"Why do you think we're here?" I wonder aloud as I lean against Clint in the plush red loveseat.

"You would know better than anyone." Natasha points out.

"Yeah," I agree, "I would. If I knew what this girl – or whomever she's working for or with – wanted."

"Okay. Well, she was talking about going medieval." Bruce hypothesizes. "And about convincing us."

"So she needed leverage." Natasha continues.

"But she wanted all of us, so she couldn't use one of us." Clint supplies.

"So she needed something else." Steve guesses.

"That's it!" I squeal. "I got it!"

"Care to share?" Clint teases good-naturedly.

"She needed leverage." I reiterate. "And leverage is usually emotional. But she couldn't use one of us, so she used something else close to the vest. What is the most important thing to a spy…or people with dark pasts?"

"Secrets!" Natasha exclaims.

"Bingo! And just behind Tasha and Clint in the total secrets count is my dad."

"But he-" Steve starts hesitantly.

"Yes, I know he talks a lot, but never, ever about anything important. Tech, projects, nicknames…give him an hour, and he'll blow your eardrums out. Anything actually important like his past, my past, or the weapons designs? You would have better luck stealing Clint's bow."

"And good luck with that." Clint snorts.

"So how shall we proceed?" Thor booms.

"I think...I think we need to stay." Bruce sighs. "As uncomfortable as that is, we can't risk trying to get out and hurting Tony."

I nod appreciatively, pulling my knees up to my chest in the process because this is private information, but I can sit through my childhood again if it's necessary to save my dad.

"Hey." Clint calls, gently tugging me under his outstretched arm. "It's starting again."

A~A~A

A low buzz fills the room, on and off again, as sparks fly into the face shield of a slightly older Taylor wearing a Stark Industries t-shirt.

"Are you playing with sparks again?" a gentle voice calls, and Taylor flips the face plate up to see Tony watching from the doorway with a glass of scotch in hand.

"He drank around you?" Steve asks indecorously.

I just shrug. "Well, yeah. But he also trusted me with weapons of mass destruction, and I turned out fine."

"Mostly fine." Clint amends from next to me.

"Mostly?! You're the one dating me!"

"Perfection is overrated." he assures me with a pat on the shoulder.

"Anyways," I continue after rolling my eyes. "I grew up around Tony Stark, Steve. You hated him after a few hours, I lived with ten feet of him for fourteen years before I even met you."

"Uh…no?" Taylor squeaks uncertainly.

"You sure?" Tony asks with appointed glance at the tools in her hands.

"Yes, yes I am." Taylor nods persuasively as she slowly sets the tools down on the table.

Tony shakes his head and approaches the table. "Why is my three year old playing with fire?"

Taylor frowns and scrunches her brow. "But you just said sparks."

Tony sighs and waves a hand impatiently. "What are you working on?"

"A surprise!" Taylor grins, showing her tongue through a gap in her teeth.

"Oh, a surprise, I get it." Tony nods slowly, crouching down to be on eye level with his three year old daughter. "Will it hurt the Tower?"

"Nuh uh."

"Will hurt you?"

Taylor shakes her head.

"Will it hurt me or one of the bots?"

"No, daddy."

Tony grins and stands, ruffling Taylor's hair. "Then go get 'em, tiger. You know where to find me."

Taylor grins at Tony's back as he retreats from the room.

Once he's gone, she pulls a shoebox from under the desk and pulls a square plate about four inches by four inches with wires hanging off it. "Daddy will love this, won't he Jarvie?"

"I'm sure he will, Miss Stark. He did quite the same around your age." a cool British voice says, seemingly out of thin air.

"M'kay, Jarvie. Dummy, I need a soldering wrench!"

Cameras flash and reporters yell as Tony stands at a podium, cards in hand.

"Mr. Stark! Over here!"

"Ah, yes, you, over there."

"When did you know my daughter was a genius?"

"Officially, I knew when she handed me that circuit board she made last week. Even I waited till four to do that. She's either a genius or really competitive. Most likely both."

The journalist scribbles something in a notebook and another person with a camera steps up. "Mr. Stark!"

"You, there."

"What do you plan to do from here?"

"Well, right now she's already in kindergarten, about three years ahead of her classmates, and I'll just keep her on track from there. If this works, she should graduate high school before she's a teenager."

"Mr. Stark!"

"Yes, you."

"Can we see the young genius herself?"

Tony's face and spine suddenly stiffen. "No, I'm afraid not. Being a genius is hard work, she's at home napping."

"I have a feeling you aren't at home napping." Clint muses, looking between me and three year old me. "So where are you?"

"Well if there was a way to pause this…" I mumble, blinking as the scene freezes before me. "Okay then. Zoom in the upper left corner."

A bodyguard comes into full view, standing in front of something.

"See, right…there?" I point at a shadow behind the guard. "That'd be yours truly."

Everyone squints at the barely visible black hoodie.

"Wow, you are good." Clint high fives me.

"Technically that's the work of the security department and my dad." I shrug. "But I'll take credit."

"That's all for now, I have to get back to weapons and my daughter. Peace out!" Tony turns and – flanked by several huge bodyguards – makes his way off stage and heads for the limo.

"What was that?" Taylor asks once they're both safe in the car.

"Press, sweetie." he pats her knee. "That was press. Future reference: it's okay to lie to them and hate them so long as you smile."

A~A~A

"Well that was cynical."

I blink at Clint and shrug. "It's the truth. Press is evil and full of liars that will twist anything you say and you can say anything with a smile to sugar coat it."

"And that was even more cynical." He restates as he squeezes my shoulders.

I sigh and leans back against his arm.

"So is this your entire childhood?" Steve asks quietly. "Cynicism, tools, scotch, press, and bombs?"

"Well there was also my dad's playboy reputation…"

"He had girls over with a three year old?!" Steve shrieks. "What were you doing?"

"Talking to Jarvis and doing homework." I mumble. "Quit judging, Captain Sparkle Suit."

Steve huffs at me and I give him a signature smirk. "That's what I thought. Just wait and see."

"Does it get better?" Bruce asks quietly.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Your definition of better."