stoneheart ; 𝐭. 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 , 𝟐

15 | the divine move

[trigger warning: attempted suicide]

february 2019

"NO." TONY'S FACE was grim, his eyes glaring clearly at her in the cold air. His hand crept to rest on her calf where her own was, trying to stave off the bleeding. "I won't do that."

Jack knew he wouldn't do it, at least not yet. She knew he wouldn't kill the person he was trying to save. He'd lay down his own life before letting hers be taken away. She knew that well, and she loved him for it.

Love. The word still rang in her head, every time she locked eyes with him. Even as the asset, she screamed the word at her own mind, trying anything to break the spell Thompson had put on her. It seemed that the pain of an injury had done it, but she didn't know if it would work again. If Thompson got his hands on her mind again, she didn't know if she would be able to break out. Asset 53 was no longer dormant, she was awake. Resting just beyond the surface of Jack's mind, ready to completely take over her body and commit horrible, heinous acts. 

She ducked her head, swallowing a lump in her throat. Raising a hand to wipe her tears, she'd forgotten there was blood on her palm and she ended up smearing it across her cheek. She supposed she looked like a blood-hungry psychopath now. But of course, that was what she was turning into. "Tony," she said again, louder this time. "You have to kill me."

Her eyes didn't need to be on Tony's to know that he shook his head vigorously and squinted his eyes in that Tony-like manner that she remembered. He removed his hand from her calf and swore. "Absolutely not, Jack. We're getting you out of here. You're going to get help, and you're going to be fine." He leaned in closer and with the cold metal hand of his Iron Man suit, tilted her chin up to look at her. "You're going to be fine."

Jack nodded softly, not having the heart to tell him otherwise. 

"What do you remember?" He asked gently, still holding her chin in his hand.

Her eyes were filled to the brim with tears, several dropping loose and running trails down her cheeks, freezing in the frigid winter temperatures. Her mind flashed with images of blood, destruction, suffering, pain—all orchestrated by her. It was these images that propelled her to speak, though her lips seemed to move slower than she wanted. "I remember everything," she said hopelessly, her voice breaking over the words. 

Tony, though he looked as though he wanted to gut himself for the anguish she felt, gave her a flicker of a smile. "That's my girl."

She watched him as he stood up, leaving her there in the snow, and marching his way to where Anne Boucher stood, Thompson's bow dangling lazily from her hand. The undercover agent was still staring at Jack, even as Tony began to speak to her in hushed, angry tones.

"What the hell did you shoot her for?" He hissed, though Jack could hear him as if he were standing right next to her. "You could have killed her."

Anne's response was short and clipped. "I would not have killed her," she said smoothly, in a calculated tone. "I just needed to startle the asset and wake up Jacqueline Kingston."

Jack groaned as she poked the bleeding wound in her lower leg, wishing it would bleed heavier and more quickly. It would be easier that way, to be taken from this world quietly, without much fuss and without any bargaining. She knew Tony would never kill her, not like this. She had to prove it to him, prove that it was the best option, the only option.