The jostling of the bus comes to an abrupt halt as the sliding doors are blown off of their hinges. Sparks fly as the metal peels away from its welded home, and the bus goes completely silent as the beating of Lee's heart plays concerts in her ears, deafening her to even the sound of metal boots pounding against the three short steps between the now ruined highway and the front of the bus.
That's when she sees him. The Task Master. His appearances in the videos from S.H.I.E.L.D. have done him no justice, but if asked to describe him, Lee might find herself at a loss for how to go about doing it effectively. Massive in stature, wide and built as a bull, his body was covered with a red and blue suit cut from the same cloth as Peter's no doubt was. A hood and cape cloaked him from the majority of those bearing witness to this incident, but it was not this obscurity that chilled Lee to the bone. It was the skull-like mask worn over his features that concealed his true identity which made her blood run cold. He carries a sheathed sword across his back, and a bow and arrow is cocked at the ready between his two hands. He walks with a swagger which might have been ridiculous on anyone not so terrifying.
His dead eyes peer out from behind his mask and scan the seated passengers as his voice maintains a calm, dignified manner. Everyone waits in hushed anticipation for him to make a move that could kill them all, for there is no doubt that this man could do just that.
"Hello, darling bus people. I mean you no harm. I am simply seeking out-" Just as Lee was attempting to duck her head into the hood of her jacket to conceal herself, the man's unfeeling eyes find her form, which has been cowering in her seat farthest in the back of the coach. That Stark jawline is impossible to miss. With a smirk, he nods in Lee's direction and continues to speak, "Ah. There she is."
Lee hasn't learned much in her life from her father, but his fight-or-flight instinct is something passed down flawlessly. And this time, she knows that remaining where she is can only end in certain death. Blood frozen solid but heart pumping nothing but fire, Lee reaches for the window to her right and frantically pulls against it, using all of her might to pull it open so she may make a run for it. Unfortunately, the windows are welded shut for "safety purposes," which Lee intends to one day write a strongly written letter about, describing to the bus company just what the word safety actually means. Terror choking her, knowing all the while that the window will not budge, she pulls against it anyway, not even caring for the tears welling up in her eyes as distress takes control of her faculties.
"No. No, no-" She mutters to herself as her knuckles turn white from the effort exerted against the immovable glass.
Every eye is now on her, watching as she desperately tries to claw her way from this prison like a rat trapped in a box, but Lee continues on. The Task Master doesn't move from his place beside the now-shaking driver, intending instead to allow Lee an opportunity to come willingly. A chuckle rattles from behind his mask as he watches her pathetic attempt at an impossible escape.
"Miss Lee Stark is trying to run away, is she?" He leers.
For the fun of watching her squirm helplessly, the Task Master takes two strutting steps down the center aisle of the bus towards her. Lee flinches back in her seat, unashamed of letting her terror show clearly in every flinch and every breath of her body. She has lost everything in these last few days. The hope of a father. The love of Peter. And now, possibly her life. A thing like pride and composure now seem like such tiny, insignificant problems in the face of it all.
"Don't come any closer," she shouts in what she hopes is a commanding voice.
It isn't. It isn't commanding in the slightest, but the Task Master halts his steps anyway, raising an eyebrow behind the covering over his face. Her show of defiance isn't surprising, however it is impressive that in spite of her abject terror, she still clings to her displays of rebellion. In another life, the man with the cape and cowl might have been pleased by such a show of fortitude.
"Don't want to play along?" He taunts, his voice lilting as a flute and deadly as a viper.
Lee's hands, which now quiver uncontrollably from her adrenaline and her exertion against the window, peel themselves away from the barrier. The business man two seats in front of her stare at them, watching as they do their vile dance of horror and panic.
"What do you want with me?" She asks, her voice rising to call above the heads of the people around her.
Even in her fear, she does not miss that the man called her by her father's name; she should have known that someone as powerful as this man appears to be would have drawn some conclusions, would have connected some dots about her heritage. She should have known that he would come after her, because as smart as this man obviously is, he couldn't know that Tony cares as much for his daughter as a man cares for a raincloud over a picnic. Bitterness floods her even at a time like this.
"Your father is Tony Stark. Iron Man," he says, as though this explains everything, as though this is the answer to any and all conundrums that could be wracking Lee's mind.
The sounds of shock fill the air of the bus, charging the air with electricity. Jaws drop and eyes widen and minds twitter endlessly to themselves about the veracity of such a claim. Tony Stark doesn't have a daughter, they argue to themselves. To which Lee would reply, yeah. You're right. He doesn't. Not anymore. Emboldened by this thought, by her detachment from the man who only brought her pain, the young woman scoffs, though it does not escape anyone that her hands and voice are still in constant motion.
"Whatever you want, I promise you that I'm not the way to get it from him," she vows, earnest and true.
Of course, the Task Master knew she would say something like that, anything to get out of this transaction. Little does he know that it isn't just a lie spun by a woman trying to save her own skin, but rather by an abandoned daughter who actually believes that she's telling the truth. If Tony hasn't come after her by now, if he hasn't at least tried to call her by now, which he hasn't, then surely she knows him well enough to know that he won't be coming after her, especially if it means chasing the Task Master all across creation to find her. Around them, passengers begin to whimper and shuffle around in their seats, set suddenly ill at ease by the gentle flow of this conversation.
"That remains to be seen," comes the cold reply.
Lee shakes her head. What a fool this man is. What an awful, unthinking fool. He couldn't know the beginning of the trials she's gone through at Tony Stark's hand, couldn't begin to understand how little her father seems to care for her. She vows in a low voice as her eyes narrow even through the misty, ever-rising barrier of her tears.
"You don't know my father," she warns in a low, careful voice.
And, as if the blows to her fragility weren't enough already, the man in the cape snarls out a laugh and snaps back a reply that would crack even the strongest of Lee's defenses.
"Oh, but neither do you," he pauses for a brief moment before continuing, letting that moment rest just long enough to open up the wounds in Lee's heart just a little bit wider, "Isn't that right?"
If it were possible, Lee sinks even farther into the cheap material of her seat, shrinking under the gaze of her fellow passengers and the weight of the emotional rubble from her heart's latest implosion. Hopeless eyes set far back in her skull reflect not even the brightest of lights shining her way. She makes no move, no action to rise from her seat and hand herself over willingly to the Task Master, which has been his plan all along.
"Come," the man commands.
Lee makes no move and the masked character at the front of the bus has grown tired of the games that he himself had started.
"You will rise and come with me," he speaks cuttingly, before muttering out a promise, "And I will kill everyone on this bus until you come along."
His eyes sweep the bus, searching for the most innocent, most spectacularly pure spirit that could be cut down. Then, he spies a small child in the arms of her mother, a dark-skinned little girl with wide, glittering eyes and the sweetest cheeks streaked with heavy tears of confusion. Coyly, the man turns his loaded bow so that the arrow points directly at the little girl's temple, knowing that were he to release the tensed string from between his fingertips that it would split the small skull directly in half. Lee's urge to vomit skyrockets as she watches the interaction.
"Would you like to pick who dies first?" He asks, voice almost gentle.
Shooting up from her seat, Lee nearly runs out into the aisle way, raising her hands up in surrender as she shouts for reprieve. No one is going to die on her behalf today, and especially not an innocent little girl. The thought scrubs her skin with salty guilt, hanging on the flesh there as she feels the silent tears slip from her eyes.
"I'll go," she screams, then lowers her voice to a dull, resigned mumble, "I'll go."
Pleasure illuminates the masked man, and he nods once, though he refuses to lower his bow.
"Good girl," he says, watching as Lee takes the calculated steps from the back of the bus to the front.
Once the young woman exits the bus, the Task Master lowers the bow from its trained lock on the young girl crying in her mother's arms, and follows behind his charge, not training the weapon on her as he commands her to walk forward along the cracked and ruined highway. They walk in silence, the tip of the arrow so close to Lee that she can feel it swish against the edges of her ponytail with every step. Finally, when her feet feel ready to bleed and her mind aches, Lee gathers the courage to ask:
"Are you going to kill me?"
Apparently this is a question that amuses the Task Master. He chortles and shakes his head, continuing to walk in even, steady steps behind his captive.
"Oh, no. I won't kill you. The Avengers won't chase after a corpse."
Lee is just about to ask him what he means by that when she feels something solid knock into the back of her skull, and the world goes black around her.
"When do you think the Task Master is going to attack?"
Peter and Tony have been at it for hours, training relentlessly against the tide of feelings welling up in both of them, feelings that both of them are going to great lengths to hide from one another. Bruce and Steve, Natasha and Clint have all made appearances in the training center, staying for a few hours to get in a handful of reps or to evaluate Peter's progress. But, for the most part, it has been silence between Peter and Tony as Tony runs Peter through simulation after simulation, scenario after scenario. Peter breaks the silence to ask Tony the question that has been on the forefront of his mind, reaching for a bottle of water as he takes a long-awaited break from the nearly endless, mind-numbing physical exertion.
"We don't know," Tony says, using a towel to dry the sweat from his bare neck, "We just know to be alert. He made his first public address that day when you and," Tony goes to say Lee's name, but catches himself before the emotion attached to her name can bubble over in his chest, "your girlfriend came here, just like he promised. But he's been basically silent since then."
Everything comes out terse and frank, easy and hard all at the same time. Tony's the master of speaking like that. Peter sinks to the floor and leans his head back against the nearest wall, wishing that he were still in the dizzying spell of training, where he didn't have to think or endure walking nightmares or ache about Lee. But now, in the stillness, Peter's mind is suddenly warped back into those same thoughts and nightmares and aches. Voice humming like the single plucked string of a violin, Peter looks up at Tony with a gaze that looks like it's trying, and failing, to be guarded and tough.
"Has anyone managed to talk to Lee?" Peter asks.
Surprise doesn't hit the older man at the sound of the question; he knew he should have expected it at one point or another, especially after Natasha pulled Tony aside for a hushed conversation in the hallway during one of her brief visits. The small sequester was actually intended to inform Tony that they weren't able to identify or locate Lee's precise whereabouts. Her train ticket must have been bought under an alias and she paid in cash. The check from Pepper hadn't been cashed or deposited and no one matching her description came up on any CCTV footage, though, Tony argued, if she was wearing that damn hoodie of hers, she could easily have avoided being caught by the cameras.
"I think someone's checked on her, yeah," Tony says, diplomatically.
He cannot have Peter dissolve into a heap of emotional whining, not now. Not when the training has been so effectively keeping his mouth shut all day. Deep down, Tony suspects that if Peter were to break down now, then Tony might follow soon thereafter, which is something that cannot happen as far as he and the mission are concerned. He hopes that this dismissal will be enough to satisfy the young man, but instead of quieting him, it only makes Peter endlessly more curious. Hopeful eyes turn to Tony, looking up at him for answers.
"And?" Peter prompts, cautiously optimistic.
If Lee doesn't want to be around him, then Peter can at least hope that she's alright. He thinks that is a fair trade-off.
"And what?" Tony asks, pulling the towel from his neck and throwing it down to the floor.
This isn't something Tony wants to discuss any further because, for the first time in his life maybe, he is tired of having to construct lies. He is tired of having to continue a conversation based entirely in fiction. On regular days, when his life doesn't involve S.H.I.E.L.D. or his daughter or a monster coming to destroy New York City, Tony loves living in fantasy worlds entirely of his own creation. But not today. Not now.
"Is she okay?" Peter asks.
Even through his fatigue, lies come so easily. Tony even manages a smile, knowing that it will take so much to comfort the young man struggling with his suppressed feelings.
"Yeah. We've got eyes on her," Tony nods, the fiction tasting like castor oil on his teeth, "She's safe."
Reluctance catches in Peter's throat.
"You're sure?" He asks.
It's almost disgusting to Tony just how much Peter is willing to trust him, how easy it is to manipulate the mind of the young man into obedience. Just tell him that the girl is alright and he will be as docile as a house pet.
"Positive," Tony says with a nod, "We promised you she'd be taken care of, didn't we?"
Peter, however, is too nervous now to be comforted by a flimsy consolation such as that one.
"If that were true, you would have kept her here."
"This isn't a prison, Peter," Tony retorts.
It wasn't meant to be a prison, at least, though, if Bruce is correct, Lee was beginning to feel like it was one. Tony would be lying if such a thought didn't feel like a punch to his windpipe.
"Why do you think she left?" Peter asks.
Tony turns his back on the young man and picks up two boxing gloves. He slides them over his hands and begins punching the nearest dummy, releasing his energy on something as immovable as this inanimate object. His tone is more bitter and jaded than he would like.
"Literally could not give a shit," Tony replies coldly.
He doesn't mean that. Another lie.
"That's not an answer," Peter replies.
Pulse running to keep up with his exercising, Tony shakes his head.
"You shouldn't be thinking about this. You have no idea what-"
Rising to his feet to return to training, leaving his water bottle discarded at his side, Peter runs a hand through his hair. Knowing something in the mind is so different from feeling it in the heart, he realizes. He knows he should focus on training and push Lee from his head. He knows that. But he can't simply erase Lee from his life's pages, can't just hide her in a drawer only to open it again when it is convenient.
"I know. It's just a lot to process," Peter says, crossing the room to find something productive enough to silence his worries once again.
"Then don't think. Just focus," Tony advises, as though it is so easy to do so.
Peter is just about to ask for another simulation or sparring practice when the door to the room is pushed through, and Darcy Lewis runs her way inside, panting with the effort of how fast and far she has just run.
"Tony!" She shouts through halting breaths.
The man doesn't look away from his punching bag. Peter's mouth dries with dread at the look in Darcy's eyes.
"What?" Tony snaps.
"You need to come and see this," Darcy implores.
"I'm busy," he states obviously.
This isn't the time to be busy.
"Fucking now, Tony," she growls.
Peter has reluctantly followed the two as they sprint their way through the building, running until they arrive in the bullpen, where Darcy has paused the television screen to reveal the terrifying gaze of the Task Master. He stares into the camera with those dead eyes all while a smile reveals itself from the corners of his mask.
"Hello again, my dear S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm coming at you live from an undisclosed location to send a special message out across the airwaves directly to you, Mr. Tony Stark."
The room freezes. Darcy hadn't watched this far, had only seen enough to know that the Task Master was hijacking the airwaves once more, and sprinted to get anyone who she thought needed to listen. Tony just happened to be first and now, she thinks perhaps it was fate that drove her in his direction. Peter and Darcy stare at Tony, whose face is betraying everything he's feeling. They listen as the Task Master continues his speech and watch as Tony takes it in.
"If you want your daughter back, then you will don your metal suit and come out to play," he barbs.
Daughter? Peter thinks to himself, Tony doesn't have a daughter-
That very same moment, the young man turns to the television screen to see for himself just what Tony is seeing. But now, where the face of the Task Master once dominated, now is the image of a body cast onto a cold, unforgiving concrete floor. The face is marred in blood and bruises and the arms and feet are bound, but Peter sees.
Peter sees.
The Task Master just called Lee-his Lee- Tony Stark's daughter. And the look on Tony's face is enough to convince Peter that it is so. Lee is Tony's daughter. Tony is Lee's father. Lee is the child of Tony Stark. Lee is not just the child of some faceless deadbeat, but has known Tony all along. Tony has been acting like she doesn't exist. Lee is Tony Stark's daughter.
"End transmission," The Task Master states.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tony's hand go flying into the television screen and Darcy's hand going up to protect her face. But Peter doesn't understand any of those images. All there is in his world is the image of Lee McCarthy broken and beaten by a monster, the sound of ringing in his head, and the simple knowledge he just acquired.
Lee is Tony Stark's daughter. Lee is Tony Stark's daughter. Lee is Tony Stark's daughter. Lee is Tony Stark's daughter. Lee is Tony Stark's daughter. Lee is Tony Stark's daughter. Lee is Tony Stark's daughter. Lee is Tony Stark's daughter. Lee is Tony Stark's daughter. Lee is Tony Stark's daughter. Lee is Tony Stark's daughter. Lee is Tony Stark's daughter. Lee is Tony Stark's daughter. Lee is Tony Stark's daughter. Lee is Tony Stark's daughter. Lee is Tony Stark's daughter.
It plays on loop in his head. Inescapable. Cruel.
So, without knowing what else to do, Peter reaches for the nearest plant in the room and unleashes the contents of his stomach into it.
There you guys go! Chapter 18! Thank you so, so, SO much for all of the incredible reviews. You have no idea how much they mean to me and how much I adore reading them. You guys always have such great insight and encouragement and I love to write for you all! Cannot wait to hear what you have to say about this chapter!