#a8f9ff .....|..... prism .....|..... outfit ............... #ed1c24 .....|..... vanguard .....|..... outfit ............... #375a87 .....|..... nightinggale .....|..... outfit ............... descendant tower
It has been a decade since the closing of the Descendant Academy. Once the U.N. created the International Hero Association, I.H.A., the usefulness for such an academy dwindled. Every self-titled hero or person with special abilities was registered, cataloged, thrown into a database and given jurisdiction over a district. Depending on a hero's rank, they were assigned to neighborhoods, cities and sometimes, the most powerful, were sent to help an entire nation.
And this worked.
Sometimes the order and regulation of it all was tedious, but it kept certain heroes in line while protecting the world from threats domestic... and foreign. It wasn't perfect, but it brought about a time of peace, although brief.
It was a year ago when it started happening. It began with the lower ranked heroes. They leave to go on a mission like any other, but never return. It was nothing out of the ordinary for a hero to go missing every so often. It was assumed they were killed in action by whomever the villainous threat was at the time. So, at first, no special proceedings were taken beyond the normal when a member of the I.H.A. went missing.
But then it grew more frequent. It started turning heads when it was happening all over the world rather than confined to areas like Manhattan. The I.H.A. and U.N. began looking into it all further while implementing more protocols for the heroes' protection. But when top tier heroes disappeared, the world went into a frenzy. With no one to protect them, what would happen when there was another attack like Thanos, Steppenwolf... or worse?
With no other choice, Phil Coulson and Alfred Pennyworth, who were left to look after the Descendant Academy after it closed, reached out to two of the remaining heroes, Jim Stark and Juniper Wayne. There was a secret hero network created by Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne that was left intact even after the creation of the I.H.A. and while it was ordered to be shut down years ago, it was kept up as a fail safe in case the new association was compromised. The message was sent around the world on the old frequency, to anyone who might be listening. The only information it gave was a date, time and coordinates.
For now... everything was quiet. Quiet, until a threat came out of the shadows showing their true intentions.
A car was waiting outside JFK airport from the moment Imogen’s flight landed. The wait to get off the plane and gather her luggage was unbearable. She wasn’t the type of woman to wave her celebrity status around for special treatment, but that was one of the days she nearly did, if only to speed up the entire process. With her carry-on and purse in hand, while dragging her suitcase behind her, she booked her way through the airport terminal and made it outside to the arrivals pick up at a record pace, never once stumbling in her heels or putting a blonde hair out of place..
"Good evening, Ms. Frost," the chauffeur greeted her, while stepping forward to take her luggage.
"Evening Matthew," Imogen replied with a friendly, albeit, impatient smile as she handed off her belongings aside for her handbag. "When is our expected arrival?" she asked as her fingers idly flattened out the creases in her jacket, draped over her arm.
Matthew popped the trunk and carefully laid her belongings inside like precious cargo. He was always her favorite chauffeur, always polite, respectful and treated her, and her belongings, like they were made of glass. It was a rare quality. While Imogen was never a fan of hired help, it was a precedent her mother instilled from a young age and only further enforced given the current climate for heroes and super powered individuals. He was trained secret service, but she failed to see how that would help if she was attacked regardless. If whatever was happening managed to snatch up Superman himself, she didn’t think herself or valiant Matthew could stand in the way.
"Estimated two and a half hours, miss. Two if the traffic clears up, but you know how it is around New York," he offered with a friendly smile before holding out his hand to take her jacket.
Imogen’s lips pursed in contemplation. She needed to be at the academy days ago and while two and half hours wasn’t going to make much of a difference, it did to her. She was already furious with her brother for waiting so long to contact her and now every delay felt like a bigger roadblock. She inhaled then held out her right hand, palm up. "Keys, please."
The chauffeur hesitated before slipping his hand into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. "Ms. Frost, please. Allow me to escort you. Your mother was adamant that you be accompanied to the academy and it would put me at ease knowing you weren’t alone."
Her smile softened and creased the skin at the corner of her eyes in genuine admiration. "You are very sweet, darling," Imogen started as she placed a reassuring hand on his forearm. "But you drive like I’m Miss Daisy and I need Vin Diesel." She chuckled and shrugged her shoulders innocently. "Please, Matthew. I really don’t want to make you," she pleaded.
"Your mother is going to kill me." He sighed and produced the key.
"No she won’t," Imogen reassured him as she stepped up to the driver’s side of the Porsche and opened the door. She tossed her coat over to the passenger seat then turned back around to face Matthew. Her free hand dug through her white Hermes purse, pulling out her wallet and grabbing several crisp one hundred dollar bills. She held them out to him, pinned between her index and middle finger. "Get a taxi home, take your wife out to a lovely dinner, and I’ll text you when I arrive. My mother won’t know a thing."
When he didn’t initially take the money, she slipped the bills into his breast pocket and gave it a gentle pat. "Just…" Matthew started to argue. Imogen heard the roulette of various arguments and excuses he sifted through in his mind before he conceded with a sigh. "Be careful, Miss."
"I always am." She flashed him a wink before slipping into the driver’s seat. Imogen barely had her seatbelt buckled before she peeled out of the parking area and sped toward the nearest interstate.
Meanwhile…
Down on sub-level 3, Alfred and Phil led June and Jim to the academy’s secret surveillance room. It was a large, concrete room under the center of the tower. It looked like the type of command center they’d expect to see in NASA. Dozens of monitors lined the farthest wall with a control panel beneath them that stretched the length of the room and would easily take at least three people to reach every button. A majority of the room was filled with over a dozen smaller stations, with their own personal sized panels and three monitors per desk. Then between the desks and the larger control panel was a large conference table long enough to sit over twenty people. But rather than a normal table, its surface was one giant interactive screen with its own holographic 3D rendering.
The group stood at the large control panel in front of the monitor wall which displayed a detailed map of the earth. Phil exchanged a look with Alfred before hitting a large button labeled ‘execute.’ Various red dots pinged across the map showing the signal bouncing off various towers as it spread like a crimson wave across the Western hemisphere, over the Atlantic until every continent was speckled with the blinking lights.
Phil turned to face June and Jim. "It’ll take an hour for Stark and Wayne satellites to triangulate and strengthen the signal."
Alfred cleared his throat. "Masters Bruce and Tony upgraded the satellites to transfer messages intergalactically but as for our allies in other realms? We can only hope that Heimdall is watching."
"If he’s even there," Phil replied with a somber tone.
There was a heavy silence that filled the room as the weight of their hail mary set in. Juniper stepped toward the table, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed. Not for the first time, she found herself wondering what her father would be doing right now. Would he sit around and wait? It didn’t feel likely, Bruce Wayne had always been the sort of person to take action as quickly as possible.
Were they initiating this fail safe too late, would anyone even notice? She felt sick with all the questions running circles in her head, and June pressed her palms to the surface of the table as if to steady herself. Her knuckles were scabbed over, red and puffy but healing, they twinged as she pressed down and used the pain to quiet her mind.
It didn’t last for long. Had Thomas known that this plan was an option before he’d gone chasing after their father? The idea that he’d known and chosen to be reckless instead was worse than any other thought, it made her lungs ache and her fingertips tingle. She wanted to ask Alfred, but Juniper was too scared of the answer and that fear made her ashamed.
"Well, the signal is sent and the meeting is set for a week from now. Standing here staring at the map won’t will more heroes into existence." He sighed softly and clapped his hands together. "How about a nice spot of tea… or coffee?" he asked with a charmingly optimistic smile that contradicted Phil’s more dour presence.
She lingered in the room as the older men shuffled toward the door, looking up to wave at Alfred. "I’ll be down in a moment, you know how I take my coffee, thank you Alfred."
"Triple espresso, please. Got a little bit of work I need to do." Jim shot June a glance, doubling back and beelining for one of the computers. He slipped his hand into his pocket, producing a small thumb drive that he quickly slotted into the nearest control panel. He worked the controls, typing away at an integrated keyboard. "If you wouldn’t mind making room, J.A.R.V.I.S. You’re a bit overdue for a checkup."
June couldn’t contain the snort of amusement that dragged from her, though her brows furrowed some as she considered Jim and the computers. The door had shut quietly behind Alfred and Phil, leaving the two of them to their own whims for a few moments. It wouldn’t last long, Alfred was worried and when he worried he hovered.
"How up to date is the firewall?" It was a sort of morbid curiosity question, she’d always been tempted to try hacking into the system Tony Stark had developed. If it was too outdated though, she could help break down the weaknesses for them to fix.
She circled the large table slowly, trailing her fingers across the surface, eyes set on the map as she tried to find a way to phrase the question she really wanted to ask. There were two questions, actually, but asking both felt a bit too much like sealing the coffin herself.
Jim was too lost in flicking through status screens to notice June’s movements, the dark circles under his eyes betraying just how stressful the past week had been for him. His tone became flat, as if he was talking aloud more to himself. "Phil has been smart enough to accept the automatic updates, stress test wouldn’t hurt though. J.A.R.V.I.S. seems to be confined to the intranet… no aberrant changes or hallucinations." Jim began to type a few commands in, before ripping out the flash drive and shoving it back into his pocket. He rubbed the bridge of his nose while taking a step away from the console. "Full diagnostics will take a couple hours to confirm that. I’m more concerned with the hardware..." His voice trailed off, as he began taking a mental inventory of what precisely would need upgrading and how long it would take. He didn't have the time to get things up to the standard he wanted. He needed to prioritize and focus on the vulnerabilities before getting the hardware into a more usable state.
He hadn’t changed a bit in all these years.
It was exactly what she’d expected of Jim. The first time they’d met had been at a joint board meeting both of their fathers had to attend when they decided they wanted their companies to make a more public standing together. It had been utterly boring, and Juniper had wandered away to find something more interesting which had led her to Jim. He’d been elbow deep in their computer lab, rewiring it to be more efficient. Of course he’d crashed the whole system, but that was something she’d promised to take to her grave because she’d helped.
It all felt so far away now, one of her fondest childhood memories overshadowed by a threat they could not see but could feel nonetheless. It hung over her throat like an executioner's blade, dragging across soft and vulnerable skin until it split. Abruptly, June gathered all of her courage.
"Jim," she was horrified to hear how brittle her voice had become, cracking like delicate glass over the simple syllable of his name. She pressed on, not looking at him. The signs were the same for both of them, bags under their eyes, skin pale, frames tense. She kept her eyes on her hands, tracking the bruise that was twisted around her wrist and crawling beneath the silken hem of her sleeve. It didn’t feel right to lean on him, he’d called her after all. "I have a voicemail from Thomas, I’ve listened to it a thousand times but… Will you?"
June ran a hand through her hair, her frustration with herself crawling up her throat like bile, acidic and utterly disgusting. She pulled her phone free from her pocket and all but thrust it into the air toward him, eyes set with determination on the map. There was so much more she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come.
Jim’s eyes snapped onto June as she had gained his attention. His aloof facade cracked as a quiet intensity replaced it. He didn’t give any words, but instead just strode up towards her. He hastily grabbed the phone, thumbs quickly tapping away into her voicemails and queuing up the correct one. He had gone through all the data he had for days: flight logs, CCTV, satellite readings, biometric readings… anything he had from his father’s last flight. Even he knew that June must have had it worse, suffering in silence while haunted by her family’s disappearance. Even if he wouldn’t say it, June was one of the few people who had ever really seemed to see him as anything other than Tony Jr. as a kid. He didn’t know how to help, that was always more Imogen’s thing. All he could do was press play, setting it to speaker so they both could listen in.
"Hey June Bug," Juniper flinched at the nickname, and she twisted around to look at Jim. If she didn’t, she would close her eyes and pretend it was Thomas in his place. She kept her gaze on his face, categorizing any expressions he let slip as the voicemail played. Thomas sounded exhausted, his voice very soft as he spoke. There were a few background noises that were incomprehensible no matter how many times she’d listened to it. "Listen, I know I shouldn’t have left. I just couldn’t let it go, I followed dad’s last location pin but I haven’t found much. I need you to hear me, okay? I know you’ll be pissed but—"
There was a sharp cracking sound that cut through the recording, and Thomas paused. She could hear the shift of the fabric of his shirt, he wasn’t in his suit, and then a soft exhale from him after a long, tense moment. When he spoke next, his voice was verging on frantic.
"Don’t come after me, I don’t know what’s going on but I think I’m being followed. I don’t know when the trail started, the fact that it slipped by me for so long… Bug, listen, really listen. Take mom and run." This was the part that made her pulse thrum in her throat, tears pricking in the corners of her eyes. He was right, she had been pissed but listening to him now, hearing the fear and desperation in his voice, felt a lot like the cool kiss of a metal barrel pressing to her temple.
"Follow dad’s Sideways Protocol, don’t trust anyone, get Alfred with you to one of the safe houses, and just—" this pause was different, they could hear how his breath hitched over the line, and when Thomas spoke next there was something strange in his tone, like resignation. "I love you, June. Don’t—"
The call ended.
Her hands curled into fists and she made no move to take her phone back from Jim. She’d listened to the voicemail one hundred and thirty two times now, but it never got any clearer to her. There was so much he hadn’t gotten to say, what had changed toward the end of the voicemail? Thomas had sounded so defeated.
"I should have answered," Juniper’s voice broke again, and she angrily swiped away a traitorous tear as it trailed down her cheek. "I was in a board meeting, they have me in so many of these stupid fucking meetings and I didn’t know Jim. I thought he was at home, I just…"
She looked back down at the map, but it didn’t bring the sense of hope like Alfred had been so optimistic for.
Jim had remained blank faced during the recording, his eyes staring off into the middle distance. He was hardly present, his mind elsewhere. When the voicemail had ended, he continued to stare past June, snapping back to reality when her voice cut through the sudden tense silence. He stepped forward, opening his mouth for a moment to speak. No sound came out. He took another step closer, lifting his arm stiffly to pat her shoulder. "I know. I know." His flat tone had melted into a tired, sad whisper. He was lucky that there was no voicemail, that most of Tony’s final moments before vanishing were corrupted or outright missing. The mystery kept hope alive, that maybe it was all coincidental. The voicemail had dashed any hope for a more tame or outlandish explanation.
There was a threat in the shadows. Someone was out there doing this. Whoever it was had resources, operational security, and power. The kind of power that could take geniuses, witches, and gods. They had planning that could outsmart the world’s smartest men.
The good news… men can bleed. Humans are fickle… even machines. There was a trail, somewhere. Whatever was doing this had goals and desires. Somewhere, there was a weakness. And most importantly… they could start making a list of suspects.
But that could wait. "They’re waiting… we should go. I don’t want Phil coming down here and messing with the system."
If she’d been wanting a hug, she’d have gone to her mother. The thing was, Juniper didn’t need hugs and soft words. There was a rage that was writhing in her breastbone like fire, she was an arrow resting in a taut bowstring. She needed someone to point her in the right direction, someone to help her hone her focus and not get lost in the turmoil of it all. That was what Jim was for her, he was as solid as a buoy in the ocean, he could keep her from sinking beneath the choppy waves.
They were in this together now, it was for the best. Because when she found the person responsible, she didn’t think Jim would stop her from killing them. "Yeah," June took a steadying breath, and gave his arm a small squeeze before pocketing her phone and leading the way out. "I’m pretty sure Phil is the one who got those crumbs in the control panel, let’s let him know over coffee that he’s banned."
A little over an hour later…
The white Porsche skidded through the turn onto Descendant Drive, speeding straight toward the large mirrored tower at the end of the road.
The small group sat around a table in the kitchen, finishing off the final bit of tea that remained in the kettle and sharing in a more lighthearted conversation when J.A.R.V.I.S.’s voice came in over the P.A. "Pardon the interruption. Mr. Stark, your sister is approaching the academy with a great deal of haste. She should be arriving at any moment."
Jim sighed, setting down his cup of tea into its saucer at the table. Her tendency to break the mold was astounding. He raised his right hand up, noticing a shift from Alfred. "I’ll get her. She’s my problem." He took a deep breath, reaching into his sweater pockets to produce a set of red-tinted shades and a small metal pad. His movements were habitual, putting on the sunglasses with his left hand while his right pressed the metal pad onto his temple. His expression remained as stoic as ever as he tapped the back of the sensor, causing it to begin glowing. "H.E.L.E.N., go ahead and boot up the Vanguard. Start field log zero one three… let’s see if we fixed the input lag."
June watched Jim, her eyebrows rising some. She wasn’t as close with Imogen as she was to Jim, though she’d known the woman would undoubtedly be arriving before anyone else. She thought it was strange that she wasn’t actually here yet. She paused for a moment, considering her options. It had likely been a long drive…
"I’ll go," she soothed Alfred, patting him gently on the shoulder before standing and grabbing a clean cup to put the last of the tea in. The older man had looked horrified at Jim as he’d continued to sit there. Did Imogen even drink tea? She supposed she’d find out soon enough. "Don’t stress, it’ll be fine. Maybe start dinner? I’d imagine she’s been traveling all day."
Juniper left the room without another word, following the winding hallway, enjoying the warmth that seeped through the mug clutched securely in her hand. She lingered on the edge of the lobby though, uncertain about the logic behind Jim’s… everything. The sight of Imogen striding into the building was enough to make the strangest sense of relief course through her.
Jim had called her, she’d wanted to be strong for him just like she felt she had to be strong in front of Alfred, Phil, and her mom. Imogen was an outside factor she hadn’t expected, and she could already feel her facade cracking. It felt ridiculous, and the slightest bit of pressure on her composure made all of the guilt and anger June felt for herself crystallize in her chest.
She lingered behind Jim’s hollow armor, focusing on her breathing and the weird interaction in front of her opposed to the more annoying things, like her feelings.
Imogen drove far too fast for the short distance that remained between her and the tower. She slammed on the brakes causing the tires to skid and smoke as the Porsche slid sideways several feet until it came to a halt a few inches beside the curb. The car had stopped moving for a millisecond at best when the driver’s side door was flung open and a blur of ivory clothes and blonde hair exited in a whirlwind. She managed to make it halfway to the door when the spaceship hum of the electric engine purred behind her. "Damn it," she muttered under her breath as she turned around and walked back to the car. She opened the door, leaned in and pressed the ignition button, silencing the engine before slamming the door shut once again.
The sound of waves lapping against the rocky shore and the rhythmic click off stilettos on cement were the only sounds that filled the empty landscape. The tall mirrored tower was blinding as it reflected the setting sun back up the road from where she came. When Imogen stepped up to the double glass doors, both hands reached out and grabbed the curved steel handles. In a single swift motion she pulled them open and stepped through. "Anthony James Stark!!" she shouted as she made her way through the second set of doors.
Waiting in the spacious lobby, with its arms crossed, stood the Vanguard: sleek, angular, and painted in that classic red and gold color-scheme. Bright blue lights emanated from the optic display in the faceplate, scanning Imogen on her approach. A hollow projection of Jim’s deadpan voice echoed out from speakers where its mouth would be, a blue light emphasizing each word as it was spoken. "Why do you even hire a driver if you’re just going to go all Need for Speed all on your own?"
"My mother hired him and he’s family, like Al—" Imogen started answering him when she realized there was no psionic feedback resonating from within the suit. Her jaw cocked to the side as her nose flared and the tip of her tongue pressed against the bottom of her upper teeth. She let out a dry, sardonic laugh. The kind of laugh that only proceeded a mental breakdown. The silence in the lobby was deafening. The stillness only amplified the echoing tink tink of her heels on the tiled floor as she stomped her way straight toward the remote controlled suit.
She stopped a foot away, face to face with the metal shell as the blue lights illuminated her face. Imogen had barely been given the chance to process what was happening. When she received the call from Jim, it was too little too late. Tony Stark’s disappearance was all over the news and her bags were already packed. She traveled to the academy as fast as humanly possible, fueled by grief and rage. There was a whole monologue she had been replaying in her head over and over, chastising her brother for not calling her first… and now? He didn’t even have the decency to greet her face to face.
The lump in her throat made it hard for her to breathe but she couldn’t swallow it down. The tears welled as she stared through the blue lights and whatever cameras that led straight back to wherever her brother sat out of range and unbothered. "Coward," her voice cracked as the venomous word left her lips.
Then, like the flip of a switch, Imogen’s body shifted until she stood before the armor like a prismatic statue. Her diamond form, silver and glistening, reflected the setting sun through the window and sprinkled the walls in colorful speckles of refracted light. A crystallized hand shot forward and grabbed the Vanguard’s throat. Her fingers flexed, giving it a little squeeze before lifting it off the ground like it was lighter than air. In a single swift motion, she flipped the mech over her head, making sure to not hit whomever stood behind it, and slammed it into the ground, cracking the tiles beneath it. As Imogen took a step back, she kicked the suit, hurling it backwards and lodging it into the concrete wall beside the elevators.
Her gaze finally shifted to the other person in the room, catching sight of Junie standing there, ready to greet her with a cup of tea in her hands. Imogen sighed and dropped her diamond form. "I missed tea?" Her voice drifted off, exhausted and forlorn like she was on the cusp of breaking down… mentally, physically, and emotionally. "Hey Junie." She met the girl’s gaze with an apologetic tight lipped smile.
Imogen’s voice had cracked, and something in Juniper’s chest tightened. Her breath had hitched, eyes squeezing shut reflexively before Jim’s suit had been brutalized. She would give anything to argue with Thomas one more time, it felt like she was the one that had been slammed down into the ground, the air knocked from her lungs for a moment.
Any thoughts of allowing her vulnerability to show slipped from between her fingers like water, how could she justify it when Imogen was so clearly hurting just as much as her? The thought of letting her own anguish show just made June feel sick. She inhaled sharply, visualized shoving down her emotions between her ribs, and when she opened her eyes again there was a sort of sad hollowness to her gaze.
"Hey," her voice, the traitorous thing it was, wavered and cracked but she pressed on. Her lips tugged up into a smile that wasn’t entirely forced, and June stepped forward, holding up the cup of tea. "If I had known you were coming, I would have saved you more than a single cup. Alfred is making something for us to eat though, so…"
It would be easier, if she didn’t know Jim and Imogen. She wasn’t nearly as close to Imogen as Jim, but it didn’t change the fact that June knew the other woman, had known her father, and knew intimately what she was feeling. There was nothing she could say to make it better, to ease the desolation of the situation. She could make promises she couldn’t keep, but who would that help? There was only one thing she could really give Imogen, and it was simply the truth. June saw the heartbreak written across Imogen’s face, and changed her mind just as quickly as she’d made it.
"I thought about going after Thomas instead of coming to Alfred," the words tasted bitter on her tongue, and Juniper swallowed around the sudden and abrupt urge to throw up. "It wouldn’t have done any good though, so I-I just didn’t. But, I wasn’t going to involve anyone else. If I had known Tony was going to go missing too… I’m sorry. I should have called you and Jim, I should have warned you guys. I was just hoping it wouldn’t happen, but it all feels like a nightmare I can’t wake up from."
The tears she’d fought so hard to keep back began to spill over, leaving hot, slow trails down June’s cheeks. The cut Alfred had stitched up on her lower cheek stung as the salt from her tears seeped into the wound, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away like she had with Jim. There was a sort of solidarity to their suffering, and as much as June wanted to bottle it all up and pretend to be strong for everyone else, Imogen deserved to know she wasn’t alone in her pain.
Imogen hesitantly reached out and took the cup of tea from June’s hands and set it aside on some side table beside an overpriced leather lobby sofa no one ever used. Then, without a word, she closed the distance and wrapped her arms around June in a tight, comforting embrace. A single tear escaped between Imogen’s bottom lashes and carried a faint streak of mascara down her cheek. "It’s ok. I’m not mad at you. It wasn’t your job to call me." She rested her chin lightly upon June’s shoulder with a sigh. "I’m sorry… about your father and Thomas."
She didn’t know what else to say. What could she say? Imogen was pissed and sad, but she only lost her dad. June had lost her dad and brother. She couldn’t begin to imagine the pain and guilt that she was going through. Jim was fine, even if he was a little shit and made Imogen want to throw him off the top of the Descendant Tower, she was thankful he was there. She could threaten him within an inch of his life, but that meant he was still there… tangible and within arms reach. If he was gone too? She didn’t know what she’d do. Go crazy, probably.
A sob caught in her throat, and for the first time since it all started June allowed herself the consideration that she did not have to strive to be as strong as her dad had been. Then, the thought shook her. Had been, as if he were dead, as if he were out of her reach. Her hands trembled as she held onto Imogen, accepting this moment of weakness and knowing a week from now she would have to forge an impenetrable mask if anyone answered their desperate call.
"I’m sorry too," what else was there for either of them to really say? It was a horrible, confusing situation. All they had now were each other, and the desire to fight back against a foe they couldn’t even see yet. She squeezed Imogen’s sides gently, as if the woman were made of glass and hadn’t just punted a suit of metal across the room, and then pulled back some. The skin beneath her eyes felt tight and dry from her tears, a few crystalline droplets clinging to her lashes stubbornly, but something about June had shifted. The chocolate brown of her eyes darkened, and when she spoke her voice was softer, dangerous almost. "Imogen, if I find who is doing this, if our dads aren’t… I just need you to know what you’re getting into. I won’t stop until they wish it was me they’d taken, and not my dad. I don’t have his morals."
Imogen’s gaze drifted back and forth between June’s eyes. Her hands rose to gently cup the girl’s face like a parent admiring the innocence of their child. Her thumb lightly brushed away a stray tear then tucked a loose raven lock behind her ear. "Oh sweetie." Her voice was gentle and nurturing like a mother’s while coddling her child. "I’m going to make a scarf out of their fucking entrails." There was a dark, murderous glint in Imogen’s eye, one that said her words weren’t a threat but a promise. She had every intention to rip those bastards apart until they made the unfortunate mistake of thinking she was a ruby.
Juniper smiled, a soft and sweet expression that was full of relief. She felt so seen, so understood, and it was an undeniable relief to know no matter what came within the end of the week, Imogen and Jim would be there with her. She wasn’t sure where Jim’s moral compass was these days, but she knew at the very least when it was all said and done he would still look at her like she was June and not Nightingale, just as she’d always only looked at him and seen Jim and not some reincarnation of Tony Stark. Imogen was someone she could trust to lean on, to watch her back, and to not judge her for everything that would come next. June would give her all the same in return.
"Thank you," her relief was palpable in her tone, and the surge of such an unfamiliar emotion as of late almost made her cry again. She didn’t though, because the waft of something being cooked was drifting down the hall and because she’d allowed enough weakness to show for one day. "Come on, Alfred is cooking and if you want to eat you should kick Jim’s ass before he’s done. You do know your brother has the emotional range of a teaspoon, right?"
There was a tentative edge of humor in her tone, Juniper didn’t really want to see Jim get his ass handed to him…well, most of the time she didn’t. It was always a little fun to see him squirm, though. Especially when he deserved it.
A grateful smile tugged at the corners of Imogen’s rouged lips. If nothing else, the three of them would raise hell before letting any of those assholes take another one of them. At that point, what else was there to lose? She’d die with a smile on her face in the pursuit of finding her father… especially if she got the chance to take a couple of those fuckers down with her. She’ll have them choking on diamonds and begging for the sweet release of death before she’d allow them to die. The last thing she cared about was her pristine image or what others thought about her.
There was a small twitch at the corner of her mouth that betrayed her softer, bordering on sadistic, smile. Her right hand fell to June’s shoulder while her other pointed down the hallway. "He’s in the kitchen?" she asked with a cock of her head. Imogen could find him easily enough if she let her psionic tendrils sift through the corridors of the academy. But she was exhausted. A clear direction was far simpler and left her with enough reserved energy to release a little hell on her brother… Before inhaling Alfred’s orgasmic cooking, that is.
June’s gaze seemed to soften some as she took in Imogen anew, the day of travel paired with the devastating news had taken its toll on her. She was stubborn though, it was only just barely noticeable but it invoked the urge to wrap her up in a warm blanket all the same.
"Yeah, I’ll show you the way and after we eat I can show you to your penthouse. Your dad designed it for you." Juniper’s smile drooped some, sadness at the revelation of such a genuine gesture fraying her nerves further. Her own father had designed hers too, and Thomas’s. She gave Imogen’s arm another soft squeeze, before very gently tugging her along down the hall. She could let loose the last of her energy on Jim once they got to the kitchen.
Imogen vaguely recalled where the kitchen was, but a decade away with hardly a year in the academy had an easy way of blurring her memories. And maybe it was smart for someone else to be there as well. She’d be less likely to kill Jim… a smidge.
The click of her heels echoed off the barren walls as they made their way towards the elevators. After pressing the button to recall the lift, Imogen let her gaze drift over to the Vanguard armor helplessly wedged in the fresh made gash in the wall. She scoffed and rolled her eyes just before the down arrow illuminated with a ding and the doors opened. Silently, she gave the suit a once over before stepping into the elevator. She waited for June to join her before pressing the button for sub floor 2… and waited.
Jim had hardly moved from his chair at the kitchen table, a slight glow emanating from the shades. His hands tapped on the kitchen table, as he was clearing typing something with no keyboard. His tongue was pressed against his cheek as his eyes seemed to dart back and forth. His thoughts were a never-ending onslaught of numbers, figures, calculations, parts, supply chains, shipping times. But they were dulled, slightly, by his own exhaustion. Errant thoughts drifted to his father, to the voicemail, to the map with blinking red dots. His face was a blank mask, a shield that failed to let slip the turmoil in his chest. His mind was scattered, desperately clinging to any distraction or practical application it could. But even as the elevator doors opened, his thoughts were not of the two stepping out. He wanted to get a second more work done before the tsunami crashed over him.
Imogen practically burst out of the elevator and strode right over to the table where he sat. She noticed Alfred slaving over the stove and had every intention of greeting him… after her brother got a piece of her mind. "You asshole!" she shouted at him as she reached across the table and pulled the glasses off his face. She had no intention of breaking them, but she wasn’t going to give them back either, not until he actually listened to her… not barely acknowledge her existence.
She took a step back, holding the glasses out of reach before he could attempt to try stealing them back. "I am your sister. Your sister!... And do you call me the minute dad goes missing? No. You called June." Imogen’s free hand slammed the table causing it to shake and scoot a couple inches to the side. She briefly spared a glance at June as a silent apology. This wasn’t about her, nor did she blame her, but Imogen knew how the words sounded the second they left her mouth. She sighed, looking back over at her brother, glaring daggers into his eyes, searching for some semblance of sympathy or compassion. "It took me three days to get here from Krakoa, our dad is missing, and you send your fucking armor to greet me?!"
Jim blinked a few times, the dark circles under them on full display as he seemed to grasp the scene before him a bit slower than usual. His face remained blank, his tired eyes tracking the waves of anger etched on his sister’s face. "June was the third call. You were the seventh." His tone was flat, but his indignant stare made clear that his father’s dry humor was genetic. "Would calling forty minutes earlier have changed the flight plan to get you here quicker?" His words were sharp, but not as cold as they usually were. In his own reserved way, he was matching his sister’s anger blow by blow.
"While you were busy getting dressed for what I can only imagine is a stripper’s wedding, I’ve been getting this whole operation back up and running. Do you want to write the pattern-tracking algorithm to find a connection between the disappearances? Or are you going to upgrade the fossilized computer lab downstairs board by board? Last I checked, the only one here who can help me with that is the one I called before you." He lifted a hand up towards Imogen, waving his fingers to signal for a return of his glasses. "And now repairing that armor downstairs is just another thing I have to get done this week. The least you can do is fill out the survey H.E.L.E.N. just emailed you to let me know how the remote speakers sounded."
The blonde stood still as a statue in a stunned silence. Angry, bewildered tears trailed black streaks down her cheeks as Imogen watched her brother apathetically list one thousand and one reasons her presence was worth dog shit. She couldn’t find the words or the will to move. Her entire body grew warm and flushed, while her fingers were ice cold and trembled against his glasses. The muscle in her cheek flexed as she clenched her jaw. "I am not just some barbie doll." Her voice was venomous yet terrifyingly calm in the same breath. "I am smarter than any of you fucking Starks give me credit for. Not that you give two shits to learn a damn thing about me."
Imogen threw the glasses at Jim’s chest not giving a single fuck if they shattered or whatever else. "Bill me for the fucking suit," she practically hissed at him.
Her gaze flicked over to Alfred, unable to stop the angry tears that continued to stain her porcelain skin. "Which floor is my room?" she asked barely above a whisper, her voice cracking at the last word.
Alfred’s face was a melting pot of various concerned emotions as he stood frozen in front of a pot mid-stir. "... 48," he replied. Hundreds of thoughts and questions rattled through his mind, ways he could comfort her, convince them both to get over their tempers, or simply say he was happy to see her. But he said nothing.
She managed the bravest smile she could force out toward him, a silent reassurance that she’d be fine… eventually. "I lost my appetite," Imogen announced to no one in particular. Her gaze remained fixated on the floor as she walked between Jim and June without a word. She pressed the button to open the elevator doors and slipped inside without sparing a single look over her shoulder.
Imogen didn’t bother going back to the ground floor to get her things. She didn’t care anymore. Her trembling finger found the button for Floor 48 and pressed it. Once the elevator started its slow ascent she slumped back against the farthest wall. What remained of her carefully poised mask fell and the sobs came forth in waves. Her knees buckled and gave from exhaustion under the weight and burden of carrying her through three days of travel, a week of grieving, and whatever the fuck that was. She slid down the wall until she was sitting and buried her face in her knees.
Jim sighed, folding up the glasses and setting them delicately on the table as he turned his gaze over towards June. His bloodshot eyes glistened slightly as they caught an errant ray of light. His breath caught in his throat for a moment, a sharp beeping coming from the watch on his wrist indicating his elevated heart rate. His head was flooded with different words, different outcomes, different scenarios. Nearly all would have been more appropriate and kind. "I was a bit too harsh, I take it?" He already had his answer, but sought the comfort of confirmation regardless.
Juniper was stunned in a way she rarely was, she was a good judge of character and it never took much for her to gauge the value of someone’s character. She didn’t like to be surprised like this, not by someone she knew and cherished, and she knew they were all going through something that no words could fully describe, and yet…
"This was the first time I ever looked at you when you spoke, and heard Tony Stark instead of Jim." There was an undertone of anger beneath her bewilderment, and June shook her head like a dog as if to dislodge the memory. Imogen had just held her while she’d cried, tried her best to reassure her, she’d spent three days traveling here just to be with Jim. She took in a slow breath, tasted the air on her tongue for a long moment, before letting it out.
"My dad told me once that grief can either destroy you, or focus you. It reveals who you really are at your core, and what your true values are. If Thomas were here… fuck, he would just be so disappointed in you, Jim." June laughed, but there was no humor there. It was a broken and aching sound that echoed around in the sudden hush of the kitchen. Her anger wasn’t loud, it didn’t sizzle like that pan that still sat atop the stove, it was cold and biting. "But you know what, Thomas isn’t here. He’s fucking gone, and so is my dad, and so is your dad, but you know who isn’t gone? Imogen. She’s right here, begging for you to care. Do you understand what I would give to have had Thomas here right now, screaming at me in a fucking kitchen? I know what you’re going through, you know I do, but it’s not an excuse to treat the people who love you like shit."
June wasn’t shouting by the time she was done, but she was practically gasping for breath, her hands clenched so tightly that she could feel the scabs on her knuckles breaking open, the warm trickle of blood filling the spaces between her palms. She just didn’t want to be here anymore, but she’d chosen this and that meant everyday she’d have to continue to choose being here instead of chasing after the shadows of her family. Even now, even here, even in her anger.
"You know what I think? I think grief can make monsters of us, if we let it. You aren’t focused like you think you are. Go to fucking sleep, and if you wake up tomorrow with more common sense consider apologizing to your sister because you still have one." She turned away from Jim as if she couldn’t bear to look at him for a second longer, an effort to sound kinder to Alfred than she had to Jim was evident in her tone now. "Please send up a plate for Imogen, I’ll bring her bags up to her and make sure she’s… yeah. I don’t need anything, Alfred. I’ll be working on the stress test, once I’m back down."
And June twisted on her heel to leave and do just that.
Jim remained motionless as June stormed off, her words piercing his thoughts like a knife. There was some truth in them, some deflection, and a cavalcade of emotion he was not adequately prepared for. He catalogued the statements, filing them into neat little boxes to reflect on later. He fumbled for the glasses on the table, pocketing them before slowly rising to his feet. He shuffled off towards the elevators, hesitating for a moment as he turned towards Alfred with a defeated tone. "I’ll be in the workshop. Make sure to check on Imogen in an hour to make sure she’s settled in. She’ll have some clothes that need to be steamed." His gaze drifted back towards Phil, nodding towards the elevator with his head.
"Can you help me get the suit out of the wall?"
The elevator dinged signaling it had reached the 48th floor. Imogen took in a deep, shaky breath as she lifted her head. Black smudges stained the knees of her white dress pants, but at that point she couldn’t care less. Her hands pried her stilettos off her aching feet one at a time with a weak sigh. It was only when the doors started to close that she forced herself to stand and slip through the small opening. She let the shoes slip from her grasp and live on the ground wherever they landed.
It wasn’t until she was halfway inside the penthouse that she spared a glance to take in her new living quarters. Imogen didn’t know what she expected, but this wasn’t it. The entirety of the apartment was decorated with various deep, rich shades of lilac. Everything felt extravagant, luxurious, and maybe even a little over-kill. It was designed in that way where parents think they know their kid’s tastes but they have them locked in a time capsule from a decade ago when they were in their ‘panda obsession phase.’ This was a perfect replica of her purple and velvet phase she had shortly after she graduated from the Massachusetts Academy. A weak, but genuine laugh escaped her lips as her hand hesitantly reached out to rest against the wall. "Hi dad," she whispered to the void. A small knot twisted in her gut when nothing but the silence answered back.
The light above the elevator dinged as the metal doors slid open. The week-old hole in the concrete wall felt like it was glaring at her as Imogen stepped out. The familiar click of her heels on the tile reverberated down the hallway as she made her way toward the lobby. She found Phil and Alfred waiting anxiously off to one side of the large open room, seeming too nervous to take a seat… or breathe.
"Evening, gentlemen," she greeted them with a warm smile that betrayed her own nerves. This whole ‘distress signal’ thing was a shot in the dark that could maybe work, get them no results at all, or worse… lead whomever the looming threat is right to their doorstep. Only an idiot wouldn’t be on edge and Imogen was no idiot.
"Good evening, Ms. Frost," Alfred beamed at her with his usual chipper tone. Meanwhile Phil stood beside him, stoic and silent with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
Imogen slowly made her way over to one of the several leather sofas throughout the lobby, but she couldn’t bring herself to sit. She didn’t dare to let herself relax fully until she knew they were in the clear. Instead she opted to lean against one of the armrests and crossed her right ankle over her left. To keep from fidgeting, or shaking from nerves, Imogen crossed her arms over her chest. But even so, her right foot still bounced restlessly as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. "How long?" she asked, sparing a glance over to Alfred.
"Ten minutes, miss," Alfred confirmed with a reassuring nod of his head.
The roar of repulsor engines quickly filled the lobby with noise, followed by the loud thud of a certain suit making contact with the ground. The aft burners folded back into the backplate with a satisfying click, as thousands of small gears and motors worked in unison to return the suit into its more stable state. The Vanguard lumbered in through the front doors with the rapid pace of a chronic workaholic. The fresh coat of paint shone brightly, and a familiar tinny voice rang out from within. "Clocked something incoming with the radar. Seems like the message got through."
A series of whirs and metallic scrapes signalled the opening of the front of the suit, and a lanky nerd stepped out without ever pausing his gait. Jim was wearing a near identical outfit to the one he had worn upon his arrival to the tower, much to Imogen’s protest. His mind raced with possibilities and concerns, and the last thing he needed was to add uncomfortable materials to the list of problems for his mind to sort through. "H.E.L.E.N., shadow protocol. And make a note that I need to tune the repulsor frequency… landing was a bit too choppy." Moments later, the suit began to mirror Jim’s movement and followed him in sync as he approached his sister. The darkness under his eyes had considerably lessened, and the slight color in his own cheeks was an indication that Alfred was ensuring he was actually getting sustenance. He also clocked her guarded posture as he sidled up next to her. "Signatures were a bit too sloppy and obvious to be anything but friendly. Hope you’ve got a welcoming speech ready." The suit circled around behind Jim, standing about a foot and a half-behind him to strike an imposing silhouette.
Imogen briefly glanced back over her shoulder toward the suit of armor, noting how it didn’t look like it was launched into a cement wall a week ago. There were parts of her that were still mad at Jim, for a variety of reasons, but she could also tell he was trying to be more sympathetic… Even if she heard him sifting through files in his mind, finding one with her name on it and reminding himself to be more emotionally present and supportive. His brain always had a weird way of getting from point A to point B, but regardless she appreciated the effort. So she did her best to meet him halfway, even when she held tight to grudges like a lifeline.
The tension in her crossed arms slacked slightly as she looked over at her brother. "Am I the one doing the talking?" she mused with a raised brow. It wouldn’t surprise Imogen if that was the intention. Both Jim and June preferred to be behind the scenes, noses deep in computers or whatever else, while Imogen was a diplomat's daughter, a public figure in the mutant community, and no stranger to public speaking. Although she might have liked to have known that little fact more than five minutes before whomever walked through the door. Then she really would have written a speech.
Either way, nothing her brother said could fully ease her tensions. Imogen spent the better part of an hour that morning debating if she should accept the presumed new arrivals in her diamond form or just as herself. In the end she decided on herself… If only for the ability to read their minds before they got within one hundred feet of the academy. The last thing she was going to allow was someone trying to catch them unaware.
Ten minutes, June ought to have felt more worried about who would, or wouldn’t show up. Instead, the phone call was at the forefront of her mind. Her mother’s voice still rang in her ears, asking her if she’d like to plan her father’s and brother’s funeral. Just the thought of it made her feel dizzy, and heartbroken, and angrier than ever before. Juniper lingered in the hall just outside of the lobby, working on steadying her breathing, focusing on some of the meditations she’d learned, before entering at a measured pace.
She slipped into the lobby silently, ghost-like in her movements as she drew up beside Imogen, face utterly closed off as she glanced briefly between her and Jim. She’d all but locked herself away in her office for most of the week, bouncing between work, hacking into J.A.R.V.I.S., and spending a disgusting amount of time in the tower's gym. Her muscles ached ever so slightly, but she relished in the sensation. It was a reminder that she was here, she was alive, and she was not giving in to her grief. June absentmindedly ran a hand down her shirt, smoothing the lines that had formed in the fabric.
"The stress test is done, I closed any loopholes and put a few of my own protocols in place." She said in lieu of a greeting, fidgeting with the simple black metal bracelet around her left wrist, rubbing her finger over the engraved coordinates as if it would soothe her inner turmoil. June’s mind drifted to the protocols she’d set up, to how one of them mirrored the same one her dad had in place in the event he ever disappeared. She sighed, running her tongue across her teeth before speaking again. "Are you both ready?"
June was very pointedly not looking at either of them as she spoke, she wasn’t sure if they’d resolved everything between themselves. She left a plate of food on Imogen’s floor with her bags but hadn’t actually seen the other woman, and she still felt a mix of anger at Jim and now shame at her own cutting words to him.
"No," Imogen confessed with a dry and unconvincing laugh. "My trigger finger is itchy," she confessed, glancing over at the raven haired woman from the corner of her eyes. "You look nice. Far better dressed than my brother," she added with a droll tone, her eyes rolling as her gaze shifted over to Jim.
"I would prefer to be upstairs in my pajamas, but someone," Jim motioned in Alfred’s direction, "claimed it would ‘set a poor example for your comrades’ and insisted I be here in person." He readjusted his necktie, smoothing it down underneath his plain red sweater. His mind did, of course, cycle through a few juvenile insults geared specifically towards his sister’s more bold fashion choices. He looked back in June’s direction, and his thoughts slowed and dulled for a moment. His eyes nervously shot back towards his sister, hoping beyond hope she wouldn’t comment on it before facing the front doors again. "Would be hard to compete with you, anyways."
"Ah, well, Alfred does know best," she agreed, flashing the man in question a kind hearted smile from across the lobby. None of them had the heart to ever tell the man no and he definitely used that to his advantage to make sure they put their best foot forward… and ate.
Imogen’s gaze slowly shifted to a sharp side eye as she heard the roulette of insults and snide comments about her outfit spin around in her brother’s head. Her eyes narrowed but she said nothing, instead lightly kicking his foot in protest. But when his gaze drifted to June, and then nervously darted back to her, a knowing, mischievous smirk crossed her burgundy tinted lips. Without a word, Imogen pushed off the sofa and stood up. It was rude of her to obstruct his view. She was having a difficult time sitting still anyway. Pacing in circles around the lobby at least solved her restlessness and kept her moving.
June snorted, and the tense line of her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. It was easy to push away the looming expectations and funeral plans around Imogen and Jim, especially when everyone seemed to be in a distinctly better mood. "I’d rather be in my pajamas too, or at the very least a hoodie… I have a board meeting to attend later this evening, and then I have to—"
Her voice flattered, and her lips tugged down into a frown. She was oblivious to Jim’s brief gaze or Imogen’s smug little smirk. Her thoughts spun with all the ferocity of a tornado for a moment, before she sharply brought herself back to focus. Now wasn’t the time to get emotional.
"I have to go look at coffins, and book a venue." Juniper’s tone was clipped and closed off. She wanted to ask one of them to go with her, but she’d refused Alfred’s offer because she knew how much it would hurt him to pick out a coffin for Bruce and June really couldn’t picture Jim coming as a comforting presence while she did something as mundane as debate wood choices. He had too many responsibilities here. Her eyes slid toward Imogen, and then bounced away. "Maybe I’ll get lucky and one of the people who show up will be a lunatic."
That would be a good excuse to take up the rest of her day.
"Anyways," June’s tone twisted into the attempt of something more playful. "I think Jim looks great, we can’t all be stunning fashion icons like you, Imogen."
The blonde’s pace slowed at the mention of coffins and a venue. Her arms uncrossed and slowly fell by her sides. Imogen didn’t claim to understand the necessity of a funeral. She’d rather leave Tony Stark’s death a mystery forever than have an empty hole in the ground, but that was her. She understood how others needed some kind of closure… even if it was a false sense of security. She tried her best to smile at the passing compliment but her mind was too focused on the previous statement to fully accept it. "I can lend you my assistant to go for you… If you’d rather not—" she waved her hand trying to avoid the words. "Or if you’d like company… I’m sure Alfred and I would be happy to accompany you." Her gaze drifted over toward him with a sad tight lipped smile.
Alfred cleared his throat and stepped forward with his hands cupped in front of him. "I’d be happy to assist anyway I can Ms. Wayne, as always."
June sent a grateful and relieved look toward Imogen. She wouldn’t make Alfred do this, he had practically raised Bruce. No parent should have to bury their child, and at this point her mom was too frail to handle the proceedings. June would have to shoulder the burden, but maybe it would be a little easier if Imogen went with her.
Jim’s face was as detached and cold as always. Funeral preparations… It was a bit premature. It was not out of the realm of possibility that those who had been absconded with were killed instead of captured. But to host a funeral for those who were missing felt remarkably defeatist and absolute, a conclusion too far. Heroes went missing all the time, pulled into cosmic events or trapped in alternate dimensions all the time. Why go through all the effort of making the heroes appear to be missing? What use would hiding the corpses have, if the goal was to stoke fear or elicit hopelessness in the populace? June was jumping to conclusions he was not yet ready to accept. He expected a more leveled head from a Wayne.
Her last statement, however, struck Jim as odd. His face remained as stoic as ever, with only a slight widening of his eyes for a mere moment being the only visible break in the mask. "Your flattery is lost on me, Ms. Wayne." It wasn’t, but she did not need to know that. It was embarrassing enough that his sister was capable of sensing his weakness, he did not need the stunning artist to know the faults in his mental walls as well. "Not everyone should dress as boldly as a Frost." His barbs were laced with the brief thought of shooting Imogen a smug grin. He knew the peace between them was tenuous, and a more thorough conversation would need to be hashed. But for now, there was a quiet comfort in the relatively normal scene. His mind began to cycle through who exactly might be answering the call. Anything to purge the more lascivious thoughts of his old friend in his sister’s more scandalous attire.
Imogen’s eyes squinted as she cocked her head to the side with a smug and annoyed sneer. "Not everyone can," she corrected him, dotting an invisible period in the air with her index finger. Although she imagined if June was dressed in some of her clothes Jim would be singing a different tune. Hypocrite.
Juniper has always had a way of being able to read Jim, not very much because he wore a mask of indifference like armor, but enough to pick up between the lines of his silence. Her nostrils flared for a moment, but her anger wasn’t directed at him.
"It isn’t my choice," her tone was scathing, dark eyes set on the leather of the couch across from her rather than anyone else. June attempted to reign it in some, to cool her ever fluctuating and volatile temper. "We staged their plane crash to try and distract from the fact that Bruce Wayne and Batman went missing at the same time. The board feels it’s best to… finalize it. They don’t know it was staged, they just want to start the process of transferring things to me, I believe they think they can steamroll over my opinions on the direction the company will take… my mom agreed with them."
June breathed out slowly, and turned toward Jim, finding the strength to shoot him as coy of a smile as she could manage in that moment. "Is flattery often lost on you, or do you just avoid anything that could fluster you?"
Jim shifted uncomfortably, folding his arms over his chest. He had misjudged June’s situation, and the staged accident was a flawed but effective strategy. Stark Enterprises had the means of obscuring their CEOs absence as they always did: some cover story about an intergalactic excursion, just in time to avoid utter panic at the quarterly earnings call. Combined with the public rollout of the Iron Legion, and any news of Stark’s absence would be but a footnote in the conspiracy podcast circuit. Smoke and mirrors was always the solution to dealing with the masses. He just wished that such a strategy would spare June further heartbreak.
Though as June’s question was sounded, it was clear just how much he missed being surrounded by unintelligent interns and a disembodied artificial intelligence algorithm at his old lab. A mind reader and a world-class detective were far too observant to let him know peace. His tone remained flat, but a small frown tugged on the corner of his lips. He needed to deflect and hide. "I don’t need distractions or entanglements right now." He finally turned to face June as well, taking in a sharp inhale of breath as he got a good look at her. "But if toying with me makes you both feel better, have at it. Just so long as I don’t have to make small talk with the cavalry."
June eyebrows shot up, surprise flashing across her face. Well, he’d said toying with him was fair game, so she wouldn’t feel bad for it.
"Are you calling me a distraction? Really, Jim?" Her tone was offended, but that coquettish grin didn’t fade as she slowly, leisurely, closed the distance between them. June stopped close enough that Jim could smell her shampoo from where her loose hair tumbled over her shoulder, almond and soft jasmine that would linger in the air around Jim even after she was gone, her hands ghosting slowly across his chest until her fingers caught his tie, straightening it ever so slightly. She kept her eyes on his, blinking slowly so her long lashes brushed across the high ridges of her cheekbones. "Don’t worry," her lips were dangerously close to his, if either of them moved just a little the taste of her lip balm would bloom across his own lips, the warmth of their bodies mingling as her smile turned mischievous. "I’ll do the talking for both of us, if that’s what you want, sweetheart."
And June pulled away, the tips of her fingers brushing softly across the exposed skin of his throat before patting his chest once in a way that was reminiscent of how he’d pat her shoulder the other day, turning her back on him to make herself a cup of coffee at the little Keurig station they had in the corner of the lobby, her hips swaying a little more than usual. She gave Imogen a conspiratorial wink as she passed. "I can do the talking for all of us, if needed. Though maybe Alfred should take the lead at first, and I can handle any…pushback." Her voice was a soft murmur as she passed the other woman, though her determination was evident in the way her jaw was clenched, eyes bright with an intense sort of focus.
Imogen’s pacing came to a standstill when she pivoted around to face the pair as she stood near Alfred and Phil. She leaned back against what used to be some sort of receptionist’s desk and slid her hands into the front pocket of her slacks. The smug smile returned to her face as her left foot crossed over her right, watching June take the bait. Imogen couldn’t say she blamed her. She was a woman of action. If someone was naive enough to challenge her, she would always act on it. Far be it for her to interrupt, but she did enjoy any scenario that made her brother squirm. Especially after the week prior. It was the little things, in their current climate, and watching Jim getting flirted with was a lovely little treat.
Once June pulled away the conversation shifted back to business, for now anyway. Imogen shrugged her shoulders. "I don’t mind," she admitted with an indifferent tone. Public speaking was just a part of the whole heiress thing. She was fairly used to it at that point. "Maybe this way Jim might actually find me useful." Her gaze drifted over to her brother with a silent attitude apparent in the quirk of her brow or the tilt of her head. "Since he likes to conveniently forget I’m actually a skilled technician." She brushed it off with a wave of her hand. "It’s fine. Maybe the stripper can hold their attention longer." Her smirk grew in that challenging way it did whenever she took someone’s words and spun them to her advantage. One thing was for certain, they’d have a far better chance of getting whomever arrives to stay if she did the talking, rather than her apathetic sibling.
Jim was far too stunned from June’s little stunt to process his sister’s words in a timely fashion. He had been flirted with by the odd employee or stranger, hoping for some kind of leverage into Stark finances. June had no need for his money or name, let alone his lithe form. He despised the base desires that had momentarily flooded his senses, and quickly looked away the moment he caught on to her changed gait. He had no retort, no comebacks, no sly comments to offer. The only small comfort was, whether from his own startled reaction or her own sadistic pleasure, she had smiled. It was a welcome change from her typical brooding, and if his pain could provide relief then he would not complain.
When Jim did come fully back to his senses, he shot a look back to Imogen. "Just… don’t overdo it, Momo. We all know how complicated things can get if we mix business and pleasure."
"Like what?" she asked while raising her right hand to check her nails. "Like the richest and most beautiful heiress in the world for a sister? You really live a rough life." Imogen sighed, letting her hand fall to her lap. She was disappointed how the flirting only stirred a fleeting moment of thoughts across Jim’s mind and a lingering gaze at June’s ass. "How in the world are you so chaste?" she asked in a bit of disbelief. "People pay good money to have someone as gorgeous as June flirt with them. God I can’t wait until someone pops your cork. Perhaps then you won’t be such a tight ass." Her head shook disapprovingly as she resumed examining her nails, waiting for whatever chaos might possibly come bursting through the doors.
June was, quietly and privately, a little disappointed. Maybe Jim just… didn’t like women like that. Which was fine! Really, it was fine. She huffed, popping a coffee capsule into the machine and sliding a mug beneath the spout, pushing the start button with a little more force than was strictly necessary. "When do you ever mix business with pleasure, Jim?" She kept her tone as light as possible, because June, daughter to Bruce Wayne, did not pout. Especially not over a man. Nope.
Emotional range of a teaspoon, indeed. She sighed, rolling her shoulders back as steam began to waft up and the mug filled, the delicious scent of coffee coiling in the air. It wouldn’t be much longer now, and the anticipation sat in her stomach like a fucking rock. Imogen’s compliment brought her smile back though, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. It was an honest compliment to have someone as beautiful as Imogen call you gorgeous, and not one June got very often.
"I’ve never been paid, but I don’t usually do it for free." Her soft laugh carried to them, and for a moment June allowed a few thoughts on how Jim could pay her back… mostly, with building her some new tech, but there was one more two more interesting scenarios in that consideration.
"So, our game plan. Imogen does most of the talking, I get to chime in if anyone gets too argumentative, and Jim is the eye candy. Not the worst thing we’ve ever come up with." Her lips were still pulled up into the slightest of smiles when June turned back toward the others, mug in hand, and moved to close the distance once more. It would be better for them to show a united front.
"Hold up," Imogen held up her index finger. "He’s—" she pointed at Jim with a twisted, borderline disgusted expression, "Our eye candy?" Her gaze fell to the semi-transparent, white floral bustier that gave tasteful glimpses of skin beneath the fabric. Her palms cupped the sides of her breasts, giving them a little boost with a small pout. "Then why the fuck did I wear this?"
"Well," June was trying desperately not to laugh, but her mirth was transparent in her tone. "You’re always the eye candy, he just gets to be the quiet brooding sort today. It…" her eyes flickered to Jim, starting at his head and then slowly dragging down, an air of vague appreciation in her gaze. "It works, trust me. Though, nothing is quite up to par with you and your fashion." Juniper spent a good second staring at Imogen’s chest too, because she was fair like that.
Jim, meanwhile, was far more focused on willing himself to self-combust so he didn’t have to be caught in this hellscape for a moment longer. ”Please, Imogen… don’t do that." He wanted to scrape the image of his sister’s self-fondling from his mind, and was beginning to understand his own father’s crippling dependence on a method for doing so. But one question from June did seem to strike him in an odd way. It was not worth answering, but he felt the need to regardless. "I have been far too busy to indulge in carnal desire, and I regret encouraging your teasing." His words were simple and honest, his red cheeks some of the only color in his pallid complexion. His eyes had shifted towards Alfred and Phil, desperately seeking some sort of intervention or solace.
Imogen’s jaw dropped as Jim’s comment and accompanying thoughts dinged a small alarm in the back of her head. "You’re a virgin?" It was across her brain and out of her mouth before she could find the tact to keep that little observation to herself. She cleared her throat and raised her hand to cover her mouth. "Sorry, sorry."
For some reason, the direction of this conversation had Juniper’s cheeks flushing darker. Her thoughts of Jim in that manner had been more passing than anything, but now… she cleared her throat, taking a sip of her coffee only to scald her tongue on it. She didn’t sputter, having too much stubborn dignity for that, so instead June forced the drink down, burning her throat and making her eyes water. Fucking, hell. "Well," her voice came out a little high-pitched, and she only grew more flustered. "I suppose I’ll stick to only flirting with you in private, so you have less… regrets."
"In private," she mused, echoing June’s words. Burgundy lips curved into an impish grin as Imogen looked back and forth between them. "Oh, you children are so adorable." Her gaze settled on June as she raised a brow in silent challenge. "Well, unlike my brother—"
"Pardon the interruption," J.A.R.V.I.S.’s voice rang out from the speaker overhead. Then there was a loud crash as something fell from the sky and slammed into the front lawn causing the ground to crater beneath their feet. A cloud of sedimentary debris obscured a hulking form that emerged from the impact. "Magni Thorson has arrived."
And this worked.
Sometimes the order and regulation of it all was tedious, but it kept certain heroes in line while protecting the world from threats domestic... and foreign. It wasn't perfect, but it brought about a time of peace, although brief.
It was a year ago when it started happening. It began with the lower ranked heroes. They leave to go on a mission like any other, but never return. It was nothing out of the ordinary for a hero to go missing every so often. It was assumed they were killed in action by whomever the villainous threat was at the time. So, at first, no special proceedings were taken beyond the normal when a member of the I.H.A. went missing.
But then it grew more frequent. It started turning heads when it was happening all over the world rather than confined to areas like Manhattan. The I.H.A. and U.N. began looking into it all further while implementing more protocols for the heroes' protection. But when top tier heroes disappeared, the world went into a frenzy. With no one to protect them, what would happen when there was another attack like Thanos, Steppenwolf... or worse?
With no other choice, Phil Coulson and Alfred Pennyworth, who were left to look after the Descendant Academy after it closed, reached out to two of the remaining heroes, Jim Stark and Juniper Wayne. There was a secret hero network created by Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne that was left intact even after the creation of the I.H.A. and while it was ordered to be shut down years ago, it was kept up as a fail safe in case the new association was compromised. The message was sent around the world on the old frequency, to anyone who might be listening. The only information it gave was a date, time and coordinates.
For now... everything was quiet. Quiet, until a threat came out of the shadows showing their true intentions.
September 16 | a week after Tony Stark went missing
A car was waiting outside JFK airport from the moment Imogen’s flight landed. The wait to get off the plane and gather her luggage was unbearable. She wasn’t the type of woman to wave her celebrity status around for special treatment, but that was one of the days she nearly did, if only to speed up the entire process. With her carry-on and purse in hand, while dragging her suitcase behind her, she booked her way through the airport terminal and made it outside to the arrivals pick up at a record pace, never once stumbling in her heels or putting a blonde hair out of place..
"Good evening, Ms. Frost," the chauffeur greeted her, while stepping forward to take her luggage.
"Evening Matthew," Imogen replied with a friendly, albeit, impatient smile as she handed off her belongings aside for her handbag. "When is our expected arrival?" she asked as her fingers idly flattened out the creases in her jacket, draped over her arm.
Matthew popped the trunk and carefully laid her belongings inside like precious cargo. He was always her favorite chauffeur, always polite, respectful and treated her, and her belongings, like they were made of glass. It was a rare quality. While Imogen was never a fan of hired help, it was a precedent her mother instilled from a young age and only further enforced given the current climate for heroes and super powered individuals. He was trained secret service, but she failed to see how that would help if she was attacked regardless. If whatever was happening managed to snatch up Superman himself, she didn’t think herself or valiant Matthew could stand in the way.
"Estimated two and a half hours, miss. Two if the traffic clears up, but you know how it is around New York," he offered with a friendly smile before holding out his hand to take her jacket.
Imogen’s lips pursed in contemplation. She needed to be at the academy days ago and while two and half hours wasn’t going to make much of a difference, it did to her. She was already furious with her brother for waiting so long to contact her and now every delay felt like a bigger roadblock. She inhaled then held out her right hand, palm up. "Keys, please."
The chauffeur hesitated before slipping his hand into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. "Ms. Frost, please. Allow me to escort you. Your mother was adamant that you be accompanied to the academy and it would put me at ease knowing you weren’t alone."
Her smile softened and creased the skin at the corner of her eyes in genuine admiration. "You are very sweet, darling," Imogen started as she placed a reassuring hand on his forearm. "But you drive like I’m Miss Daisy and I need Vin Diesel." She chuckled and shrugged her shoulders innocently. "Please, Matthew. I really don’t want to make you," she pleaded.
"Your mother is going to kill me." He sighed and produced the key.
"No she won’t," Imogen reassured him as she stepped up to the driver’s side of the Porsche and opened the door. She tossed her coat over to the passenger seat then turned back around to face Matthew. Her free hand dug through her white Hermes purse, pulling out her wallet and grabbing several crisp one hundred dollar bills. She held them out to him, pinned between her index and middle finger. "Get a taxi home, take your wife out to a lovely dinner, and I’ll text you when I arrive. My mother won’t know a thing."
When he didn’t initially take the money, she slipped the bills into his breast pocket and gave it a gentle pat. "Just…" Matthew started to argue. Imogen heard the roulette of various arguments and excuses he sifted through in his mind before he conceded with a sigh. "Be careful, Miss."
"I always am." She flashed him a wink before slipping into the driver’s seat. Imogen barely had her seatbelt buckled before she peeled out of the parking area and sped toward the nearest interstate.
Meanwhile…
Down on sub-level 3, Alfred and Phil led June and Jim to the academy’s secret surveillance room. It was a large, concrete room under the center of the tower. It looked like the type of command center they’d expect to see in NASA. Dozens of monitors lined the farthest wall with a control panel beneath them that stretched the length of the room and would easily take at least three people to reach every button. A majority of the room was filled with over a dozen smaller stations, with their own personal sized panels and three monitors per desk. Then between the desks and the larger control panel was a large conference table long enough to sit over twenty people. But rather than a normal table, its surface was one giant interactive screen with its own holographic 3D rendering.
The group stood at the large control panel in front of the monitor wall which displayed a detailed map of the earth. Phil exchanged a look with Alfred before hitting a large button labeled ‘execute.’ Various red dots pinged across the map showing the signal bouncing off various towers as it spread like a crimson wave across the Western hemisphere, over the Atlantic until every continent was speckled with the blinking lights.
Phil turned to face June and Jim. "It’ll take an hour for Stark and Wayne satellites to triangulate and strengthen the signal."
Alfred cleared his throat. "Masters Bruce and Tony upgraded the satellites to transfer messages intergalactically but as for our allies in other realms? We can only hope that Heimdall is watching."
"If he’s even there," Phil replied with a somber tone.
There was a heavy silence that filled the room as the weight of their hail mary set in. Juniper stepped toward the table, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed. Not for the first time, she found herself wondering what her father would be doing right now. Would he sit around and wait? It didn’t feel likely, Bruce Wayne had always been the sort of person to take action as quickly as possible.
Were they initiating this fail safe too late, would anyone even notice? She felt sick with all the questions running circles in her head, and June pressed her palms to the surface of the table as if to steady herself. Her knuckles were scabbed over, red and puffy but healing, they twinged as she pressed down and used the pain to quiet her mind.
It didn’t last for long. Had Thomas known that this plan was an option before he’d gone chasing after their father? The idea that he’d known and chosen to be reckless instead was worse than any other thought, it made her lungs ache and her fingertips tingle. She wanted to ask Alfred, but Juniper was too scared of the answer and that fear made her ashamed.
"Well, the signal is sent and the meeting is set for a week from now. Standing here staring at the map won’t will more heroes into existence." He sighed softly and clapped his hands together. "How about a nice spot of tea… or coffee?" he asked with a charmingly optimistic smile that contradicted Phil’s more dour presence.
She lingered in the room as the older men shuffled toward the door, looking up to wave at Alfred. "I’ll be down in a moment, you know how I take my coffee, thank you Alfred."
"Triple espresso, please. Got a little bit of work I need to do." Jim shot June a glance, doubling back and beelining for one of the computers. He slipped his hand into his pocket, producing a small thumb drive that he quickly slotted into the nearest control panel. He worked the controls, typing away at an integrated keyboard. "If you wouldn’t mind making room, J.A.R.V.I.S. You’re a bit overdue for a checkup."
June couldn’t contain the snort of amusement that dragged from her, though her brows furrowed some as she considered Jim and the computers. The door had shut quietly behind Alfred and Phil, leaving the two of them to their own whims for a few moments. It wouldn’t last long, Alfred was worried and when he worried he hovered.
"How up to date is the firewall?" It was a sort of morbid curiosity question, she’d always been tempted to try hacking into the system Tony Stark had developed. If it was too outdated though, she could help break down the weaknesses for them to fix.
She circled the large table slowly, trailing her fingers across the surface, eyes set on the map as she tried to find a way to phrase the question she really wanted to ask. There were two questions, actually, but asking both felt a bit too much like sealing the coffin herself.
Jim was too lost in flicking through status screens to notice June’s movements, the dark circles under his eyes betraying just how stressful the past week had been for him. His tone became flat, as if he was talking aloud more to himself. "Phil has been smart enough to accept the automatic updates, stress test wouldn’t hurt though. J.A.R.V.I.S. seems to be confined to the intranet… no aberrant changes or hallucinations." Jim began to type a few commands in, before ripping out the flash drive and shoving it back into his pocket. He rubbed the bridge of his nose while taking a step away from the console. "Full diagnostics will take a couple hours to confirm that. I’m more concerned with the hardware..." His voice trailed off, as he began taking a mental inventory of what precisely would need upgrading and how long it would take. He didn't have the time to get things up to the standard he wanted. He needed to prioritize and focus on the vulnerabilities before getting the hardware into a more usable state.
He hadn’t changed a bit in all these years.
It was exactly what she’d expected of Jim. The first time they’d met had been at a joint board meeting both of their fathers had to attend when they decided they wanted their companies to make a more public standing together. It had been utterly boring, and Juniper had wandered away to find something more interesting which had led her to Jim. He’d been elbow deep in their computer lab, rewiring it to be more efficient. Of course he’d crashed the whole system, but that was something she’d promised to take to her grave because she’d helped.
It all felt so far away now, one of her fondest childhood memories overshadowed by a threat they could not see but could feel nonetheless. It hung over her throat like an executioner's blade, dragging across soft and vulnerable skin until it split. Abruptly, June gathered all of her courage.
"Jim," she was horrified to hear how brittle her voice had become, cracking like delicate glass over the simple syllable of his name. She pressed on, not looking at him. The signs were the same for both of them, bags under their eyes, skin pale, frames tense. She kept her eyes on her hands, tracking the bruise that was twisted around her wrist and crawling beneath the silken hem of her sleeve. It didn’t feel right to lean on him, he’d called her after all. "I have a voicemail from Thomas, I’ve listened to it a thousand times but… Will you?"
June ran a hand through her hair, her frustration with herself crawling up her throat like bile, acidic and utterly disgusting. She pulled her phone free from her pocket and all but thrust it into the air toward him, eyes set with determination on the map. There was so much more she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come.
Jim’s eyes snapped onto June as she had gained his attention. His aloof facade cracked as a quiet intensity replaced it. He didn’t give any words, but instead just strode up towards her. He hastily grabbed the phone, thumbs quickly tapping away into her voicemails and queuing up the correct one. He had gone through all the data he had for days: flight logs, CCTV, satellite readings, biometric readings… anything he had from his father’s last flight. Even he knew that June must have had it worse, suffering in silence while haunted by her family’s disappearance. Even if he wouldn’t say it, June was one of the few people who had ever really seemed to see him as anything other than Tony Jr. as a kid. He didn’t know how to help, that was always more Imogen’s thing. All he could do was press play, setting it to speaker so they both could listen in.
"Hey June Bug," Juniper flinched at the nickname, and she twisted around to look at Jim. If she didn’t, she would close her eyes and pretend it was Thomas in his place. She kept her gaze on his face, categorizing any expressions he let slip as the voicemail played. Thomas sounded exhausted, his voice very soft as he spoke. There were a few background noises that were incomprehensible no matter how many times she’d listened to it. "Listen, I know I shouldn’t have left. I just couldn’t let it go, I followed dad’s last location pin but I haven’t found much. I need you to hear me, okay? I know you’ll be pissed but—"
There was a sharp cracking sound that cut through the recording, and Thomas paused. She could hear the shift of the fabric of his shirt, he wasn’t in his suit, and then a soft exhale from him after a long, tense moment. When he spoke next, his voice was verging on frantic.
"Don’t come after me, I don’t know what’s going on but I think I’m being followed. I don’t know when the trail started, the fact that it slipped by me for so long… Bug, listen, really listen. Take mom and run." This was the part that made her pulse thrum in her throat, tears pricking in the corners of her eyes. He was right, she had been pissed but listening to him now, hearing the fear and desperation in his voice, felt a lot like the cool kiss of a metal barrel pressing to her temple.
"Follow dad’s Sideways Protocol, don’t trust anyone, get Alfred with you to one of the safe houses, and just—" this pause was different, they could hear how his breath hitched over the line, and when Thomas spoke next there was something strange in his tone, like resignation. "I love you, June. Don’t—"
The call ended.
Her hands curled into fists and she made no move to take her phone back from Jim. She’d listened to the voicemail one hundred and thirty two times now, but it never got any clearer to her. There was so much he hadn’t gotten to say, what had changed toward the end of the voicemail? Thomas had sounded so defeated.
"I should have answered," Juniper’s voice broke again, and she angrily swiped away a traitorous tear as it trailed down her cheek. "I was in a board meeting, they have me in so many of these stupid fucking meetings and I didn’t know Jim. I thought he was at home, I just…"
She looked back down at the map, but it didn’t bring the sense of hope like Alfred had been so optimistic for.
Jim had remained blank faced during the recording, his eyes staring off into the middle distance. He was hardly present, his mind elsewhere. When the voicemail had ended, he continued to stare past June, snapping back to reality when her voice cut through the sudden tense silence. He stepped forward, opening his mouth for a moment to speak. No sound came out. He took another step closer, lifting his arm stiffly to pat her shoulder. "I know. I know." His flat tone had melted into a tired, sad whisper. He was lucky that there was no voicemail, that most of Tony’s final moments before vanishing were corrupted or outright missing. The mystery kept hope alive, that maybe it was all coincidental. The voicemail had dashed any hope for a more tame or outlandish explanation.
There was a threat in the shadows. Someone was out there doing this. Whoever it was had resources, operational security, and power. The kind of power that could take geniuses, witches, and gods. They had planning that could outsmart the world’s smartest men.
The good news… men can bleed. Humans are fickle… even machines. There was a trail, somewhere. Whatever was doing this had goals and desires. Somewhere, there was a weakness. And most importantly… they could start making a list of suspects.
But that could wait. "They’re waiting… we should go. I don’t want Phil coming down here and messing with the system."
If she’d been wanting a hug, she’d have gone to her mother. The thing was, Juniper didn’t need hugs and soft words. There was a rage that was writhing in her breastbone like fire, she was an arrow resting in a taut bowstring. She needed someone to point her in the right direction, someone to help her hone her focus and not get lost in the turmoil of it all. That was what Jim was for her, he was as solid as a buoy in the ocean, he could keep her from sinking beneath the choppy waves.
They were in this together now, it was for the best. Because when she found the person responsible, she didn’t think Jim would stop her from killing them. "Yeah," June took a steadying breath, and gave his arm a small squeeze before pocketing her phone and leading the way out. "I’m pretty sure Phil is the one who got those crumbs in the control panel, let’s let him know over coffee that he’s banned."
A little over an hour later…
The white Porsche skidded through the turn onto Descendant Drive, speeding straight toward the large mirrored tower at the end of the road.
The small group sat around a table in the kitchen, finishing off the final bit of tea that remained in the kettle and sharing in a more lighthearted conversation when J.A.R.V.I.S.’s voice came in over the P.A. "Pardon the interruption. Mr. Stark, your sister is approaching the academy with a great deal of haste. She should be arriving at any moment."
Jim sighed, setting down his cup of tea into its saucer at the table. Her tendency to break the mold was astounding. He raised his right hand up, noticing a shift from Alfred. "I’ll get her. She’s my problem." He took a deep breath, reaching into his sweater pockets to produce a set of red-tinted shades and a small metal pad. His movements were habitual, putting on the sunglasses with his left hand while his right pressed the metal pad onto his temple. His expression remained as stoic as ever as he tapped the back of the sensor, causing it to begin glowing. "H.E.L.E.N., go ahead and boot up the Vanguard. Start field log zero one three… let’s see if we fixed the input lag."
June watched Jim, her eyebrows rising some. She wasn’t as close with Imogen as she was to Jim, though she’d known the woman would undoubtedly be arriving before anyone else. She thought it was strange that she wasn’t actually here yet. She paused for a moment, considering her options. It had likely been a long drive…
"I’ll go," she soothed Alfred, patting him gently on the shoulder before standing and grabbing a clean cup to put the last of the tea in. The older man had looked horrified at Jim as he’d continued to sit there. Did Imogen even drink tea? She supposed she’d find out soon enough. "Don’t stress, it’ll be fine. Maybe start dinner? I’d imagine she’s been traveling all day."
Juniper left the room without another word, following the winding hallway, enjoying the warmth that seeped through the mug clutched securely in her hand. She lingered on the edge of the lobby though, uncertain about the logic behind Jim’s… everything. The sight of Imogen striding into the building was enough to make the strangest sense of relief course through her.
Jim had called her, she’d wanted to be strong for him just like she felt she had to be strong in front of Alfred, Phil, and her mom. Imogen was an outside factor she hadn’t expected, and she could already feel her facade cracking. It felt ridiculous, and the slightest bit of pressure on her composure made all of the guilt and anger June felt for herself crystallize in her chest.
She lingered behind Jim’s hollow armor, focusing on her breathing and the weird interaction in front of her opposed to the more annoying things, like her feelings.
Imogen drove far too fast for the short distance that remained between her and the tower. She slammed on the brakes causing the tires to skid and smoke as the Porsche slid sideways several feet until it came to a halt a few inches beside the curb. The car had stopped moving for a millisecond at best when the driver’s side door was flung open and a blur of ivory clothes and blonde hair exited in a whirlwind. She managed to make it halfway to the door when the spaceship hum of the electric engine purred behind her. "Damn it," she muttered under her breath as she turned around and walked back to the car. She opened the door, leaned in and pressed the ignition button, silencing the engine before slamming the door shut once again.
The sound of waves lapping against the rocky shore and the rhythmic click off stilettos on cement were the only sounds that filled the empty landscape. The tall mirrored tower was blinding as it reflected the setting sun back up the road from where she came. When Imogen stepped up to the double glass doors, both hands reached out and grabbed the curved steel handles. In a single swift motion she pulled them open and stepped through. "Anthony James Stark!!" she shouted as she made her way through the second set of doors.
Waiting in the spacious lobby, with its arms crossed, stood the Vanguard: sleek, angular, and painted in that classic red and gold color-scheme. Bright blue lights emanated from the optic display in the faceplate, scanning Imogen on her approach. A hollow projection of Jim’s deadpan voice echoed out from speakers where its mouth would be, a blue light emphasizing each word as it was spoken. "Why do you even hire a driver if you’re just going to go all Need for Speed all on your own?"
"My mother hired him and he’s family, like Al—" Imogen started answering him when she realized there was no psionic feedback resonating from within the suit. Her jaw cocked to the side as her nose flared and the tip of her tongue pressed against the bottom of her upper teeth. She let out a dry, sardonic laugh. The kind of laugh that only proceeded a mental breakdown. The silence in the lobby was deafening. The stillness only amplified the echoing tink tink of her heels on the tiled floor as she stomped her way straight toward the remote controlled suit.
She stopped a foot away, face to face with the metal shell as the blue lights illuminated her face. Imogen had barely been given the chance to process what was happening. When she received the call from Jim, it was too little too late. Tony Stark’s disappearance was all over the news and her bags were already packed. She traveled to the academy as fast as humanly possible, fueled by grief and rage. There was a whole monologue she had been replaying in her head over and over, chastising her brother for not calling her first… and now? He didn’t even have the decency to greet her face to face.
The lump in her throat made it hard for her to breathe but she couldn’t swallow it down. The tears welled as she stared through the blue lights and whatever cameras that led straight back to wherever her brother sat out of range and unbothered. "Coward," her voice cracked as the venomous word left her lips.
Then, like the flip of a switch, Imogen’s body shifted until she stood before the armor like a prismatic statue. Her diamond form, silver and glistening, reflected the setting sun through the window and sprinkled the walls in colorful speckles of refracted light. A crystallized hand shot forward and grabbed the Vanguard’s throat. Her fingers flexed, giving it a little squeeze before lifting it off the ground like it was lighter than air. In a single swift motion, she flipped the mech over her head, making sure to not hit whomever stood behind it, and slammed it into the ground, cracking the tiles beneath it. As Imogen took a step back, she kicked the suit, hurling it backwards and lodging it into the concrete wall beside the elevators.
Her gaze finally shifted to the other person in the room, catching sight of Junie standing there, ready to greet her with a cup of tea in her hands. Imogen sighed and dropped her diamond form. "I missed tea?" Her voice drifted off, exhausted and forlorn like she was on the cusp of breaking down… mentally, physically, and emotionally. "Hey Junie." She met the girl’s gaze with an apologetic tight lipped smile.
Imogen’s voice had cracked, and something in Juniper’s chest tightened. Her breath had hitched, eyes squeezing shut reflexively before Jim’s suit had been brutalized. She would give anything to argue with Thomas one more time, it felt like she was the one that had been slammed down into the ground, the air knocked from her lungs for a moment.
Any thoughts of allowing her vulnerability to show slipped from between her fingers like water, how could she justify it when Imogen was so clearly hurting just as much as her? The thought of letting her own anguish show just made June feel sick. She inhaled sharply, visualized shoving down her emotions between her ribs, and when she opened her eyes again there was a sort of sad hollowness to her gaze.
"Hey," her voice, the traitorous thing it was, wavered and cracked but she pressed on. Her lips tugged up into a smile that wasn’t entirely forced, and June stepped forward, holding up the cup of tea. "If I had known you were coming, I would have saved you more than a single cup. Alfred is making something for us to eat though, so…"
It would be easier, if she didn’t know Jim and Imogen. She wasn’t nearly as close to Imogen as Jim, but it didn’t change the fact that June knew the other woman, had known her father, and knew intimately what she was feeling. There was nothing she could say to make it better, to ease the desolation of the situation. She could make promises she couldn’t keep, but who would that help? There was only one thing she could really give Imogen, and it was simply the truth. June saw the heartbreak written across Imogen’s face, and changed her mind just as quickly as she’d made it.
"I thought about going after Thomas instead of coming to Alfred," the words tasted bitter on her tongue, and Juniper swallowed around the sudden and abrupt urge to throw up. "It wouldn’t have done any good though, so I-I just didn’t. But, I wasn’t going to involve anyone else. If I had known Tony was going to go missing too… I’m sorry. I should have called you and Jim, I should have warned you guys. I was just hoping it wouldn’t happen, but it all feels like a nightmare I can’t wake up from."
The tears she’d fought so hard to keep back began to spill over, leaving hot, slow trails down June’s cheeks. The cut Alfred had stitched up on her lower cheek stung as the salt from her tears seeped into the wound, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away like she had with Jim. There was a sort of solidarity to their suffering, and as much as June wanted to bottle it all up and pretend to be strong for everyone else, Imogen deserved to know she wasn’t alone in her pain.
Imogen hesitantly reached out and took the cup of tea from June’s hands and set it aside on some side table beside an overpriced leather lobby sofa no one ever used. Then, without a word, she closed the distance and wrapped her arms around June in a tight, comforting embrace. A single tear escaped between Imogen’s bottom lashes and carried a faint streak of mascara down her cheek. "It’s ok. I’m not mad at you. It wasn’t your job to call me." She rested her chin lightly upon June’s shoulder with a sigh. "I’m sorry… about your father and Thomas."
She didn’t know what else to say. What could she say? Imogen was pissed and sad, but she only lost her dad. June had lost her dad and brother. She couldn’t begin to imagine the pain and guilt that she was going through. Jim was fine, even if he was a little shit and made Imogen want to throw him off the top of the Descendant Tower, she was thankful he was there. She could threaten him within an inch of his life, but that meant he was still there… tangible and within arms reach. If he was gone too? She didn’t know what she’d do. Go crazy, probably.
A sob caught in her throat, and for the first time since it all started June allowed herself the consideration that she did not have to strive to be as strong as her dad had been. Then, the thought shook her. Had been, as if he were dead, as if he were out of her reach. Her hands trembled as she held onto Imogen, accepting this moment of weakness and knowing a week from now she would have to forge an impenetrable mask if anyone answered their desperate call.
"I’m sorry too," what else was there for either of them to really say? It was a horrible, confusing situation. All they had now were each other, and the desire to fight back against a foe they couldn’t even see yet. She squeezed Imogen’s sides gently, as if the woman were made of glass and hadn’t just punted a suit of metal across the room, and then pulled back some. The skin beneath her eyes felt tight and dry from her tears, a few crystalline droplets clinging to her lashes stubbornly, but something about June had shifted. The chocolate brown of her eyes darkened, and when she spoke her voice was softer, dangerous almost. "Imogen, if I find who is doing this, if our dads aren’t… I just need you to know what you’re getting into. I won’t stop until they wish it was me they’d taken, and not my dad. I don’t have his morals."
Imogen’s gaze drifted back and forth between June’s eyes. Her hands rose to gently cup the girl’s face like a parent admiring the innocence of their child. Her thumb lightly brushed away a stray tear then tucked a loose raven lock behind her ear. "Oh sweetie." Her voice was gentle and nurturing like a mother’s while coddling her child. "I’m going to make a scarf out of their fucking entrails." There was a dark, murderous glint in Imogen’s eye, one that said her words weren’t a threat but a promise. She had every intention to rip those bastards apart until they made the unfortunate mistake of thinking she was a ruby.
Juniper smiled, a soft and sweet expression that was full of relief. She felt so seen, so understood, and it was an undeniable relief to know no matter what came within the end of the week, Imogen and Jim would be there with her. She wasn’t sure where Jim’s moral compass was these days, but she knew at the very least when it was all said and done he would still look at her like she was June and not Nightingale, just as she’d always only looked at him and seen Jim and not some reincarnation of Tony Stark. Imogen was someone she could trust to lean on, to watch her back, and to not judge her for everything that would come next. June would give her all the same in return.
"Thank you," her relief was palpable in her tone, and the surge of such an unfamiliar emotion as of late almost made her cry again. She didn’t though, because the waft of something being cooked was drifting down the hall and because she’d allowed enough weakness to show for one day. "Come on, Alfred is cooking and if you want to eat you should kick Jim’s ass before he’s done. You do know your brother has the emotional range of a teaspoon, right?"
There was a tentative edge of humor in her tone, Juniper didn’t really want to see Jim get his ass handed to him…well, most of the time she didn’t. It was always a little fun to see him squirm, though. Especially when he deserved it.
A grateful smile tugged at the corners of Imogen’s rouged lips. If nothing else, the three of them would raise hell before letting any of those assholes take another one of them. At that point, what else was there to lose? She’d die with a smile on her face in the pursuit of finding her father… especially if she got the chance to take a couple of those fuckers down with her. She’ll have them choking on diamonds and begging for the sweet release of death before she’d allow them to die. The last thing she cared about was her pristine image or what others thought about her.
There was a small twitch at the corner of her mouth that betrayed her softer, bordering on sadistic, smile. Her right hand fell to June’s shoulder while her other pointed down the hallway. "He’s in the kitchen?" she asked with a cock of her head. Imogen could find him easily enough if she let her psionic tendrils sift through the corridors of the academy. But she was exhausted. A clear direction was far simpler and left her with enough reserved energy to release a little hell on her brother… Before inhaling Alfred’s orgasmic cooking, that is.
June’s gaze seemed to soften some as she took in Imogen anew, the day of travel paired with the devastating news had taken its toll on her. She was stubborn though, it was only just barely noticeable but it invoked the urge to wrap her up in a warm blanket all the same.
"Yeah, I’ll show you the way and after we eat I can show you to your penthouse. Your dad designed it for you." Juniper’s smile drooped some, sadness at the revelation of such a genuine gesture fraying her nerves further. Her own father had designed hers too, and Thomas’s. She gave Imogen’s arm another soft squeeze, before very gently tugging her along down the hall. She could let loose the last of her energy on Jim once they got to the kitchen.
Imogen vaguely recalled where the kitchen was, but a decade away with hardly a year in the academy had an easy way of blurring her memories. And maybe it was smart for someone else to be there as well. She’d be less likely to kill Jim… a smidge.
The click of her heels echoed off the barren walls as they made their way towards the elevators. After pressing the button to recall the lift, Imogen let her gaze drift over to the Vanguard armor helplessly wedged in the fresh made gash in the wall. She scoffed and rolled her eyes just before the down arrow illuminated with a ding and the doors opened. Silently, she gave the suit a once over before stepping into the elevator. She waited for June to join her before pressing the button for sub floor 2… and waited.
Jim had hardly moved from his chair at the kitchen table, a slight glow emanating from the shades. His hands tapped on the kitchen table, as he was clearing typing something with no keyboard. His tongue was pressed against his cheek as his eyes seemed to dart back and forth. His thoughts were a never-ending onslaught of numbers, figures, calculations, parts, supply chains, shipping times. But they were dulled, slightly, by his own exhaustion. Errant thoughts drifted to his father, to the voicemail, to the map with blinking red dots. His face was a blank mask, a shield that failed to let slip the turmoil in his chest. His mind was scattered, desperately clinging to any distraction or practical application it could. But even as the elevator doors opened, his thoughts were not of the two stepping out. He wanted to get a second more work done before the tsunami crashed over him.
Imogen practically burst out of the elevator and strode right over to the table where he sat. She noticed Alfred slaving over the stove and had every intention of greeting him… after her brother got a piece of her mind. "You asshole!" she shouted at him as she reached across the table and pulled the glasses off his face. She had no intention of breaking them, but she wasn’t going to give them back either, not until he actually listened to her… not barely acknowledge her existence.
She took a step back, holding the glasses out of reach before he could attempt to try stealing them back. "I am your sister. Your sister!... And do you call me the minute dad goes missing? No. You called June." Imogen’s free hand slammed the table causing it to shake and scoot a couple inches to the side. She briefly spared a glance at June as a silent apology. This wasn’t about her, nor did she blame her, but Imogen knew how the words sounded the second they left her mouth. She sighed, looking back over at her brother, glaring daggers into his eyes, searching for some semblance of sympathy or compassion. "It took me three days to get here from Krakoa, our dad is missing, and you send your fucking armor to greet me?!"
Jim blinked a few times, the dark circles under them on full display as he seemed to grasp the scene before him a bit slower than usual. His face remained blank, his tired eyes tracking the waves of anger etched on his sister’s face. "June was the third call. You were the seventh." His tone was flat, but his indignant stare made clear that his father’s dry humor was genetic. "Would calling forty minutes earlier have changed the flight plan to get you here quicker?" His words were sharp, but not as cold as they usually were. In his own reserved way, he was matching his sister’s anger blow by blow.
"While you were busy getting dressed for what I can only imagine is a stripper’s wedding, I’ve been getting this whole operation back up and running. Do you want to write the pattern-tracking algorithm to find a connection between the disappearances? Or are you going to upgrade the fossilized computer lab downstairs board by board? Last I checked, the only one here who can help me with that is the one I called before you." He lifted a hand up towards Imogen, waving his fingers to signal for a return of his glasses. "And now repairing that armor downstairs is just another thing I have to get done this week. The least you can do is fill out the survey H.E.L.E.N. just emailed you to let me know how the remote speakers sounded."
The blonde stood still as a statue in a stunned silence. Angry, bewildered tears trailed black streaks down her cheeks as Imogen watched her brother apathetically list one thousand and one reasons her presence was worth dog shit. She couldn’t find the words or the will to move. Her entire body grew warm and flushed, while her fingers were ice cold and trembled against his glasses. The muscle in her cheek flexed as she clenched her jaw. "I am not just some barbie doll." Her voice was venomous yet terrifyingly calm in the same breath. "I am smarter than any of you fucking Starks give me credit for. Not that you give two shits to learn a damn thing about me."
Imogen threw the glasses at Jim’s chest not giving a single fuck if they shattered or whatever else. "Bill me for the fucking suit," she practically hissed at him.
Her gaze flicked over to Alfred, unable to stop the angry tears that continued to stain her porcelain skin. "Which floor is my room?" she asked barely above a whisper, her voice cracking at the last word.
Alfred’s face was a melting pot of various concerned emotions as he stood frozen in front of a pot mid-stir. "... 48," he replied. Hundreds of thoughts and questions rattled through his mind, ways he could comfort her, convince them both to get over their tempers, or simply say he was happy to see her. But he said nothing.
She managed the bravest smile she could force out toward him, a silent reassurance that she’d be fine… eventually. "I lost my appetite," Imogen announced to no one in particular. Her gaze remained fixated on the floor as she walked between Jim and June without a word. She pressed the button to open the elevator doors and slipped inside without sparing a single look over her shoulder.
Imogen didn’t bother going back to the ground floor to get her things. She didn’t care anymore. Her trembling finger found the button for Floor 48 and pressed it. Once the elevator started its slow ascent she slumped back against the farthest wall. What remained of her carefully poised mask fell and the sobs came forth in waves. Her knees buckled and gave from exhaustion under the weight and burden of carrying her through three days of travel, a week of grieving, and whatever the fuck that was. She slid down the wall until she was sitting and buried her face in her knees.
Jim sighed, folding up the glasses and setting them delicately on the table as he turned his gaze over towards June. His bloodshot eyes glistened slightly as they caught an errant ray of light. His breath caught in his throat for a moment, a sharp beeping coming from the watch on his wrist indicating his elevated heart rate. His head was flooded with different words, different outcomes, different scenarios. Nearly all would have been more appropriate and kind. "I was a bit too harsh, I take it?" He already had his answer, but sought the comfort of confirmation regardless.
Juniper was stunned in a way she rarely was, she was a good judge of character and it never took much for her to gauge the value of someone’s character. She didn’t like to be surprised like this, not by someone she knew and cherished, and she knew they were all going through something that no words could fully describe, and yet…
"This was the first time I ever looked at you when you spoke, and heard Tony Stark instead of Jim." There was an undertone of anger beneath her bewilderment, and June shook her head like a dog as if to dislodge the memory. Imogen had just held her while she’d cried, tried her best to reassure her, she’d spent three days traveling here just to be with Jim. She took in a slow breath, tasted the air on her tongue for a long moment, before letting it out.
"My dad told me once that grief can either destroy you, or focus you. It reveals who you really are at your core, and what your true values are. If Thomas were here… fuck, he would just be so disappointed in you, Jim." June laughed, but there was no humor there. It was a broken and aching sound that echoed around in the sudden hush of the kitchen. Her anger wasn’t loud, it didn’t sizzle like that pan that still sat atop the stove, it was cold and biting. "But you know what, Thomas isn’t here. He’s fucking gone, and so is my dad, and so is your dad, but you know who isn’t gone? Imogen. She’s right here, begging for you to care. Do you understand what I would give to have had Thomas here right now, screaming at me in a fucking kitchen? I know what you’re going through, you know I do, but it’s not an excuse to treat the people who love you like shit."
June wasn’t shouting by the time she was done, but she was practically gasping for breath, her hands clenched so tightly that she could feel the scabs on her knuckles breaking open, the warm trickle of blood filling the spaces between her palms. She just didn’t want to be here anymore, but she’d chosen this and that meant everyday she’d have to continue to choose being here instead of chasing after the shadows of her family. Even now, even here, even in her anger.
"You know what I think? I think grief can make monsters of us, if we let it. You aren’t focused like you think you are. Go to fucking sleep, and if you wake up tomorrow with more common sense consider apologizing to your sister because you still have one." She turned away from Jim as if she couldn’t bear to look at him for a second longer, an effort to sound kinder to Alfred than she had to Jim was evident in her tone now. "Please send up a plate for Imogen, I’ll bring her bags up to her and make sure she’s… yeah. I don’t need anything, Alfred. I’ll be working on the stress test, once I’m back down."
And June twisted on her heel to leave and do just that.
Jim remained motionless as June stormed off, her words piercing his thoughts like a knife. There was some truth in them, some deflection, and a cavalcade of emotion he was not adequately prepared for. He catalogued the statements, filing them into neat little boxes to reflect on later. He fumbled for the glasses on the table, pocketing them before slowly rising to his feet. He shuffled off towards the elevators, hesitating for a moment as he turned towards Alfred with a defeated tone. "I’ll be in the workshop. Make sure to check on Imogen in an hour to make sure she’s settled in. She’ll have some clothes that need to be steamed." His gaze drifted back towards Phil, nodding towards the elevator with his head.
"Can you help me get the suit out of the wall?"
The elevator dinged signaling it had reached the 48th floor. Imogen took in a deep, shaky breath as she lifted her head. Black smudges stained the knees of her white dress pants, but at that point she couldn’t care less. Her hands pried her stilettos off her aching feet one at a time with a weak sigh. It was only when the doors started to close that she forced herself to stand and slip through the small opening. She let the shoes slip from her grasp and live on the ground wherever they landed.
It wasn’t until she was halfway inside the penthouse that she spared a glance to take in her new living quarters. Imogen didn’t know what she expected, but this wasn’t it. The entirety of the apartment was decorated with various deep, rich shades of lilac. Everything felt extravagant, luxurious, and maybe even a little over-kill. It was designed in that way where parents think they know their kid’s tastes but they have them locked in a time capsule from a decade ago when they were in their ‘panda obsession phase.’ This was a perfect replica of her purple and velvet phase she had shortly after she graduated from the Massachusetts Academy. A weak, but genuine laugh escaped her lips as her hand hesitantly reached out to rest against the wall. "Hi dad," she whispered to the void. A small knot twisted in her gut when nothing but the silence answered back.
September 23 | ten minutes before the meeting
The light above the elevator dinged as the metal doors slid open. The week-old hole in the concrete wall felt like it was glaring at her as Imogen stepped out. The familiar click of her heels on the tile reverberated down the hallway as she made her way toward the lobby. She found Phil and Alfred waiting anxiously off to one side of the large open room, seeming too nervous to take a seat… or breathe.
"Evening, gentlemen," she greeted them with a warm smile that betrayed her own nerves. This whole ‘distress signal’ thing was a shot in the dark that could maybe work, get them no results at all, or worse… lead whomever the looming threat is right to their doorstep. Only an idiot wouldn’t be on edge and Imogen was no idiot.
"Good evening, Ms. Frost," Alfred beamed at her with his usual chipper tone. Meanwhile Phil stood beside him, stoic and silent with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
Imogen slowly made her way over to one of the several leather sofas throughout the lobby, but she couldn’t bring herself to sit. She didn’t dare to let herself relax fully until she knew they were in the clear. Instead she opted to lean against one of the armrests and crossed her right ankle over her left. To keep from fidgeting, or shaking from nerves, Imogen crossed her arms over her chest. But even so, her right foot still bounced restlessly as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. "How long?" she asked, sparing a glance over to Alfred.
"Ten minutes, miss," Alfred confirmed with a reassuring nod of his head.
The roar of repulsor engines quickly filled the lobby with noise, followed by the loud thud of a certain suit making contact with the ground. The aft burners folded back into the backplate with a satisfying click, as thousands of small gears and motors worked in unison to return the suit into its more stable state. The Vanguard lumbered in through the front doors with the rapid pace of a chronic workaholic. The fresh coat of paint shone brightly, and a familiar tinny voice rang out from within. "Clocked something incoming with the radar. Seems like the message got through."
A series of whirs and metallic scrapes signalled the opening of the front of the suit, and a lanky nerd stepped out without ever pausing his gait. Jim was wearing a near identical outfit to the one he had worn upon his arrival to the tower, much to Imogen’s protest. His mind raced with possibilities and concerns, and the last thing he needed was to add uncomfortable materials to the list of problems for his mind to sort through. "H.E.L.E.N., shadow protocol. And make a note that I need to tune the repulsor frequency… landing was a bit too choppy." Moments later, the suit began to mirror Jim’s movement and followed him in sync as he approached his sister. The darkness under his eyes had considerably lessened, and the slight color in his own cheeks was an indication that Alfred was ensuring he was actually getting sustenance. He also clocked her guarded posture as he sidled up next to her. "Signatures were a bit too sloppy and obvious to be anything but friendly. Hope you’ve got a welcoming speech ready." The suit circled around behind Jim, standing about a foot and a half-behind him to strike an imposing silhouette.
Imogen briefly glanced back over her shoulder toward the suit of armor, noting how it didn’t look like it was launched into a cement wall a week ago. There were parts of her that were still mad at Jim, for a variety of reasons, but she could also tell he was trying to be more sympathetic… Even if she heard him sifting through files in his mind, finding one with her name on it and reminding himself to be more emotionally present and supportive. His brain always had a weird way of getting from point A to point B, but regardless she appreciated the effort. So she did her best to meet him halfway, even when she held tight to grudges like a lifeline.
The tension in her crossed arms slacked slightly as she looked over at her brother. "Am I the one doing the talking?" she mused with a raised brow. It wouldn’t surprise Imogen if that was the intention. Both Jim and June preferred to be behind the scenes, noses deep in computers or whatever else, while Imogen was a diplomat's daughter, a public figure in the mutant community, and no stranger to public speaking. Although she might have liked to have known that little fact more than five minutes before whomever walked through the door. Then she really would have written a speech.
Either way, nothing her brother said could fully ease her tensions. Imogen spent the better part of an hour that morning debating if she should accept the presumed new arrivals in her diamond form or just as herself. In the end she decided on herself… If only for the ability to read their minds before they got within one hundred feet of the academy. The last thing she was going to allow was someone trying to catch them unaware.
Ten minutes, June ought to have felt more worried about who would, or wouldn’t show up. Instead, the phone call was at the forefront of her mind. Her mother’s voice still rang in her ears, asking her if she’d like to plan her father’s and brother’s funeral. Just the thought of it made her feel dizzy, and heartbroken, and angrier than ever before. Juniper lingered in the hall just outside of the lobby, working on steadying her breathing, focusing on some of the meditations she’d learned, before entering at a measured pace.
She slipped into the lobby silently, ghost-like in her movements as she drew up beside Imogen, face utterly closed off as she glanced briefly between her and Jim. She’d all but locked herself away in her office for most of the week, bouncing between work, hacking into J.A.R.V.I.S., and spending a disgusting amount of time in the tower's gym. Her muscles ached ever so slightly, but she relished in the sensation. It was a reminder that she was here, she was alive, and she was not giving in to her grief. June absentmindedly ran a hand down her shirt, smoothing the lines that had formed in the fabric.
"The stress test is done, I closed any loopholes and put a few of my own protocols in place." She said in lieu of a greeting, fidgeting with the simple black metal bracelet around her left wrist, rubbing her finger over the engraved coordinates as if it would soothe her inner turmoil. June’s mind drifted to the protocols she’d set up, to how one of them mirrored the same one her dad had in place in the event he ever disappeared. She sighed, running her tongue across her teeth before speaking again. "Are you both ready?"
June was very pointedly not looking at either of them as she spoke, she wasn’t sure if they’d resolved everything between themselves. She left a plate of food on Imogen’s floor with her bags but hadn’t actually seen the other woman, and she still felt a mix of anger at Jim and now shame at her own cutting words to him.
"No," Imogen confessed with a dry and unconvincing laugh. "My trigger finger is itchy," she confessed, glancing over at the raven haired woman from the corner of her eyes. "You look nice. Far better dressed than my brother," she added with a droll tone, her eyes rolling as her gaze shifted over to Jim.
"I would prefer to be upstairs in my pajamas, but someone," Jim motioned in Alfred’s direction, "claimed it would ‘set a poor example for your comrades’ and insisted I be here in person." He readjusted his necktie, smoothing it down underneath his plain red sweater. His mind did, of course, cycle through a few juvenile insults geared specifically towards his sister’s more bold fashion choices. He looked back in June’s direction, and his thoughts slowed and dulled for a moment. His eyes nervously shot back towards his sister, hoping beyond hope she wouldn’t comment on it before facing the front doors again. "Would be hard to compete with you, anyways."
"Ah, well, Alfred does know best," she agreed, flashing the man in question a kind hearted smile from across the lobby. None of them had the heart to ever tell the man no and he definitely used that to his advantage to make sure they put their best foot forward… and ate.
Imogen’s gaze slowly shifted to a sharp side eye as she heard the roulette of insults and snide comments about her outfit spin around in her brother’s head. Her eyes narrowed but she said nothing, instead lightly kicking his foot in protest. But when his gaze drifted to June, and then nervously darted back to her, a knowing, mischievous smirk crossed her burgundy tinted lips. Without a word, Imogen pushed off the sofa and stood up. It was rude of her to obstruct his view. She was having a difficult time sitting still anyway. Pacing in circles around the lobby at least solved her restlessness and kept her moving.
June snorted, and the tense line of her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. It was easy to push away the looming expectations and funeral plans around Imogen and Jim, especially when everyone seemed to be in a distinctly better mood. "I’d rather be in my pajamas too, or at the very least a hoodie… I have a board meeting to attend later this evening, and then I have to—"
Her voice flattered, and her lips tugged down into a frown. She was oblivious to Jim’s brief gaze or Imogen’s smug little smirk. Her thoughts spun with all the ferocity of a tornado for a moment, before she sharply brought herself back to focus. Now wasn’t the time to get emotional.
"I have to go look at coffins, and book a venue." Juniper’s tone was clipped and closed off. She wanted to ask one of them to go with her, but she’d refused Alfred’s offer because she knew how much it would hurt him to pick out a coffin for Bruce and June really couldn’t picture Jim coming as a comforting presence while she did something as mundane as debate wood choices. He had too many responsibilities here. Her eyes slid toward Imogen, and then bounced away. "Maybe I’ll get lucky and one of the people who show up will be a lunatic."
That would be a good excuse to take up the rest of her day.
"Anyways," June’s tone twisted into the attempt of something more playful. "I think Jim looks great, we can’t all be stunning fashion icons like you, Imogen."
The blonde’s pace slowed at the mention of coffins and a venue. Her arms uncrossed and slowly fell by her sides. Imogen didn’t claim to understand the necessity of a funeral. She’d rather leave Tony Stark’s death a mystery forever than have an empty hole in the ground, but that was her. She understood how others needed some kind of closure… even if it was a false sense of security. She tried her best to smile at the passing compliment but her mind was too focused on the previous statement to fully accept it. "I can lend you my assistant to go for you… If you’d rather not—" she waved her hand trying to avoid the words. "Or if you’d like company… I’m sure Alfred and I would be happy to accompany you." Her gaze drifted over toward him with a sad tight lipped smile.
Alfred cleared his throat and stepped forward with his hands cupped in front of him. "I’d be happy to assist anyway I can Ms. Wayne, as always."
June sent a grateful and relieved look toward Imogen. She wouldn’t make Alfred do this, he had practically raised Bruce. No parent should have to bury their child, and at this point her mom was too frail to handle the proceedings. June would have to shoulder the burden, but maybe it would be a little easier if Imogen went with her.
Jim’s face was as detached and cold as always. Funeral preparations… It was a bit premature. It was not out of the realm of possibility that those who had been absconded with were killed instead of captured. But to host a funeral for those who were missing felt remarkably defeatist and absolute, a conclusion too far. Heroes went missing all the time, pulled into cosmic events or trapped in alternate dimensions all the time. Why go through all the effort of making the heroes appear to be missing? What use would hiding the corpses have, if the goal was to stoke fear or elicit hopelessness in the populace? June was jumping to conclusions he was not yet ready to accept. He expected a more leveled head from a Wayne.
Her last statement, however, struck Jim as odd. His face remained as stoic as ever, with only a slight widening of his eyes for a mere moment being the only visible break in the mask. "Your flattery is lost on me, Ms. Wayne." It wasn’t, but she did not need to know that. It was embarrassing enough that his sister was capable of sensing his weakness, he did not need the stunning artist to know the faults in his mental walls as well. "Not everyone should dress as boldly as a Frost." His barbs were laced with the brief thought of shooting Imogen a smug grin. He knew the peace between them was tenuous, and a more thorough conversation would need to be hashed. But for now, there was a quiet comfort in the relatively normal scene. His mind began to cycle through who exactly might be answering the call. Anything to purge the more lascivious thoughts of his old friend in his sister’s more scandalous attire.
Imogen’s eyes squinted as she cocked her head to the side with a smug and annoyed sneer. "Not everyone can," she corrected him, dotting an invisible period in the air with her index finger. Although she imagined if June was dressed in some of her clothes Jim would be singing a different tune. Hypocrite.
Juniper has always had a way of being able to read Jim, not very much because he wore a mask of indifference like armor, but enough to pick up between the lines of his silence. Her nostrils flared for a moment, but her anger wasn’t directed at him.
"It isn’t my choice," her tone was scathing, dark eyes set on the leather of the couch across from her rather than anyone else. June attempted to reign it in some, to cool her ever fluctuating and volatile temper. "We staged their plane crash to try and distract from the fact that Bruce Wayne and Batman went missing at the same time. The board feels it’s best to… finalize it. They don’t know it was staged, they just want to start the process of transferring things to me, I believe they think they can steamroll over my opinions on the direction the company will take… my mom agreed with them."
June breathed out slowly, and turned toward Jim, finding the strength to shoot him as coy of a smile as she could manage in that moment. "Is flattery often lost on you, or do you just avoid anything that could fluster you?"
Jim shifted uncomfortably, folding his arms over his chest. He had misjudged June’s situation, and the staged accident was a flawed but effective strategy. Stark Enterprises had the means of obscuring their CEOs absence as they always did: some cover story about an intergalactic excursion, just in time to avoid utter panic at the quarterly earnings call. Combined with the public rollout of the Iron Legion, and any news of Stark’s absence would be but a footnote in the conspiracy podcast circuit. Smoke and mirrors was always the solution to dealing with the masses. He just wished that such a strategy would spare June further heartbreak.
Though as June’s question was sounded, it was clear just how much he missed being surrounded by unintelligent interns and a disembodied artificial intelligence algorithm at his old lab. A mind reader and a world-class detective were far too observant to let him know peace. His tone remained flat, but a small frown tugged on the corner of his lips. He needed to deflect and hide. "I don’t need distractions or entanglements right now." He finally turned to face June as well, taking in a sharp inhale of breath as he got a good look at her. "But if toying with me makes you both feel better, have at it. Just so long as I don’t have to make small talk with the cavalry."
June eyebrows shot up, surprise flashing across her face. Well, he’d said toying with him was fair game, so she wouldn’t feel bad for it.
"Are you calling me a distraction? Really, Jim?" Her tone was offended, but that coquettish grin didn’t fade as she slowly, leisurely, closed the distance between them. June stopped close enough that Jim could smell her shampoo from where her loose hair tumbled over her shoulder, almond and soft jasmine that would linger in the air around Jim even after she was gone, her hands ghosting slowly across his chest until her fingers caught his tie, straightening it ever so slightly. She kept her eyes on his, blinking slowly so her long lashes brushed across the high ridges of her cheekbones. "Don’t worry," her lips were dangerously close to his, if either of them moved just a little the taste of her lip balm would bloom across his own lips, the warmth of their bodies mingling as her smile turned mischievous. "I’ll do the talking for both of us, if that’s what you want, sweetheart."
And June pulled away, the tips of her fingers brushing softly across the exposed skin of his throat before patting his chest once in a way that was reminiscent of how he’d pat her shoulder the other day, turning her back on him to make herself a cup of coffee at the little Keurig station they had in the corner of the lobby, her hips swaying a little more than usual. She gave Imogen a conspiratorial wink as she passed. "I can do the talking for all of us, if needed. Though maybe Alfred should take the lead at first, and I can handle any…pushback." Her voice was a soft murmur as she passed the other woman, though her determination was evident in the way her jaw was clenched, eyes bright with an intense sort of focus.
Imogen’s pacing came to a standstill when she pivoted around to face the pair as she stood near Alfred and Phil. She leaned back against what used to be some sort of receptionist’s desk and slid her hands into the front pocket of her slacks. The smug smile returned to her face as her left foot crossed over her right, watching June take the bait. Imogen couldn’t say she blamed her. She was a woman of action. If someone was naive enough to challenge her, she would always act on it. Far be it for her to interrupt, but she did enjoy any scenario that made her brother squirm. Especially after the week prior. It was the little things, in their current climate, and watching Jim getting flirted with was a lovely little treat.
Once June pulled away the conversation shifted back to business, for now anyway. Imogen shrugged her shoulders. "I don’t mind," she admitted with an indifferent tone. Public speaking was just a part of the whole heiress thing. She was fairly used to it at that point. "Maybe this way Jim might actually find me useful." Her gaze drifted over to her brother with a silent attitude apparent in the quirk of her brow or the tilt of her head. "Since he likes to conveniently forget I’m actually a skilled technician." She brushed it off with a wave of her hand. "It’s fine. Maybe the stripper can hold their attention longer." Her smirk grew in that challenging way it did whenever she took someone’s words and spun them to her advantage. One thing was for certain, they’d have a far better chance of getting whomever arrives to stay if she did the talking, rather than her apathetic sibling.
Jim was far too stunned from June’s little stunt to process his sister’s words in a timely fashion. He had been flirted with by the odd employee or stranger, hoping for some kind of leverage into Stark finances. June had no need for his money or name, let alone his lithe form. He despised the base desires that had momentarily flooded his senses, and quickly looked away the moment he caught on to her changed gait. He had no retort, no comebacks, no sly comments to offer. The only small comfort was, whether from his own startled reaction or her own sadistic pleasure, she had smiled. It was a welcome change from her typical brooding, and if his pain could provide relief then he would not complain.
When Jim did come fully back to his senses, he shot a look back to Imogen. "Just… don’t overdo it, Momo. We all know how complicated things can get if we mix business and pleasure."
"Like what?" she asked while raising her right hand to check her nails. "Like the richest and most beautiful heiress in the world for a sister? You really live a rough life." Imogen sighed, letting her hand fall to her lap. She was disappointed how the flirting only stirred a fleeting moment of thoughts across Jim’s mind and a lingering gaze at June’s ass. "How in the world are you so chaste?" she asked in a bit of disbelief. "People pay good money to have someone as gorgeous as June flirt with them. God I can’t wait until someone pops your cork. Perhaps then you won’t be such a tight ass." Her head shook disapprovingly as she resumed examining her nails, waiting for whatever chaos might possibly come bursting through the doors.
June was, quietly and privately, a little disappointed. Maybe Jim just… didn’t like women like that. Which was fine! Really, it was fine. She huffed, popping a coffee capsule into the machine and sliding a mug beneath the spout, pushing the start button with a little more force than was strictly necessary. "When do you ever mix business with pleasure, Jim?" She kept her tone as light as possible, because June, daughter to Bruce Wayne, did not pout. Especially not over a man. Nope.
Emotional range of a teaspoon, indeed. She sighed, rolling her shoulders back as steam began to waft up and the mug filled, the delicious scent of coffee coiling in the air. It wouldn’t be much longer now, and the anticipation sat in her stomach like a fucking rock. Imogen’s compliment brought her smile back though, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. It was an honest compliment to have someone as beautiful as Imogen call you gorgeous, and not one June got very often.
"I’ve never been paid, but I don’t usually do it for free." Her soft laugh carried to them, and for a moment June allowed a few thoughts on how Jim could pay her back… mostly, with building her some new tech, but there was one more two more interesting scenarios in that consideration.
"So, our game plan. Imogen does most of the talking, I get to chime in if anyone gets too argumentative, and Jim is the eye candy. Not the worst thing we’ve ever come up with." Her lips were still pulled up into the slightest of smiles when June turned back toward the others, mug in hand, and moved to close the distance once more. It would be better for them to show a united front.
"Hold up," Imogen held up her index finger. "He’s—" she pointed at Jim with a twisted, borderline disgusted expression, "Our eye candy?" Her gaze fell to the semi-transparent, white floral bustier that gave tasteful glimpses of skin beneath the fabric. Her palms cupped the sides of her breasts, giving them a little boost with a small pout. "Then why the fuck did I wear this?"
"Well," June was trying desperately not to laugh, but her mirth was transparent in her tone. "You’re always the eye candy, he just gets to be the quiet brooding sort today. It…" her eyes flickered to Jim, starting at his head and then slowly dragging down, an air of vague appreciation in her gaze. "It works, trust me. Though, nothing is quite up to par with you and your fashion." Juniper spent a good second staring at Imogen’s chest too, because she was fair like that.
Jim, meanwhile, was far more focused on willing himself to self-combust so he didn’t have to be caught in this hellscape for a moment longer. ”Please, Imogen… don’t do that." He wanted to scrape the image of his sister’s self-fondling from his mind, and was beginning to understand his own father’s crippling dependence on a method for doing so. But one question from June did seem to strike him in an odd way. It was not worth answering, but he felt the need to regardless. "I have been far too busy to indulge in carnal desire, and I regret encouraging your teasing." His words were simple and honest, his red cheeks some of the only color in his pallid complexion. His eyes had shifted towards Alfred and Phil, desperately seeking some sort of intervention or solace.
Imogen’s jaw dropped as Jim’s comment and accompanying thoughts dinged a small alarm in the back of her head. "You’re a virgin?" It was across her brain and out of her mouth before she could find the tact to keep that little observation to herself. She cleared her throat and raised her hand to cover her mouth. "Sorry, sorry."
For some reason, the direction of this conversation had Juniper’s cheeks flushing darker. Her thoughts of Jim in that manner had been more passing than anything, but now… she cleared her throat, taking a sip of her coffee only to scald her tongue on it. She didn’t sputter, having too much stubborn dignity for that, so instead June forced the drink down, burning her throat and making her eyes water. Fucking, hell. "Well," her voice came out a little high-pitched, and she only grew more flustered. "I suppose I’ll stick to only flirting with you in private, so you have less… regrets."
"In private," she mused, echoing June’s words. Burgundy lips curved into an impish grin as Imogen looked back and forth between them. "Oh, you children are so adorable." Her gaze settled on June as she raised a brow in silent challenge. "Well, unlike my brother—"
"Pardon the interruption," J.A.R.V.I.S.’s voice rang out from the speaker overhead. Then there was a loud crash as something fell from the sky and slammed into the front lawn causing the ground to crater beneath their feet. A cloud of sedimentary debris obscured a hulking form that emerged from the impact. "Magni Thorson has arrived."
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