Chapter 16: Iron Witch
May 7, 2010 – Friday
Stark Mansion, Malibu, California
About forty-five minutes later, from their vantage point on the balcony overlooking the expansive living room below, Rhodey and Faith observed the results of his recent intervention. The scene was a spectacle of chaos and revelry, a far cry from the earlier tension and awkwardness.
Tony Stark, now fully armored in the sleek, gleaming Mark IV suit, stood at the center of the living room like a futuristic knight. The suit's metallic surface reflected the ambient party lights, casting dazzling patterns across the room. His face shield was raised, revealing his animated expression as he played the role of the exuberant showman.
"Pull!" he called out, his voice resonating with an enthusiastic energy that cut through the din of the party.
A champagne bottle, plucked from a nearby table, soared gracefully through the air. Its trajectory was a smooth arc, a glittering streak against the backdrop of the room's opulence. As it reached its zenith, Tony unleashed a powerful repulsor blast from the palm of his gauntlet. The explosion of energy vaporized the bottle in a burst of shimmering fragments, the liquid and glass disintegrating into a cloud of effervescent bubbles and sparkling sand. The room erupted in cheers and applause, the guests thrilled by the display.
Amidst the cacophony, Tony's voice boomed over the celebration, "Here comes the Annie Oakley! Are you ready for the Annie Oakley? One… two… pull!"
Another bottle was catapulted into the air, its flight path a graceful parabola. Tony, with a deft precision, fired another repulsor blast, sending the bottle into a similar explosion of bubbles and shards. The cheers intensified, the partygoers reveling in the spectacle of high-tech pyrotechnics.
Faith and Rhodey, observing from their elevated position, exchanged a look of mutual recognition. The earlier conversation and Rhodey's intervention had clearly made an impact. The tension had dissipated, replaced by the electrifying buzz of Tony's impromptu stunt show.
"Our little talk did a lot of good," Rhodey remarked, his tone reflecting a sense of satisfaction. Faith nodded in agreement; her eyes still fixed on the scene below.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Willow entered Tony's lab, the door sliding open with a soft hiss. The lab's stark, sterile ambiance contrasted sharply with the vibrant energy of the party she had just left. The gentle hum of cooling systems and the occasional flicker of lights from the various monitors created a backdrop of subdued activity.
"Jarvis," she called out, her voice cutting through the calm.
"Yes, Mrs. Rosenberg-Stark," Jarvis responded promptly, his voice emanating from the omnipresent speakers hidden within the lab's walls. The AI's tone was both respectful and attentive, a reflection of the sophisticated system's capacity for personalized interaction.
Willow took a deep breath, steeling herself as she approached the center of the lab, where an array of diagnostic equipment and holographic displays awaited. "Take detailed scans of my body. I want to start on a Mark IV offshoot tailored for me alone," she instructed. Her words were deliberate and firm, underscoring the seriousness of her request. The air around her seemed to grow heavier with the weight of her decision, a clear indication that this was more than a mere whim—it was a necessity she felt compelled to address.
"Does Mr. Stark and Ms. Stark know?" Jarvis inquired, his voice carrying an undertone of concern that hinted at his awareness of the potential implications.
"No," Willow replied, her tone resolute. "This is something I need, Jarvis." There was a quiet intensity in her voice, a blend of urgency and determination that left no room for debate. The absence of Tony and Faith's knowledge was deliberate; this was a personal endeavor, driven by her own needs and motivations.
The lab, with its sleek lines and cutting-edge technology, seemed to take on a new dimension as Jarvis's systems began to process Willow's request. Diagnostic panels flickered to life, and a series of sensors and scanners activated, preparing to conduct the detailed scans she had requested. Willow's silhouette was soon enveloped in a soft blue glow as the equipment started its meticulous work, capturing every contour and nuance of her form.
As the process commenced, Willow's thoughts wandered briefly to the potential challenges and advancements that lay ahead. This endeavor was not just about creating a new piece of technology; it was about forging a new path for herself, one that aligned with her personal strengths and needs. The lab's quiet efficiency stood in stark contrast to the bustling energy of the party, serving as a sanctuary for her solitary pursuit.
"I want the armor to be red and white in color," Willow said decisively as she surveyed the lab's equipment, the gleam of its polished surfaces reflecting her determination. The colors she chose were more than mere preferences; they symbolized a personal blend of power and purity, reminiscent of both her magical and scientific aspirations. The hues would not only make the armor striking but also align it with her personal style and the essence of her identity.
"I want the standard repulsors," she continued, her voice steady and authoritative. The repulsors were a staple of Tony's designs, reliable and effective, and integrating them into her suit was a logical choice. The technology's precision and power would enhance the functionality of the armor, complementing the custom modifications she envisioned.
As she spoke, Willow's mind raced with the intricate details of her request. She paused, trying to articulate her next thought. The challenge lay in blending the mystical with the mechanical, a feat that required a precise balance between the scientific and the arcane. "I want…" she trailed off, her brow furrowing in concentration as she sought the right words. The concept she was grappling with was complex, a synthesis of magic and technology that defied straightforward description.
Her gaze drifted to the holographic interfaces, which flickered with data and schematics. The process of translating magical attributes into scientific terms was no small feat. Willow's experience with both realms gave her unique insights, but articulating those insights in a language that Jarvis's systems could comprehend posed its own set of challenges. She envisioned enhancements that would allow the armor to interface with her magical abilities, incorporating enchantments and spells in a way that complemented the technological framework of the suit.
The idea of infusing the armor with magical properties was both exhilarating and daunting. It involved creating a system where arcane energy could be harnessed and directed with the same precision as the repulsors and other tech components. Willow's expertise in magic and her deep understanding of its principles would guide this integration, but translating these concepts into a technological context required careful consideration.
Finally, she gathered her thoughts and said, "I want the armor to be able to channel and amplify magical energy. I'm not sure how to explain it exactly, but it should be able to enhance spellcasting and protect against magical attacks." Her voice held a mixture of resolve and anticipation, knowing that this fusion of magic and technology would push the boundaries of what was possible.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Back upstairs, Tony decided to abandon the skeet shooting spectacle and make his way to the DJ platform. He carried a bottle of champagne in one hand, its golden contents sloshing with each step, and a microphone in the other, gripping it tightly as he prepared for his next act. The revelers below looked up with a mix of curiosity and anticipation as Tony, adorned in a slightly disheveled but unmistakable party demeanor, began to speak.
"Rhodey, Faith, DJ, ladies and gentlemen," Tony's voice boomed through the microphone, commanding attention. "I've had too many secrets, and it's time to reveal the most intimate details about myself." He paused dramatically, letting the suspense hang in the air like an electric charge. The anticipation was palpable, with every eye fixed on him.
"You know," Tony continued, "the questions Faith and I get the most from people about her or my suit is, 'How the hell do you go to the bathroom in that suit?'" His tone was playful, teasing the crowd with the promise of an answer to a question that had become a running joke among those close to him.
The crowd collectively held its breath, leaning in to catch the revelation. Tony's pause stretched, heightening the suspense to near comedic levels.
Faith, standing nearby with Rhodey, exchanged a knowing look and chuckled. "Ever since Dad and I came out as Ironheart and Iron Man publicly, we have gotten questions about how we go to the bathroom in the suits." Her laughter, laced with fond exasperation, echoed Tony's sentiments.
All around the living room, partygoers were visibly engaged, eagerly awaiting the moment of truth. The energy in the room crackled with excitement.
Tony finally broke the silence with a mischievous grin, "Just like that." He gave a theatrical gesture that sent the crowd into a frenzy. The party erupted with cheers and applause, the revelation of the suit's bathroom logistics becoming the highlight of the evening.
Amidst the uproar, another glamorous guest—one of the countless beautiful women populating the event—stood up, holding a watermelon above her head as if it were a trophy. "Tony! Tony!" she shouted, her voice echoing over the din. "Do it. Do me! Let's get this party dirty!"
The call quickly became a chant, a chorus of enthusiastic partygoers urging Tony on with cries of "Do it!" and "Yeah!" The room buzzed with a collective sense of reckless abandon, and someone even started belting out the opening notes of the William Tell Overture, adding to the chaotic symphony of the night.
Tony, clearly enjoying the attention, swayed a bit on his feet and turned toward the watermelon-wielding woman with a grin that bordered on manic. "Tony!" Rhodey's voice cut through the cacophony, tinged with urgency. "Come on, Tony! Stop that!"
Faith and Rhodey moved swiftly to address the escalating situation. Faith made a beeline for the DJ platform, determined to assert control over the chaotic scene. Tony, oblivious to the growing tension, raised his arms dramatically and taunted the crowd, "Really?" He looked around at the eager faces. "You want the Gallagher? Put on your raincoats, people."
With that, Tony stood up and took careful aim at the watermelon. The fruit sailed through the air, and with a loud blast from the repulsors, it exploded in a spectacular shower of pulp, rind, and seeds. The crowd's ecstatic shrieks were almost deafening, and the DJ, feeding off the frenzy, cranked up the tempo with a fast-paced track full of high-energy beats and squeals.
Rhodey, watching the mayhem unfold, turned to Faith with a look of grim determination. "We have to stop this," he said, his voice urgent.
"Okay," Faith replied, her smirk betraying her readiness for the challenge. "You do what you have to do. What should I do?"
"Start clearing people out," Rhodey instructed, knowing the situation required immediate action.
Faith's eyes sparkled with a mix of challenge and excitement. "Give me something challenging. You've seen my files, Rhodey. You know what I'm capable of."
"Then it should be easy for you," Rhodey said, acknowledging her skills. He turned and left the room, his mind racing with the daunting task ahead. He knew he was about to do something that Tony might never forgive, but in the face of the escalating chaos, Rhodey couldn't see any other way.
Faith took the microphone from Tony's hand with a deftness born from years of managing delicate situations. Tony, who was in the midst of basking in the adulation of his adoring fans and indulging in the attention of the more assertive young women at the party, was oblivious to her actions. His focus was split between charming the crowd and enjoying the evening's revelry.
As she pivoted to face the throng of partygoers, Faith donned a wide, exaggerated smile, the kind often seen in front of cameras or on stage. Her voice rang out, amplified by the microphone, "Does my father know how to throw a party or what?" The room erupted in a massive cheer, a roar of approval that swept over the crowd.
"Thank you so much for coming," Faith continued, her tone smooth and polished, though her eyes betrayed a hint of frustration. "This has been a wonderful birthday." Her words were polite, but there was an underlying firmness that hinted at the need to bring the night to a close.
"What are you doing?" Tony's voice cut through the clamor, momentarily breaking the spell of the party.
Faith turned to him, her expression resolute. She covered the microphone to keep the conversation private. "Listen to me, Dad. You're done. That's enough. You just peed in your suit and I'm embarrassed for you." Her tone was firm, devoid of any pretense of mirth. The realization of Tony's antics had shifted her from amused daughter to exasperated party manager.
"You could drink that water," Tony protested, a hint of defiance in his voice. "It's recirculated."
Faith was having none of it. Her patience was thin, and her sense of responsibility was taking over. She offered him the microphone with a determined look. "You want to say goodbye to your guests or should I do it?"
Tony took the microphone from her with a resigned sigh. He turned to face the crowd, which had quieted down during their exchange, and took a moment to compose himself. "Isabella 'Faith' Stark, my daughter, everybody," he said, his voice carrying a note of mock gravitas. The crowd clapped dutifully, though the enthusiasm was clearly waning. The audience's energy was more reflective of their reluctance to leave than genuine appreciation.
"The party is over," Tony announced, affecting a theatrical look of disappointment. He paused deliberately, allowing the crowd to react with groans and booing, a sound that reverberated with a mixture of dissatisfaction and disbelief.
Then, in a sudden shift of tone, he brightened up with a grin. "But there's going to be a raging afterparty!" His declaration was met with a thunderous cheer, a stark contrast to the previous reaction. The shift in mood was immediate, with partygoers rallying to the promise of continued festivities.
Faith turned and glared at Tony, her expression a mix of disbelief and frustration. Her gaze was a silent reprimand, one that spoke volumes more than words could convey. The tension between her duty to manage the event and her father's insistent revelry was palpable, and she knew the night was far from over.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Rhodey stepped into Tony's lab, the familiar hum of machinery and the soft whirring of Jarvis's processing systems filling the air. The lab, transformed into a workshop of intense focus, was filled with the intricate details of Willow's new armor. Jarvis, the ever-efficient AI, was meticulously machining the final pieces, his holographic interfaces casting a bluish glow over the various components.
As Rhodey's gaze swept over the scene, he spotted Willow standing resolutely amidst the tangle of cables and high-tech gear. Her red hair, usually a vibrant flame, seemed subdued in the sterile light of the lab, but her presence was commanding. The weight of her determination was palpable, her shoulders squared and her posture firm. She was dressed in casual attire, yet the intensity in her eyes revealed the gravity of what she was about to undertake.
"Willow?" Rhodey's voice held a note of concern as he addressed her. The lab was a testament to Tony's genius, but it was also a place where critical decisions were made, and Rhodey was keenly aware of the implications of Willow's choice.
"I have to," Willow said, her voice steady and imbued with a quiet resolve. "My wife and her father are superheroes. I'm a powerful witch. I stood by Buffy's side for years. It's time I stop working from behind the scenes and start being part of the team again." Her words were a declaration of intent, a blending of her personal and professional lives into a single, unified purpose. The emotional weight of her commitment was clear, reflecting a desire to be more than a supporting figure in the ongoing struggle that defined her family's life.
Jarvis's holographic projections flickered as he finished the last touches on the armor, his sophisticated systems ensuring that every detail was perfect. The armor itself was a stunning blend of technology and magic, with sleek lines and an aura of power. Its red and white coloration, chosen by Willow, symbolized both her personal style and her readiness to step into the fray alongside her loved ones.
"Mrs. Rosenberg-Stark, I am done," Jarvis announced, his voice smooth and precise, acknowledging the completion of the armor.
"Put it on me," Willow said, her voice resolute as she stepped forward. Her words were more than just a request; they were a command born from a deep-seated need to embrace her role fully. The armor, now ready, was more than a protective shell—it was a manifestation of her readiness to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
"And anybody who doesn't like it," Tony continued, his voice full of bravado, "there's the door!" He pointed dramatically towards the exit, his finger jabbing in the direction of the door. As he did so, the repulsor in his hand activated unexpectedly. The beam, a concentrated and brilliant stream of energy, sliced through the air with a menacing hum. It narrowly missed a group of startled partygoers who were clustered near the glass waterfall that adorned the entrance to the basement stairwell. The repulsor's energy hit the waterfall with explosive force, shattering it into a thousand glittering fragments. The once-imposing sheet of glass disintegrated into a cascade of sparkling shards that rained down the stairs, creating a symphony of tinkling glass and an eerie silence that followed.
The gentle patter of water droplets falling to the floor filled the silence, each drop amplifying the disarray left in the wake of the destruction. Amidst the shattered glass and cascading debris stood Willow, now revealed by the accidental demolition. She was clad in the Mark IV Iron Witch armor, her figure imposing and authoritative against the backdrop of the chaos.
"Everybody out," Willow commanded with a firm, no-nonsense tone. Her words carried the weight of authority and urgency. She had been briefed by Rhodey on the escalating situation and was well aware of the need for decisive action. Willow had anticipated that Rhodey might be donning the Mark II Iron Man armor as a precaution, ready to intervene if necessary.
The sight of Willow in her formidable new armor was enough to spark a flat-out stampede towards the exit. The partygoers, initially amused by Tony's reckless antics, were now visibly alarmed. The allure of witnessing Tony's flamboyant display had faded, replaced by a palpable sense of danger. The appearance of a second person in armor—especially one as imposing as Willow's—was a clear signal that the evening's entertainment had turned into an urgent situation.
"Red?" Faith exclaimed, her voice a mixture of surprise and admiration as she spotted her wife in the Mark IV Iron Witch armor. The sight of Willow, clad in the same technology that had once been solely associated with her and her father, was a powerful statement of resolve.
As the panicked crowd surged past Tony and Faith, Tony managed to grab a bottle of Remy Martin from one of the fleeing partygoers. His gaze fell upon it with a sense of detached curiosity, a grim acknowledgment of the evening's unraveling.
Willow approached Tony and Faith, her armor gleaming under the party lights. The contrast between her calm demeanor and the chaos around her was striking. Tony extended the bottle towards her, a brittle smile stretching across his face. "Nightcap?" he offered, his voice edged with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.
Without a hint of hesitation, Willow swatted the bottle out of Tony's hand. The bottle shattered upon impact, its contents spilling across the floor in a final, symbolic act of rejection. "No thanks," Willow said firmly, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.
Tony's face tightened, a mix of frustration and acceptance evident in his eyes. "Suit yourself," he muttered, his voice subdued as he watched the last of the partygoers make their hurried exit.
"Tony," Willow said, her voice steady despite the chaos. "You brought this on yourself. Don't do anything stupid."
The Mark IV's face shield snapped shut with an audible click, sealing Tony in a cocoon of gleaming metal. The transformation was instantaneous, the jovial facade replaced by a cold, unyielding steel exterior. In a burst of aggression, Tony launched himself forward, his armored head colliding with Willow's midsection. The impact sent her crashing across the room, her body slamming into the opposite wall with a resounding thud. Plaster dust exploded outward from the point of impact, creating a thick cloud that momentarily obscured Willow as she slumped to the floor.
Slowly, the dust settled, revealing Willow's figure rising from the debris, her face etched with determination despite the pain. Her movements were deliberate, each step taken with a mix of resilience and resolve.
"Don't do anything stupid?" Tony echoed, his voice distorted by the armor's speakers. "You already have." He flipped open the face shield again, revealing his intense gaze as he turned his attention to the DJ. The DJ, caught between his instinct to protect his expensive equipment and his desire to avoid being caught in the crossfire, was nervously inching towards the exit. His eyes darted between the chaotic scene and the door, clearly torn between his fear of ending up in the emergency room and his reluctance to abandon his gear.
"You. DJ," Tony barked, his tone a commanding, metallic growl.
"Yes, Mr. Stark?" the DJ responded, his voice trembling with anxiety.
"Still on the clock?" Tony demanded, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the DJ.
"No he isn't," Faith interjected, her voice cutting through the tension with a sharp edge. "Get out of here." She directed a fierce glare at her father, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and concern.
Tony watched as the DJ, eager to escape the escalating conflict, scrambled out the door. With a nod of acknowledgment, Tony turned his attention back to Faith. "Then, Faith, you give me something fat to beat your wife by."
"Tony," Willow interjected, her voice unwavering despite her strained condition. "This armor is an offshoot of yours and Faith's. This has been tailored to my specifications. Melding magic and science."
Willow seized Tony in a powerful bear hug from behind, her arms wrapping around him with a fierce, protective grip. She used her momentum to drag Tony backward, their combined weight and force creating a devastating collision with the wall. The impact was explosive, shattering the barrier as if it were mere paper, and they crashed through it, tumbling together into the gym beyond. The wall, unable to withstand the sheer force of their bodies, crumbled in their wake, sending debris flying in every direction.
In the aftermath of the violent breach, dust and debris clouded the space, obscuring their forms. This momentary blindness was all Willow needed to gain the upper hand. She called out sharply, her voice cutting through the dust as she commanded, "Jarvis, activate telekinetics."
"Telekinetics online, Mrs. Rosenberg-Stark," Jarvis responded promptly. The telekinetic enhancement system infused Willow's natural telekinesis with additional energy, amplifying her ability to manipulate objects with extraordinary force.
With a swift and deliberate flick of her eyes, Willow unleashed a barrage of fifty-pound free weights, sending them hurtling towards Tony with devastating speed and precision. The weights struck Tony with considerable impact, knocking him off balance and causing him to stagger.
Tony, however, was quick to adapt. He managed to evade the second wave of weights, narrowly dodging their destructive path. Determined to regain control, he seized a barbell, wielding it with the strength and fury of a seasoned fighter. He swung it like a baseball bat, delivering a series of punishing blows to Willow's arms and shoulders. The force of the barbell was unrelenting, and Tony's attacks soon rendered Willow vulnerable. He struck her knees with a forceful shot, sending her crashing to the floor, and followed up with an uppercut that propelled her straight into the boxing ring, her helmet clanging loudly against the ropes.
Faith, witnessing the chaos unfold, was poised to rush downstairs for her own armor. But as she glanced up, she saw Rhodey standing at the top of the stairs, clad in the Mark II Iron Man suit. "Do something," Faith urged, her voice tinged with urgency. "I don't know how strong Willow's new armor is, but it's untested."
Rhodey nodded in response, his face plate descending with a metallic hiss. He moved forward with purpose, stepping into the fray. As he approached, he intervened by pulling Willow out of the ring, his armored form shielding her from further damage. Turning his attention to Tony, Rhodey prepared to confront him. The battle in the ring had devolved into a chaotic melee, with Tony and Rhodey engaging in a brutal exchange of blows. They grappled fiercely, their fists, feet, elbows, and any available heavy objects becoming weapons in their relentless clash.
"Red?" Faith called out, her concern evident as she saw Willow's face plate open. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Willow replied, her voice steady despite the exhaustion etched in her features.
Faith's eyes roamed over the red and white Iron Witch armor, taking in its sleek, formidable design. "Why did you create it?" she asked, her gaze fixed on Willow with a mix of curiosity and concern.
Willow took a deep breath, her voice reflective as she began to explain. "I stood beside Buffy for seven years in Sunnydale," she said, her words carrying the weight of her past experiences. "Then, when we rebuilt the Watcher's Council, I took a step back and devoted myself to other things. It's why Kennedy left me. Sure, we had been arguing before, but she left because I wasn't the same person. After the Battle of Sunnydale, I finally started doing what I hadn't truly done the year before—grieving for Tara. And until I became your Watcher, that's all I did—grieve."
She paused, her eyes meeting Faith's with a depth of emotion. "You brought me out of that grief. Then your dad mentioned Tara today, and I realized a lot of things. We talked about some of them earlier, but not all of them. This armor is some of what we didn't talk about. I want back in the game, Faith. I want to be part of the team again."
Tony's frustration reached a fever pitch as he uprooted a corner post, wielding it like a massive, makeshift broadsword. The post whistled through the air with dangerous speed, nearly taking Rhodey's head off in a wild arc. Rhodey, quick to respond, seized a similar post, and the two of them clashed with the intensity of medieval knights in a desperate, clanging melee. Their swings were heavy and forceful, each blow echoing through the room as they smashed and twisted the posts beyond recognition. The posts eventually became too bent and battered to be wielded effectively, their former strength reduced to splintered wood and shattered fragments.
With a powerful thrust of his repulsor, Rhodey sent Tony crashing through the wall, sending debris flying in all directions. The fight then transitioned into Tony's bedroom, the chaos spilling over into the more private sanctuary. The once serene space was soon transformed into a battleground, with furniture upended and personal effects scattered amidst the destruction.
Faith glanced at Willow, her expression a mix of concern and resolve. She studied her friend for a long moment, searching for the right words. "You were part of the team, Red," she said, her voice tinged with sincerity.
Willow shook her head, her eyes reflecting a deep sense of regret. "No, I wasn't, Faith. Sure, I was your girl at the computer, but you already had Jarvis for that," she said. "You didn't really need me in that capacity."
Faith sighed heavily, the weight of Willow's words settling on her shoulders. She nodded in understanding, her resolve firm. "Alright, Will. You're part of the team. Iron Man, Ironheart, and Iron Witch."
As Faith spoke, Rhodey was sent flying backward by Tony's relentless assault. "You know that's mine, right?" Tony called out, pointing at the Mark II suit.
Rhodey, catching his breath, nodded. "I do."
"Just checking," Tony said, his tone laced with defiance.
"Come and get it if you can," Rhodey challenged, and Tony did just that. With a thrust-assisted lunge, he crashed through the bathroom doorway, sending Rhodey tumbling against the granite sink. The impact shattered the sink top into sharp, missile-sized fragments. Rhodey seized the opportunity, hurling the granite pieces at Tony with precision. The projectiles struck Tony's shoulder with a forceful impact, spinning him around and sending him crashing into his bed, which splintered under the force.
Rhodey, though not one to indulge in excess, felt a certain satisfaction as the chaos unfolded. The sight of Tony's opulent bedroom being torn apart was a vindication of sorts.
Amid the mayhem, the rhythmic clanking of armor footsteps drew their attention. They looked up to see Willow standing in the doorway to Tony's bedroom, her Iron Witch armor gleaming with an otherworldly light. "Kali, Hera, Kronos, Thonic. Air like nectar, thick as onyx. Cassiel, by your second star, hold mine victim as in tar," she chanted, her voice steady and commanding.
The enchantment took hold with immediate effect. Both Tony and Rhodey found themselves immobilized; their movements restricted as if they were ensnared in an invisible, sticky substance. The once fervent battle was abruptly halted, their struggles futile against the magical force that bound them.
Willow, standing in her Iron Witch armor with an aura of authoritative calm, addressed the two men with a gravity that commanded their attention. "The Iron Witch armor enhances my magic," she said, her voice steady and resolute. "I had Jarvis integrate technological aspects to manipulate the energy I call upon when I use magic to make said magic even stronger."
As she spoke, the energy of her armor shimmered with an ethereal light, accentuating the power that lay behind her words. The intricate blend of technology and sorcery was evident in the way the armor pulsed with a rhythm that seemed almost alive. Willow's command carried an undeniable weight, making it clear that she was not merely asserting her authority but presenting a new, formidable force.
"This fight is over, Tony," Willow declared firmly. Her gaze, though masked by her face shield, bore through the chaos and found its target. "Now I'm going to release you, Rhodey. You return the Mark II armor back to the basement."
With a wave of her hand and a muttered incantation, Rhodey felt the magical hold on him dissipate. He was freed from the spell's binding force and regained his mobility. As he made his way out of the wrecked bedroom, he weighed his options. The corridors of Tony's mansion seemed to echo with the remnants of the battle, their once grand opulence marred by the recent violence.
Rhodey's thoughts churned with the complexities of the situation. He considered the implications of following Willow's orders, reflecting on Tony's likely reluctance to share his armor—Iron Man, Ironheart, or even the newly introduced Iron Witch. The sentiment of personal rivalry was not lost on him, but he understood where his duty lay.
The distance to Edwards Air Force Base was just ninety miles away.
"Now, Tony, I am going to release you," Willow said, her voice commanding a calm authority that cut through the remnants of the chaos. With a deliberate wave of her hand, a subtle gesture imbued with ancient power and technological precision, she lifted the spell that had held Tony immobile. The enchantment's grip on him dissolved, and Tony regained his freedom with a look of incredulous relief.
Willow then turned her attention to the arc reactor embedded in her armor. Her fingers moved with purpose as she tapped the glowing core. The response was immediate and mesmerizing. The armor began to ripple and shift, as though it were alive with a multitude of tiny, writhing organisms. In truth, these were not living creatures but a sophisticated array of nanobots, each one a marvel of modern and mystical engineering.
The nanobots, her own groundbreaking invention, moved with fluid precision. They crawled over her body like a shifting, metallic skin, each minuscule unit working in harmony to disassemble the armor piece by piece. As the nanobots retreated into the arc reactor's housing, the once-formidable suit of armor seamlessly retracted and condensed, disappearing into the compact, unassuming reactor. The transformation was both a display of technological prowess and a testament to Willow's ingenuity in melding magic with science.
Tony and Faith watched in stunned silence, their eyes widening with a mix of awe and envy. It was evident that while Willow's armor was fundamentally inspired by their own Mark IV designs, it surpassed theirs in several remarkable ways. Not only did Willow's suit amplify her magical abilities, but the integration of nanobots was a leap beyond their current technology. The smooth, almost fluid transformation of her armor underscored an advancement that neither Tony nor Faith's armors could replicate. The spectacle revealed a new frontier in armor technology, one that seamlessly blended the boundaries between magic and machine.
May 8, 2010 – Saturday
Donut Shop
It was morning, and Tony hated mornings. As a general rule, they never sat well with him, and this one was no exception. The sunlight, even filtered through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, felt too bright, too intrusive, as if it was mocking the pounding in his skull from last night's excesses. A shattering hangover gnawed at him, while Jarvis' thinly veiled threats about the palladium poisoning were still fresh in his mind. But that wasn't all—he had the sour knowledge that Rhodey hadn't returned the Mark II Iron Man suit to the basement. His so-called friend had betrayed him, taking the suit to his superiors, leaving Tony feeling hollow and raw. And then there was Willow, who had somehow surpassed him by creating an offshoot of both his and Faith's armors. His ego smarted, even if he was grudgingly impressed by her innovation.
The only things making this miserable morning bearable were the sunglasses shielding his aching eyes, the box of jelly doughnuts sitting heavily in his lap, and the view from the roof of the doughnut shop. A giant plastic doughnut—seven or eight feet in diameter—served as his perch, encircling him as he sat inside its hole like some absurd monument to his current state of disarray. Below him, the San Diego Freeway stretched out, with its endless procession of cars and trucks gliding along, indifferent to the personal storm brewing in his head. Off in the distance, a few planes soared away from LAX, their engines rumbling like the faint echoes of his scattered thoughts.
Faith arrived in her Ironheart suit, its sleek form gleaming as she hovered in midair, her gaze locked on her father. "What are you doing here, Dad?" she asked, her voice laced with concern but carrying an edge, knowing the reckless behavior he'd displayed lately.
"Thinking," Tony muttered, taking a hefty bite of a jelly doughnut, savoring the brief distraction it provided. "Out of everything going on—Jarvis on my back about palladium poisoning, Rhodey stealing the Mark II, and Willow creating the Iron Witch—the only thing I'm actually okay with is Willow's new suit. She had innovations I didn't consider. We're gonna have to incorporate those into the Mark V." He chewed thoughtfully, as if the doughnut could somehow digest all the other issues swirling in his mind.
From below, a voice suddenly rang out, cutting through the moment. "Mr. Stark, Ms. Stark," the voice called, firm and authoritative. "I'm going to have to ask you two to come down from there."
Tony, mid-bite, glanced lazily down. "I've got five more," he replied, speaking around the sugary mouthful, his tone one of complete disinterest.
"Don't make me come up there," the man warned.
The absurdity of the threat was enough to make both Tony and Faith glance down, curious as to who thought they could possibly back that up. Standing on the ground below, staring up at them with a commanding presence, was a stern-looking man, his dark skin punctuated by the harsh gleam of an eyepatch. Dressed in a long leather jacket, the guy looked like he'd walked out of a post-apocalyptic pirate fantasy.
"Oh, brother," Tony groaned, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. "Aren't you the nut Faith, Willow, and I kicked out of our house five years ago?"
The man—who indeed looked like a pirate wannabe—folded his arms, undeterred. "We were going to have this conversation sometime," he said, his voice steady and confident. "Now seems like a good time."
Tony shook his head, exasperated. "Not interested. I've got a lot on my mind," he said dismissively, turning his attention back to his doughnuts, as though they held the answers to all his problems.
Faith, still hovering, looked between her father and the man below, weighing the situation. "Dad," she said, with more patience than he probably deserved right now, "how about we just hear what he has to say? Besides, you could probably use some coffee anyway."
She knew that Tony, for all his genius, couldn't resist a bit of curiosity, and maybe—just maybe—whatever the eyepatch-wearing man had to say might cut through the mess Tony was wading through. If not, at least it would get them off the doughnut and possibly keep her father from diving deeper into whatever spiral he was in.
Ten minutes later, Tony and Faith found themselves inside the doughnut shop, waiting for coffee. The morning sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a stark contrast between the cheerful shop interior and the tension brewing inside. The usual clatter of customers and employees had been silenced by the menacing presence of Fury's cadre of agents—hulking figures dressed in black, armed with an unspoken threat. They had cleared out the place with swift efficiency, and now the shop felt more like a staging ground than a quaint stop for coffee and doughnuts. One of those highly skilled operatives was currently at the counter, methodically preparing their coffee. Tony realized just how badly he needed it—the dull ache in his head had yet to subside, and the hangover clung to him like a fog.
"Look," Tony said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Faith and I told you we have no interest in joining your super-secret whatever it is."
Fury, unbothered by the tone, gave a half-smirk. "Oh, yeah, yeah. That's right. You're doing it all yourselves now. How's that working out for you?"
Tony squinted at him, his face a picture of mild irritation and confusion. His gaze flicked between Fury's good eye and the eyepatch. "I don't want to be rude, but can you just tell us which eye we should be looking at?" Tony's voice had that familiar, irreverent edge. "I'm not sure if you're real or if I'm having delirium tremens."
Before Fury could respond, Faith stepped in. With a swift motion, she slapped her father hard enough to make his head jerk to the side, his eyes watering in the aftermath. The sound of the slap echoed in the quiet room, reverberating off the walls and cutting through Tony's haze.
"He's real, Dad," Faith said, her voice firm, but not unkind. She was tired of his deflections, tired of watching him self-destruct behind a mask of quips and sarcasm.
Tony blinked, still processing the sting on his cheek. Fury leaned back, crossing his arms with a smug expression. "You don't get realer than me," he said, his deep voice carrying a weight that matched his words.
It took Tony a moment to work out how he felt about being slapped by his own daughter. He gingerly touched his face, his ego bruised more than his skin. "Wow," he muttered, still rubbing his cheek. "That stings."
"Sorry," Faith said, her apology laced with affection but underscored by exasperation. She had to pull him out of his downward spiral, but she knew it wasn't going to be easy.
Fury, however, wasn't here for family drama. His gaze locked onto Tony's neck, where the telltale signs of palladium poisoning were creeping further across his skin—darkening, branching, spreading. The rash stood out starkly against Tony's pale complexion, a physical manifestation of the silent war raging inside his body.
"You're not looking so well," Fury observed, his voice low and matter-of-fact. There was no judgment in his words, just cold, hard truth.
Tony shrugged, trying for nonchalance, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I've been worse," he said, dismissing the concern as though it were a minor inconvenience, another crack in the carefully constructed facade.
Faith, who had been watching him deteriorate longer than anyone, had no patience for his lies. "Quit bullshitting, Dad," she said sharply, her frustration palpable. "No, you haven't." Her words hung in the air like a challenge, one that cut deeper than any slap could.
At that moment, Natalie's voice cut through the thick tension in the room, her tone calm but authoritative. "We have the perimeter secured. I don't think we should hold it for too long," she said. Tony and Faith turned, their eyes widening at the sight of her—no longer dressed in her usual drop-dead stunning business suit or the evening gowns that turned heads at every gala. Instead, she was now donning a drop-dead stunning navy-blue combat uniform that hugged her form like it was made specifically for her. The suit was sleek and professional, with a distinctly lethal edge, accented by dominatrix-style boots that gave her an intimidating height. A belt strapped around her waist was weighted down with a gun, a collection of other tools, and gadgets that gleamed with dangerous purpose.
"You are so fired," Tony said, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a mix of awe and bewilderment. For a split second, he was lost in a haze, momentarily forgetting that he had relinquished enough of his stocks to Willow, giving her majority control over Stark Industries. But the sight of Natalie—no, Agent Romanoff—looking like an entirely different person had thrown him off-balance.
"Tony, Faith, I'd like you to meet Agent Natasha Romanoff," Fury said, his tone as steady and composed as ever. The man seemed utterly unaffected by the revelations he was dropping.
"I've been a S.H.I.E.L.D. shadow," Agent Romaoff said, her voice smooth and without a trace of apology. "Embedded for over six months. I was tasked by Director Fury once we knew you were ill."
Faith's shock turned into immediate anger, her eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You knew before me!" she yelled, her voice echoing in the now-quiet doughnut shop.
"Yes, apparently," Agent Romanoff replied evenly, her expression impassive, though a flicker of regret might've passed through her eyes. But she was a professional—this was her job, after all.
Tony, still trying to catch up with the whirlwind of revelations, ran a hand through his hair, a slight dazed grin pulling at the corners of his lips. "I'm just going to need a moment to process this," he said, his eyes shamelessly taking in the way Natasha looked in her midnight-blue tactical suit. "Just let me take this visual in for a minute. It's too good. Give me a second to—"
Faith rolled her eyes and didn't hesitate to cut her father off. "Don't make me slap you again, Dad," she warned, the frustration in her voice clear. "There is time for the playboy stuff, and now isn't it."
Fury, unfazed by the family dynamics playing out in front of him, seized the moment to press on. "You've been pretty busy lately," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Naming Pepper Potts CEO, giving away controlling interest of your company to your daughter-in-law. You even let your friend fly off with your suit and your daughter-in-law create another. If I didn't know better, I'd say that—"
"You don't know better," Tony snapped, cutting him off. The dazed playfulness vanished, replaced by a simmering frustration. "I didn't let Rhodey, he took it. And as far as Willow, she has full access to Jarvis just like Faith does."
A thick silence filled the air, one so dense that even Tony, usually unable to resist pushing boundaries, knew better than to break it. Fury's one good eye locked onto both Tony and Faith, a slow, deliberate lean bringing his face closer over the table, intensifying the tension. He stared them down with a predatory patience, his voice a low growl as he spoke.
"Don't. Talk," he said, the words sharp, as if daring either of them to defy him. He let the silence stretch for a beat longer, a clear warning not to test his patience. Tony, for once, kept his mouth shut. Fury continued, each word punctuated with restrained frustration. "You're blowing my mind. We'll let your daughter-in-law creating a new armor slide. But as far as your friend goes—he just took it from you? Oh, I'm sorry, I must be mistaken. See, I thought you were Iron Man, and your daughter here was Ironheart. So, he just took it?"
There was a deliberate calm to his movements as Fury reached across the table. His fingers closed around Tony's last doughnut with practiced ease, and he held it up for emphasis. "Like I just took this cruller?" he asked, eyes narrowing. "I can just take stuff? I want something, I can just take it, and you can't take it back? Is that how it works now?"
Tony remained silent, tension radiating from him, but it was Faith who broke the quiet first, her voice tight with anger. "We didn't know Rhodey had not returned the suit to the basement until long after he had left."
Natasha, standing calmly by, chimed in. "According to your own database security guidelines, there are redundancies. To prevent unauthorized usage."
Tony leaned back slightly, taking a deep breath, considering how to navigate the rapidly escalating situation. His mind raced through options, calculating the cost of honesty versus deflection. Instead, he chose the route that felt most natural to him—deflection with a hint of humor. "We're out of doughnuts," he muttered, casting a glance at the empty box. "What do you want from me and Faith?"
Fury's brow furrowed further, a dark cloud settling over his features. "What do I want from the two of you and Mrs. Rosenberg-Stark?" His voice rose slightly, exasperation evident. "You two are becoming a real problem. A problem I now have to deal with. And believe it or not, you two and Willow are not the center of my universe." He leaned back, his gaze drifting to the ceiling in mock prayer before returning to them with laser focus. "In fact, you three aren't even my biggest issue in the Southwestern sector."
A growl of frustration escaped him as he seemed to wrestle with the absurdity of it all. "What do I want from you?" he muttered to himself. Then, in a sharp command, he added, "Hit him."
Without hesitation, Agent Romanoff moved toward Tony, syringe in hand. Her steps were quick, deliberate, and precise, the needle gleaming in the overhead light. But Faith, with the reflexes of a seasoned Slayer, intercepted her. Her hand shot out, gripping Natasha's arm in a vice-like hold. She twisted the syringe out of the agent's hand, holding it up for examination.
"What's in this?" Faith demanded, her tone edged with suspicion.
Fury, unfazed by the sudden tension, answered calmly, "Lithium dioxide. It'll take the edge off."
Faith's eyes flicked to her father. "You mean it's a cure for Dad's palladium poisoning?"
Natasha shook her head, her face neutral but her voice firm. "It's not a cure. It just abates the symptoms."
Faith's grip tightened on the syringe for a brief moment before her gaze softened as she looked at her father. She weighed her options, then without further hesitation, injected the contents into his neck.
Agent Romanoff smoothly retrieved a small mirror from a pouch on her belt, its reflective surface catching the muted light of the coffee shop. She angled it toward Tony, giving him a clear view of his own neck. In the reflection, Tony saw the angry rash, a constant reminder of the palladium poisoning, begin to shrink. Slowly but surely, the livid, irritated skin receded down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath his collar as if it had never been there.
Faith's eyes widened in disbelief, the implications of what she had just witnessed hitting her like a freight train. Her mind raced, wanting to ping Jarvis immediately, to run a scan, to sample her father's blood and analyze just how much the palladium toxicity levels had decreased. This was more than a temporary fix—it was something she couldn't quite grasp yet but needed to understand.
"There's not going to be an easy fix," Fury said, his voice low but carrying the weight of grim certainty.
Tony leaned back slightly, his eyes distant as he considered Fury's words. "Trust me, I know. I've tried every combination of every permutation of every known element." His tone was bitter, the exhaustion seeping through. He'd been through hell trying to figure out a cure, exhausting every possible resource, every conceivable solution. The battle against the poison in his own bloodstream was one he was slowly losing.
Fury shook his head, just barely—a subtle gesture from a man who didn't indulge in dramatic expressions. "I'm here to tell you," Fury said, his voice calm but edged with something like impatience, "you haven't."
Tony blinked, confused for a beat, as if unsure he'd heard correctly. "What do you mean he hasn't?" Faith asked, her voice sharp with protective disbelief, stepping closer to her father.
"Just what I said," Fury answered, his gaze fixed on Tony with a mixture of irritation and a smug, knowing look that suggested he held a card they didn't know existed. "Have I got your attention?"
Before Tony could respond, Agent Romanoff's head tilted slightly, reacting to something only she could hear through her earpiece. "Copy that," she murmured under her breath, then turned to Fury, her calm exterior unwavering. "We might want to get those doughnuts to go, boss," she said, a subtle warning in her tone.
For the first time, Fury's attention shifted to the world outside the glass windows. A crowd had gathered—people who had been lingering in the periphery, watching with growing curiosity, were now pressing closer. The once quiet doughnut shop was surrounded by civilians craning their necks for a better view of the notorious Tony Stark, his daughter Faith, and their mysterious visitors.
"Fine," Fury said with a touch of irritation. His patience, clearly, had its limits. "What do you say we go get some fresh air?"
Stark Mansion, Malibu, California
"The thing in your chest," Fury began, his voice cutting through the quiet of the afternoon. The three of them—Tony, Faith, and Willow—sat in the remains of what had once been a pristine kitchen, now a casualty of their recent conflicts. The shattered countertops, overturned stools, and debris scattered across the floor stood in stark contrast to the peaceful sky outside, streaked with high cirrus clouds that seemed almost serene, untouched by the chaos below. The warmth of the sunlight filtered in through the broken windows, casting long shadows over the wreckage.
Tony leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, listening but still preoccupied. The faint hum of Jarvis in the background was a constant, though quieter in the presence of Fury. Tony was never one to let anyone get the better of him, but there was something about Fury's deliberate tone that made him focus.
"The arc reactor in your chest," Fury repeated, "is based on unfinished technology."
Tony didn't miss a beat. "No, it was finished all right. It powered the factory at Stark Industries for a while. All it did was square my electric bill."
Fury's gaze drifted upward, as if seeing something far beyond the clouds that peppered the sky. "Howard knew the arc reactor was just a stepping stone to something greater," he said, his voice softening but gaining intensity. "He wasn't just building a power source, Tony. He was kicking off an energy race that would dwarf the arms race. He was onto something big, something that would have made a nuclear reactor look like a triple-A battery." Fury paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. Tony, Faith, and Willow exchanged glances, the gravity of what he was saying hitting them all at once.
"He was about to change the balance of global power," Fury continued, his voice unwavering. "Howard Stark was on the verge of something that could have altered the world."
The stillness in the kitchen felt almost eerie, the quiet magnified by the destruction around them. Plates lay shattered on the ground, silverware tossed haphazardly across the tile, remnants of their earlier clash. For a moment, they were all lost in the sheer enormity of Howard Stark's vision—something that none of them had truly understood until now.
After what felt like an eternity, Willow broke the silence. "What did Anton Vanko have to do with it?"
Fury's expression darkened at the mention of the name. "Anton Vanko," he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with a mixture of disdain and regret. "Yeah. The other side of the coin."
Faith leaned in slightly, her eyes narrowing as she listened, sensing the shift in the conversation.
"Anton, now, he saw the arc reactor as a way of getting rich," Fury explained. "When Howard found out, Vanko was deported. Sent back to Russia. And when the Russians realized he couldn't deliver on what he promised, he was shipped off to Siberia. Spent the next twenty years drowning himself in vodka and rage."
Fury's words hung in the air, thick with the bitterness of a life wasted. He paused for effect, casting a sharp look at Tony, Faith, and Willow, as if reminding them that actions always had consequences. "Not an ideal environment to raise a son," he added. "Who, by the way, you happened to cross paths with in Monaco. Sins of the father and all."
The mention of Monaco sent a chill down Tony's spine. Ivan Vanko, with his whips and fury, had come terrifyingly close to bringing everything down. The memory lingered, a reminder that the past had a way of resurfacing in the most violent and unexpected ways.
In the quiet that followed, a soft beep echoed through the house. A notification, likely from Jarvis, though the AI was operating under strict instructions to keep a low profile in Fury's presence.
"I'll check on that," Willow said, standing up from the table. She moved with a sense of purpose, her footsteps quiet but firm as she left the room.
Fury watched her go before turning his attention back to Tony. "Sometimes you're paranoid," Fury said, his tone laced with a kind of knowing cynicism, "but sometimes you have people coming after you. You just happen to be both."
Tony leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his expression thoughtful. "My dad was exacting," he murmured, almost to himself. His mind was turning over the possibilities, the implications of what Fury was saying. If Howard Stark had really been on the verge of something so monumental, he wouldn't have just let it die with him. "If there was something there, he would have left bread crumbs."
Faith glanced over at her father, the wheels in her mind spinning as Fury's words hung in the air. Could Fury be right? Could Dad have missed something crucial that Grandpa Howard left behind? The thought troubled her. Tony Stark wasn't the kind of man who overlooked details, especially not when it came to tech, but this—this was different. The idea that something had been right in front of them the whole time, waiting to be discovered, gnawed at her. She shifted her gaze back to Fury, her voice firm. "Let me ask you again, what I asked back at the doughnut shop. What did you mean when you said Dad hasn't tried everything?" she pressed. "Is there something you're not telling us?"
Fury, unflinching, met her gaze. "Your grandfather knew that your father was the only one with the means and knowledge to finish what he started."
Tony scoffed, his usual flippant tone returning. "Hey, Obi One-eye, I don't know where you're getting your information, but my father didn't even want his own son around the house. The best day of both our lives was when I was shipped off to boarding school." His words were bitter, tinged with old wounds that had never quite healed.
"That's not true," Fury said, his voice steady, a simple truth stated without challenge or judgment.
Both Tony and Faith were taken aback by the certainty in Fury's tone. It wasn't defensive, it wasn't argumentative—it was as though he was stating an irrefutable fact, one that Tony had never bothered to consider.
"Well then," Tony said after a pause, his voice tight, "you must have known him better than I did."
"In some ways," Fury admitted, his expression unreadable, "I probably did. He was a founding member of S.H.I.E.L.D."
The shock of that revelation hit Tony and Faith like a freight train. They exchanged a glance, their expressions mirroring each other's disbelief. How is this possible? They had both spent their lives in the shadow of Howard Stark, yet somehow, neither of them had ever known this massive piece of his legacy.
For Tony, it felt like a betrayal, one more secret piled on top of a mountain of unresolved emotions tied to his father. For Faith, it was a window into a man she'd never had the chance to know, a man who had helped shape the very organization now intruding on their lives.
"Well," Fury said, standing abruptly and breaking the heavy silence, "I've got a two o'clock." He dusted off his coat as if he hadn't just dropped a bombshell on their lives. "You two got this? We're good, right?"
"Got what?" Tony retorted, standing with Faith, both of them clearly still reeling. "I still don't know what we're supposed to get."
Ignoring Tony's protest, Fury continued. "Natasha will remain a floater at Stark with her cover intact," he said matter-of-factly. "And you remember Agent Coulson."
Tony frowned, his mind still in overdrive. "Roughly. But I don't get it, and we're not good."
Fury, unfazed by Tony's indignation, started toward the exit, his pace brisk. "And Tony, Faith," he called back over his shoulder, his voice casual but carrying the weight of a warning, "I got my eye on you two—and Willow."
As Fury approached the waiting S.H.I.E.L.D. car in the driveway, Faith's voice cut through the air, stopping him just before he could get in. "I've got a quick question before you leave," she said, her tone direct but holding back a tension she hadn't quite allowed herself to feel until now. "Five years ago, the president pardoned me. And S.H.I.E.L.D. was keeping an eye on me. Why?"
Fury paused, turning to look at her with that same unyielding gaze. "Because of who you are. A Slayer," he said, the title carrying an unspoken respect. "Who helped Buffy Summers and her people stop the First Evil from gaining a foothold in our world. As a result, I believed back then that you deserved a second chance."
Faith felt a flicker of something—pride, maybe, or at least validation—but it was tempered by the weight of Fury's words. She had earned that second chance through blood, sweat, and sacrifice.
Agent Romanoff entered the room with her characteristic efficiency, Willow trailing behind her, clearly in her element as she delivered a rapid-fire status update. "We've shut off all communications. No contact with the outside world. I'll be administering your medication. Tacos and sodas at six." Her voice was calm, controlled, as though she were listing items off a grocery list rather than locking down a high-tech mansion. With that, she turned and left, leaving Tony, Faith, and Willow at the kitchen table. The room, still bearing the scars of earlier chaos, felt unsettlingly quiet now—except for Agent Coulson, who had been sitting there unnoticed the entire time.
Tony leaned back in his chair, folding his arms as his eyes drifted toward Coulson. "If it's going to go down like this," he began, his tone light but underpinned by fatigue and irritation, "I mean, if Faith, Willow, and I are going to do this celebrity rehab thing, we're going to need a shiatsu massage and whatever's next on Netflix."
Coulson smirked—just a twitch of the lips, but it spoke volumes. It was the kind of look Tony recognized, the one people wore when they held more power than anyone realized. A look that said, I'm running things here, and you're just catching up.
Tony, Faith, and Willow exchanged glances, waiting for Coulson to finish whatever little internal joke had him so amused.
"I've been authorized by Director Fury to use any means necessary to keep you three on premises," Coulson finally said, his voice crisp and matter-of-fact. "If any of you attempt to leave or play any games, I will taze the offending person, give that person knockout drops, and watch TV while that person drools into the rug."
When he was done, Coulson wore the look of a man satisfied with himself, as if laying down the law with one of the world's greatest minds and two of its most powerful women was just another item on his to-do list.
Tony blinked, still processing the threat—or maybe the casualness of it. "We'll just chill," he said, glancing at Faith and Willow for confirmation. They both nodded, just as resigned to this bizarre lockdown as he was. "Okay. We get it."
Coulson's expression didn't change. "Now give me the thing," he said.
"What thing?" Willow asked, brow furrowing in confusion.
Coulson raised his hand and mimed tapping on a phone, his calm demeanor unwavering. "The thing."
Tony opened his mouth to deny knowing anything, but stopped when he saw Coulson's hand slide behind his back, reaching for something on his belt. "Here," Tony sighed, pulling the glass Jarvis chip from his pocket. "Here."
Coulson took it without another word, slipping it into his coat pocket with the same ease as someone pocketing spare change. "And there's your evening's entertainment," he said, motioning toward a box that had mysteriously appeared on the floor beside the table.
The three of them looked at the box, then back at Coulson, but by the time their eyes had lifted, Coulson was already gone—likely off to find a comfortable spot elsewhere in the wrecked mansion, perhaps even to make good on his promise of watching TV while they drooled into the rug if things didn't go his way.
"Great," Faith muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just great. We're prisoners in our own home."
Willow sighed, running a hand through her hair. "At least we have tacos later?" she offered half-heartedly, her eyes drifting toward the box as if expecting it to hold some answer to the madness swirling around them.