "I'm going to spend my time productively," she says grimly, "because if I spend it looking at all the structural damage and bloodstains and scattered weapons and the fucking corpses in my house, I will actually go psychotic."
"Yes, ma'am," JARVIS says. "I am receiving several error messages from the diagnostic, ma'am. Manor sensor systems are damaged in several key areas, notably the gymnasium, the den, and the kitchen."
Her already-tight shoulders tense some more. "Sabotage? Is that how they did it?"
After a moment, JARVIS responds, "No. It is far more likely that sir inadvertently damaged the arrays by embedding hostiles in the drywall."
"Attaboy, James," she says. Feels the world rock under her again, grinds her fists into her eyes, tries to remember how to breathe through the clamps around her lungs. "J, am I having a panic attack?"
"Your physical symptoms do not match those I have on file from previous panic attacks, ma'am. I believe you are experiencing what is known in medical circles as murderous rage."
Toni pulls and pushes the blue lights, bringing elements from one set of programming to another, stitching together her coding fluidly. "It's a novel experience," she says. "I mean, I've been angry, and I've been furious before. I flip my shit on Clint and his apple-theft eighteen times a week. I threaten to kill people a lot. I've wanted to kill people before, certainly. I have killed people, I know that-" You are a good woman, Ho Yinsen's ghost whispers in the back of her mind, sounding rather like her conscience. "-but I can't remember actually ever looking forward to killing someone. I mean, should I be concerned about that? Should I be happy that I probably get to kill someone at the end of all this?"
"It is a little worrisome, ma'am. I have located an active frequency foreign to my usual channels. It appears to be emitting from a communications device on one of the hostiles' bodies."
"Run a backtrace, see if you can't figure out who else is using that channel. I mean, with my luck, it'll lead me right to the Helicarrier." She stops for a moment, mid-gesture, blue circles pulsing around her fingers. "Actually, that would be lucky. I'd have a hell of a lot of fun tearing through their oversized hot air balloon. Now I'm kinda hoping it leads me to the Helicarrier, so I can punch holes in the hull. Maybe that's something else that's worrisome. Hey, you'd stop me, right J, if I went all supervillain and started shooting holes in the Helicarrier?"
"On another day, ma'am, I would do my utmost to prevent you from doing something I know you would regret," JARVIS replies. "Today… no, ma'am. No, I do not think I would. Agent Coulson is requesting permission to approach the manor."
Toni doesn't pause this time, just keeps her hands dancing through the air. "Fury's smart," she says. "Agent Agent's the one I'm least likely to murder, right behind Tash and Clint. Yeah, go ahead. Let him in. And send my apologies for the state of the house. The maids apparently don't get paid enough to scrape brain matter off the fucking wall. Progress check?"
"Mark VII, time to completion, 4 minutes. Diagnostics, time to completion, 3 minutes. Backtrace is still in progress."
"Good kid, J. Mom's proud." She flicks her right hand to the right, separating the two different programs she's been working on, scanning over both of them with a hand rubbing her chin. "Check my code for errors, would you?"
"... Ma'am?"
"I know, weird request, not my usual control-freak style to have Junior run the code, but these are probably the most lethal protocols I have ever slapped together in under ten minutes. I want to make sure they are error-fucking-freebefore I let them loose in your system, kiddo."
"Very good, ma'am."
Coulson has the courtesy, or maybe just the self-preservation instinct, to make his presence known long before he taps on the door. "Toni," he says, and Toni will never admit it, but his calm voice is a soothing balm to her raw, screaming nerves. She may have done her level best to avoid him on occasion - or all the time, even - but Coulson carries himself in an utterly unflappable manner, and right now, she's not going to deny herself the tiny bit of comfort she's taking in that. "Can I come in?"
Toni leans back, but doesn't turn around, just keeps her eyes on the floating windows full of code. "Why not?" she replies. "Make yourself at home. Just watch where you step. My last houseguests got a bit rowdy."
He walks to stand beside her like he hasn't the slightest worry she'll repulsor him through a wall, like she isn't one more piece of bad news away from going nuclear. "I can see that. Can I help with the clean-up? Seems like the very least we can do."
"That would be lovely, Agent," Toni says, going over the code one more time, triple- and quadruple-checking her triple- and quadruple-checks and still finding no errors. "You wouldn't believe how hard it is to find a good cleaning service who'll mop up intestines and move bodies with no questions asked. J, progress?"
"Mark VII will complete in thirty seconds. The diagnostic will finish in two minutes. Backtrace has isolated a SHIELD frequency Triskelion servers classify as reserved for STRIKE operations. I am scanning the tri-state area via Starkcom satellites for other active devices using that frequency. Both the Red Queen and the House Party protocols are error free. How would you like me to proceed?"
"Give me a minute on that, J." Finally, she takes her eyes off the floating screens, looks over to Coulson. "Did you have something to say to me, Agent, or are you just here to check up on my mental state? Actually, how the hell did you get here? I thought you were in New Mexico."
"New assignment, got stationed back here a few months ago," Coulson says. "I just haven't had a chance to drop by and say hello."
Toni's mouth curves up on one side, because she can't help it. "Plus, Clint and Tash keep you up to date on how I'm doing like the nosy little busybodies that they are."
Coulson's return smile is amicable. "You don't need to play those games, Toni. They're far more loyal to you than they are to me. I'm just the guy who tells them where to go and what to do. You're their family." He pauses. "Carter passed on your message," he says. "Hawkeye and Black Widow are on mission in Bolivia, but I am working on getting them extracted and brought home. I give you my word on that."
Something within Toni relaxes, unknots. Coulson's just as cagey as the rest of them, but Toni knows enough about him to know that, when he gives his word, he keeps it. "Pleasantries aside. What's Fury so hot to say that he sends in one of his best people to confront a potentially-psychotic mad scientist with power armor and a rapidly dwindling moral compass?"
"Fury didn't send me," Coulson says. "I volunteered to come. Yes, there is a message he would like me to give you, but mostly, I thought you could use a friend."
"Are we friends, Phil?" Her voice is a little hoarse and raw. "I mean, I'd like to think we are, but I'm having a little bit of trouble right now trusting anyone who draws a paycheck signed by Squinty the Spy."
"That's understandable under the circumstances. Fury wants me to tell you that this was not an authorized mission, either on the books or off the books, but that conversation can wait until things aren't so stressful." Coulson carefully holds out a hand, rests it on Toni's shoulder when she doesn't jerk away. "Until then, how can I help?"
Toni opens her mouth to say… she doesn't know what she's going to say, and then a chime from the window where JARVIS had been running the trace interrupts her. "J? What's up?"
"There is one active cluster of comm signals that match the hostile frequency, ma'am, moving northeast out of the city, towards Connecticut."
"Show me."
A map flares to life, state-level with highways and the city's borders highlighted. Moving more or less parallel to the coast of the Long Island Sound blinks a red dot. "Any idea where they're going?"
"Negative, ma'am. I am still decrypting various layers of classified material."
Unexpectedly, Coulson's arm comes up, finger poking a spot along the coastline a few inches ahead of where the blinking dot is. "There's a black site there," he says. "SHIELD acquired it from the army after General Ross's supersoldier program was mothballed. It's rated for Hulk containment. That's the most likely spot." Toni stares at him. He just smiles faintly back at her. "You'd find it eventually," he says. "This just saves everyone some time."
Toni keeps staring at him, can't process the sheer volume of thoughts storming through her head. "You know what, Phil. You're a good man. J, add Agent Coulson to the list of protected persons if a Red Queen situation should ever arise."
"Done, ma'am. Shall I integrate the protocols into my programming?"
Toni wants to say yes, but hesitates. JARVIS is his own man, this should be his decision. "What do you think, J? Do you want to integrate them?"
A significant pause. "I think it would be for the best interests of everyone's safety if I did," he finally says.
"Then yeah. Yeah, go ahead. Progress check?"
"Protocol registries are being updated. The Mark VII has run through the paint cycle, and will be dry in one minute. Diagnostics are complete, and the most likely point of compromise is a backdoor code last utilized by Director Fury in the Malibu servers." Toni bristles, remembers when that happened, when he snuck into her home without alerting a goddamn soul. She'd never been able to find how he'd done it. "It triggered a system-wide lockdown and blocked all incoming or outgoing wireless signals. I have integrated more robust security measures, ma'am. An incursion of this type should not happen again. Mark VII has finished drying and is ready for deployment. My registries are updated with the new House Party and Red Queen protocols. May I suggest you put your bracelets on, ma'am?"
Coulson's eyebrow is raised. "I get the feeling I might not want to know what just happened."
Toni opens the slim drawer of the workbench where she stores her more delicate tools, pulls the silver half-loops out, slips them on. "Don't worry, Phil," she says, and holds her arms out wide as the Mark VII spins in from the fabrication room. "I've only given JARVIS the ability to take control of my inactive suits and go completely homicidal in the event of another extreme breach of security. What could possibly go wrong there?"
"Oh." Toni's impressed that not even that can make Coulson do more than blink. "Well then."
"If you still want to help out, Agent," she says, as the Mark VII locks on and starts unfolding, sliding, expanding around her, "do me a favor and make sure no one else steals more of my shit." The helmet shifts, slides, forms around her face, and then the faceplate snaps down into place, HUD flaring to life. Repulsors spin up, the chestplate locks over her arc reactor, shatterproof glass sliding protectively over it. "Mama's gonna go express some rage."
