This one-shot is partially by request of blue-lily295, who helped me get this one restarted after I hadn't touched it in a long, long time.

Given that it's also Mother's Day – at least in the US – this is dedicated to my mom, who has been a huge supporter of my writing since day 1.

I slide into the limo and slam the door shut with a groan.

"Drive, Happy." I order as I dig through my purse for the Advil I knew I had, with my head pounding from the droning voices and camera flashes I had put up with all day. Today had been one of those days where I was being whisked from meeting to meeting, holding up a relentless schedule with little time for trivial things like eating and resting.

And I was exhausted, just now heading home to the tower at eight pm for the first time since five this morning.

I loosen my stiff, starch collar and shed my blazer, tossing it on the seat next to me and kicking off my heels to exchange them for the sneakers I always kept in the limo for situations just like this one.

Happy glances at me in the rear view mirror. "Busy day, Miss?"

I give him a small smile. "Just like always, Hogan. How many times did Dad call you today to check on me?"

"Only 47," the chauffeur replies casually as he turns another corner and the tower comes into view. "That's better than last time."

"I suppose," I sigh as Happy parks the car and comes around to get my door, because no matter how many times I've told him to stay put and that I can get my own door, I'm not helpless, thankyouverymuch, he still insists on doing it for me.

I highly suspected that my dad had something to do with that.

I grab my jacket and wave to the driver as I head into the lobby of the tower, nodding at the receptionist on duty as I make a beeline for the private elevator and punch the button for the floor Darcy and I share.

As soon as I step out into the mini-living room, I breathe a sigh of relief and can actually feel the tension leak out of my shoulders and back.

But...something felt off. I didn't know what it was, exactly, but the air felt dead, almost. Even with the soundproofed walls on each of our separate floors, the tower was always abuzz with movement, activity, noise...life. Now, however, the air felt strangely still and cold.

I pause with my head tilted slightly. "Jarvis, where is everyone?"

"Miss Lewis, Dr. Foster, Dr. Ross, and the majority of the Avengers are currently at High Line Park, Miss Stark."

"Lucky dogs," I mutter. "They get to slack off all day." I drape my jacket over the back of the couch and move into the kitchen in search of food. I manage to open the fridge before something in the particular phrasing of Jarvis' words clicks. "Wait, you said the majority of the Avengers were at the park. Who isn't there?"

"Sir did not join them at the park this morning," the AI informs me and there's something in his tone bordering on reluctance.

I shrug it off. "He's probably busy or bugging Phil. Is he working on anything, J?"

"Sir is not currently working on a project, no."

I narrow my eyes at the nearest camera. "There's a 'but' coming."

There's a pause, and I get the feeling Jarvis would be sighing if he could. I chase away the absent thought of programming that in as he replies. "Sir is currently heavily intoxicated, ma'am."

I frown at that. While my dad did still have a hint of alcoholic tendencies, he had honestly gotten a lot better in recent years with the Avengers and other superhero-ly duties to keep him busy; after all, you can't be a stumbling drunk in the middle of a battle.

That being said, there were still a few things that sent him into a slippery spiral – namely getting old and prolonged thoughts about my mother. For instance, the last time I can remember him getting more than a little buzzed was about ten months ago, when SHIELD fell and my mother was revealed to be Steel, second in command of HYDRA. The time before that it was back in 2015, on his fortieth birthday.

Today was not, as far as I could tell, another milestone birthday and he hadn't seen Steel since last June. I tilt my head slightly. "What's so special about today?"

"It's May 10th, Miss Stark. Mother's Day," Jarvis explains.

I sigh as I close the fridge door. "This is the twentieth Mother's Day since Steel left. Why now?"

"I believe his actions are partly inspired by your conversation at Compound 394, ma'am."

"Damn it," I swear quietly. Yes, I remembered our conversation last December; the 28th, to be exact (I think, anyways, dates got fuzzy there). We had held a bonding moment/conversation about heartbreak and how to get over it. Granted, it had mainly been for my benefit, to get over Clint (not that that was necessary now) but apparently it had held some lasting effects.

"My sentiments exactly, ma'am," Jarvis agrees.

"Where is he?" I demand, already moving for the elevator.

"His private lab, ma'am."

I nod and jab the button for the first sublevel, pacing in the small space of the elevator before it digs and the doors open.

Dad's lab is smaller than the main one we shared, about half the size, and it's rarely used; it's mainly utilized for brooding, secret projects, or drinking.

Today it was drinking, and I could smell the scotch from four feet away from the door.

I grimace as I punch in my access code, giving a mental cheer when it works. He must've forgotten to lock me out.

I gingerly step across the threshold and into a dark lab, muting my footsteps as much as I could. "Jarvis," I whisper, focusing on breathing through my mouth. "Lights to 10%."

The lights come on to a dim level, and I squint through the half-darkness at the shape hunched over the workbench, surrounded by empty bottles. "Dad?"

"Whussit."

Semi-coherent, I note. That's good. "What's gotten you into a binge?"

"Missss...nuthin'," he slurs. "Don' worry."

"Like hell I won't," I cross my arms and arch an eyebrow. "Come on, please tell me what's wrong."

"Go 'way."

I just lean back against the wall, careful to avoid the puddle of alcohol pooling just to my left.

"D'you know wha' today is?" Dad asks, back still to me.

"Mother's Day," I ask simply. "If this is about my mother-"

"R'becca."

"-it's been nearly twenty years. You can't wallow forever," I remind him.

"Yes I can," he insists stubbornly, an edge coming out to in his voice and replacing the slur.

The ground was getting thinner. "It's been two decades, please stop this," I plead. "It's not healthy. Just...move on."

"Move on?" He whirls to face me, his bloodshot eyes glaring. "You want me to move on?!"

"Life moves on," I state calmly. "You haven't yet."

"I don't have to!" he snaps.

"Yes, you do!" I argue. "It's been two decades! I've grown up! I've cut ties with her! And I'm the child here! Why can't you, as the adult, do the same?"

"You don't get it!" he exclaims. "These are adult problems-"

"And I am a freaking adult!" I scream, finally losing it. "I am nearly twenty years old and I have never appreciated being talked down to, thank you, so quit keeping your adult problems to yourself."

"I don't need you butting into my love life!"

"This isn't just about your love life!" I growl. "She is my mother too, in case you've forgotten."

"You've moved on, remember?" he mocks sardonically. "You don't care."

"About her? Hell no," I scoff. "I'd call it indifference, to be honest."

"She's your mother," he explains, drawing out the last word. "And you don't care."

I shrug. "I don't know her; she's as much my mother as the hot dog vendor is."

"Her blood runs through your veins," he reminds me snidely. "You are alive because of her."

"I was conceived with her help," I counter. "If it were up to Rebecca Santiago, I would've been dead before the second trimester. You're the one that kept me alive."

"Then thank me by letting me remember her," he demands.

I shake my head. "I can't do that. It's been twenty years since she left. The world hasn't stopped spinning because you're moping over a girl."

"I don't care how long it's been!" he screams. "Don't you get that? I don't care! It will never be long enough! I loved her - I can't just forget her! Not like you! I'm not that HEARTLESS!"

I jerk back as if I've been burnt, but he pays me no mind.

"Get out! GET OUT!" he howls, and I don't see the crystal tumbler coming until it clips the top-right of my skull.

I quickly duck and turn on my heel, storming out of the lab with all the finesse of a storm front.

All I felt like doing at the moment was beating the crap out of something, but first I fished my phone out of my pocket and typed out a message, sending it off before my phone gets roughly shoved back into a pocket and I continue on my way.

Natasha's POV

I step out of the elevator and onto a dark floor, the floor eerily silent.

I had come straight home from the park; the text I had received from Taylor half an hour ago had made sure of that. The message had been short and concise, and probably angrily sent: simply reading "Dad's drunk, please send help." There had been a second one a minute later, almost as an afterthought, with a set of passcodes to the elevator and lab itself.

This was obviously bad - if Taylor, who had been 'wrangling' (as she put it) Tony since she was able to, was pushed past her limit, this was going to be...interesting.

I approach the door to the lab, noting the stale scent of scotch wafting from the room. I punch in the six-digit code and the door hisses open, revealing a dimly lit room with scotch bottles, glasses, and an alarming amount of shards of glass littering the floor.

And a figure slumped over the workbench. Tony didn't seem to notice me; he was staring off into space, but I don't think he was looking at anything.

"Hello?"

"Come t' apologize?" he asks quietly, his voice a mixture of slur and venom.

"What the hell are you doing?" I demand hotly. "Do you know what the hell you've done?"

I watch him stiffen and spin to face me, almost toppling off the bench along the way. "N'tasha?"

I raise an eyebrow. "I'm not your daughter, but I would like to know why she felt in necessary to call me in."

"It's not – she didn't need to – fam'ly stuff," he declares.

"That's utter bull," I scoff. "I don't believe you."

Tony stares at me for a moment, hazel eyes glazed over, before he bursts into giggles. Giggles. "You said utter…bull…" he manages before bursting into almost hysteric laughter.

I roll my eyes and hiss out a breath. How had Taylor dealt with this for years and years before Tony got into gear? I shake my head and step over to the bottles until I'm by Tony's side.

I reach around to pinch a nerve on the left side of his neck, and the giggles cut off abruptly with a small gasp. "Ah – ow."

I don't reply, instead pulling him up into a position that vaguely resembled upright. "Now, what is going on?"

He doesn't reply as I sweep the bottles and glasses off another bench and pull it closer, taking a seat across from the elder Stark. "Don't make me ask again," I warn. "Why did Taylor find in necessary to call me in and why does she have an inch-long gash on the crown of her head?"

"I – gash?" he honestly looked confused at this. "Wha' gash?" His eyes widen almost comically. "Did the glass hit her?"

"You threw a glass at her?" I return. "You threw a glass at her. Bozhe moy, Tony."

"I dunno wh't you jus' said," he shrugs. "But I didn't mean for it to hit her…"

"Then why did you throw it?" I ask exasperatedly. "What were you even arguing about?"

"She doesn't care 'bout her own mother!" he rants. "Doesn' even give a-"

"Her mother tried to kill her," I remind him, speaking as if he were a small child. "And she abandoned Taylor before she was a week old."

"But I loved her!"

"Are you so selfish to believe that everyone sees the woman you loved?" I challenge, narrowing my eyes at him. "Because Taylor sure as hell doesn't. And besides that, Tony, it's been twenty years."

"I don't care," he whines – whines – and shoves out his lower lip.

"Man up, Stark," I growl lowly, leaning forward on the bench. "Man up and face the fact that, guess what, people change. Rebecca – Steel – tried to take over the world a year ago. She tried to kill everyone, including Taylor. And what did you expect after that? Everyone would just come back and play happy family?" I ask sarcastically.

He sighs and closes his eyes. "She was the one vaguely normal thing in my life. I want – I want to hold on to that."

"I'm not saying you can't. But that's not what you're doing here-"

"Is too."

"It is not." I snap. "What you're doing here is obsessing over a woman long since gone, and in the process you've managed to hurt your daughter. You hurt your child, Tony."

I watch him pale – well, pale further, anyways – at the last sentence. Because while I wasn't a parent myself, I knew that was one of the cardinal rules of parenthood: Thou shalt do everything to not harm your child.

Tony had smashed that rule to bits. And he knew it.

"Is it-" he falters. "'M I really tha' bad?"

"What do you think?" I ask. "Do you think she likes finding you drunk out of your mind and having to drag you out of it because she's the only one that can? The rest of us stand no chance."

He doesn't reply, just gaining a mulish look.

"And she's right. You know that," I continue softly. "You do need to get back on your feet."

He sighs and nods, suddenly looking more weary than drunk. "I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"…I'm scared," he admits, so soft I'm not sure I heard him. "I don't want this to fail again. Part of me thinks I'm protecting her, you know. If Taylor gets attached again, and then…"

"If it all goes to hell…" I tilt my head. "What do you think she'd do?"

"Be crushed."

"Hunt that chienne down until she gets to avenge you," I correct, drawing a smile out of the engineer at the offensive French. "Your daughter is oddly protective of you, Tony, which is why she wants you to stop moping."

"But what if she does get crushed?" he asks desperately.

"Then you'll be there," I reassure him. "You, me, Ja – Bucky, I mean, Rhodey, Bruce, Darcy…she's got people in her corner. Friends. Not to mention an ultra-supportive boyfriend."

I feel a slightly evil grin come over my face. "Who I'm going to call in, by the way. He's the only one that can get onto Floor 67 to get Taylor. You know how he gets when she's hurt," I comment, watching Tony go white and shrink slightly.

"Can I jus' apoligize b'fore tha'?" he mumbles.

I shake my head. "I'm keeping you two apart until morning. You're still drunk and she's still pissed."

He looks reluctant but nod. "I guess."

I nod again and practically drag him over to the couch in the corner. "Get some sleep. In the morning, you will sober up, clean up this lab, and apologize. Understand?"

"Yes, mother," he drawls, but settles onto the couch anyways. I nod once more before getting up and making my way to the door.

A sleepy, slurred voice stops me. "N'tasha?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks."

I know he's not just thanking me for helping him to the couch. "You're welcome, Tony."

I make my way out of the lab, the lights dimming. I stop in the hallway and pull out my phone, sending a quick message.

Situation diffused. How is she?

A reply buzzes in not half a minute later. Asleep on my legs. They're going to be okay.

Good, I reply. That's good.