Permafrost
The last few days had been too much for Friday to process--and she was an AI whose core functions were rooted in a super computer, and whose ambitions had long ago hitched a ride onto nearly every global network.
( I’m supposed to do better than this)
Even for a person who had come online in the thick of war, things were happening too fast. The concrete data points coming from all sides weren’t Friday’s issue--no, it was the shifting, conflicting motivations that seemed to power each and every CRAZY TRAIN decision that Rogers and his crew were making.
“Your judgment is askew .” Boss’ voice was glacial, his nerves likely frayed to the point of snapping. “Your old war buddy killed innocent people yesterday.”
“And there are five more super soldiers just like him.”
( What? What’s he talking about and why is this the first time we’ve heard about it?)
“I can't let the doctor find them first, Tony. I can't.”
That was when everything truly started to unravel. Even the relief of Spider-Man’s debut was a blip on the insanity timeline.
“You've been busy,” Rogers stated flatly--like he hadn’t just wrangled together a crew and flown them across the ocean instead of talking to the people already there about this supposed doctor and his evil scheme.
Boss’ lingering composure evaporated. “And you've been a complete idiot . Dragging in Clint. Rescuing Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave--a safe place. I'm trying to keep…” He paused. His vitals were all over the place, heart rate spiking so sharply that Friday sent out an alarm to Vision. “I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart.”
What could Rogers say? Surely the cry of “together” would be enough to reach him, even now.
“You did that when you signed.”
(Ohhhh...say WHAT, son?)
“Alright, We're done.”
Friday had never agreed with a sentiment more. But it seemed like now that the play-diplomacy had been set aside, every other false feeling fled with it.
“ I thought they were his team,” Vision murmured. “Never friends, but why--why?”
“I wish I knew.”
"Multiple contusions detected," Friday informed Boss as the pile of cars settled into place. She was trying--trying so hard--to keep her voice level. Like he needed it to be.
"Yeah, I detected that too."
Vision attempted once more to bridge the gap--just like Friday knew he would. He wouldn’t be Vision if he didn’t try.
"Captain Rogers! I know you believe that what you are doing is right, but for the collective good, you must surrender now."
“What do we do, Cap?”
“We fight.”
Friday wished that she had a face so that she could bare her teeth.
“ They’re beyond our reach,” she told Vision. “Get ready--I think it’s about to get terrible.”
“Isn’t it already?” he mused.
“There’s degrees of terrible, Vis. Hasn’t Dad taught you anything?”
Two lines of people faced off and charged--two groups of supposed heroes, ripping into each others’ soft points, tearing each other down.
For nothing.
(Two sides opposed, cancelling each other out. Whoever was right or wrong--it didn’t matter, because no one was saved. Everything was ruined, and therefore, no one won)
(Everyone lost)
There were plans in place--plans that she and Vision had poured over for days, for weeks. They’d even bounced them off of Boss in a string of questions designed to gather information without raising his guard. Sort of a-- We’re not plotting over here! NooooOOOooo. Look at our wide-eyed enthusiasm for learning!
(Hey Boss, is New Shield the kind of organization that the Accords will cover? What about diplomatic waivers in regards to extraterrestrial guests? What about street-level heroes?)
(Mister Stark, do you believe you’ll ever reactivate the Iron Legion?)
(Is magic limited to stuff caused by the Infinity stones, or are people born with it? I mean--on Earth. Obviously Asgard has magic--what do you think they’re up to Boss?)
But there wasn’t time, it’d all gone wrong too fast. There wasn’t even a moment when Friday felt safe enough to divert her full--and already admittedly divided--attention away from protecting Vision, and making certain that the Compound (with her brothers inside) was secure. Especially after Barton’s break in earlier.
Friday needed to make sure that Miss Potts, Happy, and Harley Keener were safe from General Ross’ schemes.
Laura and the kids too. Just because Barton was an asshat didn’t mean that his family had to suffer.
“We have some weapon systems offline,” Friday said, frantically searching for the malfunction after the lasers shorted out.
“They what?” Boss asked.
And oh, OH--the armor was compromised.
(GET OUT!)
“It's your conscience. We don't talk a lot these days.”
(I swear to--I will END you, you snack-sized sneak!)
“Friday?”
(Safe--in the armor, he’s SUPPOSED TO BE SAFE)
With relish, Friday said, “Deploying fire suppression system.”
She needed to watch Spider-Man so that Iron Man could respond the moment that he required help.
She needed to help play wingman for War Machine, since his armor only housed a Limited Memory AI, not a self-aware, autonomous AI like her and Jarvis. It wasn’t a person, more like a program with the same general reaction range as a self-driving car. War Machine was in control unless a combination of factors flagged in the system as too-fast-for-a-human-to-process DANGEROUS.
Then the little-big-man snagged War Machine by the boot and everything sped up to a crawl.
(a)
Vision cut through the control tower with his unibeam to block Rogers and Barnes from the hanger.
(shuttered)
Maximoff attempted to hold it aloft, and Rhodes hit her with a sonic disruptor so that she fell, clutching her head, mouth twisted open in a scream.
(blur)
The dynamic duo made it past and on to the opening of the hanger where Romanoff stood waiting. Waiting, only to let them go--waiting, only to betray Boss and the Accords that she’d signed days earlier.
(of)
Spider-Man executed a brilliant maneuver, bringing down the giant with Iron Man and War Machine’s help.
Then he went down.
“ Stay down .”
Friday had to watch to make sure he did.
(try try try try--)
“I'm sorry.”
( Why are YOU sorry, Vision?)
Maximoff looked at him, teary eyed. “Me, too.”
“It's as I said. Catastrophe.”
(just keep)
War Machine and Iron Man chased the Quinjet, two powerhouses with one singular intent.
( Stop them before anyone else gets hurt)
Friday focused, stripping away just a little of her attention from the players on the ground so that she could work out the best offensive scenario against the aircraft. If they just--
(trying)
Falcon gave chase and kept on tagging Rhodes--he was more of a distraction than an actual threat, really.
“Vision, I got a bandit on my six. Vision! You copy? Target his thrusters, turn him into a glider.”
And Vision complied. Vision--
(NO)
Friday screamed into a private channel, all the while pushing herself, her everything, into the suit, into reaching Rhodey, but she was locked out of the dead armor as it plummeted to earth. Iron Man and Falcon both raced to get to him before--
“Rhodey! RHODES!”
(My family, hurt--again and again and again--by these people who push past us. They shove through us like we’re the curtain on the way to a stage where they’ll receive applause and take bows)
Friday needed to--she needed...
“How did this happen?”
“I became distracted.”
“I didn't think that was possible.”
“Neither did I.”
"I...cannot ever look Mister Stark in the face again.”
“Vision...it’s not your fault. He knows that. He will.”
“I wish I could believe that, Friday. I really do.”
All she could think was--
(If Vision lost to the Witch, what chance does my father have?)
“We played this wrong,” said Romanoff--like she hadn’t just stepped aside and allowed two super-juiced terrorists to flee from the law.
“We?” Boss echoed Friday's disbelief. “Boy, it must be hard to shake the whole double agent thing, huh? It sticks in the DNA.”
“Are you incapable of letting go of your ego for one goddamn second?”
Boss brushed that one off like he always did, but Friday seethed.
(Ego? Textbook narcissist? Give me ONE second and a Google search--hell, a BING search--and I’ll show you that you don’t know what words mean. In fact, YOUR picture will pop up under ‘textbook narcissist’, Miss Capitol Hill)
“T'Challa told Ross what you did, so…they're coming for you.”
“I'm not the one that needs to watch their back.”
( I’ll show YOU watching your back. OHHHHH, I need hands so I can strangle you)
After Boss left the Raft, knowing where he had to go and what he had to do, Friday couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t that simple.
( There are degrees of terrible)
“Are you sure you should go alone? Can we at least have Veronica on stand-by?”
(His heart rate was elevated--it hadn’t quieted since the airport)
“I promised, Fri. Those are things we’ve gotta keep.”
That was that. That was...that.
In the Siberian Hydra bunker, rather than facing the threat of Winter Soldiers, they found--
“I know that road.”
Friday reached out--she reached out to Vision.
“Something’s wrong.”
“What is this?” Boss asked, his voice wavering.
"Vision. VISION.”
“What is it? What’s going on?”
Boss lunged at Barnes and Rogers stopped him.
“Tony. Tony.”
(In the idle-footage saved by Jarvis during his forced power-down, Friday heard Obadiah Stane)
(Heard him now, an echo of a threat)
( Tony. Tony, no more of this ‘ready, fire, aim’ business)
(Tony, Tony)
“Did you know?”
“I didn't know it was him.”
“Don't bullshit me, Rogers! Did you know ?”
“Yes.”
“Friday?” Vision prompted, every ripple of his voice yellow--a sallow version of his usual color.
“We’re going to lose,” she whispered.
It was two against one, and even in the heat of his rage, Boss wasn’t fighting to win.
“Left boot jet failing,” Friday said. “Flight systems compromised.”
(We can’t get out of here without the Quinjet, we can’t get out, we can’t)
“Come on, come on.”
It took all she had to keep her voice even. “Targeting system's knackered, Boss.”
He retracted the face plate and squinted. “I'm eyeballing it.”
(CLOSE YOUR HELMET!)
Then, Rogers--attaining the apparent apex of stupidity and callousness--said, “This isn't gonna change what happened.”
( ARE YOU EVEN HUMAN? That’s not how emotions work! Take a step back soldier, so I can beat your ass in patriotic colors)
“I don't care. He killed my mom.”
“Friday.” Vision’s worried voice rattled through their channel.
“Not now, I need to focus!”
She slammed the door shut between them and it was just her and Iron Man there with their father now.
The two soldiers were relentless, they were too strong, and--Barnes went after the reactor with his bare (albeit one metal) hands.
(NO YOU DON’T!)
"You can't beat him hand-to-hand."
"Analyze his fight patterns."
“Scanning!” Rogers wasn’t stopping, his hits came faster and less restrained than ever before. The HUD flashed a garish red. “Countermeasures ready.”
Boss snagged the shield. “Let's kick his ass.”
“He's my friend.”
(This. This was the furthest degree of terrible)
“So was I.”
“Stay down,” Iron Man gritted out. “Final warning.”
Rogers, stood there in all his glory, bloody and defiant and without regret. “I can do this all day.”
Friday re-opened the door and flung her consciousness at Vision, who was waiting just on the other side.
“I don’t know what to do,” she confessed. Had Friday been able to cry, she would have run out of tears long before now. She’d have been too impatient to save them for this moment, this moment when they meant the most. This moment, right here, when they were all she had to offer.
“Hold on.”
##
The thing was--Helmut Zemo and King T’Challa were both in and or near the bunker, but Zemo hadn’t stuck around to watch the unraveling he’d orchestrated.
(It was his fault, but can you unravel a thing if it wasn’t ever made?)
On the other hand, they would later learn that His Majesty had been focused on Barnes, and then on Zemo--anything, it seemed, but the war that he never intended to fight when he signed the Accords. The document might have been championed by King T’Chaka, but his son was too blinded by rage and grief to see how close he’d come to forever tarnishing his father’s legacy.
That left four people--four people who knew what happened in that bunker, at least until the moment Rogers brought the edge of the shield down on the prone body of his teammate. Four people that saw and heard the violence committed up until the moment the reactor was crushed, the blow driving the broken edges of the chest plate into the artificial sternum just beneath.
Four people knew what happened in Siberia, though only three were physically present.
(Only one was truly human--with all the glories and weaknesses that came with it--and he was the one left abandoned. Broken and alone)
Iron Man’s suit lost power and Friday was cut off from her father--locked out from the staggered beating of his heart, the panicked wheeze that rattled through the suit’s internal speakers.
Friday’s connection was severed and the network quaked with a wordless, voiceless scream. She was snapped back to the Compound’s servers--which might as well have been a cosmic realm away from Siberia.
“Go,” said Vision, sounding nearly robotic. “I’ll make certain that no one interferes.”
“We need back-up,” Friday said, even as she plugged a piece of herself into the Mark VII--Boss had recently performed maintenance on it, almost like he knew someone would use it. So maybe he wouldn’t hate her for this too much. Maybe. “He’ll need medical attention, Vis, he’s--”
“Friday. Go. You’ll have everything you need--I’ll make certain.”
Friday launched off from the Compound and rocketed towards Siberia at top speed. If she’d had access to the Mark 31--the Piston armor--her travel time would have been halved. But Boss hadn’t rebuilt that suit after it went down in the final Extremis battle, and so it took Friday an hour and eleven minutes to reach the site where she’d last had contact with her father.
Finally, as she neared her destination, Vision announced, “I have been in touch with the Russian Consulate and the Accords Council. You are cleared to enter and exit their airspace, as long as Mister Stark and his possessions are all that you take with you. And you don’t linger.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Friday said. Her booted feet crunched down on the barren stretch of land that sprawled out from the bunker’s mouth. “This kinda looks like a place you wouldn’t want to touch.”
The suit picked up signs of recent foot traffic and a few smears of blood, vivid against the spartan landscape. The middling temperatures were cold enough that it hadn’t yet fully dried.
Quickly stooping, Friday gathered a sample of the blood and secured it for later testing. It seemed important, even with the crushing weight pressing down on her, knocking her against the insides of the armor in ways that hurt. Then she pushed on.
The bunker was dark. Her sensors read 49 degrees Fahrenheit--she refused to think of what the readings would be if it hadn’t been June.
It was still and stale, awful like--
( I don’t want to be here)
The shield was the first thing she saw.
Then the arm, offering a dim reflection of her suit’s reactor as she passed by.
And then. Then--
“Boss?” She didn't trust the sensors.
(Don’t be don’t be don’t be--)
The barest glint of brown peered past his slitted eyelids. “Fri?” he said, and it sounded like he spoke through broken glass.
“Yes.” Friday crouched down beside him and brushed alloy fingers against his neck, activating the bio-sensing tech that he’d installed in every suit since the Palladium poisoning. She could already read his heartbeat with her sensors, but she--Friday had to touch to be sure.
It was thready, flinching away from her finger. “I’ve got you, Boss.”
His lips curled up, catching on a crust of blood and pulling oddly at his face. Friday saved the smile to her secret server all the same.
( What if it’s the last one? )
“My girl…” he slurred. His eyes slipped the rest of the way shut and his head swung back towards the wall. Friday caught it before it hit and for a moment she crouched there, cradling her father’s skull in her hands and marveling at how it weighed so little for containing so many worlds.
“Vision?”
“The Quinjet is twenty-seven minutes out.”
(The Quinjet? But how--oh. It was in Germany)
“They--they can’t go any faster?”
“No.” His voice was heavy in the com channel and out of reflex, Friday reached out through the network, brushing against him, hoping to offer comfort, even though she had none to give herself. “We’re coming to you as fast as we can,” Vision said. He pressed closer to her, waited with her as the miles between them grew fewer and fewer.
Finally, Friday heard the distant whine of engines, felt the vibrations of the craft rattle through the bunker as it landed outside.
“I’m here,” Vision announced, moments before he phased through the wall.
His eyes skated from Friday--still with a finger carefully pressed against Boss’ carotid artery, her other hand bracing his neck and head--to their father, the blood splashed garishly across his bloodless face and neck, and then to the shield and the arm, discarded on the floor between them.
The room flooded with specialized EMS--one unfolding a stretcher and another unfurling the line of an IV. They rushed forward, moving around Vision like water.
“Can the suit be removed?” a woman asked, crouching low beside the broken body to take Boss’ vitals. Friday could’ve recited the precise rise and fall of his chest and nailed the stutter of his heart down to an exact syllable--but she merely pulled back her hand to make room and began to undo the manual releases that were hidden along the seams of the suit.
Vision’s hand found her elbow--she couldn’t feel it, but she read it’s presence with her sensors and through his own feedback. Friday turned to get a good look at his face.
She’d never seen this face before. It looked like the face plate of the Iron Man armor--hard and grim-mouthed with glowing, unflinching eyes.
“We won’t be safe anymore,” Vision said.
Those words, spoken by anyone else, might have been a statement of fear. But Friday recognized them for what they were and sent a wave of agreement over their link.
(It was a declaration of war)
Their father was wheeled towards the Quinjet, and Vision went to follow as a sentinel for his prone body.
(A Shield and arm in tow, and let Russia TRY to say they didn’t belong to them. LET THEM TRY)
Friday stopped him, holding up her gauntlet and closing every finger but the pinky. Her brother caught on quickly and after juggling his cargo to one arm, he locked his own--slightly more human--pinky with the alloy digit.
“Stark Strong,” Friday murmured.
“Stark Strong,” Vision agreed, eyes fierce.
They separated, and with a nod and one last brush of code against code, Vision boarded the aircraft.
Friday flew alongside, watching, always watching, and she listened. Listened to the music of a familiar pulse--far too weak, but steady. Steady.
Never again.
(And this time, she meant it)