Addendum 3.2 – "Custody pt. 1"

November 1985 – La Guardia Tarmac

"I want to sit next to Daddy!" Jonathan grinned excitedly, clamping onto Michael's hanging arm.

Michael pulled his other hand from the overhead compartment where he'd just shoved his bag and looked down at his son.

"That's not how this works, little ti- uh, Jonathan," Michael corrected. He sat down into his aisle seat and looked into Jonathan's eyes. "You rent out certain seats for a flight, and this is the one I'd already bought."

"Yes, Jonathan. You're up here, with us," Angela offered apologetically as she fanned out their 5 first class boarding passes. Smiling weakly, she shrugged, "I have 4 of us in the same row."

Mona plucked hers from the batch. "I'll take the single, up near the cockpit." She looked Angela in the eye. "No offense," she said, low and dry.

Sam popped her bubble gum loudly on her face. "Ah, nuts," she snapped her fingers in disappointment, drawing mediocre ire from Tony.

Sam put up both her hands in surrender. "Just kidding, just kidding. Of course, I want to sit next to my father for the next six hours!" she grinned.

Tony squinted and mumbled to himself, but then he stuck his nose in the air as his indignant grumblings gained direction. "Your first flight is in first class, young lady, and you can thank Angela for that." He moved his pointer finger from Angela to the back of the plane. "There's a whole train of people in coach who wouldn't mind sitting next to a caring individual in the lap of luxury!"

Distracted, Tony looked down at Sam's shoulder blades and furrowed his brows, "Don't slouch, Sam. It's bad for you."

Sam exhaled extensively but stiffened her posture. Leaning over straightly to take a boarding pass from Angela's still-spread cards, she made eye contact with her benefactress. "Thanks for the good seats, Angela," she smiled sincerely.

Angela's eyes nearly disappeared. "You're very welcome, sweetheart."

Sam sat down at the window and put on her Walkman. Tony shook his head at his daughter, then glanced at Michael who was settling into some paperwork, a couple rows back by himself.

Flicking his eyebrows up and down in acceptance, Tony spun to sit down at the aisle next to Angela.

Once again feeling like the leftovers, Angela sighed and sat down. Tony winked at her, and just like that, something sparkly and altogether enough filled her up.

She looked over at Jonathan who was turned around, up on his knees, looking back at his father. Ugh. Just let him miss his father, Angela. Just let him miss his father…

Angela tipped her head far back and exhaled; Tony kept watching her.

Just then, a good-looking man in a suit and a tweed overcoat hurried onto the plane. He hung up his coat in the first-class cloak closet and visibly started to catch his breath. Glancing down at his boarding pass, he looked up and scanned the section. His eyes rested on Angela who still hadn't opened hers.

The man started to smile, and then looked at the occupants around her. His gaze panned to Tony who smiled widely and tossed him a head nod, welcoming the stranger to their exclusive club. The man's smile turned slightly amused, then he started scanning the seat numbers as he walked.

When he passed, the man studied the weathered countenance darkening Angela's noble features. He looked back down at her hands in her lap, even though he had to strain his neck to keep up with his own feet. The man stopped in front of Michael's glaring face.

"Uh, hey bro," the man tried to smile. "I think I have the window seat," he said flashing his ticket.

Michael eyed the man as he stood begrudgingly and didn't drop eye contact as he moved out of the way.

As the man got situated, Michael turned to sit down and noticed Jonathan still watching him.

"Mom," Jonathan's big eyes tried again. "Can I please sit with Daddy?"

Angela sighed and rolled her head over at Jonathan. "I'm sorry, Jonathan. These are the seats that were available," she shrugged sadly. "We were lucky to even get on the same flight as your daddy. But you'll get to be with him when we get there." She lightly swiped her fingers over his feather-soft hair and found herself swallowing thickly. "…and then you can spend lots of time helping him get ready for his wedding."

The man popped his head up over the row, bouncing an eager glance among them all. "Oh, I don't mind switching!"

A huge smile lit up Jonathan's little face, and he scrambled to get his things. Angela stiffened immediately at the abruptness of the change and looked to Tony, who nodded encouragingly.

Gaining calm, Angela returned Tony's smile as she stood to let Jonathan out. He jumbled his backpack and cartoon-like grin quickly down the aisle.

The man's brows went up as he stepped past Michael's angrier face. He carefully slid in next to Angela and put his briefcase under the seat.

Michael's glare beckoned to Tony, who caught it, but whose scrunched face tossed it back.

'What?' Tony mouthed.

Michael rolled his irritated eyes and shook his head.

Angela sat down, and the man turned to her. Holding out his hand, his disarming smile broadened, "Gavin Whittaker."

She shook his hand and felt a genuine smile emerge as she reciprocated. "Angela Bower."

Gavin held her hand for a few moments passed normal, and Angela turned her wrist as she looked down at their hands. "You went to Yale?" she brightened, nodding at his ring.

Gavin made a slight, acknowledging whip to his chin as he let go, "Go Bulldogs."

Angela laughed, "I haven't heard that in a while."

"You alum?"

She nodded her head back and forth, "Undergrad."

"So… that means you got a post-graduate from …where?"

Angela's face squinted in embarrassment. "Harvard?" her little voice escaped.

The man's face went totally blank. "You didn't."

Her pinched smile nodded.

Gavin stuttered, "Wh- why?"

Angela laughed again. For some reason, the reason wasn't so horrible to her anymore. She shook her head and shrugged, almost marveling at the healing. "…Uh, I was trying to get away from my first boyfriend."

Michael less than covertly bolted up from his seat, but then slowly lowered back down. Angela and Gavin glanced at the movement behind them but didn't linger. Tony's eyebrows went up - a little at the stormy Michael, at whom Tony shrugged - but mostly trying to listen to Angela's conversation.

"Yeah, it seems silly now that I think about it, but it was terrifically dramatic at the time," her grin insisted.

Gavin looked straight ahead and wiped his hand down his mouth. "Wow." He turned back to her, "It must've been some romance to make you go turncoat."

Angela's laugh enrichened the more she held eye contact with him.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was."

Gavin's nodding smile started to turn slimy, and Tony's grin completely dropped. He looked back worriedly at Michael who held a palm up to the case he was making. 'See?' He mouthed and silently clapped his mocking hands at Tony.

Tony frowned at Michael but regrouped and pivoted it toward Gavin.

Angela made a single clap in front of her and exhaled. Okay, it's time to move on – NOT what I'm looking for. Pulling out her own briefcase, she smiled, "Well, if you'll excuse me, Gavin, I have some work to do. It was lovely meeting you - and thank you for allowing my son to trade seats."

Gavin's smile stalled a little, but he blinked a nod and extracted a book from his belongings.

Angela flipped through a file and put a pen in her mouth. She noticed Tony staring in her direction and looked up at him.

What's that face? she frowned. She took the pen out. "Are you okay?" she asked him quietly.

Tony's eyes flickered from Gavin to Angela. He sat back and smoothed his hands over his chest. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."


November 1985 – 35,000 feet

"So, the Dinobots are trying to learn their powers on the island, but the Decepticons find out the island has all this energy they want. And Megatron made all these dinosaurs drown the Dinobots in tar by accident!" Jonathan's flurry of words permitted an infinitesimal gasp, and his hands continued to help him tell the story. "Wait- I forgot, Spike and Bumblebee-"

Michael moved his hand from his temple to Jonathan's arm. "J- Jonathan, jus- just a second…" He took a breath and looked up the aisle to where Tony had just gotten up to go to the bathroom. "I'll be right back," Michael said, blindly patting his son's arm, and got up to follow Tony.

Jonathan watched his daddy leave. Holding his stomach, he waited three full seconds before getting up and going to sit in Tony's seat.

"Hey, Sam! Whatcha doin'?"

Sam tipped a patient smile toward Jonathan and pulled her headphone off the ear closest him. "I'm reading a magazine."

"Oh," Jonathan looked down. He looked back up, "Can I read some?"

"It's about nail polish."

"Oh. …A whole article?"

Sam made a flat smile and nodded.

Jonathan rubbed his stomach. "Oh."

Angela looked up from her work and tilted her head sadly at her son. "Sweetheart? I bought an activity book for you, just in case you got bored. Do you want to try it?"

Jonathan's subdued answer was kind. "Yeah, thanks."

Angela retrieved the book and a box of crayons from her purse and handed it to him.

His face lit up, "A Transformers one? Really!?"

Angela cheered internally, Yes! "They had it in the airport gift shop."

Jonathan shot up and hugged her tightly, "Thanks, Mom!"

Her smile came from deep within her heart. She lived for moments like this.

Jonathan sat down in Tony's seat, and they both went about their work.


Angela knew surprises were to be expected as she did business in different locations, but as she leafed through her papers, she was discovering a frustrating amount of red tape her Guacamunchies campaign would have to overcome. She found herself leaning closer to her legal pad the more she scribbled away.

As she wrote, she absently understood Jonathan was talking to her, but she was hardly listening. Ugh! Bureaucrats… She shook her head as she heard Jonathan's voice again. He wanted something, but she was trying to match up which agency needed which waiver and she was just about to make a connection.

"…going to get airsick," his arguably calm voice worried.

She turned her face in his direction, but her eyes stayed loyal to her paperwork.

"No, you're not, sweetheart…" Angela placated. Really!? You need this in triplicate! One is too many!

The sound of productive gagging with the capability of chilling any parent's heart, indeed, widened Angela's eyes and slowly turned her head. Her now-full attention was being flagrantly mocked by Jonathan's breakfast donuts, now dripping down the seatback in front of him.

"Oh, Jonathan, gross!" Sam said, pulling her feet up onto her seat.

Shaking her head quickly into clarity, Angela put down her work and got up. Squatting down next to him, Angela brushed her son's bangs off his sweaty forehead. "Oh, sweetie. I'm sorry I wasn't listening. Here; let's get you comfortable."

The ruckus acquired the consideration of Gavin, who quickly picked up his things. "I'll switch back."

Before Angela could say anything, Gavin had scooted out of their row and back into his original seat. She glanced back at him, smiling appreciatively, then ushered Jonathan over to the window. "Here, honey." She stood up and looked around, trying to triage.

"Angela," Sam called to her. Angela turned around to see Sam holding up her rolled-up sweatshirt. "A pillow?" Sam offered.

Angela tipped her head and took the gift. "Thank you, Sam." She tucked it between Jonathan's face and his shoulder on the window side and let him rest. Rushing up the aisle, she saw the first-class lavatory was occupied, and went back to coach in search of wet paper towels.


(meanwhile) First-Class Lavatory

Michael had zipped unnoticed past Angela's dutiful attention to her green potato chips. Rolling his eyes, he'd caught up with Tony at the bathroom and roughly stuffed himself in behind him.

"Ohlff!" Tony grunted, falling forward.

Just able to close the door, Michael twisted to lock it.

Barely managing to turn around, Tony saw Michael's furious face and leaned backward over the commode. "Ay yo! If this is the Mile High Club, I want a different partner!"

Michael scoffed angrily, "Would you even know what to do, Rambo?"

Tony lost his guardedly jovial mood, but Michael persisted toward him, his hands flying out as much as they could in pure exasperation. "Do you know what a fucking silver platter is!?"

Clearly losing his patience, Tony stood as upright as he could, leaning his face in close to Michael's. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

Michael stuck his thumb toward the back of the plane. "What was that back there? Why did you tell Angela to let that dick sit next to her!?"

"I didn't know he was a dick! He was just a dude!"

Michael stared at Tony in utter disbelief, "You couldn't tell by the way he was looking at her?"

Tony answered with equal sharpness, despite his obvious confusion, "So, he was looking at her. Everyone looks at Angela - I'm pretty sure I saw a nun checking her out by the jetway! It doesn't mean anything, except that she's gorgeous!"

Tony's exposure briefly shocked his eyes and mouth open, and he shrank slowly back from Michael. Swallowing, Tony flicked his eyes away and took a breath.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah; it's a big secret… Look, brainiac, how many roosters do you think a hen house can hold? I thought I taught you that!"

Setting his jaw, Tony stood up straight, despite the spatial constraints. He spoke low and clear, "I thought I told you Angela doesn't need someone to take care of her. She's a big girl; she handled that creep just fine."

"She shouldn't've had to! And don't tell me what Angela is. I know what Angela is."

Tony tilted his head and paused a few moments, his posture still not backing down. "And what's that?"

Michael stared back at him.

Tony squinted at Michael.

Seconds went by, unattended.

"Aren't you with Heather?" Tony asked quietly.

Michael's steely answer didn't inflect his face. "Yes."

"Aren't we flying clear across the country so you can let everybody know that?"

Not a single thing on Michael's face moved. "We are."

Tony leaned in even closer, "Then what's your problem, buddy?"

Michael didn't answer.

Tony didn't drop eye contact.

Finally, Michael blinked and leaned back a little. Licking his lips, he said, "I told you. I just want to make sure Angela's taken care of."

Tony eyed Michael pointedly but responded softly, "Like I said: she's doin' just fine."

Michael's eyes narrowed, "For now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Holy shit, Tony. Don't you get it? Angela and I can't be together; we'll kill each other."

Tony's stalled look waited for the punchline, "Yeah…"

Michael rolled his eyes in exasperation and emphasized his point with his hands, "You are the next best thing!"

Tony's eyelids dropped halfway. "What?" he said dryly.

Michael glared at him, "Quit letting guys get in there, ya doofus! You think she's ever gonna wind up with anyone who wouldn't mind you being around all the time, buddying up to her son, waiting on her hand and foot, baking her stuff-" He popped his hands off his forehead. "My God, the chocolate alone-"

Tony's annoyed look mellowed into a fierce blush, "Ay yo! Michael, I think you got this all wrong."

Michael swiped his hand in front of Tony's protest, "Look, take all the time you need. I'm certainly in no hurry, on that front. But in the meantime, unchain your dogs! Keep other guys out of there, or you're gonna be the one who leaves!"

Tony leaned back a little, himself, and swallowed, dropping his face, and Michael's breathing started to steady.

Tony looked back up to Michael's face in decision. "No. No, Angela's gonna decide which punches she pulls, not me. I don't know- I mean-" He took raggedy breaths, "I can't… worry about- …I can't control who she dates!" he insisted desperately.

Michael glared sharply, "Yes, you could!"

Tony narrowed his eyes at Michael and spoke definitively, "Well, I won't."

Michael paused a moment, then, breaking eye contact, he let out an irritated exhale.

Tony took a breath, and his face softened. "Look, man. You got a picture of Heather with you?"

Michael looked back up at him. "Yeah," he said suspiciously.

"Why don't you go back to your seat and look at it? Chill out a little bit. Think about all you have. You don't have Angela, but… hey, I mean, you love Heather, right?"

Michael kept staring at Tony. "Yeah," he said so quietly Tony could barely hear him a foot away.

With a quick shake to his head, Tony shrugged dramatically, "Well, there you go… Now, get out; I gotta drop the kids off at the pool."

Michael shook his head and chuckled. Twisting at the waist, he unlocked the door.

"Just remember what you have," Tony repeated as Michael backed out through the skinny door. Michael paused and looked at him for a second, before starting his dejected trek back down the aisle.


Tony walked up to his seat to find a plastic garbage bag on the floor where his feet should go.

"What's this?" he asked Sam.

Sam blew another huge bubble, and it smacked against her face. She threw a nod toward Angela, "Jonathan tossed his cookies."

She went back to her magazine as Tony stifled the quick look of disgust that naturally appeared on his face.

Turning, he looked down at Angela. Her eyes were closed, and Jonathan was leaned up against her. Her arm was around his shoulder, and a can of ginger ale set open on his tray.

A peaceful smile came over Tony. He went up to the flight attendant and got a blanket. Draping it over them, he squatted down in front of Angela's knee.

Angela's eyes fluttered open, and she smiled down at Tony. His return smile was as natural as man and woman.

A warm contentment flooded Angela. With her sweet son finally allowing her to comfort him, and her… sweet Tony, once again, taking such care with them, she had no aspirations for ever being happier.


A couple rows back, Michael openly witnessed Tony's enraptured expression. Michael looked down at the picture of the pretty blonde in his hands and sighed. Flicking his wallet shut, his gaze rose again to Tony.

Tony adjusted the blanket up by Angela's shoulder, smiled, and sat back down in his seat, seemingly hesitant to bring his hand back over to his side of the aisle.

Tipping his head far back, Michael let out a stream of pent-up air and closed his eyes.