Tony's Girls

By: InitialA

Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Marvel universe.

Cleo flounced into the lab, tossing her backpack and notebooks on the table. "Hi Daddy! Hi Uncle Bruce!"

Bruce mumbled something incoherent as he measured chemicals into the beaker. Tony looked up in annoyance as his tools rattled. "Hey, kid."

"What're you doing?" She asked, hopping up onto a stool.

"Repair work."

"Oh," Cleo stuck out her lower lip a bit, swinging her feet. "That's kind of boring, isn't it?"

"Kind of, but it keeps me familiar with what I want to improve on."

"Oh."

Tony picked up the soldering iron and went back to work; hopefully, Cleo would figure out he had nothing for her to play with, and either leave, or just sit quietly and do her homework. Unfortunately, that was not the case, as she started chattering about what had happened at school that day. For the most part, he managed to tune her out and focus on the Black Sabbath blaring, but he picked up on the few key problems they'd been having since advancing her and Tonia a few grade levels: notably, being picked on by the other girls, and trying to act and dress the same as her sixth-grade classmates (which was inappropriate for an eight-year old). And then the hurricane that was his other daughter whirled into the lab, and his irritation grew. He'd had a difficult morning with the Taiwanese clients, negotiating arc reactor technology for their buildings, and wanted nothing more but peace and Black Sabbath and his toys.

There was the pinch of guilt he felt whenever he thought these things about his daughters; he remembered a father who wanted nothing to do with him. Even though he knew now that Howard had cared, and wanted to give his son the best possible chance at bettering the world, that information would have been more helpful about thirty years before.

So, he let his girls stay, and talk about things he had no interest in, and distract him. He acquired three new burns in the process, but at this point why bother counting?

Tonia was holding down a metal plate for him when Cleo went to watch Bruce's experiment. She fidgeted; Tony missed what happened next, but suddenly there was a clatter of glass, a smashing noise, and screams. He dropped the welding torch in an automatic motion to prevent both Bruce's Hulk-out and Cleo getting hurt; but instead, Cleo was holding her hand, standing on a stool, while Bruce was covered in chemical. The rest was on the floor. Tony's irritation snapped. "CLEO!"

She jumped, already scared out of her wits before he started shouting about how a lab was not a playground and there were dangerous things everywhere, and how she needed to be more careful if she ever expected to be allowed back in the private labs—let alone the research department. He wasn't sure how long he shouted, but when he was done, all she could do was look at him briefly before jumping off the stool and sprinting out the door. He turned, and saw Tonia—also fearful—glaring at him before going after her sister. Bruce by now had stripped the ruined clothes off his body and was standing under the chemical rinse shower, scrubbing himself raw. "She got burned too. I don't think she'll think to wash that off after that litany," he commented when he turned it off.

Tony was instructing the robots in cleanup. "What?" He asked, distracted.

Bruce grabbed one of the cotton robes kept on hand in just these types of emergencies. "Cleo. She got some on her hand when I caused the accident. I don't know if Tonia will remind her to clean it before she gets too badly burned."

"You did that?"

The younger man side-eyed him. "I would have no problem telling you if Cleo or Tonia wasn't capable of being in here safely, or without extra supervision. Kids usually aren't up for being in this sort of environment, but yours grew up here. They know what they're doing. She was asking me questions, talking with her hands like you do, and when I knocked over the rows of beakers with my elbow, she was in mid-gesticulation. It was my fault, and you owe her an enormous apology."

"You were probably dodging her hands," Tony muttered mulishly.

"I wasn't. I work with you, remember? It's a habit to keep away from any flailing Starks I come across."

As Dum-E managed to clean up most of the spill with few threats and little added damage, hot shame flared inside Tony. He sat down, pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd never yelled like that before, at either of them. And he hadn't noticed that she was hurt.

Howard's ghost was a heavy presence in his mind.

Abruptly, he left and went up to the residential floors. Lucky for him, Pepper was still several floors below in the offices, so he could deal with this with minimal shrapnel from her exploding at him as well. He knocked on the door to the twins' room. Tonia opened it a crack, and glared at him. "Go away."

"Tonia—"

"You were horrible, and Cleo's hand got hurt, and she doesn't want to see you. I don't either. Go away, Dad."

She tried to close the door, but he put his boot in the doorway. "Not today, kiddo."

"This is a complete violation of personal privacy!"

"Tough shit, Antonia," Tony snapped.

Her eyes widened, and she stepped back; the door swung open a little more. He sighed: he was oh-for-two today. He crouched down to her level. "Look, Tonia… Sorry. I didn't mean that, I just really need to talk to Cleo."

She eyed him dubiously, standing a respectful distance away. "Are you going to apologize to her too?"

"That was the general plan."

"Okay. But don't say I didn't warn you, she'd not happy."

Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he ruffled her hair, and let her leave the room as he went in. He closed the door behind him; Cleo was curled in a ball on her bed, facing away from him. She sniffed, and the guilt ate at him. "Let me look at your hand," he said gently, sitting on Tonia's bed.

"Tonia took care of it," Cleo's voice was thick. "Thinks it's just a mild burn."

"Well, Tonia is eight and not a qualified medical professional. I, on the other hand, am also not a medical professional, but someone who has been to enough of them for similar reasons that I know a burn wound when I see it."

He waited while she stalled, making up her mind on whether or not to give in on this. He and Pepper didn't keep anything stronger than bandages and disinfectant ointment within reach of the girls, so her hand was likely throbbing in pain. She sniffed again, and rolled over; she held out the offending hand, which was haphazardly coated in Band-Aids. Tony pursed his lips, peeling away the layers as Cleo winced as it pulled at her skin. In the end, he took her to the master bathroom, and applied burn ointment and wrapped her hand like a mummy. "Still hurt?" He asked.

She nodded, and he gave her two children's ibuprofen. They sat on the rim of the bathtub together, staring at their hands. Cleo fiddled with her Dixie cup. Tony cleared his throat. "I should have known that you knew better. I was wrong and I yelled without thinking, and I'm sorry about that."

"Okay," her response was quiet.

"I mean it, kiddo. I wasn't in a great mood when you came home, and I should know better by now to not let everything get to me."

That made her look up. "But you're a grown-up. You're supposed to know better."

Tony winced. "I know. But grown-ups make mistakes too, you know that."

She nodded. He continued, "And I made a really big mistake, and I yelled because I forgot that you're smart, and I was worried that your uncle Bruce was going to have... a different accident." She nodded again, her eyes growing rounder at the thought that Bruce had almost Hulked out. "And I was too upset to notice you were hurt, and that was probably the cherry on top of an ice cream sundae of terrible things I've accomplished today."

Cleo looked back down at her hands. "I know, Daddy. And I was a bit… I was annoying today, I know."

"You weren't. You were being a kid."

She gave him a look that was very reminiscent of Pepper's exasperated one. "Aren't the two synonymous?"

He chuckled. "Isn't it a bit early for SAT prep words?"

"Never, according to Tonia."

He sobered, and put his arm around her. She let him, leaning against his chest. "They aren't synonymous. They're correlated," he paused, and she gave him the look again, "Just checking. A kid can be annoying, but to be annoying is not to be a kid. Metaphors or similes or whatever."

"Counterexample, actually."

"Right. Whatever."

She giggled. He hugged her shoulders. "There's my girl. So, am I forgiven?"

She considered it. "Maybe after a sundae. Your metaphor made me hungry."

It was his turn to give her a look; she grinned cheekily at him. "Spoiled," he taunted.

"Not my fault, Dad."

"Fine, but hurry, before your uncle Clint gets home and his sweet tooth takes over."

She hugged him briefly before skipping away. He let out a breath and ran his fingers through his hair; the guilt was still there, but less so after their talk. He hoped that he'd remember this incident well enough to keep himself in check the next time something went wrong. Maybe ice cream would help that too. He got up and went to join Cleo.