Author's Note: This is approximately my 12th re-write of this chapter over the past 2 years and the first version to have a coherent beginning, middle and end.

Nanny Corrin's POV (Tony, Age 5)

Master Anthony's both easier and more difficult to watch in hotel rooms. He's always in easy sight, but his curious fingers often find things to disassemble.

Last night, while I showered, his nimble fingers, and ever-present screwdriver, explored the innards of my hairdryer.

He gave me his best puppy dog eyes, "It takes forever for you to get ready because your hair dryer isn't good enough. I can make it work better." His eyes pleaded the unspoken words, 'If you let me.'

What I wanted to let happen is to swat the rascal's butt. But the most us nanny's are allowed to do is stick his nose in timeout or say no to something the little prince wants.

It's no help that Daddy Warbucks likes when his little minion investigates the world of tech. When informed of such escapades there is a 50/50 chance Mr. Stark will pull out his wallet and pass over the bills he feels equivalent to the damage done and 50/50 that his curiosity will get perked and within minutes he'll be sat beside his child, asking questions to prompt Tony into deeper thought about the tech he's taken apart. There is approximately a 0.01% chance that Mr. Stark will take him to task for it. Mostly only if Maria is giving him an exasperated look or a prized family chef looks disgruntled enough to quit.

That isn't to say Mr. Stark doesn't have rules for the child and Anthony knows to obey him. It's just that neither of them have any qualms about delving into something they are curious about or that they think they can improve, no matter what they may destroy in their scientific endeavors.

Thankfully, this morning, as his eyes are still blinking awake, he seems content to zone out on Saturday morning cartoons while I apply my eyeliner.

"Scooby-Dooby -Doo! Where are you? We got…"

Tony's POV

"Savings! Savings! Savings! Buy your tickets for Cedar Point now! Donate 10 cans of food for the needy, get $10 off your entrance fee! We have the most roller coasters! With the highest peaks! The fastest turns! Speeds faster than a cheetah! Fly to space on the Buck Roger's spacecraft! It leaves orbit at the end of this year! Buy your tickets today!"

I need to go there. I have to. I looked over my shoulder at Nanny Corrin, "I hope you like coasters, because that's where we're going next," I jabbed my finger towards the screen.

A few months later…

My adults are par-i-noid. That means they are nuts, and it has to be said like that with each syllable emphasized and an i sound, even though it's spelled with an a, to show how truly nutso they are. They used to just be regular paranoid, but a few months ago they stepped up their game.

Dad has some really old cars and he decided to donate one to the Henry Ford Museum near Detroit. It was this whole thing with a party and people donating money to some cause and a little plaque next to the car stating: Donated by Howard Stark.

Because there was a party, and unique shopping opportunities, Mom went along. And because the Henry Ford is a car museum and is attached to Greenfield Village I went too. Plus, the cameras like me so I got my picture taken at the party with Mom, Dad and the car. It's called a publicity shot.

Greenfield Village does have some green fields, and it is a village, but in reality, it is a bunch of old famous buildings that were put on trucks and moved to Dearborn, Michigan so they could be made to look like a village. It would've been so cool to see them move full houses on semis!

The village has Thomas Edison's workshop and the Wright brother's store and a bunch of other places like that. People dress up and pretend they are Mr. Edison or Mr. Wright. It's like grownups playing make believe, kind of like actors, but you get to talk to them and pretend too.

Only thing is, tech in those days was pretty simple and it didn't take long for me to start asking questions that stumped the make-believe people. Nanny Corrin ushered me out before I could make Mr. Wright feel any dumber.

There's a clock with a giant bell on one of the buildings and two robotic blacksmiths stand next to the bell and they hit it with their hammers at each new hour. I tried to sneak in to see how it worked, but Nanny Corrin snagged my hand and dragged me away. I'd decided to ask Dad to get me in later. He can pull strings my nannies can't.

She distracted me by buying tickets to ride in the Model T. I wanted to use the crank on the front to start her up, but she was already running. I told the guy my name and about my Dad donating a car to see if telling him I was a Stark would make him turn off the vehicle so I could help re-start it, but he still said no and Nanny Corrin told me to stop asking.

How is tech supposed to be fun if you can't experience how it works?

Turns out, you can be smart and stupid. Henry Ford built one of the first cars, but he built it in a brick building with normal doors, like the ones with a knob that you turn and walk through. He couldn't get the car out so he had to break down the brick wall so he could drive it.

Dad says that inventors can be both brilliant and illogical. We just get so caught up in the fun of creating that we sometimes forget stupid things, like you can't drive through brick walls or the times of appointments. That's why Dad has assistances to keep track of the boring stuff.

It was afternoon. It was hot. I was tired of walking. Tired of old buildings. Tired of being told my questions were too difficult or that I wasn't allowed to look at the inner workings of any of the things they had that were cool. I wanted to be back with Dad. He always had answers to my questions. He always could get people to say yes to letting us do stuff normal people don't get to do.

Nanny Corrin suggested, "Master Stark, perhaps it is time for a nap."

Master Stark is my name when my nannies or Jarvis are being formal. Sometimes it's a deference thing…employee vs. employer. And sometimes it's a You're skating on thin ice or You're in big trouble, mister like when parents use all three of your names.

This was the, I've had enough of the attitude type. I knew naptime wasn't going to happen because I don't do naps anymore, but she wouldn't hesitate about sticking me in a corner if I gave her too much grief.

I decided to use my own distraction technique, "Can we get ice cream?" She checked her watch, then said yes.

The ice cream parlor is near the exit and right next to the big clock. Nanny Corrin let go of my hand to pay for the ice creams and I wandered over to watch the clock.

"You're Howard Stark's boy."

I looked up at the man and tried to puzzle out whether he'd been at the party or if he knew me from publicity.

"I heard you built a computer."

I smiled, nodded and replied, "A super-fast one."

"I bet you'd like to get a view inside that clock. We've got less than two minutes before it goes off. Let's say I give you a peek."

I glanced back over at Nanny Corrin. She was trying to finagle everything… her purse, the napkins, the ice cream cones. She was still too occupied to pay attention to me. This was my one chance. I nodded and followed the man into the building.

The door hadn't even fully closed behind us when Nanny Corrin had my arm in her hand and was dragging me back outdoors. She went ballistic! That's another word for nutso. She was yelling at both me and the man and demanding he get fired and telling me that you don't follow strangers just because they offer you candy and I tried to defend that he hadn't offered candy, that he'd offered to show me tech. Then she took my hand and walked me pass the ice creams she'd dropped on the ground and over to one of the little round tables and made me sit on one of the hot, metal chairs.

"Tech is your candy," she insisted.

I pouted, because I knew she was right, but I really didn't want her to be. I really wanted to see the inside of the clock while all its parts were moving. And I knew I missed my chance because the music started playing and the blacksmiths started hammering on the bell while she lectured me about being a good boy and using my brains to not get dupped by strangers.

It really, really sucked. I tried distracting her again by suggesting she get more ice cream. I swear she morphed into a dragon, right then and there. Her skin got all purple and scaly and steam started spouting from her nostrils and she roared that we were heading back to her dungeon where I was going to be her prisoner until I had the wisdom to make better decisions.

That day really blew. It ended with the longest time out ever. Seriously, I thought about calling Guinness.

Jarvis' POV

I have been in Mr. Stark's employ for nigh on 3 decades. Busy and overworked he may be, but careless or naïve of the goings on of his valuables he is not. But he could be coldly calculating.

Sir was currently passing over a stack of crisp $100 bills to the man who had lured Master Anthony away. The failed kidnapping had been staged, the kidnapper hired by Stark himself, as a means of evaluating the reactions of the nanny and Tony.

In the ensuing months, Mr. Stark was inordinately restrictive of young Anthony's comings and goings, limited almost entirely to home or Stark Industries.

Howard's POV

Firing and hiring new nannies? Easy. Preventing An'tny from wandering off, nigh impossible. How the hell do you teach a kid to say no to something they want?

Adults are the ones that have got to tell them no. But when they don't even give you the chance? They just go wandering off without permission, then what? Consequences.

But that's an after the fact thing. In the moment, the kid wants what the kid wants and is going to tag along with anyone offering to give it.

So, I instructed every household employee, "Antn'y doesn't leave the premises, other than to go to S.I.." They all knew to expect a boot out the door if they give in to the munchkin's demands.

But it wasn't a long-term solution. The kid was driving everyone nuts. Everyone except Maria who simply held out her hand to the child and proclaimed, "Come along, Tony." Anthony would run to her side, and out the door they went.

See! The kid wants out, and the first offer he gets, he takes off. If he's willing to go dress shopping with Maria, he'd never say no to a would be kidnapper offering something he'd actually want.

I could hire a bodyguard to tag-along with him and his nanny. Or maybe I could design something.

Tony's POV

Dad made this awesome watch, just for me! It looks like a watch, but it's really a tracking radar system. It's driving my nanny nuts! All I have to do is sneak about 8 feet away from her and it starts a slow beep, by 11 feet the thing is freaking out and then everyone around looks at her wondering where the hell the beeping is coming from or those in the know glare at her like, 'You let him get away from you again!? Hold his hand for god's sake!' She's the only one that glares at me for it and I respond with a cheeky grin.

The amusement park was awesome, and because of the watch thing, she was forced to go on all the rides with me. All the ones the carnies would let me on. Apparently fun has a height limit.

I tried taking off my socks and stuffing them in the heel of my shoe to make me tall enough, but I was still a few inches shy and Nanny Corrin absolutely refused to bribe the officials.

Mom had special ordered an outfit for me, so I was decked out in full Buck Roger's gear. It made the adults less paranoid about me going to the park because I wouldn't look like me.

So I made sure to tell every person I said hello to, "Hi, my name is Anthony Stark, son of Howard Stark, you know, the great industrialist and bomb maker?"

Well, I told everyone until Nanny Corrin started to morph into a dragon again and I figured I better shut up or miss out on the rest of the park.

I figured out why the Buck Rogers ride was about to go bye, bye. It was the lamest ride in the whole park. Just a giant replica of the ship on a marry-go-round that rose about 30 feet in the air.

Or at least it was lame for anyone who wasn't pretending to use the ship to save the planet from evil villains. I begged Nanny Corrin, "Please, sit at the back, just once." She did, while I was up front, meaning the radar system beeped away while I pretended the noise and watch was a weapon taking out my enemies.

Shmultz P.O.V.. (A.K.A. Schmoozing Shultz, A.K.A. Scott, Tony Stark's bodyguard), Tony mid-20s

Never imagined myself landing such a swank gig. Dad had been military; found I liked the rigidity of rules and procedures, but not the camo-khaki and low pay. So I aimed myself towards the suit-and-tie life, minus the dullness of 'businessmen'. Not that my businessman employer's life was dull, but had to figure he was the exception, not the rule; least wise for those that didn't make it to the rollin' in it stage. Nah, I much prefer carrying a piece at my waistline and a spare on a shoulder harness. I got to stand around pretending I was 007, keeping a watchful eye for danger and preparing to frisk or pound on anyone that might be a threat to Mr. Stark. Great way to make a buck.

Watching his last night's piece of ass sashaying her way to the elevators was just a perk. I watched the elevator numbers blink her away. Then the Stark Tracking Alarm on my watch blinked and blared. Crap. Had blondie been a distraction to kidnap Mr. Stark?

I replayed my check of the hotel room last night as I reached for the doorknob. It had been all S.O.P. (standard operating procedure). Top floor. No balcony. Latch-less windows. And I'd never strayed more than 10 feet from Mr. Stark's door (love the job; hate the night shift- snooze worthy, at least on my side of the door). No one could have taken him. No one.

I entered the room and found my employer ass up, naked as a jaybird, and asleep with enough of a rumbling, drunken snore that I knew she had loved him and left him dead asleep, not coffin dead. I might still skate through this with a job.

Mr. Stark mumbled, "Turn that f'ck'n 'lrm off," as he rubbed consciousness back into his face. He gave a brief glance to the empty side of the bed then blinked at his empty wrist. "Huh. She promised she wasn't a hooker. Looks like she was the 10 grand a night type."

Then he sat up and stretched, kind enough to maneuver a sheet over areas of himself I prefer not to compare myself to.

"Coffee." He gave a shooing motion with his hand.

"Right away, Mr. Stark," I gave the expected reply, while I mentally grumbled about barista duty not being anywhere on the list of bodyguard responsibilities. I stepped out of the room to give Mr. Stark privacy and contacted room service to get fresh coffee sent up.

6 minutes later I carried steaming coffee into his room. Nothing was to be handed to Mr. Stark, ever. I sat the beverage on the bedside table. Mr. Stark, who had been doing Mr. Stark stuff on his laptop grunted, as close to a thanks the man ever gave. Then he actually deigned to look up at me, however brief, stating, "You may go," then while he re-engaged with his digital pursuits, he added, "permanently."

Crap. I mentally started writing my next resume trying to decide whether former bodyguard to the Tony Stark would look good on my credentials or lead to uncomfortable questions and poor references for allowing a beautiful blonde to walk off with a ritzy watch, modified by Mr. Stark to act as a distance alert, notifying Mr. Stark's bodyguard (formerly me) of when a would-be-ransomer was abscond with his person. Though more often it went off due to my boss wandering off, either because something distracted him or he was lost in his own head.

"Leave the watch." he instructed.

I detached it and laid it on a table. So much for the high paid, swanky job.

Author's Question: Does the amusement park section need a little more pizzazz and personality?