A/N: I decided to have Mary as Tony's wife because of a friend's suggestion. And because I wanted to explore Peter's character of how he'd turn out if circumstances had kept his parents alive..
"... Judge Carter will see over the case this afternoon. Many of the citizens believe Clark Marshall will be convicted with no less than ten years in serving time. René Marshall's lawyers have left no comment..."
"Your breakfast is getting cold." Mary observed. "Hmm?" Tony looked up from the Daily Mirror.
"Eat," she commanded, not unkindly. He obeyed and dug in. He couldn't imagine hurting Mary or their kids. Who could be that deplorable? Marshall and Howard Stark. Tony swallowed the lump in his throat. It wasn't bacon.
"Honey, are you excited for school?" His wife asked Theresa, their youngest. She shrugged and pushed back her wildly curly hair from her face.
"You should've brushed that. It will tangle more and hurt the moment a comb so much as goes near it. Then you'll start weeping." Harley chided.
"Is the pot calling the kettle black?" Theresa fired back.
"Hey, none of that now! You will finish your breakfast quietly and go to school. Why do you two always have to fight? Its like you're not twins." Tony intervened before the daily morning brawl started.
"Yeah, I wish he'd never been born." Theresa muttered under her breath, but loudly enough for everyone to hear.
"Tessa," Mary's voice had a warning tone to it.
"Sorry," the girl mumbled sheepishly. Mary was still staring. She sighed.
"Fine!" She ground out bitterly. She turned to her brother. "I'm sorry for making mean comments and I love you even though you suck."
"Apology not accepted." Harley said to her. "See?!" Theresa had stood up, pointing her finger at Harley who stared right back. "He is so arrogant!"
"Your apology was arrogant and poorly phrased," Harley countered.
"That's why I like Peter better. He should've been my twin. You always sound and look like the mean older brother in a soap opera. Me, me, me!"
"Then go ahead and ask him to be one!" He screamed in her face.
Tony rubbed a hand over his face. So much for trying to avoid a fight. He sensed a battle bubbling beneath the surface. It was starting anytime now and he would be forced to take sides on who was in the wrong and who was in the right. Peter helped him speak.
"That's enough guys. You've just wasted a whole minute going blah blah blah. Should've been doing something counterproductive like putting those plates in the dishwasher." The fifteen year old said quietly. He had taken the paper from Tony and was doing Sudoku at an inhuman speed.
"Can it, nerd!" Harley snapped.
"You'll respect your brother, Harley. He's right," said Mary as she picked up the plates.
"Yeah, because he's such a goody two shoes. That Peter, this Peter. Gimme a break," the ten year old threw his hands up in the air and promptly left the breakfast table.
"Where are you going, young man?" Tony called after him. He sighed when he received no response.
"He'll get over it," Mary assured him as she finished clearing up the table. She turned to the two remaining children. "Get your bags — you're gonna be late. Andiamo, andiamo!" She clapped her hands and the two quickly left as instructed. She lowered her hair from the messy bun.
"I'm working the night shift. I'll make lasagna before I go. Is that good?" She asked him.
"Anything is good. Or we could just have pizza."
"Not again. Friday maybe. Bruce called by the way. Butterfingers is better. Could you please pick him up after work?"
Butterfingers was their four year old golden retriever. His leg was run over by a car, and it was a miracle he wasn't crippled yet. Bruce had the hands of a god.
"Yeah, I will."
"Hey," her hand was on his arm. She squeezed it through the pale blue shirt. "What's wrong?"
Why did she always know when he was troubled? It wasn't worth it. He supposed that was what made her special. Knowing his every thought, every desire, every heartache.
"Its about the Marshalls, isn't it?"
Tony swallowed. "I know René, you know. She works down at customer service, soft voice, compassionate. Hardworking. I kept thinking why she wouldn't leave him, I mean, it was no secret she was being hurt. The Mirror just made it official. Then I thought of my mom..." His sentence trailed off.
Mary's hands were now on his shoulders. "I guess she was afraid of losing custody of me, if she ever challenged Howard in court." He refused to call him dad. "And then you're here, and our kids. Then some voice tells me I'll go back to before and..."
The tips of her fingers found their way under his chin and forced him to look up at her. "You're not him, Antonio." She said sternly. "You aren't going to lose us, you aren't going back to the man you were. Here, now — that's what matters. You are a good man. Stop believing otherwise."
"Te amo." He kissed her deeply. His hand carded through her dark curls, another one massaging the back of her neck.
"Eww. Gross," Theresa commented from the hallway. "Get a room, please."
"We made you!" Tony told her and the girl made a face as she ran out of the house.
"Go on. Its seven forty already." She patted back his hair and kissed his forehead. "Stark men are made of iron." - -
-Line Break -
Bruce eyes the passing trees with some admiration. The colors had already shifted to reds and oranges and yellows. There is a certain wetness in the air, he can smell it. That and the dirt, they give him a sense of peace. The car turns into a sharp corner, one with lesser trees.
"So Doc, you beat the shit out of Blonsky?" Bucky asks, grinning. Bruce blushes deeply.
"It was a long time ago."
"And it still make waves."
The veterinarian shifts in his seat. "I just got tired of his bullying. You can't blame a guy, right?"
Bucky hold up his free arm — the cybernetic one — in self-defense. "I ain't judging."
Bruce knows what he's thinking. He is a five foot ten tall guy with an average weight who stood up against a six feet three, tank muscled man. Shocking, right? But Bruce has been everywhere around the world and has learned a few tricks. He's faced tougher guys from unruly pet owners and military wannabes .
The vehicle pulls up to a large colonial style farmhouse. On the stretching, wraparound porch a woman stands up from her wicker chair before they even get out of the car. She is dressed in a tartan shirt tucked in faded jeans. Her dark leather boots make a smacking sound against the wooden floor as she walks down the steps to greet them.
"Bruce!" She says warmly as she shakes his hand. Her palm is calloused, her grip firm and strong.
"Good morning Mrs. Harnorsand."
"Please, its Frigga. You've known me long enough enough to call me that, yes?" Bruce nods and she outstretches her arm towards a beaten down path leading away from the house. He follows her, one hand in his coat pocket and another fingering the shoulder strap of his satchel.
"I'll be in the northeast barn. Holler when you're done." Bucky calls after him and doesn't wait for an answer.
Asgard Old Place, like the name Frigga, is just a nickname. Same, the Harnorsand children were called the Odinsons, with respective titular Norse gods' names. Christopher had been dubbed Thor for his blond good looks, booming voice and large physique. He had had the name for so long that Bruce suspected some people didn't know his real name. Of course there was no Thor without Loki so his brother had the misfortune of being nicknamed besides him, though it wasn't far off from the truth that the youngest Odinson was prone to cause mischief at Thor's expense.
Nevertheless, Asgard was a successful horse ranch effectively run by Odin himself. He supposed he wasn't around. The man liked to greet guests by himself and would never send anyone to do it for him. As if sensing his thoughts, Frigga spoke up "Odin is sick. Fever. Refuses to see a doctor. He's pretty stubborn."
"Yeah, I see where Thor gets that from."
Frigga laughed. Like the pearling of silver bells the sound of her voice was magical to hear. Speak of the devil, and he shall come. Thor was riding towards them, the grey mare carrying him running against the plush green carpet of grass as if she was made of the wind. She didn't even seem to touch the ground at all. Mjolnir was an exceptional horse, possibly the best in Asgard challenged only by Sleipnir. She halted before them and Thor dismounted.
"Bruce! So glad to see you here!"
"Same, Thor." The brown haired man winces as he is patted on the back a little too harshly.
"Let's walk." Frigga says. They head towards the stables. People are moving around, leading horses, moving hay and fodder, breaking newcomers. Its a busy place. Some recognize Bruce and give him a wave. He waves back. He isn't exactly a new face here. He's after all, the only vet in town, when you counted out his two assistants who are still in college.
"Which one of the horses is sick?" He finally questions.
"Two actually." Thor corrects. "Albion and Frey. The latter broke her leg and Albion has been hit by a fever. Seems like everybody's getting sick."
They are greeted by the sound of neighing the moment the stable doors are thrown open. Bright luminescent lights gaze overhead. There are only a few horses in. Bruce supposes the rest are outside grazing. A dark haired woman is already with Frey when they reach her. She is holding the mare's head, whispering soft words of comfort. Brunhilde is legendary among horse trainers. More times than he could count, he had witnessed her break the toughest of horses, coach the most stubborn of foals into utter perfection. The beautiful animals find her presence natural and familiar. 'Horse Whisperer' is a title well earned, he thinks.
That could not be said of her relationships with people. She avoided conversation beside the casual good morning. She was rarely seen away from the ranch and was mostly an outcast. Bruce solely believed he and Thor were her only (best) friends. And she liked drinks. A lot. He wondered how she got to work sober most days. Best if he didn't know. He knelt beside Frey and got to work.