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"Tony's alive. We got him. We found him, Nads." The voice comes from the other end of the line and Nadia freezes.
She'd been spiralling since Tony went missing.
Even though they hadn't spoken in years, the news had hit her like a ton of bricks. The realization she might never be able to make it right—might never get to see him again. Her only family. That she might really be alone now.
She'd hacked NASA. Commandeered satellites—including SHIELD’s own systems. Fury had called her into the office after one of the techs had tipped him off. Another black mark on her file. One in a long line.
She didn’t care.
"When?" she breathes, blinking rapidly. Her eyes sting. "How?" Her voice almost cracks—almost. Her heart pounds in her chest, her lip trembling, threatening the carefully curated composure she prided herself on.
"Turn on the news," is all she gets in return. Her brows furrowed as she snatched the TV remote off the nearby coffee table, ignoring the protests from colleagues.
"—never got to say goodbye to Dad. I never got to say goodbye to my father. There’s questions that I would have asked him. I would have asked him how he felt about what this company did. If he was conflicted, if he ever had doubts. Or maybe he was every inch the man we all remember from the newsreels. I saw young Americans killed by the very weapons I created to defend them and protect them. And I saw that I had become part of a system that is comfortable with zero accountability."
The sound of his voice makes her breath catch. Seeing him up there on that goddamn podium, talking about their dad like it mattered—it shatters something in her. Her eyes never leave the screen, flickering over his dishevelled composure, the cheeseburger in his hand. He’d tried to clean up, but the exhaustion was evident to anyone who really knew him. She isn’t sure she can say she does anymore. But she sees it anyway.
"He didn’t even call…" Nadia sucks in a sharp breath, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. God. She was such a fucking idiot to think this would change anything.
Silence lingers on the other end. Then: "I’m sorry, ’Nads." A pause. "I think he wanted to, he just—" the hesitation stretches. She doesn’t interrupt, but she isn’t buying his excuses. Not anymore. Because there’s always an excuse for Tony, isn’t there? Always someone smoothing over what doesn’t change anything in the end. "—doesn’t know how."
A bitter laugh rips from her lips. She shakes her head, running a shaky hand through brunette curls.
"Yeah. Story of my life." It’s sharp. Not really aimed at Rhodey—even if he takes the brunt of it. "Tell him—" her voice quivers. She hesitates. "Forget it. He wouldn’t listen anyway." Her tone clips off, clawing back her composure bit by bit.
"Don’t shoot the messenger, okay?" Rhodey’s voice is warm. Concerned. Something about it sends an ache reverberating from the pit of her chest, tightening painfully.
She tunes back in just in time for one final surprise.
"—why, effective immediately, I am shutting down the weapons manufacturing division of Stark International until such a time as I can decide what the future of the company will be."
There’s commotion in the background. Shoes scuffing against the floor as people stand, cameras clicking in rapid bursts. Reporters shout over one another, trying to get his attention. She cringes.
"Shit," she breathes. Not that she ever agreed with it. She’d been outspoken on the fact Stark Industries was doing more harm than good. She’d told the board as much, during the meetings Obadiah had forced her to attend. Even drafted entire business plans as alternatives. It had never gone over well.
<i>It’s your name too. Don’t let him take everything.</i> That’s what Obie had said. It didn’t matter she didn’t want it, or that she didn’t like it. All Obie cared about when it came to the company was appearances. This wouldn’t lead anywhere good. Not dropped like this, in the middle of a very public conference.
Her mind reels. For a moment she almost forgets the phone in her hand.
"I gotta go, kid. Things are crazy here. Don’t do anything stupid." The line goes dead.
She doesn’t lower the phone immediately. Frozen in place, watching the aftermath.
"Fuck." The remote clatters against the coffee table, brittle plastic on glass ringing out. The phone is shoved roughly into her pocket.
Boots pound against the bare winding hallways of the Triskelion as she storms out of the room. Her keycard swipes against the access point and she tears inside, grabbing a duffel bag she stuffs with essentials. Laptop. Clothes. Toothbrush. Charger… and Mooncakes.
Her hands grip the stuffed unicorn, its fabric worn soft and faded with age. Stupid. Sentimental. A relic from the day Tony left for MIT almost twenty years ago—the last time he’d been her brother instead of a ghost.
Tears sting as she presses it hard to her chest. Her breath rattles between her teeth, shaky, uneven. One tear escapes, cutting hot down her cheek.
Frustration. Anger. Hurt. All tangled together. She’d spent a decade trying to be worth it—worth knowing, worth staying for. Even when she swore she didn’t care, she’d still hoped. Every birthday. Every Christmas. Her graduation from MIT. She even sent him tickets.
He’d sent Obadiah instead.
She was done waiting.
The toy is shoved into the duffel. She jerks the zip closed with shaking hands, wipes her face with the back of her palm, and slings the bag over one shoulder. Nadia doesn’t stop. Not at the looks she receives, not as she walks back through the sterile hallways, boots once again pounding against white marble floors. A mirror of how she feels.
Her gaze skims the rows of government-issue SUVs and sedans—all black. All discreet. All wrong. Hands tighten around the straps of her bag, her boots crunching against the concrete under the too-bright fluorescent light of the parking garage.
Then she sees it—right at the back of the garage.
A ’63 Ford Mustang Fastback.
Sleek lines, maroon paint gleaming under the harsh lights. Her footsteps quicken. She yanks the door open as she reaches it. Out of place here. Too Stark. Too flashy. Her own project, pieced together in secret with Stark tech and SHIELD scraps she almost certainly shouldn’t have been using. That never stopped her.
She throws the bag onto the back seat. Mooncakes tumbles out, the unicorn’s stitched grin feeling like some cosmic joke. She shoves it back roughly, throat tightening as she climbs behind the wheel. Her hands fumble the keys only once before the ignition roars to life.
The shrill ring of her phone breaks the sterile silence as she pushes the stick into gear, tires squealing against concrete as she tears out of the garage.
The dash lights up where her phone is connected—her own upgrade. Clint Barton’s name flashes across the screen. He’d undoubtedly heard the news. Her hands tighten on the steering wheel, her jaw working. She quickly swipes reject before it finishes ringing. She knows what he’d say if he knew what she was doing.
Clint would call it as he sees it—some self-punishing bullshit. He’s not wrong, but she doesn’t want to hear it. The phone stays mercifully silent after that. Clint knows better than to push when she doesn’t want to be reached. She’s thankful.
As the car carries her further from the city, Nadia lets out a breath, sinking back into the seat as she settles in for the long drive.
"Forty hours, Tony. Let’s see if you’re worth it."