Atlas, my second home, mother had called it. And here I was, ready to see the truth of her words.
The hawker gunship touched down against the icy helicopter pad and its dual rotators finally stopped turning overhead, the light right next to the sliding door turned green.
I pushed it forward, detaching it from the couplings and then to the side, letting it glide off the metal frame of the thing and opening up its pathway to let us down.
Us, as in me and my escort, who pulled me back by the shoulder, gently but tightly, making sure he was first off the Hawker.
Safety. Was the word of the day. Why? One word: Father.
"It's for your safety Princess," The escort offered me his hands from the pad surface. I took it, using it and the side railings as support to slowly step down on the cold steps.
Cold to the eyes at least. I couldn't much feel it. My clothes, a gift from my father, really were good at their job, weren't they?
"Ready to go Princess?" The man asked and took my backpack in his free hand.
I nodded, following his lead as he pulled me along, electing to keep silent and sightsee as we moved.
Not that there was much to see that I hadn't already through the Hawker's windows. It was after all the best way to see the frozen beauty of Atlas—A city etched into existence through sheer grit and will.
Through fire and steel.
Against the cold, infertile, hostile lands of this frozen hellscape.
It showed. In the clinical lines making the streets, the memorials, the gun culture. It showed. Wearing its history on its sleeve. That was Atlas.
And there was so much more to see.
My second home huh? Just that thought brought a smile to my lips.
"You look like you are having fun, well, reign in your horses. We are here," He said as we stopped in front of the largest building in the middle of the Military Encampment.
"This her? Damn?" One of two guards standing in front of the door to the buildings asked. The escort nodded, "I know right?"
"Who's the lucky mother?" The other one asked, the escort just shrugged, "No idea. Just open the gate."
"Right, right," The guard nodded as he pulled out a swipe guard and ran it across a scanner stuck to the side of the wall.
The door behind the two slid apart to reveal another behind it. And it too began to open. Just that it didn't look like one, it looked like a vault door. I could almost hear the gears grinding inside.
"That's a door?"
The escort barked a laugh, "The most secure type in the world. Apparently."
Just looking at the thickness of the steel that was used to make this door, I had to agree.
Still, our destination was inside, so I pushed away my thoughts, "Let's just go."
"As you say, Princess," He chuckled as he pulled me along. Inside into the reception of the building. I cracked my head to the side to see the walls, they were as thick, if not thicker than the door. This place was a bunker. Not just a command post.
Which was all the weirder after we stepped into the building itself. Clinical lines of glowing light mark the immaculate white tiles covering the walls and the floors. It was almost like someone was trying to replicate the white of the outside snow.
Gone was concrete, gone was the 'brutalist' and all that was left was the 'modern.'
We walked along, reaching the receptionist, a burly man, a bearded man, draped in a black overcoat not too dissimilar to my own.
"The Princess?" He asked, landing down on the granite counter.
"Yep, this is the Princess," The escort confirmed, letting go of my hand and depositing my bag on the counter.
Taking it, he unzipped it, his hands digging through the contents, "Anything to report?"
"Nothing," The escort shrugged.
He didn't raise his eyes from the bag, "Dismissed then."
With a nod, he broke away from us, leaving me and the receptionist alone.
I eyed the man, he was taking his sweet time. A thorough checking. And while I could understand why—it had been eight hours since I had first set off from Vale. A lot of things were getting to me. Fatigue was one of those things.
The dull ache of my calves, I could not feel them. The slow drooping of my eyelids. All that was ignored was here now. Telling me to throw myself under some sheets and tell my conscious to fuck off.
But it took a while until the man at the desk felt that he had seen enough of my clothes and things to realise that I was not planning to kill my father. Well, the joke's on him. I planned to smother Father in my jacket till he suffocated to death. Yeah, great plan, I know.
"There you go," He handed me my backpack and pointed to the elevator door, again flanked by two guards.
Taking my bag I made my way to the door, the two guards made a cursory glance at my face before ignoring me. I was dead tired but they were Dad's men, it was better to get on friendly terms with them, so I joked, "Not gonna check if I have a bomb under my jacket or something?"
One chuckled a little before shrugging, "Do you have a bomb under your jacket?"
"Maybe," I turned my eyes up to him.
The other one laughed, "Then we are getting court-martialed tomorrow."
"Which you could prevent by inspecting me," I smiled at the man in black.
"You are the Princess, we won't catch you. Even if you do kill someone."
"What? Does being the Princess grant me immunity to the law?"
"You are the Princess."
"Yeah, that explains everything."
His partner knuckled him to which the man only clicked his tongue, and then turned to me, a smug smile dawning on his lips, as if he was about some ancient wisdom, "If you want to know something interesting ask your father what 'Princess' actually means."
I raised my brow, "It doesn't mean what it usually means does it?"
He smiled utterly too pleased with himself, what an ass, "That's for you to find out."
I had to keep my eyes from rolling, "Sure. Know which floor I have to be on?"
He nodded, pressing the button behind him, and then punching a code in the control panel, that was for some reason outside the elevator itself. The elevator door opened and the guard commented, "Up and away Princess."
Walking past them and up the elevator I was taken up to the second last floor of the building.
And as the doors slid open, there he was standing in his white overcoat and blue undershirt, all in all, a very Atlan garb.
He was looking. I was looking at him. We were looking at each other.
It was like he was trying to take in everything about me all in one glance. But I was not, I was not here for a stupid staring contest. I had not flown for eight hours with gruff military men whose sense of humour consisted of enough slurs and curses to make ears bleed.
Fuck that.
So I forced a smile on my face and as playfully as I could, "A 'good to see you' would be nice you know."
It took a second for him to snap out of his stupor, he pulled me up, right out of the entrance of the lift and into a crushing hug, "Yeah, sorry—" He spoke muffled by my clothes, "Sorry. Sweety, it's just…"
My forced smile turned into a real one as I let myself go into the hug.
And during it, my lips moved, "Ten years Dad, you have some ten years to make up for."
It was emotional blackmail. I knew that he had done his level best to be in my life, calling every day, every birthday a gift, every event he was there. If not in person then in spirit and mind. He was always there.
But that was not enough. Fuck me, I am a selfish bitch. I wanted more.
And just this. Just a hug—a thing I had done a million billion times before—felt special. Like this was it.
This was what I had been missing for all my life.
"Dad," I said as I closed my eyes in his clothes. And there I felt my fatigue finally take over.
Pushing me into a blurry haze.
Pushing me to sleep.
"Looks like she misses her father doesn't she?" It took a moment for Ironwood to re-register the world around him. His little girl had wrapped all the world's attention to herself.
"She does. It is her first time seeing me in person," He answered to the girl behind him.
Winter nodded as he turned around, "Who's the mother?"
He didn't answer, "Winter your training is done for the day. Dismissed."
Winter laughed, "Yes, yes. Dismiss me so you can spend time with your daughter," but she followed on anyway. Walking into the elevator brought up by the young girl, "Good night General. Take care of Ironwood junior!"
He gave her an absent-minded, "Goodbye," as he turned around to his quarters.
His eyes naturally travelled to the little treasure in his hands. To Little Miss Ironwood Junior.
That makes her Mira Ironwood right?
Now that has a pleasant ring to it.
[A/N: A small time skip to quickly shift into the meat of the story. Hope you enjoy it.
Oh and if you have any thoughts do share them.]