Chapter 2
“Suite S27,” FRIDAY’s charming voice rings out, “welcome, Tony.”
The door to Tony’s apartment slides open with a woosh, and he stares inside for a long moment before sucking in a long breath through his teeth and stalking in.
The living space is exactly what he pictured. The virtual tour he was given back on Earth showed a two-story, well lit, technologically advanced loft; complete with a kitchen, master bedroom, bathroom, and a window that stretched the height of the main wall.
Outside, the stars flashed in what felt like a twisted welcome, but as soon as the lights turned on, the galaxy was suddenly shadowed in glare. Tony smirked at his own reflection.
The bed was huge. Bigger than anything he’d ever seen, and Tony had spent most of his life sleeping on a king-sized mattress.
The closet slid out from the wall and Tony’s eyes instantly fell on the clothing swaying on their hooks. Shirts, sweaters, pants… you name it; it was there, and in every color imaginable.
Tony picked the first pair of pajamas he saw -- red, thin cotton, gold piping -- and changed unsteadily. When he was done, he crawled under his duvet and watched the closet glade back into its slot in the wall.
His previous outfit was left discarded on the floor.
“FRIDAY,” Tony says, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “How do I turn off--”
“Lights off,” FRIDAY’s voice says, the lights dim.
His suite is immediately shrouded in darkness. Tony blinks into nothing; his eyes having yet to adjust to the night, and the world just feeling… gone.
That horrible silence was back -- the same one that greeted him when he first woke hours ago. Tony sighs, and it’s far too audible. Back on Earth, life was never quite. Cities had consumed most of the world, and with cities came noise.
It was inescapable, and people told Tony to enjoy the silence when he finally woke. He didn’t think this is what they meant, though.
He blinks and notices that he can make out the faint outline of the few things in his bedroom. He turns over, only to be greeted with the wall of stars, and their flickers of threat.
Tony tries simply to close his eyes, but he can feel them beyond his eyelids, and with a huff, he hauls the duvet over his head. This at least felt like a much more adequate shield.
The only thing this shield couldn’t keep out was the quiet.
----
Tony blinked open his eyes, feeling hungover.
With a groan, he sits up and throws the covers back. When his feet land on the floor, he stumbles. A grunt escaped his lips as he grabs onto the nightstand for support.
“What is this?” He mumbles.
“You seem to be experiencing post-hibernation-hangover,” FRIDAY informs, her mechanical voice sending a spike through Tony’s mind.
“Any known cure?” Tony asked, immediately thinking of all the homemade recipes he would be brewing up right now if he was back home.
“A glass of water and three tablets should be found in your kitchen downstairs.”
Tony lumbers towards the staircase and relies heavily on the railing to get him to the main floor. “Anything is better than a whole raw egg.”
His voice feels scratchy in his throat; he feels nothing like how he did yesterday. Then, it had been rejuvenation and life. Now it was deterioration and… death.
He takes the pills quickly, slurping back the water like he hadn’t had a drink in days. Unfortunately, the ship’s technology wasn’t so advanced that they worked immediately, so he was left with a funny taste and a grimace.
“Any point in getting dressed?” He asks, leaning against the counter.
“Cleanliness,” FRIDAY states, and if it didn’t make Tony’s brain burn, he would have laughed.
“Who do I have to impress?”
“I would say that the person we always want to impress most is ourselves, Tony.”
“Who programmed you with that kind of bullshit,” Tony pushes off of the countertop and starts towards the bathroom.
FRIDAY gives him some response, Tony has already tuned her out. His joints feel stiff as he walked, and he groans lowly.
The washroom he has been given is very nice. Bath and shower separate from each other. Full vanity. Stocked shelves. The towels still have their tags, and the thread count is in the thousands.
But the sight that greets him in the mirror is the most shocking.
Yesterday, his complexion was flawless. His hair hadn’t grown, not a piece out of place. His features seemed more vibrant than ever before.
But now, he looked like the walking dead. Pale face; bags so big under his eyes that they are more like suitcases; bloodshot eyes; hair flopping all over the place and shiny with grease.
He sheds his pajamas and steps into the shower without a second thought.
By the time he finally stops the water from just running over him, he had been standing for almost a solid forty minutes. Not his longest shower ever… he’s done better. He wanders back up to his room, those pills finally kicking in, and just pulls on the outfit he threw on the floor the previous night.
He’s not in the right headspace to go through his luggage or his fully stocked closet. Besides, it’s not like the uniform isn’t comfortable.
“So, FRIDAY,” Tony says, making his way towards the suite’s front door, “what can I do for fun here?”
----
He isn’t surprised in the least when he is given a list of over five hundred activities to partake in.
Back on Earth, Tony’s idea of fun would normally be tinkering with cars in his home shop. Just staying up all night, building, and then sleeping all day. But he knew when signing up for this journey, he would have to put that part of him away.
Besides, it's not like he could turn this ship around -- he already asked FRIDAY. It would take longer to get back than to just keep going -- so he was stuck doing whatever this ship gave him.
For the moment, that activity happened to be tennis.
His opponent was a robot, but that robot was actually very good at tennis, and Tony found his ass being handed to him. After three losses, he stands with his hands on his knees and pants heavily.
“Go again?” A robotic voice asks, and Tony realizes that the tennis-bot is asking for a fourth rematch.
“Is there a beginner setting?”
“You have already challenged all the beginner settings.”
“Well load ‘em again, because I am obviously worse at this game than I thought.”
After tennis was fencing, but he hardly lasted five minutes against the Robo-opponent before practically fleeing from the gym in fear. Apparently SHIELD thought everyone that joined would Olympic gold medalists because all of the kid-levels currently wanted to kill Tony.
Instead, he retreated to the home theatre. The database was stocked. He blew through two “Jurassic Park” movies, and “Ace Ventura: Pet Detective” before realizing that he was incredibly bored.
“What time is it, FRI?” Tony asks, flopping back in his armchair.
“It is currently 6:57 p.m., Tony. If you make your way to the cafeteria, you will find food available.”
Tony groans as he hauls himself out of the chair, and wanders towards the cafeteria, only three floors below.
Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee…
The exhaustion that follows having your ass whooped finally catches up with Tony, and he drags his feet towards one of the many coffee machines the cafeteria has set up.
“Finally get to play barista, Stark,” Tony says as he stares at the machine rivaling a refrigerator in size. He timidly pushes a button -- the one he hopes will make him a latte -- and one of the spouts starts to sputter and froth threateningly.
Tony quickly hits the same button again, but the foam spitting out at him doesn’t cease. He hits it twice, then three times more. Nothing.
“Stop!” He shouts out, hoping one of the AI’s will hear him. “Stop foaming!”
When nothing seems to happen, his eyes darted around in search of a second escape. On the side, there is a big, red power button. It was labeled: in case of emergency, and Tony thinks, well, if this ain’t a good a time as any.
He smacks the button, and the machine dies out with a fizzle and a few sad sputtering noises.
“Okay,” Tony says with a relieved exhale. “Do not envy anyone at Starbucks.”
Not wanting a repeat of the coffee incident, Tony finds a very large vending machine and gets himself a breakfast bar that tastes like chocolate and bananas. Instead of sitting all alone in a cafeteria the size of a football field, he leaves in a hurry; the open space starting to feel creepy.
Tony munches on his dinner as he walks back in the direction of his suite. The journey feels long, despite the short stretch to the elevator. By the time he is standing in front of his door, the only thing in his hand is a foil wrapper.
His tongue feels slightly fuzzy. If all space food was going to leave him feeling like this, he didn’t know how much he would enjoy the next 8 years.
He goes to bed still hungry and now wanting coffee.
----
The hibernation sectors were slightly less daunting the second visit.
Tony decides to leave it to fate to decide which of the 26 bay’s he would visit first, so he closes his eyes and starts to run down the ever stretching hallway. Within the first few strides, he finds himself smacking into the wall.
The second time, he actually manages to run in a straight line.
“Stop!” He announces loudly, and his feet skid to a halt. His eyes fly open, and the closest door is Sector P.
He ventures inside, finding himself greeted with the exact same environment he woke up too. Grey walls. Grey floors. Grey everything.
“Who have we got?” Tony mutters, walking around the nestles of pods.
Milinda Perry… Kate Patterson… Hal Porter…
Fourth grouping in, Tony stops in his tracks. He finds himself staring down at a pod holding a boy certainly younger than any of the other passengers Tony had seen so far.
The boy looked so peaceful behind his dome of glass. To Tony, everyone else looked dead -- like bodies in coffins waiting to be buried. But not this boy. This boy simply looked asleep.
Maybe he was dreaming. Tony knew he wasn’t, but if he was, he would most likely be dreaming of something comforting. Something to make you feel happy, or calm, or loved.
Tony circles the pod so he can look at the boy’s information screen.
Peter Parker. 16 y/o. -- Passenger. Apprentice.
Pod sector: P14
Pod Status: Active and Unevacuated
Peter.
Tony stares down at the boy slumbering. He thinks about how this child -- Peter -- would wake to feel as though he just fell asleep, and would start a new life. Never having aged. Never knowing the loneliness that Tony was starting to sink into.
Peter’s head was covered in deep brown locks that curled at the ends. The bridge of his nose was slightly dented, and Tony assumed that in some past moment, he had broken it; maybe more than once.
The most striking feature about Peter’s face though was his innocence. He was young, through and through. Tony places a hand on the glass over the boy’s chest.
He watches him breathe. In and out. In and out. In and out.
It’s only when Tony’s eyes start to fill with tears and burn does he look away.
----
“Daddy!”
Tony turns from staring out at the lake to see his daughter bounding out the back door. Her long, dark hair whips out behind her; stray pieces flying into her face from the summer breeze.
“Morguna,” Tony says with a grin. He kneels down just as the four-year-old leaps into his embrace. “How was the trip, Baby?”
“So fun! I saw animals!” Morgan places her hands on her father’s cheeks, directing his gaze to meet hers. “I wish you were there.”
“Me too, Mo. But you know I got to work,” Tony hugs his daughter closer. “But Mom is a good substitute, right?”
Morgan nods her head, the smallest of smiles slipping onto her lips.
“Hello, Darling,” Pepper says, suddenly standing next to her husband.
Tony looks to his wife, kissing her quick and silently wishing it was just the two of them so the moment didn’t have to be over so quickly.
“I heard you had fun,” Tony says, smiling.
“Of course we did,” Pepper replies.
“Dad put me down,” Morgan taps on Tony’s shoulder. “I wanna go inside and draw all the animals I saw.”
Tony complies, and Morgan is gone before he can even wish her goodbye. “Now, how was it really?” He asks, and Pepper chuckles.
“Oh, you know, just living in the life of a four-year-old. She got fussy on the drive home… and the drive there. But you know she likes the city. As soon as we were out of the car, she was happy.”
“Of course.”
“But I’m starving. How about baked ziti? I think I remember someone particular promising that this morning.”
Tony kisses his wife once more, before moving towards the door. “Hmm, are you sure someone promised that? I don’t know…”
Pepper swats at his arm. He smiles.
“Alright, alright. One ziti coming right up.”
“Thank you.”
“Anything.”
“I’ll take your word on that.” Pepper opens the door, and slips inside, gone quicker than a blink.