New MCU Ficlet: Two Roads Diverged (PG-13)

Summary:

June 21, 1970.

June 16, 2019.

Two fathers. Two paths.

--*--

Or: Tony Stark's first Father's Day.

--*--

Two Roads Diverged:

“Maria! Maria, for God’s sake!”

Another high-pitched scream rang through the mansion, and the pencil in Howard’s hand snapped in half with a crack.

One hour. The racket hadn’t stopped for a solid hour at least, and it was disturbing Howard’s focus — and his composure. Were they doing nothing to quiet his boy? Were they truly this incompetent?

“Maria!” Howard shouted once more. Planting his palms on his desk, he rose from his seat, his jaw set.

Just then, Maria appeared at the doorway of the study, harried, hollow-eyed, her hair hanging loose and limp around her face. “Please don’t make things worse,” she pleaded, gently bouncing the tightly swaddled baby in her arms. “We’ve tried everything. Tony just won’t settle down.” 

As if to confirm Maria’s words, Tony sucked in a breath and released an ear-splitting howl, his face flushing all the way up to the duck-fluff of dark hair that adorned his crown.

Howard huffed in aggravation. “Then go somewhere else,” he gritted. “These plans need to be finished by Monday morning.”

“It’s the middle of the night, Howard. Where do you suggest we go?”

“I don’t know. On a drive? What difference does it make?” He waved a dismissive hand. “Just take Tony somewhere that’s not here.”

Once Maria and the nanny had departed in the Lincoln, Howard twisted open a bottle of scotch and poured himself a shot to celebrate the blessed silence. Quaffing the drink with a grimace, he then leaned forward and rubbed at his aching temples. 

This is not how he imagined spending the early hours of his first Father’s Day.

--*--

“Boss? Boss? Morgan appears to be in distress.”

Tony's eyes popped open, and he groaned into his pillowcase. Alas, he’d been having a rather pleasant dream: Pep and he were floating on inflatable rafts in the middle of the lake, holding hands and getting properly toasted by the early summer sun. To be pulled from such a vision by FRIDAY’s insistent summons and Morgan’s accompanying sobs was, needless to say, a profound disappointment.

“Want me to go?” Pepper murmured beside him.

“Nope.” Tony dragged himself upright, wiped a thin rivulet of drool off his chin with the back of his hand, and swung his legs off the bed. “Told you. My turn.”

Stumbling blearily into the nursery a minute later, Tony was hit with a stench that almost knocked him on his ass. “Jesus,” he coughed. “Guess I can’t blame you for fussing.” 

Gingerly, Tony reached down into the crib and lifted his daughter, trying his best not to touch anything that had been soiled — and, unfortunately, failing utterly. He coughed again, choking on the bile that flooded the back of his throat.

None of that, Stark. This isn’t your first rodeo.

Tony swallowed hard and attempted a pose of nonchalance. “It’s okay, Miss Morgan. It’s just poop, right? No big deal. Nothing a quick bath won’t fix.”

“Tony?” Pepper called out from the other room. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, we’re good, hon. Just a diaper blowout.”

A beat. “Need help?”

“No, go back to sleep. I’ve got it under control.” Maybe. I think. If I breathe through my mouth.

And indeed, Tony did manage to strip Morgan down and lay her carefully in her bathing chair without completely losing it (though admittedly, he had lunged for the trash bin a few times without result). Score one for daddy! Even better, as soon as he began to gently scrub Morgan down with her baby shampoo, she instantly calmed. Score two!

Tony started to hum a dimly remembered lullaby. The circumstances of this moment weren’t exactly ideal, but the truth is, it no longer mattered. He loved bathtime with Morgan. He loved singing to her. He loved kissing her tiny fingers and her pink, stubby toes. He loved it so much, in fact, that he hardly ever let Pepper take on the duty.

“Baby hog,” Pep had teased one day with a smile.

“That’s my name,” Tony had retorted, also grinning. “Don’t wear it out.”

Once Morgan was clean, Tony wrapped her up like a burrito in a soft blue towel and carried her back to her room. His nose told him he needed to put Morgan’s bedding in the wash as well, but screw it: that could wait for a little while. Sinking into the cherry rocking chair by the window, he watched the sunrise through the trees with a gratitude as deep and abiding as anything else he had ever felt. 

Honestly, Tony could think of worse ways to start his first Father’s Day.

--*--

When he felt the hand on his shoulder, Howard nearly jumped three feet in the air. Consumed as he was by his current project, he hadn’t noticed he was no longer alone.

“Come to dinner, dear,” Maria said. “Jarvis made your favorite. And it would be nice if you spent at least some time with your own family today.”

Howard pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Maria. I’m in the middle of a critical set of calculations.” He shrugged away from his wife’s touch and walked across the room to retrieve another sheet of paper. “Just have Jarvis bring me my plate.”

Howard thought he’d made himself perfectly clear. Thus, when Maria spoke again, he felt irritation flare in his gut. “Howard, please. Your three-week-old son is waiting.”

“None of that,” Howard snapped, stern.

“Why not? Don’t you love him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I love him.” Howard gestured to the blueprints and documents that were scattered across his drafting table. “What do you think all of this is? A hobby? This is for Tony, you understand? What sort of father would I be if I didn’t secure his legacy?”

“And what sort of father are you if you won’t even hold your own child on Father’s Day?”

Howard sighed. Maria’s sentiment would be the death of him before too long. “Twenty minutes. That’s all I can promise.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Presently, Howard reclined in his lounge chair, puffed on a cigar, and looked down at the infant Maria had deposited in his lap. Tony was a handsome boy — when his mouth wasn’t twisted up with rage, that is. There was a light of curiosity in his expression that was wholly beyond expectations for a child so recently born. Tony, it seemed, was already working out the world and making it his.

To Howard, Tony’s preternatural awareness meant unlimited potential — and he would do whatever it took to see that potential come to fruition. After all, the future of the Stark name depended on it.

--*--

Tony rolled over, yanking the sheet up over his face. “Five more minutes, Mommy,” he mumbled grumpily. Seriously: sometimes even a guy needed his beauty sleep — especially after being roused at the crack of dawn by his own kid’s bowels. 

“Uh uh. Nope,” Pepper responded lightly, tugging on his arm. “Time to get up. Rhodey and Nebula are waiting for you downstairs.”

At that, Tony popped his head out of his hidey-hole. “Did Rhodey get the onion rings?”

“Sorry, honey. Casey’s Burger Palace is still serving the limited menu.”

“Damn it,” Tony said, but there was no real heat in the curse. At this point, he was used to the absence of such luxuries. “Well, at least we still get to have burgers.”

“Of course. Now go fix your hair. And drop a nickel in the Captain America jar while you’re at it.”

“Damn it.”

“Oops. Make that a dime.”

After making himself semi-presentable, Tony jogged down the stairs and skidded into the kitchen. Upon seeing his guests, he immediately brightened. “Meany! How’s the arm holding up?”

“It’s fully operational.”

Tony nodded. He’d offered Nebula another full tune-up months ago. He didn’t expect anything less from his own work.

They sat down around the table with their drinks. For her part, Nebula sniffed thoughtfully at the ginger ale in her glass. Then, evidently deciding it wasn’t toxic, she took a hesitant sip. One corner of her mouth twitched up slightly at the taste. 

“So — taking naps in the middle of the day now, old man?” Rhodey asked with a smirk.

“Careful, War Machine ‘68. If I’m old, what does that make you?”

“Touché.”

“Is Natashlie coming?”

Rhodey sobered. “Sorry, buddy. We got word of another Children of Thanos outfit a few days ago. She went to France with Okoye to investigate.”

“I thought you took care of those freaks weeks ago.” Tony tapped his finger on his coffee mug, frowning.

“So did I. Apparently, they’re a lot more organized than we realized.”

“Think they’re congregating on the dark web somewhere?”

“The FBI’s looking into it.”

“It’s difficult to understand,” Nebula observed with a glower. “Why would your fellow Terrans choose to worship my father when he has caused so much death?”

Rhodey shrugged. “You got me. But my mama’s old church in Philly has also been packed to the rafters every Sunday for the past several months — even without half the population. Maybe people are just trying to make it all mean something.” He elbowed Tony in the ribs. “Hell, even this heathen risked the wrath of God for Morgan’s christening.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I? And I’m not even crispy around the edges.”

“Lo, He is merciful!”

For a few minutes, Tony and Rhodey continued trading barbs while Nebula watched, her face radiating perplexity and amusement in equal measure. Eventually, though, Pepper interrupted the merriment by bringing Morgan into the room.

“Ah, if it isn’t my stinky princess!” Tony crowed, his hands out. Pepper handed Morgan over, and Tony blew a raspberry on his baby’s belly.

Rhodey exchanged a look with Nebula. “Stinky?”

“You weren’t here this morning.”

“Something tells me I should be thankful.”

“Okay,” Pepper cut in. “Why don’t we take this outside and enjoy the beautiful weather?”

“Good idea, Pep. Hey, Blue, would you like to hold Morgan while I get the blanket?”

Everything ground to a halt.

“Are you certain that’s wise, Stark?”

Tony took in Nebula’s posture and, in a flash, recognized what had to be going through her mind. Could hands that strangled helpless throats also hold a Terran offspring?

“Sure. I trust you implicitly.” Nebula shook her head, backing up slightly — but Tony stopped her before she could complete her retreat. “Hey, listen. It’s okay. I’m the Merchant of Death, and I can do it. I’m sure you can too.” He laid his daughter in Nebula’s arms, guiding her so she could correctly support Morgan’s head. “There,” Tony said with warm finality. “See? You’re a natural.”

Nebula looked down, her expression unreadable. Morgan, meanwhile, waved one clenched, seemingly triumphant fist.

When the impromptu Father’s Day picnic concluded later that evening, Tony joined Nebula on the porch to take in the view. At the edge of the lake, down by the dock, a few fireflies blinked in the gathering twilight. Before Thanos, Tony knew, there would’ve been many more — but the few that survived seemed determined to carry on with the business of finding their mates.

“Do all Terrans celebrate ‘Father’s Day’ this way?” Nebula finally queried after a long, companionable silence.

“No, not every nation. There are many traditions — and many dates.” Tony pushed himself up and sat on the railing. “And to be honest, I always thought it was just another excuse to sell greeting cards. Not all dads are worthy of the honor.” He absently thumped his heel against a support post. “But I guess that’s not something I have to tell you.”

The fireflies continued to dance. Resilient little fuckers. Just like the rest of us.  

“You are worthy, Stark.”

Tony stopped swinging his leg, his eyes suddenly burning. “God, I hope so,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “There’s nothing I’ve wanted more in my life. And you know the crazy thing? Until just before your psycho pops showed up, I didn’t want it at all. Didn’t think I was cut out for it.”

“But you’re learning.”

“Every day.”

“And I’m learning. Because of you. And Colonel Rhodes. And the others.”

“Always.”

“And when she is older, you will teach Morgan what you know. And she will be a Terran hero, like her father.”

Tony didn’t know if that’s what he wanted for his girl. He wasn’t sure he wanted Morgan to follow in his footsteps. Mostly, he just wanted her to be happy. Mostly, he just wanted her to feel loved. If he could accomplish that much, perhaps he could face anything the future held.

--*--

At midnight, right on schedule, Tony began to cry uncontrollably. “Colic,” Mrs. Butterfield concluded. “That must be the reason, Mr. Stark. We can’t find anything else wrong with him.”

“Well, handle it. Find the remedy.”

And before the nanny could respond, Howard shut the door, shoved cotton in his ears, and returned to his pressing work. After all, he had a company to run.

--*--

“Tony?”

“Hmm?”

Pepper wrapped her arms around Tony’s waist and rested her chin on his shoulder. “Why don’t you take a shower and lie down? I think I can take it from here.”

Beneath Tony’s hand, Morgan still whined, not quite ready to go down for the night. Tony related. He didn’t want to go to bed either. He wanted to stay right here, in Morgan’s moonlit bedroom, his fingers on his daughter’s chubby belly.

“Tony.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s okay. I promise she’ll be here in the morning.”