Breaking the Cycle, Part Two
Summary:
One morning in November, Tony's honeymoon ends: Morgan hits her "no" phase. And as it turns out, navigating discipline is far more difficult than Tony's audiobooks make it out to be — especially when you have daddy issues a mile wide.
ICYMI: Part One
-*-
2
“No!”
Tony lightly clunked his forehead against the wall. He wanted to go to the store before Morgan’s afternoon nap — yet he was being stymied, once again, by his scowling baby and all twenty-two pounds of her outright defiance.
“Boss, if I may,” FRIDAY cut in, her disembodied voice suddenly filling the living room. “Having observed your difficulties with young Morgan this morning, I have taken the liberty of searching both the internet and your own files for relevant information on child development. Shall I report the results?”
“Sure,” muttered Tony, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why not?”
“It is possible Morgan is testing you. Experts agree that this is typical for children of her age as they become more physically independent.
“Oh.” A beat. “Right.”
Fuck, I’m a moron, was Tony’s first thought. God, where the hell did the time go? was his second.
Yes: the world had been a mess since before Morgan’s birth. Yes: Tony had struggled through one kidnapping, one stint in rehab, and three significant illnesses within that same time frame. Yes: he’d fretted through the entirety of Pepper’s pregnancy, certain that he would never be good enough to be a proper father. But despite all of this? Tony had nonetheless found Morgan’s infancy shockingly easy. Until now, all she’d needed was her father’s attention and care — things Tony was more than happy to give. Changing diapers, warming bottles, drawing lukewarm baths? Some missed sleep aside, those duties were clear — and strangely enjoyable.
But now? Now Morgan was becoming her own little lady. And give Tony some credit: idiot savant though he was, he didn’t miss all the signs. He’d noticed this past summer, for example, that blue was Morgan’s favorite color and had repainted the nursery to reflect that revelation. He’d also discovered that Morgan was fascinated with frogs, snakes, and other creepy-crawlies and had consequently set up a spectacular critter farm in the garage beside his fabricator, reasoning that putting Morgan’s various finds in glass enclosures would prevent her from popping them into her mouth. (Tony shuddered and swallowed back nausea each time he remembered the half-chewed slug Morgan had grabbed one day while his back was turned.) And he knew that Morgan hated green beans, shared her mother’s strawberry allergy — and loved flying. (That last, in fact, was their special secret.)
In short, Tony knew - and adored - Morgan’s singularity. Yet a part of him still dreaded the separation to come. A part of him doubted that he was ready - truly ready - to tackle this next stage. A part of him wanted to retreat, to embrace denial — to hold on tight to his precious koala and never let her go.
Maybe that’s why FRIDAY’s hypothesis hadn’t even occurred to him.
“Would you like to review the bookmarks now? I have flagged several advice columns —”
Jolted from his reverie, Tony dismissed FRIDAY’s offer with a wave of his hand. “No, it’s okay. You don’t have to give me everything now. Just — maybe help me get her shoes on?”
“Several sources suggest giving your child a choice. This, it is said, will allow Morgan some control over her own fate.”
Tony nodded. “Makes sense to me.” Hell, he could relate. That’s why he’d spent the first twenty years of his adult life avoiding responsibility — because it had been forced upon him from the moment he built his first circuit board. “So what’ll it be, little miss? Should we put your shoes on now or play for fifteen minutes and then put your shoes on?”
“Play!” Morgan chirped with a mispronounced L before waddling away with a giggle.
“Yeah, I agree. Shoes suck.”
Shucking his sneakers, Tony dropped to the floor and crawled after Morgan. Snagging her by the shirt, he pulled her close and blew two long raspberries on the bottoms of her feet.
Morgan squealed with delight, her earlier displeasure completely forgotten..
-*-
The first time Tony had stopped by this particular local market, he’d inadvertently created a scene. No one had expected Iron Man to make an appearance at an out-of-the-way place in upstate New York; as a result, it had taken more than an hour to politely shake off the lookie-loos and actually get his shopping done.
Today, more than two years later, no one blinked an eye when Tony strode through the automatic doors with Morgan in tow and claimed one of the child-friendly carts. Instead, Mrs. Silver graced him with one friendly smile before she went back to restocking the magazine stand.
“Okay, daughter of mine,” Tony began, crouching down to Morgan’s level. “Would you like to ride in the blue car or walk?” Giving Morgan two options had already worked once. Why not attempt to replicate the experiment?
“Walk!”
“Fair enough, jelly bean. But stay where I can see you. Deal?”
“Deal!”
And with that, Morgan tucked her thumb in her mouth and toddled down the first aisle. She opened up a several yard head start before she turned around and beckoned Tony forward with a questioning glance. “Yep, I’m coming,” Tony said, chuckling. “Just waiting on you to lead the way.”
For the next fifteen minutes, daddy and daughter worked as a team. Tony called out items from the list he knew Morgan would recognize — and if she could reach them, Morgan brought them back to Tony’s waiting hands. The game allowed Tony to kill multiple birds with one stone. It was a way to teach the precocious Stark 2.0 things like her letters and her colors. (“Can you find the tomato sauce? It’s red and begins with a t-t T.”) It was a way to keep Morgan entertained during what was, in reality, an incredibly boring errand. And lo and behold, it made Tony happy too to watch Morgan spread her wings and demonstrate how much she already knew.
Yep: this was shaping up to be a pretty good day after all —
— until, that is, they hit the cereal aisle.
“Okay, Morguna. Can you find the Cheerios? That’s the yellow box with the heart.”
Morgan brought back a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. “Want!” she insisted.
“Uh.” Tony’s heart rate climbed — just a little. “Sorry, kiddo. Not this time. But you like Cheerios too, right? I know you do.”
Morgan stomped her foot. “Want!” she yelled, bumping the Cinnamon Toast Crunch against Tony’s legs.
Tony looked around once, suddenly self-conscious — then knelt, hoping against hope that he could deescalate the situation. “Bunny, I love you dearly, but you’re forgetting your manners.” He stopped. Wracked his brain. And then, in desperation, he snagged a nearby box of Raisin Bran. “We don’t have to get Cheerios, though. We can get this if you want. Your choice: Cheerios or Raisin Bran?”
“No!”
With all the force she could muster, Morgan tried to shove the Raisin Bran back onto the shelf where Tony had found it. Several boxes of cereal spilled onto the floor on impact.
“No! No! No!”
Her face now crimson with rage, Morgan knocked a few more boxes onto the floor and collapsed, her no’s degenerating into loud, hitching sobs.
Tony, for his part, was frozen in place.
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