Babysat by Uncle Tony: Chapter Two

Summary: You permitted your parents to have a two-week vacation in L.A; even though you're seventeen, they want you babysat, and there's no one else to take care of you, but, your least favourite uncle. What silly or maybe even risky adventures will await you at his grand, mahogany doors?

You practically don't believe it – again!

He told you to come inside . . . his house – his, Tony Stark's, house. Honestly, though, you couldn't care less about whose house this is! You care about its beauty, its architecture, its uniqueness! You're going to live – no, wait, not in a house, but, a mansion – a, friggin, mansion. It's like you won a lottery ticket – but, better!

And you just stand there, staring at him, confused and surprised, the hurtful moment a minute ago gone.

"What?" you say intellectually.

"Get inside," he repeats.

You blink rapidly. "Y-you're serious?"

"No, kid, I'm kidding. Stay out there and enjoy your life." He says sarcastically.

"That's what I expected." You say, "Why do you want me inside?"

"You don't need to know," he replies, "Now, just get your ass inside this house, kid. Don't make me change my mind."

You don't respond, but, you comply. Your uncle steps aside, pushing the door much widely for you to enter; as you grab your luggage, hold onto your messenger bag, before stepping inside your uncle's humble abode.

You gaze around in astonishment.

The interior is much, much, amazing than the exterior.

The ceilings, purely white, though, it's high in your height, you know it's at a good elevation, with small, circular holes, which you suppose are lights, as a golden beam seeps through them.

The floor, smooth and glassy, made of marble or (really, really, really, smooth) wood – not sure, as one part seems to be marble and the other seems to be wood, in different parts of the house, shining from the brightly lit lights, topped with such expensive, comfortable, beautiful furniture.

The walls are mostly made up of glass, while others seem to be cement, or concrete, or brick – you aren't sure, but it's white. You could clearly see the view from where you are now. The water – you aren't sure what body it could possibly be – bay, river, sea, ocean? You don't know, but, it stretches far and wide, twinkling brilliantly at the gaze of the sun, as you notice that the loud sound of crashing waves a few moments ago have soften, probably due to the extraordinary glass walls, covering most of the vibrations of the sound.

Words can't describe it all, but, you know, one word can only fit this place: ultramodern.

Though, what else to expect from the Tony Stark?

For goodness' sake, the guy is working for the future of technology, of humanity.

"Welcome, [Miss/Sir] [name]," greets a monotonous, British voice you don't know where, as you jump up in surprise.

"What the hell was that?" you turn to your uncle, who has closed the door behind you, not bothering to help you with your luggage.

"That was JARVIS," He replies plainly, "an artificially intelligent computer I made, you wouldn't understand." He waves his hand at you, dismissively.

You're rather affronted by that statement.

Of course you know what that is, you aren't stupid.

"Excuse you, I do." You say, "I suppose JARVIS is an acronym?" you cock an eyebrow at him.

He looks at you with light surprise, "How do you know?" he asks.

"Every madman does that to most of the things they create," you shrug as though it's a general and obvious thought.

"Are you calling me a madman?" he's insulted, apparently. "You better watch your mouth, kid; I can change my mind any time."

You grin, "You know it's too late for that, right, Edward?"

He really doesn't like it when you call him that. "I'm your uncle, kid, show some respect."

You scoff, "Like you show respect."

He falls silent at this statement, which bothered you ever so slightly. Though, instantaneously, he gets over his soundless composure. "Choose a room upstairs, JARVIS will tell you which one is available."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," You wave your hand dismissively at him. "Where's Aunt Pepper?" you ask, recalling your favourite aunt.

"Seriously? You address her as your aunt, even if she isn't really related to you?" He says, staring at you, with a cocked eyebrow.

"Yeah," you plainly reply.

"And not me?"

"You want me to call you 'aunt'?" you ask, mockingly.

He stares; his eyes piercing once again through you. It still doesn't bother you. "She's not here, kid, as you can see," he gestures to the wide space around you and him (even though it actually has a lot of furnishings), which is considered as the first floor. "She went to Washington, has a few meetings with other companies," he states.

You frown; the tiniest blink of hope of not being alone with your uncle for two weeks sparks dimly, as you ask, looking around the place, as though searching for her, "For how long?"

"Two whole weeks," he replies.

Damn.

Your frown deepens, feeling really hopeless, as you mentally speak the truth: I'm going to be alone with him for two whole weeks, without my parents, and without Aunt Pepper. Survival chance: 0.00%

You consider yourself doomed. You aren't exactly happy to be unaccompanied with your uncle, however, you aren't, actually, sad either – at least, you're going to live in this high-class home.

"Just remember, kid," the annoying voice of your uncle seemed to have amplified in your ear, as you look up only to notice that he's no longer with you (how can he walk that fast? Even quietly?). "Don't touch anything!"

You don't reply; you merely roll your eyes.

You stare around, and sigh, "How can I survive in this jungle?"

"Would you like some help, [Miss/Sir] [name]?"

You jump in surprise, once again. That damn little artificially intelligent computer–

"Damn it, JARVIS!" you exclaim at wherever.

"I apologize, [Miss/Sir] [name], I did not intend to scare you," he says.

"Yeah, of course," you mutter, "I'm sure Edward told you to scare me again."

There's a short silence. "Shall we begin your search for your room?" JARVIS asks, seemingly changing the subject, which is a sign that Tony has told him to frighten you, but, you ignore it.

"Yeah, sure," you reply, lazily.

You spend the next few hours exploring your uncle's home. Most of it is already planted in your mind [with your rather high IQ, you can memorize things easily] – there's probably one kitchen in each floor, with two living rooms each, three bathrooms every level, four bedrooms each one, bars, dining rooms, et cetera [you counted too].

With so much time talking with JARVIS, you've told him to call you by your nickname. He was hesitant at first, but, you insisted, so, he agreed.

Also, you've found your room. It is absolute posh, an English gentleman would probably say.

The ceiling is the same as the whole mansion's – elevated well, with tiny holes with a golden ray you assume is light oozing from them. As well as the walls – white, glass, brick, cement, or concrete – you still aren't sure – the view of the sea, obvious, clear and visible as your eyes could see.

However, the flooring is as red as lively roses. The furniture – a bright crimson queen-sized bed placed at the center of the room, two elegant bedside tables, a polished, wooden study-slash-work desk accompanied by a black, leather, office chair with a yellow lamp on top, and a white door, which seem to have led to a walk-in closet that is filled with numerous unisex clothing, as JARVIS had told you.

It's available, JARVIS had said, and instantly, you took it, by immediately placing your things around the room, claiming it yours, as you sat there, on your bed, using your laptop all day, not bothering to do anything else, except maybe talking to JARVIS at certain times, which you enjoy, honestly; as he's very good company.

But there was one small chat that bothered you a bit, because of how quiet JARVIS was when you asked if ever he has friends. Though, he replied anyway, stating that your uncle, Aunt Pepper, a guy named Rhodey and some dude named Happy are the people he considers his friends.

Although, you wonder why you even bothered to ask – JARVIS is a computer, how can he have buddies? Logically, he has no feelings. But, right now, after so much time talking together, you actually felt he really was like a true person. So, you just nodded, as if he was merely in front of you.

And without your knowledge, the night comes.

You're still on your bed, doing what you usually do with your laptop, listening to music simultaneously.

"A," you hear JARVIS calls.

"Yes, JARV'?" you look up.

"Sir Stark has asked for your presence in the kitchen."

That's strange. That sentence just seems . . . wrong.

"Which kitchen?" you ask, as you settle your laptop on the bed, and begin to move towards the edge of the bed, swinging your feet to the floor, as you slip them into your sneakers.

"The first floor's," JARVIS replies plainly.

You stand up from your bed, stretching a bit before walking out of your room, closing the door behind you, and proceeding through the hallway.

As you walk, you begin to wonder why your uncle has called for you. Seriously, it's just weird. Even if you've been here for a few hours, and you haven't exactly bothered him (yet), you know very well enough that he doesn't really like you, with your first impression, which you are very proud of.

Then, the thought of what time it possibly be crosses your mind.

You decide to ask JARVIS, "Time, JARV'?"

"Seven thirty-five in the evening, A," he replies.

It isn't exactly surprising to know that you were in your room for that long. Even at home, you probably live in your bedroom. You only go out when it's time to eat.

Maybe, that's why your uncle called for you, to eat.

Why would he feed me anyway? You wonder mentally.

That thought stays in your mind, as you descend down the steps towards the first floor.

He isn't exactly obliged to feed you. He can just not give you food. He already gave you a shelter to live in for two weeks, with an awesome room and all, which must have sacrificed a lot of his pride, and space. And now, he's going to supply you with food? Isn't his home and superiority enough for him to forgo? Is this some sort of trickery? Or is it possible he's concerned?

Before you could continue to think and answer to your own questions, you find yourself already in the kitchen, with white walls, a gray ceiling and white, marble floorings. Wooden cabinets on the wall, a black-and-silver refrigerator at the end of the lines of matching wooden counters, with black-polka-dotted, white tops, and a honey brown, expensive-looking stove somewhere between the counters. At the center of the room, there's another line of counters, though fully-white this time, but, used for eating, as there's a row of comfortable, hazel stools in front of them. It's strange that he has a dining room, but, he placed another one here.

Also, there are lots of pale boxes that reminded you of take-out Chinese food – oh.

You look up to see your uncle sitting on the first stool, eating noodles in another white box, using chopsticks.

He doesn't seem to have noticed you. He's enjoying himself too much.

"Uh . . ." Yes, a certainly smart way on catching your multi-billionaire uncle's attention.

He looks up and sees you. "You hungry, kid?" He asks between chews.

He doesn't wait for a reply. "Well, I hope you like Chinese food. Didn't know what you really like, so I bought most of everything."

Chinese food? Well, you've eaten them before, and they are rather delicious. But, look how much money he spent to buy most of everything just for you. Does he really care or is he playing?

"You could have just asked," you retort, approaching him slowly. "You don't need to spend this much."

He shrugs nonchalantly, "Just eat."

You sit one stool away from him; no, you do not want to sit too close to him, it's already bad enough you live in the same roof he does – fortunately, for two weeks. Plus, he doesn't seem to actually care where you sit, as he continues to wolf down rations in a fast speed.

You scan the boxes, searching for familiar Chinese delicacies. But, all of them are closed, so, you can't actually know which ones which.

"That's [insert favourite Chinese food here]."

You spin your head at the source of the voice and discover that it actually belonged to your uncle, who's pointing at one box just in front of you with the chopsticks.

"How do you know?" you ask, suspicious of his actions.

"I opened it," he replies, still eating, as though it's obvious – which probably is.

You decide not to reply or say anything; however, you couldn't contain the eye roll.

You open the box to see that he's correct – it's one of your favourite Chinese dishes. But, how could he have known? Did he inquire someone? Did he read your mind – oh, stupid thought, impossible, never mind.

Still, you find it odd.

Is it him or is it just your mind, exaggerating? It's more likely your mind, but, you can't say; it could be him – he's Tony Stark, for Pete's sake. Anything's possible when it comes to the idiot you're blood-related to as your uncle.

Nevertheless, you take a pair of chopsticks, break it, before wolfing down the same – you haven't realized how hungry you are until now.

Most part of your dinner is complete silence – and you ate two boxes of your favourites.

It's surprising he's quiet, though. He usually talks a lot – or too much. Scratch the or, he talks a lot and too much. The stillness is eerie that it's starting to get to you. Should you speak or should you remain silent? Nah.

But the silence really is beginning to bother you. The ringing in your ears is getting rather loud, that your ear is probably going to explode soon.

Then, a random thought comes out of nowhere while you eat your third box of Chinese food.

Maybe your uncle quietly proposed a game. A game of amusement wherein the first one to speak is the loser, the one who can't handle silences, the one who doesn't know how to shut up.

Oooh, you're not backing down – especially to your uncle.

So, the silence goes on.

You look up to the clock (luckily, it has the AMs and PMs) above the refrigerator momentarily – 7:37PM. Three minutes? Three fucking minutes has just passed? It seems like you've been eating for hours.

Time really slows down when you're not having fun.

Curse time.

You're finished with the third one, and you wonder whether to eat another or stop, because you can feel your stomach inflate ever so slightly.

You subconsciously place a hand on your abdomen, as you scan the food.

Then, another random thought comes to your mind.

What if this isn't a game wherein the first to speak loses – what if, this game is a race? A race wherein you have to eat as many Chinese food boxes as you can? And one with a larger amount wins?

Yes . . . yes . . . that might be i–oh, you're thinking too much! You're just eating dinner with your uncle. That's all. That's ordinary . . . well, for a seventeen-year-old kid who has a self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist uncle, who's also included in the Avengers, the Earth's Mightiest Heroes, assuming there's another child like that.

Yeah, right, totally ordinary.

Oh, for the love of – just eat.

So, you just ate with eerie silence, and a loud mind.

"Which room did you pick?"

That question nearly made you jump in surprise – oh, and he lost the first game.

Damn your uncle for randomly throwing questions here and there. Honestly, though, that's just the first one. You should learn how to relax.

Nevertheless, you reply, "Second floor, second hallway, third door."

He's quiet for a moment, "Good."

"It surely is," you say, as though his statement was a question. "The room's awesome."

"You like it?"

"It's the perfect one, with a grand bed, a walk-in closet, a good view of the sea – and it's far from your room!" You grin, taunting him.

He surprisingly nods in agreement, countering your taunt, "I know; which is good." He looks at you, "Though, I have to ask: how do you know where my room is?" he asks, still chewing.

You look back at your food, "I asked JARV'."

You hear coughing as if someone's choking (probably your uncle), though, you don't look up, "JARV'?"

"Yeah, JARV'," you shift your head up, knitting your eyebrows in confusion. He sounded offended, or maybe, just surprised.

"Are you," he coughs more, "good pals with my computer?" he's facing you full-body now, with the stool twisted, and one arm on the counter.

"Well, yeah," you reply. "JARVIS is good company."

"He's an artificially intelligent computer," he stares at you, his dark eyes piercing through you once again – and it still doesn't bother you.

"So?" You deadpan.

"So, he doesn't have friends."

"Well, he said you were one of his friends," you recall.

That caught him off guard.

"What?" he gawks at you, dumbfounded.

You nod, "Yeah; he said you, Aunt Pepper, a guy called Rhodey and another named Happy."

He doesn't reply. His gaze moves slightly away, as though in deep thought – which he most likely is.

Now that Tony thinks about it, he, too, actually considers JARVIS as a friend. With so much time spent together (mostly talking of course), and how long it has been, yes, JARVIS is no longer a computer to Tony, he is more of a friend. But, seriously, does Happy have to be included? Rhodey and Pepper's fine – he's used to them. But, Happy? Is JARVIS fucking kidding him?

Several minutes passed more, and both of you are done eating. Tony finished his seventh box, and you're done with your fifth – which means you lost the second game; hey, at least, you won the first one. Both of you are even; though, Tony doesn't seem to show any kind of sign that he did propose games while you ate. Maybe it is all in your mind.

You look up at the clock: 7:42PM

All in all, you ate dinner in eight minutes, which you suppose is a bit quick.

"What are we gonna do with those?" you ask him, gesturing to the closed boxes, as you stand.

"Just place them in the fridge," he stated, as though it's evident. "And throw the empty ones in the trash – there's one beneath this counter." He gestures to where both of you ate.

He said that like a command – as if he's ordering you.

Hell no. "Hell no," you echo your mind.

He looks up at you, as he stands, an eyebrow cocked.

"I am not going to clean this up."

"Yes, you are," he says.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are."

"Can JARVIS do this?" you ask in exasperation.

"I thought you're good pals with him."

"Your point?" you raise a brow.

"You don't let friends do your work, now do you?" he's mocking you; you know it.

"Well – you are too!" you indicate him, "Plus, since when is this work mine?"

"Since you step inside this house – and you aren't a legal adult yet," he states in that well-duh tone. "Also, I'm the one who made him."

"What's the difference?" you ask, "And I can already drive!"

"I can say and make him do anything I want," he replies. "Doesn't matter if you can drive or not, kid."

"Of course it does!" you frown deeply, "Then, ask him to do this!"

"It's your job; you can't ask a friend to do your work," he says, mischief apparent in his eyes. "Besides, he can't. He has no arms here."

"My job? I told you for the f–"

He cuts you off, "Watch the language, kiddo."

"As if you don't watch yours," you counter.

This is another moment, wherein he falls into that bothersome silence, which makes a small amount of guilt form in your mind, but, you don't dare apologize – you have pride to keep.

Luckily, he gets over his still poise fast. "Do it, kid."

Before you can protest again, he leaves.

And for half an hour, you clean up the mess, grumbling curses all the way.

Once you're done, you instantly walk to your room, stretching your back – goodness, it hurts.

Soon, you arrive at your destination, closing the door with a loud, echoing thud, before approaching your bed, jumping on it in exhaustion, not caring about your laptop or your sneakers.

The soft sensation of the comfy pillows, mattress and blankets makes your tensed muscles relax immediately. It feels really good. And, in a matter of minutes, your angry, but, tired mind slips into the drowsy darkness.

A/N: YES. I MANAGED TO FINISH THIS. THANK GODS.

Sorry for the long wait, everyone. Really am. ): Also, if ever Tony's OOC, I really apologize for that. I'm doing my best.

I hope you enjoyed this second chapter, even if it isn't long enough like the first one.

I just wrote this to end the day, you know? So, we could go on to the next day – and so, we could give JARVIS some love! The guy deserves it. 3 (:

Anyway, read, review & enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own you or Tony or JARVIS or any of the mentioned characters. Just the story.