Welcome back, everyone, and happy "everyone's Irish" day! I'm so glad to have heard from you. Numerous mini-changes to most previous chapters, but nothing too big.
I want to thank sandipi for pointing out the issue with cuddle-time. It's not evident in this chapter, but I do have them sleeping apart more regularly in the future. (I may have to write it in while proofreading, but in my head, they're in separate rooms most of the time, as of what I'm writing now, chapter 16ish. That's the second-next time there's sleep involved.) My head-canon is that any bond has to settle, even something like a bond of friendship, into its final form or strength, and proximity is important to that. Using the books for example, there are very few inter-House friendships or relationships between students mentioned; it even seems, to me at least, that the Patil twins, being Sorted into different Houses, are no longer as close to each other as Parvati is to Lavender. So, except when one or the other has a nightmare (and yes, Tony will have nightmares about his parents' deaths just like Heather does) or when they inevitably fall asleep on the couch while watching TV, there won't be extensive cuddle-time again for a while.
Also, I have an idea on how Heather and Tony are going to go on dates - yes, even with the age gap and everything I just said; her point being that every girl wants the whole kit and kaboodle. This won't even be mentioned in the story until, like, chapter 17, but I'd love to hear your ideas, and borrow them if they're better than mine. (Which may not be as hard as you think.)
Hope you enjoy!
Originally posted: 17 Mar 2022
Heather was ambivalent about Cindy – she didn't exactly like her, but she didn't actively dislike her, either. She wasn't sure about Rhodey yet, but she expected to like him in the near future, if only due to proximity. She hated Obadiah Stane, even before she actually saw him – while the phone call on Saturday hadn't won him any points, the amount of anger rolling off of him as he entered the building soured him to her further.
She shuddered and marked her place in the book Cindy had loaned her. Tony had finished the accumulated paperwork quickly and, after passing the pile to his P.A., started redesigning the Tempest while he ate. Within ten minutes of starting, he paused to tell Cindy that he wanted to audit every department as soon and as quietly as possible. "Get me that paperwork as soon as you have it," he ordered. "I think someone wants to be the man behind the curtain. Start with the weapons department. And get someone to look into everyone's financials – yours, mine, and Heather's included, just so we can't be accused of preferential treatment." When she looked at him in confusion, he reminded her, "I did, just recently, step up. Now's the time to make sure no one's taken advantage of the chaos during the changeover."
Heather shuddered again, her teeth clacking together; this time, Tony noticed. "Don't tell him about me!" she begged before he could ask what was wrong. "I know you told Rhodey and Mrs Butler about what happened to me; and while I don't like it, I can deal with it. But not him, please, not him!"
"Okay," he agreed easily, walking around the desk and crouching down to give her a hug. "You're Aunt Peggy's niece, had to get away from… not quite London–"
"Surrey," she supplied, her voice muffled by his chest.
"Surrey," he nodded, "before your brother made you lose your shit."
"He's really mad," she whispered in lieu of agreement, sounding very young.
"Obie won't touch you," he promised. "He knows Cindy would skin and neuter him with a rusty spoon before putting his whole body on a pike, and only then would I be allowed to have at him. And I'm far more creative. Which translates, in this case, to terrifying."
She pulled back and looked into his eyes. Finding everything she needed there, she smiled nervously. "Okay. I'm gonna go back to read–" She yelped when the door hit the wall and hid behind her rising soulmate.
The man standing in the doorway bore no physical resemblance to her uncle: toned instead of fat, shaved head, and a dark, well-trimmed goatee. She should not have been as scared of him as she was. The rage on his face and in his stance, however, made him appear too much like Vernon Dursley for her piece of mind. "Tony, so help me, God–"
Though his voice was deeper than the walrus's, the venom in his tone pushed her into the flashback. "Please, Uncle, I'm sorry! Please! I promise I'll be good!" she pleaded.
Tony cursed quietly – even he couldn't have said which language he used in that moment, but he suspected Italian – and immediately pulled her back into an embrace, which, being as far into the memory as she was, did nothing to comfort her.
"What the hell is going on?" Obadiah Stane demanded, confusion and anger making his voice sharper.
She flinched violently against her soulmate, continuing her litany of unintelligible pleas as she renewed her struggle for freedom. Tony was having none of it, simply holding her tighter. "Obie," he said with a calmness he certainly didn't feel, forcing himself to temporarily ignore her verbalized distress, "I need you to either lose the attitude and anger, or get out of town, literally, until you do."
"Boy, don't you back-chat me–"
"You're making it worse," he snapped. He regretted it instantly when Heather yelped again. She froze in his arms and started crying silently; he only knew because he felt his shirt becoming wet. He closed his eyes, begging the universe for patience. "Seriously, Obie. Pretend this is a board meeting, and keep your anger and annoyance out of the building, or go to Santa Monica and give me a call from there. Those are your two options. You have thirty seconds to choose before I decide for you."
"Please don't hurt me, Uncle," she whimpered against his chest again, just loud and clear enough for Obie to hear.
The man's anger faded, leaving only confusion. The pizzas in his hand were long forgotten. "What the hell is going on?" he repeated, bewildered but even-tempered.
Tony sighed in relief, even as Heather whined and continued to push against him fruitlessly. "Gimme a minute to settle her." It actually took eight minutes of his soothing humming and swaying for her to come back to the present, enough to wrap her arms around him. Another sigh of relief escaped him. He picked her up and carried her to his chair, where he sat with her on his lap. With a look of warning, he kept Obie silent while, continuing to hum random, light-hearted melodies, he gently coaxed his soulmate back to full awareness. Each time she gave a powerful shudder, he asked her, "Back with me, Gemstone?" She didn't respond until his fifth attempt, and even then, he almost discounted her single, jerky nod as an involuntary twitch. "Prove it," he challenged quietly, tangling his fingers in her hair. "Tell me where we are."
"Work," she whispered, so quietly that he rather thought she only mouthed the word.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Good," he said. "Have I told you about the tofu bunny?" A shake of his head, accompanied by another glare, stopped Obie's attempt to join the conversation. The scalp massage, the arm rub, and the long, rambling, humorous story did their job; Heather slowly relaxed into his hold. "You hungry? Obie's here–" She stiffened again, but Tony pressed on, "–and he brought pizza. It's from a brand-new place that used to be a motorcycle showroom. It opened right before you got here. It's supposedly New York-style, but we'll find out how true that is, hmm?" She shook her head. "Yes, Gem. You need to eat. One slice, smallest I can find," he negotiated. She curled closer to him, her arms encircling his neck. "Come on, kitten, please. Then you can sit with Cindy while – air!" he choked. She eased her grip, but shook her head again, more insistently, trembling in fear. "Okay, you're not leaving my side, understood. But Obie doesn't buy lunch often, and I wanna see how good this place is, and I won't eat in front of you if you haven't or aren't eating. Please, honey bee, one slice for me."
Heather pulled back, twisting her fingers in his *sooty willow bamboo* black shirt. Biting her lip, she finally looked him in the eye. "Have you… did…"
He didn't have to hear the full question to know he wasn't going to like its implications. "Have I what?"
"Gotten sick because of the food or drink he's given you?"
Obie's sharp inhale, the sound of which made the girl cringe violently, was the response Tony wished he could show. "Only because it was something neither of us had tried before, and it was absolutely disgusting."
"Half the time," she whispered, "if I didn't at least help make it, Aunt Petunia would put something on my portion to make me sick, and then she'd lock me in my cupboard, and then I'd get beaten for making a mess. And once, when I caught a cold, she gave me a bit of bleach, calling it 'freak medicine.'"
"Never again," Tony vowed. "You will never again have to worry about being poisoned by family. I swear, Gemstone, never again." She gave him a weak, short-lived half-smile and curled back up against his chest, nodding her reluctant assent. At his pointed look, Obie passed him one of the boxes, and she took the smallest piece. "How is it?"
"Better hot," she replied haltingly.
"Eh, I'll teach you to enjoy cold pizza," he quipped as he took a bite from his own slice. "But you're right. Not bad, though, actually close to real New York-style. I'll get you to Ray's at some point – now that's New York pizza. And Chicago deep dish, too – you've gotta try them all," he shrugged when she glanced at him in mild amusement.
Halfway through his second slice, he decided to alert her to something. "Sweetling, look at me." When she complied, he sighed, "Do you remember what you asked of me, right before Obie made his… dramatic entrance?" She thought for a moment, then nodded. "He heard you while you were caught in the memory, babe. I won't give him anything new, but I will have to confirm those details and give him a little background. That's as fair a compromise as I can come up with. Okay?" When she nodded again with her eyes clenched firmly shut, he prompted, "Verbal, gattina."
"Yeah, okay," she reluctantly acquiesced. "I'm done. I can't eat any more."
He grimaced at the not-even-half-eaten slice. "Two more normal-sized bites, and we'll call it good." She did as he said, glaring daggers at him the whole time. "That's my girl," he whispered into her hair with pride. He felt her indignation against him ease away at the simple phrase. "You rest, and I'll talk to Obie, okay?" She bobbed her head again and settled closely against him, her fingers playing with the bottom of his now-untucked shirt. Since it was more a suggestion than a request for her consent, he didn't protest the silent acknowledgement. Looking up, he caught Obie's eye. "So, this is Heather. She's fourteen – not my daughter." The teen snorted quietly. "Yeah, I'm not sure what, exactly, that says about me, that that's how I'm introducing you to everyone," he agreed, amused.
"You actually gonna tell me anything useful in the next decade?" Obie rolled his eyes.
Tony's eyes darkened, and he tightened his hold on Heather when she shuddered again. "Aunt Peggy didn't tell me everything. But she saw Heather being beaten by her uncle, and she removed her from that situation. Unfortunately, uncle dearest isn't just a sadist; he's a stalker, too. So I got drafted in and told to lay low with her until this shit gets worked out."
"When did she get in?" Obie asked, the faint air of suspicion in his otherwise neutral tone.
"Saturday afternoon," Tony lied without hesitation. "A couple medical issues came up Sunday night," he elaborated, stretching the truth, "and I wasn't about to leave an injured kid alone in a house she doesn't know." At least the last bit was completely legitimate.
"All right, all right, I get it," the older man held his hands up in peace. "You're right. I shouldn't have just assumed you'd blown me off for a fling or a bender. Even if, you've got to admit, it wouldn't have been the first time for either. But would it have killed you to call and let me know?"
"Me, no," Tony replied honestly, no trace of sarcasm or humor in his voice. "Heather, possibly. I put her in an ice bath to help with the swelling from her injuries – full body, Obie, seriously. I left to grab a towel. She tried to get out on her own and cracked her head against the wall. Lots of blood, luckily no concussion. And that was with me paying full attention to her. If I'd split my focus? She probably would have been concussed."
Obie's eyes flashed, righteously enraged in a way that Tony knew all too well. "So we need to test the Saghara's targeting system. Where should we aim?"
Tony didn't bother to smirk at how his godfather's thought process ran nearly identically to his own. "She's from Surrey, England. But for some reason, she doesn't want the bastards dead. Trust me, I've been asking her to change her mind. Just proves she's a better person than either of us."
Obie blinked. "You're not… actually gonna let that stop you?!"
"Legalities, Obie," the younger man sighed heavily. "Soon as the red tape is cut, they'll all pay. But Aunt Peggy sent her here for her safety, not for us to avenge her just yet, so I'll handle my side of things while the human embodiment of the phrase 'hell in high heels' takes care of the rest."
"They don't like anything that doesn't fit their definition of 'normal,'" Heather commented quietly, surprising both men. "Most especially me. I'm not a better person than either of you. It's just that, if they were to die, they'd've gotten off too lightly."
Tony's eyes lit up in a way that reminded her vividly of a pair of red-headed twins with a vicious pranking streak. "So you do have ideas for payback? Let's hear them!"
The Weasley twins may have helped her with some of these ideas. The first time the three had shared a detention with Snape as proctor, they'd begun discussing their plans for her relatives in front of him. When he'd realized to whom they were referring, he'd actually offered to brew an untraceable potion – "or poison," the man had added with a gleeful shrug; "when it comes to that shrew, I'm not particularly bothered either way" – to use on them. Gift horse, mouth. Strangely, that day, he never told them to get on with their work, or to work in silence. (His slightly off-putting good mood didn't last into her next lesson, not that she had expected it to.)
"I've fantasized about returning their 'favor' since I was five," she confessed, deciding not to include any of Fred and George's ridiculous, not-Statute-safe suggestions, "even when I thought what they were doing was normal and I deserved that treatment. First, I'd destroy the garden and front lawn." Snape, while proctoring a subsequent triple detention, had suggested a particular pesticide that was readily available in the non-magical world, and she'd upped the ante by commenting that one of Hagrid's Skrewts could do the same task with far less effort on her part, and would likely destroy the entire neighborhood at the same time, a fitting punishment for those who had ignored the abuse she'd suffered. The snarky man had recoiled from her gleefully savage expression.
"Then I'd somehow make the plumbing let go. Someone may have mentioned a cherry bomb." That someone was actually Dudley, when he was describing how he wanted to make their former primary school close for a day.
"While they stayed away from the house for repairs, I'd make sure that all the superficial damage was fixed, but everything structural was ruined." George suggested a notice-me-not charm or a Confundus to prevent the professionals from fixing it properly, and Snape had volunteered to be their spellcaster so they could avoid the pesky Trace.
"Infest it with mold and termites." Fred wanted to use doxies and Boggarts; while she whole-heartedly approved of the first, she couldn't guarantee any of them could find the second.
"Paint the house neon green." She'd needed Snape's help to negotiate the twins down to this; the color schemes they had tried to sneak into the planning of this stage had nauseated the two dark-haired co-conspirators, one of very few things they'd agreed on. Ever. (The only other one she could think of was Lockhart, though no one in the school had thought well of him by the end of the year.) She'd had to ask if they were trying to punish her before they gave up on the floral-print animals running on the outer walls, or the rotating-polka-dots-on-a-moving-spiral thing they'd been advocating. She and the Potions Master honestly assumed that, despite the agreements, they'd somehow work in an advertisement for their planned prank shop.
"Stick dead fish in the vents or the radiators, and then ensure the windows will never open for them, even if they break the glass." Again, one of Dudley's idle thoughts, though he'd planned to shove the rotting corpse of one of Mrs Figg's cats into her cupboard. Snape advised using an Imperturbable charm on the windows. She figured, if she had to go the non-magical route, she could replace the glass with some bullet-resistant plastic.
"Make all the rooms topsy-turvy." Her personal favorite, but, in all practicality, the least possible without copious amounts of magic. She looked at the two men in the room with her and shrugged flippantly. "Nothing too bad."
Tony's smirk had grown with every word out of her mouth. "Add in, getting the adults fired and your cousin expelled from that smelly school, and you have the beginnings of a beautiful, non-lethal revenge. Of course, I might have some ideas of my own to turn your work of art into an absolute masterpiece."
"Count me in," Obie added, making her flinch. He would always make her think of her uncle, now, after his display earlier. "Child abusers deserve anything and everything bad that happens to them. All the better if their victim dishes it out." He looked at the girl, who didn't return the gesture. "I apologize for scaring you." She nodded in acknowledgement, not acceptance; whether either man knew of her distinction, she couldn't say. "If we start talking shop, are you gonna be bored out of your mind?"
The comparison to her uncle left her unable to speak, so she simply pointed at the novel on the desk. "Apparently, she's used up her quota of words for the day," Tony quipped drily, though she was certain that Obie didn't hear the undercurrent of confusion and concern. "She borrowed one of Cindy's books." The older man obligingly passed the tome to her, and she flinched again as his hand entered her personal space. "The Rainmaker – any good?" She nodded, smiling at her soulmate warmly as she found where she'd left off. "Okay, so I assume you want to talk about the Tempest?"