Masks

Bruce said nothing until they returned to the O'Keefe home, late that night, and Catrin had gone up to bed.

The woman who'd accosted them had refused to apologize until threatened with the loss of her job. She said she wouldn't discuss Tony's visit to the Observatory...but every instinct he had was screaming liar at him.
She hadn't actually gotten any images of the three of them. Without a single qualm, he asked JARVIS to uncover her home address, and to block any attempt she made at e-mailing or posting any references to the day's events. The AI willingly agreed to do so.

This was one time when Bruce's presentation was an advantage. No one expected ruthlessness or genius-level intelligence from an Omega. Tony's "fangirl" had all but ignored him.

Catrin, despite her not going into the 'hero' line of work, had been given some training in how to defend herself. He and Tony had insisted on it. Bruce and Tony had designed some weapons for her; not quite a suit, but some tech that would give her an advantage if she ever was attacked. She was old enough now to have them, they felt.
Regardless, he would go have a word with the would-be 'photographer'/fan of Tony's, after the rest of the family had gone to bed.
He was still uneasy. The earlier mishap with the veil, and now this...It doesn't pay to ignore warnings, or signs of incoming trouble.

He shifted restlessly. "Should we think about moving up our timetable?" he asked quietly. Their original plan had been to wait to have any public reveal of Catrin's identity or even existence until she was at least eighteen. No one could contest her adoption or try to interfere with her living arrangements on the basis of 'a child's safety' if she were legally adult.
Bruce was a bit relieved that she hadn't grown to be another Omega. Sexism might be politically incorrect, but that didn't mean it didn't exist.

Tony bit his lip. "Public reveal, you mean...we may have to," he conceded. "But I think first, we should find them a new place to live. If the truth comes out now, they'll have everyone on their backs, and..."
A soft throat-clearing made him stop talking. Catrin was in the doorway, wearing a worn green robe over her nightgown.
She stared Tony down challengingly. "Do I get a vote about this? "
He met her gaze, his own expression stern. She dropped her eyes after a moment.

"You've got Bruce's knack for sneaking up on people," he noted. "Okay, cub. Come sit and we'll figure this out together."

* * *

A Harley pulled up to a curb in New York. The rider dismounted and walked down an alley that ran behind Stark Tower, out of sight of the main entrance.
As he'd been informed, there was a service door that led into the building's garage. It clicked open for him as he approached.

"Welcome to Stark Tower, Mr. Grayson." a man's voice with a British accent said in his earpiece.

"Thanks, JARVIS. " Dick grinned. He didn't know the speaker, but Alfred had introduced him as a 'friend of his and of Master Bruce's, currently in Mr. Stark's employ'. He'd known Bruce and Alfred long enough to know that Alfred, at least, didn't keep secrets just for the hell of it. So he'd skipped asking too many questions, focusing on the immediate problem. "Okay, where are your troublemakers?"
They'd briefed him on Rogers' and Romanoff's abilities. He'd taken his bike up to Manhattan, while planning out a strategy. Rogers was stronger than most, but the files on him suggested that he tended to over-rely on that and on his signature weapon. Romanoff was more versatile when it came to fighting. Dick almost looked forward to seeing how much of her rep was real and how much propaganda.

"They are presently in one of the labs on the sixth floor. I have tried to follow Mr. Pennyworth's suggestion of confining them, but their movements haven't allowed for that thus far."

Dick found his way to the elevator. Thankfully, the hall was deserted. He hit the UP button.
"Heading up now. Once I get there, quietly evacuate the employees and lock the floor down if you can. Don't need the rest of Rogers' super-frat buddies deciding to crash the party."

"Agreed."

Dick cracked his knuckles as he stepped inside.

* * *

Rumlow had watched Stark and his boytoy enter the little suburban house. He'd been keeping surveillance on Stark for weeks, but this was the first time the man had left the Tower without a bodyguard. Oh, the man with Stark carried himself like a fighter, but their body language was that of intimates, not 'employer and hired gun'.
Interesting. There'd always been plenty of rumors about Stark's sex life, of course, that was a hot topic for the tabloids. However, Stark hadn't been seen in public with anyone for most of a year. Rumlow imagined his injuries post-Afghanistan might've taken a lot more out of him than the public realized.
Well. His employer wanted something very specific, but they'd left how to get at Stark up to him. He needed the man alive, not necessarily in one piece...and his fuckbuddy or the family inside were expendable, if need be.
He had caught sight of a briefcase that Stark was carrying, however, and he didn't think the industrialist had brought paperwork along on this trip.
No, open confrontation was not the way to go. Even without the 'super secret boy band', he didn't like his odds in a fight with Iron Man.

The girl with them. She and Stark seemed cuddly, too. Huh. Threesome? Or...
Then he got a closer look at her face and whistled softly. The resemblance between her and Maria Stark wasn't exact--Maria had been blonde, but the similarities were unmistakable. Well, well, well.
He waited until they left, then picked the lock on the front door. A quick search turned up a bedroom that was clearly a young girl's. He didn't stay there long, but he found a hairbrush sitting on a chest of drawers. His contractor would be able to test it for DNA, see if his suspicions were correct.
Two Starks for the price of one? Or...we'll see.