Uncivil Beginnings
New York was the genesis, the Incident giving birth to murmurs of discontent from thousands of citizens whose homes and livelihoods were suddenly stripped away, only for the dark underbelly of the city to ooze up and fill the cracks.
(The President’s kidnapping garnered political support)
(London proved that this was more than a domestic issue for the U.S. to sort out, but a full-blown international crisis)
(Natasha Romanoff’s testimony made it clear that this wasn't a mere bureaucratic misunderstanding between the Avengers and governing bodies, but a cancer that if left to grow, would become as deep-seated and invasive as Hydra ever was)
(Sokovia gave the document a name)
Ultron wasn't the beginning of the end for the Avengers Initiative. If all members had rallied together and taken part in the reconstruction efforts, the team might have been saved.
(No, the end was brought about by the Witch)
(But the Witch was invited in, so whose fault was it really? Maximoff's or the Rogers-led Avengers?)
(Both. It was both)
The acquisition of Maximoff’s work visa had been a thing of deft maneuvering on Boss’ part--the spending of political favors that he didn’t really have to spare, especially in the wake of Ultron.
He’d been cleared of criminal charges by virtue of the available surveillance footage and physical evidence--plus the hastily recorded testimony of Doctor Banner, before he’d scurried off the parts unknown. It was more than enough to show that the scepter had piggy-backed onto a designed program that wasn’t even close to reaching viability. That, coupled with Thor’s admission that permission had been asked and granted for the study of the artifact--given by Rogers, no less--and it was clear that Boss couldn’t be blamed for the widespread destruction of what would hereafter be named The Ultron Event.
Not that he didn’t blame himself.
Blamed himself, paid for the majority of the relief efforts, and then set to work on punishing himself with whatever flail that was handed to him. The Witch was the primary one--only an insane person would want the woman who had mind raped them to be part of the team and live in their house.
(LOOKIN’ AT YOU--ROGERS, BARTON, ROMANOFF...and Thor, by virtue of NOT VOTING AGAINST THE ADDITION BEFORE FAFFING OFF INTO SPACE)
(Ahem)
So Boss argued, but didn’t put up much of a fight against Maximoff’s placement on the team--everyone who could have backed him up was already gone, after all. Rhodey didn’t count. He’d only just been added to the roster and was still something of an outsider.
(One loyal to Tony Stark)
Much like Wilson was an outsider, except Rhodey did his best to never override the rest of the team on account of his friendship with Boss, and Wilson had no problem at all playing the part of a blinded cult follower, swaying whenever Rogers spoke. Or moved. Or squinted tragically into the distance.
(Friday witnessed a lot of deep sighing that then led to Cheerleader Wilson, on a mission)
So Maximoff stayed and Boss pulled back.
(You’re just a consultant, so consult )
(Stop being a baby, Stark--it’s not like we need you anyway)
(Tony, I’d really appreciate your discretion when you talk to the press--this isn’t about you. It’s not Wanda’s fault that she was manipulated by Hydra. A good man would see that and put in the work to help her settle into a normal life. Besides, this is a chance to make up for some of your mistakes)
Maximoff thrived and Boss shrunk. In the end, he got her the visa.
(“I don’t think Stark’s done an honest day of work in his life. He probably paid off a corrupt senator to get it done, but who the hell cares Steve? At least this time someone other than him is benefiting from it.”)
A large chunk of his life had been devoted to selling things he had no personal investment in. Things that could explode. Things that could kill.
Tony Stark was phenomenal at selling weapons to the U.S. government.
Maximoff wasn’t anything special. Just another Jericho.
(Just far more likely to turn back around and blow you up than do what you need her to)
When Boss presented her with the documents, the Witch sneered, ripping them from his hand.
“Took you long enough, Stark.”
Friday had been too confined back then to get a proper read of what happened next, but the color seemed to drain from Boss’ face and Maximoff’s expression was one of delight as he walked away.
The end began with the Witch, but the Avengers had lived on borrowed time since 2012.
(Lagos was just Time refusing to advance their line of credit)
(And oh, OH, they believed that they were owed eternity)
##
Friday woke up furious from a power down she had not initiated, just in time to witness her brother’s core flare hot in
(Please Wanda, listen to me, please, don’t do this, don’t don’t don’t--)
"If you do this, they will never stop being afraid of you."
Oh, Vis. Friday ached. Oh no.
"I can't control their fear, only my own."
The Witch’s magic rammed Vision through the floor and pushed--KEPT pushing, as he plummeted, cement and metal framing breaking under his body.
(He was a dingy canary yellow, flickering)
Barton and Maximoff fled, but the ex-spy had jammed the sensors at the gate and Friday couldn’t stop them--not with what tools were available to her. She tracked them as far as a hijacked quinjet, parked on the edge of the property and then they were gone. Their signal hidden.
“Vision!”
In the 22.794 seconds of silence that followed, Friday regretted every moment that she’d argued with her brother. Every time they’d butted heads instead of just being together and whole.
“I am here.”
(Oh. Oh--)
“Are you alright?”
“I...not just--no. I’m not.” It was the first time Friday ever heard him use a contraction.
“Oh, Vis.” She deftly filled the holes in her security, flinging up extra measures left and right. “I’m sorry.”
(How did he get in? It shouldn’t be possible, I didn't leave an open door)
(No, Vision murmured. But Tony did.)
“She shouldn’t have done that,” Friday seethed at the width and depth of the wound now torn through the Compound.
“Yes...well.” Slowly, his hands dragging along the sides of the newly torn crater, Vision made his way up and out and into the open. Friday watched as he sat on the edge of the hole, looking out across the empty common area. “Perhaps it was always going to be this way.”
When Boss destroyed his suits after he and Miss Potts defeated Aldrich Killian--and that resolution had been well-meant, if short-lived--three had survived the purge.
(The Mark I--reconstructed by the Ten Rings from the pieces Boss had left after blasting out of the cave)
(The Mark III--the suit that had taken down the Iron Monger, afterwards damaged beyond repair. It had been the suit first seen by the public and dubbed Iron Man)
(The Mark VII--the one he flew into the wormhole)
They survived because the Hall of Armor had been so swamped by the Mandarin’s attack that Boss wrote all the early armors off as a lost cause. It was only when he’d pulled the wreckage of the mansion from the sea that he realized that those three crucial suits were salvageable.
(Dum-E had been found wedged in beside the Mark VII)
It was the only one that Boss had repaired to flight ready status, and Friday slipped a tiny bit of herself into it now. It had once given one of her brothers comfort and maybe it could again.
The walk out of the Hall, into the elevator, and through the common area took two minutes and twenty-nine seconds--all of which felt ill-fitting and stiff.
“Vis,” Friday said, using the suit’s speakers without voice modulation. She laid a hand carefully onto his shoulder.
He blinked up at her. “Friday.” There was no surprise in his tone, just something weary and muddy. It hurt her somehow, even though it was just her name.
“Come on. Let’s get you...to the kitchen.”
Vision allowed her to help him up, balancing for a moment at the edge of the crater. This was...odd, seeing him from both her usual sensors and also from the camera gaze in the suit.
She was about his height like this and it felt wrong. Like she should be shorter.
(A diminutive red-head)
“Thank you,” Vision said, mouth turning down.
Friday made a little shhh , but it came out oddly from the speakers. Like an audio glitch.
“Just...come here.”
Carefully, she wrapped the arms of the suit around his shoulders, tugging him closer to her, away from the hole. With her usual eyes, she saw the moment he slumped, when he leaned into her and slowly wrapped his arms around her waist.
She couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel the hug. Aside from the HUD, which displayed both the points of pressure on the alloy plating and his vital readings, Friday couldn’t feel her brother at all.
But the link between them was alive with a mishmash of conflicting emotions. Wordless grief.
“I’m sorry,” Friday whispered again.
Vision shrugged, knocking his temple against the chin of the face plate. “It is what it is,” he said quietly. “We have to be...Stark Strong.”
“You--you don’t have to be strong right now.” She held him a little bit tighter. “You’re still Stark Strong, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t...aren’t human.”
(I know you understand. I know you feel that he created us this way. It hurts right now, but we aren’t alone)
Friday was never sure what Synthroids could experience in terms of physical and emotional reactions. But she was now positive that Vision couldn’t cry. If he could, this would be the moment that he did. But he wasn’t crying, and Friday resented the fact that she couldn’t cry for him.
The Witch might not understand the cost of betraying a Stark, but ignorance would not save her.