Hope for the Hopeless

Chapter Twenty-One: The Oberon

"Sweetheart, your phone's ringing."

"I know."

"Well, aren't you picking it up?" Lynette put down the half-knitted sweater she was working on to shoot her granddaughter an exasperated frown. Her current design was a thing of maroon yarn with what Holly supposed to be a snowman on the front of it, but it just looked like two lumps of misshapen cotton piled on top of each other. "That weird chant is driving a headache in my old brains."

"It's Eminem, Grams," Holly muttered, paying no attention to the clamorous rap. The feather wand in her hand continued to twitch – up and down, and then left to right – as Tobie followed the movements with its marble-like eyes. There was a pause in which the kitten stilled, and then it sat back on its haunches and lunged onto the featherhead with a sharp meow.

Lynette clucked her tongue and glared at the ringing device. "I don't care if it's M&Ms or Lemon Men or the Church of Satan; just shut the thing up, please."

Humming non-committedly, Holly reached for her phone without looking away from the kitten poised in front of her. She had been playing with Tobie for the better part of the past hour; amusing herself with watching him pounce at the toy with it's fluffy, harmless paws or running around in circles chasing his own tail (which Holly nicknamed 'The Stub' for its lack of length and mass). It had been almost a month since she adopted the Scottish Fold and he was growing well into the '50 million views YouTube video kitten' stage.

For the past five days, having extended her leave to a week, Holly had spent her time cooped up at home. Not once had she stepped any further than the dumpster outside her front door and even then, it was only under the constant duress from her grandmother, who had opted to stay with her for another week. Lynette had done all the shopping necessary to ensure that the two (and Tobie) wouldn't starve, so there was little need for Holly to step out of the comfort of her home. The thought of venturing outside and exposing herself to the exhausting activity of interacting with others was not at all appealing to her.

She wasn't hiding away from reality. No, not at all.

Well, okay, not really.

She just needed some time for herself, some quiet to collect her thoughts and regain her momentum in life. That's all.

She had lost control of her life in the aftermath of Loki's invasion and the subsequent skirmish that resulted in the near annihilation of Manhattan. It was strange how life worked; how quickly things could turn alarmingly south without any indication or warning signs.

One moment she was being dragged onboard a carrier belonging to one of the biggest spy agencies in the world, and the next she was introduced to a bunch of mismatched beings – two aliens from a legendary world (one a sworn protector of Earth and the other desired to conquer Earth), a scientist who turned into a wrathful green creature when angry, a billionaire inventor with a flying suit of armour and an ego of unbelievable proportion, and lastly, a super-soldier who had just been thawed out of ice after seventy years.

Then, her uncle was killed and a gaping hole opened up in the sky and things could only spiral downwards from then on. Aliens happened, gigantic flying worms happened and Holly somehow managing to help close the portal with her unwanted abilities happened too.

So, it was only normal for her to want to hide away for a little while and allow the shock of the past week to catch up with her.

She was trying to rebuild her life, to go back to what was normal, but she had no idea how when everything had gone to pieces. Procrastination was never one of Holly's hamartia. She might be a little hotheaded and a little too frightened of everything and maybe a little too much of an escapist but she was never a dawdler, having preferred to get things done as soon as she could. It was something she had picked up from Phil, who was as much of a go-getter as Steve Jobs.

Most people procrastinated because they were lazy. For Holly, her procrastination was one borne of trepidation and uncertainty.

It was a known fact that taking the first step to anything was always the hardest. No matter if it was your first love, your first heartbreak or your first time accepting the fact that you're not normal; taking the first step, letting yourself plunge headfirst into something new, especially after a hard fall, was and always would be one of the most daunting things anyone had to do.

Right now, Holly was entertaining the idea of leaving her job at the hospital. She thought there was simply no meaning in her being there, helping to save lives and comforting the sick and wounded when she couldn't even be there to protect the one person who meant the most to her. The thought of going back to the hospital, of carrying on with life despite a huge chunk of it missing made her skin crawl, as does the name that was now flashing across the screen of her phone.

It had been five days since she had to see her uncle be buried six feet under the ground right beside her parents. It had also been five days since she last saw or spoke to any of them.

Being a social animal who never gave up any or all opportunity to host a party, Tony Stark, or Pepper Potts if you were talking technicalities, had put together a dinner in Phil's honour, which was to be attended by the 'A-Team' (as the billionaire had so wittily christened the band of spies and superheroes).

Having never considered herself a part of the aforementioned squad, Holly had declined the invitation politely (by rejecting all calls and deleting all texts from Stark), choosing instead to settle in for a quiet night with her still untouched bottle of wine. She had just put in season nine of Friends (because Mike and Phoebe were perfect) when a deafening honk from outside pierced through the peace. The sudden noise startled her so badly that the bowl of ice-cream flipped over in her lap, leaving Holly sticky with Salted Caramel with hot fudge and Tobie hissing from its hiding spot underneath the coffee table.

Annoyed, cold, and vaguely disgusted, Holly ventured outside in nothing but her soiled pajamas to see a polished limousine parked right by the curb. The driver's door was open, and a man had greeted her promptly upon her appearance before proceeding to regurgitate a lengthy paragraph of words at her, to which her confusion and irritation at the whole fiasco only deepened. Standing in the chill of the night with her hair thrown in a messy knot and her clothes stuck to her skin, the only words she could catch from the onslaught of verbal vomit was: dinner, Stark Tower, immediately and no exceptions.

Apparently, Holly was to attend the dinner or the poor, innocent driver (who was sweating too much for his own good) was sure to be fired by Stark.

It was a threat as expected from the eccentric billionaire who clearly had too many chauffeurs on hand.

Her finger hovered over the flashing green icon, uncertain. Dimly, she could still remember the hasty and impulsive promise she had given him through the haziness of the Breezers she had consumed. Holly was a lightweight, and her impulsiveness during her intoxication was testimony to it.

"We can go there together sometime – the Colorado Mountains," She added with a smile. Holly squeezed his hands once more before letting go as the cold air took her place. "Just you and me. It'll be fun. You can take a breather from the world. Okay?"

Silence filled the air between them as Steve hesitated. He studied her intently, blue eyes staring into her eyes unblinkingly, seeming to search for something she did not know of.

Then, the ends of his mouth curved into a smile so wonderfully bright and hopeful it sent a trill of warmth spreading through Holly that was not a result of the alcohol she had just consumed.

"Okay."

The smile Steve had graced her was one of gratefulness and relief, and Holly was glad she was able to give him that small spark of hope in the brief moment they shared under the cover of the night. She thought he didn't have much hope to go off on, having just thawed out of the glaciers and been told that he had spent the last seventy years of his life sleeping while his friends and family withered away with age. She wished she could help him not because she thought Phil would have liked that, would have appreciated his niece being a sort of guiding light in his hero's life (in a rare moment of romanticism). But she wished to help him because she could understand some of the despair Steve would likely be feeling at this moment in time.

However, the thought of seeing him, of seeing all of them again, wasn't something she was looking forward to. Being with them would only bring back things she didn't want nor need to be reminded of.

She couldn't move on if she couldn't let go, and she couldn't let go if they were still in her life.

"Holly!" The young woman jumped in her spot and almost threw her phone halfway across the room in surprise. "Are you going to answer that or not?"

Hesitantly, she shook her head and rejected the call before muting the device. She sat it down beside her and picked up Tobie's toy again, whistling sharply as the kitten scrambled back towards her on paws slipping against smooth marble.

"Who was that?" Lynette asked over the click clacking of her knitting needles as she shot a look that Holly could only describe as forced casual over her glasses.

"No one important," Holly said. She threw the sweaters surrounding her grandmother's feet an exasperated glance. "Isn't it too early for that?"

"It's never too early for sweaters, dear girl," Lynette chuckled, her needles working overtime. "One can –"

"'– Never have too many sweaters,' Yes, Gramma, as always," Holly drawled, rolling her eyes with a faint smile.

"Well at least I'm doing something productive," Lynette retorted sharply. "Phil's apartment management called this morning," She continued offhandedly, although Holly could spy a veiled implication in her voice. "They want to know when we're going in to clear out his things."

"What's the rush?" Holly argued. "It's not as if anyone's hurrying to buy his unit."

"But the earlier, the better, isn't it?" Her grandmother urged. "Besides, it isn't as if you have anything planned, considering how all you did the past week was to hide away in your home and play with that damned cat of yours."

"He's adorable, Gramma," Holly defended. "And besides, I'm on a leave of bereavement. It's when people requests for time away from work in the event of a family member's death. Maybe you've heard of it?"

Lynette clucked her tongue once more. Blue eyes flashed dangerously.

"Don't you be patronizing me, young lady," She bristled. "You might not like my badgering you but I'm doing it for your own good," She set the needles down and cast her full attention on Holly. A glint hardened her eyes. "You can't remain this way, dear. You've got to move on, keep going. You can't just your life go to waste."

Holly sighed. It seemed they were back on the same topic. Again.

She loved her grandmother immensely, there was nothing she wouldn't do for her, but when Lynette got like this – all bloodthirsty and relentless – it drove Holly crazy.

"I'll clear the apartment out soon, Grams, I promise," She placated.

"When?"

"Soon. I don't know," she bit out. "Can we stop talking about this?"

"How soon?" Lynette pushed, ignoring her plea.

"For God's sake, Gramma!" The angered bark of Holly's words were punctuated by the sailing of Tobie's toy across the room and the sound of something shattering. She plucked the kitten from her lap and stood up, muscles tensed and breaths coming in short pants. "I just lost my family! Am I not allowed to wallow and be depressed without you breathing down my neck all the time?"

"Sweetheart…" Lynette whispered, standing up from her seat cautiously. The anger in her voice had given way to worried concern as she stared at something over her shoulders.

Turning to see what her grandmother was looking at, her eyes fell onto the crystalline flecks littering the surface of her dining table and the floors of the dining room. The chandelier hanging above had shattered, splintering into a shower of glass that gleamed with the afternoon sun.

For the second time that week, she had lost control of her powers and they had manifested into something that destroyed rather than guarded. This time, she had done it in front of her grandmother who she hadn't showed her abilities to in years.

She could still feel the tendrils of the energy wavering around her, triggered by the agitation of her outburst. The need to escape, to get away from the pitying looks was too much and so, with a silent shake of her head, Holly turned and high-tailed out of the living room, leaving the evidence of her rage and her grandmother behind.

Her feet carried her up the stairs quickly, towards the attic of the two-storey townhouse that sat right above Holly's bedroom.

The attic was the place she disliked the most in her home. It was a small room; stuffed to the brim with old furniture and other odds and ends that she was sure were of no real value but had a memories attached to them. Unlike the openness of the courtyard, which was her place of sanctuary, the attic was closed up and humid, with air that was pumped chockfull of dust and the musty smell of wood and old fabric.

The last time she had been up there – really been up there and not just loitering about the entrance – were to sort her parents' belongings out. That had been more than ten years ago.

Now, cramped between a deteriorating floor lamp that would have once been handsome and a lint covered mustard yellow armchair, Holly wondered what had possessed her to break her streak of avoiding this particular part of the house. Her nose twitched and she ached to sneeze from the dust, and she thought she had already gotten rid of that horrible taxidermied deer head that was now staring straight into her with its beady, soulless eyes.

Vaguely, she could hear Phil's voice ringing in the space around her, reprimanding her of tossing things that were of sentimental value away and not understanding the importance of the poor animal that he had hunted with her father during their annual trip to Colorado.

Holly shook her head. She had to stop. Remembering only made the past more painful. She needed to stop, or her life was going to come to a standstill. It had been a week and her grandmother was right – it was three days too long for her pathetic self-pitying.

He wouldn't want her to be this way. She knew that if he were here, if he had seen the wreck she had turned herself into, her uncle would have been ashamed of her. Holly could almost imagine the glare that would be burning into her, followed by the snarky tone of her uncle telling her brusquely how he was not one to be related to self-pitying losers.

Sighing tiredly, Holly pushed herself to her feet and took another glance around the crowded loft. Things were packed in the crammed space, but she supposed there was still some leeway for a couple more to join the rest.

With that, she made her way back downstairs, grabbing her phone and keys on the way before reaching down to pet Tobie who had scampered after Holly at her reappearance.

Lynette appeared from the kitchen and frowned at her in concern.

"Where are you going?"

"To The Oberon."

The Oberon was one of the newest and most technologically savvy condominiums in the Upper East Side. It stood at thirty-three stories tall, with sixty units and a penthouse that claimed the building's top two floors. All the apartments were fitted with state-of-the-art technology that were upgraded annually and shared a common gym and pool while the penthouse had its personal home gym and outdoor Jacuzzi tub that had ten types of jet massage settings for the user to choose from.

While Phil could've easily afforded the luxury suite with the paycheck he received from S.H.I.E.L.D., he settled instead for one of the units on the twenty-seventh floor, declaring to an annoyed Holly (who had been lusting after the Jacuzzi tub) that there was no need for him to have as luxurious an apartment as the penthouse if he was only going to be home for two days out of the entire week. It was a waste of money, he added; no matter how great the Thai massage sensor jet stream sounded.

Holly thought it was complete bull, but she loved his place all the same. She visited him often, crashing by whenever Phil was home (or wasn't home, depending) to use his sound system. Nothing beat the stereo on those speakers and she thought nothing would come close.

Benny Chomsky was the head of security for The Oberon, and lived in another building three streets down with his wife. He had a boisterous voice, and was the unofficial voice of the building because his was always the first you would hear upon exiting the grand revolving doors.

"Afternoon, Benny," Holly waved back as she got closer to the reception.

"Ms. Holly," the elderly man stepped out from behind the counter and pulled her into a tight hug. The smell of coffee and spaghetti enveloped her senses. She assumed he had just returned from his lunch break. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Miss. Mr. Coulson was a good man, a kind man."

Benny's condolence was the first she had received since the funeral, which put Holly at a sudden scramble for something to say after having not dealt with social interactions for almost a week. During the wake, it was acceptable for her to simply nod her head and wave the people off, speaking little while her grandmother handled the tête-à-têtes. Right now, however, when it was just the kindly guard and she, it seemed ill mannered for her to simply dismiss him.

"I'm sorry too," she murmured after awhile, patting Benny on the back and relishing in the hug for a while longer before pulling back. She mustered a small smile and hoped it looked genuine enough. "I'm here to clean up the apartment."

"Of course, of course," Benny nodded. He reached over the desk and picked up a non-descript paper bag, which he passed to her. "This is from the missus," He said and Holly opened it to see a jar of Mrs. Chomsky's homemade chocolate chip cookies. They were treats that Phil used to nab for her whenever he had the chance, until Benny couldn't take it anymore and asked that his wife bake the man a jar monthly. "She wishes to pass on her condolences, Miss. And she added extra choco chips this time."

She smiled, actually meaning the action this time and nodded her appreciation. "Please thank her for me, Benny."

"Sure will, Miss. Buzz if you need anything."

With that, Holly made her way towards the lift lobby, the bag of cookie swinging by her side.

After scanning her prints into the little black box by the side of the door, a clear chime that allowed her entry into the apartment sounded. She stopped at the threshold for a few moments, feeling nervous for some reason unknown to her. As the door swung open, the first things she saw were the Buzz Lightyear slippers lying by the door in its usual disarray, right beside a pair of polished leather loafers. Holly had a matching pair, hers being Woody instead of Buzz, which was kept in its spot on the rack. Replacing her sneakers with the slippers, she ventured into the quiet home, taking stock of everything she saw and making comparisons of what it used to look like in her head.

It had all remained the same, she realized, as she cast her eyes over the entirety of the living room. Things were just as they had been when she was there for her movie night a little over a month ago. Phil's collection of Captain America trading cards was still mounted on the wall behind the television console, safe behind their glass protectant, as they had always been. Stanley Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove sat on top of the DVD player just as she had left it after their nth time of rewatching it, right beside the picture of Phil, her and Princess Belle from their trip to Disneyland six years ago.

Everything stayed the same, but still, Holly felt as if there was something missing, something not quite right.

She assumed it was the fact that the apartment doesn't belong to anyone anymore, and rather than feeling as if it was her second home, it just felt like she was intruding on someone else's domain. There was still an essence of Phil lingering about the air around her, but the warm presence she always associated with him was gone, leaving only a bitter chill in its wake. There was a sense of disquiet in the silence surrounding her.

It was weird, she thought, coming back to the apartment with the intent of emptying it. It made everything final and definite, and Holly wasn't sure how she felt about that. Her emotions had been wired up since the invasion – anger, fear, despair and confusion, all tangled up into one big ball of frazzled nerves.

The silence of the apartment was not helping things either, and so, Holly directed, "Air-conditioning at 71°F."

The whirl of the air-conditioning working overhead pushed to get her going as se veered off towards Phil's bedroom, deciding to get the most important part of his home done and over with. His room was located right at the end of the hall, beside the guest room that Holly stayed over at when their movie night had ended too late.

She supposed his bedroom could be the ideal for a modern bachelor pad, with its sleek lines, sharp silhouettes and hues of black, white and grey, even though she wasn't a fan of the scheme, finding them far too rigid and preferring her home to be well, homelier looking.

True to Phil's inclination for order in everything, his bedroom was as immaculate as his DVD shelves, which had been arranged painstakingly (for Holly who was ordered to rearrange it after messing it up) in a chronological order by genre, year and length of the film.

Holly scanned the room, feeling at a loss of where to begin when her eyes landed on the closet to the far end of the wall.

"Okay, closet then."

She pushed open the sliding doors and a light switched on immediately at her motion detections. Suits, pants and collared shirts in varying shades of navy, black, white lined the rod while his diversely patterned ties were being rolled up and stored in another organizer that sat on the bottom of the wardrobe, beside a briefcase.

At this, she frowned, pushing a couple of shirts aside to take a better look at bag that was pushed deep into the wardrobe. It was made of dark brown leather, weathered and wrinkled from years of use and disuse, and held together by an intricate and remarkable workmanship of gold cross-stitching. She imagined it would have been a handsome carrier if it had been better taken care of.

She grasped the handle of the briefcase and pulled, dragging it out of its hiding place and plopping it down onto the coffee table with a huff of effort at its weight.

For a moment, she suspected the case contained S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets, things that were entrusted to her uncle for safekeeping, or weapons at the very most due to its hefty weight, until she remembered how distrusting Fury was at the entire human population. She was willing to bet that within ten minutes of Phil's death that the Director would already have sent someone to retrieve the items back for him.

Then, she saw the cursive script embossed into the hide.

"Property of Helene J. Coulson," She read aloud and frowned. "Mom?"

Since her parents' passing, all of their belongings had been sorted out by both Phil and her, where most of their important documents, researches and keepsakes were retained in the family safe while the others were thrown out or sent up to the attic. She had been the one to go through their things personally, and yet, not once had she seen or heard Phil talking about this particular briefcase.

Her thumbs ran across the cool metal of the clasps but came to a stop when they brushed against a set of dials built into the middle.

"Of course there'll be a freaking password," She grumbled, taking a closer look at the five small knobs with alphabets etched into them. "Wouldn't be someone of S.H.I.E.L.D. unless there were passwords."

Plopping down onto the chair, she poured over every inch of the briefcase for a clue as to what the cipher could be. She was hopeless at things that required guessing, which was evident from her constant failures at playing 'Hang-man' with her family.

As if God had heard her prayers, she caught a glint of something when her eyes swept over the passcode dials. It was an engraving of sorts, carved into the small metal plate right beside the dials. It took Holly less than five seconds to figure out what the etching was.

"Really, Mom?" She scoffed, surprised at how unsurprising her mother was. She didn't understand the need for a password if someone like Holly (who was the absolute worse at Cluedo) could solve it. She rotated the dials, spelling out the words H-O-L-L-Y and proceeded to flip the clasps of the briefcase up.

It didn't work.

The clasps snapped back in place and the case remained as sealed shut as ever.

"Okay…" She was sure the engraving was a clue to unlocking it. There would be no other reason as to why the holly berry was there, it would have been far too small and negligible to be a decoration. "Berry?"

No, it wasn't berry either.

"Ugh!" She cried, throwing her back into the chair and sulking at the briefcase. She ran a series of plausible words in her head until she stopped on one likely combination.

Leaning forward again, she rearranged the dials in the form of G-R-A-C-E.

There was a loud thud of something metallic coming from the case as the clasps flipped up automatically.

"Still predictable, Mom," she mumbled but smiled nonetheless. The lid of the briefcase sprung open with a creak that showed its neglect, and a stale smell of aged paper and mildewed cloth dispelled into the air, making her crinkle her nose in disgust.

Expecting to find stacks of papers and documents in the briefcase (her mother had a penchant for leaving important researches lying around the whole house), Holly was surprised to be greeted by a thick bounded album and a flat rectangular box that looked a little worse for wear.

Holly opened the lid of the box first to see a headband of pearls and crystal flowers twined together in silver wire and resting in the middle of a gossamer fabric. With gentle hands, she scooped it up and smoothed it out, taking note to be careful in her ministrations.

It was her mother's wedding veil, she realized, having recognized it from her parents' wedding picture hanging from her living room wall. She was surprised to see that after all these years, the veil was still in near-perfect condition, apart from the slight yellowing of some pearls that she thought could be corrected with some deep cleaning.

Then, she took the album out, noticing that the weight of the briefcase was mainly due to the bounded leather. She flipped it open to see that it was a myriad of photographs that Helene had collected over the years. They were rare pictures, all dated with marked locations and a short caption written beneath each print. There were shots of the family during their Sunday brunches, of Holly and her father as he supported her in her baby float while they vacationed in Hawaii, shots of Phil and Helene and lastly, two polaroids that she hasn't seen before, one was a shot of her parents with matching grins as they sat side by side on what looked to be a hospital bed. In her mother's arms was a pink bundle. The caption at the bottom of the picture read: After 19 hours of pain, our little bundle of joy is finally here! Mummy and Daddy loves you very much, Princess.

The picture directly below it was a candid shot of Phil beaming down at a red-faced newborn who looked none to pleased to have her picture taken of. Holly felt a sudden lurch in her stomach as she read the words scrawled beside it: The first time Uncle Phil held baby Holly. P/S: He had to box Rob in the ears to hold her because he wouldn't let her go.

Holly garbled out a watery laugh at the caption. She could almost imagine Phil having to beat her father up in order to get a chance to hold her, while her father moaned and grumbled to her mom about her 'abusive ninja brother' like he always did. It was a usual occurrence in their family, this friendly rivalry between her father and her uncle, and it never failed to amuse her every time.

The chime of her phone pierced through the quiet air, startling Holly enough to make her jump a little in her seat. She reached into her back pocket for the device and unlocked it quickly to see a new text message. Just as she was about to tap on the icon wriggling vigorously on her screen, her hand slipped, and her phone fell onto the briefcase with a thud.

She froze, blinking as she tried to discern the sound that echoed through her room. Frowning, she rapped her knuckles hard against the bottom of the briefcase and was rewarded with the same sound she had thought she heard wrongly moments ago. It was a hollow thud that was undoubtedly not supposed to happen. Holly she picked up the 'empty' briefcase and gave it a couple of shakes from left to right and in the quietness of the apartment, she could hear a faint shuffling of something still in the case, which affirmed the fact that there was a false bottom.

Holly sat the briefcase back onto the table. Then, she placed both of her hands on the stiff velvet base and pushed, lightly at first then increasing her exertion until she felt the base gave way under a small pop.

Sandwiched between the false bottom and the actual base of the briefcase was a yellow folder. Holly had been wrong to think that her mother's briefcase had just been a personal time capsule. The folder was most certainly a scientific research, judging from the S.H.I.E.L.D. eagle insignia printed in the middle of it and the block prints boasting the words: PROJECT L.I.F.E.

She had heard about the project often enough, with the last time being when she was confronted by Stark onboard the helicarrier.

It was the research that kept her parents' busy for the last five years of their lives.

It was the research that was responsible for their untimely deaths.

It was also the same research that gave Holly the abilities to manipulate energy and project force-fields.

A shuddered breath left her lips. This folder could very well contain the key to creating the anti-serum, a cure that could negate the abilities given to her. It could make her normal again, and she supposed she should feel excited about making a discovery as big as this.

Instead, she felt queasy. A strange feeling welled up in her, one that was foreign and unwelcomed. She hadn't felt this way before and she wasn't quite sure how to pinpoint it.

All she knows was that she felt bitter, and – and deceived.

She could recall the numbers of times she had asked Phil about the experiment and she could count the number of times he had brushed her off (which was the same amount), citing how the project was classified, and an agent of his level was not allowed clearance to see it (whatever that meant). But it was clear now that her uncle was withholding from her the papers that could have changed her life for the better. And it was obvious he had already perused it on more than one occasion, judging from the slight coffee cup stain discolouring the corner of the file.

Another chime echoed through the air, followed swiftly by three more. Holly unlocked her phone and tapped on the wriggling icon begging for her attention.

/

From: Tony Stark
(15:20) Yo, Bubs. R u dead or smth? Y aren't u answerin Boy Wonder's calls? He's startin to worry n get pouty. Reply ASAP!
(15:30) Hellooooooo?
(15:37) Dont ignore me! U shldnt b ignoring someone like me!
(15:41) I was only jk when I asked if u're dead, Bubbles!
(15:46) Omg pls tell me u're not dead. I was kidding.

/

Holly had half the mind to ignore the billionaire's messages like she had for most of the texts she received in the past week. Her finger hovered above the exit button, ready to delete the message. But she realized ignoring a person like Tony Stark will only make him all the more unbearable. So, she tapped on the screen and proceeded to type out a quick but concise reply.

/

To: Tony Stark
(15:50) Hey. I'm fine. Just busy getting things back to normal. Tell Steve not to worry.

/

His reply came almost immediately, and Holly had to wonder if he had been waiting by his phone for her message. When she read his replies, it only affirmed her suspicions.

/

From: Tony Stark
(15:51) Thk god! U gt me going for a while thr. Ive been waitin for ur texts for forever
(15:51) N I don't see the pt. U were nvr normal to start with.
(15:52) Just jk. Spangly asked if there's anyth he can help with. Im throwing in my assistance too just for consideration.

/

Her eyes drifted over to the accursed file on the table. She could ask him for help. Stark was a technological giant after all, with plenty of machines, money and human resources at his disposal. Besides, the last she heard, Bruce Banner would be staying with him in Stark Tower after Stark had made him swear 'to remain his science bro and to play with science-y things for all of eternity' as he so eloquently put it.

She could ask the two for help, and she was almost positive that they would agree, what with them having a figurative boner for all things weird, but she needed time to peruse the documents and her roiling emotions were not helping matters. She was too strung up on anger to make any decisions wisely.

/

To: Tony Stark
(15:59) No, I'm fine, thank you. I'll ttys.

From: Tony Stark
(16:00) That's the 2nd time u said u're fine. R u really?

/

She hesitated.

/

To: Tony Stark
(16:09) I'm really okay, promise.

/

Those four words never felt as bitter in her mouth as it did just then.

So there you go.

This was a 6k, 15-page Microsoft word monstrosity okay? fml
Also, this is my headcanon for Tony Stark and text messaging.
We all know he's just going to be the most annoying manchild when it came to social interactions good god.

I'm looking for a beta! someone who can be exceptionally good at motivating me to keep writing, on top of having great grammar, tense and spelling haha. drop me a pm or review if you're interested (i'm desperate lol)

to everyone who has waited for/supported/encouraged me through this hiatus,
you are my everything and i am eternally grateful.

lastly, reviews keep me looking youthful so keep reviewing i am getting old