Chapter Text
Tony Stark had seen strange things in his kitchen.
Robots. Aliens. Gods. Bruce Banner eating peanut butter directly from the jar at four in the morning.
The half-dressed man standing beside his daughter at seven-fifteen on a Sunday morning should not have ranked particularly high on the list.
It did.
The man was tall enough that Tony noticed him before he noticed Y/N, which was unfortunate, because Y/N was significantly less alarming. She sat on the marble counter with one bare foot tucked beneath her, wearing an oversized black T-shirt and last night’s makeup. Her hair had been gathered into something resembling a knot at the back of her head, though several pieces had escaped around her face. One heel rested on the floor beneath her. The other was nowhere in sight.
She held a bowl of cereal between her knees.
The man beside her wore dark jeans, an unbuttoned dress shirt, and the unmistakably haunted expression of someone who had just realized whose kitchen he was standing in.
Tony stopped in the doorway.
The man stopped attempting to button his shirt.
Y/N continued eating.
“Morning,” she said.
Tony looked at her.
Then at him.
Then back at her.
“Who is this?”
Y/N glanced beside her as though she had forgotten they weren’t alone.
“Oh. That’s Ryan.”
The man’s face fell.
“Ethan.”
Y/N closed one eye.
“Shit.”
Tony slowly shut both of his.
For one hopeful second, he considered the possibility that this was a stress-induced hallucination. He had slept for twenty-three minutes, after all. Forty if he counted the time he had spent lying on his back while his mind cheerfully catalogued all the ways his latest design might explode.
Hallucinations were possible.
Potentially preferable.
When he opened his eyes again, Ethan was still there.
Y/N held the cereal box toward him.
“Do you want some?”
“No.”
His answer came much too quickly.
“Probably smart,” Tony said. “The milk’s expired.”
Y/N checked the carton sitting beside her.
“It’s not.”
“I was talking to Ethan.”
Ethan nodded like this made sense.
Y/N lifted another spoonful to her mouth.
Tony stared at her until she looked up.
“What?”
“What?”
“That’s what I asked.”
“No, you said, ‘What?’ like I’m the one doing something confusing.”
“You brought a stranger into my home.”
“He’s not a stranger.”
“His name came as a surprise to you.”
“I was close.”
“You were not remotely close.”
“They both have vowels.”
Ethan cleared his throat.
“I should probably—”
“Yeah,” Tony said.
Y/N pointed her spoon at him. “You don’t have to leave because he’s being weird.”
“He absolutely has to leave.”
“It’s fine.” Ethan collected his jacket from the back of a chair. “I’ve got—I have somewhere to be.”
Y/N’s eyebrows rose. “At seven in the morning?”
Tony looked at her in disbelief.
She had the decency to wince.
“Right. Sorry.”
Ethan gave her an awkward smile that she returned easily, apparently unbothered by the fact that she had assigned him an entirely new identity less than a minute earlier.
Tony was bothered enough for both of them.
He stepped aside when Ethan approached the doorway, but not far. Ethan turned slightly to fit through the available space.
“Mr. Stark.”
“Ethan.”
The kid looked almost relieved that someone had gotten it right.
Then Tony leaned closer.
“You’ve got about thirty seconds to get into that elevator before I decide to ask for your last name.”
Ethan moved with surprising speed.
Y/N watched him disappear around the corner.
“That was rude.”
“He seemed nice.”
“You threatened him.”
“I gave him thirty seconds.”
“You implied that something would happen after thirty seconds.”
“Something would’ve happened. I would’ve asked for his last name.”
“And then?”
“I would’ve researched him.”
“That isn’t normal.”
“Neither is forgetting the name of someone who spent the night.”
Y/N set her bowl beside her.
“Don’t.”
It was a small change.
Her voice didn’t rise. Her expression barely shifted. But the humor disappeared from the room so quickly that Tony nearly regretted the words before she had finished speaking.
Nearly.
“Don’t what?”
“Do that.”
“You’re going to have to narrow it down. I’ve done a lot in the last five minutes.”
“Make it something it isn’t.”
“You brought some guy home and didn’t know his name.”
“I knew his name.”
“You called him Ryan.”
“I met a Ryan last night.”
“That is not helping your case.”
“I don’t have a case.” Y/N hopped down from the counter. “I’m not on trial.”
She carried her bowl to the sink. There were faint red marks beneath the hem of her shirt where her dress had pressed against her skin. Tony looked away from them with the speed of someone avoiding direct eye contact with the sun.
He focused instead on the clock above the refrigerator.
Seven-seventeen.
He had been awake all night, and Y/N had only just come home.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to decide which of those things should worry him more.
“What time did you get here?”
“A little while ago.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I wasn’t watching the clock.”
“FRIDAY?”
“Don’t,” Y/N warned.
Tony ignored her. “What time did Y/N return to the building?”
There was a brief silence.
“My access to Miss Stark’s residential tracking data is currently unavailable,” FRIDAY said.
Tony looked toward the ceiling.
Then slowly back at his daughter.
Y/N rinsed her bowl.
“You disabled FRIDAY?”
“Disabled is a very dramatic word.”
“You blocked her access to the elevators.”
“Only my elevator use.”
“And the lobby cameras?”
She placed the bowl in the dishwasher. “Those too.”
“Hallway?”
“Obviously.”
“Why is that obvious?”
“Because otherwise blocking the elevator would be pointless.”
Tony stared at her.
Y/N shut the dishwasher and leaned against the counter, utterly unimpressed.
There were moments—more of them lately—when looking at her was like finding a photograph of himself that he didn’t remember anyone taking.
It wasn’t only the dark eyes or the shape of her mouth. She had inherited enough from her mother that no one could mistake Y/N for a feminine copy of Tony. She was softer around the edges. Prettier, though Tony suspected violence would occur if he ever used that particular word to compare them.
It was the expression.
That calm, infuriating certainty that she had already considered every possible objection and found all of them beneath her.
Tony knew it well.
He had worn it for most of his adult life.
“You hacked my security system to sneak a stranger into the Tower.”
“I adjusted the permissions.”
“Those permissions exist to keep you safe.”
“Those permissions exist because you like knowing everything.”
“It’s my building.”
“It’s my home.”
That stopped him.
Not because he didn’t have an answer.
Tony always had an answer.
Usually several.
But Y/N was watching him now. Not with anger. Not yet. She was simply waiting to see which answer he chose.
He could tell her she lived there because he allowed it.
The sentence assembled itself automatically, a missile already aimed at its target.
He disarmed it before it left his mouth.
“It can be both,” he said instead.
Her shoulders loosened by an almost imperceptible degree.
Tony noticed because noticing things about Y/N had become something of an obsession lately.
It had not always been.
That was the problem.
“Where were you last night?”
“At a party.”
“Whose?”
“A friend’s.”
“Name?”
She gave him a pointed look.
“Different Ryan.”
“Cute.”
“Thank you.”
“I meant the answer.”
“I know.”
“Where was the party?”
“Brooklyn.”
“Brooklyn’s large.”
“So is your trust complex.”
Tony took a breath through his nose.
There had been a time when Y/N told him about parties.
Not because she was required to. Because she wanted to.
She would call from her mother’s house and give him all the details he had not asked for: who had kissed whom, which girl had cried in the bathroom, why the host’s parents were definitely getting divorced. Tony would keep working with the phone on speaker, offering commentary while his hands moved through the machinery in front of him.
He had known every scandal and almost none of the names.
He hadn’t known which houses had parents home.
He hadn’t known how she got there.
He hadn’t known how she got back.
At the time, that had felt like trust.
Now it looked uncomfortably similar to neglect.
“Did you drink?”
“Yes.”
“Did Ethan drive?”
“No.”
“You drove?”
Her expression hardened. “I took a car.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I didn’t drive.”
“Who did?”
“Mia.”
The answer arrived without hesitation.
Tony knew Mia. Barely. Long dark hair, quick smile, criminally high heels. She had been around often enough that FRIDAY recognized her without requiring clearance from him.
“Was Mia drinking?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because I was with her.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“She doesn’t drink when she’s driving.”
“You expect me to take that on faith?”
“I expect you to believe that I’m not an idiot.”
“I don’t think you’re an idiot.”
“Really? Because this entire conversation feels a lot like—”
“I think you’re eighteen.”
“And?”
“And eighteen-year-olds are idiots.”
She laughed once, but there was nothing amused in it.
“Good talk.”
Y/N turned toward the hallway.
Tony reached out and caught her elbow before he could think better of it.
She looked at his hand.
Tony released her immediately.
“Hey.”
“I’m tired.”
“I’m trying to talk to you.”
“No. You’re interrogating me because you saw a boy in the kitchen.”
“A boy whose name you didn’t know.”
“I knew his name.”
“Could’ve fooled Ethan.”
Her jaw tightened.
Tony knew he should stop.
He also knew he wouldn’t.
“Is this normal?”
“What?”
“Guys spending the night.”
Y/N’s eyebrows rose. “You really want to have this conversation?”
“No. I would rather remove my own arc reactor with a kitchen knife.”
“Then we finally agree on something.”
“But if you’re bringing people here—”
“People?”
“Men.”
“Oh, God.”
“Boys.”
“That somehow made it worse.”
“Y/N.”
“What exactly do you want to know?” She folded her arms. “Whether we used protection? Whether I get tested? Whether I knew him before last night? How many people I’ve slept with? What?”
Tony wanted none of those answers.
He wanted all of them.
He wanted to return to seven-fourteen that morning and take the other entrance into the kitchen.
Mostly, he wanted the sudden, sick feeling beneath his ribs to stop.
It wasn’t only Ethan. Ethan was simply a six-foot-two manifestation of the fact that Y/N had an entire life Tony could not see.
He didn’t know the parties she attended.
He didn’t know the people she trusted.
He didn’t know how often men left her room before he woke up.
He didn’t know when she had learned to disable FRIDAY without setting off the secondary alarm.
He didn’t know whether she had been doing any of it for weeks or months or years.
Tony Stark knew how to monitor threats on six continents simultaneously.
He did not know his daughter.
“Do you even like him?” he asked.
For the first time, Y/N looked caught off guard.
“What?”
“Ethan. Did you like him?”
“I liked him fine.”
“You didn’t know his name.”
“Would you let that go?”
“No.”
“He knew what it was.”
“What was it?”
Her expression closed again.
“None of your business.”
“Everything that happens under my roof is my business.”
“Then I’ll go to his place next time.”
The answer was immediate.
So was Tony’s regret.
“Nope. Hate that more.”
“Great.” Y/N stepped away. “Then I guess there isn’t an option you like.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want.”
“Actually, it kind of does.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“I’m eighteen.”
“And living in my home.”
“Our home,” she corrected.
There it was again.
Tony felt as though he had stepped onto the same mine twice.
“Our home,” he conceded. “Which means there are rules.”
“Since when?”
The question landed quietly.
That made it worse.
Y/N stood several feet away from him, barefoot and tired, yesterday’s mascara smudged beneath her eyes.
Tony could remember teaching her to count cards before he could remember enforcing a bedtime.
He had put her behind the wheel of a car when she was eleven.
At twelve, he had shown her how to get through the Tower’s old security system because she’d complained it took too long to reach the workshop.
At thirteen, he’d sent a limousine when he forgot to collect her from school.
At fourteen, he’d taken her to Monaco for the weekend and neglected to inform her mother until they were already in the air.
At fifteen, he’d missed her birthday dinner and sent her a diamond bracelet expensive enough to cover a year of college tuition.
At sixteen, he’d let her drink champagne at a New Year’s party because forbidding it would only make her sneak some.
Then Afghanistan happened.
He came home with a hole in his chest and a list of regrets long enough to stretch across the Atlantic.
Y/N was near the top.
Tony had thought becoming better would matter more than the fact that he had once been worse.
It did matter.
Just not in the clean, redemptive way he wanted.
“I’m trying,” he said.
Y/N’s mouth twisted.
“You don’t get points every time you remember to be my dad.”
“I’m not asking for points.”
“You want something.”
“I want to know where you are.”
“You didn’t care where I was three years ago.”
“I cared.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I was an idiot.”
“Okay.” Her voice sharpened at last. “Congratulations on your personal growth.”
“Y/N—”
“I’m going to bed.”
She disappeared into the hallway before he could answer.
Tony remained in the kitchen.
A second later, a door slammed somewhere down the corridor.
Not violently.
Y/N did very little without intention. Even her slammed doors were controlled.
Pepper appeared in the opposite entrance wearing a cream robe, her hair pulled away from her face. She looked first at Tony, then at the cereal bowl visible through the dishwasher door, then toward the hall Y/N had taken.
“Was that her?”
“Yes.”
“She just got home?”
Tony nodded.
Pepper studied him.
“You yelled.”
“I didn’t yell.”
“You used the voice.”
“What voice?”
“The one you use when you’re pretending you aren’t yelling.”
Tony leaned back against the counter.
“There was a guy.”
“In the Tower?”
“In the kitchen.”
Pepper blinked.
“In the kitchen?”
“Standing right there.”
He pointed, as if Ethan might have left behind a chalk outline.
“Did you know she was seeing someone?”
“She wasn’t seeing him. She didn’t know his name.”
Pepper’s lips pressed together.
Tony pointed at her. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re trying not to laugh.”
“I am absolutely not laughing.”
“Your face is laughing.”
“My face is wondering whether you understand irony.”
“My daughter brought a random man into the most secure private residence in Manhattan.”
“Your daughter brought one guest into her own home after disabling the internal tracking systems you installed without discussing them with her.”
Tony narrowed his eyes.
“Whose side are you on?”
“Y/N’s when you say things like that.”
“There are not supposed to be sides.”
Pepper’s expression softened.
“No. There aren’t.”
Tony looked down at the counter.
A few cereal pieces had fallen beside the box. He gathered them into his palm one by one, mostly to give his hands something to do.
“She blocked FRIDAY.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“It should surprise you. I designed those systems.”
“You also taught her how to dismantle your work.”
“She could’ve been anywhere.”
“But she wasn’t. She was here.”
“With Ethan.”
“Yes, Tony. I understand that Ethan is upsetting.”
“He’s extremely tall.”
Pepper looked toward the ceiling for patience.
Tony dropped the cereal into the sink.
“She said I didn’t care where she was three years ago.”
Pepper went quiet.
“I cared.”
“I know.”
“She knows.”
“I’m not sure that’s the point.”
He hated when Pepper did that—gently moved around all his defenses and stood in the exact place he was trying to protect.
“I’m trying to keep her safe.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why does everyone keep saying it like it’s a bad thing?”
“Because you’re trying to learn eighteen years of parenting all at once.” Pepper crossed the kitchen and stopped beside him. “You’re frightened, so you want information. When she doesn’t give it to you, you demand more. Then she feels controlled and gives you less.”
“So what am I supposed to do? Nothing?”
“No. You’re supposed to talk to her.”
“I was talking.”
“You were interrogating.”
“She said that too.”
“Smart girl.”
“Annoying girl.”
“Also true.”
Tony rubbed a hand over his face.
Pepper rested her palm briefly between his shoulder blades.
“She came home,” she said. “She didn’t drive after drinking. She was with Mia. Start there.”
“She hacked the Tower.”
“You practically raised her in a workshop.”
“I did not raise her.”
The words left before he could stop them.
Pepper’s hand stilled.
Tony stared through the windows at Manhattan turning gold beneath the morning sun.
“No,” he said more quietly. “That’s the problem.”
Y/N woke at two-thirty in the afternoon to seventeen notifications, a headache, and the vague memory of her father threatening Ethan with a background check.
The memory sharpened as she stared at the ceiling.
Not Ryan.
Ethan.
She groaned and dragged the duvet over her face.
Her phone buzzed again on the nightstand. Y/N reached blindly until she found it.
MIA: alive?
Y/N: physically
MIA: emotionally?
Y/N: tony met ethan
Three dots appeared immediately.
MIA: RYAN???
Y/N: wrong one apparently
MIA: I’m crying
what happenedY/N: he fled
tony discovered premarital sex this morning
very difficult day for the stark familyMIA: you’re not getting married
Y/N: try telling him that
i think he wants custody transferred directly from himself to my future husbandMIA: hot
Y/N: die
She dropped the phone onto her chest.
Her room was quiet except for the distant hum of the city and the muted rush of air through the Tower’s ventilation system.
Tony had offered her half a floor when she moved in full-time.
Y/N had refused because half a floor was ridiculous for one person.
She had accepted three rooms.
Her bedroom occupied the corner, wrapped on two sides by glass that shifted from transparent to opaque at her command. A sitting room connected it to a dressing room Tony had pretended not to design specifically for her.
The space had taken time to feel like hers.
In the beginning, everything had been too clean. Too carefully chosen. The kind of room assembled by someone who knew Y/N preferred black over white, gold over silver, and expensive things over almost everything else—but didn’t know what she reached for when she was tired.
She had changed it.
There were shoes beneath the chair despite an entire illuminated wall built to hold them. Two dresses hung over the back of the couch. A disassembled carburetor occupied the table near the windows, sitting on top of three fashion magazines and a textbook she had not opened since graduation.
Photographs crowded the shelves.
Her and Mia at fifteen, grinning beneath the fake IDs they hadn’t yet used.
Her mother kissing her cheek at graduation.
Y/N at seven, perched on Tony’s workbench in a pair of pink plastic goggles while he showed her the inner workings of an engine.
Tony had missed graduation.
There had been a crisis in Vienna. An actual crisis, not a board meeting or a woman or an interesting engineering problem that had made the rest of the world disappear.
Y/N understood.
That was another thing nobody ever seemed to believe about her.
She understood almost everything.
The phone vibrated against her chest.
MOM flashed across the screen.
Y/N considered ignoring it.
Then she answered and pulled the duvet down.
“Hello?”
Her mother’s face appeared at a deeply unflattering angle, framed by a bright blue sky. She wore sunglasses and a linen shirt, and the wind was doing its best to tear her hair from its clip.
“There she is.”
Y/N squinted. “Where are you?”
“Cape Town.”
“I thought you were in Geneva.”
“I left Geneva Thursday.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I sent you the itinerary.”
“You sent me forty-two pages.”
“It contained the information.”
“Burying your location between a donor list and a conference schedule doesn’t count.”
Her mother laughed.
She had spent most of Y/N’s life moving between countries, though never quite as constantly as she did now. Her work had begun with consulting and grown into something that involved international development, philanthropic foundations, and meetings with people whose names Y/N occasionally recognized from the news.
When Y/N was younger, her mother had either taken her along or arranged her schedule around school.
Now Y/N was eighteen.
Now she had chosen New York.
Her mother had asked more than once whether she was sure about living with Tony.
Y/N had said yes every time.
She had meant it.
Mostly.
“You look terrible,” her mother said.
“I just woke up.”
“It’s nearly nine.”
“Not here.”
“Two-thirty is worse.”
“I had a late night.”
“So I heard.”
Y/N went still.
Her mother smiled sympathetically.
“He called you?”
“At great length.”
“Traitor.”
“He was concerned.”
“He met Ethan.”
“Ryan?”
Y/N shut her eyes. “I hate everyone.”
Her mother laughed again, and Y/N despised how much the sound made her want to laugh too.
“It wasn’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
“He acted like I’d brought home a serial killer.”
“Was Ethan a serial killer?”
“No.”
“Then I’m sure the background check will clear everything up.”
Y/N opened her eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
“Remember when you used to hate him?”
“I never hated your father.”
“You threatened to run him over.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“It generally implies negative feelings.”
Her mother tilted the phone, and the sky disappeared. For a moment, Y/N caught a glimpse of white umbrellas and the ocean behind her.
“I told him to calm down.”
“Did he listen?”
“What do you think?”
Y/N snorted.
“And I told him,” her mother continued, “that you have always been responsible about your health.”
“Thank you.”
“I also told him that disabling the security system was unnecessary.”
There it was.
Y/N rolled onto her side.
“It tracks me inside my own home.”
“I know.”
“That’s insane.”
“I agree.”
She frowned. “Then why—”
“Because circumventing it without telling him guarantees he’ll make it harder to circumvent next time.”
“He can try.”
“Y/N.”
“What?”
Her mother lowered her sunglasses. Even through the screen, the look was effective.
“You are allowed to be angry about the surveillance. You are allowed to tell him it’s invasive. You are allowed to insist that he change it.”
“But?”
“But using your father’s considerable paranoia as a personal engineering challenge will not solve the problem.”
“It might.”
“It will make the two of you unbearable.”
“He was unbearable first.”
“I’m not refereeing that argument from six thousand miles away.”
“You called me.”
“I called because I love you.”
The answer was simple. Immediate.
Y/N’s irritation softened despite herself.
“I love you too.”
“I know.”
Her mother pushed her sunglasses back into place. “Are you all right?”
“I’m hungover, not dying.”
“I didn’t mean physically.”
Y/N stared at the edge of her pillow.
The easy answer waited.
Fine.
She was always fine.
Nothing had happened. Tony had been annoying; Y/N had been annoyed. This described most mornings they spent in the same room.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m okay.”
Her mother watched her for another second.
She knew better than to push.
That was the difference.
“All right.”
Someone called her name in the background. She turned, answered in a language Y/N didn’t recognize, then looked back at the screen.
“I have to go. Call me later?”
“I will.”
“Today, please.”
“Demanding.”
“I gave birth to you. I’m allowed one demand.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“It is from Cape Town.”
Y/N smiled.
“Bye, Mom.”
“Bye, sweetheart.”
The call ended.
Y/N stayed in bed for another ten minutes before hunger outweighed exhaustion.
She showered, washed away the remains of last night, and changed into tiny black shorts and an old MIT sweatshirt she had stolen from Tony years earlier. By the time she emerged from her room, the Tower had settled into its strange Sunday quiet.
The residential floors never truly felt empty.
There were always employees somewhere below them, security stationed in the lobby, cleaning staff moving efficiently through hallways, FRIDAY’s presence folded invisibly into the walls.
But the upper levels belonged to the family Tony had assembled around himself and then pretended had assembled by accident.
Pepper was in her office.
Happy had left early.
Rhodey was in Washington.
Tony was exactly where Y/N expected him to be.
The workshop doors were open.
She passed them on the way to the kitchen and saw him bent over a holographic display, still wearing the same clothes from that morning. A mug sat near his hand. Beside it, untouched, was a plate of toast.
Y/N slowed.
Tony didn’t look up.
For a second, she wondered if he knew she was there.
Then he enlarged one section of the design with an unnecessarily aggressive flick of his fingers.
He knew.
Y/N continued walking.
She made a sandwich in the kitchen, ate half of it standing at the counter, then carried the rest back toward her room.
“Party tonight?”
Tony’s voice stopped her outside the workshop.
Y/N turned.
He still hadn’t looked away from the display.
“Maybe.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Now he looked at her.
It was irritating how tired he appeared. Tony could wear exhaustion like another expensive accessory when he wanted to. Slightly rumpled, charmingly damaged, too brilliant to sleep.
Today, he only looked worn.
Y/N leaned against the doorway.
“Did you call Mom?”
“Yes.”
“To tell on me?”
“To consult the person who knows what she’s doing.”
Y/N couldn’t argue with that without insulting her mother, so she didn’t.
Tony lowered his hands, and the display dissolved.
“About this morning—”
“Please don’t say Ethan’s name.”
“Ryan.”
She glared.
A corner of his mouth lifted.
The tension between them loosened, but it didn’t disappear.
Tony picked up the abandoned toast and examined it as though surprised by its existence.
“I’m not trying to tell you that you can’t date.”
“Very progressive.”
“Or have—”
“Don’t.”
“Gladly.”
“Then what are we doing?”
Tony set the toast down again.
“I need to know the people you bring into the Tower aren’t dangerous.”
“So this is about security?”
“Partly.”
“Meaning no.”
“Meaning partly.”
Y/N folded her arms.
Tony sighed.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
The admission caught her off guard.
Tony rarely admitted ignorance. Even when he genuinely did not know something, he tended to treat it as information the universe had failed to provide on schedule.
She studied him for signs of manipulation.
There weren’t any.
“Mom usually handled this,” he continued.
“Mom didn’t interrogate people I dated.”
“Your mother has a terrifying ability to get information without asking direct questions.”
“That’s true.”
“I don’t have that.”
“You have other terrifying abilities.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“I’m taking it.”
Y/N looked down the hall.
Part of her wanted to stay.
That was what made her leave.
“I’m going out tonight.”
Tony’s posture changed.
There it was.
The father he had decided to become settling over the man she already knew.
“No.”
Y/N almost laughed.
“You don’t even know where.”
“You said you don’t know where.”
“I don’t yet.”
“Then no.”
“That isn’t a reason.”
“It’s absolutely a reason.”
“I’ll know before I leave.”
“And you’ll tell me?”
“If you ask like a normal person.”
“I’m asking now.”
“And I don’t know now.”
“Then the answer is no now.”
Y/N pushed away from the doorway.
“Fine.”
Tony’s eyebrows rose.
It was almost insulting.
“Fine?”
“Fine.”
“You’re agreeing?”
“You said no.”
“That has never stopped you before.”
She smiled sweetly.
“Maybe I’m growing.”
Tony watched her walk away with open suspicion.
Y/N waited until she reached her room before messaging Mia.
Y/N: what are we doing tonight
The answer arrived before she had finished the remaining half of her sandwich.
MIA: jules has a table at aurelia
ten thirty
wear the silver dressY/N: send me the list
MIA: why
Y/N: apparently i’m under new management
MIA: your dad?
Y/N: unfortunately
Mia sent the names.
Y/N looked over them, recognized most, and forwarded the details to no one.
At nine-forty, she stood in front of the mirror fastening one diamond earring.
The silver dress caught the light whenever she moved. It was short, backless, and held together by an amount of fabric Tony would almost certainly consider a manufacturing defect. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders in deliberate waves.
Her phone lit up on the vanity.
MOM: Did you eat something?
Y/N: yes
MOM: Something besides cereal?
Y/N: yes mother
MOM: Have fun. Be smart. Call if you need anything.
Y/N smiled and sent a heart.
She sprayed perfume over her wrists, slid her feet into black heels, and considered her options.
The direct elevator opened near the workshop.
The east elevator opened closer to Pepper’s office.
The service elevator required walking past two members of Tony’s security team.
Y/N chose the direct route.
If she intended to sneak out, she would have chosen differently.
She wasn’t sneaking.
She was leaving.
The elevator doors opened onto the main living level.
Tony sat on the couch with a tablet in one hand and a pair of glasses low on his nose. He looked up.
His gaze traveled from Y/N’s shoes to the hem of her dress.
He removed the glasses.
“No.”
She kept walking.
“Wasn’t asking.”
“I already said no.”
“And I already said fine.”
“That typically means agreement.”
“It meant I heard you.”
“Those are very different things.”
“I know.”
Tony set the tablet down and stood.
“Where are you going?”
“Aurelia.”
“With?”
“Mia, Jules, Sasha, Liv, Adrian, Carter, Theo, and possibly Nate.”
“Possibly?”
“He’s dramatic. He might still be pretending he isn’t coming.”
“Who’s driving?”
“I am.”
“Drinking?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Then you’re not driving.”
“I know how cars work.”
“That statement is not as reassuring as you think.”
Y/N reached the recessed cabinet near the elevator and opened it.
Her keys weren’t inside.
She paused.
Tony had crossed his arms.
“Looking for something?”
“Where are my keys?”
“Safe.”
“From what?”
“You.”
Y/N closed the cabinet carefully.
“That’s cute.”
“Thank you.”
“I wasn’t asking permission to go.”
“And I’m not giving it.”
“I’m eighteen.”
“We covered this.”
“Clearly not well.”
Tony’s jaw tightened.
“You came home at seven this morning with a guy you barely knew.”
“I knew him.”
“Ryan—”
“Ethan.”
“Oh, now we remember.”
She snatched her clutch from the entry table.
“This is exactly what I’m talking about.”
“What?”
“You don’t get to decide I’m grounded because you discovered I have a life.”
“You’re not grounded.”
“You took my keys.”
“Temporarily.”
“Because you don’t like that I slept with someone.”
“Because you hacked the security system, refused to tell me where you were, and walked in after sunrise.”
“I live here.”
“Then act like it.”
Y/N went still.
Tony did too.
They looked at each other across the room.
He knew.
She saw the exact moment he heard what he had said.
Y/N nodded slowly.
“Goodnight, Tony.”
“Y/N.”
She entered the elevator.
He followed, but the doors had already begun closing.
“Wait.”
Y/N pressed the button for the garage.
The last thing she saw before the doors met was Tony standing in the living room, one hand braced against the frame.
The private garage beneath the Tower was quiet and cold.
Rows of cars gleamed beneath carefully positioned lights, each one restored, maintained, and guarded with the kind of devotion Tony generally reserved for machinery and very few people.
Y/N walked past her empty parking space.
Her car was sensible.
Tony had selected it himself—a dark, understated sedan with five-star safety ratings, automated emergency braking, lane assist, and a top speed Y/N considered personally insulting.
She hated it.
Three spaces down sat the Audi R8.
Black. Low. Beautiful.
Tony had taught her to drive in an Audi.
Not this one. An older model, now stored somewhere outside the city, but Y/N could still remember being eleven and gripping the wheel while he worked the pedals. His hands had hovered near hers without touching, trusting her before there was any sensible reason to.
Easy, kid. Don’t fight the car. Listen to it.
She had listened.
Cars had always made more sense than people.
A machine didn’t care why you pressed the accelerator. It answered according to what you gave it.
The Audi unlocked when Y/N approached.
Tony had taken her keys.
He had not removed her clearance from his own collection.
That was either trust or poor planning.
Y/N preferred the first interpretation.
She slid behind the wheel.
The leather embraced her like an old friend.
“Good evening, Miss Stark,” FRIDAY said.
“Hi.”
“I am required to inform Mr. Stark if this vehicle leaves the garage.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
Y/N started the engine.
It came alive beneath her, low and smooth and powerful enough to vibrate through her ribs.
“Then I guess you should do that.”
There was the smallest pause.
“Of course.”
Y/N smiled and pulled out.
Manhattan unfolded around her in light.
It was just after ten, early enough that the streets still belonged equally to people going home and people only beginning their night. Taxis swept between lanes. Music leaked from open doors. Crowds gathered beneath glowing signs, women laughing with their arms linked as they navigated the pavement in impossible shoes.
Y/N lowered the windows.
Cold air rushed into the car and lifted her hair from her shoulders.
She accelerated through a changing light, not enough to draw attention, only enough to feel the engine respond.
Her phone rang as she turned downtown.
DAD flashed across the dashboard.
Y/N let it ring twice before answering.
“Hi.”
“Turn around.”
“No.”
“You stole my car.”
“Borrowed.”
“Without asking.”
“I knew you’d say no.”
“That sentence is going to put me in an early grave.”
Y/N laughed.
She could picture him perfectly—standing in the workshop or pacing the living room, one hand moving when he talked despite the fact that nobody could see him.
“You took my keys.”
“So you stole mine?”
“Borrowed.”
“Stop correcting the crime.”
“It isn’t a crime if the car is legally owned by a member of your immediate family.”
“That is absolutely not how ownership works.”
Music pulsed through the speakers, bass thrumming beneath Tony’s voice.
A second sound joined it.
A man laughing.
Adrian leaned forward from the passenger seat of the car beside hers, his window down as they stopped at the light. Mia waved from behind the wheel.
“Tell your dad I love him!” Adrian shouted.
Tony went silent.
Y/N watched the red light.
“Who’s in the car?”
“No one.”
“I heard a voice.”
“New York has those.”
“Male voice.”
“Very observant.”
“Who is in the car?”
“Nobody.”
“Then who was that?”
“Friend.”
“Name.”
“No.”
“Full legal name.”
The light changed.
Mia pulled ahead.
Y/N pressed the accelerator.
“Goodnight, Dad.”
“Y/N, do not hang—”
She ended the call.
The city swallowed the silence immediately.
Y/N turned the music louder.
Her phone began ringing again before she reached the next block.
She declined it.
A text appeared.
DAD: You have ten seconds to answer.
Y/N placed the phone facedown in the cupholder.
Another message.
DAD: I control the car.
Y/N glanced at the dashboard.
“FRIDAY?”
“Yes, Miss Stark?”
“Did he ask you to stop the vehicle?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I informed him that remotely disabling a moving vehicle in Manhattan would be inadvisable.”
Y/N grinned.
“I’ve always liked you.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
She made the next light easily.
The Tower had already disappeared behind the surrounding buildings, but Y/N could feel it there anyway. Tony’s presence extended across the city through satellites, cameras, software, and sheer force of will.
For years, he had barely asked where she was.
Now he wanted to know before she did.
Maybe Y/N should have understood.
Afghanistan had changed him. Everyone said that as though it explained everything.
He had nearly died.
He had come home afraid in a way Tony would never willingly name.
Y/N understood fear too.
She understood what it was like to watch footage of an explosion on every television in the country and not know whether her father was alive.
She understood receiving no calls because there had been no one available to make them.
She understood Tony disappearing, then returning with a hole in his chest and a sudden interest in every rule he had neglected to give her.
He had been allowed to change overnight.
Apparently, Y/N was supposed to do the same.
She shifted into a lower gear and felt the engine answer.
The Audi surged forward.
This was the part Tony never understood.
Y/N wasn’t trying to frighten him.
She wasn’t trying to punish him.
She liked the speed. The city. The cold air against her face and the knowledge that she could turn down any street she wanted. She liked not knowing exactly where the night would end.
She liked choosing.
If Tony’s fear had made him desperate to control every variable, hers had taught her something different.
Nothing was guaranteed.
Not parents.
Not promises.
Not the next morning.
The only thing Y/N trusted completely was her own ability to handle whatever came.
Her phone rang again.
She didn’t answer.
She drove faster instead.