I actually wrote this chapter initially as part of the original Gravesen story, but then I realized it took place way too far in the future to reasonably be a part of that story. So this is technically the first chapter of the sequel I ever wrote, and the one that pushed me to write a sequel in the first place.

Tony VI: Senior Portraits

Surviving long enough to finish high school was an accomplishment within itself, in Tony's opinion. There were multiple occasions over the past several months when that eventuality hadn't been so certain. His mother agreed with him about the momentousness of this occasion, and she wanted it appropriately documented.

Tony sat at the kitchen table with his calculus notes in front of him to study for finals, his VAD controller and batteries sitting loose on the table beside him. Although, he wasn't actually getting much studying done because his mother decided to broach a topic she'd obviously been thinking about for a while.

"Tony, I want you to have senior portraits done," she stated. It wasn't a question of whether he wanted them or not, she was merely informing him of what he would be doing in the near future.

However, he wasn't just going to roll over and let her boss him around, so he asked, "Why?"

"Why are you questioning me wanting nice pictures of my son?"

Tony shrugged. "I dunno. Don't you have pictures already? Why would you pay someone just to take more?"

"I'm pretty sure the most recent photograph I have of you is from three years ago. That's unacceptable."

"Why? I haven't really grown that much, and my face hasn't changed." The only noticeable difference from now and three years ago was the conspicuous pile of equipment sitting on the kitchen table.

"Yes you have," she insisted. "This is an important year, and I want it professionally documented."

"Professionally? I'm already really busy this time of year, I'm not sure I'll have time—"

"I'll schedule it around everything else."

"That sounds like a lot of work." Tony was throwing everything he had at getting her to change her mind, but he should have known his mother would not be easily swayed.

"I'm willing to put in the time. Please, Tony? I need you to agree to this, or I'll be wasting some poor photographer's time."

"You won't waste their time if you don't call them in the first place," he pointed out.

"Tony, don't be rude."

"Sorry," he said reflexively.

"I know you're not being difficult just for the sake of being difficult, so you'd better tell me why you're so against this."

"Only if you tell me why you want it so badly." He finally looked up from his notes and met her challenging gaze with one of his own.

"Very well. Tony, I used to think I knew what was important," she began. Tony braced himself for a long, emotional story. "But then you got sick, and all of that suddenly didn't seem so important anymore." Yep, he should have suspected it had something to do with this. "I spent a lot of time worrying about things that used to barely cross my mind. This house was so empty without you in it, and sometimes I was afraid it would always feel like that because you might never come home."

Her voice broke on the last word, and so did Tony's façade of indifference. This was genuinely important to her for reasons that Tony should have paused to consider before he brushed off the idea as stupid.

"I just…I want to know I will have something tangible—something nice—to keep you alive in this house somehow, just in case you can't be here for real."

She wanted him immortalized in picture form because she worried he might die and leave her with nothing to remember him by. After nearly enduring his first death, his mother wanted to preemptively prevent the second. And just a few minutes ago, Tony had stood in her way.

"I'm sorry," he said, genuinely this time. "I'll pose for as many pictures as you want, maybe even smile in some of them." His attempt at humor earned him a light chuckle, which was infinitely better than the near-crying she'd been on the verge of.

"Your turn," she prompted.

"What?"

"You said you'd tell me why you were so resistant if I told you why I wanted it so badly. I spilled, now it's your turn."

Tony sighed, because he really didn't want to admit this. However, he had no choice. "I know I said I don't look different from three years ago, but obviously that's not true."

"Obviously," she parroted with a warm smile.

"It's one thing to just know it's there, or to look down at myself and see it. But…I know that if I look at myself in a picture, the only thing I'll really be able to see is this thing." He nudged his pile of equipment with his elbow.

"Oh Tony," his mother sighed. He didn't have time to prepare before her arms were wrapped around him. As a teenage boy he was supposed to hate this sort of thing, but he couldn't deny that he loved it. "Do you know what I will see?"

"No."

"Only your beautiful face."

"Then you're not looking at the whole picture."

"Just the part that matters."

"In that case, I'm absolutely not smiling," he joked.

"You absolutely will."

"Okay, fine."

~0~

Tony took extra care in combing his hair the day of the photo shoot. But as he looked in the mirror, he couldn't help but visually trace the wire snaking from the hem of his shirt to the backpack he'd placed a safe distance from the sink. "That's not the part that matters," he reminded himself. He finished in the bathroom and took off his pajamas to change into the jeans his mother had approved. He refused to wear a suit and tie, and she refused to let him wear a band T-shirt, so they'd compromised with jeans and an oversized sweater they picked out together. A sweater which he couldn't find.

"Hey Mom, where's my sweater?" he called. It wasn't in his closet or any dresser drawers. He knelt down to search the lower drawers, slinging his backpack over his shoulder to free up both of his hands. He heard a knock at the door and mindlessly invited her in.

"I have it here," his mother said. He stood up and turned around; sure enough, she had it in her hands. However, he also noticed that her gaze sat firmly on the ridge of scar tissue down his chest. Tony resisted the urge to cover it, knowing he didn't have enough hands to hide everything. Instead, he stepped forward and took the sweater. He opened the waist to put it over his head and he recognized something not quite right.

"What's this?" he asked. He felt around the spot and his fingers found an extra pocket that had been sewn in. That certainly hadn't been there when they bought it. Neither had the other two.

"I'll show you," his mother said. She took the backpack from off his shoulder and held it while he worked the garment over his head and threaded his arms through. To his surprise, she took the equipment out of the pack and handed him one of the batteries. The other she placed in the pocket hidden on the inside of the sweater. Then she did the same to the controller and second battery. The devices fit perfectly into the pockets, and their positioning didn't tug at his driveline. He returned to the bathroom mirror and couldn't stop the smile that erupted onto his face. The sweater itself was just oversized enough that he couldn't see the outlines of the shapes in the pockets, but not so oversized that it drowned him. He looked normal for the first time in nearly a year.

"How did you do this?" he asked his mother upon returning to his room.

"I learned on Youtube," she explained. "They do this sort of thing for microphone packs in costumes for stage actors, and I thought it would work just as well for this."

"It works perfectly. How'd you get the pockets to be such perfect sizes?"

"I measured your spare batteries while you were at school, and the controller when you fell asleep on the couch one time."

"It's amazing. Thank you." He was honestly in awe at both the skill and the forethought his mother must have had to do this.

"I just wanted you to feel as handsome as I already think you are." She punctuated the statement with a kiss to his forehead.

"Stop being all sappy."

"No. I'm your mother, I'm allowed to be sappy when you appreciate all the nice things I do for you."

"Fine, just this once," he relented.

The actual photo shoot was surprisingly enjoyable, and his father even joined them for the second half after leaving work early. That was actually a thing he did now: leave work early for things involving his son. Tony didn't have to force a smile when the photographer asked him to; the expression came naturally when he glanced behind the camera and saw the look on his mother's face. They'd chosen a location with a rustic wooden bench on the fringe of a forest of verdant trees. Mostly the photographer took shots of only Tony, but they did a few of all three Starks together. At one point, he imagined Bruce, Parker and Steve joining him and them looking like a boy band finding their next hit album cover. If they coordinated their sweater colors, they could look like the Wiggles. The thought made him genuinely laugh in the middle of one of the shots. He swore he could hear his mother's heart melting and dripping onto the grass all the way from where he sat.

He knew his mother got the pictures a week or so later because she spent an hour on the computer, something she never did. But she wouldn't let him look at them. When he asked why, she said, "Because I know you'll make self-deprecating comments and I don't want to hear it." He only half-heartedly put up a fight because he still had finals to study for and arguing with his mother was always futile. Tony didn't see so much as a thumbnail until weeks later upon returning from a committed students tour at MIT.

~0~

In all the excitement surrounding his first visit to campus after choosing a college, he'd all but forgotten that the photo thing ever happened. Only Howard accompanied him, so he expected his mother's overly sentimental welcome-home greeting. She had grown extra clingy since he came home from Gravesen. What he didn't expect was the look of barely-contained anticipation on her face. "I'm so glad you're home," she sighed as she gave them both extended hugs.

"Good to be home," Tony replied. "What's got you so excited?"

"My boys are home."

"It's gotta be more than that; we're not that exciting, are we?"

"Don't sell yourself short," Howard chuffed.

"Fine, you caught me. I've been working on something while you were away," she admitted.

"Did you sew pockets into more of my shirts? That would be useful."

"Don't be silly, I told you that was a one-time deal. I'm not your personal tailor."

"Then what's this special project you've been working on in secret?"

"I'll show you." She took him by the arm and led him into the living room. The instant Tony caught sight of it, he froze in his tracks and let his mouth hang open in awe. His mother had completely redecorated the main wall. It used to be covered in art from Howard Stark's sizeable collection, replicas of famous historical paintings like Napoleon Crossing the Alps and The Night Watch. Tony didn't know where they'd all gone, but here on this wall they'd been replaced.

Above the new frames hung their family name, sculpted in the same style as the Stark Industries logo. Directly below that, the dead centerpiece of the wall, was a picture of all three of them from the day of the photo shoot. Tony stood just in front of and between his parents, his father's right hand resting on his shoulder. All three of them smiled genuinely, the warmth between them palpable even through the photo, and maybe for the first time ever Tony detected a hint of pride in his father's eyes.

Just down and to the right of that photograph hung one of Tony's solo pictures in an elegant golden frame (he really hoped it wasn't actually coated in gold, but he wouldn't put it past his parents to splurge on a picture frame like that). The bright red of his sweater stood out brilliantly against the lush green of the forest behind him. His posture on the bench indicated a comfort and a confidence that Tony didn't think he'd felt at all since returning to 'normal life.' But the best part: the photographer had caught him mid-laugh. Tony remembered exactly what he'd been thinking about when this was taken. This photo somehow exuded every ounce of mirth the thought had brought him at the time.

Opposite his photograph, in an identical frame, was Arno, pictured laughing just like his half-brother. Tony recognized him immediately from the images his father had shown him, though he'd never seen this exact shot before. His father had brought Arno's memory back to life little by little since the revelation back at Gravesen, pointing out things that reminded him of his late son and even sharing occasional stories with Tony and Maria. His inclusion in this wall representing their family solidified the undoing of his second death.

"Does…Does Dad know about this?" Tony asked.

"Who do you think approved the final layout?" Maria returned knowingly.

"It's—I don't know what to say." He failed to form a coherent thought about what this redecoration meant to him. Before everything, sentiment was not a huge part of their family, hence the historical art on this wall instead of family photos. But now both of his parents took time to appreciate him, and apparently to build impressive interior design skills just to show that appreciation.

His mother pressed a kiss to his temple, "You don't have to say anything but I love you."

"I love you."