Illegitimate Prodigy

Little-Maria

He would have planted himself in the chair in the corner and explained everything to her that second— but she wanted none of it. It was probable she wanted to recognize her life the way she experienced it. The life she thought to be true.

Despite knowing Belle wasn't just angry with him, but angry at Elizabeth and Robert as well, failed to put his mind at ease. He retreated back to his shop to organize the flight plans for his tech to be flown to its new home. Something that Happy had requested weeks ago and of course Tony was doing the night before.

Pepper called from D.C., unable to sleep until she knew for sure how well Annabelle was adjusting. It tasted so bitter when Tony informed his girlfriend that his daughter now knew the truth. The home videos that Tony had all forgotten about in a desperate attempt to erase the memory of his illegitimate daughter, revealed what kind of a father he could have been had he not been forced out. Stark had convinced himself he wouldn't be like Howard, but he felt like a spitting image of him.  He was cold. Calculating. Their relationship like having been much like an unscented candle. It was only lit for the duration of the eldest Stark's life, and brought no familiar or cherished moments. He wasn't sure if his father kept those memories time stamped in his brain amongst all his work.

Tony remembered Annabelle's first words. Her weird army crawl as an infant because she couldn't quite figure out how to stick her arms straight out. How angry Elizabeth became when Belle tightly grabbed a wad of her mothers brown locks and shook excitedly. Annabelle's accomplishments in her first five years stood out in the Iron Man's head like pins on a timeline. He remembered them.

Raising his right hand, he swiped his fingertips over his mouth and beard. His dark brown eyes stared blankly at the blue display in front of him, his other hand occasionally grabbing at sections and organizing them on the virtual plane. Distracted, it seemed none of the arrangement made sense— almost pointless at this point. His knees buckled so his body fell exhaustedly into an office chair behind him. Craning his neck, his stare caught the ceiling before fluttering shut.

- - - - - - - - -

"Sir.....
Tony?"
Stark's eyes opened slowly, his chin falling to his chest. Thumb and index finger on his right hand met his closed eyes, rubbing them aggressively. "Annabelle?" He shook his head, now squinting. The voice appeared again.
"No, sir. FRIDAY. Happy has called 3 times. Needs the flight plan for this evening."

Tony shook his head, his eyes meeting the hologram that was still projected in front of him. "This will do."

"Very good, sir." The plan disappeared and he stretched awkwardly in the office chair. He glanced back at a Iron Man clock on the wall. It was already 11. It was the most sleep he had gotten in awhile. Pushing himself up, he noticed it was eerily quiet on the grounds. Granted the building was new, and not very many Avengers resided at the facility. Only the guards at the perimeter, who were really only there for show. Wandering out to the common areas of the building, he had reached the kitchen. His hands push their way through the swinging door, and he stopped in surprise when he said the back of his daughter at the coffee pot. It was a normal drip coffee pot.... Stark always insisted that drip coffee tasted better than the single serve mumbo-jumbo that most people served now. Annabelle's hair was frizzy at the crown of her head, meaning she had probably tossed and turned all night. There was a slight feeling of guilt on his mind, having slept rather well in the shop. Continuing to watch her, he observed she stared blankly at the machine. drip. drip. drip. He was certain she heard him enter the room, but he wanted to wait— for her to break the silence. A loud but obvious sigh escaped his throat.

Turning slowly, Annabelle set her gaze on him. She was wearing her black rimmed glasses, that she often wore when she wasn't wearing her contacts. His chest tightened at the sight, being that she looked just like his mother when she wore her reading glasses. It was almost tempting to call her little-Maria.
"Morning," she spoke softly, her facial expression making it obvious that was not what she wanted to say.

Gaze dropping from hers momentarily, his head bobbed to the left before returning to her eyes again. "Did you sleep okay?" The small talk was painful but it was a necessary ice breaker. A laugh escaped her throat. She had turned back around when the coffee pot clicked, and beeped once to signify it was done brewing. Right hand reaching to grab the carafe and the fingers on the other hand hooking around the handle of a mug to bring it closer. "I got in a few hours. Finished the home videos..." The coffee pouring inside the walls of the mug made itself very present. Annabelle then placed the coffee pot back into the machine, and then turned to face him again.

"We have a lot to catch up on."