"Biscuit, dear?"

Celine looked up. "Oh—sure. Thank you."

She accepted a napkin-wrapped biscuit from the woman sitting across from her gratefully, unfolding it and taking a bite out of it, the buttery, flaky crust immediately melting against her tongue. Next to the woman, Mr. Jarvis was similarly being handed a baked good, though in a much more forceful manner.

It made sense, since that was his wife.

Ana Jarvis was what Celine had always sort of imagined Mrs. Claus to be like — a short, maternal woman who looked to be in her mid-sixties like Mr. Jarvis, with smile lines around her eyes and her gray hair pulled up in a bun. She'd immediately started fussing over Celine as soon as Celine had boarded the plane and pulled her into a motherly hug before showering her with what seemed to be a never-ending supply of homemade baked goods from her purse.

Celine had liked her immediately.

They'd taken off around twenty minutes ago, which meant Celine would be arriving in Los Angeles in only an hour or so. In Tony Stark's private jet. To work for Stark Industries.

Working for Tony Stark.

It felt like she was shipping herself off to go work for a ghost. She'd needed to remind herself multiple times that she wasn't sitting in the private plane of a dead man, but a very-much-alive man — that much was at least very obvious once she'd actually taken the time to observe her surroundings.

Celine looked around again, taking her in the luxurious interior of the jet for the nth time in the past fifteen minutes. A row of leather seats, where she currently sat, extended from the front of the plane all the way to the back, where a large, wrap-around plasma-screen TV was hooked onto the wall — and of course Tony Stark's private jet also had a built-in liquor cabinet, which extended across the entirety of the interior wall across from Celine and the Jarvises' seats, the bottles inside clattering every once in a while with turbulence. The curved walls of the interior were a creamy white, their round windows pulled up to display a brilliant vastness of blue-and-white clouds outside, and speakers spread throughout the cabin emitted the soft notes of 90s jazz, the music sprinkling itself over Celine like pixie dust.

There had even been two smiley flight attendants when she'd first boarded, though Mr. Jarvis had dismissed them, most likely sensing Celine's mild discomfort at the way they had practically loomed over her seat during the first five minutes.

Speaking of her seat — Celine had only ever flown twice in her life (both for paid-for school conferences), but she was pretty certain her economy seats hadn't been made of soft, cushiony leather the color of dandelion yellow like the one she was currently sitting in, the material so comfortable that it created an intense urge within her to just lean back and melt straight into the leather.

Across from her, above Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis's heads, she had a clear view of the TV in the back, which displayed their position above Half Moon Bay; the tiny plane on the screen signifying their position was somewhat lulling.

Celine focused her attention back onto the two people in front of her again, shaking off her sudden bout of sleepiness. "So, uh, Mr. Jarvis — "

"Edwin, Miss."

"Oh, okay. Please call me Celine then. Uh, Edwin — so what am I supposed to do once I actually get to LA?"

"Well," Mr. Jarvis — Edwin — straightened, his tone taking on a business-like manner. "I will first need to consult with the HR department to draw up a formal offer letter and contract outlining your tasks, salary, and other specifics. I will also reach out to some contacts and take care of complexities regarding taxes, benefits, background and drug tests, and bank accounts. Your lack of identification may pose an issue with sorting that out immediately, but — " and here he smiled slightly " — Stark Industries is a multinational conglomerate, and I work directly for the boss, so we have connections."

Wow.

Celine felt overwhelmed, which was putting it very mildly. She was thirty years in the past, yes, but she was beginning to realize that she shouldn't underestimate those with power even in this time period.

"Lack of identification?"

Mrs. Jarvis was sporting a curious expression of concern. Celine realized that Edwin evidently hadn't relayed her little situation to his wife yet.

Edwin laid a hand on his wife's arm. "No questions, honey."

"Actually — " Celine interrupted, sitting up straightly and exhaling slightly. She resisted the urge to begin playing with the ends of her hair, her telltale sign of nerves as the older couple looked towards her. "It's okay. I actually want to explain a little."

Something she'd been pondering since she'd first stepped onto the jet was what exactly her fake backstory would be. Sure, Edwin had promised her that her lack of credentials and identification would be taken care of and wouldn't matter, but what if it eventually did? Or someone else got curious?

Celine wasn't going to kid herself — Stark Industries was a large company, and it wouldn't be a surprise if somebody eventually took notice of the fact that the random new intern sent to basically rebuild the financial team had virtually no trace of her existence anywhere up until present day.

So she'd resolved to draw up a fake backstory regardless — to clear things up now and begin planting seeds of her false background in case she needed to diffuse any suspicions in the future.

"So I did mention that I used to be a financial analyst intern," she started, directing those words at Edwin, who nodded. "I worked for Pym Technologies back in San Francisco after I graduated college early in Canada. My parents and I moved down here for my work — in the countryside, near Napa Valley if you're both familiar — and I commuted to work."

It was here that Celine injected a little tremor into her voice, swallowing audibly and hoping her tone conveyed the right amount of despair she was aiming for. "And then — um, a few weeks ago, there was a fire, and the house burned down. With my parents in it."

She heard a small gasp from Mrs. Jarvis, which both effectively made Celine feel like a terrible person and emboldened her to continue her faux sob story. "It must've been the stove or something, but we lived in such a remote area, and by the time I came home, it was too late. Th-they died, and everything in the house — including all of my important identification documents and belongings — were all lost in the fire." She gulped, exhaling shakily. "I lost my job with Pym Technologies just two weeks after that because I was so distracted at work, and — well, I've been trying to figure out what to do ever since then."

Celine blinked, blood rushing in her ears and her heart pounding as she stared down at her feet — both to maintain the falsified sense of sadness that hung in the air and because she had no idea if the Jarvises bought her story.

She thought she'd delivered it alright — not too long, not too detailed, and what she hoped was just enough to cover the gaping holes of her background. She'd tried to stick as close to the truth as possible so that there'd be less of a chance of her bungling up her own facts accidentally if someone were to ever prod, and she'd purposefully kept the details scarce. After all, she didn't want to weave an elaborate story now and risk mixing things up in the future — she could always improvise the specifics in the future if she needed to.

She'd also adjusted the timeline in her backstory so that the deaths of her parents and the fictional downfall of her career was recent — so unless the people of 1995 were tactless robots, nobody would press her for specifics.

Celine just hoped she'd covered all her tracks regarding her lack of government identification and papers, which was most pertinent given her current situation. Sticking with the story of working as a financial analyst intern not only was half-true, but it was also the safest bet she could think of at the moment: Hank Pym and Howard Stark's historical rivalry mean that hopefully no one would be reaching out for employment records (and she doubted Pym Technologies would hand those over to Stark Industries regardless), and she hoped the same would apply to her educational records by claiming that she'd gone to a foreign school.

These thoughts reverberated around her head as she maintained her gaze on the floor, holding her breath, too scared to look up at the Jarvises' reactions. Do they believe me?

There was a moment of silence, before —

"Oh, honey!" Mrs. Jarvis leaned over and grasped Celine's hands, and Celine felt like the worst person on the planet when she realized that the old woman's eyes were glistening. Both Jarvises were looking at her with pure commiseration, and it took everything in Celine to stop herself from throwing open the hatch door on the wall across from her and jumping out. "I'm so sorry to hear that!"

"Celine, thank you for confiding in us," Edwin said kindly, and Celine felt even more terrible. "If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"

"I'm twenty-two."

Mrs. Jarvis let go of Celine's hands, clutching her heart. "You poor dear. To go through such a horrible ordeal so young." She gazed at her husband, her mouth twisting sadly. "Tony was just a year younger when Maria and Howard passed, wasn't he?"

Edwin nodded, a troubled expression crossing his face as his eyes lost focus, as though he was remembering a distant memory, and Celine didn't know whether or not to thank her lucky stars that her faux backstory happened to hit close to home for the Jarvises or continue with her plan to jump out of the plane.

She decided to instead lay it on thick with one last sentence and then be done with it all:

"So that's why I don't have the necessary documents and identification and such," Celine said, coughing. "It's still a little painful to talk about, and I'm, um, trying to just put it all behind me." She added an extra sniffle for effect.

Did she mention that she felt like the worst person on the planet?

Mrs. Jarvis was nodding in sympathy, already pressing another wrapped biscuit into Celine's hands. "Absolutely, dear." She swatted her husband, shooting him a serious look. "You heard that, Ed! Once documents are sorted out, make sure nobody questions Celine at work!"

Edwin was nodding as well, evidently already thinking along the same wavelength. "Not to worry — like I said, I will handle all the legal procedures." He leveled Celine with a wink, clearly acknowledging just how illegal the forgery he alluded to actually was (and once again, she was struck dumbfounded by how easily she could subvert the law by even just knowing a higher-up at Stark Industries). "Once I reach out to my contacts and your necessary documents are procured — which, if I estimate correctly based on past experience, should not take more than a few days — I will go over everything with you, and you can begin work."

It was so watered down; so simple that it was unbelievable. Celine had to force herself to concentrate on the present conversation — she could barely believe that her pressing problems would be taken care of just like that.

"And if you need anything else," Edwin continued, "do not hesitate to let us know." Him and Mrs. Jarvis both smiled warmly at Celine, and she felt gratitude blooming across her chest — here they were, having known her for barely thirty minutes, and they were treating her so kindly and piling her with biscuits and even offering to forge her identification against the law.

"Thank you." Her voice came out meek; despite the necessity of it all and her very dire circumstances, she couldn't help but almost feel as though she was taking advantage of their hospitality and kindness with her lies.

"Now, there is one other issue — housing." Edwin's tone was business-like again. "Where you will stay is somewhat more complicated. Since your hire was a very informal, last-minute decision, all intern housing is currently full. It is not recruiting season—you are a special case for just this position, seeing as HR is focusing on recruiting full-time associates in the financial department over interns, so there are no other financial interns."

Celine didn't even have time to panic before Edwin was continuing.

"However — I had an idea, and I think Ana will agree vehemently." He cleared his throat. "If you are up to it, you could stay in our home."

Celine blinked. He was proposing that she live with them?

Mrs. Jarvis brightened immediately. "Yes, stay with us — we have a spare bedroom!" She leaned forward eagerly. "Our house is a five minute drive from the Stark Industries headquarters, and there's a wonderful Chinese place down the street."

"Oh no, I couldn't — that's too much — you both have already done too much for me — "

Mrs. Jarvis flapped her hand in the air, waving away Celine's blabbers. "Nonsense! We never receive guests regardless, and we've always wanted children. Take this as a kind request from an old, lonely couple. I understand it's somewhat of an informal proposition, but —" her eyes twinkled. "Well, isn't this entire situation unique?"

Celine couldn't argue there. "Let me at least pay you rent," she protested weakly. "I'd be earning an income anyway from my new position."

Mrs. Jarvis shut that down fast. "Absolutely not, dear. We don't even pay for our home — Tony bought it without our knowledge, moved us in a few years ago, and refuses our attempts to pay him rent. That boy," she muttered, shaking her head fondly. "We should have everything you'd need: there's a bed, desk, and closet, and you'd have a private bathroom as well."

"The guest room has not been used for the past three years," added Edwin, clearly picking up on the conflict still written all over Celine's face at accepting this kind offer. "We really have no use for it — it would be of greater use serving as your bedroom than sitting there collecting dust on its floorboards."

"I-I don't know what to say, Edwin and Mrs. Jarvis," Celine stuttered, feeling overwhelmed as she tried to comprehend the fact that she'd just found free housing and a fully-fledged, enviable job — essentially smushing all of her worries regarding how to even make it past another week in 1995 — all within the past hour. "Thank you — I don't know how I can ever repay you both."

Edwin smiled at her, while Mrs. Jarvis beamed brightly. "Oh, call me Ana, dear! It's really nothing."

"I'll pay for weekly groceries." Celine pressed.

Edwin chuckled. "You're just like Tony." He raised an eyebrow down at his wife.

"Oh alright, dear," Ana conceded, shaking her head and patting Celine on the knee. "If you insist. And to your point of repayment — " Here, she smiled widely. "You can start by playing Monopoly with us when we get back home!"

—

Author's note: I'm back! I'm so sorry for going MIA the past 5 months — I promise I didn't forget about writing! I was extremely busy with school, recruiting, and work, but I'm back now! I know this chapter was pretty short and less plot-filled, but I just wanted to get something out for readers as a holiday treat as well as focus a bit more on establishing a foundation for Celine's situation in 1995 before anything exciting happens — I promise the upcoming chapters will be more interesting (in fact, Celine might finally come face-to-face with a certain genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist very soon…), so stay tuned! Happy holidays to all who celebrate!