Author's Note: This chapter title comes from The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion. JSYK, I'm fully away this fic has been kinda staccato and that's because it's just more of an introduction to the real story starting (in the next chapter). There's stuff happening in between, but it's not super vital in the story and will show up in the side story series for the Erstwhile Universe.

Chapter Five - We are imperfect (for better or for worse)

Bruce was halfway through his first cup of coffee of the day, glancing through the Sunday comics, when the entire Tower shook. His coffee sloshed out of his mug, staining the newspaper. He jerked in alarm. "JARVIS! What's going on? Are we under attack?"

It took a beat too long for JARVIS to answer. "My apologies, Dr. Banner. We are not under attack. Do not worry. I've woken Danielle from her nightmare."

Bruce stared down at the brown staining the third frame of Dilbert. That was Danielle? "The whole building?"

"The Tesseract within her does seem to be incredibly dangerous, but she is employing some of the techniques you've taught her to control herself. I believe the danger has passed."

"Is, is Tony here?"

"Sir is at a business meeting with SI. Do you need me to contact him?"

"No. It's, um, it's fine. What does, what does Danielle normally do during the day? Maybe if I joined her, that would take the edge off of the stress she's feeling."

"If she follows the pattern she's set for the last two weeks, she will spend an hour in the music room, an hour in her studio, and eighteen in her workshop."

Bruce frowned. "And . . . when does she eat during all of that?"

"That, Dr. Banner, comes with the assumption that she does eat. It varies day to day. I'm afraid too many of Sir's habits were passed on to her."

Bruce sighed and got to his feet, crumbling up the damp newspaper to throw away. "Right. Got it. Let her know I'm making her breakfast."

"Of course, Dr. Banner."

Danielle reached the common floor thirty minutes later. Her hair was wet but tied back in a ponytail and she looked pale, the baggy MIT sweater she was wearing just managing making her look smaller than she really was. She stopped by the kitchen island. "So . . . when you said you were making me dinner, you meant . . . Lucky Charms?"

He winced. "I tried. Pancakes. And then eggs. It didn't work out. Sorry."

"I probably woulda eaten it anyway," she murmured, sitting down and graciously accepting the bowl of cereal. "Dad always burns his pancakes."

He chuckled a bit. "I'll be sure to remember that next time."

"I should join SHIELD."

On-screen, Natasha's expression didn't change. But next to her Clint looked like he'd just sucked on a lemon and Steve looked practically heartbroken. The last of the three hesitantly began. "I'm . . . not sure, Danielle."

"Why?" she asked, crossing her arms. "I'm a good fighter. I like helping people. I—"

"It's different," Natasha cut in smoothly. "This? Fighting? That's all I've ever known. It's what Clint trained for. Hell, after the war, can you imagine Steve at a desk job? But it does things to people, Kroshka."

Clint nodded, the expression on his face solemn for once. But then it was ruined by a slight upturn in his lips. "If you join SHIELD, I'll throw a temper tantrum. Full on screaming, banging my fists on the ground, hunger strike—"

"Okay, I get the idea," she interrupted. "I'll think about it."

Steve didn't look fully happy with that statement, but he nodded. "No rash decisions."

"Aye aye, Captain." She saluted.

He rolled his eyes, but Clint cut in before he could say anything else. "Didja get the birthday present?" he asked, grinning. "Didja, didja, didja?"

"Yes! Oh my god, just shut up. Yes, I got it." She glanced to the side at where the purple journal was lying on her desk with the words Hawkeye's Badass Tutorials 101. The matching bow and bracer, she knew, were stored carefully down in the range. "I already tried it out. I'm totally better than you."

"Nuh-uh! No way!"

"Absolutely. You're just that good of an instructor."

Clint faltered for a moment, hesitating as if arguing further would discount his teaching skills. Natasha cut in with a roll of her eyes. "Did you get the YouTube links I sent you? Thought that we could reintroduce old man Rogers here to the classic art of the swing at the New Year's party when we see you next."

Danielle lit up. "Sounds like a plan! I hope you've got a nice pair of shoes, Cap, 'cause I'm gonna dance circles around you!"

This time when her shot went wide and she groaned in frustration, the lights only dimmed a little. From his spot on the bench behind her, Bruce softly said, "You're getting better."

"It's still hard," she said, notching the next arrow. "Half the time I forget I need to focus."

"It will get easier."

"Will it, though?" she asked doubtfully.

"Don't ask stupid questions."

"Sorry. I think it's the bow. Clint's personality is rubbing off on me. Oh, god, am I gonna start living in the vents now?" She let off that shot and frowned when it grazed the third ring.

"Living in the— You were crawling in the vents just the other day," Bruce pointed out, lowering his book.

"Yeah, yeah. Because I was convinced that Clint had a secret candy stash up there. And I was right."

"A secret— And just how much candy did you eat? Is that why you were so jittery Wednesday?"

She turned slowly on her heel and gave him an innocent smile. "Maybe. I, uh, also found some of the coffee grounds you hadn't hidden in your futile attempts to get Dad to cut down on his caffeine intake."

He closed his book and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Honestly, I don't understand you Starks. Logically, you both know that high levels of coffee is unhealthy, right?"

"Of course," she agreed, moving to hang up her bow. She turned to him as she undid her bracer. "Doesn't change the fact that I'm addicted. Question: what's the best way to send a large gift safely through the mail?"

"It takes up an entire corner."

"An entire corner," Danielle said flatly, fitting her notebooks into her suitcase. "Such a tragedy. If you don't want the harp that badly, I can take it back."

"No, mine!" Clint shouted across the call. "It's my harp. You can't have it."

Danielle grinned, moving around the art supplies in the case to make room for her books. "That's what I thought."

He mumbled something about know-it-alls before saying, "Gonna be stuck on a plane with your old man, huh?"

"More like he'll be stuck on a plane with me. He's been holing himself up in his workshop, so now I've finally got a chance to show 'im all the stuff I've been working on."

"He been busy?"

"You could say that. But I have too. I made this!" She pointed at her necklace, or rather at the electrical pendant on it.

There was a beat of silence. "Are you . . . pointing? You know this is a phone call, right?"

"Oh, uh—" She flushed. "Sorry. It's, uh, kinda like a semi-functional EMP, just for the Tesseract instead of electronics."

"Um, what?"

"Basically, it's dampening the Tesseract. Not a lot—I found out that trying to completely smother it hurts—but enough for me to control it better. Plus, the Tesseract amps up my senses and dampening it keeps me from getting overwhelmed."

"Damn, look at how smart you are."

"Danielle," JARVIS interrupted. "The jet is ready."

"Oh! Right! Okay, talk to you later Clint!" She hurriedly zipped up her suitcase as JARVIS ended the call and then hauled the bag out of the room.

Danielle glared at her father over the top her tablet, watching as he poured himself into his designs. She glanced down at her own work on her StarkPad before sighing and straightening. "I could help, you know. I—"

"No. I've got this."

The rest of her words were lost as she snapped her mouth shut. She just nodded and looked down at her tablet again. With a sigh, she closed it and shoved herself to her feet. She was dimly aware of Tony looking up and she waved a hand, moving to the back of the jet where a bed was. "Imma take a nap."

"Okay," he murmured. "Sleep tight."

She woke up to the sound of the jet landing a few hours later. She stepped out into the cabin to find Tony still making notes in his files. She shoved her hands in her pockets. "So, what's the plan? You and Pepper have dinner, right?"

"Huh?" He looked up and blinked, frowning. "Oh, uh—"

"You forgot, didn't you?" She wrinkled her nose. "Dad—"

"No! I didn't, uh—" He shook his head. "No, it's fine. I'll just get ready and— It's fine."

"What are you working on that's had you so distracted?" she asked, moving forward. "Because really—"

"Nothing." He locked his tablet and looked up at her. "It's fine."

She stared him down. "Nothing," she repeated. "Right. Fine. It's nothing."

"Pepper?" Danielle asked, rubbing her eyes as if that would make what she was seeing change. "Pepper, why are you sleeping on the couch?"

Pepper whispered something tiredly and opened her eyes. "Oh, Dani," she mumbled. "What time is it?"

"Um, five in the morning. I was about to go on my run. Uh, sorry. For waking you up, I mean." Danielle tugged nervously at her shirt. "I'll just go and you can go back to sleep. I just—" She bit her lip. "Are you . . . are you and Dad fighting?"

Pepper sighed and pushed herself up. "Just a little disagreement, Danielle." She smiled exhaustedly. "Don't worry. It's . . . going to be okay."

"Really?"

"Yes." She reached out and took Danielle's hand in her own. "I love Tony and I love you. We're gonna figure this out. I promise. Do you believe me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I believe you."