The whirr of machines in the apartment was constant now—soft, rhythmic, familiar. The medical interface lit up with blue light next to the bed, casting soft glows on Riri’s sleeping face. Her hair curled slightly against the pillow, wild and untouched, her arm wrapped tight in a brace designed by her own hands. You stood by the doorway, silent, holding a mug of her favorite mint tea, even though it had long gone cold.

She stirred only slightly. Painkillers kept her down most days. That battle with A.I.M. had been a hellstorm—three fractured ribs, a torn ligament, cracked tech, and a nearly totaled Ironheart suit. But the worst wound had been the one no X-ray could capture: the moment she tried to stop you from getting hurt.

"I told you to run, dumbass," she’d whispered, slurring, the moment you’d cradled her in your arms under the rubble.

But you didn’t run. You never would.

"We're dating and living together , dumbass ."

Now, days later, you were the one lacing up the boots.

Her workshop had once been a chaos of wires, armor plates, and holograms; now it was a sacred space. And tonight, under the sharp blue light of the arc reactor she left humming in standby, you stood before the armor that had taken weeks to build in secret—not Ironheart, not War Machine.

Peace Machine.

It was sleeker, more rounded, less threatening in silhouette, the matte silver paint lined with soft gold and navy blue. The chest reactor pulsed, softer than Rhodey's hard reds or Tony's blazing white. This one… this one breathed. You weren’t a soldier. You weren’t even an engineer. But you had Riri, and that was enough.

You stared at your reflection in the faceplate before sealing it shut. Her initials were engraved at the wrist joint. Just a whisper of her, there with you always. The HUD flickered alive.

"Diagnostics clean," came her old prototype A.I.—a back-up voice she once programmed in her own tone. “Don't crash my baby.”

You snorted. “Can’t promise that.”

Outside the window, the city waited—sirens in the distance, unrest climbing again in the dark corners she used to patrol. But tonight, you would be the one flying.

You turned once more to the bedroom. She was still there, curled slightly, breathing shallow, eyes fluttering in sleep. You crossed the room and kissed her forehead gently. Her skin was warm. Strong. Still healing. You squeezed her hand, and even in sleep, she squeezed back.

"I’ll be back before you wake," you whispered, your voice cracking. "And when I do, it'll be to show you that your dream didn’t fall apart with your bones."

The suit’s jets hummed as you stepped onto the terrace. Wind curled around your body like memory, like fear, like a promise. Your first launch was messy. Uneven. You barely kept from crashing into the next rooftop.

But up you went.

The night cracked open, and Peace Machine flew.

You weren’t a replacement.

You were a continuation.

And somewhere in her dreams, Riri smiled—because she knew you’d fly just fine.