Devil's Promise
Chapter 1: You Give Mechanics a Bad Name

When Pepper tells Tony the new plan, he isn't happy.

"A daughter, Pepper?" he demands, running hands through his sweat-soaked hair. "I can barely take care of myself! What makes you think I can take care of a teenage girl?"

Pepper sets her lips into a thin line and glares at him. "You're going to have to learn," she tells him, "because as of today, you are the legal guardian of Calliope Watson."

And one week later, Tony is forced out of his lab and away from his drafting board as a tall, gangly girl with a mane of unruly, sand-colored curls is lead into the house and introduced to him.

His eyes rest on her for a solid two minutes, and he forces an awkward grin as he takes her in and wonders how the hell he's going to do this. The blonde girl raises an eyebrow, no expression on her face, and for the first time, Tony notices the folded-up flag she's clutching to her chest and the wrench sticking out of the back pocket of her shorts.

"So," Tony finally says, tugging on the hem of the shirt Pepper made him change into, "you're Calliope Watson- Erica's daughter."

Her lips are set into a thin line, and Tony knows that they're both remembering the same woman- a little plump but with a kind face, laughing at him as she steers a tanker through the Afghani desert.

"It's Callie," she corrects, smiling weakly. "Calliope makes me sound like I'm in my seventies."

Tony nods. "Right. Callie. Well!" He grins slightly and turns to Pepper. "You mind picking up a pizza? Thanks. I'm starved. Kid, walk with me."

He says all of this so fast that Callie is a little affronted, but Pepper is used to this so just huffs through her nose, waves at Callie, and leaves through the chrome front doors. Stark has already disappeared into what she assumes is the living room by the time Callie realizes he's asked her to follow him. She sets her mother's flag down on the entrance table and walks into the room, hands stuffed into the back pockets of her shorts and squeezing her wrench.

"Coffee?" Stark asks, not turning to her as he starts up a Keurig.

Callie shakes her head and rocks back on the heels of her sneakers. "I don't drink coffee."

Stark, making an honest expression for the first time since she walked through the door, whirls around and raises an overly-hairy eyebrow at her. "What?" he demands. "You don't drink coff- are you even human?"

"Caffeine makes me sick," Callie tells him, a little defensively.

Stark shrugs and turns back to the espresso machine. "Suit yourself."

There's a thick silence as the machine whirs and shoots out a line of caffeine. They stare at each other, sizing each other up, and Stark is the first one to look away. He saunters over to the L-shaped couch, takes a long slurp from his porcelain mug, and pats the cushion beside him. "Pop a squat, kid."

Callie slowly takes a seat and hugs a throw pillow to her chest. They stare at each other again.

"So," Stark begins, "I hate to start off like this, but I need to lay down the law."

"Shoot," Callie tells him, tugging on a dirty blonde curl.

Stark nods and sets down his coffee cup. "You start at Harvard-Westlake School tomorrow morning."

"I know," Callie says. "Pepper told me when she picked me up from the airport."

"Right, well..." Stark tugs on his shirt again. "Rule number one"- he nods at the glass wine rack in the corner- "don't touch my private selection. Rule number two"- he points at the metal door beside the flat screen- "don't go into my workshop. And rule number three, don't go into my room. I don't want you to be scarred for the rest of your life."

Callie shudders a little at the mental images- she has a pretty good idea of what Stark might be doing that will scar her- and nods. "Alright, then," she says, and neither of them are really sure what to do after that, so Stark heads back down to his workshop, and after a few minutes of sitting there and doing nothing, Callie decides to go check out her room.

It's quite nice, with an ultra-plush California king bed and french doors that open out onto Stark's private stretch of beach. A little bare, maybe, but Callie imagines that once her pictures and clothes have been delivered it will feel more like home- well, as much of a home as this place will ever feel like.

And for the first time in a month, Callie feels that tight clenching in her throat and wishes- begs to cry. But she can't. She hasn't been able to since the phone call. So instead, she curls herself around her mother's flag and stares out at the setting sun over the ocean, wishing she were anywhere but here.


Pepper returns that evening with three cardboard boxes of pizza and a man who introduces himself as Obadiah Stane- Stark's close family friend and business partner. Callie just smiles, nods, tells him her name, and grabs a slice of pepperoni pizza. She isn't in the mood for small talk.

"He does that a lot," Pepper says after Callie tells her Stark is in his workshop. "Don't worry, sweetie. Tony's just a bit of a workaholic."

"If you say so," Callie says, and takes another bite of pizza. It's the really good kind: not to greasy, not to dry, and the crust isn't burnt.

"So," Pepper tries again, not touching her own slice, "are you excited for school tomorrow?"

"Um..." Callie nods, swallows, and smiles slightly. "I guess. I, um, I think I'm trying out for the cheer squad."

Obadiah groans suddenly and tosses his cell phone away from him, rubbing at his temples in annoyance. "That was the company board," he tells Pepper, noticing her raised eyebrow. "They're going through with the suspension."

Pepper looks disheartened, and Callie asks, confused, "Uh, suspension? What- what suspension?"

Obadiah glances up at her and smiles weakly. "Nothing you need to worry about, Calliope."

"It's Callie," she informs him with a frown. "Is this about that thing that's been in the news all week? About Stark Industries not manufacturing weapons anymore?"

"We're handling it," Obadiah informs her in a clipped voice. Callie gets the feeling this isn't something he wants to talk about with her.

The door that leads to the staircase down to the basement opens suddenly, and Stark himself comes sauntering out, covered in sweat but with a proud smile on his face. "Obadiah!" he calls happily. "You brought pizza!"

"Actually, that was Pepper," Obadiah says grimly, getting to his feet. "I brought bad news."

"How bad?" Stark asks in a quieter voice.

Obadiah sends a pointed look in Callie's direction, whose mouth is currently full. She stares back at him in confusion before finally getting the idea. "Oh," she says, swallowing down the pizza so fast she nearly chokes. "You want me to leave-?"

"No. No, stay," Stark says, not looking at her. "You'll find out anyway on the news. Obadiah, what's happened?"

With one last annoyed glance at Callie, Obadiah sighs and says, "I just got off the phone with the company board."

"And...?" Stark asks pointedly.

"And they're suspending you from your duties as CEO," Obadiah finally admits. "They claim you're suffering from PTSD and not in the right mind to be making executive decisions. I'm sorry, Tony."

"What?" Stark demands indignantly. "They can't just suspend me! It's my company- I own it. And if I want to stop manufacturing weapons, then I very well can!"

"Actually," Pepper speaks up, "the company board owns sixty-percent of Stark Industries' funds, as well as major shares in its stock."

"They can't do it though!" Stark insists.

"But they can," Pepper tells him apologetically.

He scowls moodily and rakes his hands through his hair. "You know what?" he finally says. "I'm going back down to the lab. Handle this, Obadiah."

"No, no, no," Obadiah calls before Stark can escape back to his workshop. "Tony, think rationally. We're a weapons company. We can't just stop making weapons... Maybe you need to let this one go."

Stark clenches his jaw. "I'll tell you what," he says, and then grabs the pizza box, "I'm going to take this and go back down to my lab, and you're going to get on the phone and make them revoke my suspension."

And with that, he swipes the last piece of pepperoni off of Callie's plate, causing her to glare up at him and say, "I was eating that."

And for the first time, Stark gives her an honest smile, winks, and says, "You snooze you lose, kid," before turning to back to Obadiah. "I'm working on something new," he says. "It's going to be incredible- change the world. But I need you to get the board to revoke the suspension."

Obadiah stares at him for a few seconds, expression steady, before finally sighing and letting his suited-shoulders slump. "Alright," he relents, but before Stark can skip away into the sunset, Obadiah snatches the pizza box out of his hands and says, "but I'm taking this."

Stark smiles good-naturedly and heads off, and that's the last Callie sees of him all night.


Quite a few hours later, it's two seventeen in the morning and Callie can't sleep.

It's not like this is anything new to her. She's used to long nights staring at her bedroom ceiling- she's always been a bit of insomniac, but it's gotten so much worse in the two years since her mother signed up for the army, and even worse since the phone call.

It's the not knowing, Callie muses as she yanks the fluffy white comforter up to her chin and buries herself in it. It's not so much that she can't stand the way it happened- it's that she doesn't know how it happened. And she isn't sure if she wants to, because, if she's keeping herself up imagining all the possible ways it went down, how will it be once she actually knows?

Because she could always ask Stark- not that she's planning on it, but she could, if she wanted to. He was there. He saw.

Callie groans and presses a pillow to her face, wondering how hard it would be to just suffocate herself and put herself out of her misery. When that doesn't work, she huffs and tosses the pillow across the room. The way she sees it, she only has four more hours before it's reasonable for her to get up and start getting ready for school.

Which is another thing for her to obsess over.

School.

Not just any school- no, Callie has a distinct feeling that this won't be anything like her trusty dusty public school back in Spade, where everyone grew up together and Mike Dawson throws a party every Saturday night that everyone is invited to and Callie's cheer squad has a sleepover once a month where they tp houses and have pillow fights.

According to Pepper, Harvard-Westlake is the most prestigious private school in the LA metropolitan area, and if the uniform is anything to go by, Callie has the feeling it's going to be rather preppy.

Not that she has a problem with that. If she had stayed at her old school she would have graduated as her class's valedictorian- and she's a cheerleader, after all, so it isn't like she's some punk weirdo who the rich society kids will want to burn at the stake.

No, Callie considers herself to be a very classy girl- car-fixing and computer hacking aside- and she manages to convince herself that, with a little bit of work, she shouldn't have too much trouble making friends.

And yet, she still can't get herself to fall asleep.

Callie sighs again and glances at the clock.

2:34

Dammit.

"Is there anything the matter, Miss Watson?" a British man's voice says from the speaker built into Callie's nightstand.

She hides her wince in her pillow, remembering just how weirded out she was when Stark introduced her to the A.I. earlier that day- or, really, yesterday- and calls back, "I'm fine. Thanks, Jarvis... Just can't sleep."

"Might I suggest a snack?" Jarvis asks. "I find it helps Mr. Stark with his insomnia."

Not wanting to be rude, even though she can't even think of eating right now without feeling ill, Callie nods and sits up in bed. "I think I might just do that, actually. Thanks."

So she slides out of bed, wincing when her bare feet meet the cold wooden floor, and pulls on her favorite pair of socks: knitted, orange, red and blue, her Aunt Barbara gave them two her the last Christmas before she succumbed to the cancer tearing at her frail lungs. The bedroom door slides open and Callie pads through the hall and down the stairs, through the entrance hall and into the all-chrome-appliances kitchen. She finds herself glad that the house's floor plan is relatively simple. She has a terrible sense of direction, and if there were just one more flight of stairs or one more long, dark hallway, she probably would be hopelessly lost.

"Nice socks," a voice from near the pantry pipes up as Callie slips through the door, causing her to shriek and slide around across the tile floor.

The same voice chuckles gruffly and switches a light on, revealing her guardian, and Callie scowls, slapping a hand over her pounding heart.

"Jesus, Stark," she complains. "You almost gave me a panic attack! I-" Her eyes widen as she realizes he's clad in nothing but a pair of boxers. "Why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

Stark shrugs and opens one of the two, glass-front refrigerators, pulling out eggs, a carton of milk, and a huge chunk of cheddar cheese. "My house, my rules," he tells her cryptically. "More importantly, why are you awake at two-" he checks the time on the industrial-sized oven- "almost three, in the morning? You start school tomorrow."

"I know," Callie mumbles, taking a seat on the bar stool Stark nods to. "I, um..." She crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm just having trouble sleeping."

Stark gives her this long, unreadable look. "Me too," is all he says, but Callie feels like he understands, and she's grateful.

Her eyes fixate on the glowing plate of metal in his bare chest as he turns around and starts cooking something over the stove, and it's not until he turns around again to grab the cheese that he notices her staring and raises an eyebrow.

"What is that thing, anyway?" Callie asks quietly, for lack of anything better to say.

"You know what an arc reactor is, kid?" Stark replies, turning back around and shredding cheese over the pan he's set over the open flame.

"Um, yes?"

"Well, you're looking at one."

"Okay, cool. Why is it embedded in your chest?"

Stark sighs deeply and turns back to look at her with this expression like does it hurt to be that stupid. "It's keeping missile shrapnel from entering my heart," he tells her impatiently. "A... friend created the original for me when we were... well, I created this one"- he taps the disc- "and without it, I'd die."

"Oh," Callie says. She's quiet for a few minutes, and Tony begins to think that maybe she won't talk again as he sets down the omelet he's made and hands her a fork, but then, as they both begin to eat: "Um, did- did you see..."

She trails off, but Tony knows what she's trying to ask, sees it in the way she stares at the plate, not touching the omelet, just trailing the tines of her fork around the edge, so he finishes for her, "Did I see how your mom died?"

Callie nods, still staring at the plate, and Tony remembers how he felt after the car crash and understands how strange this all must be to her- he was twenty-one by the time his parents died, and already helping to run the company. But this kid isn't even eighteen yet, and probably has no idea how to handle loss like this...

"She was shot through the heart," he finally tells her, and Callie's head snaps up so quickly he's surprised she didn't get whiplash. "It was simple- painless. She died protecting me, and I'm so, so sorry..."

They stare at each other. Callie doesn't say she forgives him, and Tony doesn't really want her to. Finally, she nods and starts eating, and he guesses that's all he's going to get out of her for now.

But, he muses later, once both of them have made their way back to their own beds, maybe that's enough to start with.