Sunbeam. Mini Series.
Chapter 1
An: This has had a choke hold on me for days. So now you too have to suffer. Switches POVs, 3rd to 2nd, sorry if it's confusing!
Wc:~5k
Pairing: Tony Stark x Mutant!OFC(Fiona/Sunbeam)
She first met Tony Stark when she was 23. It was an accident, really.
Sitting in the common room at Xavier's School for the Gifted, the TV was background noise as she read her book. Logan was back, and his grunts and grumbles at the TV were distracting.
“What now, Logan? You've been complaining for 20 minutes,” she smirks at him, her toe digging into his side.
“The damn news,” he grumbles, practically crushing the remote in his hand. “Been the same thing for the last 3 goddamn months.”
When she looks over to the screen, it's another newscaster covering the disappearance of billionaire, philanthropist, and arms dealer, Tony Stark.
She hums, “I heard they were stopping military support ‘cause they don't believe he's alive.”
Logan grunts in response, flinging the remote on the coffee table next to his feet. His head falls back against the couch, and she lets out a giggle at him.
When she glances back to the TV, there were pictures of Stark from the last time anyone saw him alive. It looked like he was in a desert, a drink in hand, and the other shaking the hand of some military general.
The newscaster said the last known location was somewhere outside Afghanistan, his convoy took heavy fire, and almost everyone involved was injured or killed.
The more she thought about Stark and how the people in his life must miss him, the more her fingers tingle. The energy of the powers under her skin coming to the surface.
She places the book down so it doesn't burn. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she set something on fire.
“Need to let out some excess energy, Fi?” Logan tilts his head over to his adoptive daughter when he feels the crackle of powers in the air.
Being a mutant was a part of her. Fiona couldn't remember her early life, just living on the streets in Southern California. Until Professor Xavier and Logan rescued her. Fi, as Logan affectionately calls her, can't remember her parents. They dropped her at an orphanage when her powers first started showing.
She shakes her head, “no, just overthinking,” as she rubs her hands together, little sparks of energy pop in the air.
Soon after, she fled. Fiona was 6. She clung to Logan like gum on the sole of his shoes. He may have complained, but he didn't mind.
It was rare to see Logan without her trailing behind him the first few months.
“Fiona,” Logan shifts to get a better look at her. “You can tell me if something is bothering you, ok? I may not be, y’know,” he shrugs and gestures to himself.
“The greatest at sharing emotions?” she smirk.
Logan chuckles and gives a nod.
“Really, Logan, I'm fine,” Fiona reassures him. When she looks back at the television, the segment on Tony Stark is wrapping up, and she gives another fleeting thought about where he is.
Then it felt like she was falling. Straight through the couch, the floorboards, the mansion. Everything.
Logan calls her name, eyes in a panic, as his daughter disappears in the blink of an eye.
***
You shot out into the bright, hot sunshine some 30 feet in the air. However you got here, it was lost on you as you plummeted head over heels to the ground.
As you braced for impact, you couldn't help but notice all the sand. When you crashed down on your side, you tumbled down a sand dune. The scorching sun and sand burned at your skin as you tried to get your bearings.
You coughed the sand from your mouth as you stood, dusting it off your body, looking around.
Vast nothingness surrounded you. Endless hot sand dunes for miles.
Where the hell am I?
“Logan?” Your throat was scratchy from the sand. You coughed again to clear it. “Hello?” You called a little louder.
“You…” a voice called from behind you.
You spun around, flinging sand as you did, and brought your hands up to defend yourself. Little sparks of golden energy tickling your fingers.
The man stood a good 20 feet from you. He was sunburnt, bloody, and blistered. His old worn slacks had holes along the knees, and his gray tank top did little to protect him from the sun.
“You're here,” his voice was hoarse and rough. You wondered how long he's been out here. Wherever here is.
“I thought I imagined it, but” he laughed a little in disbelief, “you. You're here.”
“Uhh, yeah. Sorry, buddy. I don't really know where I am. Or who you are.” You spin in a circle before you face him again, “I don't even know how I got here!”
“It's me. I'm,” and when your brows furrow his shoulders slump, “Tony. Stark.”
You sputter and take a step towards him, “what? How? Where are we?”
“Afghanistan, more or less,” Stark shrugs.
You pace in a circle, still not understanding. “I was just in New York. Are you saying I'm on the OTHER SIDE of the WORLD??”
Stark falls backwards to land on his rear, panting breaths in the hot desert sun. “You’re telling me, I still can’t believe it myself.”
”Tony Stark. Oh my God. Oh my God,” you rush to him and land on your knees in front of him, hands hovering above him. “How are you - why - holy shit. Oh my God.”
”I get that a lot,” he snarks, head falling back as he shields his face from the sun with an old ratty shirt. You notice something blue glowing in the middle of his chest, but there’s more pressing matters to worry about at the moment.
”Wouldn’t happen to have a flare gun in those pajama shorts, would ya, kid?”
You look down at yourself, and sure enough, you’re in an oversized tee and pajama shorts. It was the middle of the night back in New York after all.
”I - um - well,” you bring a fist up in front of you, small sparks of gold form around your hand and then encase it in a golden bubble. You haven’t shown anyone outside of other mutants your powers before.
You can convert the sun's radiation into physical energy. Shooting golden rays of beams and projectiles of pure energy from your hands.
Sometimes when you get anxious, the power in your fingertips becomes a little unstable, and you have to release some of it so you won't cause an accident (which happens more often than not, you're still learning).
Rogue likes to call your abilities akin to the sun, like sun rays for the beams you shoot and sun orbs for the bubbles you throw. She was quick to give you the nickname Sunbeam, so it stuck.
When you glance up at Stark, he’s barely taken notice of the sudden energy emitting from your hand, eyes focused on your face.
”I’ve never - I haven’t…” Stark puts a hand on your arm and squeezes it lightly. He gives you a small nod, eyes heavy with exhaustion and face a little too sunburnt. His chapped lips pull into a thin line, you should do this. You have to do this. He’s been missing for three months. You both could die out here.
With one last big inhale, you raise your fist in the air and let loose a few energy blasts that shoot up like a firework. You open your hand and they explode like one too. Bright golden sparks of energy fill the sky a hundred feet in the air.
***
Colonel James Rhodes was not amused when he asked Tony how the hell you got in the middle of the desert in just your pajamas, when Starks only response was:
“You can see her too? I thought I was going crazy,” and never mentioned it again.
That was almost half a day ago, and now you’re about to touch down in Los Angeles.
Stark needed help getting into the dress shirt Colonel Rhodes had given him, so you tore the right sleeve of the shirt off for him.
”There, that should help,” you grinned at him. You helped him guide his arm into the sling and put it in place. “You should probably go to the hospital once we land, Mr. Stark.”
Stark hummed, picking up the suit jacket and putting it around your shoulders.
The massive Boeing C-17 plane landed on the Air Force base in Los Angeles after what felt like the longest flight of your life.
You followed Rhodes and Stark down the ramp of the plane, it seems he had people waiting for him. When your bare feet meet the tarmac, you look around, and across the lot, you see a sleek black jet, the ramp down, and two people you knew all too well waiting for you.
You ran past Stark and his group, not sparing them a second glance, “Professor? Logan!” When you reach them, you launch yourself at Logan, and he catches you with one arm around your back. He squeezes you just a little tighter than usual, but you don’t mind.
“Jesus Christ, kid. You scared the shit out of me,” Logan sets you down and puts a hand on your head. “Look a little sunburnt, too.”
“Professor, do you know what happened to me?”
Xavier hums, bringing one hand to his chin, “It seems there's more to your powers than I first thought.” He hums again, bringing a hand down to turn his wheelchair around. Before he can make it up the ramp, he pauses, “I believe someone wants to say goodbye, my dear,” he smirks.
You turn and see Stark standing a few feet away, he clears his throat, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.
Logan growls behind you, and you glare at him, but he doesn't move. Instead he steps closer to you and crosses his arms over his chest.
Rolling your eyes, you go over to Stark, “I guess this is goodbye,” you fiddle with your fingers, golden energy sparking along your hands. “It - um - it was nice to meet you.” Your sentence ends in a small question, shoulders up by your ears when you say it.
“You saved my life,” Stark scoffs, “I think you can do better than ‘it was nice to meet you’, kid.”
Something about him calling you kid, didn't sit well with you. It was different when Logan, Scott, or the other older mutants would say it. But hearing Tony Stark say it sounded wrong.
“I'm not a kid,” you mumble.
“Fiona,” Logan grunts from behind you, “it's time to go. Now.”
Well that leaves little room for anything else when Logan says ‘now’.
You make the quick decision to give Stark a hug, going to the side where of his uninjured arm.
It's an awkward side hug, and he definitely wasn't expecting it, “take care of yourself, alright?” And you're back tracking toward the Jet before Stark could respond.
***
“Again!” Logan shouts across the training yard. He has singe marks littered across his uniform, every hit you manage to land isn't enough to knock him on his ass.
And Logan is getting frustrated at your lack of focus.
“C'mon, Logan,” you pant, hands on your knees as you catch your breath. “We've been at this for hours! It's been nonstop for the last few months, I need a break.”
He growled, and you could practically feel it vibrate across the room, “You need to get a handle on your powers, girl,” he started stalking towards you.
You shook your hands out, golden energy sparking at your fingertips.
To give Logan credit where it was due, your bubbles of energy were getting stronger. The more you fight with the Adamantium-boned mutant, the sturdier the bubbles become. You could even create small defensive shield-like energy bubbles.
“Pay attention!” He shouted right before his clawed fist came at you.
On instinct, or panic, your arms shot out wide, a large golden shield appeared between Logan’s fist and your chest. You sigh in relief, only a small part of his Adamantium claws pierced the shield this time.
You could see his arm flexing, his foot shifting to push his fist forward. He was hardly straining, and you were struggling to keep the shield up. Your arms straining to keep the bubbles around your hands connected to the shield in front of you.
Logan pushed, claws breaking through your shield and it began to crack. When his fist finally connected with your shield, the force of the break exploded and threw you backward. You landed on your back, and the force knocked the wind out of you.
“I told you, kid,” Logan began stalking towards you again, “get your shit together!”
Before he could reach you, he was stopped mid stride, and he flew backwards as well. Landing on his feet and skidding to a stop.
When you sat up, you could see Jean glaring at Logan, her hand coming down from her temples.
“That's enough, Logan,” her voice is finite. There's no room for arguing.
Jean kneels down next to you and places her hand on your shoulder. Her face is full of concern when she sees a gash on your cheek. You feel the blood trickle down and bring your hand up to wipe it away.
“Ow,” you pull your fingers away, and they come away soaked in blood, “must've been from my shield.”
Jean helps you stand, a few cuts are on your uniform, small specs of blood seeping through.
“Come on, Fi, let's have Hank take a look at you,” Jean leads you out of the training room, and before the doors close behind you, she waves her hand and you hear a loud thud. Logan plummets to the floor and shouts a curse out just as the doors close.
***
Turns out, the cut on your cheek was from Logan’s claw nicking your skin. Hank had to stitch it closed, or it wouldn't heal right. All the other small cuts were from your shield shattering, but nothing some antiseptic and a few band-aids couldn't fix.
Your hands had seen better days. They took the full force of your energy breaking. They looked burned, but Hank assured you they weren't.
“It most likely occurred when the build up of force from Logan’s punch and your energy containment orbs couldn't withstand the pressure,” Hank was wrapping your hands in gauze. Careful, clawed blue fingers handle you with care. He went on to explain how to care for the injury, and if you needed help, to find him and he'll do it.
You zoned out as Hank continued to talk. The voices growing in volume outside the medical room doors caught your attention.
Hank turned his back to you as he cleaned up, and you made your way towards the door, pushing it open just a crack.
“He's being reckless with her, Professor!” Jean's hands were wildly articulating to get her point across. “She’s in there right now because Logan can't control his temper or his strength,” she huffs.
Xavier seems to sense your eyes on him, and he looks up, going to speak, but you're sure he can read your mind without even trying.
Logan is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He scoffs, “yeah, and she'll never figure out how t'unlock those Teleportin' powers unless I push 'er to do it,” he rolls his shoulders and gives the Professor a knowing look. “She asked for my help, and I'm doin’ just that.”
You open the door and step out into the hallway. You can see the group of eyes scan your body. The tank top and gym shorts Hank had you change into doing little to hide the cuts, scrapes, and bruises littered over your body.
You meet Logan’s eyes, and you notice the moment he sees the stitches on your cheek from his claws. His shoulders slump, and his arms drop to his side.
When he goes to speak, you hold up a hand, “I'm not a kid anymore,” you lift your chin just a little bit, “I appreciate you looking out for me, Jean, but I can handle myself. And Logan is right, I did ask him to help me because I knew he wouldn't hold back.”
You take a deep breath, and you feel something change in the air around you, “don't be sorry. Because I'm not,” and you step back into a crack that's formed behind you.
One second, you're staring at your friends in the Manson. You're sure you see the Professor give you a smile. Then, the next, you're in a garage. A half dozen expensive and fancy cars line the one side of the wall.
“Uuhh, how did you get in here? Who are you?” A voice says behind you. You haven't heard it in almost 5 months. “JARVIS?”
You spin around, and there stands Tony Stark in a wife beater and dark jeans. Hair a little disheveled. Some weird red and gold gauntlet adorning his right hand.
Sir, should I notify the authorities?
A disembodied voice says from around you, it makes you jump a little, fingers sparking, and then the energy dies out.
“No, it's fine, J. Fiona,” Stark's shoulders slump, and he makes his way toward you.
“Surprise?” You say, giving him little jazz hands, as much as your bandaged hands allow. You look around the garage. Behind Stark, there's a bunch of broken glass. The television on the wall talks about another attack in the Middle East.
“What happened here?”
He ignores you and brings his left hand to your cheek, right below the stitches on your left cheekbone.
“What the hell happened to you?” There's concern in his eyes, and you tilt your head to look at him.
“Training gone wrong,” you shrug. Stark picks up one of your hands by the wrist, bringing it to his face.
“And this?”
“The energy had to go somewhere,” you shrug again. Flexing your fingers, little sparks of energy radiate from the tips and travel down to where his hand is on your wrist.
Stark's eyes widened, fingers tightening a little, “What - I didn't imagine it?” You shake your head no. “What is it? How can you do that?”
You were expecting him to pull away in disgust or ask what you were. Maybe it's the genius in him that wants to figure out how your powers work.
“I'm a mutant,” that should explain everything, but his eyebrows pull together in confusion as he meets your eyes. “y’know, individuals with unexplained powers. The X-gene? I was born this way.”
Stark hums, stepping away and letting your wrist go. “Yeah, let's put a pin in that,” he takes his gauntlet off and holds up a finger as he runs up the stairs.
***
“Wow…” is all you say. Stark had his robots, or whatever they were, help him into this… suit. Different arms and parts are coming up out of the floor.
“That's amazing. You built this? What - what does it do?”
“Sit, watch. You'll see,” his tinny voice comes through the helmet on his head, and then he is off like a rocket up the ramp and out of the garage.
A moment later, the screens on the desk came to life, showing Stark's face on one screen and a HUD display of what he could see on the other.
“This - this is amazing. You're amazing! You can fly!” You laughed. You weren't new to people being able to fly. Some of your close friends could fly, but they were mutants. Stark was human. And he could fly.
Tony wouldn't admit the praise made him blush and a little flustered. He cleared his throat as his thrusters pushed him faster through the sky.
“Yeah, I'm pretty badass.”
You watched through the screens as night slowly turned to day. He cleared the Pacific Ocean in less than 10 minutes. You could hear the sonic boom from the sound barrier breaking as Stark flew faster.
Soon, he was landing at his destination. The chaos around the war-torn village quickly came to a halt as Stark used some kind of energy blasts out of his gauntlets.
Well, that looked familiar.
Just as he turned around, armed men grabbed hold of innocent villagers, the threat making your breath hitch.
“Tony…” You breathed, and he lowered his hands. Then the HUD scanned the faces of the people around him, labeling them hostile or civilians. In the next breath, small projectiles shot out of the suit and incapacitated the hostile forces.
You breathed a sigh of relief as Stark left Gulmira, but not before destroying what looked like Stark Industries labeled missiles.
***
“What was all that?” You asked.
Stark had just returned after his harrowing run in with the Air Force after his impromptu trip to Gulmira. Now, the robotic system was trying to get him out of the suit.
You rolled the chair away from the desk with a flair, pushing off and slowly coming to a stop to the side of Stark. He looked over at you with a smirk.
The robotic arms tugged and pulled, trying to get the suit off him, “Hey, ow! Watch it - ah ow!”
Well, it is a tight fit, sir.
You giggle at his discomfort, swinging the chair back and forth.
Sir, the more you struggle, the more this is going to hurt.
“Be gentle, it's my first time,” his leg was in the air as an arm tried to undo the bolts.
“Maybe you need an emergency release, Stark,” you laugh when he sends you a glare.
“What's going on here?” A voice startles you, and you jump out of the rollie chair that it gets sent backward into some cabinets.
Stark slowly turns to the woman, giving her a deadpan look, “Let's face it, this is not the worst thing you've caught me doing.”
“Are those bullet holes?” She breathes. “And who is she?” The strawberry blonde turns to you.
“Pepper - wait. Hey - ow!”
***
It took several hours for Pepper Potts to calm down, mostly because Stark was still trying to get the suit off. She left soon after, less in shock and more emotionally drained.
“I'm going to bed,” she announced and quickly left the garage.
It was quiet for a while. You stared down at your bandaged hands, fingers fiddling with the gauze. Whatever meds Hank had given you wore off a few hours ago, and the pain had slowly returned.
“Stark,” you called to him, he turned in his chair. He looked a little worse for wear, covered in grease and dark circles under his eyes.
“I should go,” you shrugged. His brows pulled together as he studied you.
“I did some reading, by the way,” Stark got up from his chair and began fiddling with the tools lining the bench. “That little X-gene of yours.”
He looked up through his lashes at you, one eyebrow raised.
You nodded, coming up to the other side of the tool bench from him.
“A lot of articles published by a Professor Charles Xavier,” he continued. “Pretty smart, your Professor. Attending Bard College at age 16. Graduating with a bachelor's degree in biology in only two years. A world-renowned geneticist with multiple Ph.D.s.
“And he'd rather teach at a school full of children. In the middle of Westchester? Never really added up. Until I met you.”
Stark had made his way around the bench to stand next to you, “what can you really do?” His eyes bounced between yours, a look of wonder in his irises.
You laugh lightly, “I'd show you if I could,” You hold your hands up. The bandages need to be changed soon. You wiggle your fingers, “all out of juice, sorry Stark.”
He studies you for a moment, leaning his hip against the table, “can you get back?”
You hum, you suppose you could. “It's different, making the portals and shooting a beam out of my hands,” You put a hand on his chest, a zap running up your arm and down your spine when you do.
Stark inhales sharply, eyes wide as he looks down at your hand on the glowing circle in his chest.
He explained to you that it was keeping him alive, keeping the shrapnel from the bomb explosion from reaching his heart. The arc, or something.
“Whoa,” you both said in unison.
The air around you is thick and charged. Whether it's from your powers sparking in the air or the closeness between the two of you, you can't be sure.
Stark leans his head down, tilting to the side to try and catch your eye, but before he can open his mouth to speak, you take a step back. Hand falling to your side as you go.
Sir, the diagnostics are finished. Seems to be multiple–
“Yea, ok JARVIS, I got it,” he cuts off his AI as he watches you back up.
“It was good to see you again, Stark,” you say, one hand coming up next to you, “stay out of trouble, ok?” A spark ignites at your fingertips. A bright tear like line appears in thin air. It opens, and it sounds like ripping paper in half.
The portal glows a golden orange like your powers, it's long enough for you to step into. You give him one last wave and a smile before you step through, the garage and Tony disappearing in the blink of an eye.
***
A week later, your cuts and the energy burns on your hands have healed almost completely.
Hank had taken the stitches on your cheek out. The gash would leave a scar, but you don't mind too much. A butterfly bandage keeps the gash closed so it can heal more.
Now, as you walk down the halls of the mansion, you're stopped by Rogue. She has a coy smile on her face.
“Have ya heard, sugah?” Her accent shines through as she nudges her clothed elbow against yours.
“Heard what? What's got you all giddy for?” You both stop near the library, her pulling you to the side like she has a secret to tell you. Well, maybe she does.
“That guy ya saved a few months back? They say he's the man in that red n’ gold suit we saw on the news the other night,” Rogue is grinning from ear to ear, her gloved hand grabs yours and pulls you further down the hall.
A few others are in the common room, crowded around the TV. Colonel Rhodes is talking about the explosion that happened the next night after you left Stark's house.
The marquee under the podium reads: STARK INDUSTRIES CEO TONY STARK TO READ A PREPARED STATEMENT TO THE PRESS IN COMING MOMENTS.
“You think he's a mutant, too?”
“No way, just some rich guy with too much time on his hands.”
There's chatter around the room, and Rogue leans into you more.
“Ya think his body turns inta’ all that shiny metal or sumthin’?”
You scoff at Rogue, and she elbows you again, giggling.
“Ya should go n’ see him,” she says quietly after a few minutes.
“What? No way would Logan let me go,” you roll your eyes at your best friend. “And he's not a mutant, Ro.”
“Says you,” she sticks her tongue out, “I won't tell him, sugah, swear.”
It takes hardly any more convincing for you to sneak out of the common room and into the library to make a portal and be where Stark is.
The sound echoes in the library, a loud rip sounds like 10 ripped pages of paper, the golden yellow portal opens, and you step through it.
You step into a hallway, you can hear chatter on your left, and you follow the noise.
It's the same room you saw on TV only moments ago back in New York. The room is filled with reporters and news crews, Rhodes is finishing up his speech and introduces Stark.
You're standing in the back, sticking out like a sore thumb with your ripped jeans and crop top. You may have borrowed Rogue's leather jacket, but you know she doesn't mind.
Your breath catches as Stark takes his place behind the podium, small bouts of conversation flair as he looks around the room. A few cameras flash, reporters raise their recorders up higher to make sure they get every detail of Stark's speech.
His eyes catch yours, and the corner of his mouth turns up a little, his lips pursed.
“Um,” he clears his throat as he looks around the room again, “it's been a while since I was in front of you. Figure I'll stick to the cards this time.”
You smile, and some people around the room chuckle. He's very personable, but you suppose he has to be.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Stark,” a woman reporter interrupts, “but do you honestly expect us to believe that that was a bodyguard in a suit that conveniently appeared–”
Stark cuts her off, “I know that it's confusing. It is one thing to question the official story, and another thing entirely to make wild accusations, or insinuate that I'm a superhero.”
“I never said you were a superhero,” she crosses her arms.
“Didn't? Well, good, because that would be outlandish and fantastic. I'm just not the hero type. Clearly. With this laundry list of character defects, all the mistakes I've made, largely public,” Stark word vomits everywhere. Rhodes leans in and whispers in his ear. Stark nods.
He holds the cards up and clears his throat, “the truth is,” he stalls, eyes roaming the flash card in his hand. He glances up and finds your eyes on him, a glint in his irises as a smirk pulls at his lips.
“I am Iron Man.”
