Chapter 2, Part 1:
Hope's mind was a chaotic whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, each fighting for dominance as she stared at the holographic figure before her. Questions crashed against each other like waves in a storm: How was this even possible? Why had this been kept secret? Was this really her father's work, or was she walking into an elaborate trap? Her fingers unconsciously traced the emergency beacon built into her bracelet – should she alert the others, or keep this discovery to herself?
The weight of these decisions pressed against her chest, making it hard to breathe. She opened her mouth to speak, but her words tangled in her throat, resulting in an undignified coughing fit as she choked on her own saliva.
Meanwhile, Tony Stark – or rather, his holographic representation – wasn't wasting a single second. His translucent hands danced through the air with practiced precision, pulling up diagnostic logs and system reports in quick succession. The familiar gesture made Hope's heart ache; she'd seen similar movements in old videos of her father at work.
"The foundation is a mess, shit," he muttered, his expression darkening as he analyzed the data. "I barely have enough power to sustain my projection. We seem to be running on the backup generators..." His fingers flicked again, bringing up another blue screen. "Now this is odd, your genetic makeup is a high match for mine, but unless I've totally lost it, I'm certain I didn't have any children."
The hologram began pacing, a habit Hope recognized from countless recordings. His image flickered ominously, fading in and out of existence several times as he walked. "Urgh, half capacity already? Should've been more prepared for this." With a snap of his fingers, the hologram vanished completely.
"Wait!" Hope found herself screaming, desperation cracking through her voice. "Please come back!" The sudden disappearance felt like a physical blow, bringing her racing thoughts to a crashing halt. Her head pounded from the emotional whiplash of the past few minutes.
A miniaturized version of Tony suddenly blinked into existence near a small filing table at the other end of the console. "First rule of..." he paused, visibly struggling with the bizarre situation before continuing, "...of this conversation, 1. No shouting!" His finger wagged in the air, only to catch himself raising his own voice. A slight pout crossed his face at the irony. "Second, be grateful I was mindful enough to charge up the backup projection disk, otherwise I would be forced to end this conversation via self-destruct."
The smugness in his voice froze when he saw the girl's face transform into an expression of pure horror. Sheesh, this is why I hate kids, he thought to himself, turning his attention back to the diagnostic charts floating around him. "And third, now that you've had a moment to collect yourself, will you please fucking tell me who you are and where the hell is me?"
Hope felt her legs weakening beneath her. He doesn't know... Fuck! He doesn't know! Her hand instinctively pressed against her mouth, stifling a sudden gasp. She could feel tears building behind her eyes but forced them back. This wasn't the time for breaking down – not when she needed to prevent this version of her father from potentially wiping himself from existence. The casual mention of self-destruct might have seemed like a joke, but Hope had spent enough time studying her father's work to know that data deletion protocols were always built into his systems' core programming.
"I-I'm..." she began, licking her chapped lips as she tried to steady her voice. "I'm Hope Stark, your daughter..." Her fingers nervously tugged at one of the rosette bangs framing her face. "Well, technically the daughter from your future, and..." The words caught in her throat, but she pushed through, "you are... dead."
"I see," Tony responded with unsettling casualness, his holographic eyes scanning the deteriorating room. "What year is it? I don't exactly have access to the internet right now."
"I'm sorry, what?" Hope spat out, hurt and disbelief lacing every word. She marched up to the smaller hologram, tears burning in her eyes as she stared at him in growing rage. She had just told him she was his daughter, that he was dead, gone from her life, and his reaction had been a simple 'I see'? That was cold, even for the Tony Stark she'd read about in his early days. This time, there was no stopping the tears as she glared daggers at him.
Tony sighed in response, pressing the bridge of his nose. "Look, kid..."
Hope's fist slammed against the side of the larger platform, the impact echoing through the room. "My name is Hope, use it when you bothered to ask who your daughter was!" she snapped, turning away to drop heavily into the rolling chair in the corner. She wiped furiously at her tears, hiding her eyes from his view.
This is why I hate kids, Tony internally groaned. How in the world did I end up having one? "Look, Hope..." he started again, carefully choosing his words. Best not to provoke her further.
"I know it might seem like a shock to you, but I have already fully processed everything you said, and my biggest concern right now isn't you but rather protecting Earth. Now that some threat has managed to kill the physical me, I'm all that's left to protect Earth from extraterrestrial threats, and right now my battery is running so dry it has reached 45 percent in the last 3 minutes and 23 seconds we have started this conversation. It takes a lot of power to run 'me' and a lot of power is exactly what we don't have." Tony ran his hand through his electric blue glowy hair, the gesture so familiar yet alien in its holographic form.
"Now, I can tell that bracelet you're carrying is Stark technology, and from the constant upload requests it has been trying to send me," he tapped the side of his head, "which is really annoying you should know, it has the capacity to transfer all of my data and maintain it from getting wiped." He reached his palm toward the bracelet as if he could grab it. "And I trust you know this time I'm not joking; this data can't fall into the wrong hands. I don't know why I was deactivated, but now that you have activated me and I'm not present, I need to follow protocol."
The reality of the situation crashed down around Hope like shattered glass. This wasn't anything like the reunion she'd imagined during countless sleepless nights. The man – no, the program – standing before her was a stranger wearing her father's face. I honestly can't even recognize the man in front of me, she thought, her fingers digging into the worn fabric of the chair's armrests.
The temptation to let the program self-destruct flickered through her mind like a vengeful whisper. It would be so easy to just walk away, to let this cold, calculating version of Tony Stark delete itself. The pain of watching him treat her existence as nothing more than an inconvenient puzzle piece was almost worse than having no father at all. It felt like the AI was mocking her, belittling her inability to move past his death when this digital ghost could process and dismiss it in milliseconds.
But even as the thought formed, she knew she couldn't do it. The weight of such a decision would haunt her forever. Peter's face flashed in her mind – his warm brown eyes, always trying to protect her while carrying his own grief. Shit, should he even find out? He would totally flip if he did, but also it would break his heart if I didn't tell him. The thought joined the growing chaos in her mind, where questions and consequences were piling up like storm clouds.
With trembling fingers, Hope unclasped her bracelet. The metal was warm against her skin, having absorbed her body heat during her exploration. The familiar weight left her wrist as she plugged it into the working platform, the connection point glowing with a soft blue light that reminded her painfully of the arc reactor she'd seen in old photos.
Tony's hologram remained silent, his transparent form casting ethereal shadows across the dusty console as he manipulated the progress displays. The data transfer metrics were staggering – strings of numbers and coding protocols scrolling past faster than she could read. The sight reminded her of the complex equations she'd sometimes catch glimpses of in her father's old workshop videos, back when she was still learning what it meant to be a Stark.
"Look," his voice cut through her thoughts, precise and businesslike, "when this is done, I won't be able to communicate with you, but you need to find a docking station with enough power that my usage wouldn't even be detected." His holographic hand hovered over the confirmation button, the blue glow of his form flickering slightly with the strain of maintaining projection. "I can't stress enough how important it is that I remain hidden from anyone, especially Nick Fury. Do we understand each other? We will talk about this more when I have a secure setup."
Hope felt the bitter taste of being used settle in her mouth. Here she was, helping what remained of her father, and he was treating her like just another tool in his arsenal. Her pink jacket suddenly felt too tight, too warm in the stuffy air of the abandoned room. But what choice did she really have? Let him disappear forever? Watch another version of her father vanish, this time by her own hand?
All she could do was help and... ironically have hope that somewhere in this cold, calculating copy of Tony Stark, there was a spark of the man who had sacrificed everything to save the universe. Something that would make this pain worth it, something that would keep her from completely hating this shadow of her father.
She nodded, her rosette hair falling forward to partially hide her face. "Yes," she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions behind it, "we got a deal."
Hope made her way out of the building. At the hidden room's entrance, she paused, watching as the wall panels slid back into place with an air of finality. The weight of her bracelet felt different now, heavier with its precious cargo. She knew the room's existence would remain a secret until SHIELD's demolition crew arrived, and even then, her father's digital footprints had been thoroughly erased from the systems.
The afternoon sun hit her face as she emerged onto the busy street, the contrast between the abandoned building's musty interior and New York's vibrant chaos almost dizzying. She considered calling a cab but watching the gridlocked traffic crawling along the avenue made her decision easier. Public transport it was. Luckily the entrance to one was just around the corner.
The descent into the metro station brought a rush of warm air carrying the unmistakable aroma of street vendor burgers. Her stomach growled in protest, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since breakfast – had it really been nine hours? The temptation to grab a quick bite was strong, but she bit her lower lip and pushed the thought aside. If she spoiled her appetite, the house staff would notice, and that would lead to questions she couldn't answer. Her mother had an uncanny ability to sense when something was off, especially when it came to Hope's eating habits. Damn you cheesy burgers! Why do you have to be so delicious!
The station wasn't as packed as she'd feared, and she managed to purchase her ticket and board the next train without the usual rush hour wrestling match. Finding an empty seat felt like a small victory, and she immediately slumped against the window, the cool glass providing relief against her forehead. Her earbuds went in automatically, a habit born from countless similar journeys, but the music washing through them was just background noise to her racing thoughts.
Her mind ping-ponged between two conflicting emotions; giddy excitement at the prospect of working alongside some version of her father, and bitter disappointment at how cold and clinical their interaction had been. The metallic rumble of the train provided a steady backdrop to her internal turmoil.
It's just a program, she kept reminding herself, watching the tunnel lights flash by in rhythmic patterns. It wasn't built to be affectionate or understanding. Maybe, just maybe, she could help guide this harsh version of Tony Stark toward becoming something closer to the man she remembered from those precious few early memories. The thought sparked a tiny flame of hope in her chest, but it was quickly doused by the weight of her next decision.
Who could she tell? The question sat heavy in her stomach like a lead weight. Her mother was definitely out of the question – Pepper would take one look at the AI, immediately recognize it as pre-Ultron Tony, and probably blast it into digital oblivion with her Iron Maiden gauntlet. The familiar scenario played out in Hope's mind: her mother would call it an abomination, say it was wrong to try replacing her father with this shadow of his former self, and then... then would come the part that Hope dreaded most. The part where Pepper would retreat to her room for days, drowning her resurging grief in expensive bottles while Hope pretended not to hear the muffled sobs through the walls.
She absently tugged at her pink jacket's sleeve, a habit she'd developed whenever thoughts of her mother's grief surfaced. Being a Stark meant growing up fast – really fast. The luxury of just being a kid had expired somewhere between learning to dodge paparazzi and figuring out how to comfort a grieving parent.
Thank god for Happy, Peter, and MJ. The thought of her extended family brought a slight ease to the tension in her shoulders. They'd been her anchors through the worst of it, somehow knowing exactly when to step in and when to let her process things on her own.
Speaking of Peter... Hope pulled out her phone to check the time. Yeah, I should be on my way home from school right about now, so it's safe to check messages. Turning on her data, she found five new messages from her brother figure, each one bringing a gradual smile to her face.
The photos loaded one by one, each bringing a wider smile to Hope's tired face. The first two were classic tourist shots: Peter and MJ walking along the pristine beach, their faces glowing with the kind of happiness that only comes from being far away from New York's chaos. Peter's arm was wrapped around MJ's waist, and Hope could practically hear his dorky laugh through the screen.
The third photo made her stifle a giggle against her hand. There was Peter, sprawled out on a beach towel, clearly attempting to work on his tan. Good luck with that, spider-boy, she thought with amusement. His enhanced healing factor meant any color he managed to get would fade within hours – a fact she'd teased him about countless times during their pool days.
The final two pictures, taken from MJ's phone, were absolute gold. In the first, a beach ball was frozen mid-flight, perfectly aimed at Peter's unsuspecting head. The follow-up shot showed the aftermath: Peter face-down in the wet sand, one arm raised to flip off the camera while MJ's laughter was almost visible in the slightly blurred quality of the photo.
"No spidey sense can save you from the jaws of love, bro," Hope whispered to herself, twirling a strand of her rosette hair as a mischievous grin spread across her face. "You can't sense what doesn't intend to hurt." She made a mental note to save that particular insight for their next prank war. Peter's spider sense was usually her biggest obstacle in successfully pranking him, but if she could figure out how to use MJ as an unwitting accomplice...
The train announcement system crackled to life, interrupting her plotting. As she gathered her things to exit at her stop, Hope saved the photos to a special folder on her phone. These moments of normalcy, of family just being family, were precious to her. Even if the Peter in the photos had no idea that his little sister had just uncovered something that would turn their world upside down.
The walk up to Stark Manor's imposing gates felt longer than usual, each step bringing Hope closer to the web of secrets she'd have to maintain. She swiped her card at the electronic gate, the soft beep and click of the mechanism feeling almost accusatory in its normalcy. Just another day coming home from school, she reminded herself, unconsciously tugging at her sleeve as she passed through.
The manor's grounds spread before her like something out of a fairy tale, albeit one with hidden security measures that would make the Pentagon jealous. The magnificent garden, meticulously maintained year-round, centered around a water fountain that sparkled in the late afternoon sun. Red brick pathways wound through the greenery, their pattern designed to subtly funnel any unwanted visitors into the security system's optimal capture zones – not that anyone would notice unless they knew what to look for.
Hope huffed a strand of hair from her face as she followed the main path, her eyes drawn to the army of marble gargoyles adorning the roof. To the casual observer, they were merely gothic decorative pieces, but she knew better. Each statue housed part of the Stark security network, their blank eyes concealing state-of-the-art surveillance equipment. Sometimes she wondered if her father had chosen gargoyles specifically for their intimidating appearance, or if he'd just enjoyed the irony of hiding cutting-edge tech in medieval decorations.
Not that anyone in their right mind would try to rob this place, she thought, then immediately corrected herself with a wry smile. Scratch that, there will always be someone stupid enough to try.
The worst part about all this security wasn't the constant surveillance – she'd grown up with that – but rather how it made sneaking out nearly impossible. Hope had discovered only a handful of methods to slip past undetected, and she carefully rationed those escape routes for true emergencies. It meant all her investigating had to happen during school hours or weekends, when her absence wouldn't trigger any alarms.
Thank god for private schools and their selective attention, she thought, approaching the front doors. As long as the tuition checks cleared, they were remarkably uninterested in her occasional absences. Hooray for small invariances indeed.
The grand foyer welcomed her with its blend of modern comfort and classic architecture, polished hardwood floors gleaming beneath warm lighting from elegant crystal chandeliers. The whole manor had a lived-in feel beneath its grandeur – this was a home first, mansion second. The smell of today's lunch wafted from the direction of the kitchen, making her mouth water and her earlier restraint at the hot dog stand feel worth it.
The dining room, with its rich mahogany furnishings and large windows overlooking the garden, was set as perfectly as always. The windows, like everything else in the manor, were built to withstand more than just bad weather – though guests would never notice the difference. Hope sometimes wondered if the house staff had some sort of ruler they used when setting the table, though she'd never caught them in the act. The food was laid out with equal care: a feast fit for royalty, or in this case, a teenager who currently shared quite a resembles to a blackhole.
She attacked her plate with the kind of enthusiasm that would have made Thor proud, though she maintained enough table manners to avoid raising eyebrows. Years of etiquette lessons weren't easily forgotten, even when facing starvation.
"Hungry, sweetheart?" Pepper's voice carried that careful tone that always made Hope nervous. Her mother had an uncanny ability to read people – it was what had made her such an effective CEO – and right now, those observant eyes were trained on her daughter.
Hope swallowed her mouthful of food quickly. "Yeah, just..." she gestured vaguely with her fork, "you know how it is when you get caught up in stuff. Forgot to grab lunch."
"What kind of 'stuff' exactly?"
"Oh, you know," Hope stuffed another forkful in her mouth to buy time, "just school stuff. Projects and... stuff."
Pepper raised an eyebrow but didn't press further, though Hope could feel her mother's gaze lingering. The weight of the bracelet on her wrist felt particularly heavy under that scrutiny.
After demolishing what felt like half the kitchen's inventory in record time, Hope pushed back from the table. "Thanks for lunch, Mom. I've got a ton of homework waiting upstairs."
On her way out, she snagged a cherry lollipop from the glass bowl on the kitchen counter – a small act of rebellion against the formal dining they'd just finished.
"Hope," her mother's voice followed her to the doorway, "you know you can talk to me about anything, right?"
"Yeah, Mom, I know," Hope replied, perhaps a bit too quickly, unconsciously tugging at her sleeve. "I just really need to get this work done. Thanks for lunch!"
Hope took the stairs two at a time, the cherry lollipop clicking against her teeth as she hurried to her sanctuary. Fishing the familiar sign from her desk drawer, she hung it on her doorknob: 'DO NOT DISTURB ME, PROBABLY BUSY INVENTING SHIT' – though the last word had been crossed out and replaced with "STUFF" in red marker, courtesy of her mother's ongoing campaign for proper language.
Her room was a perfect reflection of its occupant; that being organized chaos. The walls, painted in her favorite shade of purple, were covered in a mix of scientific posters and photos of her extended family. Her desk housed three different monitors, each dedicated to various ongoing projects, while her workbench in the corner was littered with half-finished inventions and scattered tools.
She flopped onto her purple bedspread, the familiar comfort doing little to ease the tension in her shoulders. Her custom laptop – far beyond anything available on the commercial market, or the military for that matter – came to life with a soft hum as she connected her bracelet to one of its many specialized ports.
"Okay," she muttered around the lollipop, fingers flying across the keyboard, "let's see what we're dealing with here."
The power requirements that began scrolling across her screen made her eyebrows climb steadily higher. The laptop, advanced as it was, couldn't hope to provide enough juice to run the AI properly. She'd need something more substantial – probably one of her father's old mini arc reactors, or maybe... Her fingers twirled the light pen through strands of her rosette hair as she considered the possibilities.
"Huh, this is... intense," she mumbled, leaning closer to study the complex energy matrices. Each potential solution seemed to spawn three new problems, but that only made the puzzle more intriguing. This was the kind of challenge she lived for, even if the stakes were higher than usual.
The hours slipped by unnoticed as Hope lost herself in calculations and simulations. The lollipop stick had long since been discarded, replaced by three more as the sky outside her window gradually darkened. Each failed simulation brought her closer to understanding what she needed, while simultaneously highlighting just how complicated this project would be.
As the clock crept past midnight, Hope finally sat back in her chair, rubbing her tired eyes. The soft glow of her monitors cast blue shadows across her room, reminding her uncomfortably of her father's hologram. She'd filled pages of digital notes with potential solutions, each more complicated than the last. The power requirements alone were going to be a nightmare to handle without raising suspicions.
"Tomorrow's problem," she muttered to herself, closing the laptop with a soft click. She'd need a clear head to figure out how to either acquire or build a power source strong enough to sustain the AI. Not to mention finding a secure location to house it all – somewhere beyond the reach of both SHIELD's surveillance and her mother's watchful eye.
Standing up, she stretched until her back popped, then padded over to her dresser. Her pink and purple pajamas were a stark contrast to the serious nature of her day's activities, but they were comfortingly familiar as she changed. The face in her bathroom mirror looked older somehow, the weight of her secret already leaving its mark in the slight furrow between her brows.
Back in her room, Hope's eyes landed on Mr. Sparkles, the teddy bear that had been her constant companion since she was three. The worn purple fur had seen better days, but the arc reactor symbol stitched onto its chest still gleamed faintly in the dark – her father's addition to the toy when she'd insisted her bear needed to be "just like daddy."
Crawling into bed, she hugged Mr. Sparkles close, burying her face in its soft fur. "What am I getting myself into?" she whispered to the bear, knowing no answer would come. The events of the day swirled in her mind: the harsh words of the AI, the weight of its secrets, the desperate hope that somehow this could bring her closer to understanding her father.
Sleep came slowly, accompanied by dreams of blue holograms and unfinished conversations.
A/N: Hey guys, wow... it really took me a while to get this chapter out. i had originally decided to only put up the first half, but the pacing felt off and kinda rushed, so i took my sweet time and wrote the second half. as always reviews, thoughts, anything really is always welcome. and for the most part i already have an ending in mind but would be open to suggestions and detours till we get there :)
Stay frosty y'all, DT out!