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 // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four
-*-
5
“Pep and I predicted you’d say something like that.”
It was Friday afternoon. On Pepper’s suggestion, Tony had left Morgan with their nearest neighbor and had flown up to Dr. Nolan’s mountain sanctuary for a much needed time out. Thanks to an approaching front, the trip had been rather turbulent, but the gloomy clouds complemented his contemplative mood — and he’d welcomed the challenge of piloting his armor through the buffeting winds.
Also welcome? Nolan’s cheery fire — and his cribbage board.
“Good!” Nolan bellowed with enthusiasm, slapping his knee with his remaining hand. “That’s the idea. If ya weren’t able to label yer own screwy thinkin’ by now, I’d have ta consider a different line o’ work.” He flipped a card onto the table between them. “Boom! Pair o’ threes.”
Tony returned the doc’s smile with a wan one of his own — then shifted his gaze to the window, where a denuded tree was tapping and scraping against the glass. “Right. So I understand I’m not actually a shit father. But - and maybe this is just my anxiety talking once again - but I feel like that’s not enough.”
“Ya wanna find that fool-proof method — somethin’ that’ll help ya strike the perfect balance between settin’ boundaries an’ lettin’ yer squirt breathe.”
“Got it in one.” Tony laid down a nine. “Fifteen two.”
“I get it, Stark. I do. Ya were barely outta diapers when ya were asked to be Mr. Man — ta represent the family name. Makes sense you’d wanna back off when it comes to yer own kid.” Nolan brandished his own nine of hearts and advanced his peg. “Unfortunately, if I’ve got ya dead in my sights, there ain’t any advice I can offer ya that ya haven’t rustled up fer yerself.”
“Damn it. Go.”
“And this here seven makes 31 for another two.”
Nolan was now twenty points ahead of Tony on the board. Tony glowered at the face cards in his hand. Sue him, but he hated losing — almost as much as he hated not knowing what to do.
“But let’s try lookin’ at this another way: instead of obsessin’ over what ya don’t have, why not obsess over what ya do. For one thing, ya have a wicked sense of humor. Still can’t get over how ya brushed off that sprained ankle a couple months back.”
“It was either that or cry, Doc. That hurt like a bitch.”
Nolan guffawed. “Yeah, I’m sure it did! Never seen a foot turn like that in my life. Not on a level two trail at any rate.” He winked. “And I’m just as sure ya developed that defense mechanism t’ survive bein’ the scrawniest fella in classes fulla kids several years yer senior. But defense mechanism or no, that’s still somethin’ ya can use. When Morgan starts pushin’ ya, find somethin’ funny in the situation and laugh.”
“Like the fact that baby powder puffed out of Morgan’s vents when the heat kicked on this morning?” After a momentary flash of exasperation, Tony had chuckled at the sheer ridiculousness of his lot.
“That’s the ticket. And remember this too: ya love her. To an extraordinary, walk-barefoot-through-the-snow degree. You’ve even rearranged yer work-life balance to see to her needs. Which means ya shouldn’t have any trouble showering her with all the positive attention in the world when she isn’t crossin’ the line.”
“True.”
“The upshot here is that ya ain’t Howard. You’d drop everythin’ - even yer life, if it ever came to that - fer that girl. So listen to yer missus and take it easy on yerself before ya work yerself up to another coronary.”
Tony played the next card — and thought.
-*-
Only a few kids were running around the village playground the following day. And fuck, Tony understood why. Though the sky was a brilliant sapphire, he could no longer feel his face after an hour watching Morgan digging holes in the sandbox with a red plastic shovel. Needless to say, he was grateful it was just about nap time.
“Okay, peanut,” he rasped, sniffing a bit. “I think we need to head home. I’m sure you can resume your archaeological dig another time.”
“No!”
Goody. Here we go again.
Morgan had been an angel at the ice cream parlor. Sure: her shirt was now liberally stained with chocolate. But she hadn’t fussed or demanded an extra scoop, so Tony considered the entire visit a win.
It figured his good fortune would finally run out.
“Hey, I get it,” he said, dropping to his creaky knees and affecting a breezy tone. “Daddy doesn’t like being interrupted mid-discovery either. But oh no, what’s this?” He bopped Morgan’s nose. “Did my sweet birdie’s beak just break off like an icicle?”
“No!”
“Not buyin’ it, huh?” Tony rocked back, sitting on his heels. “Well, would you believe Daddy’s about to turn completely into a snowman?”
“No!”
“Yes! Just add the carrot and call me Frosty.”
Morgan lobbed her shovel at Tony’s whiskered chin. “No!”
Tony felt it again — that upwelling of anger. That irascibility. But this time, he recognized it for what it was. It was another one of Howard’s unwanted legacies — one he could discard with all the others.
So he did. He took in Morgan’s pink, pinched little face — and he cracked up. Because while Morgan did just earn herself two minutes in the naughty corner for hitting, Tony was suddenly certain, deep in his soul where his hope lay, that it wasn’t that serious — that their relationship would outlast the terrible twos and come out stronger on the other end.
Still chortling, he enveloped Morgan’s sticky hand with his own and gently tugged her to her feet. “Okay, young lady. It’s now Daddy’s turn to double down.”
“No!”
Morgan tried to twist herself out of Tony’s grasp — but Tony, now buoyant with inspiration, held her fast, spinning her in a sloppy circle. “And Brian Johnson and Jessica Catalang take the gold!” he cheered, drawing quizzical looks from two mothers who sat huddled in their parkas on a nearby bench.
Let them look, Shellhead. This time, you’ve got it nailed.
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