a/n: well, that was fucking sad. anyway, here's a story i made because i really want to do a steve/oc story and tony stark appreciation story because i'm hyperfixating on the mcu, more specifically everyday people in the mcu and just general modernized-mcu sorta. anyway, this story is heavily inspired by taylor swift's folklore album so take that however you want. enjoy. give me feedback, please.
Breaking News: Daily Bugle Senior Reporter Killed In Afghanistan Bombing, Memorial Processions Taking Place Next Sunday
Bye, Bean!
Jamie Archer twirled her dad's silver wedding band around her fingers from the thick black thread it was attached to around her neck. The harder she looked at it, the more she could see the cracks and dents in the band. She still remembered the night he gave it to her.
It was hot. Boston got sticky during the summer and it was the last week of school. Jamie remembered her pants sticking to the leather chairs on the bus. She was in eighth grade, they were holding a graduation for middle schoolers going on to high school the next day and she was excited to formally invite her parents. It was going to be a boring ceremony, but Jamie really wanted another award for her dresser.
It was really, really hot.
Jamie was hot when she got off the bus and it was even hotter the longer she stood waiting on the sidewalk for her mom to come pick her up. Usually her dad picked her up, but since her dad had picked up another story with their smaller local newspaper, her mom was reluctant enough to pick her up this week.
But something felt off.
Dad usually picked her up by three, but three passed. Before Jamie knew it the sun was going down and suddenly she realized it was dark and she was still waiting to be picked up. Eventually, Jamie figured maybe her mom had gotten called with an emergency and just forgot to get her. Or maybe she hired a babysitter that flaked. Or maybe Mom thought Dad was picking her up, and Dad thought Mom was picking her. A mix-up. A mistake.
She wandered in the humid, sticky heat. By the time she'd made it to four blocks in to her seven-block walk to her house from the bus stop, her legs and arms were littered with mosquito bites. It was around the time Jamie started to get blisters on her ankles, her Dad came swerving down the street like a madman in his SUV.
"Jamie! Honey!" Her Dad rushed over and hugged her. This was weird. Usually he just opened the door for her and patted her head when he'd picked her up. Something was wrong. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
She shook her head and furrowed her eyebrows when she noticed her dad looking her up and down like she was in trouble. "N-no," she hiccupped. "What happened?"
"Nothing, Bean," her dad assured her, pulling him back into his chest with a tight squeeze. "You're just gonna go stay at your grandma's for a few days while Mommy and I have a talk, okay?"
Jamie just nodded against her dad's shoulder.
Jamie would soon come to find out that the reason she'd been left out in the heat wasn't because her mom had forgotten her, it was because she'd intentionally left her... and her dad.
She'd cleared the house after she'd dropped Jamie off at school and left nothing but divorce papers, already signed. She'd even taken her wedding band with her, possibly to pawn it.
On her birthday the year after her mom had left them, her dad had gifted her his wedding band on a thick black thread. Jamie remembered he didn't even look sad. He looked disappointed, tired, mildly agitated, but... not heartbroken. It was almost as if he was masking his emotions to empathize with Jamie. It felt weird...
"But... this is Mom's," she'd protested at first.
"No, this is yours," he insisted, gripping her hand tightly around the band in her petite palms. "When I married your Mom, I did it to make a promise to her and to our future. But your Mom didn't want to be apart of that future. So that promise belongs to you. You are my future, Jamie."
Jamie felt a hot tear trickle down her cheek in the present day, her fingers still tracing the cut lines in the silver band between her fingers.
There was a soft rapping on her door. "Jamie." It was Margot. She'd requested a week off work to stay with Jamie after they'd first gotten the news back from Afghanistan. She was a Godsend and never let Jamie be alone with her thoughts for too long.
After the knock, Jamie could hear the door creak open slightly. She didn't have to look down to know her roommate was peeking her head in. "Your Dad's friends from work are starting to clear out. Did you wanna say bye?"
Jamie didn't answer. She'd feel rude if she outright said 'no,' but she didn't want to say 'yes' and go mingle aimlessly. She'd gotten enough looks of pity at work when she'd put in her vacation request for personal days and even more from what little distant family she had left at the funeral.
All her Dad's family had been in attendance- her grandparents, her aunt and uncle, their two younger kids. They were all bitter from Jamie not having enough money to hold a proper funeral, let alone one in another state. Boston cost money and she was selfish enough not to want to go back and be able to have her dad's grave close by.
Margot, still standing idly in her doorway, took Jamie's silence in stride. "I'll tell them you said thanks for coming."
Jamie nodded. She was thankful they came, but she just couldn't stand hearing about how great a reporter her dad was and how great of a loss this was for the journalism world. Because to her, he was always a journalist second and her dad first and foremost.
"Hey, why don't you change out of the funeral clothes," Margot suggested, a soft smile playing at her lips as she tried to be encouraging. "Put some sweats on. We can order Thai and watch Dirty Dancing."
Jamie glanced out the window. Soft pieces of ice and sleet continued to splat and tap against the glass, a few melted water droplets freezing halfway down the panel and creating particles that looked like a mosaic of ice and water. During weather like this, Jamie and Margot would put up pillow forts in their dorm or apartment living space to conserve heat so they didn't have to jack up their electrical bill. Today, Jamie didn't even want to leave her bed. She didn't care how cold it got inside her hardwood room.
"Not today," Jamie muttered, still facing the window.
"Okay," Margot nodded, no trace of disappointment or resentment in her voice. "I'll still order some Wonton soup for you and put on a tea kettle for you. Earl Grey or Chamomile?"
Jamie let out a water laugh. Of course Margot would be so stubborn to force feed Jamie her favorite things in her darkest times. "Uh... Earl Grey, please."
Margot smiled, a sliver of hope in her eyes at the thought of her best friend at least feeling a sliver of relief and happiness while with her. "Coming right up," Margot was about to shut the door when Jamie called out to her.
"Hey! Uh," Jamie hesitated when Margot glanced back at her. "Thank you for being here, Go."
Margot smiled ruefully at her best friend. "You don't ever have to thank me for being here with you, Jay."
Jamie smiled through the tears before turning back to the frozen window. As much as Jamie was grateful to have amazing friends, even they couldn't fill the gaps left by her Dad's loss. And that's what made her heart break just a little more sitting there alone in her room.
Jamie heard the door shut and it only opened again thirty minutes later when a piping hot cup of Earl Grey was set inside her room on the floor.
It was true about what they said, that grief could blur time.
Before Jamie had time to blink, a month had passed since her Dad's funeral and life went right back to the way it was before he'd died. Jamie had to go back to work soon. Margot and Parker had already returned to their daily routine and it was a little hard for Logan to return to work without his reporter in tow.
"Do you need anything before I head out?" Parker prompted, his bag was already packed and if he lingered in the Loft any longer he'd be late for work. "I already took the trash out. Groceries are put away. Do you need a back massage or anything-"
"Bye, Parker!" Jamie shouted overdramatically as she padded out of her room, a rubix cube in her hands and her hair disheveled from lack of conditioning. "How much PTO do you have with the Police Department anyway? Have you been storing it since you graduated or something?"
Parker grimaced, sticking his water bottle beneath the faucet as Jamie took a seat at the bar counter. "PTO... Yeah... " Jamie slowly glanced up at her roommate, her eyes narrowing at his uneasy tone of voice. "That would be a... good thing to have, wouldn't it?"
"You haven't been using your PTO this entire time?" Jamie gasped.
Parker shrugged. "Forgot I had it. Uh, I may be pulling into the savings account to cover my part of rent this month."
Jamie let out an exasperated sigh. "You don't have to cover anything. I've got it," she insisted.
"Oh, yeah? You haven't been taking out any PTO with the Globe. Where's this money coming from?"
Jamie shrugged, her eyes dropping to the rubix cube in her hand still only half complete. "Uh, apparently my Dad left all of his belongings and savings to me in the event... something happened to him. He also took out a life insurance policy for himself, so..." Parker could see how hard his friend was trying not to let it show how affected she was by the idea of her dad still taking care of her even while he was gone. "I am... all taken care of. So, I've got it."
Parker frowned, carefully setting his filled water bottle down and dropping his packed backpack off on the ground gently. "Hey, you know, I don't have to go into work today. Really. PTO be damned, you shouldn't have to be alone right now."
The brunette sniffled slightly, but put her foot down. "No. No, you have to go back to work. I'll be fine. I've actually been putting off going down to the insurance place to put in my direct deposit info and picking up the stuff my Dad left for me. Don't even get me started on cleaning out the house in Boston..."
"You've got a busy day," Parker mused. "Don't let me keep you then. Call if you need anything, Jay." He tried not to let his pity show in his smile and wave goodbye, but it still left Jamie feeling like crap after he shut the door.
Great, it looked like she really did have shit to work before work the next day.
"Why did I say that?" she muttered aloud to the empty loft apartment.
Mildly annoyed that she had to put on decent clothes and actually fix her hair up, Jamie dragged her feet getting ready. When she eventually managed to look decent enough for society, she grabbed her keys and wallet and shot a quick text to Margot in case she came back on her lunch break and was wondering where she went.
She was lucky enough that she had this amazing support system in place that made the last month and a half bearable without her Dad. She knew she couldn't be this sad just doing normal, everyday things. But it was like everywhere she went, there was something that reminded her of something stupid her Dad would say or a memory of something small they'd done together.
It was hard getting through just a regular day locked in her room all day, but this was supposed to be the hardest part, wasn't it? Getting through an average day in her life trying to be happy with a hole in her heart.
"Come on, Archer. You've got this," she whispered beneath her breath to herself, her wallet in her hands as her fingers search and tore through the pockets. "I know I put it somewhere..."
Of course, the first time she has to get on the train in weeks and she loses her Metro card. She could jump the meter like she used to back in college, but she was already 23-years-old and well past the acceptable age to be doing that on a Sunday morning... in flats no less. She'd never be able to outrun the Metro cops in flats, could she?
"Thinking of jumping?"
Jamie glanced up to find a man in a plaid shirt and glaring scar on his nose staring back at her, a part smug and part amusing smirk playing at his lips.
"Uh... no? I mean- no, sir. Of course not!" She chuckled nervously, her hands still scavenging her wallet for her card. Why'd she call him 'sir'?
"Don't worry, kid, I'm not a cop," he informed her in a polite tone. Jamie watched him carefully pluck a card from out of his suit pocket and swipe it over the sensor, the gate opening up. "Just a guy tryna make life easier."
Jamie stood, slack-jawed with her wallet still in her hands, as the man gestured for her to go through. The young woman didn't feel the need to question a lot of things in life, this was one of those things. She stepped through and zipped up her wallet just in time for the train to stop.
She wondered who that nice man with the swollen nose was for the rest of the train ride, but he just so happened to be the least weird thing about her day by far.
When Jamie eventually made it to the insurance place, she noticed just how high-end it was by the interior of the lobby. It looked a little less like an insurance company and more like a Fortune 500 company with the way the people were all dressed white-tie and black-collar. She could count the number of briefcases she noticed in everyone's hands and the odd way they kept throwing anxious side glances at her. She wished she had worn something other than blue jeans on this outing, but it wasn't like she was expecting to be ridiculed by her dead Dad's insurance providers when she got dressed this morning.
"Hello," a nice young woman at the front desk greeted her eventually. "What can I help you with?"
"Uh, my Dad put an insurance policy out for himself. I got the email last Wednesday. Sorry, I'm late to come put my direct deposit information in to collect for him," Jamie explained apologetically as she carefully began to sift through her wallet to pull out her ID.
"Um, what did you say your Dad's name was?" the front desk attendant asked, her voice catching slightly.
"Oh, right, sorry," Jamie shook her head, placing her ID on the counter for the woman to take. "Michael Archer. I'm his daughter and next of kin, Jamie Elizabeth Archer."
The woman narrowed her eyes at Jamie's ID, setting it back down on the counter and typing furiously on her computer.
"Is, uh, something wrong?" the young woman prompted, taking back her ID slowly.
"Nothing's wrong," the woman replied, still not looking up or even bothering to elaborate. She just kept typing... and typing... and typing... "If you'd like to wait shortly, your father's... agent will be with you shortly."
"Thanks..." Jamie uttered. She walked and took a seat down on one of the few chairs in the lobby. She felt like an idiot. Maybe she was wrong to think she could do this. Was she the one freaking out right now or was this place really shifty? "Keep it together, Archer. Keep it together-"
"Miss Archer?"
Jamie glanced up to find a man in a suit and tie- similar to everyone else in the lobby- standing idly in front of two elevator doors. He had his wrists crossed in front of him and a welcoming smile on his face.
"I'm Phil. You must be Mr. Archer's daughter."
"Yeah- Yes," she corrected herself, quickly climbing to her feet. "I'm Jamie. You must be my Dad's insurance agent. I'm sorry I'm late to collect everything. The funeral processions were last month."
"We know-"
"Right, of course you did. If you didn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation," she laughed nervously. God, this was such a stupid idea.
This man- Phil- looked a little caught off guard by her demeanor. Maybe he expected someone a little bit more reserved like her Dad was. She wondered how many times her Dad must have been here at this insurance place. It didn't really seem like someplace he would frequent for anything let alone life insurance. He'd actually probably call it stuffy and dystopian.
"Why don't we talk in my office?" he suggested, his polite smile still plastered on his face.
Phil's office was relatively large for an insurance agent's. It was a few floors up the elevator and through double doors that overlooked a relatively nice view over South Manhattan. It was impressive for just some insurance folks. Jamie started to wonder just how much her Dad had invested with these people or when his job with the Bugle even paid him enough to be able to afford this level of insurance.
"So, um, what all did my Dad invest with you?" Jamie prompted as she took a seat in front of this man's desk.
A look of remorse crossed over his face as he reached behind his desk to produce a metal box with a lock on it. It looked a little hardcore. So hardcore that Jamie noticed Phil place his finger on a scanner that unlocked it. "What did your Dad tell you about his... policy?"
Jamie shook her head. "Nothing. I only just got the email about coming to collect his policy."
"Well, your father was a very unique client, Miss Archer," Phil explained. "He didn't take out a policy, per se. He wanted us to set aside a large subsidized amount of money in the event of his passing, yes, but he was more concerned with us keeping specific items he'd stored with us for safe keeping."
Jamie's interests were piqued at that. "He left items with you?"
Phil nodded, holding up the box he'd just unlocked and placing it on his desk facing her. "It wasn't much. We were instructed not to open it until you came to claim it."
Jamie furrowed her eyebrows. Her Dad told her everything. Surely if he'd left something important for her, he'd have mentioned it at some point. This was all... a little secretive of him.
Carefully, she stood up and glanced over the opened top of the container Phil had just opened for her. Inside was... just a few things. Two small crinkled photos of her she recognized. One of her at her spelling bee and another of her at her NYU graduation kissing his cheek. Aside from the photos, inside the box was also an envelope sealed with a postage stamp marked in modern Arabic and a key ring.
"Your father also left you a reasonable amount of life insurance money. We understand you've only just found out about all of this, but we hope you know your father was a very respectable man. A good man," Phil explained, Jamie's focus still on the box in front of her.
Slowly, she glanced back up at the man. His words were a little more genuine than what Jamie would've expected from just another insurance agent looking after a box for her Dad. "Um, thank you. Can I take these?"
"Of course. They're all yours," Phil nodded. "Would you like to discuss wiring the money to your direct deposit now?"
Jamie nodded, trying her best to keep a straight face as she carefully pulled out the items her Dad had locked away for her in this box and taking a seat once more.
Phil talked to her like she was five. Answered all the questions she might've thought were stupid, walked her through the process and next steps, had her write her signature on a few papers and fill out a form for her direct deposit. And when it was all over, Jamie felt like this was supposed to illicit a reaction out of her. That this was a big deal. Her Dad was dead and she was collecting the last of what was left of his and making it her own. It was a big deal, but... all Jamie felt was empty.
"Thank you for all you've done for my Dad," Jamie thanked Phil on her way out to the lobby. "This has been hard. I'm glad this part is at least easy."
Phil ducked his head. "You know, your Dad was mostly only here on business, but... whenever he got the chance to brag about you, he never stopped," he informed her. Jamie opened her mouth to apologize, but clamped it shut when she noticed Phil reach into his back pocket and produced a card.
Jamie took it in her free hand, the other carrying her new box of belongings. She glanced inside the card and noticed it was a new Metro card.
"It's good for a year or so," Phil explained.
Jamie felt at a loss for words. "Um... why-"
"Your Dad mentioned a funny story a long time ago about a misplaced Metro card and a hijacked visit to Coney Island," the man laughed lightly. "Figured it was a common occurrence and it's just something small I personally put together for you to make the transition easier. At least the transportation part of it."
"Thank you," Jamie chuckled, surprised her Dad had told a random insurance agent the story about Coney Island. She also realized he'd set that exact same keychain inside the box at that moment. Surely, that couldn't have been a coincidence... "Thank you..." Jamie repeated, her mind drifting away to anything other than just a conversation about a Metro card.
"Thank you! I have to go. Thank you!" She was saying 'thank you' too much. "This has been very enlightening, Mr. Phil. Have a good rest of your day," and with that, the young woman got all of her things and high-tailed it out of the insurance building in Manhattan with another one of her Dad's puzzles.
Her Dad loved puzzles.
He had an entire shelf in his home office dedicated to puzzles- 3D and 2D alike. He liked taking things apart just to put them back together again. He loved murder mystery books because he liked to see how long it took for him to put the pieces of the mystery together and bust the fictional case wide open. Growing up, he liked to give Jamie riddles on the way to school. If she got them right, he'd make a donut stop and make her thirty minutes late for class.
So when the insurance agent had made it a point to mention Coney Island while also giving her one of her Dad's belongings that consisted of a key ring with an attached souvenir Coney Island chain on it next to a silver ring, Jamie knew this was one of those mysteries. A puzzle for old times sake.
Back at the Loft, Jamie laid out all of the contents of the box on the coffee table in the living room. She'd changed back into some jogging sweats and cable knit sweater. New York Winter was in full-effect and the Loft was still freezing.
Sat down cross-legged, Jamie stared holes into the set of clues in front of her. Two photos of herself, an unopened envelope with an Afghan postage stamp, and a key ring with a key attached next to the Coney Island chain with the name 'Tim' on it. Jamie examined the key chain from Coney Island and flipped it in her fingers.
Her Dad hadn't bought anything when he'd first agreed to visit her in New York after she'd gotten accepted to NYU. He hardly took out his wallet the entire trip because Jamie was so eager to show off her first credit card she got freshman year. So he'd ended up leaving his wallet behind at the hotel when she suggested they go to Coney Island for the day.
It was Spring Break so the weather was perfect for an outing. Jamie had taken cash out so they could play games on the boardwalk and buy junk food. She'd beaten him at a handful of games and won a couple stuffed animals. Eventually, after all the money and energy was gone for the day, her Dad suggested they head out. They'd made it to the subway station just before Jamie realized she'd left her Metro card with her Dad's wallet back at the hotel. Her Dad ended up having to shell out a couple bucks to bribe a taxi driver to take them all the way back to Manhattan and hadn't let her forget it since. He made fun of her for years.
He hadn't spent any money before that, so Jamie wondered when he had time to buy this stupid little keychain with the name 'Tim' on it. He wouldn't have bought it while they were there, had he? No, he must've bought it recently. Jamie had to trace back in her head the last time her Dad had even been in New York.
Now that she thought of it, he had actually come out for a trip to visit her just before he'd been sent out to Afghanistan for a project story with the Bugle.
Her Dad was a senior reporter at the Daily Bugle, a job he'd only just recently taken after she'd graduated high school since he refused to travel out of town and leave Jamie on her own while she was still in his care. He'd taken multiple assignments as a senior reporter that required him to travel. A sticky legal situation in Switzerland that had billionaire's money in a web of lies and espionage. Triple suicides in Buenos Aires that had 'war mongrels' written all over it. And this time, a weapons ring in the Afghan desert that had even the military stumped, hence the most recent military contract with Stark Industries.
Jamie remembered when her and her Dad had watched that announcement on the news that sparked him to take the story pitch to his editor at the Bugle.
Jamie wondered if she would have discouraged his idea about that story that he'd listen to her and stay behind. Maybe take another story in London about rising emissions and carbon footprints. Come visit for Christmas this year instead of be mourned at Thanksgiving dinner.
"A lot of 'What If's," Jamie stated, sitting up straighter in her seat on the couch. "Not a whole lot of answers...Pfft." She let out a sigh through her pursed lips and ran her hands through her hair. "Come on. Think. Who is Tim?"
She dangled the key chain on her index finger and swung it around a few times. Her Dad had already made up his mind about going to Afghanistan to chase this story- "Tony Stark, be damned," he'd said. Her Dad had stayed in New York for a few more days just before bidding her farewell and leaving for the next five months. He was supposed to be back before Christmas... a stray missile was what changed her life forever and put an end to his.
Who is Tim?
He must have went out on that trip while he was still there and bought this keychain. But why the name 'Tim'? They probably had 'Michael' on a keychain. They most definitely had 'Jamie' on a keychain- why not buy that? There was a reason he bought a key chain from a significant place for them with the wrong name and stuck a key on there. Clearly, it unlocked something important.
The insurance guy hadn't opened this box that had this key until today, which means her Dad had to have bought whatever this key was too around the time he put in his insurance policy.
Jamie sat back when it dawned on her he probably took out that policy when he realized how much of a risk it was going to be to go to Afghanistan. He knew it was a risk that he wasn't going to come back. She hated when her Dad ended up being right sometimes.
Who is Tim?
"I'm home!"
Jamie dropped the keys back onto the table upon hearing Margot's dramatic entrance. She was so much better at bouncing back from a month of wearing nothing but sweats and no bras. She was already wearing six inch pumps and pantyhose- freaking pantyhose. Jamie didn't know how Margot did it sometimes.
"How is my favorite reporter?" Margot beamed down at Jamie still sitting on the couch. As she approached, carefully setting down the bags of thread, needles, and fabrics on the floor next to her everyday bag she carried all her other non-work related essentials, the smile from her face faded into a quizzical look. "Oh, you're in your scheming stance- what happened with the insurance people?"
"Parker told you?" Jamie wondered.
"No, I stopped by for lunch and had to find your note after having a mild conniption when you weren't here," Margot explained with a notable frown. Jamie spared her an apologetic grimace. "By the way- there's extra Barney's in the fridge after you explain what's going on with your scheming stance and all of... this?" Margot gestured oddly to the random array of small trinkets on the coffee table set before her.
"Oh, right... this," Jamie turned back to the photos, the key ring and the envelope. "Just some stuff Dad left for me, apparently. Trying to figure out what it all means."
"Means? Jay, it's the last of his stuff, that's what this means," Margot stated, a little dumbfounded. Something caught her eye as she leaned forward to pluck the key ring from the line up. "Who's Tim?"
Jamie threw her hands up exasperatedly. She huffed, kicking herself off the couch and jumping over the top cushions to land on her bare feet on the other side. "That's what I've asking myself for the past six hours, Go. Six hours."
"Okay..." Margot let out slowly, cautiously. "Jay, why are you focusing this much energy into a random storage unit key and random pics your Dad had of you- Hey, what's in this letter?"
Jamie spun around on her heel, "Don't open that!"
Margot, frozen with her fingers still on the edge of the envelope, dropped it immediately. "Okay..."
The redhead was halfway to the fridge to take her nightly gulp of almond milk when Margot's words finally caught up with her. She peeked her head up over the open fridge door. "Hey, what did you say about storage unit keys?"
"This- this one?" Margot held up the Coney Island key ring with the tip of her index finger as if it were a gross sock she'd lifted from the ground.
"How do you know that's a storage unit key?"
"I don't. It just seems probable that it would be one," Margot explained, setting the keychain back down. "Jamie, what's this all about?"
Jamie didn't answer. Her only response was to toss her almond milk carton back into the fridge and speed walk back over to the table to examine the key. Storage unit. PO box. There was a number of things this key could be opening and here Jamie was focusing on the fucking key ring name from Coney Island. "There's gotta be some kind of connection..." Jamie bit her lip in concentration.
"Connection? Jay, don't you think-" Margot paused, her features turning from confused to horror. "No... Jamie, do not tell me this is another one of your weird things with clues and crap-"
"It's not crap! Okay?" Jamie insisted, pushing herself from the couch towards her room where her laptop would give her more answers than she was getting with her best friend. "Dad left this stuff for a reason-"
"Or he didn't expect for his trip to turn sideways overseas and he needed something to put away to keep his business with the insurance guys," Margot stated, pushing herself from the couch as well to follow after her friend. "Jamie, sometimes your Dad can be unpredictable. Like the midlife crisis he had with the Canadian singer engagement or the car for your 16th birthday you ended up selling in retaliation for said Canadian singer engagement." Jamie glanced up from her laptop starting up to find her friend attempting to make jokes while leaning in the doorway of her room. "But, Jay, this time... your Dad is just predictable."
"No-"
"I'm sorry-"
Jamie shook her head more firmly. "No. No!"
"I'm sorry, but he is!" Margot shouted from the doorway. "Your Dad is gone, Jamie. It's not healthy for you to chase these... these leads down like he's some story you can report on to make sense of the truth. The truth is just that... he's gone."
Jamie sat still, her fingers shaking above the keys on her laptop as she tried not to let Margot's words affect her as much as they did. She couldn't be mad at her, she was just trying to protect Jamie. But she knew her Dad. More than Margot, more than anyone at the Bugle, more than anyone. He wouldn't just leave these random selection of things for nothing. He had a reason for everything.
"You're wrong," Jamie stated firmly. "You have to trust me on this, okay? He left something. This- all of this-" she held up the keys and wildly gestured back to the living room where the rest of the trinkets were. "-It means something. I know it does."
"Jay-"
"Trust me on this," Jamie begged. "I'm calling the conch card."
Margot looked taken aback. "The conch? You haven't called conch since graduation drinking night when we all took Parker's drug brownies."
Jamie nodded, setting her laptop down on the edge of her bed as she stalked over to her dresser where a large pink and white conch shell sat on top. She grasped it in her palm and held it up. "I call conch on this. Which means you have to be with me on this. 100%. No questions asked."
The brunette stared between the conch and her friend in disbelief. "...Okay. Fine. I'll be with you on this, but if this ends up being a dead end-"
"I'll let it go," Jamie finished without hesitation. "If we find out what's in this storage and that my Dad really did just leave me nothing after all this time, I'll stop looking into it. I- I'll take the stupid insurance money, I'll buy my Dad an actual headstone in Boston with it, and I'll go back to work like nothing happened. But just..." she paused for a moment to catch her breath and even out her voice as she held up her Dad's Coney Island key. "...after we figure this out."
Margot looked torn. There was a hint of pity behind her eyes as she nodded. "Together."
Jamie looked like she would fall over if Margot blew too hard at her. So, she took it upon herself to initiate the bone-crushing hug that allowed Jamie to hide her face as she broke down into body-shaking sobs against her best friend's shoulder. This was that feeling again. The feeling of being so empty and exhausted from holding it all together with thread and duct tape for days at a time only to let it all crumble in a matter of seconds in empty rooms and her friends' arms.
Logan Zimmerman was a saint disguised as a scruffy kid with freckles and a mild obsession with photography.
"Okay- I got everything you asked for," the kid exclaimed excitedly one morning as he came bustling in with a white box in his hands topped with a pile of papers and folders.
As the door shut behind him, everyone in the Loft had their full attention on the scrawny photographer bustling in on this late Sunday night.
"I checked all the storage facilities for your Dad's name, your name or somebody named Tim or Timothy," he listed off, dropping a new paper stack from off the top of the box onto the kitchen counter while he rattled off everything. "I called most of the still functioning Post Office's in South NYC for anyone under your Dad's name, your name, or a Tim-slash-Timothy-" more papers slapped in front of the group.
As Jamie began to sift through the papers, she spared a glance at the giant white box in the kid's arms and set everything down for a moment. "What's the box for?"
"Oh, I stopped to get donuts on the way back," Logan explained nonchalantly, dropping the box with a thud that popped open the flimsy top to reveal around a dozen or so donuts inside.
Parker guffawed, wasting little to no time to go fetch himself a napkin to fish out a chocolate frosted with sprinkles. Margot looked between the donuts and the photographer with a look of mild disbelief. "You had time to get all of that and stop for donuts?"
"Donuts from Queens," he stated matter-of-factly, a stupid little grin on his face.
Jamie chuckled, shaking her head in mild annoyance, yet also slight adoration. Margot still looked at him like he was some kind of alien speaking a foreign language while juggling. "...From Queens..." Slowly, her friend turned towards her. "Where did you find him and can you order one for me next time you buy the Triple A's that power this one?"
Jamie and Parker both snorted. Logan only chuckled nervously, not completely sure if his new roommate was being serious or not.
"So... the PO box front," Jamie tapped the edge of the papers against the counter to get them back neatly into a stack. "Any luck with that?"
Logan shrugged. "Everything in those papers lists any and every combination of names that are in these places. Apparently, there are a lot of Michael's, Jamie's and Tim's. I'd probably have a stack twice that size if I included the name 'John.'"
"Ha, ha." Jamie rolled her eyes. "So, we have to go through all this crap to find even a chance at one of these places having a box or unit in our name? Great..."
"Don't you guys have work tomorrow, too?" Parker wondered, his mouth full of donut and sprinkles. His twin sister next to him made a face of disgust at her brother's antics.
Jamie barely glanced up at him from her place combing the list of names in the first stack Logan had gifted her from his day of searching. "Yes. Thank you so much for the reminder, Parker," she muttered sarcastically. "Hey, these are all the storage unit ones, yeah?"
"Mhmm," Logan nodded. "The ones that Parker is getting sprinkles on is the one with the PO box names."
This time, when Jamie finally looked up at her roommate, she gagged and quickly snatched the papers from beneath the cautionary zone beneath Parker's full mouth. She slowly began to read through the names, a small conversation peppering in the background as Parker and Logan began to go back and forth about the donut shop he'd gone too. She tuned it out in favor of focusing on the 'Tim's part of the list.
Timothy Waller. Tim Duncan. Timothy Larson. Tim Pace. Timothy Clark. Tim Bean.
Jamie's finger froze on the name beneath her nail.
Tim Bean.
"Bye, Dad!"
"Bye, Bean!"
That was it.
With lightening quick speed, Jamie flipped down to the front page of this list to find where this name was. A PO box for Tim Bean opened up eight months ago at a Post Office just... down the street from their Loft.
This was no coincidence. Not the Coney Island keychain, not the last name Bean, and certainly not the timing. This was it. This was what her Dad had left her with.
"I got it," Jamie uttered, vanquishing any side conversations happening around her while she was tuned out in her own world. She glanced up at all her close friends and part-time intern she now kind of lived with. "I got it. Tim Bean with a PO box a block away. It's him. I know it is." She slid the papers over to Margot to double check it with fresh eyes. "What time does it close? The Post Office on Cadman?"
Logan and Parker both fished out their cells and quickly popped the question into their separate search bar. "Uh, uh, uh-" Parker struggled as his phone loaded. Just in time for Logan to announce, "In thirty minutes."
Both Jamie and Margot were out of their seats, making their way to their shoes before Parker even had time to throw his hands up in exasperation. "What manufacturer produced you, dude?" Parker prompted the scrawny kid as his sister and her best friend made their dash to the Post Office nearby with their key and an address.
By the time Jamie and Margot had made it to the Post Office, they were already out of breath. Even the rush of cold air hitting their faces as they dashed through downtown Manhattan couldn't prevent them from feeling too hot for their heavy jackets they quickly shed as soon as they stepped through the heated building.
Margot was still brushing the flakes of snow that hard stuck to her fur coat when Jamie rushed to the front desk, her key in hand.
There was a woman seated on the opposite side of the white counter. She wore thick-rimmed red glasses and was chewing gum so loudly, Jamie heard each pop and chew over the conversations buzzing from the soap opera the woman had playing on the TV screen above her.
"Hi," Jamie started awkwardly, her hands crossed on top of the counter to get the woman's attention. Her eyes glanced downward at her, but she didn't bother moving her hand from beneath her propped up head. "I, uh- My Dad bought a PO box and gave me the key."
The woman gave Jamie a dull look, popped her gum and slowly sat up. Reluctantly, the woman turned the volume down on the soap opera and turned to her computer screen. The gum was still popping in sync to how quickly this woman was typing on her keyboard with her long red acrylic nails that matched her thick lenses. "Name?"
"Jamie Elizabeth Archer."
The woman's typing ceased as she peered down her nose at her. "Your Dad's name is Jamie?"
"No! No, sorry. My name is Jamie, the name on the PO box is Tim Bean," she quickly corrected herself, stumbling over her words as the popping and chewing and typing continued. Impatiently waiting, Jamie kept throwing glances over her shoulder at her companion trying to stay warm by rubbing her hand together. Jamie would've told her to stay home if she'd have known it was going to be this cold, but she knew Margot would be too stubborn to listen.
"Tim Bean? PO Box 752?" the bubblegum chewing woman prompted after a long period of typing and popping.
Jamie spun back to face her and nodded frantically. She was unusually nervous and could feel her chest tightening with anticipation. "Yeah- yes. Sorry, yes." God, you sound like an idiot. She wanted to kick herself.
"Yeah..." the attendant eyed her suspiciously. "If you have the key, the PO boxes are numbered in the corner down that way." She gestured to the large hallways of small bronze boxes on panels in the wall, all carved with black numbers. Right. She probably should've clocked that earlier.
Before she got the chance to thank the attendant, Jamie was already half-sprinting to the PO boxes to start looking. She could hear Margot's rushed 'thank you!' as she tried to keep up with her friend.
"745, 747, 749..." Jamie began listing the boxes along the panel on the far side of the post office, her key still dangling in her hand. "751... 752!" She rushed forward held her breath as she slowly slid the Coney Island key into the lock, a breath of relief stuck in her throat she held onto just in case it didn't open. She slowly turned, the inside of the lock turning with the key and unlocking the box. Carefully, she pulled the door open to reveal the contents of the box.
"What is it?" Margot prompted upon catching up with her.
Jamie didn't answer. She only pulled the large sealed and padded enveloped that had been folded and shoved inside. She flipped the envelope to read the sticker at the top.
To: TIM BEAN
271 Cadman Plaza E Ste 2, Brooklyn, NY-USA 11201
From: Micheal Archer
Address Unknown
Jamie gently traced her fingers over her father's name, scribbled out in his perfect penmanship she'd wished he'd passed down to her.
"What's in it?"
Jamie turned to Margot, then glanced back at the packet in her hands. "Let's find out."
Back at the apartment, the group of roommates all lingered in the living room.
The heater was broken again and Parker was too lazy to call maintenance today, so he, Logan and his sister all stood behind the kitchen island, stealing warmth from the open oven. Margot had made everyone hot cocoa using leftover chocolate chips from the freezer and some oatmilk that was three days away from expiring.
"Should we call someone?" Parker prompted to no one in particular.
Margot padded her way around him, using both hands to hold her mug of cocoa close to her chest. "Who? It's not like the Archers in Boston are going to drop everything to come visit her. You saw how they were at the funeral."
Parker grimaced.
Logan shuddered.
"I still think we should do something," Parker insisted. "I mean... how long is she just going to sit there in silence?"
The group continued to stare at the back of Jamie's head as she sat still and unmoving in her place in the middle of the couch. She hadn't moved or spoken since she'd opened the package her Dad had left her in the PO box. The group was beginning to worry.
"I think she's in shock," Logan mused, taking a sip of his cocoa. "This is really good cocoa."
Perched with her elbows on the counter, Margot leaned forward to glance past her brother to find Logan chugging the mug of cocoa. "Don't drink it so fast. You're going to get a rubber tongue."
"I'm serious, guys," Parker reiterated. "What if she's having a stroke?"
Margot rolled her eyes, "She's twenty-three, not sixty-three."
"Technically, you can still suffer a stroke as young as eighteen."
"Can it, IRobot," Parker sneered at the intern.
A beat of silence passed amongst them as they all simultaneously took sips of their cocoas, eyes still glued to the head of red seated at the couch.
"She'll be alright... right?" Margot asked aloud, worry coating her voice.
"Yeah," Parker answered, not a hint of weariness in his answer as he pat his twin on the back, lifting up from the counter as he did so. "Jamie always is."
As Parker peeled away from the kitchen to the solace of his room, Logan was soon to follow towards his own. Margot lingered for a little longer, her fingers anxiously tapping the ceramic mug in her hands as she eyed her best friend across the room.
Without thinking too hard on it, Margot made the decision to grab a water bottle from the lukewarm fridge. She knew Jamie probably hadn't eaten since Logan brought them Queens donuts and drank less than half her latte that morning. Jamie was stubborn, but even her hardheaded ass wouldn't deny her thirst for much longer. She needed to drink something.
Margot was careful not to startle the young redhead on the couch as she carefully placed the bottle at the edge of the coffee table. Jamie didn't even react to her presence, her eyes still downcast and blood shot as she continued to stare holes into the array of printed photos set out in front of her that had been in her Dad's envelope.
"You okay?" was all Margot could think of to ask.
Jamie barely moved her head in a nodding sort of motion, but still didn't speak or meet her eyes.
"Alright... I'll be in my room if you need me. My door's open." Still nothing. Margot eventually pulled back, headed to her room down the hall from Jamie's.
After all her friends had gone, Jamie still remained unmoving for another three hours. She eventually did chug the water Margot left for her, but not before having a small moment to herself where she just sat and cried silently.
Tears trickled from her face and onto the edge of the coffee table, just barely missing a few of the many photos in front of her. All images her Dad had taken from some low-grade camera. Boxes of weapons, missiles, guns, ammo- labelled with the name Stark Industries plastered across each crate. Only the crates weren't in the hands of the US Army, they seemed to be stored in caves, deserts, a small rugged village in the background of one photo.
Jamie had found the missing pieces to her puzzle: the reason why her Dad had been killed.
The truth.
Stark Industries was selling weapons to terrorists in the Middle-East. And her Dad had been discovered once he found this out.
...They killed him.
And he left his findings to his daughter.
Jamie wasn't sure what she was going to do next. She had work in five hours and her eyes were red, swollen, and itchy from her nonstop tears. She didn't know who she was going to tell, what she was going to do with this knowledge or how to go about bringing this truth to light, but she knew one thing. She knew her Dad gave her these pictures for a reason and she wasn't going to let his death go on in vain.
Love you to the moon and back, Jamie.
Jamie held up her Dad's ring from the necklace it dangled from around her neck.
"Love you around Saturn's rings, Dad..." she whispered to his ghost she knew was out there counting on her.
