The abandoned office building loomed before Hope Stark, its weathered exterior telling silent stories of New York's countless battles. Shattered windows reflected the mid-morning sun in jagged patterns, while creeping ivy claimed portions of the neglected walls. To any passerby, it was just another casualty of the city's turbulent history, waiting for demolition. But to Hope, it was another breadcrumb in the endless trail she followed, searching for pieces of her father.
She glanced down at the holographic display emanating from her bracelet, watching the pulsing blue dot that promised another piece of Tony Stark's legacy. The technology hummed quietly against her skin, a constant reminder of the world she belonged to, despite everyone's attempts to keep her away from it.
If Peter finds out I used EDITH to decrypt data again without his permission… again, he is gonna lose lose it. The memory of his last lecture was still fresh – him pacing back and forth in her room, hands gesturing wildly as he went on about responsibility and respect for privacy. He'd gone full disappointed-parent mode, complete with crossed arms and that signature Parker frown that somehow made her feel guiltier than any of her mother's serious talks.
The thought of Peter brought a small smile to her face. He might be overprotective, but at least he and MJ were finally getting their well-deserved break. Nick Fury's engagement gift had surprised everyone – who knew the ever-serious director had such a romantic streak? Then again, Fury had always had a soft spot for Peter, even if he'd never admit it.
As if summoned by her mere thoughts, her earpiece crackled to life, making her jump slightly.
"Hope?" Peter's voice carried that familiar mix of concern and suspicion that she'd grown accustomed to over the years. "Please tell me you're in Chemistry right now."
Hope carefully stepped over a fallen ceiling beam, buying time to steady her voice. Dust motes danced in the streams of light filtering through the broken windows, making the air seem almost ethereal. "Actually, it's English," she replied, trying to keep her tone casual and light, "You know, where we learn about proper vacation etiquette, like not checking up on perfectly responsible teenagers who are definitely where they're supposed to be?"
"Uh-huh." She could practically hear his eyebrow raising. His voice dripped with skepticism. "And what's today's lesson about?"
"Shakespeare?" Hope winced at how her voice lifted at the end, turning the statement into an obvious question. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her pink jacket – a nervous tell she'd never quite managed to overcome. "Listen, Pete, I've got to go. Mrs. Henderson is giving me the evil eye."
"Hope—" There was that tone, the one that meant he'd definitely caught onto her lie. Peter's spider-sense wasn't just useful for crime-fighting; it had an annoying habit of picking up on teenage deception too.
"Enjoy Sapienza! Don't forget sunscreen, wouldn't want Spidey coming back looking like a cooked lobster!" She quickly tapped her earpiece, cutting off what was surely about to be another well-intentioned lecture. The silence that followed felt both relieving and slightly guilty.
Sorry, Pete, she thought, pausing to lean against a relatively clean section of wall. But some things are worth getting grounded for.
A mental image of Peter trying to patrol New York with a sunburned face under his mask made her giggle. The sound echoed slightly in the empty building, reminding her of how alone she was in this decrepit place. Not that it bothered her – Hope had long since grown comfortable in these solo expeditions, these private treasure hunts for pieces of her father's past.
Following the tracking signal, she rounded another corner, only to face a solid concrete wall. Hope frowned, the expression creasing her forehead in a way that her mother always said reminded her of Tony. The indicator on her bracelet remained stubbornly fixed, pointing straight at the barrier before her.
"What the hell?" she muttered, tapping the holographic display repeatedly. The blue dot pulsed mockingly, refusing to change position. "Don't tell me I came all this way for a glitch."
She ran a hand through her rosette hair, a habit she'd picked up from years of problem-solving frustration. The motion loosened a few strands from her hastily arranged ponytail, but she barely noticed, too focused on the puzzle before her.
The wall looked ordinary enough – grimy, dusty, and slightly water-stained like everything else in the building. But something about it nagged at her instincts. Her father never did anything without purpose, and EDITH's data was never wrong. There had to be more here than met the eye.
Hope set her backpack down on a broken table nearby, the aged wood creaking ominously under even that slight weight. The flashlight came out first, its beam cutting through the dim light of the corridor. If there was something hidden here, she was going to find it.
Hope walked the length of the wall, letting her fingers trail across the rough surface. The dust and grime made her nose wrinkle in disgust, but she pressed on. At least I had the sense to bring hand sanitizer, she thought, already imagining how many times she'd need to wash her hands later.
"If I were a paranoid genius hiding a secret base," she mumbled to herself, "where would I put the entrance?" The information she'd managed to glean from her brief 'borrowing' of EDITH had confirmed the existence of this place, but the specifics of getting in had been frustratingly vague. She made a mental note to be more thorough next time she managed to get her hands on those glasses – if there ever was a next time, given how protective Peter had become of them.
Starting with the most obvious approach, she examined the walls for any irregularities. When that yielded nothing, she moved on to the light switches, methodically testing different combinations. On-off-on, off-on-off, alternating patterns, even trying to put them right between being on and off – each attempt was met with nothing but disappointing clicks and occasional sparks from the aging electrical system.
Sighing, Hope reached into her backpack and pulled out what appeared to be an ordinary speaker. The sight of it made her heart twinge, as it always did when she handled anything connected to her father. Dr. Banner's seventh birthday gift had been meant as a comfort, a way to hear bedtime stories in the most realistic replica of her father's voice. Instead, she'd turned it into a tool for breaking into his secured facilities. Sorry, Dr. Banner, she thought, but I don't think this is quite what you had in mind.
The process was tedious. Hope worked through combination after combination of voice commands, each attempt making the room feel more stuffy and discouraging. Her father's voice, even synthesized, filled the empty space with echoes of the past. Every failed attempt was another reminder of the distance between them, of all the questions she might never get answers to.
On the fifty-first try, something changed. The entire floor shuddered, dust raining down from the ceiling as a section of the wall slid backward with a grinding sound. Hope jumped back, her heart racing as she watched a rectangular indent emerge – nearly two meters high and a meter deep, housing a sophisticated-looking panel with both hand and retina scanners.
A grin spread across her face. "Gotcha," she whispered, sliding her hand into her pink jacket pocket – she absolutely adored pink, it was definitely the superior color – Hope retrieved the specialized glove. The story behind acquiring her father's handprint was one she hoped would never reach Happy's ears. The former Avengers security chief seemed content these days focusing solely on being the Stark family's head of security, steering clear of anything related to his old life. Still, she had a feeling he wouldn't appreciate the methods she'd used to create this particular tool.
Standing before the panel, she tugged the glove on, smoothing out any wrinkles that might interfere with the scanning process. The synthetic material felt cool against her skin as she pressed her hand against the scanner. For a moment that felt like eternity, the machine hummed, analyzing every ridge and whorl of the replicated print. Finally, a soft beep signaled acceptance, and Hope let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Next came the retina scan. She pulled out her custom lenses from her other pink pocket, rather proud of this particular invention. It had taken months of trial and error, countless sleepless nights, and more than a few minor explosions in her private workshop to get them right. But now they worked perfectly – well, mostly perfectly. She carefully placed them over her blue eyes, blinking rapidly to adjust to the slight distortion they caused.
The scanner whirred to life, projecting a grid of lasers that made her want to flinch away. But she held steady, years of practice helping her maintain the perfect position until the mechanism retracted with a satisfying click.
Just when she thought she was done, a new panel slid out from the wall, presenting a sharp needle. Hope groaned internally. "Really, Dad? Needles?" she muttered, grimacing as she extended her finger. "Of all the security measures you could have picked..."
At least this part required no trickery or technological workarounds. She was a Stark through and through, something the blood analysis would confirm. Still, she couldn't help but wince as she pressed her finger against the needle. The things I do for answers, she thought, watching the small drop of blood disappear into the mechanism.
The final beep came with a flash of green light, and the wall began to slide away, revealing a large, dark rectangular room beyond. Hope quickly wiped her finger on her jeans before retrieving her flashlight from the broken table. The beam cut through the darkness as she cautiously stepped forward, her heart pounding with anticipation.
The beam of her flashlight danced across the walls as Hope ventured deeper into the room, dust particles swimming through the light like tiny stars. Each step echoed in the darkness, making the space feel larger than it probably was. Unlike her father's usual workshops – the ones she'd seen in photos or videos – this place felt different, almost secretive in its simplicity.
Finding the breaker box mounted in the corner wasn't difficult; her father always did have a thing for practical layouts. She made her way over, shoes crunching softly on debris, and reached for the switch. The mechanisms inside groaned from years of disuse as she cranked it upward.
Fluorescent lights flickered to life overhead with an electrical hum, causing Hope to shield her eyes against the sudden brightness. As her vision adjusted, she took in the full scope of the room, and her breath caught in her throat.
The center of the space housed what appeared to be an older version of the hologram platform she remembered from home – the one where she'd watched her father work through endless designs, his hands dancing through blue light as he refined his creations. This one was partially buried under fallen ceiling debris, its surface dulled by years of dust and neglect, but she could still see its potential.
Why here, Dad? she wondered, slowly circling the platform. Why tuck this place away in some random building instead of one of your usual bases? The question nagged at her mind as she surveyed the room. Everything about this setup felt more personal, less flashy than Tony Stark's typical style.
The excitement of discovery tingled through her body as she began to explore. Maybe she'd find more of his journals here – those precious windows into his mind that revealed so much more than just equations and designs. They were rare treasures, these glimpses of the man behind the mathematics, and Hope cherished each one she managed to find.
Her mother's stories painted a picture of an emotional, wonderful man beneath the Iron Man facade, but these days, those stories had become rare. Hope had stopped asking about him when she entered high school, unable to bear the flash of pain that would cross her mother's face with each reminiscence. The weight of loss would settle in Pepper's eyes, and Hope had learned it was kinder to let those memories rest undisturbed.
The same went for Peter and the others. She'd seen how their faces would tighten, how their smiles would become a little forced whenever she brought up her father. Even after all these years, the wound remained raw for them all. The Asgardian God was the only exception, but then again, he really didn't know the man as much as the others. So she'd stopped asking, stopped seeking their stories, choosing instead to piece together her own understanding through these clandestine explorations.
The Tony Stark she discovered in his notes was different from their memories – methodical, analytical, his feelings buried beneath layers of calculations and theories. Sometimes Hope wondered which version was real, or if perhaps both were, and she was simply seeing different facets of the complicated man her father had been.
"Alright, Dad," she muttered, eyes scanning the workshop for where to begin. "Let's see what you left behind."
After a solid twenty minutes of grunting, pushing, and possibly inventing new swear words, Hope managed to clear enough debris from the central platform to access its control panel. Her arms ached from the effort, and dust covered her pink jacket, but the satisfaction of progress made it worth it.
"Note to self," she muttered, wiping sweat from her forehead, "add super-strength to the upgrade list for my next project."
With the platform cleared, she noticed a stack of papers tucked away at the back, partially protected from the elements by their positioning. Most of the surrounding displays were dead or damaged beyond repair, except for the main console which still held a promising green standby light.
The glass whiteboards covering the walls caught her attention first. Complex equations and diagrams sprawled across their surfaces; some areas smudged but still legible. Hope's eyes widened as she recognized portions of the calculations. This wasn't just any project – these were the foundational algorithms for artificial intelligence.
"Holy shit," she breathed, moving closer to one board. Her fingers traced the familiar patterns of JARVIS's base code, but there was something else intertwined with it. Something more complex, more... ambitious.
She spent the next few hours piecing it together, jumping between the holographic interface and the scattered documentation. The code structure was unlike anything she'd seen before – neural networks that made modern AI look like pocket calculators, quantum computing protocols that shouldn't have even been theoretical at the time these were written.
"What were you working on here, Dad?" she mumbled, rubbing her tired eyes. The integration patterns were fascinating but concerning. There were elements of JARVIS's empathy protocols mixed with something far more aggressive, more autonomous.
After what felt like her thousandth cup of energy drink (thank god for her backup stash), Hope finally managed to compile the fragmented code into something runnable. Her ponytail had nearly come undone, and her eyes were burning from staring at holographic displays, but she couldn't stop now.
"Please don't blow up, please don't blow up," she chanted, initiating the program. The platform hummed to life, projecting a scatter of blue light that slowly coalesced into a familiar figure.
Hope's heart stopped.
There, standing before her, was Tony Stark – younger, more angular, with that characteristic smirk she'd seen in old photos. The hologram looked around the room with sharp, analytical eyes before focusing on her.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, voice carrying that signature blend of arrogance and suspicion she'd heard in old interviews.
"Dad?!" The word escaped her before she could stop it, thick with emotion and disbelief.
The hologram's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Dad? What the fuck?" He took a step forward, his expression hardening. "Start explaining. Now."
Hope's throat tightened as tears welled in her eyes. This wasn't her father – not really. This was Tony Stark before Ultron, before the Avengers had truly come together, before... her. The man standing before her was brilliant but harsh, paranoid and defensive, without the warmth she'd glimpsed in old family videos.
She wanted desperately to hug him, to feel something solid instead of this ghostly projection. But all she could do was stand there, tears rolling down her cheeks as she tried to find words to explain everything to a man who hadn't yet become the father she lost.
"I..." her voice cracked as Tony's hologram waited impatiently, "I don't even know where to start."
A/N: Hello everyone! I'm back with a new story and this time, I figured I will do a little something longer than a one shot, hehe. Stay tuned for more and reviews are the best gift to give even if they are roasts :))))
Stay Frosty! DT Out.