The brilliant little girl
A week with the kids at home had gone by in the blink of an eye, at least in Tony’s perception, despite having worked half the time. There was just something about knowing his kids were around, doing whatever at home, that made him feel whole, like their mere presence was enough to put him at ease.
Tonight was their monthly scheduled mandatory family dinner, though really, it was just a tradition they had established months after their separation, for the kids’ sake.
Tony knew—because he had asked Stephen himself, just for the kids—that the doctor had been pulling long shifts all week, barely finishing his last one the previous morning before getting a full day to rest. The kids were well aware of how exhausting their dad’s job was, so they were used to postponing family dinners when necessary. No one ever minded, since the dinners always happened anyway, even if the date changed.
But this time, it was Stephen himself who insisted they stick to the plan, which was why Tony was now preparing a shopping list to make a proper homemade Italian dish.
They had always had this unspoken agreement: whenever dinner was at Tony’s place, he’d cook Italian if he felt like it. Not that anyone complained, everyone actually loved it.
Peter had gotten to pick the meal for tonight, and the kid had chosen mushroom risotto, his personal favorite. Tony considered himself lucky that, even though his kids didn’t share his DNA, none of them were picky eaters.
He made a list on his phone and waited until it was time to pick up the kids from school, knowing full well all three of them loved going grocery shopping whenever they could, as if it were the most entertaining activity in the world. Tony found it amusing and always indulged them.
Morgan hopped into the black Audi SUV, energetic as ever, greeting him and buckling her seatbelt. She was followed, far less enthusiastically, by her two older siblings, their faces and voices heavy with exhaustion.
Fortunately, all three of them lit up at the mention of a shopping trip, and Tony felt relieved that they weren’t as drained as they had seemed.
“Make sure to grab whatever you need, or Happy’s gonna kill me if I send him on another last-minute run,” Tony warned as they entered the massive store, his tone theatrically serious, trying to hide his amusement. Morgan practically ran toward the toy section, with America immediately following.
Peter walked beside his dad, while Tony pushed the cart and started grabbing the first few items from his list, along with extra things that always seemed to find their way in. The kid was unusually quiet, not even looking at his phone, which struck Tony as odd. Normally, Peter would take every chance to rant about his school projects or some wild idea he had.
Tony glanced at him. “You good, Pet?” he asked softly.
Peter looked up, caught off guard. “Huh? Oh, yeah, Babbo. Why?” he replied naturally, though he still seemed distracted.
Tony pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You’re unusually quiet.”
Peter scratched the back of his neck, pressing his lips together in an expression eerily similar to his father’s, his gaze distant.
“It’s just… never mind, bab, don’t worry about it,” he assured with a small shrug and a somewhat forced smile.
Tony stopped moving entirely, making sure they weren’t blocking the aisle before turning fully to face his son.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” he said, his tone honest.
Peter nodded. “Yeah, I know,” he reassured him.
They kept walking, continuing their shopping in silence. Tony gave Peter the space to think, to decide whether or not he wanted to share whatever was on his mind.
After several minutes, Peter finally spoke up. “I feel confused,” he admitted, catching his dad’s attention.
“Confused about what?”
“Harley.”
Ah. There it was.
Not that Tony hadn’t noticed—despite what Stephen had assumed the other day—but he had wanted to see how things played out. As long as Peter was okay, there was nothing to worry about.
“Mhm. How so?” Tony asked gently, making sure Peter knew he was listening while continuing their shopping at a much slower pace than usual.
Peter made a small grimace as he thought about his response. “It’s like… I don’t know, something feels different when I’m around him or talking to him, and now I don’t know how I feel anymore,” he confessed, sounding and looking frustrated. “And that scares me.”
Tony felt his whole demeanor soften at the sight of his son, probably falling in love. Ah, teenage years. How sweet.
“You know your dad’s a better advice-giver than me, but I also know he can be… judgy,” Tony warned, turning his head slightly to glance at his son. “So I’ll do my best for you. You should take some time to think, analyze your feelings, ask yourself things like… what you would or wouldn’t do with Harley, as just friends or maybe something more. I think that’d be a good first step.”
Peter frowned as he listened. “But what if… what if I rush into it and ruin everything? Or if Harley notices I’ve changed and pulls away?” he blurted out, his worry clear.
This time, Tony stopped completely again, turning to face Peter and placing a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“I’ve known that kid for about three years now, and while I don’t know him inside out, I do know he’d never do that to you,” he said, his voice steady and sincere. “And if he ever did, I’d personally give him a… talking-to, you know,” he added with a smug grin.
Despite the lingering fear and worry on his face, Peter let out a soft, genuine laugh at his dad’s teasing.
“Thanks, babbo.”
Tony’s heart clenched with love. “Always, mio tesoro.”
“Babbooooo!” a little voice called out, trotting down the aisle without much urgency. “I got what I needed, look!” Morgan held up her arms, full of items, for her dad to see.
Tony nodded with a fond smile, placing everything in the cart—even if one of those things was a pack of Play-Doh she definitely didn’t need, but clearly just wanted.
America followed behind her, carrying a few personal care products and some clothing, probably for high school.
“You don’t need anything, Pet?” Tony asked his son, who just shook his head and shrugged, completely unbothered by his sisters’ puzzled looks.
“I’m good, I think.”
“Alright, checkout it is then,” Tony announced, turning the cart while still leaning on it. “And don’t forget to grab a treat each—but make sure your dad doesn’t find out, okay?” he added with a wide grin, intentionally slowing his pace so his kids could take full advantage of his permission.
~*~
Tony had been teaching the kids how to cook since each of them was little, so he knew he could count on them to prepare the best Italian meals on special occasions. His grandmother Maria would’ve been truly proud of him, he thought to himself with a nostalgic smile.
America set the silverware and arranged the table, Peter took charge of keeping an eye on the exact cooking times, and Morgan helped here and there with every detail her siblings assigned her.
Tony had gotten a message a couple of hours earlier.
“Heading into surgery. Not sure I’ll make it on time, but I’ll do my best.”
Stephen had let him know, and the kids hadn’t been discouraged in the slightest—if anything, they took it as extra time to make the perfect dinner. And if they didn’t mind, Tony certainly didn’t either.
Sure enough, the doorbell rang about thirty minutes past the agreed time, with the sun halfway hidden behind the horizon, leaving the sky bathed in its most comforting colors of the day.
Tony hurried to the door before any of his kids could get there, opening it and leaning casually on the frame with a crooked smile of interest at the sight before him.
Stephen, clearly exhausted from his shift, was still in his black surgical scrubs, wearing comfy sneakers and with several strands of hair falling messily over his forehead, nothing like his usually well-groomed, gelled-up look.
“Sorry,” the doctor apologized right away, “the surgery ran long, but I came straight over,” he explained, running a distracted hand through his hair, a gesture that did nothing to tame the unruly strands.
“It was just half an hour, Strange. Plus, you warned us this might happen,” Tony offered, shrugging, though his eyes were clearly still fixed with interest.
“I still hate being late. Especially when it comes to my kids,” Stephen muttered, his lips tightening slightly.
Stephen’s expressions had always been subtle, since the moment Tony met him. Tiny tells that hinted at deeper feelings. Over the years, Tony had gotten good at reading those little shifts, figuring out what Stephen was feeling without the doctor needing to say it aloud. Most of the time, anyway.
“The kids get it. And if they’re fine with it, I’m even more so,” Tony reminded him. “Just tell me you at least washed your hands before coming over.”
Stephen rolled his eyes, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yes, Tony, I washed my hands before coming over.”
Tony grinned. “Good. Not that I mind this whole ‘ran-straight-out-of-the-hospital’ look you’ve got going on,” he said, waving a hand while letting his eyes shamelessly wander, “actually, you should show up in that uniform more often, you look… pretty damn good.”
The comment hovered between casual and a joke, but Stephen knew Tony well enough to catch the note of genuine interest behind his words.
He shot him a narrow-eyed look, silently judging his ex-husband’s flirtatious tone, while Tony just looked amused.
“Dad!” Morgan was the one who pulled them out of the moment, sneaking around Tony to wrap Stephen in a hug despite his scrubs and the lingering hospital smell. “Can we eat now?”
Peter and America peeked out from behind Tony, who now looked more touched by his little girl’s enthusiasm than by any previous thought running through his head.
Stephen bent down a little to press a kiss to the top of his daughter’s head, who grinned from ear to ear. “Let me change first.”
“All right, people, everybody inside,” Tony said with a quick clap to emphasize the command. “Your father needs to get comfortable before we sit down.”
America shrugged, “No problem. Gives Peter more time to decide what story he wants to tell Dad first,” she teased with a smirk aimed at her brother.
Peter gave his dad a quick hug before letting him head toward one of the guest bathrooms on the first floor.
“You bring a decent change of clothes, doc?” Tony called out, poking his head down the hallway Stephen was walking through. “You know there’s always… some of your stuff upstairs.”
Stephen turned to look at him, hand on the doorknob, wearing a sly smile. “I brought clothes, Stark. Thanks.”
Tony shrugged and returned to his kids to wait.
Dinner unfolded with the kind of peace that only came when the family was being well fed, though to an outsider, “peace” might not be the word they’d use. Tony didn’t care what anyone thought about his kids. Even if they occasionally threw bits of paper at each other’s foreheads, they still laughed and loved each other just the same.
And Stephen… Stephen looked at each of them like stars were hanging right in front of him—and maybe they were, because his eyes always lit up when he was with his kids. And Tony? Oh, Tony couldn’t do anything but stare at him, captivated, looking away only when it became too obvious after the fourth or fifth time their eyes met.
This was his family. And Tony couldn’t deny he wished every day could feel like this, with his kids, and with himself, feeling like everything in their lives was perfectly complete with the constante presence of Stephen.
~*~
The dishes were washed, America, Peter and Morgan had reluctantly gone off to their rooms.
Stephen stood casually, arms crossed, leaning in the doorway near the kitchen. “That was a good dinner,” he said in a low voice.
Tony nodded as he walked toward the front door, opening it for Stephen, who followed after grabbing his bag from the couch.
“Really good,” Tony agreed, leaning against the doorway just like Stephen had earlier that afternoon. “Thanks for insisting on doing it, even after your shift.”
“I couldn’t have missed it,” Stephen replied, with a softness that sank right into Tony’s gut.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it was thick, heavy with something unspoken, something neither of them dared to name or admit.
Stephen still had his shirt sleeves rolled up from when he’d helped Morgan wash dishes, and his hair was tousled from the long day. Tony noticed it all, thinking for a moment about breaking the tension with a joke, something he usually did, but he didn’t say a thing.
“Next time, it’s your turn to cook,” Tony said instead, with a sly grin.
Stephen scoffed and shook his head in amusement. “I’ll do what I can. Hopefully, it won’t end with me ordering takeout.”
Tony chuckled softly.
Throughout their years together, people never believed them when they said it was the messy, unpredictable Tony who had the incredible cooking skills, not Stephen. It always ended up being a pretty funny reveal for the two of them.
Almost without thinking, Stephen took a step closer, leaving about six feet now between them. In a second, their eyes locked, holding just a little too long. Stephen’s gaze dropped instinctively to Tony’s lips before flicking back up.
Tony licked his lips unconsciously, and the moment broke when Stephen cleared his throat.
“Well… I’ll see you soon,” Tony said, straightening up.
“Yeah,” Stephen replied, his eyes drifting over the other man one last time, like he wasn’t quite ready to leave. “Goodnight, Stark.”
“Goodnight, Strange.”
Their fingers brushed as Tony handed him the keys Stephen had left in the kitchen. Accidental. But neither moved right away. The cold air still slipped in. The house lights cast half of each of their faces in warm glow, leaving the other half in soft shadow.
Stephen finally turned, slowly, stepping down. When he reached the bottom of the short staircase, he stopped, something in his chest tugging him to look back.
Tony was still there, leaning in the doorway, watching him with quiet patience.
“Sleep well,” Stephen added, gently.
“After a night like this? Of course I will,” Tony replied, the door slowly closing.
It wasn’t a goodbye, it was more like a promise to return.
~*~
Morgan might’ve been small, but everyone always called her a bold, smart kid, even if to her, things just seemed simple and obvious. Sometimes her classmates were so stupid it made her insides twist, but her parents had taught her to be respectful unless someone disrespected her first, and she’d always stuck to that.
A well-behaved kid, with good manners and good grades. Everyone adored her.
So it didn’t really surprise her when, during dinner, she noticed her parents kept looking at each other, like they couldn’t tear their eyes away, like they were tied together by that weird thing her brother once mentioned from his science class.
It made Morgan start questioning a lot of things.
If they liked each other that much, looking at one another like in those cheesy romantic movies, why weren’t they together?
The thought made her feel a little sad, but the mischievous side of her came out just enough to make her sneak to the stairs and hide, waiting to spy on her parents saying goodbye at the front door.
She couldn’t see or hear them perfectly, but the silence and her spot gave her a good enough advantage. As soon as the door closed, she ran, quietly but quickly, straight to Peter’s room.
She tapped the door a couple of times, then slipped in without waiting for a proper answer.
“Peter!” she whispered urgently to her brother, who turned over and pulled the blanket off his head to look at her.
“I’m alive, thanks.”
“It’s important!”
“You dying? No? Then it’s not urgent,” Peter said, voice heavy with exhaustion.
“It’s worse! Dad and Babbo are still in love!” she whispered in a dramatic panic, throwing her arms in the air.
Peter flopped back on the bed with a groan, covering his eyes with one arm.
“Morgan, we’ve been through this. You dreamed they were back together once, that doesn’t mean anything.”
“But it wasn’t a dream,” she whined, flopping down at the foot of his bed, “I saw them with my own eyes, saying goodbye like they were in some dumb romantic movie.”
Peter shook his head with a soft, amused laugh. “Hey, no insults, Morg,” he warned in his best big-brother voice.
Morgan rolled her eyes, standing back up and planting her hands on her hips. “You won’t believe me until you start paying attention and see it yourself. Now let’s go.”
Peter frowned. “Go where? Morg, I’m tired.”
“To America’s room. We need an adult opinion.”
“She’s seventeen.”
“She’s still older than you,” Morgan shrugged.
Peter let out a tired sigh but got up anyway, trailing after his little sister to America’s room right next door. Morgan knocked a couple of times, then opened the door without waiting for confirmation.
America was sitting on her bed, headphones half-on and a notebook in her lap. When she saw them suddenly walk in, she pulled her earbuds out and raised an eyebrow.
“What’d you two do now?”
Morgan grinned mischievously. “Nothing yet. But listen—”
“What are you doing?”
Tony’s voice interrupted them suddenly as he peeked through the half-open door Peter didn’t get to close before him, startled by the surprise.
“Uh, talking about school,” Morgan answered quickly.
Tony narrowed his eyes at the two younger kids. “You’re up to something,” he accused.
America straightened up casually. “We’re plotting a prank for the chemistry lab, Bab.”
The lie rolled off so naturally for the three of them that Tony couldn’t help but break into a wide, amused smile.
“Oh god. Just don’t get caught, or I’m sending your father after you, and he’ll give you the lecture of your life,” Tony warned as he turned away, shutting the door behind him, shaking his head.
The three siblings stayed quiet for a few seconds, just to be safe, before jumping back into the conversation. Morgan flopped down on America’s bed, despite her sister’s complaints, while Peter sat calmly in the desk chair.
“Morgan says Babbo and Dad still love each other, and she saw it with her own eyes,” Peter said in a deadpan voice.
America sighed and looked at her little sister’s face. “Morgan, it’s been four years. You’ve gotta get over it.”
Morgan turned red, probably from the frustration of being treated like a dumb kid.
“Stop! I mean it. You know I haven’t brought them up like this in a long time, but now I’m saying something, because it’s really happening,” she tried to explain, already sounding upset.
Peter and America exchanged a silent glance before the boy spoke again.
“Still… it could be fun to pay attention and see if Morgan’s actually right.”
Morgan lit up. “Exactly!”
America sighed in surrender. “Fine, dorks. But don’t make it obvious. Now get out of here.”
Morgan skipped off to her room, practically bouncing, while Peter just chuckled quietly while walking to his.
Things were about to get interesting in both houses.