"Was Tony a good parent?"

I send Steve a confused glance. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. He just seems like an eternal college boy while raising you."

I snort. "Well, he's better now, I was a perfectly fine kid and that's all that matters. Have you raised a child, Steve?"

Steve sighs and gives a small shake of the head.

"Then don't talk about what you don't know." I sigh exasperatedly. "Now, it's starting again, let's watch more of my childhood, shall we?"

A~A~A

"Have you finished that Sherman warhead yet, Tay?" Obie asks as he looks in on a five year old Taylor.

"No." Taylor sighs, looking up at her godfather. "I should have it done by Friday."

"Your dad could have had it done by now when he was your age." Obie huffs, crossing his arms.

"Well I am obviously not my dad." Taylor snaps suddenly. "He's downstairs if you're looking for him. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have third grade math to do."

"Pause." Natasha commands. "What was that?"

"That," I sigh, "was me hating being compared to my dad. I think it might be genetic, since my dad hates being compared to Howard." I glance sharply at Steve. "And, just for the record, I asked; it would have taken my dad just as long as it took me to build that missile. Thanks, Obie." I scowl at the screen.

"Oh. Makes sense. Resume."

Taylor grabs her book and quickly heads towards the doorway that doesn't have an Obie in it, leaving Obie to stare at her back in annoyance.

The lab doors swish open, causing Tony to look up from his bundle of wires.

The newest occupant of the room is Taylor, carrying a backpack over one shoulder and a tablet in the other.

"Homework?" Tony asks lightly.

Taylor just nods breathlessly as her bag hits an empty worktable with a thud. "Yeah," she pants. "Homework. And then a missile."

"Don't rush on that just to do the missile." Tony reminds her. "I can do the missile."

"You can also do third grade math." Taylor points out as she props her feet up and powers up the tablet.

"I'm not supposed to though." Tony counters. "Hey, did you get the online version of those textbooks yet?"

Taylor shakes her head with a scowl. "They're not giving them out. They say third graders can still use paper books."

"Then what are you doing there?" Tony asks with a nod towards the tablet.

"Well, someone might have hacked the necessary teachers and gotten the books anyways." Taylor drawls with a smirk.

Tony blinks at her, then "Is it untraceable?"

"Of course."

"Carry on then." Tony chirps as he grabs a tool from another table and hunches over his project.

The next sound heard is Taylor jovially announcing that she was finished, telling Jarvis to scan the papers and send them to her teacher under her name.

Taylor lets the tablet power down as she goes to a back room, dragging out a cart with a tarp covering it.

A quick pull of the tarp reveals a missile about two feet long, shaped like a steel torpedo.

"A missile?" Clint asks gently. "At five?"

"At four." I correct, pointing at the now frozen screen. "That's a Sherman 12-SCF Warhead. My own design. They began production in 2004, ended after Afghanistan like everything else. That single missile packs enough punch to wipe out a small African country. It was the predecessor and junior to the Jericho missile, and a possible suspect in the 2010 bombing of Anthony Edward Stark." I recite, from memory, in a robotic tone as I focus entirely on the ceiling, hating the fact that this isn't causing me to cry anymore.

Clint slowly reaches out, extending both a hand and an invitation, which I accept and lean into him and work on banishing the darker thoughts.

"I take back whatever I said in that evaluation about your childhood being easy." Natasha whispers. "You were building bombs before you graduated elementary school."

"I had it better than the rest of you." I whisper mournfully. "Except Thor. No brainwashing, no abuse, no killing."

"You were killing too." Clint murmurs shakily. "Younger than I was. You just didn't see it."

I sigh and burrow myself into his hoodie as the memory resumes.

Taylor is almost giddy as she snatches her tools from one of the robots and scoots around to the back of the bomb, where there's about a two inch exposed space, and starts soldering wires.

"Dad, did you get the structural diagnostics done?"

"Yeah. Dummy, give your sister that tablet, will you?"

"Sister?" Steve looks at me quizzically.

I smile slightly as I explain. "Dummy, You, and Butterfingers are sort of my brothers. I mean, I obviously mean the most to my dad, but those three are a close third, just after Jarvis."

"Right." Steve breathes slowly as he shakes his head.

"Now quit interrupting." I snap with mock seriousness.

Taylor takes the tablet from the bot, patting him on the head before shooing him away and turning back to the missile.

"Hey Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell Obie I can do it by Saturday instead, see how he takes it."

A~A~A

"You were a vindictive little squirt!" Clint regards me with a little awe as we all get up to stretch. "I'm glad I'm not Tony."

"I'm glad you're not my Dad either. I can't date my dad." I point out, giggling slightly as Clint screws up his face is disgust.

"That was a most depressing memory." Thor declares. "Mayhap the next one will be happier?"

I nod with a sigh. "I hope so, Thor."

"How long do we have to stay in here?" Steve wonders aloud as he pops some vertebrae.

I hum doubtfully as I shrug. "I have no clue. If these are only memories with me in them, we watch until you guys met me, with is…about eight years from this last memory."

Everyone groans quietly but no other complaint is heard.

"Well, get ready to watch eight years of your life again." Bruce groans slightly.