Illegitimate Prodigy

That's my girl.

Adrian Toomes was organizing an illegal trade of alien weapons on a New York ferry. Tony had been working diligently with the FBI to prevent the Vulture's business from taking flight. The Iron Avenger knew what those weapons were capable of... and now that he knew Toomes was attempting to also steal his tech, he was taking the steps he needed to to prevent it. At least as best as he could under the Sokovia Accords.

Usually Tony would stand by and let the government handle it— especially as of late— but with Toomes coming into such close contact with his loved ones and making this situation personal... he felt it was inevitably his responsibility to watch the man go down in flames.

He had been so preoccupied with Annabelle's transition to the new facility, it came as a shock when he called Peter and he was in the middle of disrupting the FBI's ambush on the Vultures weapon plans. A organized situation he had been configuring between the agency for months. Once again, the teenaged masked vigilante he thought was good to hire for the Avengers team was causing more problems. Letting the billionaire down once again.

Welding the ferry back together was easy, saving all lives on board, successful,... but it didn't make up for the drama he would need to fix after. The government noticing the hiccup and once again trying to get their grimy, pushy hands on his suits.

The thoughts became obsessive, not to mention concerning, because it had occurred to him that it wasn't just his suits at risk. It was Peter's life as well. Possibly even his daughters life if the mess continued. Each much more important that his mechanic lifestyle.
"I just wanted to be like you."
"And I wanted you to be better."
The conversation with Peter on the skyscraper rooftop was poignant, reminding him all too much of conversations with Howard. His cold, calculating father. It awakened memories of any argument he had with Annabelle because in the end it was him that was disappointment. Over and over again.

- - - - - - - - - -

Most of Belle's things had been unpacked for her in the facility. She assumed Pepper had some to do with it because it had a girly touch. The crusty and frayed boxes that sat at the end of her bed were ones that had sat in her grandfather's attic for years. A few were marked with the typical description. "Photos. Elizabeth's old toys. Miscellaneous." Moving them to stack on the far wall, out of the way, her brown eyes landed on a box that said "Belle-Baby" in her mother's handwriting. A stranger would distinguish this as a box full of Annabelle's baby clothes, toys, pictures, but for the young Stark? It was something her grandfather, grandmother and even her mother called her at a very young age. Bending her knees, she put her arms underneath the box and moved it to the mattress. Annabelle hesitated, and a nearly airless sigh came from her lungs. Fingertips popping open the flaps of the box, nearly giving herself a cardboard cut on the creases of her knuckles, she cringed. The first thing stacked on top was a Barbie doll dressed as a nurse. She was a 70s Barbie, having been a toy passed down to Annabelle from her mother's collection. A bittersweet smile pulled at her features, as she pulled the doll from the box, swiping it's hair once and setting it aside. Old ballet shoes were next, which she immediately ignored. She had never truly enjoyed ballet when she got into her late childhood. For some reason it brought on negative feelings, something Annabelle was never able to pinpoint, and it made her hate the activity.
The cardboard box contained more assorted items from her childhood. Her striped rock collection, (Her grandmother always said rocks with a stripe in the middle of it were good luck.) an old Dalmatian stuffed animal when Annabelle was infatuated with the film 100 Dalmatians, and random nick-nacks she had collected over the years.
Reaching closer to the bottom of the box she found a large stack of photos. The top photograph was one of her grandfather holding her from what she assumed was right after her birth. The photo dated July 20, 1993. The photo after that was Annabelle's small newborn potato face over a mans right shoulder. His face completely turned from the camera, she squinted. Glancing at the backside of the photograph it simply just said "Belle & T". It repeated over and over in her mind but nothing was coming to the surface. It was pretty common to have friends and family visit a baby after it was first born. It could have been one of her mother's long lost friends. Someone Annabelle hasn't truly seen since that day.

She puts the photos aside, planning on going through them later, when her brown irises catch the sight of a disc in a plastic case at the bottom. In permanent blue marker, someone had written "Annabelle—old home videos"
Videos that were probably converted into a DVD, because DVD video cameras didn't exist when she was much younger. This she found to be far more interesting.

Turning on a heel, she faced the unnecessarily large flat screen TV her father had purchased for her room in the tower. It hung up on her new bedroom wall as if it had been there for months. The DVD player was mounted to the wall behind the screen. She hoped that this disc would bring back fond memories. Memories she may have forgotten. "Here we go," she whispered to herself while putting the disc in the device. She heard the motor begin to run, and the TV first just turned blue. Until it turned on a image that could only be described as an old home video. White lines first went down the picture before it became perfectly clear. The first video was very short. Toddler Belle stood next to her mother's old golden retriever, her small hands intertwined in its long fur. "What's the doggies name, B?"
The innocent little girl quickly yelled "COP-PERR." Her hands gripping the hair of the dog tighter. Copper seemed to pay no mind to the infant, and panted excitedly. It was so odd to her. Her mother being— sweet to her. Not aggressive, mean or cold.
The screen turned blue again for a split second, and brought up the second film. "Belle-Baby, say Mamma!" At first the smaller, chubby cheeked Annabelle didn't even acknowledge her mother. "B?" Belle closed her eyes momentarily, listening carefully to the sound of her mother's voice. The familiar tones that made her tear up.
"Dada." The toddler said. "Dada!" Little Belle squealed. Elizabeth groaned, and Annabelle's gaze shot up to the screen. The camera moved across the room. "That's my girl." Tony said, his young fresh face smiling his daughter's direction.

"What the fff..."