Morgan became, afterwards, her very own, very individual entity in Steve's life, as opposed to an extension of Tony's. There was some strange, raw and unique understanding between the two of them, from then on out – by getting him to help her, that little girl had gotten a glimpse into the inner workings of Steve Rogers; by succeeding, he'd gotten a glimpse into hers.
More than Tony's death, more than Natasha's sudden last minute, Morgan was the catalyst for Steve's biggest life reevaluation. It hadn't felt like it at the time, but he'd made a choice, the day of the funeral. A pretty permanent one – Steve wasn't used to his important decisions being a matter of personal agency.
Tony's pointed comments about the value of compromise had always fallen a little short of Steve's ears, because the truth was, as far as he was concerned, his entire life was about forced, painful compromise. A collection of trades and balances that Steve was tired of keeping in check, tired of relentlessly clinging to, one way or another. Some he didn't regret, some were his choice – trade his body for a weapon, trade his orders for a hundred men, trade his life for his country. Most, though – his God-given time for the twenty-first century; faith and dutiful naiveté for the truth and disillusionment; Peggy for the Avengers. Tony for his stubbornness, his cowardice, and his truest beliefs. Home for Bucky.
The lives of two of his closest friends for the whole universe.
Steve was tired of feeling stuck between two realities. The world would go where it needed to go, and people got what people got. Letting go of the past felt, for the first time, like him acting on a path completely divorced from his circumstances. From something that had been done to him. He wasn't fixing a tragedy – he was moving on from it. Starting over; the biggest insult that could be inflicted on pain and misery – making it irrelevant to his future.
He'd made peace with the fact that he didn't need to try and chase something anymore – he already had all he needed. It made it so much easier to focus on the feeling of contentment that belonging somewhere wrought.
Steve had pondered all of this extensively over the past few days, mostly via a mental debate with his imagination's version of, for some reason, Morgan Stark's voice. She had been perfectly clear, too, and quite firm about it.
("Doesn't the fact that I went back for Tony and Nat sort of negate the moving-on aspect of this essay?"
"Don't be silly, of course not. That was about your future, not your past."
"Sounds like a rationalization."
"I don't know what that word means.")
So, when Tony said something predictably unpredictable, at the original Avengers' first 'holy shit, we all made it – what now' meeting – only a few short days after Steve's time-surfing exercise in playing God – Steve was taken aback.
"You could still go," Tony had piped up. His voice sounded off. "To the forties. I doubt- if you lived your entire life there, the realities would probably not merge in any significant way, you'd be gone from- our timeline. But you could- you could go. You could go home."
Natasha stiffened; Clint exchanged a wide-eyed look with Bruce, and Thor frowned deeply at Tony. And Steve – Steve just stared. "What?"
"You heard me."
There was a long silence. "Give us the room," Steve requested quietly and politely, and nobody needed him to specify who he was talking to. The conference room cleared out until it was just him and Tony, and when the door clicked shut behind him, Steve took a seat. He gestured for Tony to do the same.
Tony did so warily. "It was just a suggestion, don't dramatize-"
"Do you remember the first conversation we ever had?" Steve said, as though commenting on the weather. "After Loki, in Germany."
Tony tilted his head at him. "Sure do. You wouldn't cough up the name of your Pilates instructor. Still haven't. It's impolite, and frankly, petty."
Steve's lips twitched. "It was the first time we ever spoke to each other, and two sentences in, we were already on the offensive," he continued, and something in his tone must have tipped Tony off.
"That a memory you remember fondly, Cap?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his expression.
"Yes." Tony's eyebrows shot up. "Know why?"
"Enlighten me."
"You were saying some nonsense I didn't even fully get at the time, and I thought finally, something I could understand in this century – assholes are all the same whatever year you're in."
Tony started and burst out laughing. "Happy to be of service."
There was a small smile playing at Steve's lips. "Of course, I didn't realize how wrong my first impression was, not then. But it all worked out the same. It was just- you felt familiar, somehow." He took a deep breath. "All I'd been thinking about, non-stop, since waking up, is how I'd- my life, my world were gone, in a sense. I'd lost everything. I recognized nothing. You grounded me, Tony."
"You were going through a lot," Tony said. His voice had softened.
"No. I mean, yes, but – I've been a restless little punk since before I hit puberty," Steve tried to explain as best he could, borrowing Bucky's words in the process. Tony clearly bit his cheek to stop from interrupting, which Steve appreciated. "Looking for something that – my whole life – I never knew even existed. What we've built here – this is what I've been running towards, always. This is home, Tony."
"I-"
"Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Tony exhaled loudly. "Yeah. Yes, I do. Sor- Okay," he interrupted himself hastily. "I didn't- it's not like I wanted you to go," he admitted freely. "It just felt- wrong, to not point out it was an option."
"It's not an option."
"Okay." Tony hesitated. "You know, I- I'm not half as good at anything as when I'm doing it next to you, Steve. I'm glad we're on the same page," he told him, and there was a warmth to his gaze that made the corners of Steve's lips tug upwards automatically.
He decided to try a little more honesty. "With you and Natasha gone, and the state the rest of us were in- I- it would be so hard to see a future here. But, I don't know – if I hadn't fixed it-" Steve took a deep breath and told himself he'd have been rational about it just the same. "I thought, when I woke up from the ice, I thought I'd found something special in this team. I don't know, maybe it was just a drowning man's impulse to grasp at something – but- We lost the thread, I think, somewhere along the way. I'm glad that-"
Tony hummed and finished his sentence. "We got back on track. Eventually."
Yeah, Steve thought, relaxing at the thoughtful look on Tony's face, this is what it's like to be unstuck.
The thing about contentment is that it could quickly turn into boredom.
When he'd decided to stay unstuck, Steve had also decided to put Captain America to rest. Or, rather, to give Captain America a new face.
Tony had taught him several lessons in the time it took him to die and then come back. Getting a life was very incompatible with the survivability of the Avenger gig, and Steve really wanted a life. Tony's had nearly ended as Morgan's had barely begun – that was a realist's slap on the face of an optimist. Sometimes, there was no later.
He would always be Captain America, except he couldn't be, not anymore.
Which was boring. This conclusion came to Steve one sunny day, while he was fidgeting in his apartment with a book in his hands. No telling what the genre was, let alone what the plot was about. He'd put it down and picked it back up thrice, pondering how annoyed Nat would be if he called her to kill time, when a distraction came about.
Steve wasn't expecting anyone, so he just assumed the doorbell ringing meant Bucky had forgotten his keys again. He had a lecture halfway to his lips about how the man needed to stop using that as a bother-Steve tactic when he opened the door and Tony barged in almost before Steve could recognize him.
"You're the responsible type, aren't you, Uncle Steve?" was how Tony greeted him, marching to his couch with his back turned. Steve would have replied but for two reasons: he'd never get a word in edgewise while Tony was talking, and he was much too transfixed by the sight of his friend carrying his giggling daughter upside down by the ankles. "You thank the bus driver, help old ladies cross the street, and all that sh- st-t-stuff. Stuff," he repeated hastily, dropping Morgan on the cushions like a sack of potatoes.
"Shit," Morgan reminded him serenely, brown eyes glittering.
"Alright, you know what, this is a lost cause, even mommy has got to throw in the towel by now."
"I want a juice pop," she informed Tony.
Tony turned to Steve, who was alarmed to see genuine panic on the man's face. "Under no circumstances is she allowed to have a juice pop, you understand? I literally don't care if someone figures out they cure cancer or rabies or the patriarchy, keep them away."
Steve had a lot of questions, so naturally he started with, "the patriarchy?"
Tony waved him off. "Peter's got this girlfriend."
"What is going on?"
Tony heaved a deep sigh, hand still on Morgan's ankle. It was gently twitching, and she was smiling angelically at Steve.
"Listen, Steve, I'm a man of science," Tony told him, and Steve thought, uh-oh, "and when other men of science tell me sugar rushes aren't a thing, I believe them. I do. However, today, I could be converted into a flat-earther, that is how much I suddenly adhere to myths and mass hysteria."
"Morgan is hyperactive today," Steve summarized.
"The antichrist has taken possession of my flesh and blood," Tony agreed.
"You're an atheist."
"Not today."
Something twitched in Steve's temple. "You seem frazzled."
Tony seemed to sense the deadpan delivery of his words, so he set about on his version of an explanation. "Pepper's got a long day at work, and I'd normally ask Peter for this, but he can't for the same reason I can't - there's gonna be this science thing at his school and the kid was practically vibrating when he asked if I could come. Three hours, tops. If she needs to be fed, just give her a spoon and a jar of peanut butter."
"Hate peanut butter," Morgan grumbled.
"I know," Tony replied sweetly, already halfway out the door. He blew a kiss at her and made the shape of a heart with his fingers, so she blew him a raspberry. "I love you. Keep Uncle Steve in line while I'm gone."
Alarmed, Steve grabbed his arm. "Wait, Tony! What the he- heck is this? Are you asking me to babysit?"
"Oh, did I skip that part? Thought it was implied."
"You wanna give me a little more to go on?" he asked irritably, because of course it was also implied that Steve would do it.
Tony squinted at him. "It's a toddler. Not rocket science. Trust me, I can tell the difference, like, fifty per cent of the time."
Frustrated, Steve poked at his arm. "Would you please just-"
Tony sighed. "Remember when you nearly died by getting into a fisticuffs with Thanos and his entire army, all by your lonesome? That, except she can't be subject to friendly fire."
"Alright, fine, you know what, get out of here," Steve ordered, finally ticked off.
Tony wasted no time. The door clicked shut behind him, and all of a sudden, Steve was alone with Morgan Stark.
"You like to finger-paint?" he asked before he'd really thought it through. Morgan beamed and nodded enthusiastically, though, and that was more than enough to make him feel a lot better about the whole thing.
"What happens if kids eat paint?"
On the other end of the line, Natasha sighed deeply. "When are Tony and Clint going to learn that letting any of you boys babysit is one tremendously bad idea?"
Steve was holding Morgan aloft with one hand, while trapping the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, and grabbing her tiny hands with his free one. He now understood perfectly Tony's mode of transport for the little girl, earlier. Morgan was giggling again.
Steve was frazzled.
"She hasn't actually managed to do it yet," he continued, using his foot to nudge the mess of paper, overturned cans and paint-splattered furniture away from Morgan's damage radius. "I'm faster. But I feel like I'm just winning a few battles before she inevitably turns the tide on the war."
Steve decided to attribute Natasha's cackling to Morgan's particularly loud squeal, which she'd let out in response to his words. "Nat."
"Okay, okay. Is it the edible type of paint? Y'know, for babies and toddlers?"
Steve froze on the spot. "That's a thing that exists?"
"If there's any consolation to be taken from this situation, I doubt Tony knows it exists either."
"I think I need to get her out of the house. And maybe hose her down, too."
Morgan's eyes widened excitedly. There was an added comedic effect in there, given her dangling, upside-down position. "We're playing with water?!"
"Okay, so let's scrap the shower idea," Steve amended hastily. "Paper towels it is."
"Is your place even kid-friendly?"
Steve huffed, and for the second time in that conversation, asked the question Natasha was waiting to hear. "What does it mean to be kid-friendly?"
"Means you've stacked up on sugar for bribery, cartoons for sedation, and a cage for self-protection."
"Bye, Romanoff."
"Always a pleasure, Rogers."
Steve disconnected, scowling, and practically dumped the phone on the floor.
"I'm hungry," Morgan declared, and Steve stared at her. There was an angry streak of red paint running all the way down from her eyebrow to her chin. The glitter she'd unearthed among Steve's stuff – he hadn't even known he owned it – glowed gold under the light, sprinkled all over her face. There was a huge blue stain on her jeans, which Steve just assumed were permanently ruined.
"Uncle Steve," she whined, rapping her knuckles on the ground to refocus his attention.
"Right. Hungry."
Steve was fairly certain he didn't have anything in the house that was toddler-edible. Particularly paint. And if that was just his freaked-out overprotectiveness speaking, well, he'd never babysat before. He was somewhat confident Tony had been joking about the peanut butter, but it wasn't like he had that either.
He wondered if toddlers could eat whatever crap he might order in, the insecurity intensifying, and thought about asking Natasha to check.
"They'll eat leaves off the street," his imagination's version of her scoffed at him, "you don't think she'll eat pizza?"
Grocery shopping it was, then.
Steve blinked at the little girl in his care, whose head was tilted in silent contemplation of his inner debate. He set her back down on the floor, but was careful to keep her tools of destruction out of reach.
"Okay – Morgan, we're going on a mission."
Her big brown eyes glittered at him. "Like an Avengers' mission?"
"Exactly like an Avengers' mission."
She grinned, all teeth. "Can I be Iron Man?"
Steve cracked a smile despite himself, bopping her nose. "Who else am I gonna take as my sidekick?"
"You're my sidekick," she countered immediately.
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Am not."
"Are not."
"Am too-" Steve choked up and conceded defeat. Morgan was snickering. "Okay, fine. Fine. You can never tell your father this conversation happened, you understand?"
She patted his cheek. "I am the best at keeping secrets. I know all of daddy's swear words and I've never told mommy any of them."
Steve tried very hard to keep a straight face. "I feel like you're lying to me right now."
"Yeah, it's supposed to make you feel better. So who are you going to be?"
Steve got over his bluster long enough to process the question. "Huh?"
"I'm Iron Man. You?"
Steve controlled the grin tugging at his lips. He wondered how old she'd be when he stopped being able to get away with this ruse. "I'll be Captain America."
Morgan pulled a face at him. "You don't look anything like Captain America," said the chubby-cheeked toddler with absolutely no facial hair who had declared herself Iron Man.
He nodded solemnly in agreement. "I'll do my best not to embarrass him."
Grocery shopping was easy. Grocery shopping was familiar, even to Captain America. Grocery shopping was innocuous.
How was it that nothing was innocuous with Morgan around, that day?
(Tony had warned him. Steve never did learn how to listen to his foresight.)
"Why did we stop?"
"I hear something."
Mugging. There was someone being robbed right there, out in broad goddamned daylight, one alley over from the grocery store closest to Steve and Bucky's apartment. Steve had Morgan holding onto his hand, taking what was supposed to be an energy-depleting stroll, and there was someone being robbed, right there.
This was probably why Tony never walked anywhere.
Steve had heard the commotion before he'd seen it. Choked down sobs and hiccups and a low, menacing voice underneath it all. Walking over quickly to get a look was second nature by now – it was his job, interfering in dangerous situations was his whole purpose – except it wasn't his job, not anymore, and Steve had Morgan holding onto his hand.
He stopped abruptly, just out of sight of the two men in the alley, and looked down at her, brain short-circuiting with his contradicting priorities and instincts. Morgan was staring, just as wide-eyed, and then she looked up to stare at him instead.
"Uncle Steve," she whisper-yelled from somewhere around his knees, "we have to help him."
All of a sudden, resolving his inner conflict became far easier, a surge of protectiveness taking over him. With a superhuman effort, Steve picked up the little girl and turned away from the actual crime being committed. He swallowed back bile and began taking terse steps in the opposite direction. "No. What we have to do is get you home safe and call the police."
"But we can't just leave. I'm Iron Man!" she whined. "And you're Captain America."
Steve froze, took a deep breath, and did a one-eighty.
Morgan squealed in his arms. "That worked?" In fairness, Steve was asking himself the same question.
He won't touch her. He can't touch her. No way to get past me.
"You're going to do exactly as I say, you understand?" Steve told her in his best commanding tone of voice, under which she wilted instantly, nodding quickly with wide eyes. "Piggy-back. C'mon. Whatever you do, do not let go, do not peek over my shoulder. Clear?"
"You're really good at being Captain America," she mumbled, scrambling to climb his back and wrap her arms around his neck. Steve let out a short, stressed snort.
He didn't make a secret of his approach – Steve stomped over to the two men, Morgan firmly attached to his shoulders, and yanked the assailant off his victim. Letting him take a good look at his face didn't produce the desired effect – being nose-to-nose with a pissed-off Steve Rogers only got him a wild, sneering look in return.
"What the-"
"Thank you," the civilian whimpered, already trying to scramble far away from the situation. Steve nodded kindly at him, grip never faltering on the criminal – at arm's length, for Morgan's sake.
He tried for a gentle tone of voice. "I know you probably just want to go home right now and hug someone, but I really need you to stop and make a call to the police first – give a statement. Could you do that for me? You don't have to stay – I'll wait here for the authorities to arrive."
From the dazed look on the guy's face, he'd probably come to the conclusion he was having a conversation with former Captain America. He nodded too, however, and that was good enough for Steve. Morgan watched him attentively as he sprinted away.
Steve returned his attention to the mugger, who was starting to squirm in his grip. Either he was desperate or stupid. Just to make a point, Steve grabbed a good hold of his shirt and lifted his feet off the ground – left him dangling on one of his hands, and pushed him back so he was also trapped against the wall.
He stopped squirming, and stared over Steve's shoulder instead.
"Is there a kid on your back?" the man said, brave enough to not care that he was pissing off Captain America, but cowardly enough to rob people.
"I'm sorry, am I about to take babysitting advice from a mugger?" Steve snapped back without missing a beat.
"What's mugger?" Morgan mumbled directly into his ear.
"Morgan," Steve hissed, using the same tone he'd used to reprimand Iron Man, back in the beginning when they were still learning to be a team, "I told you to stay quiet."
"Not really. You told me to stay still, not quiet."
The audacity of that girl. "What are you, your dad? Don't talk back to me. I'm telling you to stay quiet now."
"There's a fucking kid on your back-"
"Whoa," Steve snapped, head swinging back around, "what the hell is the matter with you, watch your language!"
"Yeah, what the hell is the matter with you, Mr. Mugger?" Morgan put in her own two cents enthusiastically.
"Quiet."
The guy suddenly threw out a vicious foot, apparently his last-ditch attempt to get free. He'd gotten purchase on the stone wall behind him, so he managed to land a kick on Steve's stomach.
Steve saw red. Not because it'd hurt, or shifted him back a single inch, or made any impact at all – but because he was not about to engage in a brawl with Morgan on his back.
He let the man drop, probably a touch too roughly, and laid him down on the dirty asphalt. Manhandling him without letting Morgan in on the violent aspect of his actions was hard, but he persevered – he grit his teeth and pulled the mugger's arms behind his back slowly, controlling his movements as well as Steve's, and made sure the hand reaching down to grasp at his ankles didn't look like some leg-trap clamping shut mercilessly.
Morgan climbed down from his back, since Steve had gotten on his knees to suppress the guy. Steve sighed. Her last name was Stark – he really didn't know why he expected her to follow orders. He threw in the towel.
"Morgan – you have a hair band or anything?"
Morgan frowned. "Why would I have a hair band?"
Steve opened and closed his mouth, flustered. "I don't know, you're five."
She rolled her eyes and contemplated the pitiful way he was holding down his prisoner. "I have scotch tape."
"Wha- why would you have scotch tape?"
"Do you want to play twenty questions or do you want scotch tape?"
"Yes, I want scotch tape," Steve exclaimed in exasperation.
Morgan was mumbling something under her breath as she reached inside her coat pocket to retrieve an actual roll of tape. Steve didn't think it was flattering, whatever she was saying.
He still stared for a second too long when she presented him with it. Morgan shrugged and beamed. "Rocket said to bring some with me everywhere."
Morgan's excitement hadn't abated one bit by the time they'd been cleared to leave the scene. Steve's had. Steve was having one hell of an adrenaline crash.
He'd decided to play the dutiful do-gooder who followed orders – for what was possibly the first time in his life – and stayed to await the police that he had called to the scene. The whole ordeal wasn't too particularly difficult. The young cop that greeted him took one look at him and went beet red, which made the following conversation exceptionally short.
"We were never here," Steve advised as a parting warning, to which the cop nodded emphatically and nervously without missing a beat. Maybe Steve had one ulterior motive for waiting. Tony wouldn't be very happy to see his toddler all over the news for this specific reason, or possibly any other.
On the other hand, once Tony found out what Steve had done, Morgan in tow, he wouldn't exactly be happy in general, so it's not like there was much to lose still in this situation.
He took her to a coffee shop and bought her a bear claw when she asked for it, without a second thought, because the variety of his insecurities regarding childcare were suddenly of a different scale and nature altogether. Morgan ate happily for several seconds, and Steve watched her, no appetite or will to engage in conversation.
Steve wasn't bored anymore, so there was that. Maybe boredom was his brain's way of poking him with the question – are you really okay with this? Maybe boredom was his canary, and the outside world was his coal mine. Maybe he'd made a big mistake and this was completely beyond him.
Maybe he really couldn't live without a war; maybe he'd chosen to go to war with himself for lack of a better option.
"Why so glum?" Morgan asked eventually, all the intonation of her father's voice and none of the insincerity. All that was left of her meal were a few crumbs she'd gotten bored of poking. "We helped that man."
The little girl was looking at him with narrowed eyes, obviously taking stock of his lack of humor and general indisposition. She was always so perceptive – so damned smart, and it left Steve in a weird position, because a smart five-year-old was still a five-year-old. Sometimes, she said things she was too young to say, and he would respond in kind – other times, she'd wonder what the word 'mugger' meant, and Steve had to crash back into reality.
Not this time, though. He was too focused on the familiar earnestness in her eyes – Morgan put it securely on display where Tony hid and guarded ferociously, but it was theirs just the same.
"I was supposed to let it go," Steve let spill from his lips, and couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why he'd said it. "Ignore that."
Morgan stared at him in utter bafflement – she and Tony did this far too often to not be insulting – and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. It left crumbs caught in the strands. She seemed confused and very willing to ignore his directive. "Let go of helping?"
Steve opened and closed his mouth. "Not- It's fine. Never mind."
Morgan got up from her chair and picked the one to his immediate right instead, struggling to scramble up and sit until Steve helped her. Her tiny legs were left dangling as she leaned over to inspect his face; she was frowning. "I don't understand." The admission seemed to make her deeply unhappy.
"You could have gotten hurt, and I still couldn't walk away."
"I wasn't going to get hurt," Morgan scoffed, the idea apparently absurd. "You were there."
"That's- Morgan, it was reckless. I'm not supposed to be reckless, not anymore. I should've walked away."
Silently, she poked at his forearm, sitting back a little. "Oh. Is this like how daddy isn't supposed to be Iron Man anymore?"
It startled a chuckle out of Steve. "Sort of. Yeah, I guess it is."
"But what does – it's not the same thing at all."
Steve cocked his head. "It's not? You just said it is."
Morgan did her exasperated little sigh and gave him her tried and proven 'quit being dumb, Uncle Steve' look. He grinned despite himself. "That's not what I'm talking about. You didn't mean to help. We only came out for groceries."
A trade, Steve thought, Captain America for Steve Rogers.
"Yeah," he agreed. "Nothing helpful about groceries."
"Juice pops," Morgan disagreed, strongly. "Cotton swabs."
Steve was laughing. "Right you are. We can help if it's on the way to juice pops and- cotton swabs, sure."
"But only if it's on the way."
It was Steve's turn to stare at her thoughtfully. Morgan smiled back serenely. "You're a funny little girl, you know that?"
"Give me a juice pop."
"Not that funny."
"Is she still alive?" was the first thing out of Tony's mouth, when Steve opened his door to let him in, later.
At the sound of his voice, Morgan shot off the couch with a primal scream. "Daddy!" Tony beamed in response and crouched down in preparation to catch her.
"Only a little maimed," Steve reassured, stepping out of the way to let Morgan through. He noticed Peter, looking over Tony's shoulder with a grin for the little girl, and smiled at him. "Hey, Queens."
"Brooklyn," Peter greeted back, making Tony roll his eyes hard and right through the back of his head. Peter was smirking, because he knew what he'd achieved even if Tony's back was turned to him. "Thanks for freeing Mr. S- Tony up for the afternoon. It really meant a lot to me that he w-"
"Okay, let's not get mushy in front of Rogers, I need some dignity left," Tony interrupted hastily – the smile lines deepening on his face, however, betrayed his true emotional state.
"Should've skipped the nineties, then," Peter mumbled with way too much sass for a fun-sized specimen of a sixteen-year-old.
Tony and Steve stared at him. Peter just enticed Morgan into his arms with a large grin, and effectively pretended the two men weren't there. Steve turned to eye Tony thoughtfully. "Kid's got a point."
Tony swatted at him and poked at Peter's arm. "Y'know, Pete, you're never too old for a babysitter. Next time's your turn, yeah? Steve will do a live performance of those PSA's for you."
"Wasn't babysitting," Morgan argued, momentarily interrupting her climb over Peter's shoulder and down his back. "I'm not a baby."
"Right you are," Tony agreed readily. "This was more of a-"
"Hang-out," Peter suggested.
Tony ran with it. "Hang-out."
Morgan nodded approvingly. "When are we having another hang-out, Uncle Steve?"
"I'm always available to hang out with you, Maguna," Steve declared, more fondness slipping into his tone of voice than he'd strictly intended, and Morgan beamed at him. Tony's lips twitched. "Whenever you feel like it."
"What's the nineties?" she asked in response, laying her head on Peter's shoulder, whose face instantly screwed up, partly in amusement, partly in sheepishness.
"A mistake," Tony offered up immediately, glaring at Peter.
"Like the giant bunny?" Morgan wondered thoughtfully.
Tony's answer was perfectly serious. "Exactly."
"I love the giant bunny story," Morgan said, and then after thinking some more on the subject, added, "I want a giant bunny."
"Always knew mommy was wrong about that, even though she's never wrong about anything," Tony said in clear vindication. "I'll get you ten giant bunnies."
Morgan smiled, self-satisfied, and transferred herself back to her father's arms. "If they don't all fit in my room, Uncle Steve can have one."
"Something to look forward to, Uncle Steve," Tony told him magnanimously. He'd started scanning the room for Morgan's assorted accessories – a single shoe in the corner, a Hulk figurine fallen near the couch, not even the sock that had somehow made its way to the top of Steve's TV seemed to faze him. "So – anything exciting happen today? I've always wanted to know – does Uncle Steve talk during his afternoon nap?" Tony rambled, obviously only half-focused on what he was saying as he tucked her foot back inside the sock. "Does the candy in this house taste like the Roosevelt administration?"
"We stopped a man who was trying to mug someone," Morgan informed him excitedly, obviously intent on using the new word in her lexicon. Tony paused his ministrations and blinked at her for several seconds. "I was Iron Man and Uncle Steve pretended to be Captain America."
Peter's eyebrows shot up. Tony turned his stare on Steve. "Obviously, what she means is that you two had a lot of fun playing pretend, while staying very safely inside the comfort of these four walls, roof and floor. Since that's so obvious, my only question is why you would be so boring as to pick Captain America?"
"Should've been Black Widow," Morgan said, yawning. "Bet Black Widow wouldn't have gotten kicked."
Tony's eyes very deliberately travelled down to the distinct stain of dirt, in the shape of a boot, that was still prominently featured on Steve's shirt. Peter's eyes had become wide as saucers.
"When I asked if my daughter was still alive," Tony said evenly, "my question was intended to be fully rhetorical."
"Did you say she was a little maimed?" Peter squawked, which sent Tony into a state of panicked alarm too. They both turned their full attention to inspecting her.
"Joking," Steve tried to reassure, faintly. "I was joking. There isn't a mark on her."
"Well, excuse me for not making that assumption, considering I just found out you went out vigilante-ing with my toddler-"
"That's- not exactly what happened."
"We only helped 'cause we were going to get groceries," Morgan explained, in a valiant attempt to exonerate Steve.
"Unbelievable," Tony muttered. "Is the only solution to this problem literally swaddling you in bubble wrap?"
"I bet you could line a suit with it," Peter suggested, and Tony looked at him with far too much thought in his eyes.
"She's fine," Steve insisted, exchanging glances with the little girl. "Acted like a great big hero today."
Tony pinched his nose. "I leave her with Steve Rogers, of all people, for two hours-"
"Four hours."
"- And she wanders her way into the site of a felony in progress-"
"He wasn't armed-"
"Extrapolating, if I ever drop her off in Clint's family circus, she'll wind up dead in a Mexican stand-off."
Peter seemed appalled, clutching at Morgan's arm. "Why do you ever let her leave the house?!"
"Been asking myself that question for five years, kid."
Morgan tried to unhook Peter's fingers, but no such luck. "I had the scotch tape," she commented randomly, still picking at his fingers. "Imagine if you didn't let me go out. No scotch tape for Uncle Steve."
"Life-saving scotch tape," Steve agreed emphatically. His gaze crossed Morgan's and both their lips tugged up.
Tony took a deep breath. "Please stop referencing inside jokes that you made with my daughter in the course of inserting yourself in the middle of a future crime scene."
"Daddy, mommy says you're supposed to focus on your breathing if you start looking like that," Morgan advised worriedly. Tony's pinched expression pinched further.
"What happened?" he asked calmly. "And please use the most soothing, least alarming euphemisms ever in your answer."
Steve cleared his throat. "We just- stumbled into an altercation. I didn't want to bring Morgan into it, but-"
"We had to help-"
"Probably best if you let Steve speak, Momo," Peter mumbled.
"It's not like we did much. Just- pulled them apart and waited for the police."
Tony started nodding and wouldn't stop for several seconds too long once Steve was done speaking. "Wow," he said, dazedly, patting Morgan's shoulder. "Mommy's gonna murder me. And once again, it'll be for perfectly good and valid reasons."
"Once again?" Peter muttered.
Steve saw it on Tony's face, then. The renewed hyper-focus, the tightening around his eyes. He was moving on past shock to his comfort zone – verbally demolishing the target of his ire by taking as many scathing, sarcastic detours as he possibly could.
Steve braced himself and accepted his fate bravely.
"Hey, Steve – do you need a new phone? Is yours broken? Developed awareness and refuses to take orders? Battery died and your power went out?"
Steve shook his head mutely, properly chastised. "No."
"Okay, cool. Just checking. Because I know you can use one, but do you know they make calls to the police? They even help you for free, and don't require you to get in on the action at all. Would it be easier if I gave you the flip-phone?"
"What flip-phone?" Morgan asked.
"You know in Harry Potter, how Sirius Black gives Harry a mirror for communicating?" Peter and Morgan nodded without missing a beat. "Well, I got a flip-phone. I made Steve's ringtone Lady Gaga's Telephone, but he never called. Wasted joke," Tony added, as though providing a very important piece of information, which only made Steve blink stupidly at whatever reference he was missing. Peter got it, from the way the kid's face went red from holding back laughter.
"Are you done yelling at me?" Steve took the opportunity to ask.
"I wasn't yelling. We're not there yet. Yelling comes later." Steve eyed him for a few more seconds and Tony deflated. "I need coffee. Just- just point me toward the coffee, I'll get over it."
"Are you still mad at me?"
Peter was entertaining Morgan for a bit in Steve's living room. Steve had followed Tony to his kitchen, putting the coffee maker to use with an unimpressed look on his face. (Steve didn't own an espresso machine.)
He'd been muttering to himself ("Gotta get the fossils proper equipment, I refuse to frequent this place if it's not stocked with espressos.") until Steve had interrupted.
Tony started at his sudden intrusion. "No."
"Are you lying?"
He pulled a face at Steve. "I know you'd faster drop an f-bomb than let anything happen to my daughter, Rogers."
Steve scowled. "Okay, you know what, I'm so fucking tired of that shitty joke. Screw you, I swear to goddamned hell and back-"
Tony had collapsed on himself laughing, and Steve took his mood change as an absolute win. "Message received. Watch that potty mouth around the kid, soldier."
Steve crossed his arms and shifted on the balls of his feet, waiting for the snickering to subside. "So - we're good?"
Tony pursed his lips. "No. I mean, yes. But I have a concern to raise with you."
"What?"
He leaned back against Steve's counter, fingers tapping an unsteady beat against the marble. "It's just- There were other ways to deal with a mugger. Ways that didn't involve you. Or Morgan, for that matter." Tony hesitated briefly, probably chewing on words he didn't know he should say in front of Steve. "Can't help but wonder if there's something deeper to it. Aren't geriatrics patients supposed to enjoy retirement life?"
The question wasn't for Steve, not really. He knew that fear in Tony's eyes – he'd seen it bloom briefly on the porch of his lake house, just before his daughter had come and saved him. He'd seen a flash of it as he'd placed a time-traveling GPS in Steve's hands - he'd seen it grow and fully realize itself on the ruins of what had once been their home, chased by the peace and relief that Tony's sacrifice had brought him.
Before Morgan had given Steve a push and saved her father again.
Tony couldn't watch Captain America falter in his retirement resolution without believing no one – namely, Tony himself – could possibly have the strength to do what Steve couldn't. Which was interesting, because Steve thought the same way about Iron Man.
Personally, he thought Tony was reading too much into it. Occam's razor said Steve was just a really incompetent babysitter. Claiming Captain America's innate sense of responsibility as indicative of his prowess as a caretaker was a bit like claiming Steve's superhero moniker as indicative of his intense love for rule and order: evidence had stacked up to the contrary.
But for the sake of their mutual peace of mind, Steve shook his head emphatically.
"It's not that. If there's- some sort of imaginary list, with the names of people someone somewhere is supposed to call in an emergency, then I shouldn't be on it, not anymore. But when there's something going down right in front of me-"
"'Situation pointed south'," Tony quoted fondly.
"Exactly. If I turn away when I'm needed – when I could help – that's not retirement. It's quitting."
Tony patted his shoulder lightly, but Steve looked in his eyes and found them serious – found understanding and empathy there. Which didn't mean Tony's mouth didn't have a mind of its own. "Y'know, quit is really not the four-letter word you make it out to be."
Steve scoffed. "Not like you would know. Iron Man of all people can't lecture me on that one."
Tony's face screwed up into something unpleasant, but he didn't disagree. The topic felt closed.
"I'm never asking you to babysit again, by the way," Tony promised inevitably, eager to have the last word.
Steve nodded lazily. "Yeah, you will."
"Nuh-uh. I refuse to go to jail for child abuse. Public indecency, maybe, but not child abuse."
"Morgan's going to ask you to," Steve assured him confidently. "She'll do the bambi eyes."
"… Pepper will keep me from going to jail for child abuse."
Steve smiled at Tony. "It didn't go that bad. Honestly, today was fun, apart from the scare. The worst thing that happened was that I'm pretty sure she managed to eat paint."
"She did what?"