Do you think Tony records videos of Morgan’s every single milestone, right from her birth, to her first words (juice), first time she said her name (Mogoon, but close enough), her first steps?
Every birthday, every little achievement that was part and parcel of growing up, but Tony was proud of nonetheless. Because, hey, it’s his daughter. Everything she does, everything, is the mark of a genius in the making.
He seals it away in an indestructible box, specially designed by him for this express purpose. To keep the helmet that contains memories of his daughter’s childhood safe until her eighteenth birthday.
Pepper thinks it’s cute. An adorable little project Morgan might appreciate as an adult. She didn’t realise how valuable every second of that footage would be, someday.
After all, how could she have known?
For thirteen years it stays hidden away, under the floorboards of their old cabin. Pepper and Morgan may have moved back to the city, but the cabin remains in their name. She couldn’t even begin to think of selling it.
A quiet little structure, not quite neglected, but not exactly maintained either. A lone house in the woods, home to what little remained of Tony Stark’s living moments. Waiting for its owners to return someday, and relive the memories it holds for their sake.
And then she turns eighteen.
Morgan H Stark is no longer a child (although, Happy may disagree). They drive out to their old home. The one they hadn’t visited in years. It greets them like a long lost friend, arms open in an embrace that had long since been forgotten.
Pepper has Happy remove the floorboards, much to his horror (“they’re nice floorboards, Pepper!”).
The box is pulled out, dust cleared away, moss wiped off. Save for that, It’s in the exact same condition as it was 13 years ago. Of course it is. Tony Stark didn’t spend a sleepless night in his workshop for nothing.
They watch it together, all five of them (Peter and Rhodey wanted to come along, and who was she to deny them that?). Pepper, Morgan and Rhodey on the couch, Peter and Happy on the floor.
The helmet turns on, and Tony’s face, wet with tears, is the first image to appear. He’s in a hospital. The birth ward, specifically.
Pepper smiles, amused, but a little rueful.
They watch video after video of the man they had loved and lost, smiling one of the brightest smiles they had ever seen on his face. Going on and on about how smart his daughter is, how beautiful she is, how he can’t believe he got so lucky (he mentions his disbelief 23 times over 28 videos- Morgan counted).
They watch holograph after holograph of Tony carrying a much younger Morgan, holding her up like an award he isn’t quite sure he deserves. His face so real in the holographs, Pepper feels she could just reach out and touch him.
Wishes she could just reach out and touch him.
Pepper cameos quite often. Rhodey and Happy a little less, but they’re there anyway.
There isn’t a dry face in that little room that evening. They all mourn for the same man, sure, but for different reasons entirely.
Pepper, for losing the love of her life. He husband. The one man she’d loved the most, more than almost everything else. Second only to the young woman sitting beside her.
Peter, for the five years he could have had with his mentor- no, father. Five years of time cruelly snatched away from him, while all he could do was watch, helpless. Two was good, but seven would have been better.
Happy, for his boss. His friend. The man who made the world believe he didn’t care about anyone but himself, but knew when he needed ice cream after a particularly emotional episode of Downton Abbey.
Rhodey, for the idiot he practically grew up with, sharing everything from textbooks to a home. For his brother, not by blood but by bond.
And Morgan. She doesn’t mourn for what she’d lost, no. She was too young to remember that anyway.
She mourns for the years she wasn’t allowed to have, years she could have spent laughing with her father, learning from him, getting bad advice about boys, what have you.
Not for what was, but what could have been.
The room is silent, save for the occasional laugh at a stupid joke Tony made. Sorrow hangs in the air, like a cloud refusing to dissipate, as why should it? You try to will the pain away, deny that even after all these years, you’re still hurting.
They’re happy for the life he was allowed before it was snatched away right from under him. Each of them smile as memories of him flit behind their eyes, as they had been doing for over a decade.
But the fact still remains, the one singular fact that ties all their grief together, different as it may be:
They can’t have him back.
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