Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist...father?
Tony Stark has dealt with gods, aliens and terrorists. The thing he doesn't know how to deal with? Finding out he has a fifteen-year-old daughter. A daughter with bruises she won't talk about...
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Tony's POV
"JARVIS, how is she?" I ask, sitting back and rubbing my tired eyes.
I'm sitting in my workshop trying to repair a damaged circuit on my Iron Man helmet, but I can't focus.
"The girl is still sleeping, sir, the same as the last time you asked," JARVIS replies with a touch of sass. "If I may inquire, sir, who exactly is she?"
"Not sure." I run a hand through my hair. I don't even know this girl's real name. I'm not sure exactly what made me decide to bring her back to my house after she passed out in the alley. Why do I feel so responsible for her well-being? "I don't know what's going on in her life, but I'm worried about her. I think she's in trouble, JARVIS."
"Trouble, sir?"
"She's a runaway," I admit.
"Do you think it's a good idea to bring a runaway into the house, sir? If someone finds her here, people are going to ask some uncomfortable questions."
"I didn't kidnap her," I say, outraged. "Listen, this is a fourteen/fifteen-year-old kid we're talking about, alone on the streets. If she so much as thinks about whatever she's running from, she gets this wild look in her eyes. It's more than fear--she's petrified. She's got old bruises all over her. And that was no ordinary panic attack she had. Her eyes were open, but when I talked to her, it was like she didn't even see me." I let out an angry breath. "I don't know what's going on with her, but I can't just leave her out there."
"What do you intend on doing?"
I don't have an answer to that, so I change the subject. "I need something to call her besides Titanium," I muse. "JARVIS, search the news. Look for a missing person report, an article, anything that matches her description. Find me a name."
"Accessing."
I begin reconnected the wires in the helmet of my suit. The electric blue eyes of the helmet blink on.
"I believe I've found her," JARVIS informs me. "Thalia Underwood. Fifteen years old, student at Midtown High. Apparently this isn't the first time she's run away, sir."
"Damn. She got a lot of family?"
"I wouldn't appear so. She lives with her stepfather, Darrell Underwood. No mention of her biological father. No other family to speak of, at least none that she was close to. The only other immediate family mentioned is her birth mother, but she passed away five years ago. Her name was Emilee Roth."
My hand slips. My helmet clatters to the ground and I slice my thumb with the wire-cutters I was using.
"Sir?"
"Picture," I choke hoarsely. "Of her mother. Show me a picture."
A photo of two people appears on my computer screen. One of them is obviously a young Thalia. She has the same coffee-brown eyes and long, wavy chocolate hair. But the other...I know her, too. The long blonde braid hanging over one shoulder. The sparkling green eyes. The beauty mark on her cheek.
Emilee Roth. A woman I knew--a woman I loved--a little over fifteen years ago.
I look closer at the photo of young Thalia Underwood. I see Emilee in her, clearly. But the deep, dark brown of her hair and eyes...the curve of her chin...the shape of her face...
My heart is beating painfully fast. "JARVIS," I say quietly, "I still have a small sample of Thalia's blood, from when we put that arc reactor in her chest. I was going to dispose of it as soon I was sure there would be no malfunctions, but I haven't gotten around to it yet."
"I'm not quite sure where you're going with this, sir."
