Hi all! Welcome to the first installment if my Peter Park/Stark!OC series The Stark Girl.

I hope you all liked my previous chapter! This one takes place the next day, right after baby Stark makes the call to her dad. It's the conversation, the start of the healing, and her break down. It won't be the end of her anger, though, because what she finds out has her very hurt and confused, more so than before. Keep in mind that I'm not actually hating on Steve completely. This is just how Tony's daughter would react when she finds out what happened in Siberia. Still love him, but I'm not blinded by my love for him, he's made many mistakes, just like Tony. But this is the end of the big angst with Tony and Brooklyn. The next chapters of this pre-Infinity War story will be her becoming a superhero, bonding with her dad, and figuring out who she is. Plus hanging with her best friends and forming a cute relationship with a nearby web-slinger. Just the usual.

Anyway, enjoy this chapter! I only own the plot and Brooklyn, and P.O.P. Everything else is the MCU.

I look down at my sweaty hands as Happy pulls up in front of the Avengers compound, my former home. Dozens of memories instantly return. Steve making me join him on runs, Wanda and me playing the guitar together or figuring out our powers together, Vision and me playing Operation and the android constantly questioning the game ("How is it possible for a man to have a hammer in his toe", "Vision, not the point", "But how?"). Sam carefully watching as I would fix any bangs his wings received on missions. Rhodey and me complaining about the latest sleep-deprived thing my father managed to accomplish. And aunt Nat, helping me with acrobatics and hand-to-hand combat.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" Happy asks me as he stops the car. I glance up at him.

"No. Thank you, though." He nods and squeezes my shoulder and I exit the car, carefully closing the passenger door behind me. Walking up to the front door I bite my lip before sighing, punching in the code. The retinal scan blinks to life and I lean in, waiting for it to accept me. If it even still does.

"Welcome back, Miss Stark." FRIDAY tells me, the door clicking open.

"Thanks, Fri." I respond, opening the door fully and walking in, closing it behind me. I see Rhodey down the hall, and he walks up to me, the joints on his leg braces moving perfectly. "Hi, uncle James." I mutter nervously, and he cups my small face in his hands.

"He's in his office, Rookie. It'll be okay."

"What if it isn't?" He sighs. "What if… I can't lose him. I'm tired of all this. All the lying, and the anger from me, and how we've hurt each other."

"Then tell him that. He understands. Remember, he loves you. You could become a serial killer and he'd still look at you like you're his whole world." I smile at his words and nod, blinking away some tears. "Now go." He orders, releasing me.

"Aye, aye, Colonel Rhodes." I salute and laugh as he rolls his eyes before walking up the stairs leading to dad's office. It used to be Steve's, but dad took it over after… after everything.

Seeing the back of his head, I knock on the open doorway. Dramatic as always, my father spins in his chair, hands clasped together and one leg crossed over the other. "You may enter." He announces, and I smile softly despite everything that has happened. I take in what he looks like, though. I haven't seen him in almost a month. Even before that, I only say him a handful of times the year I was on house arrest. But I wasn't paying attention to him, I was just so damn focused on my anger.

His brown eyes look sad. That's the first thing I see that's different. The only thing, really. They're usually just so alive. And I get a sudden feeling that my own blue eyes look the same. Just as sad, just as scared. More tired than usual, as I inherited his lack of a proper sleep schedule.

Standing in front of him, it's hard to believe I had called him only last night. Maybe this was too soon?

But then my dad clears his throat. "Your mom showed me the heels you wore yesterday. You should probably sit. Blisters can suck."

I smile at his awkward tone. My dad is always so self-assured when he speaks. Never nervous. So I pull up my favorite spinning chair, one I would sit in when I wanted to bother Steve as he worked. I sit down and fold my legs under me. "I'm not even sure I can get blisters any more, with all the training I did."

"Fair. Though, heels are their own torture device."

"Got a lot of experience with heels?"

"Only from your mother stomping on my feet."

I smile. "You deserved it."

"Oh, definitely. I deserved a lot of what I've gotten. Especially recently." He frowns and I place my elbows on my folded knees, resting my head on my hands. "I've made a lot of mistakes, Brooklyn. So many mistakes."

"Dad -"

"It's true. I built Ultron."

"Ultron wasn't completely your fault."

"Yes, he was. And with the Accords… God, I just wanted to do the right thing. I never should have agreed with Ross. I shouldn't have told you you'd have to sign at 18, if the Avengers life was the one you'd lead. I'm so, so incredibly sorry kiddo."

"Dad, no. Stop. I have more to be sorry about. I should have listened, more. I should have realized you were only trying to keep me safe from anything the government may have done, if the Avengers were to remain independent. I should have stayed out of the fight, been neutral." I sigh. "But I'm also not sorry about fighting against the Accords. You know how important it is to me that I get to make my own decisions. That people don't force me to do something I don't consent to. Estrella Isabel Rodriguez," I shiver at the name of my birth mother, a half-latino woman with the same hair, eyes, and complexion as me, "made me what I am today without even wondering if her unborn child would want powers. Would want to be a freak. So to see my own dad choose to back something that would make my friends, and eventually me, be tools... weapons for the government. Daddy, it broke my heart." I admit, a tear rolling down my cheek. He takes a shuddering breath. "I know you were faced with a difficult decision, I get it. I do. But you always told me I could be what I want, that no one would ever be able to control my life again. You lied."

"I know, baby. And that's the one thing I will spend the rest of my life regretting. But you hurt me, too. When you chose him."

"Steve was your friend." I argue, though unlike our past few encounters my voice is calm. "And he's like an uncle to me. You told me stories about the legend, and I know you were jealous of him, so thank you for telling me all about him. But you did so because you knew it was important I see my powers not just as this 'dark cloud' above me, but as a way to help people. To serve a greater purpose than myself." He nods.

"Well, he's made mistakes, too. Big ones."

"So tell me about them, please." I plead. "Everyone keeps telling me he's not 'perfect'. And damn it, I know he isn't! He's human, just like the rest of us. We all do things we regret, trust me I know better than most."

"Ivy," he uses yet another beloved nickname, "you don't understand."

"So help me to, please." I beg, leaving my chair and kneeling in front of him, taking his hands in mine. "I'm so tired of being angry at you. At me, and at the world. I'm tired of feeling alone. I'm tired of throwing things, of breaking things, of crying myself to sleep whenever I can sleep. I'm tired of pushing the people I love most in this sad little world away. I'm tired of being such a… such a teenager." I spit out the last word, and he laughs. "I'm more mature than I've been acting."

"Well, one of us had to be, when you were growing up."

I shake my head. "No, dad, you're amazing. You're the best dad a girl could ask for." He tears up, too.

To the world, Tony Stark is a man with scathing sarcasm and witty comebacks. He's a genius, a billionaire, a former playboy. He parties, but he also saves the world.

But with me, he's more than that. Sarcastic, yes. Witty, yes. I get that from him. But more often than not we're like this. He's like this. Soft, and caring, and so focused on making sure he doesn't become like his father when it comes to raising me. "Honey, you wouldn't say that if you know what I've been hiding from you."

"So stop hiding the truth."

"You can't handle the truth." He quotes Jack Nicholson with false bravado, but I only shake my head. "Come on, A Few Good Men is a classic. That line totally fits this situation."

"Dad, stop." I gently tell him, and he nods. "I think we've skirted around the truth long enough. Over a year. You let me be angry, I let you be disappointed -"

"Oh, Brooklyn, I was never disappointed." He tells me, kissing my forehead. "I was hurt, yeah. A lot. But… this was my doing. God, I should have been honest. I'm just so scared."

"Me, too. Everyone's scared, no matter how brave. But you're Tony Stark. The man who built a big, clunky metal suit so he could escape hell and come back to his daughter. All with a giant battery powering his chest. If you can do that, you can do this."

"This is harder. The hardest thing I've ever done." I hide my comment ("That's what she said" plays in my head). "And you're going to be madder than you think. I'm just not sure who you'll be angrier at. Me or him."

"Him being Steve?" I ask, and my dad nods his head.

"Yeah. There's something you don't know, about Siberia." He looks away from me. "I know you read the report. P.O.P. doesn't keep all your activities away from me."

"Traitor." I mutter.

He snorts. "Yeah." He sighs, running a hand through his short dark hair before clasping it in mine once more. "What I'm about to tell you… it's going to confuse you. Hurt you. But I can't keep treating you like a child. A baby. Because you're still just a kid, but you're my kid. And we promised never to lie to each other." I nod, waiting for him to continue. "The report you read wasn't strictly accurate. There was a fight, and Barnes and Rogers escaped. But not before… not before Barnes destroyed the arc reactor in my suit. And not before Rogers punched the living daylights out of me." I blink and fall back, sitting instead of kneeling. My dad pushes back his seat and sits in front of me, our hands still clinging to each other. His tone is clinical, though. Not emotional. Like he's accepted it. "Roger's slammed his shield into my chest. I thought he was going to kill me. But he didn't. Maybe because I still mattered to him. Or maybe because he didn't want to hurt you. That's the only reason why I haven't hunted him down. Because I know you mattered to him."

"No." I mutter, shaking my head. "No. No, he wouldn't. He couldn't. You're lying. You're still lying." I whimper, scooting back. I don't get far, though. My dad holds onto me.

"I'm not. God, I wish I was." I gulp and tears slide down my face, my shoulders shaking. "I'm so sorry, kiddo. I'm so, so sorry."

"Wh-why didn't you tell me?" I ask, tears falling down my face. "Why… why did you lie? For so long? Wh-why did. Why did you let me… let me think what I did?"

He sighs, tears filling his eyes. "The last thing I wanted was for you to be disappointed in your hero."

I close my eyes and let the tears fall.

Uncle Steve hurt my dad. His best friend hurt my dad. All because they lied, about what the Winter Soldier did to his family.

Uncle Steve hurt my dad.

Uncle Steve hurt my dad.

Steve Rogers hurt my dad.

Captain America hurt my dad.

Rogers hurt my dad.

My eyes flash open, and I watch in horror as tears fall down my dad's face, just as the tears roll down my cheeks. "I could never be disappointed in you. Because you're my real hero. You always have been, and you always will be." I promise.

My dad lets out a sob and we throw ourselves at each other, arms wrapped around bodies and chests heaving with deep breaths. Our shoulders are damp from each other's tears. My dad's nice jacket is definitely ruined, the same as my top, but I can't find it in myself to carry or worry about silk and cashmere. Not when, for the first time in over a year, my dad is hugging me.

"Oh, kiddo." He finally says as we pull away from each other, his hands cupping the sides of my face. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Being your daughter is the best thing that ever happened to me. I'm so sorry. About, about everything. This past year, my attitude. Breaking that trophy."

"Trophies can be fixed." He tells me, a small smile on his face. "And this past year really sucked. But hearing you tell me that I'm your hero? God, it's worth every second of it."

I let out a wet laugh and nod my head. "It's true, though. I'm sorry I made you think I valued uncle Steve… that I valued Rogers over you. And I'll spend the rest of my life regretting that."

"Don't." He shakes his head. "Don't. No more regrets from either of us. I promise you, that was the last lie I'd ever tell you."

"Thank you. I promise to be honest, too."

"You're always honest with me." He snorts. "You've got not problem telling me how you feel."

"I get it from my daddy." I respond and he laughs. We help each other stand and he leads me away from the office, an arm slung over my shoulders.

"So, Homecoming. How was it?" He ask. "Anyone ask you to dance? Please tell me it wasn't some asshole with a touching problem. Because I know you can handle yourself, but I really don't feel like paying off an angry parent for any harm you would have - rightfully - caused."

I laugh. "No, no. Danced with my friends. And Peter. Who's a terrible babysitter, by the way. He's too busy being a 'friendly, neighborhood Spiderling.'"

Dad shakes his head, walking me to the kitchen. "He's better than you think. He calls me four times a day and texts nearly twelve. Always about a smartass comment you made in class, or how cheerleading is going, or the fights you've been getting into." He throws me a pointed stare and I cross my arms.

"That bitch started it. Twice. I was just defending my friends. Besides, I didn't punch her or anything."

Dad throws back his head and laughs, and I can see uncle James walking to us, a gentle grin on his face. "You really are my kid."

"I think the tantrums I can throw are proof enough." He mock glares at me. "I love you?"

That has him smiling and kissing my temple.

"Love you more, Thumbelina. And about what Peter told me, about 'that bitch'," he jokingly quotes, "he also said he was proud of you. Said you handled yourself well."

"Oh." I mutter, blushing a bit. My dad catches my eyes, then rolls his own.

"Oh, God. What have I done."

"What did you do?" Uncle James asks as he leans against the counter, my dad releasing me so I can sit on my designated stool while he gets to making us our favorite post-chat drink - hot chocolate with whipped cream and chocolate shavings.

My dad sighs and gets out the milk to heat it in the pot, as well as that fancy gourmet cocoa powder he gets from France, "Valrhona." It's unsweetened, so sugar is a must, and while I'm usually pretty good about eating healthy, my dad doesn't do the same. So I have to keep an eye on him, or the hot chocolate will be more sugar, than chocolate.

"Unintentional matchmaking. Slight dent in my plans to keep my daughter away from guys until she's at least 40."

I snort. "You remember I've had boyfriends, right?"

"Yeah, but not for long thanks to your dad. No one wants to be caught with Iron Man's daughter. Besides, those were just little kid relationships." James points out, patting my dry shoulder. "So who's the guy?"

"Who do you think?" Dad snorts, then rolls his eyes when I gesture for him to stop pouring in sugar.

"Parker? Peter Parker?" Uncle James looks at me, then flutters his eyelashes and leans his elbows on the counter, head on his curled fists. "Oooh, give me all the details. Did he sweep you off your feet? Take you for a ride on his webs? Talk nerdy to you?" He wiggles his eyebrows and I shove him away.

My dad groans. "I'm going to be sick."

"No!" I tell James, but I'm laughing the hardest I've laughed in awhile. "It's not like that. He's just, a really good friend. It, uh, started a little rough for us," I keep the details to myself, dad doesn't need to feel guilty for caring for another person, "but we came to an understanding. He's actually the one who helped ease my fears about… about calling." I carefully admit, and my dad turns from stirring the pot, a soft look on his face.

"Huh."

"'Huh'? That's all you've got to say?" Uncle James asks.

My dad huffs and returns to the pot. "Shut up."

I smile, but there's a new heaviness in my chest. A new anger building. So I stand.

"I'll be right back. Something I need to take care of."

"Are you -" Dad asks, but I shake my head.

"Just… I just need a few moments. Okay?" He nods.

"Don't be too long, though. We haven't hung out in awhile. Totally not my fault." He comments and I laugh, though it's not as light as before.

"I won't be."

With that I walk away from the kitchen, up the stairs and down two halls before I reach my destination. With the press of my palm I'm opening the door, and stepping inside.

My room doesn't look different than before. I mean, it's been fixed, the things I broke in my anger returned to their previous state. My dad clearly focused on this, to get the courage to help fix us. And I think we'll be stronger, since he told me. Since we talked, truly.

So my anger is not at him. It is directed to the poster on the wall, a vintage one my father found and got me for my fifth birthday.

The infamous "Captain America Tour" poster stares at me, the smile on Roger's face appearing smug rather than welcoming. Has it always been smug? Was I blinded?

"I hate you." I growl at the poster, as if the man is in front of me. "I hate you. You almost took everything from me! And I trusted you! I fought with you! You were my family!" I shout. "I hate you!" With a roar I tug the picture from the wall and rip it to shreds, screaming even louder than I did the last time I fought with my dad. The pieces flutter to the floor around me, and I pant.

My room's always been filled with plants. They were clearly kept alive by my dad or uncle James in my absence. But now they wilt angrily, turning brown as they die. My eyes come across another item I left behind when packing, .

A gift from Steve Rogers on my fourteenth birthday.

His dog tags.

"Kid, as long as you have these, I've got your six. I promise." That was his vow. And he broke it. He lied, too. He hurt my family, he tore us apart in the end, not my dad. Not the Accords. Him, and his lies.

I clench the chain in my fists, tears sliding down my face. Guilty ones. Because I can't destroy these, I can't throw them away. I could keep hating Steve Rogers for the rest of my life, I can rip apart every photo I have of him, every poster, destroy any Captain America memorabilia. But I can never lose these. These are a reminder of who he was, before he took the serum. Before his superhero life started.

These are a reminder that he was just a skinny kid from Brooklyn. These are a reminder that he was a good man.

So I sob, and I sob and I sob. I cry until I can't anymore, until all I hear is my own heavy breathing. I cry until the plants around me burst with life, growing until they fill my room like a wild greenhouse. I curse, I scream, I rage. I let the anger roll through me like a storm at sea.

And when I'm done, I feel empty. Like I've let enough go. But I'm not done yet.

I pull out my phone, and dial the number I memorized long ago. One I'd called religiously since he left me. As always, there's no answer. "Hi. It's me." I let out a shaky breath. "My dad told me. He told me what you did. The truth about Siberia. I just wanted to let you know…" I let a tear slide… "that I hate you. I really do. I hate you, but I love you, because you're my family. But I probably won't forgive you. Not in a few months, maybe not ever. This is the last time I'm going to call you. Tell the others I love them, and that I hope they're safe. Goodbye, Steve Rogers."

I hang up and look at my phone, my finger hovering over his contact number. With bated breath I press the delete button, then go to my messages and delete all our texts. And though I feel a little emptiness in my heart, I know I'm doing the right thing for me.

"Miss Stark, your father says the hot chocolate is ready."

"Thanks, Fri." I tell the AI, standing and pocketing my phone. "Did they hear me?"

"Yes." She bluntly answers. "Colonel Rhodes asked your father if they should come check on you, but your father said this is what you had to do."

I smile and wipe my face. "Thanks for telling me. Let my dad and uncle know I'm on my way."

Just as I'm leaving the room, I turn around and watch the plants recede. I stare down at the dog tags in my hand and place them on my old bedside table, next to a dusty lamp.

It's time to move on.