My mom was waiting for us when Peter and I pulled up to the ER.
"Are you okay?" she asked, running towards us.
"I'm fine, mom. Just a little bruised."
Peter opened my door for me and picked me up. "She's more than just a little bruised, Pepper. I'm pretty sure her ankle is sprained."
"What happened?" Mom asked as we all moved into the waiting room.
"I hit a bump in the road as I was riding my bike back."
"Are you okay other than the ankle? Your eyes are red."
I sighed, not ready to answer.
Peter answered for me.
"It's just the day, Pepper."
She nodded, biting her lip. She didn't say anything more. We all felt the absence of someone who should have been there.
—
"Are you sure you're okay?" My mom asked for what seemed like the millionth time on the drive back to the cabin.
"I'm fine," I said, stretching my leg. It was sprained and I had been given a brace and some crutches. The doctor had said that it would be better in a month and to stay off of it.
"Are you sure? Because if you're not…."
"Mom."
She glanced at me, worry lines creasing her forehead.
"I'm not okay now, but I will be."
"Okay," she replied, nodding.
—
As soon as we got back, I limped out to the dock. My mom let me go. She knew I needed my space.
I sat down on it, letting the cool breeze calm me.
I took a deep breath, thinking of how much this lake reminded me of my dad.
I remembered the fishing trips we had taken together, how he taught me how to bait the hook and cast the line.
I remembered how he took me swimming and once saved me from drowning. I had been scared, but knew that I was safe. He kept me safe.
I remembered the endless amounts of forts and tents we had built together on this lake's shore.
I remembered the sandcastles we built and how he taught me how to make them so they wouldn't fall down quickly.
I remembered how I stood on this dock with my mom at his funeral, not yet understanding that my dad was never coming home.
"I don't actually know if I'm ready to forgive you, Dad," I whispered into the darkness.
I looked up at the stars and felt the waves hit the posts holding the dock up.
"I forgive you, Dad," I whispered into the air, starlight on my face.
"I forgive you," I repeated, feeling warm waves of peace penetrating to my very soul.
I blinked, and suddenly I was no longer sitting on the dock by the lake. Suddenly, I was standing beside the lake, my ankle not in pain.
I was next to the last little tent my dad built with me when I was four. I hadn't played in it in years, at least not since before he died.
"Morgan?" a voice asked, some distance behind me. A voice I had not heard in ten years. A voice I thought I would never hear again.
"Dad?" I whispered, turning around, and there he was. His hair was graying and messy and his eyes were tired and sad, but he was there. He was alive.
"Oh Dad!" We ran towards each other, until we met each other in the strongest hug we had each ever given.
"Morgan? What are you doing here? Where are we?"
"I don't know," I replied, smiling.
"You're so big," he said, a small, quiet smile on his face.
I gently touched his cheek and he pushed my hair out of my face like he did when I was little.
"I forgive you, Dad. I love you so much."
He smiled, just like he did when I was little, on that fateful night when he decided what he needed to do for the universe.
"I love you 3,000," he said. And then I was back on the dock, the peace of forgiveness and acceptance sweeping over my heart.
For I now knew that even though he was gone, he would always be with me.
Because we had a connection stronger than the bonds that hold the universe together.
We had love. My father loved me. And I loved him, even though he was gone. I loved him 3,000.
—
In the days, months, and years that followed, I remembered that encounter. I remembered that I forgave my dad, even though he wasn't there anymore.
I remembered when I held my nephew for the first time.
I remembered when I tinkered in his workshop.
I remembered when I graduated from high school.
I remembered when I went off to MIT to follow in his footsteps.
I remembered on my wedding day when Peter gave me away instead of him and Happy and Rhodey danced with me instead of him.
I remembered when I named my first son after him.
But I more than just remembered him. I loved him. 3,000.
—
A/N: This is my first ever fanfiction. I had no idea if anybody would be interested in reading my work. This was a great morale boost in so many ways! Thank you so much to everyone who read my story! You are amazing and I will forever be grateful to you! Thank you for welcoming me warmly into the fanfiction community. This will not be my last fanfiction, to say the least. Thank you!
Song for the story: "Father" by Demi Lovato